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Restitutio ad integrum = restoration to a pristine condition.
Harry writes a list, pros and cons of abandoning a career path that has already been laid in front of him, served on a silver platter - he’s the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, he’s up to become Head of the Auror Department in less than five years, and he’s seriously thinking about quitting, and going back to Hogwarts to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Going back to the only place that felt like home, even if it’s to do something he has no experience in doing, besides the brief parenthesis of his fifth year.
It’s foolish, so Harry writes a list.
Severus Snape figures in both columns.
*
It started after the war.
It couldn’t have happened any other way.
Some might argue that it started way sooner: at the welcoming feast, when Harry first came at Hogwarts and saw him and he looked back with eyes cold and empty, deep with contempt and scorn; way sooner with a prophecy half-heard and badly reported, with regret and pleads and a promise made to the ghost of his best friend to keep her child safe, to keep him alive.
That’s the history they always shared after all, and nothing could have happened if their history hadn’t been built, stone after stone, paving the way. But that - that started after the war.
‘Severus Snape was Dumbledore’s man’ titled the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler featured an interview with the Boy Who Lived and Snape still lied in a coma, in a bed in St. Mungo’s, even as Harry had him pardoned, had him awarded a damn Order of Merlin - even better than the one he costed him in his third year - and Harry spent his days at his bedside, hour after hour, sitting in a plastic chair transfigured in an uncomfortable couch waiting for him. He didn’t talk much. Not after he got his throat sore, yelling at him and asking him why and begging him to wake up to answer at least one of his fucking questions.
So much good it had done to him, since when Snape had woken up, he had refused to answer anyway. “You already know everything you need to,” the professor had croaked, his voice barely a whisper, “Fuck off.”
Harry hadn’t.
*
Professor McGonagall looks old. To Harry, she always was, in the same way, everyone past twenty-five looks so ancient to an eleven years old, but now, with a war on his shoulder, with a career in the Auror’s Corps, Harry can see the wrinkles around her eyes, the frown on her forehead, the thin line of her lips, and recognize them for what they are. Professor McGonagall is tired, in the same encompassing and crushing way Harry is.
“Are you sure, Mr Potter?” She asks when he goes to tell her his answers.
Harry licks his lips and closes his eyes for a brief instant, collecting his thoughts.
Is he sure?
Yes, he is. He had always been. He never needed a list.
Yet, he knows why she’s asking. The reconstruction of Hogwarts had been long and it had taken a toll on everyone. She can’t afford to hire a teacher that will change his mind and leave her with a shortage of staff mid-term. She doesn’t have the strength to take up the DADA lessons on her own, and she can’t still find someone who would stick for more than a year - she has to hope in Harry.
“I am sure, yes.”
Professor McGonagall puts down her cup of tea, and looks at him, straight in the eyes, “Am I to understand there won’t be any problems with Professor Snape?”
It takes Harry by surprise. Maybe it shouldn’t, maybe it had been so evident from the start, but Harry had been careful and Severus had been a spy and nobody should have even had a hint about what was happening. No tabloid journalist ever got their clutches on a scoop, no one ever talked about it with them - maybe they knew, maybe they suspected, if Harry looks back at it, there was something in the way Ron always tried to understand why, how he could care so much for their hated Potion professor, and there was something in the way Hermione always asked him if he wanted to talk if he didn’t think he was spending too much time with the man.
But Harry hadn’t told anyone, and he was sure Snape - Snape with his privacy, Snape who was so evidently ashamed of him, Snape who had been with him for who knows what reasons since it still looked like he despised him - Snape would have never told.
“How-?”
“I’ve known both you and Severus since you were eleven,” the Headmistress sighs, “It just wasn’t really difficult to understand once you insisted so much for him to spend his convalescence at your house and he stayed for a whole year.”
Harry looks at her and feels his throat getting drier by the second, “Who else knows?”
Professor McGonagall shakes her head, “Oh, I assure you, it’s not common knowledge if that’s what bothers you.” She smiles kindly at him, “It was just a polite guess about two people I’ve known for some time. Besides, even if I had been wrong, it was clear enough you two had a fallout. And Merlin knows, I really need to hire you, Harry,” she shakes her head, “You might be the most competent teacher we had in years, but I need to know that you can work with him.”
Harry sips his tea. It’s already cold and it’s awful in his mouth, or maybe it’s just the topic that makes it taste of ashes.
“I can work with him,” he says, “Everybody knows he hates me. I’ll just stay out of his way, and I’m sure he won’t want to spend any more time than necessary in my presence.”
It actually hurts to say, but he’s been long enough for Harry to get over it - it would be pathetic to still hold a candle for the man that so blatantly rejected him, and Harry doesn’t want to be pathetic. He’ll be civil, he’ll be cordial, and he’ll pretend nothing ever happened.
