Title: Venomous II, Part II

(A Story in Two Parts)

Author: Phinea Rogue

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Severus Snape and some others (Tarquinius Snape, Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Auror Dawlish…)

"Long is the way

And hard, that out of hell leads to light."

John Milton

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Chapter Sixteen

A dark shape on the floor shifted a little when a streak of light fell upon it and like a wounded animal moved into a corner in the vain hope of finding safety there. Auror Dawlish smirked and walked over to the prisoner who shivered at the threatening clang of his heavy boots. Since they had captured the Death Eater, he was slipping in and out of consciousness, never truly aware of what was happening around him, except for… He had already learnt of the Auror and even if not fully awake, the prisoner could always recognise the steps. And so Severus, dizzy from the blood loss and excruciating bleed of the magical wound caused by Voldemort's spell, shrank back from the unwelcomed sound like a sleeping person struggling to get away from monsters in a nightmare. Dawlish was, certainly, well aware of this subconscious fear, for he had created it himself. No comfort had he offered to the Death Eater and only minimum healing (Fudge wanted him alive for a trial) needed for him so that he wouldn't bleed to death.

With disgust etched into the lined of his face, Dawlish hooked one foot under Snape and effortlessly flipped him over. The prisoner groaned weakly, his eyelids fluttered briefly, but did not open. With satisfaction Dawlish noted the unhealthy paleness of his skin and prominent cheekbones. He knelt down to him and touched his cheek lightly. Snape recoiled from the touch, turning his face to the other side. Again Dawlish smirked, the Death Eater was burning in fever, it served him right!

"My dear, are you ill?" he asked in mock concern, "Well, well, well… I've brought you something more suitable to wear here. These clothes…" he yanked at Snape's fine wine-red robes, "are far too noble for this accommodation and you sure don't want to feel so out of place here."

The Auror tore the robes from the prisoner's body, oblivious to his injuries, and not too gently forced an old, grey tunic onto him. "Now this is better," he smiled, savouring the moments when Snape had flinched under his fingers. The man obviously didn't like to be touched which was an information Dawlish found most useful.

For a moment Severus opened his eyes, but his eyelids were heavy and he saw only a blurry silhouette of the Auror. He scowled at him, trying to clear his vision and see who it was that was hurting him, but it cost him too much of his strength. A hand gripped his jaw tightly.

"Yes, Snape, do look at me. Look me in the eye, you murderer!" shouted the ghost-like Auror at him. "This is your end. You won't escape the Kiss this time!"

The Kiss… Dementors… a shudder…

Cold. Hard. Stone.

Snape couldn't make much out of his surroundings. He couldn't keep his eyes open, the cold floor underneath him was spinning and it wasn't solid enough to keep him from falling. His limbs were leaden, the only picture clear in his mind was that of the Dark Lord, but when he wanted to reach out to him, he found out that he couldn't, that he had fallen too far… His arms were heavy and his body bleeding and there was nothing to save him from the fall.

Darkness had enveloped him, obscuring his vision and it was pain, pain everywhere and all around, pain in his heart… He clutched a hand to his chest and rolled to a side, with his back to the blurry greyness laughing at him.

A hand on his forehead… Murderer! … Death Eater! … Kiss!

"He looks like hell. Is he ill?"

Dawlish turned to look at Alastor Moody who had just entered the cell. "Nothing serious. Fudge wants him alive, of course, he'll survive. Possibly…" he shrugged.

"Survive for the Kiss."

"A murderer such as himself deserves it."

"Yes. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. I was right not to trust him, but you know what Albus is like. He would see something good in Lucifer himself."

The statement brought a content smile to Dawlish's face. He gestured for Moody to come and have a closer look at Snape.

Without a warning, Moody grabbed Snape's shoulders and slammed him hard against the wall. "How much did you tell him, you death eating scum?" he yelled in an attempt to pierce the heavy mist surrounding Snape's mind. He felt him flinch under his touch and shudder, though his eyes remained closed and his head lolled to a side weakly.

"You won't get much out of him now, I'm afraid, Alastor."

Moody tightened his grip, unwilling to let go of him and shook Snape violently, determined to shake the answer out of him. But the prisoner remained unresponsive; fuelling Mad-Eye's fury with his silence.

"Answer me, you filth!" he yelled, "Look at me!"

