Harry Potter Lost Shadow

"The instructions for your potion are on the board. If you can't make this, leave, and don't come back until you can. The third years should be able to make this. Begin." He waved his wand at the store cupboards and unlocked them. He glared at the Gryffindors with his best 'dirt-is-worth-more-than-you' look, then turned to stalk off around his dungeons.  
  
The vast majority of the class went smoothly; Potter and his gang weren't here. The sixth years were a fairly competent group of people, although nobody could get him to admit it. Several actually, were almost good enough to get an A in his class. Unfortunately for them, to keep his cover, and for pleasure, he was unusually nasty to Gryffindors in general. Over the course of this year, however, they were also a stress release. He would blow up for anything that wasn't right, and he was about to again; he saw that a young female's in the Gryffindor section was about to add powdered beetle eyes to her potion three ingredients too early. That would result with her having antennae for the rest of the day, if it landed on her, and amusing as it could be, he couldn't let it happen.  
  
Dumbledore had already yelled at him twice this week for letting students end up in the infirmary for easily preventable mistakes. Both were in Potter's class, however, and he decided he could hardly be blamed for their mistakes. He was busy telling Longbottom what he was doing wrong with his potion when Weasley went and blew up Granger. Naturally, he told them what they did wrong, too, and sent both to the infirmary. He also assigned Granger a detention with him for not preventing Weasley's catastrophe. Definently not his fault. The second time was considerably worse, for he was busy congratulating Draco on his perfect sleeping draft, when Longbottom spilled his conglomeration on Potter. That was yesterday, and he was still out cold as of this morning. Not his fault again. So, as today was only Wednesday, no more learning experiences. He stalked over to her and stared at her with his best 'Potter Glare'. She froze and looked at him slightly fearfully. "Just what do you think your doing?" He sneered. He watched the girl's hand tremble slightly. "You did not do your reading. Over your head was it? Or are picture books just more interesting? Whatever the case, you obviously know how to do this potion perfectly, as you're the student and I'm the teacher, and I don't know anything. By all means, add that ingredient, since you seem to know what you're doing so well." He glared at her some more. She was still frozen with her hand over the cauldron, with it shaking more visibly now. As if it was a great effort, she wrenched her hand away and put the beetle eyes back. Content that she was back on track, and that he handled that with good grace, he started back toward his desk.  
  
About half way there, a wave of dizziness hit him. It was the third in a day and a half, and he noted that they were becoming more frequent. With a monumental effort, the only thing he showed outwardly was a slight misstep. Taking the last two or three steps to his chair were the worst. The dizziness was making him nauseous. He heard them cleaning up as soon as he sat down and vaguely wondered how long until the bell. To keep the students away from him, he took up the pretense of grading papers that were sitting in front of him. He couldn't have been more grateful when the bell rang a few long minutes later. Waiting impatiently for the last of them to leave, he waved his wand at the door and closed it with a sign saying his next hour classes were canceled. He then got up and staggered toward the sink where the students cleaned up at, kneeled, and promptly threw up. It made his vision blur and the dizziness reach a new level of horrible. He tried to stand to move someplace in which he could lean up against, but his legs wouldn't support him and he fell backwards as the world gave a particularly nasty jerk. His head connected soundly with a desk behind him, and sent him into blissful unconsciousness.  
  
He woke up sometime toward nightfall in the same place he fell at with an unholy migraine. His head throbbed with his pulse, and his vision wasn't all that clear. The world had stopped spinning again, though, and that was a plus. Deciding that he probably had a minor concussion, he moved to get up to go to his stores. Unfortunately, sitting up caused bright lights to flash in front of his eyes and excruciating pain, so he was forced to stay where he was. Then he remembered that he had a detention scheduled for tonight, and thought to himself: To hell with the pain. If a student saw me like this, and spread it around the school... He cut that thought off with an almost audible snap. That settled it. He had to get that potion, even if it killed him in the process.   
Hermione Granger paced nervously outside the potions classroom door. The sign was still up about classes being canceled, but she hadn't been told that her detention was, so here she was waiting for the last two or three seconds until it was time to go in. When her watch finally told her it was time, she cautiously opened the door and peeked inside. A slightly nauseating smell wafted out.  
  
