Once Upon a Fish
Wherein our
hero experiences the inadvisability of home decoration - A fish with
a hat - The singing of carols – A Christmas present is
unwrapped - Advisability of a handshake - A whale with a tuba - The
magic word - Silenced with a kiss.
In the darkness of the
dungeons, hovering just above the nightstand, the silent green
numbers of Snape’s alarm glowed five fifty-six am. Harry turned
in his sleep, taking half the duvet with him. Snape grumbled and
grudgingly opened one sleep-heavy eye, shivering in the
castle’s subterranean chill. Damn you, Potter.
His hand sneaked over to
the other side of the bed, closing around the covers, yanking hard.
Harry rolled over, attaching himself like a limpet to Snape’s
side. Snape let out a long-suffering sigh and, having re-appropriated
his half - and not being able to resist the temptation – slid
one icy cold hand over Harry’s flannel covered waist till the
tips of his fingers passed the waistband onto the tender skin of
Harry’s stomach, warming them. Harry stirred and snuggled
closer. Snape pressed a tender kiss to Harry’s neck and closed
his eyes, already snoring softly.
The alarm-spell clicked six fifteen.
*Deck the halls with
boughs of holly, fa la la la la…*
Gratingly bright music echoed off the dungeon walls in a
cacophony of Christmas morning cheer.
“Severus? What the hell?” Harry sat up in bed,
untangling himself from Severus’ sleeping form, leaving him
duvetless in the middle of the bed, Harry’s wandlessly cast
Lumos too bright at this time of the day.
“Goddamn
you!” Snape tried to hide his head under the pillow, his fist
hitting the mattress repeatedly, his words a muffled stream of
curses.
“Me? What did I
do?” Harry snatched the pillow from him, looking hurt.
“Not you.
Albus! Give the duvet back before I hex you.”
Harry lay back
down on the bed, sharing covers and warmth with a shaking Severus who
had curled up on himself, facing away from
Harry.
“But Albus
is… “
Snape turned
sharply to glare at him. “I KNOW. I know. Hell if I know how he
does it…hell if I know.”
Strong arms wound around his waist and a tender kiss was
placed on his back. Snape let him.
*… tis the season
to be jolly…*
After a couple of
minutes Harry got out of the bed, wincing as his feet touched the
cold stone floor. Searching the dark dungeon floor for his slippers,
he reached for his terry-cloth robe, wrapping it around him.
“Come on, let’s check it out. How bad can it be?”
Snape threw the pillow
at him.
***
“Yep.
Albus.” Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache
forming. Harry tilted his head, looking at the monstrosity hanging
over their living-room fireplace.
*… don we now our
gay apparel…*
“A singing
fish?”
“Bass.”
“Uhuh.”
Harry glanced at the grandfather clock and yawned. “Do
you think you can make it shut up?”
“Finite incantatem!” The bass stopped,
smirked at Snape and burst into song again.
*Rudolph the red nosed
reindeer had a very shiny nooooooooose*
“Did it just wiggle its eyebrows at
you?”
“Shut up,
Potter!”
“I think it
did.” Harry’s voice was way too smug for his liking.
Snape shot him a dirty
look. “Silencio!”
The bass started to glow red and blink in
tune.
* … Rudolph with your
noooooooose so bright, won't you guide my sleigh
tonight?…*
“Evis- …”
“Severus!” Harry made a grab for Snape’s
wand but missed and found himself flush against Snape’s chest.
“Don’t eviscerate it. It was a present.”
“Fine! Your
present now, you deal with it.” Snape glowered down at him,
flicking his wand one last time at the singing bass and sighed.
“It is entirely too early for this kind of
nonsense.”
“Let’s go
back to bed. Besides,” Harry leered at him, sliding his hand
over Snape’s arse, pressing close, “you need to unwrap
your Christmas present.”
***
* … come they told me, pa rum pum pum
pum …*
“My Christmas
present, you say?” Back in the bedroom Snape pulled Harry
close, running a possessive hand over his back, fingers pressing down
between Harry’s bath-robe covered cheeks.
