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He'd survived.
Against his own wishes and preparations, Severus survived the hellhole deemed his conclusion. Forced to fight throughout his life, it ended with him exhausted, but hopeful to have earned peace in offering his life—like so many others, to the wars. Now it was time to cease and reunite with the few he held in high regard. But it got torn away by an antivenom potion from a beaded bag, a second-years healing spell, and an ancient house-elf that dropped him inelegant at the feet of an aghast Pomfrey.
It's a surprise how all-consuming rage is. Severus had thought himself king and ruler of violence, but if anything, he realised the primary fuel for his actions was hatred, not rage. Now, violence permanently permeated his pores and doused every nerve ending he possessed. It crawled like ants in his veins and itched the joints between his bones. Ever burning like deranged FiendFire, and nothing halted the sensations.
This inferno never desisted, and the foul behaviour that is his second skin became further cutting around its edges. Without Dumbledore’s protection—to his biggest regret, he caved to society’s pressure, and accepted the weight of his previous Hogwarts duties. At least until he concluded the training of the new Potions Master.
This had been an atrocious mistake. Now more than ever he wished to enter sophrosyne. Clear his conscience with Lily—ask forgiveness—and show what he'd dedicated his life to in her name. Over the years she became a silhouette, one that walked from a photograph and left behind blackness. An ache that comes and goes, always returning in quiet moments. If only he could keep her close, to talk and laugh like they once had.
However, he was again chained to this castle, and mocked by flashes of wannabe red. In the great hall, the quidditch-field, teacher’s lounge, and late at night in the kitchens. Red always appeared in the creases of his eyes.
Every day, once again defined by what he was denied. Red-twisted strands in the same shade as hers, paired with green eyes a tint darker than lilies. Nothing but a shoddy copy with a square jaw, ubiquitous muscles, and a smile like hers. Open, candid, and indulging.
Life had never been as cruel to Severus, then after the death of his greatest regret. Not that it mattered, Hogwarts had reopened, dunderheads thronged the halls once again, and Snape’s nerves squandered by the time Christmas closed in.
Since his true war-actions became general knowledge, everyone expected him to be a custodian saint, placed upon earth to heal wizarding kind. At every turn were demands for potions, occlumency lessons, and protection against bad dreams. But, worst was that all requests came with repugnant smiles, and eyes bright with hope.
Snape’s pale extremities whitened around his glass, in contrast with the dark liquid inside. The scent of bourbon filled the air—his only friend these days—a companion that never asked for more than he'd already given.
More of himself, of his magic and knowledge. Had it not been enough? Salazar’s sake, his entire fucking life had been in submission and penitence for others. Was it too excessive to want peace, to be left alone?
Pale fingers let go, and glass soared the air—landing inside red flames, producing a blast of heat. Snape closed his eyes as warmth brushed his face. It kindled desolation in his chest as red flared behind eyelids and flooded his mind. Serrated claws tore at his heart and soul, and pain—like blood—exuded from his pores.
He would not give in, he would bare a few more weeks. The apprentice had been appointed, training would end after Christmas. Then, he would join the realm his heart ached for.
He rose from his seat at the memory of McGonagall, who earlier today awaited him cross-armed outside the potions classroom.
“Professor Snape, a word, please.”
His eyebrow lifted and he wondered what she needed now. “Yes,” he said.
“We haven’t heard from you regarding the staff’s Christmas Party.”
“What about it?”
“Severus,” she said, her voice softer. “Please attend. This year will be our last Christmas at Hogwarts together.”
Blasted his depraved heart, he had never been capable of saying no to that woman. However, as he made his way into his bedroom to change, he found solace in knowing that soon, all would be over.
-*-
It had been a bad idea. In his lifetime scatterings of bad ideas, this was aiming to be the most detrimental if feasible. What was he thinking giving in to McGonagall’s pleas to attend the staff’s Christmas party?
Arriving fashionably late two hours ago, he was sober. But war traumas, scars, and too many sleepless nights redirected people to indulge in drinks. Like—his own stupid arse had. Two hours ago, he was relatively sober, not intoxicated and slumped in the most undignified manner on a blasted red sofa next to Minerva discussing Harry Potter of all things, like he was now.
“I recognise a drowning man when I see one, I’m intimately familiar with the signs. And that boy,” he said, and pointed unsteady fingers at Harry. Whom ended up slumped against Draco supported by the wall, shoulders touching to keep themselves upright, “is drowning Minerva.”
Minerva twirled her wineglass in her hand, “I know Severus.”
“What were you thinking? He’s but a boy and should do his eighth-year, not teach it. How did this happen? These are underdeveloped mini-adults that never had the chance to be children,” he said.
