Work Text:
When the third snowball splattered across the face of an unsuspecting student, Severus gave up.
There was simply too much chaos. Too many cries for help and screams of agony, tears dissolving into laughter and laughter breaking into tears, too much whining and bragging, threats and cheers, too much everything to keep track of anymore. Not that Severus cared in the slightest. He was there freezing under the stars only because he was duty-bound to do so, because Minerva had realised far too late that they were short of staff over Christmas break and someone was needed to stand in the snow and supervise the devils. Had the decision been left to Severus, he would have cancelled the event. A battle without magic, with no proper means of defence, was not only absurd but also utterly irresponsible.
Nearby, a second-year girl took a direct hit to the back of her head and let out an ear-splitting wail. But no sooner had the tears sprung to her eyes than the hurt shifted into a righteous fury. With bared teeth and a low growl, the girl scooped up a handful of snow and went after the boy responsible for the attack, his pleas for mercy soon choking into pitiful sobs.
The corner of Severus’ mouth curled up.
As dull as a snowball fight without magic sounded, Severus had to admit the spectacle had its moments. This wasn’t merely a fight – it was war. Physical, intense, and savage. The primitive little beasts were out for blood, which meant Poppy would have her hands full by the end of the evening.
An icy wind sneaked beneath Severus’ scarf, sending a familiar twinge through his neck. He groaned and brought his fingers to the spot, rubbing the scar to soothe the sensations while glancing up at the moonlit sky and counting the brightest stars. The pain was always easier to bear if he managed to focus on something else.
After the war – the real war – the scar from Nagini’s attack had developed a nasty habit of flaring up in certain weather. Although rain, wind, and cold were the worst, covering pretty much the weather all year around, sometimes even a cloudy day was enough to provoke the pain. Indoors, surrounded by silence, the sensations remained tolerable, but at Hogwarts, opportunities for such peace were rare. To escape the wretched weather and constant noise, Severus had, for a while, entertained the thought of pursuing a new career now that he had the chance, then soon gave up the idea. Deep down, he knew no place would be better for him than Hogwarts, a place where people knew him well enough to let him suffer in solitude.
Or, most of them did.
“Care for something warm, Professor?”
A steaming cup appeared at the edge of Severus’ vision, but he only grunted, keeping his gaze fixed on the shrieking students.
As the newest addition to the staff, Potter had yet to learn the rules. Ever since the start of term, he’d been a persistent nuisance, repeatedly ignoring Severus’ signals to stay away and pushing himself into Severus’ company as though his presence was somehow welcome. After seven years as Severus’ student, the boy surely knew that he preferred to be alone but, as usual, the brat chose to disregard his wishes. As if the castle wasn’t big enough for the two of them to coexist without having to interact more than the bare minimum.
“It’s mulled wine,” Harry continued, undeterred by Severus’ reluctance to acknowledge him or his gift. “The house-elves are serving it to everyone after the game, but you looked like you could use one already, so I went to the kitchens and got some.”
“As always, you act as though the rules do not apply to you, Potter.”
Grudgingly, Severus accepted the steaming cup thrust into his hands.
“It’s ‘Professor’, actually.”
“Hmm?”
Severus brought the cup to his nose and inhaled, then inhaled again. Interesting blend for mulled wine.
“Professor,” Harry repeated. “You know, given that I am here these days to… teach. Have been for the past four months. I may have mentioned it once or twice. But really, you should just call me Harry.”
Severus glanced to his side only to meet a grin so familiar that his first instinct was to take twenty points from Gryffindor.
The boy wasn’t merely being a smartass, though. He was indeed now staff, a professor at an even younger age than Severus had been when he’d started. A career choice that had shocked many, though not Severus. Harry had shown a natural inclination for guiding and teaching even as a student, and after the war, it had seemed unlikely that he would choose to be an Auror as many assumed. After years of violence, a man was bound to crave some measure of peace.
“Was there something else you wanted, or are you here solely to abuse my time and energy with meaningless chatter?”
“You just looked like you could use some company. Or maybe– Jeez!” Harry ducked just in time to dodge a snowball. “It’s a bloody battlefield!”
Severus sighed. Apparently, he was doomed to endure pointless socialising. So be it. The evening could hardly get any worse.
“Indeed.”
“How many have you sent to the hospital wing?” Harry asked, eyeing a boy sprinting past them with a rather impressive bruise on his forehead.
