Courting Disaster. Chapter 17.

[pekeleke]

Title: Courting Disaster. 17.

Rating: NC-17.

Author: pekeleke

Word Count: 4316

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 has never been at the center of a public scandal before and he can't say he's enjoying it in the slightest.  He's used to being silently despised for his role in the war and his harsh temperament as a professor, but the merciless scorn he's so familiar with has as little in common with the vicious loathing that his romantic relationship with Harry Potter seems to have unleashed against his person as a miffed glare has to the Cruciatus Curse.

He's no longer an invisible shadow.  He has become something else entirely almost overnight, transforming against his will from openly despised pariah into the despicable insect everyone wants to analyze under a Magnifying Spell with the intention of first identifying and then gleefully ridiculing each and every one of its appalling little flaws.

Nowadays he can't go anywhere without being most rudely stared at.  He's finding himself on the receiving end of more obnoxious post than he can possibly deal with, and is currently tapping into his admittedly meager reserves of patience in order to avoid hexing every single insufferable old matron who dares to shake an outraged fingertip at him while informing him that one of these days he'll get his comeuppance for the atrocious acts he's supposedly committing against all common decency.

His humble shop has ceased to be the former oasis of peacefulness where he could tinker safely with his potions at any time of day or night.  He is now absolutely unable to concentrate on work during the day, due to the fact that there is always some intrusive bastard or other coming inside the premises to ask him inane questions under the guise of having 'mistaken' his place of business for an actual Apothecary.

It's not helping at all that because there are so many people congregating just outside his front doors for no reason whatsoever Ronald Weasley has been forced to deploy an Auror guard to the shop, which is being interpreted by most people as a cowardly act on his part.

Severus can no longer walk through Diagon Alley without having to go through a literal wall of staring, scowling humanity.  He can no longer go anywhere near his own blasted window without having a hundred camera flashes going off in his startled face.  He can't sit at his regular outdoor table in his favorite cafe without having the experience turn into the most excruciating exercise in awkwardness that he's ever experienced.  All in all his life is beginning to spiral out of his control so fast that he barely recognizes it anymore and the stress of it all is slowly, but certainly, messing with his head.

Taking a deep breath he forces himself to push those unpleasant thoughts to the back of his mind and look down towards the small row of separate chopping boards that are filled to the brim with the still unused ingredients that he's been preparing all morning with almost obsessive attention to detail.

Despite the fact that he's been 'cautioned' against remaining inside the premises after dark, following a series of unfortunate confrontations between himself and a couple of young hooligans who'd mistakenly assumed that all they had to do was wait for the aurors outside the door to head home in order to have 'a proper go' at him, the truth is that he can't concentrate properly on work during usual business hours.  There is just too much disruption going on both inside and around the shop for him to feel comfortable with the idea of 'letting go' of his surroundings for long enough to concentrate on his precious potions.

He desperately needs the respite that brewing usually brings him, but the aurors' concerned warnings have been weighing in his mind, curtailing his desire to stay behind after closing hours and work out his frustrations through cauldron after cauldron of gently simmering concoctions to the point that his inability to brew has started to distress him so much that he feels alien in his own skin.  He feels jittery, irritated and so utterly lost that he's starting to fear what will happen when his formidable control finally snaps.  Because it will definitely snap if things keep going the way they are for much longer.  He is absolutely certain of that much.

His potions are more than his livelihood.  They are not just the all-consuming passion that he's been wholeheartedly embracing since he was eleven years old.  They are his coping mechanism.  His safe haven.  The one thing that no one else has ever been able to take away from him, no matter how hard they've tried it.  His ability to brew is as necessary to him as breathing or sleeping.  It defines him.  It grounds him to reality and soothes him when he's tired or afraid or maddened with anger.  It's as vital to his sanity as eating is to other people and he's beginning to feel as if his mind is slowly unraveling with every passing second that he fails to lose himself in the delicate rhythm of his beloved art.