“If you are sure it could be so easy...” She says, looking unconvinced.
“You are not?” Harry asks before he can think better of it.
Professor McGonagall sighs. “I can only hope, but you two always had a way to gravitate toward each other... Well, I can only hope this time the teachers’ meeting won’t be full of ‘Potter has been so disrespectful, he did that just to spite me, I know he’s doing it on purpose’ from him. He was always talking about you.”
“He... did that?” There’s a glint in the Headmistress’ eyes and Harry shouldn’t ask. He has told himself he wouldn’t inquire after Snape - it’s pointless, it’s useless, it’s only going to hurt him more. He shouldn’t want to care about Snape at all.
“All the time,” she nods, and Harry doesn’t know what to do with that information. He knew Snape hated him, he had known so since he was eleven, but then Severus hadn’t really, had he? He had saved his life, countless times, he had helped him. He had kissed him, had slept with him, lived with him. And then he had left him.
Harry wasn’t sure he had ever known the man.
“I don’t say this to scare you out of the job,” she goes on when it’s evidently that Harry hasn’t the faintest clue how to respond to what she has just told him. “I’ve already said too much, more than Severus would like you to know, certainly, but I just want to be sure you can manage to keep... whatever happens between you two outside of your classrooms. Can you assure me of this, Harry?”
Harry takes his time to let that sink in. Whatever happens.
He doesn’t know what Professor McGonagall is implying - he doesn’t know her as anything different than his teacher, and now she’s talking to him as a colleague. It’s disconcerting, the frankness of such a discussion, but Harry knows she’s trying to do what’s best for the school.
He would be tempted to say that no, he can’t assure her of such a thing, he can’t know what will happen if Severus stops ignoring him, pretending he doesn’t exist. But that’s a moot point because Harry knows Severus won’t.
So, “Yes,” he says, “I can.”
It’s not even a lie.
The Headmistress nods, and smiles, and her shoulders relax a little - a weight lifted from her back, a worry less. “Then welcome back to Hogwarts, Professor Potter.”
*
Severus didn’t know why he had accepted to follow Potter to Grimmauld Place in the end. He just couldn’t face going back to Spinner’s End, and Potter had asked.
He didn’t know why Potter had asked in the first place, maybe he felt guilty
“I’m sorry for what my father did to you”
“I don’t need pity, Potter.”
“I’m sorry for what I did to you, then.”“I would say what I did to you makes as even. Now go away.”
Maybe he wanted to know more about Lily
You were in love with my mother.
I wasn’t in love with her.
But you loved her.
Yes.
Maybe he just felt a connection - two unlikely survivors of the same Dark Lord.
“I still dream about him. I wake up feeling he’s still in my head.”
“That’s because you never mastered Occlumency.”
“That’s because he terrorized me for most of my life.”
“Fair enough.”
(That conversation had been held with a bottle of firewhiskey sitting between them)
Severus didn’t know why Potter had asked, but Severus didn’t know a lot of things those days.
It was uncanny, living without a yoke, no sword of Damocles hanging over his head. Severus was done - no more wars to fight, roles to keep, no more pretending to be someone he was not. But who was he in the end?
Surely not the hero Potter pretended he was. He had made mistakes, one after the other, and he had atoned for that with even more mistakes. He didn’t deserve a medal for it.
He didn’t deserve Potter sharing his house with him as he slowly got back his ability to talk, to cast magic, to walk without a limp; he didn’t deserve Potter thanking him, apologizing to him, forgiving him.
And yet, Potter did.
“You hated me because of my father.”
“I did.”
“And now you don’t?”
“No, I think I haven’t hated you for a long time.”
“It sure didn’t feel like that.”
“It was just easier.”
“Easier?”
“If I didn’t care... it wouldn’t hurt.”
“But it hurts anyway, doesn’t it?”
“It always hurts.”
*
“You can’t be serious, Minerva!”
Minerva sighs and takes a biscuit from the tray in front of her. Tea is almost always the solution to every problem, besides giving her and her interlocutors something to do with their hands, so she always has a kettle ready when she has to have an important conversation.
This is an important conversation.
“I assure you I am, Severus. I don’t get why you’re so surprised. Mr. Potter is a good candidate, with a perfect curriculum of both theoretic knowledge and empiric experience. He would be perfect for the job. ”
Severus pinches the bridge of his nose. She is right, of course, she is right. Potter is a good candidate, the best candidate, actually. Severus, as Deputy Headmaster, has tried to find a reasonable alternative for the DADA post, but none of the wizards and witches he has put on the list had a quarter of the experience or the talent of Potter, that at least Severus can admit - if only to himself.
“He’s also perfect for the job he’s currently working,” Severus remarks, trying to not sound too bitter. “Why would he renounce his career to entomb himself in an old castle in Scotland?”
