A Long Time Coming

~o~ Free ~o~

Harry closed his door and sat on his couch. What had just happened?

He had been deep asleep, unconscious, really. He had trained to exhaustion for hours in the frigid cold, to fall asleep quickly without having to lie there letting his mind wander to the dungeons, to the image of Snape grabbing Petr’s arse in the corridor that time, to the sounds Snape had made, and the look on his face.

He had thought he heard a knock, almost didn’t get up, but then he had definitely heard a harder one and had stumbled down the circular staircase to go and open the door.

Had Petr DeVries really just been here? To cancel his flight with him tomorrow? They hadn’t had any plans for tomorrow, had they?

“We just broke up. So… You know. I’m going. Forever. No flight tomorrow. Just thought you ought to know.”

Perhaps Petr had been drinking? He certainly had not seemed overly put out for a man who had just broken up a five-year relationship. Quite chipper, really.

Harry stepped onto his balcony, barefoot in the snow, shivering in the December night.

There was Petr, in the moonlight, walking alone to the Apparation point. Against all odds, Harry had not been dreaming. He walked back in, hugging himself for warmth, his heart beating so hard he could feel it through the wall of his chest. He stood there, incapable of but one thought.

Snape was free. Snape was free. Snape was free.

He sat on his couch, his head in his hands, and started laughing. Snape was free. There were weeks and months and years ahead of them, and Snape was free. He recognized the feeling in his gut, warm, and intense, and surging. Hope. There was hope. He stood, barely. He was still punch drunk with exhaustion, and dragged himself up the stairs and back to bed. He collapsed, a smile on his face. Snape was free.

Harry woke up late, having trained plenty the day before. The sun was already up, but it was snowing, big fluffy white flakes. He loved snow. He got up and stretched. He loved stretching. He got into his small shower. Ahhh… He loved hot water.

He got out humming, dried himself (he loved his fluffy towels), and dressed in warm comfortable clothing. He really loved cashmere. Down his little staircase he went. He loved his rooms. It suddenly all came back.

Snape was free.

At once, he panicked. What if it had been a dream? It could have been a dream, the whole thing, a dream. He flew down the tower steps, hardly touching any of them, and continued down the main staircase like a madman. He tried to minimally compose himself, then entered the Great Hall.

There was Snape. And he was alone.

Harry’s heart had a life of its own, dancing to its own beat. He walked in, sat next to Neville (he loved Neville), and tried to make sense of his silverware. The spoon for the farmer’s cheese, the fork for the grapefruit. (Better not touch the knife this morning.) He drank his shot of wheat grass. (He loved wheat grass.) He did not! He loathed the stuff. He had to get a grip and to stop giggling like an idiot. Neville was looking at him funny. He took a deep breath, and snorted with laughter again.

“What is with you, Harry?” asked Neville, smiling tentatively.

Harry just burst out laughing as if Neville had just said the funniest thing in the world. Neville looked puzzled, but then his lips twitched and the next moment he was laughing as well. For several minutes, they could not look at each other without dissolving into manic giggles.

Hermione sat down in Dermott’s spot. “What is so funny?” she asked.

It got them going again. Finally, they calmed down a little.

“So,” said Hermione. “Give.”

Neville cleared his throat. “I’ve no idea,” he admitted. “Harry started it.”

Harry looked at them, wiping his eyes. “I’ve no idea either,” he lied. “No idea at all.”

Hermione looked disgusted. “You are both certifiably insane.” It was her turn to chuckle when they nodded at the same time, very seriously.

Septima Vector arrived, very late for her, having obviously enjoyed a bit of a sleep in on the first day of break. “Good morning, everybody. Good morning, Severus. Where is Petr?”

“I’m afraid he had to go back to Amsterdam,” answered Snape, his voice even.

“When will he be back?” Septima inquired, sitting down and unfolding her napkin.

Snape took a moment before answering. Harry held his breath. “I am sorry, Septima. Petr is not coming back. We have… parted ways.”

“Oh,” said Septima, her glass of juice halfway to her lips; then she shrugged and said, “Oh, well. Life goes on,” and drank up.

Harry breathed. Snape was free.

“We are still friends, good friends,” Snape added to no one in particular, trying to ease the remaining awkwardness of the moment. “We have just ended our… closer association.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem too broken up about it, does he?” whispered Hermione.

“Guess not,” replied Harry, the urge to laugh almost too strong to resist. He had to get out and calm himself down, or he would just… explode. He had a brilliant thought. “Hermione, are the kids up?”

“Yes, I’m sure they are. Why?”

“Do you think they’d like to build a snow fort?”

Hermione smiled brightly at him. “I’m sure they would be thrilled. Let me go get them dressed for outside. We’ll be down in a few minutes.” She left, a bounce in her step.

Harry turned to Neville. “Well, Neville, how about it?”

“What?” asked Neville, looking confused.

“Go put on some clothes. We’re going to build a snow fort.”

“Harry, we’re thirty years old,” he said seriously.

Harry, who had already gotten up, sat back down. He looked in Neville’s eyes, his hand on his shoulder. “Friend, have you got something better to do?”

Neville’s lips stretched into a smile. “Not that I can think of.”

“All right, then. Let’s go!”

They spent the whole morning outside. They built a snow fort, then snowmen. Hagrid joined them and built a snow dragon. Flitwick started the war. He had been pretending to just admire their labor, but was discreetly making snowballs. When he had a large enough pile he charmed them to hit randomly, all the while looking perfectly innocent. Hermione figured out what he was up to and retaliated the old-fashioned way.

Soon it was bedlam. Dermott, Witherspoon, and even Filch joined in. The few students that had remained over the holidays couldn’t believe their eyes, but joined in enthusiastically. By the time they finished, they were all red-cheeked, happy, and soaked to the bone. As he walked back upstairs to change for lunch, Harry felt he had finally gotten his emotions under control. He didn’t think he had ever been this happy.

~o~

Harry spent the rest of the day in Hogsmeade with Neville, shopping for presents. They were both going to the Burrow for Christmas day and there would be plenty of folks to spoil there.

Christmas Eve at the castle had been pretty quiet, just a bit nicer than a normal dinner. Harry was a little hesitant about whether or not to show up at Severus’s door afterwards. On the one hand, they always spent Saturday nights together, and he really, really wanted to give Severus the present he had finally received from France that day in private. On the other hand, they were not supposed to spend an evening together until the eighth of January, and going now felt a bit like dancing on Petr’s grave…

What if despite his cool demeanor at breakfast, Snape was really hurting, but just hid it well? He might want to grieve in private. Harry’s gift might be completely inappropriate…

The hell with it. Harry wanted to go. He wanted to spend the evening with the man he was in love with, savoring the fact that it was the first night when he could act naturally without constantly double-checking his behavior, not worry his feelings might show, and maybe even flirt a little without guilt.

At eight, he was knocking on Snape’s door. He jumped when the man opened the door himself, and about melted into a puddle when he said, in a soft, low, low voice, “I was hoping it would be you…” before moving aside to let Harry enter. Harry put his parcel on the sideboard.

To Harry’s surprise, the chairs were gone from in front of the fire. Instead there was a thick rug with large cushions, and Snape was wearing… well-fitting? Glove-like? Anyway, the most marvelous trousers Harry had ever seen. Black suede trousers…

“Sorry it’s so warm, Potter. I’ve been lounging on the floor, and there was a cold spot…” explained Snape, and he removed his shirt, leaving only a sleeveless vest, the name of which Harry’s brain so conveniently provided. A wife beater. Weird name, that, but a wonderful, wonderful garment it was, showcasing defined shoulders, and biceps, and triceps, and smooth, smooth skin, and …

“Join me?” Snape was back lounging on the floor, large pillows behind his shoulders and neck, feet towards the flames.

The invitation came just in time, since Harry had become so weak-kneed he might have dropped to the floor anyway. The pillows next to Snape’s had obviously been Transfigured from his usual chair, but before Harry could lean on them Snape reached over one-handedly to pull Harry’s jumper up and off, throwing it over his shoulder, and then leaned over and removed Harry’s boots, throwing them one after the other so they both hit his front door.

“Better, no?” Snape asked. “That’s a nice shirt. Soft.” He was slowly running the back of his hand up and down Harry’s silk t-shirt, apparently unaware of the burgeoning nipples or of the embarrassing sound that escaped Harry’s lips. Harry had not said a word, his brain on ‘pause’.

To his great disappointment, Snape leaned against his cushions again, his hands behind his head, looking at the dancing flames. He breathed deep and sighed. “I always love the way you dress. I love… Shit. I think I’m drunk.”

Snape tried to touch his nose with his little finger and poked himself in the eye. He laughed. “Fuck yes! I’m sooo drunk. How could anyone sober miss that nose?” He turned to Harry. “Sorry, Potter. Celebrating. I’ll be right back. Before I yank off your socks and start sucking on your toes or something.” He got up effortlessly and gracefully, showing none of the intoxication he claimed, retrieved his shirt and disappeared through a door at the back of the room.

Wow. That had been… different. Harry got up. There was a bottle of Firewhisky on the floor within reach of Snape’s hand, next to broken pieces of its wax seal. It was three quarters empty and there were no glasses in sight. Oh, yes. Snape had been good and drunk, all right. Harry wondered if the man had just collapsed on his bed and was going to sleep it off.

With a vague wave of his hand, he put the room to rights, not even giving it a thought. He also put his boots back on, and the room having returned to a normal temperature, was glad to slip his cashmere jumper back over his t-shirt. Grieving the aborted toe sucking, he helped himself to a cup of tea, setting another on the arm of Snape’s chair, just in case. He noticed another small package on the sideboard besides his own and wondered if it was his present.

Suddenly Snape was back, and looked very pleased that his rooms were back to normal. He sat down in his chair and took a sip of tea. “Please allow me to apologize, Potter. I’m afraid I had a bit too much Firewhisky. I hope I did not do or say anything to offend you while under the influence. The sobering potion I just took gives one the equivalent of eight hours of sleep and cures any hangover, but I’m afraid one’s memory of what happened is just as unreliable as it normally would be.”

“I hardly noticed that you were intoxicated. Don’t mention it,” said Harry, who would have given his weight in Galleons to know what else Snape loved besides his clothing and maybe even more for the aforementioned toe sucking.

“I was thinking you might not come this evening,” mentioned Snape, “that perhaps you might have made other plans. I am happy that it is not the case.” Snape walked to the sideboard. “I have a present for you.”

Smiling, he handed him the small package Harry had seen earlier and sat down again. Harry removed the white ribbon around the box and looked up to see Snape biting his lower lip as he watched Harry’s reaction. He was nervous! Harry smiled and peeled back the blue paper, uncovering a plain wood box. He opened it, and inside was a simple glass flask, the kind the students used every day. The potion inside was blue, like the paper, and the label said, To warm extremities while flying in cold weather.

“One sip, and your toes, your fingers, and your nose will stay nice and warm in any weather condition for up to four hours,” said Snape.

“Really? Merlin! What’s it called? I wish I’d known it existed when I played for Puddlemere! I‘d given anything for something like that, especially in the winter of ’04!”

“It does not have a name… Yet. I made it so you’d be more comfortable when you train in the mornings and it is cold outside,” said Snape, offhandedly.

“You created this? Recently? For me?”

“I thought about it the first time we flew in the falling snow, but it took until last week to perfect.” Snape smiled. “It even tastes like blueberries. Two weeks ago it tasted like socks smell. But you always complained about the taste of my potions when you were younger so I persevered…”

Harry looked at the small bottle in his hand and wondered how many hours of research it represented. He was touched beyond words. Never mind that if Snape wanted to sell the patent to a Quidditch supply company, it would make him a small fortune. He had created this potion for Harry. Harry looked up at him. He could tell the man was pleased Harry liked his gift, but he had no idea really, no concept, of what that gift meant to him and Harry could not tell him.

Even though Harry knew he probably read too much into it, he felt cherished by a man he loved. He chose to smile at Snape and to put in that smile all that he couldn’t say. Snape looked pleasantly surprised, and smiled back.

Harry got up and retrieved his gift. It felt far less precious than what he had just received, but it was all he had.

Watching Snape notice his perfect wrapping job, he was glad he had put in the effort. The wide satin bow was grey and the paper itself a pale orange. It, too, contained a wooden box. Smiling at the similitude, Snape opened it. On a bed of silvery silk was a bottle of 1909 Artemis Armagnac. It was a century old, one of a kind, the oldest Artemis to be found, a gift to Harry from the patriarch of the Artemis family himself.

The Chateau and its magnificent wine cave had been slowly slipping toward the Dordogne River, the foundation—unbeknownst to the builders five centuries ago—resting on a deep cavern which had been collapsing on itself. Nothing could be done, according to the architects of the French monuments, until a young British architecture student had gone spelunking inside the cave and had, if he was to be believed, made a hole in a wall that allowed the water that weakened the cave to flow out to the Dordogne.

“Impossible!” had said the architects, “That cave doesn’t even have an access!” And they were absolutely right. But Harry was not an architecture student. He was a wizard. A powerful wizard. He could move rock from very, very deep below vineyards, where it would never be missed, to perfectly fill a natural cavern under the foundation of a castle, correcting a four-century-old problem, and asking, when promised “Anything! Anything you want!” by the grateful owner, for his most valuable bottle.

Snape looked up at Harry, apparently amazed. “A century old Artemis? Potter, how in the world did you get hold of this?”

He liked it! “I have my ways…”

Snape chuckled. “So we both gave each other something to keep our extremities warm. This is incredible, Potter, thank you.”

“Oh, it’s only one of two. You will, of course, get a pair of red socks with flying Golden Snitches, like the rest of the staff, including the house-elves…” Harry burst out laughing at Snape’s horrified look. “Just kidding. It’s actually red silk boxers with roaring lions.” He was laughing again.

Snape rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Grow up, Potter,” he said with no venom whatsoever.

“Talking about interesting accessories to your wardrobe, can I see it?”

Snape chuckled. “It’s in my office, next to the Sorting Hat.”

“Please?”

“Oh, all right. But it’s only because you softened me up with that century-old brandy, you understand?” He stood up and threw a fistful of Floo powder into the fire and totally took Harry by surprise by pulling him tight against his body and stepping through. He released him and stepped away as soon as they were in the Headmaster’s office. The torches lit immediately and Snape pointed to the bookshelves behind his desk.

Snape had had no idea why he had been requested to attend the reading of the will of a woman he hardly knew but Neville’s gran had bequeathed him a very special item. There on the bookshelf, next to the familiar Sorting Hat, sat Augusta Longbottom’s notorious vulture hat. When Minerva had announced Snape’s inheritance, poor Neville had thought he would die of embarrassment, but to his complete surprise Snape had just laughed, a good from-the-belly kind of laugh.

“Wow,” said Harry. “Impressive. Quite… large.”

Snape leaned against his desk, arms crossed, facing Harry. “Yes, that is what all the men say, the first time they see my… hat,” he quipped.

Harry exploded in laughter.

Snape made a face. “That sobering potion might not be as effective as I thought… Please forgive this tasteless innuendo.”

“Why are you apologizing? It was very funny. I’m thirty years old, Snape. I think I can handle the occasional sexual innuendo and a few tasteless jokes are not going to change my high opinion of you,” said Harry. “Besides, it’s liberating. I won’t feel so horrified if I ever say something uncouth.”

“Uncouth?” Snape grinned. “Potter, I am impressed. To think I used to believe you to be inarticulate.”

“Yes, uncouth,” repeated Harry, smiling. “You know… rude, coarse, impolite, vulgar, offensive, distasteful, indelicate…”

Harry loved Snape’s rumbling laugh. With Snape resting on his desk, they were of a height, only separated by a couple of feet. Their eyes met and held. Snape’s eyes were so dark, his gaze deep but soft, too, like velvet. Harry did not trust his reading of its meaning, all too aware he was projecting his own feelings and desires onto Snape. Though the man was not looking away, and a smile was floating on his lips…”

“My dear boys! So good to see you both!” Dumbledore’s portrait had woken up, breaking the moment (if moment there had been outside of Harry’s feverish imagination). “Happy Christmas!”

“Happy Christmas, Professor Dumbledore,” replied Harry, looking up at the painting of the old man.

“Happy Christmas, Albus. It is good to see you awake. I was starting to consider kissing you…”

Dumbledore chuckled. “You may be the Half-Blood Prince, but I am no Sleeping Beauty. You are doing such a fine job as Headmaster, there is no need for any of our advice. It is nice to sleep when you dream of heaven…”

“We will let you sleep, then. Sweet dreams, Albus.”

“Good-bye, boys. It is good to see you together at last…”

They left the office through the door and made their way to the Great Hall. Harry still had an enormous pile of presents to wrap before leaving for the Burrow, and considering that there was absolutely no way he was going to stick to his diet when faced with Molly’s cooking, he had to train in the morning.

Besides, he was self aware enough to know that he would try and create another ‘moment’, knowing full well that they just happened and could not be willed into being. It would be the fastest way to completely screw things up with Snape. No matter how the man felt about his break-up, Harry needed to give him some time before he started to try to plant the seed of the idea that maybe, just maybe, the two of them could be more than friends…

“I’m for home, Snape. I still have a lot of wrapping to do before tomorrow, then I need to go train in the frigid morning to give your gift a trial by fire.” He smiled at Snape. “It was amazingly thoughtful. I… It…Well, what I mean is… Anyway, thanks. Really.”

“Ah! Here is the ever-so-articulate Harry Potter I remember!” said Snape, smirking.

“Git,” replied Harry, smiling.

“Your gift was much appreciated as well, Potter.”

“Well, it was no vulture hat, but one does what one can. Oh, by the way, are you still planning on dropping by the Burrow tomorrow afternoon?”

“Unless unexpectedly otherwise detained, I mean to honor Molly’s generous invitation indeed.”

“Great. Something to look forward to.” Harry started up the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Good night, Snape.”

“Good night, Potter.”

~o~

Sadly, by five o’clock the next day, Severus had to owl Molly his apologies. One third year and three first year students who were spending their holidays at Hogwarts came up with the brilliant idea of sledding off the roof of the library, counting on the thick snowdrift twelve feet below to cushion their landing. Alas, the sled had been kept indoors and the pads were warm, making snow stick to them and considerably reducing the sled’s velocity. As a result, the landing was short of the snow drift, the sled falling backward instead against the library wall and bursting through the priceless stained glass windows before sled and students fell to the stone floor, twenty feet below.

Two skull fractures, four broken arms, two broken legs, eleven broken ribs (including one perforated lung), multiple lacerations from the glass (including one severed artery), two bruised kidneys, and last but not least, a severe spinal injury at the level of the second thoracic vertebrae, was the toll taken from the four children, surprisingly enough none of them Gryffindors.

Two healers from St. Mungo’s were called to give Poppy a hand. Dermott McClallan was spending Christmas with his fiancée’s family and Matt Pilot had gone home to his father and brother. So Severus was called to exercise his art. Poppy would have trusted no one else to brew the extremely complex and delicate nerve-regenerating potion that young Perry Beetroot needed to ingest within six hours of his injury if he was to ever walk again.

Severus called on Hagrid to get him some centaur’s blood, definitely not an easy task, especially when you only have an hour to do so. Luckily he had all the remaining ingredients in his private stores.

By midnight, all four students were resting comfortably in the infirmary, out of danger. Severus felt completely drained after holding young Perry’s hand as he screamed in pain while the potion did its work. There was nothing to be done to alleviate it. It was awful and heartbreaking. The poor child was in a complete body bind, his facial muscles and his respiratory pathways the only part of his body not immobilized.

Though his pain was not quite that of Cruciatus it was extreme nonetheless, leaving only minutes of respite between bouts of excruciating suffering. After two hours, the boy had no voice left to scream, his face bathed in tears, his eyes glazed. As Severus gently wiped the tears off cheeks still showing the roundness of childhood for the umpteenth time, the boy whispered to him, “Let me die, sir, please…” before wailing pathetically once more, his voice broken.

During the next reprieve Severus gently said to him, “We are never tested in life with anything more than what we are able to withstand. The severity of your challenge tells me, Mr. Beetroot, that you have to be one of the strongest, most resilient and bravest people I was ever given the honor to meet. Be assured that your suffering is almost at an end and that you are past the worst of it. You will survive this and come out the stronger for it. You make me exceptionally proud to be a Slytherin.”

As the pain took hold of him again, the child handled it with renewed determination. It was over in another twenty minutes. Suddenly, relief appeared on the small face and his whole body seemed to relax within the bind. “It’s over,” he said, astonished, beaming at Severus. “It’s over and I survived!”

Severus smiled back. “I never doubted it for an instant.”

Poppy came to check on him, alerted by a monitoring spell. She removed the body bind, only keeping the vertebral column immobile. “Well done, Mr. Beetroot, well done. This might easily be the hardest thing you will ever have to face in your life and you handled it with amazing aplomb. You need to rest now…” She gave Perry a dose of Skele-Gro to insure the perfect healing of the vertebrae, dosed the boy with Dreamless Sleep, ruffled his hair and left again.

Severus got up. “Have a good night, Mr. Beetroot.”

The child’s eyes were already closing. “I used to be so scared of you, sir, but now I see … why Coach Potter…. likes you so much. …. He says… you…. are...”

The child was deep asleep now, and Severus was amused that he had the urge to shake the boy and ask him what exactly Potter said he was. ‘An irresistible sexy bastard’ would have been rather nice, though that was fairly unlikely. ‘His brilliant, unconventionally attractive, favorite fantasy, perhaps? A walking wet dream with the brains to match? Severus guffawed at his thoughts as he walked away.

He fell gratefully into bed, though he could not help but be disappointed to have missed his chance to see Potter. He was still pleased beyond reason when he remembered Potter’s unguarded reaction regarding his planned visit to the Burrow.

“Great. Something to look forward to.”

Potter had plans, now. He was going to Andromeda Tonks for a few days, and they would not see each other until the Malfoy New Year’s Eve bash, where they certainly would not have any chance to be alone.

He was being ridiculous. Since he had ended his relationship with Petr, he imagined double meanings to every one of Potter’s actions, to every one of his looks…

In his office, he’d actually truly believed Potter and he were about to kiss before being interrupted by Albus. He had wanted to consign the old man’s portrait to the fire in the grate in frustration…

He could not imagine what Potter might have done to obtain the bottle of century old Artemis Armagnac he had gifted him with. Severus knew Potter went to great lengths to choose and obtain the right presents for his friends, yet he had purchased most of the rest of them in Hogsmeade.

Surely the Armagnac showed he had made more than his customary effort in finding an appropriate gift for Severus? Was the Headmaster right to imagine it showed a unique desire to please Severus, above and beyond even Potter’s natural desire to please his offerings’ recipients?

His own desire to create the potion had originally been completely selfish and practical. It had also been challenging and fun. He had almost discussed it with Potter one evening, until it had occurred to him what a perfect present it would be. Potter had been appreciative beyond his wildest expectation.

Truly, it would have been underserved had Severus been content with achieving his primary goal, but somehow, he had been driven to go an extra step and make the potion palatable. Only for Potter would he have made such an unnecessary effort and it had required more work and creativity than the potion itself and had been much harder to accomplish. The potion now tasted deliciously of blueberries, and he had colored it to match. A foolish exercise to be sure, but the smile Potter had rewarded him with had made it absolutely worthwhile…

~o~

Severus spent the next few days organizing the finished DADA syllabi into their final book format. He scheme for the class was working extremely well, his team of writers putting out superlative material, something they would all be able to be proud of once the seven-tome comprehensive DADA manual was printed in book form.

Each and every one of Potter’s syllabi was above and beyond expectations, his efforts amongst the best of all of them. His edited section on wand lore, which had been his own contribution to start with, had been taught right before the holidays. It had been received by the students with wild interest, filling a need no one had been aware of.

It was helping greatly in the casting of such wand-related spells as Expelliarmus, making it much easier for every sixth and seventh year to learn to Accio their own wand, teaching the students how to approach someone else’s wand the right way to be able to use it efficiently in case of emergency or, in case of the seventh years, to attempt double casting. Severus himself had learned many things reading that section and now felt a new appreciation for his own wand.

Harry’s courage, his loyalty, his athletic abilities had overshadowed his keen intelligence. Severus’s attraction to him grew with everything he discovered about him. He was so in love with him, he knew his control was slipping dangerously.

How long before he mistook an innocent smile for the invitation he so wanted to see? How soon would he ruin everything by showing his feelings? He had barely caught himself in his drunkenness on Christmas Eve.

His celebratory drink by the fire, marking the end of his disgraceful use of a man as worthy as Petr and his acknowledgement of his heart’s desire, had turned to two then three drinks, then the opening of a new bottle and the discarding of his glass altogether as he also faced the frustration and heartache the relationship with Potter would lead to. How could he stand the constant platonic presence of the man he loved in his life? A man so beautiful, so carelessly sexy, so attractive, so innocently tempting?

Then Potter had knocked and entered, smelling oh so good, looking delectable, and Severus’s addled brain had come up with the decision, since Potter’s shirt was so soft, to just ’fess up. Thank Merlin for the self-preserving emergency override which had apparently kicked in, perhaps a reflex remaining from years of holding back certain facts no matter how long a torture the Dark Lord subjected him to, no matter how close to losing consciousness he was.

Maybe these few days apart would help him. Perhaps he would be able to achieve some kind of peace with the situation and the next time he saw Potter he would have his feelings contained and would once again be in control of the situation.

~o~ Dreams Do Come True ~o~

His Uncle Lucius was one of Teddy’s favorite people. When Lucius’s owl came, telling Andromeda that he and Narcissa were going to the Manor a day early and that he hoped his favorite sister-in-law and his nephew could join them, the child was so excited. The Manor was a place of wonder and Uncle Lucius knew it like the back of his hand, including secret rooms and passages, hidden staircases and deep dungeons.

The bestest part, though, was that Uncle Lucius needed him, Teddy, to open all the hidden doors and say all the magic passwords because, for some mysterious reason, Uncle Lucius was without magic.

Harry assured them they should go. He had some work to do at Hogwarts he had been putting off, so, really, this all worked out perfectly.

He’d had a great time with Teddy, really he had. But … Since Molly had received Snape’s apology, Harry had been unable to stop wondering if perhaps Snape was not avoiding him. Looking back, Harry worried that, whether it had been his smile to Snape when given his gift or his staring at him trying to work up the courage to kiss him in the Headmaster’s office, his advances had had the finesse of an elephant in a glassware shop and had probably been just as welcome.

He knew he was paranoid, was quite sure his overtures had not even been noticed, but he wanted to go back to Hogwarts to see for himself that everything was fine, that his relationship with Snape was intact.

He congratulated himself on remembering to Apparate outside the gates. He had found himself distractedly using his absurd power a couple of times lately; actually, since helping Snape with the Wolfsbane, it was as if suddenly his magic had been reminded what it was capable of and resented anew its constant binding. Home, he dressed to fly, grabbed his Arrow, and headed down to the dungeons.

Snape, smiling, was holding his door open for him when he arrived. “I thought I was well rid of you for a couple more days, Potter. Proven wrong again, I see.”

His actions took all the sting out of his words, and Harry smiled back, feeling incredibly happy. “Put on your gear, Snape, it’s cold as a Muggle’s tit out there and we’re going flying. Lucky for us, I have this amazing (and delicious) potion that will keep our toes and fingers nice and warm.”

“Lucky indeed. Such a potion could only have been created by an absolute genius. Wherever did you get it?” replied Snape as he disappeared into his bedroom laughing his wonderful laugh.

Harry leaned on his broom as he waited, grinning widely. Snape was obviously happy to see him, in a wonderful playful mood. He was so glad he’d come back.

~o~

They started at the pitch because Snape wanted Harry to teach him to roll. It was harder than he’d expected, but he realized just how extraordinarily good Potter was at his job. His explanation was technical yet clear, dissecting the move into its individual components.

The overcoming of the broom stabilizers, the gravity-powered quarter turn to the upside-down position, the magically powered return to upright position, and the boost to the stabilizer so as not to start another unwanted roll.

He was very patient, his correction of Snape’s errors sounding like gentle pointers, and finally, once Snape had accomplished a couple of technically perfect rolls, his grinning final advice: “Okay, now you forget everything we just went over, fly to the hoops and back, and just roll without giving it a thought. Your body and your magic know what to do. Just have fun!”

Severus had been doubtful, but he did as he was told, zooming around the hoops and, when it felt right, rolling. It was perfect, completely natural, and it was fun. He laughed and made his way back to Potter, who was smiling at him.

“I know how to roll!” he said.

