A Gift for alley_skywalker: Candlelit Vigil (Severus/Evan, PG)
Author: hikarievandar
Recipient: alley_skywalker
Title: Candlelit Vigil
Pairing: Severus Snape/Evan Rosier
Rating: PG
Word Count: 866
Summary: Severus has never really believed in the pureblood traditions that his lover followed. But the Yule after Evan’s death, he decides to give one a try.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas! I hope you like your fic. I loved your prompts and all of your requested pairings, and it was really hard to pick one. I’ve never written these two together before, but the idea really intrigued me so here we are! Warning: The fic contains references to canonical character death.
He places a candle on the windowsill and hesitates - twisting his wand between his fingers - before lighting it. The flame flickers and stutters before stretching out slim and tall, reflecting against the glass. Severus waits, watching, a sense of foreboding pressing in on him, until he can watch no more and he has to turn away.
He leaves it lit as he goes about his evening. He cooks and eats dinner alone, watching the second portion as it cools on its plate on the table. He washes his dishes before returning to the living room. The candle catches his eye, and his breath, and he shudders.
He forces himself to look away. He settles himself in the chair that had once been his mother’s, and he selects a book from the side table. He puts it down again almost immediately. Love, Evan is scrawled on the title page in elegant, looping letters - an anniversary present that Severus had never quite got round to reading before…before.
He glances towards the window. The candle flickers. Its flame shrinks and gutters before growing tall once more. Severus feels his heart constrict - he crosses the room with quick, nervous steps and checks the window. There is no draft. There’s no pale face on the other side of the glass. There is only his racing pulse and the growing urge to snuff the candle out and leave his home in favour of his new quarters at Hogwarts forever.
He doesn’t. He steels himself. He reminds himself that he is a practical man and that superstitions hold no sway over him. Not even Evan’s superstitions. He’d never quite managed to wrap his head around the traditions of the Wizarding World. He’d been able to mimic them, yes, having had a pureblood mother and having spent his teenage years surrounded by such things in Slytherin, but there has always been a gulf between knowledge and belief that he’d never quite managed to bridge.
Not until now. Dread, almost as heavy as his grief, drapes over him like a shroud. The thought that this last, desperate attempt to reconnect with Evan - to apologise - might have been a mistake flits across his mind. He shoves it away. He backs away, returns to his chair without taking his eyes from the candle flame. He burns its light into his retinas so that, when he does close his eyes, it replaces the image of Evan’s bloody, mutilated face that has haunted his dreams for weeks.
Dumbledore keeps telling him he has to redeem himself. That his actions were brave, but selfish, and that his responsibility now is to protect Lily’s son at all costs. The headmaster forgets that Severus has had other loyalties and other loves, and - as Evan’s ghost reminds him every night - there are those who will never forgive him for his betrayal.
Still, he has to try.
…
He wakes suddenly. He’d fallen asleep without noticing, and though he keeps his eyes shut, he is on high alert. The instincts that served him in the war, as a Death Eater and a spy, are screaming that he is being watched. But the house around him is silent. His Muggle grandmother’s old carriage clock ticks steadily on the mantelpiece, and logs crackle and pop in the hearth. But he cannot hear breathing. He cannot hear footsteps or the creaking of floorboards.
He cracks open his eyes - just enough to survey the room through his lashes. Warm, orange light from the fire and the side lamp bathes the room in an inviting glow, and he is utterly alone in it. He sighs, relieved, and opens his eyes fully. He stretches his back, cracks his neck, and glances up at the clock to see that midnight has passed and that dawn - and the end of Yule’s long night - is rapidly approaching.
He rubs a hand over his face. There’s a prickling sensation on the back of his neck that he’s learned never to ignore, but there’s nothing to cause it. He shakes his head. He stands - fully intending to go to the kitchen and make himself some coffee - when his gaze lands on the window.
It is a solemn square of black glass, reflecting his living room back at him. On its sill lies a candle.
It’s been tipped over, he realises. Tallow is splattered all over the sill and the window frame as if it had been pushed over deliberately. Half of it remains; a sad, sinister sight that brings a lump to his throat as he realises what, exactly it is that he senses.
The magic that was in the air is gone. But the sense of foreboding has remained and it is stifling. He is unforgiven.
He picks the candle up, cradling it gently between his long fingers. When he packs for Hogwarts later that morning, he will place it carefully amongst his possessions. And every year from now until his death, he will spend his Yule safe behind the castle walls - and he will display it, unlit, on his windowsill as a reminder why.
