Inspired by Even Immortals Fall by Youkai no Yume and The Places We Go by Mystic25. Also inspired by the Tomoyo route in Clannad, particularly the OVA adaptation.

Characters: Severus Snape, Luna Lovegood, minor Hermione, very minor Harry

Rating: K+

Tags: slight angst, drama, romance, love, soul-searching, memory (and reflection), gen, slice of life

Falling in love with someone is a hard process - especially when they don't exist yet.

He blinked. Tears, he noted, rested against the flesh of his skin - they were dry - and he raised a hand to wipe at his eyes. It had happened before, and each time never seemed better or worse, though every incident did make him a bit more anxious.

The pitter patter of rain told him today would not agree with his free-frolicking; she, he knew, would disagree with him. It was a wonder that she could laugh and giggle herself into a frenzy of delighted dancing under the solemn clouds or windy rages, but she was all the more beautiful for it. Innocent, he called her once. A pure sort of emotion rang through her very core, and he told her so that she would smile that great big smile of hers.

He absently looked at himself in the mirror, gauging his tired haunt and crooked limbs. Nothing in his expression screamed handsome, but she said that it mattered rather little to her - handsomeness is like magic. It might be there that looks like you can see it, but truthfully, it is something you find on the inside; appeal only exists where you want to find it, and you will know when you get there.

She would kiss his nose and often smiled back at him, shy and demure, even though she was anything but. It made his gut reek with queasy butterflies that tried to fly out; only, instead, they became moths and ate at the inner lining of his stomach. He sometimes wondered how difficult life was without her. Most of the time, however, he only smiled back and held her hand in his.

It was small but not tiny, he said to her once. She only cocked her head sideways before closing her eyes and laying back against the grass. She never minded his quirks or odd comments; after all, she said back, how could I of all people say that? The reassurance he felt from that statement was one of the most powerful things he felt in his life.

It also cemented the fact that he knew he would grow to love her in ways he never thought he loved anyone else. Loving was hard, and trying to love someone like this was not at all his forte, or anything he was remotely familiar with, let alone comfortable. Still, he tried his best, and his eyes always told her so.

From that time on, he had looked at her with a kind of awe and reverence one might see when they stare at the likes of Harry Potter, Nicholas Flamel, or even people like Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore.

When she realized it, the thought made her flush a happy red that was much more preferable than any shade he had seen before. His lips definitely confirmed that statement, and afterwards he showed her how much more she could flush when he held her in the silence of a peaceful afternoon in the woods.

Currently speaking, his legs carried him to the bookshelf in his room, and he was careful not to let his hair drip over the album he pulled out. The rain would not pass soon, he believed, and he had felt little desire to work all the time nowadays, another lesson she was eager to share with him.

Instead, he was now able to enjoy the fact that he had a life worth remembering.

The pensieve stood cold by the window as his fingers dipped through the pages and his brain sought the memories on its own.

Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess;

we seek it thus, and take to the sky.

Ripples form on the water's surface:

the wandering soul knows no rest.

LOVELESS: ACT I,

Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core

They first met as student and teacher, and at the time, he had no real thoughts of friendship - any kind of ship - with her. He did, however, possess an amazing amount of empathy and a disturbingly high, or so it seemed, bundle of sympathy for her situation. He was the same some years prior, and he'd be damned if he allowed any of that garbage to happen in his classroom walls.

Nothing wrong happened to her in his class, and he knew, it was not because anyone in the class tolerated her, but he would make it so that they would all have to face him. In the confines of Hogwarts' potions lab, he was the king, and he had laid down his law.

He could not tolerate failure. It was the iron rule that cast people's prejudices aside; to fault in his territory, purposefully, could see more than just a one-time ejection from the class. There had been people who were never seen in the potions lab again, and there certainly would be more in the future.

Luckily, or rather ironically, given her overall situation, she was one of the birds, and they tended to keep their heads down when their academics were threatened. Particularly during classes. She noticed it after three sessions and after the third, stayed behind to thank him.

He ignored the sniffle as he told her that she was welcome any time. His words soft, his heart cold, she nodded, not minding the distant expression on his face as he shuffled papers and dipped his quill in ink, scribbling away at so-called 'essays.'

