|snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays,|
@ 2007-12-03 11:30:00
|Entry tags:||fic, rated: r|
Scenes of a Life Together, for sjc_swank
Title: Scenes of a Life Together
Word Count: 1,754
Disclaimer: Borrowing the characters. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
Summary: Harry and Severus have been through a lot together over the years and this is a few scenes of that life...
SCENES OF A LIFE TOGETHER
My lover is twenty-six years old and he still has fitful nightmares of his time with the Dursley's. I watch him twist and turn in the sheets, intermittently mumbling to himself that it'll be okay, then begging his uncle to please stop because he's learned his lesson and he won't do it again. I know what he's pleading for and it never gets any easier to hear. I put my hand on his back and rub it soothingly, trying not to disturb him because I do not wish him to remember this when he wakes up tomorrow morning, but... it is always easier said than done.
Harry opens his eyes and doesn't look at me. Instead he turns to the wall and mutters, “Fuck, not this again.”
I don't say a word. What can I say?
Instead I put my arms around him and hold him, not letting go even when I know he's sound asleep.
In the morning, I make him a hearty English breakfast with an extra helping of his favorite sausages. He sits down at the table and grumbles his way through, not saying much of anything, although his mouth is making complete progress on the foodstuffs. I once thought I wasn't much of a morning person—Harry is definitely worse.
I get a hurried “good-bye” before he's throwing the floo powder into the fireplace, diving in and on his way to Hogwarts where he is the current Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
I don't envy him the job, not anymore, not when I can stay home at Spinner's End and concoct the most interesting of potions. I find I am relatively content.
He arrives home at approximately 6 o'clock and dinner is on the table waiting for him. I am putting the finishing touches on desert when he walks up to me and grabs me by the robes, pulling me to him. He looks tired, but his eyes look less haunted than they did this morning. He kisses me on the lips and I run my hands down his back and cup his cheeks, bringing him flush against me.
“Good evening,” I say when we finally break the kiss, after we're both quite aroused. The idea of skipping dinner is in my mind, but I can wait. Harry has the tendency not to eat very well unless I encourage him. “You're certainly ravenous.”
Harry has a small smile on his lips. He is amused. “For certain things.”
Oh yes, my lover is definitely in a better mood tonight.
We fuck in a number of positions, but my favorite is when I've got him trapped underneath me with his hands making fists of my hair and his legs on my shoulders as I plunge deeply into his hole. I am on the verge of coming when he says, “Severus” like it's the only thing he would ever say. I feel his climax squeezing me and it brings me home.
I don't want this to end, not ever.
I collapse on top of him, our hot, sweaty bodies touching intimately and I wrap my arms around him. He pushes me until I'm lying on my back and he tucks his head into the crook of my shoulder and we sleep, legs entwined.
There are times when we fight, which he says is normal, but I find it perfectly disagreeable. I should realize that even though Harry has grown up, there is still the remnant and innate stubbornness inside him which makes him his father's son. Mostly it's Lily I see in him and that's a good thing,
I watch him sleep, the sunlight glowing over him, radiating his skin and I marvel at his youth and then stare at my own self—the reflection of the mirror. I shudder, looking. I am old and he is still so much in the prime of his life.
What are we doing together?
My fears factor into our relationship, even though Harry says it doesn't matter that I used to be a Death Eater. But it does. I can see it in the way people look at me when I make the rare appearance at Diagon Alley to buy potion supplies that just can't be delivered to Spinner's End. I know they're wondering how I got Harry to be mine when there are so many much more eligible young wizards out there in the world.
Personally, I have no idea myself.
What does Harry see in me?
I sprinkle some crushed hart's horn in the simmering potion and check the color after I've stirred the ingredient in. The color, of course, is a perfect murky yellow and the viscosity is just right.
Our happy times together seem far more infrequent than they once were. It is hard, for some reason, to make him smile. I want that smile. I want his eyes to light up, but they rarely do—at least not with me. I've noticed that when he invites his friends, Ron and Hermione, his eyes do sparkle with life and his lips curve up in a smile. But at home, alone, with me—he doesn't.
I wonder if his life we share, this fantastical dream has finally seen daylight and it's time to wake up.
We are sitting together in front of the fireplace, both reading—I'm perusing a potions manual and he's brushing up on more defense theories. It is the best moment we've had in weeks. His head is in my lap and I can feel myself warming to this moment much more than I would otherwise. I have never taken myself to be a sentimental person, but I do crave these close encounters from time to time.
“How's your work going?” Harry asks, closing his book.
I place a marker on the page I was on and set my own book down on top of his. “It's going.”
“I don't know how you do it,” he says and smiles. It's a wonderful thing. “Don't know how you did a lot of stuff.”
I raise an eyebrow and his eyes crinkle at the side with the characteristic sign of amusement.
“You're a very complex and amazing person,” Harry remarks. “You do know that, don't you?”
I don't say a word and I keep my face purposely blank.
“You saved me, you know, from complete misery.”
I am tempted to pick up the book again, but I don't. I stare down at him instead, not really knowing how to respond. What does he want me to say? I don't know. I don't know...
“And you've always been here for me.”
I incline my head.
“Can I ask you something?”
“It's about my mom.”
I don't blink.
“I've been wondering, for a long time really, if you would have saved me for me?”
I want to say yes, but I don't. His smile falters and I want to bring it back but I've never been good at words. I do things. I don't say them. He should know this by now. I am not capable of expressing myself in tender words. I can only do irritation, aggravation, and emotions of that sort.
“Would you?” he asks again. “Would you have saved me for me?”
I remember when I had seen with my eyes the real life Harry Potter lived instead of my own assumptions of how it should have been. The memories are stark and very much alive in my head, although probably not so brutal to me as they are for him. I reach out with my hand and pull him into my arms.
“Yes,” I say, and it's so easy to say now. “How could I not?”
I hear him talking, not distinctly—the words blend together—but I know who he is speaking with, Hermione. It is not typically a good sign if he feels the need to floo her in the middle of the night. I am only up because I noticed him out of bed, but I stay in the hallway instead of approaching him and her. I don't get any closer either. I do wish to hear what they speak of, but I do not want to be seen as an intruder dropping in on their conversation.
I must respect privacy, especially now when my days of spying are over.
It is a true struggle for me to turn around and to walk back to bed, leaving Harry alone, to wait alone in bed.
Morning has come, but I do not want to rise from the bed to face the day—my nose is the first to notice that this day is not quite like every other day. I smell breakfast food—a hearty English breakfast—such that Harry is capable of making, but doesn't often do anymore since his mornings are preoccupied with teaching the next generation of little monsters defensive magic.
I open my eyes willingly and see Harry standing there with a tray of exactly what my nose had told me would be there.
“Morning,” Harry says with a smile—a beautiful, beautiful smile that brightens his face up to his green eyes. “Today's not a special day, not in the grand scheme of things, but I haven't been very good to you recently, have I?”
Harry settles the tray on the nightstand next to the bed and I grab him by the wrist and pull him toward me. I put my hand on the back of his neck and draw him to me until our lips meet in a hungry kiss. The idea of breakfast in bed is a kind gesture of Harry's, but I want more.
“I've neglected you, haven't I?” Harry says when he finally manages to part his lips from mine. “I'm sorry. Forgive me?”
I don't say anything, I just pull him down for another kiss. Sometimes it really is true: actions do speak louder than words.