It was absurd.
It was… a whim, a fleeting fancy.
Severus Snape had survived despite all odds and his eyes tended to wander to the single other person on the planet who defied similar odds. It meant nothing.
Severus’s fingers twitched when he watched Potter swirl a fork in his food, never truly making an effort to eat. Someone needed to take the boy (he was a boy, a boy, only just eighteen… a boy) and force him to eat a solid meal and sleep.
Gods. It would have to be a whim of Severus’s because Potter had hardly ever looked more wretched. There were bags under his eyes, deeper than any insomniac. Potter’s face had thinned to the point that his glasses were slipping down his nose even when he held his chin up with his hand.
The boy was falling apart worse in peace than he had in war. It fit with every thought Severus ever formed about the boy - he thrived in conflict. A fight would inspire him, yet he seemed to have lost his fight.
It was something to keep an eye on, anyway. Severus hardly spent a lifetime protecting him from outside threats to allow the boy to harm himself through egregious neglect. The school year had just begun, perhaps once Granger and Weasley adjusted to their courses they would get back to coddling Potter to health.
In the meantime though… Severus had something he may be able to send Potter… It was hardly anything, just an old memento. Severus had no use for it outside of sentimentality, though Potter might.
Severus had to do some digging for it, but he did find what he wanted. It was simple to get a House-Elf to deliver it that night, Severus would only wait until the next morning to see if Potter looked any more alive the next morning. It was a small kindness, one that Severus would never need to own up to. Potter would have something to return some color to his cheeks and the insolence to his tone.
The world would be rightened and Severus could make himself disdainful toward the boy once more.
It seemed as if it had worked, to an extent. Potter had color to his cheeks when he arrived at breakfast the next morning. Severus watched him with his usual subtlety and was rather alarmed to see –
“Does Harry look like he’s been crying?” Minerva murmured very quietly to Severus. Minerva sat in the center chair at the Head Table, Severus sat at her right-hand side as he had since the term began. Severus expected to be given death, Azkaban, poison… and was instead given the Defense Against the Dark Arts post and his friendship with Minerva – after quite a spectacle.
Severus would always have the scar Minerva gifted him; a small blight when compared to the indescribable kindness she followed it with.
“Hmm.” Severus hummed as he studied Potter in response. Minerva, unrepentant gossip that she was, sounded concerned and thus Severus had no reason to be. If Minerva was concerned with Potter, she would take it upon herself to reach out. The woman doted on Potter, it was sickening.
Severus was taken aback when Potter abruptly lifted his head and caught Severus’s eyes across the Hall. Severus remained passive, cool, even raised an eyebrow at the dark scowl he was given, though he could not imagine what he had done to earn it… recently.
“Good Lord, what are you and Harry fighting about now?” Minerva sighed, seeing the same swollen eyes glaring at Severus as Severus did.
“Truly,” Severus watched as Potter broke his glare and then Severus shook his head some, rather bemused by that, “I have not the faintest.”
Severus suspected that his peace offering had perhaps not given the boy any peace, but Potter hardly needed peace to start with. That was Severus’s mistake, thinking Potter wanted to live without conflict. The boy needed a war to bring him back to himself, and Severus could give him that.
Severus began needling Potter then, treating him like an errant schoolboy instead of the hailed hero of the wizarding world.
“Ten points from Gryffindor for poor hygiene,” was rewarded with Potter arriving at breakfast the next morning, showered and with his hair quite nearly neat.
Detention for looking bored during Severus’s class was matched with Potter going to bed early that night, retiring directly after dinner with a murmured explanation to his friends that he was going to request something from Poppy.
Severus called Potter’s spell work sloppy, the boy flushed. Severus mocked his inability to fly for Gryffindor and watched Potter collect the other eighth years who were unable to compete for a trip to the quidditch pitch.
Draco looked as ill on his broom as Potter did that first night, but Severus tracked the two ex-rivals as they refused to cave in front of the other. Potter would never admit his trauma, Draco would sooner eat a toad.
Potter needed an antagonist to take care of himself and Severus was content to provide that. He would always be the villain in Potter’s story, the boy a thorn in his side, there was no reason to upset the status quo.
Or, there had not been, until Severus found Potter outside of his common room late one night in early October.
Severus had been kept awake by phantom pains in his throat from the scars Nagini left him. The venom was gone, but Severus occasionally felt pain tearing at him, searing down his body. Every healer that Severus had traveled out of the country to consult over the summer said that it was psychological pain, which meant that Severus had no true way to relieve it. Walking the castle helped, if only because Severus could lose himself in the familiar corridors – some as scarred as he had been by the war – and distract himself from the pains.
