Vera
Once he would have said that the thick greasy hair was detestable, another sign of the dark creature that lurked within Snape. It surfaced in any manner of manifestations from the pallor of his complexion to the foulness of his temper. Once, he would have included that hair among them.
That was before he had experienced this...This closeness. In the years of the war, Snape's hair had grown longer, shaggy as well as greasy. So did his, so did everyone's. Hair was far from a priority on the enemy lines. Now, when Snape bent over him, a thick curtain enclosed them both, blocking out the light.
In heated darkness they shared breath after breath, catching in the long strands until the air was unbreathable. Rocking together in that familiar rhythm, they would peak in staggering convulsions. In the dark, no facial expression was necessary.
Ron was used to defining things by hair. It was too easy when it was your families most notable feature. Like Hermione's, who's bushy halo made her a lovable mother figure. Her fussiness had become more endearing over the years and less attractive. Another Molly was the farthest thing from his mind now. Especially as Snape collapsed slowly beside him, rolling partially away. Goosebumps cropped up in the dungeons chill.
Harry's wild black crown was everything. Dark as Harry could be dark, wild too, but always near princely in his resolve. If necessary the crown could be of thorns without complaint. Combs, brushes, scissors all bounced off it, rendering taming it impossible. As it should be. Harry was the phoenix on the mountain to, unreachable and alluring.
But Severus...Snape no longer though he must admit to a certain appeal in the name. Snapping Snape snooping snarking and snarling...but no. Snape was figure of the past, relegated among dusty texts and cloudy vials with the cloying scent of decay. No, this was what had survived of both of them. Coming out from battle and the ensuing painful victory. Dragged over hot coals, rolled in salt, they both had emerged.
It was chance that they had met again, in the crowded alleyways of a small Irish wizarding town. Both had been on business, staying only the weekend. Their eyes met and they spent the next hour, steadily avoiding each other. Unfortunately Snape's assistant had recognized Ron and scurried to speak with him, forcing the two into a terse conversation. Said assistant pointed out that their research overlapped and soon they dove into more academic subjects with vigor twice doubled by their discomfort.
For months, they danced around each other as the meetings inevitably snowballed. It culminated in a jointly published article that caused a small ripple of discussion in both of their disciplines. There were several heated responses, provoking the sleeping beasts in the both of them. Their written responses when gathered together actually caused a small fire in the publisher's office. Hermione predicted doom to their academic alliance as soon as they disagreed on something.
Harry understood better.
"It's not the disagreement that gets them going, 'Mione. It's uneducated, unfounded replies. Every well thought out response and objection probably got a fairly polite return."
"Of course, it did! It's those blasted morons in the Ministry who have grown complacent on research decades old! They huff and puff from their dusty tomes that they probably haven't even read."
His two oldest friends had stared at him, mouths slack, eyes wide. Hermione recovered first.
"You...you sounded like Snape for a minute."
"And what's wrong with that?" Ron found the words tumbling from him. "Severus is an intelligent man."
"Severus." Harry repeated.
"That is his name, Harry. We're not students any more."
"I know...but...I mean...it's Snape!"
The red head had chosen only to shrug and try and turn the conversation to Harry's life. This inevitably flustered his companion. It was easy to squirm out of any further discussion.
As their research became more entwined, it had become easier to allow the rest of their lives to follow suit. Despite the Weasley charm, Ron had long ago settled on the idea of having Harry, Hermione and his family as his sole outlet for social needs. Severus was by nature and situation a solitary man. Together they built a new wall of books, vials, broken wands and fierce tempers.
Despite Hermione's dire prediction, that scathing temper never burned each other. Instead their frequent bickering was a source of amusement for the both of them as they rapidly learned how to maneuver around each other in battles of wit.
The last step into bed was far more easily accomplished then it should have been and once there, they proved near impossible to rouse from it. Between Severus' long chastity and Ron's intense passions, they rarely left the bedroom in their infrequent off hours. Eventually their work separated which was probably for the best for their private life.
One black lock, strayed across Ron's lips and he spit it out gingerly.
"Night." Severus mumbled, turning over on his side. Soon he was snuffling quietly.
Rolling his eyes, Ron moved up behind him. It was an irrational worry, but he always thought that Severus grew chilled in the night. The knobs of his spine, so clear in his curved back did nothing to assuage the fear, so Ron used it as his excuse to cuddle where it would otherwise be unpardonable.
Perversely, he burrowed his face into the thick jet black hair. Impenetrable and dark, no one could say that it didn't suit the raven like professor. But Ron's favorite bit the patch right at the nape of the pale neck where no one else could see. There the hair was slowly graying, the only sign of aging in the whole black thatch.
Ron liked to make up meanings for that little gray spot. Vulnerability that only he sees, a soft spot, a spot of aggravation from years of students.
But in the end, its only hair, actually. And the whole of Severus was complicated beyond any swift, nighttime metaphor.
"Stop it."
The grumble started him from the drowsy thought.
"What?"
"Thinking. It's giving me a headache."
The snuffling started again before Ron could respond, but the message was received. Soon, he slumbered too, unaware of the many matings of red and black hair in the unconscious shifting of the night.
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