Wow! Thanks for all the reviews! It is so nice of you to be worried about how I'm feeling, thank you Léne. I don't think writing stories is too bad for my health. It's probably more not sleeping enough, not eating well, having no heating and getting drunk or stoned pretty much every weekend:) Seriously though I am trying to make an effort (it's hard cause there's lots of other stuff to do) but thanks again. Thank you Crescomellonnin for reviewing so many times. All those review alerts in my inbox made me happy. Sorry CitrusPeach there's not going to be any Sirus/James interaction:( The story's going to skip ahead a good few years now. (Plus I find James difficult to write.) It was nice of you to ask about my friend. He's not ok and I doubt he ever will be. (It's not fair is it, the way some people just never get a chance?) But yea, I hope so too. Frosting comes in cans? Wow. Does it go on the cookies or do you eat it on its own? I'm curious now :)

This is the last chapter in this part of the story. There will be three parts all together.

P.S. As you can see this is a pretty long bit. And I'm worried there might be some out of characterness.

Day 11.

Deatheater Headquaters:

He could almost enjoy creating the potion, if he didn't let himself think about what it would be used for. It was a poison he was to make - one designed not to kill but to make the body seem dead.

'Don't think about it!'

Two dozen lace-wing legs.

Half a pound of crushed mugwort.

Stir until the liquid turns a brick red colour.

'To not be able to move or speak or blink and yet to be fully conscious... Stop it!'

Four drops distillate of moonstone.

Allow it to fizz for six seconds.

Add a dried blossom of deadly nightshade...

"Take a break!"

Serverus started at the sudden noise, nearly spilling a flask of spider venom. Then, realizing it was only the voice of the older deatheater sent to supervise him, he calmed quickly. His cheeks reddened with shame.

"You've been hunched over that cauldron for six hours. I'm going home to bed. I suggest you do the same."

"I'd rather get this finished tonight."

He shrugged. "Your life. At least take a break though. Go for a walk. Get some fresh air." He stopped himself before finishing that thought. 'You could use it.' It was none of his problem if this boy looked as pale as a sheet of paper, looked as if he'd lived his whole life locked underground.

The walk brought little in the way of fresh air. There was ten feet of earth above the ceilings and the stench of corruption had found its way into every corner. The sense of Closterphobia was almost overpowering.

All these corridors (or was tunnels a more appropriate word?) seemed the same. Dark. Dark and dismal. But then the light wasn't for him, was it?

'No. That's reserved for Dumbeldor's beloved Griffindors.'

The dark was all he'd ever have. All he was allowed.

He was on the point of returning to the potions lab when the faint sound of screaming registered in his pre-occupied mind. Whether it was morbid curiosity or a sense of duty to bear witness Serverus couldn't tell. But something made him follow the noise. After a minute or two he reached a guard. The screams were quite loud now, filled with agony and desperation.

"What's going on?" he asked, feigning casualness.

The guard smiled. "Serverus Snape isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Oh you'll like this. Come with me. I'll show you."

With a sense of dread that went all the way to his bones he followed. He knew that whatever was coming he wasn't going to enjoy it.

They walked about ten meters along one of the dimly lit passageways. Then the guard stopped. They were in front of a locked door. It was clear that the source of the screams lay beyond it. Still smiling the guard slid open a small hatch in the wood of the door. He moved to one side, gesturing for Serverus to take a look. He looked.

He started to shake all over. A dozen conflicting emotions invaded his mind. It was a few moments before he recognized Sirus, such was the extent of the other boy's injuries. But instantly he knew what was happening. Rape.

Sirus was naked. A man in deatheater robes was on top of him, fucking him violently with complete disregard for the pain he was causing. Sweating skin. Selfish and sadistic eyes. Struggling limbs.

And over it all the horrible soul destroying screams.

Once he was out of sight of the guard Serverus ran. He ran from what he'd seen, from what he'd heard. Even before he was back in the potions laboratory frantically searching through shelved ingredients he knew he was going to do something. It didn't matter who it was. This time he wouldn't just stand by and watch. A jar fell to the floor. He was breathing too fast. And the shaking still hadn't stopped.

'Calm down you useless piece of shit.'

'Calm down this instant.'

'Regain control.'

He picked up a large shard from the mess on the ground and sliced the heavily bruised skin of his right fore-arm. The pain was intense but he barely noticed it, didn't even wince. The blood dripped to the ground. Drip. Drip. Drip. Regular. Drip. Drip. Drip. Soothing. Drip. Drip. Drip. Like a lullaby. Drip. Drip. Drip. He started looking through the shelves again, but slower and more methodically. He took down a jar and a bottle. Yes, these two mixed together should do nicely.

