Drabble: Perspective
Title: Perspective
Author: breathless_dawn
Rating: PG
Characters: Harry, Snape, a collective "them"
Spoilers: For Deathly Hallows
Disclaimer: Just a muggle girl, playing with a borrowed wand.
A/N: Whoa! I wrote something! Just a drabble set post-DH. Mentions of death. First piece of writing I've done in a long time, and I'm afraid it shows. Trying to get back into the writing game...
Harry takes responsibility for Snape’s body. He drags him from the Shrieking Shack and carries his limp frame all around the grounds, until he finally decides to lay him to rest next to Dumbledore.
There are whispers of protest, of outrage, at the thought of having the man who had so wrongfully lead Hogwarts, a man who allied himself with Voldemort, being buried next to Albus Dumbledore. But no one will criticise Harry Potter, and so they do what he asks and lay him gently in a wooden box, seeing the blood stains on his clothes and silently thinking that he deserved it.
They see an enemy even in death. They forget, as so many do, that he was a mother’s son. That he could feel sadness, and loneliness, and pain. That he could love.
They don’t know that he cried for the death of Lily Potter, that he died trying to save her son, their saviour.
Author: breathless_dawn
Rating: PG
Characters: Harry, Snape, a collective "them"
Spoilers: For Deathly Hallows
Disclaimer: Just a muggle girl, playing with a borrowed wand.
A/N: Whoa! I wrote something! Just a drabble set post-DH. Mentions of death. First piece of writing I've done in a long time, and I'm afraid it shows. Trying to get back into the writing game...
Harry takes responsibility for Snape’s body. He drags him from the Shrieking Shack and carries his limp frame all around the grounds, until he finally decides to lay him to rest next to Dumbledore.
There are whispers of protest, of outrage, at the thought of having the man who had so wrongfully lead Hogwarts, a man who allied himself with Voldemort, being buried next to Albus Dumbledore. But no one will criticise Harry Potter, and so they do what he asks and lay him gently in a wooden box, seeing the blood stains on his clothes and silently thinking that he deserved it.
They see an enemy even in death. They forget, as so many do, that he was a mother’s son. That he could feel sadness, and loneliness, and pain. That he could love.
They don’t know that he cried for the death of Lily Potter, that he died trying to save her son, their saviour.