The Two Broomsticks Fall Fic-aThon
Somnolence (Last Thoughts)
by Winoniel
*****
Severus Snape groaned. Every joint of his body ached. His shoulders felt as if someone had ripped them from his torso then hurriedly sewed them back on. His stomach churned, his limbs were quaking with spasms from the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse, and he couldn’t feel his hands and feet at all. The herd of hippogriffs practicing Morris-dancing behind his eyebrows did manage to keep his mind off the cotton balls mating and reproducing in his mouth. Nothing, however, could eliminate his growing awareness of the rising gorge of last evening’s dinner, which threatened a return appearance.
Opening his eyes, he groaned again. He was in a cold, stone room, illuminated solely by a guttering candle. His arms were bound behind his back to an iron ring high on the wall, so high that he could only reach the floor with his toes by straining his shoulders in their sockets. The room was blanketed in sound and magic dampening fields, and he could feel the immense power of the anti-apparition wards pulsing against his skin.
How had he gotten here? He turned his head to the right, stretched as far away from his bound body as he could, relieved himself of roast beef, potatoes, and green peas, and wracked his foggy brain. Ah yes, now he remembered.
His evening had started quietly, peacefully. He’d had a
sumptuous dinner at Malfoy Manor with Draco and Pansy, discussing their
upcoming nuptials and Draco’s negotiations with the Ministry of Magic as he
assumed the obligations as the head of the Malfoy family. They delicately
avoided mentioning Lucius’ death, as Narcissa seemed content to pretend that
he’d died of natural causes, ready to move ahead with her life as the Malfoy
dowager-matriarch. They also avoided talk about the terror currently
being spread by the remaining uncaptured Death Eaters
throughout wizarding
The evening over, flooing back to Spinner’s End, Severus knew immediately that something was amiss. Stepping out of his fireplace, his senses reached out for the expected weight of the multiple-layered wards protecting his home. He felt—nothing. Whirling around, he instantly prepared to apparate out of the house when he heard, from opposite ends of the dark room, “Petrificus totalis,” then “Stupefy.” And after that, nothing….
*****
“Awake now, our little traitor?” Severus looked up into the deranged, baleful eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. The feeble light cast by the candle she carried in one hand caught the gleaming edge of the dagger she held in the other. No wand, he thought, hope springing up until he made out the slight figure of Rabastan Lestrange in the doorway.
Releasing his bonds, Bellatrix motioned Severus to the doorway with the point of the dagger.
“Time to join your former associates, Snape.” Her eyes glinted with the insanity so carefully cultivated by Voldemort, Azkaban, and her time fleeing from justice. “We’ve been waiting to greet you as you so richly deserve.” That means that they will try to spread out the torture over several days at least. Oh, joy…
Taking the hint, he preceded her out into the hallway to a
larger, brightly lit room. Casting a quick glance around he identified
the others—the Death Eaters that had eluded capture since the end of the war,
thwarting the efforts of both the Ministry’s Magical Law Enforcement Division
and the Order of the
*****
Naked and bloody, with more bones in his body broken than not, Severus writhed on the floor while Peter Pettigrew held him under Cruciatus. He had bitten through his tongue, blood leaked from his ears and nose. Bellatrix had sliced through the skin of his left forearm earlier in the evening, trying to remove the Dark Mark which, she spat at him, “You dishonored with your devious dealings with Dumbledore.” He’d still had the presence of mind at that point to silently snicker at her clumsy alliteration before she began to carve into him in earnest. Avery, Mcnair, and Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange joyfully took turns alternately sodomizing and cursing him (a favorite of the Lestranges was Reducto, which they flung repeatedly and precisely, efficiently crushing the bones in one limb before moving to another). Screaming, thrashing about, parts of his body numb, the remainder shrieking in pain, his one lucid thought was satisfaction that he’d witnessed the downfall of Voldemort before his own death.
After passing out and being enervated again, Severus heard a distinctly new sound, a low intense humming that seemed to originate from the stones of the walls and floors. An ear-piercing clangor was followed closely by a burst of dazzling light, then the racket ended almost immediately as a thick darkness fell. In the ensuing confusion he heard dimly, “What’s happening?” “The wards have dropped!” “The Manor’s defenses have been breached!” Footsteps pounded around his head, narrowly missing him, though someone trod on one of his mangled feet. Curses flew out in the hall.
He tried to move, but an invisible familiar? hand held him down. “This is going to be painful, but I need to get you out of here quickly,” he heard whispered in his ear. He tried to whisper, “I understand,” but his throat, screamed raw after hours of torture, emitted no sound. With most of his body mercifully numb, he felt the distinctive twisting of his navel around his internal organs as a port key activated.
*****
“Let’s get you up and give you a taste of some fresh air, shall we?” Severus awoke to luminous sunshine glancing off messy dark hair and tanned muscles as Harry Potter slid one arm under the convalescent’s knees while another supported his back. Harry deftly settled him in a armchair by an open window overlooking what appeared to be a rambling country garden and orchard. The room was a cozy collection of light colored furniture, decorated in blue and cream, with light airy curtains waving gently in the morning breeze.
