HEINRICH: How would you describe your relationship with Harry Potter?
SNAPE: I wouldn't.
HEINRICH: Would you say you were friends, then?
SNAPE: Not exactly.
HEINRICH: You looked …unnerved when he left. Would you rather he was here?
SNAPE: I'd rather I was elsewhere.
HEINRICH: You don't give very many interviews, do you?
SNAPE: Not since the end of the war.
HEINRICH: That long? I'm honored.
SNAPE: Don't butter me up. I'm not a scone. I better not taste Veritaserum. I can, you know.
HEINRICH: It's just coffee. Were you planning on lying to me?
SNAPE: No.
HEINRICH: Then why would you be wary of a truth potion?
SNAPE: Honest men have nothing to fear from the Aurors. We've already well established that I am not an honest man. Work the rest out yourself. Do you need a scrap of paper?
HEINRICH: So you're telling me that you could be lying?
SNAPE: I could be a giant mallard in a robe. I am not.
(The click of the tape recorder being turned off, then back on.)
HEINRICH: Would you say you owed Harry Potter?
SNAPE: Owed?
HEINRICH: Some would say he saved your life.
SNAPE: Some would argue that I saved his life, and all the lives of his extremely annoying friends.
HEINRICH: So Harry Potter owes you?
SNAPE: No. We're even.
HEINRICH: Now that you've dealt with the Aurors that arrived at his house, you're even?
SNAPE: We were even before that.
HEINRICH: But that would make you—uneven now.
SNAPE: No.
HEINRICH: I'm not sure I understand.
SNAPE: (A sigh.) They would've killed me as surely as Potter. It was hardly a selfless act of courage.
HEINRICH: You're sure they would've killed you?
SNAPE: Yes.
HEINRICH: They never threatened your life.
SNAPE: They didn't come to steal the silver.
HEINRICH: Your response struck me as quite violent, considering. Some might argue unnecessarily violent.
SNAPE: I didn't survive by taking dueling lessons from the Marquis of Queensbury. Fight dirty, retreat while you can, think ahead, and don't spend all your bloody time casting some appallingly flashy gale spell when a shoelace-knotting hex will provide the same result. You people can be such children about fighting 'properly.'
HEINRICH: …There are three wizards in this room with wands. Two of them Aurors, one an ex-Auror. Could you beat us in a fight?
SNAPE: Yes.
HEINRICH: Yes?
SNAPE: Yes. I could.
HEINRICH: What makes you say that?
SNAPE: I know something you don't know.
HEINRICH: What's that?
SNAPE: If I told you, you'd know it.
HEINRICH: You've got me there. (A chuckle.)
SNAPE: You're not winning me over. Does that needle you?
HEINRICH: Do you like Aurors?
SNAPE: No.
HEINRICH: You don't trust Aurors.
SNAPE: Aurors have their reasons to mistrust me. Chief of which was the mark on my forearm.
HEINRICH: Will you show us?
SNAPE: No. There's nothing to see. A scar in the shape of a serpent and skull. This is hardly germane to the current situation.
HEINRICH: You live with Harry Potter, correct?
SNAPE: Yes.
HEINRICH: Would you say you spent a great deal of time with him?
SNAPE: I can hardly spend time with anyone else.
HEINRICH: So you do spend a great deal of time together?
SNAPE: We eat breakfast. He goes to work. He comes home. We eat dinner. We insult each other on weekends. Often, he's gone. I don't know what you'd call a great deal of time.
HEINRICH: Sounds like a cozy arrangement.
SNAPE: It is anything but.
HEINRICH: Is it sexual?
SNAPE: Pardon?
HEINRICH: Is your relationship with Harry Potter at all of a sexual nature?
SNAPE: Was your relationship with your mother of a sexual nature?
HEINRICH: There's no need to become hostile.
SNAPE: How much hair tonic do you use?
HEINRICH: Should I shut off the recorder?
SNAPE: My relationship with Potter is not 'of a sexual nature.' It has never been 'of a sexual nature.' My own proclivities aside, Potter is very uptight and very straight.
HEINRICH: Your own—you're saying you have an unfulfilled romantic interest in Harry Potter?
SNAPE: No, I have an unfulfilled romantic interest in patio furniture. Let's talk about that.
(The sound of the tape recorder clicking off, then on again.)
