“My Lord?” Severus tried. It is getting mightily irritating that every time I face him he’s annoyed about something. Even if he did, technically, have reason this time.

“You had the Potter brat with you yesterday, and you deliberately saved him from ambush! I could have my information and the child would be dead now if not for you!”

“Master, there were Aurors following—” or there would have been if I’d been thinking. “If I’d accepted Lucius’ invitation they’d have no doubt followed and—”

“Silence! You apparated him out of the hands of one loyal to me—spliched another servant in the process—and yet you dare stand here in front of me!”

As if I had a choice. Brazil, wyrsa and all, suddenly strikes me as an excellent place to be visiting. “It was never my intention to work against you yesterday, Master.” It’s my intention to work against you every day. He kept his eyes down. It was always harder to guard his thoughts—and his tongue—when he was tired. “The worthless, disrespectful brat—” he didn’t even have to feign his anger after what the brat had done with his Pensieve— “had been irritating me all afternoon, and as soon as I’d discharged the last errand the old fool insisted that I accompany him on I took him back to Hogwarts. If I had known you had a plan in place…if I’d been given some warning….” He shrugged, feigning helplessness.

“Indeed?” The Dark Lord snapped his fingers and a masked Deatheater Severus didn’t recognize offhand stepped forward, carrying a shallow dish about the size of a dinner plate with some kind of dark liquid at the bottom. And a crystalline cover over the top. The dish was set on the ground in front of the Dark Lord and the Deatheater stepped back.

This is not good. Severus would swear that he’d seen that liquid before, seen the same crystal type…. The Dark Lord hissed something in a language that he didn’t know. Chinese perhaps, or Japanese…an Asian language judging by the characters around the rim of the dish. The language didn’t really matter, he decided, as the liquid in the plate swirled and settled into an image. Specifically, the interior of the Department of Mysteries. It was dark, deserted at this time of night, but recognizable enough, and Severus fought to hold his expression steady. Bloody buggering hell That answered the question as to what the crystal the never-to-be-sufficiently-cursed mutt and werewolf had brought back was.

“Do you like my new toy? It’s called the ‘Mind of the Korros.’ Takes its name from a snake from the region…fascinating, isn’t it? You weren’t here when it was sent to me, but it’s proved invaluable these past few days. The small crystals are its eyes and ears, you see, they transmit everything that happens around them.”

Yes, thank you, I had figured that out for myself. And no, I don’t find it fascinating. At all. It occurred to him suddenly why Sybil’s tone had sounded familiar the other night…he had heard it once before. Specifically one day in 1979 when he’d interrupted the woman’s placement interview with Dumbledore. He’d heard about a second true prophecy she’d made when the mutt first broke free, about the Dark Lord’s rise, but he’d had other things to think about at the time. Three real prophecies in twenty years; it’s no wonder I didn’t recognize it. Although it would have been nice if I had….

“You have betrayed me, Severus,” the Dark Lord said, his voice frighteningly even. “You swore to serve me, to be my spy inside Hogwarts. And from your own lips I have heard you pass on information to them. Not as my agent, but as a traitor.” That word was nearly spit, but his icy façade didn’t waver. “Take him to the dungeons.”

Severus automatically tried to apparate, but there was a barrier in place. No real surprise. He had an emergency portkey on him, but it was tucked in a specially warded pocket and at this point he couldn’t reach it without one of the others getting to him first. Best to bide his time and go when he was able. If I am ever able again. I should have planned more carefully…I should have brought something explosive. It was ominous somehow, that none of his ‘escorts’ tried anything. Well, nothing besides knocking him around a bit, anyway, where Crabbe and Goyle were concerned that didn’t actually count. Rather like oversized versions of their children, without the excuse that ‘they’re just boys.’

Amycus—he was positive who the figure with Lucius was now—shoved him into the cell, and Severus twisted to face them. He knew some wandless magic, but nothing that would serve him in this situation, so he stepped back against the wall. If they would just shut the door and leave him alone for half a minute….

“You couldn’t have thought it would be that easy,” Lucius sneered. “Petrificus Totalus.”

