Something I'll Never Have by homicidalpudding

by JocundaSykes

And I just stood there, tightly squeezing him in my arms, until my muscles hurt, until I knew for sure that this was not a mirage, not a hallucination, and not a ghost from the past. And I breathed in his scent, greedily and as if without exhaling at all—any more and I'd fly. Or explode.

Written in Russian in 2010. Translated by Jocunda Sykes in 2020.

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Chapter 1

"Will you hold me?"

I embraced him with both hands and pressed him tightly against me, and hid my face in his chest, knowing that through his shirt he could feel the warmth of my breath and my tears. His palms rested on my shoulders, the tips of his fingers climbed up my neck and buried themselves in my hair. And I just stood there, tightly squeezing him in my arms, until my muscles hurt, until I knew for sure that this was not a mirage, not a hallucination, and not a ghost from the past. And I breathed in his scent, greedily and as if without exhaling at all—any more and I'd fly. Or explode.

---

I wake up and look at my watch. 7:35. Severus got up at 7:35 every day, and through my sleepy daze I'd hear the kettle boiling in the kitchen and the sound of falling water in the shower, and the smell of toast or bacon was intertwined in my morning sleep. He would always come into the bedroom to kiss me before leaving, and then quietly close the door behind him.

Almost two months have passed. And I keep waking up every day at 7:35, in a terribly quiet flat, in a terribly cold bed.

Sometimes it seems disgusting, nasty and dirty—to imagine him next to me, to try to feel the warmth of his body, to feel his hands on me. It's like I'm staining his memory. But still, I can't stop myself. I keep my eyes open when I imagine him. It's not that hard—I just have to slightly lower my eyelids and defocus my gaze, and then I can see his face, a few inches away from mine, and I can almost feel the strands of his hair tickling my cheekbones. If I lift myself up on my elbows—just a little bit—I can kiss him on the tip of his nose; all I have to do is reach out and I can rub my fingertips over his cheek, over his lips, down over his slightly rough chin. I can hug and hold him, and enjoy the weight and warmth of his body, and shudder slightly every time he kisses my neck.

But if I close my eyes for only a second, even just to blink—the picture crumbles. And I see him: pale, cold and still—red, thick, viscous blood spreading rapidly in all directions, and it seems to me that if there was any more—I would drown in it. And I press the heels of my palms against my eyes, hard, and wait for Severus's pale face to scatter into a colourful mosaic. Then I take my hands away and I can't see him any more, before my eyes I can only see some kind of dust, dirt, rot—the inside of me. You don't have to be Dorian Gray to see your soul. I see it every day: old, dry and crumbling to ash. Ever since Severus passed away, it seems to me as though I left too.

I cover my head with my duvet and wrap myself completely in it like a cocoon. It's dark inside, and there's hardly enough air to breathe. And there's a shaking in my chest and it's as though my head is clenched in a vice. I close my eyes with all my might and try to breathe as evenly as possible, trying to hold myself together, but a choked sob escapes my throat. I miss you. Tears run down my temple and drip onto the pillow. I miss you. I want to scream, and I bury my face in the pillow—I don't want the neighbours to hear, I can't lose this flat as well. I miss you. I miss you. I love you.

After a few minutes I get up and, after wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, make the bed. I deliberately leave the pillow on top of the duvet—so the pillowcase can dry in time for the evening.

This is how my day begins.

---

Chapter 2

Everything went as it usually did. Alarm clock—shower—breakfast—work. But when I came home, Severus wasn't there yet, which surprised me. His working day ended at seven—three hours earlier than mine—and in the evening he almost always was home before me.

I went around the flat looking for a note, or at least some indication he'd been there, but I couldn't find anything. My wrinkled T-shirts were still in a heap on the bed. And he would definitely have put them in the chest of drawers and told me off for making a mess.

I was starving, so before I called him, rummaged in the fridge and tossed one of the ready meals Severus despised in the microwave. After all, what choice did I have if no one met me with a hot dinner?

On the way to the bedroom, I dialled his number, but nobody answered. I got annoyed—if I forgot to tell him about my plans for the evening, I'd at least pick up the phone. I rang again—with the same result. There was no point in starting to worry. But I called again, and again, and again, walking up and down the hallway, listening to the beeps. Several times it seemed as though the key was turning in the lock, but the sound of the opening door never followed. I started to get really nervous, and the microwave timer dinged and almost scared me to death.

Finally, when it seemed as if I was dialling his number for the thousandth time, I heard the long-awaited click sounding in the receiver.

"Severus!" I shouted before he could say anything. "Where have you been? I've—"

"Mr Potter? Harry?" interrupted a vaguely familiar woman's voice.

"What? Who is it? Where's Severus?"

"It's Eileen, Severus's mother. And my son…" She fell silent.

I thought, 'Thank God he's with his mum. He's at his mum's and that's why he was so late,' before I realised she was sobbing.

"Severus is gone."

My throat tightened.

"What… what do you mean, gone? What's wrong with him?" I felt terribly cold, I trembled and my legs refused to work properly, so I leant against the wall and slid to the floor.

"He was hit by a car. A drunk driver. Today. It happened as he left the Mongoose—"

"Langouste," I corrected mechanically. Severus had lunch every day at the little café across the street, and I went sometimes on my weekends to keep him company. The café was called 'Langouste'.

Eileen did not pay attention.

"They called an ambulance almost immediately. But—" She gasped. "Severus died on the way to hospital."

I didn't say anything, I couldn't say anything. My hands shook and I nearly dropped the phone.

Eileen spoke again. "Harry, I have one request for you: don't come. You shouldn't be at the funeral. I'd like to keep my son's good name. I hope you'll understand. All the best."

And she hung up.

I don't clearly remember what happened next. I think I just sat for a few minutes, huddled on the floor of the hallway, with just one thought in my mind: not true. It can't be true. I did not believe her. It was a prank, a joke, a very cruel joke—but his mum hated me from the very beginning. In the dark, I groped for the phone and dialled his number again. It said, 'number unavailable'.

Not true, not true, not true.

He's just late at work, and he'll be home soon. He's at work, I have to call him right now and ask him to come home, to say I really miss him. My fingers weren't listening, and I couldn't press the right buttons. Severus, work, call. To try to calm myself down, I counted the beeps, breathing in on the odd and exhaling on the even.

After the twenty-second ring, I hung up.

Now it seems really stupid, but I decided then to go to the publishing house. Where else would he be? I stuck a note to the front door, something like: 'Severus, call me as soon as you get home.' And I forgot to take my phone with me. On the street, I flagged down the first car I could, luckily the driver agreed to give me a lift, though he must have thought I was a complete psycho.

The windows of the office on the first floor were dark, but I still yanked the door, which of course turned out to be locked. I began to pound the glass. After a while, a security guard came out.

"Boy, are you mental? The building's been shut for hours!"

"I want Severus!" I shouted and grabbed his arm. "Severus Snape, the Managing Editor. First floor, office 223. He's here, I definitely know he's here."

"No one's here, your Severus has been home for hours. Come back tomorrow."

"No, no. No, he's not home!" I tugged at the guard's sleeve. "He's here, please, I have to see him. Please!"

I was on the verge of tears and must have looked so pitiful, because the guard looked at me sympathetically.

"Hang on, I'll check. 223 you say?"

I nodded, and he disappeared through the door. I waited forever, chewing my nails. I saw the windows of Severus's office light up and go dark again, saw through the glass door the security guard coming down the stairs and shaking his head.

"There's no one there. I'm telling you, everyone's gone home." He patted me on the shoulder. "Don't you worry, lad. Come back tomorrow, your Severus will be here."

He said something else, but I didn't hear. I felt scared and had pain in my chest like never before. I turned around and looked at the 'Langouste' sign across the road.

It can't be. Not true. Not true.

She's lied to me. I had to go and ask her to tell me where he is. She can't do this, it's too cruel a joke.

I easily remembered how to get to her house—Severus lived there before moving in with me—it wasn't far from the shop where I worked.

At this late hour, there were hardly any cars, and I walked.

The next thing I remember is pain. I pounded on the door with my fists, smashing them until they bled. And the salt of my tears pinched the skin of my face. But I kept knocking and yelling, "Open up, open up!" until Eileen opened the door.

I grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

"Where is he, tell me, where is he? This isn't funny!"

She recoiled, either in pain or disgust.

"Come in, you've already woken up the neighbours."

I went in, and she closed the door behind us. At the very entrance, on the shoe rack, was a grey briefcase—the same one Severus used to go to work with. For some reason it was dented, and the bottom left corner was stained with something brown. I grabbed the briefcase and clutched it to my chest.

I shouted, "You have him, I knew it, I knew he was with you! Where is he? Severus? Severus!"

She grabbed my hand.

"He isn't here. I'll say it again—"

"But look, this is his!" I waved the briefcase in front of her nose. And Eileen stood there and just looked at me silently—and I suddenly understood why it was dented and why it was brown in the bottom left corner.

The fingers unclenched by themselves, and the briefcase fell to the floor with a thud. I collapsed and screamed and screamed, it seemed, for an eternity, and the pain in my chest didn't stop. I gasped for air and couldn't breathe, and I gasped, coughed and choked with pain, and tears ran down my cheeks and lips and chin.

"This can't be happening! It can't be! CAN'T BE!" I grabbed Eileen by the hem of her dressing gown. "It's not true, tell me, tell me it's not true!"

But she was silent.

---

Chapter 3

The first time I saw him was a little over three years ago. I was eighteen then, and had just started working in a bookshop on the corner of Grange Road and Maytham Street. I loved it there, running around the shop all day long with a smile on my face, not even embarrassed by the 'Hi, my name is HARRY' badge on my chest. On one such day, Severus appeared on the threshold.

Tall and thin, in his dark grey suit and briefcase in hand, he looked terribly strict, like some university professor. But his long below-the-shoulder black hair, gathered in a ponytail, didn't fit with this image. I thought someone like him must surely read something terribly clever and philosophical like Nietzsche or Dostoevsky, but, to my surprise, without looking around, he headed for the modern literature section.

'Maybe he's lost?' I thought, and followed him. When I approached, he was already intently searching the shelves.

"Good evening, can I help you with anything?"

