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Professor Severus Snape's Fan-Fiction: "A Flower and a Snake-10-12": DiSnape | Ïðîôåññîð Ñåâåðóñ Ñíåéï â ïîâåñòè "Çìåÿ, îáâèâøèñü âêðóã öâåòêà..." – DiSnape
DiSnaper: Everything besides further plot development belongs
to JK Rowling and Reive.
"Signora?.. " said a gentle voice beside her, "Por favor—?"
Fleur slowly focused back on the reality. She followed the Snapes with
thoughtful glance and only with some difficulty finally understood that the
young man standing next to her table and holding the back of the chair was
addressing her. And in Spanish, for Merlin's sake!
He looked bright and attractive. Tall, in his late twenties, with friendly
blue eyes, thick blond hair and suntanned skin, he seemed to be her own
reflection in the mirror, only if she were a man, a Muggle and a little
older (though Fleur looked rather pale after Scotland). He, on the contrary,
looked happy, relaxed and eager to make her acquaintance. A tourist from
Northern Europe—a Dane or a Swede. Fleur remained silent for a little longer
than usual civility would allow, and the young man's smile somewhat faded,
giving way to doubt, because Fleur kept looking at him dimly, while her
thoughts were still wondering somewhere far away. Strangely, she was
recalling the last night of her confinement in Beinn Mheadhonah: here, now,
in the sun-lit Florentine square. Oh, but she had really become a dark
creature! Still Fleur decided to toy with this pretty Muggle-boy on her
last free evening, before the tight schedule of the Conference and any
further events, which promised to be obscure.
"Buonasera, senor," finally said Fleur, smiling her almost best
at the Swede.
"Permettere… errr… scusatemi…" stumbled he, suddenly not
quite sure if he was trying to approach the right girl.
"No, Swede, positively, he is a Swede," decided Fleur and said:
"Jag talar nagot svenska, aber…maybe it will be easier for both
of us to speak English?"
"Yes!" gladly agreed the Swede. "Let's speak English. May I join you for
a coffee?"
"No," answered Fleur calmly. The Swede was positively taken aback.
"Not for a coffee," continued Fleur nonchalantly, "I've had five already".
"Oh…" for the second time now the poor Swede was showing traces of
hesitation, but Fleur was not going to give him easy time and stared at him
with open curiosity.
"So—what's your name, my fair prince?" asked Fleur, making the Swede
blush.
To hide his embarrassment, he finally forced himself to move the cafe chair
aside from the table and sit down.
"How… how did you know I was a Swede?" he asked, while Fleur gestured
for the waiter.
"Oh, just guesswork," answered Fleur, ordering herself some
antipasti and secretly admiring the young man's steel-grey suit and
expensive soft pearly shirt, which emphasised his suntan. He was tastefully
dressed, and she once again admitted to herself that if she were a young
Muggle gentleman vacationing in Florence, she would wear the same colours
and the same fabrics. In fact, the colour spectrum she wore right now was
quite close.
"And you are...?" asked "Adonis". Oh, great, she will call him Adonis.
"You are English, aren't you?"
"Close," laughed Fleur, flattered, "just from across the Channel,
Adonis. "
"Oh, I'm sorry, miss…" bethought the young Swede, "But my name is—"
"O no," cut short Fleur, "you are late. For the time being, you'll be
Adonis for me."
"You are frightening me," Adonis laughed, even more perplexed than
before, "and how should I call you?"
"You may call me Veela," answered Fleur to her own amazement.
"Veela?" Adonis was ready to express his astonishment at the
strange name, but knew better than ask. "OK then. Veela, I'm Adonis.
Adonis," he stood up, clasped his hand to his bosom and slightly bowed,
"this is Veela." He took Fleur's hand and kissed it with exquisite
gallantry.
He was funny in some other, non-magic way, and Fleur felt interested. Some
people said that Muggles could be as good as wizards, but Fleur found it
difficult to believe. How could that be true? Even all the endless wizarding
tricks often seemed to her monotonous and wearisome—silly wand-waving,
outdated incantations, odd clothing… What new could Muggles possibly
suggest?
But Fleur knew precisely what she wanted to do.
