*The twang of strained reason and control is audible as Crouch Sr. barks so scornfully, accompanied by such a frightful twist of expression that it far surpasses his usual impatience. Like a nightmarish vision out of the corner of the eye, it's over before it fully registers, and he continues on as though nothing had happened, every bit as composed and level as he had been before.*
The crime against the Headmaster was only completed thanks to your own dumb luck. Mistakes have turned out well for you - being sent on another man's orders and returning with a dead man's final secret in your pocket as reward. It is my belief - and I am never mistaken - that it was your own idiotic self interest then, too, that lead to the contamination of half a year's supply of vital medicinal potions and infusions. Mixtures that kept innocent people alive, and one in particular.
That wasn't your master's work, was it. It was you, Snape, who murdered my wife.
You have known it all along, you knew it when you committed the act. Bernadette trusted the public against all reason and it is people, you, who took her. But now that I have found you here, I don't think I will be informing anyone else of your little triumph. None of them, in fact, even your solitary success with Dumbledore. I won't be seen as outwitted by you.
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Date: 2011-09-01 02:03 am (UTC)*The twang of strained reason and control is audible as Crouch Sr. barks so scornfully, accompanied by such a frightful twist of expression that it far surpasses his usual impatience. Like a nightmarish vision out of the corner of the eye, it's over before it fully registers, and he continues on as though nothing had happened, every bit as composed and level as he had been before.*
The crime against the Headmaster was only completed thanks to your own dumb luck. Mistakes have turned out well for you - being sent on another man's orders and returning with a dead man's final secret in your pocket as reward. It is my belief - and I am never mistaken - that it was your own idiotic self interest then, too, that lead to the contamination of half a year's supply of vital medicinal potions and infusions. Mixtures that kept innocent people alive, and one in particular.
That wasn't your master's work, was it. It was you, Snape, who murdered my wife.
You have known it all along, you knew it when you committed the act. Bernadette trusted the public against all reason and it is people, you, who took her. But now that I have found you here, I don't think I will be informing anyone else of your little triumph. None of them, in fact, even your solitary success with Dumbledore. I won't be seen as outwitted by you.