"Quod Me Nutruit, Me Destruit – Chapter 8"
By the Crystalline Temptress
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, the brilliant writer J.K. Rowling does. So don't sue me.
A/N: This chapter has a bit of foreshadowing, I think. Poor, poor Severus. . . . He's about to get tortured. . . . In more ways than one.
By the way, since I'm almost halfway through the fic, I'd like to thank the people who commented during the first half. The comments have really helped, and they've inspired me to actually get this far. (I never do chaptered fics. That's why the other three fics I have under my name are all one-shots and/or songfics.)
To catsrule_dogsdrool, I would definitely do that last one. :) "Professor Snape, dahrlink, I think that you're getting a little too . . . hot."
And to those who kept on reviewing, chapter-by-chapter, you give me the inspiration to go on. And Meriadoc/Celithrathien, thanks for that fulfilling review. And your thoughts are almost frightening in their accuracy. Watch out for that red herring! :) (I hope you received my e-mail; do write back, if you could spare the time.)
This chapter has a few references to very naughty things. You've been warned. I think it's because I read Anne Rice today. I tried to instill a bit of horror in the end, but I'm not good at those, sadly.
To "Meee!" who told me that Hermione, Harry, and Ron know that Snape's a Death Eater: read chapter 7 a little bit more thoroughly. Specifically the part where Hermione's brewing the Aevum in the dungeons with Snape.
This is still the unedited version, since my beta seems to be taking quite some time. So pardon the mistakes.
-----
Snape awoke with a groan, blinking rapidly as the ceiling above him came into clearer focus.
"It's good to see that you've come to," Madam Pomfrey said briskly as she bustled about the hospital wing.
Snape rubbed his sleep-laden eyes groggily. The hospital wing?
He bolted up from the mattress as he regained his bearings, wincing as the blood rushed back to his head.
Madam Pomfrey thrust a goblet of some pearlescent liquid at him. "Don't tire yourself; you just passed out in the dungeons yesterday. You don't want to faint again." She tut-tutted about professors and their habit of overworking as she fixed a few things in the cupboards.
Snape stared at the Cure-All potion before drinking it slowly, feeling his strength flood back into his limbs. When the goblet was empty, he placed it on his bedside table, leaned back into the pillows and tried to recall what had last happened. He remembered thinking that his dreams came back out of sleep, and afterwards, everything that had taken place was a hazy blur in his memory. He knew that Hermione had given him the Sanatio to relieve him of that awful migraine-like headache he had, and had also gone to fetch Madam Pomfrey the minute the sedative in the potion had set in. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he was glad that he was in the hospital wing. He had expected to be ill at ease there, but it turned out that he was more comfortable than he had been in . . . in a long time. And he knew that he had a most pleasant dream the night before, although he could only remember fragments. . . .
Good things never last, he told himself dully.
"I think I'll return to my dungeon now, Poppy," he said as he sat up again. He looked down at the pajamas she had given him and frowned with distaste. "My robes, if you please."
"Now, now. You'll have to wait here," the Mediwitch negated. "Headmaster Dumbledore said he'd talk to you in a bit."
Snape felt the blood drain from his face. Not with fear, but with weariness. He wasn't ready to talk to Dumbledore about his condition. Not yet, at least.
Just as he was thinking of making an excuse, the door swung inward, and the headmaster swept in.
"I see that you're finally up and about, Severus," the old wizard said cheerfully, settling into a chair across his bed. "Would you care for some chocolate pudding? We could have some sent from the lunch table."
"I'm perfectly fine, headmaster," Snape interjected with a sharp intake of breath. When Dumbledore just regarded him benignly from behind those shining spectacles, he sighed resignedly. "Although 'perfectly fine' seems like quite the understatement."
Dumbledore's look of tranquility settled into one of somberness as he leaned forward in his armchair. "Since when have these headaches started?" he asked without preamble.
Snape tried to recall, but no specific date came to mind. "Lately. I've only noticed it during the vacation."
"The vacation?" Madam Pomfrey repeated, looking scandalized. "It's been more than a week! You shouldn't have let your condition deteriorate!" she scolded with her arms folded across her chest, glowering at him as if he were a son meant to be admonished.
