Authoritrix Notes: I get extremely weird in this one (at least in my standards, keep in mind that is what I was going for). *Laughs*. Um…I think this might get risqué so…Yes, I know how WEIRD this will get. I promise after I get through messing with your minds—it will make sense!! I'd also like to thank ScuffyDoo07 (he's got a nice story on fictionpress.com)—for the wonderful inspiration on the poetry.
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The Mythus of Dark Airt [Untitled]
CHAPTER 5—"Scars"
-By: trsolarcat/rocketsolarcat-
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+[Part 1: "The Silence of a Professor" ]+
"You cut yourself don't you?" The question.
'Yes. I don't know why.' The reply.
"Doesn't it hurt? You should get the Professor to cut those claws for you they are too long."
'What professor? Isn't that who I—.' Alsto's eyes slowly pulled open, his arm tensed on the arms of the olive chair he was still in, a dull pain in the back of his head. Carelessly reaching for his glasses he pulled them from his face, cleaning them then returning them to their place once more. At last his vision was well enough to examine his surroundings, seeing first thing Snape was not on the couch. His eyes wandered to the far corner where Agnes' perch was sitting, realizing that in fact the emerald-eyed buzzard had never been quiet in its entire lifetime—and for some reason it now was. Alsto stood preparing to go looking for both a missing boy, and a squawking crow. But then he stopped—
There was Snape.
Staring up at the bird with his arms extended to the crow's sharp talons, all the Professor could see was the back of Snape's head. Watching the bird tilt its head curiously, Alsto wondered what the raven haired boy was up to, until both of their concentration was broken when the crow's eyes hit Alsto. Then Agnes cried, "Bad, bad, Alsto sneaky, twelve! Shoe!"
Then Snape whirled around, seeing the professor standing over the chair as he had been last night. The boy smiled, his eyes carried a sort of glimmer in them that Alsto knew had not been there before today, saying, "Good morning, Sir."
"Severus, you shouldn't be up." He was actually surprised the boy could stand after last night's display, the boy's hand was still probably in much pain.
"I'm fine now, Sir, really." Severus told Alsto reluctantly the injured hand dangling to his side the bandages still bloody, "Sir, about what I said last night..."
As his voice trailed off, he watched the professor's expressionless face—then seeing something in the ruby eyes he went on, "...Are you, Saemund?"
Sighing deeply, the professor sat back down promptly, obviously this was not what he expected of Snape to say. His hands on the temples of his forehead, "No, you should know by now, Severus, I am not. Saemund of Dark Airt is a legend, made by muggles no less."
"Then, what about the shadow, if you aren't Saemund himself. You must have gone through the same thing in Dark Airt. Your shadow...it's stolen." Severus insisted on pushing the conversation further, though he seen his professor's face—he was clearly disgusted now.
"Yes, but not by an evil Headmaster." Alsto told him, with a note of annoyance in his tone,"I don't feel the need to pry into this anymore, Severus, if you want to chase faery-tales then do it elsewhere."
Severus stopped his questions there, although many of them were still unanswered.
When Alsto found his calm nature taking back over him he hesitantly asked, "Do you still not remember what you said last night other than that?"
"No, Sir." Came the sad reply, Snape felt a tugging inside him to tell the professor more. To tell his professor about the visions and Tom Riddle, but he held his tongue reminded of the situation in which he had been placed. Telling anyone would put him in greater risk than before, Tom would know. Snape could not explain how he knew that Riddle would find out, but he knew it.
"Want me to tell you?" Quietly asked the professor, going on, "Sit down at least, it would make me feel better to know I wouldn't have to catch you if you went light-headed on me. Now, before I tell you what you said, tell me something, please. You haven't always had these, lets call them, episodes—have you? My true question is this: What changed now between the time you came here and when you started to have these episodes?"
Odd question.
Snape gave Aveon a calculating look, pondering this deeply. After only a moment's time, Snape realized what it was—the necklace. Aveon must have seen some change in the youth's face and asked, "What is it?"
