The tides come and go, the moon waxes and wains but, for him nothing ever changed. He was caught in one moment, a single frame of life and it would be that way for eternity. He would see the heros rise above the evils, and he would see the evils conquer over the good, but he would still remain until the end of time, always watching the new life. Some would kill for his life, the blessing of immortality, but this supposed blessing was his curse. For him he was stuck in an never ending battle, and to think he was one of the lucky ones, well you are very, very incorrect. This was only the beginning.
The red glow of the cigarette burned in the night like a firefly, a slow drag making the glow burn
brighter and longer. He blew out the smoke one last time and flick the cigarette into the lake watching it sizzle for a second then float carelessly at the top. An icy wind blew past him, making his cloak whip around him like a foreboding creature of the night. The chill did not reach his skin, nothing did; he was numb to all outside forces only reacting to his own inner turmoil. Slowly he turned from the lake and headed back towards the castle, back towards his once home, and now back towards his hell.
There were no traces of footsteps as he crossed the frosty grass, nor any sounds made along the stone floor as he entered his home. The silent watcher, that's what he was in short. A watcher, some said he was a guardian, others said he was a demon. In truth he was them all, he was everything and nothing at the same time. Therefor he was anything. Sitting across from his always burning fire, he stippled his fingers and rested them against his chin lightly. His sharp eyes staring into the flames, waiting or watching for anything to arise. Tonight was the night that the- chosen- one would show itself to him. A being in equal talents that would share the duties, power and mind of himself. Tonight he would see his equal and teach him/her about everything he knew, and tonight he would find hope. This chosen person would fill the space that was missing in his soul, and time would be that much bearable with the chosen by his side.
The fire sparked, and he moved to the edge of his seat, staring even more intently into the flames. It hissed, cracked and engulfed the whole fireplace with flames. He got on his knees in front of the flames never taking his eyes off of them, and quickly but elegantly traced runes in the air. These runes were of a different color themselves, each looked as if they were tearing apart at the air itself with a burning purple flame. He finished off with a simple looking rune and sent the purple runes into the flames. The fire hissed then disappeared into nothingness. Crawling forward on hands and knees he whispered something quickly in Latin, drew one last rune in purple flames then put his hand in the middle of it.
In one quick motion he was sent forth into darkness, when finally he felt something under his feet he opened his eyes. He was in was seemed like dorm of sorts, and sensed five breathing people in the room. He traced four intricate runes in the air and blew on them. They slowly drifted over to one of the bed and hovered above one of the sleeping bodies, a rush of excitement coursed down his spine as he drew closer to the body. When he was close enough to see a face, and lightly turned the face upward to get a full view and pulled back as if burned. Taking in his surroundings again he drew in on himself, and mentally cursed. He was in the Gryfindor boys dorm room and his, his, chosen one was none other than-Harry Potter. Now he could only watch horrified as the runes he made slowly crept into Harrys' body, small convulsions took over Harrys' body and his face contorted in pain. A mirror image was found on the mans face, but he just waited for the right moment and wrote the last rune in the air, and was sucked back into his own room.
He knew that this was a logical choice, and was surprised at himself for not thinking of Potter as an option, but the irony of it all was so damned funny. Harry Potter, his chosen one, the person who was supposed to spend the rest of his immortal life with and share knowledge with was the one person who he didn't want it to be. He was going to have to tell this boy his whole story, and then teach him everything he knew. The life he was pretending to lead for this century was going to have to be even more secretive now that Potter was his, and tomorrow he was going to have to face him knowing he would be the only one that could help him when the changes took affect.
He controlled himself, by taking a couple deep breaths and went to his bed. Climbing into the covers with his cotton pajamas on, a small chuckled escaped his mouth, 'life really was a bitch' was that last thing Severus Snape thought before he fell asleep.
The red glow of the cigarette burned in the night like a firefly, a slow drag making the glow burn
brighter and longer. He blew out the smoke one last time and flick the cigarette into the lake watching it sizzle for a second then float carelessly at the top. An icy wind blew past him, making his cloak whip around him like a foreboding creature of the night. The chill did not reach his skin, nothing did; he was numb to all outside forces only reacting to his own inner turmoil. Slowly he turned from the lake and headed back towards the castle, back towards his once home, and now back towards his hell.
There were no traces of footsteps as he crossed the frosty grass, nor any sounds made along the stone floor as he entered his home. The silent watcher, that's what he was in short. A watcher, some said he was a guardian, others said he was a demon. In truth he was them all, he was everything and nothing at the same time. Therefor he was anything. Sitting across from his always burning fire, he stippled his fingers and rested them against his chin lightly. His sharp eyes staring into the flames, waiting or watching for anything to arise. Tonight was the night that the- chosen- one would show itself to him. A being in equal talents that would share the duties, power and mind of himself. Tonight he would see his equal and teach him/her about everything he knew, and tonight he would find hope. This chosen person would fill the space that was missing in his soul, and time would be that much bearable with the chosen by his side.
The fire sparked, and he moved to the edge of his seat, staring even more intently into the flames. It hissed, cracked and engulfed the whole fireplace with flames. He got on his knees in front of the flames never taking his eyes off of them, and quickly but elegantly traced runes in the air. These runes were of a different color themselves, each looked as if they were tearing apart at the air itself with a burning purple flame. He finished off with a simple looking rune and sent the purple runes into the flames. The fire hissed then disappeared into nothingness. Crawling forward on hands and knees he whispered something quickly in Latin, drew one last rune in purple flames then put his hand in the middle of it.
In one quick motion he was sent forth into darkness, when finally he felt something under his feet he opened his eyes. He was in was seemed like dorm of sorts, and sensed five breathing people in the room. He traced four intricate runes in the air and blew on them. They slowly drifted over to one of the bed and hovered above one of the sleeping bodies, a rush of excitement coursed down his spine as he drew closer to the body. When he was close enough to see a face, and lightly turned the face upward to get a full view and pulled back as if burned. Taking in his surroundings again he drew in on himself, and mentally cursed. He was in the Gryfindor boys dorm room and his, his, chosen one was none other than-Harry Potter. Now he could only watch horrified as the runes he made slowly crept into Harrys' body, small convulsions took over Harrys' body and his face contorted in pain. A mirror image was found on the mans face, but he just waited for the right moment and wrote the last rune in the air, and was sucked back into his own room.
He knew that this was a logical choice, and was surprised at himself for not thinking of Potter as an option, but the irony of it all was so damned funny. Harry Potter, his chosen one, the person who was supposed to spend the rest of his immortal life with and share knowledge with was the one person who he didn't want it to be. He was going to have to tell this boy his whole story, and then teach him everything he knew. The life he was pretending to lead for this century was going to have to be even more secretive now that Potter was his, and tomorrow he was going to have to face him knowing he would be the only one that could help him when the changes took affect.
He controlled himself, by taking a couple deep breaths and went to his bed. Climbing into the covers with his cotton pajamas on, a small chuckled escaped his mouth, 'life really was a bitch' was that last thing Severus Snape thought before he fell asleep.