Why would I write such a weird quid pro quo? I got to thinking about Karkaroff's constant tugging at his goatee when nervous and his yellowed teeth, and decided that he sounded like a smoker. Given his precarious situation, such a confrontation would be begging to happen if he did smoke.
What are the festivities supposedly going on? I haven't quite clarified this as I couldn't think of anything off the bat that sounded like it fit well, and decided that it was unimportant and would do little to further the story line anyway. But if the ambiguity bothers anybody just let me know and I'll try to write something in that sounds plausible. And if you have a complaint about anything else in general, feel free to speak up. I really don't mind criticism, even if it's harsh.
Oh yea, and for the record I do not own any rights to the characters Igor Karkaroff or Severus Snape. I did think up this situation and write this story, but I'm not affiliated with Rowling or Bloomsbury Press or any of those people that actually do own these characters.
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Igor Karkaroff attempted to endure the night's festivities and perhaps enjoy the meal that had been set before him. But no matter how he tried, his thoughts kept returning to the burning emblem on his forearm, and to those that would have him killed. While striving not to clutch at it, his delicate hands inadvertently flew up towards his mouth. Finding nothing there, they were swiftly relegated to twisting themselves around his goatee. He continued pulling at the hairs absentmindedly until, at great length, he noticed what he was doing. He was half-aware that it was a recurring nervous tick, and was perhaps aware that it was what his hands did to keep themselves busy when they didn't have his oral fixation to tend to. Rising, he forced an icy smile towards his hosts, and excused himself for a breath of fresh air.
Severus Snape sighed inwardly as he noticed Karkaroff excusing himself, presumably so he could go outside and light up. Maybe it wasn't apparent to anybody else in the room why he was going out – or, hell, maybe it was. But certainly nobody else could have known just how long the man had been a slave to that habit. Hardly anybody here even knew him when he first took it up. Much less the reason why. The nightmares that drove him to it. Snape couldn't even begin to count how many times he had implored him to quit smoking, nerves or no nerves. Yet something inside him resolved that he would try at least once more. He waited a moment, then likewise excused himself and made for the door.
He found Karkaroff not far from the door with his back turned to him. He was leaning on his elbows over the columnous, four-foot wall which lined the precipice along the outside the building. He was shaking miserably and was sucking at a cigarette slowly, as though it was an elixir from which he was taking draughts. He was swaying ever-so-slightly from side to side in his efforts to calm himself. Perhaps he was forcing himself to dwell on other things. As of yet, the moonlight had found no convincing way to differentiate between the silvery furs drawn up around the man's frame, and the snow-white hairs that framed his face.
Snape paused a moment to weigh the virtues of tact versus the effect of being blunt. With a shrug he stepped up, announced his presence by clearing his throat, and decided to be as direct as possible. "They're going to kill you, you know."
Karkaroff's fingers twitched and he gulped in the remainder of his inhale all too quickly, almost choking on it. Once he found his bearings and got over the initial shock, he entered into an extremely slow turn, as though any sudden movements would illicit out a hidden predator. When he finally spoke, it was barely a whisper, and his lips hardly moved. "What did you say?"
Snape inclined his head toward Karkaroff's fingers, and to that which they held.
"Igor, they're going to kill you. Eventually, it will all catch up with you."
Karkaroff's pale blue eyes flitted over Snape's face, searching it for some betrayal of his thoughts. "What are you doing? Why are you telling me this?" He inadvertently glanced over his shoulder before staring back into Snape's inky gaze.
"Oh, everybody knows it, although some of the movers and shakers are still denying it. But it's obvious that even they are fully aware of what's going on."
"Surely you're not just telling me this so you can watch me writhe; you have advice for me? Just what do you suggest I do?"
"There's no hiding from this. The only thing you can do is quit."
Karkaroff was puffing away frantically at his cigarette now. "I did! I swear!"
As Snape eyed the image of Karkaroff standing there puffing away, juxtaposed with his claiming to have quit, he just had to roll his eyes. "Yea, right. I'm not kidding about this, you know."
"I quit years ago! Truly!"
"Sure. You're in complete control. You just feel like you have to calm your nerves from time-to-time. Is that how you hide from yourself? How you turn a blind-eye to reality?"
"Okay, I will admit that I do feel like there have been things set in motion that are well beyond my control…" Igor fidgeted in place, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Naturally. There's absolutely no telling whether or not you've passed the point-of-no-return. No telling, that is, until you wind up dead. It is possible that you've already passed it, and nothing you can do now will help. But there's no harm in playing it safe just in case you haven't." Igor stared straight past Snape's black curtain of hair, horrorstricken. He looked morbidly convinced that he had indeed passed that aforementioned point. Taking his silence as a gesture to continue, Snape elaborated further. "First they'll target your lungs, and from there move on to your blood. It won't be fast or painless, oh no, you can be sure about that."
"And you… how would you have come to know all these details?"
"Like I said, everybody knows. And I mean everybody. There was even an article in the paper last week. In fact, I'm genuinely surprised that you haven't already heard this."
Karkaroff moved closer to Snape, reaching out for his black-robed shoulders. "Look, surely you can do something! What should I do? What can I do?"
Snape stared at Karkaroff, his mouth agape for a fleeting moment. He fought the urge to hit Karkaroff for not realizing the most obvious solution. Maybe he was just too weak to initiate it himself. "You're serious? For crying out loud, you are making it so hard for me to tell if you're being serious or if you're just being facetious. If you weren't making that face as though you've just had your guts torn out, I'd be very much inclined to believe the latter. You want me to do something? You seriously want me to take the initiative for you?" Snape plucked the cigarette out from between Karkaroff's lips, threw it to the ground, and stomped it out. Being finished and absolutely fed up with the insanity at hand, he then spun about and cantered briskly back towards the door.
"Hey! What the?" Karkaroff moved to protest, but ultimately ended up standing there, leaning against the wall and staring vapidly at the departing figure in disbelief. He inspected the defeated cigarette for a moment before deciding that it was indeed ruined, at which point he discarded it. Then, producing another from his breast pocket, he promptly set it between his lips and set off after Snape, struggling with his wand to light it as he ran.