How long they sat there in the dark Severus did not know, but it seemed like forever. At last Rodolphus murmured, "Perhaps we ought to be going. I'm getting claustrophobic."
"What's the matter with you?" Severus hissed. It was odd that it came out like that, when he'd meant to say it forcefully. Their experience had left him drained and weak: he found he could not muster the energy to raise his voice above a whisper. "I've just discovered my father's a Death Eater and you're getting scared of the dark?"
Rodolphus sighed. "What do you want of me? Do you want me to panic? To faint? To get sick in a corner?"
"No."
"Then shut up and let's get out of here."
"Let- let me sit a moment longer."
Rodolphus looked at his friend. Severus' eyes were unfocussed, and his face was stony. Rodolphus knew well enough to stay quiet. Eventually Severus spoke, pleadingly. "Are you absolutely certain it was them?" he asked.
"One hundred percent certain."
"I still don't believe it," Severus murmured. "My father would never do something like this..."
But he trailed off, because joining the Death Eaters was exactly like something Septimus Snape would do, whether to prove his mettle to his friends or simply for the fun of it. Severus' conviction was becoming shaky. Could he prove conclusively that Septimus was not a Death Eater? No, beyond the vague impulse of a son to automatically absolve his father of impiety—and in the logical mind of Severus Snape, such childish instincts counted for little.
And the more he thought about it, the more perfectly acceptable arguments he found for Septimus' guilt. His father spoke in a low, vaguely threatening growl just like Arcanus' voice. His father's favourite drink was sherry—it relaxed his taut nerves after work. His father had pointed, polished black shoes exactly like the ones that had halted inches away from Severus' face. Septimus had even once mentioned the liver and onions served at the Hog's Head inn.
As he pondered, he recalled the expletive that Invisus had let slip when Mysticus had knocked the rum into his lap. 'Merde'—a French swear word—and how many times had he heard Rodolphus use it in times of stress since the Lestranges had returned from holidaying in France?
Rodolphus interrupted his thoughts by saying worriedly, "Sev, I don't want my dad to get locked up in Azkaban."
"Nor do I mine. But listen to me, Roddy, listen very carefully. No one must know about this."
"But Bella-"
"No, not Belle, not anyone! We can't tell a single soul—that's the surest way to get our fathers caught out! Just keep your mouth shut and they'll be fine."
"Do you think Malfoy's going to punish us for sneaking out to Hogsmeade?" Rodolphus asked, his eyes going wide as the idea struck him.
"Probably not. He's not stupid enough to punish us for being in a place where he shouldn't have been either. Once he calms down, he'll be terrified that we'll talk. The bartender might tell on us, he's got nothing to lose—but he doesn't know who we are. We will simply act as if we were never there. You understand me? None of this ever happened."
"You know, sooner or later we'll have to talk to our fathers about this. They recognized us, I'm sure of it. What will I say?"
"We'll say we were never there. That's the easiest excuse. We were in the library the whole afternoon. We'll keep our mouths shut and never speak of this again. If our fathers want to know what we saw, we'll simply deny everything."
"But Sev..." faltered Rodolphus. "Oughtn't we to be pleased our fathers are taking part in the blood wars?"
"You have no qualms with them potentially being murderers?"
Rodolphus shrugged. "I'm against half-breeds and Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers. Of course I wish pure, ancient wizarding blood counted for something. Aren't you?"
"Well… perhaps… but I rather wish my father wouldn't take quite such an active part. I wouldn't, in his place."
"I would," Rodolphus said, suddenly fired up. "Why, if You-Know-Who hasn't got rid of all the filthy half-bloods by the time I'm a qualified wizard, I'd be glad to join him!"
Severus gaped. "You're being a perfect ninny. How can you possibly be ready to join their ranks without a second or even a first thought? Don't you understand that the risks? I certainly don't want to be killed, or to have my soul sucked out by-"
"Stop it!" Rodolphus said.
"Promise me you won't tell a soul about what we saw today, Roddy."
"But-"
"Just promise!" Severus shouted. He relented, seeing Rodolphus' apprehension. "Please, swear on your soul you'll keep this whole business our secret until I figure out what to do."
Rodolphus nodded meekly, and Severus sighed inwardly. Was this what being a best friend was—pure and complete faith in another person? He could never do that, surrender his will to someone else, not even to Rodolphus or Bellatrix. But Rodolphus placed one hand on his heart and Severus did the same, and they shook hands solemnly. In this way they were bound to secrecy forever without remittance. There are many secret-keeping rituals that are just as binding as the Fidelius Charm, and not nearly as complicated.
