Fire & Ice: War Games

‘Treason is not own’d when ‘tis descried;
Successful crimes alone are justified.’

John Dryden, Medals (1. 207)


He bit his lip, wincing inwardly as the heavy oak door moaned as it slowly swung open. The sparsely arranged torches along the walls crackled as they burst into flame and dim light flooded the room. He waited, holding his breath as his beady eyes slowly adjusted to the poor lighting. Being the Christmas holidays, most of the library’s torches were charmed to remain unlit as to save on the school’s supply of Basilisk oil. Once his eyes had adjusted to the illumination and he was able to make out the familiar layout of Hogwarts’ library, he softly closed the door behind him. His cheeks twitched slightly as the lock quietly engaged.

His heart drummed inside his chest as he lit the lantern in his hand. Mindful of being discovered by the professors, or worse Ogg. He smirked as he slipped James Potter’s invisibility cloak over himself. He thought that it was quite fortunate his roommate had conveniently left the useful item in his trunk when the fellow Gryffindor had left for the holidays. If the truth be told, Potter would’ve thought his roommate’s trunk to be last place to search for his cloak during his hectic holiday packing. A soft scratching near Madam O’Brien’s desk drew his attention as came to a sudden stop. Beneath the cloak, his face twitched. His lips drew upwards, exposing two beaver-like teeThe The gangly long hairs on his arms and back stood on their ends as his heart raced in his ears. Straining his ears, he wa bre breathlessly as he listened intently for the sound again. Hearing nothing more then the throbbing of his own heartbeat, he started again slowly.

“Last thing I need is that no-good, trouble causing fur ball of Ogg’s nosing around in things that don’t concern him.” He grumbled softly as he slipped into the library’s restricted section. Running his finger across the bindings of numerous rows of books as he held the lantern up with his other hand, “if I were the Founders, where would I have put it?” He sighed with frustration as he walked around the rows of shelved books. Truth be told, he had always relied on Lily Evan’s neat script or Remus Lupin’s carefully orged ned notes to get him through his classes as reading books was never one of his forays. After all, the last place he ever wanted to be was stuck in the castle’s musty old library when there was Quidditch to discuss or a game to be watched.

An hour of walking past the rows of towering shelves and retracing his footsteps until hisgy fgy feet were sore found him sprawled on the floor with his back propped against the grey brick wall. Beads of sweat dribbled down his body, gluing wild mane of hair on his head to his forehead and his stomach growled angrily up at him. “He’s going to kill me,” he whimpered into the catacomb atmosphere of the library. “He’s going to kill me, slowly.” Salty tears streamed down his flushed face and soaked into the sweat drenched robe. “He’s going to kill me,” he sniffled as he banged his head against the brick wall repeatedly. “I don’t want to die!”

Wrapping his arms around his chubby legs, he pressed them tightly against his chest. Burying his wet face against his knees, he sobbed. His body was racked with convulsions as the sound of his whimpered sobs echoed in the thick coating of the restricted section’s silence. His mind was commandeered by an invisible puppet master, filling every available space with images of what and how the Dark Lord would express his displeasure. His mind abruptly detoured from the horrific scenes of his impending demise and instead brought memories from the most recent of the Dark Lord’s deterrents, the freshest. His mind conjured the events of the last dark revel and the fate that had awaited the Dark Lord’s favorite rising pupil. Despite years of mutual animosity, he had unexpectedly cringed as he was suddenly confronted and forced to relive the punishment of Severus Snape.





The dark wizard was furious, even a blind fool could see that as the madman drummed his fingers on the mahogany armrest as he listened absently to the Slytherin boy’s explanation of his earlier actions. Hazel eyes glowed with the wizard’s anger his face masked. The dark wizard sighed in annoyance as the boy continued calmly with his story, seemingly oblivious to the agitated state that his master was visibly in. Finishing his explanation, Severus Snape knelt before the sadistic mage and peacefully waited for the fathomless wrath of fire and brimstone to fall from the dark wizard’s lips. The death eaters standing semi-circle around the Dark Lord and the boy braced themselves for the inevitable cyclone to commence.

Pursing his lips, the blood-hungry mage gathered his robes about him as he shifted slightly on the throne. “I understand, Severus.” Convinced that their ears were charmed to deceive them, the dark followers glanced nervously at each other before quickly turning their attention back to the dark puppet master. “You felt sorry for the animals, that’s understandable. Severus, I don’t like seeing them suffer as well.” The snake hissed sympathetically before continuing the manipulative charade. “ But I am afraid until the fools of the Ministry of Magic relent, more animals will suffer on the alter of our future because of their folly. Rest assured, that when this squabble is over with and has been won, your hands will be clean. All of our hands will be clean and the blood of the animals will stain none but theirs.”

Though his words were chosen to lull the unexpected into a false comfort of righteousness, the seasoned death eaters knew better. “However,” the older death eaters instinctively cringed as they recognized the warning tone of the wizard’s hiss. “Such an act of insubordination is hardly healthy for the general moral of everyone involved. I have little choice but to make an example of you, Severus. Though you may think of it as an educated incentive for your brethren.” A small, cruel smile fleetingly graced his face as his eyes widened a fraction and his wand slipped into view. The dark wizard’s voice was soft, just above a whisper and emotionless as he spoke a single word. “Crucio!”

The Slytherin boy’s beetle black eyes widened at the sudden jolt of pain ricocheting this body like lightening. The raven haired Slytherin’s body convulsed under the curse, his armailiailing wildly cocked up a thick brown cloud of dirt. Through the whimpered sobs jerking from his clenched mouth as the dark mage’s smile grew with excited pleasure, they could hear the boy’s bones crack and break. Sharply, the sound of a twig snapping repeatedly echoed in the open clearing beneath the canopy of leafless tree branches. It was evident to anyone with a single grain of imagination that the raven haired boy was consumed by the pain ravaging his being as the Slytherin cried out, pleading the merciless wizard for mercy. They knew that Severus Snape’s mercy would only arrive when the dark mage lost interest in him and the boy’s fellow death eaters were reluctantly reigned in.



He shivered involuntary as he feverishly fought to suppress the conjured images back down into the farthest recesses of his soul. When the dirt cloud had finally settled, he had been to race into the nearby thicket and had promptly expelled his lunch at the base of an old oak tree. He remembered slumping to the moist ground, snowflakes clinging to his clothes and tears streaming down his flushed face. Butterflies had entertained a popular fiesta inside of his newly emptied stomach and he hadn’t been able to eat without vomiting later since then. He had hyperventilated uncontrollably asstrustruggled to compose himself before facing the dark mage once again. Leaning against the cottonwood across from the oak, he had slowly rocked himself back and forth as though he were bewitched. He had sobbed quietly to himself as he listened to the raucous laughter of the death eaters still sporting in the clearing.

He had whimpered, knowing that they had found amusement in his weak stomach. He had repeatedly whispered to himself that it wasn’t his fault that he had a weak constitution and that theye fie filled with ice blood. Try as he might, he would always be known as on the Gryffindor. It wasn’t his fault that he was sorted into the Lion’s House or that he wasn’t born a pure blood. He knew that if given the chance, he could be as devious as a Slytherin and as smart as a Ravenclaw. But only if the dark wizard gave him that chance. He wearily stumbled back onto his feet and trudged to the library’s door and back to face the displeased wrath of the Dark Lord. His beady efillfilling with unshed tears as he realized that no one, not even his fellow Gryffindors would be too upset upon learning of his demise.


A/N


This chapter beta-ed by Kate.

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