Celandine's Chronicle (celandineb) wrote in cels_fic_haven, @ 2007-08-08 21:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | hp fic harry/severus |
HP fic: Fruitage [Harry/Severus, general]
Title: Fruitage
Author: celandineb
Fandom: HP
Pairing: Harry/Severus
Rating: general
Summary: Harry never expected to garden again.
Note: Teenyfic (326 words) written for jadzia7667, at the request of lesyeuxverts00, who suggested Snape/Harry, prompt "garden," and requested nothing angsty.
After all those summers during which Aunt Petunia made him trim the lawn, weed the flowerbeds, and mulch the roses until he thought he'd collapse, Harry would have guessed that he would never again voluntarily do anything in a garden.
He would have been wrong.
When he'd sold off Grimmauld Place and bought the little cottage in Kent – he'd thought about settling in Godric's Hollow, but in the end decided against it – he'd supposed that he would hire someone in the village to see to the minimum necessary to keep the grounds acceptable, but Severus had sniffed at the idea.
"If we have this space, I fully intend to make use of it to grow some of what I need for potion-brewing, and no Muggle is going to be permitted near those plants."
Fine. If Severus wanted to garden, Harry was more than willing to let him take over.
Neville supplied them with assorted obscure cuttings, and Severus puttered about with them, spending an hour or so most days outside and coming in with dirt under his nails. When he leaned down to brush Harry's temple with a swift kiss – after what they'd endured during the war, physical contact was positively vital to them both – Harry could smell the different scents, musty or fresh, bitter or wholesome.
They got under his skin, those scents, the way they seemed to linger on Severus' skin and hair and clothes, until one day he went outside and found a weeding fork in the shed where he kept his broom and Severus kept his gardening tools.
He knelt beside Severus, digging up anything Severus pointed out as a weed. The sun was hot on his head, but a bit of breeze cooled the sweat that trickled down his face and made his spectacles slip on his nose. Every now and then their hands brushed as they worked in tandem, no words necessary between them.
The harvest that year was bountiful.