Forever Yours

Author's Note: Yes, yes, I know. This is a little out of the ordinary for me! But I've been practicing original writing recently for my degree and I need to write a different genre so…here we go…

Dedication: Written for Horcruxes and Hallows, without whom, this story and the other character simply would not exist. She is more than special to me.

~ SS19

Every year, the symptoms were the same. They did not wax nor wane, lessen nor diminish - they are always the same. His colleagues knew what to expect, his friends knew the reason why, but no one knew the depth of the pain. No one else could even begin to understand, or know, or comprehend, the pain. He would lie awake in the night, staring at the canopy above his bed, listless and still. He would turn onto his side and reach out, expecting to feel - well, what? Soft skin? Gentle breathing? He knew it would be nothing, the cold silken covers, the flat mattress.

She had hated silk. It had irritated her sensitive skin - skin he had known by heart, its very sight and feel and taste. She would be restless under silken covers, trying not to touch the glazed material - choosing, that one time, to use him as a pillow. He remembered how it felt - her face against his chest, one arm flung carelessly over his stomach, the rhythm of their hearts and their lungs and their very lives in complete synchronisation. It was so very quiet now - no gentle murmurings, nor loud shouting, not even increased breathing. Just silence. And how that silence managed to torment him.

The nights were spent in this state where he concentrated on the canopy above his bed and counted. He counted a different thing each night. How many diamonds one night, how many squares the next, a constant weekly pattern to keep himself occupied. If he did begin to drift, the memories started and the dreams began and he was jolted back to his counting. He would roll under the covers when the silence was too loud, screaming in his very ears, and he would bury his head under the pillow and try to shut it out. When it would not leave him, he was up - and on his feet - and pacing backward and forward so he had something to do. He would wander the castle, the same route each night, silhouetted in his robes and shadowed by his own very potent grief. But at least at night, he could control it.

In the day time, the reminders were everywhere.

He would avoid his potions cupboard, rationing ingredients the month before so he would not have to enter the small room. Not least because it was the place of an interlude that was probably more inappropriate than anything - but because on the shelf before his eyes when he opened the door were toad eyes. He prided himself in alphabetical order - and they were unfortunately placed. He had put a toad in her bedroom. He did not remember now the rhyme or reason behind such a thing. He just remembered the conversation, exchanged by owls, that they had had. She had brought back the toad back.

"I believe this belongs to you?"

"Does it? I do not think so - but thank you for such a gift - I can use his eyes for potions."

He had never told her that he kept the toad. The toad died - but he had kept it. And buried it. And looked after it as best he could before then. Because it was a little piece of them.

So he would keep that cupboard door closed and lose himself in his teaching. And when he did not teach, he would wander the grounds of the school, breathing in the spring air.

Because it was spring. It had been spring when she had -

"Severus. Severus, you need to come with me. Quickly."

"Why, Headmaster? What's the matter?"

No one knew the importance of the patch of elderflowers by the Forbidden Forest. A tiny square of the little white and yellow flowers, interspersed with flashes of blue - forget me nots - tiny, insignificant flowers. Practically weeds. But one had been the scent of her perfume and the other the scent of her hair. He would kneel by the flowers and tend to them, pulling the rampant invaders away and leaving them fresh and pure. He would stay there for a while, stroking the petals and pretending it was her hair. It felt nothing like her. But it was something. That was when he was often joined by someone else - the only person who understood - the only person who knew.

"Please, Severus. Please. Quickly."

"Why - what are you trying to tell me - why is your voice so high pitched?"

He avoided red wine. No matter that it went perfectly with much of his menu - when he chose to eat at all - but he couldn't bear the taste. It was almost like ash on his tongue, at the back of his throat, turning his stomach and twisting it until he felt he could be sick - just from one mouthful.

"Red or white?"

"Red, of course."

How very beautiful she had looked that night. The black dress - just a few nights before Valentine's - that was the first time he could have described himself as breathless. He had forgotten, in that moment their eyes had met, how to breathe. How very silly of him - how childish - yet it was the truth too. How hopelessly romantic and sycophantic and almost pathetic, but still the truth. She had been so beautiful, and he had felt his heart skip that important beat. He remembered how she had had her hair, half up, the rest down, twisting and turning into little curls. He had wanted to run his fingers between those dark strands. And her tanned skin had complimented the black. And that small smile - her smile - how could something so very lovely torment his every moment? Knowing that smile was gone. For good.

