Chasing Moonbeams. Ch20.
Aug. 10th, 2019 08:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pekelekeTitle: 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?”
Chapter 20.
Severus walks methodically alongside the edge of the woodland abutting Sunlit Lane. He’s been attempting to pinpoint the exact location that anchors the wards currently protecting the neighborhood from what used to be unchecked wilderness for about a week now and, to his absolute shock, hasn’t yet managed to do so. This is outstanding work indeed. Not subtle at all, but powerful. Whoever cast this set of wards wasn’t playing any games. Nothing, dead or alive, will get past them from the woodland side.
This is a huge inconvenience. There are all sorts of insects and small magical creatures living in the forest that are precious potion ingredients. Severus has had the virtual run of the place since he purchased his cottage and has not only saved a pretty sickle by collecting them wild, but also built himself a reasonable nest egg by adequately preparing the rarest of them and selling them to others. Now his chances of continuing to benefit thus from living so close to the woodland are being jeopardized by the peskily perfect ward that someone on the Ministry’s payroll cast after the Trooping Fairy debacle.
Severus understands why the authorities put up the ward. He recognizes that it is a good idea to have this sort of over the top protective barrier in place with the number of curious children currently living in the neighborhood. Severus is not trying to bring the ward down, he just wants to build himself a little backdoor that’ll allow him to bring home the basket full of Chizpurfles he’d spent four hours hunting down last Thursday. He can’t get them past the barrier. Not even using Apparition, or after transfiguring the lot into a row of extra-buttons for his robes. The only things that make it back through the Ministry ward are Severus’s basket and himself. Even the dust and dead grass that naturally collects on the soles of his boots can’t follow him home. He’d been forced to cast both Preserving and Notice-Me-Not charms on his loot and leave it under the huge oak tree he can plainly see from where he stands, but he can’t keep doing that indefinitely. The ingredients will rot eventually, and they are of no use to him on the other side of the barrier.
“What are you up to, professor? I’d have thought you’d be wary of this place.” Potter comments as he ambles closer.
“Why? Because a bunch of Trooping Fairies happened to give me a thorough thrashing around here?”
“Please don’t joke about that. They almost killed you.”
“The Ministry boxed them, Potter. You told me that yourself.”
“Another bunch of them could have settled nearby, and we’d be none the wiser.”
“So? Just because there could be another nest, doesn’t mean there is one. Or that the new lot is dangerous. Fairies don’t spend their every waking hour plotting to murder wizards.”
“Gosh! You are fearless. Why the fuck did that bloody hat put you in Slytherin?”
Severus laughs and shoots the boy an amused look from the corner of his eye. “Careful, Potter. You’re starting to sound like Albus.”
“I’ll be looking like him soon too. I’m starting to realize you’re the one who turned all his hair gray.”
“I did no such thing. His hair was already gray when I met him.”
Potter snorts inelegantly, and they look at one another, both smiling and at ease. Severus would have to be blind not to see how easily they connect when he forgets to panic about his growing appreciation of the brat’s gentle nature and allows their interactions to go wherever they want to. Potter is patient and kind when it comes to him. The savior responds to almost any situation with humor first, then with an earnest desire to understand. It’s pretty hard to rile Potter enough to turn a random encounter into an argument, and the fact that Severus managed it so easily in the past is sufficient proof that there has always been something about him that touches the savior deeply.
“Please tell me you’re not trying to get around this ward, Snape,” Potter demands after a second, his usually calm tone acquiring a gruff edge that Severus is distressed to discover has a thoroughly inappropriate effect on his composure.
“Then you should refrain from asking me questions you don’t want an honest answer to.”
Potter takes an agitated step forward. He is suddenly all clenching hands, tightened jaw and exasperated frustration. ”Why would you try such a thing? There could be anything living out there!”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake! That is not the Forbidden Forest, boy. It’s a small little woodland in the middle of Surrey. What could possibly live there that would harm me?”
“Fairies, professor. Trooping. Bloody. Fairies.”
“That’s not-
“Banshees. Leprechauns. Venomous Tentaculas. Flesh-eating Slugs. Mandrakes. Chameleon Ghouls. Hinkypunks. Imps. Forest Fucking Trolls. You want me to keep going?”
Severus flinches on the receiving end of Potter’s unexpected anger. He can’t figure out why the savior is so upset about this, but it’s clear as day that they don’t see eye to eye on the matter. “You’re overreacting. You know that, don’t you, Potter?”
“And you’ve been out there already, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” Severus confesses, and is beyond stunned to see the Savior of The Wizarding World shrink back as if he’s been slapped.
“You went out there on your own?”
“Of course I went on my own. I’m a fully trained wizard. I don’t need a babysitter.” Severus growls defensively.
“Sever—er Snape. I- Please. Please. I’m begging you. Don’t go back to the woodland by yourself.”
“There are a ton of useful insects out there.” Severus tries to explain. He is distressed by Potter’s extreme reaction to the knowledge that he’s already ventured into the forest and, even though Severus would have already hexed into next week any other bastard daring enough to challenge him so, his first instinct is to soothe the Gryffindor if he can.
