It had started with a hair-tie, a few bobby pins, and a sparkly pink toothbrush that looked vaguely like it belonged to a child, showing up in the bathroom.

He hadn't realised what it meant at the time, and so he'd cast the errant thought aside and let it be. It made sense, after all, for those things to be at his house. If she stayed over, she would need to have some way to brush her teeth and keep her long blonde locks out of her face. A week later there was a lilac robe on the bathroom door hung beside his, and a pair of pyjama shorts and a tank top had joined his in the drawer.

Slowly, little pieces of her continued to show up in the house and remain there. A book, a record, a stack of The Quibbler on top of his coffee table, her strange pair of glasses through which she had looked at him as though he was the crazy one when he asked her what on earth they were.

'Spectrespecs,' she had answered cheerfully, shaking her head at him.

He had simply gawked at her in disbelief. Sometimes she was a curiosity to him, but he found that he enjoyed this about her.

The point where he actually realised that she had moved in with him, was when he opened his wardrobe and saw more of her feminine dresses and shirts lined up beside his crisp white shirts and black coats and robes. Her shoes sat beside his boots by the front door, her books were on his shelves, and all of her pretty-smelling soaps and hair products were littering his bathroom.

He was flabbergasted, really, that he hadn't even noticed it happening. She'd wormed her way back into his life and heart after a chance meeting in Germany. A symposium whereshe was a guest speaker, talking of her travels and work with rare magical creatures. She'd had a boyfriend at the time, the grandson of Newt Scamander of all people. But she had seen him, Snape, in between sessions and accosted him, asking him how life was back in Britain.

He'd politely entertained her, seeing no harm in having coffee with the curious young woman. He'd known her to be an odd sort, a little bit of a loner and outcast – much like he had been his entire life. Their short interaction at the symposium sparked a correspondence between them, she asking for potions advice, he accepting the rare and interesting potions ingredients she would send or bring back to him on her travels.

It wasn't until they had been writing back and forth for nearly a year that he had realised he'd come to have feelings for her.

At first he had fought against them, certain she could never return his interest. He would remind himself of the numerous things that were against them ever coming together; the age gap, their history, his history, her friends. Nothing seemed like it would break their way, and he used it to remind himself that were she not already in a relationship, nothing could happen between them anyway.

Until she'd shown up at his door, tired, distressed, and clearly in need of comfort. He'd allowed her into his home, fed her, convinced her - after repeatedly putting aside her polite refusals, to rest in his guest bedroom until he was satisfied that she was well-rested and calm. And the following day, when she had descended the stairs and found him in the kitchen, they'd had breakfast and coffee together at the kitchen table and she'd told him what had happened.

She had ended her relationship with Rolf, she'd quit her job that was driving her to misery dealing with bureaucracy and red tape, and she'd come back from living abroad and hadn't known where else to go.

She'd come home and the first person who had sprung to mind was him. He would have been elated if he hadn't been so shocked she had come to him and so concerned for her well-being. It was another six months following her stressful return before anything happened between them. She'd found a new job working for Gringotts, with more support and more freedom than she'd had working for the Ministry. She found herself a flat, and was travelling for work half as much as before, allowing her time to spend with her friends and family.

He got to see her in person more often – at least once a week when they would go to the Brighton Farmers' Market together on a Sunday, and then return to his house to eat fresh bread with jam and the artisanal cheeses they would buy from the local vendors.

The first time they kissed had been a Friday. She had returned after two weeks away for work, and he had agreed to meet her for dinner at his favourite chippy in Brighton. They had eaten their food out of the newspaper wrappings by the water, and walked along the pier afterwards. He'd Apparated them in tandem to her flat, and she had reached up and pressed her lips to his in thanks, taking them both by surprise. Their second kiss followed shortly after and was much longer, their breath melding together in a way that had made him feel dizzy.

When she invited him inside a moment later, he'd been helpless to deny her.

At first he had been so guarded and hesitant, certain her friends and family would reject the idea of them together. But she was never one to shy away from being controversial, and had insisted he let go of his insecurities regarding the status of their relationship. It was another six months before he relaxed enough that being seen in public with her was not something he shied away from, and six more after that before he'd come to relish the outraged looks from the general populous when she was out on his arm.

Which led them all the way to the day he'd finally realised that his house was now theirs; filled with both of their belongings, melding together in a patchwork of his cool minimalism and her more eccentric style. He supposed that after a year together the next logical step was for them to live together, though he had never asked her. She slept in his bed nearly every night unless she had to travel for work, and it didn't make sense for her to keep paying for her flat when she was barely ever there.

With this realisation came a multitude of questions, and insecurities he hadn't felt in a while resurfaced. What if she didn't want to be tied to him this way? Did they love one another? He was almost certain he loved her, but neither one of them had said it. If yes, what next? Would they get engaged, get married, have children? He was overwhelmed, becoming surly and uncommunicative until finally one morning at breakfast the dam broke.

'Are you unhappy with me, Severus?' she asked.

He looked up from his paper suddenly, surprised by her question. 'Of course not.'

She stared at him serenely, her pale blue eyes filled with an emotion he could not quite put a name to. 'You've been very quiet of late.'

This was quite a statement as he was not a particularly talkative man. He sighed heavily, realising that she had misinterpreted his mood. There was no way he could avoid the conversation any longer. What they had together was precious to him; a gentle and peaceful love that was free of complications and the drama many of those in his past had been lousy with.

'Are you happy with me, Luna?' he asked.

'I'm very happy,' she said with a smile. He knew she meant it––she had never once lied to him

'Do you think––' he began before pausing to swallow the lump in his throat. 'Would you ever consider letting go of your flat and living here, with me, on a permanent basis?'

Her smile was near-blinding. 'I'd love that,' she told him, reaching across the table to take hold of his hand.

'Most of your belongings are already here.' A smirk pulled at his lips.

'They are.' She smiled.

'Just how long have you been moving in here?' A crook of his dark brow.

'A while.' Her words were accompanied by a shrug.

'Alright.'

'Is that—are you upset?'

'Not at all.'

'I love you.'

He smiled. 'I love you too.'

Beta love to AnneCaterina.