Chasing Moonbeams. Ch25.
Aug. 10th, 2019 05:58 pm![[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 25.
As Nathaniel disappears inside his grandmother’s house, waving goodbye until the last possible second, Severus frets about what, precisely, is he supposed to do now. He doesn’t know what he wants. Doesn’t know what to do with himself. Or with Potter. And he is finally alone with the man.
Potter wriggles nervously beside him. He is squirming like a worm caught on a fishing hook, and all that twitchy motion is driving Severus nuts. He is terrified of opening his mouth, knowing that he’ll snap something harsh and unforgivable if he does. Severus doesn’t deal well with stress. Nervousness has the unfortunate side-effect of sharpening his wit to vicious perfection. He’s never managed to-
“So… How have you been, Snape? Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Well, you’ve been busy lately. I heard about Longbottom. How is he?”
“He’s fi- You know what? That’s not exactly true, but what’s important is that Neville will be alright eventually. You know he’d been de-aged, right? Brilligand too. Their families are taking care of them now that St. Mungo’s says there’s nothing else they can do.”
“De-aged? That’s unusual.”
“There’s this ring of nutters who’ve decided to collect every cursed clock in Europe, hoping to find a way to reverse-engineer Time-Turners. It’s an international case because these plonkers are grabbing stuff that’s all over the place. The French, German, Spanish and Italian versions of the DMLE are all working on different aspects of the same case. Thing is, the only decent curse-breaker across the teams is the German bloke. He compiled a, frankly, bloody brilliant 12 page-long catalog of the most important cursed timepieces still scattered across Europe, alongside with an assessment on the families that own them, the curse and possible counter-course strategies to adopt with every one of those clocks, and how likely it was that our suspects would target them.”
Severus frowns. “Hold on. That sounds vaguely familiar. Isn’t Draco working on something along those lines? He’s been positively obsessed with cursed Baroque timepieces lately.”
“Of course he is,” Potter growls. “He’s the Germany-based curse breaker I’m talking about. Every team is using his catalog to keep track of the stuff still available in their respective country, except for us. Malfoy’s dossier has saved the lives of at least six different Aurors in the last two weeks, but do the idiots in my department listen to anything our European counterparts have to say? No! Nobody has bothered to even read Malfoy’s recommendations, let alone follow them.”
“What a bunch of morons.”
“What a bunch of morons indeed. I’m so fucking tired of this never-ending bullshit. Did you know that Malfoy has like eight awards in curse breaking? He fucking wrote the latest textbook in Magical Defense that the blokes who teach at Durmstrang are currently using. Beauxbatons is thinking about adding it to their curriculum next year, but Hogwarts’ board of directors won’t even look at it because ‘Magical Defense isn’t the same as Defense Against The Dark Arts.’”
“I’m confident that Draco’s healthy enough ego will survive the slight, Potter.” Severus tries to soothe him.
“That’s the thing. Draco Malfoy’s ego deserves to be stroked. I looked into his career after you told me he’s DMLE. Malfoy doesn’t give a single fuck about the members of Hogwarts’ board of directors behaving like a bunch of old-fashioned arseholes, or about why the petty section chiefs in the Auror department have insisted their teams dismiss his recommendations. Malfoy is doing his thing all the way in bloody Germany where they fucking listen to him. He is busy saving lives with his brilliant work across four European countries, collecting awards and whatnot, isn’t he? It’s not his bloody fault that Neville and Brilligant have been turned into babbling three-year-olds by the cursed clock they were guarding because they didn’t bother to do the smart thing and follow his advice.”
“Potter-
“Robbards demanded they give me a mandatory briefing on the mess they’ve made of the Time-Turner case. That’s why you’ve been putting up with Wiggins these last few days. It’s over now. I’m coming back to Sunlit Lane tomorrow.”
“What’s wrong, then? I thought you were determined to stay in the Safe Neighborhood Program.”
