Work Text:
Harry walked up the familiar path across the Hogwarts grounds, taking in his surroundings with a fondness he hadn’t felt in almost five years. It was strange—but good—to be back at his old school.
His first real home.
When he’d received the letter from Minerva, he’d been surprised that the opportunity to return had come so soon. He’d expected it, one day, but not for years yet. He’d always had some idea in the back of his mind that he’d end up back at the school, teaching the new generations to defend themselves, but not yet.
The more he’d read the letter and considered the options open to him, the more he had realised that he wanted to go. He wanted to be at Hogwarts far more than he’d actually believed.
Taking the time away immediately following the war had been a good decision for him, though he knew that many didn’t agree. He’d been expected to accept the Ministry’s offer to go straight into the Auror academy, and when he’d decided against that, the public had grumbled and moaned loudly.
Harry had paid them no mind. Merlin University had been an escape from normal life—Harry’s normal at least—and had given him a chance to just be himself. He’d experienced life as regular people do, had earned himself a mastery, and learnt who he was, and who he wanted to be.
Of course, the other students there had known who he was, but there was a level of maturity that hadn’t been present in Hogwarts, and an underlying understanding that he was there to learn, and not to be a hero. People seemed to accept him for him, rather than for whatever the title the Daily Prophet had decided on that morning.
There were people he knew from Hogwarts—many of them known by sight only—that he now classed amongst his closest friends. One person he would never have expected for that to apply was Blaise Zabini. The two of them had been practically inseparable by the end of their first year at Merlin.
With Blaise, came Draco, and with Blaise’s help, Harry and the aforementioned blond had managed to get past the nastiness and had something that resembled a decent friendship; though the rivalry was still going strong.
It had only been three months since Harry, along with Blaise, Draco, and the rest of their class, had graduated. The three of them, along with Neville and Anthony Goldstein, had decided that they were ready to fully commit to adulting yet, and they had rented a house in London together.
They’d all wished him luck that morning—including Draco, who had been pouting something awful about Harry getting the invitation to return to the school first—and he knew that they would all be waiting for him when he got home.
As he reached the main doors to the castle, he caught sight of Minerva just inside, and he smiled widely at her as she stepped forward to greet him.
“Right on time, Mr Potter,” she said, with a smile, tugging him into a remarkably strong hug. “It appears that your time-keeping skills have improved with age.”
Harry laughed, kissing her on the cheek before he pulled away. “Being Headmistress suits you,” he complimented softly. “How are you?”
“Very well, thank you, Harry. I must say, the time away has done you the world of good. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so comfortable in your own skin before.”
She led the way up to her office—once Dumbledore’s, and it still felt strange for it to belong to anyone else—and as they walked, she caught him up on the happenings of the old castle and her inhabitants.
She gestured him into a seat once they reached her office, and as he sat, his eyes instinctively fell on the portrait behind the desk of his old Headmaster.
“Hello, Harry, my boy. It’s very good to see you back here,” Dumbledore greeted, his eyes twinkling wildly despite them being made of paint and canvas.
“It’s good to see you too, sir,” Harry replied, honestly, a bright smile lighting up his face. It had taken him a while to get over the hurt feelings he had in regards to Dumbledore, but he’d let it go now and felt much better for it.
He turned his attention back to Minerva when she cleared her throat slightly, and she smiled at him. “Professor Golding from Merlin sent me your file in preparation for the interview, Harry, something I was very grateful for. It would appear that you’ve been holding out on me during our infrequent correspondence over the years.”
She placed a pile of parchment on the desk between them, as Harry blushed and dipped his head sheepishly.
“Not only did you earn your mastery,” she continued, her eyes shining with undisguised pride as she looked at him, “But you won the World Duelling Championship in Berlin last year. How on earth did news like that not reach your old school? And the Daily Prophet, for that matter?”
“I entered under a different name. Only Jim—sorry, Professor Golding—and the director of the Championship knew who I actually was. I’m surprised he even put that in the file at all, actually.”
“I contacted him to ask for the results of your mastery before I wrote to you about the job. Standard practice, Harry, there was nothing back handed about it, I promise.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I have no problem with people knowing about it now, I just didn’t want to be accused of ‘favouritism’, or something equally ridiculous if I’d entered under my own name. I had no notion that I could actually win the whole thing when I entered.”
