Hey, only just stupidly realised it was Harry's birthday after reading a post on one of my Yahoo groups, and therefore am saying "Happy Birthday Harry!"
Well, in honour of his birthday, I am posting a fic which is, admitedly, a little depressing and a bit cheesy, and maybe a bit oc, but hey, its fanfiction.
It’s A Fine Line Between Love and Hate
Their eyes met across the hall. A spark of dead rivalry, of old animosity shot between them, then each looked away, uncomfortably aware of the line they were walking.
They hated each other. There was no doubt about that.
But underneath the hate, still buried too deep to feel clearly, there was something else.
Something inexplicable and strangely endearing.
Something that neither preferred to dwell on, because they were afraid where such feelings may take them.
Harry Potter sighed and leaned forward onto the table, brushing unkempt hair from his eyes.
He was tired.
It consumed his mind and body, ever crashing waves of fatigue that refused to be dispelled, no matter how much he rested, lying with blank, open eyes, staring at the ceiling above.
And now the time, the day had finally come, and all he could focus on was his exhaustion. There was still so much he wanted to do, to say before it was too late, but he couldn’t get past the dull ache behind his eyes that forced all other thoughts from his mind.
Except one.
For he could still picture cold black, piercing his skin and bones, seeking the soul underneath. Those eyes, so icy and impersonal, saw things that no one else could see. They saw through his façade and they knew, they knew the weight of the world could not last long on the shoulders of a single person.
He didn’t want to think about the stirring those eyes produced in him. The alien emotions that rose from someplace deep inside where he had not yet ventured.
But he was drawn like a moth to the flame, searching for that unrelenting gaze, the only thing that still made him feel truly real.
Severus Snape felt the heat of the other’s eyes upon him.
The boy was looking at him. Again.
Damn him.
Severus tried to keep his attention elsewhere, anywhere, but to hopeless cause as he felt the lure of the other enticing him to succumb.
Black met green.
Fire sparked between them.
Severus looked away first, disturbed by the inappropriate emotions he experienced, and saddened by the look of absolute exhaustion on his pupil’s face.
Was it right that Harry should spend what may be his last living night in a state of complete and utter desolation?
No. Not even Harry Potter deserves that.
Severus stood abruptly, pushing his chair silently back from the table.
Harry’s eyes shot to his and Severus held the gaze briefly, before sweeping from the hall, ignoring the questioning looks of students and teachers alike.
Harry watched him leave, an odd fizzing in his stomach.
Slowly he stood. He felt a hand on his arm, but shook it off, concentrating solely on following Severus’s footsteps from the hall.
He was waiting.
They watched each other with guarded expressions, then Severus turned and walked out into the cooling grounds, Harry following. Severus led him to a large, leafy tree that looked out across the lake, and they sat in silence.
“I don’t want to go.”
Harry’s words didn’t surprise Severus in the slightest. Who would want to walk to their death, even for a noble cause?
“I know.”
“How?” Harry turned to face him, a trace of anger in his features. “How do you know?”
“I know more that you think I do,” Severus replied softly. “I know you’re afraid. I know you’re torn between wanting to live your life and playing saviour to the world. I know you lie awake at night, unable to find rest even in sleep because of the dreams that haunt you. I know that a part of you wishes you could just give in, just give up.”
For a moment neither spoke.
“It’s funny,” Harry said softly. “Of all the people in the world you are one of the ones I hate most. Yet you are the only one who truly understands me.”
Severus said nothing.
It was true, he knew. He was the only one who could truly see the boy for what he was, because he was the only one who refused at accept the hero like image that had been painted by those who knew him only from name, not from a face. It had started because his hatred for the boy refused to allow him to treat him like they did, refused to praise and love him, so he singled him out, isolated him, and in doing that, perhaps, failed to realise the boy inside was not so unlike himself, deep down. And when this realisation came, a whole new world of feeling was opened, and in letting himself, finally, feel he had failed all he had worked so hard to sever himself from: emotion.
“I’m going to die,” Harry stated flatly.