“Attempted to send,” Severus corrected. “Two. One, I believe, has a sprained wrist; the other, a broken nose. But they refuse to leave. Something about fun.”
Harry chuckled. “Well, thank Merlin they’re calmer during class.”
Severus raised an eyebrow. “Are they?”
“Oh, don’t be like that. Your classes were always perfectly quiet and orderly. Without Voldemort stirring up chaos, we would have learned a lot.”
“You were the chaos, Potter. Every time something happened, you were involved.”
The boy didn’t even attempt to argue, only flashed that grin of his again.
“What can I say? I’m curious, and trouble follows. Besides, I knew you’d come and save me.”
“Barely. You would have required a round-the-clock babysitter. Or perhaps a guard. It’s a miracle you’re still alive, Potter.”
Severus wasn’t joking, not exactly, but Harry laughed as if he were. He often did that, found humour in Severus’ sarcasm when others only heard spite. Even the sharpest of Severus’ barbs seemed to have lost their sting, like Harry had somehow grown immune to them. Or maybe it was Severus who had lost the urge to truly hurt him. A side-effect of saving each other’s lives, perhaps.
“You may be right,” Harry admitted. “Though honestly, it’s a miracle you’re alive too.”
Severus didn’t respond. The consequences of that miracle were too numerous and complicated to discuss in the chilly night. He was only just sorting them out himself.
Harry blew into his cup, the steaming liquid still too hot to drink, and for a while, they simply stood side by side and watched the game. Not an entirely unwelcome experience.
“I saw you rubbing your neck,” Harry said then. “It hurts in the cold, doesn’t it?”
Severus’ grip around the cup tightened. He didn’t like people mentioning his wound. Especially not this boy who had seen him at his weakest.
“My discomfort is no concern of yours, Potter. If I require medical help, I will seek Madam Pomfrey’s advice. Your area of expertise, as I recall, was defence, not healing.”
“Yes, well, Poppy told me you haven’t been following her advice.”
Severus’ attention sharpened. “Did she now?”
He turned to look at Harry but found his green eyes already fixed on Severus, studying him closely.
“She told me she’s been trying to convince you to take a potion that would ease the pain, but that you’ve been refusing her help.”
Severus pursed his lips. “I see. Seems I may need to have a word or two with Ms Pomfrey.”
And ensure she understood the repercussions of ever discussing his private affairs again.
His glare had no effect on the boy, though. Instead, Harry cradled the cup in his hands as though they were discussing the weather.
“You could. Or, you could just drink the potion she mixed into your cup.”
It took a full two seconds for the news to register.
A conspiracy against him? This was certainly new. Not that the ploy had any chance of succeeding as Severus would have recognized the taste at the first sip. The scent alone had been suspicious. But why had Harry confessed?
“How very Slytherin of the two of you,” Severus murmured. “Your idea? Or hers?”
Though what did it really matter? What was done was done, and they’d both participated.
But as he was about to tip the drink into the snow, a warm hand landed on his bare wrist peeking from beneath his sleeve. He stilled at the touch.
“I don’t understand, Severus,” Harry said quietly. “You’d feel so much better.”
“Professor Snape,” he corrected, but couldn’t quite manage the necessary bite to back the demand.
The conversation had drifted from mundane to personal, the touch crossing a boundary not meant to be crossed, and yet, Severus couldn’t make himself ask the boy to leave.
Harry’s worried eyes lingered on Severus’ face.
“She only means well. It’s not a sedative, it’s not even particularly strong. It just dulls the sharpest pain. You wouldn’t notice anything else.”
“I know what the potion does, Potter. I brewed it myself.”
“You did?” Harry’s hand dropped from Severus’ wrist. “But then why…”
Severus looked away, past the students and into the dark horizon.
He owed the boy no explanation. His reasons were his own. But Harry was still watching. Waiting. Expecting something from him.
“Some pain is meant to be remembered, Potter. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“The war is over, Severus. Things change.”
How soft that voice was. Endlessly kind, eternally patient. Wasn’t it exhausting to care so much?
“Professor,” Severus muttered, without energy.
“Couldn’t you just try it, this one time? Who knows, without the pain, maybe you’d even be able to focus on… nicer things.”
“Nicer things? I don’t see any ‘nicer things’.”