Harry moaned, arching into the touch.
*… our finest
gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum …*
Harry giggled and wiggled his eyebrows at him. “Are
you going to ‘rum pum pum pum’ me? I see you brought your
drumstick.”
Snape huffed and flicked
his wand at the door. It slammed shut. “For that alone, Potter,
I will, as you so insipidly put it, ‘rum pum pum pum’
you.”
* … shall I play for you,
pa rum pum pum pum …*
Harry found himself
thrown onto the bed with a smirking Snape leaning over him. Harry did
not complain.
“Why, hallo there,
Professor.” Harry gave him a saucy grin and wrapped his legs
around Snape, pulling him down onto him, kissing him passionately.
“So, you coming to the Weasleys' with
me?”
“Do not mention
the Weasleys again in any shape or form if you want any ‘rum
pum pum pum’ to happen here.”
“Fine.” Harry said, but his tone of voice
clearly stated ‘for now’.
Snape leaned into the touch of Harry’s fingers carding
through his hair, Harry’s thumb running over his chapped lips.
He captured it, biting down none too gently, revelling in
Harry’s suppressed gasp, kissing the hurt better afterwards.
Harry squirmed, reaching to pull Snape on top of him but Snape would
have none of that. The exploring hands were gently captured and
placed on the stark white pillow beside Harry’s head.
“My
present,” Snape kissed him, “my rules. Do not
move!” Harry’s pyjamas were peeled off and unceremoniously
dumped on the floor. Snape planted bruising kisses, just shy of
breaking skin, all over Harry’s torso, gently kissing them
better, teasing them with his tongue only to rake his sharp,
yellow-stained nails over them a second later. Harry arched in wanton
pleasure. Snape leaned close to whisper in Harry’s ear. His
breath hot on Harry’s skin. “Do you want me to fuck you,
Potter?”
Harry moaned and Snape
spread Harry’s legs wide, exposing the puckered ring of muscle.
“Answer me, Potter. Or I will stop.”
Snape’s index and
middle finger ran teasingly round and round the tight muscle, their
uneven nails snagging on the folded flesh, adding a sharp edge to the
flood of pleasure.
Harry gasped at
each teasing dip into the dark centre. “Yes. Please,
Severus!”
Snape’s index
finger pressed down in the middle, entering just the tiniest
bit.
“Please what,
Harry? Please fuck you? Fuck you hard so that every time you sit down
at the Weasleys’ you will remember that you are
mine?”
His finger thrust in, down to the second knuckle, making
Harry writhe under his attention.
“That is it my come still in your arse, slowly,
maddeningly reminding you who fucked you just a few hours ago while
you sit and eat Mrs. Weasley’s Christmas pudding? None of them
suspecting?”
His fingers
thrust in again. And out, and in again.
“Or do you want them to know? Tell me, Harry, do
you?” Snape licked the big purple love bite just below
Harry’s ear.
“I am
yours, fuck me, already. Damn it, Severus, now.”
Harry’s head thrashed from side to side, his hands still
spellbound where Snape had placed them.
“Good boys get their Christmas wishes!”
Harry’s legs were hoisted over Snape’s shoulders and he
revelled in the weight of them; it anchored him, made this real. With
a quick spell, he saw Harry squirm under the maddening, itching,
glorious sensation of being magically lubricated. Snape gathered him
in one desperate, clumsy kiss, making them both groan with pleasure,
the blunt head of his cock pressing against Harry’s arse, just
shy of entering.
Snape locked eyes with
him and slowly, tenderly pushed inside and stilled. Harry lay there
panting, vulnerable, and oh so beautifully his. He leaned down to run
his hand over Harry’s sweaty face, brushing the wild hair from
his beautiful eyes - Lily’s eyes - and started to thrust, to
claim him once more for however long Harry would let him.