Time passed. No word came from home. The Snape and Lestrange patriarchs remained silent.
A fog descended upon Severus and seeped into his heart. At times it made him detached and glum, or else numb and slow to react, and in the two weeks after the incident he was less than a pleasure to be around. He stayed silent for hours at a time. The other Slytherins assumed his diffidence would be short-lived, and were at first disposed to be accomodating. But when he did deign to speak, he was sarcastic and harsh, and whatever inclinations of compassion they had harboured dissipated after he coldly informed Alexis Avery that he would derive more pleasure from French-kissing a Flobberworm than from playing a game of chess.
Only Rodolphus could stand to be around him anymore. But he too was acting erratically: he was constantly agitated, unable to form coherent sentences, and had developed a twitch in his right arm that randomly caused him to knock open bottles of ink onto essays or dump goblets of pumpkin juice into people's laps.
Severus alone was aware that what was driving Rodolphus mad with worry was the strain of keeping their secret—that, and the fear that Dumbledore would discover they had snuck out of the castle and expel them. Between Severus' cruelty and Rodolphus' clumsiness, the other Slytherins became impatient, and began to make excuses to be away from them.
Even the constant jibes of Potter and his friends failed to register. Potter continued to threaten Severus with retribution for landing him in detention with Filch, but he might have saved his breath, because Severus refused to pay attention to him.
The gravity of Severus' distress was such that he even allowed it to impact the one aspect of life that he had always prized above all else: his studies. He was so preoccupied with his domestic dilemmas that he paid absolutely no attention to lessons, and his fluctuating homework habits began to match Bellatrix's.
He could never concentrate anymore. He had always been a hard worker and an avid reader, but whenever he even attempted to do homework the words he was reading would run together and puddle in the middle of the page, and he would rouse himself half an hour later to find with some consternation that he had doodled the word 'Death' over and over on his parchment.
Days trickled by, and there hung only an obstinate taciturnity on the home front.
Severus' grades slipped—negligibly at first, but steadily plummeting lower and lower until he completely blanked on a quiz in Defence Against the Dark Arts and was unable to fill in even one answer. At that point Astaroth called Severus to his office.
"Zero?" Astaroth thundered at him, shaking his blank quiz. Severus' stomach lurched. Astaroth's motion of brandishing his paper was very similar to the waving of a filthy dishrag by a certain ancient bartender not so long ago.
"ZERO?" Astaroth repeated, crumpling up the parchment and pitching it across the room. Severus remained silent.
Astaroth flipped three pairs of spectacles onto his nose and leaned over his desk. "I must admit that from your friend Lestrange, low marks are unfortunately almost to be expected... But upon hearing that you have also been doing abysmally in every class, Snape, I cannot help but be concerned. Such a gifted student... It seems a crime not to investigate the cause of your plunging marks and recently abnormal behaviour. I have been wondering why it is that, when I ask a question, I only see the hands of Mr. Lupin and Miss Evans shoot into the air. And I am curious to know: is something bothering you?"
He fixed Severus with his violet eyes, intensely, as if he was trying to bore through his forehead and get a good look at his brain.
For the first time, Severus felt a grudging twinge of newfound respect for Professor McGonagall; at such close proximity to Astaroth it was excruciatingly difficult to keep from fainting in fright, let alone to summon the courage to scream in his face. But a wave of icy lassitude bolstered his defences, or at least numbed his fears; and he said in measured tones, "There's nothing bothering me, Professor."
"Nothing?" Astaroth repeated coolly, then suddenly screamed, "Just like your quiz mark!"
Severus did not flinch even as Astaroth's spittle flew in his face. The teacher regained his composure just as quickly as it had left him. "You are distracted and subdued. Perhaps there is something going on in your personal life that is none of my business... But I ask that you at least try to project some semblance of alertness in class, if only to humour your teachers."
Severus pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face quite deliberately before replying, "As you wish, Professor."
"And if you don't shape up you will be suspended," Astaroth added.
"If it must be so," Severus agreed equably, though this seemed a rather drastic consequence for just a few zeroes.
Astaroth's face contorted unexpectedly with rage and he slammed his fist on his desk. Again Severus expected a cracking sound, either from the fist or from the desk, but none came. "Does nothing shake you?" he bellowed in Severus' face. "Are you made of stone?"
Severus thought he understood now. Whether Astaroth was genuinely concerned for him was irrelevant; he had summoned him here to try to get a rise out of Severus, to see if he could terrorize him out of his torpor. Even through the anaesthetizing fog, Severus felt something very like disgust for the meddlesome teacher.
