Finally, the spasm ceased. Severus gasped in a breath that was heavy with the smell of sickness. He'd rarely felt so humiliated in his life.
The pungent liquid that had collected in the pail vanished, taking the horrible odour with it.
Harry released his hair. It swung forward to veil his face.
Instead of clearing out like anyone with sense would have done, Potter shifted closer. His left hand settled on Severus' back and began to rub in gentle circles.
Severus stared down into the empty pail, having no idea what to say at a moment like this.
It was Harry who eventually broke the silence. "You should probably drink something so you don't dehydrate and then lie down."
A glass of clear water appeared on the coffee table in front of them. Harry reached out with his right hand to collect it, his left remaining a warm presence in the centre of Severus' back. As Potter moved the offered glass into his line of vision, interrupting his morose study of the now empty pail, Severus braced himself and turned to glare at him.
Severus couldn't see anything like disgust or pity on his lover's face. Their absence confounded him. Harry simply seemed worried.
"What?" Potter asked softly.
"I would prefer not to have you see me like this," Severus said at last.
His stiff words caused a puzzled frown on Harry's face. "Well, I'd prefer you to be well, too, but right now, this is what we've got until the toxin clears out of your system. So let's try to get you as comfortable as possible."
Severus was certain that puzzled frown must have migrated to his own features. "Potter, this is embarrassing enough without an audience."
"Embarrassing?" Potter echoed, as though he'd never heard the word.
"Unless it escaped your notice, I was just sick," Severus snarled.
"Well, yes, you were," Potter agreed with infuriating equanimity. "What's your point?"
"That isn't something I want anyone . . . watching," Severus said at last. This wasn't something he should have to explain.
"But . . . I'm not just anyone. I'm . . .we . . . you're my lover."
Gods, that hurt tone was back in Harry's voice again.
"All the more reason why I don't want you seeing me like this. It's hardly . . . attractive," Severus lamely finished. He didn't consider himself desirable under the best of circumstances. He didn't want Potter seeing him at his worst.
"Is that what you think of me?"
"Damn it, Potter. This isn't about you. I'm ill. I'm not up to company."
"I didn't think I was company," Harry nearly spat the word out.
The silence was more than oppressive. Severus half expected Potter to flounce out in a temper, but that was more his own style than Harry's.
After what felt like a millennium of that nerve-wracking quiet, Severus was finally forced to comment, "I don't even know why you'd want to stay."
"To make sure you're all right." Harry's hand touched his arm. "Suppose it was me that was taken ill. Wouldn't you want to come up and see how I was doing, even if it were only a minor inconvenience?"
That Potter could have the degree of faith in him to even ask that type of question was startling. Severus wasn't accustomed to being accused of thoughtfulness and concern. Part of him wanted to deny the suggestion, because he was already too deeply involved with Potter for his own good. Only . . . to deny it would be a lie. As much as Severus wanted to insist that he didn't care like that, insist that he'd give the other man his privacy if their positions were reversed, he knew that Potter was right. He'd want to see for himself that Harry was comfortable and had everything he needed. Hadn't he waited out on those freezing stairs for nearly thirty minutes the other morning simply to assure himself that Potter hadn't been too upset by his confrontation with Weasley after the simpleton had blundered in upon them? How could he possibly deny his attachment at this point?
Dropping his gaze, Severus gave a grudging nod.
"Why is it different when it comes to you, then?" Harry softly asked.
The answer to that was obvious to everyone but Potter, apparently. Harry was the only one who'd ever seen him worthy of this type of regard.
"Lovers have rights, Severus. This is one of them," Harry gently informed him.
"You have the right to watch me be sick?" Severus challenged the preposterous proposition.
"Yes. It's one of my inalienable rights as your lover. So I suggest you drink your water, hold onto your pail, and we'll move into the bedroom where you can be sick in comfort."
Too tired to continue arguing, Severus gave a confused nod, and then sipped the water when Harry held the glass up to his lips. When he'd drunk half its contents, Harry helped him to his feet and then guided him into the bedroom.