“I’m not so sure anymore. Robbards is begging me to step in. He told me to forget about joining Dawlish’s group. He’ll let me handpick my own team. Anyone I want. And I won’t even have to do the legwork or anything. I’ll just take charge of my group of investigators and hand over their assignments, coordinate their resources, that sort of thing. Robbards gave me three months to give him an answer. The Time-Turner case may be over by then, but he promised me I’d be in charge of all the high profile investigations if I decide to accept his offer.”
“I see.”
“Do you? They’ve been trying to lure me into accepting that sort of position for ages. I’d have been the head of a team like that for over a year by now if I’d accepted their last offer. And they’d have given me this case when it came up.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yes, I do! They’d have given it to me, and I wouldn’t have let them ignore Malfoy’s report. Fuck! I’d have demanded they hire Malfoy in the first place if they wanted me to accept their stupid team leader position. What happened to Neville and Brilligand wouldn’t have happened at all if I’d been the head of their team, Snape.”
“It’s not your fault that you weren’t. You shouldn’t allow anyone to make you feel guilty about this. It has nothing whatsoever to do with you.”
“I feel guilty about it anyway. Do you know how old Neville’s grandmother is? There’s nobody else, and she is currently stuck looking after a colicky three-year-old because we didn’t do our jobs properly.”
“Then accept Robbards’ offer and stop whining. Ranting in the middle of the lane like a lunatic isn’t going to solve anything.”
“Robbards is giving me a desk-bound job.”
“So?”
“I’ve told you this before. I don’t want to sit on my butt all day long. I like the Safe Neighborhood Program, and Nathaniel will kill me if I quit and they give the beat to Wiggins.”
“Nathaniel will survive. Especially if you make sure they send Wiggins somewhere else.”
“But I won’t see you as often if I stay in London. And I’ll miss Nathaniel. And Mabel. And old Esther. And even bloody Willoughby. I’ll be stuck doing what they want. And Ron thinks they’ll push me up the ladder until they make me run for Minister of Magic.”
“Of course they will.”
“I’m not sure I want to be the next Minister of Magic, Snape,” Potter confesses, tone gone soft with anxiety, with a lack of confidence that makes Severus shake his head from left to right.
“If not you then who, Potter? You’re the one who wants to change our world, make it better. You’re the one with the right vision. The owner of the voice the public listens to. You’re the one willing to pick up the right battles, boy, and you’re also the only one who has a chance to win them.”
“But they’ll never leave me alone if I become Minister. I’ll belong to them forever. To the public and the press. To the celebrity-loving phonies.”
“That’s not true. You belong to yourself, first and foremost. And you must make certain you become whoever you want to be. You can either decide to change the world or seek anonymity. But you can not do both.”
The boy stares at him for a very long time. He looks pale and flustered. Anxious beyond words, and Severus doesn’t know how to console him. How to help him find the strength that seems to have deserted him. “I don’t think my Slytherin would follow me into that sort of limelight,” Potter explains haltingly, and Severus feels the weight of about a million rocks settle in the pit of his stomach.
“You’re probably wrong about that. Slytherins don’t often dislike fame.”
“I think mine does. H-he’s— a bit shy.”
Severus’s breath hitches upon hearing Potter’s unmistakable use of the pronoun ‘he’ to describe his mystery crush. There is no room for error in that statement. Potter is definitely gay. “Are you certain of that?” He asks softly, even though he thinks the brat’s assessment on his general aversion to fame is spot on, assuming it’s him they’re talking about and not some other Slytherin.
“Pretty sure. Yeah.”
“Who is it?” Severus dares to ask even though he has absolutely no idea what he’ll do with that information. Severus is not in love. But that doesn’t mean he can’t get there if given enough time. He is wary of confronting the possibility of it so soon after learning that a meaningful relationship with Harry Potter may be within his grasp, but it’s becoming increasingly apparent that skirting around the issue for as long as it’ll take him to grow used to the idea isn’t going to work either.
“He’s the strongest man I know. Bold and beautiful and terrifyingly brave.” Potter says obliquely, and Severus doesn’t know if he is more relieved or exasperated at the Gryffindor's not so subtle refusal to answer his bloody question.
“If he is so brave, he’ll deal with both the perks and the headaches associated with your potential appointment as the next Minister Of Magic. There’s no Slytherin out there who doesn’t want you on the job, Potter.”
