Work Text:
“It’s a variant of the Draught of the Living Death,” Severus said, glancing at Dumbledore, who nodded at him encouragingly. “There isn’t a known… cure for it, as such. I will, of course, begin experimenting, but for the time being…” This time when he paused, he looked at Miss Granger, her pale face rapt with attention as she listened to him. “Does Mr Potter have any romantic… partners, at the moment?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. He and Ginny broke up before…” she cut herself off, swallowing hard. “No.”
Severus cursed quietly. “This particular variant is where the Muggles got the fairy tale, Sleeping Beauty, from. Mr Potter can be awakened by ‘true love’s kiss’, as it were.”
“Is it worth asking Ginny to… try?” Miss Granger asked, looking at Dumbledore.
“Perhaps,” Dumbledore replied, inclining his head slightly. He looked grave as he stroked a hand over his beard, his eyes on Harry. “Do we know how he came to be in this… state, Severus?”
“I assume that he was given something to eat or drink that had been spiked with the potion,” Severus replied. “Most of the seventh years, at the very least, would be capable of making this potion, though I’d be very interested to know where they found it. It hasn’t been seen for a considerably long time.”
Dumbledore nodded, and then looked at Miss Granger. “Has anybody seemed particularly interested in Harry lately?”
Miss Granger blinked, apparently thrown by the question. Severus could hardly blame her.
“Interested?” she asked. “Sir, everybody is interested in Harry at the moment! He can barely get a single moment’s peace, it’s been driving him insane! Everybody wants to be the one to ‘capture’ the saviour. It’s sickening.”
Her disgust was evident, and the sentiment was shared by Severus, though he’d never admit as much. Since Potter had defeated the Dark Lord—and ended the war—Severus had noticed that the boy had seemed harassed, even more so than usual.
“I’ll go and start the base for the potion. I’ll have to make it myself to see if I can reverse the process,” Severus said, glancing down at the sleeping young man in the bed. “In the meantime… if Mr Potter has a… crush… it may be worth speaking with them, first.”
Severus swept from the Hospital Wing. He’d hoped for a quiet year, had assumed that, with the Dark Lord no longer making a nuisance of himself, that Potter wouldn’t find himself in mortal peril, for a change.
He really should have known better.
…
Severus spent three solid days in his private lab. He grabbed an hour on the small sofa here and there, whenever he could, but he didn’t sleep much, and by the time Dumbledore dropped by to update him on the goings-on in the Hospital Wing, Severus was practically delirious with exhaustion.
“Neither Miss Granger, nor the two youngest Weasley’s had any success in waking him up,” Dumbledore said, pouring tea for the two of them as though they were in his office, rather than Severus’ untidy lab. “I’m loath to announce the situation to the Wizarding World at large, or even the school, but I’m unsure what else we can do. The situation needs resolving sooner rather than later.”
“There will be a queue to kiss him all the way out of the Hogwarts gates, if you announce it to the world,” Severus pointed out, sipping from the cup he’d been handed. “Best start small, no? His dorm mates, perhaps his Quidditch teammates, whoever he speaks with a lot. Miss Granger and Mr Weasley would be best placed to help with that.”
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “Right you are. Any progress on the potion?”
Severus shook his head, running a hand through his greasy, tangled hair. “Not yet. There are still a few things that I can try, but the more promising ideas I had have all failed.”
He sighed. He was so tired.
“You should get some rest, Severus. Running yourself into the ground isn’t going to help Harry.”
Severus nodded. “Probably.”
“It’ll be okay in the end, my boy, you’ll see. Have a little faith.”
…
By the time that Severus had gotten some sleep, tried a few more tricks on the potion—none of which had worked, much to his chagrin—and slept some more, five days had passed. He walked up to the Hospital Wing in the evening of the fifth day, planning to test Potter’s blood to see if that could reveal anything that they didn’t already know.
“We should tell them. I know it’s not exactly likely, but… you didn’t see him with that sodding book, Hermione.”
Severus paused outside the Hospital Wing, arching his eyebrow. Book? What book?
“You really think that he’d even… consider it, Ron? Really? And if it worked… Harry would be furious with us for saying anything about it.”
“Rather him be awake, and mad at us, than this,” Weasley muttered. “I’m going to tell Dumbledore tomorrow. If it’s anyone… Hermione, it’s going to be him. Call it a gut feeling.”
“Really though?” Granger asked, and Severus could hear the scepticism in her tone. “The Half-Blood Prince? It was just… he liked the spells and the potions tricks, right? He didn’t… He wasn’t…”
“He slept with the book under his sodding pillow!”
There was silence for a few minutes, and then, “I… alright. We’ll tell Dumbledore. I don’t think that this is going to go over well—with either one of them—but I suppose it’s worth a try.”
“It’s got to be,” Weasley muttered. Severus felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for the boy, when he heard the desperation in his voice. More so when he added, “He was supposed to be over, Hermione. He was supposed to be okay now.”
