One Day I´ll Fly away
Slash, snarry, Hurt/Comfort, post war
Word Count: 1750
Disclamer: Don't own the characters. No profit is being made from this story.
Summary: This tale was inspired by my favourite song One Day I´ll Fly away from the film Moulin Rouge (Nicole Kidman and Evan McGregor starring).
I would like to dedicate this tale to YenGirl and pekeleke . You both changed my world even though you may not know about it. So thank you for it! But... I have a guilty conscience here because even if I started to write this for you, girls, there are very big differences between writing in English and writing in my native language, so I was fishing the words from limited waters of my mind or blind waters of my dictionary. And the result is here...
I would like to thank suitesamba who is patiently searching and correcting my school mistakes and ´czechishing´ English and doing my work worth all the effort. Because with her touch the tale is much, much better, trust me.
In the end I would like to thank accioslash who had recommended me to ask Suite Samba when I was in need of beta-reading for the first longer tale and who is reading my drabbles for me.
All four of you are important to me, so thank you very much!
And now, here you are. I hope you won´t be too disappointed...
One Day I´ll Fly away
He was running like a panic-stricken deer or perhaps a wounded doe. He didn´t know. He didn´t care. He could focus only on running, rushing forward, fleeing to somewhere far away from all the commotion, celebrations and honours.
He hadn´t asked for anyone´s help, concern or comfort. Why should he? Voldemort was gone, the war was over, everything should be all right. He should be all right, be happy, starting to make plans for the future. But he couldn´t. He just couldn´t, because now, just when his life should finally begin to improve he was alone.
There was no sign of Snape. No sign of the man who Harry had learned to know, respect and finally love. Voldemort had fallen a week ago and so had Severus. Harry believed this. How could he otherwise explain to himself his disappearance? How would he survive that painful feeling in his chest and throughout his body? Who would save the boy who had no one else in the world but him?
Harry was running, Harry was jumping, Harry was trying to escape his own emotions which were overwhelming him. The Forbidden Forest was dark, sinister and silent. He didn´t see any animals, didn´t hear a sound from any living being. Only the wind in the treetops was murmuring a lullaby as if trying to calm him, bring him peace.
But he couldn´t. Nor could Hermione. Nor could Ron, McGonagall or Pomfrey. No one could, except the one.
Harry slowed down a bit, barely catching his breath, and looked around. And there, behind the trunks of the tall trees, the sun had begun to rise. Slowly, discreetly, only a few rays of daylight peeped out from the horizon and Harry suddenly knew what to do. He climbed the nearest tall rock in the forest and looked into the distance.
One day, one day I´ll fly away, he had been said to himself so many times before, and today was that day.
He closed his eyes... and jumped.
Severus was persistently cutting ingredients. His back was sore, his neck still not completely healed up, but he had to do something and his work was all that he had. Nothing left to the Death Eater, nothing but memories and a ruined life.
Three times love had come to him. The first time he was very young and he turned his back on her because of his rage. The second one was a more paternal love, but he had to suffocate and kill it. The third should be his last, sweet, innocent but unfulfilled, because he had never thought that he would survive the war, and it would not be fair for the boy. But he lived, although he didn´t understand why. To suffer more, to live like a hermit? Alone and lost?
He couldn´t come back, he knew it well, but he couldn´t move on either. So he lived here, in the abandoned district of Loch Morar lake, trying to decide what to do with his life...
That morning looked the same as the mornings before. Cold, damp and unkind. Severus got up from the warmth of his bed and moved into the small kitchen in this hut. His back protested against this kind of treatment but he ignored it. He was very good at ignoring things. He had been doing it for years. The pain was his permanent companion. The headache, pain in his arm, ache in his heart... So what was one pain more? For Severus... nothing.
He boiled the water for his morning coffee and opened his only window. He took a deep breath of the fresh air. And then he heard a sound. A subtle sound, like the falling of a drop of dew. The Potion Master turned his head and his eyes were pinned on a small black and white bird.
The wagtail was sitting on his window and skipped from place to place, waving his tail up and down as if he couldn´t stay in one place and was forced to keep moving.
Severus opened his mouth to chase the animal away but then he closed it without a word. His coffee smelled good, his fireplace was lit up and the songbird was hopping on the window frame.
Yes, this morning might be a good one.
