The Humanity In You, The Darkness In Me

Author: Screamguy

Notes: This story is beginning to have a life of it's own, much like a seperate dimension. Personally something close to what you said PensivePlotter of other realities, either that or it's like we're catalouging separate realities just without any knowledge of it. This saddens me, because if this is really playing out somewhere this person is going to have a very traumatized life . . .

Also, I apologize that its taken so long to put some sexual content in this - it just hasn't been appropriate until now. This just happened, to tell you the truth this isn't what I necessarily wanted to happen in the story, its just what came to pass. A warning to those, this chapter contains hinted rape possibly blood letting as well and the general mind fuck so be forewarned...... *laughs* . . .only a small taste of the delightful things yet to come ....

This was NOT very easy to write, I tell you, I disgust myself rather wonderously.....yet it amuses me still.....I was laughing all the way through this... mainly the part concerning Wormtail....

Chapter revised July '08, complete revision of character and several scenes

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~: Chapter Four: Nails into Flesh, My Harm into Your

Heart~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:

" I? "

-
ScreamGuy, July '08

Azriel stared at Narcissa, her eyes wide with an unvoiced incredulous shine. She hadn't meant to hurt her, after all a Death Eater was of more use alive than dead; she had never before killed, no - murdered anyone.

She'd seen bodies before, but this was something else. Perhaps it was the knowledge that she had been the one who had caused this person's life to end which made it significantly diverse from that of any other experience concerning corpses.

Although the auror was at times apathetic, she was not without heart; she had forgotten the use of such an incalcuable thing as the whims of one's emotions or soul, and it was made apparent to her once more how tiresome and painful they could be.

She knew the woman at once now that she had gotten a revealing look at her, the long blazing blond hair, the pert crimson mouth and the amble bosom. It was Narcissa Malfoy, wife to the now widowed Lucius Malfoy. The Malfoys were indisputibly one of the more blue-blooded wizarding families, the pure of blood. However, their vast egos seemed to precede their wealth, *as unbelievable as that might seem*.

Her mind reasoned that she had taken a life in self defense, and therefore was not a murderer.

So why did she feel so absolutely awful if it was self defense? She knew that although the Ministry would probably be sympathetic to what had just transpired in their rulings, she realized whatever was decided she would not be satisfied that justice had been done.

Azriel believed extensively in the laws and the systems, and those who abided by them. In a way it was hypocritical, since in her own mind she truely believed that sometimes in order to bring justice about one had to do things that would be considered unlawful in nature. She imagined herself as judge and juror, a sort of human vessel for the embodiment of righteousness that could be above the law if there were true need of it.

However she tried more often than not to abide by the rules, but could not seem to surpress the deviant streak within herself that surfaced from time to time.

In this case she was truely remorseful for Narcissa's unneccessary death. She would have been a valuable fount of information, and every life, even those of repugnant Death Eaters, held value.

She knew Narcissa was not a part of his inner circle, and had never actually been involved with the doings of Voldemort. Therefore she reasoned that somehow Narcissa was most likely being coerced into something she would not normally do. And it was that knowledge which made Azriel very regretful to her demise.

The auror's panicked eyes flitted anxiously over the room as she heard the innkeeper bounding up the steps

beneath her like a great lumbering bloodbear, the bloke had no regard for the peace and quiet for any of his patrons.

He must have heard the thumping above of her and Narcissa struggeling, the man had been practically eyeballing

her since she had came to the establishment, which really didn't bode well for her trying to be inconspicous.

At the time she thought, perhaps a bit too suspiciously; the innkeeper had been a spy for Voldemort,the way he

kept staring at her and all - maybe kept under the Imperius curse for the time being in regards to Voldemort settling

in his little hovel near the practically desolate little village, only confirming her suspicions that The Dark Lord

was here.

So she'd had to . . . . . 'Obliviate' him a little.

She reflected it was a wonder that the poor fool remembered his own name let alone hers,

*a false alias she enjoyed using called : Gnaratella Swamp, some ridiculously laughably name she'd simply

come up with randomly on the spot some time ago that seemed to have done her rather well interestingly

enough*;

but then relized in retrospect that perhaps he wasn't spying, but maybe . . . . fancied her.

Reason dictated that particular conclusion actually made more sense than the other more, demented

explanation......