“You should be extremely proud of yourself, Harry. Now, shall we go over the contract and you can ask any questions you might have?”
…
Harry stepped into the shared living room and found not only his housemates, but their respective partners waiting for him.
“Well?” Draco demanded, sitting up from where he’d been lounging in his favourite plush armchair.
Harry arched his eyebrow at him and smirked. “Well what?”
Rolling his eyes, Draco asked, “Did you accept the job?”
“Of course I did,” Harry said, nodding as he dropped onto the sofa between Blaise and Daphne. He threw his arm around her shoulders. “Hello, Daphne, darling. Are you still completely sure that you don’t want to abandon this loser and run away with me?”
Blaise tried to shove him off the sofa, and succeeded on the third attempt, mostly because Harry was laughing too hard to fight back against him.
“Will you stop hitting on my girlfriend, Potter,” he grumbled, sitting back in his seat.
Harry rolled to his feet and replied, “Bugger off, Zabini. Daphne is in love with me, she just hasn’t realised it yet. She will, just you wait, it’s only a matter of time.”
He ducked the stinging hex as he ran out of the room, laughing once more. He walked into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge, and wasn’t surprised to find that Draco had followed him in. He handed the blond the beer and got another out for himself.
“When will you be moving out?” Draco asked, a frown marring his features.
“Already renting my room to someone else before I even confirmed I was taking the job?” Harry replied, shaking his head. “I wasn’t intending to move out. Unless… unless you want me to? Is there someone else that wants the room, or—”
“Of course not,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I just thought you might find it easier living up at the castle is all.” He pulled himself up so he was sitting on the counter top, and Harry perched himself on the kitchen table.
“Oh. I mean, I’ll have quarters there as well, for the nights I have patrol—Monday and Wednesday, by the way—but for the most part, I’ll be coming home as often as I can, especially on the weekends.” He shrugged. “I don’t want being a teacher to define my whole life, you know?”
“We’ll miss having you around all the time,” Draco admitted, looking down at the bottle in his hands. “You always make us laugh when we feel like shit.”
Harry moved off the table and walked across the kitchen so that he was standing directly in front of Draco. “I’m not moving out of the country, Draco. I’ll still be around, and you can come and visit me in the evenings, if you want? What’s this really about?”
“I’ll… I’ll miss you, alright? There, I said it. Jerk. I’ll miss movie nights when everyone else is out on dates, and I’ll miss tubs of that Jerry Ben ice cream you always fetch home after a bad date. I’ll miss having you around on the nights when I have a bad date.”
“I’ll still be here for all of that,” Harry promised. “We’ll still have movie nights, I’ll still fetch home Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, and I’ll still be around after bad dates. Don’t worry so much.”
He reached out and squeezed Draco’s shoulders for a moment. He was glad that the others hadn’t witnessed the conversation. Draco could be extremely touchy when emotions were involved, particularly when it came to emotions and Harry.
There had been an ill advised tryst between the two of them after a drunken weekend at Uni, but they’d both quickly decided that it was a terrible idea. It’d left them with an odd bond, though, especially when it came to bad dates.
“Chinese and a terrible movie tonight?” Harry offered, and Draco aimed a kick at his shin with a chuckle.
“Sure. And ice cream?”
Harry nodded. “And ice cream.”
…
Harry was both excited and terrified when August 31st arrived, seemingly from nowhere. He got to the castle about an hour before the staff meeting was due to start so that he could settle into his quarters, but he didn't really have much to do, considering he was keeping most of his belongings at the house.
He was planning to stay at the castle that night, and possibly the next night, as the students were arriving, and the welcoming feast had always seemed to run quite late when he was a student.
He felt ready though. He’d spent the last month—when he wasn’t spending time with his friends—working on lesson plans, and he was pleased with them. Minerva had signed off on them just a couple of days earlier, and while doing it, had asked him to run a duelling club once the students had settled back in.
He’d agreed on the proviso that he had help; as a first time Professor, he wasn’t sure that he wanted the sole pressure of an added club along with his lessons. He was hoping for Flitwick. The half-goblin was as handy with his wand as Harry himself, and he was also a pleasure to be around.
Harry entered the staff room a few moments before the meeting was due to start to find Minerva sitting alone, flipping through some paperwork as she nursed a coffee.
“Where is everyone?” Harry asked, taking the seat to her immediate left.