Severus raised his eyebrows while he tried to propel a growl from his lips. “Don’t take that tone with me,” the boy grumbled. He cast an amused glance at Severus while flicking his wand at the bed. The sheets flew off, to be replaced by crisp fresh linens, the pillow fluffed itself, and the duvet turned itself back, giving the bed and inviting, restful appearance. “You’re finally awake for more than sixty seconds, and you’re snarking at me already. Color me surprised.”
Severus tried again to speak but nothing issued from his throat except a dull throb. What is wrong with my voice? Where am I, and what is Harry Bloody Potter doing here? I haven’t seen the arrogant fool since the fall of Voldemort. He tried to shake his head and search for his wand. Dismay filled him as he realized that his body was not responding at all.
It was apparent that the brat noticed, for he murmured gently, “Don’t panic, Severus. I’ve given you a potion to keep your body from moving and re-injuring itself. If you promised to not get over-excited, I will tell you what has been going on while you were out. If you cannot remain calm, I will have to dose you with another Draught of Living Death to allow your body to heal unimpeded. Do you understand?” Severus, unable to nod, blinked his eyes several times. There were now even more questions for him to ponder later, such as, where did Potter get the potions? And since when is the Boy-Who-Lived so perceptive?
A straw slipped between his parched lips. He drew deeply on it and closed his eyes as cool water slid down his dry, raw throat. After a few more sips, the boy removed the glass, promising more in a few minutes. Settling himself in the chair opposite, he began heavily, “Over three-quarters of your bones were broken or shattered. You’d sustained major internal injuries from writhing about during some long bouts of Cruciatus, your throat was one bleeding mass of flesh, a major artery in your left arm was damaged because of Bellatrix’s whittling fixation, and your spinal cord was injured.”
“Poppy Pomfrey has been coming in mornings to check in on you. Fortunately, she had quite a few bottles of your own Bone-Mending potion, as well as numerous other draughts and potions with which you’ve supplied the Infirmary over the years, so you didn’t have to resort to taking ‘inferior’ formulations.’ Potter grinned, “I’ve had the pleasure of taking several of your products myself, so I know how much better they work.”
Severus widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows. Potter gazed at him thoughtfully, then replied, “This is going to be frustrating, because we cannot easily communicate. Sorry, but you can’t talk, nor hold a pen, so you’ll have to be satisfied with what I think you want to know. I’ll try to ask some yes or no questions to make sure I’m going in a direction you’re interested in. Just blink once for ‘no’ and twice for ‘yes,’ OK?” Severus blinked twice.
After more water, Potter continued. “You’re at my
house. You’ve been here about a month. After we rescued you from
the Death Eater safe house down in
Severus snorted, then realized quickly that was a mistake as his mutilate tissues screamed in agony. The brat’s being much more diplomatic than I can ever remember. Obviously, the healers at St. Mungo’s either refused to treat me because of the Dark Mark on my arm, or Potter and company were concerned that I would be neglected—or worse—among so many who had lost loved ones to Death Eaters. Another question for later: why did he (or they) care? Is this another case of Gryffindor nobility or that arrogant Potter ‘noblesse oblige’ that compelled James Potter to save me from Lupin back in our school days?
While he and Potter had grudgingly worked together, and in fact were wildly successful as a team, their arguments were legendary, and rarely did a day go by without insults—if not hexes—flying between them. It had taken weeks for Harry to even agree to see the Pensieve memory of Severus agreeing to the Vow that he would take Dumbledore’s life. It had taken several more weeks before he acknowledged his own role in forcing the Headmaster to drink poison in their attempt to retrieve the locket Horcrux. He finally admitted that between the curse on the ring Horcrux and the poison, Dumbledore was as good as dead long before Severus’ Avada Kedavra.
When did the little prince get a house? There couldn’t have been time after the battle with Voldemort—the boy was in a coma for four months, then recuperating for two more before I was kidnapped. Who else came to my rescue and how did they affect it?
Severus had so many more questions, and he would force Potter to answer them, as soon as he rested his eyes…..
*****
Wild, plaintive strains of mournful, sweet, ancient music teased Severus awake. He heard minor chords, a pleasant baritone voice singing tenderly (he thought, his Spanish was quite rusty) of unrequited love.* He tried to guess how long it had been since he was last awake, but remembered time passing only as flashes of light, some really horrid-tasting potions (Flavor has no bearing in medicinal remedies, and only whinging, immature brats feel otherwise), and whispers of memories: gentle hands, caring gestures, soft words. As he gradually regained a relatively lucid state, he thought, Renaissance lute music? How does the boy even know what it is?
He tried to move, and stared in delight when his arm actually raised. Unfortunately, it then jerked and knocked a glass of water off his bedside table. The music stopped, and he heard light footsteps on the stairs.
