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“Good morning, Professor.” A familiar voice greeted, the same hint of amusement in it that was there every time he repeated the greeting – every morning, Monday to Friday.
“Potter.” He snapped – just like every other morning too. The auror chuckled softly and headed off, towards the ministry building. Severus took a moment just to calm his racing heart and then headed into his shop.
It was merely a few minutes work to have everything ready for the day – seven hours of making and selling potions before he’d see Potter again. A comforting routine, as boring as it was necessary – and he’d learned to be patient, in the five months they’d been doing this for. Five months – and almost ten years since the war. Enough time for them to become… friendly, even before this had started. Enough time for Potter to divorce his wife, discover he wasn’t all that inclined to the female gender… and enough time for Severus to discover that he was very inclined to Potter.
He sighed and summoned the ingredients for his first brew, knowing full well it’d be nearly lunch time before he could fully concentrate, ignoring the thoughts of Potter in his uniform, the man’s smile, the sparkle in green eyes.
Potter was punctual – as nearly every day. The only deviation from the usual was a bruise just starting to form on the man’s left eye. He walked in with a sheepish grin, not even saying anything. Severus summoned his best bruise paste and pointed at the uncomfortable sofa he kept in the store for people who needed to sit while they waited – uncomfortable, to make sure they wouldn’t overstay their welcome.
“Thanks.” Potter said as he sat. Severus stepped between his legs, roughly angling his face up as he squeezed some of the foul-smelling paste onto his fingers. “Hm, so gentle.” Potter commented when he applied it to what would have been quite the shiner if Potter had waited any longer.
“Idiot boy.” He hissed at the other man, never mind the fact that he was standing close enough to be well aware that Potter was no such thing.
Hands crept up his back, pulling him closer even as that smirk turned darker somehow. “I’m not a boy, anymore, Professor.” Potter all but purred.
He shivered, his knees weakening for a second – he caught himself on Potter’s shoulder.
He sealed his little tub and carelessly tossed it back onto his counter. “I’m not a professor anymore, brat.” He shot back. Potter held still for a few seconds before his face split into a wide, happy grin.
“Chinese for dinner?” He suggested.
“Korean? I fancy spice.” Severus replied, combing his fingers through Potter’s hair.
“Sounds good.” The other man agreed. “Want me to change?”
Did he want Potter to change out of his oh-so-well-fitting uniform? “I’m too hungry to waste time waiting for you.” He growled, even though he’d had a snack not three hours ago, and Potter knew that too, because his owl had delivered it.
The younger man laughed softly and stood, pressed close against him. They were nearly the same height, though Potter hadn’t quite caught up to him in the end.
“Let’s go, then.” He said.
Severus nodded and followed him out.
For five months, they’d had the same routine – ever since Potter had stumbled into his shop and requested help with a difficult potion, only to then pass out on his floor. He’d hissed, spat, and complained, of course – and Potter had offered him dinner to apologise.
During dinner he’d suggested having dinner again. Somehow, the hissed refusal he’d been aiming for had come out as a polite ‘if you please’ – and Potter had pleased, because they ate together nearly every night. In mere days, a week at most, the casual touches had started – a hand on his back, then fingers brushing his sides, his flanks, up his back.
It had been a month when Potter had first embraced him, had buried his face into Severus’ neck with a hum. He’d frozen solid, his heart hammering, his body so pathetically hopeful he’d thought he might expire on the spot – but Potter had drawn back and headed off.
He wasn’t an idiot – he knew Potter’s interest was… romantic in nature. He had also come to learn that the other man had no interest at all in him sexually. As a profoundly gay man, he’d had no issue appreciating both Potter’s obvious interest in his person and the ready touches bestowed on him.
Of course it… stung to know that he wasn’t wanted like that, but he was honest enough to admit that even without that, Potter was the best relationship he’d ever had. The man gave him more just by wrapping an arm around his middle than other men had done fucking him into the mattress.
He wouldn’t have traded what he had for anything… but he was also profoundly greedy. He was desperate for it, more so with every meeting, every date, every morning Potter waited by his shop just to wish him a good morning even though it either made him late or meant he had to get up earlier than necessary.
“What are you thinking about?” A voice muttered huskily into his ear. He bit down a groan, his eyes fluttering shut at the feel of breath tickling his neck, his ear. He’d tied his hair back, for once, and then and there, he was rather regretting exposing his sensitive skin to Potter’s drunk and unintentional advances.
