Death Whispers

Chapter Three - Slytherin Histories

Hogwarts, Late, 5th November 1981

Severus was still racing down the hallways as he stopped in the lower dungeons gasping for breath. He wasn't a particularly healthy man the fear along with his run was pressing on his chest. He dropped the folder on the floor and slid down the wall beside it.

He tried to think of something else, but every memory of this hall was filled with hatred, he hated it here. His memories of school were not fond ones and now he was expected to teach here? He had entered Hogwarts a stubborn little chit, angry at the world and ready to curse anyone who got in his way.

His home life made him bitter, a violent drunk father and a weak mother. How he hated them. He would lock himself away for hours, practicing curses and studying the Dark Arts from his father's study. To this day their memory evoked a harsh resentment, he wondered if he would ever be able to let that anger go. But, that anger was often the only thing keeping him alive.

And of course, the only thing that had won Severus, the poor dirty bastard child, the welcome into most Slytherin Circles. The circles that mattered anyway. Severus became Lucius Malfoy's youngest friend, this had many benefits, for a time; it wasn't long before Lucius had graduated and Severus was left on his own with the Gryffindors he had mercilessly taunted under Malfoy's promised protection. Where was Lucius later, when Severus was bullied by Black and stripped by Potter? Even mocked by the Slytherins, a loner.

Yet, like the prodigal son, they were there for him at the last. The Slytherins, his only true family. They had a pack mentality, in hunting and maternal protection, which drove them together. Their mantra; stand united, stand together. All they needed was a leader......

Severus looked at the Dark Mark on the shiny black folder. He couldn't hate it anymore, he picked the folder up gingerly and pushed himself into the private quarters Dumbledore had set up for him.

Once the door was shut, locked, and charmed, Severus let out a shaky sigh. The room was stuffy and dark. It had high ceilings and candles glittered, casting daunting shadows across the room. He placed the folder benevolently on his desk and paced beside it for a moment. He knew what was in this folder. It was raw horror, and it was he. What would Dumbledore do if he knew the true terrors of my crimes?

The room grew colder; embers of a dying fire providing little comfort or light. He bit his lip nervously as he failed to make a decision, or even summon the courage to open it. Walking across to the opposite side of the room. In the low light, he could see the silver snake glitter, slither, seemingly wanting to strike.

Finally, he dived toward the desk, pressed his finger to the seal and whispered a secret curse. The dungeons were dark but Severus recognised everything inside the Department of Mysteries hidden folder. It was neatly organised. Everything was here. Everything.

Severus' eyes glazed over with bad memories as he shuffled through the black papers. Each page scripted with silver ink and bearing the Dark Mark. Each page - a painful reminder of his past, his soul.

Severus slumped forward on the desk to afraid to move. Thank God Albus didn't see them, he thought wildly. The last thing he needed was painful questions. These were the only papers that bore his name, though other more vile papers remained, maps, tests, and results, all written in his thin spidery handwriting. These were the ones that would hang him. Shock had driven the cold from the room, but now it came crashing back to him, he shivered. The hairs on his arms pricked up in fear.

Pushing back from the desk Severus ran into the bathroom and gripped the edge of the toilet seat, he was violently ill. His body ached and the tiled floor made him feel colder still. His eyes hazed over making him feel more distant. Pulling his body from the floor he glared at the bathroom mirror, his eyes blazing with self-hatred.

And to think, I used to pay good money to feel like this.

Disgusted at the reflection, he pushed himself away from the mirror. Cruelly, he splashed himself with cold water and the shiver helped him to regain some composure as he shuffled back into the room. His robes hung limply to his body and he moaned.

The soft light of the dungeon illuminated the silver script on the black paper. It shone viciously at him, looking wet, like blood, reminding him of the worst years of his life. Moving to the other side of the room he glared at the ink, willing it to disappear. It didn't.

Angrily he grabbed the offending papers from his desk. He gripped them tightly, the paper cutting his delicate hands. Filled with an unprecedented panic he quickly hurled them into the fireplace.

"Incendio," he whispered, and the fireplace roared with mighty flames. The heat blasted the room quickly and Severus closed his eyes to let it roll over him. It was a comforting heat. But it couldn't burn the memories from him.