The voice under all silences. Chapter 12
Author: [info]pekeleke Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter Word Count: 5615 Rating: N-17 Summary: Four years after the final battle Severus Snape wakes up to HELL! Warning(s): Strong language. A/N: First snarry fic, ever. English is not my mother tongue so mistakes are to be expected. Beta: None Disclaimer: The characters used in this fiction are not mine. No money is being made from it.
THE VOICE UNDER ALL SILENCES. Chapter 12
The place was quiet. So utterly, deafeningly silent that he fancied it to be abandoned altogether. He'd woken about an hour ago. Black eyes popping open with the startled anxiety of the frightened. But there had been no danger... no reason at all to fear the empty walls. The empty room. The empty... everything...!
Beige assaulted his reeling senses like a weapon. It offended him with it's blandness. Challenged him to find -if he could- the most minute, insignificant clue about the true personality of the place's owner, amid all this... nothingness!
Someone... No. Not someone! -It could have only been Potter, after all!- had placed a soft, thick pillow under his head. A butter-cream tinged fleece had been carefully tucked around him. It felt somewhat invasive to discover that he'd been... managed... by the brat, while he slept! He was still on the sofa and his odd clothes were still there. All of them -right down to the flimsy socks!- but he'd been... put to sleep. Like a young child!
He felt rested though. And quite hungry. The light filtering in, through the pale curtains, indicating that he must have slept all evening and all night...! He felt loath to abandon his safe, yellow cocoon. This place of warmth and silence that he'd found himself inhabiting this morning. So he stayed were he was and studied the awful walls. Wondering idly why was it that they were so empty... Why was it that the frighteningly intense creature Potter seemed to have grown up into, had ended up here. In this... blank canvas: trapped within walls and ceilings that held no life whatsoever!.
He missed the busy bustle of his hospital room. Missed the comforting presence of the staff: going on about their duties, just outside his door. Craved the simple certainty of knowing, exactly, when the next meal would arrive. When the next potion. He missed the fact that Draco and Luc, or even Minnie, had been able to push open the door and come to visit him, at any time!
He wondered if Potter would allow the Malfoys to come here. Attempted to imagine what possible excuse he could use to convince them to stay away and felt, somewhat relieved, by his own conclusion that there was no way Luc wouldn't be able to see past the auror's tricks!
Soft footsteps echoed suddenly down the corridor. The muted sound of barefooted feet, trying to be quiet, as they carefully travelled over miles and miles of carpet. For a second he was tempted to play dead. Close his eyes and let the menace think him asleep... Then, his empty stomach growled and he sighed. He'd have to confront the jerk sometime. Start this new and strange life of his and see where it would lead him...
' You are awake! '
The words were almost whispered in the quiet. Soft and dazed, as if imbued by their speaker with the same wonder he'd grant a full blown miracle. Potter had come to a standstill by the arched entryway to the main living area. He wore nothing but a disreputable pair of faded red pyjama pants. Bare chest indecorously exposed and jaw shadowed with inky stubble that made him look... Well, far too relaxed! Severus himself was feeling mortifyingly embarrassed. Unused, as he was, to dealing with the presence of others while they -so very carelessly- paraded around in such indecently improper state of undress! The boy, though, was obviously at ease. He was waiting for some sort of answer to his greeting. Gaze firmly fixed upon him with those eyes -so soft and green- shinning like jewels.
' Yes. I... It seems I've slept the whole night away. I'm sorry '
Wild dark hair wobbled all around those golden features that were breaking into a smile. A fond expression coming to lit up the matured features of the boy he'd once known.
' I suspect you needed the rest, Severus! It's not as if there were urgent matters for you to attend to, in any case! Now... I was going to make myself some coffee. Would you care for a cup? '
' Coffee? ' His nose crinkled in distaste as the name of the awful beverage abandoned his pursed lips. He could not help the dismayed reaction to that, most unwelcome offering, and was utterly disconcerted by the laughter it provoked.
