Chapter 41.
41. Oh, help...anyway...thanks for all reviews/reviewers, as always! Alysun
At His Mercy.
Draco woke up again in the dungeons, no longer noticing his surroundings. On the bedside table was seventeen days worth of newspapers, the only real way of counting the slowly passing days. So far, he had not featured in any, meaning that his mother was trying her uttermost to keep him out of the press and succeeding, as she always did in such matters. Two weeks and three days since he had left the Manor and subjected himself to the torturous ennui of the empty dungeons. He had not left the lowest levels of the school since he had arrived, and was beginning to feel that he had lived there all his life. While the solid, stonewalls gave comfort in their thickness alone, but they also marked his total isolation from the world. All except Granger, who he was beginning to find more and more irritating with every minute of her presence.
He glanced at the date on the previous day's newspaper. Saturday. So today was Sunday. The thought in itself was nothing, but as he sat in the warm bed, Draco thought longingly of the Sundays he had spent with his father when he had been younger. Learning to fly was always a weekend occupation, light relief from the heavy timetable of learning the Lucius Malfoy had enforced on his son from an early age. Nothing now, he was no more.
He sighed, a loud noise in the quiet chamber. He looked at his watch and observed that he had woken late again. He had fallen into the habit of going to sleep early and waking up at about half twelve in the day. He stretched and wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes, deciding that he would get up. He swung himself off the side of the bed and pulled on his increasingly rumpled robes. That done, he sat back down on the edge of the bed, at a loss for things to do. Scattered on the floor were various books that he had requested from Granger. There was a fair mix - two or three on Dementors, vampires and other dark creatures, and a couple of fiction (horror, naturally) and three or four textbooks. In his infinite boredom, Draco had flicked through them all and read those that he found interesting.
Granger hadn't visited him yesterday, which sent his mental clock wildly out; she usually visited about quarter to one, more or less as he was getting up. Presumably she had come early yesterday, and had found him asleep so just dumped the newspaper on the desk and left.
There was a quick knock on the door, and then Granger's bushy head of hair appeared. Speak of the devil, Draco thought to himself wryly.
"Morning, Malfoy," she said as she closed the door.
"Granger," he acknowledged.
"Sorry I didn't speak to you yesterday, but I was busy and when I did come up, you were asleep, so I just left the paper for you," she said, sitting down on the desk nearest his bed as she always did.
"I know, thanks. How are you?" asked Draco, resorting to politeness in lack of other conversation. It was sickening- he couldn't even insult the wretched girl since she was helping him.
"I'm fine, thanks. Busy with all the work the teachers are giving us though. How are you?"
"Bored stiff," he answered shortly. "Have you brought a newspaper?"
"Oh, yes! I was forgetting..." she exclaimed and drew out the wad of parchment and handed it to him. He took it gratefully, savouring the headline and picture on the front page, his only contact with the outside world left.
"Nothing particularly interesting today, though," she said, matter-of- factly.
"More interesting than counting bricks, however," Draco murmured, more to himself than Granger.
"Stones, " she corrected him.
He frowned irritably "Whatever."
"Quite. Now listen, I found out something important yesterday..."
Draco looked up at her abrupt announcement. "Yes?"
"Well, it was Harry really, but..."
"Just get on with it, Granger, " he growled. Mudbloods!
She scowled at him. "Well, apparently Dumbledore's worried. There has been a lot of Death Eater activity near here recently. He thinks that Voldemort's strength is building faster than anyone had anticipated. AND your mother's finally started looking for you. She was here yesterday too... I think she's getting the castle searched."
"What?! Why didn't you say?!" he exclaimed, staring at her in disbelief.
"Calm down! The castle won't be searched just yet, and I know somewhere where you can go when they do."
"Yes, that's all very well, Granger, but when do I have to move? How the hell are we supposed to know when they are searching the castle?"
She sighed at him, and said, as though explaining to an imbecile, "They can hardly search the castle without the students knowing, can they? They won't want us getting in the way!"
He scowled at her, knowing that she was right. It was infuriating, but still true.