“Stinkweed.” He croaked out as he spun. Potter was flushed from alcohol, from the party he’d dragged Severus to – he wanted to lick the younger man.
Potter giggled and wrapped his arms around his neck. He smiled and returned the hug, reminded how good this was; just this - nothing at all, really. “Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked the Gryffindor.
“More so now. S a shame we can’t dance.” Potter said with a pout.
He snickered. “Oh, we can dance. You on the other hand are an embarrassment.” He said.
The other man giggled softly. “True enough. Are you having fun?”
“I am now.” He purred, letting his desire bleed into his voice for a second.
Potter shuddered, his expression a little uncertain – he scolded himself mentally and carded his fingers through short black hair. Immediately the other man relaxed.
“We can leave soon. If you want to get some late food.” Potter offered.
“It’s nearly midnight.”
“So, fish and chips, then?” The other man checked.
“If you’re paying.” He teased.
Potter beamed. “I’ll even let you pour that disgusting vinegar on your chips without complaining.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it, you heathen.” He drawled back.
He loved Harry – of course he did. It would have taken a far stronger man than him to not love him… and he was by far too weak to resist the obvious advances, the easy flirtations, all of it just a little too good, too perfect, too sweet for him to really be able to understand why they were for him.
He had no idea what Potter liked about him. He’d rather die than ask, and they’d never discussed it. It didn’t even matter – he was opportunistic enough to just be happy he had what he did.
“Severus?” Potter called out. He smiled – the other man was early, by almost half an hour. He stepped out from the storage room to greet his partner.
“You’re early.” He said with a raised eyebrow.
“Begged off work early. Picnic?” The other man asked with a grin. He was, indeed, holding a picnic basket.
He snickered. “If you’d like. Is there alcohol in that?”
“Well… no.”
“Accio Bordeaux.” He drawled, handing Potter the bottle when it appeared. The younger man beamed so very happily it made his chest ache.
He accepted Potter’s arm when it was offered, followed him out, let him side-along them to wherever Potter wanted to go. It was a park – filled with pink cherry blossoms, and surprisingly few people. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere you normally can’t get public access to. Erm, a private cherry blossom garden. Belongs to… well, let’s just say a lot of corgis roam around here.” Potter said lightly.
He gaped at the other man, utterly gobsmacked at what Potter had just implied. He watched as the younger man set up, and finally joined him on the stereotypical picnic blanket.
“What’s the occasion?” He wondered. While they ate together often, usually not like that.
“Thought you might like this. It’s… erm, been… six months since our first dinner together.”
“Ah.” He said, caught off-guard by that information – he hadn’t even realised. “Cheers, then, to not running for the hills yet?” He asked as Potter poured them a glass of wine each.
The Gryffindor snickered. “Which one of us?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Which one? The world-famous heartthrob or the greasy old potioneer? Obviously, you’re lucky I haven’t run off yet.” He drawled sarcastically, hoping Harry would take it as the compliment it was.
The younger man leaned closer and grinned. “I am though. Lucky, I mean. That you’re willing to suffer my cheek and all.”
He snickered into his glass. “For as long as you’re willing to keep plying me with royal gardens and wine, I’m more than willing to suffer any cheek you’d like.” He said with a raised eyebrow – only to regret his words immediately. It was the most… overtly sexual comment he’d made to the other man so far, and Harry immediately seemed to falter, seemed to draw back, his smile dimming a little.
He ground his teeth together and straightened his back. “I apologise.” He said stiffly. He didn’t know exactly what it was he was really apologising for, but… he knew Harry didn’t want him like that.
“Don’t.” The Gryffindor said softly. “My issues aren’t your fault.”
The comment had his head snapping up, eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what ‘issues’ those might be. He swallowed thickly, ready to ask when Harry gave him a sober look and shook his head.
Fine.
He could wait.
Another month later, he saw his chance to learn more about the ‘issues’ Potter thought he had. He’d let himself be bribed – that was to say had readily agreed at the slightest offer of an invitation – into attending one of Potter’s hobby Quidditch matches.
He spent the whole two hours casually lounging in his allocated seat, silently watching Potter fly, twirl, and all but dance in the air. It was remarkable to him how someone so talented in the air, so graceful and nimble could be so utterly useless when his feet were on the ground.