The professor was no where to be found. She figured that even if he weren't here, that she would do his detention of scrubbing cauldrons; that way, he couldn't say that she didn't come. She also decided to hand in the extra homework on what went wrong with Weasley's potion as well as a sample of how it was supposed to be. Changing course in mid stride, she jogged up to the desk and placed the parchment on it. At the same moment a giant crash resounded, along with the sound of a muffled curse.  
  
Not knowing what had caused it, she decided to investigate. If it was indeed the professor, as she guessed that it was, he may need help. She followed the noise of continuing cursing to his private stores. She found him angrily fixing various jars, vials, and containers, which he then sent to their proper place. Not knowing whether or not to help, she asked him.  
  
He looked up in surprise, which he quickly masked with a snarl. "What are you doing here? Get out there and do your detention. You know what it is." He paused, fixed two more jars and put them back, then stared at her still standing in the doorway.  
  
"Professor, are you... do you... um..." She hesitated not know how to ask without offending. He stared at her some more. Finally, she spit it out. "Are you okay?" She looked down at the ground ready for reprove.  
  
He didn't say anything, just froze, almost uncomprehendingly. Finally he spit out, "My health is none of your concern." And sent the jar he had levitating in front of him to the shelf directly behind her. She ducked satisfactorily. He then turned around as a clear dismissal and she gasped. With an inward grimace, he turned around with a questioning eyebrow raised.  
  
"Your head. What did you do to it?" She asked with a tone that suggested that she knew that she was stepping into the lion's den. She started as he started toward her, and took a hesitant step backward.  
  
"It was injured, Miss Granger."He snarled, training his wand on her chest.  
  
She shook her head impatiently. "I can tell that, professor. My question implied how, not the actual injury."  
  
"Didn't anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat? Or half- kneazle as the case may be?" He retorted, absolutely livid.  
  
"Don't you dare threaten Crookshanks! He has done nothing. At least let me heal that gash-it's still bleeding." She was slightly more than annoyed at his attitude by now, and was going to let him have it.  
  
"Miss Granger. My head is none of your concern. Leave me and it and go do your detention." He reached a hand up and massaged the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Let me help you! It won't kill you, you know." She tried a last time to make him see reason.  
  
"Yes it will. What if someone saw? It would be back at Voldemort before the end of the hour, and I would be dead for letting a mudblood help me. Leave matters which you can't understand to those who can!"  
  
She stood in a stunned silence for nearly a full minute. "At least let me fix the–"  
  
"You have helped far enough for one day Miss Granger. Leave before I loose all semblance of self-control. I will escort you out of here, just to make sure you leave." His wand was still out in a threatening manner. She shakily nodded and started toward the door, gaining composure along the way. At it, she turned around to find her professor holding himself up with his desk, head bent down, resting on his arms, swaying slightly. He looked up and saw she was still there.  
  
"Detention tomorrow night, Miss Granger for not doing as you were told. You will not tell anyone about our conversation. Do I make myself clear?" He paused, waiting for a response. She nodded meekly and took off at a run. Sighing, he looked at the clock, which read 10:00pm, and rather dizzily made his way down to his home, forgetting to fix his head injury.  
  
It was two floors down from the dungeons, and under the lake, therefore, it was moldy, damp, and otherwise depressing. The entrance to his room was a simple gargoyle statue that was protected by a bunch of not so simple wards. It took fifteen minutes to undo and redo them on a good day. Today was not a good day, unfortunately, so it took him that long too simply undo them. When the gargoyle finally opened, he looked around his main chamber without enthusiasm. It was a purely functional room containing two chairs facing each other, an unlit fireplace, two bookcases on either side of the fireplace, filled with books on history and all things dark, and two small end tables on one side of each chair.  
  
