Courting Disaster. Chapter 19.

[pekeleke]

Title: Courting Disaster. 19.

Rating : NC-17.

Author: pekeleke

Word Count: 7406

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.

  

Harry wakes to the urgent pinging of his floo connection and blinks dazedly up at the white ceiling, smiling goofily at the remnants of the pleasant dream he'd been enjoying before being so rudely interrupted by whoever has decided to ruin his peaceful Saturday morning at such ungodly hour.

The Floo pings once more out in his living room and this time the sound is loud enough to bring a frown to his sleep-slackened features.  His right hand shots out towards the bedside table, searching blindly for his glasses even as he throws his legs out to the side, bringing himself to a wobbly seating position while groaning in sleepy misery under his breath.

The third obnoxious ping propels him away from the mattress with a vague sense of unformed worry settling in the pit of his stomach, as his fuzzy mind finally makes the connection between the obnoxiously early hour and the fact that nobody in their right mind, least of all any of the very limited number of people who have his private floo address, would be calling him at this time unless there's some sort of emergency.

His frown deepens as he kneels in front of the fireplace and comes face to face with a grim faced Ron who doesn't waste even a second in explaining what the hell is going on before asking him point blank:
“Is Severus there with you, Harry?”

The mild worry that has been gnawing lazily at his gut turns into instant, heart-pounding dread in the next second and he moves instinctively forwards, coming so very close to the green-tinged flames that he can feel their heat trying to singe the very tips of his hopelessly messy fringe.
“Of course he's not here, Ron.  Why are you even asking me such a thing?  You know better than anyone that Severus spends every Saturday morning at the Apothecary.”

His best friend's clear blue eyes become so shadowed and dejected upon hearing his response that Harry's anxiousness climbs higher even before he notices the way Ron's Adam's apple moves a bit too forcefully as he takes the gulping swallow that precedes his now desperately needed explanation:
“That's the thing, mate.  He's not there.  I've just got a call from the auror detail that's on duty at the shop today and they tell me the place is still on lock down.  They've tried knocking on the door, but nobody's answered so far and they're concerned because it's not like Snape to take the morning off without letting someone know.”

“I can't understand why they're causing all this ruckus.  Severus and I often go out on Saturday mornings and they've never called you before when he showed up late.  It's not as if the lab is a proper customer-based apothecary, Ron.  Severus can make up for however long he takes off at some other point in the day without having that impact on his business in any way whatsoever.”

Ron fidgets from side to side and looks right past Harry's shoulder, avoiding eye contact with a slightly annoyed flush that instantly puts the other man on edge.
“I'm worried about the git, OK?  My aurors called me with their report because it's routine to pass the information along whenever something unusual happens on an open case.  Severus' absences have always been reported to me, Harry.”

“But they've never bothered you before so what's going on this time, Ron?  What aren't you telling me?”

Solemn blue eyes pin him to the spot with a stare that's so full of pity that Harry's heart skips a beat even before he hears the last words he wants anyone to tell him this early in the morning and definitely never in relation to his wary beloved:
“You've got a problem, Harry.  A really huge one.  And I'm afraid that it may prove to be the straw that broke the camel's back when it comes to your relationship with Severus.  Skeeter's latest article came out this morning and it's bad, mate.  It's more than just bad.  It's actually so horrible that it'd have broken my bloody heart if I was in your git's shoes, so I'm freaking out right now on your behalf."

"I'm sorry, but you're not making any sense, Ron. "

“Pay attention, Harry!  I've been trying my very best to find that bloody bastard for the best part of an hour and the fact that I haven't managed to get hold of him is getting on my nerves.  He's not there with you and Ginny says he's not at Malfoy's.  He's not in his shop and the address we've got for his house guides us to a patch of wind-blown weeds in the middle of bloody North Ronaldsay, and no, that is not a joke, either.  There's a Merlin forsaken island called exactly that up in the Orkneys, so don't give me grief over how well the ridiculous name suits me, OK?  The thing is that his place is under Fidelius, so I can't even find it without Draco's help and he's refusing to let me in on the grounds that he can sense that Snape is not there.”

