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Professor Severus Snape's Fan-Fiction: "A Flower and a Snake; Coda: The Dark Mark": DiSnape – "ßõòà"| Ïðîôåññîð Ñåâåðóñ Ñíåéï â ïîâåñòè "Çìåÿ, îáâèâøèñü âêðóã öâåòêà..." – DiSnape
Local DiSnaper: I feel obliged to remind that this tale is not a part of
Reive's and/or any other author's fan-fiction based on J.K. Rowling's "Harry
Potter" cultural phenomenon. Main characters as well as the world itself
belong to J.K.R. and Warner Brothers; Reive gave Professor Snape the family,
mentioned in my story. Thus, Professor H. and Gabriel belong
to Reive. Otherwise I took the liberty to change a lot of realities
concerning the timeline, the past and the interpretation of all the
personalities involved.
Wizards invited for the closing carnival and reception of the Conference
were informed by owls that they were supposed to attend the ball wearing
costumes and masks. No magical visual transformations were allowed, Polyjuice
Potion—strictly banned. The ban, though, seemed utterly redundant: everyone
involved was looking forward to the old traditional entertainment with
masks, exotic attires and magical tricks. The Conference programme was
scheduled so that the May carnival could happen on a Full-Moon night.
The guests were arriving at Villa Medici di Careggi in the nearest
Florentine vicinity in the carriages. Traditionally it was considered bon
genre to use carriages with horses, but many guests neglected the oddities
of historical demands and didn't bother. As generously as the Full Moon
could possibly light the mansion from outside, Villa Medici otherwise was
illuminated only by the torches held by the antique statues along the broad
alley leading to the entrance. In the moving light of the flames the statues
produced an impression of human beings—strangely naked and starkly white
among the luscious greenery of the gardens.
Two severely looking massive genies were guarding the entrance to the
Palace, armoured with curved Turkish sabres and slightly swaying above the
ground. The genies (graceful contribution of Saudi guest speaker, emir
Taymullah Bassam) scowled at the wizards and smiled at the witches, while
silently carrying out their most complicated errand of face-control. They
were checking the invitations: each guest had to carry a minute gold (for
witches) or silver (for wizards) figurine of a bird, and all had to produce
these birds at the guards' request. Once the genies glanced at the palm with
the figurine, the bird spread its wings and flew away to the garden. Besides
the genies checked whether the guest was really wearing the mask or had
used some sort of illegal transformation. All went well until the genies
stopped a crooked Goblin for committing two offences at once: he wore no
mask at all (shrieked that he didn't need one with his kind of a face) and
refused to allow his bird—gold, somehow—to fly away. In an instant the whole
procession became jammed, and high crystal laughter of the witches and
soothing hushed voices of the wizards filled the alley. The menacing genies
seemed to grow in size even more, and the murmuring goblin seemed to shrink
even further in front of their threatening crossed sabres; he was whispering
in a small voice that it was most unnatural for goblins to let gold fly
away from their hands. Finally, the generous host—the ghost of Juliano
Medici, wearing numerous silver scars and elegant mediaeval ghostly outfit,
appeared at the entrance and waved at the goblin. Instantly the goblin's
bird left his loosened grip and a standard black half-mask covered the upper
part of his face. With another wave from the host the order was restored,
the goblin rushed inside the Villa, the genies went on with their duties,
and the guests continued their advance to the Carnival.
Again Fleur felt hilariously happy and full of expectations for this
enchanting night. She wore a Masque of the Red Death costume of scarlet
silk (it was for the first time in her life that she put on a shade of red),
and a blank white mask with painted scarlet lips, magically attached to her
face without strings. At the entrance she was impaled by both genies'
glances and obviously acknowledged loyal, because they nicely allowed her
gold falconet to fly away to the gardens and let her inside.
Whereas the gardens were silent and suggested to the guests only the sweet
songs of night birds and chirring of cicadas, right after the genies a
hurricane of orchestral music immediately swept the guests over, and Fleur,
having walked only a few steps inside, stopped, bewildered, to let her
vision feast at the view of the enchanted orchestra on the balcony ahead.
