Harry Potter Fic: Freedom in Darkness
Title: Freedom in Darkness
Summary: I had bled and agonized and striven to one day be on the winning side, yet here it was, the moment I’d been waiting for, and I had Harry Potter’s rapid pulse beating beneath my hand, and I was completely frozen.
Warnings: Blood, Character Death
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: For Quivo ( quivo) as a thank you for a favor.
So fragile and perfect, all long legs and broad shoulders, all dark hair and pale skin. He was breathing harshly through gritted teeth and trembling lips, head bowed so black strands spilled over his forehead and into his eyes. My fingers were clamped over his wrist, the fragile bones grinding against each other, the strong, rapid pulse fluttering against my fingers.
Euphoria rose in my chest, up my throat until I could taste it. Euphoria, and absolute, terrified dread. My fingers squeezed, feeling delicate bones against them, and Potter hissed and jerked backwards, but he had always been smaller than I, smaller than James, and I could tell he’d been missing meals. It was easy work to yank him back to me, my breath catching at the flutter of his blood against my fingers, a more potent drug than anything in the world. I was high on it.
I had worked so hard - fought and struggled and slaved, balancing on a knife’s edge between two titans as they battled and clashed. Yet it was I, small and shadowy and dark as I was, unsuspected, who took one of the titans down, and now, here I was, with another in my grasp. It was marvelous, but I was scared. I had bled and agonized and striven to one day be on the winning side, yet here it was, the moment I’d been waiting for, and I had Harry Potter’s rapid pulse beating beneath my hand, and I was completely frozen.
He was so thin. Thin and graceless and full of adolescent awkwardness, a child becoming a man. He was motionless - waiting. I couldn’t move. I had to move. I must. The war was as good as won.
So why did I hesitate?
I couldn’t - wouldn’t - think of it. No, I wouldn’t. I didn’t care what side one, as long as I won with it. I didn’t care.
So why did I hesitate?
Seconds ticked by, lengthening with every pulse of blood beneath my hand, and still I did not move. Then a tremble went through the wrist I held, and I looked up. Potter’s shoulders shuddered, but I could not see his expression, covered by his shaggy hair as it was. I stepped forward, turning his wrist in my hand so he could not yank himself away.
His lips were clamped tight, his neck tendons taut. My stomach swooped in fury, for I recognized those signs. The little brat was laughing. I bent his elbow and shoved his arm against him, throwing him off balance, but that only served to make the boy laugh out loud, a thin, rasping, inhuman noise that sent chills down my spine. I froze again, and then the boy spoke for what I realized was the first time since this chase had began.
“I never took you for a hesitater,” Potter rasped slowly. “Always the first to move, always the first to kill. What’s wrong, Snape?”
What’s wrong, Snape?
Did I really want this future? A future of constant fighting and battles to remain at the top, only to end when I was no longer of any use? Working entirely for someone else? Answering to a master? Was that what I wanted?
It hardly mattered. It was what I had in store.
I steeled myself, yanked Potter closer, and Disapparated.
Potter wouldn’t be able to win, anyways.
At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.
We appeared in the midst of the Death Eaters, center stage. I flung the boy away from me, once more the loyal servant, and he landed heavily on his knees, head bowed. Bellatrix laughed gleefully, and the ranks parted to allow the Dark Lord, with Bella on his arm, to come through.
“Well done, Severus,” he said to me, and I bowed my head in subservience, fighting conflicting feelings. Delight and dread. I backed away to my spot in the circle, heart heavy.
The Dark Lord stepped forward and lifted Potter’s chin. The pale face revealed nothing, the green eyes opaque and glass-like. He offered no resistance.
I felt a chill of fear.
“Wandless and kneeling,” the Dark Lord whispered, breathless. “How long I have awaited this day.”
“So have I,” Potter breathed, and his eyes slitted, showing barely a hint of green. In his dark clothes, he was a statue of black and white. Then he smiled, widely, and the Dark Lord’s head drew back. In a faint, faint whisper that Severus only heard because of his close position, Potter whispered again. “They’re all gone.”
“Who are?” The Dark Lord murmured, and his voice was sinisterly paternal, falsely kind.
“Not who,” Potter smiled wickedly. “You.”
I felt another chill. The Horcruxes.
The Dark Lord hissed in rage.
“Impossible,” he spat. “I would have felt it!”
“We destroyed the souls,” Potter breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “They’re all gone...”
