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"For a sickness, love is the healthiest." --Euripides
"Love is a bug in the brain's electrical functions." --Hajime Kamoshida
There was a scar on Severus Snape’s mouth. Thin and white, it curled temptingly above the right corner of his top lip, telling a secret that Harry wasn’t privy to. He doesn’t recall when, exactly, he'd seen it for the first time. Surely, if it had been there during his school days he would be able to call up the memory? But when he thinks back he never remembers the scar, only the snarl of Snape's lips, the spit and spike of his scathing words.
He doesn't think he took note of it when he finally came home, shaking hands with all the other professors his first day back at Hogwarts. He can only recall Snape’s long, cool fingers wrapping firmly around his own. He was the only one who hadn't smiled as he'd greeted Harry, hadn't given an effusive welcome or hearty thump on the back. All Snape had deigned to offer him was a firm handshake and the slight incline of his head. He hadn't greeted Harry with a smile, but then again, neither had he seemed particularly angry about the strange turn of events that landed Harry in the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
The pinched line of the wound hadn't caught Harry's attention then, as he'd wondered just what it would be like to work as colleagues with Severus Snape, and that had been three years ago. But somehow, sometime in the interim, Harry and the scar have become old friends. Harry has watched it throughout his slow reacquaintance with Severus. One day, he didn't know which, he looked up and it greeted him, perhaps over breakfast in the Great Hall, perhaps over tea one afternoon in the staff room: Harry or Severus grumbling over the refusal of one student or another to put in the effort they were capable of. Harry didn't know, but he wanted to.
He wanted to know how it got there, the story behind the way it pulls against his lip. While he and Severus were hardly at the odds they'd been at in Harry's years as a student, he still had no idea of the beginnings behind that pale, raised flesh. It had tormented him for the last forty minutes of their staff meeting, stretching and twisting coquettishly as Snape spoke at length about a budget proposal for new Potions equipment for the laboratory, and longer still. It seemed like Harry couldn't even pass him in the corridors without wondering, at least briefly.
What would it taste like under his tongue--sweat? The milky-sweet tea that Severus pretended he didn't prefer? Some strange blend of herbs that Harry would still be hopeless at recognizing? Would Severus let him explore further? Allow Harry to trail his tongue over that slender ridge of flesh at the corner of his mouth, take his time mapping out its exact dimensions, memorize the flavor of those centimeters of flesh and then demand more? Kiss him for real? Harry wanted to know, would those thin lips flush under his attentions? Would they slacken and part, allow him to delve deeper, chase the taste of Severus Snape to its genesis?
Harry squirmed in his seat, just a bit, at the thought. The motion was a mistake all around; it made him seem impatient, for one thing. Even after three years there were a few of the other professors--Sinistra, namely, though Snape in one of his fouler, impatient moods could give her a run for her money--that still thought of him as too young, too untried to hold the position he did. Never mind that he'd been an Auror for nearly a decade before he'd come back to Hogwarts. For another, the wiggle reminded him of an itch that he'd more or less been successfully ignoring while he'd allowed Snape's scar to taunt him with its enticing mysteries.
More intolerable than even the idea of being thought inept or even the uncomfortable burning, itching warmth across the back of his thighs was the slow realization of a heavy, hanging silence in the staff room around him. The gazes of all those present, including Severus, were on him and expectant. He'd clearly missed something, in the midst of his daydreaming about Severus Snape's mouth.
"Er….Sorry, what?" He managed after another painfully long moment, once he was able to speak past the sudden dryness in his mouth. Across from him, he watched Snape's eyes roll heavenward, an obvious non-verbal plea for patience, before he sighed and looked back at Harry.
"Attentive as always, Potter. I had asked for your thoughts on equipment needed for your classroom, given the leeway I found in the budget." He paused, mouth tugging into the faintest of scowls, line of that enticing white path still pointing the way to Severus' lips. When Harry didn't respond, he arched one dark brow. "I shan't waste my breath repeating myself as you clearly haven't the faintest clue what I'm talking about." Despite the words, there was no apparent censure in Snape's voice, merely the long-suffering exasperation he usually favored Harry with, in moments like these.
Harry grinned at him, certain the smile was bordering on soppy, but he couldn't seem to help himself. "It's not my fault it's difficult to pay attention to budgetary concerns when there are so many more fascinating things to focus on!"
Snape gave an annoyed sort of growl, which did interesting things to Harry's stomach, but he doggedly held onto his grin until, at last, his critic capitulated with a snort. "I'd believe that, if I didn't know you have nothing but cotton stuffing between your ears. The only thing you ever focus on for longer than thirty seconds at a time are Quidditch scores."
It was a familiar song and dance, with no sting to the words, and Harry's smile softened. If only Severus knew.
"You won't mind sharing your notes then, so I can review them?" he asked, cheeky, knowing Severus would take him through each bullet point, step by step if he had to. Although if it were actually necessary, he'd complain all the while.
"I suppose I don't have a choice, if I want to have everything in order for my proposal." He narrowed his gaze at Harry, giving a slight scowl that edged into threatening. "Although if you don't go through it and get back to me in a timely manner I have absolutely no qualms about damning the Dark Arts curricula to another ten years of outdated texts."
At the head of the table McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly. "I'm certain that won't be necessary, Severus. Professor Potter understands the need to be prompt, doesn't he?" She pinned Harry with a sharp gaze and he obediently ducked his head, contrite.
"Of course, Headmistress. I simply didn't realize that Professor Snape had intended to include other departments in his budget proposal," Harry agreed, as sweetly as he could manage and biting back the urge to laugh as Severus twitched in annoyance.
There was a disgruntled mutter to Harry's left, too low for him to make out, and turning to see who had spoken set off the infuriating itch on the back of his legs again. In the corner of his eye, Severus scowled, the expression folding into true displeasure, but before Harry could ask the speaker to repeat themselves--fully prepared to defend his honor--Minerva shuffled the agenda in front of her, gathering the parchment together.
"If that's everything, I believe we can adjourn for the week. I'd ask that you all have your preliminary exams prepared for our next meeting, for the Board of Governors' perusal."
There was the general rush of those sitting closest to the door as they escaped the staff room, and Harry climbed to his feet, grateful for the relief from the fire of itching along his backside. He was in no hurry to leave, however, because Severus was loitering behind, gathering his things. He made his way around the table to stand beside him and leaned in close, glancing at the cramped script on his proposal notes.
"You couldn't have given me a heads up that you were going to put me on the spot?" he asked, amused exasperation obvious in his voice.
Black eyes darted a glance at Harry and that scar scrunched in on itself as Snape smirked at him. Harry tried not to squirm where he stood, a wave of itching promising to overwhelm him if he did. Once, he wouldn't have imagined that just a look from Severus Snape could affect him in so many different ways, but now he was more or less resigned to his fate.
