A Motherly Intervention.

Title: The Heart Of The Problem.
Author: pekeleke
Rating: T
Pairing(s): Severus Snape/Harry Potter.
Challenge: Prompt 6 (Picked from an online seasonal prompt list): Holiday Sweater.
Word Count: 1739
Content:Chapter 6 of my Christmas Series: A Motherly Intervention.
Warnings: Getting Together. Enemies to friends to lovers. Mild Angst. Romance.
Disclaimer: The characters, setting, and the HP franchise are owned by JKR and not me. I make no profit from writing this piece of fanfiction.
A/N: Unbeated. Posting one chapter a day from December 1st to the 25th.
Summary: "You've got to straighten up first," Molly tells him firmly, “Severus Snape isn't bedpost notch material. He wants 'always,' Harry. You can't offer him less." 

The Heart Of The Problem.

Molly is pretty disappointed to discover that Hermione is equally clueless about what transpired between Harry and Severus after the potioneer's trial. Interrogating Hermione is an exercise in artifice the likes of which Molly rarely engages in. Still, she was a Prewett before she was ever a Weasley, and Molly learned the fine art of subtly grilling unsuspecting witches at great-aunt Muriel's skilled knee.

Molly is genuinely at a loss. Taking into account Severus's desire to brush whatever it was under the carpet, she's pretty sure he hasn't confided in Draco, so there's no point in approaching him for information. She can't possibly go to Harry himself, for then she'd have to confess her matchmaking efforts, and she doesn't think he'll take her interference kindly.

Molly spends an entire afternoon debating whether Severus's relationship with Minerva is close enough for him to trust her with the ins and outs of his private affairs but ends up dismissing the notion. There might have been such friendship between them, once upon a time, but they've been markedly wary around one another since the trials. Severus's refusal to resume teaching at Hogwarts appears to have driven a wedge between them.

Out of ideas about possible informants, Molly goes back over her memories of the events after the Final Battle. Most Death Eater trials took place straight away. All of them except Severus's, since the man spent a good fifteen months hovering between life and death in a private room in St. Mungos.

Now that she thinks about it, Molly is pretty confident that Harry was paying for Severus's room at the time. He once told her, over a midnight cup of hot chocolate, how guilty he felt about his lack of faith in Severus, despite Albus's constant reassurances. Harry used to spend his free afternoons sitting at the potioneer's beside, but all of that changed when Severus pulled out of his coma.

As soon as he could stand, Severus walked out of St. Mungos. He’d holed up in that muggle house he used to own and treated his own wounds. The Prophet had been rife with speculation about the reasons behind the ministry's decision to let a confirmed Death Eater convalescence outside the walls of Azkaban.

Molly remembers now how easily Harry had granted interviews around that time. He kept telling every paper willing to listen -and that meant all of them- the story of Severus's true loyalties. Eventually, everyone in Wizarding Britain had heard the tale and, even more importantly, nobody doubted it. By the time the date of Severus's trial was officially announced, it was universally assumed that he'd walk free. Molly can't remember a single instance when the two wizards met face to face during those months. As far as she is aware, Harry's presence hadn't even been required at Severus's trial.

Molly ponders the mystery idly as she settles on her fireside chair and pulls out her latest knitting project. It’s Scorpius’s first Weasley holiday sweater, she’s been working on it ever since he was born, and she’ll probably finish it today.

She's managed a good forty minutes of uninterrupted knitting when the clock atop the mantle pings, drawing her gaze. She watches Harry's hand change from 'At work' to 'En route,' with a puzzled expression. It's unusual for Harry to make unexpected visits to the Burrow, especially mid-week. Molly vanishes her needlework upstairs and heads towards the kitchen. Whatever trouble brings her boy home will require at least one soothing cup of tea.

Harry shows up as the kettle starts whistling, "Harry, dear, you look beat. Sit. Have a cuppa. Everything alright at work?"

Harry comes closer, bends down to buss her on the cheek, and drops into his favorite chair with an exhausted groan, "Work is fine. I haven't been sleeping well, that's all."

Molly hands him his cup of tea and sits beside him with her own, "All that partying catching up with you?" she questions, trying to remember if she has seen any of those obnoxious articles about Harry's exploits recently. She's coming up blank, but that doesn't mean he hasn't been playing the field.

"Hardly. I've been a disgustingly prim and proper little boy recently. You should be proud."

"I'm always proud, dear, even when I disagree with your choices."

Shockingly, Harry fails to tease her further about her rather vocal 'disagreement' with his dissolute ways. Instead, he takes a cautious sip of his tea, looking lost and sad and infinitely troubled.

"I messed up. Big time, Molly," He says finally. His voice is a wavering whisper, and his gorgeous green eyes tear-bright.

