Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The beggars, whores, and addicts littering the streets of every town, muggle and magical, rarely caught Severus’ attention, but there was something different about the boy loitering at the corner of Grimwillow’s only inn. Even from across the street, he could tell the boy was indeed just a boy, if not by years, then at least by his short height and thin frame, the way he seemed out of place as if his time to be safely indoors had come and gone but no one was waiting for him at home. Whoever the boy was, though, he wasn’t lost. Quite the opposite. Severus needed only five minutes observing him from the window seat of the pub where he’d daringly stopped to have a bite to eat to see the boy was no stranger to the streets.

Hood drawn over his head, hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep them warm in the chilly night, he stayed just shy away from the main street, glancing at every person passing by and making an evaluation. Families and anyone in a rush didn’t hold his interest. Those like himself, poor and ragged, received a nod of acknowledgement. But whenever someone walked by alone, men who didn’t appear to be in a hurry, his whole posture sharpened. And the wealthier they looked, the more likely he was to make his move. The oldest game in the history of mankind. Rarely a great payoff for either party, but a means to survive in the harsh world, in any case.

The burnt stew and diluted beer Severus had been served had taken ages to arrive and, forcing down the tasteless meal, he had plenty of time to observe the boy further.

For all Severus’ acuity, he couldn’t decide whether the boy was a muggle or a wizard. Muggles sometimes managed to do that, sneak into the magical parts of the town to earn a coin or two or to seek adventure that rarely ended well for them, and the wizarding circles tolerated them – up to a point. That point usually being the moment the poor muggle ceased being useful or entertaining. Then again, this boy seemed too familiar with his surroundings and his potential customers to be a random muggle. He didn’t come across as an addict or a nutcase either, his approaches too smooth and cautious, his retreats too swift and well-timed to be half-witted. Instead, he appeared calculating to a degree of mastery, a trait that spoke of long experience in his chosen profession.

Severus shifted in his seat. The warmth of the pub had seeped into his limbs, the beer bringing forth a pleasant relaxation after the long day, and watching the boy, imagining the services he might offer in the shadows, his groin tightened despite the surroundings. It had been a while for him. On the other hand, his past experiences with whores were poor, far more trouble than they were worth, in his opinion. He sank the rest of the beer and grimaced.

When Severus next looked outside, the boy was gone from his post. He scanned up and down the street, just in time to catch sight of a pair disappearing into a dark alley behind another pub across the street – how many pubs could such a small town hold? – and let out a harumph.

Good for the boy. Perhaps the man wouldn’t be too rough. Perhaps he’d even offer a bit of extra compensation for the hard work. Knowing the town, though, probably not.

Against his better judgement, Severus ordered another pint. He really had intended to leave as soon as he’d finished his errands, preferring the fine Merlot waiting at home, but something about the wretched town and its insignificant inhabitants made him want to stay a while longer.

Compared to Hogsmeade, Grimwillow was remarkably shabby. Here and there were traces of its former vitality; a library now turned into an off-licence, a school taken over by a witch claiming to be both a healer and a tattoo artist, most of the intricate detailing on the little houses gathering mould or moss. Still, the reason Severus sometimes visited was clear. As well-stocked as the shop on Knockturn Alley was, there were certain ingredients even Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary couldn’t sell under the Ministry’s watchful eye, but places like Viper’s Veil had no trouble keeping on hand. Illegal, perhaps, but valuable enough for Severus to risk a trip once or twice a year. Most of the town's economy appeared to revolve around illegal import anyway, the few shops employing a diverse range of people skilled in acquiring whatever items the customers required. Including demanding customers, like Severus.

Strange that the boy hadn’t chosen that line of work. Risky as it was to smuggle Firebull horns from Hungary or scorpion tails from Egypt, sucking a stranger’s filthy cock every night seemed riskier. Then again, the expected life span in either trade was likely to be short, so maybe the choice was just a matter of preference.

Taking a long swig and wondering once again why he was still there, drinking piss-poor beer and thinking about a random boy prostitute for far longer than he deserved, Severus caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

The pair had emerged from the alley, the man pulling up the hood of his cloak and glancing both ways down the street, the boy following half a step behind. When the boy reached out to touch his sleeve, the man spun around and shoved him so hard that he stumbled back and tripped, landing face-first in the mud. A few coins were tossed after him and despite the humiliation, the boy focused on gathering what he’d mercifully been offered, never giving the man another look.

It was only a flash – one brief moment when the boy’s hood slipped back and the dim lamplights fell on dark, overgrown hair and a pale face that seemed somehow familiar – but it was enough to catch Severus’ attention. Every fibre of his being suddenly certain he knew the boy.

He shifted again, caution and curiosity warring within him.

In all likelihood, the boy was no one. Perhaps someone Severus had met in passing over the years; his memory was excellent, after all. At worst, a former student, someone life hadn’t treated so kindly after graduation. That did happen, too. And really, he ought to be on his way.

Severus took a mouthful but spat the liquid back into the glass, unable to swallow another drop. He took some coins from his pocket and left them on the table, surely an adequate payment for the shoddy meal, then picked up his bag and stood. Enough was enough.

Too tipsy to apparate, he decided to take the floo in the inn across the street. A sensible choice anyone would have made, but he wasn’t quite drunk enough to delude himself about the real reason behind that decision.

The damp, cold air shot under his jacket the moment Severus stepped outside, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself. Bloody Irish weather. Anyone staying out at this hour had to be mad. Or desperate. Like the lonely figure shifting from one foot to the other at the corner of the inn.

Try as he might to ignore the boy, Severus’ feet steered towards him on their own accord, but instead of approaching Severus as he’d done with practically every solitary man before him, the boy turned away and slid into the shadows.

Severus frowned. Was he truly so intimidating, even when he wasn’t trying? Surely his clothes spoke of sufficient wealth, and last he checked, he wasn’t that drunk.

A flicker of annoyance stirred in his chest. Who did the boy think he was? Not that Severus had any intention of seeking his services, but the rejection was insulting all the same.

Dismissing the warnings in his head, Severus followed him into the dark alley, but the boy showed no sign that he was planning on acknowledging Severus.

“Hey, you!” Severus called, but the boy kept walking.

“Stop, I want a word with you,” he called again and, to his surprise, the boy darted into a run.

On instinct, Severus drew his wand and pointed, the spell freezing the boy in his tracks at the back of the alley beside a stone wall and a rubbish bin that looked as though it hadn’t been emptied in ages.

Severus walked towards him without hurry.

“That’s better,” he murmured as he approached the boy’s back.

“Let me go, please,” the boy stammered, his panicked voice evoking a fresh wave of familiarity, though Severus still couldn’t pinpoint the where and who.

“Calm yourself. I only want to speak with you,” Severus said and took hold of a bony shoulder. But as he turned the paralyzed boy around, what he found beneath the hood took his breath away.

It was Harry. Harry fucking Potter.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Severus could only stare. 

There, hexed immobile, was the Chosen One. The Saviour of the World, the Greatest of the Great, the one and only, Harry Potter. Dirty, tired, and somehow defeated, but still him. What in Salazar’s name had happened to him?

Severus had heard the rumours, of course. That after the war – after endless celebrations, speeches, honours, and articles all praising the miracle of a boy who had lived not once but twice and saved the entire world in the process – Harry’s life had taken a sharp downward spiral. For reasons clouded in too much hearsay, he’d apparently been unable to hold his cosy desk job at the Ministry and, after a few scandals in his private life, he’d also been kicked out of most respectable wizarding circles. Or maybe he’d made that decision himself and quietly withdrawn from places where he was no longer welcome.

Although Severus gave little credit to the rubbish the Daily Prophet pushed out on a regular basis or the gossip people were all too willing to share with anyone interested, these were the only sources of information he had left. And since the boy hadn’t returned to finish his final school year at Hogwarts like many of his classmates had, Severus had lost sight of his later life. As far as he knew, Harry had eventually vanished from the wizarding world altogether and, given the mess he’d left behind, no one had really missed him either.

Personally, Severus had always assumed the boy had finally reached the only sensible conclusion there was. That he’d given enough years for the greater good and deserved to focus solely on himself from now on, perhaps retiring to lead a quiet, peaceful life on some paradise island in the Mediterranean with the fortune he’d inherited. It was certainly what Severus would have done had he been in Harry’s place. Now, however, it seemed he’d been wrong.

“If you’re not planning to take advantage of me, could you maybe release me, Sir?”

Still had the old cheek, though.

With an absent-minded wave of his hand, Severus lifted the binding spell and watched the boy take a deep breath. Too many questions swimming in his head, he settled on the only one that appeared to make sense.

“Shouldn’t you be at home at this hour?”

An idiotic question met – as probably expected – with an equally idiotic reply.

“Seems I’ve lost my keys. I’ve been looking for them for hours.”

The stare the boy gave him was rebellious and unapologetic, and without further explanation, he turned to leave. 

Severus watched him walk to the end of the alley before he managed to find his words again. 

“I’ve been watching you, Potter.”

The boy didn’t seem to listen. Or care. He was searching for a footing on a stone wall he’d evidently climbed many times before, but his foot slipped on the wet stones, and he cursed under his breath.

“Of course you have,” he said, trying his luck with the wall again. “That’s what you always did, watched me.”

The wall wasn’t high, just above his head, but it was covered in moss and Harry slipped again, this time landing on his knees and wincing at the pain. Idly, Severus wondered why the boy didn’t simply levitate himself up or return to the main street. It wasn’t as though Severus intended to stop him. 

“Making a good living on the streets, are you?”

The question was followed by an instant pang of guilt. How easily the old habits and barbed speech returned, even when they no longer served a purpose or brought any satisfaction. Taking aim at someone so clearly beaten down was beneath anything pleasurable.

Harry’s posture stiffened, and when he stepped down from the wall and strode to him, Severus noticed how he moved with difficulty. Perhaps his latest client hadn’t treated him too carefully, after all.

Standing before him, the boy’s jaw was clenched, his eyes blazing. 

“And how is that any concern of yours?” he spat. “Unless you care to make a contribution?”

Severus took in the defiant lift of his chin and the steel in his eyes, memories of a younger boy coming back to him in vivid detail. Same pride, same arrogance. Even if that strength was now covered in filth.

“I might,” he said slowly, the mess of thoughts still seeking order in his head.

The green eyes narrowed.

“You…” Harry licked his lips, and Severus’ gut twisted at the thought that the boy was actually considering the offer, however vague. The very next second, some spark of reason returned to him. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Not spying on you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Severus said dryly. “If you must know, I was… shopping.”

At that, the boy snorted. “Yeah, I can imagine the Viper’s has stuff that would interest the likes of you. Hope you haggled. Mr Blackwood triples his prices for anyone who looks like they’re able to pay.”

Severus raised a brow. “I did indeed. It’s not my first visit here. Though it is the first time I’ve seen you around.”

The unvoiced question was left hanging.

“Sorry to have missed you. We could have had a nice chat over a cup of tea,” Harry replied, something in his expression closing from view, the fire in his posture upheld by sheer power of will. “Now, if you don’t mind, I'm a bit busy.”

Without waiting for permission or a response, Harry pushed past him with long steps aiming to get away from him as quickly as possible.

“Not so fast, Potter.”

Harry barely slowed down. “You’re not my professor anymore, Snape.”

All that was missing was a middle finger lifted in the air over his head. 

Severus followed him. “No, I'm not, but I suspect I’m still more powerful than you, and I will bind you again if you don’t stop RIGHT NOW.”

Why he was so demanding, he couldn’t say, but the tone worked. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one to easily succumb to old habits.

They were back in the corner of the main street, and Severus’ roar had drawn attention, but no one stared for long. As curious as people were, they also preferred to avoid getting entangled in the uglier scenes in the world.

Severus studied the boy who had resumed his earlier stance. Hood drawn over his messy hair, hands deep in his pockets. Looking very much like a teenager dressed in his older brother’s clothes, shivering in the chilly wind. Why wasn’t he wearing a thicker coat? 

The decision came to him as if it had already been there, waiting.

“Come with me.”

“What?” 

“Come with me to my house in Cokeworth.”

The look on Harry’s face was suspicious, to say the least. “Why?”

Severus held his gaze, refusing to dignify the question with an answer.

The boy shrugged. “Cokeworth is far away and I like it here. Whatever you want, I'm sure we can arrange a place somewhere closer by.”

Severus’ cock twitched despite himself.

Was that what he wanted, to get a piece of the boy? Was that the reason he was asking? Severus wasn’t sure, but he would be damned to let the boy sense his uncertainty.

“I much prefer clean sheets and a bedroom that doesn’t reek of cheap beer and stale sweat.” 

He could see the boy chewing on his lip, glancing down the quiet street, weighing his options. Perhaps it had been a while since he’d slid between clean sheets in a warm house.

“You can apparate back after,” Severus added. “You’ll be on the streets again before midnight.”

A blank stare, and then a decision. “No thanks. I’d rather take my chances with strangers.”

This time, Severus didn’t let him take a single step away.

“I’ll pay double your usual fee.” The boy's shoulders tensed at his firm voice, but he didn’t turn. “Triple if you stay the night.”

The words were spilling from his lips before he had a chance to consider them. He had no idea where the thought came from but as soon as the offer was out, he knew it was precisely what he wanted. Anything to get the boy to come with him, away from this hellhole.

The silence stretched but Severus had enough experience in bargaining to recognize the suspense for what it was: a calculated delay to squeeze every last coin Severus was willing to pay.

“A hundred galleons,” the boy said, calm and unwavering. “And not one question about why I'm here doing what I'm doing.”

Severus inclined his head slightly. “As you wish.”

The most expensive prostitute he’d ever hired – and probably the least worth the trouble. But if that was what it took to get the boy to follow him willingly, so be it. He could afford to pay.

Chapter Text

The tipsiness had faded in the chill of the night enough for Severus to risk apparating. Harry hesitated, but since the travel was both faster and cleaner than floo powder, Severus simply took his hand and pulled him along.

Emerging in his living room, Harry looked disoriented and more than a little nauseous, and Severus gestured for him to sit on the sofa. He lit the fire and brought Harry a glass of water, then withdrew to study him from across the room, but the colour was slow to return to his face. Perhaps the boy didn’t spend much time in the sun and was naturally pale these days.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything stronger than water, would you?” Harry finally asked, hands still unsteady around the glass.

“I do, but I save that for special occasions.”

“And bringing me here isn’t one?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Despite his attempt to appear calm, Harry was far from composed. His posture was alert and his eyes sharp, scanning the room, cataloguing every item and detail, probably mapping the layout and exits too. And over the rim of his glass while sipping his water, he also studied Severus. His mood, his intentions, any crucial information he might have been keeping to himself.

Unbothered, Severus settled into the armchair, folded his hands, and waited. He could hardly blame Harry for assessing possible threats, after all, it was what Severus would have done in the boy’s situation too, had he ever been foolish enough to take the kind of risk the boy did. And it wasn’t like he’d had any real plan when he’d invited Harry to come with him – at least not one he was prepared to act on just yet – and he certainly had nothing to hide. Unlike the boy now sitting in his living room.

Above all, Severus was curious. Harry had been a sensation after the war. His name on everyone’s lips, his face adored, his time and attention sought. So what if he’d made a few mistakes, who hadn’t? Once the dust had settled after Voldemort’s fall and the full picture of the devastation had become clear, everyone had been at a loss, struggling to find their way in a world so thoroughly changed. But for Harry, every door had been open, every path free for him to explore. So why this?

One way or another, Severus needed to learn more. Why Harry had disappeared, where he’d been, and how he’d ended up in Grimwillow. But since Severus had promised not to ask questions, he would have to lure those answers out by other means. Fortunately, Harry seemed just as bewildered by their chance encounter as Severus was and, like the boy had always been, too restless and impulsive to stay quiet for long.

“So, what are you up to these days?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I imagine you mean to inquire what grand prospects awaited the man applauded for his sacrifices in protecting the Chosen One?”

Harry snorted. “Why not.”

“Not much more than what awaited the Saviour himself, apparently. The best I can say is that they allowed me to stay at Hogwarts. Perhaps they deemed it the safest place for a former Death Eater. Not that I’m complaining.”

Not too much, anyway.

“Enjoying teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, are you?”

“I’m not. I stayed with Potions.”

Instead of the sneer Severus anticipated, Harry frowned.

“They didn’t let you choose your position? Didn’t McGonagall speak on your behalf?”

“She did, but I told her to drop it. I’m too old to wage another war so soon. Especially with the Ministry bureaucrats.”

“Hermione should have fought for you. I know she thought you deserved more.”

“Yes, well, I suppose her focus was elsewhere after the tragedy.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “What tragedy? You mean the war?”

Severus paused to consider. Was it possible that Harry hadn’t been in contact even with his closest friends? The accident couldn’t have been more than… a year after the war? Which would mean Harry hadn’t spoken with them for at least two years.

“I was referring to the tragedy in her personal life, of course. Her husband and her baby.”

What little colour Harry had managed to regain drained from his face once more. “I don’t want to know.”

Severus simply nodded, and for a while, neither of them spoke.

The fire crackled and spread its warmth, and as Harry stared into the flames, sunken into his thoughts, Severus took the chance to examine him more closely too. His clothes were even filthier than they had appeared under the dim streetlight, and with the dark circles under his eyes and pallor of his skin, the roundness of youth shifted into the sharper lines of adulthood, he looked utterly worn. The boy Severus had once known lingering only in his audacity and cheek.

As if sensing Severus’ gaze, Harry pulled himself back to the present and cleared his throat.

“Err… If you’re not planning on asking for any… services yet, I don’t suppose you’d have something to eat? I think I missed a meal.”

Severus clenched his jaw. By the looks of him, Harry had missed more than one meal, and not only today.

“I’m sure I can arrange something. While I'm catering to your needs, kindly remove your clothes and take a bath. You stink.”

“Still as charming as ever, are you, Professor?”

“Personalities rarely change, they merely refine,” he said, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. “Upstairs and on the right, if you please. Leave your clothes in the basket by the door and they’ll be clean in a minute.”

Half an hour later, Severus was back in his armchair, now with a second glass of red wine, while Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, wolfing down an omelette. Not exactly a gourmet meal but something quick and nutritious, perhaps familiar enough to be comforting too.

During Harry’s bath, Severus had searched the pockets of his coat but apart from the few coins he’d probably earned that evening and a packet of condoms and lubricant, there was nothing to shed light on the mystery of his situation. Watching the boy’s appetite, the wine and the fire warming him to the bone, Severus briefly wondered what kind of place Harry called home. He had mentioned looking for his keys, and although that was Harry being a smartass, it still suggested he had a place of his own. Judging by the boy’s appearance, however, it didn’t seem likely that his lodgings were in any better condition than he was.

“So, no missus or mister for the famous double spy?” Harry asked, pushing his empty plate and glass away.

Severus gave him a half-smile. “I haven’t checked, but I doubt there’s a queue of candidates outside my front door.”

“Hence the need to seek paid company, then.”

Touché. Severus took another long drink.

“Only when I find former students on the street to exploit.”

If his retort stung in return, Harry didn’t let it show, only wiped his mouth on his sleeve, glancing at Severus.

They always had been good at lashing each other with subtle – and not-so-subtle – insults.

For a moment, he thought Harry might just grab his coat and leave, and pondered how he would react if he did. If he would once again stop the boy with force or let him go. Forget about the evening, forget about him. That was one option.

But instead of leaving, Harry got onto his hands and knees and crawled the short distance to where Severus sat, then knelt at his feet and looked up.

“Unless you have other wishes, I thought I'd suck you off, Sir.”

The proposal was presented without a shred of hesitation or shame, and although the familiar green in those calm eyes only highlighted the fact that the words should have never passed the boy’s lips, Severus couldn’t help the instant grip of arousal.

Was Harry serious? Would he really do it? Or was he expecting Severus to decline, to act like the professor he once was to him, duty-bound to guide and protect, to save Harry, even from himself?

His lack of response didn’t seem to distract the boy.

Sure hands slid over his knees and up his thighs, brushing the bulge in his trousers and caressing him through the fabric, a hint of a smirk tugging at Harry’s lips as Severus sank back the rest of his wine and set the glass aside.

Why not? He’d paid an absurd amount of money to have the boy, and it was hardly the first time for either of them. Deep down, they’d both known this was where the evening had been heading anyway.

Every second of the way, it was clear Harry was far from a novice.

He undid Severus’ belt and opened his trousers with ease and swiftness, then pulled out his erection and teased it into full strength with soft, measured strokes. On his knees between Severus’ legs, Harry must have known how irresistible he looked, how delicious that lick over his lips, making sure they were nice and wet before bending to take him in.

The groan escaping Severus’ throat was long and lewd, the shiver moving through him speaking louder than any words how amazing Harry’s mouth was.

Severus leaned back and relaxed, intent on letting the boy work at his own pace and simply revel in whatever pleasure he would be given, but for the life of him, he couldn’t keep his hands away from Harry’s head. Eyes closed, he threaded his fingers into the unruly hair, savouring each unhurried dive into the boy’s mouth, each lavish flick of his tongue with a decadence he hadn’t experienced in forever. The throbbing spread from his cock along every limb and muscle until he was trembling, spiralling into pure sensation, and for those few fleeting minutes, Severus’ whole world narrowed to the bliss of Harry’s lips and tongue and hand, it was almost possible to pretend the act was freely given, the ecstasy his to have and enjoy without guilt or consequence.

Then he opened his eyes and watched the scene play in all its crudeness.

The sharp gaze locked on Severus’ face, scanning for signs of danger. The tenseness in the boy’s shoulders, a poorly concealed wish for the end to come sooner rather than later. The obedience and servitude, a far cry from the boy Severus remembered from school, a boy who would have rather died than bowed before anyone or anything. And still, as much as Severus hated that guarded look, loathed that pliant and practised submission, it had been too long since anyone had touched him like this and he was powerless against the surge of lust, the peak rushing in despite the madness.

Until the last second, he was sure Harry would withdraw and deny him the pleasure of coming into his mouth. He would have understood, too. So many considered the act disgusting even with a partner they cared about but doing it to the old professor the boy despised, the mere thought of swallowing must have been sickening. And yet that was exactly what Harry did. To the ultimate end, he sucked and licked, pushed and pulled and fondled like his cock was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and Severus dug his fingers into the armrests and his toes into the rug and moaned, trembled, gasped – and erupted.

His hips jerked up and he cried out loud, watching his engorged cock disappear into Harry’s mouth, the boy’s face flushed and focused, swallowing every desperate spurt shooting into his throat without any attempt to pull back. Lost in the high, Severus shivered and sighed, and for one brief moment, everything in the world was perfect.

When the room settled back to focus and Severus’ pulse into a more reasonable rhythm, Harry was still licking him, cleaning what excess he hadn’t managed to catch.

The sight was surreal. The same eyes that had glared at him so many times during class, the same mouth that had spilled cheeky retorts and barely veiled insolence, now serving Severus in the most intimate possible way. It was all too much to grasp.

Afraid to move so as not to interrupt whatever Harry had in mind, Severus stayed still and let the boy tuck his softening cock back into his trousers and buckle his belt, careful to leave Severus as he had been not ten minutes earlier save from a sheen of sweat on his forehead and steady throbbing all over his body.

Before getting up, Harry merely noted. “We agreed on the whole night, so whatever else you might like, let me know. But now, if you don’t mind, I’d like half of the payment.”

Severus let his head fall back and his eyes drift shut, breathing in deeply, trying to make some sense of what had happened. In the midst of the chaos, only one thing was certain.

Harry was not a novice. Not by any measure.

Chapter Text

Had Severus not been so spent after orgasm, his head so blissfully dizzy, he might have refused the request. Or, at the very least, argued the obvious risk of Harry disappearing the moment he was paid. After all, even half of what they’d agreed upon was a considerable sum and waiting for the other half – and whatever services Harry would be expected to perform to obtain it – might turn out to be more than he was willing to do. But in his weakened state, his body still humming from the release, Severus merely got up on shaky legs and told Harry to wait.

Severus wasn’t a fool, though. If the boy was a prostitute, he was probably a thief and a liar too. In all likelihood, he would indeed be gone before dawn, and all Severus would gain for his trouble would be one very expensive blowjob. No answers to the questions he’d intended to ask, the actual reason he’d brought the boy along in the first place. And yet, perhaps due to a vague sense of guilt fast eating away the buzz of contentment, Severus found himself standing by his safe, retrieving the full sum. The money would mean more to the boy than the answers did to Severus. If that made him a fool, fine.

Seeing the heavy pouch Severus offered, hearing it contained more than he’d asked for, Harry’s jaw dropped. He stared at the money, then at Severus, and although he quickly masked his surprise and delight beneath a cheeky comment about buying himself a pair of disgustingly expensive boots, the relief that flooded his entire being once the money was safely in his possession spoke volumes about the full value of Severus’ gesture.

The sum would buy him far more than new boots. It would buy him a warm coat. A warm meal. A taste of freedom. Not enough to lift him from the streets, but enough to fill his belly over the winter without the need to seek new customers every night. If he had the sense to spend the money wisely, that was.

With a cheerfulness that reminded Severus of the student he used to teach, Harry walked to him and grinned. “Thank you, Sir. I wasn’t actually sure you’d pay me shit, but this just bought you the entire fun tour, if you like.”

The remark was crass, the joke about selling his body and allowing it to be used for any number of perversities if paid enough uncomfortably crude, and Severus looked away. 

“Well… I do believe it’s late. And I, for one, need rest.”

“Will I be sleeping in your bed?” 

For a second, there was a playful, almost hopeful, glint in the boy’s eyes.

“You most certainly will not. The sofa will suffice. It’s not as if you’re staying.”

Harry shrugged. “You know where to find me.”

Severus only grunted. As far as he was concerned, they were done. He would try to get some sleep and in the morning, if the boy was still around, he would make one last attempt to get answers, to learn what had happened to him, perhaps even ask if there was something he could do for him. Because as much as Harry had irritated him back at Hogwarts, he had also played a significant role in saving countless lives. Including Severus’ own. Surely that was worth an effort to help him?

“Umm… Sir?”

Severus paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Yes?”

“Could I maybe… I could use another bite to eat, if it’s not too much trouble?”

How much food could the boy’s stomach take? He’d eaten not half an hour ago. Then again – Severus gazed over Harry’s body, taking in the clothes hanging loosely on his skinny frame – it wouldn’t hurt for him to gain some weight.

“Help yourself,” he said, a sudden heaviness on his chest. “Just go easy on the wine if you decide to indulge. It’s rather strong, and you might end up regretting it.”

The boy chuckled and danced to the kitchen, his mood oddly buoyant given the circumstances. Severus shook his head, feeling very tired indeed. But making his way upstairs, he cast one last spell.

Severus had no problem with Harry raiding his pantry, or even draining his finest wines. But if the boy attempted to run off in the middle of the night with rare ingredients, priceless potions, family heirlooms, or any other item of value, Severus intended to make sure he would not succeed. Judging by Harry’s appearance and the life he seemed to be leading, he probably hadn’t been practising his magic, and the wards Severus cast would be powerful enough.

Lying in his bed after a quick shower, sleep refused to come. Instead, Severus listened to the faint sounds from downstairs, gradually fading into a silence so thick it seemed to settle over the entire house.

It had been years since he’d last had anyone stay the night – closer to a decade, really – and she hadn’t stayed another. They never did. Not that Harry would stay longer either, but the purpose of his visit was much more complicated, stirring a restlessness Severus hadn’t foreseen.

His thoughts drifted to memories of the boy who had first arrived at Hogwarts, bright-eyed and innocent, growing into the young man strong enough to challenge Severus in front of the whole school, a man brave enough to engage in a battle with Voldemort himself. How much he had grown in those short years, right before Severus’ eyes. Then he recalled the boy he’d seen only hours ago, standing in the shadows, waiting for someone, anyone, to bid him to follow, that same boy later kneeling before him, giving more than Severus would have dared to ask. Or had the right to ask.

Half-hard at the mere memory and uncomfortable at the fact that he was, Severus rolled over.

Odd how Severus kept thinking of Harry as a boy, when it was painfully clear he was not. At twenty-one, Harry had lived more, experienced more, and endured more than most did in a lifetime. His teenage years had been anything but ordinary, and from what little Severus had heard of his childhood, his years with the muggles had hardly been normal either. Was it any wonder, then, that the paths Harry chose as an adult would be equally unconventional? Surely he had his reasons. And even though Harry might never share those reasons with Severus, he was still an adult, free to make his own choices and able to handle the consequences they brought along. Harry was not Severus’ responsibility. Not anymore.

How much time had passed, Severus couldn’t say, but when the door handle turned, he wasn’t surprised. Deep down, he’d known Harry would come. 

In the moonlight, the boy looked like a dream. Like a creature of the night, without a single piece of clothing to shroud his beauty. His skin was pale as freshly fallen snow, his hair dark as midnight, his slender limbs and lithe body as if made to be worshipped exactly like this – in the shadows, hidden from the world. His face was unreadable, though, and as neither of them spoke, Severus had no way of knowing why Harry was there. But if he was honest, he didn’t really care. Any reason to have the boy was reason enough.

Severus lay still in his bed.

He watched Harry cross the room, slowly, as if to give Severus plenty of time to look and consider, to decide what he wanted to do. When he stopped by the bed, Severus didn’t need to think. He simply lifted the blanket and made room for the boy, shoving aside the faint voice at the back of his mind, warning that maybe he shouldn’t.

Harry slid into his arms like a fantasy brought to life. His lips were soft and warm, his hands trailing up Severus’ chest sure and tender. With Severus’ own hands suddenly full of smooth skin to explore, a bold tongue meeting his own, and nimble fingers threading into his hair, there was little more he could have wished for. When Harry turned and pressed his behind against Severus’ hardon, it was all he could do not to moan.

“I prepared myself, Sir,” the boy whispered. “No need for lube either. I’m ready.”

Everything about that invitation was wrong, but with the gentle hand reaching back to stroke his erection and the warm mouth seeking to kiss him again, Severus absolutely didn’t give a damn.

The boy was so small, much smaller than he’d appeared with his clothes on, the bones under his skin so narrow it felt as if they might break at too much roughness. Small as Harry was, though, he wasn’t frail or uncertain. When Severus hesitated in making the next move, Harry inched his hips back, guided Severus’ cock to his slick entrance, and impaled himself on Severus’ length.

Harry never made a sound. Severus, however, was unable to hold back his pleasure.

Arms wrapped around the boy, he pushed inside with a deep, satisfied sigh. Another thrust and he groaned, bending to kiss Harry’s neck. And when the third dive brought him all the way home, he buried his face into Harry’s hair, moaning at the sheer bliss of his perfect young body.

He never paused to question what the moment meant for Harry.

In the heat, he took Harry’s sighs as they came, soft and needy, his moves eager to meet Severus’ thrusts, adding to the rush. He could smell the alcohol, but ignored what that detail might mean; heard the whispers urging him to go harder and faster, but pushed aside the doubt of their sincerity. In his heart, though, he knew. Every second of the way, he knew that none of it was real, but more than anything in a very long time, he wanted to believe in the lie. Ached to believe that someone, anyone, in this world had chosen him – him of all people – and welcomed his closeness for the pleasure and the pain they could share, no matter how short-lived the high was.

It was that same reason Severus never reached out to stroke Harry’s cock in return, even though his fingers itched to do so. Finding him limp would have simply been too real. And so he focused on his own pleasure instead. 

After minutes he later wished had been longer, thrusts he wished had been more patient, he came with a cry that rose from the depths of his soul.

Arms clutched around the boy’s thin frame, cock anchored deep within his sweet warmth, Severus shook and gasped and shuddered, the night shattering to pieces and leaving him floating, on the black waters of a stormy sea finding a calm.

The ease with which he drifted to sleep was divine, but it was still a waste. Because when he next awoke, the bed beside him was empty and cold, the morning awaiting outside his door a dreadful drop back to reality.

Chapter Text

Severus had finished breakfast over an hour ago. Sitting in his armchair, he could have read the paper or perhaps a book, but instead, he stared at the boy snoring on his sofa. A boy whose need for both food and sleep seemed endless.

The sight was oddly captivating.

Harry lay sprawled on his stomach, one arm draped over the edge of the sofa with his fingertips brushing the floor, his cheek and nose squished against the pillow, mouth slightly open. Without his glasses, he didn’t quite look like the Harry Severus remembered, then again, the bare buttock peeking out from beneath the blanket may have also played a part in creating the somewhat surreal impression. 

His gaze drifted over said buttock again, his groin stirring at the memory of pressing against its softness. 

Severus shifted, adjusting his awakening cock, and sighed.

Yes, last night had been pleasurable, extremely so, but the ongoing lust was unreasonable. After two orgasms yesterday, he’d woken up hard and helped himself to a quick release. And now again? The lack of control over his libido was embarrassing, like he’d been reduced back into a teenager. All because of a boy who was with Severus only because he was paid to do so, not because he actually wanted to be. A boy half his age, a former student. A boy no other than Harry Potter.

He sighed again. What a mess.

“If you’re going to think this loudly, you could at least move to the next room.”

The voice came out groggy, but it was clear Harry was more awake than his state suggested.

“It’s past ten, and you snore. If you want breakfast, kindly get up.”

Harry managed to crack open one eye. “Now that you mention it, I am hungry.”

Severus rolled his eyes.

“How fortunate that you’re not staying. My salary isn’t nearly enough to sustain your insatiable appetite.”

As Harry sat up and stretched, the blanket slipped lower, revealing more bare skin. Severus turned his gaze away. 

In the heat of the night, enjoying Harry’s body in exchange for money had seemed somehow justifiable, but in the morning light, the picture appeared more complicated. Although there was nothing exceptional about what they’d done, just a simple pleasure countless people indulged in every day, Severus couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he had, in fact, taken advantage of a student. Not that Harry had been his student for years nor Severus his professor, but on a fundamental level, did a student ever truly cease being a student to their professor?

Harry, of course, was quick to pick up his unease.

“I think I’ll take a shower first,” he said and stood, fully naked and without shame, then walked past Severus, perfectly aware that the sight of his half-hard morning erection would make him even more uncomfortable.

He flashed a grin as he passed, and Severus sighed again, this time with a distinct pang of regret.

What on earth had he been thinking, bringing the boy here? He’d known Harry for seven years, and from the day they’d met, the boy had been nothing but trouble.

So what if he’d found Harry on the street? So what if his former student was now a prostitute? So what if the saviour of the world had thrown away every possibility offered to him, severed himself from everyone he’d known, and chosen a life in the shadows instead? Not once during their twelve hours together had Harry indicated he needed help, nor was he obligated to explain his life choices to anyone. So why was Severus acting as if he were?

But as Severus was preparing breakfast, a thought even more unsettling struck him.

What if his determination to drag the boy along hadn’t been about curiosity or a desire to help at all, but a decision driven by much darker instincts? What if, on some level, he’d been so aroused by the thought of Harry as a boy whore that he would have paid anything to have him in his bed? To finally see him silent and obedient, yielding to his every whim?

By the time Harry had the decency to show up in the kitchen after a sinfully long shower, Severus was in a thoroughly bad mood, leaning against the counter, arms folded and jaw tight.

Harry sat at the table and, perhaps sensing the tension in the air, eyed him cautiously.

