The Merryweather Hotel

Part Two

The next day once again saw Snape and Harry swimming for an hour and both of them sitting down to a convivial breakfast. The day’s schedule was tight, Snape planning to attend four lectures before giving his own.

As they had on the previous day, Snape and Harry ended up having lunch in the suite, this time with Harper and Hicks. While the other two mostly spoke Quidditch, of which Harper was very fond, Snape and Harry discussed that morning’s lectures. Harry was no longer hesitant in expressing his opinion. He did not feel a need to impress Snape, who seemed genuinely interested in his observations.

One lecture in particular, having to do with applied Arithmancy, had gone right over his head. When Harry told him so, Snape explained the gist of it, in layman’s terms, rendering it quite interesting.

There was a one o’clock presentation left for them to attend before Snape would go to his scheduled amphitheater and make the last preparations for his own lecture. Harry was glad he would have some time to check the room for security before the crowds arrived.

At three, Harry was quite sure he was far more nervous on Snape’s behalf than Snape himself was. Harry however was able to relax by concentrating on his job and trying to anticipate any problem that might occur.

Attendees started arriving early, to secure their seats, as if everyone knew that this was the place to be. As Snape had predicted, by a quarter to four, it was standing room only. The media was present as well. Harry recognized the dark-bearded reporter from the day before, sitting in the front row.

Soon enough it was time, and Serena, Steven and Snape stood on the dais as the three Aurors gave the room a last once-over before joining them. While facing the crowd and searching for possible trouble in the rapt faces, Harry listened to Snape’s melodious deep tones, noticing again how much he enjoyed the sound of that voice, as Snape described their research.

Harry’s heart started beating faster as he realized the direction the lecture was taking, both anticipating yet disbelieving his dawning comprehension of their final goal. He could see the same excitement building in the expressions of the faces in front of him. And there it was.

Severus Snape, assisted by Serena Marcos and Steven Harper, had devised, created, and produced a potion that would allow male wizards to successfully become pregnant, carry, and give birth to children.

The room exploded in voices, the noise level unbelievable, as questions were thrown at them and people expressed their opinions on the matter at the top of their lungs.

Snape raised his hands, in an uncharacteristically patient request for silence, and it eventually returned.

“Please,” he said,” if you allow me to continue, I believe most of your questions will be answered.”

The room went absolutely silent as he proceeded with his presentation.

“Sixteen percent of male wizards are homosexuals. Because of the complete acceptance of male-to-male relationships in our world, this number is much higher than the nebulous three to six percent estimate in the repressive, intolerant Muggle world. Until today, it was practically impossible for this large portion of our population to have children, since there are almost no magical children to adopt and most women of child-bearing age are in heterosexual relationships.”

On the screen overhead, wizard photographs of happy male couples started to appear, all of them waving happily and showing off tiny babies who were smiling, crying, or soundly sleeping.

“Our clinical trials included thirty-eight homosexual couples. They were the thirty-eight couples that arrived at our facility in the first hour of the day we started accepting volunteers. None of the couples were screened in any way, and none were rejected. Thirty-two of them conceived within a month of one of the partners taking our daily potion. Four more couples conceived once the other partner took over using the potion.

“These thirty-six couples gave birth to thirty-nine babies, as two of the couples had twins, and one of the couples saw both partners eventually getting pregnant together and giving birth within days of each other.”

He gestured to the photos. “They are the really, really exhausted looking couple,” he deadpanned, setting off some laughter.

“Thirty-four of the thirty-nine infants are females. That is slightly above eighty-seven percent.” He stopped for a few moments, as that information sank in.

“These are magical pregnancies, initiated, supported, and ended by magical means. The carriers do not develop any female characteristics, nor do they become hermaphrodites. The children are conceived though penetrative anal intercourse. The magical womb is created and sustained by the potion, and the infant is nourished by the magic of both its parents.

“At the end of the pregnancy, both womb and infant leave the carrier’s body through a spontaneous process very much like Apparation, though it is preceded by intense and prolonged labor pains.

“We do not know what would happen if the carrier was to cease ingesting the potion during pregnancy. We fear the womb would deteriorate, and the fetus would succumb, possibly causing its carrier injury or even death.

