TIMES OF TRIAL
Disclaimer: None of the characters, places, objects etc. that you
recognise belong to me. They are mot likely the property of one JK Rowling.
Summery: This story is and will probably always be centred on Minerva McGonagall and the other professors at Hogwarts. It is set in Harry's fifth year and the dream-team will likely appear however. The rating may be subject to change but all reviews are welcome.
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Serverus cursed at the smashed bottle of ink that lay at his feet, it's contents pooling on the unforgiving stone. Rubbing his arm subconsciously where his Dark Mark continued to burn he muttered 'reparo' catching the bottle as it flew back into the air. He had been a little shocked if not altogether surprised at his being called as it had been three weeks, probably closer to four now, since the attack on the school but this was the first time that he had been summoned. He had long ago given up worrying about when he would be called as he had long ago learned that worrying really didn't help anything a great deal. In any case though, he had been slightly concerned about what was going on without his knowledge. It wasn't like their Lord to stay quiet for so long when his followers were so likely in need of discipline. Reopening the bottle of ink he dipped a quill in it and scratched the long familiar code phrase on it
Gone Fishing.He left it on the centre of his desk knowing that when, or if he was missed that this would tell anyone close enough to know the truth, all they would need to hear. His absence at the evening meal would not be unusual, he had made an effort over the years to ensure that it was never unheard of him to do anything, well except perhaps smile and volunteer to give points to Gryffindor. He shook his head to rid it of these trivial thoughts as he summoned his heavy Death Eaters robes from the wardrobe. He pulled them on before he reached the dungeon exit knowing that the weather was still crisp and cool. He walked in the shadows, fallowing the perimeter of the castle until he was at the point where the distance between the wall and the forest was smallest. He hurried along the now familiar path using the time to try and clear his mind as well as he could. He began constructing defences carefully, layer upon layer of subterfuge and lies all designed to preserve the illusion so many were fooled by. When he felt the tingle run along his skin caused by the ancient protective charms that surrounded the castle, he pulled up his sleeve and pressed his finger to the still fiery mark seared forever upon his arm. Serverus Snape had a severe dislike of not being in charge of things, hence the fact that life in general wound him up so much, and how uncomfortable he was apparateing away with not the first clue as to where he was going to re-appear. When he opened his eyes, involuntarily shut during the transport he was at least a little relieved to recognise his surroundings. Though not one of the Lord's favourite meeting spots, they had congregated there before and he knew that the walk to the council was not far, though undoubtedly it would feel like miles when he was ready to leave. He was not a pessimist merely a realist whose experience suggested that he was more than likely to leave this place in a much worse condition than he had arrived.
The shadows cast by the trees left him on edge as he made his way along a barely visible path but although he kept both his eyes and ears peeled he met no-one. He hadn't expected to though, it was customary for the Death Eaters to all be sent to slightly different locations in the hope that even if one of them were followed, the rest would escape capture. It was a few minutes before he heard the first sound of life in the dense forest other than the unnerving rustling of small animals all ominously running away from his destination. A quiet moan travelled through the dank air and at first the potions master was unsure whether it was even human or not. The clearing, when he reached it, was illuminated only by the moon but was far brighter than from where he had come, so much so that he had to pause to let his eyes adjust. When they did, he saw that the usual circle was already discernable; though there were still gaps for those yet to arrive. In the centre of the ring however, lay Lucius, curled into a foetal position at their Master's feet. In contrast to the usually elegant, composed, and generally arrogant impression he usually gave, the head of this most prestigious pureblood line was looking childlike in his protestation. Serverus could smell the dark magic that already saturated the air and suspected that their Lord had already seen fit to punish his deputy before he had called the others. The blond man's hair was caked with mud and other forest-floor debris, having fallen from its clasp, presumably as he writhed around in agony under his Master's favourite tool. As the others emerged from the shadows he took the time to observe them and soon realised that the only absence appeared to be Wormtail. This really didn't shock him; the animagi was probably too frightened after the part he had presumably played in the events of a few weeks previously to show his face. He would pay for his defiance no doubt, and to a greater extent than those who were present now. They stood in silence, none of them speaking or even breathing out of turn. They stood, like statues for what must have been a half hour before Serverus first felt the swell in the darkness. Like turning up the volume the pain increased continually. He could hear those around him begin to call out, fall to their knees and try and extinguish the invisible fire that consumed their bodies. But even when his legs gave way beneath him he made no sound, he had learned long ago that to call out did nothing to alleviate the excruciating agony they all endured and certainly did nothing to appease their Leader. He wasn't sure when his detached mind registered that something was different about this experience. There was panic on the edge of his conscience ebbing and flowing but ultimately seeming to try and invade. It wasn't any of the others around him of that he was sure and it was certainly not any form of leglimency he had ever encountered before for he also knew that his barriers did not fall even when he was under the crutiatus curse. If this had not been proved time and again he would long since have been discovered. As the curse was lifted and he began to be able to think clearly again he became certain that this was not a concerted effort to attack him, as when he tried to push back there was no resistance, they retreated. The connection certainly seemed to be two way. For an instant he thought perhaps Lucius was trying to contact him from where he lay apparently unconscious at the centre of the group. Almost instantly though he rejected this thought as the other man was certainly in no condition to initiate such a process and there was no discernable reason for him to do so in any case.