HEINRICH: Were you aware that yesterday's edition of the Prophet suggested you were Harry Potter's trained snake?
SNAPE: I was not.
HEINRICH: You think that's funny.
SNAPE: I think it rather hilarious that anyone, Aurors included, would have the bollocks to raid a house containing either Potter or myself, and then accuse me of being a dangerous person. Of course I'm a dangerous person; it's why I'm shut away. They should've known better.
HEINRICH: You think it was okay to set a wizard on fire because he should have known better?
SNAPE: Oh, no. That was purely an impulse. Heat of the moment.
HEINRICH: So there was nothing premeditated about the attack?
SNAPE: Not on my end.
HEINRICH: What were you doing prior to the attack?
SNAPE: Having a smoke in the living room.
HEINRICH: And when had you last seen Harry Potter?
SNAPE: Before the attack?
HEINRICH: Yes.
SNAPE: He left early. Had half a bowl of cereal for breakfast. Sometime shortly after six, I should think. Perhaps six-thirty.
HEINRICH: Do you consider yourself loyal to Harry Potter?
SNAPE: I'm not sure what you're trying to trick me into saying.
HEINRICH: You think I'm trying to trick you?
SNAPE: I think everyone is trying to trick me. Generally because they are.
HEINRICH: Does that include Harry?
SNAPE: Depends on the day. …Usually, no. He knows he can't, I think.
HEINRICH: You'd say you know each other quite well?
SNAPE: No.
HEINRICH: You live together. You have for years.
SNAPE: Yes.
HEINRICH: But you don't know each other well?
SNAPE: No.
HEINRICH: I find that hard to believe.
SNAPE: I find your hair difficult to believe.
(The tape recorder is turned off, then on again.)
HEINRICH: —straight to the chase, all right? Son of a… (A throat clearing.) You cook for Harry Potter.
SNAPE: Was that a question? Yes.
HEINRICH: You clean his house.
SNAPE: As I don't enjoy living knee-deep in swill and I detest house elves, yes. I clean.
HEINRICH: What else do you do for him?
SNAPE: You spend your weekends flashing women in the park, don't you.
HEINRICH: If Harry Potter asked you to do something, would you do it?
SNAPE: That would depend.
HEINRICH: On?
SNAPE: What it was.
HEINRICH: Judging by your record, Master Snape, you're the sort of person who I'd think might fall nicely into the role of servant to an extremely powerful wizard. You've killed for the wizard Tom Riddle, a.k.a. Lord Voldemort, and for Albus Dumbledore. You even killed Albus Dumbledore on his own orders. Do you deny that Harry Potter is a powerful wizard?
SNAPE: No, I don't.
HEINRICH: Considering your particular history, would it be unfair to say—
SNAPE: I don't take orders from Potter. I never have. I never will. Was that clear enough?
XXXXX
The toothy wizard—Bubbles, Severus was considering calling him—called an end to the interview before Severus did. The breaking point was probably the last insinuation he'd made about the uncertain state of the man's parentage.
Potter hadn't told him to be nice.
Bubbles had gone in a bouncy huff with the pensieve copy, leaving Severus alone with two slightly confused Aurors. One of them offered to get him some more coffee and beat a hasty retreat. The remaining one blurted to Severus that he had a wife and a child, and asked him to be gentle 'if anything should happen.'
Severus could only smirk. It was like the old days at school—the good days, when the students cowered but didn't make snide remarks.
Then, an odd thing happened. A visitor slipped through the door. He wore a clerk's robes.
The remaining Auror folded his arms. "This is a private area, John."
"But it's… you're…" He took a step forward. "You're Severus Snape."
"Whatever gave me away?" he asked, quietly reaching into his pocket for the wand—just in case.
"You're really not supposed to be in here," the Auror suggested mildly.
John the clerk wasn't paying attention. "My brother was in the war."
"Which side?" asked Severus. "The idiots or the lunatics?
"Ours, sir."
"The idiots." Snape nodded.
The clerk smiled like he'd made a joke. "He was Battle of Hogsmeade. Got Circe's Cross for it."
Severus straightened. "Oh. I see."
"That's all right. He wanted to be there."
"Who—"
"You wouldn't have known him. He joined up late. He wrote home about you and—Harry Potter. I just wanted to come in and say hello." He made an abortive move to hold out his hand, then pulled it back. "I don't… Hello."
"Hello," said Severus.
