Disclaimer: I have no money, I make not money. A law suit would waste precious paper. Recycle.
Warning: Some violence, cussing, cursing, and you know…
Author's note: Thank you Qool! I've got reviews coming out of my ears! My email account couldn't accept anymore. You all know Qool is the coolest person on earth, right? And thank you all for reviewing.
In Fire Lies Redemption
By Marz
Chapter 10
Scrambled
The old man sat by the side of the bed. In the distance he could hear muffled shouts, and the occasional laughter of children, wandering through the halls. He would have to go down to the kitchens in half an hour, and inspect all food before lunch was served, but until then he would wait where he was. Despite over a century spent practicing magic, he could not think of a way to help the boy lying in the bed.
The boy's messy black hair covered much of his pale angular face, and his thin arms were fold neatly across his chest, on top of the blankets. The old man reached forward and pushed the hair back from the boy's forehead, revealing the lightening bolt scar. It was deeper then it had been.
The boy's friends had brought him presents. Someone had tucked a stuffed toy dragon next to him, and it made him look ridiculously childish.
"I'm sorry Harry," said the old man as he resettled in his chair.
The doors to the hospital wing opened and the old man looked up. There was a fluttering noise, and the edge of the boy's pillow sank downward suddenly. The old man could see the outline of two bird's feet in the cloth.
"How are you Gretchen?" the old man asked the invisible bird.
"I'm as well as I ever am Albus. You don't look so well though," said an echoing voice from the walls.
"I only wish I knew when he would awake. Tom could kill him like this and fulfill the prophesy."
"Shouldn't be too long like this," said the voice. "You have to want death very badly to work a killing curse on yourself. The boy's friends will draw him back."
"But will they be in time? Things are moving much faster now. I fear I will be to slow."
"We both know time is not the major issue Albus."
"I pray you're right."
****
"The new wards should be enough to protect him…"
"…can hear me, so I'll just tell you what we did in transfigurations…"
"…nothing we can do Remus…"
"…not fair…"
"No pictures Collin!"
"…I brought his broom, maybe he'll…"
"…defense class, of course Ron hadn't done his essay…"
The voices floated in the darkness with him. Harry sat next to the dog and listened. There was no light, but he could feel the dog's fir, and hear it breathe. He did not know how long he had been there. He felt so tired.
"Is this it?" he asked the dog who may or may not have been Sirius Black.
As usual there was no answer. Harry leaned his head against the dog's side.
*****
Hermione shoved her Arithmancy text into her bag and hurried out of the class room. She sprinted down the staircase. Ron had to attend a meeting with Professor McGonagall about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so Hermione would be sitting watch alone for most of the afternoon. She only brought the notes from the defense class to read to Harry that day. Ron had yelled at her the previous week when she began to explain, to the unconscious Harry, the potions essay that was due in the next class. Ron was only letting off steam, but a twenty minute babbling lecture on how homework from Snape would only drive Harry deeper into a coma seemed excessive to her.
She pushed open the door of the hospital wing and waved to Madam Pomfrey as she crossed to the curtain that surrounded Harry's bed. Her heart filled with hope as she sat in the chair next to him, shook his arm, and said loudly, "Good afternoon Harry."
He made no response. With a sigh she pulled out the notes and began to read. She was half way through "the quickest ways to detect invisible wards" when a faint cough interrupted her. She stood and peeked around the curtain. Former Professor Lupin was standing there, with an armful of red and yellow balloons, looking more worn and gray then ever before.
"Why don't you come sit with us Professor?" Hermione invited. "I was just, well I was reading the class notes to Harry. I've heard that you can hear sometimes when you're in a coma, and if he's like this much longer he'll be awfully behind. N.E.W.T.s are coming up you know." Her voice cracked and broke, but she did not let herself cry.
Lupin followed her behind the curtain and conjured up a chair for himself. He tied the balloons to Harry's bed post and then settled down.
"I've only got a little while to visit before the meeting starts," he explained. That it was with the Order of the Phoenix was implicit.
"Oh," said Hermione. "How are things going, with You-Know-What and You-Know-Who?"
