Third Place - Darkfic

Author notes: Muchas Gracias: My most immense thanks, and many a chocolate-covered Snape-Harry sandwich, to: Mouse, beta reader and all around amazing writer; and to Lexin, for helping me with my swotty Britishisms. Warning: Character death. If Snape/Harry slash isn't your cup of tea, or if you are underage, please leave now.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

His hair was in his face again. It made it difficult to even recognise the pallbearers. There was Lupin, who'd barely avoided carrying the casket in wolf form. The Weasley twins were there, as well; sombreness seemed an alien mask on their faces and their forms. Longbottom, Thomas, and Finnigan rounded out the sextet - Severus supposed they were the most likely choices. Ron Weasley had barely spoken, much less moved, since the world went pear-shaped. Black... well, bastard probably deserved it, even if it was a bit unnerving to see him cry.

On the plus side, the ability to watch everything from behind his hair kept the world from seeing the stinging tears that ran slowly, oh, so slowly down his face. Nobody would have believed Severus Snape could shed a tear for Harry Potter; with his luck, someone would have assumed they were meant for Voldemort.

He stood by the wide-flung doors of the Great Hall, watching the ceremony, mind elsewhere while Albus went on with some poignant speech or other about sacrifice and the greater good and destiny and whatever else he'd scraped out of that archaic head of his. Severus stayed at the back as the casket was closed. Under his robes he pinched himself sharply to keep from yowling in agony as Harry's face vanished forever. It wouldn't do to demand just one kiss.

Just one kiss.

Just one last kiss.

"Potter."

Potter jumped, slamming his notebook. "I was only studying, sir," he said sharply. "My detention doesn't start for another ten minutes."

"I was going to ask why you are in my classroom so early. Or have you decided to begin amassing time to make up for everything at which you haven't been caught?"

Potter's pallid face flushed red. It made the faint shadows under his eyes stand out demonically, the pearly pink scar on his forehead livid by comparison. "I didn't have anything better to do. Do you want me to leave, sir?"

Snape held out his hand. "Show me your notes."

Potter drew the book closer. His eyes were narrowed and wary. "They're private, sir."

"Come, come, now, Potter, they can't be that private if you were scribbling them in an unlocked classroom. Anyone could come in and see them." Snape felt his mouth curve in a wicked smile. "Writing a love letter, perhaps? Who is the young lady? Or lad?" He swiped playfully at the book. Potter growled and snatched it away.

"None of your bloody business!" With more than a hint of venom, he added, "Sir."

Snape sighed and shook his head. Tossing a bit of lank, black hair out of his eyes, he said, "That will be ten points from Gryffindor for disobeying a direct order from a teacher, Mister Potter. Have you anything you'd care to say on the matter before I deduct more?" He shot the brat - mind, seventeen was getting a bit old to be a brat - his most alkaline glare, the one that dissolved the will and continence of even the strongest individuals.

Much to his surprise, Potter's green eyes flickered and darkened. They dropped to the desk, then rose to meet Snape's. "As a matter of fact, sir, I have."

"Oh, really?" Severus pulled a chair to the front of Potter's desk and perched on it, eyes narrowed in cold anticipation. "Do go on, then. Don't let me stop you."

"Gladly, Professor." The title fell from Potter's tongue like rotten meat. "I was writing a letter to you."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "To me."

"That's what I just said. Not that I was going to give it to you right now, but I figured I had better get it written so someone could give it to you after I died."

Severus sighed dramatically. "Spare me, Potter. I've heard it a hundred times. 'I'm so depressed, I think I'm going to kill myself, I'd better leave long, angst-laden letters to everyone who's wronged me so that I can make them feel guilty after I'm gone'. One doesn't spend nearly two decades chasing after irrational teenagers without gagging on their particular brand of misery, Potter, and I can guarantee that you are no different. Ten more points from Gryffindor for being a predictable little dolt."

"I hate you," Potter growled through clenched teeth. Before Snape could get a word in, he threw the notebook on the table. "Go on, have a laugh. Only, let me say something first." He leaned across the desk. Snape could feel warm, moist breath on his face. It smelled of peppermint and life. "For six years now I've put up with you treating me and my friends like something you'd scraped off your shoe, Professor. All any of us did was be Sorted into Gryffindor. I'm not going to put up with it anymore. I don't care if you take every point my House has earned, every time you try to push us, I'm going to push back. I reckon a year'll break you down, if I live that long."

"Ten more points for useless melodrama."

"You son of a bitch."

Snape started to take more points. Instead, he smiled. It was a wicked, nasty smile, and he took great pleasure in the way Potter jerked back a fraction of an inch. "Let's keep the pet names to the bedroom, hmm?" Snape said in his silkiest, softest razor wire drawl.

While Potter openly shuddered, Snape yanked the notebook across the desk, spun it easily around, and flipped through pages. "Weasley, Granger, another Weasley, yet another Weasley, Hagrid, Black, McGonagall, Dumbledore - my, I certainly don't rate high on your list of priorities."

"Just fucking read it already."

"Five points for swearing."

"Fuck you, Snape."

"Fuck you, Potter. Ah, here we are!" He cleared his throat and read, "'Dear Professor Snape, If you are reading this then I am dead.'" Snape glanced up. "You look remarkably well preserved."

"Shut up and read it, you bastard."

Severus chuckled softly. I've not had this much fun since... I can't even remember. "'I expect I've died killing Voldemort. Or falling off my broom during a Quidditch match, but I really don't think that's what happened. In any case, I have some things I'd like you to know.

"'First, I hate you. You're a snarky, greasy, nasty bastard who needs to go out and have a damn good shag. Not that anyone would want to shag you. I don't think you could even get Draco Malfoy to shag you, and I know for a fact he's slept with nearly every girl and half the boys in our year. Including Crabbe and Goyle. At once. In the Potions classroom. (By the way, how comfortable is your chair? Draco seemed to like it when I sneaked by in my Invisibility Cloak. Or maybe that was only because he was in Goyle's lap at the time.)'" Severus stifled a shudder, made a mental note to have that chair replaced at the earliest possible convenience, and said, "Very droll, Potter. I'm sure Mister Malfoy would be most interested to hear that you've been spying on his supposed sex life."

"Actually, I was coming down to try and get into the Slytherin common room and wire the place up with Dungbombs. Reckoned after I saw that your lot didn't need any more filth."

Snape flicked an eyebrow. "I see you'll be spending detention with me again tomorrow night."

"I was joking, you know."

"Then I'll give you detention for lying to a teacher."

Potter's fingers curled into claws and tried to dig into the desk. "Are you going to read or not?"

"Certainly. However, where commentary is needed, I shall make it. Or would you prefer this to be a one-way beating?"

"Just shut up and read."

"I can do one or the other, Mister Potter. Shall I shut up, or shall I read?"

"Get on with it," Potter muttered. His eyes were slits, and his shoulders hunched and ready to spring.

"Very well." Snape cleared his throat again, more to make a point than anything else. "'Second, even for all the times you've done your best to make me feel like crap, I... respect you.'" Severus arched an eyebrow and read it again silently. "Surely you're joking, Mister Potter."

"If I were joking, I wouldn't have written it down."

"So your jokes are only of the spoken variety. I hope you can explain your last essay, in that case."

Potter moved to grab the notebook. Snape held it away, glaring coolly. "Do you wish for me to read or not?"

"If you're going to read, do it already!"

"Very well, I shall." Severus pushed his hair out of his face, neatly tucking it behind his ears. "'For a long time, I only hated you. I think I started to respect you, too, at the end of my fourth year. When I saw the Dark Mark on your arm. I spent a lot of time that summer thinking about it and wondering why you'd have worked as a spy for so long. (At least, I thought you were probably a spy. Good thing I was right, then.) I suppose I finally decided you weren't just born the disgusting, nasty, slimy, mean Potions master, that you had some reason to be disgusting and nasty and slimy and mean. Doesn't mean I like it, but I can - could - understand it. Sort of.

"'That's all I really wanted to say to you. I don't expect you'll miss me, but if I'm dead maybe Voldemort will be, too, and at least you'll have a chance to not be such a horrid git anymore. Call it a gift, I suppose. You gave me Hell, so I'll give you freedom. Doesn't seem very fair, does it?

"'Sorry to have wasted your time. I'm sure you could have been brewing some potion when you had to read this.

"'Harry Potter.'"

Severus chewed the inside of his lip in thought. It certainly wasn't the letter he'd expected.

"Well?" Potter said. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Severus' eyes skittered over the words again. Very, very softly, he said, "Fetch your ingredients. I assume you shan't have any problems without Mister Zabini present to use your cauldron as a waste bin."

Potter snarled softly. He stormed to his feet and to the back of the room where he wrenched ingredients from the shelves. Severus watched him silently. The thoughts that flitted through his head were neither easy nor welcome.

Black glowered silently with puffy red eyes as the casket was carried out in front of him. Severus didn't respond, only watched the glossy black box with the godforsaken Gryffindor shield on the top. He stayed put, dared not move a step, lest the sob straining his throat, threatening to push his eyes from their sockets, escape. He hung back as a throng of mourners followed. When Albus, the last of the herd, left, he closed the doors and sat quietly at the end of the Hufflepuff table.

His sobs echoed in the empty hall. Thankfully, there was no-one there to hear.

Potter was on time for his next detention, and his next a few days later when he shouted at Snape to stop picking on Longbottom, and his next the day after that for nearly picking a duel with Malfoy after Malfoy tried to sabotage Granger's Dysmorphic Distillation. He'd made good on his oath to speak up against injustice in Snape's class. Since then he'd amassed - and carried out - enough detentions to possibly earn some sort of plaque of achievement. At this rate, Severus and the little bugger were going to end up very well acquainted.

"So what do you want me to gut tonight?" Potter snapped, dropping his cloak over a desk. He sat down hard enough to nearly tip his chair.

"I'd rather hoped you'd clean my supply cabinets, actually. If you're willing." Severus had no doubt his sarcasm would reach any normal individual; Potter's indignant snort ensured him that it had cut through the brat's solid skull as well.

"Aren't you polite tonight? Why don't you just ask me to dance?"

Snape laughed, a short, mirthless sound. "You'll have to pardon me, Potter, but I don't enjoy having my toes trodden on by insipid little hooligans like you."

"I'd be more worried about my own feet." Harry stormed to the back of the room and wrenched open a cabinet. "Not to mention my sanity if I ever did anything like that with you."

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter, and do remember to make sure the lids are tight before you--" a wet hit the floor; hundreds of pickled pixie eyes rolled across the stones and fell into the cracks. Snape sighed. "Ten more... bugger it, Potter, just get this mess cleared away. I shall be in my office if you manage to do something right." Snape swept out, careful to keep the hem of his cloak out of a stray river of pickle.

It was perhaps twenty minutes later that he heard a soft knocking on his door. "What?" he snapped, not looking up from the pathetic excuses for essays he was left marking.

The door cracked open and Potter's disheveled head popped through. "What do you want me to do with the eyes?"

"What do you think? Dispose of them properly, and leave a note for the house-elves to order more as soon as elfishly possible."

Potter snorted. He covered his mouth and nose with a hand. "Yes, sir."

"Why are you sniggering like some drunken fool, Potter?"

Potter shook his messy, dark head. "No real reason, sir, you said something funny."

"I assure you, it was purely an accident."

"Mind if I borrow the 'elfishly possible' line?"

"What you do on your own time is your business, Mister Potter. You have my word that I have no interest in being a part of it."

"Could've fooled me."

Snape put down his quill. "And what, precisely, is that supposed to mean?"

"I've had detention with you at least twice a week for two months, sir. I'm starting to think you fancy me."

Snape pointed sharply at the door. "Get out," he growled.

"I was only joking, sir."

"Do not joke about such things in my presence, Potter. Or do you fancy the notion of expulsion?"

Potter held up a surrendering hand around the edge of the door. "Sorry, only... sorry." He scowled, and a moment later the door closed.

Something was tugging at his sleeve. Severus opened one painfully dry eye and looked down to see a house-elf gazing at him worriedly.

"Is you okay, Professor Snape, sir?"

"Perfectly," he snarled, sitting up and wiping his face. A pool of saliva had formed under his mouth. "Why on Earth are you bothering me?"

"It is being after midnight, sir. We is worried about you. You is missing Harry Potter too, sir?" The pitiful creature's lower lip trembled momentarily at the mention of Harry's name.

"What would ever give you that idea?"

The house-elf fidgeted.

"Speak up. Unless you want to slam your nose in the pantry door for insolence."

The house-elf squeaked softly. Just as softly, it said, "You was whimpering for him in your sleep, sir. We house-elves is worried that Professor Snape is missing his Harry, sir."

"I don't know what you're getting at. That insufferable wretch most certainly wasn't my Harry."

The house-elf nodded quickly. "Doozy is sorry, sir. You is needing help going downstairs?"

Snape growled.

The house-elf vanished with a pop.

Potter spent his next detentions with Filch.

Severus had the most nagging feeling he missed the little brat.

Deep in the belly of the dungeons, Severus left his cloak and robe in an uncharacteristically messy pile on the floor. His black under-robe, very fine, soft linen this deep into June, made for less than adequate protection against the unusually cool air. Bollocks. One of the heating charms must have decayed. For a moment he stared at the dressing gown hanging inside the wardrobe. A chilly bit of air wormed its way through the fabric, prickling the coarse, dark hairs on his legs. At this rate I'll catch pneumonia and die.

He closed the wardrobe doors in disgust.

From the pocket of his discarded robe, he guiltily fished a miniscule crystal vial with a tight black lid. It fit nicely in his palm, so he kept it there until he had stretched out in the middle of his enormous, lonely bed - especially lonely, now. Biting back a sigh, he held it up to look at it in the firelight.

Its scant contents were clear, perfectly clear, and distorted the fire into a collection of brilliant orange shards. They were also all he had of... things he should never have had. And never would have, now. A shudder went through his chest; he growled softly to himself. "There's no need to act like some heartbroken heroine in an outdated novel."

There was a sudden knock at the door. His eyes darted towards it, and he missed the tiny flash of gold from the middle of the vial.

Fortunately for Severus, Filch came down with the flu the same day the first through fourth years took their middle-of-December Potions exams. It was far too much of a bother to mark them all himself and, given that they were multiple choice, Potter couldn't foul up too badly. Snape tried to tell himself that the wave of good cheer he felt when his office door opened and he saw that sullen sneer was only for the help Potter would (hopefully) provide; or perhaps it was the result of one of Albus' insane attempts to instill some "holiday spirit" into someone who had never cared much for the holiday (but often found use for the spirits).

"Can we get this over with?" Potter snapped, dropping his things on the floor and throwing himself into a chair. "I've got better things to do than look at you, you know."

"As have I, Mister Potter." Snape motioned about the cluttered office. "I challenge you to find a single mirror within these walls."

Potter snorted. The faintest of twitchy smiles crossed his lips. "Did you just make a joke, Professor?"

Snape arched an eyebrow at him and pushed a stack of exams and answer sheets across the desk. "Red ink, two points per question, fifty questions each. All are either multiple choice or true and false because, quite frankly, I can't be ballsed to care."

Potter snorted again, albeit more bitterly and without a trace of a smile. "Brilliant to see a teacher who gives a damn about his students," he muttered under his breath.

"Just get to work, Potter. I really couldn't give a damn what you think."

The next two hours or so were reasonably tolerable. Potter's quill scratched against the parchments. Now and then he would complain about the "confusing" phrasing of a question. At one point he started griping loudly that every single answer on the master sheet was wrong until Snape pointed out that he'd confused the fourth-year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff answers with the fourth-year Slytherin-Gryffindor. Potter turned very, very red at that.

It was perhaps ten-thirty when the last of the exams was marked and Potter put his quill down. "Can I leave now?"

Severus shook his head and tutted, not looking up from the paper he was writing on the inherent shortcomings of Veritaserum. "So eager, Mister Potter. Have you got a fetching young thing getting tired of waiting for you?"

"Can't I just want to go do my homework?"

"Were you Miss Granger, I would say yes. However, you are not, so I don't believe you." His quill paused and he gave Potter a bitter smile. "Or do you simply wish that desperately to escape my company?"

"Do I have to answer that?"

"Ten points, Mister Potter."

"Can't you give it up for five minutes, Snape?"

Severus looked at him coolly. "Why would I do that?"

"Because maybe you're not the only person in the world who's been screwed over by Voldemort?" The glare Potter sent him would have melted steel. "I never even got to meet my m--ow, fuck." He hissed softly and touched his forehead.

"Is there something wrong, Mister Potter?"

"No, everything's just peachy."

"Five points for sarcasm. Do I need to fetch a house-elf to escort you to the hospital wing?"

Potter bristled faintly. "No," he said, scowling. "Might need to for whoever Voldemort's killed now. God, I hate when he does that!"

Snape flicked an eyebrow. "Please explain, Mister Potter?"

Potter lifted his fringe. "Voldemort kills someone, this thing goes off like a firework. Do I need to use smaller words?"

"I hardly think that shall be necessary. Is it still paining you?"

Potter shook his head sullenly and winced. "I'll be fine."

Snape rolled his eyes. From a drawer of his desk he produced a single-dose phial of Headache Draught. "This ought to alleviate some of it. I don't wish to start rumours that I've been viciously attacking the Golden Boy of Gryffindor during detentions, as will undoubtedly happen if I let you leave this office with any sort of discomfort."

Potter eyed the phial. "No, thanks."

"I'm not trying to poison you, Potter. Believe me, I think killing you would start significantly more rumours, and that sort of thing is somewhat difficult to reverse."

Potter stared at the phial for a long, silent moment. Warily, his fingers crept forward to snatch it. "Thanks," he muttered dryly. Never taking his eyes off Snape, he unscrewed the cap and tossed back the contents. "Ugh!" He shook his head, grimacing. "I can see how this stuff works, tastes so bad you forget your headache."

"Does it? I'm sorry, that must have been my nightshade extract."

"Very funny, Snape." Potter screwed the lid onto the phial and threw it at the desk. It bounced once and rolled; Severus barely caught it before it shattered all over the floor. Potter rubbed his scar a couple of times. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Do you require anything else? A pillow? A foot rub, perhaps?"

Potter responded with a very rude gesture.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter. And a detention tomorrow night."

"Oh, come on!" Potter flung his arms wide. "I've had detention nearly every night this week!"

"Perhaps you ought to think of that before you act, then."

"I'm talking to Professor Dumbledore about this."

"And I can assure you that he will side with me. Your recent behaviour in my classroom has gained quite the legendary status. The rest of my colleagues, seeing as they don't have to deal with it first-hand, have written it off as stress regarding the Dark Lord." Snape learned forward. "Fortunately, we know better. Wouldn't you say?"

"Go to Hell."

"Gladly, Mister Potter, although I plan to take that red-eyed monstrosity with me."

Potter stiffened slightly. In the flickering light of torches, his pale skin took on an eerie orange tone. "I thought that was supposed to be my job."

Snape shrugged. "We shall see, shan't we?"

Potter blinked. Slowly, he started to gather up his cloak. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Hmm. Here again, I think. This place could use a dusting."

"Oh, so I'm your maid, now, am I?"

"Of course you are, Potter. I expect you to transfigure a decent uniform by the time you arrive. French, perhaps?"

Potter sneered at him in confusion. "I hope you're joking."

"Of course I am, Potter. I have no great desire to see either your legs or your insubstantial cleavage."

Potter's cheeks flushed crimson. He cleared his throat quickly to hide it, and snapped, "Can I leave now, sir?"

Snape waved a hand towards the door. "If you're that insistent, go on. I shall see you tomorrow at eight o'clock precisely."

"Fine. Goodnight."

"Sleep well, Mister Potter. I assure you, you will need it."

Snape cracked the door just enough to peek out. "Yes?"

A house-elf - a different one, this time - stood there, clutching an envelope in its thin hands. "You has a letter, Professor Snape, sir." It held it out. "From Harry Potter."

Something in Severus' chest deflated. He opened the door a little more, giving the world a clear view of his under-robe, too annoyed to care. Snatching the letter, he snarled, "Get out of here."

The house-elf squeaked and ran away. Better than that Disapparation trick of theirs. How on Earth are they able to use it on school grounds?

Grumbling to himself about anything to take his mind off the letter he'd already read, he kicked the door shut, locked it as heavily as his formidable skills would allow, and collapsed on the bed once again to sulk. The envelope crinkled in his hands. Much to his surprise, one finger had worked into the flap and was slowly twisting, breaking fibers and having its circulation cut off in general. With a sigh, he opened it the rest of the way and unfolded the letter. If nothing else, he could wallow in memories for a while.

Dear Severus, Severus blinked. The letter hadn't started out like that.

Dear Severus,

Harry Potter.

The page trembled. It took a moment for Severus to realise the trembling was coming from his hands. The parchment fell to the bed. "Oh, god," he whimpered softly. A hand covered his eyes before they could begin to leak; searing drops slid down his cheek, his wrist, the heel of his hand. Rolling over to howl into the pillow, he felt the glass vial underneath his ribcage. He picked it up, blinking at it mournfully.

Something at the heart of the liquid flashed gold.

Severus blinked. It must have been the fire. Get hold of yourself, man! There's nothing you can do, and grasping at sparks isn't going to help anyone. He cupped the vial in his palm until the firelight couldn't reach it anymore.

It flashed again, a bit more urgently.

Less than a minute later he was dressed and running through the castle, robe inside-out and his shoes on the wrong feet.

"You can stop fidgeting, Potter. I assure you, I shall let you go in plenty of time for Father Christmas to visit."

Potter looked up from the bottles he was re-labeling. He shifted his weight on his knees again, knocking over (and nearly breaking) a superb horseshoe crab specimen. "Sorry, sir."

"I hope this teaches you a lesson about shouting at your teachers over holidays."

Potter grumbled something.

"Five points, Potter. Speak up."

"I said, sir, that I hope you've learned something about picking on Neville when he's only trying to find his toad! It's not as if he meant to trip you."

"It's not as if I came down to breakfast and meant to stumble over him for the entire school to see. If he would watch where he goes, you wouldn't be in this predicament, would you, Mister Potter?"

"Fuck off, Snape."

"Are you that intent on missing the Yule Ball tomorrow?"

Potter didn't answer. His lips moved silently as he tried to make out a faded, dust-encrusted label.

"I asked you a question, Mister Potter."

"And I decided not to answer it."

Snape felt his mouth twist into a wicked grin. "Has the famous Harry Potter been unable to find an escort? Dear, dear, dear, this is certainly a black letter day for Gryffindor."

The sharp narrowing of Potter's green eyes was nearly enough to make Snape jump. "I'm taking Ginny Weasley, if it's all the same to you, Professor. How about you? Could you find a date, or are you going to spend the entire night standing in the corner serving punch?"

Severus sniffed. "I'm a teacher, Potter. We don't have dates. And for your information, Madam Hooch has already claimed me as her unofficial escort for the evening."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Potter mumbled under his breath.

"Pardon?" Snape asked coldly. He folded his arms, glaring down at the pile of brat in the middle of his office floor.

"If you were any skinnier, sir, I'd mistake you for a broomstick myself."

"Twenty points."

"Whoop-de-fucking-doo."

"Care to make it more?"

Potter pursed his mouth. He said nothing.

"I see you've finally grown some sense."

"Yes, sir." Potter scribbled a label and stuck it on a jar. Snape nodded approvingly.

Several minutes later, when Severus had settled behind his desk with a copy of The New England Journal of Potions, Potter piped up softly, "Sir?"

Snape lowered his journal and arched an eyebrow. "Do you have a question, Potter, or are you simply trying to annoy me?"

Potter fidgeted. "How much do you want to go to the Yule Ball?"

"That's a rather personal question. Why?"

"Um... could I get detention again?" Green eyes flickered nervously towards Severus.

"Why on Earth would you want to do that, Potter?"

Potter raked a hand through his hair. It stuck out like a scattered haystack. "Ginny's going to want to dance," he mumbled.

Snape bit the inside of his lip, hard, to stifle a laugh that would have most certainly gotten him hexed. "Suddenly, Potter, I'm quite eager to attend."

Instead of the biting comeback he expected, Potter's shoulders drooped. In his enormous student robe he looked more like the first year he'd been than the seventh year he'd grown to be. "Oh."

"Cheer up, perhaps you'll lose the bones in your arm again and be unable to lead."

Potter bristled at that. "Believe me, sir, if I could remember what Lockhart did I'd do it to every bone in my body."

"And promptly die as your internal organs lost both their protection and their ability to function."

"'Least I wouldn't have to dance."

Snape looked at him. Swallowing his pride in favour of trying to make the brat blush, he asked, "Potter, would you like me to teach you how to dance?"

His head snapped up. If his eyes grew any wider, they were going to pop out of his head. "You mean it, sir?" he asked in a voice two octaves too high.

Snape blinked. "You're really that desperate to learn."

Potter shook his head frantically. A moment later it changed to sullen nodding. "I can do all the usual stuff, but... what if there's... you know..."

"Ballroom dancing?"

Potter flushed and hid his face in the taxonomy book.

Snape snorted softly. "What do you wish to learn? I can't teach you to tango overnight if that's what you're after, but I can show you how not to make an utter prat of yourself."

"You can do the tango?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "For your information, no. Nor can I lambada, flamenco, or do the Twist, nor would I teach you any of those abominations, but I can teach you a basic waltz."

Potter blinked. "Where in Hell did you learn to do the waltz?"

"Arthur Murray," Snape muttered sarcastically.

"Who?"

"Nobody, Potter. Do you wish me to teach you or not?"

"Um... I suppose. Let me finish this jar." He wrote out a label as quickly as he legibly could, slapped it at an angle onto a jar of banana slugs, and hurriedly cleared the middle of the floor.

Snape sniffed in mild disgust and dug the old Bakelite wireless out from behind a stack of books. He flicked the power and tuned into the WWN. He gritted his teeth at the wailing noise that issued forth.

"Uh... bagpipes, sir?"

"Certainly, Potter. If you can learn to waltz to bagpipes, you can learn to waltz to anything." He gritted his teeth, desperately wishing for Ella Fitzgerald or Count Basie.

"Okay... um, floor's clear." Potter shifted from foot to foot. "Um... what do I do now?"

"The first thing you do is wait for your partner, unless you wish to try dancing with yourself."

"Er..." Potter's upper lip curled in horror. "You mean you're going to make me dance with you?"

"How else do you expect to learn a partnered dance?"

Potter shrugged. "I thought you were just going to tell me what to do," he said from between clenched teeth.

"Yes, and why don't I simply tell you the basics of brewing a Nightshade Restorative Draught and expect you to make it correctly first time? While the image of you turning blue and falling over on my classroom floor is most amusing, I suspect I'd have a job explaining it to the headmaster."

Potter growled softly. "Can we get it over with, then?"

Snape smiled nastily. "As you wish, Mister Astaire."

"Who?"

Severus glowered wearily. "Are you sure you were raised by Muggles?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Nothing, Potter." Severus stepped in front of the brat. "First thing is to bow to your partner, like this." He gave a low, stiff, utterly dignified bow.

"Er... do I have to?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I said so."

Potter stared at him for a moment. With a look of supreme disgust and disbelief, he gave a halfhearted bow.

Snape folded his arms. "My, don't I feel special? I think I'll go dance with that spotty fourth year over there picking his nose."

"Oi! It wasn't that bad!"

"I beg to differ. Do it again. With feeling this time."

Potter sighed and bent with an exaggerated flourish. "Better?"

Severus took a step past Potter. "That fourth year is looking less and less horrid."

"Oi!" A hand on his arm stopped him and jerked back just as quickly. Potter looked a bit flushed and flustered, but took a deep breath. Very slowly and staidly, he bent at the hips until he was parallel with the floor. He arched an eyebrow when he'd straightened up. "Is that what you meant?"

"Quite." Severus roughly grabbed Potter's right hand in his left and jerked him closer.

"None of that, now!" Potter stepped back, trying to disentangle his hand. "I thought you were trying to teach me to dance, not make out!"

Severus shuddered mightily. "Believe me, Mister Potter, as disgusting as that thought may be to you, it is doubly so to me." He pulled the little brat to arm's length again, grabbing him tightly by the waist. "Hand on my shoulder, right now."

Potter stared up at him.

"Well? Are you deaf? The Ball is tomorrow, you know, we haven't got forever to do this."

Grumbling, Potter put his hand on Snape's shoulder. It was a bit of a reach, and Snape noted that he barely brushed his curled fingers again the heavy wool of the winter robe.

"Now what?" he asked, not looking at Severus.

"Now I lead. Keep in mind that a waltz is a three-step dance, moving in a non-stationary triangle, and I will deduct a point every time you step on either of my feet."

"OI!"

"I shall also deduct a point every time you say, 'oi'. Have you any objections, Potter?"

Potter growled. "No, sir."

"Good. Let's begin, shall we?" Severus stepped forward with his right. Potter stepped back with his right, thus causing Snape to trod on his left.

"OW! Watch it, you idiot!"

"I think you shall find, Potter, that was entirely your own idiocy. Next time, I suggest you remember that you and your partner must move together."

"Yeah, whatever." Potter glared sullenly up at him. "Can we just try this again?"

Snape grinned. Much to his delight, Potter shuddered.

The next night at the Yule Ball, for the first half-hour or so before Merlin's Beard took the stage, Potter kept glancing up at Snape with a questioning look. Snape nodded subtly; every time he did, Potter relaxed a little. He felt quite pleased with himself, as neither Potter nor Miss Weasley landed on their backsides, and the little brat only stepped on his date's feet a couple of times.

The crypts at Hogwarts had long been forgotten in favour of less morbid attractions. The occasional student still crept to the sub-dungeon to see the graves or try to steal a snog - Severus himself had caught the Weasley twins down there no less than half a dozen times - but, for the most part, the cold, dank, dark labyrinth was left to the dead. Three of the Four Founders were buried here (Salazar Slytherin's grave having been lost to time), as were their earliest descendants and various and sundry of the most famous Hogwartians. Many a headmaster kept rooms down in these cobweb-filled chambers. Now a child joined them - young man, Severus should say - not for the first time but certainly the first in a very, very long time.

Harry's casket sat near the entrance in case any mourners wished to visit. Soon, it would be moved to a more permanent spot. Or it would if Severus' suspicions proved false. Quietly, he opened the lid of the casket. Harry lay there, silent and still and pale, his scar barely visible between locks of hair that refused to behave even in death.

Severus traced the outline of his cheek, the cool, stiff flesh of his bluish lips. Tenderly, he leaned forward for a kiss. In the back of his mind suddenly ran the story of Snow White, awakened from death by a kiss from Prince Charming. He shuddered. "Daft," he whispered to the dripping stones. "Utterly daft."

The phial was in his hand. He looked at it, at the tiny gold spark flashing insistently every several seconds. He'd not even been thinking of magic when he'd caught them, when he'd picked Harry's limp, warm body off the ground. It had only seemed right, when he saw the tears starting down that young face, to bottle them and keep them as his only reminder. He'd barely even cast a look at Voldemort, who had fallen at the same moment as Harry, hadn't even considered the murky, grey tears sliding down that chalky face.

"Could it be, old boy, that you've finally managed to stopper death?" he whispered, gazing at the bottle.

There was only one way to find out.

Biting his lip in hope, he unscrewed the lid of the vial and pressed the opening to Harry's slightly parted lips. "There you go, take your potion," he murmured before he'd realised what he was saying. Severus resisted an urge to stroke Harry's throat to force a swallowing reflex. It would have been useless. Instead, he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

For - by his rough calculation - two hours or more, he stood there, stroking the mussed hair, the pallid skin, laying warm kisses on Harry's lips and murmuring, "Breathe, Harry. You can do it. Time to wake up, it's all been a dream. Come on, breathe." He forced the boy's mouth open, inflated his cold lungs carefully, listened for an independent breath. All he heard was the whimper and wheeze of air escaping dead flesh.

It was in the wee hours, when his burningly dry eyes refused to stay open, that Severus finally closed the casket lid. Cursing himself for wasting the only thing of Harry he had, he pocketed the empty vial and left the crypt. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he might be buried there in many a year and possibly be close to his Harry.

Since sometime after the start of Spring term, when Severus had actually apologised to Longbottom for shouting at him when his cauldron melted again, Potter's frequent detentions had grown almost amicable. While Severus marked or read or whatnot, and Potter performed whatever task he'd been assigned, when not happily miserable and silent they had taken to chatting, or sniping, or whatever one might call it. The brat turned out to have rather a keen wit, when he wanted. In a school full of cowering imbeciles and strutting rogues, it was a pleasant change to have an argument with a sour-tongued dissident. Voldemort's killing spree had taken a sharp upswing after Christmas, and seemed to be moving erratically closer to Hogwarts as well; Snape sometimes suspected Potter spent so much time in the dungeons just for the steady supply of Headache Draught.

It was an unusually chilly night in mid-March that Severus looked up from his journal at the sound of teeth chattering. "Yes?"

Potter glanced up from the file he was organising. "I didn't s-say anything." A heavy shiver went through his body. He sneezed.

Snape sighed. "You're frozen to the bone."

"I'll be fine, sir." His blue lips were drawn back around his teeth. Due to a warm afternoon, the brat had left his cloak god-knows-where.

"Follow me, Potter. Leave that here." Severus stood up, cursing himself in the back of his mind for what he was about to do. Quietly, he locked the office and led the brat to his private chambers. They were warmer than the rest of the dungeons due to a network of strategically placed heating charms and a collection of heavy curtains covering the walls. Potter hung in the doorway, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"Sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm not going to molest you, Potter. I simply have no great desire for you to die of pneumonia." With a flick of his wand, the fire roared. He motioned to one of the chairs in front of it. "Sit down, boy, before you catch your death!"

Skittishly, Potter obeyed. He settled into a chair while Severus dug through a cabinet until he pulled a very old, very dusty decanter of brandy from the back. Blowing off the dust, he asked, "Have you any decent tolerance for alcohol?"

Potter shrugged. "Don't know, sir."

"Hmm." Snape glanced back at him. "Well, soon to find out." He popped the stopper out of the decanter and fished a dusty, upside-down snifter from the cabinet as well. Wiping the dust from the outside with his sleeve (a less than sanitary practise, but certainly better than a mouthful of grime), he filled the glass partway and handed it over. "This ought to warm you up."

Potter arched an eyebrow, but took the snifter anyway. "Thank you, Professor." He sat there suspiciously, holding it and narrowing his eyes at Snape.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Potter, I haven't poisoned it!" Severus yanked the glass from Potter's hands, took a generous sip, and closed his eyes as the liquid ran hot and tingling down to his stomach. He gave a little sigh, thrust the snifter back into Potter's hands, and poured himself one.

"Sir?"

"What is it now, Potter?" Snape turned around, brandy in hand, and glared.

"Er... should you be doing this?" Potter stared at the contents of his glass, a look of great perturbation on his face.

"No, but I'll let it slide. Go on, drink it! This is hundred-and-fifty-year-old brandy from Normandy. Believe me, if I were attempting to blackmail you, I would have given you alcoholic cack."

"Urgh." Potter wrinkled his nose. "That's... do I want to know what counts as alcoholic cack?"

"Nothing literal, don't worry." Snape took a sip. Tendrils of warmth and flavour worked their way into his sinuses. He held them there for as long as he could, finally releasing a long, slow breath through his nose. "If you must know specifics, Frangelico."

Potter blinked. "You mean that stuff that's supposed to taste like hazelnuts?"

Severus' spine bristled. "Yes, that." He snorted. "The headmaster deemed to find me a bottle of it for my last birthday. Apparently, he fancies the shite. I'd much rather be kicked in the teeth."

A small giggle filled the air. "Know what to get you for your birthday then, sir."

Snape arched an eyebrow at him and took a fortifying sip. "Bollocks. Do it and I'll have you testing Potions experiments. Taste-testing, I mean." He smirked.

"There's gratitude."

"Precisely."

They sat for a while, Severus sipping his brandy in a refined sort of way and Potter slurping - slurping - it from the glass. They chatted about Quidditch, and the stories going around that Professor Flitwick fancied Professor McGonagall, and a little about Voldemort and his ongoing reign of terror. Potter drooped a bit when the question of destroying the abomination came up; he'd convinced himself for god-knows-what-reason that if one of them died, the other would as well.

"Sometimes I wonder if I ought to kill myself and get it over with," he said softly.

"I hardly think that should be necessary, Potter. Anyway, who's to say you aren't wrong?"

Potter shrugged. "I'm paranoid, then."

"Of this I have no doubts." Snape leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the brandy, the warmth of the fire seduce him towards sleep. It took a moment for him to remember exactly who was in the room with him. His eyes snapped open. "How do you like the brandy?"

"Um... it's different. Um... think I'd prefer the Frangelico if it's all the same to you." He looked up sheepishly and gave a halfhearted smile of apology.

"As soon as you're of age, Mister Potter, you're welcome to it."

"Really?"

Snape nodded.

