Making Happy

6. Where We Revisit The Past.

‘Sometimes Goodbye is a painful way to say ‘I Love you.”

~ Kezia~

Harry

He thanked me. Out of the blue, he thanked me for telling him the worst possible news. Hermione cried, which I expected her to do. She’s not the most emotional person I know, but I’ve seen how much she loves her daughter. I’m tired now, and my shift has ended, but I can’t seem to move myself to the Floo just yet.

Hermione has decided to stay, even though I told her she can’t see Harriet for a few more hours and nothing is likely to change. I’ve allocated the parent’s room to her and left instructions with the House Elves to keep her fed and watered. The fact that Hermione didn’t even flinch when I did that says a lot for her state of mind right now.

I jump when the Floo flares green, and Snape steps out with quiet grace, holding a bag of things that Hermione needed from home. He pauses, and we look at each other for a brief moment. His eyes are soft, and perhaps a little sad. I can’t let him pass without hearing his voice. Selfish, but I don’t care. Not about that, anyway.

‘Are you holding up, Severus?’

He stops before reaching for the door and his head bows, letting his long, dark hair obscure his face as he turns his profile to me.

‘As well as can be expected, Potter.’ He doesn’t move, and I realise he is waiting for me to say something else.

‘You used to call me Harry.’

Even I flinch at the implication in that loaded statement, but for fucks sake, I’m tired and sick to death of pretending that the past didn’t happen and that at one point, many years ago, I was in love with him.

I distract myself from my embarrassment with the pile of parchment on my desk and lift the quill purposefully, although what I intend to write is anyone’s guess. I hold my breath until I hear the distinctive click of the door, and when I look up, he’s gone. Again.

I Floo home, desperate to shake the remnants of the day from my head. A quick, hot shower and a bottle of beer from the ‘fridge should do it, but instead of heading up the stairs to the bathroom, I take my beer and sit on the sofa and stare into the fire. It’s not long before my thoughts drift back to Hogwarts. They were halcyon days, between the end of the war and, well… things changed very swiftly afterwards. I don’t think I even said goodbye to Hermione after packing the few items I wanted to keep.

I still find it hard to believe. Hermione was so determined to gain her apprenticeship; I think she just wore Severus down with her constant presence in his lab. I had nothing planned, and no other home to go to apart from Grimmauld Place. Minerva was happy enough for me to stay in the guest wing for as long as I wanted.

I thought Hermione had a thing for him at first, but there was nothing to suggest it and she said it was purely professional. I started to watch them brew to pass the time, and it was soothing, in it’s way. I grew up and started to see the man beneath the robes, and there was nothing left to fight about after Voldermort died. Severus and I made our peace.

It didn’t take long before I became the errand boy, running between the lab and Poppy’s store, keeping the shelves stocked at first, and then helping out in the ward now and then. It was his suggestion, to become a medi-witch. He said I should have a purpose beyond the walls of Hogwarts, but I couldn’t face the public scrutiny at first. When Hermione started to work at Rosmerta’s, I found myself alone with him more often than not, and I realised I was more than happy with that. Sometimes he would arrange food for us and talk about his student days. I loved hearing him talking about my parents. He didn’t really hate my dad, not at first anyway. He wouldn’t say why things changed.

I lean back against the sofa cushions and close my eyes. I know where these memories are taking me, and I let it happen for once.

…I’m whistling as I walk down the dark, musty corridor. Funny how the darker it gets the more cheerful I feel, because I know that he is there at the end. I knock on the ancient wooden door and it opens immediately, as I knew it would. He changed his wards to allow me entry over a year ago, and it still gives me a thrill to know that he trusts me and welcomes me into his domain. He calls me the Boy-Who-Just-Is, and tries to hide his smirk when he says it. I think he secretly enjoys teasing me, as much as I enjoy hearing the amusement in his voice and seeing the glint of warmth in his eyes.

I pass through the dimly lit office into the sitting room. It contains a mis-match of old furniture which seems to fit together perfectly as if by accident, much like the three of us. Severus enjoys holding court here when Hermione and I are in a heated debate. He watches us with a wry smile as we each try to best each other. Eventually one of us will give in and ask him to support our argument. He rarely sides with either of us, and we turn on him as a pair, challenging him to stop sitting on the fence and decide who is right. He laughs, tells us he has sat on the fence for all of his adult life, and gets the Firewhisky out, signalling the end of his part in proceedings. Hermione and I share an indulgent smile, because we both adore him for who he is, albeit in different ways.

I sit on the old, green sofa, ready to wait until he returns from his rounds or wherever he is. There is a journal on the seat, and I lift it and open it, curious to its contents. I see Severus’ handwriting and close it immediately. I don’t want to pry, so I put the book back where I found it, just in time to hear his familiar cough behind me.

‘I didn’t read it, Severus. I was just interested,’ I say immediately.

He walks around to the open fireplace and says nothing. He looks like he has just stepped out of the shower. His hair is damp, and he’s wearing only his black shirt and trousers. The firelight highlights his skin, and his face is all sharp angles and planes. I find myself holding my breath as I look up at him, and it takes me a moment to realise he is staring at me strangely.

The atmosphere changes imperceptibly. If I’m honest, things have been changing subtly between us for a while. The comfortable silences are no longer quite as comfortable, and a frisson of something hangs in the air.

‘Why are you here?’ he says quietly.

I’m thrown for a second and start to wonder at the question myself. He never uses words flippantly, and I know he really does want me to answer.

‘For you.’

He closes his eyes and let’s out a soft groan before starting to walk away. Spontaneously, I jump up from my seat and grab his arm. He turns and stares at me, and I see the uncertainty in his eyes. For a brief moment I realise that I don’t even know if he’s gay, but I push that to the back of my mind as I pull him back to me. He lets me, and I smile briefly as I close the gap between my lips and his. Warm, soft and pliant, I explore his mouth with mine and slide my arms around his waist. He’s resisting, I can tell, so I press forward firmly and sweep the crease of his lips with the tip of my tongue. With a moan, he opens his mouth and his arms wrap themselves around my shoulders. He presses me closer to his body and his tongue battles firmly with my own…

Hidden passion, that’s what the kiss told me. I loved him from that moment.