"It's..." He was hesitant, but slowly reached for the golden chained necklace stuffed inside his pockets (since the chain was broken it seemed useless to try and wear it), pulling it out he extended his hand out with it, "I broke it..."
Aveon looked at it with intensity, appearing to not want to touch it, but instead just look at it darkly. With a rash look about him, he finally said with reluctance, "Let me see..."
Severus didn't understand what had come over his professor here lately, first he seen him cry and now he was seeing the man scared. Which seemed within its self a curious occasion. Severus did as he was instructed and casually put the golden necklace within Aveon's outstretched hand. Resting it in the man's palm he watched almost instantly when the medallion hit the professor's hand—something horrific happened a cutting pain sliced through him that was gone as quick as it was there. Hearing a thud on the floor, he noticed the necklace resting on the green carpeted floor, his professor looking as shocked as Snape felt.
"Are you alright..?" Meekly asked the professor, suddenly sounding humbled and powerless—Snape noticed Aveon's hand shook as it came back to rest on the arm of the chair.
"What was that...Professor?" He was sure that Aveon knew what it was, he didn't ask anything of Snape about this thing that had happened to them just now.
"You took it off." An accusation? Or an observation?
"Yes...But, Sir! Please, what is it?" He was almost begging this time, why wasn't Alsto telling him anything?
"I can't—."
"Why not?!" Snape shot back, tears began to form in his eyes. This wasn't right, he didn't want to cry in front of this man—he covered his face, turning swiftly away, before finishing, "...I deserve to know."
Silence.
Nothing stir, not even the feisty bird on its perch, then Severus heard the professor stirring in his chair, almost sensing his presence behind him—Snape didn't turn to him. Feeling a soft touch on his shoulders, he glanced down to the professor's hands resting on them.
"I don't want to keep it from you and you are right: You do deserve to know, it's your right by all means...But I—Snape they are bad memories." Alsto gently voiced, his hands still on the boy's shoulders, "Ones that you should forget anyhow, give me the time to speak with Dumbledore..."
"Bad memories?" Snape thought, turning towards the professor, "What kind?"
"The worst." A grim reply, as the man dropped to his knees, looking into his eyes—the professor's face lit up suddenly, "No! I know what to do about this, I don't need Dumbledore's help—Please, don't take it off, until I return."
"What?" Snape breathed, suddenly not wanting the professor to leave his side, not understanding what had come over the professor—he asked, "Is it the necklace that makes you want to leave? Where are you going? Why so quickly?"
The professor stared at Snape deeply contemplation his answer, "It is the necklace, yet it isn't. Severus, I will be back, it won't be a long trip, and you won't miss me either. In the rarity that you do, know this: you've friends here that care about you. I'm going to help you—it's what I should've done for Gloria and I won't fail again to save one of my students."
"Sir." Snape agreed, then he felt the man's arm go around him drawing him nearer. His head rested on Aveon finding himself saying, "I just…I don't want to be alone with him."
"I know." The professor told him, putting another arm around him—embracing him, feeling Snape's weak left arm grasp at his clothing then looking up to find those black eyes staring straight into his own.
"You know?" Snape inquired staring blankly, as Alsto nodded in agreement, "Then can't you get rid of him. Expel him?"
"Nothing is ever as simple as it appears to be, Snape." Smiled the professor weakly as he rose once more, letting the boy go, "Do me a favor, Snape, to take you're mind off this...Talk to Avery. On the way from the nurse's office I saw him and I couldn't quite say how he was. I told Professor Dumbledore to take care of him. But I'd still like to know, you do it while I'm away."
"Sir." Snape agreed feeling something tighten inside his gut, making him ask, "What did I do to him?"
"Something, Snape, that without the help of magic could scar him for life." Alsto replied sadly, "He'll be all right though, even more so if it is you to talk to him than I."
"Yes, Sir." He groaned, bowing his head, he didn't really care to see Avery in such a state especially one he created.