"Anyway. Apparently your mother explained your absence by saying that you were mourning over your dad's death."
'Father's death, Granger,' Draco wanted to say. 'Dad' was too informal, too. personal.
"But she was here at Hogwarts yesterday talking with Dumbledore about you. I think that we should move you out of the dungeons soon."
"How soon?"
"Tonight. Unless you have any complaints about that?"
Draco gave her a look. "I can't do tonight, I'm washing my hair... of course I don't." Anything to get out of these accursed dungeons. The stony silence was starting to grate on his nerves, the smallest sound making him uneasy. He had wondered how Snape had put up with it for so long. but that was yet another thing he didn't want to think about. He didn't want to think about his father, his friends, his enemies, his family or anything else that reminded him of what he had done, and what he should be doing now, instead of cowering under the protection of a Gryffindor. A Mudblood Gryffindor, at that.
He wished he had a time turner, but even that wouldn't help him. He couldn't change the past. Everything was set in stone.
Stone. Grey, dull and utterly boring. And he was incarcerated in it. But tonight! His sense of adventure was poked from its dormant state at the chance of excitement, however small.
Granger was looking severe.
"You really need to sort out your sense of humour, Malfoy. It's just not funny. And I'll come down here at 1 o'clock. Get everything cleared up, will you? And I'll take those books back to the library. I think Madam Pince is suspicious of my sudden choice of reading matter." Draco couldn't help but snicker slightly. Hermione's face when he had asked for a couple of horror books!
"Oh, shut up. Do you know how to transfigure the bed back? It was pretty advanced stuff.here," she said, and without even waiting for Draco to get out of the bed, she drew her wand and said a couple of appropriate words and the bed disappeared, returning to it's prior state. The fact that it was a stool before it was a bed was not something that mixed well with the fact that Draco was still lying on it. Finding most of his body suspended in midair, Draco had little option but to fall to the ground, hard. Which he did, in a most undignified manner. he glowered from his spot on the floor.
"I could have done it," he grumbled at her.
"I'm sure," she smirked and turned to leave. "1 o'clock, Malfoy. Don't forget." She accio'd the books, catching them neatly and left the dungeons.
"Don't forget," muttered Draco after her, still lying on the floor. "How the hell am I supposed to forget? It's not like I'm going to get distracted."
~~
1:00am. -Finally- time to leave this place. Draco could only wonder where Granger was planning to take him. He would bet his broomstick that he wouldn't like it. She seemed to have a knack of finding places that he wouldn't like.
But then, anything was better than the dungeons. They were freezing cold and filled with memories.
He stood waiting in the doorway of the deserted classroom and waited impatiently. She was late, dammit! She was probably under that Cloak of Potter's again. Something glimmered in front of his eyes, and low and behold, Granger appeared. "Got everything you need? Cleared up?" she whispered in greeting.
Draco nodded mutely and allowed himself to be covered by the cloak.
"Ok.come on," she hissed and they started their awkward progress up and out of Hogwarts. When they were well clear of the building, Draco asked her quietly, "Where are you taking me?"
"You'll see in a minute," she answered, and refused to say anything more, much to his annoyance.
It looked like they were heading to the Forest. Draco had only been in there once, on detention in his first year. It was not something he wanted to do again. but no. They stopped just short of the forest, to Draco's relief. Granger took the cloak from round them and handed it to Draco to hold.
Draco slung it over one shoulder and watched her dumbly as she looked around and then picked up a long branch that had broken off one of the trees. She picked it up with surprising ease and jabbed one of the trees with it - Draco recognised it as a Whomping Willow too late in the dark.
"Hey, watch out." he warned too late. But nothing happened. The tree was . apparently frozen totally. Not even the small branches that had been slapping away flies and other insects had frozen. A breeze ruffled Draco's hair, but didn't so much as move a leaf on the tree. "What the .?" he asked in amazement.
"Oh, come on," Granger said, standing by the trunk of the tree. "This way," and disappeared.
"Granger?" he asked in alarm. Where had she gone?
