1 Acquainted with the Night
By Princess of Mordor
Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or any of the characters associated with Harry Potter. They belong to the Goddess J.K. Rowling. "Wish You Were Here" belongs to Pink Floyd. The title is from a great Robert Frost poem…If you don't know it …read it.
Author's Note: I have been reading fanfiction for months now and I finally got up the nerve to write a piece. For those of you who don't like gore there is a mandatory atrocity scene with a little cannibalism in the prologue. I don't think I have seen anyone write a song fic to this one before. I have read so many angst-ridden fanfics that I hope I am not taking anything from anyone and that this is original. No flames please. Read and Review. Thanks, Princess of Mordor.
This is set post-GoF. It is late August, the summer before Harry's 5th year. Severus has managed to successfully return to Lord Voldemort and is spying for Dumbledore. Lord Voldemort had 'officially' returned during an attack on the ministry, on Harry's birthday July 31st (Mr. Riddle likes dramatic entrances ( ). The ministry is divided and Voldemort has now begun to reinstate his Regime of Terror. This is going to be a prologue for a longer Snapefic I plan to write about him and a new DADA professor. It sounds cliché …but it isn't. I refuse to produce one of those Mary Sues so do not fear.
2
3 Acquainted with the Night by Princess of Mordor
4
5 Prologue: Wish You Were Here
So, so you think you can tell heaven from hell, blue skies from pain
Albus' quiet condolences and sympathetic attentions nauseated him. Severus had not been to breakfast and was desperately wishing he had not come to lunch. The Headmaster offered him the last piece of lemon meringue pie; the pitying gesture was not lost on him. Albus never relinquished his favorite desert, even to Snape who liked the flavor equally. It was perhaps Albus only regularly selfish act. Severus' stomach was already about repel the meager amount of food he had managed to consume since last night.
"I have no wish to deprive you of your simple pleasures, Headmaster. Keep your pie, I have no desire to taint my palate with a sugar infested concoction meant for pubescent teenagers and old men without teeth," Severus scathingly remarked and immediately regretted it.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil,
Do you think you can tell?
His sarcasm lacked its normal brutality, but it still could superficially mask his exhaustion and grief. He had not thought it would be possible to feel worse. He bit his tongue to stop from wondering aloud if he could ask the dementors to suck out his soul for him. Minerva did not appreciate humor regarding the Dark Arts, well neither did anyone at that table for that matter. Very few people on the light side had the demons and cynicism that allowed them to joke with equanimity about violent intricacies of the Arts, that constructed the lives of those who delved in that obscure and murky world.
Albus did not react to Snape's remark, but instead cut the piece of pie in half and impudently put the larger section on Severus' plate. Albus merrily dug into his half, oblivious to Snape hiss of displeasure in the silence of the empty Great Hall. Summer brought solitude. Severus grudgingly lifted his fork to his thin, sour lips, attempting to eat a bite. He swallowed with difficulty. He felt the tension drain from his stiff upper body and the creases in his forehead soften. Snape realized it was laced with a relaxing potion. He was disgusted with his failure to note this deception. Some Potion's Master I am he thought contemptuously.
"Severus, I expect that you will be at the staff meeting this afternoon. The last of the Defense candidates will be interviewing. I believe this one is the most promising. I do respect your opinion on the matter," Albus calmly suggested. "This one is on loan from the American ministry; they are taking great interest in Voldemort's return. He could become a serious threat to the American's national interests very quickly."
"I believe you know my opinion on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Headmaster," said Snape as icily as he could under the constraints of the potion. He smirked at the collective winch from the other staff members at THE NAME. Severus had come to terms with his own mortality years ago.
A wave of musk and incense drifted across the table. That insufferable flake Sybil Trelawney had inconveniently descended on the staff for dinner and chosen to sit next to Severus. She always insisted on sitting next to him when she chose to eat with the staff; the glare off her sequined robes blinded him with the unaccustomed light. She was taken with him, drawn to his 'dark' aura.