“Finally, I have one last piece of information to share with you. Unknown to our research team, a young female graduate student, who had been unsuccessfully trying to have a child with her husband for six years, took it upon herself to try our potion. She revealed her condition when she was twelve weeks pregnant. Both the conception and the development of her child were in every way similar to that of our male carriers. She too gave birth, through magical means, to a little girl, two weeks ago.

“Master Marcos and Master Harper will be starting clinical trials on female carriers unable to conceive through natural means in the next months and will present their results next year.

“We feel that through the use of this potion on male, and eventually possibly on female carriers, the wizarding population problem should be solved within the next ten years or less.” Snape nodded slightly and stepped back to rejoin Serena and Harper.

Clapping started at the back of the auditorium and progressed to the entire room rapidly, as people were getting to their feet to give the three Potion Masters a standing ovation.

Harry was scanning the crowd, searching faces and body language for possible trouble, but the enthusiasm seemed real and universal. As the reality of what he had just heard sank in, he felt an almost irrepressible need to join in with the celebration.

It was wonderful news for the wizarding world at large, of course, but Harry’s heart was not beating an erratic tattoo for the world at large. Twelve years ago, when he had realized and embraced his sexual identity, he had given up on the dream of ever having a family of his own, a dream that had been so important to him he had almost chosen it over the reality of his orientation.

That dream could be his again. Someday, when the time was right, with the right man…

Harry forced himself to focus back on the task at hand, scanning the crowd, watching the doors. Standing at the very back, looking stricken, was Tamara Holter. How they had managed to keep such seminal research a secret from their close associates, Harry had no idea, but he could tell from the young woman’s face that she had had no idea what had been coming.

Snape had qualified it as independent research, but surely someone in their department, someone in the University must have known. How else would they have gotten volunteers? Where else could the trials have taken place?

As the commotion diminished and people started sitting back down, the Q and A session started. Chairs were brought onto the dais and they all sat down. Harry could tell it was going to be a long afternoon.


Potter was gay! Severus was completely sure of it. He had glanced at the young man after his presentation, and had immediately recognized the look on his face. He had after all seen that look on the faces of each and every one of the candidates in his research project. Hope. Potter, like all these other men, had given up the idea of a family to follow his inclination, and now that the possibility was back, hope was written all over his features. Potter was gay. Severus was at the most important juncture of his career, uncovering his incredible achievement to the wizarding world, and felt deep satisfaction in that. But at this moment, his sharpest feeling of pleasure came from a much less heralded discovery. Potter was gay. He turned his attention back to the Q and A session, feeling absolutely buoyant.


They did not get back to the suite until almost eight o’clock and found the table laid for a lavish celebratory dinner, to which the three Aurors were gracefully included. Steven Harper, who had had the foresight to plan it, started the festivities by popping open a bottle of Moet et Chandon and toasting his friends and colleagues.

He reminded them of a dinner, nearly ten years prior, when the three of them had celebrated Snape’s tenure and when the idea of the Male Pregnancy Potion had been jokingly proposed. It would be a means for both him and Serena to finally obtain the same recognition without their efforts being appropriated by the dominating Master Holter, who saw any creation of his underlings as his own private property.

“Yes, Serena, you should always remember that this whole endeavor was your idea,” said Snape seriously.

Serena laughed. “No, Severus. I’d said it in jest. The most ridiculous and farfetched use for a potion that I could think of. It was you who thought that the only limit to a potioneer’s ability is his or her own imagination; you who saw my joke as a feasible notion and ran with it. We were just along for the ride.”

“And what a ride it’s been!” sighed Steven, happily.

Serena looked at Snape seriously. “I am not sure, sometimes, if you fully realize how many lives you will touch with that potion.” She waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Yes, people before unable to bear children will now do so, but…” Then she reached for his hand. “I, for one, would like to thank you in the name of all the young women in our world who would choose to love other women but have to yield to our society’s pressure to marry and bear children for the greater good of wizardkind, or live as pariahs. Now they may finally have the same freedom as their male counterparts; to love where their hearts will, and not where they must.” There were tears in her eyes as she smiled at him.

