Chapter Text
Late Evening, 24th June 1995
Buried in the far depths of an armoire lay a scuffed leather trunk. A man reached out a pale, shaking hand and grasped the cracked handle. With a quick tug, the trunk was dragged out of the closet with an accompanying crash of items falling to the ground.
“Severus,” Headmaster Albus Dumbledore spoke from the open door to the man’s bedroom. “Are you ready for this? We can delay your return if we have to.”
“I’m risking too much as it is, Headmaster,” Severus Snape snapped as he frantically unwarded his trunk and pulled out the flowing black robes and pale as bone mask.
“You remember the story?” Albus placed a palm on Severus’s shoulder.
“Of course I do. Let’s just hope he buys it,” Severus shrugged off the gesture and turned to his cabinet of personal potions. He uncorked one and swallowed it down with a grimace before he stored a few ampules in his inner pockets.
“You’ve kept your cover admirably over the years,” Albus reminded him. “Do what you can for now, we can come up with a better plan when you return.”
“If I return,” Snape muttered as he threw the flowing black robes over his teaching robes. Dumbledore either didn’t hear him or chose not to chastise the younger professor.
“Go through the portrait of the garden gnomes. I’ve made sure the hallways are clear,” Albus led him to the door.
Severus nodded once in understanding and let the headmaster lead him out of his chambers. With a quick flick of his wand he replaced the wards around his personal quarters and started down the cold halls.
When he reached the first intersecting hallway he turned left while the headmaster turned right. With a final glance, Albus turned to Severus. “Severus?”
Snape stopped and turned slightly.
“Thank you,” Albus said quietly. He saw Severus sigh and continue his rapid pace through the halls of the dungeons.
“Merlin, save that boy.”
The first thing Severus could smell when he apparated to the small field was blood. The blood was shortly followed by the sour smell of urine and vomit. He hadn’t missed these smells. It had been over a decade since he last was subjected to the frightening mixture of bodily fluids that accompanied torture and death; although, this time the Dark Lord’s victims were his own servants.
The waning crescent moon barely illuminated the heaps of black robes littering the ground around a thin, skeletal creature. The creature looked like it had once been humanoid, but it had been corrupted by evil and death.
Severus felt the adrenaline flood his veins as the red, serpentine eyes registered his presence. He slowly approached the creature and knelt at its feet.
“My Lord,” Snape spoke quietly to the hem of the creature’s robes. After a moment of silence only broken by the moans from the field behind him, he swallowed nervously.
“My Lord, please forgive my tardiness,” He pleaded.
He felt a hand grasp his hair roughly and wrench his head up painfully. He swallowed back a grunt of pain and shock as he looked into the angry face of his master.
“You’ve kept us all waiting, Severus,” The creature’s clear voice rang out over the field. “You know I hate being kept waiting, Severus.”
His palms were sweating and his mouth was dry as he forced himself to look up at his master.
“Please forgive me, my lord. If I left…” Snape’s plea was cut short by a sharp crack as the creature drove his head into its knee. Snape could feel bone give and he could soon taste the saltiness of his own blood as it ran down his lips.
“No, dear Severus,” Voldemort’s cold demand silenced any question of him speaking again. “I’ve heard very concerning stories about you.”
Frozen in fear, Severus kept his gaze on the uneven hem of the Dark Lord’s robes again.
“I’ve heard you betrayed me. That you belong to that old fool, Dumbledore,” Voldemort accused bitterly.
“No, ‘y Lord,” Severus denied nasally.
“Do not LIE to me! Crucio!” Voldemort cried out and flicked his wand. Snape felt pain coursing through every nerve ending in his body. His muscles clenched so tightly he felt as though they would tear away from his burning bones. Each second the pain grew as his body convulsed on the bare earth. He let out a guttural scream that cut through the muggy summer air. It felt like ages went by before the Dark Lord released the spell.
“You were always so strong, Severus,” the Dark Lord spoke from above his twitching frame. “It’s a shame that you’re now weak like the rest of my Death Eaters. ”
Snape grasped a hand in the long grass and gasped as the Dark Lord sent another wave of the cruciatus curse at him. Agony flooded through his blood and bones, leaving each cell raw and angry. He could taste blood again as he bit through soft flesh.
“Tsk, tsk, Severus,” the man said and kicked the downed man with a bare foot. Severus’s breath was driven from him with an accompanying crack of bone.
“ ‘lease, ‘y Lord,” Severus called out scratchily, voice distorted with pain and blood.
“Why should I show you mercy, Severus Snape?” Voldemort sneered.
“ ‘cause I’m your spy,” Severus spoke and pulled himself into a kneel again. Each nerve was on fire and his joints creaked as the abused muscle and bone was forced to obey their master, but he knelt as tall as he could.
“My spy?” Voldemort huffed. “I was gone, barely alive! I didn’t need a SPY! I needed loyal servants!”
A cutting curse carved a deep gouge in Snape’s bicep and he forced himself to not react and grab at the wound. He wouldn’t show that weakness. Voldemort wanted a show of strength. He wanted a show of loyalty.
“But Potter was alive,” Snape said evenly. “What better way to spy on the brat than to be his professor?”
‘Please, buy it. Please,’ Snape sent up a prayer to the godless sky, uncaring if anyone heard. They certainly never answered any of his pleas in the past. Why would they start now?
Snape felt a cold, clammy hand pinch his jaw sharply and jerk his head up. He was immediately met with the red, hate filled eyes of his master.
“We shall see,” the man seethed, “Legilimens.”
Snape felt the knife-like presence in his mind immediately. He worked hard at keeping the Dark Lord on the path he had created for this purpose. He let him get a glimpse of his potion’s classes with Potter over the years, he showed him the cruelty he showed to the young muggleborn students, he threw his most bitter meetings with Dumbledore into the Dark Lord’s path.
The Dark Lord tore himself free of Snape’s mind, not caring about the mess of severed pathways and corrupted memories he left behind. The vice-like grip on his jaw was released and Severus let his head slump forward until it rested on his heaving chest.
“Your mind may be showing me the truth, but you still abandoned me when I needed you most, Severus. Only Barty and Peter cared to return after the mistake with that boy,” Voldemort said bitterly.
Snape blinked his eyes in exhaustion as he listened to his master. Black fog threatened to take over, flowing and ebbing with every breath.
“And for that, you must be punished, yes,” Voldemort said and Severus felt dread fill his mind again. “However, you will return to the school. I’m sure that old fool will revive his little club soon enough.”
What little spark of hope Snape had left him as the pale wand made its familiar arch through the air. He felt tendons snap and bones break as the curses battered his broken frame. The minutes melted into a symphony of agony and rasping cries. The cries were cut short with a final curse and the man’s bloodied frame collapsed silently into the ground.
“Pathetic. You’ve grown weak, no matter, we shall fix that soon enough,” the cold voice called as he turned his back on the field of fallen followers.