Recollections and Respite

Burke was not happy. Snape had been summoned, and he hadn't been alerted. He'd almost missed the interview. Peters looked more restless than usual, but repeated obliviates would do that: he was surprised the Auror could still remember his name. And the man of the hour was sitting by the small table, staring at his feet, that black hair of his hanging limply. He was pathetic. Burke had to admit that Snape had been incredibly useful so far, providing information on curses, locations of stashes, black markets and fences and suppliers of rare and illicit reagents and potions. He'd got more from Snape than any of the others, but there was something still in that rotten head of his. Voldemort had been as close to immortality as anyone could get, and he wanted to know how...it was worth a fortune! But he was getting impatient, and Cross was still pussy-footing around.

"Okay, Severus," Cross began softly. "Today, we're going to go further back than usual. Back to when Voldemort recruited you. I want you to recall the meetings you had: who was there, what was asked, what was done."

Burke suppressed a grin: did that mean Cross was actually going to give him what he wanted tonight? His bad mood dissipated, and he sat himself down on the free chair opposite Snape.

"We goin' to be more 'elpful tonight, eh, Snape?" Burke asked mockingly. "We can all get out o' 'ere in time for a pint."

Peters swallowed his rising disgust. He had to play along tonight to get what he needed. After catching up on charms, he realised he couldn't stop them from cursing him, but he could set up monitoring spells in the room. He cast the required spells over Snape to assess his physical health and documented the findings. Aside from being underweight and stressed, he was physically fit...according to Ministry guidelines...to be interviewed.

"You're all set, Auror Cross," he stated.

"Very well, Peters. Please set up the pensieve."

While Peters manoeuvred the bowl onto the table Cross walked behind him, and that was all Peters would remember. Burke led the disorientated Auror out and into a waiting room.

"We've been advised to check the allegiances of several of your peers from school," Cross continued smoothly. "I'm not sure if you're aware, but some of your housemates were arrested recently for their involvement in Deatheater activities. They claim they were coerced and cursed. I want to check your memories to confirm or refute their claims. Do you understand?"

Snape didn't flinch, speak or nod. The Auror frowned. This passivity was troubling, but he'd seen it before as a tactic to resist their efforts. Time in the pensieve would better elucidate Snape's mental state. Burke came back, grabbed the chair and planted it right in front of Snape. He rapped his knuckles on the pensieve next to him.

"Goin' to help us catch some Deatheaters, eh?" he asked gleefully. When Snape failed to respond, he grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. "I asked you a question, yer little shit."

"Burke!" Cross snapped.

He snarled, but let Snape's hair go. "Right ye are, boss."

Snape didn't let his head fall, but kept his gaze on some distant point beyond the walls. It gave Cross the chance to study him. The skin was pale and the lips tinged blue, and dark smudges hung under his hooded eyes. He watched Snape's chest rise and fall: the breaths were shallow and rapid. It was gratifying to see him afraid; it would only enhance his suffering later. It would also make him more susceptible to Legilimency and memory modification.

"I think we're ready to begin, Burke."

Cross withdrew his wand and approached, aiming for Snape's temple. As he neared, Snape flinched, at which cue, Burke lunged forward. He slipped behind and wrapped his forearm around Snape's throat, pulling back with slightly more force than necessary, and cast a partial body bind on Snape's legs. The wizard struggled, gasping and choking for air, his fingers scrabbling futilely against the arm.

"Careful! We can't get anything if he's unconscious."

Snape latched onto the information and increased his rate of breathing. If he could just pass out...

"Fine!" Burke spat, and relaxed his hold.

"Shush...shhh...," soothed Cross as he placed the tip against temple and began to draw out silver strands. "It's going to be okay...shush..."

With each pass, Snape's nausea and confusion increased, and with each shush, his fear increased. There was something sinister in Cross' croonings, something lurking behind it. Whatever it was, it bothered him...terrified him. This wasn't the normal dread from the terrible things he'd done. He felt as though something old and long-hidden was stirring. If he could face most of fears, then what lurked in the darkness that would terrify him so? Whimpers burst past his lips, and he struggled against Burke's arm with increased vigour. What would scare a Deatheater? Burke sniggered and held tighter until the struggles weakened and Snape slumped.

