Work Text:
A Rose
by JiM
The scent of roses shimmered in the air and made Snape blink in his corner. Passersby made the scent eddy and curl around him and he was grateful for the anti-allergy potion he had thought to take this morning. Who would have suspected that the Granger chit had a romantic bone in her body? But her wedding celebration was carpeted in roses; fantastic shades of red and white blooms tipped with crimson lined the walls, decorated the tables and were to be found on nearly any surface that didn't move. Even the bridal attendants had come in for their share of floral decoration and the occasional sneeze, with resultant petal fluttering, made him smile in cool amusement.
"Lurking again, Snape?"
Potter's voice held the same sense of cool amusement and none of the bitterness and anger that had marked their earlier dealings. Potter was older now and had grown into a tendency to look at situations from many angles, including circumstances regarding his former Potions master. Snape supposed that he, too, was somewhat less bitter and perhaps more balanced in his own views of others. Whatever the cause, their relations had become cordial as Potter entered his twenties and the War had entered its third decade.
Once Potter had fulfilled that ridiculous prophecy, freeing Snape from the web of double-dealing that had nearly strangled him, they had become friendly. Which was to say that whenever Potter had business at Hogwarts, he usually stopped by for a drink with Snape. Occasionally he joined the High Table at dinner and often contrived to sit by Snape, murmuring a steady stream of fairly amusing observations about students and staff into his left ear.
"I am not lurking, Potter. I am merely observing from a vantage point with excellent tactical possibilities."
"Because people have been known to be attacked and killed at this type of affair?" Potter's voice was rich with ready laughter. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder and surveyed the happy throng.
"There is nothing more dangerous than a wedding party, Potter. The liquor is flowing freely, the air is practically a controlled substance and the hope and optimism are hallucinatory."
"It IS a good party, isn't it?" Potter agreed, happily looking around at his friends.
"A touch more ... roseate than I would have thought for people like Granger and Weasley."
"It was Malfoy's idea, I think." Potter couldn't help the slight knitting of his brows as he considered the other man's new place in Ron and Hermione's life, but Snape was pleased to note that there was no boyish hostility held over to poison the dealings there either. Now the younger man appeared merely bemused.
"It's an old pureblood tradition - the language of flowers. You would not have learned about it from your Muggle relatives, I suspect."
"A bit Victorian for them," Potter agreed.
"In any case, it's been the custom that weddings and bondings are celebrated with roses of every shade."
"Which explains why Ron didn't kick up a fuss about it."
"Indeed. The Weasleys may lack money, but they have as much respect for tradition as any other pureblood family in England."
He felt Potter's gaze upon him. "Careful, Snape. That sounded suspiciously like approval."
He nearly smiled. "The Weasley family hardly needs my approval, Potter." He nodded his head toward a large knot of redheads, arms around one another as they laughed and talked and sloshed alcohol on each other with the occasional impulsive gesture.
They were silent for a time, watching happy clumps of people break apart and reform, shift and regroup. After a time, Potter reached into his sleeve and pulled out a single rose, the color so deep that it was nearly black. It certainly had not come from any of the dainty efflorescence around them; this was a product of the deep woods, thick stemmed and with hugely curving thorns. Carefully and with great deliberation, Potter handed it to him. And said nothing.
Snape immediately discarded his half-drunken suspicion that Potter might be entirely drunk. This was obviously a carefully planned moment; great thought had been given to the choice of this flower. He wondered if Potter had given as much thought to the choice of recipient. He stared at the dark green stem clutched between his white finger tips, thorns curving above and below yet not harming him. When he raised the bloom to his face, there was a strangely fresh scent to the petals, not the cloying sweetness he had anticipated. He touched one finger tip to the cool velvet of an outer petal, then looked directly into Potter's eyes.
"It is not always so; nothing between two people can be. Nothing with me can be."
Potter smiled a little, then reached out and firmly grasped the rose stem in Snape's hand. His fingers tightened and Snape felt the strength of his grip vibrate through the flower. Then Potter drew his hand away and the fingers and thumb were smeared with dark-welling blood. He held up his hand and they both looked at the trickles. Snape wondered what emotion was welling within. Then Harry Potter raised his fingers to his mouth and carefully licked his wounds clean. All he said was, "I know." He walked off to join the ever-growing knot of Weasleys, leaving Snape to make up his mind.
He stared at the rose, then he stared at Potter. Daubs of his blood remained on the flower in Snape's hand. He supposed that it showed his state of mind that he hardly considered the Dark magic potential inherent in the gift of blood. He pulled himself together. Severus Snape was quite capable of responding in kind; he had no intention of being outdone by James Potter's half-breed offspring, no matter how elegant the gesture.
He strode across the room to where Potter stood chatting with the Weasley twins and their wives and various relations. He stood just behind and to the side of Potter and gave a formal half-bow that stopped conversation dead and insured his aim - Potter turned and stared in the same direction as everyone else. With the bloody rose in his right hand, Snape tore the sleeve off his formal silk robe in one definite movement. Then he carefully pillowed the rose on the raw black silk and offered it to Harry Potter.
Whose expression nearly blinded Snape as he took the gift and cradled it gently on his forearm. "So?" he asked quietly.
"So," Snape promised.
end