Everybody you recognise is a child of J.K. Rowlings wonderful mind. I'm just kidding, and not making money of them.
Andolyn
The Absolute Worst
Gods, this was a nightmare. And he could not get away- he could not escape- There was absolutely no escape.
It was far too late to escape. This was hell- absolute terrible and the deepest, blackest pit of hell!
Snape felt nauseous and clammy, almost feverish with fear. His palms were sweating and he had to apply all of his tremendous will and stamina to keep the cold unreadable mask that was his face in place. Paler than usual, eyes glittering, standing quite alone within the crowd.
If he had know this would be the result, he would never have allowed Dumbledore to have persuaded him to this.
"Consider it one last service." The Headmaster had told him. "Please, my old friend, nothing more shall be asked of you, I swear it."
"But how the hell do I prepare for this!" Snape had retorted, anxiously.
The Headmaster, smiling a sad little smile and with glittering eyes had laid a hand on his shoulder. Referring to that old question of no less than seven years ago, as he knew Snape himself had.
"I know you -are- ready. You have come such a long way. You -can- do it, Severus! I have faith in you, you know that."
Snape had shrugged and grunted, but as always had not been able to refuse his old friend and mentor.
And now he was here, trapped, alone among all those faces he utterly despised and the fate that scared him half out of his mind.
No torture Voldemort had ever exposed him to had come close- not ever, not one.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Draco Malfoy, no longer a child and the carbon copy of his father in -his- early twenties, with a grin on his face Snape could only see as utterly sadistic, gave him a little push.
"Well, my dear Professor, ready to receive your dues now you've finally been recognised for the spy you always have been?"
A big lump in his throat prevented the Potions Master his speech. He felt paralysed and would have gladly flattened the boy.
But, with courage worthy of a Gryffindor, he found that faltering voice and sneered. "Just you wait, Malfoy- just wait until it is -your- turn!"
The young face kept grinning, but went just a little paler indeed.
Snape was sure Black had to be under the Imperus Curse. Otherwise he would never have been right behind the young Malfoy, preventing his escape quite effectively, with another big grin. Dressed in blood red robes and black leather frockcoat, he seemed the ultimate charmer Satan himself to Snape.
"Snape- I really do not like to admit this, you big ugly slimy git, but you really deserve -everything- you get!"
Snape balled his fists in impotent rage.
People raced by, mumbling spells of sound and vision. More people pushed Snape in the back and sides. A small woman busied herself with enchanting ropes that coiled up all the way to the high ceiling. Snape's eyes followed the coils and shivered, feeling utterly helpless.
He hated this. He wished for dear life he was back in his dungeons, his dark, solemn, -tranquil- dungeons.
Black threw Snape a last, incredibly joyous and silly grin and moved past him through the small corridor of dark velvet curtains.
Snape heard Black's name being chanted a thousand fold. (This was hell). He peeked through the corridor and saw how the Animagus lifted his hands, and the army of voices quieted down. (How he absolutely hated Voldemort for being the cause of -all- of this). He spoke, but Snape had not listened and he did not quite understood the roaring laughter that followed. Black was in his element and seemed to enjoy every moment of attention. Go figure.
"Professor-" Malfoy warned, waving his wand. "If I may?"
"No, you may not, but that won't stop you now, will it!"
Malfoy grinned, put the tip of his wand against Snape's throat and said his spell.
"We do want everyone to hear you now, don't we?"
"Malfoy- you are a bastard, did you know that?" Snape whispered quietly.
"That must be the weakest retort you've ever given, Professor. Now go!"
Black made an ominous gesture to where Snape stood. Malfoy pushed him forward, hard. Luckily the Professor kept his balance, and his dignity.
A roar went up, so many people chanting his name, the light from above and near his feet was hellish and for an instant he could not see- was overwhelmed with all of it. Tears pricked behind his eyes, when he thought about those who had been lost in the struggle- about those he had been able to save- The innocent children at Hogwarts he had worked so hard to protect-
Somebody had started an applause, there was the sound of swishing robes of thousands rising, standing to see him- to watch him.
And he could see them- At the first row the guests of honour, Albus and Potter among them, smiling like mad, the both of them.
Even over the grave Voldemort knew how to torture him.
So many smiling, kind faces. Even if he could only see the first two, three rows of the enchanted and enlarged theatre. There were -at least- ten thousand people in here. Survivors all. People who had shunned him, despised him, hated him.
No more.
Snape glanced behind him, at the background that had turned Slytherin green with silver letters spelling his name under the words 'TO OUR HEROES', and how the images danced and changed, listing what he had done in the fight against You-Know-Who. Images even how in that last battle he had fought side by side with Moody, Lupin, Granger.
And Potter.
The applause died down. The smiles became expectant. Snape made a few paces forward, fumbled for the speech he had written down rather hastily. No loger forced to whisper and pretending he was sure of himself, his velvet voice rang out over the crowd, amplified by Malfoy's Sonorous charm.
He thought he was going to be sick with nerves.
