The Flight
by
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Snape, Voldemort
Word Count: 708
Disclaimer: All the characters are Rowling's. The situations they're in are mine. No profit was made.
Summary: One possible scenario for what happened immediately after Book 6....
Warnings: major angst, self-inflicted injuries
He had gotten Draco to safety. He had dealt with Narcissa, and reported to the Dark Lord.
He had accepted the praise he was given. He had smiled and sung with the rest as they celebrated. He had finally begged off, claiming fatigue and approached Voldemort to inquire if there was any other way he could serve, any more he could do.
The Dark Lord had smiled on him, stroked his face lovingly and kissed his cheek, not in any sexual way, but like a master to a beloved pupil.
"You are my most beloved, Severus. This is why. This is your night, you deserve the accolades. Yet your only thought is in how you might best serve me."
He waited, looking at his master with tired eyes, and Voldemort stood back.
"For this, Severus, you may ask a boon of me. Anything it is within my power to give, I will grant you."
Severus bowed his head, overcome. "My Lord, you are gracious. It is an honour to serve."
"Ask me, my trusted servant."
Severus looked up again and breathed deeply.
"My lord, it has been a very long time since I have had time to myself. Time for reflection, for research, not kowtowing to that meddlesome fool or trying to teach children better suited to games than academia. I have not listened to anything but the echoing of feet on stones and the sounds of my laboratory and the piping sounds of strident voices. I've smelled naught but stone and potions and the dust of books and tang of desk polish. No scent of surf, nor moss, nor leaf, nor brook, nor blossom, in many a year. So my boon, if you would allow it, would be for a respite. However long you feel you may safely be without my counsel or presence. I am grown tired, my lord."
Voldemort studied him, then Severus felt his presence in his mind, chilling, but quickly gone, and to his surprise, his master stepped close again. He kissed him once again on the cheek, a sign of his pleasure and acquiescence.
"Go, Severus. I will not call save for an emergency, for the remainder of the summer. Go where you will, see what you must. Your well-being means a great deal to me. I want you back well-rested and ready for what awaits us all."
Severus nearly reached up with his hands, but stopped himself and instead gently and carefully kissed his master back, also on the cheek.
"My lord, you are most bountiful. I will use my time wisely and in your service."
"Fare well, Severus."
~(*)~
Fawkes found him by the waters of the dirty river that had once powered the huge mill by his house, following the gutteral sounds. Severus had taken a sharp rock to the cheek Voldemort had kissed, and his own lips that had kissed him back, and he waved off his attempts to heal him.
So Fawkes had simply and easily picked up his burden and soared off into the sky.
~(*)~
After the long, dark flight, Severus was stiff and numb with cold.
It had only taken Fawkes two tear drops to repair the damage Severus had inflicted on himself. Then he rubbed his feathered head against his now healed cheek, both farewell and benediction, before he flew away.
It took a long time for Severus to warm enough to move in more than shudders. Even then, he did not feel he would ever be truly warm again.
As the sun was rising on the horizon, the gut-wrenching sounds of a soul-deep anguish could be heard coming from the small dwelling by the warm Mediterranean waters that Albus had so loved... and long ago bequeathed to his most hard-working and trusted servant.
There were not enough tears within Severus to express his grief and his piercing guilt at having to destroy his beloved master.
But his tears, he learnt, were like the stars at night -- far too many to ever count; yet each immeasurably precious and showering him not with light, but gentle grace.
On this hallowed ground, where he was as close to Albus as he could ever again be, Severus allowed himself to mourn... and slowly, ever so slowly, mend.
~ FIN ~
written 20 Dec 2006, posted 21 Dec 2006