A/N: Sorry for the long absence. I feel that it's time for an author's note. Once upon a time there was a poor student who felt that other people should share in the making of her brainchild. So she wrote a story in script format and put it online. The site neglected to tell her that it did not like script format. Someone else told her and she was in the midst of rewriting her story to repost it when the site DELETED her story. It was rather sad for this hypothetical girl. Not only did they delete her story, but they also prevented her from posting elsewhere for a rather long time. And there was much sadness and despair in the girl's room.
Wasn't that story nice? It was rather nice. (deep sigh) Hopefully, no real person will ever have to experience what the horror of that really is. Well. Onto more of the sadistic author torturing her defenseless Keeper.
Disclaimer: Perhaps if I put in a patent on Oliver then everyone would recognize him as mine. You think?
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Voldemort stood delightedly over Oliver. "What did you say?" he asked a malicious grin on his face. Oliver groaned and rolled over so that he would be facing Voldemort's face.
"I said that I would tell you what you wanted to know," Oliver groaned. "Just don't hurt me anymore." A small part of him rebelled at this begging for his life, but the larger part of him screamed out to shut up. if telling Voldemort information would stop him from hurting him, then it was fair.
"Tell me about your little Order," Voldemort softly hissed. "I want to know. Tell me." Oliver nodded and started to speak in a harsh voice.
"There's Dumbledore," Oliver panted out. Voldemort screamed in rage and pointed his wand at Oliver's unprotected stomach. Before Oliver could react a jet of red light had hit him in the stomach.
"Stupid boy, tell me things that I do not know!" Voldemort shrieked. "I will be forced to take drastic measures with you!" He finally brought his wand away and Oliver was able to breathe. Voldemort took a deep breath and tried to control his rage. "Now boy, tell me something new."
Oliver was sobbing in pain and agony. His mind was blabbering, trying to say anything to stop Voldemort from hurting him. "Minerva McGonagall," he gasped out. Voldemort eagerly listened to Oliver's confession of names. "Arthur Weasley," Oliver said, searching his mind for more names. "Severus Snape," he gasped out. He stopped when he said that name. He had just revealed Snape.
"What?" Voldemort shrieked. He ran to the door and flung it open. Marcus Flint peered around the door to see what was the matter. "Bring Severus Snape to me," Voldemort commanded. Oliver tried to get up from the floor. He had this idea that if he could manage to push himself up then all the damage he had just done would somehow disappear. Voldemort pushed him back to the ground with a foot. "How does it feel, knowing that you've betrayed your friends?" Voldemort asked him in a vicious whisper. "They will die and they will die cursing your name."
"No," Oliver said, trying to deny it. "It's not true." Voldemort sneered at him and pushed harder on his feeble chest, crushing the breath out of him.
"Fool," Voldemort scorned him. "Did you think that the Dark Lord had his spies only here? They are all over the Ministry. Your foolish Order might have put a charm on their house, but it doesn't matter. With our sources inside the Ministry, we can find out the location of his house and merely burn the entire countryside to shreds." Voldemort pushed so hard on Oliver's chest that yet another one of his ribs cracked under the pressure.
"Did you think that you, a mere boy, could contend with the will of Lord Voldemort?" Voldemort asked in a rapturous whisper. "There are none who can. Against the Dark Lord there can be no victory, only death."
The door burst open. Severus Snape came in, followed by Marcus Flint. "Yes my Lord?" Snape asked respectfully. Oliver gasped as he recognized the voice. It was the man that had helped him throughout so many trials. Oliver's heart dropped another five feet. He was going to kill the person who had helped him through so much and who had been such a comfort to him.
"Traitor," Voldemort hissed, slowly bringing up his wand and pointing it at Snape's heart. "You have betrayed me once; I shall not allow you to betray me again. Do you know what Lord Voldemort does to those who are unfaithful?" his voice was rising in rage until it was a shrill shriek.
For the first time, Oliver could see fear blanch across Snape's face. He squinted his eyes, trying to see harder in the dim light. "My lord, my only wish is to serve you," he stammered. Voldemort snarled like an animal and took one step forward.
"Liar," he whispered harshly. 'You serve the Muggle-lover and fool, Albus Dumbledore. The boy told me so." He made a gesture towards the hapless Oliver.
Oliver shook his head, trying to soundlessly apologize for what he had done. He did not think that Snape saw him, but he had to apologize. He had to make Snape know that he didn't mean it. He could see Snape's outline relax his shoulders slightly. "The boy is delirious," he said dismissively. "He knows not what he is saying. Doubtless he is trying to spout out any sort of nonsense in order for you to stop hurting him."
"No, he knows what he said," Voldemort said, his voice becoming dangerously low. Snape swallowed hard as he saw a few red sparks shoot out of the end of Voldemort's wand. "You are a traitor, and we have method of ending your ways." Before Snape could react a jet of red light shot out of the wand and hit him in the stomach.
