Walk the Shadows

Ministry information, our ability to respond to crises is very limited. Lucius has brought up these charges, which are patently false, and which he seems to think he can ramrod through court. If he can be brought down, with Harry's testimony, and yours, as his guardian and witness to both incidents, then not only will Lucius lose face, but Scrimgeour as well.'

Severus shook his head. 'No, Albus. The Dark Lord has his spies everywhere, as you well know, including the Ministry. What they want is for Harry and I to appear anywhere outside the protective walls of Hogwarts, where both of us can be captured or killed.' For all of it, he would hope to be simply killed, but he knew the Dark Lord was more likely to have ordered their capture, so he could continue where he'd left off in Topsham.

'You would have every protection--'

'Not good enough! Harry will remain at Hogwarts indefinitely, if he has to, or until Scrimgeour is replaced and the Dark Lord is dead. I will not turn him over to those monsters!'

The blue eyes held zero twinkle, had not since Albus' 'conversation' with Harry, and this time, he did not even try to hold Severus' gaze. His exhaustion was apparently complete, and Severus hoped that his capacity for callousness with regards to Harry's well being was exhausted, too.

'You're right, Severus, of course. Harry needs to remain safe.'

Severus nodded, and reached forward to the teapot to pour another cup, when pain shot through his left forearm like it had been suddenly set ablaze. He dropped the cup, watching as if time had dilated, as it rolled under the table in front of him. He clutched at his arm with his right hand. Teeth clenched against the burn of his Dark Mark, which grew hotter and hotter with each passing moment, he drew a hissed breath. The skin beneath his hand started to smoke from the heat, and he actually felt it rippling under his fingers. Yanking up the sleeve of his shirt, he grasped at the Mark again, as the snake on his forearm writhed in his flesh.

'Severus?'

Through panting breaths, he said, 'He's . . . calling . . . Very . . . focused.'

In fact, his connection to the Dark Lord had not hurt like this in ages. Years? Perhaps not ever. It was if He was focused completely on one goal, that of causing Severus pain through the Mark. When they had first escaped Topsham, the Dark Lord had sent a few pulses Severus' way, enough to show he was angry, enough for Severus to need pain potions or Dreamless Sleep to keep from clawing his skin off, until the call ceased. But this! This was agony.

He was always Occluded, which usually staved off the worst effects of any pain on his mind and left him able to make decisions. But this time, he could not clear his mind enough to think. It burned! Ai, Merlin! His skin was blistering, and the snake slithered through the meat of his arm. His stomach churned, nausea making the tea rise again, and he could not hold back as he spewed it across the table.

His senses narrowed to exclude everything but the Mark: the smell of his charring flesh, the feel of the serpent's wriggling, the excruciating torment of his burning muscle and skin. And the whine of something in his ears . . .

And then, a sudden coolness, against all that fire, as if his whole body had been doused in ice water. The shock brought a scream to his lips, and the edges of his vision went black. He swayed in his seat, needing to vomit again, needing to summon . . . something? For pain?

The sound of his harsh, rasping breaths was louder than thought, and then, 'Severus, can you hear me?'

The voice was hollow, as if from a long tunnel, and he tried to respond. 'Ungh.'

'Good, good. I have a potion for you, my boy. For pain. Drink this.' A vial touched his lips, and he sniffed at it, trying to remember why he would need to do so, but he just could not concentrate. 'It's all right, Severus. Please, drink it; it will make the pain go away.'

The please caught his attention and tugged at his memory. It meant something,