"Severus, I sense a time of great trial in your future, but I foretell that true love will appear where you least expect it and will give you great joy and pleasure." Sybil raised her eyebrows suggestively as she spoke in a misty voice. She heaved her breast onto the table, narrowly missing her soup. She reminding him of Pansy Parkinson-- when the ignorant girl was in a five-mile radius of young Mister Malfoy.
Minerva smirked and Albus' twinkling eyes gave Severus the urge to use a blinding potion. Severus assumed that Sybil thought she was being provocative. His wand hand itched. He wondered how angry Albus wound be if he cursed that frauding whore. The word Crucio flitted through his mind. Severus shuddered; he had heard that too many times in the last 24 hours.
And did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for cool breeze? Cold comfort for change?
The simpering staff could never really understand; their minds could never get past Avada Kedavra. There were things that were far more Unforgivable. Auror reports and imagined atrocities could never compare to witnessing the reality. Being part of the Horror. Only Minerva and Albus had ever seen true evil and what it could accomplish, the acts itself. Minerva had been deceived by His charms and deceptions in her youth. There were reasons she had never married. The others had lulled themselves into complacency in the past decade. Truth had become fairytales to them, metaphorical battles between good and evil, black and white. He knew the gray zone, the ambiguity, the unknown, the fear.
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead-role in a cage?
He heard the distant screams and sobs from the other part of that house get louder. Avery must be enjoying himself, Severus thought vacantly. He heard the thud of an axe and turned his head in time to feel a spray of blood hit his only visible skin, his eyelids. He opened them to see Macnair halving the man, and then tearing off limbs with his bare hands. Ligaments and muscles were ripped and hanging. The initial spurt of the arterial arteries, subsiding. The soft sound of gushing and dripping audible to his heightened senses. Blood covered Macnair's hands as he reached for part of the thigh to indulge in.
He heard the sweeping of a cape behind him and a soft hiss of pleasure as those the long slender fingers, like those of a pianist, draped over his shoulder, curling like talons. Voldemort surveyed the scene like a Roman Emperor. His eyes were glowing and that horrible sound came from his thin, scaly lips. That reverberating, nightmarish laugh he had never been free from those 13 years. Severus forced himself to remain calm, to keep his eyes, cold, shrewd and calculating. He turned to Voldemort and managed to radiate the necessary emotions that were expected from him.
He saw Lucius' gleeful face, free from its mask, twisted with sadistic joy. His face and hands dripping with the blood of the five-year old daughter of that Hufflepuff he had taught years ago, Doris Crockford. Hufflepuffs were naïve fools, easy targets, Severus thought bitterly. He could not say he hadn't tried to toughen them up to the realities of the world.
The woman at the end of Snape's wand sobbed "Margie…"
Yes, that was the girl's name. Crockford's eyes had begun to glaze-- being under the Cruciatus Curse and Alienaris hex for thirty minutes had that effect on you. Severus had mastered the art of bringing victims to the pain barrier, but never over. He was the best. Doris continued to sob her daughters name as she lay paralyzed, her nerves were nearly destroyed, her mind on the edge.
Severus held up his wand and said those two words. It was a lazy, practiced movement. There are some things you never forget how to do. Pleased, Voldemort removed his hand from his shoulder and made a move to send up the Mark. THE wave hit him at that moment: The Power and the disgust. The darkness tempting, confusing him with its lures and traps.
How I wish, How I wish you were here.
His hands were dirty again, another name to his list. His face felt hot, his body like thousands of ants were crawling over him, snakes nesting in his hair. Albus had understood when he had returned this morning. It was necessary; Voldemort could not be suspicious, his position was already tenuous at best.
We're just two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, year after year
Unable to take the curious glances from that overzealous, dirt covered Sprout, Trelawney's lewd advances, and the undeserved forgiveness and admiration of Albus, Severus abruptly stood. He knocked over his water glass onto that simpering charlatan's lap and strode out of the Great Hall without so much as his normal curt nod. He fled to his sanctuary: the Dungeons. He knew he would be unable to escape himself this time, not after last night. So many layers coated him now, he could not see himself. He could not touch himself. Severus felt himself free falling once more and desperately wished someone would find him. In the back of his mind, a dead hope wished, flared up and died.
Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears.
