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A Matter of Malevolence by trinsan [Reviews - 0]

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|| A Matter of Malevolence, Part Six ||

Well, that was it. Severus had decided. He'd woken from his Malfoy-induced nap, given the whole matter a good two hours of thought, and made up his mind: this Quest with all its problems was not for him.

It wasn't as though he didn't want that book. The grimoire was a key to power and he wanted power, but the price for attaining it was simply too high. Montgomery was spectacularly gone, with a light show to boot, and even before he'd vanished, he hadn't been doing very well. The portrait was a bastard, the Grey Lady was a bitch, and the grimoire was not worth his life, thank you very much.

Then on Tuesday, Severus realized that he'd spent nearly all of Monday thinking about that grimoire. Well, that wasn't good. He'd decided, hadn't he? His choice had been made. There really wasn't any need to think about it any further, so he wouldn't.

Except that he did. On Wednesday, he saw Evans and three other Questers whispering together in the library, and realized he'd spent most of Tuesday wondering if they'd solved the last riddle.

Augh! What was wrong with him? This was not acceptable! He had better things to do than flirt with death or disintegration or whatever the hell had happened to Montgomery, and in fact, he was going to buckle down and do those things. Veneficus could go fuck himself.

Severus did those things all day Wednesday. He was a study fiend on Thursday, stayed in the library nearly all of Friday, and was feeling very proud of himself until he realized he'd spent every moment of free time whittling down the possibilities of just what this grimoire may contain, based on who had it and the kind of magic keeping it hidden.

Oh, this was simply not fair. Perhaps, just perhaps, he'd been a little too hasty in making up his mind.

After all, nobody said he had to do anything dangerous. He was pursuing the grimoire on his own. He wasn't doing it on assignment; he wasn't even doing it with the other Questers. He wasn't taking any wild risks, or attacking portraits the way Montgomery had, was he? He certainly was not, and so maybe, it wasn't really the best choice in the world to drop the Quest like a hot potato.

Considering, Severus finally decided to play a kind of bingo game with the universe: if he was "fated" to finish this quest (whatever THAT meant), then he would go to the library and overhear exactly what he needed from the Questers to get his game going again. If he were not "fated" to, then he would go to the library and not overhear anything of any worth whatsoever. There! Feeling pleased with his newer decision, Severus gathered his textbooks and camped out in the library.


This was a wonderful idea. At least it was for the first three and a half hours; after that, it started to grow dull.

Another hour passed, then two. After hour number six, there was no sign of any of the Questers at all, and Severus was getting mad. Come on, now; how could he test Fate and come to his proper conclusion if there were no Questers here to either drop him hints or remain completely useless? This was not the way to conduct an experiment. Perhaps he'd have to extend his experiment another day. All the factors had to be present, after all, and he was getting hungry. Sighing in frustration, Severus began to pack away his well-marked schoolbooks, and only then came the voice he'd least expected to hear.

"Yes, I do think I've solved it," said Charles Montgomery cheerfully, and the whole group of Questers sat down.

Severus froze.

Charles Montgomery? Here? But that was impossible.

"Really? That's wonderful! Show me, show us, we've got to see!"

"I will. Have a seat, and I'll show you what the riddle means."

Impossible. IMPOSSIBLE. Montgomery was GONE. Whirling around, Severus raced up to the bookshelf and shoved the books aside, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Six Questers - Charles Montgomery among them - peered back at him with various expressions of startlement. Montgomery looked fine. No bandages or burns, madness or maladies were visible. Smiling and cheerful, Montgomery blinked at Severus from behind his glasses and said, "Hello. Did you need something?"

Severus choked. Panicking, he pulled away from the bookshelf and let the volumes he'd been holding fall back into place. On a sudden inspiration, he snatched his book bag from the floor and tore toward the entrance of the library, running past the six of them as he did.

The Questers stared as he went; no one said a word.

Severus ran a few more feet, making sure they could hear his footsteps retreating. Then - ignoring Madam Pince's evil, evil look - he turned on his heel and tiptoed back the way he'd come. Working his way quickly around the other side of the stacks, he folded onto the floor one bookshelf away from where the Questers sat and listened, trying not to breathe too heavily.

"That was weird," commented Montgomery, looking confused.

Perfect. Severus could see them here, and since he was peeking from below knee level, they were less likely to spot him watching. This would do nicely.