Potter agreed. “You know how to roll.”

Severus could not help but laugh again. Merlin, how he loved that man. “Let’s fly to Scourne Bay, what do you think?”

“Sure. I doubt there will be anyone on the A894, with the snow that fell again last night.”

They flew close to the ground, swiftly, Severus once again marveling at his broom. Well, at the broom Potter seemed to have permanently loaned him, anyway. They were side by side, quite close, often turning to smile at each other. Potter had been right. The road had not even been cleared from last night’s snow. Near the ocean there was a wicked wind and enormous clouds were racing inland from the water. The waves were very tall, white-capped, crashing violently against the rocky shore.

They stopped their flight, hovering, and Potter must have done something because they suddenly were insulated from the wind and the noise of the storm, able to relax on their brooms. “Look at that,” said Potter. “The storm is moving inland. There’s going to be a blizzard tonight, and another serious snow dump. Let’s follow the coast for a while, do you mind? I love to watch the ocean in a storm. We’ll cut over by Priest Island to avoid Ullpool and start inland at Loch Ewe, if that’s all right with you.”

“You know the coast very well.”

“I don’t like Obliviating people.”

Severus nodded in understanding.

“Snape, if the wind gets too much, let me know,” said Potter seriously. “We can head inland at any time. It will much worse when we cut through the bay by Priest Island, so if you can barely stand it before that, we should forget about it.”

Severus was not insulted. Harry had played Quidditch many times in appalling conditions, after being awake for a couple of days. He, on the other hand, had flown more in the past six months than in the last twenty years put together.

They started down the coast, Potter flying on the edge of the cliff, adding the ascending air currents to the powerful wind and playing with the seagulls, which also seemed to relish the turbulent conditions. Severus, more sedately above land and close to the ground, could sometimes catch the sound of Potter’s laughter.

The storm was rolling in, the clouds now overhead, low and fast moving, threatening. Potter rejoined him and pointed to the ocean, his gesture indicating it was time to cut across the bay to stay out of view of the Muggle village of Ullpool. He tilted his head questioningly and Severus grinned and nodded, deciding to challenge himself.

As soon as they left the land, he started questioning his sanity. He felt like a cork on a mountain stream. Maintaining a constant altitude required all his concentration and a worrying amount of magic. Potter, on the other hand, was having a great time riding the turbulences. Maybe that was the key. Severus sped up and stopped fighting the wind, forcing himself to let go of his fear and relax, trusting his instincts, trusting his broom and his magic. What had been a terrifying flight became a wild exhilarating ride.

Potter flew close to him for a moment and they exchanged grins.

“I knew you’d figure it out!” yelled Potter. “…..great instincts…… graceful!”

The wind had swallowed half his words, but his smile was radiant, and he had looked at Severus with unmistakable warmth. That Potter’s approval should please him so was … well, yet another symptom of his complete surrender to his feelings. He was so fucked! He laughed out loud, sped up some more, and let the storm carry him.

~o~

Watching Snape’s efforts at controlling his ride in the chaotic elements without seeming to, Harry saw the exact moment when the man understood that he was fighting a losing fight and made the leap to trust his instincts and his broom. From there, he rode as he did everything else, with ease and grace. Though through watching Snape’s flying skills improve in the past few months, Harry already knew the man had great instincts paired with natural ability, it was rewarding to see it confirmed.

It warmed him to know Snape was genuinely having a good time, having often suspected that perhaps Snape flew mostly to please him. Harry just had expressed his pleasure. He flew closer and they grinned at each other. Harry knew, he just knew, that this man was his destiny. It just was not possible that he should feel such sweeping, all-encompassing love for someone for nothing. It would happen. Maybe not today, or next week, or next month, but it would.

He watched Snape dance with the wind and smiled, warmed to the core. He gazed out to sea, watching the increasingly powerful… What was that? Oh, for fuck’s sake! Of all the harebrain things! A fucking plane! Small two-seater, mono-engine, a Piper, Harry thought, getting the shit beat out of it by the storm. Its engine was coughing, sputtering, it was banking out of control and dropping closer and closer to the water.

Shit, one more cough and the engine had stopped. The plane was only about four hundred meters high and the propeller was starting to drop down. Oh, fucking hell, they were nose-diving. Harry whipped out his wand and flattened out their flight. He needed to get closer. They were still going down, though at a slower rate, but he was getting no help from the pilot. The ailerons, the flaps, and the tail elevator were pushing down the nose.

Snape was at his side, able to ignore the wind, which carried them to and fro. His wand was in his hand.

“Can you lower the elevators?” yelled Harry, busy keeping the damn plane horizontal.

Snape gave him a blank look. “The flaps on the tail. They need to go down,” he yelled.

Snape nodded, pointed his wand, and soon enough the tail elevator evened out.

“The same with the wing flaps!” yelled Harry.

It was a relief when, after Snape’s intervention, the plane stopped fighting him. Harry could see Priest Island, still quite far off. Its cliffs were at least seventy-five meters high. He could not let the plane drop below that level. As always when he used the spell, he heard Hermione’s childhood voice in his mind, “It’s LeviOsa, not levioSA!”

But a Piper plane was no feather, and doing a Wingardium Leviosa from an airborne moving object to another airborne moving object was no picnic. Snape was still close to him and Harry suddenly felt the man’s hand on his shoulder offering moral support, the only thing he could offer at that point.

Harry accelerated forward, no point in dilly-dallying. He was glad to feel that the faster speed helped keep the plane aloft. Soon the cliffs were in sight. Harry tried to balance things so the plane would only be a couple of meters above the cliffs when they reached the island, so the landing would not be too rough. The damn thing had wheels, and there was a cushion of about a meter of snow on the ground.

Oh great! Somebody in the plane suddenly decided they didn’t like Harry’s plan, and catching him completely by surprise, raised the flaps again, causing the plane to both slow down and drop suddenly. The left wheel hit the edge of the cliff and broke off, the plane crashed nose first in the snow in a spin that was going to throw it off the cliff, and the right wing folded.

Harry stopped the plane’s forward motion and all went still, the disturbed snow falling back gently on top of the plane. Harry and Snape landed, sinking in the snow to their thighs. Harry Transfigured the soles of his boots into snowshoes and made his way to the downed Piper.

He automatically created an area of peace around the plane, getting them out of the winds and the sounds of the storm, and climbed onto the plane’s nose. Through the windshield, he could see the pilot. His head had fallen forward, his eyes were open, and a rictus of pain was on his face. His hands were on his lap and his skin had a grey tinge to it. “The pilot is dead,” he reported to Snape. “I’m pretty sure he had a heart attack. A while back, I think.”

In the co-pilot seat was a woman leaning on the back of the chair, her wavy golden-red hair in a braid, skin pale, and bright red blood dripping from her lips and seeping from her ear. She opened her bright blue eyes and blinked slowly at Harry. “The woman in the co-pilot seat is badly injured, but she’s alive, Snape!” He jumped off and rushed to the door on her side. The door window had a telltale starburst break. He helped Snape wrestle the door open. The woman was not wearing her safety harness. Snape was running a diagnostic spell over her.

“Muggle, skull fracture, brain swelling, broken fifth spinal vertebra, crushed ribcage, perforated lung, cardiac tamponade, fractured ulna, broken pelvis.”

Harry had gone across to the pilot’s side again and had managed to open the pilot’s door and enter the plane. He could hear the sound of an electrical arc forming off and on somewhere in the bowels of the plane. He came to the woman’s other side. He and Snape exchanged a look. No matter what they did, the woman only had moments left. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when the woman’s hand gripped his arm. He looked up at her.

“…He’s alone… in the world!” she whispered, unable to take a breath. “He has no one… no one… my baby…” her eyes lost their brilliance. She was gone.

Harry stood up and looked around the small compartment behind the seat. There was a blue blanket covering something in the corner. Dreading what he would find, he lifted it. He was met with bright blue eyes and a toothless grin. The baby was in a car seat with a three-point harness and plenty of cushioning. He seemed absolutely fine. Something was off, though… though Harry could not figure out what.

Snape had joined him in the small space and was running the same diagnostic on the child he had run on his mother. He looked at Harry with relief. “The child is fine, Potter.” He chuckled. “From the magical trace, when things got bumpy, it seem the little guy wrapped himself in a cushioning charm. That and this excellent Muggle car seat and here he is, not a scratch on him…”

“Of course! He’s magical!” Harry smiled, recognizing what had seemed off to him. “His parents were Muggles, Snape, but he’s magical!” He looked again at the baby, who was busy making bubbles with his mouth. He was wearing a gold bracelet with a small plaque. Harry caught the chubby arm and looked at the bracelet. The name ‘Frederic’ between two small stars. He lifted the little hat on the baby’s head, uncovering short bright red curls, more hair than a baby that young had any right to own.

“Well, hello there, Frederic Weasley-Longbottom,” Harry whispered softly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Potter, we have to get out of here,” said Snape, who had stepped away to check something. “The right wing’s reservoir is leaking, and I think there is an electrical short somewhere.”

Harry quickly liberated Frederic from his harness, wrapped him in the blanket and Apparated a safe distance from the plane. He was immediately joined by Snape. He Accioed their brooms just as the plane exploded. He instinctively created a bubble around the explosion and threw in a stasis charm, effectively stopping the blast mid-blow.

He turned to Snape. “Priest Island is pristine. It’s a bird preserve. I hate to see it polluted.”

“Can you do anything about it?”

“I think so…” Harry concentrated. He opened his eyes and got his wand out, to help focus his magic. He closed his eyes again and Banished the bubble.

“It’s going to blow as soon as it gets where you sent it, you realize.”

“Yes. I thought about the ocean, but the fish… and the kerosene… then I thought underground, but… Anyway. I sent the bubble down into the earth’s outer core. By now, it’s completely gone.”

“Into the earth’s outer core, three thousand kilometers below ground? How… efficient of you.”

Harry looked at him steadily, daring him to comment further. He had told Snape how he felt about using his full magical power but he had broken his resolution spectacularly that day.

Snape returned his gaze and only said dismissively, “Well done, Potter.” Looking at the bundle in Harry’s arms, he wondered out loud, “Whatever shall we do with this child?”

“Bring it to his fathers, of course,” replied Harry with a smile, tucking the blue bundle against his body inside his jacket. “Would you hold me and the brooms as I Apparate us?”

Snape raised a questioning eyebrow but did as requested. With a very loud clap, they Apparated into the middle of the main room in George and Neville’s Diagon Alley house.

Neville was in the kitchen area, cooking something that smelled delicious for lunch, and George was setting the table. “Ah, dear Harry, it’s good to know you take us seriously when we tell you that you can drop by anytime!” he teased. “Hello, Professor Snape. Welcome. Harry, should I add some settings, will you be joining us for lunch, perhaps?”

Harry chuckled. Then he asked Neville, his voice gentle, “Neville, would you tell me your gran’s prophecy again? I would like Snape to hear it.”

“Oh, sure Harry. Okay. Here goes.

”The dreamer’s last breath forty-one days past
To the Enduring House an heir is bestowed
Cut and marked by gold, the son of twins from heaven falls
His savior the savior and this one father’s twin,
By name and by mane as that one father’s twin,” he recited.

“Ah,” said Snape, as Harry got the bundle out of his jacket and started unwrapping the blanket. “I see.” He thought for a moment then said, “Mrs. Longbottom has been gone forty-one days today. The Enduring House is the Longbottom House, of course. A plane crash is definitely a fall from heaven, and that gold bracelet does say ‘Frederic’. You saved his life, Potter, the Savior of the Magical World, and you were born the same day as Mr. Longbottom, making you his twin, in a cosmic way. Of course, baby Frederic shares a name and bright red hair with his other father’s twin.”

Neville had left the stove and approached his long-time friend with a look of wonder on his face. George did not even realize the plate he had dropped had shattered on the hardwood floor as he, too, approached Harry. Frederic was deep asleep in his arms, all fiery hair and baby plumpness, a gorgeous, gorgeous baby.

Snape took the wooden spoon Neville was still holding out of his hand, and Harry gently passed Frederic to him. “Your son and heir, Neville.”

Neville looked at George, tears on his face, but smiling the most radiant smile. “We have a son, George, we have a baby!” George put one arm around his mate’s shoulders and one arm under his son, and he kissed his lover’s temple, gazing with wonder at his child. “We’re a family, love. By Merlin, Augusta’s prediction came true. Hello, little Fred.” He grinned at Harry. “Have I ever mentioned that you can drop in anytime?”

Harry laughed. Snape looked at the new fathers and said, “Far be it from me to break up this idyllic picture, but when Frederic wakes up, he will be hungry and need a nappy change. He is also going to need clothing, bedding, and who knows what. Mr. Weasley, your younger sister has two children the same age as Frederic. Perhaps you should contact her promptly and request her assistance?”

“This man is so, so wise…” said George. He walked to the Floo, threw some powder in and knelt. “Nice elf, get me my sis, please. It’s urgent.” He waited, apparently counting on her quick arrival. He was right. “Gin, remember when you wanted to call Scorpius Frederic, and I told you I’d have my own one day?... Riiight. Well, Fred is here. He’s about five months old, and sleeping at the moment, and we were completely unprepared for his sudden arrival.… Sis, we will have time for that later. You are missing the salient point here. We don’t even have a clean nappy.… Now, that sounds like a plan.… Yes, definitely. Thanks, Sis.”

He turned to his partner with a smile. “Neville, we have been invited to the Manor for a few days, where even as we speak there are three experienced mothers, as well as every bit of equipment our child might require.” He held Neville’s smiling face in his hands. “Ready for a crash course in fatherhood, my love?”

Neville giggled, then blushed, and then giggled again. “We have a baby!” George laughed with him, and kissed him over their sleeping infant. “Come on, love.” They walked to the Floo. Remembering Harry and Snape, Neville said, “Please, stay and have lunch. It’s ready, and there is dessert in the cool cupboard. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“Malfoy Manor!” and they were gone.

Harry and Snape looked at each other and grinned. “Let’s eat!” said Harry.

~o~ Green Eyes ~o~

There was a time when the very idea of a formal soirée would have made Harry run screaming in the opposite direction, yet he was very much looking forward to the formal New Year’s Eve celebrations at Malfoy Manor. Part of it was that he’d attended so many such functions through the years that they had lost their mystique. Part of it was that it was that this particular one was offered by one of his best friends and would host practically everyone he cared about. Part of it was that Madam Malkin had outdone herself and that he looked absolutely stunning in his formal robes, and Snape would be there to see him. The last and best part was that Neville and George were going to surprise everyone by introducing their child and officially naming him.

Harry slipped on the heavy silvery silk trousers, fitted to his lower body from hip to ankle, with stirrups made to go under the sole of his short boots to keep them perfectly in place, and put on a snow-white shirt. He decided to wear the Rosier crest cufflinks, the crest’s colors perfect for his outfit, with its Azure field and white rose motif. The next item to go on was a short-waisted jacket, its front much like a waistcoat, which was handed to him by Kreacher, who took as much pleasure dressing up his master for fancy parties as an eight-year-old girl would dressing her Samantha Stevens doll.

The jacket was also fitted, dark blue silk with silver snowflakes embroidered throughout, no two of them alike, the buttons beautiful silver snowflake filigrees. The robes were silvery velvet lined with pale blue silk. He wore the Potter seal on his left ring finger and the Black seal on his right.

“Master looks very good,” Kreacher informed him after he fussed with the sleeves of the jacket and brushed off invisible dirt from the robes. “Now shoo. Master Harry is going to be late and people will think Kreacher is a bad elf who can’t get his master out on time…” He walked Harry to the Floo. “Master is not to forget the presents for Master Malfoy and for Mistress Ginny,” the elf said, pushing a small wood crate into the fireplace and handing Harry a small box. Harry was bringing a case of six bottles of 1990 Cristal Champagne as a house gift for Draco, and a bottle of the perfume he’d had a French perfumer from Grace create just for Ginny years ago. She never wore anything else.

He Flooed to the Manor, was welcomed and dusted off by elves who relieved him of the gifts, and was guided by one of them to the ballroom, where he was announced from the top of the stairs: “The Head of the Black, Rosier, Potter, and Lupin Houses, Mr. Henry James Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class.” He laughed. They’d obviously let Lucius have his fun.

He walked to his friends, who all had champagne glasses in their hands, and started chatting with them, catching up with everyone. He was conscious of being observed and enjoyed the sensation for a while before turning around and offering Headmaster Snape a brilliant smile. Snape, who was speaking with someone Harry had seen before but could not place, smirked and nodded, acknowledging his greeting.

As he was talking to Seamus and his wife, a lovely witch from Jamaica with a wonderful accent, a pair of small cool hands covered his eyes and a musical voice asked, “What is the Latin word for moon?” He knew that touch, that voice, and especially that scent, like crushed fern and clipped grass. “Luna!” He turned around, lifted the blonde witch in his arms and twirled her around while she laughed her lovely musical laugh.

She was one of his favorite people in the world and had been his lover off and on for years. Their sexual chemistry was great, but they were both aware that they had no future beyond their friendship with benefits. Their affair had stopped when she had married Rolf Scamander, whom Harry had liked very much. It had been such a horrible shock when he had died less than a year later, killed by a chimera.

About an hour into the evening, Ginny asked for everyone’s attention. George and Neville appeared at the top of the stairs, George carrying a red-headed child everyone assumed was Scorpius. Neville, who had performed a mild Sonorus, announced, “Friends, family,” he chuckled, “total strangers, it is George’s and my pleasure to introduce to you our beloved baby boy, our son and heir.”

The room exploded with questions, congratulations, and exclamations of surprise.

He raised his hands and cleared his throat, and silence was re-established once again. “We will be glad to tell you the amazing circumstances that led him into our life, but first, we would like to name him, and put him to bed. It’s way past his bedtime… Severus Tobias Snape, would you do us the honor of being our son’s godfather?”

“The honor is mine, Professor Longbottom,” said Snape, joining them on the steps.

“Henry James Potter, would you do us the honor of being our son’s godfather?” asked George Weasley.

“The honor is mine, Mr. Weasley,” Harry answered, joining them on the steps as well.

“The two of you have already saved him once, and have brought him to us. We ask you to protect and support our son, and to care for him like your own should we one day be unable to do so. Do you accept that responsibility?”

“I accept it,” answered Snape, smiling down at the child.

“I accept and welcome it,” said Harry.

Snape put his hand on Frederic’s head and looked questioningly at Harry, who immediately understood and put his hand on the child’s head also. Softly they both recited, “Ye'simcha Elohim ke-Ephraim ve hee-Menashe,” then sang with a lovely melody, “Ye'varech'echa Adonoy ve'yish'merecha. Ya'ir Adonoy panav eilecha viy-chuneka. Yisa Adonoy panav eilecha, ve'yasim lecha shalom.” Snape translated the song into English, “May God bless you and protect you. May God’s face shine upon you and show you kindness. May God look favorably upon you and grant you peace.”

George and Neville both looked surprised but pleased. The Malfoys were smiling as were a couple of other people in the audience. Neville then announced, “May I introduce Frederic Frank Tobias Henry Weasley-Longbottom.”

George chuckled, and added, “We know it’s a mouthful, but we had to fit it all in; it’s not as if we’re expecting to have another chance at this!” He waited until the laughter died and added, “We will be coming back in a little while. See you soon, everyone.”

Harry and Snape both accompanied the boys as they took a smiling, wiggling Frederic to bed. George changed his diaper like an old pro. “That was a Muggle blessing you guys gave our boy. Did you rehearse it? Did you know we were going to ask you to be godfathers? What language was that?”

Harry let Snape answer. “It was Hebrew, Mr. Weasley. The House of Prince is Jewish. The Jews are the only witches and wizards who have retained some of their ancient culture. There are but few. The House of Crimsonshield, The House of Levi, to which your friend Anthony Goldstein belongs, the House of Silver.”

“Snape is Scorpius’s godfather, and I am Lily’s. I heard him bless Scorpius once and wanted to learn, for Lily, Teddy, Rose and Hugo. I think it’s lovely.”

“Besides, in this case, it is highly appropriate,” said Snape.

“Why do you say that?” asked Neville.

“The prediction said cut and marked by gold, did it not? Have you wondered about the cut part?” asked Snape.

“Yes, actually. We thought maybe Fred was supposed to have gotten a cut in the accident, but we found nothing.”

“I could not help but notice your child’s penis as you changed him. His foreskin…”

“Oh, yes. We asked the mediwitch about that. She said Muggles sometimes remove it.”

Snape smiled. “Exactly. Jews, in particular, always circumcise or remove the foreskin of their male children. It’s referred as being ‘cut.’ That and the small star on his bracelet tell me Frederic was born Jewish.”

George, finishing buttoning Frederic’s romper, said without thinking, “Oh, so that means that your pe… Merlin! Sorry Snape. Never mind.”

Snape chuckled. “It’s all right Mr. Weasley. Your curiosity is completely natural, and yes, I too, am cut. Just like your son. And it makes no difference where it counts.”

George was red to the roots of his hair and chuckled in embarrassment. Neville, on the other hand, was quite matter-of-fact. “Oh, good. I was actually wondering about that. Should we do anything different when we clean him up or anything?”

“No. Nothing at all.”

“Great. Thanks,” he smiled. “Gran would be so proud. Her one important prophecy came exactly true.”

All four walked back to the ballroom together, Harry speaking to Neville and George to Snape. It was getting a bit crowded. When Harry turned to talk to Snape he was crestfallen that the man had left their small group and returned to the area of the room he had graced previously.

Oh, well. They would talk later. Harry grabbed Luna and pulled her to the dance floor. They were together for most of the evening, catching up, dancing, goofing off, making plans for her Hogwarts rooms.

Several times Harry looked towards Snape. He had gone back to talk to that same man. Who was he, who had captured Snape’s attention so completely? Harry observed the man more closely. He was of average height, well built, with curly chestnut hair to his shoulders, light blue eyes, and dimples. Snape must have made a joke, because he laughed, his head tilted back, his teeth very white. Harry noticed Snape noticing his throat, then moving his gaze up and down the man’s body, and wanted to howl in misery.

He managed to turn his attention back to the conversation between Luna and Ginny, and Malfoy came and joined them, slipping his arm around his wife, whose willowy body, without a trace of her recent motherhood, was outlined by a floor-length pale yellow chiffon dress cut on the bias.

Malfoy grinned at Harry. “So… Snape,” he said.

“Snape?” inquired Harry.

“Petr’s gone, Severus is free,” Draco clarified.

“And?” asked Harry.

Malfoy just chuckled, “Just making conversation, that’s all.”

“He may not be free for long,” commented Harry, gesturing towards the two wizards who were standing ever nearer to each other, speaking with their heads very close and laughing frequently.

“Terence Higgs. Six years ahead of us at school. Was the Slytherin Seeker before my father bought me a spot on the team… I believe he left Britain to get away from the Dark Lord. His father was pressuring him to join, Severus not to. He studied Potions in Australia, I think. Got his Mastery. He would be a great match for Severus.”

“Yes,” agreed Harry, who wanted to throw up.

“Just like Luna would be a perfect match for you, you idiot.”

“Luna?” Harry shrugged, looking at his attractive friend. “Yes, I suppose, but it’s just not meant to be, you know?”

“Boy, you’re thick. Yes, Potter. I know. That’s exactly my point.”

Seeing Harry’s confused look, he shrugged and said to his wife, “Come dance with me, Beautiful. I want all the men in the room to wish they could be me!”

Ginny laughed and they kissed, a short but very real kiss, and as they walked to the dance floor Ginny’s cheeks wore a lovely blush.

Luna’s eyes followed the direction of Harry’s gaze. She looked at Harry and smiled. “He’s so in love with you. His aura is the color of your eyes. He’s trying to distract himself, working hard not to look your way.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“It would help if he knew you were gay, you know?” she commented.

Harry accepted that she somehow knew about Snape. This was Luna. “It’s kind of complicated, Luna…”

“I feel the same way. But you know? I don’t think that’s true. We just have to see that it’s really quite simple…” She sighed. “You haven’t gotten laid in months Harry. Your aura is all crinkly. That’s not healthy.”

Harry laughed. “Are you offering?”

“You would not even get hard. Your body does not want me any more, you know…”

Harry sighed. “I know. Let’s dance. It’s almost midnight.”

When the clock struck twelve, they had been waltzing a Viennese waltz, having a great time. Harry gave Luna a peck on the lips, “Happy New Year!” and a tight hug. And over her shoulder he saw Snape and Terence Higgs exchanging a passionate, deep, long kiss, Snape’s hands on the old Slytherin Seeker’s arse. Harry felt as if misery was a Beater’s bat and he had been hit terribly hard on the back of the head. His throat closed up and his eyes embarrassingly filled with tears. Snape opened his eyes, and by mischance his gaze met Harry’s. He stepped back from Terence as if scalded, but Harry had already turned his back and hidden his ridiculous tears in Luna’s abundant blond hair.

“Tears are very cleansing,” she said, “Did you need to get rid of ocular pollutants? It’s all these different perfumes. The vapors are quite noxious. Let’s remove ourselves.” And she Apparated them next to the front door. “Go home, Harry. If you stay, you’ll have to say “Happy New Year!” to all and sundry, with your aura looking like a grey paper bag. You would not have a good time. A grey paper bag aura, in your case, requires altitude, speed, and fresh air. I’ll tell everybody that you felt ill. What do you think: Hemorrhoids? Bad gas? Those are always good, I find.”

Harry could not help but chuckle. “How about a migraine headache?”

She shrugged. “If you’re sure. My excuses are more believable, though. The migraine is so overdone…”

“I’ll live with overdone. Good night, Luna. Thank you.”

“You know, he opened his eyes because he was surprised that what should have been a very nice kiss made him think of fat slugs and because his penis stayed completely soft. It would have been just a kiss, anyway. He doesn’t like his scent, and he’d been comparing him to you all evening and finding him wanting in every way…”

“Luna, how in the world would you know that?”

“You know I can hear people’s thoughts sometimes. He’s usually silent as a tomb, but he was really upset about something and was projecting like crazy. Good night, Harry.” She turned away, walking back towards the ballroom.

Harry did not want to put up with the Floo but he had not brought a cloak, so a walk from Hogwarts’s gates to the castle in the bitter cold night was not a good idea. He shrugged and just Apparated into his living room. He stepped on his balcony. After yesterday’s storm, today had been clear and cold. The sky was beautiful, the moon very bright. He sighed.

Luna was… Luna. He had seen Snape moving into closer and closer conversation all evening with a very attractive wizard, which had culminated with a passionate kiss at midnight. The normal trajectory would bring them to a bed next, a night of lovemaking. The younger wizard and Snape shared a passion for potions, a common House, and a past when Snape’s influence had saved Terence from making a costly mistake. The passionate night might recur, followed by shared weekends, then shared evenings and a shared bed, and Terence would be a permanent feature, having so much more to offer than evenings drinking tea.

Harry did not want to think any more. He went to his bathroom cabinet, and drank a vial of Dreamless Sleep. He’d had it a while, because he had not had nightmares in a long time. As far as he remembered, though, Dreamless Sleep did not go bad. He cleaned his teeth and, feeling sleep approaching like a locomotive at full speed, Banished his beautiful clothes to his armoire. He fell into bed and was asleep before having time to get under the covers.

Kreacher put down Dobby, after having brought her to his beautiful young wife for her night feeding. Winky had fallen back asleep already. He smiled, the happiest elf on earth. Master Harry was home early and had Apparated right into the house. Foolish. If it came out that Master had more power than ten wizards and ten house-elves put together, wizards would get scared of him and Master Harry would be in Azkaban before Dobby could say ‘Dada’.

Master Snape was very smart and had protected Master Harry always. Kreacher sighed. How long did it have to take for wizards to recognize their soulmates? How could Master Harry and the Headmaster be so intelligent and still not see what Kreacher, and all the other house-elves, for that matter, had seen months ago? Master Harry had looked very beautiful tonight. Kreacher had made sure. Did Master Snape notice? He wasn’t blind! Did he do anything about it? Apparently not.

Kreacher popped into Harry’s room to check on him. All was quiet, the clothes put away, and Master Harry dead to the world, naked as the day he was born on top of the blankets. Never mind it was sixteen degrees in the room, and minus twelve outside! Kreacher snapped his fingers and Harry’s duvet was now on top of him. Kreacher recognized the bitter tang of Dreamless Sleep on his master’s breath. Running his hand over Harry, he realized Harry’d taken too much, had eaten nothing since lunch, and was slightly dehydrated.

