Life as a double agent begins to take its toll on Snape. Can Harry really trust his most hated professor?
Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Drama - Severus S., Harry P. - Chapters: 17 - Words: 69,669 - Reviews: 448 - Favs: 736 - Follows: 130 - Updated: Jul 30, 2003 - Published: Feb 18, 2003 - Status: Complete - id: 1240101
+-Full3/41/2ExpandTighten
Sticks and Stones
by Phantom
Chapter Eight
The weekend could not have arrived any faster for Harry. The teachers seemed
determined to split their skulls open with relentless revisions and pop quizzes
before exams. Snape in particular was in fine form, armed with more snarky
comments than ever. Every Potions student left the dungeon classroom shaken and
nearly in tears. But there had been an unexpected, heavenly gift – another trip
to Hogsmeade! Peeves had been on a destructive streak and had ended up
destroying a good amount of the professors' materials that were essential for
final exams. Most of the items could be replaced in town, and it was not much of
a stretch to allow the students to accompany their professors to make some
pre-exam purchases of their own, in their case mostly candy or gag-toys for the
purpose of stress relief.
Harry had found the pressing bodies and stifling atmosphere inside
Honeydukes to be quite oppressive, and he fought his way outside, desperate for
a breath of fresh air. Ron and Hermione were still torn in their candy
selections, and he knew that it would take awhile. He was quite content to wait
outside.
Suddenly he felt eyes watching him. He turned his head to see a beautiful
woman peeping at him from underneath her lashes. His heart did a lazy flip-flop.
She bore a passing resemblance to Fleur Delacoeur. She gave him a teasing smile
and turned on her heel, darting down a small side street. Harry turned and gave
Honeydukes a fleeting glance. Hermione and Ron would worry if he left…. The
soft, enchanting giggle came again, and he turned to follow without another
thought on the matter. In fact, thinking was overrated, if the thought involved
anything other than this lovely creature that eluded him. He had to catch her at
all costs!
He caught a glimpse of shimmering blond hair and began to run. Soft tinkles
of laughter floated back to him, and he forced his legs to go faster. Reaching
this fascinating maiden had become the most important thing in his life. He
simply knew he'd die if he lost her! He scarcely noticed as the streets grew
more narrow, the buildings more shabby and spaced closer together, as if for
comfort. He darted around a corner into an alleyway and paused, his eyes probing
the corners frantically. For one awful moment he thought that he had lost her
entirely. Then a giggle sounded from at the end of the alley, and he saw a flash
of blonde disappear into a doorway. He followed mechanically, as if his feet had
a life of their own.
He stepped inside the small, dreary-looking building, his eyes struggling to
adjust to the darkness. For the first time since the chase began, rationality
began to return. What was he doing, running after a stranger and entering such a
strange place, without a clue of his whereabouts? A Veela… the woman must be at
least part Veela, to make him lose all control of himself. But why would a Veela
tempt him into chasing after her? Suddenly the shadows seemed to move, and his
mind cleared as fear began to grip his heart.
"Who's here?" he said sharply with a bravado he didn't feel. "What do you
want with me? Why have you brought me here?!"
A dark chuckle was his only answer as three figures stepped out of the
darkness. Three hooded figures cloaked in identical billowing black robes. Three
faces covered in white masks…. "Death Eaters!" he yelped, taking a hasty step
backward. In no time they were upon him, and he struggled as they fought to hold
him still. A sharp blow connected with his skull, and his world went fuzzy and
grey. He could just make out the sickeningly familiar pull of a Portkey, and
then he sank into the welcoming velvet darkness in his mind.
* * * * *
"The children of England would never be
slaves They're trapped on the wire and dying in waves The flower of
England face down in the mud And stained in the blood of a whole
generation"
-- "Children's Crusade" -- Sting
He awoke to searing pain. At first he thought that it was from the blow to
his head, which still throbbed mightily as if it had a pulse of its own, but
that pain was eclipsed by one much greater and horribly, awfully familiar… his
scar blazed an unmistakable warning. Voldemort!!
It was not until the crowd of black-robed figures turned to stare at him
that he realized he spoken aloud. "He's awake, Master!" a voice spoke. A voice
he had heard two years before. A voice that stabbed at his heart. The voice of a
traitor.
"I can see that, Wormtail," a high-pitched yet icy-cold voice hissed. That
voice was far, far worse. It was the embodiment of every nightmare he'd ever
had, every sorrow he'd ever felt. His guts twisted. He had been captured! He had
let himself be drawn right into their trap! Professor Snape was right – he was
forever getting into situations over his head because he didn't *think*!
'Stay calm,' a rational part lectured him. He tamped down on the fear,
forcing it down until he felt that it would no longer smother him. The next step
was to take stock of his situation. He tried to move his hands and discovered
that they were restrained above his head. The same seemed to be true for his
feet. His position was far too close to what it had been in the graveyard the
night of the final task in the Tournament, the night that Cedric had been killed
and his own blood had been used against him… he fought against a stronger wave
of panic.
