The Last Thing We Ever Do
Dedication: Morghaine is the best person in the world. She got me a Live Journal. Therefore, I rejoice. *bows to Morghaine*
I.
We are not dressed appropriately for Mexico.
This becomes apparent at once, but is easily remedied. Sweating in the intense evening heat, Snape drags me into an alley and quickly transfigures our heavy winter clothing. I blink at the shock of seeing him in anything casual, let alone a t-shirt and white cotton slacks. Somehow they suit him more than shorts would. I'm reflecting on this when he pushes a cool length of wood into my hands.
"Take this. You'll need it."
I look down at my wand, then up, blinking at him. I could run. I could apparate. I could hex him right now, call the Aurors, have him taken back and never released, finally have justice and vengeance and closure. I could kill him right here, right now. But I won't. Instead I pocket the wand and follow him back into the street.
He's glancing around. Finally he seems to see what he's looking for, because he motions with his head in the direction of a nightclub. "In there."
"The embryo is in there?" I ask, incredulous.
"No," he replies with disdain. "Cabron is in there. We need him to lead us to the embryo."
"And how are we going to do that?" This is getting rapidly idiotic. "Are you going to waltz right up and ask for directions?"
"Just for that, I might. Come on." He grabs my hand and drags me forward, toward the club. And, well, who am I to resist? I could run, but we've established that I won't. I could probably have left all along, if I'd wanted to. But the truth is that I'll follow him right into hell.
The club is only moderately cooler than the air outside. It's dimly lit, fake torches on stone walls giving it a medieval atmosphere. A tangle of dancers writhe under the low orange glow, but Snape is heading toward the bar, gripping my hand so that I've no choice but to follow. "Hey! Where are you going?" I don't really expect an answer, so I'm not disappointed when I receive none. Snape seems determined to get to the bar and, I realise, a certain man in particular. Seated at the bar, martini in hand, Cabron is measuring our approach with his eyes. He looks about fifty-five, impeccably dressed in a dark coloured suit. His eyes, a penetrating and unexpected blue, glare at my companion for an elongated moment, then drop to his hands, curled like waiting serpents on the bar counter.
If Snape finds any of this odd he doesn't mention it. I don't bother asking how he knows we're headed for the right man, but I suspect Arienette's influence is extending overseas. I say nothing though, merely follow as Snape leads us to the bar and orders two martinis. I'd rather have a coffee but I don't point that out just now. Even I have some brains.
"Senor Cabron. Un minuto por favor." Snape's mastery of the Spanish language, I am well aware, will not extend much further than this. I've watched enough late night Spanish soap operas to know that his accent is terrible, even for such a small phrase.
"Do not trouble yourself," Cabron replies with a malicious grin. "I know English moderately well. So then, what would you have with your minuto? State your name and business with me, and I will not ask how it is you know my name."
"Your reputation proceeds you, Cabron, and your countenance is familiar to us overseas. But I will be brief with you. Many years ago you came into possession of an item, which, at the time, could be considered harmless. It was, I have no doubt, of interest to you as one who possessed not only impeccable blood, but also no small amount of delight derived from the suffering of others. However, it would be wise at this juncture to surrender said object to my assistant and myself. I do not expect you to go unpaid for this act; have no fear; you will be reimbursed." Here he extracts a small cloth pouch from one of his pockets and sets it on the table between them. "Ten thousand galleons, as credible here as they are in England, I've no doubt."
Cabron studies us for a moment, then, setting down his drink, reaches out for the gold. Snape's hand arrests him though. "Ah, you would not play me for a fool, would you Cabron? I will have what I came for first."
"You have not yet told me your name," Cabron remarks, not moving from his crouch toward the gold. "Nor, indeed, do you need to. I recognize you well enough. Severus Snape. And you would have thought I had forgotten, it was so long ago that you and your friends came sniffing round my doors in search of expensive new thrills to keep you from boredom. Did the Blyss not take with you? I never saw you any more than that once, but I remember.
