Title: Warts and All

Author: Jin Fenghuang

Pairing: Snape/Harry

Rating: NC17

Length: ~11 000 words

Notes: This is the first part of a series of three. It can be read as a stand alone. Thanks to E, V, I, D and R for the beta, concrit and encouragement.

:::

Harry stood under the warm spray of the shower, his eyes closed to fend off the bright glare of the early morning. Wishing he could go back to bed, snuggle back into soft covers, hide from the day in the cosy gloom of the four-poster's curtains. He settled - with a grown up sigh of the inevitable - for enjoying the warm caress for just one more precious second.

The alarm on his wireless went off for the third time, starting to blare saccharinely cheerful wake-up songs. He resisted the urge to hex it. Or, at least, to throw a bottle at it. That would require effort.

Sleepily, he fumbled for the shampoo, flicked it open with his thumb and squirted. The empty bottle squelched. Frustrated, Harry turned it over and shook it, willing the nonexistent shampoo to, well, exist. It refused.

He squeezed again. Harder. The bottle blew him a raspberry.

Harry sighed and tossed it into the bin, examining the collection of containers on the rim of the bathtub. Lotion, nail-polish remover, exfoliant, small blue bubbles in a jar - he didn't even want to know what they were for.

Rose-scented shaving crème, bath salt, - sheesh Ginny, since when did casual include moving in with all your stuff, and who on Earth needed that many beauty products anyway... - conditioner, facial foam, shower gel...

Harry reached for the last, the bottle had a waterfall of tiny flowers and hearts on it. He wrinkled his nose at the cloying flowery scent. He shrugged. Soap was soap, right?

Freshly showered and reeking only slightly of roses Harry stepped into his kitchen. His dark kitchen. His dark kitchen devoid of food.

He decided that it was way too early in the morning for this kind of shit.

"Kreacher, where is my breakfast?

"Kreacher..." Where was that bloody elf, he was going to be late for work. "KREACHER!"

His voice echoed in the silence of Grimmauld place.

Oh damn! Right... Kreacher was not here. He was over at Bill and Fleur's. Why did doing the nice thing and lending them his house elf have to involve him missing breakfast? Surely babies could not be that much work, could they? Maybe he could ask for Kreacher back ... part-time.

Rummaging through the cupboards he came up with a half empty box of stale oatmeal biscuits. But not coffee. Or tea. Or juice.

He tried to conjure a cup of tea and eyed the foul-smelling result carefully. It looked the right shade, though.

One sip, and a lot of spitting, coughing and rinsing his mouth under the tab later, Harry decided on Tesco's.

:::

There would be a day when Harry would learn how to gracefully exit the Floo. Soon, he promised himself, and then tumbled crashing into someone. Flailing wildly, he knocked his victim down and pinned him to the floor.

"For fucks sake, Potter! Do you have to be such an oaf?"

It had to be Snape. Of all the people that worked in the Ministry, it had to be him.

"Don't answer that, it was rhetorical." Snape's hand pushed against his shoulders." And get off me, Potter! You smell like a prissy room-spray!"

"Ehm ... " Harry mumbled, and wondered where his sudden urge to stay close to Snape had come from when a second ago all he had wanted to do was blow up in his face.

Harry got off the ground, grinning sheepishly, his anger turning to concern. "Are you alright?"

Sitting up, Snape glared up at him. Harry held out his hand and the man eyed it with suspicion.

"Would it help if I said I am sorry?"

Snape harrumphed and ignored the proffered hand.

Harry shrugged, indifferent. "Well, fine then, suit yourself." After all he counted himself lucky, there could have been a hex or two.

"Is there any reason why you flooed into the tea room and not into your office? Other than to harass me..." Snape pocketed something wrapped in a blue-chequered handkerchief.

Harry briefly thought about asking what it was he was filching from the staff room but 'hey what's in your package, Snape?' did not seem the right thing to say to the man he had just knocked over.

"Ehm, coffee?" Harry said instead, looking around hopefully.

Snape gestured at the steaming pot on the counter. "Do I look like a house-elf to you?"

Picking up the semi crushed bag of baked goods Harry had bought on his way here, he dumped them onto a clean plate, shaking bits of flaked of icing from the bag into his mouth. Harry poured himself a mug of coffee and then in a grand gesture of magnanimity he decided to pour one for Snape, too. Smiling apologetically he offered the mug to his former professor, who, to Harry's surprise, took it without a fuss.

"Uh, sir, you got a bit... of dust there"

Harry pointed at Snape's usually immaculate robes, where one or two dust bunny dared to mar their charcoal blackness. Snape put the mug down on the counter, murmured a charm and his robes magically cleaned themselves of wrinkles and dust.

"Wow, that is a neat charm! And I am sorry about crashing into you. Really." Harry offered the plate to Snape. "Iced bun? "

Snape snorted. "Oh my, Potter. I didn't know you cared..."

Harry blushed a furious, bright fuchsia. Trying to hide his embarrassment he took a sip of his coffee. And spluttered. "Sheesh, Snape, did you transfigure this from flobberworms? This tastes worse than when Ron makes it."

"Too strong for you, Potter?" Snape gave him a condescending sneer, "I should have known. Not man enough for grown-up coffee? I am sure there is some Ovaltine somewhere in the cupboards."

"Hah, bloody hah!" Harry reached for the sugar and added a generous amount into this coffee. "Don't tell me you made that. I think I will take some home and use it to strip Mrs Black off the wall."

That got him a snort that sounded surprisingly like suppressed laughter. "And yet, Potter, you are still drinking it. I wonder what that says about you ..."

"Morning!" The door opened and a cheerful witch in her mid-thirties bounced in, her smile faltering when she took in the occupants of the room. She blushed bright red, smiling at Harry in a rather insipid way.

"Morning, Susan." He gave her a forced smile, stepping back, behind Snape he whispered, "Save me!"

Snape gave him an amused look and took the plate from Harry's hand giving Susan what passed -- for him -- as a winning smile. "Iced bun, Miss Farrington?"

"Why? Eh... thank you." She reluctantly took one, holding it by the tips of her fingers at arm length as if it might explode any second.

"Oy, those are mine!" Harry made a grab for one before Snape could pull them all out of reach. He failed.

"Were, Potter. Were. Grammar was never your strong suit."

Harry swore he saw Snape grin before the door closed behind him. Harry found himself returning the sentiment.

"What a git." Susan gave the bun a disgusted look and set it down onto the table. "Do you want this? I'm not going to eat it. Who knows what he did to it."

She shuddered.

"Give it here!" Harry snapped, grabbing the pastry and taking a big bite. "I trust him!"

He took his coffee and made for his office, slamming the door on his way out.