After they had their beautiful lunch, Adonis swiftly took the bill. Fleur
appreciated this, because it proved that they were playing their roles
right. They walked a little, and Fleur enjoyed being a cicerone and a guide
for this earnest Viking. He was a fount of fundamentally opposite interests,
like Muggle sports, traveling on foot with strange ugly packs over the
shoulders, sporting boats, computing devices, and moving Muggle pictures for
mass viewing. Fleur scarcely knew anything about all these new things, but
she felt free to ask her new acquaintance, because nothing could stop her
from using Obliviate on him in the end. Her head was so delightfully
light and free from the conventionalities of the wizarding world. What did
Snape say about "dubious depths of wizarding ethics"? Damn him, she was not
going to think of him now! Voldemort and Snape seemed to her the two
impersonations of darkness itself; they were completely out of tune with
this sunny day and her new radiant companion. She was going to enjoy the
light for as long as it was possible.
Adonis was staying at Soggiorno Antica Torre
hotel at the same Piazza Signoria where Fleur lived, and for that reason he
had time to spot her in the cafe. It seemed only natural that in the evening
Adonis asked her to come in for a night-cap, cheerfully citing his Hotel
flyer, which promised that all the rooms were furnished with antiques
pieces, some even from the Medici-Riccardi Palace, the city residence of
Cosimo dei Medici.
"I just thought that you were the right girl to add some sophistication
to my stay in Florence," said Adonis earnestly, amusing Fleur with his
sincerity even more, "I've been working for this holiday for two years, and,
see, I made it—an expensive hotel in Centro Storico, one of the
best suites they have… and, finally, you," at this he smiled disarmingly.
"Why, I can't believe that such a good-looking and easy-going
(Fleur hated both descriptions utterly!) person like you should set
off for—a girls' quest, for Merlin's sake!"
"Merlin?" repeated Adonis, "Why Merlin?"
"Oh, this is just a fancy name to use. You see… I'm an agnostic," Fleur
was quick to invent a plausible explanation.
"But… do you at least believe in—life's pleasures?" asked Adonis,
braving a meaningful look into her eyes.
Fleur forced herself to refrain from irony:
"Maybe you will…" she lingered, "preach the basics of this belief to me?.."
After all, she was only twenty years old, and she had never been
properly in love yet to know anything about it, save for the fact that she
was preposterously innocent.
The Conference was bliss. Fleur was born to communicate in situations
requiring complete absence of sincerity. The panels and papers varied from
the plenary meeting on—surprisingly timely—Wizarding Ethics and to the
International Wizarding Cooperation Pact, where she even took part in the
discussion on the self-governing Warlocks' District of Alsace, Lorraine and
Ruhr. Her father's pedigree originated from there. She was so deeply
involved in the discussion of the attempts aimed at setting off an
expedition to the local Zaubererdorf chieftain Herr Bergwergast that she
nearly missed the paper delivered by Professor Snape in the Science Panel.
She started following him, watching his activities closely, trying to make
it seem casual.
That morning Fleur finally met Headmaster Dumbledore, and nervous as she
was about his suspicions, she was really glad to encounter the great wizard,
whose very mistakes had always proven to be direct hits. Dumbledore was
eager to introduce her to the Snapes, and Fleur had to pull herself
together to fulfil the agreement not to show any trace of the previous
events. However as Snape accompanied by his wife and their son entered the
opposite entrance of the vast Conference hall where she was talking with
Dumbledore, she was urgently dragged away to the far end of the hall by a
German acquaintance from Durmstrang, boiling up with the ideas to found the
"Champion's League for Peaceful Coexistence". The worthy alumnus brandished
in the air the list of some twenty living Champions of the Tri-Wizard
Tournaments, their whereabouts, present occupations and similar data, and
Fleur tried hard to concentrate on the subject.
Nevertheless, even talking with the Durmstrangian, she couldn't help
glancing at the Snapes, now deeply involved in conversation with Dumbledore.
At some point Dumbledore half bowed in Fleur's direction and sent her a
distant smile, Snape turned with ill-concealed reluctance and presented her
with a freezing scowl and a curling upper lip, which only a very inattentive
watcher would take as a friendly expression. Fleur smiled as charmingly as
she could, bowed her head and even gave a wave to the group, wondering for
how long she was destined to smile and wave at Snape, spared from the ordeal
of meeting his family under Dumbledore's ever-penetrating look. In fact,
Fleur wasn't feeling good since the previous evening.