The instruments played by themselves, arranged and positioned exactly in
mid-air, swaying and emphasizing the pianos and crescendos, their
fiddlesticks flying swiftly along the strings, flutes cheerfully catching
the light from grand chandeliers with hundreds of candles, drumsticks
beating strictly the accurate rhythm of Mozart's Turkish March, in honour
of some Very Important Wizard with a rather impressive belly. He was
dressed Turkish Pasha, in maroon fez with black silver plaited tassel and
was generously wrapped around the place where waist is supposed to be with
embroidered girdle.
The music was conducted by a huge heron with an enormously long and sharp
beak, on which round spectacles comfortably sat, vividly reminding Fleur of
her former friend 'Arry Potteur. Marking Fleur's entrance in the hall
with the ghostly host Juliano, the Conductor waved his beak, flapped his
huge wings (the right one held a conductor's baton) and commanded
his enchanted orchestra to start another tune from a mediaeval Italian
piece. When the oboe seemed to forget his notes, the Conductor pecked him in
the right key with the speed of lightning, and the orchestra went on with
its performance as harmoniously as ever before. Fleur was enraptured and
went on with exploring the riches of the Villa Medici, now accompanied by an
Executioner, whose violent costume and gallant manner only too well
became her scarlet silk and white facemask.
Chatting with her companion, Fleur wandered among multicoloured flowerbeds.
They grew right from the marble floors and depicted famous historical
scenes from the Pazzi Conspiracy. The flower pictures showed their plots
in continuation, and Fleur watched in amazement how Juliano was assassinated,
stabbed by daggers in Duomo. At that moment some red liquid (which
dangerously resembled blood) spilt from the flower cups—these depicted
the neck of Juliano's brother, Lorenzo the Magnificent. Some reckless and
dare-devilish gaiety seemed to govern the Carnival: it was evidently biased
towards violent, and yet very exciting spectacles.
Fleur gasped and hurried away to watch the puppet show, in which Harlequin
was beating Piero, failing to attract Colombina's attention, in the head,
armed with a huge hammer. Eventually all three finished up with fake wands
in their hands and gave the audience a crazy sequence of transformations
starting from the leaking tea-pot (a parody of ever-crying Piero), through
a flower-pot with tired flesh-rose blossoms, singing stupid songs (it was
Colombina) and up to making Harlequin in his traditional patched domino a
big diamond ornamented snake which immediately escaped the podium and headed
into the hall, causing small panic and shouts. Fleur and the Executioner
found themselves in the way of the snake, and when Fleur as was quite usual
to her, froze horror-struck at the site of the reptile, her companion
vanished in the thin air, leaving her alone to watch the serpent slithering
along the hall to the entrance. The snake clearly headed to escape, and
seemed outraged when the next three guests barred its way. They were a man,
a woman and a small child about two years old. The child yelled and pressed
himself to his mother, while the man stepped forward, shielding the woman
with the child, and the angry snake made a high take at his leg. Fleur
couldn't believe her eyes, when in the middle of this rush the mere wave of
a man's hand made the snake pop and transform into an utterly grieved
Harlequin puppet. Harlequin scowled at the man who spoiled all his fun and
gloomily turned away from the three people, heading back to the podium. But
the man again proved to be faster than the enchanted doll: he grabbed it by
the leg and let it hang head down swaying violently in his hand. Then he
showed the puppet to his child, gave his prey a fillip on the nose, and a
very familiar voice said:
"Now, don't be afraid, take him. He won't ever be able to transform into a
snake of any kind. Go ahead, put it on the stage".
As the boy, at first reluctantly and out of obedience, but then with giggles
and happy babbling grabbed the toy and ran with it to the stage, Fleur found
herself facing the masks which covered the faces of Professor Severus Snape
and, obviously, his wife. Indeed, she had to be very shortsighted not to
recognise his expertise with snakes, his voice, his black attire (which
today more than usually resembled that of a vampire), his charming son and,
surely, his wife.
"Buonasera, Professor Snape," said Fleur with a step forward,
because at the moment there was absolutely no chance to step back. "Would
you introduce me to your spouse?"
"Darling, this is Mademoiselle Delacour," said Professor Snape's voice from
behind the blank Japanese mask, emanating all possible kinds of menace known
to the world, but still expertly disguised in blank courtesy, "she
is going to teach International Wizarding Relations and Diplomatic Etiquette
in Hogwarts this school year. I told you. Mademoiselle Delacour, this is
Professor H., my wife, she teaches Defence against the Dark Arts in
Hogwarts."
