The best thing about fan fic
is that it's nothing like legal writing.
Title: Casaalbimagi
Author: Alzarqa13
Rating: PG
Length: 2895 words
Location: Casablanca, Morocco and Fes, Morocco
Summary: This is a relatively brief glimpse of Snape’s activities pre-1st book and post-7th book.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Snape. Also, I don’t own the spelling, grammar, and content corrections of this fic (thanks Ari, cole, and Pat).
If there was one thing Severus Snape hated, it was very small spaces filled with very many people…and bicycles…and donkey carts…and dead goats… The fact that the wizarding world could manage to avoid these sorts of things in London did not improve his impression of this city. Neither did the fact that he was lost. He had the vague impression that the street urchin he had run off earlier might have been able to provide assistance in this labyrinth, but the decided lack of a common language probably would have negated his usefulness. For that matter, he still wasn’t truly convinced the boy hadn’t been a pickpocket.
He looked about in annoyance and decided that the alley to the left looked promising. As he turned to walk down it, a rather mangy looking not quite white cat mewed at his feet. He contemplated kicking it. The cat scurried back a few steps, doubtless the result of several years experience with people who contemplate kicking small fuzzy animals. It mewed again. Damned tourists, Severus thought. If they didn’t keep feeding the beasts they wouldn’t be constantly under my feet. He walked around the cat, sneering at it for good measure, and proceeded through the maze of the Fes medina.
* * *
The young man stood in front of the mosque in front of the sea. He closed his eyes, just so, and all the colors faded. The intricate carvings around each arch no longer existed. The ancient building itself became only an outline, a great rock thrust up from the earth to meet the glistening water behind it.
The muggles, of course, had no understanding of the history of this place. Casablanca. The city that took its name from this building. Here on the outskirts of the city practically falling into the Mediterranean he had found it: the house of the white wizard. Some said he had been the greatest practitioner of the dark arts who had ever lived. Until now, anyway.
The young man stood in the midday sun, alone. Watching the dark outline of the gulls and listening to the soft lapping of the sea against the walls of the building. Letting the fog of London burn away in the heat. After years of pouring over rotting books in decrepit buildings he had found this place, lost in the guise of an ancient religion in a tumultuous culture. And he would find the potion here and use it to prove himself. None of them would dare challenge him once he could provide their master’s greatest desire.
* * *
“Salaam?”
…
“Bonjour?
…
“Good day?”
Snape turned sharply on his heel and stared straight at the Fesi merchant. “You speak English?” Rather than adopt the stance of the average mortal when faced with the Snape Glare, the man grinned broadly.
“English, yes.” He nodded his brown head with each syllable and gestured into his booth.
“I’m not interested in purchasing any of your wares. I merely require directions.”
“You would like to buy a rug?”
“What?”
“Eh?”
Snape narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly.
“I…need…directions…to…the…apothecary.” The merchant watched carefully and bobbed his head with each of Snape’s syllables. Then he paused and appeared to think about this. Finally he turned to a magnificent woven carpet and smiled.
“A rug?”
“Do you even speak English?!”
“English…yes. I sell nice rugs.”
“Aahgg.”
* * *
The young man approached the mosque. He laid one hand on the cool white surface and waited to feel the stone melt away.
“You can’t get in that way.”
The young man turned slowly to look at the speaker. He was a small, white-haired man with large black eyes that glinted merrily beneath his eyebrows. It was impossible to tell if he wore wizard robes. The muggle djellaba was essentially identical.
“You can’t get in that way. The house doesn’t know you yet. You’ll have to come through the front door.” Without waiting for a response he walked off along the edge of the building toward the water. The young man followed warily. He had not expected to meet anyone.
When he reached the edge of the water, the old man raised a hand over it and stood transfixed. The young man wondered if he had not actually intended to take him into the building at all, when pale stones rose out of the water. They formed a path that curved around to the middle of the wall that abutted the sea. The old man stepped lightly along it and the young man followed. As he stepped onto the stones he realized they were large tortoise shells, sans tortoise. Black eels slithered between and around the shells and sucked at each other with large, round mouths.
An irregular hole had appeared in the seaward wall at the end of the path. It gaped like the mouth of a giant eel and the young man couldn’t help shudder as he entered the house. At least he was obviously in the right place.
* * *
Snape was getting close. He could feel it. The air smelled of the tannery. He must be close.
