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"Sev, get the casserole!"
Severus looks up at the distant voice, rolls his eyes, and sets down the potions journal he was rifling through neatly on their coffee table. With a silent grunt, he braces himself to get up, hands on his knees, and heads into the kitchen with extra-long strides to make up for his unwelcome show of age.
The kitchen is filled with delightful smells that tickle at his nose, playful and enticing, and Severus follows its call right up to their oven, where he then proceeds to don Harry's ridiculous stripey oven gloves and extract the casserole from the Muggle contraption. When the casserole is set on the counter, steaming and baked a light golden-brown along its raised edges, Severus pulls off the gloves and stalks out of the kitchen and upstairs to see a certain fretfully buzzing imp about his new obsession.
"Harry, what are you doing?" he asks with raised eyebrows when he gets to their bedroom and finds Harry on his hands and knees, curly dark head peeking under their tawny brown bedspread. Harry looks up with slightly frantic green eyes at his appearance.
"Just checking that I didn't miss anything under there," Harry says to him, devolving into muttering as he adds, "It's too dark to see, need to get my torch. Where did I keep my torch?"
Severus closes his eyes and prays for patience. "You're a wizard, Harry. Use your wand."
"Right. I have a wand. Where's my wand?" Before Severus gets a chance to retort, Harry's head snaps up again, wild eyes once again fixing on him. "The casserole! Did you get the casserole?"
"I did, yes," Severus dryly responds, staving off the urge to roll his eyes when Harry falls relaxed like a limp noodle the second his words are uttered. "It looks perfect and smells wonderful. You can breathe again."
"Oh, good. Good. Thanks, Sev. Now let me just find my wand and I'll go check on the veggies…"
Silently, Severus crosses over to pick up Harry's wand from the dresser and walks back to Harry, pausing the younger man's frantic patting of the carpet with a tap against his shoulder. When Harry looks up, round glasses ridiculously slipping down his sweaty nose, Severus hands him the stick of wood with a perfectly crafted expression of judgement.
"Your wand," he says with mocking emphasis, sarcasm dripping off his words, but Harry has eyes only for his wand and pays no attention to Severus' face. He snatches it up with a grateful 'thanks' and drops back down fully to the carpet in an instant, his head burrowed under the thick bedspread before he can even get his wand lit up.
Shaking his head to himself, Severus decides that enough is enough.
Harry's been filled with this manic energy since the beginning of December, a descent into madness so slow that Severus himself didn't predict how concerning it would grow to be till they were on day twenty of the month and he'd found Harry hovering himself in the air in their living room switching out the colours on all the many baubles of their fifteen foot tall Christmas tree.
They are now on day twenty five, Christmas day, and while Severus knows that whatever this is will all be over when the day ends, he is well enough acquainted with Harry's moods to know that none of them could ever be ready for when all this comes to a head. Severus isn't prepared to deal with all the chaos that will come with having Granger and Weasley around to witness the fallout on a day he already finds so abhorrent.
And so, with a stern face and his most commanding tone, he says to the brat sprawled on the carpet, "Harry, get up."
Of course, Harry being the brat he is, never did respond to Severus' professor voice the way all of his students usually do.
"Is it important? Can it wait?" Harry's muffled voice comes from under their bed.
"It is, and it cannot. We are going to have a talk, Harry."
"No time, Sev, I still gotta check on the veggies and straighten everything up downstairs and—"
Severus takes a deep breath. For strength. "Potter, you will get your arse off the floor right now and take a seat."
At that, Harry sticks his head out and looks up at him, and Severus has to fight to keep his expression steady at the ruffled black curls he is greeted with, sweaty and messed up every which way. Harry's glasses are askew again, and he is blinking owlishly at having to suddenly face the sunny daylight brightening up their bedroom.
Not for the first time, Severus wonders why his heathen heart decided to fall for someone so… anarchic.
"Sev?" Harry tentatively asks, levering himself up to a half-kneeling, half-sitting position. His hold on his wand is tight, and its tip is still lit with a dull white glow.
"Sit," Severus points to the bed, and Harry instantly goes.