“Can we talk about something else, please?” Potter deflects with a sigh, “I don’t want us to argue about this. It’s bad enough that I have to deal with it at work. I came here to chill, you know?”
“I don’t think you’re succeeding.” Severus deadpans, unable to come up with anything better.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Potter laughs, shadowing him as he ambles back towards his cottage. “I’ve been dying to see you, Snape. Would you think me a complete nutter if I told you that I find your presence soothing?”
“Probably. I’m not precisely The Buddha, Potter.”
“Bah! That bloke was bald and fat and had terrible skin color. You, on the other hand, are famously photogenic. I’d bet you’d look better than The Buddha showing off your pecs on giant statue form.”
Severus snorts. “Nobody looks good on giant statue form, you idiot.”
“That’s not true. Have you never heard of Michelangelo? That bloke carved himself the cutest dreamboat ever carved.” Severus stumbles on thin air upon hearing that and Potter, the utter bastard, bursts out laughing.
“I don’t know what I find more shocking, that The Savior Of The Wizarding World has the hots for a giant piece of marble or that he’s even heard of Michelangelo.”
“Ha. Ha. I’m not completely uncultured, Snape. And I went to Italy on vacation a couple of years ago. It’s a gorgeous place full of awesome people and has the sort of food that makes you fat just by catching a whiff of it. Have you ever been there?”
“No. I never had enough money to travel before I became a professor, and afterward— Let’s say that traveling wasn’t high on my agenda during my Hogwarts’ tenure.”
“What about now?”
“Now I’m too lazy to do any traveling that doesn’t involve attending potion conferences. I’ve been to France and Germany. Portugal once or twice. And Switzerland. But I haven’t done any of the touristy things. I tend to go from the International Portkey Station to whichever hotel is sponsoring the conference, and then become too absorbed in academic pursuits to bother with sightseeing. Minerva thinks my traveling habits are terribly dull.”
“They sound bad.” Potter agrees. Their conversation stalls for a second and Severus is attempting to find them a reasonably neutral new topic to sink their teeth into when the boy gives him a thoughtful sideways glance, “Do you think you’d do better if you had a companion, someone to drag you out into the sunshine and insist on taking glorious pictures of you laughing yourself silly against the background of the Fountain of Trevi, or the Parthenon, or the Eiffel Tower?”
Severus can’t help but gape at the brat’s boldness, especially after Potter refused to name his mysterious Slytherin not a minute ago. The more Severus interacts with the Gryffindor, the more inclined he is to believe that Minerva may not be completely bonkers. “I’m not sure.” He answers cautiously, “I do better when I visit Draco in Berlin. He has a flat over there and stays in the city whenever the job becomes too busy for him to return home at a reasonable hour. He dragged me over there last September for a series of concerts. I have a weakness for symphony orchestras, and Draco likes to indulge me.”
“Symphony orchestras, eh?” Potter grins, clearly delighted by the little nugget of information Severus has decided to share with him. “I suppose I can see that. You have an air of elegant erudition about you.”
“Elegant erudition?” Severus repeats, flummoxed, “First you know who Michelangelo is and now you talk like you’re the one who swallowed Mrs. Granger’s infamous dictionary. I’m starting to believe you can’t be the real Harry Potter.”
“Oh, shush! I’m real all right. And I happen to know a hell of a lot about silly posh stuff, thank you very much. I hoped it’d come handy in conversation one day, so I made it my business to learn about such things.”
“Let me get this straight: you learned a lot about ‘silly posh stuff’ for the purpose of conversing. You realize that’s utterly ridiculous, right? Who the hell were you even planning to shock with your knowledge? Surely Granger already has it, and I doubt Weasley cares for that sort of thing.”
“I could’ve been planning to shock you, Snape. You wouldn’t have seen it coming.” Potter replies shamelessly just as they reach Severus’s garden gate. Severus stands there, wrestling with a veritable mass of warring thoughts and feelings. He is not ready to invite Potter into his cottage, but he doesn’t want to let him go so soon. He thinks back to Potter’s refusal to name his paramour and wonders what the boy wants. What game is he playing? Is the savior interested in Severus at all, or is he simply a harmless flirt whose heart belongs to someone else? Does Potter wish Severus would invite him in for tea, or would he rather stand out here like an idiot and keep rambling until the cows come home?
