Chasing Moonbeams. Ch7.

[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 7.

 

Seeing Nathaniel’s face awash with wonder as he stares, wide-eyed, around the infirmary reminds Severus of the only thing he honestly loved about teaching at Hogwarts. There aren’t many things that can compare to the amazed look on the first years’ faces as they see the castle for the very first time. Nathaniel is young, impressionable, and so thoroughly unafraid of expressing his emotions that Severus finds himself smiling from ear to ear as he witnesses anew the magical moment when a young wizard falls madly in love with Hogwarts.

“Evirithin is so Huuuuuuggge, Master Snape,” The boy gasps bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he dangles from Potter’s hand.

“Of course it’s huge. It’s Hogwarts.” Severus agrees. He is still perched on the windowsill bench from where he’d been observing his visitors’ slow progression across the castle’s front lawn. “Did you like the boar gates, Nathaniel?”

Severus smirks at Potter’s heartfelt groan. The infirmary is too far away for Severus to know precisely what transpired so far down the path, but he’d watched their figures stand at the gates for ages. Severus knows that boars happen to be Nathaniel’s favorite animal, a fact he’s willing to bet a bag full of galleons that Potter hadn’t been aware of before this morning.

“They’re so cool! The boars at the top have wings, Master Snape.” Nathaniel squeals, darting across the room towards him as soon as Potter releases his hand. “And they move!” Nathaniel adds, reaching the base of the window seat and lifting up his little arms expectantly, silently demanding that Severus hoist him up into the faded gray cushions even as he continues babbling “The left one wiggled its snout at me like this. Do you think it was trying to say hello?”

Severus lifts the little miscreant onto the cushions, attempts to keep a straight face while watching solemnly as Nathaniel scrunches his tiny nose left and right, and taps a long finger thoughtfully against his lips in an attempt to hide his amused smile. “Let me think. Are you certain the one who moved so was on the left? That’s Brigid, Nathaniel. She’s the shy one of the pair. Now Moccus, the one on the right, is a bold and cheeky rascal. I can very well imagine him trying to make funny faces at you.”

Nathaniel’s features grow as delighted as Potter’s grow puzzled. “They have names?” both of them ask at the same time.

“Yes, they do. They are also very proud and very old. Legend says they once guarded a temple that stood on the island that’s in the middle of the Black Lake. The founders came here because they were attracted to the power that flowed from the old temple ruins. Brigid and Moccus were the only things still standing, and the founders of Hogwarts offered to infuse them with enough magic to allow them to interact with the wards of the school if they accepted the job of making sure the castle would never fall like the temple they’d guarded had.” Severus explains, keeping his attention on the child bouncing beside him while doing his best to ignore the adult man staring at him as if he’d grown an extra head.

“That’s so awe-so-meeee!” Nathaniel squeals, eyes agog and that toothless grin that Severus finds so endearing flashing as brightly as a ray of sunshine. “Boars are cool. Aren’t they, Master Snape? Grandma says they’re short and fat, but I like them the best anyway. Kneazles and crups are for babies. And girls. And Grandmas. I didn’t know there are boars with wings. They’re bri-di-ant! I’m gonna paint two of them on ma’ door at home. They’ll be this big. And orange. Orange boars are the best. I’ll ask them to protect my room, so it never falls ei’er.” Severus hums, doing his best to look appropriately impressed by the size that Nathaniel’s outstretched arms attribute to his latest art project and wonders, not for the first time, how his poor grandmother manages to cope with the boy’s lively nature.

“They’ll be a sight to behold, I’m sure.” He says solemnly. Potter snorts from the spot he’s claimed, leaning against the foot of Severus’s bed. Severus stares unblinkingly at him over Nathaniel’s head, hoping the Gryffindor takes the hint and leaves him alone with his young visitor. Potter, as usual, doesn’t catch the subtext in the slightest. Or catches it but doesn’t care to follow where it leads. He shrugs casually and slouches unbecomingly against the utilitarian metal frame of the infirmary’s bed, Severus grits his teeth.

“Can you tell Grandma not to Evinisco my boars, please?”

“It’s Evanesco, Nathaniel.” Severus corrects patiently, deciding to ignore Potter altogether.

“E-va-nes-co.” The boy repeats dutifully, before trying to secure Severus’s help against the dreaded evils of grandmotherly cleaning spells once more. “You’ve got to tell her to leave my boars alone, Master Snape. Grandma will listen to you. She likes you. I’m gonna help her bake special cookies for you when you come home. But you need to ethplain to her that my boars can’t guard my room if she shoos them away.”

“Just because you don’t see them it doesn’t mean they’re gone, young man. I’d dare say your boars will protect you better if they’re invisible.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Your rivals won’t know they’re there, will they?”

“Oh! Why aren’t Hofwarf’s boars invisible then?”