“You don’t know that,” Severus replied evenly.
“I don’t care,” Harry whispered. “I don’t feel like I have anything left to live for. I’m wondering if I ever did.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” Severus snapped, a slight impatience in his voice. “You have plenty of things to live for. You have loyal friends, many people who are quite willing to lay down their lives for you. You have a whole world of adoring fans.”
“But it’s not enough, is it? I’d give up any kind of recognition to have my mum, or dad, or Sirius here with me. Just to have someone who will say to me “It’s okay Harry, you don’t have to pretend anymore. You can just be you.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Is that who you want to be, Potter? ‘Just you’?”
“Yeah. Without the scar and past and the fight. Without the fame. Just Harry Potter. No one special. Just me.”
“Sometimes being oneself isn’t as wonderful as it might appear,” Severus remarked.
Harry turned to look at him. “I think you’re wrong.”
Despite himself, the tiniest smile pulled at Severus’s lips. “Do you?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. “I think you being yourself is the best thing you could ever be.”
“Is that me personally, Potter, or just the world in general?” Severus asked, a definite dryness to his tone.
“Just you,” whispered Harry.
He reached out a shaking hand, barely aware of his actions, and touched one of the too-fine, lank strands of ebony hair.
Severus turned, uncharacteristic surprise written on his face.
“I love you,” said Harry.
Severus stilled, then shook his head slightly.
“You don’t love me. You’re feeling lost, confused. Whatever it is, it’s certainly not love.”
“I love you,” repeated Harry.
Severus sighed in exasperation.
“Potter-“ he began.
“Snape.” Harry interrupted.
They glared at each other, Harry hiding a smile, and then Severus turned away, uncomfortably aware of a sudden, almost unrecognisable sense of longing, longing for the boy before him, the feelings for whom he had tried so hard to fight against.
“Severus.”
Severus almost jumped, hearing his spoken from those lips, said with such…love.
“I love you…I do.”
Severus forced his marble like mask into place, determined that he would not risk his emotional sanity for the whim of doomed seventeen year old.
“I highly doubt it,” he said coldly. “What you are experiencing is hormones, Potter, nothing more. And what would make you think for one moment that I could reciprocate you feelings?”
Harry felt the words as strongly as a slap.
Of course, it had been foolish to think that Severus would ever desire him, foolish…
He stood abruptly, fighting a sudden lump in his throat.
“I just wanted you to know,” he said softly, turning back to the castle.
“Harry.”
He froze as his name was called, then looked at Severus, who was behind him, so close they were almost touching.
Severus had called out in a split second of madness, and now he had to make a decision: loose Harry and, consequently, himself or take a chance and maybe, just maybe catch a glimpse of happiness.
Silently, Severus leaned forward and pressed his lips against Harry’s in a gentle, painfully intimate kiss that seemed to last an eternity, rather than the few seconds it encompassed.
Harry looked at Severus, the smallest of knowing smiles gracing his lips.
“I don’t love you,” Severus denied.
Harry said nothing, his lips brushing Severus’s cheek as softly as the wings of a butterfly.
Neither needed to speak as they made their way back to the castle. There was no discussion as they reached Severus’s quarters. Not even a sound as they closed the door and regarded each other with a fierce mixture of emotions.
Love. Fear. Desire.
It was only when they had reached deep inside the other’s soul in the most intimate of actions that any sound came at all.
Utterances of love as they cried out each other’s name and soared among the stars.
In the morning, Harry had gone.
Severus found only the barest trace of him lying on his pillow.
It’s a fine line between love and hate.
He stared at the note, a painful emptiness in his stomach.
Harry had gone to save the wizarding world. He had gone to die.
Brief moments from the night before flashed through his mind; the softness of Harry’s hair, the gentleness of his hands, the gasps of pure pleasure as they held each other close.
It was painful, he realised, only he’d expected pain from rejection, never from mutual love and parting.
And that was the most painful thing of all. Because he did love Harry, but he was too late to tell him.
The End.
Happy Birthday Harry!
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