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Harry wandered through the corridors, deep in thought. He didn’t have to do his rounds this way, of course, he still had the Marauders Map, but tonight, he was restless.
The seventh anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and already, people seemed to be forgetting.
It was to be expected in a way, he supposed, as people moved on with their lives and put the war behind them as best they could, but not many of them had been as affected by it as he had.
Ron and Hermione had been to the castle earlier in the day to see him, and it had been nice to catch up with them, though it would never be the same as it had been. He hadn’t even seen them for four months. Hermione wrote to him often, but since the argument, well, they would never be as close as they had been before.
Lost in thought as he was, Harry didn’t notice the dark figure as he passed him in the corridor.
“If this is the way that you do rounds, I’m not remotely surprised that you miss students,” a voice sneered at him.
Harry startled.
“This is the way that I do rounds. There are no students out of their houses this evening. I’m simply taking a walk,” Harry replied, once he’d calmed himself.
He continued on his journey as though he hadn’t been interrupted. He’d learnt over his years as a Professor that the Potions Master would always try to get a reaction, before he walked away, smugly leaving Harry simmering in unreasonable anger.
Harry had learnt to simply ignore the jibes. It was less frustrating that way.
“What’s the matter, Potter?” Snape asked, sighing heavily as he fell into step beside him.
“You need to ask? What kind of a spy are you?” Harry replied, snorting.
He knew that Snape knew exactly what was wrong. After all, he was one of the few who’d been as affected by the war as Harry had himself. Perhaps even more so.
“A retired one. A tired one. Take your pick,” was the reply, and the resigned tone it was spoken in told Harry that the man understood.
“Go to bed, Severus, get some rest. There are no students out of bed tonight,” Harry reiterated, turning into the corridor that would guide him back to his own quarters.
“How do you know?”
Harry glanced over his shoulder, to where Snape had stopped. “You might be a spy, but I have my own tricks. Goodnight, Professor.”
…
The Great Hall was always noisy, and breakfast was already in full swing when Harry took his seat at the head table the morning after.
He’d cast his usual repertoire of glamours, hiding the bags beneath his eyes, and the pale complexion that spoke of not enough sleep.
Snape sat on his left, and Dumbledore on his right, just the same as every other morning. Harry could see the concern in Albus’ eyes when he glanced at him, but he merely offered a small smile in greeting and poured himself coffee.
He picked up a slice of toast and ripped it to small pieces, placing them on the plate in front of him.
He wasn’t often hungry, these days. Likely a side effect of the sleepless nights plaguing him. Even to his own eyes when he looked in a mirror, he was wearing away, but he wasn’t sure how to make himself better.
He couldn’t take Dreamless Sleep any longer, having developed an immunity over the years, and no other sleeping potion was strong enough to stop the nightmares.
So… he simply didn’t sleep until he got to the point of being unable to function.
“I hear that there were no students out of bed last night, Harry,” Albus said, the twinkle in his eyes going strong as he smiled slightly.
“Nope, they behaved themselves, I’m pleased to say. They might have found themselves with more than a detention, had they been playing up last night,” Harry replied, a small smile lifting his lips.
“Hmm. Quite right. You only have lessons this morning, is that right, my boy?”
Harry nodded absently, not noticing the trap until it was too late to avoid it.
“Ah, marvellous! Then you’ll come and join me for afternoon tea? Around two?”
Harry sighed, but inclined his head. “Of course, Albus. If you’ll excuse me? I have to prepare for my first class.”
He stood up, picking up the coffee cup as he did, and left the table. The ripped up piece of toast remained on his plate, untouched. He missed the concerned glances both the Headmaster, and the Potions Master cast at it after he’d gone.
…
“How are you really, Harry?” Albus asked, when the two were settled with tea and biscuits that Harry had no intention of eating. “You know that I can see through the glamours, no matter how expertly applied they are?”
“Everything is fine,” Harry replied softly. “I’m just having a few issues sleeping at the moment, it’s nothing to be overly concerned with. Unfortunately, it happens.”
“If you’re sure,” Albus replied, looking a little doubtful. “It wouldn’t be a problem for me to request Severus brew you something to help you sleep.”
“They don’t work,” Harry shrugged. “Honestly, it’s manageable.”
“Very well. I won’t press you about it, but please, know that I’m always here if you need—or simply want—to talk about anything.”
Harry nodded. He did know that. “Thanks.”
Conversation was moved onto simpler topics from there, and Harry allowed himself to relax a little. He may be struggling a little, but it wasn’t actually a hardship to spend time with Albus.
The man had always done his best to look after Harry.
…
The Summer holidays arrived without incident, and though he’d considered going abroad somewhere for the two months, Harry ended up spending a lot of time in his quarters, with a book in his hands, and a cooling charm in place.
He’d seen Ron and Hermione again, but the awkwardness had still been there. He wondered if it would ever go away entirely.
Neville visited with the news that he would be taking over the Herbology post in the Autumn, something that had made Harry smile—truly smile—for the first time in months.
He’d missed his unassuming friend while he’d been away travelling.