"Down here," came the muffled reply. "It's a secret passageway, now hurry up."
After a little of poking around, Draco found where she was, and followed her in, still carrying the cloak over his shoulder.
"Come on," she said again.
"Alright, calm down," he muttered at her.
"Well, *some* of us want to get to sleep tonight! We've got a Transfiguration test tomorrow! And an. and other things," she finished lamely. It was more than obvious that she had meant to say something else.
"And a what?" he asked, coolly.
She shrugged, still walking in front of him, not turning around to look at him. "Nothing important, Malfoy. We're here now, anyway."
And so they were. Where 'here' was, Draco had no idea, but it appeared to be an antiquated, vandalised house of some description. "Where are we?"
"The Shrieking Shack," she told him calmly, taking the Cloak from his unresisting hands.
"The Shrieking Shack?! Are you mad!" he yelled at her. "This place is haunted! More haunted than even Hogwarts is!"
"Oh calm down and stop being such a baby," she told him crossly. "There are no ghosts here and never have been.
"There have been sightings of ghosts here! And howls! How do you think it got its name?"
"The howls were made by a werewolf who came here every full moon to change. And the sightings were fictional, rumours started by Dumbledore. Now calm down, I know what I'm talking about."
Draco's head span with the sudden influx of information. This was weird. The Shrieking Shack had always been haunted! It was famous for it! People came to see it! And here he was, living in the damned place!
"You can stay here for as long as you need to. I can't come and visit you here, and I have no idea what the plumbing is like. You'll have to work everything out for yourself. I'll try and come up to see you if I can. I promise nothing though. I'll see if I can get newspapers to you, but like I said. Anyway. I'd better get back to Hogwarts and catch some sleep. Good night, Malfoy."
"And you, Granger," he replied, somewhat dazedly. Covering herself with the Cloak, she left the Shack to Draco, and Draco alone.
All alone. There was nothing to do here, and no one, not even Granger to talk to.
Draco wandered around the house by wand light, until he found a bed. Ignoring the musty smell, he fell asleep, deciding to deal with everything in the morning.
~~
On the harsh, bleak island that held Azkaban in all its hateful glory, a man arrived from the Ministry. Rookwood was back. Or at least, to be precise, Rookwood's only son was back, in place of his father. He had only been seven when his father had been taken by the Aurors, old enough to understand that Karkoff had betrayed them and old enough to understand that he had to avenge his father's death. He had gone to Voldemort as soon as he had chance - barely out of Durmstrang; Rookwood had offered himself to the Dark Lord, on the condition that he could kill Karkoff himself. The Dark Lord had been amused and agreed. Rookwood was initiated.
He started his work at the Ministry and was climbing the social ladder quickly - though slowly enough and obscurely enough not to make anyone become suspicious. His new father planned all and everything he did, every plan he made, every girl he kissed. Voldemort. He was dangerously obsessed.
He had been told to go to Azkaban and get Severus Snape released, so there he was, outside the big, wrought iron gates waiting to be let in. Some nagging part of his mind told him that what he was doing was wrong. Snape was a traitor. There was nothing Rookwood hated more than traitors.
He took comfort in the thought that his Master knew what he was doing, and made his way into the grey labyrinth of cells, led by a tall featureless Dementor. The cold depression threatened to engulf him, but he fought against it, thinking only of his mission, the mission that had been set by his Master. That was all that mattered.
They reached the cold grimy cell and Rookwood slid the small viewing slot open to see the hunched figure of Severus Snape. His hair was longer and even more unruly than before and his robes hung off him, showing him to be thinner than when he had entered. He had been there for a month and a half, and every second of it showed.
"Snape," Rookwood said to the black clad figure.
He took no notice, lost in his nightmares.
"Snape," Rookwood snapped.
Still, nothing.
"Severus, Snape, listen to me, now!" Rookwood snapped impatiently.
Slowly, Snape roused himself from his tired self-hatred and looked at the dark eyes that appeared at the small viewing gap.