Very quietly he said, "I really don't know what to tell you, Professor. May I go now?"
Astaroth sighed and turned away. "Oh, get out."
As Severus hurried from the office he thought of McGonagall's taunt to Astaroth, that he was an Auror and would never be a real teacher. He thought he understood her now. Astaroth's interrogation just now had seemed more like the bullying tactics employed in grillings by Ministry Aurors than a teacher's concerned enquiry.
Rounding the corner he collided with someone much bigger and fell to the floor. Raising his head, he found Lucius Malfoy and Silas Jugson standing over him. Jugson's eyes grew huge as dinner plates.
"Sorry," Severus tried to say, but his throat was constricted.
Malfoy's expression tightened; then he stormed off without a word, Jugson tottering off in his wake.
Malfoy did not appear to know quite how to react to Severus and Rodolphus. For days after the meeting in the Hog's Head he overtly ignored them, taking great pains to stare straight ahead when they passed him in the corridors, and talking very loudly to everyone except them. Then he suddenly changed tack and began profiting from every opportunity to harass them loudly in the common room. Now it seemed he was back to acting like he didn't see them, which at least was better than having to sit tight-lipped in the common room, trying to focus on the lake of words in the centre of a page while enduring snide remarks from all the seventh years.
As Severus struggled to his feet and brushed himself off, he heard a swishing of robes behind him. He wheeled to find that Malfoy had returned, alone. The seventh year's pale eyes were narrowed at him.
"Jugson and I did not see you that day," he drawled, with more than a hint of menace in his soft voice, "if you did not see us."
"Agreed," Severus said quickly. "But you can't say anything to anyone—including those... contacts of yours."
"Fine," Malfoy said shortly. He spun on his heel and swept away. One hurdle overcome, Severus thought.
And still there was no word from their fathers.
Severus began to wonder if maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe all that circumstantial evidence his powers of logic had reluctantly amassed was just that—circumstance, coincidence. There must be plenty of wizards in Britain with black pointed shoes like Septimus Snape's, a deep voice like his, an imperious demeanour like his... It is possible that it's all a coincidence, Severus pleaded with himself. It just wasn't likely.
A full week went by without a peep out of either father. Severus and Rodolphus came to the conclusion that their fathers had recognized them, but that they were too cowardly, or embarrassed, or both, to admit the knowledge. Yet Rodolphus desperately wanted to write his father.
"I know him, Sev," he pleaded, "I know he wants to write to me—he's probably spending hours pacing in his study, fretting over the right words and he'll never find them—he'd be ever so relieved—just let me dash off a note, just one tiny little message-"
"No!" Severus said firmly. "We have to pretend we don't know anything about their being... you-know-whats. If they want to acknowledge it, let them write first."
"You know what I think is happening back home," grumbled Rodolphus, "is that my dad wants to write to me too but your dad won't let him."
Severus ignored him, even though it was probably true.
Both Mrs. Snape and Mrs. Lestrange continued to write long, gushing epistles as usual; the boys supposed their mothers did not know about their husbands' participation in illegal secret societies.
Still, they pored over each letter, alighting on the slightest mention of either husband, but nothing was said beyond references to lower back pain, grey hair, and sending love. Severus resented that sentiment on his mother's part. What right did Rosella have, to send love from a man who probably felt like murdering his son? If Septimus held his son in any esteem he would have written by now, to explain what he had been doing in the Hog's Head that day, to confess that he was a Death Eater, or at the very least, to lie and say that it had all been a practical joke at Malfoy and Jugson's expense.
But he did not write; and Severus certainly wasn't going to write to him. Snapes were obdurate and stubborn by nature. For Rodolphus, it was painful to watch two Snape wizards pitted against one another, because once an impasse was reached, nothing short of the reincarnation of Merlin himself to mediate would convince them to surrender.
Another whole week passed. At this time of year minuscule rivulets of water trickled down the stone walls in the dungeons. Autumn had arrived, and with it came the heavy rains that were legendary in this part of the country, rains so torrential that individual drops could not be discerned: only a continuous sheet of water, inundating the grounds, leaking into the dungeons, and deafening the merpeople deep in the lake.
It became a battle to cross the quagmire that had been the lawns, in order to reach the greenhouses. Severus was afraid that Professor Sprout would be angry when the Slytherin first years tracked incredible quantities of mud in with them when they waded into greenhouse one for Herbology, but she too was waterlogged, and expressed only her relief that they had managed to survive the trek.
