Word Count: 3001

Warnings: Scars / Self… dislike?

All The Time In The World

He stumbled as he was pushed back against the wall, but strong hands held him up and in place, as they traded harsh, desperate kisses. Harry was lost to the sensation, his common sense, his logic, all forced away by the all consuming pleasure.

And then, as soon as it had begun, it was gone, and Harry was left panting, using the wall to lean on, barely able to hold himself up with legs that felt like jelly.

Snape was pressed against the opposite wall, his chest heaving, his hair a mess and his eyes wild.

"We can't do that," he said, shaking his head. "Not… not now."

Harry stared at him for a long moment—long enough for him to catch his breath. "After, then. Promise me that you'll come and find me when it's all over."

"Potter—"

"Promise me," Harry demanded. "Give me… give me something to hold onto."

Nodding his head slowly, Snape replied, "Okay, Potter. I promise. If we're both alive when it's all said and done… I'll come and find you, and we'll talk."

Harry smiled shakily. "Thank you."

…

"You've been avoiding me."

Harry startled, his hand twitching in his pocket, as though to reach for his wand. His instincts were still all over the place. Forcing himself to get some control, he shook his head.

"I haven't."

"Then I suppose there's a reason that I haven't seen hide nor hair of you since the end of the battle, despite us being at many of the same events?" Snape replied, leaning against the wall beside Harry.

"You saw me at your trial," Harry pointed out, knowing that he was being ridiculous. "That was after the battle."

"I saw you give an impassioned speech in my defence, and then practically vanish into thin air immediately after the verdict was made," Snape corrected, his tone soft.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, the tugging of the roots grounding him slightly. "I don't know what you want me to say. I didn't realise that you would be so eager to see me, Headmaster."

Snape's head tilted slightly as he regarded Harry. "While I would usually put that down to a simple bout of your usual idiocy, I think that there's more to it than that. Wasn't it you who made me promise that we'd talk, if we each survived to see the end of the war?"

Harry swallowed hard, and then inclined his head. "It was, of course, you're right. I… do not intend to hold you to that promise though, so if that's why you've been searching me out, you can stop without feeling bad about it."

"Potter…"

Harry pushed off the wall and offered Snape a wry smile. "It looks like I'm wanted over there, Headmaster. It was good to see you."

He walked away without looking back.

He could feel Snape's gaze on his back the whole time.

…

Harry surveyed himself critically in the slightly murky mirror of the tent bathroom, and sighed heavily. Another scar to add to his quickly growing collection.

There had been a time when he hadn't been bothered about his scars, but…

He stared at the circle mark that the locket had left behind.

He had more than his fair share of scars already, and his mission wasn't even close to being finished. Even if he survived the war—which would be a miracle on its own—how disfigured would he be by the end of it?

…

"You didn't sign up for Auror training."

It wasn't a question, and Harry chuckled quietly. "Still spying on me, Headmaster? I'd have thought that you'd well and truly fulfilled your duty by now. Sure you have more important things to be concentrating on, than my career choices?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "It's hardly spying when it's been all over the front page, Potter. What are you planning to do instead?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know yet. I just… I don't want to keep fighting. I've done enough of that."

Snape accepted the coffee from the waitress, and Harry pushed his own cup forwards for a refill, smiling up at her as he murmured his gratitude. He took a sip of his coffee, and then looked across the table at Snape.

He wasn't sure why the man was looking for him so often. Despite their singular encounter before Harry's Horcrux hunt had begun in earnest, he hadn't actually expected Snape to want anything to do with him after the war was over.

It was… decidedly odd.

Snape watched him right back, and Harry couldn't even begin to imagine what was going through his mind.

"You should consider getting a mastery, Potter," Snape said, eventually.

Harry frowned. "For what purpose?"

His lips tilting up slightly, Snape replied, "Hogwarts always needs a Defence Professor. If anyone is going to last longer than a year, I would put money on it being you."

He left the cafe—his coffee untouched on the little table—leaving Harry alone at the table once more.

…

"Please stop looking at me like that," Harry murmured, as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Hermione and Ron shared a glance, and then Ron started prattling on about joining George at the joke shop instead of going into Auror training, and Harry really loved his best friends.

He just couldn't bear to see the pity in their eyes when they saw his collection of scars.

The one on his head was now the least of his problems. Ron and Hermione—and Poppy Pomfrey, at her insistence—were the only ones who knew the extent of the damage that had been done to Harry's body.

It would remain that way, if Harry had anything to do with it. The thought of showing himself to anyone else filled him with dread, and left him with nausea in the pit of his stomach.

…

"I can't believe it's been three years already," Hermione said, linking arms with Harry as the two of them, with Ron on Hermione's other side, holding her hand, walked up the sloping grass towards the castle.

Harry nodded.