“Severus?  Are you all right?  You look troubled.”  Harry's worried voice reaches him as if through a thick veil of fog and he lifts dull dark eyes to frown at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I tried calling your Floo, but you didn't answer, so I thought I'll swing by and make sure you were OK.  The aurors left an hour ago and I was worried.”

Severus' fingertips twitch against the side of the closest chopping board and he presses them hard on the table, trying to hide the small, unconscious tell that betrays his rising anxiety.
“I'm perfectly well, as you can see.”

Harry stares at him intently, frowning with obvious puzzlement as his eyes take in the precise rows of untouched ingredients and the unlit queue of perfectly balanced cauldrons lined up along the worktop before him.
“What's wrong?  You're all set to start brewing, but there's nothing on the fire.  Haven't you been working all day long?  Ron is always telling me how much his aurors love you.  Apparently you're the best man they've protected in years because you hardly ever leave the lab.”

Severus' throat dries uncomfortably as Harry's thoughtful eyes rake the clearly unused worktop to his right before zeroing on the small mountain of empty bottles awaiting to be re-filled with their corresponding potions that litter the high table in the corner.   A fleeting look of disconcerted curiosity flashes across the seeker's visage before the heavy mask of dawning realization finally falls over Harry's lovely features.
“You are not working.  You're—You can't work, can you?”

“Harry...”

“OMG!  All those bastards keep coming to your door.  They stand right outside and shout abuse at you all day long because they've got nothing better to do, and you—you can't ignore them, can you?  You are so used to reacting to danger on the spot that you just can't let go.  You don't trust the aurors enough to put your safety in their hands and I... I've been a blind idiot all along.  I thought you'll see them as a nuisance, but they are far worse than that.  They're destroying the peacefulness of your safe harbor and you don't feel safe enough to brew.”

The uncanny accuracy of Harry's assessment of the situation is making the hair on the back of Severus' neck stand on end and he shivers in unconscious reaction to his increasing discomfort.  He is not used to feeling this exposed, to having his every thought and emotion so very easily understood by anyone.  He's been alone for far too long, has been burying his every vulnerability among shadows for so many decades now that the very realization that he can't hide them from Harry hits him like a hard punch to the stomach and he clams up instinctively.
“I don't want to talk about this.”  He grits out, looking down towards the worktop to stare blindly at his row of precious ingredients and trying to figure out how many of them will lose their optimum potency after being put under a preservation spell now that they've finally been properly prepared.

“Well, you'll have to.  I'm sorry for pushing you like this, sweetheart, but I can't let you brush something this huge under the carpet.  This is your livelihood we're talking about, Severus.  How long has it been since you stopped brewing at your usual breakneck speed?”

Severus shifts from foot to foot, feeling utterly uncomfortable.  His long fingers twitch against the table once again and he brings his arms upwards with exasperation, crossing them defensively across his scrawny chest before directing his darkest glare at Harry.
“There is no need to get melodramatic about this.  Our relationship won't remain front-page news forever and all the morons who keep coming to chant nonsense at my door will eventually get bored of their little games and leave.  It's just a matter of time, Harry.  I can put up with your fans' ridiculous antics until something else catches their interest, I assure you.”

Harry's frown grows deeper instead of vanishing into thin air and those beautiful green eyes darken with a thousand unhappy thoughts that Severus can't decipher, but deeply regrets having caused. 
“Don't lie to me, please.  You're forgetting that I've seen you brew before, Severus.  I've heard you talk with Draco about your research for years.  I've seen the expression you get on your face when the two of you start talking shop and it shows nothing short of passion.  You feel about potions the same way I feel about flying and I know for sure that I'd be climbing up the wall by now if I hadn't been allowed to get onto my broom for days on end.”

“I am not you, Harry.”

The Gryffindor looks at him pleadingly, shifting anxiously from left to right before taking a deep breath and crossing the small distance that separates them until he's hunched slightly forwards on the other side of the lab's waist-high worktop.  Clearly trembling fingertips brush over the crushed remains of a Doxy's wing as their owner looks down into the shallow glass bowl that contains them with obvious dejection.
“Look at all this work.  Everything is going to waste before your very eyes, isn't it?  Doxy wings decay in a matter of days and aren't these Blueclawed Lizard's scales supposed to be used fresh?  How much money have you been losing on ingredients alone, Severus?  How many orders have you fallen behind with already?  Don't brush me off again, please.  I don't think I could take it.”

“Harry, I...”  Severus tries to speak but his usually sharp mind feels inexplicably sluggish.  He's been coming up with one excuse after another to get people off his case for decades now, yet Harry's pleading gaze tangles his tongue into knots, forcing him to swallow the small white lie that his heart is set on uttering.

“Don't.  Please, just—Don't. Trying to deny what's so obvious to see won't stop me from feeling guilty about putting you through this.”

“None of it is your fault.  There is nothing you can do to make it stop, either.”

“Of course it is my fault.  Nobody was bothering you here despite how harshly the general public tends to judge your actions during the war.  You may have been unfairly disliked across the board, but there were no furious mobs screaming abuse outside your shop every day of the week before our news came out.”

“I'm sure it will stop soon.”  The Slytherin whispers firmly, doing his very best to ignore the growing tightness inside his chest that keeps trying to force him to admit to the terror that has already begun to claw right through his composure.  'Trust him.  Just trust him.  This man is in love with you.  You know he's not going to let you down, Severus.  He's not going to think you weak just because you feel the need to rest your head on his shoulder and just... let yourself be.'

He can't tell exactly how Harry manages to see past the blankness of his usually effective mask, but the truth is that he does and so it is that, instead of listening to the words Severus has forced himself to say, the Gryffindor looks right at him, shakes his messy dark hair from side to side and lets out a slightly resigned chuckle before whispering with utter gentleness:
“Come here, you, stubborn bastard.  I'm going to ignore your reluctance to admit that you desperately need a hug right now and give you one anyway.”

Severus jerks slightly backwards, shocked to the core by the unpleasant surprise of finding himself so easily understood by this small slip of a man who should, by rights, have never been able to guess how unsettled he feels every time he's confronted with the public's outraged reaction to the news of their relationship.
“I'm no fragile little flower on the verge of a mental breakdown, I assure you.”  Severus grits out, straightening to the full intimidating length of his considerable height and becoming stiff from head to foot in the blink of an eye.

Harry doesn't even have the decency to falter in the face of Severus' unequivocal rejection of the comfort he's moving to deliver and simply breaches the small distance that the Slytherin's own insecurities have forced him to create between them with three self assured steps, palming the potioneer's rigid shoulders with delicately curling fingertips that dig into the meager muscle protecting the joint to shake him ever so slightly in a bid to emphasize the words he utters next:
“Stop that this instant, my Prince.  You're exhausted, overwhelmed and have been entirely too successful in hiding how bad things have been getting around here for my liking. You need to get it into that thick skull of yours that you're not alone anymore, Severus.  You have me now and I am right here.  I'm ready to catch you, OK?  I won't do it because I think you are unable to get past this without me, or because I consider you weaker than me in any way.  I'll do it because I can.  I've always wanted to be the shoulder you lean on and, now that you've given me permission to embrace the role of your partner, I can't see any reason to refrain myself from doing just that.  I need to hug you just as much as you need to be hugged, I swear.  So just let it happen, sweetheart, please.”

In the end that softly voiced 'please' proves to be the one weapon Severus can't withstand.  His knees grow weak as soon as he hears it and his breath hitches in a small gasp that sounds as loud as a bludger crash in the otherwise silent room.  The tips of Harry's ratty trainers brush against the blunt edges of his own perfectly polished boots only a second before the lion's determined hands decide to migrate towards the small of his back, settling gently just above his tailbone and pushing his hips slowly forwards until they brush against his companion's.

