agneskamilla (agneskamilla) wrote in adventdrabbles, @ 2014-12-06 02:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | contributor: agneskamilla, dec05, fandom: harry potter, prompt05, year: 2014 |
Dec 5, Harry Potter, Gen (this part), Storm
Title: Storm
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape
Rating: G
Word Count: 1068 (I went a tiny bit overboard. Forgive me?)
Warning(s): AU, H/C
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I write this only for entertainment purposes, no money is made by me.
Prompt: Snowstorm
AN: Unbeta'd. Written for adventdrabbles 2014; Day 5. I have had this idea for months and now I will attempt to write it in December... so TBC. Follow up to Departure and Encounter
A myriad of tiny, icy arrows attack Harry’s face and hands as soon as he steps out of the tavern’s door. A blizzard besieges the outside world, unrelenting in its rage, striking anybody who dares to defy it. Harry can barely see a thing in the furiously whirling whiteness, in spite of the light coming from the tavern’s many windows. All the men coming to help with the horses are reduced to blurry shapes in Harry’s peripheral vision. The roaring wind brings the panicked neigh of the horses to him.
“Madam Olympe’s abraxans have broken out of the stables,” Bernard’s voice shouts from Harry’s left. “We have to get closer to them!”
Harry nods his understanding although he doubts Bernard is able to see it. Harry moves towards the source of agitated neighing, alongside several dark shapes; more than likely his fellow volunteers.
There are three gargantuan horses dancing in the storm, rearing in terror, kicking frantically with their front legs.
“We should form a circle around them,” Bernard orders the gathered helpers. “Light your wands so we will be able to see when everyone is in position.”
The group does as ordered, and a dozen lights come to life at Bernard’s words. All the men move to find their places, leaving a respectable distance between themselves and the agitated horses.
“Use a stunner on the horse closest to you on the count of three,” Bernard yells from a distance. Harry can see wand-lights on both his sides, approximately sixty feet away.
“One!”
Harry aims his still glowing wand at the horse closest to him
“Two!”
He extinguishes the light in order to be able to cast the stunner.
“Three!” Bernard shouts and all around Harry cries of “Stupefy!” can be heard and red rays of spell-light erupt from their circle. Harry has just cast his own spell when one of the horses, obviously frightened by the lights and noises, breaks free from the circle, avoiding the stunners aimed at it, and runs towards Harry’s neighbour on the left. The man doesn’t have time to finish his spell before the beast rears again and strikes its victim on the chest with its enormous hooves. Harry moves as fast as he is able to but he still isn’t quick enough to prevent the horse before it kicks. His stunner is a moment too late, so beast and man collapse at the same moment; fortunately the horse drops to the side, and not on the man, with a thud, followed by two echoing sounds. Harry assumes that the other two abraxans have been knocked out as well.
He runs to the man lying in the snow in a panic and falls to his knees beside him. This close to the ground the wall of whirling snow is almost impenetrable. He leans very close to the man to examine him while fumbling with the other’s clothing to find a pulse.
Thank God, it’s faint but there. The man’s breathing is ragged and he is unconscious. With a gasp Harry identifies him as the same man he scrutinized from afar not half an hour ago. His paler than ever skin almost melts into the sea of white, his ink-black hair is covered in snow, but Harry recognizes him nonetheless.
Harry runs his hand gently over the man’s chest, where the abraxan’s hooves hit him. There is some hot wetness soaking his robes, probably blood, and there is an unnatural indentation in his sternum and ribs. His ribcage must have caved in, Harry realizes with a growing panic. If he doesn’t get help soon, the man will surely die here, in the middle of a snowstorm.
“Help!” Harry cries out desperately. “Somebody is injured!” he shouts but the ever-strengthening storm is so thick that he can’t see anybody else and his voice is swept away effortlessly.
The others can’t be more than a few dozen feet away, but Harry is all alone and he needs to do something now or this man will surely die.
Harry turns his gaze around but sees literally nothing. He will have to risk it.
He puts both his hands on the man’s chest, closes his eyes and focuses. He feels lines of fire running all over his skin, drawing an intricate pattern of shining white tendrils on his whole body, twisting, curling, threads intertwining then parting constantly.
Then, suddenly, the outside world ceases to exist.
Harry is in a dimension without length, width or depth. He is in endless darkness, only the motives shining on his not-exactly-there skin giving some light. They are flowing towards something or someone meanwhile forcing Harry’s conscious along towards that illustrious destination. Then, the tendrils of liquid light reach their goal and twine around a form, caressing, protecting, healing it. And Harry’s conscious, inseparably connected to the vines, follows.
While Harry’s magic works, the formerly shapeless, dark mass in its grab starts to shine too, where the tendrils connect with its surface, painting the same intricate pattern on him as well. Because it’s definitely a him, the very essence of the man Harry seeks to heal.
And now, both of them are covered by the same fiery lines, connected in the inextricable tangle. Harry feels warm and safe and like he belongs. It is like submerging in the other and finding home there.
The experience ends too soon.
Harry emerges with a soft sigh, straight back into the storm. He is exhausted but content. The man is still unconscious but he will live.
Harry removes his hands from the once again normally arched ribcage. The web of light decorating both of their bodies fades quickly.
“Mr Potter, where are you?” he hears Bernard’s shout from nearby.
“Here, we are here!” he yells back.
Suddenly the barman stands by Harry’s side, in the company of other patrons. Bernard crouches down beside Harry and his patient.
“What happened?” the barman inquires.
“He got injured but it wasn’t that serious,” Harry lies and he is grateful that the wind-induced rose of his cheeks covers his blush. “I used a basic healing spell to be sure,” Harry continues. “He was knocked out by one of the horses. We should get him inside,” he says.
Somebody conjures a stretcher and they carefully move the man onto it.
Bowing their heads in the face of the blizzard’s rage, the group starts towards the dimmed lights of the tavern.