Refuge Has Its Price

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CHAPTER 6: LATER THAT SAME MORNING



Severus Snape respectfully knelt before the Dark Lord, warily observing him through the veil of his thick black eyelashes. It had been years since he'd witnessed the Master take such pains with his appearance.


If the sardonic Potions Master hadn't known that it could not possibly be so, he'd have thought the Dark Lord was as nervous as an untried schoolboy this morning.


Voldemort indicated the seat on his left with a single long-fingered gesture. It was an unexpected honor, and Severus gingerly took the offered position. There was a fine line between the Dark Lord's good and bad moods.


Severus silently prayed for a 'good mood' kind of day.


He took a few minutes to surreptitiously observe the Dark Lord. It would also help that any anger that the Dark Lord might be feeling towards him, personally, would instead be directed in Lucius Malfoy's direction this morning. The pale-haired wizard had been even later to respond to the Master's summons than he had.


'Better him than me!' Severus grimly thought to himself.


"Today is an important day, Severus," Voldemort began his carefully prepared speech.


At that moment Lucius suddenly appeared in the Great Hall with a 'clap' of Apparition. He instantly fell to his knees in obeisance. That still didn't stop the Dark Lord from 'Crucio'ing him for several long, painful, minutes to express his annoyance.


When the required scream was finally wrenched from between his handsome lips, Voldemort finally released the new Minister of Magic.


Lucius was rolling on the grey flagstone floor, sweating from the pain, suffering the Unforgivable's convulsive after-effects, at the feet of the Dark Lord.


"Thank you, Master," he gasped. Lucius was attempting to not piss himself, when one of the spasming muscles of his broad back suddenly convulsed down and cracked two of his lower ribs.


Lucius Malfoy immediately lost the battle with his bladder. Until he somehow found his way completely back in the Dark Lord's favour, the wealthiest wizard of the Wizarding World was now his Master's personal whipping boy. And it seemed that the Dark Lord liked it like that.


"Clean it up, Severusss," sibilantly drawled the Dark Lord, as he examined his own fingernails for manicured neatness.


Severus stood up and walked over to where Lucius was still writhing in his own piss. Neither man could meet the other's eye.


Twin red flags of embarrassment burned equally on both wizards' cheekbones as Severus drew his wand and cast a brief, but long-lasting, healing spell to ease the worst of Lucius' pain and stop his convulsions.


He started to walk away, but hesitated, turned around, and cast a 'Scourgify' to clean and dry both clothing and man. Slipping his wand back inside of its' hidden pocket in his all-black robes, Severus offered Lucius a hand up.


Malfoy accepted it gratefully, and carefully eased his still aching body up onto his feet.


Voldemort observed all of this with a bored stare. He indicated the seat on his right side to Malfoy with a regal nod of his bald reptilian head.


Lucius didn't need to be told twice; he scurried as quickly as he was able to take the indicated seat. Severus followed more leisurely, but even he didn't dare dawdle.


With an aggrieved sigh, their Master began again, "As I was saying, before you so very rudely interrupted me, Lu-sss-iuss, today is a very important day. You will go to the Ministry of Magic and proclaim this as an official holiday weekend. Arrange with Gringotts to pay extra wages to each Ministry worker. This afternoon I will decide the dispensation of the Purebloods and Halfbloods that we are currently holding. Afterwards, I shall have several surprises and rewards for certain members of my Inner Ssssircle."


Voldemort's irritation and impatience caused his speech to be a bit more sibilant, even as he struggled to suppress it, as a stutterer attempts to control their staggering speech pattern.


Severus and Lucius both obediently nodded their agreement with their Master, and gave no sign that they'd even noticed his disability. The Dark Lord was pleased. He even preened a bit under their joint approval.


Lord Voldemort gave them what, for him, was a genuine smile . . . that corpse's grinning death-mask of a too-widely stretched grin.


He regally nodded at the two men, and then continued, "As I plan on wedding my Consort this night, I have decided that the entire Wizarding World should be allowed to celebrate along with me. My warriors have earned their Revels. Tonight, they shall finally have them."


Severus' heart leapt up into his throat. What would the Dark Lord do to him if he dared to select her for himself?


Probably kill both of them. The girl had been one of the so-called 'Golden Trio'; the Dark Lord wouldn't entrust her to just anyone.


She had to go to somebody, if the Dark Lord decided to spare her life. Why not to him?


