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Love is Cold	By : CruelHero Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9211 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters associated with the Harry Potter universe. I make no profit from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
****Edit *** / Hello everyone. I just wanted to say thanks for the patience and that I will have a chapter up soon. I have been working so hard to no avail. I just cant seem to get this next part done. So after erasing 14 pages of work and restarting countless times I have finally moved in a direction that makes me happy-ish. That being said, I want to point out a few things because I've gotten a few of the same types of comments. Firstly, I forgot to mention that this chapter 10 is a part one of two. I know that it seems out of place here but, and i guess i didnt make a big enough mention of it or something, it is part of the same story. If you would not that I wrote "The coldness in him was like a lump, growing beneath his damaged ribs -throbbing and hard as rock. Where were those ice-sickle sneezes when he needed them, he wondered." This is referring to his curse. Also, I guess I though that people would get that the bellflowers were for the potion Harry had decided to make Snape and that the smile he was hoping for in his spider gift was from Snape. I failed to take a step back and see that an outsider to the story in my head wouldn't necessarily think that and for this I am very sorry. I hate that I confused everyone. Forgive me and I hope that part 2 clears this misunderstanding up. I'm trying really hard to get it finished. Thanks for your comments I really appreciate them too. Love, E.
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A/N: Hello again all. Writings not so easy these days. This chapter gave me hell. I've lost my writing voice and frankly everything I put on paper I hate. I hope this chapter isn't to different from the others. It feels to me like it's missing something. More details perhaps. Anyway, constructive criticism is encouraged. Thanks for reading.
Btw this particular chap was erased and rewritten about 5 times. -.-
*****
Chapter Ten: Part One
Wind blew through the trees in wild gusts sending waves of dead leaves cartwheeling to the ground. Bare tree limbs rattled and scratch together angrily, tapping a loud rhythm that almost drowned out the low hum of magic edging its way closer.
Forest creatures were stirring, chirping, scattering wildly away in fear and a deadness washed over the woods, bleeding into the clearing where Harry hung over a rotting log with an ashen box clenched in his hand. He was much too focused on the object below him to notice the air turn stale.
Watching, hungry- long, thin, needle pointed legs crept along the crumbled bits of wood and grass. Thirty-eight beady eyes, perched on top of an intensely blue head, all spun in their sockets, each one of them staring down the bright white cube of tasty sugar that had been proffered.
The spider inched closer, also unaware.
Harry lowered his sweating hands inches at a time. The tip of his wand aimed to scoop. The box opened to catch. He licked his lips eagerly, longing for the smile he hoped his gift would reward him.
The spider was so close to being his, but it moved so damn slowly for having such long legs, and his focus kept breaking because of an annoying tickle at his calf he couldn't risk taking the time to address. His foot twitched. He kicked absently, but his eyes never left the spider.
Then suddenly he flew backwards, yanked violently by the ankle. Harry cried out in alarm as he dropped the box. It snapped shut with a click, trapping the spider inside it. Along the ground, his fingers struggled to grasp anything they touched and he lost his wand somewhere to a pile of leaves. A chunk of dead tree root broke off in his hand just before his body smashed into a massive twist of the very same thing.
Harry felt his leg be released only to have a barrage of slithering things slip up over his torso. His cracked and half-broken glasses sat askew on his nose, making it hard for him to tell what had a hold of him; though he had a pretty good idea.
He managed to pull one arm free of their squeezing grasp and shoved his hand into his pocket where he took out an iron-plated knife. The blade of which had been painstakingly etched with runes- some of them now blazing a deep red glow, telling him he had found the creature he'd been searching for.
Harry now knew exactly what was crushing the life out of him.
He hacked viciously at the mass of rope-like vines. Their pale, nearly-human looking skin, sizzled and bled and burned, pulsed and squeezed him, tighter still.
Yet his effort got him nowhere. His very breath was being wrung from his lungs with every passing second.