Minerva rolled her eyes. “They make a point of being late to this meeting. They’ll be here soon, no doubt.”
Harry snorted a laugh, but was interrupted from answering as the door swung open and Flitwick entered. He was followed by Sprout, Sinistra and Snape, who appeared to be arguing about who had made them late.
The rest of the staff trickled in behind those four, but Harry paid them little mind, his eyes drawn to Snape. The man hadn’t physically changed much since Harry’s years in school, but there was an ease about him that certainly hadn’t been present before.
The man in question, as though he could feel eyes on him, turned to stare right back at Harry.
His lip curled into a sneer. “Really, Potter? Did you not make my life miserable enough when you were a student? You had to come back and compound the torment?”
“Now, Severus,” Minerva started, but Harry shook his head. He wasn’t planning on being Snape’s punching bag, especially not now that he wasn’t a student.
“My decision to come back didn’t have anything to do with you,” he replied, his tone flat. “In fact, I don’t factor you into any of my decisions. Sorry for any disappointment, but my world doesn’t revolve around you, Professor.”
Snape scowled, but didn’t say anything further.
“Okay, now that everyone is here, finally, can we get on with this?” Minerva asked, looking around the room. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day. Does anyone have any problems that need to be dealt with before the students arrive?”
The meeting went fairly smoothly after that, and for the most part, Harry remained silent and listened to the seasoned teachers as they discussed classes, students and the extra curricular clubs.
At least, until Minerva brought up the duelling club.
“Harry, you told me that you had some plans for the club, would you like to share them with everyone?” Minerva asked, smiling at him encouragingly.
Before Harry could even open his mouth, Snape beat him to it.
“Minerva, am I to understand that you want me to work on this club with him?”
“Yes, Severus,” she replied, with a tired sigh. “If you’ve changed your mind about helping out, do tell me now. It is primarily Harry’s club to run as he chooses, you’ve simply been asked to help out because it would be a lot for him to take on alone in his first year of teaching.”
Snape glowered in Harry’s direction, but Harry settled himself and ignored him.
“I was thinking of running three different clubs a week. Monday evening for the third through fifth year students, and Wednesday evening for the sixth and seventh year students. To stay in the club, the students must be passing all of their classes with an Exceeds Expectations or above.”
Minerva nodded approvingly.
“On Sunday mornings, I’ll run a fitness workshop, because if we hadn’t had that at Merlin, I would have been out in the second round of the Championship. On the first night of each club, I’d like to do a demonstration duel. I can do that with Professor Snape—if you’re willing—following the official rules, of course. If you don’t want to do it, I can have Draco or Blaise come and do it with me instead.”
“Pray tell, Potter, what round of the Championship did you get to?” Snape asked, lips curling slightly as if he wanted to smirk.
Harry arched his eyebrow at Minerva. He’d expected her to have already told them, Snape especially if she’d asked him to help out with the club. She just shrugged and smiled slightly, so he turned back to Snape and said, “I won.”
“Jamie Evan—oh. Of course. I should have realised, with such a pathetic attempt at subterfuge. What sneaky tricks did you use to win then, Potter? You were never that talented when you were a student here.”
“Given the matches are held to the highest standard, you should already know that I won fair and square by out-duelling my opponent. I’m rather good at that now, sir.”
Snape rose to the bait beautifully, as Harry had known he would.
“Care to prove that, Potter?”
Harry smiled. “Name your time and place,” he offered. “But if I win, you stop making stupid remarks in an attempt to put me down, and stop trying to start arguments that should have died with my father.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “When I win, you’ll turn full control of the duelling club over to me and remove yourself from it,” he demanded. “Tomorrow, the Great Hall before dinner. We’ll give the students a welcome back show.”
Harry inclined his head. “As you wish.”
Minerva looked between them and then shook her head. She really had been hoping that the two of them would be able to get over their past differences to attain, at the very least, a working relationship.
Clearly she had been hoping for far too much.
…
Following the sorting, Harry and Snape were both sent off to separate anti-chambers, while the Great Hall was prepared for the duel. The tables were replaced with stands around the edges for the students to sit and watch, and a stage was erected in the middle with the standard duelling barrier around it.
Professor Flitwick, as a former duelling champion in his own right, would be refereeing the duel.
Harry straightened out his robes and stood up as he heard their names being called. He wore silver and green, the very same robes he’d worn for the Championship final. They’d cost him a small fortune, but he truly couldn’t ask for better duelling robes.