Severus lost most of what he'd drunk as soon as he sat down on the bed, but the pail caught the outpouring, and Harry conveniently vanished the mess as soon as he was through.
"That's good," Potter encouraged when he was done.
Utterly self-conscious, Severus sank back against the pillows, clinging to the empty bucket as though it were a lifeline. He watched as Harry transfigured his clothes into a pair of light blue Muggle pyjamas and then approached the other side of the bed.
It was strange to see Harry wearing any type of pyjamas. He'd only ever seen the handsome young man naked in bed.
Harry gave him a warm smile as he slid under the far side of the duvet. Some quick manoeuvring, and Harry was right beside him.
"Do you feel well enough to lie down and rest for a while?" Potter asked as he lay down flat on his back.
Severus considered the state of his stomach, how probable it was that he'd need to use the pail in the next few minutes. Deciding he wouldn't ruin the bedclothes, he lay down as well.
Harry's arm settled across his chest and gave a soft nudge, silently inviting him to move closer . . . to cuddle. Even when he was a toddler, Severus couldn't remember anyone ever holding him while he was ill like this. That warm chest was tempting as hell.
Severus felt totally at a loss. Slytherins didn't nurture like this, or at least those he'd known hadn't. Strength and independence had been honed into him since he could walk, along with the cruelty and the pettiness. Weakness of any type was scorned. Accepting this kind of comfort went against everything Severus knew, only . . . Harry wanted it. For some inexplicable reason, Potter wanted to stay here and share this with him. Harry clearly didn't consider him weak or disgusting. The contact was his lover's idea.
So, what harm was there in accepting it? Potter had already seen him be sick. It hadn't seemed to faze him in the least. As long as he grabbed hold of the pail in time, it should be all right. After the briefest of debates, Severus put the bucket down by Harry's far shoulder and tentatively pillowed his head on his lover's pyjama-covered chest. Even as he laid his cheek against the warm blue cotton, he expected disaster to strike.
But nothing happened. Potter didn't mock him for his weakness; his world didn't come crashing down around him, nor did his stomach come rushing up.
Harry released a deep, contented sigh as Severus nestled his head there. Then his hand settled in the centre of Severus' back and began to rub.
Being held simply for the sake of being held was an utterly alien concept to him. For his entire life he had been so isolated, so utterly untouchable. Until Harry, he'd never had a lover who cuddled or hugged. Even with Harry, all their previous body contact had preceded or followed sex. But this . . . this didn't really have anything to do with intercourse. Harry wasn't here to get laid. He was just here to hold him.
Feeling entirely too fragile inside, Severus closed his eyes and tried to hold on to the moment. He didn't understand it any more than he understood Harry Potter, but he cherished it just as much as he did Harry. Feeling oddly content for a man whose stomach lining was attempting to expel itself, he took a deep breath of the Harry-scented air and allowed himself to bask in Potter's demonstration of his inalienable rights as his lover.
*~*~*
"Severus, so good to see you!" Rosmerta's cheerful greeting sounded the instant he stepped from the floo into the smoky din that was the Three Broomsticks on a busy Friday night. "No Harry toni – oh, there he is. Hi, Harry. Your usual table?"
Severus couldn't recall the last time he'd had a 'usual table' anywhere.
After dusting himself off, Potter patted Severus' arm as he joined him. With a grin at Rosmerta, his lover answered the barkeep's question, "We're here to meet Ron and Hermione. Are they here yet?"
"Are you really? Good for you, Severus!" Rosmerta chuckled, giving him a look that made Severus' cheeks warm as though he were still a gawky teen. "This way, then."
The music, smoke, and laughter were already playing on his nerves. Dismayed, Severus trailed Harry and the lovely Rosmerta to a corner table in the main room. He couldn't help but notice how a hush seemed to follow his entrance into the room.
"Harry, Severus!" Hermione Weasley jumped to her feet in an eager welcome that belied the fact that she'd seen the pair of them just an hour ago at dinner. She gave Harry an enthusiastic hug, all but enveloping him in the light blue robe she was wearing. Fortunately, she restrained herself when she turned to greet him in turn; all she did was take his arm to guide him into a chair near the wall.
