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Harry had the perfect plan, which was mostly to say hello in the most childish way possible.
He stood under the Invisibility Cloak by the beech tree, breath warm against the hood, hands cold and busy. Pack, press, smooth. A neat snowball was ready in no time. The grounds were shining with the first snow; the lake was covered in winter glass; somewhere closer to the steps, students squealed and laughed as snow entered collars and boots.
Severus would come along the lower path in a few minutes, the same way he always did between his last class and the patrol he pretended he hated. He would be a dark stroke against the white, snow dusting at the shoulders, hair catching glitter at the ends. His prince always looked the part in his winter robes, which had silver runes painstakingly hand-stitched into them to make sure he did not catch a cold in his numerous winter adventures into the forest for missing children and rare potion ingredients.
Harry, who’d spent the day missing him in bits—one glance in a corridor, one quick peck, one insult, one stolen, too-short makeout session in between classes—would throw the snowball.
Why? Because Harry had an infinite number of ways to show love. And sometimes that involved a sneaky snowball, hopefully aimed at his face.
Just a kiss delivered with his hands. Nothing much.
A boot scraped softly on stone. Harry’s heart tripped. He tightened his grip on the snowball, smiling alone under the cloak like a fool. But no one appeared on the path.
Harry leaned forward to peer, the cloak riding up at his ankles. Where was he? He should be here. Severus was annoyingly punctual about his daily chores.
Suddenly, a warm hand closed around his wrist.
The snowball didn’t fall only because the hand that caught it lifted it gently, saving it by instinct. A breath ghosted the edge of the hood, followed by a voice that always made Harry stand a little straighter.
“No,” came the velvety murmur, amused and soft. “Not today.”
A laugh burst out of him, bright and helpless. “How did you—?”
“You think very loudly,” Severus said, unbothered. “The cloak hides you. But it does not hide you from me.”
His other hand—apparently already at Harry’s hip where it preferred to live—slid up to ease the hood back. Cold air hit Harry’s face. The world widened, and there was his husband, his soulmate, his heart, close enough that Harry could count snowflakes on his lashes.
“Hello,” Harry said, falling in love again for the thousandth time this week.
“Hello, darling,” Severus answered, and kissed him before he could even think to throw.
The first kiss was careful, a warm press of lips like a polite question. Harry answered with a soft sound that made Severus smile against his mouth. The second kiss was not careful at all. Severus framed Harry’s face and kissed him again, again, again, like he’d been starving.
Harry forgot about the cold. He forgot about strategy. He forgot he even had hands until one of them fisted in Severus’s scarf and the other still clutched that ridiculous snowball, untouched and now faintly embarrassing.
“You cheated,” Harry said with a pout when Severus let him breathe.
“I adapted,” Severus replied, and stole the snowball right out of Harry’s hand with infuriating neatness. He weighed it and measured it as he measured everything, then tossed it lazily over his shoulder into a drift. “Foresight, my beloved mischief”
“That was my hello to you today,” Harry protested.
Severus kissed the corner of his mouth as compensation. “I prefer this one.”
Harry pouted more. “It was going to be funny.”
“It still can be,” Severus said, the smile touching his eyes now. “But not at my expense.”
He stepped back half a pace, and Harry had exactly one breath to admire the way Severus moved, graceful and unhurried, before Severus flicked his wrist. A snowball flew. It struck Harry square in the chest with a soft puff.
Harry spluttered. “Traitor!”
“Adaptable,” Severus corrected, and oh, he was smug about it. “Also: even.”
“Never even,” Harry declared, already lunging for a drift, scooping up a handful and packing it into something vaguely round. He looked up just in time to see Severus’s mouth tip into something fond.
“You are not powerful enough to touch me, my sweet,” Severus said with that annoyingly silky voice. “No matter how much older you get.”
“Just watch me, Severus!” Harry threw two mounds of snow in succession.
Severus didn’t bother to dodge. A lazy flick of his wand, and the snowball reversed midair like a well-trained owl. Harry yelped and twisted, and it skimmed past his ear in a flurry of glitter. He felt his face fall into a sulk and, because he was nothing if not resourceful, bent as if reaching for more snow—
“Expelliarmus!”
Red light snapped across the white. Severus’s wand leapt from his hand and landed neatly in Harry’s palm. Harry’s grin turned wicked. He tucked the wand into the crook of his elbow like a prize and skipped back two paces, smug as a cat.
Severus’s eyebrows rose, all mock offense and real amusement. “Cheater.”
“Adaptive,” Harry said promptly.
“Mm.” Severus stepped forward without hurry, hands empty, danger minimal, and somehow greater. “And now?”
“Now,” Harry said, heart hammering with the bright, stupid joy of it, “we fight fair.”
They didn’t, of course.
