Daybreak in Dungeons
Lady Agatha
Disclaimer: Snape is not mine; he's J K Rowling's.
This is to my reviewers who bade me to continue. Thank you for your support.
The first chapter is included here, and is extended.
This is no longer a one-shot, but will be very short, and most probably with no worthy plotline.
Comments please
*
He tossed and turned. He could not stay still. He was restless in his sleep.
*
A woman, the only one that means much to him, was crying. Tears of pain and sorrow traveled down her cheeks, leaving no visible stain save the pain etched now in her face. She looked upon a young man, dueling, his face set, his heart stout. The woman before the man was clearly just as brave, if not more so, dressed in red robes. The man, dressed in black and face covered with a hood, dealt finally one blow of utter pain, and fled.
No blood was going to be on his hands tonight.
A woman, sad, remorseful, looked on, as her son fled from curse to curse, from evil to more so, from power to weakness.
She looked on, as he went to report to his master.
*
Dawn poured into the dim dungeon, over dusty potion bottles and wide-open books, empty frames and sleeping portraits. The brick wall embraced the heat, shedding its frost. Patterns to delight the mind of a child appeared on walls opposite chandeliers; light falling so softly it seemed silk hanging in air.
A fully-grown man lay sprawled on the ground, at the foot of a bed, wand nearby, a hand's reach away. His robes were ruffled but his hair as dank and greasy as ever. Daybreak crept over his pale face softly caressing him. Little crystal forms of brooms and landscapes glittered. The man lay still, asleep, head lay on his curled arms, legs stuck out at odd angles. Naught but steady breathing was heard.
And a single footfall as an old man emerged from the hearth.
He looked upon the man laid on the floor, a smile playing at his lips. From past knowledge he knew the man was a light sleeper. His blue eyes sparkled behind the spectacles. He waved his wand and sent a dream into the sleeping man's thoughts. One peaceful night of sleep the man deserved.
He smiled again and took a step back into the glowing hearth.
The man on the floor moved slightly, a rarely seen smile at his lips.
*
A large room. Echoes with every whisper or movement. Delicate statues, deadly swords, forgotten wands – all in cases with curses and spells to protect. Muggle paintings by famous artists – Van Gough, Leonardo Di Vinci, Raphael – and by lesser-known Muggles – Andy Warhol and Bridget Riley. Paintings also by magical folk – Ronald Servile, Yvonne Chang and Polis Hare. They smiled or frowned down at the occupants of the room, laughed or cried, woke or slept.
Golden plates on the ceiling shone, night or day, silverware rested in deep sleep, goblets menacing with crests upon their shields. Chandeliers worthy of the King and Queen glittered and danced, softly singing its song in the gentle breeze.
A woman, seemingly floating, smiled at him with blood-red lips. Her long dark hair fluttered in the breeze, her equally dark eyes glittered. The coldness that normally wrapped around her was dropped as one might drop a wand.
She held out her arms and gave a little curtsey. A little boy of about seven or eight ran into them, his hair greasy upon his head, like tight clothing. She spun him round, lips smiling still, eyes glittering.
He suddenly laughed, a strange laugh – shrill and high. Her laugh after him was full of melody, falling and twisting, riding a current that could not be seen. Her face full of happiness as she embraced her young son to her with sudden love. He swallowed the lump that formed, and her eyes gazed at him searchingly. He shook his head and smiled. It was worth it just to see her smile back.
She stood up, and produced her wand. She bowed her head, twirled her wand, and cast a spell. Two glasses appeared, and a container of Butterbeer. His identical eyes glistened. He reached out to pour, but she held out a hand.
Stop.
She lifted the bottle herself, and, levitating the glass, poured. She lifted hers up in toast, and he shyly held his own. He drank deeply. He felt his heart gladdened and strengthened and his cold limbs flowed with warmth. After setting down her own glass, she reached out for his hand, and walked away with him to the garden.
*
A smile was carved deep into his face.
Complete bliss during daybreak.
*
So? I love feedback, and I want it.
That is all I intend to write, for I feel as though more will ruin it. If anyone is desperate for more, I will think about it. But I would rather not.
Thank you
Lady Agatha