"You shouldn't be in here," said the Auror again, this time to the second impromptu visitor in the doorway.
And the next. And the next. And the next. All of them were wide-eyed and quiet as children seeing their first dragon up close.
"I'm going to need more coffee," said Severus.
XXXXX
His years-long absence from the rest of the wizarding world, Severus discovered, had afforded him some strange measure of status. It wasn't the blind adoration that Potter commanded, but between the attraction and repulsion lay a thread of respect.
Only a thread, but it was more than he'd had in a very long time.
He was a mythic creature. The Sphinx. Scylla. Severus Snape, the last Death Eater.
Careful, now. He won't let you touch him, but look! Look, before he's gone.
Word of his presence spread, along with the breach in security. If Potter in all his puffy, red-robed petulance showed up, he'd no doubt have a fit.
Severus didn't mind so much. Perhaps the attraction paralleled that of a free freakshow, but regardless of the reason, there were people. People who weren't Weasleys and weren't simpering—people who seemed not to actively despise him (though they'd probably rip him to shreds later at the dinner table).
He'd missed people. He'd missed other faces, breath, warmth, activity. Not that social activity had ever really involved him connecting with others, per se. He was one of those doomed to tap on the glass and never be admitted to the party—but how he'd missed looking in at the faces.
Mentioning that he needed more coffee/tea/a sandwich/a cigarette/a break resulted in many different witches and wizards in very official-looking robes producing exactly those things for him straightaway. A few faces were dimly recognized. Severus even deigned to sign a copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' underneath his scowling picture. Pensieve copies of the attack were wildly distributed after a former Slytherin, Asheby Zilch (who had the most incredible raw skill when it came to decanting, Snape remembered, and had once brought him a plate of homemade scones that were actually edible), had turned up and volunteered to help with removing and replacing the memory. He thought it might've been against some code somewhere to hand it about, but no one stepped forward to stop him.
Some asked questions. Some wanted to shake his hand. Some showed their teeth. Some simply stood in the corner and stared.
A courier arrived with a note. It was from Potter. It listed four names, and the time the owners of said names were taken into custody. It apologized for leaving him alone, said he'd be down as soon as possible, and that Severus could trust the Aurors he'd been left with.
They got him a more comfortable chair, since he'd be waiting.
Severus settled back. "Does anyone watch telly? The show 'Port in a Storm'?"
A small, red-uniformed witch raised her hand.
He sipped his coffee, and wondered if this was how Dark Lords happened. "What's gone on the last two episodes?"
She slid into a chair. "Kristine got out of the well!"
"You're kidding."
XXXXX
Potter's left eye looked suspiciously close to twitching. "We're going," he said quietly, and offered a hand.
For a moment, he considered protesting. Severus took the outstretched hand and let Potter pull him from the chair. The throng parted silently for the pair.
They didn't speak on the long march to the apparation point. Twice, reporters tried to approach them. One woman aimed a camera at them. Before she could snap a photo or six, confusion passed over her features. She ended up taking a picture of the floor before she wandered away.
Potter's wand hand gripped his hard. Remarkably hard. If one of them suddenly fell over a cliff and their hands were caught in that grip, it would've held.
"In any given week, how much wandless magic are you capable of?" he wondered aloud.
"Please don't start," said Potter. "I've had six people in my head today. I'm nothing but mush." His lips pressed into a line. "Lancashire broke into confidential files to get our floo password. He's the one you knocked down the stairs. They went back through his spells. He caved under questioning. Gave up the others. It's pretty much over. If they all plead guilty, there'll only be a hearing."
"You don't sound pleased."
"I should be pleased, shouldn't I? Four wizards are probably going to Newtgate, and it's all because they were lying on requisition forms. They have families. One of them, he's got two little boys at home. Three and five. …And you know? Call me naïve—"
"You're naïve."
"I don't think they would've killed me. I think they were going to try and bully me into retracting the complaint. They just panicked. Thought I was going to ruin their careers. Instead, I ruined their lives. …Yeah. I'm real happy," spat Potter.
"I can tell. You're crushing my hand."
"I don't want to get separated."
"You're going to fuse us at the wrist. …Potter. Potter. You look a bit… green."
"Let's just get out of here."
XXXXX
They popped into a field of tall grass. "Not home yet, then? Still the Weasley compound? Potter?"
