Three Kisses on the Shoulder
By: Triciasama
Disclaimer:
All characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastics and any other company having the rights to Harry Potter. I am making absolutely no profit from this, and it is purely for entertainment.
WARNING: This piece is rated R for strong language and non-graphic sexual content. Also contains slash.
a/n: Takes place during OoTP, contains spoilers for the book.
One tender touch of chapped lips to the creamy tip of his shoulder meant that he was sorry, but he had to leave right now.
Two unhurried kisses suggest clearly that he had a wonderful night, and that he was going to stay in for the morning.
However, he did not know that three caresses of the lips meant goodbye forever.
They never talked in the morning, it was an unwritten rule that both of them obeyed rather endearingly. Words did not express their disgust as their animal lust that brought them together every night for raw, passionate lovemaking. Words did not clearly justify what perverse force made them sign this unwritten treaty to unleash their sexual frustration every night on their most hated enemy. Words could not describe what this meant at all.
He was the first one up that morning, strangely enough. His partner was usually the lighter sleeper, but he seemed utterly exhausted from their especially rough romp last night. He allowed himself a slight smile as he sat up, glancing over the bare expanse of skin that lay by his side, stray parts covered haphazardly by their shared blanket.
He was breathing softly, chest rising and falling in melancholy, peaceful rhythm. He was tempted to lean over and tease him on the lips, but decided that waking up a sleep-deprived Fluffy number two would be much safer. So he just lay there, propped up on one shoulder and staring down at the lover he had hated for so many years and wondered what had brought him so far.
It started more then twenty years ago, during their teenage years, when everyone was caught up in romance and so-called love, and some people start questioning their sexuality. It was not surprising to find the empty slots in the library that was supposedly to hold information about these unwanted feelings, they were maybe smuggled somewhere under an insecure child's pillow and brought out by the torchlight in the bathroom. James had been plagued by the overwhelming thoughts when he was back in his teens, until he finally had come to the sense that he liked girls, and most importantly, Lily Evans. He, Sirius Black, however laughed at the thought. He loved girls. He loved looking at girls. It was definitely out of the question.
That was before he met Severus Snape.
There was something about this tousled little boy that enchanted him. Not his mere looks that seemed to disgust everyone but him, but somehow… something deeper inside. He was passionate about his work, a conservative loner and a seemingly philosophical thinker, everything that he himself was not.
It started as admiration. He did not know when it turned into infatuation and obsession.
However, one could understand that this was a difficult emotion for a third-year boy to deal with. He kept the notion to himself, divulging voluntarily only in thoughts and sometimes the confused tears that stained his red and yellow pillows in the devouring moment of the night; involuntarily in quickened heartbeats and sweaty palms. That was until someone took notice.
He was strolling down the hall quickly, bragging about his latest expenditures with girls and how supposedly clingy they were when the started wanting to 'Sirius dear, we need to talk'. James was trailing behind, trying vainly to hide a smuggled Snitch in his robes, with Peter annoyingly egging him on, and the latest addition to their mischief-making foursome – Remus Lupin, who was quietly lending his ear to his counterpart.
"You should have seen her face when I described to her in detail how I managed to stuff the spotted dick from dinner into Malfoy's underwear in the boy's toilets!"'
"She must have liked you a lot to have the stomach to go through that," Remus quipped, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"Well… that was the whole reason… she left me, without me being the bad guy who dumped her and all," Sirius shrugged in reply.
"Yes, that's who you are Sirius, god's gift to girls," James added dryly, giving a sideways glance at Peter who successfully restrained the Snitch in his stubby hands. "Hey, Peter, mind giving that back to me?"
"Oh yeah, Jamie-" the handsome boy was about to retort, before his throat suddenly ran dry, because heading down the corridor in an opposite way was the man himself – Severus Snape. Even as he willed it not to, he could feel his heartbeat accelerating with every step Snape took nearer to them, completely oblivious as he stared down into the enormous book he had in his hands.
"Hey, look who's here…" the voice of Peter Pettigrew suddenly stood out from the muffled background noise of the whispering sea of black robes. There was a mad glint in his eye as he saw the Slytherin boy approaching them, while a slightly malicious grin tugged at James's lips.