"Uh... thanks, sir. I think." Potter blinked at him quizzically. He drained his brandy in one long go that made Snape grind his teeth, and set the snifter down. "Whoa... a little dizzy."

"So the answer to my question, then, is no, you don't have any decent alcohol tolerance. Tell me, do you get drunk off of Butterbeer?"

Potter stuck his tongue out. "No. I'm not a house-elf."

"Pity. You might be more useful if you were."

"Bollocks."

Snape snorted into his glass and took another slow sip. "Two of them, thank you."

Potter blushed. "Professor!"

"Yes?" Snape asked innocently.

Potter clutched his hair and muttered, "I really didn't need to know that."

"Surely you must know that the average male has two bollocks."

"Yeah, but that's a little different from hearing it first-hand from a greasy-haired git like you!"

"Would you rather hear it from the headmaster?"

Harry shuddered. "I think I'm going to be ill."

Severus pointed towards the bathroom. "In there, if you must. I'd rather not have to clean the rug tonight."

Harry flipped him two fingers. Severus smirked.

"Two points from Gryffindor, then?"

Harry very quickly pulled one of them into his fist.

"Ah. So one point from America."

Harry laughed out loud. "A hundred points from the Salem Witches' Institute!"

"Hear, hear!" Severus raised his snifter and drained it. "Time to take back the Colonies, show the Yanks it was only a loan!"

"Second wave, attention!" Harry giggled into his hand.

Snape looked at him, grinning a little. "You're not as bad as your father was, Potter."

Harry blushed, but smiled. "Give me time."

Severus snorted. "Of that I have no doubt." Setting his empty snifter down, he said, "You haven't mentioned Miss Weasley in a while. I rather thought you'd take after your damnable father and settle down with the first redhead to fall into your lap."

Potter shrugged. "We broke up."

"Pity."

Harry shrugged again. "I suppose... I don't know. Only, she acted like she was dating The Boy Who Lived all the time, I couldn't get used to it. Anyway, she couldn't dance."

Snape glanced at him. Harry's eyes were lowered, and his hair had completely covered his scar. "Considering the source," Snape said silkily, "I think I'll give her a bit of leeway next Yule Ball."

"Heh. Yeah." He glanced at Snape. "Wish I could find a girl who danced like you."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "I could put on a dress if you wish, but I fear the consequences wouldn't be pleasant."

Harry snickered. "I think I can live without seeing you in drag again, thanks." He went silent a moment. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Um... god, this sounds so stupid... um... this is probably just the brandy talking, but... could you teach me how to dance some more?"

"You're right, Potter. That is most certainly the brandy talking."

"Severus!" Harry flushed scarlet and slapped a hand over his mouth. "Where in Hell did that come from?"

"My father's side of the family, his Great-Uncle Severus. As for your decision to use it, I haven't the foggiest."

Harry sighed softly. "Reckon that's a no to teaching me some more, then." He shifted in his chair, tucking one leg underneath him.

Severus looked at him a moment. Finally, he sighed. "Get up, Potter, push these chairs out of the way. By the bedroom door will do nicely."

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

Snape pointed across the room at the door to his large, toasty bedroom. "Over there. You don't think I sleep in my chair, do you?"

"Er... hadn't really thought about it."

Severus made a noise. "I have to say I'm not terribly disappointed about that." He pushed himself out of his chair. "Go on, move the chairs out of the way." He fiddled with the antique wireless sitting on top of the mantel. When he switched it on, a newscaster was talking about the Ministry of Magic's new policy regarding Voldemort's advance. "Blasted box," he muttered, turning the dial. It went through a couple of Muggle stations blaring that hideous "rock and roll" tosh and finally settled on something from the Big Band era. "Glenn Miller," he murmured, smiling. "My mother raised me on this."

"Were you raised by Muggles, sir?"

"What? Oh, no, good god, of course not." He touched his left arm. "I wouldn't be wearing this if I had," he said with an edge of bitterness. "My mother was a pianist. She studied all types of music, Muggle included. This was her favourite." He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the brash brass, smirking. "She taught my sister and I to swing dance before I'd even left for school."

Harry giggled. There was a soft thump as a chair set down on the stone floor. Severus glanced back to see him levitating the table carefully, making sure the snifters didn't fall. "Can you teach me?" Harry asked impishly.

"Hardly. I barely remember a thing."

"Could your mother teach me?"

Severus pursed his mouth. "Not unless you know of a way to stopper death," he said quietly.

"Oh. I'm sorry," Harry said. "Um... you don't have to if you don't want. Teach me, I mean."

Severus shook his head. "Water under the bridge, Potter."

"Could I say something, sir?"

"What?"

"Um, you're not so bad when you're being nice. Human, even."

Severus snorted softly. "Shows how much you know." He turned with a flourish. "Shall we get this over with?"

Harry nodded. Automatically, he bowed, deeply, soundly, properly. "Very nice," Severus murmured, and copied him. Holding out his hands he asked, "Are we ready?"

Potter nodded. Gingerly, he took Snape's left hand in his right, and placed his left hand on his shoulder. Severus noticed it wasn't nearly as reluctant a touch this time, laying properly over his shoulder, weight and texture and comfort. He smirked down at the brat and put a gentle hand at his waist.

The song ended. The programme apparently was simply older music because it changed from "Pennsylvania 6-5000" to Nat King Cole. "Sounds different," Harry said.

"It is, by several years." Severus hadn't heard "Mona Lisa" since his mother was alive. Closing his eyes to lazy slits, he started to lead Potter around the floor in a basic waltz, trying to ignore the absurdity of the situation in favour of the brandy's effects. The rhythm, though, and the wistful mood of the song lulled him out of it and into a simple swaying motion. Tension drained from his shoulders, and the warmth of the brandy seemed to resurge in his stomach. Very, very softly, not really thinking about what he was doing, he sang, "Is it only 'cause you're lonely they have blamed you? For that Mona Lisa strangeness in your smile...?"

"Nice," Harry murmured.

Severus shut his mouth abruptly. "Sorry," he said tersely.

"It's okay." Harry glanced up briefly. "I never really imagined you singing, y'know. Or dancing, really, but..." he trailed off.

"But what?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. Only, I like you better like this than as snarky old Professor Snape."

"I am snarky old Professor Snape, in case you've forgotten, Potter."

Harry arched an eyebrow most impressively. "No, you're not," he muttered. Tentatively, he moved a little closer. Severus couldn't be bothered to push him away.

Harry snorted softly. "Bet you didn't think you were going to end up dancing with one of your students tonight."

"No, I can certainly say I didn't. Of course, I also didn't think I would be feeding my good brandy to an underage miscreant with a taste for Frangelico."

"M'not a miscreant." Harry moved a little closer. His head was nearly resting on Severus' chest. Something that should have set off every warning bell in his brain seemed to have been bypassed, whether due to alcohol or the simple, rare pleasure of being so close to someone with whom he was... comfortable. A small thrill went through him as he realised what it was. Severus barely restrained himself from resting his cheek in the boy's hair.

"If you weren't a miscreant, you wouldn't have been in detention with me for the last seven months."

"Well, maybe I fancy you." Harry chuckled under his breath.

Severus glanced down at him. "I think you need to speak to Madam Pomfrey about having your head examined."

"Probably." He sighed softly, and lay his head against Severus' chest. "Mm. Sleepy."

"That would be the brandy." Snape moved his hand to the small of Harry's back to steady him. Gently, absently, he stroked through layers of robe with his thumb. Harry wriggled slightly and made a purring noise.

"Never had a backrub," he murmured.

"Never?"

Harry shook his head.

"Not even from your string of girlfriends?"

He shook his head again. "Only been three of them. Never really felt comfortable enough with them for a backrub."

"But you do with me."

Harry hummed.

"Your sarcastic, old, ex-Death Eater Potions master."

Harry shrugged. He slid his hand from Severus' shoulder to between his shoulder blades. "Reckon so."

"Are you sure it's not the brandy talking again?"

Harry nodded. A most unexpected burst of heat (he was certain it was misguided sunlight) ran through Severus' chest. Silently, he ran his hand up and down Harry's back, inciting another purr.

"Don't stop," Harry mumbled.

A smile twitched on Snape's lips. "Awfully demanding, aren't we?"

"Yep."

Severus laughed. It was an unfamiliar act and an unfamiliar sound, but it neither broke nor hurt. "Impossible whelp. I may have to demand more detentions if you continue with such bravado."

"Keep rubbing or else," Harry mumbled into Severus' chest.

"Or else what?"

Harry looked up. His eyes were half-closed, like a cat's, and took a moment to focus. His chin rested against Severus' breastbone. "I'll think of something."

Severus stopped.

Harry keened. "Why'd you stop?"

"I want to see what you think of."

"It'll be bad."

"I have no doubts."

"And gory."

"Of course."

"And then I'll make you rub my back again."

"You truly have a sadistic streak, don't you, Mister Potter?"

"You can call me Harry, y'know."

"I can, or I may?"

"Both, I suppose. Can I call you Severus?"

"You can. I don't know if you may."

Harry rolled his eyes. "May I call you Severus?"

"Hmm. I'll have to think about that."

"Thought about it yet?"

"Potter, you've--"

"Harry."

"You've hardly given me a chance."

"What about now?"

"What would you do if I said yes?"

"Yes, you've thought about it, or yes, I c--may call you Severus?"

"Both."

Harry's face broke into a wide, brilliant, beaming smile, warm and open and a little bit coy. "But not during lessons, right?"

"Not if you ever want detention again."

Harry giggled, burying his face in Severus' chest. Severus arched an amused eyebrow. "Yes, I know, the irony of it all."

Harry nodded fervently. "Sort of like taking dancing lessons from Professor Snape."

"Indeed."

Harry looked up again. "Anything I do right now is probably the brandy, right?"

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"No reason. I thought of something, that's all. It's sort of strange."

"How strange?"

"Er... very?"

Severus looked straight down into Harry's eyes. The underside of the brat's chin was pressed against his breastbone again. Sneakered feet moved gently between Severus' shoes. It dawned on him how close they were, physically, closer than he'd ever been to another man since his father had hugged him as a boy. Part of his mind tried to panic, but the rest was perfectly happy where it was.

"What, precisely, did you have in mind that I might plausibly blame on the brandy?" His own chin had fallen to his chest, and it occurred to him how close their lips were, that if Potter were only to tilt his head a little to the left, just like he was doing--

It took a moment for him to comprehend that Harry was kissing him.

It took another moment to comprehend that he was kissing back.

It was only the barest chaste press of lips, soft and ever so slightly dry. The shock of it all held him there until Harry let it break. He screamed inside, half in panic that he had kissed a man, half in panic that it was over. "Harry," he rasped. "Potter..."

"It was the brandy, wasn't it?"

Severus stared at him a moment. Finally, his lips moved, his vocal cords vibrated, and he said, "Probably."

Harry fidgeted a little in his arms. "I probably ought to go sleep it off." He looked around, as though waking up in an unfamiliar place. Which, in all likelihood, he is. I certainly am.

"That may be for the best." Severus rubbed his hand over Harry's back one last time and reluctantly stepped away. "Did you leave anything in my office?"

"No," Harry whispered. His eyes were focused on something invisible. He looked sad.

"I'm not canceling detentions, you know."

Harry's eyes darted towards his. "Good. I'm not sure what I'd do with my time if you did."

"Study, perhaps?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Like I said."

Severus smiled weakly. He silently showed Harry the door. As soon as he was gone, Severus took his snifter, refilled it, and spent a long, long time staring at the fire while the wireless played softly in the background.

The Great Hall wasn't as quiet as he'd have liked it to be. The students were leaving in a few short hours, for the summer or never to return, and Severus watched quietly through the curtain of his hair. It hid his red, raw eyes and the tearstains that refused to go away completely. He picked at his porridge, using the spoon to squash raspberries against the side of the bowl. They left pinkish, bloodlike smears through the sickly mess.

He'd returned to his rooms sometime after four in the morning. There was mud on his shoes, and a gash on his left ankle that had made his sock stick to his leg, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where they'd come from. He remembered having a shower, and washing his hair for the third time in twenty-four hours, and curling up naked and sopping while the bedspread drank the water from his skin. Beyond that, the night after the crypt was a blank spot in his mind.

Severus scooped up a spoonful of porridge and let it dribble childishly into the bowl. Professor Flitwick noticed and nudged him. "Do you need to see Poppy, Severus?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. His fist dug into his cheek; his elbow ground into the table. His eyes darted around the room taking in the sombre faces and hunched spines at the Gryffindor table, the empty spots where several of his sixth and seventh year Slytherins had sat before their Dark Lord called them to be arrested or killed, the general air of malaise over the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Ron Weasley in particular was deathly pale, staring at his plate with ringed, slightly manic eyes. Granger halfheartedly prodded him to eat; Severus noted she'd barely touched her kippers herself.

From down the high table, he heard a slight noise. Albus was standing up, probably to give some speech or other. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, but whatever words were there didn't have a chance to escape.

The door to the Hall flew open with a bang. Severus scowled, then dropped his spoon, splashing his robe with specks of porridge. A small, skinny boy, maybe seventeen, staggered in, his dress robes creased and wrinkled, his hair a mess, his green eyes wide and panicky behind glasses set askew. He nearly fell to his knees, regained his balance, and looked around.

"What's going on?" he asked in a high, exasperated voice. "How'd I get down there?"

The dull roar of voices died. Every head in the room was fixed on him. Even Albus looked shocked, something Severus had never seen. Snape bit his lip, hard, in effort not to cry out.

"Harry?" came a voice from the Gryffindor table. "'S that you?" Weasley slowly pushed himself to his feet. He climbed over the bench, jaw slack, eyes bugging out of his head.

"Better be. How'd I get here? Last thing I remember is casting a Killing Curse on Vol--You-know-who."

Weasley danced on the spot a few feet from where Harry swayed on his feet. "What's my middle name?" he asked in a breaking voice. The rest of the Hall was sepulchrally silent.

"Er... Marcus." Harry squinted suspiciously. "Why are you asking me that?"

Weasley bit his lower lip. A bit more hesitantly, he asked, "What did I tell you when we were leaving the Three Broomsticks the other night before... you know...?"

Harry paused, and said something Severus couldn't hear. It caused some sob lodged in Weasley's throat to break free, though. Harry blinked and staggered. Weasley broke into a run and steadied him in a massive hug. The rest of the room (several teachers included) took it as a cue to break out in cheers, or sobs, or jump to their feet and surge, en masse, around Harry and Weasley. Granger skirted the mob and pressed through from the back. She put her own arms around Harry, resting her cheek against his chest, her silent tears a marked contrast to Weasley's hysterical sobs.

"How do you feel, Harry?" Severus saw her lips move. The roar in the Great Hall made it impossible to hear anything.

Harry paused, and said, "Like I've been dead for three days." Granger either laughed or sobbed, and Weasley gave him the most incredulous look Severus had ever seen before breaking down and bawling like a child.

Severus gripped the edge of the table until his fingers turned white. To let go would mean vaulting over, tearing across the Hall, forcing his way through the crowd with no regard for toes or skulls, and pulling Harry into the most vicious, perfect embrace he could manage. After what seemed a long time, he glanced around. The high table was empty save himself and Albus.

Albus stared at Harry, a sharp frown on his face, his eyes hard and dark. They darted to the side and met Severus' hidden ones. He swept down the table, leaning down for a moment and gripping Snape's shoulder. "Come with me," he hissed.

"Headmaster?"

"This shouldn't be happening. I need to speak with you and Mister Potter as soon as possible."

"But, Albus, surely this--" Severus cringed at the intensity of the look he received.

"Severus, please."

Snape nodded. Slowly, he stood, giving his knees time to steady before taking a step. Minerva was hugging Harry now, Hagrid hugging both of them and spinning them high above the ground. He watched as Albus made his way through the crowd, tapped Hagrid on the arm, watched the looks of disbelief and loss creep across his and Minerva's faces. Weasley shook his head and grabbed his friend. Harry seemed too stunned to move. He sagged into Weasley's embrace, looking around in obvious confusion. His eyes only stopped when he saw Severus at the high table. He cocked his head questioningly. Severus nodded once and left the Great Hall through the side door.

Detentions continued, although Harry never again asked Severus to dance. They talked, and marked papers, and Snape's office and classroom probably hadn't been so clean even when the castle was first built. Now and then he would catch Harry glancing at him with a funny look in his eyes - it wasn't an unpleasant look; in fact it sent butterflies streaming through his innards. Harry always looked away before Severus could get his fill of it. That same comfort as before was present, although Severus didn't dare lay a finger on the brat again except in fleeting touches and brief, accidental brushes. They seemed to bump into each other quite a lot.

Things continued well enough until the end of lessons in June. Harry's class did unusually well - the Gryffindors, anyway - and even Longbottom earned reasonable marks. Harry's marks could have been better, but his scar had taken to hurting 'round the clock. Severus was running low on Headache Draught.

It was nearing eleven, five days after exams finished, only three days before the students would leave and take Harry with them, that Severus' Mark burned more vividly than he could ever remember. It went from red to black to white in a matter of seconds. Gritting his teeth, he went, only leaving word with Albus. Harry had been dragged to Hogsmeade by a herd of classmates that night and wasn't expected back until Rosmerta kicked the lot of them out.

Most of the night was a blur. He Disapparated, only to reappear barely a hundred metres away. Voldemort stood as close to the Hogwarts grounds as he could, grinning darkly, his scarlet eyes glittering in the light of wands. He was hooded and seemed little more than a face floating in the forest. He put a skeletal arm around Severus' shoulders and whispered, "The new world begins."

Severus had to fight very hard not to be ill in the grass.

The last clear, left field thought he had before the siege on Hogsmeade began was, If you get yourself killed, Harry, I'm bringing you back and killing you again myself.

Harry sat in the headmaster's office, back rigid, hands dropped into his lap. Behind his glasses he wore a confused look. "I'm... dead?"

"Until this morning, I'm afraid so, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "I don't remember any of it."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Albus leaned back in his chair, fidgeting slightly. "To say the least, this is exceedingly unorthodox."

Harry snorted and dragged a hand through his hair. "No kidding. I'm not going to... you know... rot, am I?"

"I don't expect so. I wish we knew who raised you. Necromancy is such a... rare art." Dumbledore looked at Severus. "You were the last person here to see Harry alive, and you were with him when he... fell. Did anyone take anything?"

"What sort of thing, Headmaster?"

"Blood, tears, anything liquid. From Harry, I mean."

Harry hid his face behind his hands. His blush was visible in the backs of them. "Please tell me I didn't wet myself," he said in a muffled voice. "It's bad enough to wake up dead without needing fresh pants, too."