"How nice of you to join us, Potter," Voldemort drawled. The barely-human
being was seated on an ornate, plush chair that suspiciously resembled a throne.
A semi-circle of Death Eaters were clustered around him, the balding, pudgy
figure of Peter Pettigrew at the center, his silver fist a mark of his betrayal,
of his true allegiance. "We've been waiting ever-so-patiently for this phase of
my plan. You see, as powerful as I have grown since last we met, it is not quite
enough. When the curse that tried to take your life all those years ago
rebounded, it drained me while protecting you, infusing you with a bit of my own
power. Time and time again you have thwarted me, denied me my rebirth, until
last year. Last year I turned the tables on you and showed the world that not
even the great Harry Potter can keep me from claiming power that is rightfully
mine. And yet you stubbornly continue to draw breath! That all ends tonight."
His lips twisted in a sick parody of a smile. "Tonight I put an end to the
boy-hero of the wizard world who has dared to stand in my way. Tonight I throw
the gauntlet at Dumbledore's feet. Tonight I will regain the power that you
robbed from me!" His hand reached for his wand, caressing it thoughtfully, and
Harry flinched. His eyes darted to Wormtail's belt, seeing his own wand secured
there. His fingers itched. Could he possibly summon it and free himself? As if
sensing his intentions, Pettigrew covered the wand with his hand, securing it
against his person.
Voldemort threw his head back and laughed, the terrible sound echoing in the
room, sending chills down Harry's back. "Revenge is sweet, is it not, my dear
Death Eaters?" They nodded as one, and despite their masks, Harry could feel
their eyes crawling over him, burning with malice. "Ah, but I have learned my
lesson from our past encounters. I could not kill you through proxy, nor with my
own wand. Your death will be agonizing, but it will not be by my own hand. I
have reserved that most venerable task for another. Your death will serve a
double purpose – to restore to me the power that you stole, and to restore one
of our own to a place of favor." A dry, rasping chuckle rattled in his throat.
"I trust that I am not the only one who has burned for the chance of revenge."
His head turned as another dark-robed figure stepped into the room. "Come,
approach me, my loyal servant." The man approached slowly, eyes cast downward.
As he neared, Harry could see locks of midnight-black hair falling to either
side of the mask. His breath caught in his throat. The Death Eater's manner was
respectful, but every move was smooth and filled with a steely pride and
self-possession. The other drew back slightly, either out of revulsion, fear,
respect, or perhaps an odd mix of the three. He knelt, gaze fixed firmly on the
stone floor, and kissed the robes of his master. "You honor me with your
summons, My Lord," he murmured. Harry's stomach lurched. There was no mistaking
the silken tones, delivered by a tongue sharp enough to cut glass.
The Dark Lord's lips twisted into a malicious smile. "Rise," he said
casually, gesturing with a hand. "Now that the last player is here, we may begin
in earnest. Remove your masks, all of you. It is better for the boy to see
exactly what he is up against. In this case, the enemy you know is much worse
than the enemy you don't."
One by one, the Death Eaters reached up to remove their masks. There were a
few unfamiliar faces – drawing on his past experience, he figured that two of
them must be Avery and Nott; and a man and woman who were most likely the
Lestranges, freed from Azkaban when the Death Eaters had raided it – there was
Macnair the executioner, Crabbe and Goyle (whose sons bore more than a passing
resemblance), and Lucius Malfoy, who had given away his identity ahead of time
by his flowing blond hair. Then the figure in the center of the circle removed
his mask, and Harry stopped breathing. He had known, *known* who it was, but the
proof in front of his eyes was just too much. Before him stood Severus Snape,
Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, dressed in full
Death Eater regalia and wearing a smile insane enough to ensure him a padded
cell at Saint Mungo's.
Voldemort watched him closely, drinking in his horrified reaction. "It's so
good to have you back where you belong, Severus," he purred. "You understand why
we've been a bit cautious with you, I'm sure. One can never be too careful. It
was somewhat… suspicious… that you went to work for Dumbledore so soon after my
downfall, and that he vouched for your loyalties. But you have proved yourself
to me, and I am greatly pleased to have one so guileful in my employ, monitoring
that old fool's every move and grooming future Death Eaters for our noble cause.
Complete this final task and my faith in you will be fully restored. Kill the
Potter boy, and avenge us all."