The idea of resisting for the sake of resisting crosses Severus' mind for an instant, but he dismisses it as soon as his own scrawny torso makes contact with the reassuring strength of Harry's own.  He needs this one hug more than he's ever needed any other and his partner is offering it to him willingly.  Harry is giving this comfort to him freely and with no strings attached.  He'd have to be a lot more cowardly than he is to keep holding onto a false pride that would end up depriving him of the sweet warmth his earnest lion is trying to gift him.

Resistance is futile and he knows it, so he might as well give up and simply allow himself to rest within the caring arms that surround him.  It is exactly what he wants to do anyway and there is nobody here but them.  There is no one to put on a formal front for.  No one to try to impress.  No one to judge his willingness to accept the generously offered solace that he so thoroughly craves and so he allows his painfully rigid spine to unbend one tense knot at a time, curling forwards in a painfully slow motion that reminds him for some reason of an ancient fortress crumbling hopelessly towards the ground after having successfully fought against gravity's relentless force for eons.

“That's it, sweetheart, that's it.”  Harry whispers softly in his ear, using a steady hand to rub soothingly all along the protruding ridges of his bony back in a motion obviously designed to keep him calm and help plaster his slightly shaking body even more closely against that Quidditch-toned chest.

“Harry...”

“Shush, my prince.  Take it.  Just... take it, OK?  You have no reason to feel hesitant or ashamed.  I love you and I'm right here.  There is nothing wrong with accepting comfort when you so clearly need it, Severus.”

“But I don't...”

“Yes, you do.  You need me right now.  You need me to hold you just like this for a few minutes and then help you light the fire under each and every one of these empty cauldrons of yours.  You need me to sit in that high-backed chair that you've placed by the window and stay out of your way even as I remain here to make sure you feel safe enough to lose yourself in your brewing.  Nothing and no one is going to disturb you.  Nobody will be allowed to harm you while you work, my love.  No witch or wizard is going to be given the chance to keep you from practicing the art that you've grown so devoted to.  That much I can definitely promise you.”

Severus draws slightly away upon hearing those solemn words and stares right into his companion's green eyes with uncomprehending wonder.
“But you don't even like potions, Harry.  Wouldn't you prefer it if I called off my brewing for the rest of the evening, so that we can do something you'd enjoy more?”

“I'm not the one who's been steadily deprived of his coping mechanism over the last few weeks, Severus.  It's obvious that you're stressed and I hate seeing you like this.  I'm not here to be entertained, my love, I'm here to be whatever you need me to be at any given moment.  You need to lose yourself in your brewing and I'll be happy to look over you while you do that.  Relationships are not only about good times and fun.  They are also about compromise and sacrifice and the honest wish to support one another, no matter how much or how little it costs.

“I won't love you only when the rest of the world smiles down on us, my Prince.  I will love you while everyone else disparages you, too.  I will love you when you soar among the clouds and also when you hit rock bottom because loving you any other way is simply unacceptable.  So don't worry so much about whether I'll enjoy the next few hours or not and take what I'm so willing to give you, sweetheart.  I'm prepared to stand guard over you while you brew to your heart's content and rant under your breath about stuff I have no hope of ever understanding.  I will do it because this is what you need the most right now and that is reason enough for me to stay put, and enjoy the pleasure of being given the chance to see you finally relax.”

Severus doesn't know what to say and isn't altogether certain that he could utter a single word right this second, even if he knew precisely how to convey the myriad of emotions that crowd his reeling mind.  He closes his dark eyes briefly and attempts to swallow the thick knot that is steadily growing in the back of his suddenly parched throat before daring to exhale Harry's given name in a soft sigh that literally vibrates with the sheer strength of his hopelessly tangled emotions.  He is trying his very best to preserve his precious dignity, but he is currently so unequal to the task that he is failing abysmally to keep his usual mask in place.

He stands there trembling like a leaf with his eyes firmly closed and his heart pounding so fiercely against the walls of his narrow rib-cage that he feels dizzy with anxiety-induced nausea.  Harry is systematically attacking his every defensive barrier with such decisive accuracy that he's finding himself thoroughly defeated before he's lifted a single finger to protect himself from danger.  The bold lion isn't happy with offering and receiving verbal tokens of affection.  No.  He's adding unmistakable actions into the mix and that is something that so very few people have ever done when it comes to him that Severus finds himself both unable and unwilling to keep on trying to resist the sweet temptation before him.

