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 9.

The evening after the girls’ visit, Severus is listlessly playing chess against the charmed board for the 12th time in a row when Potter shows up. Severus is so bored by now that the brat’s usually unwelcome presence feels like a gift from the heavens, so he straightens up in his chair and attempts a welcoming smile that must fail its purpose entirely because Potter comes to a standstill and looks ready to turn tail and bolt as soon as he spots it.

“Er-

‘Dear God,’ Severus disparages to himself, ‘How have I fallen so low that this is the best I can expect in terms of entertainment?’

“Please tell me you’re capable of holding a conversation, Potter.” He snaps, so disappointed by his dismal lack of prospects in that arena that he can’t help the sharpness of his tone. The Auror flinches where he stands and acquires a thoroughly puzzling embarrassed blush between one blink and the next. Severus frowns. Potter squeaks like a startled chicken and, hurrying gracelessly across the room, plops himself on the chair opposite Severus’s as if he’s afraid someone else might steal it.

“Of course I can chat. I just wasn’t expecting you’d want to.” Potter huffs, slouching unbecomingly against the backrest of his chair. Severus grits his teeth.

“At this point, I’d engage in conversation with the Whomping Willow itself if I thought it capable of uttering simple monosyllables in response to basic questions.”

Potter offers him a hard, bitter smile upon hearing that. “Wow. You know exactly how to charm a bloke into a spot of brainy discussion, don’t you, Snape? I now feel inexplicably inclined to sit here and spend the next half hour ‘uttering simple monosyllables in response to basic questions’ so go ahead, ask me something so easy even a 30-year-old tree could understand it.”

Severus blinks, honestly disconcerted by Potter’s disproportionate reaction to what was, in all honesty, merely a poorly constructed reference to Severus’s own boredom. “Apologies.” He offers stiffly. “It was not my intention to cast aspersions on the quality of your communication skills, Auror Potter.” The brat is rude enough to snort and stare at him unblinkingly, thin eyebrow raising across his famously marred forehead in a challenging gesture that could have been stolen directly from Severus’s repertoire. “Fine! I’m bored out of my mind, and I failed to convey that sentiment in the spirit I intended. Are you happy now, Potter?”

The Auror sighs, shakes his head in what looks like defeat and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘take what you can get, you, fucking idiot’ under his breath. Then Potter takes a deep breath, sits up straighter in his chair and, shockingly, brushes the entire incident aside. “Nathaniel painted a ginormous winged boar and hung it on his grandmother’s garden gate. I had to cast Impervious on the thing yesterday when it started drizzling. He is determined to keep it there. He’s calling it Mr. Wimby.”

Severus chuckles, feeling immediately relaxed by Potter’s generous choice in conversational topic. “Is it orange?” he asks, amused, and can’t help but shake his head in fond exasperation when the Gryffindor confirms his suspicions.

“I swear its so fucking bright its Neon. I haven’t seen it after five, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it can glow in the dark. It’s hideous.”

“Gargoyles aren’t supposed to be pretty, Potter.”

“This isn’t a gargoyle. It’s a five-year old’s drawing. Shouldn’t it be featuring cute things like lazy afternoon broom-rides, stick figures, or Beedle the Bard’s characters? That’s the sort of stuff Victoire likes to paint. The two of them are about the same age.”

“Victoire?” Severus inquires delicately, wondering if it is at all possible that Potter’s motherly girl has already saddled the Wizarding World’s Savior with his own little brat.

“Bill’s eldest. She’s as cute as a button, but a bit crazy about unicorns and things.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence settles between them. Severus isn’t sure he wants to break it. He can’t help the thought that Potter shouldn’t be here. They have nothing in common, and forcing themselves to go through the charade of attempting civility seems rather pointless to him. Potter obviously disagrees, for he suddenly lurches forward and blurts out rather desperately: “How did Emille’s visit go? He was so very excited about working with you.”

Severus stares at Potter for a long while before answering. On the one hand, he’s bored enough to be tempted to share a few details here and there to keep Potter around for a little while longer, on the other hand— This man isn’t made to take -or offer- random one-offs. It is entirely possible that Potter would see the smallest thawing in Severus’s current policy of zero-tolerance towards Savior-related friendly overtures as tacit permission to start bombarding him with friendly ‘top o’ the mornings’ through his kitchen window. Severus has only just started toying with the idea of encouraging mutual disinterest instead of outright hatred, but that doesn’t mean he is willing to venture down the path of actual fraternization. It certainly feels too soon to entertain such thoughts. They haven’t even tried the disinterested part yet.

