Chapter Two: The Tenth Death Eater
Author's Note: I forgot to mention that this part (including the first chapter) is taking place before Voldemort's Fall. The GoF-setting will come in shortly. Just thought I'd clarify.
Also thought I'd mention that I feel myself becoming quite the rabid Snape/Sinistra fanatic.
Oh, and Enfleurage, kudos for noticing the change of last names. Pay attention, and all shall be explained. And yes, dear old Dumbledore is quite the conniver.
* * *
Ciera looked up at the old man kneeling by her from where she had propped herself up on one elbow. It was a long story to explain who he was? How strange. She didn't need a story to tell who she was. She knew. But she hadn't told anyone. They all thought she was dead, didn't they?
Severus watched her closely. It was quite apparent that she was already losing her mind, though she had only been imprisoned for a little over two weeks. She had that vacant, empty stare in her eyes, a gaze brought on by Dementors. Her black robes, the same ones she had worn the night of the battle, were torn and dusty, hanging limply from her deteriorating form. Her face was bone-thin, her cheeks hollowing and her eyes rimmed with black circles.
She got to her feet, her bare soles arching against the cold ground as she paced the small cell. After a moment, she glanced at Dumbledore with a scowl. "What do you want with me? No one knows I'm here. I'm dead to them... dead like him. No visitors... nothing." She threw a cursory glare at the two men. "You know. How? What do you want? No one cares what I want, of course. No one bothers to ask."
Dumbledore's voice was soft, reassuring. "And what do you want?"
"To be left alone," came the curt answer, followed quickly by the pacing. She reminded Severus of a captive animal... one like he had seen once at the Muggle zoos as a child. She had been used to freedom... the confines of the cell were driving her as mad as the Dementors were.
He wondered how the headmaster had known that she was here. But his connections were vast and sordid... information was constantly coming to him. Doubtless, another connection had come through about the girl.
He briefly went over what he knew of her. Her name was Ciera Ophelia Lanen and she had, apparently, attended Hogwarts a few brief years before he himself had entered. She had been in Ravenclaw, strangely enough. Few Ravenclaws found themselves prey to Voldemort's promises.
Shortly after her seventh year, she had joined the ranks of Death Eaters, apparently encouraged chiefly by a certain Slytherin love interest of hers, and had remained loyal until her recent capture. With her trial tomorrow, she was certainly doomed to a life and death within Azkaban.
Enter Dumbledore. With reasons yet unknown, he had dragged Severus here with a dreadfully dismal plan of rescuing the Death Eater. Dumbledore had contrived a new identity for her, one clear of all Death Eater affiliation, under the name of Ciera Sinistra. Severus was to pose as her fiancee and attest for her 'innocence' so that they could bring her back to Hogwarts, a repeat of Severus' own first days out of Azkaban.
He sighed. It would never work. Never. He watched as her restless pacing finally ceased and she settled wearily onto her cot, scratching absently at her left arm.
Her left arm...
He stepped forward and laid his hand on Dumbledore's shoulder, bending to whisper in his ear. The old wizard nodded. "Of course, of course..." He moved to sit beside her and took her hand in his, slowly rolling up her tattered sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark.
Her dark eyes stared at it for a few moments, then glanced up at him. "You don't know what I've done," she whispered with the haunted voice of one who has been forced to relive her mistakes over and over for the past two weeks. Her voice had lost its rough edge and was now strained. It was a tone painfully familiar to Snape.
Dumbledore reached out to cup her chin in his hand, but she pulled away, moving as far back from him as she could while he still held her hand. "The past does not matter, my dear. Only the future counts, and what you make of it. Not many people are blessed enough to receive second chances."
She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Why me, then?"
He smiled. "Some things cannot be explained at the present moment. We must wait and find out for ourselves." He stood abruptly. "But if you do not want to leave, I'll understand completely. I've heard Azkaban can be rather nice in the summers..."
She leapt to her feet, wrapping thin hands around his wrist. "No," she whispered hoarsely. "No." Her eyes pleaded with him silently, begging him not to leave her. The old man seemed so familiar... he reminded her of her childhood somehow... of feasts and games and moving staircases and singing suits of armor. It seemed so long ago, like a fairytale. "Whatever you want... I'll do it... please..."
