Disclaimer: No monies involved. Not JKR, WB, or anyone else with ties to the HP Dynasty. Beta: DementedlyIronic Archive: Part of the HP/SS Fuh-Q-Fest Wave V at http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS/storyindex.htm Challenge: 144. Harry dreams Severus is dying and wants to see him. Severus confesses that a chaste kiss they shared after the victory was the happiest moment in his life. Does Harry realize he made a mistake six years ago and go after the man he once loved? (Bella Ireland) The story must be exactly 1000 words. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Harry couldn’t look away. There was Severus Snape, git of a potion master, lying on his massive king-size bed coughing up blood. As Severus elegantly brought a white handkerchief to his lips to wipe away the droplets of blood on his lips, Harry continued to rudely stare. He couldn’t look away. He felt like the muggles driving by a car wreck after it had just happened…he didn’t want to look, but he had to. He was now staring at the stained cloth in Severus’ hand. Sensing Harry’s presence, Severus motioned for him to come closer. Harry saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and hesitantly stepped forward. He put one foot in front of the other, but it felt as if he wasn’t getting closer. Severus, all the while, continued to motion for him to come closer and seemed to be slightly agitated. After what felt like hours and hundreds of droplets of blood on the once white handkerchief, Harry reached Severus’ side and took his hand. Severus weakly grasped it and gave a slight smile. "Thank you, Harry." Harry, absolutely confounded at to what he is being thanked for, gave Severus an odd look and inquired, "For what, Severus?" "For giving me my most wonderful memory…" Severus whispered in response. Harry, in an oddly teasing mood given the circumstances before him, said back, "What? For not knowing where a bezoar comes from? Or would it be for not knowing what you get when you add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood? Or that I didn’t know the lack of difference between aconite, monkshood and wolfsbane." Severus smiled and it reached his pained eyes, but he shook his head negatively. "No, I want to thank you for the kiss you gave me after the Leaving Feast your seventh year. It is the one thing that can still bring a smile to these blood stained lips." Harry’s jaw dropped and his heart felt like it had stopped. His mind was overwhelmed with images of the night in question. He jerked awake. It had all been a dream, but it didn’t stop the images of the night he had kissed Snape and then ran like a foolish boy. He had been celebrating the downfall of Voldemort and finishing his seventh year with Hermione, Ron, and the rest of the seventh years when he had felt compelled, inexplicably, to see Snape. He had laughingly extricated himself from the group he was talking to and clandestinely headed down to the dungeons. Once there, he had eagerly knocked on Snape’s private door. However, when the door had viciously swung open, Harry had jumped back in alarm. Severus Snape, in all his intimidating glory, stood there and stared him down. He said nothing. Harry, finally gathering his wits about him, spoke, "Sir, I just wanted to come by and say thank you…for everything." Snape, in response, snorted. "I mean it, sir. Thank you. I know you think I am a young fool, but I do recognize what you have done for me. Thank you. And thank you for helping me defeat Voldemort. I couldn’t have done it without you." With that said and with gumption from Merlin knew where, Harry leaned over and softly planted a chaste kiss on Severus’ lips. When Harry’s lips tasted the deceptively soft lips against his, he was lost. He had wrapped his arms around the male form in front of him and eagerly used his tongue to seek entrance to the mouth. To his surprise, the mouth, tasting like cinnamon and red wine, was already open and waiting for his invasion. Harry moaned at the senses that the taste of this man awakened. His hands were tingling everywhere they touched him. His tongue was on fire the moment the other tongue touched to his. He felt like he was falling into a chasm of scorching heat; he wanted to fall as far as he could. All too quickly it was over, breath was needed, and Harry pulled back. It was at this moment that what he had done hit him. And he turned and ran. He never looked back. It was now six years later. Harry had not seen Severus in all these years, but it was the fifth night in a row of this dream and the dredging up of the memories it recalled. Harry jerkily threw through back the covers and got out of bed. He knew it was futile to try to return to sleep. Besides, it hadn’t worked the other four nights. So, he got up and made himself some tea. Then sat at the kitchen table and pondered all the feelings and memories he had felt in the last five days. What if these dreams were real? Would this just be another regret in his life? NO! Harry ran to his fireplace, threw in some Floo powder and yelled, "Albus Dumbledore’s office." He arrived with a loud thunk. Harry saw Dumbledore sitting at his desk as if he had been waiting for him. Harry nodded and hastily left the room. By the time he reached the main corridor, he was in a full fledge run. He got to the door he was seeking and banged on it. After the fifth bang, the door opened and there stood Severus Snape in all his masculine glory. He was wearing black cotton pajama pants, but no shirt. Harry groaned and threw himself at the man, taking his lips in a vicious and demanding kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck and his legs about his waist. They toppled back into Severus’ rooms and stopped against a far wall. At first, the man stayed very still, but eventually, he wrapped his arms around Harry and returned the kiss. They pulled apart, but Harry did not let go. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter. Staying this time?" "As long as you will have me…" Harry responded as he waved the door closed with his wand.