"Rookwood," Snape acknowledged dully, not recognising it to be Rookwood's son.
"You're allowed to go free now, Snape. Come with me," Rookwood said, seeing that it was safe to open the door. He unlocked the cell and opened it. Snape stared at him in disbelief from his place on the stone shelf. "Leave?" he asked dazedly.
"Yes. Come on, I haven't got all day."
Snape stood up, slowly unfolding himself, not really believing that he was allowed to go free again, but knowing that the door was open and wasn't going to be for long. He stood up shakily, his muscles weak from lack of use, his mind still unclear of what was happening.
"Hurry up, man!" Rookwood snapped. He caught a few strands of Snape's hair in his finger and pulled them out of his head without the man realising what had happened. He was in a stupor, drowning in confusion and despair. Rookwood threw the hairs into a flask he had brought with him. The liquid hissed and turned a sort of brown-black, the colour of someone's mouth after they'd eaten a lot of liquorice. This done, he hissed at nothing, "Wormtail! Get here, now!"
Shaking, a white faced man appeared, an Invisibility Cloak dropping from his shoulders. "Take this, and get in that damned cell. Don't drink it until someone's approaching. You've got about two hours. You have to do this. Or face our Lord's wrath." Rookwood smiled evilly at Wormtail.
A trembling hand took the flask and put it under the bench, out of the way.
Rookwood pulled Snape out of the cell roughly, and threw the Cloak over the taller man. He turned back to the new prisoner.
"When you run out of Polyjuice Potion, get the hell out of here. The door is not, and will not be locked. And if it is, you've still got your wand," he said coldly, and turned away, guiding Snape's invisible self out of Azkaban and into the deserted boat that had brought Rookwood to the damned island. He shivered and shook his head to clear his thoughts of the screaming.
He stupefied Snape for good measure and tossed him carelessly into the boat, still covered by cape. Everything in order, he wasted no time in getting Snape directly to the Dark Lord, as directed.
~~
"My Lord," he said, arriving at last, Snape suspended, unconscious in front of him.
"Rookwood. ever faithful Rookwood. So glad. There were no problems?"
"No, my Lord," Rookwood answered obediently.
"Wormtail did not protest too much?"
"Not at all, my Lord."
Voldemort let out what might have been called a chuckle. Rookwood did not even shiver, though the sound was certainly worthy of the action. "Too pathetic even to argue with that. He is not a loss to our ranks, even if he does die in Azkaban. Let us just hope that he escapes before the transition is seen. They will be looking out for this trick now. It was used by the Crouches, before me. Never mind. Eneverate." The last word was aimed at Severus, who came round at last, his head aching horribly, but amazingly clear from the usual dire thoughts he was now used to waking up to.
He realised two things. One, that he was not standing on the floor, and two, that he was faced with a flat, white face that could only belong to Voldemort. The effect was similar to that of Azkaban. The memories flooded back, after only retreating for a minute. Everything was vivid and clear in his mind.
And Voldemort had him.
"Professor Severus Snape. Potions Master. Dumbledore's pet spy. Crucio"
And then the pain flooded through him, hot white pain, and agonising, excruciating pain. Every kind of pain anyone could ask for was coursing through him.
It stopped suddenly.
"Welcome back, traitor. I have a use for you once again."
Severus looked back up at his old master dumbly, the horror he knew he should be feeling drowned out by the pain in his body, the pain in his mind. Not again.
"Rookwood, take him into the cell that you prepared. Make sure that he is fed and watered sufficiently, and frequently. We want him alive and well, do we not?"
Master and servant shared a secret smile, and then Voldemort dismissed them with a wave of his long fingered hand, turning his empty eyes back to chessboard on his desk.
All the chess pieces were placed, carefully situated around the board, resembling the situation that Voldemort had set up.
The time was right. Nearly all his pieces were in order. All he needed now was to know young Mister Malfoy. He would turn up soon enough.
And then. well, then Voldemort could start recruiting again.
Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow.
Tomorrow was going to be -his-. The world would be at his mercy.
He smiled a terrible smile.
