Chapter 10 – Walking in Darkness
The Dark Arts were intoxicating, the ultimate power-rush. When Severus gathered with the other Death Eaters, he felt in control at last, and yet consumed by what seemed to be the greatest force. He knew he could never satiate his hunger for more of these Dark Powers.
At the Potions Research Division, where he was working since he had left Hogwarts, Severus was using – and enjoying – the art of manipulation. He found he didn't even need curses to wile his way into so-called friendships – to break through into people's weak spots. He did not fear people anymore – he despised them. And so, with the instinctive knowledge that he could cause them more pain than they had ever suffered, he managed to portray himself as likeable. People were so naïve…
Hubert McKenzie, a former Hufflepuff a couple of years older than him, was often his lab partner, sharing a passion for Veritaserum without a clue of what Severus was planning to use it for. He was an affable sort of man although shy, and somewhat in awe of Severus's quick grasp of the subtle science. Severus luxuriated in his new found smugness, finding numerous opportunities to patronise McKenzie and yet somehow twist the sarcasm back so that the nervous man never doubted that they were friends. In any case, McKenzie seemed to value a quiet life above all else, and convince himself that Severus meant it all in fun until he cast the Cruciatus curse and spilled rash potion all over him. What a fool…
As for everyone else, he could put on a very charming act. It was, after all, the act he had put on for Geoff and Richard in the past few months. What good had friendships ever done him? They'd brought him pain and fear and misery… Better to pretend. He didn't need real friendships anymore. He was his own best friend, and that's the way he felt it should be.
*
Severus's expertise in potions surpassed that even of Death Eaters older than himself, and Lord Voldemort was pleased with his position, from which he could access even the rarest ingredients. Using Polyjuice, Voldemort had spies even within the Ministry of Magic (although that was not to say that some of the genuine employees of the Ministry of Magic were not also servants of Voldemort), and Severus was an invaluable source of bicorn horn and boomslang skin – not to mention the potion itself.
Severus had to reflect, he did find some enjoyment in potions that felt somewhat apart from his main aim to serve his lord and to immerse himself in the Dark Arts. It was not the intoxicating seduction of Dark Magic, but a kind of emotionless contentment; calm, peaceful, and nothing that would shake his soul in the way that following Voldemort did.
In the mornings at eleven, all the researchers sat in the conference room drinking coffee, reading the newspapers (both Wizard and Muggle) and exchanging idle conversation. If it had been a slow few days, the idle conversation tended to be on latest wizarding events, their own personal lives, and Quidditch ("I abhor Quidditch," Samuel Tellingford had announced one day, much to the disgust of some of his colleagues. Severus had granted him a thin-lipped smile and coolly assured him it was overrated). If, however, one or more of them had made a major breakthrough, it would have been foolish to even think of talking of anything other than potions. The previous week, Brenda Valence, who was a biochemist as well as a potions expert, had come across an astounding possibility for a cancer prevention potion for the magical community.
"Why not the Muggle community?" Tellingford had questioned sardonically. Almost everyone flinched. To be seen to be against Muggles in this day and age was just as bad as being pro-Muggles. Signs of the time showed that being against Muggles would probably have you jailed as a Death Eater, but being openly pro meant that the Death Eaters might do worse to you. Muggles were, in other words, a touchy subject.
Valence was unperturbed.
"It works using the natural magic in the person's cells. Muggles at best have little magic – it simply wouldn't work for them."
"How does it work?" McKenzie put in. "Does it stop cells from dividing?"
Valence smiled. "No, it doesn't. It actually keeps the DNA from mutating."
"Wouldn't that cease evolution?" A typical sarcastic remark from a man called Pendleton. The rest of them laughed, and Valence looked amused.
"I think you're proof that we really did evolve from apes," she said slyly, but in fun.
"So how does it harness the natural magic of the cell?" Severus was curious despite himself. Twenty minutes later, they'd abandoned their individual projects and were listening rapt as Valence excitedly told them what she had deduced.
*
Samuel Tellingford was McKenzie and Severus's supervisor, and Severus got the distinct impression that Tellingford didn't like him. He was the only one who appeared not to – the rest of his colleagues viewed him in general as a witty, intelligent young man sharing a similar passion, and therefore a friend. Tellingford, however, appeared to view him with suspicion. He'd never said so much in words – he had always been polite and helpful – however, he viewed Severus's work with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, and never mind that Severus was far closer to cracking Veritaserum than McKenzie would ever be.
