Sixteen Candles - Chapter Seventeen
Once I stop getting bashed and accused, I'll start back up with the individual thank yous. However - to everyone who's supported me and stuck up for me, I thank you immensely. To those who have been wrongly accusing me, and unmercifully so... Do us all a favour and go to hell. No one's listening and you're wasting your time here. However, if you have so little a life that you insist on accusing me as you've been doing, please, don't let me get in the way of your entertainment. If you're THAT pathetic that you don't have anything else to do... I wouldn't want to ruin your fun or anything now, would I? That'd be far too cruel of me, and I'm not just that sort of person.
However, as I've said, do the rest of us a favour and either drop dead or go to hell - preferably both, if you don't mind. You're wasting your time here, I haven't done anything worth accusing me of, and if you've cared to notice the authors you're so mindlessly defending haven't said a word past the initial attack. The reason I moved Sixteen Candles, if you're too dense to read the posts I've stuck in four different places, is because if ff.net does decide to kick 16C off (and wrongfully so), my other -more important stories- won't be touched.
I'm not stupid enough to copy someone else's work and ideas and then post it where it got 342 reviews... Is that it? Jealous because I may have a few more reviews? Believe me, if I had any eye for reviews, I wouldn't have moved Sixteen Candles. 342 down to 29... I'm not writing this for reviews, I'm writing it for the sake of finishing something I started. Not something Mister Bear started, not something any of you started, but something I came up with, something I wrote. Do yourself a favour and before you start flaming and accusing again, let me FINISH THE STORY. This will go on past Hogwarts and far into the future - I'm not going to stick to one year or season. I PROMISE you, by the time this is over, you'll never be able to figure out - based on the ending - how you ever came up with the idea I copied. There's a reason this story's called Sixteen Candles, as I'm sure there's a reason DoE's titled what it is, and as far as I can tell neither have any sort of link whatsoever.
I respect Mister Bear's work immensely, and with respect comes reverence - which, for me, doesn't include copying. Once I'm done, feel free to flame me into hell and back. I'll gladly take it - I promise, I swear on my Mother's grave, stick a needle in my eye, all that good stuff. Deal? Thank you.
Aimée
It was almost a week later when Snape finally dropped by at Draco's request. After a quick look, he decided it was going to take more than a bit of a potion to cure whatever it was that was blocking my mind – after I talked to him a bit, of course.
"You're friends with Mum then?" I asked carefully, still wary of the quick-eyed Potions Master who was measuring ingredients in front of me as I sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling and swinging to some unknown beat within my own mind.
"Yes," he spoke clearing, measuring out what looked like a cup of purple, shimmering liquid to place in a potion he insisted on testing on me before making his diagnosis, "I have been since Hogwarts, really. Lucius Malfoy and I took it upon ourselves to look after her – especially during those times, with Voldemort and all."
I looked at him work busily, never before realizing exactly how talented the man was, "So… Lucius Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater?"
Snape gave a start which nearly spilt the liquid he was holding carefully in the cup, but then regained his composure and turned towards me, eyes showing no trace of the malicious glint I had expected to see in them.
"How do you know about that?"
I shrugged, "In – in my memories, even if they are deceiving, you and Lucius Malfoy are Death Eaters. You're a spy though, so don't worry about that."
His shoulders visibly drooped wearily as he dumped the cup's contents – finally measured to his approval – into the already overflowing cauldron set on the fire.
"I suppose there are a few parallels to this world set in your memories and the real world; Yes, I was a spy before the downfall of Lord Voldemort, as was Lucius. He's actually the one who talked me into it – I was too afraid and cowardly before he told me it was either defend what we believed was right or to shrivel up and die under Voldemort's control. He was a good man, and unfortunately the wrong people found out about his treason… I should have been able to stop it, but I didn't find out until it was too late."
The man's stern face showed little to no emotion as he continued to measure out the ingredients carefully, busying himself in his work instead of brooding on about the past.
I froze as I heard his confession, my active legs becoming the equivalents of branches as they hung, stiff front the counter.
"I'm sorry… I didn't know," I apologized quietly, "Who would do such a thing?"
He paused to roll up his sleeves to his elbows before answering, "Someone I once thought I could trust."
At first I didn't notice the implications of his actions, but it only took a moment for me to realize what he had done – purposely so. He had shown both forearms to me directly and with a quick glance towards me, he invited me to look.
Despite his confessions to being a Death Eater – despite the fact I had plainly seen a Dark Mark on his left forearm even after Voldemort had been defeated in my memories – both forearms were clean and unmarked.
I blinked, my mind drawing a thousand conclusions all at once, but only one stuck out far enough for me to grasp the concept.
"You mean…" I started, gulping loudly, "Peter… He really was…?"
Snape's eyes darted to all entrances of the kitchen before answering me with a short, solid nod. Before I had a chance to reply, however, he shoved the finished potion within a glass vial into my hands, instructing me to drink.
I swallowed the hot, bitter liquid with two large swallows, gagging at the awful taste as I handed the vial back to the Potions Master, He observed my reactions carefully for a few moments before shaking his head and starting to pack up his supplies.
"Tell your Mother I tried, but this isn't going to be cured by a mere potion. I don't know what's blocking your mind, but what ever it is, it may just have to naturally subside. I have to go now – a prior engagement – but give your Mother my greetings, please."
With a whirl of navy blue, he had walked out of the kitchen and out the front door, closing the heavy double set behind him with a stomach-lurching thud, leaving me to muse over the information he had just entrusted me with.
Peter Pettigrew had been a Death Eater, but more importantly, he had killed Lucius Malfoy.