He later learned that, aside from her family, he had been the first in a long while who had showed her kindness. Consequently, he also later, many, many years later, learned that she had dubbed him "Mr. Not-So-Meanie" in her diary and decided that he was a good person since then onwards.

The rest of that year was quiet between the two, and the rustling of paperwork and bubbling of cauldrons filled the air between them, even when the rest of the school was horrified about the running around of Slytherin's little pet. They were all scared, she told him, but she felt okay in his classroom. Her fingers tightly clutched her little stuffed Snorkack whenever she nervously crept in during the night, feet bare and eyes droopy.

His eyes softened when they met hers. She had stopped by often enough to warrant his transfiguration of cleaned tables into beds, and he always waited for her breathing to lighten before he asked an elf to bring her back to her room.

Of course, she was too young then to notice the fact that a Notice-Me-Not was always applied to her. Or the occasional Kenaz, Wunjo, and Algiz sifted into the air around her.

Always do your best. What you plant now, you will harvest later.

Always render more and better service than is expected of you, no matter what your task may be.

Og Mandino

When she was twelve, she ran into his room unannounced, shut the door, ran for an empty corner, and curled up into a ball. She was attacked more viciously than ever before, and he snarled at the thought. She said not a word to him, but only whispered one out loud. Mummy. His mind connected the dots before he was aware of the consequences, and anger overrode him.

No one should ever have to hear their mother die. It pained him that she had brought a fellow victim with her, but he knew better than to turn the child away. The two suffered together, and that was why they came.

They cried, and the boy was mute for a while after they stopped crying. It seemed that he struggled with connecting his current sanctuary to his weekly torture, but he was holding well. When the boy looked at him, he swallowed thickly, shocked and numb. The tears on his face were frightening, because the last time he saw that expression was when he was fifteen and those same eyes looked back at him with the most sorrow he had ever endured in his entire life.

A deep breath escaped his lungs and flared from his nostrils. He got up and the boy was startled and curled further in on himself; he stopped moving and he saw her whisper into his ears. He never asked what was said, but whatever it was, it worked. The boy's knees moved down and his head looked up - both man and child had their gazes locked, and he squashed down the desire to use any for of the mind arts to pry open the boy's concerns and fears.

Instead, he walked from behind his desk and kneeled before the boy, holding his shoulder and told him that there was nothing to fear. That it was okay to be afraid, and it was okay to cry. He did not apologize, for anything, but instead, then took the boy in an embrace that made him stiffen and choke. It took him a few moments and a squeeze of the hand from the girl for the boy to relax in his professor's grip.

Eventually, when he found out that he was the third person to ever hug the boy, Albus Dumbledore had to dodge spears of flame and ice and the Headmasters' portraits cried from being torn asunder and ripped with venomous gashes. Of course, after he found that out he only told Luna that her friend might require more hugging in the future.

If the ice melts,

a warmer song would have come out;

but why is the ice so cold?

Why is it so cold?

Akdong Musician: Melted

She became a grown little girl and began to shy away from her 'big bad Batman' over the course of the next few years; it took more than a year for them to meet like friends again, and she was fifteen then, instead of twelve; February 14th was when she stopped by, a day after that birthday, and a little while before she promised to meet Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Rita Skeeter.

Her blue eyes shone bright and he has always remembered the fact that they were dulled with an edge of realism that comes with every person, no matter if their inner cynic flowers or not. She said almost nothing for the first fifteen minutes of their early morning rendezvous. The forest was quiet and the trees rustled with the fresh breeze of cool winter's breath, dancing their leaves like little puppets of some greater gravitas.

Hello, she said to him, like she always had, like he would later find that she always would; like there had never been any time in between their past and this present. It was the way, he acknowledged, that he wished Lily would have spoken to him. A flare of indignation threatened to rise up. Instead, that flare became dried and then shoved aside as a tight smile tucked itself onto his heavy lines. Hello, his voice repeated.

He hated the way her eyes looked at him in that moment. She has grown up, he reminded himself. But no matter what, those blue irises seemed little more than budding glories. His gaze turned away; their intersection averted, because the only thing he his thoughts decided to turn to was the explosion of light and that would come when she truly came to bloom. His heart, however, instead decided that his thoughts should think about what would happen if he were to prick the flower-buds before their birth.

