Chapter Text
~Chapter Seven~
This arrangement with Severus that Harry had fallen into was confusing at best and infuriating the rest of the time. Every Saturday, Harry would come to the bakery, and when he left, somehow, it always happened to be when Severus was on his way out of the bakery. Since they were going the same way, he'd accompany Harry to his apparition point.
Harry didn't know where Severus went after he left the bakery, and no matter how curious Harry might be, he still hadn't brought it up. Too afraid to break the almost companionable silence. But there were too many unasked questions for it to be comfortable, and after the fourth week, everything left unsaid had formed into a knot in the centre of Harry's chest, and with each step he took, it pulled ever tighter.
After all, Harry's time at the bakery was coming to a close, and if he didn't speak now, he'd lose the chance. Even if they hardly spoke beyond pleasantries, seeing Severus made him giddy, and Harry hated it.
Harry hated all of it. He hated that he'd become such a coward that he didn't dare open his mouth. Harry hated that even if there was nothing but silence between them, seeing Severus for those twelve and a half minutes was the highlight of his week. Most of all, he hated that he had no idea what Severus was thinking and never would.
To make matters worse, while Severus was still Severus and always would be, without the same level of pure disdain that he'd held for Harry when he was in school, he was far closer to the Severus of Harry's past life than was comfortable.
It was confusing, making reality and Harry's dreams start to bleed into one another in a way that made Harry want to rip his hair out and scream for the rest of his life. The feelings he'd worked so hard to put behind him were once again taking over his life, and if he didn't do something soon, it would tear him apart.
Or at least that's how it felt, and it did nothing for Harry's mood, leaving him increasingly bad-tempered and sour. It didn't help that recently, one of the ovens started having issues. So far Harry had been lucky enough to dodge the random spikes in temperature that, according to Josie, left Derek, the weekday baker swearing to the high heavens and cursing the damn thing into an early grave.
"Marcy's called the repairman twice, but you know how it is," Josie said when Harry came out of his kitchen to find out if she had any idea of what he should do.
That wasn't much help, and neither was the advice that, ‘the oven temperature would eventually even back out on it's own.’
There was nothing to do but plough on and hope for the best, and Harry had very little hope that anything would turn out for the best.
And he was right.
By the end of the day, it was the worst day of baking casualties in the short history of his baking career. But just as Josie said it would, eventually, the temperature evened back out right for the end of the day. Because, of course it would, right when it no longer mattered. Harry was behind; the kitchen had gone to hell, and he hadn't had a chance to eat.
By the time he'd finally finished wiping down the steel counters and took the last load of sheet trays out of the dishwasher, it was late enough that it had started getting dark. Harry hoped that meant it was late enough that any chance he had of running to Severus had passed.
But when Harry reached the end of the alley and turned onto the sidewalk, Severus appeared out of thin air, wrapped in a long black cloak in a very good impression of his namesake, the Batman.
He didn't speak, only inclining his head as they started down the sidewalk, like they normally did. Only it was hours and hours after Harry should have left, the cafe was closed, and Severus had no excuse to be here, and yet here he was.
Harry tried to quell the rising urge to start shouting because he was exhausted and utterly at his wits' end about what the hell Snape thought he was doing. But shouting wouldn't solve anything. Still, it was tempting. It might even be worth it if it got rid of the tight, horrible feeling sunk into the centre of Harry's chest.
In the end, all it took was one offhand barbed comment about his mood. It was as though a stopper had been pulled, and Harry's pent-up confusion and frustration came pouring out all at once.
"You can fuck off," he snapped and rounded on Severus, stopping in front of him in the middle of the sidewalk. His hands were balled into tight fists at his side to keep him from going for his wand in his jacket. "You show up out of nowhere, you explain nothing, and you think– I don't know what you what– but I didn't ask for this, and I don't want it, so piss off and leave me alone ."