“Wow,” said Romilda, “I must say I hadn’t thought of that.” She too smiled at Snape. “But I can thank you for myself and all the other women like me, who have worked hard for their careers but are expected by everyone to just give them up and start producing babies the first chance they get. Clarence and I talked about this. I am twenty-eight. We agreed that we would not even try having babies for five years, but we have only been married six weeks and already the pressure is on, even innocently and from the most unexpected quarters. People I don’t even know feel it’s perfectly okay to remind me of my ‘real’ duty. It’s unbelievable.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Ginny talks about that all the time. She is twenty-eight too and probably the best Chaser in the league, and yet she is constantly told that she is wasting her life because she’s been married ten years and still has no kids.”

“Well, Severus, I guess that leaves me to thank you for all the single straight men out there,” said Steven Harper. He continued wistfully, “I was always shy and well, not a hunk, you know. A late bloomer I guess. By the time I finished graduate school and started thinking of a wife and kids, it was too late. I did not know one woman who was not married.” He patted Serena’s hand. “Well, except for you of course, my dear, but we both know I wasn’t your type, and I am not referring to Mr. Tall, Dark and Scary over there.” All three Potions Masters chuckled at that.

“I’ll probably be single for the rest of my life. Fifty-seven percent. That was the number the year I was born, and just my luck, I was never attracted to men. There are quite a few of us out there, you know, but hopefully, thanks to you, we are the last of our kind.”

Snape refilled his champagne glass. “ A better man would be embarrassed by now, basking in all this gratitude.” He smirked. “But you all know I am not he, so please feel free to continue with the adulation. I am quite at leisure. Potter? Any personal testimony you would like to lay at my altar?”

Snape's stare was very direct and reminded Harry of his disquieting gift at Legilimency. Did Snape know he was gay? It certainly wasn’t a secret, but Snape had been out of touch for a long time. A private man, Harry skirted the issue.

“I can think of two of my closest friends who will be beside themselves tomorrow when they read the Prophet. George Weasley and Neville Longbottom,” he added for the benefit of Clarence, who had met them but might not have made the connection.

“I have seen the look in their eyes every time there is a new baby in the family. They love their nieces and nephews to death, but I know, I know they will be the first in line for this potion.”

He grinned at Snape. “And of course Molly and Augusta will be nominating you for sainthood, or at least for an Order of Merlin, First Class.” He explained to the rest of them: “The Longbottoms are pure-bloods, and Neville is the last of his line. And George’s twin, Fred, was killed in the war.” He looked again at Snape. “It will not bring him back, of course, but in Molly’s heart, it will mean something.”

Snape straightened up in his chair, put down his glass, and said: “Potter, you have done it. My cup runneth over. Enough is enough. Let’s eat!” At his words, the plates on the table filled with great food, much as they did at Hogwarts for the feasts.

The meal was a joyful affair, but Harry was distracted. A child. A family. Though the possibility was still nebulous, he couldn’t help but think about it. Would he want the life of an Auror, with its endless hours, its dangers and its constant exposure to the seediest side of the wizarding world if he were to become a father? Ron did it. But would he want to?

He had not even dated in months… Well… in two years, give or take a week or two. It had started to seem so pointless. It was easy for him to get a date. What hot-blooded gay male did not want a one-off with Harry Potter? But a true relationship, like that of George and Neville, had always seemed out of his reach.

After the initial excitement at being celebrities by proxy, his fame became too much for most men to handle; the nightmares he still had occasionally too emotionally draining. And the job had been no help. It took precedence over one’s personal life, and his few boyfriends had gotten sick of coming second to it. Disliking the morose turn his thoughts had taken, he forced himself to return to the moment and to rejoin the conversation.

When dessert appeared, it was a sinfully rich chocolate cake. Harry was amused to note that Snape obviously enjoyed each dark forkful. After a few minutes, however, Harry was forced to look away, as Snape’s sensuous rapture over each and every bite was having a most interesting yet inconvenient effect on a certain part of his anatomy. Evidently, two years without a date was much, much too long.

Around ten o’clock, both Serena and Steven decided to head for their beds. It had been a long, exciting day and there was a concluding brunch to attend in the morning (that Snape tried to get out of, saying his job was done, but was unsuccessful). The Portkey back to San Francisco was set for the early afternoon.