"We're chasing our tail half the time to be honest. We know he's recruiting heavily, but the rest of his plans are unfathomable. Random attacks on muggles, in bizarre places, mindless destruction. Death Eaters cut off all gas, water, and electric services in Manchester, and when utilities came back on, there were more random attacks. We still don't know why. They are hardly mentioned in The Daily Prophet though."
Hermione nodded, filing the information away.
"Have you read about the new Ministry restrictions on part and near humans?" she asked.
Lupin's fists clenched for a moment, but his voice was completely calm when he answered. "I have. They're putting a noose around their own necks with those. I got a strong urge to join the militants while reading over them. No one in their right mind would comply. Submitting yourself to a magical tracking charm so they know where you are at all times? It's madness. As far as I know, only myself and three others have gone in, and the Headmaster has already transferred my tracking tag to a chair in the living room of my cottage in Oxford. I don't know what the others are doing. This will wreak havoc on the alliance with the goblins. They threatened to lock down Gringotts and not allow any goblin or galleon to leave, so the ministry could know right where they were. They're exempt for now but if that idiot Fudge keeps this up…" He trailed off looking at Hermione. "Sorry I really shouldn't be bothering you with all this."
"No. You really should not," said a sneering voice from the other side of the curtain.
"Hello Severus," said Lupin in a friendly voice.
"If you're done leaking information, the Headmaster wishes to speak to you before the meeting. Go to his office, now."
Lupin got up slowly from his chair. "It was pleasant conversing with you Hermione, you must write me about how S.P.E.W. is progressing." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Bye Harry, I'll be back again in a little while alright?"
"I doubt Potter is going to wander off while you're gone," Snape said with a snort.
Hermione could hear Lupin grinding his teeth. He walked around the curtain and Hermione poked her head out to watch them go. Not so gently or accidentally, Lupin bumped the potion professor's shoulder as he walked past. Hermione smiled slightly as Snape slammed the door behind them. She found her place in the defense notes, and continued to read.
*****
He sat up with a gasp, his scar prickling. Harry's eyes darted about, taking in Hogwart's hospital wing. There was a faint squeaking noise, and he shifted around, noticing the stuffed dragon under his elbow. He was surrounded by a white curtain, and people were talking on the other side of it. He hopped out of bed. His legs gave way. He grabbed onto the curtain, but he was too heavy and it tore loose. He fell anyway.
Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape starred down at him as he flailed on the cold floor. Madam Pomfrey recovered from her shock first. She rushed over and helped him back into bed.
"Don't over exert yourself Potter. You've been in bed for two weeks."
He goggled at her. "No, that can't be right."
Snape was sneering at him. "I'll inform the Headmaster," he said. In a whirl of black robes he was gone.
"What happened?" he asked the medi-witch.
"You some how managed to hit yourself in the head with the killing curse. Fortunately you don't know how to cast it properly."
"What happened to Ron and Hermione? They weren't breathing! Malfoy murdered them!" Harry shouted trying to get out of bed again.
"They're fine Potter. The only one in danger of dying was you. Some fool prankster put draught of living death in the stew at dinner. Professor Snape was able to revive everyone within an hour."
"Ginny! Is Ginny alright I think he…I…did something…"
"Ms. Weasley is fine as well. She did more damage to you actually. Get some rest Potter, the Headmaster will be here shortly.
He lay there waiting. It was night outside, and he could see a sliver of moon through the windows. He turned when the door creaked open, but instead of Headmaster Dumbledore arriving with an explanation, the skeletal Defense teacher floated into the room. She hovered several feet off the floor, wrapped in the same heavy blankets he'd first seen her in. He'd only attended one of her classes. Madam Pomfrey looked up at her in surprise.
"Albus sent me to get him." The voice came from the walls around them.
"He's not in any shape to go wandering about…" the nurse began.
"He won't have to," said the voice.
The knobby fingers twitched and Harry found himself floating gently in the air. They glided out of the hospital wing. Harry was so focused on the strange sensation of hovering that he almost did not notice when they bypassed the staircase leading to the head master's office.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked, suddenly frightened as he realized he had neither his wand nor his glasses, and was completely at the mercy of a stranger.