Kneeling on the floor , she took one last quick glance at Narcissa's corpse, the guilt welling back up like an ugly wound, the scab ripped clean off.

'Well, this is going to be fun, try and explain this one to the Ministry Azriel,' she

thought, sarcastically woeful; to herself.

In the past Azriel had done alot of things the Ministry hadn't agreed with, but she had maintained an excellent

track record of sucess in her missions, Cornelius usually would throw up a stink but never really followed up on it

whenever she did something that was a bit. . . extreme. That was like him, to back down whenever it did not suit his

reputation's standing or position. What a coward he was.

At that moment while she was drawing her wand and transfiguring Narcissa's corpse into another dirty sock

while cleaning up the blood, she shoved her misgivings and sadness at the bad of her mind, not wishing to acknowledge her own feelings.

Azriel Shade was not in touch with her emotions, in fact, she tried to distance herself as far from them whenever possible. It was simple really. Emotions were not things she could methodically categorize with ease, they were strange and bizarre neighbors that bumped into her late at night wearing odd attire that she could not quite comprehend.

Distracting her guilt she mentally switched subjects as a defense, contemplating why it was that she had a rather uncontrollable talent for

attracting only the most obscure, disgusting, and undesirable wizards towards her.

The auror sighed bitterly, not ignorant enough to believe she actually had something to offer to anyone and yet

sometimes wished that she was. It was better this way though.

Her scar made her a bit daunting and she was spiteful and bitter, a bit too cold using more of her brain than

her heart , she shrugged her shoulders.

Throwing her head back and laughing maniacly she thought, just who was she kidding anyways? What sort of a

man did those qualities attract ? Not the type of guy most girls swooned for, the dreamy sort that left all the

regular ones rolling in the dust like mediocre faceless wonders.

However it was safe to say were one of those types of men to pursue her, she would have let them down anyway;

grinding their hearts to bits. Not that they'd fancy to.

In many ways, dear Azriel was a social disaster, an emotionless monster; the type of witch a wizard's mother

warns him about. Definitely not the type to bring home.

It was pretty obvious she simply wasn't destined for those sorts of useless relationships, in her mindset she

figured that love was some foreign and odd unwanted thing, a sort of unpleasant disease that made one hysterically

distorted, the symptoms of which were to cause a witch or wizard to not ever completely own themselves again and

worse,( her eyes mentally widened at the thought) make fools of themselves in the process.

No, love was decidely a rather cruel customer that never seemed to turn out the right amount of Nuts and

Sickles when it came to the initial purchase, it was therefore she had reasoned a long time ago when she'd been in

Potions class one day that she didn't need something that appeared to be more of a hindrance than help in her

opinion.

She did often wonder about it though, in the manner of which a blind man wonders what its like to see.

A loud thudding of the innkeeper's hamlike fist against the door struck her back into reality.

"Yes?" Azriel Shade asked coldly, noting the room looked very casual like itself before leaping onto the

bed quietly and cracking open a decoy copy of ' Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires' by Eldred Worple.

The innkeeper's gravelly voice grated, "Everything alright in there Ms. Swamp ?" a tone of concern

underlying his words.

"Certainly," she coughed, digging her nails into the book's bindings in annoyance.

There was a pause, as if he were trying to grasp the words to say something more, but simply could not.

Fladgilus Rotwin sighed, his hand hovering above the knob of the door. He wished to turn it, but did not. He

turned away, lumbering back down the steps.

A breath of relief escaped her. That was close. If he even suspected . . . . She listened soundlessly until his

footsteps faded off. Off handedly she glanced out at the window. The snow was beginning to fall again, swirling about

like small gusts of sugared clouds that in all their sickeningly prettiness somehow calmed her.

She shivered, going over to the window to shut it. Staring at her feet she noted the slight bit of snow already

starting to melt on the floor. Alastor wasn't back yet. She sighed gazing at his empty perch.

She hoped nothing horrible had happened to him. Alastor was probably the only living thing that actually cared

about her, they say animals can sense malice ;but perhaps when he was hatched his sensors had grown to be

a bit off, or maybe he just saw something in her that no one else saw, but that big black owl with piercing green eyes

meant alot to her - whether she would admit it or not.

