Happy Birthday, Severus: Redux!
Title: Lighting His Way
Author: pythia_delphi
Pairings: Severus/Lily, Severus/Lucius, Severus/Hermione plus non- shippy relationships with Dumbledore and Voldemort touched upon
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Genres: Angst/Drama/Romance/Friendship
Word count: approx. 700
Lily burned brighter than the Sun. She was his sun, and he, who had been relegated to dark spaces and shadowy corners all his life, gravitated towards her greedily, entranced by her light and warmth. His tenth birthday ignited a hot burst of joy in his chest. She had baked him a cake and danced around him singing ‘Happy Birthday,’ her fiery hair aglow with the exuberance of youth and her emerald eyes sparkling with mischief and merriment. And her magic! She had spun cords of light around and between them that had illuminated the night and put the heavens themselves to shame. And thus had she continued a yearly tradition, often in secret, until the friendship had been irrevocably broken. His last birthday gift to her, a bouquet of white lilies left outside Gryffindor tower, was left untouched and later trampled by unthinking feet. The joy she had sparked in his heart sputtered and died.
He hardened himself and let cold seep into his veins. And soon enough, he felt Lucius’ ice-grey eyes upon him again. Eyes that had once seemed so full of malice that overtures of friendship on the part of their owner had been rebuffed. But now there was resonance. His sixteenth birthday passed by in a haze of silk and decadence, the very air saturated by the heady scent of power. There were seductive promises whispered in the dark. He allowed himself to be swayed and discovered that corruption had never tasted so sweet. Besides, if he had been barred from Eden, then who better to lead him onward than a fallen Angel?
On his seventeenth birthday, he knelt before the Dark Lord to receive his Mark. The brand seared into his skin and slithered its way to intertwine with his own magic, and all the while, eyes that seemed to hold the fires of Hades in their depths, delved into the secret longings of his soul. Sinful imaginings took root and wanton fantasies blossomed. His mind felt thick and heavy like treacle and his belly churned with desperate need. That night saw him give rein to his darkest passions, his basest desires, his magic a covetous and ferocious Beast, seeking only its own satisfaction.
His twenty-second birthday was the first following Lily’s death. He had planned to shut himself away, licking his wounds in the shadows once more, mourning his loss and repenting his deeds, but Albus would not let him be. Uninvited, he breached the privacy of his rooms in resplendent robes that looked obscene in their gaiety. His overly effusive and formal greeting sounded like a mockery, his gifts felt unseemly and his twinkling eyes appeared to still hold the cold censure of a time and a place not so long ago. Year upon year, Albus repeated these actions until intrusion became welcome, formality gave way to kinship, impersonal gifts turned into treasured possessions. Yet the meaning in those twinkling eyes remained ambiguous. The night that he cast the fateful curse, he felt he was both the betrayer and the betrayed.
His fiftieth birthday is upon him. He feels the cold keenly these days, a reminder of his brush with death. It is bitterly cold outside, and snowdrifts pummel his ramshackle house. Inside however, he is ensconced in warmth. Hermione has him swaddled in an abundance of knitwear that she has fashioned herself with more love than skill, and although he grumbles about her bossy over-protectiveness, he is secretly pleased with the care she bestows. The hearth is alive with her trademark dancing bluebell flames, which recall bygone days spent with another love; yet these lights are not so bright as to hurt his now over-sensitive eyes. Hermione curls herself onto the sofa beside him, all softness and lush curves, and croons the familiar refrain that he has nevertheless not heard since his childhood. Her eyes are tender and her mouth forms into a generous, yet coquettish smile. She murmurs a greeting and follows it up with a slow, sultry kiss. A feeling of bone-deep contentment settles in his chest and he assures himself that he will nurture it for the rest of his days.
Author: pythia_delphi
Pairings: Severus/Lily, Severus/Lucius, Severus/Hermione plus non- shippy relationships with Dumbledore and Voldemort touched upon
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Genres: Angst/Drama/Romance/Friendship
Word count: approx. 700
Lily burned brighter than the Sun. She was his sun, and he, who had been relegated to dark spaces and shadowy corners all his life, gravitated towards her greedily, entranced by her light and warmth. His tenth birthday ignited a hot burst of joy in his chest. She had baked him a cake and danced around him singing ‘Happy Birthday,’ her fiery hair aglow with the exuberance of youth and her emerald eyes sparkling with mischief and merriment. And her magic! She had spun cords of light around and between them that had illuminated the night and put the heavens themselves to shame. And thus had she continued a yearly tradition, often in secret, until the friendship had been irrevocably broken. His last birthday gift to her, a bouquet of white lilies left outside Gryffindor tower, was left untouched and later trampled by unthinking feet. The joy she had sparked in his heart sputtered and died.
He hardened himself and let cold seep into his veins. And soon enough, he felt Lucius’ ice-grey eyes upon him again. Eyes that had once seemed so full of malice that overtures of friendship on the part of their owner had been rebuffed. But now there was resonance. His sixteenth birthday passed by in a haze of silk and decadence, the very air saturated by the heady scent of power. There were seductive promises whispered in the dark. He allowed himself to be swayed and discovered that corruption had never tasted so sweet. Besides, if he had been barred from Eden, then who better to lead him onward than a fallen Angel?
On his seventeenth birthday, he knelt before the Dark Lord to receive his Mark. The brand seared into his skin and slithered its way to intertwine with his own magic, and all the while, eyes that seemed to hold the fires of Hades in their depths, delved into the secret longings of his soul. Sinful imaginings took root and wanton fantasies blossomed. His mind felt thick and heavy like treacle and his belly churned with desperate need. That night saw him give rein to his darkest passions, his basest desires, his magic a covetous and ferocious Beast, seeking only its own satisfaction.
His twenty-second birthday was the first following Lily’s death. He had planned to shut himself away, licking his wounds in the shadows once more, mourning his loss and repenting his deeds, but Albus would not let him be. Uninvited, he breached the privacy of his rooms in resplendent robes that looked obscene in their gaiety. His overly effusive and formal greeting sounded like a mockery, his gifts felt unseemly and his twinkling eyes appeared to still hold the cold censure of a time and a place not so long ago. Year upon year, Albus repeated these actions until intrusion became welcome, formality gave way to kinship, impersonal gifts turned into treasured possessions. Yet the meaning in those twinkling eyes remained ambiguous. The night that he cast the fateful curse, he felt he was both the betrayer and the betrayed.
His fiftieth birthday is upon him. He feels the cold keenly these days, a reminder of his brush with death. It is bitterly cold outside, and snowdrifts pummel his ramshackle house. Inside however, he is ensconced in warmth. Hermione has him swaddled in an abundance of knitwear that she has fashioned herself with more love than skill, and although he grumbles about her bossy over-protectiveness, he is secretly pleased with the care she bestows. The hearth is alive with her trademark dancing bluebell flames, which recall bygone days spent with another love; yet these lights are not so bright as to hurt his now over-sensitive eyes. Hermione curls herself onto the sofa beside him, all softness and lush curves, and croons the familiar refrain that he has nevertheless not heard since his childhood. Her eyes are tender and her mouth forms into a generous, yet coquettish smile. She murmurs a greeting and follows it up with a slow, sultry kiss. A feeling of bone-deep contentment settles in his chest and he assures himself that he will nurture it for the rest of his days.