Damn. He toppled as the spell struck, ending up lying on his back half-propped against the wall. No wonder they hadn’t bothered to search him; he wasn’t going to be able to do anything anyway. Well, his body may have been petrified, but his mind wasn’t, and Severus tried to sort out what was likely to happen next. The Dark Lord obviously had something planned for him, probably something unpleasant otherwise he’d have been killed on the spot or given to the rest of the Deatheaters for sport. Which amounts to the same thing. What he could have planned, however, Severus had no idea. He would have shaken his head if he’d been able to…the creature had to know that no one in the Order would give anything for him. The war was too important. Not to mention that now that my position as a spy has been revealed I’m worth next to nothing. They’d have gotten more kidnapping a few children and offering a trade for them. Which meant…what? Was there something he wanted from Severus? Potions? No one in his right mind—which, granted the Dark Lord wasn’t, but he wasn’t an idiot either—would trust a potion made under duress. Information about the Order? The prophecy? Either of those was more likely, although as far as the Dark Lord knew Severus had already passed along all of the prophecy that he was aware of. Regardless, in either case why was the creature waiting? There had to be something that he was missing, and he wished he’d heard the Divination professor’s muttering more clearly. Damn Trelawny. It wasn’t her fault, but having someone else to curse at made him feel a bit better.

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed before they came for him again; there wasn’t a great deal of natural light in the dungeon, and things always seemed to drag on when all you had to do was wait and worry. The portkey was tucked inside his robe, close to his collar…if he could get even a finger on it that would be enough. Unfortunately, he had been well and truly immobilized.

“Finite,” Lucius said lazily when the door finally opened, waving his wand. Severus collapsed to the ground as his muscles were forced finally to function for themselves. Two other Deatheaters—Crabbe and Goyle, no surprise there—waited outside the door, obviously present in case Severus tried anything. Which he would if given half a chance, of course, but at this point it took quite a bit of energy just to get back to his feet. If his muscles had been sore earlier, they were screaming now. Lucius waved his wand, indicating the corridor. “This way.”

They didn’t return to the entrance hall, instead going up an extra flight of stairs to the room where, he was fairly sure, he’d seen a figure moving before. The number of Deatheaters present had doubled, at least, possibly tripled in the time he’d been locked up—probably not more than a few hours considering that it was still dark out—and he scanned the room cautiously. He hadn’t even realized that there were this many free Deatheaters. Has the Dark Lord been off recruiting? It was something he should have been aware of, but…. The usual attendees were easy enough to pick out, but that looked to be Karakoff, that one had to be Gioncolo since no one else was that round, if that was Giancolo then the thin figured next to him was no doubt his wife…. A full gathering? That never happened, not with so many of his servants scattered on the Continent. There were even a few figures not in robes against the far wall, but he couldn’t make out their features in the gloom.

He was escorted to a diagram drawn on the floor in the center of the room…some kind of ritual binding, it appeared. Not one he was familiar with, but it was probably one of the more obscure branches of magic if it required that kind of elaborate setup. When he was shoved across the boundary he felt nothing, so perhaps it had been done incorrectly? I can use that. Unfortunately he didn’t have much time to puzzle over the nature of the thing as the quieting of conversations—the majority of which had centered on him from the snippets he could overhear—indicated that the Dark Lord had appeared. Sure enough, Severus felt himself pulled around and shoved to the floor at the creature’s feet before Goyle stepped back across the boundary. At which point the feel of ‘magic’ in the air increased dramatically. Damn, it is functional. And some kind of holding cell.

“You have betrayed us, Severus,” the Dark Lord began. “Your Lord, who you swore to serve nearly twenty years ago, your fellow Deatheaters, your….”

He continued on in the same vein as Severus held back a groan. Enough with the bloody theatrics! Although I suppose as long as he’s waxing poetic he isn’t doing anything else. Severus kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the floor as the Dark Lord continued to rant. The fact that the creature had brought apparently everyone in for this little lecture didn’t bode well for his future, and he once again cursed the fact that he’d sealed up the pouch holding his portkey quite so thoroughly. It was designed to keep it from being detected in a search, but having it with him did precious little good when he wasn’t able to get to it quickly. That’s assuming it’s strong enough to get me through this bloody barrier, of course. His wand was nowhere in evidence, and he wondered whether it had been destroyed or if one of the other Deatheaters had grabbed it. Or if it was still sitting on the stone floor downstairs. Whichever it was, he wouldn’t likely be seeing it again.

“Crucio!”