Tellingford really was a champion of Muggles, and didn't care who knew it. His first choice from the newspaper rack was the Times and he would only scan the Daily Prophet, murmuring comments about the press being sensationalists who would rather Voldemort continued to attack because of their rapidly fattening wallets.
At eleven o'clock one morning, Tellingford had procured a copy of The Underground, a subversive newspaper maintained mainly by Muggleborns. He was not overly popular with the others, but even so, they seemed to be sitting further away from him than usual this morning. Valence and a few others were reading the Daily Prophet, Pendleton was snickering over something in the Sun ("Muggles are so ridiculous!"), and Severus was reading a slim volume entitled Magic in the Genes by Rosalind Franklin, preferring to stay out of newspaper politics today.
"Exactly right!" Tellingford suddenly pronounced.
"What?" Valence asked vaguely, still behind her newspaper. They knew to let the man vent whatever was on his mind, it was less painful just to get it over with.
"This article," he elaborated. "It is a thorough and logical analysis of the Ministry's complete lack of action in defending both the Muggle and Muggleborn. And it's written by a Ministry employee. A pureblood Ministry employee."
"Good for him," Pendleton murmured, but not particularly sincerely.
"Who was it?" McKenzie asked, sipping his coffee.
"Arthur Weasley."
A man called Roberts started to laugh. "Him? He's a total eccentric. Gets paid a pittance by the Ministry, and his job's a joke."
"He should be promoted," Tellingford said seriously. He glanced to Severus, making him feel uncomfortable.
*
The next day, Tellingford was pontificating about the murder of a shop keeper in Diagon Alley, a man called Simon Figg.
"He's well into his sixties, and never done anything to offend anyone. And yet the Daily Prophet insists that it was just an angry customer."
Valence calmly put down her newspaper.
"Then how do you suggest he died?" she challenged, coolly.
"It was obviously Death Eater related – all the clues point to Avada Kedavra."
"You would think Mad-Eye Moody was a Death Eater if he went out wearing black," Valence said scornfully, moving to return to her own newspaper.
"You don't know who Figg's wife is, do you?" Tellingford said sharply. Valence shrugged uninterestedly.
"I do," McKenzie said softly.
"She's outspoken against the Dark Arts. But, of course, she's in hiding at the moment. You didn't know that, did you Valence?"
"How did you?"
"I happen to read the right things, not just what the Ministry wants us to read."
"Poor Aunt Arabella," McKenzie mused quietly, and Tellingford turned to him, suddenly interested.
"You're related?"
"My mother's aunt," he explained. "I don't think Simon was killed by an angry customer either."
Tellingford nodded sympathetically, his tirade now slightly dampened. He moved back to his paper, somewhat subdued. "All I can say is, I hope that some good will eventually come of this."
*
Severus and McKenzie spent the rest of the day musing over their latest test results. They had been struggling to overcome some of the immunity problems, substituting ingredients for certain alternatives. It was difficult work, as the only way they currently had of testing the finished product was using it an antidote for Fallaciaserum, the deception potion. This had notable problems, for instance the Veritaserum might cure the deception potion, but could have no effect on lying out of freewill – the other problem was the effect of the deception potion could cause unknown effects when mixed with the Veritaserum. It was difficult work.
Severus knew that Arabella Figg was one of Voldemort's targets. He hadn't known about the murder of her husband, but it sounded like one of Malfoy's accomplishments. He wondered if McKenzie knew where the witch was hidden. How ironic that the Veritaserum, which was currently far from adequate, would be a perfect solution if only it was accurate.
"Sorry to hear about your aunt, McKenzie," he said, silkily, sounding (he noticed) not quite sincere. McKenzie apparently didn't catch the tone in his voice. He sighed. "It's awful. She's going mad, Aurors guarding her night and day."
"Have you been able to visit her?"
"Not since Uncle Simon was killed. Seems like most of the Aurors in the country are at Dragon Point at the moment."
Bingo. Severus smiled to himself – the Dark Lord would be very pleased indeed.
*
"We know that Figg is hiding in a tiny Yorkshire village, colourfully named Dragon Point." Lord Voldemort was stalking among his servants – around forty of them, robed and masked. "The Ministry of Magic believe she's well hidden, that their Aurors will keep her safe no matter what. What a blow to them if this security should fail. What a privilege to be the one that deals this blow."