“Er… Could I have some tea? Coffee makes my stomach churn.”

Severus stared at him icily. “If the meal doesn’t meet your standards, I suggest you make the necessary adjustments yourself.”

Rather than pulling out his wand, Harry took a piece of toast, his shoulders slightly slumping. “It’s okay. Coffee works too.”

For some reason, the response only made Severus want to fetch the newspaper and give the boy a sound smack.

What the hell was wrong with Harry? After everything he’d been through yesterday – after everything Severus had put him through – how could he just sit there, content with a warm shower and modest meal? Where were all the insults, the well-aimed stabs now that he’d been handed the perfect weapon? 

Harry had seen Severus at his most vulnerable, coming apart at a pleasure that left him weak and trembling. Surely there were some snide comments the boy was itching to lash out, just to get a rise out of his old Potions professor. And yet, if Severus had asked Harry to get up and bend over for another round, the boy would have probably obeyed without question, then asked if there was anything else he could do for him. Not even a million galleons would make Severus endure such humiliation. Why, then, did Harry?

But as much as Severus wanted to understand, even more, he wanted the boy to leave. Getting any real answers from him was unlikely and the longer he stayed, the greater the risk that Severus might say or do something they’d both regret. Like fuck him again. He wasn’t even certain why Harry was still there. Severus had already paid him, and if the boy had no desire to be interrogated, he could have sneaked out in the dead of the night. Everything about Harry was a mystery and an exhausting one at that, and Severus was quite ready to be done with it.

But then something caught his eye. A detail he instantly recognised as a deviation from normal, maybe even an explanation for everything that had been bothering him about the boy. The way Harry fetched the marmalade from the far end of the table. Not with a simple Accio, but by getting up and reaching for the jar. 

Severus held his face blank and his posture unchanged, but inside, every fibre of his being had risen to attention.

It could be nothing, of course. Plenty of tasks that could be done either with or without magic, no need to use a spell for everything. Then again, Severus couldn’t recall a single time Harry had used his magic since they met. Before jumping to conclusions, though, the hypothesis had to be tested.

“So, heading back to Grimwillow today?”

Harry’s reply came in the exact carefree tone one might expect from someone whose worries had been swept away with a bag of galleons. “Sure. Unless you need me here. You did pay a lot.”

“No, I think we’re even,” Severus said, lingering on the words. “It’s a long way to apparate though. Think you can manage?”

At that, he was certain the boy flinched. 

“I’ll break the trip into a few stops. Still a bit tired after last night.”

Severus gave a nonchalant hum. 

“Well, I'll go and see how badly you ruined my sofa,” he said and, heading out, added, “Do be a good boy and make us some tea before you go. The bags are on the counter. No milk, no sugar.”

In the living room, he arranged the cushions and folded the blanket, listening to the sounds in the kitchen. When he heard the boy get up and search the cabinets, he crept back to the doorway and watched in silence. And if his pulse had been racing before, now, his heart just about stopped.

“What’s the matter, Potter?” he asked, startling the boy as he stood staring at two cups of cold water, wand in a useless hand. “Having trouble with the tea?”

Harry blushed a furious red but didn’t respond, only stood unmoving and lowered his wand.

Severus stepped closer. “How long has it been like this?”

“None of your fucking business, Snape.”

Oh, so it was back to Snape now.

“No, I suppose it’s not. But I can see why you’ve been hiding. The Chosen One, fallen so low he can’t even heat up a cup of water? Now that would make for some delicious headlines,” Severus pressed on, unwilling to back down now that he had something on the boy. 

But Harry’s reaction wasn’t what he’d hoped.

“Whatever. Make your own goddamn tea. I’m out.”

Harry pushed past him, grabbed his coat, checked that the money was still securely in the pocket, then flung the door open and stormed out. Severus followed him to the doorway, the cold wind lashing against his face and cutting through his clothes.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going?” he called after the boy. “It’s a long way to anywhere if you can’t apparate.”

“I can still walk!” Harry shouted without slowing down.

Severus cursed, took his own coat, and went after him.

Sooner or later, the boy would have to stop. He didn’t know the area and couldn’t do magic. Inevitably, he would need Severus’ help.

But at the end of the road, instead of turning right to follow the road, Harry took a sharp left and headed directly into the woods.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. You have no idea where you’re going and no means to get there. Come back, and we’ll talk.”

“I’d rather get lost and starve to death.”

As juvenile and irrational as Harry’s actions were, there was something undeniably admirable in his stubbornness. Despite everything he’d been through, the hardship and humiliation he’d endured, the boy still had limits. He refused to listen to ridicule, refused to succumb to coercion, refused to let anyone dictate what he could and could not do. Even though the choice to venture into an unfamiliar forest bordered insanity, the decision was still rooted in pride – a sentiment Severus could well understand.

Harry wasn’t in a very good shape though and was soon panting heavily, his steps becoming slower and clumsier on the uneven terrain. Having roamed the woods throughout his childhood, Severus had no such difficulties, and listening to the boy’s curses and watching his struggle, he decided to stay silent and let the boy vent his fury through physical exertion.

After what felt like an hour but was probably much less, after stumbling on so many roots and banging his head on so many branches that he must have been bruised all over, Harry finally tripped and fell hard, crying out loud as he hit his leg. When Severus approached, Harry hissed at him, as if the accident had somehow been his fault.

“What are you trying to prove, Potter?” Severus asked, quite tired of the whole charade by now. If it weren’t for the boy, he would have been comfortably inside. “That you can suffer as splendidly without magic as you did when you could still wield a wand?”

“Shut up,” the boy muttered, sitting down on a rock and rolling up the leg of his trousers to inspect the wound.

Even from a distance, Severus could see the cut was long and deep, bleeding in steady rivulets down the boy’s shin.

“While your noble sacrifices may have served a purpose when there was a war to win, now, I fail to see the point. Bleeding to death alone in the wild is hardly–”

“I said shut up! Shut up, SHUT UP !”

The boy’s face was flushed, his whole body taut and trembling. Had he been able to use his magic, nothing less than a Crucio would have sufficed. Severus was sure of it.

He took a few steps back to give the boy some space and leaned against a nearby tree trunk.

“As you wish. Though I would advise you try to remain civil with the only person standing between you and the cold, dark world.”

Or the one standing between you and your self-destructive tendencies, a voice at the back of Severus’ mind suggested, but he kept the thought to himself.

“Me and the world were getting along fine before you came to intervene.”

“So I noticed,” Severus remarked dryly. “With a coat that thin and a career that barely feeds you, it was clear how much you were enjoying life.”

Harry shot him a glare but went on to wipe the blood with his sleeve.

“When did you get so chatty?” he muttered as if to himself, pressing on the cut. “Last I remember, you didn’t speak much outside of class. Why don’t you just go away?”

Severus watched as Harry attempted to tend his wound, doing a pitiful job at it too. At the very least, he needed a spell to prevent inflammation and another to close the cut.

“Don’t you want to have your magic back?” 

The moment for the question could have perhaps been chosen better, but the reaction was still out of proportion.

In a flash, Harry had darted to him and shoved him against the tree, grabbing the front of his coat with surprising strength. His wound blissfully forgotten.

“What do you think, asshole?” he growled, face inches away from Severus’. “You think this is the future I planned when I left Hogwarts?”

Severus forced himself to relax in the boy’s hold, meeting his fierce gaze with unyielding calm. “Then why not do something about it?”

For a second, the rage in Harry’s green eyes flickered, then faded, the fire in them dying as quickly as it had flared.

“You think I haven't tried?” he said, voice so flat Severus could almost taste the defeat. “I was told it was impossible.”

“Who? Who told you?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Harry released Severus’ coat and walked away, shoulders slumped. “Can I go now?”

“No, Potter,” Severus said and pushed off the tree, hoping his tone carried the right balance of soft and firm. “You’re coming back with me. And then we’re going to talk.”

Harry’s chuckle was bitter. “I don’t think you get to decide on my behalf anymore, Snape. I don’t take orders from former professors with an ugly face and a nasty attitude.”

“I could buy your time if I must.”

“Whatever,” Harry said and limped on, taking support from nearby trees not to fall again. “The going rate is galleon for a blowjob, five for a fuck, so feel free to buy all the time you need for the rest of your life.”

Like so often with the boy, Severus’ decision was made on instinct, without much consideration of how much trouble it would bring him later.

“I’ll give you ten galleons for every day you stay with me, along with free food and lodging. I don’t require sex, but you will allow me to ask as many questions as I like. Whether you answer or not is up to you.”

Harry slowed, then stopped. “That’s a pretty shitty deal if you ask me.”

“You want more? I don’t know how rich you imagine–”

“Not for me. A shitty deal for you.”

“I believe the deal is mine to propose and yours to accept, if you want. Two weeks, that’s all I’m asking.”

But both of them knew the choice was merely theoretical.

“Fine,” Harry said, turning to him again, his eyes dull. “But the moment I want out, you pay me and let me go, no strings attached.”

Severus gave him a slight nod. “That sounds reasonable.”

Chapter Text

Back in Severus’ small kitchen, Harry announced he was hungry. Again. 

Watching the boy devour sandwich after sandwich while Severus sipped his tea to warm up after their little walk in the forest, he could only wonder, once again, where all the food went. The boy was as thin as a twig.

Once Harry’s furious eating calmed, Severus decided he’d earned the right to begin his questions. The boy was probably even expecting an interrogation, so maybe it was best for them both to get the ordeal started.

“How did you end up in Grimwillow?”

“It’s a long story,” Harry mumbled through a mouthful, “and not a very interesting one.”

“Try me. Last I heard, you defeated Voldemort and were celebrated across the country as the saviour of the wizarding world. I believe they wrote songs and sonnets in your honour.”

Harry grimaced. “Don’t remind me. Every single thing I said or did got leaked to the Prophet.”

“And then they offered you a job at the Ministry. One you accepted, if I recall?”

“Sure. Everything I ever dreamed of.” He picked a piece of meat from his teeth and wiped it on his shirt. “I would have started Auror training eventually, but then I got sacked.”

“Got… sacked,” Severus repeated, waiting, but the boy’s interest had shifted back to his sandwich. “How exactly does the Chosen One manage to get sacked?”

“I lost my temper.” 

Another infuriating pause. 

“Over…?”

Harry examined the cucumber filling as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world, then abruptly tossed the half-eaten sandwich onto the plate and pushed it away.

“Look. I never promised to answer your questions. We agreed you could ask, but that was it.”

Severus’ lips curled into a wicked smirk. “I could force the answers out of you.”

Not that he would. Using Legilimency was out of the question, and not just because it was banned as part of his pardon, but because such invasive practices had only ever brought him misery. But Harry didn’t know that.

The boy poured himself a glass of milk, his expression entirely unbothered. “If you wanted to read my mind, you would have done it already. Don’t bluff if you can’t back it up.”

Irritating brat.

After a brief silence, Severus decided to try a different route. 

“Can you cast any magic with that wand?”

“Nope. Nada. Niente. It’s as useless as a stick in the woods.”

“When did you lose your magic?”

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m not sure. Somewhere between Voldemort and smashing up my office at the Ministry.”

“The day you lost your temper?”

Harry nodded and glanced around the kitchen. “Got anything sweet? Chocolate or something?”

With a hasty handwave, Severus summoned a tray of sweets from the pantry. A guilty pleasure he’d never been more grateful for.

“You were saying?”

The sheer greed in the boy’s eyes as he reached for a fat chocolate muffin made Severus wince. Like bribing a child. Harry sank his teeth into the muffin, chocolate sauce dripping down his chin, his face lighting up with pure and utter delight.

“I think the battle with Voldemort kinda drained me,” he mumbled between bites, the words swallowed by his chewing. “After that, I wasn’t really expected to do much magic, so for a while, I didn't even realise anything had changed. When I finally did – trying to lock a door, I think – I assumed I was just really, really tired. Which I was. But when summer ended and I started at the Ministry, I had to admit it wasn’t just the exhaustion.”

Another large bite, chocolate now smeared all over the boy’s mouth. Severus didn’t dare to mention it, didn’t dare to speak at all.

“I knew it was bad. The Chosen One, unable to Accio a piece of parchment across his desk? If a word of that had leaked, it would have been front-page news all over again and I was so sick of being the topic of the day. Hermione and Ron kept saying I needed to give myself time and that the Ministry would understand, but one talk with Kingsley proved that wasn’t true. I was given a deadline, and if I wasn't well by the end of it, they would have to let me go.”

Severus gritted his teeth so hard it hurt. What the hell was wrong with people?

“Hermione helped me find a healer. Someone skilled and accomplished, someone who could be trusted not to sell my story to the Prophet.”

“Who?”

“Mr Fernclaw, I think was his name?”

Severus couldn’t suppress a groan. Of all the healers Harry could have chosen, he had to end up with Oswald Fernclaw.

“You know him?”

“Yes, I know him. Rather less skilled than his reputation suggests. And he does enjoy painting doom for his patients.”

“Well, I wish I’d known that. He told me there was nothing anyone could do. That after all the exposure to dark magic, dying and resurrecting and whatnot, my magic was gone and would not return. That I was less than I had been as a child, and that if there had been even a sliver of magic left, he could have helped, but as it was, I was as good as a Squib.” 

Severus sucked in a breath, blood fleeing his face.

“And that was the day I wrecked my office,” Harry finished his story. “Merlin, I’m stuffed. I need to take a dump.”

Unceremoniously, he left everything on the table and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Severus wondering if what he’d heard was actually the truth or if Harry was inventing more lies to distract him. Then again, what purpose would he have to do that?

Severus cleaned the table and moved to the living room, waiting to hear the rest of the story. Deep in his thoughts, he didn’t notice Harry appearing in the doorway.

“The Ministry doesn’t have much use for wannabe Aurors who can’t cast spells and cause trouble instead,” Harry suddenly said, breaking the silence. “And absolutely zero tolerance for anyone who harms a fellow Auror, even if it was an accident. It all happened so fast that I'm not sure anyone realised all the damage was done with my fists, not magic. By then, I had none left.”

Severus wished Harry would sit, but the boy made no move to enter the room, only lingered in the doorway. Arms crossed as if shielding himself, gaze fixed on the floor, he continued as though he just hoped to get it over and done with.

“You’d be surprised how difficult everything gets for a wizard with a reputation but no magic,” Harry said quietly. “How few options there are left. The people who used to pat your back and beg for your time vanish real fast, and the ones who stay… You’re too embarrassed to keep in touch with them.”

“But why… I thought you’d inherited a nice amount of gold from your parents.”

A faint flush crept onto Harry’s cheeks. “Losing a fortune is easy. Even easier if you don’t care about tomorrow. Whatever there’s left is locked away under Gringotts’ safety measures until I prove myself worthy again. I’ve no idea what I‘m supposed to do to get access to the rest of the money.”

Nor would the goblins reveal that information. If the vault was sealed, only the complete and exact fulfilment of the required conditions would break the enchantment, whatever those terms were.

“Is that when you ended up in Grimwillow?” Severus asked softly.

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Not directly, no. I stayed in London at first. Took a few courier jobs from France, did some smuggling, stealing… Wizard drugs are really popular in certain muggle circles. Then I realised my face and fame still had some value, even if the shine never lasted for longer than one night. People expect magic in bed from the saviour and if he can’t perform… Well, he’s useless.”

As the boy fell silent, Severus knew he wouldn’t get more answers no matter how hard he pressed. And perhaps that wasn’t even important. In the grand scheme of things, details hardly mattered. 

“I’m really tired, Professor,” Harry finally said. “Think I could take a nap in your bed? Wouldn’t want to bother you with my snoring.”

“Of course. It’s yours,” Severus replied absent-mindedly.

Leaning on the railing for support as he made his way upstairs, the boy had never looked more vulnerable, his strength and defences so utterly broken. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared from sight that Severus remembered he’d never treated the wound on Harry’s leg. As if Severus’ curiosity was more important than Harry’s health. 

Severus stayed still for a long while. Sat and pondered, sorting thoughts and feelings that resisted order. When he was done thinking, he moved to his desk and started writing.

Chapter Text

In the end, Harry’s nap lasted seven hours, and by the time he finally came downstairs, it was already evening. Severus glanced up from where he was seated by the fire, a glass of wine in hand, reading the latest letters delivered by his exhausted owl. Yawning wholeheartedly, running his fingers through some wildly messed up hair, the boy looked… young.

“I’m starving,” Harry announced. “Got anything to eat?”

Unsurprised, Severus pointed toward the kitchen. “When you’ve filled your bottomless belly, please return here. I must speak with you.”

Keeping the kitchen stocked and ready at all hours appeared to be an integral part of their deal, and since it wasn’t the most unpleasant of chores, Severus found he didn’t mind. He quite enjoyed cooking actually, he just never got the chance to do it for anyone else, and the boy did seem pleased with Severus’ culinary creations, even though he hadn’t voiced his appreciation. For the young, food simply emerged from nothingness and was consumed without much consideration.

When Harry came back from the kitchen, he still looked slightly dazed.

“Did I really sleep seven hours straight? Jeez, my head feels weird.”

Severus stood and set the letters aside. “Yes, well. Consider it an exception to a rule. One that will not be tolerated again.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Setting house rules, Professor?”

“We’ll discuss them later. Now though, I need to examine you.”

The boy’s face lit up with a decidedly mischievous grin. “I was all soft and warm after sleep half an hour ago. You should have come upstairs for your inspection.”

Severus pursed his lips, the innuendo both crude and entirely uncalled for. “I wish to examine your magic, Potter.”

“Why? There’s none left, I was assured.”

“If you don’t mind, I trust my own assessment best. I’ve never heard of magic being completely and irreversibly drained, and I’m unconvinced how that would even be possible, no matter what one self-important healer may have said. But I require your permission.”

“Permission?” Harry’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Since when have you started asking permission for anything?”

“Since now. After our earlier… encounter, I wish to make it clear that I will not touch you again without your explicit consent. For what it’s worth.”

Something of a smile passed Harry’s lips, and Severus got the distinct feeling that he’d given the boy an advantage – one he would not hesitate to use when the right moment came along.

“Fine by me,” Harry said then, spreading his arms. “Examine away.”

“First, though, your wound. Lift your trouser leg.”

Severus knelt and studied the cut, then cast some soothing, healing spells over the bruised and swollen skin. When the leg looked healthy again, he got up.

“Now let’s see about that magic.”

Standing as close as he dared, Severus placed one hand on Harry’s chest and the other on the side of his head. Eyes closed, he let his magic reach inside the boy, and for a few fleeting minutes, they both held perfectly still.

When Severus opened his eyes, Harry’s cheeks were flushed, his gaze fixed on Severus’ face.

“How bad is it?”

Severus returned to the letters he’d received earlier. “Not as bad as you were told. As I suspected. The magic is there, but it’s warded. Accidentally, I presume.”

“Meaning…?”

But Severus’ mind was already on the many ideas and advice he’d been offered, scrolling through the parchments for one in particular.

“I can see how an incompetent healer, dazzled by the fact that the Chosen One himself had decided to seek out his expertise, would have missed the shields and mistaken the situation as something irrevocable.”

“I’m still not following, Professor.”

Severus found the letter he’d searched for and glanced up. “You have the whiskey, but the cabinet is locked, and the key is gone.”

A dawning of understanding appeared on the boy’s face. “Oh, okay. Well... That’s good news, right?”

“Quite. All you require is help in finding the key.” Severus traced a finger down the rows of neat handwriting, then paused. “There. In her kind and swift reply, Ms Fairwater says–”

“Wait.” Harry grabbed the parchment from his hand and turned it around, then noticed the other letters scattered on the desk. “You sent letters? While I was sleeping?”

Severus frowned. “To confirm my suspicion, yes. And to get help with a solution. Your condition might be rare but it isn’t permanent. What you need is–”

“Without my permission?” The boy was suddenly furious, and Severus wasn’t entirely sure why. “After that heart-warming speech about consent and respecting my boundaries?”

“You were asleep. I didn’t want to waste time.”

“I told you I don't want publicity!”

For a second, Severus thought he saw a glimmer in the boy’s eyes, but the very next, Harry blinked the weakness away.

“Private consultations with some of the most respected healers in Britain hardly counts as ‘public’. Besides, I didn't reveal who I was asking about.”

“Oh, and you think these people won’t figure it out? With such subtle details as dark magic and returning from the dead?”

Severus’ temper was dangerously close to flaring up along with Harry’s. “I did it to help you, as you would realise if you weren’t behaving like a spoiled brat.”

“You did it to please your own ego, you asshole,” Harry spat, crumbling the letter and throwing it at Severus before storming back upstairs, leaving Severus to wonder what the hell had happened.

He’d taken an interest, he’d tried to help. He’d used his connections, his valuable time. And the snot had the audacity to throw a tantrum? Severus deserved plenty, but he didn’t deserve this.

Marching upstairs after the boy, he tried to rein in his temper. He really did. But Harry’s greeting, hissed at him from Severus’ bed, under Severus’ covers, did not help.

“Came for another fuck, did you? Given you care so much about consent.”

Severus bit down on his lip. Hard.

“This is my bedroom, Potter. My bed,” he said icily. “Your place is on the sofa, which is where I suggest you move right now. Tomorrow, if you show some respect, we can continue discussing your little problem.”

“I hate you,” the boy growled, taking his sweet time to get up.

“I can assure you, the feeling is quite mutual at the moment. Now get out. I wish to sleep.”

But the truth was, sleep was the last thing on Severus’ mind.

Far into the night, he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to untangle what exactly had transpired between them. He wasn’t the most sensitive of people, but he was better than this. Better at reading people’s hopes and fears, the motivations and tensions simmering beneath the words, better at steering people in the direction he wanted without getting into an open conflict.

Clearly, Harry was hurt. Feeling that Severus had somehow betrayed his trust, as if Severus had had his trust to begin with. Somewhere in there was probably a misunderstanding too, a clash of expectations regarding Harry’s stay, but try as he might, Severus couldn’t grasp the pure, primal fury in the boy’s response. Perhaps Severus had simply moved too quickly. After all, they’d only met yesterday.

Listening to the faint noises from downstairs, the result of their argument wasn’t difficult to conclude.

Cabinet doors opening and closing, glass clinking against glass. Mutters and grumbles, restless pacing across creaking floorboards. And finally, after what seemed like hours, a louder thud and the unmistakable sound of shattering glass.

Severus pushed his blanket aside and rose from the warmth of his bed, then padded down the stairs, already knowing what he would find.

Two empty bottles sat on the low table, a third tipped over on the carpet, its contents spilled, a broken glass further away. And on the floor, there was Harry. Slumped down, head resting against the sofa, barely conscious enough to register Severus standing in front of him.

With visible effort, the boy lifted his head, red-rimmed eyes dragging up Severus’ legs, his chest, and his face, struggling to focus but failing miserably.

“Geddout. Yer in m’room.”

Without a word, Severus took Harry by the arm and tried to pull him up, but the boy was dead weight and slipped from his grip, collapsing onto the sofa. Still, better there than sprawled on the floor. But as Harry reached for the half-empty bottle on the table, Severus snatched it away.

“You’ve had more than enough.”

“So? Why d'you care?”

“You’ve downed three bottles of the rarest wines I possess. Continue like this, and the debt you’re racking up won’t be settled with any number of sexual favours.”

He regretted the words as soon as they were out.

“You… wanna fuck? I can do that.”

Harry was barely able to sit, and his speech came out slurred, but as if the moves had been so practised he could execute them even in the deepest state of intoxication, he leaned in, reaching for the waistband of Severus’ pyjamas. One step back and the boy lost balance, tumbling back to the floor. He tried to push himself up but wavered, then doubled over, ending up heaving on all fours.

“Gonna... oh... gonna vomit.”

Severus sighed and hoisted him up again, this time grabbing the boy in a firm hold to ensure he didn’t fall.

“Come on. Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

And there, supporting the retching saviour so he wouldn’t collapse, keeping his overgrown hair from falling into his own vomit, Severus watched the 1947 Lafleur splash into the toilet, the acrid stench stirring memories from his childhood, and wondered yet again why he’d ever picked the boy from the street.

Deep down, though, he knew why.

Even when hidden beneath layers of arrogance, insults, and reckless abandon, Severus recognized pain. Recognized the spiral of self-destruction. The darkness he’d seen plenty of times when looking in the mirror.

The difference between him and Harry was clear, though. After the war, Severus was given a place to stay, a place where he could hide from the chaos and noise, a place with people who understood and cared enough to allow him time and space to heal. Harry – as young as he was, as much as he’d struggled and suffered – hadn’t received any of that. The dust hadn’t even settled before the boy had been swept away from everything familiar, raised on a pedestal only to be chewed to pieces and spat out when he had no more to give. As if he hadn’t already given all he had. His whole life.

Was it really any wonder that he just wanted everything to end?

Chapter Text

Severus stood in the middle of his bedroom, watched the boy snoring in his bed, and waited. Outside, the sun rose slowly, its growing light pouring into the room while the clock ticked away seconds, minutes. At precisely nine o’clock, Severus walked over to the bed and yanked the covers off.

“Wake up, Potter!”

Perhaps at the mere surprise, the boy jolted up, eyes wild though not truly awake.

“Wha– What?” At the sight of Severus, no matter how intimidating he tried to appear, Harry slumped back onto the mattress and groaned. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Time to get up.”

The boy groaned even louder. “Give me back my blanket. I’m freezing.”

“My blanket, Potter,” Severus said calmly. “Even if it now reeks of piss and vomit, thanks to your adolescent overindulgence.”

As if only now realising he was upstairs, comfortably in Severus’ bed when he’d last been drinking downstairs, Harry’s brow furrowed in a failed attempt to remember.

“You decided it was a good idea to drown your sorrows in several bottles of fifty-year-old French wine,” Severus helped.

Harry’s eyes widened, and he covered his face with both hands. “Oh, Merlin…”

“Indeed.”

“Could you close the curtains? The light hurts my eyes.”

“I will do no such thing.” Severus regarded the boy’s unkempt appearance – the soiled t-shirt, the tangled hair, and the third-day stubble – barely holding back a grimace. Even from a distance, the boy stank. “Breakfast will be served in ten minutes, and I expect you to be there, shaved and showered. As of today, breakfast will be at eight, followed by lunch at noon and dinner at six. Be late, and you’ll go without food. Do you understand?”

Harry hid his head under the pillow and mumbled. “This really isn’t a good time to go through house rules, Professor. Give me an hour or two, and I might manage to drag myself downstairs.”

“You have ten minutes,” Severus said, grabbing the pillow as well and sending it to the corner with the blanket, then vanishing both. “If you wish to stay, this self-pity will end here. After breakfast, we’ll talk some more.”

He swept out with a dramatic slam of the door, but despite the ultimatum, he wasn’t at all sure if Harry would obey. Or what Severus would do if he didn’t. Even if he had two decades worth of experience with teenagers, he’d never had to deal with one in his own house.

In your bed , the voice at the back of his mind added, and he’s not a teenager, but he shoved the thought aside.

In the end, the boy crawled downstairs late but not terribly so. And more importantly, with his hair washed and his clothes cleaned, he smelled decent again. Without a word, Severus pointed him to the kitchen and followed, remaining by the door, arms crossed and face stern.

After nibbling some toast and eggs with remarkably less appetite than usual, carefully avoiding looking up, Harry finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry, Professor.”

Severus pursed his lips. “For what, exactly?”

“For…” Harry made a vague gesture around, looking quite ill. “Everything.”

Apparently, even a hungover teenage brain could grasp that some things were too huge to apologise for.

“You have to be more elaborate than that. Sorry for raiding my wine storage? For making a mess of my living room? For trying to seduce me into having sex while you were barely conscious? For forcing me to stay up all night to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit?”

“Oh, god…” The boy pressed his face in his hands again. “You really should have left me in Grimwillow.”

“Believe me, the thought did cross my mind more than once or twice last night.” Plenty of more tingled on the tip of his tongue, aching to be voiced, but he held back the insults. Maybe later. “Eat. You need nutrients. I suggest concentrating on the bacon and orange juice.”

Not long after, the boy shuffled into the living room, face pale, head hanging. From shame or nausea, Severus couldn’t tell. Perhaps both.

“Thanks for the breakfast, Sir.”

Severus studied him more closely. It was the first time Harry actually thanked him for anything. How refreshing.

“You’re welcome. Let’s hope it stays inside, though I wouldn't be shocked if it didn’t.”

Harry swallowed, a wave of queasiness passing his features before it was suppressed, probably by sheer power of will. “You said we needed to talk.”

“Yes,” Severus said, placing the last of his papers into his bag, then shrinking it to fit into his pocket. “I have to go and run some errands.”

“Errands?” Harry asked, as though the concept was unfamiliar to him.

“Please don’t make me repeat myself. Yes, errands. And in my absence, I would ask you to use that muddled brain of yours for some thinking, if possible.”

“You’re going away?”

Merlin, he was slow today.

Severus turned fully to the boy and waited until Harry’s red eyes wandered to him. “I want you to think about what you intend to do with your life.”

Harry groaned as if in pain. “Oh, no. Not this again.”

The moment wasn’t ideal, Severus knew, but given his own limited patience and the boy’s incredible stubbornness, time was not on their side. The core problem needed to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

“Yes, this. Now listen closely, Potter.” He half-sat on the desk and folded his arms, making sure he had the boy’s full attention. “Yesterday, I offered you a place to stay under certain conditions and, if you so choose, that offer still stands. Despite our rather… turbulent start, I have no need to throw you out of my house. Not yet, anyway. But unlike you, I have a job and responsibilities to more people than you.”

Harry frowned, his few still-functioning brain cells eventually finding the connection. “It’s Sunday. You have to work tomorrow.”

“Indeed I do, though that is something I’m hoping to get fixed today. Because it seems I'm also needed here. To keep an eye on your teenage impulses.”

A sudden panic emerged in the boy’s eyes. “Please don’t tell McGonagall about me.”

“How fascinating that this would be your first concern.”

Severus didn’t try to hide his sneer. The boy was slow, self-centred, and completely missing the point. Which was his future. His life.

“Please, Sir.”

“As you wish. But while I'm away, I would ask you to consider this.“ He glanced at the boy, making sure he was still listening. “I believe I have the means to help you reclaim your magic, but it would require a rather large leap from you.”

Harry’s expression was deeply suspicious. “What kind of leap?”

“Trust and hard work. The latter surely a greater challenge than the former, but both crucial to even beginning the endeavour.”

“Trust who? You?” The boy snorted.

“Yes, me. Particularly as you seem so reluctant to bring anyone else into this… predicament, I am the one you should trust with your pitiful life.”

As much as Severus had taken offence of the insinuation that he wasn’t to be trusted, Harry appeared just as stung by the remark that his life had been called pitiful.

“And what if I don't want that?” he asked in a sharper tone, chin high. “What if I decide I’d rather go back to Grimwillow?”

As needless as his defiance was, Severus quite liked the fire. Harry had always been at his best up against the wall. Figuratively speaking.

Severus shrugged. “Then you’re free to do so. While I'm away or when I return, it makes no difference to me. Naturally, I will take you to your chosen destination if you wish, after all, I did snatch you away from your charming hometown, so it’s only fair to return you there safely too. Alternatively, you may stay here for the two weeks we agreed upon and leave then. But no longer. That is when this arrangement will end.”

The boy bit his lower lip, as if weighing the pros and cons of his options, but didn’t speak.

“As a sign of good faith and trust you have not earned, I'll be leaving my house and all my earthly possessions in your hands. The liquor cabinets remain unlocked and the wards are down, so if you’re wondering just how much you can rip off before I return, you have plenty of time to catalogue everything and plan a splendid heist. Unless you take something irreplaceable, I will not come after you. Consider the loot as a donation to help you prolong your existence for a few months more.”

Severus waited, fully expecting some cheeky retort, but the boy had none to offer. Instead, the look on Harry’s face was almost terrified. Of what, though, was unclear. Perhaps he simply couldn’t fathom anyone being so gullible about him.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must shower again before I leave. I can still smell your vomit on me.”

Chapter Text

“Please don’t misunderstand me, Severus,” Minerva said, setting her cup down on the desk between them and searching Severus’ face for answers he had no intention of revealing. “But this is most uncommon. Are you truly not going to give me any explanation for your request?”

“I’m afraid not, Headmistress. I had hoped my judgement regarding the urgency of the matter would suffice.”

Foolish, perhaps, but he really had. Given how long they’d known each other, how much they’d been through together, he’d come to think of Minerva as a friend. But of course, she was now also the Headmistress and her primary duty was to the school and its students.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Severus, but I would prefer to understand what this is about.”

Her expression faltered, confusion and indecision playing on her features, and it occurred to him that she might be wondering whether he was slipping back to his old, dark interests. A worry he could probably never entirely soothe, no matter what he did or how much time passed.

“It’s a personal matter, but one I believe will benefit the wider community as well.”

The woman didn’t appear much more at ease.

“What about the students? Finding a suitable substitute on such short notice will be extremely difficult. And for such a long period, too. The exams will be at hand by the time you return."

If you return, he could hear unvoiced beneath the words but decided not to address the vague concern.

“I’ve already arranged that. Here.” He slid a folded letter across the desk. “Ms Granger has kindly agreed to cover for me during the weeks in question.”

Minerva’s brow furrowed as she skimmed the brief lines. Then she let the letter fall and stared at him. “Hermione? But why? And how? The Ministry must be keeping her terribly busy.”

At that, Severus sneered. “Apparently, being high up on the ladder affords a certain level of freedom.”

“I wasn’t even aware you two had stayed in contact, let alone that she’d be willing to…”

She let the thought fade, perhaps realising the unintended but decidedly hurtful insinuation. As if it were implausible that anyone as good and competent as Hermione would want anything to do with Severus.

He held his face perfectly calm.

Yes, Hermione had never been particularly fond of him, but she had respected him, even before his true role in the war came to light. After Severus had provided a somewhat cryptic explanation as to why he was asking for this favour, her reply had come promptly. For a former student lost in the harsh currents of life, she was willing to help. Even if the request came from Severus Snape.

“Is she qualified to teach potions?”

“She’s out of practice but she wasn’t at all hopeless when she attended my classes. And she is meticulous and resourceful. I’ll leave her detailed instructions for the curriculum. I have no doubt she will immerse herself in the task and exceed all expectations. She’s incapable of doing otherwise.”

Which was true. Even Minerva couldn’t argue against that.

“This is highly uncommon, Severus,” she said for the third time, hand reaching for her now-cold tea but leaving it untouched. “I truly wish you could confide in me.”

“I gave my word.”

She shook her head, her mouth tightening into a disapproving line.

“But if it helps,” Severus continued, sensing the moment was right to press all the way. “I’m confident you would approve of my request if I were at liberty to share the details. In fact, I believe you would even ask if there was anything you could do to help.”

Her sharp eyes narrowed, and gradually, a certainty settled in the light blue.

“Very well then, Severus. Two weeks. I expect Ms Granger to be here by tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you.”

After a quick visit to his chambers and storage to gather some books, notes, and carefully selected ingredients he might need, Severus headed home. Strangely energetic, his mind already working on the spell he would try with Harry, he didn’t even consider the possibility that the boy might not be there. Not until he apparated in his living room to find it quiet – and empty.

His first reaction was disbelief.