He placed his other hand over hers, warming the frigid skin. "Shh, my dear..." He gently set her back down on the cot. "Now, you must listen carefully to me and do precisely as I tell you. Do you understand?" Silently, she nodded, though she still hadn't relinquished her grasp on his arm. "I'm going to help you. Both of us are." His sparkling blue eyes held hers with his intense gaze. "From now on, you are no longer Ciera Lanen, but are Ciera Sinistra. Furthermore, you are hitherto engaged to be married."
At the last words, she visibly started. "Married?" she whispered, a slight trembling in her voice. Her already-pale face drained of any remaining color and the hollow look in her eyes became more pronounced.
"Yes. To Severus."
She frowned. "To... Sev-who?"
He gestured behind him to the sallow, black-robed man who had accompanied him into the cell. He was the one, she noted, who had called her mad. "To Severus Snape."
The frown became more pronounced as she studied him further. "I don't want to marry that."
Snape's own customary scowl multiplied tenfold at the comment. Of course he knew he was no great prize of a husband, no one needed to tell him *that*... but it was hardly basis for such a crude comment, even from an Azkaban inmate.
"It's only pretend, my dear. A game."
Her frown remained, but she slowly nodded, turning her hollow stare to Severus. "Well?"
He returned the stare, his brow furrowing slightly. "Yes?"
"I don't have a ring."
"A... ring?" He blinked.
She held up her left hand and wriggled her ring finger. "A ring."
He rolled his eyes skyward. Good Merlin... "I don't..." He was cut off abruptly as Dumbledore rose from the cot and produced from the depths of his elegant robes a gold ring. Reluctantly, Snape took it, examining it briefly. It was simple, thankfully, set with a single diamond. He supposed that it would be the sort of ring he would have chosen himself... not that he would ever consider marriage of the real kind.
Gritting his teeth, he held the ring out to Ciera. She shook her head, crossing her arms across her chest. "That's not the way you do it, you know."
He opened his mouth, then abruptly shut it, glancing sharply at Dumbledore. The headmaster gave the distinct impression that he was enjoying this a bit too much. He waved his hand at Snape, who was standing stiffly in place. "If you will, Severus... lowering oneself to one's knee seems to be the common way to do this sort of thing."
"Thank you, Albus," he growled. Oh, if looks could kill. Jerkily, he knelt on the floor in front of Ciera, feeling embarrassment rush to his pale cheeks. She stared expectantly at him. He gripped the ring in his right hand, only slightly concerned with the potential of shattering it.
He forced his clenched teeth apart. "Will you?" he snarled, staring fixedly at the ground.
She raised an eyebrow. "Romantic, isn't he?"
He heard Albus laugh. "Yes, Severus can be dreadfully sentimental. It's rather a problem." He smiled broadly. "Come now, you can do better than that."
"I think, Headmaster," he began carefully, "that our time would be better spent instructing her as to your plans for tomorrow."
"Nonsense. I'll handle the entire thing. All either of you need do is testify that you are indeed engaged. However, to do that, you must finish your task."
"Albus, please," he hissed, both his hands now clenched into fists. But if he were looking for support, Albus Dumbledore offered none. So he turned back to Ciera, who was still looking expectantly at him. "Fine, dammit... will you..." he paused, the unfamiliar words seeming to get stuck on his unusually dry tongue. "Will you..." He whet his lips and cleared his throat. Why was this so bloody difficult? Albus was right. It was just a game. He'd lied to Voldemort, why couldn't he ask a girl to pretend to be his wife? Fine then. He'd do it. "Will you... marry me?"
A smile broke across her face, seeming out of place in the hollows of her features. "How could I refuse that?" she said, extending her hand. He took her hand and unceremoniously slid the ring over her finger. As if her touch burned him, he just as quickly dropped her hand.
He got to his feet, clasping his hands behind him and scowling darkly. "I suppose you're happy," he growled at Albus.
The headmaster also stood, applauding lightly. "Wonderful, Severus. A truly moving performance."
Snape only snarled from deep in his throat and whirled away, storming out of the cell. Ciera glanced after him as his angry footsteps echoed off the walls. "Is he always so charming?"
"I'm afraid so, my dear... I'm afraid so." He bent to kiss her forehead. "We'll see you tomorrow at the trial, then?"
The smile left her face immediately. "They won't let me go." She broke away from his touch, shuddering as a crazed yell pierced the silence. "They'll find out..." her voice became hoarse. "They'll know."
"Of course they won't. How would they? No one knows except for us and your future husband."
