Snape sat in his squalid cell with his arms perched on his bent knees, listening to the sounds around him. He could hear the pleading and screaming of a tortured soul not too far from him.
"Moira! Moira, no! These are lies! You're not real! You're not-." The cry was interrupted by a scream that chilled him to the core. Even after the voice had died away, the pain echoed through the stone corridors and rooms, seeming to cling to the air. It was the scream of both physical and mental torment.
Snape didn't have to be told to know what was happening. He understood the nature of their captors. He had participated in many of their methods and helped to develop more than a few. They were torturing Lupin in the forms of those he trusted and loved most. Last night, James. Tonight, Moira. Tomorrow? Perhaps Sirius or Dumbledore. They were trying to break him. They would break him.
Then, theoretically, the Imperious Curse would affect him even as he was a werewolf. Destroy the man and control the animal. It was both ingenious and terrifying.
And now, Snape sat perhaps no more than a hundred feet from Remus Lupin, the man for whom they had been searching, and there was nothing he could do but sit and listen to the screaming, steeling his own soul against the bitter pain it induced within him.
Soon, the screams ended, deteriorating into deep sobs. Snape closed his eyes. They were so close to destroying him. Time was running short.
The click of the latch being drawn brought his attention to the door. Voldemort entered, though Snape glanced Lucius Malfoy lurking in the corridor.
"My lord," Snape said, bowing his head slightly.
"Severus, how are you enjoying your accommodations?"
"To what do I owe the honor of these accommodations?"
A low sound escaped Voldemort's throat, sending chills racing up and down Snape's spine. He was laughing.
"Severus, you were once the most promising of all my Death Eaters. Intelligent, loyal, patient. You did not adhere to our beliefs; you embodied them. And yet, here you are, a prisoner in a dirty little cell. Why do you think this happened?"
"Karma," he answered dryly.
The skin on the Dark Lord's smooth face stretched grotesquely, revealing his even white teeth. A smile.
Sirius helped from Moira from the ground, steadying her, and led her through the passageways, back out to fresh air, then toward the school. Her legs were still shaky, but she seemed to be more under control with each step. He brought her to a hidden entrance which led to the dungeon and turned to leave, but was stayed by Moira's hand on his arm.
"Come inside. Have a drink with me."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. You look as pale as I feel. We should probably talk about it."
Sirius nodded and, pulling the hood of his cloak to fully hide his face, followed her into the school.
"You've double-crossed me, Severus. I've known it since Quirrell's demise. You are serving Dumbledore. I aught to kill you for that. I will kill you for that, but first, I want you to know that the downfall of the Hogwarts School, the death of its staff and so many promising students, is on your head."
"I'm not the one killing innocent children," Snape answered bitterly.
"There's no such thin gas innocent. But as you said Severus, you're not the one doing it. You're making it all possible. You and your research."
"My research?"
"Your research. But then, how could you have known that one day, your contributions to the Wolfsbane Potion would serve, with a few adjustments, to create the opposite effect in a patient without waiting for the moon? In twenty-four hours, your beloved school and your beloved headmaster will be no more. And then, neither will you."
Sirius awoke with a start, unsure what had woken him. He was sitting in a chair before the dying fire in Moira's room where he had fallen asleep. He stretched his limbs, and then turned his head from side to side, attempting to work out the cricks that had settled there. A sound reached his ears and he froze, aware now that this was what had wakened him in the first place. He turned and saw Moira curled up on the bed on top of her blankets and fully clothed.
She was crying.
"Moira?" he called softly. In the light of the dying embers of the hearth, he could not tell if she was awake, though she had no reaction when he had called her name. He rose from the chair and stepped silently toward the bed where he sat down beside her. Again, she made no movement, though her cries had softened to a whimper. Gently, he caressed her cheek, smoothing a lock of hair from her face. For a moment, he was reminded of that long ago time when he often awoke to find her snuggled against him under heavy blankets. And how, like now, he often found her crying in her sleep after the loss of her parents. Bending down, he kissed her forehead softly.
"Remus?" she sighed.
Sirius' heart sank at the whisper of this name from the lips of the woman sleeping before him.
"We'll find him," he whispered in answer. "I promise, I'll bring him back to you."
He stretched out on the bed beside her and wrapped his arms around her, comforting her as he always had before, but well aware that in her dreams, it was not his arms that she felt. Or desired.