"If I gave you warning you wouldn't ever bother paying attention," Snape said, that fond exasperation still warming his words. "Even knowing that I might spring something unexpected on you, there's still half a chance you aren't focused on anything happening in these meetings." He paused and shot Harry a narrow-eyed, thoughtful look. "One day you're going to end up agreeing to something entirely unpleasant."
Harry huffed, amused. He'd heard it all before, though it wasn't an entirely unfair statement. His focus tended to wander during these stuffy meetings. "There's actually room in the budget for new DADA resources, then? I thought when you were going over the numbers that there was hardly even room for the new vials and ingredients that you wanted to look into."
"I wouldn't have told you there was, otherwise," he sniffed, then turned to look at Harry more fully. "Give me the afternoon and I'll have a list of suggested texts for you as well."
Warmth suffused Harry's chest. Strange, how easy and generous Severus was with him now, after so many years of conflict. Harry leaned in close, stretching up to press his lips just to the corner of Severus' mouth, just as he'd wanted to for the last hour. "You're the absolute best!"
Pleased with the thought of spending the evening discussing Dark Arts theory with Snape, Harry swept from the room, intent on lunch in the Great Hall and then some research. Just because he had some help didn't mean he was off the hook. He needed to come up with his own ideas of what he wanted to explore in future classes.
As he moved into the hall he heard Minerva speak, her voice warm with delight. "Is there something you forgot to tell me, Severus?"
All he heard of Snape's response was an inelegant string of sputtering, but Harry didn't think much of it. Their relationship had always been rather peculiar.
When a house-elf delivered the budget proposal to him that evening, along with Severus' list of suggestions, Harry was disappointed, but not entirely surprised. As deputy headmaster his duties took up far more time than Harry's and that wasn't taking into account the fact that Snape supplied the infirmary with all the necessary potions. But when the absence stretched out over the rest of the week, with no signs of Snape at mealtimes, he still started to worry.
Much like the mysterious origins of the scar, Harry wasn't exactly certain when he'd started to fall for Severus. The first six months of his tenure as a professor had been spent absolutely swamped with lesson planning and marking. Those few chance encounters he'd had with Snape, generally in the Great Hall, were spent on tenterhooks, trying not to disturb his volatile, once-hated professor-turned-colleague.
Their relationship had been a peculiar, fragile thing as that year had turned over, seasons shifting from winter into spring. It was strange to think that he had seen Snape at his lowest points, had had his blood pulsing over his hands, but still hadn't known so many of the smaller truths that made up the fabric of the man. And Snape seemed to be of the same mind, in regards to Harry. They'd spent those beginning days in some sort of tenuous truce, each stiffly polite with the other--although it had to be said that Severus' idea of politeness always tended more toward the acerbic. But eventually, like cold nights melting into warm days, things had changed.
Their strange standstill was finally broken after Harry had taken to marking his work in the staff room, desperate for whatever adult company he could manage.
He'd been hunched over a stack of essays, despairing over his students' apparent disregard for their studies. He hadn't truly appreciated how difficult teaching was until he'd accepted the Defense position. It was a strangely crystalline moment in his memory:
Most of his students, it seemed, were only passing acquaintances with proper spelling and grammar, and more than half of them couldn't even be bothered to write the bare minimum of what was required for their assignments. And as the months passed it only seemed to be getting worse, rather than improving. The topmost parchment in front of him spanned twelve inches; an apparent exploration of counter-jinxes, it held only two sentences--if the punctuation was anything to go by--and no fewer than thirteen made-up words.
And it was one of the better essays he had to choose from.
"McGonagall is going to kill me if I fail every first year," he muttered dejectedly, wondering just what kind of job he'd be able to get once he was turned out from Hogwarts.
"Well she'll hardly thank you for pushing them all forward, if none of them have learned anything." Severus' voice was startling in the quiet of the staff room and Harry had nearly fumbled his inkwell over the essays waiting to be marked.
"Snape! Have you been there the whole time?" Harry remembered how much he'd wished he could stick the words back into his mouth, the sharp almost-accusation a far cry from the hesitant deference he'd shown Severus up until that point.
"It's a wonder you're not still an Auror, with observational skills like that." Snape never sounded more like himself when he was pointing out one of Harry's failings, but that barb had stung rather sharply, fresh enough on the heels of the bitter failure of his magical law enforcement career to leave him trying to keep a wince hidden.
He stared down at his marking, trying not to give away how surely Snape's jab had struck home and waited for the follow up attack. Instead of more verbal abuse, however, a pale hand sneaked forward and snatched away the paper Harry had been glaring at. Whatever Harry had expected, it hadn't been that. An admonition to keep from disturbing the peace of the staff room, perhaps. But rather than take the opportunity to verbally eviscerate him, Severus had quickly scanned the contents of the parchment in his hand and grimaced. "Good Lord, Potter."
The words had been so affronted that Harry couldn't help but choke out a surprised laugh, leaving Severus looking somewhat startled in turn. "Not up to your standards, I suppose?" He'd asked dryly.
Harry thought the dark arch of Severus' brow that day might be burned into his mind forever. "You have to challenge them, Potter. They can't all be 5th years, united against the tyranny of Dolores Umbridge. Find what motivates them."
That moment, that small weakening of barriers had unfolded something between them. Harry still wasn't certain he understood it, but he was grateful. Had been grateful from that very moment, when understanding dawned, and continued to be so-- through the quiet moments over marking and shared teas that deepened into friendship, becoming heated conversations over the latest Defense texts, snarky quips over bad habits, and listening to lectures on potions that went entirely beyond his understanding. And still afterwards, when that persistent warmth had settled itself in Harry's chest, unfurling and swelling those moments he was in Severus' presence.
Lately he found himself imagining kissing Severus more and more often, picturing what it would be like to be the most important thing in his life. Not always ravishing or being ravished, but small, everyday moments. Harry wanted to stroke his fingers through Severus' hair, catalogue the difference between the inky black and the streaks of silver that were beginning to shoot through. He wanted to press a kiss to the wing of his shoulder blade, cuddled together in bed. Or in those rare instances when Severus would open up, offering Harry some small pleasure--something as simple as taking the time to help update the DADA curriculum--Harry just wanted to lean in and kiss him, to hoard that simple feeling of being close, every single time.
Except there was no way that Severus would ever be interested in him--not him, Harry Potter, spitting image of James the bully and painful reminder of Lily the lost love.
So Harry contented himself with taking what he could, and he told himself that it was all he really needed. And it was--not counting the days when Severus couldn't make whatever plans they'd arranged. If he wanted to spend that time moping the lack or if he discussed his unrequited feelings with Ron and Hermione with entirely too much detail, well. That was no one's business but his own.
Harry didn't see Severus again until the weekend. The Quidditch stands, even the teachers' seats, were packed for the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw match. For a moment Harry had been worried that he wouldn't be able to get through the crush of bodies, but he managed to break through a cluster of the other professors before anyone managed to steal his usual place between Minerva and Severus.
