Chapter 2: Check
WARNING: This story may contain traces of: spoilers, tortures, memory loss, magical spells, semi-AU after fifth year, swords, powerful spells, badly written but still very awesome duels, rambling author notes and anime references. Engage at your discretion.
THE OTHER WARNING: This author is currently very busy and suffers from severe cases of bad humor. Take the WARNING seriously, just not the author in general.
What am I suppose to do? He is there, right there! I should have known, I should have seen it. That battle at the Department of Mysteries, those magic, I've been such a fool!
You should not worry so Master Fai, he will return to your side. You need not dwell on that.
But I hurt him, I tortured him, I almost killed him. And for what? A chance to confirm that the brother that I have searched for half a century was not who I thought he was?
"You didn't know. You are just confirming what you suspected. You needed to break his glamour. He's a master at trickery. He'll understand.
I promised I would never hurt him. I promised when that twinkling old bastard decided to rip him away from me.
You must trust him Fai, he'll forgive you. He'll listen.
He would know it is me. He would know I am the one that shouted those curses that made waterfalls and swimming pools of his blood.
He'll listen Fai. He'll listen, and when he does, he would be with you again.
Even if he will, he would never forgive me. He would never become what he wanted to be. To be the Half-Blood Prince he always wanted to be.
Willingly at least, Master Fai.
Willingly?
If he won't listen, if he won't forgive. Then at least make him forget.
Forget?
Severus Snape would just be a forgotten memory then.
And Kai would be back.
Yes, then Kai would be home.
Snape closed his eyes, knowing that the pain was going to come. He knew it so well that at first, it hardly affected him. The feeling of needles being pushed into every follicle of his skin, forcing his heart to beat faster and his muscles to spasm, no matter how hard he tried to control them.
He had worked so hard to become immune to the effects of this curse...but he knew the longer he struggled, the harder it would become. Voldemort was determined to make him scream—Snape was determined to make him wait. He would never give in.
The pain became more and more intense. He started to count. He needed to keep some aspect of control. Control had always been his ally—it had allowed him to survive this long.
If he had not been so good at control, he would have broken so many years ago.
One.
One. He had always just been one. The moment it had seemed like he was going to find someone else to share his life with, she had run away from him. The moment he had found someone else to share his life with, he had been fooled and had run away from him. Everyone left him behind. The needles were being pushed in deeper, he had to keep counting.
Two.
How he had always wished for a partner. Someone to rely on. But that dependency had brought him tears—he had become so close to Dumbledore that when the connection had been ripped apart, he had felt something. Pain that was nowhere near to what he was feeling now. Was it worse? Was it better? He wasn't sure. Then again, indecision came with torture. It weakened the will.
He used to have a partner, a twin, an older brother to carry and comfort him when the voices got too much. It was sad really, that the only family he has left would choose power before him. Maybe he just wasn't worth it after all.
Three.
It felt as though the needles were heating up, driving acid and lava through his veins. His heart was pounding faster than he thought it possible; he was gasping as he was unable to get oxygen into his lungs.
Four.
And suddenly he was cold. Unbearably cold. He was shivering, unable to generate heat, hating the fact that the sweat on his forehead was running into his tightly squeezed eyes—and he was unable to wipe it away.
Five.
He slumped to the ground, landing on one of his mangled hands. An explosion of pain which caused him to wince, tears springing to his eyes as he felt the bones crush against the stone floor. He tried to move off his hand, but his body suddenly felt heavy, like a dead weight.
Six.
He wanted to get to ten. He needed to get to ten. He wasn't counting seconds—had it been ten minutes? His mind wasn't sure any more. He was losing the capacity to think. If he lost thinking, he wouldn't be able to control his mouth. And he would not scream.
Even if it killed him, he would not scream.
Seven.
The pain was intense. He drove his teeth into his bottom lip, delighted when blood covered his tongue, as it gave him something else to focus on. The taste of the blood was metallic, stinging his throat—and then there were the needles again. They were more like knives now.
Eight.
His body was floundering. He was holding on but only just. He was drowning, the surface was there, but the more he kicked, the deeper he fell.
Hold on, Severus. Don't you dare give him what he wants. This is not him! This is not him!
Nine.
Reverting to mental stimulation helped.
Think about something. For your sake, just think about something. Anything.
Ten.
His mind was sluggish, slow to react. It didn't want to do what he wanted. Yes, he was thinking, but he was thinking about bad things. Fai's stone faced crying. That was not what he wanted!
Eleven.
He couldn't bear it any longer. His body felt like it was falling apart. He couldn't feel his feet, he was shivering and burning, still and gasping. He was the centre of paradoxes, brought on by this cruel curse and his crueller master. He needed a relief.
For Earth's sake, why won't you kill me? Please kill me! Why can't I die?
Please stop! Why are you doing this! Stop this! Why!