He went to the kitchen, filled up a bottle of water half way, and brought it back to Harry’s bedside. With a snap of his fingers, he Apparated the water from the bottle directly into Harry’s stomach. Then, while he was at it, he snapped his fingers again and Apparated the contents of Harry’s bladder and of his intestines straight into the toilet. There. Master Harry would sleep comfortably, now. He went to flush the toilet and Apparated back to the cozy little room he shared with Winky and the baby. The things a good house-elf had to put up with!

~o~

Severus had accepted Lucius’s invitation to stay at the Manor a few days before school started again and had arrived mid-afternoon. Lucius had been busy playing four-hands on the piano with Teddy Lupin. The son of a Hufflepuff and of a Gryffindor, and he was going to be a Slytherin. Severus could not wait to see Minerva’s face…

He had settled in his usual rooms, enjoying the luxury around him and the small touches he knew were Narcissa’s, like the rose buds in a tiny crystal vase on the side of the sink, the fruit bowl with pomegranates and pears on the occasional table, and the bottle of San Pellegrino water he’d become addicted to in America on his night table.

He had spent some time with his godson. The baby was growing like a weed, half again as big as his sister, happy and boisterous. Lily in contrast was calm and quiet, but had a smile that would conquer nations. Longbottom and Weasley brought in Frederic, who looked more like Scorpius’s twin than Lily ever would. He was a happy-go-lucky child, smiling complacently as he watched Scorpius roll across the floor.

He and Lucius retired to the library for a moment’s peace.

“So, are you going to pursue Potter?”

Severus should have known that as soon as Lucius found out that he and Petr had parted ways, he would jump to this conclusion. “Repeat after me, Lucius. Potter is straight. Straight men fuck women. I am not a woman. Pursuit is futile. Quod erat demonstrandum.”

“Repeat after me, Severus: Dum vita est, spes est,” answered Lucius.

Severus smiled. “True enough. But everyday that I let myself hope, quod me nutrit me destruit.”

“Poor Severus,” said Lucius grinning. “Nil desperandum, omnia vincit amor.”

Severus chuckled. “Quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.”

Lucius chuckled, too. “Balaenae nobis conservandae sunt! You’re right. It does sound better.”

To which Severus added, “Braccae illae virides cum subucula rosea et tunica Caledonia-quam elenganter concinnatur!”

They were laughing now, like men who had been friends for thirty years.

“Bibo, ergo sum, Lucius. A whisky and I will tell all.”¹

“Excellent.” He poured two glasses of forty-year-old Highland Park and sat back down in one of the very comfortable leather armchairs of his library. He passed his glass to Severus.

“Potter and I have developed a friendship. We spend four evenings a week together, sitting by the fire in my rooms, talking, working, reading. Sometimes we go flying together. We accompany each other on patrol. When I came back to Hogwarts, I thought I was in love with him. I had no concept of what being in love was. Now, I know. My love for him is a defining aspect of who I am. Everything about him thrills me. I would give my life for him without a thought, and were he to leave this world, I would have no interest in remaining behind.”

Lucius was grinning. Severus knew Lucius loved his wife with that kind of passion, so he had no qualms about speaking about it to him. The only difference, of course, was that Narcissa returned Lucius’s feelings. His love was unrequited. Unrequitable, had that been a word.

“You are so fucked,” stated Lucius, coming to the same conclusion as he had the day before.

Severus laughed. “You should have said it in Latin. It would have sounded better.”

“Drug his tea with an aphrodisiac,” suggested Lucius. “Fuck the hell out of him, show him what he’s been missing. No one is a hundred percent straight.”

“I’m sure he’d be thrilled with me when the potion wears off,” said Severus, chortling. “Your rigorous sense of ethics astounds me, Lucius.”

“Well, you are a potions master! Amortentia?” Lucius offered with a grin.

“Thank you for suggesting I commit a crime that could at best put me in Azkaban and at worst would have me spend my life knowing the feelings of the man who shares it are a potion-induced lie,” answered Severus, rolling his eyes.

“Picky, picky, picky…” grouched Lucius, slouching in his chair and taking a drink to hide his smirk.

~o~

When Potter had been announced, Severus had looked to the stairs, thinking he might catch his attention. Instead, he had literally felt his blood abandoning whatever mission it was on and head to his cock. Beautiful. Heartbreakingly unaware of how attractive he was, chuckling at the silliness of the introduction, moving down those stairs like a dangerous predator, all liquid grace and contained energy. Perfect. Perfect…

Severus had been talking to one of his Slytherins, an interesting young man who recently had obtained his Potions Mastery. He was also an out and proud homosexual and Severus wanted to cover the man’s eyes. That dream vision on the stairs, in those amazing trousers (oh, Merlin!), that V-shaped torso emphasized by a short jacket and flawlessly cut robes, was his, dammit. How dare Terence Higgs even look that way?

“Wow!” said the cretin in question. (How could Severus have thought him even remotely interesting earlier?) “Potter looks very… fine. Hot as fuck, actually. Merlin, those trousers… He teaches at Hogwarts now, doesn’t he? Professor, how ever do you resist?”

“Harry Potter is straight, Terence,” answered Severus icily, wishing he had the ability to do a Creata Eunuchus wandlessly.

“Riiiight. I don’t care how many women the Boy Who Lived has shagged. No straight man dresses like this,” decided Terence. “He’s trying to impress someone and, sadly enough, it’s not me...” His eyes lit up. “Hey, Professor, you wouldn’t mind introducing me, would you?”

“And here I had heard you preferred older partners,” Severus purred. No way was this attractive young man going anywhere near Potter.

Terence answered, “There is the fantasy and the reality, Professor. I’ve been flirting with you ever since I arrived, and I don’t even think you noticed. I’ll take my chances with the supposedly straight Savior over there. I guarantee you he’s at least curious…”

Severus gave him a look that almost caught the other man’s robe on fire. “Not all of us are obvious in our appreciation, nor blatant in our interest, Master Higgs. Otherwise I might well have been dismissed for my prurient interest in a sixth year student…” That was a bold-faced lie. He had never felt attraction for any of his pupils, and the very night he’d discovered his feelings for one of them, he had left the castle.

Besides, he’d always found Terence’s pale blue eyes very unattractive, and his voice was grating. Also his scent… not the bergamot/violet/musk/orange eau de toilette which he probably brewed himself and which was extremely pleasant, but his natural scent, underneath, a sweetish burning kind of smell. Repelling.

“Oh, my god! Sixth year, really?” Terence blushed, very pleased, and added, looking a bit shyly at Severus, “That’s when I fell… that’s when I developed this huge crush on you. Can we… Can you and I… you know, after the party?”

Mission accomplished. He’d forgotten all about Potter… Severus just smiled, looking into his eyes. Terence grinned happily. Severus could already feel the nascent headache that would, sadly, force him to change their plan and retire to his rooms alone at the end of the night. The only drawback to this plan was that he would not get to spend any time with Potter at all.

As if he had felt Severus’s gaze, Potter turned to him and smiled, a confidential, happy smile that warmed Severus’s inside. There was something there. Wasn’t there? If Terence was right and Potter had not dressed for the pleasure of the witches in attendance but to—how had he phrased it? Try and impress someone, a male someone, he would be that someone, wouldn’t he? Hope was a dangerous thing…

Ah, Luna Lovegood-Scamander had just joined him, a merry widow, apparently. They appeared very fond of each other. He concentrated on Terence for a while. All right. The young man was interesting, and attractive to boot. His research on brewing artificial blood replacement for vampires was fascinating, actually.

Neville Longbottom and George Weasley appeared and presented their boy. He had spoken with them at length about the circumstances that had brought the child into their life. He felt very touched when they asked him to be godfather, the last proof of his redemption, that his most abused student and half of the pair of his most often punished students should honor him in such a way.

That he was to share that honor with Harry made his pleasure complete. Blessing the child together, their hands touching, Harry’s countertenor in flawless harmony to his own tenor had been deeply meaningful. Though they had given the child to its rightful parents, he would always belong to them as well to some small extent, binding them together forever.

His analytical mind noted that it was becoming harder and harder not to touch Potter. It was a constant fight not to caress his cheek, not to hold his hand, not to take him in his arms and kiss his forehead. It was separate from the all-consuming sexual desire he harbored for Harry. It was a physical expression of the deep affection he felt for him.

He still did not want Potter within ten feet of Terence, and detached himself from their group as soon as possible. Though he was trying not to, he found himself regularly looking Potter’s way. Why could the young man be in constant physical contact with his friend Luna, holding her hand, putting his arm around her shoulder, playfully lifting and twirling her, kissing her cheek, when Severus had to be content with the “accidental” touch of their fingers while passing a book to each other, or rubbing of shoulders in a narrow corridor?

Potter and Lovegood did seem extremely close. Very affectionate. His mind suddenly went blank, refusing to deal with the logical conclusion to his observation. He took a shaky breath and faced the facts. She was the one. She had been unattainable, married to Scamander, but now she was a widow and she was coming to Hogwarts… An icy shiver went down Severus’s spine, with the certitude that Potter’s unrequited love was soon going to be requited, that he had not dressed in that gorgeous outfit for him but for the woman he loved.

He watched her. Her ethereal looks had matured, the delicate bone structure of her face promising she would be beautiful all her life. Her exophthalmia, perhaps due to a thyroid malfunction in adolescence, had corrected itself, and her heavy blonde mane, dropping in ringlets to mid-thigh, was magnificent. Her electric blue sequined dress, with long sleeves and a modest round neckline, was the same length as her hair, showing off long shapely legs. She was barefoot, but then she was Luna Lovegood. Her toenails were painted the same shade as her dress.

She was absolutely lovely, Severus realized. She was also brilliantly intelligent and charmingly quirky, unafraid of people’s opinion of her. She had been one of his favorite students, though of course she had never known it. Even now, as she danced cheek to cheek with Potter, he could not hate her. Seventeen hours bleeding and poisoned on the floor of the Shack had been painful, boring, panic-inducing, but somehow, he had known he would live. Now, watching the man who was his entire life joyfully spinning the woman he loved on the dance floor, he felt himself dying.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year!” Severus reached for Terence like a drowning man grabbing onto a float and kissed him, putting all his pent up passion for another man in his kiss. The younger Potions Master responded enthusiastically, with great skill, pressing a hardening cock against Severus’s leg and moaning in appreciation of the sudden attack.

Nothing. He felt nothing. Terence was a fabulous kisser, yet the meeting of their tongues brought to mind the mating of a pair of slimy slugs. His cock was completely uninterested in the proceedings, and this close, Terence’s natural scent was a complete turn-off.

Severus opened his eyes and was met by Potter’s stare from across the room. Shock. Pain. Sadness. Absolute misery. His face was an open book, his eyes filling with tears. Severus could not step away from the awful kiss, from the wrong young man, fast enough, but Harry had turned away and was hiding in his friend’s hair.

Leaving a stunned Terence behind, Severus weaved through the crowd to reach Potter and his friend, but was still a ways away when they Disapparated. He must have looked ill, because Granger, who had been dancing with her husband, stopped and addressed him. “Are you all right, Headmaster?”

“What? Oh, yes, fine, thank you, Granger. Just a spot of headache.”

“It’s all those different perfumes,” said Lovegood, back again alone. “They bothered Harry’s eyes. He said he had a headache, too. His aura was all grey and crinkled. Well, the crinkly part is because he’s not had a proper shag in so long, but the grey part is definitely because he’s miserable. It could be a migraine, or hemorrhoids, or a broken heart. Care to dance, Severus?”

Crinkled grey aura? No proper shag? Hemorrhoids? Broken heart? Severus’s re-introduction to Luna Lovegood’s strange and exciting view of the world drove mentioning she did not have leave to use his first name out of his head, and he had been waltzing with her for a few minutes before he remembered he had meant to demur.

“Harry is my friend,” she said, as if they were continuing a conversation. “He cares.” She nodded wisely, and smiled at Severus. She tilted her head a little, thinking. “Encountering my soulmate so young was awkward. It was just not feasible. Teenagers are so insecure and teachers are… iconic, you see? (You’re a very good dancer.) Even as an adult it’s daunting. Harry will be there for me. He won’t laugh at me. People think he’s special because he can fly really fast and he got O’s on all his NEWTS, but that’s just silly. He’s kind. Through and through. That’s why we both love him, isn’t it? Well, you also want in his trousers, obviously. He’s your soulmate, and he’s so sexy.”

The music stopped. “Thanks for the dance, Severus!” Severus felt shell-shocked. He was probably going to have to watch the memory of her monologue three times in his Pensieve before he could make sense of it. But she’d said Potter was his soulmate. Of that he was quite sure. Potter, Harry, had gone back to Hogwarts with a headache. But Severus was sure he had seen the pain of betrayal in his eyes. He was so fucking confused. A hand touched his shoulder and he turned around to meet eyes as confused as his own.

“Pro… Severus, did I do something wrong? I…”

Poor Terence. Severus felt like a heel. He smiled at the young man. “You are a wonderful kisser. You did nothing wrong, believe me. I happened to open my eyes for a second and by chance witnessed something unsavory happening on the dance floor that could not be allowed to go on. I apologize for my brutal retreat from the most pleasant welcoming of a New Year I’ve ever had the pleasure to experience.”

Terence smiled, relieved. “Is the problem solved, then?”

Severus honestly answered, “There was a misunderstanding. The injured party has left. It will probably take some time, but hopefully wounds will heal and the incident will be forgotten. I do however have the most painful migraine. I am afraid our plans will have to be cancelled. I am going to retire and dose myself with Dreamless Sleep, the only thing that seems to help when the pain is this acute.”

Terence looked gutted. Severus squeezed the younger man’s shoulder. “Perhaps you can go find Potter and see if he is really willing to take a walk on the wild side. He and his friends are congregated by the pillar over there. Good night, Terence. Congratulations again on your Mastery.”

At the mention of Harry, Terence seemed to perk up. Severus walked away, laughing inside. Harry was kind. Severus had made an effort to let Terence down easy. But he was not kind. Being a bastard was much more fun…

~o~ Unrequited Love ~o~

Harry woke up at five, dressed warmly, got out the custom-made Blue Streak racing broom he hardly ever used and dived out of his balcony. As usual, the Blue Streak’s peculiar balance and its relaxed stabilizer took a while to adjust to. It required a lot of the weight to be transferred forward, putting a lot of strain on the rider’s shoulders and arms, and during turns allowed the rider’s body to lean about eight degrees more than the Firebolt, giving the impression it was going to just about to dump you. It was a racing broom, not a Quidditch broom. The body position decreased air resistance and the relaxed stabilizers allowed acceleration in the turns.

Using it to train for Quidditch moves was terror inducing, a thrill like no other. It was also ridiculously dangerous and stretched Harry’s flying skills to their maximum. It required all his concentration, with no thought spared for parties, kisses, or anything else.

He ran back home calculating the actual power extended by his magic to keep the seventy kilos of Harry, gear and broom a hundred and fifty meters up in the air, moving forward at a velocity of eighty kilometers per hour against an eight-kilometer-an-hour wind. That, too, took all his concentration.

“Morning, Kreacher.”

“Good morning, Master Harry.”

“How is Dobby this morning? And Winky, of course.”

“Dobby and Winky is good, Master Harry. Dobby is rolling over.”

Ginny had told Harry that Scorpius was rolling over but Lily had not yet. Dobby had been born on September 22 and was three months younger than the twins.

“Is she early, Kreacher? Human babies roll over around their fifth month, I think.”

Kreacher smiled. “Dobby is, Master Harry. Zibo says Dobby is being a fast learner.”

Was Zibo the Hogwarts elves’ Healer? “It’s because she has such good parents, Kreacher,” Harry responded with a smile.

Kreacher looked at him, eyes wide, his hands on his chest and tears in his eyes. “Oh! Master is so, so kind!” He smiled proudly. “Kreacher tells Winky what Master Harry says, sir. Thank you… thank you.”

Kreacher, unlike the original Dobby, was not given to gushing. Harry’s remark must have touched on some sensitive aspect of the house-elf psyche. He was glad. Kreacher had been so utterly unhappy for such a big part of his life, Harry rejoiced at any happiness he could help him achieve.

He was in the shower rinsing shampoo out of his very short hair when the image of Snape’s passionate embrace suddenly appeared, in detail and living color, behind his lids. A single gut-wrenching sob escaped his lips before he clenched his teeth and forced himself to get a grip on his misery. He tried to review what had happened objectively.

Perhaps the night before he had made mountains out of molehills. It was only a kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve, for Merlin’s sake. Maybe if Harry had been standing next to Snape at midnight, he would have been kissed senseless too. (If only…)

And even if Snape and Higgs had ended up in bed (Harry wondered vaguely if he could perform a long-distance Creata Eunuchus on that blue-eyed, curly-haired prick…), yes, even in that case, he knew single gay wizards often engaged in one-offs. It meant nothing.

And even if it was the beginning of an affair, Terence had nothing on Petr, and if Snape could break up with Petr, what chance did Terence have? So Harry would only have to wait it out, because this too would pass…

Harry had promised Luna to help her set up her rooms. He made his way to the Ravenclaw tower, were she had been given airy ground-floor high-ceilinged rooms with French windows opening into an interior courtyard that filled with all pink blooms from early spring to the first snow. Her front door was guarded by a beautiful painting of Basil Fronsac in his raven Animagus form. Capable of speech, the raven was a great animal to change into.

“Hello, Headmaster Fronsac. I’m here to visit Luna.”

“Obviously.” The bird stared him down with his jet black eye.

“Er… could you open the door, or let her know I’m here or whatever?”

“You’re Atticus’s owner.” The bird’s beak was black and very sharp.

“Yes. I am,” said Harry, who really liked his crow.

“Do you know how much power it takes to have that simple a spell create the kind of intelligence that bird now possesses, and give him the ability to Apparate, even in and out of Hogwarts’s wards?”

“Obviously.”

Harry had never heard a raven laugh, but this one did. “Touché,” he said. “All right. She’s dressed. You may go in.”

Harry knocked and entered. “Hey, bella Luna, how are you?”

“I’m a bit itchy. My skin is dry, I need to get some rosehip oil. You? Rested?”

“Yes, surprisingly. I got up and trained at five and felt fantastic. Not bad for four-and-a-half hours of sleep.”

“Twenty-eight-and-a-half. You missed Monday, ” she said breezily.

“Huh… what?”

“When you didn’t come yesterday, I had to make sure the dabberblimps hadn’t gotten to you so I went up to your rooms. Your house-elf is very funny. You forgot that the potency of Dreamless Sleep increases as it ages. I’ve never taken it. Do you really not dream?”

“Oi! Twenty-eight hours! Sorry Luna. And yes, you really sleep without dreams.”

“What’s the point of sleeping, then?”

“Er… Rest, I suppose.”

“If you’re not going to dream, you might as well rest by meditating naked. It’s just as good.”

Harry chuckled. “I’ll take your word on that. So, is there anything left for me to do in these rooms?”

“Oh, yes! We need to paint, and hang pictures, and clean out the Nargles, and….”

~o~

A fun day was had by all. Harry was so glad Luna had come. Lunch was definitely a highlight, though. Luna had been seated—logically, since she, too, was an apprentice—next to Matt Pilot at the opposite end of the table from Harry and Neville. Matt was still at his father’s, so he would never know that Harry had rearranged the seating. The next day when the new Auror arrived, he could sit by Matt but Luna would sit between him and Neville, Dermott moving next to Septima, closing the gap where the Auror usually sat. There would still be six people on each side of Snape, keeping things even. Septima liked Dermott very much and looked forward to having him back when he returned from Cassie’s parents.

Lunch was about halfway through when Snape swept in wearing a heavy cloak, with snow in his hair and on his boots. A house-elf appeared and relieved him of the bulky outdoor garment and a wave of his wand dried his footwear. He looked so imposing: tall, lean, and dark in his floating black robes. He took in everyone’s position at the table at a glance and sat in Dermott’s chair, next to Harry.

“You changed my seating plan, Mr. Potter,” he said softly, for Harry’s ears only.

“Oh. Yes, I… Sorry,” answered Harry, embarrassed. “I thought the seating was just the house-elves’ decision. I will…”

“I am glad you did,” interrupted Snape. “I had not realized when I made it how close a friend you were to Miss Lovegood. Friendships are important, Mr. Potter. Time with a close friend is precious, one of life greatest pleasures. Speaking of which, I was hoping for your presence in my rooms this evening. I have… missed you. Greatly. Even the company of charming, intelligent young men who share in my professional interests seems dull compared to yours, regardless of how carried away one might have seemed to get in the welcoming of the New Year.”

“Carried away?” repeated Harry, hopeful, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Mortifyingly so. A very short bout of insanity, thankfully. I suspect Miss Lovegood’s Nargles to be responsible,” explained Snape, straight faced.

Harry grinned, feeling suddenly lighthearted “Maybe we should get you a butterbeer-cork necklace to make sure it does not recur.”

“Is it important to you that it should not?” asked Snape looking into Harry’s eyes, his gaze warm and soft.

“…Yes. Yes, it is,” confessed Harry, blushing to the roots of his hair.

“Then it shall not,” pledged Snape.

He got up and went to his own chair, leaving behind a young man with a persistent grin and a head full of questions.

~o~

That evening at dinner Dermott was back, as was Neville, baby Frederic on his lap. Neville, usually a quiet man, was chatting excitedly, his buoyant mood communicative. He and George were selling the house in London and getting a cottage in Hogsmeade. George would move the WWW research and development to the Hogsmeade store and Bitty, the house-elf who had raised Neville, was moving in to happily reprise her role of nanny.

Neville had spoken to Headmaster Snape about benefiting from some contract modification similar to Hermione’s to get more time with his family, and it was all worked out pending the Board of Regents’ approval.

Frederic kept reaching for his father’s food and happily trying to gum broccoli, then mushrooms, then a hard roll (unsuccessfully, though the bread kept him busy for quite some time), then—with much better results—some mashed turnips. His coordination was not ideal yet, and sucking food off of one’s fist is really not an efficient feeding method, but fortunately his father and godfather were both wizards, who could clean up messes with the flick of a wand.

Dermott’s first contact with his fiancée’s family had been a great success. He was the only child of parents also devoid of siblings and had loved Cassie’s brother and her three cousins. His parents had been there as well, originally invited only for Christmas dinner but ending up staying until New Year’s Day. They had had some wild Gobstone tournaments, and the two dads were already planning to travel together to see the Wales Gobstone Championships in March.

Harry often looked in Snape’s direction, sometimes meeting his thoughtful gaze. Luna had happily told him after lunch that his aura was still crinkly but that at least now it was all orange and swirly. A definite improvement, Harry figured, over a grey paper bag…

Kreacher demonstrated the endless patience of house-elves as Harry got dressed for the evening, refolding jeans, khakis, fitted black trousers, white button-down shirt, silk and cashmere blend long-sleeved shirt, plain green t-shirt, turquoise polo shirt… but finally announced, “Master Harry wears what Kreacher put on the bed,” before Disapparating.

Harry put on the grey fitted twill trousers with stirrups to go under his short calf’s leather boots and white mandarin-neck shirt, the plain dark blue waistcoat, and the light merino dark grey casual robes. He looked in the mirror and smiled. It was early yet, and he had decided to try and read the Blood Magic syllabus turned in that day by Minerva when, practically as his wards warned him of an approaching visitor, there was an urgent-sounding knock on his trap door. Visitors usually preferred the Floo because of the climb, so it was a surprise. Even more so when, paying attention to his wards, he realized Filius was his unexpected guest. He lifted the trap with no further ado and the diminutive Charms professor climbed in, not even out of breath. He looked quite wretched, however.

“Welcome b…”

“Harry! It is not to be borne!” Filius, clearly agitated, was not even aware of having interrupted Harry’s greeting. He looked at Harry with pleading eyes and started walking to and fro. “How could they? How could they! I can’t stand it!”

“What? What is it, Filius? What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter? I’ll tell you what the matter is! They’ve accepted Luna Scamander as my apprentice!”

“Luna’s very good, Filius, she is more than qualified,” said Harry, surprised by Filius’s dismay.

“I’m sure there were plenty of other qualified candidates! Why her? Why Luna?” He sat down on the low wooden box where Harry kept his broom cleaning kit and buried his head in his hands.

“I always rather thought you liked Luna, don’t you?” asked Harry, sitting down on the rug across from him.

Filius looked up. “Like her? Oh, Harry. That is not the problem. I do like her. Very much. Do you remember our discussion a few weeks ago about unrequited love?” Filius sighed. “Harry… As ridiculous as it may sound, I’m in love with her…”

He looked away, remembering. “That dreadful year, when the Carrows terrorized our school, she and a few others openly defied them, secretly undermined them, and resisted their rule at great personal risk. She was so brave, so fearless. We fought side by side in the battle of Hogwarts and she was magnificent.

“She held that little Creevey boy as he cried for his brother, she helped Poppy in the infirmary, she joined her father to rebuild their press and printed an ardent defense of Severus Snape, shedding light on his activities in that last year for all to read. I admired her greatly.”

He rubbed his very long-fingered hand over his face. “She came back for her seventh year and was as modest, as intuitive, as quirky as ever. It was as if war could not affect the deep core of who she was, her inner strength immutable. She was a breath of fresh air and more beautiful than ever, something I had never noticed in any of my students before. She really came into her gift for Charms that year and did a special project with me.

“I didn’t notice at first how much I looked forward to Wednesday evenings, when we met and worked together. But we talked more and more, eventually taking walks in the gardens after our work. Soon I was worried about what I wore on those nights, re-braiding my hair before she came, asking Severus for a potion to remove the stains off my teeth. Ridiculous. When I realized what was happening, it was too late. I’d fallen in love with Luna Lovegood, eighty years my junior, two feet taller, beautiful, brilliant Luna.”

He sighed and his shoulders slumped. “When she left Hogwarts, I was sick for two months. Physically ill! Poor Poppy was at her wits’ end. I lost five kilos, not a joking matter when you only weigh twenty-seven, with not much padding to spare to start with. In despair of wizard medicine helping in any way, Poppy agreed to release me from her care so goblin medicine could be tried, as I stayed with my grandmother.

“She took care of me herself, and put my head back together, if not my heart. She did this strange goblin magic before I returned that makes memories feel old and faded even though they are very fresh. My story with Luna felt like something that happened a long time ago… I never want to see her again, Harry. If I do, the magic will fail and…”

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Even with it, I still love her so… I can’t face her! I cannot face that hopelessness again.”

“Filius, there is nothing wrong with loving someone! Luna is a widow, you’re unattached, you both are wonderful people, kind, caring, you share a passion for Charms, what makes you think it is hopeless?”

Filius raised his eyebrows. “Harry, you are sitting on the floor so you can look me in the eye as we talk. I am three foot three inches, not even one full meter tall. My nose, on the other hand, is four inches long and I wear the same shoe size as Dermott. My hair grows about an inch a day, my nails a quarter inch, and though my teeth are human in appearance, I do have three sets of very sharp canines and no premolars. I have four lungs and two livers, but only one kidney. I hear in the dog range, and see colors you don’t. I cannot eat dairy of any kind, and could drink Hagrid under the table. I am freakishly goblinesque amongst humans and freakishly humanoid amongst goblins. Like a mule, I am also sterile.”

He shrugged. “It had never bothered me. I am who I am. I always knew I would spend my life alone, and it was fine. I have a wonderful family who accepts me as I am, good friends, work I enjoy, and abilities I take pride in. I never, ever figured love as part of my plans, because I am pragmatic. Because, realistically, Harry, why should someone as lovely, as brilliant as Luna ever want someone like me?”

Harry was quiet. He knew there was nothing he could say to change Filius’s mind about his attractiveness. He was different, no doubt about it, but not repulsive in any way and if someone was capable of seeing the beauty in the difference, it was Luna.

“Filius, a few weeks ago you gave me very good advice. So now I offer you mine. You have nothing to gain by dwelling on the impossibility of seeing your feelings returned. They will be or they will not. It is out of your hands. In your hands however, is a choice: to enjoy being with Luna, seeing her, talking to her, resuming your walks in the park with her, loving her, celebrating every day the blessing of her company, or you could choose instead to run away and hide. I think you know which will bring you the most happiness.”

Filius was quiet for a while, then he looked at Harry with a rueful smile. “I am glad you are my friend, Harry.” He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the coffee table. “Now, use that ridiculous power of yours and transfigure this for me into a beautiful bouquet of cornflowers. I have to go welcome back a beautiful blue-eyed lady to the castle and cornflowers are her favorite.”

Harry got up and checked in his herbology book that he was thinking of the right flower, took the apple from Filius, got out his wand, and complied. The resulting round bouquet was wrapped in stiff white lace with a wide satin bow. Harry was proud he’d managed to give the flowers the sweet scent of apple.

Filius smiled in delight. “It’s just like magic!” he joked. He smelled the flowers, shook his head in wonder, and said, “Oh, well done, Harry! Five points to Gryffindor!”

Harry opened the trap door and Filius started down. He turned back again, smiling. “Thank you, my friend. As for you, hang in there. Severus is free, now. He’ll come around.”

Seeing Harry’s shocked surprise, followed by a sheepish grin, the small Charms professor chuckled as he continued down to go and visit his lady love.

Harry, smiling, closed the trap. He picked up another apple and started munching, wondering if Luna might fall in love with Filius. He was halfway through his apple when he noted the time. It was 10:15. Shit. He got up and ran.

~o~

After the party, Severus could not sleep. He got up, threw on plain black robes over the white undershirt and low-slung sleeping trousers he’d worn since his years as a student in America, and went to the library. He tried to read. It was pointless. Hating to use it without express permission, though he knew it would have been granted, he removed the heavy Pensieve which had seen the thoughts of generations of Malfoys and placed it carefully on the desk. After concentrating a few seconds, he pulled out the memory he wanted and dived in.

Memory Severus puts his hand behind Terence’s head and pulls him into a passionate kiss. Turning to the dance floor Severus walks toward the area where Harry has just given his friend a peck and is now hugging her tight, laughing. It is obvious they care about each other, but also obvious that the peck and hug are completely platonic.

Harry looks up to where Memory Severus has just lowered his hands to Terence’s arse and pulled him closer. From were Harry stands it looks like the most enamored, passionate, sexually laden kiss. Harry looks as if he’s been slapped. Shock, pain, and misery follow each other quickly in his expression and he turns away before seeing Memory Severus step away from Terence.

Harry’s face is buried in his friend’s hair. Over the music, Severus hears her say, “Tears are very cleansing. Did you need to get rid of ocular pollutants? It’s all these different perfumes. The vapors are quite noxious. Let’s remove ourselves.”

Severus cannot believe Potter is actually crying, but he cannot follow them after they disappear. Memory Severus has tried to reach the couple but is too late. When he arrives they are already gone. To others he might look ill. To himself he looks impotent and self-recriminating, self-hating. With his face drained of blood and his feverish eyes, it is no wonder Granger asks him if he is feeling all right. A headache, of course.

“It’s all those different perfumes. They bothered Harry’s eyes. He said he had a headache, too.”

Is she looking at Severus knowingly? Unlike Potter, she is impossible to read.

“His aura was all grey and crinkled. Well, the crinkly part is because he’s not had a proper shag in so long, but the grey part is definitely because he’s miserable. It could be a migraine, or hemorrhoids, or a broken heart. Care to dance, Severus?”

Suddenly he sees it in her eyes. She is telling him what he needs to know and is counting on his perspicacity for him to catch her message. Harry no more has a headache than he does. He is uninterested in casual sex. He is miserable and heartbroken.

“Harry is my friend,” she says next, continuing to impart information. “He cares. Encountering my soulmate so young was awkward. It was just not feasible. Teenagers are so insecure and teachers are… awe inspiring, you see? (You’re a very good dancer.) Even as an adult it’s daunting. Harry will be there for me, he won’t laugh at me. People think he’s special because he can fly really fast and he got O’s on all his NEWTS, but that’s just silly. He’s kind. Through and through. That’s why we both love him, isn’t it? Well, you also want in his trousers, obviously. He’s your soulmate, and he’s so sexy…”

Translating her message is easier now. She and Harry are not involved. The fact that she has loved a teacher since her schooldays is interesting, but irrelevant. The salient point is that, even for an adult, it is daunting to approach a teacher one was once in awe of with your feelings. Finally, though Severus hurt Harry, he will be forgiven, because before anything else, Harry is kind.

The most important part of the message, which Snape truly hopes he understands correctly, is that sex with him would not be beyond Harry. How else could he be Severus’s soulmate?

The lovely, mystifying woman thanks him for the dance and he is pulled back out, falling back into the desk’s comfortable leather chair.

~0~

The next day, he tried to enjoy the company, participate in the conversations, and play with the babies, but he felt like a caged lion. That night he slept, but was haunted by memory-dreams of verbally abusing a defenseless child Harry, blaming him for things he had no control over, ridiculing him, placing words in his mouth and punishing him for them. Then the dream would shift to Harry’s distraught expressive face on New Year’s Eve, a mirror of his childhood’s misery.

He woke up feeling dreadful and not fit for human company. After breakfast, during which he heard not a word of what was said, he took refuge in the library where he wore a path in the Persian rug with his pacing. After a couple of hours Lucius came in and sat in front of the fire watching him. A few minutes later Severus sat in the chair across from him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Lucius.

“Not especially, no.”

“He really is a beautiful man. Those trousers…”

“Fuck off, Lucius.”

“Let me finish, for Merlin’s sake. He was not dressed like a straight man, Severus! Those trousers were not designed with women in mind. He dressed to look beautiful to men. Because you are my friend, I am hoping he had one particular man in mind. You. There are bisexual men out there, you know. You of all people should know things are not always black and white.”

“Stop. Stop, please. I… Lucius, I cannot afford to hope. He might have wanted to look gorgeous for me, he might have put his sex life on hold for me, he might have been gutted when I… Whatever. The point is, he might not. A few months ago he told me that he is in love with a woman who is unavailable and that it was it for him. I thought perhaps it was the recently widowed Luna Lovegood and that now that Scamander was out of the way…”

“She is stunning. I certainly can see the attraction. Draco says she’s brilliant as well. Eccentric and peculiar, but crazy like a fox.”

“They are just friends, she says. She’s in love with someone else.”

“So? It could still be her,” Lucius pointed out.

“Ah. You’re right of course. She obviously wouldn’t know it.” Could that look on his face not have been because he was kissing Terence, but because Harry had just found out that Scamander had never been the true obstacle to Luna’s heart, that all along she had loved one of the teachers at Hogwarts?

Severus sighed. “And that is exactly why I cannot afford to hope, why I must keep my wits about me. I am privileged to have his friendship. I can savor every moment I share with him, enjoy seeing him, talking to him, flying with him into the night, loving him, celebrating every day the blessing of his company, and be content with that.”

Lucius nodded. Severus knew his friend. He would not let this rest. He wanted Severus to be truly happy. The warmth of their friendship was a tangible thing.

“So… what exactly did you do that might or might not have gutted the young man?”

Severus shook his head. “You are like a dog with a bone. Can you view memories in a Pensieve?”

“Not on my own. You have to keep physical contact with me the whole time.”

“The memory is already in your Pensieve. I apologize for using it without leave, but it was the middle of the night.”

“Don’t be absurd. Mi casa es su casa.” Lucius chuckled, “more accurately, La casa de mi hijo es su casa. Better yet, la pensadero de mi hijo es su pensadero…”

“If you are done entertaining yourself, perhaps we could proceed?”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “You are such a killjoy.”

At the desk, they grasped hands and Severus bent down to the swirling silvery liquid. They disappeared.

When they returned Lucius had to grasp Severus’s shoulder not to take a spill. He let go of his hand and placed it on Severus’s other shoulder and shook him gently.

“How can such an intelligent man as you do such imbecilic things? Get out of here, Severus. Go to him. Use that eloquence of yours to put things right. You and Potter may only be friends yet and you may not afford to hope, but for whatever reason seeing you with another man pained him. Go salvage the friendship that is so precious to you.”

Severus nodded, got his heaviest cloak from his room, and Apparated to the gates of Hogwarts. The Floo would have been faster, but he wanted to think about what he meant to say and how to phrase it. As soon as he walked in, he noticed the new seating arrangements and silently blessed Potter, whom he was sure had initiated the change, for the perfect opening. As luck would have it, McClallan was not back yet and Severus was able to sit next to Potter.

Lucius could laugh, but there were instances such as this, or such as when explaining away an obvious proof of lack of faith to the Dark Lord, when a silver tongue was a blessing. He neither truly explained nor truly apologized for what had happened on New Year’s Eve and gave a promise that in truth told him what he wanted to know. Well, that and also that Potter was adorable when he blushed…

He feasted his eyes on Potter at dinner. All four younger staff members looked so happy and carefree. Frederic looked perfectly content. Snape wondered if somewhere in that developing brain there were memories of the accident and questions as to where the woman with the Venetian blonde hair who loved him so deeply had gone… Well, he certainly was not lacking love now. Severus had told Longbottom that Wednesday evenings were traditionally family night and that George and the baby would be welcome. The face of Hogwarts was changing. For the better, he thought.

By a quarter of eight he was ready for Harry, sitting in his chair, a book in his hands, the tea on the sideboard, the fire burning brightly. Despite what he had told Lucius, and against his own better judgement, hope burned in his chest as bright as the fire in the grate. He would not push, not try to hurry things up. If he understood Harry’s behavior rightly, they had all the time in the world. If he was mistaken, one false move could destroy their friendship.

He picked up the book on his lap and, just to prove he could, started reading, concentrating on the meaning of the words. It was a fascinating read, recommended by the Bloody Baron, about scientific experiments with ghosts in which the ghosts had willingly participated, trying to identify their exact nature, the molecular composition of ectoplasm, the story of each entity, to discover why they had not continued on. Severus was actually absorbed in his reading enough that it was quite a while until he stopped, subconsciously registering that much more than fifteen minutes had passed and Potter had not arrived.

Eight forty-two! He had been reading for close to an hour! And Harry had not come. He took a deep breath, trying to relieve the tightness in his chest. It had never occurred to him that Harry might just not come.

But why? He did not know what to think. He reviewed the end of their conversation at lunch.

Harry grinning at his joke, “Maybe we should get you a butterbeer-cork necklace to make sure it does not recur.”

His own pointed question, “Is it important to you that it should not?”

And Harry’s welcome answer, “…Yes. Yes it is,” accompanied by a fetching blush.

Severus’s promise, “Then it shall not,” which had prompted a delighted and persistent grin from Harry.

Potter had never actually said he would come, but surely it was obvious Severus expected him to? Potter was considerate to a fault. He would not change his plans without letting Severus know.

Unless he did it on purpose, as a message to him. What would that message be? That his friendship should not be taken for granted?

Perhaps he regretted his lunchtime admission that he cared if Severus had physical relationships with other men. Perhaps he had realized it could be read as a desire to engage in such a relationship himself, and after greater consideration found the idea repulsive.

Severus could go insane trying to make sense of something with as little information as he had to go on with. They needed to have a serious conversation.

Again, the fear of losing Harry’s friendship by assuming too much, by showing too much of his passion, of his desire, made him reject the idea.

Logic would dictate to just wait and see what happened next, but he did not have the strength. He got up, sat at his desk, and removed a sheet of parchment as well as his favorite quill from the drawer, dipping it in black ink.

Potter,
A series of misunderstandings seems to have interfered with the smooth enjoyment of the deep friendship I feel towards you, which I hope is returned. It is extremely precious to me, and anything that might jeopardize it saddens me greatly.

He stopped. Merlin, this was pathetic. He Vanished the offending note from the page and started again.

Harry,…. No. He Vanished the greeting.

Potter,
It seems I must keep making an arse of myself and create strife between us. I am counting on your good nature to give our friendship another go. Please let me know if you can come to my rooms for tea this evening at eight.
Severus.

Not too bad. He got another piece of parchment out and, for his own sake, wrote down his unguarded thoughts.

Harry,
I call you Harry in my mind all the time if I do not watch myself constantly. I would say ‘my beloved Harry’ or ‘my beautiful love’ if I was perfectly honest, because that is who you are.

I fell in love with a courageous, gifted, loyal, attractive seventh year student and left Hogwarts immediately. I followed his amazingly successful career and colorful romantic life in the press and when I found out he was returning to Hogwarts for good, I left a life, a career, a lover behind to join him because I could no longer stand to stay away.

I have tried to let our friendship develop at its own rhythm, constantly holding back, reining in my desire for emotional and physical closeness. I have learned who Harry Potter is today and I love him more than words can say.

You have been heterosexual all your life and I hesitate to make any kind of overture that might be distasteful to you, but as my love grows, so does my possessiveness and my jealousy, my greatest fault.

My erratic behavior New Year’s Eve was my first trying to keep Terence Higgs away from you and then jumping to the conclusion that you had formed a romantic attachment to Miss Lovegood. I behaved like a complete arse, and beg your forgiveness for any pain I have caused you.

However, I must confess that your pain fills me with hope. Could you return toward me even a measure of my own passion toward you? After our short discussion at lunch, I thought with great trepidation that it might be so.

The fact that you did not honor me with your presence tonight leaves me anxious and confused. Please, do come tomorrow. Despite this heartfelt confession, I assure you that I will parallel your own behavior regardless of my feelings, being who you need me to be, a friend, a mentor… a lover.

You own my heart,
Severus.

Severus sighed. He looked at the time—10:04. All hope was gone for that evening. He closed his eyes, uncomprehending, for an instant wishing he’d never come back to Hogwarts. He took his short first note and rolled it tightly, securing it with a wave of his wand. He would owl it early in the morning. It would be more discreet than leaving the note on Potter’s plate. Heavy hearted, he got up and stretched. He Banished the cold tea to the kitchen and made a new pot. He sat down with a cup balanced on the arm of his chair, something that had always driven Petr to distraction but did not seem to bother Har… Potter in the least.

He opened his book again and felt a shiver down his back. Hm… It wasn’t cold… His skin tingled, and his heart started to race, and yes! There was Potter’s brilliant, singing magic making its way along the corridor. Severus got up like a jack-in-a-box, rushed to the desk, balling his confession and throwing it and the tight roll of his note across the room into the fire. He went and opened the door, finding an out-of-breath Potter whose hand was raised to knock.

“You are late, Mr. Potter,” he said in his best bastard teacher’s voice. “That will be a detention with Mr. Filch.”

“I would be delighted to spend an evening with Argus, but look, I brought you a peace offering.” Potter, smiling ingratiatingly, held out to him a small mixed bouquet of gardenias, honeysuckle, lime flowers and red tulips held together with a large red satin bow. It was wonderfully fragrant. Even the red tulips smelt delicately of apple.

Severus chuckled and took the bouquet. “Transfigured?”

“From a half-eaten apple while running down the stairs.”

“You make Minerva proud, Potter. Five points to Gryffindor.”

Potters laughed. “That’s what Filius just said when I transfigured a bouquet of cornflowers from another apple for him to welcome Luna. Do you think Gryffindor is actually getting these points?”

“Undoubtedly. You have just earned more points for your House in the last hour than you did in your entire seven years as a student.”

“Hey!” Harry protested. “I earned plenty of points, thank you very much!”

Severus smiled evilly. “I was speaking of the true total, after subtracting the points you lost.”

Harry laughed good-naturedly. “Then you are probably right… Though I would like to register an official complaint. I was never awarded any points for the small part I played in the permanent removal of Tom Riddle from this vale of tears. Surely, it was worth something…”

“Indeed,” said Severus, nodding seriously. “Let me immediately correct this gross injustice.” He frowned as if deciding what ridding the world of the most evil dark wizard in centuries was worth. “One point to Gryffindor for a nicely executed Expelliarmus.” Potter started laughing. Severus continued, “Oh, and… say, two points for voluntarily dying for our kind…” Potter laughed harder as Severus finished, “and of course, fifty points for bringing me to the infirmary.”

Harry lost it, unable to stop laughing. Severus grinned, loving the dancing mirth in Harry’s eyes, loving his unrestrained joy.

Finally, Potter took a deep breath and regained control. “I completely agree with your evaluation of the worth of the deeds. Saving your life is worth at least fifty times more than ending his.” He smiled a little tentatively at Severus. “To me, it’s worth more than anything.” He blushed, terribly embarrassed.

Loving this moment, looking in Harry’s eyes, Severus softly said, “Thank you for that…” Not wanting to overwhelm him, he added, “I was never given flowers before, so I do not own a vase, but luckily I have plenty of beakers. Please, have some tea, I shall return momentarily.”

He returned with the fragrant bouquet in water, under a permanent preservation charm, the bow tied around the beaker, just in time to see Potter, who had sat in his usual chair, collect his balled-up confession from the floor. Apparently, his aim was less than perfect.

Potter tightened the ball as he said, “I apologize for not sending word that I would be late. Fifteen minutes before I had to go, Filius came to visit, which he never has done before. He needed… moral support. We spoke for quite a while and in my concern for him, I’m afraid I forgot the time.”

“Interesting,” said Severus, thoughtfully. Potter was throwing the ball of parchment in the air and catching it flawlessly. Snape did his best to ignore it. “May I ask you a non-sequitur question about Miss Lovegood, Harry? It’s rather privileged information and I would not ask unless I had an excellent reason.”

“If I feel it would be a violation of her privacy to answer, I will let you know. Ask away.” Up went the balled-up parchment, caught on the way down with the speed of a cat’s paw.

“Has Miss Lovegood ever been attracted to people of her own sex?” Severus was trying not to think about what that parchment contained, so of course it was foremost in his brain.

“No. Absolutely not. She was… pursued a while back by a beautiful young lady. She was kind about it but made it crystal clear that she was not interested. It was open enough a situation that I feel comfortable sharing it with you. She evidently does not care if her sexual orientation is publicly known. Why do you ask?”

Despite his anxiety, Severus could not help but admire the accuracy of Potter’s motions. Now he had the scrunched-up ball on the back of his hand, would flip it up and catch it in a downward motion, throw it up again and catch it on the back of his hand to start all over again. Severus took a deep breath. Bloody Seeker. He answered the question.

“She confided in me that she considered one of the teachers she had while attending our school to be her soulmate, and that she had applied for her apprenticeship here at Hogwarts partially in the hope of reuniting with the person she loves and feels she is meant to share her life with.”

Severus reasoned, “Since she was speaking to me, it would indicate I am not that person, which leads me to the conclusion, once the female staff and the recently hired staff have been eliminated, that she could only be speaking of two people: Rubeus Hagrid or Filius Flitwick.”

The balled-up parchment was still in Potter’s hand. He sat forward a little with a grin on his face. “Marvelous. Because it can’t be Hagrid; you see, Luna never even took Care of Magical Creatures. From childhood, she has always had a special, instinctual relationship with magical animals and did not need that class.”

“Which leaves Filius, who, unless I am mistaken, came to you distraught by the knowledge I imparted him after dinner of his apprentice’s identity,” concluded Snape.

“You are not mistaken,” answered Harry, his face suffused with the pleasure of knowing two of his friends were about to find happiness.

Smiling, he started to mindlessly flatten the ball of parchment onto the occasional table where his cup of tea rested and Severus almost keened in anxiety. The letter was face down. As he turned it over to flatten the other side he looked up at Severus, whose heart was in his throat.

“I think Filius Flitwick is the most intrinsically good person I know,” said Harry. “Though his looks are unconventional, he has an enormous amount of charm, no pun intended.” He folded the sheet of parchment in two, and looked down at it to match the corners exactly before smoothing them down, completely hiding the written words. “Why he would think himself hopelessly unattractive to humans because he is half goblin is beyond me,” Harry added, his eyes still on his folding. “After all, his mother chose his father, who was a full goblin!”

Harry was now quickly folding the parchment in a complex origami and Snape was mesmerized by the random appearance and disappearance of some of his writing. Harry was concentrating on his task, making sure each fold was perfect, obviously paying no attention to the written text. Snape wondered it the fortuitous appearance of his own first name would attract his attention and watched the process with his heart in his mouth. His blood ran cold when the words “My beloved Harry” became visible for what seemed like an eternity, though it was only probably three or four seconds.

Harry, now remarking he had never known Luna to hurt anyone purposely, did not seem to notice it. “She has the loveliest way of putting people in their place without even meaning to,” he added. He blew into his finished intricate folding and part of it puffed up into a sphere. It was an origami Snitch, of course. “She once told Ron, ‘You say very funny things sometimes, don't you? But you can be a bit unkind. I noticed that last year.’ No one had ever called him on his less attractive behaviors before, and he knew Luna says things as she sees them. He was mortified.” Harry laughed. “Knowing her is good for the soul.”

Harry got up. “I hate to go so early after having arrived so late, but I… did not accomplish anything yesterday. I am meeting Argus in the morning to get the broomshed back in perfect order, and do necessary repairs on the equipment. These kids are harder on the brooms and pads than professional players,” he said, shaking his head and chortling. “May I return tomorrow?”

Severus, of course, hated to see him go, but was reassured that their friendship was important to Harry as well, perhaps progressing to something more, and that his… indiscretion was forgotten. “You should know by now that you are welcome here at any time. I find I have a certain commonality in that with the owners of pug dogs.”

Potter looked confused. “How is that?”

“Just like a pug owner, I have grown accustomed to your unfortunate appearance as well as used to the strange noises you produce, and would miss your familiar presence.”

Harry burst out laughing. “I am not even going to try coming up with a comeback,” he said. “I do not care how the invitation is phrased, as long as it is made.” He looked seriously at Severus. “These evenings here with you are the highlight of my days, Snape.”

Severus wished he had gotten up and walked Harry to the door. After such a declaration, he might have stepped closer to him and looked down, giving Harry the ability to initiate a kiss if he so desired. Did he so desire? Severus did, enough for the both of them. Potter raised his open hand and the origami Snitch came alive and flew to Severus, who caught it gingerly.

“Good night, Snape.”

“Good night, Potter.”

~o~

Harry visited Snape’s room every night the rest of the break and it was as if both of them wanted their routine, their comfort with each other, to be fully reestablished before anything else. Potter worked on his few remaining syllabi, discussing some aspects of them with Severus, and Severus reviewed the students who were to receive letters in the coming month inviting them to Hogwarts.

He was preparing for the visits to Muggle-borns and planning for the needs of some exceptional students. Three treated Squibs and two young werewolves would require potions. Two other students, both recently added to the list, would create different challenges. One was a young half-Veela girl, whose beauty when she hit puberty would create havoc, and the other a rare alkonost/wizard hybrid boy who had inherited only two things from his mother: colorful, fully functional wings, and his beautiful voice. He was, however, unable to speak without singing his words.

These children would traditionally have been taught at home, but Hogwarts’s new Headmaster felt strongly that they had a right to the same opportunities as other magical children.

Snape had been glad when classes started again, reinforcing the feeling of everything having returned to normal. The new Auror was Martin Hepworth, Blaise Zabini’s younger half sibling, who, like Blaise, had inherited his mother’s beautiful Ethiopian features but, unlike the standoffish Blaise, was friendly and very, very funny. He and Matt Pilot were fast friends and even the terribly shy Weatherspoon could occasionally be heard laughing with the other two.

At the other end of the table the conversation was constant and animated, Longbottom, Lovegood, Potter, and McClallan a close, happy group. Granger remarked how glad she was Luna Lovegood had come. Snape agreed wholeheartedly until she added hopefully, “Luna and Harry are so good together. They have been lovers off and on for years, but it never seems to stick. Maybe this time, if they give it another go, it will be for keeps. After all, they never lived anywhere near each other before. It could be just the ticket.”

Severus knew why Luna had returned. He knew how Harry felt about her and Flitwick, and that he had no romantic interest in the young woman. Still. To know that she had known him in that way, held him, caressed him, given him pleasure… He could hear the blood pounding in his ears and put his hands on his lap to hide their shaking.

His jealousy was pathological. He knew that. It was bound to a difficult, deprived childhood; to school years of misery, being taunted for his poverty, losing his one true friend to his worst tormentor; to an early adulthood of complete self-denial for the greater good. Knowing it did not make it any less potent. It just helped stop him from acting upon it. Severus left the table before dessert, citing urgent paperwork.

It was Monday. Potter would not come tonight, he would go lend a hand to Narcissa’s group. Thank Merlin. Snape would have one night to regain his balance. He went to the library and did a magical search in the card catalogue of “Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood,” and summoned all references mentioned to one of the faculty’s private reading rooms.

After greeting Madam Pince with a nod and a smile as he went by, he entered the small room, locked and warded it as if Inferi were after him, and sat down.

He ignored the books about the war and instead pulled towards him the stack of Witch Weekly, Daily Prophet and Quidditch reports, all already opened to the right page, each article of interest glowing slightly.

Two hours later, he knew all there was to learn out of gossip magazines about Harry and Luna Lovegood, friends and lovers. The last whiff of romance between them went back to six months prior to Luna’s marriage to Scamander, a happy union by all accounts. Since then Luna, like Granger and Ginny Weasley, was referred to as a “long-time friend.” It was stupid, but it helped to know. Severus hated this aspect of his personality but at least had learned to appease it.

He was scanning one last article by the abominable excuse for a reporter Rita Skeeter where she quoted Luna Lovegood as saying, “He was my first friend, and my first lover.*” What did that star refer to? He looked at the bottom of the page. In very small print was a short sentence.

*Quoted from reporter’s own soon-to-be-published biography of HP

What in the world? He checked the date of the article. Almost a year and a half ago. He Banished all the material back to the stacks, asked Madam Pince to direct him to the Skeeter biography of Albus Dumbledore, and noted the publisher. He borrowed writing materials from the helpful librarian, penned a quick note, and walked to the owlery.

Yiri, his Tengmalm’s owl, was glad to see him and to be sent on a night errand. He accepted the caresses on his soft black and white feathers as his due and took off, silent as the night.

Feeling slightly ill at ease, Severus returned to his rooms. He buried himself in work until the early hours of the morning and finally, exhausted, went to bed.

~o~ Fuck Skeeter ~o~

Harry woke up in a great mood. His morning workout went well. It was really incredibly cold outside, but Snape’s potion literally worked its magic and having the company of the few diehard students who had lasted more than the first few weeks made it a lot more fun.

He did not have any regular classes to teach on Wednesday mornings and looked forward to teaching Narcissa’s group, and tonight was the Slytherin practice, which was always fun. They were so competitive it was easy to motivate them and get them to go the extra mile. Of course, all the benefits of this more rigorous training were ruined by their lack of teamwork.

It had been two weeks since he and Snape had resumed their shared evenings together, two weeks since he had noticed, after folding an origami Snitch from a piece of discarded parchment from Snape’s fireplace, the words I fell in, who Harry, own passion and my heart under the wings, provoking hours of tentative guesses as to what the whole text had said.

Cautious openings on his part seemed to be received with obvious pleasure, Snape looking at him with burning eyes, the softness of his expression making Harry feel he was infinitely precious to the other man.

Feeling great, he went down the staircase in his usual manner, skipping the last few steps of each flight, just as he used to when he was a student. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall showed a cloudless sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.

It took him only a few seconds to realize that something was off. At his entrance the room had gone quiet and then filled with excited whispers and quite a few giggles. At the staff table, everyone looked a little grim. Hermione, in particular, looked upset. Minerva had not yet made it, or had already left, so the seat to Hermione’s left was vacant. He took it.

“What’s going on?” he asked her.

Filius wordlessly handed him his copy of the Prophet. Harry’s stomach made a flip. What now? He had not made the paper in months! Then he saw the front page:

“From the Boy Who Lived to the Man Who Loved”

It was an interview of Rita Skeeter. She had written a book about him. Now he truly felt sick. He put the paper down and turned to Hermione. “I don’t want to be reading this here, do I?”

“No, Harry, probably not,” she agreed, cringing. “I’m so sorry. Try not to get too upset.”

His appetite was gone. He drank his shot of wheat grass, grabbed an apple, and asked Filius: “Do you mind if I take this?”

Flitwick shook his head ‘no’ and added, “Harry, don’t climb all the way back home. You can use my office, I’ve got a class.”

“Ok, thanks.”

They walked out together. Harry noticed that the paper was circulating amongst the students, some of them leaning together to share it. Great. Just great.

Filius’s office was just around the corner. He opened his door, entered with Harry to remove papers and books from the visitor’s chair, summoned a tea tray with a steaming pot of the green tea he knew Harry favored in the morning, and patted his arm before leaving. “This too shall pass,” he said.

Harry sat down, took a deep breath, and started reading.

“FROM THE BOY WHO LIVED TO THE MAN WHO LOVED”
The rumors that have been floating around are true! Rita Skeeter’s latest unauthorised biography is that of Harry Potter, the Wizarding world’s Most Eligible Bachelor! It is shortly to be available at your local bookstore. See interview on page six.

‘Most Eligible Bachelor’? That was a new one. Prepared for the worst, he opened to the interview.

THE MAN WHO LOVED (Sweet Merlin!)
The Rita Skeeter interview, by Betty Braithwaite.

