Severus was grateful for the brief respite the brat gave him, after a few too-close-to-the-ground-for-comfort rolls and dives, when they stuck to a median height, and median velocity. He'd never really cared for broom travel. It took too long, for one thing, as a mode of transport, and one was constantly at the mercy of things such as wind resistance and weather conditions. Bah. Apparition negated all that.
Still, he had never thought himself an abject slouch when it came to flying, until the last few minutes. Potter really was quite talented. And it was more than his life was worth keeping up with him. But he wasn't letting the brat out of his sight -- or reach. The last thing he'd need is for Potter to suddenly decide smashing his broom head first into the ground would be just the way to get out of any difficulties he was having. He didn't think the boy was actively suicidal, but it was a distinct possibility, one he kept in the forefront of his own mind as he watched Potter loop and dive and careen around the pitch like a madman.
When Potter suddenly aimed his broom almost vertical and accelerated, Severus' stomach lodged in his throat, even as he pushed his older, less powerful broom to keep up. It was a losing proposition, he knew, but he couldn't not
Harry was crouched over his broom, almost lying flat upon it, and Severus could barely see him, as he was angled into the sun.
The air cooled, the higher they went, until Severus could barely feel his hands, or his face. The glare of the sun ripped tears from his eyes, which stung as they turned to ice on his cheeks. Still, he kept going, not slowing, even long after he'd last glimpsed the boy. Up and up and up . . . until his breaths were only cold pain in his throat and lungs and his vision wavered, edged in darkness.
'Harry!' he called, knowing there was not a hope in Hogsmeade the boy could hear him.
The last thought he had before he blacked out was,
TBC . . .
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
A/N: Sorry about the cliffie, honestly. But this was the best place to leave off. I'll try to get the next chapter out by later today (Monday); it's already partly done. Thanks to all who read and review!
*Chapter 17*: Chapter 17
Walk the Shadows -- Chapter 17
By jharad17
Disclaimer: Alas, I am but a poor substitute for the real thing.
A/N at end.
Previously:
Harry had shut his eyes long ago, and the sun felt great on his face, as if it was the only light in the world and he was finally being allowed to sense it. He could feel, like he had back at Topsham Manor, the magical energy trailing behind him which could only be Snape, and for a moment, he was surprised that the professor was still trying to keep up with him.
Higher and higher he went, until the air was cold again, and he started to acknowledge that he would never, truly, reach the sun, no matter how far or fast he flew. Neither could he escape everything on the ground. Sirius was gone, yes. And Cedric and his parents, too. So was what little had remained of his innocence, at the hands of Voldemort and Malfoy. But he was still alive, despite everything. And though he longed, desperately, to feel loved, like he knew Sirius had loved him, like he knew his parents had, he knew that just wasn't meant to be, for him. He was meant to kill Voldemort, so other people could be happy and loved.
So other people could be safe.
Like Snape, who had saved him time and time again.
At the split second he came to this realization, a ripple splashed over him from Snape's magical signature, right before it vanished, like fog in a high wind. Harry's heart plummeted into his stomach, and he banked immediately to the left, pulling the broom around so abruptly that he almost blacked out from the force of it. He kicked the broom into a speed it had rarely if ever been pushed to, as he sought out Snape's magic again.
He darted through clouds on his way back down, and the dampness chilled him, but not as much as knowing he'd sent his professor to his death. Droplets clung to his glasses, and he wiped them with the back of his arm, peering down at the ground, so far below. He couldn't see anything.
He couldn't feel anything either.
He'd been blind at the manor when he felt other signatures, like Malfoy's and even Voldemort's. Maybe he couldn't
Snape's arms were outstretched, as if he was imitating a bird, but he was falling like a stone. Harry darted underneath him. Arms braced to catch, he still wasn't prepared for the slam of dead weight that hit him. His broom jiggered sideways, almost dumping them both. Steering with his knees, Harry clung to the professor as they made their descent.
The professor's face was pure white, except for his blue lips, and Harry was not certain if he was alive or dead. He flew flat out, straight to the castle, bypassing the pitch entirely. When he reached the castle doors, he hauled Snape off the broom and staggered under the sudden weight. Though Harry had never been a weakling, really, this summer had really taken a toll on him, and he could barely hold Snape up. How was he going to carry him up several flights of stairs to the infirmary?
If only he had his wand!
But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, as Aunt Petunia used to say, so he did what he could,
