Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K.Rowling. It certainly did last time I checked.
Summary: Hermione always said Harry deserved what little rest he got. Hermione always said he shouldn't dwell on what could have happened. Maybe Hermione was wrong. POST-WAR SNARRY ONE-SHOT
As dawn neared Harry would arrive home, tired but finally, after almost five years of misery and war, at peace, contented.
The first thing Harry would sense when he opened the door, would be the smell of sandalhood and think –a calming draught--, as his lover liked to make that particular potion after a stressful day at Hogwarts. Harry would inhale then forcefully, trying to imprint that fragance in his brain. Because even if they had not left the battlefield unscatched, Harry would be right where he wanted to be.
The curtains would be drawn, trying to emule the dark atmosphere of Hogwart's dungeons. You don't.
Hermione said he could work better with natural light. Harry always protested even though he knew she was right.
If he hadn't had many patients at St.Mungo´s, Harry would arrive home early. If Severus didn't have any detentions, he would be waiting for him.
He would greet Harry with the merest flick of his head while he poured unknown sustances into a silver cauldron. Harry would smile then and stare transfixed at him for a second, before leaving the room with the promise of a hot bath later.
Afterwards, sated and well rested, he would claim his place on the sofa, taking one of the two glasses filled with firewhisky and just closing his eyes, imagining he could feel the presence of his lover in the room and, blinking he would see him there. And all would be alright.
Hermione always said Harry deserved what little rest he got. Harry would sigh and change topics.
If Severus had to do extra work, Harry would slip into more comfortable clothes and start making dinner himself, humming one of those horrendous songs Severus liked to listen while he relaxed.
And he would be there when Severus arrived. The flames would roar and turn green, and a tall imposing figure would come out of the fire. And Severus would smile, that slight curve of his lips that never ceased to halt Harry's breath, and kiss him.
Harry would listen to Severus frustated attempts at teaching some dunderheads, and would think about how lucky he was. To belong, to be loved, to have Severus.
If Voldemort hadn't been killed things certainly would have been very different.
Hermione always said he shouldn't dwell on what could have happened. Sometimes, when Severus is asleep, Harry wishes he hadn't.
Sometimes, when Harry listens to Severus soft snores, he agrees with her.
If the Dark Lord wasn't death Harry wouldn't have a place to call home, and Hermione would probably be rotting among the corpses in Hogwart´s grounds. Harry hasn't ever told this to Hermione, because he knows there are things she will never understand.
Harry would be at the headquarters, dealing with the new curses and abominations Voldemort had created. He would still have nightmares, he would hear everynight Colin's cries as he found his dead brother, the first years' shrieks of terror, the maniac laugh of Bellatrix Lestrange as she stabbed Ginny's body again and again.
He would have to hazard a guess, trying to know which place will be attacked next. You don't deserve it. A tense feeling of dread would reing at Hogwarts. And Severus would still be the potions master. He would still be a spy.
But he wouldn't have swept him in his arms, as the Dark Lord´s remnants were incinerated. He wouldn't have kissed him like a drowned man would. He wouldn't have spun him so fastly that Harry was momentarely unbalanced. He wouldn't have made Harry's heart drop as he saw the hateful gaze that marred his features for a moment. He wouldn't have kept his eyes open and unmoving as his fierce grip on Harry's waist loosened, as the green light of the killing curse struck him.
If Voldemort hadn't been killed things certainly would have been very different.
Nevertheless Voldemort was dead. And Harry had new problems to worry about.
Hermione always glanced at him worringly when he said things like that. Harry didn't care. Even when she would hug him and say that she was sorry, and that he didn't deserve this, that Severus should be here with him.
Harry didn't mind. Half of the time. The other half he wanted to rip open Hermione's face for saying that. It was not true. It was not.
He supposed he should be crying, and shouting, and bellowing, and asking for death, for the blessing death his lover had encountered.
If Severus wasn't dead he probably wouldn't spend so much time speaking with Harry. He certainly wouldn't abandon his teacher duties every Wednesday night, indulging Harry. Instead he would spend the week at Hogwarts, tending to his Slytherins, drinking tea with Albus, discussing the newest defense teacher and irritated beyond belief as he received that twinckle as an answer again.
Harry liked to think he would have asked him to move to his – their – quarters. But he wouldn't make Harry dinner everynight he got home early, he wouldn't have obligued, Harry was sure, when he proposed they could buy a house abroad.
There were many things Severus wouldn't have done, had he been alive. Or maybe not.
But this was Harry's folly. And here Severus was alive.
Hermione always talked about post-traumatic shock and similar things. Harry usually tuned her out before she went that far.
Sometimes, at night, with Severus' hand caressing his belly and Severus' warmth goshting his back, Harry would ask himself what had he done to deserve this. You don't.
Fin.