Once again, I have had the privilege to be welcomed to one of our most beloved authors’ lovely home for an exclusive interview, before the release of what is sure to be yet another best seller: her new book, an unauthorised biography of famous Quidditch Seeker, Savior of the Wizarding world, and Most Eligible Bachelor Harry Potter.

We sit in her intimate boudoir, where she is kind enough to offer me some tea and delicious finger sandwiches.

“Rita, why Harry Potter?”

She smiles at me, looking a little mysterious. “Well, Betty, I have known Harry since he was a boy. He and I have always had a close relationship. I am sure you remember the exclusive interview he granted me, years ago, regarding the return of You Know Who. We all feel we know everything about him from the thorough coverage of his valiant exploits and illustrious career, but the truth is, there is so much more to Harry than the world perceives, and I wanted to show my beloved readers the more... let’s say, intimate side of the man, the one known only to his very close friends… in this case, his close female friends.”

“Do you include yourself among these female friends?”

Her lovely laugh fills the room. “Oh, no, no Betty, certainly not in that sense! I am almost old enough to be Harry’s mother! But seriously: we all know through the almost constant coverage of his social life that Harry is a little bit of a… ladies’ man, shall we say? I just wanted to find out more about that, what makes him so attractive, why all these young ladies seem so eager to be photographed on his arm.”

“Did you have a difficult time finding young ladies willing to talk about him?”

“Would you believe, my dear, if I told you that just going back through the Prophet’s archive, I discovered over a hundred young women whose names had been associated with his? No, finding material was not a problem. It was more a question of whose stories would make it into my pages!”

“Oh, my! Over a hundred!”

“Actually, when all was said and done, I had talked to three hundred and twenty-one young women, and a hundred and thirty of them provided me with detailed interviews.”

“Good heavens! He must have left quite a trail of broken hearts!”

“Well, Betty, this is where I started to realize that Harry really is an exceptional young man. Despite the quite staggering number of romantic adventures our favorite Quidditch player has had, none of them, let me repeat this, none of them had anything negative to say about their experience!”

“How is that possible?”

“Let me tell you, Betty: Apparently our Harry is charming, sweet, and fun to be with. And that’s just, let’s say, in public... On the more intimate side of things, the adjectives that the young ladies used were much more… complimentary: ‘incredible’, ‘passionate’, ‘generous’, ‘attentive’, ‘amazing’, are a few that come immediately to mind.”

“Oh, my… so, young Harry is quite a lover, then.”

“Indeed. They all confided he was the best lover they’d ever had. I selected thirty-two interviews to compile in my book, but of all of the woman I spoke to about Harry, of all those that had had, let’s say, intimate knowledge of our hero, not one, not one! expressed any regret over the experience, no matter how short the liaison.”

“Remarkable! But Rita, how free were they with their confidences?”

“I told them I would use their first names only in the book if they preferred. A few of them insisted I use their initials only before opening up. Some were more willing to go into… hum, romantic details, shall we say, than others, certainly, but generally, they were quite open to discussing their intimate relationships with Harry. Young people are much more broad-minded about these things today, you know…”

“So, this will be quite an… exciting read, then?”

Rita chuckled and winked at me. “Definitely. Exciting, titillating, and at times downright steamy! Certainly not for underage young witches, though young wizards could certainly learn a thing or two on how to treat a lover from following Harry’s example!”

“How does Harry feel about your book, Rita?”

“Well, he has not read it, of course, since it is, after all, ‘unauthorized’. But I am quite sure that he will quite pleased… After all, it is all extremely complimentary! And I assure you that, just like in all my previous literary work, nothing in this book is not supported by solid, unequivocal research.”

“Well, I can’t wait to get my hands on a copy! And I bet I’m not the only one…”

“Oh, it won’t be long now! The first printing is done and will be available in stores in less than a week. For a, shall we say, substantial fee, you can actually owl the publisher and have them owl your very own copy today!”

Harry, horrified, just stared blankly at the page. This could not be happening. It had to be a nightmare he would wake up from at any moment. Please, please god. He put his head in his hands. He was due on the pitch in less than half an hour. How could he face anyone after this? How would he ever be able to face anyone once this book came out? (Devastatingly, his chest tightening up, he thought of what really mattered: how would he be able to face Snape?)

There was a knock on the door. “Harry?” It was Hermione.

“Come in, Hermione.” He did not even bother to look up.

“Oh, Harry… I’m sorry.”

He took his hands away from his face. “’Mione, I hate my life,” he said, meaning it.

She bristled. “No. You hate Rita Skeeter, you hate nosy people like her prying in your private affairs.” She grabbed his hand, speaking with conviction. “You love your life, Harry. I have never seen you as happy as you have been these past few months. Don’t let this… bitch ruin it.”

Harry was shocked. “Did you just say ‘bitch’?”

She smiled at him, eyes full of concern. “I should have stepped on her when I had the chance,” she replied, very seriously.

Harry took a deep breath. He had friends. He was not completely alone in this.

“Draco just Floo-called my office, Harry. He is looking for you.”

“Draco? Is Lily ok? Is Ginny?”

“Yes, yes, it’s nothing like that. It’s urgent, though. Call him back. He is at the Manor.” She squeezed his shoulder. “You’ve got friends, Harry. Don’t ever forget that. I’ve got to go. I’ve got the third years in twenty minutes.” With one last supportive smile, she left him.

Urgent? Now what? Could this day get any worse? Harry decided to abuse Filius’s hospitality a little more and call Draco back from his fireplace. He also had class in twenty minutes, but Draco did not use the term “urgent” lightly. He purloined a handful of powder from the box Flitwick kept on the mantel, knelt in front of the grate and threw it in the fire, called out, “Malfoy Manor, Draco Malfoy’s office,” and stuck his head in the flames.

His call was immediately answered.

“Ah, Harry. There you are.” Draco, impressively dressed in his solicitor’s best, had evidently been sitting next to his Floo waiting for him to call. He had a quill in his hand and a half-written letter in the other. He did not even give Harry time to greet him. He handed him the parchment.

“Here, sign near the bottom somewhere, I’m not finished.”

Harry complied, reflecting how much things had changed, that he would trust Malfoy with a blank document. He handed it back. “What’s up, Draco?”

“I’m on the Skeeter thing. Don’t panic, and let me handle this. But we don’t have a lot of time. I’ll call you back or owl you. Whatever you do, don’t talk to anyone.” And he was gone.

Harry stood up feeling a foolish surge of hope, though he had no idea what Draco could possibly do at this time. But he also felt stronger somehow, more able to cope. No matter what happened, he did have friends. Hermione absolutely was right, he did not hate his life. He vaguely recalled the buoyant feeling he had experienced just that morning, coming down the staircase. Fuck Skeeter.

He left a short thank-you note on Filius’s desk, confessing to his Floo powder theft, and left his office to go give ten very excited people who deserved his full attention (and who had lived for years in a world out of their reach, with more difficulties than Harry would ever have to face) their first taste of one of the wonders of that world: flying. So definitely, yeah…

Fuck Skeeter.

~o~

When he returned to the staffroom before lunch, there was an owl from Draco waiting for him. He removed the message from its leg with shaky fingers.

Potter,
I couldn’t reach Severus, so I got Mrs. Deputy Headmistress to cancel your classes for the rest of the day. I’ve arranged for an emergency quorum of the Wizengamot to meet at 1:30 today in Courtroom Four for a Cease and Desist order on printing, delivering, and selling Skeeter’s book. She has been subpoenaed, as has her so-called research. Please come to my office as soon as you can. (Try to look like the Head of three Houses and not some… ragamuffin, please!) And you owe Granger big time.
Malfoy.

He climbed the steps to his rooms two by two and started disrobing as soon as he closed his trap door. Toeing off his flight boots he called out, “Kreacher!”

The elf appeared with a small pop. “Master Harry?” He started picking up after Harry, following him around.

“I’m going into the shower. I need you to lay out…”

Kreacher cut him off, still trailing after him, the pile of clothes in his arms almost hiding him from view. “The dark grey wool trousers, the white shirt with the Black crest cufflinks, the green waistcoat with the three crests of the three Houses, and the black velvet robes with the silver snake border? Shim already talked to Kreacher, Master Harry. It’s all out on Master’s bed.”

They had made their way up the small circular staircase as they spoke and, indeed, the outfit was neatly laid out, ready to be put on.

“Perfect, Kreacher. I was just going to wear the plain black robes with the dark grey satin lining, though.”

Kreacher snapped his fingers and the dirty clothes vanished for parts unknown. “The snakes, Master Harry. Master Malfoy is saying the snake robes Master Malfoy gave Harry Potter for Christmas. “Half the interrogators will be Slytherins, and the snakes will remind the other half of who killed Voldemort,” Master Malfoy says.”

Harry shook his head with a smirk. “Thank you, Kreacher.” He was glad Draco was on his side.

~o~ Don’t fuck with Draco ~o~

As the day unfolded, Harry was to think the same thing again many times.

As soon as he had seen the article in the Prophet at breakfast, Draco had Flooed the publisher of the book and obtained a copy. He had speed-read through it, taking notes of any possible opportunity he could use to keep it away from the public permanently.

He had been shocked to see that after four chapters reprising the life and trials of Harry Potter, the first interview quoted verbatim was his own wife’s, containing details of her and Potter’s innocent teenage romance and of their unwilling break-up that she had never confided even to him. He’d shown it to her and she had been appalled. She had no recollection of ever speaking to Rita Skeeter, nor of ever giving some of these details to anyone.

Skeeter conveniently gave information in the narrative of the interview that helped them narrow down when and where the ‘interview’ could have taken place… Eight years after the end of the war… meeting in a café with a courtyard filled with blooming lilacs…

Ginny thumbed through her old appointment diary. There! April 23, 2006, she’d had an appointment with a Craig Sanchez from the Literary Review about her second book at Les Lilacs, the beautiful café on Miss Tick Alley. She could not remember anything about it. Nor had anything come of it, strangely. Only her third book had attracted enough attention for her to be interviewed by the renowned publication.

Her diary mentioned that she and Draco had gone to Hermione and Ron’s for dinner that night. She Flooed Hermione on the extremely slim chance she might recall anything about it, though the couples got together quite often and she certainly would not recall that particular occasion.

Hearing what Ginny had to say, Hermione surprised her by saying, “Give me a few minutes, I have something for Draco.”

Fifteen minutes later, Draco had in his hand the letter sent to Bathilda Bagshot regarding her interview for Albus Dumbledore’s biography and its mention of her predictably having no memory of the interview, and the book itself where the references to ‘tried and true methods of extracting information’ had been highlighted.

That was all Draco had needed to build his case. He contacted his brother-in-law and Ron sent Zebulon Levi, the Aurors’ best memory modification specialist, to evaluate Ginny. He indeed found a memory-free three-hour period three years ago.

Draco’s personal clerk, Flavia Belby, was also quoted in the book. (Harry had been a man about town.) Zeb found a similarly blank period in her mind, at a time when she had taken a long lunch to get a free fashion consultation from Twilfitt and Tatting’s. After reading her interview, she burst into tears. “It’s all there!” she cried. “Every word we said, everything we did, to the smallest detail. How dare she! It’s… It’s… personal!” She was suddenly horrified. “Mr. Malfoy, please tell me you did not read this, please!”

“Of course not, Flavia. I read two interviews, carefully choosing people I did not know, except for my wife’s. I would never have chosen to read yours. It would be an egregious violation of your privacy.”

The young woman sniffed and dried her eyes. “Thank you, sir. Mr. Malfoy, you cannot allow this book to come out. I am sure all the other women in it would feel the same way. It is… criminal! She must have used Veritaserum, because I never confided any of these details to anyone, not even my best friend.”

“Can I count on you to testify?”

“Of course, sir.”

When Harry had Apparated into Draco’s minuscule Ministry office straight from his bedroom, completely forgetting in his hurry that one could neither Disapparate from Hogwarts nor Apparate into the Ministry, Draco, rolling his eyes in disgust that such power should have been wasted on someone like Harry, handed him a piece of parchment.

“Here, read this. Three times. It’s what you are going to say when they ask you why you feel they should permanently stop Skeeter’s book from being released.”

The statement was short and to the point. It claimed his right to a minimum of privacy and questioned her sources. It stated that the three hundred young women she had spoken of in the Prophet, insinuating they all had had some kind of relationship with him, actually included any young woman he’d ever spoken to. They were classmates, teammates, waitresses, coat checkers, store clerks—and most of those interviews consisted of them saying a variation on, “Go away, I don’t want to talk to you.”

After Harry had made his plea to the Wizengamot Quorum, Draco had entered the letter to Bathilda into evidence as well as the quote from the book. Zebulon Levi testified that both Ginny and Flavia had been Obliviated around the time of their “interview” and Flavia swore under Wizard Oath that she never would have given the type of information present in the interview without Veritaserum.

The suspicion was strong enough that Rita Skeeter was asked to agree to a Veritaserum interrogation herself or be fined and detained for contempt of court.

“Yes, I used Veritaserum during my interviews. I mix it with a drink or inject it in candy.”

“I purchase it from a small apothecary in Estonia.”

“I am not sure about purity. It works, doesn’t it? It might be a little strong, it lasts for three hours with six drops.”

“Yes, I know the maximum allowed dosage for Ministry interrogation is three drops, but I need it to last. Yes, sometimes I renew the dose.”

“Yes, I of course I Obliviate my subjects. They might demand I turn over my material to them otherwise…”

Veritaserum was a controlled potion and its use was severely restricted. Obliviating someone without his or her express consent was also against the law.

Draco had finished with the evidence from Ginny, whose innocent interview could be read in court. At the end of her calm and beautifully articulate testimony, Ginny had suddenly looked stricken and had lost all composure. Tears rolling down her face, she’d reached out to her husband. “Oh! Draco! Oh, my love! Our baby! She killed our baby!”

The cool and collected attorney had disappeared. Ginny’s loving husband, Scorpius and Lily’s doting father, had replaced him. He had rushed to his wife, holding her, caressing her hair and back, as they both grieved anew for their lost child.

Harry, thrown off at first, had suddenly understood and had gotten up to address the interrogators, who were looking very confused.

“Excuse me…Uh. If I may? I know… er.. Let me explain. Ginny, Mrs. Malfoy, almost died, I mean really, almost died, the Healers had prepared Draco for the worst and everything… Anyway, she almost died from bleeding after she lost her baby when she was six and a half months along. Two and a half years ago. The Healers had no clue why it happened. Everything was fine, better than fine, really good, at her last check-up, and, I mean, you know, she’s a Weasley, so… Anyway. It was the first of May. I know because we were celebrating the renewal of my contract, and they’re due the first of May, if the team wants you to be eligible for that year. But whatever… I was there. The baby… Oh, god… It was so sad, and Ginny, all that blood…”

He took a deep breath, trying to get to the point. “That was exactly a week after Skeeter dosed her with Veritaserum. Everybody knows you can’t give it to pregnant women. Everybody knows it destroys the baby’s brain and... kills the baby.”

Griselda Marchbanks did not need to hear anything more. It was obvious from her demeanor that she first got out of the way what she considered to be a minor matter, putting Harry’s Cease and Desist request to a vote. “All in favor of Mr. Potter’s request say ‘Aye.’”

There were ten ‘Ayes’. The ten Heads of Noble Wizarding Houses had just heard that through underhanded means someone had all but murdered the Heir to the House of Malfoy. They were not amused.

“Miss Rita Skeeter, you are charged with illegal possession of Veritaserum, illegal use of Veritaserum, one hundred and thirty counts of reckless endangerment, manslaughter, illegal use of Obliviation, slander, and uh… public nuisance.”

Harry would have laughed if he’d not been concerned for his friends, who were still hugging, Draco now speaking softly in Ginny’s ear. Marchbanks was pissed and throwing the book at Skeeter. Could a person be charged with manslaughter for causing a miscarriage in the magical world?

Griselda Marchbanks continued, “Bailiff, arrest that… woman. Pending trial, Miss Skeeter will be held in Azkaban Prison.” No nice Ministry holding cell for her, then…

The gavel fell, and Harry thought his nightmare was over.

He accompanied Draco and four hit wizards to the publisher’s. They were provided with a precise accounting of the first printing. A small incineration perimeter was established and the books remaining at the publisher’s were Banished within. They immediately went up in flames. All the booksellers on the list were contacted and given the Banishment coordinates. A spell placed on the area insured an accurate accounting. Only a few times did the hit wizards have to Apparate to a bookseller and nudge them to Banish some missing copies.

The original manuscript was brought out and destroyed. Finally, Draco opened his briefcase and offered his copy to Harry. “If you want to keep one, you can have mine.”

Without even opening the book, Harry threw it within the incineration perimeter with perfect precision. They watched it burn together.

“You know,” said Draco, “I paid good money for that book.”

Harry grinned. “Let that be a lesson to you. You should not spend your hard-earned Galleons on trash.”

Draco grinned back. “Oh, I wasn’t complaining. Its cost is already included in my bill…”

They both cracked up.

~o~ Domino Effect ~o~

“Come in, Potter.”

Snape was sitting in his favorite reading chair, a cup of tea balanced on the armrest, a book resting on his crossed legs. Harry sighed as tension seemed to leave his body. After the craziness of the day, Snape’s quiet sitting room and the man’s tranquil aura were like a balm to his overwrought nerves.

He filled the cup waiting on the sideboard with the tea that he now permanently associated with Snape. Its fragrance, mixed with the scent of the eternally burning fire and the dry smell of parchment and books, was part and parcel with the quiet evenings, along with Snape’s deep soothing voice, and the comfort of the chair he thought of as his own.

He sat across from Snape, rested his head on the back of the chair. Just as he had known it would, his day and its hectic and stomach-turning moments faded away, as if this room, this man, this time, were everything that really mattered. As long as he had this, he would be all right.

He looked at Snape. As usual, the Headmaster was completely absorbed in his reading, his face relaxed, his eyes moving quickly over the page, the long fingers of his right hand flipping the pages as needed. His left hand now held the teacup, from which he was taking occasional sips. He put down the cup again and brought his relaxed hand to his face, cupping his chin with his fingers, and caressing his lips with his thumb, in an unconscious gesture that never failed to fascinate Harry.

Snape looked up and, to Harry’s surprise, smirked at him. “Hard day at the office?” he drawled.

Harry was a little bit thrown by the smirk and the tone of the question but replied nonetheless. “Draco came through. There was a recall from all points of sale, and printing has ceased. They can account for every copy but four that were pre-ordered and mailed to private parties, but they should be able to track those down. I really did not think it could be done, but it looks as if my sex life might remain private after all.” He could not hide the relief in his voice. He so wanted this mortifying episode to be over with.

“A shame, that,” said Snape.

“Pardon?” Harry was sure he had misheard. But there was no mistaking the malicious expression on Snape’s face as he raised the book he was reading from his lap to expose the cover. Harry stared at the lurid yellow jacket from which his own smiling face was winking back at him.

“Quite a talent you have there,” Snape added.

Harry’s heart missed a beat, then started thundering in his chest. He felt cold, then hot, then as if he had a hard time getting air. He stood up on wobbly legs, sending his cup crashing to the floor. The room suddenly seemed dark, and he felt a violent urge to vomit. He closed his eyes, certain that he was going to faint, but then took a ragged but deep breath. Without a word, he turned and left the room, closing the door carefully and quietly behind him. He needed to fly. Now.

“Kreacher?”

The elf appeared with a snap. “Master Harry?”

Harry grabbed his slender shoulder. “Would you take me to my rooms, please?” A mere instant and they were there. “Thanks, Kreacher. I am going flying.”

He threw on his fur-lined jacket, his gloves, and his flying boots. Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he stepped onto his balcony, where Kreacher was waiting for him with his Firebolt and his potion bottle. He took a couple of swallows. The elf shook his head and, looking put out, closed his eyes in concentration and snapped his fingers. Harry was astonished to find himself wearing his flying leathers and could have sworn he felt his woolens underneath.

“Wow. Thanks, Kreacher.”

“Not easy to do, that, Master Harry. Even for a house-elf. Next time, please, Master Harry is smart and does it the normal way? Kreacher is too old for this.”

Exactly three minutes after his cup had crashed to the floor, he was airborne. He climbed as high as he could stand it and, with cold efficiency and perfect focus, channeled his pain, his shame, his sense of betrayal, his humiliation, his self loathing and his rage, all his roiling emotions, into his magic. Then he forced all of it into speed, becoming an unthinking, unfeeling human bullet streaking across the night sky.

~o~ Now He Knows ~o~

After watching the door close, Snape put the book back down on his lap. He took up his teacup and had a long sip. Then he sent it hurtling across the room where it crashed, with a crystalline sound, against the wall. The book followed, its trip ending with a shower of sparks when it thumped, neatly, against the back of the fireplace, and immediately ignited. Snape watched it burn, the magical ink creating unusual colours in the flames, until there was nothing left but a pile of ash. Then he got up, opened the door to the sideboard, and poured himself a large glass of twenty-year-old Glenlivet.

Potter’s reaction had been frightening by its quiet intensity. When he had stood up, all color draining out of his face, Severus had been quite sure he was going to faint. But he had left, without a word, without a rant, without a shout. And Severus’s heart had left with him, if the empty feeling in his chest was to be believed.

His prurient curiosity, his masochistic obsession, his overwhelming jealousy had finally driven him to do something quite unforgivable, and Harry, his Harry, had left, their fragile trust shattered and their nascent relationship probably damaged beyond repair. Skeeter had not lied. The interviews were very… candid, the descriptions of the lovemaking erotic at best, downright pornographic in other cases, all describing the man he loved pleasuring others, being pleasured by others…

It had been so painful to read, and yet he’d been unable to stop, going from one interview to the next and the next, all of them painting Harry as an amazing lover, gentle, tender, passionate, generous, indefatigable… The hurt had consumed him, jealousy choking him. How could a man who so obviously loved the female form be anything but purely heterosexual? He had mistaken Harry’s true affection for him for something more, projecting his own feelings onto him.

When Harry had arrived, obviously relieved to be in Severus’s rooms, in his company, Severus had felt such… fury. How dare the man hurt him beyond Cruciatus and find peace and refuge in his presence, in his home? And so he had retaliated, in perfect Snape fashion.

His anger at himself was so intense that he would gladly have ripped out his own eyes if it could erase what he had done. As it was, he ascertained by a quick look at the mantelpiece clock that it would take at least another five minutes for Harry to reach his rooms, before he could Floo-call Harry, and beg for his forgiveness. Nothing mattered more than this. Not his foolish pride, not even his self-respect. He would grovel, and he would plead, and humiliate himself if necessary, but he would fix this. He threw a handful of powder in the fire and knelt.

“Potter? Potter?”

Not there yet, then. After all, it took Severus close to fifteen minutes to make it from his to Harry’s door. (Not that he had ever knocked on said door. But on sleepless nights, he had once, or twice perhaps, made the climb. Just for a place to go.) He waited another five minutes and tried again.

“Potter? Potter, are you there?”

Had he stopped on the way? Perhaps he had gone for a walk outside. Maybe he had gone to visit Hagrid. Not likely. He had been livid, not in any shape to go for a chat. Maybe he was just not answering.

“Potter? …Harry?” He thought better of that. “Potter, I… I am sorry. So very sorry. Please, your friendship is … infinitely precious to me. I have burned the book. I should not have read it…”

He should not have ordered it. Why did he order it? Why did he need to know? So he could vicariously taste what he now knew he would never have? So he could confirm to himself that Harry loved women? Pretty, young, soft, beautiful women? To torture himself with the knowledge that he was the exact opposite of all Harry desired and enjoyed in a partner?

“Potter, please, I need to explain. If you are there and not answering, beware, I’m coming through.”

He threw some more Floo powder on and stepped into the now harmless fire and out of Potter’s cold fireplace. He had only been in this room that one time, with everyone else, the night of Harry’s party.

The place looked different now with the lights dimmed, comfortable, warm, welcoming, but it was definitely empty. The view was breathtaking under the light of the moon. Why should Harry spend so much time down in his dungeon when he had such a place?

He walked closer to the window, his hand trailing along the supple leather of the sofa. Opened on the arm was the book by Burbage that he had mentioned to Harry a while back. When had he gotten it? And why was he reading it when his interest in potions was so limited? He turned it over, surprised to see minute notes in the margins. On the coffee table were much more general reference texts on potions. Had Harry turned to them to help him with the more complex Burbage?

On the side table was a lovely picture of Potter, Weasley, and Granger after they had finished at Hogwarts. Had it really been eleven years? None of them had changed very much. He picked it up. Not true, they had changed. Ron Weasley had lost his gangly appearance. He had filled in, matured. Hermione was even more beautiful now. She had lost some of the roundness in her face and her hair was tamed nowadays, mostly. And Harry.

Gone were the round glasses, and the unruly hair. But the light in his eyes was the same, and the charm in his smile. He, too, was more beautiful now, in Severus’ eyes. He loved those lips, and the angle of his jaw, and… Well, enough of that. He put the frame down. He loved everything about Harry. And now, because he could not stand the thought of him making love to someone else, he had retaliated by trying to humiliate him, a job well done, by all accounts. He sighed.

There were the binoculars that had been such a draw at the party. He himself had enjoyed watching the Thestrals flying over the forest. Next to the binoculars was a small piece of parchment, obviously well used, many times folded and unfolded. His curiosity aroused, he took it up and was shocked to see his own ludicrous note from that staff meeting, months ago. ‘Drinks, eight o’clock, my rooms.’ That had been their first evening together. And Harry had kept it?

He started feeling self-conscious. He was in the man’s home without leave. He was looking at his things. Yet he was strangely elated by his findings. He suddenly felt even more wretched than before. Had he wrecked something more than a wonderful, platonic friendship? Could he really have become important to Harry? And after cultivating that hope for months, had he finally ruined it completely? He turned back toward the fireplace, ready to make good his escape, and stopped to stare at the portrait above it.

This had not been there on his last visit. There had been a hook, but no painting. And he thought he knew why. The man in the painting was gaunt, dressed in black with a high collar. His face was severe, with a long nose, glossy black hair cut just below the ear lobes, and very dark eyes. It was obviously a late medieval painting of extremely high quality, probably worth a fortune. And it looked like him. Not enough to be mistaken for his own portrait, but certainly enough that people would have remarked upon it, especially people who had known him ten years ago.

Severus approached the painting. The man’s eyes seemed to follow his movements. On the edge of the mantel, a picture of that same painting was lying on top of a folded letter in Potter’s hand and an open one on the letterhead of Le Musee du Louvre in Paris. Curious, he picked up the one from the Museum. It was a request, from the curator of the medieval art section, for a three-month loan of the painting for a special exposition of Late Medieval Grand Masters. So the portrait was indeed of great value.

He could not help but read Potter’s response. He was surprised to see that he had turned them down. He ‘could not part from the painting for such a long period of time’. But he was enclosing a picture of it that they were welcome to include in the catalogue of the exposition, with a request: though when he had purchased it six years ago it had been referred to as ‘Portrait of a Man’ he would prefer it be labeled ‘Portrait of the Half-Blood Prince’ in the catalogue, as he himself thought of it.

Severus swallowed hard. Harry had bought it six years ago. The Half-Blood Prince. Prominently displayed, above Harry’s fireplace. Severus was a fool, an unmitigated and utter fool. He had not been imagining Harry’s attraction to him. As unbelievable as it would appear, that vibrant, beautiful young man did indeed seek his company, research his interest, keep his idiotic note, and ‘could not part’ even for three months from the portrait of the Half-Blood Prince.

With a wave of his wand, he lit a fire in the grate and threw a handful of Floo powder in. About to step into the flames, he looked around the pleasant room one more time. His eye caught the symbol of Skeeter’s publisher on a slim volume lying horizontally on top of the neatly organized books in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Curiosity got the better of him. He let the green flames die out as he walked across the room to retrieve the thin volume.

Wizards in Love: Essential Information about Homosexual Sex, by Josephus Rathbone, Healer. Realizing the meaning of such a book being in Potter’s possession, Severus perused it randomly. It was accurate and concise, with anatomical illustrations and useful spells. Overall, a very sound, if coldly clinical, introduction to male-on-male lovemaking. And now that he could finally believe that there had been some foundation to his ridiculous hopes, he had probably completely destroyed them with his petty jealousy.

