Persona Non Grata, for katling Title: Persona Non Grata (2/2) Author:jadzialove Giftee:katling Word Count: approx. 12,900 Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape Warnings: Rimming, Light Bondage, Some DH spoilers but basically EWE Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. belong to Jo Rowling and, in part, by various other large companies that are not me. Summary:katling's prompt: Severus is still viewed with suspicion and distrust, Harry dislikes this intensely and decides to take steps. Hope this fits the bill, katling!
The hangover Harry awoke with the next day was earned honestly and he'd suffered in silence. He felt better by Monday, when he made his way once again to Diagon Alley. After his outburst the other day, he thought he ought to use the Anonymous spell again—he considered not going at all, but he had to, had to know if it'd done any good.
Snape made his way to the bookshop and entered without giving Harry a second glance. Harry had barely crossed the threshold himself when Snape pushed past him, and it took a moment to realize that the "Potter!" he'd spat as he exited was a general curse and not because Snape had recognized him.
He dropped the Anonymous and stepped into the shop. "What happened?"
The clerk glared at him. "I was nice to 'im! Just like you asked, an' look what it got me!"
Uncertain as to whether or not this was a successful turn of events, Harry tried to appease the man. "Look, I'm settling back down here and I plan to have a library—would you be able to help me stock it?"
When he left an hour and forty minutes later, his purse was somewhat lighter, promising to be lighter still in the near future, and he and the clerk, Owen, were old friends.
On Wednesday, Harry found himself the owner of a side of beef, four hams and thirteen quails.
On Thursday, Snape failed to show at all.
By Friday afternoon, Harry had become concerned. Edna and her counterpart paced the little teashop taking it in turns to peer out the doorway and down the alley, checking the time. Harry sat uncomfortably at one of the dozen lace-covered café tables, his Earl Grey growing cold in the dainty teacup.
Harry admitted defeat on Monday when Owen asked with concern, "D'you reckon he's all right?"
It was, he knew, time to face the music.
"So you just arbitrarily decided to take action without speaking to him first?"
Hermione's office was tastefully decorated and rather on the large-ish size, but it seemed to shrink to the size of a cubicle as her disappointment and alarm filled the room.
"I get it, okay? I bollocksed it up!"
"Harry, it's so much more than that—you've taken away his outlet without warning or anything to put in its place. There's no telling what he might resort to as a substitute!" The only thing keeping Harry from lashing back at her was the truly distressed tone in her voice.
And the fact that he'd spent the entire weekend and most of that morning, wondering and worrying about the very same thing.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping to untangle the knots that were in his stomach. "How do I fix it?" He looked up and caught her eye, pleading with his own. "Please help me fix it, Hermione. I only meant to help."
Harry could almost see the lecture on arrogance forming in her head, but nothing she could say would be worse than what he'd already thought of himself. Though there really wasn't anything much worse than her disappointment.
His face must have conveyed some of that, as she sighed, then said, "Wait here."
She squeezed his shoulder in comfort as she passed, and it filled him with gratitude.
~xXx~
Harry arrived at the shabby little terrace house in the dreary, very clearly Muggle neighborhood and consulted Hermione's instructions again, to be certain it was the correct one, wondering if she could have been mistaken. But as he approached the door, he felt the brush of magic that told him there were wards in place. They were weak, and probably wouldn't deter anything more than Muggles from knocking on his door, but wards nonetheless.
He tried the bell first and received no response. When simple knocking didn't rouse the occupant, Harry resorted to pounding, and shouted, "Snape? I know you're in there!"
There was something wrong, he was suddenly very certain, and he had to get inside. Prepared to use a Reducto on the door if necessary, he was surprised to find it wasn't even locked.
Wand drawn, he pushed it open and peered inside cautiously before entering.
Snape's house was mess, and if Harry didn't know any better, he would've been certain that no one lived there.
A light spilled out into the dingy room from the oddest place: one of the many bookcases that lined the walls. As Harry moved closer, he could see that the bookcase was actually a door, concealing a staircase. When he stepped around the sofa, his blood ran cold; Snape was in a heap on the floor at the foot of that staircase.
He rushed over to the man, whispering desperate pleas to the universe, "No no no no no no. Please, no."
In his haste, he kicked an empty Glenfarclas bottle, which slid into its twin with a loud clank, and Snape stirred, then looked up at him, bleary-eyed.