“I honestly don’t understand,” she said, as her gaze landed on the pair of drunken teens. “People were so afraid after the war. Harry was lost with nothing to fight for, and people wanted their hero to teach their offspring. Merlin knows why,” she shrugged. “I caved Severus. Agreed not my finest moment,” she said and met his eyes. Severus opened his mouth, but she lifted a hand to quiet him. “I haven't a clue on how to fix it now.”
Severus’ gaze fell on the boys against the wall once more, his heart leaped and eyes widened at the sight of Harry curled into Draco’s arms. Lips locked in what seemed a heated kiss. “Let let him go, Minerva. Soon,” he said.
“I know,” Minerva said as the doors to the room swung open and Ron and Hermione walked in.
Severus saw the pair scan the room for their friend and come to a halt as their sights fell on the two people trying to merge into another and the wall. By now Draco had Harry pinned and his shirt untucked from his belt. As Hermione and Ron made a beeline to the drunken messes against the wall, Severus turned his attention back to the people on the sofas on the opposite side of the room.
Lee Jordan sat slumped on a sofa across from Charles. The man depressed the room more than he did, and that was saying something. Wood seemed to have fallen into the space next to him. He had been trying not to study the red-head all night. But his gaze kept disobeying him, and he found he had captured and documented every move the ex-dragon tamer made. Perhaps it was the alcohol that let his Hufflepuff out, but as Charles laughed at something Lee said and dropped a hand on his knee, Severus’s vision went red. How long he stared, he couldn’t say.
“I didn’t know Draco swung that way,” Pomona said. Forcing his attention from Charles to her. She sat snug between Aurora and what seemed to be a sleeping Sybill.
“Doesn’t surprise me, his father did,” Narcissa said, meeting his eyes in a raised eyebrow.
Years of spying on the Dark Lord kept his glass from falling, however, the alcohol in his system betrayed him by flaming up his face. Perfect, he will be bright red by now. Bloody Malfoy’s.
“Honestly, Severus, you really believed I didn’t know about the two of you?” Even as Narcissa talked, his gaze flickered to where Charles had been sitting. Only to see he was heading towards them as Lee left the room with a bottle of whiskey in tow.
Charles arrived at their circle, dropped next to Narcissa and grinned. “Severus—you, and Lucius, really?”
“I will not discuss this. And with—you, least of all,” Severus said with an attempted scrowl. Alcohol seemed to have smoked his dungeon bat glare to kitten-standards.
“Oh, please do. I dig this. Him—all pale and blond, you all pale and dark,” Charles's eyebrows danced, and he made an artless hand movement. Yet, the soft blush painted over his freckled cheeks proved the red bastards’ interest to be at least peaked.
“Oh, they were a thing of beauty together,” Narcissa said, tilting her head in a sign of agreement.
“What—” Severus said.
“You truly never knew Severus? I have been a fervent watcher for decades. Lucius would always create a secret space for me, that was our agreement. He lived out his needs, I got to observe. Remember the summer we stayed for two months in the Italian Manor, when Lucius was bent over that pale marble table, and you used the seven tailed—”
“No—!” Severus slammed his glass down on the round table between then. “That is more than enough, Cissy.” his teeth gritted as she grinned coyly. “Merlin’s saggy balls, I need not get into this. We are all too drunk to be opening any of Pandoras boxes,” He said and made a move to stand when Filius piped in.
“Nonsense! My blood carries flakes of gold, it takes more than this to get me drunk,” Filius said, swaying his glass around and sprinkling Narcissa’s lap with drops of firewhiskey.
“But—ah, a lot of truths are revealed tonight. Let’s make them an official truth or dare, it’s time we yield to our younger inner selves,” Filius said. His small body bounced on the seat.
To Severus’s surprise, a collective giggle—followed by cheered hand-clapping, resounded in the room. Behold Hogwarts might and bright, who had peered too deep into the glass, or altogether lost their minds.
Shaking his head, Severus pushed his back further into the sofa rest. He had half a mind to leave, but his head was blurry, his emotions pinned like soars in his skin. He couldn’t be certain that if left alone, he'd resist the temptation of an early exit.
So he stayed, blended himself into the sofa, and studied the supposed adults in front of him, acting like the dunderheads he despised.
Minerva danced like a chicken. The laughter in her eyes made her twenty years her junior. Septima confessed to her food in bed kink, while Andromeda giggled as she retold how Ted used to dress up in her undergarments, and somehow always turned her on. He almost coughed at seeing Septima, and Sahana make out a good few minutes.