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+[Part 2: "Avery's Scars"]+
That day his teacher left, rather too hasty a departure most others in Slytherin suspected something was wrong, Snape returned to his room—his hand still ached but that only made him wonder more about Avery. Several visitors came to him that day, none of which he'd usually keep as company, until it was Lucius.
Opening the door to a crack he seen the boy's blond hair first, "Lucius…"
He was about to cry right then, as soon as he saw the deep cuts all over Lucius' features, making the boy's normal delicate, graceful appearance look marred and brutal.
"Lucius…I'm sorry." Shaking he reached out to Lucius, watching him flinch slightly, he slowly recoiled his hand, "Please don't. I didn't mean for it to…"
"What happened to you?" Lucius bitterly asked, yet his eyes conveyed more malignancy than his words did.
"I don't know, but Avery…"
"You hit him with it, I only got the shards…" Lucius explained quietly, Snape shook his head—he didn't want to hear it but Lucius went on almost spitefully knowing that Snape didn't want him to, "You hit him with the entire cylinder. He's blind in his right eye now."
The calm in Lucius' blunt voice, the thick malice he used—it was just like he had used in the Great Hall. 'How could one person change like that?' Snape thought, quickly.
"I'm sorry." Snape confessed, he deserved the boy's anger for all that he had done, nothing was in his power to make this up to Avery or even to Lucius himself. He was numb with misery, not even noticing when the teardrops began to fall from him, as he predicted they would when he first seen Lucius at the door.
That was all that happened to him so far in Hogwarts anyhow: he cried, he bled and he hurt everyone around him—why was he still here?
Then he saw Lucius' face change, a saddened look came over him, reaching for Severus saying, "I didn't mean it that way—you just don't know what it was like seeing that."
"I want to see him." Snape told him, promptly, almost demanding it, "Now."
Lucius gave a weak smile before wrapping an arm about Snape kindly. Pulling the door on his dorm shut, Lucius and he began to walk towards Avery's room at a deadened pace. The black-haired boy's nerves died on him as he seen Avery's dorm.
"I can't." He pulled out of Lucius' arm, turning away from the door, "After what I did to him, I can't stand my thoughts of it, let alone looking at him. He must hate me."
Hearing the flaxen-haired boy's sigh he began to walk away when he heard, "I changed my mind, you cannot be my Second."
Severus scrunched up his face, confused by this.
"You can't be my Second, because you aren't brave enough to be your own First." Lucius saw the boy turn back slowly, smiling he added, "I can't have a coward as my partner."
An odd smile came over Snape's face, laughing. He was laughing now, a strange thing for him to do, in the light of all the things that happened—but laughing. For several seconds Lucius had brought him out of the misery—for once someone was being his friend, in a true meaning of the word. Not just acting—but real enough to make him smile—Snape wasn't sure he'd ever had a companion as Lucius.
"Lucius, thank you."
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Entering the room, Snape grabbed Lucius tightly, complete darkness within the room they couldn't see anything around them.
"Avery?" Lucius softly asked, noticing Snape held on to him, he pulled the boy closer whispering, "There you go again being scared. I can't have that."
Then Snape seen Avery, in a corner he sat on the floor his head against the darkened wall—turned away from them—his dark hair thrown into his face, panting harshly shaken. His hands were tensed clawing down the wall blood covering them, with an almost inhuman look to them the nails ground to the quick. Under Severus' feet heard the scraping of glass—'it's a mirror' he realized all too late. Avery had seen them standing in the darkness watching him—in his crazed behavior he hissed lowly, "It's you."
"Avery, listen—." Snape began but Avery jerked his head turning to him quickly—then he saw Avery's right eye. Feeling a lump form inside his throat, the bleeding patch over Avery's eye, the stitches visible from the corner of the patch, the blacken part of the boy's face—the fact that he caused that sickened him more than Avery's eye its self.