The first year Gryffindors were just preparing to slog through the marsh as the Slytherins burst through the doors in a gust of wet, icy wind. Everything in the greenhouse received a thorough drenching before the doors could be slammed against the howling wind.
"You're blocking the door, Snivellus," Potter said coldly as the mud-caked Slytherins collapsed to the floor in exhaustion.
Severus glowered at him with deepest loathing through a mud mask. Rodolphus' right arm flew out and would have thwacked Maud Wilkes in the face if Severus had not reflexively snatched it out of the air. Rodolphus was still beset with his uncontrollable nervous tic, which worsened whenever he caught sight of the Gryffindors. He was afraid Potter would find out about the surreptitious excursion to Hogsmeade and use it to blackmail Rodolphus and Severus as his revenge for the detention with Filch.
"You want to get out? Be my guest," Severus snarled, dragging himself out of the way.
"I hope you cut off your fingers with your pruning shears," Potter sneered.
"I hope you drown in the mud," Severus shot back. With one last scowl Potter swung his schoolbag over his shoulder, pulled up his hood, and led his housemates out into the rain. Black and Pettigrew smirked at Severus as he passed out the door, but Lily Evans, strangely, paused and looked him over appraisingly.
"What do you want, Evans?" he barked.
Lily looked taken aback. "I was wondering why I've suddenly become the only one who answers questions in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Have you got the same thing as Lupin now?"
"Am I ill, you mean?" Severus snorted, passing a grimy hand across his face. "No—but after spending twenty minutes slogging through the mud out there, I probably will be. What do you care?"
Lily frowned. "I was curious, that's all." She hesitated. "I don't know if I should tell you this, but Potter's got-"
Severus couldn't believe how interfering she was. "It's simply impossible for you to stop poking your nose into everyone's business, isn't it? Can't you just leave me alone?" Letting his irritation get the better of his judgment he added cruelly, "Why don't you just go out in the slime where you belong, Mudblood?"
Lily's eyes widened. "Slime—I'll give you slime!" She suddenly kicked a great gob of mud in his face, and before he could think of a comeback she was gone.
Severus and the other first years wearily dug themselves out of the swamp by the door and took their places by Professor Sprout.
"Today we will be pruning the Alihotsy plants," Professor Sprout announced, once they had gotten all the mud and rainwater out of their ears. "You must keep your gloves on at all times, because the ingestion of a few mere particles of the magic substance secreted by the Alihotsy plant will cause uncontrollable hysteria. I remember once when I was your age and I was pruning one of these plants with bare hands; when I happened to bring my fingers to my mouth a few hours later, I had a fit of the giggles that had me rumbling for nearly half an hour straight—right in the middle of History of Magic!" She frowned. "Although now that I think of it, Professor Binns didn't seem to notice."
The Alihotsy plants closely resembled bamboo shoots, except that these were black as obsidian, leaves and all. The first years set to snipping off the dead leaves, which Professor Sprout warned were equally potent when desiccated as when live. The lusty lashing of the wind and rain on the glass created a lulling, soporific rhythm. Severus had a hard time focusing on his task, and several times came close to fulfilling Potter's wish that he would amputate his fingers with his own pruning shears.
Later, as he was trudging alone out of the dungeons on his way to the Great Hall for dinner, Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew, now regrettably spotless, clattered excitedly up the stairs on the other side of the marble staircase. They stopped and fell silent when they saw him.
"Snivellus," Potter said evenly.
Severus, who was trying to calculate how quickly he would have to draw his wand, couldn't think of anything particularly acerbic to say. "You're unusually serene," he said. "Not angry about Filch anymore? Have your bruises gone away yet?"
He glanced down at Potter's wrist, where the red marks of Filch's manacles had still not faded, and smirked. Potter pulled his sleeve down past his knuckles and scowled.
"We'll get our revenge," Pettigrew sneered.
"You're certainly taking your sweet time about it," Severus said shortly. "Now get out of the way."
"You forgot to say please," responded Lupin.
Severus eyed him. He was pale and had dark circles under his eyes. Severus speculated briefly what illness had plagued him, before returning to the matter at hand. "I don't need good manners to speak to swine," he growled.
"Oh, I reckon you'll be singing a different tune in a few hours, Snivellus," Black murmured, and something in his tone made Severus glance at him sharply. But the four Gryffindors only smiled smugly.
