For abetterlife--Future!verse-Finished.
It was still difficult to wrap his head around this, that it was really the year it was, that he had a son, that he didn't teach at Hogwart;s and wasn't a spy anymore. Not to mention many of the people he knew were dead and that ...well, it was everything. How could it feel like it had just been yesterday that it had been Harry's third year? Perhaps he really did have some sort of brain troubles that he had been unaware of until now? Not to mention he could hardly do magic anymore, at least, not the calibur he was used to, and that he'd had a son with some woman he had no idea about? Something had to be amiss here, it just had to. So far though, Severus couldn't figure it out and he had a feeling it wouldn't be something that would come about very easily.
The pale, now overly thin man was sitting in a chair in the darkened living room of Spinner's End, simply going over all of what he'd been told and looking none too happy about it. At least the war had been won though, and Harry knew ..everything. He couldn't stop himself from wondering what son of James's opinion was of all the memories he'd shown him, but his pride being as it was, he sure as hell wasn't going to go seek it out. His black eyes went down to his wand, what the boy said was a replica of his original.
He sat there and continued to brood, in a decidedly foul mood this particular day. Right now he felt as if everything was out of his control. It wasn't a good thing not to know what was going on, and what his young son, if he really was his son, had told him was confusing and worrying to him. He brought a hand up, running it through his long greasy hair, muttering something that wasn't too pleasant under his breath.
With that he stood, and was sorry he did, because his knees buckled a time or two and if the chair wouldn't have been behind him, he would have went down. This caused him to snarl and for a brief moment he wondered why he had survived at all, if the youth's story was to be believed, because this life didn't appear to be any better then the one he'd thought he'd known before.
The pale, now overly thin man was sitting in a chair in the darkened living room of Spinner's End, simply going over all of what he'd been told and looking none too happy about it. At least the war had been won though, and Harry knew ..everything. He couldn't stop himself from wondering what son of James's opinion was of all the memories he'd shown him, but his pride being as it was, he sure as hell wasn't going to go seek it out. His black eyes went down to his wand, what the boy said was a replica of his original.
He sat there and continued to brood, in a decidedly foul mood this particular day. Right now he felt as if everything was out of his control. It wasn't a good thing not to know what was going on, and what his young son, if he really was his son, had told him was confusing and worrying to him. He brought a hand up, running it through his long greasy hair, muttering something that wasn't too pleasant under his breath.
With that he stood, and was sorry he did, because his knees buckled a time or two and if the chair wouldn't have been behind him, he would have went down. This caused him to snarl and for a brief moment he wondered why he had survived at all, if the youth's story was to be believed, because this life didn't appear to be any better then the one he'd thought he'd known before.