Disclaimer: I love them but I can't have them. I own nothing. Big Sigh.
I'm taking the liberty of calling Snape 'Severus' coz I don't think he thinks of himself as 'Snape'.
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Chapter 7
Severus' POV
"Blasted owl." Severus cursed silently, he muttered a quick healing spell and watched as the cut immediately sealed itself. He wiped away the blood with the sleeve of his robe distractedly.
His footsteps sounded harsh as they echoed through the unforgiving stone corridor. The same corridors that were filled with boisterous students during the day were loud with eerie silence at the moment. Torches lining the passage threw puddles of light at his feet and cast dark phantoms that mocked him as he passed. The quiet did not bother him as much as the unfamiliar feeling of guilt. He had betrayed one who had trusted him.
I am a slytherin. Harry should have known that.
He winced at the memory of his voice. Considerate. Understanding. " Tell me, you can't keep it in you forever. You'll go insane."
Worse, "I won't tell."
Idiot boy. He's so trusting. I'm the nasty greasy potions master. Everyone hates me. Why couldn't he tell the muggle psychiatrist or Dumbledore? Why me? I thought I could cope. I had no idea it was so bad. I was wrong. Terribly. I knew the moment he woke up. Those innocent green eyes. I was lost the minute I looked into them. But I couldn't help him. I can't cope with this.
He'll hate me.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Draco's POV
Snape's not looking so good, I mused, noting the drawn face and pursed mouth when a fury of black robes swept into the classroom. Probably from a deatheater meeting. Father says those are very draining. And no wonder, the stress must be unbearable when a wrong move can mean torture or death.
Fastidiously crushing the last of the dried anemones into a fine powder, I carefully measured equal amounts into tinted bottles, containing hot healing potion, before sealing the caps. Each gave a satisfying suction sound as I set them in cold water. This wasn't much of a punishment. Actually, preparing potions relaxes me. Potions turned their appropriate colours when you added the right ingredients. They were predictable. Soothing. Of course they required skill and precision, but those were things I never had a problem with. I had always been one with an eye for detail.
Best of all potions made sense. Adding dried anemones would increase the shelf-life of the healing potion, counteracting the acidity of other ingredients. In the same way, every constituent of the potion had a specific purpose. You just gave it time to react, watching the mixture change colours before adding in the next. It was straightforward, each component had its special property and they all worked together, harmoniously, to create liquid magic.
Methodically, I washed and dried the cauldron and the glass phials, replacing them onto their stands. I catalogued the finished potions, watching inattentively as the loping script of the quotes quill flew across the labels and the record books. I let my mind go into autopilot, reeling off the list of completed potions, having done this many times before.
I volunteered alot to stay back to help Snape, it was something I enjoyed doing. Detentions were often just a cover-up for the occasions that Snape had deatheater meetings and needed someone to help him with preparations for the next day's lessons.
This detention was earned, unfortunately. Though I don't regret the cause. Finnigan and Potter had been flirting again. And in the potions classroom! Why can't they do it behind closed doors? It was getting more annoying by the second, the way Seamus kept edging closer to his boyfriend.
(So I was wrong about Granger and Potter. How about that? And the way Granger swoons over him, who would've guessed?)
Potter looked uneasy and had been trying to get away from the sandy haired lust driven teenager but he was trapped between the wall and Finnigan.
Between a rock and a hard place, I smirked, remembering.
Any other day I would have enjoyed Potter's discomfort but a migraine was driving me crazy. Finnigan had a way of getting right on my nerves.
"Mr. Finnigan, would you care to remove yourself from Mr. Potter?"
Merlin, that man appears out of nowhere, I thought admiringly. I laughed to myself as Finnigan jumped guiltily at the sight of Professor Snape, knocking Potter's scales off the table in his haste to back away.
But things didn't stop there. Finnigan kept trying to make eyes at Potter all through the potions lesson and took every chance to paw at him. It was very nauseating to say the least. Merlin save us from the desperation that is Finnigan.
The last straw came when Finnigan leaned over the cauldron to peer saucily under Potter's messy bangs. I could feel a vein just pounding on my forehead. I couldn't think clearly. I tried counting to ten but before I got to three, I just lost it and hit Finnigan with a Jelly legs jinx.
