Courting Disaster. Chapter 8.

[pekeleke]

Title: Courting Disaster. 8

Rating : NC-17.

Author: pekeleke

Word Count: 3119

Warnings: None.

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

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.

Severus wakes to the insistent tap-taping of an owl's beak against his windowpane.  He blinks blearily into the dawn's soft white light, frowning at the bird with sleepy displeasure.  The persistent creature refuses to be quiet, so he pushes his warm blankets away and steps into the unpleasantly cold morning air.

His bare feet sweep across the freezing-cold wooden floorboards and he swears under his breath, reminding himself for the millionth time this winter to either add a seasonal warming charm to the floor or get a bloody rug.  The owl catches sight of him and stops its awful racket, alighting gracefully on the narrow windowsill in order to wait patiently for him to open the latch.

A few seconds later he's left all alone once more in his small, tidy bedroom.  His toes are beginning to freeze, but he's been nailed to the spot by the fact that the note nestling harmlessly in his hand hasn't come from a business associate, as he'd initially assumed.  It's not a message from Draco, either.  It is a note from Harry.

His long fingers twitch reflexively around the rolled up missive and his breath hitches loudly in the eerie quiet as his mind bombards him with flash after flash of different and increasingly hurtful possibilities regarding the unknown contents of this letter.

Their date has been a success as far as he's concerned.  He'd been initially apprehensive about how it would go, but had ended up being pleasantly surprised by Harry's easy acceptance of his many little hang ups.  The fact that they'd dined in a small, casual establishment instead of the kind of ostentatious bistro he'd been dreading had made the evening all the more relaxing in his opinion. Less like a properly romantic dinner date and more like the beginning of a tentative friendship.

The food had been simple but gloriously tasty, and their stroll through a deserted winter-frosted park, just afterwards, had been equally pleasant.  He'd balked at Harry's desire to hold his hand as they walked side by side, but had been unceremoniously ignored, and so it was that he'd ended up taking his first hand in hand romantic stroll -ever- in the middle of Magical Bruges at forty five years of age.

"Talk about being a late bloomer, Severus."  He whispers under his breath, flinching ever so slightly when that bitter acknowledgment shatters the heavy silence that surrounds him with the shocking power of most thoroughly unwelcome truths.

His dark eyes close ever so slowly and he sighs into the returning quiet with a defeated sort of heaviness.  He's barely woken up and he's already tired to the bone of this newborn day.  He's tired of this morning that has barely begun.  Tired of the fear that the very sight of the small note he's just received has managed to create within him.  He's tired of feeling this unbearable paranoia and the damaging self-pity that is ruining the first instant in years when receiving an owl at first light doesn't immediately translate to either another business deal notification or Draco's most recent attempt to keep an eye on him.  He's tired of being the sort of man who has more regrets than joy in his day to day life.  The kind who'll create those regrets even when there's no reason whatsoever for him to have any.  The kind who throws away his chances out of simple insecurity.

Harry Potter has been nothing short of the most perfect date he's ever had.  He'd been attentive, friendly, and utterly charming.  The Gryffindor had behaved in such gentleman-like manner at every stage of their date that he'd been both shocked and delighted in equal measure.  He'd arrived home last night feeling hopeful about something for the first time in ages and now, faced with this thoroughly unexpected little note in the cold light of morning, he can't cope with the idea of allowing himself to return to the ugly reality of the world he's been inhabiting all his life.

No matter how loudly his heart tells him to stop doubting the seeker until the man actually does something to deserve becoming the focus of his usual paranoid suspicion, his mind keeps reminding him that romantic dates in Bruges with the most dazzling hero the Wizarding World can possibly lay claim to are just not the kind of thing that happens to him.  Ever.

He's never had luck like this in anything, least of all when it comes to his rather abysmal love-life and, despite how hard he's trying to hold on to the fragile sense of trust that filled him just last night, the truth is that he can't suppress the thought that if Potter's plan has been to trick him all along and expose him for the deluded old fool that he most certainly is, then this is definitely the perfect moment for the brat to start pointing a laughing finger in his direction before proceeding to peel off his lying mask.  This would be the right time to expose the ugly truth that hides beneath the wonderful evening they shared last night.  This would be the most wounding method of informing him, once and for all, of just how badly he'd been had.  Of telling him precisely how successfully he's been duped into allowing another cocky Gryffindor bastard to expose him as a pathetic loser.

His Adam's apple travels up and down the long line of his throat, pulled as if through a jerkily held cord by his constant attempts to swallow the bitter taste of the soul-breaking suspicion that its climbing up the back of his throat.  His eyes close and his head bows while his reedy shoulders hunch slightly forwards and he fights against the growing certainty that his foolish dream of love may have been so ridiculously short-lived.

'No.  It can't be.  This is Potter you are talking about, Severus.  Potter can't lie with any sort of conviction.  His acting skills are so abysmal that he wouldn't have been able to fake the sort of outright devotion he showed you last night.  Whatever this note says, it's not a hurtful goodbye.  You know it can not be.  That wouldn't make any sense...'