"I think he's in some of my classes," offered the hateful Evans, and Severus resisted the urge to curse her through the stacks.

"Well, whoever he is, he's gone now," said Montgomery, and opened his notebook. "All right. Interruptions aside, who wants to hear the answer to the last riddle?"

"Ooh, me, me, me!" cried the other five, excited, four of them raising their hands.

Montgomery was enjoying himself. He held up one finger, chiding. "Hang on! First, let us review. The riddle in question is as follows:

"We are little airy Creatures,
All of diff'rent Voice and Features,
One of us in Glass is set,
One of us you'll find in Jet,
T'other you may see in Tin,
And the fourth a Box within,
If the fifth you should pursue,
It can never fly from You."


Montgomery looked very pleased. "It was the word 'voice' that finally tipped me off. I started saying the rest of it out loud, over and over, just thinking to myself what it could mean, listening to my own voice - and that's when it came to me. The capitalized words, here." He waggled his wand in the air, and words appeared out of smoke, floating vaguely in the direction of the Arithmancy section. "Glass. Jet. Tin. Box. You. Say them quickly, out loud with your eyes closed, and listen to the words - the answer's right there, inside them. It sounds like something we all know by heart, something we learned a long time ago when we were figuring out how to read. Think."

The Ravenclaws (and mudblood Gryffindor) were all doing exactly as they were told, keeping their eyes closed and saying the words over and over again out loud. It sounded like some bizarre religious chanting. Something WAS familiar about the sequence, now that he heard it spoken; something about the rhythm, or -

Evans gasped. "Vowels! A, E, I, O, U! It's vowels, the answer is vowels!" Everyone stared at her for a moment; and then they all cheered, stifling their joy just a little bit too late to be truly library-quiet.

Severus blinked. Vowels?

Montgomery did a funny little bounce in his seat that looked like a jig. "Yes! You see, you've figured it out, too! Now, tomorrow after Arithmancy - well, arithmancy for me, I don't know what classes you have - I say we meet up in the third floor corridor, outside the Runes classroom, and go in a group to see the Grey Lady. We've got it this time. I can feel it!"

Everyone was celebrating, hugging each other, and wriggling in their chairs. Severus frowned, no longer watching them. Tomorrow? They were going tomorrow?

The others kept talking. "But who's the author?"

"Jonathan Swift. We studied him in History of Magic last term, actually. He tried to write storybooks Muggles would like in order to introduce them to the idea of different kinds of people still being people, using sort of a bastardized concept of leprechauns and giants to get his point across. Didn't work, but it was a bloody good try."

Tomorrow. The Questers were going to see the Grey Lady tomorrow. Severus had the answer and they weren't going to the Grey Lady until tomorrow.

His breath caught in his throat. It was a risk, a huge risk, he could spoil everything if he did this wrong, but this was his CHANCE.

There wasn't time for second guesses. Book bag in hand, he tiptoed as quickly as he could until he passed the library threshold, and then he began to run. He pounded at top-speed up the stairs toward the portrait near the Ravenclaw tower, hoping desperately that Veneficus was going to be in a better mood than usual.



Veneficus was on the horse again.

Mystery-potions in both hands, Veneficus sat in all his glory, his expression one of complete disdain and supremacy over all. Behind him the darkness swirled, shifting in a breeze of its own creation, and for one creepy moment, Severus thought it might actually be alive.

Riiiight. Next he was going to be talking to trees. "Have you... seen the... Grey Lady?" he asked, still trying to gather his breath from his three-flight jog.

Veneficus looked vaguely disgusted. "Even if I had - which I have not - why on earth would I bother telling you? Then you might be happy. I'd rather not have to witness that."

Severus sighed. Veneficus was obviously going to be no help. Resisting a childish urge to blow a raspberry at the painted Princeps, Severus jogged on and began looking in various classrooms.

Several of the rooms up here did not seem to be used for anything at all. Filled with stacked chairs and dusty tables, they smelled like old, abandoned closets and revealed damage from faulty spells, pieces of exploded textbooks, and scattered oddities like feathers and pillows and quills. For the most part, Severus could identify what was taught in each class by the damage and bric-a-brac left behind.

He stopped when he came to the special classroom with herbs hanging from the ceiling.

Everything felt just like it had been before. There were strange symbols on the chalkboard, and an odd, enticing smell of blood and dirt and power. The tingling remains of some strange spell that made the whole left wall glow green. This classroom was wonderful, and he still had no idea why.