But now wasn't really the time to be thinking of that, she needed to get the hell out of here. Narcissa had been

sent here to kill her undoubtedly by a very pissed off Voldemort.

It was meant to be an insult she reasoned, and although she could coolly see the situation for what it was, an obvious intention of manipulation of her emotions, she still
found herself becoming very angry, although she hid it well. Bastard. How dare he underestimate her?

On the flip side she knew that Voldemort underestimating her was a wonderfully good stroke of luck, and she should latch onto it with the vigor of a starving leech; but despite her well rounded mind her emotions were still very undeveloped, like that of a child's; and thusly it was a case of mental superiority versus emotional inferiority, the sometimes emotionally inferior side triumphant in the tug of war against the other.

In a fury Azriel launched herself at her things, shoving them madly all into one small, black velvet knapsack;

fastened with a silver snap that bore an engraved "S". Crazily with a speed that was disturbing she tossed one thing

after the other in, corsets, skirts,cloaks, potions, ingredients, books.....She was careful to seperate her filthy clothes

from the rest of it all- she certainly didn't want her belongings to smell of damp cheese.

As she was stuffing the contents of the entire room practically into the charmed knapsack, she was reminded of

an unsettling nursery rhyme her father had used to sing to her when she was too young to know any better : a verse

later that she'd read from the Shade's family library, an ancient tome so old its pages were mottled and wrinkled; and

the slightest misuse was certain to cause the Dark Book to fall to pieces.

"S is for Slytherin for you'll surely be, All Shades are cast there or never be free .

S is for severing fingers of young, needed to blacken and swallow their tongues.

S is for the slightest deliberation, for calculation and wit, all this and more is what you'll have, to bear down

those who are not worthy to live.

S is for death my little one, you'll learn to know it well from everything I've sung. "

It was funny how the mind subconsiously brought forth the very things people wished to forget, as they tried to

push significant events to the backs of their thoughts by completely immersing themselves in the motions of the now.

Azriel was very talented when it came to blocking things out but the knapsack was a visual that had triggered it, and

she shook off the memory with a new determination to suceed.

As she magicked the rest of her things in the room, her hand stayed on one particular bottle of potion that she

had brewed for such a dire occasion. Its golden liquid swirled lazily in the crystal container, twinkling and catching

the light.

Felix Felicus.

If ever there were a time in her life where she needed this extremely lucky potion that caused the user to suceed

at whatever they endevoured, the time was now. She held out her tongue, adminstering a few drops.

A warmth began to spread outward to the corners of her limbs, and for the first time in ages she felt.....

invigorated. Azriel smiled a bit reluctantly, feeling that this wasn't so bad really. She could make the best of this, for although

Voldemort most definitely knew her location, and probably knew Narcissa had been killed, he still believed her to be a nuisance, and nothing more.

A black object tapped softly on the window pane, Azriel yelling out in surprise. It was only Alastor, her owl.

Gods, she was jumpy.

With a slight grin that looked strangely frightening on her face she opened the window.

A parchment in his holster . . . . . She gazed at it disapprovingly with a raised eyebrow. Could be cursed. . . .

"Specialis Revelio!" Odd. Nothing happened. She shrugged.

Ariel plucked the letter lightly with nimble fingers from the holster. "You sure do pick the worst times to show

up", she muttered, tearing the thin parchment delicately open.

Her brown eyes scanned the contents of the letter, Alastor hooting apologetically as he cocked his head at her

from the perch of her arm. Azriel's fingers that were gripping the parchment began to shake. This was . . . . . her

senses reeled alarmingly. Unexpected.....

If it wasn't for the Felix Felicus her face would have begun to pale - all the blood draining from it, her form

shaking and she would most likely have pressed herself unknowingly into the darkest corner of the room in a vain and

instinctual attempt to gather herself away from an uprising horror.

Instead she threw the letter away from herself in a rage, then on second thought, burned it. But even though she

had destroyed the intial letter itself, fearing it may have been still somehow been magicked to home in on her so if

she kept it thus acting as a becon; she could not destroy the words written upon the letter with an elegant flourish

that was still burning in her mind.

" Auror,

Up until now your juvenile antics have been, amusing at best.

However your latest indulgence, not so amusing.

