Please Note: This story takes place in the pre-Harry years.
Also, I apologize for how short this chapter is.
The nerve of that child! That was the only thing across Snape's mind for the rest of the day. It made him in an even worse mood than usual, and that was saying something. He began to wonder what it was her father was saying about him at home? Her father had always been suspicious of him as a spy for the Order. He'd gotten on the Dark Lord's bad side with his theories about him. He must have not mentioned those theories to his daughter. But he obviously told her something about him. She knew he was a Death Eater, nothing more.
But if she really hated Death Eaters, why would she hate him? I mean, compared to her father. He was an eerie man. Just creepy-looking, creepy-acting. Very dark and scary. Just being around him made you uncomfortable. He was certainly an odd one.
Snape went through all of dinner and the rest of the night with these thoughts. When he finally went to bed, he fell uneasily into sleep, his thoughts still focused on rage and the distressing image of Mr. Monroe in his head. But soon he was wrenched out of thought by a sickening scream.
He quickly jerked his head up in confusion, his eardrums pounded from the bloodcurdling high note. He looked around in the darkness. Suddenly, he heard soft muttering, pleading.
He slowly reached for his wand. he whispered under his breath. As soon as light was cast around his shadowy chambers, he lifted his head, trying to listen harder.
He went to the door and pressed his head against the cold wooden front. It sent a shiver down his spine just to touch the rough splintery wood, and for it to feel so unusually cold. He could hear the voice clearer now. But the closer he listened, he began to think there was two voices. But they sounded so similar, he couldn't tell. He paused for a moment, deciding whether or not he should follow the voice(s), or to just go back to sleep and pretend he never heard a thing. But what could possibly happen? He was a professor at this school. He was supposed to be responsible.
He shut his eyes tight, hoping it would make him feel better about opening a creaky door in the middle of what felt like an overly ironic muggle horror flick. When his eyes opened, he found the corridor to look completely normal. In fact, even the voices had ceased. He took one last look around, before turning to go back. But just as he did, he heard another bloodcurdling scream, and it was coming right from his classroom.
He held his wand high, and rushed towards his classroom. The door was open ajar, and a steady stream of red light was flooding from the room, like flowing blood on the stone floor. He raised his wand higher still, and threw open the door.
The first thing he saw made him sick to his stomach. A girl, pale and almost albino-looking, was hung from her neck from one of the wooden beams across the celling. The rope was slowly cutting into her neck, and blood was pouring from her pertruding vains. She wore a completely sheer white dress, that would have looked almost opaque against her pure white skin, had the skin not been drenched and stained with blood from the knife in her breast.
He clutched his stomach, close to vomitting. The sick sight of this dead girl made him so uneasy and afraid. This couldn't be real. This just couldn't be!
He shook himself, his whole body feeling like jelly. Who had done this? He took slow shaky steps towards the girl. His breathing was quick and uneven. He looked closer at the girl, and almost fainted with shock as he realized the girl's eyes were open. They were so white, they looked exactly like her eyelids. But as he looked closer, red vains speckled the cornea.
Then he came to another horrifying realization. She looked exactly like a pure white Lyda Monroe. He choked clumsily on his breath as he caught it. Carefully he moved closer to the corpse. But with her eyes opened and so white, he couldn't tell with she was alive, or if her eyes were as lifeless and glazed as they looked. He touched her face, but it was stone cold. He pulled away, and looked at his bloodstained hand. It burned his flesh. She was surelly listless.
He looked around, not sure what to do. Should he go to Dumbledore? What had happened? Was this strange girl really Lyda? He turned back towards the door, but the second he did, another girl stood in his way, her face inches from his. The face was so similar to the corpse's, so similar to... Lyda.
He cried aloud, and backed away. He backed all the way up into the hanging corpse, which covered him with blood.
The girl's raven black hair was snarled and long. Her eyes red and burning, and her face flushed rose. Her two incisor teeth were long, jagged and bloodstained. She flashed them as she spoke the words, You're next.