Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Fading Scars	By : silmelinde Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 8072 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own HP. I make no profit from writing fics.

Chapter List
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Hello,
I'm very much excited that this pairing is liked by so many people, and I'm really glad that I got so many nice reviews and likes. Thank you for letting me know that my story is worth continuing. It's always difficult to know whether it's worth something or not unless someone says so. ;) I'll strive to keep the story active and updated even if Professor Snape is currently scowling at my ideas, but we'll try to change his mind.

Waking Up
The oppressive air was cold enough for the puffs of breath to form at the center of the circular room where sat the prisoner prim as a pin and regarding the partially shrouded seats with a scornful indifference. The surrounding faces were set in stone. They seemed a natural extension of the building and the judge’s platform that towered above him like a tombstone. Meeting nothing but bleakness, the one who believed in God may have looked up only to discover the way to the sky blocked by a dome where swirled the Dementors that awaited with the patience of the dead to steal the victim’s soul. Their presence dampened the spirit with nothing but a shimmering shield separating them. Severus felt exhausted just sitting there with his wrists bound in front of him, fighting the urge to slump as the room spun twice and threatened to black out. He refused to let his accusers get the satisfaction of knowing how much he was hurting.
His left eye stung where an overly zealous guard backhanded him, mistaking a stumble for an attempt to escape, while he had been dragged through the halls to trial. It hadn’t occurred to the defender of justice that a man right out of the hospital weakened by poison may have trouble keeping up the draconic pace, not that Snape had informed him, settling on a chilling glare instead. The eye was going to swell much for already he was having trouble seeing out of it. As much as he hated being at the mercy of others, it appeared to be his lot in life and he waited with an irritable resignation for the bureaucracy idled cretins to formulate the charges that would end his miserable existence. Already separating in his mind from the outer world, he heard from the distance a witness being called up. Wondering who else came to doom him, Severus looked at the person stepping down from one of the seats at the back. His breath froze, recognising no other than Harry Potter.
Severus sat up abruptly, trying to throw off the cobwebs of memories just like the edge of his blanket. A cold stream of air gripped him and he pulled the green duvet back up to ward of the invasion. Needing more grip on reality than a blurry world, he summoned the glasses to study mutely a piece of the brightening night sky through a clear window. Its serenity was a fake, a charm that hid an ugly world beyond. An illusion, just like his hopes had been that after the war he'd find peace. Instead, nightmares found him; though, this time he could not blame them for disturbing his rest. That honour belonged to Potter.
As if someone coming to his aid hadn’t been shocking enough, failing to recognise Potter immediately was more so startling. Granted, he was regarding the man’s back at first, but the voice hadn’t changed, except for a few intonations that at an older age sounded confident rather than impudent just like that time when he had been told, “There’s no need to call me, ‘sir,’ Professor.” He should have known that only a crusading Gryffindor would lack common sense and defend a former Death Eater. In this aspect, Potter hadn’t changed since the last time Severus had seen him at the trial where the boy came to testify about his role as a spy, while no other would have been bothered with the dour potion master’s fate. More so, some rightfully believed that he deserved the worst punishment despite his contribution to the Order.
Back then, they regarded each other across the court room where the conditions weren’t forthcoming for conversation. That had been for the best because Severus had no kind words. Potter’s involvement may have saved him from Azkaban, but it also exposed his memories at a moment when he had been most vulnerable and surrounded by hostility when even the court had forgotten that the meaning of the word ‘justice’ was equity, not persecution. He resented how easily one man’s word could be trusted even if due to that word he managed to walk out of the court room that day a free man. And now Potter was back, possibly to reclaim that debt. He was wrong. Snape owed him nothing.
Certain that tossing and turning in bed would bring no further respite, Severus slipped out of the blanket’s warmth and performed a quick cleansing charm before meticulously buttoning up his jacket. The pale pink hues of the sunrise tentatively slipped into the room as he soundlessly cracked the door open and peeked into the living room, inwardly scowling that he had to act like a thief in his own home. Normally, he would have adjourned to the kitchen to set up a pot of dark bitter coffee to boil, but the mere presence of the unwelcome pest disturbed him enough to forego the habit.
Blissfully unaware of the inconvenience he caused, Potter was stretched out on the couch that didn't belong to him, resting without as much as a blanket as Snape took two stealthy steps to examine him. The dangerous presence of someone looming over him who held less than peaceful intentions in mind hadn't alarmed him. Maybe Potter felt safe in his presence. Snape snorted at the preposterous thought. As safe as a bare ass in a presence of a scorching poker. It was tempting to hex some sense into the young man or at least have him fall off the couch at a loud bang as he'd slam the front door upon leaving.
Snape took the opportunity to re-familiarise the changed features as he had no intention of doing so openly, taking in the stubbornly set chin and dark hair that didn't look messier tussled from sleep than when they were combed. He had fervently hoped that no one would want to stay after examining their accommodations and counted on his apartment being blissfully free of another by morning. Potter stayed. Did the man truly expect that he'd relent? Let him be a fool then. After wasting a few days on being ignored perhaps even the most obstinate Gryffindor would get the message. Until then, he'd have to tolerate the situation.
When Snape left, the door softly clicked shut behind him.

