Author's Note: I see you all survived the disappointment of the edited chapter. Good. Welcome back! I just answered all your reviews, including those from last week. Sorry again for the delay.
Step 7
"Debt can turn a free, happy person into a bitter human being."
-Michael Mihalik-
The recollection of what happened the previous night, fragmented like a modernist novel, came to him slowly, having to fight through the fogginess of sleep and his awakening brain's reminder of the implausibility. Lying naked under the covers, his morning erection pressing into the mattress, he became aware that he was alone. Had he told Potter to leave? No, he hadn't. There had been no more words exchanged last night and the soft morning light tickling his face, filtered by the gauze curtains, told him that it couldn't be any later than half past eight. He had never taken Potter to be an early riser. Maybe he had imagined the whole thing, maybe he had drunk over his limit again, hallucinated the night away.
But he didn't feel hung-over and there was no reason why he should dream up Potter, anyway. It had been real; it still was for that matter. He needed a shower.
He swung his long legs over the side of the bed, noting absently that there must be Floor-Heating Charms on the room, and reached for the bathrobe Potter had summoned the other night, slinging it around his own tall form and taking his wand from the bedside table. The material was soft and fluffy, and he immediately felt better, safer.
He brushed that thought aside quickly, striding over to the door and jerking it open with every intention of making Potter spill his morning coffee all over himself. That would be a good start of the day. Instead, he almost stumbled back into the bedroom at the sight that greeted him. Potter, wearing loose grey sweat-pants and a sleeveless white shirt, eyes closed, sitting cross-legged. His hair still damp from the shower he must have taken. Hovering in mid-air. Surrounded by streams of magic, golden runes and sparkles circling around him, interweaving and flowing together with a soft hum.
"Good morning," Potter greeted him jovially, slowly opening his eyes as his magic ebbed back into him. "Did you sleep well?"
"What are you doing?" Severus demanded, wishing Potter would stop hovering.
"Meditating. I find it's a very restful way to sort through emotions and keep my magic under control," Potter replied readily. "You want to take a shower before breakfast?"
Severus strode past him without a word, firmly closing the bathroom door behind himself, determined to let the hot water wash away his anger and his beginning headache. How was it that the grand design had given him perpetually greasy hair and a hooked nose and had endowed Potter with such a ridiculously vast amount of magic that he could carelessly flaunt it without even the most minute sign of strain? A wizard's magic wasn't supposed to flow around him, wasn't supposed to become visible, was intimate, private, not for public display. But rules didn't apply to Potter, they never had and they probably never would.
The shower made him feel better and he even went to the trouble of washing his hair, for all the good it did, shaved and brushed his teeth. He was stalling. Eventually, he summoned his robes, carefully closing every button by hand and smoothing down the dark fabric.
When he came back into the living room, Potter was sitting at the table, taking sips of coffee and reading the Daily Prophet as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Next to him was a pile of opened letters, reactions, no doubt, from his friends to his change in marital status. He still wasn't wearing any footwear, let alone proper wizarding attire.
"Oh, good." Potter glanced up briefly. "Breakfast will be here any minute. You want a section of the paper?"
"Why do you bother to read that drivel?" Severus demanded and reluctantly took a seat in the armchair next to Potter.
"There's the weather report." Potter smiled for a second. "Plus, I have to keep up with what they write about me so that I can enact according countermeasures."
"I thought that is why you employed Mr. Creevey." Severus sneered, then scowled when a veritable feast of breakfast dishes appeared on the table. Stacks of pancakes and toast, sausages and cheese, eggs in all possible variations, cake and rolls, croissants and cereals.
"I trust him. I just trust myself a little more," Potter offered unrepentantly. "And Colin doesn't always bother me with all the details. That's part of his job, too."
"So you employ him out of some misguided idea of friendship," Severus concluded contemptuously, pouring himself a cup of black tea.
"Not really. He's quite good at what he does. Did you know that his Dad owns his own advertising agency? And his mother is a photographer for a Muggle magazine," Potter explained, reaching for some pancakes and strawberries. "Anyway, my image is better than it ever was and I'm not constantly hounded by reporters. I count that as a plus."
Severus sneered, deeming that the only feasible answer to such an unwarranted insight into Colin Creevey's personal affairs, and added a few squeezes of lemon to his tea, just enough to give it that slightly sour, fruity aftertaste. They ate in silence after that, Potter devouring his pancakes with obvious relish and Severus buttering a few slices of toast with deliberate care.
Suddenly Potter fixed Severus with an intense, unflinching gaze. "Did I hurt you last night?"
