Harry was packing his things, methodically and carefully. He had only a day more in Snape's quarters.
He'd grown quite attached to the armchair by the fire; the big, faded-red leather one. It was a warm, leathery embrace that wrapped around him when he sank into it. It was extremely comforting, and caressed all his bodily aches away, leaving his mind free to roam.
Perhaps the chair had absorbed some emotion in the time it had spent in Snape's service, because comfort seemed to be its primary role. Harry found himself spending time in the chair when he just wanted to think, half-listening to the scratching of Snape's quill as it no doubt gave some poor undeserving sod a 'T'.
Harry sat on his bed and idly swept the room with his eyes. He'd tried to make sure everything he wouldn't need immediately was packed away. The only things out were his broomstick, a pair of pyjamas, a single roll of parchment and a quill.
True, he was currently wearing the pair of pyjamas. Still.
The day had been okay. His mind had felt rested, refreshed, but Harry held no hopes for the night yet to come.
His fingers tightened on the quill held in his right hand, but he made himself put it on the desk.
Harry wasn't entirely sure about how much more nightmare-like dreams he could take before he completely smashed. Made like an amoeba and split. Et cetera.
Harry put his glasses on the table next to his bed and lay back, staring at the canopy above him.
The firelight traced intricate patterns on the blood-red material, and Harry shivered. Turning on his side, he faced the dancing flames staring, unseeing, right through them.
Voldemort was planning something big. He could feel it in his bones. It was going to be big and it was going to be soon.
Harry pulled the bedcovers around him tightly.
Is it worth it to just give up now?
Harry longed to do just that...
It'll be someone else's problem then. No more stress beyond the norm...
Don't kid yourself. Everyone will blame you when you won't save them, even if it's only marginally more if you can't. You lose either way, so you may as well be known that you tried...
Harry sat up again and put his face in his hands.
No matter what he said, he was still a kid, for chrissakes. He was sixteen. Sixteen! The average age for your stereotypical hero was about twenty through one hundred and twenty five. Not slap-bang in the middle of adolescence.
Then again, you stereotypical hero didn't have a sight defect, need to eat more, or have severe depression.
He allowed himself to smile at that. The Boy-Who-Lived really needed a hug.
Harry got out of bed and stood before the fire.
He knew that he would have to win the War no matter what. He still had his morals.
Ha. Pull the other one, it's got bells on.
He didn't honestly believe he would survive it, anyhow. No doubt he would drag Voldemort down with him if he was killed one way or another, or vice versa. To be honest the thought was a bit of a relief. How would he be able to cope after that? Seeing who'd died, who hadn't and who he was guilty for.
More blood on his hands... he already had the lives of
(at least)
four to account for. How many more did he need? How many more would he end up regretting?
No doubt he would be hailed as some kind of hero. That wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was to be able to sneak off quietly somewhere, and live out the remainder of his life as peacefully and quietly as possible.
Some chance of that.
Feeling tired, Harry climbed into bed and tried to prepare himself for the night to come.
llllllllll
Harry watched small flecks of silver swirl in the night air, dancing for the remainder of their short lives. Dancing for Harry.
God knows I have to dance for others. What do they want from me? What is there to give, beyond my life into destroying Voldemort?
Harry shivered, but this was more to do with the chilliness of the room he was in.
Admittedly, sneaking out of Snape's rooms in the middle of the night was not a good idea. Especially to tiptoe into the library at the dead of night
(don't say dead)
just to look out of a window.
Harry shivered again, and pulled his cloak about him tighter.
He sighed, and watched his breath mist against the pane. He was glad he'd decided to change; pyjamas were not a good idea for this experience. Jeans and a t-shirt were much better equipment to sit on the windowsill of a south-facing window, just when a storm was coming in.
He shrugged to himself and pulled his cloak tighter again.
Coming to a decision, he swung his trainered feet from the window ledge and onto the floor. He felt his body welcome the detachment from the freezing windowsill.
He felt the vibrations from his feet as he traced a path from the library and into the corridor. He tried to keep a window in sight at all times; the sight of the Great Outdoors released a kind of freedom inside himself. The wind was the closest thing he had to music; the snow the closest thing he had to art.
He slowed his pace and glanced around furtively as he approached the Entrance Hall. The Hall had a peculiar ability to cast echoes; Harry was sure it was caused by a spell.
Taking off his trainers, he padded reasonably quietly along the stone floor. He had just made it to the doors when he felt the hairs along the back of his neck rise.
He had learned, long ago, to trust his instincts on such matters.
