Dripping Wings
It's dark tonight, and were I a ruddy stargazing Centaur, I'd probably note that Mars is unusually bright and oddly shaped as it hangs in the night sky.
Ah, the war planet. Presently, it shines the color of freshly fallen blood in the midnight sky. Perfectly ironic, though I doubt anyone but myself understands the irony. Good thing, that.
Standing on the deck of the school's Astronomy tower, tonight seems a beautiful night for a bit of blood. Although, I am perhaps a bit predisposed to this particular night, for more reasons than one… Tonight is, most probably, my last night as a free man, but also the most thrilling, most intensely freeing night of my life.
You wonder what I have done? Why, nothing. Yet. The night has just begun, after all…
* * *
"Damn it all to Hell," whispered Severus Snape, mostly to himself. Totally to himself. No one else would dare disturb him in his private sanctum, his honored and cherished laboratory. No one wanted to, after all.
"Damn it to Hell," he repeated, for his vial of crushed root of Wolfsbane was nearly empty, and he knew he'd need more for the potion he was currently concocting. Sighing, he ran a hand through his sweaty hair. Tonight was not going at all well…
Severus hated things not going well. He was far from a perfectionist, but knew that any mistake in his line of work meant repeating the same motions over and over and over and…He was not a patient man, as many people gathered very quickly.
Sneering, he summoned the dried Wolfsbane from his cabinet and got on with crushing it. Not one of his favorite tasks, to be sure. But something necessary for survival. He ran a thin hand through his hair again, setting in for another long night.
* * *
I stand outside the door of my dormitory now. All the other boys sleep peacefully, unaware of my plot. I've known then for seven years now, and I wholeheartedly doubt any of them would suspect me of something so heinous as the thoughts running through my mind now. Poor little schoolboy, who knows the extent of his wrath? Not even I. I haven't a clue whether or not I can actually go through with this. Oh, sure, we've talked about this sort of thing before, but I doubt anyone actually considered…
Never.
Even I would never have considered this, had I not been provoked so. Some men would do well to realize that there is only so far the psyche can be pushed before it begins to push back. And push back it shall…more violently than anyone could have ever imagined.
Can you imagine, waking up every do only to be sneered at, be called names, jeered, provoked into a fight, than punished for even considering fighting back? Seven years of this is a long time. This eternal taunting, this abrasive and unceasing mockery, this…it ends here and now. I will be the one to end it.
* * *
Severus cursed to himself. Out of Extract of Specter, again. How had he gone so long without resupplying his personal warehouse? Not as if these things were easy to come by, not by any stretch of the imagination. This was a terribly…
Severus frowned, dumping what would have been a glorious potion down the drain. Why bother, he thought to himself. No use, it's not as if YOU'D be accredited to its discovery. They'd probably push you to the background, give credit to Dumbledore – or worse, that wretch Potter. "Indeed," he murmured to himself.
He walked over to his large picture window. It was the only thing he disliked about his laboratory. Overly Victorian and romantic, it made it all too easy for a spy to waltz on over to Severus' Potion Warehouse and steal a few secrets. Not that he'd notice them gone, his secrets tended to guard themselves, as he had no time to watch over them.
It was a dark night, and Mars hovered on the horizon like a great round printing error. He could just imagine what the stargazers made of that – some sort of murderously overripe evening. The landscape was cloaked in ermine from this afternoon's snowfall, making the war god's home stand out even more against the velvet black.
Severus hated the night sky. It only served to remind him that yet another day had passed, with or without his consent, and there would be no going back. Nights for Severus were times to be spent with no human companion, solitary as the red planet stands.
Had he always been this…jaded? Had there not been a time when staring out a window unto a clear night sky would have brought him introspective joy? Had he really aged so swiftly? It seemed very little brought him joy anymore, all his life was work.
He sighed again, in spite of himself, and pulled his chair over to the window for a moment of private thought.
* * *
Day after day, week after week, year after year…someone needs to stop this. I am not the only one. My friends, my classmates, my elders and peers – all have felt the sting of this beast's whip-tongue. This is for the greater good; this is a favor to myself to my school, to my country, to the wizarding world at large. If not me, than who, if not now, than when? This must be done. There is no alternative.
I stand at the head of the staircase that leads into the dungeon. A fitting place for him, no? Where better than an ancient torture chamber to accommodate the most in need of torture? There is no humor except cosmic irony, to be sure.
In my hand is the axe off the wall near my dormitory. It is cool, clean, innocent, it has never had the pleasure of dripping with blood, it shudders at the very thought of violence – tonight, it will feel differently. Once you've been bloodied, you can never go back, so I hear.
I look forward to being bloodied.
* * *
There had been a time when Severus loved his life. Now, it was little more than duty, a place of employment and a job rather than work. He didn't exactly hate it, per say, but he could think of a better way to pass his long, lonely hours.
Lonely. The word echoed in his head, a silent question he would never ask himself. Why was he so lonely? Had he wanted this out of life? Was there not a time when marriage seemed an absolute, rather than a minute possibility? Where had his life gone?
There was no more wondering. He had wasted his life, and now he wanted it back.
* * *
Right outside the door now. I can taste this; feel my very veins pumping need of this through my system. Every beat of my heart points me towards this; every breath I take is in order to survive for this. I need this like I need the very oxygen around me.
There is no noise in the dungeon, but I can feel his hate radiate from the room. He is in there, where else would he be? He has always lived to torture his students, why should he stop now?
I pause. There is a noise, a screech like a chair moving against the stone floor. Time pauses, a sharp intake of breath is all that betrays my existence. Then, it is just as quiet as it had been moments before
I smile. The git has left his door unlocked.
Here be the tygers. Let them be uncaged.
* * *
Suddenly, there was the noise of soft footsteps at the entrance to the laboratory. Severus rose swiftly. "Who is there," he heard himself say, his deep voice resonating off the stone walls.
No answer. Only a glint of steel, a reflection of red.
"Who dares intrude my- laboratory?" He'd almost said home. Dear God, he'd almost said home.
Still no answer. Severus cursed himself for keeping the place so dark.
Then, with a swing and a dull thud, Severus could regret no more.
* * *
Daily Prophet
Hogwarts (AP) - Noted Potions expert and Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry professor Severus Snape was found dead in his classroom yesterday morning. Snape, 36, had apparently been preparing for lessons when a figure, concealed by darkness, stepped into his laboratory and took his life.
Witnesses profess to having seen a tall, red-headed boy of approximately 17, carrying a weapon of some sort, enter the dungeons at 8:25 on the night of Snape's death and return, sans weapon, at about 9:00. Upon investigation, they found that Snape had, in fact, been murdered – decapitated, probably by the boy.
"The only person I know that fits the description is Ronald Weasley," remarked Head Boy Draco Malfoy when questioned. Weasley, the son of the Ministry's Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Head, Arthur Weasley, is being held for questioning. More on this story as it develops.
A/N: You like? I wrote this for my bud Firecross, after she insulted my poor widdle Ronnikins one to many times. I know he won't live to regret this, I just know it…sigh.
All things you recognize belong to J.K. If you didn't know that, then you are a very silly person indeed. Sadism belongs to the Marquis deSade. I belong to…. er…