Letting Go
Severus flexes his hands, working the stiffness from his fingers before chopping the knotweed fine, so very fine. It needs a light touch, one he has difficulty in achieving now, but he will, because he must.
The task done to his satisfaction, he slides the fragments into the cauldron and stirs, very slowly and gently, first anticlockwise, then clockwise.
When it is done, he fills a glass with the mixture and carries it upstairs.
He will have some later, but first, he needs to see to Harry.
The bedroom is darkened, still. He supports Harry's shoulders and holds the glass to his lips. Harry's eyes flutter, but he manages to take a sip, then another. Soon, the glass is empty and Severus lowers him to the pillow. Harry's hand is clutched in his robes, and he whispers, "Stay with me? Please?"
Severus stretches out beside him, carefully sliding his arm beneath the frail shoulders, bringing the body to his, pressing warmth into him.
"That's so good," Harry whispers hoarsely, "It won't be long now."
Severus pulls him closer, says nothing.
He hasn't got much to say any more.
"When I go, will you ..."
"I shall follow soon after," Severus whispers against the soft white hair.
He thinks it isn't fair, but then, nothing is fair, he knows this.
"Only if you must."
"What else would I do?"
"You could live ..."
"No."
He tries to move away, but Harry holds tight, whispers again, "Not long now."
Severus suddenly understands, strokes the hair, the back, his Harry.
It isn't fair, but for all that he has probably endured many more Cruciatus curses, many more damaging spells, he was never so young, nor had they been held on him for so long, so young. Harry should have outlived him, should have had more in his life.
"You should not have this. I should have gone before you."
"But then, who would make this so easy for me? I couldn't brew this for you."
"No. But for you to go now .."
"It's alright. I know there are people waiting for me."
He draws his hand from the thistledown hair to his hip in a long slow caress.
"And I'll be waiting for you."
"Yes. There won't be anyone else."
"I think there will."
He strokes the loved body, taking as much comfort as he is trying to give, absorbing as much sense memory as he can of this, the way Harry fits to him, even now when he is so frail, when he smells less like his Harry and more like the potions that reduce the tremors and pain.
Harry draws a shuddering breath and whispers, "Kiss me."
Severus caresses the thin lips with his, Harry gasps against him, then stills.
He doesn't let go, he won't let go now until he must.
He continues to stroke the body, continues to lie there as the light fades entirely.
He feels lips move against his temple, brushing his hair back, then to his ear, then his neck and shoulder, but Harry is still in his arms.
He must get up, drink his potion, tell Hermione, who will let others know, who will look after everything.
He rises stiffly, bends to place another kiss on the loved lips and whispers "I'll follow you, soon."
The potion eases his aching joints, lets him kneel by the fireplace to tell Hermione, "He's gone."
She closes her eyes, asks, "When?"
"Just now. He was peaceful."
"I'm glad. I'm glad it wasn't painful."
"No."
"Are you alright? Would you like me to come over, or do you want to be alone?"
"Leave it until tomorrow. I'll leave the Floo open for you."
She looks at him, then nods.
He goes to his desk, checks that he has left everything in order. It is all as it should be; the fire has died down and he banks the thin pile of ashes with a very old dry piece of yew, places the two wands upon it.
Then, he moves slowly back upstairs to the bedroom and lies down.
"What would I have to live for?" he whispers softly to his lover, as he gathers him in his arms.
"I want to be with you. Wait for me, I'm coming to you."