Of course, they had done things in the wrong order. They had kissed before their first date. They had made love before marriage. But that was just them and the way they had been. Lost in his wanderings and his musings, he would return to his desk and lower himself into the chair. It would take him moments to acknowledge the photograph frame and each time, it was as if he were seeing the picture anew. Himself, just himself, in Egypt. Wearing a hat and a beige shirt and looking rather pleased with himself. He had loved Egypt as a small child and a teenager. He had gone by himself to escape the world behind and to become what he had wanted to be - the explorer. He could look out at the wealth and the grandeur of the ancient monuments and he could remember himself. He could leave all that behind.

"You'll need this." He put the white sunhat on her head, marvelling at her confusion and the expression in her dark brown eyes. "Why?"

"Because Egypt is hot at this time of year, and you might burn - no matter how tanned your skin is."

"…Egypt?"

"Yes, I'm going. And I want you to come too."

He had explored something else in Egypt that time - some forbidden territory he had never dreamed of. He had found something else.

Her eyes were slightly dazed and her cheeks were flushed. He found her fingers and held them in his own, looking down at her, still feeling the heat of her skin against his. The blankets were soft beneath his knees. Their breathing was quicker than normal, and he could feel his heart still pounding. The air was sweetened by different scents. But he had just wanted to look at her. It was then that the spell had been cast. It was then that he had uttered those three words, and damned himself to be in her power for all eternity.

Not that he cared.

"I love you."

He pushed the photograph away until it fell of the desk. He would pick it up later. He rested his head in his hands, feeling nauseous and faint. It was always the same.

He was coping just fine until the girl in his class. The girl with the silver necklace. The girl with the silver necklace shaped like a cross.

"Do you know what happens when a mortal and a goddess fall in love?"

"No. What?"

"The world ends."

He turned away mid conversation. He could not look at it.

"Unless she forsakes her immortality and says she will stay with him."

"Give up immortality? Done. One promise, though."

"Anything."

"To never break my heart. To never leave without saying goodbye."

And he nodded. He nodded to that, because she was his everything - his own world - and he would never do anything to harm her. To harm her would harm the very best part of himself. "I promise."

"Promise on something."

The necklace, cold in his hands. He had emptied the jewellery box to find it, over his bedroom floor. Picking the pendant up and dangling it from the chain, stroking the silver detail and bringing it to his lips, kissing it gently. Pouring his love and his affection and his devotion into that single piece of metal. Giving it to her, wrapping it into her hands, telling that he would swear upon it - because he would die for her.

"I'd die for you." A pause. A long pause. "Say something, please."

"…I love you."

He blinked. And then he kissed her.

Two months after her death, he had been found in the library, surrounded by sheaves of parchment. Torn from books, littered by his knees, covered in ink, any reference. The librarian had fetched the Headmaster, who had surveyed him from the doorway.

"Severus - what are you doing?"

"It's gone - I'll get rid of it - it'll never hurt anyone again -"

"Get rid of what?"

"Living Peace. I'll destroy it."

Why had she been addicted to a potion that promised only a lie? He had known it from the moment he had first met her - he had been able to smell it on her robes - but he had ignored it. He had tried to help her, tried to wean her from it, tried to tell her it was dangerous - but she had never listened to him. She had refused to take the samples that he brewed, throwing them back in his face in one of their most bitter arguments. It had been a part of her and he had loved every single part of her - and he had promised that he would always be there to protect her - to save her - to die for her -

The knock at the door. He was playing with the little box in front of him. Opening it to look at the sparkling object inside, stroking it, examining it in the flickering candlelight. He had raised his head. "Come in."

Albus was there. "Severus - I need to speak to you."

"Look at this, Headmaster - look at it - isn't it beautiful? Too small for me of course - but perfect for her finger."

How Albus had not slammed the ring from his hand, he would never know. He must have looked pathetic, sat behind his desk, looking at a ring she would never wear, dreaming of a future he would never have - yet blissfully ignorant. And that was how he would remain until Albus chose to speak again.

"Severus. You need to come with me. Quickly."

He raised his head. "Why? Headmaster? What's the matter?" He could see it in Albus' eyes, an emotion he declined to feel or acknowledge. Pity. "…Albus?"

"Please, Severus. Please. Quickly."