Burke laughed and stepped back, letting Snape slip to the floor. "Look at the bugger twitch!" he laughed.

"Stop staring and help me turn him on his side. He'll choke on his tongue!"

Respite was short-lived. Burke and Cross had attended to him, sat him back in the chair and bound him. Burke was grinning and Cross looked disturbed. It took a few moments for Snape to realise why. His trousers were wet. A sob erupted without warning. He was done. They'd done too much to him. The tears came next: quietly at first, then in gulping whoops. He pulled his lips back in a silent scream and flung his head back.

"That's right," cajoled Burke, lapping Snape's humiliation up. "Let it all out. It can't be nice, sitting in yer own piss, bawlin' like a baby." He laughed out, harsh and gleeful. "Big man, weren't ye, and now yer nowt."

"That's enough, Burke."

Cross had watched Snape carefully. His belly had lurched pleasurably at the sight of Snape's collapse. His wife had cried like that. They'd cursed her until she'd soiled herself, then used her. After two hours, they'd killed her. Deatheaters had done it. They'd bragged about it, hurling their spell into the air, so that the skull hung in the sky above his house. And they'd lied afterwards! They'd been under the Imperius...victims of the Dark Lord. They were not accountable. But this wasn't enough. Snape's destruction wasn't enough...but for now, it would have to do.

"Okay," groused Burke, but he was happy enough.

"It's okay, Severus," Cross uttered softly, as if speaking to a scared child. "We know this is painful, and we really appreciate the help you're giving us, but we have to know, we have to investigate. You understand that, don't you?" Snape howled before descending into stuttering sobs. "You were a big part of what went on. Your presence here is required for years to come. We can't let you go; you're too important to us."

Cross began to clean him up, casting spells to remove the source of Snape's shame. When he was satisfied, he sat down next to Snape and sighed softly.

"You should accept this as your penance," he continued. "I would have thought you'd be eager to help us catch and imprison those monsters. Why do you have to fight us? We're not the enemy here."

Burke watched in quiet amazement. This was the most he'd ever heard Cross say. He idly wondered what game the old Auror was playing, but he didn't really care, so long as he got what he wanted. The sight of Snape snivelling in the chair was simply delightful, and if this had happened back in Azkaban, he probably would have been paying Snape a late night visit after Cross left. Sometimes, he missed the good old days.

"Now, Severus," Cross added, reaching out to grasp Snape's hand, "we're going to look through these memories and pick out what we think is useful, okay?"

Snape had begun to plead, begging him to stop, but Cross ignored him, lifting the limp hand until he could lower it into the bowl. Burke nearly missed his chance and just managed to get his hand in before Cross started the session.

His face was less haggard and much younger, but it was easy to pick out Snape from the other teenagers. They wore black robes, not unlike habits, and were walking down a long heavily shadowed hallway towards ornately carved wooden doors. Weak light filtered in through fogged glass windows, barely making it across the hallway, falling in vague pools on the wooden floor. Cross recognised the hall from previous sessions: this was the Malfoy residence. Dark portraits hung on the walls, the faces hidden in shadow, and potted Tentaculars curled their fronds as they passed. The other boys were chatting excitedly, but Snape was silent, his lips pressed firmly together, and his eyes focused intently forwards.

The doors opened, and they stood in an antechamber lit by four sconces, one in each corner. The flickering torches filled the air with more smoke than light, so the figures in the room seemed to blend into the darkness, the pale faces like skulls. The air was cold, and it stifled conversation. The boys jostled nervously and then stilled as Voldemort turned.

He smiled, his eyes studying the gathered recruits. He spread his arms in welcome, and waved them in, as a caring father welcoming his family. The doors closed behind them, and they were encouraged to walk closer.

"Today," he began in his rich voice, "you take your rightful place in the wizarding world, realising your true value. The Ministry has decided to spend its energies, eroding your worth with soft lies and skewed philosophies. It is time you took your proper place. Your convictions have led you this far...you have to take one step...one mark."

