Disclaimer: All JR's –as always, she deserved the credit, not me. ^^
Rating: Pffft, no idea. It's slash-ish. I'm just gonna say mature, just in case!
A.N: My friend described this chapter as 'shit gets intense' /laughs.
Warnings: Slash. Depression. Just, generally not for easily offended eyes.
Beta: Recently beta-ed by the wonderful moonlight—kiss (tumblr name) Thank you!
4.
He'd have to tell Harry. It was what the boy deserved. The young saviour had been kept in the dark, even when he was the one who was expected to prevail. It would be unjust for Severus, whom he hoped Harry trusted, to also hold back such vital information.
It was the sounds of life that was currently unnerving him; Harry had been ignorant to the constant ticking, scraping & crashing that life seemed to play to. Azkaban was a silent affair. The screams quickly dissolving into nothing, along with Harry's ability to really hear anything at all. The only sound Harry could really recall over the last few months was Severus. Severus's slow, articulated rumble which chewed gently on the words of great poets and writers. Those words were like a beacon; the beating gaze of a lighthouse guiding Harry to safer pastures. Where such words aided Harry in is uncomfortable place within reality, many other sounds jarred horridly. The revolting sound of a door shutting rattled him relentlessly, along with incessant ticking of any and all clocks. Slightly more mundane noises affected him as well; the shuddering of pipes along with the low calling of a kettle when ready. A few noises did placate him, however; the rhythmical scratching of Severus' quill on parchment, and the warm flickering of a fire accentuated the evening perfectly. The tall potions master sat at one end of the chaise longue, his body lent slightly to the side as he used a book to lean on to write his letter. It must have been important, the letter, as Severus has been silent for the past hour and had very little to do with Harry - except to squeeze the golden boy's calf now and again in a mindless form of assurance. The ex-Gryffindor was content. He lay next to Severus, his head at the opposite side of the seat, his noise buried in his arm in an attempt to avoid the pungent smell of leather – scent was another sense Harry was yet to acclimatize to. Two blankets had been thrown over his slight form and Severus didn't seem to mind that Harry was slowly digging his feet under his robes to steal some of the elder man's body heat.
Severus had finally decided on a plan of action. He'd tell Harry about the illness, but only once he'd began preparations for treating it. Over the past few days he'd been in contact with many of his old colleagues & connections – there was a small conference in London where he could ask for advice as well as a specialty apothecary, which sold ingredients to obscure potions that the everyday potions master didn't keep. It's wasn't that the lot of the ingredients were too expensive or hard to find; it was just that very few potions actually included the need for them. The obtuse root of a blooming day flower was in abundance but rarely needed, although a few other ingredients would be a little more difficult – dried werewolf blood on the leaf of a hollowed oak branch was a revered ingredient indeed. The most worrying obstacle would be leaving Harry by himself, or the painful option of bringing Harry with him and having him face the outside world – neither choice were in the fragile Gryffindor's best interests, but without some form of intervention, soon Severus would be guilty allowing Harry to fall to the illness.
The perplexed man signed his letter with a definite feeling of foreboding. It was now or never; he had to tell Harry about his diagnosis. They'd spoken very little today; a humorous idea when in fact they spent very little time talking at all these days – but the past few hours Severus hadn't felt ready to broach the subject and felt cowardly when attempting to say anything else to the mentally contorted boy. With a decisive sigh, he stood and walked to the window of his small study come library. Opening the wooden frame caused a few white doves to startle and fly from the window ledge – only to be replaced by a grand masked owl, happy to nibble at Severus's nimble fingers as he tied the letter to the bird's sturdy foot. A quick stroke and a few owl treats later, the owl had taken flight, accepting his former colleague's invitation for Severus to stay with him in two weeks' time. Now or never.
Severus finally met Harry's eyes. The boy had been watching him – like he often did when Severus did anything unannounced. The mood in the room finally felt stiff, but it was probably Snape's imagination – he hoped.
"Harry…" he begun. There was too much distance between them however, so he crossed the space and helped the slight boy sit up straight.
"This isn't easy for me to say. I... I have something to tell you-"
"You're leaving me." The words were small but frantic; a frightful mixture of sheer panic and resigned fate.
"No. Never, Harry..." Severus still felt like they were too far apart, he could feel the coldness seeping off Harry, alongside the sorrow and isolation. It was vital that Severus explained the illness, but right now it just felt like hurting the forlorn Gryffindor needlessly. In attempt to increase their nearness, the tall professor knelt before the sofa and took one of Harry's feet into his lap, his hands rung against the cotton socks, willing his heat to pass across.
"I have something to tell you Harry." It was then that Severus tried to tell Harry what was happening to him. For a boy of so few words, Severus stuttered over answers to questions that hadn't even been voiced. It got worse when the proud Slytherin told him that he'd be going for a few days, to which Harry exclaimed no, promising that he'd rather die with Severus than be alone. That was not an option Severus would ever be willing to take, and he rode out the tears with Harry as he tried to convince the man not to go. The night was long and the tears were many. Harry had finally fallen asleep in emotionally drained faint – allowing Severus to restock the fire and regroup.
It was fucking awful; all of it. His own childhood, the ease he'd been ensnared into Voldemort's grasps, the war, all the war and death and violence... And Harry. All the bad things that had happened to Harry. The betrayal, the lack of love that had surrounded the boy, it was fucking awful – life was awful and needless to Severus; everything in it… Except Harry. This mess of sadness and fear, which only wanted to escape and die with Severus by his side. Harry deserved so much more than a bitter man like himself – and Severus had done too many evils for the greatest treasure of Harry's reliance. It was just all so fucking awful. They'd make it though, Severus would help Harry through the illness and all the way until he didn't need him anymore – until Harry could find something as beautiful and selfless as the spirit he was… Not that Severus was sure another one could exist on this cursed planet.
A.N: A veryvery hard chapter to write… This fic. Is going to end up quite long I see… What did you think? Please review.