"Death Eaters, you were, proud young men of England prepared to battle tooth and nail for the right to name yourselves pure. I never cared for blood unless it fell, and then not a breath for its so-called purity. Half bloods and Muggles can hold a knife as well as any pureblood, some better, for that matter. And a half blood or a Muggle will not mind dirtying his hands a little, should the occasion call for it." His mouth twists up in the grim parody of a smile. "No indeed, but they have their uses, as you were so unwilling to see.
"I know the object you speak of. Your friend traded it to me for another hit of that elusive thrill. It runs down in old age, but I see that you have retained your youth. I admit, I was afraid to use the creature in my possession, and it is half relief that you should now come for it, for I have often of late eyed it with anticipation. Many were the nights I crept from my bedchamber to the little locked cell in which I have kept it and, once there, stared fearful at its murky depths and wondered if I am, indeed, pure enough to stand a test such as it would put me to. But," he sighs, sitting up and removing his hand from Snape's loose grasp, "no matter. You are here now and I will take you to that which you desire. Come, I have a car outside."
"He speaks quite good English," I whisper when Cabron stands to leave and Snape and I are isolated from him.
"Yes," Snape scowls. "Those who deal across nations do well to learn the subtlety of language. Come on."
I'm not entirely convinced that following this man is a wise decision, but I follow, eyes fixed on the center of Snape's back, glimpses of his white neck peering through his hair. Black and white. Red and white. There are so many contrasts in this time I do not know where to place myself. Between the lines, I should say, but there is no grey area, no shades or tints. And, standing with one foot in each side, I feel myself split down the middle by some unseen force. But I follow, and will do so until that choice, also, is taken from me.
* * *
The house is very modern, very ordered, very well kept and polished. It is so unlike Malfoy Manor that I cannot help but remark it to Snape, who makes a noncommittal grunt and urges me to keep up. We are walking down a tiled hallway, one thick necked guard guiding us and one behind us, Cabron chattering happily between us.
There are so many twists and turns I'm beginning to think we're in a maze, and I'm focusing my best on remembering which turns we've taken when Cabron drops back a bit to walk beside me, lowering his voice for my ears alone. "You seem quite young," he remarks. "But then, so does your companion."
When I fail to respond he continues in a hushed tone. "I sense that your youth is genuine, however. Your naivety is clear. And…you are not pure? Not like him. Interesting then, that he should care for you."
"What makes you think he does?" I bristle. "I am, after all, his assistant alone."
Cabron smiles, his dark eyes flashing. "Si, si claro. But there is more to it. I can tell. He feels for you, as I do for no one. And you…you do not care for anyone. I can see it."
I open my mouth to argue but then realise that the guard in front has stopped before a heavy door and Snape is looking at us with impatience. "Senor, if you would not mind, we are in a slight hurry."
"Oh course, of course," Cabron smiles, moving to open the door. He pauses, key in hole, and turns. "The money first, if you please, and as I can see you are still anxious I will give you my word that what you ask for is inside this room." Reluctantly, Snape relinquishes the gold. "Gracias. And now, as I said, the thing is in this room." He draws the key out and stands before us, smiling like a candy skull. "And there it shall remain. Jorge, Juan, take them to the dungeons."
"Cabron! You're a fool if you do this!" Snape's hand reaches toward his wand quick as thunder, but the two thugs already have his wrists in their meaty paws.
I make a quick grab at my own wand, only to find my wrist held by Cabron's well-manicured fingers. His other hand sneaks up to trace the corner of my jaw. "And you, chico, we shall find something to do with you soon enough."
"Let him go! He's nothing but my assistant. He can't be any use to you!" Snape's voice is unfortunately frantic, and Cabron, hearing this panic, only grins. "Cabron! Let him go!"
"No, Senor Snape, I do not think I will. It has been many years since I gained this unique creature, and I have not yet observed its powers. I will witness them now, though. Jorge, take our friend Severus away. Juan, assist me with the boy."