At his mercy.
41. Oh, help...anyway...thanks for all reviews/reviewers, as always! Alysun
At His Mercy.
Draco woke up again in the dungeons, no longer noticing his surroundings. On the bedside table was seventeen days worth of newspapers, the only real way of counting the slowly passing days. So far, he had not featured in any, meaning that his mother was trying her uttermost to keep him out of the press and succeeding, as she always did in such matters. Two weeks and three days since he had left the Manor and subjected himself to the torturous ennui of the empty dungeons. He had not left the lowest levels of the school since he had arrived, and was beginning to feel that he had lived there all his life. While the solid, stonewalls gave comfort in their thickness alone, but they also marked his total isolation from the world. All except Granger, who he was beginning to find more and more irritating with every minute of her presence.
He glanced at the date on the previous day's newspaper. Saturday. So today was Sunday. The thought in itself was nothing, but as he sat in the warm bed, Draco thought longingly of the Sundays he had spent with his father when he had been younger. Learning to fly was always a weekend occupation, light relief from the heavy timetable of learning the Lucius Malfoy had enforced on his son from an early age. Nothing now, he was no more.
He sighed, a loud noise in the quiet chamber. He looked at his watch and observed that he had woken late again. He had fallen into the habit of going to sleep early and waking up at about half twelve in the day. He stretched and wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes, deciding that he would get up. He swung himself off the side of the bed and pulled on his increasingly rumpled robes. That done, he sat back down on the edge of the bed, at a loss for things to do. Scattered on the floor were various books that he had requested from Granger. There was a fair mix - two or three on Dementors, vampires and other dark creatures, and a couple of fiction (horror, naturally) and three or four textbooks. In his infinite boredom, Draco had flicked through them all and read those that he found interesting.
Granger hadn't visited him yesterday, which sent his mental clock wildly out; she usually visited about quarter to one, more or less as he was getting up. Presumably she had come early yesterday, and had found him asleep so just dumped the newspaper on the desk and left.
There was a quick knock on the door, and then Granger's bushy head of hair appeared. Speak of the devil, Draco thought to himself wryly.
"Morning, Malfoy," she said as she closed the door.
"Granger," he acknowledged.
"Sorry I didn't speak to you yesterday, but I was busy and when I did come up, you were asleep, so I just left the paper for you," she said, sitting down on the desk nearest his bed as she always did.
"I know, thanks. How are you?" asked Draco, resorting to politeness in lack of other conversation. It was sickening- he couldn't even insult the wretched girl since she was helping him.
"I'm fine, thanks. Busy with all the work the teachers are giving us though. How are you?"
"Bored stiff," he answered shortly. "Have you brought a newspaper?"
"Oh, yes! I was forgetting..." she exclaimed and drew out the wad of parchment and handed it to him. He took it gratefully, savouring the headline and picture on the front page, his only contact with the outside world left.
"Nothing particularly interesting today, though," she said, matter-of- factly.
"More interesting than counting bricks, however," Draco murmured, more to himself than Granger.
"Stones, " she corrected him.
He frowned irritably "Whatever."
"Quite. Now listen, I found out something important yesterday..."
Draco looked up at her abrupt announcement. "Yes?"
"Well, it was Harry really, but..."
"Just get on with it, Granger, " he growled. Mudbloods!
She scowled at him. "Well, apparently Dumbledore's worried. There has been a lot of Death Eater activity near here recently. He thinks that Voldemort's strength is building faster than anyone had anticipated. AND your mother's finally started looking for you. She was here yesterday too... I think she's getting the castle searched."
"What?! Why didn't you say?!" he exclaimed, staring at her in disbelief.
"Calm down! The castle won't be searched just yet, and I know somewhere where you can go when they do."
"Yes, that's all very well, Granger, but when do I have to move? How the hell are we supposed to know when they are searching the castle?"
She sighed at him, and said, as though explaining to an imbecile, "They can hardly search the castle without the students knowing, can they? They won't want us getting in the way!"
He scowled at her, knowing that she was right. It was infuriating, but still true.
