The Space Between Failing and Falling • Snarry •

Chapter 12: Distilling a Dream

Harry pays him rapt attention, and it is so odd to see Lily's eyes glitter in the fading sun of Cokeworth, after so many years.

"Lil would bring a Thermos of tea, cheese and ham sandwiches, and my favourite sweets, we'd talk and study all day."

"Geek," Harry says, poking him in the ribs. "You sound like a right pair of Ravenclaws."

A smile comes easily to Severus's face.

He tells Harry about all the annoying things Lily did to wind him up on purpose, how she had purple roller-skates, and their joint crush on Donnie Osmond. He informs him that Harry's grandmother did the bookkeeping at the family-run greengrocer. He's never told anyone before that their birthdays were both in January, and come hell or high water, Mum would Side-Along both of them to Fortescue's for a birthday ice cream.

"You should take me," Harry says. "For a January ice cream."

Severus scrapes his cigarette end on the concrete ground, his expression an impassive mask. "Fortescue is dead. Mum and Lily are dead. I should b—" He presses his lips together so tightly that they turn white.

Although Harry is shaking his head, he's not speechless. "Don't you say that, don't you fucking dare."

"Why, because you're my saviour?" Severus sneers.

Harry narrows his eyes. "Why do you call me that?"

"You think you can escape who you are?"

"Quite frankly, yes!" Harry hisses. "I'm not defined by what happened to me as a baby, or a child, or a teenager. And I won't let you define yourself by your past, either. It's exhausting just listening to you when you get like this."

"Why put up with it then? There's the door." Severus points inside.

Harry breathes in deeply through his nose, glaring at the ground. "You wouldn't be like this, unless you cared about me," Harry decides.

"Care? Love brings out the worst in me."

"And I put up with it because when you love someone you stick around." Harry narrows his eyes just as Mr Next Door turns his radio on full blast. "You're more than what you think you are, much more," Harry says, jabbing his finger to Severus's chest, "you're clever and fun, good with my family, read bloody bedtime stories to my godson, and when you're not deliberately trying to fuck everything up, you're good with me, too. Let yourself be good. Because you are. End of." Harry stands up, throws his cigarette to the ground, and glares at his own feet.

Severus would give anything to go back in time and punch himself in the face before he could upset Harry. "Is this the part where I say 'sorry' or 'thank you'?" he asks.

Harry looks over at him, startled. Then he laughs. "You're a quick learner."

That's another reason he loves Harry—his bottomless, bottomless mercy.

Accepting the offered hand, Severus gets up and casts a charm over the garden to mute his infernal neighbours. "Fancy a brew?"

He's stopped by a hand on his elbow. "Er, no," Harry says. "I've got a surprise. Stay out here."

"Are you and my grandmother planning something? I tell you, don't trust that woman—"

"Nah. You'll like it, I'm sure," Harry says. Severus is even less reassured when Harry adds, "You don't use your parents' room, right?"

He narrows his eyes and says, "No."

Trusting Harry makes him feel nervous, excited, perturbed. At the same time.