Although the physical contact was completely unnecessary, Severus refrained from snarling, forcibly reminding himself that she was trying to demonstrate her support for his relationship with Potter. It wouldn't do to start this charming encounter with a shout. He was fairly certain it would end on one, but there was no reason to rush the inevitable.
He'd told Potter that he'd try, so try he would.
Were he a gambling man, Severus would give this farce ten minutes before Weasley and he came to actual blows.
Potter sat down in the chair beside Severus' and moved in close, which helped alleviate his irritation somewhat.
Ronald Weasley at least refrained from making a spectacle of himself, confining his acknowledgement of their arrival to a grin and a rather strangely inflected, "So, you made it then?"
Weasley's long frame was folded into the end chair, his legs stretched out under the table. The brown robe he was wearing complemented his colouring far better than the scarlet Auror robes he wore to work.
"As you see," Severus replied.
"I'll bring you your usuals?" Rosmerta asked Harry and him once they were seated.
Severus gave a nod, while Ronald Weasley questioned, "You've got usuals?"
"We don't live under a rock, Ron," Harry laughed, and then amended, "Well, some of us don't. Others of us do, in fact, live under a number of rocks, but even Severus makes it out of the dungeon every now and then."
The warmth in Potter's voice was unmistakable. Hermione laughed at the joke. Severus could feel Ronald Weasley watching them as though they were on exhibit in a museum.
Severus had no idea what to say to either of them. He was only here for Harry's sake. He suspected that the Weasleys had as little desire to be trapped at this table with him as he did them. This was going to be a complete disaster.
Beside him, Harry relaxed in his seat. His arm settled across the back of Severus' chair, leaning against Severus' shoulders in what seemed a very casual, unintentional contact. The sleeve of Potter's grey robe pooled over Severus' left shoulder like a cape. Although he could feel the stares of strangers joining Weasley's, the touch was . . . calming. Harry wanted him here, even if no one else did.
"So here we all are," Ronald Weasley inanely commented.
"You said that, Ron," his wife chided with a grin.
"Did I?" Ron asked, sipping his beer.
"Yes," Hermione answered, plunging the table into awkward silence.
Hating that he was the cause of this nervous tension, Severus looked over at Weasley and asked, "How is your search for Burke progressing, Auror Weasley?"
That last was perhaps a bit much, but he was determined to make a legitimate effort to offer no insult to Potter's closest friends. He didn't understand why Potter wished to involve him so deeply in his personal life, but the nervousness that Harry hadn't been able to conceal the few times he'd seen his lover today made it plain that it was very important to Harry that this ridiculous outing go well.
"My friends call me Ron," Weasley said.
"Do they?" Severus' natural instincts got the better of him before he checked the sarcasm and asked, "Was that an invitation to do so?"
Weasley's friendly face puckered in a frown. "You've known me since I was eleven. Of course you can call me Ron."
Weasley sounded so much like his mother at that moment that it was eerie. Severus could almost hear Molly's voice using that same exasperated tone with him at Order meetings. He had enough sense to refrain from commenting upon that fact, however. Instead, he responded with a soft, "Thank you. You may call me Severus, if you wish."
"Great," Ron said.
"The case?" Severus prodded.
Weasley shrugged. "Burke's got to be out there somewhere. We'll find him."
Severus thought Weasley's crew had about as much chance of finding Burke as his predecessors had with locating Voldemort, which was to say, none at all. Once again, he restrained his baser instincts to a curt, "No doubt."
Weasley gave him a sharp glance, but let the comment pass. Then he asked, clearly digging for conversational topics, "How are the detentions going? I hear you've got quite the crowd down there this term."
"Ron," Harry's steely tone intervened.
"Well, what the hell else am I supposed to ask him about?" Weasley complained to Potter.
"Ron, really!" Hermione scolded, shooting a mortified look in Severus' direction at her husband's blunder.
