The US version of The Half-Blood Prince had an illustration of Snape with an impressive Evil Goatee. That inspired this very short one-shot. Un-beta'ed and odd.
Dashing but Evil
The problem with Snape, Harry decided one morning as he picked at his bandages, was his horrible choice of facial hair. Harry could handle the greasy hair, the snark, and the occasional noxious fumes that filled the house. He easily forgave the long hours Severus spent locked up in his study and said nothing every time Severus refused to join him in bed.
(It was quite easy for Harry to forgive Severus when he did not join him in bed, actually. The fact that Severus spent greater part of the past three months in a chair by Harry's bed, keeping vigil and unnecessarily hurting his back* was more than enough. The offensive facial hair, however, was another matter.)
(* Severus had tried to make the worn-down recliner more comfortable, but for all his talents and powers, Snape was utter pants at Transfiguration. One only needed to look at his attempts at becoming an Animagus. He merely wanted to best Potter at his own game, but after growing fangs out of the crook of his elbow…)
The Goatee, however, was the absolute last straw. The damn thing scratched his face every time they kissed, for one. Harry could only be expected to accept so much, after all.
It took an embarrassingly long time for Harry to wiggle himself out of bed. His stiff shoulders made it difficult to move, and the bandages covering his eyes didn't help much, either. Three months in this state (two of which Harry had, admittedly, spent unconscious), and he still stubbed his toes on the furniture as he shuffled about. His shaving razor was exactly where it should be, however, as were the robe and slippers Severus insisted he wore when out of bed. As if Harry was nothing more than a senile, old invalid. Harry scoffed at the idea and shuffled out of the bedroom to Severus' study down the hall, one hand on the wall to guide him.
Severus's study, whether by accident or design, was set up suspiciously like Severus's old Hogwarts office, with his desk facing the door and rows of bottles and boxes lining the far wall.
(Severus hated this room. The southern-facing windows allowed too much sunlight in, spoiling many of his more expensive ingredients. Harry, in a moment of lucidity, suggested thicker curtains. He was subsequently blamed for the dancing teddy bear curtains that mysteriously appeared in Severus's study four days later. **)
(** Harry was convinced Severus started growing the Goatee in retaliation.)
Black curtains hung over the windows, the plush, teddy bear-shaped textures in the fabric shifting and bouncing about along the bottom hem. Severus was, as expected, at his desk, writing at an almost furious pace. His large nose ghosted across the parchment as he wrote, his Goatee noisily scraping against the grain.
"You should be in bed," Severus said, not looking up from his work.
"I'll go back to bed," Harry said, feeling his way to the soft couch by Severus' desk, "only when you finally shave that hideous thing off your face."
"Hideous," Severus echoed, setting his quill aside as Harry slumped onto the couch. "Despite what you think, I am actually quite fond of my nose."
"Not your nose," Harry said, sinking into the cushions. Walking from the bedroom to Severus's desk took more out of him than he had thought it would. "The Goatee."
"The goatee?" Severus stroke the offensive facial hair as he looked down at Harry's bandaged face and neck, the skin underneath a troublesome shade of red.
(To Severus, most, if not all, shades of red were troublesome in some way. He always ordered his steaks well-done.)
Harry's hair had finally started growing back, soft and white like an old man's. Severus did not comment as Harry took a long, deep breath to control the shaking of his hands, saying instead, "Do you know how long it took me to regrow it to its former glory?"
(The answer: Three months of personal neglect as the young man he loved lay in bed, nearly killed by a innocuous-looking Dark artifact. The Healers had been no help; they did not have Severus's experience with cursed objects or his determination to save Harry. He brewed and crafted counter-spells, resting only when Harry finally woke up…)
"But it's evil," Harry argued. "And greasy and scratchy. And Evil."
Severus dragged his desk chair to Harry's side and took Harry's hand. "You mentioned that." Harry's skin was warm to the touch.
"And… you look better without it," Harry said, his head turned towards Severus.
"I think I look dashing with it, actually."
"You look evil with it," Harry countered.
Severus said nothing as his fingers traced the faint silver lines on Harry's palms.
"The last time I saw you with a goatee," Harry murmured, his fingers curling around Severus's hand, "you were dying."
(The more Harry thought of the Goatee, the more he dwelled on that night: Snape's hair and goatee matted with his own blood, the gurgle of Snape's voice as he begged Harry to take the memories. The hot blood oozing through his fingers as Severus died in his arms…)
He rolled to his side towards Severus. "All those years I hated you, you had a goatee. And, I don't want that to be the first thing I see after these bandages come off," he confessed.
"Harry," Severus sighed. He touched his forehead to Harry's and closed his eyes. "When these bandages come off, you can shave it off my face yourself," he whispered against the gauze between Harry's eyes.
Harry huffed and clutched at Severus's threadbare house robes. "Something to look forward to?" he whispered back as Severus' goatee brushed against his lips.
Severus responded with a light kiss as he touched the edge of Harry's bandages and stroked the warm, red skin underneath.
Comments and Critiques are always welcomed!