Desperation burrowed its way in.
So Harry turned the knife on himself without hesitation.
He forced it up between his chest and the vines, groaning as more runes picked up a glow. Harry's own skin welted and burned. But still he ripped into it, even as it tore like paper and the screams trying to choke him clawed their way out of his throat. And he sawed harder, faster, determined not to die in the middle of nowhere, deep in the Russian forests, where no one would find his half digested bones.
Again he wondered why he kept finding himself without his wand at the worst moments- where one spell was all he needed to set himself free, but he was S.O.L.- and reconsidered George's offer to glue it to his palm.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to ignore the blinding pain, the stench of his own flesh stinging his nostrils. He rocked the blade back and forth, pushing it outwards with as much strength as he had to give.
Finally, all of the vines snapped free, slapping loudly onto the ground, wet pops echoing into the night. The severed ends twitched and flopped by his sides, orange-red blood spurting all over the place. And the warm wetness seeped into his clothes, stinging every bit of him it touched. A foul stench spread through the air.
Harry felt like retching and he didn't know if it was the air itself or the smell of his own flesh stuck up his nose or just the near blinding pain of his torn and bleeding chest. He straightened his glasses and rolled over, crawling to the tree who’s tangle of roots saved him from being pulled off into the darkness. Leaning his back against it, Harry fanned the air with his hand, gasping in shallow breaths as he calculated his next move.
Wand or not, he was at a disadvantage. Every breath of air he took felt like the knife was still carving out his flesh, yet he couldn't cast a healing spell properly to save his life. Literally.
But, ultimately, he couldn’t – wouldn’t - leave without the ingredient he came for. He needed it. The Nanaykahat would slip away and he’d never find another one again. This was his only chance and he wasn’t about to go home empty handed because of a little- extremely painful- magically burnt gash.
Harry wadded up the end of his cloak and pressed it tightly to his chest. He braced himself against the tree, wobbling unsteady on his feet. His wand lay point-down in the dirt several steps away. Harry went to it. Knife still gripped in his hand, he crouched to pick up his wand and once again ruins began to glow- a warning that came to late.
An immense vine hurled straight at Harry, out of the darkness between the trees. It knocked him flat on his back, pummeled into his chest, beating against him over and over. His body bounced from the sheer force of it.
Again he cried out, caught in a moment of unbearable pain.
Mind numb, he watched his blood flying up, splattering the grass and ground and trees. He couldn’t seem to do anything but lie there, limp and lifeless as his ribs cracked and bent. There was a sickening snap when they finally gave way; the pain of which choked his screams into nothingness. His coughs and wheezes made no sound and the freezing night air filled his lungs full of razors.
The coldness in him was like a lump, growing beneath his damaged ribs -throbbing and hard as a rock. Where were those ice-sickle sneezes when he needed them, he wondered.
Harry watched the limb fly up again and he saw, in slow motion, the thing coming back down above him. Finally his mind blanked giving way to the instincts that took him over. He thrust out his knife, impaling the vine right down to the blood-covered handle.
The creature's flesh sizzled, twisted, and burned. All the while, retched squeals could be heard erupting from somewhere of in the distance.
The vine reared back, ripping Harry’s knife from his grasp. It slithered weakly away, dragging the knife into the darkness where it retreated.
Then the unnatural silence became oppressive. The stale air slowly weighed down with the return of that repulsive stench. It felt sticky against his bare skin.
Harry recognized the warnings this time. He knew the creature was near. Wheezing a pitiful sound that crackled out of his sore throat, he tried again to reach his wand. Despite his cracked ribs and throbbing parts, he rolled himself over, crawling to it.
Hundreds of tinier vines not much wider than a quill came slithering towards him. They flattened him to the ground, wrapping around his neck and arms. They forced him further into the musky dirt, caking it into his open wounds. Harry dug his heels and fingers into the crumbling ground, pushing and pulling his body, desperately trying to claw just a few more inches to his wand.
