Author's note: Hi! First HP fic here, hopefully not the last. If you're... curious to my motives for
writing this, I saw Snape as a man who had deadened his heart. And I think that maybe he
couldn't understand anymore love and caring because he had detatched himself from it. And I
saw Harry as a boy desperatly trying to hold on to his humanity and Snape representing what he
would become if he didn't. Okay, so I wasn't as successful as I hoped... Well, read on. Reviews
are more than welcome. :)
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine.
The Wind
The roar filled their ears, and he knew, oh god, he knew this was the end. Something had
gone wrong: one miscalculation, one rash decision, and it was over.
Run, you Slytherin fool. Damn you, RUN!
By now, the air was filled with rusty silt. It was covering him, blanketing him, choking
him. It was getting into his lungs, stuffing the cries of anguish and frustration he held at the back
of his throat. And the voice in the back of his mind, that Slytherin form of conscience and
sensibility, screamed for self preservation.
Blindly he lurched forward, grabbing the first stray limb he came across, and staggered
forward until he hit the crusty wall. Shouting and screaming join in symphonically with the
decibel rising roar. The noise pressed against his ears, the wind against his lungs: he retched
against the wall and moved on, dragging whomever behind him. The wall gave way to what he
could only hope was an opening to the catacombs. He bolted, charge still in tow. And he ran,
lungs afire with sediment and exertion. For hours, minutes, he didn't know: time was measured
in the constant blur of almost visible tunnel walls.
And all the while he knew it would follow him, that roar. Its maw was his destiny and
everyone's. He was only prolonging it. And then he saw a glimmer, a crack..He dived aside, and
swung his charge around as the debris-ridden hot wind barreled on behind him at the cave
entrance. The boy beside him gasped and heaved, more of shock really than overexertion: He
was still in very good shape.
When the boy's stomach, for he really was still a boy, was quite empty he propped his
forehead against the still-cool wall and stared at the floor between his feet. The older man stood
by him for a while, still outwardly calm and unflappable the whole time. Finally the boy turned.
His green eyes were unsure, filled with self-loathing, disgust, and despair.
Finally Snape broke the silence. "We have to get back to the ministry."
The boy was incredulous. "You're just planning on leaving?"
Snape's reaction was not what he was hoping for, more irate than chagrined. "There's
nothing we can do for them, Potter. You know that. You all knew before this happened the
possible losses-"
"I'm not leaving." There was no mistaking the look of determination under that dusty
face. "I'm going back for them."
"Potter." Snape sighed. "This is ridiculous. Nothing you do by yourself will change this
course of events. The last thing Weasley and Granger would want is for your misplaced heroics
to land you a cell right by theirs. And it will, if they're that merciful. You won't make it back
alive."
"Don't you get it?" Harry almost spat. "Ron and Hermione, they are all I have. They are
all that I am. They are my family, my life. I'm nothing without them... nothing. If I can't make it
back with them, I don't want to make it back at all!"
He turned to go.
"Potter!"
The voice was sharp and commanding as ever yet echoed hollowly in the lonely cave.
Snape's fingers had almost grasped harry's cloak to stop him when Harry turned to him. Snape
had a glimpse of the raw emotion(like a wet, beating, freshly severed heart) in his eyes before
Harry spoke.
"I'm supposed to be the crux of this war, the deciding factor. How am I supposed to
fight how am I supposed to live without the thing I'm fighting for? They are the only reason
I fight, my only reminder anymore on what's good and what's not. So, you better wish good and
hard they're still alive when I get to them, because if they're not... I'm not coming back. I die
with them, and then how are you going to make me your precious soldier?"
"Potter, there's life after loss. You'll get over it: you'll keep on fighting. I did." His voice was
almost gentle.
"You call what you do living? Your emotions are like an amputated stump that you're
sometimes reminded of when it throbs." Harry sneered, almost in a full blown rage. "Oh, yes,
I've seen your kind of living. I've seen life without love or feeling. I see what's left of you."
