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The nib of Ron's quill broke with a snick just two words into his hasty reply to Hermione's interdepartmental memo. He leapt up. "Bollocks!" A huge blotch seeped through the page, as dark as his mood had been all day.
Snatching up his wand, Ron cast a cleaning charm on the spot beneath the parchment. Couldn't Hermione spare a minute to step across the corridor and ask him in person? It was a work-related inquiry for her bloody boyfriend—it only made sense to seize the excuse.
The icing on this grey-skied Tuesday morning was that the charmed teapot in the break corner refused to heat the water anything past tepid. He ended up casting a Hot Up Hex on his mug, scalding his fingertips for his trouble.
The tea wasn't the only thing simmering. Every little thing pressed Ron's nerves these days. That pot was lucky to survive its run-in with him.
Ron checked the clock: 11:15. Sigh. Many of the other Juniors, including Harry and Neville, would be breaking for lunch—but…
Ron rifled through the case files until he caught sight of the perfect one: an incident regarding a cursed button laced with compulsion magic.
Rolling it into a tighter scroll, Ron grabbed his tea with his other hand and headed down the corridor at a brisk pace.
His mood was lifting as he rapped his knuckles against a rooibos-red varnished door, parchment roll still crumpled in his hand.
"You may enter," intoned a familiar voice. A voice that had once echoed in cold dungeon classrooms, but now stirred warmth into Ron's mood.
The door creaked open, and Ron shouldered inside, raising his tea in greeting. "Ah, I should have thought to bring you one." Ron frowned at his mug, feeling like a selfish bugger. What would Mum say?
Severus Snape was bent over some tome on his otherwise empty mahogany desk. He'd replaced the charmed, fake windows with austere, functional glass lamps. Their light seeped across the wood-panelled room, which was lined with identical shelves packed with Dark Arts related texts.
"It's fine." Snape snapped the book closed and stood to greet Ron, waving him towards two brown-leather armchairs. "What have you brought for me today?" Snape's unconcerned tone wasn't cold as it once was.
They sat opposite each other in the armchairs. Ron settled his tea down on the side table and brandished the parchment he'd brought. "I think it's your standard compulsion curse, but I thought it a safe bet to get your expert opinion."
Snape crossed his legs, folding his hands across one knee. "I'm sure you've enough insight of your own. Walk me through your thoughts on the matter."
Snape wanting to hear his opinion felt like a sweet treat. It was a feeling Ron didn't want to examine too closely. Ron had got used to the fact that Snape no longer seemed hell-bent on ripping him a new one. Maybe he was less stressed now that he didn't have to herd children like cats. A lot had changed: Order of Merlin, vindicated war hero, the whole lot. Snape was no longer struggling under work he hated, pressure to survive or dangerous missions. The snarl had been smoothed away, and it did wonders for him.
Where once Snape might have viciously dismantled all of Ron's theories, he now asked deliberate, insightful questions. It was as if he were walking through the problem alongside Ron, instead of tugging at his leash in an attempt to hurry him to some conclusion.
That was more Hermione's style.
Ron's mind drifted from the Case of the Cursed Button, but they'd made good headway on it anyway.
"Does this bring you to a satisfactory point?" Snape asked after they'd spent about fifteen minutes laying out possible risks and approaches.
Ron beamed at him. "Definitely. It would have taken me hours to get to this strategy alone. Thanks, Snape."
"It's what they pay me for."
Ron eyed the clock. Damn, too early for Snape's usual lunch... he should have cut it even closer arriving to discuss the case.
"Are you meeting Ms Granger soon?" Snape asked when he noticed Ron staring at the time.
Ron shrugged. "Not likely. She's been all in a tizzy about an international conference her department is hosting next week."
Why did he feel so wilted even at the reminder of his girlfriend?
"Might you have time to start a new game, then?"
Though he was rarely willing to leave the office for lunch before one, Snape would play chess with Ron for short periods, even during working hours. The possibility of getting into a game perked Ron up. The chance to shove away the drudgery of his job and the unease of evenings with Hermione was extremely appealing.
"Brilliant, I'm up for that."