After Harry had finished his tirade, there was a moment when a flash of something akin to surprise crossed Severus' face. His eye widened every so slightly before settling back into a cool, indifferent mask, and Harry couldn't stand it.
He whirled, storming down the sidewalk. It was not a crowning moment of maturity or a particularly good attempt at communicating, but he felt better. At least until it became apparent that Snape was following him. Something that, if Harry had given even a moment of thought, shouldn't have been surprising. After all, how many times had they gone this way together?
But anger wasn't rational, and Harry wasn't thinking, and if dashing across the road was the only way to get away from Severus, who with his considerably longer legs was keeping pace with Harry with little effort, then that's what Harry would do.
But before he could even get off the sidewalk, he was yanked back with such force that he would have toppled over if Severus had not held fast to his elbow with an iron grip.
A car careened through the space in which Harry had just been, horn blaring as it passed. Harry gasped, eyes wide, his pounding in his throat; he looked up at Severus, who was vibrating with rage. Lips pulled back into a snarl like he was so livid that he couldn't speak, and when he spat every biting syllable.
"Have you learned nothing," he seethed, his hand still wrapped painfully tight around Harry's bicep. "Are you ever going to consider the consequences of your actions before you dash off into the road like some kind of imbecile?"
Severus gave Harry another great yank, pulling him bodily down the sidewalk. Harry, still furious, dug in his heels, trying to twist away from the firm grip on his arm.
"Would you let me go–"
"You wanted my attention–" snapped Severus, "and now you have it, and for once, you will face the consequences for your actions–"
Harry, taken aback by the ferocity of Severus' reaction, allowed himself to be herded into the nearest alley. Together, they turned on the spot and vanished with a pop.
They appeared in the middle of a cramped living room between a sagging sofa and two towering bookcases, filled to the brim with organised rows of books, with neat piles of overflow stacked at the end of each shelf.
They had arrived at Spinner's End. Severus didn't bother to look at him; rather, he crossed the room to a small bar between the bookcases and poured himself a drink.
"Would you sit down."
"I'd rather stand, thanks," replied Harry, crossing and then uncrossing his arms before he shoved his hands firmly into his pockets.
He received a withering look for his trouble.
"Sit. Down."
Harry sat.
"Thank you," said Severus, offering Harry a tumbler of deep amber whiskey before sitting opposite him in a worn armchair.
Harry sipped his drink; it was good.
Severus leaned back in his chair, gaze fixed on Harry.
"How many times do you insist on dying to Muggle motor vehicles before you learn not to dash into the street like a complete dunderhead?"
Harry choked on his drink, spluttering frantically.
"Sorry, what?' he rasped.
"You are perfectly aware of what I said."
"You knew ," he hissed, holding so tightly to this glass that it was a wonder that it didn't crack, "all this time, and you knew –”
"I didn't," said Severus matter-of-factly, setting his heavy-bottomed glass on the small round table beside his chair. "Until recently."
"How could you not know– You saw my memories, I know you did. You saw them; we were in the cafe– how could you not know?
"What the hell are you on about?"
"The answer to that is more complicated than I imagine you'd like it to be."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"That night, when you died, what do you remember?"
"It was raining," said Harry slowly, like he was trying to pull the words out of the air. "The sidewalk was slippery, and my trainer caught on something. When I saw the headlights, it was too late."
"Your blood ran, turning the rain red," said Severus. "In the end, it didn't matter what I did; you were gone."
"You were there?" asked Harry.
"Of course, I was there–" Severus stood, pacing the short room, robes swishing as he turned, "but I was too late, and I f ailed you–"
With anguish dripping from his words, Severus filled in the pieces missing from Harry's memory that night. Harry had been ill but had gone to the bakery anyway – they'd argued about it, as they often did, and Harry, much like today, had stormed off into the rain.
"–Off you went, and you thought I wouldn't follow?"
But it didn't matter in the end.