"Wands out, boys," the young Quidditch champion commanded softly, after realizing that Sirius had not barked out that comment as usual. All five of them reacted to the command, hands diving into their robes instantly. Unknowingly, as he reached for his wand, Peter relaxed his hold on the Snitch.
"Oh, bloody hell!" the exclamation slipped out of James's mouth when the Snitch whisked itself out of Peter's relaxed grasp, scattering the startled students. As if on cue, Mrs. Norris slithered out from the corner, bounding across the mayhem to report to its master as mayhem ensued in the student-crowded hallway.
"Hey look, a Snitch! Cool!"
"What the-"
"Get your foot out of my face!"
In the commotion, Snape was flung to the floor, his wand landing next to him. Through the throng of shifting legs and colourful shouts, Sirius's trained eye saw the gangly boy fall haplessly onto the ground. Something stirred beneath him, and he strode over forcefully, as if in a trance, to the fallen boy. Snape winced as the dark-haired boy stretched out a hand, throwing an almost inaudible insult towards him about being so cowardly as to attack an unarmed enemy. Sirius drew back his hand so very slightly, his heart flinching at the instantaneous comment.
"I'm not going to do anything to you… I'm just trying to… help."
Snape stared at him, as if detecting the sincerity in his eyes. Then ever so slowly, he lifted a slender hand and put his outstretched palm into his. A chill ran up Sirius's spine as he found the strength to pull him to his feet gently.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked him, unconsciously still holding his hand, slipping it away only when Sirius took a step backwards. Sirius merely riveted his eyes on him, fully absorbed in the bottomless onyx. Returning the intense gaze for the briefest of the moment, Snape suddenly turned on his heels and ran down the hallway, never looking back towards the pair of eyes following him till he was out of sight.
"Sirius," Remus beckoned loudly as he slapped a hand onto his shoulder. Feeling intensely embarrassed, he glanced over at Filch who was now rounding up the students with vigour, occasionally adding a few words of violent complaint here and there. James and Peter were nowhere to be found.
"Oi, Remy?" he fought to keep the blush in his cheeks down as he turned towards his friend, his grey eyes instantly seeing the suspicion clear behind Remus's amber firmament.
"What was that about?" the werewolf asked softly and gently, as if talking to a child.
"What was what about?" his reply was gruff, however.
"You and that Slytherin boy. It was as if… you two had a moment."
"Oh please… you have the weirdest imagination I know, Remy. Now let me go," Sirius shrugged off his hand, taking a few tentative steps down the hallway before Remus dragged him by the arm into a corner. The chestnut-haired boy took a deep breath, throwing a glance at the corridor that Snape just stalked down mere moments ago. He could see Sirius following his gaze, and the sudden racing of his pulse was felt as he grasped his wrists loosely.
"Sirius, are you- do you like him?"
"I-" Sirius tried determinedly not to blink, but he did, and when he opened them he found himself looking through a fine mist of tears that had welled in his eyes. He sighed, glancing away from the boy that was so intently gazing down at him.
"You do."
"Remy, it's not that I want to… it's just that… I can't…" the almost invisible tears dissipated, and he was slightly angry at his own confusion, his voice tinged with annoyance and accusation.
"It's okay, Siri… you don't have to tell me…"
"I think I love him." Sirius interrupted, the words blending together in a sigh of relief laced with a tone afraid of judgment. His eyes were still staring away from his friend, swallowing the sudden lump that had made its way into his parched throat. The even-tempered, practical Remus just glanced at him, with a look that did not betray the slightest hint of shame, pity or even disgust. It was a long time before he spoke.
"Are you… gay?"
"I don't know… I really don't know… I like girls and all… I can't be…" Sirius broke off, his voice taking the rough tone that was always present when he was upset. Shaking his head, somehow believing it was a dream and it will soon end, Sirius turned back to Remus with a strong, determined look.
"Promise you won't tell? Not even James and Peter?"
Remus barely thought for a moment before he replied: "Promise."
James did find out, and Sirius lost trust in his best friend. Then ridicule devoured him inside, and his pride and temper got the best of him. He could not love another man, so he resorted to the other extreme, hating him. That was why he had lured the boy he loved so much that he had to hate towards the werewolf that was his traitorous friend. He wanted it to end, he wanted all the emotions and hurt and confusion to end. It was only when James committed his dunderhead heroism that he suddenly realized he had tried to make the two people he loved most kill each other just for his sake.
