Chapter 39:

Shards:

Harry had never seen Dumbledore look so anxious like he had been the last few days. As the headmaster now sat behind his desk, Fawkes sitting on his shoulders, he seemed quite calm, but the regularity in which he shoved lemon drops into his mouth and the awkward movements with which he petted the breast feathers of the phoenix showed exactly how nervous he really was.

Well, he was not the only one who waited for Lupin's return with impatience. The werewolf had, under pretext of fetching some supplies from Hogsmeade, set out to meet some members of the Order and discuss their findings and their further procedure. Dumbledore had told Harry that he could get into contact with the different members without departing from the campus, and he knew that so far they had not found Snape. He did hope, however, that if all members met to discuss their experiences and knowledge, then perhaps they may get a lead. That one of them may remember otherwise unimportant details, which could turn crucial if put together with others' experiences. Harry did not know what exactly the Order intended, but he assumed that Dumbledore pursued a plan. Of course, he hadn't told him anything about it. He did not even exactly know what the Order really was and who belonged to it. He had figured out only that Sirius, Dumbledore and Lupin were part of it.

Now he waited, together with Ron and Hermione, in Dumbledore's office, being at least as nervous as the headmaster. After the vision he had reacted with relief that Snape was not dead and that he was not guilty of another person's death. This whole ugly mess had shown him the difference of despising someone so much to wish him dead, and to actually go on and send him to death for real. In the meantime, he would probably even have problems to seriously fight Voldemort, he imagined. But as more days passed, in which they didn't find Snape's place of imprisonment, his relief grew into a new concern that they would not find and free him fast enough... if they found him at all.

The only one in the office, who looked more bored than anxious, was Sirius. His godfather had mostly proven sensible enough to not say a thing, but Harry knew that he didn't take Snape's fate particularly to heart. Their past had to contain some quite unpleasant things if the two hated each other so much, yet Sirius hardly talked about it.

"I am certain they'll find something out or at least get some ideas," Hermione, sitting besides Harry on the couch, said, her concerned gaze on the headmaster as well.

Harry also hoped so. Not only because of his guilt, but also because of Dumbledore's obvious concern. Harry didn't understand what the old wizard saw in Snape, but it seemed that man really liked the potions master and was genuinely worried about him.

However, Sirius only let out a bored snort. "Snape hasn't even been gone for two weeks. What great thing can happen in that period of time? If he is roughened up a bit, it may finally teach him to lose his arrogance and subordinate himself a bit better, which can only do some good to his character."

Dumbledore did not say anything to that, but Harry noticed the shadow that clouded his face at the words. Somehow he also thought that Sirius' words were out of place, but his godfather surely had a reason to hate Snape in such a way. Sirius was not a bad person and no matter how much he hoped for Snape to be saved in time. He would never defend the potions master towards his godfather.

In this moment, a small crystal ball on Dumbledore's desk started to pulsate in a green light, a low beeping sound emanating from it at each lightening up. Dumbledore looked at it with a frown. It had become necessary to install some kind of early warning system that alerted Dumbledore when someone said the right password to the gargoyle. They couldn't risk Sirius being discovered now, not with all the Aurors roaming the school.

But as the pulsating crystal ball revealed the picture of the visitor on its shiny surface, Dumbledore shot up so fast from his chair; Fawkes lost his balance and flew off his shoulder, landing with frightened twilling sound on its perch, following Dumbledore's movement with surprise and curiosity.

Sirius straightened in his chair, his eyes on the headmaster as well, but when the old man didn't warn him to hide, he relaxed once more, slumping back into his chair.

The headmaster stepped around his desk and forced himself to remain at its side, his body tense. Then the door opened and Harry and his friends turned to watch a tired looking Remus Lupin enter the room.

"Remus. Have you found out anything?"

Lupin let himself fall into an empty chair beside Sirius and sighed loudly, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. "No, Headmaster. Some new hiding places were found; from the descriptions Severus could supply us with in the past. Some of them were already deserted for years. The houses of the well-known Death Eaters are still supervised, but if meetings take place there, then the Death Eaters Apparate directly into the houses or enter them by secret entrances. Severus is in none of the well-known hiding places. Our people do what they can, but for the moment it does not look well. All they can do is to supervise the known Death Eaters with more care, in the hope that one of them will sooner or later lead us to him."