“You are mine,
Potter!” He thrust again, the blunt tip of his cock brushing
Harry’s prostate just right, making him incoherent with want
and pleasure.
“Yours.”
Snape fucked him hard, claiming him with every deep, hungry,
thrust, marking him with bruising kisses and gentle touches.
Afterwards they lay on
the wrinkled sheets, too spent to move. Harry securely wrapped in his
arms, soaking up the glorious warmth of the afterglow of sex.
***
*… Feliz Navidad! Feliz Navidad! Feliz
Navidad! …*
Harry tried to sit down
at the breakfast table like someone who had not just been fucked
through the mattress. Snape smirked at him, buttering a scone.
“Tea?”
“Yes,
please.” Harry shifted in his seat, reaching for the sugar.
“Severus?”
“No.”
“But you don’t even know what I was going to
ask.” Harry gave him an innocent look. Well, at least what
he thought was one.
“The answer is no, Harry.” Snape took another
bite of his scone washing it down with a mouthful of coffee, noting
with displeasure that the love bite he had placed so possessively
under Harry’s ear had been healed, his mark gone. “And
that innocent look you are trying to pull off makes you look
brain-dead. Sorry, more
brain-dead.”
“Hah bloody hah.
And if I had wanted to ask if you want me to top
tonight?”
*…Prospero ano y
Felicedad …* The bass
merrily blinked a green and red.
“The answer would still be no.” Snape cut his
toast into soldiers and beheaded his soft-boiled
egg.
“Not even for
me?”
“I am allergic to
Weasleys.”
“Now,
really…”
“Yes, they
give me the hives.”
*… I want to wish you a Merry Christmas, from the
bottom of my heart …*
Harry snorted. “You know you could just say if you
didn’t want to go.”
“I think I just did. Several
times.”
“I might not have
been listening.”
Snape did not
dignify that with a response but stole the last rasher from
Harry’s plate, evading Harry’s protectively wielded fork.
“So, when are we
going?”
“You can go
whenever you like…”
“And leave you here defenceless with that …
fish…”
Snape snorted
again. “I think I can handle one
bass.”
“Ron and Hermione
will be there, and Rose. Did I show you the pictures? She’s
such a darling.” Harry’s eyes took on that far away look
he always got when talking about children. Especially babies. It made
Snape’s stomach clench.
“Great, another Weasley to teach in ten years.
Hurrah!”
“Do you really
hate children that much?”
“Yes.” He put his spoon down with a
clang.
Silence loomed for what
seemed ages. Snape stirred milk into his coffee. Three times
anti-clockwise, once clockwise.
“You know, you might end up enjoying it. Why
don’t you come along?” The fake cheerfulness in
Harry’s voice grated on his nerves. As did Albus’ idiotic
carolling present.
“Trying to cajole
me into coming? I’d rather not spend a day in the company
of,” he sneered, “Longbottom. I am assuming he and Miss
Weasley are in the process of spawning red-haired, cauldron abusing
prodigy as well? Do tell me when, so I can resign before the
next generation infests Hogwarts.” He
took one of the Christmas biscuits and dunked it viciously into
coffee.
“Ginny and
Neville? No, they broke up ages ago. I doubt Neville will be there.
And honestly, he is not that bad. And you don’t even teach
Potions anymore, you melodramatic git. So, you
coming?”
“How many times do
I have to say no?”
“Till I
have badgered you into coming?”
“Harry, drop it…”
“Molly said she would love to have
you!”
“Potter!”
“Fine, fine.” Harry put his cup down and reached over to peck a kiss onto
Snape’s cheek. “I will be back for
dinner.”
“Half six sharp,
or I will start without you.”
“Feliz Navidad!” Harry was out the door before
the toast hit it.
***
Severus Snape,
clad in trousers and shirtsleeves, sat in his armchair gazing
into the depth of his coffee mug, pointedly trying to ignore the
festive music inflicted on his dungeons. Even if he agreed that
Grandma getting run over by a reindeer was not the worst thing to
ever happen. Damn, that tune was catchy.
