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Harry Potter goes missing on a Tuesday. The newspapers get wind of it that Wednesday, having noticed that Potter missed his usual morning coffee and strudel at the coffee shop on the main level of the ministry of magic. Headlines abound with speculation and fearmongering. The auror's office declines to investigate or to release information.
Out of habit and a desire to be informed of unpleasant events, Severus has kept up his subscription to the Daily Prophet. He regrets it daily.
But it is only when on Thursday that Ron Weasley shows up on his doorstep that Severus must deal with the fallout of Potter's supposed disappearance.
Severus is at first disinclined to open the door, but after several minutes of knocking, he gives in.
Weasley continues to be overly red-haired and irritating. He seems to understand this about himself, as he gets to the point without subjecting Severus to his presence for long. "This is a long shot, but you haven't seen Harry, have you?"
Severus raises an eyebrow. "You, his dearest friend, haven't heard from him? How odd."
"It's not that I haven't..." Weasley lets out a breath. "I worry, that's all. He takes a week off work all out of the blue just a few months after the breakup? Won't tell anyone where he's going other than that he needs some time? That doesn't sound like Harry."
Severus is disinclined to dignify the man's worries with a proper answer. "I see this friendship of yours is as clingy as it was a decade ago. You must know that it wasn't cute then. Neither is it now. Leave my doorstep."
Weasley stands firm. "Yes or no, Snape?"
"I haven't seen him," Severus replies. He shuts the door in Weasley's face. The man doesn't try to stop him.
Severus waits a moment, observing the man through the one-way glass as Weasley hesitates for a long moment before disapparating. Perhaps in disappointment, perhaps in suspicion. It doesn't matter either way.
"We were plenty cute ten years ago," says the man sprawled on Severus' couch.
Severus has many regrets. The pertinent one is ever allowing Potter into his home. "I am entitled to my entirely correct opinions."
"Are they correct?" Potter muses, staring up at the ceiling. He rests his head on a pillow he must have conjured himself. Severus doesn't have couch pillows, particularly ones embroidered with little suns. "We were objectively pretty damn cute. I've seen Colin's pictures. Don't know how Voldemort could have stomached trying to kill us, but then he did kill a unicorn and carry around a man-eating snake. Think his cuteness meter must've been off."
Severus hums in something between agreement and disagreement. He steps closer to Potter's sprawled form and debates vanishing the couch. Then Potter opens his eyes and that green has Severus taking leave of his senses. Irritating. "When you arrived, you indicated to me that you would only be here a short time. That your vacation is scheduled and your portkey ready."
"You haven't kicked me out yet," Potter replies.
"Hm."
"Tell me to go and I will."
It is rather difficult to order the Boy-Who-Lived to do anything. Certainly more difficult to order Harry, just Harry, out of his home.
"You'll prepare dinner," Severus says instead.
"Already on it."
Frankly, Severus doesn't know how the universe itself deals, having Harry Potter within it. One might think that it would implode than deal for a moment longer.
Severus attends to his potions, then to dinner, which Potter has served. It is not the first time and it won't be the last. After several years Potter has grown closer instead of further, like a spot in the carpet that grows larger the more one aims to get rid of it.
With the assumption that Potter will eventually get on with it and say what has kept him here, away from his adoring and claustrophobic fans, Severus retires to the sitting room. He has a book and Potter has a woven tapestry that is unfinished at all ends and fizzles with magic. Severus keeps an eye out lest it starts a fire one of these days.
It's not the only reason he looks, of course. Potter is peaceful as he works. Handsome, too. Severus tries to be objective about it, which only leaves him irritated.
He's never in his life been able to be objective about Harry Potter. It's hypocritical to try now.
"I thought it would be easier," Potter finally says into his tapestry. He weaves a thread in, then takes it out to redo it. And again. "You know. Being alone."
Severus doesn't pretend to not understand. The sooner this conversation reaches its point, the sooner... What? Potter returns to his personal Weasley? "You were the one to leave her. If you regret it now, you can hardly blame anyone else for it."
"I don't regret the breakup."
"Good."
Potter finally raises his gaze from his tapestry. Severus should probably stop thinking of it as such; calling the scrap of string a tapestry gives it far more credit than it needs.
"You've complained about your relationship not being fulfilling for long enough that I could hardly encourage you to go back," Severus sniffed. "I'm not your relationship counselor. If I were, I would say some rubbish like learning to understand your desires."
"I understand my desires."
There is a certain element of torture in hearing Potter say a word like desires. "Do you?"
Potter sets the tapestry down. He lists each point on the fingers of his left hand. "I want a partner who understands me, values me, wants more or less the same thing out of the future as me, who in one way or another fought for the light during the war. I want a man because I'm sick of pretending I don't. I want someone who frustrates me and invigorates me and leaves me wild with hope."
It can't be said that Severus can't pick up a hint. Still, he returns to his book, not seeing the pages. "You'll find someone in time, or whatever a relationship counselor would say."
Gently but firmly, the book leaves his hands. Severus can't quite reconcile it in his head, the way Potter sits down next to him, the way he won't leave Severus' personal space. "I've found someone."
"Good for you. I was reading that."
"I was happy, if unfulfilled, until I started visiting my old potions professor because I thought I had unresolved issues I needed to clear. I cleared them — then I realized I still had more."
"Is this how you think to convince me of your—" Severus cuts himself off. He can't say it. Can barely think it.
The trouble with wanting something you're not supposed to have is when it sits down next to you and offers himself to you. Like a gift, the very kind Severus isn't supposed to receive.
"I don't know. Last time around, I just kissed Ginny. Do you think that'll work this time?"
Severus evaluates him there, the way he's half leaning in already, all earnest and messy-haired. There are plenty of good, sound reasons why Severus shouldn't lean in the rest of the way.
He abandons them all.