The Space Between Failing and Falling • Snarry •

Chapter 6: Routine and Rapport

He has no self-control, so doesn't tell him to stop.

In the afternoons, he attends pointless meetings and writes scathing declines or modest approvals for commercially viable potions, new textbooks, and instructional manuals.

Dinner is held in the staff restaurant.

He does not cook; there is no point.

He is certainly not lonely.

Upon returning home, his grandmother will get pissy if he doesn't light an appropriate number of candles.

Fridays are cards-and-wine night with Bjørn, Aurora and Minerva, and when it's his turn to host, Grandma will always exclaim, "It's like Piccadilly Circus in here!"

She's right. His parlour is quite cramped.

He works until it's time to collapse into a bed devoid of dreams or possibility of imagination.

Unfortunately, it's not socially acceptable to work on weekends, and so occasionally on Saturdays he'll meet Mike for beer and a fag.

And that, in a nutshell, is his new life.

****

The next time he has an unwanted visitor at work, Severus is addressing a letter to Ragnuk about runic swordsmithing patterns.

"Hello!" Harry abandons his bag on the floor as though he is an eighth-year reporting for one of his detentions. "How are you?"

Potter is in grey apprentice robes, his hair is a mess, and he's slightly pink as though he's jogged here.

He peers sternly over his reading glasses. "Very busy."

"At least I know you're not an imposter." Potter hands him a pasty, sits down, and bites into his own. The pastry flakes land all over the place.

"You're making a dreadful mess," Severus says.

"You're a wizard—I'm sure you'll cope."

Potter passes him the feedback he's received from his tutor, and Severus is itching to add some helpful comments.

"You'd better leave this with me. It'll take a while to go through."

"Brilliant!" Potter munches on some more pasty, then goes over to fiddle with the knobs on the wireless. "I can't pop by next week, I'm taking care of Teddy."

Severus meets Potter's eyes, just briefly. "Very well."

****

The internal sarcastic voice in his head sounds just like Harry.

On the way to the Wizarding University of London, Severus sees him everywhere—in the slope of a man's shoulders, a passer-by with the same aftershave, a similar-sounding laugh.

As Severus pushes open the doors to the university library café, Harry waves wildly at him.

"You came!"

Severus looks down at his own body. "It would appear so."

"I didn't think you would."

"Neither did I. My presence is a testament to your persistence."

"You don't have to be so rude all the time. Though truth be told, you're not very convincing any more." When Harry casually touches Severus's arm, his heart stutters.

Severus swallows. "I will endeavour to try harder."

Potter pulls up his shirt to wipe his glasses on the fabric. The little that Severus can see of his abdomen is heavenly. He averts his eyes.

Unfortunately, he has to take a seat facing the wall, so he cannot keep a watchful eye on the comings and goings of the crowd.

"This soup okay for your throat?"

"Fine. Thank you."

Potter wrinkles his nose. "Hardly Hogwarts food though, is it," he says wistfully. "I've always wondered. Why did you leave?"

"My employment status is none of your concern."

"You didn't love living at the castle?"

Severus does not see why he feels the urge to defend himself.

"I found that life in Scotland no longer suited me as it once did."

Whilst Potter pours tea from the pot he's ordered for them both, Severus scans the room, anxious that it may look as though they're on a date. "I don't know why you keep seeing me for lunch," Severus says.

"Well," Harry begins, "we are s—"

"Stop."

Obliviate or distract him.

Potter purses his lips.

"I have read your draft," he begins. Severus gets out the thesis chapter from his briefcase. "The most fundamental principle of experimentation is to establish that a given effect has only one possible cause. One part of this principle is to avoid confounds, which you have addressed in the seventh section," he says with a nod to Potter. "A subtler part is to make sure that the experimental manipulation doesn't have a secondary effect that is ultimately responsible for the effect of interest."

Potter nods along, a bit vaguely, and sips his tea. Hopefully with discouragement, this soulmate nonsense will be soon forgotten.

"Allow me to provide an easy example. Imagine you observe that the mass of a hot potion is less than that of a cold potion. You might be given to the unsound conclusion that the hot potion has a lower mass than the cold."

Potter realises he is staring and stops to stir a sugar cube into Severus's tea.

"Of course, the actual answer is that some of the heated potion has escaped via steam, and so you will need to seal the cauldrons to prevent escape of the analyte. Similarly, you must ensure that your experimental manipulations do not have unforeseen side effects that lead to an incorrect conclusion."

"Makes sense. What should I do?"

"Look back over the runes in section two. And do as I suggest."

"You know me. I like to follow the rules." Potter grins at him. "I appreciate you looking over this for me, I really do."

Severus blows on his tea. "It didn't take long," he lies. "And it was a decent first draft." This much, at least, is true.

Since he has already contemplated every contour of those delighted lips, he distracts himself by burning his tongue with boiling tea.

"I wish I'd studied Runes," Potter says.

"You should have. It was fun." He almost smiles back at Harry but contains himself. "You're never too old to learn."

****

That night, he stays late at work, finding the office more inviting than his shithole in Cokeworth. When at last he leaves through the reference library, a few embers still glow in the fireplace, turning the semicircle of armchairs into hunched black shadows.

He rests his head against the side of the lift, whilst it clatters and clangs down to the Atrium. If he exhausts himself, perhaps he shall sleep well tonight, and meet Harry again in his dreams.

Dreamless Sleep is a hard addiction to break.

After he blows out the candle beside his bed, he lets drowsiness overtake him.

He considers this to be a special form of torture.

Sometimes, he and Harry are both so young, and the boy will comfort him as Severus weeps in a dark cupboard. Once, he watched Harry snore, their legs a tangled mess. Occasionally, he'll wake from a wet dream, with a hazy memory of Harry's arms wrapped tightly around him.

He always wakes up alone.

****

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