Of Oysters and Hell
Tatters and shreds. A puzzle missing half- no more than half of its pieces. I hold a mere three pieces of that broken puzzle. Piece one: life, and what a waste. Piece two: sorrow. And the one that I wish I could be rid of is regret. The last few months I've heard them. They torment my hours of the day- plague my seldom moments of rest. Those voices, do they never leave, do they? No, I'm doomed to all eternity to carry my sins as a burden upon my mind, soul and body. No matter what Dumbledore says no penance, on this mortal Earth, could relieve me of these immortal voices emblazoned upon my mind. They are permanent, everlasting. But if they torture me so, why did I relish in the doing of the deeds? Oh, heavenly father, forgive a wretched sinner like me. Send me a white-robed saviour; lift me from this continuing inferno of living Hell. No. I shouldn't ask for forgiveness, my crimes are worse then a Muggle serial killer. Ha! Get that? A serial killer kills cereal. How amazing. Just like oysters. They're truly such fascinating things, these oysters. Yet, I'm digressing. I murdered children in cold blood, those who had barely begun to live. I tortured innocent souls, and enjoyed it. How sick was I? How mentally unstable? I don't even remember half of it, yet still. I hear them. I hear their screams for mercy. Yet I wouldn't grant them mercy. Odd, it seems just like it is now. I'm granted no mercy in this living hell. But wait, I remember. one of them. With I cast another cruel, disfiguring curse at the pleader. What being was controlling me; making me so immune to human sorrow? I vaguely remember, at least I think I do. He was so pale. His eyes- an unearthly shade of crimson. Brighter, yet darker then blood. But his voice, it was so.so. just different, I don't really know. Soft, yes, but not the soft kind of voice you use with a child. Oh no. That voice could drive you to death with a simple two words or a persuasive tactic. Dark revels- just another sick term for a loss of innocence. I always avoided dark revels and their sick pleasures as often as I possibly could without bringing any suspicion to a steady boil. I used to think those people, at the Revels, friends. You should know the crowd. Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, Crabbe, et al. All are dead now except one. Malfoy senior lives still. The bastard still lives! I digress again, I should stop that if I am to complete this before they come to retrieve me for a crime I did not commit. I hear them, I feel it in my bones, and my mind senses them. They are not far off. Only a true miracle can save me, are there miracles anymore? I've begun to doubt their existence. The last miracle I was witness to was His death. His name, his name was Voldemort. He was finally brought down in Potter's seventh year. Yet, in his defeat and me being freed from my chains comes the crime I was accused of and the forging of my chains- yet again. My crime is as follows: helping the enemy in conspiracy *I was a spy after all for Christ's sake. I never did anything the dunderheads in the Ministry didn't tell me to do. But really, what was I supposed to say? Something like this: "Now thank you Moldy Voldie, I'd rather not."? I think not. If I had said that I would've been made into chopped sushi within the hour.* and the voluntary murder of one Harry James Potter. I didn't like the machoistic brat, but I did not kill Potter. He made my life a living hell, mind you- it still is, but I did not kill Potter. I swear it. But, I feel them here; the marrow in my bones has begun to freeze. Rattling sounds outside my. I've spent five years in this living Hell called Azkaban. And on Lucius Malfoy's orders. Yes, Malfoy's. Although. I have reason to believe he just put me here out of spite. Ah. yes. back to the topic. You did know he succeeded the bumbling idiot Fudge as Minister of Magic, didn't you? After five years I finally receive some semblance of a true trial. The brass handle slowly turns to the left and the new Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley, enters with. a newspaper!? How terribly odd. Oh, but now I see them, or mostly feel them, two horrid creatures swathed in black robes. Dementors. I'm going to die; I now have no doubt about it. This is the end. A similar end that oysters receive when they are pried open for pearls. I'm going to be kissed. My soul, or what there is of one left, is going to be sucked out through my mouth. Interesting concept really. But not one I wish to ("Severus..") find out about ("Severus..") first hand. "SEVERUS!!!!" Oh. someone's calling my name. interesting. Dulled onyx opticals slowly move from being fixated on the two hooded Dementors and over to the tall, redheaded *or what's left of his once red hair* figure of the Minister of Magic. I did open my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Let me try again. "Yes.?" Oh Merlin, my voice. what's happened to it? I sound like a sick beggar now. It no longer has the persuasive touch to it. Weasley. he's started to say something, what was it? "Severus, you're free. A freeman now. Harry Potter has been found. He's been living in Muggle London for these five years. He came back when he learned of your fate. It would seem that you have more friends then you suspect." Too, too much information. Information overload. Potter actually did something nice for me. Damn him and his overly large heart. Good, I can still be 'the snarky old bastard' that the student population of Hogwarts referred to me as. But, I'm free now. A freeman. My wand. I need my wand. "Arthur, what of my wand? Where is it?" I sound like a whining child, again. Oh well, I now have my wand. "Thank you." Outside- fresh air. Wow. I'm truly free. I don't know, but I would never have thought freedom could be as sweet.
A/N: yeah... It's done. I think. If you want me to continue it w/ a pairing or something say so. I'd like advice. I've got some pretty vague sketches for Of Oysters and Hell, but I just don't know. Criticism/ comments/ flames welcome. I love seeing them all equally well.
