Disclaimer: HPVerse belongs to J.K.Rowling, bless her. The Voice in all its power belongs to Alan Rickman, bless him. The picture that inspired the story belongs to me and can be found at http://www.elefwin.narod.ru/hp/fa38.htm . And the comment that started it all belongs to the amazing Naraku. There.

Author's Note: this is an odd story. It's got exasperating mood and style jumps. This first part is mostly mysterious (and less coherent), the second one is mostly humorous. And I let my sense of humor show off its dark side. You may read either part as a stand-alone sketch, though reading the first one would help you understand the beginning of the second one. Not properly confused yet? Good '-) Enjoy.

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Mint

A faint tinge of mint, so out of place in the still air of the dungeons... Something touched your face, ran slow cold fingers over your cheek. You jerked aside with a startled gasp, hitting damp rough stones of the wall. Of course, you were alone in the corridor, silly. It was just... draught. Just a stupid old castle with its ghosts.

But mint. Fresh and strong, sharp green sparkles flashing in your eyes, melting on your tongue!

What is it, silly boy? Are you afraid of the dark? Of the Dark? Are you?..

...Neat rows of shelves lined with jars, bottles, phials. Most of them not labeled, and you would not be able to read the labels anyway. Yet in one insane instant you knew what they were and what they did. You could take a small phial and list the exact components of the solution inside. So simple. So fascinating. And mint coolness in your throat.

Green sparks hovered in the air, danced around you, whispering about perfection, and power, and passion... You knew how to bottle fame, brew glory and stopper death.

...Green leaves adorned with dew. Soft, rich, deep green and silver, your House colors.

You took the bottle and fled, yearning for familiar black. And the sudden frightening knowledge disappeared, leaving but a faint cool aftertaste on your fingers.

"Lumos," because you did not want to do anything stupid again, to break the bottle, to have to return down there...

He stood in your way, not a ghost because you did not see him shimmering in the dark, and not real because you could see the walls through him now. A boy, a 7th year perhaps. Tattered robes clung to his skinny lanky frame, and tousled black hair framed an inspired yet terrified face.

Are you afraid? Of the Dark?

Green laced with black, a bitter tang in mint sweetness. You must have screamed...

...something like ancient Vade Retro, brandishing your wand like a broken sword. For a split second the world disappeared in a flash of blinding light, and then there were only you, and damp walls, and a few green sparks in your eyes. You blinked, shook your head, and the sparks vanished.

Ghastly cold fingers stroked the nape of your neck at parting.

The air smelled of old dust - and of fresh trouble, near the Potions classroom door.

"Mister Malfoy," said professor Snape coldly, "you are late."

...Black, goodness, black. Why are you trembling, then?

"There was a gh-host in the dungeon. Sir..."

Afraid of the Dark?..

The bottle slipped from your suddenly numb hand.

"...Which is a common sight at Hogwarts," firm fingers neatly caught the item before it had a chance to fall.

Dim light played wicked tricks on you, casting odd shadows across your teacher's face, flickering in a green halo, subsiding to innocent smoke before the realization hit you...

"I expect more attention in class from you, mister Malfoy. Inability to tell a spirit from a ghost is tolerable, gaping is not."

You did gape a bit more, though. Had he not turned his back to you, it would have probably earned you a detention.

...if it was not for the scent lingering in seething air, just for you, contradicting the words wickedly...

Mint.

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