His fingertips brushed the handle. The tendrils wriggling beside his head flexed back, flicking his wand all the way across the clearing. Their tiny tips seemed to dance with laughter, shaking like rattlesnake tails.
Harry groaned, hearing the monstrosity slither closer. He could smell the stench deepening as it came near.
He needed an escape. Fast.
The vines around Harry’s neck squeezed tighter, tighter. His vision swam, blurring until a blackness danced at the edges. He could hardly breathe and his heart pounded in his chest, his cuts stinging with muck and slime.
Harry wondered if this would be the end of him, if he would be sucked through a gaping hole lined with rows and rows of jagged teeth, down into a rotten belly, where he would slowly suffocate and be half digested. But the reigns holding his body down released in favor of joining around his neck and the largest tendril flopped down beside him. He saw the handle of his knife glinting with slime and blood, close enough for him to reach. Harry pushed up with his heels as hard as he could, snatching it just before the vine moved away.
Without warning, a barrage of needle-thin vines came down on him like whips. They split small gashes over his body, shredding his robes to pieces. Before he could get his arms up to protect his face, his glasses bent and shattered. The vision in his right eye was gone and his left could barely make out clear shapes through the splinters.
Harry’s shouts turned to a pain-filled, angry scream. He could feel his cheek swelling, blood trickling down from split skin and he tried not to wonder if his eyeball had burst. It was too foul to think of.
Harry cursed the beast and reached out to the coldness inside him with no result. The one time it would come in handy it wasn't willing to manifest itself and he couldn't remove his glove to hurt it that way either.
He tried to will his wand to him, but it didn't come.
The Nanaykahat pulled Harry up by his neck, hanging him above the ground. Harry forced a hand under the vines, gasping for air. The creature jiggled closer, lifting him higher, dangling him back and forth like a ragdoll. Harry glared at it with his one eye. He held the knife behind his back, waiting until it showed its putrid face.
Finally its bulk came into view. The gelatinous, leathery mass, covered with thousands of rope-like vines, wobbled forward. It was as tall as two of him stacked high, groaning and gurgling, its strange human-colored flesh rolling along with the vibrations.
Growing over what Harry thought might have been some kind of shoulder was a small patch of silver bellflowers. The delicate bells swelled in and out, in and out, like breathing. Harry tried to think through the pain, tried to calculate what it would take to get a few. They were what he was fighting for after all.
The Nanaykahat screeched, drawing Harry’s attention. The gaping hole it used as a mouth spewed slime and stench in his face. This time Harry did wretch, but the grip around his neck made it impossible to do little more than gag.
The creature swung him forward to its mouth.
Harry’s mind raced. He dug his foot into a lumpy mass, using it to propel himself forward and up where he thrust the knife into the topside of the grotesque hole. And though his arm impaled on dagger-sharp teeth, he forced the knife backwards towards his own body. The blade popped out through the creature’s face, taking an eyeball with it. Inside, Harry cheered for his own lost eye.
The beast shrieked and thrashed and threw Harry to the ground. He lost his knife to its stomach, forcing him to grab a handful of bellflowers and rip them out at the base before he fell.
Moaning, the creature turned and retreated back from where it came leaving a trail of goo behind it. The strange miasma cleared and the sounds of the forest returned to his ears. Harry could hear- all to clearly- the beast’s screams in the distance too, growing softer as they trailed away.
He sucked in a deep breath to ease his aching lungs and sat up slowly, cradling his bloody face.
The silver bellflowers pulsed rhythmically against the skin of his palm. Harry wondered absently if they would still be useful. Carefully he tucked them into the only one of his robe pockets that hadn’t been torn and cast a quick glance to the sky. The moon had set further below the treetops and only the twinkling stars were left in view.
Harry turned on hands and knees and began feeling his way across to where he knew his wand had been thrown.
*****
- 9
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Love is Cold