Potter neared him with that new grace he'd acquired at some point in recent years. A small shrug of his wide shoulders and another gruff-toned chuckle accompanied his approach, as the auror's legs seemed to devour the ever-shortening space that separated them.
' You are just like old Malfoy, I see! He told me so himself but I... I had hopes that you wouldn't turn out to be as kin on the boiled water as he is! Are you going to explode, any time soon, into an ode for the wonderful englishness of a finely brewed cup of tea?'
Severus froze at the casualness of this... this strange situation they were sharing! He was not used to being... teased... at any point in the day, by anyone! Least of all, first thing in the morning, by a half-dressed, confirmed enemy of his! He could, certainly, imagine Luc whining about the coffee and the image brought him both: comfort and longing. He wished his friend was here to guide him through the confusing uncertainty of his new situation. Step into the breach, whenever his own feet faltered, and see him reach safe harbour... Luc had always been perfectly adept at social adaptation. He understood, without much prompting, all the mysterious cues that Severus himself missed and was always the one to take the lead, whenever they'd been required to -carefully- navigate through the, sometimes dangerous territory, that another's expectations could become. Whether those expectations had been those of a ministry toady, or a foreign diplomat, or the Dark Lord himself, Luc had always, -always!-, managed to bring them back out alive!
' Severus? '
Potter had knelt, beside the sofa, while he wrestled with his thoughts... Bare chest too uncomfortably close to him for Severus's taste. Dark eyes clashed with quiet green and they both reeled. There was utter, fierce, sheer tenderness within that achingly similar copy of Lily's verdant gaze...
' Do you want tea, then? ' A hand rose up to his face. Long black hair was gently held before being looped, lazily, around a tanned index finger, while the boy idly searched his increasingly discomfited expression: ' I have plenty of it, I promise! It's about the only thing that's actually ready, you see?. Malfoy was most insistent about the tea...! '
Severus didn't want to play whatever game the child thought he was playing. He swung his legs off the sofa, almost kicking the miscreant right in the shoulder, and the auror was just... forced...! to let go of his hair. Scuttling backwards: one hand splayed on the floor, right behind himself, Potter held his body away from the blandly coloured carpet: knees bent upwards. Chest exposed. Bright green eyes alive with playful mirth... The position was, somewhat, open and intimate. An unguarded, trusting, half-fall that left him exposed to Severus's own intentions. He could kick him flat to the floor after all, with very little effort! Push his sock-covered foot against that chest, then move it upwards: to crush the exposed throat under his heel...
'I take it you don't want tea, either? You could have said, you know? No need to throw me down on to the floor and... loom... like that, all over me!'
He blinked at the words. The violence of his own thoughts dissolving into the bewilderingly inappropriate... insinuations... that -for a second of utter madness!- he'd actually thought the auror had dared to voice, right underneath the more mundane meaning of the very words he'd used to utter that simple and straightforward complaint!. He was so stressed by the unusual situation that he could not even think of a response! His eyes clashed, once again, with the brat's own. Ebony depths flashing sheer panic before he decided to raise, blindly, from the seat and just... stood there!: Protective ward flashing blue warnings all along his left arm. Long hair tangled and dark eyes widened, with a frantic and terrible anxiety! Searching for a route back towards safety, within the convoluted mess of echoing thoughts that -so loudly!- screamed unformed warnings within his mind!
' Severus? '
Potter rose so fast, so effortlessly, that he took a startled step sideways, keeping the auror at arm-length. Dark eyes shot, all around the room, in search of something that could help him escape! But they found nothing. Because there was nothing, NOTHING! here...! The whole place was beige and empty. A black hole: filled with the absence of anything that could have - so very easily, indeed!- turned these four walls into a home!. It was devoid of both: lamps and heavy decorations. Of flower vases. Or a fire poker! Devoid, even, of the blasted child's broom! There was nothing here that he could wield as a weapon! Nothing that could be of any help to him, at all!
