Snape & Potter

Chapter 3: Even Deeper

When Harry tucks himself into bed in his B&B, the air outside is crisp, but there's a fire in the grate and a huge, marshmallowy coverlet on top of him. He's exhausted from Christmas at the Burrow, but equally wired by the prospect of seeing Severus. Severus hadn't confirmed he would come, but Harry thinks he will. If not tonight, then soon. If nothing had passed between them in August but a few orgasms, that would be one thing; but Severus has replied to every single one of Harry's subsequent owls and the kiss he left Harry with inspired hope that there had been more to their night together than simple lust.

Thinking about that night has driven Harry to distraction every day since. If he thought he was horny and pent up in his final year at Hogwarts, it's nothing to his frustration now that he knows what he's missing.

Hopefully not for much longer.

Harry tries to settle in, get to sleep, but he can't stop his brain from interpreting every opening door or creaking wall or floorboard as Severus's hoped-for arrival.

He needs a distraction.

From his rucksack, Harry Accios his Wilde, but quickly sets it aside as fresh thoughts of Severus wash over him. Counterproductive. He Summons the other book he brought, The Count of Monte Cristo, and spends an hour or so fitfully reading the brick until, finally, his post-Christmas exhaustion overcomes the un-spent adrenaline of anticipating Severus and he nods off.


...

At the sudden, near-silent appearance of another person in his room, Harry sits bolt upright in bed, wand in hand before he registers grabbing it.

"Planning to duel me, Mr Potter?" Severus's voice has Harry's dick up and alert while Harry himself is still rubbing at his eyes and pushing himself to a sitting position.

Harry tosses his wand back on the nightstand and grabs his glasses. Across the small room, Severus comes into focus, and Harry smiles. He looks a little disheveled, cheeks red from the cold and snowflakes melting in his hair and on his travelling cloak.

"Don't you start with the 'Mr Potter' routine unless it's for roleplay, which I'm game for, by the way."

"I've no doubt."

God. Severus is really here, with him, finally. Harry hadn't dared pin his hopes on Severus making an appearance on Harry's very first night in the highlands, but now that he's here, Harry feels four months of unsatisfied desire lighting his veins on fire. He cannot get his hands on Severus fast enough. Harry tosses the coverlet aside in invitation. "Get in here."

After dispensing with his cloak, Severus halts short of removing his robes.

Harry's waited long enough. He gets out of bed despite the chill night air and slinks up to Severus, grabbing him around the waist and grinding his erection into Severus's arse. "You won't need those," he says softly, hands travelling from Severus's waist to his neck, popping open buttons as he goes.

"You have a button fetish," says Severus.

"Fancy you, don't I?"

When Harry undoes the last button at Severus's throat, Severus moves his hand and those of his shirt and collar pop open.

"Handy." Harry climbs back into bed. "Though I wouldn't mind watching you undo them all manually sometime. Your hands... my god."

Harry's heart soars as the corners of Severus's mouth turn up. Making Severus feel good is like a drug he can't get enough of. Severus strides to the closet to hang his garments, probably to try and conceal his smile as much as for anything else.

When he finally reaches the side of the bed, Harry presses a palm to Severus's crotch. His prick is heavy and full behind the fabric of his pants, but he's a long way from fully hard. Harry looks forward to getting him there. He tugs down Severus's pants, and Severus leaves them on the floor. It's the untidiest thing Harry's ever seen him do.

"You're cold." Harry grabs Severus bodily once he's on the bed next to him. He twines their legs together and pulls Severus's hands into his own. "I'll warm you up." Harry rubs Severus's hands back and forth in his own, bringing them up to his lips to huff warm breath over them, then settles them between their chests. "What time is it?" Harry asks. "I thought you weren't coming."

"After two," Severus answers. "I came after my corridor duty was complete."

Harry nods, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I'm glad you did. I suppose coming in the dead of night means you won't be missed? In addition to adding an air of forbidden allure, of course."

"I could still be missed," Severus says, a little tense. "Should one of my students be caught out of bed, or have an emergency."

"Oh," Harry says, unwelcome worry impinging on the arousal pooling in his sacrum. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

"I shall make the beds I lie in," he says evenly.

"Well I'm glad you're in this one." Harry kisses him. "Let's make sure it's worth the risk."

Harry keeps kissing him, determined to show Severus just how glad he is that Severus has come here just for him. Slowly, under Harry's devout attention, the anxious aura around Severus eases, and not a moment too soon: Harry's dick is increasingly insistent that it get some attention, and Severus's erection feels gratifyingly hard against Harry's thigh. Harry begins rutting against Severus, hitting his pointy hips and his treasure trail. "Charms," Harry says impatiently. Severus performs them wandlessly, redoubling Harry's want. "Those are for your benefit, by the way. So you know I'm being a good little homo. I haven't fucked anyone else." He wiggles a bit to line up their cocks and grinds against Severus harder still. Severus's eyes flutter shut in pleasure and a sound in his throat spurs Harry on. It's hard to keep their junk lined up perfectly, so Harry grasps them both with an eager fist. "Lube," he says, high on the feeling of Severus's precome on his own cock.

Severus Summons some, and Harry laughs when Severus has to fumble slightly to grab two containers in succession, the first a bottle of lube Harry bought from a sex shop, the second a glass vial with a cork.

Harry's prick throbs in his fist at the sight of more of Severus's handiwork. "Came ready?" Harry asks.

"I am not in the habit of trusting Gryffindors to plan ahead."

"You should know by now I'm always ready for you."

"Oversexed brat," Severus says.

"I wish," Harry complains.

Severus slicks his hand with the potion and wraps his hand around Harry's. Severus's hand feels almost as good to Harry as his cock. "So good..." Harry says throatily, as their hands glide up and down, faciliated by Severus's silky lube.

Severus moves his thumb to pull Harry's foreskin over the tip of his cock, then gives a firm squeeze, drawing groans from Harry.

"I'm surprised you've lasted this long," Severus says, dry tone betrayed by lustful strain as he guides their hands up and down over and over and over, laving precome over them both whenever fresh drops appear. "I thought you'd have come already; you seem to exist in a perpetual state of concupiscence."

Harry quickens their pace, breathing rapidly.

"How many times did you get yourself off today, so you could last—"

"Fuck!" Harry exclaims, shoving his tongue in Severus's mouth as he comes, painting both of their hands and stomachs with spunk.

Severus automatically drops Harry's dick, which is a mercy, oversensitised as it is. Harry breathes through the aftershocks, then opens his eyes. Severus is wearing a superior smirk.

Hand still covered in come, Harry pushes at Severus's shoulder until he's supine. Sliding down the bed, Harry swats Severus's hand away from his penis and cups his balls before taking the base of his prick in hand. "Non toxic?" he asks. Severus nods. "Good. I've been dreaming about blowing you." It's hard to meet Severus's gaze as he says something so lewd, but he forces himself. Who knows when he'll have his next chance. What if this is the only night Severus can make it to Inverness?

Severus makes no attempt to stop him, doesn't recoil or tell Harry he has no interest in rookie blow jobs, so Harry proceeds. Severus's cock is glistening with lube and Harry's come, and to Harry the sight is more appetising than treacle tart. Harry looks back up at Severus, who meets his eyes. "I'd love to give you a really lux hummer," Harry says, still gripping the base of Severus's prick, "but I've no idea what I'm doing. They say practice makes perfect, though, so that's something to look forward to." Without further ado, Harry starts licking the tip, the shaft. The lube is flavourless, and Harry's glad, because the taste of his own come on Severus's straining cock is too much of a turn on to go to waste. The taste is strong, salty, intoxicating. He laps it all down eagerly.

Above him, Severus closes his eyes and a puff of breath escapes him, spurring Harry on.

All of it—tasting Severus, seeing him lose his composure—is even better than Harry imagined.

Harry takes the tip into his mouth carefully. He may have no technique, but he knows to watch the teeth. He starts by sucking on the end, licking at the glans, the slit. Severus is audibly trying to contain some excellent sounds, which Harry finds supremely motivating. Giving Severus's balls a light squeeze, Harry licks the shaft up and down. Saliva is already pooling in his mouth and collecting at the sides of his lips, but he's determined not to stop. He sucks hard, cheeks hollowing, and tries to take in as much as he can. He hits his gag reflex far sooner than anticipated and makes an unsexy noise, but forges on, sucking, tonguing, bobbing up and down. It's messy as hell. He has to keep swallowing, which has the benefit of making Severus louder, but some of his drool still escapes his lips, and runs down Severus's dick. He tries to lick it up, and Severus makes his loudest noises yet.

Harry looks up at him to find Severus watching with pure lust in his yes. Harry's jaw and tongue are already getting sore, but he's too drunk on how it feels to have Severus watching him to let that stop him. Longing for more contact, he uses his free hand to grope for Severus's hand. He finds it, still wet with Harry's spunk, clutching the sheets, and grabs it, guiding Severus to release his hold and take a fistfull of Harry's hair. It smarts for a moment; Severus is careful not to keep pulling.

"Harder," Harry says around Severus's prick.

Instantly, Severus tightens his grip and pulls a bit, and Harry moans. Severus's sounds of pleasure join his own and Harry wishes he could suck the come right out of him.

Harry pops Severus out of his mouth to lick down the shaft and over his balls, drawing sounds from Severus now that Harry is sure he would deny making. He takes a ball into his mouth, then the other, before cupping them in his hand and returning his tongue to Severus's cock. He licks fresh precome from his slit, then takes him back into his mouth. There's more than Harry can take. He wishes he had no gag reflex, or knew some way to bypass it, but settles for pumping the base of Severus's cock with a hand while he works the rest with his tongue.

Harry hollows his cheeks again, trying to apply all the suction of a Henry Hoover. Peripherally, Harry can feel Severus's chest rise and fall quickly as his thighs clench. He looks like Harry's wet dreams come to waking life, and it makes Harry groan. This causes Severus to tighten his grip on Harry's hair, but he taps Harry's shoulder with the other.

"I'm there," Severus says in breathless warning. "You can finish me off with your hand."

Harry appreciates the gesture, but there's no chance. He pulls up just long enough to say, "I want you to come down my throat." Swiftly, after Harry takes him back into his mouth, far shy of the throat (something to work towards), and presses the flat of his tongue along the head of Severus's dick, Severus does. Harry swallows down every last drop.

Harry gently releases Severus from his mouth and grins at him, then moves to straddle his hips.

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to. When will you get it through your usually astute skull that I want as much of you as I can get?"

After a quick shower, Severus is back in the bed, with Harry perched on the edge, towelling his hair dry. "I don't suppose you can stay long?"

"It was foolish to come at all."

Harry tosses the towel aside and gets in next to him. "But you did."

Severus gives him a penetrating look, but says nothing.

"I know you can't be here much, seriously. It means everything to me that you've come. And I understand if you have to fuck and run, though I swear I'm not only here for the sex."

"Enjoying all the offerings of balmy Inverness in December?"

"You know what I mean."

Severus's lips draw into a line. Silence stretches between them long enough that Harry begins to worry he's about to be the first person ever to get dumped by someone who refuses to acknowledge there's anything going on between them in the first place. Finally, Severus says, "The 29th I have more leeway."

Harry has palpitations. "As in?"

"Are you not a Wizard?" he says sharply.

Harry raises his eyes to the ceiling as though it can give him patience with ornery Potions Masters.

"It is the full moon. I have told Minerva I will be out gathering lunar-sensitive ingredients."

Harry beams. Severus decided there would be a second night before he even got here. "Does that mean you can stay the night?"

"I should be back around dawn, to keep to my cover story."

Harry nods enthusiastically. "No problem." He's going to wake up next to Severus. Or keep him up all night. He's happy with either. "You have to go, now?"

"It would be best."

"Your hair is still wet."

Severus grimaces.

"Not a fan of drying charms?"

Severus shakes his head minutely, as though it costs him to concede to any concerns with regards to his appearance.

"Neither," Harry says, collecting Severus's shirt and robes. "They always make my hair so fluffy. I could blow dry it for you. It still gives it a bit of puff, but not so bad."

"Thank you, no." Severus takes his shirt and pulls it on.

"You sure?" Harry presses. "You wouldn't want to be the spy who got caught getting a leg over because he had wet hair."

"And returning with a blowout is preferable?"

Harry waggles his eyebrows. "Already had one of those."

"Proud of yourself, are you?"

Harry smiles, unabashed. "Yep. And I actually have something to help you with the intrigue." Harry goes for his rucksack, while Severus shrugs on his robes and buttons them with a wordless spell.

"Next time, can you unbutton them all by hand?"

Severus quirks an eyebrow. "Is there anything that doesn't arouse you?"

"Guess we'll have to find out." Harry grins. "Here." He hands Severus a bit of parchment—an important one.

"This—" Severus starts, flaring up.

"The code words are 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good' and 'Mischief Managed,'" Harry says quickly, before Severus can object to the map. It would be just like Severus to reject a highly useful object out of pure spite. "Use those and it won't insult you. You won't see any, erm, old nicknames. It'll just be a map of the school that shows you exactly where everyone inside it is. Thought it might save you some time and trouble, while I'm here."

Severus nods tightly and tucks it into his robes.

Over a nasty fight about his no-good father and murderous godfather, Harry will take it. He kisses Severus, sucking on his lower lip, and sees him off.

...

Harry spends the 27th touring various castles and ruins and the 28th reading in bed, popping out here and there to get a bite to eat.

Every so often, he puts his book down to wank, remembering the feel of Severus on his tongue, how sexy it made him feel to slurp his own spunk off of Severus's dick while Severus watched him, the incredible feel of swallowing after a man came in his mouth for the first time.

Harry thinks about Severus, not so very far away now, here in the highlands, doing what? He's not teaching. Perhaps he's in his quarters, wanking to the thought of Harry... Now that Harry's had him, he knows he was right not to do so much as spare the man a word during his final year at school. He's out of control, around Severus. Of course, that line of thinking leads Harry down the path of imagining all manner of scenarios where he had pounced on Severus at school. Most of the outcomes his imagination supplies are highly fruitful; he wanks to fantasies about getting detention on purpose, of visiting Severus's office to thank him for everything, following his Cloak stalking through to its logical conclusion, gaining entry into Severus's private quarters... Each of these seem to result in his fantasy self getting a tongue lashing while he's railed over the nearest sturdy object—and so much more.

After shooting come into his fist, he rustles up the B&B stationery and a cheap Biro and writes: Would like to borrow one of your wooden stirring rods, please. The sooner the better, for my purposes before he can lose his nerve.

...

On the 29th, he knows not to expect Severus before nightfall, but he's still on tenterhooks all afternoon.

When Severus arrives not long after the Hogwarts dinner hour, he's pleasantly surprised—ready to demand Severus manhandle him onto the bed and fuck him into unconsciousness. This train of thought is derailed when he takes Severus in. "What's all that?"

"These..." Severus holds up two wicker baskets holding naught but supple, well-used looking dragonhide gloves and a—Harry swallows—stirring rod, "are baskets."

"Yeah, I got that much, thanks. What're they for?" Harry eyes the stirring rod hopefully.

"Potions ingredients."

"What?! You've got to be kidding."

"It would be a piss poor cover if I left for twelve hours to gather ingredients and came back empty handed."

Harry narrows his eyes at Severus. "How long is this going to take?"

"I suppose that depends on how quickly you can glean ivy."

...

A little behind Severus, Harry trudges through the snow.

Harry shakes his head and huffs a laugh of disbelief. "I should have known. Only you would show up for a... well... whatever... and drag me across half of Scotland in subzero temperatures." Severus must be cold, surely. He's practically skeletal. At least Harry has something to him, a little muscle, a little body fat to be getting on with. "Aren't you cold?"

"Walk faster. It'll warm you up."

"I am walking fast!"

"Pick up your knees, then. Work up a sweat. It will do you good."

"Fuck off," Harry says, and half means it.

After what feels like eighty-four years but is, Harry's watch informs him, about ten minutes, Severus gestures to a church yard.

"You can harvest the ivy. It does not require a particularly delicate hand. But do try to get the pieces as long as you can. Shorter strings are less useful."

"Better make it worth it," Harry grumbles.

Severus strides across the church yard a short ways to a holly bush. It's too dark to see well, but he pulls on his dragonhide gloves and sets to work, gingerly plucking berries, one at a time, and depositing them into the basket resting in the crook of his arm.

Delicately, Harry begins trailing ivy vines—starting in the middle, anywhere there's a bit of give that allows him to hook a gloved finger around the vine and trace it down to the snow. One by one, he breaks the vines, then carefully extracts the longest threads he can, placing them in his basket. Once he hits his stride and the repetitive motions take on a life of their own, his mind begins to wander.

"No problems on your return trip, the other night, I hope?"

"None," Severus answers.

"That's good. I know I asked you here, but I'd feel awful if you got into trouble on my account."

"You forget how practiced I am in that."

"Ha ha ha. You know what I mean."

"Don't fret about it overmuch. We are here now, after all."

"Do you think anyone's noticed you've been gone?"

Severus's movements stop for a moment. "I have exercised great care, but it would be foolhardy to assume I have foxed Minerva. She has all the castle's magical resources reporting to her."

"Do you think she suspects anything?"

"About you?"

Harry nods.

Severus shakes his head. His voice is acid. "An affair would be the last thing of which anyone would suspect me."

"That works to your advantage, in this case, I guess. Since you don't want anyone to know."

A glower contorts Severus's face. "Ah yes," he says, voice dangerous. "Far better they assume I'm off undertaking Dark errands."

Harry looks at him in disbelief. "They wouldn't, would they? Not now? After Dumbledore... at your trial."

"Dumbledore was never able to convince you."

Harry stands up straight, his voice raising. "God, how d'you think I feel about that now? And it's not like you really helped your cause, the way you treated me and Ron and Hermione, and all the Gryffindors..."

"You and your friends did just as you pleased. If you anticipate an apology from me on that score, you have a long wait ahead of you."

Harry's jaw tightens. He's never asked Severus to apologise for anything. "That's not what I said, and anyway, we're getting off topic. You don't seriously think the other teachers will think you're up to"—Harry is at a loss for words that don't sound ghastly—"no good," he finishes.

"It doesn't much matter."

"Right," says Harry skeptically. "You're so defensive about it because it doesn't matter to you."

"Only a fool would not prepare to defend himself, under these circumstances."

"Come on."

When Severus speaks next, his tone communicates that he thinks Harry is plainly as thick as he always suspected. "Eventually, someone will come to suspect something. If, somehow, our acquaintance—"

"Acquaintance?" Harry asks, outraged.

"—becomes known, it will certainly usher in criminal charges."

"You don't know that. I've been reading, and the law is rarely enforced—"

"That is, in no small part, because so few people flout it. If, by some miracle, we manage to contain all information, avoid all rumours, any hint of scandal, I will merely be suspected of the same things I have since my own days as a student."

An unpleasant, icy sensation spreads through Harry's guts at the thought. The way Severus coped with his woes at school hadn't exactly turned out great for either of them...

"At least, in the case of the latter, there will be no evidence to hang me with."

"Please don't say that. If anyone found out about us they wouldn't be able to prosecute you without prosecuting me too."

Severus barks a mirthless laugh that rings around the church yard. "If you actually believe that, you are delusional. There are members of the Wizengamot who wanted me Kissed when I stood trial last time. They won't let another chance to lock me up, at the least, escape them."

Harry sets his jaw mulishly, snaps off a strand of ivy far too short, tosses it aside. "I wouldn't let them."

"Your arrogance is staggering. You would be powerless to stop them. Consider: if you were to testify on my behalf, the Wizengamot would question you also. Are you ready to purger yourself on my behalf?"

"Yes," Harry says.

But Severus steamrolls him. "And what if Veritaserum were introduced into the proceedings? The Wizengamot knows no scruples when it comes to achieving their ends."

"Fine!" Harry shouts. "I wouldn't lie! I'd tell the truth and they'd have to lock us both up or change the law, if they didn't want to put me away."

"They would make any insinuation to persuade the undecided in their number: Amortentia, Imperius. And your age..." Severus seems to be hitting his stride, and Harry feels powerless to take the conversation in hand. "They would claim I groomed you at school, laid hands on you as a student."

"No!" Harry shouts, getting properly mad now. "I bent over backwards last year to ensure no-one would be able to say they'd so much as seen us together, shared a single word, outside your classroom."

"Well maybe you ought to have extended your consideration to what might happen to me when the day inevitably comes that someone does find out."

"I'm an adult now! I don't care what they think—"

"You could do to care a little more. We are not all protected by public opinion. More to the point, public opinion is changeable. If you think the press is bad now, with your extended absence from public life, just wait and see how they treat you if the truth gets out."

"I don't care what people think of me," Harry says, pulling out several long vines at once.

"Is that why you gave The Quibbler an exclusive interview in your fifth year? Because you cared so little about Umbridge and Fudge's lies?"

"That was different. They were spreading lies and they knew it! Lives were at stake! If they tell people I'm gay and people don't like it... well..." Harry shakes his head. "I can't worry about that."

"And if it goes beyond public contempt? If you do face criminal charges? Sentencing?"

"I'd rather face it, or, hell, leave altogether, than tiptoe around in the shadows the rest of my life. Is that really what people do?"

"Some move. We have already discussed the small few allowed to keep their open secret, if they do not make waves. You would probably do well, as such a one. But this, of course, would depend on the company you keep behind closed doors. A fellow war hero would be best, of course. Longbottom, ideally. Perhaps George Weasley."

"You are a war hero!"

"Don't make me laugh."

"I'm serious—"

Severus ignores him, picking up his prior thread. "Fewer still move into the Muggle world completely. But most either marry or stay single and try to live as normally as they can, resorting to the odd quiet dalliance."

Harry lets out a long, slow breath. "Well that's fucking bleak."

"Indeed."

"I don't want to be deep closet forever. And I don't mind living amongst Muggles, but considering how famous I am—don't say anything; I can't help it—it's hardly realistic. Besides, even if I could manage to evade the press and the Ministry, there's no way I could lie to everyone in some hypothetical Muggle life."

"You haven't the stomach for it."

"And I'm definitely not going to run off with Neville or George. I think you know that. Neville's fit, obviously, and I love them both as mates. But if you're waiting for me to find an easier lover, you should give up now."

"Lover?" Severus's voice drips with sardonic disdain.

"You have a better word for us meeting at every feasible opportunity to make each other come?"

Severus says nothing.

"Thought not." There's no point now, Harry thinks, pussyfooting around the issue. He's not going to let Severus speak in generalities, in legalities, in vague possibilities and worse case scenarios to avoid the issue at the crux of it all: the two of them, flesh and blood people with lives to live, against all odds. "Face it: this is happening." Severus says nothing in the affirmative, but nor does he deny it, so Harry goes on, "Sometimes I can't believe it—any of it, y'know?"

Severus snorts. "Naturally."

"But most of the time I can't believe it could possibly be any other way." Harry gnaws at the inside of his cheek nervously. "There's just so much between us."

"Indeed," Severus says coolly.

"Don't get pissy," Harry says, tearing another set of vines close to the ground. "I just—"

"I thought you had said your piece over the summer."

"I mean, yeah," says Harry, "some, but there's seventeen years of stuff to discuss. We're not going to cover all that in one conversation. Plus all the stuff... erm..." Harry falters, ponders how likely he still is to get laid. "You know, before I was born."

"Damn," Severus says, and wipes a crushed berry off his gloved fingertips in the snow.

"You're the one who dragged us out here, remember. I'd have been as happy staying in and finding out how many times I can come in one night before I go dry."

"Of course you would."

"Didn't hear you complaining last night."

That shuts Severus up.

They continue harvesting in a tense silence. Harry was once able to glare at Severus for England, but now he finds the silence disturbing. Fighting? Fine—he and Severus both have terrible tempers and he's a bit perverted about Severus yelling at him to boot. But silence? It harkens back to the days when Harry truly did feel powerless; days of I must not tell lies and "remedial potions" and carrying far too many secrets for a sixteen-year old. Sixteen. Harry wonders what Severus was like at sixteen, before Dumbledore forced him to shut up about an attempt on his life, to grin and bear it and go to classes with Sirius like nothing more than the usual insults and hexes had flown. No picnic—of that he is certain. He was definitely already a little shit by then, but still... If Sirius had been properly punished, if Severus had been allowed to tell...

Harry comes over tender and decides to offer an olive branch. "So what are your contingencies anyway?"

"What are you babbling about now?"

"You said I oughtn't to worry about you making it back without causing a stir. Knowing you, I figure you've made plans A through Z."

"Prudence is a virtue."

"So what are they?" Harry internally begs Severus to pick up the baton, to pass it back, not to stay icy and closed off. He knows Severus is never going to be the first one to try and smooth anything over, no matter how trivial, and Harry thinks he can just about stand that if he's at least willing to meet Harry half way when he makes the first move.

"The first line of defence is alarm spells, of course. I have several set at different areas from the edge of the dungeons to the entrance to my quarters."

After letting out a relieved sigh as quietly as he can, Harry says, "Like Muggle trip wires."

"Exactly."

Harry smiles and moves to find a spot he hasn't cleared of ivy. "What do the alarms do?"

"They have different heating and chiming effects on my wand depending on the proximity to my quarters, and also depending on the order in which they are tripped. This way I can make an educated guess as to whether Argus and his demonic cat are roaming aimlessly on patrols, if a student is up wandering, or if someone is specifically seeking me out in my quarters. Last night I left a note in my chambers providing an excuse for my absence, in the unlikely event that Minerva needed to break through my wards in an emergency. And, of course, I concealed a broomstick at the gates in Hogsmeade, so that, should my alarms call me back, I can return to the castle itself within minutes. I always have a few fresh ingredients to hand on my person. This excuse"—he gestures to the holly and the ivy—"is a good one in a pinch."

"Wow." Harry wonders if it can be considered blasphemous to fuck in a church yard, if you yourself are agnostic. All this trouble, planning, spell work, ingredient gleaning, just to come and meet him? It sounds like a Hermione-ish level of planning and spell craft, to Harry, but the direction of the scheming towards the ends of fucking Harry affects him rather differently than Hermione's plans ever did. Even her best ones. "Have you always been so good at magic?"

Severus doesn't answer right away.

"I believe I have an aptitude, yes. But more to the point, I have always been profoundly interested in magic, sought to know more about how it works, how I can apply it, how seemingly disparate elements of magic can be woven together to create new outcomes."

Harry stares at Severus's figure a short ways away. The full moon helps a bit, but he's still little more than a figure. Reverently, he says, "I love magic, but I can't imagine putting that much time into studying the minutiae of so many different disciplines, principles. To mastering—"

"We have enough," Severus says, abruptly, coming towards him.

Harry deposits the ivy he's holding into the basket with the rest. "Are you still coming back with me?" he asks, knowing how desperate he sounds.

Severus grasps Harry's arm and Apparates them to Harry's B&B.

...

In Harry's room, Severus carefully sets his basket down, then takes Harry's and does the same, before pouncing.

Showing far less regard for Harry's clothing than he thinks Severus would appreciate Harry showing for his, he has Harry topless, his jacket, gloves, and shirt soon discarded haphazardly on the floor.

Harry's already half stiff when Severus undoes his belt buckle with a practiced motion before pulling it through the loops of his jeans with a satisfying snap! The sound redoubles the urgent feeling pooling in Harry's pelvis.

Severus shoves him on the bed and tears off Harry's shoes, socks, jeans, and pants.

"Cold," Harry says.

Behind them, a fire roars to life in the hearth before quickly settling into a brighter, warm crackle. Harry's heart delights and his cock twitches, fully erect now, up against his stomach.

Severus moves to climb on top of Harry, but Harry protests, "You too. Get undressed."

Standing at the foot of the bed, Severus casts his cloak over the back of a chair and begins undoing his buttons maddeningly, erotically, slowly.

"Hng," Harry calls out and grips his dick as Severus takes his time.