The narrow road twisted around merchant stalls filled with blue pottery and muggle sneakers, fresh produce and dragon's blood, odd containers that said ‘Tupperware’ and elaborately carved wands. Snape once again lamented the fact that the wizards here insisted upon living in such close quarters with the rest of the world.
But he would be off the street soon, hopefully sipping tea in a sunny courtyard. He was sure the apothecary was just past this archway. It must be just around that next corner where the car…was…parked…
Snape looked around in confusion to find himself in the middle of a wide road full of cars and decidedly lacking in donkeys. He turned and looked behind him to see that the archway was bounded on each side by a long wall. Too long. He had left the old city and wandered into modern Fes. Damn.
As he headed back to the entryway, he squinted up at the intricate octagonal design in blue tiles… blue…tiles… He had started at the gate with blue tiles. Damn.
* * *
A painting of the original occupant of the house hung over the soot blackened fireplace. He was so wrinkled and bent that the young man wondered if the portrait had continued to age long after the subject had died. He stood in front of his own black fireplace with his snowy white beard disappearing in his white robes. The young man reflected that it had probably taken years to create the anti-soot charm that would allow those robes and that fireplace to coexist.
A flock of the ugliest birds that the young man had ever seen inhabited the corners of the house. In an armchair, a large, pure black pelican had constructed a nest of sticks and chair stuffing. Periodically it would herd the ugly birds onto the roof and feed them eels. While the birds fit in nicely with the rest of the eerie décor, the young man would have preferred snakes and spiders or just the occasional human skull. He hoped that the old man would stop wasting time soon.
“So, you’ve come for the potion.”
“Just a list of ingredients will do.”
The old wizard laughed and watched the young man’s scowl deepen.
“That good are you?”
“Yes,” the young man answered with such grave certainty that the old wizard half believed him.
“Well, in that case, you’ll need waldrapp blood, unicorn hairs, preferably from the mane or chin, cinnamon, and the heart of a black pelican.”
“Cinnamon?” The young man raised an eyebrow.
“Believe me, you’ll want the cinnamon.”
The young man considered the list. Then he asked, “What is a waldrapp?” The old man pointed at an ugly bird. The young man nodded and stood to leave.
“Are you finished then? I assumed your master would want you actually to make this potion.”
“I see no reason to do that here.”
The old wizard laughed as he stood. He walked toward the kitchen and waved dismissively at the young man. “Alright, then. You can even take the pelican if you want. Maybe I’ll see you again when that doesn’t work.”
The young man glared at his back as he disappeared into the other room. Obviously the old man intended the young man to follow him into the kitchen and beg an explanation. He had no intention of playing that game. On the other hand, there might be more to this potion that the old man had told him. He gritted his teeth and adopted his most withering grimace…and headed into the kitchen.
* * *
The little old man smiled as he stroked a dirty white cat.
“You’re late.”
“You live in a maze.”
“I sent you guides.”
“Hmph.”
The old man laughed and his black eyes glinted. “I should have known better. You haven’t changed, Severus.”
“I got here, didn’t I?”
“Yes. You did.” He nodded his approval and gestured for Snape to sit. Then he conjured his favorite antique tea set. Snape watched the silver teapot pour a thin stream of boiling liquid from several feet above the table into the elaborately decorated glass cylinders. He breathed in the smell of mint from his glass as the teapot moved onto a small bowl which the cat immediately ran to.
“I always thought it was more impressive when you poured it by hand.”
The old wizard smiled again and took his teacup. “You’ve had a long journey. I’ll cook a lamb for you tonight.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “How will we eat a whole lamb?” The man just looked at the cat.
* * *
“Why won’t it work?”
“Hmmm?” The old man queried distractedly while he stirred a large cauldron. He spooned some of the contents into three bowls and handed one to the young man. He set the other on the floor. The young man put the bowl down impatiently.
“Why won’t the potion work? What haven’t you told me?”
“Oh, that.” The old man sipped his soup unconcernedly.
“Look, I’m playing your game, alright? Just tell me how the potion works!” When there was no response, the young man pulled out his wand. After three days of this nonsense he was not willing to wait any longer. He placed his wand at the old man’s throat and let his sleeve fall so the dark mark was visible. And in a whispered snarl: “Tell me how to make the potion.”
The old wizard just sat calmly watching the kitchen doorway. And the young man could see movement in his peripheral vision. He spun to face the threat and watched the pelican waddle into the room making odd little noises to itself. It went to the bowl on the floor and began attempting to scoop up the contents in its large bill.
“Sectumsempra!”
The pelican knocked the bowl over and began attempting to scoop the soup up off the floor.
