iesika

While digging in my glovebox for something this morning, I found a folded up piece of typing paper that turned out to be the beginning (I think) of a HP fanfic. It is in my handwriting, but I don't remember writing it. The best part, though, is that my little one page selection is a total cliffhanger, and it's really bugging me now not knowing where the hell I was going with it. It appears to have been written before DH came out. I TOTALLY do not remember writing this. Looks good, though. I've been amusing myself trying to figure out what was about to happen. When I sat down at the computer (I'm between classes) I had the intention of typing it out and asking everyone to fill in the blank - only I seem to have left my mystery fic in my bio notebook in the car. I guess I'll do that after I get home. (ETA: Snippit found and typed)

It had been years, by Snape's count, since he'd last had a visitor to his damp cell. Even the human guards, few that they were, stayed well away now that the novelty he offered had long since worn thin. No wonder, really, that he sat blinking stupidly into Potter's wandlight trying to decide if he were dreaming.

"You could do with a wash," Potter told him.

That was something of an understatement. "I'll be sure to inform the house elves," Snape drawled. There was a long pause in which his eyes tried, and failed, to adjust to the sudden brightness of direct wandlight.

"Not even going to get up?" Potter asked. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His aim wavered. With the light of Potter's wand no longer shining quite so fully in his face, Snape could make out the Potter's general outline. He still had atrocious posture.

"Say or do whatever you came to say or do, Potter," Snape said. "And then leave me be."

Potter shifted his weight again. "If you'd rather I go..." he said. "Though I rather think you might be interested in what I have to say."

Potter was right, of course, but Snape wasn't going to admit it. He was terribly curious. Potter didn't seem interested in insulting him, any longer. Maybe he had come to kill him, though why he'd waited so long was impossible to guess. The thought wasn't the least bit frightening. If Potter wanted some kind of revenge, he should just leave Snape sitting here in his own filth to continue this slow descent into insanity. Even cruciatus would be preferable to this hell-hole. It would certainly be quicker.

Should he play along, then? Or should he try to make Potter angry? He'd always had a special talent for provoking the boy. It would be fun. Until Potter stormed off like the child he was and left Snape sitting here in the dark wondering why the hell he'd come. He obviously had something he wanted to say.

So help him, if the boy had had some sort of epiphany...If he were here to apologize... The very idea made Snape's lip curl.

"I've come to get you out," Potter said.

Everything stopped. Time itself stopped. Snape realized after some indeterminable time that he was not breathing. He carefully, silently sucked in a deep breath. Potter would not hear him gasp, nor would he give the boy the satisfaction of hearing the thousand questions poised on Snape's tongue. He forced himself to swallow them down, but his voice still cracked when he was finally able to speak. "I was not aware that strangling one's cellmate counted as good behavior."

There was silence, and then Potter chuckled. "No one told me about that. I was wondering why your cell was so bare. They took your linens, even." He sat down on the stone floor just opposite Snape, perhaps six feet away through the bars. He aimed his wandlight at the floor between them. "Who was it then," he asked.

"Menellaus Cobblepot."

"That sounds familiar. Was he a Death Eater, then?"

Snape snorted. "Hardly. I believe he was incarcerated due to some sort of quidditch scandal."

"Oh yeah, that thing with the Magpies and the potions...Why did they put him in here with you?"

"I've no idea. Perhaps the prison is full."

"Maybe," Potter said, then, after a pause: "So, why'd you kill him?"

"He snored."

Potter was completely silent and still. Snape let him stay that way for a few heartbeats before adding "Also, he tried to dash my head against the wall. He was rather fond of the former Headmaster."

Potter let out a long breath. "Wasn't everyone?" he asked. Despite his flippant words, he sounded rather shaken. Snape scored a mental point, and allowed himself a question.

"Why are you here, Potter?" he asked.

"I told you, to get you out."

"What you have not told me, however, is how or why you intend to do such a thing."

His eyes were finally adjusting to the light of Potter's wand. They had stopped watering, anyway. He was able to make out Potter's face. He looked much older than he had when Snape had seen him last, at the dark edge of the Forbidden Forest. He looked grim, but he smiled when he spoke.

"It's simple, really. I need you to make a potion."

And that is, apparently, all she (I) wrote. I don't know whether Harry is dying or impotent or has some weird magic STD...no clue at all. So my question is this - what potion? Somebody give me an answer!