The tea went down the wrong pipe and Severus spluttered and coughed. Potter reached out as if to thump him on the back, but Severus instinctively drew back and Potter let his hand drop into his lap, though his eyes remained fixed on Severus'. The Potions Master couldn't fathom what Potter might mean by that question. The thought that Potter could have possibly hurt Severus was laughable. Potter, who was trim rather than muscular. Potter, who stood at a height where it was quite comfortable for Severus to tower over him. Potter, who hadn't commented on Severus' rough treatment with as much as a reproachful look.
"What are you talking about, Potter?" Severus demanded when he had finally got his coughing under control.
"I saw your bruises," Potter explained, motioning vaguely towards Severus as if that would clarify things. "On your arms and hips and torso. You kicked off the blanket in your sleep. So, did I hurt you or do you bruise easily?"
"I did no such thing," Severus protested immediately, even as he scolded himself for being juvenile and probably in the wrong. "And my physical wellbeing, whatever it might be, is none of your concern."
"I beg to differ," Potter answered and his wand slipped into his hand. "Severus, I need to know if I hurt you and if you won't tell me I have no qualms about finding out the answer myself."
"Don't you think, Potter, that as a Potions Master I would have a remedy for something as simple as bruises available, if one was needed?" Severus demanded scornfully, drawing his own wand to even the stakes.
"I do, yes, but if I was too rough I need to know now before your potion skills become a regular necessity," Potter explained, apparently unfazed by the fact that Severus' wand was pointed squarely at his chest.
Severus wondered if Potter was making this scene because he secretly hoped that Severus would demand to know if his treatment of Potter the other night had been too harsh.
"Severus, please," Potter's soft voice jolted him out of his thoughts. "Talk to me."
"I assure you that if you had hurt me I would have let you know immediately," Severus finally answered, just to avert that earnest gaze, adding, because he wasn't sure Potter would drop the subject otherwise. "I wasn't hurt."
"Thank you," Potter answered, smiling brightly at him and then turned back to his pancakes and his coffee. Severus followed suit, the awkwardness of the ensuing silence easily trumping the awkwardness of the previous conversation. He wished Potter would say something, mindless prattle like he had so often observed during breakfast in the Great Hall. He normally relished in quietude, but this strange speechlessness was like an affront, as if Potter didn't deem him a worthy talking partner and by extension not a worthy husband.
"This came in the mail today, by the way," Potter offered after he had finished his meal and handed an official looking scroll over to Severus before pouring himself another cup of coffee.
Severus wiped his fingers on the cloth napkin before taking the scroll and unfurling it carefully. It was their wedding certificate, their marriage proclaimed in curly letters on the crisp, off-white parchment. His eyes were drawn to the last line, his own precise signature on the dotted line beside Potter's scrawled name. Beneath those were the signatures of the witnesses, Minerva's that he knew from sporadic correspondences and school-related missives, Weasley's that was even more illegible than Potter's. And then there was the last line. No name. Four numbers. 4952.
"He didn't even sign his name. How can this possibly be official?" Severus demanded heatedly, stabbing his finger at the line were the registrar had been supposed to sign.
"We are required to protect our identity. Always," Potter explained evenly. "The Ministry is well aware of that fact and knows that the person identified as 4952 has the authority to perform certain ceremonies, especially if one of us is involved in them."
"You signed with your name," Severus accused, wishing that for once Potter wouldn't sound so reasonable and self-assured.
"You didn't marry my job," Potter replied, with that quirk of lips that Severus interpreted as amusement. "If it's all right with you, I would like to keep that certificate in our Gringotts vault."
Severus was thrown by the casual use of the plural possessive pronoun. Potter had probably already set up their joint vault, had transferred his own money without waiting or even informing Severus of his actions.
"The vault number is 268," Potter told him. "Here's your key."
Potter did not mention that Severus would have to give orders to have his vault contents moved to the new vault, but the implication was there, wrapped snugly around the heavy brass key with the irregular beard.
ö_ö_ö
Looking at houses with Potter, as it turned out, was less strenuous than he had expected. Potter had very few things on his checklist, most of which concerned matters of safety, and was complacent to everything else. When Severus dismissed the first house as too full of corners, Potter merely nodded and produced the key to the second property, the cellar of which Severus deemed unsuitable for a potions lab as extensive as he desired. The third house now, and Severus was loathe to admit it, was a thing of beauty: polished wood floors creating a sense of warm welcome and still conveying timeless elegance; walls in soft colours – beige, light blue, terracotta; large windows overlooking the lush green grounds and balconies offering the possibility to escape without actually having to leave the house. And the potions lab, spreading over the entire souterrain, was everything a Potions Master could wish for and in optimal condition.