He looked at me in a strange way, as if he was being spoken to for the first time in the shop, and he replied in a low tone, "No, thank you." Then he continued his search.

"Okay, well, if you need anything—don't hesitate to ask."

He turned his head to look at me over his shoulder, raising one eyebrow, either mockingly or with curiosity—I never found out. His eyes were terribly dark, almost black, and I had never seen any like them before. For a few seconds he looked at me silently, and then he said quietly, "Thank you, of course."

For some reason I was suddenly embarrassed, so hurried away from Modern Literature. In the aisle I was caught by the hand of Hermione—a lady from the shop—who had been working there for almost a year and was my supervisor.

"I completely forgot to warn you, Harry—you shouldn't approach Snape—"

"What? Why?" I didn't understand, Hermione was always chattering to the customers.

"The man you were just talking to. He's a regular customer, he must have been shopping here since before we were born. He knows our books better than we do. He comes in every fortnight, never asks anything, buys a pile of books and leaves. Percy says that he probably likes it here because everyone knows him and doesn't get under his feet. Is that clear?"

"Mm-hmm," I said. Hermione grinned and strode off somewhere. I looked around and saw Snape already near the till with a stack of four books—I couldn't see the titles from over here. He paid, put the books in his briefcase and left, and I watched him through the window until he was out of sight.

After that, every time he showed up at the shop, I wisely stayed away and tried not to 'get under his feet'. Hermione hadn't lied—he'd come every fortnight, on Fridays, at around eight in the evening. If the fact he'd been coming here for many years was also true, his house should have looked like he'd robbed the British Library. I was terribly curious about what kind of books he was buying—were there really any more that he hadn't read? It was clearly not my job to pester customers, so I tried to peer at a safe distance to try to work out what books he was taking from the shelves. One day he turned around and caught me doing this. I expected to be reprimanded for getting underfoot, but he only measured me with his mocking look from under his slightly raised eyebrows. And I, naturally, blushed like a lobster.

Generally, every time he looked at me, I felt terribly embarrassed and it always seemed that something was wrong with me: my glasses were wonky or my hair was sticking out sideways (I mean, more than usual), or my shoes were mismatched, or I was wearing my jumper inside-out. But for some reason, I still counted the days between his visits and made sure that every other Friday was my shift. And I always watched through the window as he turned onto Maytham Street.

One day, three months after I started working there, the air conditioning in the shop broke down. The stuffiness gave me a terrible headache; I complained to Hermione and she sent me outside to get some air. I stood at the entrance for about five minutes and was about to go back, when suddenly I noticed a familiar thin figure not far away. I thought, 'That's weird, it's not Friday.'

"Hello, Mr Snape!" I said when he was level with me in the street. He turned and looked at me with his usual mockingly indifferent look, and I thought perhaps the right corner of his lips quirked upward.

"Good evening, Harry."

It was strange to hear him say my name.

He walked past and, as usual, turned right at the junction. I followed his straight back with my eyes. On my way back to the shop, I ran into Percy, our manager. He asked, "Potter, what are you doing outside? It's 7:50 and your break isn't until 8:20. And why the hell aren't you wearing your name badge?"

I checked—I really wasn't. And I smiled at Percy as if he hadn't yelled, but promised me a prize. And I went to look for my badge.

---

Chapter 4

I read somewhere that a loved one is alive until you hear the thud of earth hitting the lid of his coffin. I did not hear. I have not been to a funeral, I have never seen him dead. I have no idea where his grave is.

Maybe that's why days, weeks passed, and I kept waiting for him to appear on the doorstep. He'd come up, give me a hug, whisper something tender in my ear, say he missed me. I am still waiting. And when the phone rings, I hope I'll hear his voice on the line.

I don't remember how I got to our flat then. All the impressions of that night—he is everywhere. All around his things, his smell. I woke up from oblivion in the morning, at 7:35, out of habit as I always did, due to the sounds in our flat. But it was absolutely quiet. I was lying on my bed, on top of the mountain of my own T-shirts from a day ago, tearing myself apart at the thought that he wouldn't tell me off for the mess. He wouldn't tiptoe in to kiss me goodbye. He won't finish the book he'd left on the bedside table, he won't put on the dressing gown hanging from the back of his chair, he won't open the creaky wardrobe door and he won't reprimand me in the evening for promising to WD-40 it ages ago. There were no more tears and I just choked on dry spasms, screamed, and it seems I rang him.

At eleven o'clock that morning, the phone rang. It was still lying on the floor in the hallway from the evening before, and I rushed to the phone at breakneck speed.

It turned out to be Percy, yelling and asking why I wasn't at work. I hung up. He called again and again, but I didn't answer.

The next three days passed in a kind of drowsy haze. I saw Severus everywhere, in every corner of our flat, I heard him calling me, but I couldn't reach him. The home phone rang a few times, sometimes I answered it, sometimes they asked for Severus.

Then I stopped answering the phone. I no longer had the strength.

Three days later, I heard the key turn in the lock—one of a million hallucinations, I couldn't believe myself. Then there were voices—strangers, and then someone entered the bedroom.

"Harry, Harry!" A face leaned over me. "Oh, my God. Harry, it's Hermione. Oh, my God," she sobbed. "Harry, Mr Russell let me in. He said you're not answering your phone—or the door. Harry, God." She hugged me and her cheeks were wet.

Someone else, probably Mr Russell, my landlord, said, "I'll ring the doctor's surgery."

All I remember after that was a jab in the arm and a pleasant weakness spreading throughout my body.

---

Chapter 5

On the last day of November, everyone gathered as usual to take stock of the month and draw up the staff rota for the next. Percy was sagely talking about increased sales and discipline, when Hermione whispered in my ear, "The Battle of Christmas is about to begin."

"Hmm?"

"Well, as soon as Percy shuts up, everyone's going to argue over who has to work Christmas Eve."

"Ahh," I said. "I see."

Hermione kept quiet for a moment then added, "I don't understand why we're open on Christmas Eve—there'll hardly be any customers," she hissed. "When I asked Percy he said, 'You see, Granger, it's not up to you to decide'. Of course, he isn't the one who has to hang around here at Christmas."

Hermione's bossy tone was very similar to Percy's and I chuckled. Percy glared at me.

"Are you having fun, Potter? Well, if you really want to work on Christmas Eve, I'll put you down for it…?"

I thought a little and decided that a holiday at work was no worse than a holiday home alone. So I said, "All right."

And there was no Battle that year.

Indeed, on Christmas Eve, almost no one entered the shop. Without Percy, whom I couldn't stand, and the crowds of customers, it was quiet and cosy—I even liked it. Snape's next visit was due that day, but when he didn't show up at eight, I might have been a little bit upset, but not at all surprised—who, after all, thinks about books at Christmas?

He arrived at 9:30. Without a briefcase and wearing a coat with his collar turned up. And his hair was not, as it usually was, tied back in a ponytail, but scattered over his shoulders, so smooth, shiny and heavy that I wanted to go up to him to run my fingers over it and shake off the snowflakes. And I forgot to say hello.

He went to pick out some books as he always did, and I stayed on the stool near the till and tidied the drawer under the desk. And I thought about the fact that there was no one here except the two of us, and for some reason that gave me chills down my spine.

I didn't hear him approach and jumped when his voice rang at my ear. "They make you work at Christmas?"

He had a strange expression on his face, not his usual one, and it's a pity I can't read his facial expressions very well. He had a half-smile on his lips.

"Yeah," I said and smiled back. He looked at me questioningly, and I realised that I was behaving like an idiot and hastened to explain. "Well, it's not like they're making me. I volunteered. And anyway—I work every Friday."

"Indeed," he said, and I didn't understand if it was a question or a statement.

I took the books from him. I felt him watching me as I scanned them one by one and put them in a bag with the shop's logo, and it made my hands shake a little. He silently paid me and took the bag.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," he said. And left before I could answer.

It took me a few minutes to notice that he'd forgotten his wallet. It was too late to catch up with him. I looked inside for some contact information—there were several business cards with a phone number.

I was so embarrassed to ring someone I didn't know, especially on Christmas Eve, but it would've been even more embarrassing to take his wallet with me.

I dialled the number. He answered almost immediately.

"Hello."

"Uh, Mr Snape?"

"I'm listening."

"This is, um… Harry from the bookshop." He was quiet and I felt myself blushing. "You left your wallet in the shop, and I thought…" I froze. Really, what was I thinking? I could just leave it in the shop.

"Indeed," he said after a while. "It's gone ten now, you're closed. I suppose I'll have to pick it up on Boxing Day."

"You can come in tonight," I blurted without hesitation, "if you want. I'll wait, I don't mind."

"All right. Thank you, Harry," and he hung up.

I always speak first and think later. Now I couldn't get home in time. I rented a room fifty minutes from the shop. The landlady hated it if I came back after eleven. A night at the shop was a lot less unpleasant than what was waiting for me if I showed up after curfew.

Snape came ten minutes later, took his wallet and thanked me again. He paused at the door, looked at me with his usual mocking eyes and asked, "Are you going to spend the night here?"

I felt uncomfortable. I smiled shyly and mumbled, "Well, actually, yes… It's nearly half ten, and I'm not allowed to go home after eleven. My landlady would have a fit."

He turned serious.

"I see. Get ready, let's go."

"What for? Where?"

"To my house, of course."

I widened my eyes.

"No, I can't, I don't want to be an inconvenience."

"On the contrary, it couldn't be more convenient. I'm just around the corner."

"No, that's not what I meant—I wouldn't want to impose."

"Nonsense. Get your coat and let's go." The way he looked at me like I was a five-year-old. And I got my things and locked up the shop. And we went.

---

Chapter 6

On the way, he didn't say a word, just walked with his hands deep in his coat pockets and his hair fluttering in the wind. And I followed him. Soon, we stopped at a red brick house, and he opened the door and let me go in ahead of him. It was terribly dark inside and I groped my way through the hallway, and he came in and locked the door behind us. The switch flipped and I was briefly blinded, and when my sight returned, Snape was already hanging his coat on the hook. It turned out that he wasn't dressed very festively—he wore woollen trousers and a grey and blue checked shirt.

