XXV
Severus uncorked a bottle. Inside of it lied a lumpy liquid which was tan in color. He gently placed a few sand colored hairs into it. Grimacing, he drank the bottle. It tasted revolting; it highly resembled the taste of molded cheese. After drinking it, he fell to the floor. On his hands and knees he began to gag, but he never retched. He crawled across the floor and grudgingly placed a few corked tubes into his long, black cloak, which was on a hanger next to the pearl colored vanity.
Polyjuice Potion was never something that quite agreed with Severus. He forced himself up, only to collapse onto the old, porcelain toilet's seat of a toilet which no longer worked properly. The half lavatory was tiny in stature. It was a wonder that he could move around as much as he had in it. The walls were painted with scenes of the sea, storming in a tempest of disastrous proportions.
Once he gained his physical proficiency, he went over to splash his face with handfuls of cold water. He let the water run as he looked up at himself to see what he now looked like. He starred into the only mirror in the bathroom. It was cracked across the middle. His face was lightly tanned, and his hair was now short and sandy in color. He had a small nose and honey colored eyes. There were scars across his cheeks and a few fine lines across his forehead. He wasn't all too fond of his new appearance, but it was fitting for what he was about to do. He pulled on his navy suspenders over his white long sleeved shirt, creating a sort of ragged, disgruntled farmer look. Putting on his cloak, he exited the lavatory.
In what he assumed to be the living room, was a gathering of mostly, Death Eaters. Only a few non-Death Eaters were allowed to join in on the raid, which Severus had hoped would have eventually been cancelled because of some new development, but, as usual, he hasn't gotten something he so dearly wished for.
Severus needn't have had to move his head the slightest to know that Lucius Malfoy was striding across the ivory floor, his head held up like the king of kings and his wife, not quite as arrogantly ostentatious as he, on his arm. He let go of her when they reached the front of the crowd. He climbed up to steps on the red carpeted, curved and overly large, albeit impressive stairwell.
A crystalline glass of burgundy wine was brought to him by a whimpering, young house-elf with tennis balls sized, chartreuse eyes. Severus vaguely remembered the house elf working at Hogwarts for the several years of his life…but the house-elf seemed more important to him now that he had begun to analyze its all too familiar features. He would have to keep an eye on it; he was sure he would.
Lucius raised the glass of wine in the air. "Tonight we raid!" he announced loudly over the garish gossiping of the cloaked figures. A hush fell over the room: One by one, each member turned to face the leader. Then, starting with one overly excited person the crowd roared in cheer—already expecting success, they were.
"We will leave within ten minutes. By then I want you all to be more than prepared." Lucius looked around the room carefully, a bead of sweat trailed down his neck: The Dark Lord wasn't there, and he wasn't sure if he would be.
Lucius explained as much as he could of the plan that Snape and he had mostly prepared, but everyone was too absentmindedly going through their various, separate schemes.
At a certain point, it grew too much for Severus. Using whatever grand authority he could muster at his young age, he marched onto the stairwell and faced everyone, his stare intimidating, his face stony, and his mouth radiating with indignation. He stood; his back straight and his arms crossed as they usually were.
"Quiet," he said in an almost whispered. Aweingly, the Death Eaters stood completely still, dread encompassing them, trepidation creeping slowly, but most of all; inquisitions filled their heads about who this person, which silenced them in a single half-whisper, could be. Even in this other person's being, he had the quality which made him so authoritive.
Severus instructed them out of pure instinct—nothing more. It was in his nature, programmed inside of him irreversibly. Much like in his years as a teacher, the people standing before him listen attentively because they felt compelled to do such a thing.
He so desperately wanted to look away from the faces of the people, if he could call them such a thing, which stood before him. Their damaged souls were clearly visible. There was a dimension to their faces of unmistakable tarnish. But he began to speak, and as he did, he felt more in place than ever. He felt like he belonged there, lurking in the darkness. A murderer, a broken man, a man who forgot about emotion other than pain; he found the part of himself that he had let go of so long ago.
"Tonight we kill." His voice was unnatural: There was a devilish quality to it. "The town of Shillings, which is infested with…" he paused, and swallowed deeply, "Mudbloods—which are unworthy of the lives and the magic they hold.
"Kill them in whichever way you want to, but be warned, you must not take hours and torturous days to complete the task. If you do such a thing, it will heighten the probability that you will eventually be imprisoned in Azkaban.
"The Dark Lord is very much looking forward to…pleasing results. We have given you a synopsis earlier. If you have forgotten it, do whatever you will, the Mudbloods will die anyway.
"There. Must. Be. No. Survivors."
They cheered at his cynical and precautionary speech.