No. The Dark Lord had only just begun to trust him once more. He'd surely give her to a Death Eater that had never given him the least reason for mistrust, perhaps . . . Rabastan?


Neither the Dark Lord, nor the girl herself, would ever agree to Severus Snape becoming her Master.


Surely, he'd be more palatable to her as a lover than Mulciber, Avery, or the unmarried, straight, Lestrange brother. Without feeling the least bit boastful of the fact, Severus was positive that he'd be an infinitely better choice than Goyle, Nott, or Crabbe Senior!


The senior Crabbe still blamed Harry Potter for his only son's death by Fiendfyre. Potter himself was now beyond his vengeful grasp. It was a certainty that he'd make Potter's only female best friend pay and pay and pay for it, in his stead.


That fat bastard had a 'thing' for whips, chains, white-hot branding irons, and sharp, sharp things; as well as a predilection for buggery. He was both a pedophile and a true sadist.


Severus Snape had been made to 'tidy up' the messy loose ends that Crabbe sometimes found himself with, by thinking with the head with no brain inside, on more than one occasion by the Dark Lord. It became a normal punishment inflicted by the Master on his surly Potions Master for any disobedience, or supposed infractions, whether real or merely imagined.


Even the strong-stomached Potions Master had lost his supper on one of those clean-up missions. The body in question was almost unrecognizable as having ever been a human being.


Severus had later learned that 'it' had once been a captured twelve-year-old Muggle girl. She'd been a mute and small for her age.


Crabbe had tried every weapon in his vast arsenal to get her to scream. He had never even cared to learn why she'd failed to do so.


Crabbe was placed on Snape's special list that night. It might take him years to achieve what he'd planned for the senior Crabbe, as he'd cleaned up and disposed of the tattered bits of the child's flesh that night, but his vengeance would be oh-so-sweet when it finally happened.


Even for Death Eaters, some things should still be sacred, the innocence of a child being the foremost in the brooding Potions Master's mind.


Contrary to popular opinion, Professor Severus Snape had never 'hated' children, or ever considered the possibility that others might view his conduct towards his young charges as being cruel. He'd simply known what their possible fate would one day be, should the Dark Lord be victorious.


The Professor had merely been 'toughening' them up, no matter how he'd gone about it. At least in his own mind.


He blinked several times, as he pushed those thoughts back deep down behind his impenetrable walls of Occlumency, and returned his full attention to the Dark Lord with a sharp nod of his black head.


"Good; that is good then. Lucius will bring the license and perform the ceremony as Minister of Magic, and you will attend to anything my Consort-to-be requires. You will make certain that she is agreeable to this Severusss. Do not disappoint me," Voldemort sternly ended.


"Of course, my Lord," Severus confidently responded with a respectful bow of his head.


"If I might speak to Lucius for just a moment, my Lord? It is a matter of little import, simply housing arrangements for our . . . 'personal' revel," he concluded with a lascivious smirk that twisted his thin lips up.


Voldemort imperiously waved Severus away to hurry after Lucius' swiftly departing back. Others of the Inner Circle were now arriving, and he had more orders to issue.

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Harry Potter slowly opened his emerald-green eyes.


Yep. He was back in that strange version of King's Cross Station.


He glanced around, but couldn't see Dumbledore anywhere this time. That strange, raw, thumping creature that he'd assumed had been a bit of Voldemort's humanity was also missing.


Harry leaned his unruly dark head back, and sighed. He knew instantly what he'd done wrong. He didn't need Professor Dumbledore here to tell him.


It was when he'd seen the bleeding, barely alive, Professor Snape struggling towards his position out of the corner of his eye that the Darkness had taken him.


He'd become enflamed with hot, justified, anger at all of the hardships that the ill-treated Potions Master had endured for years, under both of his Masters, and all on his account. At least it had been in his behalf according to the memories he's retrieved and viewed through Dumbledore's Pensive.


He'd not simply tried to disarm the Dark Lord. No. He'd tried to kill him.


That simple action, calling on the Unforgivable, had proven his soul unworthy to possess the Elder wand. In its' rejection of him, his curse had rebounded on him. It was only what he'd deserved for letting Darkness take its' hold on him.


Harry knew that he was dead, but what would happen if he didn't take the next train?


Then something truly different happened this time around to Harry Potter. He suddenly found himself looking out through a ruby-tinted window at what appeared to be a stage play.


