Harry Potter and the War of Morgan le Fay

Chapter 7

Note on Historical Accuracy: I've done some research into common horses that would have been in Britain during the Middle Ages. The horses I have described (Aspen = tobiano Arabian; Willow = Friesian) are not necessarily horses that existed in Britain at the time, but they are close equivalents, and I am also going with this idea that they are wizards that travelled around and got horses from somewhere else.

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"Harry Potter, destined to have no one...I will take everyone from you..."

Voldemort's voice floated around him, taunting, as the green light filled the room. Harry was nearly blinded, but he forced himself to see through it; he had to see Snape once more. He found the dark eyes just as the light hit the man and Harry screamed, pulling against unseen bonds. He swore he was tearing his throat as he continued screaming, watching Snape fall lifeless to the ground.

"I will take everyone..."

He could hear Voldemort cackling around him, could feel the way they'd joined at the Ministry. He felt the excruciating burn he'd felt then during the possession as Voldemort tried to extinguish his life. Yet, it was the pain piercing his heart that threatened to break him. Tears poured down his cheeks as he stared at Snape's lifeless body, his heart shattering to jagged pieces that sliced him over and over.

He pulled free from his bonds and ran to the professor, dropping to the floor next to him. He reached out to grasp the man's tattered robes, not bothering to question why Snape was in his robes or why his own hands were covered in blood. He stared into the now blank eyes and felt the realization that Snape was dead engulfed him.

He screamed brokenly again.

"Please, come back! Don't leave me! Don't leave me alone!"

"I'm here, Potter!"

Harry shook his head violently as his mind conjured the professor's voice. He could hardly believe how badly it hurt to lose Snape. He hadn't realized how much the man had come to mean to him.

Until now, now that it was too late.

"I will take everyone..."

"Don't leave me!" Harry cried desperately and dropped his head onto Snape's chest.

"I am not leaving you. Potter, wake up!"

"I can't," Harry whispered. "I can't be alone anymore."

"Harry!"

His eyes popped open, then, still filled with tears, and he flew up in bed. He was still disoriented for a few seconds, the near-darkness of the room keeping him trapped in the near-darkness in which Snape had died. The despair over losing the man and the fear of being all alone once again was suffocating, constricting his chest painfully.

"Look at me, child."

The gentle request was erased by a candle coming to life nearby and Harry's mind first turning it lime green. He let out a choked sob as he fought to see Snape's body, held back by invisible restraints again. He drew gasping breaths, each crushing his heart.

"Breathe," came another gentle instruction and Harry began to slowly regain awareness.

As his eyes darted around, his mind began to settle and recognize things as they were. The candle turned back to a gently flickering orange, the darkness was broken just slightly by small, soft trickles of moonlight, and the room was no stone cell or blood-soaked throne room, but the cozy loft in Galen and Griffin's cottage. There was no spell or ropes or shackles keeping him restrained, but kind, warm hands on his arms. Snape's body wasn't still on the floor, but sat next to Harry on the edge of his bed. He looked up and the dark eyes weren't empty, but meeting his with concern.