"My classroom, to see if I can't solve a few of your problems." The voice echoed up and down the halls as they moved.
"How are you going to do that?" Harry asked.
"I'm just going to open your skull and poke around a bit."
"You are joking right?" he asked as they floated through the rune covered arch into the defense classroom.
The doors slammed shut behind them. He expected to be set down at one of the tables, but instead she floated him all the way to the Antler rocking chair in the front of the class. The silver bells jingled and the chair rocked back and forth in a steady rhythm as he settled in it. She floated above him, her stone eyes glaring down. He tried to stare back.
She flew at him suddenly, and stopped only a few inches away. He let out a startled yelp as her twig like hands grabbed the sides of his face. She tilted his head around, inspecting his eyes and his scar from many slightly different angles.
"You tried to learn Occlumency?" The voice asked.
"Yes," Harry answered. The skeletal thumbs held his eyes open and he could not blink.
"Didn't go too well hmmm?" The almost friendly tone surprised him.
"No it didn't." Harry said, remembering Professor Snape's attempts to teach him. He had tried to learn it so he could keep Voldemort out of his mind. Another one of my brilliant successes, he thought miserably.
"I'll give you three guesses why." The voice said in a conversational tone.
Harry jumped as a finger poked into his ear.
"Professor Snape said I was overly emotional and had no focus." Harry said as the odd hands picked through the hair on his scalp.
"Maybe in part, but that's not the big one."
"Why then?" Harry was very eager to hear why Professor Snape was wrong.
"Did you know someone's made a very large hole in your mind?"
Her withered face was so close to his he could hear her eyelids scrap across the stones in her eye-sockets.
"They what?" he asked.
"Your mind has a very large hole in it. You've been hit with a killing curse. Was that your story?" the voice asked.
"I'm Harry Potter." he said a bit confused. He had yet to run into any magical person who was not annoyingly familiar with his claim to fame.
"I'm Gretchen Graypond, but I didn't ask your name." The voice seemed to have a hint of laughter in it now.
"Yes, Voldemort hit me in the head with a killing curse when I was a little over a year old. My mum had done something before he killed her though, so it bounced off me and knocked Voldemort out of his body for thirteen years."
His scar twinged whenever he said Voldemort. She grabbed his chin and turned his head to the side, inspecting his profile.
"It didn't bounce off entirely. I'm going to try something."
Before Harry could object, there was a strange sensation in his mind. It was not unlike having someone sit down next to you on a couch. It felt as if his thoughts were sinking toward a new heavy spot, and he mentally resettled himself.
Roomy. The thought was in his head, but he was fairly certain he hadn't thunk it. Thunk isn't a word. That thought didn't fit quite right either. Is that you professor? He thought. Yes it is. It's not hard to get in here at all. The professor's thoughts bumped into his own. He started feeling confused. Is it hard to get out? This is a bit awkward. Harry tried to put some mental emphasis on his sentence.
"No, that's as easy as getting in." the voice was echoing outside his head now.
"So I've just got a big hole in my head and I've got to deal with it?" Harry asked morosely. The professor was still holding the sides of his face.
"I didn't say that. It's like trying to keep goats out of a house with three walls." The voice explained.
"Hu?"
"City people." The voice said with something like a sigh. "You've got yourself a house, but you're one wall short. How do you keep things from wandering in and out?"
"Goat repellent?"
The leathery skin on the professor's forehead winkled a bit. Apparently that was not the right answer.
"You could build another wall." Harry said hopefully.
"You could indeed, of course it'll be a bit patchwork, and it won't look too pretty."
The Professor released him and floated herself over to the cauldrons in the back of the classroom. She waved a withered hand and items leapt from the shelf, diving into a boiling pot. With another wave one of the carved bowls jumped off the wall behind Harry, and whizzed passed his ear. He waited in the chair while she worked.