Really? The boy had simply dropped everything and left? For what? For a life of constant cold and hunger, forced to submit to lord knew what disgusting, humiliating acts to survive another day?

And yet, if Harry was gone, there was nothing Severus could do about it. Harry would no doubt ensure he couldn’t be found again, and Severus had promised not to go after him. If the boy didn’t want help – at least not Severus’ help – that was his choice. One he was fully entitled to make, no matter what Severus thought about the situation or how cruel and short Harry’s life would be following that path.

But the very next second, he heard a noise from the kitchen, Harry’s small frame soon appearing in the doorway. And from the first glance, it was clear the boy had, for once, done what he’d been told. Considered his situation and what he wanted to do.

Severus hung up his coat and waited, his pulse fast. As though the moment was significant not only for the boy but for Severus as well.

“It’s not that I don't trust you, Sir,” Harry began, and Severus couldn’t help but notice it was the second time that day those words were thrown at him. “You’ve helped me so many times before, saved my life too many times to count. It’s just…”

Severus didn’t like the boy’s tone, nor the fact that he wasn’t looking at Severus, but he held his tongue and let Harry continue.

“I guess I’ve kinda got used to the idea that I won’t be able to do magic again. And the thought of living free of all the expectations and responsibilities that come with magic… it hasn’t been all that bad, really. Thinking only of myself for a change…”

“...and dying cold and alone during your first winter on the streets?” 

Harry’s eyes darted to him. “What?”

The question was based on nothing more than a hunch, but Harry’s expression revealed that it had hit the target.

Severus held his gaze. “You don’t actually have a flat in Grimwillow, do you?”

“Of course I do. It’s just… undergoing renovations at the moment, something about the muggle plumbing being older than the church bells, but I was told…”

Under Severus’ firm stare, Harry’s voice trailed off.

“In the alley, you were trying to climb that stone wall to get to the cemetery. Is that where you’ve been sleeping over the summer?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and Severus got the distinct feeling that he was about to tell him to sod off and mind his own business. But then, ever so slightly, the boy’s shoulders slumped.

“It’s peaceful there,” Harry said in a quiet voice. “No one comes there after dark.”

“Doesn’t quite work as a shelter, though, once the temperature drops and the snow covers everything.”

“How would you know?”

Severus didn’t miss the bitter tone. As if Harry’s was a unique kind of suffering no one else could possibly understand.

“Because I’ve tried that too. When I was young, when I believed I had no choice. But I did have a choice, and so do you.”

He hated the conflict he’d brought into Harry’s eyes. The battle between hope and everything that was familiar and thus safe.

After another silence, Harry whispered, “I don’t think I could handle another disappointment.”

Something sharp stirred in Severus’ chest, the need to take away that pain so clearly laid before him overwhelming, but he batted the emotion away. The last thing the boy needed was false hope.

He chose his next words with care.

“I can’t promise I'll succeed, Harry. But I will promise to do everything in my power to try to help. Will that be enough?”

It wasn’t. He could see it in Harry’s eyes, just as he could see that, in case of failure, the boy had prepared an option. The last and final kind.

Instead of arguing, Harry let out a weary sigh. “What do I have to do?”

Severus swallowed back the wave of relief. Whatever the boy’s reasons, he’d given permission to proceed. And that was all that mattered.

“Nothing. The magic is still there, in you. All you need is a push to set it free again.”

“And how am I going to get that?” Harry asked, eyeing Severus with suspicion as he walked to him.

“The spell is fairly simple, but I’ve never attempted it before, so there’s a chance it might not work. If it fails, I’ll study it further, and we’ll try again later.”

As he spoke, Harry’s gaze travelled over his face, landing quite visibly on his lips. To stop the boy from staring, Severus steeled his tone.

“Any questions before we begin?”

“Yeah, one,” Harry said and blinked away whatever thought had crossed his mind. “Why are you doing this?

Good question. One Severus wasn’t sure how to answer. The simple reason was that anyone in his position would have done the same, but deep down, he knew there was more. But Severus didn’t want to delve into those other reasons right now – perhaps not ever. All he wanted was to see the boy rise from the pit the world had thrown him into.

“Because I can. Now focus, Potter.”

Casting the spell from across the room would have been easier on many levels and judging by the look on Harry’s face, he would have preferred the distance too. After all the times Harry had ended up in his arms over the past few days, the prospect of touching him again felt uncomfortable in a way Severus wasn’t certain how to navigate, especially when concentration was essential. Be as it may, they had little choice. Ms Fairwater had emphasised the spell required a holistic approach: a full body contact accompanied with feelings of warmth, safety, and trust. None of which Severus was convinced he mastered, but over the years, he’d successfully feigned worse.

When Severus leaned in to pull Harry into his embrace, the boy stepped back and raised his hands as a shield.

“Whoa! What are you doing?”

“Calm yourself. I’m not going to bite you. The spell requires direct contact.”

“No wand?”

“No wand. Just…” Severus sighed. “Close your eyes if it helps, and try to relax. And tell me if you want to stop.”

Before either had a chance to come up with further delays, Severus closed the distance between them, wrapped his arms around the boy, and held him firmly against his chest. To his relief, the boy didn’t resist. Taking deep breaths and waiting for Harry’s breathing to match his own, memories he didn’t need right then tried to surface, but he shoved the distraction aside. When the worst of Harry’s tenseness had subsided, Severus focused his magic and murmured the first words.

“Demulceo Te.”

With steady, unyielding force, Severus reached his magic inside the boy and pushed against the invisible shields that held Harry’s magic captive. The boy gasped but didn’t struggle. Didn’t, in fact, move at all, only stood there, putting his faith in a man who had done little to earn that trust.

“Confirmo Te.”

Another push and Severus’ magic sank in, threading through Harry’s with the ease of the wind, fitting together as if they were made to stay that way. They both shivered, their shared breath quickening, and Severus absolutely refused to give one thought to how intimate that connection actually was.

“Credo In Te.”

His voice came out hoarse but he willed himself to focus. Concentrating on the pulsing point where they were joined, Severus began to expand his magic and pulled Harry’s along, spreading past the barriers surrounding them and growing larger and larger until a whole universe had formed inside the boy. At that point, Severus was sure his heart had stopped beating.

He had no idea how much was enough. It wasn’t the kind of magic he was accustomed to, the kind that achieved its purpose with manipulation or force. This spell was the opposite. Patient, nurturing. Not taking or altering, but soothing and reassuring, calling forth what was already there, and building it strong again.

The sensations were… pleasant, to say the least. Intense and deeply satisfying in a way Severus hadn’t anticipated, and he was in no rush to end the connection. It had been a long time since he’d been able to help someone on such a profound level, and having Harry’s body trembling against his own, feeling the gentle interplay of their magic, and sensing the turbulence within the boy settle into a bewildered peace, Severus was quite content in staying linked with him forever.

But that, of course, was the problem with unfamiliar spells. Knowing the incantation and the movements was only part of the process; understanding the consequences and risks involved was another thing entirely. And so, when Severus finally, reluctantly, admitted that the spell had probably reached its maximum effect and he could just as well withdraw – that he was stalling for completely different reasons – the strain struck him like a collapsing wall. Floating in the unbearable lightness of their connection, he hadn’t realised how much of himself he’d given, and when he detached from Harry both physically and magically, his knees simply gave out, his mind black before he even hit the floor.

Chapter Text

When Severus came to, he was lying sprawled on the floor, head pounding, a blurred face hovering above his own.

“Professor?”

The face sharpened into focus, Harry’s features etched with concern as the rest of the room came into view again too.

“How long was I out?”

“Only a few minutes. What happened?”

Excellent question. Severus had no idea. But he did feel weak.

“A side-effect, perhaps. I’m sure it will pass.” With Harry’s help, he managed to get up and sit on the sofa. “How do you feel?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. Same as before, I guess. And you, Sir?”

If he was honest, aside from the fading headache, the main sensation was the echo of their interlaced magic, thrumming throughout his body. A detail he did not intend to share.

“Nevermind me. Take out your wand and try something simple to see if it worked. You do remember the spells, don’t you?”

“Some of them, yeah.” Harry searched the wand he still carried in his pocket, tested its weight and balance, then looked at Severus. “What should I try?”

“Doesn’t matter. Anything.”

After a brief consideration, the boy raised his wand and pointed it directly at Severus’ face. “Episkey.”

A wave of warmth swept over him, and he brought his fingers to where the charm had affected. The skin was smooth and unbroken, then again, Severus hadn’t been aware of any injury there. He fixed Harry with a glare and the boy blushed.

“You had a little cut on your…” he muttered, gesturing to Severus’ cheek. “From the fall, I suppose, and I thought–”

“And you thought it would be a good idea to attempt your first magic in three years on my face ?”

Harry flushed bright red to the tips of his ears. “I’m sorry, Sir. I should have asked first.”

“Well? Did it work?”

Harry reached out and ran a thumb over his cheekbone. “Yeah, it’s gone. But it was a small cut.”

The touch tingled on his skin with the same warmth as the spell before and for a second, Severus had to remind himself not to lean closer. 

“Then I believe congratulations are in order. You’re already a healer.”

A slow smile spread across Harry’s face. “I did do that, didn’t I? With my magic. Or… yours. I’m not sure I understand any of this.”

“I merely gave you a nudge. The magic is yours. Yours to keep, yours to use, however you see fit.”

Harry glanced around, hesitating. “Maybe I should…” 

“Absolutely. Go, try something else as well. Practice.”

“I think I'll go upstairs.”

Severus nodded. 

Shy, was he? Too self-conscious to perform under Severus’ gaze? Or uncertain whether he truly got his magic back or if the healing charm had been a fluke? In any case, not exactly the Gryffindor courage Severus remembered.

Once the boy had disappeared upstairs, Severus took a moment to assess his own condition. Even as he was sitting on the sofa, he felt unusually fatigued. Depleted, really. And although he knew better than to entertain irrational fears, he couldn’t help but consider the possibility that his own magic might have been damaged while helping Harry recover his. Experimenting with new spells, no matter how carefully performed, always carried the risk of unforeseen consequences.

Severus held out his hand, fixed his gaze on a book lying on the table, and murmured into the quiet room, “Accio.”

The book obeyed, but only just. Sluggish, as if not very enthusiastic to comply, it flew into Severus’ hand but lacked the usual sharpness. Lips pressed into a thin line, he tried again – this time commanding rather than requesting – and grunted in approval as the second book snapped into his grasp with the force and accuracy he expected. As it was supposed to.

Perhaps the new spell had indeed fatigued him. Or maybe it was the closeness. The moment had been more intimate than Severus had anticipated and given the overall intensity of the past days with Harry, he might simply need some solitude and a good night’s rest.

“Sir! Sir!” came a shout from the stairs and, a moment later, Harry’s bewildered face in the doorway. “I think I made my socks levitate for a second!”

Severus pushed his own thoughts aside. “A triumph worth waiting three years for, I'm sure. Don’t overwork yourself, though.”

But the boy was too excited to take caution. He moved around the room and flitted from one spell to the next, casting whatever he could recall, cheering at the slightest success and frowning when he failed, his emotions jumping so fast that just watching the energy was exhausting. Then again, had Severus expected Harry to approach his newly found magic with any measure of restraint?

“You do understand that this is only the beginning, Potter? That you’ll need to study and practise if you intend to rebuild your abilities?”

“Of course,” the boy replied, chewing his lip in concentration as he tried to transform a quill into a spoon, rather unsuccessfully. “Lucky for me, I’ve got a private tutor right here.”

“You may not feel quite as fortunate when I present you with the curriculum for the next fortnight.”

“Whatever. I have my magic back.” He tossed the quill aside with a shadow of irritation, only for his eyes to suddenly brighten. “Oh. OH!”

“What?”

“I can play Quidditch again!”

“I wouldn't count on that happening any time s–”

But the boy wasn’t listening.

“Tomorrow. I’ll start practising tomorrow. Do you have a broom here, or should we go shopping?”

Harry was getting far ahead of himself, and while Severus could appreciate the enthusiasm – after all, that was the fuel that drove change forward – he couldn’t ignore the possible dangers embedded in such unchecked optimism. For someone as emotionally fragile as Harry still was, a high like this could all too easily crash into a devastating low. Only yesterday, the boy had been sinking back lethal amounts of alcohol, and the day before that, he’d resigned himself to die in the first winter storm. Not that his record over the past years had been much more stable.

“We’ll see about that,” Severus said and stood. “I’ll leave you to your explorations then. All this excitement is quite tiring.”

Heading to his bedroom, taking one last glance at the boy’s smile as he sat on the floor and played with the Lumos charm, Severus couldn’t shake the feeling that Harry was severely underestimating the challenges ahead. Reclaiming access to his magic was really only the beginning. After so many years, he would need to work hard for that potential to grow into anything close to what he used to take for granted.

One step at a time, though. Right now, the most important thing was that the boy had been given a spark of hope. The foundation from where everything good and true in this world grew.

The faint sounds from Harry’s spellcasting in the background, Severus fell into a deep sleep, but in the middle of the night, he woke up to someone moving in the room.

“Sir?” came a soft whisper from the darkness.

“What’s wrong?” Severus asked, immediately awake and alert. Even though he couldn’t see Harry’s face, his distress was palpable.

“I can’t sleep, Sir.” 

The voice was so small Severus had to strain to hear it. 

“Did you exhaust yourself with the magic?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s not that. It’s…” The boy swallowed hard. “It’s the memories, Sir. I thought I was past them, I haven’t thought about them in years but now… now it’s all coming back.”

Severus cursed under his breath.

Why hadn’t he anticipated this? Getting his magic back would naturally mean revisiting the circumstances that had led to that loss, and given the life Harry had led, how obviously he’d been running away from everything, he probably hadn’t spent much time dealing with those events. After all that had happened, there was a lot to unpack. 

Not Severus’ expertise, though.

“I have some sleeping draughts that might help.”

A silence, heavy with hesitation. “Could I sleep with you instead?”

Severus froze, grateful for the shadows hiding his reaction. Why on earth would the boy want to be near him? Surely he wasn’t that desperate?

“I don’t think that would be wise, Harry.”

“Please, Sir,” Harry pleaded, his voice cracking. “I’d be quiet. You wouldn’t even know I was there.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh…” Another silence. “Of course. Whatever you need. I… I keep forgetting you paid.”

“That’s not what I meant either,” Severus sighed, then lifted the blanket. Once realising Harry couldn’t see, he added, “Get in here. But only for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll find another solution.”

Harry slipped under the covers, his small body cold as ice, as if the nightmares had drained all heat and comfort from his being. After turning down the boy’s trembling lips and shaking hands trying to offer what he thought Severus wanted, Harry eventually calmed enough to fall asleep. But the peace didn’t last long. 

No sooner had Harry’s muscles relaxed than the nightmares began, the boy’s soft whimpers escalating into frantic sobs in a matter of seconds. Trapped in the horrors his mind had created, his limbs jerked and his body thrashed about, and just to avoid getting hit in the face, Severus pulled him into his arms and held him tight. That was what the boy had probably been after anyway, even though he hadn’t quite known how to voice that wish. And it worked. At his closeness, Harry calmed without ever truly waking up, and once his body was again still and his breathing even, Severus slid his arm from under him and dozed off too – only to be startled awake by another panicked cry.

In the darkness, the boy threw himself at Severus, desperate hands clutching his t-shirt and a wet face pressing into his neck, a ragged voice sobbing over and over again how sorry, so very sorry, he was for everything. The lump in Severus’ throat was impossible to swallow, the tightness around his chest like chains he could only accept and endure. 

He took the shaking boy into his embrace again.

Stroking his hair, murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear, Severus didn’t need Harry to explain what he was going through. Who he was mourning, what he was apologising for. After the war, Severus had been in that same place. Haunted by the dead, tormented by voices that felt remarkably real, their accusations sharp and cutting, enough for the sleeping mind to believe in the lies they told.

Severus didn’t sleep after that, and in the stillness of hours that followed, he had plenty of time to think. About what he’d done to Harry, what he had given, and what he had taken away. Because the truth was, in restoring Harry’s magic, Severus had also subjected him to something dangerous.

Hope.

Unlike the thick haze of despair, hope came with a perspective. It cast a light on the past and the future alike, illuminating pain, regret, and dreams buried beneath the numbness of survival. After years of looking no further than the present, Harry was defenceless, unprepared to handle the flood of memories crashing over him, powerless to control the onslaught of emotions that came along, feelings all the stronger after years of suppression.

Holding Harry until dawn, guarding his sleep and keeping the nightmares at bay, Severus found peace as well. Comforting the boy was the least he could do. After all, it was Severus’s choices, his foolish promise of a better future, that had led Harry into this torment in the first place.

Chapter Text

From there, everything went downhill so fast the dive made Severus’ head spin. Three days later, they were both tired, frustrated, and pissed to the bone.

After that promising start with small but meaningful successes in experimenting with his newly discovered magic, Harry seemed doomed to fail at everything he tried. It wasn’t even as if he was trying anything particularly difficult, just simple, ordinary spells. Unlocking doors, moving and shrinking objects, lighting the fire. Magic required confidence and the boy had always had plenty, but what Severus now witnessed was nothing less than Harry’s total lack of belief in himself. He’d never seen anyone give up so easily.

Once upon a time, the boy had been a marvel, a prodigy. Not the brightest of the bunch but a wizard destined for greatness with his instinct and audacity alone. Back at Hogwarts, he’d grasped the essence of most spells with minimal effort and practice, if only he had the slightest interest in learning them. Now, it didn’t matter how patiently Severus guided him, how much he encouraged or pressured him, the effects Harry aimed for simply weren’t happening. And it annoyed the hell out of them both.

The last straw for Harry came during his attempt to relearn flying. In retrospect, an endeavour Severus shouldn’t have allowed so soon but at that point, he’d naively believed the boy’s love for Quiddicth would motivate him to practise harder. 

It didn’t.

All Severus had was his old broom found gathering dust in the attic, an antiquated model even back when his mother had got it from charity for his flying lessons at Hogwarts, but still an adequate piece for someone hoping to brush up a talent rusted over years of pause in the practice. And because Harry wasn’t too keen on risking exposure to the public while shopping in Diagon Alley, he settled for the broom available and headed to the nearby fields under a Disillusionment Charm. 

After hours in the rain, hours of struggle that barely lifted his toes off the ground, Harry stormed back inside and threw the broom in the corner.

“I don’t know where you dug up this piece of shit, but I need a proper broom. No one could fly with this thing!”

Severus bit back the urge to remark that the boy was dripping wet and his muddy boots had left a trail of filth on the carpet, and continued chopping carrots as calmly as he could.

“Did it occur to you that the problem might not be the equipment, but the fact that the skill is too demanding to be relearned in one afternoon?”

“I knew how to fly the first day I tried!” the boy snapped, apparently not only frustrated but also eager to pick a fight. “I can feel it, it’s there, but I can't make it happen. Not with a piss-poor broom like this.”

The slight crack in the boy’s voice was subtle but unmistakable, confirming what Severus had already suspected. That the boy was on the brink of falling apart, drawing strength from his anger to hold himself together.

“You’re trying too hard, Harry,” Severus said in a softer tone. “Take it slower. Start with something easier. Get in touch with your magic again before rushing ahead.”

But Harry wasn’t listening.

“If I can't fly, what’s the point in any of this?”

Without waiting for a reply, Harry strode back out and slammed the door behind him, sitting on the stairs and staring darkly ahead until Severus called him inside for dinner.

After the disappointment with the flying lessons, getting Harry to take an interest in any of the other spells or books Severus had planned became significantly harder, and that presented an entirely new challenge.

In Severus’ mind, helping Harry reclaim his magic was merely the first step. To truly get his life back on track, the boy needed to rejoin the wizarding community, and the easiest way to do that was by returning to Hogwarts to complete his education. In the safety of the castle, surrounded by people who cared for him, people who were qualified to help him, Harry would be able to move past the pain, relearn what he’d forgotten, and get the tutoring he needed to find a career and a future where he could thrive. From every angle Severus could think of, it was the perfect solution.

After graduation, Harry would be free to pick the job he wanted. Hell, if all went well, jobs would be offered without him having to apply for them. The only problem was getting Harry to return to his studies, and judging by the boy’s current mood and the sharp dip in motivation, the prospect of that happening seemed highly unlikely. Even mentioning the idea felt like a lost cause.

As if the constant caution and restraint needed to deal with a stubborn, defiant, and ungrateful adolescent during the day weren’t enough, at night, Severus had to battle a whole other side of him. The scared, insecure, and clingy child who cried in his sleep at nightmares that didn’t cease at anything but Severus’ closeness. Not that Harry would ever admit his vulnerability or need for Severus’ help in daylight, but every night he still crawled to Severus’ bed, pleading for comfort without a word spoken.

The wisest course of action would have been to send him away with a sleeping draught, of course. A rational and responsible choice that would have reinforced boundaries and encouraged independence, but faced with the boy’s obvious pain, Severus found himself unable to refuse. Some wounds ran too deep for any spell or potion to mend. And so, what had started as an exception grew into a permanent arrangement, one that brought them both a semblance of peace.

Beyond the nightly terrors, however, Severus had little insight to what Harry truly thought of his situation. The boy didn’t confide in him and Severus chose not to pry. Every conversation seemed to spiral into an argument anyway, every attempt at guidance into a debate where neither could understand the other's point of view, so for now, Severus deemed it safest to let things develop naturally. With enough time, the boy would surely come to his senses.

One evening at the end of a quiet dinner, Harry broke the silence.

“I need to get out of here. Is there anywhere in this hellhole I could go?”

For a second, Severus thought Harry meant leaving for good, but then he realised the boy was probably only hoping for a break. They had spent almost a week quite tightly together so perhaps it was understandable that he would need some space. Truthfully, an evening apart wouldn’t hurt Severus either.

“What kind of a place were you thinking of?”

Harry thought for a moment. “A pub. Surely even this dump has a pub?”

The fact that Harry’s speech had become increasingly rude irritated Severus without end, but so far, he had managed to refrain from responding with anything worse than a glare.

“Well, there is a muggle pub but it’s not exactly–”

“Perfect. Where is it?”

It was odd, to say the least, to see Harry stride off down the road, heading to the nearest pub a good three kilometres away with no map, no magic, nothing but a desire to escape Severus’ company. But the truth was, Harry wasn’t Severus’s responsibility. Severus wasn’t his guardian, his parent, his teacher, not even a relative or friend. They weren’t bound by any obligation, and Harry didn’t owe Severus a single explanation about where he was going or who he would meet. And yet, Severus couldn’t shake the unease that settled over him as soon as the boy was out of sight.

Severus got absolutely nothing done that evening. An hour turned into three and when Harry was still gone, Severus decided that if he wasn’t home by midnight, he would go looking for him. At the back of his mind, a voice kept reminding him that Harry was an adult, free to come and go as he pleased, not to mention highly skilled in surviving on the streets and dealing with precisely the kind of people he would encounter in the pub. Severus hadn’t worried about the boy a week ago. In fact, he hadn't even thought about Harry in years. There was no logical reason to start worrying now. Harry didn’t need Severus, simple as that. And still, Severus knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until the boy was home again.

Half past eleven, the door creaked open, and with all his might, Severus tried to temper his reaction. 

“Where have you been?”

Tried. But failed. Thankfully, the boy was in an excellent mood and didn’t mind – or notice – the sharpness in his tone. 

“Hi Sev’rus!” Harry greeted cheerfully, leaning heavily against the wall as he fumbled out of his shoes. “Good evening, was it?”

“Not as good as yours, apparently,” Severus replied dryly, grimacing at the unmistakable smell of beer wafting from across the room.

Why he felt the need to disapprove of the boy drinking when he was of age to do so, Severus didn’t know. At least Harry had managed to get himself home and didn’t look like he would be vomiting all over his carpet again. Small mercies.

The boy’s grin was wide. “I’ve been practising. And guess what? Turns out I am good at something!”

“Practising what?” A cold chill ran down Severus’ spine. “You know it’s illegal to use magic in front of muggles.”

A wicked spark lit the boy’s eyes. “Illegal only if they notice. News flash: they didn’t. Not the magic anyway.”

That was when Severus saw it. A bruise blooming right under Harry’s left eye, dark and swollen and sure to grow if not treated soon. Instead of showing any sign of discomfort though, the boy emptied his pockets and laid the contents on the low table. Coins and keys. Chewing gum and cheap jewellery. Cigarettes, lighters, receipts, and condoms. 

He looked at Severus, beaming with pride. “Not bad, eh?”

Severus could only stare. 

He had given this brat his time, his knowledge, his magic. And what does the idiot do? Goes and uses his pitiful skills to steal. And gets punched in the face for doing it.

Severus had no name for the emotion churning in his gut, threatening to rise like bile into something cruel and irrevocable. All he knew was that it could not be allowed to escape.

“Is this your idea of fun?” he said, teeth clenched. “Tricking muggles for worthless loot? Using the magic you missed for three years for… for this?”

A deep hurt flashing in his eyes, the boy leaned forward to scoop his treasures back into his pockets. 

“At least it’s something I can do to make a living. It’s not like I'll ever get a real wizarding job, so I might as well start searching for alternatives.”

Keeping his mouth shut would have been wise, but Severus had far too many words burning to be voiced and far too little restraint to hold them all inside.

“Harry, you have had your magic back for four days. Four days. What exactly did you expect? That you would waltz back into the wizarding world as the beloved saviour once more, basking in the praise and admiration of your ever-loyal fans by now? It took you seven years to learn those spells, seven years of hard work under extreme pressure and constant danger. And now you assume you can master it all again by levitating socks and vanishing breadcrumbs in between eating like a horse and sleeping like a slug? You need to work for this, Harry!”

The boy’s eyes were filled with murder. “Fuck you, Snape. Just… Fuck you.”

“Mind your language, Potter,” Severus snapped. “You’re still living under my roof, here upon my goodwill.”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to forget,” Harry shot back, voice dripping with venom. He slumped onto the sofa and took off his sweater. “I think I’ll sleep here tonight. If that’s okay with you.”

“It makes no difference to me where you sleep,” Severus said coldly. “You seem determined to do as you please anyway, good sense be damned.”

Chapter Text

They never spoke about Harry’s little escapade at the pub again. During their time together, they’d grown rather good at that, not talking. More often than not, silence seemed like the safest choice. But that didn’t mean Harry wasn’t able to make his opinion known without a word spoken. The boy was holding a grudge, and Severus had no intention of making a peace offer. He’d done nothing wrong and, if Severus was honest, he was still quite irritated with the boy.

A few days later, Severus sat at his desk after breakfast, going through his correspondence, while Harry was in his spot on the sofa, making a half-hearted attempt at reading and practising spells from the seventh-year curriculum. Severus still prepared daily assignments for him but no longer followed whether Harry actually completed them. He’d learned the hard way that the boy would do as he wanted, and Severus’ interference usually only made matters worse.

Among the letters was one from Minerva, expressing her doubts about Hermione’s ability to teach advanced potions and her hope that Severus would consider returning sooner than planned. Hermione, in turn, had approached him with a mildly annoyed note mentioning the Headmistress’ lack of trust in her. Otherwise, she wrote that the students had accepted her well and that Severus’ detailed instructions had made her work easy. In closing, she even thanked him for the opportunity to step away from her duties for a while and interact with the new generation of witches and wizards, a duty she described as ‘most invigorating’.

“Is one of those from Hermione?” Harry asked from his lounging place, the books beside him unopened.

Severus glanced at him. Even though the question was casual, almost indifferent, the fact that Harry asked was telling. It was more interest than he’d shown in anything for days.

“It is. She seems to enjoy teaching – or would enjoy, if the Headmistress wasn’t giving her a hard time.”

Harry didn’t seem to know what to do with that information. After all, these were names he’d left behind long ago. 

“So… Do you two like… keep in touch or something?”

“Ms Granger and I? No, not really.”

“Okay.” The boy fell silent, but something was obviously still on his mind. “I mean, you did say something terrible happened to her. Is she… is she alright?”

When Severus had previously mentioned the accident, Harry had downright forbidden him to speak about it. Now, he appeared ready to listen. A small step forward, perhaps.

“I haven’t spoken to her directly, but it was in the news for days. About two years ago, there was an explosion near the Ministry, one of the last Death Eaters trying to make a statement. Mr Weasley went to intervene, but the blast hit about a dozen people anyway. Ms Granger was pregnant at the time. They lost the baby, and Mr Weasley was severely injured.”

Harry stared at him, face pale. “Did Ron…?”

“He survived. And after months in St Mungo’s, he returned to the world of the living. Not to the Ministry and his former position as an Auror, but back to Ms Granger’s loving care in their home. I hear he walks with a limp and his hearing isn’t what it used to be, but otherwise, he’s as insufferable as ever.”

One emotion after another passed across Harry’s face before he lowered his eyes.

“I should have been there for them.”

“Had you known, you would have no doubt been, but you didn’t.” Even as he realised how much the next words might hurt, Severus didn’t hesitate to continue. “But now you do know. They’d both be delighted to hear from you.”

Harry flinched, then stood abruptly. “I think I’ll go for a walk. I’ll finish my reading later.”

Severus said nothing, but although the conversation seemed like another dead end, some things did change afterwards.

Not only did Harry stop scowling whenever Severus entered the room – a charming habit the boy had adopted after their latest argument – but his overall mood brightened, as if some nameless weight had been lifted off his shoulders and life had become bearable for him again. But while Severus would have liked to believe the changes were a sign of genuine progress ignited by the news about Harry's friends, he was also a realist. In all likelihood, the shift was just a part of Harry’s usual mood swings and the situation was destined to take a darker turn soon enough. For now, though, the tension in the house eased, and Severus was grateful for the respite.

The greatest change, however, took some time to notice.

The rooms in his house were small and the presence of another adult made them feel even smaller, but more often than before, Harry began appearing in his proximity. Once, then twice, he bumped into Severus as if by accident, and much more often some part of Harry’s body brushed Severus’ as he passed. Over meals, Harry’s fingers would graze his when handing over dishes, and on those rare occasions when Harry did pull out his wand to practise spells, he asked Severus to guide him by hand through the movements. As if the boy had forgotten everything he used to know.

When Severus finally realised that the contacts weren’t merely a figment of his overactive imagination, he felt foolish for not recognising the truth sooner. Unsure what to think and how to react, he chose to ignore the boy but, eventually, he couldn’t stay silent anymore.

One evening while relaxing together by the fire in pleasant silence, Severus glanced up from his book to see Harry resting on the sofa. Nothing unusual as such, only the obvious display was. On his back, one arm thrown above his head and legs spread, his T-shirt ridden up to reveal a flat stomach and a shadow trailing down his navel and disappearing underneath his snug jeans, the boy was the embodiment of a centerfold in Temptation Weekly . Severus shifted on his seat.

“I know what you’re doing, Harry, and I want you to stop it.”

“What am I doing?” the boy asked innocently, moving just so as to pull Severus’ attention to his hips.

He grunted. “I told you this agreement would not include sex, so stop trying to tempt me.”

“Oh, you see something you like?”

Severus shot him a glare, but Harry merely grinned and rolled onto his side. Propped up on one elbow, biting his lip with a mischievous glint in his eyes, the boy looked no less enticing and, quite determined to not stare, Severus forced his focus back to his book. Even without looking, he could still sense being under very close scrutiny.

“Have you done this before?” Harry asked after a while.

“Done what, exactly?”

“Hired a prostitute.”

Severus gave him another stern look, but the boy’s mood was too good to be dampened by such a weak attempt.

“I’d hardly call our current association that, but if you must know, yes, I have. Although that was something of a misunderstanding. I didn’t realise her affections were chargeable.”

Harry laughed. “She ripped you off when you figured it out, didn’t she?”

“She most certainly did. I considered it money well spent for a valuable lesson.

In the silence he didn’t expect to last, Severus turned the page.

“You prefer boys, though.”

Severus winced. What was this mood?

“You make it sound like my inclinations are illegal. I prefer men younger than I am, true, but not children.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why not children or why men?” Severus snapped, but there was no true energy behind the retort. Instead, the room was getting uncomfortably warm.

“Why younger than you? It sounds perverse.”

Severus sighed. The boy was baiting him, yet for some inexplicable reason, Severus felt like indulging him. They hadn’t had a proper conversation in days, and while discussing his sexual preferences hardly qualified, it was still something. If he endured, the exchange might even lead to a topic of actual value. At the very least, they were talking.

“I enjoy a young body, someone firm and healthy. Most men my age haven’t really taken that good care of themselves. Younger ones also tend to have fewer irritating habits.”

“And it turns you on to fuck someone smaller than you are?”

Uninvited, the memory of Harry’s slender body pressed against his flashed through his mind. He took a deep, steadying breath and considered.

Despite the bluntness and the intimacy, Harry didn’t seem to be aiming for seduction. Rather, the boy seemed to be in the mood to play. Perhaps he was bored. Perhaps he was also genuinely curious to know. The only question was why.

“What is this inquisition all of a sudden? Whatever it is you truly want to ask, kindly get to the point.”

“Fine. Did you fancy me when I was your student?”

“Sweet Merlin…” Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “No.”

“Why not? I wasn’t that different at sixteen.”

You were worlds apart, Severus thought but held his tongue.

“What did you think of me then?”

“That you were arrogant, self-conceited, and reckless.”

And brave, resilient, and persistent. Full of potential. You had the whole world at your feet.

“And now?”

“You’re still all that.”

“Yeah, but you fucked me. And you liked it.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “We’ve been through this. It had been a while, I was tipsy, you were available.”

“And you loved it.”

“Is that what you want me to say?” Severus snapped, his patience fraying. “Admit that I enjoyed a twenty-one-year-old with a perfect body giving me the best blowjob I’ve had in my life then sliding into my bed in the middle of the night to be fucked however I pleased? Of course I enjoyed that, who in their right mind wouldn’t? But I can assure you, it will not happen again!”

In the silence, Severus’ breathing was heavy and fast, but instead of gloating at his victory, Harry simply stared at him, eyes impossibly wide. 

“You… You think my body is perfect?”

“For crying out loud…” Severus groaned but found no response to counter the madness. The conversation had already gone too far and the sooner it ended, the better. “I think I’ll retire for the night.”

The retreat may not have been elegant, but it had come at the last minute. Because as skilled as Severus was at controlling and hiding his feelings, discussing sex with Harry took him too close to the limit.

In his bedroom, door locked, he shoved a hand into his trousers and jerked off in haste, mind filled with images he’d been keeping at bay for days. 

Harry on his knees, mouth around Severus’ cock; Harry naked in his bed, offering himself for Severus’ pleasure; Harry bent over every surface in the house, his legs spread and ass lifted, his hoarse moans flowing in rhythm with Severus’ sharp thrusts as he banged them both into oblivion.

The glimpse of guilt that followed was a small price to pay for the toe-curling high. And he did feel so much better after, the tension that had been tearing him for days calmed. For now.

But as Severus undressed and settled into bed, it occurred to him that by escaping the boy’s questions, he might have also missed a golden opportunity. A chance to discuss something he’d been meaning to talk about this whole time. About what Harry was doing to himself with his chosen profession, what years of selling oneself could do to a person. And even further: what Harry actually wanted from life. His hopes for a career and a relationship. For sex. Happiness. And how relearning magic could be the key to achieving all that.