' The bathroom is down the corridor ' Surprisingly, it was the boy himself who came to his rescue with a strange, flattened tone. ' Third door on the left, Severus '
He did not even bother to offer his thanks. He was so... unnerved! So... unravelled! that he all but ran out of the room, as if the Dark Lord himself or -even worse: Nagini!- were pursuing him with murderous intent!
He found the right door with no effort at all, and dove into the all-white, luxurious, but bland refuge it offered him! The door bolted closed behind him. And he sagged, utterly drained of energy, against the clear coloured wood... Time lost all sense of meaning for a moment. He was not aware of it, as it crawled away from him, while he rested -utterly immobile- against the grounding presence of that firmly closed door.
Then, the strong smell of coffee reached his nostrils. Onyx eyes shot open to stare straight ahead, as the awareness that his reprieve -this reprieve!- was coming to an end, fleeted through his mind. Another heartbeat or two fluttered away before he found, within himself, strength enough to separate his rigidly held body, from the comfort of the securely bolted door. He used the facilities slowly. Every task stretched to it's limits, as he struggled with the disheartening proposition of returning back to Potter.
Finally his hands were washed to new levels of unsullied perfection. Almost polished -right off their skin!- by his own frantic efforts. His face had been splashed, with the welcoming coldness of the most frigid water that the elegant spigot could produce, and his hair: black and tangled, had been rigidly finger-combed into the kind of submission that, so often, brought him comfort.
The mirror before him showed the disheartening image of his own ragged visage, and he stared: aghast with utter sorrow, at the picture he presented to the world. He was ugly like black sin and thin like a wire. Ghostly pale and almost gaunt, with a veritable curtain of long and inky hair... He looked like the specter of a specter! A hellish monster!: all tired dark eyes and tightened pale lips, that showed not a smidgen of joy. Of hope. Of life!... He grew weary of his own thoughts and fled the bathroom. Forcing the pathetic apparition in the mirror to whirl away -in a wobbly arch- and disappear. Trying hard to forget he'd ever seen it, with every step that he took away from it!...
Back, in the main room, he followed the faint echo of china being banged here and there. Of a drawer being a tad too-forcefully opened. Of loose cutlery being almost savagely jostled about...
Potter made beverages in the mornings like he fought against Dark Lords: resentfully. Efficiently. With a frightening attention to detail... There were, both: cream and sugar on the table. A plate with lemon wedges. A magnificent looking silver-set of cutlery, resting grandly over a pristine and heavy napkin. There was a narrow, pearl coloured cup, perched atop a small delicate saucer. Curling wisps of pale steam rising from it... There were scones on another plate. The smell of them filling the whole kitchen with a strangely homely aroma. Butter waited next to them, right beside an unopened jar of jam: strawberry... Severus wondered if it was mere coincidence, or if Potter actually knew that he liked that particular flavour of preserve. That particular brand...
Green eyes settled over his own features with the intensity of a scientist. Whatever the man sought to find within them, obviously absent, as the very next thing to scape from the auror's lips was a disheartened sigh. Strong fingers curled around a wide mug, decorated with the most awful, headache-inducing, swirly pattern Severus had ever seen -outside of Albus's own robes!- Lean hips settled against the worktop that ran all around the far end of the room, and a stubbed chin was pointed towards the fussily set table, in a curt, expectant nod:
' Tea, Severus. Malfoy said you'd be happy enough with the scones, when I fire-called him last night, so... don't you try to leave them uneaten just to spite me! '
He stood, rooted to the doorway, with his dark eyes on that table... He could not un-think the thought that it had been set for a king! It seemed more befitting to the Minister of Magic, or even a Malfoy, than his own, uninspiring self!
' Severus?! The tea! It's getting cold, you know? '
There had been irritated frustration in the voice that had called him. A growled quality to it that betrayed a thinly veiled anger. Potter's knuckles were white, around the handle of his tightly held mug, and his eyes: those green eyes, flashed with annoyance.