Whatever she's cooking smells fairly awful. I hope I don't have to drink much of it. He thought. The rocking motion of the chair was starting to make him sleepy. He closed his eyes for what he thought was a moment, but when he opened them again the Professor was floating in front of him and sunlight was pouring in the windows. He had dreamed of nothing. Maybe I could just sleep here every night, he thought, but then he heard the shrunken heads whispering and changed his mind.
The Professor held the carved wooden bowl. It was filled with a red mush that smelled as if she had found something on the bottom of a cafeteria waste basket, mixed it with something she found in a pigsty, then threw in some onions for good measure.
"I don't have to eat all of that do I?" he asked.
"Good lord, no. Eating this would make you violently ill." The corners of her lipless mouth pulled back, revealing even more teeth then usual. "You get to wear it."
He started to ask what she meant, but she scooped up a handful of the mush and slapped it onto his forehead. His eyes widened hugely and the freezing stuff dribbled down the sides of his nose.
"When do I get to wash it off?" The smell was much worse up close.
"When this Voldemort character is done threatening you I suppose. You'll have to come back for more after you bathe. Isn't that better?"
Harry's mouth dropped open. This is wonderful! They starred at my scar, but now I get to have a pile of sinking crap on top of it all the time. He did not know if an overload of sarcastic thoughts could cause one's brain to explode, but he was certain he was about to find out.
"You look absolutely miserable kid. I think that means my work is done. You've got two weeks worth of homework to catch up on. Best get up to your room and change. Classes start in half an hour, and Albus wants a word with you."
Dumbledore sat behind his desk. He had been there the entire night, waiting for the Defense teacher's prognosis. There was a knock at the door. He looked toward the painting of Jaqualin Aberforth, who had just appeared in her frame.
"It's the Potter boy," she said softly.
"Please come in Harry," Dumbledore called in a cheerful voice.
Harry pushed open the door and walked in. The boy's eyes darted to the table he had smashed the previous June, which was now repaired and back in its proper place. Harry was still in his hospital robes. He was shivering and Dumbledore silently cast a warming charm on the room. The boy's forehead was completely obscured by a lumpy red paste. It clumped up in his bangs and eyebrows. Dumbledore tried to ignore the smell.
"You've got something on your face dear," whispered the portrait of an old witch to the boy. The boy looked at the floor.
"Sit down," said the Headmaster, pointing to a very comfortable looking chair. Harry obeyed without argument.
"It is very nice to have you back with us Harry," Dumbledore said.
Harry nodded vaguely.
"Is something wrong?"
Harry shook his head.
"Did you want to talk to me about anything Harry?"
He shook his head.
"We have a few important matters to discuss," Dumbledore said, watching for a reaction. There was none. Harry looked at him, but did not make eye contact. "To prevent Voldemort from accessing your mind again, the professors and I have constructed several new wards around the castle, and in combination with the treatment Professor Graypond is developing, you should be completely safe within the castle walls. Unfortunately these protections do not extend to the village of Hogsmead. I am sorry to say you are no longer allowed to visit."
The boy looked up at him then, and opened his mouth to object, but closed it again soundlessly, and nodded. Harry's eyes turned to the sword of Godric Gryffindor, hanging above the fire place. Dumbledore continued.
"The incident, two weeks passed, has frightened many students and their parents. You must prepare yourself for some antagonism. I will escort you to your dormitory, and you are not to leave again unaccompanied. Someone must go with you at all times, even within Gryffindor tower. You are not to open any mail sent to you. One of the Professors or I must check it for hexes before it comes into your possession. You are not to leave the castle itself without a teacher escorting you. Hagrid will come to the castle and walk with you to Care of Magical Creatures, and Madam Hooch or Professor McGonagall will escort you to Quidditch practice."
Dumbledore watched Harry again, and found himself hoping the boy would react. He hoped strongly Harry would leap out of his chair, call him a crazy failure of an old man and then smash something, but Harry only nodded. There was a troubling dull look in his eyes.
"Do you have any questions Harry?"
The boy started to shake his head but stopped himself. "I have something I have to ask you about Hagrid sir."
