There was the soft, repetitive drip-drip-drip of an unblocked leak from
the pipe that led to the gargoyle's mouth, over the empty basin. To anyone
else, it would be irritating, but the only figure residing in the dungeon
was not simply anyone.
Seated at the desk beneath the single window, high in the wall of the dungeon, Severus Snape was intent on his task. A single drop of clear liquid dripped into the small cauldron that was bubbling quietly before him.
Several vivid, poison-green sparks flared from the potion, a spiral of violet smoke curling from it before disipating in the chilly air of the dungeon.
A faint smile curled the lips of the potions teacher, as he replaced the stopper in the small bottle held in his thin hand. Lowering it onto the desk, he picked up his wand and touched it to the heart of the flames.
The blue flame darkened to black, crackling softly.
Leaving the substance to simmer, Snape turned into the beam of light that cut down from the high window. It was evening, the light a fading gold, sliced with shadow by the bars of metal crossing the opening.
A grimace of pain crossed his face and he twisted the button of his cuff undone. Rolling the sleeve of his robes - and the shirt beneath - up his left arm, he looked down at the vivid mark that was still visible on his pale, sallow skin.
With the tip of his fingertip, he traced the red-on-black outline of the skull with the snake protruding from it's gaping mouth. It had burnt fiercely in the hours following the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and continued to do so now.
However, that pain was surpassed by far by the agony that still burned through his very core of his bones. His...Master had not been amused by his absence from the gathering following his return.
His welcoming gift to embrace the Potions Professor back to the fold had been painful enough to emphasise his displeasure.
"You must admit, Severus," He murmured to himself. "You were a fool to believe he would let you go unpunished."
Unattended the potion continued to bubble softly, the occasional splash hissing as it met the flickering flames.
Rising, the Potions Master drifted absently over to the basin beneath the gargoyle's head. It was almost a tradition, this, he mused. Or, at least it had been in the old days, even before he had changed sides.
Twisting the ear of the Gargoyle with a creak, a gush of water spurted from it's mouth and down into the carved stone bowl beneath it. Drops splashed over the rim, soaking his robes, but he didn't care.
His eyes pressed shut, he grit his teeth and thrust his bared arm under the icy spray. A cry of pain escaped him, near-transparent wisps of steam rising from the skull marking on his arm.
While it temporarily burned like sulphur, it meant that the pain of the Mark faded more quickly.
The hiss of the water on his skin softened, the pain less intense. Snape risked a look at his arm, the skin shaded a faint pink from the pressure of the water. The Mark had faded to the familiar black now, no longer red and gleaming.
With his other shaking hand, he used his robes to gingerly dab the excess fluid from his arm, wincing as pain lanced through him. He rolled the sleeve of his shirt back down, gasping between his teeth as the starch- stiffened fabric brushed the tingling skin.
He tried to fasten the small, round button at the cuff.
His normally-dexterous fingers twitched, shaking uncontrollably. The pain would fade soon, but the...frustration at his inability to fulfill such a menial task would remain with the along with the after-effects of his least favourite curse.
Cruciatus.
Giving up on the button, he crossed the floor, back to his desk, where the cauldron was still simmering quietly. The dungeon swam in his vision and he immediately realised that he had tried to walk too fast.
It left the victim weak. Almost like Muggle flu, he supposed. Everything ached so much more though. Breathing was a challenge. Standing, even more so.
Bracing both palms on the surface of the desk, he hung his head, drawing several slow, painfully deep breaths. His ribs ached, his fingertips whitening against the desktop as he tried to bring his surroundings back into focus.
Black eyes stared fixedly at the cauldron and, despite the bolts of pain that came with every breath, a small smile lifted his lips up slightly.
Another part of the ritual.
A ripple of poison green smoke uncoiled from the belly of the small, pewter cauldron, serpentlike. He shivered with the amusing irony of it.
"Perhaps, this time..." He murmured quietly, retrieving his wand and placing the tip near the rim of the cauldron. A soft incantation lifted the contents of the cauldron in a ball of viscous yellowish fluid, depositing it into a shallow bowl on the desk.
Returning to his stool beneath the windows, he sat down slowly and gazed at the concoction that lay before him. It would be so simple to drink it, to reach oblivion, with no more pain, no more nights of agony that would no doubt come, with his...Master's increasing strength.
The sour smell reached his nostrils, stinging.
He regarded the cooling substance.
Small curls of green steam rose from it.
He had until it cooled to make his decision.
A decision that he had delayed time and time again.
The sand in the timer that stood on the desk had run dry by the time he looked away from the chilling liquid.
His hand moved.
The bowl skidded off the desk, shattering on the black stone floor. The poison melted into the cracks between the slabs and vanished.