At that moment a group of Hufflepuffs came up the stairs behind the Gryffindors. Black brightened when he recognized Bellatrix's sister. "There's Andromeda, she's the only cousin of mine I actually like," he said to Lupin. Reaching out as she passed, he said warmly, "Andromeda!"
"Not now, Sirius," Andromeda Black muttered, shaking off his hand. Severus saw she had her arm round another Hufflepuff fourth year, who was sobbing into her hands.
"Amelia?" Black said curiously, peering at the other girl. "Amelia Bones? What's wrong with her?"
"I'll see you later, Sirius, please!" Andromeda whispered desperately, leading Amelia Bones away. Black and his friends looked after them in puzzlement, and Severus slipped past them into the Great Hall unobserved.
At dinner not even the feast of hearty stews and nourishing puddings could lift his spirits. He ate and drank a little, but tasted nothing at all. Fortunately Petula and Maud Wilkes always chattered so much that the absence of Severus' voice went unnoticed.
At one point Severus became aware that Rodolphus was staring at him queerly. It took Severus a moment to realize it was because he was eating out of the marmalade jar.
"For God's sake," he muttered, pushing the jar away in annoyance. "I can't taste bloody anything!"
Rodolphus nodded absently, not really listening. His eyes strayed over Bellatrix's shoulder to the Gryffindor table. He nudged Severus.
"Look at Potter and his gang, ogling us. They're all grinning. You don't think they've picked tonight to get their revenge, do you? Not on top of the foul weather, the zeroes I keep getting in Transfiguration, and that five-foot essay for Charms! Ah, merde!"
He froze as he realized what curse had just escaped him. Then his face crumpled and his arm twitched, sending a spoon skittering into Fulton Bulstrode's lap.
Severus looked up. Potter was indeed smirking at them, and looked discomfitingly pleased with himself. "Probably poisoned the pumpkin juice or something," he said. Rodolphus set down the goblet of pumpkin juice he had been lifting to his lips.
Rosier was polishing off a whole pudding by himself. When the last morsel vanished the dish was replaced by a steaming stoat pie. "Ugh! Here, Snape, this is obviously for you."
"Go on Severus," Petula urged, "you've had hardly anything all evening, I've been watching you."
Severus was too tired to resist; he obediently took up a wedge and began to mechanically shovel food into his mouth.
"Now where do you reckon Dumbledore is?" Bellatrix asked. "We're nearly finished eating and he's not even shown up yet."
"When we get out of here I'm going straight to the toilet to vomit," Severus whispered.
Avery overheard him and said sympathetically, "I wouldn't blame you, Snape, that stuff's foul. And what are those?"
He pointed to a dark little clump of shredded leaves on Severus' fork. Severus shrugged and swallowed. "Bay leaves or something, I don't know. Maybe the elves are tweaking the recipe."
"Look, Bella, there's Dumbledore now," Maud remarked.
The Headmaster had entered from a door off to the side of the head table. He quickly crossed to his place at the centre of the table and began to converse with Astaroth and McGonagall. All three seemed grave.
"Severus, I'll wager they're talking about us," Rodolphus said in a small voice, looking weedy. "You don't think they've found out about us—or about Father?"
"Shh," Severus hissed. For Dumbledore had stood to speak, and though he did not look angry, he certainly appeared far from pleased. The amused twinkle was gone from his blue eyes, and the absence of that worried Severus most of all.
When the noise in the Great Hall had died into a respectful silence, Dumbledore began slowly, "I apologize for interrupting your dinner, but there is a matter over which I have been deliberating for some time now."
The room was listing to one side—no, it was Severus who was swaying in his seat. He gripped the edge of the table. "I have discovered that several breaches of my trust have been made by students here," Dumbledore said.
No one said a word. Severus risked a glance at Lucius Malfoy. The Head Boy's expression was fixedly attentive and he betrayed no indication of anxiety. Severus knew what Rodolphus would have said: Quel acteur. Silas Jugson, meanwhile, had gone sheet-white, and there was fear in his normally vacant eyes.
"The school rules," Dumbledore said, his piercing blue gaze sweeping the students, "clearly state that only third year students and older may visit Hogsmeade, with the permission of their parents. Yet I am grieved to say that only two weeks ago, first years were caught in the village. This violation will not be repeated."
This was an order. Some students and teachers seemed confused. Minor infringements like this weren't exactly commonplace, but they were hardly reason enough to interrupt dinner.
