Severus realises when he's twenty that he's incapable of love.
Pick and choose. Platonic. Familial. Lustful. Or the deep pure type he heard Narcissa Black once talking about when she thought nobody but Lucius was around. Severus can't find a trace of them in his emotions and this thrills and scares him.
Well, Severus amends the thought slightly as he rifles through the potions cabinet. Loving humans that is. He finds himself fully capable of showering two decades of bottled affection, lust, caring and love on his potions.
Measure. Stir. Watch the fumes rise. Watch the liquid bubble and Severus is happy.
He thinks this thought shouldn't bother him but it does and that in itself chafes. It isn't as though he needs or, god forbid, wants love. That would be a ridiculous thought and unbefitting a Snape. A shiver slides down Severus's back as he thinks about what his father would say.
Severus has had his chance.
Lucius Malfoy.
Seventh year.
Empty Charms classroom.
And Severus standing against the wall with his robes hitched around his waist and hoping that maybe this will be love and wondering whether it makes him weak for wanting it.
But Lucius is married to Narcissa now and Severus remembers reading about Narcissa's 'delicate condition' and each word is like a small stab.
Narcissa (stab) Malfoy (stab) is (stab) Expecting (stab) Her (stab) First (stab) Child
It isn't as though Severus loved Lucius. Oh no. Nothing so banal for Severus. But he wanted to. Wanted to love him but found himself wanting. Besides, Severus thinks as he twists and pulls his mended robes until they sit right, not loving him didn't make the sting of rejection any easier to bear.
Twenty years later, sitting hunched over a cauldron, feeling the fumes caress his hair instead of a lover's fingers and Severus wonders when he made the choice. A knock on the door and a red and gold uniform walks in.
"Professor." Hesitation. Fear? Severus wonders.
"Yes, Potter," he says irritably. "Spit it out. Don't just stand there."
Severus realises that it was that moment, in between the bubbles and the fumes, as he waited for the potion to turn from blue to turquoise, that he became Potter's confidant. An unlikely choice. An unlikely boy. An unlikely man.
An unlikely relationship.
Potter sleeps uneasily, tossing and turning, always with a foot out from under the covers and Severus feels the ridiculous urge to cover the errant foot. After all, didn't Poppy always say that foot colds were most common among witches and wizards.
"Love you," Potter mumbles sleepily.
Severus freezes.
Luckily Potter's asleep.
Luckily he doesn't expect an answer.
Severus wonders what will happen next time.