The realization that Snape would be gone the next day, though it was in no way a surprise, upset Harry much more than was reasonable. So much so that Clarence and Romilda had to say goodnight to him twice to get his full attention, before also reminding him to wake Romilda at one for her to take the next shift.

After they left, Harry sat in his usual chair, a cup of coffee at his left hand, staring into the fire. He had enjoyed the time he had spent with Severus Snape tremendously, from their morning swim (and shower, even if he did try to avert his eyes and was successful most of the time…) to their talkative lunches and their stimulating evening conversations.

He hated for that time to come to an end and wasn’t sure what to make of it or what to do about it. If only there had been more time. Merlin. The man was married. What the hell was Harry thinking? He kicked himself mentally for forgetting so easily that the man was straight. Where was his brain? (Well, said a little voice…)

“Potter? Are you feeling all right?” He realized Snape had sat in the other chair by the fire and was looking at him. “You have been uncharacteristically quiet this evening.”

Harry brought himself back to the moment. This was his last evening with Snape. He might as well enjoy it.

“I’m fine. Just a bit distracted, sorry.” He smiled at Snape. “You must be feeling pretty good right now.”

“Yes. I have achieved a goal for which I have worked for a very long time.”

“It is a great discovery,” said Harry, conscious he was stating the obvious.

“It is but a means to an end,” answered Snape.

“For your colleagues’ tenure?” That seemed insignificant to Harry somehow, given the scope of the achievement.

“Well, their achieving tenure was Serena and Steven’s original goal, not mine.”

Harry looked at him questioningly.

“When I left England, twelve years ago,” Snape explained, “my name was sullied. My reputation was, well, notorious, I suppose, but for the wrong reasons, most of them unsavory. I promised myself that one day, I would return, having achieved enough to erase conclusively the memories of the past.”

He looked at Harry and clarified. “Though I appreciated your… testimony at my trial, as well as the posthumous defense given to me by Albus, I wanted my accomplishments to reclaim my name, so that my freedom, my reputation would depend on no one but myself.”

“I would say you have achieved that. You can leave tomorrow with your head held high,” agreed Harry.

Snape leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at Harry with intent. “I will not be leaving tomorrow, Potter. I have returned to Great Britain to stay.”

Why Harry’s heart would suddenly start pounding in his chest was inexplicable, really.

“But your wife…” said Harry, hating the way his voice had sounded on these words.

“Were you so distracted tonight as to miss the obvious, Potter?”

Harry wisely chose not to attempt a response.

“I went to California twelve years ago, having accepted the offer of a three month fellowship. The United States immigration laws for wizards are just as stringent as they are for Muggles. In order to remain in that country beyond my three-month visa, I found it expedient to marry a close acquaintance whose career had been stalled by the suspicion that she was a practicing lesbian.

“My wife has a very close friend, a charming woman named Olivia, an extremely talented artist. Olivia resides in an upstairs apartment in our conjugal home. That is where she has her studio, as well. Do you understand now, Potter?”

Harry felt like an imbecile. All the clues had been laid out for him to piece together, and yet he had remained oblivious.

“I was never bothered by our peculiar arrangement,” Snape added, “because unlike Steven Harper, it matters not at all to me that I am not my wife’s type, since she unquestionably is not mine either…”

Snape’s eyes were dark, almost black. In school they had always appeared flat, closed. But tonight Snape’s eyes were pools in which Harry could have easily drowned. He looked away, overwhelmed. The flames were dancing in the fireplace.

Snape was not leaving.

Snape was gay.

He felt relief, trepidation, excitement, and not a small amount of fear. Snape was not a man to be trifled with nor was he an easy man to understand. He was vicious, cruel, vindictive, frighteningly intelligent, and ruthless. He was also courageous, fiercely loyal, determined, and Harry had discovered to his amazement, desirable.

Though he had just given the wizarding world an amazing gift, to him it had been a means to an end. (“Have you ever known me to have only one motivation for any of my actions?”) Snape was the most complex person he knew. Slightly overwhelmed, Harry’s reeling mind fell back to practicalities.

“You sold Spinner’s End,” Harry said. “Where will you go?”

“I have considerable options. I will lodge here two more days while I finalize my arrangements.” Snape put down his coffee cup.

