Four Seasons (Spring) 3/4 Title: Four Seasons (Spring) Author: abrae Word Count: 400 Rating: PG-13 Characters: Snape/Harry Warning(s): EWE, 8th Year Summary: Confessions amidst the wildflowers
His footsteps echo through the quiet halls of a Hogsmeade weekend, and they might be the beat of his heart - now fast, anxious and unsure, now slow, heavy and inexorable. His destination is sure, his reception uncertain, and still his feet propel him into the sunshine and down a path that creeps along the side of the castle, quieting only when he spies a dark head bent in concentration amidst the wildflowers. Too late, as it happens, and he finds himself pinned in place by a black gaze.
"S-sir," he stammers, the heat rising to his face.
Snape gives a curt nod. "Potter," he acknowledges, turning his eyes back to his book.
Harry can't think - he can't remember why he's here what he wants to say and he blurts out, "Amortentia."
Snape responds with a drawn-out blink. "Amortentia, Mr. Potter?"
The boy hesitates - steps closer - asks breathlessly, "What do you smell?"
Snape stills, and he says nothing.
"B-because" - Harry swallows - "I smell...asphodel...and wormwood...and - "
Snape barks a humorless laugh. "You smell the Draught of Living Death in Amortentia?"
"N-no, sir. I - I - " He worries his lower lip, and a blush rises over Snape's wan cheeks, and his eyes drift away from the book, and Harry sees the moment he remembers a classroom and an owlish young boy.
For a long moment, all he can hear is birdsong and the rustle of wildflowers, broken by a sotto voce baritone.
"'Darkling I listen," Snape intones. "And, for many a time/I have been half in love with easeful Death/Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme/To take into the air my quiet breath/Now more than ever seems it rich to die/To cease upon the midnight with no pain/While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad/In such an ecstasy...'"*
And it's beautiful, but Harry doesn't understand the words.
"Sir?"
There is no answer. The silence stretches uncomfortably until Harry swipes the back of his hand across his eyes and turns to leave.
"Mr.- I - Harry - wait."
Snape's words halt him in his tracks, but he doesn't he can't turn around.
A moment, two, and then warm breath at his ear, whispering.
"Apples...autumn leaves...pumpkin juice and - and - " and he breathes in Harry's hair. "Lavender...mint."
And Harry leans back against Snape, closing his eyes with a sigh.
*Snape's verse is from Keats's "Ode to a Nightingale"