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Harry trusted Snape. Really, he did.
It wasn’t just some untruthful notion that he’d proclaimed loudly in front of the Wizangamot because he had owed the man a debt. He truly trusted the man with his life.
Still, the darkness was unpleasant.
Being left in Snape’s care by Pomfrey wasn’t exactly questionable; she trusted Snape too. But it did leave Harry feeling more on edge than he’d ever felt in the hospital wing.
The cold of the dungeon made the dark hairs on his arms stand upright. He could feel the goosebumps from his neck to his waist as they prickled on his skin. He could feel the cold of the metal chair he sat in. Somewhere across the room, he could hear the man himself pacing in front of him. He could smell tea brewing from somewhere out of reach.
He just couldn’t fucking see anything.
“Tell me again how it happened,” Snape requested. His voice rang off the walls, echoing slightly. Harry shivered. The voice had come from much closer than he’d anticipated.
“We were, uh, going over incapacitation potions. I think, well, actually, I know someone set off a firework. Into a cauldron filled with a blinding serum, mind. Bloody unfortunate, that.” Harry laughed, trying to make the most of a bad situation. He took his glasses off, now useless, and rubbed his eyes.
“You think it amusing that you’ve lost your sight, do you, Potter?” Snape asked, his voice no higher than a hiss, “You think it funny?”
The smile on Harry’s face faded, “Well, no. But you have to have a sense of humor about these things. If I didn’t, I’d…” he trailed off. Be too much like you, was what he wanted to say. Instead, “I’d be miserable.”
Harry heard Snape sniff. He pictured the man crossing his arms, leaning just in front of Harry with a captivating, angry face.
“Has it ever crossed your mind that your sense of humor is what gets you into these situations, Potter? You are a professor now. You are permitted to act like one.”
Oh, his arms were definitely crossed now. Harry could tell. He’d seen Snape lecture too many times. In recent years, he’d gotten far too acquainted with the man’s abrasive nature. As a professor, he found it impressive. As a man, he found it…well, charming wasn’t quite the word, was it? Charming, didn’t call for aggressive wanking after each - very frequent, might he add - encounter with Snape and his dark eyes and long legs and nimble fingers and -
Snape had just asked him something, he realized, caught between a very fervent blush and going completely pale in the face, “Sorry, what?” Harry asked, trying not to smile.
Harry wished his eyes were working. He wanted to know if Snape had turned his nose up in disgust or simply rolled his eyes before responding, “You are the most bothersome human being I have ever had the displeasure of laying my eyes on.”
“Merlin, tell me how you really feel, Snape. Don’t worry, I can take it.” Harry couldn’t hold back his smile. The man was too easy to rile up; too easy to manipulate.
The man groaned, and Harry thought he could hear him step forward, but there was no way to be sure. He reached his hand out in front of him and felt only the cold air of whichever dungeon room Snape had thrown him in.
“Hey, where did you go?”
Silence.
Harry’s heart skipped, “Snape? Not funny. You know I can’t see anything.”
Silence again.
In the hours since the incident, he had never once been left alone. First, it was the students, as unhelpful as they were, then Minerva and Pomfrey, and then Snape. If the man had left, Harry would be truly lost. He had no idea where in the castle he was. He was confident he had never wandered so far into the dungeons as a student and rarely traveled below the first floor as a teacher.
His breath started to pick up at the thought of wandering alone in the dark for hours. What if a student found him? What if he ran into Peeves? What if he saw nobody at all and was injured?
Harry stood, adrenaline pumping through his heart when he heard the muffled shuffling of shoes from around the corner.
“Severus?” he said, cringing at the crack in his voice as he called the man’s name.
“Right here,” the man said. Harry let out a sigh of relief so loud he was sure the other man would have raised a brow.
“Don’t just disappear like that,” he reprimanded, “I thought you left.”
“Worry not, Potter,” Snape said, not sounding the least bit sorry, “You are quite stuck with me for the next twelve hours.”
“Ah,” Harry said, standing awkwardly. He put his hands in his pocket and, thinking he might need them to feel his way around, took them back out. He’d already forgotten where his chair was, “So it’s reversible?” He asked weakly.
Silence, again.
“Snape?”
“Yes, you imbecile, it is reversible,” The man snarled, “And just so you are aware, I was giving you quite a scowl. You would have seen it had you not been an incompetent professor.”
Harry smiled, “A shame. I’m sure it was rather impressive. I miss seeing your face already. I’ve practically forgotten what it looks like.”
There was no response to that, but Harry hadn’t really expected one.
“So, what do we have to do to fix my eyes?” he asked, standing in the middle of what he could only assume was a rather large room.
“We?” Snape snorted, “ We are doing nothing. I will be administering the cure after I have brewed it. You shall sit there and-” Snape paused, “And think about what you’ve done.”
“About what I’ve done?” Harry laughed, “What is this, detention? I’m twenty-eight, Snape. Not fourteen.”