The exchange of glad-to-meet-you's and my-pleasure's that followed, smoothly
grew into complimenting on each other's costumes. Professor H. was wearing
an elegant snowy-white monastic robes made of pearl and silver embroidered
velvet and a silver half-mask, showing her charming mouth and round chin.
Robed in these clean red, black and white colours the group presented such a
bright spot among the guests, that Juliano—the host found it possible to
approach them again, suggesting Fleur and the Snapes a tour to the orchestra
while their son was being entertained by the Fakir, swallowing spades, roses,
wands and breathing fire-works. However, Fleur excused herself, noticing that one
of Roman Caesars was waving to her from over the podium. She nodded to the
Snapes ready to leave, when professor H. suddenly separated from her husband,
stepped to Fleur's side and said without any introduction:
"I wish you strength today, Mademoiselle. Hope you'll make it."
Fleur could see that the woman's beautiful mouth behind the mask
contorted with something that she interpreted as sympathy. Fleur was glad
that her own mask hid her face completely.
"I'll try," she said, "I'll do my best. Thank you."
Fleur came up to the Fakir, staring at the orchids now sprouting from
his mouth, when something tugged on her gown. She looked down and saw a
little boy, who looked mischievous even in spite of the light mask
which concealed his face. Even if Fleur hadn't seen him with his parents
a few minutes ago, this black shining hair and black eyes could belong only
to Professor Snape's son.
"Yes, dear?" said Fleur, looking at the boy with interest.
"You scared?" asked the boy, staring at Fleur insolently.
"What?" asked Fleur, still smiling, "Why should I be?"
"This snake—it won't bite anyone now," explained the boy. Fleur sighed
with relief:
"Oh, all right! No, I am not scared of that snake. Your father…"
"Yes," said the boy, "he is very brave. He fears nothing."
"Oh, really?" Fleur suddenly felt that the conversation grew rather interesting.
"And—does he have anything to fear?"
The boy stared up at her through the round cuts of his mask with his
clever child's eyes and said:
"Like everyone. But he doesn't."
"Oh," said Fleur indecisively, "I see then." She made an attempt to move
along, but the boy tugged her skirt again.
"Don't go," said the boy, "Let's wait for daddy."
Fleur thought it utterly completely bizarre to hear someone refer to
Professor Snape as "daddy". Besides she liked the boy very much: he was
disturbingly bright for his age.
"I think, daddy pities you," said the boy, and Fleur straightened with
resentment, which didn't embarrass the boy in the slightest.
"And why would you think that?" asked Fleur, too frightened to hear that
the boy's father had said this out-loud.
"When he frowns that way at someone, I think he pities him. Or her,"
added the boy after a while.
Fleur couldn't help smiling.
"But don't get mad at him," continued the boy seriously, "he defeated the
snake, remember?"
Fleur got down to get even with the small boy she was talking to and
said:
"Can you memorise something for me?"
"Yes, indeed," said the boy proudly, "Mommy says I have perfect memory."
"Then remember this," said Fleur, peering into the cuts in his mask steadily:
"The place, where you reside inside my mind, hurts."
The boy stood silent for a moment, clearly repeating the phrase to
himself to memorise it.
"The place…" started he…
"No," interrupted Fleur, "don't repeat it, please. Just remember. You'll
know when to say it, and to whom. I am sure."
"All right," said the boy and stretched his arm to her masked face. He
touched it and said: "Your mask is crying, do you know that?" and he looked
at his wet fingers in amazement.
"It's an enchanted mask of the Red Death," whispered Fleur to the boy,
"When it knows that someone pities her, she starts to cry."
"...Gabriel!" called Professor Snape, approaching them and quickly
surveying the site.
"So your name is Gabriel?" asked Fleur rising. "What a nice name. We've been
entertaining each other, Professor. Your son is an exceptionally bright
child."
Snape took his son's hand and said:
"Glad you liked each other. Then again, I remember your touching
affection to your smaller sister Gabrielle…" He stopped, looking at silent
and motionless Fleur.
"Oh…" drawled Professor Snape and his gaze found something on her mask that
forced him away: "Gabriel, you have to go to the hotel with your Mother now.
Say good bye to Mademoiselle Delacour."