“You don’t?”
Despite the softness, the words presented a challenge. A question Harry had, until now, kept hidden between the lines, a possibility left unsaid and thus easy to ignore, now offered more boldly for Severus to consider and judge.
Severus braced himself and turned back to the boy.
“You’d make Poppy happy,” Harry continued. “If not for yourself, do it for her, will you?”
The thought was sudden, but still there, clear as day.
No. But if you look at me like that for another ten seconds, I’ll do it for you, Harry.
The green eyes didn’t waver, nor did they plead or demand. They just were, full of warmth and unfounded hope, as they’d been since summer, and after ten seconds, Severus lifted the cup and drank. Every last drop, in one go. Eyes locked with Harry’s.
The worry that had clouded Harry’s spirit melted like snow in spring, shifting first into a shy smile, then blossoming into a full-blown grin. The kind Severus had always claimed was irritating when, in truth, it was just blinding. Like standing in the sun.
Severus licked the sweetness from his lips and caught Harry’s gaze dropping to his mouth, a faint blush rising to his cheeks as he turned to look away. His eyes, when they returned to meet Severus’, were bright and wide, full of life.
Why did he have to be so damn radiant? Why couldn’t he just be normal, like everyone else?
“Thank you, Severus.”
That name again. A name Harry had no right to use, slipping from his lips while looking at him in a way he had no right to look; like every teenager had ever gazed at their first crush, unable to hold eye contact yet unable to turn away.
It wasn’t as though Severus hadn’t noticed. Over the months, he’d sensed Harry’s sadness shift into curiosity and on to a tentative hope, his confusion into something solid and lasting. He’d seen Harry’s eyes light up every time Severus came near, his gaze open and honest as if self-preservation and common sense were foreign concepts to him. All without any encouragement from Severus.
Harry was doing it now too, blushing and grinning, squirming where he stood like the sight of Severus taking one potion was the highlight of his evening, perhaps his entire week, and all Severus could think of was how ridiculous and absurd the whole thing was. Stupid, really. Just like Severus’ own heart, hammering in his chest as if it had nothing better to do than to rush to conclusions and get excited about ideas that were too complicated and outrageous to entertain.
And still. There they were, standing in the cold winter night, free of war and pain and fear, a boy who could have chosen literally anyone else in the whole world, staring at Severus with adoring eyes, and Severus, so tired of fighting and hiding and holding himself together when all he wanted was to fall apart to be built again.
Something in Severus’ chest overflowed.
He tossed the mug over his shoulder, cupped Harry’s face, and kissed him. And immediately wondered why the hell he hadn’t done that a lot earlier.
It was a damn good kiss. Later, when Severus would have access to his vocabulary again, he would no doubt have more to say about the kiss, but feeling Harry’s lips part for him, a bold tongue sliding against his, Severus’ brain wasn’t quite functioning. The rest of him, however, seemed to be functioning better than ever, and while the fire in him could have been due to being painless for the first time in months or being kissed for the first time in a decade, Severus knew it wasn’t really about that.
This was about the insufferable brat who had grown into a strong-willed man with the brightest eyes and warmest smile, a man who refused to leave Severus alone no matter what he said or did and instead showered him with kind words, lingering gazes, and kisses that took away pain and loneliness and – quite miraculously – any awareness of the world around them. With his focus narrowed to Harry’s sweet mouth and lean body pressed against his, the unruly hair where Severus’ hands threaded as if to stay, Severus had no desire to be anywhere else ever again.
The only problem with kissing Harry was that once he’d started, it was really difficult to stop. And Harry, with his fingers clutching the front of Severus’ coat, wasn’t exactly helping. In the stopping, that was. In the kissing, he was extremely helpful. So Severus kissed him some more. And when Severus’ lungs started to protest, suggesting he needed air more than the boy’s soft lips, Harry held on to him so tight that Severus figured he might as well learn to breathe through his nose or die a happy man trying, and went on kissing him. After all, nothing in his life had come anywhere close to feeling as good as kissing Harry and judging by the boy’s soft moans and grabby hands, the feeling was mutual.
When some measure of sense returned and the kiss found a natural pause, Severus’ head felt dizzy, his knees somehow weak. In addition, he had no idea what to say.