“Interesting how you have not grown in the slightest over the last fourteen years,” Snape remarked, “There should surely be a case study.”
“I can’t tell if you’re talking about my character or my height,” Harry rolled his eyes. He wished he could see the other man’s face. In the absence of sight, he nearly reached out, nearly touched. Very dangerous.
“Both. I thought that much was obvious.”
“Right,” Harry walked toward the direction of Snape’s voice, “Well, I’ll have you know that I’ve grown three inches since then. And I’ve killed Voldemort, so.”
An eye roll was definitely warranted there, Harry had to admit.
“Oh, shall I buy you a present? A cake, perhaps? Hagrid does enjoy making those. What would it say? ‘Congratulations on killing the dark lord. And those three inches.’ As you clearly see them as equal achievements.”
“You’re such a prick,” Harry smiled.
“As are you,” Snape said quietly. Harry had never seen the man smile. Not really. But the words sounded happy as they came out. He rubbed his eyes again, hoping to see the man’s face when they cleared.
Alas, only the darkness remained.
“Most people think I’m quite nice, you know?” Harry stepped forward again, and his foot hit the solid wood of a table leg. He placed a hand on it; the trustworthy surface grounded him. It made him feel like he wasn’t floating in the middle of space. “Most people think I’m pleasant to spend time with. Funny, entertaining, maybe even attractive. Can you believe that, Snape?”
He wasn’t sure why he added that last word on. It felt unrelated. Maybe a bit bold, too. Perhaps not seeing the man’s reaction with his own eyes gave him the courage. Perhaps it was something else.
“I can,” Snape said. He was standing right behind Harry now. He could feel the man’s warm breath on his neck. The words echoed off the walls but hit Harry’s ears first, “but I’m not most people.”
Harry shivered. He wanted to step back. It would be one, two steps at most before he reached Snape. But he was frozen in place, unable to say or do anything.
Suddenly, the warm breath was gone. Harry hadn’t heard Snape move; he couldn’t hear anything over his beating heart. He hoped his teaching robes adequately covered his crotch. If not, the bulge would be painfully apparent.
“Well, that’s good,” he managed to choke out.
Silence, and then a warm cup of tea was pushed into his hands, “Drink,” the man commanded.
Harry drank, burning his throat as he swallowed it down.
“A burning question I have for you, Potter.”
Harry raised a brow. He couldn’t quite tell where Snape was standing in the room, but he turned to face what must have been the wrong direction because the man snorted, and there was suddenly a hand leading him toward a plush chair. Harry sat, grateful and only slightly annoyed by the assistance.
“A question?”
“Indeed,” Snape paused, and Harry could hear the clinking of tea cup and plate as the man set down his drink, “Why, in Merlin’s name, were you even teaching incapacitation potions? You know as well as I that they are covered in sixth-year NEWT classes. These were fourth years. In a Defense class, might I add?”
“Er, it’s a long story. Essentially, I was going to blind a boggart and see what happened. A bit of an experiment. It was supposed to be relatively risk-free.”
Harry knew he was blushing and took a sip of tea to hide his cheeks.
“Forget I asked. Remind me never to step foot in your classroom.”
“You never have,” Harry frowned.
“Pardon?”
“You’ve never actually come up to the Defense room. Not once in the five years I’ve been here.” Harry knew he sounded a bit whiny, but he couldn’t help it. He’d noticed that Snape had mostly avoided him outside of meals and staff meetings before, but he’d never brought it up.
“I’m certain that isn’t true,” Snape said, though he sounded unsure of himself, “I’ve been there many times.”
Harry shook his head, “No, you haven’t. Not while I’ve been teaching here. You’ve avoided me for years.”
“Well, it’s not as if we’re friends, Potter.
Harry frowned, “We could be. You’ve never given me a chance.”
Snape sighed, “I wasn’t cognizant of the fact that you’d wanted one. I’m not a mind reader.”
Harry snorted. The man had quite literally read his mind on many occasions.
“I meant unwillingly, you imbecile. You’d surely notice if I went rummaging through your unorganized brain.”
Harry waved a hand, dismissing the man. That was hardly the point. “Well, my unorganized mind would have appreciated your help as a new teacher. And honestly, it can get a bit lonely around here. Most of the other professors are double your age, never mind mine. And if they’re not, they go off to do things with their significant others and their friends. You’re the only other person as isolated as I am. It seems a waste to avoid each other. Even if you do hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” Snape had said with a tone so stern it made Harry’s back straighten in his seat. Without his sight, he could have very well been back at his desk in the potions classroom. The words, along with the image in his mind, made the blood flow to his erection increase.
He shifted in his seat, forcing his shoulders to relax, “Oh. Well, I thought -”
“I think you’ve done enough thinking for today, Potter,” Snape grumbled, “The use of your intellect always leads to trouble, I am now being reminded.”
Harry flushed. He supposed that might actually be true. Despite all he tried to do, disaster seemed to follow him wherever he went. But, without such things, life did tend to become boring, “Perhaps I like a bit of trouble,” he suggested, a smug smile widening his face. His cheeks burned, but he could hardly care.