He had lost count. What number was he on? No. He couldn't lost control. He needed control!
Please kill me.
He couldn't remember, he didn't know what number came next, no, he needed to hang on...
Won't you please kill me? I want to die!
I WANT TO DIE!
FAI!
"I'll take it all."
Harry put a comforting hand on top of Hermione's shaking arm. He couldn't help but blame himself. He was an idiot, a stupid little idiot that wouldn't listen to an adult. Hungry for information, even going as far as trusting Lord bloody Voldemort's vision. When had he became so trusting and so gullible?
It was all his fault.
It was his fault that Sirius had died. It was his fault that Professor Snape had to blow his cover and magic to help them escape the pandemonium that was the ministry atrium. It was his help that he couldn't move an inch to help. It was his fault that his tongue wouldn't work to stop the man when he said he would take all of the tortures set out for him and his friends.
It was his fault that the only person in his unchanging life was stuck on the other side of the damp cell. Refusing to scream a song with Voldemort's curses and Bellatrix's high laughter.
The only he could do was to offer a hand to comfort Hermione as she tries to shut out the noise with her shaking hands over her ears. She respected the man and had told Ron and Harry more than once to shut their trap about Snape, it is not everyday you get to meet the youngest Potions Master of a century.
Harry winced as Bellatrix fired off another spout of laughter, he could see Neville fold even more into himself. Desperately trying to stop the memories of his mother and father, eyes empty and moving sluggishly in St Mungo's, all thanks to the two people next door, flinging curses at the professor he never liked.
All three of them wanted this to be over, but all three of them knew this is just the beginning.
With a dull thud, the screams and curses stopped, there were more taunting words and a cheerful see-you-tomorrow from a more than insane mass murderer. There was a fair bit of rattling of rusty chains on even rustier floors, before the stone slab that separated them dissolved.
Harry desperately wanted to see the damage the two star-crossed lovers of torture and murder had inflicted upon his third least liked professor. But there was no way in all of hell and realms beyond that could have prepared him for this.
There was blood god the blood! Blood was everywhere. Dripping down the walls, forming pools around the room, already turning brown and hard to see on the black robes the figure on the ground was wearing. Harry moved closer, bringing the other two with him, until he was close enough to see the potions Master's body and face, before getting the breath knocked out of him.
This is not Severus Snape.
The man, or more like teenager about to step into adulthood, was absolutely nothing like Snape. Harry paid no mind to the two sharp breaths drawn by the two people that unfortunately got tangled into this mess along with him. Where the hell is Snape?
The boy – man – teenager – in Snape's customary and blood stained robes looked around the age of the Auror Nymphadora Tonks. Paper white skin that almost glowed against the darkness of the cell, illuminating the crimson stains that painted the walls.
Long fingered hand no longer stained with residue potions. Gone the harsh lines and sallow skin and the kanky greasy hair the dungeon bat was so famous for. There is a delicate pattern of intricate purple and blue shadows that made half-moon masks over his eyes, water marks on paper. His hair was long, pulled back into a high ponytail with a black ribbon with thick bangs that fell into his eyes and the rest up to his waist, tainted scarlet by the week torches light and pooling blood.
His face is handsome, better looking than even Tom Riddle in his youth and just as dark. Thinner than death on a diet. "Professor? Professor Snape," Harry croaked. This cannot be Snape, he refused to believe this is Snape, this has to be another one of those mind trick Voldemort is so found of! "Professor?" He called again.
He stirred, disturbing the chains and the blood pools and cracking open his eyes, it was open no bigger than slits, but it was enough for Harry. They were black, cold black eyes that could be found on where else but on the Potions Master, black eyes he had stared defiantly up more than he could count, more than he could remember actually.
The same pair of eyes that narrowed in fury, in annoyance. Widened in disbelief, in shock. Broken is silent screams and unspoken agony. Soft in amusement, in content. Forever cold in indifference, in death.
Harry still refused to believe this is Snape, how could one change so much in so little time? Those eyes are like black tunnels, never ending, daring anyone to see through them and step foot on the other side. Snape twitched his hand, as if wanting for them to take it, actually wanting to give them an explanation.
With just a small amount of hesitation, all three of them inserted their grimy, tear stained and shaking hands into Snape's long fingered one. There was a small hiss of magic that spawn through the room.
And all four of them succumbed to unconsciousness.
A/N: The plot, if there is any here, thickens. Reference to Snape's new appearance could be noted as Shin Hyuga Shiang.
I actually do have a Snape fighting Voldemort thing from last chapter and another Don't Move hostage thing as well. But not posting it because 1) Too difficult to write and 2)it kind of makes you wondering what happened and what might have happened. I am updating a lot, our school has good computers. This should be the last one in a while.
Updates will be irregular. I plan to finish this story within the year.
Review, favorite and follow please. Please!