The ‘return to school’ staff meeting took place in the last week before school began, and Albus had more than one unpleasant surprise in store for his put-upon teachers.
“We’ll be holding three balls this year,” he advised them, ignoring the groans and dirty looks he received for troubles. “You will all have to supervise. You may arrange amongst yourselves who gets inside, and who does the corridors, but you will all be on duty in one of those posts. Yes, you included, Severus.”
Harry snorted at the look on Severus’ face.
“Glare at me all you want, good sir,” Dumbledore said, smiling at him. “The first ball will be on Halloween, and I rather thought that a costume party might be fun. It’s such a delightful tradition of the Muggles, and I think that the students will be rather excited. There will, of course, be a Hogsmeade visit the weekend that it takes place.”
“A costume party?” Severus scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, Severus, and costumes will be required. For everyone. Staff included.”
“You can think again if you think that I’ll be wearing a costume,” he snarled at the Headmaster, making Harry chuckle.
When questioning eyes turned on him, Harry shrugged at the Potions Master.
“You know that he’s going to win, Severus, you may as well give in gracefully. You’ll only waste time and air to convince the Headmaster otherwise on such an order. You should know that, by now.”
“Oh, and you’re quite happy to join in and dress up, are you?” Severus asked, looking rather surprised at the younger Professor.
“I just know how to pick my battles.”
…
Harry looked himself over in the mirror, not overly disgusted with the outfit that he’d chosen. A Muggle tuxedo, he had decided, would be just fine. If anyone asked, he would tell them that he was James Bond.
He doubted that many of them would know who that was, but a costume was a costume. He’d lucked out for the dance and been given corridor duty, anyway, so he hopefully would have to deal with many of the students, until it came time to herd them all back to their houses.
Applying his glamours, he slid his wand up his sleeve and left his quarters, taking the map with him. Hopefully he’d have a fairly quiet night, but one could never be too optimistic when the students were involved.
Stationing himself outside of the hall, he smiled at the few late-coming students, complimenting their outfits as they walked past him and being the Professor Potter that they all knew.
Kind, fair, but not to be crossed.
“Nice tux, Potter,” Snape said, as he walked towards him. He paused beside him.
“Thanks, “Harry replied. “Nice suit. Muggle bodyguard?”
He eyed the black suit that Snape wore; the earpiece and the radio were the only indications that it was a costume at all, and Snape smirked at him as he nodded his head.
“Well, the Headmaster can’t complain,” Harry said, shrugging. “He didn’t specify what costumes we had to wear, did he?”
“I know. You realise, though, that we are all going to be expected to wear full formal robes for the Yule Ball?”
Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I know.”
“That means decidedly more for you, I know, but I admit, I’m not too happy about wearing the Prince family formal wear.”
“Well, I’m sure that Albus has his reasons, no matter how convoluted they are,” Harry replied. He pulled a small hip flask from his pocket. “Would you like some? It’s firewhisky and lemonade.”
Snape took the flask with a small smile, nodding his head in thanks. He took a drink, winced, and then handed it back. “What on earth made you dilute perfectly good firewhisky with lemonade?”
Harry snorted. “I thought that we probably shouldn’t get drunk, while supposedly in charge of making sure the kids don’t get up to mischief.”
Snape chuckled. “It’s self-refilling?”
“Of course,” Harry replied, dipping his head. “It’s going to be a long night.”
…
At ten past one, Harry let out a sigh of relief. The map was showing that all of the students were in their beds, which meant that their job was done for the evening. He started the walk to his quarters, unsurprised when he ran into Snape on his way.
“The students are all in bed,” he told him, as he walked past. “You can retire for the evening.”
A chuckle sounded, and then Snape fell into step beside him, clearly inviting himself to Harry’s quarters for a nightcap.
Entering his quarters, Harry left the door open for Snape to follow him inside, and set about preparing two, rather large, tumblers of whisky, sans lemonade this time.
He gestured Severus to the sitting area, and then handed over one of the glasses. He pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the chair, following that with the tie he’d been wearing.
He was surprised when Severus chose to sit beside him on the sofa, rather than in the armchair, which was where he usually sat on the rare occasions they shared a drink.
They sat in silence for a while. Harry was very aware of their proximity. He wondered how much of the sudden lust he was feeling was the alcohol he’d consumed over the evening, and how much was actually him.
He doubted that he could blame the alcohol too much. After all, the nightmares weren’t the only things keeping him up at night.
His crush on Severus had been the source of the discord between himself and Ron and Hermione.
“It can help, you know? To talk about it.”
Harry startled, and Severus chuckled lightly.
“Talk about what?” Harry asked, a warning edge to his tone.
“Whatever it is that is bothering you lately. You’ve been far more reserved than your usual self, this past year. I’m here, if you want to talk about anything.”
“I…” Harry shook his head. “I don’t even know how to talk about it any more. Albus offered the same thing, and if I thought that I could explain, I would try, but I can’t. I… I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologise for not being unable to talk about something. It took me twenty years to talk to Albus. Just… do me a favour? Try not to wait as long as I did.”
