Catalyst

Chapter 32: Discord

It took a few minutes for the pain to fade and for Severus Snape to open his eyes. Even then, his head ached from the mental massacre that that boy, child, monster, whatever it was, had inflicted on him. Severus had only briefly glimpsed into its mind before the thing had ripped his own mind into shreds, but now, Severus knew never to go in there again, and not just because of the pain. That creature had thought of him and everyone else like Severus thought of potion ingredients; annoying, difficult to work with and only vaguely useful. Whatever doubts he'd had about the monstrous nature of Thenabar Jaren were gone.

"If you have time to spend staring at me, you have time to spend it doing something useful," Snape said to the students had crowded around him, peering closely, trying to inspect him. In one motion they backed off rapidly, quickly remembering his reputation.

"Class is dismissed," Severus stated. They hesitated. "Go!" he barked, and they finally listened, backing off and filing out of the door. Only then did Severus inspect himself, and the desk he had been slammed into. When he pressed his hand to the back of his head, he felt wetness and a sharp sting, and when he pulled his hand back, there was blood on it. His desk was splintered form the impact of his skull against the wood, and Snape's only solace was that it was not his neck that had hit the dead tree. Whatever that thing was, it was stronger than it had any right to be, at least as strong as a troll.

Wonder of wonders, Albus had been completely right. Severus had spent the better part of 4 years teaching something that masqueraded as human, and hardly noticed a single thing out of place. Albus had to know about this, the monster hiding behind a child's face. Then, they would drive it out.

(Transition)

As the boggart experiment moved towards the castle, Abathur's paranoia mounted higher and higher. By the time it could see the towers, he had taken direct control over its body. The illusion had to be complete, and there could be no deviation whatsoever. Every word, every movement had to be exactly as he would have performed them, or else the plot would fail, and he would be worse off than when he started.

Abathur stopped when he reached the edge of the treeline, and peered towards the gates. He had expected an army of terrans to show up, bearing gauss rifles and power armor. Instead, there was only the incompetent and the headmaster. Both of them were powerful psionics, but that was still far less than Abathur had expected. Were they overconfident, stupid, or just removed from their military? Either way, it would be...adequate. Ideally, there would have been more destructive equipment, to make identifying the body harder, but he could make this work.

Abathur moved towards the duo silently, keeping low as if to sneak past them. It would not do to make it seem like he was eager to die. He crept along the treeline, wand in hand, stalking the psionics. Fortunately, the experiment had just enough psionic strength to use spells, if little else. Ideally, he would take one out and die fighting the other, to sell the point. Probably the incompetent; he might want to experiment on the headmaster later.

His stealth turned out to be completely pointless; the moment he stepped from the edge of the forest and over the threshold of the castle's wards, Dumbledore's head snapped straight towards him, eyes blazing with intensity.

"Name, Abathur," he stepped out, facing the two humans. Abathur held his wand towards them, as they did to him

"Yes, I suppose it is," Dumbledore said solemnly. Was that a trace of remorse in his mind? "I should have listened the first time you told me that."

"There is no point talking to this thing, headmaster," the incompetent interjected. We should just kill it here and now."

"You've already told me that, Severus. And I will still let him speak for himself," said Dumbledore. "Well Abathur? Do you have anything to say?"