its all about harry

Waiting

Draco was tired of waiting.

He came to the conclusion that waiting was the biggest waste one could do with his life.

And he had wasted a lot of his life already. Waiting.

He had waited for his father to acknowledge him, to show him he was proud of his son.

He had waited for his mother to stand up to his father, whenever he had talked her down, whenever he had treated her like less than his wife.

He had waited for his friends to come to his rescue when he had needed them most, to save him from himself.

And he had waited for the stupid prat to notice him. Really notice him. To look beyond the petty insults and his sneering.

For years Draco had been waiting.

He had waited in vain. But not anymore.

Draco was sick of waiting.

What had he even waited for? For him to come to the right conclusion, when Draco hid his true intentions so well? For him to realise what was really going on?

He probably would have to wait forever.

No. He would have to take matters into his own hands. And whyever should he not?

Yes, it was time to act.

Draco focused on the mop of black hair across the Great Hall.

He was sick of waiting.

He got up, marched over to the Gryffindor table and grabbed Potter by his robes. Without waiting for his reaction, Draco started dragging him out of his seat.

There was a yelp and shouts of protest, but Draco didn’t care.

He was so sick of waiting.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” Potter shouted, shoving at Draco’s hands.

Draco ignored him and dragged him out of the Great Hall.

He could hear Weasley and Granger shout something at him. He heard footsteps behind him, indicating that several people were following him. Potter was still trying to get out of his grip.

Draco had wanted to find a more secluded place to do what he wanted to do next, but when the shouts behind him only got louder, he turned around and glared at them.

“You want to watch? FINE! I don’t even care anymore!”

He tightened his grip on Potter’s robes as he pulled him towards him forcefully.

Because he was so tired of waiting.

His mouth crashed with Potter’s and suddenly everything went silent.

Draco had thought it would be rougher, that Potter would try to fight him more. Apparently he was just shocked. He stiffened as Draco moved his lips against the other boy’s. He buried his hands in his hair like he had dreamed of so many times.

He had waited for this so long. This was it.

Or was it?

Draco suddenly noticed Potter moving and braced himself to be pushed away at any second. Instead, tentative fingers curled around his hips to pull him closer.

Draco was sure there were gasps and murmuring, but he didn’t hear any of it.

His whole mind, his whole body was so consumed by Potter. Potter, who was kissing him back.

Yes. This was what he had been waiting for all this time.

If only he had stopped waiting sooner.

  • what she says: I'm fine.
  • what she means: Ok, but, like...who owned the Potters’ house after they died? Why didn’t it go to Harry? James and his family were wealthy, and the Potters had been well-established in Godric’s Hollow for a long time, so presumably their modest little house was not bank owned or under mortgage. I feel pretty confident that they owned it outright. And there was a war going on, they knew they were targets...there’s no way they didn’t have a will. Why didn’t their house go to Harry? Did the Ministry just, like...take it? Because they wanted it to be held in stasis as a memorial? That's creepy af. But what gave them the legal right? Is it because baby Harry didn’t pay property taxes for a few years, so the Ministry used that as an excuse to claim it? Who was the executor of the Potters’ will? Why didn’t someone take care of that and ensure the house was held in trust for Harry until he came of age? Was it Dumbledore who screwed this up? I bet it was Dumbledore. It's always Dumbledore... And what about all of their belongings??? Harry might not have wanted the house, but you can be pretty damn certain that he would have wanted some of his parents’ things...James’s old quidditch gear, Lily’s jewelry, family recipes, old photo albums...where the hell did everything go?? Is it...is it all still there....? In the house....? Oh god, that's a terrible creepy thought! Is it all just sitting there, in Ministry-owned suspension, while Hagrid has to beg James and Lily’s old school friends to send pictures because 11 year old Harry doesn’t know what his parents looked like??? What the hell is wrong with Wizarding society, and why did everyone treat literal angel child Harry James Potter this way???!!
2

happy birthday, Harry

So, serious talk.

How is anyone supposed to both have a full time job and be a solo 1d fan?

Like… how?

How?

3

I have recently become utterly smitten with the Society of Gentlemen book series by KJ Charles. The book covers are so disappointing and bland and do not do these characters justice AT ALL so I needed to draw the boys myself.