"Take off your jacket, come in," he said. "Would you like some tea?" I was so surprised he'd suddenly addressed me that I didn't reply.

He examined me critically and stated, "You are hungry. I'll be in the kitchen—the first door on the right," and disappeared into the depths of the house.

I took off my jacket and hung it on a hanger next to another coat—a woman's, a bit old-fashioned. Looking around, I noticed several pairs of women's shoes. It seemed that I was about to meet Mrs Snape. It was strange that she hadn't shown up yet.

When I walked into the kitchen, Snape was rummaging through the fridge.

"I have turkey, roast beef, Christmas pudding and Brussels sprouts. What would you like?"

"Um—"

"I recommend the turkey," he continued, without waiting for my answer, "and the more you eat, the better. We'll have the pudding for dessert." He got the turkey out the fridge and put it on the table. Next came the cutlery. Without looking at me, he said, "Wash your hands, take a seat, eat. I'll make some tea."

"Uh, thanks." I obeyed. It seemed that no one here was interested in my opinion.

I mainly ate ready meals, so rarely got the chance to taste true homemade food. The turkey was delicious, and I was really terribly hungry. To somehow express my gratitude and at the same time satisfy my curiosity, I said, "Your wife is a good cook."

He busied himself with the tea, and without turning around and without looking at me, answered, "My mother made it, and it was her things you saw in the hallway. I'm not married."

My subtle digging clearly hadn't worked. I was embarrassed and couldn't think of anything better to say than, "Sorry."

He snorted.

The silence seemed so awkward, so I asked, "So you live with your mum?"

"So it would seem." He put down two steaming teacups and sat opposite me. "But she's out tonight. She left so I could quietly enjoy the evening in the company of my colleague."

I couldn't resist saying, "Why are you spending it with me, then?"

He didn't answer. I felt like I was blushing for the millionth time that day.

"Sorry, it's none of my business."

"Indeed," he said vaguely, and again I didn't know whether it was a question or a statement.

I finished my meal in silence. Still, silence was far less awkward than the position I put myself in when trying to keep the conversation going. He watched me silently and occasionally drank his tea. In my mind, for the first time in my entire life, I thanked my aunt for being such a stickler in all things related to table manners. Or more precisely, me and my table manners.

Next came pudding and insanely strong tea. And then Snape got up from the table and said, "Come on, I'll show you where you'll sleep."

And we went. I followed him up the unlit staircase to the first floor. The entire house was very dark, and I almost ran into his back when he stopped abruptly near one of the doors.

"Here," he said. "You'll find linen in the cupboard. If you need anything, I'll be downstairs. The toilet is on the right at the end of the corridor." And he turned to leave.

"Mr Snape, I…" I hesitated as usual.

He took advantage of my pause. "You may call me Severus."

I was terribly surprised, and once again behaved like a total moron. "I can call you what?"

"I see," he said. "In that case, let's stop at Snape."

"No. No, no, you've misunderstood, just Severus is fine…" Just to be safe, I whispered, "Severus, Severus," to myself. "It's very… unusual. I take a while to get used to unusual names. I knew a girl, back in secondary school—" Yes, I always talk a lot when I get nervous, "—she introduced herself by her last name to everyone, saying she liked how it sounded. And then someone found out that her real name was Nymphadora. And who'd want that for a first name? If someone wanted to piss her off, all they had to do was say her name and she immediately started to freak out. And I could never… " Even in the semi-darkness of the corridor, I could see his eyebrows rising. I'm such an idiot.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that… I… Damn, it just came back to me, and Severus—" It was very beautiful.

"Well, yes." He made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a short laugh. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Uh, Severus?" I said when he was almost at the stairs. "I wanted to say thank you. Very much. And, well… Happy Christmas."

He nodded and went down the stairs.

---

Chapter 7

It was almost three in the morning when I pulled on my jeans and T-shirt and tiptoed out the room. I hoped that Severus had already gone to bed and I could sneak into the kitchen unnoticed—I was terribly thirsty.

I began to descend the stairs, but then noticed the light was still on in the living room. Severus sat on the sofa with a glass of wine in his hand, and a bottle stood on the floor at his feet. I thought about turning around when I heard, "Harry?" I had to go downstairs. "Why are you awake?"

"Um… Why are you awake?"

"It's rude to answer a question with another question." He sipped from his glass. Less than half remained in the bottle. "As you can see, I'm trying to recreate the effect of a wonderfully spent evening. Although if my neighbour blabs that you're here and not Alice, all my efforts will be down the drain. The old gossip."

It was strange to see him like that. Severus was nothing like those people who got drunk alone in the evenings, but that's obviously what he'd been doing for the past three hours. I asked, "Have I caused you any trouble?"

He chuckled.

"My troubles, Harry, started before you were born. You had nothing to do with them. And I really hope you won't, either." He stared at me, and I couldn't say anything, I couldn't even move. It seemed as though I could feel his eyes on my face, on my cheeks, on my lips, on my chin. Finally he dropped his gaze and said, "Sit down?"

I almost collapsed on the opposite end of the sofa.

He finished his glass and reached for the bottle. "Will you have a drink? Hmm, perhaps not. I can offer you a soft drink, will orange juice do?"

I didn't immediately realise that he'd asked me a question. He bent down to me and, just like the first time, I was surprised by his dark, almost black eyes. And I noticed that he had fine wrinkles around his eyes, and his skin was pale, almost transparent. And his hair smelt like some sort of herb.

"Harry?" I watched his lips move, folding around my name. He said something else, but I couldn't bring myself to listen. And suddenly I couldn't smell the herb any more, and I realised that Severus was no longer in the room. I shut my eyes and tried to come to my senses and understand what was going on. And I decided the sleepless night was to blame.

He returned shortly, with a glass of orange juice in hand. I took the glass from him and gulped it down.

"Thank you." I'd already managed to forget why I came downstairs.

"You're welcome."

Severus, meanwhile, settled down again on the sofa and refilled his wine glass. We sat in silence. And then he suddenly asked, "Harry, did you really volunteer to work on Christmas Eve?"

"Well, yes," I said. "I mean, sort of. My manager Percy suggested it, and I didn't refuse. Why?"

"It just seemed to me that there are many other, much more attractive ways to spend time on Christmas Eve."

"Yeah. I suppose." I turned the glass in my hands, watching my elongated reflection. I didn't dare to lift my eyes to meet Severus's. "For example, getting drunk alone in the middle of the night."

He chuckled. "One of many options. Good wine is relaxing. But I had something else in mind: spending time with family or friends. Or in the company of some charming young person."

"I don't have a family, my parents died a long time ago."

"I'm sorry," he said softly, in an almost whisper.

"It's all right. I was one when they died, I don't even remember them. I do have relatives, in Surrey, I used to live with them. But, I'll be honest, I don't really want to see them, and they'd hardly be happy if I showed up at Christmas. I don't have many friends here, I only recently moved—mostly just the guys from the bookshop. But everybody had their own plans, and anyway, I wouldn't want to impose! And the girls never really liked me."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Severus raise the glass to his lips. I suddenly regretted what I'd said—it painted a rather pathetic picture. And I also felt that he was watching me, and I felt uncomfortable, and my cheeks were burning and I was afraid to meet his gaze. I asked, "How about you?"

He was silent. And then he dried the glass in one gulp and said, "Don't you think it's a bit late for this? Bedtime is long overdue, for both of us."

"Probably." Actually, I was a bit offended. But then again, who am I, for him to share his secrets with me? I'd imposed enough already. So I got up and said, "Goodnight."

And I went back to my room.

I'd just started to climb the half-dark staircase when Severus turned off the lights in the living room, and it became totally dark. I stopped to wait for my eyes to get used to the darkness, but I heard his footsteps behind me so continued going up by feeling the stairs with my feet. On the very last stair, I stumbled.

I felt his arms wrap around me and, instead of faceplanting the floor, I suddenly found myself pressed against Severus. A few drops from the glass that I'd accidentally taken with me fell on my T-shirt. The smell of orange juice mixed with the herbal smell of his hair and the scent of red wine that flew off his lips when he whispered, almost in my ear, "Careful." And I shuddered and thought that those lips ought to taste just like red wine too. I freed myself, ignoring the sudden urge to find out, and mumbled something unintelligible. And it was only when I was behind my closed door that I could catch my breath.

---

Chapter 8

Hermione came to tell me I'd got the sack. And Mr Russell told me the neighbours were complaining about me. They generously waited until the following day to give me this news and question me about what happened.

Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth and looked at me with wet eyes, and then she said she'd asked Percy to give me another chance, but he'd refused. I didn't care.

Mr Russell said he'd gladly let me live here for a while longer, but the end of the month was coming, and the other tenants in the building were threatening to move out if he didn't deal with me and he wouldn't be able to afford it, and I must understand him and not hold it against him. I didn't—I didn't care.

Hermione immediately invited me to stay with her, and was very persistent, and said she'd help me pack my things. She did almost everything, even arranged for a moving van. She helped me a lot, but I didn't really thank her then. I didn't really understand what was going on.

So I started living at Hermione's. Her boyfriend Ron wasn't too happy about this, but he had to put up with it. I probably gave her an awful lot of trouble, it was awkward afterwards, but at the time I didn't pay attention. I couldn't think about anything at all, except that Severus was gone, and I, by some strange coincidence, was not.

I never left the room, never spoke to anyone, hardly ate and hardly slept at night. Sometimes Hermione would try to persuade me to see a doctor, and I suppose she was probably right.

It seemed like a couple of weeks had passed when at night, waking up from a semi-doze, I heard Ron and Hermione arguing in their bedroom. Ron was yelling, "It can't go on like this! How much longer will he live with us? I know he's your friend and all, but there is a limit. In the nicest way possible, it's high time he was sectioned!"

"Don't talk nonsense. We just need a bit more time, he'll come around, and—"

"No, he won't. Just a little more time—and we'll both end up in the loony bin! How much longer do I have to put up with his insane night-time groaning?"

"Ron, you should be ashamed! He's lost someone he loves, I can't even imagine how he feels right now—"

"A couple more nights like this, and you won't have to imagine. You'll find out yourself. How long do you think I can last without sleep?"