The younger wizard suddenly bent where he stood and vomited bile. It took him a few seconds of heaving to bring up the small amount of fluid. Then he coughed, spat, and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.
"You didn't eat today," said Severus.
In response, Potter heaved again. Not much came up. "Didn't feel good," he said weakly, falling to a knee to steady himself.
"I suppose last night is to blame?"
"No, that was—that was fine. It was today. Think I need a lie-down." Potter knelt in the grass and spat. "And a glass of water. Or a watery cup of tea."
Severus paused for a moment before he lifted Potter by the scruff of his robe and set him on his feet.
"You're really strong," said Potter.
"You smell like vomit," said Snape, and prodded him in the direction of the cabin.
XXXXX
"He's not feeling well."
Weasley and Granger stood in the kitchenette. "He promised we'd talk."
"He's not feeling well. He's had some soup and I've put him to bed."
They blinked dumbly at him. Weasley looked a trifle alarmed.
"As my livelihood is tied to Mister Potter's, I feel I should make a modest effort to ensure his continued survival." Severus turned on the telly and settled on the couch. His hands shook slightly. Ministry coffee was a potent brew. "I'm not entirely oblivious. I do cook for him, you know. I assume he has mentioned that?"
"He said you scrub the floors," blurted Weasley.
"I no longer have students to do it for me." Severus narrowed his eyes. "Unless you'd like to volunteer." To his immense satisfaction, Weasley took a half-step backward.
"Professor, Harry can't afford to take the night off. Have you seen today's special edition? What the Prophet printed yesterday was bad enough—it's character assassination! It's biased and horrible and just—out and out wrong!"
"Harry doesn't go about threatening people. They're calling him a liar," added Weasley.
It was some program about gardening. "And? Do you think he wants to be the next Minister of Magic?" Snape asked. He knelt before the telly and tried to find something mildly diverting. "A future Headmaster of Hogwarts? The next Dark Lord?"
"Certainly not," Granger spat.
"Then cease the grooming. He's fulfilled his obligations to the wizarding world. If you're friends at all, you'll leave him bloody well be. Oh, look. Blackadder." Severus left the dial alone, turned up the volume, and sat back. "It's one of my favorites—the story of a cunning scoundrel hemmed in on all sides by utter morons."
"Profes—"
"Shh. Watching the telly," he whispered loudly, and snickered pointedly at the funny bits until they finally went away.
After the program ended and Severus was forced to search for something else, socked feet padded out to the couch. "Dunno what it was, but it sounded funny."
"It's over," said Snape.
"Oh, well. Maybe they'll run it again sometime."
Snape thought. "They do have recorders."
"Sorry?"
"Muggle recorders. Tapes, discs, and things. You record the program, then you can play it back whenever you like. Or you can order the program." Snape's eyes unfocused as he stared toward the flickering images.
"Do you want one?"
He blinked. Two boring men and two boring women were having coffee together in the current program. What passed for late-night telly wit caromed clumsily between the characters. Jokes weren't landing so much as falling like bricks. "Is that my reward? My pat on the head?"
"No. It's purely selfish." Potter had ensconced himself in the corner of the couch, wrapped tightly in a blanket. "I have a theory. If you get what you want, you'll be happier. The happier you are, the less you'll take out your horrible mood on me, which hopefully means I won't be so quick to be a prat in return. Better for everyone."
"Everyone meaning us."
"Who else is there?"
XXXXX
He woke up with Potter's hand in his own.
Severus frowned.
The younger wizard's lips were parted. A thread of drool connected the side of his mouth to a small puddle on the pillow.
His frown deepened.
Their fingers were caught together. A hand could fall against another hand. Hands might nudge against one another. Their fingers didn't lace, except intentionally.
Potter had smallish hands. The whole of him was probably stunted; if not from the abusive muggles he'd been thrown to, then by the foodless diet he adopted in times of stress. His fingernails weren't clipped, but instead neatly chewed off, leaving enough nail to keep Severus' from aching in sympathy. Potter's thumb was bitten to bleeding, as if he'd transformed a harmless habit into a grotesque need to punish himself.
"Irritating prat," Severus muttered.
Like an unsuccessful killing curse, it was somewhat lacking in conviction.
Potter mumbled something in his sleep and held on tighter.
XXXXX
This is going to turn into a problem, Severus thought.
"I'm going to see what I can do to get us home today. I don't want to stay here anymore. It doesn't feel comfortable. Does it feel comfortable to you?"