"To what? You came in here expecting me to forgive you?" Avery laughed menacingly, then his voice went into a hysterical cry, "Is that it? I will be blind, for the rest of my life! I don't know what to do! I don't—You honestly expect me to forgive you?"
"No, Avery, I don't expect it, I came to beg for it—but I don't expect anything!" Snape explained, as he seen the tall brown-haired boy was rising slowly to his feet. Approaching Snape cautiously as if he was afraid to get near the younger boy, several steps in front of Lucius, fear petrified Snape—he couldn't move. Perhaps it was also the guilt that kept him from leaving then as well.
"Leave." Avery coldly breathed, now within inches of Severus.
"But—!"
"Just go." Giving Lucius an off-handed glance, he backed away, mocking the words: 'I'm sorry.' to the blond, before he dashed out the door. Not looking back, he didn't stop until he was in his room once more, breathing heavy and rigid he stopped in front of the window. Opening it, as sweat poured from his body, clutching his fist tightly digging the fingernails into the bandages—though it hurt him. He wanted to feel its burn, feel it for what he'd done to Avery. What a fool he was for thinking he could be forgiven so easily, by either of them.
As he continued to look out into the night, he thought he saw something move far, far below in the outer yard of the castle. Moving towards the forest, quite strange for something in the middle of the night to be wandering the Forbidden Forest. Forbidden for good reasons, Snape concluded, as he continued to watch the specks below wander off towards the trees—the newly planted willow in particular. Remembering that it was a magical willow made him wonder if the small specks knew they would beaten if they got closer to it. He didn't have long to worry about the small specks or the tree—a knock at his door.
Not wanting to pay it any mind he ignored it, he didn't much feel like catering to the whims of the questioning Slytherin girls who wanted to talk to the poor boy with the curse.
Then it came again, louder.
Snape turned to it this time, half-angry at the person's persistence to bother him so much. Yelling then as they rapped once more, "Go away!"
"No." The soft answer of a familiar voice, Snape's eyes grew, dread grasp at him—the door was the other thing between him now. Aveon wasn't there, nor was Dumbledore and he had no other confidants to save him.
"Tom?" Severus murmured to the door, hoping pleading that he was wrong—he backed himself against the window, feeling the breeze behind him. He didn't have anywhere to go.
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+[Part 3: "The Spell of Forgetall: 1st Mystery's Resolve"]+
"Severus, open the door."
For a split second, as Severus' mind began to race, he thought of his broom, but the chances of that prospect was slim, the wind was savage that night though he knew how to fly—the altitude in which he was at made it not easy or preferable weather.
"Severus." Tom repeated softly through the door, "I don't think you'd like me to open it for you, Snape, I just would like a word with you."
'A word?' He mocked within his head as his eyes darted frantically about the room for a way out, returning to the window in vain. Shaking he turned to the door, a uncertain decision hit him, he made the surrender silently to himself as he took the long walk to the door—though it was truly several steps across the disorderly sleeping quarters. Holding the doorknob, hearing Tom's smooth voice once more whispering, "Snape…there isn't any point in this, really, is there?"
"No." He turned the knob, almost painful—it was against his own natural judgment to do this, "There isn't."
As the door's rustic hinges open making a high-pitched noice, Snape's eyes edged around the side, first spotting the Head Boy's thin hand on the wooden jamb. To look into Tom Riddle's face would mean the loss of what shaken nerves he still had, a tight grip on the frame of the door Severus could see the veins tense—anger didn't cover what Riddle probably was.
Severus didn't dare say a word.
'Coward. Tell him you didn't break your so-called promise to him, and be done with it! Better yet, run for it, he can't catch you before you get to Dumbledore.' It was a voice deep inside him, constantly giving him these solutions—even when it was too late.
"Aren't you going to ask me in?" Venomously asked Tom carelessly he let go of the jamb, straightening his robes, as if he were casually speaking, "It's the least you could do, eh?"
