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Harry had never expected his relationship with Severus to turn out the way it did.
As a child, he had dreamed of whirlwind romance—the kind he caught glimpses of on the soap operas Petunia watched when she thought he wasn’t looking. Grand declarations, over-the-top dialogues, dramatic embraces in the rain.
Then, when he fell in love with Severus, he had thought he’d have to search for love in quieter ways. In actions. In hidden comments. In the small, unspoken moments between them.
And when he had been on his knees that first night, daring to reach for him, he had looked up and thought—Severus was untouchable . That someone like him would never yearn for someone like harry. And he had been okay with that. Okay with whatever Severus gave.
But two weeks in , Harry had never, never imagined Severus would be like this.
The public displays weren’t anything over-the-top. They didn’t snog in corridors (as much as Harry might’ve wanted to). But they also didn’t avoid anything.
Severus was the one who reached for him first more often than not. The first time it happened, Harry had been so startled he had nearly choked on his tea. It wasn’t overbearing, but it was constant.
Harry, who usually sat a few seats away with the newer staff, barely had time to settle the next day when Severus gestured for him to move. Confused but obedient, Harry slid into the seat beside him, only to feel warm fingers closing over his under the table. Harry spent the entire breakfast fighting a blush.
From then on , there was no hesitation in the way Severus would brush a hand against the small of Harry’s back as they walked. No awkwardness in the way Harry would lean against him during long conversations in the courtyard.
A hand against Harry’s back as they walked through the halls. A brush of fingers at dinner. A murmured "Eat, Angel," even when Harry had just taken a bite.
The worst part? Harry was getting spoiled. Properly spoiled.
Not just with touch, but with attention. No matter how busy Severus was, he always made time for Harry.
Even on his busiest days, he’d slip into Harry’s classroom between lessons—never staying long, just a quiet presence that made Harry’s chest ache.
Sometimes, he left with a dry remark—"Your second years are marginally less incompetent today." Other times, he didn’t leave at all.
Instead, Severus would stride over, kiss him quick and firm, then press a neatly wrapped pastry or fresh fruit into his hands before sweeping out the door.
One time, during a long afternoon of meetings, Severus had wordlessly summoned a warm cup of tea, set it in front of Harry, and resumed his paperwork without saying anything.
Harry had melted on the spot.
He’s ruining me, Harry thought more than once.
But—he wouldn’t have it any other way.
And then, there was the name.
Angel.
By now, Harry responded to little else from severus.
And Severus used it constantly.
"Angel, come sit."
"Angel, you are insufferable."
"Angel, if you touch my ink again, I will hex you."
It didn’t matter what the context was. Every time Severus said it, Harry felt the same ridiculous flutter in his chest.
And Harry never left Severus’s quarters anymore.
It wasn’t something they had talked about—it had just happened.
One night turned into two. Then into a week. Then another. His clothes had found a home in the wardrobe. His favorite mug was in Severus’s kitchen. His scent lingered in the sheets. And sometimes—sometimes, he wondered if he was taking too much.
He was just about to head back to Gryffindor Tower that night when , The door to Severus’s quarters swung open before he could knock.
A warm hand gripped his wrist, tugging him inside before he could even speak.
"Severus—"
"You proposed marriage two weeks ago," Severus interrupted, pulling him into his arms with a quiet huff. "And now you’re hesitating to enter my quarters?"
Harry barely had time to blink before Severus’s lips were on his— slow, deliberate, as if Severus had been waiting all day to do it.
Heat curled in Harry’s stomach, his hands finding their natural place in the folds of Severus’s robes as he melted into the kiss.
When they parted, Severus tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes.
"Do I need to remind you every night that you belong here?"
Harry’s heart skipped.
He exhaled, his lips twitching. "No," he admitted, "but I wouldn’t mind the reminders."
Severus hummed, pleased, brushing his knuckles along Harry’s jaw. "Noted."
And with that, Severus pressed a final kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth before murmuring—
"Come to bed."
Harry went without hesitation.
The first snow of the season had settled over the Hogwarts grounds, blanketing the castle in soft, glistening white. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of burning firewood and the distant laughter of students enjoying the fresh snowfall.
Harry had spent the last half-hour flying with a group of students, demonstrating techniques, engaging in impromptu races, and—eventually—laughing too hard to notice the cold properly. It wasn’t until he landed, shaking snow from his hair and brushing it from his robes, that he felt the sharp bite of winter against his skin.
Harry had barely turned when a familiar warmth settled over his shoulders . Thick black robes draped over him without a word, the scent of potion ingredients and something distinctly Severus wrapping around him like a second skin.
Harry grinned.
He turned just as Severus stepped closer, reaching up to shake the remaining snow from Harry’s hair with a look of quiet exasperation.
"Where have all your winter coats gone ?" Severus asked, his voice low but without his usual bite.
Harry, already grinning, slipped his arms into the too-large sleeves, feeling the residual warmth of Severus’s body heat still trapped in the fabric.
"It’s just a little cold," Harry teased, tugging the thick material tighter around himself.
Severus stared at him with the most unimpressed look Harry had ever seen.
