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Fading Scars	By : silmelinde Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 8072 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Waiting
Snape managed to avoid him for a week. The potions master hadn't appeared ever since he slipped past Harry on the morning following the intrusion into his life and there was no sign that he ever returned to the apartment even on those occasions when Harry left either to visit the Weasleys or to spend the weekend out at the ice cream parlour, keeping his promise to Ellie. Harry even considered that the man packed and moved out unnoticed, while he kept waiting on an empty room, but the grey towel, beside which Harry hung his own, disproved this thought. Not that resting on a lonely couch in the evenings when his muscles ached from the workout he hadn't considered prying open the door to Snape's room to check whether he still lived there. Each time he approached, he sensed a tingle of magic. Surely, those wards would have dissipated had the owner abandoned the place. This thought fuelled his patience and helped with curbing the desire to unlock the door, having reluctantly admitted that he was also curious to find out what Snape's room looked like.
The wait hadn't been as dull as one may have thought it would be. Even with the help of magic, he had to work as hard as a house elf to cleanse the apartment of the moth cloud, fix the window, remove the pile of rubble that used to be the bed, and then repair the rotten walls and floor. While moving the walls wasn't possible to enlarge the room, the best purchase was an expandable closet that was big enough to fit his entire wardrobe, as well as to place his trunk underneath the hung items, thus saving his shins from the future bruises, since after he fit in the bed the only space in the room to put down the trunk remained in front of the door, which would have made the night trips to the bathroom a dangerous enterprise. It was a good thing he learned about the space management when he lived in the closet, even though the former now looked like a spacious castle in comparison. Most likely it was due to all the work he put into it, but overall Harry was starting to like the place, especially after he expanded the window to be nearly the room's width to let in more light, not that the view of the dump was fantastic.
Lounging on the couch with a mug of chamomile tea, Harry considered what he still had to unpack and place on the new shelves he attached to the wall. His back ached miserably. He abstained from taking the droplets prescribed at St Mungo's for three days and the dull throb gradually increased, but it was manageable for another night. Those painkillers were addictive. His stomach felt rather light and he ignored that too, thinking that gradually he'd have to start using the kitchen he shared with Snape to make more substantial meals than cups of tea. So far, he spent a week dining out. He didn't feel like stepping out for a late snack. He still had to buy groceries, rather than stocking a space he found on one of the shelves with tea and coffee, to make a full meal. Realising he didn't feel uncomfortable tucked away in a crumbling nook of the world, Harry questioned where he had lost his sanity and whether he was going into far too much trouble just to acquire the man's help. He didn't even know whether Snape ever intended to come back.
Having expected that no one would have the slightest interest in disturbing him tonight, Harry's grip on the mug nearly faltered when the door opened, letting in the continuous dog howling and shouts from the street and then cutting them off to replace with a footsteps measured silence. Each step resounded with displeasure as the one who entered ventured in and briefly stopped by the couch.
Although, a confrontation was to be expected, there was a sense of joy rather than negativity as Harry calmly looked up at the sharp features creased with displeasure.
"Good evening, Professor," he greeted without changing his position of leaning against the armrest.
The dark eyes burned him with disapproval before Snape swept into his room. The silence on his wake implied that the evening would become good only once the invader cleared out of his living quarters. Unlike the previous encounter, Snape didn't remain locked up in his room. He adjourned to the bathroom and then into the kitchen. Soon, Harry heard the rattle of dishes and a methodical chopping sound. As there was no door to slam shut, Harry saw from his spot the measured movements as the potions master cooked dinner. There was a dream quality to the spectacle. Even as an adult Harry imagined that Snape always lived in the dungeons, briefly leaving his cauldron to suck students' blood. He never pictured the man engaged in a homely activity like dinner preparation. Even so, it was difficult to shake off the idea that it was a cucumber Snape was chopping and not a frog liver.
But, those prejudices hadn’t been true for a long time, an inner voice reminded. He had seen the signs ever since the first year of a good man lurking beneath the venomous demeanour even though he ignored them. The last he had seen Snape revealed a chink in the armour when they were at the trial. The potions master, like many those who had been close to Dumbledore, appeared to be like an impenetrable fortress, always holding himself proud and ready to use an arsenal of venomous words that cut deeper than hexes. That day Snape looked tired like the weight of the past had become too great a burden. Maybe because Harry felt bone tired too after the war that recognising the same in another humanised the man who had been long at odds with him. That raised a surge of protectiveness. He was reminded that any man, no matter how independent, could succumb to pain and loneliness. Since he hadn’t been able to cross the courtroom and tell the potions master that he wasn’t alone, Harry did what he had to do – defend him with the outmost conviction before the judges. He succeeded due to the sheer determination. His conscience should have lay at rest after, but the memory kept returning to that moment, whispering that he could have done more and then by chance he ran into Snape years later. He needed to spend more time with the man to understand better that invisible pull.
