pekeleke: (Default)
[personal profile] pekeleke

Title: Chasing Moonbeams.
Author: pekeleke
Pairing(s): Severus Snape/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17, eventually.
Length: 82K+
Warnings: Extremely Slow burn. Pre-slash to slash. Enemies to friends to lovers. Pinning!Harry. Oblivious!Severus. Implied Bottom!Severus. EWE.
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. I make no profit from writing fanfiction.
Summary: “Really?” Harry beams, green eyes wide and full of wonder. “You’re going to let me snog you to my heart’s content?”

Of course not.” Severus replies contrarily, curling elegant digits around the brat’s neck and tugging him down low enough for a quick and dirty kiss before the Savior has a chance to protest. “I’m going to let you snog me to my heart’s content, Potter.”


Chapter 4

 

Severus wakes to birdsong, bright sunshine and Minerva’s solemn features. He’s uncertain of the time, but the infirmary has that hush-hush quality Severus instinctively associates with weekends. There are no children wailing in the public antechambers, coming in from either a DADA or a Potions class gone wrong. The usual afternoon melee caused by friendly -and not so friendly- hexing, coupled with the fallout of the latest Wheezes’s tricks and Quidditch practice-related bumps and bruises hasn’t started yet. Everything is calm and quiet, peaceful in a way Hogwarts’s sickrooms rarely are. Severus blinks away the last remnants of sleep and smiles contentedly. Although there’s a muted, achy melancholy weighing his chest, the feeling is not as bad as he’d feared it’d be. This is Hogwarts, after all. The place holds too many painful memories for him, and Severus wouldn’t have returned of his own free will if he’d been given the choice. Not yet, at least. He hasn’t set foot in the place since the final battle, much to his ex-colleagues unanimous dismay.

“You’re finally awake. How are you feeling, Severus?” Minerva’s greeting is calm but more absentminded than usual, and Severus wonders if she’s managed any sleep at all since Potter brought him here.

“I feel better, thank you,” he says quietly, wiggling the fingertips of his right hand to make sure this is so. The new joints feel weak and tender, but his knuckles aren’t overly swollen and, for that, he is thankful. Bollingfrog’s bone cure is as good as the man believes it to be, then. Severus’s hand will make a full recovery, its former range of motion preserved. Severus will be able to continue brewing for a living until he tires of it. That’s a pleasant thought to wake up to. A pleasant thought indeed.

Minerva smiles for the first time, age-worn stern features turning warm with affection, with relief, as she witnesses his cautious finger wiggling. “That was a very close call, Severus.”

“I’m fine, Min-min.”

“Yes, but—

“No. I’m fine. I’m safe. The war is over. You no longer have to fear for my life whenever you lose sight of me, all right? I’m going to outlive you, you, foolish, sentimental hag.”

Minerva chuckles, but the sound is tired and a bit too despondent for Severus’s liking. “You promise?” 

“Of course I promise. This cold Scottish air you insist on breathing will kill you before you’re 150 unless you see sense in the near future and move down to balmy Surrey like every other reasonable witch your age.” 

“Surrey is not balmy,” Minerva points out, and this time her chuckle is livelier when he mock pouts for her benefit.

“It’s balmier than this, that’s for sure. And I won’t go all the way to France or even Spain in search of ‘proper’ sunshine. Strong light that hasn’t been diluted by a thick layer of cloud wreaks havoc with my complexion. Besides, people in the continent can’t brew a proper cup of tea to save their lives. It’s an outrage, Min-min. No. I shall remain in England to further torment you every winter from now on. It’s my moral duty to gloat shamelessly about the superiority of my choice in balmy, southern dwellings while you freeze your bones up here.”

“Good. I fear I won’t be able to straighten that mischievous little menace you’ve taken a liking to without your input, Severus. He sent you a get well card, by the way. It arrived two hours ago, and neither Poppy nor I can understand what it’s supposed to depict.”

Severus smiles anew. “Art isn’t Nathaniel’s forte.”

“You don’t say.” Minerva deadpans, raising from her seat to fill a glass with water.

