Severus Snape crosses the balcony of his high tower, alone with his thoughts. Approaching the balustrade, the ancient, weathered stone is cold beneath his fingers. The Northwestern winds rustle his robes like curtains of smoke and midnight. His long, raven-black hair thrashes about, stinging his cheeks like the claws of a cat. He welcomes the cold—the pain—a small price to pay for the suffering he inflicted.
The sun fades behind the distant Highland hills and hamlets, a scattering of stars awakening in the blooming night-blue sky. The sunset hues refracting in the waves of the Black Lake sparkle like starlight and flickering flames. It's so far away and yet feels within reach. It's as if Severus could extend a hand and steal that warmth. He has a fire burning in the hearth, but the heat does not reach him. Not with a soul as cold and brittle as his own.
Lily is the summer setting sun: the lush, rolling green of the hills are her eyes, with her hair the warm copper sunbeams of dawn to dusk. He feels her here, though he does not deserve her company. His Lily. His dearest friend. Whose heart he'd shattered and healed.
Now, Autumn is near. The colours shift, and rolling greens blend with bronze and gold. Severus feels those hazel eyes boring into him like a brand as all light fades, leaving a rich, blackened sky. The wind caresses his face, with the roughness of calloused hands against sensitive flesh. So familiar, yet fleeting. Another heart strangled in his fist, bleeding through his fingers and abandoned into Lily's care.
Severus doesn't blame them. James loved Lily first. But there was a time when James was his...
Severus is sat at the edge of the bed, a sheet wrapped around his naked body as he stares out the window. The night is gone, a new day is dawning, and he shouldn't be here.
"Sev, it's too early," James groans from behind him, tugging gently on the fabric. "Come back to bed."
He wants to. Being held by James so gently, the intimacy of it is suffocating, but it's everything Severus desires and does not deserve.
"How can you look at me—touch me?" he asks, masking the trembling in his voice. "Why waste your time with someone like me," broken, ugly, bitter, "when you have her."
"Please, don't," says James, brushing Severus' hair aside and kissing his shoulder. "Just... be here with me."
"Potter, I—"
"James," he corrects, pulling Severus back onto the bed and holding him in his arms. "It's James, Sev."
His breath is warm against Severus' neck, and he feels safe, wrapped in James' strong embrace. The linens smell like him, and Severus wants to be cloaked in that scent for eternity.
But...
Severus knows this entanglement was doomed from the very beginning, no matter how hard Severus has fallen. The perfect golden boy needn't be tumbling about in the gutter. Not when Lily's heart has changed. Who is Severus to get in the way of fate?
"Stop thinking," says James. "Don't shut me out. Let me love you, Sev."
There it is. That lie. It cannot be true. But for one last time, he'll believe those words. He won't be coming back. His fate follows a different path that James is not meant to follow. It's what is best for them both. Lucius is right; he's far too wicked and twisted to hold onto anything so pure and good.
But he'll indulge in this moment—their last—as ignorant as James may be. Heated breaths, searching mouths, bleeding hearts, and desperate hands. One. Severus will never forget—how it feels to be his—even when he lets James slip from his fingers and into the awaiting arms of another.
The softest of whispers rattles Severus to the core, and he nearly breaks.
"Stay."
He doesn't deserve to recall such memories of what James meant to Severus and Severus to him in return, but he needs to hold them close as he needs air for breath and water in thirst. He chose wrongly out of fear, seduced by false promises and power. He'd been a weak, broken fool, finding the strength to atone far too late... How daft Severus had been to presume himself so insignificant to a tyrant betrayed. A monster that does not strike for the head but the heart.
I destroyed you both in destroying myself. How you could have forgiven all that I'd done... I cannot imagine the depth of love that may be required. I am not worthy of such love.
But I can try.
That monster died by Severus' hand in bittersweet vengeance, but nothing could return what was lost.
"Have I done enough?" Severus whispers into the open air, awaiting the assurances that will never come.
"Papa?"
Severus turns towards the small voice, where a little boy in Snitch-patterned pyjamas holds a stuffed lion in his arms as he rubs the sleep from his eyes.
"You're supposed to be in bed, asleep," Severus replies, gliding over to meet his adoptive son.
"Woke up, and you were gone," Harry replies, lifting the stuffed toy. "Giffy got scared."
"Did he now?" Severus' mouth twitches with amusement as he kneels before the child, petting the furry head of Albus' 'amusing' birthday gift for the child. "He was lucky to have you with him, wasn't he?"
The boy nodded, squeezing the toy tighter. His wide green eyes are as bright and warm as his mother's, instantly melting Severus' bitter heart. He combs his fingers through messy black hair, much softer in youth than his father's.
Looking at Harry, the precious, beautiful child born to the two Severus loved most, brings him more joy than pain with each passing day. The boy is as brilliant and kind as his mother, mischievous and bullheaded as his father. What he has of Severus proves to be seen. Nature versus nurture and all that. Perhaps his dry humour and quick wit. Albus seems to believe so.
Severus scoops Harry into his arms and the boy clings to him for warmth and protection from the crisp night air. He wraps an arm around Severus' neck, his chin resting on the man's cloaked shoulder.
"Night, Mummy. Night, Daddy," Harry mumbles and waves over Severus' shoulder to the warm tones of dusk retreating behind the mountains. Tears sting Severus' eyes, and he kisses the boy's temple.
"They wish you goodnight as well," he whispers into the boy's hair, masking the tremble in his voice.
Severus knows he'll never be enough. His repentance came too late, and the Potters suffered in his stead. For Harry to have survived is a miracle of the gods. The child deserves love and adoration from the blood running through his veins. But Severus will give Harry everything that he has left. Love that seemingly died with Lily and James claimed by this child.
They may never know their son, but Harry will grow up knowing them. How much his parents loved him, and even Severus himself.
He tucks the boy into bed, humming the same lullaby that Lily sang to him in those darkest nights, on the brink of despair—no doubt shamefully out of tune. Harry doesn't care. He burrows into his pillow, the gryphon in the crook of his elbow as a small hand grips Severus', refusing to let go.
Photos in gilded frames cover the walls, Muggle and magic alike. Severus and Lily as children. From their years at Hogwarts. James and his incorrigible band of Gryffindor buffoons. Even ones with Harry, all smiles and giggling as he reaches for his mother. Another where he is asleep in James' arms, and Severus sat on the armrest with an indisputable expression of affection. How fleeting those moments had been when Severus was welcomed into their little family.
Yet, that ever-present voice calls to him as he admires the child. You don't deserve this. He should be with them. You are nothing to this child. But he will not let it win. Not this time.
This tower is not lonely anymore, nor is his heart. It belongs to him. Evermore.
"Goodnight, Harry."