Review Please. It's to Ticket to Heaven by 3 Doors Down. I take no credit for any of the characters as they belong to J.K. Rowling.
---I'm walking a wire, it feels like a thousand ways I could fall
To want is to buy, but to live is to die and you can't take it all
When everything is said and done I won't have one thing left
What happened to everything that I've ever known---
Whatever happened to civil dueling? It's a grudge match that's been the bane of our existence, whether they choose to accept it or not. What is here isn't always what they thought was, and what's disappeared is just another cause for clear conscience.
He's now sitting there, another one, just like me; used for the diplomatic solution of the world's problems. He is as I am; a carefully masked body of power, obedience, and rarity. Too many will sit by and watch as others will stick out their necks for the sole purpose of combining forces to obey the new ruler of our world.
The wizarding world is always seeking such fates, always waiting for the one and true power to emerge and save us all. They just don't understand- it doesn't work that way.
He doesn't have long to wait. They'll come for him soon enough. The uncouth union of wizards, witches, and creatures will come for him, throwing the destiny of themselves at his feet, all the while plotting deviously behind his back. He doesn't know what I know, and yet he's willing to take it all on. He realizes he's been playing a game where he is the greatest pawn that this enormous chessboard has seen; myself being the second. Yet, through it all, he willingly throws himself out there. Must be the Gryffindor in him.
---'Cause all they gave me was this ticket to heaven
But that ticket to heaven, said to lie in the bed that you make
Now I'm restless and I'm running from everything, I'm running from everything,
I'm afraid it's a little too late---
Damn Dumbledore and his endless twinkling eyes. Nothing separates him from Voldemort, except those maddening eyes. They are both using the boy and I for their own personal plots. Course, Harry couldn't be persuaded to see it that way- not with 'everything that the man has done for him'. How infinitely obtuse can this boy be?
Dumbledore's haunting eyes follow me about the castle, a shadow to my own. I can feel the steady pace that in which he stares in mockery. He knows. He knows of everything, remembering everything in which I spoke to him of to convince him of my innocence, as well as all the small details in which I thought I'd kept to myself. Nothing is secret, and in the end, it all becomes embarrassingly public.
Motivationally, I have become a cynically depressed double agent, overtly exerted and underpaid. For my transgressions, I receive more work, more secretive missions, and another 20 nostalgic letters declaring myself as a fraud: as the enemy.
Once again I am burdened by the old man. Now, it seems, he has taken an interest in my health, or what remains of it. He tells me with a sly wink that I should be more open with my approach, with my outlook, my feelings. Honestly, the nerve of that man.
---Soft voices lie, innocents die, now ain't that a shame
And all of your dreams, and all your money they don't mean a thing
When everything is said and done, I won't have one thing left
What happened to everything that I've ever known---
Another leak in the Ministry sets back yet again another demanding Death Eater meeting. Most are too scared, too weak to do anything that might even remotely matter. Other than the precious members of the famed Voldemort group, there remains very few who will come to every meeting and rise to the occasion, the mission, and any other whim that the master might have.
What a beastly word that is. Master. The deranged bugger who created that word ought to be shot for all the problems it has created. Not only are the masters created to dominate the mildly peaceful wizarding world, but they force themselves upon their subjects and refer to themselves as masters. What egotistical fools.
War has been declared. And although the most knowledgeable of people know that the war was declared long ago, it has finally settled and brought many others to attention. Including the boy-who-lived. His deep and enriching green gem eyes stare wildly in all directions, searching for the right route to take, even when all he is doing is going to classes. The other students now stare at him, expecting him to defeat the Lord of power the moment someone mentions his name. Can they not see the strain it has put on him? He is only seventeen, and already he has the mentality of a thirty-six year old, if only from the experiences he has already been through. They don't care. They never have.
