Title: Rainbow
Rating: PG
Warnings: Character death, song fic, One-shot, SS/HP implications
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or story elements. Those belong to the wonderful JK Rowling and I am most certainly not making any money off of her hard work.
Summary: The war is over, but not in the way you might expect. Severus Snape wishes he could forget. Inspired by the song Rainbow by Elisa.
Author's Note: This is a rewrite and a repost of a much older version of this story I wrote nearly 5 years ago, so if it sounds familiar at all, that's why.
You not an enemy anymore
There's a ray of light upon your face now
I can look into your eyes
And I never thought
It could be so simple
-"Rainbow" by Elisa
Severus Snape was dying. Not in a literal sense, much to the dismay of many, but because he could no longer remember himself. The person he knew himself to be no longer existed. Death.
He remembered green, though.
Or rather, the professor had become empty of nearly everything but noise, shouting until his throat was raw. He was a mere shell of a man in the hands of his enemy. Funny how that word had begun to change, enemy, just as everything else had. Or so he thought. He couldn't remember, to be honest.
But he could remember green.
Something had wound its way inside of his head, maybe a curse, and had been feasting on his mind, hungrily devouring everything until he had fewer memories of himself left. He no longer had a childhood, a first kiss, Christmas hols with his parents. He had repressed so much, he was almost out of things to forget.
If he was honest, he would say his descent into oblivion had all started years ago. That's when he began to slowly lose himself. To put any feel of importance on the date, it began in Harry Potter's fifth year. It took Snape months of thinking—or maybe it was only days?—to pinpoint the exact moment he felt himself slipping away, changing, but he attributed the long process to the already near loss of his sanity. And Severus Snape was not an honest man.
Remedial Potions. Occlumency.
He and the boy had pushed and pushed at each other's mental barriers until they'd caved in exhaustion. Potter, stubborn as he was, did not—WOULD not—stop until he saw into the recesses of Snape's mind himself and satisfied some proud curiosity. If Snape was the enemy, surely he would see it there. The only other people to ever look inside of Snape's head were Dumbledore and Voldemort. Now a mere boy had done it, even if he hadn't found what he was looking for. Snape was ashamed and yet, disgustingly satisfied. The brat had done something he could actually be admirable of. He could finally see the Harry everyone else obsessed about.
Powerful.
Something had changed. Snape himself had changed. After all, on that day, Severus Snape no longer hated Harry Potter, but rather begrudgingly respected the boy. And it was the reason he did all the things that he did.
It was mid-day in the summer, but Snape could hardly tell where the sun was. Darkness had settled on the grounds of Hogwarts for days as the battle raged on. He wondered if it would ever disappear, or if this darkness would consume them all. Like the Slytherin he was, he stayed far from the duels and curses and waited, biding his time. It came when he spotted Harry Potter. Even from this distance he could make out the green of his eyes. Any spell or curse, when reflected in those green orbs, looked like Avada Kedavra.
Whenever Snape looked into his eyes, he saw death. Lumos! Expelliarmus! Expecto Patronum! Each time, Snape died a little inside.
"You need to protect the boy, Severus, when I'm gone." Dumbledore's voice was thin and raspy. The voice of a man who had over-stayed his welcome.
"Why me? Why not the werewolf?"
"It has to be you."
"It should never be me." The sadness was heavy and Snape didn't want to think about what that had meant.
"It's only always been you. You are the only one who's made an art of it after all of these years. Tea?"
Silence.
Snape moved through the shadows, approaching the duel of boy and monster. The ground shook under his feet at each spell. The next always more powerful than the last. Potter was using curses no seventh year Gryffindor should know. But he did know them because Snape had taught them to him.
Snape, who hated Harry the moment he laid eyes on him. Snape, who corrupted Harry in more ways than one. Snape, who only cried once in front of Harry. Snape, who was running now to do something foolishly sentimental, like save Harry's life.
The potions' master was almost there…almost to Potter's side. His arm was stretched out before him. So close. Accio Harry Potter! So very close…ACCIO HARRY POTTER! Almost… But then there was a flash of Avada Kedavra green. He could never be sure, though.
He only ever saw green anymore.
Any curse, when reflected in those eyes, looked like Avada Kedavra. When he reached the place where Harry Potter once stood, he found nothing but a bundle of robes and limbs and unruly hair.
"Traitor." But he couldn't bring himself to care.
Severus Snape was unsure how many years it had been since they lost the war. His days moved by clouded in pain and memories he couldn't even remember. Every day that passed was one day closer to his death, and he was sure that the event held some sort of importance. The end was the only thing he had to look forward to.
The darkness that had settled over the world never left. Snape had long stopped wishing to see the sun once more. Faceless voices told him that having hope was what had gotten him there in the first place. Funny…he couldn't recall ever having hope.
The cries from all around him, echoing down from long hallways, kept him up at night. The cries of pain, anguish, sadness, defeat, and loss…what could they have lost? Snape thought it couldn't have paled in comparison. At night when he never slept, he was haunted by a head of black hair, thick lashes over closed eyes, fumbling hands, crooked smiles, and starched robes.
During the day he only ever saw green. Avada Kedavra.
And he screamed, but it never made a difference.
Green.
Accio Harry Potter.
Severus Snape was dying.