Damn you, Albus.
That vein on his forehead started to twitch dangerously.
Even from beyond the grave, Dumbledore managed to inflict seasonal
cheer on the Hogwarts' staff. Every sodding year at sodding six am on
Christmas Morning, presents tended to turn up. Usually with noise.
Snape glared at the bass. The bass kept smirking and wiggled its
bushy eyebrows suggestively whenever the word nose came
up.
“STUPEFY!”
* …You can say
there's no such thing as Santa, but as for me and Grandpa, we
believe…*
The
fish started to dance, moving its fins and tail in tune to the
melody. It still blinked, too. Snape tried to control his temper as
he inwardly counted to ten. Make that thirty. He failed. The mug
became airborne and hit the cheerfully singing bass over the
fireplace.
Frothy brown droplets
dripped off the unfazed fish, to continue their way onto the numerous
dark artefacts – his - and family
pictures –Harry’s - on the mantel. Snape cursed.
*… Grandma got runned over by a reindeer, walking
home from our house
Christmas Eve.…*
The whiskey bottle hovered for a second but was
gently placed back onto the table. Snape reached out and poured
himself a glass. To the rim.
***
Minerva McGonagall opened the door to the teachers’
lounge and despaired.
*
…Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the
way…*
On a
wooden plaque, right over the doorway, a swordfish happily sang out
of tune Christmas songs, a chain of fairy-lights wrapped around its
head. It had a magical post-it hovering nearby:
I thought this might make a better addition
to the teachers’ lounge,
than my quarters.
Have a nice holiday, Happy Christmas and good
luck!
Filius Flitwick,
Charms Professor
The room glowed
green. Professor McGonagall put her wand
away.
***
“Headmaster, I need to talk to you.
Urgently! We have a tuba-playing whale in the Great Hall, and I am
sure I can hear a brass band all the way from Hagrid’s hut.
There is even one of those infernal gifts in
…”
Minerva McGonagall poked her head out of the fireplace.
*Grandma got runned over by a reindeer, walking
home from our house Christmas Eve…*
“Severus,
don’t!”
Stepping through, she pushed his arm away as he muttered the
Killing Curse. A fly fell down dead in a brilliant ray of
green.
”Why did
you do that, Minerva? Don’t tell me you enjoy that… that
abomination. The atrocious grammar alone warrants a
Crucio.”
She
frowned at the bass merrily singing and dancing on his plaque. The
wall around it was a smouldering mess of potions stains and scorch
marks. “It will only make it sing
louder!”
Snape raised an eyebrow at her.
“What?!” she
snapped.
“Nothing,
Professor. Nothing at all!” He smirked.
“Why are you even here?” She huffed,
brushing nonexistent lint of her robes. “I thought you would be
at the Burrow with Harry…”
“The Burrow is under quarantine. Chronic
Weasleys.”
“It certainly cannot be worse than this. There is a
whale playing tuba in the Great Hall. My
quarters are infested with three lobsters in top-hats singing
a capella. And Filius moved his sodding swordfish to the staff room.
The bastard.”
“You should leave a hairball on his
shoes.”
“Ha bloody ha. Now,
Headmaster, do you have any constructive ideas on how we can
get our peace and quiet back?”
“Of course, since, as you can see, I have
been so utterly successful.” He poured himself another drink and
held the bottle up in a questioning gesture.
McGonagall shook her head. “Scotch at
this time? Really, it is not even twelve. I will have a port, if
you’ll please.” She sat down primly on the overstuffed
brown armchair next to the occasional table.
***
An
inch of his rare - now exceedingly rarer - port later, Minerva
McGonagall swayed back to the Floo, gave the bass a dirty look and
disappeared in a flash of green and tartan. Leaving him to his peace
and quiet. Minus the quiet.
