To Never Touch Again
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
2,666
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Snape
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
2,666
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.
The Room
Author note: If you’ve read “The Room” then this will be old territory for you. Yes, I discovered that this would actually work as chapter 2 for “To Never Touch Again”…I love it when a plan comes together…wait.. What plan? Anywho, I added a bit to the end, so enjoy!
Distant shouting…the sounds of hexes…the cries of pain…
The echoes vibrated against the walls. Yet, the room was still. A tattered lace curtain floated lazily around a shattered window as a ghost drifting on the night breeze. That was the only movement in the room. The moonlight cast shadows that changed as the clouds crossed over the pale orb that sat in the sky. And yet, the silence, the stillness of the small cube of space was almost palpable.
It was not unlike a cemetery; cold, dark, motionless. And like a cemetery still, death had been here.
The wooden planks were stained crimson from the blood that had pooled from the wound. The red plasma, once gushing onto the floor, now stood stagnant. Pale fingers of one lifeless hand were soaked in the life liquid. One arm extended from the hand and the other bent under the torso. Both legs were straight and parallel to the ground.
The body of Severus Snape was the same as the room…cold, dark, and motionless. He had done his best to find redemption, salvation in his dying moments. The last thought across his mind was that Potter would finally know the truth about everything and, in doing so, would know what kind of man Severus truly was.
This was his only comfort in a life filled with so much pain, so much excruciating torture. If Cruciatus wasn’t enough, then watching the love of your life marry another was. Everything he had ever done was in fulfillment of a promise to help destroy a tyrant bent on domination. Severus Snape had indeed been what some would call a hero, or a fool, depending on your outlook.
After all, what had he really gained? Here he lies in his own blood, quite literally drained of all life. What did he have to gain by taking this path so many years ago if he knew, and it is evident he knew, that he would not live to enjoy the spoils of all his hard work? Why do the dangerous things he did? Why be a double spy and take brutal torture when delivering bad information or have his faithfulness questioned in the midst of conflict?
His deep obsidian eyes stare blankly toward the door…all the horrors those eyes witnessed. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Was Severus’s soul as dark as his eyes? Or is it an optical illusion, like film, reversed when examined; black eyes, white soul, like a negative of a muggle photograph?
The moonlight breaks through another cloud and its ray shines through the window casting its light on a piece of glass next to the body. The small broken shard was once the lip of a phial. Now it remains shattered under his dead weight. One drop of crystal blue potion sits precariously on the sharp edge. If it is tipped, it will surely fall, cutting its form into pieces. If it remains still, then it shall stay whole.
Perhaps Severus had been tipped. Perhaps the cliff on which he clung fell away under his feet and his life was forfeit. The light shifted with the clouds once more, the reflection of which could be seen in a small droplet of crystal blue on his now indigo lips, and it shone in his eyes which were turned to the window.
The room was like a cemetery. If given the right setting, the right timing, one could almost hear the dead breathe.
*****
“Harry?”
The voice stole him away from his anguish. He quickly wiped the tears from his face and stood to meet the concerned look of Hermione.
“Yeah?”
She saw his eyes were bloodshot and his body was slightly shaky. “Oh, Harry,” she crooned as she wrapped her arms around him. “This must be such a terrible time for you.”
Suddenly, his demeanor changed. “What do you know about it?” he sneered.
Hermione took a step back and looked at her friend. “With all that’s happened…with Voldemort dead now, and what happened to…to Remus and Tonks and …and Fred,” she stammered, her own tears beginning to roll down her cheek. “You just need to vent it out. After everything that’s happened, I can understand needing to let it all go.”
She looked upon his now relaxed features and could see how tired and completely used up he felt. “Would you like to be alone?” she asked softly.
“Yeah…please,” Harry said as he went back to the wall and sat back down.
“Alright. I’ll give you a few minutes and come back for you. Everyone will want to see you, but I’ll try to hold them off as long as I can.”
Harry nodded as she disappeared around the corner. He closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the wall. Someone could sneak up on him and slice his throat. The thought came through his mind in a second and within the next, his eyes were opened wide and his head was down. He subconsciously rubbed his neck as he looked down both way of the hallway for anyone in the dark with a knife.. All this time with apprehension, fear, anxiety foremost in his mind…it was going to be hard to relax and try to live without it. He wished he had a calming draught. But that thought only brought back the tears.
He screamed again and hit both fists on the stone floor beside his legs. It was going to be so hard.
