If you are ready, if you are prepared
Chapter 3: Severus Snape
He hadn't jumped backwards or screamed like Molly Weasley when the big black dog transformed into Sirius Black, because he'd been subliminally aware of the animal crouching by Harry Potter's bed even if all of his conscious attention had been focused on the power play between Fudge and Dumbledore - and on what Harry Potter had to say.
He'd known that the Dark Lord had already summoned his Death Eaters, he'd felt the Dark Mark burn black on his arm, he'd gritted his teeth because it hurt like hell - he'd almost forgotten how much disobedience to the Dark Lord can hurt - and shown it to Dumbledore. In hindsight it had been a mistake to show the Dark Mark to Fudge, though, it had spooked Fudge, not convinced him - so he'd humiliated himself in front of Black and Potter for nothing, but that wasn't his biggest problem right now.
The Dark Mark had been a general summons, it hadn't been just for him, and he'd wondered if any of them would dare not to return, because you can run from the Dark Lord but you can't hide – as Karkaroff will find out, the idiot, he'd bolted when he could have stayed at Hogwarts and sheltered behind Dumbledore's skirts. Not that he, Severus Snape, had encouraged Karkaroff to stay - because the Headmaster is so bloody soft-hearted he probably would've given Karkaroff the Defence job next year. And he wasn't Karkaroff's keeper, fuck the bastard, Karkaroff was a grown-up and he could sodding well look out for himself.
From what Potter had said, Lucius Malfoy had answered the summons and that wasn't really a surprise, not really - though for a moment he'd wildly, foolishly hoped otherwise, because he still can't understand how Lucius had got sucked in. What could the Dark Lord have offered Lucius that he didn't already have? Money, position, power? But the Malfoys have always had those things, and his father Abraxas was never stupid enough to take the Dark Mark ... and he'd wanted to say something to Lucius when it was clear that the Dark Lord was regaining his powers, when the Dark Mark began to itch and burn - he'd wanted to tell Lucius that Dumbledore could help him, that even now the Headmaster would protect him, protect Narcissa, protect Draco. But he hadn't dared, because Lucius is like those exiled French kings, he's learned nothing and forgotten nothing in the last thirteen years.
He'd listened to the rest of the roll call - Nott, he didn't know much about Theodore Nott's father, he was one of the older Death Eaters, a follower of the Dark Lord from the early days; Macnair, he's a real thug, he'd been the Dark Lord's chief butcher; Avery, he'd known the pusillanimous little twat at Hogwarts, Avery would have been the first to beg for forgiveness – and to be punished for it; and Crabbe and Goyle - he'd been a bit taken aback when he first discovered that the Dark Lord included morons like Crabbe and Goyle amongst his elite followers, he'd thought, they can't walk and chew gum at the same time, but then he'd realised that they were the Dark Lord's muscle, because sometimes the Dark Lord likes to do things the Muggle way.
So, no, he hadn't really been surprised when Dumbledore had said, Sirius, if you could resume your usual form, and the dog had turned into a man. He'd asked – what is he doing here? - but it had been a rhetorical question, he knew that Dumbledore trusted the stupid, arrogant prick. And he didn't hate Sirius Black any the less because Black didn't belong to the Dark Lord, if anything, he hated him more. It had been Black's idea to switch Secret-Keepers - and James Potter had committed suicide the moment he made Pettigrew his Secret-Keeper, because how many milliseconds did it take the Dark Lord to have Pettigrew wetting himself with fear?
Sirius Black and James Potter, what a pair of fuckwits – did they think they were still at school, did they think the Dark Lord was to be played with? Did they think that hiding the child of the prophecy and his mother from the Dark Lord was a game? Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard the Dark Lord ever feared, had offered to be the Secret-Keeper, and James Potter had turned Dumbledore down, turned him down in favour of his mate Black - who'd rather die than tell. Well, maybe Black would have died before he told, maybe, because the Dark Lord knows how to hurt people in ways that the good guys can't even begin to imagine – but if Lily had been his wife, if the blasted brat had been his child to protect, he would have gone on bended knee to Dumbledore, begged Dumbledore to be the Secret-Keeper.