"UP." Came the cool voice heavy with unspoken implications. He got to his feet. He wasn't sure what was the best way to proceed but if he was going to protest his innocence in the matter he supposed he had better act innocent - he bowed his head. A few of those around him did the same and were swiftly followed by all those who appeared to be in a state to do so. As the curse had been widespread, even a caster as skilled as the perpetrator in this case could not cast it with such strength as was usual. Their recovery in this instance would be swift.
With both Lucius and Pettigrew missing from the usual circle, Serverus found only Avery between their Lord and himself, a situation he was not entirely sure he was comfortable with. Again they stood in silence giving Snape time to ponder the distinctly unnerving sensation he had just experienced. He did not have long to think upon it though as soon Avery was once more writhing around on the ground. He didn't move a muscle, none of the rest of them did. They had all been in their Lord's company far to long to think that standing up for one another was either advantageous or sensible. He could feel the power behind the spell even from where he stood off to one side and his nervousness increased. This concerted individual attack was certainly going to prove more challenging to deal with than the last, but no matter how well he braced himself when their Master's ire was turned in his direction he was instantly felled. It was only the inordinate number of hours of practice that prevented his most essential occlumenical protection from collapsing. The pain was swift and intense and quickly consuming him. Like a vice around his chest, restricting his breathing, squeezing the breath from his body. He knew how to deal with this though, he had been through this so many times it was automatic now for him to try and take long shallow breaths easing the air into his painful lungs. But this time he couldn't suppress the urge to try and take gulps of air even though he knew he was going to end up hyperventilating and that would certainly not help the situation. Screwing his eyes even further shut he tried with all his might to focus, but that unfamiliar panic was back, ten times as strong as before and certainly not abating. As both pain and lack of oxygen resulted in his feeling more detached it dawned on him he realised that even though the feeling was totally alien the presence it's self was familiar. As he wracked his brain to try and establish who, or what, it was something changed. The presence was still there but they were calming somewhat and as they did it became easier for him to control his breathing. There was a comforting aspect now in such contrast to the unreined fear of before that he couldn't even be sure that it was the same person but…. His train of thought was derailed as another wave of fiery agony swept through his body. What happened next was perhaps one of the most surreal experiences of the potions master's life; he suddenly had the entirely novel feeling that he was about to sun into an icy body of water at some unwholesome hour of the morning and the splash of cold that followed was almost refreshing. Then he could taste fudge ice-cream but it wasn't until the freezing snow filled wind was whipping around him as he stood at the top of the tallest tower in the castle, a location he was certain that he had never visited as it was Gryffindor tower to boot, that realisation dawned. By Merlin he was going to kill that woman when he got his hands on her but first, he might be inclined to say thank you.
A/N: Well done to all those of you who made guesses – not sure whether I ough to take their accuracy as a complement or not though *grin* In any case, once again, thanks to Gem and I would be super chuffed if you would review *grin*. Thanks for reading – Linds.