“I know. I know, Ron. It’ll be okay in the end. Harry will be fine. He has to be.”
“I hope so.”
Severus leant back against the wall and let out a long breath, before he dropped his head into his hands. What the bloody hell was he supposed to do with that?
…
He hadn’t gone into the Wing. He’d left when he heard the two seventh years preparing to leave, instead wandering the halls of the school aimlessly, as he thought over what he had overheard.
Potter had a crush on… well. Him? But no. Not really. Severus was quite sure that when he’d found out that Severus was the Half-Blood Prince, any crush he may have had would have gone away pretty swiftly.
It was baloney anyway.
One couldn’t have a crush on a person simply because of some writing in the margins of a book. The very idea of it was ridiculous.
And yet… Weasley had sounded so absolutely sure of himself.
That was shocking in and of itself, honestly, given that he was well aware that Severus was the Half-Blood Prince. Yet, he still seemed to believe that this could have been the answer they’d been waiting for.
Severus shook his head, chuckling to himself. The entire world would go mad over Potter, one day; Potter’s own best friend seemed to be starting the trend.
Still, when Severus considered going to bed, it wasn’t the dungeons that he found himself. It was the dark corridor of the Hospital Wing.
…
He sat beside Potter’s bed, watching the young man sleep. He looked peaceful in a way that he very rarely looked when he was awake. He looked both younger and older, in ways that Severus couldn’t quite put into clear thoughts.
Glancing out of the window, Severus could see that the moon was high in the sky. It was the middle of the night.
That must be the reason that he was here. That, and the lack of sleep he’d had lately. It was the only explanation for the madness that he was considering.
But…
If he did it now, when there was nobody here… perhaps it would be okay. Potter would never know, since it would undoubtedly fail. And Severus’ curiosity would be sated.
Potter couldn’t be in love with him, could he?
Leaning forwards in his seat, Severus gently brushed the hair from Harry’s face with the tips of his fingers. He took a deep, steadying breath, and then leant over, supporting himself with a hand on the pillow. He placed a soft kiss against Harry’s lips, before he pulled back.
There was nothing, for a split second, and Severus felt oddly disappointed, despite it matching his expectations. But then, in the bed, Potter shifted for the first time since he’d been laid there, and Severus blinked down at him.
As Potter’s eyelids fluttered, Severus moved quickly, shifting out of sight of the bed, before emerald green eyes could see him, and know who it was that had woken him up.
Leaning back against the wall, he listened as Potter shifted beneath the sheets and then groaned.
“What the hell?” he heard Potter mutter, his voice sleep rough and deeper than usual.
Severus, using the shadows to keep himself unseen, could only agree.
…
“He’s awake.”
Severus looked up from the potion he’d been working on—another batch of Draught of Living Death to ‘test’—and frowned at the ebullient Headmaster.
“Awake?”
“Awake,” Dumbledore confirmed, nodding gleefully. “I’m not sure if the potion simply wore off, or if, perhaps, Harry had a secret visitor during the night, but whatever happened, Harry is awake and doesn’t seem to be suffering from any ill effects from his time asleep.”
“You’ll want to keep an eye on him for the next few days,” Severus pointed out. “For relapse, malnutrition, an inability to eat or sleep, and—”
“Poppy has the whole thing quite in hand, dear boy. I thought to come and tell you so that you can stop attempting to create a cure. I know that you’ve been running yourself ragged trying to help.”
Severus nodded. “As you say, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore beamed at him one more time, and then left the lab, a spring in his step that certainly hadn’t been present for the last few days. Severus slumped against the table.
Nobody knew.
He should be relieved—he was, really he was—that nobody knew it was him that had woken Potter, but a part of him was…
He shook his head. Potter was young, and he had a full life ahead of him.
Severus wouldn’t get in the way of that.
…
He’d never admit to being nervous before a class, not even to his own self, though he tried not to lie to himself too often. He couldn’t deny that there was some… trepidation as he prepared the classroom for Potter’s first time back in the dungeons since he’d woken up.
The students streamed inside, and Severus remained at his desk, watching them. The instructions were already on the board behind him—the seventh years should be able to follow them well enough, and if they couldn’t, they didn’t deserve to be in his NEWT class anyway—and he watched them all as they set up their benches.
There was a low murmur of chatter, but he didn’t hush them. There had to be some communication, after all, when working in pairs.
He let his eyes drift over the class, forcibly casual, until he met the green eyes he’d been waiting to see. Potter was looking at him already, and when their eyes met, he didn’t look away.
There was an almost calculating look in his eyes, and Severus couldn’t tear his own eyes away.
Did he know?
But then Potter was turning to look at Granger, nodding his head at whatever she’d said. He pointed at the board, and then left his bench to walk across the classroom, to the supply cupboard.
The moment had passed, and surely, if Potter had known that Severus had been the one to wake him, he’d have said… something. Even if it was just to rage at Severus for daring to kiss him at all.
No, he couldn’t know, Severus reasoned.