He found it in his heart to let it go, even if the thoughts haunted his mind every moment of the day. Yet he couldn't find it in his heart to stop loving him, or to forgive the betrayal the werewolf had once promised him with all his heart.
As all things go, there went their own separate ways after completing their studies at Hogwarts. James went on to marry his high-school sweetheart and lived his quality family life. Remus managed to find a proper Muggle job that did not question or even suspect why he vanished every full moon, until the Ministry of Magic passed the Anti-Werewolf law that drove him to flee. Peter, he had not heard from Peter ever since then. And Severus… he just disappeared.
Gone but not forgotten, they used to say. But out of sight, out of mind was also a favourite phrase. Immature as he was, Sirius chose the easier way out, forgetting everything that had happened.
He was doing quite a good job of forgetting, until twenty years later, when he broke out of Azkaban and met with Remus again, and discovered that all along his assumptions were incorrect, Remus had not betrayed him, and neither had he betrayed him. They embraced as brothers, and all was well.
Severus, however, was a different story. After their first so-called reunion in the Shrieking Shack under the most unwanted circumstances, he realized that the teenage crush he had on him was not in fact, an infatuation. Infatuations would not have lasted that long through the adult years. No, it was lust. Pure, unrequited lust.
It took them two, long years to come to terms.
Grimmauld Place was the perfect breeding ground for arguments, and it was not lost on Sirius, being more than slightly agitated for being imprisoned for more than half his life, and being locked up in his dreary house again even after he'd escaped from the hellhole. It was during one of these heated disagreements with Snape that he let slip how much of his youth was wasted pining for him, fantasizing about him. It was then he sprang the odd look at Sirius, and they ended up wrangling each other on the floor, engaged in a war over the control of each other's lips.
They had sealed the unwritten pact back then. The only kiss in their entire relationship they shared.
Clearly, their story contained content far from the usual qualities in a typical romance fairytale. The princess was a prince, and there was no angry king who refused to let his daughter take a peasant's hand in marriage, nor was there the knight in shining armour who galloped towards the rescue on his faithful white steed. It was a struggle against their own thoughts and values. A war far worse than any physical family feud that would ever stand in the way.
They, however, had a pact that was even more unlike any other relationship quoted in fairytales and clichéd romance stories.
If anyone of them fell in love, it was the end.
The morning sunlight had filtered through the heaviest of the drapes, and bathed the cold room in a dim, warm aura. Seeing his lover's eyelids flutter open then closed, he leant over and teasingly hovered a few inches from his shoulder.
Snape felt the warm breath caressing his shoulder, and swatted an annoyed hand at the insistent lover of his, who trailed light kisses down the nape of his neck and nipped his shoulder with a vengeance.
A silent kiss on the shoulder was enough to momentarily disappoint him, however much he would not admit it even under inhumane torture. Yet it was quickly followed by another, an unusual mixture of disgust and anticipation spreading in an unseen ripple through his being. He was about to let the façade fall, turn towards his lover with an annoyed death glare, when another kiss was planted on his bare shoulder.
Three kisses.
For the first time, he spoke to him.
"What was that?"
"What was what?" a sleep-husked voice asked incredulously, half-hooded lids suddenly wide open, clearly surprised by the statement.
"I certainly don't know what three of your bloody lip dances mean," he growled in reply, his sullen voice unfeeling.
"It wasn't three, Severus, it was two."
"I don't wonder why you failed your arithmetic back in your school years. Three comes after one and two."
"I damn well know that. You're the one who's got the numbers wrong. Now close your damned sexy mouth before I lose control of myself,"
"Damn you, Black. Only you would give me such a pitiful excuse just to fuck me again."
They muttered a string of unprintable curses at each other, the violent hatred in their eyes seemingly habouring something deeper, the unexplained emotion that brought them back again and again despite the towering piles of hurt and hatred that haunted them every time the dastardly thought swept into their minds. Then apparently, Sirius lost control of himself.
Grabbing the Potions master by the shoulders, nails digging sharply into smooth flesh, he planted a lust-filled, urgent kiss on the unbelievingly warm… even searing lips. His lover responded with involuntary passion, a quick tongue parting his lips and teeth, making its way into the damp crevice of his mouth. Sirius slipped an insisting hand through his partner's silky locks, cupping the base of his skull and coaxing him towards his lips to deepen the kiss. An almost inaudible moan escaped the tight-lipped Snape, and Sirius seized the chance to flip him beneath his being, clawing the sheets in pleasure.