He was gone in a whirl of the storm, and Snape felt compelled to follow: Harry had said
something profound, something pivotal in his existence. The dust had almost cleared a little path
for him through the wind. Severus Snape entered the storm again, chasing his destiny.
writing this, I saw Snape as a man who had deadened his heart. And I think that maybe he
couldn't understand anymore love and caring because he had detatched himself from it. And I
saw Harry as a boy desperatly trying to hold on to his humanity and Snape representing what he
would become if he didn't. Okay, so I wasn't as successful as I hoped... Well, read on. Reviews
are more than welcome. :)
Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine.
The Wind
The roar filled their ears, and he knew, oh god, he knew this was the end. Something had
gone wrong: one miscalculation, one rash decision, and it was over.
Run, you Slytherin fool. Damn you, RUN!
By now, the air was filled with rusty silt. It was covering him, blanketing him, choking
him. It was getting into his lungs, stuffing the cries of anguish and frustration he held at the back
of his throat. And the voice in the back of his mind, that Slytherin form of conscience and
sensibility, screamed for self preservation.
Blindly he lurched forward, grabbing the first stray limb he came across, and staggered
forward until he hit the crusty wall. Shouting and screaming join in symphonically with the
decibel rising roar. The noise pressed against his ears, the wind against his lungs: he retched
against the wall and moved on, dragging whomever behind him. The wall gave way to what he
could only hope was an opening to the catacombs. He bolted, charge still in tow. And he ran,
lungs afire with sediment and exertion. For hours, minutes, he didn't know: time was measured
in the constant blur of almost visible tunnel walls.
And all the while he knew it would follow him, that roar. Its maw was his destiny and
everyone's. He was only prolonging it. And then he saw a glimmer, a crack..He dived aside, and
swung his charge around as the debris-ridden hot wind barreled on behind him at the cave
entrance. The boy beside him gasped and heaved, more of shock really than overexertion: He
was still in very good shape.
When the boy's stomach, for he really was still a boy, was quite empty he propped his
forehead against the still-cool wall and stared at the floor between his feet. The older man stood
by him for a while, still outwardly calm and unflappable the whole time. Finally the boy turned.
His green eyes were unsure, filled with self-loathing, disgust, and despair.
Finally Snape broke the silence. "We have to get back to the ministry."
The boy was incredulous. "You're just planning on leaving?"
Snape's reaction was not what he was hoping for, more irate than chagrined. "There's
nothing we can do for them, Potter. You know that. You all knew before this happened the
possible losses-"
"I'm not leaving." There was no mistaking the look of determination under that dusty
face. "I'm going back for them."
"Potter." Snape sighed. "This is ridiculous. Nothing you do by yourself will change this
course of events. The last thing Weasley and Granger would want is for your misplaced heroics
to land you a cell right by theirs. And it will, if they're that merciful. You won't make it back
alive."
"Don't you get it?" Harry almost spat. "Ron and Hermione, they are all I have. They are
all that I am. They are my family, my life. I'm nothing without them... nothing. If I can't make it
back with them, I don't want to make it back at all!"
He turned to go.
"Potter!"
The voice was sharp and commanding as ever yet echoed hollowly in the lonely cave.
Snape's fingers had almost grasped harry's cloak to stop him when Harry turned to him. Snape
had a glimpse of the raw emotion(like a wet, beating, freshly severed heart) in his eyes before
Harry spoke.
"I'm supposed to be the crux of this war, the deciding factor. How am I supposed to
fight how am I supposed to live without the thing I'm fighting for? They are the only reason
I fight, my only reminder anymore on what's good and what's not. So, you better wish good and
hard they're still alive when I get to them, because if they're not... I'm not coming back. I die
with them, and then how are you going to make me your precious soldier?"
"Potter, there's life after loss. You'll get over it: you'll keep on fighting. I did." His voice was
almost gentle.
"You call what you do living? Your emotions are like an amputated stump that you're
sometimes reminded of when it throbs." Harry sneered, almost in a full blown rage. "Oh, yes,
I've seen your kind of living. I've seen life without love or feeling. I see what's left of you."
He was gone in a whirl of the storm, and Snape felt compelled to follow: Harry had said
something profound, something pivotal in his existence. The dust had almost cleared a little path
for him through the wind. Severus Snape entered the storm again, chasing his destiny.