And if his colleagues would like to think that his candle is for Lily, he will let them.
Recipient: alley_skywalker
Title: Candlelit Vigil
Pairing: Severus Snape/Evan Rosier
Rating: PG
Word Count: 866
Summary: Severus has never really believed in the pureblood traditions that his lover followed. But the Yule after Evan’s death, he decides to give one a try.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas! I hope you like your fic. I loved your prompts and all of your requested pairings, and it was really hard to pick one. I’ve never written these two together before, but the idea really intrigued me so here we are! Warning: The fic contains references to canonical character death.
He places a candle on the windowsill and hesitates - twisting his wand between his fingers - before lighting it. The flame flickers and stutters before stretching out slim and tall, reflecting against the glass. Severus waits, watching, a sense of foreboding pressing in on him, until he can watch no more and he has to turn away.
He leaves it lit as he goes about his evening. He cooks and eats dinner alone, watching the second portion as it cools on its plate on the table. He washes his dishes before returning to the living room. The candle catches his eye, and his breath, and he shudders.
He forces himself to look away. He settles himself in the chair that had once been his mother’s, and he selects a book from the side table. He puts it down again almost immediately. Love, Evan is scrawled on the title page in elegant, looping letters - an anniversary present that Severus had never quite got round to reading before…before.
He glances towards the window. The candle flickers. Its flame shrinks and gutters before growing tall once more. Severus feels his heart constrict - he crosses the room with quick, nervous steps and checks the window. There is no draft. There’s no pale face on the other side of the glass. There is only his racing pulse and the growing urge to snuff the candle out and leave his home in favour of his new quarters at Hogwarts forever.
He doesn’t. He steels himself. He reminds himself that he is a practical man and that superstitions hold no sway over him. Not even Evan’s superstitions. He’d never quite managed to wrap his head around the traditions of the Wizarding World. He’d been able to mimic them, yes, having had a pureblood mother and having spent his teenage years surrounded by such things in Slytherin, but there has always been a gulf between knowledge and belief that he’d never quite managed to bridge.
Not until now. Dread, almost as heavy as his grief, drapes over him like a shroud. The thought that this last, desperate attempt to reconnect with Evan - to apologise - might have been a mistake flits across his mind. He shoves it away. He backs away, returns to his chair without taking his eyes from the candle flame. He burns its light into his retinas so that, when he does close his eyes, it replaces the image of Evan’s bloody, mutilated face that has haunted his dreams for weeks.
Dumbledore keeps telling him he has to redeem himself. That his actions were brave, but selfish, and that his responsibility now is to protect Lily’s son at all costs. The headmaster forgets that Severus has had other loyalties and other loves, and - as Evan’s ghost reminds him every night - there are those who will never forgive him for his betrayal.
Still, he has to try.
…
He wakes suddenly. He’d fallen asleep without noticing, and though he keeps his eyes shut, he is on high alert. The instincts that served him in the war, as a Death Eater and a spy, are screaming that he is being watched. But the house around him is silent. His Muggle grandmother’s old carriage clock ticks steadily on the mantelpiece, and logs crackle and pop in the hearth. But he cannot hear breathing. He cannot hear footsteps or the creaking of floorboards.
He cracks open his eyes - just enough to survey the room through his lashes. Warm, orange light from the fire and the side lamp bathes the room in an inviting glow, and he is utterly alone in it. He sighs, relieved, and opens his eyes fully. He stretches his back, cracks his neck, and glances up at the clock to see that midnight has passed and that dawn - and the end of Yule’s long night - is rapidly approaching.
He rubs a hand over his face. There’s a prickling sensation on the back of his neck that he’s learned never to ignore, but there’s nothing to cause it. He shakes his head. He stands - fully intending to go to the kitchen and make himself some coffee - when his gaze lands on the window.
It is a solemn square of black glass, reflecting his living room back at him. On its sill lies a candle.
It’s been tipped over, he realises. Tallow is splattered all over the sill and the window frame as if it had been pushed over deliberately. Half of it remains; a sad, sinister sight that brings a lump to his throat as he realises what, exactly it is that he senses.
The magic that was in the air is gone. But the sense of foreboding has remained and it is stifling. He is unforgiven.
He picks the candle up, cradling it gently between his long fingers. When he packs for Hogwarts later that morning, he will place it carefully amongst his possessions. And every year from now until his death, he will spend his Yule safe behind the castle walls - and he will display it, unlit, on his windowsill as a reminder why.
And if his colleagues would like to think that his candle is for Lily, he will let them.