Chapter Twelve

Though Kingsley Shacklebolt was giving off an air of calmness, the way he was playing with his golden hoop indicated that he was quite nervous. He could tell that this was an important Auror meeting, only higher placed Aurors were present and… the minister of magic, Fudge, wearing an odd expression in his face. He was seated at the front and behind him a tough-looking wizard stood, his hair short and wiry – Auror Dawlish. To Kingsley he looked like a Spanish inquisitor eager to start a witch-hunt. Or the Snape hunt, to be precise.

"Mr Dawlish," spoke the minister, "I appreciate your devotion to the case, but I doubt that your methods of questioning Mr Malfoy were lawful. You know that Mr Malfoy comes from an old, respectable family…"

"He's got the mark," the Auror interrupted him sharply, "and he is a Death Eater. He's also Snape's cousin, he told me, among other interesting things."

For a while they stared at each other until Fudge sighed, "Very well, Mr Dawlish, you know what is necessary."

"Might I say something?" asked Kingsley and not waiting for permission, he continued, "As much as I respect Mr Dawlish's skills and experience, I have my doubts about his personal involvement in this case."

"I, on the other hand, have no doubts," said Fudge, glaring at the black wizard, "I think it's perfectly rightful to have Mr Dawlish in charge of catching the murderer of his son. I trust that he'll do his best to get Snape and to show Dumbledore how mistaken he was in trusting him."

Kingsley said nothing, knowing that it was useless. To catch Snape was important to show Dumbledore's blunder and to have a public wiping boy before the minister of magic election. With a sigh, he looked at a thick file opened before him. Severus Tarquinius Snape, it read. Quickly he turned to the last page with the results of searching the Snape Manor and Snape's quarters at Hogwarts. No illegal potions had been found, only some poisons locked safely at Hogwarts and obviously used for creating antidotes, as notes indicated. Kingsley smiled to himself. Smart boy. He had no doubts that Snape had a secret storage somewhere else, well hidden. But how to get him out of this mess? Dumbledore had sent him a message that Tarquinius Snape was free which could one indicate one thing – Severus had decided to stay with Voldemort, to give in and save that bastard of a father he had. In Kingsley's opinion, Tarquinius deserved to rot in Azkaban, he certainly wasn't worth of such a sacrifice (assuming that Snape really did sacrifice himself and not chosen Voldemort because he wanted to), but who was he to judge? His family had always been loving and caring and…

"Try to get him alive," Fudge's words interrupted his thoughts, "I'll have him publicly executed, this time it's the Kiss for him."

§§

On the first day of his imprisonment he had been stubborn and unyielding, very angry and hateful, especially towards him. When Arenwald had brought him breakfast, he had refused it, knocking over the tray. His fiery black eyes had flashed in rage and Arenwald had loved it, enjoyed him fighting the bond, struggling hard not to yield in. He had brought him lunch too and the professor had thrown the plate against the wall, colourful insults pouring from his mouth. Dinner he had refused too as well as water. Keeping in mind what the Dark Lord had told him - Don't let him die – he had grabbed Snape's hair and holding him tightly, had forced some water down his throat. The glare he had got in return was truly murderous, but Arenwald could feel fear hidden behind it.

The next day he had found the professor coughing and shivering in his thin nightgown, but his glare had been as defiant as ever. Arenwald contemplated bringing him warmer clothes, but it would have been against the Dark Lord's instructions. He had asked for him, unable to hide his pain from the unwanted separation. Again he had refused food or water and this time the vampire hadn't forced him. Let's see how long you can last, professor, he smirked, amused by the resentful look in wizard's face.

However, on the third day he had attacked him, breaking the glass of water to stab at the vampire. When Arenwald easily had got hold of the slender wrist, much to his surprise the professor hadn't dropped the piece of glass, but had clenched his hand, the glass cutting deep into his hand. The scent of blood had invaded the vampire's nostrils, making him shiver from the delicious perfume. Blood… and so near… so pure… so sweet. And Snape had been smiling at him, one eyebrow raised, tempting him. He had put his bleeding hand on his mouth, smearing the blood on Arenwald's lips who had been lost in the sweet scent and taste. "Pure wizard blood," Snape had whispered, his voice low and silken. Arenwald had licked at blood on the hand and was about to bite and have more, when he had understood Snape's intentions. He had pushed him away… no, no, had thrown him away, roughly. The professor had remained lying unconscious on the floor and Arenwald fled the cell and that sweet scent of blood.

