This is the first in what will be a collection of SS/HP drabbles. It's called Behind Closed Doors as all the drabbles are moments between Harry and Severus while alone. Each theme has two drabbles, one is a moment through Severus's point of view, the other a moment though Harry's.

This was roughly inspired by a drabble collection by a fantastic author "RaeWhit" who wrote "Snarry Drabble x24". She was responding to a challenge... which I am not doing, but I did find a few of the themes interesting and wanted to write on them, I am also creating a few of my own... and this is what I came up with.

NOTE: I did repost this chapter, and added another drabble. I have also deleted the livejournal that I had mentioned originally, it was too much to keep up with…

I hope you enjoy.

PROMISES

"What the fuck does it matter to you?"

"It matters to me. You matter to me, much more than you matter to yourself apparently."

I look at the side of his face as he stares wasted and half aware into the firelight; his features are always the most devastating when he's like this, both vulnerable and weak as he is harsh and cold.

"How much of that shit did you take tonight?" I kneel down next to his chair. I'm frantic; terrified that he'd finally over done it. I find nothing in his hands, nothing in his pockets, nothing… I pull out a tiny half filled bag from between his thigh and the arm of the chair. "Is this all?"

He looks over at me and nods. "Get out Potter."

I gently roll the bag and deposit it into the deepest corner of my back pocket. "Look at me."

"Fuck. Off."

"Look at me!" I'm yelling now, desperate for him to listen, to stop staring into that fire, to feel something other than self pity. But he doesn't. He's just as placid as he was before.



I feel my knees collapsing, and all I want to do is have the man back who used to hold me, be my foundation. I'm in front of him, maybe if I can cross his focus he'll see me, he'll look at me. Maybe he'll come back to me. "Severus look at me! Please. Just look at me."

I reach up and smooth his hair; I stroke his skin with quick shaking fingers. "Severus look at me… Look at me and tell me you remember what we had. Look at me and think about the few happy moments, all the things we said we would do if we came out of this war alive. Remember? Remember all of it, and think about what you're doing by destroying yourself, when you're lucky enough to be sitting here. We're alive Severus, we're both alive."

My face is next to his, my lips next to his ear, I sigh from the feeling of breath next to my neck, it feels so much like it used to. "Say you'll stop. Say you'll stop this… Say it."

I feel him nod, just slightly, and with my fingertips that are still pressed against his cheek, digging crescent shaped indents into his skin, I can feel him crying, heavy silent tears that seem to be pushing out of a part of him that is screaming to be released from a body that is still stone, immobile, unfeeling. Addicted.

"Promise. You have to promise you'll let me help you."

He nods. And as I feel the simple gesture against my face, I let the sobs pour out, deep cries of frustration and devastating relief.

The mattress below me dips and then stills, echoing the cautiousness and secrecy of Harry on nights like this. My own mattress even trying to deceive me in favor of the more kind hearted of its occupants.

I follow him with my eyes as he silently pulls up his trousers and slips the button into place, and then lifts his trainers off the rug by the laces.

"Are you coming back tonight?"

He turns and stares as me. I doubt he can even see my face.

"I don't know," he says solemnly. He laces his shoes and slips his wand into his waist band. He walks to me and kneels down to place a chaste kiss on my unforgiving lips. "You know why," he whispers. "Don't make this harder."

"Tell me you love me." I feel like a child.



"You know I do."

"Tell me you'll keep coming back." I'm pathetic, not myself. I'm broken

He kisses me then, slipping a hand into my hair and fingering the hairs at the nape of my neck, then with his lips still against me he whispers, "I promise."

I exhale.

TOUCH

Grading papers together has become a precious and sometimes guiltily pleasurable encounter between us. It started many months ago when I brought him a particularly difficult essay to give adequate advice on, and has bloomed into a fortnightly encounter ever sense.

What I hadn't anticipated however, was the unexpected bloom of a completely different sensation which began to seep through the warm tingle of friendship which had already been silently confirmed.

His hand is so close, inches away, his fingertips rubbing back and forth over the grains in my wooden sitting room table, his fingers long, artful and stained darker at the tips by some potion. The way his knuckles move under his beautifully pale skin in a remarkably hypnotic pattern.

Without much thought, else I lose my momentary confidence, or perhaps it's just gut instinct, or at worst, stupidity – I slip my hand over to lay it on top of his, almost too quickly.

I hope he didn't notice my nerves, the way my hand shook as it fell over his.

I keep my eyes planted firmly on the page below me, praying he doesn't throw me off, all the while relishing the feeling of his hand resting under my palm.

And then to my relief and delight, he slowly moves his fingers apart until my own slip easily between them, and then gently grasps my hand, much the same way, as lovers do.



"It's freezing here." He says plainly, then wraps his blanket tighter around his arms. His tone is colder than the air.

I shrug. "You get used to it."

He looks around the slightly enclosed greenhouse atrium until he finds a plush green wicker chair, and then pulls it over until it is close enough for conversation, but too far to be intimate. I suck in a breath and try to ignore the rejection. It has been a long time, what am I supposed to expect?

"Is this your mother's atrium?"

"It was. The house elves keep it up now. It doesn't look the same as it once did."

He's silent for a long moment. An owl hoots in the distance and the breeze blows cold air over my cheeks, making them feel taunt. The silence would have reminded me of all the evenings we used to spend in each other's relaxed company if I didn't feel so undeniably on edge being near him once again.

"I'm sorry."

I look over, not sure to what he is referring. "It's alright. The house elves do the best they can. It's the variety of flowers that…"

"No." I stop. "I'm sorry." He looks up at me then, his eyes intense and gleaming. He had been here for nearly three days with Dumbledore, and not for a minute had I suspected that he was anything less than furious at me, and disgusted that he had to be here. Until now.

I shouldn't forgive him. In fact, he shouldn't forgive me. But to lose him again, when he's so close is too painful to subdue. "As am I."

He tries to smile and with shaky legs he stands and comes to kneel at my feet. Without a word he lays his head on my knees, his face and gaze turned toward the growth of forget-me-nots.

The feeling of having him against me once against is breathtaking. I let my hands rest against his head, my fingers caressed by his hair… and he shudders.



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-semolinapilchard