The reality settled around Harry slowly and comfortably as the sleep addled brain untangled itself from the web of dreams. He was slightly cool, but not uncomfortably so for the room had a mild temperature. The worn couch surface was soft against his cheek and had an earthly scent that made him think of the times he went gathering herbs in the Forbidden Forest with Neville and Hagrid. As much as it was pleasant to dwell on those memories, he stretched and sat up as the previous day's events overlapped the dreams.
He moved in to share an apartment with Severus Snape. The thought he had disregarded yesterday seemed absurd in the morning as he fumbled around for his shoes and then headed for the bathroom that barely had enough space for a sink and a curtain separating the shower that was almost close enough to touch the toilet. As he took care of the natural needs, Harry considered that he was to share a very small space with the cranky potions master who cared more for a company of a gigantic bloodsucking mosquito and that included using private facilities like the bathroom and the kitchen. Harry felt like he was doing something inappropriate just by seeing the private possessions, mainly a grey towel that hung on the wall, a bar of soap and a toothbrush left by the sink. He began invading the man's privacy with the pensieve, so why stop now, he considered sardonically, coming out to search for a fresh set of clothes in his trunk. The ones he had slept in were understandably rumpled.
The door behind which Snape disappeared last night looked foreboding. Was he still resting? Harry developed a habit of guarded sleep ever since he camped out in the wild looking for horcruxes. Surely, he would have woken up had someone tried to walk past him. At the same time, the potions master never had any sleep schedule because he often had patrolled the Hogwarts corridors at night, thus earning a superstition among students that he was a vampire who never slept at all. The idea that was realistic enough when he was eleven was amusing at present. Of course Snape slept at night and he must have woken up early. Harry felt a pang of disappointment as it seemed the potions master managed to get past him unnoticed. If his own room was anything like Snape's, Harry doubted anyone would be compelled to remain locked up in it even to avoid unpleasant company. As much as the potions master avoided him, he could not avoid living at home, though apparently he had a place to disappear to on Saturday when few wizards worked. He'd wait until Snape came back and use the time to make his own room presentable enough at least to change and sleep in. Something told Harry to settle in for a long wait for he was dealing with a man who matched him in stubbornness. He'd have to be patient. The toothbrush Harry set up on the other end of the sink felt like the first small step to earning the reclusive man's help.
Then he grabbed the jacket and went out, keeping the wand close in hand as he passed the shady streets on the way to the Burrow for advice. After building such a grandiose structure, Arthur Weasley knew better than anyone about the cramped space expansion and reconstruction. Whatever it was he had to do to repair the floor and walls, Harry figured he'd have to do it on his own. He didn't want to antagonize the potions master further by bringing in professional carpenters or any other strangers. Nor did he feel good asking the house elves to do the job, not to mention his head rung even from imagining the riot Hermione would read him once she got back from the vacation with Ron.
Harry approached the Burrow with trepidation he hadn't lost ever since he was a kid. It wasn't quite home, but nonetheless a place where he was always welcomed by people who treated him like family. As much as he shared strong ties with the Weasleys, he fretted whether his visits would be too intrusive, even though he was sure he'd find a warm reception.
The tilted structure that stood like a multilayered cake, which survived the fire and Death Eater attacks, had managed to maintain an air of restfulness about it. The wind playfully tugged at the surrounding greenery. Harry had no better model to compare the family life to, but that was as close to the ideal as he imagined and wished for something similar of his own – a modest home in a beautiful place. When he was dating Ginny, he eventually came to acknowledge that he loved the idea of becoming a part of that household, while he continued to love Ginny as a sister. He was grateful that their eventual separation hadn’t broken his relationship with the Weasleys, even though for half a year afterwards she was shyer about showing up in their home.
Swinging his arms back and forth at the freedom, Harry crossed the blooming field, having purposely landed on the outskirts to enjoy the experience. A resounding clang and rattling that came from the barn where formerly resided Ford Anglia prompted him to head in that direction. Some things never changed. With his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and red hair covered in dust and spider webs, Arthur Weasley was completely engrossed in putting together a lawnmower with the help of magic. The resulting device in spite of a shabby aspect to it, hence the former owner must have disposed of it due to an old age, was beginning to look quite formidable as it released a dark grey cloud of smoke with a roar. Harry observed the triumph, lingering in the doorway where remained some fresh air. He smiled once the bright blue eyes met his own and the greeting came warm and genuine.
"Hello, Mr Weasley."
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Fading Scars