He turned to the youngest Death Eaters, most of them eighteen or younger. "Snape – Rosier – Wilkes. You are the privileged. Kill Arabella Figg."
*
Rosier and Wilkes – both Slytherins his age. They were both obviously fiercely jealous and fiercely suspicious of Severus, who couldn't care less, except that their clumsiness was going to ruin the whole thing.
There was a subtle battle on who would eventually kill Figg. They weren't quite discussing it, but as they talked about what they were going to do, Severus noted that each of their plans involved the planner killing Figg. When the other two raised objections about a plan, their adjustments inevitably led to killing Figg themselves. None of them had ever killed before, and each felt they had something to prove.
Severus thought they all looked like ninja assassins – he'd seen them in articles on Muggle dueling. Instead of cumbersome robes, they were wearing black suits for ease of movement, and black masks. It was late, and they were hidden in the thicket outside a small farm on the edge of Dragon Point. Despite the outlandish name, it appeared to be an entirely Muggle village, but Wilkes, who had an acute sensitivity to magic, noted that the farmhouse had various Muggle-repellent charms and Apparition barriers around it. There was a dark robed figure by the door, smoking a pipe languidly, but other than that they could see no one around.
Behind the building, through an upper window, Rosier spied a candle. "That's got to be her," he whispered. "We can climb up and cast a sniper spell through the window."
"Don't be ridiculous," Severus whispered back. "You'll be completely exposed, any Aurors about could catch sight of you."
"In case you haven't noticed, there aren't any Aurors about," Rosier said. "And it's pitch dark out here. If you're so scared, stay on the ground."
"Yes, Snape, stay on the ground and keep watch," Wilkes sneered. "The Dark Lord will be so proud of you."
He wanted to rise to the bait – to snap at them, to climb up there himself. But he knew he was right, and this was dangerous business. If they did kill her, he would still be in Voldemort's favour for finding her, wouldn't he? Or would he? The place was too empty – there had to be more Aurors around. Reluctantly, he hissed, "Go on then, get yourselves killed."
They carefully cast mild adhesion charms to their clothes – gloves and boots. Snape, from the bushes below, watched them scale the wall. They almost reached the window before he heard a voice behind them.
"There are three wands on you. Cease all movement."
A furtive glance back told him that these words were not directed at him, but at his two fellow Death Eaters. The voice was clear, deep, and dangerous, and the speaker was one of three shadowy figures behind him.
"You are behaving in a highly suspicious manner. Either state your motives, your name and the one you serve, or we will use the Killing Curse on you. Nothing less."
Severus became aware of his pulse frantically pounding. Aurors couldn't use the Killing Curse, could they?
Wilkes and Rosier were silent. Calling their bluff. Maybe they wouldn't aim properly at this distance anyway. It was so dark. But then what? He would surely be found. They'd all be caught and sent to Azkaban…
"You have exactly five seconds. If you do not speak before those seconds are up, we will employ the Killing Curse. Five."
Did he have any escape route? They'd see if he moved. What was he hoping for?
"Four."
Severus chewed his lip, drawing the bitter taste of blood.
"Three."
Why didn't they crack? Confess they were servants of Voldemort and get taken away?
"Two."
He'd never felt so afraid in his life. There was sweat all over his body. He wouldn't have been surprised if he was sweating blood.
"One."
Please… He didn't know what he was pleading for, or to whom he was pleading. He'd be happy for the ground to swallow him up.
"Avada Kedavra." Three voices said it simultaneously. Would he be killed too? He screwed up his eyes in anticipation. The next he knew, something thumped the ground. The bodies of Rosier and Wilkes. They were dead.
The three Aurors approached to inspect them, and Severus crawled away through the vegetation, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't be detected.
There was a harsh ripping sound, and Severus looked back to see that they had torn the sleeves on the suits, and had seen the Dark Mark.
"Death Eaters. Just as I thought."
"So they've found us."
"Get everyone out on patrol. We need to know if there are any others about."
Severus retreated into the woods, struggling to think of something. He couldn't think of anything. But he couldn't run away now. Not with Rosier and Wilkes dead. There would be a Dark Mark overhead tonight if he had to die to do it.
A wave of nausea passed through him, and he vomited onto the ground. They were dead. It was incomprehensible. How could they be?