Snape bared his teeth in a savage parody of a smile. "I am honored beyond
words, my Lord, to be the instrument of your revenge. I have been anticipating
this moment for many years. Do I have your permission to explain things to the
boy?" The Dark Lord nodded, his inhumanly red eyes glowing with delight. Snape
looked absolutely unholy, his moment of vengeance at hand. "Do you know how long
I have been waiting for this, boy?" he spat. Harry shook his head, trying to
shut out the soft yet menacing words. Snape's hands clenched reflexively, as if
they wanted to wrap themselves around his throat. "Twenty years. Two decades
since that accursed Black tried to have me killed, since your sweet Lupin tried
to devour me whole, since your father humiliated me by a lifedebt owed, since
Dumbledore turned a blind eye to everything!" His voice had risen from a whisper
to an enraged shout. "I have sat in the same room with that codger for years and
listen to him slight my house again and again! No more!" Suddenly the screaming
stopped, and the mad smile returned, an eerie parody of calmness stealing over
him. "They will regret casting me aside. I found friends in Slytherin house,
friends that have helped me rise to power and glory with the Death Eaters, as is
my right. This time our Lord will be victorious, and I will have my place in his
new world order. One day soon, very soon, I will not have to bow and scrape
before Dumbledore, teaching his dunderheaded children with sieves for brains!" A
long-fingered hand ghosted over Harry's cheek in an obscene gesture of
gentleness. "You look just like him, you know. Except for the eyes, I could
believe that James himself stood before me, tied up for my pleasure. You will
suffer the same fate that he did, but it will not be as quick or as merciful as
an Avada Kedavra. No," he purred, "I want your pain to last. Your screams will
be the currency that pays me back for all those years of humiliation, all those
years that they laughed behind their hands and tried to hold me back from the
power was rightfully mine!"
Harry's thoughts were racing a mile a minute. 'Oh God, he's mad, drunk on
whatever power that Voldemort has promised him! Dumbledore was completely wrong
about him – he's going to betray us all! And to think I trusted him!' If only
there were some way to get free, to warn Dumbledore… but this time there would
be no miraculous rescue, no last-minute advantage to present itself. This was
it. These were his last minutes to live.
Snape reached into his robes, withdrawing a vial. He uncapped it, holding it
out for his maleficent cohorts to see. "Do you know what this is, Potter?" Harry
shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. A disgusted sneer twisted the
man's features. "Of course not. That would require you to actually use your
brains for something other than Quidditch or sneaking around the castle after
hours. This, Mister Potter, is a clever poison consisting of mostly aconite, but
with subtle additions of belladonna, hemlock, and holly. It is an experimental
poison, and I am much obligated to my master for granting me such an excellent
test subject. It is almost a shame that your death will be relatively quick – I
had hoped to see you suffer a bit longer, but it is not my place to question the
decisions of my master."
Harry saw Voldemort nod in approval, no doubt pleased with the obedience of
his pet Death Eaters. The reptilian-like mockery of a man spoke, drawing all
eyes in the room to him. "That is quite enough, Severus! Get on with the main
event – I believe I have earned this moment more than anyone."
"Of course, my Lord," Snape murmured, bowing his head respectfully. Then,
quick as a striking snake, his hand shot out and grasped Harry's jaw, trying to
pry open his mouth. The boy clenched his teeth forcefully, the pressure causing
stars to fire in his field of vision. Snape leaned over him, an awful leer
marring his face, until his lips brushed the boy's ear. A soft breath caressed
him there, and a hushed whisper stole forth, so soft it was barely audible….
"Harry… trust me…." Harry's jaw dropped slightly. He was scarcely sure he
had heard the words at all. He was going mad himself, imagining things that
couldn't possibly be true. In that moment, Snape slipped the vial in between his
lips almost reverently, tipping it so that its contents slid down his throat,
burning a path of fire into his belly. He swallowed heavily, feeling the burning
ease slightly. Nothing. He felt fine. And then all hell broke loose.
His back arched as his hands scrambled against his bindings. Despite his
best efforts, screams tore through his throat, echoing through the room. He
barely noticed as the Death Eaters clustered around like wolves eyeing a
prospective kill. Oh god he was on fire the agony was unbearable it was tearing
him apart please please someone make it stop! It was so very much like liquid
Cruciatus coursing through his veins, searing him and consuming him whole! He
sobbed, tears blurring his vision as they flowed freely down his cheeks. He
writhed and struggled against his restraints until his arms and legs were
bruised and bloody. His vision began to dim and his limbs ceased their struggle.
It was with a measure of relief that he felt himself tumbling down a dark
tunnel, the torment mercifully coming to an end. He spared a thought of regret
for Dumbledore, who had shown so much faith in him, for Sirius, who had given
him a sense of family, for Lupin, who had taught him to defend himself and have
pride in his abilities, and for Hermione and Ron, his truest friends. "I'm
sorry," he whispered as he felt Death reaching for him with icy fingers. So much
for the Boy Who Lived. "I've failed you all. I'm so sorry." With that, the last
of his consciousness ebbed away, and he was gone.
The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.