Rating: M
Warnings: Slash, swearing, infidelity, probably a bit OOC
Pairings: SS/HP and HP/GW
Genres: Romance, Drama, Angst
Summary: Harry's engaged to Ginny, but then along comes Severus Snape. SLASH, SS/HP, POST DH
Chapter Three: A Drink with Severus Snape
The fireplace burst into emerald green life and a beautiful, red haired witch stumbled out onto the carpet, dusting soot off her green and gold robes and wearing a huge smile on her face.
"We won!" she cried out happily, flinging her arms in the air. "We qualified! We're in the European Championships!"
"That's great," Harry beamed, getting to his feet and pulling Ginny into a hug. "Fantastic! Congratulations."
"We totally slaughtered the Dijon Dragons," she told him cheerfully, "and we trashed the Falmouth Falcons, although they put up a good fight – knocked Rhiannon right off her broom."
"Beaten by an all girl team," Harry chuckled. "The Falcons must be fuming."
"Yup," Ginny smiled, kicking off her shoes. "Gwenog reckons we've made a new enemy out of them."
"Well, just be careful, OK?" Harry said. "I don't want you to have any nasty accidents."
Ginny rolled her eyes, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and headed for the bathroom.
It was nice to have her home, Harry thought as he sat back down. No more cold, empty beds at night, no more talking to himself in the mornings…everything was back to normal – or at least, as normal as things could ever be, what with Harry having a job that demanded he drop everything at a seconds notice to chase some criminal half way across the country, and Ginny having a job that required her to disappear for odd days whenever she had a match abroad. But still, it was a good life – exciting and comfortable – and he wouldn't have swapped it for the world.
With a happy sigh, he picked up the parchment and quill from the coffee table and sat back to examine the list he'd been making. To avoid any uncomfortable silences with Snape on Friday, he'd been jotting down a list of things they could talk about; Lily Potter, the war, Snape surviving said war. He wasn't sure if he should mention Dumbledore again, but he'd written that down, just in case. Of course, he could always talk about himself but he couldn't really see Snape taking that much of an interest.
It was pathetic, really, to be this nervous about seeing Snape. It wasn't like he was a student anymore and had to respect the boundaries; this time, if Snape said something nasty to Harry then Harry could just stand up and say something right back without fear of punishment – not that that had ever stopped him before. He hoped it wouldn't come to that though; he really wanted to make a go of this friendship thing with Snape; he wanted to show him just how grateful he was for everything the professor had done for him.
Feeling confident, he smiled to himself and folded up the parchment and put it in his pocket. He made his way into the kitchen to put dinner on, decided he couldn't be bothered with cooking, and headed upstairs to the bathroom.
"Gin?" he called through the door, "You fancy fish and chips tonight? Or pizza or Chinese or something?"
When he received no reply, he opened the door and stepped into the warm room. His glasses instantly fogged up and he tapped them with his wand before glancing about the room.
Ginny was stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, running her hands through her hair as she rinsed away the last of the shampoo.
Before she'd returned home, Harry had made sure to buy all of her favourite things. He'd stacked up on fizzing wizzbees, pumpkin pasties, peppermint toads, chocolate éclairs, Mrs. Weasley's special chicken and ham pie, and, of course, the mango scented body wash she loved so much, which she now reached out for after pushing her hair out of her eyes.
Harry watched as she lathered herself up; her arms, her stomach, her gorgeous breasts which he had missed so much, so firm, never failing to fit in the palm of his hands so perfectly. Her newly tanned skin seemed to shine with a healthy glow under the soft bathroom lights and Harry eyes followed her hand, down her hips, down her long legs…
By the time he looked up, she was smiling at him. He blushed slightly at being caught staring but her smile just widened and there was a cheeky glimmer in her eyes. She brought a hand up to her breast and squeezed, before lightly fingering one of her nipples, pinching and circling, until it hardened to a peak. Then she let her hand trail down her body.
Harry's cock twitched.
Yes, he thought as he stripped himself of his clothes, it was very nice to have her home.
