Blood, Chains, and Games
Chapter 1: The Winner
AN: Reviews are welcome, flames are not. I would just like to mention that, depending on reviews, I may or may not continue this. This particular piece is simply an introduction; the rest would include background and the rest of this bit of the story. It would also include viewpoints for Snape, Malfoy, Lupin, and an Auror. Also, the story does not follow the books entirely as Malfoy is in Azkaban and Sirius fell to his doom, but I'm taking a little writer's leeway with that.
Disclaimer: I do not claim right to Harry Potter or any of J.K Rowlings characters. I do, however, enjoy the opportunity to write fanfiction from her wonderful stories and would just like to remind everyone that I make no money off of this.
Darkness. I squint my eyes and wait for them to adjust. If I were to say that it stunk, it would have been a compliment to this awful place. The smells of blood, urine, and rotting flesh assault my senses. I almost balked, but I knew that doing so wouldn't help one thing. I was here to finally pin Lucius Malfoy to his Dark Arts toys.
I jogged down the hall, trusting my half-adjusted eyes, firstly because there wasn't time to wait for them to adjust and secondly because I didn't want to touch the wall. Who knew whether it was blood-caked or not? There was a light up ahead. A perfect mimic of sunlight, but it came from an enchanted torch that did not dance like true fire.
Blinking a few times to clear the darkness from my eyes, I glanced around. A little ways into the room and to my right was a man in shackles that were attached, via chains from the ceiling, to each of his wrists. The band of metal around the man's wrists was caked with red-brown blood and a fresh trickle of the vividly colored liquid ran down his outstretched arms. His head hung limp, and shoulder-length black hair obscured his features. There were bleeding, crimson marks across his chest that could have been caused by a whip or a blade. Blood cascaded from a hole in his left side that was bigger than both of my fists. He was dressed in a simple pair of black muggle slacks. His bare feet hung almost three feet off the ground and a silver necklace of some description dangled from his limp neck.
I never stopped jogging to help Severus Snape. His chest rose and fell in an obvious attempt to cling to life, but I didn't care. If it had been someone else, I probably would have stopped.
I kept my eyes on the limp form as I went past. I wasn't ashamed to go past him and not help, or even to keep my gaze on him as I past. I should have been. But I wasn't. My conscious wasn't nagging me; I truly didn't care at all.
I was almost past him when a low groan escaped from his mouth. I didn't bite my lip in anticipation or hope that he wouldn't stir. He even lifted his head and caught my gaze in his own.
Time stopped.
Blood-shot blue-gray eyes stared at me. He spoke not a word, but his eyes pleaded with me, "Sirius...please."
My mind froze and my legs kept going, and he watched without words as I passed. That was the man that had threatened to expose Moony for what he really was.
I wouldn't have helped him if I had had the time. Maybe if I hadn't spent twelve years in Azkaban I would've still had the heart and will to. If I had been Moony, I'm positive I would have stopped and helped. I would have made time. But I'm not him, and it doesn't matter anyway.
The hairs on my neck didn't so much as prickle as his gaze chased me out of the room. I felt no emotion for the chained man. If he hadn't tried to get me thrown to Dementors, I might have felt pity or even guilt. But my stomach wasn't churning and my head wasn't pounding.
I could've almost turned back to finish his death for whoever had strung him up there. But I had a job to do. And something inside of my scolded me for giving in to hate. For doing exactly what Severus had said I'd do. But mostly, for losing to that slimy Death Eater.
Chapter 1: The Winner
AN: Reviews are welcome, flames are not. I would just like to mention that, depending on reviews, I may or may not continue this. This particular piece is simply an introduction; the rest would include background and the rest of this bit of the story. It would also include viewpoints for Snape, Malfoy, Lupin, and an Auror. Also, the story does not follow the books entirely as Malfoy is in Azkaban and Sirius fell to his doom, but I'm taking a little writer's leeway with that.
Disclaimer: I do not claim right to Harry Potter or any of J.K Rowlings characters. I do, however, enjoy the opportunity to write fanfiction from her wonderful stories and would just like to remind everyone that I make no money off of this.
Darkness. I squint my eyes and wait for them to adjust. If I were to say that it stunk, it would have been a compliment to this awful place. The smells of blood, urine, and rotting flesh assault my senses. I almost balked, but I knew that doing so wouldn't help one thing. I was here to finally pin Lucius Malfoy to his Dark Arts toys.
I jogged down the hall, trusting my half-adjusted eyes, firstly because there wasn't time to wait for them to adjust and secondly because I didn't want to touch the wall. Who knew whether it was blood-caked or not? There was a light up ahead. A perfect mimic of sunlight, but it came from an enchanted torch that did not dance like true fire.
Blinking a few times to clear the darkness from my eyes, I glanced around. A little ways into the room and to my right was a man in shackles that were attached, via chains from the ceiling, to each of his wrists. The band of metal around the man's wrists was caked with red-brown blood and a fresh trickle of the vividly colored liquid ran down his outstretched arms. His head hung limp, and shoulder-length black hair obscured his features. There were bleeding, crimson marks across his chest that could have been caused by a whip or a blade. Blood cascaded from a hole in his left side that was bigger than both of my fists. He was dressed in a simple pair of black muggle slacks. His bare feet hung almost three feet off the ground and a silver necklace of some description dangled from his limp neck.
I never stopped jogging to help Severus Snape. His chest rose and fell in an obvious attempt to cling to life, but I didn't care. If it had been someone else, I probably would have stopped.
I kept my eyes on the limp form as I went past. I wasn't ashamed to go past him and not help, or even to keep my gaze on him as I past. I should have been. But I wasn't. My conscious wasn't nagging me; I truly didn't care at all.
I was almost past him when a low groan escaped from his mouth. I didn't bite my lip in anticipation or hope that he wouldn't stir. He even lifted his head and caught my gaze in his own.
Time stopped.
Blood-shot blue-gray eyes stared at me. He spoke not a word, but his eyes pleaded with me, "Sirius...please."
My mind froze and my legs kept going, and he watched without words as I passed. That was the man that had threatened to expose Moony for what he really was.
I wouldn't have helped him if I had had the time. Maybe if I hadn't spent twelve years in Azkaban I would've still had the heart and will to. If I had been Moony, I'm positive I would have stopped and helped. I would have made time. But I'm not him, and it doesn't matter anyway.
The hairs on my neck didn't so much as prickle as his gaze chased me out of the room. I felt no emotion for the chained man. If he hadn't tried to get me thrown to Dementors, I might have felt pity or even guilt. But my stomach wasn't churning and my head wasn't pounding.
I could've almost turned back to finish his death for whoever had strung him up there. But I had a job to do. And something inside of my scolded me for giving in to hate. For doing exactly what Severus had said I'd do. But mostly, for losing to that slimy Death Eater.