Romance
Sleep Deprivation:
Severus couldn't sleep. Those orphan brats had given his husband the wizarding flu and he was up and out of bed every quarter hour to wretch into the toilet, which meant that Severus was up a minute later with a cold compress ready. They say it's love when you move mountains for your lover. Severus knew nothing of mountains, but wiping his husband's face of vomit seemed a close second.
Like clockwork, Harry was up again at 4:30 and Severus with him. Afterwards, with Harry leaning against him on the bathroom floor, he though it might be worth the exhaustion.
Always Hungry:
He managed to keep the craving hidden, but it still gnawed at his insides. He was ravenous upon sight of the boy, constantly craving another taste. Just one more, and then he would stop. Only to give in once more when the constant hunger finally devoured his resolve again. Then, he would shove the boy against any available surface and ravish him, again.
One day they would be caught, gasping and thrashing together, perhaps in the training room, perhaps on his desk. Either way, his reputation would be ruined. Looking at the boy, though, he wasn't sure he particularly cared.
Courage:
Severus stood at the front door of the little cottage, nervous for the first time in—he could not remember how long. This was alien to him, odd, uncomfortable. The new robes, though black, still fit rather tighter than he was accustomed to and his freshly-scrubbed hair kept falling in his eyes. The only thing that kept him where he was, was the person on the other side of the door.
He just needed the courage to knock on that door. After twenty minutes, he finally managed a weak knock. The door promptly opened to reveal a grinning Harry Potter.
Things Left Unsaid:
Unless he's diatribing on the inadequacies of students, Severus doesn't say much. Harry has become accustomed to one-sided conversations about his friends over the dinner table. He is content with a mumbled reply when he tells his husband he loves him. He does not need words to confirm what he already knows.
Instead, Severus steals his hand and kisses the knuckles every morning when he passes by to get his coffee, tolerates finger-paint pictures on the refrigerator from the orphanage, spoons behind him when he thinks Harry is asleep. The proper words are unnecessary. Harry understands the message being sent.
Vertigo:
Severus works his pupil hard in training, harder than is strictly necessary, he knows, which is why he allows it when the young man commandeers his shower first and sits in his favourite reading chair most evenings. It is worth it if it means that he can experience his favourite part of the day, the moment when that wet-haired, clean-smelling young man slinks into his arms and pushes up on tiptoes to kiss his breath away. In that moment, the bottom drops out of his world and his head becomes a dizzying swirl, almost like vertigo. His one perfect moment.
Last Dance:
In Severus' eyes, Harry is faithful, unconventionally faithful, but faithful still. The Prophet, Witch Weekly, even occasionally The Quibbler, all boast stories of Harry's many and frequent conquests; as far as Severus is aware though, he has never asked, it is all true. And all inconsequential. He is old enough not to expect monogamy.
The consequential fact is that no matter whom Harry has been with, he always comes back to Severus' bed. In three years, Harry has only slept elsewhere three times, each Christmas at the Burrow. As long as his Harry returns, he has nothing to worry about.
Superstition:
Harry jumped behind the full-length mirror as soon as he saw Severus enter the room. "Go away, it's bad luck to see each other before the wedding."
Severus ignored him. "That is muggle superstition."
"Are you sure?" Harry peeked out cautiously to find his fiancé within arms reach.
"Yes, now come here." Without waiting, Severus snatched him up and kissed him. Harry hesitated for only a moment before giving in.
A door opened, there was a crash, and then Molly Weasley was screeching, "Severus, get out! It's bad luck to see your husband before the wedding!"
"Muggle superstition, is it?"
Posthumous Request:
Severus blinked at what he saw in front of him. Potter was standing at his doorstep. "Lost, Potter?"
The boy—now man—grinned at him. "Not at all. I'm here to stay."
"Have you seen a mediwizard lately? I believe you're overdue." Potter rolled his eyes and pushed passed him, previously-unnoticed suitcase in hand.
"Very funny. Minerva wanted me to take care of you, thought you needed a companion, so here I am."
"Were you not made aware of her death?"
Potter tossed him a parchment before heading upstairs. Minerva's Will. "That's what you get for skiving off the Reading."
Sacrifice:
"Where's your spare room?"
"I don't have one."
"Well, I'm not sleeping on that sofa. It looks mouldy."
"You needn't stay at all, you know. I do not need a babysitter."
The brat rolled his eyes. "Companion, partner, friends, not babysitter. Minerva asked, I'm not saying no."
Severus sneered at him. "It is unnecessary. And what made her choose you? We aren't… friends."
"I volunteered. Hermione thinks I have a self-sacrificing complex."
"I might have to agree."
"Either way, I'm yours from now on, so you'll have to budge over. Hope you don't have a single." Severus blanched at him.
Seven Year Itch:
The seven-year mark, the so-called 'test' of a relationship. He supposed that, since Harry was consistently permitted to visit other beds as often as he pleased, the test would be whether or not Harry chose to remain in his any longer.
"You tolerate a lot from me," Harry murmured while in bed that night.
"It is worth the reward of being with you."
"Is it? Well, you won't have to anymore." Severus' insides clenched. This was it. His love was leaving. "I'm not going to do it anymore."
That had been unexpected.
"I supposed I could tolerate that." Harry grinned.
Proving His Independence:
Harry left Hogwarts after the dust had cleared. Severus always assumed that he was no longer interested in whatever alliances had occurred between them and dismissed the thought of him. For five years, Minerva gave reports on his progress through university and later with his Dark Arts Mastery, but he heard nothing else of the boy. And so he was surprised to find a much matured Harry Potter at the first staff meeting of the year.
"You saw me as a child, I had to leave."
"And now?" No answer, just a firm kiss in the middle of the hallway.
Ancestry:
"Potter, you're on my side."
"You don't mind."
"Your father would not approve of this."
"Wouldn't know, I never met him."
"I did, and he would not approve of your… That hand is in a very inappropriate place!"
Harry smirked impishly against his bare shoulder. "You like it." There were shuffling noises followed by wet sounds, then a muffled moan.
"I highly doubt this is what Minerva intended…"
"Good thing she wasn't specific then, isn't it?" More shuffling and wet sounds in the dark.
"Potter! …You may do that again if you prefer." The sounds grew progressively louder from there.
Dollhouse:
There was a little girl, only three, with bright black ringlets and beautiful green eyes, a perfect combination of him and his husband. Harry had been hinting at wanting to adopt her since the day she came to the orphanage he ran. Severus said nothing.
Then, one day he came home to find the most elaborate dollhouse he had ever seen sitting on the dining table. The dolls inside actually moved, cleaning, talking, the tiny Labrador barking.
When Harry asked his husband about it, all Severus said was that a little girl needed toys. Harry nearly mauled him in excitement.