Chapter 15
The rest of the day went by as a blur. I felt like a shadow just sliding through the world of mortals. Reaching, grasping to find something to stop me from falling of the face of the world. But I found only a measure of hatred, of contempt, of embarrassment. How could I have seemed so weak to Hermione? Damn it... My strength had seemed to be the only thing I had left, and now Voldemort had exploited it with the weakness of my past. It angered me beyond any point of understanding...and I couldn't even face, forget even find, my flagrant enemy.
Each class I attended seemed to wear more on my torn nerves. The slightest noises-the scribbling of a quill or the droning voice of a professor-all of them became overwhelmingly annoying. Everything seemed amplified, and at times my mind, dulled with the tumultuous roar, would manifest imaginary voices. They mocked my humiliating flaws and failure to conquer my tormentor. This just added to my self-loathing.
I was never one known to restrain my temper easily and now I could feel the pent up anger burning behind be breast bone. Slowly seeping through my veins, and etching into the lines of my face. And soon...my rage would peel away my thin film of civility and turn upon the first thing that crept into range of my boorish tongue.
To make matters more stressful I caught Hermione scrutinizing me during class. I knew she was worried about the way I had broken down that morning, but all the pain I had revealed earlier had withdrawn itself back into my cold ruthless casing of sin that masked that heart of mine—the unfeeling heart of an Immortal. Now I had regained my insensitive composure. Yet for all of my cruelty that Hermione was aware of now, she showed neither hate nor fear for me—and for expressions I had never felt her tactics struck me as confusing.
Just as when she saw me wince from the burn I'd seared into my own flesh. She would reach out a hand in an attempt to touch my shoulder; alerting me once more of her supportive presence. Whatever type of motherly crap you're trying to pull with me... I'd rather you'd just stop. In turn, I shied away from her hand, and the few times she'd manage to touch me I'd flinch violently. I don't need your pity Hermione, I've survived on my own up until now. I don't want your emotional crutch... Despite my frosty reactions, I just couldn't deter her from showing me friendship. How can you show such clemency? What do you see in humanity that entices you to be filled with such compassion, especially to something as loathsome as myself. I could never understand how a girl so intelligent could be so thick when it came to reading the obvious repulsive hints I was showing
Finally on top of everything we had potions at the end of the day-and we were paired with the school dunces...Slytherins. By this point I was tired and my wrist was in a good deal of pain. I rolled my eyes as I walked down the dank stairs and towards the potions classroom, feeling the air grow a deep deal cooler. Who am I kidding?! I had been tormented the entire day and was itching to break a few necks. Not to mention I was having a terrible time concealing my agitation. When I entered the room I felt the delicate state of tension between the two houses. Automatically I sensed the perfect situation for me to vent...not to mention have a little fun.
Now as for the class itself...well, Snape was in a rather vindictive mood, of course I can't really say that was anything new. He flew through the door allowing it to slam against the wall with a loud bang. Our professor swooped down on all of us like a great sneering dragon determined to crush any hope of succeeding in his class. Supposedly we were creating some form of an antidote to some type of poison that I had never heard of, that I would probably never come in contact with, and couldn't even pronounce; much less able to recognize the difference in its effects from any other poison. In layman's terms...I was bored out of my mind and didn't give a damn about that lesson. At the prospect of slicing and stirring, the incessant repetition of movement, and the exact precision needed for two hours straight made my frustration prickle. Hermione automatically realized my disgruntled mood and gave me a small grin to try and ease over my rising anger. I scowled angrily back making her sigh and shake her head. That's about when Snape began pairing us up—and when the problems began.
"Granger you are with Crabbe," Snape hissed silkily, "Malfoy...with," then his eyes lit up cruelly, "Potter." Next his gaze flitted over to me, "You--go with Longbottom, and see if for you can keep that boy from destroying the entire bloody room this time. But don't expect too much of him...his kind never could keep their 'wits' about themselves." I could hear Malfoy sniggering and Snape just turned on his heel ignoring the vindictive actions of his Slytherin students. So you think your Slytherins are above all others? That they can make others suffer without reprimand? I beg to differ... In the back of the room poor Neville sat fidgeting nervously while his ears turned a vibrant shade of scarlet. You Slytherin trash...let's see how you deal with humiliation. Looks like class will be interesting after all. First Malfoy...I never liked that little brat. As I walked over to join Neville I held my wand down to my side tilting it slightly towards the legs of Draco's chair. Surely a Slytherin would love to be personally introduced to their house emblem?
