Snape's hand shook as he poured the blue potion from the small bejewelled bottle onto the cut. A hiss escaped him as the sapphire liquid made contact with the ravaged flesh.
Nagini had wanted feeding tonight and Voldemort had asked his most loyal death eaters to offer their own flesh as food. He had savagely removed his 'pound of flesh', as he mockingly called it, from Snape, Malfoy and Bellatrix, the latter of whom had moaned in ecstasy at the honour as her skin was ripped and cut from her body by his spell. Snape had been less than happy at the prospect. But he was a spy and, though his Lord was mad, at least by complying with his wishes you one was more or less assured security in his innermost lair.
Still fuming at his Lord's idiocy, Snape turned and retraced his steps to the potions cabinet in his bathroom. For now he relished the anger. It helped him to rise above the drudgery and loneliness of each day, and gave him something to fight with. The potions cabinet revealed shelves full of small bottles - the main comprised of headache relievers and potions for reducing the after-effects of the cruiciatus curse and headache relievers. But tucked away on the left were several doses of a strong sleeping draught, a few purple bottles of anti-nausea syrup, two small golden bottles filled with the glistening good luck potion, and one very small bottle, hidden between two larger ones. It contained something so precious to Snape that every time he opened the cabinet he took it up and ran his fingers over it, checking it's seal and reassuring himself of it's presence and weight in the smoothness of it's mother-of-pearl container. It contained something which he most feared to take and yet which he knew he would at some point have to do. It would be possibly the biggest gamble of his life. Should his Lord smell the scent on his breath the gamble would be over.
With a sigh he put the bottle back down on the shelf, sliding it back away from the edge. He shut the cabinet and turned to the bath. Bending, he turned the taps and slowly and straightened again, the knots and fresh wounds in his back flaming with pain. A grey and pain-twisted face appeared in the mirror before him, tired black eyes filled with lost hope staring into his own. A bubble of despair at the thought of always remaining like this, all alone, rose in him, and he savagely raised his fist and struck the mirror, it's glass shattering round his hand. The face vanished and numbly he sucked at the blood now dripping from his knuckles. The noise of the water pouring into a now almost- full bath roused him and he shook himself irritably, trying to shake off the feeling. With relief he pushed the morose thoughts to the back of his mind as he turned to have a bath. At least here was something he could do that was ordinary and normal and nice and he could focus on that rather than on anything else... including the talk he would need to have, once he resurfaced, with Dumbledore's portrait.
***
"Well, my boy, what did Lord Voldemort want this time?" Snape flinched and frowned as he sank into the chair behind the desk.
"The same as always Headmaster. To talk. He has been on three more muggle raids since last Tuesday. Nagini wanted feeding. He wants to know where Potter is and he wanted to listen to Draco's retelling of the tale of Miss Brown's torture incident with the Slytherin death eaters." Dumbledore's portrait raised it's eyebrows.
"You sound very bitter Severus. Was that really all? Or did you know the muggles?"
Snape glared at the desk wood and ground his teeth. To his horror he felt hot tears prick at his eyes. Dumbledore's portrait may have retained his intelligence and obsession with lemon drops (there was a small bowl painted in) but it had lost any tact the wizard had ever possessed. Also, though it had retained Dumbledore's caring attitude it had lost his sympathy and was developing a tendency to ask completely inappropriate questions. But the fact that someone - even if it was a portrait - had bothered to notice that all was not roses with him, and actually care enough to ask, struck a cord. He had not thought he would be bothered by living alone, a true spy, once he had - he swallowed - killed Dumbledore. But clearly he had been wrong. He waited until he trusted himself to speak. A rustling sound was followed by a slurping. He looked up, his eyes dry. "No Headmaster, I'm simply tired. It was a long meeting and I have had several classes and a detention to take care of today." The portrait nodded, then stuck another lemon drop in it's mouth.
"You will need to start giving him a hint of where you think Harry might be found. Make sure he is not there, of course. But where he has just vacated perhaps." The lemon drop was moved to the other side of the mouth and crunched on. Snape watched, detached, as Dumbledore's face screwed itself up momentarily at the sourness. "You do not want him to think you are no longer useful - we will not get the information we need for the Order then."
"No indeed." Snape said drily as he stood up, gathering various homework parchments together into a pile on his desk. "We would not want the Dark Lord to think I have outlived my usefulness."
"Uhum. Why don't you get a bowl of lemon drops for your desk, Severus? I'm sure it would make Minerva so much more pleasant and relaxed when she comes to visit you for your meetings...in fact, all of the staff."
