Author's Note: This fic is a work in progress. I'm not entirely sure where it's going, but Harry has some issues to work through, and for most of the fic, if not all, he will not be nice. At all.
This is a very small update, but I plan to add more very soon. I hope you enjoy it—or that it at least doesn't make you feel too queasy. Peace.
The body on the bed is wracked with tension, long, gnarled fingers twisting the sweat-drenched sheets. He studies this, the remains of something great; he studies this, the object of his pity.
One eye cracks open and fixes on him, capturing his gaze. He holds the look, still smiling, and the lazy arrogance in his visage grows as the other man begins to speak.
"Don't." Each examines the other minutely, searching for any sign of weakness.
"Don't what?" he asks at last, satisfaction coloring his voice. The other man turns away, stares at the wall, the bedpost, the floor.
"I do not want your pity," he rasps.
"Ah. Of course." He reaches out and grasps the man's chin, tilting his head up until their eyes meet. "And tell me, Severus, what if I didn't give you my pity? What would you have left?"
Black eyes drop to the floor. He continues as if he has not noticed.
"Albus wants me to let you heal—let you go, I think. Would you like to leave, Severus? Leave here, leave me? Go off on your own? The world is a big place, after all." He looks away, tracing with his eyes the line of the stones in the wall. "I'm sure you'd be very happy." His voice hisses the last word, and he glances sharply at the man.
Choking sobs tear through his too-thin frame. He struggles to speak, struggles against a tightness in his chest, a pain and fear so familiar they scarcely hurt him at all. "Please, don't," he pleads, reaching out to clutch at a wrist, a robe, anything tangible, anything he can cling to. "Please."
"Severus." He breathes the name almost with relief, strokes the long black hair soothingly. "Of course you can stay."
The man calms instantly, but gazes at the open door with dread apparent on his face. A slow shuffle echoes in the room, and Albus stands there, eyes dull.
"I will not seek to invade your privacy any longer, Harry." He nods curtly, but his eyes linger on the bent figure on the bed. "I wish you well, Severus," he whispers. He hesitates a moment longer, but retreats quickly at a gesture from Harry. The echoes of his voice fade quickly, and do not return.
To be continued.