Disclaimer: Despite my delusions telling me otherwise, I do not own Harry Potter. Or Severus Snape. Or Sirius Black. Or anything in that amazing, incredible world a fabulous imagination created. I would like, however, to mention that Ron Weasley completely owns me.
Note: Started off as a one-shot and then I carried on writing and writing so changed it to a proper story. First posting on this site, don't know if that's important to mention or not, so I thought I'd better. I am horrific at spelling and fantastic at typos so apologies in advanced for the errors I know are lurking in there and will not present themselves to me no matter how many times I read it over. It's kind of weird because Snape and Harry are nowhere near my favourite pairing. Sirius belongs with Snape and Potter belongs with Malfoy. Except in this story my brain is determined to splurt out. And yes this is slash so you've had fair warning before you read, that is if anyone does read it. Don't like it, you know how to get rid of. Little white cross in little red box. Click. Done and done. My I'm defensive today aren't I? If you like it, say. If you hate it and think its worse than a horse poop in a microwave then say. I like to receive the 'not-so-pleasant' reviews, it means I know I'm going wrong somewhere and so I can (try to) fix it. And now I'm just rambling. I do love a good old ramble. So anyway, sorry again, slash slash and slash, enjoy...
Present Day
Harry couldn't quite believe how anxious he was feeling. He didn't realise how far he'd fallen, how serious it was, how much he cared. He couldn't remember when it started it becoming more, started becoming something meaningful. And it was, it was the most meaningful thing he could ever hope to have.
Even though he didn't know when it had begun, the sickening twist in his stomach, the tearing at his heart told him it was here now. And as he watched through the window, peering through the glass distorted from the spears of rain slamming into it, he desperately tried to ignore the voice inside his head telling him it was too late. Harry pushed the fiery fear swelling in his chest, all the while hoping to see a glimpse of a billowing black cloak, a lock of coal coloured hair, a patch of pale white skin.
The git had to come back alive, he just had to. Harry had to tell him. He had to tell him it wasn't just sex, it wasn't just because they were lonely, being the only ones left broken. As rain cascaded down his reflection in the window, his tears mirrored it, sliding down his hollow cheeks. Harry couldn't bare the voice in the back of his mind, growing louder with every passing minute that he had figured it all out too late.
That, yet again, someone would be snatched away from him forever before he could ever say those words, before he could ever hear them. Three simple words that had been left unsaid his entire life, haunting him in their silence. The three words he had used up every birthday and every christmas wish for in a pathetic hope it would eventually come true.
As he waited, anxiety and nerves, paranoia and a somewhat justified worry swirled around, a thunder storm inside him that far surpassed the one outside, he sifted through his memories trying to discover exactly how the hell he had managed to fall in love with Severus Snape.