He didn’t mean to get angry, but the disdain and the irritation filter from his tone nonetheless. It’s always like this with Potter, always strong emotions and the need the throw his cup of tea at the wall.
“My, my, Severus. I thought you liked Hogwarts.” Minerva chuckles, completely ignoring his point and Severus thinks, not for the first time, that she’s taking upon herself too many of Albus’ mannerisms.
“I do,” he retorts, “But I’m also an old man with no social life and a mastery in Potions that can be upheld in the middle of nowhere. Our situations can hardly be compared.”
“I wasn’t trying to,” Minerva smiles and takes a sip from her cup of tea. “As you said, your situations hardly have anything in common.”
Severus doesn’t like to get blindsided in a conversation, and this is starting to feel a little too much like a cat playing with a mouse. “Then what were you trying to do?”
“Merely pointing out that different people have different reasons to do the same thing.”
Severus knows what she’s referring to. Minerva hadn’t asked him to come back to Hogwarts - after the war, after the coma, after Potter got him pardoned, Severus had resigned as Headmaster.
He had never thought he would survive the war, he had no intention of doing so - not after sending Potter to his death, not if it meant failing his promise of protecting him. He had never thought they would both get to the end of it alive, even if barely, and when he had had to face the rest of his life, Severus had simply known he wouldn’t be able to get back to Hogwarts, to sit on the chair that had once been Dumbledore’s and keep going on with his life knowing what he had imposed on his students.
Apparently, facing Potter was an even worse fate.
When he had asked the new Hogwarts Headmistress if she still needed a teacher for the Potions classes, he hadn’t expected Minerva to welcome him back with open arms. But she did, no questions asked besides wondering if he was sure he didn’t want the DADA chair instead, and when he had told her that he was simply done fighting, she had nodded. It was already time for Slughorn to go back to his retirement.
“Just because you don’t see what those reasons could be for coming to Hogwarts, it doesn’t mean Mr Potter doesn’t have them.”
Severus wants to laugh at that. Potter has no reason to come back - Potter has a brilliant career in front of him, he’s heading straight for the top, promotion after promotion until he’ll become Head of the Auror Department, why would he even stray from the path? Potter doesn’t need another job, just as he didn’t need someone like Severus in his house, in his life. Potter doesn’t need anything holding him back.
“You’re wasting your time, Minerva. He’ll never accept,” he tells her, tranchant, and he gets up, carefully placing the cup of tea on his saucer, before leaving.
He doesn’t slam the door behind himself, but Minerva can hear the intention nonetheless. He has left his list of possible candidates for the DADA position on her desk and she picks it up to give it a cursory glance. Nothing worth the time, she assesses and just rolls it up and banishes the parchment to a corner of her office.
He’ll never accept, Severus is so convinced, she doesn’t tell him Harry already has.
*
Harry’s snapped, grabbed his attacker and woke up.
He was in his bed, the chains grounding him were simply the sheets, tangled around his legs, and his attacker was simply Snape, shaking him awake.
“You were having a nightmare,” Severus explained. “You were... ah, calling my name.”
Harry blinked. The man was standing in front of him, alive and well. But if Harry closed his eyes he could still see it, the blood, there was so much blood and Snape was holding his own throat, and he was dying and there was nothing Harry could do about it.
"If you don't need anything else..." Snape made to retreat his hand.
Harry clung to his wrist, even harder.
“Can you stay?” He asked, almost a whisper in the silence of the night.
Severus hesitated. It would be inappropriate, it would mean something. But he wasn’t his teacher anymore and inappropriateness didn’t matter one bit.
Severus sat on the edge of the bed. Harry didn’t let go of his wrist but shifted away to make space for him, and Severus slipped under the covers.
They lied in silence.
“What were you dreaming about?” Severus asked at last.
“You,” Harry replied immediately, and when he didn’t elaborate, Severus didn’t push. Harry got there on his own, his voice slightly trembling in the dark. “You were dying.”“I don’t think I would have called that a nightmare.”
“Don’t joke about it,” Harry snapped, his grip tightening on his wrist, almost desperate.
Severus didn’t apologise. “Other people died,” he said instead, “better people than me.”
“I dream about them too.”
“And you dream about me.” Severus couldn’t quite grasp it. Dreaming was about the unconscious, it wasn’t something one could decide about. If Potter was dreaming about him - dreaming about him dying and being distress by it - it meant he wasn’t just pretending out of some weird sense of fairness.
“I do care about you,” Harry explained, “I wasn’t lying.”
“Why?”
“Because you cared about me. You still do,” Harry shrugged, if not physically, at least with his tone of voice. “Because you always helped me, and I never noticed. Because you are a bastard, and you like to pretend to be all sarcasm and vitriol, but deep down...”
“If you are going to say that I just want to be loved, I’ll hex you.”