Harry nodded absently. He was tired. It wasn’t just physical though; he was tired of hiding behind glamours, he was tired of being silent, he was tired of being tired.
“I… the nightmares… they’re not just about the war. I mean, the majority is the war, but some of them are from… before.”
“Black?” Severus asked, unsure how far back Harry was talking about.
“If I… if I take the glamours away, show you what I mean, do you promise to keep it to yourself? To not even tell the headmaster?”
“You have my word, Harry.”
Harry took a deep breath, and silently willed away the glamours. Severus gasped when he saw just how tired Harry looked, and how pale he was.
“If that shocked you, then you’re in for a treat,” Harry murmured, chuckling slightly with a bravado that was as shaky as his hands.
He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and tugged it off, taking a deep breath before he turned his back to Severus to show him what was really causing him trouble sleeping.
He heard nothing from Severus, and he started to wonder if the scars were truly as horrifically disgusting as he thought they were. He was surprised when strong yet gentle hands took his arms, pulling him around to face Severus.
The hands on his arms shifted, until Severus was wrapping his arms around Harry, embracing him with such gentleness. Harry didn’t realise that he was crying until he felt how wet Severus’ shirt was beneath his face.
Mortified, he pulled back, only to be held in place.
“The tears will make you feel better. Let it out, I have no intentions of ever wearing this horrendous shirt again, anyway.”
…
Harry didn’t know how long he cried for, didn’t know how long they sat on his sofa, but to his surprise, when his eyes dried up, he did feel better.
He pulled back carefully, almost ashamed to meet Severus’ eyes.
Summoning a t-shirt from his bedroom, he slipped it over his head quickly.
“Don’t be ashamed, Harry. What those… what you went through was something no child should have to live through. It is a credit to yourself that you are as well adjusted as you are. Will you let me help you?”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, confused.
“Silly boy. I am a Potions Master. Do you not think that I can get rid of these scars for you? Do you not think that I can modify Dreamless Sleep, adjust it to your requirements?”
“Really? I… uh… thank you.”
Severus sat forward on his seat before he stood up, pulling Harry along with him.
“You’re welcome. I think that it’s time for me to go, but come to my quarters tomorrow evening for dinner. We can eat, and discuss potions. I’m sure you’ll find it riveting.”
Harry walked Severus to the door, but before he opened it, he turned back to the Potions Master. At almost the same height, he didn’t need to reach too much to press a small, gentle kiss to his lips.
“Really, thank you.”
“I hope that wasn’t just because I can help you. We’ll talk about that tomorrow, also. Goodnight, Harry.”
Severus traced a hand softly over Harry’s jaw once, before he left the quarters.
Harry slept, soundly and without fear, for eight hours that night.
…
It was with some trepidation that Harry knocked on Severus’ door the following evening. Severus answered promptly, and let Harry past him. Dinner was already on the table, and so they sat at the small dining table.
“How did you sleep?” Severus asked.
“Well. Really well, actually. No nightmares.”
“That’s good. It was plain to see that you needed it. I have a set of potions ready for you to try. None of them are dangerous or addictive, fear not, but I’m unsure which one will work best for you. It will be trial and error for a while.”
Harry nodded, picking up his knife and fork. He should never have doubted that Severus would be able to find possible potions to help him sleep.
They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds in the room being the crackle of the fire, and the occasional scrape on their plates from the cutlery.
When they’d both eaten their fill, Severus led Harry to the sofa in front of the fire, and handed him a glass of elf-made wine.
“Take your shirt off, please,” Severus requested softly.
Harry did so, after setting his glass down, and Severus’ lips tilted up slightly at the immediate sign of trust.
“I’m honoured that you trust me enough to do that without questioning why,” he murmured. “This might be cold, and it may tingle for a while.”
He pressed soft hands on Harry’s back, rubbing an ointment into the scars that plagued Harry decades after he’d received them.
Harry tensed for a moment beneath his hands, before he forced his muscles to relax. Before long, he had nodded off on the sofa, enjoying the ministrations of Severus’ long fingers massaging his back.
When he jerked awake an hour later, it was to find Severus sitting beside him, watching over him with a small smile on his face. As Harry sat up, he felt… free.
“Would you like to see?” Severus asked, conjuring a tall mirror.
Harry turned, looking over his shoulder at his back to find it almost blemish free. There was still the faintest of lines, but they were barely visible, and Harry thought he could likely only find them so easily because he was more than aware of where they’d been before.
“You… how… you did it. I don’t… I can’t thank you enough.”
“Your thanks are not necessary, Harry. I believe that we had one other thing to discuss this evening?”
“Ah,” Harry muttered, as he pulled on his shirt. He sat beside Severus, nerves back in full force, butterflies squirming unpleasantly in his stomach.
“I didn’t kiss you because you are my… rescuer, or anything of the sort. I kissed you because I find you attractive. I kissed you because I wanted to, Severus. I… I have for a while.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Severus murmured, turning Harry’s head, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.
When he pulled back, he cupped Harry’s cheek with a careful hand, and asked, “Will you be my date to the Yule Ball?”
Harry smiled. “I’d love that.”