Gabriel waved to Fleur, whispered, "I remember" (Snape looked at them
both with some suspicion) and allowed to be taken away.
"Wait for me here," said Professor Snape to Fleur in a tone that
left her no room for argument and swished away, leading his son through
the colourful crowd and out of view.
***
Professor Snape was back in a minute. He passed Fleur, speaking to the long-necked
Japanese Rokurokubi demon, hardly beckoning her to the exit from the hall,
hidden by drapery.
When in the passage, Snape waved his hand at Fleur somewhat
irritably, and her mask flew down to the floor, followed by his own. He
stopped in the middle of the dark corridor lit by sparse dim spheres,
looking Fleur straight in the eyes.
"What," started Fleur, "now?.."
"Let's go," said Snape. He firmly grabbed her by the upper arm and led
somewhere deeper into the house.
Walking along the second corridor Fleur could not stand the silence any
longer and stopped again, pulling her arm out of Snape's grip:
"Where are you taking me?"
"There will be no chit-chat this time, dear girl," said Professor firmly, "I
told you to get ready. If you are not ready, take out your wand and kill
yourself right here."
"You think that would be easier?"
"Positively."
"Then let's go."
"Right", said Snape, but didn't move. Then he began to unbutton his
left sleeve, keeping a steady eye on Fleur's face.
"What are you…" started Fleur.
"Silence," said Snape, continuing to undo his sleeve. Fleur suddenly felt
really frightened and started retreating from him. A strange sort of cruel
smile twisted Professor Snape's lips; he caught her by the tucks of red silk
at the front with his right hand and banged against the wall really hard.
Fleur's eyes filled with horror, and she tried to escape, but she was not
enough quick or strong for him. Snape's right hand swiftly moved from her
slippery silk to her throat:
"Too late, Mademoiselle Delacour," he secured her with his heavy unwinking
gaze in addition to his grip. "Stay where you are, or this time I'll kill
you myself to spare the bustle."
Slowly he took away his hand from her throat, not lowering his eyes. Fleur
bit her lip and stood silent.
Professor Snape finished with his left sleeve and partly bared his lower arm,
which looked absolutely white against his black robes, bearing the
powder-black Dark Mark on the inside of the wrist. Fleur froze. Severus
Snape the Death Eater drew his right hand above the mark, and Fleur saw with
horror that the Mark turned scalding red… then blood started oozing from
its lines and in a moment it was ready to stream from Snape's forearm to the
floor.
"Good for you," muttered Snape, now grabbing Fleur by the back of her head
and forcing her mouth to the Dark Mark on his wrist, "good that you thought
of wearing red silk today. Blood doesn't show on it too much."
Fleur thought that she really drank some of Snape's blood, because she felt
dizzy and immediately heard terrified voices screaming in her head. She
staggered, and Snape once again shoved her to the wall, now in order not to
allow her to fall down. He blew at the Dark Mark lightly and bleeding stopped,
leaving his skin clean. Slowly the Mark turned black again.
Snape appraised the dim look in Fleur's eyes, came to her side, extracted his
wand and drew a vertical line on the wall next to her. The solid stone wall
slowly parted, and he pushed Fleur inside a circular room, lit only by the
moonlight, streaming from the hole in the ceiling, and the wall closed
behind them.
"Pity, the wands hardly help when you are dealing with the Villa Medici
subspaces. Doing all sorts of magic with one's bare hands is utterly
wearisome," commented Snape to himself, but Fleur could still hear him,
though she felt now strangely close to her nightmarish dreams, Professor
Snape being the main fear of her subconsciousness.
"Where are they?" asked Fleur spellbound, turning around.
"The cheerful gang of the Death Eaters? You are unlucky," said Snape
coldly, "tonight you'll have to limit yourself to me alone."
"Is it another punishment for you?"
"No," answered Snape, approaching her slowly, "It is not."
"For me, then?" asked Fleur, stepping back.
"No, it's the best way for you. Moreover, it's the only way for you to
obtain your mark."
"Why?' The high marble pedestal, covered with something that felt very much
like the Church brocade, stopped Fleur's retreat.
"It's Juliano's sarcophagus," said Snape, avoiding the question, "The real
one. He's with the Ball now, so it will stay closed and empty for the whole night."