Harry flung another snowball; Severus, wandless, batted it away with the edge of his sleeve and sent a scatter of powder back into Harry’s face. Harry laughed, coughed snow, and cast with Severus’s wand, “Ventus,” just enough wind to toss a drift across Severus’s boots. Severus waded straight through it, unbothered, and scooped up a double handful with a surgeon’s precision. He split it in his palms and threw both halves at once. One caught Harry on the shoulder. The other broke harmlessly against his sleeve.
“Unfair!” Harry cried, already hurling two more. “You’ve got years of practice being dramatic in snow.”
“I am dramatic in all seasons,” Severus replied calmly, ducking, then straightening with snow in his hair and something unguarded in his eyes. “Keep up, Angel.”
Harry kept up. He drew his wand. “Wingardium Leviosa.”
Snow along the drift leapt at once, whirling into a tight, spinning sphere in midair. With a cheeky nudge, he sent it sailing, though gently, right across his husband's face. The white slush slid down over nose and lips, and Harry laughed as it tumbled into his collar.
Severus moved then, before Harry could track his movements. He feinted left, darted right, and reached for Harry’s waist with both hands. Harry squeaked and stepped back, narrowly avoiding being folded into the snow by a man who could pin him with a glance. He didn’t want to be under Severus—not right now. He wanted to win this one.
He drew a circle with his wand. “Tripudio!” A harmless jolt under the snow made the ground bounce. Severus’s footing shifted—only a fraction—but it was enough. Harry lunged, hands finding the edges of Severus’s robes, and they went down together in a tumble of laughter and white.
They landed with a soft whump.
Harry ended up on top, pinning Severus’s wrists lightly above his head.
Severus stared up at him, surprised and pink-cheeked, snow dusting his lashes. Then he laughed that quiet, deep kind of laugh Harry would hoard if he could—and let himself sink back.
“Yield,” Harry panted, leaning over him, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.
“Never,” Severus said, which was how Harry knew he had already yielded. “State your terms.”
“Terms?” Harry giggled, giddy with victory and winter and the way Severus looked at him like he was something good. “Kiss me silly. Then let’s have tea. Then you admit I am powerful enough to touch you.”
Severus’s mouth curved, helpless. “Ridiculous creature.” He freed one hand with insulting ease to brush snow from Harry’s fringe, fingers lingering. “Come here.”
Harry pouted at the way Severus’ hand escaped his hold so easily but went. Severus kissed like he had all evening. Harry kissed back like he had been holding his breath all day and had finally remembered how to breathe.
They broke for air. Snow kept sifting down, catching in Harry’s hair. His cheeks were flushed; Severus’s were, too, though he would deny it if anyone but Harry asked.
“Say it,” Harry whispered, suddenly shy for no reason at all. “Humor me.”
Severus studied him for a beat. His voice, when it came, was low and unguarded. “I love you.”
Harry’s heart started beating faster. “Again,” he asked greedily.
Severus didn’t even pretend to be annoyed. He cupped Harry’s jaw with a gloved hand, thumb warm against chilled skin. “I love you,” he said, firmer now, like a spell he trusted. “I love you when you are clever and when you are foolish, when you throw things at me and when you fall asleep in my chair. I love you, and I am not interested in being even. And I yield, my heart.”
Harry made a sound that wasn’t a laugh and wasn’t a sob—something small and ferocious that lived behind his ribs. He kissed Severus again, soft and sure, sealing each word into place. “I love you,” he murmured into the corner of his mouth. “More than tea and scones and the Cloak and winning at snowball war. I love you, and I’m keeping you.”
“Good,” Severus said, sounding pleased and a little ruined, which Harry would think about later and then grin into his pillow. “Keep me.”
They lay there, giggling like children who had gotten away with it, their hair salted with snow, their breath a shared fog. Harry let his forehead rest against Severus’s. The world felt small and kind inside the halo of their tumble. The castle glowed in the near distance. Students shouted somewhere far off.
“My treasure,” Severus murmured after a while, because habit was also love, “you are damp.”
“You’re warm,” Harry countered. “My personal heater.”
“Merlin help me,” Severus sighed, but he didn’t move his hands. “Up, Sunshine. Let's drink some tea before you freeze.”
Harry nuzzled once, shameless, and pushed himself upright, careful not to jostle Severus until Severus tugged him down for one last winter-sweet kiss.
“Let’s go home,” Severus said softly.
Harry smiled. “You still have your patrols.”
Severus rose, brushed snow from Harry’s coat with brisk, unnecessary care, then shrugged off his heavy outer robes and draped them around Harry’s shoulders. “I’ll have someone else take it.“
Harry slid his hands into Severus’s and grinned. “Okay.”
They walked toward the castle with shoulders touching, footsteps overlapping. Behind them, the imprint of their fall kept its shape: evidence of a ridiculous war, a clean victory, and two men who had decided—over and over—to be happy and in love in the snow.