"Damnit, get off of me," Snape growled, at least, that was what he had meant to say, but the words came out merely as a muffled protest as Black devilishly claimed his lips as his own once again to prevent him from talking. The Potions master, however, was persistent, and managed to pry Black off him roughly, slapping him back onto his side of the bed, breathing heavily.
"You'd better tell me what the hell is going on here or I'll pitch you out the window!"
Sirius looked far from traumatized. The former convict just lay back on the bed languidly, an annoyingly angelic smile playing on his face.
"Severus, why must you make everything such a big issue? You liked it, didn't you? Isn't all that matters?" he drawled.
"That doesn't explain anything at all, unfortunately," was the cold reply.
"The truth is, I really don't know... it's as if... I needed to do that," his confident tone wavered slightly, ash-grey eyes turning to stare out the window beside him instead of facing his partner's accusing, bottomless, stare.
"You needed to do that," Snape repeated, his sarcasm barely disguised.
"Damnit, Severus, aren't you human? You've been sleeping with me so long... and you never noticed that I was-"
He stopped, apparently letting his lover have a say in the subject, but Snape just stared ahead at the man who had already gone through so much, yet crumbling silently before his eyes.
"... I started having feelings for you."
"I expected better from you, Black."
Sirius just shook his head, leaning helplessly down to gather the splayed clothes on the floor that was thrown away so haplessly the night before. Snape watched silently as he rose to dress himself, facing away from him. His footsteps finally paved a way for him to the door, where he stood with a hesitant hand on the knob, gazing at the tattered surface of the wooden door before uttering, "You know, I wish I'd never fallen in love with such a senseless git... I thought you would change your mind but..."
"I guess it's over now. I'm sorry."
Only when he turned to leave, he saw the burnt look behind the already cloudy eyes, like the sun had gone down in the since-darkened sky, and endless nights had come.
Severus lay in bed until he could no longer hear the echo of footsteps down the wooden stairs of Grimmauld Place. Rising to dress, he pulled on his clothing, heaving a sigh as he whipped out his wand to apparate himself back to the Hogwarts grounds. It was a Sunday, but with Dolores Umbridge running the school now, he doubted that the disappearance of a teacher for the weekend recreation was to be tolerated.
He did not intend to speak to Sirius Black anytime soon in the coming weeks, but little did he know that he would have to confront him again that very day.
"What do you mean Harry's gone?"
Black bellowed, his voice taking the tinge of the great dog he was. He was venting his fury at Snape, who had just walked through the doors of Grimmauld Place armed with a sultry look that said he had no sympathy at all for the bad tidings he was about to bring. The Potions professor, however, was unfazed, taking his time to shrug his traveling cloak from his shoulders before turning back to the furious man.
"It means exactly what I said, Black," his tone was slightly patronizing, as if speaking to a small child. "That Potter boy of yours was apparently having visions of you trapped in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. He tried to contact you through Umbridge's fire, not a very reliable way, I might add, but you were upstairs tending to Buckbeak."
"How did- why didn't he- Kreacher. I swear, by Merlin's beard, that I'm going to wring that elf's neck one day."
"I don't think that's a wise move, Black. Anyhow, I need to leave. Some of us have more urgent matters to attend, unlike you."
He twitched at the statement, barely a flinch that flitted by for the briefest moment, but Snape caught it, and allowed himself a small smile. Their gazes melded for a transient slice of time, and Snape swung towards the door, slinging his cloak over his angular shoulders.
"Seeing that my job here is done-" he began in his silky baritone, when he was rudely interrupted by a stubborn Sirius Black.
"I'm going too. To save Harry."
Snape was caught slightly off guard at the exclamation, and twirled back to face the former convict slowly, judging his words carefully in his mind.
"You are not. You stay here and alert Dumbledore, he will be here any second."
"Damnit, I need to get to Harry! How would you feel if your godson was at the mercy of the world's most powerful wizard and all you get to do is sit on your behind and try telling some old coot where he has gone?" Sirius yelled, flinging himself at the door, and was firmly shoved back, smashing against the hat stand before regaining his balance.
