Work Text:
There are moments in life in which time seems to stand still and you freeze with it. Moments in which your whole world narrows down, your vision blurred in all but one tiny speck.
This was one of those moments.
It was all too much, too loud, too chaotic. Harry was lost as he stood in midst of war and destruction, the cries of grief and pain the only thing tearing through his overall too silent surroundings. They had won. He had done it, Voldemort was dead, but to what price? Had it been worth it?
He knew he should not just stand here, there were still people out there that needed saving; he should save as many as he could. But he could not move; because his person, the one he longed for the most, was not upon them. His person was beyond saving.
He let his gaze wander around, over rubble, smoke and fire - and froze. Time froze. A figure was walking up the hill, straight towards him. Like a ghost floating through smoke and chaos, only illuminated by the faint light of the moon. The ghost of a man that should not be here. Harry had seen him die!
"Severus?" he breathed, raising a trembling hand, reaching out to the figure that neared.
Not a second later, strong arms pulled him in, hands clutching his shirt in a desperate attempt to make sure that this was indeed happening, this was not his imagination, but reality.
Harry clutched to the man, as lips found his. There were no words for everything he wanted to say, should have said. Only emotion and the sensation of their lips meeting; a warm breath on his face, wet tears mingling as they kissed, and the familiar scent of herbs masking the heavy stench of war that still clung to the air.
He was sure their kiss, their love, would set off an earthquake of outrage. He had thought about that before, in one of the many nights spent alone in a tent, longing for closeness, for safety and peace. He was sure that nobody would accept it; it would be the two of them against the world.
But he didn't care. Why should he care? He had done what he had been born to do, done his deed. Now his life was his.
All that mattered was that they were alive. They had survived the terror of war and treason, the earthquake of horror humanity could create. All that would come next was but a slight aftershock. They had survived worse, they would survive this as well.
Image description
In the center of the image, Harry and Severus are kissing. They are standing as close as possible, their arms around each other, not caring about the world around them.
In the background Hogwarts is burning, the roof of some towers and the Great Hall are caved in. Kingsley is walking over the steps, a lit wand held out searching for something. Further up sits a crying girl. Rubble and destroyed trees, as well as fire and smoke are about.