Addicted to You

IX

Well into the night, Snape found himself thinking about Hermione and the incident she had to face under captivity at the Malfoys' house. His own days at the Manor were no less eventful; the experiences he had undergone were unsettling and owing to his helplessness regarding the disclosure of his true allegiance, he had to silently witness things that had truly tragic consequences.

Recounting those days of ordeal again and again in his mind, he drifted off to sleep and found himself seated at a long and ornate table. He knew it only too well- knew it by touch, remembered exactly how he used to feel when he joined the rest of the group, he remembered the room with all its paintings bearing down on him and listening closely to every word of lie he fed them, how the table seemed too big even for the large, sumptuously decorated room, just to fit in all who wanted to stay in the Dark Lord's favour.

He did't remember ever hating a piece of furniture more than he hated that table; it was because no words of pleasantry were ever exchanged across of it, rather discussions were solely focused on intrigues and schemes to bring about the doom of the magical world. It was strictly business talk, it didn't give out any friendly or familial vibes, despite the claims of the death-eaters of being a family united with one purpose. If just a similar tattoo could evoke a voluntary kindred spirit among them all, Snape would have been long gone, his double-agent act falling flat. But he hated the man who sat at this table more, hated the man he had to become when he was there.

He scraped at the surface of the wood with his fingernails, so as to not look up at the suspended human figure hanging upside down in the air. But the reflection on the polished surface of the table made it hard to avoid it. The roaring fire beneath the handsome marble mantelpiece provided no warmth whatsoever. The dimly lit room had an even sinister aura by the presence of the individual at the head of the table.

A sudden wail sounded, a terrible, drawn-out cry of misery and pain and Snape realized it had been there all along, subdued and choked, all the more cause for his perturbation. As he looked towards the silhouette, its face shone through the gloom- hairless, snake-like, with slits for nostrils and gleaming red eyes. He grinned, watching Snape discomposed.

"What displeases you Severus?"

"Nothing- nothing, my Lord."

"Such lies...."

The soft voice seemed to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. Snape barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table. The huge snake emerged, to climb slowly up, coiling around the leg of the table. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across its master's shoulders: its neck the thickness of a man's thigh, its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. He stroked the creature absently with long, thin fingers, still looking at Snape. Unable to maintain eye contact any longer he looked away only to have his eyes land on the figure hovering above. As he gazed trans-fixedly at it, it came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

Now that she was awake he couldn't bear to look at her condition any more but he failed to force his eyes away. The woman wailed, in a cracked and terrified voice, "Severus! Help me!"

Snape dug his nails into his skin as he clenched his fists, making his face impassive and setting his jaw so tight it could break. He watched on as she called out for help, but did nothing.

'Avada Kedavra!'

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. She fell, with a resounding crash, on to the table below, which trembled and creaked. Snape sat there immobile, looking at the eyes that stared back at him blankly. Her inert lips as if still pleading: