Courting Disaster. Chapter 15.

[pekeleke]

Title: Courting Disaster. 15.

Rating : NC-17.

Author: pekeleke

Word Count: 3775

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this work.

Summary: For once in his life Harry Potter has a plan. A carefully plotted plan to help him conquer the heart of an extremely reluctant Severus Snape, only... conquering a suspicious ex-spy isn't for the fainthearted and soon Harry finds himself -quite literally- courting disaster.

Courting Disaster.

 

Severus stares at the broom in Harry's hand with the disconcerted puzzlement of a man who hasn't been this uncomfortably close to one of those flimsy death traps in ages.  The excited gleam in the Gryffindor's eyes tells him that whatever the seeker has plotted isn't something he's likely to find particularly pleasing, so he frowns warily and decides to make his point first:

“I'm not fond of brooms, Potter.”

Harry smiles gently and walks confidently closer, leaning boldly into his personal space in order to push a long lock of Severus' dark hair away from his pale forehead with disarming tenderness:
“I thought you were serious when you told me that you trust me enough to come where I'm trying to lead you.”

Severus stiffens in instinctive response to both the gentleness of the contact and the soft, coaxing quality of Harry's reproof.  His frown becomes even more pronounced and he eyes the gleaming wood held casually in the seeker's gloved hand with increasing trepidation.
“You are twisting my words to suit your purposes and, even if you weren't, I can't imagine how that particular assertion of mine could have lead you to believe I'd be willing to prance around atop that flimsy stick with you.”

“Flying is a huge part of my life, Severus.  This is not only what I do for a living.  It's also how I relieve stress.  My first flying lesson is one of my fondest childhood memories and I haven't found another activity that gives me the kind of peace that prancing around atop a flimsy stick usually gives me.  I've wanted to share my joy of flying with you for a very long time.  It'd mean a lot to me if you consented to come flying with me, my prince.”

Severus shakes his head regretfully and takes a step backwards, disentangling the careful digits that are still carding through the long locks of his hair.  He can't help the small pang of guilt that flares in the pit of his stomach when he hears Harry's disappointed sigh and feels compelled to explain his negative response to what should have been a reasonable enough request.
“I hate flying, Harry.  I prefer Apparition or even the Floo as a mode of transport.  I don't see the point of hopping atop a charmed twig and freeze myself into an icicle for no good reason whatsoever.”

Harry's head turns slightly to the left and those bright emerald eyes acquire a thoughtful look as they study him quietly, following his every step when he walks across the room and takes refuge behind his seldom used till.
“Nobody flies to get anywhere nowadays, Severus.  Flying is not about traveling anymore.  It's about having fun.  It's about the freedom you feel when you are up next to the clouds and the entire world falls so far away that most daily frustrations become small and unimportant.  Flying is about trusting your instincts and letting everything else go.  It's about realizing that life can be rewarding even when you're as insignificant as a small spec of dust floating in the wind.  Flying is... grounding.”

“I don't need grounding.  I'm grounded enough, I assure you.  I've never deluded myself into believing that I matter all that much to anything or anyone.  I have absolutely no need to re-discover how very small and pathetic I actually am when compared to the vastness that surrounds me, so why don't you park that blasted broom of yours against the back wall and tell me whether you want to have dinner at the bistro round the corner, or go all the way to Codman Street and try that Indian place you've been raving about all week?”

“Why are you so reluctant to join me for a small spin around the Alley?  I've seen you fly before and you're not half-bad at it.  You were even good enough to be the school's second Quidditch referee.”

“Being able to perform a task without looking like a nitwit while forced to do it doesn't that mean I enjoy it, Harry.  I was often terrorized by your father and his goons while flying on my school broom.  I never made it into the Slytherin's Quidditch team while I was a student due to the marauder's vicious sabotage of my flying gear.  I couldn't practice safely at all and ended up developing an instinctive tendency to feel utter terror at the very idea of getting on a broom.  I just—I can't relax enough to enjoy the experience, so it's no use.  I'll never be able to feel the kind of unconcerned pleasure that you are trying to share.”

Harry looks utterly stricken at the mention of his father's role in his dislike of flying and Severus feels even more guilty about the unnecessary bluntness of his explanation.  James Potter had been an utter idiot and it's just bad form to rub that fact in his son's face.  Still, he can't figure out how else he could have possibly explained his irrational dislike of flying without mentioning the marauders.

