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𝚇𝙻 >> 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙼𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚄𝚂 𝚂𝙽𝙰𝙿𝙴

< 4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS, 6 DAYS >

Time passes so slowly that neither of them know where it went.

Perhaps it was the nothing that was contained it it, the complete eventlessness, that caused it all to slip through their fingers and melt off below them. The death of the Potters, the night both of their lives were altered for good, seems like only minutes ago, yet hundreds of years have passed between each one. Severus finds it fascinating. Remus finds it numb.

They carry two suitcases between them. Snape is carrying Spruce Springsteen in a more portable container. The leather handle of the suitcase pulls at his fingers, and he wishes the compartment was full of his own things so that he could travel alongside this man forever. But he must stay here. He knows this. Additionally, if the second suitcase were to be used for himself, what would carry all the vinyl records (except for the Abbey Road vinyl, which Remus only pretends he doesn't have space for in hopes that Snape will "take care of it")?

Their morning has been quiet. Neither have said much. There isn't anything they haven't said yet about the matter. Only reserved acceptance. Frustration. A dull resignation to the control of fate. It is still morning now, so they are still silent. The fog on the green dew-stricken grass and gray-clouded sky folds between them as they walk to the train. The damned train. Both of them were hoping it wouldn't arrive, yet here it is, waiting for them. Or, at least, waiting for one of them.

There is a bench, but they do not sit. There is nothing to wait for but more empty time. And, besides, the train is already there.

Severus sets down the suitcase he carries. Remus sets down the other one.

It's idiosyncratic to see the end of something so beautiful and feel so little about it. It's quiet, numb. It hurts much less than it seems to in the movies. But perhaps it's because it's not the end yet. It still isn't over. Not quite.

"When does your train depart?" asks Snape emotionlessly. Remus does not move. They do not look at each other.

"Five minutes."

A dispassionately raised brow. "Only five?"

"I'm gonna bring my luggage in and then come back out to say goodbye," Lupin says disjointedly, and goes in with all his things before Severus can say anything back. He takes both suitcases, yet Snape still has the plant. How much the little shrub has seen. How much more it will.

Remus emerges in a few moments, his hands in his pockets, and he steps slowly off of the train again. Pacing up to Severus, he takes the plant and looks down at it, holding it gently against his ribs with one hand.

"It will miss you," Remus murmurs distantly, gazing down at it. "Plants love us. They have the ability to adore others just as we can. Spruce Springsteen is very affectionate towards anyone I force into my life."

"I was not... forced, quite," Severus ameliorates. "After Voldemort, I learned to no longer let myself be coerced."

Lupin considers this. "Perhaps dragged."

Snape doesn't listen. He reaches forward, placing his hands over Lupin's, holding the flowerpot with him.

"How you've softened me," he scoffs, his throat tight. "I couldn't care less about plants before you, and now here I am, cradling one."

There's a reflection of water veiling Lupin's gaze as he finally looks up. He forces a wavering little smile, painted beneath the colors of the sweet morning sun.

"Don't ever lose that. Don't let the soft part of your spirit slip away," he whispers to him; he cannot afford to speak at any volume that you can hear tears in. "Don't let it fade while I am gone."