All went wrong with poor Adonis and their affair. She couldn't make herself
touch him. His very first attempt to come closer to her and stretch a hand
to touch her cheek gave her shivers of disgust, which she tried to shake off
by rushing into his arms with exaggerated eagerness and shining eyes,
piercing nails and biting teeth. That didn't do any good at all. Even if
Adonis wasn't frightened, he was shocked. But though he was visibly able and
eager to convert this shock into straightforward action Fleur was close to
sickness. She let go of him and collapsed to the carpet, shuddering not only
from disgust but also from weakness. As Adonis, astonished as one could be
by such a swift change, rushed to her to offer help and consolation, it
became clear to Fleur that something was basically wrong with her—organically
wrong, if she could read her body correctly. Looking at Adonis, she shook
her head, reached for her purse and retrieved the wand. She aimed the wand
to perform the Obliviate curse on him, but the earnest Swede, now
thoroughly confused by her strange conduct, dashed out of the room, calling
for medical help, and Fleur didn't dare strike him from behind. Dark
sorceress (as she thought of herself now), she still couldn't get rid of the
habits acquired during her noble upbringing and still couldn't attack
anybody—even a Muggle—without looking him in the face. When Adonis had left,
Fleur hastily made off, cursing herself bitterly for clumsy attempts to
solve her problems using improvised means.
The matter was that having been warned with words, "You are the only woman
among the Death Eaters, and you'll have to bear a lot," Fleur suspected that
to become a woman at her own free will could save her some ugliness of the
ordeal that was awaiting her. But something stopped her—something
uncontrollable. Was it Adonis?.. She was not aroused even in the slightest,
but it was not that. She was unable to approach him. Oh, gods, what could
that mean?..
"Fleur?.." asked her the Durmstrangian, "are you with me yet?"
"Yes, Felsen," answered Fleur hastily, "but we'll speak after the panel, all
right? I have to listen to the talks in Science section," and she made for
the balcony to observe the sitting without interruption.
Being ever truthful with herself, Fleur admitted that she watched the
setting with anxiety. She felt completely estranged from all these people
who once used to be her friends and seemed to remain allies and friends to
each other, regardless of their obvious controversies. Now what was this
deep uneasiness about Snape that bothered her day and night? All right, she
had some nightmares connected with him, which could be explained by his
unusual appearance and all those potions, dungeons and Death Eaters things.
She was absolutely positive they didn't meet during the Tri-Wizard Tournament,
when till the very end he kept very low profile. And he has changed, yes…
Snape appeared at the chair much like he used to appear in class—ready to
subdue the audience in precisely the same manner he exercised with students.
His manipulations with his flying cloak, hands, half concealed by the
elongated cuffs and—he needed it during the presentation—his wand produced
the same mesmerising impact on the listeners as they used to produce on the
class. Fleur saw that Snape's wife (who was she, by the way?) and Dumbledore
smiled at him fondly and couldn't help smiling too: Snape was really putting
up a good show, and to see it and enjoy it you simply had to be a grown-up.
So she looked, listened and involuntarily enjoyed. Snape was speaking on a
most complicated topic of will-subduing potions, their usage in curing mental
diseases and the British Wizard's law regulation in using such potions as
opposed to similar—curses— he intoned meaningfully, giving the
audience a pretext to shrug and exchange muffled remarks. Former Death Eater
who spoke about duplicating the Unforgivable Curses in his studies... now,
that really sounded not only suspicious, but also audacious. Snape cunningly
refrained from giving direct hints on how to compose such potions. Fleur,
whose interests in fact lay rather far from exact wizarding sciences, found
herself deeply interested in his tricky topic, in which precise knowledge
was amalgamated with the most urgent matters of today's troubled realities.
And then it all stopped as suddenly as it started. Reality dimmed, once
again she felt salty taste of blood in her mouth and saw red mist before her
eyes. She was being dragged from her place in a whirlwind that, like the one
she had already experienced, had nothing to do with regular Disapparation,
being Lord Voldemort's signature summoning method.
When, blinded and deafened by the trip, Fleur came to her senses in Beinn
Mheadhonach, she saw Snape crouching on his knees in front of Voldemort, his
face pale as wax, eyes rolled in obvious pain, the long cuff of the left
sleeve torn up at the palm, hair tangled and all over his face, his wrist
and mouth blood-stained. Voldemort turned his eyes to horror-stricken Fleur
and motioned his finger. Immediately she was caught up from the floor and
hurled on her knees towards Snape. She nearly knocked him down, but managed to
come to a halt right in front of him. Voldemort put down his wand, and
Snape's eyes slowly cleared. He looked horrible, and she mustn't have looked
better herself, though she hadn't been actually tortured. For a split second
their eyes locked, and Fleur read warning in Snape's gaze.
