Title: Twenty Years
Author: Huldra
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling with the exception of old Mr Crickey who was so kind as to make an appearance.
Warning/note: This story is overly fluffy. It's full of simpering and love, but I was in the mood to write something in the theme of spring. Not everyone's cup of tea, but hey, I needed something nice after all the ANGST I usually dish up. Also it's slash-themed.

Twenty Years

It had only been in the corner of his eye for a second but it had made Harry draw his breath and turn in a rather dramatic swirl. Searching between the rows of shelves stacked high with books there was no one there except a young girl with a long green dress in a decidedly new ageish style, and a middle aged man pretending he wasn't really peeking at the books in the "adult literature" section. There had been no dark man there staring at him from above the cover of a book. Shaking his head and chiding himself for his paranoid notions Harry turned back to the books he was poring over. Ah there it was; Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. It was his guilty pleasure. The last copy of his favourite book had unfortunately perished in the great "Fire Incident" as he liked to refer to it as. He had been taking down all his books and stacking them up neatly in order to dust his bookshelves properly when the otherwise so enjoyable fire in the grate had sparked and a glow had shot out landing on the highly flammable paper. At least eighty books had perished after first having been burned to cinder by the fire and then poured water on.

Lovingly stroking the cover of the book Harry opened it and sniffed appreciatively. New book smell was different from used book smell, but he loved them both just as much. His book obsession hadn't really escalated into the full-blown obsession it was now until about eight or so years ago. Previously he had been just too occupied with building a career, getting married and having children to be able to spend, or waste as his younger self would have said, time on books and literature. Lately Harry had even sat himself down in front of the computer in his study to write from time to time. There hadn't really been any amazing plots revealing itself to him yet, so he used the new found burst of creativity to colourfully write down his own experiences from The Last War. He knew it was somewhat of a cliché, but it was really the only thing he could come up with. At the moment of course, Harry was sure that any day now a story would suddenly plop into his mind like magic, and he would be writing like mad. He needed that.

Walking up to the desk to pay for the book he smiled politely to the cashier who returned it half-heartedly before dismissing him completely in favour of doing her job as quickly as possible. There was something so relieving about moving around in the muggle world. No one really stopped and stared or gasped or lost things on the floor in eagerness when he walked past. To be honest this didn't occur as often in the Wizarding World as it previously had, but it happened often enough for Harry to choose the more ignorant audience of the Muggle World whenever he could.

Thanking the cashier warmly and getting an appreciative "have a good day, sir!" in return for not being a general bastard, he exited the store. The bell rang as he opened the door and he took a deep breath of the warm, but at the same time so deceptive crisp, spring air outside. The winter had been uncomfortably long this year, but suddenly summer had come barging in and all the snow had been melted in the matter of a day. The next week the flowers were already blooming and the trees had draped themselves in beautiful and lively green. Everyone had shed their outercoats and basked in the warm sun and freedom of not having to wear seven layers of clothes. Harry was one of them, though he was wearing the thick sweater Ginny had put out for him before she left for work.

Truth be told, he should have been at work too, but these bright spring days were just too glorious to miss by sitting inside a dusty office several metres underground. Godric's Hollow was a very nice, though quite eventless, place to live Harry noted as he nodded to nice old Mr. Crickey as he passed him walking down the street. It was refreshing to live in a society mixed between muggles and wizards. No one judged anyone else for the simple reason that everyone was just as strange or eccentric, magical or not. Putting his hands into his jeans pockets and letting the bag with his new purchase dangle from his wrist Harry made a turn and stopped dead in his tracks. Just across the street stood the man with his back to him, apparently busy studying something in the shopwindow. Harry might not have been able to see his face, but he recognized the man from the bookstore nevertheless. So he hadn't imagined it after all? Forcing his feet to walk again Harry hurried to cross the street, but managed to stop himself just as a bus drove past in high speed. The loud sound of the large vehicle was offending and Harry found himself taking a good few steps back and stare after it with an annoyed grimace on his face. But then he remembered the dark man and swirled his head back to confront him, only to find that the spot which had previously been occupied was now decidedly Mystery Man free.

It was quite ridiculous, all of it. Harry was loosing his marbles at last; there could be no other explanation. Why else would he see Severus Snape at every corner only for the man to disappear when he looked closer? He had been dead for twenty years. Twenty long years. He wouldn't come back, none of them would. A cloud must have blown in front of the sun by the breeze as the world suddenly seemed like a much darker and colder place. Hunching up his shoulders Harry turned back in the direction which would lead him home and trudged on.