When the match was done, Potter didn’t even bother landing with his teammates – he flew straight to Severus, and, in a clearly well-calculated move, jumped off his broom, mid-air.
He landed perfectly safely, of course, without the slightest wobble, grinning all the while – but the move achieved its goal perfectly – his breath hitched, fingers clenching on the armrests of his seat. He huffed, embarrassed to have so obviously reacted. An arm was wrapped around him, and he hummed as he enjoyed the sweaty, warm body pressed to his for a few seconds.
“Sorry, I probably stink.” Potter said with a snicker.
“Terribly.” He lied.
“I just need to shower, want to come with?”
He nearly choked on his tongue. “Pardon? Surely, by now you know how to bathe, Potter?” He asked, feeling a little faint.
Potter’s eyes grew huge. “I! Erm, I meant wait in the locker room. It’s warmer there than here.” He specified.
Severus sighed softly, and nodded, following Potter down and into the players-only area. By the time they got there, his team had trolled off already, no doubt celebrating their victory. He watched, greedily, as Potter stripped off his armour, down to his undershirt. The showers were a few steps away, behind a separating wall.
“Would you like me to turn around?” He offered, sincerely.
He watched embarrassment flood rosy, wind-bitten cheeks and made to turn when Potter shook his head. “No, no. This is silly. I don’t mind… if you think you want to look, in any case. Not sure I’m that great to look at.” He said.
“Self-depreciation isn’t like you, Harry.” He said, drinking in the sight of Potter’s bare skin, sweat glistening on his back and chest. He felt a little weak at the knees, actually, the desire to… to… nothing. He scolded himself. Nothing at all.
“Hm, well, I know I’m not all that.”
“You need your prescription checked.” He replied bluntly, only to squirm awkwardly – he wasn’t normally so… direct, after all.
Harry giggled. “Are you always so flattering when I take my shirt off?” The other man asked.
He huffed and stepped closer, getting a better look. “Try it a few times and see.” He purred, just barely stopping himself from touching. Harry grinned.
“Maybe. If you don’t think the sight will get boring.”
“I am far too gay for you to need to worry about that, Mr. Potter.” He purred again, giving in to the urge, letting his fingertips brush along a collarbone, admiring the soft skin. As soon as he touched, though, that same tense, awkward look from the picnic was back, and Potter stepped away from him.
“Sorry.” The younger man apologized again.
“No need.” He said, shaking his head.
“No, I am sorry. You must be pretty sick of this now.”
“Of seeing you shirtless? I dare say it’ll take a few more years before we reach that point.” He said with a smirk, glad that he could diffuse the situation at least a little.
Potter didn’t smile – only a weak lift of the corners of his mouth. “You know what I meant. I am… I just…”
He decided to take the chance and stepped a little closer. “You mentioned ‘issues’ last time.” He said carefully. “Could you… clarify?”
Potter paled a little. “I just… I… I need to shower.” He blurted out and dashed off, behind the shower wall.
Severus groaned softly when the water turned on, equally annoyed with himself and frustrated with the situation.
Still, he wasn’t a Slytherin for nothing.
“Issues.” He said, once Harry had finished the last slice of cake, sitting on his couch as he was.
Potter froze immediately. He’d been relaxed the entire dinner, had enjoyed Severus’ cooking to the last bite – or so he’d said. But now, he’d finally had enough of the pussyfooting around – for nearly two months he’d been driving himself spare trying to work out what the ‘issue’ might be.
“I…”
“Kindly clarify for me, Potter, what you meant.” He said, trying to sound as non-combative as, well, he could.
Potter looked terrified.
“I just… I… haven’t had the best experiences. Dating men.” Harry said awkwardly – Severus’ blood ran cold. It must have shown on his face, because Potter waved him off. “Not like… like that. Thankfully. Just… I’ve only dated one man before you, and… I…” He trailed off. “Shit, this is so frustrating.” The man groaned.
“Can I… help?” He asked awkwardly.
“Not really. I just… I… found out, dating him, that I don’t like certain things. Certain pretty… important things.”
Severus frowned. “You’re… not sexually attracted to men? Only romantically?” He questioned. If that was it, then he could learn to live with that – Merlin, for Potter, he wouldn’t even mind, really. His hand was more than sufficient, had been so for decades, after all.
“No, I am. I just… have issues… following through.”
“Issues.” He parroted again.