At that moment, he assured himself that he has been cursed. He has already lived to see one flower burst. He feared to live through a second empty harvest.

.

.

.

It was not long after that a meeting changes her perspective of him, though she only talks to him about it later. But he remembers it, too. Perfectly.

Cynicism never became her, but he can never forget the way fear crawled into her senses when she came back to school after her excursion with her closest friends, a journey which cost all the young souls that went a little more than drops of blood and screams of pain.

There was something missing about her, but there was also some things present in her that were never there before; slight regrets were not becoming of him, and so he ignored it. But Severus Snape was never more than human, and even he was hurt by some things, though he was prone to never share those thoughts.

For the first time, it was not just him being afraid of her. She looked at him with something more than that, though. It was an odd experience for him, to see nature twist and have fury light in the little orbs of sky, to hear the air around her dance with a crackling mix of burning curiosity and brimming anxiety.

She stared at him like he was a stranger, a feeling that left a hitch in his breath, a sensation that was as foreign to him as he was to her in that moment: something that never happened again. She could tell that something was wrong, even though she was only just a girl and not quite the woman who would be able to worm her way into his graces and his faults.

Underneath her shell was a girl who only looked at a man who did nothing but look at her and shield her-and shield others-but she flushed those images down and rushed to him. She cried against his frame and pounded her small fists against him. Why, she wondered. She choked down some sobs, but she managed to ask him: Was it worth it?

She did not have to ask, truly, but she needed to phrase it, for his own ears to hear and acknowledge it.

His eyes edged a little wider and his madness cooled. How had she known? No apology was on the wisp of his lips or even remotely close to his thoughts. But little pieces of him broke in the minutes they stared at one another, as they forced themselves to look at each other, and held contact with their gazes, as if to thrust their open emotions upon the other.

It was a long time before the rain stopped, but the emptiness of the night sky was beautifully calming, in a horrific kind of way. It let him gather his mental state and made him face his situation. A bitter pill to swallow.

The saddest thing about being an adult was realizing that being human was a shared trait between childhood to adolescence, and even to the stages where one assumed he or she was past all that. It was a lesson he thought he could never unlearn.

But his sanity had often been questionable when his emotions came out to play, and two names that managed to ruffle his taste were still Potter and Black, albeit a different Potter and a much changed Black.

He thought that he had changed, but somehow, he had not. Two decades' grudge weighed against him and he had let it control him. A fatal jealousy stole him when he believed that, no matter how hard he tried, it was not him in Harry's eyes who was trusted. Even though he had been a mentor for the boy since his second year, it was that ridiculous Black who just strolled in and seized control with a whirlwind of emotions, logic, and cunning integration.

His pride, he thought. His envy, his greed. His wrath and his lust. He did not want to be equal to Black. Only better. It was one of the many mistakes of his lifetime, but it was also quite the mistake of a lifetime. In some way, he had killed family - another member of the one held by the closest thing he would ever have to a son.

No tears wept nor strangled outcry left him, but he held her tighter, silently begging for some momentary peace. Another mistake, he realized. Another day made. Another life lost. Another notch on his belt of failures, despite his successes. He helped keep the Potter child alive. He helped remove someone else's life. Someone, who, at this point in time, had not been an enemy for years.

Her big, blue pupils gazed up at him, and she froze him, made his heart ice, with her next actions. A soft kiss at the edge of his jaw and a gentle hand on his coarse cheek drew him to her, and he was quiet. His stillness slowly became naturalized as he sat with this girl in the corner of the classroom.

These were not kisses of a lover, he reminded himself. But were they kisses of a friend?

It was a span of hours condensed into quickly but slowly passing minutes before she shied away from him and bid him goodnight. In those minutes, there lay no grand change or shift in paradigm or crumbling of any universal axiom; instead, there rested a unique sense of peace that seemed to rarely exist on Earth. The kind of peace that brought two souls together and let their voices press in harmony, and was an imperfection of clashing realism.

It was one of his first lessons in recognizing that logic and love were two different ideals, but ones that meshed well together. He did not have to love anyone to act logically; he did not have to act logically when he loved anyone.