* …
I'm dreaming of a White
Christmas, Just like the ones I used to
know…*
Snape went over to the kitchen, fixing
himself a mug of coffee, gleefully adding an extra spoon of sugar
since there was no one here for whom he had to keep up pretences. He
took a careful sip to prevent his mug from spilling and nearly reached
over to fill a second mug for Harry. Taking his coffee to the couch,
he sat down with a thump, propping his feet up on the table.
The bass was merrily singing ‘I am dreaming of a wild
white Christmas’ for the sixth time when Snape downed the dregs
of his coffee. He was no coward, was he? Even if it involved a gaggle
of Weasleys. Snape grabbed his cloak and cast a warming charm on his
boots. He did not like people and the idea of spending a whole day
fending off more or less well-meaning attempts at social interaction
made his palms sweaty and his head throb. Harry had better make it up
to him tonight.
Snape made his way down
to Hogwarts’ boundaries, leaving solitary footprints in the new
snow. The December air was cold and clear as crystal, making his skin
burn and his nose run. It carried with it the scent of more snow to
come. The bleak mid-winter sun, pale as a poached egg, hung low in
the sky as it, at barely past noon, was ready to set again. He Apparated directly to the
rickety house the Weasleys called home. Scotland’s windswept
silence was replaced with the merry sound of off-key carols,
obviously sung with more enthusiasm than skill.
Snape wrapped his cloak
tighter around himself. So this was it. He took a deep breath. Pine
and wood-smoke, beeswax candles and the sweet smell of a pudding
simmering in its water bath on the stove. A world alien to him. It
did not remind him of his childhood, which had held few of these
things and none of them so – he shuddered at the word –
merry.
Heavy, wet snow bent the
ancient pine tree under its weight, obscuring the Burrow’s east
wall. Gnarly branches thick before round-paned frost coated windows,
yellow candle light spilling out into the garden, dusting the snow
with gold.
Snape stepped closer,
telling himself that he would just have a look, a precaution that had
served him well so many times in his past as spy. He cast an
eavesdropping charm, which, to his great surprise, failed. Who
would have thought the Weasleys kept their wards up to snuff.
The old-fashioned way it
was then. Long, white fingers gently touched the icy glass, knuckles
raw and red in the cold, thawing a tiny spot, no bigger than a
galleon, for him to see through. A trickle of snow sliding down his
collar as he pressed close to peep through the tiny hole made him
shiver.
Several tables had been
aligned to form one big one, and Molly was setting out plates on a
garishly red tablecloth, spelled by what Snape assumed must have been
a three year old, with dancing Christmas trees and shooting stars.
Not one plate matched the other. Snape snorted; that at least
reminded him of home. Maybe he could do this after all.
Molly levitated the last
of the plates onto the table, ticking off the task on a grubby list.
Pencil securely back in her apron pocket she went over to the cabinet
and filled a mug labelled ‘tO thE wOrld’s greaTesT
MuM’ with eggnog from the steaming bowl. Leaning against the
sideboard, she admired her handiwork with a satisfied smile. Snape
noticed, with chagrin, the giant pike merrily dancing on its wooden
plaque over the door. After a peaceful minute or two, illuminated
festively by the alternating red and green blinking of the
pike, Molly put the mug down, spelled it clean and rummaged in her
pocket for the to-do list. The French doors opened slightly and a
podgy toddler, in a blue Weasley-sweater with a pink V on the front,
clung to the sliding door with sticky hands. Seeing Molly, she
reached out with grubby hands and a bright smile. Molly took the half
eaten candy cane from the little girl’s hands and spelled them
clean. The toddler on her hip, she left the room.
Snape was starting to
feel more confident about the whole situation. He had faced down the
Dark Lord, surely this could not compare? So far the scene had been
remarkably… festive, if a bit garish. He was about to abandon
his over-frosting spy-hole when the sliding doors once again opened
and a cheerful Ginevra dragged a flushed Harry in by the hand, closing
the doors neatly behind them.
Snape stood rooted to the spot, the chill of the winter day
creeping into his bones, nausea settling in his stomach. This had to
be harmless, had to have a sensible explanation. But he knew deep down
that, once again, he was too late.
