Too much. He had been given too much and, as skilled and determined as he was, his tongue had now been reduced to a pile of bloody flesh, and his lips had been bitten so many times that copious trickles of blood had coloured his white collar a deep red shade.
But at least he had succeeded, he thought confusedly. Had his head not hurt so badly he would have identified the feelings of pride and relief gently spreading in his chest, granting him some mental relief. But The Dark Lord's words, echoing through his head with formidable strength, were obscuring any chance of comfort, and the sight of the castle, far from bringing him solace, only de-multiplicated their power. He was no longer engaged in a battle of the wills with another, he was alone, safer than he had been in days - his adrenaline subsided, and with it, his feistiness vanished.
He collapsed on the muddy ground. It was late March and the Scottish weather consisted mainly of cold and rain - there would be no warmth to soothe his aching body. He tried to get up, but a wave of nausea came over him and he rolled onto his side, his stomach twitching painfully. He had nothing to vomit - the Dark Lord had not graced his guest with any food in the past three days. Yet, the nausea was so strong that he gave in and closed his eyes, moaning pitifully.
"Severus!" A familiar voice called from a distance.
He felt someone kneeling next to him. It was Minerva. The sound of other footsteps came from beside her.
"Severus, can you hear me?"
Out of breath, Albus knelt next to his colleague, followed closely by Poppy who was carrying a first aid kit. She pushed them slightly and brushed the hair out of Severus' face, trying to make eye contact.
"What did he give you, Severus? Some kind of poison?"
"No", he was forced to reply in a weak voice, "veritaserum."
"How much?"
The headmaster manoeuvred the wounded man in a half-sitting position, allowing him to rest against his chest. Severus looked at the nurse.
"10 drops the first day", he said through shaking teeth, "5 the next morning, 5 in the afternoon, 2 more during the night… I don't know how much today… I don't know! I don't… know!"
Minerva glanced at Poppy with apprehension. Albus tightened his grip around the younger man. "It's okay, Severus. We do not need the exact number. We were not asking for the exact number, mmh? Open your mouth."
But the smell of the painkiller was unbearable; turning his face away from the headmaster, the Slytherin threw up in the grass, his cheeks reddened by shame. Albus gently held his hair.
"His body is trying to expel the veritaserum", Poppy said. "We need to get him back to the castle. It's freezing."
They lowered him on one of the beds with a levitating spell.
"His mouth!" Minerva exclaimed, pointing at the dry blood that covered the lower part of his face.
Poppy was waving her wand above him, shaking her head. "It's less serious than it looks, Minerva. However, the intoxication is concerning… There is too much serum in his system."
Albus again brushed the dark hair away from Severus' face. He seemed to be dozing off. "There is no antidote", he said sadly.
Poppy nodded. "We'll have to wait until it wears off. I see no sign of physical injuries except the usual tremors caused by the Cruciatus curse." She put a hand on the Potion Master's shoulder. "Severus, I need you to take this painkiller. I'm going to give you some antiemetic medicine before to settle your stomach. Is that okay with you?"
"Yes", the man mumbled from under his blankets. "I- I don't know how many drops he gave me today…"
"Is he delirious?" Minerva asked Poppy, pushing a chair next to the bed.
"No", Poppy replied. "It's the effect of a veritaserum overdose. People tend to become frantic if they cannot answer a question properly. It is a bit like a momentary addiction to the truth - but he still managed to lie under the potion's effect - at least I suppose he did, or from what I gather, he would not be here."
The headmaster looked away.
"He is immune to the potion, is he not, Albus?" Minerva said, turning to him. There was a slight tremor in her voice.
"He is", Albus replied blankly.
But his eyes, his eyes - there was such fury in it that even she could not bear his gaze. She was not used to seeing such anger on his usually peaceful face, it seemed unnatural and deeply, deeply wrong. All she could tell was that it was an expression she had only ever seen when Severus' well-being was at risk. She did not know whether it was guilt, revulsion or even self-disgust; and though she was often tempted to lash out and add up to that culpability, she then reminded herself that she was not innocent, that to be the one to disapprove without having to deal with the consequences was a comfortable position to be in.
"He asked me questions… about my childhood… in front of them all", Severus muttered, his eyes half-closed. "They laughed- but I used it as an opportunity to hurt myself- my tongue, my lips- because then when I did it again - about what truly mattered - it did not show..."
Albus gently put his hand over his. "Try to sleep, dear boy. It has been a long time since you did."
"Three days and… and… but I cannot sleep. I feel sick…"
He was now gazing at Albus with intensity, that alone betraying a tremendous state of weakness.
"I lied for you… Albus! I… lied for you!" he looked angry, his faced twisted with pain. "For you!"
Three days, three entire days without being able to let his guard down, fighting against his own mind. It was too much. Now Severus was desperate to expel the truth, his lies acting like delayed poison: it was the only reason he was still conscious. Had he still been forced to lie, his mind and body would have gave out.
Albus squeezed the Potion Master's hand.
"I know, Severus dear. And I am thankful, so very thankful for what you did for us."
But Severus did not seem to be listening to him. Instead he gripped his bed sheets and twisted them, perhaps in an effort to clear his head or to relieve himself from mental pain, Albus could not say.
"I am not loyal to the Dark Lord", he said plainly. "There is no lesser blood" – now he was breathing heavily – "I purposely… said I did not know… to which department our ministerial agents belong… but I gave them clues… because I cannot be ignorant!"