Later, when little Harry came into view with tears down his face and a trembling wracking his frame, the boy did nothing but hug him and made him swear not to go, too. He did not know, Snape realized with his own rampant tremble. He spoke not a word and only closed his eyes and allowed himself to embrace the boy. The moment taught him the meaning of the phrase 'even in victory, there is defeat.'

Tell me, tell me:

what makes you think that you are invincible?

I can see it in your eyes that you're so sure;

please don't tell me that I'm the only one that's vulnerable…

Impossible…

Secondhand Serenade: Vulnerable

It was when Harry Potter ran off to fight the Dark Lord that Severus knew the axis had tilted.

His little Thestral had taken flight, but his little moon stayed behind. He had no idea what exchange was held between them, but he was indeed certain that she had remained for him. Of course, while there was no proof, the way she would smile at him in the privacy of his new office told him all the news he needed.

Coincidentally, he noticed that soon after mid February of that year she had taken to calling him Severus.

Of many years in his life, he mused, this was definitely one of the most difficult; after all, it was not all the time that you realized a young woman you taught actually became a woman. She was drawing attention from people for many reasons: namely that sharp wit in tandem with her adventurous personality. Her smiles were as inviting as her speech. Not any lesser was the fact that her best friend was currently on-the-run. But she was only the starting point.

Complexity was also enhanced when he found out that the common student that year was dealing with more drama, angst, and personal conflict that any recent memory, and it helped very little that most of them were the purebloods that he typically smiled at and praised. The purebloods of the families that he was helping to eradicate, each and every day.

Luna was of great help, and she knew it. Midnight tea was, perhaps, not the most encouraged between a professor, particularly the Headmaster, and a student. Much less so because he was a male and she a female. It took until April for rumors to be spread, to his grimace and surprise.

He personally believed that no word would ever have gotten out, but April made a fool of everyone at some point in their lives. A nagging suspicion and a sense for truth told him that the shy smiles she sometimes sent his way at breakfast were a slight apology for getting caught; unfortunately, he could tell they were genuine. Ironic that the little wind sprite would only be found when she did not want to be.

But a part of him was… proud? Happy?

She never answered to the gawking or the staring that followed her and never minded rumors that damaged her reputation. Her visits also never stopped.

And a week before the Battle, she crept into his quarters and told him that she felt she would die soon - something that stopped his heart cold. He had always seen her as someone of purity; an innocent with almost no ties to this problem, save for her heritage and choice of friends. All coincidences.

She spoke not another word before he hugged her to him and made her swear that, for the duration of whatever foreboding she felt, and for the entirety of the siege or whatever battle she thought was to come, she would remain in his room. He never deceived himself that she was anything less than important; but he had never realized how important he was to her.

Truth is what everyone wants,

but they only show lies on their faces.

I've been abandoned in eternity; are they looking for me?

TVXQ: Rising Sun

Severus had long since passed the peak of his youth, but the passing of the Dark Lord was a catalyst that shattered his internal calendar. For the first time in his memory, he was duty-free and unbound. Not stuck to an ailing mother whose only light was her drunkard ex-lover and broken husband, nor the girl-next-door who took his breath away since first glance.

No House colors that robed him and coerced him into making the perfectly cunning, devious choices; no comrades or enemies to bend him and shape him to their petty whims and farces. Severus supposed that he should take everything in stride; but the feeling of this freedom left him apathetic, at first, in the wake of its quickly passing elation.

An odd peace was not always an unwanted one; but for Severus, the first peace he ever had was all he had ever felt of it - what did it mean, he wondered. This new peace was so strange, not just because it was foreign but because it was alien in concept: it was everything he strove for, and yet, crossing the line brought him to the shore of new borders.

How could he go about and what could he do? What could he do? His fingers felt the thinness of his bedsheets as he lay still, drinking in the quiet of the dark behind closed eyes.

Days like this were common, now, where he had remained at home.

'As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death.'

Severus Snape, Harry Potter and Sorceror's Stone

In the space between Luna Lovegood and Severus Snape, there existed a time where said Snape and a Hermione Granger were lovers; and that was never a piece of shame for him, nor was it ever a regret. But what it was was space that burned with want; time that filled with only more holes and a larger void, because he saw in her what everyone else did and more - and in him, she saw the things that almost no one could ever suspect.

