He was part of the forest itself. He was a creature of darkness, standing in the shadow, one with the shadow. He was black from his hair to his cloak to his heart. He was well-trained in silence, well-trained in patience. Even he could not be sure how long he had stood here in the snowy forest without moving. Even his thoughts were inactive, blank. He was no longer human.
SNAP.
The man, flattened against the trunk of a ghostly birch, forced even his pulse to remain still. The dry twig snapping was a minute sound, but in a place completely devoid of even thought it seemed to reverberate.
The black eyes moved slowly, ever so carefully, to the location of the snap. To his surprise and relief, an animal stood there, one hoof raised in the air over the cracked twig. It was a doe, thin and frail. Why was she all alone?
The man’s long, shaggy black mane, ragged clothing, and skeletal frame were testament to his half-year on the run. How long had it been since he had eaten meat, or eaten at all…?
A hand, almost bare of flesh, moved stealthily from within the cloak, imperceptible. It gently coiled itself round the stick of wood concealed there, and then gripped tightly in triumph.
Hand and wand returned insidiously to their master’s side, awaiting instruction. And yet the man paused, savouring the bittersweet pain of denial. The cold, dry winter wind tore at his throat. Soon he would feel her warm blood within him, soon he would be full at last…
He felt the curse building within his wand. Strange; he had only used the spell but once, nearly three years ago, in another lifetime. The man hated to kill, and yet sometimes it presented itself as a necessity. He needed to eat or he would die. For this, the doe would be a sacrifice, and perhaps it would be painless. For her, at least, it would be over quickly.
He tilted his wand upwards, pointing it at her heart. It was a pity…
She lifted her head, stopping him, at least momentarily, out of shock. The large brown eyes looked at him full-on, as if she could sense her murderer lurked there, waiting to deliver the death blow.
Quiet as thawing snow she treaded towards him. He marvelled that the thin legs could support her; they seemed as boughs, delicate and liable to break. She was dappled brown, the colour of the undergrowth in spring, with white flecks on her haunches. In her eyes she possessed a certain knowing. She was beautiful. He wondered sadly at this creature, that she would lovingly approach the man who wished to eat her…
Now, do it now, you fool, a voice within him whispered urgently. His hand twitched on his wand, eyes powerless to leave the doe. She will leave, she will run soon, and then where will you be? This is not a time for sentiment, this is a time for survival! And yet still his hand quivered: unable to kill, unwilling to refrain.
The two stood in silence, in impasse. Then, unbidden, the doe ran fleetingly into the darkness. Damn. Cursing himself for his passivity, and yet still unsure what he might have done, given the chance, Severus Snape returned to the shadows, awaiting his next unwitting prey.
Hunting by Rhi for HP
Chapter Notes: This is just a prologue: I know it's quite short, but it really didn't fit with any chapters, and had to stand alone. Subsequent chapters are decently sized, I promise! Thanks to the kind people on the forums who helped me with this.