Severus gave him a strange look, mouth creased in a small, tight frown, but said nothing as Harry settled in. He gave the bench a quick cushioning charm--the annoying itch had blossomed into a full rash and seemed to be getting worse; he'd need to pick up ointment for it the next Hogsmeade weekend--and then sat, squirming uncomfortably. "When are they going to approve renovations to these bloody things?" Harry complained about the hardness of the stand seating approximately every other match they attended, but the rawness of his skin left him especially unhappy as he shifted in search of a position that didn't itch painfully.
Severus' routine response to Harry's complaints was a forbearing, "When a student is gravely injured and not a moment before," but it never came.
"You've been busy this week," he said, trying again to coax Snape into conversation as he pulled his cloak tighter around him, guarding against the chill of the wind as it swept through the stands. Severus still didn't answer and when Harry glanced over he was scowling out at the pitch as the teams gathered along the sidelines. "Severus?"
Minerva spoke up from his other side, reaching out to pat Harry's knee. "Don't mind him, Potter. He knows I'm going to win our bet, so he's practicing being a sore loser before Ainsley catches the snitch."
Harry blinked, turning to look at her in disbelief. "Ainsley? Against Michaels?" The headmistress had always had a shrewd eye for Quidditch. He couldn't believe she would bet against the Ravenclaw seeker. He'd seen them at practice a time or two this season and if Ravenclaw didn't take the cup, he'd be shocked. "What are the stakes?"
"Oh," she hummed, thoughtful. "Nothing too trying. When I win, Severus will, well, let's say he'll owe me a favor."
"And if we win?" Harry asked, amused at the idea of Severus being so put out at owing the headmistress a favor.
"We?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Throwing your lot in with Severus, Potter?"
Harry grinned at the challenge in her voice. "It's served me well enough so far. Besides, you can't actually believe Hufflepuff has a chance."
McGonagall pursed her lips and for a moment Harry found himself transported back to his school boy days, standing in front of his head of house, waiting for her lecture on some bit of mischief or another. He'd certainly gotten into enough of it. "If," she drawled out at length, "you were to win, well, I suppose I would owe each of you a favor of your choosing, instead."
"Deal," he agreed easily, sticking a hand out so they could shake on it and then turned to grin at Snape. "Can't hurt to have the headmistress of Hogwarts owe you a favor, right Severus?"
Severus' looked at him, a dark, darting glance, but his scowl didn't ease. In fact, now that Harry looked closer, he seemed surprisingly tense, beyond the expectation of a losing bet. He reached out and touched Severus' shoulder, concerned. Before he could do much more than open his mouth, however, a whistle blew and the match was off, the crowd roaring into action around them.
It was a whirlwind match. Even Snape was swept into the fervor of the crowd; his hands fisted with excitement as Ravenclaw scored and he hissed between his teeth each time Ainsley came close to the snitch. Harry's attention was torn between following the teams diving through the air and the way Severus eventually loosened up at his side as the game continued.
When Michaels caught the snitch, securing his team's 50 point lead with another 150, Harry was on his feet shouting his cheers, along with most of the rest of the crowd. Flitwick, in particular, was effusive, shooting blue and bronze sparks from his wand as he cackled with glee. Severus stayed sitting, but his hands were clenched at his side and there was a telling smirk curving his lips.
Harry didn't think twice about leaning in to press a kiss to that warm mouth in celebration, giving in to a temptation that he'd suffered through each time they'd watched a Quidditch match together in the last years. The sweep of students from the upper stands jostled them apart and Harry staggered back, caught up by the celebrations of those surrounding them. Severus looked startled, eyes wide with shock, as Harry was swept away in the celebrating crowd. Was he surprised they'd won the bet?
"We'll settle up later, Headmistress!" He shouted back to Minerva and gave Severus a cheerful wave as he allowed himself to be carried even farther down the stands.
It was difficult to be unhappy surrounded by the grinning faces of hundreds of students, but when Harry glanced behind him, for one last look at Severus after a week-long drought, it seemed that there was at least one person who could manage it. In fact, not only was Snape clearly unhappy about something, he was obviously venting his spleen to Minerva, waving his hands in wide, annoyed gestures.
For a moment Harry tried to turn against the tide of the crushing bodies pressed close, but before he could manage to struggle free, the familiar hissing crackle of Weasley's Wildfire Whizbangs and the pressing need to be a responsible adult diverted him. He'd catch up with Severus later and get some answers out of him then.
Harry righted himself as he stepped out of Ron and Hermione's fireplace, taking a moment to regain his balance. Nearly twenty years after learning that he was a wizard and he still hadn't got the knack of Flooing. He doubted he ever would at this point; as daring as he could be on a broom, there was something about the twisting and turning of the Floo system that was utterly discombobulating. And Flooing on a night of poor sleep did not improve the experience whatsoever, he was learning. His stomach lurched unhappily, but settled after a few seconds of deep breathing. Once he regained his equilibrium, Harry cast a quick cleaning charm at his robes before glancing around for his friends.
The low murmur of sound that drifted in from the direction of the kitchen gave him a heading and he followed it to its source, stepping through the kitchen door to the sight of Ron's broad shoulders from the back. Red hair stuck out at wild angles, mirroring the elbows pointing into the air as he held his shirt up beneath his chin.
"I told you to wear gloves," Hermione was saying from in front of him, a tuft of her hair just visible beyond Ron. She tsked as she apparently examined something on Ron's chest.
Ron pulled his shirt a bit higher and tilted his head further down in an attempt to peer at his own chest. "And I told you, I didn't exactly have the time--"
"I can come back, if you two need some privacy." It was hardly the first time Harry had seen either of his friends in a compromising position, and far from the worst scene he had stumbled upon after so many years together, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to give them grief.
"Harry!" Ron jumped and yanked his shirt down with alacrity, blushing to the roots of his hair as he turned around.
The reaction seemed a little excessive, considering they'd shared a dorm for years and a dingy little flat all through Auror training, and Harry started to wonder if all of his friends had gone slightly mad. First Severus was avoiding him, now Ron and….whatever this was. "Really," he said. "You two can finish and I can come back later."
Hermione rolled her eyes and shot Ron a mild glare, some unspoken message in the pinch of her brows. "Honestly, Ron."
Ron ducked his head and reached up to rub at the back of his neck. "Have a bit of a rash and Hermione was taking a look, is all. George is...er, testing a new itching powder for the shop. It's, ah, not going well." Red still stained the tips of his ears and Ron wouldn't quite meet Harry's gaze as he spoke, so he decided to cut his friend some slack.
"He hasn't decided to use human test subjects, has he? Only, I got a letter about the accounts last week and I've a touch of rash myself." He glanced at Hermione, arranging his features into his best pleading expression. "Any chance you're making a batch of ointment?"
