Severus Snape stopped and glared suspiciously at his desk. Something thumped. Insitinctively, he took his wand out of his pocket before moving forward. If one of the Weasley twins had played one of their highly amusing pranks...
It gave another lurch. Before Severus could raise his wand, the bottom drawer burst open. He was expecting dungbombs or some other unpleasant, but manageable, nuisance. He wasn't prepared for what he saw.
In front of him stood a copy of himself, but not as he was now, Severus registered numbly. This was a Severus of years since past. This Severus' clothing was also black, but it was a finer material. The sleeves were rolled up, proudly displaying the Dark Mark tattoo, which was burning black. In his right hand was his wand, in his left, a mask.
A mask that hid all facial features, save for the eyes. And the eyes of the facsimile Severus were what terrified the current Potions Master. Those eyes burned with a zealot's fire. They were eyes that watched with cool disdain as he helped purge the world of those deemed unworthy of life. Those black eyes were windows to the underlying soul, empty and cold.
Beneath those eyes, his nose twitched, savoring the acrid smell of blood and smoke. For a moment, Severus smelled it himself, the odor undimmed by time. The mouth smirked as the ears registered the screams of people; men, women, children, both the survivors and the dying.
Severus wanted to look away, to move away from the disturbing apparition, but it held his attention like a macabre freak show. His eyes took in the bulging pockets. Pockets full of money, stolen from the people he'd help killed. Impurity of blood did not extend to sickles and galleons.
Severus swallowed and licked his dry lips nervously, but he still couldn't tear his gaze away. In that moment, the image flickered, and Severus saw himself as, he was at the moment. Now, the face was more gaunt, and his hair was lank and untidy. The robes were of a coarser material, as if by skimping in that department, he could atone for his past misdeeds.
The image flickered again, and Severus wondered what would appear next. This time, there were two figures--the figure of himself, and a woman at his feet, pleading for mercy. The shade-Snape raised his wand, and Severus knew what incantation would come out of those lips, twisted in such hatred.
"Riddikulus!" he cried, finding his voice. For a moment, the two figures flickered, and then returned. Apparently, his concentration was impaired by the shock of the disturbing imagery.
Once again, the boggart-Snape raised his wand. Severus could see the girl more clearly now--dark brown hair, and blue eyes filled with tears. Her full red lips were pleading. Or was it praying? Many of his victims prayed to their childhood deities and saints in such situations. "Avada--"
He was going to do it, to kill the girl. Severus could do nothing. Fear locked his limbs and froze his mind. Bile rose in the back of his throat in anticipation of what was to come.
And then, it left. The boggart turned its attention away from him. It vanished in a puff of smoke as a commanding voice called out, "Riddikulus!"
The interior of his office came into focus once more, and Severus was aware of Albus Dumbledore's presence. Vaguely, he wondered how long his mentor had been watching.
"Here are the documents you'll need to prove your worth tonight, Severus." Dumbledore set down a pile of official-looking parchments, and turned to leave.
It wouldn't be like the man not to make a comment.
"And Severus," Dumbledore said, "I know you will not disappoint me."
Did he know? He couldn't. He'd never had to look at himself and know the evil he was capable of. He didn't bloody know that Severus wouldn't be tempted to embrace the power that Voldemort offered his followers.
The Dark Mark tingled slightly, as if aware of his traitorous thoughts.
It was something he'd have to face when the time came.