He frowned at the tone. At the lack of... patience! At the very strong hint of deep displeasure. But he dared not say a word about it. He was wary of the odd... moods... the man displayed! Weary of the utterly bewildering ease with which Potter could, sometimes, ensnare his own unsettled senses. Trap him within the unwelcome miasma of the disconcertingly... intense... emotions that so often swirled within those eyes! He wanted no part of them. Wanted no part of this inexplicable anger either, and he knew that they'd find themselves embroiled in the most damaging kind of rage-filled argument, if he even dared to call the little jerk on the irrational nature of the -totally unprovoked- anger he was displaying... So he swallowed his own sharp retort, with almost crippling difficulty, and advanced into the room. Clearly reluctant.
Thin, long fingers curled around the back of a small and utilitarian dining chair, pulling it away from the table. The resulting screech of wooden legs against ceramic floor was cringe-worthy, and his cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of the ungraceful. Black eyes fluttered up to the face of the young auror, and the expression he saw there unnerved him even further...
' Will you calm yourself down, already?! I don't even know what I did, back there, to spook you that badly!. You've got to relax! And get into your head that I'M NOT ACTUALLY DOING ANYTHING TO YOU, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE! '
That unjust remonstration rent the air, in a frustrated little hiss that rose his hackles. He forgot his good intentions in the blink of an eye. Temper flaring to burning point at the indignity of being told off by the little menace! ' Then, I'd be grateful if you stop glaring menacingly at me!: Every. Bloody. Second. That. I. Am. Forced!. To. Endure. Your. Company, Auror Potter! '
The respectful side of their thrice-dammed-vow was perilously in danger of being blown into smithereens -within the first twenty-four hours of their doomed co-habitation!- He was now forced to stare, straight into the ghastly face of the kind of failure that cast -terrible!- aspersions over his own ability to control himself! His mastery his own temper. His ownership, in every way possible!, of the totality of his thoughts and his desires. He was a man of his word, for goodness sake! And the idea: the very intimation that he'd fail -so abysmally!- at something that required nothing from him but self-restraint... frayed his already strained nerves to the point of shamed disillusion!
Potter was livid with rage. His eyes flashed and his shoulders shook under the shirt he'd decided to put on. The expression adding thunderous shadows to his rigid, tanned features was frightening indeed. The coffee mug crashed down on to the counter with a loud, ominous thud and Severus's body turned to stone as he stood there: rooted to the very spot, like a lifeless wax figurine...
Black eyes, widened impossibly, followed the slow curl of golden fingers against wide palms. To his total dismay: fists were born before his very eyes: strong and white-knuckled. Mighty things that could so easily break him... His thoughts turned, then, to his mother: so fragile and frightened a woman... Softly spoken and pathetic... The distant memory of a dully-eyed female who used to remain almost always still -to the point of becoming completely unnoticeable!-. A Despondent, defeated shadow... The very epitome of all those things that he'd always tried -so very hard!- to avoid becoming...
Potter's rage seemed to freeze between one blink and the next. Body sagging back, against the counter, as if drained of all energy. ' Don't look at me like that, Severus! '
He just reeled. He could not understand that request! But there was something so awfully like relief, filling his whole mind with dizzying comfort, that he could not even find a cutting response to the child's strange command. He collapsed on the chair in a pile of weak-kneaded limbs. Elbows propped on the table and hands supporting his whole head as he just... breathed!...
Footsteps echoed in the room. Potter's approach: as unwelcome as it was truly inevitable.