It was brainless of you to attempt tailing me, did you think for a moment you could actually accomplish

something? How futile of you to think for one second that you, of all beings; actually stood a chance.
Watching you has been, rather pathetic; akin to observing a mentally challenged muggle flop about the ground trying to recollect

how to breathe. You do enjoy tempting death

don't you? This is where it ends I'm afraid, this pathetic little jaunt

that has continually wasted my time and your life.

Her heart fluttered in her chest, thumping against her ribcage like a kept creature that was trying desperately to

rip out and escape. A million paranoid thoughts razor ribboned through her mind.

It made sense that he would know of her location, but it did not make sense that he hadn't been serious at the attempt of her ruination. He of course did not percieve her to be as much of a threat as she was, which would explain why he have sent Narcissa, both an insult and a possible solution.

She closed her eyes softly allowing Felix Felicius to take it's course.

'Felix Felicus, 'she thought with a forced grin, until her features warmed and the smile was real. Right.

Casting an Invisibility Charm on herself more sucessfully than usual she opened the window, soundlessly

casting"Homenum Revelio", to make sure the coast was clear. She surveyed the surrounding white

outside. Not a living thing moved. Ah, didn't think so.

The outline of her form wavered, shifting, moving, shrinking. Azriel's face began to widen, the teeth in her

mouth lengthening and becoming sharper. Her eyes became paler, fur sprouting evenly over her body; a sleek tail

sprouting out as her skirts melded into her flesh.

The black leopard bowed it's head, gently grasping the knapsack in it's mouth. She bounded out the window,

landing gracefully into the snow below. It would be an odd sight, were one to gaze out of a cozy shack that night and

notice between the snow and the brazen darkness, perhaps squinting; the snow as it seemed to move on its own.

It would be most disturbing if one actually glimpsed a set of paw prints appearing across the miles of snow

leading away from the village, and then maybe if they were to look up, a strange black owl following closely behind.

There were stranger things..... after all .....

" I don't believe this!!" Bellatrix shrieked incredulously as she threw up her arms against the

cauldron, causing it's contents to be knocked to the stone floor. It hissed and simmered into the cracks of the stone as

she glided around it in a fury, elegant and terrible.

'Bellatrix Lestrange had been appropiately named, well her surname anyhow being as that's precisely what she

was. Strange. But on a rather entertaining note, ' Snape thought as he watched her in growing amusement, 'She isn't

that difficult to figure out. It's rather obvious that she's undoubtedly fascinated with Voldemort on a most compeletly

unhealthy level which rivels that of Azriel's.'

Thinking about it a bit more than neccessary Snape reconsidered however, because it was a well known fact that

Bellatrix's obsession was rather sexual in nature while Azriel's was simply, angry and childish in his opinion .

Snape cocked his head as he watched his fellow Death Eater in distaste, her complete lack of self control was a

harsh reminder of how Azkaban caused indiviuals to become deranged. However, a sentence in Azkaban wasn't really

a very good excuse for insanity when it came to Bella, she'd already been like that ....Azkaban had only increased what

was already there in her mind, that darkness of chaos perpetual where maggots writhed in ecstacy at other's pain.

Snape grimaced, remembering how she'd gleefully tortured this one muggle couple, *he shuddered* really getting

off on it; shrieking and cavorting about to catch Voldemort's attention like a starved peacock.

Bellatrix screamed and tore at her hair, striding quickly about the room. The news she had just received was

shocking, unthinkable, how could this have possibly happened?! Her sister was dead.

The others had thought Cissy was doomed to failure, simply because it was well known that Narcissa was no

duelist, in fact; she had never any experience at anything close to a duel .

Bellatrix laid her hand upon a dagger casually, slowly raising it to her face to stare at her reflection in the light.

It was strange. Bellatrix had experienced loss before, years of imprisonment in a foul and wretched place away from

her Dark lord, but that was . . . different.

Cissy gone, this loss; was not the same. Bella was surprised to find she felt slightly . . . hollow . . . which was

unlike her.

She cut her arm experimentally, her black winter eyes watching the blood run down; emotionless. Her thin wine

red lips, her hair once beautiful was now simply wretched and tangled beyond measure; but she still was darkly

intruiging, darkly attractive. But what did she see from those eyes, that had observed pain and cruelty infathomable?