Dumbledore watched him intently. Maybe someone will finally explain to me why there is a giant wandering about the forest, he thought. "Go ahead Harry."
"My second year, after the Chamber of Secrets, and all that, I proved it was Tom Riddle who killed Myrtle all those years ago, didn't I?"
The Headmaster was rather surprised by the non sequiter topic. He nodded.
"Well if it's all proved that Hagrid hadn't done it, why doesn't he get a new wand?"
Dumbledore felt more then a little floored. He had not even thought of the Gamekeeper-turned-Professor's magical predicament after the Chamber was discovered.
"He's never asked for one, and I suppose I am guilty of allowing the matter to slip my mind. What were you planning Harry?"
"As I won't be doing much with my free time, I thought I'd start up the D.A. again. If Hagrid could come we could catch him up on defense magic."
"You have my permission, and gratitude Harry."
"Thank you, sir."
The boy's eyes still looked a bit dull, but he smiled faintly as he spoke.
"You need not attend your morning classes if you do not feel up to it." Dumbledore told him.
The boy nodded and they stood up to leave.
"Are you certain you feel alright?" Dumbledore asked on last time.
"I'm fine sir." Harry said, and turned towards the door.
As they walked out, Dumbledore sighed. One did not have to be an expert in Legilimency to know Harry was lying.
*****
His knees ached. He huddled against the chimney, peeking carefully over the edge of the roof into the alley below. The windows in the building across from him were all dark, and the upper floors looked completely abandoned, but a thin line of light spilled out of under a recessed basement door, at the bottom of a narrow stair case. The light suddenly increased a hundred fold and Snape ducked down again. He had cast a disillusionment charm over himself before entering the vicinity, but he kept low, as an extra precaution. Voices echoed upward on the cold, damp night air, and he required no aid in identifying the speakers or their words.
"…squealed like a pig. I've never laughed so hard, thought I'd split something! Another great evening Lucius!" declared Aaron Blingkit, as he climbed the squeaking steps.
"My thanks," said a low cool voice. "I trust you will pass the message onward?"
"Of course, I know a few more at the ministry who'd be interested, if you take my meaning."
"I look forward to introductions." Malfoy said pleasantly, and turned to the next guest exiting his little show.
Though he was entirely confident in his memory, Snape drew a book from his pocket and made a few notes as he listened to the exchange below. Forty seven so far, Albus won't like that, Snape thought. For the last eighteen months he had been watching meetings like these. The Dark Lord's circle of twelve had multiplied in a very frightening manner since his resurrection, and after Potter had forced a confrontation in the Ministry of Magic's lobby, the number of attendants had quadrupled. But counting heads was one of the lesser parts of the night's activities.
Being the only member of the Order of the Phoenix who, besides Albus Dumbledore, was a competent with Legilimency, it was Snape's task to retrieve information from known Death Eaters and their contacts. After the information was sifted from their dull little minds he would place a few memory charms and send them back to the flock to gather more of the Dark Lord's plans. This was the secret of his spying success. No matter how well one lied, if information you alone were given leaked out, you alone could be blamed, but if someone else's secrets were discovered by the Order…
Snape watched another group of potential Death Eaters walk up the staircase and out of the alley. They would have to travel several more blocks on foot to get out of under the anti-apparation wards, which had been cast to slow up an Auror raid. Most of them walked off in pairs. Snape ignored them. Two armed wizards were twenty times more dangerous then one alone. He knew he could incapacitate any number of the arrogant dolts wandering past, with ease, But a Slytherin never takes unnecessary risks. He waited for solitary prey. But none came.
Malfoy waved out the last group. A buddy system was now apparently in place. Snape suppressed a curse as the last three walked out of the alley, leaving Malfoy alone, back lit by the door. Not a single one was an easy catch. Since he was not fool enough to try his skills against Malfoy, Snape would have to follow one of the recruits home. As soon as Malfoy leaves, he thought with annoyance, as the pale man stood, unmoving in the door way. The easiest way down was the fire escape hanging into the alley, but even disillusioned, Malfoy would notice him climbing. Malfoy remained still, starring upward. Suddenly he pointed his wand at the sky and fired off a blasting hex. Snape fell backwards in surprise and whirled to follow the trajectory of the red light. It struck a large black muggle balloon that was floating passively over head. The bursting sound echoed up and down the alley walls, as burning scraps drifted down around Malfoy. Snape could hear a faint tinkling noise on the cobbles below, as if the balloon had been filled with small bits of metal.