He walked by them without a glance and went into his bedroom. He paused at the door to look at his favorite room in the entire castle. The room's furniture was done in beautifully polished ebony. It had cost a small fortune, but he was glad he got it. It was the only thing that had not come with the rooms. The bed had an ornately carved headboard, with a mirror in the middle. On either side of the mirror there was small cabinets, which contained everything from muggle alcohol to the strongest magic truth potion anywhere. The bed had a crimson comforter with blue accents here and there. It had been made in Persia. The pillows were Champaign colored, and went well with the rug on the floor, which was navy blue and had a Champaign colored unicorn on it.  
  
On the right was a highly comfortable high backed armchair; he spent more nights sleeping in that than the bed. The bathroom was next to it, and next to the bathroom was his wardrobe. The skeletons in it kept him away from it more often than not. A large candelabrum floated in the middle of the room to give light. He paused long enough to light it, then sat in the chair and attempted to relax. He thought that a drink would help him calm down, so after ordering a glass of milk from his house elf, Squirt, he poured in a small amount of scotch, less than a shot, and drank it. The house elf came back a short time later and retrieved the glass as he stared blankly at the flicker of the candles, various thoughts drifting through his head: questions about the nights events, things he had to get done, wondering about the next meeting with the Dark Lord, memories of his childhood...  
  
He was three. He had just been sent to his room in the dungeons of their mansion. Above him sounds of screams and things being broke. He curled up into a ball and covered his ears, not wanting to hear his mother being hurt anymore.  
  
He was five. He was in his room once again, this time nursing a broken arm and nose, stubbornly attempting not to cry, but doing so anyhow. He had told his father no for the first time today, and that was the result. He knew that if he could only make his father happy...  
  
He was eight. His father was holding his head underwater. He was flailing, choking, unable to breathe, but taking a breath anyhow. He felt his strength fail as his flailing slowed, then stopped altogether. The world slowed down, starting and stopping at odd moments. He felt himself being let go and sinking farther into the water, wanting to be able to swim to the surface, but not being able to. His mother desperately using a compression charm on him, making him breathe. The world coming into focus, finding himself doubled over, throwing up pond water and breakfast, heavy coughs racking his body. Himself looking up to find his mother sobbing with relief, with a black eye and a broken wrist. His father coming up behind them and telling him that all he had to do was what he asked and none of that would have happened. Himself feeling ashamed that he couldn't do a simple thing like follow directions.  
  
He woke suddenly, shook his head, and opened his eyes, feeling sick. He rushed into his bathroom and paid tribute to the porcelain throne. When he was done, he let his head lay on the seat, somewhat comforted by the coolness of it. Finally, he got up, washed his mouth out, and walked weakly back to his chair. Once there, he looked at the clock. It was 1 am. He knew that he would not get anymore sleep this night, although his body screamed for some.  
  
Staring at the candelabra, he noted that the world was sliding out of focus again. He closed his eyes tightly and opened them again, temporarily restoring the world into order. He wondered how long it would be before it got as bad as it was during class earlier, decided that he didn't want to find out, and stood up, intent on getting an energizing potion from his stores in the classroom, then sat down again promptly. His legs wouldn't hold his weight. He looked at the clock again, watched as it blurred then righted itself again, and closed his eyes again, feeling slightly ill.  
  
Sometime later, a knock came at the door of his room, but he ignored it, deeming the sound something that his head had produced because of his newfound headache. It repeated itself once more, and Snape grudgingly opened his eyes. An old man with a silver beard appeared directly in front of him. He closed his eyes again, and gripped his chair fiercely as another bout of vertigo came again. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he spoke haltingly.  
  
"Albus. I don't feel-" He stopped, gripped his chair still more fiercely, swallowed again, and continued, "-feel up to company." He swallowed yet again and took several deep breaths. "Please – please leave." He opened his eyes, and looked blankly ahead, covered his mouth with one hand and abdomen with another, then staggered as fast as he could to his bathroom. Several minutes later, he realized that he could not walk back out, unless he wanted a repeat of yesterday. Accepting that, he hoped that Albus had not taken him seriously. Fortunately, he hadn't, and after several minutes of lying there helplessly, Albus thankfully levitated him from the bathroom to bed, where he flopped down, boneless.  
  
