Kapitel 28

The beginning of night:

Severus knew that this was the end. His cover was blown and now he was standing here, held by the man who he had once called master, a knife held against his throat.

In this final game he had risked everything, and he had lost.

No, not everything. Deep down inside he knew that for him, death was the simplest and the most merciful solution. That he wouldn't be granted the mercy of a painless Avada Kedavra was something that he had somehow expected. Contrary to what Dumbledore and Lupin had tried to tell him, he had known from the start that this would be a suicide mission. He had been disgraced, had suffered, murdered and overall done things which provided him with a one-way ticket to hell, no matter for what reasons he had acted. Severus had with this mission once and for all sold his soul.

He doubted that the willingness of sacrifice, which he had shown these last few weeks, would atone for the atrocities, committed in his past. First as a death eater and then later, when he protected his cover for the mission, he had done terrible things. He was a killer. No matter for what reason, he had murdered men, women and children without even hesitating. Only someone whose soul was already soiled beyond hope could do something like that, and now he would be getting the bill for his actions.

He sighed and lifted his head in defeated expectation and even leaned a bit into the blade, which Voldemort held against the vulnerable spot right under the left side of his jawbone. He felt the sharp, burning pain, as the blade nicked his skin and tore a minuscule wound into his neck.

"My Severus," Voldemort hissed behind him, his voice loaded with satisfaction, whilst he pulled Snape closer against his own bony chest in an almost lovingly embrace, laying the side of his face against the cheek of his chosen victim. "Still so proud, despite everything."

Severus could feel the vibration of Voldemort's chest whilst he spoke and the breath of the dark lord brushed against his face in a mocking intimacy. Gradually, the pressure of the blade grew and Severus felt something warm and sticky dribble down his neck, leaving an uncomfortable, itching sensation in its wake.

"You have one last chance for a dignified death, Severus. Tell me what I want to hear from you."

Severus knew what Voldemort wanted. His death had been 'fait accompli', the moment that the dark wizard had intercepted that crazy letter. Voldemort wanted to scare him and show him just who held the power. He had, in between continuing rounds of 'Crucios' over and over, demanded that Severus admit the dark lord's superiority.

"Never again, will I call you ‚master'. I will die as a free man. You no longer hold any power over me", Severus whispered so softly that only Voldemort would hear him, mirroring the mock intimacy of the older wizard. All that was left to him at that point was his pride and he wanted to hold onto that little selfishness, even if he knew perfectly what it meant for him.

A low, angry sound came from behind his right ear where Voldemort's face was before his whole neck exploded in burning agony.

Instinctively, he wanted to suck in a breath, but found this impossible. He had the feeling that he was drowning and a gigantic hand was putting more and more pressure on his lungs. Regardless that his consciousness was telling him that it was impossible to breathe with a slit throat, that his very life was being pushed out of him with every beat of his heart, colouring his robes, Voldemort's arms and the ground beneath him in a splash of scarlet red, an instinctive will to survive kicked in. Adrenalin was pumped out and his heart started to beat faster in a vain try to compensate for the leaving blood, only to push it faster out of his body. He gasped for breath but only a gurgling noise in the back of his throat emerged. Severus couldn't stop the panic that now took hold of him whilst he suffocated slowly on his own blood as it filled his windpipe and lungs.

The seconds stretched into an eternity of agony, horror and panic in which the pressure around his lungs grew to be unbearable, making all his instincts cry to him to do the impossible, to breathe… until a soft mist seemed to descend upon him, muffling all the panic and agony. His sight clouded over and like in a dream he felt his legs give in, letting him sink against the person behind before he was lowered to the ground.

Eventually, even that disappeared, and he sank into a dark, peaceful warmth.

He had died. The last thing that he remembered was an overwhelming pain and the panic as he suffocated. Then the pain and fear had diminished and he had lost all sensation in a sea of peace and quiet. It had been the first time that he had felt like this. The first time that he had not felt the weight of his damned and wasted past upon him.

This feeling couldn't have been anything else but death. But if that was so, then why did he feel so cold? Why was in his bones the shadow of a hellish soreness and why was there such a weariness and weakness lingering in his muscles, and why did every breath leave his throat burning?

Severus tried to open his eyes, but the lids felt so incredibly heavy that it took an enormous amount of willpower to finally force them open. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but somehow, the stone that he found a few centimetres in front of his eyes and which pressed cold and hard into his cheek and the right half of his forehead felt wrong.

He moved his head a bit to the side and saw that the stone was actually the floor of a dark room, which held an oppressive atmosphere so typical that it was obvious to be in a cell. Severus knew such rooms. Far too many times he had put people in such holes to torture and kill them with curses and potions. He didn't know where he was – they could easily have brought him anywhere in England – but those cells never varied much. Small, cold and impersonal.