She attempted another smile, but failed miserably. "I don't want to stay... my good thoughts are gone." Looking at him, she tried to remember the fairytale... the ghosts and an enchanted ceiling... but as soon as her mind latched on to the memory, it became as fleeting a breath of air.
He tucked a stand of hair behind her ear. "We'll get you some new good thoughts, then."
"Promise?"
"I promise." Again, he kissed her forehead. "Tomorrow, then?"
She nodded, sinking back onto the cot as she watched him leave. The door locked itself behind him, leaving her alone. She shuddered, curling up tightly. She fingered the ring on her hand, clinging to it in the darkness. She didn't care who she had to marry... she was going to get out.
Another scream shattered her thoughts, coming from a few cells over. Perhaps she would go crazy before tomorrow. Tomorrow seemed like a very long time... time ceased to pass inside her cell. Days stretched on like months at a time.
Tomorrow could be an eternity.
And surely, she would not last that long.
Her fingers found the ring again, and as she closed her eyes, she allowed herself to dream that she was not marrying that great, greasy bat. Instead, Tomas was with her. He had slid the ring onto her hand, had kissed her and begged her to marry him.
A smile, slightly crazed, flickered over her face. She could almost feel him, feel his warmth next to her. But even as she did, the heat began to freeze, to turn deathly cold, until she could once again feel his dead weight pressing her into the lumpy mattress.
She screamed, her eyes flying open, and she scrambled from the cot, crawling across the floor on her hands and knees to huddle in the corner. She shook violently, clutching her emancipated arms around her knees in an effort to control her shudders. But they only increased as, in the darkness, her mad eyes stared at the mattress, seeing not an empty cot, but the corpse of Tomas, haunting her worse than any Dementor. But he couldn't be there. She was alone. Alone.
"The girl is most likely half mad," came Severus' voice, drifting to her from the darkness.
"I'm not," she whispered, her eyes still fixed on the cot. "I'm not mad."
"Hurt much, love?" Now it was Tomas, his voice eerily detached, swirling around her and echoing his last words over and over inside her head.
"Go away," she whispered, her voice desperate as she pressed her palms against her ears. "Please go away..." But her pleas did nothing, leaving her with naught to do but scream like the others.
END CHAPTER TWO
Author's Note: I forgot to mention that this part (including the first chapter) is taking place before Voldemort's Fall. The GoF-setting will come in shortly. Just thought I'd clarify.
Also thought I'd mention that I feel myself becoming quite the rabid Snape/Sinistra fanatic.
Oh, and Enfleurage, kudos for noticing the change of last names. Pay attention, and all shall be explained. And yes, dear old Dumbledore is quite the conniver.
* * *
Ciera looked up at the old man kneeling by her from where she had propped herself up on one elbow. It was a long story to explain who he was? How strange. She didn't need a story to tell who she was. She knew. But she hadn't told anyone. They all thought she was dead, didn't they?
Severus watched her closely. It was quite apparent that she was already losing her mind, though she had only been imprisoned for a little over two weeks. She had that vacant, empty stare in her eyes, a gaze brought on by Dementors. Her black robes, the same ones she had worn the night of the battle, were torn and dusty, hanging limply from her deteriorating form. Her face was bone-thin, her cheeks hollowing and her eyes rimmed with black circles.
She got to her feet, her bare soles arching against the cold ground as she paced the small cell. After a moment, she glanced at Dumbledore with a scowl. "What do you want with me? No one knows I'm here. I'm dead to them... dead like him. No visitors... nothing." She threw a cursory glare at the two men. "You know. How? What do you want? No one cares what I want, of course. No one bothers to ask."
Dumbledore's voice was soft, reassuring. "And what do you want?"
"To be left alone," came the curt answer, followed quickly by the pacing. She reminded Severus of a captive animal... one like he had seen once at the Muggle zoos as a child. She had been used to freedom... the confines of the cell were driving her as mad as the Dementors were.
He wondered how the headmaster had known that she was here. But his connections were vast and sordid... information was constantly coming to him. Doubtless, another connection had come through about the girl.
He briefly went over what he knew of her. Her name was Ciera Ophelia Lanen and she had, apparently, attended Hogwarts a few brief years before he himself had entered. She had been in Ravenclaw, strangely enough. Few Ravenclaws found themselves prey to Voldemort's promises.
