Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to those with far great intelligence and attention spans then I. Harry Potter and all related material belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers, etc. Only the original ideas or plot belong to me, and they're so enormously lackluster I'd probably be forced to pay someone to steal them.
Author's Notes: I felt terrible about how long I've been taking to plug these chapters out, so I thought I'd make this one longer to compensate. Hope you like it!
Note: Sorry to confuse anyone further, but I've decided to simply align the chapter numbers with the page numbers for rather then start Chapter One after the prologue, quite a few people seemed confused over it. My apologies!
The Flight From Death Chapter
VI: Questions
Despite the knowledge that he was almost certainly going to pay grievously for this, Harry could not help but feel a sort of smug satisfaction at Snape's current predicament. It had been a good twenty minutes, Harry reckoned, and still the Potions Master showed no signs of returning to the land of the living.
Harry might have assumed that his professor was dead, had it not been for the frequent twitch of his upper lip. Not surprisingly, this provided the nearly sixteen year old with several moments of blissful amusement; even when knocked out cold courtesy of a stone wall, Snape still found the energy to sneer.
He was entertaining the mental image of Snape practicing his trademark sneer in front of a mirror when the enormous wooden door leading to the room creaked ominously.
And through it walked the sole person Harry loathed without remorse, the only person in this world that he might have despised even more so then Voldemort.
Bellatrix Lestrange, as one of Voldemort's tight inner circle, had been notified of Harry's capture almost immediately, however had only received warrant to "greet" him after Snape's prolonged absence. Apparently the Dark Lord had wanted to ensure that Severus had not simply given in to hatred and frustration and simply killed the boy.
Though by the looks of the scene, it seemed more likely that it was quite the opposite way around.
"My, my! But we do have a temper baby Potter, do we not? Is he dead, then?" Far from sounding anxious or furious, Bellatrix appeared thoroughly amused at the situation, prodding the greasy man's shoulder with a perfectly shaped boot, as though he was something disgusting she had found stuck to her heel.
Patience is golden. Patience is golden. Beating the bloody pulp out of her won't bring Sirius back. This was hardly a persuasive reason not to attack the pathetic, murderous Death Eater, however, Harry's wrists gave a particularly nasty jolt of pain and he found himself gritting his teeth to avoid crying out. He would not show weakness in front of her.
"I believe," Bellatrix began in a dangerous purr, "That I asked you a question, boy. Have you killed him?"
"No." Harry was now spending far too much energy concentrating on not yelping to offer any witty retort, and while he hated to be civil around her, his current state hardly allowed for anymore heroic stunts.
"Then what, Potter, is he doing draped across the floor with a cracked skull?" She hissed bemusedly.
A cracked skull? The better half of him smacked it's forehead in self disgust (This half sounded rather like Hermione Granger), while the other laughed hysterically and performed a crazy dance around the inside of his mind (This half sounded more like Ron Weasley).
"Well?" Her impatient snap reminded him that she had made a query, and reluctant though he was to respond to her at all, his attention span was rapidly draining along with the blood draining from his face as he made the mistake of glancing downward at both wrists - the appearance of which will be spared to avoid causing the reader a loss of appetite.
"He fell. Hit the wall." The words escaped as a growl, fury and pain coursing through his veins, fighting for domination of his attention.
"Fell, did he." This seemed to be another pseudo question. Harry was quickly becoming annoyed with this form of communication – how was one to know whether or not they desired a response? This time, however, he remained silent, mainly out of spite.
"We'll just leave him there." She had returned to the bothersome purr of a voice that she seemed to find seductive and chilling. Harry found it nauseating.
"The Dark Lord tells me you were discovered walking the streets, all by your lonesome little self. Now why should that be so? Surely you realize the dangers of one so helpless to be caught in such a manner." He didn't need his eyes, he could positively hear the smirk in her voice.
She had struck a nerve, and she knew it. Helpless, he thought disgustedly, I fight off a hundred dementors, a basilisk, escape the bloody mad man four times, and still I'm helpless little Harry. He could feel his fingers twitching, the urge to strangle her was becoming harder to resist, broken wrists or not.
