Drabble
Literally a drabble this time. Snape, Harry, Snape POV, ouchy, 100 words.
Insane, yes.
I should have counted on it, should have predicted.
And it's too bloody late, and damn it, there's no time to relay the message.
I feel the fangs, breaching my skin, tearing my flesh.
I feel the blood.
I feel the cold.
Worst: I feel the failure.
I cannot fail. Time is short. Think.
I have ink, if blood will do. …And I can't move a finger to write.
Fuck.
The floor is moving.
No, I am moving. What?
Oh.
Relief. But. No time. Everything must go. Take it, Potter. Take it.
And just let me look. Please.