Making Happy

10. Where Severus Accepts An Invitation.

‘If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.’

~ Michel de Montaigne ~

Harry

It’s been two weeks since Hermione’s visit, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about.

I took the coward’s way out and took a few weeks off until I could be sure Harriet was well and back at home with her parents. Separating my feelings for Severus from my professional duties was becoming impossible.

I’m desperate to see him, to have his dark eyes glance in my direction and have my existence acknowledged. Actually, I want to do more than see him, but I won’t get my hopes up. The trouble is, ever since Hermione left I’ve been doing just that. I choose to believe her when she said he loved me and possibly still does, because hope has always been my Achilles Heel. My imagination has Severus doing all sorts of things that I haven’t thought about in years, and yet I thought I was over him.

So, I need to make the first move. I know Hermione was right on that score. I just don’t know that I could bear to be rejected by him again. But then, he held my hand, didn’t he? He touched me, and spoke my name, and his eyes looked into mine for longer than they needed to. I wasn’t imagining all of that, but I’ve been staring at this sheet of parchment for over an hour now and I still have no idea what to say.

Time and time again I wonder why I’m putting myself through this agony. Then my thoughts go back to Hogwarts, and those precious hours when we were alone together. Sometimes we would talk, and at other times there was comfortable quietness while he marked papers and I would read. That all changed after the kiss. He changed the wards so I couldn’t just walk into his quarters and there were no more opportunities to take it further. But I didn’t imagine him kissing me back, or the delicious sounds his made when my tongue found his.

This is ridiculous. He can’t ignore me if I’m right in front of him, can he?

***

Severus

We rarely get visitors. If someone knocks on the front door, it’s usually a Muggle doing a survey or canvassing for votes, and they never stay long or call back another day. I give them my Professor Snape glare and they scarper. I find it amusing. So I’m ready with my usual glare, but not ready when I open the door to find Harry Potter standing on the doorstep.

He doesn’t give me chance to speak but waves a paper bag at me and says something about a gift for Happy. Before I can respond and tell him to bugger off, Happy has heard his voice and my heart sinks.

‘Uncle Harry!’ She pushes her slim frame past my legs, and I feel jealousy consume me as she throws her arms around his waist and he laughs, hugging her back gently.

‘You look much better, Harriet,’ he says, his green eyes sparkling. His smile is so wide; he’s flashing his perfect teeth.

‘I am very well, thank you,’ she replies, and I’m absurdly proud of her politeness.

We stand at the threshold, and there is an awkward moment when Happy looks from him to me and we’re both numbly looking at each other and not her. I realise, belatedly, that she is holding his hand tightly. I should have guessed what was coming.

‘Daddy, can Uncle Harry come in? I want him to see my room, and we could have tea?’

‘You are meant to be studying,’ I say, but I know I’ve already lost this battle. Her face is alight with excitement because we so rarely have guests, and here is the most special of all visitors. I can deny her nothing. I wouldn’t crush her spirit, not now, not ever.

‘I don’t want to intrude,’ he says, but I see his face fall in disappointment. Despite my resolve, I don’t want to crush him, either. I want him to stay.

‘Perhaps you should take a break, Happy. I don’t want you to work too hard so soon after your illness. I’ll make some tea.’

I turn away before I can change my mind, but as the door closes and I hear Happy chatting away behind me, I feel acutely aware that Harry is in my home. I walk immediately to the kitchen and busy myself with making tea. The blue ceramic tea pot was a Christmas gift from Happy because she knows how much I love tea. The matching mugs came the month after, for my birthday. They have sat on the shelf, unused but much loved, until today. I don’t want to look too closely at why I’m breaking out the best china, or why my stomach is turning over.

Overhead, I can hear footfalls as Happy and Harry walk across her bedroom floor. I listen closely, and now I can hear Happy’s girlish giggles, followed by deeper laughter, and then more footsteps as they leave the room and make their way downstairs.

I pull out a pack of chocolate biscuits, just so that I’m occupied when they come into the room. I’m aware at how ridiculous it is to feel like this in my own home, but I was unprepared for him to be here.

‘Daddy, look what Uncle Harry brought for me,’ she says brightly. She is holding out a book with a green cover, heavily decorated and embossed in Celtic knot work. I turn the pages, and my eyes are dazzled by the colourful illustrations. It is beautiful.

‘This is a lovely gift. I hope you said thank you?’

‘Of course she did, Severus.’ I hear the hidden challenge and meet it by looking directly at him. He smiles, and I can’t help but smile back.

‘She was raised to be polite,’ I reply.

‘She probably had no choice, with you and Hermione as her parents.’

‘Precisely.’ I know he is teasing, but he does have a point.

‘Is the tea ready, Daddy?’ Happy pulls my sleeve to get my attention.

‘It is. Harry, please, take a seat.’

I see the grin he tries to hide as he sits, and feel a glimmer of something. I pour the tea and hand a cup to him, and as our fingers brush against each other, our eyes meet.

It is a long time since I have felt so certain about a course of events being out of my control, but I’ll go with it for now. We drink our tea, and Happy amuses and distracts us with her chatter between biscuits. Harry has a natural way with him, and the conversation runs smoothly for a while.

‘Can I ask you both a question?’ he says, his voice light and a little amused.

‘Go on.’ I pour more tea and stand to refill the pot from the kettle bubbling softly on the gas.

‘Why do you call Harriet ‘Happy’? It’s a lovely nickname, but Harriet is such a pretty name.’

‘It’s because I couldn’t say my name when I was little. I used to get… Daddy, what did I get?’

I sigh deeply. I knew this would come up sooner or later. Later would have been better.

‘Tongue tied. You used to get tongue tied, sweetheart.’ I take a little longer with the hot water so that I can keep my back to them.

‘That’s it!’ She laughs. ‘I couldn’t say Harriet, and it always came out as Harry. But that was a boys’ name like yours, so Mummy and Daddy changed it to Happy.’

‘I see.’ The words fall heavily from his mouth, and I know that he sees it all far too clearly.

I hear Happy yawn noisily and glance at the clock. ‘You should go for your sleep, I think. Say thank you to Harry for visiting.’

‘Thank you, Uncle Harry. You will come again, soon, won’t you?’

‘If I can, I will.’ I turn to see Happy kiss him on his cheek, and he reaches up to touch the space where her lips rested as she walks from the room.

‘She likes you,’ I say quickly. I want to keep the focus on her for as long as I can.

‘She’s a lovely child,’ he responds, passing his cup for a refill.

We sip our tea in silence, and the atmosphere becomes thicker with the things we don’t say. I know he won’t stay quiet for long. He never could. I wait, and he doesn’t let me down.

‘Hermione told me that you and she… that you’re not a couple.’

‘No. We never have been.’ I’m not making this easy, for either of us.

‘Come to dinner, tomorrow night. Let’s talk, Severus. Properly.’

I can tell he’s holding his breath, but I continue to stare down at my caramel coloured tea, swirling the dregs in thought.

‘Please,’ he whispers.

I can’t help but look up now, hearing the twinge of desperation and hope in that one, simple word. It was the only thing that would have broken me, and he did it without knowing.

‘Very well.’ My mouth moves before I have time to think any further. His smile makes my acquiescence worthwhile.