"Impatient," Severus observes.

"Get in here, then."

Getting through the rest of the buttons far faster than Harry would have, Severus is quickly undressed and straddling him on the bed.

His gaunt form above him makes Harry squeeze the base of his cock painfully to try and check his arousal from tipping over the edge too soon.

Severus grabs Harry's hand right off his cock and pins it above his head.

"Hey!" Harry protests, "I was using that."

Severus releases his hand. "If you insist." He moves to get up.

It's a feint and they both know it, but Harry still pleads, just for love of the game, "I was just being cheeky. Do it again."

Severus does—this time taking both of Harry's wrists in his grip. From his position astride Harry's hips, he looks Harry over, taking in his face, his chest, his stomach, his outstretched arms—especially his arms, each in turn, gaze lingering over Merlin knows what; Harry isn't exactly a muscleman. He's never felt unhappy with his looks, his spare build, but nor does he think he's anything to write home about. But under Severus's rapt attention, he feels like a princely feast upon which Severus is gorging. It makes Harry shiver and his insides squirm with hot delight.

The jolt that runs down Harry's spine seems to motivate Severus; he leans forward, hands still pinning Harry's arms above his head, and kisses Harry with dizzying urgency. Harry tries to repay him in kind, offering Severus his tongue, biting Severus's lip and giving it as much of a tug as he dares with his teeth. When Harry releases Severus's lip, Severus breaks the kiss, and Harry thinks he's overshot in his assumption that Severus likes a bit of rough handling too, but instead of pulling away, Severus trails fevered kisses along Harry's jaw, down his neck, across his collar bone. At the rate Severus is going, he'll be on his nipples in no time—

"Oh!" Harry lets out a surprised squeal as Severus's kisses, the tip of his nose, trail not to a nipple, but across his chest and straight into his armpit. Severus halts, perhaps at Harry's undignified yelp, and Harry goes completely still, desperately curious to know what Severus is up to, determined not to put him off. Harry's heart races as he forces himself to stay still, to try and wait Severus out—as if such a thing is possible. But Severus, contrary to mere moments before, seems to be in no hurry. Harry's whole world narrows to his own rapid breathing and Severus's deep respiration, his face buried in one of Harry's armpits. Harry begins to fret about how sweaty he got walking through the snow and gleaning ivy, and then—god, then Severus's hot, wet tongue licks a stripe from the bottom of his pit to the top.

"Wha—?" is all Harry gets out, as Severus drags his tongue over him again, letting out an indecent moan that reverberates through Harry's delicate skin, making him squirm under Severus, needy for more of his tongue. When Severus does it again with renewed vigour, Harry decides not to worry about how sweaty he is. Instead, he gives himself over to the unexpected, obscene pleasure of having Severus go to town on his armpits.

After Harry's sure there can't be a hint of sweat left in either, Severus trails his teeth down Harry's side, veering to scrape over his lower abdomen, before pausing just long enough to cast the usual charms and taking Harry's straining cock into his mouth without a moment's hesitation. It feels so good Harry thinks he's about to come, bringing his first blow job to a close far too soon. He reckons that's allowed, even if it would be a shame. But he doesn't. Instead of applying the same ferocity he had to disrobing Harry or tasting his armpits, Severus goes tantalisingly slowly, lightly. Not sucking Harry in deep, but trailing the flat of his tongue over his length, laving it over the head. He must be tasting Harry's precome. Harry goes incoherent until, suddenly, the sensation is gone and Severus is ordering him onto all fours.

Harry breaks land speed records obeying. He places his hands on the headboard and turns to nod at Severus in invitation. After some preparation, which Harry insists he hurry up with, Severus is inside him and Harry moans and drops his head towards his chest as pleasure surges through him.

"I want it hard," Harry demands, and after a careful start, Severus begins pounding into him. Harry can hear his breathing behind him, fast and shallow. He needs more. "Please touch me," Harry whimpers.

Severus's chest is pressed into his back in an instant. Harry can feel his nipples and hair grazing his back again and again as he gets a hand around Harry. A couple of strokes are all it takes as the twin pleasures on his prostate and prick send him over the edge. As he comes, he urges Severus on, "Faster, faster."

Severus groans deeply and Harry is completely blissed out as Severus keeps fucking him until he's spilling inside him, moaning into his ear.

Harry flops heavily, spent, onto his stomach, Severus pressed to his back all the while. Severus, despite his skeletal figure, is heavy on top of him, but not so much he wants him to move. Not a chance. Not when he can feel Severus's heartbeat on his chest.

Minutes pass. Their heart rates and breathing even out, and Severus slides himself from Harry's arse.

In the shower, Harry grabs the soap. "So what do wizards usually do?" he asks, working up a lather. Severus pulls the soap from his hands and takes up the task of cleaning Harry. "Feels good," Harry purrs.

"Was that a general question?"

With Severus's hands all over him, it takes all Harry's focus to remember what he asked in the first place. "Well there isn't any, er, magical gay porn, is there? I never came across any at Hogwarts, and people passed all kinds of shit around common rooms and dorms."

"As it has been since the dawn of time, and shall be long after we're gone."

"Exactly. I don't believe for a second that no magical people out there are making any."

"Libidinous—" Severus starts.

"Shush," Harry interrupts. He actually is interested in the answer. "I don't just mean porn. Like where do people go?"

"I never went digging for it," Severus says, pushing Harry under the stream of water to rinse. "But those of us who can get by unnoticed in the Muggle world certainly have a greater breadth of options."

"Poor sods," Harry sighs. "And of course, not everyone gets dirty memories dropped in their bedrooms."

Severus looks contemplative. "I would not be surprised if others have resorted to Pensieves. Though, considering the cost, it cannot be any significant number."

"It's sad when you think about it."

"That so few people have a front row seat to your most salacious moments? I'm sure you could charge a pretty penny for viewings—before you got arrested."

"I mean the rest—the day to day. Muggle society is pretty shit too, don't get me wrong. But there are places to go. And not just for sex. Gay Muggles have, like, political groups and book clubs and sports leagues."

"Thinking of starting a gay Quidditch team?"

"Could do," Harry says, just to annoy him. "Though, if the rumours about the Harpies are true, I mightn't need to."

Back in bed, Harry searches his mind for a topic of conversation that won't get Severus's hackles up. "I have a couple Polaroids."

Severus gives him a questioning look.

"From Halloween. Accio." A thin, Muggle envelope flies to Harry's hand. "Didn't dare send them by owl." Harry tries to cover the sadness that creeps in with a light tone.

"If you think I'd risk opening one of your missives in company—"

"Oh shut it." Harry hands the envelope to Severus, who opens it and withdraws the photos.

His eyes gleam and his lips turn up with a lighthearted cruelness that is completely oxymoronic and Harry is positive not another soul on earth is capable of. "You are sure your friends don't know you're gay yet?" He taps Harry in the photo with a droll finger.

Harry smacks his arm gently.

"You are dressed in wall to wall leather," Severus observes. "The photos in The Prophet did it no justice. You know there are clubs for this."

Harry looks him in the face. "Know all about kink clubs, do you?"

"I have never frequented them, if that's what you're asking."

"Never?" Harry presses, curious.

"Not all of us had the luxury of endless leisure time after graduating," Severus reminds him.

"I know, I know." Harry waves a dismissive hand. "You are a paragon of industriousness and I'm a layabout. But have you?"

"I have never been the kind to frequent social clubs of any kind."

"Social clubs?" Harry snorts. Severus gives him an acidic look. "I just wondered..."

Severus's eyes widen a little, as though sensing the tiniest hint of blood in the water. "Wondered what, precisely?"

Harry swallows, and his eyes break contact with Severus without his permission. Damn. The last thing he wants Severus to see in him is hesitation, reservation... He wants Severus to see him as the kind of person who knows and pursues his desires—sexually unflappable. He recalls his surprise at Severus's tongue in his pits, how it made him feel to know Severus was indulging such a base desire with Harry's body. And, fuck it, it could be six months before Harry sees him again. "Will you..." Harry falters. Absurd—this man has buggered him! Has let Harry bugger him.

"Spit it out."

"Smack—" Harry clears his throat. It feels suddenly dry. He tries again. "Smack my arse. With your stirring rod," he appends, embarrassed, "or your hand. Whatever."

Some highly unguarded moments of pleasure between them notwithstanding, Harry is sure he's never seen Severus grin like this before. His wicked smile tells Harry he's about to get his way, and blood rushes to his dick again.

Severus leans close to Harry's ear and whispers, "You truly haven't a whit of shame, have you?"

"Not with you," Harry says.

Severus hastily sets the photos on the nightstand, movements quick but deliberate, careful not to spoil the images with a single smudge. It makes Harry reel.

"Go to the writing desk. Place your hands on top."

Harry's across the room like a bolt, bending over the desk, with its vintage lamp and its watermarked stationery.

Severus follows him out of bed. "What is a word you'd never have occasion to say?"

"Flibbertigibbet."

Severus chuckles. Not a snort, not a scoff, but a deep, rich chuckle, with the gravelly notes that all Severus's utterances now carry. Harry thinks he'll come before Severus can lay a hand—or a stick—on him.

"If you want me to stop, say that."

Harry nods.

Severus grabs the stirring rod off the desk and, without meaning to, Harry starts grinding his crotch into the wood of the desk drawers.

"Eager, are we?" Severus swishes the rod back and forth a couple of times, finally smacking it against the palm of his free hand before approaching Harry's exposed backside.

The end of the rod passes across Harry's bum, feather light, before disappearing and coming down lightly across his cheeks. Having braced for an intense sting, Harry lets out a nervous breath at the moderate force. "You can go harder."

Severus ups the force him with his next blow, then pauses. It's nowhere near as hard as Severus is capable of, but it leaves a pleasurable, tingling ache in its wake.

"Yeah," Harry breathes, then, "like that."

Severus brings it down again. Harry's cheeks begin to burn just so, and he's torn between sticking his arse out further to encourage Severus and rutting against the desk.

A thwack comes down on an already-tender spot and Harry keens loudly. A thud comes from the other side of the wall, followed by, "Quiet in there!"

Harry's bites his lower lip hard to rein in his volume. He's not sure if it's the noises of his pleasure or the glee of pissing off some nosy Muggles, but Severus dials in his aim, coming down again and again in spots that already smart with a sharp heat. His cheeks must be turning bright pink.

"Like that, do you?" Severus asks. "Waking the neighbours with your obscene perversions?"

Harry's chest collapses onto the desktop, his face pressing against the varnished wood. After another smack from Severus, Harry grips himself and tugs. "Like you're not getting off on this," he pants.

"If I do find myself in degenerate territory"—Severus brings down the rod again, then Harry hears it drop to the floor—"you led me here." He punctuates the accusation with a smack from his own flattened palm.

Harry's orgasm hits so quickly, he's rendered speechless as he covers the desk drawers in spunk.

Catching his breath, still bent over the desk, Harry feels a pleasant frisson of Severus's magic, and his hand, his cock, and the desk are clean.

"Here." Severus waves Harry back into bed.

Harry walks gingerly over and lies down on his stomach.

"Accio," Severus says, then, when a flannel arrives from the bathroom. "Aguamenti." With that, Severus places the cool flannel on his bum. It feels so, so nice on his abused flesh, but quickly warms from Harry's body heat.

Harry wiggles his bum, and Severus hits the flannel with a Cooling Charm.

"Good," Harry hisses.

"If I'd had an inkling of what filth you were harbouring inside you at Hogwarts—"

"You'd have caned me over a desk sooner?"

"I'd have quit. Dark Lord be dammed."

Harry folds his arms in front of him and rests his chin on them. "It wasn't all of Hogwarts," Harry clarifies. "Just my last year. Unless you count sixth year, I suppose, with the Prince."

"We've been over this, I am—"

"I know, but I thought of him—of you—as a student, my age. It wasn't a hot-for-teacher thing. Though, I suppose..." Harry considers.

"Oh?" Severus prods.

"Well, obviously, as crushes go, it was hardly as physical as the usual schoolboy stuff."

"I've been telling you that you are disturbed for years."

Harry blows a raspberry, then continues, "I just mean that, obviously the Prince was a concept more than a person, but still, it was his—your—command of magic that obsessed me."

Next to him, Severus goes tense.

"Before I read your text book, I'd never given much thought to spells or potions being things a person—a student—could craft or tinker with or improve on. It's amazing." Throwing caution to the wind, Harry decides to allow himself a little sappiness. He's already asked Severus to cane him, afterall. Can this be more awkward? "You're amazing."

"You're delirious. One too many smacks to the arse."

"Flannel's nice," Harry says, wanting Severus to know he appreciates the gesture.

Severus places a hand on the cloth. "Still cool," he observes.

Harry nods.

After a moment. "You have to leave before dawn?"

"I have a little leeway, since my absence is known and accounted for, thanks to our efforts in the church yard."

"Sorry for being a tit about that. I'm glad we went. I'm glad you're here."

"I must be back well before breakfast," Severus says, evasively.

"Right." Harry alters tack. "I'm cold again."

Severus pulls Harry to him so that Harry's head and torso rest on this chest, then pulls the coverlet over Harry's torso. "Thanks."

Harry spends a few, quiet moments just soaking in the feel of Severus's skin on his, his chest moving in soft, even breaths, below him. He cannot believe he's here—that he's orchestrated a ruse just to come and spend the night, not a couple of hours, but a whole night, with Harry. Harry yawns.

"Am I boring you?"

"Opposite," Harry insists. "I just don't think I can go again. You've got me fucked out."

"How eloquent."

"If you want, though, I can—"

"We are not all teenagers."

"So you keep reminding me."

"I merely respond to your one-track mind."

Harry lifts his head in indignation. "That's not fair! We've done loads of other things together."

Severus levels an 'oh really' look at him.

"Well, maybe not loads. But a fair few, considering how little time we've actually got to spend together properly. We have shared interests." A thought occurs. "Will you read to me?"

Severus raises a brow.

Harry sits up and Summons his book before Severus can object. Severus pushes himself to sitting against the headboard and accepts the proffered tome. Harry tries to slap the cool cloth back over his cheeks, struggling to get it placed right, and Severus grabs it from his hand to do it for him. Absurdly happy, Harry settles back in on top of Severus, his head resting on his lap this time. It's weird to be this close to his penis without immediate plans to get it inside him one way or another, but not in a bad way. Not at all.

"There's a bookmark."

"I can see that."

"Git."

Severus opens the book and animates the room with a tale of bandits, thwarted love, and revenge. He reads until his voice sounds even more hoarse than usual. Harry gets him a glass of water from the bathroom, tossing the damp flannel in the tub as he does.

"Here." Harry hands him the cool glass.

"Thank you." Severus takes a long sip.

Harry climbs back into bed and presses their naked bodies together.

"Still hours before dawn. Can you—"

Severus waves out the lamps. "Go to sleep."


...

Harry wakes at a chime from Severus's wand. "Already?" he whinges, looking at the Muggle alarm clock and stretching out his back and arms. It is six o'clock—later, frankly, than he expected Severus to stay.

Severus comes to alertness far faster than he does, already stepping out of bed, pulling on his clothes. Of course the uptight git is a morning person.

"No whining."

Harry mimes closing a zip over his mouth. They've already come through two fights since last night, and he's not eager for another one.

"I've stayed longer than is prudent."

"If you—"

"Don't bother apologising. Whatever notions you have about the irresistible charms of your young arse, I make my own decisions."

Harry gets out of bed, pulling him close by the neck of his cloak, and kisses him. Then nods. "I know."

...

December 30th dawns the coldest day since Harry's arrived, and not just because he misses the feeling of Severus next to him in bed the night before—earlier this very morning. He wants him back here, and, all his words to the contrary, he doesn't want to wait. Doesn't want mere snatches of time with him.

It's a fucking drag. But it's also phenomenal, when he's here.

While he brushes his teeth, he looks himself over in the mirror. Turning around and looking over his shoulder, he scrutinises his bum for any signs of Severus's blows. He doesn't see any, but the memory of it still takes his breath away.

After a hasty wank, Harry heads downstairs for breakfast, where the hotelier informs him it's below freezing. An idea strikes him.

After breakfast, Harry bundles up and hits the shops. It doesn't take much searching to find what he's after. He leaves with a small paper bag embossed with the shop's name. No gift wrap. Severus's remarks would surely be withering.

Harry spends the afternoon visiting the Inverness Cathedral and St Mary's Catholic Church. As he wanders around, looking at the icons, the votive candles, he spots the confessional, and wonders if Severus has ever kneeled in one and confessed his sins. He certainly doesn't talk about his past as though he's been freed of their weight.

Back at the hotel, Harry warms up by the fire with his book. He enjoys it all the more, now his mind narrates it in Severus's voice.

For the rest of the day and the night, Severus is absent, and the book is all he has to tide him over.

...

On New Year's Eve, the hustle and bustle can be heard on the streets outside from early in the day. Harry knows better than to expect Severus at any point today, even tonight. He's already been informed in clipped tones that the Hogwarts staff traditionally gather before midnight for whiskeys, and it would be both rude and suspicious to miss it.

Harry understands, obviously, but still wishes it weren't the case—that Severus could simply tell them he wanted to spend New Years Eve with his gay lover, or that Harry could join him there, with his colleagues. (Perhaps some of them invite their partners? They can't all be single.) Harry wants to start the year as he means to go on, with Severus ploughing him through the mattress, and tries not to think about how they are, in fact, doing just that: with Severus at Hogwarts and Harry sneaking visits with him that no one can ever know about...

He considers wallowing in bed all day, but opts to head out. The staff have informed him to expect Hogmanay festivities all through the night. They naturally assume that's why he's come. He walks around some of the busier drags until it starts to get late and things kick up a notch, despite the increased cold.

In spite of his mood, he enjoys the lights, the bonfires, and the merriment. He sees groups of rowdy young friends, kids running around shrieking, couples... At midnight, back in the B&B, he leans out the window and listens to everyone out in the streets break into an out-of-time and off-key For Auld Lang Syne.

A little after one, a knock comes at the door. Harry's been reading in the tub, getting drowsy, and hurries to hop out, dry off, and pull on a robe.

"Oh!" Surprised, he waves Severus inside. "I wasn't expecting you tonight. And since when do you knock? And what's that?"

Stepping inside, Severus nonchalantly throws a small, leather pouch at Harry as he closes the door. Harry catches it reflexively and pulls the cord to peek inside. "Is this salt?" Harry smiles. "First-footing?"

"It is customary."

"This isn't my flat."

"It's a dwelling attached to your name and your money for your stay."

"We aren't Scottish."

"When in Inverness."

Every misgiving Harry spent the afternoon nursing vanishes.

"What would the pope say?" Harry tsks playfully. "Pagan rituals..."

Severus gives him a bored look. "You aren't clever."

"Don't have to be. You're clever enough for both of us. Anyway, I have something for you too. It's not as—" He stops himself. He needs to play it cool.

He hands Severus the paper bag from the store.

Severus eyes it dubiously.

"It's not wrapped or anything. Barely a gift, really."

Severus reaches in and extracts a pair of supple leather gloves.

"I don't know if they'll fit. But it's fur inside. And I put a Warming Charm on them that should last a while. Got pretty good at them while we were camping."

Severus nods, looking at the gloves. He says nothing.

"I noticed you had dragonhide gloves—work gloves—but the rest of the time..." Harry tilts his head, shrugs. "You showed up with cold hands."

"How observant of you." Severus's voice has an edge, but it's not rude.

"Yeah, well, since you can't keep your hands off me, when you're here..."

"Is that your appraisal?"

Harry kisses him, licking his tongue. "It's okay, Severus, I can't keep mine off you either." Pulling back, he asks, "How were midnight drinks? All the teachers well? How's Fleur?"

"Drunk."

Harry barks a laugh. "Well I'm glad she had a good time. Still wish you could have been here for midnight, though. When I came back in I had to pick up the phone and turn on the telly all by myself to see if the world ended."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Y2K? The millennium bug? No?" Harry smiles indulgently—thrilled to have a bit of information Severus lacks. "So much of the Muggle world is powered by technology now. Have you ever used the internet?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Anyway, basically a bunch of doomsayers thought planes were going fall out of the sky and all the money people had in banks would disappear, because of the date changing with the new millennium."

Severus looks despairing. "The new millennium begins next year."

"Don't even think about calling me a dunderhead for that one. I know, but nobody cares. The 1999 to 2000 change has everyone barking mad."

"Apparently so. How anyone could think four digits could affect the principles of lift and thrust..."

Harry nods. "It would be funny, if it hadn't terrified people so much." Then Severus's words fully sink in. "Do you know a lot of Muggle physics?"

"Enough."

"Care to demonstrate what you know about lift and thrust?" Harry pauses, and the sounds of revelry from outside ring between them. "That racket should give us plenty of cover this time."

"Just a garden variety buggering this time? Or did you have something more avant-garde in mind?"

"How much time do you have?" Harry asks.

"Not much."

"Quick and dirty, then."

They undress with a purpose.

Naked, Harry hops on the bed. "Have you watched my memories a lot?"

Severus flushes, eyes flitting briefly to the wall before meeting Harry's gaze properly.

Harry feels like his bones turn to syrup at the tacit confirmation, but he forces himself to stay lucid. This will probably be his last night with Severus for some time. Palming his cock, Harry says, "You've seen this before," he casts a long glance at his prick, pulls his foreskin over the head then back down. "What else can I do that you would like?"

Harry would swear he can see Severus's pupils dilate in real time as he joins him on the bed. "Finger yourself."

"Hnng," Harry chokes out before managing, "Your wish is my command. Lube?"

Severus Summons his vial and pours some over the fingers of Harry's free hand.

Harry gives Severus a Cheshire Cat grin and plunges a finger inside, crooking it just so, before adding another.

Severus's breath hitches as he watches Harry's fingers, working in and out of his hole.

"Better than the Pensieve, I hope," Harry splutters, despite his best efforts at cool composure.

"I suppose the live show has its merits," Severus breathes.

Harry keens as he stretches himself further. He doesn't have the stoicism to draw this part out, even if they did have all night. "Seen enough?"

Severus nods deliberately, leering at Harry's arse all the while.

Harry's cocks twitches as he rolls over, presenting his arse to Severus.

In a rush, Severus is behind him, casting the requisite charms before his straining erection brushes against Harry's cleft. Harry likes it on his knees, but wishes he could see Severus at work and tells him so.

Severus Summons his wand, then, with a gesture, turns the hardwood of the headboard to mirror.

"Fucking hell," Harry croaks, shivering in a mix of deep embarrassment and equally profound arousal. Over his shoulder, he can see himself, bum resting on his heels, cheeks apart. He's distracted from his own abashment, when Severus uncorks the lube and palms a generous measure over his cock. "You— That is—" But words fail Harry, until he manages, "Fuck me already."

Before indulging him, Severus raises the vial just over Harry's arse and tips it, impossibly slowly, until the silken liquid pours over Harry's hole in a small, steady stream.

"Now!" Harry whimpers. "You don't have to be gentle." Harry pushes back as Severus repositions himself behind him.

"Been preparing for this, have you?" Severus's voice is broken and Harry glories in the sound.

"Y— yes— toys aren't as good, though," Harry hisses, watching in the mirror as Severus pushes into him slowly, until he's completely seated inside Harry.

Severus leans forward, chest brushing his back. He whispers next to Harry's ear with his voice of pure sex, "Good."

"Hng," is all Harry manages, palming his cock as Severus grabs his hips in a bruising grip and drives into him. It's too hard to relish the sight of Severus's cock gliding in and out of him and stroke himself in time with Severus's thrusts, so Harry simply holds his aching prick and bucks forward and backward, doing his best to meet Severus, to get him in deeper, deeper, deeper. This has the delightful effect of making Severus go harder, faster, until he brushes against Harry's prostate.

"Fuck," Harry chokes out, as Severus rocks in and out, holding his position, bushing over the bundle of nerves with each silken thrust. Harry's tried a bunch of commercial lubes, and none of them are as good. Severus's doesn't just feel better, it never seems to run dry on the skin or get tacky. The knowledge that Severus brews it just for them, just for this, has him right at the edge, and the next time Severus pushes in, bottoms out, Harry is powerless to hold out any longer. With a "God yes," he's coming all over his hand, the sheets, clenching around Severus as he rocks into him faster still before following suit, collapsing onto Harry's back, pressing his stomach into the puddle of come.

After they're cleaned up, Harry coaxes Severus back to bed to enjoy a few precious moments together before Severus is back to Hogwarts for six frustrating months.

Harry runs his fingers through the hair on Severus's chest, nuzzling at his neck. "Maybe we can ring in the actual new millennium together," he says, not really believing in the possibility. Severus doesn't reply, and, after a few beats, Harry winces internally, feeling he's spoilt the afterglow. He hates that idea, but also finds it a little freeing, considering what he has to tell Severus, if this is probably their last night for half a bloody year. "Look, I don't know if you'll be able to come back tomorrow, so I have to tell you something now. I can't put it in a letter." Severus's whole body goes taut, but Harry has to keep going. This cannot wait until... god, July? "I'm going to start telling some of my close friends."

Severus gets out of bed, still naked, but Harry follows him, grabs him, pulls him close.

"Listen. Don't panic. It's okay, I swear." He forces his voice to sound calm instead of bitter as he assures Severus, "I'm not going to make a peep about you. You have my word. And I'll put nothing about you or us in a letter—even our letters—like I promised. But I needed you to know, in case the press gets wind of it sooner than later."

Severus says nothing, and Harry finds he wishes he would scream at him instead of this. He searches for something, anything to say, to placate Severus, to get back the sense of ease and peace between them. "Listen, I know we don't see eye to eye about some of this... whole thing. But I don't want you to worry that I'll blab. I won't. And I would never put anything in a letter that could fuck you over."

Severus breaks his silence. "You'll forgive me if I do not trust your discretion to outweigh your... fervour."

Harry grabs Severus's gaunt face, stares him straight in the eye. "Please trust me. I would never do anything to hurt you, if I could help it. That part of our lives is over."

"One hopes."

"You're not going to try and convince me not to?" Harry asks cautiously.

"I have already tried. I can see you are set on this course."

"I am, but I'm also determined that you be safe. Now please kiss me goodnight before we get into another fight."

To Harry's surprise, after a solemn moment, Severus takes the back of Harry's neck in his exquisite hand, running his fingers through the hair at the base of Harry's skull, and buries his tongue in Harry's mouth. Harry pays his efforts back in kind, desperate for every last second. It's sloppy and unhurried and Harry is half hard.

Finally, Severus breaks off and licks at his lips, drawing their combined saliva into his mouth.

Harry is rock hard all over again. "You have to go."

"Finally started to see sense, have you?"

Harry shuts his eyes, trying to tamp down the arousal flooding through him at Severus's acceptance (not matter how grudging), at his glistening lips. "Not what I meant, as you know damn well; if you don't get out of here, I'm having you right here on the floor."

Severus moves to get dressed. "Not all of us have knees fresh out of the box."

"Shoo, old timer," Harry says sarcastically, aiming for levity. He tries not to think about how he won't hear Severus's sarcastic tone again for months upon months. "Don't forget our deal: I don't send you anything obscene and you reply to my owls."

"It shows a lack of guile to trust in a gentleman's agreement with a Slytherin."

"Whatever. I know you can't wait for my next letter." Harry gives him a final kiss, clasps his winter cloak securely around his throat. "See you," he says. Love you, he thinks.

And then Severus is gone.

...

Harry spends New Year's Day alone, and then, finally, it is his last night in Inverness. Tomorrow, the first Monday of 2000, Hogwarts will be full of students again, and Severus's paltry spare time will evaporate.

That night, Severus doesn't come. Harry tries not to be sad about it. He already saw way more of him than he dared hope.