Hermione, at least, could be counted on not to change. "For heaven's sake, Harry! I'm not a medi-witch. There are hundreds of different types of skin ailments, if there's something bothering you then you should visit Madam Pomfrey."
He wrinkled his nose at the thought. He'd considered it, as the itching had grown even more annoying over the weekend, expanding to fully encompass his lower back and his arse cheeks, starting to creep around over his inner thighs and onto his hips as well. It was rather more of him than he was entirely comfortable showing Poppy Pomfrey, infirmary matron or no. He'd managed to avoid the disgrace of broom itch as a student and he wanted to continue to spare them both the embarrassment of his nudity for as long as he could. "I would! Only, it's in a sort of questionable area."
"Oi!" Ron was the one objecting now, mock-scowling at Harry. "So you won't show Pomfrey your hairy arse, but it's okay to share with my wife?"
Harry batted his eyelashes innocently at Ron. "Well, you both spent so many years pulling me out of danger, I assumed you both had a vested interest in my arse. If you'd rather be the one to look, Ronald, I won't complain." He gave a leer and waggled his eyebrows to underscore the seriousness of his words.
"No one will be looking at anyone's anything, thank you very much," Hermione interjected primly. "Harry will be going to see Madam Pomfrey and Ron will be going to a Healer's appointment to get proper medical attention, like the responsible adults you are."
"Don't know who you're trying to fool with that." Ron laughed, but neither of them protested her words. Instead, he and Harry busied themselves with falling into their normal Sunday routine, setting out their dishware and then their meal before they all gathered round the kitchen table.
"What's happening at the castle, Harry? Aside from your unfortunate skin condition, of course." Hermione chose her moment after they had each filled their plates and abated the worst of their hunger--and just as he'd taken a bite of mash that nearly choked him as he laughed.
"Oh, nothing else very exciting," he managed when he'd gotten his breath back. "Ravenclaw won the match yesterday, but that wasn't a surprise. It's been a quiet week."
"What, no Snape story this week?" Ron asked around a mouthful of food, his brows raised in surprise.
Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Ron and Hermione both knew how he felt about Severus, but he knew he sometimes got carried away with talking about it. "Severus has been busy this week," Harry paused, his brow furrowing. "I saw him yesterday, but he seemed tense."
"How so?" Hermione, bless her, sounded genuinely interested, though Harry knew his friends had to be tired of listening to him pine away over Severus.
"Not sure. He wasn't really up for talking," he muttered, dragging a fork thoughtfully through the last of the vegetables on his plate. He couldn't really think of another time he'd seen Severus so quiet. Usually if he was aggravated by something Harry had done he had no qualms about saying just what was on his mind--usually in painful, vicious detail.
He'd considered it last night, when he hadn't seen Severus in the Great Hall for dinner, yet again. The early hours of his morning--or the very late hours of his evening, depending on one's point of view--had been whiled away replaying how quiet Severus had been during the Quidditch match, with naught a word spoken to Harry. He'd remembered the wide, sweeping gestures Snape had made afterward, as he'd argued with the headmistress, Harry too far to hear the words being spoken. But he couldn't think of any reason that Snape would be avoiding him, what he could have done that would be so upsetting.
"I really haven't seen him all week." He paused and then forced himself to voice the thought that was still eating at him. "If I didn't know any better I would say he's avoiding me."
He looked up in time to see Ron and Hermione exchange a glance across the table and frowned. "What?"
"Why would you think he's avoiding you, Harry?" Hermione asked, using her patented "I'm encouraging you to think for yourself" tone.
"I don't know, he was acting strange yesterday. Would hardly even look at me. And he's missed all the meals this week..." Harry lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, sure he sounded petulant. He felt petulant. "I haven't even put my foot in my mouth lately. I'm sure he's just busy."
"I'm sure you're right," Hermione agreed easily, giving him a reassuring smile.
"Yeah, mate. We all know how moody Snape can be," Ron chimed in, waving his fork through the air as if to demonstrate. "Could be anything."
It was true enough and Harry nodded, trying to put away the worry as the conversation turned to other things. He apparently didn't succeed completely, because when the meal was cleared away and he readied himself for his return trip through the Floo, Ron patted him firmly on the shoulder. "Seriously, Harry give Snape some time, I'm sure he'll come 'round."
Harry blinked, confused by the easy reassurance, and watched Hermione nudge her husband sharply in the ribs with an elbow.
"I'm sure what Ronald means to say, Harry," she huffed, "is that Snape is probably just a little busy right now and you'll have your normal routine of tea and talks back underway soon."
"Er, right. That," Ron said, rubbing at his side with a pained grimace.
Harry frowned at the exchange, too exhausted to try and unpack any meaning from it. The whole world has gone crazy, he thought tiredly. But he nodded, content to focus on one worry at a time, rather than question the fact that Severus was avoiding him and his two best friends had lost their collective mind, all in the same span of days.
"Right, then," he said instead. "I'm off. See you next week," he said, tossing the floo powder into the fireplace. "Professor Potter's Quarters, Hogwarts." And as he stepped into the flames, the world swirling away, he thought he heard Ron's voice again.
"He's going to kill us when he figures it out," he said, before there was the sharp, "Hsssst!" that Hermione favored when she was feeling particularly impatient. Harry was going to have to get to the bottom of that. Next week.
Monday breakfast was a bustling affair, as students and professors alike reacquainted themselves with the school day after the ease of the weekend. Harry had worried that he'd find Severus missing yet again, but when he entered the Great Hall Severus was sitting in his usual place, carefully buttering his wheat toast. It seemed that whatever he'd spent the previous week working through had been settled and relief flooded Harry at the sight of Snape taking a large bite of his morning meal.
He crossed behind the table to take his seat at Severus' side. "Good morning, Severus." If his voice was a little too cheerful for the early morning, well, hopefully he would be forgiven. Having him back made Harry too pleased to be able to hide how he felt. Even the itching along his legs and back didn't seem so bad in the face of Severus' presence.
Harry's good humor, however, did not elicit the good-natured complaint that it usually did. Rather, Severus slowed in his chewing for a moment, turning to gift Harry with a curiously blank look as he finished his bite of toast. "Potter," he finally acknowledged, his tone unnaturally even, just as Harry started to worry that he wouldn't get any answer at all.
Harry felt his happiness wane and worried at his lip as he considered Severus' flat greeting. Was he still upset after all? Was it something he had done? Not knowing, Harry didn't think there was any option but to forge ahead, though not nearly as cheerfully as before. "Not as busy this week, I hope? I have that new book on effective management strategies for the classroom that you mentioned over the holiday. I thought we might get a chance to go over it."
Snape turned to face him at that, dark eyes narrowing with an obvious suspicion that Harry hadn't seen directed at him since his school days. Warily, instinctively, Harry found himself shifting back, almost holding his breath for the inevitable explosion.