“Sectumsempra!” Again the bird seemed oblivious to the almost certainly fatal spell directed at its little body. Undeterred by the anticlimactic result, the young man grabbed a knife from a nearby table and lunged at the bird.
“That’s why it won’t work,” commented the old wizard as the young one stabbed ineffectually at the bird, which seemed to be rather annoyed by its inability to get any soup off the floor. Eventually his arm seemed too tired and he sat on the floor and glowered at bird and man.
“Why can’t I kill it?”
“Because it’s a pelican.”
“So?”
“The only way to kill a pelican is to remove its heart. And only the pelican can remove its heart.”
“What?! Then how has anyone ever killed one?! How do you even know the potion works?!”
“It works.” Before the young man could respond the old man stood up and headed out of the kitchen. “I assume you’ll be wanting some new robes?”
“Why? The young man stared distrustfully at him and tried to decide whether he should attack the pelican again when the man wasn’t watching.
“Because you’re sitting in soup.”
* * *
“Why am I here?”
“You know why you’re here.”
“Need I remind you how much I hate it when you do that?”
The old wizard chuckled and watched the cat gorge itself on the remains of their meal.
“Come, Severus. We both know what’s under that dying spell.”
Snape sighed and flicked his wand with a slightly rueful look. The spell around his head faded and streaks of white became apparent in his dark, lank hair.
“I’m not growing a beard.”
“You may change your mind after a few thousand years.”
Snape grimaced and silence descended as each contemplated their fate.
The older man broke the silence first: “The egg is about to hatch.”
“I know. I can,” Snape paused and seemed to be trying to remove his next word as if it were a large slug clinging to his tongue, “feel it.” He shuddered.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Snape wondered how long the other man had lived in that house with the last pelican. He wondered how long he would live with the next bird. He did not let himself ponder who might come searching for it next. With his luck it would be a Weasley.
“What will happen to you?”
“Oh, I’ll stay here. I always preferred this city.”
“I hope it’s not a mandatory retirement location.”
“No, I’m sure you can stay in Casablanca. Though maybe by that time you’ll be less reclusive.”
“Let us hope not.”
Another contemplative pause passed, then, “Why unicorn hairs?”
“Well, you came looking for a potion. I didn’t think it fair to tell you there was only one ingredient.
You would’ve felt rather silly.”
“Thank you so much for sparing my feelings.”
* * *
The young man had long since given up trying to convince the pelican to kill itself. Although it appeared quite capable of many moods, including a droopy sadness, it had yet to adopt any suicidal leanings. He had also stopped trying to grab it unawares and stab it, as that action often led to eels being left in his bed. In fact, he spent most of his time watching the sea. He did that now from the highest roof of the mosque in lighter robes that attracted less heat than his customary black. His presence no longer bothered the ugly birds and now they perched around him. Sometimes, as today, the old man would bring tea and they would sit together. The young man found that when they didn’t speak to each other, he could tolerate the old man quite well.
The young man rose to stretch his legs and walked slowly around the small space. He walked up to the very edge with his toes just protruding over the side. He liked the feeling of solitude that came when he could almost disconnect himself from the ground and lose himself in the distance. But one of the ugly birds brought him back to the roof with a noise. He looked down to see what it was doing and fell.
He cracked his head on the stone below. His neck and limbs lay in unnatural positions. Blood and bits of skull pooled around him. And his sightless eyes seemed to stare at the pelican that flew down after him.
She landed on his chest and gently stroked his cheek with her bill. Then she settled herself into the hollow created by the crook of his arm and the side of his torso. Once she had laid her egg and carefully tucked his loose robes around it she hoped back onto his chest. She set her bill just to the side of his sternum and slit through cloth, skin, and muscle. Then she dug with her bill and slowly removed his heart which she placed on the ground. Then the pelican cocked her head and cast her gaze on the egg. She gave a small deep throated warble and slid her blood-covered bill into her own breast.
* * *
Snape laid one hand on the cool white surface and waited to feel the stone to melt away. Slowly, as if lack of use had created stiff hinges in the magic, the wall right in front of him faded and he stepped through the opening.
Except for the extra layer of dust, the house looked just as he had left it. The waldrapps still nested in the corners and the portrait over the fireplace looked older than ever. The nest of sticks still filled the old armchair. The egg was nestled inside it amidst a cocoon of chair stuffing. He checked that it was warm and estimated it would hatch in a few days. Then he headed into the kitchen. It would want some soup when it hatched. He should have enough time to figure out how to make soup before that.