Woven from Acromantula silk, with a cloak bathed in the venom of the same creature, they were perfectly fitted to every single inch of his body. The cloak was a masterpiece of distraction, one even the most experienced duellers could fall foul against.
He walked into the Great Hall with his back straight and his head held high, and climbed the steps to the platform. Professor Flitwick had placed a floating charm on himself—a charm similar to Wingardium Leviosa, except it required a counter charm for the object to fall after being levitated—to give him a proper view of the platform.
Snape joined them a few seconds later, wearing his usual black, though the colour was the only similarity to his usual robes. These ones were form fitting, as Harry’s were, and he too had a cloak draped over his shoulder, though it looked a little thicker than Harry’s own.
“Gentlemen, you will be duelling by the standard guidelines,” Flitwick announced, his voice magically echoing around the Hall. “No banned spells, no animals, and nothing to permanently incapacitate your opponent. The first to lose his wand to the other, or be unable to continue, will be the loser. Bow.”
Both men swept into the traditional bow, and then raised their wands, each falling into a defensive stance as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Duel.”
“Aguamenti,” Harry muttered, before Flitwick had even finished speaking. He followed it up quickly with a freezing spell.
Snape, who’d sent a volley of stunners Harry’s way—all of which were easily avoidable—found himself on thin ice; literally.
Harry took the opportunity to volley concussion hexes and stunners at his opponent.
One concussion hex hit its mark, and just after dispelling the ice, Snape looked around the hall with heavy, confused eyes. He shook it off quickly, but Harry’s offence continued.
Conjuring a mass of small rocks, he banished them at Snape, and then cast a charm to make the floor heat up, ducking under a stunner aimed his way. He sent three back in turn, twisting into another volley of concussion hexes, and then a disarming charm.
He wasn’t expecting to hit Snape this early on, of course, the man was an excellent duellist, but the more he tired Snape out now, the better for him later.
Snape had managed to duck under the spells and cooled the floor. Silently, Snape sent a Diffindo at Harry, who narrowed his eyes as he blocked the spell. So, Snape was aiming for embarrassment instead of just wanting to beat him?
“Flipendo, Immobulus, Ferula,” he muttered, sending the spells so fast one after the other that there was no way for Snape to defend against them all. He found himself on his back, unable to move, and wrapped in bandages.
“Expelliarmus,” Harry said again, and this time, Snape’s wand flew into his free hand.
“Professor Potter wins,” Flitwick declared, setting himself down on the platform. Harry released the spells on Snape, and then placed his wand in the middle of the platform as per tradition.
He bowed again, to both Snape and Flitwick, and then walked off the platform to applause, taking his seat at the staff table. Unfortunately, it was the seat beside Snape, and no amount of complaining to Minerva had made her change the seating arrangements before the feast.
Harry really didn’t want to have to deal with the surly man who’d just lost a duel to someone he didn’t think was worth his time.
Indeed, when Snape sat down, his face was like a volcano threatening to erupt. Harry tried to focus on the chatter in the Hall as the furniture returned to its usual state and the students took their seats.
Snape, it seemed, couldn’t hold his anger long enough for even the food to arrive.
“Did it feel good to embarrass me like that, Potter? Just like your sodding father. If that’s how you won the Championship, it’s a farce,” he muttered quietly, though the venom was practically leaking from each word.
“Who was the one to cast Diffindo at the other’s crotch, Snape? I don’t think that it was me who was aiming for embarrassment, do you? As for being like my father, I’ll never know. I don’t remember him. I’m not him. Nor am I my mother, no matter how much my eyes may resemble hers. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you to hold up your end of the bargain,” Harry returned in a heated whisper, keeping his eyes on the students to make sure that they didn’t notice anything amiss. “And as for how I won the Championship, I won through a lot of hard work, and a painfully hard duel.”
…
After the welcoming feast, Harry did his best to avoid Snape. He had no wish to argue with the man; in all honesty, he had no wish to interact with him at all. He rarely attended evening meals, preferring instead to go home and eat with whichever of his flatmates were home on any given night.
As Halloween grew closer, and with it, the opening of the duelling club, Minerva called Harry up to her office after his last class was let out. When he arrived, he found Snape already sitting in front of the desk, his face like thunder.
