Potions Master just seems the perfect position for him. That man is a walking poison. Whenever we are in the same room it feels like poison is running through my veins. I can't think, I hardly can listen to people talking. All I can do is stare at him, hot and cold shivers running down my spine. At least I can hide in my dog shape.
I hear them shouting about Barty Crouch being given the Dementor's kiss before he could be interrogated. Reminds me... only a year ago Snape has wanted me to be given the Dementor's kiss. That bastard!
He had not been showing his cool facade at that moment. He never does when he is with me. I am the only one whom he ever shows his feelings. His hatred. His passion.
I can refocus my mind on my surroundings in time to hear Fudge ridiculing Harry: "You are - er - prepared to take Harry's word on this, are you, Dumbledore?"
I growl in rage. The boy has gone through so much, and now Fudge does not even want to believe him? At least, it takes my attention away from the man standing silently at the other end of the room.
Dumbledore is trying hard to convince Fudge that Harry is not hallucinating, that Voldemort is back. After a while McGonagall joins in, but Fudge stubbornly refuses to believe that his perfect world is crumbling.
My gaze returns to Snape. He is still trying to keep his facade, but I can see his emotions struggling behind that mask like face. I am trained at seeing through him; I spend all my youth watching him, shielded by the curtain of my hair. I badly want to jump on him and tear that mask off his face.
I see his jaw hardening in decision the moment he steps forward, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes. I knew it. I knew he was a Death Eater.
How can he be so gorgeous at the moment he reveals his dark secrets? The moment he indirectly admits to have committed numerous murders?
Shivers ran down my spine as I listen to his voice, eloquently relating what the Dark Mark means, how it grew clearer all through the year. It makes me want to...
I see Fudge flee, still refusing to see the truth. Fool, when even Snape agrees with Harry!
I am dimly aware that Dumbledore sends Bill Weasley, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey away. All I can do is stare at Snape's slender form, his unmoveable face.
"And now", Dumbledore says, "it is time for two of our number to recognise each other for what they are." Does he mean...? "Sirius, if you could resume your usual form?"
I almost laugh. My dog shape has almost become my usual form over the past few years.
As I take on my human shape, Mrs Weasley shrieks and leaps away. I hardly notice it. I am way too fascinated by the way Snape's facade shatters.
From one second to the other his features change; he is no longer composed, his face contorts as he glares at me in anger and horror and madness. I hope that no one notices that my prick hardens.
"Him!" he snarls, his voice not cold, but hot with fury and rage. Gods, I can hardly hold myself back!
"What's he doing here?" he demands to know.
"He is here at my invitation," I hear Dumbledore answering while I am staring at Snape. He is asking us to trust each other. I would burst out laughing if I was not so busy with glaring at Snape.
"I will settle, in the short term, for a lack of open hostility." Yeah, sure, I will try not to jump at his throat. I am not sure if I'll succeed.
Now Dumbledore wants us to shake hands. Is he mad? If I touch Snape... I don't know if I can hold myself back any second longer then, or if I will just jump at him, throw him onto the floor, tear off his robes and fuck him right here and now.
Dumbledore shows no mercy; he insist on us shaking hands.
I breathe in deeply as I slowly move forward. Breathing in was not a good idea; his scent makes me want to run wild. I want to bite him, scratch him, strangle him. I want to hurt him and hear him screaming my name.
Our fingers touch just for the flicker of a second. Feeling the hotness of his skin is almost too much; I see visions of his naked body on my inner eye. I am relieved when Dumbledore steps between us before I lose control.
Dumbledore asks me to inform Moony, Belle and Mundungus of what happened. This order fills me with relief; I don't need to be any longer in a room with him.
When I hear Harry's thin voice protesting, I have to force myself to turn around, to stop glaring at Snape. "You'll see me very soon, Harry," I promise, feeling slightly guilty at promising my godson things I cannot be
sure to keep.
Then I turn into a dog and leave. It's like escaping from a fatal trap. Relief is washing through me when I close the door behind me. I can breathe freely again.