“Yeah. With… with… I don’t like…” The younger man trailed off and pressed a hand over his eyes, glasses askew on his forehead. Severus had to swallow down a wave of affection for his partner. “I don’t like… penetration.” He finally admitted.
Severus waited for a few more seconds, for Potter to continue.
“I-I’ll go if you want me to.” The other man stuttered out.
“What? Why would I?” He rasped out. “Is… is that all?” He swallowed thickly. “That is what you consider issues?”
Potter was rather deathly pale, eyes downcast. “Well… yes. The man I dated, he was nice about it. Gentle, careful. I just… I couldn’t stand it. It didn’t feel good, even when it was supposed to.”
“Okay?” He questioned carefully. “There are dozens if not hundreds of things two men can do together that don’t involve that.”
Harry whimpered, drawing his legs up onto the chair, burying his face against his knees. “I know. But… but sooner or later you’ll want that, right?” He questioned.
Severus considered lying about it, before dismissing the thought. “I… certainly do enjoy it, yes, but so what? I doubt there are any two people out there that would enjoy the same exact things.”
Potter laughed weakly. “Yeah, but I don’t… I don’t want to be pressured into it.” He said bitterly.
He stood, his chair scraping back loudly, fury burning through him. “And you think I would?” He snarled, anger, horror and pain fighting for dominance in his chest.
Green eyes snapped up, shocked, tears in their corners. “N-No! Not like that!” Potter all but yelped. “Not intentionally, but… I… care for you too much to refuse you, and then… it’s what made me break up with him. Before. Because… I couldn’t do it and although he said he was fine with it, I could tell he wasn’t.”
He clenched his jaw, just to suppress the more… choice comments he wanted to make in reply to that.
“I am not your ex.” He snapped.
“I know that. I care more about you than I ever did him.” Harry admitted with a weak laugh. “And it’s stupid… but at this point, I’m… almost terrified of it.”
“Of… of sex with me.” He said, wishing the words didn’t feel so embarrassing. He was eerily reminded of the comments he’d listened to so many times – the greasy, ugly, bat of the dungeons, the disgusting, old-
“Of bottoming in general.” Potter bitterly replied.
Severus’ brain came to a screeching halt. He cleared his throat a few times. “Of… of what, sorry?” He asked, again.
Potter was blushing scarlet now, squirming in his seat. “Of… of bottoming in general. Not all sex. I’m not dead, you know?”
He cleared his throat again. “You’re scared… of bottoming for me?” He checked a third time.
“Yeah. And it’s not because of you. I swear. Not at all. I just… it’s an issue, I know that.” He said bitterly.
Severus licked his lips and carefully sat back down. “We have never discussed sex before.”
“No.” Harry said. “I was… it’s not an easy topic. You’re more eloquent than me when I’m doing well, so in this…” He gestured in the air and Severus hummed.
“You’ve never asked me what my preferences are.”
“No, I suppose not?” Harry said with a shrug. “I didn’t think… I don’t think the specifics would matter that much. I don’t see how they’d make a difference.” Potter smiled bitterly.
He nodded slowly. “Maybe they will. Would you be willing to try? Discussing it.” He asked, his heart racing in his chest.
“I…I suppose. Can’t really embarrass myself more than I already have, can I?” The other man asked with a snicker.
He waited for Potter to meet his eyes before leaning onto the armrests of his chair. “I am… quite fond of being held down. Face-first, pressed into the mattress while my partner fucks into me.” He said, as bluntly as he could, doing his best to pretend he wasn’t precisely as embarrassed as Potter.
He had to have succeeded – the utterly gobsmacked expression on the other man’s face was almost a compliment, somehow.
“The… what?”
“I do not care – never have, nor will I – whether or not you like to bottom, Harry, because I do.” He admitted. He’d assumed, naturally, that Harry would prefer it this way, that he’d want to fuck Severus if ever they got to that point, but… but that had just been his fantasies.
He could see it just fine, where Potter had gotten the idea that his strict, stiff, awkward former Professor would want him to bend over.
“I wouldn’t have refused you, had you offered. Obviously, I mean…” He gestured to Potter, who still stared as if he was suddenly speaking Chinese. “But I assure you, I would not have asked… possibly ever.” He said with a shrug.
“But you’re you.” The other man blurted out, only to slap his hands over his mouth a moment later.
“Thank you for noticing. Is… how do you feel about topping? Is your objection only to bottoming?”