The longer Ron's explanation gets the more anxious Harry becomes, as every word shakes off just a little more sleep from his still reeling mind to paint a dishearteningly dark picture of growing panic and looming disaster.
“How can her article be that bad?  She was at the restaurant last night.  I saw her, Ron, and she saw us too.  There's absolutely no way that she could have turned what happened into something horrible enough to force Severus into hiding.  That's just not his style, and he's put up with her bullshit so far without batting a single eyelash.”

His childhood friend takes so long to answer him that each and every one of the small hairs at the back of Harry's neck begins to stand on end.
“She changed tactics and decided to hit the man below the belt, Harry.  Her article is titled 'Why Our Savior Is Courting Disaster' and it's basically a comparison between Severus Snape and every single other lover you've ever been associated with.  There are pictures, mate, and I don't mean one or two.  No.  There are hundreds of them in some sort of album-like expose and she picked professional shots of every single guy, except your git.  They all look like gorgeous, dark-haired Lockhart wannabees while Severus' picture shows him ashen faced and skeletal-thin, snarling at the aurors on the day of his trial.”

Harry's heart crumbles to dust inside his suddenly constricted chest and his green eyes start burning with the unbearable fire of unshed tears as the extent the damage that bitch may have caused to their budding relationship slams into his solar plexus with the strength of a boxer's punch.
“No.  Oh, no.  Please tell me you're joking, Ron.”

“It gets even worse, Harry.  She's put a lot of care into picking both the moments she used in her comparisons and the photos that accompany them to portray you as a man who values physical beauty and a warm, touchy-feely personality in all his lovers.  There's an entire spread of shots where your past flames are holding your hand, touching your cheek or simply dancing so close to you that they could very well have been human-shaped extensions of your body, yet she's picked the ones where you and Severus are shown walking side by side through Diagon Alley without so much as brushing each others' sleeves.

“She ends up implying that you're courting disaster on two fronts, first because it's obvious to anyone who knows you that Severus is a far cry from the men you usually go for and second because he's an ugly, old and unpopular walking disaster himself.  One who's never managed to develop and maintain a single romantic relationship with anyone and, therefore, will never be able to keep your interest in the long run, even if he tries.  Then she despairs about the fact that a despicable pariah's need for affection is already dragging your reputation through the mud by association while the man responsible for it clings like a pathetic fool to a relationship that's obviously doomed to failure, forcing the entire world to look on, unable to do anything to stop either of you and save you from the inevitable crash that will eventually destroy you.”

“I'm going to kill that bug!”  Harry swears, feeling so enraged by now that his magic lashes out wildly, making the window panes rattle ominously inside their wooden frames.

“Hey, you've got to calm down, mate.  We'll get her for this.  I'll even help you, I swear.  There is already a public uproar about her article coming from some of the people who were actually at the restaurant last night.  Everybody there saw the same thing I saw, Harry.  And what I saw wasn't a disaster at all.  What I saw was love being both given and returned.  Severus' actions last night earned him the approval of everyone present, so you guys have some support for the very first time since your news hit the press.  That's why she did this, can't you see?  Skeeter was there, too.  She realized that her hate-filled campaign against your relationship was pretty much doomed and decided to sabotage it by trampling Severus' already weakened self-confidence into the ground.”

“She's not getting away with it, Ron. There's no way I'm letting that bitch tear us apart.”

“That's the spirit, mate.  Now all we have to do is figure out where a crushed Severus Snape would have gone to lick his wounds in peace and make sure he understands that you couldn't care any less about the length of his nose or how awful he looks when he snarls at the people who annoy him.  The man can make you shine like a twinkling star with a single touch, Harry.  I saw him do it with my own eyes, for Merlin's sake.  None of the gorgeous Adonis' you've dated in the past managed to make you glow in any shape or form, so that's the argument that they were better than him dead in the water, right there.  I'd be willing to say that to his pasty face if the git doesn't believe you, mate.”

Harry's painfully dry throat closes with sheer emotion upon hearing Ron's determined offer of help.  His friends have always been willing to accept his affection towards Severus, but this sort of impassioned support is something new.  Something that doesn't resemble their former genuine but slightly hesitant desire to assist.  This is his best mate, his almost brother, being finally 100% convinced about the rightness of Harry's love for their former professor, and that change means everything to Harry.  Because if Ron can accept them this wholeheartedly so easily after seeing them together only once, then the rest of their world will certainly follow when given the same chance.

