.WAY TOO CLEVER.
Prologue
So this was it, Death. Dark, thick, wet, heavy. It wasn't what he had expected it to be. He had assumed he would see Albus, or worse, her. Her eyes were still haunting him, two emerald orbs, warily watching him, the last thing he saw before he had slipped away. He had been worried about what it could be, but this loneliness suited him completely, he'd always been alone, and company had always bothered him. The pain was fading away, along with his other living sensations, hearing, touch, taste, smell; And he wasn't unhappy about it, the odour of his own blood had been quite repelling, the feeling of it getting colder too. The fear was gone as well, another comforting thing; the complete void he had fallen in was some sort of bliss.
Even the guilt he was used to live with was gone, he sighed in relief, before realising he actually didn't have any breath. Rather odd. He felt light; free from any burden, from her death, the care of her stupid son, from Him, from any threat that had hung above him during all his life.
Thankfully he didn't get a rewind of his life. A wasted life. He knew, covered with mistakes and unfortunate bullying. He considered the last thought with more attention. Despite all his trials, from the beginning, there always had been a bully waiting for him to throw himself into its arms. First there was his father, then, from the minute he thought he would be free from his father's grip, Potter came along, with Black. Then, he threw himself in the dark arts, foolish behaviour - oh how he loathed himself for that - thinking that it would permit him to be more powerful, to beat his demons. He also thought the Dark Lord would offer him a new family - another rather foolish belief. Then when his errors became apparent, his guilt had became so big he couldn't handle it, he threw himself to the one he thought would accept him as he was : Albus Dumbledore. Another stupid mistake.
He shook his head, and realise with disappointment that, apparently, he didn't have a head anymore. Whatever, he grinned inwardly. Thankfully this pitiful life had ended. He let his mind float for a moment. He didn't have any notion of time anymore, but he knew quite well that "moment" was safe to be called so. He was getting pretty impatient and bored, there. He didn't really know for how long he had been dead, but not knowing what was happening now, where he was, what was going to happen to him, was pretty irritating. Patience had never been his best quality. Everybody knew, and few put it to the test. Only Albus, the Dark Lord, and Lily. Probably because they knew they had the power to hurt him.
Oh and there was also the Granger girl. Suicidal child. Or maybe she was way too clever for her own good. Stupid pupils. He hated them all, even her, even her bright mind, way too close to Lily's for his sanity to acknowledge it. And she was a Gryffindor. And God knew he hated those Gryffindors. He banished them from his head, it was too irritating for him, especially at that moment. They weren't here to torment him anymore. Thankfully.
Suddenly, while he was thinking of who will take care of his owl, Shrill, which was still in Albus' office, his lips, or where they should be, began to burn. This first sensation of pain, brought back all the others. He suddenly felt himself being pull violently by the hips by an invisible thread. Ah something was happening, he thought with relief and some apprehension. And then, pain, sharp, dull pain suddenly pulsed on his neck. The odour of blood, its taste appeared in the same time. Fear invaded his senses.
Holy shit, he survived.
The burn on his lips slowly turned into something sweet, warm and reassuring. Suddenly he felt his lung aching, as if they were squeezed tightly. He coughed and spat something that had a ferrous taste under his tongue, the warm feeling had disappeared and he felt the desperate need to have it again. A flash materialized on his eyelids. He saw himself, lying on his blood, dead. The image disappeared as fast as it had came. He gasped again for air, throwing pain in all his body. A huge spasm hit him and he tried to breathe with impatience again, with no result. He heard something like a cry of surprise beside him. He didn't even had the time to be surprised by the presence of someone standing next to him, air had fled into his lungs, but the splendid sensation of being able to breathe again lasted less than a second. The pain in his neck had regained the upper hand on the natural joy of finding air in his lungs.
Physically the joy was there, emotionally there was none. How in the world could have he been saved from such a bite? From such a snake? In any case he would find the responsible and make him pay. No one had the right to snatch him from his peaceful death.
And then he heard it. The voice, Gryffindor, he should have expect that. Her. Way, way too clever for her own good.
'… my God, Professor, professor can you hear me? Are you alive?' Her voice was panicked and piercing. Oh he hated her. And then everything went black. Again.
