A little edit to this old story.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did I'd have named it Severus Snape.

I hope you enjoy the story.

-LS


It's been three years and he still comes. I could mock him, berate him, and humiliate him, but I'm just as guilty for showing up.

Every Friday at 7:00 pm in the Order's War Headquarters, well, what used to be headquarters a few years back, when there was a war, we showed up for training.

It started with Defense, moved to Dark Arts, and now a days when Potter is proficient in almost everything, but potions, we duel. We hardly speak, except for the spells that are cast in the rare occasion when they're verbal.

Albus was the one who initially requested them. Begrudgingly we attended, our tempers high and the tension volatile the entire time. Now we more or less understand each other. There are no more harsh words nor tempers making us fly off the handle. It's understandable, the change. It's hard not to wish for peace and in turn have some peace when we've seen so much war.

The war was long and hard. It was fought for a long year and a half. In that time, seeing people die in front of your eyes and being able to do nothing about it was the worst part, but having someone, anyone, there, even your childhood tormentor or childhood tormentor's son, made it better than having no one at all.

It ended quickly, not the war but the final battle. The final battle ended faster than the hostility between us. A flash of green and a deflected curse, an impossibility for anyone else, finished The Dark Lord. That battle wasn't that hard to fight. Killing by that point came easily as did that victory.

The day after was a Friday. Recovering the dead was simple. Healing the wounded was hard work. I know we all wished for more work that day.

Albus was busy and Poppy was done early. There were no classes. I was still caught in the motions of war, and at seven I was there at headquarters. When I saw the greeting room was empty of strategists like Weasely and agents, everything came rushing back. The war was over. We won and I didn't have to be there, but really I had nowhere else to be. I automatically traveled to the practice room fully expecting it to be empty but he was there.

His empty green eyes stared at me. I cleared my throat and before I could say it, before I could ask why he was there, he bowed and raised his wand as we had been doing for the last year and a half. I easily followed our routine and did the same.

The next Friday was much the same and the next as well.

People like us didn't have anything after the war was fought and won. Our lives were the war. His was lived to end it and mine to aid it.

A spy and a weapon have no use in peacetime.


Three years of Fridays is a lot of time to spend fighting, especially when all you want to do is stop. Today is the anniversary of the victory. He is there already when I walk in. I wonder if it'll be the same as always. Will we raise our wands and duel? Or will it finally come to an end.

He doesn't speak for a good amount of time and I don't either.

"Sn-," he starts and his voice cracks as he stumbles over my name, "Severus," he says after clearing his throat. The instinct to take points is gone. I admit that after so much time working together we've earned some degree of familiarity, so I say nothing to him about using my first name.

"Yes?" I ask not taking the same liberty.

"Does tea taste the same?" he asks as hoarse as he was after the battle. I suspect the amount of magic he used hurt him in more ways than Poppy had assumed.

I shake my head. "Like copper and ashes," I reply and he laughs humorlessly.

"I know what you mean," he responds like he understands. I know he does. We both do.

I don't know what is different about today but there is something. He's different. We stand in silence for a few minutes that don't seem as awkward as they would have years past.

He speaks again, "I've been told there is a holiday today-"

"Harry Potter Day," I answer. I can't recall who decided it, but it was established the second year after it ended.

"Why not Cedric Diggory Day or Blaise Zabini Day?!" he asks with that passion in his voice I know from 6th year, the last year he was in my class. "What of Arthur Weasley?! And Fred?! Why not for all the ones who actually deserve to be celebrated?" he asks, his fury burning through his words.

"A day to celebrate The Boy Who Lived is perfect for the uninvolved masses who wish to forget that victory came at a price," I reply evenly to his heated gaze.

Unimaginably he snorts at my answer. "You're right."

"I've found that I usually am," I say in hopes of lifting the dark cloud that lingers over our heads. He smiles and even though it's not the same boyish grin, it's honest. It fits well with the man he has become.

Our conversation doesn't go further than that. We take our places and the dueling starts. It isn't as dead anymore. There is an edge to his spells and a spark in his eyes. I'm starting to feel alive again as the magic crackles in the air. He smiles when he's won and I find that the air isn't as stale anymore.


Thanks for reading.

If anybody is interested in Roleplay drop me a line. I'm always open to new partners. HP/Naruto or OC.