"Anyway. Apparently your mother explained your absence by saying that you were mourning over your dad's death."
'Father's death, Granger,' Draco wanted to say. 'Dad' was too informal, too. personal.
"But she was here at Hogwarts yesterday talking with Dumbledore about you. I think that we should move you out of the dungeons soon."
"How soon?"
"Tonight. Unless you have any complaints about that?"
Draco gave her a look. "I can't do tonight, I'm washing my hair... of course I don't." Anything to get out of these accursed dungeons. The stony silence was starting to grate on his nerves, the smallest sound making him uneasy. He had wondered how Snape had put up with it for so long. but that was yet another thing he didn't want to think about. He didn't want to think about his father, his friends, his enemies, his family or anything else that reminded him of what he had done, and what he should be doing now, instead of cowering under the protection of a Gryffindor. A Mudblood Gryffindor, at that.
He wished he had a time turner, but even that wouldn't help him. He couldn't change the past. Everything was set in stone.
Stone. Grey, dull and utterly boring. And he was incarcerated in it. But tonight! His sense of adventure was poked from its dormant state at the chance of excitement, however small.
Granger was looking severe.
"You really need to sort out your sense of humour, Malfoy. It's just not funny. And I'll come down here at 1 o'clock. Get everything cleared up, will you? And I'll take those books back to the library. I think Madam Pince is suspicious of my sudden choice of reading matter." Draco couldn't help but snicker slightly. Hermione's face when he had asked for a couple of horror books!
"Oh, shut up. Do you know how to transfigure the bed back? It was pretty advanced stuff.here," she said, and without even waiting for Draco to get out of the bed, she drew her wand and said a couple of appropriate words and the bed disappeared, returning to it's prior state. The fact that it was a stool before it was a bed was not something that mixed well with the fact that Draco was still lying on it. Finding most of his body suspended in midair, Draco had little option but to fall to the ground, hard. Which he did, in a most undignified manner. he glowered from his spot on the floor.
"I could have done it," he grumbled at her.
"I'm sure," she smirked and turned to leave. "1 o'clock, Malfoy. Don't forget." She accio'd the books, catching them neatly and left the dungeons.
"Don't forget," muttered Draco after her, still lying on the floor. "How the hell am I supposed to forget? It's not like I'm going to get distracted."
~~
1:00am. -Finally- time to leave this place. Draco could only wonder where Granger was planning to take him. He would bet his broomstick that he wouldn't like it. She seemed to have a knack of finding places that he wouldn't like.
But then, anything was better than the dungeons. They were freezing cold and filled with memories.
He stood waiting in the doorway of the deserted classroom and waited impatiently. She was late, dammit! She was probably under that Cloak of Potter's again. Something glimmered in front of his eyes, and low and behold, Granger appeared. "Got everything you need? Cleared up?" she whispered in greeting.
Draco nodded mutely and allowed himself to be covered by the cloak.
"Ok.come on," she hissed and they started their awkward progress up and out of Hogwarts. When they were well clear of the building, Draco asked her quietly, "Where are you taking me?"
"You'll see in a minute," she answered, and refused to say anything more, much to his annoyance.
It looked like they were heading to the Forest. Draco had only been in there once, on detention in his first year. It was not something he wanted to do again. but no. They stopped just short of the forest, to Draco's relief. Granger took the cloak from round them and handed it to Draco to hold.
Draco slung it over one shoulder and watched her dumbly as she looked around and then picked up a long branch that had broken off one of the trees. She picked it up with surprising ease and jabbed one of the trees with it - Draco recognised it as a Whomping Willow too late in the dark.
"Hey, watch out." he warned too late. But nothing happened. The tree was . apparently frozen totally. Not even the small branches that had been slapping away flies and other insects had frozen. A breeze ruffled Draco's hair, but didn't so much as move a leaf on the tree. "What the .?" he asked in amazement.
"Oh, come on," Granger said, standing by the trunk of the tree. "This way," and disappeared.
"Granger?" he asked in alarm. Where had she gone?