Turning his back, he grabbed a new drink as he heard Charles be dared to take off his shirt to show his tattoos, and remain shirtless for the next five turns. Severus observed the fall of red hair over freckled muscles with each movement. The red colour spread and split in gentle caresses each time he laughed. Green eyes sparkled with mirth as they followed Narcissa as she transfigured her robes to resemble an orange muggle jumpsuit.
He watched and followed until the beast in his chest shewed at his heart. The pressure behind his spine suffocated, and his head clouded. Breaths became short and cutting, his throat heated with unreleased screams. The blood pounding his ears made the room turn. He needed out.
“Severus,” his name echoed inside his head, and with borrowed strength, he gazed into the face of Aurora.
“What?”
She swayed while smiling, “I said, truth or dare?”
He shook his head to clear it. “No,” he mumbled. “I’m not playing.”
“Oh, please Severus, just one, for me?” Aurora leaned forwards and attempted to balance her hands on her knees. He wanted to flee, but his legs needed time to uncurl, his chest burned too much. The alcohol combined with his emotions eating at his physic left him unable to move. Defeated, his shoulders slumped, and he waved a hand in indication. “A truth—and a dare. I do them now, after that I’m out.”
“Oh goody, what shall I ask,” she toppled against Pomona giggling. “Okay, okay—” she took a deep breath. “What is your favourite colour?”
And just like that, the dam broke. Acid lava bubbled over in his chest, threatened to pour out of his mouth and burn the room to crisps.
“Red—” he spit. “it’s always been red,” his hands found his hair. He yanked. “The deep red of a sunrise, of the Rubious potion done well. Red as the colour of blood and hearts, red like the flush of prickled skin,” the words slithered out with less steam as they spilt over the cold floor. “Turned ashes the day she died. And now, it’s omnipresent, all around in Gryffindor students, house flags, and sodding red-haired professors,” his voice burned to a bare whisper. “The pain won’t let me breathe, the reminder drives me unbridled.”
The room fell into pure silence. The pressure of purging flittered and clung to intoxicated magical skin.
“I think—” Filius whispered, “that you need to break free, my friend.”
Severus deflated and closed his eyes against the burn behind them. “I—cannot, Filius. It’s been eighteen years.”
“Kiss Charlie,” Filius said. His eyes seared Severus’s slumped form. “Kiss him and let go Severus.”
Too close—too close. So close his legs forced him to move. Befofre they said another word, he was halfway across the room, and then the bathroom door slammed closed behind him.
His legs gave into trembles, hard stones connected to his shoulder. Cold support, cold he was used to, cold he recognised. Severus’ eyes closed, he breathed deep and forced occlumency to the front as he felt his veins lay slashed open. Pain like blood dripped from him, scraping down his back, compressing his chest, breaking bones.
A sudden heat blossomed under his ribs and pulled him back to the bathroom. Ears pounded with rushing blood, but he turned to see over his shoulder. And fell into green eyes, and loose red tresses curled atop broad shoulders whose arms opened broad.
What made him do it, Severus would never comprehend why. But he caved. The cold of stones changed to heat as his weight fell against warm flesh. Arms closed around pale quivering skin, his nose buried in red tresses infused with the scent of winter forests and smoke.
The screams that left his lips were desolate, haunted and raw. He emptied vats of wretched tar, purged the black onto the crimson pressed to his nose.
Severus fell, as red-freckled arms tightened around him, and held him like no one ever had.
-*-
How long he spent pressed within Charles’s arms he couldn’t recall, but when his breath came back and he landed back to reality, he pulled away.
“No,” Charles said, hands still on his shoulder. “Don’t speak. Let me take you out of here.”
The empty shell that once was a potion master couldn’t do much more than nod. Bewildered, he let himself be drawn out of the bathroom by Charles. The redhead seemed to be on a mission as he—without looking, passed bewildered colleagues and pulled them out of the party. Doors slammed shut behind him. The echo following the pair as Charles pulled him—arm strained, up the Gryffindor tower.
Charlie halted before a nondescript portrait of a butterfly-field and swirled around to face him. “Now, there are many ways to access this place. This is one of them.”
“Access what exactly?”
“The waterfalls.”
“You’re not making sense, Charles.”
“Then, I must show you,” he said, and with a sweep of his wand and a whispered password, the painting opened up to the outdoors.
A wet mist caressed his face as Charlies manhandled him through the door. The portrait closed behind him and the sounds of cascading water filled the air. Charles let go of his hand as he moved towards the falling water. An unexpected pang of loss traveled through Severus’s chest. Shaking his head, he moved after the red-haired man.
“Do you have a sobriety potion?” Charles held out his hand.
Stumped, Severus looked up, “I do. Why?”