Harry crouched down and was nearly knocked on his arse by the fumes.
"You." Snape hiccupped. "Always you … Comin' here now, with your eyes…"
"Yeah, well, I try not to go anywhere without them." Harry laughed, overwhelmingly relieved the man was just pissed as a newt and not dead. "Tend to get round much better if they're with me."
He struggled to lift Snape from the floor; however trim he appeared, Snape was heavy and his resistance wasn't at all helpful. "C'mon now—up you get."
Inevitably, they ended in a tangle on the floor and Snape touched his cheek, as if making sure Harry were really there.
"Green eyes… Like a faerie. Are you a faerie, Harry? Faerie Harry. Faerie Potter." Snape snorted at his own joke, and Harry took a moment to thank his lucky stars nobody had thought of that one while he was at school. "Come t'take me away t'yer realm, Harry faerie?"
Harry was mesmerized by this amusing side of Snape and oddly touched, which was why he didn't notice until it happened.
Snape leant forward, pressing Harry to the floor, and kissed him sloppily.
The taste of scotch danced on his tongue as time seemed to stop for a moment. Then it righted itself as Snape kissed him again, with much more skill, demanding a response. And Harry gave it to him, helpless to resist.
A tiny voice of reason was screaming at Harry to stop, that Snape was not in his right mind, that this was wrong for so many reasons—reasons that would certainly occur to him once blood became available to his brain again.
Then Snape grabbed the bulge growing in Harry's trousers.
The tiny voice of reason was too busy moaning to object.
Snape fumbled with the fastening of Harry's trousers, slipping a warm hand inside his pants and firmly stroking Harry's throbbing flesh, while frotting roughly against Harry's thigh and breathing wonderfully filthy things in his ears between the nibbling kisses he planted on Harry's neck and jaw.
It was all too much, as three of his ten favorite Snape fantasies became reality simultaneously. Had he the ability to think, Harry might've been embarrassed as he cried out so early in the proceedings, coming in quick bursts onto his own stomach.
As he came back to himself, he cringed at his loss of self-control, wondering what in the world to say to Snape.
Then he realized it didn't matter: Snape was out cold.
Sighing, Harry rolled the man off of him and laid him gently on the floor. He probably shouldn't have felt relieved, but he was, even knowing he'd likely have to pay for the reprieve later on. He wanted to be ashamed of himself, but he couldn't muster it. Instead, he cleaned himself up with magic, then hefted Snape's dead weight onto his shoulder, deciding that he owed it to Snape to carry him, and headed up the stairs in search of a bedroom.
What he found was more of the same sort of neglect that he'd noticed downstairs. A thick layer of dust covered every available surface, the wallpaper was faded, the ceiling sagged unevenly, and everything seemed to be a dull gray, lending the entire house an air of neglect, of decay, and despair.
Harry wondered how Snape even got out of bed, if this was what greeted him when he awoke each morning.
He propped Snape up against the chest of drawers, using magic this time, then employed the housekeeping spells Molly Weasley had insisted he and Ron learn before moving out on their own, house-elf notwithstanding. Once the bed was freshened, he did his best to clean up Snape without violating him in any way, then tucked him in snugly, feeling a wave of affection roll over him.
And that was the crux of it all, wasn't it? He cared about this man. Much more than he ever would have imagined possible.
The Thing That He Refused To Think About was now lying at his feet, ready or not. He wanted to kick it under the carpet, but he'd been doing that for too long—years maybe, if he were honest.
Harry pondered what to do about it while he cleaned the rest of Snape's small cottage. And that garnered something entirely unexpected for him to think about, as well, when he stumbled upon a beautiful mahogany marquetry box, inlaid with a harlequin design on the sides, its contents spilled across the floor where Snape had been lying.
Postcards.
All of the postcards Harry had sent him, including the first one, the one from Prague. It was actually a fairly bog standard postcard for Prague, depicting the statue of St. Wenceslas in the square named for him, so it wasn't the picture itself so much as the mood of the thing that had made him think of Snape. It was a photo of contrasts, dark and light, cold but there was warmth, stark and yet complex in its imagery.
Fingering through the pile, Harry saw that he'd kept every single one. It was like a mini-photo history of Harry's travels, and it brought a smile to his face to remember the places he'd seen. He collected them and put them back into the box.