He decided that, while not unconscious, he was not far from it. Catatonic was the word he thought best described him. He knew what was going on around him, could feel it, hear it, and see it, but couldn't muster enough energy to care. He watched as Albus carefully moved parts of his body to make him more comfortable, heard him speak something, and felt the blankets as they wrapped themselves around him. Without moving his eyes, he knew that Albus had taken a seat next to him, in his chair and was looking at him solemnly. Eventually, he felt himself go into true sleep, where dreams ensued.  
  
"No. I won't do it. No more. No more senseless killing, hurting others just because we are told to... What makes him god? Noth-" He was cut off in mid sentence by a sharp backhand to the face. He raised a hand to touch where his father had slapped him... it stung horribly.  
  
"He is god, and you would do well to remember that, Severus. He will give us greatness, wealth, and power! What more is there in life? He will give us all that we could ever want and then some. There will be no more of the riffraff like the Potters or Evans any more... They are worth less than the grass that we walk on.  
  
Which brings me to another point: I will not tolerate you talking to trash like that Evans mudblood-"  
  
"Don't you dare talk about Lily that way! She is better than you'll ever be-" He was cut off yet again by another cuff to the side of his head, this one more forceful than the last, and sent him careening into a nearby wall.  
"You would also do well to remember that your elders deserve respect. Tom will not tolerate your disregard for matters like these. I raised you better than that... you damn well better use those manners I paid so much for you to learn. Look at me when I'm talking to you, Shit-For-Brains!"  
  
Severus lifted his head, his hand gently covering a large goose egg on the left side of it, and turned to look at his father. Unfortunately, it wasn't fast enough for the angered elder, for a swift kick landed in the boy's diaphragm and sent him skidding backwards some four feet. Stunned, he attempted to breathe and move from his stomach to sitting position. About half way up, he realized that he could not breathe, and collapsed into a heap unable to see much except an enveloping blackness. He then vaguely felt hands roughly jerk him up into a standing position and slap his face. The room became slightly clearer again.  
  
"Stand up and act like a man. We have to go to a meeting tonight, and you can't act like a pansy-ass wimp in front of everyone. You're a Snape. Act like it. Go to your room, and be ready when I call you." With those final words of parting, the elder Snape left in a flurry of robes, leaving the younger, stunned one to fend for himself.  
  
Severus sat there in the hall for what seemed like a long while, reflecting on what he was thinking when he had talked to his father that way. He knew that disobedience was rewarded with pain. He shook his head to clear away his headache and troubling thoughts then got up, still short on breath with his head still spinning. Slowly, he made his way down towards the dungeons.  
  
The paintings on the wall tutted as he walked by, reminding him that his father was always right and the like. They only shut up after he shot a withering look at one who said that the boy was lucky that his father hadn't thrown him into the lake outback for such disrespect.  
  
On the ground floor, he sat on the ornate 3 century BC rug near a painting of his great aunt, Arian. She was the only painting he could stand. Unfortunately, she babbled constantly. She was only quiet when his father was near. So, when she shut up, he knew it was time for him to scoot. With a monumental effort, he stood up, shoved the rug to the other side of the room, pulled open the trapdoor to the dungeons, jumped in, and said the closing incantation to replace the rug and door to their original position. He felt blindly toward the place he knew that was his room. As he was not aloud to use the candles or torches underground, he had to do everything in the dark. When he found the little door handle, he thrust it open and pulled himself inside, and slammed it behind him.  
  
Dropping to his knees, he crawled two or three steps to the corner in the opposite side of his room and pulled his Death Eater Robes over to him. When he lifted his shirt over his head, stars erupted in front of his eyes from the injury to the muscles in his chest. Panting heavily, he pulled it the rest of the way off, and let his body flop to the cold slate floor and let the sweat pour off of him. When the pain had subsided, he felt the robes that he had to put on himself still. He cursed himself for stopping for a little thing like pain, then pushed himself up, held his breath and pulled the robe over his head, the stars once again appearing. This time, however, he ignored them, and proceeded to pull off his regular trousers and place on the ones that were designated to go with the robe. He paused here to decide whether or not to put on clean socks or not. Deciding they were fine, he reached to the other side of his room to get his shoes. When he went to put them on, he had to put pressure onto his solar plexus, a mistake if there ever was one. A sharp pain caused him to let out a yelp and jerk backward, hitting his head on the wall behind him. Growling under his breath, he pulled on the other one, then lay there panting yet again.  
  
