Entry tags:

event: anti-valentine's day 2011, ficlet, member: roozetter, pairing: severus/harry, rating: pg

Drift Away by Roozetter
Title: Drift Away
Author: roozetter
Pairing: Severus/Harry, brief implication of Ron/Hermione
Rating: PG.
Word Count: 843
Warnings: Character death
Summary: When you have lost everything, it is hard to fight the urge to simply drift away.
A/N: Written for the Anti-Valentine’s Day mini-fest for severus_sighs using the prompt: Severus looked in the mirror, but just couldn’t see the image of a lover. Much love to dracosoftie and awrence for the proofreading and idea checking.

”Drift Away”

Severus looked in the mirror, but just couldn’t see the image of a lover.

The man staring back at him looked tired, lost, drained of the spark of life that kept even unattractive people appearing charismatic. Inky circles were engraved under his eyes, the swell of purple so dark they appeared bruised. Defeat was written in every wrinkle on his forehead, sorrow dripping like tears from the lines fanning his eyes, despair immersed in his sagging jowls as though even his skin was through with him and planning an escape.

Had anyone ever, in all the history of romance, ever looked less like a lover than he?

Yet life had trained him well, taught him to take the bad and the grief and the utter wrongness in the world and make it his own. So he forced his slumping shoulders to straighten, wrapped magic around himself like a shadow of concealment. By the time his fingers deftly finished buttoning his cloak and Severus turned away from the mirror, his shoulders were squared, eyes blank, and face devoid of all expression and feeling.

Had loneliness ever been so perfectly personified?

People were grouped together in clumps, clinging to the comfort of familiarity, flicking the barest of glances his way when he swept into the room. He ignored them all, searching the room until his eyes landed on a familiar tousle of dark hair. Were he anyone else, his shoulders would have slumped again at the feelings coursing through him. As it was, his eyes memorized every strand of hair, caressed over the familiar features, and lingered on the plump lips curved up in a curiously teasing half-smile. Severus turned away at the touch of a hand on his elbow, greeting the individuals brave enough to approach him, oddly reassured by the thought that Harry was laughing at his discomfort.

“Severus.” Hermione was pale, smile warm but embarrassed. “I’m so sorry about…” She trailed off, the hand not caressing the bulge of her stomach gesturing awkwardly at the people around the room. “… All of this,” she finished lamely. “Harry didn’t, I mean, he wouldn’t have…”

“Mrs. Weasley.” He arched an eyebrow, deepening the timbre of his voice to drawl her name in the way Harry had laughingly confided made all his friends blush. He was rewarded by a flood of color bursting across her skin, the fractional pause of her hand over her belly. “I believe myself intimately acquainted with Mr. Potter’s likes and dislikes.”

“Mr. Potter?” Ron echoed as he joined them. “Is that how you…?” Like his wife, he trailed off and looked away; looking so desperately uncomfortable Severus could not begin to mock him. “Have you been over to see him yet?” Ron darted a look over Severus’ shoulder.

Had ever a question been uttered that was at once so perfectly ordinary and yet filled with meaning?

“I was just on my way to do so.” He inclined his head respectfully, dismissing them with the gesture as he turned away. “If you two will be so good as to excuse me?”

Why was it that this, this trek across a single room, was so deeply reminiscent of his climb up the steps of the Astronomy Tower, and standing in a dusty, dilapidated room while a writhing snake choked him with his own sense of failure? He swallowed convulsively, choking on the remembered feeling of venom and bile, and, and, where were those desperate green eyes that scorched his soul?

“Harry.” The word was ripped from him, hurting more than any venom or poison.

And still, still that damning half-smile.

“You will be pleased to know I kept my word; not a single unkind word to your friends has passed my lips since Friday last.”

Silence, even expected, was still capable of rendering the one hoping for sound speechless with agony.

“I did not sell the boat.” Severus reached out, letting his hands play with the lapel of Harry’s cloak, half-wishing hands would come up to linger over his own. “I find your idea of pulling anchor and simply drifting away into the sunset to have merit,” he continued, after it became clear Harry wasn’t going to respond. “The flat has been sold, belongings packed. I even,” a smile twisted his lips, “I even packed that ratty Weasley sweater you insist upon keeping, though it no longer fits.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but the silence seemed less dense this time.

He reached up, oddly tentative, and brushed his thumb over those sweet, full lips. “Happy Valentines Day.” He spoke softly, the lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe let alone speak.

And then he stepped back, away, pausing for one last look at the peaceful face and frozen half-smile. “My love; always.”

Had pain ever been uttered so tenderly?

Severus walked away, leaving the wake and the people and the tears and the useless dreams of happiness and love and forever. He walked until he could Apparate, and then collapsed to his knees, letting the gentle rocking of the boat offer empty comfort as he sobbed into a slowly unraveling sweater.