Heartsick, he Flooed back to his rooms and fell into his chair, his head in his hands. He was disgusted with himself, and choking with misery. He took one look at the still full glass of Glenlivet on the sideboard and got up. He had neither the time nor the stomach to get drunk. He walked instead to his potions cabinet, opened it, and uncorked a tiny blue vial which he downed in one swallow. There were benefits to being a Potions Master, after all. He barely made it to his bed before he fell into the total oblivion of twelve hours of induced Dreamless Sleep.

~o~ Bad Idea ~o~

Harry’s only focus was the transmutation of everything he had into forward momentum. The wind whipping his face and the pitch of its shrieking in his ears was his gauge of success. He had flown for days at a time before, during Quidditch games, but he had never pushed himself so relentlessly and with such single-mindedness. From an escape it became a challenge, then a goal. How fast, how far, and how long could he go? Near morning, he suddenly felt depleted. His slow-down and drop were a little abrupt, and his landing far less than elegant. He crumpled to the ground in a boneless mass of exhaustion and might have even fallen asleep for a few minutes, the broom still between his legs.

When he finally stood up, he felt more physically drained than he ever had before, standing straight almost a challenge in itself. He looked around. In the pale light of dawn, he realized he had not a clue as to his whereabouts. It had been a little after ten when he left Hogwarts and it must be approaching seven in the morning now, if the sun was anything to go by. He had left his room from the south window but had been heading into the sunrise by morning. He had been traveling for probably about nine hours. Where was he?

He tried to transfigure his broom into a walking stick, and then simply to shrink it, but could not gather enough of his magic for either so, his Firebolt on his shoulder, he headed for what looked like a road at the edge of the field where he had landed. It took him about thirty minutes of slow trekking to get to a small village. There were cows and horses in the fields. The houses were big and square and very quaint. The church bell rang eight times, eight o’clock, then, and the signs were in …German? Ah, there was an edelweiss motif painted on the edge of a roof, and a flag with a white cross on a red background. Could he really have made it as far as Switzerland? He must have.

A woman on a bicycle gave him a strange look, and as soon as she had passed he (finally!) shrank his broom and slid it carefully along his wand in the special pocket on the outer seam of his trousers. He was freezing. There was a small hotel with what looked like a café at the corner of the street, and he headed into the warmth. The barkeep was thin, with blue eyes, short hair, and wire-rimmed glasses. He spoke perfect English and showed no surprise at all that an Englishman should want breakfast in his establishment so early in the morning. Before the man brought him his coffee and croissants, Harry had realized why.

There were other foreigners in the room and more were coming down to breakfast from the rooms upstairs. From the few other conversations in English in the room, he realized there was a horse-jumping competition in the village. From a brochure on the counter he learnt he was in the town of Elgg, not far from Zurich, which was very good news. He had been in Zurich many times on professional tours. Zurich did not have a team, but the nearby town of Winterthur did. It also had a large Wizarding community hidden in the middle of the pedestrian streets, and an Apparation point still very clear in Harry’s mind.

He was quite relieved. He would not have too much trouble getting home. He felt very guilty as the nice Swiss restaurant owner gave him change for his payment, a fifty-franc bill Transfigured from the tourist brochure to match the money left on a neighboring table. Harry would make good on it later. He stepped out and found a quiet path along a canal populated by ducks to Apparate to Winterthur. Once there, he walked to the Swiss branch of Gringotts and withdrew enough currency to Floo home.

At the Floo terminal, he hesitated. Today was Saturday. No classes until Monday. He really did not want to go back and… argh. He couldn’t even think about it. Snape’s malicious smirk. That stupid book. What must Snape think of him? Why did he have to be such a nasty bastard? Couldn’t he just this once have given Harry a break, instead of rubbing his face in it?

He had so needed Snape’s calm, his voice, and his company. Why did he need him, want him, so much? Why did Snape have to be the only one that mattered? Merlin, how he hated that man!

He wasn’t going home just yet. He needed a break from all the craziness, and since there was no respite to be had in the dungeons, he decided to take a short holiday. He Floo-called Hermione to let her know that he was going away (she had no way to know he was not calling from his rooms) and would not be back until Sunday night. No, he wasn’t sure where yet. Maybe to the Burrow? She should not worry. Yes, she was right, he could certainly use a break…

Now, what was he to do with his thirty-six hours of freedom? Going to the Burrow was the last thing on his mind. He could imagine a blushing Molly unable to keep herself from reading the ‘revelations’ about his abundant love life in the Prophet. But he really did not want to be alone. Victor, maybe? Or some old teammate?

On a whim, he Floo-called Petr DeVries. He made up some lame excuse for being in Amsterdam on his way back from some Hogwarts business and secured himself a dinner invitation. Then he went back out into Wizarding Winterthur and blew all his money on an exquisitely tailored pair of trousers, a gorgeous shirt, an outrageously expensive waistcoat, and the most stunning set of robes he had ever owned. He even splurged on calf’s leather ankle boots and new undergarments.

He took his bulky package back to Gringotts, got some more money out, and Flooed to the best Wizarding hotel in Amsterdam. He had a shower, a massage, a pedicure, a manicure, and a fresh haircut. He had not been this ridiculously extravagant since the heights of his Quidditch days, and by the time Petr picked him up at his hotel he felt ready for anything.

Whether Petr felt his mood or had himself looked forward to a slightly wild night on the town Harry did not know, but they spent the evening eating fabulous food and smoking copious amounts of legal marijuana in a sophisticated jazz club where the clientele was obviously homosexual and the waiters attractive, playful, and very sexy. By the time they made it back to Petr’s place and were drinking Armagnac from very large glasses as well as smoking very high-quality dope, Harry was as high as a kite.

The various pictures of Snape and Petr he was examining on the fireplace mantel only reminded him that the man he was with had felt Snape’s kisses, that that man had been fucked by Snape. And so when Petr came to stand oh-so-close to him to mention that a particular picture had been taken in Prague, and then grabbed the back of Harry’s head and kissed him senseless, Harry only tasted the lips Snape had tasted, the tongue Snape’s tongue had played with, and felt pressing against his flat belly the prick Snape had caressed.

In the midst of the kiss, Petr, who was much more sober than Harry, Apparated them both to the bedroom, and divested them of their clothing. Snape had slept in this room, fucked this man in this bed. Soon, Harry was tasting the cock Snape had sucked and hearing the moans Snape had enjoyed. Soon in his Snape-obsessed, drugged-out-of-his-skull state, he forgot to whom that lean tall body really belonged, looking up to see a fall of glossy black hair, closing his eyes in satisfaction at Snape’s moans of pleasure.

By the time Petr rolled him over and started stretching him, it was Snape's hands touching him, Snape's fingers penetrating him, and finally, heavenly, Snape’s prick breaching him and bringing him to the edge, Snape’s hand around his cock, and Snape’s name on his lips as he shot his come in desperate spurts.

~o~ Cowardly Retreat…~o~

Petr covered the sleeping (passed out?) Harry with a blanket and went back to his living room to finish his brandy. Well, that had been a first. Never before had he been called by someone else’s name while fucking. Though his ego was a little bruised, he admitted to himself with a chuckle that he would rather have any gorgeous young man yell Severus’s name while Petr fucked him than have that same gorgeous young man yell his own name while Severus fucked him. Much more pleasurable…

And that it was Severus’s young man and Severus’s name did not hurt… It was in itself a little bit of poetic justice. Harry had obviously been completely inexperienced, his anus had had the tightness of a virgin’s. Had Severus even an inkling that Harry was open to experimenting on the other side? He had always been so adamant that Harry was exclusively straight. Had he any idea that Harry fantasized about him?

Petr had not realized the depth of Harry's intoxication, nor his true infatuation with Severus. No doubt the young man had only let their evening turn physical out of desire to experience something that Severus had enjoyed previously. He was generous enough, though, to be glad his former lover had not thrown away their relationship for nothing. It was obvious that there was hope here. Truthfully, he was glad that there might be even more than that. He still loved Severus, and liked Harry a lot, enough to want them both happy. Still, he had fucked Harry, and he had fucked him first. He was not noble enough not to find some satisfaction in that…

The Floo alarm went off and he felt incredibly guilty when Severus’s face appeared in the flames. “Petr?”

His heart beating a bit faster than normal, Petr approached the hearth. “Severus! Good evening! I am afraid you just missed Harry. He went back to his hotel after dinner. Is it something urgent? You can probably reach him there.”

Severus looked a little surprised. Why should he? Harry could have gone already, it was well after ten.

“No, nothing that can’t wait until he returns,” Severus answered. “Did you have a good evening?”

“Excellent, though he seemed a little tired.” He might as well explain why the evening had been so short.

“And how are you?”

Hoping all the while that Harry would stay asleep, Petr made small talk with Severus for a few more minutes and then said his farewells. That had been extremely uncomfortable. Actually, he realized that the next morning would probably be very awkward as well, and made a quick decision. A few minutes later he was dressed and, having written a hasty note to his sleeping guest, he headed out to go sleep at his private club. Sometimes a quiet retreat was the best approach.

~o~

Severus was completely flummoxed. After half a day of expecting to meet Harry (and maybe even seeking him out in all his usual places), he had finally heard Granger, during luncheon, mention that Harry had left that morning for parts unknown—though possibly for the Burrow—to ‘take a break’.

After another few hours of self-flagellation, Severus had felt the need to talk to an old friend, one who also happened to know of his hopeless attachment. Never in a million years had he expected to hear that Harry was in Amsterdam and that he had just had dinner with the same ‘old friend’. Petr had certainly acted as if Severus should have known all about it, and he was wondering what story Harry had fed him. And now he was also wondering what the two of them had talked about. What did they have in common, outside of their love of flying and… him? Well, at least Harry was safe. And Petr, whose friendship he never doubted, might even have put a good word in for him.

~o~

In his waking sleep, Harry felt a glow of happiness. Severus had made love to him. As he woke up further, he realized that it had only been a dream, but still one that left him with a wonderful sense of wellbeing. Maybe someday it would be more than a dream. As he rose further into consciousness, he became aware of some rather weird physical sensations. He felt a little woozy, and his… Harry was suddenly wide-awake. His arsehole was very sore. He remembered a dream about making love with Snape, but he knew that had not really happened.

He was in Amsterdam, with Petr. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he was in Petr's bed. Fucking, fucking hell. Petr had fucked him. He felt vile. His stomach lurched and he emptied its contents all over the carpet at the side of the bed. This was the exact reason why he never drank. He always woke up the morning after regretting what had happened while he was under the influence, not to mention sick as a dog.

But this morning after was by far the worst he ever had experienced. He had had sex with a man for the first time. A man not Severus. His stomach tried hard, but could not find anything else to expel. For a brief moment he actually wished for death. Anything not to have to face this morning's reality. He crawled out of bed, dry-heaved when he saw his new boxer shorts on the floor, and again when he tripped on a bottle of lube. And once more for good measure when he felt the twinge in his arse as he emptied his bladder in the white toilet.

He leaned against the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Self-loathing did not begin to describe how he felt. How could he look so normal when he felt so utterly disgusting? He parked himself under the showerhead and turned the water on full blast. He scrubbed his body mercilessly, including that most tender part of his anatomy. He started crying, sobbing as tears just streaked down his face. In self-pity or self-hatred he wasn't sure. Probably both. He sat at the bottom of the shower stall, wrapped his arms around his knees, and just wept.

He saw Petr's note on the night table when he returned to the bedroom, a towel around his middle. Before reading it he picked up his wand and cleaned up the floor, then opened the window. It was cold outside, but the smell of the vomit outlasted its presence on the rug.

He sat on the bed and picked up the note.

Harry,
Sorry I had to run out so early. An emergency at work. I had a great time last night. Perhaps we can do it again sometime. Call me next time you are in town.
Petr.
PS: Severus called while you were sleeping. I told him you intended to return to Hogwarts tonight, and apparently whatever it was can wait till then.

Harry read the note again, dread in his heart. 'Severus called while you were sleeping.' That made absolutely no sense. How had he known where Harry was? He couldn't have. He must have been calling Petr for some other reason. And Petr had probably just assumed Severus knew that Harry was there. Could things get any worse? Did Snape have to know every one of his indiscretions? Considering what his opinion of Harry must have been after reading that book, did he have to find out immediately that Harry was apparently no better at keeping his pants on with men than he had been with women? How could he ever face that man again?

Well, he had to, sooner or later. He picked up his beautiful new clothes and shoes and Flooed back to his hotel room, where he threw the lot in the hotel-provided laundry bag. He put back on the clothes he had worn on his flight, checked out of the hotel, and went home from the international Floo station. He was so relieved to be back in his rooms he honestly felt he might never have the desire to leave them again. It was a little after ten Sunday morning. In twenty-two hours, he would have to be teaching the third years the finesse of spot landing. He had to get hold of himself and get over recent events. He had to stop just reacting and actually think—about what he was doing, where he was going, and what he really wanted.

Ordinarily, when he had something he needed to figure out, he would talk to Hermione, or Ginny, or both. But he had confided in no one about his feelings for Snape, or even his emerging friendship with him. It seemed too important to share, even with his best friends.

He realized that this, right there, said it all. Nothing in his life had ever felt as important as this. His judgment in the past had been questionable. Certainly his judgment, or lack thereof, last night was a case in point. But his connection to Snape was real, and intense, and precious, and… true. Genuine. He had nothing to gain by it, and no reservations about it. Snape was still a cruel bastard, difficult and demanding, but even with his eyes wide open, Harry still wanted him, enjoyed him, needed him… shit. Loved him.

So really, no matter how difficult this was going to be, and no matter how painful and humiliating, he could do nothing but stick it out. Because he knew that it was all that really mattered, all that ever had. He sighed. He was tired, really tired, but relieved. He knew what he was doing, where he was going, and what he wanted. He had really known for some time. He just had to stay the course. He took off his clothes and went to bed. He was too tired to do anything more constructive than sleep. And he might as well be rested when the time came to face the music.

The next day, in truth, he could not bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes, not wanting to see the disgust in them. He was glad it was one of his evenings with the adult students. He just could not bear to face the man.

The next day at breakfast, his heart fell when a beautiful Tengmalm’s owl brought him a brief note. “Mr.Potter, Unfortunate circumstances are forcing me to cancel our standing plans both this evening and Thursday. Please accept my apologies. SS”

Snape was not present at breakfast, nor was he at lunch. Harry went and sat in his chair.

“Looks like I get to sit with you. Lucky me! Where is the Headmaster anyway?” he asked Hermione.

“I am not quite sure. Hogwarts business, though, he’s not taken time off. I heard from Draco that three out of four copies of that stupid book were found and destroyed, and the owners given a magical gag? He also said the last copy was destroyed by the owner? You must be so relieved!”

“You have no idea. I will never say another word against Draco.”

Hermione giggled. “Somehow, I doubt that… But he is brilliant, isn’t he. Ginny told me about the baby. Thank god for Lily and Scorpius. Otherwise finding out what happened might have destroyed her. As it is, she is pretty devastated.”

“Marchbanks charged Skeeter with manslaughter. Can they do that in the magical court for the death of a fetus?”

“I researched it.” She smacked Harry on the arm before he had time to say anything.

“Hey!” he protested. “I didn’t say anything!”

“Shut up. You were thinking it.”

Harry chuckled. “So, what did you find out?”

“The fetus is considered alive after twenty-four weeks, and is entitled to all the protection afforded any wizards under the law. Ginny was twenty-six weeks pregnant when the Veritaserum damaged her baby’s brain beyond hope. So yes, Skeeter will be tried for involuntary manslaughter. That’s four years, normally, but because the victim was a child younger than eight, the penalty is doubled. Reckless endangerment is one year, and she has one hundred and thirty counts, all the people she said she interviewed. Illegal possession of Veritaserum is five years, illegal use is ten. Obliviation is three years. The rest of the charges will probably be fines. So that’s one hundred and fifty six years in Azkaban, ten years if she is allowed to do them all concurrently, though that’s unlikely. Better her than me.”

“Wow. Couldn't happen to a better person. Maybe she can pen a book about her years as a detainee. Still, I’m glad Azkaban is no longer what it used to be. No one deserved that.”

That evening, Harry went to research the last syllabi he had left, the fifth year Cursed Objects, for Minerva. How he got roped into explaining symbiotic properties versus additive properties in potions to a group of first year Hufflepuffs he would never know, but it was extremely rewarding when, at the end of the night, it made sense to all of them.

Snape did not return Wednesday, nor Thursday, nor Friday, so when Harry’s wards signaled five people approaching on Friday night, he didn’t mind. He could hear a discussion through the trap door.

“Perry, you knock!”

“No way! My idea. You knock!”

“Come on, for Merlin’s sake! We didn’t come this deep in red and gold territory to just stand there!”

“Well, you knock then, Hamish!”

Chuckling, he opened the trap on five startled little faces looking up at him.

Signaling for them to enter, Harry asked, “Mr. Ashcroft, Mr. Menzies, Mr. Beetroot, Mr. Flint, greetings. To what extraordinary circumstances do I owe your visit this evening?”

Hamish Menzies looked at his classmates and shook his head disgustedly. “Perry was talking to Maxine, you know? Tall Maxine Barento from Hufflepuff? Anyway, she said you were dead helpful to them with that stup… with explaining the concept of symbiotic properties versus additive properties in potions for our paper on ingredient replacement.”

Perry Beetroot was encouraged by Harry’s calm demeanor. “We don’t get it either, Coach Potter. Professor McClallan is off to see Auror Batgut and Apprentice Pilot, well, he’s nice and all… but he eats half his words, and he speaks so fast, and he stutters, and when he is done explaining, well, you still don’t have a clue…”

“Have you boys thought of asking help from Headmaster Snape? He is a Potions Master and a Slytherin.”

“See, told you!” said Perry Beetroot.

“Uh, sir?” Percy Ashcroft started explaining, “Except for Perry here, we’re all scared shitless… Fuck! Oh, Merlin… Sorry sir, please excuse my language. What I mean to say is that we’re frightened of him.”

Harry had a very hard time not laughing. These kids were so cute. “I think I can relate. When I was your age, I was fucking terrified of the Potions professor. My roommates thought he was a vampire.”

The children looked at him in shock, then burst out laughing.

“But I know him now,” added Harry. “He has a brilliant mind, and vast and eclectic knowledge. Sometimes I feel there is nothing he doesn’t know. He is generous and caring, he spent years working one way or another for the betterment of wizardkind, and as a friend, he is caring and amazingly loyal. He has a marvelously sarcastic sense of humor and a beautiful laugh. And unlike when I was your age, he doesn’t look anything like a vampire any more. He is not classically handsome, but he has an attractive, imposing presence.”

He realized the boys were looking at each other. Finally Paco Ramirez said, “Wow. Perry wasn’t kidding, you really do like him, don’t you?”

Harry shrugged. “Yes, yes, I do. But anyway. There are only the five of you in your dorm, is that correct?”

“Yes, Coach Potter, it’s just us boys in first year.”

“Good. I don’t want to have to do this again. Did you bring your notes? Good, then sit down and let’s get started.”

“Your rooms are really awesome, Coach. Can we go onto the balcony when we’re done?”

“Sure.”

Once again, he went through the whole important notion of symbiotic versus additive properties in potion ingredients, remembering Hermione explaining the same to Ron and him years ago. The boys were smart and got it faster than the four Hufflepuffs the day before.

They started talking about their classes, and it was interesting to hear how popular Neville was. They felt McGonagall (“Professor McGonagall, boys…”) favored the Gryffindors, and they loved History of Magic. “It’s like Professor Granger-Weasley tells you a story and you can see it in your head. It makes it easy to remember. It’s great to know about the past.” They were astonished by Hagrid. “He wanted us to pet a ‘baby’ Acromantula, because wasn’t it cute? The thing was the size of a serving platter, with venom dripping from his fangs. I think his feelings were hurt when we all demurred. He’s a little barmy, you know?”

Paco Ramirez got out a pack of cards and asked Harry if he wanted to play Exploding Snap. They had a great time. Harry then went with them onto the balcony and quizzed them on their astrology, and suddenly the boys had to run out to make their weekend eleven o‘clock curfew.

Harry stood outside for a few more minutes breathing in the night. When he came back, he was surprised to find Perry Beetroot sitting on his couch.

“Perry? You are going to get caught out after curfew, you know.”

“I know, but… Sir, with all due respect, I have a question.”

“All right. What is it?”

“The portrait above your fireplace? Did you buy it because it looks like the Headmaster?”

“Well… Yes. I suppose I did.”

“You…You love him, don’t you. I mean you’re in love with him.”

“That’s an extremely personal question, Perry. Why do you ask?”

“I really like Julius Marchbanks, from Ravenclaw. Percy, Hamish, Andreas, and Paco, they go on and on about Maxine, or Heather and Isobel. I mean they’re nice girls and all, but I wouldn’t want to kiss them.”

“But you’d like to kiss Julius.”

“Oh, yeah…”

“Do you think that’s a problem?”

“I’m the last Beetroot. My parents are always talking of my getting married and producing an heir. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

“I see. Well, I like both boys and girls, Perry. Be patient, you might find at some point that you do too. Or like Professor Longbottom, you might be able to adopt a baby some day, or have a godchild you are really close to, and have him be your heir. Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you’ll never have a child. Don’t force the issue. Go with your heart. Your happiness is what’s important.”

Harry grinned. “You are a little young for kissing anybody right now, anyway. Wait a couple of years, and if you still want to kiss Julius, and he feels the same way, kiss away. Life is too short to waste kissing opportunities.”

Perry smiled. “Thanks, Coach. Don’t worry, I don’t plan to harass you with stuff like this all the time. I just needed some advice. Would you give me a pass? Professor McGonagall is patrolling, and she’s not crazy about Slytherins.”

Harry wrote the pass and the child left, grateful. On the other hand, Harry’s heart was heavy. He’d not seen Snape in four days. Petr had hinted at the man’s jealousy. Being fucked by his ex was probably pretty high on Snape’s No-no list.

The next day Snape was back, and attended the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch game. Harry was very proud of the teams. They flew extremely well, played a clean, fast, exciting eight-hour game, staying motivated the entire time despite the cold, and in the end, when Gryffindor took the Snitch for the win, they thanked and shook hands with the yellow-and-black-clad players with a real sense of camaraderie. They made their coach, their Houses, and their school proud.

They all ate a late dinner, everyone happy to be out of the cold and appreciating the chowder and warm desserts prepared by the elves. Snape did not once meet Harry’s eyes, nor did he congratulate the coach on a game well played, which hurt Harry much more than it should have. The students seemed happy to celebrate in the Great Hall, all together, until curfew. After that, Coach Potter and Professor Longbottom were invited to the Gryffindor common room for an illegal butterbeer.

Halfway there, Harry realized he had left his scarf behind, on the back of his chair. It was the scarf he’d had since his first year at Hogwarts and he was ridiculously attached to it. He went back to the Great Hall for it, but it was gone. He assumed an elf had picked it up and that it would be back in his rooms. He joined Neville in the Gryffindor common room and had a lot of fun, feeling like they were going back in time. They even climbed up to their dorm and checked for their names, carved underneath their beds at the end of their seventh year.

At midnight Harry climbed into bed, feeling angry at himself, hurt by Snape’s pettiness in not acknowledging his professional achievement, and completely discouraged. His scarf was not in his rooms either, and Kreacher had no clue where it might be. The highlight of his week had been time spent with the students, adult and children. He would do more of that.

He spent Sunday with Teddy and Andromeda, cooking lunch and dinner, and teaching Teddy how to make chocolate chip biscuits. Teddy told him all about the secret passages in the Manor, so Harry used his magic to create one from behind the mirror in Teddy’s room to the broom closet between the kitchen and the living room. The password was “ssefsessss” which meant tail in Parseltongue and was easy enough for Teddy to learn and remember. Teddy sported waist-length pale blond hair and pale silver eyes these days, with the plumper, child version of Lucius’s aristocratic face. He had not changed since late December, and after three weeks everyone was getting used to it.

Another week passed without Snape ever talking to Harry or even meeting his eyes, and yet another and Harry stopped hoping. Another week, and then a month, and two, it was March, and Easter was in one month, and Harry despaired of ever being forgiven by the Headmaster for his indiscretion. He had turned in his last syllabus to Minerva in early February, and the last one he had to edit, on Unforgivables, was finally turned in to him in the nick of time by Hagrid and Madam Pince, two weeks before that section was to be taught.

He dropped all seven completed and edited Unforgivables syllabi off in Snape’s office within hours, to give the Headmaster as much time as possible to review them. Snape nodded to him in acknowledgement, but was busy interviewing teachers for Muggle Studies and Basic Magical Education and did not interrupt himself. Hogwarts had gone without either since the beginning of the year, a retired magical primary school teacher who lived in Hogsmeade doing an adequate job at covering both, but with an extremely reduced curriculum. Several excellent candidates had passed the selection committee and Harry wondered whom Snape would settle on.

That evening, once the students had left the Great Hall, Hermione introduced the two new hires. Albert Nott, Theodore’s older brother, had been a Death Eater. Deprived of his magic, he had chosen to live as a Muggle. He’d gone to University, getting a business degree, and had founded a small, very successful and lucrative company that imported luxury automobiles and motorcycles to very wealthy customers in Great Britain.

He had set up excellent managing teams to keep both sides of his business going and wanted to return to the magical world, without magic but with sufficient funds to compensate for its absence. He paid one of the Nott’s old house-elves, who was devoted to him, to help him function and had married a witch, Daphne Greengrass, who seemed to have no problem loving a Squib. He would teach Muggle Studies.

Theodore Nott had studied law with Draco Malfoy. Though the younger brother, he was the Head of the Nott House, which was a very minor House and had no vote in the Wizengamot. He was married to Astoria, Daphne’s sister, and the four, so far, lived together. He was not keen on practicing law and had had difficulty finding a challenging place in the world. He had never adhered to his family’s separatist convictions and had always hated his father, finding his suicide a cowardly way out, especially in light of his brother’s success.

Harry liked both of them. Theodore was tall and thin, with dark hair and brown eyes. Albert was stockier, with dirty blond hair and hazel eyes. They were both friendly and laughed easily. They would start after the Easter break, in a month and a half.

Minerva took advantage of the fact that everyone was present to announce that Harry had been first in finishing his assignment for the DADA. Everyone knew, from hearing the members of the committee discuss it and from the comments of the Aurors who had come to teach, what a major undertaking the concurrent writing of the seven years’ worth of seventeen topics was and the staggering amount of work it represented for each volunteer.

Harry had not known he’d been the first and was very pleased with the congratulations expressed by his co-writers, and the cheering and clapping. He was deservedly proud of his own achievement. For the first time in weeks, his eyes met Snape’s. So much of his work had been done during their peacefully shared evenings, and though he had tried to forget about them, he missed the man’s company so painfully…

Snape was clapping politely, his eyes flat and bored. Harry looked away, hurt, realizing that had it been anyone else, Snape would have made the announcement himself, and praised the individual publicly. Had Minerva not taken it upon herself to do so, would Harry’s achievement have gone completely unrecognized? He was suddenly angry at Snape’s lack of professionalism. So his ex had fucked Harry? So what? Harry’s private life was just that, private. Unlike some, he’d not had a man suck his cock in a public corridor, and there certainly was no reason to deny his professional successes because of a one-night stand Harry could hardly remember.

As everyone left the Great Hall, chatting, Harry arranged to walk next to Snape for a moment. He laid his hand on the man’s forearm to stop him and waited for them to be alone. “Am I right to believe that my professional performance been satisfactory, Headmaster?” he asked dryly.

Snape looked nonplussed. “Better than satisfactory, Mr. Potter,” Snape admitted. “Stellar.”

“Then, regardless of any private disagreement we might have, I would thank you to treat my contributions with professionalism. If you are unable to separate the two, I might have to find some other employment. I suffered enough from your petty personal vendetta as a student. I will not let it taint my career as well.” And he walked away.

“Mr. Potter!” Harry ignored him. It felt remarkably good to put the man in his place, to be in the right for once.

“Potter!...Please. Please hear me out.”

Harry loved him so much. They were in a very public area of the castle. Snape might be heard, or seen. Harry would not have him humiliate himself in front of the students. He stopped and let Snape catch up.

“Thank you, Potter,” said Snape. He took a deep breath. “You are absolutely right. I should have mentioned how well the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game was played, and I should have been the one publicly mentioning and celebrating your impressive achievement in DADA. Against her own better judgment, I asked Professor McGonagall to do so in my place, believing you would be more comfortable with the acknowledgement coming from her than from myself. I apologize if I was in error, and would like to assure you it in no way reflects a lack of appreciation for your accomplishment. Henceforth, I assure you I will not let personal feelings interfere in our professional dealings.”

