Harry Potter 1. The Winner

Blood, Chains, and Games  
Chapter 1: The Winner  
  
AN: Reviews are welcome, flames are not. I would just like to mention that, depending on reviews, I may or may not continue this. This particular piece is simply an introduction; the rest would include background and the rest of this bit of the story. It would also include viewpoints for Snape, Malfoy, Lupin, and an Auror. Also, the story does not follow the books entirely as Malfoy is in Azkaban and Sirius fell to his doom, but I'm taking a little writer's leeway with that.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not claim right to Harry Potter or any of J.K Rowlings characters. I do, however, enjoy the opportunity to write fanfiction from her wonderful stories and would just like to remind everyone that I make no money off of this.  
  
Darkness. I squint my eyes and wait for them to adjust. If I were to say that it stunk, it would have been a compliment to this awful place. The smells of blood, urine, and rotting flesh assault my senses. I almost balked, but I knew that doing so wouldn't help one thing. I was here to finally pin Lucius Malfoy to his Dark Arts toys.  
  
I jogged down the hall, trusting my half-adjusted eyes, firstly because there wasn't time to wait for them to adjust and secondly because I didn't want to touch the wall. Who knew whether it was blood-caked or not? There was a light up ahead. A perfect mimic of sunlight, but it came from an enchanted torch that did not dance like true fire.  
  
Blinking a few times to clear the darkness from my eyes, I glanced around. A little ways into the room and to my right was a man in shackles that were attached, via chains from the ceiling, to each of his wrists. The band of metal around the man's wrists was caked with red-brown blood and a fresh trickle of the vividly colored liquid ran down his outstretched arms. His head hung limp, and shoulder-length black hair obscured his features. There were bleeding, crimson marks across his chest that could have been caused by a whip or a blade. Blood cascaded from a hole in his left side that was bigger than both of my fists. He was dressed in a simple pair of black muggle slacks. His bare feet hung almost three feet off the ground and a silver necklace of some description dangled from his limp neck.  
  
I never stopped jogging to help Severus Snape. His chest rose and fell in an obvious attempt to cling to life, but I didn't care. If it had been someone else, I probably would have stopped.  
  
I kept my eyes on the limp form as I went past. I wasn't ashamed to go past him and not help, or even to keep my gaze on him as I past. I should have been. But I wasn't. My conscious wasn't nagging me; I truly didn't care at all.  
  
I was almost past him when a low groan escaped from his mouth. I didn't bite my lip in anticipation or hope that he wouldn't stir. He even lifted his head and caught my gaze in his own.  
  
Time stopped.  
  
Blood-shot blue-gray eyes stared at me. He spoke not a word, but his eyes pleaded with me, "Sirius...please."  
  
My mind froze and my legs kept going, and he watched without words as I passed. That was the man that had threatened to expose Moony for what he really was.  
  
I wouldn't have helped him if I had had the time. Maybe if I hadn't spent twelve years in Azkaban I would've still had the heart and will to. If I had been Moony, I'm positive I would have stopped and helped. I would have made time. But I'm not him, and it doesn't matter anyway.  
  
The hairs on my neck didn't so much as prickle as his gaze chased me out of the room. I felt no emotion for the chained man. If he hadn't tried to get me thrown to Dementors, I might have felt pity or even guilt. But my stomach wasn't churning and my head wasn't pounding.  
  
I could've almost turned back to finish his death for whoever had strung him up there. But I had a job to do. And something inside of my scolded me for giving in to hate. For doing exactly what Severus had said I'd do. But mostly, for losing to that slimy Death Eater. 


	2. The Onlooker

Blood, Chains, and Games  
Chapter 2: The Onlooker  
  
AN: Reviews are welcome, flames are not. In response to the wonderful reviewers, I would like to present you with the second chapter, as well as some comments in response to the reviews I've received so far. I would like to thank the reviewers firstly. Secondly, are the separate issues.  
  