They argued for a long time, but I stopped listening. That was the first time after Severus's death that I realised I would have to move on—without him. That when he was gone, the Earth didn't fall out of orbit and the sky didn't collapse, and life didn't stop for anyone but me.

The next day I looked through some job ads and called the first number I came across. They needed waiters, and booked me an interview. They took me on and told me I could start right away. In the evening of that same day, I found a new flat, or rather a room, the same one I live in now. It turned out to be very similar to my old one. Only the owner was a man, and he didn't care what time I came home.

---

Chapter 9

That night at Severus's house, I couldn't sleep. I left early in the morning, mumbling some semblance of gratitude.

And the very next night I dreamt about him. His gaze directed straight at me, and his lips pronouncing my name, and the smell of his hair, which seemed to daze me.

And then, two days later, I dreamt again, and again, and again. I hoped that the dreams would stop with time, but weeks went by and they didn't. I realised that I couldn't meet him, that I just couldn't bear his gaze. So for two Fridays in a row, I asked Hermione to take my shift for me.

On the evening of the second Friday, she gave me a ring.

"Harry, what's going on? He asked about you today."

"Who?" I asked, though I knew exactly who she was talking about.

"Snape."

I had no idea how to respond. "And what did you tell him?"

"That you were abducted by aliens."

"What?"

"Honestly, Harry, what do you think I told him? The truth, of course. That you'd asked me to work your shift."

"What happened?"

She laughed. "What do you think? As always, he paid for his books, took them and left."

"I see," I said. "Thanks."

We said goodbye and I hung up.

Severus asked about me. Sometimes it seemed that he didn't even notice my presence in the shop. And now he asked. And he must've decided that I was avoiding him. That was the truth though, I really was avoiding him—but I didn't want Severus to know that. I decided that I would definitely work next Friday.

It was the beginning of February, and Percy decided it was imperative we decorate the shop for Valentine's Day. I was forced to hang paper hearts in the windows. At first, I didn't really mind, but when a couple of passersby stopped to watch me, I felt like an idiot.

I tried to ignore everybody outside and only noticed Severus when he was already level with me. He walked past, holding the raised collar of his coat with his hand. He looked in my direction, and our eyes met, and he immediately averted his eyes, not even nodding, as though I was nothing more than just another shop window. I watched him through the glass until he disappeared from view. And then I suddenly realised that I had to catch up with him.

I ran out into the street.

"Severus!"

I saw him stiffen, and then slowly turn around. There was an awfully strong wind and my hair was in my eyes, and I had to hold tightly with both hands the stupid paper hearts that I hadn't thought to leave in the shop. And Severus still held his collar, and a few strands of stray hair fluttered in the wind. I came close, possibly too close. In my dreams, I saw him almost every day, but it'd been a month since I'd seen the real thing. And now, for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to stop staring. He had a wrinkle between his eyebrows, a very tiny one, and I'd never noticed it before.

"Harry?"

His voice brought me back to reality. I realised that I had no idea why I stopped him, or what I was going to say. And instead of thinking for a moment, I suddenly told him the truth.

"I haven't seen you for ages."

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. And I was totally embarrassed and dropped my gaze.

"I-I mean, I haven't been at work for a long time, because…" I tried to come up with a reason that was at least plausible, but I don't generally think very quickly. "I was ill. But this Friday, I'll definitely be there."

He was silent, and the situation was getting stupider by the second. And the pink paper hearts fluttering in the wind didn't improve my predicament. I mumbled, "But why on Earth should you care? I'm sorry, I—"

He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "I understand, Harry. It's all right."

And he smiled at me with one corner of his mouth.

"Now go back to the shop, or you truly will get ill."

So I went. I turned around at the junction, and he was still standing there, looking at me.

And the next day I really did get ill.

---

Chapter 10

I was ill in bed for two days. And the third day was Friday. I still had a terrible runny nose and a sore throat. But I couldn't not go to work after what I said. Before I left the house, I looked at myself in the mirror. The sight was catastrophic: my eyes were red and my nose was swollen.

I thought Hermione would immediately try to send me home, but she didn't say anything, just looked at me strangely and advised me not to get caught by Percy. And I managed to do that for some time, almost a whole day, until he finally tracked me down amongst the bookshelves.

"Potter, what the hell are you doing here like this?"

"Like what?" I asked, though I knew perfectly well that I looked the same this evening as I did when I left the house.

Percy went berserk. He said that this wasn't a hospital, and in the nicest way possible, I should recover at home away from everyone else, and that I should leave the shop pronto. And I said that I couldn't.

"What do you mean you can't?" Percy shouted. "Get your things and go home, and don't let me see you here until you're better."

I absolutely couldn't just leave, at least not now—there were only fifteen minutes left. I was so busy arguing with Percy that I didn't notice Severus. He walked past with a stack of books and only said, "I think Mr Weasley is right, and you really ought to go home."

Percy looked at me expressively, and I had no choice but to get my things. When I returned, Severus had left. I was so annoyed. It was stupid; after all, it wasn't Percy's fault I was ill and he didn't make me drag myself to work and gave me no reason to think he didn't care, but I still couldn't make myself stop being pissed off. I didn't say goodbye to anyone and flew out the shop like a bullet.

Severus stood at the very edge of the pavement, trying to hail a taxi. When I left the shop, he turned around.

"Honestly, Harry, I'm not worth the sacrifice," he said mockingly. But he had a worried look in his eyes. Although, maybe not, I wasn't very good at reading faces.

I didn't have time to say anything, because a taxi pulled up at the curb. Severus opened the door and said, "Get in."

"What? Why?"

"To go home," he explained, as if I were five years old.

"Why? I can get home fine on the Tube."

"Harry, get in the taxi. Please." And he looked at me again, just like he did on Christmas Eve, and I felt like a schoolboy who was ordered to bring a diary. I obeyed. Severus climbed into the car after me and closed the door.

"Where are we going?" the driver asked.

After a rather long silence, I realised that he was talking to me, and told him my address. And off we went.

I didn't really understand what was going on, but I didn't dare ask. Severus sat next to me, his back perfectly straight, his briefcase on his lap, and his eyes fixed on the road. I sneaked a look at him. He had a small dark-brown mole on his right earlobe.

Finally, we arrived. Severus paid the driver before I could object. We got out the car, and I looked at him questioningly. He said, "Don't tell me you're not allowed to bring guests either."

I didn't think Mrs Paxley (my landlady) would care who I brought, so long as I didn't disturb her soap operas or walk around after eleven, but I said, "I dunno, I haven't tried."

"I see."

And we went up to the fourth floor. I unlocked the door and we entered. I bent under the weight of the impending humiliation, and said softly, "You have to, uh, take off your shoes, and bring them with you." Severus didn't say anything, but I felt the need to explain. "Mrs Paxley doesn't like having other people's shoes in the hallway, mine or anyone else's. And she doesn't like it when you wear shoes inside."

My room was a terrible mess after two days of illness. And beside the bed was a mountain of used tissues. I tried to remember the last time I felt so embarrassed, but couldn't. Severus took off his coat and hung it on a hanger, put his shoes and briefcase on the mat beside the door, and asked, "Have you seen a doctor?"

I realised I still had my coat on, with my trainers in hand. Pulling off my jacket, I said, "No. And I'm not going to. I hate doctors. It's just a cold."

"I thought so." His tone made me think he might very well be a doctor.

As if after reading my thoughts, he said, "I've a medical degree. But since I don't work in my profession, let's assume that your statement did not apply to me."

I was going to offer an excuse, but he was ahead of me. "When was the last time you took your temperature?"

I answered that I hadn't actually taken my temperature, and I didn't even have a thermometer. Severus rolled his eyes. And he heaved a great sigh. Then he put his hand on my forehead and it was so good to feel his cool fingers, and he pulled them away too quickly. I wondered if his hair still smelt of herbs, but I couldn't even hope to find out with my blocked nose.

"You have a fever," he said. "Come under the light."

I obediently approached the spot under the ceiling light. Severus wrapped his hands around my head on both sides to tilt it back, and his cold fingers buried themselves in my hair. It felt so good, perhaps I really did have a fever.

"Open your mouth."

I asked why.

"Harry, for God's sake, have you never been to a doctor?"

It dawned on me what he was doing, and I opened my mouth. He was looking for something, and I felt so stupid. Then he released me and said, "At least your throat doesn't look too bad."

And then he asked me what other symptoms I had besides a runny nose and a fever, and I had to endure five minutes of rather humiliating conversation about coughing and headaches. Satisfied with the results, he said, "Get undressed and go to bed. I'll be back soon. Do you mind if I take your key?"

I didn't mind, and he put on his coat, took his briefcase, and left.

During his absence, I tried to bring the room to a more or less acceptable appearance, at least to bin the mountain of tissues, and stuff the picturesquely scattered clothes on the chair into the chest of drawers. And then I changed into my pyjamas and climbed into bed. My head was already starting to feel disgustingly heavy.

Severus returned about twenty minutes later.

"Mrs… Paxley?" I heard him ask. "Would you mind if I used the kitchen?"

I'd no idea how she would react.

The next time Severus came back, I already had a banging headache. He told me to sit up, and I could hardly keep my back straight. Then he raised a steaming mug with some nasty brown liquid to my lips. I shuddered.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Broth. From herbs."

"What kind of herbs?"

"Harry, drink. Don't worry, it's not poison."

I took one sip.

"It doesn't taste any better than it looks," I informed Severus. He pursed his lips and said that I was acting like a five year old. And I said it wasn't true. And I drank every last drop out of principle.

I immediately felt very sleepy. Severus said that this was supposed to happen, and that tomorrow I would feel much better. And I decided that I believed him. And fell asleep.

---

Chapter 11

I stood still and a slightly bitter smell enveloped me. And then I turned my head, and it turned out that Severus was standing behind me. I approached him and ran my hand through his hair. It was so smooth to the touch. I breathed in the air, which was soaked in the scent of his hair.

"Severus. You smell delicious."

His lips barely moved, but I could clearly hear the doubt in his voice. "Mmm. Thanks."

And I woke up.

Severus was sitting in a chair, a few feet away and holding a book. He looked at me from under slightly raised eyebrows. He wore grey trousers, a white shirt, and a navy-blue waistcoat patterned with grey diamonds. And he wasn't wearing a tie.