Shortly after her seventh year, she had joined the ranks of Death Eaters, apparently encouraged chiefly by a certain Slytherin love interest of hers, and had remained loyal until her recent capture. With her trial tomorrow, she was certainly doomed to a life and death within Azkaban.
Enter Dumbledore. With reasons yet unknown, he had dragged Severus here with a dreadfully dismal plan of rescuing the Death Eater. Dumbledore had contrived a new identity for her, one clear of all Death Eater affiliation, under the name of Ciera Sinistra. Severus was to pose as her fiancee and attest for her 'innocence' so that they could bring her back to Hogwarts, a repeat of Severus' own first days out of Azkaban.
He sighed. It would never work. Never. He watched as her restless pacing finally ceased and she settled wearily onto her cot, scratching absently at her left arm.
Her left arm...
He stepped forward and laid his hand on Dumbledore's shoulder, bending to whisper in his ear. The old wizard nodded. "Of course, of course..." He moved to sit beside her and took her hand in his, slowly rolling up her tattered sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark.
Her dark eyes stared at it for a few moments, then glanced up at him. "You don't know what I've done," she whispered with the haunted voice of one who has been forced to relive her mistakes over and over for the past two weeks. Her voice had lost its rough edge and was now strained. It was a tone painfully familiar to Snape.
Dumbledore reached out to cup her chin in his hand, but she pulled away, moving as far back from him as she could while he still held her hand. "The past does not matter, my dear. Only the future counts, and what you make of it. Not many people are blessed enough to receive second chances."
She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Why me, then?"
He smiled. "Some things cannot be explained at the present moment. We must wait and find out for ourselves." He stood abruptly. "But if you do not want to leave, I'll understand completely. I've heard Azkaban can be rather nice in the summers..."
She leapt to her feet, wrapping thin hands around his wrist. "No," she whispered hoarsely. "No." Her eyes pleaded with him silently, begging him not to leave her. The old man seemed so familiar... he reminded her of her childhood somehow... of feasts and games and moving staircases and singing suits of armor. It seemed so long ago, like a fairytale. "Whatever you want... I'll do it... please..."
He placed his other hand over hers, warming the frigid skin. "Shh, my dear..." He gently set her back down on the cot. "Now, you must listen carefully to me and do precisely as I tell you. Do you understand?" Silently, she nodded, though she still hadn't relinquished her grasp on his arm. "I'm going to help you. Both of us are." His sparkling blue eyes held hers with his intense gaze. "From now on, you are no longer Ciera Lanen, but are Ciera Sinistra. Furthermore, you are hitherto engaged to be married."
At the last words, she visibly started. "Married?" she whispered, a slight trembling in her voice. Her already-pale face drained of any remaining color and the hollow look in her eyes became more pronounced.
"Yes. To Severus."
She frowned. "To... Sev-who?"
He gestured behind him to the sallow, black-robed man who had accompanied him into the cell. He was the one, she noted, who had called her mad. "To Severus Snape."
The frown became more pronounced as she studied him further. "I don't want to marry that."
Snape's own customary scowl multiplied tenfold at the comment. Of course he knew he was no great prize of a husband, no one needed to tell him *that*... but it was hardly basis for such a crude comment, even from an Azkaban inmate.
"It's only pretend, my dear. A game."
Her frown remained, but she slowly nodded, turning her hollow stare to Severus. "Well?"
He returned the stare, his brow furrowing slightly. "Yes?"
"I don't have a ring."
"A... ring?" He blinked.
She held up her left hand and wriggled her ring finger. "A ring."
He rolled his eyes skyward. Good Merlin... "I don't..." He was cut off abruptly as Dumbledore rose from the cot and produced from the depths of his elegant robes a gold ring. Reluctantly, Snape took it, examining it briefly. It was simple, thankfully, set with a single diamond. He supposed that it would be the sort of ring he would have chosen himself... not that he would ever consider marriage of the real kind.
Gritting his teeth, he held the ring out to Ciera. She shook her head, crossing her arms across her chest. "That's not the way you do it, you know."
He opened his mouth, then abruptly shut it, glancing sharply at Dumbledore. The headmaster gave the distinct impression that he was enjoying this a bit too much. He waved his hand at Snape, who was standing stiffly in place. "If you will, Severus... lowering oneself to one's knee seems to be the common way to do this sort of thing."
"Thank you, Albus," he growled. Oh, if looks could kill. Jerkily, he knelt on the floor in front of Ciera, feeling embarrassment rush to his pale cheeks. She stared expectantly at him. He gripped the ring in his right hand, only slightly concerned with the potential of shattering it.