"Watch your language," Snape growled, wand suddenly whipped out and pointed menacingly towards Black's chest. Black merely shrugged it off, the determined look on his weathered face barely faltering. He took a step closer to the door, slapping his hand on the brass handle.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go," his tone was strangely calm, as if announcing that he was going to attend a picnic in the Hogwarts grounds.
"No."
"Severus Snape, if you have any ounce of compassion or mercy, just let me go," his words were forced, his patience now hanging by the slightest thread.
"Just stay… or is it that too hard for you?"
"I know somebody who should be asking himself the very same question."
Snape literally halted at the words. His chest stopped heaving with the breaths, and his eyes were narrowed slits that bore through the other's grey firmaments. For one moment, vulnerability swept across both of their faces, and the cold masks fell in place once again. Snape finally took a deep breath, stepped over to Sirius, who had his back against the door, noses hovering barely inches from each other. Sirius felt his guard slipping away as he loosened his white-knuckled grip on the door handle, trying vainly to breathe properly. Surely he wasn't going to… not now…
"You are trying my patience. Unfortunately, I don't have time for your childish babble. Stay here in Grimmauld Place, your precious godson is in good hands."
Snape pried the brass handle from Sirius's slackened grip, stalked out, and slammed the door behind him, leaving Sirius very, very alone.
He flung open the door smartly, catching it before it could rebound on the wall and closing it behind him with barely a hint of a bang. The enormous house was eerily empty, as he had expected, the few members of the Order wouldn't be back soon enough.
"Black?" he swept through the empty house, robes snapping loudly behind him as he strode through the hall, the dining room, the kitchen. Half a bottle of butterbeer stood on the counter, a chair pushed abruptly away lopsidedly lying on the floor… those were the only signs of life the suddenly cold house showed. Fearing the worst, Snape rushed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him, barely bothering even as the Black's mother started her non-stop shrill screeching at him.
"FILTH! SCUM! BY-PRODUCTS OF-"
"Sirius Black, this is no time to be playing games with me!" he yelled up the staircase, swinging a wild fist at the screaming portrait, silencing it only momentarily, before stomping up the creaking stairs.
Unsurprisingly, Kreacher the house-elf was standing at the bedroom door, holding a piece of the Black's family antiques in a tight embrace, a snarling sort of sneer stretching over his already overly large features.
"Ah, Kreacher, Sirius's lover has come to look for him. Where did he go, where did he go, Kreacher, he will ask."
"And pray tell… where is he?" Sarcasm dripped from the statement as he fought to keep his last thread of patience in check. His white-knuckled fists were balled up beside him, but he knew better than to agitate this house-elf more.
"Kreacher tell you, Sirius has gone. He gone to find that Potter boy. That filth will meet his end. Kreacher and mistress will be together again."
The house-elf ended his statement with a wheezy cackle, but the Potions master did not hear it for he had already left the room. Stalking downstairs, completely oblivious to the still-shouting portrait, Snape reached for a vial beneath his robes, tapping it with his wand and watching the deep plum coloured liquid vapourise immediately. Releasing the fine mist into the air, he muttered an incantation and immediately saw Arthur Weasly's vague figure suddenly turn from his comfortable perch on the couch with a slight startle.
"Arthur, I need you in Grimmauld Place, now," Snape spoke grimly without the usual formalities, barely disguising his impatience.
"Severus? Where are-" he broke off as an especially loud exclamation from Mrs. Black exploded throughout the house, wincing slightly. "Grimmauld Place, I assume. For goodness sake shut that thing up, Molly won't be terribly pleased about that."
"With pleasure. Coming?"
"Be there."
Within minutes, the doorbell in Grimmauld Place rang. The portrait was still belting out its insults, and Snape chose to talk to the Weaslys at the doorway instead.
"Sirius is gone. Enlighten me," he tried to keep the edge out of his voice, but failed.
Arthur glanced at his wife before answering, as if trying to put it in the gentlest way possible.
"Sirius went after them, you know him… he didn't want to be left behind, not when his godson was at sake."
"So he's with the Aurors and Lupin now?"
"And Dumbledore. Yes. I believe so."