The clock hand struck midnight. A low ringing reverberated through the large hall. One by one, the Death Eaters apparated away.
He prepared himself to apparate, but was stopped by a hand colder than ice. "Severus," a voice hissed out. The feeling of revulsion came to him once more. "Have you created the potion?" asked Voldemort.
Severus reached into the cloak's pocket and pulled out a phial. "Yes my Lord. It is ready to…test. I hope I do not disappoint."
In his peripheral vision, he could see Voldemort grin maniacally before walked away, his long, dark green robes slithering behind him. With a feeling of disgust, Severus apparated away. He felt as if he were falling through an impossibly thin vortex.
He landed on his two feet without falling to the cold, ice covered marsh. He carefully placed each step in order to not slip. He was the only human within the marsh. The marsh itself was full of life, but only with the lives of the plants and creatures which could withstand the February cold. It wasn't very much of a marsh, for there were no shrubs or plants which could hide him from the world. Yet he approached, unnoticed by a single member of the small town of Shillings.
At the top of a hill he could see the roofs of the dwarf-like houses and their roofs puffing with thick, grey smoke. The town's center had a ground of crystalline stones which shone in the moonlight and a fountain, whose water was magically frozen in midstream. The town greatly resembled a village in a fictitious novel. The people of the town were idly sleeping in their houses, unaware of the dangers that were in store for them.
Ruefully, he climbed down the hill and took his post. The Death Eaters were not visible to him, yet he knew where each one was at that very moment. He took a gold pocket watch from the pocket in his cloak to check the time. He quickly closed it.
Precisely three bursts of green magic filled the sky followed by five eights of a burst of red in the sky. The seconds passed and nothing happened. In the distance a mockingbird sang a maddening song, but when it stopped the sounds of burning wood, crinkling as it smoldered filled the town. And slowly one by one, he saw the Death Eaters on brooms in the sky, casting an array of Dark Spells over the town, till finally it happened; the middle of town unhinged itself in a mass explosion of crimson fire and blackened shrapnel.
There were screams as the people of the town ran out of their houses to see what was going on. He ran in a near gallop to the center of the town. His wand was at ready, he casted Sectumsempra wordlessly along the way to a destination he was not yet sure of. It was strange to him that they did not fight back. He felt bedeviled by the ease of which he hurt the poor souls.
There were corpses on the ground, woman and men, children and elderly, pregnant females and babies only a few days old, all on the ground, their blood seeping into the cracks of the once beautiful chiseled stone pathways. He continued to cause damage, but he never killed. Around him, there were the Death Eaters who killed, and those like him, who only damaged people because of the morals that they still had within them.
He was taken as a lurid beast by the victims he drew blood from. Most looked at him in awe, for they say this blond man as a harmless farmer, until they collapsed to the ground, clutching the spot which bled the most. At one point he gave up, his energy no longer with him. He did not know what came over him, but he knew he could no longer do what he was doing.
At the corner of an unburned building he observed the raid. The murderers would smile and laugh, almost joyously it sounded, but it wasn't true joy for he very well knew that it was the highest form of insanity. People would collapse at his feet and ask of him only one thing: To let them live another day. But he would kick them off, and he would look away, wishing that he were no longer in that body. Tears stained his face, but the people around him saw it as the grimy sweat a killer could only produce. He drank another Polyjuice Potion eventually so he could keep his cover. The aurors were not there and he was not sure of what he could do.
He winced as the shrieks became less shrill and as more and more people lost hope and bravery. They became more than willing to die. To them, it was a final plea: "Kill me now". He was a mindless human—a human with no bounds of good and bad and a human who forgot the reason why he was living. At that moment, he became someone else, neither the person he truly was on the inside, nor the person he stole the form of, nor a person you could call human.
He stepped over the piles of bodies, wood and glass, all of it crunching beneath his feet as his cloak billowed behind him, the edges of it either singed or burning with bright yellow flames. His black army style boots were covered in blood, causing them to leave red footprints wherever there was a clear spot of ground. He cast harmful spells and pushed people away from him.
He made it to the outskirts of the town, where most of the fight was going on. Nearly all were villagers were dead, but there were few who fought with the strength that they didn't have. The wind began to howl, his hood fell off of his head. The Polyjuice Potion stopped working. He was himself once more, his right cheek having a large cut running down it, blood draining into his cloak and onto his torso.
A girl, no less than six years old crawled to his feet, tears streaming down her face. She had dark chocolate colored hair; it was all he could see of her head, for she kept her face down. She was wearing a dainty pink nightgown. She crawled with her two back legs and one arm; for she was holding a white teddy bear in her other hand.