From that morning on the bird followed him everywhere. When he was out, he flew behind him, eating tiny insects. When Severus was at home, he hopped on the window, his tail as restless as it had been the first day, and watched his every move with its dark eyes. He never sang, never made a noise, but Severus could hear the pitter-patter of his little feet and it calmed him.
The days passed and autumn was close. And Severus was more and more afraid of losing his only friend, this reminder that he was alive. No matter how pathetic it was, this tiny bird with black and white feathers was more than he had hoped for...
Harry was mad. It took him a month to get here. And now, when he’d finally found the man he desired, he was trapped in this vulnerable body. He would lose his mind if it weren’t for Severus. The older wizard never spoke to him, never touched him, even though Harry would nearly die for the just one touch. But he never allowed it. He might have thought that the bird was too fragile for his strong hands, that he might fly away if he tried to touch him, thinking that Severus wanted to grab him and put him in a cage. Harry would love it, to be with him forever. But Severus never tried and Harry never came closer to him.
But something was changing and Harry knew it. Even though Severus didn´t speak to him, he could sense his mood from his behaviour, from the look in his dark eyes, from the spontaneous sighs. He sounded sad, even more than before.
The autumn was close and Harry could feel it too.
Harry tried to transform, he tried for nearly two months with all his strength, but it was as if his magic decided not to cooperate, not to work, as if it was gone, even though Harry knew that it wasn´t. He could feel it, his sharpened senses could see it, but he couldn´t do anything with his power. If only...
Severus was brewing some new potion, his dark wand held firmly in his hand in case something went wrong. His magic was around him, so familiar, so calm, focused on his task.
Harry extended his wings and flew to him on the counter. He needed his help but he didn´t know how to make him understand, so he ran to the flames under the cauldron and stopped only a few inches from them.
Now or never, Severus, please...
“What are you...!” The dark eyes widened when he noticed that the fire was nearly licking the wagtail, which he had suddenly discovered by his side. He waved his wand toward the fire and the bird and cancelled his spell. “Finite Incantatem.”
Harry was falling, Harry was changing his form and finally he landed on the floor. Then the darkness took him.
“You impossible brat, you silly child, you irresponsible fool, you could be burned, you could die, you’d never feel the wind under your wings again!”
Harry exhaled and answered in a raucous voice: “I know.”
“You... what?” Severus grabbled his shirt and then let him fall on the bed again when he saw that Harry grimaced with pain.
“I knew that it would kill me...” he answered quietly.
“Then you are even more insane that I thought,” the man growled, his eyes outraged.
“I don´t want your maybe, Potter, I want you to explain this madness!”
Harry opened his eyes and looked at his former professor for the first time through his human eyes. “Do I have to?”
The older wizard folded his arms on his chest, frowning. “All joking aside. Just tell me!”
“I missed you...” Harry breathed resignedly and tried to touch him. The man didn´t let him. “I missed you so much that the only thing I could think about was how to fly away and find you. So I headed to the Forbidden Forest, climbed on a rock and just... jumped. And then I finally had a chance to find you.”
Severus stepped back. “You did what? You planned suicide? Why for Salazar’s sake?”
“You should know better, Severus. But...” he looked worried but determined and so, so very young, “if you don´t want, if you don´t want me here or in your life, just tell me and you´ll never see me again. Never. I promise.”
Severus stared into his face, into the green depths for a long time before he imperceptibly shook his head.
And Harry smiled.
Severus woke up, the aroma of hot coffee filled the whole hut but Harry was nowhere to be found.
Where is the brat this time? he thought cheerlessly before the main doors creaked and the characteristic black mop peeked inside.
“Severus, are you already up? Do you know what I discovered? The Mhorag, Severus! I saw the lake monster, isn´t it great?! She was nice, she can understand parseltonque, you know? So now we have a neighbour here!”
Severus groaned and buried his head in the pillow! The boy will be the death of me.
And their never ending adventure begins again...
A/N: The White Wagtail is a small black and white songbird which lives in Europe, Asia and north Africa. He prefers open surroundings by lakes, ponds or rivers. But he can be seen in towns too when he is searching for food. He eats small insects. It´s a bird of passage so when the autumn comes he migrates to warmer regions, mainly to Africa. The male has a white forehead, face and back of his head, white edges on a long, black tale, black top of his head, black shirtfront and grey back. Female is very similar but with gray back of head. I know this bird from our country, skipping from stone to stone near the rivers and moving his long tale up and down. In our country there are two other species - The Western Yellow Wagtail and The Grey Wagtail – but both of them have yellow colours on their bellies.