"I tried to save you, to get between you and the car–"
Something in Harry's chest twisted in horror as Severus spoke.
"But it wasn't the end, was it," said Severus bitterly, "No, then I woke up as a boy in this godforsaken house, and all of it was still there, trapped in the mind of a child. It followed me no matter where I went, and I damned myself well before you were even born."
Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"It was better to keep my distance; after all, what good would I do you as a Death Eater?"
Until now, Harry had been frozen on the sofa, his glass clutched tight in his hand, petrified by Severus' every word, until as though a spell was lifted, he exploded back to life.
"Maybe if you got out of your damn head and just asked me what I thought, then it wouldn't have been such a fucking problem."
"If you could stop shouting–"
"This whole time," Harry hissed, voice rising with every word, "you knew this whole time, and you weren't going to tell me."
"This wasn't a choice I made out of malice," said Severus. "It's not as though I arrived in this life with an instruction manual. How was I supposed to know that you also remembered?"
That was a good question, but it was one that Harry didn't have an answer to.
"Do you know then– what happened?"
"I spoke to Dumbledore about my situation and didn't mention you since you weren't born yet. And at the time, everyone was convinced you were going to be a girl."
"So," demanded Harry, "what did Dumbledore say?"
"That magic works in mysterious ways, and I shouldn't waste such a precious gift."
The look on Severus' face told Harry exactly how he felt about that.
Harry snorted, "And I bet you believed that."
"I was never satisfied with that answer, but I never found a better one until now."
"What'd you mean?"
"I have an idea of what might have happened," said Severus plainly but didn't elaborate.
Which was infuriating.
"And?" said Harry.
"What do you know about the marks?" Severus asked, which wasn't at all what Harry had expected him to say.
"No," said Harry, eyes impossibly wide, "you can't mean–"
"I can."
The idea of sitting still for even a second longer felt impossible, so Harry stood, pacing the length of the small room.
"How did you know?" Harry demanded.
"From the moment I met you. Why else would I have allowed someone with no experience into my bakery? I was going to tell you," said Severus. "Of course, I was going to tell you. But Harry, you were so young, and you were going to university, and I knew that if I told you before, you'd want to stay."
"You should have given me the choice! Why doesn't anyone ever give me a fucking choice?"
"I should have, but I didn't," snapped Severus, "and then it was too late."
"But what happened ?" Harry asked. "You said you had an idea." He'd stopped pacing, standing in front of Severus, waiting for an answer.
"When I was a boy," said Severus, "my mother used to tell me a story. One that she'd learned from her mother. Once, it had been a widely known tale, but it was lost over the years, much like how the knowledge has been lost to most of the muggles now. A legend of lovers who were marked to be together but died before they had the chance to be together. She told me that it was considered a terrible loss and that under the right circumstances, they could be pulled through the space between worlds so they would have the chance to be together."
Harry snorted.
"Pulled through worlds?" he said, eyebrows raised, "that's the best you've got."
"I am aware of how it sounds," said Severus, "but we're here, aren't we?"
They were here, and Harry could continue to revel in the anger of the past or let go of it, and perhaps, together, they could build a future out of the mess they'd found themselves in.
"We are here now," he said, "so what are we going to do about it?"
"That," said Severus, "I think it is largely up to you, I am aware of the mistakes I have made, but there's nothing I can do about them now other than to be sorry. And I am. I've thought about you a great deal this year and whether you'd welcome me dumping this mess into your lap or if I ought to just let you go."
"I was trying to let you go," Harry said slowly, taking a hesitant step closer to where Severus sat. "I was trying, but I couldn't."
Severus smiled at him then, thin and wry and exhausted. "That makes two of us."
Harry took another step closer and then another until he was close enough to settle, perched on the arm of Severus' chair, so close that he could almost touch him.
"Contrary to popular belief," said Severus, "I am rather an emotional man–" he reached out one of his elegant hands, resting it against Harry's thigh, "and I couldn't just walk away; I care for you far too much for that."
