Stormy Night PoS
Title: Stormy Night PoS
Author: tobiasven
Pairing: You'll figure it out in the end. Mentions het. Only mentions because that is where babies come from
Rating: Teen-ish
Summary: A few years after HBP, in the muggle world.
Notes: HBP compliant

Thunder vibrated though my house shaking the windowpanes but it didn't bother me. Not much did anymore. For a bachelor of near forty I felt closer to eighty. I had seen and done it all. I worried about my cat out there in the storm, while watching Wheel of Fortune. I liked the muggle life I immersed myself in. Not exactly devoid of it's own magic. I dealt well with my exile. I cut my hair short and burnt my robes. I became what I hated most, and found that I really didn't hate it.

Suddenly I heard a soft knock on my door. Two raps a pause then another. The sound was almost drowned out by the noise of the rain. I opened the door and stared at the knocker. He looked confused like he hadn't expected an answer, mildly terrified. My cat zoomed inside, wet paws over my bare toes. The man outside my door was young, in his lower twenties. He looked up and down the street sure he had stumbled upon the wrong door. He was soaked to the bone, shivering and afraid. He took a step back slipping on the wet wood.

"G-got lost," he stuttered.

I contemplated shutting the door in is face, let him go to the neighbor, but I opened it further. He stepped inside like a man going to his death. I left him in the kitchen and brought a towel from the bathroom. He was sitting at the table head in hands. I let the towel slip from my fingers to his hair. He nodded a thank you. I stepped away from him and opened a cabinet above the sink.

"Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Milk?" I watched him closely for any reaction. There was none, only defeated resignation.

"Coffee's f-fine." He rubbed the towel over his head. His hair stuck up sharply in a style meant for shorter hair. It was black with more than a few streaks of gray. It seemed to match his sad green eyes perfectly. It was strange for a man so young, to have such depth.

My cat jumped onto the table and lifted her leg behind her head in a position only known to cats and acrobats. He hesitantly reached a hand out and patted her.

The sound of his voice reverberated in my ears and I realized how alone I had been. The voice and the tone were familiar yet something I had never heard before. I wanted, needed to hear more. "Why were you out in a storm like that?"

He seemed to perk up. "My car broke down." At my look of confusion he continued. "My wife called, her water broke."

I grinned and nodded knowingly. I had seen my share of children born none mine. "Your first?" I asked.

He shook his head and pulled out his wallet. Water from the leather casing dripped onto my table. He had been in the rain for a while. "My second," he said. He held up a picture of a pretty red headed woman holding a pink wrapped baby. "That's the light of m-my life, Lillith." He stretched his hand up, shaking. Like the picture was a reprieve from some sin.

I leaned down pretending to look, but I was staring past it. Looking him straight in the eye. This close all I could feel, smell, and see was rain, sweat, and fear. I felt the fact that I hadn't had company in three years. "Lovely," I said and his face fell retracting the picture.

I turned away and stopped the coffee maker. I sat two mugs of coffee on the table and poured milk into his. We both watched as the cream swirled with the brown and eventually became one color. He didn't drink. If he thought I poisoned it, he would be wrong. But I don't blame him for being cautious. In the silence I could hear my television. It was Jeopardy. I grinned at myself. I don't really know why.

He looks at me strangely the fear and unease back. I wished I could reach out the touch him, to have another warm body in the house, but I didn't. I blushed. He blinked at me unsure of himself.

I left him to ponder life and I limped to my room. I searched though my dresser and pulled out my smallest trousers and an old raveled red sweater. I came back and dropped them at his feet. "You'll get pneumonia like that," I said staring at his feet where the hem of his pants dripped onto my white linoleum.

He looked down too. He picked his feet up and cringed at the puddle that had settled around them. "Oh, sorry."

I pointed him toward the bathroom. He looked around wildly then toed out of his shoes before picking up the bundle and running away. I heard him slip and hit the bathtub before he hurriedly locked the door. I raised an eyebrow at my cat. "Still strange."

She meowed in agreement, and then continued to lick herself.

He came out a few minutes later dry and clean. He smiled bashfully at me and ran a hand back and forth over his hair. "Thanks, didn't think I could be warm again."

I nodded. "You drink?"

He laughed falsely. "Not much, not since I was eighteen."

"Oh," I said. I shoved a Killian into his hand and wandered to the living room.

He followed me. "Yeah, me and some friends got really drunk at a celebration kind of thing. Things got really weird. So, that never happened again."

I chuckled. I took a long swig inviting him to drink too. "Weird? How could it be any different?"

"Yeah, with me nothing is ever normal," he said. He picked at a dark stain on the sleeve of the shirt.

We crashed on the couch that in so many years only held one occupant. I put in the third season of South Park. I still can't understand how I became attached to that idiotic show and slammed down three beers to his one. It took all the strength I had not to lay my head in his lap and go to sleep.

"So, what do you do for a living, kid?" I asked between episodes. I didn't care, not really, but I loved to hear his voice. It was gravely and slightly rough, damaged vocal cords from screaming.