"Haven't you made potions to take care of it?" Dumbledore questioned, drumming his fingertips on the armrest.
"I have," Snape admitted slowly. "But to no avail."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Do you feel anything else that's out of the ordinary? Or is something happening to you that hasn't happened before?"
"No," Snape said shortly, beginning to lose his temper.
You're forgetting the dreams, a treacherous little voice at the back of his head piped up, but he angrily told it to sod off. Besides, he couldn't bring himself to tell Dumbledore that he had been having . . . explicit dreams.
Not all of them are, though, he admitted to himself, remembering the second odd dream he had had about the school burning down.
"Headaches . . . Incurable . . ." Dumbledore turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Any ideas, Poppy?"
Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "It's the first time I've encountered anything of the sort, headmaster. But the Sanatio seemed to work properly, though."
"Only the Sanatio, Severus?"
"Just the one," the Potions master admitted tersely.
For a moment, Dumbledore's look was closed and pensive, as if he were pondering something.
"The Sanatio is a powerful potion," he finally remarked after no less than five minutes. "It is hard to brew, and the ingredients are hard to come by." He cleared his throat and glanced out the window. The frozen lake gleamed in the midday sun. Snape found himself wishing that he were underneath the surface, rather than there, being scrutinized by the headmaster.
"And it also manages to temporarily stop aftereffects and side effects of curses and hexes." Dumbledore still appeared to be deep in thought.
Snape could see where the conversation was leading. Is it possible that someone cast a spell of some sort on me? he wondered. He chose not to vocalize that particular query.
If Dumbledore had any ideas, he chose not to share them either. "Keep a close watch on your health, Severus," the aging wizard remarked instead. "And tell me if anything comes up."
Snape nodded once. Dumbledore, seemingly satisfied with that, bade Madam Pomfrey farewell and headed back to his office.
Snape fisted his hands into his sleeves, pulling at them absentmindedly. "My robes now, if you please," he told the Mediwitch.
"Oh," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, "that's right." She pulled them out from inside a closet, all neatly folded and laundered. She put them in his arms and shut the curtains around his bed, leaving him to dress in private, with nothing but his thoughts to bother him.
"The plot thickens."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's right, Ron," she said wryly.
After missing Harry and Ron by a few minutes when they had headed for the Quidditch field that previous evening, Hermione had retired early and had opted to wait for them when morning came instead. She had stayed in the common room, reading on On-Contact potions until the two boys had come down with the usual male Gryffindor populace at their heels.
"I can't believe we missed it." Ron shook his head, clearly dismayed. "If only Fred and George hadn't asked us to play Quidditch. Besides, they always manage to plough over most of the younger years . . . except maybe Harry." He frowned.
"Start from the beginning," Harry implored, choosing to ignore the familiar underlying jealousy in Ron's last statement. "You were in the dungeons . . . ?"
"I was brewing the Aevum," Hermione recounted, "and we were talking. Then, all of a sudden, he just . . . sort of blacked out. I can't really describe it. Anyway, he looked like he was in pain, so I did the first thing I could think of."
"You brewed a potion," Ron provided.
"The Sanatio. I gave it to him; the sedating component took effect; I ran to the hospital wing and fetched Madam Pomfrey. End of story."
"Isn't the Sanatio a potion that Snape mentioned in his class once? He compared it to the Panacea, I think," Harry said thoughtfully. "Don't tell me you actually researched on it. He said that it was a far too advanced potion for any of us to attempt."
"Well, it worked on him when Hermione brewed it, didn't it?" Ron instantly went to Hermione's defense, as if Snape had purposely aimed the comment at her. "But seriously, I can't believe that you actually found out how to make one. He said that it was an obscure potion!"
"Just because it's obscure, it doesn't mean that it doesn't work," Hermione sniffed. "In fact, it's one of the most potent potions. Actually, it's meant to cure magical ailments, while the Panacea's for physical ones."
"So, you're saying you knew that his sickness was magically induced," Harry questioned perplexedly.
