Fandom: Harry Potter
Title: Blue Blood, Red Stain
Author: hana-akira AKA rurichi
Genre: Horror, General
Character: Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape
Rating: 17+
Warning: OOC, doesn't-follow-Canon-at-all
Prompt: If Severus as a half-blood didn't take the pureblood supremacy lying down.
Summary: "Blue blood, red stain," he'd said. 'Blue blood, red stain,' your mind agreed.
A/N: From Lucius' point of view.
—
1: A first impression is not the only impression, but it is a lasting impression.
—
When you first meet him, all you can think was that if you did not knew his name beforehand, you would have thought that the raven-colored haired child before you is a pureblood. His face is regal, his chin sharp, a pianist's hands, and his eyes are as deep as a chasm or a never-ending abyss. He is stark all over—white marble skin against black ebony hair and robes—and he is the living archetype of what a dark prince from a fairytale would look like in your opinion.
He introduces himself, venom dripping from his words like a thick syrup, and both his voice and face are smooth like one of those statues, those sculptures made from the white earth that are of unparalleled stoic and still beauty.
He is Severus Snape and he is a half-blood.
This is your first impression of Severus Snape, the Half-Blood Prince, and it sticks to your mind like sweet honey and even sweeter wine.
(And it's in this moment you wonder, this one moment in a series of moments, if there's actually any stock put into all the pureblood supremacy going on if there's people like Snape around. You wonder and he delivers.)
—
2: There is no such thing as coincidence in this world. There is only the inevitable.
—
The incident happens during a Potions class, where both you and him are partners and are working together (You had kept contact with him despite the fact that he was a half-blood because he knew things. Things that you could only dream of, that you could only understand a strand of if it weren't for him and you do not know half the time if you should be resentful or grateful that he exists.)
(The choice is taken out of your hands every time he smiles devilishly back at you after each time you ask and so you fear and feel dread instead.)
You accidentally cut your finger with the short knife in your hands and as a result, you bleed red because that is the color all living and breathing humans bleed.
His eyes laugh at you, black eyes filled with mirth and laughing in indescribable joy at your pain. "Blue blood, red stain," he taunted.
('Blue blood, red stain,' your mind agreed involuntarily.)
You wipe the blood off on a white handkerchief until the cut stops bleeding and clean up meticulously until there is no evidence left of your mishap except for the piece of cloth. His eyes are amused and indulgent, almost twinkling like the night sky filled with tin-colored stars, and you avoid his gleeful gaze with a practiced precision similar to that of a soldier's march.
(By the end of the block, the blood on the handkerchief dries and turns into a muddy color and Severus whispers conspiringly by your side that it's the color of a "Mudblood." You stiffen imperceptibly at the implication and he smiles like a shark that's out for blood.)
You are a pureblood and you know above all else that you are better than him in every single way because of the purity of your blood.
(Both of you know the truth, though, and he smiles knowingly at you, the secret sealed on his lips yet somehow all the more mocking because of it.)
—
3: You're like a bloodstain that will never go away.
—
Both of you are in the Common Room in front of the fireplace, seated in two separate armchairs yet still close enough that both can reach each other's hands to grab the other's attention. He twirls the wand in his hand between his fingers like a baton, languidly and as though in thought, and it's a sight to see the boy before you bored beyond belief.
A companiable silence falls between you and he twirls his wand with his fingers, his head in the clouds and his eyes misted over, your throat parched, and you have no words to say to the dark being that sits across from you.
(You will never shake me loose.)
—
4: And he smiled a smile no human should have ever been able to smile.
—
A dark smile blooms on his face like bloody red roses with black thorns and his is a black heart and you will do well to remember that.
(He pricks your finger with a needle, quick and painless, blood frothing from the wound, and he laughs gaily, loud and nothing to hide. He is a warlock, a wizard, and what he's doing now is putting a spell over you to make you dizzy and your mind fog.)
The red blood turns into mud and then into black, drying on your skin like a second layer, leaving a dark stain behind its wake.
"Blue blood, red stain," he'd said, his hand around your wrist in a vice-grip.
('Blue blood, red stain,' your mind agreed wholeheartedly.)
He is a prince, an heir-to-the-throne, but what kingdom he'll rule you do not want to know.
(Dark, unholy, sacrilegious—he is a prince of the dark, black blood flowing through his veins, his black heart humming a haunting hymn in each heartbeat.)
He smiles darkly at you, his nails digging deep into your skin, and you are his first subject.
(And from the dark red blood, a blue rose sprung forth, its thorns black beyond belief, and the red earth is painted red with the blood of the dead. The Half-Blood Prince smiles at you and the plan he's planning may be of your demise.)
—
5: It's black magic.
—
He holds onto you and you feel like you're falling to your death.
(And in the pit of your heart, you know; a small, very dark part of you knows, that this Dark Prince before you will reap what he sows.)