He made another step towards Fleur, who felt now the exquisitely styled silk
of her costume slowly straightening itself and then—vanishing, leaving her
naked before Snape's eyes like a day before, only there was no Voldemort
between them to screen her from him. Moonlight made her feel like one of the
statues in the room.
Fleur's mind was still dim, but her head felt suddenly very light. She
stretched her arm towards Snape and said:
"If I should ask you to do it to me, I will. I knew that it could be only
you, all the way from Hogwarts. Tell me."
Snape made another step to her and took her hand:
"All right, I'll tell you. Allow me…" and he helped her to the brocaded
pedestal.
…
"...You know that you are the most beautiful leaving woman in the wizarding
world?
"Oh, no..."
"Oh, yes."
"If you say so."
"I say so."
"Don't stop talking now."
"I won't."
"I thought I was cursed not to like anything like this…"
"You were."
"By you?"
"By me, yes."
"But how—?"
"Where should I start?"
"Oh, please…"
"You are the fairest creature in the wizarding world."
"You've said that."
"I like your ability to speak now."
"I'm pretending to be brave…"
"And strong?"
"Strong, and cool, and ready…"
"Don't worry, nothing will happen before I get you ready."
"Oh, I believe you."
"...You had dreams?"
"Nightmares."
"Nightmares?"
"Don't laugh."
"No way."
"Oh, please…"
"No, have some respect for the ritual."
"Oh, please, spare me."
"We still have to discuss a thing or two before…"
"No, I don't want…"
"Hold on, you are supposed to be a strong girl…"
"You are cruel."
"I'm just so much older, dear girl."
"…So, what did you do to me then?"
"As I…
"…Yes…"
"…was…"
"…yes…"
"…saying…"
"…oh, yes…"
"…you are the fairest creature in the wizarding world, while I…"
"…oh, please…"
"…while I am the ugliest one…"
"oh!"
"So, to make the long story short…"
"No, I can wait… Don't make it short, please."
"Well, let's at least make it clear."
"So, what did you do to me?"
"I made a rare potion composed, above all, of the samples of my blood…"
"Your blood?"
"Oh, yes, my pure and highly spoiled wizarding blood, containing some
trace of Vlad Tepesh the Impaler's one…"
"Oh, now I see…"
"Not yet, my dear girl. There was also your blood in it."
"Say it again."
"Say what?"
"My—dear—girl."
"Oh, looking at your reaction to these simplest words, I'll say them a
bit later. Now, don't close your eyes. It's important."
"You are really cruel…"
"But that's what you like, don't you?"
"…Where did you take my blood?"
"From you, of course."
"But how?"
"Oh, too long to explain."
"Go on, what did you do with your blood and my blood?"
"I gave the potion for you to drink and drank some of it myself."
"How did you make me drink it?.."
"I have my little secrets."
"And that is why…"
"Yes, that is why—"
"That is why I can't…"
"Yes, that's why you will never be able, especially after
tonight…"
"To be with anyone, besides—"
"...Pity, I was too selfish at that time."
"Oh, you're being selfish all the time!"
"But not at this very moment, aren't I?"
"Oh, no, not now."
"That's the reason you could turn to the Dark side."
"…You ruined my life—what for?"
"You regret it… now?"
"Not now!"
"All right…"
"So—why?!"
"Experimenting."
"Don't lie to me, I have your blood in me—twice!"
"Sh-shhh…"
"Don't shush me!.. Ah…"
"Because…"
"Yes?.."
"…I…"
"So?.."
"…will never…"
"Say it!.."
"…say—it—to—you."
And when Fleur could not bear it any more, he said:
"Now I see that you are ready, my dear girl," and while she was
flying somewhere up the moonlight, he pressed his marked forearm to her
right wrist, holding her hand really tight, and Fleur finally cried in pain
and in relief, biting hard at Snape's hand, covering her mouth.
Thus Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour got her Dark Mark from the only person who could
give it to her.
fiddlesticks flying swiftly along the strings, flutes cheerfully catching
the light from grand chandeliers with hundreds of candles, drumsticks
beating strictly the accurate rhythm of Mozart's Turkish March, in honour
of some Very Important Wizard with a rather impressive belly. He was
dressed Turkish Pasha, in maroon fez with black silver plaited tassel and
was generously wrapped around the place where waist is supposed to be with
embroidered girdle.
(I: 10-12) | Contents
| (II: 1-3)