Severus arched an eyebrow, giving him a sidelong look. "Believe me, Mister Potter, had you 'wet yourself' I wouldn't have carried your carcass back to the school." He bit his tongue immediately, wincing inwardly at the forced venom in his voice.

Harry hung his head. He glanced at Snape out the corner of his eye. "Oh." His eyes flickered between Severus and Albus. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Er... is Voldemort...?"

Albus nodded sagely, eyes drooping behind his spectacles. "According to Severus, the moment you cast the curse on him, he died."

"Is that when I... you know...?"

Albus' mouth went hard. He gave a brief, quick nod.

"Oh. Shit." Harry drooped. He glared at Severus. "Told you."

"Is there something I've missed?" Albus looked between them mildly, tipping his head back to see through his glasses.

"No, Headmaster," Severus said quickly. "It was a private conversation."

"Ah, that's not so bad, then. I'm afraid old age has made a mockery of my memory at times." He winked, clearly letting them know he was as sharp as ever. "But back to the subject, Severus. Did you see anyone - one of his friends, perhaps - take anything of Harry's?"

"Could I speak with Professor Snape alone?" Harry said before Snape could even open his mouth.

Albus blinked. "I suppose. Severus? Is that all right with you?"

Severus nodded. His hair was still in his face.

"Very well." Albus stood and stretched. "I think I'll have a walk to the kitchens. Excitement is good for the soul but not terribly filling. Would either of you care for me to bring you anything back?"

Severus shook his head. Harry said, "Yes, please." His stomach gurgled pitifully in agreement.

Albus smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Very well. Would you prefer it if I sent up a house-elf? It would arrive much more quickly, I assure you."

"Please?" Harry smiled imploringly, trying to look cute.

"I'll send one up presently." He gave them a little bow, hurried out, and closed the door behind him.

Harry glanced after him, then at Severus. "Your hair's in your face."

"Really? I hadn't noticed." He pushed the limp black mess out of his eyes anyway, tucking it behind his ears. Harry peered, scowling.

"You've been crying?"

"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't spread stories like that around the school."

Tentatively, Harry reached out pale fingers. He touched the side of Severus' face. Severus tried to pull away, but he couldn't muster the effort. His rebellious body made him lean into the gentle touch.

"Did you do it?" Harry asked softly.

Severus' eyes flicked towards him. "It was an accident."

"How?"

"I saved the tears running down your face when you died."

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, I don't follow."

Severus looked at him coolly. "Do I need to put you in a collar and lead?"

"I still don't... ohh." Harry cocked his head. "I think death's brain-damaged me."

"Really? I couldn't tell."

"Oh, shut up. And you can't take points anymore because I'm dead, so I'm not a student." He dropped his head and, much to Severus' regret, his hand. "Why'd you keep them?"

Snape blinked. "Because," he said softly, "I wanted something to remember."

Harry looked puzzled. It quickly changed to worry, lifting his brows and biting his lip. "Did you, er, get my letter?"

"Yes."

"You're not... upset, are you?"

Severus looked directly at him. Matter-of-factly, he said, "It upset me greatly, but I don't believe you have any reason to beat yourself up over it. I daresay you'd have been pleased."

Harry frowned at him. "Did you even read it? Why the Hell would I be happy you were ups--oh, god." His eyes went huge. Leaning weakly against the arm of the chair, he asked, "Do you...?"

Severus nodded. His hair fell in his face again.

"How long?"

"I'm not certain. I didn't realise until you'd rung down the curtain."

"So you..." Harry trailed off, gaping. His fingers had tightened around the arm of the chair until his knuckles turned sickly white.

"If you're asking if I fancy men as a rule, the answer is no. This is something of an anomaly."

"I was going to say, you saw me die and realised you loved me."

Severus pursed his mouth testily. "Not precisely. When I saw you die, I thought you'd merely lost consciousness. But I started to understand the... depth of affection at that time."

"Oh," Harry said as though he still hadn't grasped things fully. "Er... can--may I still call you Severus?"

"It would only be appropriate, given the circumstances."

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor. "Severus?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

Severus' eyes darted towards Harry. His breath hitched in his chest. Something fluttered in the hitch, like a panicked bird. Unsteadily, he leaned across the arm of his chair, lifting Harry's chin with his fingertips. "As you wish."

The door flew open. Harry jumped, and Severus jerked his hand back. A heavily laden silver tray scurried into the room at just about hip level, most likely propelled from beneath by a house-elf. The tray went to the top of the headmaster's desk, and the damnable elf scurried into Harry's chair and threw its arms around him.

"Dobby is missing Harry Potter!" it bawled. "Dobby is missing Harry Potter so much, but Harry Potter came back! Dobby is so happy he could shout it for the whole world to hear!"

"Hullo, Dobby." Harry hugged the hysterical elf, which only served to drive the little creature into even more of a state.

"Ah, Harry Potter, sir! You is really alive! You is here! You is never leaving again!"

"Don't plan to anytime soon."

Dobby sniffled and pulled back. He put his hands on Harry's cheeks. "Don't you ever get into fights again, Harry Potter! You is better than that!" Dobby peered. "You is sweating, Harry Potter."

"I am?" Harry wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "I am. Wonder how that happened?" His eyes darted towards Severus, and his mouth twitched.

"Is you wanting Dobby to turn down the fire? Is you wanting a lighter robe?" Dobby glanced towards the hearth. On the way his enormous eyes landed on Snape and grew even bigger. "Oh, Professor Snape!" he squeaked. "Dobby is not knowing you is here, too. Is you feeling better?"

"Better?" Severus snapped, squinting suspiciously. "Better than what?"

Dobby shrank a little. In a voice little stronger than a whisper, he said, "Better than you was yesterday. We house-elves was worried because you was crying for your Harry. You has your Harry back now, sir," he offered. "You is feeling better, then?"

Harry looked at Severus, pointing at Dobby. "What's he talking about?"

"Harry Potter, we was not thinking Professor Snape cared that you is dead, but after you was taken to the crypt he stayed in the Great Hall to cry for his Harry. We was not knowing what to think, we did not know he was even liking you, much less loving you."

"He said that?"

Dobby nodded. (Severus groaned, earning a look from the blasted little elf.) "He is calling out in his sleep, 'Harry, my love, wake up.' We is making sure no-one else could hear." He turned to Snape. "It was seeming a private thing, sir."

"I would say so!"

Dobby flinched, but a moment later his face lit up. "But now Harry Potter is alive and he and Professor Snape is together!"

"Complete with nosy house-elf," Severus muttered between his teeth. His face had long since gone fiery hot and he hid it behind a splayed hand.

Dobby squeaked. Harry frowned. "Be nice, you git."

"I'll be nice when I've been assured the details of my private life shan't be spread around the entire school."

"A house-elf does not speak his master's secrets, Professor Snape! Dobby is not speaking this to anyone. Many house-elves heard you calling for your Harry, but we is not telling anyone but you and your Harry."

"I certainly hope not!"

Dobby blinked mournfully. He gave Harry a last tight squeeze. "If you is needing anything, Harry Potter, Dobby is here. Dobby is so very, very glad you is back!" He hopped down from Harry's lap and glanced shyly at Severus. "You is taking good care of your Harry, yes, sir?"

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

The elf looked mournful. "Dobby thinks you do, sir, but Dobby is not wanting to anger you any more. Dobby is going, he will let Harry Potter get back to his sweating."

"Dobby!" Harry laughed.

Dobby gave him a sheepish look and scurried to the door. It closed softly. Harry looked at it, his face turned away from Severus.

Severus snorted in defeat. He touched Harry's hand gently. "Mister Potter?"

"Harry."

"Harry?"

"What?"

"Would you care to get back to your sweating?"

Harry's neck snapped as he turned it. "Are you joking?" He all but clambered over the arm of his chair, steadying himself tenuously on Severus'. Severus felt Harry's breath, warm and moist and thoroughly living, caress his cheek, cause a few strands of hair to tickle his chin, brush his mouth in short, eager puffs. Carefully, he laid his fingers against the back of the brat's neck, drawing him closer, touching their lips together tentatively. The touch was followed by a second, equally tentative kiss, then a longer one that sent sharp, hot sparks coursing through Severus' nerves. Harry's arm went around his shoulders, the other still being used for balance.

"God," Harry whispered against his lips, "that's better than sex."

"And how would you know what is or isn't better than sex?" Severus murmured back.

"By having sex."

Severus brushed his lips back and forth against Harry's. "My, my, my, so the perfect Harry Potter failed to die a virgin?"

Harry snorted. "I'd say so. Otherwise, I want to know what I was doing with my girlfriends."

"Fumbling in the dark, I daresay."

"Hmm. And you'd know all about that."

"Indeed I would. I was a randy teenager once."

"Probably not randy enough to think about doing your Potions master, though."

"Ah, no. No, I can definitely say I never considered 'doing' my Potions master." Severus pulled back a little, gazing at Harry, at his eyes wide and dilated, at the sheen of sweat covering his skin. A drop ran down from underneath his hair and traced the rough surface of his scar. Severus brushed it away with a thumb before it could be lost in his eyebrow. "So what now?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, reckon I might move into the dungeons--"

"I don't live here in summer, you know. I have a home on the other side of Hogsmeade."

"You do?" Harry asked with obvious surprise. "I've never seen it."

"And rightly so! You don't think I'm going to simply hand my home address out to every student who passes by, do you? I'd have a pile of rubble instead of a house."

Harry's snort was both infuriating and expected. "I reckon Neville'd be happy to send you one of his potions."

"Precisely."

"So," Harry said, "that mean I can move in? It's not as if I've got anywhere else to go."

"Actually, I expect your idiot godfather will offer to put you up."

Harry blinked. "Sirius is free?"

"Wormtail's body was removed from the scene of carnage. I believe Weasley was the one who sent him to his fate."

"Ron?"

"It certainly wasn't his sister. While you were playing with your old friend Voldemort, your peers were busying themselves with rounding up the Death Eaters. Mister Longbottom was most surprised to learn that I do, in fact, fall prey to most common hexes. I think he was rather pleased with himself when I sprouted leaves."

"Er..."

"He did a remarkably good job at casting a Foliatus Hex. Unfortunately, I think he had intended to cast a Folliculus Curse, which would have trapped me rather than give me a pleasantly green set of foliage."

Harry sniggered. "I won't tell him if you won't."

"I don't intend to. It seems the average Death Eater goes into a bit of a panic upon resembling a large water oak."

Harry smiled softly. "So... er... what's going to happen now?" He moved to lean his head against Severus' shoulder, paused, drew back, moved forward again. He settled for balancing across the arm of the chair, one hand gripping the mahogany leather, the other resting lightly on Severus' knee.

"I wouldn't want to say." Snape glanced at the door. "Somehow, I think Albus is going to have a few words for us."

"What do we tell him about... you know...?"

Severus gnawed at his thin upper lip. "We tell him the truth, of course. He'd guess anyway. Beyond that... it's up to him. I expect he'll want you to stay here until the teachers leave tomorrow, and then stay with your godfather."

"I want to stay with you."

Severus tried, but found he couldn't look the young man in the eye. "That... may be easier said than done."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that there are factors to take into account. You're legally a minor, your guardian has final say over what happens to you--"

"He can't stop me," Harry said firmly. Much more quietly, he added, "If you want me, I mean."

Severus touched his cheek with two fingertips. "We'll discuss it once we hear what Albus has to say on the matter. I..." he took a breath and let it out in a long shuddering go. "I don't know a great deal about necromancy," he said quickly. Those first three words left a thick pain in his throat. "There may be... complications."

"Like?"

Severus pushed the fringe out of Harry's eyes. "Sometimes magic fades."

The faint flush in Harry's cheeks drained away, leaving him as pale as the corpse he'd been. He shrank. "I don't want to die again."

"I don't want you to die again."

Harry fell back into his own chair. He drew his knees up to his thin chest and hugged them. "It can't happen," he said in a loud voice. The faintest quiver undercut its resolve. "I won't let it!"

"Nor will I. If I can stop it." Severus reached across and touched Harry's sleeve. The flesh beneath was warm and solid, and no matter how he tried he couldn't find the slightest chill of death.

The combination of foliage and panicking Death Eaters allowed Severus to slip away from the fray mostly unnoticed. He doubted Longbottom had recognised him when he threw the hex, but the softly snarled, "I'm telling your grandmother about this," most certainly gave him away. That identification may have also been what allowed him to slip away so easily. He'd heard Weasley order one of his impromptu troops not to follow.

He left the sounds of the scuffle, the yelps of the Death Eaters caught entirely by surprise by a collection of schoolchildren hiding like guerillas in the forest. When Harry had been taken - by Remote Apparation, a highly dangerous, short-range, and illegal technique certainly not taught at Hogwarts but probably listed in one of Granger's books - they'd been stunned, confused, borderline panicked... and then Weasley pulled himself together, declared that nobody was going to take his best friend like that, and ordered the lot of them into position like a grand master placing his chessmen. (That was how Granger would describe it the next day, at least, when Weasley had been taken to the hospital wing in shock.)

Not far away, he heard the sounds of a different sort of scuffle, a much smaller one. There was a burst of light on the edge of his perception and a catastrophic cracking sound as one of the huge elms of the Forbidden Forest splintered and crashed. High-pitched laughter saturated the air, maniacal and murderous. Severus willed his feet to move faster.

He arrived at the splintered chest-high trunk just in time to see Voldemort positioning his wand, Harry panting and disheveled and covered with black smears, crouched on the tree, groping for his wand in the grass. Voldemort started to speak, and Severus cried out.

"My Lord!"

Voldemort's head snapped towards him. In that instant, Harry grasped the wand, aimed it at his nemesis' heart, and screamed in harsh succession, "AVADA KEVADRA! AVADA KEDAVRA! AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The green light that burst from the end of his wand was no normal Killing Curse. It grew, pulsing and rising, forging itself into some shape too brilliant to see. The power charged for the Dark Lord who saw it in time to flinch. It crashed into him with as much force as the tree had into the ground only moments before. He staggered, once, and fell. His body made a thud when it hit the ground.

Severus jumped. He barely paused to see the red eyes glittering in empty confusion before turning his attention to Harry.

Harry, whose legs seemed to be failing him.

Harry, who lurched and toppled face-first onto the fallen tree, sliding off and coming to rest with one arm flung over the trunk. His wand still dangled from his fingers. It slipped... and made a soft noise in the grass.

Something in Severus' chest collapsed. Nearly staggering himself, he moved towards Harry's unconscious body as quickly as he could. Falling to his knees and taking the boy's limp form into his arms, he murmured, "Wake up, Harry. Did you hit your head? Wake up, my love--" he froze. Those particular words hadn't come out of his mouth... had they?

Swallowing, he brushed the hair from Harry's forehead. The glint of tears started to blossom in the corners of Harry's half-open eyes. He lay a hand on that thin chest, rubbing gently. "Wake up, Harry. Harry? Harry, are you breathing?" He dropped his head, pressing his ear against Harry's breastbone. He heard nothing, no sounds of air rushing through cartilaginous tubes, no steady lub-dub of his heart. Severus' lower lip involuntarily twitched. "Harry?"

No answer.

Severus threw him on the ground, opening his warm mouth, sitting across his hips. He forced air into those empty lungs, listened for it to hiss away, did it again, pressed his hands together and put his entire body of strength into crushing life into a still heart. He breathed again, breathed for both of them, once again attempted to force the chambered muscle to contract. The tears at the corners of Harry's eyes swelled and threatened to drip.

And, yet, he refused to move.

"Harry, love, breathe. I know you can do it. Wake up. Please? Merlin, please wake up, I'm begging you, please." He pressed his mouth against Harry's slack lips, muttering frantically. The fingers he twined with his were limp, and beginning to grow cool. "Harry, please, wake up." Severus kissed him desperately, probingly, trying for all he was worth to entice any remaining shards of life to surface. "Harry, please... please... oh, god, please..." he trailed off. A lone tear fell and splashed on Harry's glasses. It triggered one of the two swelling there to slide into the creases at the corners of his young eyes.

Shuddering, biting his lip until he tasted iron, Severus pulled the tiniest of phials from his pocket. He carried them with him just in case he ever found a use for the things. This one held a gram at most, and he caught Harry's tears as they slid down his temples towards his hair. It simply felt like the right thing to do. He told himself they might be useful in case Harry was only ill and in need of analysis; he knew it was because he needed something, and this was one thing for which nobody would look. Several fell over a period of minutes - the bottle was nearly full by the time they ceased to run - by which point the body was far too cool and growing stiff.

Forcing his shriek to stay inside, Severus glanced over at the other body in the clearing. "You monster," he spat, sneering at the cloudy grey trails drying on Voldemort's pallid skin. "Was it your mission to take away everything I ever loved?"

There was no answer. The Dark Lord was dead.

Severus thrust his wand into the air and sent up a shower of red sparks. They hovered over the clearing, lighting the place where the Dark Lord's body could be found. For good measure, he snapped Voldemort's wand, and cast an un-crossable circle around the corpse; it would allow exit by neither foot nor magical means until someone came to take the bastard away.

Very carefully, shedding his hated mask and cloak in the grass, Severus took Harry's limp body and cradled it against his chest. Hogwarts was close, and that was where they went. He no longer spoke to the boy, simply held him tight, trying to keep the last of his living warmth from slipping away.

Albus stared at him. Severus shifted in his seat, feeling very much like the third year who'd been brought to the headmaster's office for turning James Potter's hair into snakes. It did nothing to break the steady, soul-stripping gaze of those freakishly pale blue eyes.

"So there was nobody else with him."

"No, Headmaster."

"What did you collect, Severus?"

Severus glanced between the headmaster, and the son of his worst enemy. "Tears, sir. They leaked out when he died."

Albus pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "Oh, dear. I knew you'd given him a great deal of detention this year, but--"

"It was nothing like that, sir," Harry said, eyes narrowed, leaning forward with his arms loosely folded on his knees. "They were proper detentions."

"You're sure, Harry."

"'Course I'm sure. Otherwise, I wouldn't have said it. You can go have a look at the Potions classroom if you don't believe me. Certainly had to clean it enough times." He gave Severus a sidelong glare than melted wickedly as soon as it had begun.

Severus arched an eyebrow in return before saying, eyes still on Harry, "I don't understand why the fact that I took Ha--Potter's tears would indicate anything dubious between us." Harry's eyes narrowed; Severus narrowed his back until both of them broke into twitching, ghostly smirks.

"Because tears are the necromantic humour of love and great passion. Only some mutual bond of the heart would have allowed resurrection through tears. Blood I could have understood, possibly even perspiration, but this... needless to say, you've quite surprised me."

"Er... so you mean that it wouldn't have worked if Se--Professor Snape and I didn't... you know..."