Secure in the knowledge that Mrs Norris was about to round the corner, he shot through the doors, jammed his trainers on, and ran out into the gently-falling snow.
llllllllll
In the same way that you know when you're being watched, Snape knew that Potter had gone.
Dressing quickly, he headed from his rooms and up toward the Entrance Hall.
Where the hell could he have gone? he thought fiercely as his footsteps echoed through the hall. His face was enough to make even the most sturdy soldier to in his trousers what his mother had so patiently taught him not to do all those years ago.
Mrs Norris glared up at him, and Snape glared right back. He was in no mood to argue.
"Get me Filch," Snape ground out, and seconds later, Filch's panting was heard as he hurtled up the corridor as fast as his rickets would allow.
Filch stopped, wheezing, put a hand to the small of his back and pushed. Snape winced involuntarily as a gut-churning collection of cracks followed the straightening of the ancient man's spine.
"Ahr, it's you, professor," said Filch, leering.
"We have a student out of bed, Mr Filch," said Snape slowly. "I don't know where he has gone but I intend to find out. Please keep an eye out in the halls."
"Yerse... can I flog 'im if I find 'im?" The hope was painful in Filch's eyes, and Snape uttered a soundless sigh.
"I don't think it would sit very well with professor Dumbledore. Pity," he added feelingly. He didn't appreciate being dragged out of bed to hunt down a troublesome student.
Snape strode out of the hall and into the porch to the grounds. His head snapped in both directions, eyes narrowing. He intended to hunt Potter down like the prey he was. His lip quirked in a sneer.
Let's make this a game shall we, Potter? Hunter or the hunted, you choose. Ah well, too late...
Snape strode out into the snow and looked around him. Instinct had pulled him outside, but instinct had served a heavy part of this game so far; he felt his resolution wobble.
Footprints, not disguised in any way, led around the side of the castle. Snape followed them without a moment's hesitation, shoes crunching in the medium-depth snow. There were still flakes falling from the sky, and Snape allowed himself a moment's pause to savour the feeling of them on his face; little electric sparks of iciness that melted when they came into contact with his (admittedly sallow) skin. Snape smiled at that; who thought he'd actually have any heat in him?
He returned to the task at hand.
The footprints had so far led him a quarter of the way around the castle, and he had just made it to the halfway point when they broke away from the shelter of the castle and into the windier terrain of the flat school grounds.
The wind picked up, and the snow began to fall in a more determined fashion.
Snape picked up his pace as well; he needed to find Potter before the storm closed in. He could feel the storm in his mind, like a dull pressure within his head that was ominously purple.
The tracks were a little faded out, and increasing in obscurity. The wind and snow were ganging up to make the task in hand harder but Snape persevered. He had never been the kind to give up, not now, not ever.
Snape's eyes continued to pick out the foot-shaped impressions along the lawns as snow swirled about him, wind prying knife blades of ice into his body.
He was out looking for Potter. In a blizzard.
Oh, great, my robe's got rising damp.
The footprints veered in their previously determined course somewhat uncertainly, and began to head toward the lake.
Of course. Trust Potter to head for a bowl of frozen water, on a winter's evening, in the snow.
Snape changed direction as well, glancing behind him to see his own larger, deeper footprints swallow up Harry's completely. A few meters behind him the prints were swept into oblivion. Snape could see the footprints he was following were being slowly nibbled away by the wind. Snape upped his pace yet again; the trail was growing dangerously, should you excuse the pun, cold.
Snape kept his eyes sweeping the lake; the sooner he spotted Potter the sooner he could slow his punishing pace. Already, his muscles were complaining from the exertion. Oh, well, at least he wasn't cold.
Snape was only seventy paces from the lake, approaching the tree that he knew all too well. He was thirty paces away when he spotted Potter, and angrily made a beeline for him.He slowed his stride, mentally checking Potter over for signs of cold and/or hypothermia. The boy appeared to be shivering, despite a knee-length cloak; it was not a good sign.
He was a few steps away when Potter said, without turning around:
"Don't. Just - just don't."
Harry's voice was low, and he was still shivering. He stood, hands wrapped in his cloak, staring out across the lake.
After a long internal battle, Snape wordlessly unfastened his own cloak and dropped it unceremoniously on Harry's shoulders. Harry twisted his head around, puzzlement in his eyes.
"I daresay Dumbledore would not forgive me if I let his favourite boy freeze to death," Snape said in a sarcastic tone, as way of explanation. "I am not quite sure how he would respond to you ending up in the Hospital Wing. Again," he added pointedly.
Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously and turned away again, but Snape had already seen three things: firstly, that the cloak was quite a bit too large, the end trailing the ground miserably; secondly, that Potter had fingered the edge of the cloak appreciatively and pulled it tighter around him; and thirdly, that the boy had tearstains on his face.
Snape felt the bitter cold, but he did not show it. Instead, he folded his arms across his ribcage, and tilted his face to the night sky.
The snow had stopped, but the wind had picked up yet again. Shaking his head slightly to clear strands of hair from his vision, he picked out as many constellations as he could before the clouds rapidly coming up from the south swallowed them up. It would be half an hour, he estimated, before they really should be inside the castle.
Stars told stories, and these stories changed. In fact, they were rarely the same. Stars danced, patterns changed, and the cosmos rearranged themselves to tell new secrets. Every night, a masterpiece was written; every day, a masterpiece was lost.
Snape let his imagination run riot; he saw Orion throw his shield across the skies and hit Centaurus on the head. Centaurus bucked angrily, scaring Lupus into crashing into Scorpius and in return causing Sagittarius to rear...
Such fantasies were childish and immature; much like his recent behaviour, in fact. But then again, such stories were what kept the human mind occupied whilst the human body froze to death.
Wait... yes, all feeling lost in nose, fingers, toes and what appears to be lower legs.
Snape glanced at the clouds again, and noticed they were closing in a lot faster than he thought they would. Alarm flared up in him, but he allowed himself a second of the wind playing across his face until he turned to Potter.
"Cut your reverie short, Potter," he snapped. "There's a storm closing in and unless you want to freeze before you get to the castle I suggest we begin to head back. Now."
Potter didn't move, and for a second Snape thought that Potter had either not heard him, or had simply chosen to ignore him.
He turned around, and started back to the castle, Snape following.
Mystic Phoenix: I'm glad you're enjoying it. I've yet to look at our favourites page, but as I'm on holiday this week, I most certainly will...
Starinthedark11: Snape is going to be less than willing to move out, even temporarily, but I guess you probably got that. I do try to infuse some humour here and there.
Vendethial: CANADA!!!! YEAH!!!! Ahem. Hello there. Ooooooh, wooooow, one of my reviewers is from Canada!!!!
Wolfawaken: Groovy.
Mistress-Genari: 'Reading a song'... I think, in many ways, that is what I'm trying to do here. I'm taking all the emotions I feel from 'Chop Suey' and numerous others by System of a Down, several by Nirvana (GodrestKurtKobain'ssoul), and 'Bother' by Corey Taylor. I never would have thought to say 'Reading a song...' I'm impressed.
I think the majority of my inspiration, the idea that kicked this whole fic off, was 'Ender's Game', a book by Orson Scott Card. It is one of the greatest angst stories I have ever read, if you look past the slight sci-fi theme. If it weren't for this book, 'Wingbroken' would never, ever have existed.
I.e., I suggest reading it.
Padawan Jan-AQ: Yay! Thanks! It's people like you who keep me going.
ShadowedHand: I'm glad this chapter isn't a lull. Comparing these chapters to later ones, I have to admit they are quite boring. As for compassion... a little, here and there.
Read300300: At home?! Shock Horror!!
Forty-two dreams: There will be very few comparisons of history between these two characters. Instead, some sort of understanding of each other's emotions must become apparent for them to... well, understand each other. Because they are two vastly different people, each harmed in different ways by their pasts, this may prove difficult. However, nothing is impossible.
Oh, and I read up to chapter twenty of 'A Year Like None Other'. How is it possible to feel such and incredible swell of inferiority? It is a good story, I'll grant that, and it did hold true for a while, but I gave up at chapter twenty because Snape became too different a character too quickly; he got fairly soft fairly fast. Sorry...
Sakura Saisaka: Update I will.
Shelly101: I've toned down a little on the nightmares. However, one in particular will prove to be very, very important to later chapters...
Leggylover03: If the 'aw' moment in this chapter wasn't enough, then there may be a few more to come...
Kaloma Enera: Oh, I'm gonna keep going all right...
Your comments are making me blush. Seriously. I can slowly feel my head gently expanding to roughly the size and shape of Jupiter. Still, it can't hurt me, I suppose...
Oh – and who doesn't like Tamora Pierce? Sorry, I've been reading a few of my reviewer's bios. I used to be really into Tamora Pierce. Then I lent my entire Wild Magic collection to my friend and she lost it. Major bummer.
Espergirl04: ABOUT FLIPPING TIME!!!! It only took you reviewery people this long to figure out that that was a System of a Down line.
Sorry. I tend to rant a bit.
