Title: Cursed
Author: veiledndarkness
Pairing: Implied past Severus/Harry
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Touch, so fleeting but craved more than air, craved and hated more than desire knows…
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made, and no harm intended.
Author's Notes: Post-Hogwarts, Deathly Hallows compliant.
Inspired by the prompting of realpestilence
xx
He stands before the mirror, cool green eyes roving over his face, over the familiar plains and curves. His lips lift, a mere hint of a smile that borders on a sneer. He's avoiding the celebrations downstairs, the party that he wanted nothing to do with. He can hear the sound of footsteps running down the hallway, the excited giggles and laughter of carefree children.
He smoothes one hand along his dress robes, smoothing away non existent wrinkles. A breath catches in his throat and for a moment he feels as though he's choking, choking on the memories and regret. He stares at his reflection, eyes hard and unyielding.
Regret, bittersweet and unending, he thinks that perhaps living with regret is his punishment, one that he must suffer alone. He runs a trembling hand through his hair, the strands fluttering into place. Regret is a part of his life, and truly when did he live without a moment's regret for all that he's seen, done and endured.
He feels the flickers of amusement settle in, a constant reminder in the background. As if he could forget. No, he knows this...presence as he's come to think of it. A silent shadow, his mind forever cursed to be linked with his past.
He supposes that he might have lost his grip on sanity, not that he misses it.
It's the lightest of touches, the ghostly feel across his skin. He fists his hands, lips pressed tightly together. Its torment, it's always torment. Every touch a whisper over his skin, phantom fingers digging into his shoulders, the briefest touch of lips to his neck, he can barely stand the feel.
He opens his eyes with a start, a hoarse plea falling from his lips. How he hates that sound, that or the dark chuckle that floats on the air after. A curse of unending frustration, caused by his reluctance to take what he needed, a curse spat at him in the heat of a furious kiss, one that he can still feel, a kiss seared into his memory.
He swallows and tugs on the dress robes, his eyes gleaming for only a moment. He's delayed as long as he can from the festivities below. He touches one hand to his neck, his skin prickling from the kiss. He hates the life he gave himself, hates what he's become, and hates the regret that burns bitterly inside.
"Damn you, Severus," he mutters as he looks away from the mirror, unwilling to face himself a moment longer.
xx