I [Holo - Arrival]
Something red dripped onto the floor of the arrival room, and then something large fell with a thump onto it. A man with greasy hair and a huge nose, dressed in ornate academic robes and a great deal of buttons was laying in a heap on the ground, bleeding from several fanged bite-marks on his neck.
Severus Snape began coming to, and immediately wished that he wasn't. The entire world was made exclusively out of pain. Every. Single. Thing.
It had...hurt less a little while ago. There had been someone with him, someone smiling at him in a way that no one ever did, and he had known that nothing would ever matter again because she was smiling at him... only now he was on the floor, and his leg was at an uncomfortable angle, and he was cold, and the hurting less had gone away. Which was bloody inconsiderate of it. He would have to have a stern talk with the hurting less...
Groaning, Snape opened his eyes, and searched for the wherewithal to move. The light here was strange. The floor was metal, not wood. He was alone.
"Hel- ahem!" Croaking was not necessary, surely. "Hello?"
Silence. Merlin's balls he was sore. His limbs were slow, and he could feel the poison in his blood, still, but the paralysis was lifting. Perhaps Potter had done something. Produced another miraculous bezoar and shoved it down his throat. But if so, why was he in this strange room? First he had to finish the job, and he fumbled his wand from his sleeve and began a low chant. His deep voice filled the small chamber with a spell like a song, and as soon as he felt like he could manage being upright he began hauling himself to his feet using the pedestal. There was some sort of muggle device on it. ...That was not promising. Not at all.
"Hello? In the name of Queen and country, identify and explain yourselves!"
Severus Snape began coming to, and immediately wished that he wasn't. The entire world was made exclusively out of pain. Every. Single. Thing.
It had...hurt less a little while ago. There had been someone with him, someone smiling at him in a way that no one ever did, and he had known that nothing would ever matter again because she was smiling at him... only now he was on the floor, and his leg was at an uncomfortable angle, and he was cold, and the hurting less had gone away. Which was bloody inconsiderate of it. He would have to have a stern talk with the hurting less...
Groaning, Snape opened his eyes, and searched for the wherewithal to move. The light here was strange. The floor was metal, not wood. He was alone.
"Hel- ahem!" Croaking was not necessary, surely. "Hello?"
Silence. Merlin's balls he was sore. His limbs were slow, and he could feel the poison in his blood, still, but the paralysis was lifting. Perhaps Potter had done something. Produced another miraculous bezoar and shoved it down his throat. But if so, why was he in this strange room? First he had to finish the job, and he fumbled his wand from his sleeve and began a low chant. His deep voice filled the small chamber with a spell like a song, and as soon as he felt like he could manage being upright he began hauling himself to his feet using the pedestal. There was some sort of muggle device on it. ...That was not promising. Not at all.
"Hello? In the name of Queen and country, identify and explain yourselves!"