"Good morning, Harry."

I stared at him for half a minute before I managed to ask, "What are you doing here?" Yes, incredibly polite.

I feverishly wondered if I'd been talking in my sleep, and, if so, had I been loud and intelligible for Severus to hear, and whether his voice in my dream was just a voice in my dream, or if he heard and answered me, and if the latter, what was he thinking now, and was he going to ask what the hell it was?

But he just looked at his watch and said, "More precisely, good afternoon. It's already half past one. I arrived at ten."

I figured it was probably time to stop blushing.

"How did you get in?"

"Mrs Paxley let me in."

"Did you ring the doorbell?" My eyes widened in horror. Mrs Paxley hated it when something distracted her from watching TV from nine in the morning until nine at night. I examined Severus for grievous bodily harm. He seemed to be in perfect order and even had a mocking look on his face.

"I called. I usually do this when a door is locked and I need to get inside."

"Mrs Paxley… wasn't too angry with you? Sorry, I should've warned you."

"On the contrary. She's a sweet old lady."

I widened my eyes. Sweet? Once when I forgot my keys, she almost ripped me to shreds!

Severus rose from his chair. "How do you feel?"

I thought about it for a while and decided that I felt very well. My head didn't hurt, and I didn't have a fever and I could smell again.

"This stuff is great," I said. "I think I'm already better."

"You mean the broth? Yes, it's a very effective remedy. I was given it as a child, it always helped me faster than any medicine. My mother said that the whole secret was that it was prepared by loving hands." He paused and looked at me. And then he added, "But it's all down to the successful combination of herbs, of course."

"Well, my aunt used to give me medicine as a child. Maybe that's why I was always ill for so long. She didn't really…" That's when I realised I was saying the wrong thing. "What I meant was, well, that your… broth, is really better than any medicine. Thank you."

Severus didn't say anything. He took out a thermometer from the shelf above my bed, which I definitely knew wasn't there before. And he told me to take my temperature. It turned out to be normal.

And then he fed me breakfast. As if nothing had happened. It was as if all his life he'd been doing nothing but making omelettes for everyone and toasting bread. I hardly ever had breakfast, actually. I lost the habit as a child—one memory of Dudley spitting out his porridge is still enough to ruin my appetite. And no one has ever made breakfast especially for me before.

In fact, nobody has given me medicinal broth before either. And no one has sat next to me for several hours, waiting for me to wake up. Nor has anyone taken me home in a taxi because I was ill. I've never dreamt so much at night. Oh hell.

And then he gave me his effective but no less disgusting broth.

Then he said that he had to go, and that he'd stop by again tomorrow to make me a fresh batch—you have to drink the broth fresh. And that by Monday, I would probably be back to full health and able to return to work.

"You've already spent too much time on me, I'll be fine," I said as he was about to leave. He shook his head.

"Not at all. And besides, it's partly my fault you're unwell. And you're clearly incapable of looking after yourself."

I was offended.

"What do you mean, I'm incapable? I live alone, and have been taking good care of myself for six months!"

Severus smiled and looked at me as if I were five years old, and I'd just said I'd learnt the letter 'A' on my own. I didn't like it when he looked at me like I was a child, but his gaze was so warm that I forgot to take offense.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to cause offence. In any case, it's nice if at least sometimes someone else takes care of you instead, isn't it?

And he left.

And I'll be perfectly healthy by Monday, and I can go back to work. I'll be perfectly healthy, and that's great. And there's no need to think about the fact that then someone else would have no reason to continue taking care of me.

---

Chapter 12

I try not to think about him during the day. Nights are enough for me. I dream about him every night. These dreams make me afraid to fall asleep and hate waking up.

I went to see a psychotherapist. Just a couple of times—Hermione insisted, she thinks I need help. I suppose I do. But the only person who could help me isn't in the world.

The psychotherapist was a stout little woman with glasses. And after I told her, without thinking, that I never wanted to wake up, she decided that I had 'suicidal tendencies' and it all went downhill from there. I never saw her again.

After all, I'm not actually suicidal, not really. I don't want to die. Maybe it's because deep down I still don't believe and I still hope. It's stupid, I know that. But I'm blessed for a few seconds every morning, right after I wake up, when I still haven't realised that I'm all alone in someone else's cold, quiet flat, when I can't remember anything but the dream in which I was talking to him, kissing him, holding his hand and feeling the warmth of his body, and these few seconds don't let me stop hoping. These seconds are what I live for. I can't lose them; it would hurt too much.

I try not to think about him during the day. I don't think about him at all as I fold the towels as he taught me—four times lengthways and twice edgeways—before I put them in my chest of drawers. I don't think about him at all when I come home from work and carefully hang my clothes in the wardrobe. I don't think about him at all when I arrange new books on the shelf in alphabetical order, by author and title. It just comes naturally.

The psychotherapist, her name completely slipped my mind, said that this is how I 'create a false sense of comfort and intimacy'. I suppose she's right. She also said that I had to sort out his things, that it would help me come to terms with it. But I can't.

His things are still in boxes in the corner, and I can't bring myself to touch them. It seems that if I open them, his smell will fill the entire room and I will suffocate in it, that the memories associated with even the tiniest thing will come crashing down on me and crush me. I can't afford to become a burden again.

Severus was terribly punctual, and he always told me off for being late all the time and for not being able to keep to the order of the day. Now even he wouldn't be able to find fault with me. I wake at 7:35, have a shower at 8:00, eat breakfast at 8:15 and go to work at 8:30. It takes me an hour to get there, and my shift starts at 10:00. I come home at around eleven and go to bed. I like having a regime, knowing exactly what I'm going to do for every minute, and there's no time for extraneous thoughts. That way, at least I know for sure that I won't go mental.

But this is on work days. I tried to work seven days a week, at first the restaurant allowed this even though they thought I was mad. But in the end, the manager told me I looked like a ghost and would scare away the customers and made me take three days off a week. He also said that if I needed money so badly, he'd be willing to give me a pay rise so long as I stopped working myself to the bone. He's a very good manager. Much better than Percy.

At first I hated taking days off, and then I got used to it. I found a good bookshop not far from my house, and from time to time I go there to get a fresh batch of books that help me while away my free days. I already have a personalised loyalty card. And recently they started recognising me and saying, "Good evening, Harry," when I pop in. It's really nice, actually.

I don't think about Severus at all during the day. And only before going to bed do I allow myself to think about him—just a little. For example, today I remember how proud I was of him. Very proud. I wanted to tell anyone and everyone about him, and when we walked down the street together, I wanted to hold his hand so that everyone around me knew he was mine and no one else's. But Severus wouldn't approve. Of all of my acquaintances, only Hermione knew. She said that of course she knew all along, but that wasn't true. I clearly remember how her jaw dropped when I told her everything. I never told anyone else. And when Severus and I walked down the street together, I kept my urges to myself and snuck in proud glances. I was so so proud. I loved him so much. I love him so much.

---

Chapter 13

On Monday, as soon as I got to work, Percy said that I'd have to work on Sunday with Hermione and that he would not change his mind no matter how hard I tried to butter him up.

"Why would I suddenly start buttering you up?" I asked. "I often work on Sundays, I don't mind."

"And, of course, if you don't have plans for that evening," he said, smiling nastily, "there can be no objections. I won't be here, because—"

"All right," I said, "no problem." I turned around to leave, but Percy stopped me.

"I won't be here because I'm going on a D-A-T-E." Because he spelt out the word 'date', I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wasn't going anywhere at all. "So Hermione will be in charge. Got it?"

"Fine, no problem," I muttered and walked away, so Percy wouldn't have a chance to share any more details about his personal life.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked Hermione later that day.

"What, did he tell you about his date too?"

"Yeah."

"Of course. By now everybody should know that he's going on a date." She snorted. "And he made me work on Valentine's Day, the bastard."

"Oh, Valentine's Day! I completely forgot."

"Well, yes. Harry?" Hermione looked at me inquisitively, and I immediately realised what she was about to ask. "You know, Ron and I actually had plans, and he'd be really upset if it didn't work out, and so… So, would you mind if I left early?"

"You're my supervisor—I can't exactly say no." I grinned. "Go back to your Ron."

"And you won't tell Percy?"

"Nah."

"Harry, you're a star." She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks a million!"

On Sunday morning, Percy called to make sure that we could handle everything without him, but mainly of course, to remind us why he had the day off. Hermione, shifting the phone away from her ear, gestured to me that if he said any more, she'd throw up. I knew exactly what she meant.

There weren't too many customers, though it was a Sunday.

"Probably because it's Valentine's Day," Hermione decided.

"Yeah, I suppose so."

She was going to leave at seven. I had to while away three more hours alone in the shop.

When it was almost dark, I suddenly spotted Severus through the window. And for some reason, I was thrilled. The last time I saw him was a week ago—when he came to see me last Sunday. I was about to leave the shop, say hello and thank you again, when I noticed that he wasn't alone. A woman walked beside him, holding the crook of his elbow. Blonde. Very tall—almost the same height as Severus—and I think she was beautiful, but I don't really remember. He murmured something in her ear, and she laughed in delight, covering her mouth with her hand. I turned my back and didn't, as I usually did, watch him through the window. After all, it's rude to stare.

Today was the fourteenth of February, and why not? Just because he isn't married doesn't mean that he spends the day with his mum. It's quite natural. Expected, even. It's just that I somehow didn't expect it. And what did I even want? I didn't want anything, anything at all. It shouldn't bother me at all. And he doesn't care—not one bit. Why shouldn't he walk in the sight of my shop windows with some woman? Why the hell wouldn't he do that? Everything's perfectly fine, isn't it?

"Harry, is something wrong?" Hermione asked before she left. "You look… strange."

"Me…? No, nothing, I'm fine," I said. "Everything's perfect."

And she left.

I spent the rest of the working day sitting behind the till and rewarding rare visitors with sidelong glances, from under which they rushed away as if they were under fire. I knew Percy would've skinned me alive three times if he knew, but I didn't care, and besides, Percy wasn't there. He was on a date. And Hermione was with Ron. And Severus, five minutes' walk away from the shop, was probably drinking his red wine with the blonde and whispering something in her ear, and he smelt of wine and herbs.