A hand settled over his shoulder and he flinched. Tanned fingers curled gently over the dark cloth of the uncomfortably thin shirt that he was wearing. ' If it'll make you feel better I'll confess that I'm sorry for this, Severus. I think... I'm on edge and I... I'm feeling unusually defensive, you see? I'm actually nervous enough to barf! '
That last comment brought Severus right out of his tense rigidity, with a sharp and horrified reproof: ' Potter! '
The auror chuckled and that disturbingly too-warm-palm was pulled -finally!- away from his shoulder when the man looped a hand over the backrest of the nearest chair and, bringing it closer with a short -but sharp- tug, proceeded to sit on it: barely a hair's breath away from Severus's own position.
' Hermione would say that I am “projecting”. But the truth is that I seem to be ruining absolutely everything!... and I don't even know how! '
Agitation was clear in every syllable of that totally aggravated sentence and he wondered what it was, exactly, that the boy wanted to hear. He had no clue as to what to say, anyway. Had precious little inkling as to what the Hell was happening and -even less!- interest in finding that out. He wanted to retreat. At once!, if possible. Hide somewhere, far away, and think for a long time! He craved the echoing silences of his old chambers. The ease of living by himself, with no one to please. The utter simplicity of understanding -completely!- the dark corners of his own mind and navigating his needs easily. Freely. With the trouble-free comfort of his own company...
' The tea is cold ' he decided to settle on that four-worded non sequitur. A simple, but clear break from the awfully disconcerting conversation they'd been sharing, and his companion suddenly dissolved into a fit of giggles. There was more than hysteria to the sound. There was sorrow-filled heartbreak and disappointment. There was a gruff, mirthless bitterness and a touch -only a touch- of genuine self-deprecation.
' The tea is cold...! ' his own words were repeated back to him, in a softly toned whisper, and the apology that followed was even softer. Almost fragile. Heartbreaking even: ' I am sorry, Severus...! '
The silence that followed seemed thick enough to cut with a blunt knife. A full minute went by without either of them moving and, then, Potter took a deep breath that managed to galvanise him into sudden action: The delicate, pearl coloured cup was seized before the auror rose, once again. Four restless steps took him back, towards the counter, and he flicked on a button on the stainless steel kettle that he must have used before. The soft rumble of heating water filled the silence, and Severus still knew not what to say. Or do. Or even think, for that matter!
The kettle stopped and the spigot at the sink was manipulated into releasing a thick flow of clear water that Lily's child used to rinse the cup. Manually. He dried the thing manually too: -Because of me...- Severus's mind finally made the connection between the lack of magic in the brat's actions and the unfavourable reactions to it of the ward that shielded his broken left arm. He felt humbled by the gesture. And even more stressed...
His new beverage was brought back to the table. Placed gently before him, like a strange offering...
The auror sat by his side, once again. Chair too close and thigh almost touching his own, in an extremely discomfiting fashion. ' Let's try this again, Severus... Here: Have your tea! ' The words were intense and expectant. Growled almost in his ear and he felt each one of them fall all over the right side of his face, like soft puffs of warmed air.
He picked up the cup with fingers that trembled so visibly, that his teeth gritted with the effort not to scream at the miscreant to let him be! He detested the scrutiny of those green eyes. Was dismayed by the awareness of some kind of strange... undercurrent... between them that just set his nerves on edge!
The first sip was just too hot and burned his tongue. He forced himself to swallow. To lower the cup back on to it's saucer and just... Take. A. Very. Deep. Breath! A whole universe of tension was shifted around, within his chest, in the ensuing thick silence...
After a second or two, he forced himself to turn his head -minutely- towards the menace. Coerced the rigid muscles of his face to abandon the wary expression that they held and embrace -once more!- his trusty neutral mask of polite, slightly disinterested neutrality. And then, to top it all of!, inflicted upon his lips the unwanted chore of uttering: very... respectfully!, the same words he'd have gladly offered to any person -other than this one, of course!- who'd have given him tea: ' The brew is lovely. Thank you, Potter! '
A soft chuckle was the impertinent brat's answer to his efforts, and the scowl returned to his own face at once!. With extra-force!: ' I do not see what is so funny! ' The jerk giggled like a girl, of course!. But... still! He giggled harder! Ebony coloured eyes shot deadly daggers: right into that disconcertingly mirth-filled visage.
