Chapter Seventeen

"Your name is Remus John Lupin, am I right?"

"Yes."

"And you're a werewolf," stated the Auror while regarding Remus Lupin through his glasses. The werewolf cringed slightly at the piercing cold look and whispered, "Yes."

"Funny what kind of 'people' Dumbledore allows to enter Hogwarts," murmured Auror Dawlish loud enough for Lupin to hear, "Well," he sighed and took a deep breath, "How long do you know Snape?"

"Since we were eleven, we were schoolmates."

The Auror scribed something into his notes while shaking his head.

"Then you should know him well. Did you know that he's You-Know-Who's follower?"

Remus shot him an angry glare. "He's a spy for the light side."

"Ah yes, a spy…" sighed the Auror and look at Remus sharply, "What has 'the spy' done to you? You've been here in St Mungo's since the attack, why?"

"But Severus…"

"No but's, please. What did he do?"

"He used Cruciatus on me and some unknown potion, his own creation. The potion caused me great pain and…"

"It didn't interact well with your lycantrophy. Fine then, that is all for now. Thank you, Mr Lupin."

The Auror was about to leave, but Remus called after him, "What's happened to Severus?"

"He's in Azkaban, paying dearly," smirked Dawlish, "A healer is seeing him today, so I must hurry. Good-bye, Mr Lupin."

After he left, Remus curled on his side, burying his head in a pillow and groaning softly. What had Severus used on him? He nearly wept from pain, which seemed like never wanting to leave him. Had he known that it would have this long-lasting effect on him? Severus wasn't the type of person making mistakes when brewing potions, but he had also said something about an experiment… 'Damn you, Severus!' cursed Remus in his mind, 'How could you so easily yield to him?' Then again, for someone who had already been caught up in dark arts, it was difficult not to yield into temptation once more. And Remus had a feeling that Voldemort had 'helped' Severus to return. Although Remus was well aware of all this, he had felt something dark around Severus… it pained him to see him back at Voldemort's side. It disappointed him. He had believed Severus strong and loyal to Dumbledore. Whatever had Voldemort done, it hadn't been the Imperius Curse. Besides, he knew that Snape was able to fight Imperius well, he had once seen him doing it. But now… Severus was again calling Voldemort 'my lord' and doing his biding. Down in that dungeon, he had reminded him all too much of Voldemort and how cold and cruel his eyes had been!

And the Cruciatus – he had meant it, it had been powerful and well done. As another wave of pain crushed through his body, Remus realised that he was angry with Severus. He didn't like the feeling and didn't wish for death or Kiss for him, but he was angry. Designing torture potions – Snape had been doing that for longer, he was sure. "Oh," he moaned in pain, "Why didn't you stay clear of the Dark Arts, Severus?"

§§

"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, hell of heaven," whispered a soft, satin voice while its owner hugged his knees tightly to his chest, shivering in the cold cell. He couldn't stop trembling – pain, cold, fear and emptiness… and Dementors. Only a few of them remained in Azkaban, but that was enough for the imprisoned Death Eater, particularly because they guarded him almost constantly. He shook his head, attempting to clear it.

"Still in mood for poetry?" asked another voice, cold like the sharpest blade, mocking him. It belonged to the Auror Dawlish.

He stepped slowly into the cell and the dark wizard met his ruthless eyes. An evil, sadistic grin was plastered in his face and Snape involuntarily shivered, closing his eyes. He wished the Auror would leave, why was this one always guarding him?

Then another man came in, this time a healer who knelt down to Snape. "Your clothes," he commanded sharply. Severus hesitated. His clothing consisted only of boxers and an old, frayed tunic and he felt cold, so very cold, not willing to expose his body to even more coldness. However, Auror Dawlish was not a patient man.

A slap brought some faint colour to the prisoner's pale cheek. The Auror put the tip of his wand to Snape's forehead and hissed, "I advise you to obey, Snape."

Yet he didn't wait to see if the prisoner would obey, again he hit him and started to undress him, his hands brutal on Snape's wounds. Finding no strength to fight, Severus closed his eyes, drifting away into his mind. Not that it was a pleasant place there – the slow bleed of the binding spell was excruciating – but at least he could pretend to be alone. The healer was quick and quiet, he inspected and washed the wounds and ordered Snape to get dressed. He obeyed quickly, shivering in the cold air caressing his skin. The healer left, but the Auror stayed, towering above the silent wizard.