What I hadn't anticipated was that Finnigan lost his balance and immediately keeled over face first into the potion. When he emerged his face had turned a kind of greenish-orange and had swelled to twice the normal size. And so I got my detention. But one look at Finnigan's face was worth it. My headache went away after that.
Snape looked almost amused.
And Potter... Potter seemed... grateful? Couldn't be. Potter wouldn't know gratitude even if it hit him in the face. I bet he started all those rumours about how bad his life is with the muggles. They dislike him? What did they do? Wake him up too early in the morning? Honestly, some people.
"I'm finished with the potions. Can I leave?"
Snape waved his hand dismissively from behind his pile of scrolls. I shrugged and left the classroom. I was used to Snape's undemonstrative behavior. But it made it all the more surprising that Snape had taken a liking to the Golden Boy. It was so unlike Snape to be taken in by a Gryffindor.
Potter's really got it going for him doesn't he? I have tried for years to get that man to like me. Without any success, I thought bitterly. And Snape's the one man I look up to.
Other than Father, I added hastily, almost guiltily.
I didn't feel like going back to the slytherin dorms. I'm tired of my dormmates. They have so little imagination. Every night it is the same thing: food, stupid Gryffindors, biased teachers, mudbloods, the rising of the Dark Lord. I know I am being unfair but sometimes it just seems like that is all they talk about. And I am sick of hearing how lucky I am to be a Malfoy and how I will rise up in the ranks of the deatheaters very quickly. The Malfoy lineage goes a long way back and is highly prized by Voldemort. Most of the time I am proud of the fact but sometimes it just feels draining.
There is so much to live up to. Sometimes I just feel like saying screw Voldemort. I think the whole thing is overrated. So what if he takes over the world in the end and we get rid of all the people that piss us off. Then what?
Find more enemies and then more torture and the dark arts? Making a career out of that isn't really my cup of tea. There's only that much blood and gore that I can take in one lifetime.
I'm sick of people telling me what to do. All my life it's been the same sad story. Draco, wear your black silk robes, they look better than the matte silver ones. Or sit up straight Draco, Malfoys never slouch. Or of course Draco will be joining you after he finishes his schooling at Hogwarts, my lord.
I never did have much of a choice. Granger wouldn't be able to understand something like that. It's all so easy for her. She probably has parents that say "We're proud of you no matter what." And she wants me to 'go on the right path'. Typical.
Being a deatheater would probably mean the same thing: always being under someone's command. People telling you what to do all of the time. Isn't it ironic? Father bowing down to this hideous vile creature after all his talk about the Malfoy pride? I just get so confused.
I stopped. For a moment I stood still and listened. There was music coming from somewhere. Faintly, from a place further down the hallway. The tune was haunting, powerful and serene. Unconsciously I began to gravitate towards the source. There. An open door. I ran towards it, the soles of my shoes slapping against the floor, the sound resonating dully in the empty passage.
The music abruptly stopped as I peered into the dimly lit room. A quick glance showed that no one was in the room. Strange.
I glimpsed a strange silverish disc as it fell to the ground before I was suddenly enveloped in darkness.
Cautiously, I brought out a small wizarding light from my pocket. It gleamed falteringly before slowly proceeding to illuminate the surrounding gloom. I gasped as the contents of the room revealed themselves to me.
Paintings. Dozens and dozens of paintings littered the floors and covered the walls. Some only half completed and propped up against the walls. Familiar faces stared out from them. Patil. Abbott. Boot. Finnigan. Granger... Strangely, they didn't move. It was spooky how they stared at some distant point. Rendered immobile. I brushed the surface of one. These were muggle paints. But some of them seemed to be able to see. The eyes alive in the frozen bodies, following my every move.
They were done by an exceptional artist, I noted. The subject was captured perfectly, the air, the posture. It was uncanny how life-like they looked. They seemed to breathe.
A gust of wind caressed my bare arm, faintly I caught the crisp and tangy exotic scent of citrus, sage and a hint of musk. It was elusive and tantalising; the next moment it was gone. I was left wondering if I had imagined it.
I shivered and walked to the middle of the room to pick up the strange silver disc. It was circular and had a hole in the centre. It glinted a myriad of colours as I tilted it towards the light. Curious, I levitated it but nothing happened. I was almost sure that the music had come from the disc. I balanced the circular disc carefully on the arm of an armchair.