If you like Regency-era stories about gentlemen who like other gentlemen then you should check this series out; it’s got some lovely romance and friendships and supporting-each-other-through-hardship and era politics and scandal and drama and pining.  Not to mention bi and demi and trans characters, and none of the conflicts revolve around anyone being ashamed of their sexuality. Oh, and they all have HAPPY ENDINGS! Also people actually communicate and it avoids so many stupid misunderstandings that are so common in love stories. 

(Basically everything I’ve ever wanted in historical romance and more) 

i just.. . can’t get over sign of the times. there is so much feeling in it - hope, desperation, strength, vulnerability, pain, love, bravery - and all of it is so palpable, i feel like i can taste it in the air while the song’s playing. he pulls you in at the very first note and tangles you into his soul with every note after that. the energy in his voice just. it washes over you, wave after wave, like an ocean of electricity and emotion. 

the boy who stole sweaters

| x | x | x |

Harry zipped up his bag and carried it to the door. Paul had thought of everything, except for Harry’s hair products. He had washed his hair this morning, but looked like a mess because the hotel’s shampoo had turned his hair into one dry mass.  

Texting Barbara, he paced the room, waiting to be picked up. She texted back immediately, reassuring him that they’d get his hair in order before the first interview for the day.

He stopped the pacing when he thought of Louis. His skin prickled with the memories of last night, with the feeling of Louis’ fingers had left all over Harry. He touched a bruise on his hip, losing focus.

Last night had certainly been hot. A one time thing, but hot nevertheless. Something to remember. Louis had been demanding, and at the same time he’d seemed so giving, a little insecure even. Harry reckoned he’d been the same. After all, they didn’t know each other well, and didn’t know the other’s boundaries and preferences.

Yet, Harry had felt like they had slotted together quite well. It had been easy to read Louis, to understand his body language. In the same way, Harry hadn’t needed to use words to make Louis understand what it had been he’d wanted. Louis had simply known, had read every single one of Harry’s needs before he had the chance to voice them.

Harry had left Louis’ room after the third time getting each other off. They hadn’t really talked in between. Whenever Louis had said a word, Harry had shut him up with a kiss, and every kiss had led to them riling each other up again. Louis had complained the whole time, but every complaint had been accentuated with him biting Harry’s skin, a low moan, or a loud whine. Even if he had been complaining about hating Harry, hating himself for getting into bed with Harry, he had been into it, and had complained even louder each time Harry had withdrawn.

There was no doubt that Louis had wanted it the same way Harry had.

Hopefully now, they’d be able to move on from it. The tension between them was solved, they had given into the attraction. With that, they should’ve got it out of their systems. Looking at Louis now, Harry wouldn’t think about kissing him, or what it would be like to touch him, to make him moan. He was over it now. That’d make working with Louis so much easier from here on.

Keep reading

2

Happy Birthday to the lovely @ohscorbus!!! I hope you liked your impromptu gifts sorry you had to smuggle the chocolates. A little doodle I did which ended up taking too much time cause I couldn’t get their hair right - and now I know its a bad idea to sleep at 2am when you’ve got a two part show later that day. Thank you for letting me take it with Platform 9 ¾. I’m so glad to be sharing massive CC tears with you

I just found out about this and it got to me. Wow. Is this real? Yes, I’ve actually checked. It is horrifying. I don’t even know what to say.

i hope you know that nick grimshaw was allowed to talk about harry’s solo album in the press and in his radio show just like ed sheeran was, and it happens NOW for reasons. according to all this, harry has been working on this album for quite a while and only in the past month an a half we are learning about it and it’s all done for a reason. so nick, ed, everyone who was asked / talked about it didn’t suddenly decide to say stuff about this album, but they were allowed and likely told to do so. 

It’s hot out, which Harry should’ve expected, but it was still a welcoming change from drizzly London, the sun warming his skin. He stepped out the plane, nearly tripping down the stairs with his long boots skimming the ground, ready to exchange for flip-flops, or, even better, no shoes at all. The rest of his band were standing near the rental cars, talking and laughing while slowly stripping from the heavy layers, layers needed in cold England, but no longer needed in sunny tropics.

“It’s hot as fuck,” his love’s airy voice came from the top of the staircase, and he turned to see his boy squinting at the sun, already changed into cargo shorts and a tank top, sunglasses tucked into his collar, his golden skin seeming to come to life, “And bright too. Can someone turn down the sun?” He complained, gracefully coming down the stairs to latch himself against Harry’s side.