AN: You can read "The Room" in its original version as a complete drabble from my profile here. I also have something that I haven't messed with in a little while that could actually fit in here, too, but not sure how to incorporate it yet. Of course, that's when the plot bunnies get born...Hello, evil plot bunny! Isn't it cute?? OUCH! It bit me!
Distant shouting…the sounds of hexes…the cries of pain…
The echoes vibrated against the walls. Yet, the room was still. A tattered lace curtain floated lazily around a shattered window as a ghost drifting on the night breeze. That was the only movement in the room. The moonlight cast shadows that changed as the clouds crossed over the pale orb that sat in the sky. And yet, the silence, the stillness of the small cube of space was almost palpable.
It was not unlike a cemetery; cold, dark, motionless. And like a cemetery still, death had been here.
The wooden planks were stained crimson from the blood that had pooled from the wound. The red plasma, once gushing onto the floor, now stood stagnant. Pale fingers of one lifeless hand were soaked in the life liquid. One arm extended from the hand and the other bent under the torso. Both legs were straight and parallel to the ground.
The body of Severus Snape was the same as the room…cold, dark, and motionless. He had done his best to find redemption, salvation in his dying moments. The last thought across his mind was that Potter would finally know the truth about everything and, in doing so, would know what kind of man Severus truly was.
This was his only comfort in a life filled with so much pain, so much excruciating torture. If Cruciatus wasn’t enough, then watching the love of your life marry another was. Everything he had ever done was in fulfillment of a promise to help destroy a tyrant bent on domination. Severus Snape had indeed been what some would call a hero, or a fool, depending on your outlook.
After all, what had he really gained? Here he lies in his own blood, quite literally drained of all life. What did he have to gain by taking this path so many years ago if he knew, and it is evident he knew, that he would not live to enjoy the spoils of all his hard work? Why do the dangerous things he did? Why be a double spy and take brutal torture when delivering bad information or have his faithfulness questioned in the midst of conflict?
His deep obsidian eyes stare blankly toward the door…all the horrors those eyes witnessed. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Was Severus’s soul as dark as his eyes? Or is it an optical illusion, like film, reversed when examined; black eyes, white soul, like a negative of a muggle photograph?
The moonlight breaks through another cloud and its ray shines through the window casting its light on a piece of glass next to the body. The small broken shard was once the lip of a phial. Now it remains shattered under his dead weight. One drop of crystal blue potion sits precariously on the sharp edge. If it is tipped, it will surely fall, cutting its form into pieces. If it remains still, then it shall stay whole.
Perhaps Severus had been tipped. Perhaps the cliff on which he clung fell away under his feet and his life was forfeit. The light shifted with the clouds once more, the reflection of which could be seen in a small droplet of crystal blue on his now indigo lips, and it shone in his eyes which were turned to the window.
The room was like a cemetery. If given the right setting, the right timing, one could almost hear the dead breathe.
*****
“Harry?”
The voice stole him away from his anguish. He quickly wiped the tears from his face and stood to meet the concerned look of Hermione.
“Yeah?”
She saw his eyes were bloodshot and his body was slightly shaky. “Oh, Harry,” she crooned as she wrapped her arms around him. “This must be such a terrible time for you.”
Suddenly, his demeanor changed. “What do you know about it?” he sneered.
Hermione took a step back and looked at her friend. “With all that’s happened…with Voldemort dead now, and what happened to…to Remus and Tonks and …and Fred,” she stammered, her own tears beginning to roll down her cheek. “You just need to vent it out. After everything that’s happened, I can understand needing to let it all go.”
She looked upon his now relaxed features and could see how tired and completely used up he felt. “Would you like to be alone?” she asked softly.
“Yeah…please,” Harry said as he went back to the wall and sat back down.
“Alright. I’ll give you a few minutes and come back for you. Everyone will want to see you, but I’ll try to hold them off as long as I can.”
Harry nodded as she disappeared around the corner. He closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the wall. Someone could sneak up on him and slice his throat. The thought came through his mind in a second and within the next, his eyes were opened wide and his head was down. He subconsciously rubbed his neck as he looked down both way of the hallway for anyone in the dark with a knife.. All this time with apprehension, fear, anxiety foremost in his mind…it was going to be hard to relax and try to live without it. He wished he had a calming draught. But that thought only brought back the tears.
He screamed again and hit both fists on the stone floor beside his legs. It was going to be so hard.
AN: You can read "The Room" in its original version as a complete drabble from my profile here. I also have something that I haven't messed with in a little while that could actually fit in here, too, but not sure how to incorporate it yet. Of course, that's when the plot bunnies get born...Hello, evil plot bunny! Isn't it cute?? OUCH! It bit me!