“Oh, for Heaven's sake!”  He finally sighs explosively, growing beyond annoyed with himself as he forces his freezing feet to walk back towards the comforting warmth of his rumpled bed.  He plops wearily among his blankets, puling on the heavy quilt until it falls over his exposed toes and shivering legs, burying himself waist-deep in the still warm layers before returning his attention to the letter.

He supposes he could look at it without opening it until the bloody cows come home but whatever it contains  won't actually disappear, and his self-protective Slytherin instincts keep reminding him of the fact that knowing your enemy's plans as soon as they are hatched usually helps you minimize the damage they will cause you.

“Get a fucking grip, man.  Po—Harry is not your enemy.  He's never been your enemy.  You fought on the same side during the war.  He's Ginevra's dearest friend.  A charming youth who has shown you nothing but respect in the last few years.  There's no reason to be afraid.  He's probably written something maddeningly mushy.  He's a Gryffindor, after all.  Everybody knows that Gryffindors tend to be sickeningly sentimental when they are infatuated.”

A wary sigh rents the air as his dark eyes contemplate the rolled up piece of parchment with downright trepidation.  He's inexplicably afraid of what it may contain, utterly reluctant to be proven right either way.  There's a giant part of him almost praying for it to bring this madness to a swift end.  He's hoping with all the might of his cowardly little heart for Potter's fantastic promises to be nothing but a cleverly constructed deception.  He'll be wounded by the boy's vindictiveness for a while, but he'll feel better in the end and a hell of a lot safer.  He'll feel relieved too.  And vindicated.  He'll be able to go back to his dreary little life, accepting its tedious patterns with the self-consoling reassurance that he'd been right all along.  He'd tried reaching out for more, but it hadn't been meant for him.  It had all ended up being a bright mirage, a hurtful lie.  A fragile little dream that hadn't been strong enough to withstand the harsh light of reality.

Returning to his hopelessly lonely existence doesn't frighten him as much as the idea of having actual confirmation of Potter's sincerity does.  He'll be forced to acknowledge a lifetime worth of ruthlessly suppressed longing then.  He'll have to recognize that he's mad enough to honestly desire love.  He'll have no other option but to look at the world in the face and expose his fragility before all and sundry, because Potter is Potter.  The blasted golden Savior of The Wizarding World, himself.  He's adored and revered.  Treated like a goddamned messiah wherever he goes.  How on Earth will he actually cope with having everyone laugh raucously at the very notion that he's be crazy enough to believe himself worthy of such companion?  How will he cope with the vicious public scorn that such unequal association will bring forth?  How can he possibly keep his precious dignity intact once he's finally forced to come out of the relative anonymity of his safe little life in order to face everyone's reaction to their—their...

“Courtship, Severus. You might as well call it what it is. Po—Harry wants to court you.  He's made that perfectly clear and, if this note contains some sort of ridiculously sappy recollection of last night's dinner date then you'll have to make up your mind about what to do, won't you?  You'll have to either go on forwards or halt this madness in it's tracks and remain forever static.  You'll have to choose between becoming Albus' mis-sorted little Gryffindor or the wary Slytherin you believe yourself to have been all along.  You'll have to make the kind of decision that will change your future forever, one way or the other.” He forces that terrifying truth out into the open, growling it into rebellious existence with a reckless sort of fierceness.  The words shatter the quiet that surrounds him and he listens to them intently, refusing to allow himself the small comfort of flinching as the terrifying idea sinks slowly into his psyche.

He finally gathers enough strength to slide the very tip of his potion-tainted index finger under the blue ribbon that keeps the parchment firmly curled into a roll, pulling the small cord loose with visibly trembling hands.  He unrolls the thick paper, flattening it slowly as he forces himself to take just one last shuddering breath before directing his dark gaze down towards the familiarly messy script that he immediately recognizes from the million and one essays he must have corrected during the brat's school years.

-Good morning, my prince:

Please forgive the mushy nickname as one of those incomprehensible Gryffindor quirks and allow me to use it in the foreseeable future.  I've always yearned for the freedom of calling you by a name that is only mine to use.

I know you'll argue that very few people call you Severus, but still...  That name belongs to Albus Dumbledore's portrait and Minerva Mcgonagal.  To Poppy Pomfrey and Molly Weasley.  To Ginny, Shacklebolt and Arthur.  To all of those who love you as a friend but will never adore you like I do.

I realize that your feelings towards me are nothing beyond a startled sort of curiosity.  I understand that you've never thought about me on romantic terms before but I'm sincerely hoping that last night allowed you to see how very well suited for each other we actually are.  We could be perfect together, Severus.  We could be the end of each other's solitude.

I went to sleep with a smile on my face and woke, just now, with your name on my lips.  I'm wishing you were here so hard that I couldn't help myself and ended up writing you this note just to say good morning.