She looked up at him, her face covered in dirt and tears wetting her face. She had a small nose, and sugarplum-like cheeks. Her eyes were tightly closed. She sniffled a bit before feeling up his legs and then sitting on her bottom. "Help me find my mummy," she said through her tears, in her slightly high, childish voice. She opened her eyes. They were the dullest shade of brown that could have ever been made. But there was something in them—something that made his true self awaken once more. He saw Lily in them.
"Why don't you just kill the girl!" shouted a crazed Bellatrix. She cackled and proceeded to cast a spell at the girl. He couldn't react fast enough. The girl chocked out blood once the spell hit her. The battle was over. No one was left.
The village was in ruins; the buildings were collapsed the corpses were left to rot, for none of the Death Eaters would care to dispose of them properly. In years to come, Severus was sure that no one would frequent the village and that no one would bother to repair something that was completely obliterated.
He looked up to see a large shard of glass—larger than his own body—standing a meter away from him. He saw the reflection of the disastrously proportioned massacre, but more impactingly, he saw himself, covered in blood, resembling a blood lusting maniac, with a girl whose life was fleeting, at his feet. He broke: The reflective glass broke along with him into millions of pieces, which blew away with the wind, passed him, never to return to that exact spot ever again. It was a fate worse than death, his life at that moment. He took the girl in his arms and apparated away, the Death Eaters not bothering to look at him as he did so.
How he ended up at Hagrid's rustic hut, he didn't know; how he got through the infinite wards Dumbledore had set up to protect the castle, he didn't know—but he thanked God a thousand times over that he defied the blasted protections, and defied the laws of apparition. He made it to the door of the hut, staggering his steps as he walked to it. He knocked on the door weakly; for he could muster know strength. His legs buckled and then he collapsed, the girl falling on top of him. He felt her breathe against him. He muttered an ancient spell in a runic language. A pale blue, sparkling light came, and he healed the girl instantly.
The door opened, Hagrid came out and his shriek pierced through the howling wind of the night. Severus looked up at him to see his lips moving, but he could hear nothing. It was strange to him how that despite the fact that it was hours into the night, Hagrid was wearing his old olive colored shirt and his brown work pants, and completed the look with a large fur coat. Severus smiled as he saw the red flames of the fire Hagrid had always kept. Severus thought of Lily, and for a moment, he felt innocent, like nothing had happened, just like he knew Lily had always felt. And suddenly, he was sure that it was the end of the line here, at this very spot. But he didn't want to die, curled up onto the floor, clutching the girl he had just saved. He felt lifeless and husked. He wanted nothing more than Lily to be there to greet him with a cup of warm tea and the loving grip she had when she held him.
He looked at the trees as they swayed with the wind. He felt the warmth from the small child he clutched onto. There was the feeling of his love for Lily, beating in his heart, bleeding in his veins, fueling his soul. His eyes began to flutter shut as he inhaled a deep breath. He swore that he saw people running toward him, screaming things he could barely hear. Then there was Lily, screaming and crying as soon as she saw him on the floor, bleeding from the cuts he thought he didn't have. He whispered an apology, "I'm sorry I failed," but it went unheard.
Lily knelt beside him, clutching him, wailing more sorrowfully than a banshee, who had to announce yet another coming death. He forced his eyes to stay open. Lily moved the child off of him. She felt her hearts slowly splintering. "Don't die," she yelled, and when she realized it was useless to scream such things, she laid down to the side of him and breathed in whatever was remaining of his sweet scent, trying to ignore the scent of blood which was so pungent on him. She kissed him passionately. It was a kiss that should have been accompanied by hours of loving and caressing in the middle of a magnificent night with the moonlight shining down on their skin as they claimed each other as their own. He tried to kiss her back, but could only manage to give her a modicum of the love he felt for her through that kiss. He stroked her cheek lightly, the blood on his hands sullying her perfect porcelain-like skin.
"I love you," she whispered to him. He couldn't hear her, but he didn't need to hear her to know what she was saying.
"I love you too," he managed to choke out. "Live happily, for me."
The world turned cold and black. He welcomed the morbid things that were to come. Through the frosty oasis that he was in, he felt his heart beating harder than ever before, warming him from his core, but failing to make him feel the heat he was accustomed to. His chest was sweltering. He had never felt a more profoundly sublime thing. For a moment, he thought he was dying. A moment later, he was sure that he was dead.
A/N: I can't leave it there, can I? I'm updating Wednesday. I cried while writing this. And no, I cannot tell you if it is or is not really over. Wednesday will tell you. Maybe if I get enough reviews and or follows, I will update sooner…hmmm….
I have no beta, yet. Help me find one, please?