No flames, the author is emotionally unstable and could break down, making a mess on the keyboard and under the table. R/R welcome.

I own nothing. Really. Thanks to J.K.Rowling, mom, serotonin, Yoshihiro Kanno, coffee and all the cats in the world.

by Shirome

The night of being abstruse

His whole world had a steady pace. Even though there were bloody and violent moments back then, everything always returned back, sooner or later. But when something caused ripples on the surface of his existence, it was hard for him to cope. Like that event. His head still throbbed with the dull pain, the aftermaths of being smashed against the wall with a triple force of an expelliarmus charm. Whenever he stood up too quickly, dizziness rushed into his head. But it was healing nicely, of course.

He could choose almost any part of the school to live in, it would've been the same everywhere. Dungeons were his haven, but this job could easily do a tower as well. He did not want to be bothered by the presence of others. Since his early childhood he was isolated from others, forced to study study study until it was all that seemed to make some sense. Books weren't intimidating. It was simple – you could pick them up and read. Pick any up – no hard feelings. And once you feel you've read enough, slip a bookmark between the reassuring smoothness of the pages and close it. So different from people. The only person who didn't make him feel annoyed was Minerva McGonagall. She accepted his presence and asked no questions. Sometimes, about three times a month, they met in the staff room or her office to play chess. Silently, wordlessly except the few – Check, checkmate, accompanied by several cups of strong coffee. It's not like he would be repulsed by Griffindors. He was repulsed by any human beings without difference. Acting just like everyone presumes he will act was comfortable. No raised eyebrows. No questions. No ripples. Only Minerva knew and she wouldn't tell on him.

All the students left Hogwarts two days ago. Finally. He was looking forward to the holidays more then the children. Sliding gloved fingers against the rough texture of bandage around his head he took a deep breath and stood up. The room spun, but only a bit. Madame Pomfrey gave him frustrated looks whenever they found

themselves in the same room – he turned down her offer to heal his wound magically.

It was nice to live without changes. However sometimes, when the flow inside of his head was too monotone, he started to doubt his own very existence. His blood could have thirty-six point five degrees Celsius, in reality it felt cold and burnt out. A huge nothingness swelled. Too much to bear. Soon it started to feel wrong. That's why he couldn't leave the matron to do her job. The Shrieking Shack incident. Oh yes. How could he forget. Actually very easily. It was one of the no-no things. Best to lock them tight and chuck them into the deepest and darkest corner of his mind, to the other crates, boxes and cartons.

This evening he heard a voice calling him. A quick glance at the clock. Half past two. Still early. Even in summer the castle was cold and drafty, so he took a black cloak from the peg and fastened the buckle on his shoulder, puling the hood down to the base of his beaky nose. Black. He wore it because everyone expect him to. He would much rather wear grey, that nice, uncomplicated colour.

Corridors were full of alien noises this night. The sun is probably storming again, solar winds sending energy levels of the Forbidden Forest in disarray, causing them to clash with and influence Hogwarts' own barriers and fields. Crossing the last step from the dungeons, he crept to the northern part of the castle. He didn't like to make any noise. Parents used to be quite touchy about it, hard to tell if this shaped him as well. The gargoyles on the balustrade of the main stairs turned their heads to his way only to return gazing into free space of entrance hall as they always did. No. No one was to notice his presence. No reason to.

On the fifth staircase his head spun a bit again – too much strain after all. Looking around, searching for possible intruders and not finding any, he sat down to rest for a moment. A much as he usually ignored his health, it would be too humiliating to break down and land in the matron's kingdom. A slight jerk. The staircase started to move from its own will. It didn't bother him. The school never acted against him. Cloud-like consciousness, enveloping everyone and everything inside the building, unfathomable and indistinct like the air itself. It would take him to the voice, which was calling that evening. Hogwarts had so many rooms...if one would count all the classrooms, staff rooms, staff quarters and dormitories, there was still quite a number of unused-ones left. Almost scary to imagine, what could be found in them.

There. It stopped. Time to go again. Northern wing, fifth floor, sixth corridor. Unused one. Many reasons falling within the categories of urban legends. None of them was true. It was empty. No armours in the niches or pictures hanging on the walls. Someone sealed the doors off as well. On the floor, there were several stuffed reptiles. It smelled like dust and stale water here. Water...someone lined the pathway with round bottles of it. They looked amazingly like bubbles – even the surface was slightly uneven. Severus put the bottle to his face and gazed down the neck. It was just water. Colourless, odourless, tasteless. It reminded him on his own existence. How very strange.

Why am I so reminiscent tonight? Or is it sentiment?