Severus had lost the thread of the rant, but that he heard clearly. Not that it mattered as the curse set his body screaming. It was difficult to tell how much time had passed while he was under it…seconds, minutes…not likely more than that or he’d be in the same state that Longbottom’s parents were. The curse cut off abruptly, and he tried to draw a deep breath. He’d always known it would come to this, that someday his true loyalties would be revealed, but he’d always thought he’d be able to strike some kind of blow in return. Lying here helpless was just…humiliating. He had some wandless magic, but most of the spells he was accustomed to using were those useful in brewing when he didn’t always have a hand free. Like most wizards he was accustomed to relying on a little stick of wood the majority of the time. An idiotic error on my part. Not all wizards could do wandless magic, and of those who could most couldn’t do much, but knowing he had some he should have tried for more.

“Fiendfyre!”

That was Lucius, and Severus rolled away as best he could as the fire came towards him. The barrier seemed to be impenetrable though, at least to large solid objects like his body—not to spells, unfortunately—and there was nowhere to go. The flames weren’t particularly large, and it hadn’t been burning long enough to take a true form, but that wasn’t going to change what it was going to do to him. He’d barely had time to scream as the fire burned along his leg when a third voice rang out.

“Conglacior!”

The fire was gone, and Severus felt relief for a fraction of a second, until the ice began to spread up his veins. He was vaguely aware of the rest of the Deatheaters lined up in some sort of order, and then just as it became intolerable the ice was gone. And the bones in his right arm were crushed, courtesy of Dolohov. Dolohov?! What in Merlin’s name is he doing out of Azkaban?! He certainly hadn’t been released. Unfortunately, there was no time to ponder…none of the curses were—yet—life-threatening, giving each of the Deatheaters a chance to prove their loyalty one by one. He gritted his teeth. As if I wouldn’t have cast a few curses at any one of them if given the opportunity, no matter where my loyalties lay! “Accio wand!” It didn’t matter whose, he just needed something to focus his magic, and if he was lucky the barrier spell would let it in.

“Sectumsem—my wand!”

Severus didn’t take the time to determine which Deatheater’s wand he’d grabbed. His left hand wasn’t his dominant one, but since his right arm was out of commission it would have to serve. “Sectumsempra!” His curse, it stood to reason that he’d be able to cast it better than any of them. There was a scream, and he twisted back towards where the Dark Lord had last stood.

“Avis oppugno!” a woman called out.

Alecto. Obviously she’d be here if Amycus was. Severus swung his arm, trying to knock the birds away long enough to give him a clear shot, but the damn things were everywhere. “Avada Ked—”

“Obtundo vis!”

Severus screamed again as his left arm was crushed, and his fingers were unable to maintain a grip on the stolen wand. The curses blurred together in a continuous stream of pain fairly quickly…soon enough all Severus could hear was a low buzzing in his ears, and if he’d had time to he’d have wondered if one of the Deatheaters had cast a Muffliato instead of a real curse. There was no way to tell how long he’d been lying on the floor, how many Deatheaters had taken their turns. It was getting darker, oddly enough….

“Enervate!”

His head snapped up—at least his neck wasn’t yet broken—and a wave of all-too-clear pain washed over him. So he wasn’t going to be allowed to escape into unconsciousness. No real surprise, I suppose.

He could make out a line of Deatheaters…were those the ones who had finished with him, or were they still waiting their turn? Another fiendfyre came at him, burning his arms as he tried to shield his head, and then a blunt-force curse caught him in the chest and broke at least a few ribs. Well, that or badly jarred already-broken ribs; at this point there was no way of knowing. It was a relief when things started to get fuzzy again, and even as his body jerked from yet another curse the pain seemed to fade away.

“Enervate!”

Another jerk, though this time he couldn’t quite find the energy to lift his head. There was light coming in through the window…he didn’t remember a sunrise. Then again, the mob of Deatheaters in their masks and robes that had been standing in front of him the last time he’d managed to open his eyes had melted away so he’d probably been under their curses for quite awhile. Why had they’d brought him back to alertness now? Couldn’t bear the thought of letting me die in peace, probably. The first of the unmasked forms stepped forward. Dark hair, dark eyes, probably not more than seventeen. Ah. New recruits. Wonderful. It was strange, really…he knew how much pain he should be feeling now. He shouldn’t even be able to hold onto consciousness, never mind think, no matter how many Ennervates were cast, but it seemed that his body had given up reporting pain and he was left in a state of helpless numbness.

