A/N:  All characters associated with Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling.  The plot's all mine. 

Warning:  SS/RL slash, but it won't be anything explicit.  Of course.  Also, violence, mention of rape and torture, and language.

Spoilers: post-OOTP…evil book that it is.

/Of course you don't have to go back, if he knows.  But are you certain?  He's been vindictive before, when he's been faced with disturbing information or, in your case, no information.  Shh, shh.  Stay still, my boy.  Of course you don't have to go back.  If we're certain he suspects you.  It would be suicide.  If we're certain.  But rest now, Severus, and we'll talk in the morning, when…/

It was dark, when he opened his eyes, and he was glad for it.  It could mean so many things, all of them carrying a hope that he rarely felt.  He could be in his rooms, which would mean he wasn't hurt all that badly, or else Poppy would have had him shackled to one of the private beds in the hospital wing.  It could be night, which would mean that any meeting with the Headmaster was still hours away.  Or, it could be that he was blind, which would mean he had outlived his usefulness, in which case he could stop.  And how he wanted to stop.

But he moved his hands to his face and could see the bandages, so there was one hope gone.  And, tilting his head to the side, he saw dim lights reflected in tile through linen screening.  The infirmary then.  But it was obviously night, so that offered him some comfort.  Dropping his hands to his side, he pushed himself up against the headboard, slowly, not wanting to aggravate the wounds on his hands, which were the only part of his anatomy worth anything, in his opinion.  The only part of him that anyone had ever called beautiful.  It was the long fingers, fingers of an artist.  He was glad for the darkness, as it kept him from seeing how mangled those fingers were. 

Now sitting up, he took in his surroundings.  His bed was, of course, screened off from the others in the infirmary, but he knew that the place was empty.  It was early in the term, so no Quidditch injuries yet.  And Potter was keeping himself out of trouble these days, ever since his rule-breaking had led to Black's death.  It was quiet, and Poppy was probably sleeping in her rooms, adjoining the office.  Severus sat up straighter and freed himself from the swaddling sheets, swinging his legs out and planting his feet on the cold floor.  Someone had gotten him out of his Death Eater robes and into his pajamas.  Probably a team of house elves, he thought.  His colleagues had strange ideas about his dignity, as if he could have any after the years he had been associated with Voldemort.  No, any dignity had been burned out of his body by the mark that was still smoldering on his left arm.  He wasn't being called, only reminded. 

"Fuck," he sighed, with no real emotion behind the sentiment.  He was being reminded that he was still property of the Dark Lord, which meant that the evening's…festivities were, in fact, products of frustration.  He was still a trusted Death Eater after all.  Dumbledore would be so pleased.

Severus gingerly put weight on his hands as he struggled to stand, and the struggled to remember what had been done to him.  Apart from the usual.  Nothing that would keep him from walking, he decided.  The injuries were concentrated on his back and his hands.  No, he didn't want to think about his hands.  He could still smell the acid, hear the way his flesh boiled off the bone…no, he wouldn't think about that.  And he most certainly wouldn't stay to be fussed over.  Once sure of his balance, he silently slipped out of the hospital wing and began walking towards the dungeon.  His back muscles protested, and when he moved certain ways, he could feel his shirt sticking to open wounds.  He tried to remember what would have kept Poppy from closing them, but he couldn't.  He also couldn't help but stare at his hands.  They were wrapped tightly in gauze, which Severus assumed was soaked in one of his potions.  Each finger was wrapped separately, so the flesh that was growing there wouldn't bind together like some hideous flipper. 

Severus was so focused on his hands that he didn't notice Mrs. Norris tearing down the hallway until she was underfoot.  Her sharp yowl distracted him and he instinctively reached out his arm to catch his balance.  Unfortunately, the blinding pain that met him when his hand met the wall was enough to send him to floor just the same.

"Fuck!" he hissed, eyes closed so tightly that he could feel an uncomfortable pressure there.  He cursed at the cat a few more times under his breath and, when he was certain he would not cry, he opened his eyes and looked at the bandages on his right hand, which were now soaked with blood.  He tried to tell himself that this was a good thing.  It meant, after all, that the potion was working.  Last he remembered, his hands had been stripped of skin, flesh, and circulatory system.  Last he remembered, he had looked down at his hands being jerked up from the acid and they were only bone.  

He was crying, he knew, but he couldn't wipe his face, not like this.  And he couldn't stay in the hallway all night.  He briefly considered returning to the hospital wing, but the thought made him want to cry even more, and that reaction was enough to convince him that he needed to be in his rooms.  He couldn't understand why he was being so emotional tonight.  He had, after all, endured torture several times, and surely Cruciatus was worse than this.  Surely the rapes were worse than this.  And he'd never cried after that.  "Fuck," he sighed again, as he made up his mind to stand.  Only, he found he couldn't.  He was wary of using his hands to push himself up, and just as concerned about sliding up the wall with his whip-torn back.  Maybe if…

"Severus?"

