Author's Note:
Here's the third chapter of "England." I know it's been a while since I updated, but Christmas had been really hectic for me. That, and the fact that fanfiction.net decided to boot me off for a few days.
But this is one of my favorite chapters. It's a turning point (hint, hint!) in the course of this story. Naturally, reviews would be much appreciated.
Again, thanks to my betas!
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England
by Galae
After the class finished, Harry was pleased to see that they were not all rushing out of his room, like the Gryffindors used to do after Potions. But he had something else on his mind. He called Colin to him.
Waiting until all the students left and closing the door with a spell, he turned to the blond-haired prefect.
"What is it, Harry?" asked Colin. Normally he called him "Professor" in class, but Harry had asked him to just call him "Harry" outside of class. Before, it had been simply a matter of unfamiliarity. Now, Harry was very glad he had asked him to do so.
"Colin," Harry said. "Um, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course," said the prefect, surprised. "Why shouldn't you?"
Harry paused for a second. "Well, it's kind of personal. Colin, what are the students saying about . . . about Professor Snape and me?"
"You're a good teacher and he's not?"
The cautious tone was what decided Harry. "You know what I mean, Colin."
"Well." Colin licked his lips a little. "They're saying that you two may be dating. But nothing else. They all think that Sn—Professor Snape is too stuffy to shag."
The last was said with a sidelong glance and an impish smile.
Harry felt amused and relieved at the same time. So Colin still regarded him as a friend, but perhaps now with the respect of the teacher. That was good. And what he said . . .
"What do you mean?" he asked curiously. Harry wanted to ask, "How do they know?" but changed his mind. "Why do they think that?"
"Well, it's weird, Harry. I mean, you guys sit next to each other all the time—or, most of the time. They say that you talk with him in your offices until one or two in the morning. Then there is the fact that he never makes fun of you."
Harry made a mental note to check the last one. But the others he was not surprised at. Jack Bassett had noticed it; but still it disturbed him. Were they that obvious, or were the students just extraordinarily observant? A new question aroused. If they noticed it, then whom else might have noticed during that brief period of time when he was still in school? And how, if possible, would he ever get out of this conversation without incriminating (although being in a relationship with Severus could hardly be called a crime, at least not in his mind) both Severus and himself?
"Indeed," said Harry. He was very well aware of the fact that Colin was looking at him rather curiously. "Very well, Colin. Thank you for being honest with me."
"Why do you ask?" Colin asked very predictably.
"I heard some whispers in the hallways," Harry said tersely. He stood up, a signal that the meeting was almost over. "As prefect, Colin, you hold an important role in this school. Rumors not backed by facts are the equivalent of lies. Until they have hard, cold proof, they have nothing. I trust that you understand that?"
Colin nodded. "Yes. Yes, I understand. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Good-bye, Colin."
As he watched the boy leave his office, Harry felt a little guilty. He knew what Colin's uncomplicated mind would glean from the conversation—that the rumors should be stifled, and it was his job to do so. Unfortunately, his former schoolmate would find that the rumors would be truth, which was what Harry was trying to tell him in a very subtle way. However, Harry doubted Colin would catch the reluctance in his words. Harry felt that in some intricate way, he was using Colin to buy time.
Harry sighed. Nothing was complex until he met Severus.
School continued on though. Soon October was upon them. As Harry foresaw, some of his students were no longer looking at him with the inquisitive eye. Most of them still were casting him glances, but that was all right.
Meanwhile, Severus was . . . Severus. Just being with him every evening, correcting papers together and relaxing afterwards, was rapidly not becoming enough. With a pang, Harry realized that he wanted to spend more time with him. He wanted Severus to be the last face he saw each night and the first he saw every morning. But that was impossible, he knew, unless . . .
It was that elusive "unless" that bothered him. Of course, Harry knew the solution, but there was the question that lingered: Was he ready for it? Or, to be more correct, was Severus ready for it? Because he knew the answer that was pounding inside his heart, but there was no way of knowing Severus's feelings.
Oh, of course he was exaggerating on that one. As Harry walked down the halls of Hogwarts in the middle of October, he thought about it. Lately, he had found more than twice that he was able to predict Severus's actions with alarming accuracy, and that they have been finishing each other's sentences as well. Whenever Severus groped for a word, it seemed like Harry was always ready with one.
Merlin, he needed him. Harry needed him in a way that made his bones ache and his heart cry. He no longer felt totally alive until he was by Severus's side. It was a love unlike any Harry had ever experienced, or even dreamed of.
And it wasn't just the physical need, of course. Yes, Harry wanted him—had wanted him ever since that day in New York, when they first kissed. But it was now something much greater than that. It was the gap that separated adolescent affection from mature devotion—the knowledge of something beyond just a good shag and raging hormones. Harry knew now why Severus reacted the way he did that fateful night when they had come so close.
Sex, on its own, is only a physical gratification. Harry didn't want that anymore. He wanted to make love, and there was only one person that he would be able to share that with.
It was only much later that Harry found he had reached his decision.
~*~*~
But still, it was hard to gather up your courage in two hands and give someone your heart and soul. Because it wasn't a present, wrapped up in gold and silver. It was a responsibility, a statement . . . a commitment.
Harry realized that. Despite his position and maturity, he was still a man, and men are not as emotionally and psychologically intelligent as they can be. He had love and he gave it freely, but he never understood how much he got back.
How would Severus respond? Worst, he would reject him completely, but that didn't seem too likely. Then Severus might just say that he doesn't feel up to it, meaning, "I love you but I'm not in love with you."