If the first boy’s voice wasn’t quite steady as he repeated Dolohov’s curse, it didn’t affect the outcome and neatly took another chunk out of Severus’ collarbone. Severus could vaguely make out the initiation of the child by the Dark Lord in the minutes that followed; the child’s scream as his mind was violated, and a flash of light as the Dark Mark burned into his arm.

“Ac-cio w-wand,” he choked in the few moments of peace this bought him, but he just couldn’t find any energy to put behind the spell.

The next child was a girl—Ellen Horace, a Slytherin who’d finished her seventh year the year before last. If torturing her former Head of House bothered her, there was no sign of it in her spellcasting. She slashed his face deeply enough that his vision was obscured by the blood, but he could still hear her initiation. Another girl followed, and then a boy, neither of whose voices he recognized. Just as well, probably. And then there was silence, and he waited for the killing curse to end it all. It was the only possible conclusion to the night, even the Dark Lord wouldn’t chance keeping him around for more sport.

“Well?”

Lucius voice was low and dangerous, and Severus’ heart clenched. So there are five initiates. He had a horrible feeling who the man was talking to, and if Draco was being initiated into the Dark Lord’s service at the ripe old age of fifteen…. It made sense in a sick, twisted kind of way. The boy would be a potions master in a few years time, like Severus himself a master that the Dark Lord wouldn’t have to blackmail or bribe to get what he wanted as he would with most of the rest in Europe. But he’s only fifteen! Even Lucius would have protested, and Narcissa…. Whatever else might be true of the woman, she did love her son.

“Your Lord is waiting,” Lucius said, his tone even darker than it had been in the moments before. “Kill the traitor.”

Severus heard a hitch of breath from somewhere in front of him, in the approximate vicinity of the other children, and then, “S-sominoculous.”

Not Draco. He wasn’t sure who the voice belonged to, but it was female. That thought was all he had time for as he found himself at what felt like the bottom of a pit of water, suddenly. No matter how he tried to twist he couldn’t find any air. He could feel the water flowing down his throat, rushing into his lungs, choking him, and for at least the third time that night, the world went black.

///////////

“—fessor? Professor?”

Severus head swam, and his throat clenched suddenly trying to expel the water he knew he’d swallowed. None was forthcoming, and after a moment he realized that he was breathing again. Albeit unsteadily, but there was air. Then true consciousness returned, and if he’d been able to he’d have vomited from the sheer pain coursing through him. He doubted there was even an inch of skin unmarked, and the lacerations were the least serious of his injuries. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, considering that he was lying more-or-less facedown and unable to move—he just didn’t have the energy.

“Professor, wake up!”

It was a girl, he identified after a moment, and did his best to at least open his eyes. It didn’t work.

“Professor, please, you have to wake up! You have to get out of here!”

Who are you and what do you want? It was a student, obviously, she wouldn’t keep calling him ‘professor’ otherwise, but what she was doing here…. The girl who cast the last spell? She certainly hadn’t seemed eager to kill him before, but there was a great deal of distance between a reluctant kill and deliberately working against the Dark Lord.

“They think I’m still unconscious upstairs,” the girl continued, “but as soon as someone tries to wake me up the corpse-duplicate will fail…I don’t have very much time, and I don’t want to have to kill you!” The last was delivered in a half-wail, and Severus tried to speak. He managed a moan which, considering the circumstances, was actually quite impressive.

“Professor? Episky.”

It would take considerably more than a cut-healing charm to do anything about even the most superficial of his injuries, but Severus appreciated the effort and swallowed hard. At least, despite definite soreness, his jaw didn’t seem to be broken. It’s probably one of about three bones that aren’t. “Portkey.”

“What?”

“Portkey,” he repeated, trying to draw enough breath to even reach the level of a whisper. He could taste blood in his mouth, and he wasn’t sure what injury—or injuries—had caused it. At least he could breathe. He wasn’t dead yet. Concentrate on the positive. Now I sound like Albus. He’d have sneered if he was capable of it—he was not dying with that thought uppermost in his mind.

“Orty?” the girl asked. There was a swish, and then, “Orty.”

Severus found enough energy for a groan. It’s not a spell, idiot. Another quasi-deep breath, and he tried to repeat himself more clearly. “Port. Key.”

“Orkey…ort-key…you have a portkey? Where?”