Looking up, my eye caught a glimpse of something covered behind a paint splattered and frayed canvas. But as I moved towards it, the glowing orb suddenly fell from where it was hovering and shattered. Inky blackness encompassed the room once again.
There was someone here, I realised. I could sense the potent magical signature of a very powerful wizard. It was almost tangible, resonating in the darkness. For a moment I could feel my heart stop. Then it was pounding loudly at the base of my throat.
I rushed out into the torch lit corridor, my fear hurtling me down the maze of corridors till I reached the entrance to the common room, panting.
* *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** *
To streaker: yeah... i try hard to update frequently. thanks for noticing.
To Serenitas: thanks =).
To beautiful elf: haha yeah i get totally obsessed! i think i would do the same thing. i'm taking down notes everywhere. there was this one time i was baking and i just stopped. screamed. and ran for a pen and paper. my hands were covered with flour and stuff. my mom went nuts.
To L.C.: wow gee... that does pile on the pressure. but thanks!
To JE: oh god you're so lucky you get maths... i totally don't sigh... and i hate working on it, i think i'm more of a lang person. best of luck for the exams and thanks for the idea... i'll sleep on it but i'm not very sure abt it.
To She-Who-Is-Not-To-Be-Psyc: really? thanks for telling me.
To Rin: aak... i'm trying i'm trying!
To frizzy: glad you like it so far. about seamus... hmz...
To Jade Maxwell: i thought i'd give ron abit more personality and insight coz everyone seems to think he's hotheaded and prejudiced.
To BJ Jones: refer to above... that's exactly what i mean. thanks for always always reviewing!
To Lily Evans Potter Black Lupin: thanks.
To Icy Flame: thanks for the encouragement. yah i figured there must be a reason why harry sticks with ron. and i like my characters with more depth... even seamus... later you'll see...
To katrina: nice to hear from you again. i think the paintings are a projection of harry's unconscious mind. he's still pretty much in denial. as in he knows what happened but he can't seem to link it to himself. that's why he had remained so calm so far. strangely detached. wait til he totally breaks down.
To Pepsi: yeah... so far it's pretty sad. hell lot of angst. but it'll get better. there's just some issues that have to be gotten over first.
I'm taking the liberty of calling Snape 'Severus' coz I don't think he thinks of himself as 'Snape'.
* *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** *
Chapter 7
Severus' POV
"Blasted owl." Severus cursed silently, he muttered a quick healing spell and watched as the cut immediately sealed itself. He wiped away the blood with the sleeve of his robe distractedly.
His footsteps sounded harsh as they echoed through the unforgiving stone corridor. The same corridors that were filled with boisterous students during the day were loud with eerie silence at the moment. Torches lining the passage threw puddles of light at his feet and cast dark phantoms that mocked him as he passed. The quiet did not bother him as much as the unfamiliar feeling of guilt. He had betrayed one who had trusted him.
I am a slytherin. Harry should have known that.
He winced at the memory of his voice. Considerate. Understanding. " Tell me, you can't keep it in you forever. You'll go insane."
Worse, "I won't tell."
Idiot boy. He's so trusting. I'm the nasty greasy potions master. Everyone hates me. Why couldn't he tell the muggle psychiatrist or Dumbledore? Why me? I thought I could cope. I had no idea it was so bad. I was wrong. Terribly. I knew the moment he woke up. Those innocent green eyes. I was lost the minute I looked into them. But I couldn't help him. I can't cope with this.
He'll hate me.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Draco's POV
Snape's not looking so good, I mused, noting the drawn face and pursed mouth when a fury of black robes swept into the classroom. Probably from a deatheater meeting. Father says those are very draining. And no wonder, the stress must be unbearable when a wrong move can mean torture or death.
Fastidiously crushing the last of the dried anemones into a fine powder, I carefully measured equal amounts into tinted bottles, containing hot healing potion, before sealing the caps. Each gave a satisfying suction sound as I set them in cold water. This wasn't much of a punishment. Actually, preparing potions relaxes me. Potions turned their appropriate colours when you added the right ingredients. They were predictable. Soothing. Of course they required skill and precision, but those were things I never had a problem with. I had always been one with an eye for detail.