In the beginning, there'd been the two of them and the house elf. The house elf hadn't lasted. All Severus had ever felt were beady, inhuman eyes trained on him all day long. There'd been threats of violence, and the ruddy thing had squeaked to Potter, who in turn had squawked at Severus. After a particularly bad row, Potter had sent the elf on its way—temporarily. He'd told Snape that he could do for himself if he was so particular, no doubt expecting to have the house elf back in his employ within the week. Snape had quashed that idea quickly.
"Didn't think so."
There was little that could motivate him out of bed in those days. Even less got him out of pajamas and his dressing gown. Proving Potter wrong, though? There was motivation.
"Snape?"
Picking up the slack for Potter helped even more to pass the trying first months. Severus had taken to a magic-less life like a trout to international finance. Every contraption in the muggle house seemed intent on proving him a fool.
There'd been open hostility between them. Mostly, though, Severus saw Potter only in passing. Aurors-in-training kept odd hours, and those that Potter kept at home were usually spent locked away in his bedroom. Despite fears that Potter would be parading a veritable slew of former acquaintances (enemies) through the house, he'd been left without Lupin popping up to deliver helpful pamphlets from Veterans Affairs.
"Snape? You all right?"
He cleared his throat. "Don't you have work?"
"Stayed late yesterday. I can afford to take an extra few minutes." Potter sat cross-legged on the couch, the blanket once more wrapped around him. "I could just not go. Take a long weekend. Maybe I'll be sacked," said Potter brightly. "The eggs smell good."
Really, if Potter were capable of looking after himself at all, they'd never have started eating together. He believed in bringing home take-away fare and shopped for groceries like—well, like a child. Potter bought Wiz-Os, super-pucker pickles, and prepackaged luncheon meat spread (which Severus promptly binned). There'd been the You Eat Like A Wizard Who Wants To Die Row, the Shopping List Row, the It's My Bloody Kitchen Row, and the Cabbage Row (a nearly epic, three-day standoff regarding the substitution of spinach for cabbage and chilies for peppers when Potter did the shopping). After a time, though, his tenacity had won out. He did the cooking, he made up the shopping list, and in exchange for leaving the kitchen in Severus' hands, Potter got hot, prepared meals—even if he had to eat them in Snape's company. If he and Potter weren't exactly up to sharing polite conversation, it wasn't quite the same as one of them having to skulk in his room until the other finished with the kitchen.
Even then, he and Potter had often fought. Potter had often stayed out through the evening hours, arriving home just as Snape headed to bed.
When had it changed? When had he started arriving at every meal on time? Earlier? When had it started that Snape gave him a wake-up call? When had Potter started asking him how he felt, if he was happy? Giving him cigarettes? The books? Providing easy escape routes? Scheduling a case review? (When was that? He'd never said.) Severus had assumed the last were efforts to get rid of him so that Potter could go on with his life, but… what if it hadn't been that, exactly? What if he felt something more than disgust and grudging responsibility? Perhaps Potter had really started thinking of him as a big cat, skulking around the house, clawing the furniture. Potter hadn't had a pet since his owl met the unfriendly end of a curse—maybe Severus had been adopted to fill some of that void? And now that Miss Weasley was out of the picture, perhaps that attachment had become slightly stronger. Even so, how had this whole hand holding business sneaked up on him without Severus realizing it?
Potter was insidious.
"Though Hermione and Ron are bound to turn up eventually." Potter sighed and flipped disinterestedly through a book. "Hey. Want to leave the country? Become fugitives from justice?" He forced a laugh.
"Potter. Get a piece of parchment and quill. Write down the following words. Are you ready?"
"No."
"I. Quit. Now sign your name underneath, make several copies, and distribute them far and wide. Then go home and lock yourself in your room until you learn to ignore the opinions of the rest of the world."
"This from the man I found holding court in the interrogation room yesterday."
Severus stiffened. He pressed his lips into a tight line and went on making breakfast with what they had. The Weasley twins weren't ideal shoppers. They were nearly out of eggs, but still had a veritable feast of Cauldron Cakes in the cupboard. "You brought me there, Potter. You left me in the middle of the Ministry with an ugly little git who smiled before he thought—"
"I didn't mean it like that. I only meant—wait, you thought Heinrich was a git?"
"Yes."
"Everybody likes Ben."