Harry wasn't sure what it meant and tried not to read too much into it. But it was hard not to wonder, when those postcards had been contained in the only non-shabby item in the house, and it was impossible to deny the flutter the thought caused in his chest.
He enjoyed the sensation for a moment then quashed it—Snape very well could've been headed to the fireplace, ready to chuck them in, box and all, as far as Harry knew.
And he was no closer to an answer by the time Snape stumbled down the stairs, then stood stock still in the kitchen doorway, clearly unprepared for what he found. He was squinting intently at Harry, who was sitting at the table eating the Thai food he'd fetched after he'd finished cleaning and discovered that Snape had very little in the way of food, and no hangover potion whatsoever.
When Snape looked, clearly horrified, to the floor at the foot of the stairs, Harry could see the memory drop into place. He raised a hand before Snape could say anything. "No. Don't. You don't get that one; that's mine. You were drunk, I wasn't. I could've and should've stopped it—but that's the only thing I regret about it."
Snape walked slowly to the table and eased down into the empty chair; his only response was to put his head gingerly in his hands, hair falling in front of his face like a curtain.
Harry poured Snape a cup of tea, then pushed it and the hangover potion toward him. "I, er, didn't know you were gay."
"I suspect you could fill volumes with what you do not know about me," Snape gritted out. "Why are you here, Potter? Looking for work as a house-elf?"
"I was worried about you." Harry smiled.
"Idiot." He grumbled without rancor.
"I brought you some food too—some very mild, pad Thai, or some soup, if even that's too much." When Snape made no move, Harry prodded, "Would you please just take the potion and eat something?"
Snape relented, swallowing the dose with a grimace. He tentatively sniffed the carton of noodles, then opted for the coconut milk soup instead. Harry handed him a spoon and gave his attention back to his incredibly hot green curry.
They ate in silence for a few moments, until Harry finally said quietly into his food, "I want to apologize." He looked at Severus, gauging his reaction but the face remained stony.
"For?"
"For interfering. For…" Harry stopped. "I thought I could fix things for you, but I've had a bit of time to think, and I've realized that my motives weren't as selfless as I thought. I jumped into it because I didn't like seeing you that way. I wanted you to be the Snape in my head, the man I remember, the one who demanded respect and wouldn't have tolerated what those people were doing." He paused again, but Snape's expression didn't change. "Anyway, I'm sorry for that, for not trying to talk to you first."
Snape studied him for a moment. "Apology accepted."
Harry ate another forkful, though he was no longer hungry; when the burn of it settled to a hum on his tongue, he said, "I still don't understand why, though." Snape scrutinized his face for a moment then looked away and Harry pressed on, "Please. I want to … I need to understand why you think you have to punish yourself."
"You, of all people, should know precisely why." Snape pushed away from the table abruptly and left the room.
Harry found him pacing in the living room. "Is this about my mother? So you were in love with her, then?"
Snape stopped pacing and leant against the mantelpiece, staring into the fire. "I loved her, yes, but I was not in love with her. Not that it's any of your concern."
It actually was a great deal of concern to Harry, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. "I still don't understand—what has this to do with my mother?"
"Don't be obtuse, Potter," Snape scoffed. "The choices I made, the very poor choices that I made caused her to die."
"You didn't kill her, Snape, Voldemort did."
"I might as well have done."
"No! You didn't know telling him the prophecy you heard would lead him to me. And you're the one that doesn't understand now. Everything happened the way that it had to for his defeat. But more specifically, your choices were the reason that I was able to do it. You're just as much a hero as anyone."
"You're either stupid, or incredibly naïve."
Harry didn't let the words rile him, sensing it was vital to remain calm in order to make Snape see the truth. "I'm not—it was your choice to ask Voldemort to spare her, and it was that very thing that made her sacrifice possible. In a way, that was the first time you saved my life." Snape seemed unconvinced and Harry pressed on, "Voldemort killed my dad without a thought, without a moment's hesitation, but not my mum. He offered her a choice. 'Stand aside, you silly girl. You don't have to die.' By giving her a choice, even though she'd never have taken him up on it, it gave power to the sacrifice, enabled her to protect me with the blood magic."
"You couldn't possibly know …"
"I could and I do—I was there. What do you think I see and hear whenever a Dementor is near me?"