"Can I help you?" came a pleasant voice from behind him. Startled, he spun.

A round ghost in a monk's habit was smiling at him. Severus' mind raced; this was the Hufflepuff character. What was his name? Fat... Fat... the Fat Friar, that was it.

"You really shouldn't be here. If you stay, you're sure to be caught," shared the Friar kindly, a look of concern on his portly face.

Well, Veneficus wasn't helping; a Hufflepuff ghost would have to do. "I have to be here. Do you know where the Grey Lady is?" asked Severus.

"The Grey Lady?" The Friar's eyes widened. "Why?"

Severus was in a hurry. "Because I need to speak to her, stupid fool! Now do you know where she is or not?" he snapped.

The kindliness melted from the Friar's face. "I won't help you if you're rude," he admonished gently, waggling one wide finger.

Severus released a slow, controlled sigh. Everyone wanted patience from him these days. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I need to see the Grey Lady. I need to see her. I have something to tell her. It's important. Do you know where she is?"

The Fat Friar wasn't through chiding. "I might know where she is, young man. But you really need to work on your tone of voice."

Be patient, Severus told himself. "You're right, and I'm sorry. But it's really important."

The ghost looked at him for a long moment. "Very well. I'll show you where she is. Come this way." He floated out of the room.

Finally! Relieved that his frustrating kowtowing had worked, Severus followed the Fat Friar down the hall. Walking and floating in silence, they once again passed Veneficus in his portrait (who sneered), then traveled up the stairs to the fourth floor. They turned the corner, went through a funny sort of archway, and up a half-flight of steps which stopped at nothing. The end of the stairway hung over a dizzying abyss, without even a railing between him and the floor, four stories below. There, a couple of feet away from the landing, was a strange kind of platform attached to the wall.

The Fat Friar smiled. "Here she is!" he said cheerfully and waved at the platform.

"Where?" Severus stared at it dubiously. There was no ghost visible where indicated. Set neatly along the portrait-laden wall, the platform had barely room to stand - although seven feet long, it was barely two feet wide, and just looking at it made Severus nervous. Peeking over the banister, he glanced down. It was a clear drop from here, straight to the bottom.

"Erk," he said.

"There, young man! In the portrait. Have a good night!" said the Friar happily, and with that, he floated away.

"Fucking weirdo," muttered Severus, and looked at the portrait in question.

Inside the portrait sat a little girl reading a book. She was extremely pretty; large, brown eyes and ringlets of dark blonde hair cradled a face surely modeled after cherubim. A satin red dress in subdued hues hid her small body; her shoes matched, and nestled comfortably under her right arm was a puppy which might or might not have been stuffed. Light streamed in from the window to her left; books covered every spare inch of space except where she was sitting. The child could not have been more than five years old. As he watched, she turned the page.

"Hello," he tried. She did nothing.

He frowned, leaning forward just a little. "I said hello."

The little girl looked up at him. "Shhhh," she said, bringing one finger to her lips. "People are reading. Please go away."

Severus rolled his eyes. "You aren't the Grey Lady as a child or something, are you?"

The little girl looked up at him again. "I said, shhhh," she reiterated. "If you want to speak to me, you have to step on the platform. I won't listen to people who shout."

Oh gods. Severus glanced down again. It was a long, long way to the first floor.That platform wouldn't collapse, would it? He was getting dizzy. Looking down was a bad idea.

"...all right," said Severus quietly, breathing a little too quickly, and with one sharp gasp, leapt forward onto the platform.

He misjudged slightly and hit the wall. For one second, it seemed he was going to ricochet right back off the platform and down, but he managed to stagger to the side and keep his feet instead. His heart was pounding so hard that he could feel it in his fingertips.

The little girl studied him coolly. He'd practically bounced off her face. "Are you quite all right?" she said after a moment, sounding as though she really didn't care if he were.

"Yes," choked Severus, staring straight down. Gods, this platform was so damned SMALL. Focus. Focus. "I need to see the Grey Lady."

"I am the Grey Lady," replied the painting in a sweetly tinkling voice.

Severus was far too aware of the death-drop behind him to feel overly disappointed. "I don't think you're quite the one I was looking for," he finally said.

"Which one were you looking for, little boy?" asked the girl.

He felt dizzy and sick. This was so high. "Your ghost-you. Adult, grown-up, ghost-you. I have the answer to her final riddle."