“Is it orange?” Severus asks, pushing himself into a sitting position and flopping against the mound of pillows she plumps for him with a single wand swish before handing him the glass.

“Like a carrot. A glitter-covered one. My poor eyeballs are still twitching.”

“It’s good to hear that Nathaniel has retained his sunny disposition after his frightening encounter with the Trooping Fairies. He’ll sort Gryffindor if I don’t manage to instill at least some sense into his thick skull by the time he’s eleven.”

“There’s nothing wrong with sorting Gryffindor.”

“Pft!”

“At least you have plenty of time to work your Slytherin magic on him. I wager you’ll fail, young Mr. Nothbury will make a fine Hufflepuff. He’s a lovely child, Severus.”

Severus hums in agreement, drains his glass of water, and motions for her to hand over his get-well card. It’s orange indeed. And positively hideous. It’s, without a doubt, one of the ugliest sights Severus has had the unfortunate privilege of sighting in the entirety of his life, and he loves it to bits. He’s wondering about whether the grayish blob on the upper right-hand corner is supposed to be Wisp, the nothing-wispy-about-it toad that Severus’s closest neighbor, Mr. Slowspy, dotes on when Minerva clears her throat. 

“Harry came to see you this morning.”

Severus looks at her, startled. “Why?”

“He didn’t say. I— Prickard got to me, Severus. I wasn’t very kind to Harry when I first clapped eyes on him.”

“I see.”

“I refused to let him in, but he explained his actions to me. Prickard wasn’t lying, exactly, but he failed to mention that the reason for Harry’s delay in reaching you had been included in that report he was quoting from. Apparently, Harry chose to deliver young Nathaniel to his grandmother’s house before Apparating to you. Explaining the situation to Mrs. Nothbury, and calming her down after that, took a while.”

“So Potter was doing his job competently.” Severus drawls neutrally, “He prioritized securing the safety of a frightened child over assisting a fully trained wizard who is well known for his extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts. Why are you looking so crushed, Min-min? Your precious savior's character has proved to be golden, after all.”

“I doubted him at the first implication of wrongdoing like I once doubted you, Severus. I took Prickard’s nasty insinuations at face value and trusted them more than the personal opinion I developed over a decade-long close acquaintance with a man I know to be honorable to a fault. I’m ashamed of myself.”

“Please, don’t be. Gullibility is a Gryffindor’s most endearingly quaint trait. Prickard is a Slytherin, Minerva. He knew exactly what buttons to push when it came to you, and he pushed them with gusto.” 

“But you trusted Harry, regardless of what he said.” 

“Me? Trust Potter? No. I simply recognize an underhanded set up when I see one. Prickard may be a Slytherin, but he’s not a brilliant one.”

“I told Harry he wouldn’t be allowed to visit you until I had your permission to let him in.”

Severus shoots a thoroughly horrified look at the door that connects the infirmary with the rest of the castle. “Please don’t tell me he’s still waiting outside.”

“Of course not. Harry left. Had some errands to run or some such. But he asked me to relay his explanation to you.”

“And you’ve done so. Well done. Now this subject is finally closed.”

“Is that it?” Minerva asks him impatiently, evidently dissatisfied with his lackluster reaction. Severus sighs, and looks down to stare at Nathaniel’s talent-less drawing.

“What is it you wish me to do instead?” 

“I don’t know. Something. Harry is trying to reach out to you.”

“He isn’t. He’s an Auror. He’s attempting to reassure a wounded civilian placed under his professional protection that he acted in good faith during the magical attack that resulted in said civilian’s injuries. Now that he’s done that, I don’t expect to see much of him. The case is closed. Potter’s precious reputation is safe for now. We’ll go back to ignoring each other, and that’ll be the end of that.”

“Prickard said Harry has been trying to chat you up.”

Severus gapes at her, honestly shocked by the inaccurate implication in her telling choice of words. “Potter hasn’t been ‘chatting me up,’ Min-min. He wished me a good morning through the kitchen window recently, that’s all.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, stubbornly. “How recently?”

“Last week. Why?” 