It was often an added distraction to find errant students out of their common rooms. Severus had not lost his general disdain for rulebreakers because the war ended; Severus was still granted a position within Hogwarts and he fulfilled his duties as diligently as he always had. It meant that when Severus passed the entrance for the Astronomy Tower and found the door cracked, he took great joy in envisioning the look of shock on the troublemakers faces when he caught them in whatever insipid act they would be committing.
Severus crept silently up the stairs and planned the point loss – and then instead found himself at an utter loss of words at what he found.
It was a pair of troublemakers, Potter and Draco. Severus would expect a duel (perhaps the duel they had planned in their first year) or even perhaps two boys traumatized by war finding a sympathetic ear from the other. What Severus had never carried the imagination to envision was Draco against the wall, his head thrown back and eyes closed, with his fingers laced through dark hair, encouraging the bob of Potter’s head while Potter had Draco’s prick in his mouth.
Severus covered his own mouth with his hand and would later be relieved that the boys did not see him for he surely broadcast his thoughts more clearly than he ever had before:
Potter… on his knees… making the most lewd noises as he sucked Draco.
It took no imagination at all for Severus to place himself in Draco’s position; Potter would look up with teary green eyes, seeking signs of approval. His lips would be red, swollen, spit pooling down them.
Severus had to turn on his heel and flee the Tower, consequences for the boys be damned. It was a discomfort beyond any ‘psychological pain’ that Severus ever felt to know that when he imagined himself in Draco’s position, he had never been so aroused. Potter – Merlin.
Why did it always circle back to Harry Potter for Severus?
It was always that damned boy.
That boy that grew to be a man. That boy that glared at Severus with heated eyes and pinkened cheeks. That boy that defied death.
The boy that Severus could not stop watching.
It was maddening. Severus ought to be castrated.
That was hardly the first night that Potter haunted Severus’s sleep, though it was the first time that the flavor of the dream changed.
Severus was not of the opinion that it changed for the better.
Before that night, Severus had gone out of his way to find Potter – to punish him for any conceived errors and make remarks for the boy to rebel against to his own betterment. After finding Potter and Draco in the Astronomy Tower, Severus began adamantly avoiding them both.
Draco was Horace’s student – as Severus refused to resume the post of Slytherin’s Head of House, he had tormented those children enough the prior school year – and Potter was beneath the new Transfiguration Professor, a woman with half of Minerva’s intellect and none of her authoritative character. Potter was in Severus’s class, Draco was not.
It meant that Severus should only have had to suffer seeing Potter’s face twice a week in class, but when did Potter ever, ever, make anything easy on Severus?
When Severus’s pointed barbs ended, Potter seemed to begin seeking them out; taunting him. Potter had to know, he had to. It was the only explanation Severus could find for the calculating looks Potter would give him in class (and when did Harry Potter become calculating?!) and the way that Potter looked at Severus at least twice during every meal.
“Harry’s looking at you again,” Minerva commented one morning. She seemed amused, the direct opposite of how Severus felt about the situation. “What are you doing to him, Severus?”
“Nothing,” Severus seethed, glaring at his toast. “The boy is insufferable, Minerva.”
Minerva smiled behind her teacup, a poor attempt to hide her silent laughter. “I see.”
“He is insubordinate.”
“Mhmm.”
“Defiant for no purpose.”
“Right.”
“I believe he and Draco are romantically entangled.”
Severus had not meant to say that, but watching Minerva sputter and spray tea from her mouth in the most inelegant display was a balm to Severus’s bad mood. The other professors looked at her, asking if she were okay, Severus only raised a mocking eyebrow.
Minerva coughed and smacked her chest with red cheeks and watering eyes that she turned accusingly toward Severus.
“Liar,” she rasped. “They – no.”
“They yes,” Severus said, feigning superior smugness. “I caught them in the Astronomy Tower a fortnight ago. Look at them now.”
Minerva turned slowly to look from Severus to where Potter was seated at the Gryffindor Table with Draco Malfoy, as if it were an everyday occurrence. Which, it was beginning to become. The boys did not do any pretty flirtations or public displays of affection (and Severus had not seen them in the Tower since the one night), but there they sat.
“I… goodness.” Minerva took a water glass and sipped it slowly after her eyes confirmed what Severus told her. “Pomona said that she had them both in her grief group, I don’t think any of us expected this to be the outcome.”
Why would it not? Why would Potter and Draco – two boys, attractive in their own ways – not find solace in each other? It was understandable that like would seek out like. It was the only explanation Severus could find for the way he could never refrain from looking toward Potter like a damned eye-drawing light in the dark.