"Morphos serpiente," I whispered underneath my breath. The bench Malfoy had been sitting on suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a coiling fathom of snakes. Considering the bench had vanished Draco fell backwards on to the floor in the middle of the hissing helix of bristling serpents. Malfoy began to whimper as the reptiles slithered across his outstretched legs. The students in the near vicinity yelped helplessly before climbing on top of their desks. All of the Gryffindors broke into raucous laughter. I meanwhile had receded to my seat in the back next to an obviously shaken Neville. He stole a glance at me and I let a twisted grin yank at the corners of my mouth. Snape strode forward and with a perturbed flick of his wand, returned the bench to its original form.
"Get up! They were harmless transfigurations!" He wrenched Draco from the floor forcefully and spun about to glare at his students. "Who did this?" came the professor's demeaning snarl. The sudden eruption of giggles was strangled while a treacherous silence radiated throughout the now terrified group of students
"If I do not receive an answer this instant it will be detention for all Gryffindor sixth years until the perpetrator comes forward and an additional 80 points from your house." He slipped through the rows of desks. I watched his stolid onyx eyes flitting from one student to the next.
"And to think...this punishment could be avoided if one of your Gryffindor comrades decided to act the part of the "courageous" lion which serves as the mascot to your house. But of course, it is widely known the only time Gryffindors actually use their noble characteristics is to perform some foolhardy prank." The word "prank" came out as a low malicious hiss. And if it wasn't my imagination I was almost sure Snape's eyes were completely locked on Harry during the entire delivery of his speech. Wonder what's the story behind that little feud?
In front of me I heard Ron grumble, "That punishment isn't fair! He's just can't stand someone of his own house looking like an ass—the damn bloody git!"
"Is there something you have to say Mr. Weasley?" Making no sound, Snape had glided to stand beside Ron and was now leaning upon the desk his jaw muscles tense with apparent ferocity. Ron looked up quivering meekly.
"N-no, nothing sir... I-I," Ron began but eventually trailed off petrified.
"Are you sure Mr. Weasley? Because I believe your sudden inability to answer a simple question, certainly suggests that you are... or know of the guilty party. Of course this wouldn't come as a surprise to any of us considering the influences from your vagabond brothers." I watched Ron's hand curl into a fist that was so tight it exposed his white knuckles. Now his face boiled red, his teeth were gritted in passionate resolution prepared to defend his family's honor. In return, Snape's lips twitched; the thin line that made up his mouth was curled upward at the parts in a wicked smirk of triumph. That's enough! I stood up abruptly, making my body language exude chaste contempt for the man before me.
"For once, would you take your impudent comments and shove them up your ass!?!" I smiled sarcastically at Snape whose pale skeletal face was caught in a moment of unspeakable shock at my sudden outburst. But he soon stifled this emotion before turning upon me instead.
"May I advise that you bite your tongue, young Gryffindor, or you will find yourself in more trouble than you can envision," his growled almost inaudibly. Instead I continued acting unfazed by his threat.
"First off, I'm not a child so you can yank that thought right out of your mind! And secondly, may I advise that you stop harassing your students...especially one who's innocent of the crime you dare charge him with." I made sure my voice held strong with purpose with just a tinge of cruel spite. From across the room I saw Hermione's eyes grow fearfully large while she mouthed the words, "what are you doing?!" But I pretended to ignore her gesture.
"How dare you..." he rasped through gritted teeth.
"I can, and I will. Know why? Because Ron wasn't the one who screwed over your little class pet...I did." My blithe disdain turned to a clawing snarl, "Now don't you feel the part of the fool, Snape?"
"By what authorization have you to tell me how to instruct my class?" His nostrils flared, and his eyes turned to flaming coals. In the few seconds he had covered the small gap between us and was now standing before me, ebony eyes flashing threateningly.
"Instruct?!" I scoffed, "Your form of disciplinary instruction would be worthy of the Nazi regime. But in the classroom I'd call it abuse." A teasing smile cursed his indignant efforts to quiet my incisive rebuttals.
"Sit down!" Snape's eyes were now glittering slender slits and combined with the angular shape of his face he looked more like a serpent ready to strike.