"Not me."
"Why not? You just don't like anyone? Or do you only like an audience?"
He folded the eggs over. "Leave it alone, Mister Potter."
"You used to give me so much grief over being a 'celebrity.'" Potter's voice lowered and thickened in imitation. "Did you know you were one? I get asked about you all the time. In all the interviews."
"I don't read your interviews."
"Of course not."
"I don't!" he snapped. "And nothing lately, because apparently you've decided I don't merit a copy of the Prophet in the morning."
"It's not that. Our subscription goes to the house," Potter replied.
"I'm sure all the issues I've missed will be waiting for me when we return."
"Um."
Snape's nostrils flared.
"I'd rather you didn't read them, actually."
"Let me guess—they paint you in a rather unflattering light."
"Not just me," said Potter quietly.
"Since when do you care what I think about a Prophet article?"
"Several Prophet articles."
"Several. How bad were they?"
"Bad."
"Let me guess. You're corrupt and on your way to becoming the newest Dark Lord, and I am the humble servant waiting to do your bidding." Severus divided the eggs, putting half on Potter's plate and half on his own.
There was quiet.
Severus turned.
Potter stood behind him. "I'm not like that, you know." He was absolutely serious. "I wouldn't do anything to you. You know that, right?" He nodded, as if prompting Severus to answer yes.
That Potter could went unsaid. Severus wasn't always consciously aware of Potter's power, but he knew it was there, lying just under the surface, waiting.
"Breakfast," Severus said, and handed him a plate.
By eight o'clock, and after draining a pot of tea, then a pot of coffee between them, Potter still hadn't gone anywhere but the bathroom. He wasn't even dressed.
"I could owl in," he said. "If you don't mind. If it's not much of a bother. Not that there's much to do, but—I could go get us some lunch. A chess set. Not that we've ever played, but if you want to play. I'm sure you'd beat me. Everyone can beat me. Ron, now, he's the one to beat at chess. Do you want to have a smoke?"
Severus stared at him. "Potter."
"I don't think coffee agrees with me. But you like it, though, right? They have those muggle coffee makers—or, oh, we could get one of those really fancy machines where you can steam the milk and make all sorts of drinks. Maybe we wouldn't need it. It's time we actually decorated the house. It's just full of—junk, mostly. I didn't want to worry about furnishing it. At the time I just told the house-hunter, 'Find something I can move right in to.'" Potter nodded. "We should fix it up."
"Potter." Severus opened his mouth to make a comment about the time and the coming deluge of redheaded visitors. "Explain the hand holding."
Oh. Well. That had been slightly unexpected, but he'd apparently discovered another way to stop Potter in his tracks.
His mouth opened and shut a few times. "You, ah." There was a pronounced swallow. "You said you didn't mind. If you mind, I'll stop."
"I didn't ask you to stop. I asked you to explain it."
"So you don't want me to stop, then?"
"Answer the question!" he barked.
Potter faltered. "Just… I can." His cheeks pinked.
Snape blinked.
"Most people, I have a hard time touching. At all. Even being close. It's like they're trying to... I don't know. Grab me. For some reason, it doesn't bother me with you. I guess because you're always around." He gave Snape a stiff half-shrug. "Sorry if it bothers you."
"I didn't say it bothered me. It concerned me."
"Concerned you?"
"Yes."
"Oh." Potter stared at him.
Severus stared back.
"So. Was that all?"
"Yes," said Snape. He felt suddenly awkward. "You should go in today."
Potter sighed. "I know." He brightened slightly. "Maybe I could sneak out early?"
"If we're staying the weekend here, we'll need clothes and supplies."
"I'll see about the house. We might get someone to come in and clean before we go back. It'll likely be a mess."
"No," said Severus. "I'll clean it."
"You shouldn't have to."
"Others won't do it properly. And do you really need more strangers touching your things?"
"It's not fair, though, is it, for you to be doing all the cooking and cleaning?"
"If I were capable of holding a job, I might agree with you."
"Some people get hobbies."
"I had hobbies. Unfortunately, they all require the regular use of the thing I do not have in my pocket. Is no one worried about it having gone missing?"
"They think someone took it as a souvenir. Like the letters," said Potter. "Just do me a favor. Save it for when you absolutely have to use it."
"You don't have to warn me. I'm hardly going back into lockup because I couldn't be bothered to pour myself a cup of tea."
