Disclaimer: I own nothing. Harry Potter and all related things are property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, etc. The inspiration for the Bone-Fever Curse comes from The Golden Key, property of Melanie Rawn, Kate Elliot, and Jennifer Roberson. You're Gone belongs to Diamond Rio, whoever wrote it, etc. (THIS IS NOT A SONG FIC. It was merely inspired by the song.)
Warnings: Slash, angst, sap, character death, OOC.
You're Gone
And I bless the day I met you
And I thank God that He let you
Lay beside me for a moment that lives on
And the good news is I'm better
For the time we spent together
And the bad news is You're Gone..
--"You're Gone," Diamond Rio
----
Severus woke with a start, immediately recognizing the white and pale green curtains as belonging to the infirmary. He frowned, wondering how he'd gotten there.
The last thing he remembered was being on the lawns of Hogwarts; lawns that had become a battle-field, covered with the dead and the dying, and the still living crying out curses and hexes at one another. He remembered that he had just defeated Lucius Malfoy, had watched the pale blond fall to his knees, thence to his face, never more to move, when he'd heard the high, cold voice of Voldemort. Knowing that Harry would surely be dueling the Dark Lord, he had looked around, quickly spotting the dimunitive Gryffindor facing off against the tall, snake-like Slytherin.
His heart had nearly stopped when the Dark Lord had cast the Bone-Fever Curse. Before he'd realized it, he had been running, running as fast as he could, to get to Harry. He remembered grabbing the boy, putting himself between the the curse and the target, hoping against hope that it wouldn't hit Harry.
He remembered the pain as the curse hit him; remembered feeling Harry shudder and cry out; remembered realizing that it hadn't worked, hadn't been enough; remembered the despair he had felt.
Remembered Harry calling him an idiot, asking, "Now who's being a Grtffindor?!"
Remembered Harry patting his cheek, then gently shrugging out of his embrace as the darkness rose up to greet him.
He sat up suddenly. What happened to Harry? he thought frantically, throwing the bedding aside and scrambling out of the bed and past the white and green curtains surrounding it. "Poppy!"
The plump medi-witch jumped, dropping a vial to the floor where it shattered, and spun on her heel. She pressed a hand to her chest. "Severus! Good Merlin, you startled me!"
"Where's Harry?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer, but needing to know.
Poppy glanced away.
"He's not--?" Severus couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. He swallowed thickly. "..Is he?"
She looked at him, wide-eyed, but still, there was sadness in her gaze. "Oh no!" She patted his arm, leading him towards a curtained bed at the far end of the infirmary. "Not yet, at any rate." A soft, sad smile. "He's been holding on through sheer stubbornness."
Severus didn't like that sound of that. "What about the cure? Didn't he take it?"
"There was only so much of it, dear," Poppy replied sadly, "and the two of you weren't the only ones hit with that curse. He insisted you be among the first to be given it, and then everyone else. When there was only one dose left, there was a Hufflepuff first year, Arina Kugayu, and himself remaining uncured. He insisted she have it."
Gryffindor to the end, he thought, forcing himself to take a breath, despite the hard, crushing weight in his heart. He only noticed they had stopped, and were now standing in front of the softly fluttering curtains, when Poppy patted his arm again, and quietly withdrew. With a trembling hand, he pulled the curtain back.
Harry had such a love of life, and living, and took pleasure in the simpler things in life, something he had learned after Albus had literally forced the two to get along. But such was his quiet stregnth that one rarely noticed how small he was, his five-foot-nothing and delicate bones not withstanding; instead, he seemed larger than life, often finding some small thing to smile about, no matter what, giving hope to others when he didn't always feel it himself.
The Harry laying on the bed looked so impossibly small, Severus wondered if it truly was him. The curse had run the gamut, leaving the active, strong Gryffindor thin and spindly, looking so terribly fey and yet far older than his years. His thick black hair, that he'd grown out on a dare and left that way because he liked it, was the pale, soft color of new-fallen snow, and his skin bore delicate wrinkles, though he thought it would still be as soft as always.
But what struck him the most was Harry's hands, laying softly on top of the pale blanket over his chest, which rose and fell so slightly, he could barely tell Harry was, indeed, still alive. He loved Harry's hands. Strong, lightly calloused, and oh-so capable, yet soft, delicate, sometimes clumsy. Hands that could wield a wand, or a broom, with an expert touch. Hands that delighted in Severus's hair, in teasing him, and clung to his shoulders, never to let go, when they made love. Hands that were as much an annoying, delightful, impossibly wonderful contradiction as their owner.
Hands that now lay on top of the covers, thin, twisted, the joints swollen from the bone-fever. The sight broke Severus's heart.
He sat on the bed carefully, and gently took one of Harry's hands. "Harry?" he called quietly, reaching with his free hand to brush now-white bangs from the teen's face.
Harry's forehead twitched, and his eyelashes fluttered, and the hand Severus was holding tightened minusculy. "Sev..?" His voice was very nearly the same as always, only weaker, lighter, almost barely there. Slowly, as if the weight of a thousand years were on their lids, his eyes opened just enough to reveal the milky whiteness that was also an effect of the curse. He was blind.
Severus gently brushed his thumb over the swollen knuckles on the back of Harry's hand. "I'm here, Harry," he answered quietly. "Right here."
"You're.. alright?" His breathing was so soft, so shallow, he couldn't utter more than two words in one breath. The older man traced the faint line of worry on his forehead, then stroked his cheek.
"Of course I am. You saw to it, didn't you?" he replied, forcing himself to speak. He wanted so badly to do nothing more than hold the small Gryffindor close, so tightly, but he knew that would hurt the teen terribly, so he just kept stroking his thumb over Harry's knuckles.
"Good." Harry smiled softly. "Wanted you.. to live. No.. matter what.."
"I thought the agreement was for both of us to survive," Severus murmered. I won't cry.
"Sorry." He squeezed Severus's hand, ignoring the flare of burning pain it invoked. "Couldn't.. let Arina.. go through.. this."
"Horribly Gryffindor of you," he said thickly.
"I know." The smile again, though now his eyes were shut. "You.. hate it.."
"You know me too well."
"Love you," Harry breathed softly.
"Harry?" Severus queried, frowning worriedly.
"Will wait.. for you.." he replied. "Always.."
Severus closed his eyes, pained. So it comes to this. "I don't doubt you will, Harry. I love you, too, you stupid Gryffindor."
Harry smiled. Trust his lover to insult him while he's on his deathbed. "Good."
Severus couldn't think of anything to say, now; even if he could, he doubted he would be able to. He felt like there was a boulder lodged in his throat, leaving barely enough room for him to breathe. So he sat, stroking Harry's knuckles gently, and watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall, so terribly slowly.
And when it stopped rising, he forgot his silent vow to himself.
He cried.
I feel.. really, really awful for making Harry die. On the other hand, I feel wonderful, because this is the first story I've been able to complete in ages. I also believe it's much better than anything else I have up on my account. (Personally, everything else is crap, but I can't bring myself to delete any of it, or rewrite it, so I must cringe while wondering how people can actually praise any of it.)
This is the first true angst/character death fic I've ever written. I've tried it before, but since I'm a sucker for happy endings, I had to go and make them end all happy-angsty rather than sad-angsty. I like to think I'm more mature than I was back in 2004. I'm.. also calling this an early birthday present to myself. (8 more days, and I'll be eighteen. /swoon.)
I hope you liked this.. I shan't say "enjoyed," because that would be mocking the whole tone of this fic. And I hope I'm not the only one that feels like crying.
Be well, and God Bless,
--Myuu-Foxgirl