“Don’t know. I’ve never tried.” Potter said with a shrug. He scoffed – it seemed criminal to him that a man had had Potter in his bed and hadn’t wanted to try that. “You’d let me…” Harry gestured towards him, and he snickered.
“If I thought you were interested, I’d have begged you, by now.” He replied, ignoring the way he felt his cheeks heat. It was easy enough to distract himself what with the way Potter looked at him. “Harry, I assumed you were not… sexually attracted to me at all.” He admitted.
“W-What? But I…”
“No. Think about it. Of course I thought that.” He said quietly, letting some of the many unpleasant, vulnerable feelings he had shine through.
“Oh.” Potter said quietly. “I understand.”
He wasn’t sure Potter understood, not really – but he also didn’t care. His back collided with the wall and he moaned wantonly, pulling at the hands that had a tight grip on his wrists. Potter didn’t let go, kissed him harder.
It had been about two weeks since their last talk – and thus, about 13 days since Potter’s gentle morning greetings had turned to this, to Potter snogging him senseless, usually until he literally collapsed onto his uncomfortable sofa – and really, he needed to replace it if they were to keep doing that – and then walking off as if it was nothing.
This time was no different. Harry pulled away, Severus collapsed onto his couch – and with a happy smile and wave, Potter turned to leave.
Except it was different, because Severus had come in early and warded the place with trap wards. He tripped them all, locking the door more tightly than Azkaban would be. Harry froze a moment before his fingers touched the door handle – no doubt he felt it.
He turned back, looking a little confused.
“You’re not putting me into this state and walking away from me again.” He hissed angrily.
Potter flushed slightly. “I’ve upset you?”
“I’ll say.” He growled back, his breath coming in short gasps. “Back here, and...” He couldn’t get out the words ‘finish what you started’ but they hung in the air between them anyway.
Potter froze, and they stared at each other for a few moments.
“If you want.” He croaked out, humiliation bubbling up within him like coldease in a cauldron.
“If I. If I? If.” Potter said, looking at him like he’d lost his mind – like one of them had in any case. “Even if – I mean... Not that but something? Do you want...?” Potter gestured towards him.
Severus had absolutely no clue what Potter meant but it sounded like progress, so he just nodded and glowered.
Potter took a step closer, then another.
He was panting, staring up at the ceiling as his body laid limp on that dreadful sofa. He really needed to replace it – he’d been there the entire hour since Harry had left and he still couldn’t feel his fingers or toes.
He had, apparently miscalculated when he’d assumed that Harry would be tentative, or maybe unsure about something sexual between them.
He hadn’t been. Severus had been so utterly swept up in what Potter did he’d essentially just lain there and taken it – and while that, in another scenario might have been precisely his preference, it had left him feeling ill at ease that he hadn’t been able to reciprocate.
Potter had sucked him off like he was getting paid to do it, had wiped his mouth, smiled, and simply... Left.
Before he’d even been able to contemplate a return of the favour. Which he’d have been happy to do – Harry wasn’t the only one with skill in the art. Potter, however, had simply gone to work.
He made a futile effort to get up, groaning as he did so. His entire body was pleasantly aching, although Harry hadn’t touched him at all save for kissing and a blowjob that should have felt hasty what with the way he’d only unzipped his slacks, but hadn’t.
Severus vowed revenge.
With a wince, he vanished Harry’s vomit from the pail it had landed in. He’d gone to see the younger man – uncharacteristically so, after work – only to find him miserably wrapped in a duvet, shaking, and vomiting pink and green slime into a bucket.
It was a spell gone wrong – obviously – and it put an end to any and all hope of reciprocation Severus had held. Harry had thankfully managed not to vomit on him so far, but it had been a close call when Severus had set up a little mobile potions lab in his sitting room and had set about a cure for the other man.
He tuned out the sounds of retching as another wave of colourful vomit – blue and yellow, this time – spilled into the bucket. The Harry-shaped blanket pile next to the bucket muttered something, and it emptied itself again.
He sighed and picked up the wormwood – he’d need a bigger dose.
His head would have hit the door quite painfully if it hadn’t been cushioned by a whispered spell. He felt the spell rather than heard it, and he whimpered into the kiss even as Potter all but held him up against the wood behind him.