Coincidence strung them together when, by chance, they both attended an academics' convention in Austria, and neither of them had seen each other in some time. When all was said and done, they quietly broke away so that they could say something to the other, as it had been over a year since he had placed himself in the comfort of another Brit.

He had been traveling the world and traversing his soul in the way that only people with quite too much time, space, and decision making could ever do; commitment was questionable at best, as he had nothing left to confine him to hard choices.

But when he spotted the familiar mane of hair, he withheld a sigh - she was no longer a child, and the time for his pettiness had long since passed - as he knew she would look for him. Her memory was almost eidetic as his, and he was almost sure that both of his little ones confided in her more than any other.

She stepped towards him with a careful smile and a crinkle on her face that tinged her expression with youth. Not innocence, of course, but a lovely vibrancy that he seemed to be missing. She was missing a bit of step to her stride that he had recalled existed over the course of her years.

He only found out what it was on their second date, as he was not a prying man when he did not felt the need. Their first happened to be when she insistently asked him, Coffee?

What followed was a string of tri-weekly meetings that seemed to spring up from their shared need to discuss with some, quantifiably and reasonably, sane intellectual that did not drive the other mad. The other requirement that fit the slot was the fact that the two were in the same war, but playing with different hands, on different fields. In short, it was because they knew more about one another than they knew of one another.

It was not the most outrageously forged affair, and it was one that suited the two at the time.

Grief and respect often married two people in a relationship, and so when those two elements found their seeds growing in the hands of Snape and Hermione, they flourished, for a time. It could be said, that, in some - many - ways, Hermione Granger was only the first step.

He never fell in love with her, but he always knew why he loved her. Through her, he was able to explore everything that the heart in him left behind when Lily Evans stepped away and became Lily Potter; when Eileen Prince became Eileen Snape.

Hermione Granger was a one-of-a-kind woman, he knew, even when she was a mini-Lily replica as an eleven years old child that made him secretly smile, but she especially made him proud during the war and after. Her hands carried along in her speech, like water-locks that directed the torrent of passion that was this beautiful warrior.

She spoke honestly, most of the times, and had many moments that would have made Salazar crow with pride. She let the best of her mix with the worst of her, and her passions often also ended up with flames burning away at her innards until the coolness of his logic and touch made her world melt away.

They worked well together, people said. It was a good match.

But paradise never lasted forever; so Eden sank to grief.

What set them off was one day in her library when she put a hand to his knee and looked him in the eye as she sat across from him. She set her cup of tea on the table and closed her book; all things she usually did to gain his attention, and as such, he put down his tea and book as well.

Will you marry me, she said. It was confident, but the undertones of nerves and shyness were clear to someone like him; he was too surprised to say anything at first, but he was proud that he did not simply walk out due to shock.

He closed his eyes and said that he could not. At least, she should give him time to think.

Weeks passed, and problems arose. They did not appear out of nowhere, nor did they arrive out of context. The ones they ignored simply rose, full-force and emboldened by the vigor and wistfulness that betrayed their lulling. The way things were before had been enough, at least until her proposal.

While much of it had to do with her urging for marriage, her desire to fulfill a childhood wonder, he understood that much of the issue came from his end as well. His thoughts turned to the fact that most of his decorum was interrupted by his fear of marrying for anything other than true love. She believed she could grow to be in love with him-he knew that he was not, could not be, in love with her.

But emotions often got the best of men, and he was no different. It took him months, but he accepted; and he had everything arranged, with her approval, and their nuptial entered the scene easily after.

The problems they had before seemed dwarfed by their imminent change in lifestyle as man and wife; and things that seemed small were bigger, some that were bigger shrank, and some things seemed to not shift at all.

For a time, his nerves would not settle; eventually, the lull of consistency overtook him. Not complacency, however, for either partner. They tried. All the time. All their days. All of their minds. Always.

Their candle burned brightly, lit with an unnaturally extended blaze of glory. And for that, the dying of the flame was more than just quick. Weeks turned to months, and tumult followed only a year into marriage; he was quick to tell her it was not her fault - at least, not solely.