Title: Casaalbimagi
Author: Alzarqa13
Rating: PG
Length: 2895 words
Location: Casablanca, Morocco and Fes, Morocco
Summary: This is a relatively brief glimpse of Snape’s activities pre-1st book and post-7th book.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Snape. Also, I don’t own the spelling, grammar, and content corrections of this fic (thanks Ari, cole, and Pat).
If there was one thing Severus Snape hated, it was very small spaces filled with very many people…and bicycles…and donkey carts…and dead goats… The fact that the wizarding world could manage to avoid these sorts of things in London did not improve his impression of this city. Neither did the fact that he was lost. He had the vague impression that the street urchin he had run off earlier might have been able to provide assistance in this labyrinth, but the decided lack of a common language probably would have negated his usefulness. For that matter, he still wasn’t truly convinced the boy hadn’t been a pickpocket.
He looked about in annoyance and decided that the alley to the left looked promising. As he turned to walk down it, a rather mangy looking not quite white cat mewed at his feet. He contemplated kicking it. The cat scurried back a few steps, doubtless the result of several years experience with people who contemplate kicking small fuzzy animals. It mewed again. Damned tourists, Severus thought. If they didn’t keep feeding the beasts they wouldn’t be constantly under my feet. He walked around the cat, sneering at it for good measure, and proceeded through the maze of the Fes medina.
* * *
The young man stood in front of the mosque in front of the sea. He closed his eyes, just so, and all the colors faded. The intricate carvings around each arch no longer existed. The ancient building itself became only an outline, a great rock thrust up from the earth to meet the glistening water behind it.
The muggles, of course, had no understanding of the history of this place. Casablanca. The city that took its name from this building. Here on the outskirts of the city practically falling into the Mediterranean he had found it: the house of the white wizard. Some said he had been the greatest practitioner of the dark arts who had ever lived. Until now, anyway.
The young man stood in the midday sun, alone. Watching the dark outline of the gulls and listening to the soft lapping of the sea against the walls of the building. Letting the fog of London burn away in the heat. After years of pouring over rotting books in decrepit buildings he had found this place, lost in the guise of an ancient religion in a tumultuous culture. And he would find the potion here and use it to prove himself. None of them would dare challenge him once he could provide their master’s greatest desire.
* * *
“Salaam?”
…
“Bonjour?
…
“Good day?”
Snape turned sharply on his heel and stared straight at the Fesi merchant. “You speak English?” Rather than adopt the stance of the average mortal when faced with the Snape Glare, the man grinned broadly.
“English, yes.” He nodded his brown head with each syllable and gestured into his booth.
“I’m not interested in purchasing any of your wares. I merely require directions.”
“You would like to buy a rug?”
“What?”
“Eh?”
Snape narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly.
“I…need…directions…to…the…apothecary.” The merchant watched carefully and bobbed his head with each of Snape’s syllables. Then he paused and appeared to think about this. Finally he turned to a magnificent woven carpet and smiled.
“A rug?”
“Do you even speak English?!”
“English…yes. I sell nice rugs.”
“Aahgg.”
* * *
The young man approached the mosque. He laid one hand on the cool white surface and waited to feel the stone melt away.
“You can’t get in that way.”
The young man turned slowly to look at the speaker. He was a small, white-haired man with large black eyes that glinted merrily beneath his eyebrows. It was impossible to tell if he wore wizard robes. The muggle djellaba was essentially identical.
“You can’t get in that way. The house doesn’t know you yet. You’ll have to come through the front door.” Without waiting for a response he walked off along the edge of the building toward the water. The young man followed warily. He had not expected to meet anyone.
When he reached the edge of the water, the old man raised a hand over it and stood transfixed. The young man wondered if he had not actually intended to take him into the building at all, when pale stones rose out of the water. They formed a path that curved around to the middle of the wall that abutted the sea. The old man stepped lightly along it and the young man followed. As he stepped onto the stones he realized they were large tortoise shells, sans tortoise. Black eels slithered between and around the shells and sucked at each other with large, round mouths.
An irregular hole had appeared in the seaward wall at the end of the path. It gaped like the mouth of a giant eel and the young man couldn’t help shudder as he entered the house. At least he was obviously in the right place.
* * *
Snape was getting close. He could feel it. The air smelled of the tannery. He must be close.
The narrow road twisted around merchant stalls filled with blue pottery and muggle sneakers, fresh produce and dragon's blood, odd containers that said ‘Tupperware’ and elaborately carved wands. Snape once again lamented the fact that the wizards here insisted upon living in such close quarters with the rest of the world.