"Fuck."  It was Remus Lupin, who had come back to his position as the school's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, a concession Fudge made to the headmaster in exchange for his half-hearted support for Fudge's continuation as Minister.

"Severus, what are you doing here?" Remus asked, leaning down and gripping Severus by the elbows to help him up.  "Poppy will skin you alive if…"

Severus almost smiled at the horror in Lupin's eyes when the man realized his faux pax.

"She'd have to get in line," he grinned, unable to catch himself.  Yes, he decided, he was definitely too emotional to return to the infirmary.  And he was still crying.

"Severus?" Remus asked, his concern for the Potions Master returning ten fold. 

"I'm tired," Severus answered.  Normally, he would sneer, say something biting about werewolves or dead dogs, but he was tired.  And crying.  Still.

"I'll help you to your rooms," Remus said, gently tugging at Severus's elbow.  "Do you need me to check that hand?"

"No," Severus answered, letting Lupin lead him to the dungeons.  "It can't be unwrapped until the skin grows back, or we'll just be begging for an infection." 

As they walked, Severus could discern another pain, distinct from the fire on his back and the sharp ache in his right hand.  Another thing that Poppy had left, it seemed. 

He never told Albus about these nights, when Voldemort killed two birds with one stone.  It was simple enough.  Take a Muggle, it didn't matter who.  Put him under Imperio.  Lead him to the offending Death Eater.  Then it's a party, two rapes for the price of one, and all Voldemort had to do was sit back and watch.  Then the Muggle would be killed, after he had a few minutes to think about what he'd done, and the Death Eater, penetrated and repentant, would be tortured and sent home to live another day, lesson learned.  Only Severus would never learn his lesson.  He was under orders from his other master not to.

"Severus?"

They were at the warded door to his rooms.  "Henry Doyle," he whispered, not to hide his password from Lupin, who could probably hear the tears falling from his face, but because his throat always tightened when he said that name.  It was for Henry Doyle alone that Severus would go back to Voldemort no matter what part of him he stripped away, and Albus could go fuck himself.

Lupin saw him inside, sat him down on his bed, and left to look on the shelves for something.  Finding it, he returned to Severus, slowly lifted his shirt off, and gently pushed him towards the bed until he was lying on his stomach, with his hands stretched in front of him.

"Do you know why she left these open?" Lupin asked, his fingers softly skirting around the half-dozen lashes on Severus's back.

"Probably because of the drugs she had to pump into me for my hands," Severus sighed.  "That salve you have shouldn't react adversely with any of the potions."

So Lupin carefully applied the salve to Severus's wounds, which were superficial compared to some of the injuries he'd seen the man come home with.  "Why do the Death Eaters remain loyal to him, if this is how he repays them?" he asked as he worked.

"I really couldn't tell you, Lupin.  He never hurt me when I was loyal to him," Severus answered. 

"I thought he hurt everyone."

"He kept me away from that," Severus answered.  "He kept me away from everything until I made a potion he was so pleased with that he wanted me to be by his side for the demonstration."

"What happened?" Remus asked quietly, not wanting Severus to remember who he was talking to.

"Henry Doyle died and I turned myself in to Dumbledore."

Remus was done and was pulling a chair from the corner of the room closer to the bed.

"I'm going to stay the night, Severus," he said, settling in the chair and conjuring a blanket for himself. 

"Why?" Severus asked.

"You aren't behaving like yourself," Lupin answered.  "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About?"

"Tonight.  Do you want to tell me what happened?  Why you are crying?"

"No.  No, turn off the light.  Could you pull my blanket over me?  My hands are…mummified," he chuckled.  No, he was not behaving like himself. 

"Severus?"

"Merlin, Remus, blame it on the pain meds if it'll put you at ease," he snapped.  That would have been more in character if he had not said "Remus", but it was close enough.

Remus turned off the lights, but he stayed awake until Severus fell asleep near dawn, still crying.

/Of course he doesn't have to go back, if he's been found out, but it seems more likely that Voldemort was merely venting.  It is Severus's decision, not yours Remus.  It was good of you to stay with him.  Poppy was frantic when she found his bed empty.  Crying?  Are you sure?  Well, maybe, the pain from his hands…are you sure?  Well, I'd give him time if it was mine to give, but it'll only be worse for him if he doesn't go when summoned.  Remus, go, have some breakfast.  He won't appreciate you being here, when he's more himself.  Leave him alone.  It's what he is used to, what is safe for him…/

What little sunlight that could reach the dungeon rooms was stinging his eyes when he awoke.  Looking about himself, he could see that the Headmaster had been here, his teacup half-empty on the bedside table.  He'd be coming back then, if the elves hadn't cleared it away yet.  Severus looked down at his hands.  The bandages were more filled out than they had been.  His hands had grown back.  Tentatively flexing his fingers and feeling no pain, only a strange tightness around the joints, he undid the wrappings.  No scars, but no finger prints either.  He'd have to look into that.  Looking at the clock, he saw that he had only ten minutes until his first class.  Obviously Albus had deemed him too unwell to supervise the brats, but he'd be damned if he let word get back to Voldemort, via Draco Malfoy, that he'd been incapacitated by last night's events.  Rushing to stand and get dressed, he winced at the pain that he hadn't allowed Lupin to heal.  Determined not to think about such things, he hurried through a scalding shower, shrugged into his robes, and left for his classroom, all the time wondering where the Headmaster was.  He faintly remembered hearing his voice, along with Lupin's, but he couldn't be sure when that was, or even if it was a dream.

