Snape folded his hands together and remained seated on the bed. "All you need to know has been reported in the Prophet."
"Remus won't let me have a copy," Harry retorted, anger roiling up inside him. "And I'd rather hear it from you, anyway. Was there an attack, Professor?"
"Yes."
Harry stopped pacing. "What happened?"
"What do you think happened, you idiot child?" Snape questioned, soft tones underlying hard words. "The Muggleborns didn't stand a chance, any more than did the half-blood witch who came to try and help them."
Harry's teeth started to chatter. "Was it at least quick?"
Snape's voice grew caustic. "No, it wasn't quick. Where's your mind, today? It's never quick. Can you truly want to hear the sickening details?"
He didn't, not really, but he wanted to hear Snape recount them, so he could know for sure that the man was in fact sickened.
"Yeah."
"You're even less a Gryffindor than I thought," Snape snarled. "You don't want to cling to your comforting illusions? To believe that the world is a place in which right triumphs over might?"
"No," Harry answered, and when it seemed like Snape still wouldn't tell him, added, "How in bloody hell am I supposed to defeat Voldemort unless I know everything there is to know?"
"Knowing things such as I could tell you will not help you defeat him!"
"Let me be the judge of that!"
"Does it not occur to you," Snape harshly whispered, "that I do not care to describe the meeting yet again? I have done it once already, for Albus!"
Harry glared. "I have to know. Don't you get it?"
Snape clenched his fists. "So be it, then. In case you didn't know, the Dark Lord thrives on torture," he spat. "This time, it was a family of Muggleborns trying to hide their magic in a Muggle village in Cheshire. The Dark Lord sat like a king on a throne and watched as Cruciatus was cast at the son, about your age, until he tore handfuls of hair and scalp out. The parents had to watch, too, then under Imperio kick him until every single one of his ribs broke in half. It was about this time the young witch showed up. I don't think she'd had a day of magical education in her life, but there's no doubt she'd have been sorted into Gryffindor. Brave and foolish, all at once."
Lips curling at the memory, Snape detailed in icy tones, "She was passed around, as was the wife, whom the Dark Lord released from Imperio so that she could understand the full horror of struggling to no avail. Do you really need to hear just what was done to these women at the hands of over fifteen angry, vengeful men? Men who believe that only purebloods are fully human? Perhaps you'll be satisfied merely to know that after the women's voices were screamed raw, the Dark Lord had them both gutted! While they were alive!"
Something horrible and foul rose up into Harry's throat. Gagging, both hands pressed into his stomach, he forced it back down.
"Enough?" Snape sneered, rising to tower over him. "There's more, if you still need to know everything. I haven't divulged yet what happened to the man, or the boy in the end, or how Legilimency can end up being Darkest Arts when you use it to force upon your victims the things they most fear in all the world--"
"Enough," Harry finally found voice to answer.
"It should be!" his teacher roared. "It's sufficient that I must be there, that I must speak of it to the Order! I do not wish to relive the experience vicariously for your listening pleasure, as well!"
Harry was never sure, really, where he found the nerve, but he heard himself asking the question that had haunted him ever since he'd seen Snape rushing to Voldemort's call. "So which parts of all that did you do?"
Snape's brows drew together, his expression thunderous. "What concern of that is yours?"
"It is! It has to be!" Harry yelled, desperate to know. "I let you in my mind! I trusted you!"
"You knew I was ostensibly in his service," came Snape's cold reply. "If the thought of what that entails offends you, then you shouldn't demand to know what happens on a raid, now should you?"
"Answer my question! How many Unforgivables did you cast? Did you take your turn with the women? Was it your wand that gutted them?"
"Your audacity is beyond belief, Mr Potter," Snape retorted, his voice all the more dangerous now because it had gone quiet. "But I will answer you, since you are possessed of such a burning need to know. None, no, and no."
It took Harry a moment to match the answers to his questions, and when he did, he was filled with stark disbelief. "Right," he drawled, incensed. "What do you want me to think, that you stood there a pillar of virtue and Voldemort didn't even notice? I know you had to be doing those disgusting things right along with the rest of them!"
"You know nothing," Snape announced, "but you are going to find out. Not because I wish to vindicate myself. I care nothing for what a sixteen year-old whelp thinks of me. I care nothing for your trust, either, such as it is! But I will show you all that happened, regardless. For one reason, Mr Potter."
Leaning down, he hissed at Harry's face. "If you are old enough to hear about such things, you are old enough to see them, too. In fact, I insist."
Robes billowing, he spun for the door, one clenched hand beckoning Harry to follow.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:
Chapter Twenty-One: The Pensieve
~
Comments very welcome,
Aspen in the Sunlight
Chapter 21: The Pensieve
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=5036&chapter=21
-----------------------------------------------------------
A Year Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
-----------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty-One: The Pensieve
-----------------------------------------------------------
Harry didn't know quite what Snape had in mind until they reached the kitchen and he saw the pensieve sitting in the middle of the table. It hadn't been there, earlier. Harry supposed that Snape had brought it through the Floo again, which meant that he'd intended for them to practice Occlumency. But Snape had never arrived in Grimmauld Place before nightfall, before.
"How come you're here so early?"
"We can dissect my schedule after you know everything, Mr Potter," Snape sneered, yanking his wand from inside his robes and jabbing it to his temple. He drew out a silvery strand that roiled and twisted under its own weight, then sank heavily toward the floor as it drifted towards the pensieve. With a furious motion of his wand, Snape propelled it into the stone receptacle.
Harry backed up a step. He didn't want to see last night's Death Eater meeting. He hadn't even wanted to hear about it, not the way Snape thought, anyway. He'd just wanted to be sure he knew what his teacher thought of Voldemort's . . . methods.
"Get back here!" Snape barked, even as he withdrew another heavy strand from his mind.
Harry didn't. "This isn't necessary, Professor," he argued, trying for a tone that might calm the man down.
"I beg to differ, after your insistence upstairs that you must know everything about the Dark Lord!"