“Severus? You’re awake!” Potter’s blinding smile took his breath away. If he could talk, he would still be left speechless.
Severus felt his lungs shudder back into operation, then squinted through the radiance to take a good look at his care-giver. The boy—no, correction, he was most definitely a man—was wearing a pair of thin cotton sweatpants, and nothing else. There was an prodigious expanse of tanned, supple skin exposed that looked like golden liquid floating over his steel hard muscles. The raven locks were as messy as in his first year of Hogwarts, but since Harry—uh, … Potter—had his vision corrected, his emerald eyes were no longer veiled by those hideous glasses. Severus thought that he could stare into them forever, their deceptive transparency practically issuing siren calls luring the unsuspecting to drown in their depths. What is wrong with me? Am I really waxing poetic over the eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Madden-Me?
“Severus? Is something wrong?” The boy carried an exquisitely carved guitar, and he laid it gently on the dresser before moving to help Severus up, who blinked once. As Harry moved him to the armchair by the window, he prattled on about meals, visits from Pomfrey, physical therapy, the capture of the Death Eaters who’d tortured him, and whatever else the insufferable whelp thought his house guest might like to hear about. Tuning out the words, Severus let his rich baritone roll over him and wondered, when did he become Harry to me? When did I begin to notice things like his eyes, and—Oh, Great, Lecherous, Besotted Gods—how much further can those flimsy pants slide down his hips?
Severus drifted into a drowsy afternoon nap, thinking about the enjoyment of the contemplation of hipbones, abdominal development, and pectoral muscles.
*****
“How long have I been here?” He asked quietly. His throat had finally healed enough to speak, though Madam Pomfrey had cautioned him to speak as softly as he could until it was completely better.
“Three months next week.” Harry had helped Severus to the warm, sunny, back porch, levitating him downstairs, and between the proffered arm and a cane he’d walked the rest of the way. His limbs all functioned, though the fine motor skills in his left hand would never return to its former dexterity. It could be worse, at least it wasn’t my wand hand.... He stopped short, amazed at his thoughts. Blessed Circe, when did I become such a blooming optimist? The Golden Boy (Sweet Merlin, never had truer words been uttered) had set up an easel in front of a comfortable chair, and was painting a watercolor of the garden. He seemed to be having a grand time, though he wouldn’t let Severus see what he was doing.
“Now mind, I’m not complaining, Potter, but when did you manage to evolve enough to be able to take care of someone?” While muttered with a fair amount of his old asperity, Severus really was curious about the dramatic changes in the boy, …brat, …oh, blast it all, …man.
Potter snorted in a fair imitation of his former Potions professor. “Needs must….” He bent over to rummage in his paint case for something, and Severus’ recovering throat lost any pretence at moisture as the boy’s shirt slid up to expose a taut, lithe back.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Harry Potter?” He performed a quick stretch over the boys’ shoulder, but damn, he was too slow. He still couldn’t manage to see the magnum opus.
“What the hell are you talking about, Severus? Hey, stop trying to peek!” Potter nudged Severus away from his easel with his hip, while trying to angle the watercolor away. The touch was fleeting, and it really was just the boy’s jeans against Severus’ dressing-gown clad shoulder, but a thrill of pleasure raced through him, as his nearly new bones nearly melted. “I told you, I’m pants at this, so you probably would see no resemblance between the subject and results.”
“So why are you painting, if you’re not good at it? Oh, wait, I forgot, you’re the incompetent who took seven years of potions, to my unending joy. I withdraw my question.” He stretched again, this time to allow his spine to unfurl in the warm, bright sunshine.
“Prat.” Harry (Why do I insist on calling him Harry? He’s Potter, damn it! Harry, son-of-James Potter! ) rolled his eyes, as he ground some watercolors onto his palette. Dipping his brush in water, he used it to mix the tints, his tongue peeking out between his pert, red lips as he concentrated. Severus’ gaze slammed into sharp, narrow focus at the sight, and he couldn’t have turned his eyes away with a crowbar. “I don’t do it to be some professional, I do it because it’s fun.
“Severus, since I was about four years old, I have tried to be what people around me wanted me to be. For the Dursleys, I tried to be a normal muggle,” Both Potter and Severus snorted simultaneously at that. Surprised, they glanced at each other with small smiles, and Potter continued, “When I reached Hogwarts, I tried to be a courageous, noble Gryffindor. I tried again to be not too smart, not too powerful, not too different, so that I could fit in and have friends. We all know how well that worked out….” Severus had heard this speech many times in the past, but for the first time, the boy—uh, man’s voice lacked the anger and bitterness of past tirades. It seemed reflective and thoughtful.
“For the past few years, I’ve tried to be the Boy-Who-Inspires-Others-to-Hope, brave, strong, and confident. I’ve tried to learn how to fight dark curses without becoming dark myself, to kill and try to retain some humanity, to recognize that I can’t save everyone, and may have to sacrifice someone I love for a greater cause, without going mad.
