Three in the morning - Agnes' happy hour. Smoke polluted her quarters into a foggy haze. Beatrice had long gone retreated under Agnes' bed. She could feel the negative tension that currently plagued her master. It was best to leave her to herself.
Long lost words whisper slowly... to me.
Cigarette half way gone, Agnes took another drag from the stick's orange filter. The cherry blazed to life. The carbon monoxide gladly invaded the smoker's bronchial tubes. The said airways spasmed from the irritation. The tobacco's tar clunh to their walls - an inanimate parasite. The light from the subtle flame was the only source for any illumination in the room. Agnes' face remained the expressionless slate the witch had learned to master so well. Never once had it betrayed her - betrayed the turmoil that always followed her. Always.
Still... I can't.
With another drag from the muggle made cigarette, Agnes' body was overcome by a fit of coughing spasms. The carbon smoke tingled and, simultaneously, numbed her lung sacks. Her bronchial tubes constricted; tightening. She clutched her chest over her heart as the attack ceased.
Still can't find what keeps me here.
The revelations of only hours ago returned. Severus, young Severus, reading a book under one of the trees in the courtyard. He looked so peaceful, yet... troubled; tormented. Always, there was that cautious glance over his shoulder as if waiting to be ambushed.
Severus, young Severus, walking through Hogwart's halls on his way to his classes. Again, always with that cautious glance.
Severus. Always with her - seeking her. With her flamboyant, more jovial, shade of hair. With her talkative attitude and always generous smile. With her talents - never mind being muggle-born. With her green eyes. Green eyes that would always outshine Agnes' chocolate; red hair that would always outshine Agnes' chestnut. Straight hair that was always tamer than kinked waves. The face that had, and still does in memory, captivated Severus like the snake (or Snape) charmer she really was. Severus was oblivious; thinking he could win her.
When all this time I've felt so hollow... inside.
A Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Ha! That'll be the day. One not likely.
Yet, I know you're still there.
He still cared for her. Still yearned for her. Still worshipped her. Still loved her.
Ha! Love. More appropriate was lust. With her fair skin, green eyes, and flaming red hair, who wouldn't? That Potter boy sure was no exception. They married... but now they were dead. Both of them were dead.
Haunting me...
Severus. How he always sought after her. Agnes was always watching. She watched countless times when Lily had broken his heart.
Fearing you.
She had no right! She knew what she was doing. Probably telling herself she let him down easy to rid herself of guilt. All lies to boost her fragile little ego. The way Severus was put through so much pain by one woman; one witch - if she could call herself that. The numerous times Severus had ran to the darkest corners of the dungeons. He had cried believing no one would see him.
Loving you.
Agnes remembered the day the Dark Lord had murdered the Potters. She remembered going after Severus to try and prevent him from seeing her - Lily Evans Potter - fearing for Severus' own life.
Hunting you, I can smell you - alive.
She had been too late. At least, in keeping him from Lily. She watched from outside of one of the Potters' house windows. She watched Severus cradle her limp body. She watched him cry to any God to why it had to be her. She watched him cry those tears he had long shed, (almost) alone in the dungeons. All for one witch.
Agnes had clutched her heart for his pain. She could relate to his every emotion. Emotions Severus had unknowingly caused herself.
Your heart pounding in my head.
Avada Kadavra. The killings curse. Her parents face burned into her mind. Avada Kadavra. They themselves made her who she was. They were taken from her by the will of the Dark Lord.
Fearing you.
Loathing you.
Agnes stared at her dominant hand - her left hand; her wand holding hand. She cursed her magical ability. She was almost done with yet another muggle made cigarette. The Dark Lord's smiling face emerged from her mind's darkest contours.
I won't let you pull me down.
Agnes rolled her left sleeve to her elbow and stared down at her pale, alabaster skin. Slowly, as if experimenting, she brought down her right hand. The remnants of the muggle made cigarette's cherry burned into and through her skin. She held it there.
She hissed from the pain. She hissed from the pleasure. The pleasure that she herself was giving her her own punishment.
After all, she deserved this.
Another chapter into the twisted mind of Agnes Blackwood, yet she has many, many secrets. This was honestly just a filler chapter, but it is needed for later in the story; even for the nect chapter. I will be working on the next chapter immediately after posting this.
Most of the italics in this chapter are lyrics from Haunted by Evanescence. I kept hearing the song in my head play over and over while I was writing this. Just a little disclaimer for copyright purposes and whatnot.
~ DJ-Kyoto