A quick intake of breath in Snape’s general direction made his heart race. The creak of a chair, the pop of joints cracking as the man stood, the rustle of a cloak. Harry blushed even deeper, unsure of what the man was doing; where he was going.
Several seconds passed in silence, neither of them speaking. In the end, it was Snape who broke the spell, “You’ve always liked trouble, haven’t you?”
Harry nearly jumped. The man was behind him again, his voice barely more than a whisper at his neck. The ever-present goosebumps raised higher at the feeling of breath. He swallowed, trying to hide the reaction. What was Snape getting at?
He nodded, unable to force his voice from his throat. His mouth was incredibly dry.
Harry could practically see the man in his mind. He was hunched over, surely, to meet Harry’s head as he stood over the seat. His broad shoulders probably looked expansive, engulfing Harry in their frame. He was probably wearing his usual black cloak, a stark contrast to the royal blue Harry had thrown on this morning. To an outsider, Harry would look small in comparison. He shivered, wanting desperately to look up and see the man. Knowing that he couldn’t see was unbearable.
“Yes, you have,” Snape’s warm breath was so close. It made the rest of the room feel hot. Harry’s body was on fire, but he knew the stone walls of the dungeon were no warmer than they’d been just minutes ago, “You’ve always given me so much trouble,” the man whispered.
There was a finger. An unexpected finger tracing its way under Harry’s jaw. It was steady and sure, moving Harry’s head toward Snape’s direction. It made no real difference to Harry which way he was facing, but the knowledge that Snape’s face was right in front of him, likely less than an inch away, made him take a quick breath.
“Haven’t you?” the words were slightly louder. The breath of them ghosted over Harry’s face. It smelled like Earl Grey and mint. Like warm winter nights. Like a brisk morning fog. It smelled like comfort. Harry wondered if that was amortentia. Had Snape been laced with it? For his breath alone to have smelled so good, he must have been, “Don’t ignore me, boy,” the voice said again, blessing him with the scent.
And what had Snape asked? He could hardly think; his memory shot. He stared, unseeing, toward the man. If he leaned forward, just a bit, perhaps he could taste…
The finger under his chin left, but only for a second, to be replaced with another finger and a thumb. They held his chin tightly, almost painfully. A spike of arousal shot through Harry so profoundly he thought he might have come right there, just from the man’s fingers on his face.
“I said, you’ve always given me trouble, haven’t you? Speak.”
Harry slowly nodded against the force of Snape’s hand.
“Use your voice.”
“Y-” he cleared his throat, “Yes.”
The fingers relaxed their grip but did not move an inch. Instead of harsh, they felt like a caress. As if the soft pads of the man’s fingertips were made from something exquisite. A material more delicate than the finest silks, more luxurious than the most expensive satins. He nearly sighed into it, but the man spoke again, “Apologize.”
It starkly contrasted with the feel of his hand. The warmth of his breath brought him in closer, the smell of it soothing him, but the words were jarring.
“I-I,” Harry stuttered. He couldn’t think. Apologize? That was what Snape had said. For what, though?
“You’ve heard me, Potter,” The man took his thumb and gently stroked Harry’s jaw with it. And then his cheek, before moving down to his bottom lip.
Harry felt his lip tremble at the soft touch. His mind and body had never been so conflicted, “I - what for?” he whispered. The man’s thumb moved in, but just barely. Harry could feel the digit dampen on the inside of his lip, but it was sitting back on the outer edge before he could react.
“For everything, of course,” Snape said, so, so quietly. His mouth was even closer now, almost touching Harry’s ear, “The endless years of worrying. The late nights, wandering about the castle. The awful potions essays. The way you suffocated my mind for years.”
Snape took a breath, letting cold air fall over Harry’s face once more. “Certainly for the position you’re putting me in now,” he added. “Can you do that, Harry Potter? Are you capable of apologizing for the years of agony? For the years that are sure to come?”
Harry’s heart stuttered at hearing his name. Those two syllables out of that man’s mouth. Harry. They were so foreign, so precious. So unlike the way he used his surname to reprimand him. Surely, if Snape wanted it, he would apologize. He even wanted to himself, if it meant keeping the man so close.
He nodded, “Yeah. Yes. I can. I am. I’m sorry.” He wished he could read the man’s eyes. To see the dark windows into the man’s soul now would be unbearable, but he still craved it like nothing else. It was everything he wanted.
No, more than that. Needed.
“Good.” The word fell over him. The thumb and index finger left his face. The Earl Grey and morning fog vanished. The warmth from the man’s body no longer shrouded him from the cold of the night.
He could still hear the man. A few feet away, he was rummaging through glass bottles. Some kind of storage, he thought. Likely for the potion to regain his sight.
Harry hugged himself tightly, pulling in all his warmth and willing his painfully aroused body to recognize the sudden change in mood. It was still Snape, after all. To have expected anything more from the man would have been madness.