A Well in the DeadLand
By Marz
Chapter 3: Better left Alone
He set the pestle on the counter and listened again. There was another thump in the attic. Severus Snape drew his wand and got up from the bench. He muttered a spell to check the integrity of the house, but it failed. That is to say the spell failed to work in the intended manner. The oil lamps and fires in his potions lab blinked out the moment he tried to focus his magic in the house's defenses.
Another clatter came, this time from the staircase. Snape made no attempt to illuminate the dark corridors of his home. He spent less than two months there every year, but he knew his way around the curses and traps with his eyes closed. He slipped out of the lab. His eyes were drawn to the window at the end of the hall. Though he was on the second floor, he was quite certain he saw someone looking in.
A thump from the attic above him caught his attention and when he looked back the window was empty. He continued on soundlessly, but the stairs were deserted when he turned the corner. He paused and looked out the window. The shady and overgrown garden was free of trespassers. There was another thump from the attic. Against his better judgment he climbed the steps. He turned the door knob without a sound and the hinges did not creak as it swung open, but that did not matter. The intruder was already facing him.
Though he stood with his back to the small attic window, hiding his face with the glare, Snape knew him immediately. The spiky mess of black hair and thick glasses were more then enough to give him away.
"Potter what do you think you are doing here?" His voice nearly shook with rage.
The boy just stood there staring. He was dressed in Gryffindor Quidditch robes of all fool things. Snape waited for the brat to stutter out some lame excuse and ask to see the overly lenient headmaster of Hogwarts School, but the expected response did not come. Instead the boy casually ran his hand through his hair, as if trying to muss it up even further.
Snape's stomach made a funny little jump. He blinked and took a step closer. There was no lightening shaped scar on the boy's forehead. Snape raised his wand.
"Lumos."
Instead of a tiny pin point of light, the resulting flash left him seeing nothing but stars. His fingers burnt and he lost his grip on the wand. He heard it roll away across the floor.
"Having trouble Snivellus?" asked the boy, in a voice far too deep and confident to belong to Harry Potter.
Snape took a shallow breath.
"What's the matter Snivellus? You don't seem happy to see me."
It can not be. It's a trap of some kind. It can not be. Snape pushed the muddling thoughts from his mind. The person behind this was trying to play mind games, he knew that. The problem was that none of his enemies would bother. The Dark Lord had the power to pull this kind of stunt, but he would never stoop to such immature pranks.
"You are not James Potter!" Snape snapped, rubbing at the spots in his eyes.
A bogart possibly, he thought. But he had no great fear of the figure before him, only loathing.
"Of course I'm James Potter. Who else would I be?" the apparition asked.
Snape heard the rustle of fabric as it came towards him. He dropped to his knees, feeling about the cluttered floor for his dropped wand.
"You're not Potter. I was at the funeral, fool. I saw them put Potter and his wife in the ground," Snape growled.
His fingers brushed the wand and he heard to rattle and roll further away across the floor.
"I said I was James Potter. I never said I was alive."
The voice was exactly as he remembered it. Snape scrambled forward and his hand closed over the thin piece of wood. He pointed the wand where he'd last heard it speak.
"Still don't believe I'm me?" the voice came from the other side of the attic.
Snape whirled. The dazzle had faded from his vision, but his eyes watered heavily, blurring the scene before him.
"Feel free to ask questions."
The voice was behind him. He turned again.
"Why don't I get you started?" James asked. "Remember that time in our fifth year at school when Sirius and I hung you upside down from the center scoring ring on the Quidditch pitch? Or the time we hung you upside down over the lake after the O.W.L.s? You certainly spent a lot of fifth year upside down didn't you?"
Snape swallowed. He knew it was trying to provoke him. Whoever or whatever it was, it must have done some research. Or found some photographs. He recalled Peter Pettigrew frequently had a camera with him when he went along on one of Potter's torture sprees.
"Do you remember the time Claudia Quirke asked you on a date to Hogsmead? It took us almost a month to convince her to do that. Sirius practically had to propose to her before she agreed. Worth the effort though. That one actually started you crying. What was it she called you? The most pathetic…"
"Shut up," Snape cut him off. "Any of that could have been learned second hand. I do not care who you are or who put you up to this, but you are going to regret it for the rest of your very short life."
His vision was completely clear then, and he leveled his wand directly in James' face.
"Going to hurt me Severus?" James asked. He side stepped into the light and Snape could see him leering. "You used to daydream about getting back at us. You had quite a few really good ideas. You were going to tie me to a chair and pull out my finger and toenails with pliers, then use a chisel to knock out my teeth. After that it was unforgivable curses. Want to give that a try? Come and get me Snivellus. I promise I won't run away."
Snape's stomach gave another nervous jump. He threatened James Potter with unforgivable curses on a regular basis, but he'd never mentioned a plan to use muggle implements on him. He could be guessing. He had to be guessing. Snape never let his guard down. That thing couldn't have read his thoughts. No one had penetrated the defenses of his mind, not in years, except for…
"Thinking about Harry are you?" James asked.
Snape struggled to keep his face blank.
"He actually felt a bit sorry for you after looking through your memories. Did you know? He even told Sirius off for bullying you. Of course he regrets doing it now. He wishes I never saved your life."
"Does he?" Snape said mildly.
"Yes. He's quite convinced you purposely with held information from him, in an attempt to aid Voldemort. Of course we both know that isn't true. You want the Dark Lord dead more then anyone. Do you think Voldemort knows? Maybe I should go and tell him."
James Potter began walking towards the door.
"Impedimenta!"
Snape intended to trap the entity, but the spell went out of control. Instead of freezing James Potter in the doorway, a shockwave of force burst from the end of the wand. It flung Snape across the attic, slamming him into a stack of old cauldrons.
He sat up and drew a wheezing breath of air. Judging from the light, he could not have been unconscious for more then an hour. Snape crawled shakily to his feet. The pain in his back kept him from straightening all the way up. His ears rang. James Potter was no where to be seen. As he hobbled across the attic towards the stairs he found his wand. The end had blown out, and the dragon-heart core hung out like a bit of frayed string.
As he descended to the second floor, Snape wondered why he had been left alive. As he stumbled off the last step he understood. The little show in the attic had been a ruse. The door of his potions lab hung open and wet foot prints trailed down the hall toward the first floor staircase. Snape paused for a moment to look into the lab. It was completely ransacked. The cabinets were over turned and hundreds of priceless jars and vials of potion had been shattered. The floor was covered in shimmering liquids, and there were holes in some places were the more caustic solutions had eaten through. It would take months to figure out what was taken.
He tracked the foot prints down to the library on the first floor. The shelves had been turned over, but the damage was not nearly so permanent as what was done in the potions lab. Still the thief again had the advantage. It would be days of work before he knew what was missing.
He wanted to apparate to Order headquarters, but as his wand was broken and he was not suicidal, he pushed that thought aside. He considered making a fire call, but as all the magic in his home seemed to have gone out of control, he was in no hurry to dive headfirst into open flames. All that was left was owl post.
"Torrent, come here!"
Snape was not lazy, but the owl slept in the study on the second floor, and Snape did not feel up to more stairs. Five minutes went by. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he climbed the steps. The door of the study was open slightly. Brown feathers were scattered across the carpet. The bird was dropped carelessly on the floor bellow its perch, its neck rung.
A few drops of black ink spattered the bird's chest, and Snape's eyes were drawn to the window. Someone had smeared a message across the glass with their finger.
Your Neck Next