“I shall bid you good night, Auror Potter. I apologize for leaving you without company during your nightly turn at insuring our protection, but I find I am craving some rest after today’s rather thrilling developments.”

“Believe me, I understand,” Harry answered, meaning every word.

“Shall you make use of the swimming facilities again in the morning?”

“Definitively.”

“Excellent. I will see you then.”

Harry found he was happy to have some time to himself. He felt his life was on the cusp of change and had a lot to think about. His job. His love life (or lack thereof). The possibility of fatherhood. Hogwarts. And now, on top of everything else, the reappearance of Severus Snape. Who was here to stay. Who was gay.

By the time he went to wake Romilda so he could get some rest, he had made one decision and contemplated his other options in life enough to feel he was no longer wading some labyrinth aimlessly in the dark. As for Snape, he would treat him very much as he had some other dangerous creature he had once met in a dark labyrinth: warily.

They were in the elevator on the way to their workout when Harry mentioned: “I’ve decided to accept Minerva’s offer.“

Snape looked at Harry’s reflection in the door.

“You seem pleased with your decision.”

“I am. It feels right. I will give my resignation when I go back on Monday. What about you? You are staying in Britain, but what will you do?”

When Snape did not answer him right away, Harry looked up into the mirror-like surface of the elevator door and met his eyes. He was surprised to find a shadow of doubt in the usually self-assured gaze, as if Snape was hesitating as to his next words.

The doors of the elevator started to open on the pool floor and a curse came hurtling at them from the back of the atrium, effectively removing all thoughts of his question and of Snape’s apparent reluctance to answer from Harry’s mind.

Because he had been an Auror for nine years, the speed at which he moved in front of Snape and the strength of his protective shield were astonishing. Snape had lived in the rarefied environment of Academia for just as long, and yet, his own shield work would have appeared just as swift to a casual observer. Before the doors were fully opened, a double dome of shimmering light protected them.

In the state of hyperawareness that always seemed to take over when he was under attack, and even while he was casting Petrificus, Harry saw the progression of the incoming curse from the edge of his vision, reflected by the mirrored surface of the elevator walls, as if in slow motion.

The brilliant blue beam of light penetrated their shields as if they did not exist, passing right through his chest, then through Snape’s, then through the shields at their back before disappearing into the wall. The air inside their protective bubble seemed to fill with a blue vapor for a brief moment. The wizard who had cast the curse had not yet hit the floor from Harry’s spell and Snape’s Stupefy, than the strange blue fog had already dissipated, even before Harry could think to end his Protego.

They moved out of the elevator together and approached the fallen man.

“What the hell was that?” asked Harry.

“I have no idea.” Snape’s answer was calm but puzzled.

“Are you all right?”

“I think so. You?”

Harry thought about it for a second. He felt perfectly normal.

“Fine. I have no idea what just happened.”

The door to the staircase opened, and Clarence and Romilda appeared, wand at the ready, barely out of breath despite running up six flights of stairs. The Aurors’ wands were synchronized when they were on assignment together, and they had been alerted to the situation as soon as Harry had cast his shield.

Seeing Snape and Harry obviously uninjured, they relaxed their poses, and joined them looking down at the immobilized man.

“His name is Anton Albright,” said Snape. “He worked as a nurse at the medical facility where the children were born.” He did not look surprised.

“What happened?” asked Clarence.

“He hit us with a spell when the elevator door opened,” replied Harry.

“What spell was it?” asked Romilda.

“No idea, but it went right through our shields.”

“It did?” Romilda started running a diagnostic spell over Harry with her wand.

“I’m fine, Romilda. I don’t think it did any harm.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Harry, it could have removed your bits for all you know. Let me finish.”

Harry would have smiled at seeing Snape discreetly run his hand over his crotch had he not felt the sudden urge to do so himself.

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with you,” she said to Harry’s relief, before starting the same diagnostic spell on Snape. “At least nothing that wasn’t already wrong with you before,” she added teasingly.

“You’re fine too, Professor.” He nodded in appreciation, not correcting her mistake in honorific. “Do you think the two of you should go to St. Mungo’s anyway?”

“I think not,” said Snape. “I don’t want any more made of this incident than absolutely necessary.”

“Is he the man who threatened your lives?”

