Elixir Of Life // Severus Snape

°•chapter three•°

One of the known scarce admonitions of being caught up in foul hatch plots is being vigilant-and hopeful-towards probable opportunities that could possibly land you out, perhaps only if you're sane enough, that is.

In Azkaban, though surrounded by the dark lord's trusted circle, that had remained unsuspecting of me for the time being, I had a grand run-in with an old acquaintance that served that very purpose.

It had just been a few months since I had been coerced to share a cell room with the deranged lunatic, Bellatrix Lestrange and her equally disturbed associate, Antonin Dolohov when one seemingly ordinary night, the guards had shifted open the heavy stone gate. And for once in a very long time, I had felt breathable air that I greatly desired, glide past me, dispensing me with false hope to keep faith in those aguishly sluggish times for one day I might make it out.

As usual, there was thunder grumbling in the already darkened skies but this time with an addition of few flashes of lightening serving as casual interruptions. The occasional silhouettes of the guards forming as a result, showcased both being clad with their respective wands, obviously mocking our lack thereof. Just as they had thrown a seemingly fragile body inside, the lightening had illuminated his distraught features and it hadn't taken me more than a few moments to know exactly who it was.

Though before I could sneak over to the perplexed man in hopes of withdrawing some information from the outside and question why, of all people, he was imprisoned, Bellatrix had already got hold of his attention using her intrusive and pestering way, mocking him for being wrongly evicted. And true to my memory, he did try his best to maintain a calm unwavering front and ignore her for the most part, however, he had eventually given in to her, as she had ridiculed him for being a traitor to his own friends, wailing out in agony.

"What else did a blood traitor like you deserve?" the black-haired man had roared from the far-right side of the room, his ankle chains rustling against the stone ground as he had attempted to near towards the frail man, startling me in the process.

"Rotting in here, just like rest of us," Bella squealed in her high-pitched voice as she then proceeded to laugh manically, just a few feet away from me. "What did you even gain? Putting your life on line for that mudblood," she whispered, cooing him mockingly. "Perhaps it would've been better if you had just obliged to the family customs, Black."

The devious display of mind manipulation had gone on for several hours and even Antonin joined for a bit, clearly getting their high by torturing the man but I knew how dangerous it might turn out to be, for both him and I, if I did as much as project even a bit of sympathy his way.

So, I had done the only thing I could do; nothing.

The challenging times, though harsh, are not faithful, I had learned a long time ago.

Belaying my mind with-seemingly-false assurances that I was too stubborn to question in the moment, I had desperately beseeched for the interrogation to end soon. Burrowing my head deep in between my knees, I had balled my hands and sinked further into the shadows of the cell, wishing he hadn't spotted me yet.

People had assumptions about me.

Strong.

Wicked.

Deceptive.

Surely, it all had to be false. I wasn't cruel? Or endangering? And never in a million years did I ever want him to think of me like that. Resisting for what it's worth, the truth was, I couldn't ever be too sure myself. Perhaps it would've been far easier had it just been simple tasks of prejudice that I was forced to commit, albeit not, whether it was heart or brain, it was close, but no cigar.