“I think I know where he is.  He'd have never gone to Draco over this, Ron.  He sees his godson like a father sees a son, he'd have never wanted to appear weak in front of him.  No.  He's gone back to his first properly paternal role model.  Back to the one man who stood by him through thick and thin and treated him consistently like the son he never had.  I'm pretty sure that he's gone to Hogwarts.  He's gone to Dumbledore's grave.”

On the other side of the fire Ron smacks his forehead with the flat of his palm and rolls his blue eyes in obvious self-disgust.
“I can't believe I didn't think of that on my own!  I'll send a Patronus to the headmistress, asking her to confirm if he's there, then.”

“No.  Let me deal with this by myself, Ron.  You're not officially searching for him, are you?  You've been doing this for me and, now that I know what's been going on, I can take over and fix it.”

“I'm doing it for him too, mate.  I must confess that I've never agreed wholeheartedly with your decision to court such harsh, hermit-like man, but last night's dinner changed everything for me.  I've finally caught a glimpse of the loving creature you've been raving about for so long and it was like a revelation, Harry.  I can't honestly understand why I never saw it before.  Bloody hell... that man is perfect for you.  He really is.  And you are perfect for him, too.  I don't want anyone to convince him otherwise, just as I finally realized the goddamned truth.  That would be worse than a shame, mate.  It'd be a fucking disaster and OMG, tell the bastard that I'm going to kill him now in the most painful way I can imagine because he's just made me paraphrase Rita-Bloody-Skeeter.”

Harry laughs at his friend's horrified face before disconnecting the call.  He gets dressed to go with two sharp flicks of his wand before taking a deep breath and Accioing his copy of the Prophet, dropping down on the couch to read the foul expose word for word.  Although he'd known exactly what to expect, nothing could have prepared him for the impact of seeing Severus so harshly compared to the rest of his former lovers in such an obviously biased article.  Sheer dread settles in his gut, dries the back of his throat to dessert-like levels of parchedness and numbs every though in his head until he becomes nothing short of a sluggish mound of terrified resignation and frustrated outrage.

Apparating to Hogsmeade is done almost instinctively and the climb up to Dumbledore's grave does absolutely nothing to help him marshal his thoughts together into some sort of sensible argument. So by the time he's cleared the slight curve in the path that hides his destination from both the main road and Hogwarts itself he's become a shaking mass of limbs that's running on nothing but stress, sheer terror and stubborn determination.

Emerald green eyes settle over the dark haired object of his affections and he sighs softly.  Allowing his breath to hitch with the overwhelming relief of knowing that he's able to predict his beloved's behavior with relative accuracy.
“Ron asked me to tell you that he's going to kill you very slowly for the fright you just gave him.  His aurors called him when you didn't show up at the shop and he's been looking for you ever since.”

Severus jumps in shock and turns his head slightly around, looking towards him over a bony shoulder.  Inky black eyes clash with shadowed green and the Earth simply stops turning while they stare at each other, trying to read their counterpart's thoughts in the thickening silence.

“He saw the article, then.”  Is all that Severus offers and the fact that he doesn't seem inclined to ask if Harry's seen it too, or how he's reacted to it, makes the seeker's already churning stomach plummet all the way down to the ground.

“I saw it too.  And I'm going to do what I've promised myself I'd never do when it comes to that annoying bug.  I'm going to break a deal I made with her a long time ago and make sure she can't use her little secret to ruin any more lives the way she's trying to ruin mine.  It's time for Rita Skeeter to find out exactly how it feels to have someone callously expose your precious secrets to everyone's derision.”

Severus doesn't react to his words in any visible way.  He just sits there, gazing distractedly towards the rooftops of Hogwarts, seemingly intent in counting every fucking gray colored roof tile he can see over the copse of trees that separates the white grave he's sitting on from the school he'd once directed.

“Don't let her do this to us, Severus.  It was just an article.  An ugly, petty one that was crafted very skillfully with the sole purpose of hurting you.”

“I already know that, Harry.”

The Gryffindor's rigidly held shoulders sag at that.  Young face showing incipient relief even as the same sort of instinctive wariness that once helped him win the war tells him not to start celebrating his victory just yet.
“Do you?  You don't look like a man who's decided to ignore that despicable pack of lies.”

“But she didn't actually lie, did she?  She used pictures and time-limes and a cleverly crafted assessment of your likes and dislikes in men to prove a very simple point.”

“No.  That's just—No, Severus.  Rita Skeeter has no fucking idea of what the hell I like or don't like when it comes to my partners, and I'm not going to stand here and let you give her that much power without hearing me first.”

“And what is there that you can possibly say?  I know you like dark haired, slender men.  You told me that yourself and now I've seen undeniable proof of it in Wizarding Technicolor.  I believed you when you told me that I'm your type and, after seeing that dammed article, only a blind idiot will dare to deny that I meet every requirement, but... physical attributes like height, general build and coloring do not make a relationship, Harry, and that's were all similarities between those men and me come to an abrupt end.”

“They end there for the same reason that led to the failure of those hooks ups.  None of them were you and I was trying to replace you, Severus.  I've told you this a dozen times before, my Prince.  I though you were straight.  I saw no point in mooning over you.  I was trying my very best to find somebody else to take your place, but I couldn't.  I just... couldn't.”

“How could you have been trying to replace me when not a single one of them look anything like me?  They are goddamned supermodels, Harry.  And I—I...  Look at me!  I'm no charming Byronic hero.  I can not compete with the sort of physical perfection you're drawn to, for Merlin's sake!”

“But that's the point, don't you see?  You don't have to compete with anyone.  You need to get it into your head that you're not the one who was contending against them for my affection.  They were contending against you, Severus, and not a single one of them could match you.”

Severus flinches as if Harry's words have slapped him across the face and the crumpled copy of the Prophet that had been hidden in the folds of his dark robes falls from his lap, landing in the dirt between them like a silent accusation that poisons everything they've built so far with its brightly colored photograph spread, turning the meager distance that still separates them into an insurmountable abyss that Harry doesn't know how to bridge.
“Don't do this to us, please.  We've been doing brilliantly together.  Everything is finally falling into place with our relationship and there's nothing whatsoever wrong with us as a couple.”  He finally begs helplessly, looking right into Severus' wounded eyes and cursing Rita Skeeter all the way to hell and back.

“That's not exactly true, is it?  You've been siting in my lab day after day, forcing yourself to inhale noxious fumes that you have no need to inhale while the world goes on without you.  Ignoring what everyone else is saying won't make their point any less valid, Harry.  Even the blind can see that you can do so much better than me and, although I believe you when you claim that I am the partner you want, I just can't wrap my mind around the concept.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm an old, ugly curmudgeon who brings you nothing but bad press and endless isolation.  That's why!  You are young.  Fit.  Rich.  A lauded hero...  You are every gay man's wet dream and you should be spending your time somewhere more appealing than the dark and dungeony basement of an old potions laboratory at the edge of Diagon Alley.”

Startled green eyes focus on him with a widened sort of surprise and the puzzled look that their owner has been wearing freezes for a small second before crumbling into dust, wiped out of existence by the rather annoyed frown that is now beginning to take over the entirety of the Savior's lovely features.
“You are not a curmudgeon, least of all an old and ugly one, and your lab may be dark and dungeony but it's also so you that I find it comforting to be there.  I don't want to be anywhere else, OK?  I've done plenty of partying all over the place already and it hasn't brought me the kind of joy I feel just siting quietly in your lab watching you brew, Severus.”

“Harry, listen to me...”

“No.  Oh, no.  I'm done listening to this bullshit already.  Now it's my turn to say my piece and you're going to pay very close attention to every single word I say, got it?”

“I...”

“Hush!  If I wanted an entertaining guy with a penchant for adventure I'd have found myself one.  I've known you for years, Severus. I knew you were the retiring sort when my heart chose you and it didn't make a difference.  I realized ages ago that I'd end up spending inordinately large amounts of time locked in a dark lab with you, if we ever got together, and I've made my peace with that, my Prince.”

Severus swallows the unwelcome lump that has decided to take residence in the middle of his throat and takes a deep breath.  His hands have begun to tremble with the strength of his agitation and, no matter how hard he tries, he can not still their shaking.  Harry's eyes are boring right into his own with a mixture of determined stubbornness and such wounded look of betrayal that he stiffens with the guilt of knowing himself to be far too insecure to match this young man's fearless affection.