Snape summoned his chess set from a shelf. Waving his wand, he expanded the tiny side table. It grew taller and wider and the wizarding chess set unfolded, the carved pieces marching out to take their places. Since Snape and Ron alternated who played which, the figures already assumed Ron would play black today and Snape white.
"Of course, we'll likely have to adjourn and pick it up again another day," Snape added.
"I'm sure I'll have a few minutes tomorrow. Us Juniors have been dead bored lately."
A smile tweaked Snape's lips. It was an expression that Ron might have disdainfully labelled a 'smirk' even just a year ago, but he could catch the warmth in it now.
They barely exchanged a word as they played, yet each move they made was a response in a silent conversation. When Snape unexpectedly sacrificed his bishop, there was a question in it: are you paying attention? Ron answered by declining the sacrifice and on his next move tucked his king away, letting the tension sit. Snape's knight hovered. Ron let it, and when Snape castled kingside, something shifted in his sharp expression. Snape settled into a ruthlessness in the subsequent moves, and to Ron, the vicious onslaught sounded like You seem to know what you're doing, meet this blow.
The unspoken vote of confidence fucking filled him.
The clock chimed noon far too soon, and Ron heaved a sigh of disappointment. Snape was adamant about the timing of his lunches—he was especially fond of the fresh-baked croissants from the nearby Muggle bakery.
Godric, Ron wanted to go with him. Snape had invited him once or twice, but it wasn't something Ron wanted to insist on.
"If you don't mind bread and soup, you are welcome to join me."
Ron flushed. Was his eagerness that obvious?
They walked in comfortable silence down the street, then took seats inside the bakery, a cosy corner near the steamed-up windows. Ron was strangely relieved that Snape didn't make a single comment about Ron's choice of two enormous beef sandwiches with creamy potato soup. Unlike Hermione, Snape didn't seem to be counting calories; he chose a croissant with butter to go with his own soup, and two more in a paper bag to take back with him.
Snape had strong opinions about Ron's department, of course. Listening to the evidence of botched cases in the last decade, Ron had to admit Snape wasn't wrong about any of it. Knowing how keen Snape was to help iron things out, the sharp words that used to cut now had Ron grinning. The soup was good, the air was sharp, and the conversation was easy. Somehow the whole hour vanished faster than his morning tea.
They split the bill without fuss, and there was an ease in that. The way Snape folded the receipt and tucked it into a pocket like it was precious must have been Ron's imagination. On their way back, Ron was full to the brim with food and good feeling. Yet the joy only led to him dragging his feet, wishing their break was two or three hours longer.
Snape nodded towards his own office. "I do believe you abandoned your tea mug on my side table."
Unsure if Snape was irritated beneath his smooth tone, Ron reddened and waved a hand. "Ah, right, let me just grab that."
They returned to Snape's orderly study, and Snape took up the cup and handed it to Ron. The ceramic was cool and Snape's fingertips hot. Ron snatched his hand away. "Thanks, then. See you later!"
Ron retreated to the Junior Auror office, his head swirling with some stupid mix of happiness for the time spent with Snape and embarrassment for his awkwardness.
The stress of the morning seeped back into Ron as the clock edged towards the end of the day. Another interdepartmental memo zoomed in, poking him in the forehead before landing on his desk.
Hermione was coming to his flat that night, but her neatly written note explained she'd be over later than expected. This meant she wouldn't be able to cook dinner as she'd planned, and would get takeaway. That was fine for Ron—good food was good food. Yet he couldn't pinpoint why the thought of spending the evening with her left him feeling so lukewarm.
Something had been off between them for months, souring drop by drop. Things weren't perfect, but Ron had hoped that the excitement of the upcoming Christmas holidays with the family might brighten them both. Shake them out of their tepid routine to have them sharing hot drinks around the Burrow's kitchen table, Mum fussing over them like she had since the summer Hermione first came to visit.
They were only twenty-one... they just needed a little more time to settle.
***
Three and a half hours later, Ron's first real relationship was shattered like some mug he'd knocked off the kitchen table in his carelessness.