On the 2nd of January he packs his things. He can't find The Count of Monte Cristo, which is annoying. After attempting to Summon it and checking everywhere three times over the Muggle way, for good measure, he determines it is not in his room. Did he take with him when he went out to eat yesterday? He can try the nearby chippy, just in case. He casts a final look over the bed where Severus licked his armpits, the desk where he let Severus cane him, checks his pocket to ensure the small pouch of salt is where he put it for safe keeping, and goes home.


Chapter 4: The Background World

As Severus forces breakfast past his bereft lips early Sunday morning, he is not entirely able to prevent himself from glancing at the windows like an absolute berk for the first sight of St Joan since December. He tries to force his eyes to remain on his bowl of porridge, on the table, at least, when one of yesterday's papers, folded untidily near the edge of the staff table, catches his eye.

No "Harry New Year" at Ministry Ball
Saturday 1 January 2000
Rita Skeeter

Would he or wouldn't he? This was the question mark hanging over the end of 1999. Speculation ran rampant about whether or not Harry Potter (Order of Merlin First Class, declined) would take the Ministry's New Year's Gala as his opportunity to reenter public life.

Despite rumours Potter would attend as the guest of honour, his name did not wind up on the Ministry's published guest list. He nonetheless remained the talk of the town for the rest of December, with witches and wizards buzzing about whether Potter and the Ministry were planning a surprise appearance. (And, if so, whom he might bring as his plus one.)

With the Champagne drunk and the Department of Magical Maintenance still clearing away the confetti, we can confirm that Potter did not in fact surprise his fans, supporters, and compatriots. What's more, our Potter Watch desk received no credible reports that he was spotted otherwise occupied at another festive engagement on New Year's Eve; Potter, it seems, simply could not be bothered to attend the largest fundraiser of the year (all benefits to St Mungo's).

This most recent Potter snub is a slap in the face to all those who have kept a special place for The Boy Who Lived in their hearts since he was just a baby. Undoubtedly, the public is entitled to answers about why Potter seems determined to shirk his responsibilities to our community.

Skeeter, the buzzard, is wasting no time this year. Entitled? The truly maddening thing isn't even Skeeter's audacity: it is the thought of people all over the country, nodding along in agreement over their New Year's breakfast tables.

The piece is not without its consolations, however. The fact that she is clearly as clueless as ever about how, where, and with whom Harry spends his time is all to the good. Not even a whiff of his presence in Inverness, or Scotland at all, can only mean that Harry did not mention the location of his "time to himself" to any of his friends. Two can keep a secret, after all... Perhaps Harry has learned a bit of discretion. Perhaps that isn't a good thing. Or, perhaps it is, if only for Severus.

The question is moot, in any case. Severus admonishes himself for praising Harry prematurely. Has he not just informed Severus of his grand plan to undertake a madcap coming out campaign amongst his friends and loved ones?

No, Harry's discretion, unlikely as it has been, is nearly at an end, and with it any hope Severus has of retaining his place in Harry's regard.

When St Joan makes her inevitable appearance with Severus's post, Severus strokes her head and tucks the letter away for later.

...

Severus,

You'll never guess what I found when I got home. Would you believe someone let themselves in and left me a memory? No idea where someone'd get such an idea. I wish I had some way to watch it...

Harry

Belated regret floods Severus. He had compunctions about making the memory, more still when he Apparated to Harry's flat on New Year's Day and left it there, but not enough to prevent him from going ahead with the fanciful gesture.

It was an absurd thing to have done—too revealing, too saccharine. And yet, he thought at the time—still thinks now, despite his shame—why not? Why not indulge himself, indulge Harry, for this fleeting moment?

This... whatever it is between them... has always had an expiration date looming over it. It is simply untenable, them being who they are, the law being what it is, Severus's job keeping him out of reach most of the year. But now that date, while not precisely knowable, has crept nearer. Harry is, whether he realises it or not, finally beginning to do what Severus has been telling him to since he first appeared on Severus's front stoop: moving on with his life.

If Harry is as good as his word, and Severus knows without a shadow of a doubt that he is, he will soon tell his close friends. Word will travel. Eventually, the press will speculate in terms carefully veiled (and vetted by The Prophet's solicitors) about his extended single-hood. And, sooner or later, probably sooner (he is Harry Potter, after all), he will meet another discreet wizard seeking more, or perhaps start taking the possibility of a Muggle relationship more seriously, once there is no need to conceal his activities from his friends. He will find a man who isn't beyond reach most of the time, a man who can satisfy him nightly, who will agree to appear respectfully as his wink-and-a-nudge plus-one to meals and outings and occasions with Harry's friends. Who will move in with Harry—a couple of confirmed bachelors living companionably, whom everyone knows about, but doesn't dare speak of in polite society.

And Severus? He will still be at Hogwarts, with only his memories and right hand for company.

It is for the best. And the sooner Severus convinces himself of that, the better.

...

Potter,

You know where to find a Pensieve.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

No change to the wards, I see.

The memory was not what I expected. I love it. I owe whoever sent it a huge thank you. I made myself comfortable while I watched it—listened to it, more like. Thought I'd have a whisky. That's what adults drink, right? But I couldn't find any, so I settled for a cuppa. It was so much better than silent reading. Not that I'm giving that up, of course. I figure, if I really commit for a decade or so, I can eventually become better read than you, at least where Muggle novels are concerned.

Harry

With the images the letter conjures in his mind, with the intimate, recent memories of Harry they summon, Severus will be Occluding for all he's worth tomorrow to avoid day dreaming like a teenager, or worse.

Here, now, in his quarters, however, he allows his mind to wander, to indulge himself, to replay each and every second of those earthly delights.

Before Inverness, Severus's more pleasant dreams, his fantasies, even spurred on by the recollected smell of Amortentia, had done Harry no justice at all. The real, living, smell of him, the taste... the fact that Harry had lain there, still, allowing Severus to lick him clean. Severus shudders at the mere thought. He wants it all again.

Letters such as this do not help matters.

...

Potter,

Perhaps you should consider a career as a literary critic. I always understood that their primary purpose was to make a song and dance of how much better read they are than Joe Bloggs with a real job.

Whisky is a vastly overrated drink. I prefer gin.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Not sure that's the life for me, though I could definitely go on about how wild this book is. It keeps surprising me. The plot is ridiculous, of course, but it's not that. It was written in, what? The 1840s? I mean, the hints about Eugénie weren't exactly subtle to begin with, but I had no idea that it would be so clear later on! I swear, stumbling across this stuff in these old books is never going to get old.

Harry

...

Potter,

Delacour's probably read it in the original French, if you're still hoping to create your quaint little book club. And, if you are so taken with it, you could work towards reading the original, if you stick with your language lessons. If that doesn't interest you, Eugénie's story should at least provide you with a segue for other topics of conversation.

Severus Snape

Severus wonders how Harry will read this letter. Will he see the perfunctory effort to quicken the onset of the inevitable for what it is? A jab at Harry's unappealing plan? A pathetic attempt to hasten the end of whatever is going on between them before Severus's ardour can deepen further, unchecked by his reason? Or will he take it at face value, as an olive branch of support after Severus's warnings?

Severus had forgotten how distracting certain feelings can be. He would do better to pay what Harry thinks no further mind, to focus on his own life. After all, Severus has no control over Harry's path; he never has. And with the prospect of Harry's imminent departure from his life—as unexpected as his presence is in the first place—he can no longer ignore his situation for what it is.

He is and shall remain at Hogwarts. And that is... good. It is good enough. He enjoys the prestige of the coveted position, and it keeps him fed, sheltered, and able to buy what he needs, within reason. But the fact remains he is a teacher out of necessity, not thanks to any overwrought sense of a calling. If he is going to stick it out here, and he fully intends to, he must make his own diversions, see to his own intellectual life. Soon his intellectual life will be all he has of his own to sustain him.

...

Severus,

I actually wrote to Fleur and told her as soon as I got home. I know how you feel about the whole thing, so I didn't want to bring it up before, but since you did, please don't worry. I trust Fleur completely for a number of reasons, and even if I didn't, eventually it won't be a secret at all. I suppose I have to tell Hermione when I ring her next. I'd prefer to tell her in person, but I've no idea when she'll be back in England next. Suppose I could go to Australia, but I hate travelling by Portkey and Floo. How far can you Appararate?

Harry

Yes, high time Severus got on with things. He knows he lacks the restraint to resist any further rendezvous Harry might offer, but, equally, he does not expect any. With nearly an entire term left, and Harry off to the races, they are at the beginning of the end of this mad interlude. Time to pick up last term's half-hearted efforts to fill his hours with his own pursuits, the better to get ahead of it all. But first, he'll answer Harry's question—telling himself all the while that he does so because Harry raises an interesting, intellectual question.

Potter,

There are no firm limits on Apparation range. As you expect, all things being equal, the risk of severe splinching increases with distance, though not in a perfectly calculable way (exponentially, logarithmically, etc.). Rather, much depends on who is doing the Apparating. I am sure Twycross explained this during your lessons.

Severus Snape

Severus scrutinises his reply. This could be any letter between a professor and a former student. It is perfectly appropriate, strictly explanatory. (Well, aside from the slight to Harry's inattentiveness at the end. But it is only one, small slight.) As time goes on, when Harry moves forward, will they continue to correspond? And, if so, is this what their letters will look like? Harry firing off questions he could just as easily read about in a book out of some sense of obligation to stay in touch? Severus replying with succinct answers to fulfill his promise to reply? He cannot decide whether such a possibility is worse than the prospect of total drift.

He heads for his laboratory, still weighing the two distasteful possibilities against each other until he succeeds in training his focus on his old notebook, hopeful that, this time, something will seem more interesting than mooning over Harry Potter.

...

Severus,

How far can you Apparate?

Harry

Damn. And after all his efforts yesterday. This letter generates counterproductive feelings in Severus. Some time in the last six months, Harry's respect for his abilities has become an inconvenient... weakness.

Once Severus has spent some time indulging said counterproductive feelings, he seats himself at his desk to write back. It would be best to change the subject, or point out that the average person Apparates largely for smaller, routine distances, such as commutes or to run errands. But the spirit is weak, and the pen weaker.

Potter,

I cannot say definitively. I have not made any effort to measure or test the outer limits of my range.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Wow. I'm... Yeah, wow.

And Happy Birthday. You don't seem like a birthday kind of person, but I hope you like your present anyway. Don't even pretend to complain about this one.

Harry

After a little more self-indulgence, Severus decides it doesn't matter which of his old projects he picks up. Any one will do. He looks again at Harry's birthday wishes—he can't help himself. Then again... Severus hasn't invented a new potion or overhauled an established one since his puerile efforts creating a new lubricant—hardly a test of his skill, worthy though it has proven itself of his effort. Yes, he shall start on something new today—now. To Hell with picking up an old, forgotten project. It hasn't proved motivating. Today he will begin exploring the practical functions of a gold cauldron.

But first things first. Manners cost nothing.

Potter,

My thanks for the Nolet's Reserve. It makes an acceptable night cap.

The understatement is egregious. But what can he do? Write that it is the finest spirit he's ever been gifted? That he's ever tasted? That he thinks of Harry as he sips it, basks in the knowledge that Harry really reads his letters, pays attention, indulges Severus? Preposterous.

I've seen Delacour with a stunning old copy of Dumas in the staff room. Have you started your book club after all?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I'm chuffed you like it.

Still no book club, unless you count listening to chapters of The Count of Monte Cristo in a Pensieve. More have arrived by owl, would you believe it? I'm glad. Anything to distract me from worrying about Hermione. She can't stand Fleur, and she won't be happy I confided in anyone before her, especially not someone she actively dislikes. My only hope is that she'll understand that I confided in family first. (And don't go thinking I don't know how to keep a secret—with one foot back in France, Fleur doesn't care who knows. If you want some factual gossip for a change, ask her about her divorce. She's not shy.)

Harry

So Delacour also practices the love that dare not speak its name, does she? That goes a long way to explaining some almost sugary looks she's been giving Minerva recently. Though Minerva cannot possibly be the reason for the divorce. She would never put herself in the same fool position Severus has, even if no antiquated laws expressly forbid women from having their way with each other. She's worked too hard, too long, fought and bled and killed for Hogwarts, to risk it now for a fuck, even if it is with a Veela. Minerva has a lick of sense, unlike Severus.

Severus, who sends Harry memory after memory like an infatuated fool, who is... taken with the idea of Harry going to Spinner's End for his Pensieve to listen them. Severus, who wonders if Harry has brought the Pensieve back to his flat with him, or if he goes to Spinner's End each time, makes himself at home in one of Severus's arm chairs, on his sofa, in his bed...

Severus stares at I'm glad in Harry's handwriting. His meaning unembellished but still perfectly clear. He allows himself a wank.

...

Potter,

I will certainly not be asking a colleague about any such thing in the workplace. He will, however, be coaxing details from Harry, should they meet again in person. Severus loves gossip, provided it's not in any way related to him. That, he cannot countenance.

Granger can be reasoned with, even if she feels jilted. Tread carefully with your other friends. It might work to your advantage to tell Weasley in the presence of one or more of his brothers, or even his father; in my experience, his elders have better heads on their shoulders (pranks not withstanding). Exercise caution with the matriarch. She is very traditional and may disappoint you. And don't bother protesting. I'm not saying either of them will disappoint; I am saying they might. People surprise you, when it comes to such matters.

Severus Snape

Sobered by the thought of Harry telling any Weasley anything personal, Severus tucks Harry's letter into his growing cache and heads to his private laboratory to distract himself. He'll put that gold cauldron to real use. He shall prepare some aquafortis, as a test of his memory. The base is useless for anything but a gold cauldron, and he has not had occasion to brew it since his Mastery. He shall see how many ingredients and steps he can recall. That should be a nice, demanding call upon his attention.

...

Severus,

I spoke to Hermione. She was mad about Fleur (inevitable) but also more tactful (surprise surprise). She told me she was glad I trusted her and all that rot, but also made sure to let me know she'd suspected since fourth year and couldn't believe Ron didn't catch on when I started carrying Advanced Potion-Making around with me everywhere I went and taking it to bed with me.

Severus blinks. Rereads the sentence. He always knew that Harry had his book, even when Harry was lying to him about it in his sixth year. And, of course, Harry already told him he developed a fixation on The Half-Blood Prince. But this? He knows Harry finds his spellcraft, his brewing, his magic endearing, but to learn that it stirred Harry like this? The thought is... highly distracting. Despite the combined heat of pride and lust washing over him, he forces himself to finish the letter. He can return to pondering its distractions later on, in his chambers.

Please don't say that about Ron. I know there are bound to be some poor reactions, but I can't handle the idea he might be one of them. Now that Hermione knows, I'll have to tell him next or he'll take it personally. He's always been self-conscious about me, and more so than ever after he bailed on Hermione and me during the war. I forgive him, but I don't think he really believes that. I don't want to lose steam and I just don't feel good about telling anyone else until he knows.

Harry

...

Potter,

One is fortunate indeed to have friends with whom one feels safe confiding. The world can be cruel. You know this. Weasley doesn't believe you forgive him because he knows he doesn't deserve it.

Tell Lovegood instead. She will not care and, if Weasley finds out, he will consider it appropriate that you have had this conversation with women first.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I took your advice. I dropped in on Luna and spent the afternoon as her lackey, helping with the next printing. Have you seen a magical printing press, before? Very cool. I may prefer phones to Floos, but I'm glad I didn't have to spend the afternoon manually cranking anything (at least not in front of Luna). You were right (don't let it go to your head). She definitely doesn't care. Honestly, I think she was surprised I felt it was worth mentioning. And after I spent hours thinking up ways to seamlessly work it into conversation!

Harry

So Harry is on a roll.

Well, so is Severus. He's already managed to drag himself away from Harry's letters in recent evenings long enough to prepare a batch of aquafortis and a small number of experimental bases of his own devising, incorporating useful ingredients that react badly with pewter. And from here, who knows? It's all impractical—completely academic stuff. The average home will never have a gold cauldron in it, so no recipe he invents would have any practical place in a book of household potions, the same goes for student laboratories and ninety-nine percent of text books. Even most apothecaries don't bother keeping gold in their labs; why bother, when centuries of potioneers have got on just fine without? No, any significant discoveries Severus may make with the opulent cauldron will go no further than the pages of The Practical Potioneer. Why bother to patent, when any royalties from such pointlessly expensive formulas would almost certainly never even cover the nominal patent application fee. The whole enterprise is indulgent in more ways that one. He wouldn't admit it even under pain of Cruciatus, but he likes working with the gold cauldron. It is as simple—as asinine—as that.

...

Potter,

Nothing you report from the Lovegood front surprises, certainly not your terrible double entendre, nor the fact that you felt the need to rehearse for the person least likely to pay your revelation any mind at all. You should see if Lovegood will take you on as an employee. Manual labour does the body good.

He is pathetic.

I have not had the opportunity to see an enchanted printing press at work.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I'm having Ron and George 'round. Officially, it's to show them a Muggle film for the first time. Maybe I'll put on Dog Day Afternoon and use Pacino as a litmus test. Hook Ron with all the shooting and yelling and cars and see how he responds to the sweaty bank robber... Don't panic, I'm not serious. I'll rent Titanic. I missed it when it came out for obvious reasons, but Muggles act like you're from space if you've never seen it.

Harry

...

Potter,

I dare not hope the film is educational; popularity is rarely a sign of quality.

Be cautious.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

It's done and it wasn't ideal. Do NOT say I told you so. There is a silver lining: George was cool about the whole thing, and I basically gave him carte blanche to gossip, which means I don't have to do anymore leg work with the Weasleys. Light a votive or say a prayer or whatever it is your lot do for me that Mrs Weasley doesn't send a Howler or show up here with a list of eligible young ladies to try and talk me 'round. She's the most loving woman I've ever met, but she was horrible to Hermione when she thought she was getting off with Viktor Krum, and that was when we were fourteen, so you never know.

Harry

...

Potter,

What a cringeworthy scene to imagine. I wish it were otherwise. Take what comfort you can in Granger's steadfastness, Delacour's fellowship, and Lovegood's utter lack of concern.

And in my regard, Severus hopes the words suggest. Hopes they do not suggest. What has he allowed Harry to make of him?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Thank you. You're right. I need to look on the bright side of life (especially when it's a piece of shit—did you ever watch Monty Python?). I thought this whole thing would make me start to feel better, which it has, in fairness, but it also feels like work that's never going to end.

I don't want to think about my life anymore right now. Let's write about something else. Do you ever write reference letters for students? Have you ever taken a Potions apprentice?

Harry

...

Potter,

No home television set, if you'll recall. Though, before I left for Hogwarts, I could not avoid hearing bits of sketches being quoted ad nauseam at the local comprehensive I attended.

As to the change of subject: yes to the former, no to the latter. My commitments at Hogwarts make taking a full time apprentice impossible. Please tell me this question is purely hypothetical. It would be just like Harry to come up with a dunderheaded plan to come to Hogwarts under the guise of an apprenticeship. Severus has to prevent himself thinking about just what an attractive prospect that would be. And practical too, considering Harry's Potions N.E.W.T... Pipe dreams of being able to see Harry every day under such circumstances will not let up—the two of them over a cauldron; Harry close enough for Severus to touch, to smell, to taste. Madness. They would be discovered within a week.

He signs off: Severus and has to remind himself to add Snape before sealing the letter and heading for the owlery.

...

Severus,

Don't worry. I was just being nosy. It's one of my special skills. I've been looking over some applications for Muggle unis and it got me wondering is all. I requested the equivalency paperwork you mentioned before from the Muggle Liason Office. I'm sure it'll be all over the news in no time.

Have any of the references you've written been good?

Harry

Severus tosses the letter aside and heads for his lab. He will reply, but later. If he answers now, he'll only write something insulting, which is fine, but Harry will see through it to how Severus really feels about Harry heading off to university, finally carrying on with his life properly.

...

Potter,

Don't tell me all the bullying has paid dividends? So it's to be a Muggle university after all, is it? What discipline? Do they give out degrees in television studies these days?

Of course I have written positive references. Surely you don't think any sub-par student would have the temerity to seek a reference from the cruel, nasty, old Potions Master who lurks in the dungeons?

Severus

...

Severus,

You know what I think of all that.

And don't get it in your head that bullying produces results with me. You know full well it's the exact opposite—I can't stand being told what I can and can't do. Much as I love lazing about the house, playing football with Dean (I told him by the way, and he was great about it), helping Luna here and there, and writing Fleur primary-school-level letters in French, I can't see keeping on like this in the long term. Reckon I'll go stir crazy. Plus Hermione's been badgering me something awful. And while I don't care at all about what the press or the Ministry think, I'm told The Prophet and the rest are still banging on about me not joining the Aurors, and Robards won't stop owling me even though I've never once replied. If I start a degree, maybe they'll stop trying to recruit me.

I'm sure people will think it's a bigger waste of my time and clout than whiling away my afternoons on a divan like the confirmed bachelor I am, but that kind of just makes me want to do it more. I know I don't have to talk you round when it comes to how satisfying it can be to do something out of pure spite.

Harry

Severus drinks two fingers of Nolet, then two more, then writes: Potter,

University is an excellent idea, and spite a perfectly serviceable motivator. I need not point out it also serves to prove that bullying does work; you are extremely provokable. I only hope you aren't going off half-cocked, as usual.

Severus Snape

Severus takes the night off from his laboratory. Drink and brewing is a match made in hell, and it would not do to explode his solid gold cauldron. Instead, he takes a cheaper bottle of gin to bed with him.

...

Severus,

That's hard to deny, but nothing half cocked, I promise. And besides, maybe none of the Muggle unis will have me.

Harry

...

Potter,

I infer from your last message that you are applying to a number of schools. This is always the wisest course. It does not do to stock a Potions lab with a single cauldron. When you turned your attention from rule breaking antics and heroic exploits to your studies, you proved yourself passable. Someone will take you on.

Severus

...

PROPHET EXCLUSIVE: POTTER REQUESTS "QUITTER" DOCUMENTS FROM MLO
Wednesday 2 February 2000
Rita Skeeter

Potter Watchers, your patience is being rewarded. An anonymous tip from within the Ministry of Magic led yours truly to the Muggle Liaison Office this week, where Potter's name appeared on a recent, official application. What was Potter applying for after nearly two years of snubbing the Ministry as an employer? Nothing less than a Qualifications Interpreted and Translated into Transcripts for Educative Reasons document (known colloquially as QUITTER). For those unfamiliar with QUITTER, it furnishes qualified Hogwarts graduates with the paper work required to apply for Muggle universities.

While a certain, small number of witches and wizards (usually Muggleborns and Half-Bloods with experience living amongst Muggles) have always made QUITTER requests, they are rare, as many consider a Muggle education a frivolous waste of magic. That goes double for The Chosen One, whom many credit, rightly or wrongly, with nothing less than the end of the war.

Potter's request must be insult to injury to those at the Ministry who processed the application; it is well known that the government has been offering Potter positions he has not earned since before he was qualified, in a show of generosity for his contributions to the war effort.

No word yet on where Potter plans to apply, but rest assured that I will leave no stone unturned in my investigation of where and what, exactly, Potter is planning to study. That is, if the whole thing is not the stunt of an over-famous boy desperate for more attention.

"Good for Potter," says Pomona, setting down the paper Severus was reading in his peripheral vision.

"Did you know about this, Minerva?" Aurora asks.

"I did not, but I will write him to give him a hearty good luck with his applications."

"Just what he needs," Filius says, setting down his coffee. As if he needs any more pep. "A school where he can be just another student."

"Best thing for him," Pomona agrees.

Severus doesn't even think they're wrong.

...

Severus,

If I didn't know better, I'd think that was encouragement.

A bunch of friends have sent me owls wishing me luck on my applications. Does Skeeter ever sleep?

Harry

...

Potter,

My remarks reflect the sorry state of university admissions. Standards are shocking these days, or so I hear.

What she prints is not worth lining your owls' cage with.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Of course they do. But I'll work on cramming in as many novels and films and afternoons in front of the telly as I can the next few months, just in case one of these shoddy schools you've heard about lets me in. I finished The Count thanks to my secret memory benefactor. Fleur wants me to read Les Mis next, but I fancy a break from France. Have you read War & Peace?

Harry

...

Potter,

Still not troubling the twentieth century, I see. I have read it, but not in many years. Are you trying to impress someone with all of these selections that exceed 1000 pages?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Nothing that calculated. This way I don't have to pick what to read next as often.

Harry

...

Potter,

There is that.

As you've decided to join your fellow adults in the real world, you may as well read as much as you can while you have the time. You're not planning to take a degree in literature, are you?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Are you encouraging me to laze? Good guess, but no (I don't want to jinx anything).

Harry

...

Potter,

Thank goodness for small mercies. The only thing more disturbing than a sanctimonious Gryffindor saviour is one who is pretentious to boot.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Come on, you know I only pick my books for a bit of fun.

I can't believe how fast the time goes. If I'm not mistaken, it's almost the feast day of St Valentine.

Harry

As if Severus could possibly remain ignorant of the repulsive day, surrounded by adolescents. This morning's post owls brought far too many copies of Witch Weekly's Valentine's Issue for Severus's liking. It features yet another recycled photograph of Harry on the cover with the ludicrous copy: "College or Quidditch? Which is a Sexier Look for Our Favourite Valentine?" The student subscribers and everyone they talk to have taken up the question with gusto, treating the debate with far more rigour than they do any of their schoolwork. Severus tries to tune it all out, but does come away, against his will, with the impression that, while Quidditch is the strong favourite, there are a vocal few who find the unlikely, solitary move to university "dreamy."

After dismissing his final class for the day (the only bright spot from which was giving the assembled fourth years a class-wide detention with Argus for daring to try to pass a copy of Witch Weekly under his nose), Severus heads for his lab. He's finally had a stroke of inspiration about a vaguely practical use for one of his gold-cauldron bases. So far, he's been exploring ingredients that have adverse chemical reactions with pewter and other common metals, but what of those with complimentary metaphysical kinship with gold itself? It's all purely speculative, quixotic even, but he has an entire Valentine's weekend to ignore.

...

Potter,

Nice try. St Valentine's day has not been a feature of the liturgical calendar since Vatican II.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I wish Lockhart'd got that memo. I still have nightmares.

Harry

Amen to that. This weekend stretch of Harry-obssessed, Valentine's-mad students has been a test of Severus's patience, but it is still not as bad as an entire year with Lockhart.

For once, the bilious words Severus carefully selects are aligned with his true sentiments. He may be foolish indeed over Harry, but not to the point of making him a milksop over a Lockhart-ish thing like Valentine's Day.

Potter,

Indeed. If only the council could have banished all popular celebrations along with the feast day.

Lockhart has much to answer for.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Did you know Ginny wrote me a poem? Bloody mortifying. Fancying someone to the point of distraction, I get. It's the public humiliation that I can't get over.

Harry

Severus tries to recall the memory of a simpler time, when Potter was a strutting, arrogant, inconvenient obligation and not... whatever he is now. Severus didn't know a good thing when he had it. Now he finds himself seeing Harry's face peeking out of school bags all over the castle. The country thinks Potter is its most eligible bachelor, and all the while Severus trades missives with him like a coquette and dares to hope that Potter won't meet someone else before the term is out and Severus can spend another night with him.

It is a laugh or sob scenario.

Severus tries for Potter-baiting remarks of the old school.

Potter,

Not a fan of schmaltzy declamations of love delivered by surly, pink-clad cherubs? It was quite popular with the Slytherins. I believe it was recited in the common room to riotous laughter for months.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Fucking Malfoy. Add Drama to the list of classes that should be added to the Hogwarts curriculum. Think of all the aggravation I could have been saved if he'd had an outlet.

Harry

...

Potter,

Don't joke about such things. Can you imagine how much more insufferable Draco would be were he to become a celebrity for treading the boards?

Severus Snape

...