Severus had checked the Astronomy Tower every night after his initial discovery of Potter and Draco. Severus assured himself that it was only to find them and punish them for his initial shock overcoming his duty as a professor. It was easy to lie to himself, Severus had done it for years.
They must have found their dorm to be a preferred place for their… their… illicit shenanigans… because Severus had not found them again. On that night, Severus did find Potter, and – to the surprise of no one – the boy was breaking the rules and risking his own life in the process.
Potter leaned on the edge of the railing, his body limp and loose in a way that Severus rarely saw him, a half empty bottle of cheap vodka dangling from his fingers. The boy was intoxicated, clearly, and yet he whipped his head around the second that he sensed Severus’s presence.
“Shoulda known it would be you.” Potter laughed when he turned back to face the lawns, a breathy and drunken sound. “’s always you, Snape.”
Severus moved forward carefully, watching Potter as he leaned entirely too far over the railing. Severus’s pulse thrummed through him, quicker with every degree Potter put himself in danger.
“I do have a tendency to find you when you are behaving with foolish recklessness,” Severus said carefully. He was close enough to Potter that he could grab him if he leaned too far forward, his hand hovered above the back of Potter’s shirt collar. “You should go to bed, Potter.”
Severus meant to snap it, to hiss at the boy. But there was something pathetic about Potter in his drunkenness. He was not with friends, laughing and partying, he was alone in a tower where he once watched Severus kill a man they had both admired.
“Yeah.” Potter leaned heavily on the rail and Severus had his hand close enough to snatch him in an instant when Potter raised the bottle to his lips and tilted it back, swallowing down enough of the vile liquor that he stumbled toward his left, closer to Severus.
“You ever regret it?” Potter slurred, slowly turning his head to stare directly in Severus’s eyes. Potter’s eyes were glazed, solemn. There was something that ached in Severus at the look.
The brief fire that Potter had regained was fully extinguished that night.
“I have many regrets,” Severus said lowly. It hardly mattered, Potter would never remember their conversation. “You will have to be more specific.”
Potter’s lips twisted to the side, the boy was wry and bitter. It – it was not a look made for Potter; Potter was meant to be cheeky, defiant… glowing. Severus found that he missed the Potter who screamed insults at him, called him a coward, attacked him in front of two men that Severus thought he needed protected from.
“Me, us,” Potter said, sending a shock through Severus. Potter was not observant – surely he could not –
“Spending your whole life pr-protecting me,” Potter went on, relieving Severus. Potter blinked and he was drunk and broken and so lovely. “Seems a waste now, right?”
Severus looked down at the bottle again, weighing his options.
“Was that bottle full when you began drinking?” Severus asked, as evenly as he had ever spoke to Potter.
Potter lifted the bottle, took a sloppy drink, then nodded. “’m eighteen,” he said stubbornly.
“I was deciding if you would remember this conversation in the morning,” Severus admitted. Once he was relatively certain he would not, Severus grabbed the back of Potter’s neck and squeezed, forcing the boy to look up at him.
“I have many regrets,” Severus reiterated, staring directly in Potter’s eyes and resisting the urge to… dig. “I have never regret us,” he said, using Potter’s own term.
Potter swallowed and his pupils were so blown that they may as well have been colored as dark as Severus’s were.
“You sent me that picture,” Potter whispered. “The one my mum drew. The- the house-elves love me, they told me.”
Potter would have friends in the house-elves, Severus should have guessed such a thing.
“I did,” Severus said. “Your mother had talent in pencil drawings, I thought you would enjoy the information.”
“You loved her?”
“I did.”
Potter made a sound that was neither a whimper or moan, but something between the two.
“You care for Draco?” Severus asked.
“He gets it,” Potter said, his eyes pleading with Severus to ‘get it’ as well. Severus did, he always had. Perhaps it was folly to identify with Potter as he did; they were two sides of the same knut.
Severus squeezed Potter’s neck tightly once more before releasing it – releasing any ideas that may have been digging at him for months… perhaps longer…
“Go to bed, Harry,” Severus told him, taking a step away, putting space between them that should always be there. “I am sure you will find Draco waiting for you.”
Potter made another noise, Severus did not linger to begin to interpret it. Once Severus was out of the room – away from the boy – he felt the electricity that had been running over his skin finally dissipating.
Two sides of one knut, but Severus’s side was more tarnished, dirty, dull. Potter’s side shined.
It was the way of the world, Severus had always known it.
Severus began to withdraw when the world turned cold. The days felt longer, drearier. Severus taught his classes, drank with Minerva. It was the beginning of a routine as old as Severus was – one of loneliness and isolation.