Harry chuckled at that. “No,” he turned to look at him, “no, I would never.”
Severus found himself smiling back. “So what then?”
“Deep down you care what happens to me.”
“I sent you to your death,” Severus countered
“You didn’t enjoy it, though.”
“You’re setting the bar a little low, Potter. Besides, I would have done the same for any other of my students.”
“But you did it for me.”
Severus didn’t have any reply to that. He wasn’t entirely sure he had told the truth if he were to be honest. If the Chosen One had been anyone else, Severus wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have been fighting from the other end of the barricade.
I did it for your mother, he wanted to reply. But it would be too cruel. And probably untrue. It had stopped being about Lily Evans a long time ago, even if back then, Severus had clutched to his doe Patronus with all the strength of his denial. He did care about the boy, and not just because he was Lily’s son.
“Sometimes I wonder... If we had got off a different start... if I had just looked a little more like my mother...”
“You don’t need to look like her,” Snape interrupted him, “I don’t need you to look like her.”
It felt like more of a confession than he was ready to give, but Potter needed to know that. He needed not to live any longer in the shadows of his parents.
The grip on Severus’ wrist eased.
“Thank you,” Harry whispered.
Severus shifted his hand so that their palms were pressed together.
Without a word, Harry held back.
(When weeks later Harry kissed him, Severus didn’t pull away.)
*
Severus should not be surprised. Potter had always done what he wanted, regardless of any logic or sense.
Still, it stops him in his tracks, seeing him getting out of Minerva’s office. It’s a fraction of a second that paralyzes him on the spot and then Potter turns and they are face to face, any chance of flight completely gone.
Severus hasn’t seen him in almost two years - it feels like centuries, it feels way too long, but he looks exactly the same; he still has unruly hair, he still wears those awful glasses, he’s still so young and lovely, and full of potential.
The slight blush on his cheek does things to Severus’ heart that he doesn’t really want to consider.
“Harry...” The longing in his voice is way too embarrassing for a man his age, so Severus clears his throat, “What are you doing here?”
Harry meets his eyes - a fierce expression in them, almost challenging - and crosses his arm on his chest. “I was talking with Professor... uh, with Minerva. Students are due in a few days and she wanted to make sure I had my schedule right.”
“You...” Severus feels stricken, he hadn’t seen this coming, he hasn’t prepared. “You accepted?”
Harry doesn’t look away, his posture getting even more defensive. “I did.”
It doesn’t make sense.
Harry had a bright future in front of him, Severus had made sure of it. He had let him go, had removed himself before he could hold Harry back, and now Harry was here?
“I understand if you have any concerns about me being here,” Harry goes on, “but we don’t need to see each other more than necessary, and we won’t even have to talk. You can pretend I don’t exist, and I... I will do the same for you.”
It looks as if it hurts him to say so, but Severus isn’t listening. He’s too focused on the fact that the idiot has turned his back on everything he wanted and he has come back to Hogwarts to teach - to retire in a desolated castle with the mere company of a bunch of old teachers and way too many kids. And it doesn’t make any damn sense.
“Why are you here?” He gets close, so close he can grab the lapels of Harry’s teaching robe and pull him toward him. “Why did you think this was a good idea?”
Harry stiffens but doesn’t cower, doesn’t even try to remove himself from his grip. “You don’t have exclusivity on the school. Minerva asked me and I accepted.”
“Why?” Severus doesn’t let go, his knuckles white for how hard he’s gripping the cloth.
“Because I wanted to,” Harry shrugs, feigning disinterest. “You can leave again if you don’t like it.”
It’s an accusation if Severus had ever heard one and it strikes him like a punch in the gut, the simple way Harry says it, as if Severus is someone used to run.
“Are you here because of me?” He asks at last.
Harry laughs at that, bitter and not amused in the slightest, “No, Severus. I’m not here because of you,” He closes his hand around Severus’ and gently pulls them away.
“Then why are you here? Why aren’t you in London, chasing some criminal?”
“Because I hated that,” Harry shakes his head incredulously. “Do you want to know why I’m here? Fine. I’m here because I didn’t want to be an Auror anymore.”
Severus can’t believe his ears, he’s about to protest that, but Harry goes on, upset.
“I’m here because I enjoyed teaching when I was fifteen. I’m here because Defense Against the Dark Arts it’s the only thing I know how to do, but the mere idea of being on the field another day just made me want to scream. And I’m here because, yes, you were right: the Ministry never changes; and I’ll be damned if I’d let them use me again.” Harry ends his tirade with a sigh, and now he just looks tired, “So, no, Severus, I’m not here because of you, and, to be honest, I’m not even sure why you care.”