He ignored the emptiness that came with that thought.
…
The school year seemed to fly by after that night, and Severus settled into the knowledge that, as the end of the school year swiftly approached, he wouldn’t have to see the green eyes that had taken to haunting his dreams nightly.
He wasn’t silly enough to think that he and Potter would never cross paths again, but at least he wouldn’t have to see him daily.
He was eating a sandwich in his office on the last night of the term when the knock sounded on his door. It was relatively quiet, almost like an offer to ignore it, if Severus so desired, but he called for his guest to enter regardless.
It could be one of his snakes, after all.
They often came to him for help at the end of the school year, scared of going home to parents that either didn’t care enough, or in some cases, cared too much about the wrong things and showed their displeasure in the worst ways.
The door opened, and Severus was surprised to see Potter standing just beyond the doorway, looking slightly awkward, but determined.
“I did say ‘come in’, Potter. I didn’t offer to let you hover in the doorway.”
Potter snorted quietly and stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He approached the desk, and, after a momentary hesitation, sat down in one of the two seats in front of Severus’ desk.
“What do you want, Potter?” Severus asked, pushing his plate to the side. “Surely you’ve got better things to do on your last night in the castle than be here? A break of curfew, for old times sake, perhaps?”
“I know that it was you who woke me up from the… Sleeping Beauty potion.”
“It’s a variant of the Draught of Living Death, Potter, not the ‘Sleeping Beauty’ potion,” Severus corrected automatically, even as he panicked internally that Potter knew.
“Well. That, then. I know that it was you who kissed me.”
“And you haven’t declared it to the whole school? That the greasy old Potion’s Master defiled you in your sleep?”
“No! No, of course not,” Potter replied, aghast. “You saved me. Again. Seems like a habit at this point.”
“Then why are you here, Potter?”
“I just wanted to thank you,” Potter replied, tapping a finger against the desk nervously. “And tell you that I understand why you didn’t stay. Thank you for… waking me up, and not making me feel stupid about it.”
Severus frowned. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Well, no, he hadn’t been expecting anything, because he hadn’t believed for a second that Potter knew anything, beyond the worry in that first class.
But had he been expecting something, it wouldn’t have been… this.
Before he could say anything—or even figure out what he was supposed to say—Potter stood up. “I know that I’m too young for you. And I know that you… well. I’m nothing special, and you could do much better. But… yeah. Thank you. For everything. I’ll leave you in peace.”
He left, closing the door as softly as he’d done the first time, leaving Severus sitting at this desk feeling nauseous, dizzy, and above all… hopeful .
…
The students were milling around the Great Hall at their own leisure, saying goodbye to friends, speaking with the staff that had taught them for seven years, all of them waiting for the boats that would take them back across the lake, to the waiting train.
Severus watched Potter across the room. He was with Weasley and Granger, as he always was, and the three of them were talking with Minerva. She was practically gleeful with pride, a soft smile on her face, and he watched as she hugged Potter tightly to her.
While teachers were never supposed to have favourites, Potter was a special case. They all knew it, and Minerva was more fond of him than most.
Severus swallowed as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. Time was running out.
He wasn’t a coward. Steeling himself, he crossed the hall to where Potter was, and asked him softly if the two of them could have a private word before Potter left.
The young man stared at him for a moment, before he nodded his head, and after a brief moment with his friends, he followed Severus to the antechamber that, once upon a time, Potter had been sent into, to receive instructions for the Triwizard Tournament.
That seemed like three lifetimes ago, to Severus.
“You said,” Severus started, turning to face Potter. “You said last night that you’re not special.” He shook his head. “Potter… you’re so fucking special. You are. I didn’t… the reason that I didn’t stay that night… you deserve so much better than me. So much better. But I couldn’t let you leave thinking that it was because of you. You must know that—”
Severus was interrupted when Potter stepped closer, a soft hand pressing to Severus’ cheek, as Potter’s lips landed on his own.
Severus' mind went blank for a long, wonderful moment, and then he groaned, wrapping an arm around Potter’s waist as he kissed him back.
Potter tasted delicious . Coffee—and the treacle tart that he’d had for breakfast, despite the eye-rolling he’d been subjected to from Miss Granger—and something that was so perfectly Harry that Severus knew he would never be able to replicate it.
Potter pulled back, just enough so that he could speak. “I researched that Potion,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against Severus’ jaw. “You must know how I feel. It wouldn’t have worked, if I wasn’t in love with you.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Severus murmured, feeling the need to tell him that he could—should—go out into the world and find someone more suitable. That didn’t stop his hand tightening reflexively on Potter’s waist. “You really shouldn’t. I’m nobody’s idea of a prize.”
“Then I suppose that I won’t have any competition.”
Potter kissed him again, and then he smiled against Severus’ lips. “Can I take you for dinner tomorrow night?”
“I…” Severus was going to give in. He knew he was. He was only strong enough to deny himself what he wanted for so long, and he wanted Harry. “Yes.”