Freezing rain sluiced down upon him as Ron clutched his cloak and strode from the outdoor Apparition points to the lavatory entrances of the Ministry. His heart felt as cold as his fingers, but strangely... weightless.
Hermione had dumped him. Just tugged him onto the sofa the second he'd walked through the door and announced it. At least she'd had the decency to have tears running down her cheeks.
Ron fumbled with his wand to cast a drying spell so that he wasn't leaking all over the Atrium floors. A guard wizard nodded at him as he passed, and with a reflexive smile, Ron hurried past him to the lifts.
"I've been fitting myself around you... there's so much I've just given up on sharing with you, because we just don't have the same interests—you never seem to care. I've finally come to accept that neither of us will change."
Hermione had said the last words with such defeat that Ron realised how much hope she'd pinned on that impossible possibility. Ron stared at the Chinese takeaway she'd bought. The white containers stayed stacked in the plastic bag, the scent oily in his nose, his appetite gone. By the time he was pulling on his shoes again, he hadn't even had a bite.
His chest was hollow and numb. Ron wasn't sure what drew him into the streets, heading back to the office. Being soaked frozen by the downpour mirrored his emotions, and it brought him some twisted, meagre comfort.
Merlin, he felt as empty as these corridors. The lights were dimmed, everything chill now that the heating charms had worn off and most bodies had left for the evening. It was nearly nine.
Ron's chest was tight as he clung to the hope that at least one person was still here, working overtime like he had a witch and three little mouths to feed.
Was there a witch?
Ron pushed the thought aside as he tapped out five rapid-fire knocks on the man's office door.
There was a pause before Snape replied, more cautiously than usual. "Yes?" He clearly was not accustomed to being bothered after hours. It was probably the time he worked best, buried in his most complex tasks, without idiot Aurors bothering him every ten minutes.
Ron shouldn't have come. He took a step away from the door, hesitating.
When Snape opened it, he found Ron standing with his shoulders hunched and eyes on his boots.
"Ronald," Snape said, surprise lacing his voice.
Ronald? Snape had never used his first name. Well, no one called Ron 'Ronald' except for his irate mother, but still.
Ron cleared his throat, unable to meet Snape's eyes as he muttered, "I... could use some tea, or something."
Snape snorted. "Try not to mumble so. But come in."
As Ron entered Snape's office, the fire-warmed familiar place drew him out of his cold haze, just a degree warmer.
Snape had been in the middle of something. Several tables that were not normally in the room were covered in books, implements and vials. Yet Snape turned his back on these and grasped Ron by the elbow, pulling him into his usual seat near the bookshelf.
Ron sank into the comforting chair. He abruptly wondered if Snape could tell how he felt, see it in his eyes—but no, Ron hadn't shed a single tear; there would be no redness there.
"What's happened?" Something about Snape's intense but soft voice made Ron's chest clench.
"Uh..." As Ron opened his mouth to speak, he felt stinging tears clinging to his lashes. The unexpected swell of emotion pressed a lump of grief into his throat. Ron huddled over, dropped his face into his hands and pursed his lips into a determined line, trying not to sob aloud.
There was a humiliating pause in which Snape did not react and Ron held back all he could, but the tears kept coming through the cracks and his palms became sticky with snot.
Snape cleared his throat and tapped Ron's shoulder. "Some water, and a flannel." The clink of a glass on the wood of the side table made Ron look over.
Grateful to have something to do other than fall apart, he kept his head stooped and his face turned away from Snape as he took a huge gulp of water and then unfolded the white cotton. It was spelled warm, and the damp humidness of it soothed the saline burn on his cheeks.
Ron heaved a ragged breath, resetting himself. He owed Snape an explanation of why he was here, but for a long minute he couldn't overcome the thickness in his throat. Snape had sat again, and Ron stared at his knees as he breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, until words became possible.
"Hermione's left me. I mean, we're..." Ron tilted his face up to the ornately carved ceiling and pushed the last word out. "...finished."
There was a considering silence, and then Snape put in, "It seems rather improper of Ms Granger to broach this topic while you are both at your place of work. Late on a weekday, no less."
Surprised by the assumption, Ron blinked his damp eyelashes at Snape. "What?"