Harry lay his hand over Severus’, lacing their fingers together and leaning into his shoulder.
"I'm glad," he said, voice barely a whisper, "I missed you."
"I will be here until you tire of me," said Severus. He leaned back in the chair, tilting his head back to look up at Harry. His frown furrowed, like the idea that Harry, one day no longer wanting him, was a real concern.
Harry leaned in closer, touching Severus' cheek, ghosting his finger over his jaw.
"That's never going to happen," said Harry, and then he kissed him. Soft and slow, and deep, full of want and long unsaid words. Harry's hand slid into Severus' hair, fingers tangling into his hair.
Harry pressed into Severus, easily sliding into his lap. Severus wound his arms around Harry's waist, pulling him close, fingers twisting into his shirt. It was a moment long overdue, but despite the wait and the distance and pain it was here, they had found each other again, and no matter where they went from here, it would be together.
~Epilogue~
The small window in the corner of the bedroom in Spinner's End was still covered in frost when Harry padded his way toward the steep, narrow flight of stairs. He tripped over the landing, as he often did, swore under his breath, and hurried down stairs. It was a cold morning, and it hadn't been easy for Harry to extract himself from the warmth of the bed and the comforting weight of Severus pressing into his chest.
Had it been another day, Harry would have stayed, wrapped in the warmth of the quilts and Severus' arms, but today he had a mission.
Today was Severus' birthday, and Harry had breakfast to prepare.
Finding a suitable gift was a feat that was so close to impossible that Harry had nearly driven himself mad, but in the end, the answer was a simple one. He might not know which rare potion ingredients might be a boon or be able to hunt down a rare text, but Harry could do something else. He could make something warm and nourishing just for Severus. Something they could share together on a quiet Sunday morning, and that felt like a gift worth giving.
There would be muffins, of course. And eggs and bacon, with homemade toast, and fresh ground coffee. Everything one needed for a proper start to the day. Harry hummed softly while he shuffled across the kitchen floor, his thick, woolly socks sliding on the old, scuffed tiles.
Soon, the smell of coffee filled the kitchen, the warmth of the oven fogging the paned windows overlooking the tiny overgrown back garden. Harry stood at the long counter, elbow-deep in a large mixing bowl, rolling sugar and lemon zest between his fingers, releasing the bright scent of citrus.
Breakfast came together easily. The only real variable to the occasion would be when Severus woke up. In the end, the smell of the bacon sizzling in the pan was what summoned him from upstairs, and when he appeared in the kitchen doorway, he was half asleep, rumpled, and still in his nightshirt, a vision of him that Harry was sure that he was the only person privy too, and he liked it that way.
"Morning," said Harry brightly, "coffee?"
"Please," said Severus, shuffling further into the kitchen. He stopped once he noticed the spread filling their little kitchen table.
"Oh," he said, voice soft.
Still half awake, hair mussed, he wrapped his arms around Harry while he stood at the stove, poking at the last of the bacon. Severus lay his cheek against Harry's head.
"Happy Birthday," said Harry, plating the last of the bacon and switching off the stove.
"Thank you," said Severus, bent, kissing Harry softly just on the corner of his mouth. "Shall we eat?"
It started to rain while the two of them sat at the little table in the kitchen, huge icy drops lashing the windows, but that was alright because they were warm inside, and today, nothing else mattered.
Maybe life had not been perfect since Harry's arrival at Spinner's End. It hadn't been picturesque, or effortless. It wasn’t a movie or fairytale, it was difficult, and frustrating, and as full of arguments as it had been full of moments so blindingly perfect that sometimes Harry forgot to breathe. And it would continue to be difficult, messy, and hard as the two of them continued the fragile little life they'd painstakingly constructed together. But it was their fragile little life, and Harry wouldn't have it any other way.
After all, this was all he'd ever wanted.