pekeleke

Title: Courting Disaster. 7.

Rating : Probably NC-17 by the time its done.

Author: pekeleke

Word Count: 3696

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this work.

A/N: This will be a multi-chaptered fic. It is at the moment a WIP.

Summary: For once in his life Harry Potter has a plan. A carefully plotted plan to help him conquer the heart of an extremely reluctant Severus Snape, only... conquering a suspicious ex-spy isn't for the fainthearted and soon Harry finds himself -quite literally- courting disaster.

Courting Disaster.

Harry makes a conscious effort to finally stop fidgeting with his hair and steps away from the mirror. Half an hour of nervous combing shows no visible results with the unruly mass that tops his head and he sighs with defeat. His eyes rake over the casual green robes that he's decided to wear, wondering what Severus will make out of them. They are a tad too bright and trendy but also comfortable enough to have quickly become one of his favorites, and he's been wearing them so often that they have a decidedly commonly-worn look about them.

He's thought long and hard about everything he's planned for this evening, from the comfy clothes he's wearing to the relaxing activities that he's finally settled on. He may have come across as a confident go-getter to Severus, but the truth is that he's more used to allowing others to try to dazzle him with their own ideas of romance than he is to being the man doing the actual wooing.

He's been worrying all day long about his arrangements. Trying to predict how Severus will react to each and every one of his choices. Attempting to decide whether his plan is too simple. Too casual. Too reminiscent of a couple of friends goofing around to actually deliver the sort of message he's so desperately trying to convey to his difficult Slytherin. He doesn't want to overwhelm Severus with anything too formal, but he's wary of offending him by being far too casual.

Ever since he almost made the fatal mistake of walking out of Severus' shop, he has been in a state of absolutely terrified agitation. He'd thought he was emotionally prepared to deal with the stress of being the focus of his beloved's anger, but the truth is that he'd been pretty ill-equipped to deal with the hurt that Severus' stubborn refusal to even listen to him had caused. Thinking back on his behavior as he stands before his mirror Harry is forced to acknowledge the fact that, no matter how many times he tells himself that Severus' reaction to fear is a cutting form of anger, he's too emotionally invested in the man to remember to ignore the awful hurt caused by having all that vicious vitriol directed solely at him.

One chance. Severus has given him a single chance to prove himself worthy of acceptance and, no matter how confident he sounded when he accepted the potioneer's conditions, the plain and simple truth is that he's frightened right out of his mind. What if everything goes wrong? What if his choices are a disaster? What if he manages to offend that prickly and overly defensive creature once again and sparks another horrible bout of fear-fueled anger that he doesn't have a hope in hell of coping properly with?

'I've got to keep calm. I've got to. I have to remember that Severus is probably as freaked out as I am. Probably more, because he's still expecting a prank while I already know for certain precisely what this is. Nothing will go wrong as long as I remember that he's frightened. He's afraid and he'll be suspicious. He's not trying to hurt my feelings on purpose. He's just protecting himself from me.'

His wand vibrates in its holder, reminding him that it is almost five already and he takes a calming deep breath. Casting one last worried look towards the mirror he consciously decides that this is the best he can do with his appearance. He just hopes it's good enough for the stern creature he adores beyond both logic and control, beyond restraint.

Double-checking that he has Severus' vest and sock in the pocket of his coat before he leaves, he proceeds to make a small half-turn right where he stands, swiftly removing himself from the familiar confines of his own bedroom and pushing across space towards the man who fills his every thought and guides his every emotion. Towards the man who awaits him in the small front room of a specialized potions shop that stands at the corner of Diagon Alley.

He materializes into the small room that he'd envisioned with a soft pop, opening green eyes to the barely lit emptiness of a space clearly inhabited by shadows. His right hand deposits the small dark bundle of clothing he'd brought atop the small counter-top that houses the shop's old fashioned till and he takes a look around, double checking the information that his senses have already given him but his mind is still refusing to process.

Despite the fact that he grandfather clock that stands in magnificent splendor right next to the till has begun to chime the hour Severus is clearly absent from the room. Harry's stomach churns with indecision and nerves, with the unpleasant notion that he may have been stood up. Left to come here, eagerly seeking his chance to romance a man who'd never harbored the intention of allowing himself to be romanced by the likes of him.