'No. Don't. It's the worst thing you could do. I have no choice; no one is even near here, no where to go to. Just let him—no!' Snape's inner battle only made the overwhelming sense of frustrating helplessness grow, the answer in the end, rolled off his tongue as simple as a lie from a thief, "Yes, Sir."
Backing from the entry, Snape let the gaunt Head Boy through the door with his slow almost elegant walk—like Alsto's but, if possible, a more proud self-conscious. Tom stopped his eyes fixed on the open window as he gave a slight motion, with his head, for Severus to close the door. When the young boy had closed it, with much hesitation Tom finally turned toward him, a corrupt look about him—a twisted smile—pulling his nose into a sick arrogant grin as he said, "You're making quite a mess of things, Severus. You shouldn't be doing such things if you don't have any allies to cover your tracks, to help you with, my young Lord."
Never had Snape been referred to as this, 'my young Lord'. It was true, he was to inherit the Snape fortune as the rightful heir—but being called this made it sound as if his father was already deceased. As if it were already his and Tom were reminding him that he owned the mansion (along with its attachments).
The boy didn't say anything, instead just stood in the middle of the room, his fingers fumbling with the bandages his hands were wrapped in. His hair thankfully over his face, so Riddle could possibly not see all the nervous tension he tried to withhold on his hidden face. Hopefully he couldn't.
Clicking his tongue, Tom shook his head chuckling under his breath—as he backed towards the window leaning against its sill. Letting the breeze toss his brown locks around—Tom glanced back to Snape, almost carelessly. As Tom's head rolled back into the direction of the wind closing his eyes (he seemed to be enjoying the warm weather), he abruptly said, "Poor Avery."
Snape felt the boy's comment like a punch in his heart—a cold feeling inside him, he stuttered at the thought of Avery again.
"I didn't mean to do it." His voice was so low it was barely audible, but Tom had no problem picking it up in the quiet of the room.
Tom looked back at the boy, giving him a curious look he continued almost teasing, "It isn't your fault. Is it?"
"No." Snape heard himself—it was an automatic response. 'Is this denial?'
"It might be." Tom replied quickly. Snape's head snapped up, confusion in his cold eyes—Did he just reply to the boy's inner thoughts—could Tom read his mind? Looking into Tom's eyes for the first time during the conversation, "…It might be your fault."
Somewhat relieved, Severus gave his reluctant return of, "How so, Sir?"
Tom's lean body, still against the window, moved from the breeze. Running his slender fingers over his frazzled hair—as he pushed off the window, he stepped towards Severus in his graceful mannerism.
"If you'd thrown it out the window it wouldn't have caused much of a problem to anyone. You wouldn't have hurt anyone. But alas—Aveon doesn't want that now does he? Did you ever stop to think—why?"
As Tom let the words flow smoothly from his mouth, as if they were common knowledge he watched a sick air pass over Severus.
"How do you know that?" Snape loudly demanded suddenly, backing away from Tom—as the older boy was almost within a reachable distance of him. And that is what Snape did not want to happen most of all. Mocking his steps backward, Tom moved after him—driving him back into a blackened corner of the room, Snape's eyes edged around nervously.
"It didn't occur to you did it?" Chortled Tom, seeing the younger boy before him trying to desperately get away from the corner he was in, "You'll hurt yourself again—."
"Let me, I'm getting away from you!"
Tom's smile faded, being replaced by a nasty sneer. Tom's hand shot out at Severus instantly the boy dodged—stumbling in a mad scramble to get away from the Head Boy. Only to land into the carpet roughly, Severus' ears were ringing—it felt as if his lungs were on fire—his heart was in his throat—though he had not run for to long. He was too stunned from the musings of: 'That was my one chance to get away and it failed.'—to notice the numb stinging in his knees from hitting the floor so harshly.
'You always do this. You try to get away—and you fail. You fail.' This voice was his own, or at least he perceived it to be him own. Hearing Tom's shoes on the padded flooring he knew the boy was over him, he looked up with his bruised face. (If he were in another situation he might have found humor in such a think, those boastful words of freeing himself, only to end up falling into the carpet in defeat.)