He tried to roll onto his back, but since both of his arms were broken—or crushed; he didn’t want to think about that—as was his collarbone, it was something of a losing proposition. “Pocket. Collar.”

A quick spell that, unfortunately, nearly made him black out again, was used to flip him over. “I’m sorry, Professor, I can’t understand you.”

“Collar pocket,” he tried again. It was well-hidden, but the seam was there…. She seemed hesitant to reach out, and he managed to open his left eye and glare. “Look.”

She did as he was told, and Severus wasn’t surprised to see his hands come back bloody as his robes were opened. “I don’t see it.”

“Up.” It was harder to breathe from this position, somehow, but there wasn’t time to worry about it. At least he knew who she was now…the other Horace girl, the younger sister of the one he’d identified earlier. Amy…Amelia…something like that. Hufflepuff, basically unremarkable, finished her last term at Hogwarts last year. He probably wouldn’t have known her at all except that she and her sister had been such an odd combination. Normally if the brother or sister of a child already attending Hogwarts came to the school, they ended up in if not the same house then a complimentary one. Not always, but it was the usual way of things; Slytherin and Ravenclaw was a fairly common pairing, for example. Slytherin and Hufflepuff was just…odd. The girl was still fumbling with the blood-soaked fabric, and Severus kept silent to avoid distracting her.

“Professor…I don’t…wait.” He was tugging on the fabric, now, but the robe was well-made. “Diffindo.” Cloth ripped, and he pulled out a circular pendant and held it in Severus’ line of sight. “Is this it?”

Severus wanted very much to snarl—what else would be sewed so carefully into his cloak like that?—but considering the circumstances the child had a perfect right to be frightened and a bit insensible. There was no way to know whether she now bore a Dark Mark under her long sleeves, but whether she did or did not if she was caught….

The object was pressed into his hand, and the girl stepped back. “Go.”

His eye narrowed. “Come.” They’d figure something out—hide her at Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place or somewhere else where the Dark Lord wouldn’t find her.

“I can’t, Professor. It’s…Ellen’s here.” She swallowed. “I didn’t really want to come, but Ellen said…well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving her.”

“Come.” Damn Hufflepuff loyalty; if she was taking this kind of risk just to get him—who’d certainly never done anything for her—out of here, her lifespan in the creature’s service was likely to be measured in hours.

“I can’t. You go. I told them I couldn’t hold the drowning-curse long enough, but they didn’t believe me.” She shivered slightly. “Especially You-Know-Who. Now he says he’ll kill my sister if I don’t prove myself against the traitor. He says I should be more loyal to him than to you.” She swallowed hard, looking away, and Severus noted the slight tremor in her hands that occasionally marked a Cruciatus victim for a few hours after.

Monster. Not that he hadn’t known that already, but….

“I can’t…I’ve never killed anyone before.”

There’s a shock.

“They think I’m still unconscious,” she continued, voice strengthening slightly. “I’ll sneak back into the room they dumped me in and pretend I’m just waking up, and then I’ll swear to kill you. By then you’ll be back at Hogwarts and it won’t matter what I say because I can’t kill you if you’re not here.”

“Stupid child,” he hissed. If she was even suspected of helping Severus escape…well, the creature had already proved once tonight what could happen to a traitor.

“I’m not going, Professor. I don’t care what you say. I don’t want to kill you, but I’m not going to leave Ellen here alone!”

It wasn’t a completely awful plan in terms of getting him out, Severus had to acknowledge, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Unfortunately, whatever was going to happen had to happen soon. Him staying, him dying at the girl’s hands, did nothing for the cause. If nothing else, the others need to be warned about the crystal And Dolohov. Because there was no way that he got out of Azkaban without help “Be careful,” Severus croaked, trying to close his fingers around the pendant-turned portkey. If he had a working arm he’d have just grabbed her and dragged her along despite her objections, but since he couldn’t even get his fingers to cooperate…. “Escape.” Both the activating clause, and a suggestion for the idiot child with no apparent sense of self-preservation.

Severus landed—hard—at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and had only a fraction of a second to consider that it probably wasn’t the safest destination to have set the portkey to before blacking out again. Movement woke him again, some time later, and he opened his eye—the left one, again, the right still wasn’t responding—to see the ground moving up and down. Why am I upside down? A wave of pain, most of it centered around his chest and legs where he was apparently being gripped, caught him then, and as hard as he struggled to hang onto consciousness it was very much a losing battle.