Hemlock
by West Dean
AN:This is a short piece that I wrote last year in response to the Snape ABC challenge on the Yahoo Group ARWOW. Word of the day was Hemlock.
It takes place post Half Blood Prince.
ssSSss
The tall lacy fronds of the Hemlock towered above his head. He had been lucky to find the plant growing on a Muggle rubbish heap, so close to the dark Muggle slum that he was now forced to call home. He regarded the grove of plants dispassionately. The stems were the deepest emerald and scarlet that he had ever seen, evidence of their virulence perhaps? Only the Heavens knew what poisons the Muggles had allowed to seep into the earth here – he hoped that the Hemlock would still serve, there was little other choice for him now.
He drew the silver knife from his belt. It was one of the few things that remained to him of his former life – that of a respected Professor at Hogwarts School. He did not feel bitter any more at the choice (choice hah!) that Albus had forced him to make on top of the Astronomy Tower on that fateful summer evening. No, all he felt now was a pervading numbness, a sense that events were moving towards a predestined end that he was powerless to control and that indeed he had been caught in since he had been a Hogwarts student.
The silver blade sliced easily through the hollow stem and the chosen plant fell stiffly to the ground, Snape moving gracefully aside to avoid the stinging hairs. He stooped and cut the heavily seeded head off the plant and gathered it into a cloth bag. He straightened and gave a little sigh. Just for a moment – a precious fleeting moment, he was engaged in an act of normality, harvesting Potion ingredients in the same fashion as he had done for years without counting in the Forbidden Forest.
But there was no escaping reality. He was the second most wanted person after Voldemort in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds. It had been strange to see his face in a Muggle newspaper described as a ruthless terrorist and the feeling of desolation that sometimes crept upon him unaware, had reminded him that there was no return this time to the world that he had dared to call home.
He was walking a knife's edge, nothing different (he had to admit to himself) to the balancing act that he had walked these last twenty years. But he felt the burden more than ever before. The Dark Lord expected so much, the jealousy of the other Death-eaters seethed and then there was Draco and Narcissa, who remained so vulnerable to Voldemort's whims. He could no longer retreat to the solitude of his Dungeons, to curse at the skull and serpent upon his arm.
And then there was the gaping hole that was Albus Dumbledore. Harry Potter had lost his Guardian and had been acting in a manner that reflected his immaturity for the task that had befallen him. Snape had accepted the duty that Albus had laid upon him, though not without vehement complaint, and had been helping Potter to track down the elusive Horcrux's, carefully ensuring that Potter and his little friends had never been aware of his shadowy aid.
He was beginning to wonder if this had been a charge that would be impossible to fulfil. Two days ago Potter had obtained the Ravenclaw Horcrux, but Snape had had to dangerously expose himself. Without his healing charm Hermione Granger would have died where she had been struck down but he could not be sure whether she had been aware that he had been there.
He had retreated once more to Spinners End and busied himself with the preparation of Potion's suitable for the battle that he could feel looming on the horizon. A battle that he now felt sure he would not survive
Snape was disturbed from his reverie by the snap of a twig. He instinctively knew who it would be; the endgame had begun at last.
"Good Evening, Mr Potter."
Fin