“Lou, you have sunglasses on you right now,” Harry teased, rolling his eyes as he took the glasses and slowly slipped them on Louis’ face, kissing his crinkled nose, “That better?”

Louis nodded, smiling with his head tilted up, “Much,” and brings their lips together softly, a bare trace of kisses to come.

“You all done?” Mitch called to them, breaking their bubble as they look over and see the full band watching them with fond eyes and silly grins, “Some of us want to actually get to the bungalow,”

Louis looked back to Harry, leaning up to wrap his arms around the taller boys neck and pull him into a quick kiss, a mere peck, “Ready, love?”

Harry returned the embrace, arms wrapped around his waist, and pressed their foreheads together, “With you by my side? Always.”


~~~


“Did you really make a proper English fry-up when we’re over 4,000 miles from London, and in the middle of a Caribbean paradise?” Louis asked, slowly pulling himself up from where he was spread eagle over their bed, the silk sheets pooling around his waist.

Harry sat down on the bed, across from Louis so they could make faces at each other while eating, and set the tray between them, “The past few days all we’ve had for breakfast is fruit, with the occasional bagel. Thought you could use something greasy,” Harry reasoned.

“Greasier than me, you mean?” Louis replied, taking a huge bite of his eggs, eyes nearly rolling back in his head, “Fuck, forgot how good this is. You fed the rest of the band, right?” He asked, always one to care about others.

“You’re not greasy, love. Just glowing,” Harry shot back, giggling at the pale pink coloring the other man’s cheeks, dodging the piece of bacon lobbed at him, “And yes, I fed the others, can’t have my band starve,” he grinned, and Louis laughed in response, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, a trait Harry was so helplessly in love with.

The two sat in relative silence, eating their breakfast and occasionally sticking their tongues out at each other, sharing giggles while the rest of the band move around the house, the sounds of showers being turned on and off, shouts and laughter. Louis finished his food, and pushed back against the headboard watching Harry slowly eat the rest of his eggs, “What are our plans for the day?” He asked, losing patience after ten seconds of watching him eat.

Harry smiled, and pushed away his plate, standing up to stretch, “Well, I know everyone wants to go swimming, so definitely that first,” he tapped his bottom lip, before breaking into a mischievous smirk, Louis getting a flashback of the 16 year old boy he fell in love with, “Sex On the Beach?” He propositioned with a wink, making Louis laugh.

“The act or the drink?” Louis waggled his eyebrows, both of them bursting into loud laughter when there was an unmistakable retching sound from behind their bedroom door.

“Quit being nosy, Sarah!” Harry yelled, banging on the door, tears in his eyes, smile so bright Louis’ heart felt like it was being clenched, “C’mon, Lou, let’s get dressed,” Harry pulled the smaller man out of bed, Louis feeling no insecurity being naked in front of his lover, twirling him around until they were at their joint dresser, and rifling through the top drawer, “Blue or green?” He asked, holding up two different colored trunks, but with the same striped pattern.

Louis crossed his arms, and gave Harry a look, one he was famous for, a tilt to his hip and one eyebrow raised, “What do you think?” He responded, smiling brightly when he’s handed the green pair, quickly sliding them on and wiggling to fit, laughing as Harry does the same, his long Bambi legs being as difficult as usual.

“Race to the beach?” Harry propositioned, stretching out his legs, and Louis nodded, “Alright, we’ll start at the back door, when I say go, no cheating,” he wagged his finger, and Louis rolled his eyes, but agreed to his terms. As soon as their bedroom door was opened, he shot off like a rocket, laughing at the pounding footsteps of Harry chasing after him.

A few hours passed, and Louis had sand everywhere, his skin was warm and a tad pink looking, a signal for more sunscreen, and his hair was full of salt, but fluffy. He was leaned back, pressed into Harry’s arms, sitting between his legs, as they watched the water, “I’d say today was productive,” Harry said, breaking the silence. Louis tilted his head back to look up at Harry’s face.

“We didn't​ write anything, nor record anything, we just sat on the beach,” Louis pointed out, wondering what Harry meant by “productive”.

“Yeah, but,” he leaned down and kisses Louis’ forehead, “I spent it all with you.” The smaller man cuddled back between his lover’s legs, and closed his eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of the broad chest beneath him, hearing Harry start to hum something familiar sounding, after a few seconds of this, Louis spoke up.

“Are you really humming If I Could Fly at me?” He asked, without opening his eyes, a small smile forming on his face as Harry’s chest starts to shake with laughter.

“Something like that,” he answered, hooking his chin on Louis’ shoulder, “I’m home to you, aren’t I?” Louis giggled sleepily, his voice already starting to sound warmer and gravelly, “I’m gonna miss you,” Harry confessed quietly, tracing slow lazy circles onto the soft skin underneath his fingertips, and Louis swallowed past the lump in his throat, determined for his voice to not choke up.

“A week and a half, Haz,” he tried to speak reassuringly, “We can last that, yeah?” Harry made a low hum sound in the back of his throat, before sighing lightly, the rush of cold hair giving Louis goosebumps.

“I believe,” he started slow, “That we can last forever.” His voice no longer timid at saying something so deep and intimate, knowing for sure that Louis felt the exact same. Their grips tightened around each other, and they laid like that, watching the sun disappear below the horizon, a calmness in the air.