It made Severus ponder if he should leave, go somewhere new. Severus hardly invited change in his life… but there was no master left to call on him, no obligations. There was Potter, there would always be Potter, but Potter had no need for Severus, not truly.
Even when Severus saw Potter slipping back in his own self-destructive habits; not sleeping, not eating, not laughing… Draco was there for Potter.
Draco was young and had been hurt by the war. As Potter said, Draco ‘got it’.
Severus saw them at breakfast as Draco quietly tried to cajole Potter into eating. Severus watched them in the corridors when Draco fretted about Potter’s sleep.
Draco might have ‘got it’, but he had no idea how to treat Potter, he had no idea how to get him to care for himself and coddling him would only drive Potter further into himself. Potter had grown up on broken ground, thrived on it, learned how to make the abnormal normal.
Potter did his best work out of spite and, when Severus saw him shrinking down near the point of no return, Severus irritably began giving him a reason to care for himself again.
“Until the end of February, we will be dueling,” Severus told his eighth years the day after Christmas break ended.
Severus caught the attention of a few, a few small smirks bloomed on the mixture of the four houses. Bones looked thrilled, Weasley was confident. Potter hardly stirred.
“Potter!” Severus snapped at him, forcing the boy to look at him. Potter did it slowly, his eyes dulled by whatever thoughts weighed him down.
“Come demonstrate, show us all what was luck and what was talent,” Severus sneered, mocking the boy, challenging him… waking him up.
Potter rose from his seat and, despite the glares given to Severus by students offended on their hero’s behalf, there was a cocky tilt to his lips. Severus wanted to wipe it off him; abolish the smile, knock him down to his knees until his lips were – no.
Severus waved his wand, easily moving all the desks and extending the front of the classroom so that he and Potter faced off on a small stage.
“Do we need to bow?” Potter asked, a small amount of cheek to his tone. It was nearly enough to make Severus smile, but Potter did not need a smile.
“I am your professor, Potter,” Severus spat. “You will address me as such.”
Remember, Potter? Do you remember when you mocked me in this very room, just two years ago? You were so alive, untouchable.
Potter’s eyes flashed and there was not a fire in his eyes, only an ember. An ember was all that Severus needed though.
“Do we need to bow, sir?” Potter asked, drawling the last word.
“Did you bow before you dueled Riddle?” Severus asked – I would have given anything to see it – “Begin.”
Severus lashed out first, Potter had been expecting it. Potter turned away, returning the hex with one of his own. It was silent, powerful, never came near Severus. Severus sent Potter’s own hex back toward him, sneering when Potter resorted to rolling to avoid it.
“Get off the floor,” Severus snapped, sending more hexes toward Potter for the pleasure of watching him avoid them. “This is not a game. Fight me as if your life –”
Potter leapt to his feet and slashed his wand, severing the leg of Severus’s trousers and causing his blood to pound in his ears. There was still a stiffness in his movements, a familiar one born of exhaustion and apathy.
“Sloppy,” Severus taunted him. “You stay up later basking in the glow of your many admirers and it makes you weak, Potter.”
Potter mumbled something as he began slinging curses just that side of legal toward Severus and he was alive and awake and gorgeous.
“What was that?” Severus hit Potter with a freezing jinx where his shoes were, sending him toppling over to hastily unfreeze his feet. “I cannot hear you when you mumble, Potter.”
Severus heard him; Potter said Severus was jealous that Potter had friends to stay up late with. Severus was jealous, Potter’s group of admirers were not the source.
“I said…” Potter yanked his feet from his boots and tried to hit Severus with Severus’s own spell. “You’re jealous.”
“Am I?” Severus took the spell and hit the boy with it, yanking him in the air by his ankle. Potter kept ahold of his wand and refused to concede.
Severus knew what spell he used before he could even use his wand. It was his signature, his only m–
Severus had clenched his wand and was caught off-guard, caught off-guard, when Potter struck him directly with a laughing jinx. Severus was so caught off guard that while his laughter filled the room, Potter was able to take his wand from him even while hanging in the air.
It was horrible; Severus laughing when Potter looked so vibrant and triumphant.
Severus loved him.
It was the truest tragedy to ever befall him.
That was the first night that Potter sought Severus out and the first night that Severus refused to interact with the boy.
Severus was inside his office when he heard footsteps prowling the corridor outside his office. Severus considered the hour, listened for the footsteps through his monitoring charm again. It was one student, not a child. At the late hour, it was either an older Slytherin who wanted Severus instead of Horace, or it would be –
“Snape?” A soft knock on the office door. “Are you in there?”