Once I stop getting bashed and accused, I'll start back up with the individual thank yous. However - to everyone who's supported me and stuck up for me, I thank you immensely. To those who have been wrongly accusing me, and unmercifully so... Do us all a favour and go to hell. No one's listening and you're wasting your time here. However, if you have so little a life that you insist on accusing me as you've been doing, please, don't let me get in the way of your entertainment. If you're THAT pathetic that you don't have anything else to do... I wouldn't want to ruin your fun or anything now, would I? That'd be far too cruel of me, and I'm not just that sort of person.
However, as I've said, do the rest of us a favour and either drop dead or go to hell - preferably both, if you don't mind. You're wasting your time here, I haven't done anything worth accusing me of, and if you've cared to notice the authors you're so mindlessly defending haven't said a word past the initial attack. The reason I moved Sixteen Candles, if you're too dense to read the posts I've stuck in four different places, is because if ff.net does decide to kick 16C off (and wrongfully so), my other -more important stories- won't be touched.
I'm not stupid enough to copy someone else's work and ideas and then post it where it got 342 reviews... Is that it? Jealous because I may have a few more reviews? Believe me, if I had any eye for reviews, I wouldn't have moved Sixteen Candles. 342 down to 29... I'm not writing this for reviews, I'm writing it for the sake of finishing something I started. Not something Mister Bear started, not something any of you started, but something I came up with, something I wrote. Do yourself a favour and before you start flaming and accusing again, let me FINISH THE STORY. This will go on past Hogwarts and far into the future - I'm not going to stick to one year or season. I PROMISE you, by the time this is over, you'll never be able to figure out - based on the ending - how you ever came up with the idea I copied. There's a reason this story's called Sixteen Candles, as I'm sure there's a reason DoE's titled what it is, and as far as I can tell neither have any sort of link whatsoever.
I respect Mister Bear's work immensely, and with respect comes reverence - which, for me, doesn't include copying. Once I'm done, feel free to flame me into hell and back. I'll gladly take it - I promise, I swear on my Mother's grave, stick a needle in my eye, all that good stuff. Deal? Thank you.
Aimée
It was almost a week later when Snape finally dropped by at Draco's request. After a quick look, he decided it was going to take more than a bit of a potion to cure whatever it was that was blocking my mind – after I talked to him a bit, of course.
"You're friends with Mum then?" I asked carefully, still wary of the quick-eyed Potions Master who was measuring ingredients in front of me as I sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling and swinging to some unknown beat within my own mind.
"Yes," he spoke clearing, measuring out what looked like a cup of purple, shimmering liquid to place in a potion he insisted on testing on me before making his diagnosis, "I have been since Hogwarts, really. Lucius Malfoy and I took it upon ourselves to look after her – especially during those times, with Voldemort and all."
I looked at him work busily, never before realizing exactly how talented the man was, "So… Lucius Malfoy wasn't a Death Eater?"
Snape gave a start which nearly spilt the liquid he was holding carefully in the cup, but then regained his composure and turned towards me, eyes showing no trace of the malicious glint I had expected to see in them.
"How do you know about that?"
I shrugged, "In – in my memories, even if they are deceiving, you and Lucius Malfoy are Death Eaters. You're a spy though, so don't worry about that."
His shoulders visibly drooped wearily as he dumped the cup's contents – finally measured to his approval – into the already overflowing cauldron set on the fire.
"I suppose there are a few parallels to this world set in your memories and the real world; Yes, I was a spy before the downfall of Lord Voldemort, as was Lucius. He's actually the one who talked me into it – I was too afraid and cowardly before he told me it was either defend what we believed was right or to shrivel up and die under Voldemort's control. He was a good man, and unfortunately the wrong people found out about his treason… I should have been able to stop it, but I didn't find out until it was too late."
The man's stern face showed little to no emotion as he continued to measure out the ingredients carefully, busying himself in his work instead of brooding on about the past.
I froze as I heard his confession, my active legs becoming the equivalents of branches as they hung, stiff front the counter.
"I'm sorry… I didn't know," I apologized quietly, "Who would do such a thing?"
He paused to roll up his sleeves to his elbows before answering, "Someone I once thought I could trust."
At first I didn't notice the implications of his actions, but it only took a moment for me to realize what he had done – purposely so. He had shown both forearms to me directly and with a quick glance towards me, he invited me to look.
Despite his confessions to being a Death Eater – despite the fact I had plainly seen a Dark Mark on his left forearm even after Voldemort had been defeated in my memories – both forearms were clean and unmarked.
I blinked, my mind drawing a thousand conclusions all at once, but only one stuck out far enough for me to grasp the concept.
"You mean…" I started, gulping loudly, "Peter… He really was…?"
Snape's eyes darted to all entrances of the kitchen before answering me with a short, solid nod. Before I had a chance to reply, however, he shoved the finished potion within a glass vial into my hands, instructing me to drink.
I swallowed the hot, bitter liquid with two large swallows, gagging at the awful taste as I handed the vial back to the Potions Master, He observed my reactions carefully for a few moments before shaking his head and starting to pack up his supplies.
"Tell your Mother I tried, but this isn't going to be cured by a mere potion. I don't know what's blocking your mind, but what ever it is, it may just have to naturally subside. I have to go now – a prior engagement – but give your Mother my greetings, please."
With a whirl of navy blue, he had walked out of the kitchen and out the front door, closing the heavy double set behind him with a stomach-lurching thud, leaving me to muse over the information he had just entrusted me with.
Peter Pettigrew had been a Death Eater, but more importantly, he had killed Lucius Malfoy.