"Just what are you playing at, Potter?" Snape asked darkly and Harry felt his stomach plummet.
He had done something, then, but what? He really couldn't recall any reason for Severus to be upset with him; normally in this sort of situation he was aware of his misstep nearly as soon as he'd recovered his foot from his mouth. But when he wracked his thoughts for what he might have done, he came up at a loss.
"I….nothing?" he said warily, not even sure what the correct answer would be.
If anything, Snape's expression grew even more thunderous and Harry tensed, waiting for the outpouring of vitriol. At least if Severus got on to the point where he lost his temper, Harry would have an idea of where he stood. Before he could say anything, however, a mail owl swooped in and dropped a cauldron-shaped package between the two of them with a clang. Snape aimed a scowl at the parcel, but allowed his attention to be diverted from the impending dressing down of one Harry Potter. He turned back to his breakfast with a haughty sniff and proceeded to ignore Harry with impunity, instead.
Harry took in a slow breath, mind racing with the memories of each of their interactions over the past several weeks. There had been their disagreement over the best broom polish available in Hogsmeade, Harry favoring a brand Ginny had recommended to him and Severus refusing to consider anything he hadn't brewed himself as 'quality,' but they'd both agreed to move on from that after a week of squabbling.
He and Severus were both hot-tempered men, but Harry couldn't think of any reason for Severus' upset, for his avoidance of Harry the last week and his markedly cool reception this morning. Was it some misunderstanding? Once they'd learned to avoid those inflammatory topics that never failed to set one or the other of them off--usually anything to do with their shared histories--he and Snape had got along remarkably peaceably. Severus wasn't the same bitter man he'd known as a child. He didn't suffer fools, gladly or otherwise, that hadn't changed. He'd become different, after the war, though.
They all had.
Harry couldn't think of anyone who hadn't been transformed by their experiences. Neville had found the strength to stand up for himself, Ginny had figured out to prioritize the things she wanted for herself, rather than the things that were wanted for her. Ron had learned to stop and think before he acted and Hermione to act before over-thinking. For Harry, the war had been nothing so much as a demonstration that he was not the only one who could save the day. And Severus...Severus seemed to finally accept that forgiveness came to them all, in the end.
What, then, had Harry done to make him withdraw? He spent the rest of the meal anxiously considering all the possibilities, morosely playing with his food rather than eating. It wasn't until Flitwick jostled him on his way past that Harry realized just how long he had been sitting like a lump. He had a trio of students meeting him before much longer, having arranged a quick morning tutoring session with them over the weekend. With a sigh Harry glanced at Severus, who was methodically picking apart his meal, and felt a twinge of guilt at whatever he'd done to put this distance between them.
Flicking his wand at his place setting, he cleared the depressing remains of his meal away and stood to make his way out of the Great Hall. As he passed behind Severus' chair he leaned down, pressing a warm kiss to the crown of his hair and sighing to himself at the silky feel of those strands across his lips. "I hope this week is better, love," he murmured, then continued quickly past, not wanting to keep his students waiting.
Despite his good intentions, two of the three boys stood waiting at his classroom door when he arrived and the third came running up, red-faced, just a moment later. They appeared not to have got up to any mischief, which was always a concern when students were left to loiter in the hall, so he let them inside the room with a wave of his hand. As the boys settled into their seats, he gathered the materials he'd need for the brief lesson on repelling shields.
He didn't hold much hope for any of them to pick up the knack of the spells in such a quick lesson, he just wanted to get them thinking about the theory and what sort of situations the shields were necessary in. It was advanced practice for third year students, but Harry was of the opinion that it was never too early to start thinking for oneself.
Before he could begin the lesson, however, Severus swept into the classroom, a thundercloud of righteous fury. "I could ignore it!" he snarled, stalking up to Harry's desk and slamming his hands down on the tabletop with an echoing smack. "I could ignore it, because we had become friends and I thought perhaps, it was some misguided idea of yours, some way to-to tell me that it was only--not that I needed you to, I am perfectly aware--!" Here he paused and sucked in a breath, looking practically apoplectic and Harry could only stare up at him in a mix of horror and confusion. "I will not have it, Potter! Kissing me for some--some lark that you've made up--"
"Hang-- hang on," Harry protested, cutting Severus off in surprise. "Kissing you? I haven't--"
"Don't you dare pretend that you don't know what I'm talking about," Snape snarled, spit flecking from his mouth and reminding Harry so sorely of that time in 5th year with the Pensieve that he found himself instinctively leaning away for the second time that morning, eyes going even wider. "I am not here for your bloody amusement, some joke to--to be--"
"Severus!" Harry had pushed himself up, half out of his seat now, more than a little alarmed because Snape only seemed to be gearing up, rather than winding down. If he was starting out this angry there was no telling the heights he would achieve once he really warmed up. "I have no idea what you're talking about, honestly," he pleaded, not at all certain what was going on, but desperate for Snape to believe him. "I haven't been kissing you."
"You have too," the high pitched warble of Davidson's accusation reminded Harry that they weren't alone, a fact that Severus hadn't realized when he'd swooped in, if the sudden paling of his cheeks was any indication.
"Haven't you lot got anything better to do than eavesdrop on private conversations?" Severus snapped, his expression sliding into something distinctly detention-minded.
"They're here for tutoring," Harry offered up warily, not certain the explanation wouldn't set Severus off again. When the Severus merely made a face of extreme annoyance, Harry turned his attention back to the boys. "What are you talking about, Davidson? I think I'd remember if I were going 'round kissing Professor Snape."
"But you did," Smith spoke up this time and instantly quelled as Snape's glare deepened. "We saw you at the Quidditch game this weekend," he squeaked after a moment passed without actual bloodshed, determined to speak up even under the deadly force of his Potions' master's scowl.
"Planted one right on 'im," Wilson agreed, nodding. "And then you ran away!"
"Some Gryffindor," Davidson said, scornful. "And then you kissed his hair, just this morning at breakfast! I saw you!"
Harry stared at the three boys, uncomprehending. "I did no such thing," he said, utterly bewildered by the story they were laying out.
"You did," Severus muttered at his side, his expression losing some of the raw anger it had held only moments ago, replaced instead by sheer frustration. "You truly don't remember?"
Harry looked back and forth between Severus and their audience for a moment and then shook his head sharply, coming to a decision. "You three," he said to the Hufflepuffs, "Get to class. If I hear a word of this out of any of your classmates or any of the other students you'll wish I'd left you to Professor Snape's devices."
None of them looked terribly convinced of his threat, but they obediently gathered up their things and trudged out of the classroom.
"It will be halfway through the school before they even make it to Transfiguration," Severus observed dryly, calmer now, but still obviously tense as he drummed his fingers against the top of Harry's desk.