“Is that why you suddenly decided to ‘enhance’ the length of the hedge that surrounds your front garden? I thought your explanation about that was a tad iffy.”

“Iffy? What’s iffy about expressing a desire to look after my bloody hedge?” 

“Everything. You’re no Neville Longbottom, Severus. You’ve never put in the effort of looking properly after any bloom or bush that isn’t a potion ingredient.” 

“Fine! Potter was spying on me from the lane. He talked to me brazenly. I realized I needed a taller hedge to ensure I had proper privacy.” Severus huffs defensively, closing his own arms over his chest and wincing inwardly. His right arm isn’t ready yet to move about freely, or be tightly clamped under his left one. Bollingfrog’s cure-all effect on broken bones is way too delicate for Severus’s taste.

“Proper privacy for what? You don’t do anything other than brewing, and it’s not like there’s a long line of intrusive Snape groupies dogging your every step.” 

“I don’t like being disturbed.”

“Harry wished you good morning, Severus. It’s not like he was trying to serenade you from the street, or eye your naked body lasciviously while taking underhanded blackmail pictures!”

“He wouldn’t have been able to do that even if he tried. I have wards against that sort of thing, Minerva.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“So what did you need all that privacy for, Severus? What was the bloody point of ‘enhancing’ your hedge?” 

“I wanted to send him a message.”

“Couldn’t you have spoken to him instead?”

“No, that would have defeated my purpose. I wanted to remind him that We. Do. NOT. Speak. To. One. Another.”

“Why not?” Minerva demands, plopping herself down on the bedside chair. “You both have a lot in common.”

Severus googles at her. “That’s an abominable falsehood. Potter and I have nothing in common whatsoever.”

“You’re both half-blood.” 

“So are hundreds of other wizards.”

“You were both raised in the muggle world.”

“Pft! Is that all that you’ve got?”

“Both your parental figures neglected and abused you horribly when you were children.”

Severus grits his teeth. “Don’t go there, Min-min.”

“You were both forced to play the most destructive roles in the war against Voldemort. Both of you loved Albus deeply and were equally manipulated by him. Both of you almost died during the final battle. Both of you excel in Defense Against The Dark Arts, both of you—

“Fine! We may have a few things in common, but that doesn’t mean anything. We’re from two different generations and two different Hogwarts’ houses. Moreover, we stand on opposite sides of the public’s definition of the word ‘famous.’ Potter and I are like oil and water. We don’t mix well at all, Min-min, and neither of us is delusional enough to try.”

“Harry is. He wished you good morning through your window and all.”

“Oh, For Salazar’s sak—

“Maybe there are things about you he is especially suited to understand, Severus. And vice-versa.”

“Please, spare me.” 

“Why? The war is over. You’re no longer trying to convince him you’re a Death Eater. You aren’t his professor, either. You can afford to behave like yourself around him now. It’s obvious that Harry respects you very deeply. He’s young, fit, rich, and seems to like you well enough. What more is there to want, you, prat?” 

Severus glares at her, utterly appalled by what she is suggesting. “Are you mad? Potter wouldn’t touch me that way with a barge pole.”

“Why not?”

“Because he hates me, that’s why!”

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s been trying to reach out. Maybe you’ve charmed him without realizing you were doing it. He’s been patrolling your neighborhood for a while now. He’s had plenty of opportunities to see you, Severus. Not Professor Snape, but you. Maybe he is tempted to- 

“Pft! Potter. Tempted. Now I know you’re off your rocker. Have you been chugging Firewhiskey all night long? You’re supposed to wait for Friday and share your stash like a proper Gryffindor instead of gulping it all down on your own.” 

“I’m neither drunk nor delusional. It’s you who is being obtuse and disagreeable, Severus. You’ve got nothing to lose if I’m wrong. Would it really kill you to meet Harry half-way?”

Severus shrugs petulantly. “It might. I’ve no interest in becoming Potter’s agony aunt.”

Minerva shakes her head with fond exasperation. “You’re impossible. Tell me you’ll at least agree to see him if he comes back.”