“More.” He demanded, his hands tugging at Potter’s belt – his uniform belt. Something quite animalistic in him wanted to purr at all the implications that had – especially when Potter bodily shoved forwards and let Severus feel how hard he was.
They both were.
Then Potter pulled away, his cushioning charm turned to a sticking charm even as Severus squawked in outrage.
“Sorry, got to get to work!” The Gryffindor chirped before walking off, even as Severus was hissing counterspells to the one that kept him trapped there.
Potter was a dead man.
“I’m sorry.” The Gryffindor said in greeting when he stepped into his shop the next morning.
On his day off. Severus hadn’t expected it and relaxed a little.
Holding flowers. Yellow daisies and roses and carnations. He melted just a little.
“For?” He spat out while he still had a bit of anger to hold on to.
“For being a coward.” Potter said stepping closer, his eyes huge and so sincere they made Severus feel... Well, things.
Things unrelated to how mad he ought to be about the sticking charm.
“You’re not.” He rasped out.
“I am. I chickened out. Ran away. Because I was... scared.”
He nodded – he’d figured out as much from the context, but... But he was resoundingly the wrong person to reassure a vulnerable young man that nothing was wrong, that they were fine.
He turned away, accepting the flowers as he did. “I simply wished to return the favour. Precisely in kind.” He said quietly.
“Oh.” Potter said, pattering around the shop floor behind Severus. He closed his eyes and counter the steps, listening to the sound to determine where Potter stepped. The cure for boils first. “I thought...” Over to the cold ease rack. “I thought you might... I wasn’t thinking.” To the counter where he rapped his fingers onto the wood. “I mean I was, but the reality was scarier than my imagination.” To the door – but not quite. “I was...”
“Let’s have dinner. My treat.” He interrupted, looking down at the flowers. A single sunflower sat in the middle of the bouquet. It was an absurd choice for someone like him, but... But he’d never gotten flowers before. “In fact, I’ll cook.”
Harry was a generous lover – that much wasn’t a surprise. That he remained gentle even when spilling himself in Severus’ mouth was – and a welcome one to boot.
He shuddered pleasantly as he swallowed the last of it, tentatively drawing back and standing up – his knees hurt from the linoleum of his kitchen floor. He’d sucked Harry off right there, after the dinner that he’d cooked.
He tried to commit the sight of Harry like that, face flushed and body relaxed to his memory as he searched for something to say.
He came up empty.
Potter gave him a weak grin.
“Yeah... Me too.”
“Are you mental?”
“But you’ve been waiting, haven’t you?”
“I – no!” He spat out furiously. “I have not.”
“But it’s been months.”
Nine, to be precise – three of which had been filled with kissing, and more than that – but never more than their mouths on each other, mostly clothed.
It was, even like that, the most sexually fulfilling relationship he’d ever had, and that was without mentioning the utterly hopeless amount of feelings he nearly choked on every time Potter so much as smiled at him. The imbecile smiled at him a lot.
“It’s been... Months.” He agreed, feeling like an idiot. “But I’m not waiting for anything.” He lied. He was waiting constantly – every time Harry left for him to come back, every time he was there for him to leave for good. It was a vicious circle, and one he meticulously kept from the other man.
“My issues-”
“Are scarcely worse than mine.” He snarled. “And you hardly give me grief over my tendency to... wake at night.” He said quietly, referring to the cold dread panic that sometimes startled him out of bed in the middle of the night, wand ready.
“Because that’s not an issue.” Potter said slowly, as if it was obvious.
“More so than you having certain preferences sexually.” He replied.
Harry flinched and he winced too – he hadn’t meant to be so... so that.
“But I mean I...” Potter trailed off, mumbling the last few words.
Severus sighed and set down his stirring rod to give the younger man his full attention. Potter watched him – he raised an eyebrow, waiting for Potter to continue.
“I’d like to fuck you?” The Gryffindor finally stuttered out – it was a question, and awkward to the extreme – and yet...
His mouth went dry even as his palms started to feel sweaty, not to speak of his racing heart.
“Then get to it, Potter.” He hissed, his nerves turning the gentle suggestion into a right order.
Harry huffed and visibly relaxed a little. “What right here, on the floor of your shop?”
He glanced down. “If the bed upstairs is too far, certainly.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Harry whispered against his neck.
Severus hummed softly and pulled him closer, naked body to naked body. He felt something damp there on his skin, first one drop, then another, and finally a few more.