Harry looked thoroughly kissed, which was quite lovely and also something of an accomplishment as they couldn’t have been kissing that long. His lips were deliciously red and swollen, his cheeks a pretty shade of pink, and his eyes clouded in a dreamy haze as if he’d been transported into another world and was only gradually finding his way back. Much like Severus was feeling too. Around them, the yard had emptied and only the two of them were left standing in the darkness, which was odd because Severus hadn’t noticed the game ending. Words seemed necessary, but Severus wasn’t sure which ones were appropriate.
Fortunately, Harry had many words with which to fill the silence, but they weren’t what Severus would have expected.
The blissful haze on Harry’s face vaporized in a heartbeat. Eyes widening, he took a step back and turned, as if about to storm into the castle.
“POPPY POMFREY, YOU MEDDLING MENACE! WHAT DID YOU PUT IN THE–”
Severus caught his sleeve and dragged him back into his arms.
“Calm yourself, Potter. You’re ruining the moment.”
But Harry wasn’t listening. “You don’t understand. Poppy must have added something else to the drink, something…. I don’t know, something amorous I think, although I have no idea why she would–”
Severus held him tighter.
“How poor do you think my senses are? I know precisely what was in it: dittany, valerian root, arnica blossoms, and willow bark. The same concoction she’s been trying to force-feed me since September.”
The furrow on Harry’s forehead deepened. “But then why would you…”
“Why would I kiss you?” Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You truly aren’t the sharpest quill in the box, are you, Potter.”
Severus tried to pull him into another kiss, but Harry planted both hands firmly against his chest.
“No. Wait.”
Frowning, Severus loosened his hold. “Unless I misread you. Did you not enjoy it?”
“No, I did. Very much. It’s just… I mean…” He’d never seen Harry think so hard, his eyes scanning Severus’ face, striving to understand. “Do you even like me?”
Severus sighed. Just when he’d thought something could be simple with the boy. That he could just throw Harry over his shoulder and carry him to bed. Apparently not.
“Potter,” Severus began, then paused to consider just how slow and thorough he needed to be for Harry to follow. Perhaps, in this case, details were crucial. “You have been orbiting me like an overeager moon ever since I returned from St Mungo’s in August. You offered to resign from teaching Defence so I could have the position, then helped rebuild my classroom and organize my stores when I chose Potions instead. You’ve taken over my night shifts when I’ve been ill – yes, I heard about that – and covered for me when volunteers were needed for pointless social events such as this one. You’ve kept inventing excuses to speak with me, inserting yourself into my company at every possible opportunity, then endured my moods and sarcasm, even attempted to build some bite of your own, as pitiful as it is. And you’ve done all this while lurking at the edge of my consciousness every single day, eyeing me like a besotted adolescent as if there was something in my direction worth your time and energy.”
He fixed Harry with a pointed look. “And now you’ve gone so far as to conspire with Poppy to slip me a pain-relieving potion I have repeatedly expressed I do not want, completely disregarding my boundaries in order to gift me a moment of normalcy I neither deserve nor require. Even if you failed to complete the deceit and fell into your usual honesty, the sentiment is most appealing.”
Harry blinked, a sign Severus took as him listening though not necessarily understanding.
“In other words,” he continued, “your incessant, immature courtship has been successful. Congratulations.”
Harry looked just as confused as before. “So… that’s a yes? As in… you like me?”
“Correct.”
“And you forgive me for tampering with your drink?”
“Again, correct.”
“And you’d like to kiss me again?”
“If you’re amenable, yes, I would.”
Harry shook his head. “You have the strangest way of expressing yourself, Severus.”
“Professor, Potter,” Severus muttered, like a broken record long overdue for a change of tune.
A mischievous grin spread on Harry’s face and he stepped closer, hands sliding up Severus’ chest. A peculiar sensation to be stroked like that, though not unwelcome. Something he could certainly get used to.
“It’s Harry. And yes, you can kiss me again. We need to work on our communication eventually, but you kiss like a nymph and, yeah, I’d very much like more of that now.”
Hmph. Easily impressed, was he?
He pulled Harry flush against him, holding him by the waist and threading his fingers into that wild hair again, smirking at the soft gasp as Severus hovered close to his lips, teasing him with a promise of the kiss he so visibly craved.
“While I oppose being compared to a mythological female deity, I agree with the sentiment. Your lips are quite divine as well, Harry, and I cannot wait to extend my explorations to the rest of you.”