Potter nodded. There was a pause. "I like your hair. You've let it get longer."
Severus choked on a mouthful of coffee.
Potter thumped him on the back. "Okay?" Potter's fingertips rested against his lower back, five faint points of warmth.
His eyes watered. "Y—fine."
"I'm going to get dressed. Go in. Get yelled at." Potter hung his head dramatically and slouched off to the bathroom.
Severus sat down.
After a minute, he got off the floor and moved to the couch.
XXXXX
It wasn't the compliment or the hand holding that worried him. What worried him was that at the moment following the compliment, he'd thought it a good thing he hadn't shaved his hair off after all.
Severus washed his face. He looked in the mirror. A drop of water clung to the tip of his prodigious nose. "You're not doing this. You're not going to do this." He dried his face. "You aren't."
His reflection suddenly smirked at him. "You're thinking about it."
"No, you aren't. Sod off. There's a reason I can't abide mirrors."
"I thought that was the nose?"
"Fuck off," growled Severus, and slammed the bathroom door behind him.
Trouble is, he was thinking about it.
Kristine was still recovering from her harrowing ordeal down the well. Charles wouldn't leave her bedside. Althea began the first in what would likely be a series of monologues—
He turned off the telly.
Hand holding, no matter what Potter said, was not a particularly platonic activity. Not between two grown wizards. Not while in bed together. It had… implications. How could Potter not know that?
Perhaps he did. He had to. No matter how dense he could be, Severus refused to believe that Potter had no idea. Now, he may not have an idea of precisely what he was playing at, but that didn't mean Potter was a complete innocent. Yes, he'd moved directly from one strict institution to another (with time off in between for the war), and he'd hardly the kind of experience most young men his age had—hadn't smoked, hadn't drunk more than a sip or two of champagne at Ministry functions, was quite possibly a virgin—
Blast it all, it could be perfectly innocent. He could be misinterpreting all of it. He had to be.
"He's a former student. You're sick. Sick," he told his reflection in the telly. At least that one didn't talk back.
A kind word or two was not an invitation to turn the whole relationship horizontal. Or vertical against a wall.
Maybe he just needed a wank.
Did Potter wank? Perhaps that explained why he was always so tense—
"Augh." Sex. Potter. No. Stop. Stop. Please.
Severus pressed the heels of his palms against his eyelids. In the resulting flash of purple-black, he could've sworn he saw Potter laid out on the bed, his scarlet robes open, his lips parted, his hand between his legs.
XXXXX
He buried his face in the pillow. He tried to imagine the sexual act that had christened the bed, and felt a bit buoyed by the answering lurch of his stomach.
The front door banged open and shut sometime later. "Snape?"
He didn't move. He was dead.
"Snape? …Snape."
"Found me," he muttered, fanning his fingers in greeting.
"Sleeping?"
"I want to die, Potter."
"Gee. It's been a while since you threatened to take your own life. Bad day?" The opposite side of the bed dipped.
"The worst."
"Sorry. Me, too, if it helps." Potter flopped down on the bed next to him.
Severus turned his head. "But you sound so… chipper."
"Two reasons. Wanna hear 'em?" Potter's top button was unbuttoned, leaving the pale column of his throat vulnerable to—
"All right."
"One. We get to go home. Two. I quit." Potter's face couldn't hold his grin.
He arched a brow.
"I did. Honestly. Exactly the way you suggested. Still have to get this last messy business resolved, but then I'm leaving."
Snape's other brow joined the one already raised.
"I had four people yelling at me. Not yelling. Aurors don't yell; they speak forcefully. Apparently I've raised all sorts of public outcry. Everyone's going to have to mind their steps, turn in properly completed requisition forms, that sort of thing. It's a terrible hardship. The Minister of Magic sent me a commendation and an invitation to tea; my supervisors locked me out of my office."
He snorted. "Wonder why."
"They told me they were going to transfer me to the field. Surveillance. Raids. That sort of thing. There were four new openings." Potter sighed. "I thought, great. This is what I wanted, right?"
"No?" A piece of Potter's hair hung straight into one of his eyes. Severus reached out and flicked it away.