“Yes, most probably. We suspected him from the start, as he was one of the few people to have access to the area where he left the death threats. But we had no proof. There were two friends of his, who worked as orderlies in our facility, who could also have been responsible."

“But why? Why would anyone be unhappy with your research?” asked Romilda.

“He was Muggle-born, and his parents belonged to a small Fundamental Christian sect. Though they rejected him as a spawn of Satan, he did not fully abandon their beliefs. In his eyes, homosexuality is a grave sin. Giving the ability of carrying children to homosexual males is the ultimate perversion of God’s will.”

“You talked to him about it?” surmised Harry.

“Serena did. She thought if she heard his grievance… But you cannot change people’s core fanatical beliefs through kindness. I was afraid something like this would happen even though the FBMI did not take the matter too seriously.” He looked up at Harry.

“They should be contacted. His friends should probably be questioned. He has recruited them to his church. I do not think they are as fanatical, but if we make a martyr out of him…”

Four hit-wizards had arrived on the scene. They took custody of the prisoner and requested that Harry accompany them to make a report. Snape decided to forgo his swim and rejoin his American colleagues in their suite.

“I won’t be long,” said Harry to Clarence on his way out. “I will see you all in an hour.”


Severus was relieved. The attack he had expected had come, apparently without nefarious consequences. Serena and Steven were now safe.

The speed and strength of Potter’s reaction, when they both had been somewhat distracted, was nothing short of impressive. Seemingly without a thought, Potter had stepped in front of him, ready to risk his life to save Severus’s. How extraordinary. Severus was immensely relieved the curse used by Anton had been ineffective. He would have never forgiven himself if something had happened to Potter.

He had enough self-knowledge to recognize that he was at least as upset with Anton for ruining his and Potter’s swim as he was for him cursing them. He chuckled in self-deprecating humor.


Harry’s report was straightforward and he left the memory of the morning’s event into the Evidence Pensieve for transcription and verification. He was back in time to walk with them to the closing brunch. Now that the attack had actually occurred, he was quite certain that Snape and his colleagues were safe, but it was his duty to continue his protection until he saw them to their Portkey at 1:00pm.

He could see why Snape had been reluctant to attend. It was mayhem, and Snape was at the center of it, pressed from all sides from genuine well-wishers, hangers-on and the representative of the media. Snape however adroitly redirected most of the attention to Steven Harper, who truly had a gift for public relations, and he himself only stayed a short while, letting his wife and colleague play the political game.

He and Harry were back in the suite by eleven o’clock, where Snape poured himself a generous snifter of brandy and sat down with a very relieved sigh.

“I have always hated the media circus, but I must admit today I found it particularly trying. How do you put up with it, Potter?”

“I hate it. Always have. I avoid reporters like the plague,” said Harry. “Thankfully, these past few years they have started to forget me. It was much worse after the war.”

“And that remarkably powerful Notice-me-not charm you like to cast on yourself has nothing to do with that?”

Harry chuckled, a little embarrassed. “You spotted that, did you? I can usually project it only to the desired recipients. Most people are not aware that I use one."

Snape smirked. “I am not complaining. You may have noticed I stayed close to you in there. I believe it probably helped me make good on my escape.”

“Always happy to be of service,” joked Harry.

“But not for much longer.”

“No, our security detail will end at one p.m. when your colleagues leave for the States.”

“Indeed. But I was referring to the end of your career as an Auror.”

“Oh. Yes, that too, I guess.“ He was quiet for a minute and then admitted with a smile, “I can hardly wait. I did not realize how much this job was wearing me down until I made the decision to quit. It has been a good nine years, but I am glad it’s over.”

He relaxed to the back of his chair. “I am really looking forward to telling Minerva. And Teddy.” He realized he was behaving like an excited six-year-old when he looked up to see the amusement on Snape’s face, but could not be bothered to care.

“You’ve obviously made the right decision,” Snape commented, not unkindly.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the rest of their company, all of them in high spirits.

The Potions Masters were returning home in glory, and the Aurors would be off duty until Monday morning; the three and a half day weekend was a rare treat indeed.

Except for Snape, they all went to their rooms to pack their belongings, and Clarence restored the king size bed they had originally transfigured to its original state.

