Disclaimer: Anything recognizable is most likely not my property.
*****
Severus Snape winced at the pain in his arm. He set his quill down, capped his inkwell and pushed his chair away from the desk and the ledger he had been studying.
The mark had been aching since the end of the last term. Ever since that first, terrifying time right after Potter and Diggory had disappeared.
In the beginning it had not been as bad. It had felt as it always had with the Dark Lord in power. The Mark had only truly burned hot while Voldemort was actually calling his supporters.
Now it hurt all the time. At frequent, irregular intervals as now, it stabbed him with immense pain. Apparently, Voldemort had evolved a way to modify the original spell in order to torture him.
Snape turned towards the row of medicinal substances arranged along a low shelf. Poppy had provided a list of possibilities. He had brewed each, hoping that one of them could control the burning pain in his arm. Many of them dulled the pain for a short period of time. One made it go away entirely for about ten seconds.
The problem with completely eliminating the pain was that when it returned, it was even more unbearable for having been absent.
The Dreamless Sleep Potion helped, if you were willing to be unreachable for several hours. However, like many of the others, it could become addictive.
Then there was the bottle of Fire Whiskey. No.
This pain was bearable. He pulled up his sleeve and stared at the mark. It hurt less than a broken bone. It hurt less than a dislocated joint. It hurt less than the deepest bruise from a sharp blow.
What was truly maddening was the irregularity of it.
He took a deep, calming breath. "Pain is nothing. Pain will pass. I will relax. The pain will wash over and through me and be gone." He concentrated on the words as he spoke them aloud. "This will pass."
He looked in disgust at the abandoned work on his desk. Hopeless.
He needed something that would distract him. He stood, wincing again as he moved his arm. He scowled and shook the offending appendage.
He strode to the door of his office. As he went he plucked a small key on a long black cord from a hook near the door. He looped the cord around his wrist twice as he swept up the corridor. He left the castle by the front door and took the path towards the Quiddich pitch.
He made a wide circle around the stands. He could see the hedges had been completely removed. He approached a small outbuilding, just out of sight of the school.
He entered.
The only furnishing was a tall, wide chest of locked drawers. The third drawer from the top was marked with a small black square.
Snape fitted his key into the lock and opened the drawer. Inside was a top quality broomstick, custom made for him by the owner of Quality Quiddich Supplies in London.
Snape placed his hand over the polished ebony handle.
"Up." He commanded.
The broom flew into his hand. He grasped it firmly and relocked the drawer.
He left the broom shed, mounted and flew up into the night sky.
He raced his broom, looped around the school, getting faster. He sped over the forest, dodging the tops of the tallest trees.
Then he swept low over the lake, reaching low to skim the water with his fingertips.
He slowed, breathing hard. He was out of training. He should find more time to fly.
He spiraled up lazily, taking advantage of a warm updraft. He reached up a hand to the moon and grasped at it. He grinned that he missed.
He flew a slow circuit of the boundaries of the grounds. The magic of the wards and protection spells tingled against his skin.
He flew back to the school and saw the figure waiting for him on the top of the tallest tower.
Snape landed neatly beside Dumbledore and wiped his face on his sleeve.
"Nice night." Dumbledore commented.
"I hadn't noticed." Snape scowled at the older man.
"Right." Dumbledore agreed calmly. "Is it bad tonight?"
"No worse than it has been." Snape replied, leaning on the battlements at the top of the tower.
"Minerva believes she has figured out how he is doing it." Dumbledore said.
Snape did not turn. "That is progress, at least." He refused to grasp the hope Dumbledore was offering.
"Yes." Dumbledore agreed. "Madame Maxine lent us some books that are proving quite informative."
"Oh?" Snape turned to look at the Headmaster.
"Yes. Mam'selle De La Cour brought them. She has taken work in Hogsmead village. She arrived just this morning and paid Minerva a visit."
"That is good news." Snape agreed. "I will speak with Minerva."
"In the morning, Severus." Dumbledore said firmly. "It is late."
Snape nodded. He mounted his broom, intending to take it back to the broom shed. He rose a few feet into the air, then changed his mind and touched back down.
"I think I will keep this in my rooms for a while." He said, not looking at the man beside him. "I may need it again."
"Indeed."
Snape trudged down the hundreds of stairs to his rooms. He stripped off his outer robes and sprawled across his bed.
Within a few moments he slipped into a deep, exhausted slumber—without the aid of any potion.