It was the house Severus had imagined as a child when sitting in the dank, spider-invested alcoves of Spinner's End waiting for his parents to stop fighting. As a child he had reckoned that once he earned money and with the strict prerequisite that he wouldn't spend all his income on alcohol it would only be a matter of time till he would be able to afford it. His meagre teacher's stipend and his sporadic income for potions brewed quickly disabused him off such foolish ideas. He consoled himself with the thought that either the invention of a revolutionary potion, a prestigious award for such an invention or an Order of Merlin would pay for his dream house. The invention of the Wolfsbane Potion, as revolutionary as it was, was only useful for a limited and mostly less affluent percentage of society and thus had not brought with it the great riches Severus had envisioned nor had it warranted any award. The Order of Merlin, previously carrying generous amounts of galleons, had been considerably downsized in view of the many so-called heroes who had distinguished themselves in the war. Severus' own share, or so he had been informed, must have got lost in the mail.
It was the house of his dreams and the thought that Potter could easily afford three, five, maybe even ten houses like this filled him with bitter resentment towards the younger man. Buying this house wouldn't leave a dent in Potter's pile of galleons and Severus was equally sure that Potter's prize money had not got lost.
When Severus declared that he wanted this house with all the self-taught arrogance he could muster, Potter didn't even bat an eye and smiled as if to point out to Severus that he was being indulged. Severus felt ire rise in his chest like a potion kept too long over a flickering flame. This house, this supposed home would never be Severus', it would be Potter's. Bought with Potter's money and over his contacts.
The signing of the contract was insultingly uncomplicated as well. The realtor was in awe and desperate to be of assistance to the Great Harry Potter, barely remembering to afford Severus the courtesy of a handshake. She gushed about the great decision Potter had made, as if he had made any decision, offered to add another few acres of land or new wooden floors. Potter declined graciously, of course, ever the noble, undemanding, selfless hero. Severus' opinion on that matter was not discussed, his presence hardly acknowledged. He was a curious bystander, an onlooker, nothing more.
When Potter insisted that he also sign the contract, he almost asked why. It wouldn't make a difference, either way. In case of a divorce – was Potter already thinking of that? – any judge would take one look at Severus' bank statements and Potter's and correctly conclude that Potter had contributed the lion's share to this purchase. His signature wouldn't change a thing.
After the obligatory memory swipe of the realtor, which apparently she had agreed to beforehand, Potter saw the still slightly confused woman off the property and then called his house elf to start moving his material possessions into his new home.
"Would you like Dobby to ask one of the Hogwarts house-elves to help you move?" Potter wanted to know.
"Am I right to assume that you have no interest in taking up space in the potion's lab?" Severus demanded, his sneer making clear that he thought 'taking up space' was the only thing Potter knew how to do in regards to potions.
"It's all yours," Potter answered readily. "Though I would like to ward this place, including your lab, before you make yourself at home."
"Your wards will interfere with the delicate magical balance required to brew high quality potions," Severus hissed dangerously, taking a step towards Potter. "I have no desire for you to contaminate my workplace, Potter."
"I will endeavour not to do so," Potter replied nonchalantly.
"You know nothing of potions," Severus accused.
"I know a thing or two about wards," Potter pointed out, smiling brightly as if he expected Severus to join in his amusement.
"Is that another non-negotiable point?" Severus said, bitter and spiteful.
Potter hesitated, then lifted his shoulders in an aborted shrug. "No." He sighed. "Your lab, your terms. I would like to ward the rest of the house, if you could refrain from apparating for a while."
"And what am I supposed to do while you do your little parlour tricks?" Severus mocked, emboldened by his unexpected victory.
"Dobby will be glad to bring you anything you need to make yourself at home," Potter suggested, though his interest in the conversation seemed to be waning already. "Or you can take a look at the house and make a list of the things we still need to buy. The weather is quite lovely as well."
That, apparently, was the end of the conversation as Potter drew his wand and began to pace through the house, looking, or so Severus assumed, for the perfect place to anchor his spell work. So much for their honeymoon, Severus thought sarcastically, wondering at the same time if a traitorous part of him had not looked forward to lazing away the day in bed, with Potter, naked and wanton, pressed into his side.
Already he could feel Potter's magic brush in broad sweeps through the house, easily passing through walls and infusing doorways and windows with webs of energy. His lab would probably be the only safe place for a while, but what could he do there with no cauldrons, ingredients, vials or anything else? Stare at the gleaming stainless steel and granite tops, the little indents for portable fires, the ventilation and purification systems, the fixtures on the walls to keep his utensils, his knives and mortars and ladles and spoons, in order, the spacious cabinets, equipped with preservation charms, the integrated freezer, the stasis area and dream off all the potion's he could create here, even though he would much rather smash fragile vials on the floor and hear the satisfying low thump of a cauldron bouncing off the impenetrable walls.