Arenwald understood what the professor had wanted to do. "You wanted me to attack you," he murmured to himself while preparing toasts and tea, "You thought that he would come which he probably would have, but I'm not stupid, no, no, my dear professor."

Slowly he was buttering the toasts; determined to stuff them down Snape's throat this time. "And maybe you hoped that I would have killed you."

He decided against adding milk or sugar into tea, but slipped a few drops of healing potion into it. With a tray he entered the damp, cold cell. Severus Snape appeared to be sleeping quite peacefully, lying on his side, with one hand underneath his cheek. But Arenwald knew that he had no peace and indeed the skinny man was shivering slightly and there was a frown settled in his white face. The warmth of the summer sun didn't reach the cell as it had no windows, so Arenwald let the door open to allow a bit of light inside. It fell upon the sleeping wizard who stirred, blinking slowly. A pained moan broke from him as he breathed out, "Master."

Arenwald crouched down to him. "He's not here, you certainly can feel that." Carefully he examined his head where he had been hit and Snape winced in pain. With an effort he sat up and gazed into the vampire's eyes.

"This emptiness here…" he clutched one slender, bandaged hand to his chest, "is unbearable. I'll go insane, Arenwald."

His black eyes spoke of suffering, he couldn't hide that, not before a vampire who could feel every human emotion keenly. But it was fascinating, watching him – the traitor – suffering from Dark Lord's absence and struggling with himself. Curious how he hated himself for not being able to resist the unresistable binding spell and not Voldemort, who had cast it on him.

"You won't be insane, professor. Drink this."

Snape turned his face away, thought he must have been thirsty by now.

"Professor, you'll drink this water and tea and eat these toasts or…"

"Or what?" whispered Snape, but drank the tea, being really thirsty.

"The master wants you and you should use this second chance. When someone lives as long as I do, good and evil matter no more. With time the ethics change, the concept of what is good and what is evil changes. Power remains and knowledge, no one can rob you of your knowledge. Don't be afraid of your dark side, learn what you can, it's yours. You wouldn't be whole without it."

"How touching," sneered Snape. His ghost-like hand was still pressed against his heart and if possible, his skin was paler, white like a sheet. Contempt curled his lips as he asked, "What do you want from me?"

Arenwald seemed taken aback by the question and Snape's cold tone. His eyes wandered to Snape's exposed throat, which was as pale as his face. "I'd love to rip your throat open," he said calmly, watching with amusement how Snape shuddered, "and drink deep, taste that sweet blood of yours again. You've already given me a taste of you and it will haunt me now. But I can reign over my nature and the Dark Lord supplies me with a lovely amount of fresh human blood. Maybe he'll get tired of you once and then…"

He reached out to Snape and touched the side of his warm neck. "In the meantime, I'd like to work with you. Your skills and knowledge are legendary. I used to be an alchemist, but gave it up long time ago when I become a vampire."

Suddenly Snape smiled – not a sneer or a cold smile – but true smile, which lightened up his face and eyes. Arenwald had never seen him like that and for a reason he didn't know, it frightened him.

"I feel… the distance is… he's returning."

Unlike Snape's, Arenwald's smile grew cold and sad. "Very well," he sighed, pulling Snape to his feet, "Come, we'll go and greet him."

§§

Author's notes: Not much happening in this chapter, but Voldemort will be back in the next and Aurors are preparing to attack soon… :-) I'm so very happy these days, I've passed an important and difficult exam, I'm still celebrating and I am so very tired, quite exhausted, but happy. Thank you very much for your reviews as well as thanks to those who reviewed "To a Land Far Away" too. I'm not sure if you remember the healer Snape killed in the first chapters – well; his father is no one else but Auror Dawlish, eager for revenge.