Dumbledore's shoulders sagged imperceptibly downward. He had probably not expected any better news, but not even a man such as Albus Dumbledore seemed to be protected of the importunate feeling of hope.

"Then we're left no choice but to wait," he murmured sadly.

There was probably not much that could really surprise Lord Voldemort, but Severus Snape had surprised him. The man had betrayed him, which was bad enough, but then he had also possessed the insolence to try manipulating him. Him, the most powerful wizard of the world. He had actually felt the strong urge to torture the traitor himself, but he did not dare for he would not have been able to restrain from killing Snape after a few minutes. That would be too simple for this bastard. Voldemort wanted to see him suffer, wanted to degrade him and his betrayal so much so that all his self esteem and pride for his doings disintegrated into nothing. And for that, Malfoy was the best person to ask.

Most of his Death Eaters followed him because they wanted power, or out of fear, or simply because they did not possess enough backbone to survive without a powerful presence to shelter and protect them, someone who took care of their problems and smoothed their way. Neither Snape nor Malfoy had ever fallen into any of these categories. Snape's soul had been so scarred, himself a complete emotional cripple, that he had been easy to manipulate. Malfoy on the other hand was loyal to him simply because he was immoral and arrogant. His fortune would have helped him to gain enough power without becoming a Death Eater, but Malfoy lived according to its own rules and he felt an even more perverse pleasure in causing pain than his master did.

Voldemort was convinced that, if the magic of the man were as strong as his own, he would immediately backstab him to become the next Dark Lord. He may perhaps even try something like this one day, and so, although Voldemort respected Lucius probably more than any other of his Death Eaters, he also was always on guard concerning the man. Lucius Malfoy was depraved, ambitioned, intelligent and thus dangerous.

This too, made him superior to all the other Death Eaters.

Nevertheless, the man had probably taken Snape's betrayal just as badly as Voldemort himself, but he would hold back from killing the man. He understood that this right belonged to the Dark Lord alone. His part in the whole thing was probably more satisfying for him anyway. Snape was a challenge and Voldemort had for a while even had his doubts whether he would succeed at it at all. Snape had changed a lot since his time as a teenager. He had grown stronger and more secure, but then was it difficult to judge what was really strength and what only the mask which he had created to perfection, and with which he had even managed to deceive the most powerful wizard on earth.

But once again, Malfoy had not disappointed him. It had taken longer than with most but now Nott had informed him that Snape's will was broken at last.

With a shadow of a contented smile, he entered the small cell.

Malfoy immediately stepped to the side, indicating a brief, respectful bow. Voldemort continued without paying any heed to him or the two dead children who were laying on the ground and locked his gaze upon Snape, or rather what remained of him. Voldemort had trouble recognizing his once proud potions master in the crying huddled heap on the ground before his feet. He had known that Malfoy was malicious but he was unprepared for what he saw now. Bruises covered Snape's skin. His body, formerly already on the lean side, now looked like a skeleton, over whose bones the skin had been stretched. His back was painted by criss-crossing whip marks, the wounds festering and red. On some parts, the whip had torn so deeply into the skin and muscles that he could see the white bone under it.

Snape's feet were red and black and covered with partially burnt fire blisters.

The worst, however, were his hands. They were completely destroyed. The wrists were scuffed and sported angry red welts and his nail beds were merely raw meat. A large hole gaped in each of his palms, through which two iron manacles had been pulled. And that was only the visible damage. The fact that Snape's psyche could not be much better off than his body was proven by his quiet sobbing and the enclosed, foetal position of his body.

The dog collar around his neck and the two bodies of the children, in whose blood Snape partially lay, gave Voldemort a good idea what Malfoy must have done. If Snape had not been the wretched traitor, who had dared to try to manipulate him, Voldemort may perhaps even had enough pity with him at this point to have killed him immediately. But as it was, he felt only satisfaction at the sight.

Really, Malfoy had done a good job.

"Severuss," he hissed thoughtfully. He had actually not expected any answer, but to his surprise, Snape shuddered violently upon hearing his voice and curled even more into himself.

Malfoy now stepped to his side, wearing a proud expression, as if he were an artist and Snape's broken form a creation that had come out particularly well.

"Kneel, Severus," he instructed softly and in a friendly tone.