It hurt every fibre of his body that Harry was crying... And he didn’t know how to fix it.
“Fuck.” Harry repeated with a wet sob. “I keep – I’m so scared I’ll overstretch your patience.”
He snorted, running his fingers through untidy black hair.
“You did that in school, you brat and you’re here now.” He drawled. It didn’t make Harry laugh, to his disappointment.
“I just – I want to. Why can’t I? It’s not – I mean this isn’t that.”
Severus sighed. “You don’t need to. Not ever. I’m hardly... Unsatisfied.”
“But you want it.” Harry said – it wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” He said truthfully. “But it’s hardly the only thing I want – nor is it particularly high up the list.”
“But I want to give it to you, that’s the thing. I just... I worry. That I’ll... Screw up.”
He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “You can’t imagine that I don’t... fear the same?” He offered, well aware that the only reason that he could was the darkness of his room and Harry’s tears on his shoulder.
“Ridiculous. You’re... You’re perfect. And you’d be... You’d be... You could meet someone. Someone. With less... Issues.”
He wanted to laugh, but no sound would come out of his throat. Him, meet someone else when he was fairly sure that it would take him the rest of his life to get over his broken heart if Harry left?
“Absurd.” He said quietly. He felt an itch in his fingers – the itch to summon an embarrassing little box hidden away in his sock drawer for... longer than he cared to admit.
Just as well that he didn’t summon it – Harry would hardly be interested in the state he was in.
His fingers tapped the small black velvet box. He took it out once a month, just to see – not that it ever got better. The feelings, the hopeful ridiculous desire was the same every time.
It had been so long now – he didn’t know how long, just that the ridiculous thought had long since dug it’s teeth into his mind and wouldn’t let go any sooner than after he’d handed the damn box and the damn ring in it to Harry.
He wanted to. He was also terrified – naturally. He could only imagine that it was similar to how Harry had to feel when it came to the issues that still plagued their relationship.
It was a strange dichotomy – Harry was a confident, easy-going lover who knew what he was doing, knew how to drive him out of his mind with pleasure and yet, inevitably, there would be a moment where it would fold like a house of cards and Harry would remind him of the unsure child he used to be – not something he fancied happening in bed.
It was, however, oddly related to the velvet box and it’s contents. It wasn’t because of the issues that he wanted to give it to Harry, but part of him hoped that it might reassure the other man that all his fears were unfounded, that Severus wasn’t going anywhere.
He snapped open the box and sighed at the silver ring, inlaid with matte grey sections that would, once worn by the rings future owner, move, displaying the memory fragments he’d embedded in the ring.
They were simple – a snapshot memory of their first kiss, and one of Severus sat alone on his chaise, reading a book – the moment he’d figured out that he was, inevitably, in love with Harry Potter.
He snapped the box shut and put it back inside it’s well-locked and warded hiding place.
“So you’ve been keeping a secret, right?” Harry asked over dinner that night, in between shoveling forkfuls of pork roast into his mouth.
“I keep many secrets.”
“Nyeah not like this one. This one you’re keeping from me.” Harry said with a roll of his eyes.
He opened his mouth to repeat his earlier statement, but before he could, Harry shook his head.
“I can practically hear the wards humming and they get stronger every other week or so. First I thought you were keeping someone locked up... But they wouldn’t fit in a space that small.” Harry explained.
His blood ran cold and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Harry wasn’t done, giving him a little more time to make up an explanation.
“It’s by my estimation half a square foot at most, warded to high heaven, somewhere up on the first floor, the exact location obscured.”
“I have... Secrets.” He croaked out, his palms uncharacteristically sweaty. He’d been a spy, dammit – but that had been before, and he’d so happily left that behind in favour of... Well, Harry.
“Yeah and I don’t press you on them but Severus, this is so loudly warded against me, I can’t well ignore it, can I?”
“You could TRY.” He snapped, checking the wards – they’d never been touched. Of course not, Harry wouldn’t.
“I did try, for the last seven months, but it’s been getting more and more annoying. Is – whatever is in there does it want to get to me?”
He blinked at the auror, tilting his head in confusion. That was... an oddly viable explanation, actually. Objects could hold power, and it wasn’t altogether too shocking to think that his own desperate desire, represented by the ring, had, well, influenced his creation.
“Likely.” He croaked out, unsure why his voice was so strangled. Before he could work it out, though, his body moved, almost entirely without his input.