He forced his clenched teeth apart. "Will you?" he snarled, staring fixedly at the ground.
She raised an eyebrow. "Romantic, isn't he?"
He heard Albus laugh. "Yes, Severus can be dreadfully sentimental. It's rather a problem." He smiled broadly. "Come now, you can do better than that."
"I think, Headmaster," he began carefully, "that our time would be better spent instructing her as to your plans for tomorrow."
"Nonsense. I'll handle the entire thing. All either of you need do is testify that you are indeed engaged. However, to do that, you must finish your task."
"Albus, please," he hissed, both his hands now clenched into fists. But if he were looking for support, Albus Dumbledore offered none. So he turned back to Ciera, who was still looking expectantly at him. "Fine, dammit... will you..." he paused, the unfamiliar words seeming to get stuck on his unusually dry tongue. "Will you..." He whet his lips and cleared his throat. Why was this so bloody difficult? Albus was right. It was just a game. He'd lied to Voldemort, why couldn't he ask a girl to pretend to be his wife? Fine then. He'd do it. "Will you... marry me?"
A smile broke across her face, seeming out of place in the hollows of her features. "How could I refuse that?" she said, extending her hand. He took her hand and unceremoniously slid the ring over her finger. As if her touch burned him, he just as quickly dropped her hand.
He got to his feet, clasping his hands behind him and scowling darkly. "I suppose you're happy," he growled at Albus.
The headmaster also stood, applauding lightly. "Wonderful, Severus. A truly moving performance."
Snape only snarled from deep in his throat and whirled away, storming out of the cell. Ciera glanced after him as his angry footsteps echoed off the walls. "Is he always so charming?"
"I'm afraid so, my dear... I'm afraid so." He bent to kiss her forehead. "We'll see you tomorrow at the trial, then?"
The smile left her face immediately. "They won't let me go." She broke away from his touch, shuddering as a crazed yell pierced the silence. "They'll find out..." her voice became hoarse. "They'll know."
"Of course they won't. How would they? No one knows except for us and your future husband."
She attempted another smile, but failed miserably. "I don't want to stay... my good thoughts are gone." Looking at him, she tried to remember the fairytale... the ghosts and an enchanted ceiling... but as soon as her mind latched on to the memory, it became as fleeting a breath of air.
He tucked a stand of hair behind her ear. "We'll get you some new good thoughts, then."
"Promise?"
"I promise." Again, he kissed her forehead. "Tomorrow, then?"
She nodded, sinking back onto the cot as she watched him leave. The door locked itself behind him, leaving her alone. She shuddered, curling up tightly. She fingered the ring on her hand, clinging to it in the darkness. She didn't care who she had to marry... she was going to get out.
Another scream shattered her thoughts, coming from a few cells over. Perhaps she would go crazy before tomorrow. Tomorrow seemed like a very long time... time ceased to pass inside her cell. Days stretched on like months at a time.
Tomorrow could be an eternity.
And surely, she would not last that long.
Her fingers found the ring again, and as she closed her eyes, she allowed herself to dream that she was not marrying that great, greasy bat. Instead, Tomas was with her. He had slid the ring onto her hand, had kissed her and begged her to marry him.
A smile, slightly crazed, flickered over her face. She could almost feel him, feel his warmth next to her. But even as she did, the heat began to freeze, to turn deathly cold, until she could once again feel his dead weight pressing her into the lumpy mattress.
She screamed, her eyes flying open, and she scrambled from the cot, crawling across the floor on her hands and knees to huddle in the corner. She shook violently, clutching her emancipated arms around her knees in an effort to control her shudders. But they only increased as, in the darkness, her mad eyes stared at the mattress, seeing not an empty cot, but the corpse of Tomas, haunting her worse than any Dementor. But he couldn't be there. She was alone. Alone.
"The girl is most likely half mad," came Severus' voice, drifting to her from the darkness.
"I'm not," she whispered, her eyes still fixed on the cot. "I'm not mad."
"Hurt much, love?" Now it was Tomas, his voice eerily detached, swirling around her and echoing his last words over and over inside her head.
"Go away," she whispered, her voice desperate as she pressed her palms against her ears. "Please go away..." But her pleas did nothing, leaving her with naught to do but scream like the others.
END CHAPTER TWO