"Oh, I almost forgot," said Ginny; she was huddled on the sofa, wrapped in her flowery pink bathrobe, eating the takeaway fish and chips out of their paper wrappings. "Gwenog's throwing a party on Friday night to celebrate the team qualifying. You'll be there, right?"
Harry, who was huddled at the other end of the sofa, looked up.
"I can't, Gin," he said, "I'm really sorry but I've made plans already."
"So?" she said. "Can't you cancel them?"
Harry shook his head. "You know I hate cancelling on people."
Ginny pouted and batted her eyelashes. "Just this once? Pretty please? For me?"
Tempted as he was by the sounds of a Quidditch party, he couldn't. He was meeting Snape that night and if he cancelled then the man might not agree to give him another chance. He really didn't want to risk it.
"I'm sorry," he said again, "but it's important. Besides, you know Rhiannon and I don't exactly get along." Rhiannon was the Holyhead Harpies goal keeper who never failed to glare at Harry whenever she saw him.
"You don't even try!" Ginny protested. "If you'd just give her a chance…"
"Give her a chance? Gin, she's an overzealous lesbian feminist who thinks all men are rapists."
"Oh, she's not…that bad."
"She punched Charlie in the face," he pointed out.
"He came on to her," she defended.
"He asked where the toilets were!"
"The point is," she went on, pointing a chip at him, "you should get to know her more. You have a lot in common."
"Like?" he asked, reaching for his drink.
"Well…you're both good at Quidditch," she said. "And you both fancy me."
Harry laughed but shook his head. "It doesn't matter anyway," he said. "I can't go. Next time I will though, I promise."
Ginny grumbled as he drained the rest of his drink and got up to put the rubbish in the bin.
"It's nice to know where your priorities lie," she called out after him.
Harry stuck out his tongue and was promptly hit in the face with a soggy chip.
Laughter and old 80's pop music drifted out of the windows as Harry stood waiting outside the friendly looking pub. The small stone building, very much like the cottages in the village, had a colourful display of flowers; large plant pots sat around the edges of the tavern and lovely little hanging baskets hung at the corners of the windows as ivy crept neatly up the walls. The words "The Lion" were emblazoned above the door in red and gold, next to which hung a wooden sign depicting a sleeping lion.
Every now and then Harry would look up when he heard footsteps approaching, hoping to see Severus Snape striding towards him, robes billowing just for old times' sake. So far, however, he had been disappointed and the only people who had entered the pub had been complete strangers, although he had noticed that some of them had been wizards; (it was easy to tell the wizards and muggles apart – the muggles were the ones who walked right passed him without a second glance and the wizards were the ones who stopped, wide-eyed, and stared at him as if he were some kind of supernatural being.)
A warm, gentle breeze sent the trees rustling and the sign approve Harry's head creaked on its hinges; the lion gave an almighty snore and turned around to make itself more comfortable.
After a few more people (muggles this time) had entered the pub, Harry decided it was time to check his watch. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and glanced down; 8:03. He frowned and gazed about the village square.
It was only three minutes, he told himself; three minutes were nothing! Although, technically, it was something – you could play a whole song in three minutes!
Feeling a little anxious, he looked around the square again; he didn't know whether to be amused or mortified at the idea of Snape standing him up!
After another three minutes had gone by (and in which he'd seriously started to consider walking the short distance to Snape's house and forcing his company on the stubborn git!) he noticed a lone, dark figure making its way briskly across the square. As it stepped under a street light, Harry let of a breath of relief.
"You're late," he called out, but he was smiling as Snape drew closer.
Snape stopped in front of him and gave a snort. He pulled Harry's wrist towards him and shoved up his sleeve.
"Your watch is seven minutes fast," he informed him, in lofty tones. "I am, in fact, one minute early."
Harry stared, feeling incredibly stupid.
"Shall we go in?" he suggested, ignoring the smirk that had appeared on Snape's face.
"Lead the way."