Serpent Clara – Yes, Sev's eyes are black. However, they were clouded and blood-shot, giving a different impression. And yes, we all love the idea torturing our dear Snake. ;P But unfortunately, we don't love the idea of Lu being behind it all. He's really sadistic, and I'd have to up the rating to touch on it all. If you really want me to (and other people can yay or nay this) I could do a vignette on the actual tortures. I just don't want to have to up the rating on the whole thing because of one scene.  
  
Trinity Day – Hehe, yeah. I have a habit of misspelling his name. Thanks for pointing it out  
  
, (Anonymous) – I don't necessarily hate Padfoot. I don't like him much, either. And he doesn't like Sevvie much either. But he does blame everything on other people and has an attitude problem. I do hope you continue to read, on account of the fact that Sirius is never really portrayed as the world's most "bestest" guy.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not claim right to Harry Potter or any of J.K Rowlings characters. I do, however, enjoy the opportunity to write fanfiction from her wonderful stories and would just like to remind everyone that I make no money off of this.  
  
As much as I wanted to run and stay at Sirius' side, I knew I had to wait. I took a breath to steady my nerves and my body was immediately assaulted by coughs – I shouldn't have breathed in so deeply the reek of this place.  
  
The Auror behind me laid a hand on my shoulder and together we pushed forward through the darkness. One foot in front of the other. Even after I'd changed my mind and my senses screamed at me to turn around and run the direction. Screw Sirius. Screw the mission. Save your own hide. But my feet carry me forward, and Lee's hand is still on my shoulder.  
  
I'm beginning to think that he's afraid I'll run off on him. Or maybe he's just afraid of my werewolf. It's not like I have a choice when I shift. Perhaps he's just afraid, pure and simple. Afraid like me.  
  
Sirius' footsteps have long since faded in the distance, yet our progress is slow. Perhaps neither of us really wants to find out what's going on down here. Perhaps we're both afraid that Malfoy is still down here. It doesn't really matter, we're moving forward down the corridor all the same, albeit at a slow pace.  
  
Finally, a single light bites through the darkness up ahead. I wonder if it's the final chamber. Is Sirius already there? Is Malfoy there? What if he got away? What if he hurt Sirius? My thoughts flee me once we reach the artificial light. Lee curses from behind me. The horror is not in what I see, as I have seen worse in my life. It resembles my worst fear, which is what part of the horror is. It's bad when I awake from a full moon caked in someone else's blood. Yet my nightmare is always to wake with the carcass of someone I know, someone I love, at my feet. The horror is that I know this man.  
  
This man that hangs limply, suspended from the ceiling by shackles. I went to school with this person; I worked with this human. And now he is reduced to a bloody, limp object. Something that is not truly dead and not truly alive.  
  
Even as Lee rushes past me and begins to remove the shackles from Severus Snape, I wish he were dead. And I wish I could tell Lee to leave him alone, to not prolong his suffering. But I can't, and he couldn't. It's just another piece of his job – heal the wounded, bury the dead, kill the Death Eaters.  
  
I kneel beside Severus' head as Lee performs spells that I care nothing about. My mind is on this shell of a person I once knew. It doesn't matter that he once threatened me, that he once threatened my best friends. It doesn't matter that he's different, that his original choice in life was bad. It didn't matter to me because it had all come back to him. He was the one lying on the floor dying slowly, not me. James had already suffered through this, and somehow I felt obliged to Severus, as I could not have been at James' side during his death.  
  
I run a brotherly hand across the scared cheek, realizing as I do so how long he must have suffered to have healed wounds.  
  
He opens his eyes – cloudy, blood-shot orbs - and I can do nothing but silently pray for him to pass on. And as he closes his eyes, not in death but simply in the spell-induced sleep that Lee has placed on him, I wonder how Sirius could have passed this by without a second glance. Rationally, I want to believe that he simply didn't notice. That he had been concentrating too much on the mission at hand. But somehow, I knew that it was just Sirius.  
  
He was the one that laughed at all of James' pranks, who even encouraged them. At least now I could do something to help the boy, now a man, that had always been the butt of those jokes. Now it didn't matter if Sirius was dueling for his life. I was dueling for someone else's. 


End file.

Harry Potter, Angst, Horror