“You must be getting tired of telling me the same thing over and over, Harry.  I'm sorry if it sounds to you like I doubt your professed feelings when I do nothing of the sort.  I'm sorry to be so thoroughly undeserving of your regard that even a rag like the Prophet sounds dammed right whenever it despairs your choices, but it is undeniable that you are far too loving for the likes of me, nyingdu-la.  Skeeter is right about this, Harry.  I'm too cold and undemonstrative for you.  I'm not only unbearably aloof but also a god-dammed disaster when it comes to physical intimacy.  You're going through all this trouble for my sake and I haven't even been able to go beyond mere kissing.  I...”

“Hey, hey, stop it right there, Severus.  Just—stop it, please.  I'm begging you.”  Harry's agitated plea halts the Slytherin mid-sentence and he barely has enough time to blink before the Gryffindor launches himself forwards, approaching him in a flurry of strong arms, delicately tender hands and devastatingly gentle understanding.

Gorgeous emerald eyes settle over his pale features as Harry kneels before him, leaning on the heels of his ratty trainers in order to embrace him loosely around the waist.  Time stretches and stills, becoming absolutely endless and Severus can't do anything to slow down the dizzying whirl of stray thoughts and undefined longing that his mind has suddenly become.  He feels both oddly bereft and profoundly anchored at the same time.  He's trying very hard to adjust to the unbearable intimacy of having Harry so close after the terrible newspaper debacle made him honestly believe that he had no right to experience this sweet bliss ever again.  He's struggling to cope with the overwhelming relief he feels at having the Gryffindor here, so obviously willing to hold him and be held by him in return.  So obviously craving more of this, whatever this may turn out to be.

“I hate to hear Skeeter's poisonous words come out of your mouth, my love.  I don't come to you day after day expecting you to turn into someone else.  I've always known how very formal you are and I've never expected you to ravish me openly for the entire world to see.”

“But I don't ravish you at all, Harry.  I don't ravish you even in private.  Look at us!  We've been talking for almost forty minutes and this is the closest we've come to one another.  I don't understand why you haven't walked away from me already.  You've got to be frustrated with my prudish reticence.  I know you must be, any other man your age would have grown restless already and you're not that different from the rest of us, mere mortals, no matter how loudly your crazy fans insist on screaming the opposite.”

Harry stiffens from head to toes and sits back in his haunches, studying him through deceptively calm eyes while his right hand keeps on tracing soothing patterns of small, intricate circles on his robe-covered flank.
“I desire you a great deal, Severus, and although I don't particularly enjoy having the suspicion that you don't really see me as a sexual object, the truth is that physical frustration alone won't drive me away from you.  You need to get it into your head that I actually LOVE you.  I realize that you don't have much experience with the concept, but the fact that I feel this way about you means that I'm perfectly willing to wait for sex.

“There's no one else on Earth who can replace you either in my bed or in my life.  I don't want to be caressed into orgasm by a hot and randy stranger. I want—No.  I need you to be the one who makes me fall apart.  Physical release will not ease the ache of loneliness that has been eating me alive for years.  Only love will do that, my Prince.  And I love no one but you.”

“Harry...”

“No.  listen to me, please.  I know that you think the Prophet is right about this, but that's just not true. You are not cold at all, Severus.  You are not 'hard' and 'as unfeeling as a granite statue'.  You are not a despicable murderer, or a charmless curmudgeon or a walking disaster.  You are the most clever, loyal and courageous man I have ever met and no breathtakingly gorgeous supermodel can compete with you when it comes right down to it.”

“Being brave doesn't make me good partner material, Harry.  Courage alone won't sustain this relationship for long.  I'm a prudish cold fish with a Thestral carriage crammed full to burst with intimacy issues and you know it.”

Harry laughs a bit desperately and looks right into his eyes with something so akin to panic that Severus' breath freezes in his lungs.
“I know nothing of the sort.  You're not as detached as Skeeter likes to paint you and I hate to see you agreeing with her ridiculous assessment of your character.  You came back to England, back to all this misery for Draco, Severus.  You could have remained in Europe but you didn't.  You love others in your own way and there's nothing wrong with that.

“Everyone likes to condemn you because you don't look at me with stars in your eyes and hang on my every word like a brainless little groupie but no one has ever bothered to ask me whether I enjoy that attitude or not.  No one has given me the chance to tell them that I like your lack of hero-worship because nobody really wants to find out that I'm grateful for the fact that you force me to work harder to be noticed.  You make me earn every single second of attention that you give me, instead of gifting it to me as if it were my birthright.  You keep me grounded and make me feel normal.  You inspire me to do better, to be better, to remember who I really am, no matter what anybody else wants to believe and that's something far more valuable to me than the 'warm' affection of a hundred sycophants.”

