Title: Split Sole
Author: faynia and stormypups
Pairing: Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: approx. 15,000
Warning: Non-magical AU, THIS PIECE OF FICTION CONTAINS SLASH M/M PAIRING
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Severus Snape belong to JK Rowling, her publishers and the WB. No profit is being made from this piece of fiction.
Summary: Harry's technique was perfect. All he needed was passion.
A/N: Beta'd by lesyeuxverts, joanwilder and rakina, three of the most beautiful women on earth.
The street hadn't changed at all. Harry slowed his car to a crawl as he turned down Privet Drive. He wasn't sure why he was doing this, or why it couldn't wait to the usual Friday meeting, but he found himself unable to turn around as he pulled his car to a stop in front of number four. His uncle's car wasn't in the driveway and that was all the incentive Harry needed to kill the motor.
He sank back in his seat, letting his hands fall off the steering wheel to his lap. His eyes roved over the dashboard, along the heater and arm rest, before falling onto the plain white envelope sitting on the passenger's seat. Lavesoir had managed to secure twenty seats in the first two rows in the center of the theatre. One for each of those with a named role. Harry had been given the last one with a reproving scowl that warned him that messing up meant he'd have to return that ticket.
It irked him that Lavesoir still thought so little of his dancing. Harry knew he'd been doing better over the last week and that Lavesoir was only still picking on him because he was becoming suspicious. Harry would try to stay away from Snape more often if it meant he wouldn't get picked on with such frequency, but the idea unsettled him.
He wasn't sure when his feelings for the owner of the theatre had changed, but he couldn't easily cast them aside either. He enjoyed being in Snape's company more than any other person's in the company, barring Joleen. Snape intrigued him, confused him, incensed him, and made him better. How was he expected to give that up? For the first time he'd found someone who could pick on him, and not truly mean it as an insult, but as a criticism. It meant Snape believed in him, something he'd never felt from anyone before, least of all his family.
Which begged the question, why was he still sitting before his aunt and uncle's house?
Harry was going barmy. He undid his seat belt, snatching up the envelope, careful to not crinkle it in his palm and slid out of the car into the chilled December air. He tugged his black jacket closer around him, burying his chin beneath the collar as he headed up the stone path to the front door. He could hear the telly on low volume in the sitting room, and Harry peered through the crack in the lace curtains to see if his aunt was sitting on the sofa.
She wasn't.
Gritting his teeth, Harry reached out, knocking rapidly on the front door and hit the door bell twice. He bounced on his heels and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. White puffs of air escaped his lips as he sighed, knocking two more times on the door.
Harry fingered the envelope in hand. He played with corners, first folding them down and then up again. If she wasn't home, he'd find someone else to give his ticket to. But, he wanted her there. His aunt, for all her nasty comments and harsh temper, had been the one to pay for his first few months of dance lessons, once she realized it would keep him quiet and out of her hair for two hours every other afternoon.
He owed her the courtesy of at least offering a ticket even though she'd never shown for any of his performances or recitals.
It soon became clear to him that she wasn't coming out or wasn't home at all. Glancing about, his gaze fell on a potted plant. It was the best he could do at the moment. He lifted the pot partially and slid the envelope half under it. So long as the ticket didn't get damaged by dirt, it would be safe.
His stopwatch beeped and in a panic he ran back towards his car. It was just his luck that he did one nice thing and he was going to be bloody late for rehearsal. Again.
Joleen was waiting for Harry by the water cooler with a curious smile. "How'd it go?"
"Lavesoir's insane!" Harry cried, grabbing a paper cup from the dispenser before hurriedly filling it with water. "Absolutely barmy!"
"So you got the spot?" Joleen asked with an odd mixture of worry and enthusiasm. Harry gulped down the water and crumbled the paper, tossing it into the bin.
"I got the spot. That's why Lavesoir's so bleeding insane!"
"Harry--"
"One week, Joleen!" Harry shouted. "He gave us a week to memorize someone else's part in case they fell down dead or landed in the hospital!"
"Harry, don't you realize what this means? It's the opportunity of a lifetime!"
"It's a nightmare," Harry said, shaking his head.
"You love it though."
Harry paused as he moved to get another cup and flashed her a brilliant grin. "Yeah, I reckon I do."
Harry went throughout the rest of the day in a kind of daze. He was fitted for more costumes, which was a bore but gave him time to think. The odds that anything would happen to Jonathan were slim to none, but still, Harry was officially his understudy. There was a chance that he would take the lead role in The Nutcracker. It would mean even more time practicing, but he'd seen the ballet dozens of times and watched Jonathan in the role for weeks. He wasn't concerned about knowing the part, but he was concerned he wouldn't be able to pull it off.