"Down here," came the muffled reply. "It's a secret passageway, now hurry up."
After a little of poking around, Draco found where she was, and followed her in, still carrying the cloak over his shoulder.
"Come on," she said again.
"Alright, calm down," he muttered at her.
"Well, *some* of us want to get to sleep tonight! We've got a Transfiguration test tomorrow! And an. and other things," she finished lamely. It was more than obvious that she had meant to say something else.
"And a what?" he asked, coolly.
She shrugged, still walking in front of him, not turning around to look at him. "Nothing important, Malfoy. We're here now, anyway."
And so they were. Where 'here' was, Draco had no idea, but it appeared to be an antiquated, vandalised house of some description. "Where are we?"
"The Shrieking Shack," she told him calmly, taking the Cloak from his unresisting hands.
"The Shrieking Shack?! Are you mad!" he yelled at her. "This place is haunted! More haunted than even Hogwarts is!"
"Oh calm down and stop being such a baby," she told him crossly. "There are no ghosts here and never have been.
"There have been sightings of ghosts here! And howls! How do you think it got its name?"
"The howls were made by a werewolf who came here every full moon to change. And the sightings were fictional, rumours started by Dumbledore. Now calm down, I know what I'm talking about."
Draco's head span with the sudden influx of information. This was weird. The Shrieking Shack had always been haunted! It was famous for it! People came to see it! And here he was, living in the damned place!
"You can stay here for as long as you need to. I can't come and visit you here, and I have no idea what the plumbing is like. You'll have to work everything out for yourself. I'll try and come up to see you if I can. I promise nothing though. I'll see if I can get newspapers to you, but like I said. Anyway. I'd better get back to Hogwarts and catch some sleep. Good night, Malfoy."
"And you, Granger," he replied, somewhat dazedly. Covering herself with the Cloak, she left the Shack to Draco, and Draco alone.
All alone. There was nothing to do here, and no one, not even Granger to talk to.
Draco wandered around the house by wand light, until he found a bed. Ignoring the musty smell, he fell asleep, deciding to deal with everything in the morning.
~~
On the harsh, bleak island that held Azkaban in all its hateful glory, a man arrived from the Ministry. Rookwood was back. Or at least, to be precise, Rookwood's only son was back, in place of his father. He had only been seven when his father had been taken by the Aurors, old enough to understand that Karkoff had betrayed them and old enough to understand that he had to avenge his father's death. He had gone to Voldemort as soon as he had chance - barely out of Durmstrang; Rookwood had offered himself to the Dark Lord, on the condition that he could kill Karkoff himself. The Dark Lord had been amused and agreed. Rookwood was initiated.
He started his work at the Ministry and was climbing the social ladder quickly - though slowly enough and obscurely enough not to make anyone become suspicious. His new father planned all and everything he did, every plan he made, every girl he kissed. Voldemort. He was dangerously obsessed.
He had been told to go to Azkaban and get Severus Snape released, so there he was, outside the big, wrought iron gates waiting to be let in. Some nagging part of his mind told him that what he was doing was wrong. Snape was a traitor. There was nothing Rookwood hated more than traitors.
He took comfort in the thought that his Master knew what he was doing, and made his way into the grey labyrinth of cells, led by a tall featureless Dementor. The cold depression threatened to engulf him, but he fought against it, thinking only of his mission, the mission that had been set by his Master. That was all that mattered.
They reached the cold grimy cell and Rookwood slid the small viewing slot open to see the hunched figure of Severus Snape. His hair was longer and even more unruly than before and his robes hung off him, showing him to be thinner than when he had entered. He had been there for a month and a half, and every second of it showed.
"Snape," Rookwood said to the black clad figure.
He took no notice, lost in his nightmares.
"Snape," Rookwood snapped.
Still, nothing.
"Severus, Snape, listen to me, now!" Rookwood snapped impatiently.
Slowly, Snape roused himself from his tired self-hatred and looked at the dark eyes that appeared at the small viewing gap.
"Rookwood," Snape acknowledged dully, not recognising it to be Rookwood's son.
