Title: So Far Away
Rating: PG
Summary: Snape has been gone for 7 months on an important mission for the Order. When he doesn't come back when he's suppose to Harry starts to worry.
Warnings: Slash, "Character Death"
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"He's been gone for too long now! Where is he!"
"I'm sorry to say that Severus is still out on his mission for the Order, Harry. He may not be back. I have told you how dangerous this mission is and how important it is for the Order." Dumbledore said slowly, his arms leaning on his desk as he gazed tenderly over his half moon spectacles at Harry who unconsciously balled his hand that had been laying flat on the edge of Dumbledore's desk into a fist.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in an attempt to block out the unwilled images that popped into his head at the mention of Severus not coming back. Of course he would come back...he had to come back...Harry needed him. After all they had been through the man had to return to Harry. He owed him at least that much if not more.
He should have been back by last week at the very least. Had it already been 7 months since his absence? Or was it already into the 8th month? Even time itself seemed unwilling to tell Harry a thing about his lover's absence. Harry removed his hand from the highly polished oak desk and slid it into his pocket, a habit he had picked up long ago from Severus. When the man wasn't brewing potions or tempting Harry into the most erotic of passions, the calloused and scarred hands were firmly placed in Severus' cloak or pants pockets. Harry let out a small sigh and turned from the desk, a motion that Dumbledore took to mean that Harry had no more questions for him. Harry was getting nowhere as usual.
It didn't help at all that Dumbledore would not tell him where Severus had gone nor exactly what he was doing there. Harry should have known that the old man wouldn't tell him...even if he did know about Harry and Severus. That didn't keep Harry from glowering at the old man ever single time he declined any information.
"Just come tell me when he gets back. Please." Harry barely meant it as a plea but more so a demand.
"Oh, I think he will. But if not I would be more than glad to. Now get on back to class Harry." Dumbledore nodded towards the door where the sounds of students filing past could be heard without so much as an indication that he had heard the hint of utter rudeness in Harry's tone. Harry gave a final resigned sigh and swept out of the room and into the hallway to his next unfortunate class, Potions.
He knew even before he entered the room that his love would not be there. He had given up on that hope long ago. Every day he had entered the dungeons with hope that the tall dark form of Severus would be standing at the front of the classroom, the usual snarl on his face. But after so many months of being greeted with their overly cheerful substitute's composure he had lost his hope. Professor Debins was more out of place down in the dark dungeons as Lockhart would have been. His cheerful disposition and bright smile often made Harry wish that Voldemort had killed him 15 years ago. Or at least that he could kill the "wonderful" teacher, as Hermione had called him. Harry had all but snarled at her when she had said that but instead contented himself with muttering unintelligable words under his breath and storming up the stairs to his dorm room. He was far more use to Severus' moodier and mysterious attitudes. He had even wondered how he could have ever hated that man.
More like how can I love him so much, Harry though almost bitterly as he sunk into his seat next to Ron. As the lesson for the day began Harry began to doodle in his notebook. Small hearts and scribbles decorated the margins of his notebook. He was constantly drawing now during Potions. He had no core means as to which he drew, no in particular subject that he focused on. He had even once tried to draw Severus. He had not even come close to doing him justice and in a fury of frustration, sorrow, and anguish had lit the piece of paper on fire, startling Hermione and Ron who had, at the time, been doing their homework in the common room.
Harry drug his eyes from the paper in front of him and focused them on the blury form of the classroom. He felt something cold trickle down his left cheek before it reached his lips. He could tast salt and had he concentrated enough, perhaps his own sorrow.
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A/N: I like how this is turning out. I might write more. I might leave it like this. Who knows?