Poppy came back with a fever reducing potion. "I think the effects should wear off by tomorrow morning; his system is too saturated to expel it sooner."
"I hate the taste of it", Severus mumbled helplessly, his eyes resting on the potion she was holding. "I do not wish to be here."
Poppy opened the vial. "I know that, Severus dear. But I cannot let you go back to your quarters. Too much veritaserum is painful, it makes people do things they wouldn't normally do."
"Hurt themselves... manic episodes..."
"Yes, you know more on the subject than I do."
"Indeed", he answered flatly. The nurse smiled. "If you cannot sleep, then you must eat something." She turned to Minerva. "Classes will start soon; you can go back if you want to. He is going to be fine… eventually."
The transfiguration teacher nodded. She would have liked to stay, but two absent teachers would not do; it would only burden the headmaster with more administrative tasks.
"Fine. But do tell me if anything is wrong."
"Of course, dear. Could you ask a house-elf to bring Severus breakfast as you go?"
She nodded again. She and Poppy left, leaving the headmaster and Severus alone. Albus was silent for a while.
"Do you wish to talk, Severus?"
"I have been doing nothing but… talking these past few days. Along with… screaming."
The brutal honesty took the headmaster aback. Severus usually dismissed their concerns, he often tried to minimize the seriousness of his condition even to the point of ridicule.
Now, his skin had a greyish shade, and his eyes were unfocused.
"Get this veritaserum… out of me… I'd rather teach."
"I apologize, Severus. I cannot. But you are going to be just fine. I have so worried about you, I was about to send people."
Severus struggled to sit up. The room was spinning before his eyes - his entire body felt numb.
"You would not have been so stupid!"
Albus frowned. Voldemort knew of his fondness for Severus. He thought it was proof of Severus' manipulating skills. It could have been done...
But had he not waited three days?
"I care about you."
"You care… about the spy you need."
"Severus, you know that this is not true. I care about you. You are one of my closest friends."
Severus laughed. It was a dry, sad snigger: there was some kind of mania in his eyes.
"And yet you would have sent people. Perhaps ruining my… cover. Risking more people's life on my behalf. I do not want anyone... to die for me! You refuse to listen… does that help you… face your guilt? I cannot be dealing with your feelings... on top of everything else, headmaster. Do not pretend... to care if you won't listen."
Words spilt out of his mouth quicker than it took for Albus to process them. For a moment the headmaster was stunned; he did not speak; he looked away. All these words were the truth and only the truth - he was, for a short, rare moment, dumbstruck.
"I do not want to lose you, Severus. You are too important to me."
"You are absurdly selfish", the man managed.
"Perhaps. I care about you."
"I... despise you."
"You do not mean that."
But Severus gripped his hair, pulling them with too much strength. "I do! I just told you. I would not lie to you! You are selfish... only I want that selfishness to be of use to others... blowing my cover would serve no one!"
He was in a state of complete hysteria. In less than a second Albus had gotten up and gripped the man's arms firmly, murmuring reassuring words.
"Hush, Severus. I am so sorry. I know you are telling the truth. Please calm down. Do not hurt yourself."
It was hard. It was hard to acknowledge that truth, to use it as a kind of momentary relief for the wounded man when that same truth cut so deep into the headmaster's heart. A few tears fell into Severus' hair.
The Slytherin's nails dug into the older man's skin. "I would not lie to you. Do you not trust me, still? I need your trust… I need you to believe me… to know I am loyal to you... You need not... pretend to care... I will always be loyal... your solicitude hurts me..."
"I trust you, Severus. I believe you."
"I told the Dark Lord the same. The exact same… and he believed me… he said... that when he looks at me he sees one of his own."
"But you are not. You are my friend -"
"I am your weapon."
Again, Albus could not speak.
So that was what the boy thought. That their friendship existed to ensure his loyalty, that it was all an elaborate game on his end, a grand display of manipulation in which Severus willingly participated without even deluding himself. Yes, it would have been easier if there had been no feelings, no tenderness, if it all had been an act; then he would not have felt as if he'd just been stabbed. Because Albus was intelligent. His first reaction had been the sole product of his emotions: he could not believe what Severus had just told him, he would do anything in his power to have him change his mind, to make him just see how valued, how important he was. He had told him before, and he would tell him again.
Albus tightened his grip on the man's hand, ignoring the pain.
Valued. Important. Those words had double meanings.
And then he saw, he understood it all: he understood why Severus had convinced himself of such a falsehood, why he held on to it with such vigour, why it was that, instead of seeking solace in their friendship, he had branded it the biggest lie of them all. Severus did not need sentiment, he did not require fondness or care; he needed coherence. Who would be willing to accept the truth? That he, who loved the boy, who had taken him under his wing, who cared about his health, his well-being, would repeatedly send him to slaughter for the Greater Good? That was an unspeakable truth; that was ghastly, hideous, sickening. Nothing could be said in his defence; nothing could be said to Severus to alleviate the horror of that knowledge. So Severus had convinced himself of a lie to survive, and the kindest thing Albus could do right now was to play the game, to prove him right. To grow distant, out of love.
To lie, out of love.
"I am sorry, Albus", Severus said weakly. "I lie for you... Do you wish me to lie to you...?"