The faint sound of a half-growled imprecation reaches his ears at that point, easing at least some of the anxiety that is so very slowly spreading through his every limb at once, like an insidious wave attempting to take over his body and drown it without mercy. His gaze rakes the empty room with renewed focus, finally zeroing in on the small, rickety door that stands half-opened just behind the bulky mass of the gigantic clock.

“So that's were you are hiding.” Five determined steps forwards take him right to the doorjamb and he peers into what appears to be Severus' overly tidy office. The man himself is standing in front of the huge bookcase that fills the entire back wall of the otherwise spartan space. He's facing away from the door, clearly fidgeting with the fragile looking pages of the small book that he's holding in his potion-tainted hands.

A loving smile curves Harry's lips in response to the visual confirmation of his earlier suspicious. Severus is nervous indeed. He looks flustered and so clearly unnerved that Harry's own tension dissolves into a single determined thought:
“There's no reason for this. Neither of us should be trembling like a new-born calf at the idea of sharing a single platonic date. We are both going to end the night smiling like a pair of teenage fools, if it's the last thing I do.”

“I'm here, Severus.” He whispers out loud, watching quietly as his voice reaches the other man as if in slow motion. Gorgeous black eyes snap up towards him in the next second and he's left there, paralyzed by the clear trepidation that flashes through that gaze, unmasked.

“So you've come. I wasn't sure if you would. I...”

Harry hears the raw tone that gives life to every word, reads the crystal clear dismay flashing openly in those eyes and understands that, despite Severus' relief at seeing him finally here, a very large part of the man wishes he hadn't shown up. That he'd been a fake. A lying, hateful bastard. The kind of simple threat that this hardened Slytherin would have known precisely how to deal with.

“You look wonderful, Severus.” He interrupts the potioneer's words hastily, both unwilling and unable to cope with the idea of hearing any of those thoughts brought right out into the open, no matter how badly expressed.

Severus takes a step backwards. His long fingers snap the book he's holding closed with a loud bang and he looks down towards it, refusing to meet his gaze and acknowledge the comment. Refusing to take a single step closer or voice a similar sentiment.

Harry sighs in the strained silence, gathering as much of his patience as he can muster and decides to enter the office. Walking determinedly towards the still, silent man who is clearly tracking his approach from the corner of his eyes.

“Look at me.” He finally pleads once he stands right before that stern, lanky figure and the pale face that he adores raises ever so slowly, directing the full force of that gorgeous dark gaze into a full-on confrontation with his own. ”Everything is going to be alright, Severus. You are going to enjoy yourself and you are going to be safe. I promise.”

The tension holding those reedy shoulders so stiffly eases inch by inch as his companion tilts his head in elegant acknowledgment of his words of reassurance, and Harry watches him place his book fussily back on the bookcase, unconsciously caressing the old leather spine with the pad of his index finger as he pulls away from it, reminding Harry so strongly of the moment when that very same fingertip traced the line of his own exposed throat with equally distracted sensuality that his breath catches in his lungs and he has to bite his lower lip in order to avoid the thoroughly inappropriate groan that is trying its best to make it past his lips.

“Are you ready to leave?” He asks slightly breathlessly and forces himself to smile as brightly as he can when Severus looks at him askance.

“Where, precisely, are you taking me, Potter? You look awfully casual for the kind of full on 'date' I was expecting you to concoct. I was under the impression that you wanted to pull out all the stops to avoid 'mediocrity'.”

Harry's nerves are back with a bang and, although he laughs at the relatively gentle barb, he's way too anxious to cope with his beloved's usual snark.
“Be nice, please. I'm freaking out already, no matter how calm I may appear to you, and the last thing either of us needs right now is to end up tangled in a pointless argument out of habit.”

“Potter...”

“It's OK. Just—let's move on, please, Severus. I think we need to get out of here and allow our senses to take over. We are both over-thinking this.”

His hand shoots out in the next blink, grabbing Severus' wrist with a slightly shaky grip and turning them both in place side by side. The awful constriction of a full blown Side-Along-Apparation takes over his senses before he can worry any further about his companion's reaction to what could be quite easily constructed as shameless manhandling and, by the time his feet find solid purchase on the other side of the magical vortex they'd just passed through, he has more important things to focus on. Like Severus' swift and clearly annoyed removal of that pale and breathtakingly slender wrist from all contact with his fingers or the disoriented look he casts around before frowning with crystal-clear puzzlement.