Snape flew back and hit the floor. Marcus Flint stood over him in surprised hatred. He would have never suspected the head of Slytherin House to be a secret spy working for Dumbledore. His former fondness for the Potions Master suddenly disappeared, replaced by a nonchalant abhorrence. He looked at the ceiling in boredom as Snape started to scream.
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Alicia had not been able to sleep the entire night. She had been tossing and turning, trying to find a way to tell Dumbledore where she thought Oliver was without sounding stupid. She could just imagine how it would sound to the world famous wizard: "Oh, excuse me Professor Dumbledore. I just wanted you to know this. I had a dream last night and I believe that Oliver is in northern Russia from this dream. No, I don't have any actual facts to make this assumption known, but I still think it's rather good."
Alicia winced just thinking about it. "Come on, think woman," she urged herself. She had been fairly smart at Hogwarts. There should be a way she could tell Professor Dumbledore about her dream without sounding too idiotic. She got out of bed when the first light touched the window and put on a robe. She ran downstairs to find Professor Dumbledore sitting at the table. It seemed almost as if he was waiting for her.
"Professor Dumbledore," she said breathlessly as she went down the steps. "I didn't expect to find you here this morning."
"I decided to stop by and see how you were doing," he said, smiling as he took another sip of tea. "I must admit, I did feel rather bad taking you away with no real explanation whatsoever."
"Professor Dumbledore," Alicia began before losing her nerve. He merely smiled at her, urging her to continue. As she looked into his kind blue eyes Alicia felt the strength to continue with her question. "Do you trust in dreams? I mean, if you had a dream that told you a message, would you trust it?"
Dumbledore stroked his long silver beard for a few minutes. "Many wizards do not trust the messages they find in dreams, believing them to be misleading and nothing more than the unconscious thoughts of a brain resting. I however, believe that dreams tell us what we truly need to know. It is our brain telling us what we need without being unencumbered by the problems of the modern day."
Alicia took in a deep breath and smiled, feeling at least twenty percent lighter. Professor Dumbledore would believe her. "I had a dream last night," she began before her entire story spilled out in a rush of emotions, words, and images. "It was about Oliver, and it was set at Hogwarts. I don't ever remember what happened in the dream, which makes me think that it wasn't a memory. I think it was Oliver trying to tell me something. He kept on mentioning Northern Russia. I think he's in Northern Russia."
Professor Dumbledore slowly nodded. "I think you might be correct in your assumption Ms. Spinnet," he said lowly. "We will have to get the rest of the Order here of course, but soon we will be able to make an attempt to rescue poor Mr. Wood. Goodness knows it is about time."
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Oliver winced again as he heard another dull thump. Snape was now getting the treatment that he himself had received many a time. Lord Voldemort did not deal kindly with those who vexed him. Oliver felt himself automatically curling up into a fetal position as he heard the screams that were coming from the cell next to his. Snape was getting the torture that was rightfully his. Though he hated himself for his betrayal, a tiny part of his mind rejoiced that another was receiving the torment instead of him.
There was a final, loud scream and then nothing. Oliver gasped and shuddered, thinking the worse. Snape had been killed or had died from the enormous amount of pain that he was going through. Oliver instinctively drew away from the small sliver of light that came through the door. He heard the loud, echoing footsteps coming towards him. He looked up to see the sneering face of Lord Voldemort.
"Now you will see what happens to those who defy Lord Voldemort," Voldemort said with an evil smirk. "Look well, for this will be your fate." Marcus Flint and Lucius Malfoy threw Snape into the room. From his vantage point on the ground Oliver could see a wand slide out of Snape's robes. He seemed to be the only one who noticed this. Malfoy and Flint drew back from him in revulsion. Snape looked up at Voldemort with pure hatred in his eyes.
Voldemort raised his arm, pointing his wand at Snape. No one was watching Oliver. He inched forward and his weak fingers closed around the wand. Snape's eyes flickered down to meet those of his former student. Oliver stared back at him before Voldemort began to laugh.
"And so ends all who dare to stand against Lord Voldemort!" he said maniacally. Oliver saw Voldemort getting ready to scream the Killing Curse. On a whim, Oliver raised his own, stolen wand. "Expelliarmus!" Oliver screamed out, disarming Voldemort and sending him flying against a wall. Snape met Oliver's eyes for one, frightened second.
"We'll come for you Wood," he said, before Disapparating with a loud pop that sounded like a whip cracking. Oliver let himself fall back down to the floor, unable to stand up anymore. Flint and Malfoy helped their master to stand up. Voldemort turned his flaming red eyes on Oliver. Oliver inwardly cringed. He had just sealed his death blow. No one dared to attack Lord Voldemort in such a way. When he spoke, Voldemort confirmed Oliver's suspicions.
"I have no more need for this boy," he said dismissively. "Take him away." Flint eagerly stepped forward, taking out his wand. He stopped when Voldemort held out his hand. "No. that's too painless and quick." Oliver saw the gleam of Voldemort's teeth as he smiled evilly. "Throw him outside. Let him freeze and Dumbledore shall never find his icy bones."