She seemed to be able to read his thoughts (In fact, Harry thought, She probably can. Stupid, sodding legilimency.)
"Yes, you have the same defiance and thirst that might have made Salazar himself proud. My Lord is right, you have potential, Potter." Harry was disgusted to hear the approval in her voice.
"Your Lord is wrong. I'm not like you, any of you." His voice did not quaver despite the pain. He was not unafraid of death, particularly at the knowledge that it was highly unlikely that she would – or could, for that matter – kill him.
"Are you so sure, little baby? Have you not, after all, attempted the use of the Cruciatus Curse on me only a few months ago? Tell me, Potter, was it wrong to want to cause me pain?"
And although Harry hated her with every fiber in his being, he could not help but note the truth in her words. Had he been wrong to attempt to cast the Unforgivable curse? Did that make him just as bad as Bellatrix? Who was to say that if he had succeeded for longer then only meager seconds, he would not have kept it on her, driven her into insanity just like she had done to Neville's parents?
You would have done well in Slytherin.
No. I'm not a Slytherin. Dumbledore said it is our choices that make us who we are.
But wasn't it my choice to cause her the worst agony one can experience? You chose it. Is that who I am?
Maybe it was.
The Weasley family and Hermione Granger had gathered solemnly in one of the larger sitting rooms of Grimmauld Place. A few of the teenagers present in the room dully comprehended that the last time they had gathered in such a hopeless occasion it was with the addition of two admired persons who were no longer with them – Sirius Black, and Harry Potter. Mr. Weasley, who had last been the subject of such worry, now sat beside his wife, an arm draped over her shoulder consolingly as she sniffed into a handkerchief.
Every so often a few of the older Weasley brothers would glance anxiously at their youngest brother, who now sat beside best friend Hermione Granger, who was hanging on to his hand for dear life, neither of them seeming to care that his family was present. They were in a state of shock, and seemed to be searching desperately for any ray of hope that Harry might still be alive.
Remus Lupin entered the room soundlessly, and while the children seemed too distressed to notice, Arthur Weasley looked up immediately, patted his wife on the shoulder, and headed toward the kitchen area, glancing pointedly at Remus, who took the sign and followed after him.
The door shut with a soft snap. None of the remaining Weasleys bothered to look up.
"Has Severus returned yet, Remus?" Arthur inquired softly after ensuring that the door was indeed locked.
Remus ran a hand through his hair, a habit his friends had always identified as a sure sign of stress. James in was particularly alert to this sort of behavior. He could spot the slightest sign of worry in any of his three friends almost immediately, and often before the guilty one did even realized they were preoccupied.
Now, of course, there was no one to recognize it.
"No... Even Albus doesn't seem to know what to think about all this. He seems confident that Severus hasn't been discovered, though how he can be so sure I've no idea." Lupin stared dutifully down at his feet while speaking, unable to look at one more expression that reflected the despair he felt inside.
"Harry will be alright, he's made it through trouble before." Yet Arthur didn't sound convinced.
Severus Snape had never realized it was possible to be dizzy even while one had their eyes closed.
A sticky substance was dripping down his neck, which was propped in a decidedly uncomfortable position. He felt as though he had awoken with an enormous hang over, his head felt fit to burst. For half a second he did not move.
Then reality hit him.
Dark eyes snapped open, and he was forced to resist the urge to rub them like a child. Appearances always came first to the Potions Master, though his glassy vision was quickly driving him mad.
Voices now became clear, he could hear a woman talking –
"Oh –"He swore so violently that Potter's jaw dropped, the foolish boy.
"How nice of you to join us, Severus," Bellatrix smirked, obviously thrilled at the opportunity to catch the single Death Eater she loathed the most in such an embarrassing situation, "Potter was just relaying to me the story of how you gracefully fell and cracked your head open on the wall. I'm sure the Dark Lord would be ever so pleased to hear your account of such an amusing story."
