Arg. Too lazy to do authors notes… I apologize for not updating, but I was horribly uninspired. For a time, I was considering not finishing it at, but was bored in science and just started writing J
Have a nice day (and R&R)
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Lost and Found
When Severus returned from the Death Eater meeting that night, he should have gone to the hospital wing, or at least gone to see Albus. But if he had done that, this story might not have come to pass in the same fashion that it did. Instead, he went up to the astronomy tower, to clear his mind, and sort out what was safe to tell Albus, and what was best to keep to himself, for his own safety. He sat down on the ledge of the window and closed his eyes, spelling a bandage over the wound above his eye.
It had been a long meeting, with various plans being made, stories being told, and punishments being given out. The stories were irrelevant; he wouldn't even consider telling them to Albus. They had already happened, and there was no one to save. It was not worth his position to have the Auror's find what was left on the Abbots' even if he knew there was no chance of them being found on there own. The tortures were the same. It was the regular victims (himself included) for the regular minor screw-ups.
The plans however, were a different matter. There was an attack planned for a nearby muggle town. There was also an assassination hit planned for a prominent mudblood Quidditch player. The problem was, he could really only afford to save one. This shouldn't be his decision, but he knew Albus would try to save both, and when he did, the dark lord would become very suspicious.
The yowling cat startled him from his musings. He looked in the shadows until he identified Ms. Norris. He almost dismissed it then, but he then realized that the cat was partly frozen in a body bind. He quickly released the cat and then wonder who had been up here before him. It would have had to have been someone intelligent or they would have just run off instead of stopping the cat. Malfoy possibly? Or a maybe one of the Ravenclaws.
He shrugged, it wasn't important, and whoever it was was long gone now. He sat down of the window, and looked up at the stars. It took a second to realize that the lumpy object he was sitting on was not part of the window sill. He fished the small black book out from underneath him, and looked at it curiously. It was too small for a school book and students rarely left there novels up here. Suddenly he realized it was probably a diary. He went to pitch the useless drivel out the window, but morbid curiosity stayed his hand. He opened the journal, swearing to himself that if the was one word useless romanticism then he would toss it from the roof. However, instead he found himself looking at a poem, written in small non-descript handwriting. He read it once quickly, then again slower.
~
Star-Seeing Night
Nikki, six years old, bundled
In her brother's coat, blinks away
Sleep's slow sedative.
Will we see the moon? She asks
Maybe, if the clouds break soon enough,
They tell her. Aren't you a lucky girl
To see the stars?
But moon and stars to her are mere
Abstractions. She knows about them
As she knows elephants and sailing ships.
Has seen stars in photographs taken
High above the clouds' narcotic quilt
-jewels thrown savagely on black cloth
by some magnificent thief.
Still, she expects the stars will wear
Five neat points, imagines the moon
With a fat nose, like the symbols
Used even to this day on the nursery walls.
Nikki, wake up.
See the stars.
Nikki struggles through muffling,
Layered sleep. Her world of muted days
And cloud reflected city glow at night
Has
vanished. Overhead
the stars hang near,
intense and lapidary, as though
the gem-encrusted fabric of the sky
drooped with their weight.
Wondering, she lifts her hands. Sudden
Hunger makes her fingers curl,
Coveting glory, coveting their fire.
Stars suddenly as real
As the fizz of soda pop, as close
as sparklers on her birthday cake.
Will they be here tomorrow?
No, just tonight.
Aren't you a lucky girl
To see the stars
At least this once?
But luck drains out of Nikki's eyes,
Like starlight through her small,
plump fingers.
They won't be here
Tomorrow?
The loss assaults her. Some birthright
Snatched away before she knew
The heritage was hers. She is angry.
Her voice beats wings
Above the reverent murmur of the crowd.
No! No!
I want them again
Tomorrow.
The stars sing back to her, in
voices incandescent.
It was credited to an 'Alice Major', whom if Severus remembered correctly was a muggle poet. Severus flipped through the book. It was filled with poetry, letters, and personal notes, all written in the same small even lettering. He flipped to the beginning of the book, already having a sneaking suspicion of whose name would be there. He was not surprised. Hermione's name was written in plain bold black letters.
Severus closed the volume gently, and put it back on the ledge. He wouldn't take it back to his rooms, even to satisfy his curiosity. Gryffindor or not, he respected her intelligence more then that, and when she realized it was missing, she would not doubt come up here after it. He rose from the small ledge and walked down the stairs of the tower. The small book was unnoticeable in the pocket of his robe, and he could almost convince himself that he had left it behind.
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More when I get around to it.
Flames used for satanic rituals :-P