It was none of my business. I just sat at the till and scared the customers away with my moody expression.

"Hurry, we're closing in five minutes," I barked without raising my head when I heard the tinkle of the bell at about ten.

"I'll make it," a familiar voice said.

"Severus?"

He approached the till and came very close. There was a chill from the street, and I shivered.

"Good evening, Harry."

"You've got something wrong," I said, staring at the floor. I won't look at him. I don't want to, and I won't. "Today's not your day. And it's not the right week, either."

"I know." It sounded to me like he was smiling. "I just came by to check whether you spend every holiday at work."

"As you can see," I snapped at him. I couldn't believe he was making fun of me.

"Harry? Is something wrong?" He wasn't smiling any more, and sounded worried. I knew I was behaving awfully and, even worse, completely without any justifiable reason, but I couldn't help myself. I didn't answer.

"Harry, what is it?" I stayed silent. "Look at me, please."

"Why should I look at you?"

He came closer, I could sense it right away, because the damn smell of his hair, which I tried hard to ignore, became even stronger.

"Have I offended you?" he asked, almost in a whisper. "I'm sorry, I didn't intend to. I was passing by, noticed you were here, so decided to drop in."

His breath smelt faintly of wine. That's what he must've been drinking with his blonde a few minutes ago. I was fuming. I couldn't understand why I was so angry at him, and somehow that made me even angrier.

"Oh, really? You didn't seem to care the first time you passed by." For the first time in our entire conversation, I looked up at him, only to catch his usual mocking look.

"Is that what this is all about?" He was smiling, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was so happy about. "That was Alice, my colleague. She is—"

"Very beautiful. Bloody glad for you."

"Harry, I'm afraid you've got it all wrong. I hardly think Alice and I would've worked out—"

"I wonder why?" I couldn't help myself.

Severus raised one of his eyebrows and looked at me as though I were asking a terribly idiotic question.

"You really have no idea?"

"I have no idea."

He chuckled. He looked at me strangely, I couldn't understand what that look meant, and I could hardly stand him staring at me. It became hard to breathe.

"If only because…" He paused and closed his eyes for a few seconds. I took advantage of this and dropped my head to stare at the floor again. It was much safer that way. "If only because she's married."

"I'm really sorry," I said. Although I wasn't sorry in the least. I even thought that's what he wanted. And I was still angry. I felt that if he didn't leave now, if I lifted my head and looked into his eyes, I would say or do something truly stupid. "Se—Mr Snape, it's already very late, and if I stay another five minutes, I can't get home in time and I'll have to spend the night here."

He didn't say anything for a long time. And then he said very quietly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you. I'll see you on Friday."

And I heard the sounds of his footsteps and the vile ringing of the shop bell.

I sat there, motionless, with my eyes shut, counting the seconds until the moment when he wouldn't be visible through the shop windows.

Hell no. Like hell will we see each other on Friday! I won't work here any more, I can't do this.

I opened my eyes.

It was bright in the shop, but outside there was an eerie darkness, barely anything was visible. I felt as though a crowd had gathered outside the windows and everyone was watching me as if I were a fish in an aquarium. I wanted to hide somewhere.

I walked between rows and rows of bookshelves until I found myself at a dead end. And then I sat on the floor, leaning my back against the classic literature, put my hands around my knees and rested my head on them. And I closed my eyes again.

What's wrong with me? Why can't I breathe properly when I'm with him? Why, when he looks into my eyes, do I stop thinking straight? Why am I so angry today? Why do I feel so bad now that he's left?

I perfectly well knew the answer to every question.

But I didn't even want to think about it. So I just sat there with my hands around my knees and closed my eyes and tried not to think about anything at all.

The tinkle of the shop bell made me raise my head and listen. I realised I'd forgotten to flip the sign on the door.

"The shop's closed!" I called. The last thing I wanted to do right now was deal with late customers. I heard footsteps—the persistent visitor clearly wasn't going to leave.

Damn it. I said we were closed. I got to my feet and began to leave the maze of bookshelves.

"Harry."

Severus was panting, and his coat was unbuttoned, and his hair was completely dishevelled. My heart beat so fast and hard that I began to seriously fear for the safety of my ribs.

"I'm glad I caught you."

I wanted to say that it was really good, that it was great. That I was terribly upset when he left, and terribly happy now that he's back. But I kept quiet. I knew if I opened my mouth now, I would say something that'd make him turn around and leave again. And he would never return. He still had the same strange look that made it hard for me to breathe, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from him.

"You know, Harry," he began very quietly, I had to strain to make out what he was saying, "I lied to you. She isn't married."

"Who isn't?"

"Alice. We do work together, and whenever I need her help, she kindly agrees. My mother thinks very highly of her. And she's unmarried. But that doesn't change anything at all."

I had no idea what was going on.

"And… why are you telling me all this?"

Severus let out a slow breath, as if trying very hard not to lose his temper. "You're so…"

I never found out what I was, because Severus covered the distance between us in one stride, and suddenly he was so close I could no longer hear anything but the pounding of my own heart. My eyes closed by themselves, I could feel only his hand resting on my shoulder—his fingertips brushed my neck. His fingers were cold, and I shuddered, and I couldn't stop myself from trembling when a strand of his hair slid down my cheek. I almost cried out when he put his free hand around me and pulled me towards him.

And then he kissed me.

I was barely alert a few seconds later when he pulled away from my lips and I hardly remember how I felt about that kiss. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. It seemed that if he let go of me then, I wouldn't be able to stand, so I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and held him tightly, and hid my face on his chest. I still couldn't bring myself to open my eyes, it was too much like one of those crazy dreams I refused to acknowledge to myself in the mornings. I was suddenly afraid that if I should open them, it would turn out that none of this was actually happening, that I just dozed off, leaning my back against the classic literature shelves. So I said, "Don't go," so quietly I could barely make out the words myself.

But he heard.

And he whispered in my ear, "I won't."

---

Chapter 14

We almost never fought. I mean, he kept telling me off—if I left a cup of tea on the floor and tripped over it, if I lost the phone somewhere in the flat, if I took his book off the shelf and didn't put it back. But I tried not to be offended. We only ever had one serious fight.

I'd come home after work, and I accidentally overheard Severus talking on the phone in the living room.

"No I can't, unfortunately she's not here at the moment."

I quietly closed the door behind me and listened. Eavesdropping is awful I know, but I was curious.

"Of course, I'll tell her you say hello."

"Yes, of course, we'll come over for tea."

"Alice will be so happy, she says she misses your talks terribly."

"Yes, as soon as we finally get the flat in order. There's so much on at work now, there's no time at all to get anything done."

I stopped at the living room door and waited for the conversation to finish. I never asked what he'd told his mum when we started living together—I just assumed he wouldn't keep lying to her.

"Yes, you too. See you tomorrow." He hung up and stood motionless for a while, staring out the window. And then he turned around.

"Harry! I didn't hear you come in."

"I gathered that."

He was silent for a long time, and I waited patiently. I was almost hoping that I'd misunderstood, and now he'd explain it all.

But he suddenly asked, "What do you think I should have told her?" And my hopes were dashed.

"The truth?" I suggested.

"What truth? That I live with a nineteen-year-old boy?"

"Why, is there any other truth?" I couldn't understand how this was possible. I wanted to shout from every rooftop how much I loved him. And he hadn't even told his mum about me.

"Harry…" He came closer and tried to catch my eye. "I couldn't tell her. She… she doesn't know anything about me. I just couldn't tell her. I couldn't, do you understand?"

"No. I don't understand." And I turned around and went into the bedroom.

We didn't speak again that evening.

The next day I had the day off work—and plenty of time to think about everything and decide that I was a complete idiot. I waited for Severus to come back to tell him that I wasn't angry and that I didn't care if he told his mum the truth or not. Truthfully though, I really did care, but I wasn't going to tell him that. Maybe if I gave him some time, he'd change his mind. At least, I could have hoped.

I waited and waited, but he didn't come. I called, and he didn't pick up. He didn't come home until eleven o'clock, three hours later than normal. By that time, I was already terribly worried, and Severus was in an unusually bad mood, and instead of talking, we had a fight over something stupid and yelled at each other, and for the first time in all the time we were living together I was so angry.

I got my coat and left, slamming the door. I wandered through the cold, dark streets and thought about how hurt I was. And then I got cold and came home.

Severus didn't come out to meet me, as he usually did when I came home after him. It was dark in the hallway, and the whole flat was so quiet that I was scared.

Severus was sitting on the sofa in the living room, still in the same grey striped suit he'd worn to work. He'd a glass of whiskey or brandy or God knows what in his hands, and in his eyes—such a lost expression that I immediately felt terrible. I went over and took the glass from his hands. And I put it on the floor and he said nothing, although he hated it when I left glasses on the floor. I clambered onto the sofa, and I moved closer to him, and for a minute I just sat silently next to him. And then I whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry."

And that's when something burst inside me. I spoke without stopping—everything I wanted to say to him that morning, and things I'd decided not to say. About how much I love him, and how I don't care whether or not he wants people to know about me, and how I really don't care, but quite the opposite—it hurts and hurts, and about the fact that it really doesn't matter at all, and if he wants to pretend to his acquaintances I'm his friend or nephew, or cousin or whatever, if he thinks it's necessary, I'll understand and not have a fit. It felt like I'd been talking for ages. And Severus listened patiently to me, and didn't interrupt, and gently stroked my hand.

And then, when I'd finally got everything out, he murmured, "Thank you. But self-sacrifice is no longer necessary."

And I immediately understood where he'd been for so long, why he was in such a bad mood, and that I was an even bigger idiot than I thought. I then climbed into his lap and put my arms around his shoulders and waited until his arms wrapped around me and squeezed even tighter before asking, "Did she… react badly?"

"No worse than I expected. She said I'm no longer her son and I'm not to show my face until I've found my head." He grimaced. "Also…" He paused, as if doubting whether to speak. But I waited, and he continued. "Also, that I made a grave mistake in believing you, that very soon you'll be sleeping around and—"

"That's not true," I interrupted. And I leant back slightly, just enough to be able to look into his eyes. "I don't… I love you very much, and I don't…" I suddenly realised that if I said much more—I'd cry. The last thing I wanted was for him to see my tears. "You weren't wrong," I said, and I buried my face on his shoulder.

