FICLET: Just A Boy
listening to: Tình Cuối Mùa Đông - Cẩm Ly
Title: Just A Boy
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry Potter / Severus Snape
Summary: It seems as if Potter's hair is perpetually messy.
Disclaimer: The story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Written for: 30_breathtakes theme #1 - wind in your hair
Snape remembers the very first time he saw those unruly strands, billowing in the wind as an elusive Potter flitted after an equally slippery snitch. He vividly recalls the exhilarated flush to Potter's cheeks, the pleased glimmer in his eyes, and the erratic rhythm of his chest as his fingers wrapped lovingly around the golden ball. Potter was just a boy then, brimming with youthful innocence.
He remembers those disorderly tresses, cradling Potter's rosy face in their exquisite embrace, as he yelled at the boy, spittle flying, and insisted that yes, aconite and monkshood and wolfsbane were all indeed one and the same. The boy was as harebrained as ever, and fixed those coruscating emerald eyes on him, refusing to yield. Potter was still just a boy then, teeming with adolescent ideals, and Snape let him escape relatively unscathed.
He can never hope to forget those raven locks, spiraling and gyrating along with the sinuous motions of Potter's body as Potter eluded the dozens upon dozens of perilous curses slung his way. It seemed as if Potter's hair always kept up the consistent dance, eternally intricate and alluring and ethereal, even as the Boy Who Lived wrangled his way to Voldemort, with blazing eyes and fluttering hair, to end the Dark Lord's reign in one final, triumphant blaze of glory. Snape realized that Potter was not just a boy then, and had never been a boy, for he had never had a chance to be one.
After The War--for it deserves all the significance they can afford--Snape found himself settling into a routine. It was during those evenings that it dawned on Snape that Potter's hair could never, ever simply stay flat--those evenings when they drew their tattered robes around tattered bodies and languidly sipped amber liquid from crystalline glasses. They rarely spoke, but that was fine, for Snape wasn't sure of what to say to the Boy Who Never Was A Boy. He chuckled at that--another nickname to tag to the reluctantly famous teenager--and Potter looked up from the book in his hands, eyes questioning and hair rippling. Snape merely stared back at him, arching a sardonic brow, and after a moment, Potter turned back to his book, a secretive smile lingering about his lips. Snape forced himself to tear his gaze away from the boy, and futilely reminds his treacherous mind that Potter was still just a boy, albeit one with more experience and wisdom than many older than him.
On those lonely days by the fire, he finds himself reminiscing on That Day, and yes, it deserves as much recognition as The War. He relives the exact moment in which Potter uttered that guttural sound of impatience and dissatisfaction and dropped his book on the floor in favor of intertwining his fingers in Snape's lank, greasy hair to pull him into a kiss. Snape murmured an inarticulate complaint, but it was swallowed by Potter's feverish mouth and after that attempt, he just couldn't bring himself to care. So his hands slithered upwards into Potter's hair, twisting and caressing and wrenching, all at the same time, and Snape stopped thinking that Potter was still just a boy.
And, of course, as Snape lies with Potter in his arms and between his sheets, he idly glances at Potter's hair. The strands are darkly slick with sweat and flush against the boy's head. He feels his lips curving into an oddly sanguine smile, and knows with absolute certainty that Potter will never be still just a boy to him again.