He had his hand in Snape's hair now, holding him upright in a sitting position, and the tip of his wand pressed against his forehead. "Ennervate!"

Dawlish laughed when Snape's eyes flew open, revealing the fright in them, which gave way to a silent plea.

"Traitor!" hissed Moody, his face inches from Snape's. He bent his head to his ear to whisper, "I knew better than to trust you, scum."

After a slight tremor, Snape's eyes closed again, allowing him to slip back into his feverish nightmares. Moody let go of him, watching him slid limply to the ground. "I can't wait to see him Kissed," he muttered and stood up. With one last glance at the prisoner, full of contempt and disgust, he left the cell to report to Dumbledore the state Snape was in.

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The Great Hall of Hogwarts was deserted save for one breathing person and one ghost hovering above him and glaring. Harry sighed and dragged himself straight to the man sitting (half-laying) at the Slytherin table. He had a bottle of firewhiskey on display in front of him and two empty glasses. Had he been drinking with the Bloody Baron, emptying 'the ghost's glass' too? The boy shook his head and took a seat opposite of him, waiting quietly for Tarquinius to notice him. After a few moments of silence, the Senior Snape became aware of someone else than just the ghost studying him and he raised his heavy head to look into Harry's eyes.

"You here?" he smirked, "Why?"

"I've got detention. With Filch," said Harry, scowling, and added, "Till the beginning of the new term."

"Ah yes," laughed Tarquinius, "I've heard of your… heroism. Going off to a battle… are all the Gryffindors this stupid?"

Harry felt a rush of blood to his cheeks and angrily he jumped from his seat. What was Tarquinius thinking? Insulting him like that…

"Calm down, lad," smiled Snape and filled the glasses with firewhiskey, "Come, have a drink with me."

"Haven't you promised your son never to drink again and start healing?"

"My son?"

Tarquinius leaned comfortably into his chair; fixing Harry with is ruthless grey eyes. He looked like he was going to say something biting and cruel, but changed his mind when his heart skipped a beat. My son. A sharp pang of pain struck through him like a knife and a mist of tears came across his eyes. "I have no son," he said and felt as if a hand of ice had been lain upon his heart. Was he cruel? Heartless?

It was Severus's fault, not his. Severus had disappointed him. Severus hadn't been strong enough to resist the Dark Lord's temptations. He had murdered. Aurors had said that he had used another Unforgivable too and that had happened when he was already free from the Dark Lord. Therefore Severus couldn't have done it in order to save him… no, no… Yet a feeling of regret came over him as he thought of him locked in Azkaban. He hadn't gone to see him, but Harry… Harry…

"There, in the battle, you've seen him."

"Yes."

"And? What was he like?" pressed Tarquin.

"Why do you care?" frowned the teen. One minute Tarquinius hated his son, the other he cared for him. Couldn't he been less confusing? "You hate him."

"I don't. I'm only disappointed in him."

"That's worse that hatred," objected Harry, "But well, he… didn't look well and was a lot different."

"How different?"

"Different. His hair, his clothes…" Harry shifted in the seat, this wasn't a comfortable conversation, "I wanted to make him suffer, but I … couldn't kill him. Now Dementors will have him."

They both shuddered and suddenly Tarquinius's face drained of all colour as the words sank in. "No!" he thundered and his mouth twitched as he remembered his years spent in Azkaban. He passed his trembling hand across his sweaty forehead and felt panic creeping over him. "No, no…" he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. He glanced wildly around, an uncontrollable feeling of fear coming over him. "Not Severus, they can't… my child, my only child!"

His hands flew into his hair, clawing at it, tearing, while horrible thoughts raced through his mind. He sank to the ground, now sobbing quietly and Bloody Baron drifted off to bring in Tarquinius's healer. A horrible sense of sickness overtook Harry as he watched the older Snape suffer. Never before had he thought that Snape, that greasy git, was someone's child. He didn't know what to think anymore, there was an empty hollow in his chest and confusion in his mind. 'Snape deserves the Kiss,' he attempted to persuade himself, but looking at the broken figure of Tarquinius, he dared not to voice his thoughts. It was horrific, it was painful and terrific, and he was most thankful for the healer's soon arrival.

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Thank you very much for all your wonderful reviews! The next chapter I don't know when will be ready, because I should also study for my exam and up-date my other story, but I'll do my best. But exam is most important, I'm sorry.