He was just about to drift off to sleep when his father bellowed for him. Severus pushed himself to a sitting position, then pulled himself into a standing one using the handle of the door. His whole midsection hurt. He paused, somewhat lightheaded at the base of the ladder, and looked upwards. His father was waiting there, so Severus started to climb. There were problems though... he had to use his chest muscles, and that caused his vision to blur and grip to weaken. Half way up, he missed a ladder rung with his foot and slammed his body against the ladder. The pain made his hands loose completely, and he fell to the ground. Once again, unconsciousness was threatening to overtake him, but the sound of his father's laughter rang too loudly in his ears. With the determination of a rogue wolf hunting, he slowly got to his feet and climbed the ladder again. When he reached the top, he stood next to the picture of his aunt, left hand on the wall for support, right hand closing up the chamber below him.  
  
His father grabbed a hold of his shoulder and shook him twice. Severus's sight blurred worse. Trying to look aloof, and failing miserably, he attempted to listen to his dad's debriefing. They were going to see "Tom" and it was his initiation time. From the time of his initiation, he had 1 month to do whatever task "Tom" set for him. His father also promised "fun" for the both of them at the party tonight. Along with his itinerary, his father reminded that he had to enjoy the night's festivities, or face punishment.  
  
With that all completed, his father presented him with a glass of rum, and told him welcome to manhood. His father drank it in one gulp, and when Severus didn't follow suit, he smacked him across the face again.  
  
"Drink up. It will help get you in the mood for tonight's festivities. Don't you want to be a man?" His father scolded, with a purely excited and childish look in his eyes. Severus sniffed it once, then tossed the drink down in one gulp. It made his throat burn and his eyes water, and he coughed shortly after it was in stomach. His father then grabbed his son again, and apparated to The Riddle Mansion.  
  
The house itself was huge. It was painted white with black shutters, two stories tall, and foreboding to the extreme. The gardens were kept immaculately and there were no houses around anywhere. There was a moon out this night, Severus noted, and watched as a bat flapped soundlessly past. He suddenly wished he was that bat, until it was shot out of the sky with a curse. He shuddered slightly, and took a hesitant step backward. His father jabbed his wand into his son's back and made him go up the hill toward the mansion.  
  
When they finally got into the mansion, they were greeted and escorted into the buildings main room, which was completely barren. There wasn't a single thing in there except for a man with his back towards the door. A snake had settled around his feet. They were soon left alone in the room with Tom.  
  
"Young Severus. Making the winning choice already. Are you prepared to fall into my ranks of supreme blood? Come here." Tom told Severus. Severus walked hesitantly forward, and kneeled in front of him. He felt Tom touch various parts of his back and shoulders, squeezing in places and pinching in others and muttering to himself all the while. Finally, he stopped and stood up, and walked to face Severus. "Your father tells me that you are in contact with that mudblood Evans... interesting. Before you may have the honor of joining my ranks, you will have too prove your worth to me. You knew that, though. How about something simple then?" He paused and looked at Severus. "I am in need of a book that is in residence in Hogwarts. It is called Evolution of the Consciousness. It will be here at my side in 1 month, or you will have to face the consequences. Understood?" Voldemort smiled at him, and waved a hand of dismissal.  
  
Severus gave a curt nod then stood to go. A shooting pain shot up from his stomach to his collarbone, and he coughed heavily. Blood covered the hand he had coughed into. He hastily wiped it off on his robes and straightened up. A few seconds later, as his father was pulling him out of the mansion, by his ear, his stomach felt as though it had caught on fire. Severus doubled over clutching his midsection as well as he could, trying to ease the burning. He staggered a few steps after his father who was impatiently waiting for him, then fell to his knees, as a sharp pain shot up his spine. He felt his father grab his arm and disapparated from the mansion and to theirs. They appeared in the library, where Severus abruptly threw up all over his fathers most expensive shoes.  
  