Maybe the sudden creativity and imagination he had acquired as of late was making him see things which weren't really there. There were nothing more to it than ignoring it and not talk to anyone about it. Heaven knows people looked at him weirdly enough as it was, even twenty years after he had vanquished the person who had made him "special". The scar was still there of a sorts, but a lot less visible. All that was left was a thin white line which could only be seen if you knew where to look. Most people did of course, but Harry was adapt at letting his hair grow just so it covered it. He might not have the power of making it lie flat, but he could make it obscure his face if nothing else.

On his way home Harry passed the park of Godric's Hollow and in a spur of spring joy decided he could sit down and read some of Pride and Prejudice on one of the benches there. The green of the trees had a poisonous colour to it, as if so much life was returning back to the leaves they were glowing with it. Poison, like snake poison. And the grass would try and match it, but with a much more dark and mature shade. Like the green of Slytherin house. Shaking his head again Harry smiled ruefully to himself. He was really getting into quite a state! Perhaps he should have gone to work after all since it seemed as if walking around idly made him quite barmy in the head.

But they were hardly any new thoughts, were they?

Sitting down heavily on the bench underneath the great ash by the pond Harry let out a long sigh. The emigrating geese immediately took an interest in him and swam closer. Waving his hands by his sides to show them that he had unfortunately forgotten to walk by the bakery they didn't even spare him a glance before turning their tail feathers to him.

On the other side of the pond a young couple was walking hand in hand, so caught up in staring deeply into the other's eyes it was a wonder they didn't trip in each other's feet. A smile, which could either be interpreted as wistful or reflecting, curved Harry's lips and his eyes turned away from the sight.

Opening his bag he fished out his new book and rested it on his lap. Personally Harry was slightly sad for there never having been any follower up. What had happened to poor Mary? And Lydia? Had the relationship between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy really been that great in the long run, them being so different? But Harry supposed they had been quite similar on all the points that counted: in their passions, beliefs and utter loyalty. Just like himself and… someone else. Hadn't he been a bit like Elizabeth? Quick to judge without really trying to see behind the scenes or understand what was happening. He, like Elizabeth, had gotten the full story in the end, but it had been too late for him.

Not to say he hadn't had a wonderful life. He loved and cared for Ginny very much, and he had three wonderful children and a nice accomplished career. What more could a man really want?

Yes what indeed…

Looking up again with the intention of finding out where the young couple had gone he found his breath hitch in his throat for the third time that day. This time there was really no mistake. The man stood right in front of him, staring at him as if he had been doing so for quite some time already. He seemed undisturbed by Harry's lack of dignity as the book fell out of his lap when he jumped to his feet only to sit down again when his head started to reel dangerously. Harry's heart must have stopped beating only to start again with the intention to kill him as it was now pulsing so furiously it was a wonder it held together at all. Clutching at his chest Harry's face paled to a sickly paste white colour before turning red, then purple, then blue.

'In Merlin's name, breathe!' Severus Snape barked as he took a few steps forward to slap Harry across the face.

The sting of the slap chased the complete blankness which had settled over him away, but he was anything but composed. Harry's mouth moved like a fish on land without making a sound other than illegible quacks. Severus took the silence of the other man as an invitation to sit down on the bench beside him. Bending down he picked up the fallen book, dusting off the little insects which had already contemplated making it their new home.

'Pride and Prejudice?' he commented dryly with a raised eyebrow. 'Yes I did see you look at something like this in the bookstore. Really Potter. Though I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that when you first got an interest in books it had be sleazy romance novels.'

'It's not sleazy!' Harry finally managed to bark and snapped the book out of the supposedly dead man's hands. Severus only folded them neatly in his lap and crossed his legs with a sort of practiced grace. The movement of the other man made Harry glance over him with a new sense of detail and was surprised to find that he was wearing muggle clothes. He couldn't remember ever having seen Severus wear muggle clothes previously. Not that he had ever had the need, of course. There were many changes and the most notable to Harry was the hair, which was the second thing his eyes darted to when he realized he had stared at the other man's legs a bit too long. It was shorter, neater and overall healthier. The entire man seemed healthier. More meat on his bones, and even if the hue of his skin was still a decidedly British pale it was no longer tinted yellow. But the eyes were the same bottomless black as they had always been. How could Harry remember them so well, as if it was only yesterday he had stared into them for the last time, and not twenty years ago?

It might be because he had dreamt of them every night since then.

'How? Why? When? How?' blurted Harry, unable to phrase the questions any more intelligently.

Severus took a deep breath through his nose and leant back on the bench, letting his eyes take in every detail of the park, still ever watchful.

