The cellar was a small square, the edges embedded with chains, a thick and heavy door sealed it away. A lone window stood upon the far end wall, the pane streaked with cracks and smashes, the glass covering the ground in crystal snowflakes. Each wall was adored with rotten moss the sickly green sticking to the weak granite. In the centre, laying in a heap, rusty chains sat clanging against the stone, bones and skin where scattered across the floor. Filthy rats nested in a corner their feet scraping against the ground.
A single candle flickers as the gentlest of winds squeezes through the gap in the window, blackened shadows hover through the glass, shapes distorted. Flashes of waves and light paints the sky, as though it was a ruined canvas. Harsh cracks echoed through the sky, sound as though it was a whip condemning the world to its sins.
In the darkest corner harsh rasps were heard, slurs and curses mixed in with heated insults. Clanging was heard as arms restrained against the chains, a huddled figure emerged from the shadows, it's body hunched and closed off. Tattered clothing hung on too thin arms, the bony shoulder peaking through the rags, most of the clothing was stained with muck and dark, year old blood. A pale face was curtained with greasy black hair, and a single dull eye flashed through the hair. Around the figure's neck a rusty and thick metal collared claimed the being, striping their identity away.
The door cracked open and a fat, meaty hand shot from the darkness, an olden plate recklessly balanced on sausage like fingers. On the plate was a rotten loaf of bread and a measly amount of green water. The plate was dropped to the floor and kicked in the direction of the figure, the sharp edges harshly digging into his knees, leaving curved marks. The man stomped back out of the cell and slammed the door behind him, violent insults wavering through the door.
The figure slumped and shakily reached towards the plate, cracked lips parting in anticipation. The dark palm reached down and gripped the soggy bread in a clenched fist, rising it towards the broken mouth. Within a few mouth falls the bread was a gone, as was the drop of water, the figure threw the plate far across the cell, the cheap plastic shattering against the wall. He sat down and drew his knees up embracing them in a small attempt of warmth. The howls echoed through the night and with a small resigned sign the man fell into a restless and pitiful sleep.
The crashing of thunder woke the figure, his thin neck twisting painfully against the chain. The mucky eyes flew open, his breathing becoming harsh and shallow. Taking in two calming breaths, he regained control, however little remained. Flashes of faces threw through his mind, laughing, taunting and judging. Slowly tears escaped the now clenched eyes.
Suddenly crashing was heard through the door, Latin words shouted and screeched. The cellar door slammed open, the door flinging into the wall, shattering on impact.
The figure drew inwards, shielding his eyes from the sharp light shining through the hallway. "Dear, Merlin." A voice whispered, as a wrinkled hand descended onto the figures neck, fingers resting against the skin just above the thick collar.
"Severus, Severus wake up my boy." The voice continued concern now radiating from the elderly man. The figure, now deemed 'Severus' moaned, his shoulders shaking against the hand, fear flashing through his tormented mind.
"Albus! Hurry up! Were are running out of time!" A shrill voice bounced through the cell, the owner being an elderly women, her thick green robes swishing as she stalked towards them. In her hand an olden stick was held, the handle gripped tight within her grasp.
Signalling for Albus to act, she stood back, on guard against the door.
Albus flicked his hand, and the chained collar released Severus. Dropping him harshly to the floor, Albus ducked down, ignoring the cracking of knees and drew Severus inwards, clinging to the baggy clothing. Tears leaking through his eyes. A quick snap drew him out of his self loathing, reaching into his pocket he pulled out a broken potions bottle, the edge chipped and the side smashed. He placed Severus' hand on the bottle, followed by his own. Gulping he looked towards his companion, her eyes held sympathy, not for the man, but rather for the child he held in his arms, his son in all but blood. She reached forwards and tangled her hand in his, holding the precious bottle between them, and in a spilt second all three vanished.