"Love each other?"

Harry hunched between his shoulders, nodding. His cheeks had gone quite crimson.

Albus sighed weakly and leaned back in his chair. He pressed his fingertips together and let his hands rest against his chest. They made a steep contrast to his acid green robe. "Harry, the number of necromancers in this world can be counted on one hand. They have studied their art in secret. The fact that Severus even stumbled onto their tricks is perhaps the most concrete proof of his remarkable talent I've ever witnessed. Or sheer dumb luck. The fact that this particular form is what he stumbled across... had I not seen you standing there this morning, I would never have believed it.

"As I said, tears are the necromantic humour of love. They are also seldom successfully used, and the most lasting. Saliva is the weakest, and represents apathy. At best it produces a short-lived, semi-conscious zombie, at worst a rotting, walking automaton. Blood is the most common, if necromancy can be called common at all. It represents most other strong emotions, hatred, anger, rage. It's most often been used on a necromancer's enemies in order to make them suffer. Blood is also used in cases of familial and Platonic love, although the fitting irony fails to reach some people. Perspiration is similar, but closer to frustration than hatred. The... ah, sexual fluids are lust, of course. Bile is greed, stomach acid is pity, the list is a bit longer but you probably don't need to hear it all. The necessary factors are that the necromancer and the necromanced have the same feelings for each other, and the proper humour, shed in death, is applied. I must tell you, also, that there are certain other stipulations."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Such as?"

Albus took a deep breath. His eyes dropped to the surface of his desk. Quietly, he said, "In this particular case, the necromanced may only be killed by the necromancer. Otherwise, he or she is effectively immortal." He glanced up at Harry's dropped jaw, and Severus' pinched and stunned expression.

"So... I can't die?"

"No, Harry, you can't."

"So I could, say, cast a Killing Curse on myself and nothing would happen."

"I imagine you would be in a great deal of pain, but, yes, you would walk away."

Harry leaned back in his chair, face a mask of shock. His hands twitched in his lap. "Bloody Hell," he whispered.

Without really thinking, Severus reached over and placed a hand on the arm of Harry's chair. Harry grabbed it and rubbed a finger over the back of it. "I'm not going to die," he said. "I'm never going to die again."

"Harry--"

"So all I have to do if something happens to Severus is collect his tears and do whatever he did with them and we can stay together forever."

"Harry, it's more--"

"I've got a family that can never die," Harry said in awe. He clutched Severus' hand, chest shaking in laughter or trapped sobs. Suddenly, his face broke into a beaming smile that crinkled his eyes; he threw his head back and laughed.

"Harry! The situation is far, far more complicated than that!" "I can learn necromancy, sir--"

"You died at the same instant as Lord Voldemort." Albus shook his head. His eyes shifted and shimmered momentarily, in frustration as much as sadness. "You have no idea how much it pains me to even mention this possibility, child, but there is every chance that he awoke at the same instant you did."

Severus stiffened. "Albus--"

"Don't even say that," Harry growled. He gripped Severus' hand until the blood ceased to move. Snape gently flexed his wrist until Harry eased. Short, blunt nails still dug into his skin. "Voldemort is dead."

"I wish it were that simple, Harry, I truly do. We cannot discount the possibility, though." Dumbledore's eyes flickered towards Severus. "If he suspects it was you who brought Harry back, you are in great danger, my friend."

Severus frowned. He settled back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "Of course, Headmaster. I understand."

Harry glanced between them. "But--"

"Mister Potter, I would like to keep you here on school grounds for at least a few days, only until we know if Voldemort has awoken or not. I shall contact the Ministry of Magic immediately - they have custody of his body at this time," he said with a trace of disgust.

"What about Severus?" Harry asked softly.

"If he is willing, I'd like him to stay as well. Most of the staff will be leaving, but I shall remain, as will Mister Filch and the house-elves. Not the most pleasant of company, mind, but I shall do my best to make it amicable. And Hagrid will be here, of course, so you'll have at least one close friend among the hangers-on." Dumbledore smiled softly, but it didn't push away all the worry in his eyes.

"I'll stay," Severus muttered.

"Thank you, Severus. Well," Albus pushed himself away from the desk and stood, "Harry, I suspect you'd like to see your friends while you can. Severus, if you'll come with me, we can contact the Ministry, and arrange rooms for Mister Potter."

"Can I stay with Se--Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore arched an eyebrow. "Officially, no, you will be assigned rooms. However, I will not restrict your movements within the castle. Where you spend your time is up to you."

Harry sighed, frowning. "I understand."

Dumbledore nodded to him, closing his eyes for a moment. "I believe there is a House full of students eager to see you, Harry." He motioned to the door.

Harry pushed himself to his feet. He held out a hand to Severus and inclined his head. "Come on," he said softly. "I'll see you in a little while."

Severus gazed at his hand. Eyes flickering towards Dumbledore, he took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. "I should hope so. I'd hate to have gone to all the trouble of raising you from the dead only to have you avoid me."

Harry snorted. Much to Severus' surprise and Albus' poorly cloaked delight, he went up on his toes and kissed a pallid cheek. "Love you," he whispered.

For a brief, shining instant, the world made sense.

Fang's cataclysmic bark met Severus as he stalked onto the grounds. He'd forced his face into a cold, dispassionate mask, and with much the same effort he forced Harry's body into Hagrid's arms as he walked past. "Lord Voldemort is dead," he said coldly as he stalked towards his dungeons. Behind him, he heard Hagrid's deep, coarse voice peak and crack and finally shatter into a thousand choking sobs.

There finally came a knock at the door well after noon; it was long after the Ministry lackey Albus had spoken to swore blind that Voldemort was still dead, bound in a protective ring unbreakable without a wand and awaiting slow, careful disintegration. Severus dropped his snifter and bolted for the door. It swung open to reveal a somewhat red-eyed Harry. "Have you been crying, Potter?"

Harry shrugged and slinked in. "A little, maybe." His voice could have been significantly steadier. "Feel like I've just," he took a shuddering breath, "like I've just said goodbye to my best friends for the last time."

Severus closed and locked the door. Hesitantly, he touched Harry's shoulder. "You heard Albus, you can't die. I certainly won't kill you - not right now, at least."

Harry snorted bitterly. "Prat," he muttered. "And I know I can't die. Doesn't mean they can't, though."

"Ah." Snape lay his other hand on Harry's other shoulder. Harry grabbed them and wrapped Severus' long, slender arms around his chest.

"God, this is so fucked up," Harry muttered under his breath.

Severus buried the lower half of his face in Harry's scruffy hair. It was slightly coarse, beautifully masculine and stubborn. Inhaling, he smelled the spicy school-issue shampoo, underlain with something warm and faintly sweet. He smiled softly; he'd never before smelled Harry. It was radically different from the scent of every woman he'd been with, every woman he'd fancied himself to have feelings for back in the days when he fell for every girl who looked his way.

Not that anyone knew about that. He'd been, of course, only a teenager then. Severus shoved the obvious conclusions aside.

"'Course, they don't have to stay dead," Harry whispered almost too low to hear. Severus stiffened.

"Harry, you're talking about something that shouldn't be done."

"You did it."

"Without intending to."

Harry shook him off violently. "Regretting it already, then?" With a vicious sneer over his shoulder, he stormed across the room and curled up in one of the chairs in front of the fire. "Sure you don't want to off me again now and get it over with?"

"Simply because something is done accidentally doesn't mean it's unwanted." Severus glowered coolly and fetched his brandy from the table. He sipped quietly, staring at the bowed head in his guest chair.

"I don't want to live forever if it means everyone around me has to die. Again." Harry stared into the fire, his knees pressed up underneath his chin. The flames popped, sending a shower of red sparks glinting on his glasses.

"I could always feed you a slow-acting poison and give you a short-term antidote each morning. Surely, in the event of my death, that would count as my murdering you."

Harry glanced up. "Can you do that?"

"Very probably, but I said it to illustrate a point. You may be immortal, but only as long as I say so. Annoy me too much, and I am eminently capable of returning you to the crypts."

"But you won't."

"I might."

They stared at each other for a long moment, Severus as blankly as he was able, Harry with a little scowl of anger or confusion. Harry licked his lips. "So," he said slowly, "whatever you say goes."

"I am simply saying that you are not necessarily the most powerful piece on the board right now. I'd prefer not to be your Lord and Master - Merlin knows I understand what a hideous existence that would be for you - but you have to understand that I am your vulnerability. Anyone who wanted to kill you would merely need to cast an Imperius Curse on me, give me a wand or a knife, and you would be back in the crypts."

"You're so optimistic," Harry grumbled.

"Optimism is overrated, Mister Potter. I long ago discovered the advantage of being a realist."

"Which is?"

Severus took a thoughtful sip, swirling his brandy absently. "One is less likely to be disappointed."

Harry blinked at him. "I think I'd rather be disappointed sometimes than give up hope."

"And that, Harry, is why you will always suffer disappointment in great quantity. However," he drained the glass and dropped it on the table, "you will also feel your triumphs more greatly, when they occur."

"Thanks for the clause. 'When they occur'?"

Severus glanced at him and swept into his chair. "Life is, inevitably, more disappointment than triumph."

Harry snorted. "Good thing I'm not alive, then."

"I think you'll find that you are. I have no interest in necrophilia, and if you decide that you are, in fact, dead, we may have some issues."

"Oh." Harry pulled off his glasses and polished them on his sleeve. "Reckon I'd better be alive, then. Just in case."

"Hmm. I thought you might say that." Severus glanced at him as he slid his glasses back into place. "Have you given any consideration to where you would like to stay tonight?"

Harry's brow furrowed sharply. "Here. I thought you knew that. Or do you want me to go away?"

"The grave has certainly made you petulant."

"Oi!"

"I'm taking the piss, Harry. I only... have you considered the reality of the situation?"

Harry nodded. He shoved the hair out of his face. "'Course I have."

"And your conclusions are?"

Harry shrugged. He dropped his head and mumbled, "Nothing I haven't done before. I love you."

"I think I'm right in saying there are certain things neither of us has done before. I shan't push you to do anything you don't want, but for all intents and purposes I feel we should each consider ourselves to be virgins."

"I'm not a virgin."

"Tell me, Mister Potter, have you slept with many men before?"

Harry paled. "No," he said sharply. Shaking his head, he said towards the wall, "You're the only one I've ever wanted to... you know... with."

"And why is that?"

"Because I love you. You know that."

"And how did a decidedly heterosexual young man like yourself come to the conclusion that he loves one of the most hated masculine creatures in his realm of existence?"

Harry's narrowed eyes met Severus' from behind a hunched shoulder. "I could talk to you. And you didn't get upset with me when I got cranky. And... I don't know... it happened. Feels different than it did with Cho and Hannah and Ginny."

"How so?"

Harry shrugged. "Solid, I suppose. Like you're not going to try to change me into some big hero I don't want to be. And you do things that I know would have gotten you into loads of trouble if anyone found out."

"Such as?"

"The brandy? And teaching me to dance. I don't think Professor Dumbledore would have been too keen on that."

"Actually, when I was at school he insisted that all the students senior enough to attend a Yule Ball learn to dance. I spent many an hour having my toes stepped on by the staff my fifth year when my sister and I taught them so they could teach the students. It was one of Albus' shorter-lived ideas."

Harry's scowl broke into a look of utter shock. "You taught the teachers to dance?"

"A very long time ago, yes. I've forgotten almost every speck of it since my mother died. Although," his mouth twisted into a wry smirk, "I can still remember the look on Professor McGonagall's face when Professor Finch - my old Head of House - accidentally threw her across the room and she ended up arse-over-tit with her knickers showing."

Harry bit his lip. His face went red, and a slow, faintly whistling sound tried to stay in his nose. "Minerva McGonagall?"

Severus nodded. "Before you ask, blue cotton, buttons up the side, ridiculously conservative. They were at the time, anyway, and I see no reason for her to have changed. The style, I mean."

Harry keened. Tears swelled in his eyes. One dripped, and he plunged his face into his arm, using it to stifle his howls. "Agh! I'm never going to be able to look at her again!"

Severus gave a dry snort. "Give it time. It was worse twenty-five years ago. Minerva was a fetching thing in those days, I couldn't look at her for a solid month without nature taking its course."

Harry glanced up. One of his eyes was squinted, the other trying to pop out of his head. "I think that's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."

"To you, perhaps."

"She's my Head of House!"

"Which is why I say 'to you'. Although, your father fancied her for a time as well. He even got up the nerve to ask her to dance that year."

"What happened?"

"Madam Pomfrey had to fix two of her toes, and your father spent the evening in the corner. As I recall, your mother did as well, and that, my dear Harry, is how you eventually came to be."

Harry blinked. "What were you doing?"

"Getting flushed out of the rosebushes with Eloise Abernathy."

"Oh."

Harry went quiet for a moment. He looked pensive, lower lip caught between his teeth and eyes lowered. "Um, what's your sister doing now?"

Severus pursed his lips. "The same thing as my mother."

"Oh. I'm... sorry."

"Water under the bridge."

Harry scratched the back of his head. "Er... what about your father?"

"My father was killed in a cauldron explosion when I was five. His assistant had failed to clean some ingredients properly, and the resulting substance was both exceedingly flammable and persistently sticky. If you have any further questions as to my strictness during lessons, I suggest you go back to the crypt and try to find where you left your brain."

Harry drooped. "Brilliant. Now I feel guilty for shouting at you all last year." Tentatively, he reached across the small table and stroked Severus' forearm with the tips of his fingers. Severus grabbed his wrist, lifted his hand away, and clasped it in one of his own.

"You had no way of knowing. I certainly wouldn't have presented this information to you when you were still a student - and I trust you not to pass it along to anyone I shall have to teach next year," he added sharply.

Harry nodded, his eyes still focused on his lap. "Um," he asked, "what about your mother? What happened to her? If you want to tell me."

Severus snorted softly. Reflexively, he squeezed Harry's hand. "She and my sister were killed by Lord Voldemort. They were both wholeheartedly devoted to his destruction."

"But--"

"They didn't know."

"Oh."

A bitter smile twisted Severus' mouth. "I was an idiot in my youth."

"But you distracted Voldemort so I could kill him."

"Anyone might have done that. The flighty bastard never could keep his mind on one thing." Severus sniffed, and rubbed the end of his beaky nose. "I joined him because my girlfriend at the time did and I wanted to go with her."

"What happened to her?"

"She went from Adelle Marconi to Adelle LeStrange. Which is just another reason never to listen solely to your gonads."

It was Harry's turn to squeeze his hand now. "You've been screwed over a lot, haven't you?"

Severus arched an eyebrow at him. "Really? I hadn't noticed." He leaned his head against the back of the chair, eyes fixed on the corner where stone wall met rough-hewn granite ceiling. "Now do you understand why I prefer realism to optimism?"

Harry didn't respond. A moment later, however, Severus felt a warm, tentative weight on his knee. Harry wriggled halfway onto his lap, resting his head against one thin shoulder. Severus sighed softly and wrapped his arms around Harry's comfortable warmth. Perhaps for now I ought to become an optimist. "As I said," he murmured, "it simply makes one feel moments of triumph so much more greatly."

Funeral preparations were hasty, lavish, and excluded Severus entirely. He wasn't as upset as he could have been; he was in enough of a state without breaking down in front of Sirius Black. He stayed more or less in his dungeons, making potion after useless potion to occupy his time.

It was in the middle of Friday night, when he caught himself leaving a skin of fascia on a poison dart frog's liver - the same detail and the same potion that had killed his father - that he finally neutralised the sludge in his cauldron and put it away.

The knock at the door was rapid and urgent, but not so urgent as the voice that followed it. "Harry? Harry, are you in there? Snape, let my godson out of there right now, you son of a bitch!"

Severus bristled. Without even looking up from his book, he shouted, "Harry is having a shower at the moment. If you can be civil, you're welcome to wait in the corridor."

There was a pause. "Why in god's name is he having a shower in your room?" A bit lower, Snape heard him mutter, "What's going on here, Albus?"

"As I told you, it was through Severus' actions that Harry was raised from the dead."

"That doesn't give him the right to bugger my godson."

"Oh, yes, it does," Severus called. He smirked, relishing first the stunned pause from the corridor, then the deranged scrabbling at his door and the string of swearing and curses.

"Sirius, calm down, everything will be lucid soon enough," Albus said calmly.

"I'LL KILL HIM! I'M GOING TO RIP HIM APART! GET OUT HERE, YOU CHILD-FUCKING SON OF A WHORE!"

"Sirius, settle down!" The scrabbling stopped, probably through force rather than reason, and Albus called, "Severus, would you bring Harry to my office when you both are ready?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"I'll kill you, Snape!"

"Sirius! I assure you, the situation is not what you are thinking..." Albus trailed off. Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

A few minutes later, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, frowning and rubbing his hair with a towel. He wore his green dress robe again, and presumably all else along with it. "Did I just hear Sirius?"

"I'm afraid you did. He seems to have latched onto the notion that I'm in here taking advantage of your innocence."

Harry snorted. "Innocence, my arse." He looked down at his wrinkled robe. "Don't suppose he brought back my clothes?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea. Professor Dumbledore wanted me to bring you to his office. I assume you're decent?"

"I think so."

"Do you feel any better?"

"Yeah, thanks. I feel alive again." He frowned apologetically, crookedly, and shifted from foot to foot. "Sirius is going to kill you, you know."

"I gathered. Hopefully, Professor Dumbledore will have the decency to restrain him until I've done the deed for which I'll be executed." Severus' eyes darted towards the fire. Out the corner of them, he saw Harry's scrubbed face go pinkish.

"You sound like he did before you showed up at the Shrieking Shack," Harry muttered.

Severus arched an eyebrow.

"Killing Pettigrew."

"Ah."

Severus dropped his book on the table. A strip of leather held its place. He pushed himself to his feet, held out a hand, and asked, "Shall we?"

"One second." Harry moved close enough for their bodies to all but brush. He went up on his toes, put his hands on Severus' shoulders, and pressed their lips together. Severus returned the kiss. Once again, it was chaste, gentle, ever so slightly hesitant; it sent a steady trickle of heat running down his throat, his spine, pooling in his chest and stomach and elsewhere. Harry must have felt it, too, because a shudder ran through his body. He broke away, eyelids heavy and breath slightly ragged. "God, that's still better than sex."

"Indeed." Severus lifted one hand from the small of Harry's back where they'd fallen. He touched a long finger to the underside of his pale, freshly-shaven chin and kissed him again. As if requesting permission, he parted his lips a little.