Tom was kneeling down on his haunches curiously looking into his face. His hand slowly extended offering it to Snape—hesitantly taken. Pulling the boy up towards him until Snape was on his knees before him. Tom lay a warm hand over him—tightening its grip—Snape was forced to lean forward into Riddle's chest.
Was Riddle holding him? Confused and stunned Severus let this happen—convinced Riddle had won.
"I told you not to Severus." Whispered Tom, his voice was dangerous—seductive, "You didn't have problems following daddy's instructions did you? Or your teacher's…That's why I want you."
'Want?'
His heart stopped for a short second, he jerked away—but Tom's arms where like a constrictor and only tightened.
Feeling Tom's breath on his face as he spoke once more, "But that's not the only reason I want you around, Severus. There is another…"
Tom's head moved soundlessly from his ears, down to his neck nuzzling against it. His arms moved tediously downward, to the boy's robed waist, "It's…"
'Stop.' His inner voice cried, begging for someone to walk in—save him—do something. But his physical body made his own mind a liar—while his mind begged for Riddle to halt this molestation—his body was (curiously) urging the bold move Tom was making. As if two people were inside his head (though at this point it wouldn't be much of a shock to him) telling him what to do. His demon and his angel never able to agree.
"This…" Instantly he realized Tom's hands went into the robes—his pockets?
The demon in his mind was disappointed briefly. But its confusion turned to another horrified discovery—Tom's searching was in the pouch in which the necklace was—feeling the warm hands pull out of the outer garment.
Tom's hands fell slack, letting Snape drop backwards—as he held the necklace out of Snape's eyes to see—taunting.
"This is why I want you—after you see this, Severus, you'll beg for assistance, it's only a matter of time before you would've discovered it," Tom held the chain, waving it back and forth as if it were a pendulum.
"Tom, give it—." He began, as his left hand reached out for it—Tom swatted the hand away carelessly taking the amulet in his palm. The horrid feeling came over him again, just as it had before, then through Snape's fading eyesight he watched Tom throw it down. It was like the world was near stopping; the last thing he remembered seeing was the glittering emerald pieces shatter across the ground.
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Was someone singing? It wasn't too surprising she always did that for us. She would come in, sit at the edge of the bed, her hair was long, black shining like a polished stone—smooth it felt like silk as it brushed around us as we kissed her face. Don't you remember…Mother?
No, I don't.
Then try harder, she would tell you one of the old stories—sing it out as we closed our eyes. Of the wizards that we descended from the ones that fought over land, ruling rights and their honor—she told us we were a proud family. We don't understand that's not true. We lost all of that—now all that is left is this house.
So we would ask her, "Mum, why do you tell us about such places? They do not exist anymore."
She would say then, in a smooth voice with a sad smile over her beautiful face, "We still have some of that, my son—the honor is still ours. As long as we are a proud family—we will be all right."
She is lying. We look into her eyes and see it, she fears for this honor. We wonder if it is all gone—if we are not 'proud' anymore of being Snapes.
It's true, she doesn't want to tell us, but we are shamed—it's in our house. We hear it at night; mother and father are ashamed of it. It curses at them, tells them horrible things, and when it knows we are listening, it says these things to us.
We don't know where it was coming from—it seems to be all around—in the still air of the mansion it yells out in its deformed voice. It makes us want to scream it won't go away. Leave my family alone.
Mother is through singing, we pretend to be asleep.
"Good-night, my son." She gently told us, as she stands, her long black dress bellowing in the breeze of the open window, she gingerly walks over closing it. She locks the door behind her. We listen to her footsteps until they are no more.
Our eyes open slowly, the darkness all around, we've decided—tonight—we will find it! This creature that haunts the house, tells mother that it will eat her—and father that it will skin him alive. But what does it say about us? It doesn't yell those things at us—we can't understand it.
