[Oh, Severus notices Voldemort. As he sweeps out of the room in the library that he's been clearing out, a box of his belonging to take across to the school in his arms, his eyes fall upon a young man buried nose-deep in a book. And upon recognising him, Severus stops dead in his tracks.
The sick weight of emptiness that's been knotted in his chest ever since he returned from the mirrored Asgard instantly ignites into a disgusted anger. Images of what had happened - of Lily being held hostage by Barty, of Voldemort coldly summoning the Cruciatus Curse upon Severus, how blinding pain had seared through his body, how he'd grabbed Lily, how she'd screamed at him--
Severus turns away. He quietly sets the box down on a nearby table. Swallows. Composes himself as best he can. Allows his anger and hatred to fill him. And then he turns back towards Voldemort.
And as he begins slowly approaching him, he focuses his thoughts and his hatred right on the man. He imagines being able to reach right inside Voldemort, right to the very core of his being. With a small but vicious snarl curling on his lips, he channels those thoughts right to Voldemort's hands. Thinks about invading him, making him snap his book shut.
Close the book, he thinks, feeling his magic beginning to crawl and claw its way under Voldemort's skin, into muscles, his tendons, right to his very bones. Close the book.
IT'S OK, BB <333
The sick weight of emptiness that's been knotted in his chest ever since he returned from the mirrored Asgard instantly ignites into a disgusted anger. Images of what had happened - of Lily being held hostage by Barty, of Voldemort coldly summoning the Cruciatus Curse upon Severus, how blinding pain had seared through his body, how he'd grabbed Lily, how she'd screamed at him--
Severus turns away. He quietly sets the box down on a nearby table. Swallows. Composes himself as best he can. Allows his anger and hatred to fill him. And then he turns back towards Voldemort.
And as he begins slowly approaching him, he focuses his thoughts and his hatred right on the man. He imagines being able to reach right inside Voldemort, right to the very core of his being. With a small but vicious snarl curling on his lips, he channels those thoughts right to Voldemort's hands. Thinks about invading him, making him snap his book shut.
Close the book, he thinks, feeling his magic beginning to crawl and claw its way under Voldemort's skin, into muscles, his tendons, right to his very bones. Close the book.
Look at me.]