Harry eagerly did the same. The very tip of a soft tongue touched Severus'. He barely stifled a whimper. Eyes closed, Severus held steady, nudging Harry's tongue ever so gently with his own, hand moving from the brat's chin to weave its way into his impossible hair. Harry slid an arm around to wrap around Severus' back, gripping his shoulder from behind. The other slid smoothly down his chest. It ran over Severus' breastbone, traced his delicate ribcage, came around back to cup his hip just above his arse. Only fingertips and the heel of his hand touched the heavy cotton of Snape's summer robe.

They broke apart gradually, lips pulling at each other, then brushing, then hovering oh-so-close together while they took in air in heavy, desperate lungfuls. Harry's eyes fluttered open and set on Severus', painfully black within a sliver of green. "My god, I want you," he said in a low, husky voice.

Severus crushed his mouth against Harry's again, hard, needy, battling with wet sounds and tiny whimpers. He pulled back sharply, pressed his forehead against Harry's. "We are going upstairs, getting whatever swotty business Albus has for us taken care of, and we are coming down here and finding out how far a little knowledge of anatomy can go." As he spoke, he rained tiny kisses around Harry's heated face, his soft mouth, breathing him in and being breathed in with every short, sharp intake of air Harry managed.

Harry moaned softly, almost a whine. "Can't they wait?"

"They'll come back. I'd rather not be disturbed."

"Lock the door, then."

Severus touched their mouths together once more. He spoke against Harry's lips, "Do you really want to face the headmaster and your godfather just after you've had sex in the Potions master's bed?"

Harry started to open his mouth. A sharp shudder coursed up his spine and he pulled back. "Dammit. Could you just throw cold water on me next time? It'd be nicer."

Severus smirked. His breathing was still ragged, but tolerable. "With a bit of luck, there shan't be a next time."

"God, I hope not." Harry leaned up for one last kiss, this one brief and chaste but still subversive in its impact. "Fancy giving me another dancing lesson later?"

"We shall see."

Harry flashed him a smile and stepped away a little unsteadily. He leaned against Severus' chair for a moment until his knees stopped trembling. "Good." He panted softly, chest rising and falling hard. "Let's get this over with. Otherwise, I'm going to rip your robes off and do unspeakable things to your person."

Severus closed his eyes a moment. "If you don't refrain from comments like that, your godfather may see more of either of us than he ever cared to." He held out a hand again and motioned his head towards the door. "Upstairs, Potter."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said in uppity singsong. Severus swatted him on the flank.

"None of that."

"Yes, dear."

Severus swatted him again, an incredulous smile threatening to break his mouth. "It's Severus, and don't you forget it." He took Harry's hand. "After all, you'll be screaming it later." He just made it out of Harry's reach before he could be swatted himself.

The night before the funeral, Severus woke himself up screaming Harry's name. Settling back into the bedclothes, sodden with sweat and panting viciously, he realised he couldn't remember if he'd been screaming it in loss, or in passion, or possibly in some twisted combination of the two. He pulled the pine green bedspread over his head and curled up in a ball, whimpering softly, creeping back into sleep even as his hand crept towards the evidence of unfulfillable, unrequited desire.

Snape hissed when Black literally wrenched Harry out of his hand. For the second time in as many days he was forced to watch as those spiteful dark eyes filled with heavy tears. Black clutched Harry to his chest, one arm around his shoulders and the other angled to tangle callused fingers in his hair. "Oh, god," he choked. "Oh, my god, Harry. You've no idea... you've no Earthly idea..."

"'Lo, Sirius," Harry said, words muffled against Black's wide chest. He'd put his arms around his godfather, if not with the same degree of desperation.

Black sniffled and wheezed, planting heavy, harsh kisses all over the top of Harry's damp head. "I don't know how, and I don't know why, but you're back and I'm not letting you go ever again." He pushed his godson out at arm's length. His mouth twitched, and he shook his head, and suddenly he broke out in a sobbing grin. "It really is you!"

Harry nodded. "M'sorry I died, won't happen again," he said sheepishly, dropping his head a little. Black shook his adamantly.

"No, no, Harry, never be sorry. You came back, and that's all that matters." He dragged Harry into another crushing hug. Severus winced at the impact of it.

Albus watched from behind his desk. Mutely, he nodded to the three chairs - one more than usual - facing him. Severus nodded in agreement and took the one on the left, touching Harry's shoulder gently as he passed.

Harry carefully pulled out of his godfather's arms. He moved towards the middle chair, but Black got there ahead of him, glaring venom at Snape. Severus glared back.

"Keep your filthy hands off my godson," Black snarled.

"I believe I shall leave to Harry the decision of whose filthy hands are on him."

"Sirius..." Harry murmured.

"What did you do? Put him under the Imperius Curse?"

"Nothing of the sort."

"Sirius..."

"Sirius, I believe Harry is trying to speak to you."

"Shut up, Albus," Black snapped. He pointed a single finger at Snape. "If I find that you've used him for your perverted little fantasies, I'll string you up by your bollocks and leave you for the scav--"

"That's enough, Mister Black." Albus leaned against his desk. His face was impassive, but his eyes held a glassy hardness. "Am I going to have to separate the two of you?"

Severus smirked. Black growled under his breath. Harry tugged at his sleeve.

"I'll be okay there," he said softly. He motioned to the chair on the right. "Go on."

"Harry, you can't honestly want to sit next to--"

"I do. And I want to sit next to you, too, so budge up."

Black reached up and took Harry's face in one hand. Before Harry could protest, he'd tugged down each of Harry's lower eyelids, peering intently into his eyes. "Snape, whatever you did to him--"

"Mister Black, I'm afraid I'm going to have to separate you," Albus' low, firm voice said. "Pity, I'd rather hoped you'd grown beyond the range of a vengeful schoolboy."

Every exposed bit of Black's skin turned currant red. He glanced at Albus, and let go of Harry's face with a murmured apology to the both of them. Quietly, he moved to the other chair.

Severus smirked to himself as Harry sat down and took his hand. The smirk twitched and threaten to fade when the brat did the same with his godfather. Albus glanced at the three of them, his hands folded innocuously on his chest, leaning back slightly in his chair. The corner of his mouth jerked suddenly and he gave a low chuckle. "A portrait of familial bliss."

Severus stiffened. Harry squeezed his hand. Black shouted, "Oi!"

Severus sighed softly. "So that's where you get it from," he muttered from the corner of his mouth.

"Oi!"

"I rest my case."

"Snape, if you don't let go of my godson this instant--"

"You'll do what? Hex me?"

"I'm not the one notorious for the Dark Arts while he was still at school!"

"If I recall, those rumours hadn't even begun until you and your pack of thieves attempted to steal my Transfigurations homework and turned yourselves into tin soldiers!"

"That was not our fault! If you hadn't cursed your bag--"

"If the four of you had stayed out of my things like you ought to it never would have happened."

Sirius opened his mouth. Nothing came out, so he closed it with rather the obvious flush. "Greasy git," he muttered under his breath. "Why don't you go wash your hair?"

"I did this morning, and last night, and the morning before that as I have every day for the last thirty years. Had you done any work in Potions, you would understand why."

"I don't need to hear about your personal life!"

"Then I suggest you stop telling me what to do with it."

"Boys," Albus said, holding up his hands and smiling just the faintest guilty bit, "enough of that. We have other issues at hand right now than a stroll down Memory Lane."

Severus chuckled. Black sputtered and sank back into his chair. "I only want to know how that paedophile has gotten away with molesting my godson for god-knows-how-long," he growled.

"He's never laid a finger on me," Harry said firmly.

"I want to hear it from him--"

"I assure you, as far as I am involved, your godson is virtually untouched."

"--Under Veritaserum--what the Hell do you mean 'virtually'?" Black rose halfway out of his chair. Harry tugged him back.

"I kissed him," he admonished.

Black stared at him. His upper lip curled in a sneer. "Harry, that's disgusting." He covered his face with his hand and shook his head.

"Actually, I liked it."

Black paled. "We'll get you help. There has to be--Albus, could you please check for curses? Anything?"

"Harry has been neither cursed nor coerced, Sirius. Otherwise, he would still be in a coffin somewhere below the dungeons."

Black's mouth pinched and his eyes narrowed. "Still doesn't explain why that fucking pansy's got his hands all over Harry."

"If I recall correctly, Black, you were the one with your lips all over Peter Pettigrew behind the Quidditch shed."

"Shut up, Snape!"

"And I do mean all over."

"Albus, will you tell him to put a sock in it?" Black muttered, quite pallid and giving Harry and Severus sidelong looks.

Harry wrinkled his nose at his godfather. "Pettigrew?"

"Boys," Albus said calmly.

Black shrugged defiantly. "You'd have liked him when he was still in school."

"Not that much, I reckon."

"Boys," Albus repeated a bit more firmly.

Severus shifted in his chair and focused his attention on Dumbledore. He neatly lay his free hand in his lap. On the other hand, he made no attempts to dissuade the squabbling between his nemesis and his interest.

"And Peter was still cuts above that big-nosed bag of grease you've got all over you like a fungus."

"Oh, right, at least he tried to stop my mum and dad from being killed."

"If James knew he'd be rolling in his--"

"BOYS!"

Harry and Black both jumped. Severus gave a self-satisfied little smile. Albus' eyes were cool - not angry, but definitely not to be reckoned with. He glanced back and forth between the two of them, now sitting in stunned silence. "That's better."

He folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward. "Now, I expect the three of you - yes, I mean all three of you, Severus - to act like rational human beings. This includes restraining yourselves from verbally vivisecting each other's lives, past, present, or future. Harry is in a rare position, and his mere presence is proof that he and Severus care very deeply for each other."

Black snorted. "I'll believe it when I hear it under Veritaserum."

Quietly, Severus reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny vial of clear liquid. Harry's eyes bugged. "Do you carry that with you everywhere?"

Severus blinked. "Yes."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, my god. What else have you got in your robes?"

"I rather expect you'll find out later."

"SNAPE!"

"BOYS!"

"I was referring to my potions, Albus."

"You were not! You slimy, greasy, ugly, stringbean son of a--"

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Do I need to give detentions?"

"Will he be there?" Black spat.

"He'll be supervising."

Severus and Black both paled. Silently, uncomfortably, Severus shifted in his chair. From his sidelong glance, he saw Black do much the same. In charge or not, a full detention with Sirius Black would likely result in Azkaban for one or both. Harry, insolent little whelp that he was, sniggered.

"At least the classroom's already clean," he said.

Black shuddered openly. "Can we get on with this?" he muttered. "I think I'm going to be ill."

Albus gave them a few moments to make sure they were going to be quiet. "Well. The situation is one I would not have expected, especially given the parties involved. However, Severus has accidentally stumbled onto the art of necromancy. The technique he used requires not only powerful, powerful mutual feeling - in this case, love, and very much of the romantic variety - but great skill and will and, at the time of casting, significant effort and display."

"Meaning?" Sirius asked with a curl to his lip.

Albus shrugged. "Devotion. Tenderness. Care. Lovemaking is possible, but not so effective. I don't know what Severus did, and I feel it's private so I haven't asked."

"Well, I want to know." Black's dark eyes locked on Severus. "What the fuck did you do to him, you pervert?"

"Nothing untoward, and that's all you're getting."

Black glanced at the bottle still in Severus' hand. "Assuming that is Veritaserum, I want to hear it after you've had that."

"It is, and I don't feel it's necessary." Snape arched a cold eyebrow at Black, lacing his fingers with Harry's and slipping the vial back into his pocket.

"Then as Harry's legal guardian, I'm going to have to ask that he be released to my custody. I can stay in the castle." Black folded his arms and glared.

"You can't do that."

"I'm afraid he can, Severus. Harry is still a minor." Albus gave him an apologetic look.

With a low, sub-vocal growl, Severus fished out the bottle again. "Very well. Albus? Would you care to verify this?" He held it out. Harry tensed.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked unsteadily.

"Perfectly. The effects wear off in an hour, and I imagine Albus will only administer the requisite three drops. However," and his eyes slid to his right, "I want that mongrel to suffer the same humiliation."

"I refuse." Black folded his arms.

Albus gently took the vial. "In this situation, Sirius, I must insist. Your behaviour has been most disappointing, and I'd like to make certain your words are not being influenced by your emotions."

Sirius puckered his mouth. "This is illegal."

"So is becoming an Animagus without properly registering with the Ministry of Magic," Severus murmured. "I think we're more even than you'll admit when it comes to illegal activities."

"Technically, I could go to Azkaban for killing Voldemort," Harry offered a little sheepishly. "If it makes you feel any better."

Black stared at him incredulously. "No," he said in a high-pitched voice, shaking his head, "it really doesn't."

Harry shrugged. "Only thought it might, that's all."

Dumbledore set the little vial on his desk and muttered incantations over it. Squinting, he read something before announcing, "This is without a doubt pure, high-grade Veritaserum. Shall I administer, or shall I let you discuss this like mature adults?"

"Administer away," Black growled. Albus quirked an eyebrow at him. Black ignored it, instead looking at Harry with a trace of mourning in his eyes. "I should have brought Moony. Moony could have talked some sense into you."

"He'd have listened to me, at least. This is your idea, remember."

"Harry, you're only seventeen--"

"And I've been expected to be a full-fledged wizard since I was a year old, thanks. I think I ought to be treated like an adult if I'm going to have to be one." He glared coolly at Black. "Professor Lupin would agree with me."

Black snorted. "What does he know?" he muttered under his breath.

Albus cleared his throat and got to his feet. Removing the stopper from the vial, he said, "Tip your head back and open your mouth, Sirius."

"Why do I have to do it first?"

"Because you're the one who insisted upon it."

Black sighed and opened his mouth. Rather than tilting his head back properly, he stuck out his tongue in a glisteningly disgusting display. Severus shuddered as Albus shook the clear liquid over its pink, slug-like surface. Black blinked rapidly. Somewhere in the middle of the series his pupils dilated.

"I'd forgotten what this stuff feels like," he said distantly.

"Did they make you take it when you were arrested?" Harry asked with a sad little frown.

"No, your dad made a batch up in seventh year so we could play Super Truth or Dare with the girls." Black immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. His eyes went round. "So it's working, then."

Albus smirked wryly, a cool, amused look in his twinkling eyes. "Indeed it is." With a very Mona Lisa air about him, he moved closer to Severus. "Severus?"

Snape obediently tipped his head back and opened his mouth. The liquid tasted like water and melted into his tongue rapidly. A few seconds later he felt like he'd been wrapped in an enormous fluffy blanket, or perhaps Hagrid's coat, and that the fuzziness had seeped through his skull into his brain. He sighed softly. And then his stomach gave a hefty lurch, stopping what felt like three feet to his left.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, squeezing his hand.

"I fear you'll have to give me a moment to decide. The last time I took Veritaserum I suffered some side effects."

Harry whimpered. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Only if you consider being unable to palate anything but apples and pumpkin juice for three days 'okay'." Severus winced as his stomach took another decided turn. He pressed a hand to his belly, grimacing. "I hope the house-elves have a good supply of apples in."

Albus frowned, his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, Severus. If I'd known I wouldn't have done this."

"No need, Headmaster. I'm willing to do whatever is necessary to be with Harry." He blinked. "For one of the only times I can actively remember, I must agree specifically with Black," he said with a touch of stunned awe. "It does seem to be working."

Albus nodded while Harry rubbed Severus' hand with his thumb, and squeezed Black's. He sat down behind his desk. "I hope now that we can--"

"Did you fuck my godson?"

Albus sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I suppose it was too much to hope for."

"No," Severus said firmly. "I did not fuck your godson."

"Is that true, Harry?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course it's true. He's taken Veritaserum!"

"I only wanted to hear it from you, too."

Harry snorted. "Are you sure you're older than I am?"

"Yes."

"It was a rhetorical question."

"Give me a bit of slack here, Harry, I'm under a truth serum. There's no such thing as a rhetorical question."

"So tell me, Black," Severus said, unable to resist the temptation, "how old were you when you lost your virginity?"

"Sixteen. What about you, Snape?" he sneered.

"Fourteen." Severus smirked with self-satisfaction as Black's jaw fell.

"How?" he asked incredulously.

"My partner and I removed our clothes and I--"

"I don't think we need to get into that sort of questioning," Dumbledore said quickly. He gave the two of them a look that made Severus wonder if they really were going to have detention together. "Severus, you agreed to this for a specific goal. If you are simply going to turn it into a ploy for one-upmanship I'm going to have to end the experiment."

"I'm sorry, Albus," Severus said, giving Black a chilly look. Black mumbled something that might have been an apology and might have been a slight.

"Sirius, do please ask your questions?"

"Yes, sir." He licked his lips. "Er..." he mumbled something.

"I can't answer your questions if I don't know what they are." Severus gave an irritated little shake of his head.

"Are you in love with my godson?" Black turned vivid red and looked away.

Severus squeezed Harry's hand and looked into his eyes. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, I am."

"Severus..." Harry leaned over and kissed him. Black made a gagging sound. They lingered until Albus cleared his throat softly.

"As much as it pleases me to see two young people who obviously adore one another, I fear business must come before pleasure."

Harry pulled back, flushed. He adjusted his glasses. "Sorry, sir."

"Quite all right, Harry, and perfectly understandable given the circumstances."

"Why are you in love with him?" Black looked significantly upset at the display of affection, and his voice was sharp and edgy.

"Because he is intelligent, inquisitive, loyal, courageous, a bloody good kisser, he makes me comfortable simply with his presence, he will take my venom and spit it back at me without a second thought and without adding fangs to the situation, he is far more cynical than he would ever admit, and he's adorable when he tries to dance."

"Oi! 'Tries' to dance?"

"He also can't do more than a mediocre waltz to save his life, but his enthusiasm makes up for his lack of skill."

"Oh, gee, thanks a lot, Sev. You stepped on my foot first."

"Only because you left it where you oughtn't have."

"Why in Hell were you dancing with my godson?"

"He asked me to teach him before the Yule Ball, and again several months later."

"Why did he ask you again?" Black folded his arms, his eyes hooded and dark.

"I don't you. You'll have to ask him. Although the three-hundred Galleon brandy I gave him might have had something to do with it."

"You got him drunk," Black snarled, halfway pushing himself out of his chair. "You were going to get him so pissed he couldn't think and then take adva--"

"I had only intended to prevent him dying of pneumonia. It was unusually cold in the dungeons and the silly boy had left his cloak in his dormitory."

"It was nearly thirty degrees that afternoon!" Harry said.

"And nearly ten below zero that night. Blue lips are not attractive, Mister Potter."

"Fucking Hell," Black muttered. "So you have been lusting after him all this time."

"No. That became obvious significantly more recently."