If Lily had been his wife ... but he'd never been in love with her, hell, he'd never been in love with any woman, he'd never considered marriage, his parents hadn't exactly been a model of married bliss ... no, he'd never been in love with Lily. Sure, he'd become friends with her, for what that was worth, after Slughorn threw them together in his special advanced tutorials for his "two most brilliant NEWT students", and he'd certainly fancied Lily, who didn't – she was gorgeous. And although he'd gone running to the Dark Lord with the news of the prophecy, he'd never meant to hurt clever, pretty, Muggle-born Lily Evans – when the Dark Lord called them together to tell them that he'd chosen the Potter boy, that it was Lily's child who the prophecy pointed to, he'd panicked. He hadn't been able to hide his feelings, and the Dark Lord had thought it amusing to promise the wife of his worst enemy to him as a reward for bringing the news of the prophecy – if she was smart enough not to show fight.
The Dark Lord had actually thought he was being generous, when he'd said, "I can see you're … attracted … to the Mudblood witch. You can have her when I've killed Potter and the boy." The others had sniggered – they'd known what this meant – a Memory Charm strong enough to obliterate Lily's memories of James and the baby, leaving her an empty shell, it would be worse than killing her, nearly as bad as the Kiss, she'd be just a body to use. He couldn't let that happen, and he couldn't let the brat die - she loved the horrid mewling little lump – so he'd gone to Dumbledore and blurted it all out, but he still couldn't save her, he couldn't save her from her own husband's stupidity. James Potter and Sirius Black, they'd been the cleverest boys in the school – and they'd sentenced Lily Evans to death the moment they made Peter Pettigrew the Secret-Keeper.
He'd shaken that bastard Black's hand, yes, but only because it was a direct order from the Headmaster. And he'd put up a good fight when Dumbledore told him that Black was innocent, he'd refused to believe that Sirius Black wasn't the traitor and that Peter Pettigrew still lived - until the Headmaster had asked to see his memory of the Shrieking Shack. Watching the memory in the Pensieve was like watching a Muggle video-recording replayed on slow, and he'd seen it then - the rat, wriggling and squealing in Ronald Weasley's hands. And when you looked at the creature carefully, when you looked at it properly, it was clear enough that it was no ordinary rat - and there was a toe missing from its left front paw. He'd burned with shame and mortification at his monumental blunder, and that Dumbledore had to see it, how he'd raved and snarled and made an utter fool of himself, I'll be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this ... he was quite convinced you were harmless, you know, Lupin ... a tame werewolf.
He couldn't help flinching when the Headmaster put his hand on his shoulder afterwards, but there'd been no punishment, Dumbledore hadn't been angry with him, although in some ways he would have preferred a beating - with the Dark Lord at least you knew where you stood, it might be crucio until you spat blood, but afterwards you knew that the slate had been wiped clean and all had been forgiven, so far as the Dark Lord was capable of forgiving ...
Dumbledore had packed Black off to run messages, contact the Order - two of the names he knew, Lupin and Fletcher, but he'd never heard of a witch called Arabella Figg – so at least Black wouldn't be hanging around Hogwarts, pissing him off on a daily basis ... assuming that he made it back alive from his upcoming tete-a-tete with the Dark Lord.
Walking down to the gates, past the Anti-Apparition wards, he'd had plenty of time to reflect on the situation, Merlin, it had been a shock to see Barty Crouch - another wizard he'd thought dead for twelve years! How many more of the dead are going to get out of their graves and start walking around? And what had Barty reported back to the Dark Lord about him? Shit, shit, shit, what had Barty said about him to the Dark Lord?
Thinking about that had, frankly, unnerved him – but at least there was an upside to how wary he'd been around the wizard he'd thought was Alastor Moody, he'd avoided his eye – both normal and magical - and, most importantly of all, he'd kept away from Dumbledore when Moody was around, because Moody was Dumbledore's old friend, Moody was Dumbledore's right-hand man in the Order of the Phoenix. And Moody had made it plain where the place of an ex-Death Eater turned Potions master was – and it wasn't anywhere near the august presence of the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Thinking about Crouch had really burned him up, Crouch had tormented him and Crouch deserved everything he'd got - even the Kiss, though that had been pretty nasty, no doubt about that. Oh yes, he'd known very well what the arsehole had meant, I say there are spots that don't come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d'you know what I mean? - and he'd remembered the first time that the Dark Mark had flared on his arm, not long after the delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had arrived. It had itched and stung, and he'd Apparated straight to the Manor, because as sure as hell he wasn't going to play the game of "show me yours and I'll show you mine" with Igor Karkaroff, and he'd wanted to be certain before he went to Dumbledore – not that he'd been able to dodge Karkaroff forever, the brainless git had finally managed to corner him in a Potions class that included Harry-bloody-Potter, and for that asininity alone he hopes that Karkaroff's death will be both prolonged and agonising.