"Are you cold, Snape?" he asked softly. Severus looked up to see his mocking face and the wand pointed at him. His fingers touched his cheek lightly, causing him to flinch, "Oh yes, you're so very cold, aren't you?"

Yes, he was cold, his feet and hands were numb and icy, and the coldness was hurting him as sure as some slow curse working secretly. A coughing fit shook his weakened body and Snape was cursing that it had to choose this precise moment. He heard Dawlish's laughter while his lungs almost exploded with pain.

"Is he ill?" came another, more familiar voice. Moody. With his hand over his mouth, Severus turned to glare at the ex-Auror who glared back. Now and then Moody came to see him, probably on Dumbledore's orders, though Dumbledore had never shown up.

"No worries, Alastor, the healer's just left," replied Dawlish, "I suppose it's a bit cold down here."

"Well, one would think that traitorous little snakes enjoy coldness. Is it so, Snape?" rose Moody's voice, "How do you like it here?"

For not answering he was again hit by the Auror. This time Snape groaned as the back of his skull painfully connected with the hard wall. Moody laughed sadly and knelt down to him. Both his eyes fixed Snape's dark ones which were slightly veiled. Severus flinched when he put his hand to his chest, looking back at him confused. He realised now how much his lungs were aching and Moody smiled. "But you aren't that much fond of coldness, are you?"

"Go to hell, Moody," whispered Snape, barely moving his lips. Moody smiled again, an unnerving smile for Snape.

"I guess that you're already there, Snape. How do you feel alone, completely alone?"

Snape hugged himself, bowing his head. He wasn't alone… he could still feel (though every day less and less) the Dark Lord through the severed bond. The Dark Lord would save him; he had punished him enough… Or Lucius would, his only cousin and close friend.

"How much did you tell Voldemort?" pushed Moody, hoping that maybe this time he would get answers. After all, Snape look a bit better than the last time he had seen him.

But Snape was refusing to answer. "Damn you, Snape, answer me!" shouted Moody at him. "Have you gone over to him completely? Why did he leave you there on your own, injured and unconscious?"

No answer again. Snape closed his eyes, drifting away into his mind, away from the cold cell and Moody's questions. He clung to the remaining traces of the bond – the only comfort provided to him in this hostile place.

Alastor had never liked Snape, but seeing him like this – shivering in the dark cell, hugging his knees, his eyes closed tight – he couldn't help not to be saddened by it. This wasn't the Snape he had known. This one was different, resigned, lost. Moody hated this war and hated Voldemort for making this man so cold and empty, enslaving this brilliant and clever young man in darkness.

He gripped his shoulders tight, noticing how he flinched at the contact. "Snape, speak to me!" he shook him, "Damn it, speak to me! How could you return to him! How? Why?"

He shook him violently, Snape's silence fuelling his anger. What was he supposed to do to get his talk? Dumbledore, who wasn't allowed to visit Snape, wanted him to talk to him, but how when the snake was refusing to co-operate? He grabbed his arm and pushed up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. Snape's eyes opened as he bowed his head to look at the ugly mark. The Dark Lord's mark… He would save him, certainly he would. He had punished him enough, surely he didn't want him dead or Kissed…

As if reading his thoughts, Moody smiled sadly at him, "Snape, don't think that you mean anything to Voldemort. Please, try to co-operate with Aurors. Albus will make everything in his power to help you, but forget Voldemort."

"I can't, Moody," said Snape softly. "I'm a murderer, a torturer. Who else could like me than him? He knows me so well. Yes, he's cruel and… and… " he fell quiet again, withdrawing further into his corner. "Let me be, please."

"As you wish," sighed the former Auror, leaving the prisoner alone. "I'll return tomorrow. Remember that I'm coming to see you on Dumbledore's orders, Snape."

Snape looked at him without any expression in his face. Then he smirked a bit and turned away from Moody.

§§

Author's notes: I'm not totally satisfied with this chapter, but I guess that I can't really make it any better at the moment. Moody is not as bad as he may appear, in his own way he cares (a bit) for Snape now when he sees him weak and imprisoned. Thank you very much for reviewing, you're all wonderful!