“I am shocked,” Severus agrees blandly, and can’t for the life of him decide what to say next.
Potter laughs. “Have I shocked you in a good way or in a bad one, professor? I don’t know why, but I’ve never managed to impress you.”
“I don’t think you ever tried.”
“Oh, I’ve tried.” Potter disagrees instantly. “I’ve been trying for ages, in fact,” He adds with that tone of his, the one that’s soft and intense and oh-so-riveting that Severus feels it rattling his very bones. They proceed to stand there like a pair of nincompoops, staring at one another unblinkingly. Potter swallows thickly, licks his lips like a man sitting before the most marvelous feast he’s ever seen, and flaps his right hand nervously in the air. “Snape, I-
Severus panics, certain that whatever reason led the boy to refuse answering his direct question earlier has lost some of its importance during the course of their conversation. Potter is about to launch into confession, Severus can practically smell it, and he is suddenly frightened of losing their current camaraderie. He’s got nothing of substance to offer, and Potter may walk away upon hearing that truth. “Let’s not say -or do- anything hasty, Potter. I’m— not used to having to make up my mind on the spot about such things.”
“Such things?” Potter asks, looking thoroughly confused, and as disappointed as Willoughby would be if he woke up one day to find out that old Esther’s conker tree disappeared overnight.
“Things like deciding whether I’m properly impressed or not, boy.” Severus estates obliquely, hoping to high heaven that the Gryffindor will not force him to clarify his answer any further.
To Severus’s utter shock, Potter’s confused expression clears instead of becoming mulish, and the unflattering moue of utter disappointment he’d been sporting vanishes as if it never existed. “Really? You’d— Oh!”
Severus can’t help raising a thin, perplexed eyebrow. He can’t even begin to imagine why the idiot suddenly looks so cheerful. Despite his growing confusion, he is impressed with the brat’s ability to convey so much emotion with so unlikely a trio of barely linked words. Potter fidgets nervously under his gaze, but the sunny little smile breaking out across his lips is warm and pleased, hopeful. “I mean, yeah. That’s— cool. I know how slow Slytherins are to decide ‘such things.’ I can be patient, Snape. I can be as patient as hell.”
Severus feels himself blush. Potter is looking at him with a kind of dazzled hunger that’s making him feel slightly dizzy. He can’t believe the boy is managing to make him weak at the knees with a single knowing look as they stand outside his garden gate. “I can’t promise I’d find myself impressed in the end, Potter.” He feels honor-bound to explain, for he is certain now that the savior has managed to interpret his original deflection as something else entirely, and Severus doesn’t want to make any promise he can’t keep.
Potter nods in distracted agreement and remains there, staring at him in open wonder. “What’s changed? You were still running away like a panicked virgin and pushing random Slytherin girls at me in a desperate attempt to turn me straight the last time I saw you.”
“I was doing nothing of the sort!” Severus gasps.
“Really? Then what the hell were you doing?”
Severus swallows with discomfort. The boy is too direct by far. He is also making no effort to either hide or deny the truth of Minerva’s assumptions. Potter is interested in him and, despite Severus’s intimation that he requires time to think about ‘such things,’ the brat is Gryffindor enough to be clearly aiming for total transparency in regard to what ‘such things’ entail. “I was honestly attempting to aid you. I hadn’t realized that you are—er... Minerva had to tell me you’re a homosexual, Potter. I had no idea. In fact, I didn’t fully believe her until you confirmed it to my face a few minutes ago. I was under the impression that you were the quintessential straight hero.”
The Savior does a double-take. “You didn’t know? Gosh! That’s mortifying. You must have been terribly confused when I tried to put the moves on you that day, at Fortescue’s.”
