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Post by Miss Murder on Aug 10, 2009 1:38:40 GMT -5
Snape
Severus Snape traveled that night to the Malfoy Manor, where the Dark Lord was located. He was fully prepared to what he was about to face. Once the Dark Lord knew what had happened to the Murder boy, it was inevitable that he would become extremely angry. Snape accepted that this may be the last night he would be alive, embraced it, almost. He escaped death once this evening… perhaps he would again?
He placed his right hand on the bronze handle of the door to the drawing room. He was nervous, but he couldn’t let that show, much less admit to his feelings. Snape had to secure his mind; it was the only thing he felt that he could control, and he needed that sense of superiority more than anything.
His dark eyes peered inside the room when he cracked the oak doors. He saw the flame, still blazing proudly in the beauty of the marble fireplace.
A pale figure reached his gaze, Lord Voldemort.
Snape entered the room haughtily as possible, trying to conceal the look of anxiety on his face. He took a seat at the long table and faced the Dark Lord, his expression unreadable and plain.
“The Murder boy is the werewolf, my Lord,” he said coolly, placing his pallid hands on the table. “Tonight he attacked a Ravenclaw student, Meran Master. She was bitten, and is now inflicted with lycanthropy herself.”
Snape paused, shifting his gaze downward. He daren’t meet the scarlet gaze of the Dark Lord now, not when he was about to tell him something he had done. Yes, he could lie or leave the detail out, but Voldemort would find out eventually. And if the Dark Lord felt betrayed, he would surely kill him.
“I used Sectumsempra on the boy to spare the life of Master.”
As he said it, he fell ill. Snape’s stomach churned, and he felt weak. But he had to be strong; his survival depended on it.
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