Work Text:
Each Star is a Broken Heart
The café was buzzing with activity on the 23rd December of 2003. Patrons were friendlier than usual, and the Christmas mood was felt by everyone including the working staff: they were chatting and laughing, giving little extras here and there to the regulars and wishing many a heartfelt Merry Christmas.
One of the waiters in particular was literally shining with glee, passing the feeling on to the hearts of everyone on the receiving end of his one thousand watts smile. The graceful, slender built brunette was beaming, his bright green eyes radiating with mirth. He seemed to be in his element, never stopping, though taking the time to attend to everyone with equal pleasure.
The patrons were glad to see the lad was back. For reasons unknown to everyone but the young man, he’d disappeared at the beginning of autumn, only to reappear in the café about two weeks ago. The moroseness he might have felt during his first two days of work had vanished, and he now seemed happier than ever.
It had also been a delight for the manager to see his ‘son’ back. After all, the dark-haired man had been employed by the café for a little over five years when he’d decided to go ...
~*~*~*~
It had been around nine-thirty when Allan Mitchell had noticed that a tall person had entered his café, clad in the uniform usually reserved for the staff; but two seconds later, he recognised the face which sported a shy and yet eager smile. Mitchell hadn’t spoken once, waiting for the boy, an encouraging smirk on his face instead.
‘Mr Mitchell—’
‘Allan, boy, you know it’s Allan.’
‘Allan, would you have a job for a poor, unemployed young man?’
Laughter and a friendly clap on his shoulder were his first answer, before he found himself trapped in the man’s arms, the hug the most wonderful welcome he could have ever expected; he was home.
‘Wanna start today, Harry?’ Mitchell asked with a wink. ‘Four months surely weren’t enough to get my best waiter out of shape, I’d say ... I take it things have settled down nicely?’ the man added.
A flicker of some undefined emotion flashed across the lad's features before the mask of carefully controlled openness slipped into place again; and the only remnant of what he’d felt transpired in the muscle spasming at the corner of his right eye. ‘Yes,’ he answered, with the ghost of a sad grin, swiftly replaced by a brighter, probably fake one, ‘you could say that,’ shaking any further objection away.
‘Excellent. You’ll be able to meet with the man who originally took your place. Should be here any minute,’ added Allan with a wink, ‘and now ... shoo! There are people to attend to!’
Harry smiled again, and it finally reached his eyes. It was great to be back, to finally be home again.
He was bringing a young woman her mocha when the door opened and he heard a joyous ‘Bonjour Allan!’. Harry, after inquiring if the woman needed anything else, straightened his back and, for a brief moment, thought he was hallucinating.
The man had short, ruffled, platinum blond hair: it reminded him of another blonde, over five years ago. It wasn’t until the blonde looked in Harry’s direction, though, that he noticed the eyes were as green as his, bright and clear. The newcomer’s skin was golden and tanned like Harry’s, too. The smile was engaging and the face was not delicate as that of another who came immediately to the wizard’s mind. This one was more ... manly. Straighter nose, stronger, more determined jaw, rounder chin. Finally, feeling as though he was staring, Harry moved his gaze down the body and he tried not to gape. Where the other body he’d come to know was lean, all nerves and bones, this one was more muscled, larger and taller than Harry himself; but he exuded a feline grace at the same time.
‘Gorgeous’ is what came to Harry’s mind.
‘Ah! Thomas! Come here, mon garçon,’ Allan welcomed warmly. ‘There’s someone you want to be introduced to.’
Harry felt his cheeks burn softly when the other guy turned his head to check him with a suspicious frown on his face. Oops.
‘You hired someone else, Allan? Did anyone leave?’ The voice held the smallest of an accent and yet it didn’t deform the pronunciation but instead seemed to accentuate it. It was tranquil and deep, with husky undertones that made Harry want to shiver.
‘Yes. And no. I thought we could use some help with Christmas being almost upon us, what do you say?’ Mr Mitchell was sending him amused glances, waiting for his employee’s reaction.
After a moment of reflection, Thomas seemed to accept the idea, with the left corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a semi-smile and with the stretch of his hand in Harry’s direction. ‘Thomas Lemieux.’ Ah. That probably was where the lingering accent was coming from. ‘Welcome aboard, mate. Hope you’re good, ‘cause I’ve been told Christmas is mad around this place.’ Blunt and direct. He liked that.
