Red Hair, Broken Glass and Emerald Eyes
A/N: Something I wrote just because I felt like it.
WARNING: Rated T for Delicate themes and disturbing images.
DISCLAIMER: Just the idea… everything else, I do not own.
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Harry stepped out of the floo ungracefully. He never did manage the poise and grace he exhibited up in the air on the ground with his feet. I had been a long day at practice; the Canons needed their star seeker to be in tip top shape.
The raven-haired, green eyes man brushed the soot of his orange robes and immediately headed for the bedroom he shared with his husband of ten years. It was empty. He sighed as he transfigured his robes into a pajama. His husband worked long hours at the school –it was always like this.
As he flopped down on the bed though, he noticed something.
On the pillow next to his, sat a long strand of perfectly auburn hair.
It wasn't the first time.
It was always like this.
Harry sat up and plucked the red hair off of the pillow and carefully made his way to his bureau. He spelled the lowest drawer open. Fighting the urge to scream, he glanced at the contents: an old photograph of two wizards, a few letters –and a jar filled to the brim… with loose strands of flaming red hair. Harry smiled bitterly. It has been 10 years –he already had enough for a full wig of red hair that could rival any of the Weasleys'. He carefully added his latest find in and closed the lid shut.
Muffled footsteps could be heard from downstairs.
His husband was home.
Harry quickly jumped into the bed and closed his eyes as the door opened. A few seconds later, he felt the other side of the bed dip lower. Then a few minutes later, faint snores were heard.
After what felt like hours later, the green-eyed man dared to open the said eyes and face the other man who shared his bed.
Severus' back was against his.
It was always like this.
For the first time in 10 years, Harry decided that looking at his husband's back was no longer enough. His mind drifted to their first night in that very same bed, 10 fateful years ago; how Severus praised and worshipped every bit of him, but never once taking his black, obsidian eyes from his own bright emerald ones; how he writhed in both pain and ecstasy as he let his one true love claim him for the first time; how they both reached the heights of passion in tandem; how he screamed Severus' name in pure delight – only to have the older man moan another's name as he came.
"Lily."
Lily, he said.
Harry shook his head. It was over ten years ago, but the thought still brought pain and shame to his heart. Tears started to stain his pillow.
"Lay still! Keep your hands to yourself! Don't you dare close your eyes!"
His eyes.
He wasn't allowed to do anything with his eyes closed. And Harry had faithfully conceded to that request for the past ten years.
Now, he was tired of it.
He loved Severus with all his heart but for the first time in ten years, he doubted that love.
Carefully, he slid off the bed and made his way back towards his dresser, spelled the lowest drawer open and took the jar of hair with him back towards their bed. He did not know how may witches and wizards contributed to his bizarre collection, but he whispered a silent thanks to them anyway. With trembling hands, he unscrewed the jar and emptied its contents on his side of the bed. With the jar empty and with the dim lighting of the room, the curved glass became almost mirror-like; Harry then saw his own image. He found himself staring at his own pair of emerald eyes from the curvature of the glass jar.
'Eyes that were never mine,' he corrected himself. 'Much like Severus will never be mine.'
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The morning after, Severus Snape, Potions Master, Order of Merlin Second Class, Ex-spy and War Hero would be down on his knees, on the floo with Headmistress Minerva McGonagall of Hogwarts and Poppy Pomfrey Mediwitch extraordinaire. He would be deeply distressed; yelling, panicking, crying even – about something. He then would be screaming, ranting, crying even – about flaming red hair all over his bed, broken glass strewn all over the carpet, a bleeding husband, on the brink of death… an a pair of painfully familiar emerald eyes… floating inside a jar filled with pickling solution… right by his bedside table.
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A/N: Done! Your thoughts? Please review! Love, Eastwoodgirl