Author's Note: *does a quirky little dance that ends in jazz hands* Still accepting requests!
Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling, the rightful owner of anything associated with Harry Potter, and make no money off of borrowing her characters for a couple hundred words.
Bare
He could hear Harry's bare feet padding on the cold stone floor - and why he didn't wear socks or slippers Severus would never understand, but it heralded his arrival on nights like tonight like nothing else. Except, perhaps, the slide of fabric, which would be the boy dragging the entire comforter along with him (the endearing brat), as he made the trek out to their living room and curled on the couch with him, attaching to Severus's side, a sleepy limpet.
He brought a long-fingered hand up to smooth down Harry's bed hair, an impossible feat (and not at all a thinly veiled reason to touch him), nestled as his head was against his neck. Harry hummed, content. Looking into the weaning flames of the fire, Severus decided that he was content, too.
"Dreams?" the younger asked, hushed, preserving the peace (and even contributing to it with his soft tenor voice and gentle concern).
"Not tonight," he responded. "Just thinking."
Harry hummed again, understanding.
They enjoyed the following minutes, breaths and heartbeats lulling the pair into an almost-sleep, a bone deep tranquility that couldn't be described in words.
"Bed," he finally encouraged, and the padding of bare feet recommenced.