Walking into the pub was like walking into a muggle version of the Gryffindor common room. Large, comfy-looking armchairs surrounded an unlit fireplace whilst oak tables and chairs were scattered about the room at various intervals. The walls, which were covered in old-fashioned red and brown wallpaper, were lined with unmoving paintings and photographs of nearby sites and sceneries. The lights were all electrical but were styled to look like fancy candelabras, some fixed onto the walls, others standing on tables.
As Snape shut the door and Harry stepped further into the room, there was a noticeable dip in sound as all wizarding eyes swivelled in his direction. Smiling at no one in particular, he made his way over to the bar.
"This is so cool," said Harry, admiring the room as he waited to be served. "It's just like being back at Hogwarts again."
Snape grimaced and eyed the armchairs.
"It's all so…Dumbledore," he said distastefully.
Harry chuckled and waited for one of the bartenders to come over, trying to pretend that his name wasn't being whispered on peoples' lips. He'd known going into a public place like this would draw attention to himself, especially in Godric's Hollow, but he had wanted to visit the little pub that had most likely been a part of his parents' lives when they had lived here. He'd been visiting the graveyard every year but he'd never had the confidence to go anywhere else.
After a minute or so, a dark haired barmaid came over and smiled brightly at him.
"What can I get you, Mr. Potter?" she asked.
"Oh," he said stupidly, caught off guard – he'd been sure the bartenders were muggle. "Erm, I'll have a butterbeer if you've got one. Snape?"
"Firewhisky. I have a feeling I'll need it."
After Harry had paid for the drinks (which were charmed to look like muggle ones) he followed Snape over to a table in the far right corner of the pub. They sat down and Harry took a sip of his drink. He felt extremely nervous.
"So," he said, tapping his fingers on the side of his can of butterbeer. "Thank you for coming."
"I didn't do it for you Potter," Snape assured him. "I simply wanted to get away from Dumbledore's mad portrait.
"How is Dumbledore?" he asked.
"Dead," Snape replied.
Harry flushed a little. "I know that," he said. "I meant the portrait."
"I know you did."
Harry glared at him. "You're trying to make this as awkward as you possibly can, aren't you?" he guessed.
Snape simply smirked and took a swig of his drink.
Harry shook his head and decided it was best to move on.
"There's something I want to get out of the way first, so I'm just going to get right to it," he said. "How did you survive? I mean, obviously I know Madam Pomfrey helped a lot by shoving an antidote down your throat and filling you with blood replenishing potions, but even she was surprised that it worked; she said that the amount of poison in your body should have killed you."
Snape considered him for a moment before putting his glass down and fixing Harry with one of his looks.
"I invented Sectumsempra," he said, talking slowly as if to a child (or, Harry thought, a dim-witted student.) "I also invented a spell to heal those wounds. The snake bite was nothing compared to that. And after spending so much time around that bloody snake, do you really think that I didn't take every precaution necessary? My body was full of anti-venoms. They managed to sustain me just long enough. Although," Snape added, rather accusingly, "by the time someone finally decided to retrieve my body, I was teetering on the brink of death."
"We were fighting a war!" Harry protested. "And we were so sure that you had died. There were other things to do than add another dead body to the pile. There were injuries to heal, people to comfort."
"And yet…you skipped that part and went straight to bed, did you not?" said Snape.
Harry wasn't sure what to say to that; he wanted to defend himself but every time he tried to think of an excuse, he was hit by a wave of guilt.
Snape scowled at him. "Five hours I was in that shack, lying in a pool of my own blood, not able to live, not able to die! I knew you hated me, Potter, but that much?"
Harry stared, dumbstruck. "I – I didn't –"
"What? You didn't think? You didn't care? By the time Minerva found me, I was praying death would come because I was in so much agony."
"But I didn't –"
"And so I was healed, saved, and I realised I didn't want to be a part of this world anymore. I had nothing and my job was done. So I fled. And then I had to endure seeing your face on the front cover of The Daily Prophet everyday as you attempted to clear my name. Felt guilty did you? Knowing you had left me there for dead whilst you carried on with your happy little –"
"I didn't know, Snape!" he shouted, so loud that heads turned in their direction. "I didn't know you were alive," he continued in a lower voice. "If I had, I would have been back there as soon as humanly possible! But I thought you were dead. I didn't want to go back there and see your body. I'm sorry, OK?"
