The Plight- Malfoy x Reader

Mind the Gap

WARNING—-sad chapter sorry 🫠

Severus Snape POV

"Are you ready?"

She nodded—still in the ice water tub.

We'd decided to keep her in there as a precaution if she set herself on fire again.

Lucius seemed to be holding his breath—watching her for the slightest change in her demeanor.

His eyes cut to me as I lifted my wand to point at her.

He gave me a nod.

I turned my attention back to her, casting the spell in a voice slightly above a whisper.

The magic from my wand reached her and slowly wrap around the crown of her head. It swirled around her like a band over her brows as her eyes slowly closed.

Then it sunk beneath her skin and disappeared beneath.

And then I entered her mind.

—

There was a vast emptiness as I stepped into y/n's mind. She stood at the entrance of it in her own form, like she was greeting a guest.

Though it was her it was... different.

She looked exhausted... tormented. Her eyes sallow and gaunt in this version.

I tried to hide my concern and dismay from her appearance—aware my own reactions could exacerbate her emotional state.

"Shall we?" I asked her.

She nodded. No smile, no happiness lay there.

Like a candle snuffed of its light.

Strange.

So strange when there was such a fire unleashing within her.

She held her arms like she was shaking—from what I didn't know.

Fear, exhaustion, restrained temper?

I reached out my hand to her.

A silent offer to walk this path together.

She looked at it then back up to me. She reached out, slightly shaky as she did.

Her hand was cold and limp as she placed it in mine.

"Lead the way," I offered gently—it echoed in the undefined space.

She turned and did just that, still not speaking.

We walked—the space surrounding us was beginning to condense itself into a shape.

We went from nothingness to a hallway—towards a single door that stood at the end of it.

We stopped at it.

Stood there in front of it.

There was a chain on it—locking things inside.

And the wood of the door was strange.

The edges of it seemed scorched and worn—like something had clawed and burned it's way out, decimated it in the process, and then tried to put it back together.

She made no move to enter.

But she had to be the one to do it.

"Whenever your ready," I said.

She starred and starred and starred—for minutes.

When I almost suggested we turn back, her hand, shaking, reached out for the handle.