“I’ve done all of this because I had to. Sure, I had the choice to not do any of it, but that was no choice if I wanted to ever look my friends, classmates, and myself in the eye. I’ve done a lot for others, and now, I’m finally doing something for myself.
“I wanted to play an instrument in primary school, but the Dursley’s wouldn’t allow it. I wanted to sketch and paint while I was at Hogwarts,” Severus was astonished; he hadn’t realized the boy thought about anything but Defense against the Dark Arts and Quidditch. “But Dean Thomas in my year was really good at it, and I didn’t want anyone to laugh at my pitiable attempts.
“So here I am. I have a house that I love and the time and freedom to enjoy it. I may eventually get a job, because I really do want to continue to be a contributing member of society, but right now, I’m going to do what I want. My reason, excuse, justification, whatever you want to call it, is simple. I want to have fun. I’m gardening, I’m taking guitar and watercolor lessons, I’m making music and art and green things grow on my own terms, and I’m having fun.” He glanced over at Severus with a set jaw, waiting almost stoically for the expected burst of derision.
“I must say, Potter, that is the most I’ve heard you speak when you seemed to have ruminated before you opened your mouth. Most impressive.” Severus was impressed though he rather wear one of the former Headmaster’s more exotic robes before admitting it.
Potter chortled. “Thanks, I think.” He sprayed some water on a corner of the painting, and began to fill in some of the background. At least that’s what Severus hoped, considering the large swathes the boy, … man,…. boy was sweeping with his brush.
“So, what about you, Severus? What do you want to do with the rest of your life?”
“Besides tossing my lesson plans in the rubbish bin?” Severus settled back in his chair. His eyes unfocused a bit as gazed into his own psyche. “I’d actually started my own owl-order business before Bella and company interrupted my plans. While I’ve lost several customers who waited in vain for me to fill their orders, I’m sure there are plenty of other people out there who need unusual potions that straddle the boundary of the legal and ethical, yet of are high quality. I can also indulge my desire to conduct experimental research.”
“Wouldn’t your customers understand? I mean, it was in the papers that you were kidnapped, they would have to realize that you weren’t even conscious, let alone able to fill their orders!”
“Silly fellow! You think that
I would operate under my own name? I would have to constantly
screen all of my mail for Howlers, curses, and concealed port keys keyed to the
wastelands of
“Ah…. So you’re doing the same thing—having fun.”
“I suppose that I am, in a much more intellectual, rarified manner.” Severus agreed.
“Do you ever have fun in a non-intellectual, less-rarified manner?” Potter asked, glancing at him with dancing eyes.
Severus stilled, instantly suspicious. He’s not, no, he most certainly is not flirting with me! Is he? Of course not, he’s just too brainless to understand how his comment could be taken. Or he understands too well, and thinks to mock me. Though he has had plenty of opportunity to do so, and he hasn’t yet taken advantage of it. Though, he could be that he has only been waiting for me to be better before resuming the feud. Though, the feud was mainly one-sided, fueled and sustained by me… Wait, did I just say that? Oh, sod it all…
“What exactly do you mean, Potter?” Severus asked, ominously.
The boy was studying his painting intently. “Well, I guess, … erm, I mean…. What I suppose I was asking, … erm— ”
“Come, now Potter, here I was, amazed at your sudden, comprehensive grasp of the subtleties of the English language. Just when I begin to entertain the notion that we might actually have an intelligent discussion, you drag us down to revisit your usual gormless, inarticulate, conversational habitat. Please take a moment and decide: what are you trying to say?” Severus murmured, implacably.
“Oh bugger, I’ve tried, I’ve really tried to talk to you! I know how you like to sharpen your wits about a conversation.” Severus listened, stunned. He’s trying to impress me? “And when we’re just chatting about things, I can hold up my end just fine, but when I really want to make sure that you understand, I can’t seem to find the right words,” he paused, searching, his hands resting gently against his slender hips, eyes unfocused—it’s a good look for him. “I don’t want to come off as presumptuous or stupid.”
“That is a constant danger whenever you speak.” Severus smirked.
The boy—man—brat flung his hands in the air, frustrated. Severus’ eyes were caught by the capable, strong fingers, with a little paint on one tip that he could easily lick off…. Control yourself, man, you need your wits about you!
“I think it’s better if I just do this….” With that, Potter, put down his palette, shoved his chair back from the easel, stood up and strode deliberately over to Severus, who narrowed his eyes. The impertinent brat bent over, and brushed his lips, warm with the sun, and flavored with tea and raspberry jam, over those of Severus.
Noticing that while Severus didn’t respond, neither did he push him away, Potter smiled gently, dropped to his knees, twined his fingers in his former professor’s hair, (I’m so glad I washed it this morning), and brought the man’s faced down to his own. Severus sighed, brought up his newly reboned arms around Harry (Oh damn, it, already, yes! He’s Harry, not Potter!) and allowed his soul to come home.
