Fic: And So We Descend

[noxnoctisanima]

Title: And So We Descend

Rating: R
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Severus

Disclaimer: Don’t own it I just kill ‘em.

Warnings: Slash, Suicide, Character Death.

Archive: Go right ahead; please tell me where though so I can brag.

A.N: The persona in this story is Severus.

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

The word ‘pervert’ floated through his sleep-addled brain as he groggily raised his head.

The word ‘arrested’ pottered along accompanied by a stern, disappointed greybeard.

His mind screamed ‘NO!’ as a band played the death knell of his life.

For there, right in front of him, curled slightly in on himself, in all his naked 17-year-old glory was Harry Potter.

Hysteria had nothing on this feeling.

His ‘guest’ barely stirred as he flung himself from the bed, pale limbs acquiring an almost adolescent awkwardness as he scrambled, crawled, dry heaving as he went and collapsed heaving and whimpering to the cold stone floor of his living room.

His body rebelled against his frantic orders to ‘MOVE! RUN!’, it was as if his body knew what he refused to let himself believe.

It was futile to run. He would be caught, arrested and thrown into the dark bleakness that was Azkaban. He had vowed that he would die before returning there.

And suddenly the room was lit, as candlelight sparkled off a thousand ways to die, a thousand dark escapes.

He stumbled to his feet, lurching drunkenly through air thick with guilt, to stare, eyes frantic, at the dozens of vials, each holding a unique, prised escape.

Light sparkled from this liquid death as he lifted the first vial from the shelf.

As he popped the seal, something whispered, deep in his mind, déjà vu, a memory he could not recall.

It stirred once more as he lifted the vial to his lips, hesitating, he clamped down, reminding himself that this was his only escape from an eternity of madness entombed. 

As the burn of death began, he fell to his knees and raised his eyes to his bedchamber door…..Where his 31-year-old partner stood, tear strained eyes bleak.

And the ghost of years past faded, like a cloud against a strong wind, and he saw the truth for the last time.

 

Harry stood defeated in the doorway, watching his partner of many years, for the seventh and last time, take death into his hands and heart on a cold stone floor, haunted by the ghost of one morning 14 years past.

 

Fin

 

Gad, I’m an angsty little one.