Harry accepted the extended hand and shook it. ‘Harry Potter. And believe me, it is mad around here at Christmas. Incredibly fun, but crazy. Been there, done that, so don’t worry ‘bout me.’ He let the smirk he’d held back overrun his face, his eyes twinkling à laDumbledore when he noticed the blush colouring the golden cheeks.
Mitchell, who’d watched the exchange with amusement plainly written on his face, burst into laughter at his youngest recruit’s expense. ‘Actually, Harry, Thomas here has heard about your exploits as a waiter ever since he joined us in September ...’
‘Shit, Allan! Si tu voulais m’embarrasser, ben laisse-moi te dire que t’as réussi comme jamais auparavant! J’pense que t’aurais probablement pas pu faire mieux, même en te forçant! ’
Allan laughed even more. ‘And you, my boy, know that I understand about three words of French and that I like it better when you insult me in English so I can answer you right back.’
Thomas grumbled some more before putting on a contrite expression, looking at the brunette straight in the eyes. ‘Sorry for what I implied, Harry. I couldn’t know and I thought it’d be better to warn you first and—’
‘Hey, hey, hey. No harm done, mate. Like you said, you couldn’t know, I just got back yesterday and first thing I did this morning was come up here and ask Allan if there might be some place for me,’ he said with an easy smile. He wasn’t sure how old the other man was, but he felt they would probably work great together. Plus, he was fucking gorgeous. After a few seconds spent thinking, he added, ‘and I have no clue whatsoever about what it is you just said. Perhaps you could give me French lessons sometimes?’
A brief look up and down Harry’s body later, Thomas was grinning with a bit of what Harry would qualify as naughtiness in his eyes. ‘That might be feasible, yes. We’ll see to that, Harry.’
Without further ado, Thomas shook the snow off his shoulders, put his jacket on a hook behind the counter, winked in Harry’s direction and started to serve the patrons who were by now slowly but surely filling the café.
After an hour or so working together, they looked up at each other and realised they were indeed complementing the other very well. A nod, a shrug, a chin pointed in a table’s direction were all they needed to work in perfect symbiosis.
Allan Mitchell wasn’t totally surprised – after all, he knew his sons very well and his hopes had been high when he’d seen Harry enter the café this morning. He’d never been wrong before and today didn’t change that fact. Those two were meant to get together somehow, he’d been able to feel it immediately. The energy, the electricity, the complicity between the two ... They simply ... clicked.
~*~*~*~
‘Thomas! Watch out, mate!’
‘Oups! Désolé, Harry!’
‘You better be!’
The two managed to not collide, but had it not been for Harry’s shout it would have been a hit-and-run ... without the running, that is. But their easiness working together proved Allan right all over again. Patrons thought they had sensors or were using something like telepathy.
One of those patrons though, was not smiling, Christmas Eve or not, and Allan, seeing this, frowned and stopped Harry for a second, a hand on the boy’s elbow. ‘Table fourteen ... It’s Thomas’s, I know, but could you go anyways? He doesn’t look happy at all.’
Without even looking at the table, Harry nodded: already back in motion, turning on his heels, ‘Going right now, Al!’
Harry Potter was known for at least a few things in the Wizarding world, and one of them was his eternal good luck. This time, it simply meant that his mouth was empty: no gum to choke on, no coffee jar or juice glass to pour all over the patron ... Severus Snape.
No surprise Allan thought he wasn’t happy, once you knew who you were dealing with, for Merlin’s sake, Harry thought.
Thomas chose that moment to walk by. ‘All right, Harry? You’ll check on him?’
Harry numbly acquiesced and suddenly was out of that trance he’d felt.
How dare they?
How dare they track him down?
After all he’d done for them, how dare they fucking follow him in Muggle London?
The uneasiness he’d felt for a second was immediately replaced by incredible annoyance. He walked the last few feet and reached the table where the older man didn’t even raise his eyes from his copy of the Daily Prophet to meet his.
‘Professor Snape! What a surprise to meet you here. Never thought you were one of those Muggle lovers.’ Under any other circumstances, Harry’s snarl would have made Snape proud, but considering he was on the receiving end, he felt more ashamed than anything else, for the Potter boy was right. He wasn’t a Muggle lover, and yet he found himself in that café, surrounded by them.
‘Hello to you, too, Mister Potter. You are in quite a verve on this Christmas Eve, aren’t you?’ was the smooth, velvety voice’s answer. Snape had yet to raise his head, and that was infuriating Harry. A curt nod and a crisp smile were the only other marks of acknowledgment Harry got until he remembered his actual position.
‘Can I get you something, sir?’