"Ahhhh," said the little girl wisely, and without any further warning the ghost of the Grey Lady shot out of her torso and right through Severus' face.

Severus gasped. Startled, badly startled, he lost his balance, and he fell.

Slowly, but so quickly, gravity pulled him backwards like the drown of time, and he panicked, scrabbled to try to grab the platform, the portrait, the stairwell, anything, ANYTHING -

There was nothing.

He screamed, and everything went black.



Severus became aware that he was in pain. It wasn't a horrible pain; it was strange, dull, and throbbed through his entire body, and just as he was beginning to process the fact that he was also lying on something that moved, that something stopped. The tiny jolt of foiled inertia showed him what pain really was. He screamed.

The thing began moving again, smoothly and inexorably, and terrified, he tried to sit up - and found that he could not.

He could not sit. He could not lift his arm. He could not turn his head. No major part of his body was willing to obey his command, and he had enough time to process that he was apparently paralyzed from the mouth down when the movement stopped again. Pain like lightening jolted him.

Think, think, he had to think. He'd fallen some distance - that much he remembered, and he was sure it was far enough to kill him, so what the hell was he doing alive? Uneven terraces of steps pressed into his back. It was a staircase; he was upside down on one of the damned moving staircases, which meant he hadn't fallen the full four stories. So that was why he was not dead. Paralysis paled in comparison to that; pain and relief warred for supremacy in his system, and, overwhelmed, he started to cry.

"Do you have the answer for me, child?"

Blearily, Severus opened his tired eyes and tried to look up. Above him floated the Grey Lady, calm, unperturbed, and completely unconcerned.

Severus was having trouble thinking. He was dizzy from behind head-down for so long. The stairway started moving again, and anticipation of sharp, tingling pain crawled down his spine. He sobbed once.

Smoothly, the Grey Lady floated above him, following.

Answer. He needed to answer, or all of this was for nothing. "V... vowels," he managed, and groaned. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. What had happened to his back?

The Grey Lady smiled. "Very good. That is the answer. Goodnight." She floated back toward the portrait.

WHAT? No, no no no, this was NOT happening, not after this, not after all of this! "Wait!" He lifted one hand, or tried - it would not move from his side.

"Yes?" said the Grey Lady, turning back to face him.

"You... you're supposed to give me another clue! Or the answer, or... "

"You're not one of my Questers, little one," said the Grey Lady calmly; there was no rancor in her tone. "Good job on the quiz, though. Goodnight." She floated back through the portrait and away.

No. Oh... oh, no. Severus lay there, gaping after her, until the stairwell decided to swing away again and he could see the portrait no more.

There was a new pain now, deep in his chest, and it was far worse than any damage done to his back. The stairwell stopped, again with that tiny, tiny jolt that he'd never noticed when undamaged and on his feet, but he could hardly bring himself to care. In fact, he didn't care to try to move at all. It hurt. Everything hurt. The Quest was over. She wasn't going to give him any more clues.

The stairway moved again, uncaring, unfeeling. Maybe just lying here was the best way to go, after all.



"Mr. Snape?" said a voice above him. It broke through his his dark, peaceful dreams, and pain suddenly reminded him of where he was. Now there was light pushing through his closed eyelids - and voices.

Many, many voices. Oooooh, hell.

"Wha... ugh," said Severus. Hands were touching him. Whoever it was shifted him slightly, and the tendrils of pain in his back suddenly became piercing, broken pieces of glass. He screamed.

"Careful, careful," murmured McGonagall. She was holding him carefully, levitating him now up off the stairs and keeping him in the same position he'd been when he fell. He tried to open his eyes, but the light was far too blinding. "Mr. Lupin, go and get healer Smethwyck immediately. Run." Her voice was calm, and her hands were gentle. She did not seem upset at him for apparently falling asleep on the stairs - or whatever it was she thought he'd done - and this simple fact told him that he was in far worse shape than he feared.

"Great," he croaked, and McGonagall hushed him.

"Hold still, Mr. Snape. Help is coming. Try not to move."

Severus could do that. In fact, the buzzing voices of students in the halls were very calming all of a sudden; he could feel the rhythm of their language, the pulses of their words, and before Smethwyck even arrived, he'd fallen back to sleep.



Healing magic was a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful thing.