Severus’s fingers shook and he silently sat down the quill he had been holding. Potter was at his office door well past midnight, seeking Severus out for his insomniac needs. There could be an emergency, but Potter would seek Minerva out for that.
It would be a personal conversation.
Severus refused to have that with Potter. There was no need for it… in a few months, Potter would move on from the castle and Severus would only see those eyes and the fire within them when he slept. It was January, Severus could stay aloof for a few months yet, he had done it for years.
If not aloof, then he could simply refuse to engage.
Another knock.
“Snape? I just – I wanted to talk?”
Severus swallowed, unsure why he chose then to be a coward. Potter sounded desperate, small.
Young.
He was a child, a student, a boy. Not just a boy, but the boy.
“Please? You get it, right?” Potter called through the door. “I think you do.”
Severus did.
Severus understood perfectly.
Potter returned the next night, part of Severus knew he would. Severus would not open the door, Potter would not unlock it.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Potter said. “Everyone’s moving on, why can’t I?”
Because Severus and Potter were built for battle and war, not peace. They had nothing tethering them to life, no grand cause to fight or rebel against.
“Draco’s so happy the war’s over and it’s sick, I’m sick, because – because I kind of wish there was just something.” A sigh, broken and forlorn. “I thought maybe you’d understand because you look… you look like you would.”
Severus smiled faintly, unsure if it was an insult or not. Truthfully, Severus wagered it was not meant to be.
A first for them.
“I feel like there’s no purpose for me anymore. Just… a life full of nothing.”
There was a unique void for the boy who was given the weight of a world on his shoulders that he shed before even becoming a man.
“I can’t sleep at night, Snape. Sometimes I can’t breathe.”
Severus understood all too well.
“Sometimes I don’t want to breathe.”
Severus understood that as well.
“I wish you’d talk to me.”
Severus wished he could.
It became a dance between them:
Severus needled the boy for Potter’s own good during the day, avoided him for his own good at night. It was untenable. Unstable.
When February rolled around, Severus saw the end of Potter and Draco’s relationship. They sat at separate tables, Draco sent Potter the same soft looks that Potter sent Severus when he thought there was no one watching.
Minerva saw and she gave Severus questioning glances, pointed questions.
“You’re a teacher,” she reminded him.
Severus never forgot that.
After a month of Potter speaking to Severus’s door, they were pulled together again. Not by fate, but by Potter’s cunning machinations.
Potter always left the corridor after sharing the weight on his soul with Severus’s office door. Severus waited for ten minutes and then slipped out as well to retire for the night. Potter was never there… until he was.
Severus had opened the door, stepped out in the corridor, and pulled up short when Potter pulled the hood of his infernal cloak off and revealed himself.
“I…” Severus touched his lips, unsure what to say. The lines between Severus and Potter were so blurred, Severus had no idea how to operate within them.
Potter stepped forward, his eyes questioning but not unsure.
“Why did you give me detention?” Potter asked, referring to the detention Severus assigned that afternoon.
“Students idolize you,” Severus said with mild-honesty. “You set a poor example by skipping meals.”
Potter stepped forward, leaving his cloak to trail behind him on the floor. Severus did not step back, though he wanted to.
“You took points because I look sloppy?” Potter asked, despite both of them knowing Severus had.
“If you would follow a consistent regimen of Dreamless Sleep, you would not be so visibly messy.” Severus leaned his head back, feigning as if he were looking down his nose at Potter when he only wanted to keep space between his face and Potter’s.
Because there he was; lovely, awake, seeing Severus.
“You took points because I wasn’t sleeping?” Potter asked. Since they both knew that it was true, Severus said nothing.
Potter took that as permission to crowd closer to Severus, to look up at him through his lashes.
“Why do you care?” Potter breathed. “You don’t have to, not anymore.”
Severus needed to be silent, to hold his tongue. Severus lived his entire life doing what was demanded of him, what everyone else wanted him to do.
“I will always care,” Severus said in a fierce undertone, an admission just for himself.
The air between them was charged, thick with the understanding that something was going to change.
Potter was a boy, a student.
“Always?” Potter asked – a whisper, a plea.
Severus grabbed him by the back of his neck and jerked him even closer in a single motion.
“Always,” he swore.
When Severus crushed his lips against Potter’s, when Potter whined and tilted his head to invite him to take him so fully, that was for Severus as well.
It was for Severus and Potter and for all those who were broken by a war and needed something outside of themselves to begin repairing the damage done.
For Severus, it would always circle back to God damned Harry Potter.