Severus feels suddenly cold despite the warming bubble that he'd cast to keep the cold air from freezing him into an icicle.  A very unpleasant shiver runs down the entire length of his spine and he can't control the instant rigidity that takes over his body, turning him into what feels like a solid plank of wood in the blink of an eye.
“So this isn't really about me.  You just need someone who challenges you, Harry.  I can't be the only man out there who is able to do that.”

Harry frowns as soon as his senses register the stiffening of his prince's lanky body but does not release him at all.  He continues to embrace that slender waist loosely, caressing Severus' flank gently with a kind of disarming patience that the slytherin finds simply impossible to resist.
“Love is not a war, Severus.  I didn't pick you because I think you're a challenge.  I thought you were straight, remember?  I tried to forget you with every fiber of determination I posses.  I made a bunch of lists detailing all the reasons why a relationship between us would never work.  I hooked up with all those other men on purpose and attempted to force you out of my heart by hook or crook.  If there had been even the slightest chance that my feelings for you were based on some inexplicable desire to be challenged I would have managed to forget you.”

“But you couldn't.”

“That's right: I couldn't.  And after a while I didn't want to do it, anyway.  I know you find this hard to believe, but there is nothing wrong with you as a partner.  You are a beautiful human being, my Prince.  No one knows that better than me, since I spent a veritable eternity trying to deny the fact to no avail.  My love for you isn't the unbelievable miracle that the Prophet likes to claim, Severus.  The truly inexplicable thing here is not how you managed to snare me, but how did you get to reach your forty-fifth birthday without being literally hounded by rabid hordes of admirers.”

Severus snorts inelegantly.
“Now I know you're having me on, Potter.  I lack the flirty sort of charm that attracts besotted fools.  I'd never be able to snare the interest of a single one, let alone an entire horde of them.  Don't get me wrong: I appreciate your effort in trying to convince me of the contrary, but the truth is that I'm nowhere near good enough for you, Harry.  You deserve so much better.”

“I'm honestly fed up of people telling me that.  What the hell gives everyone the right to believe themselves bloody experts on what I deserve?”  The Gryffindor growls, utterly vexed.  “I'm a sportsman instead of an auror or a politician or a bloody economist and I happen to be happy with that choice, all right?  I'm also gay instead of properly heterosexual and yes, I understand that means there will never be an entire gaggle of little heroic 'mini-mes' running all over the place, unless I decide to do the 'right' thing and marry some willing witch whom I'll never be able to love just to impregnate her with my children but, hey, I happen to be happy with that decision, too.”

“Harry, I wasn't trying to imply...”

“Yes, you were.  But you are not the only one who likes to do this, Severus, so you don't need to feel guilty about it.  Everyone likes to play the ridiculous game of let's-decide-Harry-Potter's-life-for-him.  But let me tell you something that I probably don't say out loud as much as I should: whatever the hell all of you think that Harry Potter, the glorious Savior of the Wizarding World, should do or have in his life will probably never match any of the choices that Harry, the simple man of flesh and blood who carries that unnervingly revered mask, will actually make.

“I'm never going to live up to some ridiculous expectations of what my future should look like, no matter how well-intentioned they may be.  I'm fully aware that everyone thinks I should have a boyfriend who sings Opera, shits diamonds and cooks better than the elves of Hogwarts, but I wouldn't be happy with such paragon, Severus.  He wouldn't be better for me in any way even if I found him.  In fact he'd make my life absolutely miserable because I.  Am.  In.  Love.  With.  YOU!”

Severus blinks in the wake of Harry's impassioned rant, feeling so absolutely stunned by the irreverent nature of the seeker's miffed assertions that he's struggling to come up with a proper answer to them.
“I've never been the kind of man who enjoys directing other people's lives, Harry, but sometimes public expectations have a point and, in this case, that point is particularly accurate.  You deserve better than this.  You deserve better than me and probably better than the average Opera-singing, diamond-defecating companion, too.”