Did she see herself as cold, sadistic? Did she see a life without her sister as a long stretch of corridor to be treaded

that was less, familiar? Less, welcoming?

Did she see through festering eyes a rotton world that was rolling over in it's grave, waiting to be cleansed?

Just what did a Death Eater see exactly? Bellatrix watched the blood. 'Drip' 'drip'.

Would they ever know? She frowned. Did she know?

She clenched her fist again, this time over the knife, letting its blade sink into her flesh and purify her. She let

the pain of it wash away her thoughts, allowing her fury to sear it away.

She needed distraction, she needed release. She needed a victim.

Which just happened to be Pettigrew.

He had been shuffling innocently enough by the room in the endless passage way, scurrying in the darkness and

unconsiously avoiding the light. Peter's many years lived out as a rat hiding in the gloom had done a number on his

psyche, and forever more after those 'memorable' years of feasting off the bodies of foul things and discarded

rubbish he had always been a bit . . . . mad.

She didn't dare use the torture curse upon Peter, for without Voldemort's permission it could led to a falling out

of his favour which was the last thing she wanted, but there were other ways to torment the very easily bothered

Pettigrew without laying a curse upon his balding head.

Bella smirked, walking over to his hunched form. Pettigrew was at home in the welcoming shadows, they

masked his shame, his ugliness. They made him feel wanted, but what was more they made him feel safe. She was

about to bring that to an abrupt end. She cackled, Wormtail hunching his shoulders as her own lovely face

came a few inches from his loathsome one.

"H-h-hello Bellatrix," Wormtail stammered profusely, slowly backing away.

"J-just what do you want with a l -lowling like myself..?" the animangus asked with a quaver in his voice, smiling

a scared, cowardly smile.

Bella quelled the urge to stab the smile off his beastly little face.

"Ohhh Peter, silly little Peter . . " she cooed, sliding up to him and running a nail down alongside his chubby

face.

Wormtail shivered, his eyes shining with fear as his cock was filled with blood, a tingling excitement growing in

his groin. His expression was one of the utmost horror, with an even greater fascination. It was as if he was watching

himself in a seperate reality, and wished to scream aloud but could not.

He felt an inner turmoil churning inside himself, minute in comparison to the one he'd once felt at telling the

secret of the Potters, however, it was just as selfish a turmoil as it had been decades ago, always about himself.

Nothing more, just him. If the world existed without anyone else besides him however, Peter would surely have died

because there would be no one to follow, no one to lead. Leading wasn't something he was skilled in at all.

Pettigrew let out a soft, raspy moan as he felt Bella's hand sliding down to his nether regions, groping his now

short, wide erect dick. He shuddered unwillingly, feeling himself push into her deft, clawing hand. He was weak. In

the back of his soft, simpering mind he knew there was something wrong with this picture. But his instinctual gut

feelings feel upon his own deaf ears.

He didn't care. It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman. Voldemort allowed him and the others to

take the occasionally muggle they fancied if they were "into that sort of thing", although it was not usually spoken of

being something abhorred, however; Pettigrew didn't really enjoy it very much. It wasn't the same as having a

real woman, a woman who wanted you; not one that was taken against their will.

The only reason he ever took part in the occasional rape and murder was that if he did not; he would come

under close scrutiny. The others already had a rather veiled distaste towards him, because he had been the one who

had taken care of Voldemort when he most needed the aid; not them.

In a manner, the other Death Eaters were maddened that although they were most faithful, it was

Wormtail, and not they ; who had done The Master a great service, an irreplacable service. No matter that cowardice

alone had moved Peter, no matter that Voldemort was not as thankful as he should have been, it was the mere idea of

it. Peter had never been very remarkable, so for him to have the supposed honour was rather sickening in their

biased eyes.

Bellatrix smiled evilly, her dark eyes sparkling with delight.

'Gods, she's mad.' Wormtail thought as her hands crept all over his body. 'Beautiful, but sodding mad.'

He felt he didn't deserve this moment, a woman as lovely as her touching him, exciting him. It

would be safe to say that Pettigrew suffered something of an inferiority complex, that had begun growing during his

school years, watered with jealousy and spite; but had blossomed into a full blown case after he begun 'working' for

Voldemort. His master never let him forget for a moment how useless he was, how replaceable he was.