He'd Apparated to the Manor immediately he'd felt the Dark Mark burn, walked into Lucius' study, unannounced, with a house-elf squeaking indignantly at his heels - and without a word he'd pulled up his left sleeve and shown his arm to Lucius. He'd seen fear on Lucius' face then, because Lucius would be in for a severe beating, Merlin knows exactly what the diary was, but it was a precious artefact of the Dark Lord's. And he – well, he'd be thrashed within an inch of his life once the Dark Lord knew what Dumbledore had said about him in front of two hundred witches and wizards, Severus Snape is now no more a Death Eater than I am, because the Dark Lord is a jealous master. He'd known that even though the Dark Lord had sent him to Hogwarts with the task of winning the Headmaster's confidence, the Dark Lord wasn't going to be forgiving towards someone who'd played the part of Dumbledore's pet Death Eater for thirteen years.
Lucius had pulled up his own sleeve, showed him the blotchy red mark on his left forearm – and then Lucius had suggested a little friendly duelling practice - and an overhaul of the Manor's stocks of useful potions. That had been a very sensible suggestion, so they'd spent the afternoon going through a few basic drills, while poor frightened Narcissa consoled herself with a little retail therapy in Diagon Alley.
And now he's sitting by Lucius' bedside while Narcissa pours another goblet of Blood-Replenishing Potion down her husband's throat - and he's running the night's events through his mind and thinking about what he's going to put in his report to Dumbledore.
He'd Apparated to the graveyard, why exactly the Dark Lord had summoned his Death Eaters to a Muggle graveyard somewhere in the north of England - that was his best guess as to where the place was, based on the position of the stars – wasn't entirely clear, but what was clear was that the Dark Lord was in a towering rage, and quite a few people had already been smacked around severely.
He'd been the cynosure of all eyes from the moment he walked into the circle, and half a dozen wands had been pointed at him immediately, they'd just been waiting for the Dark Lord to give the word, but the Dark Lord had raised his hand – and he'd crawled on his belly to that hideous simulacrum of a human being. He hadn't dared to raise his eyes to the Dark Lord's face, he'd bowed his head and kissed the black robes, cringed and begged and pleaded – and the crucio hadn't been too bad. He'd washed up with nothing worse than a sore throat and a cracked rib from screaming so much, because he hadn't tried not to scream, that would be Gryffindor heroics, and it would only enrage the Dark Lord further - if that were possible.
The crucio hadn't been too bad, but the Legilimency had been another story - it had been brutal. He'd felt the Dark Lord's hand touching his hair, running down the side of his face, the palm under his chin, and the unnaturally long fingers gripping his throat, forcing his head up so that he had to look the Dark Lord in the face, so that he'd couldn't avoid looking into those wide, livid scarlet eyes. He'd known what was coming, he'd whimpered aloud with fear, and he hadn't tried to hide his terror - the Dark Lord expected his Death Eaters to fear him. He hadn't tried to hide the revulsion, either - he'd been revolted by the sight of that white face, whiter than a skull, the red eyes and the nose as flat as a snake's, with slits for nostrils, the hideous lipless mouth – but he hadn't tried to hide his horror, the Dark Lord wasn't an idiot, and you didn't lie to him unless it was absolutely necessary.
The Dark Lord had wanted to see Barty Crouch receiving the Kiss, and the brawl between Fudge and Dumbledore - and a few other things, the Dark Lord had gone on a fishing expedition through his mind, looking for information about the prophecy. And thank Merlin he'd had something new to offer up, there's a record of the prophecy stored in the Department of Mysteries, that's all he knows but at least it's something ...
And while the Dark Lord had been peeved at the loss of Barty Crouch, he'd been fascinated by the Dementor's behaviour, he'd wanted to see that memory again and again – and the Dark Lord had questioned him closely about Fudge's part in the incident. He'd been pretty sure that Fudge had given no orders to the Dementor – Fudge had blustered and stormed to Minerva, but that was to cover up his confusion, he'd been just as surprised and nearly as shocked as Minerva when the Dementor swept past him and swooped on Crouch. And the Dark Lord had been very interested in what Dumbledore had said to Fudge about the Dementors ...
Having to relive the Kiss over and over again for the Dark Lord's benefit had been thoroughly unpleasant, he'd been standing behind Fudge and he hadn't really seen anything, just the empty shell slumping to the floor, but that had been enough to rattle him, knowing that this is the fate that awaits him if he slips up, if the Aurors can catch him alive in a Death Eater's robes and mask - because surely it will be the Kiss this time, not just Azkaban. And the Dark Lord had tortured him a little over that, the Dark Lord had leaned down and whispered in his ear, Did that frighten you, my little half-blood? Can the Muggle-loving old fool save you from that?
