The last potion
They said he would feel better after a while, that his grief would wear off. But it didn't. As the seasons past, Harry felt more desperate. When snow came, he would sit in the cold, without a warming spell and didn't even notice it. In spring everyone had new hopes, but it reminded Harry just of the complete uselessness of his existence.
Only when he walked in the woods, he felt a bit better. When he walked in the forest he always felt that Severus was watching him, silently standing by the trees. Severus´ eyes followed him when he jumped over a stream, he would smile at him if he lay down in the grass. But he also knew it was an illusion, Severus was gone. It was three years since Voldemort was defeated and Severus died.
Harry´s desperate mind was filled with Severus´ voice, his stubborn character, the texture of his pale skin, the smell of his body. And his brain made the wind feel like Severus´ kiss, the sun like the heat of his skin, the pine needles that he crushed between his fingers like the smell of Severus. His former potion master and lover was everywhere, he breathed Severus. But he knew it was only his mind that comforted his senses, there was no more Severus, ever again. And Harry would stay as miserable as this until his dying day. How he wished that would be soon.
At first he didn't realise it: that his bodily desires slowly mingled with a dark and passionate death wish. When he laid on the forest floor, stroking himself, remembering the touch of Severus´ hand, he saw his master standing by the trees, watching him, as if he called Harry, silently. He used to imagine that Severus would come close to him, kneeling beside him and make love. But lately his lover stayed at a distance, looking, staring. And Harry was drawn to him, like he had to go with Severus, to his world; in death they would be united.
The day Harry went to Severus´ former study, he knew he was looking for something that could be fatal to him. Like you knew that looking for the dark arts was looking for trouble.
As Harry himself was now a teacher at Hogwarts, he pleaded with Dumbledore to leave Snape´s room as it was, so he could sit there and read all books and notes that the potion master had left to the world of magic. But he never could bring himself actually doing it, the grief being to deep still. So Snape´s room just gathered dust and loneliness.
Until now. He opened the door and the sight of the room, where he used to go so often to see Severus, just knocked him out. It was as if Severus had just left the room a few minutes ago and could walk in at any time. Harry wept and touched Severus´ chair with tenderness. How often had he watched his potion master, when he corrected the work of his students till late at night, his eyes fixed on the papers, little frown on his forehead, and very dedicated. Not at all like the slightly arrogant and severe man most people knew.
Harry sat down and opened the books on the desk. He didn't read, he just wanted to enjoy the idea of opening and browsing through the books that Severus touched the day before he died. His fingers slid down the handwriting, where Severus had written down notes in the marginal line. When he opened one of the drawers, there was an envelope. The rather brisk handwriting of Severus that Harry knew so well said: ´Harry´. Just the one word. And it made Harry shiver. Like Severus spoke to him from the afterlife. His hands trembled as he opened the envelop. He unfolded the one page that it contained and saw to his surprise that it was a recipe for a potion. No explanation, no instruction.
Harry sat there for an hour, two hours, just staring at the recipe. He knew little of the ingredients that were named, but he recognized Digitalis, which was a poison if used in great quantities. Why would Severus want to leave him this recipe? Perhaps to end his misery in a mild way. It might do just a little bit more than just kill him. And it might not kill him at all.
He smiled when he remembered the very first lesson of his former potion master and how Severus warned him to pay more attention. He did not realize that Harry carefully wrote every word down: ´I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper into death.´
When the sun went down, he took a decision and slowly started to make the potion that Severus had offered him. He found all the things he needed in the potion cabinet and finally he carried the potion in a bottle with him, when he walked into the night. In the moonlight he walked to the forest, to his favourite tree and sat on its roots. There was no Severus now in his mind, no sense of his presence, and Harry hesitated for a moment. Then the moon was darkened by a cloud and Harry was overcome by an unspeakable loneliness. He pulled the stopper of the bottle and drank the lot. He than lay down and waited.
He startled when he heard his name, softly at first, than a bit louder: ´Harry´. He looked up and saw Severus standing next to him. It was no illusion or imagination.
´Severus,´ Harry whispered, his voice broke. He couldn't speak anymore and flung himself into the arms of this man, this ghost, whatever it was that looked so real. And it felt real too. They kissed and stroked each other and neither of them spoke. Then Severus said: ´Come, we don't have much time. The potion only works until dawn. Come with me, dear boy.´
And Harry went with him, not caring if this was real and he would live, or Severus being Death in disguise, granting him one last moment with the man he loved.