Work Text:
“How are you feeling?”
“I loathe that question.”
“I know.”
“So why do you ask it?”
“Well…because I know you well enough to know—”
“Know what?” he spat.
She gave him a small, sad smile. “You need me to ask it, Severus.”
“No.”
“No?”
“My feelings,” he said mockingly, “are my own concern.”
She twisted the gold band on her third finger. “You still don’t trust me?”
“You’re the kind of Healer that fixes broken bodies, not broken souls.”
“You aren’t broken, Severus.”
He hated not having his long hair to hide behind. “Only someone young and naive would say such a thing.”
“But I’m old enough to operate on you, hm?”
“No. You aren’t.”
“I’m old enough for other things, too.”
“Don’t be crude, Miss Granger. It doesn’t suit you.”
“So you’re depressed, then?”
“What does that even mean?”
“Well, the medical definition of depression is—”
“Granger.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you dare quote a textbook to me.”
She studied him. He both loved and hated the touch of her eyes.
“This is different,” she murmured.
“Oh great, so you suspect a new side effect?”
“I think the better term would be…proof.”
“Of what? Trauma? A near-death experience? Five years of drowning in venom?”
She leaned forward. “It’s gone, Sev.”
“Severus. Or preferably, Professor Snape.”
“I removed every. last. drop.”
He took a shuddering breath. “So if this is a second—no, a third—chance at life, why the fuck am I depressed?”
She shrugged. “It was next on the list.”
“There’s a list?”
“Metaphorical.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
She smiled. “First was fury.”
That one was a blur of red and silver. He had never fought so hard in his life. And still, she somehow bested him.
“Then, a touch of sadness.”
One tear. His mind showed him all he had lost and everything he sacrificed, and he was rewarded with a single fucking tear. It didn’t matter that that tear was kissed away. It wasn’t enough.
“Next,” he said dismissively.
“Love,” she said a bit too sharply.
“Love?” he sneered.
“Yes. You fell in love.”
He scoffed. “It’s a myth, you know. Love can’t save you. All that Potter bullshit was a lie.”
“How do you explain his survival?”
“Voldemort is a terrible shot.”
She laughed, and for a brief moment, he considered relenting.
“Depression seems like a good one to experience next,” she said thoughtfully.
“Excuse me? How is it good to feel like I’m made of stone? My limbs are so heavy, it’s fucking exhausting to move. Even my eyes blink slowly. My body wants to go to sleep, Granger, and never wake up.”
“Hibernation is not death, Severus. It’s meant to be a rest.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s like crawling towards a coffin. Where's my fucking dignity?”
“It will ease. This was all expected.”
“I hate it.”
“You were happy for a while. Don’t you remember?”
“That time feels like a dream now.”
The sad smile was back on her beautiful face. “But, I’m sitting right here.”
“I want a divorce.”
She laughed. “You would never forgive me if I allowed that to happen.”
“I’m serious.”
She cocked her head and her curls spilled over her shoulder. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because you are not yourself.”
“Are you sure? Maybe this is the real me and I wasn’t myself when I was ‘happy’ with you.” He used air quotations for the extra sting.
“Do you remember what I told you when you came out of surgery?”
“You welcomed me back to the land of the living and called me ‘sleeping beauty,’” he said, glaring.
“The venom suppressed everything, Sev.”
“Except for pain.” And that was an understatement.
She nodded gravely. “So why is it so hard to accept that your brain is slowly and methodically re-introducing emotions, like adding ingredients to a potion?”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m just trying to help you understand.”
“I don’t want to understand, Healer Granger.”
She grimaced. “You should call your wife by her first name. Or preferably, ‘my love.’”
“We’re getting a divorce, so I can call you whatever I want.”
“Merlin H. Christ. I’m going to check your hormone levels at your diagnostic tomorrow.”
He glared at her.
“We are not getting a divorce, Severus.”
“Fine.”
“And you aren’t turning to stone or sleeping to death.”
“Fine,” he repeated a little louder.
She leaned over and pressed a soft but quick kiss to his cold cheek. “I love you,” she murmured.
“I love you, too,” he grumbled back.
“You’re a menace, you know,” she said, smiling.
“I know,” he sighed and reached out to squeeze her hand.
She set the book he’d been reading on his lap and hummed a tone-deaf little tune as she left the room with purposeful steps. Probably going to the kitchen to make him a perfect cup of tea, as usual.
He ran his hand down the page of his book and gazed out the window. It was a beautiful day. Sunny and green with a warm breeze blowing through the screen. He felt better. It was becoming clear to him that his wife knew how to play him like a fiddle. He never thought of her as particularly patient, but it seemed she made an exception for him. And he wasn’t particularly happy…or loving…or communicative…but he made an exception for her.
Give and take. Ups and downs. It was all so sickeningly cliche.
But perhaps the sad, slow intermissions of life made the joys to come that much sweeter.