“Lies,” the Dark Lord hissed. “Lies!” He wrenched Potter to his feet and flung him away like a rag doll. I expected him to land in a heap on the floor, but Potter righted himself in an astonishing display of flexibility and grace that I would not have expected out of him, landing on sure feet and whipping around to face the Dark Lord in a swirl of dark fabric and hair and a flash of green eyes. He gave a loud, snarling hiss, and the pupils of his eyes slitted and narrowed, like a cat’s. His face hollowed and grayed, becoming skeletal, and his mouth gaped wide, far wider than was natural, showing a mouth full of long, curved fangs. Fingers suddenly spider-like and skeletal, and a pinched gray, with long, pointed claws.
The Death Eaters drew back in shock and fear, and the Dark Lord drew his wand, but Potter was too fast. Despite his wandless state, he was far from defenseless.
He went straight for the Dark Lord, slashing claws and bared fangs. Whiplike, he lashed himself around the Dark Lord’s body. There was a high, terrible scream, a ripping, tearing sound that my Dark Mark echoed in sensation. I buckled to my knees in agony, and only dimly heard the Dark Lord’s final wet, rattling breath - because as magical as he had been, he could still die by bleeding to death.
The only Death Eater who grieved was Bellatrix, and she was the next to go.
When the pain faded from my arm, my vision refocused and my thoughts straightened, and the first thing I realized was that I was kneeling and staring at two dark combat boots. My eyes slowly rose.
Potter’s jaw hung open, out of the way of his gleaming fangs. He was not a natural vampire, I saw - he had far too many fangs for that, all of them at least an inch long except for the two canines, which curved down two inches or more, given room only by the boy’s unnatural mouth. Gray skin stretched tightly over hollowed cheeks, and green eyes burned from their sockets, slitted and brilliant.
But it was not those details that caught my attention, but rather the blood that soaked his chin and throat and made the front of his robes dark and shiny. Past him, bodies were piled and strewn, alternately dead and dying, all doused in red.
Potter had a wand. The Dark Lord’s, I believed.
I turned back to his face, my heart thundering in my chest. His face was boyish again, mouth shut over normal teeth, pupils round and skin pale white. Only the blood lent credibility to what I had just seen.
His eyes still burned.
“Why did you hesitate?” He asked, and his voice rasped still.
For a long moment, I was silent.
Then...
“I want freedom,” I said slowly. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I see.”
The wand rose.
My world went dark, and I was free.
Summary: I had bled and agonized and striven to one day be on the winning side, yet here it was, the moment I’d been waiting for, and I had Harry Potter’s rapid pulse beating beneath my hand, and I was completely frozen.
Warnings: Blood, Character Death
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: For Quivo ( quivo) as a thank you for a favor.
So fragile and perfect, all long legs and broad shoulders, all dark hair and pale skin. He was breathing harshly through gritted teeth and trembling lips, head bowed so black strands spilled over his forehead and into his eyes. My fingers were clamped over his wrist, the fragile bones grinding against each other, the strong, rapid pulse fluttering against my fingers.
Euphoria rose in my chest, up my throat until I could taste it. Euphoria, and absolute, terrified dread. My fingers squeezed, feeling delicate bones against them, and Potter hissed and jerked backwards, but he had always been smaller than I, smaller than James, and I could tell he’d been missing meals. It was easy work to yank him back to me, my breath catching at the flutter of his blood against my fingers, a more potent drug than anything in the world. I was high on it.
I had worked so hard - fought and struggled and slaved, balancing on a knife’s edge between two titans as they battled and clashed. Yet it was I, small and shadowy and dark as I was, unsuspected, who took one of the titans down, and now, here I was, with another in my grasp. It was marvelous, but I was scared. I had bled and agonized and striven to one day be on the winning side, yet here it was, the moment I’d been waiting for, and I had Harry Potter’s rapid pulse beating beneath my hand, and I was completely frozen.
He was so thin. Thin and graceless and full of adolescent awkwardness, a child becoming a man. He was motionless - waiting. I couldn’t move. I had to move. I must. The war was as good as won.
So why did I hesitate?
I couldn’t - wouldn’t - think of it. No, I wouldn’t. I didn’t care what side one, as long as I won with it. I didn’t care.
So why did I hesitate?
Seconds ticked by, lengthening with every pulse of blood beneath my hand, and still I did not move. Then a tremble went through the wrist I held, and I looked up. Potter’s shoulders shuddered, but I could not see his expression, covered by his shaggy hair as it was. I stepped forward, turning his wrist in my hand so he could not yank himself away.