Severus had never denied being petty or vindictive, had never denied that he could hold a grudge and fester in his own anger for a yet interminable time. He prided himself on being able to think rationally in all circumstances, but that didn't mean that he always thought rationally, that he didn't, when the situation allowed it, indulge in biased, prejudiced and maybe ill-informed mental rants against everything and everyone that he thought deserving of them. Potter was certainly high on that list.
ö_ö_ö
"I thought I'd take a shower before dinner." A sweaty Potter suddenly appeared in the door to his lab and Severus was briefly elated at seeing proof that Potter's magical resources were not, after all, inexhaustible. "Would you like to join me?"
"So does that mean that I can finally apparate again?" Severus demanded, gracing Potter with an unimpressed look.
"Sure. I keyed you into the wards so there should be no problems. I also connected the living room fireplace with the Floo Network," Potter replied easily and turned to go. "I'll leave the door open, if you change your mind. Let Dobby know if you have any requests for dinner."
There was no changing his mind because Severus knew exactly how this would play out. Sirius Black had made sure of that, making a lonely, desperately lonely, Severus believe that he not only stood a chance with the gorgeous, self-centred Gryffindor, but that he only had to reach out, take a tiny step (forget all the taunts and pranks), a non-existent risk (invite disaster) and Sirius Black would be his. Sirius Black, James Potter, Harry Potter, was there a difference? Not for Severus - hook-nosed, greasy-haired, anti-social loser - for him they were all unattainable and Potter Jr.'s laughter would sound just as jeering, as taunting, as derisive as his father's had sounded when he had stepped from behind the curtain and had mocked Severus for daring to hope that Sirius Black was really interested in him.
So instead of joining Potter for a shower he apparated to the gates of Hogwarts, walked to his chambers at a brisk pace and then ordered some house-elves to move his belongings to their new house, with the strict specification that they not come anywhere near his potions. His private laboratory, adjoining to his rooms, was certainly not as fancy as the new one, but it was familiar, a sanctuary, a refuge, well-worn like a favourite item of clothing, reliable, constant. He knew all the small imperfections, the scratches and scorch marks, the water stains and uneven spots. For more than two decades this had been his home, would he really give it up now? He could always return for the school year, move back into his teacher's quarters and pretend that the wedding band on his finger didn't exist. But he had never seen himself as a teacher, had never envisioned this future for himself and now that the Dark Lord was dead and all his obligations fulfilled, what was to stop him from fulfilling his dreams? Surely not Potter.
He carefully packed everything up, putting Cushioning Charms on frail vials, making sure that the ingredients were kept clean and separate, his notes in order, and began to move them, carton by carton to the new house, using either the Floo Network or Apparition, depending on his cargo. It was a lengthy process, but he didn't mind. There was something soothing about packing and unpacking, finding everything its new place and putting things in order as if he was creating a new place for himself, putting his own life back in order. Potter's dinner would have to wait.
ö_ö_ö
His lab put in order, Severus entered the dining room, half expecting an enraged Potter to lay into him with complaints and accusations. But Potter was sitting calmly in one of the chairs, sheets of paper spread around him, deep in thought as his magic floated around him.
"Ah, Severus, glad you decided to join me after all." Potter looked up with a smile, making his papers disappear with a negligent wave of the hand. "Would you like to eat something?"
Severus took a seat. "What were you doing?"
"Working," Potter answered, staring at him as if to dare him to ask further questions. "I think Dobby really outdid himself with dinner this time. This being the first meal in a new house and all."
No sooner had he finished this declaration that a veritable feast appeared on the table, plates upon plates filled with slices of meat, sausages, vegetables, rice, noodles, pies and everything in between, heavenly smells wafting up from the steaming dishes. Potter's stomach grumbled appreciatively and the young man didn't hesitate to start piling food on his plate, small portions of everything, not leaving even one plate untouched. Severus cautiously reached for the roasted trout and heaped some mashed potatoes on his plate, topping his dinner of with a creamy sauce that had an intense scent of rosemary and lemon.
Potter had waited until he had finished filling his plate and now tucked in with a healthy appetite and an awkward utilization of table manners. Severus wondered if Creevey had prescribed Potter etiquette lessons so that the hero of the wizarding world wouldn't embarrass himself at charity dinners and other festive occasions. But Potter's cutlery clunked too loudly, a bit of sauce dribbled over the side of his plate and there was a mouth-shaped smear on his glass of pumpkin juice because he had not used his napkin before drinking. Severus sneered.