Yessss! I'm glad someone discovered it. I was kind of hoping there was a S.O.A.D fan floating around somewhere. Which is your favourite album? I can't decide between Steal This Album and Toxicity, although I'm veering towards Toxicity, purely because it's got Chop Suey on it. System Of A Down, sigh... the only band in the world who can write songs about pogo sticks and refrigerators and make them sell.
Pessimistically optimistic: -- paradoxical name. No, Harry won't try to commit suicide, although he'll think wistfully about it. I am determined to have him alive at the end of this fic, if only because I'm toying (just toying, mind you,) with the idea of a sequel. It'd be nice to leave my options open. Originally, when I stated writing this fic, I wasn't even going to suggest suicide, but as I wrote it I began to see the emotions I was writing, and it sort of made me mention it... who wouldn't want to commit suicide, in Harry's position?
Green: I have been writing novels since I was eleven. That may have had something to do with it. The key is to write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write, write and write some more. You eventually find what fits your style best. I would suggest writing fanfictions, and learning from the critisism.
FUBBAR: Ooooooooof course. I should have known you'd be reviewing.
I hope Leigh appreciates this new chapter. Of course she will. -bigheaded snicker.-
There will be blood and death and destruction in later chapters, you can depend in it. Incidentally, how could I write Mr D and Mr A into it? My fic is no place for St J's teachers (more's the pity, I can name a certain RE teacher's brother who would be going doooooown...). Mr D's not too bad. It could be worse. We could have Miss K.
(Note how I have cleverly excluded names to avoid many, many detentions should a teacher read this. If you ARE a teacher, and you ARE reading this, betcha couldn't guess who I am anyway. Nyah.)
ravin mad: I go to St Joseph's too! At the beginning of any lunchtime and some breaks, check all the smoker's haunts. I don't smoke (God no) but my best friend Natalie Dzerins does... you may know her. Everyone knows Nat. Chances are I'll be wearing a rainbow stripey scarf and red'n'black stripey gloves.
Foureyedsnail: what would I do without you reviewing?
I'm glad Snape's not too much. I'm trying to stay as in canon as possible (I would apply the phrase 'IC' but I'm not sure what it means. Does it mean 'In Character'?)
I'm glad that Snapey-sleepy-bit made you think. I love it when that happens egotistical snigger. I have to say, generally speaking I'm okay getting up in the mornings, but that's only because I set my clock fifteen minutes fast and in the morning I don't twig to that. So after I hit the snooze button for the fourth time and realise my clock says it is 6:50, I panic, jump out of bed, shower, dress and pack my bag and reach the kitchen to discover it's actually 6:45 and I really got out of bed at about 6:35. The adrenaline rush is still going, and I'm not late for school.
Hmmm... you really are quite smart. Yes, the surroundings will change the relationship. It will look better for all of two minutes, and then Harry will crash even harder than before. Believe me when I say that in 2 to 3 chapters something happens that is enough to make Snape care about Harry for about five minutes and thirty seconds. Then we're back to normal for Christmas day. See if you can guess what it is...
I'm glad this story in unpredictable, although it is following several base rules. Firstly, there will be three, and only three, major events in this fic. They are all grouped quite close to the end. And when I say 'Major'...
Secondly, his mindset changes quite slowly from the beginning of the fic to the end. See if you can spot how.
I'm also glad my writing is actually readable; when Wingbroken started out as a one-shot (you lovely reviewers convinced me otherwise) I was worried no-one would want to read it, and indeed, it took two weeks and a plea to a fellow writer to get the reviews rolling in. Oh... and keep an eye out. I have only just started writing a new HP fic called 'Inversnaid', but I won't be posting it for a while. Ten zillion points if you unravel the history behind the name.
If you want an inside into my Harry Potter's head, I would suggest listening to the lyrics of tracks 13, 14 and 15 of 'Steal This Album' by System of a Down, and track 6 of 'Toxicity' by the same band.
To be honest, almost the whole of 'Toxicity' and 'Steal This Album' play a major part in the fic, but that's entirely too many tracks to name and explain why they are crucial.
Fhippogrif: 'A long way to go'? You have no idea... believe me when I say that there are going to be a couple of... shall we say, the kind of arguments in which some control will be lost. Actually, a lot of control.
A.Person and a half: Please, please, please don't give up on me yet. I'm trying to get as many chapters to you as quickly as possible.
Also, I've started writing another Harry Potter fic (called Inversnaid... you have to read the foreword for it to make sense). I won't be posting it for agggggeeeeeeeeessss yet, but when/if/banana I do, would you do me the honour of beta-ing it for me?