“That’s all I ask.” That, and that you look me in the eye, and smile, and ask me to spend time with you, and love me, and show me what it is really like being made love to by you… Harry shook himself.

Snape looked about to say something more, but then didn’t. “Good evening, Mr. Potter,” and he was gone.

~o~ Goblin Peace ~o~

Forty-seven days. Forty-seven days since Potter had stood up, his cup shattering, and had left Severus’s rooms. By the worst luck, the week after Severus had received news of two more young werewolves, these born with the condition from parents turned by Greyback as punishment for refusing to join the Dark Lord. It had taken all his tact and all his persuasion to make sure the children would attend Hogwarts come autumn.

He had left a quickly penned note to Harry, knowing he would miss two of their evenings. When he’d come back, exhausted, that Friday, Potter had not come. Since he had arrived minutes before eight, he assumed Potter thought he was still away, and the next day he had been at the game. It had been incredibly long but exciting, the students’ conduct exemplary, their flying skills truly impressive even in exhaustion, a true credit to their flying instructor and their coach.

Snape had held back his opinion, certain he would see Harry that evening, though it was getting on. But Harry had not come. True, by the time dinner and the celebrations were over, it might have been too late…

Sunday, after reading a special report on the arrest of Rita Skeeter in the Prophet's supplement, Snape could not even meet Potter’s eyes. How could he have violated the man’s privacy to such an extent? He remembered how irate he had been at Potter looking at his memories when the boy had been a mere fifteen years old and at a time when they had enthusiastically hated each other. What was his excuse as an adult, when Potter had every right to expect friendship and respect from him, and perhaps more?

Sunday night came and went without a sign of Potter. Monday, Harry worked with the adult students in the evening, so it wasn’t until Tuesday that Snape ran out of excuses for him and had to face the facts. Potter just wasn’t coming back. He thought a hundred times of apologizing, but remembered the stupid kiss to Higgs Potter had kindly overlooked, his relationship with Petr Potter had patiently witnessed, and felt he may well have run out of chances with the man he loved.

Maybe if he stayed away for a while? If Potter missed their time together even half as much as Severus did…

He had many sources of information on the man he loved. Granger was always happy to speak about Harry. If Severus went to the Manor, he heard news about Lily’s godfather, especially from Draco, who was strangely loquacious on the topic. Filius, who was always in a wonderful mood lately, spend a lot of time in the aerie with Lovegood, George, Neville, and Frederic, and spoke of the young man often.

Surprisingly, little Perry Beetroot visited Snape regularly in his office and seemed to make it his responsibility to keep him apprised of Harry’s every word about him, his every intonation while Harry spoke of the Headmaster. Evidently, the five first year Slytherins had found refuge in Harry’s rooms. Harry’d even purchased an upright piano for Mr. Menzie’s use.

“The other Slytherins are not very nice to us. It’s weird I guess, because we have no girls. When we speak to the second year girls, the second year boys get all territorial, and then of course, Hamish is Muggle-born, and the upper classmen try to make a big deal of it, but we stick with him. He’s brilliant, he is. Worth ten of those idiots. Who cares if he’s Muggle-born?

“They wouldn’t let him play the piano in the common room, can you believe that? That’s why Harry, Coach Potter, got one. Hamish just asks Kreacher if it’s ok, and he can go practice anytime, and we can go with him. We just have to mind Kreacher, and he’s really neat. More like a wizard than an elf. We do our homework and play cards and run around the balcony up there. It’s really neat.

“And he’s got that great big painting of you that follows you with his eyes. I mean, we know it’s not you, but we all know it is, right? Harry looks at it and sighs. Have you ever thought of Harry, you know, like that, sir? Because Harry really likes you. A lot.”

Severus had been incredibly proud on behalf of Harry when he had turned in the Unforgivables syllabi to him, edited and corrected, only hours after receiving the last syllabus. Without Hagrid and Irma delaying him, he would have been ready a month earlier. As it was, his work was impeccable, the editing perfect. Snape wanted to mark the occasion but Harry… Time passed, but it seemed Harry would never forgive him for his indiscretion.

He went to Minerva and asked her, as Harry’s old Head of House, to celebrate the young man’s achievement publicly. She was appalled.

“What is wrong with you, Severus? Why in the world would you not do it yourself? Will you forever hold this man in contempt for whatever wrong his father did and what he himself might have done as a boy? Don’t think we didn’t all notice your snubbing him at the last game. Amazing flying, impeccable student behavior, remarkable eight-hour game, and not one positive comment from you? It was shameful, is what it was. And now you want me to do your job and acknowledge his achievement? Severus Snape, I am ashamed of you!”

“Minerva, I assure you that you are jumping to conclusions. Potter and I have had a… minor disagreement and he is currently… upset with me. We have become close friends, as a matter of fact, but as you well know for having been driven to distraction by me many times through the years, I am a difficult man, prone to hurt most the people I love best. I hope with all my heart that Potter will be as forgiving as you, Filius, or Hagrid have always been, and that our friendship will resume its normal course in time. I just feel words of praise would be more welcome, and perceived as more honest, coming from you, that’s all.”

It seemed that had been yet another colossal mistake on his part, but since it got Harry to speak to him and look at him, he could not be arsed to care.

“That’s all I ask,” Potter had said, but had his eyes asked for something else? Snape wasn’t sure. Well. However briefly, they had talked. It was progress. The next day at lunch, Severus swallowed his shame and stopped shying away from the anger he might find in Potter’s eyes and just looked at him. Soon enough, Harry looked up and met his eyes, surprised, but then smiling, a tentative yet illuminating smile. Severus felt as if a boulder had been taken off his chest. He took a deep breath and smiled back.

Lovegood said something to Potter and the moment was gone, but Severus felt wonderful all day. It was Thursday, of course Potter wouldn’t come, but there was always tomorrow…

~0~

Friday, to Severus’s utter disappointment, Potter missed lunch. Then, at 5:00 PM, as he was leaving his office, Filius Floo-called him, asking him to come to his rooms. The small man rarely invited Severus to his living quarters. Severus was six foot six. He had to lower his head to make it through the doors, and none of Filius’s furniture was even remotely comfortable for him. Severus concluded it must be important.

He knocked on the low door with a vague sense of unease, which disappeared as soon as he saw Grelska Grishreshssnakst, Filius’s grandmother, smiling at him from a chair next to the fireplace. She still looked exactly like her portrait, though it was thirty years old, including that unsettling goblin predatory grin.

“Severus, my friend!”

Severus was fully aware of the honor bestowed upon him by the matriarch’s calling him a friend. He bowed deeply. “Friend Grelska,” he answered, correctly.

“Still ridiculously tall, but you look well my friend, now the mad one is gone… And bantritch, I hear.”

Filius, who had just put down a tea tray, hid his face in his hands. “Grandmother!”

“Well he is, isn’t he? I bet it’s impressive too. Call the boy, will you, Fili?”

“What am I, Filius?” Asked Severus, never quite knowing what to expect from goblins.

Grelska answered him: “Bantritch, Severus, Boy-hard-boned, literally translated, but it refers to the sexual organ. Human would say, wants to fuck a boy, I think, but bantritch is polite. Not fucking politely,” she chortled, “but a way to refer to wanting to fuck a boy in polite conversation, which I guess you people just don’t…”

Potter was just stepping out of the Floo, looking like he was going to fall on his face at first, but then recovering his balance quite gracefully.

He smiled first at Grelska, though she was his elder, breaking his first rule of goblin etiquette of the afternoon, and immediately broke the second by speaking first to a high-ranking female, saying, “You are so like your portrait! Just as beautiful. You have the most gorgeous hair I have ever seen.”

Another example of Potter always landing on his feet. A female’s hair among goblins was an object of pride. He had innocently paid her the greatest compliment, and its obvious spontaneity made it all the more precious.

Grelska smiled at him. “Hello, Harry Potter. My nephew Griphook is right. You rob banks, dispatch dark wizards, and yet you look like a Nischkayat, a soft round-toothed angel creature, innocent and beautiful, that bring good dreams to children. I can see why you inspire bantritch in my friend.”

“Tea, Harry?” asked Filius, hastily changing the subject.

”Yes, thank you. Does your grandmother’s visit means what I hope it means?” asked Harry hopefully, breaking yet another rule by implying the woman needed a reason to visit her grandson.

Grelska laughed. “Yes, Harry Potter! The girl has lovely hair, so pale. She is gentle, and tied to the invisible world. She is not rich, but no matter, Filius is. A perfect match for my prosaic grandchild, plenty of mintritch there, on both side. Luna Lovegood accepted the engagement gift. They will mate soon.”

Harry had been sitting on the floor. He grabbed a laughing Filius and gave him a hug. “How could she have not loved you? And you were worried! Congratulations… I’m so glad, Filius!”

He turned and, to Severus’s horror, put his hand on Grelska’s wrist and said, “Thank you for being so accepting of my friend. She is the most wonderful girl.”

Grelska laughed. “Two hundred and ninety-seven years without being touched by a man outside of my family, and now, molested by none other than the slayer of the Flying Death! Lucky for you my husband is gone! He would have cut off your hand… But he is fifty years dead and I must admit, I rather liked it, humans are so warm blooded.”

“Oh Merlin! I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I’m just so glad. We were really taught nothing of your culture. I won’t do it again, promise! Will I still be able to hug Luna, though?”

“Not if you don’t want me to cut off your arms,” said Filius, looking stern for three seconds, and then laughing. “Yes, Harry. You can hug my fiancée, and later my wife, as much as you want.”

“And you can touch my wrist when no one’s looking!” mocked-whispered Grelska, joking.

Severus had sat on a footstool and was drinking his tea. Harry grabbed his own cup and sat on the couch as Filius and his grandmother started speaking quickly in Gobbledegook. Several times they looked at them and laughed. It was a bit disturbing, though Severus could guess where the mirth came from as he caught several bantritchs.

“They’re engaged,” said Potter, as if he meant something else by it.

“Indeed.” Severus looked at him, trying to communicate all he felt with his eyes.

“Snape, I… I really don’t know what to say… but… Merlin, I miss you!”

Severus knew this was his chance. “Sometimes friends do make the most grievous errors in judgment. In jealousy, in anger, they commit… thoughtless, hurtful acts. And regret them bitterly shortly thereafter, but don’t know how to put things right.”

There. He had said what he’d wanted to say for weeks. How grotesque a mistake buying that book had been, how his jealousy of Harry’s previous lovers and his anger about it had driven him to want to hurt Harry back. How he had wanted to put things right immediately, and how sorry he was for the hurt he had caused. Would Harry forgive him?

Harry smiled. “I guess forgiveness and generosity of spirit are important parts of friendship, things that are not always easy to achieve, but if the friendship matters enough, I guess anything can be forgiven and forgotten,” he observed.

Thank Merlin. Harry had heard his quiet apology, his plea for understanding, and that wonderful man had forgiven him…

“Will you come tonight, then?” asked Severus, hopeful.

“Yes, please,” answered Harry, his smile irrepressible, making Severus so, so happy.

“My grandmother is leaving now. You are both invited to visit, though she recommends you read a book of goblin etiquette first, Harry, if you want to come back with all your limbs.” Filius chuckled. “I’ll Floo with her to Hogsmeade. See you both at dinner.”

Severus and Harry walked together to dinner. They passed five grinning first years at the Slytherin table, and when he sat, Severus got a smile from Minerva. “You two worked out your differences?”

“We did. Thank you.”

“Well done. Will you be going to the Three Broomsticks with Harry and his friends this evening then?”

Oh. Right. Harry had been doing that for weeks now… “It’s up to him. We’ll see.”

Severus did not want to share him, but if Harry wanted to go, he would happily come along. He would take Harry’s company in whatever way he could.

~o~ Together Again ~o~

Filius had been courting Luna. You had to be blind not to see it. Luna had been happier than Harry had ever seen her. Each of Filius’s smiles, each of his small attentions, each of his charming gifts she treasured in her heart. When he had seen Filius’s grandmother, remembering the courtship of Filius’s parents he had been told about years ago, he had just known.

He was very happy for his friend. They made an unusual but curiously well-matched couple, and both deserved happiness.

He loved Severus at least as much as Luna loved Filius, and would Severus be so jealous if he didn’t have feelings for him? It was so unfair. Would Severus ever forgive him? Then, a miracle. Severus had shown he understood Harry perfectly.

“Sometimes friends do make the most grievous errors in judgment.” Like sleeping with the wrong man… In jealousy, in anger, they commit… thoughtless, hurtful acts. He had been angry at Severus for reading that stupid book, and jealous of Petr for having had what Harry had not. And regret them bitterly shortly thereafter, but don’t know how to put things right. He had hated himself the morning after, but how did you erase something like that? Yes, Snape had obviously given it some thought and understood Harry’s situation perfectly.

Harry’s response had been full of hope. “I guess forgiveness and generosity of spirit are important parts of friendship, things that are not always easy to achieve, but if the friendship matters enough, I guess anything can be forgiven and forgotten.”

Snape’s answer asking him to visit that night had been all the response he needed. Finally, finally it was over. They could be friends again. When Neville and Hermione had reminded him of his set date for Friday night, he’d wanted to cancel, but Snape, smiling, had said he would join in. They had sat side by side at the Three Broomsticks and their legs had touched under the table, their hands had accidentally brushed against each other as they reached for their drinks, and Harry had had to gently place a lock of hair that had escaped his tie behind Snape’s ear.

Snape’s soft smile had been thank you enough, but as they walked back, he had pulled the hood of Harry’s cloak over his shaved head, remarking how cold the evening was, his hands for a moment framing Harry’s face.

The next two evenings in the dungeons had been like heaven, their friendship renewed, their laughter over Harry’s faux pas with Filius’s grandmother and over how they imagined her first meeting with Xenophilius filling the room, their banter as good as it had ever been, their speculation about why Teddy would still choose to look like Lucius going from serious to absurd.

Now when Harry went home, Severus walked Harry to the door, and their good nights were said while standing closer and closer.

On Tuesday, Harry announced that it was the night when, for weeks now, the young Slytherins had usually been his guests. Would Severus mind coming up to Harry’s instead of the reverse?

Aside from Perry, who looked positively chuffed about it, Hamish, Andreas, Percy, and Paco looked completely terrified by Severus’s presence. By helping them with their potions essays, reading and correcting them, Severus did nothing to change that state of affairs. It had Harry in stitches.

They did loosen up when Severus took revenge on his laughter by describing some of Harry’s worst potions efforts and the ritual two explosions per class his group had always favored: Mr. Longbottom, leading with an early, noisy, but generally impotent kaboom! and Mr. Finnegan, who followed with a less noise-producing but generally more soot-projecting kerplow!

By then having his audience laughing, Severus continued describing Harry’s occasional explosions, which were always silent but lethal (and caused more often than not by Slytherin sabotage), in one of which the vapors alone had rendered Mr. Weasley bald for a week, another which had caused Harry’s hair to turn pink, another yet which had given Professor Granger-Weasley tentacles. Finally, in seventh year, the spectacular one that had caused all of Harry’s clothes to disappear.

Harry was outraged. “That last one never happened!” The boys were laughing so hard they couldn’t stop. “Boys, really, I swear, he made it up! It never happened!” Paco was on the floor, holding his belly.

“Oops,” said Snape, looking straight into Harry’s eyes. “You’re right! It never happened. That was just a fantasy of mine…” The boys laughed harder while Snape’s gaze heated up and Harry thought his clothes were really going to disappear as the man licked his lips.

The moment passed and Snape played four-handed piano with Hamish, extremely poorly, creating more laughter, and played wizard chess against Percy and Paco, extremely well, making them moan in despair.

Before they left, thinking Harry was safely setting out seeds for birds on the other side of the deck, they broached a subject they had obviously discussed before. Amused by the exchange, Harry still felt for Severus, ambushed by the young Slytherins, all the while admiring Severus paring their concerted attack like the duelist he was.

Hamish: “Sir, do you think Harry is attractive?”

Severus: “Don’t you? He is a very handsome man.”

Perry: “Yes, but, would you kiss him, if you got the chance?”

Severus: “That’s a very personal question, Mr. Beetroot.”

Percy: “Fine. Don’t tell us. It’s none of our business. Just do it, okay?”

Paco: “Because the coach is in love with you. You can’t tell ‘cause he hid your portrait.”

Andreas: “But he is positively mad about you, and how could you find anyone better than him, you know?”

Severus: “I will take your words under advisement. Now run, or I will assign you detention myself for missing curfew!”

They disappeared like a flock of birds seeing a cat. Harry came in from the cold. “Oh. They’re gone? I was going to give them notes, they’ll get detention if they meet Dermott.”

“They have two more minutes. They’ll go through Thaddeus the Terrifying’s passage and make it on time. All Slytherins know about that one.”

“Okay. Thanks for putting up with them. If they could, they’d be here every night. I only let them come Tuesdays, but Kreacher says they are here almost every afternoon before dinner. It sounds like the Slytherins are quite cruel to them. They're not welcome in their own common room. Shouldn’t something be done?”

“It is hard to change a House’s behavior. The balance might shift with the arrival of the new crop of first years. I’ll speak to Aurora, see if she is aware of the situation. Do I get tea for my efforts?” asked Severus, his hand behind his head.

“Mine is not like yours,” said Harry innocently.

“Variety is the spice of life,” answered Snape, his voice low and caressing. “I am sure I will love yours. Warm and different on my tongue, full in my mouth, perfect in its own right, exotic…” Harry just stared at Snape, mouth slightly open, disbelieving he could be making such provocative innuendo.

“Tea?” prompted Snape.

“Oh. Yeah. Kreacher, tea please.”

A full tea tray appeared, beautifully presented.

“Impressive.”

“Kreacher is the best.”

“Thank you, Master Harry,” came a disembodied voice.

They had tea and when Snape left, he stopped after a few steps, looking up at Harry.

“You think you may be bisexual, don’t you, Potter?

“Er… I’m quite positive, yes.”

“Good night, Potter.”

“Good night, Snape.”

~o~ Cat and Mouse ~o~

Severus was going insane. He masturbated in the shower, fantasized and played with himself forever in bed, had sneaked into cupboards to jerk off. It was his own fault. He had started this foolish game, and Potter was just better at it than he was.

Light touches, interrupted motions, ridiculously blatant innuendos, clothes that would damn a priest, hardly disguised flirting…

It had begun when Septima had come for tea, as she was wont to do every fortnight or so. She had seen the bouquet given him by Harry right after Christmas and had said, “Whoever gave you this really likes you, Severus…”

“Why?”

“Hmm. If you know anything about the Victorian language of flowers…”

“I don’t. Enlighten me…”

“The gardenia tells you that you are lovely, the sender’s secret love; the honeysuckle assures you of his devoted affection, of his bond of love for you; the red tulip assures you that love is undying; the lime blossom… well the lime blossom means only one thing.”

“More sickeningly romantic declaration?”

“Er… no. It… It demands intercourse.”

“It what?”

“Oh for Merlin’s sakes! Severus. I assume this was sent to you by Harry? It means, “You’re hot, I secretly pine for you with real and enduring love. Let’s fuck.” Is that clear enough?” asked Septima.

Severus cleared his throat. “Crystal.”

She laughed at him. “Do you want to respond?”

They settled on green bachelor buttons, phlox, balsam, orange roses, orange lilies, and coriander: “We think alike, I desire you, have lust and passion for you, and feel ardent homosexual love for you.”

The bouquet was neither as pretty nor as sweet-scented as Harry’s but it got the point across and made for a pleasant evening with an old friend. Harry received it with equanimity, never showing he assigned the flowers any special meanings.

Neither Severus’s nor Harry’s actions ever went overboard, so at no time had either of them taken that next step. Severus was still wary of pushing Harry when he was not ready. He wanted him to make the first move, though soon he was going to break.

He decided to wait until the first day of Easter vacation. Granger had mentioned that Teddy Lupin would be visiting her boy, so Severus knew Harry would be at Hogwarts. Two weeks without classes…

~o~

Today was the sixth of April. It had been the last day of classes, and Harry and Snape had, as they now did every Friday, gone to the Three Broomsticks with Hermione and Ron, Neville and George, and Dermott and Cassie. No one remarked on the fact that they always sat next to each other, or that Snape’s arm often found its way around the back of Harry’s chair. If they sat close it was because space was at a premium, and if they sometimes spoke in each other’s ears it was because it was so loud in the tavern, it was hard to hear. So they looked like the fourth couple. So what.

They had a great time, staying out much later than usual, and unlike their friends they neither Flooed home nor Apparated to the Hogwarts gates. They walked, enjoying the night. It was ridiculously cold, and Severus put his arm around Harry’s shoulders, keeping them both warm. They let go of each other as they entered the grounds, but smiled to one another.

In Snape’s rooms, Harry removed his robes while Snape went to change, and sat in his usual place. He wanted Snape. He was done waiting. He wanted to be with him, to love him, to wake up with him… everything. He could no longer stand the current situation. Life was too short to continue this game.

He decided to push things a little. When Severus returned he asked, “Any special plans for the holidays, Severus?”

“No. I will be staying at Hogwarts this year.”

“Would it be a problem if I went to see some old Quidditch teammates?” Harry had no intention to do so. He just wanted Severus to ask him to stay.

It completely backfired. “Have a good Easter, then. We’ll see you in two weeks.”

Maybe he’d been crazy all along, and Snape did not want him. Maybe that bouquet a couple weeks ago was the result of complete coincidence. After all, he only knew the language of flowers because so many fans thought it was a creative way to get a message to him…It had been months. Why was he still waiting? Because once in a while Snape gave a small sign that he might be interested? Harry finished his tea and said, “I’ll be off in the morning. Have a good night, Snape.” He walked out. Snape had not even gotten up, or put down his book.

Harry closed Snape’s door, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sighed. What had he expected? He wasn’t sure, but “Have a good Easter,” certainly hadn’t been it.

Fuck. This was absurd. Harry knew Snape. Why then was he waiting for him to break the standoff? The man could outlast a manticore and would never put himself in a vulnerable position. He just did not have it in him. Well, somebody had to.

He turned around and knocked.

“Come in, Potter.”

Harry opened the door and leaned against the jamb. Severus had not moved. He was still sitting there, a book in one hand, a cup in the other, at almost one in the morning. Nor did he look surprised at Harry’s return.

Harry crossed his arms on his chest. “Would you really have let me leave for two weeks without saying anything?” It was a rhetorical question, really.

“I guess you will never know, will you?” replied Snape, putting his book, spine up, on the arm of his chair.

“You are a hard man.” He stared at Snape.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “I think that at this point, it would be particularly ill-advised for me to pretend to be other than I am, don’t you agree? This is who I am, Potter. Deal with it, or give up on me.”

He was right, of course. Harry nodded, walked in, and closed the door behind him. He went back to his chair, reminding himself that he loved this impossible, prickly man and that he was quite sure said man returned at least some of his feelings. He was a Gryffindor. He would forge ahead.

“I would hate to spend these two weeks without seeing you,” he started.

“As would I.”

Oh, so Snape was at least not going to make this as hard as possible. Harry was encouraged.

“As a matter of fact, I would like it to be quite the opposite. I would like to take advantage of the holidays to see more of you.”

“I concur.”

Well, that had been easy. Harry was relieved. The hard part was yet to come, but at least this had been gotten out of the way without any difficulty. On to bigger and better things.

“I have very much enjoyed our friendship.”

“As have I.”

Harry suddenly internalized the meaning of the expression ‘going out on a limb’. This was it.

“However, I find I would like for our relationship to be something more.”

Snape’s expression did not change. “What did you have in mind?”

Why did Snape have to choose this stage of the proceedings to stop being helpful? His face was unreadable, as usual. They might be talking about night patrol, for all the emotion he showed. Harry was at a loss. He was brave, but he was not foolish, nor was he immune to the pain of rejection. He thought back to the countless times when Snape had been close enough to touch, close enough that Harry had felt his breath on his face. Just today, when they had been watching the carriages leave the grounds from the Headmaster’s high arched window, their shoulders had been so close he had imagined he could feel Snape’s body heat. “I should have just kissed him,” he thought, kicking himself.

He did not want to be sitting this far from Snape, having this clinical discussion. He put his face in his hands, desperate to find the right words and the nerve to say them, hating this contrived situation. This was not how it was supposed to go. He looked up again and met Severus’s dark gaze. It was warm and gentle. What he did not know how to say, he could see in those eyes. Merlin, but Harry loved him.

“I would very much like for us to become lovers, Snape.”

It had been simple after all. Harry gave him a tentative smile, but Snape said nothing, his face showed nothing. Instead, he got up to stand in front of the fireplace, his forehead resting on the man-high mantel between his hands. His knuckles were white, and his body rigid.

“Do you even know what you are talking about, Potter?” he asked, his voice quiet and tense.

One hand still on the mantel, as if to provide him with an anchor, he turned to Harry. “Do you have any idea?”

His eyes were burning, his body shaking. He looked so angry. Harry had no idea what to say, what to think. For weeks they had played with each other. Harry could not count Snape’s sexy insinuations, his barely hidden suggestions, and now this? Had there been once again some terrible mistake? What had gone wrong? Severus turned back to the fireplace again. He hit the mantel with his fist. Oh. He was not angry, Harry realized. He was… scared. Of what?

“Lovers? I am a very difficult man. I am impatient, intolerant, unforgiving. Cruel. I am demanding, possessive… pathologically jealous.” He stopped, his silence challenging Harry.

“I know all that, Snape,” Harry reminded him. “I know who you are. I am not functioning under some delusion that you would be any different as a lover than you have ever been.”

Snape turned to face Harry a moment, doubts etched on his face, then he sat back in his chair, his face in his hands. “Do you?”

Harry came to kneel at his feet, gently taking his hands from his face. Looking into his eyes he said, “Yes, I do, and I still want you.”

Severus’ eyes were deep pools of warm, enveloping darkness. He brought a hand close to Harry’s face, but let it hover, not touching him.

“You are a beautiful man, Potter, so beautiful. I desire you physically, greatly. I want you, dream about you, fantasize about you. I have for a very long time. You have been straight all your life. You think yourself bisexual, but what do you even know of making love with a man? What makes you think you have the stomach for something that would be as essential to me, in our relationship, as breathing?”

“I might not have been at my best, that night with Petr in Amsterdam, but it did go all right,” Harry answered, dismissing Snape’s objection.

For a moment, Snape looked confused, but then his eyes hardened. “You slept with Petr?”

“I thought you knew…”

“You had sex with Petr DeVries. You let him… fuck you?”

“I thought you understood…”

Snape got up again, almost causing Harry to fall backwards on the floor. Harry stumbled to his feet.

“Understood?” Snape face had gone white, expressionless. With a jolt of fear, Harry recognized the man in front of him. This was not his friend. This was not the open-minded Headmaster. It was Professor Snape of old, Professor Snape after Harry had looked in his Pensieve.

“Understood? Quite the contrary, Mr. Potter,” sneered Snape, viciously. “It is quite obvious that this entire conversation has been nothing but a colossal misunderstanding. Let us not waste anymore of each other’s time. You know your way out.”

“But, Snape…”

“Get out, Potter.” Snape’s voice was low and dangerous. “Get out, or I will throw you out.”

Harry was looking into his face, at the flat eyes, at the sneering mouth, and seeing nothing, nothing of the man he had grown to love. He could feel Snape’s anger radiating from him through his magic. The front door flew open, pressing the point. Harry backed away, disbelieving of what was happening. This could not be, it couldn’t end like this.

The air was vibrating and the temperature had plummeted. He could see his breath. He kept backing away from the tall, menacing presence made of darkness, inside and out. As soon as he passed the threshold, the door slammed shut and he was repelled back as the strongest wards he had ever encountered went up. He could not have touched that door again if he had tried.

Snape hadn’t known! Petr had never told him. So why had he shut out Harry for all these weeks? Harry felt utterly confused, his assumptions shattered. He had to think. He had to review Snape’s actions in the past months, and reinterpret them in this new light. But not now. Not here. With one last look at Snape’s door, which shimmered with magic, he started on his way back to his quarters, his mind completely blank.

He got home not remembering how he got there. He fell, fully dressed, on his couch and closed his eyes, an arm across his face, fighting the flood of thoughts, questions, and emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He had thought that this was meant to be, his reward for a life he had led as best he could. His destiny. He was suddenly so tired. So, so tired. He concentrated on his exhaustion, ignoring the burning tears that slipped from under his tightly closed lids and rolled down his cheeks. So, so tired. How long could he keep wanting, how long could he keep fighting for a love that was not returned?

