Hold Fast

It had been a week since Voldemort's demise, a week since Snape had left his terse response – Yes – on Harry's pillow, to say that he accepted Harry's apology and would allow him to make amends.

In that week Harry had laid eyes on the older man precisely once, when the Ministry had called all members of the Order of the Phoenix who had participated in the final attack to accept a formal thanks. Harry was told he would be given the Order of Merlin, First Class; the others would all receive the Order of Merlin, Second Class. He bit back his protest that Snape ought also to be granted the First Class honor. Although he had promised not to reveal who had been directly responsible for killing Voldemort, it shamed him to take credit that he didn't fully deserve. From across the room, Snape nodded almost imperceptibly when Harry flushed and stammered his thanks, and that kept him from speaking out.

But now, after a week of wild celebrations throughout wizarding Britain, things were dying down. The house in Grimmauld Place was quiet when Harry entered, careful not to disturb the portrait of Mrs. Black. He slipped along the hallway to the kitchen, where he knew there were a few Butterbeers left by the Weasley twins after an impromptu party two nights before. He had opened one and was taking a healthy gulp when a deep voice spoke from the doorway.

"Good evening, Mister Potter." Snape stepped into the room.

Harry choked and spluttered, setting the bottle down. "You're here," he stated the obvious. "Er. I'd started to think what you wanted was just to be left alone."

"I considered that possibility," said Snape. "It had a certain appeal. Upon further thought, however, I felt I should at least speak with you first." He indicated Harry's drink. "May I?"

"Oh, of course," Harry said hastily, grabbing a second Butterbeer and handing it to Snape. "D'you want to sit down?"

Snape nodded and waited with cool courtesy for Harry to lead the way into the next room. Harry sat on the worn purple-damasked sofa, hoping Snape would sit at the other end, but he chose an armchair a few feet away instead.

"I understand why you made this offer." Dark eyes bored into Harry's own as Snape drank.

Harry flushed; Snape's skill at Legilimency doubtless gave him more knowledge of Harry's motives than was comfortable.

"In part, at least. Your ideas of fair play and honor are as typically Gryffindor as I've ever seen. But I think you may come to regret this."

"I won't," blurted Harry. "I'm sure of that."

Snape raised a finger. "Don't interrupt, Potter." The way he growled Harry's name sent a shiver down Harry's spine and into his groin, and he nodded silently.

"You think that by submitting yourself to me you will expiate any offenses of the past, but I assure you that no matter what you do, your former misdeeds will continue to weigh on your conscience. There is no respite." The dim light of the lamps in the room exaggerated the lines around the corners of Snape's mouth and the sagging skin of his neck. "I could demand anything of you; you set no limits. One final time, I ask you: is this truly what you want?"

"It is." Harry swallowed. "I told you before. Especially now, almost everyone who looks at me will see me as not just the Boy Who Lived, but as the Chosen One, the Hero of the Wizarding World. Even Seamus, who shared a room with me for years, is treating me differently. But to you, I'm just Harry... and I need that. I need you. Do you want me to be plainer? Yes. You can ask anything of me, anything, and I'll do it; just treat me as Harry, a real person, someone who maybe is irritating to you, but not set apart and untouchable."

"Not untouchable." Snape's lip curled. "You give yourself away, Mister Potter. But what if I do not wish to touch you?"

The question was like a blow. He had been certain that Snape was like himself, preferring men. Now Harry realized that he really had no evidence of that; he had merely assumed it.

"Then you needn't." He was proud that his voice didn't shake. "If you'd rather that I keep away from you, I will. It's the least I can do." He met Snape's gaze. "Read my thoughts if you'd like and you'll know I'm telling the truth."

"As I have tried on several occasions to explain to you, Legilimency is not mind-reading." Snape made an exasperated sound.

"Sensing my emotions, then. Whatever. You know that I can't block you, and I'm offering you the chance to look freely." Harry's mind was churning, memories from school mixing with more recent thoughts and fancies, a tangle of feelings that even he could not sort out but which had drawn him to put himself in this vulnerable position. Snape might laugh, might walk out, might pity him...

He did none of these things, simply looking at Harry, his expression unreadable but intent. What he said next came as an utter surprise.

"Only if you do the same."

Harry's mouth dropped open. Snape couldn't mean that. But the other man nodded, so Harry thought back to the one time that he had found his way into Snape's memories, and tried to recapture it, focusing on Snape's face and pushing at his mind. It was far easier than he recalled, now that Snape was not attempting to shut him out, but the images flickered wildly.

"Oh!" As he tried to sort through what he was seeing, Harry recognized himself in Snape's thoughts, and felt a surge of emotion – compassion/resentment/pride/irritation/lust, all mixed together. This was how Snape felt about him, he understood, this confusion of feeling so similar to his own.

He blinked, overwhelmed, and suddenly Snape was next to him on the sofa. He smelt of bitter herbs and faintly of something that Harry could not quite place. Harry could see blue whiskers under the skin of his cheeks and chin. He reached to touch, needing to feel the roughness to anchor himself to reality once more, but Snape caught his wrist.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"You..." Snape shut his eyes briefly, shaking his head. "I couldn't be sure, from what I saw. I am not the first, for you?"

Snape was frightened, Harry realized, though he couldn't see why. "No." He didn't elaborate, but Snape's jaw unclenched.

"Good." He sat back. "I came here tonight planning to refuse you. Oh, I was sure that you thought you meant what you said; and as a Gryffindor you would go through with it."

Harry waited when Snape stopped speaking. If Snape had planned to refuse him... did that mean he'd changed his mind, now?

"I still should, I suppose." The smile was bitter, self-mocking. "And I may come to regret this decision. But if I am the only one you trust to treat you simply as a person, rather than as a hero, well, you're the only one who thinks of me as something other than a traitor who has tried to redeem himself. And I can hardly deny the appeal of that."

Relief welled up inside him as Harry whispered, "I'm glad, sir." For the first time in months he felt unburdened by either obligation or achievement. He had no illusions that Snape would be any less prickly or sarcastic than he had ever been; he didn't want that. "Severus." This was enough.

"Harry," said Snape, and reached for him.