As always, I don't own the characters or story within Rowling's series. This is one of my favorite pairings, and one of my favorite works. Hope you guys enjoy ;)
In Media Res
"Mfff…"
That was the extent of Harry Potter's speech for the time being. The world was fuzzy, blurred at the edges like a hastily finished watercolor painting. This was not due to Mr. Potter's lack of spectacles, and implied that his current visual condition was influenced by more malevolent forces than forgetfulness. Sounds of war and muffled cries pierced his ears from all around, the clamor of battle infiltrating his senses, a painful and unwelcome guest. His head was pounding, and he vaguely recalled the sensation from the time he and Ron had stolen a bottle of firewhiskey out of the cupboard and, naïve of its effects, drank the bottle in one night and awoke to an unforgiving and unpleasant morning.
He was consumed by a thrumming and vicious pain, particularly on a spot just below his ribcage, but he managed to groan:
"Hello? Anyone?"
He received an immediate response:
"Quiet, Potter."
The tone was smooth; as if it were tangible, the fabric of the voice would have been velvet. It had a slow, grating effect, slightly nasal but more as though the speaker was trying awfully hard not to his the recipient of his comments. That voice could only belong to one person.
Oh, fuck, it's Snape.
Hatred seethed and boiled, consuming Harry's senses, pushing away the pain and ensnaring his senses with an overriding desire to strangle the man in closest proximity to him.
And he would have, were he capable of movement.
"You—" Harry began hotly.
"I said shut up, Potter!"
The voice was laced with quiet desperation. Harry's glasses dug into his face as he struggled to sit up from his prostrate position on the dirt ground. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue.
"Fuck you, you lying, betraying piece of—"
An open palm smote the back of Harry's head, and he knew no more, obscene words of protest still on his lips as he slipped into a void.