It was painfully agonizing in an unusually varied sense of longing, confusion, confirmation, and the changing of minds. Their intertwined time lasted longer than either of them foresaw, but it also snapped, cut with a fluid motion that both could see, but never expected.

Often times, people thought that 'becoming a family' would draw lines together and secure particularly troublesome knots; that belief was nothing in the face of practicality and reality, the patron saints of the Hermione Granger-Severus Snape marriage.

Arguments started small, and they only grew to the size of small saplings. Nevertheless, they persevered and blossomed, perhaps like a small bonsai might: enduring and a product of care. Tried, they did; but not all stones can be moved, and as such, the rock upon which their foundation lay slowly chipped away, until cracks reduced them to a tender state.

They did not hate one another, but it was apparent that both of them forgot what it was like, having to try all the time. Trying too hard was a terrifying commitment, especially when commitment was being tried itself.

And still, even though their time together lasted only a little over three years, every moment of it was memorable. Perhaps the differences were too great to begin with, he thought to himself after they had separated. But that was not totally true, if he were to be truthful in his musing.

There was more. Each of them bore their insecurities within sleeves, but he made his painfully more apparent when they walked around together. She was a woman barely in her twenties; he, a man at the cusp of midlife. He felt a quaint peace and fulfillment by being with her; something that he could not feel with any paramount previously in his life, but it was never completely quiet with her.

No eggshells cracked as he danced with her and walked with her, but there was always this inkling of fear. Fear that eventually tamed the both of them, but a fear that did not dissuade him from carrying on as best as he could, a fear that did not tear at her desire to try to play her part or role.

With Lily, life was an adventure; an exploration of the rashness of youth and the bashfulness of a boy whose only other comfort was a once-a-week mother who barely remembered the fact that she had a son. She was the epitome of everything he thought a friend should be, but she was also not the older sister he always thought he wanted.

Hermione Granger gave him a window of opportunity: one filled with goodness and sadness, pleasure and mistakes, and a relationship that truly defined for him what fulfilled his expectations and what did not. She was not some pillar-figure he looked for to lean on, but he rested against her as often as she did him in their time together.

She was not Lily, and she was more than just a student; she opened his eyes to the fact that loving could take more forms and cross boundaries than one might initially think. She brought light and flavor to his cold, though not bitter, and secluded reality. Hermione was not his first partner, but she was the woman who made him realize what he would seek in his last; and for that, she was always welcome to him.

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

Ecclesiastes, 3:1

A year after Hermione and he parted, he ran into Luna. Almost literally. He was chasing a rather rare potions ingredient - a plant at the top of some mountain - which unfortunately had a bunch of woods at the bottom. Distractions came in all forms and sizes, and for Severus, it just so happened that there were more resources than he could count in this forest.

He tripped during a sprint and tried to steady himself but crashed into a brush and lost sight of his chase and even worse, his location. It was fortunate for him to even settle camp that night, but he made do. Three nights after and he had finally began making his way towards the mount, only to find another campfire before he could set his own.

Not surprisingly, a group of travelers, an expedition for some guild, he had noticed, was going to make their way up, too. Surprisingly? Luna Lovegood was among them.

She did not gasp when he came into vision; her eyes did not widen. Instead, she simply smiled and bid him hello, with an open palm and welcoming gesture. She turned to her cohorts and told them that they would have one more. No one argued.

.

.

.

It was an interesting experience, and one that let the two reconnect in more than just prompting the first meeting; creature search had always been a shared hobby, but one of the two had also always been but a schoolgirl for the majority of their relationship.

Subsequent meetings led to eventual outings in more civilized areas such as each other's homes, and eventually, pleasant dinners. Public eye was not an issue, for they only went wherever they felt peace would settle and quiet would remain. Of course, it helped that they had a wider variety of selections than any normal pair.

And quite frankly, all of the meetings had been extremely platonic until an accident one night which happened to involve a large group of people (Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Severus) in a living room in which two of the four had fallen asleep and the remaining two began discussing, of all things, how to make it so magic was as much science as it was mystical.

To the surprise of both witches, the conversation continued all night to the point that when they woke up, Harry and Severus were still talking - they had been clued in on the origins of the conversation, or at least what seemed to constitute such - and had switched sides on the debate. Three times, each.