His lips were clamped tight, his neck tendons taut. My stomach swooped in fury, for I recognized those signs. The little brat was laughing. I bent his elbow and shoved his arm against him, throwing him off balance, but that only served to make the boy laugh out loud, a thin, rasping, inhuman noise that sent chills down my spine. I froze again, and then the boy spoke for what I realized was the first time since this chase had began.
“I never took you for a hesitater,” Potter rasped slowly. “Always the first to move, always the first to kill. What’s wrong, Snape?”
What’s wrong, Snape?
Did I really want this future? A future of constant fighting and battles to remain at the top, only to end when I was no longer of any use? Working entirely for someone else? Answering to a master? Was that what I wanted?
It hardly mattered. It was what I had in store.
I steeled myself, yanked Potter closer, and Disapparated.
Potter wouldn’t be able to win, anyways.
At least, that’s what I tried to tell myself.
We appeared in the midst of the Death Eaters, center stage. I flung the boy away from me, once more the loyal servant, and he landed heavily on his knees, head bowed. Bellatrix laughed gleefully, and the ranks parted to allow the Dark Lord, with Bella on his arm, to come through.
“Well done, Severus,” he said to me, and I bowed my head in subservience, fighting conflicting feelings. Delight and dread. I backed away to my spot in the circle, heart heavy.
The Dark Lord stepped forward and lifted Potter’s chin. The pale face revealed nothing, the green eyes opaque and glass-like. He offered no resistance.
I felt a chill of fear.
“Wandless and kneeling,” the Dark Lord whispered, breathless. “How long I have awaited this day.”
“So have I,” Potter breathed, and his eyes slitted, showing barely a hint of green. In his dark clothes, he was a statue of black and white. Then he smiled, widely, and the Dark Lord’s head drew back. In a faint, faint whisper that Severus only heard because of his close position, Potter whispered again. “They’re all gone.”
“Who are?” The Dark Lord murmured, and his voice was sinisterly paternal, falsely kind.
“Not who,” Potter smiled wickedly. “You.”
I felt another chill. The Horcruxes.
The Dark Lord hissed in rage.
“Impossible,” he spat. “I would have felt it!”
“We destroyed the souls,” Potter breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “They’re all gone...”
“Lies,” the Dark Lord hissed. “Lies!” He wrenched Potter to his feet and flung him away like a rag doll. I expected him to land in a heap on the floor, but Potter righted himself in an astonishing display of flexibility and grace that I would not have expected out of him, landing on sure feet and whipping around to face the Dark Lord in a swirl of dark fabric and hair and a flash of green eyes. He gave a loud, snarling hiss, and the pupils of his eyes slitted and narrowed, like a cat’s. His face hollowed and grayed, becoming skeletal, and his mouth gaped wide, far wider than was natural, showing a mouth full of long, curved fangs. Fingers suddenly spider-like and skeletal, and a pinched gray, with long, pointed claws.
The Death Eaters drew back in shock and fear, and the Dark Lord drew his wand, but Potter was too fast. Despite his wandless state, he was far from defenseless.
He went straight for the Dark Lord, slashing claws and bared fangs. Whiplike, he lashed himself around the Dark Lord’s body. There was a high, terrible scream, a ripping, tearing sound that my Dark Mark echoed in sensation. I buckled to my knees in agony, and only dimly heard the Dark Lord’s final wet, rattling breath - because as magical as he had been, he could still die by bleeding to death.
The only Death Eater who grieved was Bellatrix, and she was the next to go.
When the pain faded from my arm, my vision refocused and my thoughts straightened, and the first thing I realized was that I was kneeling and staring at two dark combat boots. My eyes slowly rose.
Potter’s jaw hung open, out of the way of his gleaming fangs. He was not a natural vampire, I saw - he had far too many fangs for that, all of them at least an inch long except for the two canines, which curved down two inches or more, given room only by the boy’s unnatural mouth. Gray skin stretched tightly over hollowed cheeks, and green eyes burned from their sockets, slitted and brilliant.
But it was not those details that caught my attention, but rather the blood that soaked his chin and throat and made the front of his robes dark and shiny. Past him, bodies were piled and strewn, alternately dead and dying, all doused in red.
Potter had a wand. The Dark Lord’s, I believed.
I turned back to his face, my heart thundering in my chest. His face was boyish again, mouth shut over normal teeth, pupils round and skin pale white. Only the blood lent credibility to what I had just seen.
His eyes still burned.
“Why did you hesitate?” He asked, and his voice rasped still.
For a long moment, I was silent.
Then...
“I want freedom,” I said slowly. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I see.”
The wand rose.
My world went dark, and I was free.