“I'm sorry that my father was such a git to you, sweetheart.  He must have felt threatened by your flying skills or he wouldn't have targeted them at all.  I can't believe that his manipulative cheating is going to rob me off an experience that I've been looking forwards to enjoying for so long.  I don't even remember him, you know?  But he's been a right pain in my butt ever since I realized he wasn't the saint people kept trying to portray.”

“I'm really sorry, Harry.”

"You're not the one who needs to feel sorry, Severus.  I'm the one who is at fault here.  Gosh!  I can't believe how selfish I am being.  I've been dreaming about flying with you for ages and now I just feel bad about it.  I've made so many plans without bothering to consult you, expecting you to go along with them just because I made them."

“Harry...”

"It's true. I can't believe I dared to show up here, broom in hand, despite the fact that I've never even asked you if you'd care to go out for a spin with me and you never agreed to come. Ginny would have ripped my head off if I treated her like this and Hermione would probably still be lecturing me about the importance of proper communication."

"Oh, please!  I'd ask you to spare me the Gryffindor melodrama if it wasn't so ridiculously entertaining." Severus snorts, despite his growing discomfort with Harry's unexpected bout of angsty self-flagellation. "Surely you can see that you are making a mountain out of a tiny anthill, Harry."

"But I do this all the time, don't I?  It's not just the flying, Severus.  It's everything.  I've been ignoring all the subtle clues you send me about how comfortable you're with this—with us, from the beginning.  I mean, come on, you've been as jumpy as a scalded cat every time I've come near you since we went out to Rosmerta's.  There's no way you would have reacted positively to an activity that practically demands close physical proximity, is there?  But I still keep pushing you, trying to get you to accept the kind of closeness you're obviously not ready for.”

Severus gasps with shock as soon as his brain makes sense of Harry's agitated last sentence.  He blushes bright red and his dark eyes grow as round as polished marbles as he stares unblinkingly at the sheepish expression that is beginning to blossom across his companion's obnoxiously attractive features.
“Oops!  I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have mentioned that last part at all.  It wasn't a complaint, Severus.  I swear. You have every right in the world to feel uncomfortable with my touchy-feely nature.  I just—I don't really know what the hell happened.  You seemed to be growing comfortable enough with my harmless pawing before we went to Hogsmeade and then everything went to hell.  It's not so bad.  I mean you let me hold your hand sometimes, and—yeah.  But we haven't really kissed since then and... I just wish you'd let me come a bit closer.  This is a courtship, after all.”

Severus stiffens from head to toes, despite his conscious attempt to avoid it.
“I find it a bit odd that you'd think me so unapproachable, bearing in mind that this courtship of ours started right after I let you bugger me into the mattress.  I believe you've already come as close to me as you're likely to get, Potter.”

Harry winces upon hearing his remark and laughs slightly hysterically.
“And now you're mad at me and my big mouth.  You only ever revert back to that dreaded “Potter” when you're so ticked off that you actually forget we are trying to be boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends?” Severus questions sharply, taken absolutely aback by that sickeningly sweet label.

“What else do you want me to call you?  You'll start running for the hills as soon as I mention the word 'lovers', and only Godric knows what you'll do if I ever dare to bring up the even more contentious concepts of future betrothed, husband or bonded-partner.”

“Betrothed?”  Severus chokes on thin air.  His eyes bulge right out of their sockets and the rigidity of his posture finally collapses into a bewildered slump.  His jaw becomes slack until it drops unbecomingly open and he's positively certain that he must look like the very picture of gormless stupidity as he blinks in dazed incomprehension directly into the very frustrated green gaze of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Drive-Him-Crazy  “You want to marry me?  Are you nuts, Potter?”

“Nuts?”  Harry hisses the one word that seems to have managed to dry his seemingly endless well of loving patience and crosses those indubitably strong arms of his across his athletic chest, looking positively incensed.  “What the hell do you mean by 'nuts'?  Of course I want to marry you, you, idiot!  Isn't that the bloody point of courtship?”

Severus flounders as Harry's frustrated snarl reaches his ears and he has to brace himself against the till counter, just to stay upright.  He feels breathless and suddenly dizzy.  He's been rendered speechless by the very notion that the seeker wants so much more than a semi-formal affair.  More than an open-ended relationship that could be easily dissolved the moment either of them decides to turn his back on the other, creating the kind of emotional semi-entanglement that would allow both of them to walk away, unharmed, should their hopes for the future turn to ashes.
“I thought you wanted sex and... companionship.”

“I do.”  Harry answers quietly and then frowns, clearly unable to understand the source of his agitation.

“You can get both of those things without a permanent commitment.  We can keep seeing each other like this.  Even more intimately than this, eventually, Harry.  We should be able to keep doing this for as long as it takes you to get bored of me.  There is absolutely no need to mention the word 'marriage'.”