And Severus kissed me on the temple and said, "I know."

---

Chapter 15

I ran into Ginny by accident. I don't think I would have noticed her as I don't usually look around on the Underground. She came up to me first.

"Hi!" she said. "It's been ages since I've seen you!"

I didn't answer, didn't even lift my head—I assumed she was talking to someone else.

"I barely recognised you, Harry." When I heard my name, I looked up from the book I was reading. "You look so different. I reckon you've lost weight."

I didn't recognise her right away. Almost six months had passed, and Ginny and I hadn't worked together for long—just a couple of months. If her hair hadn't been so red, I might not have remembered her at all.

"Hi." I had no idea what to say to her. We never really talked about anything before. "Me too, I… um… I didn't recognise you at first."

"So I see!" She laughed. "Have you got your head in the clouds again?"

I just smiled shyly.

I was lucky that Ginny chatted non-stop, and I only had to say, 'Really? That's great!' or 'Really? I had no idea' every so often. She told me about the rest of the guys we worked with, but sometimes she forgot and started talking about someone I didn't even know, but I didn't interrupt. I was afraid she would start asking me questions about my life.

But she asked me anyway. "Harry, how are you doing? We interrogated Hermione, but she wouldn't tell anyone where you went! What happened?"

"Well." I hesitated. "Things… went wrong."

"Okay." Ginny didn't pry, and I was grateful to her for that.

Then she said, "Come and visit us some time. Everyone will be so happy to see you again!"

"Yeah," I replied. "Especially Percy. He'd just die of happiness."

Ginny laughed, throwing her head back.

"Percy was promoted two months ago. And transferred. He's a big shot." She snorted. "And Hermione's in charge now."

Ginny fell silent and thought for a while. And then she said, "I'm actually going to work now. Do you want to come with me? We're nearly there."

"What for?" I asked. I didn't want to go back there. I was scared.

"Well, why not? Everyone wants to see how you're doing, they'll be really happy to catch up with you."

I didn't say anything.

"Okay…" She sighed. "I'm two hours late. If you don't come with me, Hermione will have my guts. Harry, ple-e-e-e-a-se!"

I tried to come up with an excuse, but I couldn't. Severus always used to say that I was a rubbish liar and didn't know how to say no. He knew everything about me.

Ginny's plan worked. When she saw me, Hermione completely forgot to tell her off.

"Harry. You look awful," she said by way of a greeting. And she dragged me into a tiny room with the sign 'Manager's Office' before I could come to my senses. She was always like that, and I suddenly realised that I missed her and that I was happy to see her.

She made us some tea, and for quite a while we just chatted and shared our news. I didn't actually have much news. And Hermione told me how difficult being a manager was, and that Ginny pisses her off with her carelessness, and that sometimes she's afraid she'll end up like Percy. She also talked about Ron, and his new job, and how they fight all the time. And then suddenly she said, "Harry, it's been six months now. How much longer are you going to torture yourself?"

I didn't immediately realise what she was talking about.

"Don't worry, I'm fine," I answered. I didn't sound very confident—after all, I am a rubbish liar.

"Fine! Harry, have you seen yourself in the mirror? You've lost so much weight—you're almost a skeleton, pale as death, you look exhausted. Are you sleeping at all? Are you eating?"

I stared in silence at my reflection in the tea. I didn't want her to worry, but I didn't have the strength to reassure her either. She leapt up out of her seat and came to give me a hug.

It felt as if no one had hugged me for a thousand years. I realised that if I said anything, I'd burst into tears in front of her. And so I kept silent. And Hermione was also silent. I hoped that she knew how grateful I was to her.

And then we finished our tea, and it was time for Hermione to get back to work. She said I should definitely call her one of these days and we'd go somewhere together. And I said I'd be glad to, and it was true. She hugged me goodbye again, and I left.

I stopped at the doorway of the shop. It was spring—early March—and I think it was the first sunny day in months. Or perhaps this was just the first time I'd noticed. I looked around. Nothing had changed here, and I hadn't managed to forget anything. I could name all the shops on the opposite side of the road in order, with my eyes shut. I remembered that the Underground station was seven minutes away if I walked fast, and exactly halfway there was a bakery that sold delicious croissants.

Suddenly everything came back to me. I felt that if I turned my head now, I would see Severus, in a raincoat and holding his briefcase. And he'd walk by, and I'd say to him, 'Hello, Mr Snape'. And he'd smile at me and say, 'Good afternoon, Harry'. It felt so strong and real that I couldn't help it. And I turned my head.

And I saw him.

He was walking the other way, wearing a raincoat and holding a briefcase, and the wind slightly ruffled his hair.

I took off my glasses, closed my eyes and rubbed them with my hands. For the first few weeks I saw Severus in every passerby—maybe it's because my eyesight was bad. Over time, I learnt to control myself. It's enough to squeeze my eyes shut just for a few seconds and the delusion passes.

I opened my eyes, put my glasses back on and looked after the man I'd mistaken for Severus. But I couldn't really see him any more. Anyone could pass for him from this distance and with my eyesight. I jammed my hands in my coat pockets and went to the Underground. And I no longer looked around.

I hadn't even got halfway when I realised that I'd almost caught up with him.

He walked slowly—because he was limping and leaning on a walking stick; I hadn't noticed that from afar. I also hadn't noticed that he had a lot of grey hair. Severus didn't have one. I remembered his hair all too well. Thick and completely black.

Still, there was something about this man that made my breath catch when I looked at him. Maybe it was the way he, even with a limp and leaning on his stick, kept his back perfectly straight. Or perhaps it was the way he shook his head from time to time to get the hair out of his face.

I followed him, trying to keep my distance. At any moment I could speed up and overtake him, but I couldn't bring myself to. I told myself that I was tired, that I liked walking in the fresh air, that I didn't want to go down to the stuffy Underground. But in reality, I was terrified of losing him.

And though I had to go the opposite direction on the Tube, I followed him to the wrong platform and went into the same carriage as him. And I couldn't think of any reason to justify myself. It was jam-packed, and I was pushed to the other end and I almost missed the station where he got off. On the escalator, I rode just a few steps below, and on the street outside, I kept a few feet behind him. I didn't know where I was, I didn't look where I was going, I didn't know why I was following this man, and what would happen when he got to wherever he needed to go. I just followed him and didn't take my eyes off him.

He'd sometimes look around and I thought he was about to turn properly and I could look into his face, and a lump rose in my throat. But he didn't turn around. There was something about him that made everything squeeze inside me. Something that made me want to catch up with him, stop him and wrap my arms around him and squeeze him tightly with everything I had. The wind blew in my face, and from time to time, very rarely, as if mockingly, it brought me whiffs of some herbs. The smell nearly choked me.

Suddenly, all of those six months that I'd lived without Severus, every evening that I spent alone, languishing with the yearning to hear his voice, to touch him, to breathe in his smell, every night when I'd curl up in a cold bed and fall asleep with the memory of him, every morning, when I, waking up from another too-real dream—again to find myself alone—at once came crashing down on me, and I bent over from the pain and almost fell under the weight of it all. I couldn't go on; I helplessly stopped in the middle of the road and watched his retreating back. And I called out to him quietly, almost in a whisper:

"Severus…"

I thought I'd lost my mind when I saw him freeze. So slowly, he turned to face me. And I looked into his eyes, so dark, almost black—I'd never seen any others like them. I looked and I looked until I drowned in them, and then everything went black.

---

Chapter 16

I woke up with someone lightly patting me on the cheeks. I opened my eyes, but saw nothing in front of me but blurry spots of colour.

"Hey, hey, come on," an unfamiliar female voice said. "You're gonna kill him, the boy's skinny as anything. Look, he's already opened his eyes."

"Right, then," someone answered, this time a man's voice. "Are you all right, lad? Can you stand? You'll have to get new glasses, I'm afraid."

I realised that they were talking to me, but I couldn't say anything. I was lying, for some reason, on the pavement, and a small handful of people gathered around me, and they kept talking and talking, and cars growled by. Thoughts were rushing through my head. And then, suddenly, I remembered what happened and how I got here.

Had I imagined it?

Of course I'd imagined it.

I also managed to faint in the middle of the street like a first-class idiot. I didn't have the strength to get angry at myself. Quite frankly I felt lousy and desperately tried not to think about how real those black eyes staring at me had seemed.

"He should get up," someone said, "it's not safe for him to lie here."

They picked me up by my armpits, and without much help from me, got me to my feet. I felt dizzy and dark circles danced before my eyes, and all the sounds around me merged into one thick rumble. My legs felt like they were made of cotton wool—my knees might give way and I thought I might fall. They took me somewhere, I didn't know where, and I didn't ask. I just walked, leaning on someone's shoulder and struggling to make my legs work. With every unsteady step, it felt that I might stumble to the ground. And then suddenly it turned out that I was being helped up a half-dark staircase, floor by floor.

And then Severus stood on the landing of one of the floors and, holding a briefcase under his arm, opened the door with a key.

My heart drummed unbearably hard everywhere inside me, and I closed my eyes with all my might, not knowing what I was more afraid of—opening my eyes and seeing him, or coming to the realisation that I was wrong yet again. It seemed to me that an eternity had passed before I heard:

"Harry."

He was the only one who pronounced my name like that, slightly stretching the 'a'. My breath caught. I gasped for air and tried to breathe, but I couldn't. My heart, which was pounding furiously in my chest just a second ago, seemed to have stopped completely. When this first happened to me, I thought I was dying. But it goes away. I know for a fact that this'll pass.

"What's the matter, are you feeling unwell?"

I shook my head, unable to say a word.

This will pass, I just have to wait a little. I shuddered at the feel of a hand resting on my shoulder, and then I opened my eyes.

Severus was standing before me, two feet away, and his hand, so real, clutched my shoulder. And he himself was quite real. With tiny lines around his eyes, which I knew would come together when he smiled. And the corners of his lips, slightly curved down. The right one was, as always, a little lower than the left. And the mole on his earlobe. And a tiny scar above his left eyebrow—he told me it was from when he fell out a tree when he was five, and I could never imagine Severus, even at five years old, climbing trees.