“I assume you’re aware I’m-
“Yeah. I inherited the Blacks’ fortune. All their vaults and things. Regulus kept your letters inside this super posh lacquered box, you see? I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while. But you never gave me the time of day, and I didn’t want to drop it on your doorstep or something. Memories like that ought to be treated right.”
Severus doesn’t know what to say to that. He is hovering between shock that there’s something of that nature that has survived for so long out of his grasp, gratitude that the boy is willing to hand it over to him, and utter horror that Potter has obviously read his intimate correspondence.
“Ah! no.” Potter says, swaying instinctively closer and lifting up a hand as if he’s aching to rub Severus’s arm in a soothing gesture of comfort that he forces himself not to deliver at the last possible second. “I know what you’re thinking, Snape, and it’s not true, all right? I read one or two of those letters, enough to understand what was going on between the two of you and that you have every right to claim the contents of that box, but I left the rest alone. I only know that Regulus Black was in love with you and that you returned his feelings.”
“I— Thank you, Potter. For respecting my privacy, and for offering to return Regulus’s treasure to me. I had no idea that he’d saved those letters, or that he’d kept them hidden inside his vault.”
“I think he kept more than that. There’s a fancy blue potion bottle in his vault too. It’s empty and dusty, and it doesn’t look like much at all, but I recognized your handwriting on the label.”
“Oh!” Severus gasps, suddenly faint with the achy weight that comes with so unexpectedly recalling one of his most cherished memories.
“Maybe we should visit that vault together. I bet there are plenty of things inside that rightly belong to you, and I don’t want to miss anything of importance. Regulus would have wanted you to have them.”
“I’d like that.” Severus agrees quietly, and this time, when Potter’s hand raises once more as if to settle upon him comfortingly, Severus steps forward until the boy’s calloused palm catches the side of his arm. “Please,” he whispers, staring into the most famous green eyes in Britain with a mix of growing frustration and fond amusement. “There’s no need for you to be so skittish about putting your hands on me, Potter. I may not be as touchy-feely as you are, but I do enjoy physical contact.”
The Gryffindor’s hand settles properly upon him then, rubbing gently up and down his arm, and Severus sighs with relief when Potter steps closer, “How patient do you want me to be? Are you aware of the depth of my feelings for you or should I assume you’re still wearing your I’m-An-Oblivious-Git hat?”
“I— Minerva is of the opinion that I’m your mystery Slytherin.”
“Of course you are, you, silly man,” Potter confirms, calm as you please. The smile on his lips is tender and kind, downright irresistible.
“I’m not in love with you, Potter. I barely know you.”
“And whose fault is that, eh? I’ve been batting my eyelashes and flashing my charming smile your way for ages, you, grumpy old bastard.” The boy berates him, even though there is an immense amount of gentle patience in his tone, and he keeps rubbing Severus’s arm in a gesture that offers comfort, that aims to soothe unsettled nerves. “I realize I haven’t managed to bewitch you with my loveliness yet but, jokes aside, can you imagine yourself falling for me at some point in the future, Snape? I’d gladly court you if you let me.”
“Isn’t courting a bit— old-fashioned? We could just-
“No. I don’t want to ‘just-’ anything with you, professor. I don’t want any maybes or let’s sees or any other sort of casual shite. I want truth, solid and unshakable. And I bloody well deserve it. You deserve it too.”
Severus feels his pounding heart stick to the back of his throat. How does Potter read him so well? How does this person, who Severus had so thoroughly dismissed as someone he’d never see eye to eye with, never share any dream or idea with, know the exact shape and depth of his most cherished dream? Severus wants truth, solid and unshakable, too. He wants that above everything else. Wants it with a strength that sometimes frightens him. “Fine. Do your worst and court me then. But don’t you dare go overboard. Do it subtly. Respectfully. Do it slowly, Potter. I want to be able to enjoy it. And I won’t be rushed into anything. Not before I’m ready.”
“I can do that.” Potter tries to say calmly, but he is shaking minutely from head to toes, and his face is glowing with happiness. He looks like a man whose last ten birthday wishes have unexpectedly come true at the same time. There is a dazed, wide-eyed hint of disbelief to his expression that makes the joy in it seem more real. Severus feels the weight of the open look of adoration the boy is giving him right down to his toes.