Potter's University Bid: Sincere or Stunt?
Friday 18 February 2000
Rita Skeeter

Those paying attention to Potter Watch: University Edition and awaiting news of which school Potter's set his sights on must remain disappointed. Our inquiries into Potter's possible studies have not turned up Potter's name on any University registers in the UK or Ireland. There is speculation that he may join one-time girlfriend Hermione Granger (Order of Merlin, First Class, in absentia) in Australia (does the flame still burn?). The idea of Potter leaving the country has been met with significant uproar, with many decrying a lack of national feeling. Even more rumours abound that Potter, in reality, has not applied anywhere, but instead obtained his QUITTER from the Ministry to keep himself in the news cycle.

If we can't turn up a school with a Harry James Potter on a register somewhere soon, the cynics amongst us might be winning our office Potter Watch polls.

Severus smiles. So, Skeeter can't find Harry's name. It must be making her livid. His insides swell with a second-hand pride in the knowledge that Harry is evading what Severus imagines must be significant and probably illegal efforts to find his enrollment. Perhaps he has managed to teach Harry a thing or two about discretion.

...

Severus,

Are there even magical plays? The only magical media I've ever come across are the Martin Miggs comics, a book of fairy tales, and the schlock on the WWN. They don't know what they're missing.

Harry

...

Potter,

There are, but most were written long ago and are rarely performed. You have probably noticed there is no magical equivalent of The Globe, etc. Staging plays is largely a matter left to those enthusiasts who take it upon themselves to mount productions at the odd society gala, as a novel form of entertainment. Authoring, composing, etc—these are vocations that have long since gone by the wayside in our world. People tend to stick with the classics, Babbity Rabbity and similar, for children's charity benefits; Midsummer Night's Dream and the like, for the grown ups.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

It's really hard to get my head around. In the Muggle world, there are more shows on telly and films to watch and books to read than anyone could get through in ten lifetimes.

And not just that—kids have school clubs and things to stage bad plays that their parents have to pretend to enjoy. It's such an odd difference between the two societies. I never joined a single club at school, if you don't count the DA, which was hardly recreational. I guess Quidditch and Voldemort ate up all my time. Might have been nice. Were you in any?

Harry

This must be a joke. Does Harry want reminding of where Severus's youthful activities led? That, while Harry had a dialed-in moral compass by the age of eleven, Severus unconscionably joined the first group that would have him? That Severus's contemptible decision cost Harry the future that was rightfully his?

At university, unburdened by the unfair legacy of Severus's worst decisions, Harry can finally be a real student, fraternise with his peers as his peers, not as recruits to a cause. Yes, there is sure to be plenty of fraternising. And is that not his right? Would it not be a fitting comeuppance for Severus to be his confidant while it all happens?

Potter,

The ship has not yet sailed. University campuses boast far more clubs, groups, and societies than are conducive to focussed study.

You know very well what kinds of social groups I became involved in.

Severus Snape

Severus makes for his lab, the better to divert himself with his latest experiments with royal jelly.

...

Severus,

Don't jump down my throat. I wasn't trying to make you angry. I just wondered if you harboured a passion for Gobstones or chess or something when you were younger.

You're right—I'll have to check out what's on offer, if I get in anywhere. I'll need all the help I can get meeting new people. It'll be odd being at school without Ron and Hermione or any of my Gryffindor year mates, having to make new friends...

Harry

...

Potter,

The less said about my youthful enterprises, the better.

Severus can't stop himself from salting his own wound. You could always join Granger in Australia. Though they operate on an entirely different academic calendar, so you'll have to wait until their next admissions window.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Trying to get me off the continent, are you?

Harry

...

Potter,

I merely observe a natural fit.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

It would be great to be near Hermione again, but not at the expense of the people I'm close to here. Australia is just... very far.

Harry

Severus's pulse flutters treacherously. What is wrong with him? What has become of the cold, solitary heart he cultivated for so many years? He should be fortifying himself against Harry's hints of affection, not succumbing to them lock, stock, and barrel.

Best to spend another weekend in his lab; the interactions between royal jelly, grape leaves, and holy basil aren't going to test themselves.

...

Potter,

Don't tell me you've set aside your novels in favour of an atlas.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Ha ha.

Look, never mind my academic plans. How long do I have to wait to read your next piece in The Practical Potioneer?

Harry

Severus's already-straight spine somehow gains a millimeter or two of extra uprightness, and he chastises himself for his fatuity. Harry is just being polite, of course. It would not do to give the words more weight than they carry.

Potter,

Think you've got your reading comprehension skills up to scratch, do you?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Reckon so. A smart arse I know thought I'd make a good run at a literature degree...

Harry

Severus tries to practice not enjoying this easy raillery and fails utterly.

Potter,

Hard-boiled Potions scholarship hardly reads like a literary classic.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Why can't you ever just answer a question? Then again, I keep coming back for your snipes, so I suppose we're all predictable.

Harry

...

Potter,

Some of us more than others.

I do not currently have any research at a state to share with my fellows.

Severus Snape

It is no lie. His work recently has largely involved indulging purely theoretical questions about how gold and complimentary ingredients may work to draw out and materialise each other's speculative, transcendental qualities. Perhaps he has played enough. Perhaps he should work towards developing a new concoction, or coming up with a new, improved alternative to one of the old staples. Something practical, concrete, publishable...

...

Severus,

Don't tell me that solid gold cauldron really is just a glorified paper weight?

Harry

Severus will not give him the satisfaction.

Potter,

What did you expect I would do with such a thing?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I didn't expect anything. I hoped you would enjoy it.

Harry

...

Potter,

You are indeed demanding—less than three months, and already seeking return on investment? Given more time, I may have something to present, on that score. These things can't be rushed.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I knew you wouldn't be able to resist busting out a stirring rod and giving it a whirl.

Harry

If Severus has developed a particular fondness for the rod he applied to Harry's backside, Harry need not know. He is smug enough as it is.

...

Potter,

Only an incurious mind would pass up such an opportunity. An unattractive trait in a Potioneer.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I would never accuse you of that.

Harry

The words go straight to Severus's dick. Ludicrous, of course. Harry refers to Severus's magical acumen, not any physical attractiveness, which the both of them know he lacks. Despite a lingering hint of despair about his looks that Severus has never fully been able to banish, no matter how above such things he considers himself, he finds his cock and worse, his heart, refuse to stop swelling. There's no accounting for it, but, somehow, Harry's esteem for Severus's skill, his abilities, his intellect, seem more tantalising than praise for his appearance ever could.

He ought to keep in mind that Harry need not desire him to continue to admire Severus's command of magic.

After a failed attempt to get ahold of himself, Severus writes: Potter,

Well then, afford me some more time to have my way with the thing.

Severus Snape

Before having his own way with himself.

...

Severus,

Take all the time you need.

In the meantime, aren't there mediocre potioneers publishing things who need to be put in their place?

Harry

...

Potter,

Those are never in short supply.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Well then? I'll take out a subscription in anticipation of your next vicious take down.

Harry

Severus resists the urge to grab the most recent issue, a quill, and some parchment, and begin to categorise the demerits, leaps in logic, and flat out errors in one of the articles. Though it would be the quickest way to get his name back in print—penning a refutation takes far less time than composing work of one's own—he has his doubts that all of his colleagues will look kindly on his name so soon after the war, his trial, his contentious acquittal, particularly if it is attached to the critique of one of his colleagues not tarnished by bad reputation. Better to submit a research piece first, something nice and neutral, and, above all, methodologically beyond reproach.

Potter,

As usual, you put the coach before the Thestral.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

No, I just wouldn't put it past you to publish something without telling me about it, you cagey twat.

Harry

If Harry thinks Severus could withstand the urge, he's mad. Or perhaps just ignorant of how low Severus has let himself fall. All the better for Severus, if that's the case. He can only stand so much debasement.

Potter,

Perhaps.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Sorry to come out of nowhere here, and I know it's a long shot, but have you got a few spare hours going anytime remotely soon? I'd like the chance to talk in person.

Harry

After months indulging his infatuated bêtise, after the tone of their recent back and forth in particular, Severus feels he's taken a slap or perhaps a cold glass of water to the face.

What is this, then? Harry's letter makes Severus's heart pound for all the wrong reasons. His mind races, and panicked adrenaline rushes through him. Has Skeeter discovered Harry's home address? Has the wrong person got wind of Harry's "news"? Or, far more likely, has Harry realised the time has come to bin Severus? If so, he would do better to recognise that it is past due than to lament that it has come at all.

Severus sets the letter aside; he will reply tomorrow, with a steadier hand, a calmer heart.

...

Potter,

No emergency, I hope?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Sorry! No, absolutely not. Important, but not anything like an emergency. I'm completely fine.

Harry

How Severus would love to delude himself that this is some gambit of Harry's to get him alone for a fuck. But the request lacks Harry's usual flirtatious tone. Is this it, then? Presuming Harry is in earnest, and not downplaying a crisis, a desire to talk likelier than not means one thing...

Severus seriously considers forcing Harry to write whatever it is in a letter, but decides against it. He owes him this: the chance to give him the brush off in person.

But Severus can at least keep him dangling a little.

...

Potter,

If the situation is not dangerously urgent, perhaps Easter. It is hardly next week, but far sooner than July.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Easter? Won't you be at Mass?

Harry

...

Potter,

When will you put aside this strange fixation on my religious upbringing?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Just please tell me you don't observe Lent.

Harry

Lent? The remark, its suggestiveness, stops Severus in his proverbial tracks. What is going on here?

That ruiner, hope, rises in him, despite his misgivings. Does Harry still want him, despite his imminent move to the green pastures of shared university housing?

Severus must keep himself in check. Harry has been obsessed with the idea that Severus is Catholic for months; this is probably just more of the same. And even if Harry still harbours desire for Severus now, the sea of ready, available bodies that will soon surround him will wash it away quickly enough. Severus has a month to make his peace, compose himself in case he is about to get dumped, as a forty-year-old man, by a teenager.

...

Potter,

Easter was only a suggestion. I may yet be called upon to keep those students who remain here in check.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

You'll manage to find the time.

Harry

Of course he will.

Potter,

You put too much faith in my ability to finagle the Hogwarts staff schedule to my liking.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

My faith in you goes way beyond scheduling.

Harry

Perhaps Severus has misread the situation. It would not do to entertain any false hope, but Severus can't help taking himself in hand for the first time in over a week, and finds himself in a lighter mood in his lab that night, in spite of himself.

...

Potter,

You tempt me to volunteer for chaperone duty just to prove you wrong.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

That would still prove me right about your ability to get your way.

Harry

For the good of his nerves, Severus leads the conversation into less mystifying territory, the better to get him through the next three weeks of waiting.

Potter,

On the topic of those who get their way: is Granger thrilled that her favourite hanger-on now awaits university acceptance letters?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Oh, she's chuffed all right. Has about a million questions and bits of advice every time we're on the phone.

I can't decide whether it's a kindness to Hermione or an insult to me, your hanger-on remark—just kidding, I know you mean it to be rude, but joke's on you because I completely agree. I've been saying since first year that I've only ever been in the right place at the right time with the right help.

Harry

Harry is delusional if he thinks anyone else could do what he has done, even in the same times and places, with the same support. He won't write that, obviously, but a suggestion of the sentiment, just a soupçon, cannot hurt.

Potter,

You each played your own vital, singular, roles. But we need not fool ourselves that you could have achieved what you did without Granger.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Or without you.

I still have nightmares about it all, you know. About waking up in the tent and Hermione's gone and I'm just completely directionless and have to keep wandering forever. About the Shack...

Harry

With tremendous force of will, Severus resists the urge to post Harry every potion in his possession that might bring about a restful sleep; most are controlled. Now there's an idea, a non-habit-forming alternative to Dreamless Sleep? He jots a few quick thoughts down in his notebook, then writes:

Potter,

There are potions for that, you know.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

There are other remedies for bad dreams, just not at my disposal right now.

Harry

At the risk of wishful thinking, Severus cannot fathom an innocent explanation for that. He remembers Harry, holding him close in bed, gripping Severus to his chest in his sleep. Of how well Severus rested in those few, sporadic hours. The thought that Harry might somehow have news that bodes well for them dies on the vine; famous Harry may be, but the law is out of his control—what good news could there be?

Potter,

Are you still reading War & Peace? If so, take it to bed with you and read yourself into a stupor.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I am. Some of the plots are more interesting than others. Rostov fancies the Tsar something awful. Poor bloke—what a trial, to have the object of his affection so far out of reach.

Harry

Severus loses half his Saturday to giving himself a slow, drawn-out hand-job, thoughts of Harry's hand on him, of getting his hands back on Harry, suddenly feeling possible again.

When he's spent, he heads for his lab. He casts an eye to his gold cauldron, shelved for the moment, and continues his early tests on possible substitutions for the the narcotic ingredients of Dreamless Sleep in various iterations.

...

Potter,

Do not give him undue sympathy. Such unrestrained besottedness is unbecoming in a grown man. This Severus knows all too well.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

C'mon, don't be heartless. He admires the Tsar's bravery.

Harry

And there goes most of Sunday too.

...

Potter,

An admirable trait, in moderation.

Severus Snape

As if there is anything moderate about Severus's esteem.

...

Even without Harry having rekindled a dreadful hope in Severus, after sending him into a spiral with his request for an in-person conversation, there is no way he'd be able to disregard the inflammatory headline under Skeeter's byline the day before Easter Break commences.

Private Potter: Disturbed Hero or Dramatic Ham?
Wednesday 19 April 2000
Rita Skeeter

With the two-year anniversary of The Battle of Hogwarts only a fortnight away and Potter still keeping his own council, seemingly ignoring every press request and Ministry owl sent his way, magical Britain's patience has been stretched beyond breaking point.

To help our readers gain insight into what might be going on in Potter's head, I spoke to St Mungo's Mind Healer John Logan. Of Potter's situation in the aftermath of the war, Healer Logan said: "Many who survive an active conflict flounder once the conflict is over. Returning to life as usual is difficult for many, as they find themselves unable to shake a constant stream of recollections of what they went through and the painful feelings this recollections engender." When asked about how someone in a singular position of celebrity might respond to such mental strain, Logan added: "Attention can be like a drug—for some people it creates a sort of loop where they have little sense of self if they are not receiving outside attentions. So if someone knows that their behaviour gets them attention, they tend to continue in that pattern. We can see how this would be exponentially true in cases where the attention comes not from a handful of friends, family members, and the like, but from an entire country."

I followed up on Healer Logan's remarks about the addict-like behaviours of attention seekers, and whether or not it is likely that Potter could have formed some kind of chemical dependency instead of seeking help at an institution such as St Mungo's well-known Janus Thickey Ward. "Certainly, the abuse of controlled potions is an all-too-common factor that brings people to our ward. In the absence of the peace and quiet places like JT offer, many seek out stopgap solutions, including banned or controlled potions." For someone like Potter, with not one but two Gringotts vaults packed to bursting and a N.E.W.T. in Potions, maintaining such a habit would be all too easy. And that is to say nothing of Potter's recalcitrant ties to the Muggle world, where illegal non-magical substances are available for purchase on any street corner.

Those stalwart supporters that Potter has left will no doubt point out that Potter's ability to achieve his N.E.W.T., not only in Potions, but in every subject he went for, suggests he has still been in command of his faculties enough to function day-to-day, at least when he was still at Hogwarts this time last year. Moreover, as we have reported, it is a matter of record that Potter obtained a QUITTER earlier this year. But his continued absence from the enrollment records of any accredited Muggle university in the British Isles suggests that the document request itself may have been but another move in his silent bid for public and press attention. If it is the case that all is indeed well with Potter mentally and he simply relishes the mystique his protracted, purposeful absence creates, he has all the more to answer for.

For those who have held dear the very idea of The Boy Who Lived since he was still in the cradle, it is hard to fathom what's worse: that The Chosen One has lost his mind, or that he simply values press attention more highly than the concerns of his fans.

Severus spares a thought for what might have been, if Harry had been in Slytherin. Then Harry might find it honourable, instead of horrifying, if Severus were to torch The Prophet's offices on his behalf.

As it is, he keeps his expression neutral as his colleagues debate whether or not there is enough here to finally nail Skeeter with a libel suit worth some real money.

...

Severus,

Easter?

Harry

Severus looks at the letter. There can be no question.

...

Potter,

I presume you have not changed your wards.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Never.

Harry


Chapter 5: Ahead of Ourselves

Harry gets up ridiculously early on Easter Sunday. He's hard, which might be chalked up to morning glory, if he hadn't been at least half hard nearly every moment of the last few days, fantasising constantly about the prospect of Severus's arrival.

Severus is coming here, to his flat.

He hasn't been here since he showed up in August and fucked Harry's brains out. And while they've had sex a few times since, Harry is gleeful at the prospect of having Severus back in his own home. If he has his way, one day, in the not too distant future, it will be Severus's home too. But he mustn't get ahead of himself: first, share his news, then get Severus to admit properly what's going on between them, then ask Severus if he would consider living together.

He barely slept, his bedside clock haunting him with worries he'd somehow sleep through Severus's arrival. Between that and waking up with his hand gripping his aching dick every time he did manage to fall asleep, he's out of bed and in the kitchen eating breakfast well before seven.

He really wants to cook Severus breakfast, or lunch, or whatever, but he doesn't want the food to grow unappetising under a stasis charm, and he has every intention of jumping Severus the moment he arrives. It is crazy making, going months at a time with only the most careful, restrained letters. Reading them, one would think they'd never known an intimate touch. But that's the point. And it's extremely annoying. If it weren't for the barest whispers of care that Severus hides between insults and nagging, Harry himself could almost wonder if so much as a single intimate touch had ever passed between them.

After a cup of tea, Harry considers having a shower, but recalling Severus's attention to his armpits last time they were together, decides against it. He showered before bed, so he's not gross—hopefully he's in the butter zone.

Giving up trying to do anything before Severus arrives as a bad job, he curls up on the sofa and turns on Channel 4 to kill time.

Severus arrives far earlier than Harry dared hope. His eyes flit to his watch when Severus appears in his sitting room—only half nine.

"Am I keeping you from an appointment?" Severus raises a sarcastic eyebrow at Harry's lounge wear, but the effect is entirely wasted on Harry, who's already tackling him. He's across his living room, pushing Severus into one of his chairs and climbing on top, trapping Severus underneath him, as he straddles him, his knees pinning Severus's hips in place. The chair is cramped. It's perfect.

Harry licks Severus's cleanly shaven jawline. "Glad you're here," Harry says in a rush before bringing his lips to Severus's. God, how has he lived without this?

"So eager to host me in your home, I see, that you couldn't even be bothered to get dressed."

"No point," Harry observes. "Should we take this to my bedroom?" Harry asks between sloppy kisses.

"Since when are you fussy about location?" Severus asks.

Heat floods Harry's stomach, his groin. "Would it kill you to just say you can't wait either?"

Apparently it would, because Severus says nothing. He does, however, pull Harry's shirt off and wordlessly spell open the buttons of his own robes and shirt.

Harry hops out of his lap and pulls Severus to standing, Accio-ing a coat hanger for Severus's things before quickly but carefully Banishing them to the closet.

"You should just keep robes here, then I can tear yours off properly without worrying about sending you back clearly shagged."

Severus doesn't deign to answer. He leans back in the chair and reaches for Harry. Harry steps towards him, relishes the feel of Severus's hands on his arse, dragging him close enough to pull off his underwear. Leaving them on the floor, Harry taps one of Severus's exposed knees. "Lift up."

Severus lifts his arse off the chair and Harry returns the gesture, exposing Severus's erection. And just like that, it's straining up against Severus's stomach, thick, already a little wet at the head, ready for Harry.

"You want me?" Harry asks. Severus answers by pulling Harry back into his lap, back to chest this time. Severus trails deft fingers over Harry's thighs, which begin to tremble. Harry drops his head backward onto one bony shoulder and presses his whole body firmly back against Severus. He can feel Severus's ribs against his back. He wants more.

"Am I crushing you?" Harry asks.

"You don't even weigh as much as my largest cauldrons." Severus's voice is gruff, and makes Harry's cock twitch.

Harry rolls his hips, grinding his arse into Severus's erection, groaning in delicious impatience as he lets Severus's length slide up and down his cleft. Severus ruts back against him, teasing his hole with the promise of more, and a breathy, "Oh," escapes Harry. It's so, so good, and maybe another time, when the clock isn't ticking, they can spend an hour driving each other mad just like this.

"Fuck me," Harry pleads.

"You'll have to do the lion's share of the work," Severus says softly into Harry's ear, "if you want it like this."

"No problem," Harry says, galvanised. Severus's words have that effect on him. "Accio." A bottle of Severus's Salacious Salve, as he's come to think of it, flies over from his robes. A fresh rush of arousal sets fire to Harry's veins. "You came ready."

"Fail to prepare; prepare to fail."

Harry laughs softly and grinds back against him again, feels Severus's cleansing and protection spells settle over his skin. Harry gives an involuntary full-body shudder. "Fuck, the way your magic feels on me— in me—"

Severus growls and thrusts up against Harry, then snatches the lube from Harry's hand.

"Tell me you want my arse," Harry begs, still teasing himself against Severus's dick.

"I want your arse," Severus concedes.

Harry groans in pure need. "Just slick yourself. I'm ready for you." He lifts himself off Severus's lap, thighs taut, trembling, forearms bearing some of his weight on the armrests. He casts his eyes over his shoulder to watch Severus's fine fingers slide up and down his swollen cock a few times, until it's coated in a wet sheen of lube and precome.

"Ready?" Harry whines.

Severus positions his cock for Harry to seat himself on it.

"Been having a right go at myself the last few days." Harry pushes back tentatively, despite his need, trusting Severus to direct things.

Severus keeps his cock in its maddening position, just brushing up against Harry's hole. "Have you indeed? And what have you been up to, exactly?"

"Oh god," Harry keens, squirming, face burning with hot, tantalising embarrassment. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Severus moves ever so slightly, pulling his prick just back from Harry.

"Fucking myself with my dildo," Harry says in a rush, and regains Severus's erection against him for his troubles.

"Is it big?" Severus asks.

"Y— Yes," Harry admits. "But not as good."

Severus presses his cock more urgently against Harry's eager hole, and Harry pushes himself down onto the silky, slick head until it's just—oh god—inside him. It's all Harry can do not to slam himself down, take all of Severus's length inside at once. He clenches his jaw in a desperate bid for patience, lowering himself, slowly, slowly. He shivers as Severus places a warm, dry hand on his shoulder, not pressing him down faster, but just there with Harry as they come back together after too long a wait. The push of Severus into him burns a little, feels incredible, and Harry wishes he could see—watch every bit of Severus slide deeper, deeper, deeper, until Harry is completely full.

There's no time to lament his choice of position though; next thing he knows, he's sat right on Severus's lap, back flush with Severus's torso, bum flush with his hips and pelvis. His skin is already slick with sweat from the effort of holding himself up, of holding himself back. And they've barely begun.

"Hng," Harry croaks. He's hardly moving, just sitting there, wiggling minutely in Severus's lap, the better to appreciate the feel of Severus completely sheathed inside him. "Fuck. So full of you."

Severus scoops an arm across the bottom of Harry's ribs, pulling him impossibly close. "And?" Severus purrs in his ear.

"And... what?" Harry pants.

"And are you just going to sit there?"

Harry turns his neck as far as he can and sees Severus's pupils blown wide, his mouth twisted in a wicked smirk.

"No." Using his arms for leverage, Harry lifts himself off of Severus's thighs a few centimetres. "I'm going to give you the ride of your life." He sits back down, bringing him completely inside once more.

Severus laughs hoarsely. "We'll see what lasts longer, your prick or your arms."

Harry huffs a tiny laugh. He didn't know people laughed during sex, but it feels perfect to be so unguarded with Severus. "Upper body strength, don't fail me now," Harry says, jaw tight with exertion as he works to pull up a little further each time before sinking back onto Severus, taking him back in to the hilt.

His forearms are already tired, and his glasses are beginning to slide down the bridge of his nose from his sweat. But Harry finds a rhythm that, from the state of Severus's breathing, the moans that are already escaping him, Harry presumes is working for him. He hasn't managed to line Severus up perfectly with his prostate yet, but at the moment he's only fussed with sliding himself up and down Severus's shaft, again and again, bearing down each time he pushes back onto Severus, to feeling Severus's sweat against his back, for as long as he can.

Below him, Severus fucks into Harry as best he can under Harry's weight; it already feels fantastic, and then Severus shifts his hands to Harry's hips, moves Harry a little, first this way, then that, until Harry yelps, "Fuck! Yes, there!"

"Be greedy," Severus says, voice strangled. "Please yourself on me."

"You— you—" Harry whimpers, incapable of speech, balls tightening as he works to obey. It's a damn good thing Severus is holding his hips in place, otherwise he'd have completely lost the alignment. But Severus's grip is true, and the next time Harry pushes back onto him, every nerve of his prostate feels alive with the perfect pressure of Severus's length brushing up against it. Harry sets to pulling off half way, then pushing back down, over and over. He wants to up the pace, to grab his cock, but more than anything, he doesn't want this to end yet, so he keeps to his almost languid tempo.

"Been practicing our patience, have we? Do we also have your dildo to thank for this?" Severus says, cheek pressed up against Harry's neck, the hum of his voice reverberating through his skin.

Harry's eyes flutter shut against overwhelming pleasure. "You feel so good. And I want it to be good for you, too," he finally manages, despite the shortness of breath. "Is this— is this good?" He's desperate to hear Severus's voice again.

"You have no idea," Severus croaks.

"Faster?" Harry asks, desperate.

Severus licks the shell of his ear, and Harry takes that as assent.

He begins riding Severus a little faster by degrees. "Glasses," he pants out, once they threaten to fall off.

Severus pulls them delicately from his face and sends them over to the coffee table by magic. Harry mewls, clenching around him.

"Do you want my hand?" Severus asks.

"Fuck, yes," Harry hisses.

"Then ask for it."

"Hng," is all Harry gets out, head falling back onto Severus's shoulder once more in horny bliss.

"What was that?" Severus teases, though his laboured breathing tells Harry that he, too, is on the edge. It only drives Harry wilder.

"Please touch me," Harry begs.

"How?"

"I want your hand on my cock. Your hands, Severus—" but Harry loses the power of speech when Severus grasps his cock firmly, stroking him up and down, pulling his foreskin over his sensitive tip, dragging precome back down over the shaft.

"Jesus," Harry hisses. "Yes... God..." he babbles, quickening his pace as he slides himself up and down Severus in a frenzy, until all he's capable of uttering is: "Uhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh—"

Underneath him, Severus is making exquisite sounds, but what Harry really wants is for Severus to keep speaking to him—filth, the weather, Potions instructions, it doesn't matter. "Tell me something," he begs.

For a moment, the only sound between them is that of their rapid breathing, their skin coming together, their throaty groans. Then, Severus says, "Come. I want to feel you tight around me when you come in my hand."

The words might be a spell, for how instantly they take effect. As they pull Harry's orgasm from him, he feels almost too much: his arse clenched around Severus, Severus's hand urging his spunk out of him, Severus's sweaty ribs pressed once more against his back as Harry flops back onto him, arms giving out. Harry's chest heaves as he catches his breath, rides out the aftershocks, and then Severus brings his hand to his mouth and sucks Harry's come off his fingers, and Harry thinks the sight might kill him. He watches greedily, but Severus doesn't let him rest for long. After a few beats, when Harry's arse and legs have stopped clenching, relaxing a fraction, clenching again, Severus instructs him, "Finish what you started," his words muffled by Harry's hair.

Harry wouldn't dream of holding out on him. He grasps for purchase on the arm rests once more, lifting himself inelegantly off Severus's lap and taking up the task again. "Don't hold back just to prove a point."