Harry took the last remaining seat, greeting both the Headmistress and Albus’ portrait as he did so. He ignored Snape’s presence entirely.
“I invited you both here to see if we can come to some sort of agreement about the duelling club. If the two of you can not be civil to one another, Harry will have to run the club alone. I’ll not have the pair of you sniping and snapping at each other in front of the students.”
“I have no problem assisting Potter, if he requires it,” Snape replied, succinctly.
“I appreciate the help,” Harry replied, quietly. “I’ll pass along my notes for you to look over the spells I intended to start them off with.”
Minerva looked between them suspiciously. “That was disturbingly easy. But, as long as this accord continues, then I shall allow it. I’m being very serious, gentlemen. No arguing in front of the students.”
Harry left the office a few minutes later to collect his notes before dinner. He too was surprised by Snape’s almost amiable attitude, but he was also sceptical that it would last very long.
Snape was already there when he arrived at dinner, so he handed the notes over without a word, and turned to speak to Pomona, who was sitting on his other side, about Neville’s latest plant antics.
Towards the end of dinner, Snape cleared his throat to get Harry’s attention.
“These are surprisingly well thought out,” he admitted, sounding mildly pained when Harry looked his way. “Although I’m unsure of the reasoning for the Gemino spell with the upper years. It’s a hard spell to master, and I have never seen it used in a duel.”
Harry sighed. “I’ve used it before in a duel. I can show you before the first lesson, if you’d like. Or, this evening after your rounds, if you’re unbearably curious.”
“I would be amenable to a preview this evening, if you’re planning to be in the castle.”
Nodding, Harry replied. “I’m staying this evening, I’ve got grading to do, so I’ll be in my office. I don’t take credit for the move, mind you. Professor Golding, my duelling teacher at Merlin, taught it to me. I was as confused about its use as you are at first.”
…
True to his word, Harry was still in his office at ten past eleven when a soft knock sounded, and the door was pushed open to reveal Snape. He stepped inside silently and was surprisingly patient as Harry finished writing the remark he was scratching across one of the essays in red ink.
“Can I get you a drink?” Harry offered, politely, nodding to the cabinet in the corner. It was mostly filled with snacks—he liked to munch while he was grading—but he had elf made wine and firewhiskey for the days when the essays were especially atrocious.
“Please.” Snape sat down in the chair on the other side of Harry’s desk while Harry got two wine glasses and filled them half way, placing them on the desk when he returned to his seat.
He straightened out the parchments in front of him, and then picked up his wand. Pointing it at himself, he murmured, “Gemino.”
Another Harry appeared next to him. The real Harry waved his wand and cast the levitating charm on a quill on his desk, and the replica of him did the same thing.
Cancelling the spell, Harry looked at Snape. “Imagine you’re on a duelling platform and suddenly, there are two opponents, both of them casting a volley of Stunning spells at you. Which do you block?”
Snape nodded, and Harry could see that he was impressed, even if he was trying to hide it.
“You must need immense power to pull such a move off, though?”
Harry twisted his lips. “In part, I suppose, but it can work for anyone who has moderate power levels as well. Because I am powerful, the spells my copy casts are real, whereas, if someone with moderate power did the same move, it would just be a pretty light show. Even then, it would be distracting and confusing if you didn’t know which spells to avoid.”
“I see. Well, you are correct, it’s a clever move.”
Harry nodded and they fell into a somewhat awkward silence. He still wasn’t sure why Snape had suddenly changed his entire demeanor where Harry was concerned, and it was making him nervous. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Something must have shown on his face—that, or Snape still knew him frighteningly well—because the older man sighed.
“I wanted to apologise,” he said, stiffly, looking anywhere but at Harry. “At the welcoming feast, what you said was correct; I was aiming to embarrass you. I don’t blame you for attacking back in the way you did, and in all honesty, I should have expected much worse in retaliation.”
Harry bit his bottom lip. Since their duel, he’d had visions of spells that he could have used on Snape, and had taken great pleasure in imagining the results of some of them.
Snape continued. “There’s no real excuse for the way that I’ve been treating you since you returned to Hogwarts, other than that it is a habit that I’ve found difficult to break. I was wrong to assume that you had come back the same boy you were during your years here. My Slytherins have all been telling me how fair you are in class, and how much they’re enjoying your lessons.”