"No!" Oliver struggled as Malfoy and Flint grabbed under his arms and dragged him outside. "No!" Oliver yelled again as he was thrown out into the icy wind. Malfoy went inside, but Flint remained outside for a few more seconds to watch his former Quidditch opponent.
"Not so tough now, are you Wood?" he sneered at him. Oliver stared up at him, already beginning to shiver. Snow began to fall around them. Soon it was whipping into their faces, making tiny red marks where it hit. "You could really use my help, couldn't you? You know that you wouldn't last for another five minutes out here in the snow by yourself."
Oliver glared up at Flint in the darkness. A faint light was shining on the snow from the Death Eater's quarters. It was the only illumination that existed. All of the natural light had fled. "I would never ask you for help Flint, not even if my life depended on it," Oliver hissed. He could feel the thin rivulets of blood streaking down his chin. He wondered whether that was from internal injuries or a cut on his lip. Either one didn't feel very good to have; though he supposed that internal injuries might be worse than a cut on the lip.
"Your life does depend on it, you Scottish bastard," Flint said with a sneer in his face. "You always were a proud asshole. I could save your life right now. Voldemort wants you on our side. If you would just give up he would have you."
"Join with you?" Oliver felt himself beginning an incredulous laugh that ended in a hacking cough. "I'd rather die."
"Then you'll die," Flint said indifferently. He walked back towards the headquarters of Voldemort. The door closed and Oliver was left alone in the snow.
"No!" Oliver yelled out at the snow. "No! Don't leave me here!" He would have yelled more, but his proud heritage would not allow him to yell more. He sank into the snow, weeping at his predicament.
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Harry, Hermione, and Ron were sitting on the couch. With the news of Oliver's parents their happy moods had gone. They should rightfully be outside and playing Quidditch but instead they were sitting and moping inside. Hermione felt another surge of anger towards Voldemort as she looked at Harry. Voldemort had stolen so much from Harry: his parents, his life, his childhood, Cedric, his innocence, his godfather, and now his happiness. How much more would Harry have to give up?
There was a loud pop. Ron looked up in confusion. "What was that?" he asked to the silence of the parlor. "Fred and George are at the shop, Bill and Charlie are at the Ministry with Dad, and everyone else is at their jobs. No one should be Apparating here."
Ron hesitantly got up and walked out the door. Hermione closely followed. Harry stayed on the couch, a sense of foreboding taking him over. When Hermione screamed he did not start. It was what he was expecting. He sat on the couch as Mrs. Weasley ran down the stairs. She screamed when she saw what was outside their door. Harry still sat on the couch, frozen in a sort of shock as Professor Snape was brought into the Burrow.
"Oh my god," Hermione said, her breath coming in short gasps as she started to hyperventilate. "What do we do? Mrs. Weasley, what should I do?" Alicia, Katie, and Angelina came down the stairs. Katie squealed in horror when she saw her Potions Master lying unconscious on the kitchen table. Blood was seeping through his nose and ears, there were bruises all over his body and his breathing indicated that he had a broken rib.
Angelina felt panic overtaking her but she tried to stop it. She took a deep breath and strode into the kitchen. Hermione was against the sink, completely useless. Her breath came in short gasps. If she continued this for long then she would pass out. Angelina took out her wand. "Accio!" she said loudly. A paper bag came whizzing to her. She gave it to Hermione. "Put this over your mouth," she commanded. Hermione complied with her wishes and her breath started to slow down.
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley looked at her and for the first time saw the adult that Angelina had grown into. Before this incident she was just one of the twins' friends from school. Now she was a woman that was equal with herself. Mrs. Weasley nodded.
"I need you to go to the Ministry of Magic. I know that the Aurors and Arthur will be there. Professor Dumbledore might be there as well. We need to gather everyone here."
"Shouldn't we take him to St. Mungo's?" Ron asked, staring at Snape with a morbid fascination. "Wouldn't they be able to do more for him than we would?"
"That wouldn't be bright," Mrs. Weasley said crisply.
"Why not?" Harry asked, speaking up for the first time since Snape had come in.
"Remember Bode last year?" she asked, starting to bandage one of Snape's cuts. "The Death could have infiltrated St. Mungo's. If we put him in there then they could kill him. It's not safe anywhere anymore. The best thing would be to take Healers here."
"If you don't need anything I'll be going," Angelina said. Mrs. Weasley nodded. Angelina walked out of the house and disappeared with a sound like a whip cracking.
Katie stared at the unconscious Snape. Though he had tortured her and her fellow Gryffindor Quidditch team members she felt enormous amounts of pity for him. The main thought that was going through her head was not concern for Snape. The main thought that was going through her head was that Oliver would look worse than this if they got him back.
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Sorry that it took so long to churn this out! In addition to the thing above, I had a huge case of writer's block. I also obtained a part-time job that takes up all my weekend, which was the only time I had to write due to classes. Please bear with me and know that updates might be a bit slower than they used to be.
Thanks, Alasse