It didn't surprise him to find that he'd wandered back to Snape's office and was once more staring at the door in silent contemplation. Snape had to know that he'd been made understudy, but a small part of him was worried that maybe it was Snape's influence that had got him the part and it wasn't his own talent.
Harry knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He opened the door and peeked his head inside, but Snape wasn't there. He contemplated going away and coming back later, but later he might have be able to talk himself out of asking. Harry closed the door and went to the couch, stretching out and putting his feet up on one of the arms. His feet were killing him and it felt good to have them up.
The only thing keeping him on the couch was Snape's grey raincoat draped over the back of Snape's chair. The sky had opened up sometime during practice that day and seemed to have developed a steady leak of freezing water. If Snape's coat was still there, odds were that Snape was still around too.
When the door opened, Harry sat up straight, preparing to question the man the moment he crossed through the door. Only, Snape wasn't the one at the door.
"Potter? What on earth are you doing here?" Lavesoir asked, staring at Harry for so long that Harry had to wonder if some part of him were disfigured.
"I was waiting for Snape," Harry answered, feeling a bit like a caged animal. "I needed to speak with him about something."
"I see."
Harry hugged himself as he gazed up at Lavesoir, wondering what he thought of him now. "I can go if you need me too," he muttered, getting to his feet.
"Pierre, what have you done with--" Snape's words were cut off when he saw Harry standing in his office.
"Severus, a word?" Lavesoir said, still looking at Harry.
"I'll just be going," Harry said, sliding past the older men and out into the hall. His question no longer seemed important.
"Don't worry, Pierre, I don't get involved with your dancers," Pierre mocked, scowling at Severus. "Perhaps you can explain why Potter looked so bloody comfortable on your couch?"
"Perhaps he looked 'bloody comfortable' because the couch is 'bloody comfortable'."
"God, Severus, do you know what the rest of the company will think if they find out? They'll think you got the boy the spot as understudy! I don't need a bunch of squabbling children this close to opening night," Lavesoir cried, pacing irritably.
"Let them think what they will. If they give you any grief, send them to me and I shall remind them which one of us pays their wages."
"What were you thinking? The boy is half your age!"
"I can assure you that he is not a boy," Severus replied, smirking. "Stop being such a prude, Pierre. It hasn't interfered with his dancing; if anything, he's more in touch with his emotions when he dances now. You should be thanking me."
Pierre sighed, settling into Severus' own chair, spinning it. "Thanking you is the farthest thing from my mind."
"As long as it doesn't affect the show, there is no reason for you to worry."
"Did you ever stop to think that it might not be the show I'm worried about?" Pierre snapped.
"If you're worried about the boy--"
Pierre held up a hand. "It's not the boy that I worry for, you daft git."
"So, your reputation is really worth more than--"
"Severus! Stop."
He did, allowing a small smirk to slide onto his face. "If I did not know any better, I would say you were worried for me."
"Stop being thick, it's not remotely clever," Pierre groused. "Just be careful. Edith will have my hide if you get your heart broken."
"I wasn't aware I had a heart."
"Severus, as nice as it is to see you happy, or reasonably happy, I do not want a repeat of L--"
"Do not speak his name," Severus hissed, eyes flashing in anger.
"Severus--"
"You go too far, Pierre."
"I cannot think of a time before this very moment when I had to do this, but I beg you, don't let your emotions cloud your judgment."
"What makes you think emotions are involved? He's young, reasonably attractive. Perhaps I'm merely using Potter."
Pierre snorted. "You can't fool me, old friend. If emotions weren't involved, you wouldn't bother with him."
"I don't need you to be my mother, Pierre. I already have one."
Pierre's eyes widened, then he began to laugh. "Oh, I would love to see Eileen's face when you bring that one home," he said, laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face. "She's going to think you knocked up some bint years ago and that Potter is your son."
"My mother is blind as a bat and so long as Potter never spoke, she would not know him from a common harlot found in the gutters."
Pierre wiped his eyes which were still sparkling with amusement. "Just keep it away from the other dancers; I don't need any more melodrama, they create enough of it on their own."
"I doubt half your dancers know who I am by face," Severus pointed out, stopping Pierre from spinning the chair again with his foot. "But I am nothing if not discreet."
"I trust you to hold to that promise," Pierre said, standing up and dusting off his loose-fitting trousers.