Motion caught the corner of his eye and Snape looked up. Silent as a ghost, a gray figure was sprinting across the flat roof of Malfoy's building. Snape saw the figure for only a moment before he disappeared over the far side of the opposite roof. Whoever they were, they were moving too fast for him to catch on foot. Snape looked down again. Malfoy was gone.
He looked all over the alley but there was no sign of him. With another string of internal cursing, Snape edged toward the fire escape. It would be another sleepless night. As his hand closed around the first rung he began to shudder. In the clear sky above him, the stars dimmed to almost nothing and the quarter moon faded. Street lights blinked out. His shuddering grew worse and he was inconsolably cold.
Dementors, he thought. Instinct made him look over his shoulder. Gliding up the roof behind him, came an army of black cloaked nightmares. Most were indistinct in the ever darkening night, but the four in the lead had already removed their hoods. Their pale blue-gray skin was very distinct around their gaping cavernous mouths. He could hear ragged breathing, but it took several seconds for him to realize the sound was his own.
Forgoing the ladder, he jumped to the first landing of the fire escape. Stinging pain shot up through his ankles, but he refused to feel it. As he dove down, from landing to landing, he emptied his mind. The dementors dropped over the edge of the roof, sinking past him almost gracefully. Their icy hands reached out and caught at his clothing as they went by, but he pulled free and they continued on, landing without a sound on the cobbles below. They surrounded the bottom of the ladder. More of them glided down the fire escape above him.
Being surrounded by an army of demonic creatures, who would settle for nothing less than taking your soul, would have panicked an ordinary person, and if Snape could have felt one thing at that moment, smug superiority over those lesser individuals would have been it. But feeling anything at that particular moment would have been the height of stupidity. With slow deliberate motions he lowered himself from the last landing into their midst.
A Patronus was an unnecessary and showy way of escaping these creatures in Snape's opinion. All one had to do was feel nothing, and you were rendered invisible. Without looking left or right Snape walked among the towering cloaked figures, towards the mouth of the alley. One reached out a groping hand, and the slimy thing brushed across his cheek. For a moment he was over whelmed with disgust, and they closed in on him. Taking another shuddering breath he cleared his mind, and they moved off a bit. He continued on towards the end of the alley, and they drifted with him. He knew he was showing no emotion, nothing for them to sense and track, but the creatures could hear after a fashion, and they followed the soft clack of his shoes on the stones. He turned out of the alley and started slowly up the street.
It was sitting on the side walk before him, watching. His mind was suddenly loud with confusion, anger, and, over all else, fear. The huge black dog glared at him with its icy blue eyes. It slowly rose to its feet, amid the dementors. Its lips pulled back in a silent snarl.
"You…" was all Snape managed to say, before icy hands wrapped around his throat, and all else became a foggy blur.
"No! Let me go…you have to get her…she'll fall…"
Snape struggled to shut his annoying childhood voice from his mind. He threw his arms over his face, trying to focus. He felt the disillusionment charm fade to nothing.
"Father please…help her…"
He could not shut off the pitiful begging voice. A dementor caught one of his wrists and pulled his arm out of the way. In a last desperate attempt, Snape used his free hand to grab his wand. He had never produced a corporeal Partronus, but he was willing to settle for a silver mist. Before he had it even halfway raised another dementor closed in behind him. Its slimy hand closed over his and it squeezed, forcing his finger nails into his palms. He felt the skin break, and blood dripped onto the cobbles. He struggled to hold on despite the pain.