Severus doesn't reply, just moves behind him to lick Harry's shoulder, and god... yes. Harry's mind flashes back to Inverness. He's going to give Severus the best orgasm of his life, if he can. Harry lifts one hand off the arm rest, settling for the best rocking motion he can achieve supported by just one arm. He crooks the other arm at the elbow and rests his hand on the nape of his neck to expose his armpit. "Do you want to taste me?"

"Christ..." Severus breathes, already leaning forward, just so, to lick Harry's pit, while Harry rocks on his lap.

"Your tongue on me, fuck..." Harry sputters, and Severus licks another hungry stripe, then another. Harry could just revel in it, but Severus's incredible moans impel him to find a little more energy, a little more strength, to raise himself up off of Severus that little bit higher, bring himself down just that much harder. It doesn't take long. Finally, after giving his pit a thorough tonguing, Severus's forehead drops to rest on Harry's shoulder as his hips stutter and he comes deep inside him. No sooner does Severus fill him with spunk than Harry collapses onto him. He never wants to move. He wants to do it all again. He wants.

When they come back to themselves, and Harry grudgingly gets off of Severus, he drags them upstairs for a bath. His forearms are already smarting.

"Were our eyes bigger than our stomach?" Severus crows as Harry fills the tub. "I did warn you."

"Got us both there, didn't I? Can you grab some Epsom salts?"

"You were saying," Severus says.

Harry steps into the tub. "There's no point giving me whatever look you're giving me. I can't appreciate your efforts without my glasses. The salts are under the sink."

Severus digs around under the sink and brings them over, pouring a liberal amount under the stream before settling himself into the vee of Harry's legs.

"Lie back," Harry beckons. Severus rests his head under Harry's chin. "No massive rush?" Harry asks.

"I have the afternoon."

"Great!" Harry doesn't bother to restrain his delight. Even if they don't fuck again, that's hours away. He turns off the tap with one foot, doing his best not to disturb Severus's position in front of him.

"We can have lunch."

"And?" Severus asks.

"And?" Harry repeats, excitement stirring in him again, despite the hot water. "You're already up for another go?"

"I refer to your cryptic letters."

"Oh!" Harry says. "I've been wanting to fill you in for ages. Let's soak a bit first."

Severus takes Harry's left hand in his own and pulls it into his lap.

"Sure you're not horny again— oh!"

Under the warm, briny water, Severus kneads the muscles of Harry's forearm.

"Keep that up," Harry says softly. "And I'll cook you anything you want."

They stay in the tub until Severus has had a go at both of Harry's over-exerted arms and the water becomes tepid.

...

"What do you fancy?" Harry asks, pouring boiling water into two cups for tea.

"I'm not particular."

"Yeah right," Harry laughs.

"About food," Severus clarifies, accepting a cup.

Harry grabs a carton of eggs and sets to cracking them into a bowl, tossing the shells into the sink. "I have something to show you. Table in the hall."

Severus steps out of the kitchen briefly, returning with a letter and tossing it onto the table. Harry doesn't like the set to his jaw, the stiffness that has come over his shoulders. "You are decided?" Severus says coolly.

"Yeah, reckon so," Harry says, cautiously. He wants the easy, pliable Severus of one minute ago back.

"And you couldn't put this in a letter, why?"

"You seem convinced the Ministry might intercept your post."

"They well might. They may have already."

"And I respect your concern by not putting anything that could incriminate you—us—in a letter."

"A university acceptance is hardly criminal."

"I know, but if you're right and the Ministry does get their dirty hands on any of our letters, I don't want it to be this one. I wanted you to know first, before anyone."

"Is this your sole acceptance?"

Harry smiles and whisks the eggs. "No. But the point is moot."

Understanding flashes in Severus's eyes. "You applied only to schools abroad."

Harry nods and swaps the whisk from one hand to the other.

"Your acceptance letter shows you have been accepted to study French."

"Bit obvious, I know, but—"

Severus cuts across him. "British Universities offer French degrees."

"I know, but it's better to be immersed. You told me as much in one of your letters when you were trying to put me off a New Year's visit, remember?" Harry gives him a "so there" look before adding, "And Fleur says the same."

Severus's lips thin. "Why not France?"

"Would you be less uptight, if it were France?"

Severus says nothing. No surprise there. He's clearly got his hackles up that Harry is moving, which is gratifying, though probably it's somewhat fucked up that it makes Harry feel as good as it does. Then again, considering Severus will never just say: "I don't want you to go." or "I want you here." or "I want to be with you." like a normal lover, Harry supposes it's a good job he's kind of into it.

Harry switches tack. "You know how you made fun of me for reading up on gay rights?"

Severus rolls his eyes.

"Don't be like that. Come on, have a seat again, please? We can discuss this." Severus does, though his lips remain thin and he crosses his arms standoffishly. "The Netherlands would be my first choice—they're slated to change some laws for the better in the next couple of years. But Belgium doesn't seem too far behind, and there I can be at school with a lot of French speakers."

"Off to seize your gay college experience?" Severus voice drips with condescension.

Harry shakes his head and tries to channel the anger he can feel stirring inside him into whisking the eggs for all they're worth. "No. Well, yes, really, but not like what you're suggesting. It's just... I've got to get out of here." Harry takes a deep breath. "You know that everything I do is under a microscope. Even my not doing anything makes the papers... And now that there will, erm, probably be actual news soon, couched in euphemisms as it might be..." Harry sighs. "I just don't want to have to be careful about everything I do or say or any place I go forever. If I had only myself to consider, I wouldn't mind." He tries to keep his voice even, keep Severus out of the hot seat. The last thing he needs is Severus getting even more defensive right now. "Just let the Wizengamot try and come for me," Harry continues. "But as it is..."

Harry sets the frothy bowl down on the counter and grabs cheese from the fridge, grating it quickly.

"You oughtn't to factor me into your life decisions."

"Yeah, well, I am. If I'm out of the country and the press gets wind I've gone dancing at a gay club or joined a gay campus group or whatever—which, let's face it, they will—I'll be far from here. People won't suspect I'm attached to anyone back here. You'll be in the clear."

"We are not officially attached—"

Harry tries to keep his temper, his voice, in check. Severus is just being Severus. There's no point in getting mad about that—complete waste of time. "We were pretty attached in my sitting room earlier."

"Don't argue semantics with me."

"I'm not. All jokes aside, we both know you wouldn't be here, or in Inverness, or back at yours, for a simple shag."

Severus opens his mouth to retort, but Harry heads him off. "I'm not asking you to make any grand declarations or gestures, but this is what it is. And it isn't nothing."

"Be that as it may"—Harry whoops internally. He'll take it.—"there is no need for you to go abroad. If your wish is to throw yourself into a publicly gay life, to fraternise with other gay men your own age, you can do so here." Severus's eyes take on a flat, cold look. Is he Occluding? Surely not. He knows Harry is pants at Legilimency.

"I don't need to go to uni to 'fraternise,' thanks. I can do that fine in any nightclub, if I want."

"Who's stopping you?"

"Don't pretend you want me to go around fucking every Tom, Dick, and Homo I meet."

"What you do is your own business."

"Don't pretend you wouldn't care, either," Harry snaps, then tries to rein in his temper as best he can. "I know you do," he continues after a moment. "Have you fucked anyone else since last summer?"

Severus sets his jaw. "No."

Harry gives him a "well there you have it" look. "Despite the fact we've never talked about being exclusive."

Severus opens his mouth, surely to argue, so Harry quickly adds. "It's okay, Severus. I haven't either. I didn't go these last four months without so much as a kiss, never mind a shag, because I want to jump into bed with just anyone, okay?" Harry folds the grated cheese into his delicate egg foam, restraining himself from taking out his frustration on the mixture. "The way I see it, with you at Hogwarts, we can't see each other often anyway. It won't matter if I'm living in England or Belgium or bloody Antarctica. At least this way Joanie won't take that long between trips. And I get to study out of the direct spotlight I have here. And the Wizengamot has no more to discover about you and me than they do now."

Severus's lips are pressed so thin they're barely visible.

Harry divides the mixture from his bowl into two ramekins and places them delicately into the oven. "You know, you could just admit you don't want me to leave."

Severus looks away from Harry, stares at a wall.

Harry turns away from him and sets the oven timer, using it as an excuse to take a deep, steadying breath. This could have gone much worse, he counsels himself. Severus is... not effusive. And he's petrified of getting locked up, to boot. He could have used the news as an excuse to insist their time together is at an end starting now, Apparated away... But he hasn't, because, Harry is certain, he wants this too, even if he won't admit it. Harry can handle that, as long as Severus doesn't deny it and keeps showing up.

After a few calming breaths and still no word from Severus, a light smile begins to creep across Harry's face: silence, from Severus, is as good as a confession, in Harry's book.

"Come on." Harry heads for the living room. "You can read me some War & Peace until lunch is ready."

"Can I indeed?" says Severus, voice nothing short of pissy.

"That or you could answer some of my questions about what your life was like when you were my age."

"Accio Tolstoy."

...

When the oven timer beeps in the kitchen, Harry grudgingly relinquishes his spot—head resting on Severus's lap, legs stretched over the couch, feet up on the arm—and goes to fetch their meal from the oven before it can collapse.

Severus follows him into the kitchen and sets the table without being asked.

He raises that goddamn eyebrow as Harry sets a hot soufflé down in front of him with the utmost care. "Is this part of your French kick?"

Harry shrugs and takes the seat across from Severus. "I like cooking. Sometimes."

They tuck in, and Harry is pleased with the flavour and consistency. Severus says nothing, which Harry, as usual, translates into praise.

When they've eaten, Severus clears the table, Vanishing the eggshells before setting their dishes in the sink by hand.

"It's sexy when you do things the Muggle way," Harry says, wondering if there's time for a little more manhandling before Severus has to go. But no, there's more they need to discuss—

Crack!

From the sitting room, Ron's voice calls: "Harry?"

Severus freezes where he stands.

Harry meets his eyes. To cover the sound of Severus's Disapparition, Harry shouts, "Just a second! Be right there!"

...

Severus,

Ron dropped in on me today. Bad timing. I'd had a bloke over, and Ron heard him Apparate away and found me cleaning up our dishes. Ron was pretty uncomfortable, and he's not really the person I'd confide in about a man, even if I did want to. I assured him it was a one off, and no one he knew, so he dropped it fast enough. He definitely wasn't after the details. So now I've had my first experience of someone responding to the idea of me putting this whole gay thing into practice. Not the best, but not the worst either. I'd have far preferred to have spent the rest of the day with that bloke.

Harry

...

Potter,

The Chosen One, of course, is above, trivialities like privacy wards. I knew you were cavalier when it came to your own safety, but did not realise you would risk another's privacy. Your gentleman caller would have every right to be livid.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Don't call me that. Ever.

But you're not wrong—a few additional privacy spells wouldn't go amiss, if I ever have another "gentleman caller" (who's not troubling the twentieth-century now?) 'round. I won't make the same mistake twice.

Harry

...

Potter,

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I know. Only the people closest to me have access to my house via Apparition, I swear. I'm not even on the Floo network! After I got the new place secure, it never occurred to me that I might want to be able to tweak things on the fly for certain occasions. I know better now and I've researched a couple of spells for next time I have a man here.

It's a pity I didn't have them up, because the bloke and I were chatting and I had more I wanted to say.

Harry

...

Potter,

Your wait until you see this man again should serve as a lesson in thoughtlessness. It will do you good.

Severus Snape

...

Tuesday afternoon, Pig appears, chittering with Seb and Joanie, while Harry tries to get his letter.

In addition to Ron's handwriting, there's a small clipping inside.

Harry groans. Fuck, what now?

Harry,

We are so sorry, mate. I reckon she sent someone to eavesdrop in the shop—is nothing sacred? We'll be more careful now, of course, but the damage is done and we feel terrible it's because of us. We'll pop by after closing to give you a proper apology in person, but we needed to own up.

Ron & George

Harry looks to the clipping.

The Boy Who Left?
Tuesday 25 Apr 2000
Rita Skeeter

Potter Watchers, have I got a scoop for you.

Since Harry Potter's defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named two years ago, Magical Britain has been holding its breath, waiting to see what The Boy Who Lived would do next. In August 1998, Bookmakers had 2:1 odds on Potter joining DMLE as a junior Auror without returning to school or sitting a single N.E.W.T. (and 10:1 he'd get signed to a BIQL team). Potter, famously, has done no such thing. Indeed, he hasn't seemed do anything at all, if you don't count keeping the public on tenterhooks, waiting for Potter to finish lallygagging and join the Ministry in some capacity, or otherwise commence work befitting his place in and responsibility to our community.

After Potter obtained his QUITTER mere months ago, many of his remaining supporters thought it couldn't get any worse. It can. I can now exclusively reveal, thanks to two anonymous sources close to Potter, that The Boy Who Lived will be leaving Britain to obtain a Muggle degree.

With the second anniversary of The Battle of Hogwarts just one week away, we must ask ourselves, once and for all, if this is the behaviour of The Chosen One, or a spoilt slacker with no sense of duty.

...

Harry,

Where will you be studying?

XO
Fleur

...

Harry,

Heard about The Prophet's latest. I tend to assume everything they print is rubbish, but just in case they've got it right, for once, I just want you to know I'm thrilled for you.

Tell me about it at the next football match!

Dean

...

Harry,

Can you come over tomorrow? I think some Voot Snoots have made their way into the larder, and I could use some help getting rid of them before the auditory hallucinations start up.

Luna

...

Potter,

Who squealed?

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Ron and George. They came 'round apologising for all they were worth. When Ron popped in on me recently, he saw my acceptance letter, and I filled him in and told him he could tell the family if he wanted. I suppose he told George in the shop, and someone must have overheard. They're beside themselves. I won't be surprised if George sends a parcel of their foulest stink bombs to the Prophet's "Potter Watch" (blegh) desk.

Anyway, it's out there now. This kind of shit is exactly why I need to get well shot of England for a while. It's bad enough being The Chosen One one day, a nutter another, and a good-for-nothing loafer on weekends. When the press gets wind I'm gay I reckon it'll be worse than fifth year, especially now the wind has changed out of my favour again.

Harry

...

Potter,

Highly indiscreet of the Weasleys, which is hardly surprising.

There will be hell to pay from the press, one way or another. You should also make an appointment at Gringotts. I wouldn't put it past the Ministry to try and hit you with every antiquated tax on the books while you're living abroad.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

I'm mad the story broke this way, but not at Ron and George, and not so much so that I've any intention of changing my mind. In a way, I'm almost glad it happened. It confirms I'm making the right call. I just don't have the energy to stay as vigilant about every little thing as I would need to in order to have an ounce of privacy here.

Harry

...

Potter,

Be at your home tomorrow between 9 and 11 P.M.

Severus Snape

...

Severus,

Of course.

Harry

...

The first thing Severus does after appearing in Harry's kitchen is cast a battery of privacy wards and misdirection spells.

"Prick," Harry says lightly. "I told you I won't make the same mistake twice."

"You should leave," Severus says abruptly.

"What? I— You just got here!"

"I don't mean now. I mean as soon as possible. Now that Skeeter has something tangible to work with, she'll be ten times more tenacious. I am not sure if your friends have been too delicate to let you know that she has already started stoking rumours you may have a drug problem. She will write anything—anything—and people will believe it. The press is going to find you out sooner or later. You are determined to leave to gain distance from precisely this kind of tabloid attention. Why wait until the next school year starts?"

"I—" Harry tries. Nothing comes out. He looks at his hands. "Because of you."

"Me?" Severus says skeptically.

"The summer. I thought..." Harry chances a look at Severus.

"I see."

"Was I wrong?" Harry asks.

"I have professional obligations. July is my own, but August—"

Harry perks up, interrupts. "But you don't have to be at the castle, or spend time there, or whatever, until then, right? August? Like last year?" Severus doesn't speak straight away, and Harry blurts, "I want you to stay here." His eyes flit to the counter on reflex, but he forces them back to meet Severus's.

"What?" Severus asks.

Harry clears his throat. "I want you to move in here, when you're not teaching."

"I came here to discuss your move. Not—"

Harry won't be distracted or derailed. They don't have the time. "Will you move in with me?"

"Whatever you are imagining—"

"Don't do that. Don't go off on a tangent. I asked you a question."

"I live ten months of the year at Hogwarts."

"I'm asking you to live the other two with me. I know you're determined not to say it out loud—that we're something to each other. Whatever. You're repressed. English man of a certain age et cetera. That's fine. But you don't seem to have a problem actually being together. So." Harry shrugs. "Let's be together."

"Absurd—"

"Give me a concrete reason why not."

"We are trying to prevent word getting out."

"You are," Harry clarifies. Then, at the sour look on Severus's face, quickly adds, "And I understand you're afraid of Azkaban. That's understandable. But it's like you say: you're at Hogwarts most of the year. I'll also be gone during the school year, at least for the next few years."

"All of which would render your proposition pointless."

"There's still the other two months."

"Your friends and family will be more eager than ever to spend every possible moment with you after you move," Severus observes.

Harry takes a deep breath. "What if a few people knew?"

"Absolutely not."

Harry holds up his hands. "Just a few! I'm not suggesting we make an announcement in the Gryffindor common room or anything. Just the people closest to me."

"The ones who were so careful with private news of your university acceptance that it was in the paper within the week?"

The wind rushes from Harry's lungs. "Look, I get why you're so paranoid. I really do. The Ministry and Wizengamot are fucked. But you can't actually believe we can keep this a secret forever." As he says it, it strikes Harry that Severus kept deadlier secrets from more dangerous parties for years...

"Certainly not," Severus agrees, which Harry finds odd.

"Right then—"

"Oh no." Severus honest to god wags his finger. Harry wants to break it. "Do not mistake me. That I did not intend on keeping this an ongoing secret is not tantamount to my acceptance that anyone find out."

Realisation hits Harry like a rampaging Hippogriff. "You never planned on staying with me." He feels his throat constrict.

"I never anticipated your fancy would last as long as it has."

"My fancy?" Harry gets out of his chair.

"You know what I refer to. We need not kid ourselves that our..." Severus's jaw clenches and he hisses out his next words. "That this situation would satisfy you in the long term."

"It's been almost a year!" Harry shouts and clenches his fists at his sides. "And I don't know how I could possibly make it more clear that I want you."

"Eventually, the reality of the situation will sink in. You are soon to leave for school. Now is as good a time as any to make a... fresh start."

"You came here to try and convince me to break up with you?"

"Break up?"

"Stop being obstinate on purpose! It's not going to work! If you want to protect your secrecy above all else, that's just fine. And if you insist on thinking some rubbish like I'd be happier with someone else, that's up to you. But I won't let you pretend that I'm just having some kind of weird, extended I-dodged-death lark."

Harry crosses the distance between them and jabs his finger aggressively into Severus's chest. "You came here to encourage me to leave. I am telling you that I have no intention of stopping being with you just because I'm moving. You keep reminding me how much time the school year takes up. So what difference does it make if I'm in Brussels or London? What's a real, actual problem with you moving in here?"

"How would you explain my presence to the Weasleys? Even if they did not have carte blanche to come and go as they please, you do not propose, I assume, to tuck me away in the attic."

"Of course not." Harry scrubs at his face. "I thought we could... Okay, so you don't want the Weasleys to know. What about Hermione?"

"Granger lives in Australia for the duration of her own post-graduate studies, does she not?"

Harry nods. "But in principle."

"Granger at least has enough sense not to spill your secrets where anyone might hear."

"So I can—"

"No."

"Ugh!" Harry stamps a foot, then grabs Severus by the shoulders. He wants to shake him. "So what?"

"You tell me."

"Come with me."

Severus takes a step back, freeing his shoulders from Harry's grasp. "Now I know that you aren't serious."

"I am! You don't want to end up in Azkaban. Fine. I don't want you there either. So come with me. What's keeping you here?"

"My job, my obligations..."

"A job you hate?" says Harry. "What else?"

"We have not all got the voluminous fortunes of two Gringott's vaults—"

"Yeah, well, as you love to point out, I have. So come with me. Spend the time between now and the end of summer dusting off your French. I'm sure Master Potioneers are in demand everywhere. And if not, I can support us."

Severus turns away from him. "You are too young to make these kinds of offers. You don't know—"

"Fine." Harry clenches his jaw. It's time to compromise. It's the last thing he wants to do—back down, give an inch; it's not in his nature—but he has to put his long term wishes before his impulse to stubbornness for its own sake. Eye on the prize; approach the Snitch carefully to avoid scaring it off. "Spend this summer with me." He pulls Severus back around, towards him. "July," he appends, wanting to head the obvious objections off at the pass. "Join me for July. Travel with me to Belgium. Spend the month with me, properly. Not pretending we're only fucking. Not just the easy stuff. Talk to me. Be with me. And then we'll see who's just dillydallying in a passing fancy."

"We can be spotted in Belgium, as in Britain—"

"No!" Harry shouts. "None of that. We won't tell anyone where we're going. Won't show our faces in the vicinity of any magical neighbourhoods. I'll have my Cloak. I'll bleach my hair. We'll fucking Polyjuice—I don't care. Whatever it takes." Harry's hitting his stride now, jaw set, determined. "I refuse for this to be it! We didn't survive for this. I haven't changed my mind. If you—" He stops, looks at Severus, defiance trumping a small mote of insecurity that remains about this whole thing. "If you don't want to be with me, you know," Harry clears his throat, tries not to lose the head of steam he's built up, "like a real... thing, all you have to do is say so. If you've only been in this for the sex, tell me now. I'm not saying I'll be dancing a jig about it, but I'll accept it. But if you're only saying no because—"

"Not everything comes down to what or whom one wants or does not!" Severus snarls. "There are other factors in people's lives."

"Not for us!" Harry yells, and finds he means every word. "That's fine for other people, but you and I know what each of us has given up already! And I'm not doing it anymore! It's about goddamn time I got to have something I wanted for real!" Harry hates himself for saying it. It sounds selfish and superior and any number of things he prefers to consider the purview of others. But, he tells himself, it isn't about being owed happiness. It's about being allowed to choose.

"As usual, you are being obstinately high-minded about practical realities—"

"Don't give me that," Harry interjects. "We both know it's not right, and it makes me fucking angry! Look, if they'd got you for something you did for The Order, using Unforgivables or something, I'd fight tooth and nail and kiss every Ministry arse and spend every Galleon I have to get you out. I'd bust you out, if it came to it. But I'm not seeing you throw in the towel to avoid going down for a centuries old anti-buggery law! It's just not happening! Not after everything... It's not fair to anyone, and you—" Harry finds that words adequate to describe what Severus deserves fail him. He takes a step closer to Severus, grabs one of his hands, rubs his thumb across the back of it. "Just, please?"

Severus's eyes flit to a wall before meeting Harry's properly. "Hopeless causes are a young Gryffindor's game," he says in a resigned tone.

Harry pulls Severus's hand to his mouth, brushes a kiss across his perfect knuckles. "You're as brave as any Gryffindor, and you're forty, Severus. That's like twenty in Muggle years..."

"Wouldn't that make you—"

"Shut it." Harry kisses Severus, on the mouth this time, to make sure he does. "So?"

...

Spring passes mercifully quickly, the days whizzing by as Harry prepares for July. Hermione, despite her distance from The Prophet offices, rings him every other day, indignant about the latest rumours Skeeter is spreading about him. Since the beginning of May, Skeeter has been spinning the classics (responsibility, or rather, Harry's lack of it; whether he ought to be whatever Mind Healers call getting Sectioned, or is just desperate for attention) but is also expanding upon her drug allegations: perhaps he is now a hopeless drunk? Or is a shut in? Or starting a cult? When he'd initially declined his Order of Merlin (Severus being snubbed pisses him off to this day), the press had been comparatively indulgent, willing to entertain the idea that it might be out of modesty, humility, traits becoming of a conquering hero. But after refusing to appear as a figurehead at the Battle of Hogwarts memorial for its second anniversary amidst rumours he's up and leaving the country all together—it can't be borne. His name sells too many papers.

If it weren't for the fact that he'd rather swallow one of Severus's most painful poisons than give the press the satisfaction, he'd call a presser of his own to inform everyone that yes, he is moving, that, as a matter of fact, he can't get off this fucking island and away from them all fast enough—the better to get rogered on the right side of the law.

The only thing getting him through the wait is the knowledge that he's scored another victory against Severus. Harry doesn't trouble himself over thinking about his relationship like a battlefield. His heart has set itself on Severus Snape, after all.

Severus, with whom he'll be living for a whole month, like a proper couple. Well, a proper couple who hide their existence from everyone they know. But still.

So Harry can live with the libel and the speculation and an entire country thinking he owes them something. Because it's almost over. And it doesn't hurt that his travel plans represent not only a point to Harry in the victories column, but also give him a proper excuse to drag personal information out of Severus.

"Where were each of your parents born?" Harry asks, Biro poised over a passport application form.

"It's pointless, being truthful about any of it. We have to enchant the thing anyway."

He's not entirely wrong, of course, but Harry looks at the bright side. "You said yourself the spell isn't iron clad. The more information on here that can be verified by Muggle means, the better. That way whatever clerk ends up with it will want to process it, no fuss no muss."

"Birmingham. Both."

Harry fills in the blanks on the form.

Severus grumbles, but doesn't bother giving him a proper telling off. There's not the time. Harry's sure Severus will get him retroactively in July. Frankly, he's just happy they'll have the chance.

...

Severus,

I have it.

Harry

Not a moment too soon, Harry thinks. It would have been horrible if Severus had such a good out to bail on the whole thing.

...

July 1st, Harry is at Spinner's End with their passports and everything he's packed in a Hermione-special rucksack. Severus, having come from Hogwarts, is already packed.

When Severus appears, Harry considers postponing their departure just long enough to finally make good use of Severus's writing desk. But they have to go. They have to get to London to catch the Eurostar.

"Ready?" Harry asks.

"Just a moment." Severus heads for his lab and comes back a few minutes later a different person. When he enters the sitting room, Harry startles, despite knowing it was coming.

Severus nods towards the door, and Harry follows him outside, trying not to be weirded out by heading off with Severus in the guise of some random person.

Outside, Harry takes in the dingy stoop with a nostalgic eye—where it all began. Next to him, Severus is all business, apparently unburdened with soppy thoughts. That or determined to arrive early for their train. Probably both. He waves his wand in several complex motions and mutters incantations over the front door.

"I love it when you do difficult magic," Harry tells him.

"Save it for the continent."

"As if your place isn't warded for miles in every direction."

"Not miles."

"Whatever," Harry says. "Let's get the fuck out of here."


Chapter 6: Just Like You Imagined

St Pancras is a zoo. Severus leads the way to their platform. People just move out of his way, and Harry, tailing him closely, gets the benefit of a clear path, as well as a view of Severus's bum in jeans that would be very welcome, if Severus were in his own body. When they board the train and find their seats, Harry takes Severus's suitcase from him and pops it in an overhead compartment. Severus raises a brow at the gesture and takes his seat. Harry slides in next to him, swinging his rucksack off one shoulder and around so it's in his lap. Silently, Severus removes what appears to be a copy of Heat from the inner pocket of his cord jacket and begins reading.

Harry glances around them from behind the sunglasses and brim of a baseball cap he's donned just in case, watching the other passengers stream in. Soon the Eurostar is packed and, after it departs and the minutes of the journey pass one after another, Harry finds his head is spinning.

It is unspeakably peculiar, sitting here on a Muggle train next to Severus. For the first time since Harry began invading Spinner's End a year ago, he has no idea how he's supposed to behave. At such comparative liberty with Severus (Polyjuice or no Polyjuice), a new, unwelcome sensation creeps over him: anxiety. Harry finds himself wondering whether they're being clocked. Severus has teased Harry about being obvious a few times, and while Harry's pretty sure that has more to do with Severus's habit of concerning himself with Harry's safety than with Harry's behaviour or demeanour, Harry contemplates whether or not he's the kind of man that looks gay. It's not typically meant as a compliment, when most people make that sort of observation. Then again, Harry is gay and, the inevitable need to deal with life's twats aside, he's perfectly happy with that. Certainly not embarrassed.

