Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, why would I be posting on here?
Author's Note: I apologise again for this. What can I say? I started writing and couldn't stop. At least it's a constructive outlet for my depressiveness…
Oh, and thanks to Balthamos and alphie42 for your reviews! I know you only reviewed because I bugged you to do it…but still! Thanks-)
Anyway, enough of that. On with the story!
Chapter 1
Severus ran.
He ran, not with usual grace and billowing robes, but awkwardly, limping heavily, gasping for air.
It still wasn't enough. They were gaining on him. He ducked as several Stunners flew straight over his head. But he was too slow, too weak...
Five Cruciatus curses hit him square in the middle of his back, and he went down, his mind overflowing from all the pain. He struggled to get back up, thinking desperately that he needed to run…but his limbs could not hold him, and he slumped back down. Too weak to do anything, he realised that it was fruitless fighting against the inevitable. Instead, he simply allowed the welcoming darkness to overcome him, and Severus passed out.
Hundreds of miles away, Harry Potter awoke with a start.
A quick glance at his watch told him that it was 2:40am. Most people would be in bed. But he had to do something! He rolled out of bed, and quickly pulled on his robes. Grabbing his wand, he hurried out of the room, momentarily pausing by Ron's bed. But the memories of the previous year, at the Ministry of Magic, were still fresh in his mind, and he carried on without waking Ron.
Once downstairs in the common room, where he could think without waking anyone up, he quickly began to pace and survey his options.
His immediate thought had been to get the Headmaster. Dumbledore would know what to do. But he couldn't help hesitating…the headmaster would stop him from being involved, would want to mobilize the order…he couldn't let anyone else die if this was a trap. Not like last time…
Besides, Harry decided, there simply wasn't time for all that. If what he had seen was true, Snape needed help quickly. There was no time to make decisions and survey the situation calmly and rationally, like adults had an annoying habit of doing. He had to decide on a plan now.
Harry paused in his pacing. An idea had struck him. It was crazy, and quite possibly downright stupid…but there was also the possibility that it could work. A glance at his watch reminded him that time was of the essence, and he could not shake the image of his Potions professor writhing in pain from his mind. Realizing that his brain was not forthcoming with any other ideas, he decided. Snape's life was at stake. Even if he was a greasy git, he was also an invaluable member to the Order, even if his spy status had been rumbled. And what was he, Harry? A 16 year old boy with a habit of getting into trouble. Ok, so he'd escaped from Voldemort a few times, as people never ceased reminding him. What no one ever seemed to remember about that is that he'd had a lot of help and a lot of sheer dumb luck. Well, he remembered ironically, no one except Snape. Funny that only Snape could see him for what he really was…
Was he ready to face Voldemort again? With no friends, no help, no unexpected twists to save the day? Harry set his shoulders resolutely. No one else was going to do this. It's was he was born to do. Ironically, the Press had nicknamed him "The Boy Who Lived". Harry had always known the truth, however. He was born to die. It was his destiny. Destiny was something you couldn't control. But something you had a glimmer of control over was life. And, Harry decided, if he was going to go down? He was going to go down fighting. His death was going to mean something. There's always casualties in war, someone had once said. If he was to be one…so be it.
He quietly went up to his room, and collected the Marauder's Map and his Firebolt. He scanned the map quickly, hoping desperately to see a dot and the words "Severus Snape" on it. But he was nowhere to be seen. Harry grimaced. Plan B was a goer then…
Harry left the note in plain view on the table in the common room, with the words "Deliver to Professor Dumbledore" clearly written upon it in his scrawl.
He glanced around the common room for what might be the final time…then, turning resolutely round, he cast the Disillusionment charm on himself, picked up his Firebolt, and flew out into the midnight sky.
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