"Father…it was me…I took the book…please help her…"
The thing continued to crush his fingers, its vice like hand slowly adding more pressure. Snape refused to let go. They were all around him now. The one holding him by the throat could have taken his soul at any moment, but it just held him there writhing uselessly. Shouldn't play with your food… his foggy mind thought. He felt the bone in his index finger snap and pain shot up his arm. Still he held on. Snape did not know that dementor got impatient, but the one trying to crush him into submission apparently thought it was taking too long. The crushing did not stop, but slowly the thing began to twist his arm around. He clenched his jaw as something in his wrist popped. He refused to scream, but his hand went numb and he heard his wand drop to the side walk. The dementor leaned forward. He felt drown, and his lungs burned, but he refused to open his mouth.
"Hang on mother…I'll get some rope…"
He heard his mother's terrified shriek and a loud crash. The dementor's fetid breath passed across his eyelids.
"Tell the house elves to clean up this mess…"
His father's voice echoed in his ears as something icy touched his lips. The echoing grew so loud it was overwhelming. He could no longer differentiate words, only a shaking, droning beat. His ears ached. The sudden sharp pain in his knees let him know he had been dropped. His head was still a foggy mess and he could not see, but he was aware that icy hands were no longer touching him. Is this what it feels like to exist without a soul? Not a very large difference, he thought. He began to chuckle as he pressed his hands to his ears. The sound pounded all around him and his bones ached in resonance.
He was blinded by the sudden light. His eyes regained a bit of function and he could see the silhouettes or the dementors, gliding about between him and the light, like moths around a lamp. They seemed disoriented and confused. A shadow stopped directly before him and he looked up. A cloth hood came down over his face. He shouted in incoherent protest and tried to pull the thing off, but hands grabbed his wrists and wrenched them behind his back. Despite the unforgivable attack on his person, Snape was relived that the hands were at least warm. He felt cold metal encircle his wrists and hissed in pain as the broken one was touched. He tired to kick at his captor, but his ankles were grabbed and chained together a moment later.
He flailed on the ground for a few seconds before an arm caught him around the waist and he was lifted onto a boney shoulder. His captor carried him, with wobbly, struggling strides, and dropped him roughly into a low padded chair. He was entirely disoriented until his knees struck a something hard to his left. He leaned his enter body that way, and his head bumped a flat cool surface. Glass. He felt a handle digging into his shoulder. He lifted his knees and they bumped a low hard platform. A muggle car? A hand pushed him against the back of the seat and a belt was pulled across his waist and shoulders.
The seat rocked up and down for a moment as his captor settled into the car. With an almost inaudible bang, the painful sounds outside vanished. His ears rang, but he could hear a jingling noise of metal against metal, and a deep rumbling as the engine started. He tipped over as the car reversed and swung around in the street, and was thrown back again, as the car rapidly accelerated. His mind grew steadily clearer.
"Who are you? I demand to be released," he said.
He tried to sound controlled and threatening, but his words came out struggling and exhausted. After a few long seconds of silence, a woman's low voice responded.
"Why should I let you go sweetie? I just found you," she said. Snape could detect traces of laughter.
"If you value your life…"
She cut him off half way through the sentence. "Death threats? You can do better then that love. Can't you think of any good reason I should let you go? I can't let just anybody go wandering about in my city, you know."
"Who are you working for?" he demanded.
Instead an answer he heard a bag being unzipped. Metal and glass clinked together. She grabbed a handful of the robes in his lap and he heard scissors cutting fabric. Cold air touched the top of his thigh.
"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted.
"I wouldn't want to miss the artery now, would I?"
The car skidded to a stop and a hand pressed his leg hard into the seat. He tried to kick her away but he had no leverage. There was a sudden sharp pain in the inside of his thigh, and he felt pressure as the foreign liquid forced its way into his blood. He struggled, forgetting dignity, but he could not get away. His head swam again.
"Bitch…" he mumbled, before sagging forward against the seat belt.
She snorted and the car sped on.
Sound returned first.
"Turn his arm a bit. I want a clearer shot of the tattoo for our records." The voice was high, but male.