No, if strangers think he's gay, who cares? If strangers think he's gay with Severus, though... What's the etiquette here? Harry's not shy with Severus, when it's just the two of them, but he has precisely zero practical experience of conducting himself in public with a gay lover. Is it glaringly obvious to everyone on this train that they're together? They aren't touching. What will people assume, looking at the two of them, travelling together? What if the wrong person can just tell? Knowing he can't just hex anyone who might have a go at them, Harry actually feels a little paranoid. He'll defend Severus tooth and nail by Muggle means, of course. Dudley and his cohort gave him plenty of practice. But Harry just doesn't need anyone to start something, to give Severus yet another reason to protest the relationship.

The purpose of this trip, aside from spending some real time with Severus for a change, is convincing him that Harry is not just an acceptable lover, but a viable partner. If Severus weren't about ten times better at magic than Harry and would certainly be able to tell, he'd cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm, just to make sure no trouble comes to find them. But he won't give Severus the satisfaction. Severus will seize on any reason to argue that a proper relationship can never work between them, whether he really believes it or not. Harry's not having it. He knows the way Severus looks at him, the way Severus frets about his safety, his privacy, replies to his letters, chats with him about books, makes fun of him for wasting his time on movies and telly, indulges Harry's musings about his friends and his questions about magic. Harry knows the taste of Severus's tongue after he's licked sweat and come off Harry's skin.

He'll just have to stay alert and restrained to avoid trouble from arseholes. But the prospect of going about, acting like they aren't together is almost worse than a confrontation. Harry had enough of that in Britain. He hates the idea of modulating his behaviour to fly under people's gaydar. He is with Severus and he wants to act like it. It's not like Harry needs to be all over him wherever they are. Arse-over-teakettle Harry may be, but keeping his tongue in his mouth in public has never been a problem for him. Still, he wouldn't recoil if Severus were to take his hand. Would he? What of Severus? What if, far from Britain, under Polyjuice, Harry touched him in public? Would there be hell to pay? Would Harry even be bold enough to reach for him in the first place? The idea of actively avoiding even the most casual touches, too much eye contact, a certain tone of voice, just in case is deeply uninviting.

Desperate for a distraction, Harry rustles around in his rucksack for the Discman he'd bought just for this trip and puts on Moon Safari. He has to hold the CD player absurdly still, like a butler proffering a tray, but the calming music helps take the edge off his worries.

Next to him, Severus annotates his "magazine." A little odd to be marking up an apparent tabloid with red Biro, perhaps, but Severus's general don't-fuck-with-me aura prevents any fleeting looks from fellow passengers turning into muttered conversations behind hands about the eccentric man dressed too warmly for the weather. Harry watches Severus's hands at work, movements deft despite the unfamiliar body, and resolves that whatever he has to do to get by out in the world with Severus, make this trip work, convince Severus they work, is worth it.

...

Harry flops onto the bed of their hotel in Paris. "How long since you last topped up the Polyjuice? I want to see you."

Severus places his luggage on the foldable luggage rack before reaching into a pocket and stepping out of Harry's sight line. Harry hears sounds of pain, then relief, and after a minute, Severus—really Severus—is before him.

Harry beams. "Was that a known counter-potion?"

Severus shakes his head. "It is one of my own design."

"Did you come up with it just for this trip?"

"Obviously."

Harry feels lightheaded. "Will you publish that?"

"I think not. Polyjuice has certain connotations that are best avoided in any work attached to my name, at least for the time being."

Harry frowns. "That's wank. Your work is brilliant. Is there another Potion you'd like to develop? A formula you want to improve? Another hack you want to annihilate in print?"

Severus sets his shoes by the door. "There is never a shortage of those."

Harry laughs. "You're so mean."

"That did not used to endear you."

"Well, no, but when you're giving mediocre potioneers a tongue-lashing and not terrifying students, it's sexy and endearing instead of infuriating."

"Is that so?"

"It is," Harry tells him matter-of-factly. "What were you annotating on the train? I know it wasn't Heat."

"Why all this interest in my publishing prospects?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "I'm interested. You're so good at magic. If you count the Half-Blood Prince, it's the first thing that attracted me to you. You still love potion and spell craft, don't you? You were inventing spells at sixteen...."

"If spell craft interests you, you could take it up yourself."

"No, I—" Harry pauses, searching for the right words. "I just mean... It's really impressive—sexy—that you know the ins and outs of magic so well. I love magic, but I'm happy using what I've been taught, what I can look up in a book, pick up from someone. But you..." Harry hesitates again, worries his lip. "You're interested in how magic works, aren't you?"

"It has always interested me," Severus answers.

The admission turns Harry on, and he smiles. "Exactly. So now that we're not living every moment in mortal peril and you're free of trying to"—Harry clears his throat—"protect me, you can take on your own research again, right?" Harry pauses, and when Severus doesn't answer, keeps needling. "Come on, what was it?"

"A woefully un-thought-through article."

"Oh?" Harry starts disrobing and is pleased when Severus follows his lead. "So you are working on something."

"Perhaps. Though it hardly seems worth the effort. Everyone who's earned even an O.W.L. knows that Bowtruckle bark is a common allergen best left out of any medicinal potion."

"And by 'everyone who's earned even an O.W.L.' you mean, what? You and four other Potions geniuses?"

"Incompetents should not be publishing."

"Well, there you have it then." Harry pats the bed. "Write a refutation. Or publish a whole article on why Bowtruckle bark has no place in modern brewing."

Severus, now gloriously nude, joins Harry on the bed. "Yes, dear," he says in a high, sarcastic tone, and Harry could swear he feels his heart actually stop beating at the words, despite the unbridled bitchiness of the sentiment.

Harry works very hard to play it cool, rolling onto his stomach and propping his chin on his crossed arms. "You'll put them in their place right enough. Make another subpar potioneer weep."

"With a smile."

"And me?"

Severus looks at Harry, cocks a brow. Harry can see his penis begin to swell. "What about you?"

Harry gives Severus his best effort at bedroom eyes. "Will you put me in my place?"

"And where, exactly, are you hoping I'll put you?"

"Anywhere you like. The clock's ticking, after all."

Severus frowns, but follows Harry's lead. "Dare I ask what clock?"

"My birthday's at the end of the month. You better make the most of my teenage arse while you can."

Severus repays Harry's cheekiness with a sharp smack on said arse.

"Mmmm..." Harry ruts into the bed, cock already hard against the coverlet. "That's a start."

Severus gives the same cheek another smack, this time grabbing it afterward in a grip so firm Harry wonders if he'll be bruised, and pulling just a little, enough that Harry knows Severus must be able to see his hole. The thought of Severus looking at him like that has him blushing and grinding his erection between his stomach and the bedding for a bit of friction. He can feel a small wet patch forming.

With a firm hand, Severus rolls Harry onto his side, takes in his boner, shiny at the tip, the wet patch on the blanket, then looks Harry in the face with wolfish eyes. Severus's cheeks are pink, his cock hard and thick now.

"I need you," Harry tells him.

Despite being visibly aroused, Severus tsks and guides Harry back onto his stomach. "So impatient."

"Been months," Harry whinges, humping the bed some more, just to see the look it puts on Severus's face. He isn't disappointed.

Severus's erection twitches. "Perhaps we ought to make the most of our time, then?"

"Yeah?" Harry's breath catches. "What did you have in mind?"

"Teaching you some patience."

Harry nods enthusiastically. "Whatever you say. Just touch me."

Severus does, but it is not what Harry expects. He grabs Harry's hips, presses down firmly, effectively preventing Harry from frotting against the bed.

"Hey!" Harry starts to complain.

"No whining," Severus tells him sharply.

Harry shuts up instantly.

"And no moving unless I move you."

Harry's prick throbs where it's pinned in place, and he nods.

"Answer me, when I speak to you."

"Yes, sir," Harry says, infusing as much cheek as he can into the word, heart racing, face burning hotter. "I won't move."

"Good. Now," Severus says, keeping his hands on Harry's hips as he climbs astride him, "let's see how patient you can be."

Harry presses his face into the bed and groans in luscious frustration. The weight of Severus sat on the back of his thighs is superb, but he needs so much more.

Severus slides his hands from Harry's hips to palm his arse, spreading Harry's cheeks for another look. "Eager," he observes.

Harry's hips reflexively try and regain some friction, only to be thwarted by Severus's position atop him. Harry breathes deep, represses an impatient hiss.

As if sensing this, Severus shifts above him, and—

"Fuck!" Harry calls into the bedding at the feel of Severus's large, hard length in his crease.

Positioned thus, Severus doesn't move.

"Please," Harry begs.

"Please?" Severus prompts.

"Please give it to me."

"Give you what?"

"Your cock."

Severus presses against him harder, but doesn't otherwise move. "This?"

Harry nods vigorously. "Yes."

Severus presses harder still and his voice is diabolical. "If I roll you over and you manage not to touch yourself, then we'll see."

Harry bites down on his lip so hard it hurts, but manages to get out a rough, "I can. I wanked in your bed this morning, you know."

Voice deep, ferocious, Severus says, "Pervert," and raises himself off of Harry just enough to flip him onto his back. He nudges one of Harry's thighs with a knee to urge his legs apart. When Severus is settled, kneeling between Harry's knees, Harry stops breathing in anticipation.

After far too long, Severus reaches forward and brushes a thumb over Harry's sack. The touch is maddeningly light, and Harry bites his lower lip again, resisting the urge to hump Severus's hand. He may be insane with want, but he loves being driven mad by Severus.

Nodding approvingly, Severus thumbs one ball, then the other, and leans forward until his mouth is at Harry's straining erection, lips so close they just graze the skin as he tells Harry, "If you show me you can contain yourself, I will fuck you."

Harry nods for all he's worth. "I promise."

Without a word, a single movement, Harry feels Severus's charms over his junk, his arse. He shivers. "I'll never get enough of feeling your magic," Harry breathes, heart soaring and cock throbbing when he sees the heat flare in Severus's eyes. Harry never takes his eyes off Severus as he moves that smug mouth to the base of Harry's aching dick and drags his lower lip up the shaft. More precome leaks out, and Harry manages not to thrust into Severus's mouth, even when Severus reaches the crown and licks the precome off it, tongue gently probing the slit. "Hnng," Harry moans, straining not to move. No matter how good an idea it may seem, he trusts that whatever Severus has in mind is better.

"We are teachable with the right motivation, I see."

"Mmm hmm," Harry agrees.

Severus rewards Harry's reserve with more tongue, pressing it flat against Harry's glans over and over.

"So good..." Harry whimpers, then loses the plot entirely when Severus takes him into his mouth. The wet heat of it is shattering. "Severus— Severus I'll—"

Severus lifts off of him long enough to advise, "Don't come," before taking him back in and swirling his tongue over the head, never ceasing his gentle caress of Harry's balls, his taint.

"I— I—" Harry tries to protest, decides his efforts are better spent trying to rein in his building orgasm. He squeezes his eyes shut, worried that the mere sight of Severus's lips stretched around his dick will undo him. Right now he feels like one forceful move would tip him over. But Severus is carefully avoiding all such moves—not sucking hard, not bobbing up and down on Harry's hard-on. Harry has no idea how long Severus treats him to the exquisite torture of just-not-enough of his mouth.

He's so overstimulated it hurts when he moans, "More, please— please—"

Severus sits up, nipping up Harry's abdomen until he reaches his nipples, then licking and biting and making Harry wriggle under his teasing mouth. He moves next to Harry's armpits, giving them the same torturous treatment.

Harry is whimpering and squirming by the time Severus orders him back onto his stomach. He's supine again in a trice, prick insisting he just hump the bedding, if that's what it takes to get off right this moment. He does not. He's come this far, and he's not giving up the chance to find out what else Severus has in store—not if he can help it, anyway.

With gentle fingers, Severus moves Harry's head so his neck is turned, his right cheek resting against the coverlet, and looks Harry in the eye as he dips a finger inside his mouth and brings it out, spit slick. "Would you like a finger?"

"Just one?"

"Where's that famous, Gryffindor force of will? You can't want a fuck that much, if you've so little resolve..."

"Yes, give me your finger. Please."

Severus grabs one of Harry's arse cheeks to give himself better access and presses the digit inside him.

Despite his best efforts, Harry reflexively grinds himself back against Severus's finger, arse desperate for more attention.

"Now, now," Severus chides, pulling the finger partially out.

Harry squeezes around it. "I'll be still," he promises through clenched teeth. Sweat is rolling into his eyes.

Severus presses the finger back in. He's not even stretching Harry, just teasing, pulling it out to brush feather-light touches over the ring of Harry's muscle, then pressing back in lazily. When Harry's long since withstood more of this than he ever thought he could, Severus asks, "Another?"

"Y— yeah— please, another."

This time, Severus Summons his special brew from his suitcase, and Harry shudders as Severus tips it over him, as the liquid silk drips over his needy hole.

Severus gives him two fingers, this time working Harry open, but not seeking out his prostate.

"I'm ready," Harry says, as if it'll be of any use.

"Ready for what?"

"Your cock," Harry says, voice strained with need.

"I've barely prepared you."

"I'm ready," Harry insists.

"Sometime I will have to see these toys that keep you so ready."

Harry nods. "You can fuck me with them. Or put something in me along with your cock."

Roughness colours Severus's tone of forced composure, as he asks, "Does your eagerness outstrip your patience?"

"No— yes—" Harry doesn't know what to say. All he cares about is getting Severus inside him.

"Which is it?"

Harry tries to steady his quickening breath. "I can be patient."

Severus pours more lube over Harry's arse, then takes them back to the start, getting astride Harry again and bringing his cock to rest in Harry's cleft.

"Jesus— Jesus—" Harry pants, heart thudding.

Severus begins rocking against him, the lube making his prick feel like hot, hard silk as it glides across Harry's hole again and again.

Harry is making sounds he didn't know he had in him and is gratified that Severus, too, is keening above him. The mere brush of Severus's cock against him feels far better than it has any right to, and Harry knows that if he were permitted to rut against the bed, push back against Severus, he could get off like this. As it is, he rides out the teasing, getting sweatier by the minute, trying to commit every moan Severus makes to memory.

The muscles in his legs ache from clenching and Harry is about to throw caution to the wind and just start begging—whatever it takes to get Severus inside him, when Severus breaks the contact.

"More patience than I could have hoped," Severus says, voice husky. "And look." Harry eyes him as best he can over his shoulder. Severus looks at his own cock, glistening with lube from frotting against Harry. "Already slick."

"Fuck," Harry croaks.

"Yes, I think so."

Harry whimpers into the coverlet, beyond speech at the prospect of finally having him.

"Bring your arse to your heels, and your elbows to your knees."

Harry assumes the position with gusto and Severus moves right up behind him. "Now, what was it you wanted?"

"Your cock."

"How much?"

"All of it. Now. Please."

Harry forces a stream of air through pursed lips in his attempt to keep control of himself as Severus presses against Harry and slides slowly home. "I'm going to come."

Severus holds still. "Not yet."

"Severus, I can't—"

"You can. Don't touch yourself. Stay still. Let me."

"Hnng," is all Harry utters, when Severus starts pulling slowly out. He's afraid Severus is going to give them both blue balls out of stubbornness, but, when only the tip of his prick is still inside, he pushes back in, just as slowly.

Harry bears down around him. Finally, finally, finally. This is all he wants. "Worth the wait," Harry pants.

"I did tell you," Severus says, velvety voice strangled with pleasure as he continues rocking in and out of Harry at his same, slow pace.

"You were right. You—" Harry's mouth snaps shut when Severus moves a little, presses at the small of Harry's back with a hand, shifts his own hips, until Harry shouts, "Yes! God! Fuck! There!"

"Then let's really put your patience to the test, shall we?"

"Like you haven't been putting me to the test already!"

"I thought you said I was right." Positioned just so, Severus slows the pace of his thrusts, sliding back and forth across Harry's prostate so slowly that Harry thinks he'll come on the spot—that he'll never be able to come at this pace—never be able to come again. He's a wreck.

As Harry's balls begin to tighten, he must make some telltale sound, because Severus pulls right out.

Harry lets out a frustrated laugh, then bawls, "You've got to be joking!"

Severus leans forward to speak softly into Harry's ear with that voice that is pure sex. "I admit, you've showed far more restraint than I thought possible."

"I want— I need—"

"Need what?" Severus presses back against Harry's entrance.

"I need you to fuck me until I come. Until my arse makes you come. I'm pretty sure my life depends on it. Please. I've been so close—right there—for ages."

Severus moans as he presses back inside. "How fortuitous; our goals are in alignment."

"You fucker," Harry huffs a breathy, wrecked laugh. "Get us off already!"

Severus stills, half inside him. "Have my efforts so far not been to your liking?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not that— I've never— never—"

Severus brushes his prostate again, groans, "Jesus Christ," when Harry clenches so tight around him he's surprised Severus can still move. "Never what?"

"Never imagined it could be this good, in all my fantasies."

Without another word, Severus shifts gears and begins ploughing Harry through the mattress. Taking that as his cue, Harry begins thrusting back to meet him, relishing the sounds in Severus's throat each time Harry meets him, bears down around him.

When Severus reaches an arm around Harry, takes him in hand, and tugs in time with his thrusts, that's it. Harry yells in pleasure, covers Severus's hand in spunk, clenches tight around Severus, who just keeps fucking Harry until he fills him with hot come.

Together, they ride out the aftershocks, let the afterglow settle over them, steady their breathing, until Severus has to pull out or fall out.

After Severus cleans them up, Harry tells him: "That was so good, I almost get why it's illegal."

...

When Harry wakes abroad for the first time, it is early morning, the sun not yet fully up. Harry is on his back, arse satisfyingly sore, holding Severus to his chest. Harry breathes him in. Carefully, with the arm Severus isn't pinning to Harry's side, Harry lifts the coverlet, takes in the picture of Severus's naked, relaxed body, the impressive morning glory that Harry can't wait to get his hands on later, and smiles. There is no rush. The feeling of getting to go back to sleep, to savour Severus asleep on him, to have no clock ticking down the moments they can share today, is intoxicating, addictive. Harry never wants to give it up and decides it is best not to think about how, while there's no rush today, one whole night of their month together is already gone.

...

They spend the first several days of their holiday in Paris, drinking black coffees, strolling the boulevards, taking in the sights, perusing the shelves of rare book stores, and giving the largely magical districts a wide berth, despite Severus being Polyjuiced wherever they go.

Harry wouldn't mind seeing them, but France is way too close to risk being seen and having the press get wind of his whereabouts. With France one of many countries that no longer observes the Statute of Secrecy, its magical community is far less siloed from the Muggle world, so there's already a decent chance they are passing more magical people than they would out and about in London. And then there are the Death Eaters to consider. What if they were to get wind of Harry? Move on him and discover Severus, despite the disguise? The Malfoys, Rosiers, and Lestranges all have thriving branches of the family in France, and Severus needs to be kept safe from family members disgruntled about the fate of their kin. Poor Severus: traitor amongst the Death Eaters and their sympathisers, reviled amongst the rest for doing what he had to do. What no one else could ever have done. For making sure they all get to enjoy a Voldemort-free world now. It makes Harry violent to think about the appalling lack of respect.

He tries to shake off the thought, enjoy their shopping.

In a store full of rare, Muggle books, Harry grabs a lovely hardback copy of The Count off the shelf and goes in search of Severus. He finds him in a section of dusty early-modern alchemical treatises—the Muggle variety, naturally. Though Severus says that occasionally one can find the real deal mixed in amongst Muggle books because works on alchemy are already so off the wall that genuinely magical ones barely seem out of place.

Severus glances at Harry as he fingers—with fingers not his own—the rows of spines on the shelves. "You already have that."

"Not in French. You said I should read the original. That could be like, my goal or whatever, for when I finish my degree."

"Not unless you start practicing."

"I know, I know." Harry looks around nervously. "I swear my reading and writing are coming along. Fleur even told me my letters aren't completely embarrassing anymore."

"You will not be able to avoid speaking aloud at school."

"But in class I'll be with other people as green as I am." Harry looks to the front of the shop, where a woman in an impeccably crisp pants suit looks bored. He shakes his head.

"Since when are you worried about making yourself impressive to the opposite sex?"

"I'm not and you know it. I just don't want to look like a prat in front of a cool Parisian. My confidence will be shot before I even get to uni..."

...

Next morning, over breakfast in the hotel restaurant, behind a Muffliato, Harry asks, "Do you think you need to Polyjuice every time we're out?" He tries to sound dispassionate, as though the question is hypothetical, but Severus cuts to the quick.

"An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."

"I know," Harry grumbles, giving up any pretense that the question isn't loaded. "I just hate looking at you and seeing someone else."

Severus's—not Severus's—face goes a little pinched, but Harry's insides leap with hope when Severus concedes, "Perhaps elsewhere. We know too many people with connections here."

"I only know Fleur, and she lives in Angers."

"Nonetheless, people visit the capital from time to time."

"Maybe. She was pretty down when she left Hogwarts. I wouldn't be surprised if she spends the whole summer close to home."

Severus makes his face blank, which tells Harry he's containing his interest in the gossip.

"She fancies Professor McGonagall something awful."

"Minerva is a very distinguished woman."

Harry nods his agreement. "Fleur definitely thinks so. She's spending the summer with her sister to lick her wounds."

"She cannot have thought anything could have come from her interest in Minerva."

"Don't see why not," Harry bristles. "No law against it for them." Harry looses an indignant huff. "Can't decide what's more outrageous—that gay sex is illegal, or that lesbian stuff isn't considered sex at all."

"It has been so a long time," Severus says flatly.

"How much older is McGonagall than Fleur?" Harry asks, so as not to snap at Severus's resignation. "I know you're not supposed to ask a woman her age, but, well, I'm not asking her. And it must surely put"—Harry waves a hand, gesturing to the two of them—"to shame."

Severus smirks. "Certainly so. But that's only a part of it. Delacour's not only younger, but a woman—which is still frowned upon, if not illegal—and a French Veela divorcée to boot. Whether she returns Delacour's affections or not, there is no chance at all that Minerva would allow her long-awaited tenure as Headmistress to be tarnished by scandal."

"Even if she likes Fleur too?"

"Minerva is a pragmatic woman, and career first. She has been as long as I've known her."

"That's sad, really." Harry looks into his cup.

"It's for Minerva to decide."

"Poor Fleur." Harry thinks of how he'd feel now if Severus hadn't turned out to be persuadable.

"Delacour will be just fine." Not-Severus's face scowls. His voice is matter-of-fact. "Trust me. A witch of her looks does not want for bed partners."

Harry lifts his eyes to Severus's face and sees a random, nondescript, vaguely handsome man. He wants to see the face of his loyal, dutiful, skillful, passionate lover. He knows most people would think he's cracked, and wishes that people didn't concern themselves so very much with looks. It's done a number on Severus. Harry will just have to keep showing him how incredibly desirable he finds him.

Best to put a pin in that for later, lest Harry get an inconvenient erection at the breakfast table.

"Speaking of that, I can tell you about the divorce now."

Severus pretends not to be interested, but Harry can tell his silence is a grudging invitation to fill him in. So Harry tells Severus about Fleur raising some boudoir issues with Bill, asking if he'd consider some experiments in Polyjuice here and there, as Fleur didn't want to go the rest of her life without pussy and Bill had already flatly refused an open relationship. Fleur cheated, told Bill, and that was that.

"And she says it's better this way; reckons being married to Bill was essentially being married to Mrs Weasley as well..."

"I shudder to think," Severus says, voice dripping with disdain.

Harry doesn't say so, but he agrees.

...

On their final day in Paris, they walk to Notre Dame. Aside from St Mary's back in Inverness, Harry hasn't ever visited religious sites, but the cathedral looms large and he can't very well spend a week in Paris and not see it.

Despite his anxiety about it, Harry wants to take Severus's hand. They've been walking around for days now, and Harry doesn't want to hold back or be careful. But he isn't sure if Severus would allow it. Actually, he's pretty sure Severus would expressly prohibit it, even Polyjuiced.

And that's the other problem: Harry knows it's ridiculous, absolutely infantile, but he doesn't want the first time he holds a man's hand—Severus's hand—in public to be just some flesh disguise.

He looks at the cathedral in the near distance and tries to focus on that instead.

When they enter, Harry is staggered by how huge it is, how high the ceilings, the arches, how thick the columns. It stops him in his tracks, which has the fringe benefit of allowing him to notice Severus has fallen a little behind him. He's still next to the font, and Harry catches the end of a truly tiny genuflection and the final motions of the sign of the cross.

"I knew it," he whispers.

Severus gestures for them to head further in, but Harry nods at the racks of votives in red glass holders, some alight, some dark, flickering not far from them. "Should we light a candle or something?" Harry points to the alms box amidst heaps and heaps of unburnt votive candles, waiting for worshipers.

"Why?" Severus asks.

"Isn't that the thing? Leave some cash, burn a candle, pray for a miracle?"

"And what would you pray for?" Severus's voice, less gravelly now than it was last year, but still touched by Nagini's attack, is absurdly soft. Still, Harry hears every syllable without trying.

He shrugs. "Dunno. How am I supposed to do it?"

"You aren't. You don't believe in any of this."

"Do you?" Harry asks, lowering his voice further still. The last thing he wants to do is get them tossed out of the most famous building in the country for being a pair of heathens.

"No. Not really."

"Why the bow and all?"

"You can take the boy out of the Church..."

Harry nods, though he doesn't understand, then follows Severus over to admire some stained glass.

After touring the interior—its paintings, its altarpieces, its architecture—then taking their time outside to appreciate the sculpture work, they stroll aimlessly for some time before having dinner and returning to the hotel with a couple of decent second editions and some less coveted books, whose covers Severus nonetheless thought beautiful and Harry delighted in buying him.

No sooner has Harry got his shoes off than he insists, "Polyjuice."

Severus heads to the loo to drink his concoction, returning to Harry looking a little worse for wear (it is a painful transformation, after all, and Severus is doing it daily to make this trip work) but wonderfully himself.

Harry pulls Severus to him. "Thank you."

"For what?" Severus asks. His tone is above it all, but the way he responds to Harry's simple embrace tells another tale.

"I'm glad you're here. I only wish you never had to use it."

Severus scoffs.

Harry shifts back a little, enough to take a good look at Severus, but keeps his hands clasped around the nape of Severus's neck. He pulls Severus in, kisses him fiercely, coaxes his tongue from his mouth and licks the tip of it, thrilled when Severus reciprocates, licks Harry's tongue. It lights a fire in Harry, has his body demanding more. He drops his hands from Severus's neck to his arse, drags him close and grinds their groins together so Severus can feel his effect on him, smiles when he feels Severus is already getting hard too. "How can you still doubt what the sight of you does to me?"

Severus kisses him again. Harry meets him eagerly, but quickly breaks off, needing to show Severus the depth of his desire. He unbuttons Severus's collar, his shirt, without a wand—a trick he's picked up already—and runs his tongue over the scars on Severus's neck. Their provenance horrifies Harry, still gives him nightmares. But the scars themselves, the physical evidence of Severus's courage? Harry could worship them all night. Or he could, if Severus were to give him another lesson or two in patience. Not right now, though. Now it's Harry's turn to teach Severus a lesson. He pulls off Severus's shirt, runs his fingers down his arms. Severus flinches a little, but no risk, no reward. Harry laces his fingers into those of Severus's left hand, pulls it to his mouth, kisses it, then runs his tongue from wrist to elbow, looking Severus right in the eye. Severus stiffens but doesn't pull away. The Mark might disgust Harry, but here all he sees here is pain and sacrifice and Severus's years of self-flagellation—he could never let its presence put him off. Still, he's made his point, he hopes. He drops Severus's hands and grabs his arse again with an almighty squeeze.