He sank deeply into a dreamless, coma-like sleep, but for a long time tears kept coming, rolling down his cheeks, gathering in his ears and soaking his hair and shirt collar.

Kreacher came in, shook his head at the stupidity of the Headmaster who would make sweet, loving Master Harry cry. Harry’s clothes came off and he was put to bed under his quilt. Kreacher made sure that his master’s sleep would be deep and undisturbed, and that he would be at least physically refreshed in the morning when he woke up to train. He considered giving Master Snape acute food poisoning, but knew, in the end, that it wouldn’t help anything. He sighed and went to bed.

~o~

Snape watched the door slam behind Harry’s retreating figure and let his rage spill forth in wave after wave of magic. They fed his wards and brought the room’s temperature ever lower. His pain was exquisite. He had thought he was loved. He had considered giving his heart, bonding with that man. But not only must he live with the knowledge that Potter had fucked half of Britain’s witches, now apparently he had started making his way through the wizards. Well, not through Severus.

How he must be laughing, thinking about Severus’s fear that he would not enjoy gay sex after experiencing a night of sex with Petr. Severus had stupidly thought sex with a man would be brand new to Harry. He would have made it beautiful, and special, and tender… but Potter had spoiled it all, giving his arse to the first taker, to a fucking bottom of all things!

He was going to kill Petr. He had trusted him! He had confided in him. Oh, what a sweet revenge that must have been for him, to be the first to fuck the man his ex-lover wanted. Once again what Severus wanted, his hope of love, had been stolen from him.

With murder in his heart he Floo-called Petr, obviously waking him up.

“Severus? Is everything all right?” How dare he look concerned. Lying bastard!

“I hope I’m not interrupting. Deflowering anyone tonight?”

“What? I’m alone. It’s the middle of the night. What’s the matter?”

“You fucked Harry, you son of a bitch.” He’d wanted to drag it out, but just couldn’t.

“Oh. That. That was weeks ago, Severus. It was nothing. Why in the world would he even tell you?”

“Because he thought you already had.”

“So what do you want from me, an apology? Because you are going to wait for a long time. You and I were no longer together. What I did, and do, is none of your business.”

Severus was profoundly irritated that he could not find a flaw in Petr’s argument. But still, Petr was his friend! Didn’t he care he might hurt Severus? “It is if you do it with the man I lo… wanted!”

“Wanted? Do you mean to tell me that you will break up with him over this?”

“There is nothing to break up. We were not a couple, and now we will never be!”

“So you are giving up even the potential for a relationship with Harry, a man you have loved for over ten years, because of your fucking jealousy? You, you, you… cretin! We had just had dinner at Gigger’s. He was stoned out of his mind! He didn’t know which way was up. I completely took advantage of him. He was screaming YOUR name while he came! Harry is in love with you. Truly, madly, deeply, in love with you! You …imbecile! If you blow it with him over this, because of your pathological jealousy… Argh… Just get out of my Floo! Get out!”

Severus was violently pushed back as Petr suddenly blocked the connection. He had never seen him so angry. He felt more than a little shaken by it. He had thought himself the injured party, and had been anticipating abject apologies. The realization of how far from reality his expectations had been suddenly brought the situation into a different light.

His reaction had been extreme. After all, Harry and he were not yet a couple. They certainly had not been a couple two months ago. He had not even dared dream that it might someday be possible before visiting Harry’s rooms uninvited that night. And Petr said Potter was in love with him… (“He was screaming your name while he came!”)

What he had wanted so desperately for so long had been right there, within his reach, and he had thrown it all away because of his injured pride, his stupid jealousy. He was a cretin, and an imbecile, and whatever else Petr would have called him.

He had said ‘No’! He had thrown Harry out, he had sent him away, after Harry had had the courage to ask for what Severus would not, to risk his heart on a man as difficult as him, fearlessly, in the name of love. There really was no word for Severus’s absurdity. He had once again hurt the man he loved. How many times would Harry try before giving up? How many weeks would Harry have to wait this time until Severus forgave himself?

None. None. Severus loved him. It was time to take his pride and his jealousy and banish them for good. Harry wanted to be his lover. Harry knew him, and wanted him anyway. His heart was singing. He knew Harry would forgive him. He would probably not even think there was anything to forgive and would have taken him back in an instant. He had offered himself to Severus. His heart, his body, it was all there for the taking. And Severus wanted it all, had wanted it for so long.

Harry would be asleep now. Sad and upset because of him. Oh, Harry… Severus thought back to the recent months, reliving Harry’s smiles, Harry’s looks, the slow but wonderful awakening of Harry’s love. Harry had always expected so little. Severus would love him, withholding nothing, giving him everything. He promised himself he would bring love, and joy, and everything good to Harry’s life. He slept for a couple of hours, showered, shaved, and put on his usual black robes. He could wait no longer. He had to see Harry, had to see him right now. Teddy Lupin would be arriving by the eight o’clock train, so he knew that Harry had to be still around (thank Merlin) and Severus had a pretty good idea of where he might be.

He walked up from the dungeons and climbed up the Astronomy Tower. There Harry was in the delicate light of the sunrise, just as he had expected, flying above the pitch, poetry in motion, as beautiful as any bird in flight, executing moves that made Severus hold his breath.

Severus watched him for a long time, amazed that someone capable of this would even look at him twice. As Harry headed down, he himself came down the stairs of the tower toward the entrance to the Great Hall, to meet Harry on his way in.

He arrived at the front door just as Harry reached the top of the hill and started walking down. His broom was on his shoulder. He was coming, with that feline gait, deep in thought, looking sixteen kinds of sexy. And he was his.

~o~

Harry had enjoyed his training and his flight in the morning sunrise. He would always have that, at least, and his friends, and his godchildren. He and Teddy would go somewhere fun after his stay with Hugo, getting away from here and the shards of his shattered heart.

Somewhere Muggle perhaps, now that Teddy knew to control his metamorphosis. Disneyland Paris, maybe. He would stick around a few more months, not to leave the school in a bind, and after the end of the school year he would start again somewhere new. Do something else. Get a life. He would get over this. Eventually. He would.

He had given it all that he could give, his heart, his pride, and still he had been found lacking. How could Snape not value at all how much, how completely, he loved him?

The pain in his chest, the dead feeling where his heart should have been, would go away. They would. They had too. Oh, god. He could not stand it. Why? Why?

He looked toward the castle, his vision blurry, his throat too tight. Why?

There was a dark silhouette he would know anywhere, with robes dancing in the wind, at the top of the stairs. Harry’s heart leaped. No. Snape had said no. He would never forgive Harry for his night with Petr. He pushed down the hope rising in his chest.

But… It was Snape, looking down at him as Harry was making his way toward the castle, then coming toward him, coming down one step, then two, then all the way down to the grass at the foot of the staircase.

Harry was looking at Snape’s face, so beautiful to him now, as he got closer, trying to read the stern features he had grown to love. And he saw it in the dark eyes: regret, warmth, desire, joy. I’m sorry, they said. Then, yes, yes, yes. And Snape smiled, really smiled, as he so rarely did, his whole face smiling, his body all open, and Harry was in his arms, and Snape’s hands were cupping his head gently as he whispered, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Oh so gently their lips met, brushed, pressed, and opened in a kiss that took Harry’s breath away, a kiss made of joy, of life, and sweet, oh so sweet.

Harry could not get enough and cursed his short stature as he rose to his toes, pulling down on Severus’s head to get more. This was heaven, the warm lips, the soft tongue, the demanding mouth, deeper and deeper, and still it was not enough, not nearly enough. Snape pulled back, to look into his eyes, to see him, coming back again for a lick then a nip at Harry’s lower lip, and another dip in that wonderful mouth, but then pulling back in earnest as Harry said, “Teddy.”

Severus said, “I know.”

Harry looked in his eyes, pleading, “Tonight.”

And Severus simply replied with a smile, “Oh, yes.”

Then Harry had to go or be late, and no matter what, he would not be late for Teddy. He went rushing up the stairs to put away his broom and change his clothes, and running down the stairs again and on to the station, all the while smiling so hard it hurt.

~o~

The second Snape closed his door Harry was pressing himself against his body, his arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely. He wanted this mouth, he wanted this man, he wanted… Snape’s response was everything he’d hoped for, as his head was cradled by the long hands and the kiss deepened. But then Snape started stepping back from it, detaching their lips, holding first the sides of Harry’s face, then his shoulders, then his hands as he backed away saying: “Potter, Harry… Wait, wait…”

Harry wanted none of it. He stepped forward, grabbing at Snape’s robes. “What? Why? You want this, I want this… Please…”

“Wait, Harry. Slow down.” Snape took a shaky breath. “I have wanted… ‘this’ for over ten years. I cannot, will not, do ‘this’ casually, I do not want it if…” he choked on the words. “I couldn’t bear it if…”

Vulnerability was naked on his face, his eyes beseeching, a sight Harry had not thought he would ever see. Oh, my god. It was real. Snape wanted him, had wanted him for a long, long time. His heart leaped with fierce joy.

“Snape… Severus,” he loved that name, “Severus, there is nothing casual about the way I feel about you. Nothing. I want you. I… I want to be with you, only you, today, tomorrow, for…” How could he still be afraid to express how he felt after seeing that look on Severus’s face? “I…” Damn it. “I love you.” There. “I haven’t loved you for ten years, but I…”

He didn’t finish. Severus’s hands were cradling his head again, and their lips were together, their tongues longingly caressing, and the kiss was soft, and wet, and alive with hope, and yearning, and trust, and surrender.

Severus grabbed Harry’s hand. “Come,” he said against his lips, and led him to the door Harry had opened so many times in his mind, to the room he had wanted for so long to enter.

The room was white on white: pale cream walls, off-white rugs, snowy bed linens and pillows, white duvet. The only note of colour was his scarf, his silly first year Gryffindor scarf, the one he’d lost and missed, sitting on the white bedside table.

To his questioning glance Severus answered simply, “It smelled of you.” And he stepped close to Harry and put his face in his neck and breathed in, a long voluptuous breath full of Harry’s scent. As Harry claimed his mouth again, insatiable for their kiss, Severus’s clever hands unclasped Harry’s robes, unbuttoned his waistcoat and his shirt, and pushed them caressingly off his shoulders.

Then Severus stepped back and undid Harry’s belt and trousers, and Harry toed off his shoes, took off his trousers and smalls, and bent down to slip off his socks. He stood up again, under Severus’s lustful and admiring gaze, watching his face, conscious that he was very hard, that he looked very fine, and was very glad of it.

He slowly reached up to Severus’s buttons, at his wrists first, then at his throat and down, and took his time undoing them, savoring the moment. The shirt came off, slipped silently off the smooth pale skin. Severus’s placket also had buttons, five of them, and then the fine wool trousers were sliding off the narrow hips onto the floor, and Severus, who had been barefoot when Harry arrived, just stepped out of them, completely nude.

“No smalls?” Harry couldn’t help asking.

“Hate them,” was the answer.

Severus was a study in narrowness and length: long elegant legs, long narrow torso, narrow shoulders, with the lean muscles of a strong yet thin man. And his circumcised prick was long, erect, and crowned by a large swollen glans, with a clear drop at its tip. Harry looked up from it and smiled at Severus, a slow smile of simmering lust, desire, and anticipation, which gave Severus a delicious shiver.

In one smooth motion, Harry fell to his knees. He took the quivering prick in his mouth, one hand behind Severus’s thigh and the other cupping and rolling the heavy balls. Severus’s intake of breath and moan of surprised pleasure delighted him, and he licked and he sucked, getting a thrill from every sound that escaped the lips of the usually restrained man and loving the taste of him, loving his musky smell.

Severus resisted grabbing that head and pumping in, first making fists, then biting on a knuckle (hard), then lacing his fingers together behind his head, all the while looking down at the shorn head of Harry, at the comma-shaped scar behind his ear, his Harry, whose wicked, small, and unpracticed mouth nonetheless threatened to bring their lovemaking to an early end.

“Harry, Harry, wait…”

This time, Harry didn’t mind. He stopped suckling the pulsing head and looked up.

“What do you want, Severus?”

“You. I want you. I’ve always wanted you…”

Severus helped Harry up and took him to the wide white bed. He pushed him gently down and he lay next to him, very close, their bodies touching completely. They kissed again, a long, sweet, slow kiss that talked of want, and hope, and promises kept. Severus was cradling Harry’s head, their chests touching, their breath mingling, looking in his eyes. He leaned close and started whispering, “Harry, Harry, Harry…” against his lips, and continued saying his name as he dropped small kisses on his cheeks, nose, eyelids.

Severus rubbed his chin along the line of Harry’s jaw, loving the interplay of stubble. He nipped his jaw, kissed his neck, his lips following the muscle to the collarbone, licking, sucking, caressing. Harry’s scent was delicious, intoxicating. He followed it with his tongue to the pit of his arm, and breathed it in, his breath tickling the soft hair and making Harry squirm. That scent went straight to his head, answering some atavistic call, making his whole body hum with need.

Harry’s eyes did not leave his face as Severus caressed his body in long passionate strokes, kissing every inch of his warm, smooth skin and again taking in the scent of his neck, of his armpits, of his groin. Harry had never been on the receiving end of such worshiping attention, having always before preferred to give than to receive. But now it was himself he was giving over, completely, offering himself to Severus’s exploration, holding nothing back, just concentrating on the feelings born of Severus’s touches and caresses. He listened to his body as it sang.

He closed his eyes when the thin lips, reaching his prick, sharply focused his awareness; sighing with contentment as the soft tongue teased the slit, slid around the foreskin, worked its way down the shaft. Severus’s hand came up to softly squeeze the head of Harry’s cock while he mouthed his balls and, after gently pushing the knees open wider, licked the silky skin behind his sack.

To Harry’s surprise and shocked pleasure, Severus’s warm, wet, soft tongue dipped lower and circled his puckered entrance. It was a completely unexpected and novel sensation, of intense intimacy. And there Severus lingered. Harry’s hole was kissed and licked and sucked and probed by that supple, hot, exploring tongue as Harry progressively lost his mind, mewling, thrashing, begging, and wanting it never to stop, until a new desire took over, clamoring to be satisfied.

“Severus, please, now, please…” he urged as Severus came up between his legs, lifting them back so that Harry’s ankles rested on his shoulders. Severus stopped for a moment, his cock in his hand at Harry’s entrance, devouring him with his eyes, loving the vision in front of him, savoring that instant.

“You are so, so beautiful.”

A whispered spell, a deliberate push, and Severus breached him with the thick leaky head of his cock. He pressed on, relentlessly, with a throaty growl, until he was sheathed in Harry’s body to his balls. Harry felt as if he was being burned from within and stretched beyond tolerance. He shut his eyes and bit his lip, welcoming the searing pain and accepting the fullness that was Severus, his Severus, inside of him.

Severus stayed still now, his hand on Harry’s prick, gently pumping and squeezing, his other running lovingly on the smooth skin of Harry’s perfect stomach, allowing him to open and relax slowly around the hard cock inside.

“You are so tight, Harry, so warm, so perfect, just… perfect.” Severus said, with wonder in his voice, making Harry’s heart sing. “Open your eyes, Harry. Look at me.”

Harry did. He lost himself in the black depths of Severus’s eyes, filled with love, longing, and lust, as his pain receded. Severus started moving again then, easing slowly outward and then back in, gently, in long easy strokes, his gaze never leaving Harry’s, keening softly, his efforts not to come glazing his eyes.

It was a strange sensation, one Harry welcomed with the pleasure of giving Severus pleasure. Then the tip of Severus’s cock started rubbing repeatedly on a place inside of Harry that sent waves of delight through his body, and the experience ceased to be selfless giving, becoming shared bliss instead.

The pain of Severus’s inexorable penetration had been intense, but nothing to the ecstasy that was building up now, as Severus’s hand, feeling better than Harry’s own hand ever had, fisted his prick in rhythm with his strokes, and the head of Severus’s cock rubbing there (oh god yes, there), and with Severus’s burning gaze never leaving his own.

Harry felt owned, possessed, taken, branded, and loved, oh, so loved. The pain was gone, the cock in his arse the most pleasurable thing he’d ever felt. He was being undone, and scattered, and gathered again, on a crest of never-ending delight, desperate sounds issuing uncontrolled from his throat.

After an eternity of bliss, Severus’s rhythm grew faster, the hand on Harry’s cock tighter, and the strokes harder and deeper, and Harry was finally brought to his climax, with an explosion of light behind his lids as jet after jet of semen sprayed his chest and belly. Balls emptied, he continued to come in drained waves of crashing, mind-blowing pleasure, magic pulsing through him and into their mating.

Reopening his eyes in elated wonder, he saw the most marvelous sight. Severus, his lover, arching back, slamming into him again and again, chanting a crescendo of “You’re mine, Harry, mine, mine, oh, Harry!” in a hoarse guttural voice as he emptied himself in Harry’s warm depth, the heat of his seed spreading inside Harry. Then magic pulsated out of Severus as well, as his orgasm continued far beyond its physical manifestation…

Now still, buried in Harry, Severus looked at him with wonder, both of them riding the magical climax of their mating, their compatible magic melding, bonding, rejoicing, the ecstasy of it overwhelming them, physical, emotional, mental… The thought occurred to Harry that they might be dying of pleasure, before his magic finally returned to its core, and closed his eyes, exhausted.

Severus lowered himself slowly on top of him, letting Harry’s legs slide down to his hips, drenched in sweat, shaking uncontrollably. As his cock slipped out of its sanctuary, he found Harry’s mouth in a desperate kiss, as if he could not stand their connection to end just yet. Harry kissed back with everything he had, answering his need. Then he folded the duvet over them and held Severus tightly with his arms and his legs until his shivers diminished and finally stopped. In his embrace was the man he loved, the only one he wanted, the lover who had given him more pleasure than he had ever experienced.

“I have never before had sex with someone I love,” Harry reflected quietly.

Severus rolled to his side. Cupping Harry’s cheek in his hand and looking into his marvelous green eyes, he smiled and answered softly, “Neither have I.”

Though sated for the moment, they did not stop kissing, touching, caressing, whispering to each other things neither one of them would have ever imagined saying to another, with words like beautiful, and forever, love, and yours, everything, and always. They fell asleep still embracing, still breathing each other’s air and sighing with ease at small unconscious touches and brushes of fingers.

~o~

Severus stirred a few hours later and, feeling Harry’s body in his arms, forced himself awake to savor the moment. His lover’s head was on his shoulder, his arm across his chest, and one of his legs between his. A torch was still burning on the far wall, its light dancing in the room. Severus’s heart was filled to the brim, with the warm body against his own, the heady scent all around him. Harry was his, Harry loved him, his kisses whole and soulful, his body a fount of amazing pleasure.

How many perfect moments did one get to experience in a lifetime, moments when nothing, nothing could be better? It seemed that all of Severus’s included Harry, a flight, a kiss, lovemaking, and this, waking up, with a lifetime of such moments ahead of him. He smiled in the soft changing light.

He could hardly remember the day. After their morning kiss, it had just been a succession of hours to fill until that knock on his door and that other kiss.

When it had felt like the fulfillment of all his desires, he had suddenly been afraid. He could stand never having Harry as a lover, but he knew he could simply not stand having him and then losing him. He had had to know, to hear from Harry’s lips that he understood.

“Snape… Severus,” he had loved his name on Harry’s lips. “Severus, there is nothing casual about the way I feel about you. Nothing. I want you. I… I want to be with you, only you, today, tomorrow, for…” For what? For a while? For a long time? Forever?

“I…” What? Harry, you what?

“I love you.” Severus’ heart had skipped a beat.

“I haven’t loved you for ten years, but I…” Whatever might have been said after that Severus had felt could be expressed better with touches, and kisses, and lovemaking. He had been right.

“I have never before had sex with someone I love,” Harry had said later, and Severus had known it to be true, had felt it with every caress, every touch. (For a moment, and for the first time, his heart hurt for Petr, who had loved him without reciprocation.)

His Harry was so beautiful, his perfect body like a gift, his soft skin, his chiseled muscles, his soft hair, so dark. Even the tight black curls of his pubic hair were soft. He had wanted to discover it all, to see it, to touch it, to smell it and taste it all.

He had never understood (though he certainly had enjoyed it) Petr’s passion for rimming him. But last night, on what he had intended to be a quick pass on his way to Harry’s gorgeous feet (he had such gorgeous feet…), he had suddenly been distracted by the mysterious pucker behind his sac, and had not been able to restrain himself from a tentative caress. Harry’s shuddering response had been enough to encourage him to explore more, to lick a little, and probe the small hole with his tongue, and it had been so, so sweet, a hint of roasted caramelized almonds, so surprisingly delicious he had wanted more of it.

As he had gone back for seconds, he had felt Harry’s body shudder again, and heard the most arousing mewling. His nose in Harry’s balls, which smelled divine, he had found himself fucking the tight hole with his tongue, helping himself with a finger, and sucking the juices. He could not get enough, and just the memory of it all made his cock fill again, pressing against Harry’s hip. And he still hadn’t tasted Harry’s toes!

Why wait?

He ran a hand along Harry’s body, rutting a little against his hip.

“Huummmm,” said Harry, “more…”

Severus smiled and complied happily, rolling Harry on top of him to get better access to his back and buttocks, thrilled to feel Harry already hard as a rock. Harry came up on his arms, his cock lined up with Severus’s, his eyes shining in his own, a hungry smile on his lips.

“Hey, there.”

Severus felt momentarily self-conscious about his breath when Harry bent for a kiss, but quickly forgot about it when Harry’s wet tongue made its way between his lips and sucked on his as if it was a tasty treat, frotting all the while like a randy teenager. Severus tried to roll them over, only to be pinned down by the smaller man, who looked at him with mischief in his eyes.

“My turn,” he said, and kissed the tip of his nose. “I want to do to you what you did to me last night, down there, with your tongue. It’s amazing, you’ll see…”

Snape did not have the heart to remind him that he had been gay all his life, or tell him that he had many times before been rimmed by an expert. Harry was so sweet in his naïve excitement.

Harry took his time getting there, and if he was inexperienced in gay sex he certainly showed that, when it came to awakening every erogenous zone from neck to groin, he was very well-practiced indeed. By the time Harry was pushing his knees apart, Severus was no longer even remotely self-conscious about the noises he made, and felt like a babbling puddle of delighted goo. When the small hands spread his cheeks apart, he shamelessly pushed himself into Harry’s face, wanting, wanting. He got smacked sharply on his arse for his trouble, and could not believe how incredibly good that felt.

“Arrghhh…” he said, and was evidently perfectly understood since a second smack, even more deliciously stinging than the first, landed in the same spot, right before the warm little tongue came dancing across his entrance, twirling, poking, teasing, and yes, yes, probing, sucking, licking, and “Smack!” and some mouthing of his balls (how could he fit both of them in that little mouth of his?), and “Smack!” before the blessed tongue was back dancing in his arse, and a knowing hand was milking his cock, a thumb across his leaky tip, and “Smack!” and… and… Severus’s brain suddenly short-circuited completely and he came, and came, and came, spraying his chest, his chin, his belly, disbelieving, panting, and whimpering like a lost puppy.

Harry made his way back up his body, as leisurely as he had gone down, licking up every drop of semen he could find, finishing by kissing the daylights out of Severus, who suddenly realized that this was going to be a relationship of equals, and that just as Harry was his, he was Harry’s, completely, and absolutely loved it.

“I want to fuck you,” said Harry, matter-of-factly, staring seriously into his eyes. “May I?”

“Yes, please,” answered Severus, who’d only let Petr top three times in five years, meaning it with every fiber of his being, his cock already twitching again.

“Turn over, please.”

Snape turned over and hitched his arse up, legs spread, as the smaller man parted his cheeks again with his hands, spat on his hole (spat!), and, with no further ado, pushed his lovely cock in.

“Oh, god!” Harry said, suddenly very still, “oh, god, Severus, this is… so… fucking… hot…”

He started moving again, holding Severus’s hips, and searching in his strokes until the guttural moan Severus could not hold back let him know he had found the spot that had so obviously delighted him the night before. Having found his bearings, Harry started moving in earnest, and Severus found himself submitting to the most thorough pounding he had ever received, relentless, the well-aimed strokes driving him to the brink. When he reached for his cock, Harry batted his hand away and took it instead, tightly, oh so tightly (Oh! God!), pumping it lightning fast (Hahhhhhh!), never slowing the punishing deep hammering, grunting, calling out, “Severus, fuck, Severus!” and brought them both, within minutes, to blinding orgasms.

Severus collapsed flat on his stomach, boneless, the entire weight of his lover’s sweaty body on his back, Harry’s heartbeat so strong it resonated in his own chest. Dear god. Dear, dear god. He had come so incredibly hard. Is that what he had to look forward to? He would be dead inside a year. His heart would burst, or the top of his head would blow, or he would ejaculate his balls right through his cock… He chuckled and felt Harry’s answering mirth. He rolled over and held his amazing lover in his arms, nuzzling his neck. They looked at each other and chuckled again.

“Wow,” said Harry.

“I concur,” he answered, which started Harry laughing again.

“I am so in love with you,” said Harry.

“Ditto,” he agreed, kissing the sweaty temple.

“I need a shower, I smell like a goat.”

“You smell like praline and cumin,” corrected Snape.

Harry smiled happily at him. “And you smell like the forest after the rain. I wanted to fall asleep with my head on your thigh, but I wanted to kiss you even more.”

“There will be time, for both, and for more, many, many nights falling asleep and waking together,” answered Snape, meaning it.

“Life is so good to me,” sighed Harry.

They kissed again for a while, because it felt so nice and they had waited so long and had been through so much to get here. Life was good indeed.

“Check this out,” said Harry smiling, and louder: “Music, please, Kreacher, something festive!” The jaunty King Harvest song started to play.

“How does he do that?” asked Severus, astonished.

Harry laughed and got to his feet, dancing on the bed, completely uninhibited, his cock swinging against the rhythm.

“I don’t know…” He grinned. “Magic? Get up!” he said, holding his hand out to Severus. Severus did, and Harry made him dance despite his initial reluctance and it was such fun, to dance naked, and hug and dance shamelessly some more. They jumped off the bed and danced their way to the bathroom, holding hands, Severus twirling Harry to the music and laughing.

In Severus’s enormous shower they soaped each other up, kissing and playing. Severus had not even known happiness such as this could exist. Had it been with anyone but Harry, he would have been scared to death, but it was Harry, his Harry, his loyal and true Gryffindor, and he knew, just knew, with every cell in his body, that this was finally his, forever.

“Bond with me?” he asked Harry, amazed at his own boldness. It was a huge commitment. Harry laughed and said, “Oh, okay!” Then he laughingly pointed to a tattoo of the Snape crest on his own upper arm to his oblivious lover, and those of the Black, Potter, and Rosier crests on Severus’s. “Oops! Already done!”

Severus ran his fingers on his arm and on Harry’s arm. He smiled, disbelieving, thrilled. “You know what spontaneous bonding means, don’t you?” he asked Harry, who was smiling at him, loving his joy.

“I do. We are soulmates, Severus.” Harry smiled dreamily. “Somewhere, I’ve always known it. I’ve always known it and I’ve always loved you, like a seed, buried deeply, waiting all these years to bloom in the sun.”

His eyes lost that faraway look and once again looked at Severus with glowing playfulness. “Oh, by the way, Half-blood or not, it looks as if the House of Prince has accepted you as its heir.”

Severus laughed, realizing the other meaning of the Snape crest on Harry’s arm. “Merlin. You’re right…” It felt great, as though his mother was vindicated, as though he himself was finally truly accepted into the fold. He smiled at Harry, completely, absolutely happy. “I love you, Harry.”

Harry smiled as well, looking at his tattoo. “I know. I’ll always know.”

Severus grinned. “I’ll never feel jealous again.”

Harry reached for his hand and squeezed it. He said earnestly, “You never would have had to anyway…”

Severus smiled at the man who knew him, understood him, and loved him anyway. “Thank you, Harry. Thank you for that.”

-The End-

¹Dum vita est, spes est- While there is life, there is hope.
Quod me nutrit me destruit - What nourishes me, also destroys me.
Nil desperandum, omnia vincit amor - Nothing must be despaired at, love conquers all.
Quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur - Anything said in Latin, sounds profound.
Balaenae nobis conservandae sunt - Save the whales.
Braccae illae virides cum subucula rosea et tunica Caledonia-quam elenganter concinnatur - Those green pants go so well with that pink shirt and the plaid jacket!
Bibo, ergo sum - I drink, therefore I am.