Hogwarts had been repaired in the years since the battle, but Harry could still picture the smoke and the rubble and the destruction when he looked at the first place that he'd ever considered home.

Still, it was nice to see the castle back to her former glory, and the crowds of smiling people only made that better.

The Headmaster had been rather insistent that the anniversary be a celebration of life—and of those that gave their lives—and Harry could appreciate the sentiment behind that.

It was certainly better than listening to endless speeches and readings about the people that had died, likely given by people who had never even met them.

Harry saw the very moment that Snape noticed him, and he watched the various emotions play out on the man's face for a moment before he nodded his head in greeting.

While they saw one another occasionally, Snape hadn't brought up their promised conversation again, and Harry was grateful for that.

"Potter," Snape greeted, when he found him a little later. "I'm glad that you could make it."

Harry smiled at him. "I wouldn't have missed it. Any excuse to come home, I suppose."

Snape's lips tilted up slightly. "Then, perhaps, my offer won't be rejected outright."

"Offer?" Harry asked, his eyebrows raising a little in question.

Snape held out a scroll. "I'll require an answer in two weeks, Harry. I hope that it's a positive one."

Harry took the scroll, making a mental note of the use of his first name, and carefully slid it open. When he'd read it, he looked back at Snape, and quirked his head to the side. "Really?"

"I'm surprised that you're shocked, Potter. Wasn't I the one to recommend you get your mastery, for this very reason?"

Harry nodded slowly. "I didn't expect the offer to come this early. I'm only twenty."

"Almost twenty-one," Snape pointed out. "And you have more experience than most fifty years olds. Will you take the job?"

Harry smiled. "You knew that I would before you even gave me the scroll, Sir."

Snape arched his eyebrow, and then shook his head slightly. "I've learned to anticipate nothing and expect everything from you, Mr Potter."

…

"You can't spend your whole life alone, Harry," Hermione implored, when Harry had once again wormed his way out of dating talks, over Sunday dinner at the Burrow. "You're more than your scars."

"The first time I let anyone see them, the Prophet will know the day after," Harry replied, shaking his head. "The few people I trust to see them… well, I don't want to sleep with you or Ron, or any of the Weasleys for that matter."

"And the Headmaster?"

"What do you—"

"Harry. We both know that I'm not stupid."

Harry felt his face flush, and he looked away. "It was only a kiss, Hermione. It didn't mean anything."

"If you really believe that, then you're an idiot. It meant something to you, and it meant something to him."

"Oh, tell you that himself, did he?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and swatted at him with a pillow.

"The way that he's always there speaks for itself, Harry. He's waiting for you to be ready."

"What if I'm never ready?"

She sighed, but offered him a small smile. "Then I expect he'd still be waiting."

…

Harry leant back in his chair and rubbed at his tired eyes. He'd finally finished marking the final essays of the term, which meant that the next week was his own to enjoy.

He really needed to stop assigning so much homework for his students. He was punishing himself more than them, what with some of the drivel that he'd been forced to read.

From the doorway, he heard a throat being cleared and he looked up to see the Headmaster watching him.

"Severus," Harry greeted softly, sitting up a little straighter in his seat.

It was weird, using the older man's first name, but it was getting more natural the more that he did it.

He still couldn't call Professor McGonagall 'Minerva' without stumbling over her name like an overeager first year.

"You're finished for the evening?" Severus asked, stepping into Harry's office.

Harry nodded. "Finished, period. The holidays are now mine to enjoy."

"Oh? Any plans?" Severus asked, leaning his hip against the desk.

"Sleep," Harry replied with a soft chuckle. "Lots and lots of sleep. I promised Andromeda that I'd take Teddy for a few days as well; he's getting more and more energetic with every year that passes."

"I can imagine," Severus replied. "Well, for this evening, can I interest you in scotch and fine conversation? The professors are getting together in the staff room."

Harry thought about refusing; he was already tired, and honestly, one drink would likely be enough to make him fall over, but he didn't want to be rude.

Despite his occasional rudeness, he genuinely did appreciate the measures that Severud went to in order to try and include him in the activities of the staff—and everything else that the man had done for him, as well.

Nodding his head, Harry pushed his chair back a little and stood up, stretching as he did so. His chair was comfortable enough, but he'd never been particularly good at sitting in one position for too long. His muscles felt stiff.

He gestured to the door. "After you."

…

"Harry—"

Harry shook his head, pushing through the crowds as quickly as he could to get out of the bar. He could hear Seamus repeatedly calling his name behind him, but he ignored it, Apparating as soon as he'd made it to a clear alley.

He could still feel the hands that had tried to feel him up; even through his clothes he felt dirty. He should have known when Seamus had first invited him out for a night in the Muggle world that this would be the outcome.

