Chapter Nineteen

"Oh, dear, dear," sighed healer Marwood while examining the sickly pale prisoner and shook her head. Tarquinius raised a questioning eyebrow at her dramatic sighs, Moody shifted impatiently in his seat and Auror Dawlish appeared to be angry. Snape's face, on the other hand, showed no expression as he sat stiffly on a bed, trying to shut everyone out. He hated such examinations. "He should be transported to St Mungo's."

"Which he wouldn't be," spoke the Auror firmly, "If you haven't noticed, he's a Death Eater," he pointed at Snape's dark mark, shining hideously black against the white skin.

"I have heard of it," murmured the elderly witch and continued scanning Snape's thin body. As many wizards, she had had her own experience with Death Eaters – mostly with their victims. With another deep sigh her eyes rose to his face and lingered on his lowered eyes. Long, long ago had she stopped wondering about what drove several young, brilliant people to Voldemort. She had learnt of Severus Snape as of an exceptionally gifted Potions Master who was highly respected among healers (one of the few who could brew Wolfsbane). Obviously his talents didn't lie on the healing potions' field solely, what a pity. Yet it was not her work to judge him.

With a trembling hand she touched his forehead lightly. Although his fever was undisputedly very high and he appeared ill, her intuition and experience was telling her that this was no ordinary human illness. His immune system had been weakened and thus was vulnerable to the damp coldness of Azkaban cells. What had caused it? She had scanned him for all known curses created to weaken one's immune system, but had found nothing of the sort. That left her greatly confused. It must have been dark magic, she was confident about that. Something dark, but unnoticeable. If only Snape would talk to her! But the man, except occasional glares, showed no will for communication.

"Alastor, come!" she commanded her friend, not wanting to force her unwilling patient into anything.

Dawlish frowned, but remained silent, curious as to what took her so long.

"I can feel something around his heart, possibly dark magic…"

"Dark magic, you say?" wondered Moody, pondering it for a while. Snape took a sharp intake of breath as the former Auror's hand stroke his chest lightly. But all that could Moody feel tingling under his hand was a faint echo of dark magic. Too weak, in his opinion, to cause any illness. Yet the sudden discovery had made him more curious. How come he hadn't felt it before? Not only him – no one had sensed it. Though… Remus Lupin had voiced his suspicions once to Albus… Remus had felt something in Snape's presence, but at that time Moody had waved it off since the whole building had been full of dark magic.

"What is it, Snape?" he asked in vain hope of getting answer from him. Since they had started the examination, Snape just sat there with head help up high and eyes lowered. Arrogant bastard, how could Albus ever trusted him? Even the way he sat radiated arrogance! How could Albus ever stand this muted arrogance?

"What is it?" he repeated the question, much louder this time. Snape didn't respond.

Shaking his head, Dawlish approached the prisoner and hit him hard. "Answer, Snape!"

Before Dawlish could hit him again, he found his hand in the iron grip of Tarquinius's hand. "Once more, Dawlish, and you'll regret it!" he hissed venomously, grinding the Auror's bones together. "And you Severus, do co-operate. What kind of curse it was?"

"Not a curse," answered Snape softly, glaring at the Auror, "it was a binding spell. It's severed now."

"Oh, dear," sighed the healer again. "Severed?"

Snape nodded weakly, wishing the examination would be over soon. He had always hated being analysed and studied in such a way. He rubbed his cheek, which was beginning to pound dully from Dawlish's blow and cast down his eyes. "The Dark Lord has severed it the day when I was caught."

"When did he bind you?" asked the Auror. Snape turned to him, reading the emotions in his face, knowing very well what he wanted to know. "Was it before or after you murdered my son?"

"After."

There was no need for lies; he would no doubt be questioned by Veritaserum later.

However, his cool answer knocked the breath out of Moody. "After? Are you telling me that you killed him before…"

Snape nodded wordlessly, watching with a smirk in his face the shift of emotions on their shocked faces. "Yes, I killed him before the binding spell was put on me," he confirmed, adding stress to the fateful word.

§§

Arenwald sat in the bar of Hog's Head gazing out of a window. The street outside looked ghastly in the misty darkness as the moon hang low in the sky like a yellow skull. From time to time a cloud stretched a long arm across it and hid it. A few moments ticked by and the skull reappeared in the sky. In his imagination it looked nearly like the dark mark burnt into the skin of Voldemort's followers… into the Professor's pale skin… He winced and quickly drank his glass empty, enjoying the burning of firewhiskey in his throat. It had wiped away the sweet taste of Malfoy's blood (what a pity he couldn't drain the cretin whole!) bringing a new, sharper one.

Then an expression of disgust and contempt crossed his handsome face. Why was he thinking about some pitiful mortals? His own nature revolted against being drowned in their lives. He had always tided with them only if it was beneficial for him. Nowadays, when the Ministry wasn't dealing kindly with vampires, Voldemort had become a powerful ally. Centuries ago had he ceased to differentiate between good and evil. Eventually, humans usually used the same means for both good and evil ends, so where was the difference? Very few of them were fascinating to him and those few were often people on the side which, for now, was considered as evil. Yes, Lord Voldemort himself was an enchanting creature, cruel, but clever and inspiring. So was the Professor – Severus – one of the few who could be destined for immortality, a survivor.

His slim hands twitched nervously together. Snape again, when would he finally leave his mind? The man was practically dead; it would be the best to think of him as of a dead.

A hand touched his shoulder lightly, snatching him awake from his reverie. "Herrgott!" he swore quietly before turning to the intruder who had taken a seat opposite of him. He could feel his brilliant blue eyes searching in his soul which was well locked from everyone. "Will you care to tell me why are you disturbing me?"