Oh, a sneer, this time. ‘Now, Potter, you’re the waiter and I’m a patron. Of course you can get me something.’ He paused and Harry waited for his former professor to continue. ‘Answers, Potter. I came here to get a cappuccino and a lot of answers. You always pretended you wanted a simple kind of life, that you didn’t seek recognition, fame; and yet every time you end up on the front page of the Daily Prophet and the cover of the Witch Weekly on the same day, I wonder about the truth of your repeated statements.’ There was a frown on Snape’s face as he seemed to look at the café properly for the first time, acknowledging Potter’s environment. ‘Still, when I look at you, here, in the middle of this Muggle-filled crowd, you’re actually working your arse off—’ Harry’s eyebrow quickly shot up at Snape’s use of vocabulary, ‘—on Christmas Eve. And, for the first time since they brought you back in September, you’re smiling and looking at ease: I’m finally questioning myself, Harry. You look better as it is.’
The last few words were said in a much softer, much quieter tone, and none of Snape’s usual bite was in the speech. In fact, looking closely, Harry could notice the deep blue circles under the older man’s eyes. He left him there, without another word and to be honest, it didn’t really surprise Snape ... until the young one returned, a cup of steaming cappuccino in his hands.
He genuinely smiled and sat down in front of the not-so-greasy-anymore Potions’ Master. ‘Severus, now that you got here, why don’t you tell me what’s the purpose of this impromptu visit? Surely you didn’t decide to leave Hogwarts on Christmas Eve, saying, ‘Why not pay our dear Harry a visit?’
His tone was subdued and his speech was contained and yet the gleam in his eyes warned Severus that he would not accept sugar-coated lies and that wand or no wand, Potter was a powerful wizard. ‘Why are you here, Severus, who sent you?’
*~*~*~*
Severus Snape knew the line he was about to walk was incredibly thin. He did not dare lie for he almost feared this Harry. This young man, who’d spent the biggest part of the last five years living in Muggle London wasn’t the bouncy teenager who’d defeated Voldemort at the end of his seventh year ... with the help of young Malfoy, of course.
No. In front of him stood a confident, perhaps slightly arrogant adult who probably knew perfectly well what he was doing, saying and hearing. Luckily for him, caution was a part of who Severus Snape was and had always been.
*~*~*~*
‘Minerva asked me, Harry. She asked me to try and find where you are hiding - I know, Harry,’ he added hastily, noting the youth had opened his mouth to protest, ‘you’ll tell me you aren’t hiding.’ He snorted but couldn’t help himself and added, ‘After all, it wasn’t thathard to find you once I knew where to look.’
Harry smirked. ‘Ron and Mione have always known where I worked during the last five years. You came here first, without even looking for me anywhere else, haven’t you, Severus? This is why you were scowling, you realised I wasn’t ‘hiding’ anywhere.’
A defeated smile appeared on Severus’s face. ‘Touché, boy.’
Harry nodded. ‘Thought so. Now, tell me; what is it that Professor McGonagall was after exactly to force you to find me? – No, wait a second. Answer this instead: what now that you found me? Will you force me to go back to my house near Hogsmeade? Sequestrate me in Hogwarts? Force me to take on the D.A.D.A. position?’
‘Surprising as it is, I’ve received very specific orders from Albus not to force you to do anything, and let me tell you, young man, that Minerva was most upset about it,’ he smirked. ‘But you know how she is. Or Miss Granger is, for that matter. Or any of your friends, would I add.’
Harry frowned deeply, though before he could add anything he remembered where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. Working. Right. There were patrons all around them.
Shit.
And Severus hadn’t touched his cappuccino. Shaking himself, he raised to his feet and extended a hand to the older man, who took it awkwardly, giving it a firm shake. ‘Sorry, Severus, but I think Allan and Thomas won’t appreciate it if I was to spend my shift talking with you—’ he gave Allan a quick look, and his boss was giving Harry a disapproving glare, ‘—or maybe not. But what do you say we discuss this some more later?’
Severus’s almost eager nod surprised Harry, but he didn’t show it. ‘The sooner, the better, I’d say, Harry.’
‘Tonight?’
This time, it was Severus who was astounded. Didn’t the boy have a life of his own? ‘Where and at what time?’
‘Would you mind walking by around nine? We should be closing around that time ...’
‘It’s a rendezvous, then, Harry. Later.’ Severus rose and idly walked out of the café, leaving several notes on the table without caring much.
~*~*~*~
It was a massive headache and the incessant pounding on his front door that woke Harry on the late evening of the 26th of December. Christmas had gone by like the five previous ones and, once more, he would not answer the door, no matter who might be on the other side.