Wish You Were Here.
alienari : (pass) to lose one's mind
By Princess of Mordor
Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or any of the characters associated with Harry Potter. They belong to the Goddess J.K. Rowling. "Wish You Were Here" belongs to Pink Floyd. The title is from a great Robert Frost poem…If you don't know it …read it.
Author's Note: I have been reading fanfiction for months now and I finally got up the nerve to write a piece. For those of you who don't like gore there is a mandatory atrocity scene with a little cannibalism in the prologue. I don't think I have seen anyone write a song fic to this one before. I have read so many angst-ridden fanfics that I hope I am not taking anything from anyone and that this is original. No flames please. Read and Review. Thanks, Princess of Mordor.
This is set post-GoF. It is late August, the summer before Harry's 5th year. Severus has managed to successfully return to Lord Voldemort and is spying for Dumbledore. Lord Voldemort had 'officially' returned during an attack on the ministry, on Harry's birthday July 31st (Mr. Riddle likes dramatic entrances ( ). The ministry is divided and Voldemort has now begun to reinstate his Regime of Terror. This is going to be a prologue for a longer Snapefic I plan to write about him and a new DADA professor. It sounds cliché …but it isn't. I refuse to produce one of those Mary Sues so do not fear.
2
3 Acquainted with the Night by Princess of Mordor
4
5 Prologue: Wish You Were Here
So, so you think you can tell heaven from hell, blue skies from pain
Albus' quiet condolences and sympathetic attentions nauseated him. Severus had not been to breakfast and was desperately wishing he had not come to lunch. The Headmaster offered him the last piece of lemon meringue pie; the pitying gesture was not lost on him. Albus never relinquished his favorite desert, even to Snape who liked the flavor equally. It was perhaps Albus only regularly selfish act. Severus' stomach was already about repel the meager amount of food he had managed to consume since last night.
"I have no wish to deprive you of your simple pleasures, Headmaster. Keep your pie, I have no desire to taint my palate with a sugar infested concoction meant for pubescent teenagers and old men without teeth," Severus scathingly remarked and immediately regretted it.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil,
Do you think you can tell?
His sarcasm lacked its normal brutality, but it still could superficially mask his exhaustion and grief. He had not thought it would be possible to feel worse. He bit his tongue to stop from wondering aloud if he could ask the dementors to suck out his soul for him. Minerva did not appreciate humor regarding the Dark Arts, well neither did anyone at that table for that matter. Very few people on the light side had the demons and cynicism that allowed them to joke with equanimity about violent intricacies of the Arts, that constructed the lives of those who delved in that obscure and murky world.
Albus did not react to Snape's remark, but instead cut the piece of pie in half and impudently put the larger section on Severus' plate. Albus merrily dug into his half, oblivious to Snape hiss of displeasure in the silence of the empty Great Hall. Summer brought solitude. Severus grudgingly lifted his fork to his thin, sour lips, attempting to eat a bite. He swallowed with difficulty. He felt the tension drain from his stiff upper body and the creases in his forehead soften. Snape realized it was laced with a relaxing potion. He was disgusted with his failure to note this deception. Some Potion's Master I am he thought contemptuously.
"Severus, I expect that you will be at the staff meeting this afternoon. The last of the Defense candidates will be interviewing. I believe this one is the most promising. I do respect your opinion on the matter," Albus calmly suggested. "This one is on loan from the American ministry; they are taking great interest in Voldemort's return. He could become a serious threat to the American's national interests very quickly."
"I believe you know my opinion on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, Headmaster," said Snape as icily as he could under the constraints of the potion. He smirked at the collective winch from the other staff members at THE NAME. Severus had come to terms with his own mortality years ago.
A wave of musk and incense drifted across the table. That insufferable flake Sybil Trelawney had inconveniently descended on the staff for dinner and chosen to sit next to Severus. She always insisted on sitting next to him when she chose to eat with the staff; the glare off her sequined robes blinded him with the unaccustomed light. She was taken with him, drawn to his 'dark' aura.
"Severus, I sense a time of great trial in your future, but I foretell that true love will appear where you least expect it and will give you great joy and pleasure." Sybil raised her eyebrows suggestively as she spoke in a misty voice. She heaved her breast onto the table, narrowly missing her soup. She reminding him of Pansy Parkinson-- when the ignorant girl was in a five-mile radius of young Mister Malfoy.