'I faked it,' was all he supplied and it didn't seem as if he was going to be spilling his guts any time soon.

'You… you faked it? Faked what!?' Harry was aware that his voice was growing shrill, but he felt he had every right to be a bit hysterical at this point.

'My death you mor-' Severus bit in him the last word but his scowl told Harry quite clearly what he wanted to call him.

A silence welled up between them as Severus stared at the pond and Harry stared at Severus. He had silver streaks in his hair now, but Harry supposed that only had to be expected as he had even himself found a grey hair just the other day. A voice in the back of his head, which was quite insistent really, still kept on claiming that this was all his overactive imagination playing with him. This couldn't be reality because Severus was dead and had been for twenty years. And now he was supposedly sitting there, even more dashing than he had ever been before, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

No one had ever been able to evoke as deep emotions in Harry as Severus. No one had made him feel such deep hatred, disgust, disbelief, fear or indeed, love. The last was a close guarded secret, something which had developed through time. Harry had often taken himself harshly by the collar and shaken himself quite soundly. It was just a romancing of something which had never been, and would never be, true. While alive Harry had felt nothing but disgust and hatred for the other man. It wasn't until he was dead that a grudging sense of respect had been forced upon him, and somehow he had managed to fool himself to think it was love.

And now he was sitting there, the epitome of everything he had imagined in his pathetic need to glorify every person who had meant something to him in some way. First his parents, then Sirius, and eventually Severus. He had even named his youngest son after the man desperate to let his memory live on for a generation longer.

'You faked your death and just left us here…' said Harry finally in an impossibly quiet voice. It should have been drowned in the spring breeze, but he knew Severus had heard him. 'I don't think I am really able to deal with this. Granted it all being the truth and not me having gone off my rocker, of course.'

'I never really intended on returning,' answered Severus in the same quiet tone of voice, as if they were talking about something highly forbidden. And perhaps they were.

'So… your plan was to die, to disappear and leave us all behind thinking you dead. Just leaving like that, without a last word or anything?' Harry could feel the lump in his throat choke up his voice and tears threatened at the edge of his vision. He silently cursed himself. It wasn't enough that he was caught reading Pride and Prejudice, no, he was near crying in front of the man who would be the least understanding about it.

Severus expression was unreadable, but the fact that he didn't have anything to say was more than enough for Harry.

'You didn't think it would matter to any of us did you? That you wouldn't be missed, or grieved?'

'I must admit it never really even occurred to me, I was too busy saving my own skin.'

The way he talked was different from the way Harry remembered it. It was more similar to the conversations he had imagined in his mind, calm and relatively decent. Was it all the years which had passed or just proof that this was all a part of his twisted imagination? Who went around making up conversations with their dead Potions professors anyway? Especially the professors you had sworn to hate, and who had treated you as less than dirt the entire time they had known you. Severus had only saved him because he was Lily's son, but he couldn't help but hope that somewhere on that road Severus had in fact seen Harry as more than just the result of his parent's marriage, and ultimately Lily's betrayal to Severus.

'Are you just a fiction of my imagination, or are you actually here?' Harry finally ventured to ask, knowing full well that if Severus actually were real he had just made a mighty fool of himself.

The corners of Severus' mouth quirked upwards just a little, wrinkles appeared around his eyes to finally show off a sense of humour which previously had never been detected in that mask of a face. It took Harry's breath nearly away and he couldn't help but answer the smile in kind, perhaps even a fraction wider in relief.

'It would be easier for me to say that I was indeed a part of your fiction,' said Severus, making Harry's heart lurch painfully with what all that this implied. 'But that would also be an unnecessary lie.'

Shaking his head for the hundredth time already that day Harry couldn't work his way around it. There were too many unanswered questions and he was afraid of giving voice to any of them in case Severus would deny him the answers. It would be impossible to live with that; knowing that Severus was indeed alive but not how or why. There were just too many how or whys that needed to be asked, frankly.

Eventually Severus uncrossed his legs and rose from the bench. The sudden movement startled Harry out of his contemplations and without thinking he reached out and grabbed a hold of Severus' left arm, halting his progress. Turning with raised eyebrows in mild surprise, Severus stared first at Harry's hand clutching his arm and then travelled up it to land on his face.

'I just- I just needed to talk to you a bit more,' muttered Harry flustered, grudgingly letting go of the arm in favour of clenching his hand into a fist and placing it on top of his book.

