Something Wicked This Way Comes
It was peculiar, really, how well everything shifted into place. You see, I believe it was meant to happen. My finding my dream weaver, so to speak, and realizing….realizing…my worst fear.
I had just returned from a Dark Revel, late, it had to be close to dawn when I pushed open the hidden doorway that led straight to my dungeon chambers. I pulled off my mask and thick robes, attempting to rip away the stench of sweat and blood from myself as I sank deep into an armchair next to the cold fireplace. With a flick of my wand, flames roared to life, and my cloak was thrown in, smoldering and smoking into oblivion. There would be a new one in my wardrobe tomorrow, I knew. Albus always seemed to be one step ahead.
It was then that the object caught my attention. Twinkling ominously due to the flickering light cast by the fire, the clear orb on my cluttered desk seemed to glow of its own accord. Small in size, and pristinely clear, glasslike, but oddly pliable. I levitated the object until it was eye-level, and examined it closely.
The texture and appearance reminded me of one of Trelawney's crystal balls, and I shuddered involuntarily. Finally, curiosity besting my common sense, I reached out to close my fingers around it.
Curiosity killed the cat.
The room began to spin, blacks, grays, and greens swirling into a mass of blank nothingness.
I fell hard on the ground, scrambled quite ungracefully back to my feet and gripped my wand, spinning to take in my surroundings. I was at another Revel, the blank faces surrounding me were seemingly oblivious to my presence. A movement along the circle alerted me to the presence of a new arrival. Lord Voldemort had materialized in the center of his followers, causing a slight shudder to pass throughout the mass of bodies, a chain reaction of fear.
Voldemort can smell fear.
"We have a special guest today." he announced in that cold, high pitched voice that haunts my nighttimes, "An honored visitor. My Death Eaters, my loyal followers, welcome to our circle, Mr. Harry James Potter."
The only sound following this announcement was Voldemort's mocking applause as Potter was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor before him by a stout Death Eater, most likely Wormtail. The eyes of the soulless creatures behind the masks of Death gazed unblinkingly at Potter. I recognized my own black eyes glaring fiercely from next to the steel gray orbs of one Lucius Malfoy. Suddenly, my own self, dressed in black robes, like a cloak of night, looked up, and our gazes met. He knew.
Potter coughed and choked as the last effects of the Cruciatus Curse drained from his system, and a blast of unholy green light later, he lay limp and still, a somewhat perturbed expression on his twenty-three year old face.
The world began to whirl again, black night fading and spinning into a dimly lit bedchamber, cold from the draft of the dungeons, with a weak fire sputtering and dying in the hearth.
I lay there momentarily, analyzing what I had seen. Can it be true? Will this be the real end? Potter dying weakly, the un-heroic fate he has feared for so long? It can't be. Not Potter, he would fight. Harry would never let go. The world needs him…
I need him.
The realization startled me. I need Potter? I had never needed anyone. Why suddenly can I not imagine life with his slightly annoying, yet oddly comforting presence? Why do visions dinner in the Great Hall without his constant jabbering across my plate to Professor Dumbledore send a cold chill down my throat? Why can I not picture him barging into my stories asking to "borrow" ingredients for one of his latest schemes?
Oh, God.
I run out of the room, slamming the door open and not bothering to ward it. I realize I had set my wards to recognize Potter weeks ago. I told myself it was because I was tired of his incessant knocking. I dart past the doors to the Great Hall, and remember the Graduation ceremony six years before when Potter had proudly shaken my hand, and announced I would not be rid of him that easily. He would be back next year…to teach. Have I gone insane? I travel past the corridor where Potter had been caught with his last and final girlfriend, breaking the hard truth to her. She wasn't his type. No woman was. I freeze in front of the door labeled Defense Against The Dark Arts, Harry Potter.
I turn, shaking my head in wonderment at my own insanity, when the door clicks and squeaks as it is pushed forcefully open and Harry James Potter comes stalking out, glaring at a stack of parchment and shaking his head furiously. The wild, messy spikes of black hair fluttering as he did so. Oh, Merlin.
He stopped short when his gaze rested on my feet.
"Snape." he grinned, "I wanted to ask you about this---"
Ah.
Soft, warm lips stood frozen in shock, but only for a moment. Parchments when flying, as my attentions were eagerly returned. Bah. They were only first year essays. Potter's hand grasps the doorknob as I am pulled inside, and we shut the world away.