“Please come back with me, Severus, just for a while. You know there are bound to be awkward questions.” Harry stepped back into their room as to not interrupt what appeared to be a tense conversation between Snape and Serena.

“I have put your name on a scientific paper that represents one of the greatest achievements the wizarding world has known this last century,” was Snape's sneering retort. “It will earn you your bloody tenure and scholarly recognition to boot. I have more than adequately satisfied my end of our understanding. It is remarkably selfish, not to mention appallingly cowardly of you, to make this request of me and put me in the disagreeable position to have to refuse you. Grow a backbone, Serena. This parody of wedlock has gone on long enough. Give Olivia the recognition she deserves as your true companion for all these years, if for no other reason than all the sacrifices she has made for your precious career!”

There was a moment of silence; then Serena answered, “You are absolutely right, of course. I know how much you have yearned to return to Britain, how long you have waited for this. My apologies. Let’s not argue. We have been friends too long.”

“Indeed. I will see you to your Portkey.”

Harry stepped back into the living room, followed by his two colleagues, and they all made their way to the elevator. Harry felt suddenly irritated with the Muggle contraption.

He understood of course that the hotel had far too many guests for them to all be able to Apparate within its walls without risking two wizards trying to materialize in the same spot at the same time, but somehow it rankled to have to stand passively in that glorified matchbox.

He sighed with relief when they arrived downstairs and took great pleasure at feeling his Auror robes floating around him on his way to the Americans' Portkey. He was surprised at this sudden hint of wizard pride.

The three Aurors bade the travelers good-bye and made way for Snape. He saluted his friends and colleagues with a nod. Both Serena and Steven smiled at him. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I will miss you.” Snape suddenly stepped forward and enveloped her in a warm hug. The look on her face was that of absolute shocked disbelief, underlined with pleasure.

When Snape followed with a warm hug to Steven, the American actually laughed and said, “Severus, I did not know you had it in you!”

Snape let go of him, and stepping back, admitted, sounding a little mortified, “Neither did I.”

Steven smiled his beaming smile at him. “It was welcome, nonetheless.” But it seemed the moment had passed, and Snape had now recovered his usual cool demeanor.

The Portkey glowed, and Serena and Steven precipitously took hold, lest they miss it, and then they were gone.

Snape turned to his escort. “Well, your duty is at an end. I will bid you good-bye and return to my rooms.”

“What?” said Romilda. “No hugs?”

Snape’s glare would have cowed anyone who had not spent many years as his student. “A temporary leave of my senses,” he said. “One never to be repeated, I assure you.”

Romilda smiled at him, and said, “Good-bye, Master Snape.”

Clarence gave him a slight bow, and they both walked to the Hotel’s front door.

Harry and Snape stood together, watching them go.

“Your company has not been entirely disagreeable, Auror Potter,” said Snape.

“Nor has yours,” answered Harry.

“Please convey my high regard to Minerva,” added Snape.

“I shall.”

“Perhaps…” started Snape.

Harry looked at him questioningly, wondering what the Potions Master was trying to say (amazed as his own apparently newly acquired self-control in not letting his own imagination (or his mouth) run away from him).

“Perhaps we shall meet again.”

It was obvious to both of them that this had not been what he had first intended to say, but Harry felt as relieved for the reprieve as Snape looked.

“Doubtless,” answered Harry, once again surprised at his own restraint. And then he was through the Hotel doors and walking down the street, wondering what had happened to the bold Gryffindor who had never failed to send him treading where lesser men feared before, and feeling quite put out.


Severus returned to the suite feeling unusually unsettled. Spontaneity was not part of his vocabulary, and yet it seemed to have taken over his brain. He had hugged (hugged!) his former associates, an American custom he had always despised, and he had been moments from inviting Potter to dinner for no other reason than the fact that he felt like it.

His lack of forethought of the possible interpretation of such an invitation on Potter’s part, as well as its possible consequences for their future association was completely uncharacteristic. He had caught himself just in time, but part of him had actually wished he had gone ahead.

Could he be more overwrought by the events of the past few days than he had been aware of? He did feel physically tired, more so than would be expected. Perhaps the most reasonable course of action at this time would be to allow his body and mind the extra rest they seemed to crave. Anything would be better than this unnatural artlessness.

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