"Is magically induced," Hermione corrected. "I don't think it's over yet. If we were talking about powerful magic, like curses, the Sanatio wouldn't end it. Relieve it, perhaps, but it would be foolish to believe that the Sanatio could put an end to the problem entirely. Besides, the potion only works on side effects and aftereffects." She paused to breathe. "And no, I didn't really know. More like suspected." She suddenly looked rather disturbed.
"Intriguing," Harry said thoughtfully. Hermione had to smile; he sounded a lot like Remus Lupin with that statement.
"When are you revisiting our ailing Professor Snape?" Ron inquired as he leaned back in his chair.
"I'm supposed to be back to check on the potion later," she answered. "I doubt he'll be there, though. I want to ask him a lot of things, actually. Mostly stuff about his past. And his condition. If the opening comes."
"Good luck," Ron said with mock sincerity. "It'll take you the next ten years or so to extract that information."
"Oh, but you doubt my cunning mind," Hermione answered with a slight smirk. "After all, I've been spending some time with him; maybe he's rubbed off on me."
"If that were literal, I'd be puking in the sink right now," Ron replied.
Snape was grateful to be back in the dungeons. While his stay in the hospital wing had been repose, he had things to think about, questions to ask himself. And he knew, or at least had a hunch, that the answers probably lay within his past.
He retreated to his chambers and stood before his bookshelves, idly running his fingers over spines by habit while he mused. When he found that he had been standing for a quarter of an hour and no burst of understanding came, he walked to his favorite armchair by the hearth and sank heavily into the cushions. His eyes strayed to the fireplace, and his body registered that it was slightly drafty. He normally didn't light his fire, but he decided that that dusk, he'd allow himself the luxury. He ignited the kindling with a quick spell and leaned back, letting the warmth wash over him soothingly.
How could I have been so careless? he lambasted himself, crossing his arms in agitation. He should've paid attention to his headaches; now that they've worsened, everyone knew about it. If there was something else he hated, other than visiting Madam Pomfrey, was being the subject of discussion while he wasn't listening. Especially if he was being pitied.
Snape briefly debated on going down to the kitchens for an early supper when the fire in the hearth suddenly blazed. He looked at it in surprise before his mind registered what was happening: there was incoming mail.
A slightly charred piece of parchment popped from the flames and shot into his hands. He scowled. He immediately recognized the handwriting.
Reminded as to why he didn't light fires anymore, Snape felt even more the fool as he opened the letter.
Lucius would've used owl post if he couldn't contact me by fire anyway, he consoled himself somewhat half-heartedly as he smoothed the parchment out on the nearby table.
Severus,
The usual crowd's gathering tonight. Same place as the last, 5 PM this time. Do grace us with your presence.
Snape frowned. He was unsure of his condition, and he didn't know whether he could stomach meeting with the Death Eaters that evening. But then, the idea of missing something important to relay to Dumbledore made him reluctant to forego the gathering.
Sighing resignedly, he tucked the piece of parchment into his pockets, dressed decently and headed to Dumbledore's office.
With a quick word to the headmaster (accompanied by reminders of his health), Snape now found himself outside the gates of Hogwarts, shivering in the biting night air. He clapped his shoulders to keep himself warm and debated briefly whether he should walk or Apparate.
Deciding that the latter would be more convenient, he summoned his at-the-moment meager will and Apparated to the entrance of the Moonshine Tavern. He did the usual procedure and stepped through the threshold. The pub was bustling, as usual. He shoved against the crowd of people and made his way to the stone passageway. There, he was accosted by Lucius, whom he was expecting to be in the study at the far end of the hall.
"Ah, there you are," Malfoy senior said. He was holding an untouched glass of cabernet sauvignon. He placed it in Snape's hands and steered him to the last room of the corridor.
Snape looked around suspiciously. Malfoy's behavior was somewhat out of the ordinary; he seemed a little too easygoing, which presumably meant that he was plotting something. Snape had kept his guard up perceptively; if Lucius had noticed, he chose not to mention a thing.
The room was empty. A few personal items were scattered here and there, though, such as undergarments. Snape narrowed his eyes.