"Do you have everything you need for now?" Potter interrupted the silence. "You can give a list of everything you still need to Dobby."
"I prefer to do my own shopping," Severus replied tersely, dissecting his fish with mocking precision.
"Sure, if you'd like," Potter answered. "I'll turn your ring into a Portkey."
"An unregistered Portkey," Severus clarified.
"Yes, but not illegal," Potter gave back, blurring the enemy lines on the battlefield of his plate with his fork. "Registering it would defeat the purpose of keeping my whereabouts secret. You should try the lasagne, it's really delicious."
The heap of pasta on Potter's plate looked far from delicious, cheesy, too much sauce, with no clear shape. Severus put a piece of fish in his mouth, chewing with deliberate care. They ate in silence.
When they were finished, Potter insisted on clearing the table, piling the dirty dishes and making them levitate towards the kitchen where an anxious house-elf was already waiting for him. It was their arrangement, as Potter conspiratorially whispered to him. Dobby was allowed to pamper him with his delicious cooking, do his laundry and fluff his pillows but Potter was allowed to help. Severus couldn't care less, except that their agreement made him hover uncertainly in the dining hall, unsure what to do or where to go.
"Did you want to see the library?" Potter suddenly asked, wiping his hands on a dishtowel that then disappeared from sight. "I think your books should already be in there, but I wasn't sure if you wanted to keep our libraries separate or put them together so I haven't unpacked mine yet."
"I don't think I have any use for your books, Potter." Severus sneered, imagining Potter's collection of old schoolbooks and something as juvenile as popular adventure stories.
"Your book collection is quite extensive," Potter conceded. "But some of the books from the Potter and Black estates might interest you nonetheless."
Severus felt anger rise in his chest again. This ignorant child had access to knowledge that was even beyond Severus' wildest dreams, tomes over tomes filled with secrets and rare knowledge, just handed to Potter while Severus had spent his entire life painstakingly wading through useless information in the oftentimes vain attempt to discover a long lost potions recipe, a well hidden spell, a uncensored account of a key moment in wizarding history.
"They're all catalogued so you can just look through them if you're interested," Potter offered negligently, motioning to a thick book that lay on one of the desks, ready to sate Severus' innate curiosity, fulfil his every dream, either in alphabetical, chronological or thematical order. "There's also a study adjoining to the library, the other one is down the hall. Do you have a preference?"
Severus knew that already, having decided early on that he would want the one next to the library, next to this well of knowledge and closer to his labs. "The one next door," he said and his throat was dry.
"I thought so. It's closer to your lab as well." Potter nodded. "I already started moving my stuff into the other one. You understand that I had to put up wards around it against intrusion." In other words, against Severus.
"It's standard procedure," Potter said conciliatorily, apologetic, placating. "Nothing personal."
"Like the rest of this sham of a marriage," Severus retorted, feeling the satisfaction of that comment deep in his gut.
"I realise that this is an imposition for you," Potter said, calm and collected. "But I explained my reasons to you and I'm determined to make the best of the situation."
Severus wasn't sure if Potter had purposefully communicated the "Are you willing to do the same?" but he felt the implied scold as acutely as Minerva's the day before. Was he willing to make an effort? Effort at what? This pseudo-marriage to a half-child? To the child of his school-time rival? What future was there to that kind of relationship? There was no saving that concoction.
"To what effect, Potter?" Severus demanded, feeling tired and exasperated.
"I haven't given up on happiness," Potter answered, smiled. "But that might be too ambitious an aim for tonight... There's a spare bedroom if you don't want to share, just tell Dobby and he'll move my stuff."
Was this the conversation Severus had been half hoping and half dreading? But there wasn't going to be any conversation, as apparently Potter had work to do and excused himself to his study. Severus was left in this gigantic treasure chest of knowledge, clueless as to how to proceed from there. He settled for perusing the inventory of Potter's books, feeling alternatively elated that these books were finally at his disposal and angry that they had come to be so through Potter.
When he finally left the library he told himself that he had already forgotten the question Potter had left him with or failing that, that Potter had already gone to bed and that it was too late to expel him from there, anyway.
The bedroom was empty, though, a gentle breeze stirring the curtains in front of the open window and cooling the smooth dark bed sheets. Potter's things had already been unpacked, Severus found when he opened the closet to look for his own night clothes, folded neatly on the right hand side shelves. He went to the bathroom with a stack of clothes tucked under his arm, washed his face and brushed his teeth and got changed. He didn't waste one more thought on Potter.
I have this strange urge... yes... I can't resist... I must tell you that I really want you to review... please?