It ended when, in a way that was hardly remembered other than arbitrary, Harry brought up that Dumbledore though love was magic and - somehow - he thought to dissect it in the context of this conversation: was love a science, too, then? Of course, it hadn't been a completely serious proposal, but the other three residents paused and their gears started to turn.

All of them had very weak notions of love itself, other than anything of the platonic kind, even if they at least tried to understand what being in love was. Filial love was short on all of them; Hermione's parents being rather scarce in her life, Harry's and Severus' being rather abusive, and Luna's love for family only extended so much because her father did love her, but he wasn't quite there and had trouble expressing his affection in ways that made her feel comfortable.

Harry eventually decided that he needed to go home to get some rest and the resident bookworm decided to apparate for him, they all agreed he would probably splinch, and so the blonde and the bat sat together and quietly continued the conversation.

A magi or wise-man would say that life often took unexpected twists and jerked at odd angles for the slightest curves. Incidentally, it was to Luna's surprise when the elder spoke up and asked her what she thought love was, or at least, what a lover should be.

He should have known that curiosity would get the best of him.

It took quite some time for her to come up with an answer; meanwhile, Severus enjoyed himself, sipping tea quietly as he waited. An old practice, reading the lines and gestures of expression and habit, resurfaced in the form of his amusement. He saw the expressions flit across her face and sat there, transfixed by the way she thought because he had become used to the way her face would scrunch up as she tilted her head to the side or looked at the ceiling.

Eventually, she broke her train of thought and almost broke him when she said only one word. He definitely remembered choking and spitting out some tea.

All she did was smile and look at him, eyes closed and head still tilted in the same way she had done since she was but a girl. A small smile made his way to his lips as he thought about it, too.

I don't know what's worth fighting for,

or why I have to scream;

but now I have some clarity

to show you what I mean.

Linkin Park: Breaking the Habit

Contrary to somewhat-popular belief, but aligned with common sense, love at first sight was a myth between the two. Neither was outwardly attracted to the other, though he supposed he was much more inclined to notice her than she him.

And yet, the attraction came in time, from things beyond the skin of surface, though they relished love from skin to soul.

Their love was nothing akin to a miracle, but it was something heavier, something tangible, and lasting with more than some revolutionary impact. It took time for them to be accustomed to one another in this manner, but both resigned themselves to the idea that it was not an easy step for either person.

Comfort was simple to keep in check, but exploration was a matter of patience and understanding. Every step one took, the other took, too. Hand-in-hand, their close friends would say; two left feet and two right feet, always waiting but never wanting. Struggles came in the passing of time when it took a while for their rhythms to match, and even then, there was never perfection or synchronization.

However, their relationship could be summed up with the word synchronicity.

Despite several fallouts (mostly from Luna's more distant coworkers) and the mass of effects that ensued (a squealing Harry - not Hermione), life was good; it also came with much of the bad, but the balance drove him to strive for higher heights as a person. It was somewhere down the line that things had changed, after he had started seeing his little moon, after she had grown some herself.

Their waves were motion; their mountains were pauses. While not a miracle or a stroll in the park, going through all the ways in which they could, they grew together. Naturally, they were happy.

He fell in love, eventually, with the person that Luna Lovegood would become as a young woman in her twenties; a woman who could only love him back with equal resolve.

But before then, the Luna he knew as a student and friend was not some he would have, could have, ever he had utterly fallen for. Not that he minded. After all, falling in love was the first great adventure he had, and it was better than any Snorkack hunt or novel potion-making method, and every thrilling game was a chase of patience and observation.

"And I am not frightened of dying, any time will do, I don't mind.

Why should I be frightened of dying?

There's no reason for it, you've gotta go sometime."

Pink Floyd: The Great Gig in the Sky

His fingers traced the pensieve as he smiled about the moment he knew he would always walk by her. A deep breath later, and he dove in, exploring the silver wisps of a younger him clutching a letter, much like an even younger him did before. However, in this memory, his younger self was not rummaging through the remains of a broken home. This him was sitting before a short table, with tea laid out and his lover on the opposite side. Memory-him touched the parchment carefully. Real him closed his eyes and let the thoughts soak in.