'Then stop sitting there simpering like a fool and walk with me,' said Severus unkindly while turning and removing himself a few steps before stopping with his back to Harry. It was strange to see him move without the heavy, black robes billowing around him, but somehow he managed to give the same impression even with just a pair of black trousers and a sensible sweater.

Jumping up from the bench Harry hurried to place the book back in its bag and moved up to Severus' side. The other man started to walk again without even looking at him, but Harry didn't mind.

The sun was peeking from behind the clouds again, bathing the pond in a light which made it twinkle with a thousand diamonds. They passed the young couple who had found a tree to snuggle up to as they held each other's hands and kissed passionately. In a fleeting moment Harry was wondering why they didn't worry about catching a something sitting there on the cold ground, but then he remembered that when you were young a cold wasn't a threat against the feeling of being in love.

Spring. The season of love, no matter how cliché that might sound, Harry knew it was true. Even at the age of thirty seven he could still feel the blood boil through his veins and his heart skip as his stomach was infested with butterflies. Walking there beside Severus and watching all the life happen around them his previous feeling of contentment returned, even if it was obscured by confusion and curiosity.

But there were things that needed to be asked, that needed to be found out. It might have been twenty years ago, but one didn't forget watching another human bleed to death by a vicious bite to the neck. The bite and the blood had been real, they had even buried him!

Just as Harry was thinking furiously to come up with a way to phrase his questions Severus broke the silence all on his own.

'I don't really have to explain myself to you,' he said quietly, as if to make sure Harry didn't get any ideas of importance. 'But I will highlight a few things for you, because I am just that kind.' Harry had to feign a cough in order to disguise the untimely need to laugh at the last statement. Severus only raised an eyebrow and spared Harry a withering glance from the corner of his eye.

'The fact that you Gryffindors actually thought me dead in the first place goes a long way to prove why the Dark Lord nearly managed to overthrow this country not only once, but twice. If any of you had bothered to open a book once in a while you would all know that there are more than enough Dark Arts texts on how to bind a soul to the body, dying or not. Granted, this is what more often than not creates what the common man would call a zombie, but if you know enough you will easily be able to artificially keep your body alive until you are able to heal it properly. And transfiguring something into looking only marginally like a dead corpse is ridiculously easy if everyone is expecting to see just this.'

Even muggle illusionists are able to pull most of that off.'

Harry nodded solemnly through the entire speech, but couldn't help but think that Severus loved hearing his own voice perhaps a bit too much. There was something so reassuring in knowing that the intelligence he had always credited Severus with had never been forfeited. While Severus had watched over him he had always been safe, he knew that now. Severus was not someone who lost under any circumstances and if he had promised that he would make Harry win over Voldemort then he would win over Voldemort. No wonder Dumbledore had trusted his dubious spy.

'I am sure you can imagine that when the war was getting to a close I was quite busy trying to find a way for me to be able to get out of it relatively unscathed. With Albus… out of the game this would prove quite difficult.

'Yes I could testify that I had indeed acted on Dumbledore's orders, but somehow I doubted that would be sufficient for the Ministry to oversee the fact that I had been the cause of quite a few murders on His side during the war. Whether I killed on The Dark Lord's orders or Albus' was one and the same to them as no matter how you look at it I posed a direct threat to the Ministry.'

'And besides,' said Severus, stopping unexpectedly in his quick stride to turn and look down on Harry who nearly pumped into him in surprise. 'I really wanted to see what all this "freedom" talk was really about.'

An eyebrow was raised and the sides of his mouth quirked up and the humour glinted in his eyes again. Harry found himself fighting for his breath as his own silly grin threatened to overtake his entire face.

'And did you find that freedom?' asked Harry, hoping that the breathlessness he felt wasn't actually audible. On some level he was quite conscious of what kind of fool he might portray himself as, but the rush in his ears drowned it all out.

'Yes, in many ways I did,' answered Severus, and if Harry hadn't known better he could have sworn the man looked wistful. 'But then I realized that after twenty years of travelling there was something I left back here which always would force me to return sooner or later.'

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise at hearing this. He couldn't really imagine what it could be that meant so much to the other man that he would return from his self-imposed exile. Severus had turned his back to him again as he continued the walk around the pond, seemingly quite unconcerned whether Harry was following or not. The crisp breeze of spring took a hold of his hair, making a wonderful mess of it nearly able to rival Harry's own.

'And what was that?' called Harry after the man, unable to keep his curiousness in check, and perhaps even a bit of jealousy was nagging somewhere in there.

Severus didn't stop, but he did slow down enough to turn his head and look at Harry, the hair obscuring the slight scowl on his face.

'You,' he sneered condescendingly.