This was hell.
The absolute worst he had ever done.
Andolyn
The Absolute Worst
Gods, this was a nightmare. And he could not get away- he could not escape- There was absolutely no escape.
It was far too late to escape. This was hell- absolute terrible and the deepest, blackest pit of hell!
Snape felt nauseous and clammy, almost feverish with fear. His palms were sweating and he had to apply all of his tremendous will and stamina to keep the cold unreadable mask that was his face in place. Paler than usual, eyes glittering, standing quite alone within the crowd.
If he had know this would be the result, he would never have allowed Dumbledore to have persuaded him to this.
"Consider it one last service." The Headmaster had told him. "Please, my old friend, nothing more shall be asked of you, I swear it."
"But how the hell do I prepare for this!" Snape had retorted, anxiously.
The Headmaster, smiling a sad little smile and with glittering eyes had laid a hand on his shoulder. Referring to that old question of no less than seven years ago, as he knew Snape himself had.
"I know you -are- ready. You have come such a long way. You -can- do it, Severus! I have faith in you, you know that."
Snape had shrugged and grunted, but as always had not been able to refuse his old friend and mentor.
And now he was here, trapped, alone among all those faces he utterly despised and the fate that scared him half out of his mind.
No torture Voldemort had ever exposed him to had come close- not ever, not one.
A hand fell on his shoulder. Draco Malfoy, no longer a child and the carbon copy of his father in -his- early twenties, with a grin on his face Snape could only see as utterly sadistic, gave him a little push.
"Well, my dear Professor, ready to receive your dues now you've finally been recognised for the spy you always have been?"
A big lump in his throat prevented the Potions Master his speech. He felt paralysed and would have gladly flattened the boy.
But, with courage worthy of a Gryffindor, he found that faltering voice and sneered. "Just you wait, Malfoy- just wait until it is -your- turn!"
The young face kept grinning, but went just a little paler indeed.
Snape was sure Black had to be under the Imperus Curse. Otherwise he would never have been right behind the young Malfoy, preventing his escape quite effectively, with another big grin. Dressed in blood red robes and black leather frockcoat, he seemed the ultimate charmer Satan himself to Snape.
"Snape- I really do not like to admit this, you big ugly slimy git, but you really deserve -everything- you get!"
Snape balled his fists in impotent rage.
People raced by, mumbling spells of sound and vision. More people pushed Snape in the back and sides. A small woman busied herself with enchanting ropes that coiled up all the way to the high ceiling. Snape's eyes followed the coils and shivered, feeling utterly helpless.
He hated this. He wished for dear life he was back in his dungeons, his dark, solemn, -tranquil- dungeons.
Black threw Snape a last, incredibly joyous and silly grin and moved past him through the small corridor of dark velvet curtains.
Snape heard Black's name being chanted a thousand fold. (This was hell). He peeked through the corridor and saw how the Animagus lifted his hands, and the army of voices quieted down. (How he absolutely hated Voldemort for being the cause of -all- of this). He spoke, but Snape had not listened and he did not quite understood the roaring laughter that followed. Black was in his element and seemed to enjoy every moment of attention. Go figure.
"Professor-" Malfoy warned, waving his wand. "If I may?"
"No, you may not, but that won't stop you now, will it!"
Malfoy grinned, put the tip of his wand against Snape's throat and said his spell.
"We do want everyone to hear you now, don't we?"
"Malfoy- you are a bastard, did you know that?" Snape whispered quietly.
"That must be the weakest retort you've ever given, Professor. Now go!"
Black made an ominous gesture to where Snape stood. Malfoy pushed him forward, hard. Luckily the Professor kept his balance, and his dignity.
A roar went up, so many people chanting his name, the light from above and near his feet was hellish and for an instant he could not see- was overwhelmed with all of it. Tears pricked behind his eyes, when he thought about those who had been lost in the struggle- about those he had been able to save- The innocent children at Hogwarts he had worked so hard to protect-
Somebody had started an applause, there was the sound of swishing robes of thousands rising, standing to see him- to watch him.
And he could see them- At the first row the guests of honour, Albus and Potter among them, smiling like mad, the both of them.
Even over the grave Voldemort knew how to torture him.
So many smiling, kind faces. Even if he could only see the first two, three rows of the enchanted and enlarged theatre. There were -at least- ten thousand people in here. Survivors all. People who had shunned him, despised him, hated him.
No more.
Snape glanced behind him, at the background that had turned Slytherin green with silver letters spelling his name under the words 'TO OUR HEROES', and how the images danced and changed, listing what he had done in the fight against You-Know-Who. Images even how in that last battle he had fought side by side with Moody, Lupin, Granger.
And Potter.
The applause died down. The smiles became expectant. Snape made a few paces forward, fumbled for the speech he had written down rather hastily. No loger forced to whisper and pretending he was sure of himself, his velvet voice rang out over the crowd, amplified by Malfoy's Sonorous charm.
He thought he was going to be sick with nerves.
This was hell.
The absolute worst he had ever done.