He stood just around the corner from the guard. Carefully he removed the stopped from the small flask he was holding and rolled it out along the grey floor. Nothing seemed to happen. The guard didn't even notice. However Serverus knew that an invisible vapor was quickly escaping. It wouldn't effect him. - He'd already taken the antidote. Dried dresil leaves, horribly bitter but potent. - But as he watched the guard's eyes started to droop and close. Half a dozen seconds latter his legs folded and he fell fully unconscious to the ground.

He stood in front of the heavy and now grimly silent wooden door. He didn't want to open it. At the same time he wasn't willing to walk away. Again.

Raising the guard's wand he whispered "Alorhama". The door creaked open. He stepped inside the cell. It was dark. But he could still make out the form of Sirus curled into a ball in a corner. His feet didn't want to move. It was five seconds before he could convince himself to go any closer. But he did. He held out the deatheater robe and mask that, like the wand, he'd taken from the guard.

"Put these on."

No response.

'I don't want to be here. Please just do it.'

Even in the dim light a huge number of injuries were visible on the other boy. Maybe he was unconscious. Or dead.

Hesitantly he reached down and shook Sirus by the shoulder.

He flinched away violently.

'What's wrong with you? You've got to put this on!'

"Sirus Black." He said it quite loudly but still there was no reaction.

Finally he had to resort to grabbing a hold of the injured teenager and pulling him up into a sitting position. He didn't want to look at the blood and the bruises.

'What do you care. You hate him.'

For several seconds Sirus just stared straight ahead. Finally he recognized the broken nosed face in front of him. Confusion flashed across his swollen features. Quickly it was replaced by anger.

"I'm trying to help you. Alright?"

Confusion again.

"Look, you need to put this on."

A few seconds passed before he nodded agreement. He was so badly hurt he couldn't get the robe on by himself. Serverus pulled it over his head as quickly as he possibly could.

'I just want this over with.'

Making sure both their masks were in place he the other boy to stand. Then out onto the corridor.

The world seemed to be spinning. Sirus was having trouble staying upright. Everything kept disappearing into darkness. It all hurt so much. If he were to close his eyes the world would just fade into a haze of pain.

'No, have to keep moving.'

One foot. Then the other. But broken bones and damaged muscles made it next to impossible. With some amazement he remembered who was helping him: 'Snivelrus'. How many other names had they called him? Familiar guilt flooded his mind.

'How come he doesn't just leave me to rot after all I've done to him?'

'There wasn't even any reason was there?'

'Just to make ourselves feel big.'

'I didn't want to.'

'As if that changes anything.'

"Snape." It was difficult to speak, his jaw was broken. "I'm sorry."

He wasn't expecting that. "It's ok." It's not. "Just keep moving."

One foot. Then the other. One foot. The other. Back to the potions lab again. Floo to Hogsmeade. Walk - or rather stumble now - to Hogswort. Collapse on the shiny floor of the entrance hall.

Hogwarts:

There was worry in Dumbeldore's eyes, definite worry. He hadn't even touched the bag of lemon drops that sat on his table.

"What happened my child?" His voice was kindly.

"I'm not your child." 'Unfortunately.'

Sirus was being cared for by Madam Pomphrey, who Albus had immediately called back from her holidays upon seeing his students. The medi-witch had turned as white as a sheet upon seeing the condition of the boy.

Serverus was sitting in the headmaster's office. He felt uncomfortable and out of place. This room belonged to a world he had no permission to enter. He'd always been in the darkness. Maybe soon he'd forget the light even existed.

Ignoring the outburst Dumbeldore had continued to speak.

"How did you get here tonight?"

Tired of the questions, physically exhausted and not wanting to draw this out any longer than was absolutely necessary he used the edge of the desk to push up his left sleeve. He held out the limb so his headmaster could see the dark mark branded into the skin.

Sorrow became apparent on the old wizard's face. Part of him had suspected this. 'But so young...'

"How long?"

"A week."

"Sirus too?"

"No, he was a prisoner. I think his parents must have given him up."

Dumbeldore fell silent. It was a moment before Serverus spoke again.

"You can call the Aurors now. I'm ready."

"Child..."

"Just call them. I don't care anymore. It's not like Azkaban could be any worse."

"Why did you take the mark?"

"He wanted me. I wasn't exactly given a choice. But that doesn't matter, does it? I still joined."

"It matters." A pause. "Does anyone know you helped Black to escape?"

"No."

"Then I have a proposition to make."