HP fic: The Sacrifice May Be Willing, But the Beneficiary Is Not [Harry/Severus, general]
Title: The Sacrifice May Be Willing, But the Beneficiary Is Not Author: celandineb Fandom: HP Pairing: Harry/Severus Rating: general Summary: Harry sits with Snape, after battle. Note: Teenyfic (535 words) written for jadzia7667, at the request of cruisedirector, who suggested Harry/Snape, prompt "It’s enough that you were willing to die for me," and stipulated a happy ending.
"It's enough that you were willing to die for me." Harry smooths the edge of the sheet under Snape's unmoving hand. "I understand what you were doing better now. Remus..." He pauses and gulps. "Remus explained it."
So had Hermione, and the elder Weasleys, and Professor McGonagall. Each of them had come to him, full of well-intended words, trying to ease the burden of his guilt. Voldemort's death -- that had not fazed him, though once he had dreaded the idea of taking his enemy's life. No. Snape had been the one who had coolly stepped in Voldemort's way, enduring a Cruciatus intended for Harry (and it could have been Avada Kedavra, there was no way to know) and thereby leaving Harry free to do the most unexpected thing imaginable; shoot Voldemort through the heart with a Muggle .22 pistol. A Muggle weapon, to take down the self-proclaimed Dark Lord, patron of purebloods.
And now Snape is in St. Mungo's, the skin of his face looking more jaundiced than ever against the white pillowcase, his breathing audible.
"You were willing," Harry repeats. "There's been enough death already. You needn't go through with it. I've thought a lot, lately." Before the final attack, after Remus had come to tell him of Snape's plan to get Harry close enough to Voldemort, a suicidal plan but the best that anyone had come up with. "You owed my father a life debt, and now I owe you one. We're square, it seems to me. Only not."
He watches Snape's face, calm, beaky nose jutting up, dark hair spilling over the pillow. Was that a flicker of the eyelid? Harry isn't sure.
"We're not square because I didn't have a chance to say the things I wanted to say to you." Now he falters. It will sound ridiculous, spouting off like this, even though as far as he can tell Snape can't actually hear him. "I wanted to say 'thank you,' for one. And..."
This is the hardest thing to say, even to someone unconscious. Harry doesn't have a lot of practice, not in saying the words, and he had been taken wholly by surprise at the realization of what he felt.
"And 'I love you,' too," he finally says in a whisper, tucking his fingers under Snape's and squeezing the unresponsive palm. He sighs. What did he expect, a miracle? If he kisses the man, will one of them turn into a frog?
He leans over and brushes his lips over the dark-stubbled cheek anyway. It's the least he can do.
"Potter." The harsh croak makes him leap away from the bed, although not far; Snape's hand still clasps his own.
"If you're going to tell someone you love him, it's normally considered polite to do so for the first time when he might be in a position to reciprocate." Snape opens his eyes, fixing them on Harry. "You demonstrate a woeful lack of civility."
Heart in his mouth, Harry answers, "You'll just have to teach me better manners, then," and Snape nods before he closes his eyes once more. His hand, however, continues to grip Harry's firmly, and Harry takes an unfettered breath for he first time in days.