"Yes, I imagine hypothermia also starts with ‘just a little cold.’"
Harry laughed, delighted, before grabbing Severus’s wrist and pulling him a little closer.
"You could’ve just cast a warming charm, you know," he pointed out, still beaming.
Severus huffed and pinched his cheek. "And let you learn nothing from your foolishness? No."
Harry chuckled, breathing in the familiar scent of Severus’s robes again—potions, parchment, and that dark, rich spice that Harry had no name for but always made him want to press closer. "Am I foolish? The one who remembered wizards can cast warming charms?"
Severus shifted beside him, eyes flicking toward the students gathered near the steps of the castle—too far to hear them but close enough to see.
Harry felt it immediately—the way Severus’s instinct was to pull back.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Severus exhaled, reached up without hesitation, and adjusted the robe more securely around Harry’s shoulders, his fingers brushing briefly over Harry’s neck in the process.
"Foolish or not," Severus murmured, quieter now, "you are mine to look after."
Harry’s stomach fluttered.
Something about the way Severus said it—so certain, so unwavering, as if it wasn’t even a question anymore—made warmth bloom in his chest, replacing the cold completely.
He grinned, tilting his head just slightly toward Severus’s touch.
"Guess that makes you my personal heater, then."
Severus scoffed. "Merlin help me."
But he didn’t take his robes back.
And Harry didn’t give them back either.
The Hogwarts Library was dimly lit in the evening, the golden glow of floating candles casting long shadows over the towering shelves. The scent of parchment and ink lingered in the air, mingling with the faint traces of old dust and leather-bound tomes.
Severus sat at one of the private tables tucked near the back—his usual spot when he needed absolute silence for research. He was already deeply engrossed in a thick, ancient text, his long fingers moving swiftly over his notes, quill scratching across the parchment with methodical precision.
Harry had no such patience for quiet study.
He had been looking for Severus for the past half-hour, and after checking his quarters, the dungeons, and even the Great Hall, he finally remembered the one place Severus frequented more than his own chambers.
The library.
A few students were scattered throughout the room, noses buried in books or whispering in hushed voices, but none of them mattered when Harry spotted Severus.
His lips curled into a mischievous grin.
With absolutely zero hesitation, he crossed the room, loudly calling out—
"Severus!"
Several heads snapped up at once.
Severus, however, didn’t so much as flinch. He merely turned a page, quill still moving as he responded smoothly—
"Yes, Angel?"
The entire room froze.
Harry, grinning ear to ear, slid into the seat beside him, utterly delighted by Severus’s lack of awareness.
Because clearly, Severus had momentarily forgotten exactly where they were.
Which was the Hogwarts Library.
Which was not empty.
Which was very much full of students.
Students who were now openly staring at the feared and legendary Headmaster calling Harry ‘Angel’ like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Severus, oblivious, finally glanced up from his book, his eyes flicking toward Harry’s very obvious grin.
Then, as if feeling the weight of every wide-eyed gaze around them, Severus’s sharp mind finally caught up.
A slow blink. A faint flicker of realization. And then—
He sighed.
But he didn’t take it back.
Instead, he reached for Harry without hesitation, pulled him close with a firm hand around his waist, and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead before returning immediately to his reading.
As if Harry wasn’t grinning like an idiot as the entire student body imploded from the sheer shock of it.
Harry turned just slightly, glancing toward a group of Ravenclaws at a nearby table who were openly gaping at them.
He beamed.
One of them dropped their quill.
Severus didn’t so much as pause. He continued making notes in the margins of his book, completely unaffected.
Harry, completely affected, leaned into him, resting his head against Severus’s shoulder with entirely too much satisfaction.
By the next morning, the entire castle knew.
Not just the students—the professors, the ghosts, probably even the bloody suits of armor.
The whispers had spread at an alarming rate, and by the time lunch rolled around, Harry had overheard at least five different versions of what had happened in the library.
One had Severus declaring his undying love in front of the entire student body (which Harry was fairly certain was a fabrication).
Another insisted that Severus had hexed a student for looking at Harry the wrong way (which—honestly, not completely unbelievable).
By the time dinner came, the gossip had reached the staff room.
And Harry—having just finished checking in with Hagrid—wasn’t in the room yet when it started.
Instead, as he approached the staff wing, he caught the tail end of the conversation.
He froze in the corridor.
Because oh.
Severus was speaking.
"If you’re asking if it’s true, then yes."
Harry’s breath caught.
"You’re truly courting Potter?"
That was Minerva. Her voice was teasing, but curious.
Severus, as always, sounded completely unbothered.
"I am."
A small uproar followed. Disbelieving gasps, scattered chuckles, and—Merlin’s beard—was that Filius laughing?
"Never thought you’d be one for public displays, Headmaster," someone muttered.
Harry peered in through the slightly open door.
Severus was seated at the Headmaster’s chair, his expression completely neutral, one hand wrapped around his coffee cup.
He barely even glanced up as he replied—
"It makes him happy."
The room went silent.
Harry’s heart clenched.