Snape looked at him as if he'd never seen him before and something glimmered in the black eyes, something that, were it anyone else, Harry might have labeled respect, then Snape sat down hard on the nearest chair.
"Is it forgiveness that you want?" Harry asked. "Because I've already forgiven you. And I know that she wouldn't want this for you. Nothing you do to yourself or anyone else will bring her back. Nothing!" He took a breath, trying to remain calm. "But I'm absolutely certain she'd be unhappy to know you're hurting yourself in her name."
"I do not deserve—"
"You do." Harry interrupted. "Listen, who is the one who lost the most?" He answered his own question, "Me. If anyone was hurt by it, it was me. And if I can forgive you for it, how can you refuse to forgive yourself? It's sort of an insult to me and an insult to my mother's memory if you don't."
Harry had to prod him, as the silence between them stretched taut. "Snape?"
Snape seemed to have melted or shrunk with resignation and he responded wearily, "What do you want from me, Potter?"
That was a loaded question for certain and a bubble of hysterical laughter caught in Harry's throat. He moved to stand in front of Snape. "What do I want?" When the man looked up at him from his perch, Harry leant forward, "I've already told you. Beyond that, this is what I want!" and kissed him.
Snape didn't move, neither pushing Harry away nor returning the kiss in kind.
Well, there was an answer.
"But I can't have that, can I?" The hysterical laughter became somewhat watery as it trickled out of him. "So what I'll settle for is for you to stop punishing yourself, for you to start actually living your life."
He squeezed Snape's shoulder as he moved away from him. Harry had to get out of there before he made a bigger fool of himself than he already had, but he couldn't help adding, "And maybe, if you think you could possibly … I'd like for us to at least be friends."
Harry saw the stiff nod, and hope bloomed in his heart as he closed the door and Apparated away.
~xXx~
Harry stood back and admired his handiwork. Several months into the renovations and he'd finally mastered the architectural spells that restored his large stone cottage to its former glory.
With work on the cottage finished, it was the smaller of the two outbuildings, which had come as part of the property, that now had his attention.
The larger structure was obviously meant for horses and Harry was seriously considering that option—he'd had some experience with horses when he was in Montana and had loved working with them. Not to mention that he was toying with the idea of a pony for Teddy's seventh birthday.
Andromeda would likely throttle him, but it would be entirely worth it.
This building, though, was something else altogether. Now that the walls were structurally sound, the roof repairs were next. He was about to get to it, when the wards alerted him that someone had crossed them.
Hermione asserted that it was impossible, but Harry could usually tell who it was when that happened, and he recognized this visitor immediately and made his way into, then through his home toward the front door.
His friendship with Severus Snape had been unexpected, in that it was all very … normal. Twice-weekly chess games and shared evenings in the library that he—along with some assistance from Owen—had helped Harry to fill were how they spent most of their time together, unless Harry was helping Snape with his monthly Wolfsbane brewing.
Although Harry harbored a desire for more, he gladly accepted whatever the man was able to give him.
"Gareth sends his regards." Snape said by way of greeting, striding past Harry and into the kitchen.
Harry flushed as he followed in Snape's wake, recalling the two rather uncomfortable outings he'd had with the butcher's son. "Great," he muttered, meaning quite the opposite. "Where'd you see him?"
Snape raised an eyebrow and held aloft a parcel wrapped in white paper in answer, setting the bottle of wine he carried in his other hand on the granite work surface of the center island.
"You come bearing meat?" Harry smirked.
"Along with the astounding ability to make it into an actual meal."
The irritating flutter was back and Harry did his best to tamp it down. "You're going to cook for me?"
"Your take-away habit is appalling, and the disuse of a kitchen such as this, even more so." He gestured around the room and Harry couldn't argue: it was a great kitchen.
Harry watched, thoroughly enjoying the way Snape moved around the space with the same sort of grace that he had while brewing.
Something was different about him, though, he decided.
Namely, apart from that one little tumble on Snape's floor, whether by accident or design, they'd not had any sort of physical contact whatsoever—not even a simple brushing of fingertips while passing a teacup. But Severus touched Harry's arm and shoulder several times, veiled in a reach for things, such as pans, and knives, and spices (which Harry didn't even know he owned, come to think of it), or the pressing of a hand to shift Harry out of the way.