I panic, briefly, before remembering the trouble I went through earlier to ensure that I would, in fact, be immune to the virus. Cabron is unlocking the door, Juan holding my arms behind me and then forcing me forward, into the small chamber inside. There's a low table with straps, vaguely reminiscent of a hospital. It is onto this that Juan is forcing me, against my will, to lie. His strong hands pin my hips and shoulders down and then Cabron is fastening the tight leather straps across my chest, my arms, tight against my side, my spread legs.
"I've been saving this," he informs me, "for just the right occasion. Juan, if you please." As the jar is handed over I can't help but feel the bile rising in my throat. When has Snape ever gotten a potion wrong? When has Snape ever failed? I've put all my trust in Snape and now at last comes the moment of truth, with the loosening of that heavy lid and the first sick smell as a few grey fingers reach over the edge of the glass.
I'm screaming before I realise it, and Cabron makes no move to stop me. The jar is set on the edge of the table, the fingers working hard now to pull out the hideous thing I know they belong to. I'm screaming Snape's name, screaming and begging and pleading with him, 'help me help me save me save me no please no'. Unintelligible ramblings until it's all just 'Snape Severus Snape Snape Snape' with no answer but Cabron's demented laugh and the stench of antiseptic and rotting plants.
And five years of fear are rushing back in on me, five years of this one memory tumbling back over my head. Black eyes, milked over opaquely as they blink, huge and blind in that bulbous fishy head, peer at me now like the harbingers of pestilence.
And it's almost a blessing when I finally black out.
II.
"Fancy seeing you here," Snape mutters when I open my eyes. Classis dungeon decorating, I see. Chains and stones and bars and all that jazz. Peachy. I turn my attention back to Snape, who hovers over my prone figure like an angel of goodness and light, his expression gentle and patient as he smoothes one cool hand down the side of my burning face. "You've got a few cuts on you, nothing you can't handle."
"The virus…" I begin, then stop, wincing. My throat feels like I've swallowed glass. From screaming, I realise, for my kidnapper. I blush.
"You shouldn't have too much trouble with that," he insists, still brushing hair out of my face with his hands. "Give me a little credit."
"I give you too much," I whisper, pitching my voice low enough that it doesn't hurt to speak. "I trust you too much."
"Trust," he smiles. "It's what I wanted of you to begin with. And what I wanted to give you."
"And do you, then? Do you trust me?" I feel a fever gripping the edges of my sanity, but cling resolutely to this moment of clarity.
Snape chuckles, his fingers running like cool water over my skin. "Silly boy," he taunts. "Don't you understand anything? I kidnapped you, and you came along when you could have cursed me into darkness and death with ease. You killed the Dark Lord, but you submitted before me. There were a thousand times you could have gotten away, and a thousand times you stayed. You offered me your body as a testing ground for toxins and you endured the suspicion that Arienette and I might be lovers. You took my word without question when I told you we were not. You followed me here, to Mexico of all places, into the pits of a dungeon, and even now you believe I'll get us out of here somehow. How could I not trust you, after all that? How can you have ever claimed to have hated or distrusted me? I've given you little but lies before now, yet you came with me as willingly as if I'd been your best friend. If that's not trust, what is?"
I frown up at him, trying to ascertain the meaning behind all he's said. "Why did you take me in first place? Why take me out here?" My words are slurred and tumbling. "Why…why have a watch on me at all?"
"Because you were dying from your addictions," he smiles softly. "You were killing yourself with routine. Slowly but surely you were suffocating in hot coffee and alarm clocks, paperwork and cheap sandwich lunches. And all the things you used to look forward to seemed like nothing, seemed like chores. I wanted to give you something of yourself back, something of the way I used to see you. But I think I may have gotten you into more trouble than I'd expected," he sighs. "I am sorry for all this."
I can feel my eyelids closing out the scene as he speaks, and my last sight is his calm and creaseless face floating above me, dispelling all threats.
* * *
The dream I'm having isn't a whole lot like what you'd expect. I'm dreaming that I'm laid out on a table, utterly naked. There are porcelain jars all around me, carefully painted with words I can't read, and the soft, lugubrious scent of incense hangs in the air. I can hear the distant murmur of Snape's voice, too low for me to comprehend the words. I can't move.