“Where the hell are w...?” A small gasp of what Harry is sincerely hoping to be dazzled recognition rents the air as soon as that ebony-black gaze settles over the distinctive shape of the Belfry Tower, which is soaring towards the heavens in all its magnificently golden-lit glory directly in front of them, gorgeously framed by the backdrop of the amber-tainted pink sky that is so typical of continental sunsets in the middle of January.

“Bruges. This is—dear Merlin, Potter, you've brought me all the way to Magical Bruges. How in the name of Salazar did you even find out that I've always...?” The puzzled question comes to a sudden halt, clearly betraying the fact that the man who'd been so freely voicing it has finally remembered his usual self-protective wariness and is attempting to hold back as much personal information as he can.

Harry doesn't care, though. He's delighted with the wonder that is so clearly plastered all over Severus' pale visage. He feels accomplished and happy, so relieved at having so obviously managed to both surprise and please his companion that his usual bold self-confidence begins to settle back over his shoulders, like a familiar winter cloak.
“How did I know that you've always wanted to see Bruges? You told me all about it once. We were sitting together at the same table during the reception Draco hosted to celebrate his engagement and somehow the general conversation turned to suggesting places for the happy couple to spend their three week long winter honeymoon.

"Everyone agreed that the most romantic destination to be found in the middle of January was a secluded tropical beach. Everyone but you that is, Severus. You spoke about the calm and peaceful atmosphere of this small magical city and described a picture you've seen long before on a travel brochure. You mentioned how some enterprising half-blood had decided to replicate these very same cobbled streets and the tower before us when he set out to build the muggle version of this town. You spoke of magical Bruges with the unconscious openness of a man who genuinely thought the place beautiful, with the longing of someone who desperately wished to see it. That is one of my most precious memories of you.”

Severus turns to look at him with a slight frown. The puzzled expression that is plastered all over his narrow face is unusually open, broadcasting his undeniable bewilderment in the glowing light coming off the tower.
“How can you remember something I said so casually almost five years ago?”

“I remember everything you've ever told me since you came back to England. You may have thought our brief encounters during one or other of Ginny's many soirees to be utterly casual, but the truth is that I've... lived... just for them for a very long time. I've treasured every little moment of idle chit-chat that you've, no doubt, been forcing yourself to share with me out of politeness all along. You mean everything to me. Everything, Severus.”

“Potter...”

“It's alright. You don't have to look so worried, my love. I'm not going to pounce on you right in the middle of The Markt. I'm not planning to pounce on you at all, unless you very clearly indicate that such advances will be welcome. I'm on my best behavior, can't you see? You only gave me one chance.”

A wave of crystal clear relief washes away Severus' wary expression in response to his attempt at lightening up the heavily emotional atmosphere that he'd so unwittingly created.
“I remember your boasting that one chance was all you needed, Potter, so don't you dare going around whining about my miserly approach to fairness.”

This time Harry's laughter is both surprised and genuine. He grins from ear to ear, raising a confident hand to pull Severus forwards by the elbow, looking for all intent and purposes like a happy young tourist eager to visit the fabled tower before him.
“Oh, sush, you! I'll have you know that my gorgeous Prince is anything but miserly. He's the soul of fairness itself. That's why he so magnanimously offered me one single chance to prove I can dazzle him. He knows perfectly well that I've no need of further chances and doesn't want to upset me with the implication that I'll need more time than that. One chance for me to show him what I'm actually made of sounds fair enough to me.”

Severus smiles at the shameful boasting despite himself, feeling surprisingly comfortable as he allows the seeker's eager tugging to pull him across the last few steps of The Markt's square towards the Belfry's entrance.
“Don't be so shameless, Potter. Next you'll be telling tell me that your soul is golden indeed.”

Gorgeous green eyes focus on him with carefree delight and the brat has the audacity to smile cheekily at him, flashing him a picture that's all dimples, white teeth, messy hair and the simple charm of unfettered joy.
“Of course I'm golden from head to foot, Severus. I'm quite shocked that you doubt it. Haven't you been paying attention to the silly names they've given me over the years? I've always had a rather creepy feeling regarding the Wizarding World's obsession with all things golden. It's like no other metal matters and no other jewel has value. I can actually see myself in silver. Even more importantly, I can see you in silver.”

“I don't think it's appropriate to talk about jewelry on our first date, Potter. Please do not make the mistake of getting ahead of yourself.”