Minerva smirked and Albus' twinkling eyes gave Severus the urge to use a blinding potion. Severus assumed that Sybil thought she was being provocative. His wand hand itched. He wondered how angry Albus wound be if he cursed that frauding whore. The word Crucio flitted through his mind. Severus shuddered; he had heard that too many times in the last 24 hours.
And did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for cool breeze? Cold comfort for change?
The simpering staff could never really understand; their minds could never get past Avada Kedavra. There were things that were far more Unforgivable. Auror reports and imagined atrocities could never compare to witnessing the reality. Being part of the Horror. Only Minerva and Albus had ever seen true evil and what it could accomplish, the acts itself. Minerva had been deceived by His charms and deceptions in her youth. There were reasons she had never married. The others had lulled themselves into complacency in the past decade. Truth had become fairytales to them, metaphorical battles between good and evil, black and white. He knew the gray zone, the ambiguity, the unknown, the fear.
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead-role in a cage?
He heard the distant screams and sobs from the other part of that house get louder. Avery must be enjoying himself, Severus thought vacantly. He heard the thud of an axe and turned his head in time to feel a spray of blood hit his only visible skin, his eyelids. He opened them to see Macnair halving the man, and then tearing off limbs with his bare hands. Ligaments and muscles were ripped and hanging. The initial spurt of the arterial arteries, subsiding. The soft sound of gushing and dripping audible to his heightened senses. Blood covered Macnair's hands as he reached for part of the thigh to indulge in.
He heard the sweeping of a cape behind him and a soft hiss of pleasure as those the long slender fingers, like those of a pianist, draped over his shoulder, curling like talons. Voldemort surveyed the scene like a Roman Emperor. His eyes were glowing and that horrible sound came from his thin, scaly lips. That reverberating, nightmarish laugh he had never been free from those 13 years. Severus forced himself to remain calm, to keep his eyes, cold, shrewd and calculating. He turned to Voldemort and managed to radiate the necessary emotions that were expected from him.
He saw Lucius' gleeful face, free from its mask, twisted with sadistic joy. His face and hands dripping with the blood of the five-year old daughter of that Hufflepuff he had taught years ago, Doris Crockford. Hufflepuffs were naïve fools, easy targets, Severus thought bitterly. He could not say he hadn't tried to toughen them up to the realities of the world.
The woman at the end of Snape's wand sobbed "Margie…"
Yes, that was the girl's name. Crockford's eyes had begun to glaze-- being under the Cruciatus Curse and Alienaris hex for thirty minutes had that effect on you. Severus had mastered the art of bringing victims to the pain barrier, but never over. He was the best. Doris continued to sob her daughters name as she lay paralyzed, her nerves were nearly destroyed, her mind on the edge.
Severus held up his wand and said those two words. It was a lazy, practiced movement. There are some things you never forget how to do. Pleased, Voldemort removed his hand from his shoulder and made a move to send up the Mark. THE wave hit him at that moment: The Power and the disgust. The darkness tempting, confusing him with its lures and traps.
How I wish, How I wish you were here.
His hands were dirty again, another name to his list. His face felt hot, his body like thousands of ants were crawling over him, snakes nesting in his hair. Albus had understood when he had returned this morning. It was necessary; Voldemort could not be suspicious, his position was already tenuous at best.
We're just two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl, year after year
Unable to take the curious glances from that overzealous, dirt covered Sprout, Trelawney's lewd advances, and the undeserved forgiveness and admiration of Albus, Severus abruptly stood. He knocked over his water glass onto that simpering charlatan's lap and strode out of the Great Hall without so much as his normal curt nod. He fled to his sanctuary: the Dungeons. He knew he would be unable to escape himself this time, not after last night. So many layers coated him now, he could not see himself. He could not touch himself. Severus felt himself free falling once more and desperately wished someone would find him. In the back of his mind, a dead hope wished, flared up and died.
Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears.
Wish You Were Here.
alienari : (pass) to lose one's mind