I knew I had control of the situation, and this man craved power so in losing it must truly be a killing blow. This satisfied my lust for battle at present, so I idly slid into my seat. His striking glare followed my subtle movement.
"You," his thin ghostly finger, shaking faintly, pointed directly towards me, "stay after class."
He lingered just a minute more before stalking back to the front of the class. His temper deserved a certain amount of respect that I wasn't willing to give, but everyone else sure complied.
Time crept past with no thought to our class's tense predicament. All throughout class Snape's gaze seemed to constantly fall upon Neville and myself. At times I could hear my partner begin to choke back mournful sobs. I knew the last thing Neville wanted to be was thrown into the midst an argument—especially when attaining the wrath of one, Severus Snape. But seriously, that boy had to grow a backbone one day.
After my little "assault" on Severus's pride Neville and I had set to the job of creating the potion. Unfortunately the next second I received an utterly confused glance from Neville that threatened failure, a sensation I was not prepared to accept. So in the spurt of a second I decided to take on the whole process to complete by myself, shoving him aside so that I may have full advantage of the workbench. Although my mind, still seething, had wavered from the actual task at hand, I didn't realize how easily my hands seemed to be working through the motions of the labor. I barely glanced towards the instructions scribbled upon the board...I realized I didn't need them. I started to feel a prickling of electricity surging under my skin up my fingertips cracking through my spine and up to my skull. It blazed in the depths of my eye sockets and sparked over my brain and then a click, a hatchet clawed through the door of my memory and seeping through the cracks flowed information of a long forgotten past. My heartbeat quickened, sweat dripped from my brow as an intense fear coiled about my stomach. Something was wrong with this sensation... then they began.
Slight voices, echoing through the waters of my mind. No, not voices, screams—quiet at first but growing in intensity with every waiting second I toiled. This dreaded consciousness was the same from my dreams. The horrible realization came over me that I was being strangled by that which I thought I had left in the muggle world. No not now...what are these voices?! Why can't they just leave me be? The electric tingling had turned into harsh jabs of pain ripping through my muscles. The sensitive cruelty of my skin made the action of ripping out my hair seem less painful. No matter the intensity of the burn I wouldn't allow the smallest whisper of a shriek to escape my lips drawn thin and dry, but after a few minutes of this agony I felt compelled to cease my work in hope that the dreadful hallucinatory voices would dissolve back into whatever abyss they crept out from. I have to stop—this is too much! I can't stand it any longer! But by some wicked twist to my condition, my hands couldn't stop working, or rather wouldn't, but clutched the scalpel tighter making the cuts more vicious. It was a continuing electric storm rotating wildly, and I was lost in its devious eye. Through my sleeve I felt the brand of Escryed ripple, like snakes coiling tighter about the bone. From the center of this muscle spasm inched a severe cold beginning to course through my veins, freezing my tendons in comatose stringency. It moved like a toxic poison traveling so gradually I barely realized my arms becoming rigid, shaking under the intensity of the stress. And suddenly the catatonic force took hold of my hand stealing my movement away from my senses. The knife tumbled from my hand striking the desk with a metallic clash and taking several seconds to balance on the edge before smashing to the floor—the sound jolted my mind instantaneously-- the vision of shrieks ceased to exist.
Shaken from my hellish revelation I looked to the fierce work I had been producing. The liquid simmered merrily in the copper cauldron emitting a silvery mist. I looked about me to my classmates who were still striving endlessly to complete the potion...even Hermione hadn't finished this soon. This struck me as completely abnormal. I've never been capable in this class...how'd I...do that?
Neville had good-naturedly ventured to retrieve the dropped tool. When he retook his seat he looked at my handiwork quite bewildered, "That was amazing. You finished so fast! How did you learn to do this? I mean, no offense, but just the other day you were well, almost as bad off as I was, but now..." I blinked several times, cracking my knuckles. I was technically as flustered as he was, but didn't take to showing such embarrassing emotions as easily as others. Finally I decided on a haughty answer to hide my unease and distaste for the situation.
"My hands have always been adept for such circumstances I just chose not to show my talent," I shrugged, frowning internally.
