I've just reread this, and the impact was different (better but different) this time. Read it slowly, savoring your writing, sitting at the master's feet. None of that gut-wrenching anxiety like I felt the first time, wondering what you'd do (also, none of that *wtfbbq!you can't stop there send me moar nao!). The only time I cried, this time, was when McGonagall visited Snape in Mungo's, because it hit me like a tonne of bricks how much and for how long he's denied himself, for everyone's sake but his own. I believe that scene was the showcase of Severus Snape's integrity. That he stayed away (even after lying with his memories). That and how he repeatedly tried to use stunningly destructive words to make Harry go away, even though it was like a knife through his own heart.
Harry's desperation set the tone from the start. Made my heart pound and my hands sweaty. The first time Snape sees Harry as a first year, I was gutted, and that was the first time I cried, months ago. When I think of all those years in between, when Snape had been left wondering. When I think of his frenzy when Harry was late for the Welcoming Feast in sixth year… how he hated how he loved him. My god.
Your young Snape… so defensively barricaded in, so fragile and raw and needy, so sadly wise about everything (except himself). How the hope built within me over Harry's 'visits', sure that he'd find a way to tell Snape, he had to, he just had to, and then you crushed me, when I realized that the last time was 'wasted' on Dumbledore, seemingly. I was devastated; I couldn't believe…but then I realized you had miles to go before they slept….
So, I'll say it here outright; I loved the sex scenes--real knee-knocking, awkward, messy and clumsy and yeah, I felt it, you know, in my own cougghsecretcougghh places. Snape's reactions to it were so endearingly, eye-stingingly pathetic.
He closes his eyes (he was kissed, was kissed) and when he opens them, it is a new world, a world that knows the exact shape and pressure of Harry Evans' mouth.
I really liked that line; and this one:
He thinks he may combust, light fire to the bed sheets with the force of sheer desire,
It hurt, thinking about what Snape's head and heart must've done with Harry's sudden disappearances, especially the longing he must've felt after the latter ones; it hurt almost as much to watch/feel Harry's agony over what to do, how to get back, struggle through his life with that obsession a constant static in his mind, always there, always agitating…and to finally have to live with the idea that he'd failed.
How you wrapped it up, the reason why Snape returned, and went away, and finally returned for good—thanks so much for doing that. When I read this the first time, I wasn't sure what you would do, but had decided that whatever it turned out to be, would be right. But I was relieved we were in agreement. :)
Your final scene, well, it's one of a kind—how should this story end, and I've still got this damn lump in my throat: Love leaves a mark. Indeed.
The other night I was watching 'The Green Mile' on TV, and I remembered how I first read that book when it was released over a period of six months as a serial novel. How the month would drag, waiting for the next installment, and I said to myself, "Sort of how I felt, waiting for Mia's next chapter to come." Honestly, I love Snarry fiercely, but you gave me back something I'd not felt in a long while: the wonder of it, the raw visceral investment in these two finding peace and, if at all possible, finding it together. And yet you did more: you gave them love. It's a beautiful, masterfully written story, Mia, and although I love your other stories, this is now my favorite. Well done, for yourself first, and for your Team!