Enemy of Myself
This is a simple story I will write on a little bit at a time. I was thinking about fan fiction I had read back in the 2000's, and wanted to write what I remembered from then, for nostalgia for myself out of anything. But with a post-war point of view. Snape/ Lupin slash
Severus inhaled the fragrant potion as it bubbled. Fresh spring water, owl feathers, dried wildflowers, and other pleasant things stewed in the light pink liquid. He was making a simple Grow-All potion for Professor Sprout, who had requested the potion for her new nursery.
Hogwarts was slowly coming back from the destruction. The hell-driven invasion that had caused its walls to crumble had left scars. Walls were still down in some corridors, and many windows still needed to be replaced. The Great Hall was still scarred with burns from curses, and people avoided the spot where Lord Voldemort perished as if it were a hallowed site.
Severus thinned his lips as he stirred quietly. He was still healing himself, and it had been a horridly abysmal experience. Harry Potter had vouched for his innocence, sparing him the Dementor's Kiss. Sometimes, though, Severus wished he had died. He wished he had fallen like the others, instead of being saved by Kreacher at the very last second, per Potter.
Severus came back, to praise to his sour astonishment, and returned to an old friend. To the oldest friend he had ever known, the kind lady Loneliness.
Severus moved away from the desk and settled down in his chair. His robes were the same, thick black wool which draped over his thin body like curtains. The buttons that ran down the front of his frock coat were deep green, and glittered in the candlelight. His gloves were torn and sweaty from work, but his hands were thin and shaking. He inhaled deeply, still basking in the scent of fields and streams and skies. It was a nice smell, which reminded him of the woods in which he had once resided. Memories for another time.
The coal cloth swept around the small frame of a man, and buried him as he slumped in his chair in a desperate attempt to sleep. If only he could sleep. He had been trying to sleep without using Occlumency, but his mind was so full. It held secrets, horror, and death. The war, coupled with his own tragic life, haunted him. It haunted him like a great snake which lurked always in corners and shadows. He peeked through a hole in the thick fabric of his robe, and dreamed two large, yellow eyes looking upon him with bared fangs.
He blinked, and the sorry vision vanished. His trembling did not.