Harry isn't sure he'll ever get over the awe of being allowed to put his hands all over him. He needs Severus badly right now, needs to show Severus just how hungry he is for him and not just for the shattering orgasms he gives Harry.

There's something they've never done, something Harry's only seen in porn. It shocked him, titillated him, when he first saw it, unsure he could ever admit to wanting such a thing. But he has nothing to hide from Severus. The thought of having Severus makes him squirm with pleasure, his cock now fully hard in his trousers.

"I have to have you," Harry breathes.

Harry walks Severus to the bed, where they dispense with the rest of their clothing. Harry delights in not having to worry how wrinkled, rumpled, and clearly shagged-in Severus's clothes will look. The more disheveled the better, in Harry's opinion.

He straddles Severus, eyes him up and down. He bites at his lips, taking in the unreal sight of Severus underneath him, cock swollen, erect, a little wet at the head. Harry brings their pricks together with a hard press, loving Severus's moan of pleasure, then keeps frotting against him as he leans forward to lick Severus's lips, suck on his tongue.

Harry would be shocked if he's the first to have been in Severus, to have had Severus in him; he's nearly positive he's had at least a few hand jobs and blowjobs in his time, and that's all fine. Harry can be jealous and glad Severus wasn't completely desolate of male company at the same time. But still, he wonders if he might be able to give Severus something no one else has. Something too intimate or embarrassing to ask a casual hookup. Harry certainly wouldn't dream of asking anyone else for most of the things he's asked Severus to do.

Harry casts cleaning and protection charms on Severus, who shifts a little under Harry's weight. "What are you planning?" he asks, continuing to meet Harry's thrusts.

"To eat you up." Harry gets up onto his knees to free Severus's legs and puts them over his shoulders. Below him, arse on display, cock begging for attention, a little candid surprise on his face, Severus looks like sex embodied. Harry looks him in the eye for any sign to stop.

Seeing his cheeks and neck flushed, but no signals that Harry should abort, he dives down.

Severus is wonderfully hard now, his erection resting on his hollow stomach. Harry gives it a playful lick from root to tip, sucking on each ball before taking Severus's skinny cheeks in hand and spreading them.

Severus makes a strange, high sound, pulls away, but, when Harry looks up to ask if he can continue, Severus is already settling back into place. Though he is tense all over, breathing heavily, he seems to be making a concerted effort to keep himself still, to put himself back at Harry's mercy. Most importantly, he doesn't tell Harry to stop, and Harry doesn't worry that Severus will suffer something he doesn't want in silence—the mouth on him...

As Harry tentatively makes his first lick and Severus allows it, Harry feels almost dizzy that Severus is letting him do this. He can feel the prophylactic magic against his tongue, but he can also feel Severus's skin.

A growl escapes Severus, and Harry takes that, along with not having been kicked away, as a good sign. He pushes the flat of his tongue against the ring of Severus's muscle and licks slowly upward. Severus is making pathetic noises, and a fresh wave of need surges through Harry so intensely that he grabs his own straining cock and squeezes around the base to put himself off. Again and again, he gives Severus the flat of his tongue, then, when Severus's carnal sounds begin to taper off, perhaps getting used to the feeling, Harry changes tack, pushing his tongue inside and sucking at the walls of Severus's hole alternatively to keep upping his pleasure, to keep the sounds of Severus's lust coming. When Severus starts pushing back against him with greater and greater urgency, Harry pulls away briefly, just to look up at him. Severus looks perfectly wrecked.

Harry redoubles his efforts, not caring how much saliva dribbles out of his mouth as he plunders Severus's arse, as Severus rocks his hips, pushing against Harry's tongue for more. Harry is nearly undone by Severus's need. He does his best to switch up the tactics in his limited repertoire, until Severus's thighs are clenched so tight around Harry's head he can barely move. The thought passes his mind that if he has to go some way, suffocating tongue-deep in Severus is better than he could hope for. Getting Severus this worked up feels impossibly good, and Harry only wants more. He slides a hand up Severus's hip, taking his heavy, hard cock in hand and working it as best he can without giving up Severus's arse.

"Harry..." Severus babbles. Harry's not even sure he knows what he's saying, but the effect of his name on Severus's lips whips him into a frenzy. With extreme hesitancy, Harry pulls away, promising himself to make it worth it.

"Where's that famous Gryffindor persistence?" Severus scolds, indignant.

"Right here," Harry promises, grabbing the lube off the nightstand and applying a generous measure to his index and middle fingers before shoving them straight into Severus.

"Hurry up!"

"Aren't you always lecturing me about patience?" But Harry has none. Spurred on by Severus's demand, he slicks himself and pushes inside.

Harry moans, forces himself to breathe evenly, to keep himself in check. Severus's hole around him feels like silk, like velvet, like warm honey, even with the protective charms. Or maybe it's all in his head. He's not fussed, if it is.

He's not yet fully inside when Severus starts rocking against him. Harry responds in kind, trying his best to match Severus's movements in the opposite direction, burying himself to the hilt in Severus again and again. If Severus's litany of mumbled "Jesus! Faster... Jesus! Harder..." is anything to go by, he's satisfied. Harry does his best to meet Severus's demands, takes his prick in hand again, determined to make Severus come first.

It takes more focus than he'd have thought to fuck Severus and stroke him at the same time, but if anything that works to his advantage, pulling his focus from the sublime feeling of Severus around him. Still, everything feels too good: Severus, clenched hot and tight around him, his reddened cock hard, swollen, slightly moistened from pre-come in Harry's fist, and Harry knows he can't last much longer.

"Come while I'm inside you," Harry pleads. "Please. I want to feel you come from the inside."

"Fuck!" Severus croaks, come spurting over Harry's hand.

"Fuck!" Harry echoes hoarsely, as Severus bears down all around him, his whole body going perfectly taut under Harry, around him, then boneless. Harry doesn't know how he can keep moving, the feeling is so staggering, but his dick has ideas of its own and he fucks into the perfect heat of Severus's arse a few more times, harder than before, until he starts spilling inside him.

Harry drops onto his forearms, sucks in huge breaths, composes himself, then puts Severus's legs down and crawls upward, grinning at his handiwork. Severus looks like he's just run a marathon. His chest is covered in spunk, and Harry sets to sucking it off his skin, then sits up to give Severus the eye before licking what's left off of his own fingers. The wolfish look Severus gives him is enough to have Harry's spent cock twitching with renewed interest.

Perhaps Severus reads his mind, or maybe he's just a fiend, because Harry feels the magic of cleaning and protection charms over his sensitive dick and shudders, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation. "Your magic..." Harry mumbles.

"You are too easy," Severus says, voice amused, then adds, "Now, come here." He grabs Harry's hair, not applying too much force until Harry leans into it, then dragging Harry in for a kiss. With his half-hard prick, Harry ruts against Severus's stomach as Severus bites his lower lip. Once Harry is erect again, Severus grabs for purchase on Harry's hips and demands, "Up here." He draws Harry close so that Harry's cock is just shy of his mouth.

Severus opens up and licks at the tip. Harry keens, "Your mouth..." pushes forward, and Severus takes him in, tongues the crown, the slit, licks away precome. After a few minutes of the delicious teasing, he tells Harry, mouth full of his cock, "Touch yourself."

Every thought but the order leaves Harry's mind as he starts stroking himself while Severus keeps working the head. Harry's so blissed out on Severus wanting his come that it takes surprisingly little time until Harry's hips spasm and he's coming, mostly into Severus's mouth, but a little over his lips as well. Harry watches Severus swallow and lick his thin lips clean, then collapses onto his chest, sure he'll never be able to move again.

"You always have to have the last word, don't you?" Harry laughs, not sorry about it at all.

...

Showered and back in bed, Harry asks, "Has anyone done that before?"

"No," Severus replies simply.

Harry grins. "Good. Your arse is mine now."

"I dare not ask what that means about your arse."

"Oh, that's definitely yours," says Harry.

"Christ help us."

Harry sucks on his lower lip, worrying over a question for a moment before firing away. It's been on his mind since watching Severus move through the cathedral this afternoon, and now, after all that... "Are you afraid of going to hell?"

"For fucking you? No."

"Not what I asked. But I am glad not to have your eternal soul on my conscience."

"No one else can damn a person to Hell. One's sins are one's own."

"That's heavy."

"Cradle Catholic," Severus says, by way of explanation.

Harry props himself up on one elbow. "When's the last time you were in a church?"

"About three hours ago."

"Ha ha."

"When I was fifteen."

"What!" Harry sits up in bed, crossing his legs. "Why didn't you tell me when we made today's plans?"

"You wanted to visit."

Harry tries to calm his galloping heart. "Yeah, well we could have gone elsewhere. Lots of places in this city."

"You've dragged me to the continent. Catholic churches are hardly avoidable. And I don't care if we visit them. Visually, they are beautiful."

"Why'd you stop going?"

"Father Booth had words with my father about me. It caused problems."

Harry frowns. "What kind of words?"

"Thought there was 'an air of faggotry' about me."

Harry leans forward and gently kisses Severus's scarred Adam's apple. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I was not attached to the place."

"What were you attached to? As a kid I mean."

Severus stiffens. "Why ask? You know."

Harry sighs. "I mean, yeah, in broad terms I know the, erm, main things. But not the smaller stuff, the details."

"You didn't get enough details when you snooped in my memories during 'Remedial Potions?'" Severus snaps.

Harry scooches back again so he can look Severus in the eyes. "Do you want me to keep apologising for that forever? Not like you were some angel. Never giving me a proper explanation of how to clear my mind, just barging in..."

"You refused to listen to instruction."

Harry rolls onto his back and crosses his arms over his chest. "Yeah well, everyone was keeping secrets from me and I'd had enough of it."

"If you had simply done what you were told—"

"Don't give me that. I'm still angry with Dumbledore for keeping so much from me for so long. And just because I"—Harry stops himself short, lest he panic Severus—"feel differently about you now that doesn't mean I'm not still mad about some stuff either. I hate being kept in the dark. I know I couldn't have known about you being a spy sooner or it would have jeopardised everything, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Severus stays stock still next to him.

"Don't be weird. I understand why things were what they were, but you can't expect me to feel good about all of it. I don't expect you to. I'm sure you'd have had me do any number of things differently—"

Severus snorts. "Having you learn Occlumency would have been a start."

"I was going to say when we were on the run, Horcrux hunting. But sure. The Occlumency stuff was partially on you, partially on Dumbledore, but it doesn't matter. I can wish things were different without letting it make me bitter."

"Is that so?" Severus's voice is sour.

Harry has to abort before this gets ugly. He blurts out the first derailing thing that comes to mind. "Did you ever fancy Dumbledore?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Reckon I did for my first few years at Hogwarts."

Severus looks at him skeptically.

"Y'know, larger than life, powerful, noble, heroic, whimsical authority figure, great dress sense."

"You're serious."

Harry shrugs, teases, "If he were still here, maybe I'd have seduced him."

"He is not," Severus says frostily.

Fuck. Harry sighs and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. "What d'you want me to do, never mention the war again? Dumbledore again? My mum again?" Harry adds, before he can help himself.

"You could try thinking before you speak."

"And you could try answering a question the first time I ask. Come on." Harry lets the pleading resound in his voice, hopes Severus will take the out with Harry. "Did you fancy him? Ever? I reckon every student has kind of fancied him at some point, at least a bit, even if it's completely innocent."

"Or perhaps you simply have a penchant for old professors."

"Definitely. And you?"

Severus heaves a put upon sigh.

"Drama queen. It'd be easier just to answer me, you know."

"Yes."

Harry's mood perks up instantly. "Really?"

"It is as you said: every student fancies him at some point."

Harry puts a hand to his chest in mock surprise. "Did you just admit I was right about something?"

Severus blanks him, continues, "And I had more reason than most."

"So? Did you ever try it on with him?"

"This is your idea of pillow talk? Asking me about other men?"

"Why not? If I had more history that you weren't already privy to, wouldn't you be curious?"

"I wouldn't kick the Doxy's nest."

Harry laughs right at him. "Pull the other one. You're as nosy as I am."

"No one is as nosy as you are."

Harry rolls his eyes. "How about this. You answer my question about Dumbledore directly, and I'll suck you off." Harry offers, as if he wasn't daydreaming about blowing Severus all day while they were taking in the sights.

"Is this your idea of bribery?"

"Whatever works," Harry sing songs.

Harry's not sure if it's the prospect of being blown or if Severus just wants to put an end to this conversation, but he gives in. "I threw myself at him once."

Harry sits up, gleeful. "Oh my god! How old were you? What did he do?"

Severus smirks. "I believe I have fulfilled the terms of our agreement."

Harry huffs. "Fair play, I suppose. Just."

He reaches for Severus's soft prick, eager to see if he can breathe some life into it, but Severus grabs his hand on the way. He laces their fingers together and rests their hands on his hip. "We aren't all nineteen."

"You won't be able to say that much longer."

"I know."

"Does it bother you?"

"That you could wank for England?"

Harry chuckles. "Yeah. I don't mind, you know, that I can go more often. I know my days of being able to get off two or three times a day are numbered."

"I don't miss it." Severus sounds serious, but not grave. "And I haven't heard you complain yet about feeling neglected, in that regard."

"Not when we're actually together, no."

...

"So, how did he react?" Harry asks the next night, as they settle in Marseille, the southernmost point of their French detour.

"Would it kill you to segue?" Severus asks, voice haughty.

"Why bother? You know what I mean. You always do. It's part of your charm."

"More ethically than I have," Severus answers, ignoring Harry's adulation.

"So, did you take another crack at him?"

"He gently but firmly rejected me outright, and I, having a sense of shame," Severus gives Harry a meaningful look, "never tried again."

"Persistence is rewarded."

"You are thinking of patience."

Arousal floods through Harry at the word, at the recollection of how good it can feel to exercise a bit of patience, when Severus is the one doling out rewards. "That too."

...

"How old were you?" Harry asks the next day, the moment they return, sweating, from their trip to Frioul and Château d'If (Harry insisted, after spotting the small ferry, Edmond Dantes, while walking the Vieux Port).

"Twenty-six," Severus replies flatly, as though, if he sounds bored, Harry will tire of the subject too. As if.

"That's nothing! Damn. I was hoping you were younger than I was. I'd have loved to be able to throw all your nasty remarks about my perverted lust for older men back in your face."

"You will recall he was over 100 at the time. I put you to shame in my misplaced affections."

"I'm not going to compete with a Catholic over who has more shame," Harry says sagely. "Besides, it wasn't misplaced! I sort of wish he'd had you."

Severus raises an eyebrow.

Harry shrugs. "I'd probably be a bit jealous, since I knew him, but..." He shrugs. "Besides, it would have been kind of sweet—the two of you. I wish he'd have had another lover, after Grindelwald."

"Don't lose sleep over that. You might have some interesting conversations with Elphias Doge. Albus never lacked admirers."

"Oh. Good for him—for them. I'm sorry, though, to your twenty-six-year-old self."

...

Next day, as Harry ponders the image of a young, closeted Severus, pining for his mentor and saviour, Harry asks, "How did you know he was gay? That it was safe to proposition him?"

"Everyone knew he was gay."

"Right, but I mean..." Harry pauses to gather his thoughts. "I mean that you're so careful. I'm surprised you risked him finding out."

"It's different throwing oneself at someone one is sure about, compared to taking a gamble."

Harry nods. "Fair enough. I would never have dreamed of propositioning another student. There were some other boys in my year, or just above, that I thought, y'know, probably... But I didn't dare take the risk."

Severus gives him a thoughtful look, free from the usual tinges of superiority his consideration engenders. "That surprises me."

"Yeah, yeah, shocked disbelief that I have a sense of self-preservation. I know, I know—"

"Naturally," Severus says, "though, if I had been permitted to finish, what I was saying was that I assumed you did not clue in until later."

"Why?"

"You seem..." Severus runs a finger over his lips before proceeding, "unusually comfortable with the state of affairs."

Harry considers. "I suppose so. I mean, there's the raised Muggle factor. Things suck amongst Muggles too, but at least it's not still illegal."

"I was also raised amongst Muggles."

"Yeah, two decades earlier. And that's not meant to be rude; I only mean that so much is changing. So much isn't, as well, but..." Harry sighs. "I was raised by the Dursleys, and they're hardly friends of the gays. But, who knows, maybe that's helped me, since as far as I'm concerned anything they don't like is good." A question that Harry has long pondered—well before he ever had a single positive feeling about Severus Snape—comes to the fore of his mind, and he simply can't help it. If there's another fight, so be it. He has to know. "Do you think my"—he clears his throat—"mum would be okay with it?"

Severus goes rigid. "With us?" he spits.

Harry shakes his head. He would love to know if his mother and father could ever have accepted him and Severus, but he's not going to ask that. Not today, if ever. What would be the point? There can never be an answer. Even if he could ask them himself, would Harry have ever fallen for Severus, if circumstances had been different? Under circumstances that allowed his parents to live? To raise him themselves? Under circumstances where Severus played no role in Harry's life? Thinking about these kinds of things could drive him spare if he let it. "No," Harry says, hoping he didn't zone out too long. "I just mean me. Was she..." He clears his throat again. This shouldn't be so difficult. She isn't even here, so how she might have felt is meaningless. He starts again. "Was she the kind of person who cared about this sort of thing?"

Severus doesn't answer for a while, and Harry starts to wonder if he's going to have to force a fight to get an answer from him, but, finally, Severus says, "I cannot truthfully say. I knew her as an accepting girl, but then, I knew her as a Muggleborn girl in a world where blood supremacy was on the rise."

Harry nods. His eyes prickle a little, and maybe that's what compels Severus to add. "We did not come of age in an era where being queer was acceptable, however, I feel confident that, if she did feel negatively about it, she would have overcome that for you."

Harry desperately wants to ask Severus if he thinks his mother knew about him when they were at Hogwarts together, suspected, hinted, but doesn't. They're already in a minefield here, but keeping his question grounded in her as his mum, his question related to Harry only, is less loaded than those that enter the territory of her as the erstwhile friend Severus lost to his own pride and bigotry.

After blinking back tears, Harry nods and says thickly, "Thank you. I like to think she wouldn't have cared. Then again, if I'd been raised by parents who didn't like it, maybe I wouldn't be as comfortable with it all as I am." Harry sighs long, loud. "Who knows anything."

"Indeed."

"What about you?" Harry asks, trying to regroup.

"What about me?"

"You said you thought I didn't realise until my later teens. Was it like that for you?"

Severus shakes his head.

"Neither," says Harry. "I'm one of those clichés that always knew."

"Chang?" Severus asks, not bothering to veil his curiosity. "Weasley?"

"Well, I tried to make a go of it. Boarding school, Severus, come on."

"What changed?"

"You," Harry tells him honestly. "But don't go getting a big head. It wasn't just"—Harry blushes, looks at his hands—"falling for you. It was living. When I didn't think I'd survive, what did it matter? But then I did. We did. And here we are, two years on..."

Severus takes his hand, squeezes. "You are a complete sap."

"What does that say about you?"

...

As they head back north towards Belgium, one city at a time, Harry begins looking impatiently ahead. They are already half way through July.

"I've been thinking of peroxiding my hair," he tells Severus as they walk past a barber shop in Lyon, couched in a Muffliato.

"I beg your pardon?" Severus says, stopping in his tracks.

"So we can go out together, without Polyjuice."

"What makes you think I would agree to go out without Polyjuice under any circumstances?"

"You said maybe, but not in France. So I thought, if we took other precautions." Harry tries the tone he usually reserves for trying to talk Hermione around to something. "I don't know if I've been spotted in France—we're moving around too much for any owls to reach me until we stay more than a night somewhere, and my friends all know I'm travelling anyway, so if they saw The Prophet get wind of it, it wouldn't exactly be news worth alerting me to. But as it is, even if I have been spotted in France, I could try and be incognito-ish in Belgium, at least if I'm out with you. Sunglasses, ball cap, blond for good measure."

Severus's brows draw together in distaste.

Harry smiles. "Are you pulling that face because you like my hair as it is? Or because you're not going to agree to leave the hotel room with me as yourself?"

"Blond," Severus says simply.

"I'm flattered that you like it as it is. I can always dye it back."

"There are Charms for that, you know."

Harry's mood is instantly buoyed. "Is that a yes?"

"It is a fact about the possibilities of personal grooming Charms."

"Will you consider it?" Harry asks. "Please? I miss seeing you all day. I want to see your face, your body."

Severus's shoulders pull back just a touch, and Harry smiles. He's got him.

Severus looks straight ahead. "Not in France."

"I know, I know. I just said—"

"And not Belgium either." Harry is about to start negotiating, but Severus adds, "If I am spotted, people might connect the dots, when the press inevitably gets wind of where you attend university."

Damn. That's fair enough. "Let's go to the train station before we head back to the hotel. I'm buying us tickets to Amsterdam."

...

They don't actually go straight to Amsterdam. They head to Lille for another Polyjuiced day, and thence to Rotterdam, where Harry has Severus Charm his hair blond. It doesn't suit him at all, and he tucks most of it under his ball cap, plus dons sunglasses to accompany Severus out in the street. He'll be very surprised if Severus is identified, never mind both of them. The sight of Severus in Muggle clothes is mind boggling—Harry himself finds him almost unrecognisable. And, of course, hot as hell. The last couple weeks, Severus has usually been naked when he's in his own body, in the privacy of their hotel rooms, which is how Harry prefers him. But seeing him in Muggle garb, walking Muggle streets, doing Muggle things... Well, Harry knows Severus is right: Harry really is a sap.

It's not all gains for Harry, however. Walking the streets, seeing the sights at Harry's side in his own body, Severus seems ill at ease, and Harry's not sure it's entirely about safety precautions.

Harry, meanwhile, loves it. Swanning up to their hotel with Severus in his proper body does something to him—to have people see them together and know Severus is with him, that they are checking into a single room, with one bed. That, behind that closed door, Harry gets to fuck him. Sure, there's a minor, ever-present undercurrent of worry that an altercation might come, if they encounter a belligerent homophobe, but it's vastly outshone by Harry's elation at being with Severus properly for the first time in their weeks of holidaying, and, he thinks pragmatically, it's not as though it's a concern that's ever going to go away for them. He will simply have to get used to it.

"Today was amazing. We should have left France sooner."

Severus doesn't reply, and while he is often aloof, Harry worries. He'd have thought that avoiding the painful Polyjuice transformations would be a benefit for Severus, if nothing else. If he's still wishing he were out in the world, wearing someone else's face...

"Are you embarrassed when we're out together?"

"Are you?" Severus asks.

Harry groans in impatience. "Just answer the question."

Silence stretches into uncomfortable territory before Severus finally does. "Yes."

Harry winces. Stops in the middle of untying his shoes. "Because I'm a bloke, or because I'm me?"

Harry readies himself for evasion, for an insult (or two), to have to try a few different angles or even verbal brute force to get an answer out of Severus, so it staggers him when Severus says immediately, "Because it's you." Harry stands back up, one shoe undone. He must be pulling a hell of a face, because Severus says, "Don't be a wet hen. It's not because of you as a person."

Harry blinks at him, indignant. "What could that possibly mean?"

"It means you are a handsome young man and I haven't yet decided if it's more distasteful if people think you're my son or that I'm renting you by the hour."

Harry reminds himself to stay mad at Severus, despite him calling Harry handsome, to stay focussed on the heart of the matter. "Does it matter to you what strangers think?"

"Not hugely, but ugliness is difficult to resign oneself to."

Harry's heart drops and he kicks off his shoes. Who cares if he ruins the backs. He walks over to Severus, face to face, and asks him, "My opinion means nothing?"

"Don't be—"

Harry raises a finger to Severus lips and shushes him.

"Outside of Britain, where we're not subject to archaic laws about who we can fuck, are you embarrassed to walk down the street with me, as a man—any man—and have people assume we're a couple?"

Harry pulls his finger away. "As a man, no," Severus says.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief, pushes his finger back against Severus's lips. "And can it be enough for you that I want you like I've never wanted anyone? That I think you're striking and distinguished and elegant and incredibly sexy?" Harry lifts his finger away.

"Am I permitted to speak now?"

Harry rolls his eyes.

"Perhaps," Severus says.

"Perhaps what?"

"Perhaps that can be enough."

"I suppose I'll have to settle for that then."

"I suppose you will."

...

After forcing Severus to admit he's embarrassed to be seen with him, Harry has to focus on the silver lining: Severus isn't hung up on being gay in its own right, so that's one less hurdle to clear than Harry might have had.

He takes the win, buys them tickets to Amsterdam the next morning, and off they go.

They spend the day walking the city, mortified by the drunken behaviour of other English tourists, and when their aimless strolling takes them into a clearly gay neighbourhood, Harry instantly feels alert in a way he never has before.

There's no sense of danger, but rather of people looking at him and Severus together and knowing exactly what they're seeing. He feels exposed, but in an exhilarating way. It almost reminds him of Felix Felicis, when he was in a blissful state where he felt everything was good and working out for the best.

Sure, on any street anywhere, Harry and Severus might be clocked, but they might just as easily be two unattached men—acquaintances, colleagues, friends, relations. But here it's hardly likely, is it? Like recognises like, and he can see recognition all around him. He tries to ignore the surprised looks, the double takes from people eyeing Harry, then taking in Severus next to him and pulling faces of uncharitable surprise. He carefully catalogues, however, the sparser looks of interest at Severus. It seems Harry isn't the only one with a yen for tall, scrappy, striking, skeletal, older men. He smirks.

"What are you smiling about?" Severus asks.

"Later," Harry promises.

...

"Well?"

"Well what?" Harry asks, purposefully cheeky as the hotel door swings shut behind them. He's been thinking about this all day, and he's positive Severus has been too. He's felt the question hanging between them.

"Well: how did you enjoy being out amongst our fellow poufs?"

"It was great! Thanks for not kicking up a fuss about it. It was cool to see a gay neighbourhood. I like Amsterdam. Reckon if I were more of a party boy looking to get high, I'd be spoilt for choice." A thought occurs to Harry. "Do you fancy getting high? I should have asked while we were still out."

Severus gives him a despairing look.

Harry raises both hands in mock surrender. "Just asking. It's the tourist cliché."

"As if I'd take a Muggle drug cooked up God knows where and by whom."

Harry laughs. "Perish the thought."

"Indeed."

"What do magical people do for drugs?"

"I assume you do not mean the kinds of medicinal potions I brew for the Hogwarts Hospital Wing."

"Obviously not. I mean like designer drugs or downers or hallucinogens—that kind of thing."

"Why the sudden interest?"

Harry shrugs. "I'm almost twenty and I've never done any drugs, unless you count Felix Felicis, which I reckon we should, actually."

Severus sweeps a hand towards the door. "Shall I venture back out and procure you some right now?"

"Nah," Harry says, as though Severus were serious. "I'm not letting you go back out without an escort. There were definitely some men eyeing you up."

Severus snorts mirthlessly.

"Don't laugh! I saw!"

Severus looks at him with disbelief written all over his face. "Did you now?"

"Yes! And I'll tell you what else: the best part of going there with you was having all those blokes know that I get to be manhandled by you... God, is this how straight people feel all the time?"

"Just the perverted ones."

"When's the last time you were with someone?" Harry asks.

Severus bristles, but Harry must be making headway accustoming Severus to personal questions, because he just says, "With as in sex or with as in the saccharine bliss of puppy love?"

"Both."

"Pick one."

"Fine. The second one."

"Never, really."

"Really?" Harry echoes, prodding.

"There was someone I saw occasionally, before I took up my teaching post, but we were never," Severus's voice goes scornful, "a couple."

Harry nods. "Anyone I know?"

"Is that your way of asking if it was a fellow Death Eater?"

"It's my way of asking if it was anyone I know."

"I do not ask you these things."