"Can we get back to business now?" Severus asked, brushing past Lavesoir to take his seat.
There was a draught in the building. Severus scowled as he hugged his jacket closer around himself as he stalked through the halls. So far, none of the doors had been opened, but there was still half a building to examine. At first, he had thought the heater had broken, but it was rumbling and humming just fine in his office, as well as it should. The faint smell of cigarette smoke had him turning down a far corridor, muttering about imbeciles who didn't have sense enough to close doors in winter.
As he drew near the offending individual, he had to stop himself from cursing. Of course. "Potter?"
Harry jumped and tossed the cigarette into the street, looking guiltily at Snape as he tried to blow smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
"Oh for pity's sake, Potter, I'm not the headmaster of a school, you won't get detention, even if you are stupid enough to smoke those death sticks," Severus said, rolling his eyes.
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I'm paying to heat this building and you're letting in the cold. Either come in, or go out, stop standing in the doorway."
Harry flushed and stepped back through the door, letting it shut slowly behind him. "Sorry."
"Shut up," Severus growled, closing the distance between them and pressing Harry against the door, kissing him deeply.
All the protests and explanations died in a soft gasp.
Severus pulled back enough to begin kissing down Harry's neck. "You haven't been by my office," he growled, nipping lightly at the tender flesh. "Why?"
"Busy. Been busy," Harry said, sucking in a shocked breath. "Haven't had time to do anything but dance!"
Severus' teeth bit harder on Harry's neck. "Don't lie to me."
Harry blinked up at him, glazed-over green eyes trying to focus on his face. "About what?"
"You've got what you wanted," Severus growled, his fingers grasping the hair at the base of Harry's head. "You don't need me to open doors for you now. That is why you kept coming back, wasn't it?" he said, sneering.
Severus hadn't expected the slap that followed his words.
"You keep calling me arrogant, you egotistical asshole! I've been busy. Do you think I like dancing until my toes bleed? Because I really, really would rather be anywhere than on that stage getting yelled at!"
Severus' hand went to the side of his face, looking at Harry in shock. The brat had slapped him! He was the one being used and if anyone was going to do the slapping, it should have been him!
"You hit me!" his hissed through clenched teeth.
The last time someone had dared lay a hand on him was his father when he was fifteen years old. By then he'd been big enough to finally hit back and they'd ended up beating the hell out of on another. It was the last time his father had touched him and Severus had only wished he'd been able to do it sooner.
"And now that I have your attention, let me clear something up for you," Harry continued, undisturbed. "If I was only hanging around your office to get more 'open doors', don't you think I would have searched you out before the ballet was cast? Do you think I need you to further myself? Because if you do, then I don't even want to talk to you anymore, let alone let you touch me."
"Then why did you keep coming back?"
"Because I liked going back. Do I actually need more of a reason than I enjoyed talking to you?"
"Yes!" Severus snapped for lack of anything better to say. Harry had thrown him completely off guard. Severus hadn't expected him to do anything but stammer out denials before fleeing. The fact that Harry was still standing there, looking insulted and angry truly surprised him.
Harry sagged back against the wall with a flabbergasted expression. "Seriously?"
It was very seldom that Severus was at a loss for words, but this situation certainly qualified. He stared at Harry for a long moment before deciding he didn't need to speak at all. Instead, Snape grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him flush against him, searching his face for a moment before kissing Harry just as fiercely as he had before. He heard Harry hum in pleasure before his fingers returned to their original place in Harry's messy hair, pulling but not as hard.
Realizing that Harry wasn't going to pull away, Severus began to relax, softening the kiss into something slow and sensual, tasting and exploring Harry's mouth, moaning softly when Harry's tongue brushed against his own.
Harry pushed away first, face flushed and this time not from the cold. "Are we okay?" he asked.
Severus stepped back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The last time he'd felt this off balance due to another person, it hadn't ended well for him. It had been an absolute disaster.
"I don't know," he admitted, frowning. He started when Harry latched onto his left wrist, twisting it towards him.
"I've got to go. How late are you staying tonight?"
"I'll be here when you're finished," Severus said. "Come by the office before you leave."
Harry nodded, rising on his toes before dusting an uncertain kiss over the flaming red spot on Severus' cheek that he'd struck earlier. "Bye," he whispered, before dashing off down the hall.
Severus watched him go, hope and fear at war within him. When Harry was out of sight, he returned to his office, locking the door behind him, needing time alone to think.
