The shadow of the Dark Lord looms over England, threatening to extend its claws across the world.
The Potions Professor is dead, the Headmaster has reached the end of his tether. Desperate for a reprieve, he appoints the mysterious detective L to b...
A cold light illuminated the countryside. It was a green one, a harsh one. Green, associated with freedom, freshness, jealously etc etc, this green commanded the liberation of the soul from the mortal body. It was a cruel and inhuman process, an act of crime, but the man didn't care. Selfishness commanded his actions, and this was merely one of the countless murders that he had committed, one of the uncountable felonies that he had caused.
Tom Marvolo Riddle remembered his first murder. It was strange to think of it, now. He had led two of his fellow mates into the brinks of death once, tortured them as mere amusement as a child, but the first time that he had consciously and completely murdered someone was his father, who had abandoned him and his mom. His so-called father, whose mere memory made his blood boil.
He had killed him in cold blood, without any ounce of regret. He had, then, extended this vengeance upon his grandparents, whose last looks had been one of utmost terror. He had smiled, a sadistic smile as he had whispered the deadly words.
"Avada Kedavra."
Some would balk at how he felt nothing when he murdered someone, he would merely laugh, because he had no conscience, none that matched society's anyways. However, even as he didn't notice, his being became numb. Not his physical body perhaps, but as he broke his soul up into pieces, to make himself immortal, he became more and more unstable.
His followers noticed, some did, anyways, but none dared to voices their opinions. If they did, they would be faced with merciless torture, followed by certain death. And that fear of death was what had kept them so long by his side.
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Severus Snape prided himself to be an intelligent man. He had no reasons to doubt that fact, except for the gravest error that he had made, which he would certainly forfeit with his life. Joining Lot Voldemort, at first, had seemed like a dream, he had allowed himself to be led by the fantasies that had been conjured by his so-called friends. He had, in his mind, thought that it would give him the recognition that he believed that he deserved. He had assumed that he would finally be able to realize his dreams.
On a whole, he didn't hate Muggleborns or Muggles, but his recent experiences had left him more than a little vulnerable to the subtle manipulation of one Lucius Malfoy. He had, however realised his mistake in a whole week, and then, it was, in his own words, hell. He had no means to escape, the Dark Mark had a cleverly designed tracking charm in it, which would lead to his certain death as much as he struggled.
Looking for a way out, he, by mastery of the mind arts had given the Dark Lord an idea. He had said that it would be easier to gain control of the Ministry if there had been someone inside of it, feeding him information, especially about Dumbledore's whereabouts. The Dark Lord had frowned, but Snape had been confident in his Occlumency skills, and he had gotten permission to spy.
Throwing himself at Dumbledore's feet might have been a huge blow to his pride, but what was a little bit of pride compared to his life?
He hadn't regretted his decision, even if he had nightmares and headaches and suffered from insomnia due to his experiences, he perservered.
A grim smile on his lips, he stroked his ebony wand. His constant companion. His last hope.
Even though he knew the Willow from which he had escaped when he had been sixteen was going to serve as his tomb.