If there was something Severus loathed, it was being blinded by his emotions. He’d asked Harry to stay for a reason, and that mission didn’t include getting so aroused at the boy’s closeness that he had to run off to wank because he didn’t trust himself able to handle his own libido. As pleasurable as it was to come while fantasising about Harry, Severus was better than that. He had to be.

Chapter Text

When Harry sneaked into the bedroom, Severus had long been asleep. The moon hung high, its cold light filling the room as Severus stirred, Harry’s footsteps as quiet as ever. He always was mindful of Severus’ rest.

Unlike most nights, though, Harry didn’t seek his closeness, didn’t inch near pausing a breath away from touching him, but simply rolled to his side, back toward Severus, and settled into silence. As blissfully normal as it all was, Severus had shared his bed with the boy long enough to recognize something wasn’t right. Harry’s posture was rigid, his body as if curled inward, and listening to his breathing, Severus noticed a faint hitch of an unnamed pain in each inhale.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, not bothering to pretend he hadn’t been observing Harry.

“Nothing, Sir.”

If anything, it was that formal tone that alerted him. That was when Severus always knew something was seriously wrong, and the boy was doing his best to hide it from him. 

“You’ll tell me sooner or later, so unless you wish to spend the entire night debating, I suggest you spill it out now.”

Something like a choked sob escaped the boy's throat.

“It’s nothing, really.”

Severus sighed. “Turn around and look at me.”

When Harry didn’t move, he reached out and touched the boy’s shoulder, but instead of telling him to fuck off – one of the charming phrases the boy often resorted to when irritated enough – Harry gasped and flinched, then shuddered.

“No, please don’t,” he whimpered, and Severus let his hand fall.

Whatever the problem, it was clearly both painful and humiliating for the boy, and forcing him didn’t seem wise. Fortunately, Harry began speaking on his own.

“I was… I was feeling really good after what you said earlier… about my body. And I thought I might…”

Another tremor ran through him, and he moaned quietly.

“Yes?”

“I haven’t been able to… not in years, not since I started… but tonight I thought I’d try again, only…”

As vague and disjointed as the description was, Severus was gradually getting an idea of what the problem might be.

“You can’t get off?”

The boy curled into an even tighter ball, his body tensing as though to shield itself. “I… I know the spell. I used it plenty at Hogwarts, but I can't get it to work, and now it… it hurts.”

His voice faded into soft, broken sobs, and Severus sighed again.

Yes, he was well aware of the many fascinating spells schoolboys had invented to make their erections harder and their orgasms longer as if their bodies weren’t naturally wired to be horny enough. The experiments were often done at the risk of a visit to the hospital wing, but that had never stopped teenagers from trying to push the boundaries of sexual pleasure. Given his current plight, Harry had probably been at this struggle for quite some time tonight, and to crawl into bed unfulfilled would mean he had done everything in his power to solve the problem. The pain had to be terrible.

“Would you like me to help you?”

A pathetic hiccup and a fierce nod. “Yes… yes. It’s a simple spell–”

“No, not a spell. If you want to use magic, you’ll do it yourself. That’s what I've been trying to tell you. That life would be considerably easier if you took the time to relearn what you used to know.”

The boy was crying now, his face pressed into the pillow, but although the timing was poor, the lecture heartless given Harry’s condition, Severus had no intention of backing away. He’d already missed one opportunity to drive his point home that evening and he sure as hell wouldn’t miss another. Not even if it made him a bit of a sadist.

“If you want my help,” he said firmly, “you’ll accept my touch.”

Ever so slowly, Harry’s tear-streaked face came into view, his eyes filled with tentative hope. “You’d do that for me?”

“I’d expect something in return, of course.”

The brief flicker of light in the boy’s eyes dimmed. “Of course. I’d be… of course. I could get the lube right now so you could–”

“No, you stupid boy,” Severus hissed, the thought that Harry was offering to be fucked in his current state both an insult and an abomination, no matter how eagerly Severus’ cock reacted to the suggestion. “I was referring to your studies. As of tomorrow, you’ll stop playing around and commit to making a genuine effort. A minimum of four hours of study every day, following my instructions to the letter.”

The fact that the boy was hurting and his options were non-existent didn’t bother Severus one bit.

“I don’t see how that would make a difference,” Harry tried. “If I can't learn, I can't learn.”

“Those are my terms. Do you want my help or not?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I… I promise.”

“Good. Now. Take off your clothes and let me see how bad it is.”

Watching Harry’s pained moves as he turned to his back, the complete humiliation etched on his features as Severus lifted the blanket and exposed his swollen, dark red cock, Severus couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. 

The boy was twenty-one and unable to reach orgasm while having lived his whole adult life offering that delight to others. Just how fucked up was that? At that age, with a face and name like his, Harry should have been living his dream as the most wanted bachelor in the wizarding world, bonking witches and wizards left and right however he pleased. Yet here he was, trembling in Severus’ bed, thankful for a pitiful handjob to fix a condition that, in all honesty, would have resolved on its own in a few hours.

Severus’ gaze travelled upward, taking in the boy’s smooth, pale skin and the bones visible underneath, the uneven rise and fall of his chest, and the nervous movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

Harry was beautiful, undeniably so. Undernourished, neglected, and utterly adrift, but a lovely sight no less. A rare treasure.

Not his though.

“This may hurt before it gets better,” Severus murmured. “The spells you used really didn’t help. I suggest you focus on breathing.”

With a barely visible nod, Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Severus’ chest tightened at the sight.

How could someone with a past like Harry’s still be so trusting? So ready to place himself in the hands of another, exposing his vulnerability and pain with the faith that they would ease his suffering? Especially with someone like Severus. He had done little, if anything, to earn such trust, and if Harry could see the images playing in his head, he would surely get up and never come back.

Light as air, Severus let his fingers glide down Harry’s chest and stomach, tracing a path over that perfect skin until he reached the leaking head of his erection. Harry shivered but didn’t make a sound, only bit his lip as Severus continued lower, pausing to stroke his balls and the soft flesh behind them. Partly to calm him, partly to think.

The decision to help Harry had been yet another impulse Severus hadn’t fully thought through and the truth was, he didn’t know how to touch the boy. He had no idea if Harry wanted to be stroked fast and rough, or if he preferred a lighter, more tender hand; if he liked being teased, every inch of his body explored and caressed until the first plea escaped his lips, or if he was as impatient in bed as he was otherwise, eager to get to the point and finish quickly. Then again, maybe that wasn’t important. This wasn’t about sex or intimacy, after all. Only a practical solution to a delicate problem. Nothing personal.

He summoned the lube and spread a generous amount on the boy’s overheated, battered length. Feeling him flinch at the sensation, Severus wondered again why he’d chosen to help like this. With his hand instead of a wand.

Was it truly to teach Harry a lesson, to show him how much easier life would be, how much more options he would have, if he reclaimed his magic? Or was it rather to punish him, for his stubbornness in refusing to work harder, for his arrogance and disrespect over the past days, for that stupid stunt in the muggle pub that wasn’t unlike the chaos he’d created when he was still a student? Or was Severus stroking the boy’s lovely cock with such deliberate care because it was what he wanted; to feel the boy tremble under his touch, to see him come undone by his caress alone, to claim the prize of gifting Harry his first orgasm in years?

Severus was already hard, his stomach curled into a tight knot at how responsive Harry was to his touch. At the same time, it was a masochistic delight, because no matter what happened, Severus knew he would go to sleep unfulfilled. The moment was solely for Harry and, somehow, that seemed appropriate.

He wasn’t sure when Harry’s quiet sobs and whimpers turned into moans, or when the tension in Harry’s body shifted from pain to pleasure, but he did notice when the boy began to inch closer to him. Trembling fingers crept up his front and clutched his T-shirt, a warm mouth searching his skin, and even though all Harry found was Severus’ shoulder, he appeared content, latching on as if never to let go. His eyes remained closed, his lashes dark against his flushed cheeks, but in rhythm with Severus’ measured strokes, the boy suckled his skin and kneaded his shirt, lost in a pain-mixed pleasure.

The sounds spilling from Harry’s lips were nothing like the rehearsed, polished moans on their first night. These noises were raw and unfiltered, each urgent, frustrated groan carrying an edge that fed directly into Severus’ own desire. The sheer honesty of it took his breath away. 

For the first time since they’d met, Harry wasn’t hiding or evading or giving up at the first sight of trouble, but genuinely fighting, struggling toward something he wanted even though that goal seemed as impossible to reach as his magic. Briefly, Severus considered trapping Harry’s leg between his and rutting against his thigh to ease some of his own need as well, but the very next second, a louder cry and a sharper bite on his shoulder started him back to reality.

He swallowed the lust and focused on the boy writhing in his arms, so close yet still far away.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into Harry’s hair, reassuring himself as much as the boy. “Take your time. I'll be here for as long as you need.”

But although Severus truly was ready to work until dawn, somehow those words, that whisper – or was it his voice cutting the silence and bridging some last gap between them – was all Harry needed. The missing key to unlock his pleasure.

In only a few more strokes, the boy’s climax erupted, his cry strangled somewhere between shock and ecstasy, his seed shooting in fierce ropes all over them both. Harry’s grip was convulsive, his shudders violent, and feeling the boy’s tears wetting his shirt, Severus wasn’t sure whether he wanted to come or cry with him.

Severus held him through the aftershocks and the relieved sobs, held him long after his breathing had calmed and his muscles had gone limp, the drowsiness taking over. As Harry nuzzled against his chest, a soft sigh leaving his lips when sleep claimed his exhausted body and mind, the conflicting emotions gave Severus no rest.

He’d only meant to teach the boy a lesson. Why, then, did it feel like he’d just managed to complicate things even further?

Chapter Text

The good thing about people like Harry was that they were true to their word.

The next morning, the boy was already in the kitchen making breakfast when Severus woke up, and – quite refreshingly – served him instead of the usual order where Severus was expected to act as the appointed cook, waiter, and maid. Pouring Severus a cup of coffee and asking about the day’s study schedule, the boy was so visibly embarrassed, so desperate in trying to please the man who had helped him out of a very tight spot, that Severus wanted to laugh. Still, despite the rather questionable motivation behind Harry’s sudden industriousness, Severus deemed it best to play along. If the past was proof of the future, the cooperative streak wouldn’t last long.

Throughout the day, Harry behaved like a model student. He followed the timetable Severus had planned, completed his readings and assignments, answered questions, and showed up promptly for practice. As far as Severus could tell, the boy was making a genuine effort like he had promised, but the problem remained. Even when Harry managed to persuade his wand to obey, the results were weak, the magic he created novice-level at best.

Severus watched the boy’s struggle, barely able to believe his eyes.

During Harry’s years at Hogwarts, Severus had always thought the boy failed to reach his full potential. Perhaps understandably. Seven years under extreme pressure, often in mortal danger, was bound to be taxing, but although Harry’s life since then hadn’t been much more stable or safe, this massive underachievement was still unheard of. Severus’ growing impatience, of course, didn’t help.

“You know the incantation, Potter. You’ve used it a hundred times before. Now say it like you mean it!”

But the wand remained in Severus’ hand, the Expelliarmus barely nudging its target. Harry lowered his wand, his cheeks burning.

“I need a break.”

The tears Harry was holding back weren’t far from Severus either, only for entirely different reasons. When the front door closed after the boy, he slumped onto the sofa.

Teaching had been so much easier when Harry had been his student and Severus didn’t have to be so damn careful, when the boy had been obligated to attend his classes no matter what Severus said or did. If he tried anything remotely similar now, the boy might simply storm out and never return. Although, in truth, that would solve a great many of Severus’ current headaches.

The issue wasn’t the absence of magic. It was there, inside the boy, as vibrant and potent as ever. Stronger when Harry was angry, sharper when he was focused, but faltering at the slightest doubt or failure, real or imagined. Despite the remarkable feats Harry had once accomplished, his confidence, his trust that the wand would carry out what his mind wanted, just wasn’t there anymore. Almost as if he feared his magic would only betray him again.

To prevent their shared frustration from escalating into a conflict that would ruin what little progress they’d made, Severus ensured the evenings were free from demands or expectations. Sitting by the fire after dinner, Severus usually reading in his armchair and Harry stretched out on the sofa, sunken in his thoughts, they often passed time in near-silence. If one or the other did bring up a thought, it was acknowledged without the need to delve into a debate. Like that, their togetherness was quite pleasant. Harmonious even. Like they’d been living together for far longer than a week.

During those peaceful hours, Severus sometimes caught Harry glancing at him – briefly, as if not wanting him to notice. It wasn’t difficult to guess the boy’s ever-busy mind was working on something, perhaps realising like Severus did that their time was running out. In a matter of days, Severus would have to return to teaching and Harry… Well, he had no clue what Harry intended to do. He only wished the boy would share his plans on his own because if Severus had to ask, it would no doubt spark another argument.

One evening, it seemed the boy’s gaze was following him with clearer intent. And after half an hour pretending not to notice, Severus lifted his eyes from his book to meet Harry’s.

“Is there something particularly nasty on my face tonight, or why are you staring?”

Harry bit his lip and took a deep breath. “Let’s go to bed.”

Despite his body’s immediate interest, Severus reminded himself to stay calm. In all likelihood, the boy was playing with him again, and considering the disaster that particular game caused last time, Severus would not indulge him again.

“I don’t require rest yet.”

“Neither do I.”

Cheeky. And bold. Not to mention odd, because Harry actually sounded serious. Surely one handjob couldn’t have been so magical as to leave the boy craving for more?

Severus gave him a glare before returning to his book. “Then perhaps we should both stay here and continue to enjoy the silence.”

“What if I want to talk?”

“We can talk here. What is it that troubles your young mind tonight?”

Harry didn’t let Severus’ sarcasm discourage him.

“I want to kiss you.”

Severus kept his eyes fixed on the page before him. The boy was certainly in a mood again. Pushing for intimacy as though that was something either of them wanted, or needed.

“And why, pray tell, would you want to do that?”

“Do I need a reason to want to kiss you? You’ve helped me, maybe I want to do something for you in return.”

“Then the answer is no. I told you this arrangement doesn’t include sex, and definitely not to settle some imagined debt.”

“Kissing is hardly sex.”

Severus pursed his lips and turned the page.

He didn’t want to think about kissing Harry any more than he cared to think about sex with him. Especially since he already knew what both were like. Breathtaking.

“Fine,” Harry continued when Severus refused to answer, “Maybe I'm fascinated by the way your mouth reveals your thoughts, even when everything else in you is completely unreadable.”

Severus glanced at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

A wide grin on his face, Harry gestured first towards Severus and then to his own mouth. “Your lips. They sorta make these micro-expressions, usually when you’re annoyed or amused. Or aroused. Like now.”

If the boy was right, Severus had to work on that. If Harry could read him that easily, he could only imagine how many others could also do so. A terrible thought.

“Or maybe I want to bite those lips and see what they taste like. I didn’t really get a chance to focus on them the last time.”

Severus didn’t respond, only turned yet another unread page.

“Will you hex me if I do?”

With a heavy sigh, Severus gave up and closed the book. “No.”

Any other evening, Severus would have refused. Their relationship was already complicated enough without adding more sexual favours in the mix, but Harry was oddly persistent, his signals conflicting, and Severus was tired of dodging. Besides, he was curious.

Something about Harry’s words and actions didn’t add up. His cocky confidence, his advances bordering on aggression, lacked a clear motive. Severus doubted the boy truly considered him kissable, then again, he didn’t appear to be playing the part of a boytoy either. And if the silent wanking in bed every night when Harry thought Severus was asleep was any proof, the boy was perfectly capable of satisfying his own needs again. So why insist on a kiss? After everything they’d done, the request seemed suspiciously innocent.

He studied the boy as he approached and braced a hand against the chair’s headrest before straddling Severus’ lap. Shifting to find a comfortable position, Harry appeared… not nervous, exactly, but certainly anxious. Impatient and edgy. He stroked Severus’ chest and cupped his face with the same practised skill as before, but now, there was also a slight tremble in that touch, out of place in the boy’s otherwise sure moves.

The lips that pressed on Severus’ were soft, almost chaste, the kiss exploring rather than performing, and with a warmth spreading in his chest, Severus adjusted to Harry’s lead. After a while, after whatever script or impulse Harry was following, the kiss deepened, the tip of his tongue sliding against Severus’ and his fingers threading into Severus’ hair, the sensations sending a delighted rush down his spine. The boy shivered and inched closer, a low groan leaving his lips as his very obvious erection brushed against Severus’, but when Severus didn’t react, didn’t further the contact nor pull away, the kiss evolved again.

The hand caressing Severus’ hair tightened, the mouth on his growing harder. With a palpable edge of frustrated need, the boy pried his lips apart and invaded the space inside, and although Severus’ heart raced at the insistent hips rubbing against him, he made absolutely sure to stay still. Aroused as he was, his whole body humming and throbbing for more, it seemed Harry was even more so, and the sight of him spiraling out of control so fast was too precious to interrupt.

When Harry broke the kiss to speak, he was trembling and out of breath, his lips a gorgeous shade of red.

“Are you ever going to fuck me again, Sir?”

“I doubt it,” Severus managed, surprised at how steady his voice sounded.

“Don’t you want it? I can feel you want it.”

As if to prove his point, Harry pressed his palm on Severus’ cock, but he moved the hand away.

“What I want is irrelevant.”

Harry grunted and bit down on Severus’ lip, then soothed the sting with a swipe of his tongue.

“We could keep on doing this, you know,” Harry murmured, fingers stroking the back of Severus’ neck and hips grinding against his groin, now more deliberately. “I could stay here, waiting for you to come home for the weekends. I could clean the house, have dinner ready. You could have anything you want. Anything at all.”

Ah, so that was it. The grand plan that had kept Harry preoccupied the past days. Such a simple, convenient solution too. One that didn’t require a single change from the boy. Not learning magic, not confronting the people and the world he’d fled from. Just an easy continuation of his hiding, now in the safety and comfort of Severus’ home, offered in exchange for the same services Harry had relied on to survive for years.

“No,” Severus said as firmly as he could muster. Whatever happened, he didn’t want there to be a shred of doubt about this. “Our arrangement ends on Sunday evening.”

But if Severus had thought the rejection would put an end to Harry’s seduction attempt, perhaps make the boy storm out in a fit of hurt feelings and blazing fury, he was sorely mistaken.

A low growl rising from Harry’s chest, he gripped Severus’s hair with both hands, pulled his head back, and forced his mouth open, attacking him like his body was a fortress he was set to claim. Tongue halfway down his throat and rough hands bruising his skin, his consent ignored so completely he couldn’t remember anyone daring to take such liberties with him before, Severus could hardly breathe. And he relished every second.

In a stunning mix of need and anger, Harry kept kissing him with lips, teeth, and tongue, towering over him, demanding something Severus had never promised but the boy was determined to tear from him anyway. When Harry pulled away, his pupils were blown wide, his face flushed and lips swollen, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Touch my prick,” he panted, already undoing his belt. And when Severus didn’t obey fast enough, he simply grabbed his hand and brought it to his length, pressing his fingers around his girth. “Make me come. I want you to make me come.”

Severus’ balls tightened, his cock stiffening into solid steel. Any objection his brain might have whispered lost in the rush in his ears.

For Severus, it made no difference that Harry never asked if Severus wanted to touch him like that. In fact, his total disregard for Severus’ wishes was probably the reason he allowed Harry to go on – and himself to enjoy the intimacy.

The boy was pure energy, dark and all-consuming.

Holding Severus’ hand in place, Harry thrust into his palm, his other hand gripping Severus’ hair to keep his mouth where he wanted, and when Severus groaned at the roughness, the boy muted his complaint with teeth delivering even more pain for him to accept. Ultimately, Harry was too high to even kiss him anymore. Forehead pressed against Severus’, eyes blind as his hips snapped into Severus’ fist, his focus had narrowed to one goal only, fuck fuck fuck  falling from his lips until the last curse broke into a choked gasp and his whole body quaked, his pleasure erupting in a burst of shudders as beautiful as they were violent.

Severus had never seen anything so magnificent.

When the trembling had passed and Harry finally opened his eyes, his face was the reflection of perfect bliss. Absent-mindedly, his gaze trailed down the front of Severus’ clothes and onto the white strands of cum, a stark contrast against the black fabric.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered but didn’t look the least bit so.

“Since you made the mess, I suggest you clean it,” Severus said and, much to his surprise, that was what the boy did.

In his post-orgasm haze, free from worries, self-doubt, or overly complicated thoughts, Harry merely waved a hand and the cum vanished, as if a wordless, wandless cleaning spell was something he’d known how to perform all along. As if all he’d ever needed was proper motivation.

Then, as abruptly as Harry had initiated the kiss, he got up to his feet again.

“I’m hungry. Is there anything to eat?”

Watching Harry fix his clothes and disappear into the kitchen, leaving Severus sitting alone with a thundering hardon and a whirlwind of emotion, one thought rose above all else.

For the first time since they’d met, Harry had walked out of an intimate moment without a single thought for what Severus might have wanted or needed. And while the rational part of Severus’ brain recognized it was definitely a step forward, the more primal part of him was torn because he was forced to admit a truth he’d been avoiding since the night in that dark alley.

This version of Harry – this complicated, suffering, suicidal, selfish, mad version of him – was the hottest thing Severus had seen in his life. His whole being ached to have the boy. Not for one night, not for two weeks. But for an eternity.

Chapter Text

That evening, Harry followed Severus to bed too soon for him to jerk off in solitude, and the next day, that unfulfilled need bit back. Hard.

After breakfast – once again dutifully prepared and served by Harry – the boy settled into his reading, a task he focused on better in the mornings, but Severus found himself unable to concentrate on his own chores. Time and again, his attention strayed to the boy studying by the window, chewing his bottom lip in deep thought, occasionally muttering a few words or making wand movements through the air. Try as he might to blame the boy for his wandering mind, Severus knew the true cause was much closer.

His feelings for the boy were plenty and conflicted.

One part of him wanted to take care of Harry, to hug him in the most disgustingly tender manner and promise him everything would be alright, that he was good and pure and loved by so many, just the way he was, and that he would one day find someone who would make him smile every day for the rest of his life and no nightmare would touch him ever again.

Another part of him wanted to yell at him, tell him he was nothing but a lazy, arrogant brat, and if he used even half of the brain cells he’d been given at birth, he would learn anything he wanted to learn, get any job he wanted to have, and become a respected member of the community instead of having to hide in the shadows like a filthy rat.

And then there was of course that last side of him that simply wanted to throw the boy on the floor and fuck him senseless right then and there, then continue fucking him in every position in every room of the house until they’d both come so many times they’d need to eat and sleep and heal before they could start all over again.

He was hard at the mere thought.

But reality was a cruelly narrow existence, the needs of his heart and loins impossible to fulfill. And so, since fucking Harry was out of the question and hugging him seemed equally complicated, Severus resorted to what he always did best: unleashed his frustration on Harry under the pretext of trying to teach important lessons.

“Get up, Potter!” he bellowed, storming downstairs and startling the boy from his levitation practice. “Time to stretch those battle muscles.”

“I don’t think duelling was on the schedule, Sir, and I still have–”

“Since it was I who made the schedule, it is I who can change it too, now isn’t it?

“Yes, Sir.”

And that right there was Harry’s problem. The very same thing that irritated Severus without end.

He was too soft, too compliant, too eager to please others instead of pleasing himself, striving to learn only because Severus had asked – or, more accurately: ordered, blackmailed, and bribed him – not because he saw the skills useful or valuable for improving his own life.

Severus had tried. He’d written to nearly every professor at Hogwarts and asked about their seventh-year teaching plans, inquired what sorts of topics usually piqued teenage boys’ interests, then incorporated these into Harry’s study programme – without any enthusiasm from the boy in return. Ultimately, Severus wasn’t convinced Harry had ever enjoyed learning at all. Merlin knew the boy wasn’t a scholar, not like his perky friend Ms Granger who was now teaching Severus’ advanced class and enjoying his full trust to handle the task. 

All Harry had ever seemed interested in was Quidditch, but ever since the stinging disappointment on his first day trying to relearn flying, he hadn’t so much as looked at the broom again. And of course he also had a knack for stealing from drunken, unsuspecting muggles and getting punched in the face for his efforts, a memory that still made Severus wince. The boy was a fucking national treasure. Hearing him sink that low was too much to deal with.

The only other subject Severus remembered Harry ever truly focusing on was duelling. Whether he actually enjoyed it or simply concentrated better because it involved a real risk of injury was another matter entirely but at least that was one area where Harry’s strengths and interests lie – or used to lie. Watching the boy take out his wand and find a spot at the far end of the room, his posture awkward and more than a little nervous at what was coming, Severus wasn’t so certain anymore.

“What defensive spells do you remember?”

“Er… I’m not sure how I'm supposed to fight given I can barely levitate a coin.”

“That’s not what I asked, Potter, now was it?” Severus snapped. “Defensive spells.”

“Well, there’s Protego , Impedimenta , Expelliarmus , and Langlock , and of course Expecto Patronum , but really, why are you asking? You know I can’t cast any of them.”

“Perhaps I’ve merely failed to provide you with sufficient motivation. You always did seem to perform best under pressure.”

“Yeah, well, Voldemort killing my friends was one thing but–”

“Try Protego .”

“But…” 

Without waiting, Severus raised his wand and pointed, a streak of silvery light shooting from the tip with blazing precision.

“Ouch!” 

The spell was nothing more than a slap on the wrist, but it startled the boy all the same. He glanced at the red mark on his hand, then back at Severus in disbelief.

“You should have warned me!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Severus sneered. “Did the Death Eaters often warn you before they attempted to murder you?”

“You know what I mean. You’re supposed to teach me, not hurt me. Besides, there are no Death Eaters left.”

“Are you sure?” Severus asked, his tone dangerously soft. ”Now stop whining and defend yourself.”

A quick Expelliarmus sent the boy’s wand flying through the air and clattering into the corner.

“Pick it up. That was your last warning.”

The first hex struck true and threw Harry against the bookshelf, leaving him twitching and jerking uncontrollably as electric shocks coursed through his body. But the pain did the trick. When the second hex hit, Harry was indeed ready, the shield he summoned redirecting the firebolt into the wall beside him where it left a smoking, charred hole. 

The boy gaped at the damage. “What the actual fuck, Snape?!”

“So, the Chosen One does have some spunk left, after all. Such as it is.”

Severus realised his mistake as soon as the words were out.

Whatever sliver of confidence Harry had managed to scrape together withered at Severus’ scorn, the brief spark in his eyes fading. Severus’ next spell brought the boy to his knees, doubled over and gasping for air.

“Get up, Potter, and fight me! Use that magic of yours!”

“What’s the point?” the boy panted, scrambling back to his feet. “The war is over. Voldemort is dead, the Death Eaters are locked away, there’s no need to learn–”

The fury flared in a second.

“No need?” Severus spat, sending a lash at the boy’s chest, and another right after just because he could. “No need? You think the world miraculously turned good overnight because a few bad wizards were purged?”

The next attack slammed Harry to the wall with a force that made the glassware in the kitchen cabinet rattle, but while the pitch in Harry’s cry should have been enough to snap Severus out of the haze, to warn him the boy was seriously injured, the sound of his weakness only fuelled Severus’ fire.

“Please… no more,” Harry rasped, voice trembling as he clutched his shoulder, face contorted in pain.

“You think there aren’t still people in the world who want to hurt you?” Severus growled, closing the distance to the boy who couldn’t even lift his arms in defence. “People like the men you meet on the streets?”

With a careless flick of his wand, Severus thrust Harry’s dislocated shoulder back into place, then shoved the boy against the wall and muffled his cry with a hand clamped over his mouth, glaring deep into his wide, watering eyes. Severus had no idea when he’d gotten hard but hard he was, his whole body throbbing with dark energy, all aimed at Harry.

“If for nothing else,” he murmured into the boy’s ear, pressing his erection against his stomach, “don’t you want to learn to defend yourself for that night waiting sometime in your future when one of your clients holds you like this, a knife on your throat, telling you to do what he wants, lest he slaughter you like a pig?”

As if his point wasn’t quite clear enough, Severus pinned Harry’s wrists above his head and trapped his hips in place with the full force of his body, the thrill of control, of having Harry so helpless at his mercy singing a dizzying tune in his veins.

Despite the roughness – or perhaps exactly because of it – Harry lifted his chin and locked his pain-blurred eyes with Severus’.

“What makes you think that hasn’t already happened?”

The words pierced through, crushing Severus’ frenzy in a heartbeat. He stared at Harry, a boy with no illusions about the life he’d chosen, yet choosing it all the same. Severus’ earlier fury was suddenly nothing more than a lump in his throat, impossible to swallow.

“You defeated the Dark Lord, for Merlin’s sake,” Severus whispered. “You came back from the dead. You were celebrated as the saviour of the wizarding world. Where’s your pride, Potter? Your dignity?”

“Pride? Dignity?” the boy’s lips twisted into a bitter mockery of a smile. “You must be mistaking me for someone else. I chucked those down the drain earning my first galleon sucking dick in a shitty men’s toilet in Hounslow.”

Yes, Harry had always been at his strongest when backed into a corner. Sometimes though, his attack wasn’t the kind his enemy expected.

Harry waited for Severus to lash back, but when he had nothing to say, he added in a calmer, softer tone.

“You can’t hurt me, Snape. Others might, but you’re not one of them. Now let me go.”

Chapter Text

The days flew by all the faster the less they had left, and after the duel, the distance between them only grew.

On the surface, everything was as before. Perhaps even better. Severus prepared the study schedule and materials every day, and Harry followed the plan without objection. They both cooked and cleaned, dividing housework and sharing meals as if the routines had been honed over years of living together. And in the evenings, they occupied the same space, relaxing in Severus’ small but comfortable living room though very rarely any discussion, meaningful or otherwise, broke the silence.

It didn’t escape Severus’ attention that Harry seemed to focus longer on magic with practical application for life on the streets, but he didn’t voice his opinion. Likewise, although Harry must have noticed how systematically Severus steered Harry into completing the seventh-year curriculum, he too held his tongue. In essence, they were both waiting. Fully aware of the inevitable end, aware of the differences in their perspectives on Harry’s situation and its solution, but tired of fighting and arguing, retreating into a polite distance to make those last days tolerable.

The only place that pristine, clinical harmony didn’t reach was their bed.

Even though Harry’s nightmares had ceased, and there was no real reason to sleep together anymore, neither had brought up the matter nor made any move to end the arrangement. For Harry, the bed was probably just more comfortable than the sofa, and Severus, much to his surprise, had to admit that he slept more soundly next to someone. Even if that someone was Harry Potter. And so, night after night, Severus would usually retire first, Harry following soon after, both relatively at ease in lying on their respective sides of their bed, a bed magically widened to accommodate two adults.

The tension between them remained, but it was the kind that posed little risk of escalation. Ever since the kiss, Harry had made no further advances on Severus, and Severus, in return, had made it quite clear that sex was out of the question. With the common understanding that there was no chance of a single touch, the tension was just that: a pull and a possibility, a charged energy impossible to ignore but unattainable all the same.

A strange exception to that steady state of their relationship was Harry, bringing himself off every night.

For a while, Severus wondered why the boy didn’t take care of himself privately downstairs instead of climbing into bed with Severus and waiting until he was asleep, but he figured the boy had his reasons. Perhaps he relaxed better in bed, perhaps he liked to fall asleep right after. Or, as that annoying voice at the back of his mind whispered, perhaps Severus’ closeness added something to his pleasure.

How would he know, really? The boy didn’t seek Severus’ attention, didn’t seem to care about his presence at all, and at some point, Severus stopped trying to pretend he was sleeping. Harry was discreet though, his wanking subtle and his orgasms quiet, and the satisfied sigh as he curled into a ball and drifted to sleep after was a bittersweet punishment for Severus – or perhaps atonement – for all he’d done to the boy. Listening to the ease with which Harry reached orgasm, Severus found himself perversely relieved that at least that part of the boy’s life was in order.

It was after one such release that they had their only meaningful exchange during the last days.

Harry’s breath hitched, and the bed shook, the boy’s climax stronger than usual, and in the silence that followed, they lay on their backs, side by side, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. Both aware of the other, aware of all that was messy and complicated and impossible.

“What would it take for you to fuck me again?” Harry finally asked, voice soft, almost longing. As if he knew the answer but couldn’t help asking anyway.

Severus closed his eyes against the call, the temptation. Like so often, the urge to reach out and touch the boy crashed over him, the need to feel the warmth of another person – to feel Harry – overwhelming. But when the wave passed, the answer was waiting for him.

This boy would never be his. Not even if that was what Severus wanted and what Harry believed he wanted. Severus had nothing to offer him, at least not anything good or healthy, and what the boy was asking for could never happen again. All Harry needed was something to distract him long enough so he could figure this out by himself.

“One day,” Severus spoke slowly, measuring the pace and weight of each word, “when you have a real job and a real home, when you have friends and interests to fill your days… when you’re standing on your own two feet again, in control of your own life without any debt or obligation to anyone… If, at that point, you come to my door and say you still want me, even though you already have everything you could ever need… That’s when I’ll do anything you want.”

In the darkness of the night, hidden in the shadows, such things, such truths, were somehow easier to say.

Harry didn’t respond, only lay still for a while longer. Then he turned to his side, away from Severus like every night, pulled the blanket up to his ears, and slept.

Saturday morning, Severus could no longer postpone addressing the issue hanging in the air. He set down his empty coffee cup and cleared his throat.

“We should discuss your return to Hogwarts,” he began as they were finishing breakfast. “I will resume work on Monday, and there are still some practical matters to be settled.”

The boy’s posture immediately tensed. “Who says I’m going back to Hogwarts?”

Severus frowned. “I assumed that all your efforts and successes so far have been an indication that you were at least considering it. That you’d taken a good, long look at your life and realised how limited your options are.”

“As always,” Harry said sharply, “you’ve made assumptions based on your own thoughts, not mine. To me, it seems I’ve got plenty of options.”

“Pickpocketing muggles is hardly a life choice.”

At the back of his mind was that voice again, warning him to tone down his responses or the discussion would take a fast turn to worse, but the boy’s arrogance was stirring an old irritation, and holding onto his composure was getting increasingly difficult.

“With my magic, I could make a good enough living.”

“Until you get caught.”

“As if the Ministry would care.”

“I suspect the muggles aren’t too pleased about stealing either. Although, by all accounts, muggle prisons do provide free meals and housekeeping in relatively comfortable surroundings. Surely an upgrade from your current accommodations at the cemetery.”

Harry’s eyes went cold. “Sounds perfect. That’s settled, then.”

It was all spiralling back to the familiar, destructive rhythm. Lashing out words meant to wound, to weaken, to force. Attacking and defending, hiding vulnerabilities and emotions beneath layers of anger and pride. How did they end up here again?

Harry fled to the living room where Severus found him half an hour later, sprawled on the sofa, tossing a small rock into the air. A poor man’s substitute for a snitch, perhaps.

Severus took a deep breath. 

“Why are you so afraid of returning to Hogwarts?”

“Who says I’m afraid?”

“I am. Stop dodging, Potter, and talk to me.”

Harry sneered. “I love how it’s always ‘Potter’ when you’re trying to use your authority on me. Well, it’s not working.”