"You are soon going to be colleagues," commented Voldemort, "in more than
just one meaning." He paused; Fleur looked down, unable to hide her
emotions. Snape tried to get up, but another invisible blow harshly returned
him to his knees; he tried to suppress his groan, but only half succeeded.
Fleur understood that for him it was almost unbearable to be punished
as a disobedient dog in front of her.
"So, congratulating Severus on the utmost success of his controversial paper,
I should propose that you discuss now some weak points in your images. What
do you call it, Severus?.. a—chit-chat?" Voldemort stressed the
last word.
Fleur quickly looked at Snape and saw that he became even paler. So—…
Voldemort wasn't supposed to know that he visited her in her
imprisonment, saving her life for the second time. It was too much for her.
Snape was being noble!.. Why on Earth?
"Severus, you should have known that Impenetratum Completus is
effective in the Castle only if I don't pay attention. But I always pay
attention, Severus. I especially pay attention to such dubious people like
you. You should have known that, when you hurried to this stupid girl's
rescue."
Voldemort gestured to someone, and two men in the black masks get hold of
Fleur, grabbing her by the arms. Snape looked astounded.
"Shocked?" said Voldemort, "I'm going to make a small demonstration of human ways to
all of you, Muggle-lovers. Their methods are ugly. No wands, no curses, just
handmade pain. Watch."
Now Snape looked petrified and, forgetting about the possible consequences, got
to his feet. Voldemort didn't stop him; Fleur couldn't understand what was
going on, and why were those people holding her.
"Today we do it Muggle-way just for your notice. And tomorrow, after the
Carnival, she'll have her Dark Mark," finished Voldemort, and one of the
man hit her hard in the stomach.
DiSnaper: Everything besides further plot development and new
spells belongs to JK Rowling and Reive. The tanka about the Bridge
has been modified from the original "Ocean of Death" tanka by
Yosano Akiko.
…
"…Why is he doing all this to me?" whispered Fleur, not really aware of
where she was and what she was saying, "Help me somebody, I have to look
good by tomorrow evening…"
"You are delirious," said a very stifled voice, "Stay silent, and don't
waste your strength."
"No magical all-curing potion on you this time, I presume," muttered Fleur,
still more to herself, burying her head in her hands. She was sitting on the
floor in the corner of the hall beside the pillar, trying to lose consciousness,
but failing.
"No," said Snape, "nothing."
"So you won't help me this time?"
"I can't and I won't. I can only make you numb, but it's not going to help
you."
Fleur shifted a little.
"But why is he doing this? Do you know?"
"Yes, I know."
"Will you tell me?"
"Yes, I will. Oh, all right, maybe you really need to speak now—it's the
only way to keep you going under the circumstances. You're in shock, and if
you go on talking, it'll keep winding you up in order not to—" he failed
to find a word.
"So, we'll have a chat again."
"Yes, we shall."
"How are you feeling?" asked Fleur all of a sudden.
"Disgustingly, Mademoiselle, disgustingly. Never felt worse in my whole life,"
Snape sounded even blanker than he had been in her prison.
"I don't believe you. Why would that be? It couldn't have been the first
Cruciatus in your career."
"Ah—this, yes. It's bad enough. But that's not the reason."
Fleur stirred a little more and opened her eyes. Through her hands, swollen
eyes and tangled hair she saw Snape leaning against the opposite wall. The
small hall where they were left by Voldemort and his apprentices could be
considered a pleasant place with its narrow stained glass windows, which allowed
the late rays of joyless Scottish sunshine colour the floor red, blue and yellow.
"What shall I do?" asked she pointlessly. "If he is not trusting me now, he
won't trust me later."
Snape remained silent.
"And still why—why is he doing this to me?" She spoke to "keep going", Snape
was apparently right in his diagnosis, "and what shall I do? If I don't show
up at the Carnival, and I can't show up… in this state, everything
will be in vain. Why is he ruining my mission?"
"All right then," said Snape finally, "what is your most urgent question,
I'll try to fill you in."
"Why—is—he—torturing me?! To make me hate him?"
"Oh, dear Mademoiselle, how young and insultingly ignorant you are!.." finally,
Snape seemed to regain at least a part of his usual manner, "I am
afraid you started to play games which you are as yet incapable of understanding.