Walking into his class, he found the Headmaster, giving instructions for a deflating draught.  To seventh years!

"Ah, Professor Snape!" Dumbledore greeted, all smiles even as his eyes turned to ice.  "Feeling better, I see?"

"It was nothing a potion couldn't take care of," Severus answered, waving his wand to clear the board and put up the instructions for a potion more appropriate for the upper level students.

"Well, I'll leave them in your capable hands," Dumbledore said, patting Severus on the arm before leaving.

Severus waited until the door was firmly shut before sitting down behind his desk and telling the students to go about their business.

He was predictably ambushed at lunch.

"How are you feeling, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, not bothering to hide his scrutiny of the amount of food on Severus's plate.  It wasn't nearly enough.  Severus could never manage to give himself what he needed.

"Strangely open to suggestion and conversation, as a matter of fact," Severus answered.

"Please pass the chicken salad," Minerva said.

"My pleasure," Severus smiled, and did just that, well aware of the looks of concern that were erupting on several of his colleagues' faces.

"You seem to be in a pleasant mood, Severus," Flitwick carefully observed. 

"Not at all, Filius.  I can't get the smell of the acid that ate away my hands out of my nose, my back is still sore, maybe infected, and I think that last night's rape has finally unhinged me.  Which isn't all that surprising, since it was the hundredth one, something of an occasion, and I was so touched that Voldemort remembered.  Really, I was.  We reminisced over a bottle of very nice wine afterwards, talking about the good old days.  I'm afraid I wasn't good company though.  He had to keep reviving me.  I don't think it was the pain that made me pass out, just the shock of looking at my hands, which were just bleached bones at that point.  Not a pretty picture, but I'm sure I could have found something to laugh about if I'd been able to move my fingers.  I seem to recall something of an animated skeleton being a hit at the Halloween feast my third year.  That was you, wasn't it Filius?  What was I saying?  Oh, I remember.  He had to keep Enervating me, but when I was conscious, we had a lovely chat.  About my initiation.  I won't go into the details of that.  But he reminded me of something.  Or maybe I never knew.  No, I'm sure I didn't know, because now that I'm thinking about it, I can't remember my initiation.  At all.  Beyond what he told me last night.  Apparently, my father sold me to the Dark Lord.  For three thousand galleons.  See, I remember the money, because he bought me my first gold cauldron when I was in my seventh year.  But I can't remember deciding to…well, I'm beginning to think that I was under Imperio those first few meetings, and then I just got accustomed to showing when summoned.  And I find that very disconcerting, because here I thought, all these years, that I was working off past sins, when really, some of it wasn't my fault.  Do you think that buys me a vacation, Headmaster?  Because really, I'm feeling awfully tired and not a little suicidal at the moment and, no matter what you all think of me, I do have a certain harmless affection for the majority of my students and I think it would be remiss of me to off myself in front of their relatively innocent eyes.  I'm thinking Cornwall, something a little warmer.  Of course it would be impractical to leave Britain, should either of my masters need me, but I've already asked Lord Voldemort's permission.  He noticed I looked a little under the weather, I suppose, and said that he wouldn't need to see me for a few weeks, what with his other little spies still in school.  So, may I go, may I please go?"

Severus had said all this softly, calmly, as he ate his lunch and watched the students laughing in the hall, rushing to finish course work, complaining about detentions or assignments, playing with their food and with each other.  He did not notice the dawning looks of disbelief, disgust, horror, grief, and overwhelming concern on the faces of his peers, who had all listened to him for once.  He did not notice that Albus Dumbledore's eyes teared up at the mention of the rapes, that Remus Lupin buried his face in his hands, that Filius Flitwick turned slightly green at the allusion to his dancing skeleton trick, that Minerva McGonagall's face glowed with righteous indignation when he spoke of his father's transgression.  He did see that Potter and Granger were both watching him with worry, but a raised eyebrow took care of that. 

And then he realized no one was answering him.  "Have I forgotten something?" he asked.  "Of course I'd be willing to finish out the week.  Well, I'm willing to stay for ever if that's what you want from me, but I'm concerned that 'forever' will be considerably shorter for me if I don't get the fuck out of this school for a few days, Albus.  Incidentally, I don't seem to have any fingerprints anymore.  That's something of a fresh start, isn't it?  But no, things don't work that way.  My, look at the time," he exclaimed.  "We'll all be late for class," he chuckled.  "I'll see you this evening."

And he left.