There was a tense pause, and then a boy walked forwards, his face pale, but his eyes bright. He stepped up, lifting the sleeve on his left arm and thrusting it eagerly forward. Voldemort smiled and looked the boy in the eye. His smile faded, and he took hold of the pale arm with a reverence that appealed to the boys: Voldemort cared for their sacrifice, see how careful he was. He touched the unblemished flesh with his wand-tip and uttered the spell. Green light flickered like St Elmo's fire and the boy shuddered, his back arching and his head lolling backwards. He stepped back, almost tugging his arm free from Voldemort's grip.

"It hurts but for a moment," he soothed. "Pain cleanses."

A cry burst past the boy's lips, speaking volumes of the pain licking at his skin. Soon, it ended, and the first to receive the mark shuffled back, clutching his arm to his chest and sniffling.

"Thank you," he mumbled, his voice cracking. He then bowed and staggered away, disappearing through an archway, and then it was someone else. Each time, a scream echoed in the small room. Some dealt with it better than others. And now it was Snape's turn.

Come on! Cross thought desperately. Scream!

Snape offered up his arm. He was calm and showed no emotion. He looked into Voldemort's eyes, and after a moment or two, Voldemort nodded and smiled slyly.

"Impressive for one so young," he stated. "You actually posed a small challenge. What's your name?"

"Severus Snape."

"Ah... Severus," he repeated, elongating the consonants. "It's almost Parseltongue." He smiled and lifted his wand. "You're the boy Malfoy discusses." Snape remained silent as Voldemort's pale fingers wrapped around his equally pale wrist. If Voldemort saw the small scars on the skin, he said nothing. "Lucius speaks most highly of you," he continued. "When you graduate this summer, you must come here, to your new home. We're your family now."

Voldemort let his wand touch the skin and said the words. Green light exploded around the connection. Snape tensed, his face contorting, but he remained still, his eyes locked on Voldemort's. Cross saw something squirming under the skin, burrowing into the arm, part of it coiling into what would be the Dark Mark, and another part, crawling up the arm. It was almost over and Snape had not cried out. Cross felt cheated. The green light flickered out and Voldemort let go. Instead of stepping back, Snape just stared at the coiled red serpent glistening on his skin.

"Well done," Voldemort offered. "I expect we'll see each other soon. Now go and enjoy yourself. Abraxus is a generous host and will grant you whatever you wish."

The next room was a stark contrast. Here, there was wine, food, soft music, lush furnishings and Deatheaters welcoming them to the family. Certain sections had been curtained off, and wizards lounged on plush sofas, drinking and smoking. The decadence was overwhelming. It was more akin to an exclusive Gentleman's Club than a Deatheater's lair. His companions were given potions to ease their pains, and their sponsors...older wizards, fathers to many new recruits...patted them on the backs, elaborating upon the rewards their new status afforded, proud their protégés had not failed them. Feeling more comfortable, they followed their brothers to whatever delights lay in the curtained areas or sat on the couches, nursing their wounds and sipping wine.

Within the waiting throng, Cross caught sight of Mulciber. He knew from his investigations that Mulciber had worked in tandem with Lucius Malfoy to sponsor and prepare Snape. The strains of war hadn't yet ravaged him; he was still handsome, with black hair and blue eyes. Charming. That's what people remembered about him. Mulciber senior was of moderate interest...he was dead...but there was something in his stance that attracted Cross' attention. It was the way he was watching Snape as he walked through the room. Snape was oblivious and left through another set of doors into a cool, dimly lit corridor. Cross knew this place too; it led to a potions lab in Malfoy's basement. He'd witnessed many of Snape's memories in that room.

Once ensconced in what he considered his place...a square room with a battered couch, low table, workbench, potions equipment and small stove...Snape sat down and studied the brand on his arm. It was red and puffy, weeping like a burn, and it stung. He traced the outline with his finger, wincing slightly when the skin pulled. Already, he could see the skin turning dark. Soon it would be completely black, then fade away until awakened by Voldemort.