“I don’t know what you think, but you do still have friends there. The Headmistress would be thrilled to hear of your return, and Ms Granger–”

“Don’t assume who matters to me and who doesn’t!”

Severus needed every bit of his willpower to keep his tone even. “You used to care.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t care anymore.”

“I’d be there to help you too. Together we could–”

Harry leapt to his feet, fists clenched and eyes blazing. 

“STOP making assumptions about me!” he exploded. “It’s my life! Mine! And I will do whatever the bloody hell I want with it!”

Severus watched the boy’s rage in helpless frustration.

“Then I presume,” he said, voice like ice, “that you’ll be gone from this house by noon tomorrow, Harry.”

“Don’t worry, Severus . I will be.”

With measured steps, Severus retreated upstairs, his legs stiff and his chest heavy. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he stared outside with unseeing eyes, his thoughts a tangled mess. All his efforts, all his hopes, slipping away like sand through his fingers.

He didn’t know how he could have handled things better. After that first night of selfish pleasure, he’d tried, he’d truly tried, meaning only the best for the boy and yet somehow, he’d managed to ruin everything. Thoroughly and irrevocably. Despite his mistakes, he couldn’t pinpoint where he’d gone so terribly wrong.

Before dinner, Severus heard the front door closing, the sound echoing through the quiet house cold and final. Whatever fragile hope he’d still harboured for the boy crushed and buried with that one resolute click.

This time, Severus didn’t go after him.

Chapter Text

Waiting was nothing like that first night when Harry had left. This time, the fear was very much real.

Throughout the evening, Severus tried not to think about what Harry might be doing. Fought to keep his mind away from the dangers he might seek – even provoke – for reasons Severus couldn’t begin to fathom. Tried, but failed. He had a very good imagination. And with that imagination, with the different scenarios it conjured flashing behind his eyelids, hours had never been longer.

Harry had left his money so Severus knew he would eventually come back, but given the boy’s state of mind, it was clear he would do something rash, something that would end up hurting him. Equally clear was that going after him would not change anything. Only take away the slight chance that Harry might accept Severus’ help when he would need it again.

Sometime after midnight, the front door creaked open.

Harry didn’t seem surprised to find Severus awake, only stepped inside, visibly tired but otherwise unharmed. At least on the surface.

“Sorry I was out so long,” the boy said, face pale and movements slow, his eyes evading Severus’.

“I’m just glad you’re home.”

And he was. Deep down, that really was all that mattered to him.

It wasn’t difficult to guess what Harry had been doing. The signs were written all over him. In the slump of his shoulders, the hollow look in his eyes, the suffocating silence that hung around him. The red marks on his neck as he shrugged off his coat were only the last proof, confirming what Severus had feared all evening waiting for Harry to return. That he’d gone out searching for pain – and found it too.

None of his business, Severus told himself. Harry was an adult. He didn’t need protection, advice, or guidance, not from Severus, anyway. Instead, he needed privacy. Yet no matter how Severus tried to honour the boundaries the boy had so clearly drawn for him, he failed once again.

“Are you hurt?”

Harry shook his head, lingering by the coat rack with his back to Severus, gaze fixed on the floor. For a moment, it seemed like he didn’t want to speak. Then, a barely audible voice reached Severus’ ears.

“I wanted to see if I could still do it. If I could live like that again.”

The confession was blunt, brutal in its honesty.

Unsure how to respond, or if he even should, Severus simply noted, “I see.”

“I didn’t remember how rough they used to be,” Harry went on, speaking as if to himself. “You were never.”

Severus’ chest tightened. “I was a few days ago, during the duel. Is that why you went tonight? Because of how poorly I treated you?”

“You were angry,” Harry said, as if that somehow excused Severus’ behaviour. “Others, they just… take. I don’t matter to them.”

Breathing was hard. Merely being near the boy was hard. He needed something to do.

“Are you hungry? I could make you a sandwich.”

Such a weak offer to mend something beyond mending, but the boy accepted it anyway.

“Yeah, I’m… Thanks.”

Severus walked to the kitchen, and Harry followed, sitting down and watching as Severus prepared him yet another meal in a row of so many. If nothing else, Severus could at least ensure the boy’s belly was full.

When Harry took a bite, his eyes were absent again. Severus remained further away, standing by the counter, waiting. It seemed he was always waiting for the boy. And he was always worth the wait.

“He called me a slut,” Harry finally said, voice distant. “Many of them do that, call me names. I don’t usually care, but tonight… It’s true, isn’t it?”

The need to hold the boy had never been so strong.

“Don’t let others define what you are and are not, Harry. A stranger in a pub doesn’t know the first thing about you.”

“But maybe it’s easier for them to see the real me. Without knowing all that other stuff I’ve done. Just me. As I am, now.”

Severus didn’t trust himself to respond. His insides were so tight he wanted to vomit.

How had he ever thought Harry was ready to return to Hogwarts? Ready to reclaim his magic? Ready to even… be seen?

He needed another distraction.

“Would you like a bath?”

The boy looked up and blinked. “Sure, that would be… Why not.”

Severus left him in the kitchen and went to run the water, a restlessness taking over the moment the boy was out of his sight. When he returned, Harry was staring out of the window into the darkness, his sandwich forgotten on the plate.

“Bath is ready when you are.”

Coming back from wherever he’d been, Harry glanced around, got up, and took his plate and glass to the sink.

“Thanks.”

Harry brushed past Severus without looking at him, but at the foot of the stairs, he stopped. Hesitated, then took a deep breath.

“Would you come with me? Sit next to me, maybe?”

Severus swallowed. He knew he shouldn’t, knew how close the invitation came to the boundary he’d sworn never to cross again, but he had no will to deny the boy anything. Not tonight.

Under the cold light of the bathroom, Harry undressed mechanically, and for once, Severus allowed himself to watch without guilt. Not with the eyes of a man who would always lust after the boy, but with the eyes of someone who worried for him. Cared for him. 

He took in the greed branded on Harry’s pale skin. The red suction marks on his neck, the teeth marks on his shoulders and back. The scratches that might or might not be new, but most of all, the bruises on both sides of his hips. The clear shape of five fingers, hands that had gripped and held and forced for a pleasure that was never theirs to claim.

If Harry noticed his stare, he didn’t let it show. Soaking in the water, he didn’t speak, didn’t make any contact at all, and while Severus wasn’t bothered by the silence, he did wonder why Harry had asked him there. What meaning his presence might have when the boy was so clearly sunken to his own thoughts. Perhaps that wasn’t for Severus to worry about.

“Wash my hair, please?”

The question cut the silence like a knife. Innocent and simple, yet everything but. If this was what the boy wanted, though, who was Severus to decline?

Spreading shampoo into the boy’s hair and massaging his scalp, Severus watched his eyelids flutter and his body relax under the touch. The ache in Severus’ chest grew and he wondered if it would ever stop aching again.

When Harry stood in the draining tub, skin soft and pink after the warm water but already shivering in the cool air, Severus dried his hair and wrapped the towel around his body.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

Instead of moving, Harry lifted his gaze, meeting Severus’. For the first time that night, truly looking at him, eyes wide and terribly defenceless.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, and to avoid saying something he might regret, Severus offered an arm to steady him as he stepped out of the tub.

In the bedroom, Severus thought of all the things he could say to the boy, all the arguments he could use to try to change his mind about his future, but one by one, he deemed them all pointless. Sitting on the edge of the bed and tucking Harry in, the moment simply wasn’t right. And really, what could he possibly say that the boy didn’t already know? Harry had made it perfectly clear that he would do as he pleased, even if it meant hurting himself and, in the end, that was his choice to make.

“Sleep,” Severus ordered softly. After all, sleep was perhaps the best cure for all pain.

But as he was about to get up, the boy grabbed his arm.

“You’re not staying with me?”

“I’ll sleep downstairs.”

A shadow passed Harry’s eyes. “Do I disgust you?”

“No,” Severus said, unable to keep from brushing the boy’s hair. “You could never disgust me. I just didn’t think you’d want me near you tonight.”

Before Severus could withdraw, Harry caught his wrist, brought his hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. The look on his face revealing what he was about to ask.

“Make love to me, Severus.”

What a horribly, horribly bad idea.

“No, Harry. I’ve told you–”

“Make me forget. Just for tonight. Please.”

Harry’s voice was raw, his beautiful features etched with a quiet desperation.

Severus studied him. Took in the wounds life had carved in his eyes and the ones hidden much deeper in his heart. The absolute wrongness of such hurt for anyone, let alone this boy. This man.

“No,” he decided. “But I will make you remember. Remember that you’re better than this, that you have worth as you are, not as others want you to be. Not as the prodigy, not as the saviour of the world, not as a trophy to be shown around, or a toy to be used for other people’s pleasure. Only you, Harry.”

He wasn’t sure how much the boy heard, because no sooner had Severus finished than two strong arms coiled around his neck and pulled him into a kiss he remembered all too well. The soft, hungry lips, parting for Severus, the impatient moan mingling with the tongue seeking his.

A man could get lost in a kiss like that.

“Easy, Harry,” he murmured. “This isn’t a race.”

But Harry was already undoing Severus’ shirt, pulling him closer to join him on the bed, a call as dangerous as it was tempting.

Gently, Severus detached from Harry’s hold, captured the boy’s wrists and pinned them above his head.

“These stay here,” Severus said, meeting Harry’s confused gaze. “If you touch me again, I will stop. This is for you, and you alone.”

He could see Harry didn’t understand, but sharp as he was, he didn’t protest.

As Severus leaned in to kiss the boy again, it was with a pace he chose. And for everything Harry had endured, for everything he’d missed in his life, that pace had to be slow.

Caressing the boy’s palms and wrists while keeping them in place, he feathered over Harry’s mouth, barely touching his lips. Each time the boy reached up seeking for more, Severus withdrew and watched his need grow, over and over until Harry’s breathing was fast and his body restless, his brows knit in concentration.

“Beautiful,” Severus murmured and, before the boy could ask, he captured those soft lips again.

Deepening the kiss into a slow slide of lips and tongue, Severus continued down Harry’s arms, massaging every muscle and feeling every bone, showering the boy with attention but giving less than he truly wanted. Gradually, his efforts paid off. Harry’s fight to steer the moment, his struggle to give something in return faded, and with a shivering sigh, he surrendered, accepting Severus’ mission to simply make him feel as good as possible.

Severus moved a leg between Harry’s and the boy took it eagerly, rubbing his erection against Severus’ thigh as he threaded his fingers into the boy’s damp hair and kissed a trail to suckle his earlobe. With Harry’s moans encouraging him forward, Severus descended to his neck, nibbling and biting, pulling the delicate skin between his teeth and marveling at the new sounds he was able to elicit from the boy.

“You like this?” Severus asked, testing the theory with another teasing bite.

At Harry’s incoherent but unmistakable approval, Severus repeated the action, again and again, pausing to soothe the marked skin with light, languid strokes of his tongue only when Harry was trembling under him, gasping at the sensations.

“You’re stunning, Harry,” he growled against the boy’s shoulder, then ran a tongue along the sharp edge of his collarbone and up the front of his throat to his lips, stealing away a hitched breath. “An absolute treasure.”

“Please, Sir,” the boy panted as Severus returned to his neck, the squirm of hips shouting Harry’s need.

“All in good time.”

Harry’s eyes watered, his lips quivering as if he was on the verge of crying. Which he probably would before Severus was done with him.

Without hurry, Severus travelled down his body. Pressed open-mouthed kisses to his sternum and sucked his nipples, licked every hollow between his ribs and caressed his beautiful skin everywhere he could reach. Harry was so sensitive, responding to every touch with unguarded delight, the sounds escaping him building Severus’ own arousal as well. Just because he could, Severus slid his hands beneath the boy and cradled him in his arms, watching the rise and fall of his chest, feeling the beat of his heart against his lips. Relishing the privilege to have him like this, breathing in his pleasure. 

Harry’s erection was as gorgeous as the rest of him, and ignoring it felt like a sin, but plead as Harry did, Severus only brushed his lips over the leaking tip, taking a quick taste of him then moving on despite Harry’s horrified cry.

“Please don’t leave me like this!”

“I would never,” Severus promised, nipping the inside of the boy’s thigh and sliding his hands down his legs, all the way to his feet and gathering them closer. “But it’s still too early.”

Laying between Harry’s legs, stroking the boy’s hips and thighs while his mouth was so close to where they both wanted him to be, it took everything in him to delay a little longer.

Through heavy breaths, Severus kissed the silken skin on Harry’s inner thigh, hands mapping the shape of his ankles, his knees, up to his hip bones. Caught in the sweetness of him, every kiss and touch rewarded with a moan or a shiver, Severus was certain he could never get enough of the boy. That he could keep on feasting on his body and his pleasure, and die a happy man right there, between his legs. 

When he moved up again, sucking a trail toward his cock, Harry hooked his legs behind Severus’ back.

“Please, please, please…” the boy chanted, and Severus groaned, the pleas burning through his veins as a call he was done resisting.

“Merlin, you’re amazing. I can’t wait to see you come.”

When his tongue touched Harry’s balls, the boy let out a shocked noise.

Unsure if the reaction was a sign to stop or go on, Severus gave Harry’s testicles another gentle lick. Deeming the hoarse moans a definite ‘yes’, he took first one, then the other into his mouth, holding Harry’s hips as they jerked. Listening to the gasps and sobs that were nothing short of rapturous, he moved to lick the base of Harry’s cock and wondered in passing if the boy had ever experienced this before. If anyone had bothered giving Harry the same pleasure he so willingly gave to others. Or if this was, in fact, his first.

The thought made Severus work even harder.

Sliding an open mouth over Harry’s length, Severus spread as much saliva as he could, up to the tip then down again, over and over until the boy’s erection was dripping with spit, the boy squirming and pleading for more.

When Severus wrapped his lips around the swollen head, he made sure to see Harry’s expression. And to his surprise and delight, the boy’s eyes were fixed on him too.

Fully focused, almost hypnotized, Harry watched Severus take him in, a helpless gasp leaving his lips when Severus gave him a tentative suckle. The steady lapping of Severus’ tongue turned Harry’s moans into needy whimpers and as Severus hummed around his cock, the vibrations adding to the sensations, the boy threw his head back and cried. Throughout Severus’ labour, Harry writhed and moaned, his heels digging into the mattress and his hips pushing up against Severus’ face, but by whatever miracle, his hands never strayed from where Severus had told him to keep them.

Severus could have gone on all night. The boy was exquisite and deserved all the pleasure in the world, but sadly, blowjobs tended to come with a limit. Harry lasting as long as he did was already a marvel.

It wasn’t difficult to read when he was close.

Hands under Harry’s buttocks, mouth working on his length, Severus could feel the trembling in the boy escalate to that point where he went almost entirely still, his breath pausing to a complete silence, his body as tight as a bowstring. One last twirl of his tongue, hollowed cheeks sucking the boy deep into his mouth, and Harry’s gasp broke into a long and desperate wail, his hips quaking and body shuddering as his semen shot into Severus’ throat.

Severus swallowed, swallowed, then swallowed some more, set to draw every last drop of cum and shiver of pleasure from the boy. And when he pulled away, he continued licking Harry clean, content in servicing until the trembling had quieted and the boy lay still.

The sight opening before him when Severus lifted his head was one to die for. 

Sprawled on the bed lay a boy so high that he didn’t seem to be in this world anymore. Streaks of tears were drying on his cheeks, his lips curled into a delirious smile, his whole body dotted with tiny sucking marks Severus hadn’t realised making. But the most amazing detail awaited above the boy’s head.

Harry’s wrists, bound to the end of the bed with golden strands shimmering in the darkness. Not one or two but dozens of threads, coiling down his arms all the way to his shoulders and locking him firmly in place, as if the boy hadn’t been sure how much magic was needed to ensure he’d obey Severus’ command not to move. Magic he’d conjured all on his own. Without a wand.

Severus released Harry’s wrists and kissed his forehead, something warm and fragile blooming in his chest.

“Come back to Hogwarts, Harry,” he whispered into the boy’s ear. “Relearn the magic. Finish your studies. And live the life you want to live.”

He expected some kind of a response, a weak resistance or a tentative maybe, but when he lifted his head, he found all the tension had melted from the boy. His breathing slow and even, his face serene, and his mind sunken into a deep sleep, Harry didn’t look like he’d heard a single word.

Chapter Text

When Severus woke, a pair of green eyes were staring at him from such close proximity that it was impossible to sharpen his focus on the boy’s face. Inching back, he could see Harry’s expression was intense, his hair even more mussed than usual, the thick smell of sex in the air a clear reminder of why that was. Not that Severus needed a reminder. He could still taste Harry’s cum at the back of his throat.

“I won’t sleep in the Gryffindor tower.”

Severus blinked, trying to shake the fog of sleep and force his mind to rise to the moment. All evidence indicated that the boy had been awake for some time, and he was considering Severus’ suggestion about returning to Hogwarts. Or, more than considering. It sounded rather as if he was already planning the logistics.

“You could always ask the sorting hat to place you in a different house. I’d be happy to have you in Slytherin.”

Well, that was neither helpful nor amusing enough to alleviate the boy’s obvious stress. Maybe it would be better if he stayed quiet.

Fortunately, Harry ignored his input.

“Everyone knows me,” he continued, brows drawn together. “They know what I've done, what I'm capable of – or, what I used to be capable of. And they’d notice how little I can do now. There would be no end to the talking.”

“Secrets tend to surface eventually, but I would disagree on the talking. Teenagers aren’t particularly persistent with gossiping. In a few days, there will be a new topic. And really, haven’t you been through worse?”

Again, not very soothing or encouraging. Exactly the reason why Harry needed to get to Hogwarts. Minerva or Poppy would be so much more qualified to help him.

The boy bit his lip, weighing his options, and Severus was struck by a sudden urge to kiss him. Where the impulse came from, he couldn’t say. Maybe Harry just looked so damn lovely in his post-sex disarray. Or maybe it was because Severus’ morning erection was turning into an actual erection, as unwanted as it was.

Suddenly, the boy’s eyes lit up. “I could sleep in your room.”

“No, you most certainly could not.”

The thought was tempting though, undeniably so. But even if Harry wasn’t a minor anymore, he was still a student. Or would be, once he was back at the school.

“Do you have a better suggestion?”

“No. But the Headmistress might. You should go and speak with her.”

Harry winced, the thought of talking to anyone else apparently still too daunting and too real to consider.

“I need breakfast.”

Before Severus could utter another word, the boy was up and out the door, leaving the image of his bare behind etched in Severus’ mind.

He groaned and rolled onto his back, determined to ignore his hard-on.

Despite the promising start for the day, the next steps were shrouded in uncertainty. Severus had no idea how long Harry had been awake and what kinds of thoughts had kept him occupied while watching Severus sleep, but his mood wasn’t as calm as it seemed. Beneath the surface, Severus sensed something unstable, even volatile, and if past behaviour were an indication, the boy needed to be handled with caution.

True to his suspicion, by the time Severus got downstairs, Harry’s mood had already shifted.

Even with his back to the doorway, Severus could see the boy was tense, stirring the porridge as if it was the sole cause of every injustice in the world. One wrong word and that tension would explode, Severus was sure of it.

In silence, he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table.

When Harry brought him a steaming bowl, Severus noticed his hands were trembling, but before he could offer any reassurance, the boy touched his arm. Glancing up, Severus saw bright, watery eyes locked on his.

“I don’t think I can go through with this, Professor,” Harry said and swallowed, lingering close and stroking his arm. “But I’d really much like to stay with you.”

Severus leaned back in his chair and pulled his hand away. What the touch hinted at was a path he had no intention of exploring any further.

“You can do it, Harry. I know you can,” he said firmly, but instead of arguing or giving up, the boy simply… crumbled.

“Please, Sir,” he whispered, face pale. “I can’t… I just can’t. Not anymore.”

And when Severus only stared at him, too stunned to speak, the boy licked his lips and continued.

“Do you want me to beg? I will. I will.” To Severus’ absolute shock, Harry sank to his knees and lifted his gaze. “Please, Sir, let me stay.”

“Harry, don’t,” Severus rasped, but the boy pressed his forehead against Severus’ knees and slid his palms up his thighs, his words tumbling out in a frantic plea.

“I’d be so good to you. I’d give you anything you want. I could cook for you, I could clean–”

The sight of Harry grovelling before him, reducing himself to something so small and worthless, was unbearable.

“Potter, get up,” Severus hissed and stood, trying to pull Harry along, but the boy yanked his arm away and stayed on his knees, looking up with wide, pleading eyes.

“Am I not good enough? Is that it? I could do better, be better, I could–”

“Stop it! Right now!” Severus roared, a wave of helpless rage surging through him.

He thought they’d moved past this. He thought Harry understood. He thought–

“I’d do anything, Sir. Anything.”

Harry’s voice was nothing more than a pitiful whisper past dry lips, but the desperate tone ran down Severus’ spine, feeding the flames of his fury.

Long ago, he too had said ‘anything’. And with that word, he’d signed his own death sentence.

“Don’t ever say that, Harry,” Severus growled, voice shaking. “Ever. Do you hear me?”

“But I could–”

“What will it take to get it into your thick skull that I don’t want this? That I don’t want you?”

Not like this , he almost added but thank fuck he didn’t because as harsh as the rejection was, lashing like a knife across Harry’s entire being, the hurt finally achieved what kindness or reason couldn’t.

Flinching as if Severus had hit him, Harry stumbled to his feet. Eyes wild, he glanced around the kitchen searching for something he couldn’t find, ran a hand through his hair, then took one look at Severus and fled upstairs.

A moment later came the first noise. A loud crash, reverberating through the house. Then a thud, a smash, followed by a scream, each sound making the walls feel thinner than they were.

Severus had no trouble imagining precisely what was happening. A storm – or rather, its final bursts – tearing his room apart for what little there was to destroy. The metaphor, even if it was coincidental, was on point. Severus deserved Harry’s wrath.

The last sound was shattering glass. A vase probably, hurled against the wall. Hopefully not against the window, much more to fix there. And then, a silence. But not the calm or peaceful kind. This was the heavy, suffocating quiet of exhaustion, the aftermath of enduring too much for too long, a storm too powerful to sustain itself.

Severus rose from his chair and headed upstairs, the sound of crying reaching his ears halfway up the stairs.

Slowly, he pushed the door open.

The devastation was more or less as he’d expected and hardly deserved attention. Furniture could be fixed. More difficult to fix was the boy slumped in the far corner, hiding in the shadows much like the one Severus had found in the alley two weeks prior. Only this boy was broken. Visibly and completely. His weak sobs dragging along the edges of Severus’ soul.

He walked to Harry and stopped a few steps away, ensuring the boy knew he wasn’t alone anymore. The sobs didn’t cease but they did begin to fade, and when Harry took the first shivering breath as if to pull himself out of the whirl, Severus knew the worst had passed.

“Mind if I sit with you?” he asked quietly.

The reply came with a delay, the nod probably more out of learned manners than actually wanting him there, but Severus took it nonetheless.

Sweeping aside the shards of glass and wood, he sat down and offered Harry a tissue. The boy muttered a thank you, then blew his nose, rather noisily.

The silence that settled between them was heavy, to say the least, but perhaps necessary, and Severus didn’t want to be the first to break it.

“You didn’t really mean what you said,” the boy blurted at last, his voice rough from the crying but no longer weak. In fact, he sounded quite confident, at least on this particular matter.

“Mean what?”

“Not wanting me.”

Severus grunted. Interesting. Even in the turmoil of pain and fear, the boy remained perceptive enough to make such an insightful observation.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You just wanted me to stop.”

“That, I did.”

“You can be such a bastard, you know that?”

A smile tugged at Severus’ chest.

“I know.”

Another silence, this time, a more comfortable one.

“Sorry about the…” Harry made a vague gesture at the wreckage around them. “I’d fix it if I knew how.”

Severus looked around as well. The destruction was, admittedly, impressive. Reminding him of another room Harry had destroyed with nothing but his fists. Another storm of helplessness and frustration that wasn’t met with much understanding.

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Severus said. “Though I must admit, from the two of us, I always thought I was the one with the temper.”

At that, Harry made a sound, almost like a choked laugh. Could have been a cough too. Severus didn’t dare to check.

“Do you think I’m being ridiculous?”

The question was unexpected. Why would it matter to Harry what Severus thought? Surely his opinion was the least of his worries. But the query did open a window of opportunity.

“No, not ridiculous. Fear is simply a monster to fight.”

From the corner of his vision, he saw Harry wince at the word. Earlier, the boy had fiercely denied being afraid. Now, he didn’t bother to protest.

“It’s just…” Harry paused, struggling to give that monster some shape or form, then gave up.

“It’s quite all right,” Severus said, careful not to make the boy feel cornered again. “You don’t owe me an explanation. The gates to Hogwarts will always be open for you, as will the doors of your friends. Whenever you’re ready, they’ll be waiting.”

Harry drew in a sharp breath. Glancing at his side, Severus found the boy’s accusing eyes were filled with tears.

“You should have said something like that two weeks ago. Given me time, instead of all that… pressure.”

Unvoiced, Severus could hear Harry add ‘asshole’.

“My apologies. I thought it was obvious. Besides, I didn’t think you had any reason not to accept my suggestion straight away. Of course, I now see things differently.”

He offered Harry a new tissue, and he snatched it angrily. After blowing his nose, though, he was calmer again.

“It’s just… I’d rather be a nobody by my own choice than prove to everyone that I am one, you know? I don’t want to embarrass myself or feel like a disappointment, not after already disappointing so many back… then.”

The confession didn’t cover half the truth but Harry didn’t need to elaborate. Severus knew. Some scars lasted a lifetime, the wounds perhaps healing but the pain remaining. Sometimes forever.

“As I said. Fear is a terrible beast with as many heads as there are stars in the sky.”

“Yeah, well, I fought enough in the war. I was hoping to live the rest of my life in peace.”

Another quiet moment. A reflective kind. They’d truly gotten good at silence.

Severus studied the boy. His beautiful profile drawn against the wreckage, the incredible strength in his shoulders, the gentleness in his hands. Still, after everything he’d endured. There was nothing weak or cowardly in him, and if necessary, he could bear a little more before everything would turn better.

“What is it they say about fear, Harry?” Severus asked softly. “Surely a Gryffindor would remember?”

Harry tossed the tissue aside, shifted and groaned, then thudded his head against the wall. Once, twice, then groaned again, louder.

“God, I hate this!”

And god, how Severus wanted to kiss him. Touch him. Just… hold him.

“You should write to the Headmistress about your plans.”

The boy let out a heavy sigh and turned his eyes to Severus. “What if I change my mind again?”

“I don’t think that would be the end of the world.”

“Will you be there to catch me?”

Severus allowed a small smile to pass his lips. “I doubt you could make me leave you even if you tried, Harry.”

Chapter Text

Harry’s return to Hogwarts wasn't smooth or easy. At all.

They arrived at the Headmistress’ office on Sunday evening after dinner, walking in to meet a woman full of emotion but unable to express any of those feelings properly. Minerva approached Harry with a strange mixture of relief, wonder, and worry, only to hide it all behind a formality and distance as Harry showed little enthusiasm to greet her with anything more than a reserved ‘Hi’.

The meeting was excruciatingly awkward, a sheer pain to witness.

Slouched in the chair with his arms crossed and legs sprawled like the worst ill-mannered brat, Harry evaded every single one of Minerva’s polite yet anticipated questions of how Harry was, what he’d been doing, and what had prompted him to return. And with each question going unanswered, Minerva’s expression grew more stern. Meanwhile, Severus was left to watch the exchange with mounting unease, bewildered at how two people he thought he knew transformed before his eyes, the former familiarity and warmth between them crumbling the further the conversation proceeded. He couldn’t understand either.

One of the few inquiries Harry did answer with some semblance of civility and normal manners was the one regarding his expectations for the year ahead. To graduate and to get a job, he said, and hearing that, Minerva gave him a brief nod. If nothing else, they could agree on that. It was, at least, a start.

When Minerva was wrapping up the discussion, Harry finally gathered the courage to spill out what had been weighing on his mind, the only wish he had for the school year. That he wouldn’t be accommodated in the Gryffindor dorms but was given private quarters instead. By the immediate narrowing of Minerva’s eyes, Severus knew what her response would be.

She did explain.

“Hogwarts is a school, Harry, not a hotel. Everyone who stays here has a role, and with that role comes rules and responsibilities. Since you are not staff, you are a student, here to learn and hopefully to graduate. And as a student, you will share quarters with your peers.”

Harry’s posture shrank, and Severus had to grit his teeth to stop himself from intervening.

How could she do that? Refuse the request point blank without so much as inquiring why Harry had asked for such a thing, without trying to understand why it was important to him or to seek a possible compromise. After all Severus’ efforts to persuade the boy to return, how could she have handled the situation so badly? Hogwarts had plenty of spare rooms. They all knew it, so denying Harry one was simply a choice. A spectacularly poor choice, in Severus’ opinion, considering everything that stood to be gained.

Back in Spinner’s End, this had been Harry’s biggest source of anxiety, the one detail that had left him trembling long after he’d sent the letter to Minerva requesting permission to resume his studies. It had taken Severus quite a while to calm him, to convince him that he would be welcomed and cared for. And now this. If Harry were to storm out and disappear into the night, never to be seen or heard from again, Severus wouldn’t be surprised.

Instead of leaving, however, Harry pressed his lips into a tight line, lowered his gaze, and nodded in understanding, not even attempting to argue.

Without further discussion, Minerva thanked Severus, then escorted Harry out of her office and towards the Gryffindor tower, as though Harry was nothing more than a first-year student starting late in the term, needing firm guidance to get settled into the school’s routines. Any and all traces of the maternal care Severus had hoped for Harry once he was back at Hogwarts glaringly absent.

How Harry made it through that first night, Severus couldn’t fathom. Surrounded by strangers, trapped in a place filled with memories, memories that would no doubt bring back the nightmares… He should have given him a Sleeping Draught, just in case.

Severus himself didn’t get much sleep. All through the night, his thoughts kept wandering back to Harry, his body tingling with an odd, restless energy. Perhaps expectedly. After two weeks of sharing his house and his bed with the boy, learning to sense Harry’s moods and worries from his breathing alone, finding rest without him was bound to be difficult for a while.

The next morning, Harry appeared at breakfast in the Great Hall like everyone else, and from the high table, Severus observed him closely.

Like so many times before, Harry was a sensation. Minerva hadn’t seen it necessary to announce the new student in advance, but the word of Harry’s arrival didn’t take long to spread. Within seconds, the whispers had travelled throughout the large room, growing into a thunder as every student at every table turned towards the Gryffindors, craning their necks to confirm the rumours with their own eyes. That the Boy Who Lived was back at Hogwarts, only not as a professor or a visiting lecturer, but as a student. A plain student.

Watching Harry sit there in the eye of the storm, shoulders tense and gaze fixed on his plate, Severus had no trouble reading him. It was everything Harry had feared. Or worse.

To others, Harry’s composure was probably a mark of strength. His silence and distance perhaps arrogant but still understandable, something expected of the Saviour of the Wizarding World. After all, he wasn’t like the rest of them. But when even Minerva failed to show the boy the slightest sign of sympathy, making no attempt to rein in the rising clamour, Severus wondered if anyone else saw what he did – how utterly broken Harry was. How fragile his confidence, how weak his magic. Given how terrified he had been at the thought of anyone even knowing he existed, Harry must have needed walls of steel to walk into the chaos. Then again, Harry had been quite determined back at Spinner’s End. And what choice was there, really? Severus had done his part and brought the boy back. The rest was up to Harry and the people he allowed to help him. He’d survived worse. Surely, he would pull himself through this too. Adapt, settle, and shine.

But as days passed, Harry’s anguish didn’t seem to ease. Instead, it seemed to grow.

As Severus had predicted, the gossiping died soon enough, but that didn’t mean Harry was welcomed or accepted. Wherever Severus saw the boy, he looked lonely. Isolated. And for someone who had once been surrounded by friends, chatter, and laughter, the sight was heartbreaking. In the Great Hall, there was always an empty space around him, a small but telling gap between him and the other students. In the Potions classes, where he arrived and left alone, he paired up for assignments only if explicitly instructed to do so. And outside in the yard, Severus often saw him sitting apart, further away, gazing into the distance as if longing to be anywhere else than Hogwarts.

It would have been easy to assume others avoided him because he was older, famous, and different, but the truth was more complicated. Even those students who had been at Hogwarts when Harry had last attended school three, four years ago appeared to avoid him, almost as if they were afraid of him. As if Harry carried some invisible mark of something dark and dangerous, and while everyone was polite, no one wanted to get closer to him either.

Harry, in return, reacted the only way he could. By retreating behind a well-rehearsed role of independence and strength, giving the impression that being left alone was exactly what he wanted. But although Severus on some level understood, telling himself it was only a phase and a period of adjustment, he wasn’t entirely convinced.

After two weeks had passed and the situation remained unchanged, Severus brought up his concerns with Minerva.

“I wouldn’t worry, Severus,” she replied, her tone far too casual for Severus’ liking. “I don’t know where Harry has been the past years, but it’s clear he needs time to adjust back to routines and order. Without his old friends, it may be a little difficult at first, but he’ll make new friends, I’m sure. And without Voldemort disturbing his thoughts, he’ll have more energy and focus for his studies. He’ll succeed magnificently, just wait and see. Imagine if he’d fallen into trouble, like alcoholism. Then we’d have real cause for concern.”

Severus stared at her. That was the worst fate she could imagine? If she knew the whole truth, she would lose her mind.

“Have you spoken with him? Or has Poppy, perhaps?” Severus asked, unsure how to broach the subject of Harry’s obvious need for counselling or at least emotional support without revealing too much of his past or his instability. “Given the problems with his magic, the boy was rather distressed before, and I thought–”

“His magic is a bit rusty, Severus. That’s all. Besides, he isn’t a boy anymore. Harry is an adult and a fine young man at that – once he finds his footing again. If he needs help, I’m certain he will ask for it. The best we can do right now is to give him time to work things out on his own. I really don’t think we should pry into his personal life when he’s made it clear he wishes to keep it private. Surely you agree, Severus?”

He had no counterargument there. Harry had indeed made it clear he wanted his life and his privacy respected, in fact, he’d repeatedly raged at Severus for overstepping that boundary. The idea of Harry needing counselling came solely from Severus, and now even Minerva disagreed on its necessity. A woman of her age, experience, and wisdom would know best. Still, as Severus made his way back to his chambers, he couldn’t shake the feeling that by choosing not to intervene, they were leaving Harry adrift at a moment when he would have needed some kind of a beacon to guide him safely to shore.

In the end, Minerva was right about one thing. Perhaps the most important thing.

When the pressure grew too much to bear, Harry did seek help, all on his own. It just so happened that the person he turned to wasn’t Minerva or Poppy, but Severus himself. The person least suited to the task.

One evening when Severus was in the Potions classroom brewing a fresh batch of poison antidotes for the infirmary, Harry stormed in without knocking, marched straight past Severus to the back of the room and stood there, fists clenched against his thighs.

Severus continued stirring the cauldron. When Harry didn’t speak, neither did he. By now, Severus was familiar enough with his mood swings to know they rarely required immediate attention. More often than not, Harry benefitted from a respite, time to gather himself and voice his concerns at his own pace.