Severus was released from the hospital wing that evening. He'd broken his back as well as several other bones - not very surprising, given that he'd fallen nearly fifteen feet - but none of that was apparently out of the ordinary for Smethwyck. It took some clever spell-work ("Come here, Poppy, I want you to see this"), but after everything had been mended and he'd had a little nap, Severus was allowed to go.

He hadn't expected to attain a small measure of fame.

Everyone wanted to know what happened. Severus was startled; somehow, it seemed every student in the school knew that he'd been found with a broken back on a moving stairway - a stairway which was miraculously on the first floor by the time morning came, because it only swiveled on the third floor late at night. He'd been found by an entire group of first years, who'd promptly run screaming back to the Great Hall about somebody being murdered. That, of course, brought out the whole school, including (fortunately) several of the teachers.

Severus' first version of events was simple: he'd been exploring, tripped and fell down the stairs, and knocked himself out. That was that. However, the stories surrounding him had grown exponentially during the day; trolls, warlocks, a tussle with Peeves, six different explosion stories, and at least one wild tale of fighting off demons were waiting for him by the time he was released. Three people thought they'd heard Black and Potter talking about sticking a broom up his arse while he lay there, but other than that, everyone seemed to have responded to his adventure with the excitement of the macabre.

For the first time in his life, Severus was something of a celebrity. The irony was, right now, he did not want it.

His next course of action was very clear. It had been since Smethwyck had finally removed the last slicing shards of pain from his back, and he'd spent the whole afternoon in the medical wing working it out. In fact, it could be encapsulated in one word: revenge. His list of those who had it coming was small but very specific. The foremost, of course, was Potter and his entourage, but that could wait. The target right now was the Grey Lady. She'd left him - left him! - grievously injured, and it was her fault he'd fallen in the first place. Then came Peeves the poltergeist, whom Severus had not forgiven for that leech incident. Malfoy figured in there somewhere, although he wasn't quite sure how yet, and lastly came Veneficus, who was a puss-filled, son-of-a-bitch sadist, and deserved whatever he got.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to exact revenge while so many people were bothering him. Even worse than that, they were getting in the way of his research. He had no idea how to curse a poltergeist or spirit; of course, Severus tried to resolve this question in the library, but his attempts to discover what to do were constantly being hampered by interruptions. They wanted to hear about the troll/vampire/trap door/ghoul that had ended his adventure so violently, and wouldn't go away; forget cursing the ghost - Severus was ready to hex the next person he saw.

"Snape?"

Well, that was that, wand up. "What?" Severus snapped, then froze.

It was Montgomery.

"Hey. Uh. So, how are you?" said the older Ravenclaw with a grin, and Severus gaped at him.

"Fine," he finally replied, terrified beyond all reason. What was this madman going to do next?

"Well, good. Uh. I heard you... sort of had an accident with the Grey Lady?"

He'd heard? Where had he heard that? Severus's eyes grew narrow. "Maybe," he hinted, tightening his grip on his wand.

"Yeah." Montgomery looked vaguely guilty. "Listen, I've been thinking. I know you were eavesdropping in the library, and, uh..." He sighed. "I kinda thought you might try to get involved, but then I thought, naw, he wouldn't do that, and I just let it go, and... damn." Reaching up, Montgomery rubbed the back of his head. He looked positively bashful. "It's kind of my fault you got hurt. I should have stopped you. I'm sorry."

For a long, awkward moment, Severus could not reply. "What?" he said at last, quietly.

Montgomery shrugged. "Sorry. I just wanted to say that, and... don't try anything again, 'cause nobody's watching out for you, okay? And again, I'm sorry." With that, Montgomery turned on his heel and walked away.

Severus stared after him. Anger, shock, embarrassment, and disgust hit him in successive waves. Montgomery knew? How? Nobody knew the real story, except for that little girl and the Grey Lady, and it didn't make sense that they would talk about it. Then again, maybe they had; they had, and now Montgomery knew it all.

Montgomery said he was sorry. Uh-huh. Sure. Sure he was sorry. Severus saw right through this trick. Montgomery wasn't here because he was concerned; Montgomery was here to keep him from continuing on the Quest because he'd come too close to the answer!

Severus was willing to admit - barely - that his anger might be skewing his logic, but it seemed unimportant at the moment.

All right, so the Grey Lady knew he was not part of the Questers, and now Montgomery was trying to stop him as well - but was this Montgomery the same Montgomery as had threatened him in the hall?