---All they gave me was this ticket to heaven
But that ticket to heaven, said to lie in the bed that you make
Now I'm restless and I'm running from everything, I'm running from everything,
I'm afraid it's a little too late---
Yet another speech with Dumbledore. That man is the most indignantly aggravating man I have ever encountered. Not only does he dare me to tell the boy of my feelings, but he also expects me to ask him to dinner. Though widely amusing the offer for dinner expenses had been, I can't possibly ask Harry for what I know to be a one-sided infatuation.
"Severus," he says. "Why don't you give in?"
"Give in? What are you talking about, Headmaster?" I ask him, fighting for my mask of indifference.
"I am referring to your love of one of the students," is all the old man says.
"Albus, which student are you suggesting? What are you going on about?"
He smiles one of his large 'I'm laughing at you' smiles.
"I'm talking about Harry, of course. Now, of course, I know student-teacher relationships have been prohibited, but I think that this exception would be best for everyone."
I stare at him uncomprehendingly. He smiles even wider.
"I know you love him, Severus. You just won't admit it to yourself or him. That's why it's most important that you overcome your fear. Fear of the word is nothing more than fear itself."
I jump from my chair.
"Albus, are you insane? Myself and Harry Potter? What madness! Perhaps I ought to have Poppy examine your head- it seems to need it."
"On the contrary. You love him. You are infatuated with him. He is infatuated with you. You are a perfect match. He needs all the encouragement, hope, and love that we can give him. You do too."
"Albus, you are insane!" I yell, and stomp from his office.
Yet, as I walk the hallway in front of my quarters, all I can think about is the fact that Potter is infatuated with me, and Dumbledore's cheerful laugh ringing through my ears.
---It's a little too late---
It's the end of the war. There is nothing left. Casualties litter the fields, many from our side, most from theirs. I am involuntarily holding my breath as I scan the barren wasteland of what was once Hogsmead. The villagers have returned, if only to bar themselves in the pub and drown their sorrows in drink. I wish I was there.
Pomfrey runs about, checking patient to patient, and yet, she seemingly seems to avoid seeing a Ron Weasley who has a scratch and can't seem to make it stop bleeding. The damn boy never managed to even get a battle scar. The only mark that blemishes his skin is one done of his own stupidity, a run in with a tree as he fled, after Voldemort used him as bait to drag Harry from his hiding place. Bloody ingrate.
I pause. Where is Harry? I scan the side of the field in which I'd last seen him. I see nothing. He'd been there, moments ago. I'd watched him, blinking quickly to make sure my eyes had not deceived me. He was alive. After the connection of wands, and the rapidly changing colors, he was alive. Without thinking, I run to where I remember him to be, only to find his body on the ground.
I am holding him. There is no other word for this to change what it is. The old codger was right. I did care for him. There are tears on my face, not that I notice. All I see are the dazzling green emeralds that is Harry, staring up at me with love, and the watery smudges of dirt that my tears create as they fall onto him.
"Severus..." he gasps, choking.
I look down on him with the only thing I can. My own love.
"What is it, Harry?" My voice sounds hoarse, even to my own ears. Can he even understand me?
"I love... you. I have for awhile now." So it was true. Those gasping, throaty words are like music to my ears, and yet, I cannot share in all the joy that the imaginative recreations of this very moment have traumatized me with. I imagined those very words in my dreams, and we took the rest of our lives in each other's company. Those dreams would apparently not happen. And all because I was too stubborn.
His nearly empty eyes are staring at me with hope. A hope, that no matter how small, builds my strength.
"I Love you, too, Harry."
He smiles a beautifully pained smile, and suddenly he is gone. His eyes are cold, empty, and emotionless. His is still, and turning cold. My tears stop, and I am alone. I just wish I'd had more time.
---All he gave me was this ticket to heaven
But that ticket to heaven, said to lie in the bed that you make
Now I'm restless and I'm running from everything, I'm running from everything,
I'm afraid it's a little too late
All he gave me was this ticket to heaven
But that ticket to heaven, said to lie in the bed that you make
Now I'm restless and I'm running from everything, I'm running from everything,
I'm afraid it's a little too late
It's a little too late---