He watched five Aurors exit the farmhouse, and begin combing the area. And yet, there was still only one left at the door – the one with the pipe.
He waited until the others had gone, and began to think again. The Auror would be protected from every kind of curse. Or was that just a rumour? He was struck by an idea – a relaxing charm. It wasn't a sleeping charm, which could only be invoked at the subject's will. But the Auror might have been awake for several hours, and the charm might have the required effect.
The Auror swayed a little, and then slumped. Asleep. Perfect.
Cautiously, he approached the door, staying low. Inside, he spied another two Aurors, one by another door, the other by a staircase. He tried the same trick. The one by the stairs slumped – but the one by the door merely yawned and looked around, warily. He flicked his wand and sent a vibration through to the door, making it sound for all the world like there was someone in there. The Auror opened the door suspiciously, and looked inside, and Severus seized the opportunity to creep stealthily up the stairs out of his sight.
Now to find the woman. Doors he opened showed merely unmade beds, abandoned by the awakened Aurors. The last door on the landing, however, didn't open, not even to Alohomora. It needed a password.
What would he do? Break through the wall? Sometimes magical defences only blocked magic, there might be some sheer, brute force way he could get through. But not without awakening the Auror, and bringing attention to himself.
What might the password be? "Simon," he said softly.
The door clicked open.
How foolishly sentimental she had been – and here she was, an old woman sitting by candlelight. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but not this. Some ageing battle-axe, another scarred Auror – but not this vulnerable figure who looked half-broken by the world already.
She looked up and saw him, an inexpressible sadness filling her eyes. "I expect you've come for me," she said, resigned. "Let no one say I didn't fight the good fight."
Severus held out his wand. There was no fancy wand movement with the Killing Curse, all he had to do was hold it towards her. He found he was trembling. "Avada Kedavra."
Nothing happened – and yet everything happened. She was looking confused, and as though she was beginning to understand. "Only killers can cast the Killing Curse," she said, gently.
Then he understood. He understood why he had not killed the Aurors guarding her. There was no defence against Avada Kedavra. But he hadn't cast it – because he couldn't. And he knew that he would never be able to.
He noticed the fireplace, the embers burning low. There was Floo powder on the mantelpiece.
"Can you take Floo out of here?" Severus asked her. She nodded.
"That fireplace goes out but it can't be used to get in."
Severus's voice was shaking, but somehow he managed to force the words out. "Go somewhere. Make people think you're dead. You'll be safe."
She nodded again, silently and gravely. "I – I need your wand. Lord V-Voldemort won't believe that I killed you unless I have it."
She took out the wand – silver birch – and placed it into his hands. "Thank you," she said softly.
He did not respond. She prodded the fire, placing more coal on it in order to create sufficient flames.
She tied a scarf around her head, nodded to him, threw in the powder and stepped, gingerly, into the flames.
"Home," she said quietly, and vanished. Severus took hold of a wooden chair and set alight to it. With any luck, the farmhouse would burn down and they really would believe she had been killed. He leaned out of the window, and cast the Dark Mark into the sky.
What had he done? He couldn't say. He did not quite understand what had happened, except that he now knew he couldn't kill…
Throwing in some Floo powder of his own, Severus jumped into the fireplace. "Hogsmeade."
***
A/N - Thank you, kind reviewers! :-)
ConfirmTheOriginOfFire - yay, I'm glad you liked it!
Odd World - I don't think of him as much of a dancer either, but it was a special occasion :-) I'm scared of you, you can make Darth Vader cry!
zoo - hehe, no probs, and I'm glad you feel for him.
A/N 2 - Did you guess that I like science? OK, so most of this was mere babble, however, but I did try and make some sense out of it. Rosalind Franklin (the author of the book Severus was reading) was the name of one of the researchers on D.N.A. She did vital X-ray crystallography work on the structure - however it was Watson and Crick that managed to deduce the structure, and they were the ones who published. Watson, Crick, and Franklin's colleague Wilkins all won a Nobel pize for their work, however Franklin didn't because she had died a few years previously. There's a great film about it called Life Story, which I think is called The Race for the Double Helix in America.
A/N 3 - I'm rather proud of this chapter :-) I only had a very vague idea of what it was going to be like before I wrote it, so it was rather fun making up a lot of things off the cuff, as it were.
A/N 4 - There is no fourth Author's note, be proud of me :-)