Snape scoffed and looked at Harry in disgust. "Sorry?" he mocked. "You're not sorry, Potter. You don't care about anyone but yourself."
"If that was true then I wouldn't be here, would I?" he said strongly.
Snape sneered and shook his head. "The only reason you are here, Potter, is because you have a guilty conscience that needs soothing." And with that he downed the rest his drink, stood up, and made to head for the door.
Harry shot out a hand and fastened it about the man's wrist before he could take two steps.
"Please," he said, looking up at him. He didn't want this to be the end of things, especially when a part of him realised that what Snape had said was probably true, even if he hadn't acknowledged it before now. Snape had every right to be angry.
"Please," he said again. "I'm sorry, I really am. The moment I found out you were still alive, I rushed down to see you, to thank you, to apologise. But you were unconscious. And then the next day you were gone. Please, sit down."
Snape stood still, eyes locked on Harry's. He seemed to be struggling with himself, fighting his own personal battle and Harry imagined he knew just what that involved – go home to an empty house with nothing but Dumbledore's portrait for company, or stay here with Harry and actually have a conversation.
Harry hid a smile as Snape sat back down with a sigh.
"I'll have another," he said, indicating his empty glass.
Harry nodded and went to the bar.
By the time Harry rejoined their table, Snape had taken off his long coat. He was now sat, legs outstretched, wearing black pants, a white dress shirt, and a black waistcoat. Harry thought it seemed pretty formal for a drink in a pub, but then at the same time he couldn't really imagine Snape wearing jeans and a t-shirt so he figured it made sense.
"So," said Snape dryly, picking up his firewhisky. "You killed the Dark Lord. Congratulations." He toasted Harry with his drink and downed half the glass.
"I hate it when people say I killed him," Harry muttered. "It makes me sound like a murderer. I didn't even kill him; I used Expelliarmus – not exactly Avada Kedavra is it?"
"Still," said Snape, "it had the desired effect. He had the Elder Wand and you were its Master. You had to know what would happen should he use the killing curse."
"He'd already used it on me once that day," Harry told him. "I died. I saw Dumbledore. I came back. But I didn't kill him. Obviously I wanted to and if I'd had the power, the strength, the courage to cast Avada Kedavra then I might have done…but I didn't…and I'm glad I didn't. I'm glad it happened the way it did. But people don't see it the way I do – they walk up to me in the streets and thank me for killing him."
Snape, who had been watching intently as he'd talked, looked down into his glass. He swirled its contents round gently, looking thoughtful.
"Sometimes…" he said, slowly. "Sometimes in order to stop evil, you have to make certain sacrifices. Sometimes you have to go to places you'd rather avoid." He lifted his eyes from his drink and looked at Harry. "If you hadn't have killed him – and yes, Potter, that is what you did…if you hadn't killed him then hundreds of people would have died."
Harry didn't say anything but nodded his silent agreement. He'd always known he'd done the right thing, just like he'd always known he would do it again and again if he had to, but sometimes the way people reacted towards him, the way they worded their thanks…you don't thank murderers! But then, as Snape had said, sometimes it's the only way to stop something.
He cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink.
"Well," he said, trying to push the uneasiness aside, "At least I proved that Expelliarmus is a good spell. Some people in the DA used to laugh when I tried to teach it to them; they said it would be useless against Voldemort."
"You should never underestimate magic," Snape said and there was a trace of a smile on his lips.
"Or love," said Harry. "Dumbledore was always going on about love being important; I always thought he was barmy. But then I realised what he meant. Love is a very powerful thing; it sways us in certain directions; it gives us courage and something to believe in; it helps us stand together."
Snape rolled his eyes. "This is all very touching, Potter, but what does this have to do with anything?"
"Narcissa Malfoy saved my life you know," he went on as if Snape hadn't spoken. "She told Voldemort I was dead when she knew I was alive all because she wanted to be with her son."
