An Unraveling

Chapter 10

Waking Memory/Between the Lines

Part one: Meeting the Snakes; Tad

Black is what he recalled, if asked it would have been his first answer. Instinctive, without reason, the answer was born, and if pressed he would have hesitated, backtracked, and tried to explain why. And more likely than not, he would have failed.

Black dominated the man. Black eyes, black humor, lank greasy black hair, flowing black robes. It made an impression. Though the texture and intensity changed, the predominant hue did not. It overwhelmed the conscious mind, numbed the sense of any other possibility by shear overabundance.

In the waking world, if asked, he recalled black.

In his dreams the dark's importance had been scrubbed clean. Though there, it wasn't as riveting. Rather the smallest things remained. Spidery digits twitching, twisting, fisting… The tremble of that throat as it struggled to swallow vile implications for one and all. That which housed those pit-eyes, the near tidal give and take as that which held responded to that which was held.

Violate, violent, he recalled that too.

An icy control.

So cold he shivered whilst sleeping, until waking, and awoke wondering why.

Elementary school lessons played in his mind, like miscellaneous song from a choir divorced from its church. Neither were a color. One absorbed, the other reflected. One which seemed the likely consumer was not. Typical was adverted, made atypical by inverse.

Such were the stuff of his dreams, all unrealized by his waking mind.

He dreamed in monochrome.

XXX

Above, night's death, sun's coming. So promised the lines upon the mechanical face, the flick of apathetic hands, carrying out each motion with the mindless assurance that all was right in the world. Said face was featureless, driven by forced under its glossy façade.

Such promise faded to true insignificance when one walked away from hearth and warmth. When the pre-dawn gloom obscured the face and its lines were little more than a black blur due to distance. The ticking voice was quit for a quieter (forbidden) venue.

One woke the other, whispers and nudges, a few giggles here and there. After all, all pretenses to maturity aside, they were children. And though this was deathly serious there was something of infantile to the whole. Sneaking away, playing dress up, the sublime pleasure of breaking the rules. In the dark, between dormitories, before they breached the rise between here and there, hoods were flicked into place, scarves of proper dark hue were wrapped about those who'd forgone being hooded.

Thus, properly attired (and indulging in a throwback a generation ago though none knew it) the slipped into the common room. Gazes were met, a mute count of sorts offered with the nod of the head. All were counted all were accounted for. So, they left.

Nine little serpents, from the common room, wrapped up in darkness, what shall we do?

X

Albus' had tried suability, a note given via an accidental jostle in the overcrowded hall. A barrowed owl and quickly scrawled letter had been his second, most blatant effort. The last was a charm that made parchment into a winged thing. He'd been sorta proud at his, it was kind of dragony, not quite a dragon, but the tail and wings were definitely Horntail inspired. His dragon though dripped ink rather than breathed flame, the claws didn't rend, merely gifted the holder paper cuts.

While it wasn't perfect it was near enough, he'd let the last go with a smug smile.

James' replies had been curt, blunt, and a little scary.

In short they were –in order of effort- burn, hex, and torch.

Frustration didn't even cover his feelings, fear had something to do with it. Fear held him back from speaking what he was really feeling. Surely his eyes had burned as he swept up his last effort least someone slip on the ashes. He blinked, and told himself he didn't feel the cold trails leaking form his eyes, dripping down his chin.

What he did feel –so much he started- was a touch. To that he lifted his head and saw another first year looking down, upon seeing the glimmer to Albus' eyes the other Snakeling nodded a greeting.

"I know, gotta older brother in Hufflepuff. He sorta talks to me, but his Sett mates hold him back sometimes."

Albus nodded, though in truth he wanted nothing more than to cry. To throw him arms around the other snake and really sob. He wasn't a baby though-

(And more truthfully, in deeper places, he heard Uncle Ron loud and clear, "You can't trust a Snake. They'll stab you in the back. They all do")

-he was a big boy, and big boy's didn't cry.

"Come on… Severus, wasn't it?"

He wanted to shake his head, explain, but Albus felt too tired to go through the whole mad mess yet again. How he was Albus-Severus, one name, not just Albus, not just Severus… Really, Dad had the sickest sense of humor sometimes...

"Yeah."

"Can I call you Sev, for short?"

"Sure." He tried a smile, tried to still the shaking of his chin, the thickening of his throat. Rushed, spoken while he still had speech, he dared. "What's your name?"

The brunette grinned, blue eyes glimmering with mirth. "Why, you haven't heard of me? I'm a wonder of wonders!" The boy puffed out, looked like some preening Gryffindor like that. And Albus laughed just had too. "I'm Slytherin's first ever mudblood and house mascot besides! Promenthus Tadrith at your service, sorta, maybe, if the pay's good! Just call me Tad!"

"Well at least I don't have the shortest name anymore." Albus drawled, letting the ashes fall where they were.

He smiled again, it wasn't so stiff this time, didn't hurt as bad as before. Albus stood, settled his glasses just so, then offered his hand. Muggleborns, he remembered, liked to shake hands. Bow to a Wizard-born, shake a muggle-born. At least that's what Aunt 'Mione had always taught him.

"Ew... no way…"

Oh, yeah, the ashes. Blushing Albus whipped his hands over his robes, both were black so the smear wasn't so obvious. He tried again, and with a slight grimace and a firm grip, Tad took the hand.

"Aren't we supposed to be bowing or something?" Tad asked.

"While holding hands?" Albus countered.

"Err... Right, bad idea there mate. Bad images."

Not one to criticize someone so nice… Albus had to admit that Tad was a bit… impulsive. Just a mite, mind.

"So," slinging an arm over the other short named boy's shoulders, Tad lead him along to their first class. "Best friends?"

"Umm.. well…"

"Great!"

Perhaps, Albus corrected himself, Tad wasn't just a little impulsive, rather a lot impulsive.