"Severus, my boy, you have been poisoned. You have..." He paused to look at his watch. "Exactly 37 minutes before you have irreversible damage, or in other words, death occurs. On the table behind you lies the book in which the potion and cure occurs. Good luck." With that he departed, leaving Severus to look through the book.  
  
Groaning with the effort, he pulled himself up to the table and grabbed the book, and promptly let himself drop back onto the floor, book in his lap. He mentally went through what he knew of the potion. It could be red or clear in color, a fast, slow acting poison, and it took less than an ounce of it to work. He was fortunate... the book had a table of contents that classified the potions by color. Only four were red and one was clear. He went to the clear one called Veritaserum. The very first thing said that it was a truth potion, not a poison. So that ruled that one out. The second one, labeled Red Death, said that it was an instant poison, acting in seconds, and the third was a healing potion. That left two called Crimson Cramps and Extract of Liondragon. He decided to look at the last on first, not knowing how much time he had left. He skimmed the first paragraph which mentioned that it was a clear reddish brown color and extremely hard to make. The second paragraph said that it was an internal incinerary potion that took near a half an hour to act, and the third paragraph said that the only cure for it was a gillyweed extract, found on page 783. He flipped to that page and nearly screamed with frustration. Half the instructions were missing; blotted out by water stains. It was a simple antidote, requiring only three ingredients. One was 1 gillyweed plant, the second was 3 grams of dried dragons bane, and the last was 1 hippocampus egg. All he had to do was mix the three together at a certain temperature and swallow immediately after they turned another color. The only problem was he didn't know either the temperature or the color. The hippocampus egg had to remain gelatinous, though, so that helped some.  
  
Deciding that he knew what to do, he called for a house elf to gather his ingredients and cauldron. A few seconds later, the four objects appeared in front of him with a note attached saying he had just under 10 minutes left. Indeed, Severus, who had pushed the pain to the background so he could concentrate, felt it come on again, full force. Unprepared for the onslaught, his vision blurred and started to black out. With a monumental effort, he stayed conscious and started his potion. He threw everything together immediately and used his wand to stir it, turning it into a puree. Then not knowing what to do next, kept it spinning in the cauldron. He watched as it turned from a brown sludge, to a purple runny liquid, to a blue gob, where it stayed for a few seconds before it turned a perfect puddle of green goo. Severus figured that was the finished product, judging by the small caption next to a black and white picture. He conjured a small glass, and used magic to pour it. Taking the antidote in a shaking hand, he slammed it and fell over, down for the count, finally overcome by pain.  
  
Severus Snape woke up with a start, half wondering whether or not that had just happened, or if it was a long lost memory. He was staring at the ceiling, in silent contemplation, as the visage of Albus Dumbledore hovered over him, with a worried look on his face. Snape blinked once, just to make sure that Dumbledore was really there, then sat up, slowly, confused. He had a migraine, which started at the base of his skull, and went all the way up to the center of his forehead and there was a nasty taste in his mouth. He raised a hand to touch the back of his head – it was itching him – and pulled it away as soon as it touched semi-coagulated blood, with a grimace, then he lie back down.  
  
"When is it? The last thing I can remember is canceling classes, being sick in the classroom, and now waking up." He gingerly turned his head to face the only man who he would let his guard down for.  
  
"Thursday, just before dinner. Minerva took over both your classes and hers today. I was sure that you wouldn't mind that too much." Dumbledore smiled gently. There was a snort and a grimace in response. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Like I've been shot at and missed, and shit at and hit, if you pardon the muggle expression." His stomach gave a large growl of acquiescence.  
  