Harry’s lips made brushing motions across his own, against his eyelids, his cheek, his jaw. When he got to Severus’ ear, he delicately nibbled the lobe, pulling it gently with his teeth, then licking it with just the tip of his tongue.
Something sweet, rich, and ardent awakened in Severus. He had only seen glimpses of this powerful, confident, passionate side of the young man outside of battle. He knew there was a great deal of potential, but hitherto, the boy had seemed hopelessly out of his league when not fighting or on a broomstick. He wouldn’t have guessed that Harry could be so assertive and sensual, and he certainly wouldn’t have guessed how much he would respond to those qualities.
Moaning gently, Harry’s hands slid into the dressing gown. “Oh,… your skin,… oh, so soft, like velvet.” His voice when straight to Severus’ groin, pulsing and throbbing, and making everything there so very—heavy and hard. Harry brought his lips down to the crook of Severus’ neck, nibbling and licking, kissing and sucking. The intensity, the sweet delicious, sharp, not-quite pain, pressed a puff of air out of Severus’ mouth—more than a sigh, not quite a moan. His head fell to the side, screening his face to Harry’s eyes, but revealing the long arch of his throat to his delicate ministrations.
Harry’s hands ghosted over Severus’ shoulders, his chest, the silk of the dressing gown against their skin causing them both to cry out sharply. Severus arched into those hands, letting the curve in his body follow the hands moving slowly down his throat, chest, abdomen, and even more slowly, excruciatingly slowly, to the hypersensitive area leading up to his groin.
“So beautifully responsive…..” Harry moaned, his fingertips sliding sensuously up and down Severus’ silk-clad thighs. At Severus’ answering moan, he replaced one hand with his mouth, sliding his lips along the silk, puffing warm air through the weave, gently stirring it about on the skin. With the other hand, he slowly slid the dressing gown and nightshirt up, exposing Severus legs, so agonizingly slowly as if waiting for a command to stop.
When Severus spread his thighs slightly, his face flushing with lust, with trepidation, with embarrassment at his wantonness, jade and coal-black eyes locked. Severus shivered, awaiting the onslaught of mockery at his presumption. Harry gazed intently, searching for what, the older man could only guess, before he said, tenderly, “I am honored. Thank you.”
Severus fell back, gobsmacked, first at the explosion of warmth that followed that expression of respect, then at the sensation of Harry’s lips at the junction of his thigh and groin. Those lips murmured something that sounded suspiciously like “so good, hot, sweet…,” against his skin, then fell open as his tongue darted out, slid up his shaft, gathering the moisture leaking from the tip, and then swished around the spongy head.
That hot mouth encircled him, and as Severus shivered from the certain sensory overload, he stared at the untidy locks bobbing in his lap before allowing his eyes to drop as his lids fell shut. I am honored…honored…..Thank you….honored…He shattered into dark smoky shards, convulsing as waves coursed through his veins, spine, and muscles, from his core into Harry’s mouth.
As his heartbeat slowed, his eyes rolled back to the front of his head, and his toes uncurled, he wanted to say…What, exactly, can I say? How could he communicate precisely what he felt, that he’d been seduced, caressed, bedded by Harry’s respect as much, if not more than, his body? That knowing he had the young man’s approval and esteem was as enthralling as sex? I could try,…..… except he couldn’t open his mouth without a yawn, and his eyelids were heavy with post-coital sleep.
Severus felt gentle hands slide the nightshirt and dressing gown down on his legs. Honored… He was undone. A light blanket draped over his legs as his eyelids fell and his chin dropped onto his chest. Honored… A kiss was pressed against his hair. Honored… He was lost.
*****
The pleasant, harmonious chords of a pavane were overlaid over the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the rustle of a turning page, and the soft hooting of the snowy owl on the perch by the window. Severus luxuriated in the mundane sounds of life with Harry as his mind drifted back over the past few days.
He’d been more at peace in the little country house than
anywhere else in his life. Recognizing it was the company, not the
location, he thought about the thoughtful attentiveness that had been lavished
upon him since his arrival. Never, as a child living with his ill-suited
parents, at Hogwarts as a schoolboy, among the Dark Lord’s circles, or as a Hogwarts
teacher and member of the Order of the
As a child, he’d been a ‘burden,’ sometimes a referee, for his bickering parents. At Hogwarts, he was deferred to among the Slytherins because of his knowledge and power while constantly pranked and held up for ridicule before the rest of the school by the Marauders. Among the Death Eaters, as a teacher, and in the Order, he was feared, given a wide berth, but never, never accepted. He was valued for what he could do for them all, but no one knew, or cared to know, him, Severus Snape. No one asked him what his dreams could be, what he thought was worth living or dying for, what constituted a perfect day for him.
Harry asked those things, and more. He asked and listened, and shared his own dreams and desires. He would return a couple of days later to something innocuous Severus had said, and they would discuss it for hours. He listened, and heard, and saw Severus Snape. He kissed, and sucked, and licked, and penetrated Severus Snape. His penetration, with fingers, penis, mind, soul, was deep and intimate, demanding and sweet.