But he would be off the street soon, hopefully sipping tea in a sunny courtyard. He was sure the apothecary was just past this archway. It must be just around that next corner where the car…was…parked…
Snape looked around in confusion to find himself in the middle of a wide road full of cars and decidedly lacking in donkeys. He turned and looked behind him to see that the archway was bounded on each side by a long wall. Too long. He had left the old city and wandered into modern Fes. Damn.
As he headed back to the entryway, he squinted up at the intricate octagonal design in blue tiles… blue…tiles… He had started at the gate with blue tiles. Damn.
* * *
A painting of the original occupant of the house hung over the soot blackened fireplace. He was so wrinkled and bent that the young man wondered if the portrait had continued to age long after the subject had died. He stood in front of his own black fireplace with his snowy white beard disappearing in his white robes. The young man reflected that it had probably taken years to create the anti-soot charm that would allow those robes and that fireplace to coexist.
A flock of the ugliest birds that the young man had ever seen inhabited the corners of the house. In an armchair, a large, pure black pelican had constructed a nest of sticks and chair stuffing. Periodically it would herd the ugly birds onto the roof and feed them eels. While the birds fit in nicely with the rest of the eerie décor, the young man would have preferred snakes and spiders or just the occasional human skull. He hoped that the old man would stop wasting time soon.
“So, you’ve come for the potion.”
“Just a list of ingredients will do.”
The old wizard laughed and watched the young man’s scowl deepen.
“That good are you?”
“Yes,” the young man answered with such grave certainty that the old wizard half believed him.
“Well, in that case, you’ll need waldrapp blood, unicorn hairs, preferably from the mane or chin, cinnamon, and the heart of a black pelican.”
“Cinnamon?” The young man raised an eyebrow.
“Believe me, you’ll want the cinnamon.”
The young man considered the list. Then he asked, “What is a waldrapp?” The old man pointed at an ugly bird. The young man nodded and stood to leave.
“Are you finished then? I assumed your master would want you actually to make this potion.”
“I see no reason to do that here.”
The old wizard laughed as he stood. He walked toward the kitchen and waved dismissively at the young man. “Alright, then. You can even take the pelican if you want. Maybe I’ll see you again when that doesn’t work.”
The young man glared at his back as he disappeared into the other room. Obviously the old man intended the young man to follow him into the kitchen and beg an explanation. He had no intention of playing that game. On the other hand, there might be more to this potion that the old man had told him. He gritted his teeth and adopted his most withering grimace…and headed into the kitchen.
* * *
The little old man smiled as he stroked a dirty white cat.
“You’re late.”
“You live in a maze.”
“I sent you guides.”
“Hmph.”
The old man laughed and his black eyes glinted. “I should have known better. You haven’t changed, Severus.”
“I got here, didn’t I?”
“Yes. You did.” He nodded his approval and gestured for Snape to sit. Then he conjured his favorite antique tea set. Snape watched the silver teapot pour a thin stream of boiling liquid from several feet above the table into the elaborately decorated glass cylinders. He breathed in the smell of mint from his glass as the teapot moved onto a small bowl which the cat immediately ran to.
“I always thought it was more impressive when you poured it by hand.”
The old wizard smiled again and took his teacup. “You’ve had a long journey. I’ll cook a lamb for you tonight.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “How will we eat a whole lamb?” The man just looked at the cat.
* * *
“Why won’t it work?”
“Hmmm?” The old man queried distractedly while he stirred a large cauldron. He spooned some of the contents into three bowls and handed one to the young man. He set the other on the floor. The young man put the bowl down impatiently.
“Why won’t the potion work? What haven’t you told me?”
“Oh, that.” The old man sipped his soup unconcernedly.
“Look, I’m playing your game, alright? Just tell me how the potion works!” When there was no response, the young man pulled out his wand. After three days of this nonsense he was not willing to wait any longer. He placed his wand at the old man’s throat and let his sleeve fall so the dark mark was visible. And in a whispered snarl: “Tell me how to make the potion.”
The old wizard just sat calmly watching the kitchen doorway. And the young man could see movement in his peripheral vision. He spun to face the threat and watched the pelican waddle into the room making odd little noises to itself. It went to the bowl on the floor and began attempting to scoop up the contents in its large bill.
“Sectumsempra!”
The pelican knocked the bowl over and began attempting to scoop the soup up off the floor.