I have food for us. I just got back with it a few minutes ago. It's soup for you, and shepherds pie for me. Here you go." Snape sat up and Dumbledore handed him the bowl, which he studied for a moment, then ate slowly. When he had finished, he placed the bowl beside him, careful not to spill the rest of the contents on the bed, and lied back down with a small sigh.  
  
"You didn't eat very much Severus. I would have thought that you would be starving. I haven't seen you eat in the last couple days, but you have eaten, haven't you?" Dumbledore looked at him enquiringly over a last bite of mashed potatoes. When Severus didn't say anything, Dumbledore felt a large amount of worry wash over him. "Why?" was his only question.  
  
"A variety of reasons, Albus. Many of which, you couldn't understand, or would choose not to accept." Said Snape heavily. "I get by Albus. Nobody's managed to poison me out of existence yet, but it's not for lack of trying." He closed his eyes, and shuddered, suddenly remembering his dream again, then opened them again tiredly. "I have my oddities, as do you. One of mine just happens to be the lack of need for large amounts of food. Don't critique mine and I won't yours. Speaking of oddities, why did you stay down here? It wasn't for the company, of that I'm sure. You could have just shipped me up to Pomfrey."  
  
"It's about one of our students, Severus. She's not-" He was cut off mid sentence by Snape, who had sat back up suddenly, and leaped unsteadily out of bed, grabbing his wand.  
  
"I've got to go Albus. It's him." He looked down at his robes, cast a quick charm to change them to the desired mask and proper robes, cast a glamour on himself to shield himself from unwanted stares, and took off at a lope from the bed chambers.  
  
He passed several students on the way out, and Minerva McGonagall as well. The students didn't notice him, but McGonagall did, and nodded her normal good bye as he passed. When he reached the front entrance, he paused long enough to cast a warming spell on himself, and strode out into the icy darkness. The moon was high in the sky, and he could see his breath as he jogged across the front lawn to the entrance gate, where he disappeared from all sight, and reappeared almost instantaneously elsewhere.  
  
The elsewhere happened to be a large, barren, granite cliff overlooking the ocean. There was a single tree about 10 feet in front of him, growing up from a small crevasse, and there was a sheer drop about 3 feet behind him. He turned around and took a quick peek at the water crashing into the rocks below, then walked over to the tree and leaned against it, all but his shoes hidden in the shadows created by the moon overhead. He shivered slightly as a frigid blast emitted from the sea, and wished that he were anywhere but here, waiting for some sort of blood bath or another.  
  
Fifteen minutes passed , and Snape began to get uneasy. He glanced around to see if anyone was there yet, but saw no one, and shifted his weight to the other foot. After a half an hour, he became rather tired of the sit and wait game, but had the distinct feeling that if he moved, he would be shot. After three hours, he could hardly feel his feet, and his arms were getting numb from the cold. The clouds had come in and it was misting. His patients were wearing thin; he had heard movement nearby an hour ago, and had seen nothing. His earlier guess was correct. After 5 hours, he was thoroughly frozen, but still he stood, waiting for some clear sign that he could move without being shot from some direction. At 7 hours, or 2:30 am, he stretched, and the frozen mist fell off, leaving him feel naked. He decided to weigh his options: He could run around the tree, and get shot, he could stay and freeze to death, or he could jump off the cliff next to him, into the water, and pray that he could flounder to shore.  
  
He shook his head, bent over and stuck his wand in his pants leg, and took a running leap off the cliff to the waters below. Latently he realized that he would probably hit some rocks at the bottom, but he didn't have time to worry about it, as the base of his skull connected with a small outcropping of rock, knocking it loose and him unconscious.  
  
A small group of Death Eaters ran over to the edge that he jumped off of and shook their heads as the cloaked figure first hit his head on the side of the cliff, then bounced off two more times and belly flopped into the sea below. One of them chuckled slightly.  
  
"I always said that taking a bath would kill him, the greasy git. Who would have thought that he would have chosen his greatest fear over his friends? Pity we didn't get to play with him though. Party at my manor?" With the last comment made, all members quickly dispelled the anti- apparition barrier, and apparated to Malfoy manor. 


End file.

Harry Potter, Adventure, Romance