The object of Severus’ thoughts appeared at the door. “Do you know that I’ve been calling you for the last five minutes,” Harry asked, eyes sparkling as he quickly glimpsed the pleasant, domestic setting. “You have company.”
“You could have actually come up instead of shouting through the house,” Severus replied, grumbling. “As a man of manners, I probably tuned out any noise unconsciously.” He swept out of the room toward the study that Harry used as his main living area, and where he would have ensconced their guest. Harry followed, rolling his eyes. Severus’ complaints about his lack of comportment had been an ongoing, joking squabble between them, with Harry responding constantly that one cannot learn proper etiquette when working as a family servant or at a boarding school.
When they entered the study, Severus greeted Draco and Blaise Zabini. He knew that Draco had come by several times but he was unconscious or asleep, so it was only a matter of time that he would eventually get the opportunity to visit with his godson. He wondered, though about Blaise, never having been close with the Slytherin.
“Professor, I believe that I can fit you with a new wand, if
you’d like.” Blaise said. Blaise Zabini
had just completed his apprenticeship with the wand maker Constantinos
Ionike. His family, while never supporters of
Voldemort, had tried to maintain their neutrality among their pure-blooded
circles, a task that became increasingly difficult as Voldemort demanded more
and more new recruits to his cause during the second war. As the pressure
on the bright young Slytherin increased, he’d shown his quick wits by sitting
out the war among family friends in
He unshrunk and opened his cases, took out several and handed one over to Severus. “Care to give it a swish and flick?”
Hours later, the four of them exhausted, Harry served a substantial tea, after which Blaise gathered his supply of wands, refused any thought of payment from Severus, and left. Harry collected the remains of their meal, banished them to the kitchen, picked up a book, and excused himself to Severus and his guest.
“I’ve been getting up before dawn, trying to catch a certain light as the sun rises, so I’ve been turning in early like a maiden aunt,” he teased. “Good to see you again, Draco. Please, give my best to Pansy.” Checking the fire and setting out glasses and brandy, he left the two men to talk.
“Severus, I must say, I am surprised that you are still here.” Draco began, tentatively. “I can see that you’re much better. When will you be returning to Spinner’s End?”
“Actually, I just got a clean bill of health from Madame Pomfrey this morning,” Severus yawned slightly. He’d been getting up early as well, observing in wonder as the sun rose, watching it burnish Harry’s face and sketching hands in radiant golds, reds and violet. He’d never been much for natural beauty, but country sunrises and gorgeous young men had given him quite the appreciation for nature’s treasures.
“I think I will enjoy the rest of the week in the country, then return over the weekend.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Draco breathed, relieved. “Perhaps you’d like to join us for dinner?”
He’s wondering about my relationship with Harry. Hell, so am I. I’ve seen the Daily Prophet, “Former Death Eater Nursed Back to Life by Boy Who Lived!” I’ve seen the owls with letters, Howlers, discreet messages flying to and from the Ministry, overheard the firecalls from the other two of the Golden Trio. He’s never mentioned them to me, and niddering craven that I am, I’ve never asked. All I know is, I am satisfied, humbled, and warmed by whatever it is we have, and will take it for however long it is offered with gratitude and awe.
He shook himself back to his conversation. “That would be wonderful. Sunday evening?” He could spend Saturday and Sunday cleaning and setting up his lab, and be ready to start brewing on Monday.
“Great, Severus.” Draco put down his drink, and moved to rise, then paused. “Feel free to drag Potter along, if he’d care to come,” he added, his manner formal, yet with sincere warmth. “I’m sure mother and Pansy would like to add their thanks to mine for his, …erm,… care of you over the past few months.”
Merlin, am I that obvious? Severus groaned inwardly. Does Harry see it, too? He dug a bit, “I’m not quite sure why you hesitated, Draco. What are you implying?”
“Come off of it, Severus. Look I’m your godson, and your friend. I’m not judging or criticizing you, so don’t play dumb with me.
“After the war, while you and Potter were no longer at each other tooth and nail, you were certainly not friends. At your trial, he spoke quite eloquently on your behalf, but I don’t believe that the two of you even spoke more that two words to each other during the whole ordeal. He pulled a multitude of strings and called in tons of favors so that your record could be expunged (I didn’t know that), but the atmosphere between you two was indifferent at best, and never even approaching cordial. So why would he not only take months out of his life to nurse you back to health, but also fire call to keep me updated, contact Blaise about a new wand, and be generally friendly to people whose only connection to him is through you? What is different about your relationship?”
Severus felt a pleasant surge of warmth in the region of his heart, at the same time, his long-lived fear of ridicule raised its ugly head. As the old insecurities surfaced, he thought that he really had no idea what he and Harry had. Just as the boy was exploring artistic avenues that he’d felt had been denied in his previous life, he could just be experimenting with his sexuality. He was probably also testing the limits of his friendships as well as his public persona by taking up with the Death Eater ‘bad boy.’ At any rate, Severus was not going to set himself up for public mockery by implying that anything existed between Potter and him. It was just possible that he might just be tossed aside with the paints and musical instruments when Potter’s strange infatuation ended.