"Were you not working late as well?"
Ron's numb mind trailed along, feeling out Snape's reasoning. His nose wrinkled when he caught up to it. Why else would he have sought Snape out, if not for the convenience of being in the same building?
Why the bloody hell had Ron come to Snape, and not Harry or his brothers? Ron could picture Harry's face when he heard the news about their breakup... The thought squeezed his chest painfully.
Warmth flushed Ron's cheeks. "I wasn't working late. I just... came back."
Snape looked pensive for a moment. Then he summoned a pot and two delicate teacups. "I see."
As Snape prepared two cups, Ron's eyes drifted to their half-played chess game, shrunk and sitting in wait on a shelf nearby. Staring at the shapes of black and white, he focused on his breathing. Despite the dull heavy shroud on his senses, he was determined not to embarrass himself any more than he already had.
When Snape pushed the cup into Ron's hand, Ron couldn't help but notice the linger of his calloused fingertips. Again.
Snape leant back in his chair, the silence stretching until Ron finally glanced up.
***
His most productive time of the day had been interrupted, and yet the fact that he so easily pushed it aside for the sake of Ron surprised even Severus. True, he didn't have any deadlines to meet, but he usually found himself working late—a habit he'd had his whole life, starting when both Dumbledore and Voldemort had demanded impossible things of him. Instead, he was here sitting across from Ronald Weasley, who was huddled in on himself, face blotchy behind his freckles.
Severus had no idea why he had come to him. What could the boy possibly want of him? Yet the fact that he presumably did think Severus was capable of helping him had a fortifying effect, like a dram of fine whisky in a strong hot toddy.
Severus crossed and uncrossed his legs. Regardless of whether they were his own or not, handling emotions was not his forte. Of course, Severus could rein them in, hold them still, but he knew his Occlumency was a mere delay tactic.
"Ronald... If you wish to explain… whatever it was that happened... I have ears." As inarticulate and inane as a first-year Gryffindor. What was this man doing to him?
With a grimace at himself, Severus took a mouthful of tea without tasting it and waited.
Ron was picking at the edge of the leather armchair. Severus would have to Reparo that later. Once again, his own lack of annoyance struck Severus as exceptional. All this time with work that he actually enjoyed was indeed having an effect on him…
Ron slumped forward. "She basically said we're not compatible, I suppose. That we're interested in different things, and she thinks I..." His breath hitched. "I won't ever change." Ron's grip on his teacup tightened and he glowered into it. "That's what pisses me off. Why the bloody hell did she expect me to change? Wasn't I..." With a shake of his head, Ron trailed off, gnawing on his lower lip.
A chill seeped into Severus. He knew this particular kind of pain—it wafted along with him wherever he went these past two decades.
What was I lacking, Lily, that you couldn't love me?
Severus rarely allowed the sentiment to take form as a sentence in his mind, and the way it coalesced of its own volition had a sour bile rising in the back of his throat.
Ron set the half-empty teacup aside and rubbed the back of his neck. "Hermione wasn't unkind about it when she laid it all out for me. I think that was almost worse."
Severus scoffed and Ron glowered at him. Setting his cup down with a clatter, Severus said, "Try a little gratitude when you stumble upon the chance for it. I assure you, cruel rejection comes with no purifying pain, or whatever you are imagining."
The finality of Lily cutting him off had been cruel. Yet by 1981 Severus understood that unkindness was often necessary. His harsh slur to her had been born of hurt, used only for spite, but her response… Lily really had wanted him to walk away from the path he'd been headed down. If only he'd chased her not only to beg, but to repent and truly follow her.
Lily had had it right. Everything had twisted upon Severus, it had all... Severus's throat closed up thickly.
Severus eyed Ron, aching with sympathy at the sight of the shaggy red head of hair hung low, the broad shoulders slumped.
Two wars had passed, and the first young men and women he'd taught were nearing thirty. Here he was, alive after all the madness brought down by the Dark Lord he had so eagerly wanted to learn from. She had been right to distance herself from him—even though she fled, he had been her downfall.