"The coward's way out." He said to himself with disdain, rising and exiting the dungeon, closing the door softly behind him.
Seated at the desk beneath the single window, high in the wall of the dungeon, Severus Snape was intent on his task. A single drop of clear liquid dripped into the small cauldron that was bubbling quietly before him.
Several vivid, poison-green sparks flared from the potion, a spiral of violet smoke curling from it before disipating in the chilly air of the dungeon.
A faint smile curled the lips of the potions teacher, as he replaced the stopper in the small bottle held in his thin hand. Lowering it onto the desk, he picked up his wand and touched it to the heart of the flames.
The blue flame darkened to black, crackling softly.
Leaving the substance to simmer, Snape turned into the beam of light that cut down from the high window. It was evening, the light a fading gold, sliced with shadow by the bars of metal crossing the opening.
A grimace of pain crossed his face and he twisted the button of his cuff undone. Rolling the sleeve of his robes - and the shirt beneath - up his left arm, he looked down at the vivid mark that was still visible on his pale, sallow skin.
With the tip of his fingertip, he traced the red-on-black outline of the skull with the snake protruding from it's gaping mouth. It had burnt fiercely in the hours following the events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament and continued to do so now.
However, that pain was surpassed by far by the agony that still burned through his very core of his bones. His...Master had not been amused by his absence from the gathering following his return.
His welcoming gift to embrace the Potions Professor back to the fold had been painful enough to emphasise his displeasure.
"You must admit, Severus," He murmured to himself. "You were a fool to believe he would let you go unpunished."
Unattended the potion continued to bubble softly, the occasional splash hissing as it met the flickering flames.
Rising, the Potions Master drifted absently over to the basin beneath the gargoyle's head. It was almost a tradition, this, he mused. Or, at least it had been in the old days, even before he had changed sides.
Twisting the ear of the Gargoyle with a creak, a gush of water spurted from it's mouth and down into the carved stone bowl beneath it. Drops splashed over the rim, soaking his robes, but he didn't care.
His eyes pressed shut, he grit his teeth and thrust his bared arm under the icy spray. A cry of pain escaped him, near-transparent wisps of steam rising from the skull marking on his arm.
While it temporarily burned like sulphur, it meant that the pain of the Mark faded more quickly.
The hiss of the water on his skin softened, the pain less intense. Snape risked a look at his arm, the skin shaded a faint pink from the pressure of the water. The Mark had faded to the familiar black now, no longer red and gleaming.
With his other shaking hand, he used his robes to gingerly dab the excess fluid from his arm, wincing as pain lanced through him. He rolled the sleeve of his shirt back down, gasping between his teeth as the starch- stiffened fabric brushed the tingling skin.
He tried to fasten the small, round button at the cuff.
His normally-dexterous fingers twitched, shaking uncontrollably. The pain would fade soon, but the...frustration at his inability to fulfill such a menial task would remain with the along with the after-effects of his least favourite curse.
Cruciatus.
Giving up on the button, he crossed the floor, back to his desk, where the cauldron was still simmering quietly. The dungeon swam in his vision and he immediately realised that he had tried to walk too fast.
It left the victim weak. Almost like Muggle flu, he supposed. Everything ached so much more though. Breathing was a challenge. Standing, even more so.
Bracing both palms on the surface of the desk, he hung his head, drawing several slow, painfully deep breaths. His ribs ached, his fingertips whitening against the desktop as he tried to bring his surroundings back into focus.
Black eyes stared fixedly at the cauldron and, despite the bolts of pain that came with every breath, a small smile lifted his lips up slightly.
Another part of the ritual.
A ripple of poison green smoke uncoiled from the belly of the small, pewter cauldron, serpentlike. He shivered with the amusing irony of it.
"Perhaps, this time..." He murmured quietly, retrieving his wand and placing the tip near the rim of the cauldron. A soft incantation lifted the contents of the cauldron in a ball of viscous yellowish fluid, depositing it into a shallow bowl on the desk.
Returning to his stool beneath the windows, he sat down slowly and gazed at the concoction that lay before him. It would be so simple to drink it, to reach oblivion, with no more pain, no more nights of agony that would no doubt come, with his...Master's increasing strength.
The sour smell reached his nostrils, stinging.
He regarded the cooling substance.
Small curls of green steam rose from it.
He had until it cooled to make his decision.
A decision that he had delayed time and time again.
The sand in the timer that stood on the desk had run dry by the time he looked away from the chilling liquid.
His hand moved.
The bowl skidded off the desk, shattering on the black stone floor. The poison melted into the cracks between the slabs and vanished.
"The coward's way out." He said to himself with disdain, rising and exiting the dungeon, closing the door softly behind him.