Give Me a Moment, Please
Author: Echo the Insane(echotheinsane@hotmail.com)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Two old enemies have one last discussion.
Pairing: SS / HP
Category: Angst/Tragedy
Warnings: Slash implied. Character Death implied/mentioned.
'He's so very pale.'
Paler even than I. Thinner, as well. His hair is gone; his face has sunken in. His eyes do not see anymore; the green replaced by a blind white. He doesn't wear his glasses anymore - no need, he says. He's so small. Very small. His hands are spider thin. He's whiter than the hospital blankets.
'Where is the boy I tormented?'
"Hello, Snape."
'Ah, awake are you?'
"Potter."
'Do not look at me.' But he does, of course. His eyes make me want to turn away, to run.
"Open the window, Snape. It's stale here."
It is, very stale.
"Ah, better. Thank you."
I walk from the window to the chair, aware that his eyes are following me. Uncomfortable feeling. Unholy.
"Play chess with me."
I nod, knowing he cannot see me, but knowing that he can see me. He reaches onto the side table and lifts a small, collapsible chess set. His hands shake as he rests it on his lap and quietly sets it up. I play white, like always. I win, like always. And he never misses a square.
"Damn," he says, chuckling, looking at me with those pale, milky eyes. The green suited him more. "You always win."
"Of course. You are almost as bad at chess as you were at potions."
"Of course," he agrees, and he grins. His teeth are crooked now, too. The third on from the left on top is chipped.
There is a bird outside his hospital window, singing far too cheerfully for my taste. Potter seems to enjoy it, though. There are flowers in the window - roses. From Ms. Granger, no doubt. I seem to recall she had a liking for them.
"Yes, she was here early last week. She asked after you. I told her you were still a miserable git."
I hate it when he does that. Truly. Albus did that to me far too often, and now, in his wake it is Potter who plays the mind games.
Potter's grinning again, stupid boy. "Yes, Dumbledore did love to "mess with the mind" as it were," he says, that dumb grin still there. "I do miss him."
'So do I, not that it's any of your business. Please get out of my head.'
"Touchy."
The room is far too white. Too sterile. Potter's rooms were always messy and disgustingly dirty, not to mention offensively bright.
Potter chuckles and I glare at him, which only makes him chuckle a bit more. Then he starts coughing. Horrible sounds, wet sounds. His shoulder's shake violently, his hands clench the sterile-white blanket. He grabs the pan on the table where the chess set was and turns from me as he spits up into it.
"It won't be much longer, Severus."
The use of my first name is foreign. I cannot recall a time that he has used it before.
A look of strong regret crosses his face and he meets my eyes. I hate his eyes.
"So many wasted days," he says and leans back against the fluffy white pillow propped up behind him.
'Yes, many days.'
"Stay the day with me, Severus."
I raise a brow. "Whatever for?"
He glares. "Grant a dying man his last request, you old fool."
The other brow raises and he smirks.
"Why ever would I do that?"
"Because, tomorrow you won't have the chance."
I look at him hard and he looks at me softly. There are lines around his mouth. They were not there when he was eleven. Again I wonder where that boy went.
"He left twenty years ago, Severus," he says calmly, giving me that compassionate look that I've always hated. "I'm not eleven anymore."
As if I need reminding. He's as small as an eleven-year-old, though. As skinny as one.
'He won't be here tomorrow.'
I felt suddenly deflated. Very empty, very cold.
"Yes, so do I."
'Stop it.'
"Get used to it."
"No."
He grins. And coughs again.
"Funny, isn't it?" he says after putting the pan away. "He got me in the end."
"You got him first."
He smirks, nods slightly. "That I did."
The bird continues singing. The white is starting to make my head hurt.
"Draco is dead."
I do not know why I tell him this. His expression sombers and he nods again.
"Yes, I heard. What happened?"
"A group of first years thought it would be fun to sneak out of the castle at midnight. They somehow managed to stumble too close to the Forest. If Draco had not have come upon them, they would have been picked off by a pack of werewolves."
He looks pained and stares down at his hands. Spidery hands. Pale.
"Was it quick?"
"Yes. He managed to kill most of the pack, held them off until the children were out of harms way. One of the beasts got behind him, broke his neck."