*****
*****
Severus Snape winced at the pain in his arm. He set his quill down, capped his inkwell and pushed his chair away from the desk and the ledger he had been studying.
The mark had been aching since the end of the last term. Ever since that first, terrifying time right after Potter and Diggory had disappeared.
In the beginning it had not been as bad. It had felt as it always had with the Dark Lord in power. The Mark had only truly burned hot while Voldemort was actually calling his supporters.
Now it hurt all the time. At frequent, irregular intervals as now, it stabbed him with immense pain. Apparently, Voldemort had evolved a way to modify the original spell in order to torture him.
Snape turned towards the row of medicinal substances arranged along a low shelf. Poppy had provided a list of possibilities. He had brewed each, hoping that one of them could control the burning pain in his arm. Many of them dulled the pain for a short period of time. One made it go away entirely for about ten seconds.
The problem with completely eliminating the pain was that when it returned, it was even more unbearable for having been absent.
The Dreamless Sleep Potion helped, if you were willing to be unreachable for several hours. However, like many of the others, it could become addictive.
Then there was the bottle of Fire Whiskey. No.
This pain was bearable. He pulled up his sleeve and stared at the mark. It hurt less than a broken bone. It hurt less than a dislocated joint. It hurt less than the deepest bruise from a sharp blow.
What was truly maddening was the irregularity of it.
He took a deep, calming breath. "Pain is nothing. Pain will pass. I will relax. The pain will wash over and through me and be gone." He concentrated on the words as he spoke them aloud. "This will pass."
He looked in disgust at the abandoned work on his desk. Hopeless.
He needed something that would distract him. He stood, wincing again as he moved his arm. He scowled and shook the offending appendage.
He strode to the door of his office. As he went he plucked a small key on a long black cord from a hook near the door. He looped the cord around his wrist twice as he swept up the corridor. He left the castle by the front door and took the path towards the Quiddich pitch.
He made a wide circle around the stands. He could see the hedges had been completely removed. He approached a small outbuilding, just out of sight of the school.
He entered.
The only furnishing was a tall, wide chest of locked drawers. The third drawer from the top was marked with a small black square.
Snape fitted his key into the lock and opened the drawer. Inside was a top quality broomstick, custom made for him by the owner of Quality Quiddich Supplies in London.
Snape placed his hand over the polished ebony handle.
"Up." He commanded.
The broom flew into his hand. He grasped it firmly and relocked the drawer.
He left the broom shed, mounted and flew up into the night sky.
He raced his broom, looped around the school, getting faster. He sped over the forest, dodging the tops of the tallest trees.
Then he swept low over the lake, reaching low to skim the water with his fingertips.
He slowed, breathing hard. He was out of training. He should find more time to fly.
He spiraled up lazily, taking advantage of a warm updraft. He reached up a hand to the moon and grasped at it. He grinned that he missed.
He flew a slow circuit of the boundaries of the grounds. The magic of the wards and protection spells tingled against his skin.
He flew back to the school and saw the figure waiting for him on the top of the tallest tower.
Snape landed neatly beside Dumbledore and wiped his face on his sleeve.
"Nice night." Dumbledore commented.
"I hadn't noticed." Snape scowled at the older man.
"Right." Dumbledore agreed calmly. "Is it bad tonight?"
"No worse than it has been." Snape replied, leaning on the battlements at the top of the tower.
"Minerva believes she has figured out how he is doing it." Dumbledore said.
Snape did not turn. "That is progress, at least." He refused to grasp the hope Dumbledore was offering.
"Yes." Dumbledore agreed. "Madame Maxine lent us some books that are proving quite informative."
"Oh?" Snape turned to look at the Headmaster.
"Yes. Mam'selle De La Cour brought them. She has taken work in Hogsmead village. She arrived just this morning and paid Minerva a visit."
"That is good news." Snape agreed. "I will speak with Minerva."
"In the morning, Severus." Dumbledore said firmly. "It is late."
Snape nodded. He mounted his broom, intending to take it back to the broom shed. He rose a few feet into the air, then changed his mind and touched back down.
"I think I will keep this in my rooms for a while." He said, not looking at the man beside him. "I may need it again."
"Indeed."
Snape trudged down the hundreds of stairs to his rooms. He stripped off his outer robes and sprawled across his bed.
Within a few moments he slipped into a deep, exhausted slumber—without the aid of any potion.
*****