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May We Live In Interesting Times Chapter 11 (Consequences)
🕑 Added 2024-09-21 01:42:20 +0000 UTCMy hand pressed against my forehead, trying to ground myself against the relentless pounding in my skull. The spell rebound was still wreaking havoc on my senses. The storm outside matched my inner turmoil as lightning flashed and thunder followed not a moment later. We’d finally made it off the train, but the relentless weather pursued us as we clambered into the carriages.
Blaise had opted to go on ahead, smugly linking arms with Pansy Pankinson and the others. I could have joined them, but instead, I collapsed into another horseless carriage, dragging Crabbe and Goyle with me.
Well not really horseless.
They appeared as black spots to my sensing as they galloped in the storm.
Thestrals
The skeletal horses, invisible to those who hadn't witnessed death, were all too visible to me. Their leathery wings, reminiscent of giant bats, flapped rhythmically, propelling the carriage forward with a surreal grace. Their white, pupil-less eyes gleamed eerily in the dark, a stark contrast to the pitch-black of their emaciated bodies.
They made nary a noise as they ran. Not even a neigh or a grunt.
Just the relentless rhythm of their hooves hitting the ground, like ghosts running on air. The rain poured in sheets, but the Thestrals didn’t care. They were dead, after all. What did the weather mean to them?
The carriage jolted, hitting a bump that sent a fresh wave of pain through my skull. I leaned back against the seat, trying to steady my breathing. Lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the dark forest, and in those brief flashes, I saw Hogwarts, looming like a monolith against the stormy night
As we neared the castle, its spires cut through the darkness, every flash of lightning giving it an almost demonic glow. The Thestrals kept their pace, unbothered by the storm, their hooves silent but steady, as if they were part of the storm itself.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the rhythmic movement of the carriage and the steady pull of the Thestrals. The cold glass window provided a small measure of relief, its chill seeping into my skin and helping to numb the pain. The storm's fury seemed distant now, like the roar of the ocean from a faraway shore.
But when I opened them again, I was standing outside in the rain.
The realization hit me like a hex. The rain pounded down, soaking me to the bone, and the Thestrals were gone. I blinked, my hand still raised as if to open the carriage door, but the door was already behind me. The castle loomed ahead, but it was distant, as if I'd been standing here for hours without noticing.
I looked down at my hands, the skin pale and pruned from the cold. How long had I been standing here? I couldn’t remember getting out. I couldn’t remember... anything beyond closing my eyes.
"Draco?" Goyle’s hesitant voice broke through the haze. I turned slightly to see him and Crabbe, standing just inside the carriage, still dry, still waiting. They hadn’t moved without my lead, their usual dull expressions now tinged with confusion as they stared at me, unsure whether to follow or speak up
“Are you alright?” Crabbe asked, his voice low, as if afraid of stepping out of line.
The confusion in their eyes mirrored what I felt, but I couldn't let them see it. I straightened up, and nodded curtly.
“Let’s head in. I’m bloody freezing here.”
Each step sent a jolt of pain lancing up my legs, but I forced myself to keep moving, refusing to let them see how bad it was.
I couldn’t let them see. Couldn’t let them see the way my lips moved, barely parting as I muttered the incantation for the tantric regeneration spell Fleur showed me. But my magic felt sluggish. As if weighed down by something dark. The pain remained, stubbornly rooted, as if something inside me was out of place.
The rain-soaked path gave way to the stone steps leading up to the castle’s entrance. Each step was a challenge, the pain in my legs intensifying with every rise, but I forced myself to keep moving, jaw clenched, refusing to let the struggle show.
Crabbe and Goyle followed silently, their heavy footsteps echoing against the wet stone. The rhythmic thud of their boots was almost hypnotic, a dull backdrop to the sharp stabs of pain that had began on my back too.
We reached the stone steps, each one a battle as my legs screamed in protest. The warm glow of the castle’s entrance was a beacon, but the closer we got, the worse the pain became.
At the top of the stairs, a shadow detached from the wall, a figure tall and imposing in the dim light.
Snape.
His black eyes were locked on me, his expression as unreadable as ever. The torchlight danced across his sallow skin, casting long shadows across his hooked nose and hollow cheeks. He said nothing, but his presence alone was enough to make Crabbe and Goyle falter, their steps slowing as they awaited my lead.