Potter’s incredulous green gaze clashes with his. “You’re looking for potion ingredients?”
“Yes. There is a basket full of dead Chizpurfles waiting for me under that oak.” Severus points out the tree, grateful for the excuse to pull his eyes away from the boy’s. There is something deliciously heady about the weight of the brat’s gaze, about the way his voice has lowered. About the small, unconscious step closer Potter has just taken.
“I can bring it to you,” Potter says, but doesn’t move a single inch in the oak’s direction. Severus has the feeling the boy is waiting for their eyes to meet once more. For Severus to acknowledge something he can’t wrap his mind around. ‘What the fuck is going on? Is Potter flirting with me? He can’t be. We’re talking about Chizpurfles, for Merlin’s sake! Why do I feel so affected by a conversation that shouldn’t feel as heavy, as— life-changing, as it does?’
“Snape?” Potter whispers his name once again, and Severus forces himself to look at him. The Auror is so close now that Potter’s breath lands in short, humid puffs across the side of Severus’s face. He frowns. The sensation should make him feel wary, but it does nothing of the sort. It makes his pulse beat erratically instead. It steals his breath away.
“What?” He asks quietly and almost jumps out of his skin when Potter’s hand raises ever so slowly, and a visibly trembling index finger dares to push away the lock of dark hair that’s fallen across his cheek.
“You have to promise me that you won’t go over there on your own anymore,” Potter requests softly, and Severus’s frame stiffens from head to toes. He jerks his head away, looking sideways towards the woodland, his lips thin with growing anger.
“Don’t try to manipulate me, boy. You’ve got no right to demand such a promise from me.”
“Please.” Potter begs, lifting his hands once again, as if he is aching to frame Severus’s face with them, but manages to restrain himself from bestowing the tender touch at the last second. “I promise to accompany you slimy-insect-gathering any time you want, just— swear you won’t go out there on your own. Please.”
Severus swallows past the growing lump firmly lodged in the middle of his throat. His gaze settles upon Potter’s still raised fingertips, wondering what their touch would have felt like if they’d dared to cradle his jaw, thumbs brushing idly against his cheeks. He feels himself blush fiercely and tries to look away, but finds himself unable to do so. Potter’s gaze is darkening by the second, gaining both weight and intensity with every blink of Severus’s eyelashes. The Auror shuffles even closer, uniform boots bumping gently against the soft leather of Severus’s ancient shoes, and Severus startles, panics, and takes a stumbling step back. Potter takes a deep, shuddering breath, looks towards the woods, and the moment vanishes like a snowflake in sunlight.
“You’ll bring me the basket?” Severus asks after a moment and curses his skittish clumsiness when he is forced to watch the boy square his shoulders and take a deep breath before Potter even tries to look him in the eye. Their gazes collide anew, green on black; increasingly calm versus completely poleaxed. The brat has the gall to smile tightly, and something that feels a hell of a lot like blooming arousal begins to unfurl in the pit of Severus’s stomach. This isn’t the smile of a boy. Or a Gryffindor. This is the smile of a man who knows how to bargain, and Severus suddenly finds himself weak at the knees.
“You have to promise me first, Snape. You either collect your ingredients with me as your chaperon from now on, or I leave you here to fiddle with that ward until the cows come home.”
“You think I can’t spell in a back door? I’m a fucking ward expert, Potter.”
“You won’t get past this one because I was the one who cast it. Trust me when I say I put all my magical might behind it. Nothing that’s currently on the other side of that ward will get near you this side of the century, professor.”
“Fine! I will not wander around the woods alone, Potter. Are you happy now?”
“Not really, no. But that’ll do. Accio Severus Snape’s Ingredient Basket,” he casts firmly, and the Chizpurfles’ container raises from its perch at the roots of the oak tree, and sails towards them, crossing the pesky Ministry barrier as if it’s not even there. “Here you go, Your Highness.” Potter teases him, offering the basket to him with a small bow. Severus doesn’t know if he should feel insulted or charmed, so he doesn't respond either way. Potter straightens with a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose tightly.
“You’re going to be the death of me. You know that much at least, don’t you?” He mumbles unhappily. Severus shrinks away from him, basket clutched tightly to his suddenly heaving chest.
“That would greatly disappointment me, Potter,” He manages to retort, “I’ve gone to considerable lengths to keep you alive so far.”
“And I you, Snape.” Potter replies, “You’d do well to remember that.” Severus can’t stand the disappointed look on the boy’s green eyes, so he turns around and heads towards his cottage. Potter doesn’t try to stop him. Doesn’t say goodbye. Doesn’t reassure him that nothing has broken between them and, by the time Severus closes his front door behind himself, he doesn’t even know what’s going on between them anymore. Potter is protective of him, overly so, and Severus isn’t used to being on the receiving end of that sort of care. He has been on his own for far too long. He is an independent soul. He is also perfectly qualified to protect himself from harm. Severus finds the savior’s worrywarting regarding his safety both unwarranted and insulting, but he also finds it heart-meltingly charming. What he doesn’t know yet is if he finds it charming enough to put up with it for longer than five minutes.