In your pocket, not one penny
WHO: Two Dark Wizards meet again for the first time. (Snape, Riddle, the rematch.)
WHERE: The MAC.
WHEN: Friday Evening
WARNINGS: More Slytherin bullshit then you can handle.
SUMMARY: Snape finally seeks out young master Tom Riddle; half-intending to murder him on the spot, half-intending to ... well, he's not really sure but murder may be the only option.
FORMAT: WORDSSSSSS
Though Ron's words chased him as he left his rooms and began to use the Mark -- RON WEASLEY, he reminded himself, who had been a dunderheaded boy and was only barely tolerable as a grown man -- Snape was resolute. He had to find Tom Riddle.
He enertained thoughts of murder; it would be a simple thing. The boy would never suspect, and up until now, he had only killed the helpless and the weak. Severus Snape would be able to take him down, lay him low. But to what end? He'd return. Again. And again. Oh, that could give a man some sense of satisfaction, but in the end, revenge would be even hollower for it being completely meaningless -- even more bereft of it than the simple, mundane act anywhere else.
He finally found the right door. Stopped. Considered, briefly, that this was madness. And it was -- but if this were some trick, some illusion, some weaving -- he needed to know. Lives could depend upon it; was it Tom Riddle, or had Lord Voldemort played them all for fools?
Swallowing his hate down, he lifted his hand and knocked on the door.
WHERE: The MAC.
WHEN: Friday Evening
WARNINGS: More Slytherin bullshit then you can handle.
SUMMARY: Snape finally seeks out young master Tom Riddle; half-intending to murder him on the spot, half-intending to ... well, he's not really sure but murder may be the only option.
FORMAT: WORDSSSSSS
Though Ron's words chased him as he left his rooms and began to use the Mark -- RON WEASLEY, he reminded himself, who had been a dunderheaded boy and was only barely tolerable as a grown man -- Snape was resolute. He had to find Tom Riddle.
He enertained thoughts of murder; it would be a simple thing. The boy would never suspect, and up until now, he had only killed the helpless and the weak. Severus Snape would be able to take him down, lay him low. But to what end? He'd return. Again. And again. Oh, that could give a man some sense of satisfaction, but in the end, revenge would be even hollower for it being completely meaningless -- even more bereft of it than the simple, mundane act anywhere else.
He finally found the right door. Stopped. Considered, briefly, that this was madness. And it was -- but if this were some trick, some illusion, some weaving -- he needed to know. Lives could depend upon it; was it Tom Riddle, or had Lord Voldemort played them all for fools?
Swallowing his hate down, he lifted his hand and knocked on the door.