"How recently?"

"Since he died."

Black shuddered. "You're a sick, sick bastard, Snape. Necrophilia and paedophilia all in one go."

"Harry is neither dead nor, in my estimation, a child. Whatever the law says about his age was written with others in mind. As he said, he has been expected to be a fully-fledged wizard nearly all his life, and it would be insulting to treat him as anything else."

Black snorted. "Goddammit. I can't even argue with this cack in my system."

Severus smiled wickedly. "That is perhaps the most pleasing thing I have ever heard you say, Black."

"Oh, shut up."

"Given the potion we share at this time, that is far easier said than done."

"I hate you."

"Why do you hate me?"

A long shudder went through Black's body. "You bastard. Because you were an ugly, smart-mouthed kid who wouldn't blindly believe anything I told you. And you were a Slytherin. After everything my parents told me about Slytherins, how was I supposed to not hate you?" He hunched. "And because you're cleverer than me, dammit. I was supposed to be the cleverest one in the school and you had me beaten by spades. Only made it worse that you didn't flaunt it."

"So my intelligence automatically gave you the right to torment me however you saw fit?"

"You have no idea how much I hate you, Snape. No, it didn't, but I couldn't handle having my ego deflated so I chose to pick on you, and my friends followed my lead."

Severus snorted. "You sad little man. I would apologise for being more intelligent than you, but I frankly don't like you enough to give you that quarter."

"And you stole Eloise Abernathy out from under me in fifth year. That didn't help."

Severus turned to grin at him. "Unless your birthday is several months earlier than I know it to be, you never had her under you at all."

"Severus..." Albus warned.

Snape sat back in his chair. "Forgive me, Albus. Veritaserum hasn't gained its reputation for nothing."

"Nor have you. If anyone could execute self-control in this situation, it would be you."

He couldn't argue. "I'm sorry, sir."

Albus nodded. He turned to Black. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask, Sirius?"

"What are his intentions towards Harry?"

Severus lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully. "If you mean in the long-term overall plan, I wish for him to be happy and to have a fuller life than he has, until now, been allowed. If you mean what my intentions towards him are for today, as soon as we leave this office I plan to take him down to my rooms so that we can figure out what it is two men can do with each other."

"Thanks a lot, Severus," Harry muttered through his teeth. He'd gone far too red to be good for him, and his hand was burning.

"Oh, my god," Black said in a strained voice. "Harry, you can't... you wouldn't..."

"I would and I will and I want to and there's nothing you can do to change my mind." Harry was still red and growling through his teeth, but his words were firm and his voice willful.

"Bloody... I didn't even know you fancied blokes!"

"Neither did I. Neither did Severus."

"I have to say that this is a deviance for me as well," Severus said, eyes focused on the edge of Dumbledore's desk.

"So what you're saying is you're going to use him for your twisted curiosity and then drop him for the first woman to catch your eye."

Severus sighed. "Are you that thick, Black, or simply that opposed to the possibility that I might be telling the truth while under Veritaserum?"

"Goddammit. I'm opposed to the possibility. Would you stop that?"

"No."

Black growled. "You lecherous arsehole. Are you trying to tell me you're going to stay with him in a little white house surrounded by hedgerows forever and ever?" Black said sarcastically. "Ugh. I need to rinse my mouth out after that."

"Harry and I shall see when the time comes. For now, I have no intentions of leaving him for any reason. Including you." Snape's eyes narrowed.

"And I want to stay with him," Harry added firmly.

"But I'm still your legal guardian," Black said. "If I say no, then it stands."

"Sirius," Dumbledore asked softly, "do you have any reasons beyond personal spite to demand that Harry and Severus be separated?"

"He's still legally a child."

"In any other case I would agree with you. Given that he has not only done everything expected of him and more - things that would have turned most grown wizards to jelly - but been to the grave and back, I am willing to make an exception. He's earned the right to make his own decisions."

Black frowned. Hanging his head, he mumbled, "I don't want to see my only godson get hurt."

"Nor do I," Severus said.

"If I get hurt, it's my own decision," Harry snapped. "You say I've earned the right to make them, and that's what I've decided."

Black blinked. "You honestly want this son of a bitch to hurt you."

"I want to be with him. If I get hurt, I get hurt."

"And I suppose when that happens you'll come crawling back to me."

Harry shrugged.

"There's no possible way I'm going to change your mind before you've been tossed out like a melted cauldron."

Hiding between his shoulders, Harry shook his head rapidly. Severus squeezed his hand.

Black's mouth pursed. He chewed his lip, hard. Leaning across the arm of his chair, he pointed a blunt finger at Snape, eyes narrowed and skin taut and grey. "The moment I find you've laid a single finger on him, I'm going to make sure you suffer ten times what he's suffered, and I'm going to enjoy doing it."

Severus blinked at the finger hovering inches from his nose. "Does that mean you're offering him alternate sanctuary?"

Black shuddered. "Of course it does, you heartless bastard. Do you honestly think I'd leave my own godson to fend for himself?"

"Yes."

Black growled. "We Gryffindors protect our own."

Severus placed his chin atop his fingertips. Very quietly, he said, "Peter Pettigrew."

"Was only in Gryffindor because he begged the Sorting Hat not to put him in Slytherin. His parents would have killed him."

Harry shrank oddly at that statement. Dumbledore glanced at him with an edge of worry before raising an un-amused eyebrow at Black. "This is neither the time nor the place to snipe about House loyalties. Severus was in Slytherin, and I would trust him with my life before most, possibly any, members of any other House."

Black opened his mouth as if to snarl at him. The stern blue gaze stopped him. Pursing his mouth he glanced sidelong at Snape again. "I promise you, if you hurt him, I'll make sure it comes out of your flesh."

"Given that Harry is one of the most powerful wizards currently living, I don't think I'd have the chance to hurt him. However, I give you my word that I shan't raise a finger to him without sufficient cause."

Black started to get up from his chair.

"Sirius, sit down, please." Albus spoke softly but sharply. "I believe you'd better understand Severus' reasons for giving such a clause if you heard them from me."

"Albus, the moment Harry accidentally knocked over one of his precious potions he could--"

"I would not hurt him for something as trivial as a potion. Any potion." To punctuate, Severus lifted Harry's hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it softly. "I can think of very little that would cause me to intentionally harm him."

Harry slumped back in his seat, frowning crookedly. "I want my own life, Sirius."

Black took a deep breath and let it out his nose in one hard go. "Your parents would be disappointed, Harry."

Harry blinked. He turned his head a few degrees towards Black. "I don't think they would. They might not be happy, but I don't think they'd be disappointed. I think they'd have let me decide for myself what I do about it."

Black ran a hand through his short black hair. It was starting to turn steely at the temples, only a few strands but enough to betray his years of unjust confinement. Severus' own nine days in Azkaban had been enough to embitter him beyond recognition; he shuddered at the thought that he and Black shared some sickening common experience. Or two, mind - they'd both lost Harry as well.

"Get out of here, Harry," Black said, low and defeated. "I'll have the house-elves send your things to your room." He snorted. "I hadn't even unpacked... kept hoping for a miracle... looks like you found one." He sneered weakly. His mouth closed and sealed; he leaned back in his chair and didn't move.

Harry squeezed Severus' hand and shook free from his grasp. Silently, he got up, leaned forward, and wrapped his arms around his godfather. Black returned it, patting him between the shoulder blades.

"Going to stay for a few days?" Harry asked.

Black nodded. He didn't speak.

Harry kissed him on the forehead. "I'm going to go with Severus now, but I promise I'll be okay."

"You'd better. I don't think I could stand to go to your funeral a second time."

Harry snorted softly. "I don't think it'll come up."

Black looked at him questioningly, but Albus spoke up. "Go on, you two. Sirius and I have things we need to discuss."

Harry gave his godfather a last squeeze and straightened up. He held out a hand to Severus, who took it and allowed himself to be pulled from the chair.

The ride down the staircase was unusually silent, and devoid of affection save a steady, clinging embrace.

Severus remained in his dungeons, alone and silent, until four in the afternoon. There came a soft knocking on the door and Albus' voice calling, "It's time."

He pushed himself out of his chair, made certain his hair covered his face enough to hide the greyish marks left by uppity, unstoppable tears, and Severus went to face what felt like the end of his world.

"He's still in Professor Dumbledore's office." Harry was stretched out on the hearthrug, wearing fresh robes. His chin rested on one balled fist, an old and detailed parchment map of the school in his outstretched hand. He absently kicked at the air.

"Hmm." Severus ignored the book in his hands to watch his miracle. His brain was still a bit fuzzy, but the majority of Veritaserum effects had worn off.

"D'you reckon he'll come down here once he leaves?" Harry rolled over and looked up at Severus, arms splayed on the rug above his head. His brow was furrowed pensively, and the fire made his wild hair come alive with dancing autumn colours.

"I strongly doubt it. From his behaviour, I think your godfather wishes to remain as far from whatever we may be doing as possible."

Harry snorted. "Wasn't very happy, was he?"

"No more than I imagine your friends would be."

Harry frowned. He shrugged noncommittally and held the map over his face. He sighed. "They'll get used to it."

"Will they?"

Harry opened his mouth. Nothing came out and he closed it again. After a long moment, he muttered, "Hope so."

"Hmm. Much the way I feel about my colleagues."

Harry blinked and dropped the map. "I hadn't thought of that," he said softly. The cartilaginous lump in his throat jumped as he swallowed. "You're not going to have too many friends left, either, are you?"

"Enough. Filch spends enough time leering at anyone who meets his eye to know better than to judge me. I imagine Hagrid couldn't hate anyone you cared for. Professor Flitwick is a soppy-eyed romantic whom I imagine shall treat me like the dashing hero of one of his Mills and Boon novels."

"You're joking. Flitwick reads that trash?"

"With great gusto. He even coerced me to give it a go once."

Harry stared at him, one eye squinted and his mouth hanging open, leaning up on his elbows. "Who are you, and what have you done with Severus Snape?"

Snape snorted. "He described it as a 'militant historical epic'. I believe I got two pages into the thing before I cursed it to leap up and bite his nose the moment I gave it back. Took Poppy twenty minutes to pry the thing loose."

"Now that's just cruel. How could you do that to poor little Professor Flitwick?"

"The same way he affixed rabbit ears to my head over the whole of Easter holiday the first three years I came to teach. Turn your back on the man for a moment and he'll cast some practical joke to turn the Weasley twins green. In fact," he said thoughtfully with a hint of a smile, "I believe he did just that their second year."

"Are you serious?"

"No. He restricts his hijinks to the staff."

Harry let go a breath. "God, wake up from the dead and the next thing I know Flitwick's as bad as Fred and George and I know all about McGonagall's underpants."

"Would you care to hear the rest of the interesting details about your former teachers?"

"No! Well..." Harry grinned sheepishly. "Trelawney, maybe?"

"Besides being an insufferable hoax artist with a taste for bad incense?"

"Yeah, I knew that already."

Severus opened his mouth with a small, moist sound. "If she ever tries to invite you up to reminisce on old times and foresee new ones, run as fast as you can the other direction. My second year teaching, I barely escaped with my robes or my life."

"She tried to...?"

"Like a queen in heat."

Harry shuddered. "Thanks. I'll remember that." He lay back on the floor. His student robes draped him loosely, outlining his small, slight body. After years of heavy Hogwarts food he still looked like he'd been half-starved for most of his life and had never quite recovered. In the arrhythmic light of the hearth he seemed young, vulnerable, as if he needed to be protected, not at all like the saviour of the wizarding world. Blinking sadly, Severus dropped his unread book on the table next to him and fell to his knees beside Harry. Harry's eyes followed him, wide with surprise, but he said nothing.

Severus gently traced the outline of his waist, his hip, back up to his ribcage. "Would you care to dance?" he murmured.

Harry nodded eagerly. He re-folded that damnable map and stuck it in his pocket before pushing himself to a sitting position. Severus' hand was still on his side. Harry almost gingerly wrapped it in his fingers - rough with Quidditch calluses and oddly tapered - and parted his lips with a low sound. His tongue darted out and moistened the pink surfaces. Severus leaned forward and gently pressed his own against them, the slightly sticky flesh clinging to his when he pulled away.

Harry rested his head on Severus' shoulder for a moment. "I'll push the chairs away," he murmured as he started to get up. A hand on his knee stopped him.

"I think we'll have enough room. I didn't intend for this to be a lesson."

Green eyes studied him quizzically before crinkling in a smile. "All right."

They more or less pulled each other to their feet. Harry staggered slightly and very nearly tripped into the hearth. Severus caught him by the robe. "Do you think, given the opportunity, you might keep your balance long enough for me to turn on the wireless? I understand it's very difficult for you to do so this close to the ground, but I fear I've never perfected the art of dancing on broomsticks."

Harry held up two fingers and sneered mockingly. "Ha, ha, so funny I think I'm going to break something."

"Yes, your skull, at this rate. I do have to wonder what sort of damage it would do to an immortal creature." Severus sniggered and sidestepped as Harry smacked his flank. It impacted, but he ignored it in favour of powering up the old cathedral-style wireless on the mantel. Its yellow lights slowly awoke, and a brief hiss of static made way for a refined, deep voice announcing some interview or other coming next. Frowning, he fiddled with the knob until he reached the WWN. Low violin strains played, sweet and lilting and wrenchingly familiar.

"I've heard this before," Harry said. "What's it called?"

"'Unchained Melody', the Arborus Keddle version I think. Horribly melodramatic song, but it will do."

"I like it."

Severus smirked softly and kissed Harry atop the head. "I've no problems with the melody, but the lyrics are... you'll see." He put a hand on Harry's waist, the other behind his shoulder, and felt a little thrill of contentment run through him when Harry draped both arms around his neck.

The haunting music urged him into a slow, easy sway. Harry's cheek came to rest against his shoulder. Severus found himself dropping his own cheek in Harry's hair. Something felt strange, unfamiliar, yet nagged at his brain from the past. He slid his hands down to the small of Harry's back, folding them there. Living warmth saturated him, the sweet scent beneath the rest of the smells that were his Harry's filling his nose, his mouth, his body, filling voids he hadn't known were there. The suddenness of it all smacked his brain and with a silent mental cry of triumph he realised that he felt complete.

Complete.

Whole.

Living.

For the first time in more than twenty years.

Behind him, the violins reached a mellifluous crescendo and settled, making way for a masculine voice, low and tender and aching. The words settled into his brain at some level, but the power there, the sense of loss and longing, sent a shiver through his limbs and caused small tears to well up at the corners of his eyes. He turned his face to hide it in Harry's hair. The feeling of that rumpled hair, the heat and the coarse softness of it, the sensation of hands around his neck anchored him in light of the memories that came unbidden to his brain.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked softly.

Severus swallowed. He hadn't realised that his nose had swollen with his tears until he croaked, "My sister, what she'd be doing if she hadn't... if I'd rai... if she were still alive. And my mother. And you," he finished in a wet whisper.

The arms tightened around him, all but knotting around his neck. "Are they why you left the Death Eaters?"

"One, yes. They were certainly what finally caused me to abandon that particular path."

Harry gave a sudden shudder. "What's wrong?" Severus whispered into his hair.

Harry shook his head. "You'll get upset with me."

"I won't."

"Yes, you will. I'm already upset with myself about it, and it doesn't affect me nearly as much."

"Harry, tell me."

Harry shook his head again, burying his face in Severus' chest. He took a hard, harsh breath. "I'm glad you were a Death Eater," he said in a strained voice.

Severus froze. "Why?" he asked edgily. A coal of anger started to burn in his stomach.

Harry swallowed hard enough for Severus to feel it. "Because if you hadn't been you might have died, too. And you also wouldn't have been there to distract Voldemort, and you'd never have been able to bring me back, and I wouldn't be here right now and I don't think I've ever been as alive as I am now, not even on the pitch." He took a shuddering breath. "And you wouldn't have tried to stop my mum and dad being killed, even if it didn't work."

The coal of anger turned to a lump of icy regret. "Harry, you're taking the most wicked thing anyone could ever do and making it a virtue. That choice... I'm not a good man, I've known that for a long time and you're trying to make me into one."

Harry sniffled and angled his head to wipe his nose on his shoulder. "I think you are. If you hadn't joined them, you couldn't have done all those good things. And I wouldn't be with you right now."

"You might be with your mother and father."

Harry gave a little shrug. "And I might not have them or you."

"For an immortal, you're awfully determined to live in the moment."

"It's what I've got right now. Might as well enjoy it."

Severus snorted softly, smirking crookedly. "Harry?"

"What?"

"Kiss me."

Harry's head shifted. A moment later, he looked up at Severus, glasses foggy and nose red. Severus reached up and pulled off the glasses, letting them dangle between two fingers. Harry blinked. A scant moment later he leaned up and touched his lips to Severus'. They were hot and salty and parted easily, just enough to taste his breath. Hands crept into Severus' long hair, tangling with its heavy curtain, tugging his head closer.

Severus pressed his tongue against Harry's lower lip, begging invite. Harry's mouth parted, and he caressed the inside of Severus' with more enthusiasm than skill. Severus, with a hint of amusement, pushed the invading tongue back and gave him a demonstration of slow, worshipful laving, wetness and warmth and wonder and the sensation of hot breath skittering across his cheek. Harry whimpered and clutched tightly at his neck.

Severus wrapped his arms tightly around Harry's narrow back. It was an odd sensation, the slenderness and lithe agility. He'd never made any secret that he preferred his partners curvy, smooth and heated and classic. While the slenderness wasn't immediately appealing in itself, the person living inside that body most certainly was. He ran a hand over the plane of Harry's back, feeling the jut of a scapula and the tension of young muscle. He stopped his downward slide at the last flat plane, just before the muscle curved outward, began running it back up. Harry freed an arm, reached behind him, and pulled Severus' hand down until it cupped his backside.

The blatant invitation sent a jolt of heat up Severus' arm, through his chest, splitting to settle in his pelvis and cause a sticky layer of sweat to break out on his face. He moaned into Harry's mouth, against that soft, curious, eager tongue. His eyes hung half-open, and the world was misty through a veil of dark lashes.

Harry broke away, panting. His upper lip was beaded with sweat, and the rest of his skin shone with it. Severus brushed the beads away with his lips, inciting a little cry and a sharp shudder against him. Something rigid pressed urgently against his thigh through layers of cloth. He squeezed Harry's backside gently, triggering another cry, this one lower and almost a moan, and effectively halting via shock the subtle, unconscious motion of Harry's hips.

"I want you," Harry whimpered. His arms hung, almost limp, around Severus' neck, their bodies still swaying slightly to the wireless.