Harry blew out a long breath, torn between despairing at the truth of that statement and half-terrified that he was about to be murdered after all, now that the witnesses were gone. After another slow inhale, he finally dragged his gaze back to Severus, who did not seem to be much interested in looking back at him. "Have--have I really been...?"
"Yes," Snape ground out and Harry winced, looking away.
"I don't--I don't remember," he said a bit stupidly, trying to wrap his mind around the idea. How could he have kissed Severus, pressed his lips to warm skin, and not know it? How could he have tasted, and yet somehow not devoured? "Was it just the twice?"
"Three times," Severus said quietly, and Harry looked back at him, startled by the defeat he could hear in those words. There was something strangely stricken in his expression.
"How could I not know?" It took a moment for Harry to realize that he'd spoken the words out loud and he held his breath, waiting for the obvious longing in his voice to give him away.
"A curse," Severus said crisply and suddenly straightened beneath Harry's gaze, all traces of emotion tucking itself away behind Severus' dark eyes, turning into something that looked almost...apologetic? "I should have realized, of course." The corner of his mouth, that scar, the one that Harry had spent hours day-dreaming about and now apparently could not remember kissing, twitched and turned downward. "I should have known that you would not--that you could not be so...cruel."
Harry swallowed thickly, his stomach clenching. If kisses were cruelty he wanted nothing more than to shower it down on Severus. "I would remember if I'd been cursed," he finally managed to force past the tightness in his throat.
If Severus was that upset when he'd thought Harry was just playing some twisted prank on him, what would he think when Harry had to explain that he was, in fact, in love with Severus? That apparently he was so desperate to touch the other man that his subconscious had acted without any indication from the rest of him?
"Some backfired spell, then," he said, reaching out to take hold of Harry's elbow and tugging him in the direction of the door. "These children are so wand happy that it's a miracle it doesn't happen more often. We'll get you to Poppy and get you sorted out."
"Severus, I really don't think--" Harry started, only to jump at the classroom door swinging open, the students of his first class starting to trickle into the room. Snape dropped his arm as if it had suddenly set on fire, clearly not wanting to give the children any ideas about the relationship between himself and Harry--at least, no more than they already had, given Harry's recent lack of boundaries.
"After your classes," he said, over Harry's half-hearted noise of protest. "You've been afflicted this long with no apparent--" Snape cut himself off with a grimace, then amended his words. "Well, with no major issues, anyway. I'm sure it won't hurt to wait a few hours longer. I'll collect you to take you to the infirmary at the end of the day."
"But, Severus!" Harry's exclamation fell on deaf ears as Severus swept out of the room and he sighed, glancing around at the students settling at their desks, some of whom were giving him very pointed smirks. It was going to be a long day, Harry thought tiredly, resigning himself to the knowledge that this evening Pomfrey would very thoroughly assure Severus he wasn't cursed or under the influence of any untoward magic, leaving Harry to make a confession that was bound to be awkward for everyone involved. A very long day.
The rest of the day alternately crept and rushed past in turns, leaving Harry feeling disoriented and vaguely nauseated--he'd compounded his lack of breakfast by skipping lunch and drinking several cups of coffee alone in his office as he tried to decide how he was ever going to explain his feelings to Severus. Not to mention the irritation of the rash that still hadn't abated, a rash Harry had spent more than a few moments guiltily scratching at, too wound up to deny himself the temporary relief of his blunt fingernails dragging over itchy skin. Despite all the distractions, however, he watched the last students of the day trail out of his classroom door, and spotted Snape lurking in the corridor just beyond, before he was even remotely prepared.
"Fuck," he huffed the word like a spell, as though if he just wished hard enough he'd close his eyes and open them anywhere else, but all that the sharply exhaled curse did was loosen the tightness in his chest, incrementally.
When Harry didn't leave the classroom quickly enough, Severus marched inside to chivvy him out. All of his feeble objections went unheeded and, in short order, Harry found himself seated on the edge of an infirmary bed, Madam Pomfrey staring skeptically down at him.
"And what, exactly, seems to be the problem, Mister Potter? You look hale enough to me." More than anyone else in the building, Poppy had a knack for making Harry feel as if he was still eleven years old and being scolded for eating too many chocolate frogs before dinner. Harry opened his mouth to answer, to try and give some reasonable explanation for his presence in the hospital wing, but apparently not quickly enough.
"He's been cursed," Severus supplied firmly and Harry shot him a vaguely frustrated glance. "Or fallen victim to some stray, unintentional magic," he amended, apparently able to see Harry's displeasure, if not understanding the cause.
Poppy raised her brows in surprise when Severus was the one who answered, glancing between the two for a moment, her countenance becoming thoughtful. "I see." She tilted her head at Harry, curious. "And just what are the symptoms of this curse and-or unknown magical effect?"
Harry licked his lips. "I really don't think--" he started, only to be brusquely interrupted.
"He keeps kissing me," Severus said, some unreadable emotion in his words, and Harry bowed his head, closing his eyes. My humiliation is complete, he thought.
"Is that so?" Pomfrey said, more than asked, the words matter-of-fact.
"You saw him yourself at breakfast this morning, didn't you woman? That's not normal behavior!" Severus was growing annoyed again, apparently displeased that his concern--absurd, though strangely touching--wasn't being taken seriously by either Poppy or Harry.
"I'd say it depends on the person," Pomfrey rejoined primly, unaffected by Severus' snippy tone, and Harry lifted his head to look back up at her. She looked thoroughly pleased and Harry could feel his cheeks heating. She knew. Could everyone except for Severus tell? Was he so transparent? "But, Severus, if it will set your mind at ease…"
Pomfrey lifted her wand and traced out a number of complicated figures in the air, with absolutely no result as far as Harry could tell. "Nothing. Not a lick of outside magic affecting him, curse, unknown spell, or otherwise."
"That-- that can't be right," Snape sputtered, glancing from Harry to Pomfrey and back again. "There has to be something. If not a curse then some sort of potion or-or virus. An allergic reaction!"
"I'd think you would be the one to gauge if Harry were under the influence of any sort of potion, Severus," Pomfrey said sourly, but when she looked down at Harry her expression was almost mischievous. "I suppose there are a few conditions that could cause a certain lack of inhibition..."
The sly words were edged with amusement, though Harry seemed to be the only one who noticed.
"Yes!" Snape sounded altogether too pleased at the idea of Harry having some sort of exotic illness. "Check him for those, then."
"I feel fine," Harry protested, not at all enjoying the thought of sitting in the infirmary for the rest of the evening, undergoing test after test at Severus' whim.
"Severus, if he doesn't feel ill, there's really nothing more I can do to help," Poppy said, exasperation overtaking her previous amusement as Snape continued to press the matter.
"You're telling me that you believe Harry Potter would kiss me and then forget he'd done so for no apparent reason?" The words were so sarcastic that Harry was surprised they didn't spring physically into existence.
"Memory loss?" Pomfrey frowned, suddenly all business. "You didn't say anything about memory loss."