“He won’t. He’s already offered his explanation and will trust you to relay it to me. Potter’s conscience is now clear. He has no reason to return.”

“Then you won’t lose much by promising me you’ll see him if he comes.” 

Severus stares at her thoughtfully. “Will that get you off my case? No more reaching out to him nonsense? No more vinegary stare of disappointment the next time some gossipy soul tells you that Potter tried to greet me on the street and I callously ignored the poor little lamb?”

“The poor little lamb? Seriously? And you have enough cheek to imply I’ve been chugging Firewhiskey. What potion fumes have you been inhaling?” Minerva demands, aiming for stern but failing to achieve the look when she can’t conceal her half-chocked guffaw.

Severus’s smirk turns bright and delighted upon seeing that playful look back in her eyes. He’s learned to treasure every time they laugh together. They’ve shared enough fears, enough tears, to last them both a lifetime. It’s time they stock up on joy. “Do we have a deal then, pretty lass?” He drawls, using the horribly fake Scottish accent that never fails to make her burst into giggles.

She does laugh. Brightly. Loudly. Lightheartedly. “Yes. We have a deal, cheeky lad. And you better stick to it when Harry shows up. No Slytherin tricks from you, brat.” 

“Potter won’t show, Min-min.”

“He will. And you’ll better be kind. Don’t you dare hurt my little lamb, Severus.”


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(no subject)

Date: 2019-07-28 04:19 pm (UTC)
teryarel: (Default)
From: [personal profile] teryarel
(This will be a short one.)

Ah, I just love the interactions between Minerva and Severus. The way they talk with and about each other shows how deep and strong their friendship is. This easy flow of their banter must be why this chapter seemed so short! (Meaning I'd like more of that! But, yes, this is not the purpose of this fic. And I do wish to see some 'Harry/Severus' more than 'Minerva & Severus'.)

Poor misguided Severus... Does he really believe himself when he says that he doesn't trust Harry? Maybe his definition of trust is different than mine, who knows?

I'm not sure what an 'agony aunt' is. Something like a columnist in a paper who gives 'good advice' to problems other people have? Am I way off with that?

Nathaniel's future is in very good hands, both Severus and Minerva seem to have taken a shine on him, although I guess he better not want to become an artist. What was the card supposed to show? One of the orange glitter-bombed fairies with Severus as the dark blob?

Oh, and I do like Harry's explanation for being late. :) (I have to admit I forgot about the boy.) Even more I like how Slytherin Minerva is to make Severus promise to talk with Potter WHEN he shows up. (I guess you have to learn some of the tricks with how long she's been a teacher.) :D

(no subject)

Date: 2019-07-28 04:22 pm (UTC)
teryarel: (Default)
From: [personal profile] teryarel
Didn't I say it would be a short comment?? Eh, anyway. Sorry for double posting - but I cannot find an edit-button...

Have a nice Sunday, dear pekeleke!

(no subject)

Date: 2019-08-02 02:50 am (UTC)
mrs_sweetpeach: (Default)
From: [personal profile] mrs_sweetpeach
Yes, that's my understanding of an 'agony aunt.' A sympathetic ear often attached to someone who can offer solid advice.

(no subject)

Date: 2019-08-02 07:24 pm (UTC)
teryarel: (Default)
From: [personal profile] teryarel
Thank you for your clarification. (Sometimes my 'language sense' is misleading me.)
It's good to learn new expressions! :)

(no subject)

Date: 2019-08-02 02:53 am (UTC)
mrs_sweetpeach: (Default)
From: [personal profile] mrs_sweetpeach
I'm enjoying the heck out of story and parceling it out to myself so the yumminess won't run out any time soon.

I will also say it is daunting to leave you feedback as so far everyone who has commented has already said what I was thinking to say. ;-)

(no subject)

Date: 2019-08-02 07:30 pm (UTC)
teryarel: (Default)
From: [personal profile] teryarel
I must admit that that's why I usually don't read comments at all. *blush*
Really, just go on ahead and comment all you want - I believe every comment is precious and special in itself. If you share your thoughts they are still yours, even if other commenters might have the same opinion as you. ;)

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