A Motherly Intervention.

Title: Stocking Soul Mates.
Author: pekeleke
Rating: T
Pairing(s): Severus Snape/Harry Potter.
Challenge: Prompt 16 (Picked from an online seasonal prompt list): Stocking
Word Count: 1329
Content: Chapter 16 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: Eventually, they head back toward the living room, where Severus looks expectantly toward the mantel. He’s trying very hard indeed to appear nonchalant, but there is an excited brightness in his gaze, a faint smile curving his thin lips upwards, that gives away how much he looks forward to receiving his stocking.

Stocking Soul Mates.

By the time Arthur has cleaned up and joined them in the kitchen, the conversation between the boys has turned more casual. Severus is bragging about Scorpius’ calm nature for a baby his age, claiming Draco told him he already manages to sleep through the night. Harry is understandably skeptical. Teddy was a colicky child and used to cry relentlessly at night for months on end. Severus has managed to cajole Ginny into letting him babysit his godson next Wednesday. He is understandably excited by the prospect and is happily describing the meticulous modifications he’s making to his home’s layout and furniture to better accommodate Scorpius’ needs when Arthur shows up. Molly serves her husband’s hot cocoa and offers the boys a refill. Severus halts his detailed description of the spellwork involved in the room-wide Cushioning and Bounce Back Charm he’s developing for his floors to decline, but he is finally relaxed enough to snort in amusement when Harry enthusiastically accepts another cup.

“Your teeth will rot if you don’t cut down the sugar, Harry. You’ll have none left by the time you’re forty,” Severus says, shaking his head in mock despair when Harry shrugs with his usual disregard for that very same argument. Molly has delivered it periodically since Harry and Ron were about thirteen.

“I’m sure there is a potion to reverse that. And if there isn’t, well. George keeps saying you’re a genius. You have it in you to invent something brilliant just in time to save my teeth. I trust you, Severus.”

“That’s a very risky gamble. You’re assuming I care enough about your choppers to try saving them,” Severus deadpans. Harry beams at him, clearly delighted to have the opportunity to play a light game of verbal sparring with the man he’s so diligently attempting to woo.

“I’m not that naive. You might not do it for love of my teeth, but you’ll do it for the glory it’ll bring you. It’ll do wonders for your reputation to become The Man Who Saved The Savior’s Smile. They might even give you another Order of Merlin for that.”

Severus bursts out laughing, and the rich sound is so unexpected, so achingly lovely, that all three of them stare at him like wide-eyed nincompoops. Unfortunately, Severus all but shrinks under their focused attention. His mirth comes to an abrupt halt, and his pale cheeks color with embarrassment, “Sorry,” He whispers into the stunned silence, breaking Molly out of her shock, and prompting her to lean over and grasp his hands with all the gentleness she’s capable of.

“Please, do not apologize for your merriment, my dear. Harry’s silly boasting deserved your humor. We’re so unused to hearing you laugh that it caught us by surprise. It’s such a beautiful sound, Severus. I hope to hear it as often as possible.”

“Hear, hear,” Arthur says, raising his mug in cheerful agreement, and the awkwardness dissolves in the blink of an eye when Harry starts giggling hysterically.

“Cheesy,” He wheezes by way of explanation, and they all burst laughing together.

Supper is a relaxed affair, now that the ice is well and truly broken between them, and Molly thanks her stars for Arthur’s ever-growing obsession with all things muggle because he keeps both Harry and Severus thoroughly engaged by demanding they explain to him the intricacies of muggle hair clippers.

They linger at the kitchen table, conversation flowing freely between them, as Molly takes care of the dirty dishes with efficient wand-motions.

Eventually, they head back toward the living room, where Severus looks expectantly toward the mantel. He’s trying very hard indeed to appear nonchalant, but there is an excited brightness in his gaze, a faint smile curving his thin lips upwards, that gives away how much he looks forward to receiving his stocking. Molly Accios her knitting basket and, carefully, lifts her latest creation from its depths. Severus stares at it, hilariously shocked at its brightness. His stocking is the only one among the lot that follows a vertically striped design. It resembles a purple and orange candy cane with a big, ornate black cauldron stitched on the front.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so— cheerful.”

Harry snorts, “That’s probably our fault. Draco’s and mine that is. Molly usually asks two family members to tell her what they associate with our latest Weasley. That’s how she chooses the stocking’s colors. She asked me, and I said courage. That’s the purple. Then she asked Draco, and he said hearth. That’s the orange.”

“I see,” Severus says reverently. He reaches out, shy as a fawn, and grazes the stocking’s woolen surface with his fingertips.

“You can hold it, Severus. It is yours,” Molly offers softly, and he comes eagerly closer, hands already cupped as if ready to receive a priceless hoard of jewels. Molly places the stocking in his hands, watches him close slightly trembling digits around it, and hold himself very still. He stares down at the stocking. Expression so tightly controlled that it looks almost blank. Severus stands there, silent and clearly overwhelmed for a good five minutes, holding onto the knitted wool with utmost care.

“Courage and hearth. That’s— I never thought there would be a single person alive who’d describe me on such favorable terms, let alone two. Never mind an entire family.”

“Yet here we are. We see you, Severus. This is who you are to us,” Molly says softly, and when he looks straight at her with that beautiful dark gaze of his bright with unshed tears, Molly decides to send caution out the window and gives the poor man a hug. Severus stiffens from head to toes for about five seconds and then melts into the embrace, hiding his face against her neck in either defeat or embarrassment; Molly can’t tell which one yet. Her gaze settles on Harry over Severus’s shoulder, notices his instinctive step forward, and understands, deep in her heart, just how desperately he is to be the one holding Severus. Harry holds back, though, clearly aware that this isn’t the right time for him to make his move. Romance is the last thing on Severus’s mind at this moment.

It takes merely a minute for Severus to regain control. He straightens up self-consciously but doesn’t dare offend her by apologizing for needing the hug. Molly smiles at him reassuringly, “Would you like to hang it up yourself, or do you want me to do it?”

Severus hesitates, fingers tightening protectively over his handful of wool, “I— who usually hangs them up?”

“Arthur hangs the new stockings the first time around. He’s the head of the family, after all.”

Severus turns towards Arthur, “Would you do the honors, then? I do not wish to break tradition.”

“Gladly,” Arthur agrees, moving closer, “Hand it over, son,” he requests, extending his cardigan-covered arm towards Severus.

The stocking changes hands, and as Arthur edges forward to better reach the mantel, Harry closes the distance between himself and Severus. Arthur leans toward the furthest edge, where Harry’s unmatched stocking hangs in splendid solitude, and attaches Severus’s next to it with a simple Sticking Charm. A feeling of warmth, of rightness, settles over Molly’s heart when she sees her boys’ stockings sway above her fireplace side by side for the first time. It’s meant to be. She can feel it in her bones.

Arthur flashes her his own pleased smile, and, together, they turn to look at Severus. He doesn’t notice their attention. Or Harry’s. Severus’s dark gaze is bright with unshed tears as he stares, transfixed, at the mantel. There is a delighted smile on his pale and narrow face, making him look about ten years younger. Harry stands patiently by his side, pinky finger brushing the cloth of Severus's outer robes as if desperate for contact. Severus doesn’t notice the slight graze either. He’s too busy looking happy and at peace. It’s a good look on him. On both of them, really.