Peeves
"Professor," a raspy voice resounded in his mind, "I didn't mean to..."
"I'm afraid you're a bit late on that, Mr. Potter," a stout woman stood before a quivering young adult.
"I didn't mean to–" he tried again.
"Hold your tongue, boy. You will continue with your lines and I don't want to hear you again for the remainder of this evening."
The boy sat down and picked up his black quill with his already bleeding hand. I must not lie... the pain was near unbearable. The words etched on his hand again, opening a deeper wound. I must not lie... the cut will go so deep it may not heal.
"Tut tut, your efforts are poor," the stout woman spoke again and held out her stubby arm. Harry, in turn, thrust his right hand in front of her. His body was shaking with rage but his hand was firm.
"I want you to write on the table now – with the quill. I want it carved into the wood until I can see it."
Harry returned to his quill and held it steady. This wretched woman will die someday... Oh, where's a Bludger when you need one! He positioned his quill and dug it into the wood to make the first marking. It was like a needle being picked into his hand. He glided the quill down to make the first "I". Of all the holy hells...
He bolted upright, started. Black oily hair, now mingled with his cold sweat, hung in front of his face. He panted slightly and tried to grasp what remained of the fragments of his vision. In vain. He blinked a few times, but it did not help, it was still too dark.
He lay back into his pillow and sank into deep thought. That Potter nuisance... "Always in the way," he muttered. He sighed and tried to sleep again, but he couldn't. He lay wide-awake in his room. Stop thinking! He contradicted with himself. He briskly got to his feet to put on his robes and rummaged the pockets for his wand. "Lumos," he muttered.
The entire room lit up from the tip of his wand. He stalked outside his room and into his office, the robes billowing as he walked. He performed a charm that locked his quarters until his return and wheeled around to walk through the door that separated his office from his teaching classroom. He looked up, unsurprised, to see Peeves loitering about.
"Do you have any business being here?"
"Cant say I have, can't say I haven't," was the Poltergeist's response.
"Would you like me to have the Bloody Baron accompany you then?" he retorted.
The Poltergeist stammered something incomprehensible and studied the black figure before him. He smiled (a bit out of his character), "Kind sir, I was here to ... to be sure that no one was intruding your classroom–"
"It seems that you are doing a rather poor job at it, Peeves," he broke him off, "Go away, you pest."
Peeves muttered something and floated off, but the dark figure caught words like "hooked nose git" and "ordering me around". Severus smirked as he did. "BLOODY BARON!" he called and Peeves scurried off faster.
He made his way down the dungeons, hoping he can find a student out of bed so he can take off House points. "Damn those do-gooders," he muttered under his breath. Then, as if someone had read his mind, he saw a dark figure on the other side of a corridor. Looks like a student, unless Flitwick is sleepwalking again. Smiling smugly, he strode off towards it.
The dark figure made no sign of movement, indicating that it wasn't aware of Severus walking eagerly toward it.
As he walked closer, the tip of his wand lit up a more distinct figure. He noticed the scarf around the figure's neck. A Gryffindor... Excellent. The light pronounced a larger shadow upon the figure now, who was twitching and leaning against the wall. Is this boy blind? He was a few feet away from him now.
"Potter, what are you doing out of bed?" came an icy voice behind him. That light... Severus... Harry tried hard to puzzle everything together. He gripped his wrist harder now and was trying with all his might to stand up.
"Loitering around again? Fifty points from Gryffindor. Go back to your dormitories, unless you want to see the headmaster about this, Potter," Severus went up, irritatingly.
Loitering? Gryffindor... points... dormitories... go... fifty... He blinked his green eyes. His legs gave away and were now kneeling, with his left hand holding a scarf trying to stop the hemorrhaging of blood of his right. Detention... Light... behind... "I'm hurt," croaked Harry. He struggled to turn to face his Potions professor.
"Hurt? Spare me the dramatics, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor. Return to your dormitories NOW," Severus repeated, who seemed very pleased with himself for taking off sixty points from Harry.
"Umbridge... made me do detention... quill cut my hand, then wrist..."
The last words rang in his ears. Harry was hurt, the vision he had was true. Damn you, Potter. Why can't you relieve me of such troubles? He rounded on Harry and picked up his arm, causing him to wince. "Sleep," he said simply.
"What?" Clearly, Harry had no idea what this meant.
"Go to sleep. Rest. Or have you forgotten what all this meant?" Severus couldn't resist insulting him, "I am going to find Poppy, sleep on this stretcher." He held out his wand and summoned a stretcher out of mid-air. He lifted Harry onto it and floated him towards the hospital wing.
