In the Shadows of Snakes || O.G & S.S One-Shots

For whatever we lose (like a you, or a me) (GN!Reader ANGST)

Title from the E.E. Cummings poem, "maggie and milly and molly and may"

TW:
- Gore
- Torture
- Emotional Manipulation
- Panic Attacks
- Blood
- Mentions of death

***

Not a sound could be heard in the moonlit,  desolate hallways of Hogwarts. The distant star casted a haunting glow  over the courtyard and shone through the grand windows of the Great  Hall. Figures long lost to time danced through the paintings lining the  hazelwood walls, waltzing to an imaginary concerto. The ghosts floating  about chatted quietly about their history, telling tales of cadences  forever forgotten in old textbooks. Their whispers shivered the leaves  in the trees on the campus grounds, leaving them humming at the fall  winds cascading from the sky and turning their once vibrant green spires  into a burnt orange. Lanterns lined the Grand Staircase at the heart of  the castle, a paragon of regality and the wisdom of the great wizarding  school. Baroque styled banisters basked in the glow, expelling  person-shaped shadows on the enormous walls lining the mystical  architecture. Down the stairs laid an ornate stone door, its architrave  adorned with a cosmic silver snake. Two freshly lit braziers framed the  entrance and swayed in the steely breeze of the dungeons, its smokey ash  pirouetting in romantic couplets towards the ceiling.

A third  was sparked to life just down the way. The line of light seemed to lure  in anyone who were to walk the halls past curfew; beckoning them with  the promise of mischief and pleasure. Standing before the final brazier,  basking in its luminescence, were three young students. One leaned  against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed tightly against his  chest with a sullen look adorning his features. His eyes seemed to catch  the light and shimmer like frosted glass on a winter morning. Another  stood in front of the boy, directly under the cold stone of the giant  candelabra. He was beaming with elation, his eyes glittering with  waywardness and intrigue. His brown irises seemed to reflect the fire  back in challenge, almost daring it to blaze brighter than he did.  Between the two was the final student. A slight frown quirked the corner  of their mouth, glancing back and forth between their two friends in  trepidation. They could feel each emotion emitting from their companions  like a thick fog, coating the hallway and leaving the braziers the lone  match shining through the storm. Each felt something different about  their quest— had different motives for the scintillating adventure. They  all heard the distinct call to the Scriptorium before them, and felt  more than compelled to answer. With a great rumble, the stone wall  sloughed away and opened up to a chasm leading downward. A spiral  staircase slithered from below and attached to the ledge, hissing out a  stream of steam in its wake.

The three friends stood in awe at  the display, amazed at the grandiloquence of the long dead wizard who  made this place. They were about to enter Salazar Slytherin's  Scriptorium, a feat very few could claim as their own.

Sebastian  Sallow turned on the balls of his feet and beckoned his friends over, a  giddy look twinkling in his eyes and stretching his smile. The prospect  of finding a cure for the curse that plagued his sister heavily  outweighed any unease he may have had at the daunting entryway. He  nearly vibrated with excitement— the need for thrill buried itself deep  in his bones. He could taste the tombs of secrets hidden in the enigma  before him, feel the leather bound books worn with oil from the  fingertips of his house founder. The forbidden magic thrummed in his  veins and set his blood aflame like the brightest sunlight. Something  unfamiliar flashed in his eyes, something dark.

Ominis Gaunt, the  heir of Slytherin himself, flicked his wand from his large robe sleeve  and sparked it to life. A red light pulsed from its tip, and the hallway  came more into focus in his mind. He pushed himself off of the wall and  walked towards the imposing archway, closer to his family history  simmering below. He looked striking, noble even, with his even, strong  steps. Only someone close enough to be in his own skin would notice the  slight tremble in his hands, the sweat that beaded at his brow. Anyone  else with his condition could hear the steady hammer of his heart  against his ribcage, the fast but even beats swimming in his ears and  resting behind his eyes. He thought of his dear aunt Noctua, the last of  the Gaunt's to enter the foreboding mausoleum— how she had disappeared  soon after finding its entrance. A shiver ran up his spine and something  akin to fear lodged itself in his throat.