It was as mind-boggling as it was arousing, and Harry thought leaving the room might be prudent, and maybe showering. Yes, a shower would be good. Definitely. He'd been working on the building most of the day, of course, and likely needed it.
"I'm gonna—" He moved to do just that, when Snape stepped into his path.
As happened once before, time seemed to stop and Harry's breath caught.
Too close too close too close! his instincts shouted at him. It was only a matter of inches that separated them, and Harry wanted very badly to bridge that gap. He looked into Snape's black eyes, befuddled by what he saw there, and by what he himself was feeling: desperate for more, and equally desperate to preserve what he'd managed to build with this somewhat difficult but entirely worthwhile person.
They stood facing one another, suspended in time; the only thing stirring was the slight heaving of chests with the shallow breaths of desire, until Harry swallowed, then time returned again, and Snape finally did what Harry was incapable of doing.
Lifting his hands to either side of Harry's face, he closed the distance, capturing Harry's lips, gently at first, then more insistently, running his thumbs along Harry's cheekbones, wrenching a sound from Harry that was part sob of relief and part cry of joy.
Breaking away momentarily, Harry said, "Severus?"
Snape smirked. "Harry."
Oh god. Harry pulled him closer, wanting more and receiving it as lips met again, tongues tasted and slid against one another, arms tangled and hands roamed. Harry's hands smoothed over Snape's back, then down to a surprisingly rounded arse, which Harry pulled toward him, forcing their hips together, and hard length met hard length.
"Bed. Now," Severus demanded.
"What about dinner?" Harry asked rather stupidly.
Severus didn't seem to notice. "It is a roast," he said simply, as if that answered the question.
It might've at that—Harry didn't know anything beyond that he had to get inside the black robes immediately. He decided in the interest of speed to Apparate them directly to his bedroom, and wasted no time pulling the robes open, unwrapping the man as if he were a gift, revealing the smooth, pale skin of his chest and black tight-fitted trousers.
"I wish to make love to you," Severus growled.
"Oh god, yes," Harry breathed. "As long as I get to return the favor on occasion. Yes."
Severus made a noise in his throat that might've been a moan, but it disappeared into Harry's mouth as Severus claimed it, moving him toward the large four-poster, tugging at Harry's shirt.
"Agreed."
He maneuvered Harry onto the bed, and Harry let him, helping when Severus went for the fastening on his jeans. Once he was stripped bare, Harry felt entirely wanton and not a little bit vulnerable, as Severus was still mostly clothed.
It was enormously thrilling.
But not nearly as much as when Severus said, "Lie down," and then silently conjured silky cords. He raised an eyebrow in question, and Harry nodded, growing harder by the moment.
When the cords were fastened, Severus leant close and murmured in a smoky voice, "So you're not tempted to assist in any way."
He grazed Harry's earlobe with his teeth, beginning a trail of nibbling, maddening kisses that explored his neck, his arms, his chest, lingering over tight nipples, until Harry was a squirming mass of want and need.
"Beautiful," Severus intoned, dragging a hand down Harry's torso.
"I want to see you. Please?"
Severus complied, throwing off the robes without hesitation, then sliding the black trousers down his legs and stepping out of them and kicking them to the side.
There was nothing perfect about Severus's body—he was entirely too thin and the pale expanse of skin was marred by a few rather garish scars—but he was gorgeous to Harry's eyes. His cock, though, was perfect, as far as Harry could see, heavy with desire, big without being intimidating, and Harry wanted very badly to touch, pulling on the restraints for the first time.
Severus must have taken the desperate little noise Harry made as a sign of approval, because he crawled onto the bed, straddling Harry, bending forward to kiss him hungrily, causing their hot, hard pricks to slide against one another. Harry raised his hips to increase the friction, but Severus stopped him.
"Oh no, none of that just yet. I have much planned for you," Severus promised and Harry moaned.
The thin lips made their way down Harry's torso once again; this time though, Severus's hot mouth found Harry's throbbing flesh, his tongue sliding up the shaft, then teasing the slit, swirling around his sensitive glans, and then teasing the slit once more.
Harry pulled on the cords again, this time to pull himself up, he had to look, he had to see and oh god, it was even better than his fantasies, to see that black head moving up and down between his legs.
Severus swallowed Harry's cock to the root, then slid back up, repeating the move. Without any guidance from Harry's brain, his hips thrust upward, but Severus pressed down, holding them still.