That wretched woman. Damn Umbridge. "Sleep," he commanded again.
Harry's eyes drooped and soon he was fast asleep, trying to subside every pain he had felt. They arrived in the hospital wing and Severus located a fireplace. Next to it was a pot of floo powder, in which he took a handful and threw it in the fire, "Poppy, you have a patient." In a matter of seconds, Madam Pomfrey materialized from the fire, eyes anxious and lips quivering.
"What's happened?" her voice sounded worried.
"Potter managed to cut himself with the magic of Professor Umbridge. I don't think it is anything serious--"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT ISN'T SERIOUS!" boomed Madam Pomfrey, now surveying Harry's hand and wrist.
"Honestly, Poppy, it is only a cut."
"IN THE WRIST!" Madam Pomfrey finished his sentence.
"You can heal him, it's simple. I would have done it–" he stopped himself. Why didn't I heal him myself? Maybe I do want him dead, maybe the Dark Lord would give me a bonus for that.
"So why didn't you, Severus?" asked the nurse curtly.
He knew he had to think fast. Dead... Dark Lord... Hate him... Waste of time... "Simple, as you are the nurse here, it is your job to help him as I may be incapable of helping him with Umbridge's curse or spell. After all, it had happened rather quickly and it was dark, I wasn't able to determine whether it was physical damage or magical damage," he replied, face expressionless, and voice without emotion.
She merely gave an exasperated sigh and tended Harry's wound. "I hope you realize that he has lost a great deal of blood, Professor," she said, with a tone of irritation, "And that we are out of Blood Replenishing Potions, due to the Weasley twins who tested those candies of theirs on themselves and his friends."
"What a pity," Severus replied, hoping that he wouldn't be assigned with the duty of making more potions, he was busy as it is, "Seeing how you have everything under control, I will return to my office now."
"You're not getting off that easily, Severus. Make that potion, I'll need it by daybreak," she smirked.
"It takes more than a few hours to make the potion, Poppy," he half-grinned, half-smirked. Damn it, woman, fall for it. So what if it only takes three hours to make it? Just believe that it takes a day! "It takes about a day."
"Then I suggest you to a move on it, shouldn't you?" she replied, almost out of happiness.
Severus scowled at her and swept out of the room.
Damn you, Potter. When you get out of that hospital, I will personally make sure that you bleed all the blood that I replenish you with– the potion... He suddenly felt a surge of pride in him. His pace quickened towards his office, ignoring the fact that the paintings were angry that he woke them up with his already lit wand.
"Turn off that damned light!" I can kill him, the Blood Draining potion...
"There are actually people in this world who would fancy some sleep!" That way, killing him would be like how you helped to kill all those Muggles for Dark Lord!
"Just because your presence doesn't count here, ours does!" Kill Potter.
He stormed into his office and closed the doors behind him, locking it with a clever charm. He looked around for ingredients like boomslang skin and unicorn blood. When he obtained all his ingredients for the potion, he began making the potion.
"Oooh what is Professor Snappy making tonight?" Peeves appeared, apparently, his charms weren't powerful enough in his haste.
"Never you mind, pest."
"Is Professor Snappy killing Potty Potter? Peeves heard him say it."
Severus, trying to sound as if he wasn't taken aback, said, "What are you talking about, Peeves?"
"I'm going to tell Dumbledore!" With that, the Poltergeist leapt up and zoomed out of the room.
Dumbledore wouldn't believe a thing like that. Severus reassured himself.
Robes billowing behind him, Severus made his way towards the hospital wing. Highly satisfied with what he just made, he couldn't help his smirk broadening into a grin.
"Poppy, it's finished," he put on a face without expression, "Should I administer it?" Not only am I the one to make the thing that kills him, I get to feed him the poison. He laughed inwardly.
"No, I believe I am capable of doing that," Madam Pomfrey replied.
Slightly disappointed, he handed the flask to her and she sat Harry upright.
She popped open the cork. Kill him. This flashed through Severus's hungry eyes as if it all happened in slow motion.
She pushed Harry's lolling body forward; he was still fast asleep. Severus studied the drained face and scarred hands closely. A mental image flashed through his mind that disillusioned everything he saw. He saw himself in Harry's place, except the marks were not in letters, but in scratches and rough cuts. He remembered the times he had cut himself, purposely, to relieve pain but gain more in the process. Severus blinked a few times, realizing that the flask was on Harry's lips.