He stood – Harry followed suit. He walked up the stairs, Harry behind him. He stopped in front of the patch of wall, indistinguishable from the rest of the hallway unless one knew where to look – he had after all even obscured the location of his hiding place from any interested parties.
He started dismantling the wards when a hand settled on his back, warm even through his layers of clothing.
“Harry, this... It’s...” he dismantled the last ward, removing the charm that hid the metal safe door. It was shabby, really, had been there for a long time, and it didn’t do justice to what was inside.
“Do you... Not want me to know what’s in there?” Harry asked, his tone soft for the first time since Harry had broached the topic. He glanced at the younger man, only now recognising the tense shoulders and grim expression his lover had. He was just as scared as Severus, probably.
“It isn’t that. I was waiting for the right moment to... To reveal what it is.”
“Oh.” Harry said, visibly taken aback. “I... Oh no, I’m sorry. You weren’t ready, were you?” Harry said with a self-conscious smile. “I know a thing or ten about that.” The smile turned bitter, and Severus realised that they were at an impasse, that they had been at the exact same stalemate for months... And that it was on him to end the stalemate.
Harry had taken every other step, had initiated nearly everything, had led him in every step, and he’d only followed like a lovesick fool.
“I-I am...” He began, clearing his throat. “I am, perhaps, a coward.” He admitted.
“What? No! No, y-you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met, Severus don’t even say... Severus...?”
He could understand why Harry was confused – it took him a moment to understand that the tremor in his shoulders was visible to the other man.
A rough twist of the closure was all it took to open the safe and reveal the box inside. It was the only thing in there, carelessly placed in a corner. He’d have preferred now if it had been presented properly, on a cushion, perhaps under a light, but...
A hand reached past him, took the box. He stood frozen, unable to look at Harry. He was sure that Harry looked at it – he was just too afraid to make sure.
“This... Were you going to ask?” Harry asked quietly, a moment before the younger man let his head bump into Severus’ shoulder.
“No.” He admitted, despite himself. He was sure Harry would be offended – he had every reason to be, really, after all he was with a man as cowardly as he was ugly, wasn’t he?
“Did you... Want to?” Harry asked again, his tone more subdued.
“With every breath I took since I’ve made it.” He said, idly wondering why now his voice was steady, why now he was sure of his words. His eyes were still trained on the open safe.
“Ah. I’d have said yes. If... If you’d asked.” Harry said after a long, deep silence. “Would do, if you... Did.”
His head snapped around, his own meeting familiar – beloved – green eyes. Harry was smiling, awkwardly, the box closed and securely in the hand not touching Severus side – he’d not even felt it.
“If you... If you decided to ask, at some point. Despite my... my issues.” Harry gently sat the box back in the safe. “I didn’t... Look at it. And I should not have pried.”
Severus swallowed thickly, a heavy wave of disappointment welling up within him – this... It wasn’t right.
“I want to marry you.” He rasped out. “Despite – with all my issues.” He added on, echoing much the same concern that Harry had voiced a moment ago.
Insufficient – they both felt not enough.
“I’d be honoured if you – if you looked at it. If it so pleased you... Wore it.” He said, helplessly staring as Harry hesitantly picked the box back up.
It wasn’t romantic – Harry did that better than him, but... But it was right, he realised when Harry opened the box, when he took out the silver ring. It fit perfectly – of course it did, it was his magic – when Harry slid it onto his finger.
He only realised a moment later that he should have been the one to do that, to put the ring on Harry – but he couldn’t find even a shred of regret in himself when the dull grey of the memory fragments turned to pale mist swirling in the clear parts of the ring.
Something he hadn't been aware of – a knot inside his chest – loosened, dissolved to nothing.
“It suits you.” He admitted, taking Harry’s hand, pulling it to his lips and pressing a kiss to Harry’s ring finger, just below the ring, his nose lightly touching the already-warm metal.
“Of course it does.” Harry said with a soft laugh. “You made it. And of course you’d make the most damn romantic thing – ring – ever and then completely botch the proposal.”
If it hadn’t been for Harry’s grin, Severus would have assumed the younger man was upset – but Harry wasn’t.
“The... The wedding can be romantic.” He offered.
“It will be – I’ll plan it.” Harry said with a laugh.
He allowed himself to smile back – right now, there was no trace of either of their issues between them – that was all he'd wanted, in the end.