"Avery's somewhere around here," Lucius said dismissively. "Left his underwear lying all over the place after he snared some muggle woman." His lip curled in a sneer so reminiscent of his son's.
In the adjoining room, there was a muffled moan, as well as a thump against the wall that made the shelves rattle slightly.
"I suppose he's keeping himself occupied," Lucius continued airily. "Anyway," he turned towards the Potions master, "how've your headaches been?" His voice was neutral, free of malice, but Snape would swear on his ancestors' graves that the man had some underlying malevolent intention.
"Fine," he said tersely. He held Lucius' intent stare with one of his own, thanking the gods that he had had some expertise in staring contests. A teacher needed that skill.
The grayish blue eyes flickered with what seemed like an emotion akin to amusement. "Found a potion to cure it, I suppose?"
For a moment, his thoughts strayed to Hermione. Snape didn't notice that Lucius' eyes had flattened with mirth. "Yes," he chose to answer. Technically, he had thought of the Sanatio, but didn't pursue the idea, because he hadn't thought that his headaches could be magical. Of course, he would've tried it sooner or later if nothing had worked; it's just that that Granger had beaten him to it.
"That's good," Lucius replied smoothly. He sat behind his desk and poured himself his own glass of cabernet sauvignon. Snape, forgetting that he held a glass as well, downed it halfway. Heaven knew that he needed something to loosen the tension that had knotted his neck.
"Do sit down." Lucius gestured to the couches strategically placed around the cozy room. Snape obliged and sat as near to the fireplace as he could. The temperature was just as freezing there as compared to the dungeons, despite the warm glow it seemed to radiate. He exhaled and stared at his drink as he waited for Lucius to talk. He swirled the rich liquor in the glass lazily, distracted by the play of light as it seeped into the burgundy of the wine. Snape raised the glass to his lips and downed the remaining contents, rolling the bittersweet drink on his tongue before letting it ease down his throat. The warmth of the alcohol soothed him somewhat.
"It's been a long time, Severus."
Snape blinked with a start as Malfoy's words shocked him out of his stupor. With that simple remark, he already knew that something was coming.
He knew that he was treading on dangerous ground. "What are you talking about?" he nearly snapped. His voice lashed out in the silence that seemed to descend ominously.
Lucius smiled. The professor felt his stomach drop slightly.
"I know that you've never had your share of 'fun,'" the other man drawled. He took a long sip of his wine and held it before swallowing. "Even in our youth, you never opted to do as the rest did." His words were punctuated by a few thuds against the wall behind him. A woman's hoarse cries of release filtered past the barrier. Snape felt the urge to grimace and recoil, but held himself steady.
"Always full of self-control, always full of restraint," Lucius droned on in the background of Snape's slightly queasy thoughts. "Tonight, I won't have that." He smiled again, more unnerving than the last. "And I reckon that the lady in the other room wouldn't either."
"I refuse to toy with a woman that's been used, Lucius," the Potions master retorted as he again thanked the gods for allowing him a quick tongue.
"I never knew that bedding virgins was more your style, Severus," Malfoy senior returned. "That can be arranged."
"Sexual pleasure has never piqued my interest." Snape crossed his arms, daring to hope that Lucius would stop at that.
"Then how about sadism?" Lucius ploughed on. He leaned forward, and the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. He needed action; Snape could see it as well, and it made him uneasy. "Pain must have been more your pleasure, then. I recall that you always chose to use the Cruciatus." He stood and emptied his glass before tossing it back onto the tray with the rest of the glasses. "I know that you could never do this in Hogwarts, Severus. Do oblige. Join the rest of the existing Death Eaters tonight." His silver-cerulean eyes glittered.
"Come on," Lucius cajoled. His tone hinted that it would be his final attempt to convince Snape. If the Potions master refused one more time, it would mean exile.
Snape sighed numbly. "Alright, Lucius. What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to do what you want to do," the man replied.
He's manipulating my thoughts. Snape's lips flattened into a thin line. "You know I don't have anything in mind," he insisted stonily.
