With the Passing of Time, a harry potter fanfic

With the Passing of Time

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Yet Still...

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By:Brigette Jackson-Cox

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This one looked upon the blonde, from his corner hidden away from the others, gazing across the crowded room he could feel the presence. The overwhelming power and passion that he surrendered to him. He could almost taste his skin as he watched him from this distance. That blond hair, those gray eyes, the musical laugh. Everything about him made this one want him even more. Their eyes met, a connection which was electric and secret. Yet as soon as it had been formed it was gone

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He dared a glimpse, just one stolen look, during that time he knew, he knew that they would meet and all could be told. And in that one look he could register everything about the face, the face he had long ago memorized. The raven hair, the pail skin, and the eyes, the eyes that told him about everything they had done and everything they had yet to do.

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It was hot even between the thin sheets, as they moved, slowly at first them faster, harder. Gasps of pleasure muffled at the thought, the horrid, terrible thought of being caught.

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With the passing of time, comes the growth of the physical person, and also comes the growth of power, of greed, and even the growth of a forbidden love. So comes the thoughts of lust, the thoughts of longing for the past. For the times when love was even less trivial and more frivolous. For when it was less dangerous and still thrilling, when there was less to loose and more to gain. Yet it remained.

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Another stolen look another silent conformation, another mental preparation for a secret meeting. Another chase, another hope another shattered day.

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This one knew, even as he felt the touch of his beloved. The beautiful blonde who had always tormented his heart and graced his body. The forbidden essence of him, he who should never have been in this one's arms.

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Shuddering gasps, spectacular color, supernatural betrayal. All part of the unholy humorous, hidden, secret they alone shared. He thought as he lay mesmerized by the ever present whip of black locks. The arousing touch of time perfected fingers, the assaulting heat of flaming skin.

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With the passing of time, comes the horrid realization, the reality, the complexity. The fire of hell, and shadow of despair that can only come with the loss of one's heart. The loss of one's love. The rain of one's anger. The cloud of one's tears. The wind of one's song. The song of the one alone. The song that is ever to well know by this one. Yet still it is sung.

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This one watched even as the tears fell, even as shaking hands clutched his robes. Holding back no longer, and begged. Soft lips begging, grazing the pail skin. Sobbing. Crying hoping, screaming, sobbing, dyeing. With a effort all else aside, he said the words, repeated what he knew, reassuring the one before him. Sneering the one opposing him.

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With the passing of time comes the call of ones duties. Comes the sight the ones we love suffering. Comes the plight of the world around us. Comes the battle fought out of will, the will to survive. With the passing of time so comes the passing of those older than we. The loss of those far wiser then we. Comes the thought and dreams of the days long ago when the world was innocent of the violent death we have seen. Yet still we move on.

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Cursing everything around him. This one ran, hoping against hope that there was a way. With the speed the very Gods would grant him he sought his goal. Amid the heat of dancing flame, flame with which the demons came. Amongst the flickering light, the memories sang. Amid the fresh pain, and venomous words. This one cried to the night, that which would leave leave him behind. Alone with the staggered light where angels once could glide.

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With the passing of time, comes also the passing of lives. The passing of faces and lies, of hopes and cries. With the passing of time comes the loss of a thousand lives. With the passing of time comes the frivolous fight. Love's plight. Comes knowledge that all was wasted, even guilded words of truth upon the last breath. Yet still we speak.

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This one heard the playful cries, the last of his love voice. Heard the laughter he had shared. Saw the eyes of the one he had known so well. Saw the one of his only love, the child he had given his life for. Whispered upon the wind, this one heard the command. This one felt the pain. This one with his final breath whispered the name.

"To you Lucius. To you my love."

Only before the loss of his days.

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With the of time comes the passing of all that is known. With the knowledge of the world, comes the knowledge of time. With the passing of time comes the dream. Within the dream the passing of time cannot be. Within the dream time is no entity. Yet still we learn.

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This one woke with a start. Frightened by the sight of his own timely end. Even in the realm of the dream, death is a haunting being. The dampened black hair cascading into the tried, troubled, time stricken face. Black eyes wandering over the body next to him. The fallen angle. Son of his only love. And for perhaps the first time since the day of innocence did a smile greet this one's lips. Since the days when his lover's name lingered upon his lips. Perhaps all was not lost of this one.

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This one,

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Severus Snape.

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The End

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