Magic is life. It is infinite, but limited. There is as much space as one could ever see or imagine, but there are only a number of blocks we can count to fill the void.

You think you are not enough for me; you think, every day, every single day. It hurts, you know? To hear that not from your thoughts or lips, but to see it in your eyes and face, your hands and the way you touch me, even though we're in love. You say to my body you love me; you whisper to my heart that you are this great big pillar that I can hold.

But when you don't think I'm looking, your gaunt frame betrays you and you feel colder than any sunless scope. Why is it that you think you're not enough for me? Is it the rumors? Is it yourself? Is it me being me? What is it?

Regardless, it hurts me. I know the words are always on your lips and in your mind. I see them, Severus. Let's break up. I know they're hanging right there, but you always shove them away. And that scares me. I don't want to hear it. I don't. I can't. Right now, my eyes are shut because I would rather be blind than live in a world without you. That is what darkness is to me, Sev.

Everyone tells me that I can do better. But not our friends. They know that there's no such thing as perfection; Harry tells me all the time about his bitter nights when he turns to sleep to avoid the stomachache of drinking, only to fall into a dream of words thrust in his ears about how he should follow his parents, his godfather, Dumbledore, or even you.

He acts like you a lot. I don't know if you have ever noticed, but he does. He tries to take on the hardest tasks and puts a lot of weight on himself. Personally, he strikes me as a masochist; but I wouldn't know. He's a bit quiet when we see one another nowadays, but I think he is happy to make a change, even in all the chaos that tags along his side. That, I think, is a thought which makes him smile a bit more, because it reminds him of how much you gave up for him, for us.

Hermione rants about how awful it is that she has to be the new light for all muggleborns and the perfect little queen that reigns on high, a castle abandoned except for her little knight. He, she says, is what keeps her head on straight. But it gets worse every time we talk and she always clenches her fists a little tighter.

When we talk about you, she gets this little smile on her face - you should know that she regrets nothing of your time together (after all, you know more than most the kind of woman she is, the kind of person she has come to be). I think it is funny that you two miss each other but see each other all the time; but I also am happy that you two still share the love, even though you two are not in love.

George tells me about how he and Ron have accepted that their lives are not normal - two men of absolutely renowned early adulthood running around managing a joke shop of all things? Every time they meet someone older walk in with their kids, they see the confusion and unsettled gaze of people propping up expectations in their faces. It hurts, Sev.

Charlie and Bill, oh, and Fleur too; they all tell me about how everyone, even their own family - yes, Severus, even the Weasleys themselves have complicated interrelations: a startling thought to be sure - suffers from the struggle when they come together.

The short of it is that people want to see what they think they need, they want to hear and find a world that fits their image of everything that builds an everyday paradise. For them, it's admiring people and not pursuing the world. And that hurts a lot, too. It's… quite frankly, Sev, I don't know a word for it besides disgusting.

Someone once said "One who wins should, must, always speak of the world should be; not, of how it is." I I would like to think that; honestly, it sounds so idealistic, so simple, so beautiful. And truthfully? The world can be that way. We like to make it black and white. We also love to make it blur and touch shades of grey. So it can be complicated, too.

But I think that saying cannot be expressed at every moment; if we look at only the way the world can be, do we lose sight of what it already has done? Are we now then blind to any greatness achieved or sadness struck? Every day, I look in the mirror, too, Severus. And I am glad that this world came to be, despite all the past and present and even the untold future. Or futures, presents, and pasts. All of it.

Of all the worlds and all the times, we have us. I see you. I love to talk about all the things out there and I love even more to find them and bring them back. I know you try your best to improve the world around us. And that is something each of us should strive to do.

But when we exchange love between us, there is no other. There is only us. Because… in the space between you and me, there is nothing - it is empty, because it has yet to fill; and that, my Severus, is okay. Because the only thing between us is love, which never occupies anywhere but inside of one another.

No matter what anyone thinks, whether it's us or others, I know that there are ways we can talk about what we could be; and yet, I also know that we are. That this is.

He opened his eyes and followed the trail that Memory-Severus took, his gaze tripping blurrily and weary. A smile crossed his face as he felt his heart constrict with all the love in the world.

No matter what the situation, he knew everything would be okay.

Always.