"Annggggghhh!" Harry cried. He was so, so close, but Severus kept him on the edge, sucking just enough to drive him mad but not enough to finish him off.
"Patience, Harry. There's so much more in store for you," the velvet voice promised.
Severus bent back to his task, swirling his tongue around then sucking into his mouth each of his bollocks, alternately licking and nipping at the sac. He stopped long enough to push Harry's legs up to his chest, folding him in half, then bending down once again and paying special attention to his perineum, kissing and sucking and tonguing the soft skin there and driving up Harry's need to a nearly unbearable level.
Or so he thought until Severus kissed along his cheek, licked the crease that separated it from his leg, continued to its mate, and spread them apart, breathing hot, moist air on his most intimate spot, and Harry thought he might explode from the naughty delight of it.
Severus lifted Harry's hips higher, so much so that Harry could reach his ankles, hands tied as they were, to help keep the angle that Severus was trying to achieve. He kissed the cheeks again, spread them, then swiped his tongue over the puckered skin he'd exposed, and Harry's entire body hummed, vibrating with pleasure.
The devilish tongue firmed and swirled around the hole, teasing, then plunged in, pulled back and plunged in again.
"Annngggguuuuhhhh! Oh god please please please please please… Severus! Ungh!" He tried to push his arse up higher, tried to will that tongue in deeper, but Severus just chuckled against his hole, leaving a kiss there before raising his head.
He muttered something and Harry felt a tingle of magic. "I'm going to fuck you. Is that what you want? Is that what you're begging for, Harry?"
"Yes! Yes! Please please please…" Desperate and aching for release Harry moaned, pushing his arse higher again in demand, not caring a whit what he might look like. "Fuck me! Yeah, fuck me please please please."
Severus stood over him, then knelt down, aligning his cock and pressing in slowly, easing in until Harry felt so full and so perfect that he wanted to cry. Once fully seated, Severus leant forward slightly, easing Harry's ankles from his grip and resting them on his own shoulders, then lacing his fingers with Harry's, letting the restraints support them both.
Harry grew impatient for Severus to move and clenched around him.
"Impatient brat," Severus grunted with affection, but gave into the sensation, pulling back then thrusting forward again and again, changing his angle upon reentry until he found the one that caused sparks to fly behind Harry's eyes.
"Oh god. Right there. Don't stop!!"
Severus dropped one hand and used it to pull Harry's head up by his neck, kissing him roughly, never breaking his rhythm. Then he reached down and gripped Harry's aching cock, stroking only a few times before Harry plunged over the edge Severus had had him dancing on throughout, howling in ecstasy, then moaning encouragements as Severus continued to pump, faster and harder, slamming his hips into Harry, until he growled roughly and slammed in once more, then stilled, filling Harry with warmth.
Harry sighed in satisfaction and melted into the mattress, Severus's weight a comfort.
When he came back to himself, Severus was straightening his legs, rubbing at Harry's hips and thighs to ease the stiffness. Wandlessly, he released Harry's arms and rubbed the circulation back into them as well. As soon as he could feel them again, Harry wrapped them around Severus and pulled him down to lie next to him.
He kissed Severus soundly, then said breathlessly, "That was … wow."
"Indeed." He sounded sardonic, but Severus looked rather too pleased with himself to pull it off, and rightly so. It was, by far, the best shag Harry had ever had.
Harry didn't want to break the mood, but he suddenly needed reassurance, so he said as lightly as possible and without looking at him, "Please tell me this wasn't a one-off."
"Certainly not. I do not do one-offs."
"Good." He rolled onto his side, turning toward Severus. "Hi. What took you so long?"
Severus took a moment to answer, and looked as if he did so somewhat unwillingly. "I was … uncertain of my reception, after I'd originally rejected your offer. I endeavored to test the waters, so to speak."
The casual touches. Harry could hardly blame him, and it encouraged him to go out on a limb of his own. "I, er, know this might be a bit premature, but I started working on the smaller outbuilding today. I intend to make it suitable for brewing potions…"
Severus closed his eyes, but looked pleased, then leant forward to kiss him. "Then you won't mind terribly that I took the liberty of stocking your kitchen with items I might need to cook a proper meal."
Harry beamed at him, threw his arm across Severus's chest, and used Severus's shoulder as a pillow, sighing in joyous contentment.