Snape felt gloved hands encircle his left fore arm, and turn it. A light flashed, so brightly he could see it through his eyelids. He feigned unconsciousness. He could hear a soft rhythmic beep, and a steady hiss. His ankles and wrists were chained down to a hard table and there were heavy straps across his chest and hips. He could feel a stinging pain in the crook of his right arm, and in the back of his hand. Something was pinching his fingertip. His head ached. His robes and shirt had been removed and he was cold.
"Sleeping beauty awakes." It was the woman's voice again.
An exasperated third voice spoke. "Subject is regaining consciousness," he said in a very official manner.
Snape opened his eyes. The room was small, square, and bright. A huge light shined right in his eyes, so the faces of those around him were hidden in the glare. A plastic tube was running into his right arm and another into the back of his hand. His chest was covered in white plastic circles, with wires coming out of them. There were monitors all around him. For a confused moment, he thought he was in a muggle hospital.
"Please state your name, age, and association," said the official voice.
It took Snape a moment to realize he was being addressed.
"Who…are…you?" Snape said slowly. He felt as if his mouth were filled with cotton.
"Please state your name, age, and association," said the official again.
"No." Snape said. He tried to shake his head and realized there were wires attached there as well.
"Subject refuses to cooperate. We are moving to step two, first injection: three milliliters, time 2:15 am Greenwich mean," said the official.
Snape expected another stab in the leg, but one of the shadowed figures moved to the tube going into his arm, and injected it with a syringe of bluish liquid. He watched it flowing slowly until it disappeared under his skin.
"Feeling that yet?" asked the woman.
She leaned close and peeled back his right eyelid, shining a small flash light in. That close, he could see her clearly despite the glare. She was wearing a paper face mask and cap, but he could see a thick scar snaking out of under the mask, down the left side of her neck. The skin around her hazel eyes was red and blistered. He would not forget.
"I'm going to kill you," he said in low voice.
"Sure you are sweetie," she paused for a moment. "There he goes."
The flash light was removed. He turned his head, trying to see the others in the room, but as he moved his chest tightened. He gasped for air. The room tilted and twisted and he felt as if he had been hung upside down by his ankles, but the shadowy figures remained standing around him, unaffected. Waves of dizziness passed through him and he tried not to vomit.
"Please state your name, age, and association for the record," said the official again.
******
"It's been eight hours." complained the man with the high voice. "Let's just end this. He's not going to crack."
"Come on Roger, don't be a quitter. Let's give him another five milliliters," said the woman.
"You are not to address each other by name while we are recording." said the official voice. "I agree though, this is going no where. Unhook him. You'll handle disposal," he said to the woman.
"Be a sport, five more milliliters," she said.
"Any more at this point would probably cause brain damage, if not out right death," said the official.
"So you want me to drag him off and shoot him in the back of the head, but you don't want to cause brain damage?"
"That's not the point and don't say things like that while we're recording. Just dispose of him. Now," said the official, who then threw down his gloves and face mask and stormed out of the room.
The woman and Roger walked over to the raving, muttering man. He was sweating profusely and his previously sharp black eyes were glassy. He had not cracked though. He had not answered a single question. All they had to add to their store of information, after eight hours of drug assisted mind bending, was that this man hated dogs, someone called Potter, and hissing sounds. More accurately, they had that, an empty note book, and a vile of clear liquid to test in the lab, but the evening still seemed wasted.
"Do you really shoot them in the back of the head?" asked Roger, as he undid the straps across the man's chest.
"Yes, unless they ask for it between the eyes, or sometimes in the heart, though most don't have a preference," she said and she carefully pulled out the I.V.
"You wait for them to wake up? Why?"
"To see if they can think of a good reason why I should let them live."
"That's sick. Lim, that is absolutely sick," he paused, an electrode hanging from his hand. "You wouldn't actually let one of them go would you? Grandfather would have your head."
"Grandfather can shove it."
After they had properly tied the subject and set him in the plastic lined trunk of the car, the woman called Lim went back into the interrogation room. She opened a cabinet and took out a glass bottle of blue liquid and a syringe. After tucking the items into the pocket of her gray trench coat, she returned to the car, climbing into the driver's seat. She drove off into heavy London traffic, humming softly.