Snape switched his gaze over Arthur's shoulder, and for one moment he was wondering what the enigmatic Potions professor was up to again when he turned himself, and saw what was, unmistakably, the members of the Order apparating back to Grimmauld Place just like Arthur himself had done just a few moments ago.
"And here they come," he finally said quietly.
"Merlin, he's at the door," the familiar voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt drew near to them in a whisper.
"Severus, you know better."
The chidings were, however, the last thing on his mind, when he noticed that the solemn party was one member less. He could feel the bile rise in his throat as he felt the foreboding of his worst fear become clearer and clearer in his mind.
"Where Sirius? He's supposed to be with you," his voiced sounded slightly choked, as if he hadn't drawn enough air to form the words that were spilling out of his mouth.
"Let's get in first, shall we?"
He and the Weaslys were hustled in quickly, ushered to the table where their usual meetings were held. They had not even bothered to remove their traveling clothes, but instead sat down fully clothed in boots and cloaks, claiming their seats silently and forcefully. Snape felt as if he were attending a court case with the ministry, where he was the victim and the rest were the jury. Molly and Arthur were equally distraught, but he was the first one to speak after a long silence.
"Where's Sirius?"
They exchanged glances, and it was all too clear that neither of them wanted to step up to the plate and explain the grim incident to him. Finally, Kingsley spoke.
"Sirius was slightly… too confident. Bellatrix Lestrange caught him when he was off-guard with a spell in his chest."
"Was he hurt?"
"No."
"That foolhardy bastard."
He could feel the sudden stillness in the air as the rest of the members faced him, a childishly sympathetic look adorning their grim faces.
"Severus," Remus tried first, his voice mildly calm as usual. "I know you hated him but-"
Whether he was out of words or the sound of his impending words in the pin-dropping silence intimidated him, Remus stopped short, pursing his lips in a troubled manner. This was when the headmaster intervened.
"Severus, Sirius Black died today."
"He fell. Away from us," Tonks added quietly, as if hoping to clarify the situation but instead worsened it.
The twitch in his lips was barely noticeable.
Molly Weasly, who was holding her composure fairly well until then, burst into tears, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes as her husband slipped a comforting hand over her shoulders. The others merely stared down at the oak table, a gentle, cowardly way of darting away from the thread of conversation. Remus, however, was staring almost calmly at Snape, teeth drawn sharply over ashen lips, as if daring him to at least betray a slight hint of emotion that he actually cared.
Feeling suddenly suffocated in the descending silence, he pushed his chair away abruptly, striding upstairs without a word of leave. Closing his eyes, Remus leant back into his chair, remained unmoving for a few moments, and finally uttered, "You know… I used to wish I was like Snape… he never felt anything. I was wrong."
"That it wasn't good not to feel anything?"
"No… that he indeed, did feel."
The headmaster found the Potions master seated in front of a dead fireplace in an incredibly neglected room, one Molly must have yet to clean up. The curtains were humming, but Snape seemed completely oblivious to the dull surroundings. He was perched in a high-backed armchair, facing away from the door, staring through a dust-frosted window.
"Severus."
"Headmaster," he did not turn, but instead replied the greeting from behind the chair. Albus strode over to the window, instantly darkening the room, then hastily retreated to the side of the armchair. He stood there for a moment, allowing Snape to quietly dwell on his thoughts and assumptions of why he would be here, then spoke.
"I understand the… relationship between you two, and if you would like to take a few days off from teaching I would gladly-"
"With all due respect, Albus, you don't understand. I never cared. I never will," his hands were clasped together as fists, elbows propped on both armrests of the chair, as if pondering.
"And I am supposed to believe that this sudden bout of moping is not because of Sirius Black's untimely death?"
Silence.
"No. I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts," Snape shifted in his seat, and as if overcome by a sudden thought, stood up abruptly. He turned towards the headmaster with the utmost respect he had reserved for him, and sighed softly. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my office. I'll have to finish grading the essays if I want to return them by the end of the term."
The headmaster watched as the professor glided over to the door, then swiveling back as if asking for permission to leave.
"Do as you wish, Severus. Oh, and I have spoken to Potter about this matter. If you could-"
"Don't mention anything to him?"
"No, not yet. Thank you."
"Gladly," he replied shortly, gallantly exiting and closing the door gently behind him.