Potter blinked, rather owlishly, and smiled straight at him. It was not the same kind of frigidly cold lift of one's lips that Severus himself used when forced, by circumstances, to play the disgustingly incomprehensible games of polite social interaction! No. There was nothing unwilling or polite or, even, half-way forced to the auror's expression: it was obviously genuine and fond. A smile that could stop broom-traffic without effort! Delighted green fire flashed within a gaze far too bright: ' I bet that was hard for you. Harder than having to swallow poison might have been...! “The brew is lovely... “, indeed!. I bet your stomach just turned inside out, from having to say such a thing, Proffesor. And to me, of all people! '
Severus stiffened in disgruntled outrage. He was absolutely incensed with the brat! He was trying to fulfil that blasted vow of theirs -to the letter!- and the very thought of having his attempt at... respect!... dismissed, quite that blatantly, burned him bitterly! ' There is no need to crow, Potter! Let's agree that I can see how my utter humiliation might delight you! '
The boy shook his head slightly. Brightness fading almost completely from those forest coloured eyes. ' Humiliating you -in any way!- is not what this is about, Severus '
His snort was loud and clear in the otherwise silent room, and Albus's pet looked right at him with a firm, determined intensity. ' Just because you don't believe me doesn't mean that I'm lying to you, you know? '
He didn't dare answer that. Their loathsome pact might suffer if he did. Salazar alone knew what might actually come out, if he even dared to open his mouth! And it was Draco's life they had sworn on... Repressed indignation made him shudder and he lifted that fragile cup to his thin lips. Taking a sip of the tea eased the moment. The need to offer the boy a fitting response became less urgent, and he allowed himself to sigh inwardly.
Potter's restless hand found that awful, unruly hair of his and made it worse. Sheer frustration charged the room, in the next blink, and he waited for the explosion that was coming. Only... it didn't come! Not at all. Not in any way...!
He was left holding his tea. Sipping it slowly... That green gaze focused on his face as the silence simply grew. Never had he endured a breakfast as discomfiting as this one. A meal so... disturbingly uneasy...! that it twisted his stomach into a knot.
Young lungs filled with air audibly, almost as if their owner found it difficult to breathe. Or calm himself. Or, maybe, both... ' Professor Mcgonagall's coming this evening. Said she needs to talk to you about the school. The Weasleys are coming too. For dinner! Everyone wanted to see you and it seemed the easiest way. For you, you know? One big bash with everybody present, instead of draining little visits, one after the other... '
He blinked slowly and looked at the babbling creature, with the kind of disbelieving bewilderment that he'd usually reserved for Albus's crazy plans. Valentine ball's and all kinds of disgustingly cheerful, little holiday celebrations, had been an unfortunate weakness of the former headmaster. ' Dinner... With the Weasleys...?! A big bash?... What on Earth...?! '
Potter's index finger found the bridge of his nose and scratched at it madly. ' I thought it'd be less tiring for you! It's been hard keeping everyone away from St Mungo's! You were finally awake and the amount of people wanting to visit you was just... mind-boggling! But you were so very weakened that Jones warned us against putting you through that kind of stress, all at once!, so... I've been trying to keep every one away, at least until you were released! '
He was forced to abandon his drink, lest he drop that beautiful cup and broke it into a million smithereens! Slender hands fell limply against his lap and curled defensively there: twin white fists of incredulous affront that he found hard to hide, at least completely! ' Are you implying that YOU! have been monitoring MY visitors?! ' He knew his tone was hard. Cutting. Displeased. But... By Salazar!, he was -actually- displeased! And outraged! He was mad enough to scream! He was so absolutely livid, with the high-handed attitude of the little jerk, that he had to come to a stand or he'd have throttled the mighty auror right there, in his own kitchen chair!