“W-we are in agreement then.” Severus stammers, flustered beyond words. “You may use my given name from now on if you so wish.”
“Oh, I wish, Severus,” Potter says fervently, leaning towards him like a frost-coated plant seeking the warmth of the sun. “You can call me Harry too. Or pet. Or sweet-cheeks. Or sunshine, sugar-lips, honey-bear... Anything that pleases you, really. I’ll answer to all of it.”
Severus laughs at the idiot’s silly antics, and the moment turns less heavy, less terrifying, and a lot less intense without losing any of its promising depth. “I’m half tempted to call you ‘bon-bon’ just to see if you’ll respond to that.”
Potter grins at him mischievously. “You say ‘bon-bon,’ and I’ll simply ask what kind? What flavor? What shape? I want to be what you want, Severus.”
“I believe you’re very close to it already,” Severus says honestly.
“So you don’t go for smarts after all. Thank Godric!” Potter sighs artlessly in relief. “You’ve got a thing for kind and thoughtful, don’t you?”
“I do,” Severus admits readily enough and shakes his head from left to right when the idiot proceeds to take a couple of steps back and performs a ridiculous triumphant little dance.
“I knew it! Ron said I didn’t have a hope in hell because Regulus was smart and cultured and gorgeous.”
“You’re smart and gorgeous too, Pot-er— Harry.”
“Am I?” The Savior asks, shocked into stillness.
Severus blushes bright red. “Stop fishing for compliments, boy. It’s unseemly.” He berates the idiot snarkily and then bites his lower lip, making no move to disguise his growing worry. He is starting to become jittery with nerves, and that’s never good news for anyone in his vicinity, let alone the actual source of his rising anxiety. “I think we should call it a day before things go South. I don’t do well when I feel out of my depth, Po— Harry. I need some time to get used to the change in our friendsh- relationsh- this thing between us.”
Potter laughs, sunny and delighted and not upset at all about being so bluntly dismissed. “That’s all right, Severus. I don’t want to put my foot in it either, and I will because I’m so nervous I could barf. I doubt you’d find my throwing up on your shoes very attractive. What about meeting tomorrow to check out Regulus’s vault? We could have a bit of a pint at The Leaky afterward. I still haven’t seen you plastered.”
“And you shan’t. Not yet, at least. I don’t like to get drunk in public, and it’s too soon for us to be doing that sort of thing in my home.”
“We could do it in mine.” Potter offers instantly, cheekily, and Severus rolls his eyes in the sort of long-suffering gesture that already feels comfortably natural.
“We will do nothing of the sort for at least ten years, brat.”
“TEN YEARS!” Potter shrieks, looking satisfyingly horrified. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I might be. But I don’t know that yet. Just remember that teasing me so shamelessly could result in me teasing you back. And I’m Slytherin. And older. And a bit of a bastard.”
“Don’t worry. I like bastards as much as I like you, Severus.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Get the hell out of here, Potter.” Severus grumbles when he feels himself blush anew.
The Gryffindor laughs himself silly before taking a sobering look at him and saying in the softest tone possible. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Six o’clock all right?”
“Yes. But let’s go to the bakery instead, please. I think it may be too soon for us to tackle Regulus’s ghost together.” Severus decides, and Po—er ‘Harry, damn it!’ nods in agreement and offers him a cheerful goodbye before Apparating away. Severus is left there, staring into thin air beside his garden gate while every drop of his blood fairly gallops through his veins. He hasn’t felt so alive in years. It’s a strange but lovely feeling. One he’d forgotten about altogether due to disuse. He is looking forward to the prospect of getting used to it once again. Salazar! He’s got the hugest crush on Potter, and he’s grateful for the fact that he doesn’t have to hide it, suppress it, or otherwise feel terribly guilty about nursing the pesky attraction.
So far, he’s found peace and managed to keep his old friendships in the post-war existence he’s forged for himself. Maybe he can find the time and space for romantic affection too. Severus ponders on the matter for a second and comes to the conclusion that Harry is right. He most certainly deserves love and, even more importantly, he wants it.