I stopped a few steps from the top, gathering myself before raising my head to meet his gaze. "Godfather," I greeted, my voice steady, though the effort it took to maintain that calm threatened to crack through my composure.
Snape’s eyes flicked over us, taking in our drenched state. With a slight, almost imperceptible sigh, he flicked his wand with practiced ease. A warm, dry sensation swept over us, banishing the rain-soaked chill from our robes and hair.
"You certainly took your time, Draco," he drawled, his voice cutting through the air like a sharpened blade.
"Pfftt—" The sound escaped before I could stop it. I immediately pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to smother the laugh bubbling up my throat. It was absurd, really—where this bout of laughter came from.
Snape's eyes flicked to mine, dark and searching, his expression remaining perfectly controlled despite the unexpected outburst. But then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he closed the distance between us, his black robes billowing like a storm cloud.
"Did I say something funny, Draco?" he asked, his voice low and dangerously calm, that familiar nasal tone now laced with a subtle edge.
But instead of stifling the laughter, itonly made it worse. The seriousness in his tone, the absurdity of the entire situation—it all collided inside me, and suddenly, I was laughing harder, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. The cold air hit my lungs, and clouds of breath puffed out with each laugh, swirling in the chill night air, a visible reminder of how cold I had become.
I tried to stop, but the laughter kept coming, each breath escaping as a cloud of vapor that only added to the ridiculousness of it all. Crabbe and Goyle were shifting uncomfortably behind me, their eyes wide with confusion, unsure whether to laugh with me or run.
Snape didn’t react immediately. Instead, he stood there, watching me with those piercing black eyes, his expression unreadable as my laughter echoed through the now empty courtyard. The clouds of breath puffing out with each laugh seemed to catch his attention, but he remained silent, letting the sound of my cackling fill the space between us.
His gaze instead narrowed, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that cut through my laughter like a knife through fog. For a moment, I thought he might strike me, but then something shifted in his expression—a flicker of realization, a shadow of alarm. Before I could process it, his hand shot out, grasping my chin with a firm, almost desperate grip, and yanked my head forward.
The suddenness of the movement jolted me, but the shock only made the laughter surge again. His eyes widened, dark with concern, his brows furrowing over that absurdly large nose.
And that was all it took to set me off again.
I cackled—wild, uncontrollable, unhinged. The sound echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the distant rumble of thunder. My breath came out in ragged, visible clouds, each one punctuated by a sharp, almost manic burst of laughter. Everything seemed so ridiculous.
His voice, that familiar nasal drone, was now a source of endless hilarity, and the more I thought about it, the funnier it became. His nose, hooked and severe, only added to the madness. I laughed harder, the sound escalating to a pitch that bordered on hysteria.
I could feel his grip tighten on my chin, his eyes searching mine, but the concern in his gaze only fueled my mirth. It was clear now, even to me, that something was very wrong. But that realization, instead of sobering me, only pushed me further into another round of laughter. The fact that I was losing it—truly losing it—was the funniest thing ever.
The laughter was exhausting, sapping the strength from my body. My legs began to tremble uncontrollably, and before I knew it, they buckled beneath me. I staggered, the world tilting as my knees gave way, but just as I was about to collapse, Snape's hands shot out, catching me before I hit the ground.
"Quick, grab his legs!" Snape barked, his voice sharp and commanding.
Crabbe and Goyle hesitated for only a split second before they rushed forward, their strong arms gripping my legs tightly. I could barely feel their touch through the haze of laughter and pain that clouded my senses. My head lolled back, the world spinning in and out of focus as they lifted me off the ground.
All I could feel was motion—the jerky, uneven rhythm of being carried by their clumsy hands. My head swam, consciousness slipping away with each ragged breath. The rain had stopped, but I could still feel the cold seeping into my bones, chilling me to the core. My vision blurred, the dark stone walls of the castle merging with the blackness creeping in from the edges of my sight.
In the fog of half-consciousness, I heard Crabbe’s voice, distant and confused. "Why can’t we just levitate him, Professor?"
"No spells!" Snape’s voice cut through the haze like a blade, sharp and laced with urgency. The order rang in my ears, the last thing I registered before everything went black.
