The Departure of Young Severus
Morning Dew on the window pane. Severus watches the fog. The thick grey blanket on the front lawn. The parlour is quiet and cold. His black cloak falls lifelessly to the ground.
Five men in the distance. The fog parts, smooth and timid. Silver masks appear from the dense grey. Their dark mantels move proud and fierce in the wind.
The creaking of the wooden floor. The gentle sway of Severus’ cloak. To the suffocating hallway that raised him. It is goodbye to the old parlour of his youth.
A firm hand on his shoulder. It guides him to the fog. The men move in tandem. The silent grey that blind them. They follow the one in front of them. Helpless as their cloaks surround them. Their wayward thoughts that bind them. So sure of himself, young Severus walks beyond the protective fog.