“Because they’re not there only to protect the school. They’re meant to welcome the children too. And to look out over the path that leads to Hogsmeade, so they can make sure there’s no danger coming up the road.”

“I don’t have a road coming to my bedroom, and grandma is the one who welcomes all my friends when they visit,” Nathaniel says.

“Maybe you don’t need bedroom guardians, then.”

“Of course I do.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Nathaniel-

“Bryce Hillen wouldn’t be so mean to me if I had super-magical guardian boars.”

Severus sighs, and is in the process of opening his mouth to address the issue when Potter pipes up. “Bryce Hillen? The kid from number 17, Sunlit Lane?”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel answers glumly, and Severus could happily murder the Auror for butting his thick, nosy head into this part of the conversation.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Potter?” He demands pointedly, but the man ignores him regally.

“What’s he done to you, mate? And why haven’t you reported him? Making sure nobody is mean to anybody else is sort of my job.” Potter says to the child softly enough. His verdant gaze is carefully blank and non-judgmental, but Severus shoots him the death glare to end all death glares anyway when the idiot attempts to approach the window seat. Nathaniel shrinks against Severus’s side. Tiny pale face seeking refuge among the soft folds of the dark pajama shirt he is wearing. Severus’s left hand rises at once, and his long fingers start carding through the boy’s unruly mass of soft curls in a soothing, protective, motion.

“Nothing. Hillen’s done nothing to me.” Nathaniel whispers aloud, still hiding his face against Severus’s side. Potter frowns, watches the boy with impotent frustration, and looks for all intents and purposes as if he’s a breath away from crying himself. Or flouncing off in a rage-fueled mission to find young Mr. Hillen and give him a piece of his mind. Severus stares steadily at Potter when the Auror's gaze seeks his own. This isn't the time for showy heroics. There isn’t much Potter can do to improve Nathaniel’s situation right now. The Gryffindor looks shocked and lost at the same time, and Severus wonders how is it possible for an Auror, for the defeater of Voldemort, to have gone through an abusive childhood himself, to have gone through a war, and still remain naive enough to honestly believe there are no nasty bullies left in his bright world.

“You don’t need a magical guardian boar to deal with Mr. Hillen, Nathaniel. We’ve talked about this. Have we not?” Severus points out quietly, and his stomach falls to the very tips of his toes when he hears the quiet little sniffle the boy hasn’t yet grown skilled enough to hide.

“But he hates me. And he’s huuugggee. He kicked me hard on the knee the other day.”

“He did what?” Potter roars, Bryce is a good three years older than Nathaniel, and twice his size as well. Nathaniel flinches upon hearing Potter’s tone, and Severus puts his foot down. He won’t have the boy cowering in fear when there’s nothing for him to be afraid of for miles on end.

“Kindly leave the premises if you’ve forgotten the fine art of controlling your temper, Auror Potter. You’re causing more harm than good.”

Potter flinches at Severus’s cold tone, but takes a deep breath and visibly tries to calm himself when his gaze darts toward Nathaniel’s shaking form. “I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet. I promise, Snape. Please, don’t throw me out.”

Severus nods sharply, looks down towards Nathaniel’s unruly curls, and promptly forgets all about the Auror. He hates seeing bright little kids like this; because it’s usually the bright ones that attract the ire of older bullies. It’s the same old dance in every generation, this constant tension between brute force and resourceful nature. In an ideal world, one should be there to protect and even nurture the other, but children often fail to see that society can’t be truly strong without innovation. The pitfalls of the real world are too sophisticated to be defeated by anyone’s bare fists. More often than not, sharp wit is the weapon of choice of genuinely successful people.

“Don’t cower, Nathaniel. It’s unbecoming.” Severus says sternly and catches Potter’s outraged expression from the corner of his eye. Nathaniel, though, is used to Severus’s usual brusqueness. He is a fierce little soul who reacts with the predictable pride of a survivor. Severus doesn’t care what Minerva thinks. This kid is meant for Slytherin.

“I’m not co-we-ring,” the boy grumbles, clearly stung, but he uncurls his spine, pulls a hair-breadth away from Severus’s side and stares up at him with the smallest smidgen of his usual fire.

“You could have fooled me.”

“I’m. Not. Co-we-ring. Cowering is for rats.”

Severus raises one eyebrow, wondering where that ridiculous pearl of wisdom comes from. He’s got the bad feeling that it comes straight from Bryce Hillen’s twisted little brain. “Rats don’t cower at all. They flee, Nathaniel. Like most clever animals do when they’re alone and facing a bigger predator.”

“Rats are cowardly, then.”

“Are they? What’s so wrong about choosing to retreat so you can fight another day? Seeking safety in numbers is not cowardly, it’s smart. A single rat can not defeat a kneazle, but two hundred of them will make it run away.”