The days passed by far too slowly for the Potions professor's tastes, but after the last few days of deftly torturing his students, as if making up for the lost time during the term when he was too exhausted but to slip the occasional insult every now and then, the day of the Leaving Feast had finally come. And for some horrible reason, Snape had to sit next to Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore, who said it was mostly for the reason that they didn't want to alarm the students more by showing them another empty seat for the Defence against Dark Arts post again, year after year.
Harry Potter was nowhere in sight, his seat empty as it had been since the feast started. He was probably somewhere in the building bawling his eyes out about his godfather's death, and he didn't bloody damn well care if he was.
The headmaster had just concluded his usual speech about 'getting your heads nice and empty' before coming back to school, and he applauded automatically as Dumbledore clapped his hands and the food magically appeared on the golden plates in front of them.
"Albus, if you don't mind me saying, you seem to have repeated the speech a tad too many times. I can even hear it echoing in my head now," McGonagall leant over, her hands still clasped in applause, while an unusually wide smile spread across her features.
"Have I? You must forgive me. I must be getting old and senile," he laughed, the warm twinkle back in his blue eyes again.
"You are far from senile, Albus."
"True, true."
Snape had already started sawing the steak into delicate little pieces, casually arranging it on his plate, when the female professor turned to him for light conversation.
"Ah, Severus, how have your seventh years done in Potions this year, any promising students?"
"Quite well indeed. Wellington did well, if he could just be a little more pointed towards his task he might be a promising alchemist. That Ravenclaw girl, however, was superb, only pity is that she left right after the NEWTS. Her scholarship in Potions was due to start soon."
"Well, there must be an end to all things, I suppose. Don't you?"
"I agree thoroughly."
"However good they might have been."
"May I know exactly where this conversation is going?" Snape growled softly, trying to keep his temper in check for the sake of the school and the headmaster. He was spearing his mashed potatoes with more than a hint of vengeance.
"Severus, I know you two weren't really on good terms, but I hoped you would at least show some regard towards his… demise."
Snape shot her a look of pure venom, gritted teeth bared in anger. He stared down at the sumptuous dinner in front him, suddenly realizing that he would rather suffer an empty stomach than go through this again. He stood up, eyes flaring and swept from the table so fast that his robe snapped.
"Well, I don't and that's none of your damn business!" the sudden loud proclamation rang through the hall, and many heads turned, but the Potions professor was already well out of sight. Fortunately, for if they had saw him, they would have seen that, indeed, he did care.
That night, Severus Snape lay awake in his bed, bidding the veil of slumber to descend upon him as he tossed and turned beneath the sheets. He had managed to finish grading his essays before turning in, a feat that he had not been able to perform for years because of this errant relationship.
However, he was far from satisfied.
The fireplace was left flickering, the last embers casting prancing shadows over the drab dungeon walls. He did not dare look, for it brought back memories, memories too painful even the cold-hearted man himself could not bear. The shadows reminded him of the many times the great black dog had slithered into his room in the middle of the night, lying in front of the fireplace, head leaning on the great paws crossed, not having the heart… or guts he'll never know, to wake his sleeping partner. They reminded him of how he had woken up one morning to the dying embers, a warm and peaceful body nestled against his chest, and glancing over to the wall and seeing the suddenly heart-warming silhouette on the cold stone walls and for once in his life… feeling contented.
He shouldn't have glanced over. He shouldn't have given into the mere burst of sentimental emotions. But he did.
He finally let himself grieve. Not drowning his emotions in the bottom of an amber bottle anymore, but letting himself glaze over the happy reminiscences, the confused thoughts and mostly, the romance itself and his regrets…
A weary hand slipped over the empty sheets beside him, the crescent moon seemingly mocking him as it splayed its translucent glow over the white cloth. The crickets chirped their melancholy melody out in the silvery night air, and he willed time to stop just for that moment, for life to pay their respects for the lover he never knew he loved, until now.
"I'll miss you, you bloody idiot," he whispered.
It was only now he knew…
…Three kisses on the shoulder meant goodbye forever.
Author's note: The title came to me once when I was half-asleep in front of the computer, all hazed from studying for my exams… and I thought it was high time I went about doing something about it, which is why this is now complete and posted here. Not beta-read, so please point out or forgive me if there is an abundance of errors. Reviews and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated. Thank you for your support.
-Tricia, October 2004-