Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I wish I did.
The sound of his feet pounding the paving stones down Diagon Alley grew louder and slower as his body shook with a mixture of cold sweat and fear. Fear of the evil that chased him wherever he went, fear that no muggle could ever feel without being destroyed. The fear that made him quake through the blood red robes that he wore.
How long had he been running? One hour? Two hours? The time had seemed endless, and yet he still carried on, his heart beat growing stronger with every step. He feared that it would become so strong that his heaving chest would give out, and send his life shooting like a bludger.
"You're going to die. You're going to be caught and you will die. Say your prayers and bid farewell. You will no longer be the boy who lived. Say goodbye, Harry Potter!"
The harder he ran, the harder they chased. It seemed an endless cycle. And the voices, they came as quick as a snitch. The difference was that they weren't the type of thing that you would want to catch, only lose.
Any moment, he knew that they would find him, but he knew not of their reason for the chase. He had done nothing wrong, at least, not that he could remember. They obviously had a strong reason for this, this, this madness.
His midnight black hair slapped his face and he struggled to see. His glasses had been smashed but still provided him with some form of sight, be it a blurry one. There were no onlooker's at this time, yet the blank stares still bore into the back of his neck.
A sharp hoot caused him to look up, which was a mistake, as the moment his eyes slipped from the path in front, he tripped over a lose coble, and fell to the floor. He tried to get up, but the ground was too slippery.
It would not have helped him anyway, as at that moment, a dark shadow was cast over him.
His eyes slid upwards and met with those of Serverus Snape.
Those cold eyes in which Harry saw no end or contrast. The eyes that stared at him over cauldrons in the potions lab.
The surrounding face leant in towards Harry and placed a soldering kiss on his lips. The kiss was dark and mysterious, but with it, brought pain.
Snape stood up. In his hand was a blood red knife.
The sound of his feet pounding the paving stones down Diagon Alley grew louder and slower as his body shook with a mixture of cold sweat and fear. Fear of the evil that chased him wherever he went, fear that no muggle could ever feel without being destroyed. The fear that made him quake through the blood red robes that he wore.
How long had he been running? One hour? Two hours? The time had seemed endless, and yet he still carried on, his heart beat growing stronger with every step. He feared that it would become so strong that his heaving chest would give out, and send his life shooting like a bludger.
"You're going to die. You're going to be caught and you will die. Say your prayers and bid farewell. You will no longer be the boy who lived. Say goodbye, Harry Potter!"
The harder he ran, the harder they chased. It seemed an endless cycle. And the voices, they came as quick as a snitch. The difference was that they weren't the type of thing that you would want to catch, only lose.
Any moment, he knew that they would find him, but he knew not of their reason for the chase. He had done nothing wrong, at least, not that he could remember. They obviously had a strong reason for this, this, this madness.
His midnight black hair slapped his face and he struggled to see. His glasses had been smashed but still provided him with some form of sight, be it a blurry one. There were no onlooker's at this time, yet the blank stares still bore into the back of his neck.
A sharp hoot caused him to look up, which was a mistake, as the moment his eyes slipped from the path in front, he tripped over a lose coble, and fell to the floor. He tried to get up, but the ground was too slippery.
It would not have helped him anyway, as at that moment, a dark shadow was cast over him.
His eyes slid upwards and met with those of Serverus Snape.
Those cold eyes in which Harry saw no end or contrast. The eyes that stared at him over cauldrons in the potions lab.
The surrounding face leant in towards Harry and placed a soldering kiss on his lips. The kiss was dark and mysterious, but with it, brought pain.
Snape stood up. In his hand was a blood red knife.