“Why on earth would I ever get bored of you?  And what do you mean there's no need to mention the word 'marriage'?  Where the hell do you imagine this relationship of ours is leading, Severus?  I have no intention of going anywhere without you.  I.  Fucking.  Love.  You, you, idiot!”

Severus shifts from foot to foot, feeling wronged and uncomfortable as Harry glowers:
“I know that you feel very strongly about me.  You've mentioned it plenty of times already, Harry.  But love doesn't usually last long around me, so it'd be pointless to agree to a commitment as formal as marriage.  I don't like the idea of going around breaking vows I've made with the intention of keeping.  That's why I'd prefer to avoid making them altogether, if it's all the same to you.”

Harry looks at him so intently that Severus has to make a conscious effort not to fidget.  The Seeker looks half-way between absolutely livid with him and positively heartbroken.  His eyes shine like bright green jewels as he carelessly drops his precious broom to the floor and moves inexorably forwards, walking around the till counter to grab Severus' visibly trembling hands. Enfolding them in a grip that feels both reassuringly warm and devastatingly gentle.  Careful, but oh-so-very-determined.  Earnest beyond endurance.
“I've loved you for years, my prince.  I've loved you even though I was convinced you were straight.  I've loved you so much and for so long that I can no longer remember how it feels not to do so.  Don't you ever dare to compare me to my mother, Severus, because she never loved you like I do.  She cared for you like a friend cares for another and not a very good friend at that. 

"I, on the other hand, am as committed to you as anyone can possibly be.  I will not belong to another man or woman, regardless of whether you end up marrying me or not.  I can't.  I'm already yours.  Even if you decide to misinterpret everything else, you must try to understand this: I'm not telling you that I love you to get into your pants.  I don't want only sex and companionship.  I'm not aiming for the safety of good times and good times only.”

“Harry...”

“Listen to me, sweetheart: I want the whole shebang.  I want a house with a lab for you and a mini-field were I can practice flying.  I want to look after you whenever you get sick.  I want to see you smile every time you floo Draco and hear you rant against the latest nonsense from the ministry or the increasingly lowering standards of the words they use in the Prophet's Sunday crossword.  I want to be beside you the next time you visit Dumbledore's grave.  I want to be the man you turn to whenever you need someone to lean on.  I'm not courting you for shits and giggles, Severus.  I'm courting you for real.”

Severus' blood rushes through his veins like an overflowing river, making him feel dizzy with the awareness that Harry is grabbing onto his hand as if the world itself is about to end. His throat becomes as dry as thousand year old parchment when he suddenly realizes that he positively craves the comforting reassurance of the seekers' overly warm touch.

Ever since he had that wet dream about the Gryffindor he's been struggling with his growing awareness of the man as an attractive member of his own sex.  One he finds not only physically pleasing but also happens to desire with a passion that alarms him.  He has never found himself in the awful situation of being so utterly fascinated by anyone outside the alcohol-blurred confines of The Unfettered Queer before and, just as he's begun to come to terms with the idea that he needs to find a way to overcome his bone-deep insecurities and learn to interact with Harry at a less platonic level, the annoying creature goes ahead and drops this new and thoroughly unexpected bomb on him. 

Marriage... Potter doesn't want any old intimate relationship. No. The savior wants marriage and Severus finds the notion so very bizarre that he can't help but wonder if he's dreaming once again.  If his treacherous mind is conjuring up this scene just like it conjured the last one.  If this is his heart's way of trying to make him understand that he's already treading in far more deeper waters than he realizes. “But this is not a real courtship.”  He hears himself whisper that ridiculous assertion as if through a thick fog and his gut sinks all the way down to his toes as he continues speaking, despite his horrified mind's attempts to tell him to shut up before he digs his grave any deeper. “Our so-called courtship is nothing beyond a mere recognition of our mutual commitment to become better acquainted with one another, isn't it, Harry?”

Callused fingertips settle ever so gently around his own, entangling their hands palm to palm even as that gorgeous green gaze blinks at him with puzzled incomprehension.
“What do you mean, my prince?”