"The kissing wasn't reason enough?" Severus sounded strangely appalled on his behalf and it made Harry's chest ache to think that he could have such a low opinion of himself. He couldn't let that thought go any further, though, or he'd never be able to explain to Severus what was actually going on.
"I really feel fine." Harry knew the objection was essentially useless at this point, but had no intentions of meekly agreeing to continue this farce.
"Really, Potter?" Severus drawled dubiously. "You're telling me that you are absolutely, one hundred percent healthy? With no niggling health issues at all to concern you?"
Harry stilled, abruptly realizing that he'd been absently scratching the rashy itch on his side, caught out. "Er, really." Snape smirked, looking for all the world like a cat getting ready to pounce.
"I knew it. What is it, then? Out with it, so we can get to the bottom of this." It was amazing that a grown man could sound so gleeful about being proven right about something, Harry thought with a grimace.
He threw a pleading, hopeful glance at Poppy, giving himself up to her mercy. Surely she wouldn't make him sit through this indignity as well.
Blessedly, she agreed that Harry had been tormented enough. "Out, Severus."
"What?" Snape practically squawked the word, staring at Poppy in disbelief.
"Out!" She raised her hand and gave a brief 'shoo' motion. "Harry doesn't need you in here gawking at his medical needs, whatever they might be, however you believe they inconvenience you. There is only one medical professional here and that is me. Get out."
Snape scowled, mutinous. "What if--"
"No ifs. Harry knows where your office is located, where your quarters are located, if the student gossip is to be believed. I imagine him certainly capable of finding you if, if he deems it necessary. Go, Severus." The matron's tone brooked no argument. Severus straightened and Harry watched his jaw clench.
"Fine," he spat, then turned to give Harry a dark look. "You will come and find me when you are finished."
Harry sighed, but knew that if he didn't agree that Severus would only hunt him down in turn. "I'll find you," he said tiredly and, with a narrow-eyed glare at Poppy and one last put-out huff, Snape swept out of the infirmary.
When the doors clacked closed behind him Harry took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning back to Poppy, who was regarding him with some mixture of amusement and patience writ across her face. "Well, Mister Potter? You know the drill, I believe."
It was all he could do not to give into the embarrassed groan that bubbled up in his chest. He would much rather have avoided this all together, had intended to pick up a cream from the apothecary in Hogsmeade next chance he got. And now, instead, he was going to have to give Poppy Pomfrey an eyeful that he rather expected they'd both regret, "medical professional" or not. Still, he knew there was no way he'd be able to convince her that he didn't need an examination. Both she and Severus had a knack for determining when he was hedging the truth, especially in regards to his health, much to his chagrin. Better, then, to get it over with.
He stood and unbuttoned his outer robe, tossing it over the end of the infirmary bed and then rucked up his shirt to yank it off. Harry had only made it halfway through the motion before Poppy's startled gasp made him freeze. "What?"
"What have you gotten yourself into, Harry?" But while there was surprise in her voice, there was also amusement, and he looked down at himself, trying to figure out just what she'd seen that he hadn't.
The rash was still there, but in the natural light of the infirmary it seemed different, somehow. Redder, the welts almost more puffy. He blinked and curled slightly inward to get a better look. "Are those….hearts?"
Poppy was shaking her head at him. "Only you. From the very first time you stepped foot into my infirmary you've been nothing but trouble."
Harry frowned at that, trying to connect what she was saying with the fact that his chest and abdomen now seemed to be littered with itchy red…hearts. "Is it serious?"
"Oh, I should say so," she said lightly, smiling when Harry snapped his gaze away from the rash to look up at her. "Love usually is, don't you think?"
Heat burned its way into Harry's cheeks and he dropped his shirt. There was apparently no end to the mortification he would have to endure today. "What, you're telling me there is some sort of magical consequence to--to," his voice dropped to a pained whisper, "unrequited love?"
"Dear me, heavens no," Pomfrey said brusquely. "We're not living in a fairy story, this is real life and that is a real rash produced by an infestation of trombicula caritas, also known as love mites or love bugs." Here she paused to slant a smug sort of smile at Harry. "Their bite produces an increase in oxytocin--that would be the love and bonding hormone--and disorientation, confusion, memory loss, generally centered around the incidents of oxytocin production. You should count yourself lucky, many cases of love bug exposure result in a lot more, well, exposure. It's quite rare as a diagnosis, but always memorable. I don't suppose you've been tramping around in any Tunisian fire-brush lately?"
Harry stared at her as she explained, his jaw slack with disbelief, sputtering back to life only after her question sank into his stupefied brain. "Of course not! You're saying, what, this bug bite has made me do things I wouldn't normally?" He'd wanted to kiss Severus for months of course, long before he'd had any rash. Still, it might do as an excuse to keep from having to make a fool of himself in front of Snape.
"No. It's, well, it's a magical creature, isn't it? There's still an element of magic, though not quite the nonsense you were suggesting. The mites will generally only attach themselves to those who are in love. They're microscopic, have probably made an impressive colony in all of your shirts and robes by now. You'll have to treat everything. They bite when their host is in the vicinity of the person they feel affection for--I presume you've been particularly irritated in Severus' presence?"
His face was going to catch fire at any moment, Harry just knew it. He nodded, reluctantly and Pomfrey hummed, thoughtful, before continuing her explanation.
"They feed off of that emotion while they're biting you, a bite which, in turn, injects you with high levels of oxytocin--er, makes you a bit loopy with love, to use layman's terms."
"Lovely," Harry groaned softly and scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly exhausted. "Well, all right, then. What do I need to take to get rid of them?"
Poppy frowned at him. "Haven't you been listening? It's an infestation, Harry. You'll need treatment for all your clothing and, considering we have no idea how you've contracted the buggers, you'll likely need to have the house-elves treat your upholstery too. You can use an ointment for the itching, but it's specialized. These cases are very rare, as I've said. You'll need to discuss the matter with Severus."
"With--why with Severus?"
"Well who else are you going to ask to brew highly specialized potions? Horace Slughorn? Assuming you can get him to quit leveraging favors out of you for five minutes, I wouldn't trust this sort of delicate work to him!"
Harry groaned. Perfect.
What seemed like an eternity later--though far too soon for his taste--Harry stared at the door of Severus Snape's personal quarters with dread, nervously twisting the list that Poppy had given him in his hands. He could turn away now, of course, find some way to live his life never knowing when or if he might have kissed Severus. Or he could gather the dregs of his courage and knock. Perhaps fortuitously, the choice was taken out of his hands as the door in front of him swung open.
"You've been standing on the edge of my wards for ten minutes," Severus' voice was only mildly annoyed, surprising Harry. "What on earth is keeping you?"
"Oh, erm." Harry flushed. "Just...thinking?"