“Draco, if there is something different,” he said, sharply, “it certainly does not constitute a ‘relationship.’ Potter’s noble Gryffindor sensibilities would not allow him to let me languish in St. Mungo’s, and I much prefer the situation here to that in hospital or at Spinner’s End. There’s no reason that I should not capitalize on his self-righteous sense of what’s do a war hero, is there?”
He smirked, look over expecting a similar smirk from his fellow Slytherin, and wondered at the surprised, distressed expression on Draco’s face. He recognized its cause, as he lifted his eyes to see Harry at the door of the study. Shock, then hurt passed over Harry’s face before it became curiously blank.
A strained, “Didn’t mean to interrupt, just picked up the wrong book,” was tossed in their general direction, as Harry studiously avoided their eyes. He blindly grabbed a book, and hurried out.
An icy coldness coursed through Severus’ veins and he felt as if the sun fell out of the sky. He’d known it was too good to last, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.
Draco murmured a hasty goodbye, reiterating the details of dinner, and left. Severus gathered his things to go up to bed. He used his new wand to banish the brandy glasses to the kitchen, bank the fire, and put out the lights. It felt good having a wand again. The last few months using a spare wand had been torture.
Since his health had returned, the wand was the last thing he needed to get back to the business of living. He only wished that he hadn’t been so quick to deny a relationship to Draco. The boy was discreet, almost to a fault, and actually felt genuine affection for his godfather. What could it have hurt, even if later things had not worked out? Why couldn’t he have half the courage of his convictions that Potter demonstrated every day?
He slowly ascended the stairs. Passing Harry’s door, he saw a light under the door, and paused for a moment. Had the situation downstairs not occurred, Harry might have heard his passing, come out into the hall, wrapped sinuously athletic arms around him, and convinced him to join the young man in his bedroom. As it was, Severus continued walking to his own bedroom.
Before he could enter, however, he heard Harry’s door open. “Severus, could I have a word with you?” a quiet voice asked.
Severus turned around, beginning to wrap himself in his accustomed protection of sarcasm and coldness. “What can I do for you, Potter?” he asked, almost quailing at his own temerity. Even he was amazed that he could use such words with the man who had nursed a fellow warrior, opened his home to him, and all with unfailing dignity and graciousness.
“I was hoping we could talk about us.” Harry spoke in a steady cadence, breathing slowly. He was obviously trying to keep calm.
“Potter, there is no us,” Severus said, smugly. “There is just a young man ( a gorgeous, kindly young man, he tortured himself) who is playing at painting, playing at music, playing with sex, playing at love, who has been playing with me. Eventually, you will outgrow your playthings, throw them aside, and behave like a man.”
Harry’s mouth opened in a silent gasp, and Severus felt his insides tighten with guilt. The boy didn’t deserve that, he doesn’t deserve my cruelty, he most certainly does not deserve me. Severus knew he didn’t deserve it, but he hoped to get out this with his pride intact. He had to try, and surely the boy’s resilience would protect him.
“I had thought that I’d made myself clear. I am not playing with any of that, with you. You and they are things that were—are—important, but I haven’t allowed myself to have because I felt I had to take care of my responsibilities first.” He spoke quickly, softly, almost pleading with Severus to understand.
“That’s all well and good, Potter, but our little idyll has passed, quite nicely, I might add. We’ve both enjoyed ourselves, you perhaps have a better idea about what you want, and now it is time for you to move on. I’m sure that there are throngs of your followers who would more suitable for your romantic exploits.” He was proud of how cool and steady his voice was, as he convinced himself—uh, convinced the boy—of how he had reasoned this all out. He knew that no matter how much the boy enjoyed this now, he would only regret it later, and Severus would rather gouge out his own eyes than see that regret. As long as he could elude seeing that awkward self-awakening, that realization, disgust, or worse yet, pity, on the face of this young man to whom he’d tied his heart, he could continue to live in his fantasies.
“Severus—”
“In fact,” Severus interrupted, cynically, “I’m in no doubt that either of your side-kicks would be happy to provide more amorous adventures. Lord, knows, their youth would be a welcome change, allowing the three of you hours of exploration.”
“Severus, is it about our ages?” Harry exclaimed, astutely ignoring the gibe about his friends. “You know that is of little importance to me.”
Damn, he’s gotten a little too shrewd. Again, when did that happen? “Harry, it is about my age, my past, my uncertain future. I am ill-favored, poorly socialized, bad-tempered, a former Death Eater who killed one of the most beloved wizards in history.” Severus knew that crafty application of the truth was better than a million protestations.