After reading the same paragraph four times without a clue as to what it said, he gave up, throwing the paper down on the desk and burying his face in his hands.
What was he doing, getting involved with a dancer? It was madness!
But he knew that he wasn't going to stop, that he couldn't. Potter was under his skin, invading his thoughts and his dreams in ways that made him feel like an adolescent. He wanted him, and more than that, he didn't want anyone else to touch him. There were certain measures he could take to prevent anyone else from touching the boy, a declaration of sorts that Potter was his property and there would be severe consequences to anyone else who so much as smiled in his direction, but that would involve him admitting he had any feelings.
He tapped his pen against his high-polished desk as a devious thought circled his mind. Perhaps a declaration wasn't so far off the mark. There were easier ways to lay claim on a person than words. Potter was hopelessly infatuated with him after all; he wouldn't even notice if Severus were to mark him as his. Not until someone had the gall to point it out.
A pleased smirk on his face, Severus went back to his paperwork, thoughts of Potter fluttering in the back of his mind.
Lavesoir glared at Harry when he leapt onto the stage, sliding on the wooden planks to his place. "Must you always be late from break, Potter?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied, ruffling his hair, before fumbling with the large black buttons on his jacket.
Joleen grinned, helping him shrug off his jacket and toss it off into the front row of the audience.
"Ready?" Harry asked her, holding out his hand and smiling.
"You're in a good mood," Joleen replied, taking position in front of Harry.
Harry snorted, "I'm confused as hell, but oddly happy."
"You wrinkled your vest," she teased, smiling at him.
"And that should make the costumiers oddly happy."
"Potter!" Lavesoir shouted.
Grinning at Joleen, Harry looked at Lavesoir. "Yes, sir. Ready when you are."
"I'm so pleased," Lavesoir groused, though he was looking at Harry weirdly.
Harry winked. "Good to know, sir."
"Harry!" Joleen cried, shaking her head in amazement.
"Dancers," Lavesoir muttered, closing his eyes, before gesturing towards the conductor of the orchestra.
For the first time in weeks, practice flew by and Harry was completely focused. He didn't miss a step and wasn't particularly upset when others around him did things to throw him out of sync. Not even Jerard could get to him tonight, which seemed to confuse the blond to the point he was getting yelled at more than Harry was.
Harry sank down in the front row, watching the women prepare for the dance of the snowflakes, happy for the opportunity to rest his feet and observe a portion of the performance.
He didn't look up when Joleen sat beside him, lacing her arm through his. "Will you tell me what happened during break?"
"I'd like to, but I can't," he said with an apologetic smile. "There's other people involved and I don't want to speak out of turn."
Joleen's blue eyes scanned his face for some hint of what he wasn't saying, but for once Harry was certain she wouldn't be able to discern his secrets. "So long as you are happy then," she settled on as she leaned her head on his shoulder.
After practice, and a speech by Lavesoir on the perils of opening night that was no doubt supposed to be reassuring but ended up scaring them all to death, Harry gathered up his things. He was waiting for the theatre to clear out before going to Snape's office. He'd just put his shoes into his bag when Lavesoir moved to stand beside him.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Potter," the man said, looking out over the nearly empty auditorium.
Harry's hand froze for a moment before he straightened. "I think I do. Is it going to be a problem?" he asked, frowning.
"Only if you hurt him, then you and I will have a big problem," Lavesoir said, turning his head to look intently at Harry.
Slinging the gym bag over his shoulders, Harry scowled. "Yes, sir."
Lavesoir sighed. "You underestimate your potential to hurt him," he said, running a hand over his face. "Don't let it distract you; I can't afford to have any more bumbling out of you."
Harry couldn't quite look Lavesoir in the eye when he said, "I understand, sir."
With a last penetrating look, Lavesoir crossed to the other side of the stage to speak with the conductor. "Sir!" Harry called, striding across the stage, wincing as his trainers pinched his raw feet. Lavesoir rolled his eyes, gesturing to the young woman conducting to wait a moment. "Can you leave the CD player?" he asked in a rush, bouncing on his heels to release some pressure on his toes.
"If you wish," Lavesoir said dismissively, taking the arm of the conductor and talking in hurried tones as he ushered her from the stage and toward his office.
Harry bit his lip as he watched them vanish out the side door. Once certain they weren't returning, Harry rounded on the small CD player they had been using earlier that morning before the orchestra had been set up, and plugged it back into its extension cord. He looked through the stack of CDs until he found the one he was looking for. He put it in to the player and checked the volume before smiling and going in search Snape.