Chapter Text
Harry knew he had been led straight into a trap the moment his back slammed against the wall and eight wands snapped up toward him.
Fuck.
The narrow alley was slick with rain, the cobblestones shining like glass beneath the flickering light of guttering lanterns. The darkness covered the movement of the shadows, but he could hear more footsteps approaching. He lifted his wand, lungs still burning from the chase as he took deep breaths.
There had been too many nights like this. Long days buried in reports, looking for leads, followed by longer evenings in the field, his body running only on grim determination and potions strong enough to mask the pain. His ribs still ached from last week’s curse, his legs throbbed, but none of it mattered. They had targeted his Aurors. That, he could not forgive.
Still, something inside him faltered. He could not keep doing this forever. He felt his body crashing. And what was it really for if he died right here? The Ministry would probably replace him easily enough. He would simply be another name etched on the wall. His hand trembled, not from fear, but from exhaustion deeper than bone.
For a moment, he almost let it happen, almost let himself close his eyes. Another Head Auror, fallen in the line of duty, another plaque on the wall outside his office. It would be easier to surrender, to let the darkness close in. And in that half-breath before he gave in, his thoughts turned where they always did.
Black hair. Sharp eyes. A rasping voice that cut and healed in equal measure.
Severus.
And then, almost instinctively, he reached for magic that was not his own. No words, no incantation. A flare of power left him, bright and desperate, like calling down lightning.
The air cracked, and then he was there. In front of him.
Severus. Black hair loose from its ribbon, white shirt half-unbuttoned, black trousers. He moved like a blade through the night, wand raised and striking before Harry had even blinked. How he was so prepared to fight, Harry could not say.
Harry staggered against the wall, clutching his ribs, trying not to stare at the flash of lean muscle beneath Severus’s rolled sleeves.
Ten bloody years,
and the sight of him still punched the air out of Harry’s lungs.
“You’re still a fool, aren’t you, Potter?” Severus drawled, sending a curse that launched one wizard into crates. “Tell me, are the rest of your Aurors merely ornamental?”
Harry gave a breathless half-laugh, half-groan. “They… were busy.”
“Busy,” Snape repeated flatly, disarming a wizard with a casual flick. “I see the Ministry’s standards have only fallen since your promotion.”
Harry meant to argue, really, he did, but mostly he was busy staring. Ex-husband, he reminded himself. Ex. Done. Not that his body seemed to care.
“You’re glaring holes in my shirt,” Severus snapped without looking back.
Harry smirked, voice rough. “Not my fault, you look unfairly good in it.”
Severus froze for the barest second, expression thunderous and unfairly elegant, and Harry nearly slid to the ground for entirely non-professional reasons.
It shouldn’t have felt like this. Ten years should have dulled the edges.
They had been bound by war, a measure to share magic, a measure to shut Voldemort out of their minds. It has been a necessity, held together only by a goal to defeat the megalomaniac at first. After the war, Harry thought it might become something gentler. He had tried. Merlin, how he had tried. He had spoken endlessly of love, of a future, of the ordinary life he believed they could build. He thought, foolishly, that if he said it enough, Severus would believe him.
But Severus never said anything back. His silence had been a wall Harry could not climb, and in the end, Severus had torn them apart himself. A marriage, he had insisted, that could not survive peace. Harry deserved more.
Harry had signed the divorce papers on his 21st Christmas.
The world had sighed in relief. The savior had been freed from the spy.
But Harry had never breathed easily again. Because what hurt most was not the words. It was the eyes. The love had been there, fierce and unyielding, even as Severus let him go.
And Harry, in turn, had stayed away. He avoided Severus, avoided the heartbreak of seeing him across rooms, the sharp reminder that someone else might one day stand at his side.
But now, in this alley slick with rain, watching him cut through enemies like he’d never laid down his wand, Harry’s chest split open as if no time had passed at all.
Harry pushed himself off the wall, stumbling forward until he was pressed to Severus’s back, hand finding his waist like muscle memory. His wand lifted over Severus’s shoulder, lining up their strikes.
The bond flared alive instantly, hot and sparking. Harry’s next hex tore through a shield like smoke, carried by Severus’s strength.
For a fleeting moment, it was like old times. Two wands moving as one, enemies falling beneath the storm they summoned.
Harry leaned closer, reckless and aching. His forehead brushed Severus’s damp shoulder. Before he could think better of it, he pressed his lips there, quick and desperate.
“I missed you,” he whispered, raw against skin.
Severus jerked mid-incantation, nearly turning on him. “Potter!” he hissed, outrage simmering under the precision of his spells. “This is hardly the time—”
“Seems like exactly the time,” Harry muttered, firing another hex past his arm.
Severus made a noise that was equal parts growl and strangled breath, but he didn’t pull away. He shifted instead, allowing Harry’s weight to settle more firmly against him, their magic weaving tighter.
Harry smiled grimly, even as curses rattled around them.
Hopeless, both of us.
And then it was over. Wizards lay scattered across the floor, petrified and ready to be transported. Their chests rose and fell together, breath ragged, the silence of the alley broken only by the pitter-patter of droplets on the roof.
Harry’s strength collapsed as quickly as it had come. His arms slackened around Severus’s waist, his knees buckled.
Severus caught him instantly, steady as ever. His wand stayed raised while his free hand pulled Harry around to face him, supporting his weight with practiced ease.
Harry stumbled into him, forehead striking the damp fabric of his shirt. His arm wound instinctively around Severus’s neck, clinging. It was easier now. He had grown taller, but not quite enough. Not enough to be eye-to-eye. His eyes burned; he hated that. Hated that he could never catch up to Severus, even if he spent his whole life running.
Harry let his lashes flutter shut, exhaustion dragging him under. His head slipped lower against Severus’s chest, cheek pressed to steady warmth.
“You came,” he mumbled, words slurred.
“You called,” Severus answered, his voice calm, but his breath trembled against Harry’s hair.
And Harry let the darkness take him.