The Legilimency had been an ordeal, when it was finally over he'd been completely wrung out, he'd been sweating and trembling not only from the after-effects of crucio, but from the strain of deceiving the Dark Lord. He was still alive and – relatively – unscathed, but he wasn't naïve enough to think that the Dark Lord trusted him, he'd known that the path to forgiveness was going to be a long and hard one.
And then it had been Lucius' turn for punishment, the Dark Lord had asked about his diary, and when Lucius had to tell him what had happened to it, he'd gone berserk - Lucius hadn't been dumb enough to try to lie to the Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord's rage had been terrifying to witness. Lucius had been held under the Cruciatus Curse for so long that he'd vomited blood, and that was serious, that meant internal injuries, the kind of injuries that can't be healed with Episky. And then the Dark Lord had really ripped into Lucius, he'd flogged Lucius with Sectumsempra so badly that you could see the white bone of his ribs and his shoulder blades, but he hadn't touched Lucius' face, hadn't given him scars where it would show – because unless you take dittany immediately there will be scarring – the Dark Lord had remembered that Lucius needs his handsome face to keep doing his job, to keep conning the Minister for Magic.
The Dark Lord had used Sectumsempra, for enemies - there was a message there, the Dark Lord had used his own spell on his best friend, and the message was that they were both in disgrace, they were both going to have to crawl across a mile of broken glass to regain the Dark Lord's favour - and when the Dark Lord had finished with Lucius, he'd been the one ordered to clean up the mess. He'd healed the worst of the wounds on the spot, got Lucius home to the Manor - Side-Along Apparition, because Lucius was in no state to Apparate himself - and Lucius will live, if he's carefully nursed.
So now he's sitting by Lucius' bedside, wincing at his cracked rib – he'll get Narcissa to fix that in a minute, you can't do healing spells on yourself – feeling the firewhisky burning his raw throat, it's burning his throat even though it's the good stuff, nothing like the cheap rotgut he drinks at Spinner's End, and watching Narcissa fuss over her husband. And he's been lucky, really, because if the Dark Lord hadn't been so angry, if the Dark Lord hadn't been so impatient, the Dark Lord would have made him do it to Lucius – as another punishment for living in Albus Dumbledore's pocket for thirteen years.
The firewhisky is doing him a lot of good, the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse have nearly all faded away - firewhisky is the best palliative, chocolate for Dementors, firewhisky for crucio – and it's not as if he's never had a dose of crucio before, but it's been a few years, thirteen to be exact, and he's not a kid any more, he's not as young and fit and resilient as he used to be ...
He's thinking, I should be getting along, I should be heading home to Hogwarts, Albus will be starting to worry about me, and I've still got my report to make – but he wants to make sure that Lucius is going to be OK. Lucius is half-conscious, conscious enough to feel the pain, and he's wondering if he should just Stun him, knock Lucius out until the potions that he's been dosed with can do their work, because he's not a qualified Healer and pain relief isn't his strong suit – to be frank, he's got a lot more expertise in inflicting pain than in treating it.
So he just leans back in his chair, closes his eyes, and mentally composes his report to Dumbledore ... the Dark Lord's rebirth seems to have been an almost unqualified success, the Dark Lord has been restored to his full powers, but by Merlin the new body is not a pretty sight - although whether Pettigrew bungled the potion used to restore the Dark Lord or whether it's just a consequence of using such Dark magic he doesn't know; the Dark Lord will seek to recruit the Dementors and release Bellatrix Lestrange and the rest of the faithful from Azkaban, just as Dumbledore suspected - time-frame unknown; the Dark Lord seems to have been really shaken by Harry Potter's escape, he's even more obsessed with hearing the full prophecy than he was thirteen years ago, possibly the Dark Lord will make an attempt to obtain the record of the prophecy kept in the Department of Mysteries, he seemed very pleased with that information; and there are no immediate plans to move openly against the Ministry- at least none that the Dark Lord is prepared to share with his Death Eaters, the Dark Lord seems minded to take advantage of Fudge's obtuseness.
And then he thinks, it's worthwhile mentioning how the Dark Lord reacted when he heard what happened to the diary, I've never seen the Dark Lord lose control like that before, he came very close to killing Lucius – it must be important, more important than I thought.