And maybe you won't ever have a chance to understand them." He paused:
"Because if you are still at a loss about these two little 'whys', you may
very well not live to have an insight as to what is going on at all."
For a minute Fleur sat just breathing, and then asked, still from behind
her arms:
"Do you think you'll be able to look at me?"
Snape's voice changed just a trifle, when he answered:
"Why, of course. You'll be surprised to know how many beautiful and
disfigured women I have seen in this… inner circle."
Fleur couldn't help moaning.
"What I like in you," commented Snape with some effort, "is that fear of
humiliation is stronger in you than fear of pain."
"And what do you not like in me?" asked Fleur, finally taking
her hands away from her face and looking up at motionless Snape.
"The fact that I have to conduct long face-to-face conversations with you,"
he answered, but Fleur could see at once that it was not a laughing matter
for him at all.
"First, tell me…" she asked, taking advantage of their compulsory sincerity,
"how I look. Is it possible to restore at least my face, if not the rest, by
tomorrow?"
Snape moved uneasily but didn't leave the wall. He watched her face for
a few moments and gave his verdict:
"Not that I had any magical means at my immediate disposal to do it,
Mademoiselle. Personally I think that the Dark Lord should have at least
stopped that blondish friend of yours from… ruining your face."
"Oh, stop," pleaded Fleur, "That's enough, thank you. Let's move
to other questions then."
"Very well," said Snape, "we want to fulfil the orders of Lord Voldemort, don't
we? We'll play questions and answers, and little Fleur will try to understand
a thing or two before…"
"…She steps on the Bridge," Fleur finished the sentence for him with her
usual metaphor.
Snape separated from the wall and made a couple of steps towards her.
"Oh, I see, I see," said he thoughtfully. "Your wizarding roots lie very deeply
in history, don't they? Your family have been pure-bloods for—how many—two,
three centuries?"
"What does it matter now?" wondered Fleur, "I don't really know. I think
all the Delacours were wizards. Why?"
"The legend of the Bridge is known to a very small number of old European
wizarding families, which before the times of Spanish Suprema had been
influenced by Oriental, or, speaking more precisely, Sufi magi… It gives you
some support, my dear Mademoiselle. You are not as hopeless as you seem to
be." But this time Snape's expression contradicted his mockery too noticeably.
"I don't want to speak of it," cut Fleur, who preferred to discuss some more
up-to-date matters and besides considered the Bridge to be an utterly private
idea of hers.
Again Snape stood silent for a moment or two.
"Are you sure that you are comfortable on the floor?" asked he. "You see, if
we do not change the scenery a bit, there is this danger of getting used to
your downcast position and the advantages of my uprightness." He turned to
a heavy oaken chair and it noiselessly moved to Fleur's side, followed by an
even heavier table.
"Sorry, there are no arm-chairs in this hall, and a more potent
wizard than myself is needed to transform a straight chair into an armchair
without a wand," commented Snape, watching Fleur's amazement with strange
sparks in his eyes.
"What? You are deprived of your wand too?" asked Fleur, trying to stand up,
holding at the chair and failing, "How come?"
"E-mm…" Snape came up to Fleur and helped her to the chair, shushing her
protests, "Of course I am. Otherwise I could have done some mischief
during that little… assault and battery case here…" Fleur looked at him with
doubt. "Go on, lean on the table, you will feel more comfortable."
"All right," said Fleur, "we are not dining, so I'll do that… Elbows on
the table… Granny would have left me without dessert for a month."
"Venerable Madame Daffodille?" asked Snape, motioning for another chair
and joining Fleur at the table.
"Unfortunately not," said Snape, "but I knew quite a bit about her…
Then again, when I had arrived at Hogwarts I knew more than most of its
graduates. And not only charms, as they gossiped. Well—"
"Oh, you don't need to impress me, Professor. You have already done it
more than once," said Fleur, looking at Snape fixedly.
"Don't play games with me, my dear Mademoiselle Delacour, we have neither time,
nor point to that."
Again Snape rose and went to the window, looking at the fading light. Red
patch from the stained glass window lay on his forehead, and Fleur vividly
recalled him crouching on his knees earlier this evening. His sleeve was
still torn, though his face didn't show any traces of blood.
"So, why? Why is Voldemort having me beaten up?" asked Fleur her first
and main question.