‘Harry, cybole, viens ouvrir l’ostie de porte avant que j’défonce! C’est quoi l’affaire? T’es complètement bourré, c’est ça?’
Thomas’s deep contralto voice resounded all through the small flat and Ernest and Edgar joined to make a perfectly in tune chorus of shrill shouting, barking and mewling.
Lovely, that was.
But it reached the desired effect and after picking Ernest up into his arms, Harry made his way to the front door, not bothering about putting more clothes on. Boxer briefs would suffice. It was just Thomas, after all.
‘Y’était temps! Pendant un instant, j’ai failli croire que t’étais dans le coma ...’ The door hadn’t been completely opened yet and already Thomas was babbling again in French, with that accent of his that definitely wasn’t from France.
‘Thom, you know I don’t understand shite when you speak that fast.’
‘Sorry, Harry.’
‘Yeah, right.’
A sheepish smile appeared on the blonde’s face. ‘How’s the headache, mate?’
‘Aching, you twat.’
‘Good, good. So, how was Christmas?’
A shadow briefly darkened Harry’s face but it didn’t last. ‘Don’t really remember. Alone, I guess.’ A disinterested shrug.
‘Harry ...’
‘’s all right, Thomas. Really,’ he added when he noticed the suspicious look that was sent his way.
‘If you say so. Allan s’inquiétait, tu sais.’
‘I know.’
They made their way through the lounge and sat side by side on the couch. They were both silent but it wasn’t awkward; it was a comfortable silence.
Of course, it couldn’t last.
‘Je peux te poser une question?’ Thomas said after a while, turning his head slightly, but just so he could have a peripheral vision of Harry’s face.
‘Sure, Thom. Can’t promise I’ll answer it, though,’ was Harry’s answer.
‘Fair enough. That man, at the café, the other day ... Who was it?’ There was something about the way Harry blanched that warned the blonde it might not be the best thing to ask. ‘You know what? Nevermind. Even forget I asked, ‘k?’ Hey, Harry ... Harry!? Fuck, man, you’re not good. No surprise Allan was worried, you know. What can I do?’
His words were pressed and worried, but Harry could barely nod. He hadn’t wanted to think about ... well, he couldn’t even name it, name him, name them, now. Feeling slightly dizzy, he bent down a bit, holding his head in his hands and it only worried Thomas even more, but Harry wasn’t paying attention. He needed to distract himself, to focus his mind on something else, on anything else ... but what?
Almost unconsciously, he leaned on Thomas, who wrapped a comforting arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. ‘Shush, Harry. Ça va bien aller, fais-toi en pas avec tout ça, ok? Tout va s’arranger.’
And Harry nodded, not even caring about what the other man was saying because the voice was soothing and the foreign accent was like a lullaby; calming, comforting, relaxing. Closing his eyes for a moment, he could see the stars outside, a bit like when he’d first entered the dining room at Hogwarts, in his first year. The black sky and the bright, shiny stars. He wondered if there was one, or many of them, watching over him. Related to him, caused by him. After all, each star was said to be a broken heart ...
~*~*~*~
It was a few hours later, when Thomas looked at the man sleeping next to him in the double bed, that he wondered what he was doing, right there and then. He had known the brunette for about three weeks and already they were great friends, they would hang out together at night, they felt at ease, as though they had known each other for a long time. He wondered if Harry’s sort of breakdown this afternoon and what followed would change anything in their relationship. And also if it would be a good or a bad change.
But there would be time later to think about that. Right now, Thomas was tired. Bending his head down one last time, he gently, tenderly kissed the top of the unruly-haired head and tucked the sheets tightly around the two of them, Harry’s head under his chin and the warmth of Harry’s body reaching his own skin through their layers of clothing.
~*~ La Fin ~*~
You can find the translations here:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/laeb/34585.html#cutid1
A/N2: A few things! Sorry to bother you after you’re done reading this but I thought I’d better ask ... First, I got another interlude, featuring Severus and Lucius... hope some of you are interested (check out soon for Considering the Way Things Are or Emit Remmus #5!). Second, what do you think of the OCs? Like ‘em? Dislike ‘em? Why? Feel free to let me know. Those of you who would like to be notified when there’s a new story up in the Emit Remmus can leave me an email address and I’ll take the time to email you when there’s something new, if you want. Lastly, thanks to those of you guys who stick up with me and take a few second to write once in a while, I truly appreciate! Good day :) ~Laeb xXx