Those eyes of Harry's can be all too convincing, Severus decides when he's met with that familiar curious gaze on him. Bright and full of life and oh so expressive. And there's something about Harry's attitude that, while insubordinate, is refreshing. Severus has found himself addicted to that attitude as the years go by, despite his past thoughts on the matter.
Severus takes the time to observe the young man perched on the bedspread. It's a tactic he often uses, giving Harry the time to settle down and breathe through his pretence of cross-armed scrutiny. This time, however, it doesn't work, as Harry only seems to get bouncier the longer he is made to sit in silence.
"You know what, I should go check on the veggies—" he frets and makes as if to get up, and Severus holds up a hand to halt him the second Harry shifts his feet to stand.
With Harry frozen as he is, Severus uses his other hand—his wand hand—to silently cast a spell that puts out the gas on the stove downstairs. "It is done."
"Sev!" Harry instantly exclaims, "You can't just do that, it still needs to simmer—"
"The food will be fine," Severus cuts him off with an even, soothing tone. "If it is not, it can be fixed, and if it needs to be made again, I will cook it myself. Now you will sit and tell me what's on your mind, Harry, so that I may ease it and we can move on with the day with less… jitteriness."
"I'm not being jittery!" Harry refutes without a second of pause, and Severus aims a pointed, unimpressed look at his fidgeting hands. Harry is practically buzzing in place, not unlike a child on a sugar high.
"Will you calm down? You are acting worse than your godson, for Merlin's sake. After he is fed from your Honeydukes horde," Severus takes it upon himself to inform him. Harry makes a face at the comparison.
"Teddy is four," the brat points out.
"And yet, Edward is able to go about his day with more composure and aplomb than you are currently capable of affecting!" Severus counters. "Something is clearly wrong, Potter, and you must tell me what it is if we are to fix this. Whatever this is, I won't let it ruin your Christmas. This day is for you, not me."
Harry's eyes suddenly grow wide. "That's just it! It's not just for me, not anymore! It's for all of us, and it has to be perfect!"
Normally, Severus would press further and probe more about what the matter really is, but something about the way Harry says it doesn't sit right with him.
It's not the words—Harry has been chanting it has to be perfect like a battle cry for all of the two weeks that has gone by—but there's a raw kind of desperation breaking Harry's voice that most certainly hasn't shown up before. Severus pauses, sensing something deeper to be the cause of all of this.
Silently, he crosses over to Harry in four large steps and pushes aside a pillow to take a seat on the bed beside him. Harry is still vibrating, but it lessens some when Severus pulls him to rest against his side and winds an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry's breaths calm as seconds go by, and it is after these precious few seconds of silence that Severus decides to broach the question again.
"Will you tell me what the matter is, Harry?" he asks softly, and when Harry doesn't immediately answer, he lets the silence linger. Their breaths fill the space where words aren't to be found, steady and even and calming.
"I don't know how to explain it, Sev," Harry's quiet voice eventually says. His head doesn't move away from Severus' shoulder, even as he speaks, and Severus takes it for the silent request for comfort it is. "I just… all I know is that I want this Christmas to be perfect. Really, really perfect. It's the first one we're hosting, and Ron and Hermione and Teddy and Andromeda are coming over, and I just… I want them to have a good Christmas with us. And you… I don't know, Sev. It feels like this is the first Christmas I've ever had, and I just… I want it to be perfect."
"Why?" Severus asks in that same quiet tone. "It is not the first one we are celebrating together, nor is it the first one you are celebrating with your friends. And while I know how fond you are of Edward, he's four, Harry. You need not twist yourself in knots to make today a special one for him. He is going to be quite spoiled this Christmas as it is, if the gifts laid out under the tree are anything to go by."
"I know, I know," Harry says, burrowing a little further into his shoulder. "I really don't know, Sev. I guess… all my life, Christmas has always just been either bad or good, you know? It was just what it was. But it's not like that this year. It's up to me to make it good now. And if I don't, it'll be bad, and it'll be my own fault. It would be fine if it was just me, but it's not, is it? There's you, and my best friends, and my godson and Andy. I have to make it good for all of them too. I have to make it good for Teddy. And you."