Snape still looked tired, Harry noted once the man finished preparing the meal and carried a steaming plate into the living room. The potions master summoned a chair and set it at the furthest end of the table away from Harry, paying no attention to the spot where he sat as if the couch was empty. His lips were still set in a mean scowl and the greasy hair hung limply around the pale face, yet these deficiencies faded, overwhelmed by dignity and strict manner in which Snape conducted himself. He refused to abandon that part of him no matter how life treated him and life certainly hadn’t been kind even after the war. The clothes he wore were still the black robes he had at Hogwarts, except they were more worn out and repaired. He wondered why Snape took pains to keep his clothes meticulously clean when his hair was such a mess. Harry was no stranger to poverty and it saddened him to find that prejudices prevailed. The potions masters were highly regarded and most of them were well off. There was a tint of injustice to wasting a talent. No matter how vicious, Harry still considered Snape to be brilliant in his field.
“Professor?” he chanced.
The mug was empty, cold and heavy in his hand, so he set it on the table. He didn’t want to interrupt the meal, but he was concerned that Snape may leave once he finished eating and then he’d have to wait another week for the next opportunity to speak with him.
“As you understand that was somewhat of a joke,” he continued after a lengthily silence where he received no acknowledgement. “The scar is really on my back rather than on my…”
“Close enough!”
Snape shot him a glare that meant, ‘I’m trying to eat!’
At least it was a reaction. Because the wizard intercepted his staring, Harry looked away towards something neutral like the plate that held a mixture of mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. The assembly distinctly lacked meat, but Snape appeared to be content with it. Had he been able to eat anything at all during the week? Judging by where the potions master lived and his attire it didn’t look like he was able to afford restaurants. Guilt stabbed at his gut for chasing the man out of his home.
“I hope you’d be willing to hear me out,” Harry prompted into another resounding silence. "I don't believe you are as resolved to send me away as you claim."
That got Snape's attention. The curiosity may not have been obvious, but he briefly glanced up to determine whether the other was being serious.
"I don't believe that an accomplished spy would have missed that he was being followed and led the follower all the way to his home voluntarily. You could have easily lost me in that crooked maze of alleys."
"Lose an obstinate child capable of finding all horcruxes? To what end? Only to be pestered again soon enough?" Snape drawled out.
It almost sounded like a compliment except for the sarcasm laced into each word. A part of him protested at being regarded as someone too young after all he had been through.
"I dare say you have more wit and mobility than a horcrux to avoid detection," he said, trying to take no offence and spoil the conversation, aware how Snape was testing his patience to do so.
"It must be magical to imagine the world must change according to your standards as I have no better things to do than to hide from you," the man drawled out quietly, yet without that much of a bite.
"I don't want you to hide from me. I would like you to consider a sound business proposal. I understand that you have your own work to do, and that your time and skills are valuable," he pressed on although a snort at the phrase 'sound proposal' was filled with scepticism that pesky Gryffindors were capable of the notion. "I won't interfere with the time when you fill out all other orders and I have the means to pay handsomely regardless of the result. All I ask is that you consider giving this cure a try."
"Is having a cheery tweet at the hospital to tend to your every whim not satisfactory that you must pester me too?"
The remark may have angered him in the past. It still resonated unkindly with him, but he was learning to see the intentions behind the words. Yet, a part of him acknowledged that it did sound amusing since Ellie tended to chirp endlessly like a bird.
"You're trying to distract me. The proposal is in no way meant to be disrespectful."
Snape placed a fork into the emptied plate with an irritable clang and rose. Harry picked up his mug and followed him into the kitchen. There was barely enough elbow room to fit in together. Harry stood close enough for some of the water to land on his hand and watched as the other washed the dishes. The hand in which Snape held the sponge had an awkward movement to it and he leaned on the counter, having set the cane aside.
"Potter."
The rustle of water stopped as Snape turned off the tap and began drying his hands with a towel. When he set it aside and turned, Harry found himself standing close enough to look straight into the dark eyes. The expression in them was intense and yet he couldn't place the burning feeling in them that suddenly made his cheeks grow warm.
"I don't care how much money is being offered." The words held a note of finality to them. "It's a matter of principle. I want nothing to do with anyone from the past."
They touched as Snape brushed past him since Harry was unwilling to back out of the kitchen.
"Do you hate me so much then?"
He meant to make the remark neutral, but a miserable note crept into his voice. Harry tensed, looking at the man's back as he paused and expecting a blow. Knowing Snape's sharp tongue, he was bound to cut him to shreds.
The answer came quiet before Harry was left alone once more with his thoughts.
"No."
- 5
- 6
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Fading Scars