Pettigrew gasped in surprise as he felt a wet, warm tongue sliding it's way down the side of his face, striking at

his neck with a fervent abandon.

The witch giggled madly, sending shivers down his spine.

"What of it pet?" she murmured, grasping his thick, rather non existent waist from behind and thrusting herself

against him.

Pettigrew gasped, a hard; phallus shoving against his backside.

So that was why Rodolphus had never taken Bella to bed? Realization dawned in his eyes.

Pettigrew's eyes flicked backwards as the look of horror grew until his very eyes screamed.

Curse himself for not following his own instincts!

Bella smirked, gripping his loose dark stringy strands of hair and pulling him close to her menacing face; her

pouting lips now almost touching his. They brushed for the slightest of seconds against his own, Pettigrew moaning

in earnest as she cruelly yanked him into her, her moist tongue forcing it's way into his mouth.

Unbelieving at first, Wormtail stood there as she kissed him; paralyzed in shock. Bellatrix dug her nails into the

back of his flesh, rubbing against him furiously as her own cock grew huge in comparison to that of his own.

Wormtail shuddered in exquisite pleasure, feelings he had never known beginning to soar inside him.

"Go there, worm!" she whispered in his ear, indicating towards the empty room across the dark hallway that

only they could see clearly. He obliged willingly. Leading after all, wasn't his strong suit.

Snape felt a sort of surreal cloud come over him when he thought of the possible future that had not come to

pass for Azriel. In another time, another place, she could have been among the chosen circle of followers, just as eager

as the next Death Eater to fulfill his dark desires. But that was merely echos, echos of an far away outcome

lost forever.

Yes, Snape did know of that younger, he frowned and rolled his eyes; queer auror. He really hadn't a choice in

the matter, considering he knew through aqquaintance only, but his meeting her had not occurred with any sort of

normality, and the circumstances that caused them to be aqquainted were not normal either.

She had been trying to submit her papers, yet again; to Dumbledore. She'd waited patiently enough outside his

office, but when the headmaster denied her entrance to The Order Of The Phoenix, she had silently turned and

walked away, her face unclear but the observant Severus Snape could tell how very disappointed she had been.

For although she could mask it from many, she could not mask it from him, Snape saw through her facade - she was furious. Regardless of her lack of connections in the

wizarding world, she'd genuinely wanted to join The Order, and Dumbledore's little performance seemed to have

insulted her.

Afterwards, Snape had asked the old goat about it, wondering why,- curiousity's sake only; Dumbledore had

denied her and she was so determined to join.

He knew Dumbledore would not have refused her if there wasn't good reason. Despite not knowing her personally Snape had laid eyes on her resume, it was impressive to say the least and it had sparked his curiousity further as why Dumbledore did not wish to have someone so well versed in magic in the Order.

Snape did not like her mannerisms, as they were distached and mechanical, yet he would grant her that small, unvoiced compliment.

When implored, Dumbldore hadn't seemed eager to reply. He sometimes preffered operating under secret pretences that did not include many within their enigmatic walls, sometimes not even Severus himself.

When it was clear that Snape would not relent, Albus reluctantly responded.

"Sometimes, although the path may be clear and what is set before you seems easy, in truth it is not.There are times when the more difficult way must be selected."

"I did not allow her entrance into the Order for several reasons Severus, " Albus admonished as he got up from his chair and walked over to Fawkeses' perch, stroking the phoenix's head affectionately.

"Ms. Shade needs to follow her own course, it is necessary for someone of her nature. This may be who she is," Albus voiced as he walked back over to his desk and grabbed her resume, burying his wrinkled face behind it; "But that is not her complete identity. There is more, although she may not yet realize it and until she does I cannot keep her from her own awaiting destiny."

Albus sat back down, leaning in a weary fashion against the back of his chair.

" I suppose in a way it's akin to gambeling. For you see Snape, nothing is certain, not even to me, and there are two possibilities that may or may not transpire. They may, or may not destroy her, and if they do not, then Severus, she will be whole, and she will at that time make an agreeable addition to the Order."

" She used to attend here you know," Dumbldore said off handedly, taking Snape's silence as reason to continue.