Potter hesitated before he shook his head. "No. I don't want to spend every day bursting into houses, carting off somebody's Mum and Dad. No matter what they did. I'm sick of people being horrible to each other." He fell quiet for a moment. As if under its own power, his hand crept across the covers. "Recruitment is at an all-time high. They'll fill my slot in no time at all." His index finger hooked Severus' little finger. "Even Ron and Hermione decided they didn't want to be Aurors. Ron's in the strategic planning office and Hermione's off working for social justice for banshees."
"And other pitiable creatures she finds along the way."
"Right. Why can't I do something else, too?" Potter's smile faded somewhat. He glanced down. "Are you really all right? With the hand… erm, thing?"
"It doesn't bother me."
"Okay. Good. …I just wanted to make sure. You know. Not that I think you'd lie to spare my feelings, but… you know." He stared up at the ceiling.
"Careful, though, Potter. You could give a man ideas," said Severus.
It was like watching a sunset, the way Potter turned slowly red.
"Do you mean to give me ideas?" He smirked. Baiting Potter was one of life's simple pleasures.
The smile vanished. "I don't know," said Potter softly. He swallowed. "I'm not…" He abruptly pulled away and sat on the far edge of the bed. "That's completely inappropriate, I'm sorry. I'm—" Potter went the color of his robes. "We should pack up. I'll straighten out here, if you want to grab your things."
"Potter."
He stopped in the doorway. "Look, Snape, if it bothered you, you should've said so—this wasn't an invitation for you to humiliate me—"
"If I want to humiliate you, I have better ammunition. I said it didn't bother me."
"No, it concerns you," Potter spat. "What's the difference, I'd like to know."
"I don't find the thought of you holding my hand repugnant. It does not bother me. What does concern me, however, is that the last significant physical contact we shared was when I pulled your unconscious, broken body from underneath a pile of smoldering scales. The sudden alteration of behavior, Potter—that concerns me."
"Why didn't you say so?"
"You didn't ask."
"I bloody well did!"
"If you had, I'd have told you."
"No, you wouldn't. You're—you give everyone these circular answers. Half of them don't mean anything, half of them can be taken another way, half of them are sarcastic."
"That's three halves, Potter."
"You're that confusing! All I'm trying to do is get along with you."
"Why?" Snape rolled onto his back and folded his arms, letting the pillows prop up his shoulders.
"Why what?"
"Why are you trying to get along with me? Why has it suddenly become a priority? It wasn't before."
Potter fell quiet. When he finally spoke, it came haltingly. "It isn't sudden. I… You're staying. And you keep saving me."
"I didn't fend off the Aurors for your sake."
"Not that. It… That's what really got me thinking about it, but—the little things." He pushed his hands deep in the pockets of his robe. "Letting me come smoke with you. Being nice to me at dinner."
"I am not nice." He felt he should stick up for his reputation.
"You're not like you used to be, either. After the war, I was supposed to be Harry Potter, the Great Auror. I was supposed to pass my training, perform all sorts of daring rescues. I'd date Ginny, we'd get engaged, we'd get married, we'd settle down, have a house. A family. That's who I was supposed to be. Well, I can't do it, and for some bizarre reason, you're the only one who seems okay with that. I like that, all right? I like coming home to a nice dinner in a place where no one either talks down to me—well, you do talk down to me a bit—or asks for an autograph. And when you're not being a complete bastard, you know, you can be pretty… nice. I like it. It kind of freaked me when you got attacked. All that's supposed to be over." The cabin floor became fascinating to Potter. "They're supposed to leave us alone."
"They never will. Not either of us. Not while we live."
Potter looked up. "Thought you didn't like Divination?"
"I don't like doom-saying old bats." Severus thought. "Also, I don't like Divination; you're correct."
Potter chuckled. He leaned against the doorframe, his palms pressed against the wood. He had a nice smile. It wasn't all teeth and insincerity. "Do you see us going home sometime in the near future?"
Severus crossed his ankles. "I'm sorry, Mister Potter. I'm afraid I don't do magic anymore." He could feel Potter's eyes on him, and wondered at his finding anything on the bed worth looking at. Still, Potter had said it himself—he was blind. He imagined that if it was smudgy and run together, his appearance might be considered passable.
Not that Potter would ever consider him that way. He seemed to want to become bestest-ever pals, with a bit of hand holding thrown in.
"That's a shame. I hear you were pretty good."
"Once upon a time." He smirked. "Stop flattering me. It's transparent."
"Seems to work, though." Potter answered the resulting scowl with a grin and left the room. "Get packed!" he called.