"Yeah well, as you never tire of reminding me, I'm twenty years younger than you and my life didn't exactly lend itself to romance and hook ups before the war ended. Besides, you know all my relationship baggage anyway. I mean, even putting aside the whole thing with Hermione which neither of us treated as romantic even when it was happening, people made fun of me for my disastrous date with Cho for ages."

"You were not the first Hogwarts student to embarrass yourself at Madame Pudifoot's and you won't be the last."

"Just tell me it wasn't Lucious Malfoy. If you fancied him and also me, I'll have a personality crisis."

"It was a Muggle boy."

"Oh. I wasn't expecting that."

"Surprised?"

"A bit. I wasn't sure how you'd have felt, back then, about Muggles..."

"He was an altar boy. How'd you think Father Booth got his ideas about me?"

Harry nods. "What a cunt. Did you keep seeing him—what was his name?—after you stopped going to church?"

"Liam, and yes. But don't get a romantic picture in your head. We were never a couple. We shared convenient dalliances, and once I was established at Hogwarts as a faculty member, our trysts fell to the wayside. He's probably married with children, now."

Harry scrunches his nose.

"You turn up your nose at the domestic life?"

"I do if it's a sham."

Severus nods.

"And what about sex?" Harry presses.

"Ask me tomorrow."

...

"So?'

"So what?"

"When's the last time you slept with someone, before me?"

"Your fourth year."

The reply freezes Harry in place, not because of the span of time—he'd been ready for Severus to say it had been as much as a decade—but because it hits Harry that for years Severus counted the passage of his life according to Harry. Perhaps it would feel romantic, if it weren't horribly sad. Words pass through his mind: "If you are prepared?" and "I am." Harry shudders.

"Don't ask questions to which you don't want answers."

"It's not that. Just thinking about that year, the years after. I can't believe you pulled it all off. I mean, I can, but god..."

"I keep telling you not to dwell on past things."

"Yeah well you'll keep having to. There's a lot more stuff I want to know."

"Oh goody."

...

"I'm going to ask you something that's going to make you mad, now."

"I can't wait."

"The last time you were with someone..."

"I already answered this."

"Don't be difficult."

"I'm sorry. I forgot your attraction to me is down to my famous ability to suffer fools gladly."

"Ha ha."

"Well, out with it."

"Was it a rent boy?"

Severus eyes glint dangerously.

"I'm not insulting you. You just have this, I don't know, complex about people thinking I'm, y'know... So I just wondered. I'm not judging."

Severus barks a cold laugh.

"I mean it! If I hadn't fancied you, I wouldn't have known where to begin, aside from a rent boy. It's not like people were running around Hogwarts waving rainbow flags or attaching bandanas to their outfits."

"I have paid for it before."

Harry nods, takes Severus's hand. "I get it. For real." And he does.

...

They take their time getting to Brussels, stopping in The Hague, then Rotterdam again, as Harry drags his heels on entering Belgium.

When they've less than a week left, Harry submits to the inevitable, and they head for Brussels, spending a day here, a day there, in the Flemish towns along the way.

Severus doesn't seem in any rush to get to Brussels either.

When they do finally arrive, he declares, "Under no circumstances will I accompany you to your university. Everyone will assume I am your doting father, coming to drop off his darling son for his studies abroad."

"We can roleplay that, if you want."

"Very funny."

"I'm not joking. Anyway, I thought we discussed this."

"Escorting you to campus like a chaperone is an entirely different manner."

"Okay, that's fair. Now can we get back to that roleplay idea?"

"The day I allow you to cast me in the role of James Potter—"

"Ugh, no thank you," Harry says, squicked. "I meant like, a hypothetical dad."

"Thank God for that. I must be getting used to your reprobate ways, if 'hypothetical dad' roleplay sounds remotely acceptable, even by comparison with the alternative."

...

"Let's just stay in and order room service today," Harry demands, on his last day of nineteen.

"You're going to be insufferable all day, aren't you?"

Harry widens his eyes mischievously and nods. "Think of it this way: from tomorrow onward, you can't berate yourself for fucking anyone whose age ends in 'teen.'"

"Why wait?" Severus muses. "I could leave you to your own devices today and get a jump on things."

"Don't even joke about that. We only have two more nights together before you leave."

"Then you might consider not pressing your luck," Severus says, but Harry knows him well enough now to know when his superior tone is a part of gameplay and not in earnest.

Emboldened by the note of playfulness, Harry decides to lean in. He moves his hand to his groin, presses his palm against the growing bulge. "Did you ever think about me, before I showed up on your doorstep?"

"When you were still my student? You must think me a terrible lech."

Harry bites his tongue to stop himself trying to find out just when, precisely, Severus did first start to want him. The question has him palming himself even harder as he gives Severus a half out, so as not to spoil the fun. "After the war. I was of age."

Severus's eyes are locked on Harry's hand, as Harry works himself up. "Are you trying to find out if I found your midnight stalking endearing?"

Harry grins, grabs his cock in his fist as best he can through his trousers. "Are you pussyfooting about because the answer is yes?"

"I found you..." Severus seems to weight his words. The reserved prick. "Intriguing."

A moan catches in Harry's throat. "You can say fuckable."

"It would be pointless of me to deny that, considering the last year."

"The last month, alone..." Harry moves his hand a little faster. "Did you think about it, though? At Hogwarts?"

"Must you plumb all my private thoughts?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Vain."

Harry rolls his eyes, but doesn't cease his efforts. "I'm above average at best and we both know it," he says dismissively, before returning to the frustrating, arousing subject of his final year at school. "You drove me crazy, you know." Harry unbuttons his jeans, prick jumping at the hungry gleam this brings to Severus's eyes. "Wanking in corridors, desperate for a sight of you... Of course," he reaches into his pants, taking himself in hand but not pulling his dick out. "The worst it ever was was that fucking Potions exam. Amortentia? Come on now..." Harry shakes his head, then smirks. "At least you got a memory out of it. You know what it did to me? Smelling the potion and knowing that was you? Thought I'd come in my pants in that exam."

Severus says nothing, but his Adam's apple bobs and his stare never wavers.

"Thought about letting myself, where you could see me..."

With a slight catch to his otherwise superior Potions Master tone, Severus says, "An indecent assignment."

Harry's eyes widen. "Were you invigilating my exam in a room that smelled like me, Professor Snape?"

Severus strides towards him. "Ten points for lewd suggestions about a Professor."

Harry moans, feels a little precome dribble out of him. "God, the sight of you."

"What's got you hot and bothered now, Mr Potter?"

"You, sir."

"Is that so? Make that twenty points." Severus cocks an eyebrow in challenge.

Harry pulls his cock out.

"Detention, I think. Seems you need to be taught what is and is not appropriate behaviour where your teachers are concerned."

Harry nods, never ceasing in his simple up and down stroke.

"Did you not hear me, Potter? Drop yourself, boy," Severus snaps.

Harry looks at the inseam of Severus's jeans. He's hard. Harry lets go of his erection.

"Well, well, well." Severus runs his fingers over his lips in a pastiche of contemplation. "How best to teach you a lesson? Costing your House points has no effect on you."

Harry shakes his head "no" in agreement.

"Scrubbing cauldrons?"

"I've done that loads of times."

"Gathering ingredients for the green houses?"

"That too."

"You are intractable," Severus agrees. "We shall just have to see if another method gets through to you."

Harry moans, moves for his dick again, but stops at a cowing look from Severus.

Severus moves to the corner of the hotel room and takes a seat on a chair. He crooks a finger. "Come here, Potter."

Harry pulls a downtrodden face and looks down at his feet as he walks over.

"Pull down your trousers and your pants."

"But Professor!" Harry cries, unable to keep all the excitement from his false protestation.

"Shut up, Potter. Don't pretend you have a shred of modesty."

Harry hums and haws as long as he has the patience for, then tries to hide his eagerness as he drops trou, turning to give Severus a good view as he does.

"Now come here."

Harry's cock throbs and when he asks, "Where, Professor?"

"Over my knee."

Harry's legs almost give out at the words, trembling as he closes the distance to Severus and climbs atop his lap so that his waist rests on Severus's thighs, bare arse in the air, aching prick pressed against the side of Severus's leg. He can feel Severus's own hard-on pressing against his ribs and his mind still reels that, after nearly a month, after their nights together back in Britain, he can generate this kind of reaction in Severus. He wonders if the exhilaration of it all will ever wear off.

"Good, now, let's see how long it takes to drive the point home."

"Oh god," Harry moans, trying to be quiet, not to break the scene. Then Severus brings his hand down hard on his bum, and Harry thinks he's not going to see twenty after all. He breathes through the sweet sting, and Severus's palm is on him again. Harry grunts through gritted teeth and rocks his hips into Severus's thigh.

"Tsk, tsk, Mr Potter, that's what got you detention in the first place. Seems my methods are having no effect."

"No they are! They are!" Harry says in a rush, stilling his hips despite how badly he wants the friction of Severus's leg. "I swear, Professor, I'm learning my lesson."

"Good." Severus spanks him again, right in the same spot as last time. Harry yelps in pain and pleasure, his cheeks already taking on heat where Severus has struck him. This time he'll be sure to take a peek afterward. He needs to see what his arse looks like after detention with Severus.

Harry keeps his hips as still as he can, squirming on Severus's lap, keening as more smacks come down on his cheeks, a few on his upper thighs, probably to give his arse a rest.

After, Harry's not sure, a dozen or so firm smacks, Severus pauses. "Your bottom is positively pink, Mr Potter. What do you say? Will you be turning up again in the corridor outside my chambers with your hand down your uniform?"

"It's so hard to resist, sir," Harry says, voice petulant, but the sentiment entirely true.

Harry feels Severus's cock, eager against his ribs. He has the restraint of a fucking monk.

"What is it you hope to accomplish with your midnight wanking?"

"You," is all Harry manages.

"Stand up, Mr Potter."

Harry does.

"Face away from me."

Harry shuffles about, underwear around his calves.

"Grab your ankles."

"Oh my god." Harry's dick smears precome across his stomach as he bends over.

"Do I need to fasten your hands in place? Or can you be trusted to stay still?"

"I can. I can." Harry waits for the sound of Severus getting up, but nothing comes. "Professor?"

"Shut up, Potter."

Harry's cock twitches and his legs tremble, but he tries his hardest to keep all his voluntary movements in check. When he feels the frisson of Severus's magic on him, it's harder than ever.

He shivers bodily, mewls. "Professor, your magic."

The faintest creak of the wooden chair is all the warning he has before Severus's tongue is on him.

Harry pushes back without thinking, "Sev— Professor!" he bawls, desperate for more. He only got the most fleeting sensation...

Severus is on him again. Harry grinds his arse back against Severus's tongue, squeezing his ankles so hard his nails dig into his skin.

The feeling is like... He doesn't know, but it's sublime. His thighs are already straining and sweat is running down his face, and then Severus switches from from laving his tongue across Harry's hole to pressing inside. When he starts humming, Harry's pretty sure he's about to find out whether or not he can come untouched.

"I'm going to come," Harry pants.

Severus pulls away instantly. "Don't you dare, Mr Potter."

"Oh, fuck," Harry whines. "I mean, please, Professor. I've learned my lesson."

"Have you, indeed?"

Harry nods, still facing his own shins, his legs now aching nearly as much as his cock.

Severus reaches a hand between Harry's legs, cups his balls, gently runs a thumb over each one. "Do not come, Mr Potter." Then Severus's mouth is back on him, and his hand shifts from his balls to his cock and starts stroking.

"Seriously, Professor, I'm going to come. I can't st—"

"Restrain yourself, or I'll have to intervene magically."

"Yes!" Harry nods, barely able to contain himself. It's the most happy he's ever felt to admit defeat. "I need it. Otherwise—"

Hand still around Harry's cock, Severus performs some kind of spell. Harry's bollocks feel a titch strange, but not bad. Not bad at all. The feeling of Severus's magic on—god, in—his prick, his balls is phenomenal. "Professor, your magic..." Harry purrs, knees dipping in anticipation, before he rights himself.

Severus sets back to work, stroking Harry's cock and tonguing him open.

All Harry is capable of is clutching his ankles and repeating: "Professor, Professor, Professor..."

When Severus next pulls away, Harry is so far gone it hurts.

"Professor, you've taught me a lesson I'll never forget. I—"

Severus smacks Harry's arse, and the burning that's been fading returns, adding to Harry's blend of pain and pleasure. "Up."

Harry is upright instantly, hears Severus rise behind him.

"Bend over the chair."

Harry does an about face and grabs the seat as best he can.

With a Summoning Charm and a few flicks of the wrist, Severus is lubed up and pressing into Harry, hands on Harry's hips, pulling Harry as close as he can get.

Harry's nails scrape against the chair as he tries not to collapse with the sheer pleasure of being so, so full of Severus.

With his spell in place, Severus doesn't need to go slow, to tantalise Harry, in order to edge him. He fucks Harry hard, fast, pulling out just enough to thrust back in again over and over and over.

"Professor, Professor, Professor..." Harry keeps moaning, dropping from his hands to his forearms as he struggles to keep himself up. The shift has the unintended effect of bringing Severus into perfect alignment.

"I need to come," Harry pleads. "I need you to make me come, Professor, please... please..."

"And what of you, Mr Potter?"

"Huh?"

"Must I do everything myself?"

Harry groans, hoping he's got Severus's drift. As Severus fucks into him, he shoves his arse back to meet him, bearing down, trying to give Severus as much pleasure as possible with each thrust.

"Come in me, Professor," Harry begs. "That'll teach me."

"You think so?"

"Yes," Harry hisses. "I'm sure of it."

"We shall see."

Severus proceeds to give Harry the pounding of his life, moaning with a glorious lack of restraint. When the straining ache in Harry's unspent prick supersedes his pleasure, and his whimpers become pitiable, Severus grabs the base of Harry's shaft, removes the spell, and groans, "Now, Mr Potter, make a mess of this chair."

"Fuck, Professor!" Harry growls and covers the upholstery with the most come he's ever seen in one go.

As Harry rides out the dizzying orgasm, pushing back into Severus, legs shaking, he feels Severus pulse inside him, his chest collapse onto Harry's back, his head against Harry's shoulder blade.

"This will teach you nothing, of course," Severus says though deep breaths. "You are the most ungovernable student I have ever had."

Equally out of breath, Harry says between gulps of air, "I guess you'll just have to keep trying."

...

Their last night together is Harry's birthday. And all Harry can think of is how little he wants to let Severus go, wants nothing more than to beg Severus to stay with him, Hogwarts be damned. How bad a faux pas is it, Harry wonders, to quit your demanding teaching job as a senior faculty member with only a month for your employer to find a replacement? But he doesn't truly consider asking; Severus has fulfilled his end of this compromise. Harry doesn't want to spoil things now by pushing for too much more too soon. They can talk properly at Christmas, and Harry will try and take Severus's temperature, see if a move later on might be something he'll entertain. It would solve so many of their problems. And goddammit, do they have problems. Surely Severus can see how much better it is for them here, that they could dispense with the rigamarole of disguises and caution—it would no longer matter what the press or the Wizengamot learned.

They spend the day wandering the Sonian Forest because Harry's pretty sure he'll be annoyingly maudlin if they stay in. Some rows and touch-and-go moments notwithstanding, it's been a fantastic trip overall and it feels surreal in the worst way to be on the eve of its conclusion, like Harry is being forced to press pause on the life he wants.

They go to a nice spot for dinner, and when they walk back to the hotel, Harry has to shove his hands in his pockets to prevent himself taking Severus's Polyjuiced hand.

Inside, while Severus regains his own body, Harry can't contain himself, yelling through the bathroom door: "I need to say something, but I need you to know it's not meant to be a guilt trip, just to tell you how I feel, since soon we'll be back to writing."

When Severus emerges, perfectly himself once more, Harry keeps his face in check, lest he actually pout and get a telling off instead of a last-night shag.

"Let's have it, then."

"I don't want you to go." Before Severus can take umbrage with the statement, Harry goes on, "I know you're going to, and I accept it, but I just want you to know how good this month has been—just like I imagined. Almost. Without the need for Polyjuice, I wouldn't change a thing."

Severus looks doubtful. "Not the rows? Or the secrecy? Or requirement that you bankroll everything?"

"I can handle the rows and the money is nothing to me. I want to use it to take care of you. The secrecy is part and parcel with the Polyjuice." Harry smiles a bit sadly. "I'm going to miss you. I won't bother asking if you'll miss me, you emotionally distant prick."

Severus says nothing to refute that, but reaches a hand out to Harry, who takes it with no hesitation. When Severus pulls Harry towards him, he's so surprised he nearly loses his footing, but Severus drags him close, tilts his head back with one of his perfect fingers under Harry's chin, and kisses him. Before long, it turns messy, full of tongue and peppered with nips and full on bites of Harry's lips. Harry moans into Severus's mouth, loving every second.

When Severus breaks the sloppy kiss, a string of saliva stretches between them, snapping back to Severus's bottom lip. He passes his tongue over it. Electricity runs down Harry's spine and his cock jumps to attention.

Harry ruts into Severus reflexively, whispers into his neck, "Your lips slick like that... Jesus."

Without a word, Severus moves, has both of their jeans and underwear off, then grabs two handfuls of Harry's arse and hoists him up. Harry hooks his knees over Severus's hips, head lolling back as Severus whispers a couple of choice spells, Summons the lube Harry's really going to miss, and slides right into Harry without so much as a finger first.

"Hng," Harry pants, through the light, perfect burn. It's incredible, fucking Severus so often that he can take him like this.

Jerking his hips, Severus rocks into Harry. It's all Harry can do to hold on and plead, "Yes— hard as you can, please— god—"

Severus slams into Harry as hard as he can without anything on which to leverage his own body weight. Harry does what he can to help, tilting his hips back and forth to meet Severus's thrusts. The room is filled with the sounds of Harry's back and arse thudding into the wall, Severus's thighs slapping into Harry's arse, their laboured breathing, and sounds of passion.

"Am I killing your arms?" Harry pants, trying to be considerate despite the fact he thinks he'll cry if Severus tells him they need to stop.

Lucky for Harry, Severus just keeps fucking him, finally brushing across his prostate.

"There!" Harry cries, urging Severus on, "there, there, there..."

Both hands engaged in the work of holding Harry in place and dragging him up and down on his cock, Severus is in no position to take Harry in hand. "I can't touch you."

Harry lets out a deep, gratified sigh. "'s fine. Just don't move. You're in the perfect spot."

Severus keeps brushing Harry's prostate with his hard length.

"Idle hands," Severus accuses, as Harry hangs onto him around the neck.

"Keep talking, and I won't need them."

"Aurally obsessed."

"Yesss..."

"What is it with you?" Severus says, speaking low, hoarse, wicked into Harry's ear. "Is there nothing that doesn't turn you on?"

"W— when it comes to— to you? No," Harry manages, though, panting, he sounds less decisive about it than he feels.

"No perversion, no form of debauchery that doesn't have you ready to come in your pants with the slightest provocation?"

"Mmmm... Haven't found it yet."

"Are you sick, Harry?"

"Fuck!"

"Degenerate," Severus whispers.

"Oh my god..."

"Is this what you want? To have your erstwhile professor balls deep inside you? To take it from an old man?"

"Harder!" Harry commands.

Severus starts thrusting so hard he's not even pulling out, just slamming against him, cock rocking against Harry's prostate, pelvis flush against Harry's arse.

"I said harder, not stop talking."

"Demanding brat. Are there no limits to what filth you'll request of me—"

"Severus— Severus—"

"Hold on," Severus says, voice rugged.

Harry latches around Severus, who stumbles inelegantly backward to the bed. Relieved of the burden of Harry's weight, Severus sags backward onto the mattress, still deep inside Harry.

Bracing himself with a hand on Severus's chest, enjoying the feeling of Severus's hands on him, pulling on his hips, his arse, to get himself deeper in, Harry grabs for his neglected cock. But Severus shakes his head. "Not yet."

Harry groans in pleasure and frustration, hornier than ever in the knowledge that Severus wants to draw out his pleasure longer. He knows now how good it can be. Harry nods, resting his head on Severus's chest and rocking himself onto him.

"I need— I need—"

"Not yet," Severus says again, ignoring Harry's sounds of protest as he adds, "Closer."

"What?" Harry asks, sitting up, desperate to comply. "I'm already taking all of you. I—"

Severus grabs him by a forearm and pulls Harry forward so he's hunched over Severus's torso. Harry's hips slow, but Severus encourages him with slightly faster thrusts as he says quietly, "You will do as I say?"

Harry nods, elation flooding him. "Anything— tell me—"

"You will not make me regret this."

"Never," Harry promises.

"We do not all wear our desires on our sleeves."

Harry bears down reflexively around Severus at the words, excitement coursing through him. Severus is going to ask him for something. He could die of the bliss it brings. Not before giving Severus what he wants, of course.

Severus lifts his head, licks up Harry's neck, kisses along his jaw, until he gets to his mouth, hungrier than ever. Harry readily lets Severus's tongue into his mouth, sucks on Severus's lower lip as he keeps rocking on top of him.

Too soon, Severus breaks the kiss. Harry goes in for more of his mouth, but Severus pulls away just a little and commands, in his most authoritative tone of voice: "Spit."

"What—"

Severus taps the corner of his mouth with an impatient finger.

Harry's surprised, but gathers the combined saliva of this kiss behind his lips.

"Don't keep me waiting." Severus parts his mouth and Harry drops the spit right into it. Severus swallows and his groan has Harry's balls tight to his body, nearly there. As if reading Harry's mind, Severus takes Harry's cock in hand, but doesn't move. "I'm going to tell you when to come."

Harry's prick throbs and he grinds himself onto Severus, desperate for more stimulation. "I won't be able to hold off, if you—"

"You can," Severus says with confidence, and all Harry wants to do is prove him right.

Harry nods frantically.

"Good. I'm going to stroke you."

"God—" Harry groans.

"And when I say so, spit again and come."

"Fuck." Harry goes still to hold off. "Just a second." Harry breathes, slow, deep for a few moments, then nods.

Severus thumbs the slit of Harry's aching prick, swiping away precome and offering his thumb to Harry, who sucks it clean. With the taste of salt in his mouth, Harry stutters, "You're not— hng— not making it easy to stave things off here."

Severus puts his hand back and fists Harry's shaft slowly as Harry begins riding him in earnest again. Once they're in a good rhythm, Severus pulls Harry's foreskin over the crown, says, "Now," then swirls his thumb over the glans. Harry's cock follows orders faster than he does, and it's all he can do to drop spit and precome into Severus's waiting mouth while his hips jerk and he blows his load on Severus's shirt.

Beneath him, through his own haze of pleasure, Harry tries to soak up the feeling of Severus's erratic hips, the sight of his eyes fluttering shut, his neck arching, as he comes inside Harry.

Harry drops on top of him, and Severus wraps his arms around his back.

After he's caught his breath, Harry whispers, "That was—"

"I remind you that you promised not to—"

Harry props himself up on an elbow. "I wasn't going to tease, Severus. I was going to say that was incredible. Didn't know you were into spit."

"I didn't think I was, particularly."

"Oh?"

"Your remark before... I simply thought..."

"You thought I'd like it?" Harry nuzzles into Severus's chest hair. "I hope you didn't mind it, though, if you just did it because of me."

Severus runs his fingers through Harry's sweaty hair. "I do not request things I don't want."

Harry thinks of how Severus looked, just moments before and smiles into his skin. "You know, I think you're just greedy for my bodily fluids. First my come and my sweat, and now—"

"Up with you," Severus says, giving Harry's bum a light swat.

Harry chuckles and lifts himself just enough for Severus to slide his softening penis out of him at his own pace.

In the shower, letting conditioner soak into their hair, Harry says confidentially, "You were wrong, before, you know."

"What?"

"About my 'basest desires.'" There's no way I could ask another man to talk to me the way you do, lick my armpits, cane me. Any of it."

"Your taste is not dull."

"Duh, Severus. You are my taste."

...

Back in bed, side by side, Severus runs his fingertips over Harry's arms.

"I'm nervous for uni, you know. I won't know anyone. What if I'm complete shit at all my classes?"

"This from the man who takes every opportunity to remind me how many N.E.W.T.s he achieved?"

Harry smiles at the veiled compliment. "Did you enjoy doing your Mastery?"

"I have always enjoyed brewing."

Harry nods, accepting the evasion. He's not starting a fight right now. Before he can ask another question, push the conversation forward, steer it in a different direction, Severus asks, "What are you planning to do with your French degree?"

Harry cherishes the rare personal question, real and unprompted. "I don't have any plans," he admits. "I was just interested, and I figure, if nothing else, learning French gives me an out from Britain that's further than Ireland, where everyone knows me, without having to move really, really far away."

Severus's fingers go still on Harry's arm, but he replies, "The benefits are manifold: don't let's forget the Aurors definitively lose their dream recruit and one-time hopeful."

Harry covers his face with his hands and groans. "Don't remind me. It's so embarrassing. Don't hold it against me, okay? In fifth year not all of my illusions had been crushed yet. Can you imagine if I'd joined up? I'd rather fucking AK myself."

Severus clicks his tongue. "Dramatic."

"Cauldron, kettle," Harry admonishes, then picks up his train of thought. "I mean, I suppose some mean well, but the only Aurors I've met who were worth a damn were the ones actively working against the government, so it didn't exactly keep my dream alive."

"Quite," Severus agrees.

"What about you? When did you decide to become the world's foremost Potions pain in the arse?"

"Horace retired at an opportune moment, for Albus's purposes."

"But you'd already done your Mastery, by then."

Severus nods. "I had an aptitude."

"No kidding. Wish I still had your textbook." It's not empty praise; Harry would give anything not to have lost the book in the Fiendfyre. At least now he has the genuine article. "You could have published it."

Severus doesn't manage to hide a smug smile with a scoff.

"You could!" says Harry, delighted. "Your potions are way better than Borage's. You should write a new book. That one's ancient."

"It is updated periodically."

"You'd write a better one."

"Flattery will—"

"Yeah, yeah, as if I need to flatter you to get what I want." Harry grins at Severus, daring him to contradict him.

...

The next morning, Harry and Severus have morning sex, then Severus packs his things into his suitcase, and Harry accompanies him, both of them Polyjuiced this time, to a busy, run-down street with an international Apparition point.

Harry wants terribly to clutch at Severus, to bury himself in his embrace, to kiss him goodbye. Instead, he stands at a respectful distance.

"I think I proved my point." Harry says.

"What train of thought am I supposed to have followed now?"

"About us."

"We argued every day," says Severus.

Harry lowers his voice. "Yeah, but not only."

Severus nods. "Not only."

"You're not to stop responding to my letters now that they'll take a little longer."

Harry sent first Seb and then Joanie to Hogwarts to blend in amongst the school owls, where Severus can keep an eye on them and send them to Harry with letters. He simply can't have them in a Muggle dorm, and, while he'll miss their friendly presence, the idea that the owls, like the Pensieve Harry gifted Severus a year ago, will further entwine their lives leaves Harry with a warm feeling.

"Send me an owl as soon as you get back, so that I can write back right away."

Severus agrees.

"I don't want you to go."

"Your days will soon be occupied, and you'll think no more of it."

"You know that's bullshit."

"It would behoove you to focus on your studies, now you've come all this way."

"My studies don't start for weeks."

"All the better to get your bearings and prepare. You must be able to access the syllabi and begin your term reading."

"Yeah, yeah, Professor. I'll be a model student."

There is heat in Severus's eyes and Harry hopes Severus, like him, is recalling the night before his birthday. "Good luck."

Harry silences a groan. "I can't cope with the thought of waiting five months to touch you again."

"Presumptuous."

"You're lucky I find your bad attitude a turn on."

"There's no accounting for taste."

Harry wants so badly to kiss him. "You have to go," Harry says, even though it's the last thing in the world he wants. "Or I'm going to do something you'll tell me off for."

"It'll keep," Severus says, and then he's gone.