Neville Longbottom was singed, but defiantly drawn up; the smoldering Sorting Hat on the ground at his feet. Snape was kneeling, and appeared to be humbly bartering for the young Gryffindor to the audience of himself, here, behind this window.


'Where in the world am I now?' wondered Harry, looking around at what appeared to be a dank, dark, stone chamber. The cobwebs, mildew, and dust of years' worth of accumulation thickly lay everywhere.


There was a whimpering form in the far corner; a skinny little boy of about 8 or 9 years of age, who looked as if a sadist had scoured every inch of his tender skin off with coarse sandpaper.


The raw, pitiable, scrap of humanity was oddly reminiscent of that horrific piece of Voldemort's soul that Harry had seen once before when talking to Dumbledore in the station. Except that this time it was fully formed, and clearly recognizable as human.


Harry turned to approach him, and the little boy suddenly shrank back from him in terror.


"Stay away! Don't touch me! You're a bad man. You tried to kill me," the child fearfully whined.


Harry froze in place. He'd never tried to kill anyone . . . except . . . Voldemort.


Sweet Merlin! Harry suddenly realized where he was, where he had to be.


This must be the inside of Voldmort's mind, and then these dank walls . . . could it be? The glimpse Harry had inside of Professor Snape's mind had also appeared as stone walls, when Harry had unexpectedly broken through them during his private Occlumency lessons with him during his Fifth year.


A deep knowledge of 'rightness' settled the matter in Harry's mind. He must be inside of Voldemort's mind, and that would mean that this poor creature could only be . . . Voldemort's . . . humanity?


"Yes, I did, but I'm very sorry about that now. I wouldn't have done that if I'd realized that you were in here. If you'll forgive me, I promise that I'll never do it again," soothingly replied Harry, just as if he was attempting to calm a startled hippogriff.


The raw child whimpered again, and then whispered, "I hurt real bad. Can you fix me?"


The total helplessness, and hopelessness, burning in the child's dark eyes tore at Harry's heart. He had once been a neglected and hurting orphan himself.


"I'm truly sorry. I'd heal you if I could, but I don't have my wand anymore," Harry softly replied.


The child scuttled a tiny bit closer to Harry. It didn't seem like this man was going to hurt him again and he had said he would have healed him if possible. Maybe he should warn him?


"He's going to do the bad thing again real soon," it whispered to Harry. "Can you stop him from doing the bad thing? Every time he does it, I hurt worser."


Harry's emerald eyes burnt with sympathetic tears for this very last innocent part of Lord Voldemort. What answer could he possibly give?


He looked back out of the window that he now realized to be the Dark Lord's eyes, at the on-going tableau. Harry pointed to the humbly kneeling Snape and asked the trembling little boy, "Do you know that man?"


Very timidly, the frail flayed bit of whatever was left of Voldemort's humanity gave a quick, frightened, glimpse out of the window, gasped, and swiftly ran back to cower in its' corner again. "He's supposed to be dead! The snake got him. He says the snake got him!"


"Yes. The snake did get him, that's true. I was there and saw it. But he's a very brave and powerful wizard, and somehow the snake didn't manage to kill him. Can you hear what he's saying right now?"


The child cocked his dark head to the side as if listening to something only he could hear. He slowly nodded, then answered, "Yes. He's begging mercy for the other man, the man that he wants to do the bad thing to."


Harry smiled; even now, at the final hour, Professor Severus Snape was still bravely trying to save the life of a Gryffindor that he personally couldn't stand. Snape must have always truly been Dumbledore's man.


All he needed was a chance. Harry decided to try to give it to him, in his mother's name, for the love the Potions Master had held all these years for Lily.


"You know, if you'll listen and do as Snape says, perhaps he can heal you, or help you to somehow heal yourself. He protected me for years because he'd given his word, in the name of love, to do so, even though he hated me. You can trust him above all others."


The child focused all of his attention on Harry, and slowly nodded his unruly dark head. "I'll try," the child doubtfully whispered, "but sometimes he still does the bad things, even when I scream for him not to."


Harry could feel himself slipping away again, but dimly heard the child call out, as if from far-far-away, "Who are you?"


Harry called back through the swirling silvery-white mists now rapidly engulfing him, "I am your friend."


And then he was gone.


END OF CHAPTER 6


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A/N: And you thought that you wouldn't be hearing anything more from Harry Potter!

However, in the Wizarding World (at least in my AU of it), nothing is rarely ever as it seems.

Well, almost nothing, anyways. snickers, and grins like the Chestershire cat!

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