Anger was so much nicer an outlet for frustration than crying, Snape reflected later as he sagged in an armchair, watching the last few shreds of parchment flutter to the floor. No doubt he would regret destroying the seventh years' potions assignments later when he had to regrade a new set, but for now he felt oddly satisfied. Ripping them into millions of pieces whilst screaming at the top of his voice had been really good. And besides, he justified, either the fools knew the information or they didn't - having to redo the work would only help those who hadn't yet studied enough. And those who had didn't need their work returned anyway. He stretched his legs out so that he was spread-eagled in the squishy chair - a leftover of Dumbledore's - and tipped his head back to gaze up at Dumbledore's enchanted ceiling. The stars glinted down at him, outlines of star clusters being drawn and labelled in tiny, spidery print before disappearing again. Merlin, but he was tired. So tired. His breathing evened out and deepened and he reflected that his eyes felt like someone had put sandpaper under his lids. He really needed to be in bed, but there was just so much to think about and plan. His students needed him to protect them. He should go and patrol the halls before bed... Snape's eyelids slid closed and he was asleep before he knew it.
***
A golden feather floated down, stroking Snape's cheek, and he jerked awake, instantly alert. His gaze snapped round the room, coming to rest on the phoenix feather laid on his robes. He snatched it up instantly and vaulted himself out of the chair heading for the door, wand drawn. "Phileaus, report." He barked.
"I believe three miscreants have been caught by the male Carrow outside the Room of Requirement, Headmaster," the portrait replied as it slid back into it's frame. Snape acknowledged this with a curt nod of the head as the door swept shut behind him. Blood rushed in his ears as he paced through the corridors, slipping down side passages and behind tapestries to reach the Room of Requirement. He arrived, just in time to find Amycus Carrow pointing his wand at the tallest miscreant, whom he realised with a shock to be the Longbottom boy. Stowing his wand behind him he prayed that Longbottom would for once show some backbone, and was pleasantly surprised as he drew in front of the group to see the defiant look on the young man's face.
"Professor Carrow? Three students out after curfew? How very disappointing," he drawled, his smooth velvety voice covering up for his shaking fingers which gripped his wand tightly behind him, out of view of the other death eater. One wrong word. He took a deep breath and cut across the other man's malicious retelling of events. "Well. We'll just have to show them how important their beauty sleep is to us. And how terribly dangerous," - his voice hovered over the word for a mere instant - "it is for them to be caught after curfew roaming the corridors of this ancient school."
Carrow snickered and prodded his wand into Neville's chest, "Jus' what I was finking ‘eadmaster. I 'ave the equipment in my room." He gave a derisive snort. "Not that these muggle -lovers will last long under it though." He started to laugh, a horrible gurgling sound expanding into the silence.
"No Professor Carrow. I don't believe that will be necessary." At the other man's startled look he inclined his head towards him. "There is no reason for you to trouble yourself. I believe I shall be able to come up with something suitably," he paused and the three students paled slightly, "fitting." He raised one eyebrow. "Come with me." And with that he turned and began to walk back down the corridor in the direction of Gryffindor tower. After a few paces he stopped and turned, his voice now icy with contempt. "Mr. Longbottom? Missess Weasley and Lovegood? Are you deaf as well as disobedient? I can assure you that should I need to enforce your obedience I shall do so." He could feel rather than see the leer which crossed Carrow's ugly face. The three teenagers glared at him but nonetheless stepped forward to follow. Snape continued in long unhesitating strides until he reached the portrait of the fat lady. Then he waited until he heard the footsteps of the teenagers pause close behind him. He swept round, his cloak billowing theatrically behind him. All three jumped. "So!" He hissed, "You think you are important enough to be out after hours? As foolish as your departed hero? You think you have the right to disobey me and the other staff of this school? Those who are put here to protect your worthless skins? How dare you!" Longbottom and the Weasley girl opened their mouths about to argue with him. "Silence!" In his anger he swept his wand arm in front of them, almost casting Silencio by accident. "Three hundred points from Gryffindor. You will all report to Professor Hagrid tomorrow evening immediately after dinner." He paused watching their faces for any reaction. Longbottom looked angry but the Weasley girl was clearly steaming. Miss Lovegood appeared perhaps slightly less 'absent' than normal, and he smirked inwardly. Perhaps someone would work something out from this. "I understand the Flesh-eating sregdabs are getting out of hand again." He smirked as their faces paled slightly. "Do not let me catch you out after curfew again, or next time I might not be so lenient..." He sneered at the fury that returned to Miss Weasley's eyes and swept past the trio back the way he had come.
***
The next morning found the sixth and seventh years at the Gryffindor table in an extremely bad mood, and Snape was the happy recipient of more than one amateur death glares. "Seems the li'l lions aren't too 'appy wiv' you this morning Headmaster." Carrow leered behind Snape and clapped a hand on his shoulder. It took all Snape's resolve not to cringe away from the man.
"Indeed Professor Carrow." Snape smiled thinly. "Perhaps it will make them think next time they choose to risk their necks." Carrow snorted and began piling bacon and sausages on his plate. Snape felt a not-so-amateur death glare boring into his left shoulder. He surreptitiously moved his coffee cup a few inches closer to himself - and further away from the head of Gryffindor. Draco's idea of bringing Lockhart's duelling club back to life would need to be quietly ignored, he decided - otherwise he might find himself compelled to answer a duel issued him by Minerva. And, though he had complete confidence in his own abilities, he did not possess quite the same measure of anger which continually seemed to fill his deputy.