~~~


Harry is running off of four hours of sleep, and it’s become noticeable in his song-writing, the theme drifting more towards melancholy, and longing, and breaking free. He also was checking his phone obsessively, something he promised he wouldn’t do the entire time here, vowing to not even turn the thing on. But it felt like as soon as Louis left, his phone never left his hand, waiting for something, a text, a tweet, a selfie on Instagram, just anything so he could remember what his boy felt like.

“H, it’s been four days,” Mitch called him out, after the 20th pause in recording for grown man to race to his phone, “You can’t make it four days without him?”

Harry knew it was meant as a light ribbing, but it hit all the same, that he really can’t last four days without his baby, “I miss him,” he pouted, “I just wish he were back here with me, with us. He deserves a vacation.”

“And he’ll get one once he’s back, H.” Mitch cut in, “Your boy will be back in your arms, you’ll be in your safe area, where you can hide from everything, and spend the time together.” He looked up from where he was doodling on their notebook, smiling kindly, “Won’t that be lovely?”

Harry nodded, knowing Mitch was right, and that he should calm down and wait for Louis to return to him. Pulling the notebook towards him, Harry carefully penned, under the already written words, “We’ve got to get away,” and looked back up to see his guitarist with a sparkle in his eye, and they shared a quick nod, like an unspoken word between the two.

After eight days, Harry was pretty sure his new band hated him. He had penned out quite a few songs in the past few days, some good enough to make the album, but all the same theme. Loneliness, heartbreak, lost love, soulmates, being caged. And they were only words on paper, no actual music for accompaniment.

“Harry, please, two more days,” Clare begged him, “Just two more days, and he’ll be back, you can make it.”

He put his head in his hands, dragging his hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp, “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this,” Harry apologized, not looking up, “God, I’m pathetic,” he cursed himself, looking up in shock when she hit his arm.

“You are not pathetic, Harold,” she chided him, before smiling, “You are in love. You want your boy here because this is your first solo album, you want him to be here for the adventure, the creation. This album’s a huge part of you, and so is he, so of course you want the two to share a time slot,” she spoke simply, explaining in such an easy way, that it felt like the gears of Harry’s brain just clicked back into place, and started to whirl.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, “Oh, my god, you’re right!” He jumped up from the kitchen table, kissed her on the cheek, and raced down the hall, slamming into the recording studio, surprising Mitch out of his seat where he was casually strumming, “I need a guitar, and a pen.” He ordered, and Mitch looked surprised for a second, before getting a steely look in his eye.

“Damn right, you do,” he grinned, and Harry felt the tug at his own lips.

It’s day ten, nearly day eleven, and Harry was laying in bed alone. The last time he talked to Louis was two days ago, where he just had to call and tell his boy all about the new song they were recording, a song about New York and talking to walls, and Louis was excitedly shouting back into the phone. The two giggled like children, and hanging up was the most difficult thing, but they knew that in two more days there would be a reunion, and that’s all the encouragement they needed to get back to their schedules.

