Meltdowns and Hugs
Harry restlessly scans the titles of the part of Snape’s book collection that is kept in the sitting room and finally selects one that he gingerly coaxes out of its place in the bookcase and brings it over to one of the armchairs, and not the one he usually occupies, but Snape’s armchair.
He thumbs through the book for a while, but the words start to swim before his eyes before long and he sighs, putting the book down on the floor. With a jolt he pictures Snape’s reaction when he comes home and sees one of his precious books, on the dusty floor… then he immediately feels guilty and picks it up again, and puts it back in its place on the shelf.
He considers putting his feet up on the seat, but can’t really bring himself to, sure somehow that Snape will just know… He lets his left foot swing back and forth, the heel knocking against the armchair’s leg, thump thump thump… With a strangled growl, he jumps to his feet and starts pacing the floor instead, making sure to glance through the doorway towards the front door on every turn… He hasn’t looked at the kitchen clock, can’t really bring himself to, but he’s sure it’s been hours… Where is he?
Harry’s heart hammers harder and harder in his chest, his fingers start to tingle unpleasantly, must be the adrenalin, I’m fine, he thinks desperately, it’s fine, Dumbledore will fix it, Snape is just being pessimistic, Dumbledore can fix anything…
Not even Dumbledore can fix this… Potter… You need to prepare yourself… Potter!
”Stupid, stubborn, stupid…” Harry mutters under his breath, wringing his hands, trying to make the tingling stop already. ”Why’d you have to go and make it then, if it’s such a big deal…”
At some point, his eyes have filled with tears but what else is new, he thinks bitterly, that’s all I’m good at, collapsing at his feet and bloody crying about it, hiding in his bedroom when he needed me, it’s all my fault… He sniffs miserbly, and somehow, that one little sniffle seems to send a signal to his brain that says, go on then because before he knows it, hot stinging tears are streaming down his face and he’s fisting his hair like that would make his head throb less…
All my fault
Harry crumbles in a pitiful heap in the middle of the floor, hiding his mess of a head in his arms, and stifling his whimpers against his knees.
All my fault, all my fault, all my fault
And now it’s not just Snape’s ashen face staring at him from the bedroom doorway; it’s Sirius falling through the veil; it’s Lupin’s blood shot eyes; it’s Cedric’s dead eyes and his father throwing himself over his lifeless body and wailing as the crowd’s cheers turns to worried murmurs; it’s the entire Weasley clan staring at him while awaiting news about Mr Weasley after Nagini’s attack; every single thing Harry has ever felt bad about assaults him in a montage of pain and guilt until he’s choking on his own sobs… His chest is going to explode… He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe…
Suddenly there are hands on him, grabbing and shaking, and a voice, a cold, familiar voice calling out to him, and Harry finally manages to draw a shallow, shaky breath… The hands pull and pull, and then there are arms around him and he’s buried his wet face in cool, soft, black linen… and a man’s chest, Snape’s chest, an exhausted part of him realises, and he should feel embarrassed, but he just feels safe…
”Breathe”, Snape’s voice rumbles all around him. ”Breathe, Harry…”
Harry pushes his face harder against Snape’s chest and fists the fabric of his robe, just in case, because suddenly he’s sure that Snape’s presence, Snape’s closeness, is the only thing making him breathe again, as illogical as that may be, and the thought of Snape pushing him away again is simply terrifying.
”It’s alright”, Snape murmurs and his hands move in soothing patterns over Harry’s back. ”It’s alright, just breathe…”
”I-I-I’m s-sorry…” Harry gasps through another sob and pushes his face even harder against Snape, this time out of embarassment, as if hiding his face would also hide the fact that he’s completely unravelled and Snape is here to witness it.
Snape hushes him and then continues to stroke his back silently for what feels like hours, until Harry’s breathing has evened out and he’s finally run out of tears. The older man stops stroking his back, but doesn’t immediately push him away, but continues to hold him.
Harry keeps clinging onto his front, but turns his head to the side and gulps down a couple of deep breaths.
”You okay?” Snape murmurs emotionlessly.
”I’m sorry”, Harry says quietly, voice steady again. ”I don’t know what happened, I just couldn’t breathe…”
”You were having a panic attack”, Snape says.
”I’m sorry”, Harry repeats.
Snape sighs and gently moves one hand up and down, once, in the space between Harry’s shoulder blades, then he lets both hands circle his shoulders and gently rests them on top, getting ready to push me away, Harry thinks with a sinking feeling.
”Don’t be silly”, Snape mutters. ”Nothing to be sorry for…”
”Well I am”, Harry mumbles stubbornly and, just as stubbornly, keeps clinging to the man’s robes.
”Are you okay now?” Snape asks again, and Harry nods, his salty cheek stinging as he scrapes it against Snape’s robe front. ”Then might I suggest—”
”No”, Harry interrupts quickly.
There is a moment of silence in which Harry waits with bated breath for Snape to speak, and all he can hear is the man’s heartbeat, although it’s more of a feeling than a sound, really…
”No?” Snape says curiously, and Harry is reminded of that soft look on his face when he was standing in the bedroom doorway.
”Not yet”, Harry clarifies, and feels his face heat up slightly. ”Please?”
”It’s late”, Snape says softly. ”You’re exhausted.”
Yeah, and you must be exhausted, Harry thinks and feels a twinge of guilt.
He takes a deep breath, as if to steel himself, and then carefully lets go of Snape’s robe. His fingers feel stiff and tense, and he flexes them a little while avoiding the older man’s eyes. He can feel them on his face, burning with intensity and intrigue, but he probably just thinks I’m a freak and he’s worried I’ll fly off the handle again, Harry thinks bitterly.
”Harry?” Snape murmurs quietly.
”Yeah”, Harry croaks, looking away.
”You don’t need to feel embarrassed.”
Harry swallows down the small lump in his throat and glances over at the man shyly. He’s calm and composed, but it’s more than that. There’s a tension to the stillness. He really is scared I’ll fly off the handle, Harry thinks.
He quickly glances up into Snape’s face, then turns away again.
Snape slowly moves away from him again and gingerly gets to his feet, then he offers Harry a hand and more or less pulls him up to standing, when Harry’s knees buckle under his weight. Snape’s arm instinctively comes around his back and supports him until he gets the strength back in his legs.
”Thanks”, Harry whispers.
Snape’s arm falls away again, and without thinking about what he’s doing Harry lets his hand sneak out and brush against Snape’s. The skin on skin contact makes his hand tingle, but not like before, more of a tickling sensation.
”Bed”, Snape says in a poor imitation of his usual stern tone, but the intention is clear and Harry nods and pads over to his bedroom door.
He hesitates on the threshold, until he feels Snape moving behind him and walking up to him. There’s a barely-there brush of fingertips against the plane of his shoulder blade, merely a whisper of the contact they’ve just shared, but Harry will take it.
He feels the last remnants of tension seep out of his body, and he almost falls asleep standing up, Snape’s right, I’m exhausted, he thinks, why’s he always right…
Snape’s fingertips return to his shoulder, more assertive this time, and he’s gently pushed over the threshold. And before he knows it, Harry has crossed the room and collapsed on the bed. He’s vaguely aware of Snape’s presence above him and the covers being maneouvered out from underneath his heavy body and then gently draped over him instead.
Snape’s tucking me in, Harry thinks happily before sleep overtakes him.