J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. I'm just borrowing her characters for a bit of fun, which in this case, came via a prompt from softly_me in LiveJournal's Harry Potter Non-Canon Comment Ficathon. The recipient asked for slash: Snape/Dumbledore, with the added inspiration, "He knows nothing of love." I've never attempted this pairing before, so as slash goes, it's fairly tame, but still, couldn't resist giving it a go. Enjoy!
He Knows Nothing of Love
He never hesitates to help, but I'm almost afraid to ask him this time. He's been so busy and it's a special potion, such a complex mixture. But when I think of all the nights I've lain awake, staring down the dark, too many thoughts vying for attention, too many terrible memories sparked in silence – how nothing else works – desperation beats back pride and fear. Severus, no stranger to sleepless nights, will surely understand.
Of course, he says he will, but I have to stifle a chuckle when he agrees. He always looks so terribly serious!
I wish he'd share his recipe, but maybe that's why it works so well. A wizard imprints himself upon everything he makes. In every incantation, every potion, a little piece of his essence remains. But spells and potions are never created for the sake of themselves, and sometimes, this injection of intention and emotion imbues the creation with a life force all its own. Something the ancient alchemists used to call a "Subtle Body." Great magic is a great deal like alchemy.
He never puts it in a phial, but always in a goblet. Two gold goblets, actually: one for him and one for me. Then, with the slightest hint of a smile, he says raises his and says, "To rest." I return the toast and drain it in a single draught. It looks like mercury but tastes like honey.
I crawl into my bed of nails, stare at the ceiling, and pray for release. Soon, my lids are leaden, and soft warmth steals over me. It's so pleasant, so comforting, even when I realize I can no longer feel my feet. Ah, Severus, you've outdone yourself this time, I think, just before the mattress melts beneath me…
Everything was blue, the streaming moonlight, the sighing wind, even the mist floating among the trees. Blue, the color of time curling back upon itself, suspended in perfect peace.
The shadows parted like a curtain and Severus appeared. As he floated slowly towards me, his bare feet, brushing the tips of the long grass, left a trail of sparks.
He plucked a star from the sky and held it to my lips. 'Taste,' he said, and when I did, he took the other half of that light, his lips strong and warm against my own.
And I was his then, his and gone. The ground vanished beneath me, though we were standing still. So close, I felt the fey universe resound through us like a bell.
I swallowed and the star went out. Breaking our kiss, he gazed into my eyes and I felt my heart open, wide as eternity.
'Never speak of this to anyone,' he whispered.
As I murmured yes, I saw his tears and tasted iron in my mouth. And I knew what no one else knew, would ever know: that his sorrow was as constant as his shadow, that he would always be alone.
I awoke, still clinging to the shreds of the dream, desperate to fling myself from bed to my pensieve. I wasn't really breaking a promise, I reasoned, merely extracting a memory for safekeeping. Besides, what weight has an oath sworn in a dream?
The moment my feet touched the floor, a curious lightness seized me. The room began spinning, and a white-hot bolt of pain exploded behind my eyes. The flagstones lurched and I fell forward, arms flailing, throat burning with a scream that would not come. Just before darkness swallowed me, I heard his voice:
'A promise is a promise, Albus...'
Lately, I've been having trouble sleeping. He never hesitates to help me…