Potter nods again.
"How is Hermione holding up?"
I am puzzled. "Ms. Granger?"
He looks at me oddly for a moment, before a look of understanding passes over him.
"Ah, you don't know."
"Don't know what?"
"Hermione was in love with Draco."
"What?" I stare, he nods. "But Draco married the Parkinson girl."
That look of regret passes over him again.
"Yes, he did."
I cannot help but feel a stab of sympathy, as well as irritation, on behalf of Ms. Granger. To fall for a Malfoy was the most foolish thing a person could do.
"Indeed."
"Dammit, Potter, stop that this instance."
He looks slightly amused again.
"How can I, when you broadcast so loudly?"
'Broadcasting loudly my arse.' Voldemort couldn't hear my thoughts, no matter how hard he tried.
"And what a lovely arse it is. Too bad I can't stare at it anymore." He sounds wistful, annoying little prick. "Oh, the insults sting."
"Do you ever shut up?"
"What do you think?"
'Well, that answered my question.'
He grins.
"So, how is Mr. Weasley?"
"Which Weasley?"
I roll my eyes, he smiles again.
"Ron's fine. He and Susan are expecting again."
I'm horrified. "Not another one. That's what, number five?"
"Six. Add to that George's three, Fred's two, Percy's little girl, Bill's quints, Charlie's two sons, and Ginny's new baby, and you've got several years of Weasley's ahead of you."
"There is no God."
Potter laughs, which once again turn to coughing. I hand him the pan, my eyes lingering for a moment at its contents.
When he speaks again, it is in a tone meant to comfort.
"I told you it wouldn't be much longer."
It doesn't work.
"Potter -" I do not know what to say. I don't know what I want to say. I trail off, unsatisfied, scowling.
"Harry, please."
Such a small request. I nod.
"Harry."
He looks thoughtful for a moment, then looks out the window. I cannot help but let my eyes wander up to the top of his head. I do miss that mopped hair.
"I do, too, though it's much easier to groom this way."
I glare. He grins, though it is short lived. His eyes take on a far away look, and I am filled with undeniable fear.
Harry Potter is dying. He's dying right in front of me.
He sighs suddenly and looks very tired.
"It's late, Severus. I need to rest."
I look at the clock. Time has slipped by too quickly. I feel panicked. Trapped. So I look at him. The sun is setting, casting its colours through the open window and onto his face. For a moment, he is bright, his cheeks rosy and lips pink, eyes closed as he breathes evenly. I can just imagine that silly mop of hair, and the padding that once filled his cheeks. It's enough to hold back the panic - for a moment, at least.
The curse has eaten him alive, and I regret all the opportunities lost to us because of it.
"So do, I, Severus. So do I."
He did it again, and for once, I don't mind.
Oh I'm so tired,
Weary bones lead to a weary body.
So sick,
Straight into the very marrow.
Sagging shoulders,
I hang my head and try to catch my breath.
Sickness is catching,
Don't come around me anymore.
Sickness is lasting,
Leave me alone here today.
~ Catching by Echo the Insane
Disclaimer (a.k.a. The Great Waste of Time and Space): I do not own Harry Potter. J.K.R. does. I own the soda I am currently sipping and a few Sarah McLachlan CDs.
AN: As usual, this one shot is not absolutely Slash; though the implications are there. It can be if you want it to, it won't be if you don't want it to be. It's in first person, not my favourite writing style, but that's how it came to me. And Severus is a bit OOC, do forgive me. He and Harry are both twenty years older; they've long since having buried the hatchet, as it were. Please review, feed the author, for she will get hungry and hunt you down for food. Thank you to everyone who reviewed my other fic, "Loathing in Comfort(Black China Tea)". It meant loads to me that you liked it. And thanks to my new Beta, Jo. F. for being extremely helpful. *grins*
~ Echo the Insane(echotheinsane@hotmail.com)
Dedicated to my great-grandmother, the most amazing person I have ever had the joy of knowing. You are my guide, my conscience. I will take the lessons you bestowed upon me to my own grave, Mam-ma. Thank you for raising me, thank you for loving me. You are missed.
Gwin Raper 13 April 1897 - 15 November 1995