Ginny looked conspiratorially around the room and then
pulled Harry close, whispering in his ear. Harry grabbed her by the
shoulders, a questioning look on his face. She nodded and the look of
utter joy on Harry’s face pierced Snape’s heart. Millions
of tiny pieces fell bleeding into the white snow as Harry’s
hand slid into her red hair, kissing her exuberantly on the mouth,
peppering her face with kisses. A mad smile on his face, he spun her
around the room in a wild dance.
Snape’s knees gave, and he sat down heavily in the
soggy snow, mind as numb as his fingers on the glass. The wind carried
festive music, turning it into a mournful wail. Snape did not know
how long he knelt in the cold under the ancient pine tree. Not that
it mattered. Nothing did anymore. He swayed a little as he staggered
back down the path to the Apparition point.
Scotland’s icy breeze welcomed him with its familiar
sting. Face and hands red from the cold, he stumbled on. Home.
Alone.
***
Back down in his
dungeon, he sat down on his couch in front of the dying fire.
So this was it, then.
Sludge was dripping from his boots onto the basset by his couch,
forming a muddy puddle around his feet. He could not bring himself to
care. How long would he have? How long before Harry would leave
him?
The bass, still
merrily singing, switched its tune.
* …I saw
mommy kissing Santa Claus… *
Snape threw the ashtray at it. And the vase.
And that tacky Quidditch Trophy he had never liked anyway. And
Harry’s chair. And the remains of the breakfast tray. He tried
to throw the couch but it resisted his non-magical advances for the
most time - but for the left leg that he managed to break with the
fireplace poker - and magic did not seem as satisfying at the moment.
So he threw the occasional table instead. And the potted fern. And
Harry’s broom.
* …rocking around
the Christmas tree … *
The living room satisfyingly in shreds and out of breath,
Snape sat down on the still recalcitrant couch and took a swig from
the brandy carafe. He was feeling much calmer now. If Potter thought
he could get away with being a double-dipping bastard, then he had it
coming. He would not beg. Not this
time.
Half a carafe of
brandy later he was reclining on the wobbling couch mouthing along to
*Six White Boomers.*
He threw the carafe at the house-elf that
foolishly had popped in to clean up the mess. It gave a very
satisfying squeak when the bottle hit the wall behind it, dousing it
and the room in the remaining brandy. That would show Harry! Snape
assured himself that the foolish creature would not come back anytime
soon. He passed out on the couch not long after he had Summoned a
bottle of red wine from the kitchen.
The bass danced merrily in the dark. Oblivious.
***
There was the
familiar creak of the ancient wooden door and then the soft huffing
of Harry untangling himself from his scarf and hat. Snape cracked
open one heavy eye-lid. Now Harry would be hanging his cloak next to
the door and toeing his winter boot off, no doubt leaving them in the
middle of the hallway again.
*… Last Christmas, I gave you my heart,
but the very next day you gave it away … *
Snape opened his other eye to close it again in pain when he
heard Harry’s panicked shrieking. Oh, right, he had kind of
… redecorated.
Harry rushed over
to the couch, kneeling at his side, giving him a concerned
once-over.
“Severus? SEVERUS,
oh my god, are you all right?”
And with that all his anger came flooding back.
*… This year, to save me from tears I'll give it to
someone special… *
Snape snatched
his hand from Harry’s grasp. “What do you care?” He
might have slurred the words a bit.
“Are you drunk? Did you do this?” Harry looked
seriously annoyed now. Good. Snape took another swig of his wine,
ignoring Harry. Which was quite a task since Harry was yelling at the
top of his lungs.
“Is that my broom?
And my trophy? Are you fucking insane?”
“I have never been saner.” No slur this time, he
noted proudly.
“What is this
about? Because I went to the Weasleys? Are you really that fucking
selfish?”
Snape hurled the bottle
at him. The spilled red wine matched Harry’s
face.
“What is wrong
with you?”