“You’re not sure?” Severus’ voice raises, “I’ve always looked out for you. I’ve always cared-”
Harry’s laughter interrupts him. “No,” he says, looking at him straight in the eyes, believing in what he’s saying, to Severus’ dismay, “No, you never did.”
“That’s unfair,” Severus pleaded, his breath ragged, his chest in turmoil, “And untrue.”
“You left me. And it was so easy for you...”
“It wasn’t!”
“You sure made it look like it was.”
Harry’s voice trembles and Severus would like nothing better than to hug him, bring him closer to his chest, and make the pain go away. But he’s the one who hurt him - and for what? he asks himself. Everything he’s done, he thought he was doing it for Harry because he knew better than the boy.
But now Harry’s here nonetheless, despite everything Severus had done he still had broke out of expectations, and now Severus just wonders what was the point.
“Harry, I -”
“No,” Harry shakes his head, “No, I just promised Professor McGonagall we would be civil and we wouldn’t make a scene and... look at us. We’re in the middle of the hallway and we’re making a scene.”
“We should discuss this somewhere else,” Severus starts, but Harry puts a stop to it.
“You know, I’m not actually sure there’s something to discuss at all,” he looks away. The way his arms are crossed over his chest, the way his shoulders hunch, it makes him look fragile and it breaks Severus’ heart.
“I...” Severus doesn’t want to let go, but now it’s not his choice anymore. Still, when Harry turns to leave, he follows him.
“Harry,” he takes his arm and Harry stops, raising his head to meet Severus’ eyes.
There are so many things Severus could say - he could apologise, he could say his life has been miserable without him, that he had done everything because of him, because he didn’t want him to throw away his life, because he loved him... - but it’s way too late for any of them.
“It wasn’t easy for me either,” Severus settles to say.
Harry’s smile is sad. “It’s not a consolation,” he shakes his head and then he leaves, Severus’ hand sliding down his arm and letting him go.
*
*
“So I was thinking...” Harry started, leaning against the doorframe of the library.
Severus didn’t even raise his eyes from the book he was reading. “A challenging feat, I’m sure.”
“Oh, shut it,” Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes, and moved to sit next to him on the sofa, draping himself against his side. “The Ministry is holding a ceremony for the anniversary of the end of the War...”
“Again?” Severus asked, completely bored by the topic.
“It’s an anniversary, Severus. It happens every year,” Harry bit his lip, suppressing a grin. Severus’ sarcasm was rubbing off him, even if his tone was too fond for it to have any cutting edge, “I got the invite. You got one, too.”
Severus snorted, “I thought they would get tired.”
“It’s just the second year... I don’t see them getting tired at least until we reach the ten years mark.”
“And I suppose you’re telling me for a reason,” Severus put a scrap of paper between the pages and closed the book, turning to look at him. “I’m not going, Harry. That’s a mockery. The Ministry did nothing for the war effort, now they think they can hold a ball and a buffet and clear their conscience.”
“You’re being too harsh, Kingsley’s still working there,” Harry tried to justify it.
“Yes, and they removed him as Minister as soon as they had the chance.”
“That’s not the point,” Harry waved his hand, trying to metaphorically clear the air, “The thing is... I just thought we could go together.”
“Together?” Severus raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, together.” Harry insisted, “Because that’s what we are, Severus. We are together.”
“You want to announce to the world our relationship?” Severus was incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” Harry nodded just as disbelieving, almost as if he couldn’t really grasp how Severus could be surprised by his request, “We’ve been together for more than a year and nobody knows. I want to tell my friends, I want to tell my colleagues, I want to go outside with you...”
“We go outside,” Severus pointed.
“Yes, in the Muggle world.” Harry was growing agitated, “I want to go on a date with you in Diagon Alley, hold your hand and kiss you without looking around to see if there’s someone that knows us.”
Severus shook his head, “You don’t understand what it would mean.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve thought about this.”
“Clearly, not enough,” Severus snapped, standing up abruptly. “Do you really think that we could do that things, if you told the world? We won’t be able to step outside without a crowd of reporters following us, you would be targeted: the Saviour of the Wizarding World turned gay by his old Death-Eater professor. Do you really think you could kiss me on the streets? Do you really think we could walk free? It would ruin you, it would ruin your career, and it would ruin your life.”
Harry didn’t see the problem, “I don’t care. If the Aurors don’t want me just because I’m gay...”
“You’re gay and in a relationship with a known Death Eater.”
“You were found innocent.”
“Thanks to you! Do you really think you won’t be put under scrutiny? That they won’t look at us and think I seduced you to have you testify for me at the process? That you will be able to have any career after this?”
“Well then, good riddance!” Harry jumped to his feet, too, facing him, “I’ll leave the Aurors.”
“No!” Severus was appalled, as if he couldn’t believe Harry was even suggesting such a thing. “I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you destroy yourself.”
“Well, it’s my choice, isn’t it?”