Severus takes his time to consider all that Harry has said, then decides to go for the part of it that he finds most confusing. "Not that I am ignoring everything else you've said, love, but… me? Harry, this is not the first Christmas we have spent with each other."
"It is, though." Harry's head pulls away, and Severus turns to find anxious green eyes staring at him. "We weren't dating long enough to spend Christmas together that first year, and last Christmas we spent at the Burrow, announcing our relationship. You may have not worried so much about what they would think of us, but I did. It's all I worried about, really. The Weasleys are my family. This year, though… this one is all for us. My friends may be coming, and Teddy and Andy, but it's still for us. It's got to be special."
Severus' eyes soften. "And is that all that there is to it, my Harry?"
Harry's eyes stay on him for one beat, two, three, before they stray to his own lap. "No," a sheepish voice says.
Severus smiles, a near invisible quirk of his thin lips. "Then tell me."
Harry fiddles with his fingers for a handful of seconds as he gathers his thoughts. Severus waits patiently, letting the other man take his time. He isn't usually one for patience where people are concerned, but his two years and some odd months of being with Harry have taught him that with people that matter, a little bit of patience will not go amiss.
"You don't like Christmas," Harry finally says, his voice even softer than before. His hands are now fisted into the bottom of his dark green t-shirt, pulling at the fabric. Severus listens.
"You've never had a good Christmas before, I know. You don't like Christmas. But I want you to." Harry looks up. "I got lucky. When I came to Hogwarts, I had my friends and the rest of the Weasleys. And every year, they've shown me what a good Christmas is supposed to be. But you… you never really had that, even when you were… you were friends with my mum. But now you have me. And I… I want to be that person. To make it nice. So that you like Christmas again."
These are the moments when Severus comes to a realisation. It's the same realisation, every time, and it never fails to take his breath away. It's a comprehension of dual nature.
One, that there is someone who loves him.
And two, that he loves that someone just as fiercely as they do him.
Without really thinking about it, he pulls Harry closer and brushes a kiss against his dark hair. Harry is soft and pliant against him, and Severus does not regret his slip of affection if it provides his little idiot some form of much-needed comfort. Harry makes an aborted little sound and circles his own arm around Severus' waist, hugging back tightly.
"I'm an irascible man, Harry," Severus eventually finds the words to say. "One very set in his ways. I don't like Christmas, never did. There's not much scope for my opinion on the affair to change, but what has changed is my opinion on your opinion of it. You love all of this. You are excitable enough on a good day, but I've seen you come alive every December, and Harry… as much as it would pain me to say this otherwise, your happiness has become mine."
He can feel Harry smile against his collarbone. Reaching up with a hand to gently run long fingers through Harry's tangled curls, Severus lets himself smile as well.
"I want you to enjoy yourself," Severus whispers to him, "When you're happy, I'm happy too. But I don't see your enthusiasm anymore, only stress. And this stress is ruining your happiness, my Harry." He pulls his hand away from Harry's hair, reaching down instead to rest at his back. "The house is done up beautifully, your food will be lovely, and your friends will most certainly love spending Christmas here. I'll even promise to not antagonise Granger as much as I am wont to do. Will that make you feel better?"
Harry grins, letting out a little happy laugh. "I think it will."
"Then that's what I'll do," Severus says with finality. Hearing the decisive tone in his voice, Harry removes his head and straightens himself. Severus rubs his palms against the knee of his loose trousers, readying himself to get up.
Harry stands and turns to give him a hand, a teasing smile brightening his face. Severus frowns at the tanned hand reaching for him, and for once, takes it instead of refusing the help like he always does. "Brat," he mutters without heat at Harry's look at you, old man grin, and Harry's teasing subsequently softens as he tugs Severus closer.
"Thank you," he whispers, looking up at Severus earnestly. Severus can only smile.
"Shall we go downstairs then, my excitable little fool?"
"I think we shall."
When Harry walks out their bedroom door, the bounce in his step is back, and Severus' smile widens into something satisfied.
Anarchy is a part of his life now, and he has to live with it. But if he gets to keep it around permanently, Severus finds that he would be far from opposed.
His heathen heart has finally done something right, by tying itself to his anarchic little fool.