Cross looked up and saw Mulciber on the room's threshold. He held one of the potions the others had been given. Snape stiffened when he saw him, but relaxed slightly when he recognised his mentor.

"Hurts, doesn't it," Mulciber stated simply. "It will for several days. This will help," he said, giving the potion bottle a shake. Snape nodded and Mulciber walked over. "But look at you!" He declared with a disarming grin. "Barely a flicker. Lucius chose well with you, my dear. Shame he can't be here to celebrate with you." He extended the bottle. "Here, drink! It'll help with the pain and make you feel better." Snape took it and gulped greedily. "Good man," Mulciber said laughing, joining him on the sofa. "Finish it all."

When it was empty, Snape fell back against the cushions, his eyes closed and his face slack, which meant that only Burke and Cross were privy to the predatory expression on the dark man's face. The memory flickered slightly, and Cross frowned, examining the memory critically: some of the details were unclear...smudged. Burke had missed the subtle change...he was too focused on what was transpiring between Mulciber and Snape...but Cross saw hints of the memory being compromised. He suspected the potion was more than just an analgesic. His lips curled up in frustration: the whole memory sequence was flawed and useless for investigative purposes...but perhaps good for manipulation.

It seemed that Snape had nodded off, exhausted by his ordeal. Mulciber seemed to think so and sat closer, so his thigh bumped up against Snape's. There was a disgusting eagerness in his eyes, and his breathing stuttered. He leant in and raised his hand towards Snape's face. It hung there for a moment, trembling, then he ran a fingertip down Snape's throat. At the contact, Snape jolted, and his head snapped forwards, his mouth slightly agape and his eyelids heavy.

"Wha...what do you think you're doing?"

Burke chortled and nudged Cross. "This'll be good."

Mulciber smiled humourlessly and placed his hand flat on Snape's thin chest. "You're one of us, now, Severus...where you belong. We will never abandon you, hurt you or let you fall. I think it's important you remember that and realise a little give and take makes all of this..." he said softly, easing a little closer so he could whisper in his ear, "...better for you...better for me."

With a smile, he plucked the empty bottle from Snape's fingers and shook it again before vanishing it. Snape paled and tried to sit up, but it was clear he was weak. With a desperate sigh, he fell back against the cushions, panting with the effort of his failed escape.

"I know you, Severus," Mulciber affirmed calmly. "I've been in every dark corner of that delicious mind of yours...seen your deepest memories, your most secret thoughts." He leant in and pressed his mouth against Snape's only to back off with a frustrated frown as Snape turned his head to the side and cursed. "You know," he continued smoothly, "I have waited a long time for you. Longer than most." Mulciber paused to study the face before him: the eyes dark from the opiate, the lips soft, the blushed cheeks. "I normally just take what I want."

To prove his point, he dipped his head and bit down on the boy's cheek, his hand sliding down to cup and pummel Snape's crotch. There was a feeble attempt to push him away, but whatever had been in the drink was acting quickly. Mulciber eased back, his eyes dark and a laugh rumbling in his chest.

"You will learn to like this," he added brutally. "You will learn to beg for it, Severus."

Cross felt the smallest flicker of sympathy as Mulciber continued to grope, but it was easily crushed. He watched Snape moan and try to protest, using uncooperative hands to bat the hand away, but it was obvious that soon, he'd be incapable of anything. The colour was draining fast from the memory, and sounds deepened and slowed as though they were underwater. He glanced around again and noted how shadows shifted awkwardly, as though completing with each other, and small items blurred in and out of existence: a pillow on the couch, a bottle on the table.

In one particularly strong shift, Mulciber seemed to vanish, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of Snape sitting alone on the couch, still examining the brand on his arm, a book resting on his lap. Cross inhaled sharply and stepped back from the scene. He knew what this was. Snape wasn't lying to them, he'd been lying to himself. This was a repressed memory. His stomach rolled unpleasantly as various possibilities battled for attention: he could use this to break Snape faster, but he also found this coercion unsettling. Burke's perverse attentiveness was also making him sick to his core. Cross stepped back again, his gaze shifting from Mulciber's lust-filled face to Burke's disgustingly animated features. He no longer knew who the bad guys were.