“What is WRONG
with me? You have the nerve to ask what is wrong with me?”
Snape looked around for something to throw at Harry. He swayed a bit.
Sadly most of the available missiles where out of reach.
“Accio
teapot.”
Furious sparks flew from
Harry’s wand. The teapot exploded in mid-air, showering them in
sodden tealeaves.
“I fucking
mean it, Severus, stop throwing shit.”
“I don’t care what you want! Accio
terrine.”
“Petrificus
Totalus.”
Snape tried to
raise a shield and it flickered blue for a moment before the spell
overcame it and he fell backwards onto the sofa. He noted, in
satisfaction, that his impact broke another wooden leg. Damn it, he
should have thought of that spell first. Stupid alcohol. On the other
hand, it made the raging Potter three inches from his face easier to
bear.
“What the fuck is
wrong with you? I leave for all of one day and you go off your
rockers! I can’t believe you trashed the flat because I went to
the Weasleys for Christmas Day. You broke my broom. YOU BROKE MY
BROOM!”
Snape lay there,
unmoving, still spell bound. Harry kicked the couch. It made him
bounce and hit his head against the back. It hurt. He cursed himself
for being so stupid, for drinking too much and yet he had –
once again – no other option but to wait the things that came.
*
… Last
Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day you gave it
away…*
Any second now the blows would fall, if he were lucky. Harry
was no Muggle. He would have closed his eyes, if he could. His world
reduced to the pattern of the couch as he waited. And then he felt the
magic wash over him. Releasing him from his bonds.
He got off the couch,
rubbing his head where it had hit the frame. Harry was standing at
the fireplace, his back to him, his hand caressing a picture frame
marred by the spider web of broken glass. It was the one of them
Harry had cut out of the newspaper. That infernal headache Skeeter
had taken it at the last Ministry brouhaha. Harry turned when he heard
Snape approach. He looked as if he were holding back tears. Looking
at him with those big, guilt-inducing green eyes. Lily’s eyes.
So this was Lily all over again then.
“Severus?”
He cringed at the tentative tone. No, he would not be blamed
again. How dare he!
“Severus,
please talk to me.”
“I don’t know what there is left to say,
Potter.” The frame dropped to the floor. The bass sang on,
oblivious.
“You are leaving
me because I went to the Weasleys? You utterly selfish, controlling
fuck. Is that all we were to you?”
“I am selfish, Potter? I am throwing it away? You
fucking hypocritical liar. You KISSED HER. YOU threw it away.
You...”
“I did not kiss
HER. Who is her? What the fuck are you talking
about?”
“LIAR! I saw you
kiss Ginevra Weasley. I saw you…” His voice broke. He
wanted to say ‘happy’. He wanted to forget the utter joy
on Harry’s face. So bright and glowing. He wanted Harry to look
at him like that. Snape turned away, there was no way in living hell
that he would let Potter see him cry. He would not be Snivellus again
to another Potter.
He walked into
the bedroom, sitting down on the bed, burying his face in his hands.
Severus did not notice the soft footsteps approaching. The hand on
his shoulder came as a shock. He stiffened and jerked away, trying to
put distance between them.
“Why are you still here? Isn’t Ginevra waiting
for you?”
The bed dipped a bit
when Harry sat down next to him. “Severus, look at
me.”
He tried to glare, to
cut him to shreds with the venom in his stare but his heart was not
in it.
“I take it back,
you are nothing like your father. It seems you have a lot more of
Lily in you than I ever thought.” Only Lily had ever been able
to hurt him this much.
“Severus?
Oh, whatever.” Harry stood up, ready to leave. “Just one
thing, I did not kiss Ginny.”
Snape just glared at him.
“Okay, I did kiss her, but not that
way.”
“Pray tell,
Potter, how many sodding ways are there to kiss a
person?”
“Like a sister,
you prat.”
Snape snorted.
“Sister, my arse. That is not how you kiss a
sister.”
“She had just
asked me to be the godfather to her and Dean’s
child.” Harry slammed the door behind him.