“It is about your age, your bright and promising future. You are beautiful, famous, desired, a man who rid the wizarding world of one of the most feared and hated wizards in history—twice! There is nothing that even remotely connects those two sets of circumstances,” he concluded triumphantly.
“Severus, you don’t want to believe this, but we have very much in common.” Harry kept his hands to himself with obvious restraint. They both knew that if he touched Severus, the man would dissolve and give in, but that’s not what Harry wanted. He wanted him to agree and accept, not just acquiesce.
“Harry, all that we have in common is an aversion to being controlled and manipulated, some incredibly painful memories of torture, blood, and death, and probably a deep-seated loathing for lemon drops.” Severus kept his eyes averted. Gods, how much longer could he bear this? How much longer could he keep from grabbing at the delights this young man seemed to be offering? Why am I trying to?
“That’s not true,” Harry whispered, intently, while smiling gently at Severus’ allusion to Albus favorite treat. He turned Severus so that their faces were just inches apart, and quickly dropped his hands. Their eyes met, both recognizing the loneliness and isolation from which they both suffered.
“Severus, you understand the feeling of people depending on your unique talents, but being reviled for possessing them. The pressure of knowing that people only see the construct of you that they’ve devised, and not only don’t know the real you, don’t even care. You know how much we’ve sacrificed for people who could never comprehend what we’ve done.” Harry’s voice broke, and no longer resisting, he gently carded his hand through Severus’ hair. Severus closed his eyes, groaning, and leaned into the caress.
“That knowledge, that understanding has nothing to do with age, or looks, or past actions. It is a result of the choices that we made to rid the world of a threat. You can understand. I can understand. No one else can, really. They can sympathize, be supportive, even feel sorry for us, but they cannot understand. That’s one of the most important things that we share.
“And you may deny this until your hair is as old and white as Albus Dumbledore’s, but we share other things, too. We share a desire to see this world that we’ve saved, and we both want the privacy and peace that’s long been denied us. We want to talk about things that are dear to us long into the early hours of the morning, though I suppose I do most of the talking,” Harry teased.
“We both want to awaken early in the morning, before it’s sullied by words and actions, dreams deferred and unintended acts, when it’s still pristine, promising, and new. We want to let the sunrise paint our faces, feel the cool morning breeze, listen to the bird songs. And we both want to sit by the fire in the evening, and talk about nothing, just breathing the same air and reflecting on a day of quiet tranquility. We both want to make love for hours, kissing until our lips are swollen, until we’re maddened by desire, until we feel we’d die without more contact, more pressure, more—”
“Enough!” Severus barked, yanking Harry desperately to him, burying his head in the younger man’s neck, quivering with unexpressed emotion. Harry’s arms slowly, gently surrounded him. Severus sank deeper into the tender embrace, drowning in the warmth, the scent, the thought of Harry.
He wondered how he managed to get entangled with the impudent brat. Oh yes,…let’s see: appreciative words, loving, gentle caresses, a charming demeanor, a stunning body and stupefying sex. All wrapped up in Harry…Get a hold of yourself, man…
“Harry, there is absolutely no way that this can work. We are both too stubborn, rash, and moody—well, I suppose you’re the rash one, and I’m the moody one, but we are both quite stubborn…” His words died on his lips as he viewed Harry’s restful smile. Merlin! He tried to continue, though his voice barely had the strength to make it past his lips. “This is one of our more monumentally bad ideas.” Then Harry licked his earlobe, Ah! He weakened.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, resigned. The day had been a long one, and he was not used to so many emotional experiences happening in such a short period of time. He decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to fight something it seemed he wanted so much. Let the disaster occur, and pick up the pieces tomorrow, when he had more energy.
“I want you,” Harry corrected himself, “us, to be open enough to think about what we could mean to each other, to be able to talk about it.” Harry’s hands slid up and down Severus’ back, not sensually, but reassuringly. Their foreheads met as their eyes closed.
“I’m not one for declaring enduring love.” Severus whispered, his eyes heavier with each passing moment.
“Gods forbid.” Harry’s amused retort was whispered in kind. His forehead crinkled against Severus’ in a smile.
“I don’t even know what it is.” Words slurring with the effort to form them, Severus felt himself guided the rest of the way to his bedroom, and lightly pressed to his bed. Harry took off their shoes, but leaving the rest of their clothes on, he slid in behind Severus, and clasped him again in his arms, with his lips nuzzled into the back of Severus’ neck.
It was laughable that the cold, distant former Death Eater could imagine something like this happening to him, but it was. He was there with Harry, with warmth, welcome, comfort tucked in behind him.
He didn’t know if he said the words aloud, just thought them, or just felt them in his bones, So this is what love feels like….
He was cradled, he was cherished, he was happy, he was home.
*****
* “Toda mi vida os amé” by Luis Milan.
Trans.: All my life I have loved you.
If you love me, I know it not
I well know that you hold love
In disaffection and forgetfulness.
I know that I am shunned
Since feeling your disfavor,
And forever I will love you.
If you love me, I know it not.
*****
FINIS