May I Ask?

(19) The Jaws Of hell

((A/N: !!WARNING!!: This chapter contains graphic imagery, mild slurs, and intense scenes of violence. Stay safe, don't read if these themes upset you. This whole story is really not your cup of tea if you cannot handle those themes, I will have far cuter ones up eventually, I promise.))

    "Master?"
    Harry's eyes flicked up from Severus' throat, meeting his own.
    "Are you alright?"

    Severus had only truly begun to know Harry Potter a total of two weeks ago. After becoming stuck with the man, now labeled as his master for life, Severus had bucked and tugged on his reins like an untrained horse. Yet every time, his elven instincts would yank right back, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. He could not be with someone like Harry. He had thought the man to be proud, arrogant and foolhardy. Yet, arrogant, foolhardy people do not sit on the corner of your bed after you had a nightmare, with a warm cup of tea, and no expectations for an explanation. Severus cringed at the memory, and yet there was a certain solace in the way Harry had silently understood that he would not wish to speak to him about his dream. He had simply left his tea- a decaffeinated blend of chamomile and honey- on his bedside table, and left.

    "'Course I'm alright," The tanned man assured, sounding as though he found the question rather silly. Severus hummed, looking down at the dinner he had made them with a soft frown (an expression that had been harder to come by as the days went by), picking at it.
    "You have been periodically gaping at my throat," Severus huffed, pulling his turtle neck up a bit self consciously, hiding the dark pink, ragged scar that remained from the massive bite Nagini had tore from him. "If my scar upsets you, then you may speak up, you know. I could easily raise my collar."
    Harry seemed startled, shaking his head and waving his hands as he stammered like a loon.

    "No no no, that's not it at all! It's just- well um, is it... uncomfortable?"
    Severus blinked.
    "What?"

    Harry's face had turned an interesting shade of red as he opened his mouth to speak, then decided perhaps it would be best to clear his throat, and perhaps gather himself for just a moment or two.

    "You keep rubbing at it, and it's... quite the wound. I was wondering if it was bothering you?" Harry frowned worriedly, playing with his fingers in his lap, ever one to wear his heart on his sleeve.

    Severus crossed his legs beneath the table, tapping his fingers against his teacup, choosing to take a sip rather than answer. Although, this caused a slightly nauseating feeling to stir in his gutt. Finding he was no longer in the mood for tea, nor dinner, he set the cup aside.

    "No." His gutt twinged, as though something sharp had jabbed its way inside. "A bit." It was relieved. "It is more the idea of having such an unsightly scar," He relented, looking towards the kitchen window, as it was a far easier place for his eyes to wander than Harry's kind, accepting expression. "I do not enjoy such an... attention grabbing ornament upon my person." He sniffed.
    Harry pouted. "I don't think it's all that attention grabbing."

    Severus glared at him.

    "Okay," he admitted sheepishly. "It is a little startling, but who even cares? You don't really leave the house unless you're shopping, and I'd never judge- not that there is anything to judge- just-" The young man put his head in his hands, a stressed laugh escaping his chest as he rocked forward slightly, as though attempting to soothe himself. "It's my fault you have that bloody scar, and I think it's just... like a symbol of bravery, you know?" Harry looked up at him, green eyes gleaming in the dim light of their kitchen, the ceiling light's rays just bright enough to make them sparkle. It was like staring into the eyes of a cat. Severus would swear on his life that they glowed occasionally. His heart did a strange sort of flip whenever Harry would look at him like that. So sweet, so kind, as though he were a friend, or a lover-