It was a quiet day. The sun was shining like an erupting volcano, yet so cold one wondered who turned it off, the sky was blue and white, like some perfect picture or other… it was the weekend. Although it was only the beginning of spring, by some miracle the snow had melted. The grass was still old and frail from the previous summer, with sprouts of green shooting up, birds were chirping so much it gave one a headache and it was a lovely day. Well, it had beauty, even though to our young men it felt disgustingly bright. They had been up for a long time.
While it was morning already, most were sleeping in and others used the quiet to do their own little things - unlike the most wonderfully immature Harry Potter and his most splendid, grumpy teacher Severus Snape. Well, they were doing their own little thing - but it was… of a different kind than any other. It was quite a bit darker in nature and very, very incriminating. While I won’t say anything more, I must say that although it is dark in its root, I don’t blame them for such desires.
They had woken some hours before, in sync, though they knew not of the other’s activity. They had prepared, stealing, polishing, purchasing, going to and fro from sketchy places, trading favours for their necessary items - and now, at last it was time. To the tower, up the staircase, have you got all that you need? To the tunnel, up the ladder, are you prepared to do as planned? Then the door. They reach for the handle -
“Oh my, how unsurpris- ”
“Snape! What- “
They stilled, having heard someone stirring from behind the door. A spell was cast, and once again -
“My, my, how unsurprising, that Potter cares not for simple rules, and deigns to disturb dearest Headmistress?”
A poisonous, childish glare, pitiful as a puppy -
“And why are you here, sir?”
“Why should I tell - “
“Oh shit - Snape, are you here to ki-”
“Silence! Don’t dare suggest - oh dear, looks like poor Potter snapped, you think you’re ready to murder, insolent fool?”
Silence struck. They looked like two cats fighting over a fish - Severus the looming cat and Harry the hissing kitten. It looked… quite ridiculous, to say the least. Why, it looked like a child’s play! They didn’t mind, however, blind to their hilarious hatred.
“Oh, yes, I am, what are you going to do about that?”
“Why - “
The door handle moved. Both sprung away, one under a cloak, another under a handy spell, crushing each other in a corner. It should be noted that they did not mean for such a close position, and that, indeed, it seems that the closer one places two enemies, the higher their aggression rises.
The door opened. A woman peeked out - was it simply some bee that had wandered inside the castle? She pinched her disgusting hairless brows, like an ugly old idol, and walked out. Thankfully, she did not use her wand, nor a spell, and looked for her bee with eyes wide as a doll’s - and went back inside, with her door closed once more.
The buzzing spell of Muffliato was ended, both persons deciding that their spats could wait for another day. Severus checked for another but them and their victim, Harry readied his wand - and they burst through the door.
“Expelliarmus!”
“Stupefy!”
And their target was captured. As Severus thought to escape through a sophisticated way, Harry showed him a tunnel for speed and they briskly walked through cold and dark places, to the cells, where they ended their spells and took off their enchanted cloaks. They were old and musty, being hard to find, and while Snape certainly could find a more convenient place, time was running short. House elves deigned not to clean this place, it being unused for many, many centuries. If used, of course, it was scrubbed some - but house elves hate to clean such fluids. As such, old blood was splattered on the walls, with spurts and drips and pours on view, staining instruments of torture, painting the stone floor a dark, dirty brown.
And, of course, nobody alive knew of this - or would wish to come here, not now for certain.
The doors were opened with Alohomora! And their victim was swiftly bound. Now, who will claim the prize?
“Well then, Potter, don’t you have places to be?”
“Sir, I appreciate your deep concern, but truly I am sure I have time.”
“Now, now, isn’t this so arrogant, to refuse a teacher’s request? I am certain you know you are not needed here, Potter.”
“I showed you the tunnel, Snape! And who’s to say I won’t tell someone what you’ve done?”
“Professor Snape and who do you think will believe you?”
“... I can drink Veritaserum and they will believe me!”
“But are you certain you won’t expose your motives, child?”
“... I’ll do it anyway!”
“Tsk. You can watch and perhaps you shall get a bit of time with her.”
Rage boiled, but Harry quieted. He felt alarm in the air, hinting darkly of things that our most delightfully powerful Severus could do.
“Fine.”
Hours passed. Fresh blood had grown sticky and dried, screams were uttered, gasps of pain were heard. In the end, she was killed by hanging off the wall by her wrists, bloody, twitching and hot. Steam rose off of her, her blood and sweat mixed disgustingly. Delight and glee sung through both adult and child - my, look at the sight! At last, she was dead, and she had paid, she had, so well! Revenge had been due for quite the while, and now there was nothing, nothing nobody could do! The ministry could send more hags, but this one, this one’s dead! Mad laughter filled the air for minutes, eerily unhinged. It took an hour for both to calm back down, and even then they still felt as satisfied as a hungry man after a feast.
Any fly-away blood was cleaned from their clothes, the cuffs were unlocked and the body carried back, their wands used innocent spells to cover their evildoings and they, with stories of where they had been, returned to breakfast on gleeful hearts.
When the body was discovered and horrified Aurors told of the gore, they hid grins and life went on. Yet let it be noted - they were not friends. Nor were they less hateful towards one another. However, reminiscing of the joy of that night, they grew friendlier to each other by just a smidgen. Isn’t it so, after all, that the enemy of your enemy is your friend?