Harry was silent for a moment, digesting the words. He was glad, first and foremost, that the students were enjoying his classes. He’d been a little worried that some of the Slytherin’s would be bored as he’d started them all from scratch, particularly the younger years.
“Thank you for the apology, and the explanation,” he said, eventually. “I’m glad the students are happy. I swore to Blaise and Draco that I would be fair to the Slytherin’s, but I would have been anyway. Maybe we could… start fresh. As professors.”
“I’d like that. Professor Potter.”
Harry smiled slightly. “You can call me Harry, if you want.”
“Harry, then. You may call me Severus, if you’ve a mind.”
Nodding his head, Harry picked up his wine glass and then glanced down at the essays he’d spent most of his evening grading. “Tell me something. Were we this stupid when it came to essays?”
Severus snorted. “I’d say that there’s been some improvement since your year graduated.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course you would.”
…
Halloween arrived, and Harry stood up to announce the duelling club at Minerva’s insistence. A week prior, he’d had the elves put up flyers on the house bulletin boards, and he’d heard the kids talking about it in the halls between classes.
When he stood, the Hall quietened down as the students stopped talking to listen to their new favourite teacher.
“You’ve all seen the flyers—and if you haven’t, you should probably pay more attention to the notice boards in your houses. You know that myself and Professor Nsape are starting a duelling club. I’m going to tell you the rules, and make you aware that if you don’t follow them, you may be told to leave the club.”
He glanced around at them. “Rule number one, and the most important rule of all. There will be no bullying, arguing, or fighting. It will lead to immediate dismissal, and there will be no option for you to return. Rule number two; you will follow any safety instructions in place, and you will absolutely not use the spells we are teaching you outside of the club unless you are in the appropriate situation. And rule number three; you will maintain steady grades of Exceeds Expectations or above across all of your classes. If you drop below an EE average, you won’t be allowed to attend the club until your grades are back up.”
Harry could see a few of the students fidgeting in their seats, and he knew that there would be some unhappy with the grade requirement, but he knew that it was necessary. Not only would it keep the numbers of eligible students manageable, but he didn’t want to take the focus off anyone’s lessons.
“I’ll also be running a fitness class on Sunday mornings. You may not think you need it, but trust me, you absolutely will. The class is not mandatory, but it is recommended.”
He glanced at Severus, who simply arched an eyebrow at him.
Finishing up his speech, Harry said, “We will not tolerate people being idiots, or behaving in a way that they know is unacceptable. This is your first and only warning. I don’t want to ban anyone, but I will if I’m forced. The first class is this coming Monday, for students in third, fourth and fifth year. Wednesday will be the first class for those of you in your sixth or seventh year. If any of you plan to attend Merlin University and join the duelling team there, this will help you.”
Harry sat down to applause and shook his head at Severus when he snorted quietly. “You cleaned the speech up, I see.”
“I could hardly take your suggestion of ‘if you’re an imbecile, we’ll see you out on your arse faster than a firebolt flies’, could I?”
“I don’t see why not.”
The noise levels in the Hall rose quickly as the students talked excitedly amongst themselves.
“How many complaints should I expect on Monday about the grade requirement?” Harry asked Severus, who chuckled quietly.
“You’ll undoubtedly be inundated with ‘it’s not my fault I can’t get more than an A’. Stand firm, Potter. If you let some of these students in, you’ll spend more time in the Hospital Wing than you will teaching.”
Harry laughed. “Duly noted.”
Tucking into his food, Harry considered the turn in the relationship he shared with the sarcastic Potions Master. He wasn’t sure that he would call them friends, but they were getting along much better, and had even shared a couple of evenings as they talked about the club, and the schedule they would be working on.
Harry tried his best to keep it professional. Back when he’d been in his seventh year, he’d entertained the notion of a crush on Snape, despite hating him at the same time.
It had been a non-starter, of course, but this new Severus, the one who spoke to Harry like he was a normal person instead of something unpleasant found on the bottom of a used cauldron, was bringing those feelings back.
Harry was doing his best to stamp them out before they could turn into anything else, but he was unable to control everything. Waking up at three in the morning with wet underwear and fading images of the Potions Master leaning over him was frustrating the life out of him.
Severus seemed to have picked up on Harry’s frustration, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to think it was anything to do with him. Unfortunately, with their new, better working relationship, it didn’t stop Severus from asking him what was wrong.
