Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to JK Rowling, WB and the various publishing houses. I do not own any intellectual property related to Harry Potter. I do not make any money from this piece of fanfiction.

Peaceful Slumber

Harry watched the sleeping man with quiet wonder. The harsh lines of his lover's face softened almost imperceptibly in slumber, and Harry relished the chance to explore the man he loved without disturbance. In a few minutes, the world would start it demands, but for now all was calm and right.

His fingertips traced the lips that he loved to kiss. They were soft and delicate but could be so harsh and cruel when it had to be. Those lips could fortify him with courage or break him in anguish. The words that escaped them had for so long been a source of pain and despair, but recently, those lips had mouthed words of love, support and compassion. The lips had been heaven to kiss; and Harry thanked his lucky stars for every day he had the chance to do just that. He had once thought that those lips, if he ever had the opportunity to touch them, would be as harsh and unyielding as the shield the man had built around himself. He had imagined those lips to be unrelenting in their rigidity and unyielding to even the slightest caress. But he had been wrong, and he was glad for it. Those lips had given him the tenderest moments in a life filled with the clear-cut coldness of reality.

His fingertips found their way to the resting eyes of the man and he sighed in remembrance. Those intense eyes were just like his words; weapons the man he loved wielded with finesse and skill. Those eyes had for months now, hidden no secret from him. They told Harry of the love this man felt for him, the passion and concern he held inside, even when the man's natural defenses seemed to tell Harry differently. Harry had learnt to look for the truth in those revealing orbs. When the man was ranting and raving, his lips falling back to the familiar routine of taunting and bullying, Harry would look into those eyes and see the truth. Harry had tried so hard to chip away at the dam that left his love emotionless and cold on the outside, and he had succeeded. Those eyes could not hide any emotions from him.

And that hair. Harry's hands had found the silky black hair on their own accord. He loved to run his fingers through that hair. His fondest memories were of their rare quiet moments together before the fire. Harry would sit on the fur rug he loved so much, positioned just in front of the merrily burning flames, and the man he loved stretched out beside him, head placed comfortably in Harry's lap. The man, more often than not, would have a book in his hands, but Harry was content with stroking the smooth inky-black hair on his lap and staring into the fire. Those were the moments when Harry felt truly at peace with the world; when all the injustice and pressures that had been heaped upon him almost seemed to be worth this little piece of paradise.

The rest of him, Harry loved with just as much intensity. A body kept hardened and toned by a tough life. But it was those lips, those eyes and the soft, silkiness of that hair that captured the man's spirit; and it was the spirit, and the soul, that Harry loved. He had cherished and empathized with every pain and sorrow in his lover's heart, he had happily drowned in every happy memory, however few those were. He had celebrated, and relied on, the strength his lover held in great abundance. He had accepted, and been admitted entrance by, all the walls the man he loved had erected over his heart. The pain, the sorrow, the joys, the ecstasy and the indifference. Harry had embraced them all as part of the man he now held lovingly in his lap. He loved him.

But now the world was demanding his attention. There were people around him now, shouting, screaming, begging something from him. As Harry stroked the face of his beloved, he sighed a world weary sigh. The rest of the world would not go ignored. Harry looked up, into the faces of the many who had gathered around him. Battered, bloodied faces, all of them. Weary and drained. Battle scars. Remnants of a vicious war. Mud and blood covered them all, and it was impossible to separate the two. Harry looked down at his sleeping lover, grateful that he had not been so sullied. He was clean and unblemished by the miseries of war, or at least, this particular battle.

But they were making so much noise. Didn't they understand that his lover needed his sleep? It had been a hard battle. He needed his rest. In a moment of anger, his magic lashed out and all was silent. The people now stared at him dumbly. Harry worried for a moment that he had hurt them, but the look on their faces was shock, not pain. He ran his fingers through his lover's hair; the simple act had always comforted him.

The people were still moving, still surrounding him and his lover, and he wanted to get away. He wanted to disappear to a deserted island and live out the rest of his life with his lover by his side. He could just imagine it; an island with a nice sandy beach, a lush forest with a beautiful clearing where he could build a home. He could almost smell the soft sea breeze, but reality, and the people, were too adamant. He would not have his peace. They were calling him. Some were screaming his name. Harry. Harry. Harry.

He had done his duty. His only purpose in life was fulfilled. And they still badgered him!

Looking up angrily, he was met with the sad eyes of his adopted godfather; a werewolf with the kindest soul. His anger flickered. Why the sadness? Why the pain? Didn't he know that everything was going to be alright now? The darkness was gone. All of them were free. He could be free, if not for these people! His anger flared up again.

Harry was about to strike, to silence them once more, when the words they were trying to say finally got through to him.

"He's dead, Harry. He's dead. Let him go."

Harry's heart froze, and for one fleeting moment he believed them, and then he looked down at the peaceful face of his lover. Severus had never been this calm. His troubles were all gone, and Harry was with him. They were together. The whisper that escaped Harry's lips seemed to seep into the consciousness of those around him, and it was one of finality.

"No. No. He's just sleeping. And I think I'll join him."

Author's Note: Just a sad little story for those rainy days when all that seems appropriate is a tragedy. Comments and suggestions on improvement are certainly welcome.