Title: echo
Author: That-fresh-Rain-Smell
Pairing: Snape/Harry (of course!)
Warnings: angst, character death, angst.
Summary: An echo of the eternal kind.
Author Note: Inspired, once again, in my astronomy class. Of course, you guys don't know about the others that had been inspired by my astronomy class, because I haven't posted yet, but there's a lot. I have…-counts-…12 Snarry's that are in my little idea-notebook (not all from astronomy class, though) and…-counts again-…4 Haiko's, and…3 poems…and…4 originals. I LOVE this little notebook. –Huggles notebook- well, please review and tell me what you think!
Much love!
-Kozi
Echo
An echo will last. An echo, voiced loud enough, with enough emotion, will reverberate throughout all of space, all of time. Every, ever-moving star would hear it, and every desolate planet would feel the intensity, the pain within the words. Since the universe is endless, forever expanding, the echo might even escape time itself, and live on in all its eternity.
Harry held his vigil beside the dying man; stubbornly refusing to move as he watched the death occur, face impassive. The only sign of his plight were his fists, which were wrapped tightly in the grass, as if woven there permanently. He was willing himself to cry, to free the dam of emotion that once threatened to break through, but was now so heavy, so powerful, that it was motionless, still.
The nights that he had cried, the tears were shed for this very man. Clear and red alike, his tears were always reserved for the dark, motionless body before him, pain and anguish always evident in his demeanor as he cried alone.
And now, he was incapable of crying, incapable of showing his great suffering in the only way possible.
The emotion was heavy, weighing on him and making him still, as it was still. Motionless, the feelings seemed to intensify. Self-loathing, pain, hate, anger, fear, and disgust was dripping over him, incapacitating him.
Somewhere in the wave of immobility was the prime cause of it, a word he refused to think, refused to acknowledge, refuse to admit existed within himself. A word he had no trouble saying otherwise, a word that was freely said, and freely given. The word, he refused to connect with this man, refused to say or think it when his thoughts ran too close to him.
As the dark-haired man lay dying, the breath from his lungs shallow and forced, the younger man produced a single word from his bleeding lips. Hoarse from disuse, the word slipped from his throat in a breath, was no more than a breath.
The word was a whisper of the softest kind, and yet it was profound in its emotion, showing his pain and longing in a single breath, revealing his agony and despair, love and hate alike, in one small gust of air.
The whisper would be his echo.
"Severus."