#superharry

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¿El acto heroico de Harry hizo que te enamoraras incluso más de este asombroso chico?

Harry came to on his back, on something hard, feeling as though his body had been used as a bludger in a long and brutal quidditch match. He blinked up at the hazy night sky in surprise – how had he gotten outside? – and felt the tingle of residual magic falling away from him as he sat up. “Oh my God…” The words came out in a whisper of gut-freezing shock. The castle was gone. Not gone, he realized in the next second. Leveled. Razed to the ground, to a vast field of rubble and grit, piled all around him, the dust of its collapse still rising all around like smoke. The mountaintop looked stripped, naked – raped and left to die. Panic jerked Harry to his feet. “Severus!” Even as he scrabbled for his wand to cast a seeking spell, Harry’s eyes fell on Snape, a still black shape, kneeling about 20 feet away. Harry ran toward him, seeing Snape raise his head, seeing him look dazedly around himself as Harry had done. He seemed uninjured, and Harry slowed to a walk as he got near, the panic easing its hold around his racing heart. “Severus—” Snape’s head snapped around, black eyes fixing Harry to the spot, the expression in them, even in the dimness, spearing Harry with fresh fear. Surrounded by mountains of rubble, wreathed in slowly settling clouds of dust, Severus stared at Harry, and Harry realized he was shaking. Harry took a step closer. “Severus.” “No,” Severus growled, stopping him again. Snape turned his wild stare to the ground, bending, his fingers clenching in the fragments of shattered stone. “This … is because of you.” Harry shook his head, panic rising once more. What was he saying? Snape kept his eyes on his fisted hands, but Harry could hear the words forced through clenched teeth. “You … stupid … why didn’t you 'listen' ..?” Harry gaped, stunned, without any idea of what has happened or why, seeing only that, somehow, this was his fault. Somehow, something he’d done, maybe just coming here … 'somehow', he’d caused this. “No…” he whispered, his insides twisting. It couldn’t be. He tried again, pleading. “Severus—” “No!” Snape flung out his arm. “Get away.” Dirt and pebbles – shrapnel from the castle – sprayed from his hand, spattering Harry’s face like tiny hexes. Harry flinched, and Snape turned, white-faced and shaking, eyes crazed with anger, spitting the words. “Go! Get out, get out of my sight!” Harry backed off, brushing at the dust on his face with shaking hands. He looked at his palms, then at the ruins, and bitter bile roiled in his gut. Dust was all that was left. Everything Snape had – everything – was gone. And, somehow, he had caused it. The enormity of it rose in Harry’s throat, choking, strangling the words 'I’m sorry, I’m sorry…' Severus turned away, as if hearing and scorning Harry’s silent apology. Trembling, sick to his core, Harry tried futilely to steady himself, to draw air into his shriveled lungs, willing Severus to turn, to say something, anything. Finally, Harry screwed his burning eyes shut and whispered the spell for apparation.

"You can look. At me. I'll let you look at me. If you tell me stories about my mother." Killing does something to a soul. You find yourself making bargains you'd never thought you'd make, and then everything seems to be negotiable. But Potter whoring himself? "No touching," he added.