I think one of the reasons that I come back to Snape/Harry as a pairing is that so many of the very best stories are about growing older and living with one's mistakes, and still finding a purpose in life - passions, love, and all those things that we tend to think are the sole purview of the young. In this lovely, literary story, Snape has inconveniently survived the war and retired alone to Cokeworth, where he distills and sells (illegal) alcohol by day, and cross-dresses in pursuit of anonymous sex on the weekends. During one of his nights out, he comes across Harry Potter, who slowly begins to weave his way into Snape's Muggle life. It's a common enough trajectory for a Snarry story, but what really soars here is Snape's internal dialogue - the way he reluctantly begins to give himself over to vaguely terrifying feelings for Harry that the young man clearly returns - as well as a lovely Harry who's himself less poster-boy than just an adult version of the haphazard hero he's always been.
Books are also an integral part of the story; interwoven into character exposition and growth rather than just an accessory, and they're the icing on this really exquisite exploration of a tentative romance between erstwhile enemies.
He leaves Potter clearing away the last of their strange mid-afternoon meal. In the living room, Our Lady of the Flowers is lying on the sofa. Severus picks it up, stares at it—it must have been the book in Potter's hands when they fought earlier. He wonders if Potter opened it, read anything Severus wrote in it, or if he just wanted something in his hands.
While he couldn't say what's in every book he's ever written in, this one stands out regrettably clearly. He is torn between hiding it under the sofa and throwing it in Potter's face. Don't you dare make excuses for me. I know what I am. What I've been.
"I didn't quite mean what I said earlier," Potter says from behind him. Severus turns. Potter is standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. He's looking straight at Severus now, no avoidance.
"Which particular bit?" Severus asks. "I seem to recall your saying all sorts of things."
"I do kind of care who you sleep with," Potter says. Shrugs. "But it's not exactly a moral thing. It's just that I'd like to keep having sex with you."
"What a deeply romantic proposal."
Potter laughs. "Oh, because romance is exactly what you look for in a person."
"And you'd know, I suppose."
"Well," Potter says, "I have a few theories I'd like to test, anyway."
Severus considers this. He hasn't looked for an intimate relationship with another person in decades, hasn't longed for someone to come along and sweep him away, can't imagine romantic dinner dates or blushing declarations of love. But sex. A few theories. Some more cups of tea. Would it really be so bad?
He is still holding Genet.
"I am not pleasant," he says, feels the solid truth of the words as he speaks them, though they are also wholly inadequate.
"You think I don't know what you're like by now," Potter says with a lopsided smile.
The book between Severus' hands is a celebration of sorts. Genet's, and his own added to it, 1977, 1978. One of the only Muggle books he touched those years. It is entirely vile.
Potter thinks he knows. He really believes it. And Severus could probably let him believe it; who would contradict him now? The list of people who even remember that time has grown incredibly short.
"Here," Severus says, and tosses the book in Potter's direction. Potter's reflexes are still good; he snatches it easily from the air, flips it over to stare at the cover. Opens it, perhaps noting ancient library stamps, the last dates. He never bought his books in those days, and never got them stamped out by librarians either; took furtively, considering Muggle literature in general inherently pornographic, impossible to show another person. In this case, not entirely incorrect. "Homework. Come back when you're done."
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