|The Prince of Flame
Author: Gadget 151 PM
Rewrite of 'potion master's assistant' Halo Spencer tells the story in place of Marlowe. He's come to England to escape a serial killer he comes to Hogwarts looking for work. Slash HaloSnape. Final chapter up now! Please Review!Rated: Fiction T - English - Mystery/Romance - & Severus S. - Chapters: 17 - Words: 41,939 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 05-26-07 - Published: 03-25-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3458380
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
see nothing in your eyes, and the more I see the less I like. Is it
over yet, in my head? I know nothing of your kind, and I won't reveal
your evil mind. Is it over yet? I can't win. So sacrifice yourself,
and let me have what's left. I know that I can find the fire in your
eyes. I'm going all the way, get away, please. You take the breath
right out of me. You left a hole where my heart should be. You got to
fight just to make it through, 'cause I will be the death of you.
This will be all over soon. Pour salt into the open wound. Is it over
yet? Let me in. So sacrifice yourself, and let me have what's left. I
know that I can find the fire in your eyes. I'm going all the way,
get away, please. You take the breath right out of me. You left a
hole where my heart should be. You got to fight just to make it
through, 'cause I will be the death of you." Breaking
It was Sunday, and the early morning sun was shining through the airplane window, hitting me square in the face. Ryan's funeral had been on a Sunday six months ago; it had been a closed casket, as per his family's wishes. He'd wanted to be cremated; he'd even told me once where he'd wanted his ashes scattered. My opinions and his wished hadn't mattered to his father though. The man had hated that his only son was a homosexual and living with an 'adopted, spoiled brat'. I had told him to sit and spin.
I pulled the side of my coat closer to my face, hiding in the folds of soft leather. It was odd; the thing I remembered most about the funeral was my grandmother scolding me for keeping on my sunglasses. It had been raining that Sunday, as if even the heavens mourned the death of the man I'd loved. The clouds had opened and the tears of angels had fallen onto the casket, making the dirt turn to mud. I hadn't believed in angels since I was seven, when I'd held a dying bird in my hands after it had flown into the window.
I felt a single tear roll down my cheek and I hastily wiped it away. I didn't believe in angels, or in heaven. But for Ryan… for Ryan I would believe in anything.