There's a man standing over me with no face at all. He's made of silk black hair and worn bronze skin, and there's no mouth, no nose, no eyes or ears, but a foreign angle to the jaw and a gold band shivering light around his neck. Fluttering finger tips press down on my biceps, moving continuously, wrapping me in gauze. Snape's voice drones on.
The bandages are holding me tighter and tighter in place, cool and soothing against my arms and legs, my constricted chest. And then he starts on my head, one band around my eyes, muffling the light from above. One more band, and my left eye goes blind. I stare at the shrouded world through my one good eye, trying to make out the sound of Snape's words, the importance of his soliloquy.
Wrapped up in bandages, I am lifted from the table and set in a thin box. Looking to my side through my right eye I see walls of gold around me, a lid leaning against the wall with my pale face emblazoned on it. Green eyes inlayed with emeralds, painted lips and Pharaoh's hooded crown. And Snape's voice comes clear as the lid is lifted, moved into position just above me, dark against the radiant light.
"…King of your heart in the blind days, blow away like breath, go crying through you and me…Innocent dark, and the guilty dark…Fly like the stars' blood, like the suns' tears, like the moons' seed…"
The lid snaps shut on his voice and the lights go out in my head. And I wake with a shiver in his arms, head pillowed on his chest where he's murmuring in my ear. "Rubbish and fire, the flying rant of the sky…"
"Severus?" His head jerks up at the sound of his name and he locks his dark eyes on me. "How long was I asleep?"
"An hour. Maybe a little more," he shrugs. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," I reply, and am surprised to find that it is the truth. "Um, how are you?"
"Never better," he smiles. "You can go back to sleep if you like."
"No, I'd rather talk if it's alright with you." He raises an eyebrow and nods warily. "Thank you." I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. "What was Cabron talking about? About Blyss?"
Snape sighs and examines his nails. "Blyss is a highly illegal wizarding drug. Its recipe is particularly difficult as it calls for several items that are, let us say, difficult to acquire. Cabron made his fortune off it. A long time back, Avery and Knott and I came here hoping to try something new and ended up buying a kilo of the stuff." He sneers in disdain. "Knott and I were both sick for three days, but Avery loved it. He used to go to Lucius for money when he was running low. He must have traded the fetus for another hit."
There's an audible pause between us as I consider the insanity of a man willing to trade the safety and future of the world for a hook up. Finally I say, "How are we getting out of here?"
"Harry, don't worry about it. Cabron will want to see the effects of the virus. You can fake ill when he comes, and by the time he catches on the Aurors will have traced your location and we'll go free."
I shake my head. "No, I know you can get us out of here before that. That could take weeks! You can do much better."
His mouth thins into a firm line. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"You've gotten out of worse before and you can get us out of here now! All I'm asking is that you stop fucking around and take me home!" I punctuate the last three words with weak punches, exasperated but still drained from the fever.
"What is it you think you know about me? You think I can just waltz over to the door and ask it to open and let you out, do you? You think walls bend at my words? How do you think I've managed to stay free so long? Think about it, Harry. Think really hard about everything you know about me." I can feel the walls of my mind caving in on me. "Think about when I broke your nose. And multiply that by a thousand."
"So what? We have to get out of here any way we can." I shiver nonetheless and he fails to reply. "Snape," I sigh. "Severus, look. I think I'm in love with you." He raises one eyebrow. I sigh and push my hair back. "I feel all twisted up inside but I know that everything you do you do for my benefit. And you think that now I'll turn away from you because of how you'll get us free? You think I can't stomach it? But you're the only one that makes me feel anything anymore, the only person that can draw any reaction from me.
"Without you I'm nothing, and think about what that implies. I feel broken and scarred and like bits of rubbish that anyone can just step over and ignore. And I claw for bits of kindness that I don't know how to achieve or reciprocate. But you rescue me from myself, from the person I've become, and I can't just turn away from that." He reaches up to touch my face, and I see his fingers come away wet. I sniff. "I'm so confused and afraid here, and I don't understand why I let you do…everything you do to me. But I want to go now, please, so do whatever it takes and I'll stay by you. Just get me out of here, please." I collapse into his arms, pressing my face into his shoulder and trying to lose myself in the unique scent of his skin.