“It went as well as can be expected.” Severus offers a non-committal answer in the end and panics a bit when Potter frowns, obviously disappointed.

“I see.”

The pesky awkward silence returns with a vengeance, settling between them like a line drawn in the sand. Severus looks at the floor forlornly, wondering why Potter has to be so bloody greedy all the time. Why can’t the idiot be a little more polished, a little less needy? Why doesn’t he understand that life is often built of moments that mean nothing? That not every exchange has to survive past the here and now?

“Listen, Snape, I can go if you don’t want me here. I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing, Potter.”

“I’m not helping you relax either. You’re more wound up now than you were when I first walked in.”

“I fail to see the logic behind your expectations. We hardly know one another other. I’m not in the habit of dropping my guard low enough to achieve any form of relaxation while in the company of strangers.”

“We’re not strangers. I’ve known you since I was eleven.”

“You know my name. My former profession. My war-time allegiance. You became, at one point, the reluctant temporary guardian of my most traumatic memories. None of those things make us friends, Mr. Potter. You know nothing of substance about me.”

“Trust me, I know enough to have gone bonkers.”

Severus frowns and wonders what the hell is that supposed to mean before deciding he doesn’t want to know. “I’m afraid your standards regarding the labeling of human interactions are terribly lax, then. Our connection to one another is tenuous. We exist at the fringes of each other’s lives.”

“Fine. Have it your way. We’re a pretty little set of almost strangers. Is there are any chance at all of changing that?”

Severus blinks, honestly shocked by the unexpected request. “I don’t see why you’d want to—

“OK. You know what? I’m going to go ahead and say this while I have the chance: I like you, Snape. A lot. I think you’re a pretty decent wizard, and I’d like to try my hand at befriending you.”

“You what?”

“I. Want. To. Be. Your. Friend.” Potter repeats patiently, emphasizing each word for Severus’s benefit. Severus stares at the Gryffindor as if he’d just sprouted five purple heads and proceeded to belt out an operatic aria in the middle of the infirmary.

“Why?”

“I told you. I like you.”

“No. You don’t. Do I need to remind you that—?

“Let’s agree that anything I may have said to you or thought about your person before the Final Battle was a product of my childishness at the time and your pretty impressive acting skills, OK? You were Dumbledore’s spy. You had a role to play, and you played it dammed well. Now I understand things I didn’t understand back then. I’m not a kid anymore. And spending the last two years walking up and down your neighborhood has allowed me to see what you are really like when you’re in your element.”

Severus doesn’t know what to say to that. Potter is staring at him unblinkingly, all defiant gaze, clenched jaw, and nervously jiggling left leg. In the end, neither Potter’s shocking words nor his plucky attitude manage to sway Severus. It’s the telling, anxious twitching of the brat’s lower limb that gets to him. Potter is emotionally attached to the idea he just proposed. He is putting on a good show but is plain enough to see that he’s bracing himself for rejection. To be fair, Severus’s instinctive response is a firm and immediate refusal to even contemplate the notion of exchanging civil pleasantries with the savior, but— Severus has been rejected enough times in his life to know precisely how Potter feels right now, and he’s loath to cause that sort of hurt to a man who has saved his life twice.

If Potter wants a shot at befriending him Severus supposes he has nothing to lose by giving him the chance. Who knows? If he plays his cards right, other, more charming members of his former house won’t be saddled with the task of trying to butter up Potter’s rabid pacifist. Maybe it is possible for Severus to befriend the incoming Minister of Magic instead of his future wife. Convincing Harry Potter to change his mind about disliking Slytherins would ensure a better life not only for Severus himself but also for every generation of Salazar’s children currently alive. For every generation waiting to be born.

“I suppose we could try.” He says quietly.

“Really?” Potter’s smile is as bright as the sun, but the open disbelief in his green gaze reminds Severus to be wary. They don’t trust one another. And maybe they never will. Attempting to grow friendship from so damaged a seed may turn out to be impossible.

“I’m not making any promises, Potter.” He feels honor-bound to add. “I’m only saying I’ll try.”

Next

Back