Then I realized a dull ache coming from my hands and I looked to my callused skin now burnt in several small patches. I mentally chastised myself. How much of an idiot can you be! You worked without wearing gloves. But I also found it odd that I had not felt a thing when I had initially been burnt. A burn... My mind rolled over the word...then another thought resurfaced from my memory. What was that feeling emanating from my wrist? I slowly un-wrapped the bandage from my marred wrist to inspect the condition of the injury inflicted that morning.
When the cloth was completely removed I was struck with an unusual sight. The skin had melted together over the blackened mass of puss pulling the infection below the surface, equalizing the pain and dispersing the repulsive sight. All that remained was a slightly discolored patch surrounding the brand. My breath caught in my chest. Is this what Dameon talked about? Vampyrian power...to regenerate the body...the power of immortality... I ran a finger over its unmarred silky surface mesmerized by the healed area.
"Oh your hands," Neville softly indicated, "that must hurt terribly. If I would have helped you a little more maybe this wouldn't have happened." I looked into his nervously attentive gaze. He was biting his lip pitifully and looked as if he was trying desperately to think of the right words needed to apologize. I quickly stopped him mid-thought.
"It's nothing really, don't make such a fuss," I halfway smiled and managed to shove my hands into the folds of my robes, "a few scratches never hurt anyone, besides isn't suppose to add character or something?" The boys humble nature somewhat endeared me towards him, but on the same note I still wanted to rectify his fear of our heartless professor with a bit of, uh, constructive criticism. Keeping my voice low as possible I began speaking in a tone that I hoped would come across to him as amiable. "Why do you take that shit from him?"
His pupils dilated fearfully, "I, ur...it's just that he," his cheeks burned with embarrassment, "he frightens me, a little."
"He's just a man, Neville. He breathes and bleeds like the rest of us, despite the rumors that he's nosferatu. You have nothing to fear from him."
"Except expulsion," he gulped.
"Great, you're starting to sound as bad as Hermione. Listen, I've been out in the real world and I've dealt with his sort before. It's just a front he's putting on, an act, a hoax, a charade of the vilest type. Once you tear down the outer wall there's nothing left but a man. Just a man, that pain can be inflicted upon just as easily, and it would affect him just as severely as yourself...if not more so. You see he's used to people falling into his game, but when there's no one left to fool then his "powers of influence" dissipate and he's left alone in a world that despises him. And in that world he is defenseless to the voice of his psyche—and that little voice is screaming one word... fear."
"Snape, afraid? I don't think those words can even be used in the same sentence," he shuddered.
"You just did," I hissed perturbed.
"Oh yeah," he blushed, scratching the back his head shyly. I reached out and grasped his shoulder firmly.
"Trust me, there are worst things than men for you to be frightened of in this world. I have seen an array of nightmares, and compared to them, old Snape there looks like a cuddly stuffed animal," my eyes bore into his soul, "Just do one little thing for me. Then next time he starts in on you, tell him to..." For a moment I paused trying to think of suitable terminology to use with suck a sheltered kid as Neville, "Just tell him to—'back off', alright?"
"I can try... I guess," he whispered. I nodded, showing my approval of his hesitant agreement. I folded my arms upon the desk and rested my head in its cradle. I had never surmised how tired I really was until I laid down my work to rest. I felt my mind grow hazy with sleep and was extremely close to being lulled to sleep by the soft popping of the potions when I heard the classroom jump to life with dismissal.
But I remained faithfully seated while my fellow classmates slowly filed out. I had remained facing forward listening for the harsh storm of insults to fly from my instructor's throat, but none came. I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat, not because I was anxious at the prospect of being punished, but because I wished for the battle of wits to begin so I could once again lure my professor into wrath. Then I realized the delay. Hermione was lingering by the doorway looking wistfully towards my seat like a mother watching her child tempt fate by walking on the edge of a chasm. Crap Hermione! It's not like I'm headed to the guillotine!
"Ms. Granger, out!" came the staunch directive from the head of the class. For once I was glad of his incisive orders. Having Hermione always hovering over my like I was an invalid was quite nerve-racking to say the least. After all, I have always been able to take care of my enemies without putting forth practically any effort, if I say so myself.
My gaze traveled to Snape's desk where his form sat motionless. His face, an enigma of shadows draped on either side by his usual greasy deluge of ebony locks. From his dark abode a monotone voice rasped throughout the empty room.
"Approach..."