We say nothing, only grasp each other closer and forget just where we are. His mouth is at my ear again, mouthing kisses and gentle bites as I shiver against him. Inside my head I'm just repeating, "I can do this I can do this I can do this I can." I can trust him, because I've been trusting him all along. I can love him, because there's no one else to love. I can accept him, I'm sure, regardless of whatever underhanded technique he may use to free us, because I have to. Because I want to get out. And he has to save the world. Of course.
"Come on," he says, after what feels like an age. "We're leaving." And he's tugging me to my feet, holding out his hand and offering his reassuring smile. And then things come in flashes, and I think it's the fever, but I don't have time to tell him before he's turned his back and he's leading me by the hand toward the metal bars of our prison cell. Flashes, like the torchlight on his hair, like the cut of his clothes and the slide to his step. Like the guard opening the door at something Snape's saying, and the blood that hits the wall, and Snape's arms sunk in to the elbow in human flesh, red staining the white of his slacks as he pulls back and wipes his hands, still smiling at me.
The world is stained in scarlet, or so it seems as he drags me up the stone stairs, clutching a wand I can only assume he's taken from the guard. The movement make my head spin, and as I pant to keep up with him there seems to be rather too much blood on him for just one death.
Back in that long labyrinthian hallway, he is tearing his way through obstacles of flesh and bone. Snarls like a jungle cat's rip their way from out his throat, and his face is pulled into a horrid grimace as he tears our assailants limb from limb, teeth bared to sink into skin, mouth smearing with blood. His eyes are wild as he casts curse after curse, twisting necks full round and snapping spines with sickening perfection, till at last we stand alone and he's turning to me before another wave of guards come to take his attention.
"Do you still feel the same?" he growls, bearing in on me, with his mouth a crazy, blood smeared grin. He reeks of death and I attempt to draw away. "See what vile creature you've proclaimed love to, Harry! See to what foul being you have trusted your life," he hisses, whipping round at the sound of a footstep. And the blood is flowing again, staining the floor until I don't see faces or hear screams, just fall in on myself among the wreckage of limbs and hide my face in my hands.
And pray for this to be over.
III.
Cabron never shows himself. Men as powerful as he are not so without reason, and he barricades himself in an unused room and counts the virus and guards as loses. The hallways are scattered with the bodies of Muggles and half bloods and, yes, the occasional stain of pureblood before Snape recalls himself and approaches me where I am curled in on myself, hidden among death.
"Je t'aime," he murmurs in my ear and I feel like I am waking up again. "Time to go." There's still work to be done.
Snape breaks through the door using a handful of pilfered wands, one of which, he assures me, is mine. And I'll get it back as soon as I look sane again. Meanwhile, he's busy. You know. Saving the world and stuff. That virus. Yeah. I feel like ripping off my skin, just looking at him is enough to make my stomach turn inside out. So I say, "I'll wait outside," and smile, "while you're working."
"Sorry, I need your help," he flicks a lock of red hair from his black eyes, seeming truly not all that apologetic. "If the things been freed I'll need you to help me catch it."
"But won't they have put it back in the jar?" My voice sounds absurdly screechy to me.
"Yes, but it's still awake. They won't have known the spells to put it back into stasis." He grabs my hand in his slippery red one, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from grimacing or pulling back or screaming. Luckily, he releases me quickly, perhaps realizing that this is pure torture for me. "Please, Harry, trust me."
Trust me, he says. But I asked for this, really. I brought it on myself. I'm stained with the same blood as him. And to pull away now would be childish. My blood stained saviour, I call him in my mind, and follow him into the room with a sense of dread.
Everything is as it was before, the low table with its unbuckled straps, the bright lights…I cringe involuntarily at the memories rushing back to me, and at first I think I'm just imagining the smell. But Snape is grimacing an ugly scowl, so I know it must be real. That thing is loose, or at least alive, and the sooner we get it done with the better.
