The Space Between Failing and Falling • Snarry •

Chapter 6: Routine and Rapport

Convincing Potter to do anything he does not want to do is like painting the Severn Bridge.

His black hair is haloed by a beam streaming from the skylight. Dust motes dance around him like weightless gems.

"Get back to work," Severus says. "Otherwise I shall have to write in and complain that nowadays they hand out Defence Masteries like sweets."

He's not joking, but Potter turns around and laughs anyway.

"I'll leave you to it, then. See you later!"

****

Four days go by (Severus is certainly not counting) before Potter pushes his way into the office.

He stops dead in his tracks with a pile of books bundled in his arms.

"I didn't know you wore reading glasses!"

Severus sighs and places his quill in the inkwell. "I am very old."

Potter snorts before saying, "You're what, forty?"

"I rest my case." He takes off his glasses. "You ought to knock—I am Deputy Comptroller."

"I'll knock next time." So presumptuous. "I love this place." Potter nods to the columns. "Would I be allowed to study here?"

"Decidedly not."

Potter casts him a sideways look. "Would you get me in trouble?"

"I am far too busy to squabble with watchwizards."

Harry grins.

"That does not imply tacit approval, however," Severus adds.

"What time do you get off tonight? Do you want to get a tea?"

"I have plans." Tonight is Ghanaian food night at Aurora's. It's the summer so no one is at the castle. He's never regretted his (admittedly limited) social life before. "Perhaps another time."

"Definitely! See you soon, then." Harry gives Severus's upper arm a squeeze in passing.

"I suspect I shall, should you persist in showing up on a regular basis."

****

A new routine starts.

In the morning, he rubs Numbing Salve on his neck, takes his painkillers, and leaves for the Ministry as soon as possible.

If he stomps down the stairs, Grandma will ask without fail, "Are the Germans coming or is that you making a bloody racket?"

He'll say goodbye, and Apparate off his front step. Breakfast will be from the Atrium coffee kiosk (this alternates between a coffee and croissant, or a tea and cinnamon Danish). Generally speaking, he will decline the Prophet.

Then, he meets the throng of drained-looking Ministry workers wending their way towards the giant golden gates, he skirts the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and discourages small talk of any kind by glowering at all who look his way.

He tolerates the awful press of bodies in the lift and steps out at Level Five with no small relief.

Then, he walks through the shelves of books, books, and more books, hangs up his travelling cloak, and quaffs his breakfast whilst reviewing the Interdepartmental memos. Sometimes he'll put the wireless on at a low volume as he observes the movement of the grey Thames.

Next, he'll review reams and reams of patent application scrolls, and draft the rebuttals.

When it's not his week to care for his godson, once or twice a week Potter will show up between noon and two o'clock—he can never predict when—and this is discombobulating to the extreme.