“It’s my choice, too,” Severus countered.
Harry couldn’t quite believe it. So much time and yet Severus could not admit what they were. It hurt, deeper than he thought it would.
“So what, am I supposed to be your dirty little secret forever?”
Severus felt like he had been slapped. “You’re not...” He pleaded, but Harry interrupted him
“Yes, I am.” He spat, “Nobody knows we’re together, every time we go out we hide in the Muggle world! God forbid someone could ever see us be friendly. And when my friends come visit, you disappear...”
“They’re your friends, not mine,” Severus got defensive.
“But you won’t even meet them.”
“I already met them. For six years. At Hogwarts. I taught them, remember?”
“Yes, but you never met them as my partner,” Harry exclaimed, “You live in this house, Severus, for fuck’s sake.”“If you tell them, it will spill out. It’s a miracle nobody is already speculating about the fact that I live with you.”
“Because they can keep a secret!”
“Not one this big. It will reach the press.”
“So be it!” Harry shouted. “Who cares!”
They stared at each other, both clinging to their opposites ideas, waiting for the other to capitulate.
“No,” Severus shook his head. “No, I won’t let you do this.”
Harry felt himself grabbing at straws, “Well, I can’t go on like this.”
“Very well then,” Severus lowered his head and turned to leave.
“What do you mean ‘very well then’?” Harry followed him out of the room and up the stairs. Severus didn’t stop, until Harry grabbed him by his arm and forced him to turn.“I’m leaving,” Severus announced, “You can’t go on in this relationship if we don’t tell people, and I won’t let you do that. The natural progression is for me to leave.” His face was impassible, not a single emotion visible under the stern line of his mouth, the darkness of his eyes, the clench in his jaw.
“Just like that?” Harry asked him, incredulous. “You’re throwing away more than a year together because - what? You’re ashamed of me?”
Severus could tell him the truth, he could tell him that if he was ashamed of anyone, it was of himself. He was with a man half his age, he was with one of his former students, he was happy but he had also been so selfish, allowing this to go on even if he knew it would only harm Harry. The boy had his whole life in front of him, and what was Severus but a vampire, living in his reflected light?
So Severus didn’t say anything of the sort.
“It’s better like this, Harry.”
By the end of the night, he was gone.
*
Severus takes a sit in front of him in the teachers’ room.
They both have a free hour before their next class - an hour that Harry uses to review his next lesson, and that Severus usually spends brewing in his laboratory and pointedly avoiding the professors’ lounge in order to avoid Harry. Today, though, Severus takes a sit in front of him.
It’s a quiet morning and they are alone for the first time in months, and Harry pretends not to notice him until Severus clears his throat.
“I heard what you did for me yesterday,” Severus says, throwing it so casually as if Harry should know what to do with the information.
Harry bites his lower lip and doesn’t look up, “Yes?” He’s not sure where the conversation is going, or why ever Severus feels the need to talk about it.
“There was no need. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of students that think they can insult me.”
“I know,” Harry scoffs. So much for being polite and civil, he should have known Severus would confront him on this. Harry takes a breath, “You don’t need me. But Mr Jenkinson just thought he could insult you - a Professor - in my class. I took points and gave him a detention. I did my job.”
“You also told him I was the bravest man you ever knew,” Severus doesn’t look at him as he talks.
Harry can’t believe this. He can’t believe Severus could be so paranoid - actually yes, he can believe that, what he can’t believe is he would chose to berate him for that. He thought in the past months, they had done such a good job of ignoring each other.
“Worry not, Severus,” he tells him, tiredly, massaging his temples “nobody will ever suspect any second motive behind my words.”
At that, it’s Severus who scoffs, “Would you stop doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Always acting as if I was ashamed of you.” Severus explains as if it wasn’t obvious, “I was just trying to thank you.”
It gets a laugh out of Harry, another one of those joyless and bitter hiccups that Severus doesn’t understand.
“What is it so funny about this?”
“Nothing,” Harry shakes his head, “Nothing is funny. That’s why I’m laughing.”
He shouldn’t talk back, he shouldn’t argue, he should just let this whole thing go, because the more he talks with Severus the more he wants to spill his guts, to accuse him and argue with him as if they could still fix what was between them. Harry knows they can’t, there’s nothing to be fixed, and even if there was, Severus doesn’t want to, so Harry will just end up hurt even more than he already is. He really should just let this conversation die.
But he can’t.
Because Severus is in front of him, looking all annoyed and displeased, as if Harry were the irrational one, as if Harry didn’t have any reason to behave like he is.
So no, Harry can’t let it lie.
“Severus,” he leans on the table toward him, “you didn’t want people to know about us. What exactly should have I gotten out of that?”