"I think I know who you are," spoke Albus Dumbledore softly, smiling. He hadn't asked for the vampire's name, these dark creatures preferred to stay anonymous. "You were seen here following Severus Snape out of the bar shortly before his disappearance."

Arenwald's eyes searched out the bartender who only shrugged and passed from his sight.

"Yes, I saw him." He could remember that evening very well. "Why do you ask?"

"I have heard of an alliance between some vampires and Voldemort, you must be one of them. I believe you have seen him more than once…"

The unfinished sentence hang in the air like a question. Arenwald nodded slowly. "Professor Dumbledore, don't expect me to help you and turn my back to the Dark Lord. I have no interest whatsoever in any short mortal life."

"Any information on Severus would be helpful, that's all I need. I'm not allowed to see him and only few people can get to him, however, on limited time only."

A gentle smile ghosted over Arenwald's porcelain white skin. "I've nearly forgotten how emotionally attached you humans are, so caring and weak because of that. There's not much I'm allowed to tell you, Professor Dumbledore."

"I'll be grateful for anything," whispered the headmaster while covering Arenwald's cold hand with his in mute pleads.

"You won't be able to save him anyway, not from your laws, so what's the point? He's done things that can't be excused, oh yes, horrible things. Our lord knows powerful methods of persuasions. I suppose that you've already discovered the binding spell and that fact that it was broken in a very vengeful, dangerous way. However, since I know how stubborn and uncooperative your Potions Master is, I doubt he told you about one more thing. The Dark Lord has saved his life. Yes," laughed Arenwald sadly when seeing Dumbledore's horrified face, "there was an unpleasant incident with Bellatrix's poisonous roses. The Professor nearly died then, but was saved by the Dark Lord. I thought you should know about the life debt, I have no doubt you'll want to cure him from the after effects of the severed bond and this could cause complications since it had strengthened the link. I believe that there's still something left of the link, you'll need to be careful."

He gazed out of the window again, watching the skull-like moon, considering the discussion closed. If they so much wanted to cure Snape… but what for? The man was dead. He would get the Kiss anyway or at least the life sentence.

And yet the headmaster remained seated in his chair, studying the vampire's face intently.

"You have sympathy for him."

Arenwald's face turned back to the headmaster. "I do, but what is one short human life to me? There are more important things for me, things needed for my survival. You can't understand it, headmaster."

Unwilling to continue their, in his opinion, pointless dialogue (What was the headmaster expecting him to do?), Arenwald rushed out of the bar to the Dark Forest. As he walked, his eyes grew strangely bright in the moonlight and he gnawed nervously at his under-lip.

His breath quickened. A mad craving came over him. None was left of the sweet taste of blood in his mouth and he was hungry for more. Someone would die that night and hopefully it would make him forget all stupid human troubles. In another one hundred years he would not remember that there ever existed a person named Severus Snape…

§§

That person still existed, though. When the examinations had been finished and Moody had run off along with Tarquinius, Severus sat alone in a bed, his chin resting on his knees and his arms embracing them tightly. He felt drained, exhausted like never before and so cold; shivering in fever which showed itself to be stronger than the cocktail of potions he was on. His eyelids were heavy, threatening to fall and close his eyes, but Severus didn't want to sleep. He had some thinking to do and this was the most perfect time for it. He was thinking about the examination and how he told Moody and Dawlish about the murder of the young healer. He should have been more considerate, just a little bit kinder… Moody appeared to be truly horrified while Dawlish looked both pleased and angry.

If Dumbledore ever had the intention of saving him, he must have seen a good chance in the binding spell. It could have worked well in a trial – him killing the healer under the influence of the spell. Dawlish must have been pleased; he had ruined his chance of escape from the life sentence or the Kiss. Well, ruined… He would have confessed it under Veritaserum, so it was better to come out with it now than later.

Severus pondered his chances for a while longer, trying not to think about the Kiss. What was it like - the Kiss? Did it hurt? Did it matter whether it hurt or not? Here, safe from the Dementors, he could finally think clearly though his head was spinning. How would he talk himself out of the Kiss? Well, he had been a spy; he had helped the light side a lot – that would help. And he'll need a damn good lawyer, certainly Lucius knows a good one.

He reached deep inside himself, grasping the remains of the bound, which were getting weaker and weaker. Yet they were still there and oddly comforting. He reached to the Dark Lord in an attempt to feel his presence for a moment. 'Haven't you punished me enough, my lord? What more do you want from me? Do you want me dead? Will you not help me?'

No answer.

"Can I have a piece of parchment?" he asked into the dark corner where Dawlish was sitting. "I've got a right to find myself a lawyer."

"I doubt you can find anyone capable of saving your skin, slippery Slytherin," laughed the Auror, but nevertheless brought him a parchment.

"Thank you," whispered Severus. Pushing away the thoughts about how his head was spinning, he forced himself to concentrate on writing.

Far away, in the warm comfort of the Malfoy Manor, Lord Voldemort smiled to himself. 'No, Severus, you haven't received all the punishment you deserve yet.'

§§

Author's notes: You can't imagine how long I worked on this chapter, it just didn't want to be formed into what I had in my thoughts! And it still doesn't look like I'd like it to look like; I'm not totally satisfied with it. I apologise for the long not up-dating. Evil, evil story! Really, for many days I was struggling with certain things in this fic, especially with Arenwald who is there to show that although he does care for Severus, he's not much willing to help him. I hope you'll like the chapter. I'm going to a vacation before Easter so I'm not sure when I'll update again, but I'll try to up-date Amaurotum too before going away.

Thank you very much for all your reviews, you deserve a huuuuuuge hug. :-D