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Vanish in the air
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,777
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,777
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Hospital Wing
Disclaimer:
See chapter 1
Hospital Wing.
He was lying very still.
The weak autumn sun played through the walls and teilieiling of the infirmary. The tremulous leaves of a tree were bright and whispered with the evening breeze. He thought about a magical kaleidoscope his parents brought him from one of his engagements The colors of lights running and jumping in front of the toddler had delighted him. The waves like shi shining glow of timid fairies playing in the lake. Golden shadows. Going back to a world of light and shadows… he slipped back to the his dreams.
Everything was dark except the corner with the deadly lamp. He was faking sleep, he enjoyed the feeling of power that the simulation gave him, he has slept for days, maybe weeks. He felt as if he were flying slightly, as if the fever had made him translucent. Next to the lamp, he could hear murmurs. The words “Pneumonia” and “funeral service” came to his ears. Even if they were meaningless to him, by the way they were pronounced he could understand that were a lethal threat, part of the adult world, and he felt vaguely important. “The kid is seriously ill…he needs to rest…he is frail”. He could feel the absence of grandma, he missed her cold hands in his front, the soothing words that make him feel safe. Far from there someone closed a door, then he fell asleep again for an eternity.
Was he awake?. Deep in the night he heard his mum quietly weeping, but so far a away that maybe it was a dream. It was a sobbing that came from Hades. Eveing ing was dark, and he was alone. He recognized that voice and no, it wasn’t a dream. The voice was too high and the shadows too deep to be a real dream and again he fall asleep. He slept more than he could imagine.
There were murmurs again, next to the door in the corner. The room was chilly and the air seemed sharp. It was eain tin the morning and the sun projected a golden resplendence on the wall, above his head. His father’s face was gray, then the words suddenly became comprehensible, and the healer let his sentence drop with the full force of his professional potency. It was almost as he was delighted to say it, “I’m sad to tell you this Mr. Snape, but as with your mother, your child's situation is very extreme. He’ll soon follow her, there are no possibilities for him to recover” . He saw his father’s head fall in helplessness and the healer hand in his shoulder. “You must accept things as they are, is all in the goddess hands”.
At least is not in your hand, you fool man. He hated that healer because he made his mum cry and kept his granny away. He also, and this was unforgivable, make his father suffer. The father who was invincible, omniscient, who was the light and the darkness in the child life. The father, the man he adored and feared beyond measure. A force capable of the most intimate concern knowing that he was ill and the most despotic fury when he failed him. He wanted nothing to do with healers, gray faces, suffering and funerals. Once again he let himself be drawn effortlessly in the profound deadness of unconsciousness.
Day had come again, Madam Pomfrey was preaching at a poor soul in the next cubicle, and he was bored, as bored as any creature has been since the beginnings of times, of that he was sure.
“ Stop coming here girl”
“but … sore”
“… all in your mind.”
A spiral of messy words going into his head :
“… tired”,
cluttered,
“…drained”,
confused,
“…exhausted”
He knew about that, he has been so worn out, lost, for years. Again, lethargy caught him off guard and came untangled in his jadedness.
Gone back to the origins, to his mother’s womb, touch his roots and recover in plenitude. Gone back to the shadows across the ceiling; to the shining glow of the fairies at the childhood lake, find the origins. Untainted energy. Touch the roots. As he hhen hen grandma grabbed the roses just to show him the knotted roots. He could feel the strong smell of moist earth, the pull of Grandma strong hands. He was delighted, just as when the roots touched the water, and are so happy about it that one can even feel it. Like the roots of that Willow next to the family lake, he remember eavesdropping on it’s dryad. Her spring leaves in the water sue, he, her long brown hair transform in a heavenly halo when light trespass it. Grandma said she was grieving her lover lost. She said that was why the Willow always weeps for she will never see the intensity of his eyes again.
But grandma was old, and she knew nothing abut lovers, only about little grandsons. The legend was wrong, it can’t be true. It says that the mournful willow leaf trembles because it was devastated. But such a beautiful lady can not suffer. How could such beauty be touch by suffering? What can be more happy than the dryad touching the water with her barefoot? Once he grew up, he would find the lady, and will love her as his grandma loved him. He would never abandon her, not as Grandma did.
