Word count: 741
For: Assignment 11, Psychology, task 4.
Characters: Lily and Snape
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
This would be the last time I ever saw her. At least, the last time I ever saw her not in a battle, or worse, dead. I wasn't expecting her to show up that night; I could only hope that she would. I had hesitated when I sent her the letter, afraid that she would tell James. But when she walked through the door, her red hair falling around her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkling with a mix of desire and fury, I knew she hadn't told him.
The door of the come-and-go-room shut heavily behind her. She made no noise, and I didn't dare make a move. She seemed conflicted for a moment, before a look of determination crossed her face. She kicked off her shoes, and slid her socks off, just like she did so many times before. Quietly, she walked towards me, my eyes following her every move. Her feet padded on the cozy, brown carpet the room had put on display. The fireplace cast her shadow on the wall behind her, growing longer and wider as she got closer. When she stood in front of me, my hand instinctively went to grab hers. Instead, I forced myself to leave it there halfway, letting her give me her consent.
Hesitantly, she put her hand in mine, and let out a breath; I did, too. She allowed me to pull her gently into my lap, and there we sat. Her, clinging tightly to my neck, face buried in my chest, and I, cradling her in my arms, wanting nothing more than to never have to let her go. I lost track of time in the scent of her hair and warmth of her body, relishing this moment, assured that it would be our last. I tried to memorize the way she felt in my arms, and the pattern of her breathing. But it didn't seem like it would be enough. I needed more. I brought my hand to her face, slowly pushing her to look into my eyes. Bright green met black, and I just couldn't help myself. I leaned in, close enough for our breath to mingle with each other, but far enough away for her to pull back if she wanted; she didn't. I closed the gap between us, pressing my chapped lips softly to hers. She didn't kiss me back instantly, but before I could pull away, she responded slowly but surely, agreeing physically to my written plea to allow us one more night with each other.
The room knew our needs, and the couch we were sat on expanded to a bed. As we made love into the night, I focused only on the things that I could touch, smell, taste, and hear, doing all that I could to remember her. My hands moved along her body, filling in a map of every curve, dip, and mound. My lips molded to hers, sculpting a masterpiece in my brain. I breathed deeply through my hooked nose, taking in her natural and unnatural scents. The smell of her sex was sweeter than pudding; it tasted sweeter, too. Her moans and gasps egged me on. I lived only to hear of her pleasure. And even when we were finished, exhausted and spent, lying in an entangled heap of limbs and sweaty skin, I memorized her still. Every freckle on her nose, the specks of gold in her green eyes, the pre-mature laugh lines when she smiled... I took it all in, drinking it up like a man desperate for water. I didn't want to remember our fall. I only wanted to remember this. I only wanted to remember the love we had for each other, despite its early demise.
It had been like watching the sunset; it was beautiful and awe-inspiring, with so many colors that blend together, creating a new masterpiece with every shift. The scene so captivating, I just had to stare. I memorized the colors, and I couldn't help but feel so lucky. I fell asleep in that feeling, content to keep her for a little while longer. But then I woke to an empty bed, and the sun was gone, somewhere under the horizon, and the colors that once danced together were faded to a muted darkness. Surely, the sun must have set too fast. But who was I to tell the sun to slow down? There was nothing left to do, but to accept that the sun had moved on to other horizons.