Severus regarded him warily and then stepped back, gesturing for him to enter. "It can't be that serious, Potter. Pomfrey didn't seem the least concerned with anything other than upsetting me when I was sent out."
"Oh, no," Harry hurried to agree, not liking the hint of nervousness he could hear in Snape's words. "There's nothing wrong with me, really. I just need…" He winced, cursing his mouth for jumping ahead of his readiness. "Just need a course of potions."
"Potions?" Severus narrowed his eyes, suspicious now. "Do you have some reason to believe I wouldn't make them for you?"
Harry laughed weakly. "Well, I have put you out the last few days already."
"If you're ill that's hardly your fault," Severus allowed, haughtily gracious. "It isn't as if I don't know there is not a queue of people lining up to willingly kiss me."
"No!" Harry denied it without thought and then flushed, twisting the paper in his hands again as he realized he was digging himself an even larger hole to climb out of. "I just, I mean, it isn't that. I--I just, I didn't know, you know? And I know you wouldn't want that--I'm scrawny and speccy at best and I wouldn't want to force anyone, especially not you and it's hardly--"
"Potter," Snape said sharply, cutting off the spew of words from Harry's mouth. "Are you ever going to start making sense?"
Harry's mouth clicked shut and he grimaced, uncertain of how to proceed. How was he supposed to say it? By the way, Severus, I've been in love with you for ages. Please don't be too awful? He looked down at his hands. The funny thing was, he didn't actually think Severus would be awful.
They were friends now, of a sort, and while Snape wouldn't hesitate to turn his broken glass tongue on any idiot who deserved it, Harry knew he wouldn't go out of his way to cause pain when he had been on the receiving end far too often. And, yet, he couldn't stomach the thought of being let down gently, of watching Snape step around his emotions as if he would blow apart at the slightest breeze. But there was nothing for it. He stuck out the ragged twist of paper that Poppy had listed the necessary potions on.
Pale fingers plucked the parchment away from him and Harry stared down at the toes of his boots, listening to the rustle of it being opened and smoothed out.
"Winterbloom and adder's fork? This is an ointment for love mites." Severus voice was puzzled. "There haven't been any cases in Wizarding Britain in nearly 30 years--some Longbottom cousin and his unfortunate paramour were arrested for public indecency before anyone figured out what had happened."
Harry sighed, knowing that Snape was clever enough he'd put it all together in another moment. "I always have been incredibly unlucky in the strangest ways," he said, trying to inject humor that he didn't feel into his voice. "I suppose we should just both be grateful that I hadn't tried to pull off anyone's clothes yet."
"Poppy thinks you've been bitten by…" There was a sharp crinkle and Harry finally dragged his gaze up to see Severus clenching the list of potions, knuckles tight and pale. He forced himself to continue lifting his head until he met Snape's eyes. He didn't think he'd ever seen another person looking so forcibly blank and panic tightened his chest. He'd clearly figured out how Harry felt--what was he thinking?
"Let me see it." There was a gravel to Severus' voice that Harry hadn't heard in years--not since those awkward ceremonies after the war, when Severus' throat had been newly healed--and for a moment he didn't understand the question.
"What?" he asked stupidly, still trying to scavenge some hint of Severus' thoughts from his face.
"The rash. Let me see it." Harry blinked and then frowned, blinking again. Did Severus somehow think Poppy had misdiagnosed him? He was opening his mouth to protest--he'd had quite enough humiliating clothes removal for one evening, thank you-- when Severus stalked closer. He yanked at the front of Harry's outer robes with no regard for the clasps holding them shut. He didn't even pause as Harry yelped his displeasure, merely shoved up his shirt with icy fingers. The touch slid lightly over hot, inflamed skin: a caress that made Harry tense and shift as far backwards as he could manage against Severus' hold.
"Heart-shaped," Severus muttered and suddenly his cold hands were gripping Harry's hips, pulling him in even closer than before. The hard points of his fingertips were pressing bruises into Harry, leaving behind marks on his skin just as surely as he'd let himself into Harry's heart. "You kissed me."
Heat flamed into Harry's face and he ducked his gaze away, forehead bumping into Severus' shoulder. They were so close that Harry could smell the familiar aroma of hot metal and woodsmoke on his robes and it left him light-headed. "I-I'm sorry." Harry's voice cracked and Severus' grip grew impossibly tighter against his hips.
"You kissed me," he said again, urgently, and gave Harry a short little shake. Miserable, and confused as to what answers Severus wanted from him, Harry nodded.
"You love me," Severus' voice growled into his ear and Harry's breath caught in his throat before stuttering out as a sob. He closed his eyes and nodded again, trying to prepare himself for the worst.
Severus shook him once more, sharply, and Harry's eyes flew back open in surprise. "Say it," he hissed, staring fiercely back at Harry. "Say it! You love me," he snarled.
"Yes," Harry whispered, helpless to do anything else, caught between Severus' hands and eyes and the aching pit in his stomach. "I love you."
The words cut some invisible string running through Severus and his expression crumpled, he folded into Harry, pressing his face into the juncture of his shoulder and throat. His grip, however, didn’t loosen, holding fast as if Harry was the only certain thing left in the universe.
"You love me," Severus' voice rumbled against the tender flesh of his throat and Harry shivered, his eyes falling closed again--this time in pleasure--without the counterbalance of Severus' gaze to keep him from falling into the feeling of utter contentment.
"Yes," he said again, helpless to even attempt to deny it any longer, and then cried out softly when Severus yanked him even closer.
"I am cruel, I am harsh," Severus growled and for a dazed moment Harry wondered just who he was trying to convince.
"You can be," he agreed, breathless, because it was true, though he had seen far more demonstrations of Severus' kindness, of late.
"I am greedy, I am ugly," he continued and Harry blinked and suddenly the world realigned itself. Everything made sense again, when he realized what it was he was being told. Harry put his palms against Severus' shoulders and gently pushed him away so that he could see his face. He smiled when Severus wouldn't meet his gaze and lifted a hand to catch his jaw.
"You are clever, you are quietly kind and generous in your own ways, and you are breathtaking," Harry said softly, stroking his fingertips down the line of Severus' jaw. "I love you."
"Harry." The almost desperate way Severus' says his name sends a shiver down his spine. His skin is on fire and he thinks that any moment now he'll be utterly consumed and it will be worth it, worth every moment of itching agony it took to reach this moment. "I would spend the rest of my life working to be what you deserve, to make you happy," he says raggedly, turning his cheek into the cup of Harry's hand.
You already are, Harry thought, but he only smiled. Small steps. "You'd better kiss me, then," he said, cheeky, and Severus blinked at him, a calculating light in his eyes.
"Are you going to remember it this time?" The words were playful, but there was a wariness in Severus' tone that said he couldn't quite believe this was real.
"If I don't, I guess you'll just have to keep reminding me," Harry said, leaning up at last to catch Severus' lips in a kiss that he would never forget.