Harry's confident steps falter and he comes to a sudden halt right in the middle of the tower's lobby. Tourists walk right around them, hurrying to join the swiftly moving lines of visitors climbing up the steep staircase that leads to the top of the building and its breathtaking views. A pair of deep emerald eyes settle over him with sudden sobriety, studying his pale face intently, as if that is all it takes for their owner to be able to read him like a book or a magazine. As if he's a puzzle mastered long ago, but never quite forgotten. A mystery that marvels rather than intrigues. A source of constant thought and reflection that almost always inspires some sort of peaceful, deep emotion.

“You are right, of course, Severus. Please forgive my enthusiasm and don't take my shameless hints seriously. I've got years of crazy dreams about us stored inside my head. This is all too new for you, whereas I've been dating you in my head for a long time. Everything I've seen in these last years, everywhere I've been, has been enjoyed with the imaginary reminder that I had to see this museum or go to that obscure little park in the middle of nowhere because you'd have wanted to see it, if you'd been there with me. I can't visit a robe store or even read the newspaper without wondering what would draw your eye. What you'd think about it. What you'd enjoy the most. Tonight I feel like I'm living one of my usual daydreams while being finally awake and I can see how fast I'm running way ahead of you, spooking you without actually meaning to do so.”

Severus looks away from the Gryffindor's eager face, idly wondering how on Earth he'd managed in the past to miss the obvious adoration flashing in those emerald-green eyes like a mile-wide beacon.
“I'm never going to match whatever image of me you've created in your head, Potter. I'm a man of flesh and blood. I'm just... me.”

“Yes. You are you. And you are everything I want, Severus. The man I so often dream about is a pale image of you. Not a better, shinier version. You don't have to worry about disappointing me. That's my job in this little drama. I'm the one who must charm you as I am: a mere man of twenty five with more fame than substance to his name. A boy with a past you don't particularly care for and a job you probably think worthless. I'd say I have more reasons to feel insecure than you'll ever have, at least with regards to me.”

Severus frowns:
“That's ridiculous, Potter. You are...”

“Let's not bring The-Boy-Who-Lived here, please, Severus. Let's leave that blasted mask back home, where it belongs. I don't want to ruin our first date with all that baggage. I have a wonderful evening planned out, my love.

"I want to take you up to the tower, so that we can feast our eyes on the gorgeous sight of magical Bruges extended like a small fairy-tale land right beneath our feet. I want to share with you my first taste of the typical dinner of mussels and beer that's traditional here. I want to stroll through the moon-lit park on the other side of town after dinner hand in hand, Severus, and when we reach the end of the first winter garden I want to catch one of those palomino-driven carriages and have it ride us along the canals all the way back here.

"I want to end this date sharing a freshly made chocolate waffle while we sit on the steps of the Basilica, watching the world go by together. I want to lose myself here with you, Severus, and leave behind all those things that may threaten the peaceful night I've envisioned. Please, please, let's not talk about Harry Potter and Severus Snape anymore tonight, I'm begging you. Let's just be Severus and Harry, together at long last, with no last names to haunt us.”

The Slytherin's wary expression softens ever so slightly. Black eyes fill with a faraway look that betrays the very same sort of wistful longing that Harry is pretty sure must be painted across his own features. He realizes in that second that their date will be a success. Whether he's conscious of it or not Severus' heart is also longing for the sort of evening he'd just described and he is, at this very moment, attempting to envision it with his mind's eye. They've found common ground at long last. This is something they can share. Something that unites them. Something they both long for and will be able to enjoy together.

“Severus?” Harry whispers his companion's name in a tone gone soft with gentleness. His hand dares to settle once again over a spindly forearm and a sigh of sheer relief escapes his slightly chapped lips when those unfathomable black eyes focus on him once more with a fierce sort of hunger peeping cautiously out from deep within.

“Fair enough. Let's go up to the tower and kick-start this date of ours, then. If you are able to deliver even half of what you're promising I may have to agree with your shameless boasting and admit that you are not the kind of man who squanders his chances. At least not on your first dates... Harry.”

The soft twinkle of his own laughter precedes them up the stairs and Harry can't help but grin from ear to ear as he watches Severus roll his eyes with fake dismay. An impious mood settles over him and he surrenders to it joyfully, smiling ever so cheekily at his companion before informing him boldly:
“I'm not the sort of man who'll squander his chances on his second date, either.”

( Chapter 6. )

( Chapter 8. )