Only now, it was nearly midnight, and Harry was still in a half empty bed. Louis didn’t give a specific time on when he was going to be back, just that it was probably going to be late. The band had tried to convince Harry to stay up and watch a movie with them, a cheesy rom-com knowing how much it would entice him, but he denied, instead choosing to stare at his ceiling and wait. The window was open, and the rushing of waves had lulled him into a near sleeping state, the air slowly cooling the later it got into the night, crickets chirping and sounding like they were on his windowsill.

“Harry! Get outta bed, we need you!” One of the members (Harry was so sleepy he couldn’t remember whose voice it was) yelled from the front room, making him groan and slowly pull himself from the bed, ready to stomp out and throw a tantrum at them for interrupting his near-nap.

He threw open the door, opening his mouth to yell back, when a body collided into him, nearly knocking him to the floor. The smell of sunshine and cologne filled his nostrils, and he felt his eyes almost instantly tear up, which he quickly tried to blink away as he wrapped his arms around the small curvy body he knows almost as well as his own, “They may need you, but I need you more,” Louis’ raspy voice felt like music to his ears, a gentle laugh escaping his mouth as watery blue eyes met his, “Are you crying? Come on, it’s not that big of a deal.” Louis teased, knowing full well his own eyes were wet. Harry ran his fingers across the slight bags under his lover’s eyes, wiping away the tears and kissing him softly on the mouth.

