Word Count: 457
Ratings/Warnings: 1st-2nd year, no warning
Chosen Character: Severus Snape
A/N: Many thanks to Maple for taking up the troublesome job of beta-ing. My first drabble ever. And I apologise if I skewed the term "lost item" a little -- I just cannot think of anything else to write!
With a bang, the door of Number Twelve of Grimmauld Place was opened as a dark figure rushed into the mansion and climbed the stairs.
The man was troubled by the eventful night. He had killed a man, rescued a boy and, hopefully, saved a family. His steps were uneven with occasional slips. Forcing the silver bearded man out of his head, he sat on the stairs and panted.
He had come for something — an image that he had lost through the years. The physical one, the photo, was long lost, but he could not sketch the gentle smile in his head anymore, so he had lost his only tranquillizer.
After one last deep breath, the man continued to climb up the stairs and reached a room. He forced his way through the door and faced the drowning darkness.
He opened the drawers with haste and shuffled through the papers frantically. He grabbed the likely candidates but quickly discarded them onto the floor upon recognition. It continued with the next drawer… and the next drawer…
He paused when he picked up an envelope. He recognised the writing — the gentle curl of “G” and stylish dash of “t”. He ripped open the envelope and found two pieces of parchment and a photo falling gently on the floor. He kneeled down, placed the wand on the floor and picked up the photo with trembling hand.
The pair of eyes twinkled with laughter and the lips formed a pleasant curve. His tranquillizer… or so he thought. He had found it to realise in the next moment that it no longer functioned.
Fighting the burning sensation in his eyes, he picked up the letter with another shaking hand and skimmed through it until he reached the last line, and his gaze lingered at the name belonging to the master of the green eyes.
And above it, the very thing he never had.
He failed his fight with his eyes and a droplet escaped through the guards. He traced the writings on the letter without realising the contents — he could picture the white, slender hand that had scribbled these words — the hand that had once given the most comforting sensation. More tears broke the defense.
Subconsciously, he tugged the second piece of parchment into his own pocket and discarded the other into the open drawer. He gave a last look to the photo, to the just-found tranquillizer, and tore away the part he cherished, regardless that it could no longer stop the tears. The remaining was thrown to the floor and covered by a rain of parchments. The man pocketed his half of the photo, and left the room with the newly found treasure.
And with a crack, he disappeared into the thin air.