Harry looks hurt beyond words.  His lovely features become as pale as candle wax and his lips compress into an awful, thin line of heartbroken disappointment.
“Why?  Why do I deserve better?  Why am I too good for real people?  Why should I have to put up with the shenanigans of some phony Mr. perfect when I want the honesty that comes from someone who isn't actually immaculate and will never pretend to be?”

Severus flounders for a few seconds, both unable and unwilling to clarify his reasons for believing what almost every single other member of their society believes too.
“Because you've been through enough already.  You had an awful childhood and your school years were marked by the grief of loss and the horror of war.  You never had a chance to be properly happy and it's time you get the best end of the stick.”

Harry's gorgeous green eyes soften with tenderness and the small smile he directs his way is both loving and slightly sad.
“You've been through enough already, too.  You had an equally awful childhood and your schooling days were marked by the grief of losing your best friend to Hogwarts' house system and the horror of being bullied by one of the most resourceful groups of miscreants the school has ever seen.  You went through the war not once, but twice, and you did it in a position that isolated you from your own side and pushed you deeper into the fold of Voldemort's inner circle.  I'd say you deserve to be happy more than anyone else.  It's time you get the best end of the stick, too, my love.”

Severus freezes upon hearing such strange assessment of his terribly dark past.  He's never even considered their situations to be anything alike and having Harry link them together so brazenly has managed to disconcert him something fierce.
“But, unlike you, I've always been dark.  I chose the wrong side of the war of my own free will, Harry.  Your mother died because I didn't bother to hide the wording of the prophecy from the Dark Lord.  I've murdered, tortured and allowed the most heinous acts you can imagine to take place before me.  I've...”

“Yes.  You have.  And I'll always be sorry that you had to.  I can not even begin to imagine the kind of strength necessary to go through all that and still remain sane.”

“It didn't take strength.  It took cowardice.  I could have saved at least one of those poor souls but I was far more concerned with saving my own skin.  That's nothing to be proud of, nyingdu-la.  I'm not the lovely man you believe me to be.  I'm a... ”

“Survivor.  And a warrior. You're the most loyal of allies.  Let me tell you right now that we'll never see eye to eye when it comes to this, sweetheart, so don't bother wasting your breath trying to convince me to be afraid of the dark monster you believe yourself to be. You acted like the Slytherin you are and that was precisely what we all needed at the time.  If you'd tried to save anyone you'd have died yourself and we would have lost our only source of viable information regarding the Dark Lord's plans.

“You saved more lives with your supposed cowardice than you ever condemned.  Hell, you won us the bloody war, Severus.  You could have told that bastard that you'd never disarmed Dumbledore to save your own life in the shack, but you didn't.  You let him try to kill you just to keep him convinced that he had the Elder Wand under his control when you knew, you knew, that it wasn't true.”

Severus lowers his gaze towards the floor, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in the peaceful setting that surrounds them and brings up his shaking hands to rub his spindly arms back and forth in a gesture that brims with crystal clear discomfort.
“You sound just like Albus.  Next, you'll tell me that I acted for the Greater Good, too.”

Harry's hands settle over his and their fingers entwine in a gesture of silent support as those searching green eyes seek and tangle with his own dark and wounded stare.
“You did and you know it.  You have the Order of Merlin to prove it.”

The potioneer's throat constricts to a small and narrow pipe that can't possibly carry enough air to keep him alive and his gut twists into knots even as he growls:
“I don't want to talk about this anymore.  The war has nothing whatsoever to do with the problem we're facing and you've dragged us both through this miserable conversation just to avoid having to confront the plain and simple truth.”

Harry edges forwards almost forcefully, propping his forearms atop Severus' bony knees in a restless and nervous gesture.
“The war is a part of our past that we can not hide.  That horror will always be there. It is shaping not only how we see each other but also everyone's expectations of us.  The Savior and the spy... it sounds like the bad title of a corny novel, doesn't it?  But that's precisely how everyone will see us.  The last thing we need is to have you join forces with the masses in their self-righteous outrage at my choice of companion.”

Severus stiffens with indignation:
“I'm not trying to...”

“Yes, you are.  You're allowing your own insecurities to grow tenfold, nurtured by the unreasonable public dislike that surrounds us at the moment.  You are retreating behind your masks even as we speak because we are growing ever closer to one another and you've allowed your low self-esteem to convince you that I'm going to wake up one of these days and find you wanting.  You are afraid, so very afraid, of what giving into what your heart is starting to feel will do to you, because every bloody bastard you've ever loved threw you to the side without a second thought the moment the going got tough, and your head is screaming at you that I'm going to do the same.  Isn't that right, my Prince?”