A beat of stunned silence, then—
"You’re in love," someone stated, as if realizing it in real time.
Severus sighed.
He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating the idea, before calmly responding—
"Well, yes. I’m not out here kissing just anyone, am I?"
The room exploded.
Someone choked on their drink. Someone else outright gasped. Coins were exchanged in what was very clearly a staff betting pool.
Harry, who had been frozen in the doorway, completely unnoticed , had to take a second to compose his tomato red face before going in .
As soon as the meeting ended and professors began to file out, Harry stormed in and grabbed Severus by the robes.
Severus, unshaken, barely had time to smirk before Harry dragged him out of the room.
The moment they were alone—
Harry pushed him against the nearest wall and kissed him senseless.
Severus let out a low chuckle into the kiss, amused but indulgent, his hands immediately winding around Harry’s waist.
"That was hardly necessary."
"Yes, it bloody was!" Harry breathed against his lips, his heart still pounding.
He pulled back just enough to see Severus’s face—his dark eyes, half-lidded, utterly fond—and felt himself melt.
"It makes me happy," Harry whispered.
Severus exhaled, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on Harry’s waist.
"Then I suppose I’ll keep doing it," he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to Harry’s temple.
The Great Hall was bathed in warm candlelight, the floating decorations of Valentine’s Day drifting lazily above them—roses, enchanted hearts, and a ridiculous amount of pink. The scent of chocolate and fresh flowers lingered in the air, making everything feel slightly too indulgent, slightly too festive.
Harry had barely paid attention to it this morning, too focused on rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he made his way to breakfast. He hadn’t even noticed Severus leaving their quarters early—though, in hindsight, that should’ve been his first clue.
The Great Hall doors swung open.
A massive floating parcel entered, drifting toward them with unmistakable purpose.
Harry blinked, mid-bite, as the package made a beeline straight for him.
The entire Hall stilled.
Harry swallowed. “What the—?”
The parcel landed gently in front of him, wrapped in fine black ribbon, a faint shimmer of magic laced through it.
Across from them, McGonagall arched a brow. "Well, Mr. Potter, it appears you have an admirer."
Beside him, Severus let out a slow breath through his nose.
Harry turned his head sharply. "Severus—"
“I expected it to arrive earlier,” Severus murmured, looking at the package with something bordering on irritation. His fingers twitched slightly on the table.
Harry’s stomach flipped.
Oh.
Oh, Severus.
Harry reached forward, untying the ribbon.
Inside—
The most ridiculous bouquet of roses Harry had ever seen. Deep crimson, enchanted to stay fresh for weeks, their scent warm and intoxicating. They weren’t the kind that simply appeared from a shop; no, these had been chosen.
And beneath them—
A dark silver charm, intricately carved, humming with ancient protective enchantments.
Harry barely breathed.
The Hall was so quiet.
His chest was too tight.
He turned, staring at Severus, his fingers frozen against the delicate gift.
Severus held his gaze, fingers tapping once—just once—against the table, that nervous tell Harry had only recently learned.
Then, in a voice steady, even, deliberate—
"Sorry," Severus murmured, just loud enough for Harry to hear. "It took a long time to gather, so it’s late."
A pause.
Then, quieter, softer—
"But will you let me court you, Harry?"
The silence was deafening.
No whispers.
No movement.
Just Severus, looking at him, like this was the simplest question in the world.
Harry felt like he was burning.
Because Severus Snape—who hated attention, who despised public spectacle, who avoided Valentine’s Day like it was some kind of curse—
Had just done this for him.
Because Severus had known—somehow, of course he had—that Harry wanted this. That, despite everything, he was hopelessly, stupidly romantic. That he wanted the grand gestures, the declarations.
And Severus, in the most Severus-like way possible, had given it to him.
Harry’s hands trembled slightly against the charm, his pulse racing, his mind barely processing anything—
Severus’s lips parted slightly.
His fingers tapped again.
And then, lower, meant only for him—
"Say yes, Angel."
Something snapped.
Before Severus could react, Harry turned in his seat, practically launching himself at him.
Severus let out a small, startled noise as Harry climbed into his lap, hands curling into the fabric of his robes, pressing against him, nose buried against his throat, chest heaving.
Severus let out a low chuckle, wrapping a steadying arm around Harry’s waist.
"That’s a yes, then?" he murmured.
Harry shoved his face further into Severus’s shoulder, exhaling against his neck.
"You idiot," he mumbled, voice shaking slightly. He pulled back just enough to look at him, just enough for Severus to see the absolute wreck he had made of him.
Severus smirked, the tiniest bit of nerves still present in his dark eyes.
"Say it properly, Angel."
Harry cupped his face, his thumbs brushing lightly over the sharp edges of Severus’s cheekbones.
"Yes," he whispered, pressing his forehead against Severus’s.
"A thousand times, yes."
And then—because he had to—
He kissed him.
Right there, in front of everyone.
A gasp rippled through the Hall.
But Harry didn’t care.
Because this was Severus.
Because Severus had done this for him.
Because Severus Snape, in front of the entire bloody school, had claimed him.