Glancing between the softly bubbling potion and the boy staring out of the window into the murky depths of the Black Lake, shoulders so tight he looked as though he might snap under the strain, Severus wondered whether Harry would eventually tell him what was wrong. And if he did, whether that might finally be the moment Severus could persuade Harry to seek help from Poppy. Maybe even Minerva, though after recent conversations, he wasn’t so sure the Headmistress was the right person for the job, after all.

But, as it turned out, Harry needed something else entirely.

“I tried out for the Quidditch team tonight.”

Severus paused mid-stir. “Oh?”

Oh.

“They…” Harry’s voice cracked, a strangled sound escaping him. As if whatever willpower Harry had been burning to hold himself together for the past few weeks was running on its last fumes.

Severus took a step towards him, then hesitated.

‘Stay away from him,’ Minerva had said. ‘He’s an adult, he needs to find his own feet. And he can’t do that if you keep him under your wing.’

But was that true? Just because Harry was no longer a child, did that mean he no longer needed comfort? Support? A shoulder to cry on? Or was that Severus’ own desires whispering over what was reasonable and wise?

“They said they’d considered me and taken a vote. They said… they were honoured that I’d applied to join the team but…” He swallowed hard, his whole body strained to the point of breaking.

To hell with it. Severus couldn’t merely stand by when Harry needed him. Or, not him, but someone. Severus just happened to be the only one around.

He walked to the boy, unsure what to say, unsure if Harry even realised he was standing right behind him. The moment he placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, though, he turned and crashed into Severus’ arms, breaking into tears the second his face pressed against Severus’ chest.

Through the desperate sobs, the hiccups and gasps for air, Harry managed to choke out the rest.

“They said I was too old… that it wouldn’t be fair to the others… that I’d had my moment, and it was time to let others shine.”

Severus wrapped his arms tighter around the boy.

What those words must have meant to Harry. How harsh and cruel they must have felt, an absolute and bitter end to whatever hopes he had still harboured. And yet, the reasons they had given were kinder than the truth they left unsaid. That Harry simply wasn’t good enough.

Severus had seen Harry fly. Despite his enthusiasm, despite the long hours spent practising, his skills were mediocre at best. Nothing like they’d once been, and certainly nowhere near the level expected of a Quidditch team player. Deep down, Harry probably knew this too but had clung to the hope nonetheless.

The tears didn’t cease, but Severus was in no hurry to move. Stroking Harry’s back, wishing nothing more than to soothe his pain, Severus held him close, savouring the fingers clutching at his jacket, the tears soaking his clothes, the quiet sobs filling the space between them once again. Holding Harry in his pain and sorrow had become something of a habit. If anything, it felt… right.

Severus pressed a kiss to the boy’s hair.

To hell with Minerva. If Harry needed comfort, Severus would be there for him. Just a little longer.

Chapter Text

After that day, Harry became a regular visitor in the dungeons.

At first, his visits were brief and his excuses for being there flimsy, but gradually, as if beginning to trust he was welcome even without a reason, he started staying longer. They didn’t speak much, just a few words about the day or a question about an assignment, but since the boy always seemed to leave with a lighter spirit, Severus assumed the visits gave him what he needed. The sentiment was mutual. At some point during their weeks living together, Severus had grown used to having Harry around, and losing touch with the boy’s daily life after returning to Hogwarts had never felt quite right. His space had become Harry’s space, and in some way, having Harry lounging in the armchair while Severus worked on his projects felt like a natural continuation to their time in Severus’ home.

Severus didn’t care to delve too closely into the reasons Harry kept coming back. The dungeon was cold and gloomy, hardly a place one would choose to spend time in unless absolutely necessary, especially when Harry had a far more comfortable alternative in the Gryffindor common room. Then again, the dungeon was quiet. Peaceful. Free from demands and expectations. Free from the burden that was life.

“What are you working on?” Harry asked one evening as he studied the long line of ingredients on Severus’ shelves.

As ordinary as the question was, it was still unexpected. Until then, Harry had shown little interest in his work. He had been somewhat restless that evening, though, so perhaps he was merely bored.

“Skele-Gro’s for the infirmary. The last batch has expired, and Poppy likes to keep a certain amount in stock.”

Harry set down the jar he’d been examining and turned to Severus.

“Could I help? I know how to brew Skele-Gro. I think you might have given me an E.”

An A, actually, but Severus didn’t correct him. Instead, he considered.

No one had ever offered to help him, then again, Severus preferred working alone. The quiet focus on manual labour was his way to relax, to get his mind off the day’s chores and responsibilities and enjoy the free flow of his own thoughts. On the other hand, the boy had proven to be adequate help back at his house, and when Harry wasn’t angry, drunk, or trying to seduce him, his company was even pleasant. And, as Severus thought about it, there was probably more behind the boy’s request than a simple wish to help. Perhaps Harry needed to get his mind off the real world too.

“You can get the scarab beetles and start grinding them. Wash your hands first.”

They didn’t speak much while working. Only brief instructions from Severus, a few questions from Harry, and an occasional grunt and huff marking the struggles and successes. Working side by side was soothing, though, and time passed faster than usual. When they finished – twenty vials of purple liquid neatly packed in a wooden box, ready to be delivered – it was already late. Well past curfew.

“You should get back to the Gryffindor tower. If someone stops you, tell them you were with me.”

“I could help you clean up here first,” Harry said, even though his eyelids were drooping.

“You’ve done enough. Now go.”

Later that night as Severus prepared for bed, he wondered if he should have refused Harry’s offer. If he should have kept a distance as Minerva had advised. But no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t find anything wrong with working together. For the first time since he’d returned to Hogwarts, his sleep was deep and peaceful.

A few days later, Harry was back, only this time with some books.

“I thought I’d study here, if that’s alright with you?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. Coming to the dungeon every now and then to escape the bustle upstairs was one thing, but this… this was something else.

“Something wrong with the common room?”

“You know how noisy they can be.”

“And the library?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s easier for me to concentrate here. But if you’d rather I went somewhere else…”

Severus sighed. He was being ridiculous. What did it matter where the boy studied?

“No. Stay if you like. Just don’t ask me to help. I have work.”

The boy’s smile was too bright for the surroundings.

Once again, the evening passed with little conversation, both absorbed in their own projects, so deeply, in fact, that a couple of times Severus startled to realise he wasn’t alone. Before curfew, Harry gathered his books, thanked him, and left, his steps so light it seemed he’d spent the evening relaxing, not studying. If Severus was honest, he felt relaxed too.

But when Harry appeared in the dungeon again the next day, now with a backpack so full it looked like he was moving in, Severus set down his quill and aimed his full focus on the boy.

“We need to talk.”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh. Okay. What’s up?”

“This.” Severus made a gesture between them, around them. “Why are you here?”

“Umm… I was hoping to do some studying, if you don’t mind?”

“On a Friday night?”

“I’m a little behind in Transformation and History.”

“If you haven’t noticed, this is the dungeon. Not exactly an ideal place to study, and certainly not a place for a young man to spend his evenings. You should be with your peers.”

“Maybe, but I like it here. Is that so bad?”

Severus leaned back in his chair and breathed in deep. He really hated it when Harry was like this. Honesty would be so much easier.

“Harry, don’t. I am neither blind nor a fool, so stop acting as though I were. You’ve been coming here nearly every day for a week now, and while it would thrill me to believe you are doing that because of my company, the truth is you’re here because of what this place – and I – are not.”

Harry looked confused, as Severus should have expected. The boy needed simple sentences.

“Sorry, what?”

“You’re hiding, Harry. Again.”

“No, I’m not!” Harry objected, then managed to hold Severus’ stare for a full three seconds before lowering his gaze. 

Severus waited.

“It’s just… I feel like I'm distracting everyone, wherever I am. So I try to stay out of the way.”

“I believe you are currently one of the quietest students at Hogwarts. How can you be distracting anyone?”

“By existing, I suppose. No one seems to know how to act around me. They all stare, like I’ve got three heads or something.”

They’re staring because they are in the presence of a legend, Severus wanted to point out but held his tongue. 

“And what have you done to ease the situation? Have you spoken to them? Made an effort to become friends? Smiled?”

The boy squirmed. Apparently not. 

“It’s not the same anymore. Most of what they talk about doesn’t interest me. They’re just so… young. Like we’re from different worlds.”

Which was probably an accurate assessment. Even if the other students were only a few years younger, their world was very different. None of them had been at Hogwarts the day Voldemort fell. They’d all been too young and only heard of the events from parents, friends, the news. The life Harry had led after the war was something they could understand even less. Yet, those were the experiences that had shaped Harry into the person he was now.

“Well, you’re in the same world now. You’re all students, all struggling to pass your exams, all planning your futures. Don’t you think there’s something in that worth bonding over?”

“It’s not like I don't talk with them at all. Or spend time with them,” Harry said, a bit more defensive. “But a break every now and then would be nice.”

Severus crossed his arms. “Right. When was the last time you started a conversation with someone? Joined a game or a club? Studied with someone?”

Instead of answering, Harry blushed. “Last I checked, socialising wasn’t compulsory. I mean, look at yourself.”

“I’m hardly a role model, Harry. I never have been.”

“Yeah, well, it’s still a choice I can make too.”

Severus studied the boy, recognised the hurt pride, the way he was closing up. Recognised the old pattern where they were drifting to opposite sides, steeling themselves, preparing to defend their own position at any cost.

Not this time.

“If you don’t want me here, just say so and I’ll go, okay? It’s not that complicated.”

Severus would have preferred time to think and plan, but he never seemed to have that with Harry. Trusting his intuition was all he could do.

“No. To my surprise, I rather enjoy having you around,” he said, and although admitting such a private sentiment wasn’t easy, the reward was immediate. The boy’s posture relaxed and his expression lightened. “But that doesn’t mean my company is good for you. Which is why I wish to propose a deal. An exchange, if you will.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched.

“Another deal?” he asked, a sudden spark in his eyes. “You still owe me money for my previous services, if I recall.”

The tease was a blow under the belt, the images flashing through Severus’ mind something he didn’t need right then – or ever again. He shot Harry a glare.

“Inappropriate, Potter. This is a school, not a bordello, and I will not tolerate such speech again. Now pay attention. I will allow you to come here once a week, in exchange for you making a genuine effort with your Gryffindor peers.”

Harry hadn't stopped grinning since Severus had said ‘bordello’. His humour was truly juvenile. 

“Make that twice a week and I’ll consider it.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. Negotiating, was he? Two could play that game. Last time, the boy had rather pulled the strings but back then, Severus hadn’t been ready. 

“For that, I would need to see you engaging in conversation with your housemates in the Great Hall during every meal. Smiling, if possible.”

“You want me to fake it?”

“No, of course not, Potter. I want you to enjoy your time here.”

Harry’s expression softened at the name. As if Severus was using it as an endearment, not a sign of his authority. Or what was left of that, anyway.

“Three times a week, and if you let me help you with potions, I’ll start a study group, join two clubs, and befriend a Slytherin.”

The cheek of him. But he was smiling, quite broadly. A sight to live for.

“Very well, Mr Potter. You have a deal. But don’t think I won’t be watching you.”

“You’re always watching me. I wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t.”

Chapter Text

The silence over dinner was heavy long before Minerva set down her glass and spoke.

“I hear Harry has been spending time in the dungeons with you, Severus. Is that true?”

Her voice was even and her tone casual, but underneath, Severus could hear a reserve. Perhaps even an accusation. Not entirely unexpected.

“It is, Headmistress.” No point in denying something that had already become a steady arrangement. Instead, Severus gestured toward the Gryffindor table where the results of that arrangement were plain to see. Harry, chatting and laughing with the people around him. “He was experiencing difficulties interacting with other students – isolating himself essentially – so we agreed on a deal.”

Minerva gazed over the crowded room to the boy, her brow creasing. “What deal?”

“Time in the Potion’s classroom in exchange for time spent with his peers.”

Another silence. One laden with doubt and confusion.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow. He wants to be there? Why on earth?”

The woman really wasn’t subtle with her insinuation. As if it were inconceivable that anyone would willingly spend time in the dungeons. With Severus.

“To my understanding, he comes there mainly for the quiet.”

“Quiet?”

Severus shrugged. “I work, he studies. He says it’s easier to concentrate there. I haven’t questioned him.”

Unlike you, he wanted to add but deemed it wisest to keep that thought to himself.

“I see,” Minerva said, her disapproval more distinct now. “I’ve heard he also assists you with potions.”

Severus took a sip of wine and nodded. “Mr Potter offered, and I saw no reason to refuse. He has plenty of questions and seems intent on learning. What better way to do that than through practice? I believe he’s aiming for top grades in Potions. No idea why, though.”

“You shouldn’t make him work too hard. His priority should be finishing his studies.”

“Has someone expressed concerns about his academic performance? I’ve heard he’s doing better than ever.”

“Well, no, not exactly. It’s just…” Her gaze drifted back to the noisy table, some nameless worry lingering despite Harry’s obvious ease. “Just tread with caution, Severus. The boy appears more fragile than I thought.”

Severus wanted to snort. Only a week ago, Minerva had declared Harry an adult, capable of standing on his own two feet and making his own decisions. How quickly that opinion changed now that the boy had chosen a slightly unusual path. As if Harry had ever chosen what was conventional or expected of him.

“He’s doing better, I believe. But I will be careful, of course.”

Later that evening, Severus found himself returning to Minerva’s words. Despite his initial certainty that his arrangement with Harry was solely beneficial, he did value Minerva’s judgement, and it made him wonder if he was overlooking something important. Severus had made a mistake with Harry before – several, if he was honest – and he had no wish to go down the wrong path again. Things tended to become somewhat… volatile with Harry if he wasn’t handled with caution. 

After some consideration, for the first time over his long acquaintance with Harry, Severus decided it best to simply ask.

The following evening, when Harry arrived in the dungeons, Severus was waiting.

“Report, Potter.” 

Harry stopped in the doorway and blinked. “Huh?”

Perhaps the approach was a bit blunt. Severus tried again. “How are you?”

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, closing the door but lingering there, looking highly suspicious. “You’ve never asked me how I’m doing.”

Severus gritted his teeth. The question wasn't that difficult. Surely he'd expressed concern for Harry's well-being before?

“Drop the cheek and answer the question. I wish to assess how our arrangement is progressing.”

“Oh, that. I’m better. Much better.”

“Be specific.”

Harry glanced at him. “Had I known there’d be an interrogation, I would have prepared an essay.”

Severus folded his arms. The boy sighed.

“Fine. Let’s see… Since I joined the Herbology and Wizard Chess clubs, people have been more relaxed around me, I think. No one’s staring or tiptoeing, so the common room is tolerable again, and my study group is actually… I dunno, nice.“

“And the Slytherin?”

“What Slytherin?”

“As a part of our agreement, you promised to befriend a Slytherin.”

“Ah,” Harry said, a smirk Severus couldn’t quite read passing his lips. “Still working on that.”

Satisfied with the answers and Harry’s obvious progress, Severus moved to the shelves to gather the ingredients needed for that evening’s brew and gestured for Harry to follow.

“Among the seventh years, Draycott and Pryce are rather nice,” he said, picking jar after jar and passing them all to Harry. “If you’re looking for nice, that is.”

“Err… Yeah, nice is usually a requirement for a friend, I’d say.”

“I’ve noticed Burke and Rosier glancing your way too, if girls are an option.”

Harry dropped a jar, cursed, and gave Severus an apologetic look. “Sorry.” 

Severus lifted the container, examined it for any fractures, and handed it back to Harry. “Careful. These are hard to come by.”

“Yeah, umm… So, what did you mean by ‘glancing my way’?”

“As young people do when interest sparks.”

Severus picked the last ingredients needed and made his way to the table, but Harry lagged behind.

“Not to sound slow or anything, but what exactly are we talking about?”

Sighing, Severus pushed aside the doubt if he was the right person for this conversation. As it stood, he was the only one around and the moment was perfect. He took a deep breath, crossed his arms, and turned. Time to take the dragon by the tail.

“If it has somehow escaped your attention, Harry, you are young and handsome, not to mention powerful and famous. Plenty of people would be interested. Friendship is a good place to start, and although I may be biased, I firmly believe that Slytherins make the best spouses. They are known to be loyal, resourceful, and passionate. You would not need to look any further for a full and secure life.”

Harry’s jaw dropped at the mention of a spouse, as if the idea was absurd somehow, but he recovered quickly enough.

“Okay, stop that right now. You’re creeping me out. I never promised to start dating anyone, and definitely not on your advice.”

“It’s a widely-known fact that relationships that begin in school–”

“Drop it. Now, Snape, I mean it! Damn!”

Severus regarded the blushing, fuming boy. Perhaps he had come on a bit too strong. Or maybe Harry was simply too shy to discuss dating. Which, given all the less innocent things he’d done in his life, was rather odd. Yet another reason Severus wished Minerva or Poppy had taken charge of the boy’s guidance.

“Page sixty-five. Calming Draught. Mince the lavender.”

For several minutes, they worked in silence, Harry’s hands unsteady, his breathing heavy. Twice he dropped the knife, once he spilt the water, but Severus said nothing. The boy wouldn’t be able to keep quiet indefinitely.

Harry didn’t last ten minutes.

“None of them would understand me anyway,” he muttered, continuing as if he hadn’t just demanded they move on from the subject. “They’re all kids.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “And you’re so much older?”

“Well, no. But I feel older.”

Which Severus could understand.

“All I’m asking is that you consider it. Being alone isn’t good for you.”

“You’re alone.”

“I’ve told you before, I’m no role model.” And then, deeming it best to spill out the rest too while he had the chance, he went on. “Harry, I have never met a wizard more suited to marriage than you are. Alone, you’re a mess. You need someone you can talk with, someone to come home to, someone who looks after you and calms that restless mind of yours. Dating may seem like a daunting ordeal, but I’m certain it will pay off in the end. Staying alone would only make you miserable.”

By the time he finished, the boy was squirming. “Can we please just concentrate on the potion?”

Severus pursed his lips. He hadn’t even got to the matter of Harry needing a lover. Someone patient and generous, someone who would never tire of holding him, touching him, showering him with kisses and affection, someone who would always, always, ensure Harry’s satisfaction before taking their own. After a few years of being pampered with safety, kindness, and ridiculous amounts of sexual healing, Harry might finally be able to move past his years on the streets and come to recognise his own worth.

“Very well. But I strongly suggest you give this a serious thought.”

“Okay, fine, FINE. Now, please can we change the topic? Tell me about… I don’t know, dittany.”

But although nothing in Harry’s response indicated he was amenable to even consider the idea of a romantic relationship, sometime later, Severus stepped outside into the sunny yard to see Harry talking with Pryce, the Slytherin Quidditch team Chaser. And not only talking. Even from across the open, Severus could see Harry was in his charming mode, gazing up from beneath his lashes, head tilted and hands fidgeting, his face lit with the brightest smile. The kind that made you feel blessed by the sun itself.

Severus turned on his heels at the sight and took another route to the greenhouses. No sense in risking an interruption to such a promising courtship.

Pryce was a solid choice. They had a shared interest in Quidditch, matched each other academically, and were both practical, hands-on people. He would make Harry happy.

Walking down the lonely path to fetch the ingredients he was missing, Severus pulled his coat tighter around himself. The day wasn’t quite as warm and bright as he’d thought, after all.

Chapter Text

“Why did you add Murtlap Essence to Euphoria?”

Instead of replying, Severus continued writing without hurry. Thoughts were easily lost when interrupted, as Harry knew, and only after several undisturbed minutes did Severus set down his quill.

“Excuse me?”

“In your Advanced Potions book. You made a note ‘add four drops of Murtlap Essence’ before wormwood. Then you later corrected the amount to three drops. But I don’t get how that adds to the effect. Isn’t Murtlap Essence used externally, to treat cuts and such?”

Severus leaned back in his chair. Day by day, the boy’s questions were becoming more precise. More intuitive. Although Harry had never admitted it, he couldn’t be learning that fast solely from their evenings together, which meant he was really putting in extra hours to improve in potion-making. And since many of his questions revolved around healing magic, it wasn’t difficult to conclude where he was aiming.

“True. But when ingested, Murtlap Essence soothes the nerves much like it soothes cuts and abrasions. And when added right before wormwood, it also regulates the overstimulation that often comes with the standard brew, making the experience less chaotic and more like genuine euphoria.”

When Harry didn’t respond, only hummed in understanding, Severus returned to his notes. Whatever wheels were turning in the boy’s head, he would share his musings if he wanted. If not… Well, at least the boy was thinking and learning. Severus rather enjoyed that.

“Any plans for Christmas?” Harry asked after a while, closing the book and stretching his neck. He had a terrible habit of studying in the most dreadful positions. A bit of a miracle his back wasn’t constantly aching.

“I’ll be staying at Hogwarts, as usual. And you?”

Severus knew Ron and Hermione had contacted Harry several times by now, inviting him to visit on multiple occasions, most recently over Christmas. For reasons only Harry knew, he had – so far – declined every invitation.

“I’m not sure,” Harry said, busying himself with the equipment on the table, arranging them into neat piles and rows, quite needlessly. “I should go to London, to buy some new clothes and books. Maybe a broom too, I don’t know. But otherwise, I’ll be here. It’s not like I have anywhere to go anyway.”

Severus remained silent. To his knowledge, Harry had left the castle only once since he came there, a few weeks back for a brief visit to Hogsmeade. The fact that he was now considering a trip to London was good news indeed, and although the idea had to be terrifying for him, it sounded like he preferred to face the challenge alone. Perhaps after this, he would be ready to meet his friends. And perhaps next year, he would be ready to join the Weasleys for Christmas at the Burrow. Progress, in any case.

“I have some studies to catch up on,” Harry continued, “but I’ll still have plenty of time. You wouldn’t happen to have any projects I could crash?”

Severus sighed. The boy was too young to spend Christmas buried in the dungeons. If he was too blind to see that, maybe it was Severus’ duty to ensure he stayed away.

“How about spending time with Mr Pryce? I hear he’s staying at the school over the holidays too.”

Not the subtlest approach, but sometimes direct measures were necessary.

“Dominic? Oh, we’re not… We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

The wave of relief that swept through Severus made no sense. He ignored it.

“No? Did something happen?”

“More like something didn’t happen. He’s nice. Just not my type, I guess.”

As if Harry owed Severus any explanation regarding his preferences and choices. He decided not to ask more. Plenty of fish in the sea.

“Slug&Jiggers has placed a rather vast order,” Severus finally said. “If you’re interested, I might have some work for you too. They pay quite well.”

The boy’s face lit up. “Excellent.”

After the last exams and the lavish Christmas feast, the castle quieted. And although that respite in the heart of the darkest winter had always been Severus’ favourite time, this year, his mood was even lighter than usual.

Standing in the potions classroom filled with boxes of all sizes, ingredients and vials stocked up for the massive chore awaiting, Severus found himself relieved that he wouldn’t have to face that workload alone. Even if all went well, getting everything done would take days.

Harry stared at the stacks, eyes wide. “Wow. You really weren’t joking.”

“Do I ever?”

The question was rhetorical, but the boy responded anyway.

“You do. Your humour is just too sharp and dry for people to notice,” Harry said absent-mindedly, his gaze still fixed on the supplies. Then he started rolling up his sleeves. “We should probably get to work then. What’s first?”

The temperature in the room rose quickly. With several cauldrons bubbling and boiling at the same time, a mountain of ingredients being chopped, crushed, and ground then set aside, waiting to be added in the right order at the right moment, the room had soon transformed into a factory, every detail carefully considered and accurately orchestrated by Severus himself. A familiar, controlled chaos he much enjoyed.

While Severus remained perfectly comfortable in his robe, Harry had shed his sweater and pushed his sleeves even higher, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. Despite the heat and labour, though, the boy didn’t complain. Instead, he seemed fully immersed in the task at hand, drawing energy from the action and chatter.

From ingredient properties to potion recipes, from theory and practice, Harry was curious about absolutely everything. If he didn’t know something, he asked, and if he thought he knew, he tested with Severus to make sure he’d got it right. And when Severus inquired why he was so invested in potions, he blushed and admitted that he had an idea of what he might want to do after graduation, and that the plan required a solid understanding of potions. What that plan was, Harry didn’t say, nor did Severus ask. Regardless, the news was welcome. Finally, the boy had a direction in his life.

At some point, Severus suggested a break, but Harry refused, saying he wasn’t hungry or tired. He quite enjoyed the flow and rhythm of the work, he said, and if Severus didn’t mind, he preferred they kept on going.

Severus shrugged.

Why not? It was how he preferred to work as well, long hours absorbed in the intricate process, revelling in his own skill until exhaustion eventually set in. He did, however, make sure Harry had enough to drink. The air was thick and hot, the symphony of scents enough to make the inexperienced mind dizzy, and he didn’t want to risk the boy fainting and hitting his head on the stone floor.

Peeling another kilo of bloodberries, small oval-shaped fruits with thick red juice, Harry had been quiet for some time, and Severus glanced at him wondering if he was more tired than he was letting on. He had been working hard and, from past experience, Severus knew that pushing himself past his limits was exactly what Harry would do, no matter how unwise. But as Severus contemplated sending the boy to bed and finishing by himself, Harry let out a contented sigh.

“This is really nice, you know. Kinda like cooking,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a vivid red trail across his forehead. “The Dursleys made me learn to cook when I was ten but I never took it as a punishment like they thought. I actually enjoy it. Helps me take my mind off other things.”

From the corner of his vision, Severus watched as Harry’s fingers slid over the red fruit, peeling away the skin, then sinking into the meat to push out the stone. By now, his movements were practised and sure, the rhythmic motions hypnotising to follow.

“Once, I made lasagne without asking,” the boy went on. “They were furious at first cause I was always supposed to follow Petunia’s meal plan but they ended up liking it so much that they gave me more slack after that. Never thanked me, though. But it was delicious. I should make it for you sometime.”

Harry’s words flowed on, his voice like a song, and despite Severus’ best efforts to focus on his own work, his attention kept straying to the boy by his side.

Compared to their weeks at Severus’ home, Harry looked healthier. His arms and shoulders were rounder, his muscles more defined as if he’d been working out, and instead of the paleness Severus remembered, his face now bore the touch of the sun. His shirt clung to his skin from the heat and underneath, the curves and angles of his body were drawn into view in a way that left little to the imagination. Watching the boy’s delicate fingers push and pull the slick fruits, the wet sounds filling the thick, humid air between them, Severus was vaguely aware that his body seemed to think the moment was erotic.

Later, he couldn’t say what happened.

One moment, Harry was pondering how garlic and basil served in lasagne much like jewelweed and mandrake root did in Pepperup potion, his melodic voice mingling with the wet slides of the bloodberries and the soft bubbling of the cauldrons; the next, Severus set down the fruit he’d been working on, turned to the boy, cupped his face, and kissed him.

Or rather, tried to consume him.

For the few seconds the kiss lasted, Severus sucked Harry’s lips, tongue, and breath as though they were the air he needed to live, and Harry, in return, opened for him without a single reservation, like he’d been waiting for that kiss all his life.

Then reality crashed back into Severus’ muddled brain.

Gasping, he tore himself away from the boy and took a step back. Then another. Trying to grasp what the hell had happened.

Harry’s eyes were slow to open, his lips red and full. And on his cheeks were two handprints the size and shape of Severus’ greed. With his own lips still warm and tingling, his pulse fast and breathing unsteady, Severus had no idea what to say.

“I…”

The last time they’d kissed, Severus had continued to suck Harry’s cock. The time before that, he’d stroked Harry to orgasm. And before that, Severus had held Harry in his arms, in his bed and under the moon, thrusting into the boy’s perfect body in a rush of selfish pleasure. In his mind, each one of those kisses had been somehow justified. What excuse did he have now?

“I apologize,” Severus heard himself mutter. “I got carried away. You were… you were working so hard.”

Eyes widening, Harry burst into a wild, unrestrained laughter. The most beautiful and the most terrifying sound Severus had ever heard. 

“Really? That’s what I get for working hard?” He laughed again, eyes shining like emeralds in the sun. “You should have told me that years ago, Severus. I would have been the top student in your class!”

“Not. Funny. Potter,” Severus hissed, light-headed with sheer dread.

He’d made yet another mistake and the boy thought it was amusing? What was he supposed to do next?

Harry pressed a hand on his own cheek, right where Severus’ hand had laid a moment before, and smiled. “No. Not funny, but wonderful. Thank you. I needed that… confirmation.”

Severus had no clue what the boy meant. He raised his wand, set to wipe the evidence of his indiscretion from Harry’s face.

“What are you doing?”

“You can’t go out looking like that. Let me clean it.”

“No. These are mine,” Harry said, eyes dreamy, as if Severus had given him much more than an uninvited kiss and stains on his cheeks. Then he glanced at Severus. “Let me guess: I should go, right?”

“You should go,” Severus agreed, voice weak.

The boy’s smile didn’t fade. “So I figured.”

Without hurry, Harry washed his hands, tidied away his tools, and pulled on his sweater. By the door, he threw one last smile over his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow, Severus. And sleep well. I know I will.”

Shameless, insolent, insufferable brat.

Except he wasn’t.

He was a boy with the sweetest lips in the world, lips Severus wouldn’t have minded kissing for the rest of the evening. The only problem was, he wasn’t supposed to be doing that. He wasn’t even supposed to be thinking about it. And he couldn’t figure out when and how he’d lost control of his impulses so badly.

Chapter Text

Severus didn’t get much sleep that night and in the morning, his mood was poor, to say the least.

If there was one thing he despised even more than failing in the goals he’d set, it was losing control over his emotions. Now, it seemed he was doing both.

He couldn’t erase the past. How he’d met Harry in Grimwillow and how, during their two weeks together, they’d repeatedly ended up in close encounters in various states of nakedness and lust. But he’d genuinely believed that returning to Hogwarts would allow them a fresh start. Believed that the familiar surroundings, roles, and expectations would act as a barrier, shielding them from anything indecent happening again. Shielding the boy from Severus’ desire.

How thoroughly naive and utterly mistaken he had been.

Harry, however, didn’t appear concerned. Chatting and joking at breakfast with the few Gryffindors staying at Hogwarts over the holidays, it was clear he hadn’t spent the night tossing and turning in heat and guilt, tormented by images of feverish kisses and frantic coupling in the potions classroom, fantasies that left his mind restless and his body aching. No, that burden rested solely on Severus.

To make matters worse, Harry had the audacity to greet him in the corridor on his way out, mentioning – far too casually – that he’d be busy until lunch but would be there in the dungeons again in the afternoon. Gone before Severus could call after him and tell him to stay away, the boy left Severus with no choice but to endure the long hours of anticipation, awaiting the inevitable confrontation with growing dread.

One look at Harry’s face when he arrived and Severus knew the boy would not make the discussion easy. But he had to try.

“Harry, I think it’s best that I continue with the potions on my own. You should find something more suitable to occupy yourself with over the Christmas break.”

The boy didn’t seem surprised by the suggestion, nor did he seem willing to entertain the thought. “And why is that, if I may ask?”

Severus shot him a glare. Even though Harry hid it well, he was no doubt enjoying the sight of Severus’ discomfort.

“My behaviour yesterday was inappropriate. And while I have no excuse, I wish to make it clear I’ll do everything in my power to–”

“Severus,” Harry interrupted, emphasizing his given name, a bold move that made Severus wince. “It was just a kiss. No need to make it into anything more. After everything else we’ve done, are you really going to make a big deal of one innocent kiss?”

To Severus’ recollection, there had been nothing remotely innocent about the kiss nor the fantasies it had stirred, leading to a rather frenzied wanking later in bed, but he didn’t want to delve into details.

“While we are at Hogwarts, I am your professor. Nothing else. Perhaps it’s time to acknowledge that these evenings we spend together in private have been a lapse in judgement and end it at that.”

Harry folded his arms. “No. I refuse.”

Severus frowned. “I do believe you have no choice in the matter. You are my student and, as such, subject to my authority.”

A small smile played on the boy’s lips. “With all due respect, Severus, you’ll never again be just my professor. Besides, we have a deal. I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. Now, you have to uphold yours.”

The brat had obviously prepared his arguments in advance. And he didn’t even give Severus a chance to respond.

“Look. We’re both adults,” Harry continued. “You like kissing me, I like kissing you. I don’t see the problem. It’s not like we were caught snogging in the middle of the Great Hall. But if you’re worried about anything happening at school, fine. I’m here to learn anyway. And I have questions about today's draughts. Can we please get on with the work now?”

Severus' thoughts had derailed somewhere around Harry admitting he enjoyed Severus’ kisses and found no words to form a coherent objection. When the boy pulled off his sweater, revealing a rather snug t-shirt underneath, Severus’ mind might have protested, but the words never found a way past his dry lips.

“Okay?”

Although Severus knew Harry was asking his opinion about the plan, all Severus could think of was Harry’s body, which was very much okay.

They were both adults. Harry was here to learn. And Severus was a… professor. Yes.

“Okay.”

“Great. So, tell me about Mallowsweet.”

How, exactly, the boy managed to persuade him to continue their arrangement, Severus couldn’t say, but throughout the afternoon, he made sure to keep Harry at a safe distance.

Severus arranged his workstation across the table from Harry, stacking ingredients and equipment between them like a barricade. Every time Harry moved, Severus threw him a suspicious glare, as though the boy might drift too close to Severus if he wasn’t prepared and that something dangerous might happen if he did. His caution proved needless. Harry turned out even more focused than the previous day, entirely absorbed in his work and full of questions.

The next day, over half of the order ready and packed, waiting for delivery, Severus felt secure enough to relax a bit. 

It was just a kiss. Not a catastrophe. An error of judgement, certainly, a fleeting failure of self-control, but nothing dramatic or perilous. Hardly the end of the world. They were fine. Harry was fine. And so, when Harry told him that he would be gone for a few days, off to London to spend some of his hard-earned money, Severus couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed.

On one hand, he was happy for Harry. Delighted that he’d finally gathered the courage to go out and take on the daunting task of facing the world, letting people see him, speak to him. Perhaps he would even meet up with his friends for lunch.

On the other hand, the moment Harry left, the familiar restlessness crept in again. The one born from witnessing too many of Harry’s mood swings and self-destructive attempts to escape from whatever fears haunted him. Although nothing prior to his departure had suggested he was running away, no sign that he was out to seek harm and never to return, Severus couldn’t quite shake the unease.

The days felt unbearably long. And empty. Like a week rather than three days.

At the back of his mind, Severus had an idea why that was, but instead of examining the possibility, he decided he simply needed something else to do. Going for a walk, talking with other people, finding new books with new ideas and new perspectives. The best he managed, however, was an argument with Filch over corridor cleanliness standards, a pointless yet sufficiently intense clash that offered a distraction but brought no true relief. After that, he was back to his aimless existence.

Back to waiting. 

For Harry.

Not that he would ever admit such a thing, but in the evening of the third day when the dungeon door opened and the boy’s face peeked inside, fresh and bright like spring after a long and dark winter, Severus was overcome by a strange lightness.

Harry greeted him, that much Severus heard, but whatever words followed were drowned into a peculiar buzz in his head, a sudden urge that pushed him into motion. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d crossed the room and stood in front of the boy, holding that precious face in his hands, kissing the winter-bitten lips until they were warm and wet. 