“I was trying to protect you,” Severus leans over him by extension, almost pulled to him. “I wouldn’t have let you ruin your life for me. You would have jeopardized everything, put on hold your whole life-”
“Is that the reason?” Harry looks incredulous, “I can’t believe it! Is - Is that the real reason? God.”
This is even worse than he imagined. If Severus is even telling the truth.
But if he is... Harry could punch him in the face. They were happy, for fuck’s sake, they were happy and content, and Harry was just so tired and he deserved to be happy.
“Do you really think I would be ashamed of you, Harry? You’re brilliant, you’re kind, you’re... you are the bravest person I’ve ever known. Anyone would be happy to have you.”
It almost strangles Harry, the intensity with which Severus says it, the longing. But it’s a lie, because -
“You didn’t.” It’s almost a whisper out of his mouth.
And then, Severus kills him. “I did. I was happy with you.”
To Harry, it feels as if his whole world shattered, as if the earth disappeared from under his feet. “Then why the fuck did you leave?” He’s desperate now, he doesn’t get it, “I wanted you in my life. I didn’t care about the rest. It was worth it. You were worth it.”
Severus lips curl in a bitter smile, “I really wasn’t, no.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake” Harry scoffs, “Don’t you think that should have been my choice?” And then it hits him, like lightning, clear as the light of day, the real reason all this happened. “Oh! Oh, Merlin, you’re lying.”
“Excuse me?!” Severus recoils, straightening his posture, anger already sharpening his feature.
“You’re lying,” Harry tells him. His words are frantic, faster and faster as he puts the pieces together. “You’re lying, maybe even to yourself. You didn’t do this for me. You were scared. To take the next step. You left me before I could leave you, because... because if I told people, then they would tell me how big of a mistake I was making and... and you preferred to go with your pride intact.”
Harry covers his mouth in the magnitude of what he had just uncovered. Severus looks stricken, and maybe Harry was right and he had lied even to himself - too used to paint himself as the misunderstood hero saving the day by pretending to be a villain.
“Severus, what do you think those people would tell me about you that I didn’t know already?” Harry asks, almost pleadingly, “That you are twice my age? I know, you were my teacher. That you hated me? I was there, hating you back. That you were a Death Eater? What a big surprise, wouldn’t have guessed it. That you were in love with my mother? I’ve seen your memories, I’ve been in your head! What the fuck did you think they would tell me?”
Severus opens his mouth. And then he closes it.
Seconds pass, in silence, as he works for a reply, and he realizes that yes, Harry is right.
“I suppose I thought that you would see sense,” Severus admits at least, “That they would make you realize that all those things that you just listed matter.”
“They don’t.”
There’s so much sincerity in his tone, so much certainty, that Severus feels overwhelmed by the sense of loss he had so carefully locked under walls of Occlumency.
“Harry...” He begs, for what mercy he doesn’t know. His hand moves almost on his own, covering Harry’s on the table.
Harry should move away. He should retain what little dignity he has left, and be the one to leave this time. But he can’t. Because Severus is regretting breaking up with him, because he’s just as hurt as Harry is, and Harry... Harry does want to forgive him, to take him and hold him close and pretend the last two years haven’t happened.
Harry doesn’t pull away his hand but instead intertwines their fingers together.
“Severus.”
They can’t go back, they can’t pretend it never happened.
But they can move forward.
“I’ve missed you.”
“So did I.”
*
They see each other at every meal. And in the teachers’ room. And in the hallways.
They start hanging out in each other’s quarter, and they slightly go back
They are friends, again, with a silver lining of hope, an unspoken promise that maybe they could mend what was left of their relationship.
Nothing changes, apparently, but Aurora almost chokes on her pumpkin juice when Severus asks Harry to pass him the salt one morning - months and months of pretending they don’t exist for each other, and now the salt? - and Filius arches his eyebrows and hides an happy grin, when he sees them together in the teachers' room, their heads bowed so close over a parchment, Severus’ hand draped over Harry’s shoulder.
They try to be inconspicuous, and well, they are - the students don’t suspect a thing.
They’re tentative, tip-toeing around each other, all careful and innocent touches, and soft conversations, explained with too many words, least anything could be misconstructed again.
It’s good and it’s frustrating, and it’s way too slow. But then, all it takes is a kiss - they’re drinking in Harry’s quarter, marking essays that keep getting worse and worse grades, and Severus quips about throwing the whole bunch in the fire, and Harry laughs, even if it’s not particularly funny or witty and he glows in the light of the fireplace, beautiful and lovely, and Severus can’t help it, he leans in and then hesitates (it’s too soon, it will ruin everything, they’re still trying to see how it goes) but Harry takes him by the collar and crushes their lips together - and it feels like getting home.
It feels damn perfect, the withdrawal making every sensations so intense Harry wants to cry, hold on and never let go.