"Again," said Snape, "What does this have to do with anything?"
Harry took another gulp of his drink and set his glass aside.
"I still have your memories."
Snape's jaw tightened as he stared at Harry, but he said nothing.
"I think you know what I'm going to ask you," said Harry. "Were you really in love with my mum?"
"That is none of your business," he replied stiffly.
"She was my mother, of course it's my business."
"You weren't even born!"
"It makes no difference!"
"Potter!" he warned.
"I just want to understand," he told him. "Please."
In all honesty, Harry wasn't sure why it was so important for him to find out. Maybe it was some morbid fascination he had with how his cruel potions professor had loved someone he couldn't have, or maybe it was simply because it concerned his mother, someone whom he would dearly have loved to know more about. Whatever it was, the need was there and he was grateful when Snape started to speak – perhaps he had given in; perhaps he had wanted to talk. Perhaps it was the firewhisky.
"What I felt for your mother," he said, quietly, "was never anything sexual. She was my best friend and yes, I did love her. I wanted her all to myself. I always found something horrible to say about the boys she dated but she found it endearing that I was so protective of her." He paused and his eyes grew dark. "Then she started dating James Potter. Of all the people in the school, she fell in love with him, the person who I despised beyond all others. It felt like a betrayal."
Harry was silent as he thought over Snape's words. He tried to bite his tongue but…
"Are you trying to say it's her fault that you joined the Death Eaters?" he asked.
"Nothing of the sort," he said. "That was my fault." He left it at that and, despite everything, Harry was afraid to push. He quickly cast around for a change of subject but before he could think of what else was on his list, Snape spoke again.
"I no longer have the Dark Mark," he said to Harry, whose eyebrows rose at Snape confiding something like that in him.
"Can I have a look?" he asked, sitting forwards. Snape hesitated but pulled up his sleeve. There, etched into the skin of his arm, was a faded lightning bolt, the same as the one that had marked Harry's forehead for so long.
"Do all the Death Eaters have those?" he asked as Snape pushed his sleeve back down.
"I wouldn't know," he replied. "But I assume so, yes."
"Oh. Well, I can no longer speak to snakes," he told him. "Can you still fly?"
Snape nodded.
After that, conversation became a lot easier, especially as the drinks continued to flow. After five firewhiskys, Snape actually asked how Teddy Lupin was doing and Harry told him, happily, of how he visited his godson every weekend and how well he and Andromeda were doing. "We're taking him to the aquarium tomorrow," he told him happily; "He loves fish. Wouldn't dare eat one though."
He told him of Ron and Hermione living together and of how Percy Weasley's wife, Audrey, had just given birth ("Not another bloody Weasley!") to a baby girl named Molly. He also told him of how Luna was now dating the famous Newt Scamander's grandson, Rolf, and all about Neville wanting to become a teacher at Hogwarts (Snape had almost spat his drink out at that.) When he'd told him of his engagement to Ginny, (which he'd already read about in the papers anyway) the man had simply said "congratulations" and asked for another drink.
Much too soon, closing time came and the bartenders started shooing the drunken revellers out of the pub.
Harry stood and waited as a rather inebriated Snape tried to shrug on his coat – he'd lost count of how many drinks the man had had but it didn't matter; as awkward as the evening had started out, Harry had really enjoyed himself and was quite sorry to see the night come to an end. It had been such a long time since he'd been able to just sit and talk and Snape, it turned out, was a great listener.
When Snape had finally succeeded in putting on his coat, they joined the throng of people heading for the door.
Harry looked sideways at his new friend.
"Next Friday, same time?" he asked, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck. Surprisingly, Snape agreed with his request before stumbling out of the door and falling flat on his face.
A/N: You know what I found really weird, but what was also really, really weird in itself? – Writing that little bit of non-slash between Harry and Ginny. It made me realise that I've never actually described a naked girl before and I found it extremely difficult to do. I think I've been reading waaaay too much slash.
Anyways, hope you enjoyed and please review!