"Also," Dumbledore continued, "I have been informed, by reliable sources, that other students were using their Hogsmeade privileges to conduct appointments with," he paused, choosing his words carefully, "unscrupulous persons. I must warn you that contact with such parties is very dangerous. It will not do for Hogwarts students to draw untoward attention on themselves, particularly at a time like this, when tolerance is at an unprecedented low. Some misdeeds cannot be forgiven."
No one moved. Every eye in the room was fixed on Dumbledore. Professor Astaroth had all seven pairs of spectacles perched down the length of his nose.
"I have always asked that you conduct yourselves with decorum and in accordance with the laws set out to protect you. This is why I must demand that contact with—unprincipled persons cease immediately, and never resume in the vicinity of Hogsmeade or Hogwarts, or during school time."
Severus peeked quickly at Malfoy. He was slightly paler than usual, but continued to devote his full attention to the Headmaster with an innocent expression. Severus knew that Malfoy would not be deterred by the new rules.
Dumbledore took a deep breath. "Please understand that whatever I must do, it is done with your best interests at heart. I desire only your well-being in all aspects of life. I... I have held off on this announcement to deliberate possible alternatives, because this one is not appealing to me... But there is nothing else I can do. I have decided to forbid all students from entering the Hog's Head inn."
There was a babble of protest from the students, which Dumbledore seemed to have anticipated. They were not really objecting to being barred from the pub, since, as Malfoy had once pointed out, Hogwarts students almost never frequented the Hog's Head. But if Dumbledore began imposing limits on their freedoms now, it could explode out of control. No one wanted to be a prisoner in their school. He raised his hands to quell the complaints.
"I know I have never restricted your movements before, but it is for your own good." Some students groaned at the platitude, and the Headmaster frowned. "Perhaps you do not grasp the gravity of the times we live in. There is an extremely dangerous wizard at large who will stop at nothing in his endeavour to seize power by violence. He has no regard for human life and will use whatever witches or wizards are foolish enough to follow him. Only this morning the Ministry discovered that another of its valued employees, Eudora Bones, has disappeared, bringing the total of the missing to nine."
Aha, Severus thought. So that was why Amelia Bones had been crying. Severus did not know her, but he felt a horrible pang of shame as he wondered whether his father, one of the foolish wizards Dumbledore had referred to, could have had anything to do with the abduction of Eudora Bones.
Suddenly he felt a different sensation altogether. Something strange was happening to him; it began in the pits of his stomach, crept up to his lungs, and pushed its way up his throat to his vocal chords; and he realized what it was only a fraction of a second before it exploded from his mouth. Laughter, horrible, hysterical, uncontrollable laughter.
To his utter horror, he began to giggle into the total silence.
Every head instantly swivelled to look at him. The faces were at first confused, then shocked, then, as his tittering crescendoed to shrieks of mirthless laughter, they were outraged.
But he couldn't stop, and he didn't even know where this was all coming from.
Rodolphus grabbed his arm, his face white. "Stop it, Severus. This isn't funny."
He couldn't. Rodolphus shook him, hard. "Stop it! Sev, stop laughing! Stop!"
Severus was screaming with laughter now, tears pouring down his cheeks; he quaked and his frail ribcage trembled with him. Even as he shook off Rodolphus' arm he felt that one rib was close to the breaking point. He threw his arms round his stomach and lost his balance, falling backwards off his chair.
His eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but, had he been able to open them, he would have noticed Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew staring not at him, but at each other with sickened, horrified expressions.
Lucius Malfoy was suddenly kneeling beside him, his pale face contorted with rage. "Stop this right now, Snape!"
Severus shook his head, wanting to say he couldn't stop; but Malfoy took it to mean that he wouldn't stop. He seized Severus roughly by the shoulders and shook his thin, quaking body like a rag doll, little realizing what strain he was adding to his rattled ribcage.
A stabbing pain told Severus one of the fragile ribs had fractured and he screamed louder, his gasping laughter reaching a feverish, cracking pitch. Malfoy hauled him bodily to his feet and dragged him, lurching and staggering like a drunken man, out of the Great Hall. His mad cackling still reverberated off the walls while the rest of the school sat in stunned silence. Frowning, Albus Dumbledore rose and swiftly moved between the house tables to the doors.
In the Entrance Hall Malfoy dropped Severus on the flagstones. "There was nothing funny about that display!" he bellowed.
Severus could do nothing but shriek with his mirthless laughter. Malfoy looked at him desperately. "Snape!" he screamed in frustration.
The doors to the Great Hall banged open again and the Headmaster himself appeared. Wasting no time, he pointed his wand at Severus and murmured, "Stupefy."
Everything went black.