It was a stubborn stain on his heart which Severus was well used to staring at, yet seeing Ron cast aside like this, a fresh pain rose within him.
Severus folded his hands, squeezing one with the other for a grounding jolt of pain. More quickly than he normally would, Severus said, "Regardless. It is unpleasant to be rejected, no matter if it is sugar-coated or not."
Ron clasped his hands before him, his whole posture still being dragged down, as though to lower himself as much as physically possible. Severus knew the appeal of lying on the floor when one felt low as dirt.
"Yeah. Well, anyway... Hermione wasn't wrong to go."
Severus thought about Miss Granger—full of ambition, with her hunger for justice and the intricate tides of history—and about this young man, more of action, someone who could throw himself into untangling practical problems with decisiveness, but who wasn't interested in more than a page of parchment at a time.
Dropping his voice, Severus conceded, "No, she wasn't wrong."
Lily, storming away toward the castle with her back to him, sunlight shining on her hair.
Ron seemed to slacken at this, some weight dissolved.
Severus stood abruptly and swept around the one and a half steps to rest his arse on the edge of the armchair, which now bore an open gash at the seam Ron had wheedled at. What in Merlin's name was Severus doing, practically looming over him?
Yet Ron's reaction was to soften, sink back into the chair and... lean his head against Severus's arm.
A thrumming urge to touch flooded Severus. It was a need he had long allowed to sink deep to the bottom of his awareness. That gift of comfort, and the pleasure of being able to comfort others, was both selfless and selfish, and something Severus had utterly denied himself.
Severus set his palm to Ron's hair, warm to the touch.
Ron made a confused, inquiring hum but didn't move from the contact.
In this unknown, liminal space of vulnerability, Severus looked down at him and Ron turned his up, black eyes meeting blue.
Like a spoon stirring cream into dark liquid, Severus caught the need swirling in Ron's eyes. A desire Severus himself desired. For once, he wished to claim something purely selfishly, with no justification beyond his own wanting.
Oh Salazar, he wanted Ronald Weasley.
Severus brought a steadying hand to the roughness of Ron's stubble, tilted his face up, and stooped to bring their lips together. The kiss was an offering of comfort, but also a selfish plea for companionship, an uncomfortable desire for Severus. His loneliness had festered, increasingly bitter as the year wore on, when the contrasting sweetness of Ron's presence made the ache all the more sharp.
Ron leant into it, somewhat taken aback if his fluttering lashes and awkward hands were any indication. Yet, enthusiastic. Severus's thin, sharp dagger of a mouth moved together with Ron's stubble-edged, full lips for several long seconds before they trailed off the gentle explorations and met each other's eyes again.
"Ah," Severus said, articulately.
"Um..." Ron agreed.
"I apologise." As his senses returned to him, the plain walls of the familiar office soaked back into Severus's awareness. Their place of work. "That was inappropriate."
Severus stood and made a half-step back, but Ron reached out, clutching his arm. The touch stilled Severus's retreat.
Ron scrubbed his face with his free hand and heaved a sigh. "Godric, this is stupid. It's my fault... I mean, it wasn't... unwelcome, but if I hadn't shown up in such a mess..."
Ron winced and then dropped his eyes, still stubbornly clinging to Severus. "I didn't mean to barge in on you, but you were the person I most wanted to see tonight. I suppose that means something, though I didn't really think, at the time. Fuck, I never think." Ron slid his hand away, crossing his arms over his chest and shrinking back into the armchair again.
The kiss hadn't been near adequate. Severus wished he could assure Ron that the loss of his first love would heal with time. Perhaps it would; perhaps it simply took half a century or more. Perhaps Severus was still young, after all.
Severus reached out and gave a firm squeeze to Ron's shoulder. Lily had done the same for him when Severus was upset.
"Stop being needlessly self-deprecating. You have quite the strategic mind, when it hasn't been driven to the brink by emotion."
Ron's shoulders slackened beneath Severus's grip, and he rubbed his forehead into Severus's arm again. Wasn't his Patronus some sort of canine?
A grumbling rumbled through the silence. Severus slid his hand away and stood up, breaking contact, and Ron glanced up sheepishly.