Somehow, Severus didn't think so.

Visibly calm and controlled, Severus turned back to his research on spirits and how to curse them, already making plans for tomorrow and his next careful steps. He would find the answers on his own. He had to, and if his damned painted ancestor wasn't going to help any more than anybody else, then fuck them ALL. He didn't need them anyway.

Severus had decided: this meant war.



|| Part Six - A Different Point of View, VI ||
The inside of the portrait didn't look anything at all like the outside. Outwardly, it was simple enough; it could be torn apart, dissected, ripped into strips of canvas and flaking ink, but there was so much more to a magical portrait than those things. This portrait, especially, was different even from those around it.

From Veneficus' point of view, of course, everything was three-dimensional. The world "Outside" looked flat to him, and colorless, but that was because He who had painted THIS portrait had done it with many brilliant colors in mind. Everything from the rich loam of the earth to the coal of his horse to the red of the sky and the gold of his potion was magnificently eye-catching; he had been in this portrait, in this place, for almost two thousand years, and he still had not grown bored.

Of course, the company helped, too.

Behind him were several things that were not visible from the Outside. Most of them were skeletons; one of them was a desiccated corpse, and the last... well. Perhaps the last was better off speaking for itself.

"Let me go," the boy cried, much more quietly now, for the darkness had been feeding on him. He'd made it so far along the path, too, even dissecting the riddle of the two portraits called Power to Hold the World. Most people never made it that far; very few even made it past the gilded frame that held the painting, and almost none ever realized that there were two portraits to begin with. On the whole, Veneficus was pleased with this offering.

Outside, Charles Montgomery walked up to the portrait and smiled.

"I almost think I've figured you out," he said cheerfully, smiling at the terrifying man on the horse as though they were best friends.

Veneficus smirked in return. Ravenclaws! They were all the same, always so focused on the academic side, always so brilliant, so clever, so fucking IMPRACTICAL, never once thinking about how it all applied - and because of this, were always the first to suffer.

Montgomery here was a perfect case in point.

"Have you now," murmured Veneficus, and between his thighs his powerful stallion shifted. Two thousand years and Veneficus had never figured out if the horse was a cognizant creature. It could be - the Darkness that shared his world could have done any number of things here, and Veneficus was more than aware he would never fully understand it all. That was all right. A wise man accepted his own limitations.

"I have!" chirruped Montgomery, if a seventeen-year-old boy could possibly be thought of as chirruping. "And as soon as I've figured out how to activate it, I'll have that grimoire! Isn't that wonderful?"

Veneficus smiled. Inside, the boy behind him groaned, shifted, tried to move under the weight of invisible vampiric chains that held him down. Outside, Charles Montgomery did not see.

"Good for you, then - as long as you take proper precautions," murmured Veneficus, his dark eyes meeting Montgomery's baby-blue ones. "Somehow, though, I doubt you will. Then, instead of being wonderful, everything will be very, very bad."

Montgomery chuckled softly. "Yes, of course, I know. You always say that. And as I keep telling you, this is a GAME. I see through it now, all right? The Grey Lady isn't going to be leading her own house into the lion's mouth." He shook his head, smiling. "Anyway, I just thought I'd let you know. By the end of the semester, I'll have it. Goodnight!" And with a cheerful wave, he left.

Veneficus smiled cruelly as he went, baring his crooked teeth in a manner not dissimilar to a hungry lion's. Turning his head slightly, he spoke to the boy behind him. "Wasn't that fun, Charles? Getting to watch your young and eager self making the same mistakes all over again?"

On the ground and barely recognizable as human, the blackened-burned lump that was Montgomery stared at Veneficus with pleading, baby-blue eyes. Unable to speak, he moaned.

"Yes, I know, isn't it funny?" said Veneficus as he chuckled. "It'll take him months to get where you are, of course... and by then, you'll be gone, and he will be in your place. The whole cycle will begin over again. Ra, I love this job."

Montgomery-Inside made a hitching sound, as though weeping, but he could do little else. The darkness was coming again. Slowly. From far over the horizon, it came, silent, yet carrying so much force and power that no one living in this portrait could be unaware of its approach.

On his suddenly restless horse, Veneficus shuddered; closing his eyes, he groaned.

On the suddenly ash-covered ground, Montgomery whimpered, and shook.

It was feeding time again.

A Matter of Malevolence by trinsan [Reviews - 0]

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