“I’ll chain you to the bed, if you ever think about leaving me again,” he mouths against his lips, and for all reply Severus kisses him back and doesn’t sleep in his quarters for the rest of the week.
So this time Harry tells Ron and Hermione - it goes better than he would have expected.
(“Thank Merlin,” Ron says, “I was starting to believe I was seeing things, and then I had to wonder why the bloody hell my subconscious wanted me to see you and Snape together.”
“Of course it’s a good news, Harry,” Hermione reassures him, “we were quite worried about you. You had been moping after him for almost two years.”
“Just two years?” Ron chuckles, “Damn him and that bloody potion book.”
“Ehi! I wasn’t moping!”
The ‘seriously, Harry?!’ stare that comes from both Ron and Hermione shuts up any other protest he might have had.
“Please,” Hermione scoffs, “as if he wasn’t reason it didn’t work out with Mark.”
“Or any of your other boyfriends,” Ron adds, “Simon didn’t stand a chance.”
“Simon sold the story to the press!”
“Well, ok, not him then. What about Joel, or... what was the name of that Muggle look-a-like?”
“What - You mean Richard?! How could you not remember his name? He was my longest relationship!
“You dated him for five months, Harry,” Hermione winced, “we met him thrice and we kind of nicknamed him Snape-two.”
“That’s it,” Harry mocks an angry tone, “I won’t tell you two anything anymore!”)
And, well, Severus has to tell Minerva, if anything, because interpersonal relationship between the staff are supposed to be notified to the Headmistress - it has nothing to do with the fact that maybe Severus wants to tell a friend, too. Absolutely nothing.
But beside that, they are laying low.
It’s not too hard, Harry tells himself, and makes a point on never looking at Severus, except his traitorous eyes always end up on him, even for the fraction of a second and it hasn’t gone unnoticed that, for all the difficulty Harry has in addressing his former teachers by first name, - always correcting himself when he has already pronounced their title -, Severus’s name comes to him easily.
Pomona has a betting pool, and Minerva absolutely doesn’t indulge. It would be cheating.
Epilogue
“So I was thinking...” Harry starts, putting his hands over Severus’ desk and leaning toward him.
“A challenging feat, I’m sure.” Severus doesn’t even look up from the essays he’s marking.
“I haven’t heard that before,” Harry chuckles, “You need a new repertoire, your insults are getting stale.”
“Duly noted,” Severus says, hiding his grin, “So, what were you thinking about?”
Severus raises his eyes to meet his gaze and Harry fixes a lock of hair behind Severus’ ear, the pad of his fingers lightly caressing his cheek as he does so.
“The Ministry is celebrating the fourth anniversary of the end of the war. We got the invites.”
Severus puts down the quill and banishes the essay to a corner of the desk. “Harry...” His voice is hesitant. “Why do you insist on going there? You hate that ceremony.”
Harry shuffles, fidgeting with a scrap of paper laying around, “I know,” he bites his lip, “But I feel like I owe them.”
“You don’t owe the Ministry anything.”
“Not the Ministry,” He corrects him, “The people who died. I ought to remember them, to honor their memories. If I don’t go...”
“What? You’ll forget them? You’ll suddenly stop caring about their death?” Severus shakes his head. “Harry, the ceremony it’s not even held the day they died. It’s a whole fortnight after. Do you really need that charade?”
“I don’t know,” Harry bites his lip, “Maybe I do. What then?”
Severus sighs. “Well then, I’ll come with you.”
Harry blinks, as what Severus just told him sinks in. “You’ll come?”
“Yes. It’s important for you. Mind you, I still think they’re idiots and that they don’t deserve our time. But I’ll come.”
“Well, things could always change there. Hermione got an office.”
“Muggle Relationships?”
“Magical Law Enforcement,” Harry corrects, “And knowing her? Give it a few years and she’ll be the new Minister of Magic.”
Severus chuckles “Well, at least things would get done. Doesn’t mean they’re not still idiots now.”
“I know,” Harry smiles, grateful, “Thank you for coming with me.”
Severus clears his throat, trying for some levity. “I know a way you could demonstrate your gratitude.”
“Do you, now?” Harry smirked.
“Not that, you dirty-minded brat,” Severus shakes his head, amused, “I heard there’s a new restaurant in the expanding area of Diagon Alley, I thought you could offer me dinner.”
“You... want to go to eat out at Diagon Alley? Together?”
“I just agreed to go with you to a Ministry event, Harry. I don’t think a restaurant in Diagon Alley can be worse.”
“Yes, but... At the Ministry we could have plausible deniability, we could have come separately. If we go together to Diagon Alley, people will know we are... well, together.”
Severus nods, an amused smile dancing on his lips, “And isn’t that what we are, Harry? Together?”
Harry’s grin brightens the whole room, “Yes, I suppose that’s what we are,” and then he leans in to kiss him.