Molly's heart drops to her toes, "Surely it can't be that bad. There are very few things a well-timed apology won't fix."

He laughs humorlessly, "Tried that already. Merlin! What a bloody clusterfuck. I don’t know how to talk to that man without putting my foot in it."

Molly has the feeling she knows exactly who they're talking about, but she asks the question anyway, "What man are we talking about, dear?"

"Snape."

Molly takes a careful sip of her tea, wondering how far he'll let her push him. Harry is a tricky mixture of open book and ferociously private. He likes to keep his cards close to his chest when it comes to his heart. Molly -and probably everybody else- has spent years assuming that Harry’s lack of interest in romantic talk relates to his vocal dismissal of romance itself. It’s only now that she is starting to suspect there’s something else at play.

"Is this about last Friday?" she asks softly, "You were awfully rude to him, Harry. And that abrupt exit! Poor Severus was understandably mortified."

Harry has the good grace of looking sheepish, "I'm sorry I was an arse. I shouldn't have left. I was just so angry. That thing with his store— it rubbed me the wrong way, you know?"

Molly pats his arm consolingly, "I was shocked to learn he'd blocked you. I had assumed the two of you were on better terms. You cleared his name almost singlehandedly after the war."

"Molly," Harry says very softly, staring straight into her eyes with an utterly devastated expression, "I— I- kissed him. All those years ago. He turned up at Grimmauld Place after his trial. He was trying to thank me. Asked me what could he possibly do to repay my support, and I— I kissed him."

"Oh, Harry-

"It was such a foolish thing to do. He assumed I wanted sexual favors in exchange for all the trial stuff."

Molly doesn't even know what to say. Her eyes are as big as saucers. Never in a million years of idle conjecture would she have come up with something this horrible, "Surely you weren't trying to-

"Of course not!" Harry scoffs, "But I was nineteen, and so damned wet behind my ears that I couldn't keep it in my bloody pants when the man I've been nursing the hugest crush on since the final battle showed up at my door."

"But you must have explained-

"He didn't let me. Snape shot out of my house like a bat out of hell. I lost track of him after that. Now I know he was holed up at Malfoy's, trying to set up his store, but I didn't know where he was at the time. I went to his muggle house. To Hogwarts. I tracked down the weird hut Dumbledore left him in his will. I tried everything, and I couldn't find him."

"Surely an owl-

"He returned all my letters, unread. He must know some obscure Patronus-blocking spell because my stag couldn't reach him. And when he finally resurfaced, I couldn't even enter his stupid store."

Molly's gut twists into knots. She feels desperately sorry for him, "It's been years, Harry. You must have seen him on the street. Or at one of the ministry functions. Why, he was a guest at Ginny's wedding!"

"He rarely leaves his shop. He lives right above it and travels mostly by Floo, as far as I can tell. He never shows up to an event on his own. Draco is always with him. Or Narcissa. Or any number of his former Slytherin students. Even here, in the Burrow, I couldn't catch him alone. You were standing beside him. You heard him tell me to my face that he feared I'd try to destroy his livelihood out of pettiness."

"Oh!" Molly says, covering her mouth with trembling hands as the root of Severus's distrust of Harry flashes, neon bright, across her mind, "He rejected you, and he was expecting you to take it out on him. He thought you’d ruin him financially. Dear merlin! That's horrible, Harry."

"It was a crush. I swear it was a crush back then. But now I've watched him all these years. A-and— he's magnificent, Molly. He’s beautiful inside and out. I love him."

"Are you sure?'

Harry laughs bitterly, "Of course I'm sure."

Molly's gaze is full of tears, and her throat feels tight and scratchy, "Then what's the point of taking a different boy home every day of the week?"

"What else am I supposed to do? Snape doesn’t want me, and the life of a monk has never appealed to me," Harry snarls, defensive and deeply hurt, "I'm screwed all the way to freaking Mars, and there's nothing I can do, Molly. I managed to corral Snape outside his shop a few days ago. I tried to apologize and it went to hell in a handbasket faster than you can blink. I want him. And he's not willing to give me the time of day."

"Harry, dear-

"I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't think my way out of this. You've got to help me. Please. I know Ginny wouldn't have landed her precious ferret without your meddling. Nobody understands love better than you."

Molly sighs unhappily. The situation between the boys is terribly complicated. Severus is so stubborn, and Harry has made so many mistakes that she can’t even begin to imagine how to untangle them.

"You've got to straighten up first," She tells him firmly, "Stop partying. Stop fucking loose-lipped boys. Stop the inappropriate club-dancing, the tight t-shirts, the leather pants, and those tell-alls in the Prophet. Severus Snape isn't bedpost notch material. He's a demure, romantically-fragile soul. Severus wants 'always,' Harry. You can't offer him less."