“I don’t have two hundred friends. I’ve only got five. And they don’t want to help me fight Hillen. They’re too scared,” Nathaniel mumbles mulishly, and Severus can’t help the smile that curls his thin lips upward when the boy crosses his little arms in front of his chest in a thoroughly frustrated fashion.

“You don’t need two hundred friends. You don’t even need the help of the five friends you have to defend yourself.”

“Of course I do!”

“No. You don’t. You’re not a rat, and young Mr. Hillen is not a kneazle. You are a wizard, Nathaniel, and if you have magic, it doesn’t matter how big your opponent is. A well-placed spell will take care of that. You just have to know which one to use.”

“I don’t have a wand ei’er. I’m too little. Grandma says that will take years and years.”

“You don’t need a wand. You have magic. There are other ways to spell things.”

“Like potions?” Nathaniel brightens at once. He’s been thoroughly fascinated with the craft ever since Severus caught him playing around with a bunch of weeds he’d picked up from the woods, and took five minutes to show him how to mix a simple orange tincture by combining three of them with a bit of boiling water. Nathaniel has been obsessed with the color orange ever since.

“I was thinking about runes since you like drawing so much, but most potions for beginners can be brewed without a wand, so I suppose you can use them too.”

“I like potions.”

“I know. I could teach you one or two if your grandmother allows it. I’ll also teach you how to draw simple protection runes if you’re interested.”

“You’ll teach me more potions? And magic painting?” Nathaniel beams with delight, bouncing up and down on his bum in his excitement. “I learn very fast, Master Snape. I can make the e-ca-lip-tus bark tincture you showed me on ma’ own if grandma boils my water.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You have?”

“It’s been hard to miss,” Severus says dryly. ”Many things have suddenly turned orange in Sunlit Lane, Mr. Nothbury.”

“I like orange. Orange is cool. And I wanna be the besterest potion maker ever, Master Snape. I’m gonna have a huge cauldron just like yours, and I’ll make yummy, orange stuff that’s cool and helps people get well when they’re sick and things. I want to be like you when I grow up.”

“Please don’t,” Severus mutters under his breath, he’s not the best role model out there, and he’d rather Nathaniel grows up to lead a successful life than end up living one that’s only a few degrees shy of complete solitude and thinly-veiled public scorn.

“Snape-

Potter’s attempt at interrupting his conversation with Nathaniel is hijacked by Poppy, who bustles in, hovering potion tray in her wake, and demands they let her patient rest. The boy stares at her, and her tray of multicolored potions in awe, “You’re the one who made Master Snape all better?” he demands hoarsely and Severus isn’t blind enough to miss the barely-there seed of Nathaniel’s latest fascination as it takes root in the rich soil of the child’s fertile imagination.

“I didn’t do it on my own.” Poppy answers humbly, moving forward to hand Severus’s scheduled dose of the boil-blood antidote.

“But you did some of it?”

“Yes. I look after everyone who gets sick at Hogwarts.”

“Master Snape didn’t get sick at Hogwarts.” Nathaniel points out in that simple, childish, approach to logic that most adults find confounding.

“Well, Severus worked here for a very long time. He’s one of us. That’s why Harry brought him here instead of taking him to St. Mungo’s. He knew Master Snape would prefer to come home to recover.”

“Ah!” Nathaniel nods in understanding, and Severus looks towards a Harry Potter who has flushed to the very tips of his ears and is currently staring at Poppy with wide-eyed disbelief. The Auror looks both startled and intensely uncomfortable, and Severus realizes for the first time that there may be a far more generous explanation for Potter’s decision to bring him to Hogwarts than Severus had initially assumed. He’d supposed the Auror had brought him here to keep the fairy attack out of the press. There aren’t many places in magical Britain that can treat the victim of a brutal magical attack in a hush-hush manner, after all. Now he wonders if Potter spared a single thought for his own reputation -or the Ministry’s- at all when he’d Apparated here with Severus in tow. It’s not hard at all to imagine the Savior reacting instinctively instead of politically when confronted with a severely injured former member of the Order Of The Phoenix. Potter once was as much a Dumbledore’s man as Severus himself, and war-time instincts are a bitch to ignore.

Poppy hands him another vial, and Severus downs it with a quick, unhappy grunt. He hates the taste of Curcumin, but its anti-inflammatory properties are unmatched, so he has to put up with it. Potter steps close enough to pull a reluctant Nathaniel off the window seat’s cushion and they both watch Severus drink the last vile concoction with slightly lost looks. Poppy casts a swift diagnostic spell on him before Severus has enough time to return the last vial to her hovering tray. The magic’s pull on his senses feels invasive enough for Severus to throw an outraged glare her way.