When I came to, the world was a blur of shadows and pain. My cheek throbbed, a sharp, stinging ache that brought me back to reality with a jolt. Had someone slapped me? I blinked, trying to clear the fog from my mind. The dull ache in my cheek was almost drowned out by the sensation of something cool and unyielding against my wrists and ankles. Chains. I was bound, lying on the cold stone floor, my body heavy and unresponsive.
A little sputter of a chuckle escaped my lips, almost involuntarily. The absurdity of the situation struck me again, the laughter bubbling up despite the confusion and the pain. But it was weaker now, more hollow, the manic edge replaced by a dull, weary amusement.
I tried to move, to test the chains, but my legs—Merlin, I couldn’t feel my legs. Panic flared briefly, but it was muted, as if my mind couldn’t fully grasp the severity of what was happening. My head lolled to the side, and that’s when I saw him.
Snape was squatting in front of me, his dark eyes locked onto mine, his expression a mix of cold calculation and something else—concern? No, that didn’t seem right. But there was something in his eyes, something different from his usual detached disdain.
He was speaking, his voice low and intense, but I couldn’t make out the words at first. The sound was distorted, like it was coming from underwater, and it took me a moment to focus, to drag myself out of the haze enough to hear him.
“—not making this easy, Draco. Focus. You have to focus.”
The words finally reached me, but they felt distant, like they were meant for someone else. I blinked, trying to clear the lingering fog in my mind. The pain in my cheek, the cold of the chains, the weight of his gaze—it all felt surreal, as if I were dreaming.
“Wh—what…” Speaking was difficult. My mouth felt hot despite then chill in my bones but my voice came out in a raspy whisper, barely audible. The effort sent a fresh wave of dizziness washing over me, and I closed my eyes against the spinning world.
Snape’s grip tightened on my chin, his dark eyes boring into mine with an intensity that was almost painful. “I need you to concentrate, Draco,” he said, his voice low but insistent. “What spell did you use? You projected—what spell did you use?”
I tried to answer him, I really did. But the words just wouldn’t come. My mouth wouldn’t move properly, and the laughter—Merlin, the laughter wouldn’t stop. It bubbled up uncontrollably, spilling out in breathless gasps and weak, trembling chuckles that echoed in the cold, empty room. The sound was hysterical, almost animalistic, and it scared me more than the pain or the chains or even Snape’s expression.
But I couldn’t stop.
I could feel my strength draining away with each ragged breath. My limbs felt like lead, heavy and useless, and my vision blurred at the edges as if I were teetering on the edge of consciousness. The corners of my mouth were wet—drool, pooling at the corners, dribbling down my chin as I tried and failed to force out an answer.
Snape’s face remained inches from mine, his voice cutting through the haze with the sharpness of a blade. “You have to tell me now, you foolish boy!!” he pressed, his tone urgent now, almost begging.
I wanted to tell him. I really did. But I was slipping, and all I could manage was a feeble laugh that sounded more like a wheeze. My vision was tunneling, the edges of my sight dimming, and my chest felt tight, every breath more labored than the last. My mouth refused to cooperate, the words stuck somewhere in the recesses of my mind, taunting me with their elusiveness.
The darkness was almost complete when I finally managed to force out the first word of the incantation, a broken whisper that felt like it cost me the last of my strength. "F... fánach..." It was barely audible, but it was enough.
Snape exploded into motion. He spun away from me, his hands moving rapidly as he grabbed ingredients from the shelves around the room. I heard the sound of grinding, the clink of glass vials, and the murmur of incantations under his breath, his usually methodical demeanor shattered by the urgency of the moment. My laughter had died away, leaving behind an empty, hollow sensation. The cold was the only thing that remained, seeping into every inch of my body, numbing me to the core.
Then, something warm and bitter was poured down my throat, and my body reacted violently. I hunched forward, straining against the chains, every muscle tensing as a wave of nausea surged through me. I barely had time to comprehend what was happening before I retched, vomiting up some kind of thick, black liquid that splattered onto the cold stone floor.
The effort left me shaking, my vision dimming around the edges as the last of the vile substance poured out of my mouth and left my body. I tried to steady myself, to hold on just a little longer, but the strain was too much. My head swam, and all I wanted was to rest, just for a moment.
The last thing I felt was the cool stone beneath my cheek, and then, I was out like a light.