Again.

He pulled back with an audible smack as their lips parted, his eyes widening in horror at his own actions. Harry, however, only blinked, momentarily startled at the unexpected welcome but soon finding his composure again. If it wasn’t for the added colour on his lips and cheeks and the slight disarray of his hair where Severus’ fingers had threaded through, the boy would have appeared completely unaffected.

“Good to see you again too,” Harry said, clearing his throat and straightening his shirt.

Did he… Did he just kiss the boy again?

“I apologize. I don’t know what–”

“Chill, Severus. It’s okay. Didn’t we agree kissing was okay?”

Chill? What were they, fifteen? And when had they agreed on anything of the sort? 

But unlike Severus, Harry had no need for reflection. As if nothing significant had happened, he simply stepped further inside and tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair.

“Anyway, London was great. Once I'd stopped at a pub to vomit my anxiety, that is, but after that, everything went well. I got myself a whole new wardrobe, some books, and a fancy new quill and – oh! I got something for you too!”

Severus turned to him slowly, the moment entirely surreal. 

Since when had kissing become so trivial that it didn’t even warrant a pause? A discussion? Some measure of regret and remorse, perhaps even penance? There the boy was, speaking to him, and it wasn’t about their lips sliding against each other in sinful perfection, but about… shopping.

“What?”

“A gift. Here.”

The boy was extending something. A small, lumpy package, wrapped in plain brown paper. Severus forced his legs to move and his hands to take what was offered. Maybe if he played along, things would soon start making sense again.

“You mentioned you’d thought of buying one,” Harry chatted as Severus unwrapped the package, revealing a small glass mortar. Perfect for crushing the most delicate ingredients. Not terribly expensive but a thoughtful and personal gift no less. Something from Harry for Severus.

His mouth went dry, his heart adding extra beats to an already fast rhythm.

Surely there was some response expected of him in a situation like this?

“You’re welcome,” Harry laughed, unbothered by Severus’ silence. “Hope it comes in handy. What are we brewing tonight?”

Severus’ voice sounded distant, as if spoken through a fog. “Dreamless Sleep. Two dozen vials. Medium strength.”

“Excellent. I’ll wash my hands and be ready.”

Listening to Harry describing his adventures in Diagon Alley, his excitement of having money to spend as he chose, his relief of being recognized but not greatly disturbed, and his obvious contentment at being so brave as to manage such a trip all by himself because brave the boy had been, Severus gradually calmed, his own worries fading into the background. 

Harry had taken a huge step forward. He’d faced his worst fears – being seen by the crowds and risking the public execution he’d fully been expecting – and came back stronger and steadier, beaming with energy and pride. What was one kiss compared to that?

Of course, Severus would have to be careful not to let such missteps repeat, but there was no need to make it a bigger deal than it was. If the kiss wasn’t significant for Harry, why should Severus exaggerate its meaning? They were still fine. Harry was fine. Everything was fine.

But a few weeks later, it happened again. By the door, wishing the boy a good night after a long evening brewing the last batch, the celebratory whisky warming his belly.

And a week later again, crawling on the floor collecting spilt Wiggentree seeds and ending up face-to-face, sucking each other’s mouths.

And again in Severus’ storeroom, Harry pressed up against the ladder, the air thick with suppressed need, their moans muffled in the dusty silence.

Always in the dungeons. Always in the shadows. Always, somehow, excused by all the hard work they were doing. But since that second time, Severus could no longer recall why Harry’s lips on his should be any cause for concern or regret.

After all, it was just a kiss.

Chill.

Chapter Text

Harry’s moan next to Severus’ ear was long and breathless.

“More…”

One hand tangled in Harry’s hair, the other resting on his waist, Severus continued kissing his neck with dedication and care. The skin under his lips was soft as velvet and sweet like the finest fruit, the curve at the small of his back a true privilege to touch, and Severus opened his mouth wide, drinking Harry in.

“Severusss…”

Pinned against the wall like this, kissed and caressed without pause, Harry’s voice gained an exquisite quality. A hoarseness, as though he couldn’t quite breathe right, and a hiss Severus found especially captivating. He could have listened to it all night.

He traced a slow path down the side of Harry’s neck to the base of his shoulder and the firm muscle waiting there. Harry drew in a sharp breath, his hands clutching Severus’ back with newfound urgency.

Harry was so sensitive. Opening and blooming under Severus’ touch. Once warmed up, he also welcomed a little roughness, like a hint of pain was what he craved, lifting his pleasure to entirely new heights. A desire Severus was more than willing to indulge.

Lightheaded and greedy for more, Severus sucked the skin served for him until it was slick with his saliva, the boy panting and trembling in his arms. Tightening his grip on Harry’s hair, Severus bit down on his shoulder and held on, knowing he would leave a mark yet equally certain of the response.

Harry’s knees immediately buckled, a rapturous cry leaving his lips. If Severus’ arm hadn’t been coiled around him, keeping him upright, he would have ended up on the floor. Smirking, Severus ran his tongue over the tender spot, soothing the sting with unhurried, deliberate licks.

“Fuck me already, you bloody tease!” Harry gasped. “Put that gorgeous cock of yours to use.”

Severus froze, the dreamy haze vanishing in a heartbeat.

What did the boy say?

Slowly, he loosened the hold on Harry’s hair and lifted his head from his neck. Time and space rushing back to him.

Pupils wide, cheeks flushed, and hair thoroughly mussed, Harry looked as if he’d had hours of steamy sex. But how could that be? They’d only been kissing. And not even that long.

“But we’re not–” Severus tried, then let his voice fade. Whatever he was about to say was pointless.

Because they were. Exactly that.

A cold dread washed over him. He took a step back, then another.

“I’m sorry.”

Harry’s jaw dropped, the dazed bliss vaporising from his face.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me!” he roared and banged his head to the wall behind him. “Seriously? You’ve been teasing me for weeks, kissing me until I’ve been ready to come in my pants then sending me away, and now you have your hand under my shirt and your mouth on my neck and you’re telling me no? What the fuck, Snape?!”

Harry wasn’t wrong. His frustrated fury, as surreal as it seemed, was justified. Severus just had no idea how they’d ended up here.

He needed space. Now.

“I think it’s best you leave, Harry,” he managed, retreating slowly as if edging away from something dangerous.

But Harry had no intention of leaving.

“No! You don’t get to do this again! Pretend that I don’t exist, pretend that this…” he made a gesture in the air, ”...this thing between us doesn’t exist. I need to know what kind of game you’re playing cause you’ve sure as hell got me lost weeks ago.”

That makes two of us, boy, Severus thought but kept that to himself.

“We should both sleep on this,” he said instead. “Calm down and gather our thoughts. We can talk tomorrow.”

Or next week. Or never.

Wasn’t he supposed to be keeping his distance from the boy altogether? Where and when did that plan disappear?

His attempt at escape had led him to the back of the classroom, and when Harry pushed himself off the wall and strode towards him, Severus realised his mistake. He had nowhere to run.

“Sure. We could do that,” Harry sneered. “Calm down and pretend nothing happened until three days from now your tongue is halfway down my throat again, your hands on my ass. Who knows, maybe next month we’ll get to shed some clothes and in a year or two you’ll actually be sucking my dick again.”

Severus blushed to the tips of his ears, the memory from months before flashing through his mind with vivid clarity. He had been rather enthusiastic in feasting on Harry's body. Not unlike he had been moments ago.

“You’re out of line, Potter. My hands were nowhere near your… behind.”

As if that was somehow the point.

“Any lower and your fingers would have been digging into my ass, Severus,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Merlin, how blind can you be?”

Severus tensed. No matter what the situation, Harry was not only coarse but also disrespectful, taking liberties he had no right to take. And Severus didn’t appreciate being called stupid.

“If you’re not leaving, Mr Potter, then I am.”

His cold voice and icy glare had no effect on Harry.

“No. We’re going to talk about this. Right now.”

Severus didn’t respond. He merely gave Harry one last glance, turned on his heels, and swept out of the room.

He couldn’t get away fast enough.

Heart pounding and mind in a whirl, Severus strode up the stairs two steps at a time with the sole goal of putting as much distance between himself and the boy as possible. Only when he’d reached the entrance hall corridor, fairly certain Harry hadn’t followed him, did he stop to catch his breath and take in his surroundings.

Silence. Not a soul in sight.

Quidditch night, of course. Everyone was still outside watching the game. Yet Harry had chosen to stay behind, chosen to be with Severus in the dungeons over a game that had once been his entire world.

Severus pressed his eyes shut.

What more proof did he need? Whatever he and Harry had going on was madness, and it had to stop. Tonight. And if Severus didn’t have the decency and restraint to keep his hands off the boy, he simply couldn’t be seeing him again. Not in private, anyway.

But no sooner had that clarity settled in his mind than a scream from the end of the corridor shattered the quiet.

“Severus Snape, you coward! Get your ass back here and talk to me!”

He whirled around to see Harry storming towards him, his whole posture blazing with fury.

This couldn’t be happening.

“I said tomorrow, Potter,” he hissed through gritted teeth as Harry got closer, trying to lace his voice with venom but failing miserably, panic filling his chest instead.

When Harry was like this, there was no telling what he would do.

Harry didn’t stop until he was so close he had to crane his neck to meet Severus’ eyes.

“Tomorrow, you’ll push me away. Lock me out of your life like I never meant anything to you. No, I want answers now.”

Severus’ anger flared. He grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shoved him to the wall.

“What do you think you’re doing, boy? Have you lost all sense from that brain of yours?”

Harry lifted his chin. “Guess you sucked all my senses away. You do suck like a pro, Severus. Neck and cock.”

Severus gasped, his veins flooded with fire and ice.

How dare he speak like that? To Severus? In public? As if they were… were…

He slammed his fist on the wall. “You stupid, irrational, insolent brat! If anyone hears us, it will be the end for both of us.”

“Exaggerating, as usual,” Harry mocked. “Do you actually believe in those tales, Severus, or do you just enjoy the drama? The school couldn’t care less if we shagged.”

“The school has explicit rules forbidding any such… relations, not to mention a board of governors and a headmistress who would be horrified to know that we’re–”

“So that’s the problem? Me being a student? People finding out? Maybe I should drop out of school, so you wouldn’t have to wrestle with your conscience over wanting to fuck a poor, innocent child.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m your professor, twenty years your senior, and bad for you in every conceivable way. None of which will change, not even if you do one day graduate.”

“You’re afraid, that’s what you are,” Harry spat. “Afraid of what others might think, what they might say, how they might treat us. Well, fuck them. If someone has a problem with us being together, that’s their problem, not ours.”

A shuddering breath and then with a softer, almost pleading tone. “All I want is you, Severus. In my life, in my bed. And I'm not willing to wait until I graduate.”

Severus could only stare, his heart skipping a beat, then another.

The boy had gone mad. Speaking of things he couldn’t possibly mean. And somehow, Severus had led him to believe he wanted all that.

“Harry, you’re confused. You’re–”

He didn’t get further. Strong arms curled around his neck and pulled him into a fierce, unrelenting kiss.

“I’ll show you confused,” Harry murmured against his lips. “I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.”

With that, Harry kissed him again. Right there in the main corridor, like they were both seventeen and not one shadow hung over their happiness.

Severus’ whole body burst into flames. His mouth no less hungry than Harry’s, Severus kissed him back, pressed him hard against the wall and groaned as a hot tongue slid into his mouth. But just as quickly as that heat had ignited, the moment came to an abrupt, absolute, end.

“Severus! Harry!”

The sharp call echoing from the distance was familiar, the choir of voices that rushed to his consciousness along with it too many to identify.

They jumped apart, but no matter how much Severus hoped it was all a nightmare or a hallucination or perhaps some rare and fatal illness that would soon end him, there was no denying the truth.

At the far end of the corridor stood Minerva. And behind her, about a hundred students, fresh back from the night’s Quidditch match. All staring at them.

If the universe had been merciful, the floor would have opened beneath him and swallowed him whole, straight to the depths of hell where Severus belonged. But, as always, the deities of this world preferred Severus to suffer first.

Chapter Text

Severus had never seen Minerva so angry, so thoroughly enraged, as if the crimes she had witnessed were not only a violation of the school’s rules but also a personal insult and a betrayal of everything she valued and had sworn to uphold. Which, in a way, wasn’t probably far from the truth. 

Arms crossed and face hard, she towered behind her desk and glared first at Severus, then at Harry, both sitting exactly where she had ordered them. Harry with his chin held high, an unapologetic fire in his eyes, and Severus with his hands folded on his lap and head hanging, quite ready to roll over and die from sheer embarrassment.

“Well?” she demanded, her voice razor-sharp. “I assume one of you can offer me an explanation to the… the… to what happened?”

Evidently, their sin was too monstrous to be uttered out loud. The surly Potions Master and the long-lost Saviour, kissing passionately right there in the corridor for everyone to see. Severus could still hear the noise that had swept through the crowd. There would be no end to the talking. Even if Minerva allowed him to stay, he wouldn’t be able to step in front of a class ever again.

Harry, fully immersed in his less charming rebellious mood, was set to add more fuel to the flames.

“We kissed, Professor. We’ve been doing that a lot lately. And we would have been doing a lot more if someone didn’t have the emotional intelligence of a walnut.”

Minerva’s eyes darted to Severus, her hand flying to her throat.

“Severus!”

She didn’t even ask him if the accusation was true. Not that he had any room to deny it. Not after half the school had witnessed the deed.

“It’s not like that, Minerva,” Severus tried, then quickly corrected his mistake at the woman’s reddening face, “Headmistress.”

“Oh? By all means, do enlighten me, Professor Snape. Last I heard, you were… tutoring the boy.”

The last words were spat out with thinly veiled disgust, as if she was physically ill at the thought of what might have been happening in her school, under her very nose, in the guise of private lessons.

“I have been tutoring him, and I still am. We are. It’s not… This was merely…”

But how was he to explain something he barely understood himself? Things had evolved and happened, at their own pace, without him really even being aware of the progress. Or had he?

“Did you seduce the boy?”

“No! Of course not!”

Harry chuckled darkly. “You haven’t told her anything, have you? About how we met? About our time together before I agreed to come here?”

“Harry, please. You’re not helping.”

Minerva gasped. Apparently, Severus wasn’t supposed to call Harry by his first name.

“On the contrary. I think we should spill it all out right now, Severus.”

Another gasp, only louder. Apparently, Harry wasn’t supposed to call Severus by his first name either.

“For the love of Merlin, Potter, do as I tell you for once in your life and keep your mouth shut!”

Harry’s grin was nothing short of evil. “Didn’t you say it yourself, that secrets have a way of coming out sooner or later? Later is here, I think. Should I confess, or would you like to do the honours?”

“What are you two talking about?” Minerva asked, but her voice was weak and it didn’t sound like she truly wanted to know. Rather like she fully expected to have a stroke if she did.

“Just about Severus’ deep passion for teaching,” Harry said silkily. “How determined – devoted – he was to get me here. He would have done anything . You should be proud of how much he cares for my education.”

Severus pinched his eyes shut. What a nightmare. The boy was set to tear everything apart – and torture Severus in the process.

Minerva’s sharp gaze flicked between them, her brow in deep furrows. “I won’t pretend to understand what’s going on here, but I can see there’s more to this than what happened tonight in the hall. Would you feel more comfortable speaking to me privately, Harry? I believe it’s important that you–”

“Absolutely not. We have no secrets between us anymore. At least I don’t. Severus has always been a bit more mysterious. But there’s nothing I have to say that I can’t say in front of him.”

“Very well,” Minerva said, shooting Severus with a glare as a warning for him to remain silent. “I feel terrible for asking you this, but I feel I must. Has he hurt you, Harry? Has anything… inappropriate happened in the dungeons? Or before you returned to Hogwarts?”

“Inappropriate? You mean like, has he harassed me? Assaulted me? Forced me into something I didn’t want? Or are you asking whether we’ve had sex?” Harry challenged, the target of his fury shifting. “No. He’s done nothing I didn’t agree with, and considering how we’re both adults, I don’t see how our relationship is anyone else’s business anyway.”

Minerva’s lips were pressed in such a thin line that Severus wondered if he would ever see her smile again.

“You may not be a child anymore, Mr Potter, but you are a student and, as such, under the protection, guidance, and responsibility of the staff. Namely, me. If anything or anyone happened to harm you while you were here, it would be my duty to investigate the incident and determine the proper punishments. Even if the person responsible were a professor and a colleague. Especially then. As a long-standing member of our staff, Professor Snape should know the school rules by heart, and if he has chosen to overstep them, the consequences will be accordingly severe.”

The longer Minerva spoke, the more Harry tensed. Something in that lecture veiled as concern irritating the boy so much that Severus could feel his suppressed rage merely sitting next to him.

“How about help?”

Minerva blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Help for the poor sod. I mean, nowhere in that lovely speech did you mention getting the poor molested child any help for his scarred soul. Your attention seemed to be solely on punishing the guilty.”

“Naturally, I would also ensure that you – or any student – received the help they need.”

“Except we both know that’s not true.”

The boy was luring Minerva into a trap. And the woman let him. Like a blind lamb walking straight into a wolf's den.

She tilted her head. “If you have something to say, please, speak up.”

Harry shrugged. “I just find it funny. Never during this conversation, nor back when I was actually a minor and a student and in real danger both here in the school and out there during every single school break, did anyone bring up the responsibility to get me some help.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re referring to your experiences with the Dursleys and the threat from Voldemort, you were never alone. You had plenty of help. Your friends and your housemates, Dumbledore and myself, Poppy, Remus, Sirius…”

“But no professional help,” Harry cut in. “Don’t you think that’s a bit odd, considering you all knew what I’d been through? All I ever heard was to focus on my studies and keep out of trouble or stop causing trouble, and to generally not exist until the day I would be asked to, you know, die.”

Minerva’s expression had turned from confused to icy. She looked at Harry like he was a particularly nasty insect. “And what is it you would have liked us to have done instead?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Harry said, spreading his arms. “How about someone acknowledging how shitty my life had been and how, in retrospect, a better solution might have been to raise me in a wizard family instead of leaving me with people who kept me starved for eleven years? Or someone saying, hey, it’s okay to be angry and bitter and hurt and scared after a childhood like that, that I don’t have to be brave and strong and happy all the time? And maybe… maybe give me a sleeping draught when the nightmares kept me awake, or god forbid someone like, hug me or something? Or hold me in the middle of the night or draw me a bath or make me a sandwich or–”

The boy had worked himself up and was close to breaking. Severus could hear it, feel it. If Harry hadn’t been so furious, so full of pent-up rage and spite gathered over too many years to count, he would have been crying by now. Severus fought the urge to touch the boy’s hand, to calm him, to ground him.

“...or look me in the eyes and talk to me without telling lies, like I was a fucking person and not someone who… who was useful for a while!”

A storm. A force of nature. The most beautiful thing in the universe.

Severus was simultaneously hot and cold, high and never before so acutely aware of himself and his surroundings. Aware of what he wanted and what mattered the most.

Minerva’s anger was so tame compared to Harry’s, but she was too. Furious. Her nostrils flaring and her hands trembling.

“You ungrateful little brat,” she whispered, each word slow and deliberate. “After everything we all did for you. From the day you were born, how hard we all worked for you, to keep you safe. Happy. Healthy. Alive. And now you dare to complain we should have done more? Your parents would be ashamed of you.”

Harry froze.

Oh, no. She should not have said that. Of all the things she could have thrown at him, she shouldn’t have said that.

“No, they wouldn’t,” Harry said, voice chilly but without a shred of uncertainty. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was this. “Even when I spent two years stealing and smuggling and whoring across London for a living, my mother and father wouldn’t have been ashamed of me. They would have called me brave. A survivor. And then they would have helped me. Like Severus did when he found me in that shitty town in Ireland selling my ass for anyone with a galleon to spare and brought me to his home.”

The room went dreadfully silent, Minerva’s face drained of all colour and her expression one of complete horror.

Harry stood. “I’m not a child anymore, Minerva, so stop treating me like one. There was a time I would have needed your advice and protection, but not anymore. I don’t need your permission or your approval. I will kiss whoever I want to kiss, fuck whoever I want to fuck. Even if that someone happens to be Severus.”

Minerva straightened her back to stand at her full height, drawing on her authority even though she had none.

“Then you leave me no choice. As Headmistress of this school, it is my duty to ensure this liaison will not continue any further. You two are not to see each other again, not while you remain at Hogwarts. I forbid it.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, you’re a bit late for that, Minerva. Mister Severus-fucking-coward-Snape here already broke up with me earlier this evening, so you do whatever. If I can’t have him, being around him would be torture anyway.”

The woman looked at Severus for confirmation, but all he could do was nod. Not that he and Harry had been in a relationship so technically Severus couldn’t break up with him, but at this point, a detail like that felt somewhat insignificant.

“Be as that may, I need both your words. Whatever this nonsense was, it will end here.”

Harry’s snort was joyless. “Nonsense? Whatever. Fine. I won’t suck Severus’ face again in this school.”

Severus pressed his face into his hands. He could hear how much effort it took for Minerva not to expel Harry that second.

“Good. Now, I will ask you again. Do you need help, Harry? Someone to talk to? Or perhaps some… medical attention?”

Despite the mixed feelings and lingering irritation in her voice, Severus could tell she meant well. But the words sounded condescending, as if she held no respect for either of them, believing Severus had abused Harry and Harry was either too arrogant to accept help or too afraid to admit the truth.

“No, I’m fine,” Harry muttered without looking at her. “Can I go now?”

“Of course.”

Harry didn’t so much as glance at Severus as he stormed out, but everything in him reminded Severus of the day four months ago when Harry had fled into the night and returned bruised and broken. But as Severus was about to get up and go after him, Minerva’s firm order stopped him.

“Sit. We need to talk.”

Severus hesitated, the urge to speak with the boy overwhelming, but the voice telling him to stay belonged to the person who decided his future. Maybe Harry preferred to be alone anyway. Perhaps distance and time apart were exactly what they both needed. He could speak with him tomorrow.

“Severus, please,” Minerva asked in a softer tone. “I have to know.”

He sat back down and met her eyes.

“Yes?”

“Is it true, what Harry said? Is he really a thief and a… prostitute?”

Severus stared at her. Finally she was focusing on what truly mattered, but the words she’d used sounded so wrong. No, those words didn’t define Harry at all.

“He’s the same boy you’ve always known, Minerva. He’s just been through a difficult three years, that’s all.”

For a moment, Severus thought he saw a glimmer of tears in the woman’s eyes, but the very next, she blinked them away.

“Well, he was very fortunate to have you save him. Even though I cannot approve of what happened in the hall tonight, taking him away from the streets and bringing him back here was very noble of you. I only hope he’ll one day grow to appreciate everything you’ve done for him.”

Noble? She really didn’t understand.

“There was nothing noble or selfless about what I did.”

“You saved the boy from a fate worse than death.”

He gave her a long, firm look. If she thought the worst of Harry, Severus refused to be set any higher.

“I paid him to come with me, Minerva. I paid for his time and his services. And then I paid him some more. Noble isn’t the word I would use for my actions.”

“You… paid him?”

It took several seconds for the meaning to sink in. When it did, Minerva blushed into a shade of deep crimson. Apparently, the thought of Severus and Harry having sex, or, Severus paying Harry to have sex with him, went far beyond her tolerance. Then she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and met his gaze with unwavering resolve.

“I see. Thank you for explaining. Now let me make something clear.”

Her voice was like steel.

“At the risk of losing your job, Severus, you are not to spend another second alone with him. As of this moment, Harry is excused not only from your tutoring but from all your classes, and if I hear so much as a rumour that you’ve attempted to approach or contact him in any way, I will have you sent away on the next train. Do you understand?”

In her eyes, Severus was a predator, nothing less. And while Severus could live with that, there was one thing he couldn’t let be. If his ties to Harry were to be severed, he needed to know there was someone to catch the boy if he fell.

“Perfectly, Headmistress. And I wish you to understand something too.” He rose to his feet and leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk Minerva was hiding behind. “That boy… He’s the strongest person I know. At the same time, he’s more fragile than he looks. Despite my mistakes with him, I worked hard to get him to come here, so that people more qualified than myself could offer him the help he needs. People like you.”

His eyes burned into hers.

“But you failed him. Like everyone else, you assumed you knew him, assumed you knew what he needed and wanted, pushing him to a direction he wasn’t ready to go. He’s still hurting. Healing. And if he takes off tonight, as he very well might… if he ends up lost again, hurt again…”

His voice dropped to a deadly whisper.

“I will hold you personally responsible.”

Chapter Text

When Harry didn’t appear in the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, Severus’ insides twisted with a familiar restlessness. The fact that Minerva was absent too spoke on behalf of a meeting between the two, perhaps a private breakfast in Minerva’s office to discuss the terms under which Harry could continue his studies, a reasonable conclusion Severus put his hopes on. But when Harry didn’t appear at Severus’ classes either, even if his absence was expected, Severus had to grip the edge of his seat to stop himself from going to look for him. Having no confirmation whether the boy was in the school anymore was unbearable.

In the afternoon, however, he received a letter. And while those short lines didn’t put him fully at ease, it was better than nothing.

‘I’m sorry about yesterday’, it said. ‘You were right, we should have waited and talked today with clearer heads. I had a meeting with Minerva, and I don’t want to cause you any more trouble. Let’s talk when I graduate, okay?’

Severus sighed and let the letter fall.

Harry’s mood swings were truly legendary. Each one a unique disaster, leaving havoc in its wake. Maybe one day, the boy would learn to control his turbulent emotions, maybe not. Either way, Severus would not be there to witness the progress. But at least for now, Harry was still at Hogwarts and it didn’t sound like he was planning on leaving. Yet.

The weeks that followed were strange. Even though nothing special happened, the days only returned to how they had been before Harry had walked back into his life, somehow, the change was fundamental.

From seeing Harry practically every day, listening to his endlessly wandering thoughts, and watching him struggle with his studies and insecurities, Severus dropped into a void where he only saw him from a distance in the Great Hall and heard about him in random comments from other people. And he couldn’t decide which troubled him more. Losing the sense of control of being the closest person to Harry, the one who would notice and react if something was wrong, or losing the physical connection, the awareness of having the boy near, sensing his body, his breath, his very existence linked to his own. Some days, Severus felt that loss as a nauseating emptiness in his gut; on others, as a heaviness on each step he had to take to get through the day. Nothing that wouldn’t pass with time, of course, but the transition turned out surprisingly difficult.

Judging by the bits of information he managed to grasp, Harry was doing well enough, keeping to himself and studying hard. And although the boy’s interaction with his peers during meals remained much the same as before – though perhaps lacking some of the easy joy it once held – deep down, Severus wondered. Knowing Harry, there was no telling what forces were at work beneath the surface. Not that Severus had much choice, only to trust that others would now take care of him.

Perfectly timed to soothe his worries, Minerva brought up the topic a few weeks later over dinner.

Speaking like she was engaging in light conversation, she told Severus that Harry was focusing on Transfiguration and Herbology, and receiving extra tutoring from both herself and Professor Sprout. Apparently, the boy had finally declared his interest in becoming a healer, a career he’d been considering for quite some time but had been too distracted to fully commit himself to the goal. To apply for an apprenticeship at St Mungo’s, Harry needed top grades in several subjects and had asked for Minerva’s help. A request she’d been delighted to accept.

Severus listened but didn’t ask more. Harry’s plan was no surprise to him, and between the lines, he could also hear Minerva’s accusation. That Severus had been that distraction, luring Harry away from a worthy academic path and dragging him down into a poisonous relationship that would clip his wings and tie him to mediocrity. Her speech, in essence, an added warning for Severus to stay away.

As if he would have disagreed.

Wasn’t this what Severus had been telling Harry all along? That nothing good would come from them being together and that Harry needed to seek guidance elsewhere, to turn to other people for help in building himself a better future? Finally, he was getting all that. The hollow feeling in Severus’ chest was of no importance.

And so the term dragged on. Each day a repetition of the last, classes and potions blurring together into a thick, neverending fog. But despite the time and distance to events Severus was determined to forget, he wasn’t feeling any better. The numbness had become a constant companion, the weight on his shoulders a burden he was getting used to carrying. Going to Poppy felt like an overreaction, but when he realised he’d started skipping meals because the thought of food made him nauseous, he yielded.

Poppy gathered herself fast enough. In all his years at Hogwarts, Severus had only been brought to the hospital wing severely injured or nearly dying, so the fact that Severus had walked there on his own volition was probably cause for concern in itself. But even after a thorough examination, she found nothing wrong with him.

Allergies perhaps, the woman eventually suggested, or stress from overworking. The symptoms he described were so common they could be anything. In any case, surely nothing that fresh air, balanced meals, and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t resolve. If he so chose, an Elixir of Euphoria might be helpful. Maybe a Draught of Peace as well.

Severus took neither. Instead, he started taking Dreamless Sleep. Because as much as the heaviness weighed upon his days, what disturbed him most were the images that haunted him at night. A time when he was unable to control his mind.

In his dreams, he chased Harry through endless corridors, destroying everything in his path until the boy lay pinned beneath him, crying out in pleasure and pain. Tolerable images, had they stayed that way, but after passing Harry in the Entrance Hall one day, the closest he’d been to the boy in months, those dreams escalated into brutal nightmares. Even when Severus jolted awake to the rush of cum in his pants, he could still hear Harry’s screams as he’d fucked him to pieces, tasted Harry’s blood as he’d devoured what was left of him. After a week of retching every morning, sickened by the violent creations of his own mind, he refused to endure them any longer. Dreamless Sleep tended to dull the senses in the long run, but for now, it was a necessary means to keep him sane.

As spring progressed, Severus became aware of the glances thrown his way. Some puzzled, others concerned, a few even suspicious, like he might be dangerous, somehow. Minerva didn’t try to hide that she was staring. Granted, Severus was taking little care of himself, but given that he’d hardly been a runway model before, he wasn’t sure why anyone would notice. Perhaps it was the bags under his eyes, he couldn’t be bothered to do anything about them.

It was on one of those days when people seemed to be tiptoeing around him, unsure how to act or what to say, that Harry suddenly approached. In the Great Hall, no less, at the end of dinner. Shoulders squared and jaw set, he marched straight to Minerva.

“I have something I want to tell Severus, Headmistress. And since last time didn’t go too well, I thought I'd say it here, in front of witnesses, so this doesn’t turn into an inquisition later. Okay?”

Minerva pursed her lips but nodded her permission.

Harry turned to Severus and leaned closer to him over the table, his eyes already softer. 

Severus held his breath. Merlin, he had beautiful eyes.

“Hermione sent me a letter,” Harry said, voice low and intimate, as if they were the only two people in the room. “She’s pregnant, and they asked me to be the godfather.”

Harry didn’t need to say anything more. Severus understood. In so few words, Harry had painted an entire world; meeting his friends, his pain acknowledged and his choices accepted, old bonds renewed and new ones formed, first steps taken into a brighter future, together.

The boy’s grin seemed to light up the whole room, and Severus basked in its warmth.

“That’s…”

Too many emotions competing within, all Severus could do was swallow and stare. Drinking in Harry’s closeness, his energy and life.

“Yeah,” Harry simply said, like they shared a language that didn’t require words. Then his grin faded into a frown, his eyes narrowing as if only now truly seeing him.

“Severus, you need to take a bath and sleep. You look like hell.”

One more smile, warm and reassuring, and then he was gone.

The rest of the day went by in a haze but in the evening, Severus took a bath and slept without a potion for the first time in months.

As spring turned to summer, Severus started feeling better. Not good, not as he used to be, but better. Tolerable.

Soon, the exams would be over, the term would end, and he would be free to leave. And while he carefully avoided thinking what other things would change at the end of the school year, he took solace in knowing there was little he could do, or wanted to do, to alter that course. Everything was how it was meant to be.

Graduation day was warm, the castle and its grounds bathed in brilliant sunlight. After the ceremony, Severus stepped outside and glanced over the crowd of excited students, proud parents, and smiling friends and relatives filling the yard, scanning for one person only. Easy enough. All he had to do was spot the red-haired Weasley clan and Harry was found among them, in Mrs Weasley’s tight and tearful hold.

As Severus approached, everyone seemed to step back and give them room.

“I suppose congratulations are in order, Potter,” Severus began, doing his best to ignore how handsome Harry looked in his dress robe. “Against all odds, you are officially a Hogwarts graduate. Late, as usual, though that hardly matters now.”

The sneer snuck into his voice unintended, but Harry didn’t seem bothered. His smile remained as wide as it had been all day.

“Yeah, well, I think we both know that’s all thanks to you, Severus.”

“‘Professor’, Potter,” he corrected, but couldn’t quite get behind the words. His mouth had gone dry somehow, and his chest was feeling tight.

“For a few more hours, Professor,” Harry complied, a mischievous spark in his eyes. “After that… I think I'll call you Severus. I rather like that name.”

And there was that smile again, coiling around his throat now too.

Was he falling ill again? Perhaps he needed to visit Poppy before leaving.

“Be as that may, I doubt you’ll have a chance to use either name in the future,” Severus remarked, and a wave of something cold and final washed through him. “I came to wish you good luck with your training at St Mungo’s. Do not make me regret writing that recommendation letter.”

Every word came out forced, but Harry didn’t seem to notice anything was off. He laughed at Severus’ bite as he always did, but before he could offer a witty retort, Mr Weasley touched his arm to have his attention. Some Ministry official by the looks of it, eager to speak with the newly graduated Saviour.

Severus took the opportunity to leave.

He walked through the crowd of chatter and laughter, through the sunshine and warmth into the silent shadows of the castle. Down the empty corridors and stairs until he reached his chamber. His sanctuary.

Behind closed doors, he leaned against the stone wall and undid the top buttons of his jacket, struggling to breathe past the tightness that had grown into a chokehold. After managing one breath, he focused on the next. No thoughts, just air. Fists clenched and eyes burning, he fought the air in and out of his lungs but instead of getting easier, the act was growing even harder, and listening to the pathetic sounds of his whining inhales, sweat beading on his brow and vision darkening at the edges, he wondered if he was going to die. If this was how his life was meant to end, alone in the dungeons on the last day of term.

And if he were to die, whether that would be such a great loss, for anyone.

The first sob came strangled, a sound so raw and broken it couldn’t possibly come from him. With the next, with the understanding that the voice was indeed his own – his weakness, his sorrow – the shields around his mind began to crack. And in seconds, the cascade was too far to stop.

In one terrible wave, the memories he’d kept suppressed for months broke free, the pain he’d refused to acknowledge flooding his veins. Heart pounding and vision swimming, images too many and too intense to control rushing through his mind, he gripped his chest and gasped for air, struggling to stay afloat in the storm. It made no difference that the images were of a face familiar and dear, of eyes shining brighter than the sun, they still cut deep and left him bleeding. And although those kind eyes and warm smile belonged to a boy who would soon be gone, Severus knew without doubt that he would carry these memories for the rest of his life, cherishing them as the best moments this world had ever given him.

The best of his life…

Severus dropped to his knees.

This wasn’t merely stress, or allergies, or some rare magical illness. He wasn’t even dying. This was something much worse.

Love.