He had always known that even death eaters were not safe from punishment and that he may one day get to know one of this cells a bit better. But at the moment, he tried foremost to figure out why he was still alive even if his body was not left undamaged. He recognised the after effects of the Crutiatus well enough but the tiredness and the weakness was new, just like the almost painful dryness of his throat and mouth. He tried to swallow, but this only resulted in a burning agony in his throat. Severus suppressed a groan, knowing that this would only result in more pain. At the same time he started to understand what must have happened.

To hell with Voldemort's magic power. Severus didn't know which curse the dark wizard had used to heal him from the slit throat and keep him alive, but he doubted that it had been white magic.

Severus felt a hint of disappointment. It would have been too good to die so easily anyway. Okay, easy was hardly the right word. Better one hundred crucios then ever having to experience drowning on his blood again.

Laying here on the cold concrete floor was all but comfortable, but the energy to move was simply not at hand anymore. So he simply stayed there, closing his heavy eyelids.

When the owl had delivered the letter in the middle of the meeting and Severus read it there, he had at first been too stunned to react or ask himself who would write such a nonsense, because that this crap came from Dumbledore was out of question. Only when Voldemort had taken the parchment from him had he understood how much trouble he really was in.

Severus' strongest weapon had always been his voice. He was proud of his ability to use words like a knife, but this time he had known that nothing he'd say would save him. Whoever had written that letter had sealed his death warrant. Voldemort didn't trust unconditionally, and even if he had managed to move in the dark lord's immediate surrounding again it still didn't need more than the doubt of a suspicion to guaranty the rage of the dark wizard.

But now, in this cell, with nothing to do than keep from moving and listen to the unnatural silence, he had enough time to think about the why and who.

It was clear that it had been in the writer's intent to have Voldemort intercept the letter; otherwise it wouldn't make any sense at all. The plan had been good, that much he had to admit. Insidious and well thought through. He didn't really know if he should feel angry or amused. Whoever had put this plan into motion just had to have Slytherin blood in his veins, but Severus could not picture any of his house's students, former or actual ones, to do something like this, except if they knew the truth and sided with Voldemort. Yet then they could have simply informed the dark lord and not sent such a stupid letter to him. And they would definitely not have made up such an insane story about spying and him being Dumbledore's grandson.

There was another mystery too. It was true that the Maeby's had suddenly disappeared and the death eaters had been unable to kidnap them. Nobody should know of the plan to catch them, and that there'd be another spy in Voldemort's rank seemed ridiculous. But even if that were the case, then a further spy would hardly have blown his cover. But somebody had wanted to do exactly that.

Who had reason to do such a thing anyway? Black? Yes, he wouldn't put it passed the Gryffindor, but the man was in on their mission and on their side, and to put simply, Black was not smart enough to think up such a wicked plan.

Who else? Potter? Dumbledore had certainly told the boy about the plan a long time ago, after he had done his work of stirring up those rumours. The headmaster liked that insufferable brat way too much to let him suffer any longer then necessary. Still, it would make frighteningly sense that he would get such ideas with his know-it-all-friend Granger and that impossible dunderhead Weasley. Only, where should the boy have gotten that information about the Maebys? Not to talk about the fact that he could impossibly know, when and where the death eaters gathered. And would young Potter really try to kill him? Severus doubted it.

But then again, he would never have thought James and his gang capable of that either...

In the end, it didn't matter. All that should be important to him at the moment was how long he would be tortured before he was killed.

As if on command, he heard the groaning noise of stone being pushed over stone from somewhere behind him.

Severus opened his eyes and collected enough strength to lift his head. He had only gotten it off the ground however, as the room started to spin around him and he had the impression that the laws of gravity had let him out of their grip. This sensation was accompanied by a violent throbbing behind his temples, which threatened to split his scull into two.

Instinctively, a moan escaped him, which in return set his throat on fire again. Lifelessly, he let his head sink back down to the ground, fully concentrating on not making any more sounds.

That's how he didn't even realise that someone crouched down besides him, until that person spoke.

"Does it hurt, Severus?"

Severus would recognize Lucius Malfoy's voice everywhere and it brought the semblance of order back into his spinning head. Once more, he suppressed a groan, this one not originating from the pain.

"My my, Severus. You're not answering. Could it be that you're scared?"

Severus closed his eyes. He knew that Malfoy was only taunting him but at the moment he had no nerve for that. His head was ringing as if a whole orchestra were playing a fanfare in its inside. Moreover, he had no energy left to become angry. All he wanted was to be left alone. Or what about a nice little 'Avada Kedavra'?

"The dark lord has given me complete control over you, Severus, did you know that? Don't you think that very thoughtful of him?"

Well then, no Avada Kedavra after all. Would have to be expected after all, with all the luck that had followed him through his life so far.

"I would very much enjoy to converse longer with you, Severus, yet, unfortunately I have other commitments which have to be taken care of, but I promise that next time I will make more time for you."

A swirl of the stale air in front of him showed Severus that the other man had stood up again. Shortly after he heard the groaning of stone on stone again, as, like he suspected, the door was closed once more.

T.B.C.

Betaed by Slytherin's silver snake