He seemed to have gotten more comfortable since I was quickly working my way out of commission. "I write, fiction mostly. You probably never heard of me." He paused to watch Kenny die. "I don't sell well." The drinks had brought his frightened stutter down to a minimum.

I smiled. "Probably not. But if you write why were you away from home? Away from your wife?"

He slouched down in the couch. "I had to yell at my editor. She didn't seem to get why I couldn't change one of my character's personalities. I just can't change it. She wanted me to make him more evil but I can't. He's not. There's not a redeeming quality about the guy but he's not evil. "

"Thought you said it was fiction." I pushed the sleeves of my sweater up over my elbows.

"Most of it," he said and grinned. "True or not I can't change how it is in my head."

My consciousness and hand were starting to slip so I put the bottle on the floor beside me. "Lillith. That's a pretty name."

He leaned his head toward me confused by the sudden change of subject. He looked down at me and seemed to sober. He frowned and looked back at the television. "Yeah. She's named after my mother."

"Why didn't you name her Jamie?" I asked. I couldn't understand why my mind latched onto that name but I had to tell him. I shouldn't inject my personal opinion into his mind but I had too.

He jerked his head toward me. "That's pretty. Never thought of that one." The boy took a long drink, empting his bottle.

My eyes were bleary with sleep and foggy from drink. But I knew something large was sitting on my stomach, and it wasn't my cat. A hand touched my forehead then traveled down my nose. I opened my eyes and he was there staring at me with terrified green eyes. He didn't stop. I wasn't sure if this was real. I had a lot to drink, my eight to his two.

He ran his thumbs over my eyebrows around my ears. He cupped his hands around my cheeks. Trembling fingers over my lips, down my chin, where he wrapped his hands around my neck, and squeezed. I didn't do anything to stop him. I didn't have any desire too.

I raised my hand and touched his brow. "You kill me," he growled as his hands gripped tighter.

My hands tangled in his hair and tugged. He grimaced shutting his eyes tightly. He released my neck. He opened his eyes again and his hands went under my shirt, searching. I wondered what he expected to find. He pushed up my sleeves. His fingers grazed a small tattoo on the inside of my left arm. I flinched and pulled his hand away. "What do you want from me?" I asked.

He sobbed and put his head against my chest. I was confused and a little frightened by the boy's reaction. I didn't do well with emotions like that. I let my arms wrap lightly around his back. He grabbed my sweater pinching skin underneath.

"I want to kill you. Why can't I fucking kill you?" he cried. "Coward," he whispered. I wasn't sure if he meant himself or me.

I on the other hand I said nothing. There was nothing to say to him. It was his own fault that he couldn't finish what he started. He sat up and wiped his eyes. A little distance and I felt safe again, not that I was afraid before. He didn't frighten me, even with that look in his eyes. My eyelids dipped and tried to close. He leaned back against the other side of the couch and watched me, and I fell asleep.

I woke up again. The green blink of my VCR said 3:32. The boy had fallen asleep on the other end of the couch. I yawned stretching. I watched him for a minute wondering about the sudden burst of emotion he had shown earlier. I knew it. Understood it but he didn't seem the type to transform so easily. What did I know?

I flipped over on the couch laying my head delicately on his chest. I listened to his heartbeat, something I sorely missed. He groaned uncomfortably. He shifted and I ended up spooning him. He curled into me like a child. It was a sick thought but it was true. I put my nose to his hair and sniffed. He smelled like rain, sweat, and beer.

I ran my hand through his graying hair. I loved the feel of it on my fingers. I missed it. Hair, sweat, wet, and comfort all in one human by my side. My cheeks were damp and I blamed it on his hair even though it had been dry for hours.

The cold woke me. The warmth that had lain against me most of the night had left. I looked out the window, the sky was still an unhappy black but the rain had stopped lashing the roof. I heard him in the kitchen, talking. Fear lanced through me for a moment while I listened.

"Yeah, it's number 411, a one story white house. Yes. Yes-"

I strained my ears and resisted getting up and attacking him. I didn't know why I wanted to hurt him. I had nothing to hide, but thinking of a boy wandering around my home unsupervised…It killed me.

"The car's about three miles from here," he said into the phone.

I took a deep breath and released it, calming myself. I got up and tiptoed to the kitchen. He was looking out my window above my sink. I watched him from the door. He still wore my old red sweater and pants. He was too thin, across the shoulders and through the hips. He didn't have the filled out look most married men sported. I wondered if his wife fed him enough, or if his childhood still ate at him.

He hung up on the tow crew. The cat skated in front of me and jumped to the kitchen table then to the top of the refrigerator. He turned around and startled upon seeing me. He looked away from me shame coloring his face. "Tow truck should be here in a few minutes," he said.

"Oh?"

The tapped his bare foot on the linoleum. The pants were to long in the leg. "Baby's a girl."

"Your wife mad at you? For not being there." I walked to the coffee pot and poured two cups of cold black coffee.

"Not really. Mother-in-law gave me hell though." He took the coffee and drank it down cold. "She liked Jamie. I think we are going to name her Polaris though." He looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry about last night."