“I would rather not be drunk during our first kiss,” Charles said and winked. Merlin, he winked.
The hand inside his robe—holding the potion, stilled. “First—”
“Yes Severus, our first,” Charles said wiggling his fingers at him.
Numb, Severus pulled the potion out and handed it over. Charles’ fingers grazed his as they curled around the silver flask. He drowned half and gave it back to Severus.
After the emotional vomit from before, he was rather sober, but he drowned the other half of the potion in case.
Charlies moved ahead towards the water again. “You know, I was never brave, like you,” he said, not turning around.
“Do not start with me, Charles,” Severus’s hand combed his hair. It was bad enough when this came from admirers, he didn’t want to hear it from him.
“Charlie,” Charlie turned with a smile. “Especially since soon I’ll acquaint you intimately with my lips,” The soft contemplation on his face did things to Severus. Things he did not understand.
“But, I meant when I was younger.”
“A Gryffindor, not brave? I’ll see the day,” Severus said before his gaze focused on the water. From a distance, the waterfall had been a white stream cascading over rocky outcrops. However, up-close they were in the plume of water vapour that hung over the plunge pool. They stood in silence for a moment.
“The hat didn’t sort me Gryffindor at first. It sorted me into Slytherin.”
Pins blossomed from his heart outwards, “You are playing with me,” Severus said.
“Not yet,” Charlie grinned a Cheshire cat’s grin. “I was, though. The hat was about to shout Slytherin to the entire hall, and I just screamed in my head for it to stop. I begged it to place me in Gryffindor,” the smile had dropped from his face and a longing for peace pained his features.
“Why on earth would you do that.”
“Not that weird when you think about it. I was eleven. The first war was still lingering in the minds of many,” Charlie said. “My mother cried every night for her brothers. How could I write home and tell them they placed me in the house they assimilated with the dark mark,” he shrugged. “I couldn’t, so I begged, and it listened to me.”
“Why does this still haunt you?” Severus found his hands restless and stuffed them in his pockets. His eyes roved over the impressive waterfall. Its strength clear by the thundering sounds the falling water made hitting the surface.
Charlie sighed. “I often wonder if I would have made a difference. If I could have helped others to part from the dark lord and lean into neutrality,” his hand came up to scratch his red locks. “I’ve told no one this, the guilt often consumes me. I keep thinking, what if the person who killed Fred was someone I could have convinced to defect. What about Moody and all the others? In what way did my decision affect the war.”
“Perhaps, you give yourself too great an importance.”
“True, but can you tell me for sure?”
“No.”
“Well, there you have it," Charlie said and moved closer to the water, baring his feet he let his toes curl into the wet grass. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a hair tie and bundled together his hair.
Severus followed him and came to stand beside the man. The pool at the bottom of the waterfall was clear. Fronds of forest-green plants waved gently in the depths. Its edges hemmed with whipped-white lines.
“There is power and brilliance in tranquillity, a place of stillness in water's roar,” Severus whispered. “Not that this changes circumstances, but you would have exceeded in Slytherin. And,” he turned to face Charlie, the waterfall mist wetting the side of his face, plastering his hair. “At such a tender age, I think you were brave to put your mother’s needs before your own.”
Charlie turned to him and Severus felt green orbs peer into a part of him he thought lost a long time ago.
“Sev, I will kiss you now—” he said and stepped close enough so the tip of his boots bumped Severus’s.
The caresses of sunrise trickled over the water as it shimmered into life and threw a luminescent shine to Charlie’s face. Small droplets clung to red lashes, sparkling like crystals. And it struck Severus with a sense of peace, and beautiful red.
He stalled as his hand curled on the hip of the red-head, as Charlie’s hand slowly reached up, palm splayed open. Fingertips reached the smoothness of his cheek first. Digging in, they scraped a trail of magic up to his ear. The flat of a palm pressed warmth onto his face as fingers locked behind his ear. They hooked into black tresses, a rough thumb traced from cheekbone to nose. Its coarseness stroking more relief into his heart than it could hold. Merlin, it had been so long since anyone had touched him like this. To his astonishment, Charlie’s thumb collected moisture and Severus’s eyelids fell shut before his weight curled into the strength of that freckled hand. A soft sigh left his lips.
Charlie pushed full lips with tender pressure against tear-stained thinner ones, and a spark ignited the black plains of Severus's soul. A red beat flickered to life, and he made a split-second choice. Tightening his hand on Charlie’s waist, he curled the other around the dragon tamer and pulled red flush against him.
Perhaps redemption came in red for Severus. Wrapped in green eyes, scruffy beard and a scarred body.
Severus let himself fall into the kiss, and all the future promises it carried.