Muggles couldn't sense magic the way that witches and wizards could; they couldn't read the very firm 'Do Not Touch' that Harry practically emanated, and he knew that—with his scars covered—he wasn't exactly ugly.

He could be considered handsome, even, he supposed.

When he was clothed, anyway.

Reaching the safety of his flat, Harry poured himself a drink and drank it in one long swallow, before he turned and threw the glass at the wall, staring at the mess long after the satisfying shatter.

Would he ever be normal?

…

Severus led Harry to the middle of the dance floor, and twirled him into a standard waltz position, his hands perfectly placed. Harry shivered at the gentle touch, but he allowed himself to be led.

He could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall on them, and he swallowed hard.

"Focus on me," Severus murmured.

Harry nodded, meeting his eyes as he was led around the floor expertly, almost visibly relieved when slowly, other couples joined them on the dance floor.

"That was sneaky, Headmaster," he murmured softly, so that nobody passing would hear him.

"It is traditional for me to open the dancing," Severus replied quietly. "And there is none that I want in my arms more than you."

"Severus—"

"I've been waiting for you, Harry. That isn't going to change, just because we've shared a dance."

Harry shook his head and dropped his gaze. "You shouldn't wait for me."

"I see the way that you look at me," Severus countered carefully. "You keep me at arm's length, but your eyes… your eyes want me. They pull me, and beg me to stay. What are you so afraid of, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer.

He waited until the end of the song, bowed respectfully, and then walked away, leaving the hall as fast as he could without running. It didn't escape his notice that, for the first time since they'd kissed, he'd been completely comfortable with the touch of another person that wasn't Ron or Hermione.

…

He tried not to notice the hurt that flashed across Molly's face when he flinched away from her hug.

He tried to ignore the sadness in Arthur's eyes, when Harry shifted out of the way of an outstretched hand.

He looked away when Ginny bit her lip to stop her tears, when he avoided the lips that tried to touch his cheek.

It wasn't that he didn't love them; he did, fully and completely.

He just couldn't cope with them touching him. He was cursed, his skin marred; destroyed, even. He couldn't bear for them to touch him and realised just how badly he'd been damaged.

He didn't want them to realise that he was unfixable.

…

Severus found him perched at the top of the Astronomy Tower, his legs dangling over the side. He joined him silently, sitting beside him, almost close enough for their shoulders to touch, their thighs to brush against each other.

Almost.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and then turned his head to look at Severus.

"When we…" he paused, and then shook his head. "When we kissed, when I asked you to promise me a conversation, I knew what I was offering you. I knew what I was hoping for."

Severus' lips twitched, barely visible in the moonlight. "And what was that?"

Harry chuckled slightly but then sobered. "I was offering you someone… whole. Or, only perhaps slightly damaged. I wanted you… I wanted all of you, for as long as you'd let me."

"And now?"

"Oh, I still want all of you," Harry admitted quietly. "That never went away. I think you know that."

Severus inclined his head slightly. "Then what you feel that you can offer must be the problem."

It wasn't a question, but Harry nodded anyway.

"The way… that year left its mark on me. So many marks. I can't bear to have people see. I can't bear to have people touch me."

Severus looked down for a moment, and then slowly, he reached out, capturing Harry's hand in his own. Severus' hand was warmer than Harry's own; Harry had been sitting out in the chilly evening air for much longer.

Sparks trailed up Harry's skin, following the path of Severus' thumb as he caressed over the back of his hand.

"You seem okay to me," Severus pointed out.

Harry let out a shaky breath. "I realised in the Hall that your touch doesn't… it doesn't bother me. It… it affects me, but not the way that other people do."

"Oh?"

"It feels good."

"Harry," Severus murmured, his tone serious. "Are you ready to stop running from me?"

Harry bit his lip for a moment, his eyes on their joined hands. He shifted, pulling away as he stood up. He dusted himself off, and then looked at Severus; his dark eyes stared up at Harry, simply waiting for his decision.

"I… we'll have to go slow. I don't," Harry shook his head. "I don't know how to do this."

Severus nodded, and then smiled. "You have no idea how infuriatingly charming I find you, Harry Potter."

Harry laughed at that, and then, finally, he held his hand out to Severus.

Severus took it immediately, letting Harry pull him to his feet. Their fingers linked together like an intricate puzzle, a perfect fit as they clasped hands.

And Harry didn't flinch. He didn't pull away.

Severus leant down slightly and brushed a kiss to Harry's temple.

"Come along, Mr Potter. I've been away from the Hall for long enough; it's time to go and see what damage the miscreants have done in my absence."

Harry smiled, and let himself be led back down the stairs.

He was still nervous, still scared that his scars would be too much, even while he knew deep in his heart that Severus would never turn him away.

It would take time.

Luckily, they had all the time in the world.