I stepped closer to him smelling him, but he didn't seem afraid of me now nor offended by my interest. "Don't apologize. You apologize too much. Know when to use it."

He rubbed a hand though his hair making it stand up strangely again. "Yeah, just I said I didn't drink…"

I leaned away and tugged at a strand of his hair. "You did mention it."

With a strange smile he walked away. He strolled by the basement door and pulled it shut. I glared. "Find anything of interest."

That weird smile again. "Nothing I didn't expect to find." He pulled on his shoes. No socks. "Thanks for all the help and a place to crash and all, and not murdering or raping me."

I shrugged. It was the safest gesture. He had been sneaking around my house, the little bastard. Did he see what was in the basement, I wondered.

He picked at a new red stain on the sleeve of my sweater. Blood drained from my face. I didn't expect that from him. "I think I hear the truck," he said.

I was startled. My mind raced. I didn't want to let him go, to be alone again. "Wait," I said. I pulled out a knife from a drawer. For the first time that morning he looked afraid. I fell to my knees and extracted a box from under the sink. Without looking at him I stabbed several holes in the top. I jumped onto my table and pulled my cat down by the tail. She squalled in anger as I shoved her in the box. I held the gift out to him.

He blinked at me.

"For your kids. All kids should have a pet. You know, learn about life and death and all that," I said in a rush. I hoped he wouldn't reject the gift. It was all I was capable of giving. Damnit, take it.

"Uh, thanks. W-what's her name?" He lifted the box from my fingers and held it close to him.

"Alba," I said. We both reflected the same sad smile.

I followed him to my porch. The sky was threatening to fall again, like my mood. The orange tow truck was sitting in my driveway. He gave me a sad lonely look. He extended his hand. "Thanks again, Severus."

I felt something break in the region of my stomach. My name. The only time I had heard that name in the last three years was when Lucius screamed was screaming in pain. I grabbed his hand and pulled him into a hug. He grunted nearly dropping the box. Alba meowed from inside. "I'm sorry, Harry."

His shoulders quaked as I held him. He grabbed onto me with his free hand. "I'm sorry I came. I'm sorry for everything. I think I fucked up your basement." He laughed bitterly.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot," I sobbed into his neck.

He kissed my cheek. "They made me come. They told me to find you and bring you back. Guess I'm not as good as I thought I was." He pulled away from me.

"What made you give me a reprieve?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Nothing. No reprieve was neccesary. Though now I do have a body to give them," he said.

I nodded. I didn't want to let him go, but I didn't have a choice. He had a family that needed him, and I had to leave before the cops or auors got came. I had been alone long enough to survive without friend or family. He resituated the box in his arms and ran to the truck. The truck backed through the mud and muck of my yard.

I walked into the yard and watched the bane of my existence walk out of my life again, this time with a lot less screaming. He looked out of the window back at me. I waved a final goodbye. I stood there, mud soaking into the hem of my pants. I couldn't tell if it was rain or tears that wet my face, nor did I care.

I ran back into the house and packed as quickly as I could. Clothes and food first, keepsakes I couldn't live without. DVD's. My laptop. In the bathroom I found Harry's discarded clothes still wet where they had lain on the floor all night. I put them in a trash bag then into my trunk. I left next month's rent, cash, in an envelope in the mailbox.

I stood in the living room contemplating my life. I felt lost and lonely, and angry. I had to leave my home again. I had to run, fucking again. I was given something and like always it was ripped away. I couldn't stay here forever but I still had time. Not now. I had to leave my comfy solitary life. My Trutech TV. My Sleep Easy bed. My fucking cat. Harry's fault, for what he did. I can't blame him. I was actually kind of proud.

I kicked my TV to the floor. It burst into a thousand pieces sparking and popping. I upended my coffee table. Tore pictures from the wall. Went to the kitchen, pulled all the jars and bottles from the doors and busted them on the wall. I ripped apart my bedroom, chair into my mirror.

I stood amid the destruction feeling at least, less violent. I took a deep breath and pushed my sweater sleeves above my tattoo. A snake wrapped around a skull, the mark of my fall. That was how he knew, without a doubt, who I was. The same brand I bore since I was seventeen. The same tattoo he had seen me wear since he was fourteen.

I wiped my eyes one last time, then got in my car and drove away. A half an hour down the road I picked up my cell phone. The answering machine in my basement picked up. "I'm on the road Lu," I said. "Sorry you couldn't come, but let's face it you're not really in a position to do… anything." I laughed bitterly. "The aurors will find you eventually, but time isn't really your problem. Seeing as you're a visit from The-Boy-Who-Lived to late for any kind of time problems. Really meant to kill you myself, but oops."

I hung up the phone, dialed 911.

"Yes, ma'am, yes. 411 Sizemore Road, it looks like the house has been broken into, and there's a weird smell coming from the basement. The man that lived there drove off in his car." I paused in my half terrified rant to let the operator speak.

"Yes," I said. "Yes."

I threw the phone out the window and wiped my blurry eyes. My fingers came away wet. Fucking idiot boy.