“Sectumsempra!” Again the bird seemed oblivious to the almost certainly fatal spell directed at its little body. Undeterred by the anticlimactic result, the young man grabbed a knife from a nearby table and lunged at the bird.
“That’s why it won’t work,” commented the old wizard as the young one stabbed ineffectually at the bird, which seemed to be rather annoyed by its inability to get any soup off the floor. Eventually his arm seemed too tired and he sat on the floor and glowered at bird and man.
“Why can’t I kill it?”
“Because it’s a pelican.”
“So?”
“The only way to kill a pelican is to remove its heart. And only the pelican can remove its heart.”
“What?! Then how has anyone ever killed one?! How do you even know the potion works?!”
“It works.” Before the young man could respond the old man stood up and headed out of the kitchen. “I assume you’ll be wanting some new robes?”
“Why? The young man stared distrustfully at him and tried to decide whether he should attack the pelican again when the man wasn’t watching.
“Because you’re sitting in soup.”
* * *
“Why am I here?”
“You know why you’re here.”
“Need I remind you how much I hate it when you do that?”
The old wizard chuckled and watched the cat gorge itself on the remains of their meal.
“Come, Severus. We both know what’s under that dying spell.”
Snape sighed and flicked his wand with a slightly rueful look. The spell around his head faded and streaks of white became apparent in his dark, lank hair.
“I’m not growing a beard.”
“You may change your mind after a few thousand years.”
Snape grimaced and silence descended as each contemplated their fate.
The older man broke the silence first: “The egg is about to hatch.”
“I know. I can,” Snape paused and seemed to be trying to remove his next word as if it were a large slug clinging to his tongue, “feel it.” He shuddered.
“You’ll get used to it.”
Snape wondered how long the other man had lived in that house with the last pelican. He wondered how long he would live with the next bird. He did not let himself ponder who might come searching for it next. With his luck it would be a Weasley.
“What will happen to you?”
“Oh, I’ll stay here. I always preferred this city.”
“I hope it’s not a mandatory retirement location.”
“No, I’m sure you can stay in Casablanca. Though maybe by that time you’ll be less reclusive.”
“Let us hope not.”
Another contemplative pause passed, then, “Why unicorn hairs?”
“Well, you came looking for a potion. I didn’t think it fair to tell you there was only one ingredient.
You would’ve felt rather silly.”
“Thank you so much for sparing my feelings.”
* * *
The young man had long since given up trying to convince the pelican to kill itself. Although it appeared quite capable of many moods, including a droopy sadness, it had yet to adopt any suicidal leanings. He had also stopped trying to grab it unawares and stab it, as that action often led to eels being left in his bed. In fact, he spent most of his time watching the sea. He did that now from the highest roof of the mosque in lighter robes that attracted less heat than his customary black. His presence no longer bothered the ugly birds and now they perched around him. Sometimes, as today, the old man would bring tea and they would sit together. The young man found that when they didn’t speak to each other, he could tolerate the old man quite well.
The young man rose to stretch his legs and walked slowly around the small space. He walked up to the very edge with his toes just protruding over the side. He liked the feeling of solitude that came when he could almost disconnect himself from the ground and lose himself in the distance. But one of the ugly birds brought him back to the roof with a noise. He looked down to see what it was doing and fell.
He cracked his head on the stone below. His neck and limbs lay in unnatural positions. Blood and bits of skull pooled around him. And his sightless eyes seemed to stare at the pelican that flew down after him.
She landed on his chest and gently stroked his cheek with her bill. Then she settled herself into the hollow created by the crook of his arm and the side of his torso. Once she had laid her egg and carefully tucked his loose robes around it she hoped back onto his chest. She set her bill just to the side of his sternum and slit through cloth, skin, and muscle. Then she dug with her bill and slowly removed his heart which she placed on the ground. Then the pelican cocked her head and cast her gaze on the egg. She gave a small deep throated warble and slid her blood-covered bill into her own breast.
* * *
Snape laid one hand on the cool white surface and waited to feel the stone to melt away. Slowly, as if lack of use had created stiff hinges in the magic, the wall right in front of him faded and he stepped through the opening.
Except for the extra layer of dust, the house looked just as he had left it. The waldrapps still nested in the corners and the portrait over the fireplace looked older than ever. The nest of sticks still filled the old armchair. The egg was nestled inside it amidst a cocoon of chair stuffing. He checked that it was warm and estimated it would hatch in a few days. Then he headed into the kitchen. It would want some soup when it hatched. He should have enough time to figure out how to make soup before that.