Severus' heart pounds as he takes a deep breath.  His dark gaze lowers ever so slightly, fixing with blind desperation over their intertwined hands and there is something so utterly right about that sight that he can't help uttering the words his head is trying its very best to keep him from pronouncing, even though he doesn't know exactly what he wants them to mean or feels anywhere near ready to cope with the possible repercussions of letting them escape his mouth.
“Real courtship is a formal process, Harry.  It requires a public declaration of intent and the equally official acceptance of your suit before you're even allowed to start wooing your chosen.  You witnessed Draco's pursuit of Ginevra first hand, so you're probably aware of the fact that there is more to courtship than just dating.  There must be a social acknowledgment of your intentions, an exchange of meaningful gifts and the necessary acceptance of your future partner by your family and close friends.  True courtship requires a hell of a lot of things we haven't done.  It requires many things we won't even be able to pull off.”

Harry blinks, as if dazed, and the most brilliant smile Severus has ever seen literally explodes over his lovely features.
“Are you saying you'd be willing to enter a formal courtship with me right now?”

Severus swallows past the huge lump trying to choke him, already mourning the beautiful brightness of Harry's sunny smile as he attempts to clarify his point further.
“I'm telling you that doing such a thing would be impossible for us, Harry.  I can't imagine the sweet Weasleys officially welcoming a confirmed murderer like me into their family circle, and your every dead ancestor will start rolling in their graves at the mere notion of a match between you and me.  You are the last heir of the ancient and most noble houses of Black and Potter.  You can't possibly indulge in this sort of...”

“Molly will be positively overjoyed to be finally given the chance to stuff you full of food, so don't even go there, Severus.  And all that crap about my being the last acknowledged heir of a pair of old pureblood lines has been discussed to death by everyone and their nephew since it became public knowledge that I'm the kind of homosexual who isn't willing to marry a woman for the purpose of begetting a couple of heirs, so I might as well marry you, since I love you and all that.”

Severus' slender frame starts trembling from the top of his dark head to the tips of his big toes.  He's too flustered by half to even begin to unravel the tangled mess of wild terror, relieved hope and disconcerted elation that he's feeling at this second.  Nobody has ever given him reason to imagine that he'd find himself one day in the position of having to consider an actual proposal of marriage and, although the idea frightens him by the very implausibility of it working out as if should, the truth is that it also promises him the kind of future he gave up on having long ago.  The very same kind of future that he'd often dreamed about when he was as a child.  Harry has just promised him the kind of life that is the exact opposite of his current existence and he doesn't want to lose this opportunity, but he's nowhere near ready to embrace it wholeheartedly yet.

“I wasn't implying that I would—this is way too fast for me, Harry.”

The Gryffindor's smile doesn't dwindle in the slightest, it just softens into something utterly loving.  Something full of so much patient understanding that Severus feels both adored and exposed right down to the marrow.
“That's alright, my prince.  You don't have to panic about any of that right now.  I'm quite aware that It's too soon to start spouting corny poetry in your ear, so you'll have to wait with batted breath for the pleasure of hearing the sweet sonnets I've composed in your honor.”

“Please tell me that you didn't!” Severus gasps, looking so positively horrified that Harry can't contain the gleeful peal of laughter that escapes his lips.

“Oh, come on. There's no need to look so appalled.  I'm sure I can come up with enough words that rhyme with black to do you justice.”

Severus attempts to snort scornfully, but the slightly hysterical giggle that has been climbing up the back of his throat since the brat first mentioned poetry ends up erupting out of him as soon as Harry starts wriggling his eyebrows.

“My prince's hair is black like the fur of a yak, and every time I pat his hand I forget how to talk.”

“Stop it.  Please, stop it.  I beg of you, Harry.” Severus pleads, laughing openly now at the ridiculous rhyme and all but feels his heart jump right into his throat when the lion before him suddenly leans forwards, raises himself on tiptoes and kisses the laughter right off his lips with the very same tenderness he used in Severus' wet dream.  With the same playful adoration, the same obvious passion and the same need to give -and take- pleasure, love, honest affection. 

Never before has he had a single dream of his handed down to him on a silver platter.  Not once in his forty five years of age, and yet here is the most improbable of them all beginning to take breathtaking shape before his very eyes: Love...  Someone has learned to love him not with flimsy words or in a purely platonic way, but with the entirety of their heart. 

Someone is daring to desire him in every way a man can be desired.  Someone is willing to behave like a clown, just to make him laugh.  Someone is aching to kiss his smiles right off his mouth and that someone is standing right here, in the middle of his otherwise deserted shop, for no other reason than the fact that he's standing here too. He's finally more than just himself. He's part of a couple.  He's—dare he say it?  Yes: he's Harry's boyfriend, and although he's conscious of the fact that the very notion should frighten him more than it does, that it should sound totally ridiculous to his own ears, the truth is that it doesn't.  On the contrary: it sounds safe and sane and... right.

 

TBC.

 ( Chapter 14. )

( Chapter 16 )