Title: The Things To Come.
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape.
Word count: 365
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this work.
Written for: hogwarts365 Prompt #150#2: Dusk.
Summary: One day soon Snape will stop mourning the past and turn his gaze towards the future. He’ll catch me lurking in the shadows and demand: “Bugger off, Potter.”
A/N: I want to dedicate this particular work to my dear friend Sheankelor, since today is her birthday and I'm hoping this little drabble will make her smile. Happy birthday, Ree! May your day, and year, be merry. <3
The Things To Come.
There’s a small magical patio in the middle of St. Mungo’s where Snape sits at dusk. An ever-flowering Mimosa tree blossoms here and he curls under it, eyes tightly closed, looking older and wearier than I’ve ever seen him.
I stand guard in the shadows, making sure he’s warm and safe, and refuse to let anyone disturb him because he comes here to unwind. He’s tired, wounded and dealing with the worst case of survivor’s guilt the Mediwizards have ever seen, but he’s still my mother’s first friend. Her best and only. Her Ron. He’s fought to the edge of self-destruction in her memory and I owe him the kind of debt I can’t easily repay. We all do.
Rumor says the Ministry plans to give him an Order of Merlin, and Mcgonagal refuses to ‘steal’ the headmaster’s position from him. I don’t think Snape cares either way. He looks broken. There’s no fire inside him. He’s too tired to keep living but death refuses to embrace him.
I’m broken too. Most of us are. But there’s something about him that moves what’s left of my heart. I’ve hated him all my life. Called him a traitor and a murderer. But he’s nothing of the sort and the more I learn about him the more I realize I could love him like my mother never did.
I believe he’ll be able to understand me as easily as I understand what drives him in these, his darkest hours. So I’m waiting for him to heal, waiting to learn the shape of his smile. That’s why I visit every day. Why I listen to his grieving silence and guard his back while he rests under his tree.
One day soon he’ll stop mourning the past and turn his gaze towards the future. He’ll catch me lurking in the shadows and demand:
“Bugger off, Potter.”
I’ll go, then. Of course I’ll go. But I’ll also keep returning. And he won’t understand why until I gather enough courage to kiss him absolutely breathless. He’ll probably punch me on the nose, that’s how I envision the start of our future. But Oh, Merlin! How I hope it ends in laughter.