"Here!" Snape vanishes behind a shelf for a moment, then reappears holding the murky jar, which, horrifically enough, appears to be struggling in his arms. He sets it down on the table. "Okay, when I open the jar, reach in and get the fetus. Don't argue, don't get squeamish, just grab it, pull it out, pin it down and hold it still while I kill it."
"What about your tools?" I can't believe I'm actually arguing this.
"We don't have time for that! I'll use a spell. Like I did in your seventh year." He licks his lips nervously. "It's difficult. And draining. Most wizards couldn't do it once and walk away unharmed; I doubt if any could do it twice. That's why the vaccination was so vital, no one would be able to do this six times and stay standing. Afterwards I'll be drained, you know, so it's up to you to keep this room secure. If there is any sign of danger I want you to apparate, understood?"
"I won't leave you," I insist. "Not again. If I'm going you're going with me."
For a moment he looks adamant, but the jar between us gives a jolt and his jaw relaxes a little. "Alright. Okay. Whatever. Just…let's do this now?" I nod. "Okay, get ready…" The lid parts from the jar with a sickeningly wet pop and, holding my breath, I reach forward and stick my hands in.
The damned thing is biting me! I feel its teeth sinking into my skin, and the wave of fever I felt before comes crashing back, slightly dimmed now. The vaccine is doing its work and my immune system seems to be holding out. Still, I don't want to test this further. Closing my eyes I wrench the thing out and slam its back against the table, gagging at the slimy gurgle it emits in protest.
Snape's talking too fast for me to understand, all in a language I don't understand. It's not Latin; none of the words are familiar. His eyes glimmer dark and lustrous when I open mine, and the creature is writhing now, screeching in my hands and scratching with its tiny fingernails. Its half formed tail gives a halfhearted flop and then there's a burst of light and that near forgotten stench of rotting underwater death, and I'm holding nothing down and Snape is staggering under the weight of the spell and the magical backlash. He went through this once before, I know, but it takes a little more each time.
There's a clamor in the hallway. You'd think they'd see the carnage
and stop coming. Snape's eyes flash toward me, and I run around the table
to his side, pulling him closer to me and holding him up in an awkward
embrace.
"Get out of here," he whispers furiously. "You can't make it back to
England carrying me."
I shake my head. "We made it here together and that's how we're leaving, Snape." And then I amaze even myself and kiss him, blood stained lips and all. Oh, and I somehow manage the energy needed to transport us both back to my flat in London, but most importantly I kiss him. And he surrenders to me, all the long way home, clutching feverishly at my filthy robes, getting blood all over me so the taste is even clinging in my mouth when I pull away at last. I don't care one bit.
* * *
I wake up lying on my couch with Galatea on my chest, her green eyes blinking inquisitively down at me. She gives a satisfied meow before leaping off me, and I remain for a moment more, trying to remember what's going on. The clock on the wall reads three PM and everything is silent.
Too silent, I realise, and jump up. Where the fuck is Snape? He was with me when I got here last night, I know. I put him in my room, and if anything happened to him…if Aurors came, or Cabron…but I'd have heard them! I'd have woken up, I'd have…
"I'm right here," comes his velvet voice as he steps out of the kitchen, clean and stainless, and I feel my lungs start working again. "I made you some coffee."
I take the proffered mug with utter, inexpressible gratitude and take a deep gulp as he sits down next to me. It tastes like ambrosia, and I'm mindful lest I suffer a caffeine-induced orgasm in front of the company. "I thought you'd gone."
"Without thanking you? That would be rude." He sips his own mug of coffee. "Arienette can wait a little bit longer."
"It's really over though?" I have to ask.
He smiles softly. I think about how strange it is that I'm almost used to him this young. "Yes, Harry. It's really over now. All of it. And I promise not to darken your doorway with my ungodly influence anymore." He leans in and runs his tongue quickly across my mouth. "You saved the world again."
