HUMMINGBIRDS AND ROSES
Disclaimer: This is an unauthorised tribute to the works of JK Rowling who, with her publishers and licensees, owns the characters and situations elaborated herein.
Spoilers to OotP, not HBP compatible. Thanks to all my reviewers and to my previewers, Bellegeste and Cecelle. Review responses may be delayed as it's the middle of Passover.
"How do you do it?"
Professor Snape did not glance up from his cauldron, in which a delicate mixture was just beginning to change from lilac to silver. There was no need. Hers was a voice he could not mistake. He'd heard it often in his dreams.
"I believe we already said goodbye, Miss Granger," he said when the change was complete. "I imagine you can have nothing to add."
"I want to know how you do it!"
She hurried across the room and laid her hand on his arm. Instantly, he stiffened, though his other arm continued slowly stirring in the mashed Ashwinder eggs in a figure of eight.
"I haven't given you permission to touch me," he growled. "Unless you wish to break the hearts of all your little Gryffindor friends by having their points reduced to zero, I recommend you let go immediately."
He picked up a pinch of shredded rowan-root with a slightly trembling hand and sprinkled it in, rubbing the bits lightly between his fingers.
"You can't. It's too late for that," she protested, but she released him.
"On the contrary," he replied. "You've known since your first year that points can be won or lost until the moment the House Cup is announced."
Another pinch. Now a third. The silver was deepening to a rich grey-bronze. Another five minutes and it would be ready for bottling.
She had retreated a few steps, but was still so close he could have reached out and touched her. Her gaze was like a weight on his face.
"How do you do it?" she asked again.
"Do what?"
"Wake up in the morning if there's nothing to wake up for."
He Accioed the vials and busied himself lining them up.
"Is there an alternative?" he said deliberately.
She gulped audibly.
"What?" she whispered.
"One doesn't need something to wake up for. One either wakes up or one doesn't And once awake, sooner or later one gets up and goes on, so it may as well be sooner."
She stared at him, shaking her head in denial.
"That's all?"
"What else did you expect? Hummingbirds and roses? Of course that's all. Until one day one doesn't wake up." He shrugged.
"I'm sorry," she faltered.
"Pity is a useless emotion that demeans both the giver and the receiver. Go and wash your face. You're not fit to be seen."
His back tingled as he sensed her approaching again. He stood like a rock.
"I have asked you to leave."
"You offered me your friendship before. Didn't you mean it?"
He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. It had saved him through almost two decades of spying.
"I offered you assistance at need. Do you want my friendship?" He didn't believe it.
"Yes. I do."
"Then you can start by never straying within my arm's reach," he said bleakly.
"Why is that?"
He started ladling the potion into the vials. One, two, three …
"Do you think I'm made of stone?"
A/N You might recognise a few lines that, on the presumption that I'd never post this, I cannibalised into "Disguise".