Tell Me It\'s Over
4
IV.
'Enough is enough.'
'How much of your life are you going to waste on a dead man?'
'You can't go on like this.'
Harry had literally heard it all, from the most gentle to the most callous way of saying he had to give up on Snape. Even the muggle doctors, after two years, were saying the same thing, though they were using fancier words to say it. It wasn't that they were saying it that bothered him. It was that, deep down, he knew they were right. He'd been sneaking in potions and charms in the middle of the night to supplement the muggle medicines for two years. There had been no sign of the venom in Snape's system after the first six months, and the wound had healed to an angry scar that Harry would kiss when he was certain no one was looking, but Severus wouldn't wake. His condition hadn't worsened, but it hadn't improved, either. He just lay there, like death, waiting for Harry to let go of his hand.
Harry knew he should. It was what was best for everyone, but he couldn't. If he gave up on Snape, he felt as though he'd be giving up on half of himself. He couldn't endure sitting by his beloved's bedside much longer, he knew that. He was at his limit. But, he could no more let go of the man's hand than he could endure the agony of holding onto it. And so, the world went on without them. Inside this hospital room, though, time stood still. They both suffered.
"What am I supposed to do, Severus?" He asked the dead air between them. "How much longer are you going to make me wait?" He lifted Snape's limp hand between his own and rested his forehead against it as if in prayer. "Just tell me it's over. You should have told me that clearly such a long time ago." He knew Severus had tried to tell him before, in his subtle sort of way, but Harry had missed it. He wouldn't accept anything but a clear answer. Stubbornly insisting on one was probably the only thing that kept him chained to Snape's bedside through two long years of holding a limp hand and talking to himself. "Just give me some sort of sign, would you? What am I supposed to do here? If you wanted to die, you wouldn't have held on all this time, right?" Harry bit his lip. He knew he was only talking to himself, trying to talk himself into letting go of that hand, but his throat burned and his chest ached and he hated himself for even considering it after all this time. "I love you so much. You've lived for me for so long, why can't you just...keep doing that?" He knew that was a selfish thing to say, but shit, he was only talking to himself, so what did it matter? He didn't want to say goodbye. He'd already had to say goodbye to so many people. "Just wake up, you bastard," he complained, lifting his head to glare at his sallow lover...or ex-lover...whatever. "Why do you always have to be so stubborn?"
"What are you babbling on about now?" Severus mumbled, but he wasn't sure any words actually came out of his mouth. He didn't hear sound, but he was certain he'd said something, and his throat felt raw. Where was he? He furrowed his brow. Why in the bloody hell did Harry always have to wake him up from a sound sleep with his inane ramblings? "Can't a man even rest in peace?" Ah, there was his voice. Merlin, was he ill? It sounded like he hadn't spoken in years. And, on another matter. "What is that incessant beeping?" he grumbled, grudgingly opening his eyes. He closed them again almost instantly. It was too bright, like someone was holding a lit wand directly in front of his face.
Harry forgot how to breathe. Was he hallucinating? No, Severus was definitely awake. He looked far too grumpy to be unconscious. He let go of the man's hand at last, but only to tackle him in a great hug.
Severus groaned, feeling his body lifted into a rather clumsy embrace. Everything felt stiff and ached madly. How long had he been sleeping? And what in the bloody hell was that incessant beeping?! It was driving him mad.
"Harry," he rasped. "Let go of me, you fool."
"No," Harry mumbled against his shoulder. "I'm never letting you go again."
to be continued...