“I just missed you,” he explained, pulling back to rest their foreheads together. Louis grinned widely at him, his eyes crinkling, and they kissed again, ignoring the cheers from the living room.


~~~


“You’re a messy drunk, Harold. I’m not going to clean up after you if you make a mess,” Louis warned, his boy already a little buzzed, his voice lower and warmer, dimples on permanent prominent display. The band had decided after nearly two months of recording, they wanted to get massively drunk and throw a bonfire on the beach, inviting some of the local friends they made. A whole bottle of tequila later, they were all dancing in the sand, running away from the waves and screaming when the water touched their ankles.

“You’ll still take care of me, and yoooooou know it” Harry drawled, giggling when Louis shook his head with a fake exasperated sigh.

“The things I do for you,” he teased, lacing their fingers together and using his shoulder as an armrest.

“Can we go swimming?” Harry asked after a few seconds, looking down at Louis with his bright green eyes that were hard to say no to.

“Sure, baby,” Louis gave in, “Just take off your shirt so it doesn’t get wet,” he instructed, laughing when Harry nodded solemnly, but started to slowly strip while wiggling his hips, which Louis copied, till both their shirts were in a pile at their feet, the two left only in their swim trunks. They raced toward the sea, always a competition, attracting the attention of their friends, who quickly followed after, till it was just a large group of adults splashing each other, the moon reflecting off the water, leaving everything shiny and radiant. Distantly, Louis heard one of the girls shrieking as she was carted over and dropped in the freezing water, still in her dress, “You fucker!” She yelled at the guy, presumably her boyfriend from the way he was looking at her, but she spoke with no malice, and quickly was overcome with giggles, everyone joining in, as the waves crashed around them.

“Let’s all get warm by the fire!” Sarah called, to everyone’s agreement, and quickly they all fled the cold water and sped over to where their fire was roaring, sparks flickering towards the sky.

“Now my dress is all wet,” the girl frowned, and Louis turned to see Harry holding out his own shirt and pants to her, a small grin on his face.

“Switch!” He laughed, and the girl didn’t hesitate to pull off her dress and hand it over, accepting the large shirt and pulling it on, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Harry, you’re huge, I don’t think that dress is gonna fit you…” Louis told him hesitantly, watching as he pulled the collar over his head, looking vaguely tangled.

His green eyes popped out, fire dancing in his eyes, “Don’t be ridiculous, it’ll fit like a glove,” he tugged, slipping his arms through the sleeves, and pulling the fabric down till it just barely reached his mid-thigh, “See? Perfect!” Harry exclaimed, smiling at everybody’s cheers, doing a little twirl to show off.

“If you say so, love,” Louis shook his head lightly, knowing that the dress was probably going to split sometime tonight and they’d have to buy the poor girl a new one.

“Everyone! Pick up your shot glasses, because I propose a toast!” Mitch’s voice boomed, making everyone scramble to grab their glasses from where they were left on towels, while Mitch walked around pouring a bit of vodka, that he got from God knows where, into each little cup, before going back to his original spot and holding his drink forward, “To new friends!” He cheered.

“To making memories!” Sarah interjected, earning a cheer herself.

“To making this album,” Harry spoke up, voice quiet and smile kind.

Louis leaned forward, gathering the attention on himself, “And to Harry Styles,” he spoke firmly, looking at his boy, hoping to convey all the love, pride, and adoration he could with only one look.

“To Harry Styles!” Everyone chorused back, and Louis saw the fire reflecting off the tears forming in Harry’s eyes, as they all clinked their glasses together.

The two pulled each other close, an arm wrapped around their bodies, fitting as they were always meant to, always supposed to. “To home,” Harry said quietly, a toast meant only for LouisandHarry.

“To home,” Louis repeated, and they clinked their glasses together, a beautiful sound on a beautiful night.

I don’t think one can really articulate their thoughts on life through writing, but I’ve been asked to try, so here it goes. I think we’re all connected. Maybe not in a way that makes much sense, but I don’t think anyone is ever truly alone. You, reading this, are not alone. We may never meet, I may never be more than a character in a story to you, but that doesn’t matter. I think that when we pour a little bit of ourselves into paper and ink, those stories pour a bit of themselves back into us, too, and that makes us closer than you can imagine. Life is strange and difficult. You’ll sometimes feel completely lost. You’ll fall in love with the voices in your head. You’ll look in all the right places at all the wrong times for something that you think will make you happy. You’ll be forced to go through so much pain. But just know that, through it all, you are not alone. I’m with you, the character in the story that you poured a bit of yourself into when you took the time to read. I’m with you.

You are loved, you are loved, you are loved.

— 

Hauntingly, Ch. 49

This is so beautiful.

(Maybe we can never completely separate fictional characters from our own perspective and understanding—can we ever separate anything from that, really?—and they may not really reciprocate what we feel about them (be it love or hate), but that feeling itself is enough to change us. The more we pour our life, our time, our perception, our love and hate into the characters, the more we feel about them, then the more we are different from our past selves who had not poured and had not felt. And who knows, maybe that will lead to other changes. Maybe we’ll one day feel differently towards another incident, or make a different decision, because of what we’ve read and felt before? The characters are with us and we are not alone. I feel very blessed, or loved, to have met the characters I love.)

The Snape film scene I hate

…is Occlumency.

In fairness, I love everything about Occlumency in the books.  

I love the standoff between Snape and Sirius at Grimmauld Place.
I love the fact that Snape and Harry converse for an extended period of time.
I like the use of the pensieve.
I love Draco’s glee at Remedial Potions.
I love the mind reading jibe. 
I love that Harry doesn’t try, even though he’s encouraged by Hermione.
I love that Harry even suspects Snape of deliberately making it worse.
I love Harry seeing Voldemort’s visions.
I love that Snape gets increasingly annoyed at certain key moments - which perhaps don’t seem key on first read but you realise their importance later on…

I love Occlumency.

I love it so much, I’ve written a meta on it.

But the films?  Well, I love Snape pulling Harry down to the dungeons.  …and that’s about it.  

Because although I like the films, they fundamentally twist the lessons.  In the films, Snape rants about James, rifles through Harry’s memories…and when Harry fights back and sees some of Snape’s memories, Snape chucks him out.

Which is the exact opposite of the book.  I think it’s really quite important that Snape gives Harry credit when he breaks into Snape’s mind.  In fact, he only chucks Harry out when Harry explicitly invades his privacy by snooping in the pensieve.

And even then, although it’s a devastating memory that he comes across, Harry doesn’t realise its true importance - it’s all about Harry and how he perceives his father, and not about Snape and why Snape would’ve hidden that memory.

It’s really quite lucky that Harry doesn’t fall into an earlier memory, that gives away Snape’s friendship with Lily - or a later memory, which gives away Snape’s allegiance.

So yes, when Snape throws him out, it is out of pure frustration and anger and betrayal - but it’s also about Harry coming close to seeing the truth.  Not just because it’s Snape’s real feelings and motivation at stake - but because Harry is having Occlumency lessons because he has a connection to Voldemort.  Harry is apparently useless at Occlumency.

…and double agent Snape really cannot risk the Dark Lord having access to the truth about Snape.

I know we all realize this. But apparently we don’t all realize this. “Closeted person does thing that seems straight” really isn’t unexpected. It’s what closeting is.