Snape still sat on the
bed, his thoughts reeling. So this was it then? His head hurt. There
had been too many ‘that is its’ in one day.
***
When he had gathered
himself enough to face Harry again - not that he thought Harry would
still be around - Snape tentatively opened the bedroom door. He had
fucked that one up beautifully, hadn’t he? Just like Lily. It
seemed to be a talent of his.
He stepped into the parlour and blinked. The couch had been
repaired and most of the wreckage cleaned. Harry was currently trying
Reparo on his broom. He turned around and gave Severus a watery
smile.
“I see you
haven’t left yet.” Snape turned and retreated back into
the bedroom. He would have liked to swoop but being drunk and, more
importantly, only wearing shirt and trousers, made that feat hard to
accomplish. He went into the bathroom to change into his nightshirt
and drink a couple of glasses of water. A potion would have been
better, but the potion cabinet was in the kitchen and he would be
damned if he faced Harry again before he had to.
Lying in the dark,
listening to the muffled sounds of the bass’s obnoxious
Christmas songs and the occasional Reparo, he fell asleep to
dream fitful dreams, only to wake again when the bed dipped and Harry
sat down next to him.
“Severus, are you awake? I think we should talk.”
Harry looked a bit sheepish, twisting the blanket nervously. “You know, like adults.” Snape, sleep
befuddled, nodded and leaned back against the headboard to stop the
world from spinning. Harry handed him a vial with hangover potion. He
downed it.
“You are an
idiot.” Harry took his hand.
Snape tried to pull his hand free, but Harry held on fast,
intertwining their fingers.
“If that is all, Potter? I was trying to sleep.”
He glared down at their joined fingers, hating himself for allowing
the contact, for being unable to forcibly pull
away.
“Severus, let me
finish, please.” Harry ran his free hand through his hair,
messing it up in that adorab- no, horrible way he tended to when
nervous.
Snape stopped struggling
but still wanted to bolt at the earliest
convenience.
“Why did you go to
the Weasleys?”
“Does it
matter?”
“It matters to me.
Please?”
“I wanted
to… I had decided to accept their invitation.”
Harry ran his finger
over the back of Snape’s hand. “You know, I honestly did
not kiss her that way.”
“And why wouldn’t a fecking handshake do,
Potter?” Snape did feel a bit mollified,
though.
Harry smiled at him.
“Why did you not come in?”
“Because I didn’t want
to.”
Harry rolled his eyes
and climbed over Severus to get under the covers. “Kiss and
make up?”
Snape harrumphed but let
Harry snuggle close. Maybe tonight he would hog the blankets instead.
It would just be fair.
He woke with
Harry clinging to him like a barnacle, drooling onto his chest. Snape
smiled. He must have stirred because Harry opened one sleep heavy eye
and smiled back.
“Happy
Christmas!”
***
Harry cradled his mug of hot cocoa in his hands, leaning
back against Severus who had curled his legs up under him, slippers
abandoned on the floor.
*… deck the halls
with boughs of holly …*
Harry groaned.
“It seems that infernal gift has reached
the end of its repertoire. Lucky us, we are in for a
repeat.”
“You know, I am sure you think I would never say that,
but I could do with a moment of peace and quiet.” Harry put his
mug down forcefully on the table, reaching for his wand. “If that sodding fish would please
shut the sodding fuck up, for one sodding
minute.”
The
bass blinked one last time and closed its eyes.
Snape opened his mouth
to say something snarky about Harry’s infantile stream of
profanity and closed it again.
The bass was silent.
“Please, huh?”
“Apparently.”
“Well, it is the magic
word.”
“Is it, now?”
“Oh yes, it is.” The pink tip of
Harry tongue darted out between his lips, wetting them. He tilted his
head up, giving Snape a saucy smile. “Kiss me,
please.”
And,
since an opportunity should never be missed, Snape leaned down and
captured Harry’s lips with a kiss.
*** Happy Holidays ***