More precisely: Severus. In love. With Harry.

A boy now gone from his life. Forever.

Chapter Text

The picture on the front page was dark and grainy, taken in haste. One hurried shot before the moment had passed or the photographer had been driven away, either way, the feeling came across well, the passion of the two figures evident for everyone to see. As were the names printed in large, glaring letters below, names the entire wizarding world recognized, even if the picture itself was too shady to really tell who was in it. 

Severus cleared the table and washed the dishes, then moved into the quiet living room, hoping to find something to do to distract him for the next hours. Because as it had happened, the morning post had brought more than the newspaper. It had brought a letter. Short and concise.

‘I’m coming to see you at noon. Hope you’re home.’

How thoroughly those lines had destroyed the fragile peace he'd managed to build.

Deep down, Severus had known he would meet Harry again one day, he’d only hoped that day would be much further in the future when more time had passed. Four weeks was hardly enough to forget, to move past what he couldn't have. Of course, it was possible even a lifetime wasn’t enough for that, but at least he would have had a chance to gather what was left of him into something resembling composure.

The knock at the door made Severus jump, his attention snapping away from the book he’d been struggling to read. He glanced at the clock and stood. The boy was early. All the better. The sooner this would be over.

But as he opened the door, he knew every second would be a torment no matter how brief the visit would be.

“Potter.”

That smile.

“Severus.” Only Harry could breathe his name like that. Like a caress, like a prayer. “God, it’s good to see you!”

For a moment, it looked like the boy would throw his arms around him, and to avoid such a disaster, Severus took a step back, opened the door wide, and moved out of the way.

“I’ll make us tea,” he said stiffly and turned away, already needing some distance.

Harry would know his way in.

In the comfort of his kitchen, hands busy with the cups and water, freed from having to actually look at Harry, breathing was easier. He even managed some of the expected formalities.

“How are you, Harry?”

Despite his unease, Severus did want to know. Had it been anyone else, he wouldn’t have bothered asking because he simply didn’t care, but he‘d worried for this boy for a long time. In fact, much of his adult life had revolved around Harry’s safety and well-being. A curious detail, now that he thought about it.

“I’m better,” Harry said, fidgeting with his fingers in what might have been nervousness except there was no reason for him to be. “Much better, I…”

Or maybe he was.

“Did you start at St Mungo’s?”

A relieved smile flashed on Harry’s face at Severus’ help. “Yeah, this week. I was assigned a mentor, Ms Holloway. She seems strict but fair. Talks a lot. For now, I’m doing rounds with her, but I’m hoping to get my own patients in a few weeks.”

“I’ve heard of Ms Holloway. You’ll learn more from her in a month than you would from others in a year.”

Harry nodded. “She knew of you too. Seemed impressed by your recommendation letter, said she couldn’t recall you ever having written one before.”

Severus didn’t respond. The letter had indeed been his first, but one he had written with a clear conscience. Harry would work hard to prove every word true.

After a brief silence, Harry cast him a hesitant glance.

“I got access to my account in Gringotts again too. They never explained, just sent me a note, but I think it had something to do with graduating and getting a job. I don’t know. But it does make things easier.”

“I would imagine so.” Severus poured the water and kept his contentment to himself. Things were certainly looking up for the boy. “Hope you treated yourself to a pair of insanely expensive boots.”

As soon as the words were out, Severus bit the inside of his cheek.

Now why did he have to say that? Drag back memories of a time long past? Foolish. Utterly foolish.

Harry’s puzzled expression forced Severus to explain.

“Last autumn, when I gave you the first bag of galleons, you were excited about buying yourself a pair of nice boots.”

Ever so slightly, Harry’s eyes widened. “I remember. No, actually, I…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I bought a… house. Or… two.”

Severus’ hands stilled. He’d known the boy was wealthy but not quite to that extent.

“A much more sensible purchase, I’m sure. But why two?”

Prying, perhaps, but the detail was intriguing.

Harry blushed. “Well, one is in London, near my work. And the other is in… Hogsmeade.”

Hogsmeade? Not exactly a fashionable neighbourhood, though the town was undeniably charming. Peaceful, all-wizard. Perhaps the boy was looking to settle down and start a family.

Severus handed Harry the steaming cup. “Sounds like you have your life in order then, Potter. It’ll be good to begin a relationship on equal ground with your spouse. I hear Draco’s been doing well too. The two of you will make a fine couple.”

A deep frown appeared on Harry’s brow. “Draco?”

Severus nodded towards the table where the newspaper still screamed its headlines. Harry gave it one look and shook his head.

“Oh, no. That’s…”

“You don’t need to explain. None of my business who you’re dating, Harry. I only hope you find happiness. If anyone, you deserve it.”

Somehow, he managed to force the words past the lump in his throat, but that was all he could do. He turned to busy himself with imagined breadcrumbs on the counter.

“But I want to explain.”

Severus stayed silent and stared out of the window.

If Harry wished to speak, he would let him. The visit carried an odd air of finality anyway, as though whatever was still left unsaid between them would now be given its last chance to be voiced. Closure to a journey that had started by mere coincidence ten months ago.

“After graduation, I wasn’t feeling too good,” Harry began, searching for words. “I’d waited months for that day and then, when you left so suddenly, I kinda… broke down.”

At that, Severus turned. He’d seen the boy fall apart enough times to know that never meant anything good. But there he stood, looking healthy and balanced. Happy, even.

Harry gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry. Hermione and Ron took me in. I cried a lot – I seem to have done that a lot over the past year – and talked, and though I think I may have freaked them out, it was a good week. And then, out of nowhere, Draco contacted me. Asked me on a date, can you believe that?”

Yes, he could. It was no secret that beneath all that hostility when they were younger, Draco’s true feelings had been much warmer than he led everyone to believe.

“I was still a bit shaky after everything, but Hermione encouraged me to give him a chance, to see if there might be something there. So we met for a coffee. And the next week, for dinner. And that picture…” Harry pointed to the front page image where Draco had Harry pinned against the wall, kissing him with obvious passion. “...that was taken outside the restaurant. Draco just… jumped me. Pushed me up against the wall and kissed me. He thought it was hot. I told him it wasn’t. He apologised. Then he asked if he could see me again, and I said no. But not because of the kiss. By then, I'd realised my mind was elsewhere. And I knew I had to come here before I could do anything else.”

Severus was sure his heart had stopped beating. It was all too much. Too much information to absorb at once. Somehow, the past months – or was it years, decades – had all been rolling towards this moment, culminating in one single concentrated point in time where all important words were said and decisions were made and he wasn’t able to understand any of it.

What was the boy saying?

A shy hand reached out and touched his fingers, the brightest green eyes turning up to meet his. Severus looked at the hand, then at Harry’s face, unable to move or speak.

“On my graduation day, you seemed sad. Or, well, at first you were snarky like you often are, but before you left, I thought I also saw something else. And it’s been bothering me all these weeks. Ever since that ultimatum from Minerva, I’d been waiting to talk with you, but then you treated me like I was just another student, wishing me the best and leaving me there…” Harry swallowed, a glimpse of the pain Severus had caused passing his features before it was suppressed again. “But what I don’t understand is why. If I was just a student, why would you be sad? And if I was something more, why would you leave?”

Ever the sharp one. Not eloquent, not a poet, but still perceptive, able to notice what Severus had fought hard to hide.

What Harry had seen that day wasn’t sadness though. It was the pain of having his chest ripped open and his heart torn out, his insides burned on a slow flame. If Severus hadn’t left, he would have made quite a scene, dropping to his knees and clinging to Harry’s robes, begging him not to go.

“You were never just a student to me, Harry,” came out of his mouth, and he dreaded how true the words were. Even when Harry had been a fearful first-year, standing in line and waiting to be sorted, he’d already been much more than a student.

As if Severus’ fingers had a mind of their own, he realised he was stroking the inside of Harry’s wrist. The boy shivered.

“The thing is…” Harry murmured, leaning closer to him. “...when you do that, when you touch me like that, my whole body lights up. And I wonder…”

He pressed his palms on Severus’ chest, sliding them slowly up to the nape of his neck, making Severus shiver in turn.

“...if you feel the same when I touch you.”

“Harry…”

But the boy’s fingers kept caressing him, and Severus’ treacherous body kept humming in response, like they were communicating in a language where no words were necessary.

“And if you do feel the same, why would you ever be willing to give that up?”

“It’s not that simple,” Severus muttered, but the protest wasn’t very convincing when his hand had found its place on Harry’s hip, his thumb stroking Harry’s waist.

Harry let out a soft, contented sigh. “Isn’t it? We’ve danced around this for almost a year. Living with you calmed me, and the evenings we shared at Hogwarts were the best of my time there.”

Somehow, Harry’s mouth had found its way to the side of Severus’ neck, and Severus – oh, Merlin – was leaning closer, practically pleading for Harry to nip him right there .

“I like spending time with you, Severus,” Harry murmured, lips brushing his skin. “I like talking with you, dining with you, waking up with you. And every time we’ve kissed, my heart’s been full. The only thing that will make me back away now is you telling me you don’t feel the same.”

Severus’ body had caught on a curious, all-encompassing thrum. A haze where all he could focus on was the boy’s soft voice, his breath on his neck, and the aching need to have more of him.

“Come to bed with me, Severus,” Harry whispered, lifting his eyes to Severus’.

He was so close Severus could have kissed him there and then. Or, he could have told him to stop and leave. He could have done any number of things, but instead, Severus found himself croaking a simple, “Yes.”

A brilliant smile lighting up Harry’s face, he took Severus’ hand and pulled him along toward the stairs. Leading him in his own house.

But the moment Harry wasn’t looking at him, the old doubts rushed back.

What right did he have to this boy? By choosing to be with Severus, Harry would only chain himself to a man much older than he was, giving up a life of adventure, of laughter, of family. Harry would make Severus happy, he had no doubt about that, but what could Severus possibly offer him in return?

At the bottom of the stairs, perhaps sensing his hesitation, Harry stopped and turned, then pulled him near and curled his arms around Severus’ shoulders. Standing a step higher than Severus, Harry was at eye level with him, lips close enough to kiss.

“Severus, what’s wrong?”

If there was ever a time for honesty, it was this. Even if that truth was bleak and without hope.

“I have nothing to give you, Harry. Only myself, and you deserve so much more.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Harry’s mouth, his gentle fingers at the back of Severus’ neck sending chills down his spine.

“What makes you think you aren’t exactly what I want? The last missing piece to make my life complete?”

“It’s not that simple,” Severus said, then realised he’d already said that before. Surely he had other arguments to offer too?

“And sometimes, it is,” Harry whispered, his lips feathering over Severus’ mouth, the heat of his body warming him to the core. “Let me prove it to you.”

Chapter Text

Severus’ eyelids fluttered shut, anticipating a kiss that never came. Instead, Harry waited until their eyes met again, then flashed him a playful smile and took his hand to continue upstairs. Lips tingling but steps heavy, Severus followed.

Hadn’t they been down this road before? Rushing to intimacy without any consideration of the consequences? Hadn’t they learned anything?

He knew the heights of pleasure he could reach with the boy, the all-consuming joy that burnt away everything else, and he also knew Harry. He knew how he liked to be touched, knew how he looked when he came. He knew his soft voice and brilliant smile, his awful humour and infuriating habits, his stubbornness and turbulent moods. But what had really changed since the last time they’d allowed this need to take over?

His gaze drifted to Harry’s snug jeans, the curve and movement of his behind so teasingly on display before Severus’ eyes. Then his focus shifted to their joined hands, how natural it was for Harry to be holding his, leading him to the bedroom. To Severus’ bed. For sex.

Except they both knew this wasn’t just about sex. In fact, sex with Harry had never been just sex. And now the boy had even bought a house.

Realisation came with delay but crashed into his consciousness with the force of lightning.

Harry had bought a house.

A fucking house. In Hogsmeade, just outside Hogwarts where Severus worked. Bought it so they could live there, together. Bought it before knowing how Severus would respond.

Of all the stupid, reckless, incomprehensible things the boy had done in his life…

Severus didn’t think. In a heartbeat, he had Harry pinned against the wall in the middle of the stairs, blood roaring in his ears as he claimed Harry's sweet lips over and over again.

“You… You actually came back… for me,” Severus murmured between kisses, needing to say the words to make them real, needing to hear Harry's moans to confirm he hadn’t somehow misunderstood, after all.

“You’re all I’ve been thinking about for the past months, Severus. Of course I came back.”

Harry’s voice was breathless, his mouth hot and eager, and when Severus’ hands slid under his shirt, he gasped and pressed closer, his body arching into Severus’. And when Severus couldn’t reach to touch him as far and wide as they both craved, Harry simply grabbed the hem, pulled his shirt off, and tossed it down the stairs.

Severus groaned, the last of his reason dissolving at the sight.

Harry, half-naked, halfway to his bedroom. Severus, fully hard and more than ready to take him right there.

“Harry, this is madness.”

A warm hand cupped Severus’ face, solemn eyes locking with his. “Or the smartest move we could ever make.”

With Harry’s mouth pressing onto his again, sucking and nipping his bottom lip, Severus couldn’t find a single objection. But the place was wrong.

“We need to move away from the stairs.”

“Yeah, to the bedroom,” Harry said and took his hand.

This time, Severus didn’t stall.

In only a few steps, Harry was lying beneath him on the bed, clothes torn from each other’s bodies, hands and lips roaming every inch of skin they could find. In between sighs and moans and hastily added lube, there was ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and 'now', Severus’ name never before so beautiful than uttered from the quivering lips of a boy drunk on desire, his own need pulsing fast and strong with every frantic beat of his heart.

Did he prepare Harry enough? Probably not, but the rush was shared, the slide inside excruciatingly slow, and the joint exhale when Severus was buried to the hilt so long and full of contentment that he doubted either of them would have wanted it any other way.

All that mattered was Harry there in his arms, sweet and warm, all soft skin and hungry lips, so ready and willing that Severus didn’t know which way to take him, so he ended up fucking him in every position he could think of. Front and back and sideways, bending Harry's slender body and rolling him over, lifting an arm and bending a leg, tumbling the sheets and the boy so thoroughly that neither knew which way was up. Set to fulfil every fantasy he’d ever had of Harry while ensuring each thrust pushed his pleasure higher, building him up until they were both sweaty and gasping, teetering on the brink, one tug and one glide away from tipping over.

“Harry,” Severus groaned, capturing his lips and breath when it hitched at Severus’ staccato thrusts, his hand firm on Harry’s length, his arms and legs wrapped around Harry's trembling body to feel every second of that blessed surge running through him.

Harry’s cry at the crest was the most beautiful sound in the whole world, the shot from his cock so fierce Severus could feel the violent pulses against his palm. His own pleasure erupted only a few thrusts later, spilling deep into the boy in one massive flood of utter fulfilment.

Flying high for those fleeting seconds of perfect bliss, Severus hoped nothing more than to stay in that moment for an eternity. Throbbing inside the boy, nested in his warmth, skin to skin, savouring the heat and life between them. But instead of relaxing into the afterglow, Harry shuddered and flinched, something in the reaction too abrupt to be born from delight.

Severus’ attention sharpened.

“Harry?”

Another shudder, and Severus pulled out. Gently, he turned Harry to see his expression, but the boy's hands were pressed tightly on his face. Something was definitely wrong.

“Please don’t freak out,” Harry managed to gasp – right before he broke into tears. 

If Severus hadn’t known Harry so well, he might have worried, convinced that he’d hurt him somehow. As it was, the initial shock soon shifted into understanding, a dawning realisation of where the rush of emotion might be springing from. Without another word, Severus pulled Harry into his arms and held him through the sobs shaking his body, the embrace so familiar that Severus found himself smiling into Harry’s hair despite his tears.

It wasn’t the first time Severus held him like that, and something told him it wouldn’t be the last time either. He didn’t mind one bit. If anything, holding him was a privilege, to know Harry felt so safe with him that he was free to even break apart, trusting Severus to be there and put him back together again.

“Oh, god…” Harry muttered, struggling to steady his breathing. “I swear I'm not this much of a mess anymore.”

Severus planted a kiss into his hair. “Yes, you are. But that’s quite alright. I love you anyway.”

Harry went still, and Severus wondered how easily those words had slipped from his lips. As though loving the boy was something already established, and saying so was nothing more than stating a fact. The most natural thing in the world. In response, perhaps expectedly, Harry burst into a new fit of tears, this time lifting his face and allowing Severus to kiss him through the quiet sobs. 

How beautiful he was, both in his pleasure and in his sorrow.

“I was so scared you’d turn me down,” Harry hiccupped eventually, looking every bit the mess he claimed not to be. “That I’d somehow misread everything. That you didn’t really care about me, didn’t really want me. Or that once you’d had some time to think you’d figured out I wasn’t anything special and that I was the only one missing what we had and–”

Severus brushed Harry’s overgrown hair back and kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his wet cheeks. If the gesture evoked more tears, he wasn’t particularly sorry.

“I have missed you, Harry. Like my next breath. These months without you have been quite unbearable.”

Maybe one day, Severus would tell him more. About the depth of his own heartbreak, about the pain of looking into the future and not seeing Harry there. But this was not the time. What Harry needed now was to be soothed and reassured, strengthened back to the powerful, wonderful man he was.

Somewhere in between whispers and kisses, each one meant to heal another wound left by a much darker past, Severus started touching him again. 

At first, long and slow strokes along Harry’s back, but soon enough, caresses of another kind. Relearning the plains and edges of his body, exploring all the things Severus had missed before because of his guilt, greed, or sheer blindness to what mattered the most. Being together, just like this. In each other’s arms without a hurry in the world, their whole lives ahead of them, if they so chose.

Harry wasn’t as patient. Once the tears had subsided, his touches and kisses grew hungry fast, the fullness of his cock against Severus’ thigh a pleasant but harsh reminder of the twenty years between them. Not that Severus was much behind. With Harry’s mouth sucking some very sensitive spot on Severus’ neck, his hand stroking his growing erection, and his whole body moving against him, Severus only hoped he’d have more restraint when he next took the boy.

In his eagerness, Harry climbed Severus’ body.

Laying on top of him with his full weight, controlling the depth and pace of their kisses, Harry seemed to revel in his newly found freedom with Severus, and as Severus’ hands were free to touch him wherever and however he pleased, the feeling was quite mutual. From the curve of Harry’s buttocks to the thick silk of his hair, Severus caressed him over and over again, and with Harry’s tongue exploring his mouth, their cocks rubbing against each other between their bodies, Severus could have spent the rest of the day kissing him like that. Harry, however, had other ideas.

When Harry pulled back, his eyes were unfocused, his voice rough with need. “Inside me, Severus. Now.”

How could anyone deny such a lovely order?

Severus wrapped his arms around him and rolled them over, then lifted Harry’s legs high above his waist and positioned himself to his entrance, reminding himself to take it slow.

Pressing inside was different like this. Face to face and without hurry, Severus could see every shift of emotion on Harry’s features, every reaction to every move. The joy of surrender and the wince at the stretch. The relief as Severus hit home and the thrill when he began to thrust – and how quickly that delight grew into an urgency for more. He could see Harry’s lips start to tremble at the buildup, the sheen of sweat forming on his forehead with the escalating need not fed fast enough. And when Severus kissed his lips and his neck, murmuring his love into Harry's ear while keeping his thrusts slow and controlled, he could see the green of his eyes turn darker, his rosy lips whispering silent pleas to hurry, hurry, hurry.

Severus’ stomach curled into a tight knot at the sight, air suddenly stolen from his lungs.

Harry didn’t simply want him; he ached for Severus with every fibre of his being. As unbelievable as it sounded, for Harry, Severus was a dream come true, the one thing Harry couldn’t live without. And for all Severus’ years, for all the people who had drifted in and out of his life, each leaving a mark but none of their warmth, nothing had prepared Severus for this. To be wanted so completely, accepted and adored without reservation, as he was.

When Harry reached down to grab his ass and pulled Severus deeper still, ankles hooked behind Severus’ back as if he was set to keep Severus embedded in him forever, something within him snapped.

Harry wanted him. Him , and no one else. And, dear lord, did Severus want him too.

At Severus' first sharp lunge, Harry cried out, his eyes wide in shock; at the next, his face flushed bright red, his moan choked on the rush of lust. And with Severus’ own desire billowing like a storm, he couldn’t recall a single reason to hold back. If this was what Harry wanted, to be pounded like there was no tomorrow, who was Severus to refuse?

The bed thudded against the wall with each furious thrust, Severus’ own pleasure blazing along every nerve and muscle, and with Harry clawing his back and wailing in rapture, spiralling towards what looked like an orgasm so immense it might kill him, the mad heat between them was as close to perfection as two people could reach. But Harry managed to top even that, the words falling from his lips at the peak of his pleasure the greatest surprise of all. 

“Marry me, Severus!”

There was no pause in Severus’ thrusts, no hesitation in his response.

“Yes,” he gasped, his mind a whirl and his cock so full it was about to explode. “Yes, Harry, yes. God yes …”

Thick tears welled in Harry’s eyes, but whether they stemmed from Severus’ answer or the force of his impending orgasm, Severus neither knew nor cared. The look on Harry’s face at the moment of his climax sank straight into Severus’ subconsciousness, the intensity of his pleasure so vivid that for the rest of his days he would remember Harry exactly like this: spread beneath him, limbs coiled around him, lips parted in a hoarse scream, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks as his body arched in ecstasy. With the bursts of Harry’s cum slicking their stomachs, Severus came too. Shooting inside the boy was only the last missing piece to the bliss, and buried within him, flooding Harry with his seed while both were clinging to each other’s shaking, sweaty bodies, life was as good as it could ever be.

Exhaustion hit the second the high passed.

Every muscle weak and trembling, Severus rolled onto his side and took Harry with him, gathering him close. Panting after the exertion, Severus was drained, but Harry, if possible, looked even more so. Positively stunned. He lay in Severus’ arms perfectly still, his breathing gradually finding a calm but his mind obviously somewhere far away. With his head resting on Severus’ chest, though, his body nestled against his, the boy was precisely where he was meant to be. 

Severus pulled the blanket over them, a hum of contentment settling over his being although his body protested every move. Making love to Harry might well be the end of him, but what a sweet, sweet end that would be.

After a while, a hesitant yet expected question broke the silence. 

“Did you… Did you mean what you said?” Harry asked, lifting his head, a deep furrow between his brows. “I didn’t intend to propose so soon, and definitely not mid-sex, and I’d understand if you said things you didn’t actually mean.”

Severus reached out to touch the side of Harry’s face, to smooth the lines of worry from his forehead. 

Ever since they’d met last year, their journey had been a series of impulsive decisions. All those months, Severus had hoped for more time to plan and consider the next steps and wisest choices but now, for once, Severus didn’t need time. His response, like Harry’s proposal, had been instinctive, born from a storm of emotions of which lust wasn’t the least, but circumstances didn’t change the result. Severus couldn’t think of a single thing he wanted more than to spend his life with Harry, and with every beat of his heart, he knew Harry felt the same.

“If you’re unsure, perhaps you should ask me again.”

A tentative hope flashed in Harry’s eyes. He propped himself up on one elbow and swallowed, then met his gaze with all his vulnerability bared. 

“Severus Snape, would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”

Ah. A romantic, was he? Why was he not surprised? Another compatibility they shared, then.

“The honour would be mine, Harry. I cannot imagine what I've done to deserve you, but if you’ll have me, I will devote my time on this earth to keeping you happy and content, in every possible way.”

Harry’s face lit up like a brilliant sunrise, and in the seconds it took for the words to truly sink in, Severus could see their entire future, bathed in light. 

The next moment, Harry’s mouth crashed on Severus’, his hands and legs and whole body pressing into him, claiming Severus as though the marriage vows were already signed and sealed, their lives and breaths now entwined beyond separation. As if things like love and happiness were that simple.

Groaning as Harry’s tongue slid into his mouth, shivering as his fingers traced a path down his front, and realising his cock was already expressing interest in another round, Severus wondered if Harry might have been right, after all. If everything was exactly this simple.

They loved each other and wanted to be together. Details could be discussed later. 

As to Severus’ aching muscles, he would adapt.

Chapter Text

“Time to confess, mate.”

Ron’s voice demanded attention, but Harry was busy. Levitating two plates and two cups of tea while trying to choose from the dozens of cakes and pastries Mrs Weasley had prepared for the buffet table wasn’t easy. Most were pink and decorated with flowers in honour of the new life they were celebrating, but everything looked delicious and Harry was starving.

“Hmm?”

“That man.” From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron nodding towards the crowded living room where Severus sat, rather stiffly, on the sofa with a newborn in his arms. “Who’s the poor bloke you’ve Polyjuiced into looking like Snape, and how much did you have to pay him to come here?”

Harry didn’t hide his smile. Compared to the image Ron probably still carried in his head from their days at Hogwarts, of the dark and surly Potions professor perpetually in a murderous mood, the man talking with Ron’s father didn’t quite fit that picture. Dressed in black trousers and a crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled up in the warm August weather and his long hair tied back in a loose ponytail, Severus looked like a dish.

“Coming here was Severus’ idea, actually.”

As it had been. Fully aware that Severus didn’t enjoy social gatherings – loathed them, in fact – Harry had offered to attend alone. But Severus had noted that unless they intended to keep their relationship secluded behind the walls of their many homes forever, they would eventually have to start appearing together in public. And what better occasion to make their debut than at a family gathering where the star of the day in all her long-awaited cuteness was guaranteed to grab all the attention? No one would give them a second glance.

Harry hadn’t bothered pointing out that the logic was flawless only in theory. In reality, there was no chance of them blending into the background no matter what the event. As became clear the moment they arrived at Ron and Hermione’s home where Mrs Weasley was only the first and most emotional to congratulate them.

“Yeah? Well, unless you’ve somehow–”

“Oh my god, what have you done to Snape?!” Hermione cut in as she appeared at Harry’s other side. “If it weren’t for that mark on his arm, I’d hardly recognise him!”

Too happy to be offended by their bluntness, Harry’s smile widened. He was still having a hard time believing all the good in his life was his to keep. Especially Severus. Somewhere along the way, Harry must have done something right to get and keep such a man. Even if it had taken some effort to make Severus give in.

“How did you manage to get Snape to hold Rose, Hermione?” Ron asked, frowning as he watched his daughter stretch her tiny arms, making soft noises as though attempting to communicate with the man in question.

Hermione smirked. “He looked so lost when Harry left his side that I thought I'd give him someone else to coddle. He didn’t resist.”

“Severus isn’t coddling me,” Harry tried, objecting more to the idea that their relationship was so obvious than the actual observation, then added with a sheepish grin. “Not in public, anyway.”

Truth was, Severus was spoiling him rotten. Agreed to Harry's every whim and strived to fulfil his every wish, even the ones he hadn't voiced yet. Most days, Harry felt like a pampered prince, but knowing the honeymoon phase wouldn’t last forever, he didn’t feel the least bit guilty about soaking in every sweet second. They’d find a balance eventually.

“I’m pretty sure he’s going to hand-feed you those cakes when you get back, Harry,” Hermione remarked. “This is the first time his eyes have left you since you got here.”

Harry glanced over at the man again, a familiar warmth spreading in his chest. Severus’ shoulders looked more relaxed now, his expression softer as he carefully untangled his hair from the baby’s tight fist, offering her his finger to squeeze instead. For a moment, Harry had difficulty breathing.

Would it be rude to leave? Slip into the guest bedroom for a quickie? The second they were back home, Harry would tear off Severus’ clothes and lick every inch of his skin.

“Mate. Snap out of it,” Ron said, an eyebrow arched in disbelief. “You’re drooling.”

But Harry continued to stare. After years of hardship and heartache, he refused to hide an ounce of his happiness. If gazing at the love of his life brought him joy, he would do so, other people be damned.

As if sensing his stare, Severus lifted his gaze, a question in his eyes. When Harry blew him a kiss, he turned away again, lips pursed, a faint blush creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears.

‘Inappropriate, Potter’, Harry could practically hear the man say, while secretly enjoying the subtle affirmation of Harry’s affection.

Or… not so subtle.

Harry returned his attention to Ron and Hermione to see them both gaping.

“What?” he asked and stuffed a pink mini-cupcake into his mouth.

Tears pooled in Hermione’s eyes. “I know you said it was love, Harry, but I didn’t think you’d be so… so…”

“...so disgusting,” Ron muttered under his breath, earning himself an elbow from his wife and a chuckle from Harry.

Ron wasn’t wrong, though. Because Harry was. Thoroughly, disgustingly, hopelessly, in love.

“I was going to say sweet,” Hermione said and wiped her eyes then grabbed Harry into a tight hug, ignoring the plates and cups Harry was levitating. “We’re so happy for you two. Please, come visit us as often as you can. Both of you.”

Walking back to their home later, the sun bright and warm in the blue sky, Severus was unusually quiet. The silence wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable, so Harry figured he was just tired, his energy drained by all the socialising. As much as Harry had enjoyed meeting everyone with Severus by his side as his fiancé, the noise and hassle had worn him out too. Maybe they’d take a nap first before–

“Was I what they had in mind?”

Harry’s attention sharpened. Severus had never been one to try to impress people, to present himself in any kind of favourable light for any reason. If he’d done so today, or thought he had to do so for Harry, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” he said firmly, hoping to soothe whatever insecurity might have raised its head. “I know you’re perfect for me.”

Severus’ expression softened. “That’s kind of you to say, but not exactly what I was asking. I meant will they still be worried about you, after what they saw today? I remember they weren’t too thrilled to hear about us, and I would prefer not to be the cause of any problems with your relationships with your friends.”

So that was it. Much better. Severus should never be insecure about himself.

“No problems whatsoever. If anything, they believe you’re spoiling me and fear they’ll never see me again because of all the hot sex we’re having every chance we get.”

“How perceptive of them.”

Harry grinned. Severus’ remark could have been a joke but it really wasn’t. If Ron and Hermione knew the whole truth, though, they’d be horrified. The only reason they got out of bed was because Severus insisted that sex wasn’t a replacement for food. Harry had never realised that days could actually be spent in bed, immersed in pleasure, and still not have the same kind of sex twice. Then again, maybe his friends would understand. Surely every new couple went through the same.

After a silence, Harry brought up a thought of his own. “I was watching you hold Rose.”

“She’s quite the charmer. I was surprised Hermione trusted her to my care.”

“You looked like a natural. All the women in the room were swooning. Some of the men too.” Severus frowned, and Harry laughed, then hesitated. “It did make me wonder though… Would you have wanted a child? Someone to take care of, someone to call your own?”

“I already have one,” Severus said, looking pointedly at Harry then stepping swiftly aside as Harry tried to swat his arm. “But no. I’ve never had any desire to raise a child of my own. Something to do with my work, perhaps. And you?”

“No, not particularly. I mean, you never know, but I think I’m content being a godfather for now.”

“In case that changes, I hope you’ll tell me. I’m certain we'll find a way to accommodate another person in our lives if it so happens.”

How Severus always managed to say the exact right things, even if it was in his own quirky way, Harry would never know. But he loved every little surprise. Everything was just so easy with him. Now that they didn’t have to fight the urge to fuck each other senseless but were free to do that whenever they wanted, their relationship had shifted into this incredibly relaxed togetherness where Harry felt loved and accepted, his wishes respected and his needs fulfilled. And Harry did his best to give Severus the same. They had no need to change the other, not even smooth the rough edges. Along the way, they’d molded to fit together well enough, and what remained of their differences only added to the spark that brightened every day.

Once again overwhelmed by his good fortune, Harry reached out to take Severus’ hand, but the man pulled away.

“If you didn’t notice, there’s a reporter trailing us. Unless you want to be on the front page tomorrow, I suggest we wait until we’re indoors.”

Reporter? Not another one.

Harry paused by the bin, pretending to drop something inside, and glanced back. Sure enough, across the street, loitering behind a line of parked cars, was a man so obviously a wizard that Harry wondered how he hadn’t noticed him sooner. Severus tended to do that, capture Harry’s attention so completely that the world around them faded away.

One nosy reporter would not spoil his mood, though.

“They’ve been after me ever since that date with Draco. I can’t believe anyone still cares about what I do and who I see. Let’s just ignore them.”

“They care because you will always be the Boy Who Lived, Harry. Perhaps we should take the route through the park?”

Walking along the gently winding path, the noises of the city muted by towering oak trees and evergreens, endless flowerbeds shining in every colour under the sun, Harry’s thoughts drifted to more important matters.

“Have you had a chance to think about the wedding?”

Severus hummed. “As I said before, it makes no difference to me how many guests we invite. And the countryside works as well as the city, as long as I’ll have you in my bed at the end of the evening, as my husband.”

Harry’s cheeks warmed. It didn’t matter how many times Severus said those words – bed and husband – Harry’s mind would always melt and his body would always stir. He reached for Severus’ hand again.

“The reporter hasn’t given up yet, Harry.”

Harry hesitated, but only for a second. Even the irritation was forgotten before it had truly formed.

Did it really matter if they ended up on the front page? Did it matter if people gossiped and stared? They’d fought so hard to get to where they were. Didn’t they deserve to enjoy each other's company, wherever they happened to be? Strolling through a beautiful park in full summer bloom, his heart filled to the brim, it was a sin not to be holding Severus’ hand.

“The setting would be perfect, though,” Harry said, glancing at the lush rose-covered walkway by the side of the pond, then up at the cloudless sky. “The lighting isn’t too bad either.”

Severus followed his gaze, then studied him closely, the meaning of Harry's words clear without the need to explain.

“Most of the Prophet’s pictures end up horribly dark and grainy wherever they were taken. They can make the sweetest moment look like a crime scene.”

“Well, maybe we could help them make a decent front page for once in their history.”

“We could,” Severus agreed, a lingering reservation in his voice. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Harry nodded. “We’re even dressed for the event. We’d look so good.”

“You always look good. With or without clothes.” Harry blushed bright at the tease, but when Severus continued, his tone was serious. “Harry, you know they’ll turn this into something foul whatever we say or do. Negative headlines simply sell better.”

Severus was bringing up valid points, consequences that would have once kept Harry silent and invisible, but no more. He was done hiding.

“Then I suppose we should make it extra dirty for everyone to have something to talk about.”

Without another word, he took Severus’ hand and led him under the arch of pink roses, then turned and slid his arms around the man's neck. Somewhere in the distance, the first light flashed.

“Dirty?” Severus asked.

“Don’t spare the tongue.”

“Hands on ass too much?”

“Grab as you please.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Seems I’m not the only one in this family with a flair for drama.”

“Nope,” Harry grinned. “Might as well give them a show while we’re at it.”

Severus coiled an arm around Harry’s waist and pulled him near. Another flash, this time closer by.

“A show?” Severus asked, threading his fingers into Harry’s hair and pressing his lips to his, an arm securely behind Harry’s back. “I’m merely kissing the man I love. If some people consider that scandalous, so be it. Now hold on.”

With no further warning, he dipped Harry back and kissed him deep, kissed him so long and thorough that Harry was out of breath, his knees weak, and his heart about to burst. From afar, Harry registered the camera flashes and the escalating murmurs and cheers, but with Severus pressed against him, warm and strong, the world was only a backdrop to the wild call of freedom coursing through his veins.

This was his life. His future, with Severus. Come what may, they were ready.