I bet you are thinking I'm crazy right now.  And I wonder if you'll bother to answer this note at all.  You've never responded to any of the others, so I'm guessing that you won't.  I suppose an answer to this isn't really necessary.  I'm just rambling idiotically at you, I know, but...  It'd be nice to receive one anyway.  It'd be a relief to have some sort of confirmation that I didn't dream up last night and that you actually enjoyed our date as much as I did.

You agreed to give me one chance and I know that I promised to walk away if you weren't convinced at the end of it.  So I feel I must ask you this one question, even though the very idea of doing such a thing is making my gut churn with the most terrible dread.  Are you willing to let me woo you further, Severus?  Should I plan our second date or should I... let go?

Please, do not let yourself walk away from us in response to fear.  I'm as scared as you are, I swear.  But happiness never knocks on a door that's firmly closed.  Why would it?  It has enough work to do as it is without wasting time on lost causes.

Anyway, I just wanted to wish you a good morning, my dear prince.  Have a wonderful day, Severus.  I'll be thinking about you every second, every minute and every hour, all day long.

Yours always.
Harry.-

Severus blinks as he reads the entire thing a second time, just to make sure that Potter actually wrote exactly what he thinks he read on his first go and a sudden, aching knot of sheer emotion settles on his chest like a huge boulder.  He's never received a letter quite like this.  He's never been called 'my dear prince' by anyone.  He's never been begged to think with his heart instead of his head.  He's never been told that he's... adored.

Potter's little note is making him feel exposed.  It's touching a part of him that has always remained hungry.  It's soothing a hurt that he'd never realized he's been carrying around inside and it's making him feel cared for in a way that doesn't involve his health or general well being.

Potter is making a bold play for his heart and in this second, seating quietly among his pile of blankets while re-reading the seeker's letter for the third time with disbelieving wide eyes, he feels unreasonably delighted.  He feels charmed into smiling with unfamiliar fondness at the messily scripted parchment that he's holding while his heart pounds a mile a minute and a loud, dizzying roar thunders mightily in his ears.  He feels precisely like a man who has just received the first love-letter of his life ought to feel and the rush of terrified excitement that is making him shift restlessly in his warm nest of blankets is exactly the kind of emotion that he's never felt before, but has always longed to experience.

"This is madness.  You are a dammed little bastard, Potter.  You wrote all this on purpose.  You must have known that I wouldn't be able to walk away from you after reading this letter.  How could I?  This is precisely what I've always wanted and you've just given it to me on a silver platter."  He groans under his breath just as he finally manages to drag his widened gaze away from the slightly crumpled note in order to stare blankly into empty space with throat-drying trepidation.

He's literally bubbling with so many overwhelming emotions that he can't begin to unravel the nature of them all.  He's aware that he's ecstatic, relieved, dazed and afraid in equal measure.  He feels hopeful and wary at the same time, reckless enough to grab his wand on a whim and summon a piece of parchment and a quill from the desk that sits in the corner of his room before deciding to pen a simple enough response that may not be quite as verbose as Harry's syrupy missive, but he hopes will convey at least some of his growing... regard... with equal clarity:

-Good morning to you too, Harry.

I remember your shameless boast about not being the kind of man who squanders his second chances either.  So I challenge you to deliver what you so confidently promised.

Thank you for a wonderful date and... for this letter.   I've never received the likes of it before and the experience wasn't completely unwelcome, despite the overflowing Gryffindor sentimentality.

Kind regards
Severus-
 
His eyes rake over those few sentences as he sits back against his pillows for a single doubt-filled moment.  Can he really afford to walk down the road he'll have to travel if he allows himself the recklessness necessary to send this?  Will he be able to live with his own cowardice if he doesn't?  Does he really want to risk so much for something that may never work, anyway?  Potter and himself... it sounds utterly ridiculous, doesn't it?  But it doesn't feel ridiculous at all.  It feels wonderful and frightening.  It feels right, somehow, against all the odds.  It feels like he's finally found something worth fighting for.  Something valuable and clean.  Something... pure.

He scrambles off the bed and rushes towards his desk, searching inside the top-most drawer for one of his distinctive black ribbons.  He curls his response into a small and tidy tube, binding it deftly close before summoning his massive horned owl with a single snap of his potion-tainted fingers. 

"Take this message to Harry Potter."  He addresses the animal clearly, unlocking the window in the next second with a sharp wave of his wand and watching Hermes fly off into the early morning sky in search of the only man who's ever dared to call him 'my prince' to his face, at least in writing.

"I must be mad."  He whispers into the eerie quiet left behind by his departing bird and can't suppress the small shiver of terror that runs down the entire length of his spine as he closes the window and stands beside it, staring thoughtfully up at the gray clouds that have just swallowed the lighting-fast shape of his owl and wishing with all his heart to have made the right choice at long last.  Praying to have finally found the right hands to place his wounded faith into and desperately hoping that Harry Potter has the actual ability to deliver everything he's promised.


( Chapter 7. )

( Chapter 9. )