"Then take your pick." Lucius stood before the bookcase. He placed a slender hand on a thick encyclopedia. "It's either you join Avery behind these shelves, or you join Macnair in the basement. He's currently doing what he's good at."
Snape felt no urge to behead innocent people, but neither did he feel persuaded to further debauch the woman in the other room.
At least I won't be killing anyone, he thought as he stepped closer to the shelves. Malfoy's smile broadened. He pulled the spine of the heavy "book," and the wall slid open to admit them.
They were in a bedroom. A large, four-poster bed was placed in the center of the room, with thick, velvet sheets pooling around it in a rich shade of magenta. Golden tassels circled the ornate posts, spilling onto the carpet. The sheets were mussed and wrung. Snape had no desire to find out why.
In the corner of the room, Avery lay upon a disheveled woman, his groans sounding over her labored breathing. Snape's sensitive nose registered the odor of sex right away—that musky scent, accompanied by a slight tinge of blood. The lady was chaste before the evening had started. He briefly felt sorry for her; her first experience of sex was with a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill her as soon as she had reached her climax.
Lucius and Snape watched as Avery drained her of her strength once more. When they sprawled onto the carpet, spent for the meantime, Lucius spoke.
"How many times have you banged her now, Avery?"
The other man looked up in surprise before a tired smirk split his swollen lips. "I've lost count," he slurred.
Inebriated as well, Snape realized in disgust.
"Care to join us?" Avery inquired, as if he were doing something as mundane as eating lunch.
"I don't think I will; Narcissa would be furious," Lucius said, eliciting a snide laugh from Avery. All three of the men in the room knew that he couldn't care less about his wife. "But Severus here might be interested."
Avery raised his eyebrows. "Amazing," he grinned. "It takes you about twenty years, eh, Snape?" he snickered.
Never in my lifetime, Snape thought, feeling sick to his stomach. At least his headache wasn't bothering him as of the moment.
He glanced at the woman. She stared at him glassily, her mouth ajar in exhaustion. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, and her hair was wet. Not damp, but sodden.
Snape didn't see Lucius glance at him with a sort of perverse pleasure.
He continued to watch the girl, pondering what he should do next, when his eyes fooled him.
Honey blond hair spread on the carpet. Hazel eyes staring up at him, yet seeing through him. Lips parted, rosy and nearly bruised. Body shimmering in the candlelight with perspiration. She whimpered his name.
"Professor Snape . . ."
Snape blinked. The woman's tresses returned to a raven black, while her eyes returned to dark blue.
Lucius' lips were in a knowing smile. "Anything bothering you, Severus?"
Snape took a moment to work his tongue. "Nothing—Nothing at all . . ."
"Good," Avery put in. "Now that she's beginning to regain consciousness, I say we work her again. I'll hold her arms; you work your charm. . . ."
Hermione stirred the potion slowly as it bubbled in the cauldron. Just a few more days of a low fire, and the concoction would be ready.
She checked her wristwatch. She had been there for an hour now, and still, Professor Snape was missing.
It wasn't as if she was seeking his presence to correct her mistakes, though. She was perfectly aware of what she was doing. It was just that she needed some company, even if he mostly remained quiet while she worked. And besides that, she had a few questions to ask. She wondered if he knew that his headache was most likely magically afflicted. And she wanted to know if the Death Eaters ever thought of shifting blame before.
Just as she was beginning to think of leaving the dungeons, she saw Professor Snape's figure stride past the doors.
Snape felt dirty. Tainted, inside and out.
And it didn't help that his headache was starting to return.
He trudged to the dungeons wearily, feeling his strength seep out of his system with every step that he took. As if "pleasuring" that woman wasn't enough, Avery had insisted that they use the Crucio on her before killing her. And Lucius had insisted that Snape do it.
Snape couldn't save her from her impeding death. All he did was spare her a few moments of rest. He cast the Imperius Curse on her to make it seem as if she was writhing in pain while he feigned the Crucio, but he knew that it wouldn't last long. Avery took the liberty of finishing her with the Killing Curse. Then they hauled her over to Macnair, who was more than happy to mutilate her first before burying her. If ever they did bother to give her that small scrap of dignity.
