Drable
What if Severus Snape run away from England and hidde in a third world country?
***
He went out from the little adobe house to farewell his last patient.
“God bless you, boy.” An old lady caressed his cheek with short calloused hands.
The woman had paid him with a little hen and the promise of a few rosaries prayed in his name. After all these years, he still was surprised by people’s kindness: Fresh eggs, pastries, toasted flour, olives – his favorites - fruits and vegetables; they all often arrived at his home as an act of gratitude from the people he cured.
He had a mild fame as an iridologist and herbalist around the region. A few classy women from Talca paid highly for his services; the rest of his patients were humble people from the surrounding area.
Stretching, he allowed himself to inhale the autumn essence of the Chilean countryside. June was always a hard month for him, a time for ghosts and shadows from the past. He fought them in the only way he knew, pushing them away from his conscious thoughts. He let his eyes get lost in the landscape. The yellowish tones of the Aromo’s leaves reached upwards like praying hands moving slowly against Unihue’s blue sky.
So different from Scotland.
From Hogwarts.
That was another man’s life, not his, not anymore.
The frail sun caressed his features, making him part his lips in sensuous abandon. Here he had found peace, respect and love. A place in which he could leave the past behind.
A pair of arms firmly circled his waist from his back. He held those beloved hands and caressed their dry and rough skin with his thumb.
“What are you thinking about doctorcito mio*?”
Searching for her lips, he turned his head down, finding her mouth in a soft kiss.
“Always nosy, aren’t you my chiquitita*?"
She just responded by standing on the tips of her toes to smooth a wrinkle from his eyebrows.
A soft sigh escaped his lips.
“Come back to me Severus, from wherever June takes you.”
“Am I smelling sopaipillas*? Still in a campaign to fatten me up, aren't you? ”
Knowing far too well that he hadn’t fooled her, he led the way into the house, looking for some quiet afternoon tea with his wife.
S***S
*My little doctor
*My little one.
*Typical fried bread, very tasty.
***
ETA: Thanks to Kalinalea for grammar proof.
***
***
He went out from the little adobe house to farewell his last patient.
“God bless you, boy.” An old lady caressed his cheek with short calloused hands.
The woman had paid him with a little hen and the promise of a few rosaries prayed in his name. After all these years, he still was surprised by people’s kindness: Fresh eggs, pastries, toasted flour, olives – his favorites - fruits and vegetables; they all often arrived at his home as an act of gratitude from the people he cured.
He had a mild fame as an iridologist and herbalist around the region. A few classy women from Talca paid highly for his services; the rest of his patients were humble people from the surrounding area.
Stretching, he allowed himself to inhale the autumn essence of the Chilean countryside. June was always a hard month for him, a time for ghosts and shadows from the past. He fought them in the only way he knew, pushing them away from his conscious thoughts. He let his eyes get lost in the landscape. The yellowish tones of the Aromo’s leaves reached upwards like praying hands moving slowly against Unihue’s blue sky.
So different from Scotland.
From Hogwarts.
That was another man’s life, not his, not anymore.
The frail sun caressed his features, making him part his lips in sensuous abandon. Here he had found peace, respect and love. A place in which he could leave the past behind.
A pair of arms firmly circled his waist from his back. He held those beloved hands and caressed their dry and rough skin with his thumb.
“What are you thinking about doctorcito mio*?”
Searching for her lips, he turned his head down, finding her mouth in a soft kiss.
“Always nosy, aren’t you my chiquitita*?"
She just responded by standing on the tips of her toes to smooth a wrinkle from his eyebrows.
A soft sigh escaped his lips.
“Come back to me Severus, from wherever June takes you.”
“Am I smelling sopaipillas*? Still in a campaign to fatten me up, aren't you? ”
Knowing far too well that he hadn’t fooled her, he led the way into the house, looking for some quiet afternoon tea with his wife.
S***S
*My little doctor
*My little one.
*Typical fried bread, very tasty.
***
ETA: Thanks to Kalinalea for grammar proof.
***