"He has been doing this to every one of the Death Eaters," answered Snape
coolly, "in precisely the same sequence; every one of us has been
incarcerated, drugged by water, fed with filth (or starved if he refused
such food), left to—" he paused, but went on: "to—either live, or die of
thirst, or drift to insanity. We the Death Eaters that lived are
real... die-hards among the Dark wizards. If fact, we are the only Dark
wizards left nowadays."
"And only if you can endure all this, you can become…"
"Exactly. I hope it's exhaustive enough," interrupted Snape. "All this
and more, much more."
"And the Dark Mark?"
"I wouldn't bother about it now, if I were in your pretty silvery shoes,
Mademoiselle Delacour," said Snape, getting back to the table and looking
at Fleur. "Any more questions?"
"Yes," said Fleur, "many more. Hecatombs of questions."
"Go on then," said Snape, and continued thus: "They told me that the road
I took would lead me to the Bridge; and from halfway along, I turned back.
And ever since, all the paths I have roamed were entangled, and crooked, and
forsaken."
"What's that?" asked Fleur. She began to feel that Snape has never
opened his mouth in her presence to say something that was not of importance
for her.
"Questions, Mademoiselle, questions—take advantage of the moment," said
Snape, slightly frowning, "Well? What knowledge could help you? What do you
need to know to survive? How else can I enlighten you?"
"Shall I learn to love pain at some point?" fired Fleur, now close to
desperation.
"Yes."
"None of us will survive it in the end?"
"No, apparently not"
"Is He stronger than Dumbledore?"
Snape pulled a face:
"I hope so."
"Are you mad because you yourself are not a match for him?"
"Which of the two do you mean?" asked Snape, becoming at once as tense
and menacing as he used to be.
"Voldemort!" yelled Fleur, not afraid of anything anymore.
Snape, pale as death and speechless, looked her in the eye as if he was
ready to kill her, but Fleur wasn't to be stopped:
"You're trying to be stronger than Dumbledore to overthrow Voldemort by
yourself, because your arrogance is next only to Voldemort's!" shouted Fleur,
standing up and staring at Professor Snape with raging fury.
Snape raised his hand and—pushed her back into the chair.
"I'm but a humble servant of the Dark Lord,
Mademoiselle Delacour," said he darkly, his voice slightly shaking, "while
you… I daresay, you are really capable of bringing down the Bridge with your
soul."
"What did you do to me in Hogwarts?" asked Fleur in a whisper, not quite aware
what exactly she was trying to find out.
At this Snape smiled in a very pleasant, almost social way and said:
"If I ever want to kill someone, it is usually a stupid student. And you,
Mademoiselle, are a very stupid student indeed. I did nothing to you at
Hogwarts. We had never really met before the incident with Nagini."
Exhausted, Fleur leaned on the table and buried her face in her hands again.
And then she heard quite another voice—that of Voldemort.
"Here's your wand, Severus".
Fleur looked up. Voldemort was handing Snape's wand back to him. Snape
took it with a small bow.
"Undress her!" ordered Voldemort, with one wave of his finger getting
rid of the table and the chairs. Snape hesitated.
"I'm waiting, Severus," said Voldemort.
Snape pointed his wand at Fleur and uttered "Spolio exorbatum!"
Instantly naked, Fleur shivered and hanged her head to cover herself
with her hair. She was terribly bruised and violently disfigured.
Voldemort approached her and ordered again, now addressing Fleur:
"Stand straight, dear." Fleur remained still. "Raise
your head and lower your hands. Now."
Fleur thought that apart from the bruises and scratches she had nothing to
be ashamed of and straightened, trying to look the Dark Lord in the face.
For the second time Voldemort slowly streamed his hands along her body not
touching her, and Fleur felt paralyzing cold running through her; but pain
was leaving her, and she saw that the ugly marks of beating were magically
vanishing.
Then Voldemort turned to Snape and said:
"You see, Severus… I need no potions, wands or law regulations to make
people either miserable or happy. It is so joyful to be omnipotent. Now get
back to that Conference, my girl. And I will have a word with your preceptor."
and motioned his finger. Immediately she was caught up from the floor and
hurled on her knees towards Snape. She nearly knocked him down, but managed to
come to a halt right in front of him. Voldemort put down his wand, and
Snape's eyes slowly cleared. He looked horrible, and she mustn't have looked
better herself, though she hadn't been actually tortured. For a split second
their eyes locked, and Fleur read warning in Snape's gaze.
(7-9)
| (Contents)
| (Coda)
