 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|||||
 |
 |
|
||||
 |
|
|||||
 |
|
|||||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
Breathe
"Not so tough without Potter, are you Black?" Snape smirked.
Sirus was on his knees in front of Snape, gasping and choking. His fingers clawed uselessly at his neck.
"I think I like you like this."
His lungs were on fire; his vision blurred and flickered. Something forced his head up and Snape's face swam into focus, only inches away. A brush of dry lips. A sharp sting of teeth.
"Finite incantatum."
His lungs filled with a long, high whine. He was coughing, shaking, breathing in great, whooping gasps.
Snape let him go. He crumpled bonelessly, wheezing, wracked with pain.
He knew he would kill Snape for this.