Best of all potions made sense. Adding dried anemones would increase the shelf-life of the healing potion, counteracting the acidity of other ingredients. In the same way, every constituent of the potion had a specific purpose. You just gave it time to react, watching the mixture change colours before adding in the next. It was straightforward, each component had its special property and they all worked together, harmoniously, to create liquid magic.
Methodically, I washed and dried the cauldron and the glass phials, replacing them onto their stands. I catalogued the finished potions, watching inattentively as the loping script of the quotes quill flew across the labels and the record books. I let my mind go into autopilot, reeling off the list of completed potions, having done this many times before.
I volunteered alot to stay back to help Snape, it was something I enjoyed doing. Detentions were often just a cover-up for the occasions that Snape had deatheater meetings and needed someone to help him with preparations for the next day's lessons.
This detention was earned, unfortunately. Though I don't regret the cause. Finnigan and Potter had been flirting again. And in the potions classroom! Why can't they do it behind closed doors? It was getting more annoying by the second, the way Seamus kept edging closer to his boyfriend.
(So I was wrong about Granger and Potter. How about that? And the way Granger swoons over him, who would've guessed?)
Potter looked uneasy and had been trying to get away from the sandy haired lust driven teenager but he was trapped between the wall and Finnigan.
Between a rock and a hard place, I smirked, remembering.
Any other day I would have enjoyed Potter's discomfort but a migraine was driving me crazy. Finnigan had a way of getting right on my nerves.
"Mr. Finnigan, would you care to remove yourself from Mr. Potter?"
Merlin, that man appears out of nowhere, I thought admiringly. I laughed to myself as Finnigan jumped guiltily at the sight of Professor Snape, knocking Potter's scales off the table in his haste to back away.
But things didn't stop there. Finnigan kept trying to make eyes at Potter all through the potions lesson and took every chance to paw at him. It was very nauseating to say the least. Merlin save us from the desperation that is Finnigan.
The last straw came when Finnigan leaned over the cauldron to peer saucily under Potter's messy bangs. I could feel a vein just pounding on my forehead. I couldn't think clearly. I tried counting to ten but before I got to three, I just lost it and hit Finnigan with a Jelly legs jinx.
What I hadn't anticipated was that Finnigan lost his balance and immediately keeled over face first into the potion. When he emerged his face had turned a kind of greenish-orange and had swelled to twice the normal size. And so I got my detention. But one look at Finnigan's face was worth it. My headache went away after that.
Snape looked almost amused.
And Potter... Potter seemed... grateful? Couldn't be. Potter wouldn't know gratitude even if it hit him in the face. I bet he started all those rumours about how bad his life is with the muggles. They dislike him? What did they do? Wake him up too early in the morning? Honestly, some people.
"I'm finished with the potions. Can I leave?"
Snape waved his hand dismissively from behind his pile of scrolls. I shrugged and left the classroom. I was used to Snape's undemonstrative behavior. But it made it all the more surprising that Snape had taken a liking to the Golden Boy. It was so unlike Snape to be taken in by a Gryffindor.
Potter's really got it going for him doesn't he? I have tried for years to get that man to like me. Without any success, I thought bitterly. And Snape's the one man I look up to.
Other than Father, I added hastily, almost guiltily.
I didn't feel like going back to the slytherin dorms. I'm tired of my dormmates. They have so little imagination. Every night it is the same thing: food, stupid Gryffindors, biased teachers, mudbloods, the rising of the Dark Lord. I know I am being unfair but sometimes it just seems like that is all they talk about. And I am sick of hearing how lucky I am to be a Malfoy and how I will rise up in the ranks of the deatheaters very quickly. The Malfoy lineage goes a long way back and is highly prized by Voldemort. Most of the time I am proud of the fact but sometimes it just feels draining.
There is so much to live up to. Sometimes I just feel like saying screw Voldemort. I think the whole thing is overrated. So what if he takes over the world in the end and we get rid of all the people that piss us off. Then what?
Find more enemies and then more torture and the dark arts? Making a career out of that isn't really my cup of tea. There's only that much blood and gore that I can take in one lifetime.
I'm sick of people telling me what to do. All my life it's been the same sad story. Draco, wear your black silk robes, they look better than the matte silver ones. Or sit up straight Draco, Malfoys never slouch. Or of course Draco will be joining you after he finishes his schooling at Hogwarts, my lord.