Potter cottoned on to the danger he was in fairly quickly. His whole body backed away, the moment he saw Severus trying to stand up, and a wary, defensive watchfulness turned his features into a rigidly held mask: ' I'm mostly certain that you didn't want to deal with the delegate of the Quilting Association of Scotland, calling in on you to ask you for the permission they need to plaster your face on their comforters for the next season, Severus! '
Sheer incredulity cooled his anger. He stood, beside the table, as if frozen. A second turned slowly into another, before his befuddled brain could even find a single word to offer in response to so ridiculous a claim: 'Why on Earth would ANYONE! want to have my face upon their beds? It's... It's... It's utterly preposterous! '
Potter laughed. Bright eyes hard enough to drill holes into a wall. ' You'd be surprised of the kind of things people want from you, once they feel they have a right to idolise you! '
He shuddered with distaste. ' This would be your handiwork, then, auror Potter! No one, in their right mind, would have ever cared for me -in such a disturbing way!- If it hadn't been for your totally unnecessary and unwanted interference! '
They both glared at each other with sudden ferociousness, until the auror shook his head with a defeated sigh: ' Why is it that we can't stop arguing, Severus? I had such wonderful plans for your first day out of the hospital! And now... Gosh! Even serving your bloody tea turned into a battle! '
Reedy shoulders shrugged in a strained, uneasy motion. ' You can't be so blind as to fail to see that we are like oil and water, Mr. Potter! There was never any other possibility for us, but to engage constantly in conflict! I was certain that THAT had been your purpose all along...!'
The boy shrugged almost violently. Paling features alive with pained distress. 'My purpose, as you so very delicately put it, was nothing of the kind! I have spent the last four years of my life seating beside your bed!. Dreaming up scenarios of exactly what would happen when you finally woke up! Trust me, Severus, having you upset enough to smash my nose to smithereens was never even on the cards!, But then again, I am finding out -very fast, indeed!- just how different you truly are from the man I dreamed up! You are far harder and so stubborn...! It's just... absolutely impossible to reach out to you. At all! '
His jaw clenched in reaction to the dark growl in that voice. ' That's what happens to dreams, Potter! You are so happy while you are having them that you forget the morning must, eventually, return! Then, you wake up! I'm not a toy you can play with! I'm a human being, you see? And I'm not sorry that I've failed to entertain you, in whichever sickened way you've concocted! I'm here! And I'm me! You'll get nothing else but this! Why don't we both learn to accept THAT! and move on, before we -inevitably!- kill one another? '
Silence settled between them, like a smothering thick blanket. Potter looked right at him. Those eyes shining like stars made out of moss: ' You are assuming that I find the real you, somehow... lacking, Severus! ' He finally whispered. Voice gone gruff, with so much emotion, that it sounded like thick gravel. ' I'll move on. Of course! I'll have to! But the problem here is not the one you are seeing. You want to fight, yes! But I don't want to! And we are clashing -so hard!- because I find it difficult to deal with the fact that you don't see ME! the way I see YOU! '
He was shocked right into speechlessness. He was trapped, once more, by the confusing vortex of feeling trying to drown him. It was all there: blatantly displayed within the depths of child's fierce eyes... Emotion swirled outwards from that ever-darkening gaze and he shuddered, from head to toe, in bewildered response to it. ' I do not want to do this! ' He exploded finally. Dark hair swinging around his ghostly-white, thin face, when he turned his whole head away from the confounding creature.
Potter's temper was equally roused. His own face had turned to stone. Wide tanned fingers curled in two mighty fists that he placed on the table. He stood then and inclined forwards, over the gleaming wood, to snarl right into his ear: ' I know you don't want to do any of this, Severus! But you'll have to, you know? Whether you decide to go along with me or you struggle, I don't care! You'll be forced, in the end, to confront this! I'm not letting it all go until you do! So... to put your question back to you, Professor: why don't we -both!- learn to accept THAT! as well, and start with the moving on already? '...