Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this fic. They are the intellectual property of
J.K. Rowling (in case you didn't already know that. )
Rating: to be determined
Author's note: Good day. It's been a while since I've launched into any major fic projects, so I might be a little out of practise. This is a novel experiment to me, since I've never really been interested in writing anything that had sci-fi elements in it. "Sci-fi?" I hear you say. Well, just a few elements. You'll see. I hope you enjoy reading this, as much as I enjoyed thinking it up.
Lovex
Prologue – "Drugs anyone?"
A light next to the door flickered. The door slid open soundlessly, letting a tired Severus Snape into his flat. He took off his shoes and dropped them in the cubby hole in the wall that slid open to this effect. He walked further in, ignoring the sound of the machine cleaning and polishing the already perfectly spotless footwear. There was an automatic mood sensor in the doorframe that had already registered its tenant's state of mind and in reaction to it turned the illuminated walls a soft calming shade of green, rather like the colour of grass in the programs that were shown in the recreational centres for the overworked. Snape pondered if he still had the energy to go to the nearest one before turning in.
Shedding his white work clothing, he put on a long black kaftan. Although this was generally the type of clothes worn by inmates at mental asylums, he had always been drawn to the non-colour and the feel of the fabric billowing out behind him when he walked quickly. Not that there were many occasions for doing so outside of the gyms he occasionally visited, when he felt too much mental strain.
Now he went to the kitchen. Apart from his job, the only other thing that he really was passionate about was concocting various strange and sometimes extremely fiddly dishes. It came naturally to him, and he always revelled in watching the small gas flame under the cast iron and copper pots he used. This was about as eccentric as he got.
It was a shame really, that he didn't entertain more often, Lucius Malfoy would say, on the regular occasions he stopped by. Snape only nodded at this.
He had never been good with people and he considered that he didn't really enjoy having relationships with them if they weren't justified by business or debt.
As he sat with his plate of highly fragrant, yet doubtfully nutritious food, he wondered if this aversion to others was an inborn character trait of his, or if he had been different before the Blackout, when he was a child and teenager.
The Blackout. He couldn't help wondering how such a stupid blunder could have been made. By anybody. It had occurred six years ago, and no one could remember exactly how. All that was certain, was that a research centre for neurology and molecular psychotherapy had grossly miscalculated the range of their memory modifying prototype cannon and had accidentally obliterated the memory of everyone living in Britain, Ireland and coastal France.
Anyone who was curious about their past was allowed to consult government files about themselves, if they wished and if these were available. Having been nineteen at the time the Blackout occurred, there were no files concerning Snape.
While most people took advantage of starting with a blank slate when it came to connections, it seemed that Snape, or at least his family had been in contact with a rather shady character by the name of Tom "Voldemort" Riddle. Apparently he had been in Yemen, supervising the planting of his newly acquired poppy fields.
Riddle had approached Snape and offered him a scholarship in a polytechnic institute, once the professors had re-learned their sciences, seeing as he seemed to remember Snape senior mentioning Severus' intuitive grasp of that particular kind of knowledge.
'So here I am.' He thought to himself. 'And here, is what is going to make this weekend much easier…' he reasoned as he opened the compartment in which he kept his IV equipment and going to collect the red box which sat in another cubby hole in the wall. He walked over to his bed, set up the IV, punctured the bag of liquid that would ensure his nutrition during his two-day sleep, and inserted the needle into his already quite bruised arm. He then opened the box, removed four pills, a higher dosage than most people could take, and swallowed, with in his mind the word written on each of the little white pastilles: Lovex.