…
It was Saturday evening, the night after the Halloween feast, and they were in Harry’s quarters, finalising the plans for the first two lessons, when he asked, “I understand if it’s none of my business, but what has put you in such a bad mood, Harry?”
Harry blinked at him and then shook his head. “I just haven’t been sleeping well is all. It happens.”
“Something on your mind?”
Wrinkling his nose, Harry shook his head and then sighed. “Sort of, I guess. I, uh. I feel weird talking to you about this. I just… I guess feelings that I thought I’d managed to get rid of are still there, and I hadn’t realised. I’ll figure it out.”
“Ah.” Severus glanced at him. “Draco told me that he’s dating somebody new. I assume that’s who you’re referring to?”
Harry couldn’t help himself, he chuckled. “Not Draco,” he confirmed, running a hand through his hair. “Nor is it Blaise, Neville or Anthony. I should have said anything, I’m just being silly. I think I’m going to try and catch up on some much needed sleep this weekend.”
Severus nodded and then stood up. “I should go. Are you planning on going home this weekend?”
“Probably not,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “I think I’m going to stay here this weekend. I’ll be around when I’m not sleeping.”
He followed Severus to the door. Severus stepped out, but then turned to look at Harry over his shoulder. “Whoever it is that you have these ‘feelings’ for? You should tell them. I’m the best example of what can happen to someone when they hide things like that. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Harry stared at him for a long moment, and then murmured, “You could tell me to bugger off.”
He closed the door and then warded it for good measure before he leant back against it. Running his hands through his hair, he cursed himself. What the hell had he been thinking, saying that?
There was a knock on his door, and he could hear Severus calling his name. Harry shook his head. He was such a sodding idiot. Pushing himself off the door, he paused at his kitchenette freezer, and then stepped through the floo, falling out the other side at the house.
Draco was sitting alone on the sofa, watching a movie on the TV, and he raised his eyebrow at the tub of ice cream clutched in Harry’s hands.
“That bad?” he asked, wordlessly summoning two spoons from the kitchen.
Harry slumped down beside him and accepted one of the spoons when they’d shot into Draco’s palm.
“That bad,” he confirmed, shaking his head. “I’m an idiot.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. What happened?”
…
Harry didn’t return to Hogwarts until Monday morning, just in time for his first class. He returned to his rooms at meal times, and then spent the hour of dinner steeling himself to deal with the blow up that was sure to come from Severus.
He was ashamed of himself, and he wouldn’t be at all surprised if Severus was back to the antagonistic way he’d been behaving when Harry had first returned to the school.
Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed the door open to the Great Hall, where the club would take place, and began to set up. The tables had already been moved, but Harry wanted to make sure that the main platform’s wards were placed properly. He also spent a long time conjuring cushions for the students to sit on.
Tonight, there would be a demonstration, followed by a mostly verbal lesson on the intricacies of duelling when done as a sport.
About fifteen minutes before the club was due to start, Severus strode into the Hall and made a beeline straight for Harry.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his tone flat and his expression entirely devoid of emotion.
“I have,” Harry agreed, because what else could he say? Denying it wouldn’t change the fact that he had very obviously been avoiding Severus.
“Why?”
Harry arched his eyebrow, pausing in arranging the cushions. “You really have to ask me that? After what I said? Honestly, I’m surprised you’re even talking to me. I half expected you to lead with a hex.”
Severus rolled his eyes. “When I said that you should tell the person how you felt, I didn’t actually mean, ‘make a vague comment and then run away’.” He shook his head. “How is the person supposed to respond when you’re nowhere to be found?” It wasn’t lost on Harry that Severus was advancing on him as he spoke, and he swallowed hard. “I never took you for a coward, Harry. Are you going to prove me wrong?”
Straightening his back, and feeling a little bit like a gauntlet had just been thrown, Harry asked, “What is it that you want from me?”
“I want you to be a man and tell me how you feel, without running away,” Severus replied, a glint in his steely eyes.
The doors opened as the students started streaming in. Harry bit his lip and said, “Later. Now really isn’t the time for this.”
Severus pursed his lips, but nodded his consent, and they stepped apart to watch as the students all found a place on the cushions. Harry was distracted the entire time, wondering about what would happen after the students had all been hustled off back to their common rooms.
He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance that his feelings weren’t as unreciprocated as he’d feared. If they were, would Severus really be so cruel to press him about it and then reject him later?