Talking to the headmaster about it had only worsened his feeling of guilt. Dumbledore had insisted that he had done no harm, but Snape knew otherwise. He had given in to Lucius Malfoy, just as he had years and years before.
"It's all part of your disguise," Dumbledore had said. What if he no longer wanted to act as a spy?
Stop complaining, he reprimanded sharply. This is the price you pay for associating with the likes of them.
For now, all he could do was wallow in remorse. And take a bath. He needed the blood off of his hands.
"Professor Snape!"
Hermione walked to the doors. He paused and turned to face her. She barely suppressed a gasp at his haggard appearance. His eyes were shadowed with something that seemed like grief, while his skin was deathly white. He looked as if he had just come from Azkaban.
"Are—are you alright . . . ?" she asked tentatively. He didn't answer. "Professor Snape?" She raised her hand, and he flinched slightly at the movement.
"I'm quite fine, Miss Granger," he replied tonelessly. His voice still had that sharpness to it, but that night, it was dulled by some overruling emotion that seemed to drive him near insanity. "By the way," his eyes seemed to clear for a while, but his lips formed a sneer, "I must thank you for the Sanatio. It relieved my headache quite well. How very . . . Gryffindor of you to help."
Hermione was taken aback. "You fainted, Professor," she reminded him tensely. "What was I supposed to do, let you lie there?"
"Yes, you corrected me where I had made my mistake," he said smoothly. Suddenly, all traces of sarcasm left his expression, replaced by a seriousness she hadn't seen him wear before.
"I didn't deserve your help, Miss Granger," Snape said. He hunched in defeat and fatigue.
Hermione almost reached out to him again, but a sharp myriad of odors met her nose. She could detect wine there; he was drunk. If not drunk, then quite intoxicated. She smacked herself mentally for not noticing it sooner. Second . . . she rather thought that she could smell something tangy there, something like musk. It took her a moment to register the scent of sex. She had smelled that in Parvati's robes when they were doing their laundry, but it hadn't been as overpowering, or as disconcerting. She stared at the Potions master in shock and astonishment.
She watched wordlessly as he turned his back on her and strode towards his chambers.
Snape lay in the tub, allowing the scalding water to burn his skin. He scrubbed his hair and his hands vigorously, rinsing away the lingering traces of the night. He had soaped and cleansed himself until his skin was raw, and only then was he halfway satisfied. He then pulled the plug and watched the water drain, thinking with some degree of amusement that it would be nice if he could drain away as well. He then toweled himself dry, and upon making sure that his hair was dry as well (there was no sense in allowing himself to catch a head cold; his headache was burden enough), he climbed into bed and felt sleep hit him like a hammer.
He was in a dark room. It looked like his own dungeons, but the surroundings were so dim that he could barely make the outline of things.
There was someone lying in the corner, from what he could discern.
He made his way to the figure. The body lay face down. Her hair spilled in a tangled mess around her shoulders.
He turned her over. Minerva McGonagall stared up at him unseeingly, her eyes glazed over with death. Several scars and lesions marred her face.
He felt a stab of terror. He backed up until he felt the edge of a desk nudge his hip painfully. He glanced at the table and took a step to the side as to avoid it.
Against his will, his eyes returned to the huddled woman in the corner.
Minerva McGonagall no longer gazed at him hollowly.
Hermione Granger did.
-----
A/N: Finally! I can't wait to write the next chapter. It's when everything happens. :) Let's just say that Snape finally sorts out his priorities; they finally find out why Black's accused of being a Death Eater, and I think it's a cliffhanger too. :)
Lucius' line about bedding virgins was somewhat derived from Riley's Pawn to Queen. There are some similarities between the meeting in this chapter and her Dark Revel as well. And the conversation between Hermione and Severus later on about the Sanatio was also sort of derived from Auror Borealis' Blank Slate. Amazing fics, those two. I've gotten a lot of inspiration from those writers as well.
For some reason, Lucius' cajoling in this chapter made me think of slash. (But this fic has none of that, though.)
Please do send in your comments and criticisms. They help immensely; they're the pride and joy of a writer. :)