Disclaimer: Anything that you don't recognize is mine. Everything else (all the good parts) belong to J.K. Rowling, who is a much better writer than I.
Author's Note: This was originally intended to be a one-shot story. Review! If you want me to continue, tell me! If you hate it, tell me! If you have some criticism, tell me! I'd love to know.
Angelica Farraday stood in the middle of a room she had not seen in fourteen years. It was a bedroom, and the central piece of furniture was a massive mahogany four-poster bed carved with ornate, savage wildlife scenes and standing on four clawed feet. Next to the bed stood a matching bed table, and on that bed table stood a picture in a silver frame. The picture was of two people, a woman in an elaborate red velvet dress, and a man in black dress robes and a black pointy hat. The pair in the picture were at the moment engaged in a very long, passionate kiss. Angelica coughed loudly, and the pair stopped, blushing. Now that their faces could be seen, the woman was obviously a younger version of her. The man was her fiancé.
She fingered the large black opal ring that was the sign of her engagement, an engagement that had lasted thirteen years longer than expected. Shrugging off the pang of regret, she reminded herself that she had not left by choice, but out of necessity. Sighing, she went to the closet and disappeared behind rows of black robes, emerging several minutes later carrying a suitcase-sized cedar chest with highly polished silver latches. She carefully undid the lock and broke several magical wards before lifting the lid. Running her hands around the rim of the lid, she took in the heavily spiced scent of the box and its contents.
Inside the box there sat a sleek, gunmetal grey mask on what seemed to be a great black satin pillow. She lifted the mask, gently touched the cheek, and set it aside. When she extracted the black mass, it turned out to be not a pillow but a cloak, and much heavier than true satin ought to be. It was clasped by a brushed silver chain, and if one looked long enough, the faint outline of a black skull and snake could be seen on the left breast. Lying on the bottom of the box was a black wand. Angelica pulled on the cloak, oddly comforted by its familiar weight, in spite of what she was about to do. She walked to her desk and opened the drawer. As she looked in, she smirked, not at all surprised to find a pair of black satin gloves exactly where she had left them so long ago.
Pulling the gloves on, she walked back to the box, and picked up the mask. It was completely unadorned, save several minute scratches on its inside; she guessed there were around three hundred. The mask had eyeholes, and only a slit for the mouth, but it never felt suffocating. In fact, feeling the cool, metallic surface of the mask filled her with power, and purpose, and pride, even after all these years. At last, she picked up the wand. It was custom-made, pure onyx with a core carved from the bones of her grandmother, a powerful sorceress who had died under mysterious circumstances when Angelica was eighteen. The wand had no grip, but never slipped from her hand unintentionally; even if it was dropped, others could not pick it up. It was powerful, far too powerful for everyday use, but then its maker had not intended for it to be used for menial tasks. No, her Lord had created it and her for one purpose: to kill. She was an assassin, single-handedly responsible for nearly half of all the murders during the first Dark era. As each victim fell, she added a notch to her mask, and another black mark on her soul.
She stood, fully attired so for the first time in fourteen years. Cold, green eyes stared back at her, the reflection seemingly unchanged, awakened after long years to all its old glory. She smoothed the front of her dangerously low-cut black robes and turned to leave. As she reached for the doorknob, the great oak door opened silently toward her. She quickly took off her mask, and saw the man from the photo, still dressed all in black, had entered the room.
"Severus," she looked mildly shocked.
The man looked at her, taking in the entire sight. "You're really back."
She nodded slightly. Slowly, a grin spread across her face, lighting her cold features with alien delight. Soon, she had the surprised man trapped in a fierce hug. Severus Snape was awkwardly attempting to wrap him arms around her when he heard a muffled voice somewhere near his shoulder. "It's so good to be home, Severus."
There, now REVIEW! Even if you thought it was vile and horribly written. ESPECIALLY if you thought it was vile and horribly written. :o)
~Med~