I looked and I looked at him, afraid to close my eyes, afraid to even blink. It seemed to me that as long as I didn't take my eyes from him, he couldn't disappear. Couldn't disappear and leave me alone again.

I raised my hand and ran the tips of my fingers across his cheek. And that too was real, warm and a little rough, just as my fingers remembered it. I could feel the skin moving under my fingers.

I then grabbed his shoulders with both hands and pressed against him as hard as I could. He tried to pull away, but I wouldn't let him. I held him tightly, and I didn't trust myself, and almost suffocated, it was good to feel him again, his warmth and his smell, so dear and beloved, I buried my face into the curve of his neck, lips touching the delicate skin above the collar of his shirt, and listened to his breathing. Tears, that I'd thought were long dried up, gathered in the corners of my eyes, I tried desperately to hold them back, but all of them rolled and rolled down my cheeks. I missed him so much.

"I missed you so much," I said hoarsely in his ear. And I heard him sigh, terribly hard and bitter. With one hand he slowly, hesitantly and carefully, as though for the first time, stroked my back. And then he held me in his arms and pressed me against him with such force that I almost cried out in pain.

"God, I missed you so much," I whispered, choking on my tears. "I felt so bad without you. So bad. I thought I was going to die as well. Don't leave me again, please. I can't live without you, I love you so much."

"Oh really?" His voice was cold. Goosebumps ran down my spine. He never spoke to me like that. He grabbed me by the shoulders and tore me away from him. I looked into his eyes—eyes which were as icy as his voice. "And that's why you chose to forget that I exist?" Such a painful expression flashed through his eyes that my heart sank. "Is that why you didn't even say goodbye?"

I didn't immediately understand what he meant. I just wanted to hug him and kiss him and wipe that pain off his face, but he wouldn't let me. And then I suddenly remembered.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know I had to. I know, but…" I had a hard time finding the right words, and it was even harder for me to say them. "She said I couldn't come. She called me right away, right after… She told me everything and said that I shouldn't come if I wanted to keep your good name—"

"Harry." I heard Severus trying to tell me something, but I couldn't understand what it was. I'd completely lost sense of reality, drowning in the memories of that awful evening.

"I didn't believe her! I was looking for you, I didn't believe… I couldn't believe it. And then I was at her house, and she said it was true. And then she kept saying that I shouldn't come because… I forget why. I'm sorry. I didn't come. I couldn't bear it, I'm sorry, I couldn't watch you… I didn't want to see you… dead. I didn't want to see you buried, I couldn't stand it, if—"

"Harry! What's wrong…" Severus shook me, and only then could I hear his voice again and see his face before me. "What the Devil are you talking about?" I looked into his eyes and found no hint of coldness in them, only bewilderment and something like fear. "Did you… did you think I was dead this whole time?"

And before I could understand the meaning of his words, he drew me to him and hugged me again. He stroked my hair with one hand, as if he himself didn't realise he was doing it, and kept repeating, "My poor boy, my poor boy."

And for some reason his cheeks were wet. It took me a while to realise that it was from tears. For the first time in my life, I saw him cry.

---

Chapter 17

They say a person can get used to anything.

Six months ago, I couldn't have imagined that I'd ever get used to living without Severus. But I got used to it. No, I haven't forgotten those months and I would never forget it. I needed him and lost my mind with despair and loneliness—even this very morning, no less than a week or a month ago. It's just… since then, it's become my new normal, and I'd begun to forget that things were once different. That I was once happy. Like I am now.

We lay side by side, not moving at all, my head on his shoulder. And I could hear his heart beating. And his breath tangled in my hair. I moved closer to better feel the warmth of his body. He was here. Alive, real, mine, my one and only, my beloved. I only have to raise my head—and I can meet his gaze, and as soon as I stretch out my hand—I can rub my fingertips over his cheek, over his slightly rough chin, across his thin soft lips, if I raise up a little—I can kiss him on those lips, warm, soft and dear, I can touch the tip of my tongue to his upper lip and bite the lower one a little.

I didn't move. I just lay there and listened to his heart, whose every beat filled me with unprecedented, unrestrained, wild happiness. And I was going to enjoy this happiness to the fullest, I was going to remember every second spent next to Severus. I revelled in him and his closeness, forgetting who I am, what planet I'm from and what year it is.

I'm not sure how much time has passed, but probably a while—twilight had already crept into the room and painted everything around me in shades of grey by the time I came to my senses. A sense of reality came back to me, and with it—memories. How did I survive without him for so long? How did he live without me? How…? And then, among the million questions crowding my mind, there was one that I couldn't help but ask that very second.

"Severus," I said in a disobedient husky voice, without looking up. "Why didn't you look for me?"

I felt him tense, and he squeezed me even harder in his arms and sighed, as if he'd been waiting for this question and didn't know how to answer it. Long seconds dragged on, and he was silent for a while.

"I asked to call you as soon as…" He spoke so slowly and quietly, and I could feel how difficult the words were for him, and he took his time. "As soon as I regained consciousness. The next day. I thought that you must be terribly worried. My… mother said she had called the day before. I asked when you would visit, but she didn't answer."

Severus stopped to take a breath. His breathing was shallow and ragged. An ominous feeling built up inside me, but I refused to believe him. It doesn't work that way. People don't do that. It's a terrible mistake, there must be some mistake.

"I asked the next day and the next, and I asked if she'd truly called you and if you knew what happened. She was evasive. Until one day she asked if I was surprised that you hadn't visited me yet. She said that she didn't want to tell me before my condition had improved and that she was sorry. And that she'd talked to you, but you…" He flinched and took in a loud breath. "You didn't express a desire to see me and—"

"Shut up." My whisper roared through the silence of the room. "Say no more—please."

Severus fell silent. And there was no noise but his ragged breathing. And as it levelled off, I finally raised my head and met his gaze, his pain, bitterness and despair.

"And you believed that?" I asked. "How could you believe that?" My question hung in the air. Severus averted his eyes.

"Not right away," he said, almost without opening his lips. "I waited for you. I waited and waited for you to come, or at least call. But you never came, and my phone never rang. And I… Harry, you must understand, the doctors thought I was unlikely to walk again, and you had just turned twenty."

He closed his eyes, and I saw tears gathering in the corners of the trembling eyelids.

"Forgive me," he choked, and tears rolled down his temple and got lost in his hair. "I should have spoken to you myself. I should have at least tried. I should have sent my pride to hell and called you. But I couldn't. Forgive me."

I wanted to say something, to soothe him, but my voice let me down, so I grasped his face in the palms of my hands and kissed away the salty tears from his eyes. And he kept talking and talking.

"I saw you once. Near a café on Regent Square. You were walking on the other side of the road, not looking around, and I didn't know what to do. And then suddenly you turned and our eyes met, or that's what I'd thought, and I wanted to nod, but you… you looked away."

I remembered that day perfectly. On the way to work, I almost never looked around, but then suddenly I felt that if I didn't look back, I'd miss something very important. And I looked around and saw Severus. As always, I turned away and closed my eyes as hard as I could to chase away the hallucination, and when I opened my eyes and looked back, he was gone.

"I went home, and for some reason I expected you to call. I was angry at you, and at myself, and the entire world, because I couldn't learn to live without you. I wanted to forget you, Harry. I really wanted to, and I couldn't. And I couldn't stop thinking that were it not for this… accident, maybe you would still be with me."

He pressed his fingers against his eyes in such a helpless gesture that it hurt for me to breathe. I couldn't and didn't want to imagine what that would've been like for me. How I would have survived, confident in the knowledge that he'd betrayed me. How I would've forced myself to open my eyes in the morning, knowing that I wouldn't meet his gaze, how I would've fallen asleep alone, thinking that, probably, somewhere, far or near, in an unfamiliar flat and in someone else's bed, a stranger is falling asleep, resting their head on his shoulder. And someone else kisses him on the temple goodnight and strokes his hair. How would I survive knowing that someone else had got everything I wanted and I'd never have it again.

And I kissed him, feeling the salty taste of his tears on my lips dissolve and disappear, leaving only the taste of the most beautiful and most long-awaited kiss in the world. With this kiss, I tried to say all the things that I couldn't express in words, to convince him and myself that now I would always be there for him. And he understood everything.

He looked into my eyes for a long time, and I didn't need to see well or be good at reading facial expressions to read in his gaze everything he so rarely said aloud.

Then he said, "I didn't think it could happen. In the months that have passed, I managed to get used to, and accept, and begin to believe that it's possible to replace happiness with fleeting pleasures. I thought everything turned out the way it should, and I had no right to expect anything more. You're what I stopped believing in, what I didn't deserve and something I'll never have. And I almost lost you."

Chills ran down my spine at his words.

"I love you very much, Harry. I won't let you go anywhere else. I need you and won't let anyone take you away from me ever again."

I dropped my head on his shoulder and buried my nose into the curve of his neck, greedily inhaling the scent of his hair strewn across the pillow. I knew that he understood everything without words.

---

I woke up in the morning at the feel of the sun's rays falling on my face. The windows of my bedroom faced west, so I never got the sun in the morning.

I lay there, not opening my eyes, and went over the events of last night's dream, too real even for me. And the damned devil knew where the sun came from and shone light into my eyes to wake me from that blissful dream. I rolled over and suddenly bumped into something warm, and almost cried out in surprise.

Severus mumbled something in his sleep, but didn't wake. And I looked at him whilst I held my breath and wondered how long it would take before I got used to waking up next to him again. I didn't want to get used to it, it felt too good. I wanted to relive that feeling every single morning and feel this great happiness, so much happiness that I could burst.

I wanted to jump on him, hug and cuddle him. But I was afraid to wake him. It occurred to me that in all our eighteen months together, I'd never once seen him sleeping—he always fell asleep after me and woke up earlier. I had never seen him sleep once, and yesterday I truly believed I'd never see him again.

"I love you," I breathed in his ear. Just yesterday I thought that I'd never say those words aloud again. And now all of them, untold, unspoken, that had accumulated within me for six months, caught like a lump in my throat.

I moved closer to him and held him, gently, so as not to wake him. And he suddenly smiled at something in a dream.

THE END