Written for the Musical Chair Competition
Spell: Sectumsempra that hits something other than the intended target
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All around him, lights flew from wand after wand. The deadly greens of a killing curse shot from the Death Eaters wands as they attempted to strike down the Order Members trying to flee. At least a dozen Harry Potter's graced the skies; clinging to their wands as they tried to fight off the on slaughter from the outnumbering forced.
Snape sat back, eyeing each Potter in hopes of finding the true Gryffindor. So far his luck was running short, and the advancing Death Eaters swarmed harsher over the Order Members. Snape barely noticed a handful of Voldemort's army falling from their brooms, their screams gracing the air as the plummeted.
From the corner of his eyes he caught a Potter, riding along with Mad Eye, vanishing from the air. As the Auror turned, glaring at the location where his charge had been sitting, a killing curse shot towards him. Striking Mad Eye square in the back, the man rocked on his broom, holding on tightly even in death. His grip loosened, and he tumbled away.
Snape watched the older man plummet below the clouds. A bit of vile clung to the inside of his throat at the sight.
He didn't have time to focus on the death, as from the corner of his eyes, he caught a spell lined straight for one of the Potters. The Death Eater in question glared dangerously as he pointed his wand towards one of the Potters onto of his broom.
Without a thought, Snape withdrew his own wand, pointing it towards the Death Eater. The spell he cast wasn't spoken out loud, but at this point Snape didn't need to say the words Sectumsempra, in order for the damage to be done.
Alas, his spell did not him home. At the last minute, a red charged spell struck his shoulder, knocking his aim to the side. It was with great fear that he watched his spell fly through the air, its aim latched onto a red headed Potter.
"No." Snape whispered, his voice lost in the night as the curse hit. It struck sideways and hard, a bloody mess around the boy's head a clear sign of the damage it had caused. Snape rocked on his broom, fearful that the injured would fall from the broom he clung to. He was thankful; not that he would ever say it out loud, whenever Tonks appeared from nowhere, gripping the slumped, bloody form.
Snape's broom slowed as he pulled back, the sight of the damage he had accidently caused quickly being lost as the Order Members raced into the clouds.