" It didn't last very long, her father being concerned that the

teachings here at Hogwarts weren't simply, Dark enough if you catch my meaning; for his taste. She was transferred to Durmstrang eventually. But during her stay here at Hogwarts, I noticed that she was at first an eager, happy student.Smiling and pleasant, with a great joy for life, she had quite a few friends and seemed to be very content. But then something like a curse, came over her a few years later down the line. Even I at first did not notice the change in her, but with the passage of time it became more and more evident. Like a cancer the change festered within her, unexpectedly and without reason she discarded her friends and turned away from them forever."

"She became twisted and unemotional. No longer a team player, she seemed unable to interact with the other students any more. She preffered being alone, and it was not hard for her to be shunned in turn by her peers. Children can be cruel at times, the personality change of sorts that occurred was when she was sixteen or so if my deductions are correct.Right around when she had that unfortunate accident.... she wasn't always so ..." Albus paused, as if wracking his brain for the appropriate description.

"So cold, so undeniably immersed in her studies as if they were some kind of distraction from her world."

Albus indicated with his hand towards a platter of Bernie Botts' Beans. Snape shook his head 'no'.

Dumbledore seemed unwilling to relay any more information to Snape,merely muttering how Azriel was 'unbalanced'; and it was just as well.

Snape couldn't help but notice that when Dumbledore spoke of her, he seemed truely remorseful about her situation, and the potions master felt a bit more intruiged by her, as one does often find himself to be when he sees a very strange or unique sort of creature that catches one's interest.

So there was more to the leather gloved, scarred kid than met the eye apparently...

'Funny,' Snape thought, reflecting on his memories , 'In some circles Potter would be considered severly

unbalanced, yet you turned your eye upon him, riveted it in fact; and took him under your wing.' He thought this

perhaps a bit too venomously, but then again Snape had always held an intense dislike for Potter. Harry was

the offspring and spitting image of James, which did nothing but further Snape's repugnance towards the boy.

Snape sighed, idly wishing that Dumbledore hadn't asked that he go back to Romania for further watching of

"the ants"; but it would have seemed strange if he had not. Snape already had been interrogated profusely by

Bellatrix for his one day abscence with Sirius and Dumbledore; a much longer abscence would simply have furthered

her suspicions; which was something he could not afford.

Now that Voldemort had 'Pooter', Severus mentally snickered as he watched Bellatrix drag Wormtail off into the

darkness; the Dark Lord was practically singing and skipping along, as dreadful asthat was to

imagine.

Narcissa's death hadn't neccessarily come as quite a shock to Severus, her assigned task hadn't been that so

much as a death sentence. He didn't think that she had deserved that fate , being forced to a task that was simply

doomed to failure; Narcissa was no warrior and Voldemort had known that.

His whole intention on forcing her to do something that everyone knew would end in her demise was to punish

Lucius. Lucius Malfoy hadn't been doing very well recently, rumour was that he'd fouled up. Big time.

The Fireplace in the room crackled omniously, flickering an ieerie light onto the potion master's face.

"Severus!"

Snape jumped with a start, the tall willowy figure that had just silently appariated in front of the fireplace most

ghastly to behold.

Snape 's skin crawled involuntarily at the mere sight of him, a creature so sinister and terrifying that

most wizards would dare not speak his name for the fear of him was so great. His taunt, bone white flesh. His

burning, coal like eyes. The Dark Lord had appeared suddenly, and without warning; the shadows twisting

themselves inward at his approach, for even they abhorred this lone phantom that was not really much of a man, but

more of a wraith.

"Tell me of the boy Severus," Voldemort said softly, his vile eyes glittering with an emotion Severus wished never

to see again. Triumph. They were glittering with a sick, decayed sort of triumph, the kind of triumph only a foul

thing would know after years of failure, years of filthly, ominous doings.

Snape had always been an adept Legilimens, thankfully; he never wanted that menacing wizard sliding around

his thoughts; touching his memories, knowing his secrets.

Voldemort's scarlet slits shone, gleaming patiently.

"The boy is being kept my lord in the crypts below ground, under a full Anti-disappariation Jinx; not to

mention a well cast body-bind curse performed only by yours truely, there will not be room for any failures." Snape

stated stiffly as he handed Potter's wand over to Voldemort's eager, twitching fingertips.

"Ahhh . . . " Voldemort sighed, running his finger down the wand almost in the manner of a caress. He was most

pleased. He brought the wand to his face, gazing at it as he chuckled insanely.

"Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches," The Dark Lord murmured, running it across his face, breathing in his

victory.

"If you mind my asking master, what are you going to do with it? Why not merely destroy it

now?"Snape implored coolly, the firelight shimmering in his black, assumedly soulless eyes.

Voldemort smirked, a vile, otherworldly grin spreading to the corners of his mouth.

"My dear Severus, I will break it, when I break him. And not a moment sooner," Voldemort hissed, the

illumination on his face stretching it, distorting it; until he seemed more monstrous than before.

Voldemort placed the wand in his pocket, quirking his mouth to one side as he slid into a large armchair by the

side of the fire. He gestered at the chair opposite himself, Snape sitting in it quickly.

"And what of Faustus, Severus? " the cruel one spoke, tapping his long glassy fingernails against the glossed

wicker of his creaking chair.

Snape paused, " The auror's, father," he said silkily, " Is belowground guarding Potter at the moment, with the

Inferni. "

The tall skeletal man's smirk grew even larger.

" My lord, I would suggest . . . " Snape murmured softly, looking at Voldemort in a detached mannerism, as if he

gazing at some animal behind glass.

"Suggest?" Voldemort questioned, raising an eyebrow in curiousity.

"Possibly not mentioning his," Snape paused, his lip curling, "dear daughter, Azriel. If you

haven't noticed he's rather prone to.... distasteful violence when it comes to matters that upset

him." Snape coughed, ignoring the house elf that set a plate of tea on the small table between them and scurried

quietly away.

Why was it that he always had to play the part of the go-to guy? He never got proper thanks for

this sort of thing.

Voldemort smirked. "I see, " he mused quietly, laying one thoughtful fingertip upon his long chin.

Of course now that Severus had said that he would most bloody likely do the exact opposite.

Voldemort smiled, Snape noting that whenever the older wizard did so the smile never seemed to reach his eyes.

Voldemort gestered with one spidery pale hand towards the door, bringing his chair closer to the fire and facing

away from Snape.

"Leave me Severus, I wish to be alone."

The dark haired, gloomy wizard treaded quietly into the hallway, his robes swishing soundlessly as he made his

way further into the heart of the old ruins. Voldemort didn't need to tell him twice to leave, he was glad to. As he

walked he tried not to hear the soft, withering gasps that emanated from a closed door that he passed, nor the cries

of "Yes Mistress! No Mistress!" that undoubtedly belonged to Wormtail; a sour look flooding upon his contenance

like a hundred flobberworms had found their way into his mouth.

How very . . . revolting. He turned a corner, passing tapestries with further demented depictions; the one he'd

just seen had this.... rather delightful picture of a werewolf, half-turned; that was standing prostrate over a

weeping girl with his cock out in one clawed hand and with the other he was dissecting her entrials. Snape was

actually a tad curious who the artist of the tapestries were. He wondered if they had ever met Fenir Greyback,

because he was certain that last one had been made with that muscled indulgant cannibal in mind.

Taking the winding stone stair case of claustrophobia down into the depths Severus began to feel an icy cool air

surround him, his breath coming out in a cloud. He doubled over in surprise, grasping his abdomen as he felt all the

happiness darkening inside himself and turning inward, like stabbing blades that sliced his innards to strips of

bloody meat. He grimaced, steadying himself with one hand on the railing.

He threw his sholders back, breathing softly in, softly out. The main key was self control, and Severus had it by

the bundles.

His mind took it all in stride. His footsteps echoed deep into the perpetual blackness below him and then flew

back up at him.

Dementors! Here?

He sighed.

There seemed to be no feasible way Potter would be able to get to of this, but Snape couldn't deny an odd sort of

satisfaction at the mental image of Potter being tortured and then promptly wetting his pants. The boy had always

been too lucky, surrounding himself with exceptional individuals to make up for his own forthcomings. It was right

pathetic. Potter was every bit as arrogant, every bit as lazy as his father. He thought he could get away with breaking

the rules, that rules were beneath him, in a way; Snape felt that Potter was only reaping his rewards. Certainly he

didn't wish the boy.... dead.... but he needed a good lesson, and Snape felt that there was one to be learnt out of

this.

No one ever said that life wasn't hard after all.