Harry is carrying through with his every promise, never waiting for tomorrow to deliver them or implying that they'll be realized at some point in a future that will never come to pass.  No.  The Gryffindor is putting his heart on the line right now, in this very second, just like he's been doing since the morning he'd woken up, hungover and as bare as the day he was born, tangled in Harry's bed sheets.  The man has constantly refused to offer him vague reassurances or pretty little promises from the very beginning, trying hard to fulfill his every voiced vow on the spot, and that is such a novel experience for Severus that his often betrayed heart doesn't know what to do with it.  Doesn't know how to cope with it.  Doesn't know how it will survive if he manages to mess up this glorious thing they're building together and ends up alone once again.

“Harry, I—thank you.”  He finally whispers, opening clearly terrified dark eyes to stare directly into a deep sea of bright emerald devotion that turns softer, brighter and even more loving, if that is humanly possible, the longer it looks back at him.

“Never thank me for loving you, my Prince.  I don't do it for a purpose, Severus.  I do it because I can't help myself.  I do it because I need to do it, because I can't remember what my heart felt like before it was stuffed full of you.  I do it because you are everything to me and that, right there, makes my need to be here with you nothing but selfish greed, my love.”

Severus' thin lips twitch upwards very slightly as he tries his best to fight against the natural shyness that has always hindered his attempts to get past the slightly superficial closeness that characterizes most of his personal relationships.
“I'm sure you, Gryffindors, will balk at the very idea, but the truth is that love is nothing but selfish greed, Harry.  Greed directed towards another and carried out mostly on that person's behalf, I'll give you that much, but it is still greed nevertheless.”

Harry laughs openly then, eyes sparkling with a joy that's both breathtakingly simple and impossibly complicated at the very same time.
“Then I love you more than anyone has ever loved you, Severus Snape, because I'm definitely greedy when it comes to you. I'm positively avaricious and possessive and plain bonkers.  It's so bad that I'm willing to breathe potion fumes all afternoon long just for you, gorgeous.”

Severus blushes to the tips of his ears and then shakes his dark head from left to right.
“If that's your best attempt to get something out of me for your 'noble sacrifice' I must tell you that your technique leaves a lot to be desired.”

A bright and cheeky smile takes over Harry's lively features and he pushes himself up on his tiptoes to breathe teasingly against Severus' thin lips.
“I'm willing to learn if you have the patience to teach me, sweetheart.”

Something breaks inside Severus at that second.  Something dark, slightly vicious and wounded beyond belief.  Something that has been trying so very hard to keep his every reaction to this man's sweet avowals of love in check for so long that he literally feels lighter when he finally lets go of it and just bends his long neck forwards to plant a small but heartfelt kiss upon the Gryffindor's smiling lips.  The contact is brief, but almost painfully passionate and when it finally breaks they stare at one another with equally startled expressions of shocked surprise.

“That felt awfully close to greed, Severus.”  Harry whispers into the silence with a tone of voice that is so very full of crystal clear hope that the potioneer can't hold back the need to draw that short body closer and hug his lion tightly against his pounding heart with the kind of newborn confidence that brings tears of sheer relief to those beautiful green eyes.

“It felt so much like greed because it was greed, Harry.  I've never felt so selfish in my life.  I've never felt so free.  I've never been so in tune with another human being.  Never felt so safe to be myself and let everything else hang.  I've never felt less inclined to pick up my tattered mask and hide behind it once again.  You've managed to break through most of my barriers and I—I want this, Harry.  I want you fiercely enough to risk everything I am on it, on us.  I feel safe and cared for and... happy.  I feel whole for the very first time in my life and it is all because of you, Harry Potter.”

TBC...

( Chapter 16 )

( Chapter 18 )