Quondam
Summary: Sometimes happily ever after is only in books
Status: WIP
The light was fading when he woke, legs wracked in spasms and he slid off the bed to the floor trying to undo the damage hed caused. Tears beating at his eyes as he tried to straighten his legs. Fingers digging deep into the muscles of his thighs and then calves he tried to bring arouse the circulation in his legs.
Clutching the side of the bed he stood on weak legs and did several knee bends, wavering at the last he quickly sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Snape. He lay in quiet repose, still like death. He was breathing but his thinness kept it from being visible. He reached for him again, pulling back at the last second. He needed to shower but was still very tired physically and magically depleted. Magic, unlike natural resources, tended to fade if it wasn't used consistently.
Foregoing a bath, he haltingly crawled over Snape and lay on his back next to him, asleep within moments.
--
He woke curled up against a source of heat, his skin was bare and he had no idea how he got to be where he was or how he came to be naked. He carefully extracted himself from the warmth and looked down at it with trepidation. A human body, a male body to be precise and Severus Snape was nothing if not precise.
He looked around the room and saw little but shadows and darkness. Neither pleased him because there were bad things in the dark. He quickly reached for the coverlet at the foot of the bed and pulled it up over himself and the body. He unconsciously moved into the heat and safety that he remembered feeling as he woke just a few moments ago.
The dreams rolled over him like waves on the sand, crashing and soaking him with their presence. Like all his dreams they were inexplicable, faceless, and terrifying. He feared sleeping long periods of time because they played in his head like children on a Quidditch field. More than he feared sleep, he feared being awake. When he was awake he was in control of his mind and he'd replay his life over and over, magnifying the bad parts and overshadowing the good ones. He lived in his own created hell and when the night of darkness came his own mind wreaked havoc on his unprotected mind. He created his nightmares and fears.
He woke digging at his eyes. He couldn't see. He never could when he woke. His sight was always taken from him and he felt a desperation that couldn't be matched. It was this dream that stopped him from his potion making. His potion making was his lifeline; it'd been there for him since he was young. He valued and relished it above all else. If he couldn't see, he couldn't be a master at potions. He feared the day he'd wake without his sight and it would be real and he knew that he'd never make another potion again. He cut himself off from it, removed it like a sliver from his skin. He cut out his own heart in anticipation of what he felt was the prophecy of his dreams.
He looked around the room, satisfied that for another day he had his sight and saw the boy again. A hand on the thin should and he pulled to roll the body to him. Closer he came. The heat from the boy was astonishing. He was pure heat. Pure as flame.
The hair was dark and shaggy, a memory of Sirius Black flickered across his mind and he pushed it aside and looked deeper. It covered his face like a mask, protecting him from prying eyes. He tucked the longer pieces behind an earlobe and looked along the lines of the cheek, the corner of the eye, and the tinged pink scar on his forehead.
Potter.
His fingers danced across the scar and fluttered down the cheek to touch the sleep pouting lips.
Potter.
Everyone's savior, he couldn't save himself though. He didn't know how he got here, how he ended up in the bed and likely home of Harry Potter.
A soft sigh escaped the lips under his fingers and it touched him, warm and moist. He waited for movement to see the boy's eyes, to see the truth as he knew it.
He pressed his fingers into the lips, touching teeth. The jaw flexed and the mouth opened slightly letting a warm slick tongue touch his fingers. He could slide inside and grip his jaw, breaking it. A lone thin leg slid closer touching his and sliding along it like he slid along the lips. Closer and closer. An arched back and a sigh of whisper, the hands twitched and reflexively clutched at the air. Then it happened, his eyes opened. Unveiled.
A blink of sleep replaced with a quirk of recognition and his answer, joy.
--
The fingers on his tongue brought him to waking. He tasted herbs and sweat. What would he find when he opened his eyes? He knew what he felt but he did not know why. He did not know how he'd lived alone so long, without the breath of another against him. Excluding the medical staff there'd been no one in his home since he'd moved in. These walls hadn't heard conversations and felt feelings. These walls couldn't talk just like their owner. He felt joy. He was no longer alone.
He opened his eyes to tell the heat and breath beside him just how he felt.
--
Severus stared in shock, how was joy to be found in those eyes? Is he the one who is without eyes?
"Mr. Potter," He asserted himself and received acknowledgement that he did know whom he lay next to. His voice is not strong like it should have been, it felt and sounded weak.
Harry nodded, dislodging the fingers still in his mouth, pervading his taste buds. There were trails of wet down his chin as they slid out and kept touch of his skin, coming to rest at his throat.
He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head - defiant as always.
"Hell," was his only response. The voice was hideous with disuse and it was apparently as painful to use as it was to hear.
He curled his hand around Harry's neck with a thumb at his windpipe. He let me touch him like that, trusting fool.
"Mr. Potter, you've been hidden for a very long time. Was your fame not enough, you had to go into hiding for even more?" Derision poured from his lips into the ears so close.
Harry's cheek twitched and his jaw tightened, he swallowed harshly and it could be felt all the way down.
Harry was curled around his body like a snake curls around its victims. He was not to be a victim of Harry Potter and he tightened his hold on that pale throat beneath his hands. Pressing into that vulnerable skin until crimson peeked from the crescent underneath his nail.
He just closed his eyes.
Where was his Harry Potter? The one who would fight for looking at him sideways? Only memories are left of that boy, just like he was truly only a memory of his former self. We were both ravages of our own lies.
He released his life from his grip, touch softening and then soothing. "I'm sorry."
Severus Snape never apologized.
--
He apologized. Where was his Severus Snape? His confusion must have shown on his face as Severus scowled and it made him smile.
His was a long length underneath his body and he couldn't say what possessed him to push against that body. He couldn't say with words what he needed to but he could show him his joy. As he moved, so did Severus. His hand slid upwards to cup his neck, tilting it upward like a sunflower to sun. He touched his near white hair and softly stroked it down against the hollows of his cheek and Severus' eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the touch.
He pressed his lips to that same cheek and breathed in the scent of him that even soap could not remove.
"Missed you," He whisper into Severus' ear that was so close.
He just scoffed and the breath whirled around his ear.