I shake my head. "No, but I helped you. You did need me."
"Of course I did." That smile again.
"And you might need me again! What if something happens? What if Cabron-"
"He won't be an issue," Snape assures me. "I'd know he was coming before he did, and he'd be easy enough to avoid. I'll be alright."
"But I…" I'm finding it hard to explain what I'm thinking, here. "I won't see you again. If you leave now, shut that door behind you and never look back, then it'll be like you're taking me with you. There's so much of you in me, or so much of me in you. Please…" I have to tell him. "I love you."
"Harry," he sighs, setting his coffee on the floor. I follow suit. "I can't take you. I can't keep you. You know that."
"No, no. You can tell me where to meet you, and I'll find you like I said I would, and this time things'll be different. Please! You know what it's like, without you here. I need you," I whisper. "I need you."
My eyes are lowered to rest on the floor, the discarded plate of cold pizza, the coffee steaming pleasantly, the mystery stains in the carpet. I hear him stand up though. "I'm sorry," he says, and draws my eyes up like some spell. I try for a weak smile.
"You'll be back."
He shakes his head, a curtain of black obscuring his face. "I don't think so."
"You say that now, but I know that you will," I tell him. "Something always comes up, and it won't be the first time. You'll come back eventually."
"But not today," he says.
My breath catches in my chest. "Promise to look back?" gets past the lump in my throat.
"Always," he sighs, and then walks to the door and pulls it closed behind him in a silent way more final than any slamming door. And I can wait forever, I know, and he'll never come walking back to dry my tears anymore. So I rush to the window, and try to see him as he walks away, an impeccable figure washed clean of his dirty past, in black upon black that he's conjured with a power that I can't even begin to understand as I watch him sink into the gloaming.
He looks back just before turning the corner, and he's so far away, but I swear that he sees me, for he lifts just one hand and salutes to my window before vanishing into the crowd.
* * *
"Harry!" Alarbus claps me in a hug the instant he sees me at work next Monday. My wounds are all healed, and my smile is genuine as I throw my arms around his neck. "We were all so worried!"
Ron, sitting on my desk with a grin, looks less than worried. But then, he's already seen me a few times since my return. Still, he says, "Yeah, man, we thought you'd run off to be Snape's evil sidekick."
I laugh. "Fat chance. Snape wouldn't want me for a sidekick in a thousand years! Besides," I huff, "I'd want to be in charge."
"Well, it's great to have you back," Ron says, standing up and moving to the door. "We'll have to throw you a homecoming party." He notes my wince with a grin. "I'll have Seamus start planning."
"Fuck off, Ron!" I yell at his retreating back, then smile and drop my eyes to my desk with a sigh. Things have been strange, but not entirely awful. Nothing like a tour of malicious pureblood wizarding estates to cure depression.
"Um, Harry?" Alarbus clears his throat.
I look up with a grin. "Yeah?"
"If you want to get together anytime…"
"I'd love to," I answer. "How about a drink after work?"
He beams. "Okay. I'll come down and get you then?" I nod, still smiling. "Great! See you then," he smiles and a few seconds later I'm alone.
Part of me feels like I'm cheating on Snape. Part of me feels like I'm betraying his trust. But it's like he said, I have to get on with my life. I'm not him, and I can't just slide from country to country like some displaced Don Juan. I am, by nature, quixotic, and I can't help thinking that Alarbus is just my kind of guy. Maybe not forever. Maybe not for years and years. But at least for now. At least until he comes back.
Because he's coming back. He is. He may go back to her, and spend another year or two creating havoc by her side. He may even leave her and find someone new. I know he's not exclusively mine, the same way he knows that more of his heart belongs to me than to anyone else. We'll meet again, in this blinding country of youth, whether he knows it yet or not.
~ fin
AN: The "King of your heart in the blind days" lines are from a poem
by Dylan Thomas called This Side of Truth, as is the reference to the "blinding
country of youth" in the last paragraph. Giving credit so I don't get sued
is fun. Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. Thank you to everyone
who reviewed! ~Armand