Tatters and shreds. A puzzle missing half- no more than half of its pieces. I hold a mere three pieces of that broken puzzle. Piece one: life, and what a waste. Piece two: sorrow. And the one that I wish I could be rid of is regret. The last few months I've heard them. They torment my hours of the day- plague my seldom moments of rest. Those voices, do they never leave, do they? No, I'm doomed to all eternity to carry my sins as a burden upon my mind, soul and body. No matter what Dumbledore says no penance, on this mortal Earth, could relieve me of these immortal voices emblazoned upon my mind. They are permanent, everlasting. But if they torture me so, why did I relish in the doing of the deeds? Oh, heavenly father, forgive a wretched sinner like me. Send me a white-robed saviour; lift me from this continuing inferno of living Hell. No. I shouldn't ask for forgiveness, my crimes are worse then a Muggle serial killer. Ha! Get that? A serial killer kills cereal. How amazing. Just like oysters. They're truly such fascinating things, these oysters. Yet, I'm digressing. I murdered children in cold blood, those who had barely begun to live. I tortured innocent souls, and enjoyed it. How sick was I? How mentally unstable? I don't even remember half of it, yet still. I hear them. I hear their screams for mercy. Yet I wouldn't grant them mercy. Odd, it seems just like it is now. I'm granted no mercy in this living hell. But wait, I remember. one of them. With I cast another cruel, disfiguring curse at the pleader. What being was controlling me; making me so immune to human sorrow? I vaguely remember, at least I think I do. He was so pale. His eyes- an unearthly shade of crimson. Brighter, yet darker then blood. But his voice, it was so.so. just different, I don't really know. Soft, yes, but not the soft kind of voice you use with a child. Oh no. That voice could drive you to death with a simple two words or a persuasive tactic. Dark revels- just another sick term for a loss of innocence. I always avoided dark revels and their sick pleasures as often as I possibly could without bringing any suspicion to a steady boil. I used to think those people, at the Revels, friends. You should know the crowd. Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, Crabbe, et al. All are dead now except one. Malfoy senior lives still. The bastard still lives! I digress again, I should stop that if I am to complete this before they come to retrieve me for a crime I did not commit. I hear them, I feel it in my bones, and my mind senses them. They are not far off. Only a true miracle can save me, are there miracles anymore? I've begun to doubt their existence. The last miracle I was witness to was His death. His name, his name was Voldemort. He was finally brought down in Potter's seventh year. Yet, in his defeat and me being freed from my chains comes the crime I was accused of and the forging of my chains- yet again. My crime is as follows: helping the enemy in conspiracy *I was a spy after all for Christ's sake. I never did anything the dunderheads in the Ministry didn't tell me to do. But really, what was I supposed to say? Something like this: "Now thank you Moldy Voldie, I'd rather not."? I think not. If I had said that I would've been made into chopped sushi within the hour.* and the voluntary murder of one Harry James Potter. I didn't like the machoistic brat, but I did not kill Potter. He made my life a living hell, mind you- it still is, but I did not kill Potter. I swear it. But, I feel them here; the marrow in my bones has begun to freeze. Rattling sounds outside my. I've spent five years in this living Hell called Azkaban. And on Lucius Malfoy's orders. Yes, Malfoy's. Although. I have reason to believe he just put me here out of spite. Ah. yes. back to the topic. You did know he succeeded the bumbling idiot Fudge as Minister of Magic, didn't you? After five years I finally receive some semblance of a true trial. The brass handle slowly turns to the left and the new Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley, enters with. a newspaper!? How terribly odd. Oh, but now I see them, or mostly feel them, two horrid creatures swathed in black robes. Dementors. I'm going to die; I now have no doubt about it. This is the end. A similar end that oysters receive when they are pried open for pearls. I'm going to be kissed. My soul, or what there is of one left, is going to be sucked out through my mouth. Interesting concept really. But not one I wish to ("Severus..") find out about ("Severus..") first hand. "SEVERUS!!!!" Oh. someone's calling my name. interesting. Dulled onyx opticals slowly move from being fixated on the two hooded Dementors and over to the tall, redheaded *or what's left of his once red hair* figure of the Minister of Magic. I did open my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Let me try again. "Yes.?" Oh Merlin, my voice. what's happened to it? I sound like a sick beggar now. It no longer has the persuasive touch to it. Weasley. he's started to say something, what was it? "Severus, you're free. A freeman now. Harry Potter has been found. He's been living in Muggle London for these five years. He came back when he learned of your fate. It would seem that you have more friends then you suspect." Too, too much information. Information overload. Potter actually did something nice for me. Damn him and his overly large heart. Good, I can still be 'the snarky old bastard' that the student population of Hogwarts referred to me as. But, I'm free now. A freeman. My wand. I need my wand. "Arthur, what of my wand? Where is it?" I sound like a whining child, again. Oh well, I now have my wand. "Thank you." Outside- fresh air. Wow. I'm truly free. I don't know, but I would never have thought freedom could be as sweet.
A/N: yeah... It's done. I think. If you want me to continue it w/ a pairing or something say so. I'd like advice. I've got some pretty vague sketches for Of Oysters and Hell, but I just don't know. Criticism/ comments/ flames welcome. I love seeing them all equally well.