This was a spur of the moment idea that came about from watching Truly, Madly, Deeply, at an early hour of the morning... and though this fic bears no resemblance to the movie, it was a sort of inspiration all the same. As was the new (and improved?) version of Severus' death-scene Deathly Hallows: part two, and I've borrowed the setting from there, but apart from that, this fic will be firmly set in book-world, and cannon. It will have multiple chapters (half-way done with chapter two already), but will most likely be a shot fic all in all. I doubt it will span more than twelve chapters. Critiques welcome!
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~ Chapter One ~
The Things In Between
...oOo...
The last moments of Severus' life had been lived in agony, between the pain of his wounds, the knowledge that he was ultimately expendable to both sides of the war, the ultimate betrayal of him by Dumbledore. He knew of the Dark Lord's thoughts on his expandability – no one was precious to that creature – but his enlightening to Dumbledore's betrayal had cut deep, for the old man had surely known that the Dark Lord would figure it out eventually; that the Elder Wand would only become his if its master was killed. And who was it that had become its master by completion of a task delegated to him by way of mutual agreement between Dumbledore and himself?
And the final ache of Potter himself witnessing his last breath – Lily's green eyes staring with such a mixture of raw emotion, of pity and anger and confusion and intent, that, if it were not for the fact that the green eyes regarded him from Potter's face, he would have thought Lily herself had graced him with her presence from beyond the grave – and realising that, perhaps, the boy was more like her than he had given him credit for, because Potter-senior would never have shown such compassion to one he loathed as much as Severus.
With those thoughts in mind, he had poured out his soul, not far from literally, to the boy with Lily's green eyes; every regret, every hurt, every reason, every truth he had concealed.
Why? The boy didn't need to know his every reason, quite the contrary; he would doubtlessly live the rest of his life, however long it may or may not extend past that moment, quite contentedly without the knowledge of Severus' past regrets.
Don't tell me you've come to care for the boy after all? Dumbledore had said to him the year previous. Had he really done just that? In the span of a moment? Had his every detestation of the boy – the embodiment of everything that had tormented him or been lost or withheld from him in life – bled from him along with blood he was rapidly loosing from the fatal wound in his throat?
No... not quite.
But the feeling remained that Potter needed to know, as if Severus' death would be justified if Potter knew. As if his life, and death, depended on that tiny speck of recognition for his role in everything thus far, and now his sacrifice for it. That maybe Potter would regret not knowing Severus for who he really was, as much as Severus now regretted it himself, however infinitesimal the feeling may be.
He wanted to be acknowledged, for once in his life, by someone who had never wanted or tried to use him or manipulate him. And Potter had never done either of those things, had he? Not consciously, at least... everything Severus did- had done... it had all been on the Headmaster's manipulative words and his own agonising guilt.
Severus wanted to be acknowledged, pure and simple, if only by one person on Earth, as a human who made a mistake and spent the rest of his life trying to atone for it.
"Look... at... me..."
Potter's eyes came back to meet his own, a vial of glowing blue grasped in one hand and the other pressed to Severus' throat, and Severus, consciousness fading, was once again taken aback by the compassion that lit their depths, a feeling given even for Severus who had never given him reason to care...
"You... have... your mother's eyes..."
Said eyes widened, almost dumbfounded.
And Severus saw them no more.
Now he drifted... where he drifted, he was not sure, but it was definitely somewhere; of that he was certain, and that was better than nothing, though everything in this somewhere appeared to be nothing at all. No sound, nor sight of colour or shape, nor feeling. Pure and never-ending clearness.
Absolutely nothing, and yet everything and all, both and neither.
Severus had lived his life in the shades in between, in the grey between black and white, in the shadows of light and darkness, the twilight and dawn of day and night, the line between good and evil and he had died in much the same way. Now, it seemed, he would also have to walk into oblivion and never reach the precipice where he would either fly or fall – to heaven or hell – as the sort-after precipice where he would be judged and be bestowed upon with his fate did not present itself to him.
Must he continue on in ambiguity even in death? To teeter on the barrier betwixt fates for eternity?
Could he not have the an end to it? Was fate such a cruel master that it would not grant peace at the end of the entangled web of pain and bliss that was the life that fate itself bestowed?
He'd already given himself twice-over to an exploitive master... no more.
Enough!
And then he saw once more.
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