"I suppose Miss Granger didn't wait until you were properly fed before launching into that discussion."
Ron shook his head, a weak smile on his lips. "Sorry. Guess that's a sign I should get out of your way."
Neither of them moved—Severus standing there uselessly, Ron rooted to the armchair.
Severus summoned his outer robe from the rack. Ron was still in his half-damp one, as if he'd tried Exsicco without the will behind it. Severus cast the drying charm again, and then for good measure, Impervious against the rain. Ron blinked at him.
Sheathing his wand in his sleeve, Severus said, "There's a Muggle pub I often go to when I work late." Severus turned to the door and heard Ron rising and following.
"Oh?"
For Salazar's sake, why did Gryffindors always need to be spoon-fed?
"It would only make sense for you to have dinner there."
Severus opened the door and politely waved Ron to step through ahead of him. Ron gave him an assessing look.
"Dinner... with you?"
Severus thinned his lips. "No, I expect you to take a table as humanly far away from me as possible."
Ron smiled sweetly. Were his cheeks pink?
"Thanks, Sna—"
Severus slammed the door behind them, glowering.
Ron gave a puzzled frown.
Severus started down the corridor and Ron trotted along behind him, hesitation in his voice as he murmured, "Thanks for inviting me, Severus."
***
Still half-asleep with his eyes a little gummy, Ron wandered into Severus's tidy, minimalistic kitchen. He raked his bedhead with his fingers, trying to get it into some kind of order, then through a yawn, groped for a mug on the drying rack.
His mug, in fact. Just a stock overflow freebie from George, dark purple with WWW's logo. It had been almost a month since Ron had casually left it in Sev's kitchen. Five months since he had seen this kitchen, in the mellow light of their first morning after.
Ron got the morning tea brewing and paused to listen for any sounds of Severus stirring from the floor above. Severus was surprisingly not a morning person, and the peek into his hidden personal life warmed Ron's heart every time.
He wasn't going to start breakfast without Severus—taking over the kitchen to that extent would set Severus on edge, since he was particular about how things were done. But Ron thought he'd start on something. He spotted the bowl of fruit on the worktop. Some apple slices would be nice, and just enough effort that he might get a grateful smile out of Sev.
As he was rattling around drawers looking for a peeler (he never could get that delicate spell to work without losing half the apple flesh), Ron pulled one open to find it full of clipped stacks of tiny white paper.
Blinking, Ron held one up and realised they were receipts. Ron had noticed Severus squirrelling them neatly away any time they ate out, but he hadn't imagined he was actually doing this level of record-keeping. This one on top was from their dinner date on the weekend, actually.
Ron smiled fondly at the memory of enjoying their favourite curry again, even when they'd vowed they'd try something new.
"Snooping, are we?"
Ron snorted and waved the stack of receipts at Severus, who was leaning against the doorframe, apparently admiring the sight of Ron in his boxers.
"Being sentimental, are we?"
The mild little scowl that Ron knew meant Sev was embarrassed made an appearance. "It's just sensible bookkeeping." Severus adjusted his dressing gown tighter around his chest and headed for the teapot.
Ron was glad Severus turned away, because he knew he was sporting a goofy grin. Closing the drawer of receipts, Ron swooped in to hug Severus from behind, resting his scruffy chin on Severus's shoulder.
"Do you want some apple? I was going to slice some up."
"Why not." Severus more or less ignored Ron clinging onto him and poured his tea.
"Where's your peeler?"
"There's a fruit knife in the block."
Ron wasn't sure a knife would go any better than that spell. Severus must have read his doubt in the hesitant silence, as he shrugged. "You can be in charge of the toast."
That, he could do. Ron gave a quick kiss to Severus's neck and stepped away.
Severus filled Ron's purple mug. "But first, tea."
At the handoff, Ron lingered, letting his thumb stroke twice against Severus's before accepting the drink.
Severus leant against the kitchen counter, and Ron did the same on the edge of the table across from him. Gazing at each other over the rim of their mugs, Ron sank into the simple pleasure of a morning with Sev, the steam rising from their mugs as light as his mood.