He wanted to laugh, but his face was too stiff, so he just took the bottle and continued with it. Unpleasant things came to his mind. That tantrum of his. It was embarrassing. And right in front of Black and Lupin. Spineless snail and rabid dog. And his injury. Being hurt by a couple of children. How pathetic. That's why he hated leashing out like this. His precious sense of harmony was all gone, vision tunnelled only towards one and only things. And he was used to focus on every detail. That was one of his survival secrets, being focused.

The bottle felt cold against his arms, despite the fact he was holding it for quite some time now. It should've slowly turned warmer, but it seemed the opposite was right. Shortly he thought about putting it down. His legs seemed to move on their own and to spare himself the awkward moment he rejected the idea. Walls were still lined by similar bottles. Draft played an eerie melody in their necks. There was a huge door on the end of the corridor.

For a second he imagined he heard the sound of wind, rustling in tall strands of grass, when he passed the doorsill. The space was huge, maybe as big as the entrance hall. Simple square windows disturbed the straightness of the walls in irregular intervals. Apart of the other three the northern wall was created out of a single block of rock and inside of it, there was a fossil. A great fossil, dominating the space with its strangeness. It was a skeleton of a human in a twisted position - like a primeval burial. And from the back of the skeleton, two huge wings erupted in the height of at least six metres. Although bones were the only things left, there was still the trace of feathers, etched in the solid rock. Severus was standing in front of the angel fossil, not quite sure how he was supposed to act. The water was still cold.

"You want to die I see." It spoke in his head.

"No. I don't want to die."

"I can kill you. Right now. I can just make you dead within a blink of an eye."

"Well, there is no need to."

"Oh. My mistake then. So why do you live anyway."

Severus remained silent. No real answer. No real reason.

"I see in your head – you like to keep things unequivocal and unambiguous."

"That is right."

"If you don't want to die, should I kill them then? The ones manipulating you?"

"Yes."

A dry chuckle in his head. Hard to tell if genuine.

"I'm sorry but I can't do that. I can only kill people in this room. Doesn't a human's life hold any value for you?"

"No."

"Because your own life doesn't have a value."

"I do what I've been told."

"Don't you have a free will?"

"What is the definition of free will then?"

"Philosophical doctrine of free will proclaims that our choices are ultimately dependant on ourselves, without the interference of outer egos."

"That means that if I had free will, I would act according to my desires."

"That means that you don't have any free will."

"But me, coming here, is a proof of a free will."

"It was a spontaneous act. In situations where your ego, health and comfort are at stake you only do what you are told."

"Because if I were to act on my own, these events would not come into being in the first place. No one can ever act solely out of his or her own will. If they would, the world would not exist."

"Yes. The minds of all things possessing one are resonating and creating the world. But what about you?"

"I am not a part of the whole. Not fully. The laws of society are binding my actions, but it can't be applied vice-versa. Because other beings recognise me by binding me, my ego can hold it's shape."

"If you are insisting on the fact that you are you only because others see you, why do you keep locking away from everyone."
"The reason is, I want freedom of acting."

"The ultimate freedom is death. I can grant you that."

"No, you're wrong. That is a solution but not freedom. To die means to shut yourself completely off from any stimuli. That's not what I want. The stimuli of people are ornate and enciphred. I want crystal clear images, beautiful in their

"...now I understand. But you are aware of the fact that your wish will never be fully granted. This path leads to death and death only. You would have to be as near death as possible. If you are lucky, you shall be reborn as water in your next life."

"I want to stay the way I am."

"You can't. Soon everything will get complicated again. It has already started. With your attitude as it is you will perceive suffering and pain until your end."

"That is sad, I suppose, but these changes have nothing to do with me. Although I wish for another outcome, death is the only goal, whichever path I go."

"Go then and suffer. I'm thirsty. Leave the water here. Send me someone. I want to kill. I want to kill."

"Hmm."

Severus placed the bottle in front of the fossil and looked around. There was nothing really to do. He wanted to leave.

"Wait. I don't want to be in your debt. Take my twelfth vertebra and keep it hidden. One day, when you feel like dying, return here and put it back."

"Right."

He walked over to the fossil. As soon as he touched the bone it fell out from itself. Slipping it into his pocket, he left the room without another word.

It was almost four in the morning. Soon it would dawn. Should he bother to go back and try to sleep? No. He could not think about sleep. He just wanted to remain undisturbed. Stopping in the kitchen to get some coffee he took a whole kettle to an abandoned study room under the Slytherin dormitory. Transfiguring a dried-out inkpot into a cup he poured the dark liquid in. Rain started to pound against the glass with a comforting sound. His head hurt a bit more than when he left his room, but that didn't really matter. There was no one to interfere. All was right with the world. For now. Just before it will slowly crumble apart.

/End/