"You're allowed to go free now, Snape. Come with me," Rookwood said, seeing that it was safe to open the door. He unlocked the cell and opened it. Snape stared at him in disbelief from his place on the stone shelf. "Leave?" he asked dazedly.
"Yes. Come on, I haven't got all day."
Snape stood up, slowly unfolding himself, not really believing that he was allowed to go free again, but knowing that the door was open and wasn't going to be for long. He stood up shakily, his muscles weak from lack of use, his mind still unclear of what was happening.
"Hurry up, man!" Rookwood snapped. He caught a few strands of Snape's hair in his finger and pulled them out of his head without the man realising what had happened. He was in a stupor, drowning in confusion and despair. Rookwood threw the hairs into a flask he had brought with him. The liquid hissed and turned a sort of brown-black, the colour of someone's mouth after they'd eaten a lot of liquorice. This done, he hissed at nothing, "Wormtail! Get here, now!"
Shaking, a white faced man appeared, an Invisibility Cloak dropping from his shoulders. "Take this, and get in that damned cell. Don't drink it until someone's approaching. You've got about two hours. You have to do this. Or face our Lord's wrath." Rookwood smiled evilly at Wormtail.
A trembling hand took the flask and put it under the bench, out of the way.
Rookwood pulled Snape out of the cell roughly, and threw the Cloak over the taller man. He turned back to the new prisoner.
"When you run out of Polyjuice Potion, get the hell out of here. The door is not, and will not be locked. And if it is, you've still got your wand," he said coldly, and turned away, guiding Snape's invisible self out of Azkaban and into the deserted boat that had brought Rookwood to the damned island. He shivered and shook his head to clear his thoughts of the screaming.
He stupefied Snape for good measure and tossed him carelessly into the boat, still covered by cape. Everything in order, he wasted no time in getting Snape directly to the Dark Lord, as directed.
~~
"My Lord," he said, arriving at last, Snape suspended, unconscious in front of him.
"Rookwood. ever faithful Rookwood. So glad. There were no problems?"
"No, my Lord," Rookwood answered obediently.
"Wormtail did not protest too much?"
"Not at all, my Lord."
Voldemort let out what might have been called a chuckle. Rookwood did not even shiver, though the sound was certainly worthy of the action. "Too pathetic even to argue with that. He is not a loss to our ranks, even if he does die in Azkaban. Let us just hope that he escapes before the transition is seen. They will be looking out for this trick now. It was used by the Crouches, before me. Never mind. Eneverate." The last word was aimed at Severus, who came round at last, his head aching horribly, but amazingly clear from the usual dire thoughts he was now used to waking up to.
He realised two things. One, that he was not standing on the floor, and two, that he was faced with a flat, white face that could only belong to Voldemort. The effect was similar to that of Azkaban. The memories flooded back, after only retreating for a minute. Everything was vivid and clear in his mind.
And Voldemort had him.
"Professor Severus Snape. Potions Master. Dumbledore's pet spy. Crucio"
And then the pain flooded through him, hot white pain, and agonising, excruciating pain. Every kind of pain anyone could ask for was coursing through him.
It stopped suddenly.
"Welcome back, traitor. I have a use for you once again."
Severus looked back up at his old master dumbly, the horror he knew he should be feeling drowned out by the pain in his body, the pain in his mind. Not again.
"Rookwood, take him into the cell that you prepared. Make sure that he is fed and watered sufficiently, and frequently. We want him alive and well, do we not?"
Master and servant shared a secret smile, and then Voldemort dismissed them with a wave of his long fingered hand, turning his empty eyes back to chessboard on his desk.
All the chess pieces were placed, carefully situated around the board, resembling the situation that Voldemort had set up.
The time was right. Nearly all his pieces were in order. All he needed now was to know young Mister Malfoy. He would turn up soon enough.
And then. well, then Voldemort could start recruiting again.
Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow.
Tomorrow was going to be -his-. The world would be at his mercy.
He smiled a terrible smile.
At his mercy.