If looks could kill, Potter would be mauled, stuffed, and set on fire.
The idiot boy had forced him into a thoroughly awkward predicament. He must now either accept Potter's rendition of the story (Although he had no doubt that the Dark Lord would never believe such a story) or admit that the boy had outsmarted him with wandless magic. Deciding he'd rather face the Cruciatus Curse then give Potter credit for any accomplishment that required brain power, he vowed to stick with the former.
"I'm afraid the fumes from the Veritaserum I have been preparing had a delayed effect. If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to." Lying flawlessly, he swept from the room, slamming the enormous Yew door unceremoniously behind him.
Silently cursing the Anti-Apparition Hex which had been placed in and around the Riddle Manor, Snape seemed to fly down the rickety steps and out into the night, ignoring the biting cold and chilling silence that reminded him of the dementors still hovering in and around the area, warding off any muggle intruders.
Once he had reached the pathetic stone barrier that marked the boundaries to the mansion, he apparated.
There was a resounding slam as the Potions Master swept through the door to Grimmauld Place, ignoring the unflattering screams of Mrs. Black's portrait upstairs, and entering the door to the drawing room, and the meeting quarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
Immediately every ounce of attention turned to Severus, the room grew ghastly silent, though it seemed to buzz with unspoken questions. Remus in particular seemed even more grim then usual, looking as though he was going to be sick.
Albus broke the silence, wasting no time for greetings.
"The boy?"
"Is alive," Snape sneered immediately, appearing furious. It was then that Albus noticed the blood dripping down the back of the younger man's head.
"What happened, Severus?"
"Potter, as we suspected, was captured by Pettigrew, who contacted the Dark Lord immediately and joined him by portkey," Snape began, standing stiffly while blood mingled with grease in his hair. Immediately Moody pointed his wand at the wound and muttered, "Ferula", silently thanking the Elementary Healing Knowledge required of all Aurors.
"As I have mentioned before, the locations of Death Eater meetings are constantly changing. We must only apparate to find ourselves at the location of choice. On this occasion, we had returned to the graveyard in which the Dark Lord rose two years ago.
"He placed Potter under the guard of at least twenty Dementors while the meeting was underway, giving us only a vague idea of what he has planned. I have no doubts, however, that he has informed Lestrange and Pettigrew at least what is to occur. To the remainder of us, however, he offered only that he does not plan on killing the boy in the immediate future. Malfoy attempted to convince him otherwise," Snape smirked sickeningly, "However the Dark Lord – ah, convinced him, that Potter is worth more alive then dead.
"After dismissing the lesser, he ordered Lestrange, myself, and a fair few others to remain while he interrogated the boy. I heard the Cruciatus Curse spoken more then once," Tonks blanched, Mrs. Weasley was now trembling violently as Snape continued, "After he had...finished with Potter, he gave me orders to move the boy up to a room inside the Riddle Manor and inform him when he had awoken."
By now Snape's smirk had disappeared completely as he remembered the humiliating scene that followed. As usual, he edited it to his satisfaction.
"Potter awoke, I informed him of the situation, and we were joined by Pettigrew. The foolish boy wasted no time in lunging for Pettigrew, breaking the man's wand in half. After a brief...discussion...Pettigrew departed leaving me with the boy. Immediately the arrogant fool lost his temper, the result of which is spewing blood out of the back of my head."
Albus looked as though he might have suspected that Severus was leaving out a few important details, however motioned for him to continue.
"When I next...awoke, it was to Bellatrix speaking to Potter. She was making use of that despicable persuasive voice the Dark Lord so admires when using the Imperious Curse. What she was attempting to convince him of, and what the Dark Lord now plans to do with him, I have no knowledge of."
The room grew silent, everyone seemed to be worrying over the same question: Now what?
Little did they know that miles and miles away, Harry Potter stared wearily up at the ceiling of Riddle's dark room, the very same question echoing in his own head.
After Notes: There! Hope you enjoyed the double update, this chapter seemed like it wrote itself. Constructive criticism is always appreciated! Please Review! Thanks for reading!