As we crawl out of bed we watch the shadows around us, hiding our body from the light we go to our door. When we unlock it, we go out—darkness is within our hall. The windows are covered in a heavy material, not even the torches are lit—we wonder about this, as we grope the wall blindly—we feel as if we are in a cave. "Why do they do this?"
It's because it can't hide unless the torches are lit. The Shadows—there are no shadows in a place with pitch darkness. Light creates shadows, as much as darkness does.
Then is it a Vampire? We wonder about this, we read about them all the time. As we finally reach the end of the hall we finally see a lit torch. Then we hear voices, as we get closer we realize it is mother and father.
"We have to, Vicktor! He's insane! There is nothing we can do, we'll make it look as if it were an accident—they will believe it!" Mother's voice was weak; we could see the image of her crying in our head what her tear-soaked face must be like.
Father replies, "I can cure him, Morrigan! All I have to do to reverse it is—!"
"Is what?! His soul is already gone—the only chance is to find a strong enough Soul-Keeper to drive out this demon and pull his original back inside! We don't have that time!" Mother yelled, "I loved him too but we can't save him—kill him before it's too late!"
Soul-Keeper? That word—we know it. It's a poem, "Setting sun, rising moon—lose your shadow, half-past noon. If the darkness do'th not return—demons rise a body—they yearn. Soul-Keeper, find them a spirit in which to bind, before the dawn of day nine."
We have a lost soul in our house? In the basement?
We back away from the door silently, we don't want to know anymore—we wish we were not so curious. If we weren't we wouldn't be here.
Footsteps begin to echo through the darkness, we hide behind the black tapestry against the stone walls. It is a House-Elf, coming back to the door—meekly the small elf reaches for the door rapping on it, we watch as our parents meet her at the door.
"What is it?" Father growls harshly, at the cowering form before him, a stiff look on his face.
"My Lord, he ask' for ye, Your Grace, and—," The elf bowed as she began to explain, yet we see our mother approaching—she too gives the creature a hideous glower. As the elf stops taking another bow our father interrupts.
"You know we do not cater to his request anymore, Trida." Father again.
The elf quickly continued, too quickly, we know father would consider it rude, "But, Your Grace, he is free…"
Through the threaded tapestry we for the first time saw our father—he was terrified.
"What!" He yelled, his feet began to work quickly, skidding to a halt, "Morrigan, check the boy—I'll find him!"
A lump formed in our chest, we knew what would happen then, we dare not move from the spot, yet we knew we were finished.
Watching mother quietly, we followed her with our eyes—then when she was gone we came out—searching for where father had went to. Then we stalked quietly down the long hallway back to our room—perhaps we could lie our way out of this.
The lights down our hall—we stopped. The monster, the lost soul, we heard its voice once again, hissing its deadly threats.
Yet this time we heard the answers, mother was talking to this beast, "You can't do this—he'll stop you, my love."
We saw it now, in front of us, mother was talking to the dark shadow in front of her. It was towering over her small figure—yet she didn't seem to shake or look frightened.
"My love, I know what is going on more than you do—it is time I fixed my mistakes." It hissed we caught the glimmer of its red eyes.
**********************
Snape jerked to the side, he felt something tighten around him—Tom. Sweat slid down his face, dripping from his nose, "Tom…"
"Yes?" His voice was so kind. This couldn't possibly be the same Tom that had threatened him; the other boy had a gentle grip upon his waist. Snape didn't struggle against him, as the two sat in the darkness.
"Did you see that…?" He asked timidly.
"A long time ago."
"How? What does it—."
"You know who it is."
"What was he doing there?"
"Killing her." Tom smiled as he looked down, "It isn't over. I can show you more. I know how it ends—want to see, or will you stay this way forever."
"No." Snape relaxed into the boy's chest, "Show me."
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Authoritrix Notes: Sorry I had to end it, or I would kill myself trying to mistake hunt. I wish I'd got to the weirdest part—but I couldn't make it!! DAMMIT ALL~! O.O Sorry. Plz don't hate me.