He slammed the door of the bathroom and leaned heavily on the sink, his breathing tight and short and hurting his chest. He coughed and felt the bile rise at the back of his throat. He would not remember this - he would not remember this - he would not remember Albus carefully taking his elbow and squeezing gently as they had arrived outside her house.

"I can't see her yet - I have not decided what to say."

Sweat was beading on his forehead.

"Severus - you need to stay calm - just cling to me - don't let go -"

He gripped the sink tighter.

The living room lights were dark, but he knew the room well enough. The sofa - the chairs - the floor, oh yes how he remembered the floor - but there was light in the kitchen. And movement. Lots of movement. Why did she have company?

Albus' hand on his arm. More firm now, his nails digging in. Still he had not realised, still he did not understand, still he did not comprehend -

He threw up.

There was a figure on the floor. He smelt it. Laced in the air. Someone stepped back and he saw her dark hair and her tanned skin and the stillness of her limbs. And the scream seemed to be ripped from his stomach as he pulled away from Albus and collapsed to his knees beside her.

He sagged against the sink, head buried in his arms, still smelling his own vomit as his knees were weak and he could no longer support himself.

"No - no - it's all right, I'm here, I'm here." He had stroked her cheek and pulled her into his arms. Her eyes were open, but only just, and he was not sure if she could see him. "My love - it's me -"

And she tried to speak, but she could not. She was so cold.

"My love - please - you promised - you said we'd never…we'd never - " He trailed off as she struggled to breathe and struggled to focus on him. "Please…"

The only woman who could ever make him beg.

"Sev…Sev…" She was trying to choke his name. He couldn't bear it. He shushed her. "It's all right - you'll be fine - you'll be fine -"

"Sev - " She couldn't quite manage the second syllable. There was pain in his chest. "You promised that we would never break each other's hearts - you - you promised!"

Her eyes fluttered away from his. Her fingers fell limp in his. "No…no…" He gripped her shirt and pulled her close to him. "No - please - bring her back - someone - bring her back!"

Albus was beside him in that moment, putting one arm around his shoulders even as he tried to shake the Headmaster off - "Bring her back!"

"I can't, Severus - I can't."

He looked to her left side. There was shattered glass on the floor beside her. A potions' vial.

She had been poisoned. A potion masquerading as her precious Draught of Living Peace.

Albus had been good to him, the months that followed. He had taken Severus in and given him a room by his office. He had kept an eye on him. He had been there on the darkest nights. He had stopped Severus killing himself more than once. He had kept him sane in his own unique way. And slowly, Severus had started to rebuild himself.

Until it was revealed that his lover had visited St Mungo's the same day she had been poisoned.

Albus was reading a letter emblazoned with the hospital's artwork. Severus was sat opposite him, staring into the fire. He did not feel warm. Everything was cold to him.

Albus had risked a glance toward Severus, shaking his head. "Severus…"

He had glanced toward him, eyes red and tired. "Yes?"

"She visited St Mungo's." He had hesitated. Severus stared at him. "Why?"

Albus had folded the letter and was not able to meet his eyes. "She was six weeks pregnant."

He fell to the floor. The tiles of the bathroom floor met him. He curled up, knees to his chest, tight - his entire form shaking with the sobs that were there, just out of sight - in one sweep, a nameless and faceless killer had claimed the life of both his lover and his unborn child. He shivered uncontrollably, wishing he could see her, one final time. Wishing he could touch her. Wishing he could be with her, hear her voice, feel her skin. Smile as she cried his name.

Curled together on a warm beach, watching the waves. "I have never been this happy."

She nodded against him. "Me too."

"Mia…" He murmured. He lurched up and opened the cabinet, pulling out the vial. Uncorking the lid. Tipping the liquid down his throat and staggering to the bed. That was the only way he could find peace, now - be it living or not. His eyes drifted closed.

And he was back in her armchair. She would clamber onto his lap in the way she had before. Their eyes would be level and he would smile at her, entwining their fingers. She kissed the end of his nose and he pulled her closer, letting their lips brush together. She would hug him then, her warmth wrapping around him and keeping him safe. She would lean back and murmur against his ear. "Mine?"

And he would kiss her neck and smell her hair. He would smell forget me nots and elderflowers and if he kissed her lips he would taste red wine. His hand would rest on the silver necklace about her neck. And he would look at her and whisper, for her only - "Forever yours."