"It'll be okay," Mulciber soothed, as he began to slide the robe up and over Snape's knees, exposing thin, pale thighs. "I'll look after you. Just be still...shhhh...you'll be okay."

He planted kisses on Snape's neck, so gentle and delicate that on first glance, they were lovers enjoying an intimate moment together. His hand slipped under the cloth, and he let out a deep moan when Snape mewled. He plucked and teased, barely touching and then squeezing.

"See," he breathed after a little while, his hand moving rhythmically. "I knew you'd like it. Hush now...just relax."

Burke whooped and nudged Cross. "I knew it...they're all a bunch of perverts." He grinned and moved around to get a better view.

Cross heaved and backed away. "He's being molested, you vile man."

"Not goin' soft on me are ye, Cross?"

Burke hadn't taken his eyes off them, so he hadn't noticed that he was now alone in the memory. He had hoped to see more, but Mulciber had left the robe over his hand. All he could see was the outline of Mulciber's hand and the tip of Snape's penis, hard despite the assault, under the shifting fabric.

"First you," Mulciber whispered, his voice thick and ugly. "Then my turn. You'll enjoy it." His face became manic, his breathing rushed and his hand working faster. Snape had seemingly given up; his hands rested limply at his side, but his eyes were squeezed shut. His jaw clenched and his breathing shallow and halting.

Burke smirked. "Being a good little boy, eh?"

Drugged, exhausted, suffering the ravages of the Dark Mark, Snape was incapable of doing anything but comply. His body was betraying him as it sought some comfort after the recent trials and agony of the brand. His mind was slipping away, protecting itself. For a moment, the memory went dark, where there was no memory to see. Burke growled out his displeasure, but he was rewarded a moment later when it restored itself and he saw Mulciber pushing Snape over the edge.

"That's it!" Mulciber urged. "Hush now. Just let it happen. That's my sweet...that's my boy."

Burke watched as the pale thighs began to bunch and tremble. Snape keened and writhed against the sofa, his lips pulling back in a grimace. Mulciber was nibbling his lower lip, his eyes fixed on Snape's face, drinking in the sight of him. Snape was weeping, silent tears ran in glistening streaks down his cheeks, pathetic whimpers leaked out between his clenched teeth. And then he was gasping, shuddering, crying out...and then nothing.

Burke had to shut his eyes against the glare in the interrogation room. He'd been booted from the pensieve. He roared out his frustration; he would have given anything to see Mulciber have his turn. Slowly, he shook off the dislocated feeling. Snape was still in his chair; his head bowed and chest heaving as he took in great sobbing gulps of air. Cross was standing over him with a strange, empty look on his face.

"That was interestin'," Burke stated maliciously. "Be fun this time to watch the memories go back in, eh?" The thought of watching Snape relive those moments, feeling everything he'd felt back then just like the first time, had ousted his frustration utterly. This job was never dull.

Cross had been lost in thought since he'd pulled himself out of the memory. During his tenure at RID, he had been involved and instrumental in the arrest and sentencing of many truly evil wizards...not all of them Deatheaters. He had witnessed many foul things: torture, murder, rape. In his meetings with Snape, he had seen him commit murder and torture, create potions that led to much suffering, learnt and cast Unspeakables, but he had never seen Snape involve himself in some of the more debasing things his colleagues had committed. Until now, he had never thought about it: even truly evil men had their limits, their boundaries, and he'd witnessed the so-called best of men commit secret, disgusting sins.

Watching Burke in Snape's memory had turned his stomach. He still wanted to destroy Snape, but this was something he would not use, not after what had happened to his loved ones. It would disgust them. He was a generous man; he didn't need this to complete his objective. If he couldn't grant Snape this respite, then he was no better than the monsters who'd left him a widower and childless. But the memory had to go back, and Snape would have to deal with it...and any others that surfaced now the barrier had fallen.

"Burke."

"Yeah?"

"Obliviate!"