I never did have much of a choice. Granger wouldn't be able to understand something like that. It's all so easy for her. She probably has parents that say "We're proud of you no matter what." And she wants me to 'go on the right path'. Typical.
Being a deatheater would probably mean the same thing: always being under someone's command. People telling you what to do all of the time. Isn't it ironic? Father bowing down to this hideous vile creature after all his talk about the Malfoy pride? I just get so confused.
I stopped. For a moment I stood still and listened. There was music coming from somewhere. Faintly, from a place further down the hallway. The tune was haunting, powerful and serene. Unconsciously I began to gravitate towards the source. There. An open door. I ran towards it, the soles of my shoes slapping against the floor, the sound resonating dully in the empty passage.
The music abruptly stopped as I peered into the dimly lit room. A quick glance showed that no one was in the room. Strange.
I glimpsed a strange silverish disc as it fell to the ground before I was suddenly enveloped in darkness.
Cautiously, I brought out a small wizarding light from my pocket. It gleamed falteringly before slowly proceeding to illuminate the surrounding gloom. I gasped as the contents of the room revealed themselves to me.
Paintings. Dozens and dozens of paintings littered the floors and covered the walls. Some only half completed and propped up against the walls. Familiar faces stared out from them. Patil. Abbott. Boot. Finnigan. Granger... Strangely, they didn't move. It was spooky how they stared at some distant point. Rendered immobile. I brushed the surface of one. These were muggle paints. But some of them seemed to be able to see. The eyes alive in the frozen bodies, following my every move.
They were done by an exceptional artist, I noted. The subject was captured perfectly, the air, the posture. It was uncanny how life-like they looked. They seemed to breathe.
A gust of wind caressed my bare arm, faintly I caught the crisp and tangy exotic scent of citrus, sage and a hint of musk. It was elusive and tantalising; the next moment it was gone. I was left wondering if I had imagined it.
I shivered and walked to the middle of the room to pick up the strange silver disc. It was circular and had a hole in the centre. It glinted a myriad of colours as I tilted it towards the light. Curious, I levitated it but nothing happened. I was almost sure that the music had come from the disc. I balanced the circular disc carefully on the arm of an armchair.
Looking up, my eye caught a glimpse of something covered behind a paint splattered and frayed canvas. But as I moved towards it, the glowing orb suddenly fell from where it was hovering and shattered. Inky blackness encompassed the room once again.
There was someone here, I realised. I could sense the potent magical signature of a very powerful wizard. It was almost tangible, resonating in the darkness. For a moment I could feel my heart stop. Then it was pounding loudly at the base of my throat.
I rushed out into the torch lit corridor, my fear hurtling me down the maze of corridors till I reached the entrance to the common room, panting.
* *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** * *** *
To streaker: yeah... i try hard to update frequently. thanks for noticing.
To Serenitas: thanks =).
To beautiful elf: haha yeah i get totally obsessed! i think i would do the same thing. i'm taking down notes everywhere. there was this one time i was baking and i just stopped. screamed. and ran for a pen and paper. my hands were covered with flour and stuff. my mom went nuts.
To L.C.: wow gee... that does pile on the pressure. but thanks!
To JE: oh god you're so lucky you get maths... i totally don't sigh... and i hate working on it, i think i'm more of a lang person. best of luck for the exams and thanks for the idea... i'll sleep on it but i'm not very sure abt it.
To She-Who-Is-Not-To-Be-Psyc: really? thanks for telling me.
To Rin: aak... i'm trying i'm trying!
To frizzy: glad you like it so far. about seamus... hmz...
To Jade Maxwell: i thought i'd give ron abit more personality and insight coz everyone seems to think he's hotheaded and prejudiced.
To BJ Jones: refer to above... that's exactly what i mean. thanks for always always reviewing!
To Lily Evans Potter Black Lupin: thanks.
To Icy Flame: thanks for the encouragement. yah i figured there must be a reason why harry sticks with ron. and i like my characters with more depth... even seamus... later you'll see...
To katrina: nice to hear from you again. i think the paintings are a projection of harry's unconscious mind. he's still pretty much in denial. as in he knows what happened but he can't seem to link it to himself. that's why he had remained so calm so far. strangely detached. wait til he totally breaks down.
To Pepsi: yeah... so far it's pretty sad. hell lot of angst. but it'll get better. there's just some issues that have to be gotten over first.