He might agree, though, and say that it was what he wanted all along. In that case . . . no. Harry shouldn't think about this now. He should be discussing this with Severus if everything went well. He'd have to wait.
The next weekend was Hogsmeade. Harry used that excuse to take a day off from Hogwarts and go to Devonshire. Severus asked him why, although he thought he knew the reason. Harry agreed to Severus's instincts and said that he was going to visit Sirius.
In truth, Harry was going to London. He wasn't too keen on calling on Sirius until Remus was there to restrain him from doing anything . . . regrettable. Harry met Hagrid in Diagon Alley and blushed when the groundskeeper gave him a knowing wink.
Nevertheless, he still managed to slide into his seat at the Great Hall before dinnertime, avoiding Minerva's raise of eyebrow and Dumbledore's amused smile. Severus did not say anything about his short absence.
The next few days, Harry took to sulking around the hallways at late nights. He had told Albus that he wished to make sure no negligent students were where they weren't supposed to be. It was a lame excuse, considering his own history at Hogwarts, but Albus gave him full rein in doing so.
The things is, Harry wanted to think quietly. He had been hasty again, he thought, doing what Severus always cautioned against doing—being impetuous and not thinking—but the more he thought about it, the more he believed his heart . . . He was going to do something right, and for once Harry felt no qualms.
That was before he decided to open the door to Severus's private office one night. Sure enough, the older man was sitting at his desk, marking essays. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up. Harry looked at him closely and saw him smile a little.
"Are you done for the night?" he asked, somewhat awkwardly.
"Quite." Severus pushed away the papers. "I can finish the Hufflepuffs' tomorrow."
Their movements were smooth and practiced as they both settled into their familiar positions: Harry on the dark burgundy armchair near the fireplace, Severus on the emerald one facing him. A pot of tea began filling itself.
"How were you today?" Severus asked. He was getting better at making small talk.
"Good. I could be better." Harry neglected to say that the "better" might be coming along very soon.
"Are you sick?"
Harry shook his head. "Not the kind you mean. I'm just a little worried."
Severus knew then that whatever Harry had to say, it was something that he had been thinking about for quite a while and a matter what is rather important, as well. He nodded and settled back in his chair.
Harry drew in a breath. "Remember, Severus, when we were in New York?" he asked.
It was quite the rhetorical question. A crisp nod.
"One day," Harry said slowly, "when we were in the hotel room, you said something that I didn't understand at that moment. I asked you when we were going to shag and you said when we know where we're going. I said, 'How will we know?'"
Severus was looking at him with quite the vacant look on his face. Clearly, he knew what Harry was talking about, but didn't know where he was going.
Harry swallowed. "And then you said—and I'll never forget this—'Believe me. We'll know. When the day comes.'"
"Yes," Severus said slowly. "So I said that."
"I know what you're talking about now," said Harry. "I know. The day had come."
Severus looked at him. "Harry. What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that—" Harry swallowed again. Gosh, where was that confident little speech he prepared? "I'm saying that—I want you to have this."
From his coat he took out a bag, and handed it to Severus.
Severus took it without question, opened the bag, and gracefully retrieved its contents, which wasn't much. It was a small box, colored a deep blue. Obviously something expensive was inside. He opened it.
Inside, upon soft midnight silk, was a ring.
Severus bit the inside of his cheek a little. It wasn't just any ring. It was beautiful and oddly familiar. Gold and silver intertwined and melted so that the edges where they met were blurred and softened, and upon it was carved a design of laurels and threads.
"What does this mean, Harry?" he asked quietly.
"It means. It means that. I want to be with you, Severus Snape. Will you marry me?"
~*~*~
It all hung so stilly. Vaguely, Severus tried to recall when time had last stood so silent.
He put down the box and looked at Harry. That was when he realized, from the look on the other man's face, that Harry mistook the action and the serenity.
Sometimes, you simply cannot explain in words. Severus leaned over and kissed him softly.
"Yes."
Harry looked like a whirlwind just hit him, an adorable look on his beautiful face. Then a grin crept over his face a little before exploding into joy. "You mean it?"
"Of course, you impatient git," Severus said brusquely as he looked away. "You asked me, and I answered you."
"Oh my God. Oh my God. This is good. Thank you, thank you so much. Oh my God, we're going to . . . we're really going to . . . you said yes! Oh my God . . ."
Harry was babbling but he didn't care. Severus, however, said, "Stop gibbering, Harry." When that didn't work, he shut him up momentarily with another really excellent kiss.
"Right," Harry gasped when they pulled apart. "Stop gibbering. Stop gibbering about the fact that WE'RE ENGAGED!"
So Severus's calm wasn't really an ordinary tranquility. It was more of a cloak that he put on in necessary moments when his heart or mind simply needed to fly. But he had never lost both at the same time, as he did then, when the truth sank in that he just agreed to marry Harry Potter.
What was wrong with him?
Apparently nothing, because Severus loved Harry with a force deeper than any magic can explain. What sealed it was the fact that Harry loved him back.
Him. Severus Snape.
"Are you okay, Severus? Are you having a heart attack?"
What was it that made them both so skeptical about being loved?
"Yes. No. I mean, I don't know." Severus shook his head at his confusion. "I meant . . ."
"I love you."
There was that sentence again. The sentence that started everything, set everything in motion, and made everything fit into place.
They kissed.
End Chapter 3.
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Postscript:
Thoughts? Predictions? Anything?
Please leave a review. It would do wonders for my drabby, crabby day.