See chapter 1
Hospital Wing.
He was lying very still.
The weak autumn sun played through the walls and teilieiling of the infirmary. The tremulous leaves of a tree were bright and whispered with the evening breeze. He thought about a magical kaleidoscope his parents brought him from one of his engagements The colors of lights running and jumping in front of the toddler had delighted him. The waves like shi shining glow of timid fairies playing in the lake. Golden shadows. Going back to a world of light and shadows… he slipped back to the his dreams.
Everything was dark except the corner with the deadly lamp. He was faking sleep, he enjoyed the feeling of power that the simulation gave him, he has slept for days, maybe weeks. He felt as if he were flying slightly, as if the fever had made him translucent. Next to the lamp, he could hear murmurs. The words “Pneumonia” and “funeral service” came to his ears. Even if they were meaningless to him, by the way they were pronounced he could understand that were a lethal threat, part of the adult world, and he felt vaguely important. “The kid is seriously ill…he needs to rest…he is frail”. He could feel the absence of grandma, he missed her cold hands in his front, the soothing words that make him feel safe. Far from there someone closed a door, then he fell asleep again for an eternity.
Was he awake?. Deep in the night he heard his mum quietly weeping, but so far a away that maybe it was a dream. It was a sobbing that came from Hades. Eveing ing was dark, and he was alone. He recognized that voice and no, it wasn’t a dream. The voice was too high and the shadows too deep to be a real dream and again he fall asleep. He slept more than he could imagine.
There were murmurs again, next to the door in the corner. The room was chilly and the air seemed sharp. It was eain tin the morning and the sun projected a golden resplendence on the wall, above his head. His father’s face was gray, then the words suddenly became comprehensible, and the healer let his sentence drop with the full force of his professional potency. It was almost as he was delighted to say it, “I’m sad to tell you this Mr. Snape, but as with your mother, your child's situation is very extreme. He’ll soon follow her, there are no possibilities for him to recover” . He saw his father’s head fall in helplessness and the healer hand in his shoulder. “You must accept things as they are, is all in the goddess hands”.
At least is not in your hand, you fool man. He hated that healer because he made his mum cry and kept his granny away. He also, and this was unforgivable, make his father suffer. The father who was invincible, omniscient, who was the light and the darkness in the child life. The father, the man he adored and feared beyond measure. A force capable of the most intimate concern knowing that he was ill and the most despotic fury when he failed him. He wanted nothing to do with healers, gray faces, suffering and funerals. Once again he let himself be drawn effortlessly in the profound deadness of unconsciousness.
Day had come again, Madam Pomfrey was preaching at a poor soul in the next cubicle, and he was bored, as bored as any creature has been since the beginnings of times, of that he was sure.
“ Stop coming here girl”
“but … sore”
“… all in your mind.”
A spiral of messy words going into his head :
“… tired”,
cluttered,
“…drained”,
confused,
“…exhausted”
He knew about that, he has been so worn out, lost, for years. Again, lethargy caught him off guard and came untangled in his jadedness.
Gone back to the origins, to his mother’s womb, touch his roots and recover in plenitude. Gone back to the shadows across the ceiling; to the shining glow of the fairies at the childhood lake, find the origins. Untainted energy. Touch the roots. As he hhen hen grandma grabbed the roses just to show him the knotted roots. He could feel the strong smell of moist earth, the pull of Grandma strong hands. He was delighted, just as when the roots touched the water, and are so happy about it that one can even feel it. Like the roots of that Willow next to the family lake, he remember eavesdropping on it’s dryad. Her spring leaves in the water sue, he, her long brown hair transform in a heavenly halo when light trespass it. Grandma said she was grieving her lover lost. She said that was why the Willow always weeps for she will never see the intensity of his eyes again.
But grandma was old, and she knew nothing abut lovers, only about little grandsons. The legend was wrong, it can’t be true. It says that the mournful willow leaf trembles because it was devastated. But such a beautiful lady can not suffer. How could such beauty be touch by suffering? What can be more happy than the dryad touching the water with her barefoot? Once he grew up, he would find the lady, and will love her as his grandma loved him. He would never abandon her, not as Grandma did.