Inky black eyes widen to capacity and Severus' already pale visage turns impossibly white in the blink of an eye.
“Harry, I...”

“Do you love me, Severus?”

The question hangs between them like an executioner's noose.  It dangles right before the Slytherin's eyes, filling him with the kind of terror that he's never truly been given the chance to experience before.  Harry's eyes are harsh and somber, but they're shimmering with a delicate film of bright tears that speaks of love and longing.  Of a fear that's at least as great -if not greater- than his own.  Of the need to be reassured and supported and cherished.  The desperate desire to be told that he's not the only one feeling what he feels.  That they are both equally invested in this madness that keeps hurting them almost as much as it brings them unparalleled joy.

“I think I do.”  Severus finally whispers and the universe doesn't collapse on the spot.  The Earth doesn't stop turning.  His heart doesn't shrivel up and die, forced to watch the object of his affections turn his back on him in disgust.  On the contrary, Harry whoops with effervescent relief and all but leaps into his arms, throwing them both haphazardly to the ground as a result of his sudden motion.

They end up laughing like slightly crazy teenagers in the grass beside Albus' white grave as Harry wrestles with him until he's managed to flatten Severus' back against the cold, dewy ground.  The ecstatic young man looms over him delicately, gazing down at him like a man looks at a treasure and those eyes that are so green, so honest, so fiercely loving rake his pale features with undeniable devotion even as their owner pleads:
“Say it, my Prince, please, just... say it.  Let me hear the words I've waited so long to hear.  Make me the happiest man on this planet, even though there are no candles around and no fancy dinner. Even though this isn't the setting I always imagined we'd be in when this miracle happened.”

Severus laughs self-consciously, lifting a trembling hand to brush Harry's messy short fringe away from his gorgeous green eyes.
“Wouldn't you rather I wait for those candles and that dinner to say the words, then?  We could go out tonight, or I could cook a meal for you.  It's time you set foot on my humble abode, nyingdu-la."   He offers quietly and isn't surprised in the least when his lion shakes his head in unmistakable refusal, leaning trustingly against the potion-tainted fingertips that are still trying to comb through the wild nest of his hair and demanding with enough need to pummel the last remnants of Severus' weakening resistance into submission:

"We can do all of that later, Severus.  This isn't a perfect dream.  This is perfect reality and that always finds a way of becoming far more precious, far more meaningful, than all the carefully staged scenarios my mind could possibly conjure.  Your heart has always sought Dumbledore's approval.  He's loved you, protected you and demanded more from you than anyone ever did and it's time you let him go.  It's only right that he bears witness to the moment when you place your trust in someone else's hands.  Someone who is alive and here and willing to adore you even more than he ever did.  Someone who may never be able to replace him, but can hopefully give you the things he always wanted you to find.  Someone you've decided to call 'the most honored poison of your soul' of your own free will, my Prince."

"So you've finally figured out what nyingdu-la means."  Severus whispers, trying to swallow past the heavy lump that is lodged right in the middle of his throat, despite the fact that he finds the task almost impossible.  His dark eyes fix upon Harry's and he becomes thoroughly snared by the overwhelming affection that is shinning down on him, coming from what seems to be the very depths of the most remarkable young man he's ever met.
"I love you, Harry Potter.  I love you more than I've ever loved anyone, and that scares me so much that I—I..."

"Hush, Severus.  Hush.  Let's not talk about fear anymore.  Let's just smile and laugh and kiss each other tenderly.  Let's stay like this until our heads forget whatever silly things they are so busy thinking and our hearts have finally managed to shake sense into them and win this battle.  Let's look into each other's eyes, allow our hands to tangle together and simply... be, sweetheart.  Let's allow the love we feel for one another to have this one perfect moment in time.  Let it be born without fear.  Without conditions.  Without shadows.  Let it shine brighter than the sun itself and gain strength from the kind of courage that once led you to rebel against everyone who tried to cage you, my Prince.  Let your own emotions set you free, Severus.  Let them heal you and shelter you and lead you right to me, my love."

TBC

( Chapter 18 )

( Chapter 20 )