Voldemort did not think that there was any great awareness for his surrounding left in the potions master, so much seemed he absorbed in his bubble of despair and pain, and even if there was, then it was greatly questionably whether he could move in his physical condition and get to his feet at all. But the Dark Lord was again surprised, when the man immediately began to struggle to his knees, biting his lower lip so firmly, it bled, his face contorted in pain.

The sobbing ceased and finally the potions master was on his knees, his head and shoulders slumped.

"Look at the master," Malfoy instructed now, still very sociably. Slowly, as if he was a puppet, and Lucius' words the string, the man looked up and met Voldemort's eyes.

Looking into these black eyes, the Dark Lord instinctively searched for any sign of challenge, defiance and pride, but Severus' eyes were empty, apart of a deep despair that haunted them and which Voldemort had rarely seen in such intenisity. The kind of despair, which a mother carried when her only child had just been killed, this kind of hopelessness only existed in the eyes of humans who had nothing more to lose.

Severus Snape was completely broken.

And when this realization registered in his head, Voldemort could no longer act indifferently. He laughed. Nobody should dare to oppose him. Severus had tried and had gotten everything stuffed down his own throat. "Who is your master, Severus?" he demanded forcefully.

Severus twitched and murmured something incomprehensible while he lowered his eyes again, like a child afraid to look under the bed in fear of finding the monsters living there.

"You will look at me and answer so that I understand you! Who is your master?" Voldemort thundered.

Voldemort was really starting to enjoy this.

Snape's head snapped up again, and he searched the older wizard's eyes once more, while a violent trembling run through his body. "You are my master," he croaked more than he spoke.

Voldemort's brow arched in amazement. Severus' smooth, low voice was as disfigured as his body. Now, a slit throat and days without liquid, which Malfoy had surely taken care of, had the tendency to do that to a voice. Snape had lost everything. The only thing, which had ever been attractive on him were his hands, voice and his intelligence. Hands and voice were disfigured and the violation, which had undoubtedly been done to his mind, overshadowed any intelligent train of thought he might still have had. Severus Snape had paid for his crime and now he would die.

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at Snape. The potions master did not show any fear, only tired acceptance and perhaps a little regret. Voldemort wondered what he might grieve over. His forthcoming death? Doubtfully. Dumbledore, or his failure to have remained strong? That was more probable.

"Avada..."

A thought, which sudden shot through his head, let him hesitate and then, with a feeling of satisfaction, he smiled imperceptibly.

Of course. That would be much better...

"Magica Pudidus!"

A golden, squirting flash shot from his wand towards Snape and hit him directly between the eyes. There it grew into a bright, golden glowing, before it extended and, like a second skin, spread at first over the potions master's face, head, chest and then the remainder of his body, wrapping his whole figure into a bright radiating light. Snape's face twisted in immeasurable terror and his mouth opened for a cry, which remained stuck in his throat, until the encasing golden light exploded with a loud bang and like flakes in the wind, swirled to the ground in thousands, tiny asterisks, which, soon as they touched the stone, melted out of existence like snow on hot coils. Snape's body was held upright for a second in a frozen position, before his eyes rolled into his head and he sagged to the ground in a lifeless heap.

From the corner of his eyes, Voldemort saw Malfoy recoil a step, when the light exploded, and now, the man looked uncertainly from the unmoving man on the ground up to him.

"Is he dead, my Lord?" he asked, before he could restrain his surprise.

Naturally, Lucius would not know of this particular curse. That was one of the big differences between them both. Malfoy was interested in the Dark Arts as much as Voldemort himself, but the snobbish aristocrat wouldn't really exert himself to get hold of more knowledge. Malfoy would never get so low as to climb into old, dirty graves to search for hidden parchments, or read hundreds of uninteresting books and reports just for the chance of discovering something useful.

"This is a good question, Lucius. Well, the curse has not killed him in any case, if that's what you mean."

Lucius regarded him with a questionable frown. He was undoubtedly curious to know more, yet was careful enough not to ask.

"Lucius, call all the Death Eaters. Kill the remaining prisoners and dispose of their bodies. Severus' also, but not quite yet. I have to take care of some things first."

Again he smiled maliciously and the warming feeling, which only sweet revenge managed to give, ran through him.

"We abandon the quarry."

T.B.C.

Thanks to Slytherin's silver snake and Sadistra for betaing.