“That’s so cooool!” Nathaniel’s wide-eyed gasp probably saves the Mediwitch from a Snapely Supreme Sharp Snap Special, and she has the cheek to smile smugly at Severus even as he turns to face the still babbling boy. “Is that your magic, Master Snape? I like it. What’s that brownish lump back there? It looks a lot like Wisp, doesn’t it? Or it would if Wisp wasn’t a creepy-looking toad. I like toa—

“And that’s our cue to leave, I think.” Potter interrupts Nathaniel’s ramblings, tickling him slightly on the belly to keep the boy distracted and murmurs in explanation, “You look tired, Snape. I think Madame Pomfrey is right. We should let you rest a bit. Emille will be here in a few hours, and I’m sure you want to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for that meeting.”

Poppy stares at Potter gratefully. “That’s right, Harry. Severus needs to rest, and he’s not likely to do it while your companion is here to entertain him. I bet Mr. Nothbury’s grandmother is impatiently waiting for his return anyway. It’s almost lunchtime already.”

“We’ll go then. Say goodbye, Nathaniel.” Potter prompts firmly, and the boy waves in farewell with a flattering lack of enthusiasm at the idea of leaving.

“Bye, bye, Master Snape. You’ve got to come home soon. Playing outside has been boring without you. We’ll have a party when you come back. There will be tea and loads of cookies. Grandma likes the boring ones that taste like nothing, but I’ll tell her you like the ones with cranberry bits on them. I promise. I’ll make them ma’self, and they’ll be bri-di-ant! You’re gonna like them the best.”

“I look forward to them, Mr. Nothbury,” Severus says solemnly.

“Goodbye, professor,” Potter butts in softly, and Severus turns toward him with a frown.

“I’m no longer a professor, Auror Potter.”

“Oh, you are, Snape. You definitely are. I have the feeling you always will be. You’re just the sort of professor who likes to handpick his students.” Potter points out quietly and leaves before Severus can come up with an appropriate response.

“That last quip was odd, even for Harry. Didn’t you think so, Severus?” Poppy asks, blinking at Potter’s retreating back in confusion.

Severus doesn’t honestly know what to think, so he takes refuge in the task of returning to bed to avoid having to respond to her comment. It stays with him nevertheless. Potter’s actions are out of character, and it’s not just Severus’s imagination telling him so. Poppy has noticed it too. Now Severus has two options: either he can try to figure out what’s wrong with the idiot or he can overlook Potter’s odd behavior altogether. Severus is inclined to ignore the brat. Potter‘s puzzling mood-swings are no longer his problem, and it’s not like they’ll have much to do with one another once Severus returns home. Unfortunately for himself, Severus is beginning to feel perversely intrigued by the abnormality of it all. Potter has never treated him kindly before. The savior has never offered him a single apology for any of his past misdeeds either, and they’d been so many of those that Severus gave up keeping count a long time ago.

In the last two days, Potter has not only apologized to Severus over his treatment of Bollingfrog, but he’s brought Nathaniel to visit him as a peace offering of sorts. Maybe Potter has outgrown their life-long feud and is trying to lay the groundwork to call a truce between them. That would explain all the uncalled for attempts to visit Severus recently and that shocking greeting through the kitchen window.

Severus can’t honestly say that the idea of a truce is unwelcome. He is tired of battles too, and his antagonistic relationship with Potter doesn’t serve a single purpose. He’ll have to think about it some more. Maybe he should return his hedge to its former length when he goes home. Give the brat an unequivocal sign that he’s been heard, and his offer has been carefully considered and accepted. They’re both all right now. They’ve survived. It’s time to prove they can coexist side by side without colliding. They can learn to ignore each other in disinterest, instead of hatred.

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Comments

[teryarel]

They can learn to ignore each other in disinterest, instead of hatred.
Well, it's the end of chapter 7 and we are slowly moving from hatred to disinterest. Ugh... But since I got you to admit that there will be a happy end certainly, definitely, and without a doubt I guess I'll be patient and wait. ;) (At least I'm not nagging you to make Severus just open his eyes and understand the truth and bloody kiss Harry, finally!!)

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this chapter, dear friend, but I'm a bit too exhausted to go in depth today. I love Severus's interaction with Nathaniel. And Harry's comment about Severus being a teacher to hand-picked students. Very fitting. :D

Thank you for this lovely chapter! ^^

[pekeleke]

LOL. Well. The way I see it, moving from hatred to disinterest is great progress. This is Severus we are talking about. :)

Yes, I’m very impressed that you haven’t demanded the kissing part yet, but then you already know all about the certainly, definitely, and without a doubt happy ending, so it’s only fair that you stay patient through the ordeal that awaits our dear, poor Harry. You know how hard I like to make him work for his man, after all. :)

I’m thrilled that you enjoyed Severus’s interaction with Nathaniel and Harry’s realization that Severus is the sort of professor who likes to handpick his students.

Thanks, as usual, for taking the time to both read and review another chapter of this fic, teryarel. Your kind and lovely comment meant the world to me. :)