"STOP!" he yelled.
Madam Pomfrey, startled, shot a look at Severus, "What is it?"
"I-I- I forgot to add the bezoar," he replied, a bit stupidly.
She surveyed him with heightened intensity. It was not like Severus to make a mistake. "This is very urgent, I would be happy if you go right away and make another potion."
With that, Severus took back the poisonous potion and walked out of the room. He gazed blankly at the floor a few feet in front of him as he walked. His mind was reliving his past.
"I spend money for you to be useless, didn't I?" came a soft threatening voice. A young Severus Snape stood next to the man who had spoken, eyes looking at the floor, hoping that it'd open up a portal, allowing him to fall out of there.
"No..." his voice was shaky.
A hand slapped him across the face and he stood limply, hair matted on his face. He had endured this before, he did not feel pain.
"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM PEOPLE! Befriending them will only result in your pain. They will betray you, use you, manipulate you. There are no 'friends', there is no 'love'. Just power, power over others, and supremacy over the weak," his father yelled, he issued another blow, this time into Severus's stomach.
He fell on his knee, and glared up at his father. I believe there are friends... Love does exist... Power is useless. He got up to his feet and looked straight at his father, "You only say that because you've never had any friends!"
His father let out a shrill cold laugh, "And I suppose that you do?"
Severus wondered for a minute. Did I have friends? Is Lucius my friend? He was with me for a long time and helped me. But what is a friend? What do friends do? "I-Of c-course, I have friends," he lied, stubbornly.
"Who? That Malfoy kid? The one who toys with you so that he can be above you? So that he can see you sink to the level of dirt? So that he can put his foot upon you and use you? So that he can kick you around like scum? Is that what you call a 'friend'? If so, then I have many friends," his father retorted.
Was he just using me? Am I only a tool? I'm just a puppet to you, aren't I? I am useless. I am only a puppet with multiple owners. He stared blankly and limped to his room.
"You're finally doing correct for a change!" he heard his father boom as he went away.
"Severus," an old voice resounded as if it were from another world. The potions master started and snapped his head up, nearly dropping the potion in the process. "I have received some disturbing news from Peeves, amusing in one perspective, but I wish to talk to you nonetheless," Dumbledore walked to the door. Severus didn't move, "Headmaster, forgive me, but I have much to accomplish. Potter managed to land himself in the hos-" "May I see that potion of yours?" Dumbledore cut him off.
Damn that man. "Of course," he handed the elder the flask. "May I have this?" the headmaster asked him. Severus nodded and swept into his room, leaving the door open for Dumbledore. He sat behind his desk and saw Dumbledore seated in the seat across him.
"Now, Severus, I believe we have some things to discuss…"
A young boy slept quietly in his bed. Within the calm body, a dream conjured.
"Nagini, I believe you will soon have a decent meal," the man in the chair said, in a shrill, cold voice, "If Severus does his job, of course."
Nearby, Harry felt something hiss. The hiss turned into English, he understood what the snake was saying. "Shall I take care of Wormtail?" Harry shook his head, "No, not yet. He has yet a role to play in my plan… What is taking that man so long?"
As if to answer his question, a shadow materialized a few feet before him. "Forgive me, my Lord. I was delayed by the old fool," the figure said. Harry waved his hand, surprisingly; it was a thin, pale hand, as if to dismiss the apology. "Have you found a way to bring the boy to me?"
The man hesitated and in a shaky voice, he said, "Apologies again, my Lord. Dumbledore is too protective of the boy. I cannot get to him."
"So predictive of that Muggle-loving fool. Find a way, Severus, and I do not expect the lack of productivity again," he let himself a smirk and lifted his wand, "Crucio!"
Harry woke up with a start, a bead of cold sweat ran across his scar. The searing pain did not go away. He raised his right hand and rubbed his scar rigorously, only to realize the pain that existed in his hand. He took in a surge of air as he winced. Though the pain did not go away, weariness and fatigue took him over. He closed his eyes and slept again.
Dumbledore sat in his office, examining the flask he took from the Death Eater professor. It isn't like Severus to forget an ingredient in a potion, much less making a mistake at all… He pointed his wand at the flask and muttered, "Revelo."
The flask uncorked itself and its content separated into its solid forms. Eye of newt… Aconite…Beetle guts…What's this? "The sting of a scorpion and fangs of snake?" Where is the bezoar stone? Severus, what are you planning to do to the boy! He waved his wand again and the ingredients vanished. Maybe he hasn't changed after all…