He ran through the demonstration with Severus on autopilot, and then sat, legs dangling slightly, on the edge of the platform, to explain why they’d done certain things in a certain way, and why traditions had to be adhered to.
The students seemed engaged, though he could tell that some of them were a little disappointed that they hadn’t jumped straight into learning new magic.
When the lesson was over, Severus helped Harry to put the Hall back to its rightful state, and then followed him back to his quarters, dogging his footsteps in a way that told Harry he wasn’t going to allow him to disappear and hide again.
Harry gestured Severus to the sofa and stopped to pour them each a glass of wine. He really would have preferred a firewhiskey, but he had to patrol in just a little while, and it probably wasn’t a good idea.
It was warm in the quarters, the elves had lit the fire for him to battle against the frigid autumn temperatures, and he stripped off his robe before he sat down on the edge of the sofa.
When it became clear that Severus wasn’t going to start the conversation, Harry, fidgeting with the glass in his hands, forced himself to speak.
“I know you heard what I said,” he said, his voice soft. “So I know that you know how I feel. Why are we here, Severus?”
Severus turned his own glass in his fingers slowly. “Do you know why I was so angry with you, when you returned to the school?”
Harry frowned. “You said that it was a habit.”
“I lied,” Severus admitted. “When Minerva told me that you were returning, I… I won’t pretend that I was relishing the idea, but I wasn’t angry about it. I thought that was, perhaps, a small chance that we could get past the wrongs of your school years and at least enjoy a working relationship.” He shook his head. “And then I saw you. You were so at ease, so comfortable, and so bloody gorgeous, and I lost my head. I think that I was expecting you to be the same, awkward, uncomfortable kid you were when you left here. Rather foolish, I know.”
Harry opened his mouth, but Severus wasn’t finished.
“You were so confident, and you shot me down logically, and rather politely at that, and it set me on edge. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to hex the smile off your face or kiss it off, and I’ve been fighting that very same battle ever since.”
Harry was staring at him, wide eyed and probably looking quite vacant, but he couldn’t quite accept that Severus had just admitted that he wanted to kiss him. Of all the things he could have expected, that, somehow, hadn’t been one of them.
“Come on, Potter, don’t turn back into the imbecile I just described.”
“I, uh. Sorry. You… surprised me, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting… any of that.” Harry shook his head. “When I closed the door after admitting that… well, the reason I avoided you after was because I didn’t think there was any way on earth that you could possibly feel anything remotely similar, and now… well. Like I said, you surprised me.”
Severus softened. “Harry, I—”
“Have we not done enough talking for now?” Harry asked, suddenly desperate for the kiss he hadn’t known Severus wanted. “Can we just—”
They seemed to be on the same page, because Severus interrupted him by pressing their lips together in a firm, but chaste, kiss. Harry returned it immediately, shifting closer on the sofa as his hand twisted in Severus’ robes.
The kiss deepened, and Harry sunk into the feeling as he opened his lips to allow Severus entrance, their tongues dancing together sensuously as they explored this new allowance.
Harry hadn’t been expecting it, but he’d take it. He’d take whatever Severus was willing to offer and consider it a bonus that he’d never believed he would be granted.
When they parted, Harry smiled up at him. “I really wish I didn’t have patrols tonight.”
Severus chuckled. “I could be persuaded to do them with you.”
…
Later that night, Harry lay in bed, warm in Severus’ arms, and absently considered that he was the comfiest he’d ever been. It was odd, really, because he’d never particularly enjoyed sharing a bed before, not even with past partners, but with Severus, it felt… natural.
Right.
He knew that they would need to talk more, to figure out exactly what was between them, and if it was something that they could work on, if it was something that they both wanted to continue.
He thought that the odds were pretty good.
Beside him, Severus shifted slightly, turning more onto his side, and he pressed his lips to Harry’s temple as he did.
Harry smiled. They would argue, undoubtedly, and likely quite spectacularly too. But then, he thought that the make up sex would be just as spectacular, and he was quite looking forward to finding out.
As Harry drifted off to sleep, he was lulled into dreams by thoughts of nights by the fire, and foraging through the Forbidden Forest for potions ingredients. By shared meals and gentle kisses. By the thought that maybe, just maybe, they could make one another happy in ways that others had failed.
Either way, his dreams were as happy as he hoped the future could be, and he was looking forward to finding out just how well it matched up.