Severus kissed him softly and briefly on the lips. "Would you like to see the bedroom?"

Harry nodded. His dilated eyes were sleepy with desire. He glanced around the sitting room, eyes stopping on the bedroom door. Severus took him by the hand and led him towards it.

The casket sat, open, at the front of the Great Hall. Staff and students alike, not to mention mourners from all over the wizarding world, shuffled past it, some glancing silently and hurrying away while others lingered, many of them wracking with grief. Severus arrived late enough that only a handful of mourners fell in behind him. It gave him a great deal of time to stand and shuffle and think. Standing and shuffling were all fine and good, but thinking left him with an aching, empty, icy core; the fact that he could share it with no-one only made the chill grow worse.

The hysterical Ravenclaw in front of him took one look in the casket and started howling. A couple of his House-mates led him away. They looked slightly embarrassed, but nobody said anything. Severus paused to watch them. A part of him desperately needed that openness. Nobody would have believed him, though, and the last thing he needed was to be accused of taking the piss at his beloved's funeral.

Hands hidden in the recesses of his cloak, Severus closed his eyes and turned his face towards the casket. He let them flutter open slowly. A shiver ran unchecked through his body. Harry was still, if anything even more still than he'd been just after he'd died. His skin was waxy and his lips held a tinge of blue. It would have been such a simple matter to fetch the brandy, hold a snifter to those blue lips, urge Harry to drink until the colour returned and his eyes opened--

Severus stormed away from the casket, cloak billowing. The crowd shirked from him. A hiss went up as students whispered lies, whispered how happy Professor Snape was now that Harry Potter was cold and dead, how furious he was that he'd not gotten to kill the boy himself. He ignored them, ignored every single last one of them, lest he bellow the truth for the whole of the wizarding world to hear.

Next to the enormous oak door, he wrapped his arms around himself, hiding them beneath his black cloak. Nobody saw the tears run slowly and silently down his face behind his heavy curtain of hair. At least, he didn't think anyone did, and if they had they were too polite to mention it.

Harry blinked unquestioningly at his surroundings. The walls, lit by the light of a smaller hearth than in the sitting room, were thick with green and black curtains - purely practical, of course; otherwise, the sweating grey granite walls would pull every speck of heat from the room. The rugs, exotic things far too intricate for Severus' taste and there for the same reason, were covered with heavy, black furniture: a wardrobe, several bookshelves covered with scrolls and vials and tomes and the odd photograph of his family or friends, a tall mirror, a low wooden thing more like a coffin than a chest, a gargantuan four-poster bed from an age when the Potions master slept with his wife and their dozen or so children for sheer warmth.

The hand in Severus' squeezed gently. A fine layer of moisture had grown between them, and his fingers slid softly as Harry let go. Harry took a few hesitant steps forward, pressed a quick hand into the mattress. When it seemed to have sufficient give, he perched himself on the edge. "Big," he said, studying the pine green cover with squinted eyes.

"Old. You can imagine it takes quite a lot of effort to fall out in the middle of the night."

Harry snorted. "Do I get the chance to try?"

A smile flitted over Severus' narrow lips. "If you wish." He fell to his knees between Harry's slightly parted legs and pulled the brat's head to his, crushing their lips together hungrily. Mean pressure contrasted sharply with the gentle hand snaking into his hair and the rub of a socked foot along his side.

"God, I love you," Harry murmured into his mouth.

"Why?"

"Not polite to ask," Harry said cheekily between tugs of lips and short, panting breaths.

"I said why I fell in love with you, it's only fair for you to reciprocate."

"You were under Veritaserum. Oh, god, Severus!" Harry moaned as Severus kissed an urgent trail down the side of his neck, tugging the neck of his robe aside with two fingers to place a light nip on his collarbone. Harry wrapped his legs around Severus' back, pulling him closer. "If this is what I get for coming back from the dead, I want to wake up in the crypts every day."

"That would prove quite inconvenient, I suspect. Unless you think both of us can fit in your coffin."

Harry chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "I think we could both fit in a billiard cue box if we wanted. A good, strong wind would be the end of us."

"Hmm. And these bloody robes wouldn't help, acting like sails. Best take them off." Severus moved to undo the row of buttons running down from the front of Harry's neck. Harry shivered, his fingers clenching on Severus' own robes.

"Why do I have to get my kit off first?" he teased breathlessly.

"You have hands."

"I'll get all tangled if I try to do you at the same time."

"Suit yourself, then. And you still have to get your kit off first." Severus brushed aside the top of Harry's robe, looking curiously at the red T-shirt underneath. "Muggle clothing, then?"

Harry nodded. "Why? What've you got?"

"Wait and find out." Severus kissed him before he could protest, lingering as his fingers slyly slid pewter buttons from their holes. A foot rubbed up and down his back in short strokes. It paused at Severus' hip, and hesitantly, questioningly moved a little further down. Severus gave a soft moan of permission, and a moment later was treated to the most unusual sensation of toes wiggling over his arse.

He finally reached the last buttons, nearly at the hem of Harry's robe, and pushed the thing off over his shoulders. Harry half-reluctantly let go long enough for the black fabric to fall to the bed. His T-shirt was faded, like his jeans, and even baggier than his robe. He hunched a little and tugged the hem up his belly. Severus stopped him.

"So eager suddenly to get your kit off first?"

Harry shrugged a little. "Yeah."

Severus took his hands, kissed them, and folded them into Harry's lap. He held them there. "I wouldn't have expected you to wear anything so... relaxed."

Harry's cheeks went as red as his shirt. "Was my cousin's," he mumbled, averting his eyes and squirming on the bed.

Severus blinked. "Ah, yes, you mentioned you lived with your aunt and uncle." He freed a hand and plucked at the jeans draped over Harry's legs. "Hand-me-downs?"

Harry nodded. He chewed the inside of his lip turbulently.

"Perhaps we ought to venture to Diagon Alley soon and get you some proper under-robes. I can't imagine these things could be comfortable."

"They're not," Harry said a little sharply. "They're all I've ever gotten, though, because my aunt and uncle hate me. I'm just the annoyance they found on the front step one morning and have tolerated ever since. I don't ever want to see them again." He took a deep breath, let it out in a shaky go. "I'm sorry. I'm not very keen on them, that's all."

For a moment, Severus considered asking what they'd done. Instead, he leaned up, placed a hand against the back of Harry's head, and tipped him down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. Silently, he got to his feet and quickly undid the long row of translucent horn buttons on his own robes. The heavy, stiff cotton crumpled around his feet with a clatter of hidden vials, and he stood there, gazing quizzically at Harry, the thin, black linen under-robe loose around his body.

Harry looked him up and down. "I like it," he said without a hint of melodrama. "That's an under-robe, then?"

"Yes."

Pale, pinkish fingers reached out to stroke the fabric. "I think I saw something like this in Neville's trunk, once. He never let any of us see him without his clothes on. Or his pajamas, anyway. Neville's a little shy."

Snape chuckled. "Where would anyone ever get the idea that Neville Longbottom is shy? Shocking!"

Harry stuck his tongue out. "Git."

"I only do it to amuse you."

"I thought you did it 'cause you're evil."

Severus smirked and bent to press Harry back onto the bed. "That as well." He nipped the thin skin at the front of Harry's throat. The resulting whimper sent a pleasant shiver through his body. Lips working along the pulse, he slowly pushed Harry's shirt up to his chest, smooth skin and the coarse, young trail of hair down the middle of his stomach making a surprisingly sensual contrast. The hair tapered off and by the time Severus' fingers brushed sharp, crinkled nipples the skin surrounding them was completely bare. Harry gave a little cry.

"You enjoyed that?" Severus asked softly.

Harry nodded. He grabbed Severus' wrist to pull his hand back over the taut flesh. "Oh..." he rolled his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut and his mouth slack in a small O.

The tent-like shirt went up quickly, bunching around Harry's neck, still trapped under his back and on his arms. Severus lowered his head and kissed the very centre of the smooth chest. Harry writhed. His hands clamped onto Severus' shoulders, the back of his neck. "More," he demanded in a harsh whisper.

Severus kissed again, kissed downwards along the plane of sternum, the softly defined lines of muscle forged on the Quidditch pitch, felt the texture of ribs underneath as though whatever flesh had been hastily slapped on wasn't enough to bury some lingering trauma. He nuzzled them, inhaling deeply. The sweet, slightly musty scent was stronger here, tinged with sweat and soap. "Lovely," he whispered, placing another kiss on the pallid skin. "Utterly, completely lovely."

"No, m'not," Harry mumbled.

"I think you'll find that you are."

The pallid skin tinted red. "M'nothing special."

Severus slid up Harry's body and hovered over him. "Harry, you are neither my preferred gender nor my preferred physical type, and yet I am attempting to make love to you. Given that I have been approached by, and have rejected, three generations of Malfoys, Madam Rosmerta Leary, Rita Skeeter, Gilderoy Lockhart, and a professional Quidditch player whom I shan't name, I should say that you are most certainly special to have gained my favour."

Harry's eyes snapped sidelong to meet him. "You're joking. Lockhart?"

"I am most certainly not joking. Blasted fool asked if I wanted to help him 'defeat a few Dark forces', and it turned out he meant the ones in his robe." He paused for a moment, and added thoughtfully, "Although Sibyll spoke of him most highly."

Harry shuddered. "That was an image I definitely didn't need."

"Hmm. I agree." He dived and caught Harry's lips once more. "But I still stand by my determination that you are exceptionally special."

Harry blushed. "Stubborn git." He pressed his forehead to Severus', hugging his neck. "I love your stubbornness."

"Does this mean you're ready to answer my question?" Severus worked his hands underneath Harry's back and started to drag his shirt up. Harry arched helpfully.

"What question?" he asked.

"Is your memory that short? I asked you what you could ever see in your nasty old Potions master that could ever trigger something like love."

Harry shrugged sheepishly, getting caught in the shrug when Severus dragged the T-shirt over his head. It went to the floor, and Severus stroked the coarse line of hair with his thumb. "I don't know," Harry mumbled. "You never got angry with me for moaning about Voldemort. Most people either didn't want me to mention it, or only kept telling me that everything was going to be fine and I shouldn't worry. You listened."

"Yes, but I have had the unfortunate experience of meeting the monster. He was quite the disagreeable fellow."

Harry snorted. "I'll bet." He lowered his eyes at nothing. Their vibrant irises were veiled in a shadow of black lash. "And you just let me be quiet sometimes. Ron always has to talk, and Hermione expects you to listen all the time, and everyone else I know either asks questions or wants to chat or has to be doing something. You're content to just shut up and exist sometimes. Gets lonely to do that by myself all the time." The grassy green darted towards Severus again almost apologetically. "You don't make me be something I never asked to be in the first place."

"And what's that?"

"Harry Potter."

Severus blinked. "As opposed to...?"

"Just... Harry." He snorted. "Which is about as ironic as anything could get. I mean, you're the one who kept griping at me about being 'our new celebrity'."

"Hmm. Fortunately, I've grown to know you a bit better since."

"You're not even going to apologise?"

"No." Severus kissed him. "But I am going to get these horrible... things off your body." He started unbuckling Harry's belt. "I haven't worn trousers since I was in my twenties, and I don't see why you ought to either."

"Oi!" Harry slapped his hand. "I like them!"

"In any case, they may prove to be a headache very soon unless removed. I mean," and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards, "there are prophylactic measures, and there is absurdity."

Harry's turned beet red. He slapped a hand over his face and giggled madly. "It's not as if you're going to get pregnant!"

"Or you, for that matter."

Harry giggled again. His giggles slowly turned dark, though, sending a shaking series of chokes through his body. "Oh, my god," he whispered. "I don't even know what I'm doing." He shivered, wrapping his arms around his naked chest. "I've never fancied a bloke before. I don't even know what... how... I mean, I've heard things, but... oh, god." His eyes were round as coins, and dilated in abject terror.

Severus brushed a quivering bit of hair off Harry's forehead. "I have as little experience with this matter as you. Equally, I shan't force you to do anything you don't wish, but I would very, very much like to give this a try." He spoke softly, matter-of-factly. "Do you wish to stop?"

Harry chewed his lip. Very slowly, he shook his head. His eyes were focused on something beyond the closed door. "No. I want you. Only... Severus, I'm scared." His fingers clenched at the air. "I don't even know what to do. At least with Cho, she'd already learned enough from Cedric that..." he swallowed.

"Harry," Severus cupped his thin, red face between his hands, "we've got all the time in the world to figure it out."

Harry nodded. His eyes were still wide, and his forehead glinted with sweat in the spots where his hair hadn't drunk it. "You're not afraid?" he asked meekly.

"Abso-bloody-lutely terrified."

Harry whimpered. "You don't seem like it."

"Years spent spying on a certain Dark Lord have given me an unusual capacity for hiding fear."

Harry's bottom lip twitched open, revealing a hint of small lower teeth. He took a breath and, leaning up, pressed his lips hesitantly to Severus'. Severus returned the soft pressure, and smiled into the kiss when Harry reached down and starting tugging at his belt buckle. A minute later, the worn, soft fabric sloughed to the floor, leaving Harry in nary but nondescript blue boxer shorts and a pair of white socks with a hole in one toe.

"Aren't you going to... you know... take off your robe-thing?" he asked.

"You wish to see me naked already?"

"Er... what about your pants?"

"I haven't got any. Honestly, boy, you've lived among wizards for seven years, haven't you got any notion of how to dress properly?"

"Er..."

Severus smirked and kissed his nose. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't dress like this until I'd been teaching for several years. I felt it was more appropriate. Damned cold in the classroom in winter, though."

Harry laughed softly. "Is that why you were always so cranky?"

"One of many, yes." Severus gave him a teasing little crooked smile. "Silly child, my winter robes are charmed to prevent draughts."

"Must be a bitch to brew any, in that case."

Severus smacked his hip lightly. "Different sort of draught, insolent boy."

Harry smiled. Carefully, he pulled himself back on the bed, turning and settling with his head against the pillows. "Can we... you know... just sort of... y'know... for a few minutes first?"

Severus opened his mouth with a soft smack. "I believe this can be arranged." He slid onto the bed gradually, keeping his gaze locked with Harry's. Fear still held those green eyes, but determination and sheer courage were making a bold, if brittle, push. Carefully, as though the boy were made of paper-thin china, Severus took him into his arms, their bodies an inch or so apart, one of his long, linen-covered legs tucked between Harry's bare ones. Harry fiddled idly with the top button on Severus' under-robe. His other arm was pulled up to his chest; Severus cupped the curled fingers with his own.

"Not so bold now that reality has reared its head, are we, Mister Potter?" Severus murmured affectionately.

Harry shook his head. "No," he said with a note of perturbed awe. "Um... you're not like I'd expected you to be, though."

"How did you expect me to be?"

Harry shrugged. "Bossy. Dominant. Didn't expect a cuddle."

"Two of the first lessons I learned regarding relations of a carnal nature were that, in order to be invited back, one must behave like a gentleman, and one must be willing to, as you put it, 'cuddle'."

Harry drooped slightly. "So you don't like it, then."

"I never said that." Severus kissed him, lightly rubbing his lips over Harry's. "Lessons can be enjoyable. It's simply a matter of finding delight in the subject."

"So I'm a lesson, am I?"

"An exceedingly enjoyable one, yes." Severus kissed him again, longer this time, pulling at his lower lip. "One I hope to keep studying for a very long time."

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked up in a crooked smile. "Thank you," he whispered.

"You're most welcome, Mister Potter."

"Ten points to Slytherin."

Severus chuckled. "I don't think you're allowed to do that, but I appreciate the attempt."

"Could I kiss you instead, then?"

"Please do."

Severus had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when Harry's caught them. That soft, eager tongue darted out as if seeking more. He sucked on it gently and was rewarded with a whimper. Harry pressed closer, sliding an arm under Severus' side and attempting to stroke his back from an almost impossible angle.

Harry yelped when Severus rolled over and pulled him on top. He sat there, hands and forearms planted on Severus' chest, straddling his hips, knees bent and pressed into thin legs. His lower lip had gone slack again and he stared for a long moment before diving again and working at Severus' mouth with rare vigour. After too short a time, he pulled away, dropping a line of tingling kisses over Severus' throat. At the base, he nuzzled the pit in Severus' clavicle, nibbling at the tips of bone.

"Oh, my," Severus moaned as heat shot through him in shivering waves. "Perhaps you have more talents than I gave you credit."

Harry said nothing, only wiggled impishly, causing Severus to arch and cry out. Harry froze. "Are you okay?" he asked timidly. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, I can assure you that was a good sound." Severus blinked several times in rapid succession. Harry's entire weight had shifted to pin his hardening cock to his pelvis. The sudden friction against the mass of coarse, semi-curled hairs had caused most of his blood mass to pool in one spot. Harry seemed to realise this a moment later. He frowned pensively, shifted once more, and jumped when the mass pressed against his behind.

"Is that for me?" he asked loudly, sounding more than slightly surprised.

"No, I have this reaction every time I think about writing a grocery list. Of course you did it."

Harry's eyes darted from side to side, tipped down and looking at nothing. "Wow," he said, awed. "Only... wow."

Severus pushed a lock of hair out of Harry's eyes, suspecting he'd done so several times already to the same stubborn chunk. "If you're this stunned over causing a sexual reaction in someone, I feel sorry for your girlfriends."

Harry glared at him. "They came," he snapped. "Plenty of times. It's only... my god, that's for me." He wriggled again, and Severus' eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

"If you keep doing it, I fear I may follow their lead. Unlike the average teenage girl, my recovery time is measured in minutes to hours as opposed to seconds."

"Er... sorry." To Severus' unforeseen disappointment, Harry shifted his weight so that it was off of his erection. It was quite the effort not to vocalise his mental yowl of loss.

"Quite all right," he said a bit deeper in his throat than usual. "Nothing at all to apologise for." He gritted his teeth slightly, waiting for the sharp, needy pulse in his groin to ebb.

Blinking, Harry started to fiddle with the buttons on Severus' under-robe. There were nearly one hundred of the tiny things from throat to ankle. Albus had joked to him once after a mix-up in the school laundry that his underwear was more conservative than his outerwear. (Severus had only snatched his clothes from the headmaster's grasp and muttered something about the sort of grown man who would have small dancing rabbits on his underthings.)

"How long does it take you to get dressed in the morning?" Harry asked.

"Not including my shower or time spent gathering clothes, twelve minutes, forty-three seconds. Give or take twenty seconds."

Harry stared, a mask of utter horror marring his face. "I hope you're joking about that."

"Of course I'm joking. If you must know, I only bother with the top twenty. It slides on and off easily enough after that."

"Oh, good." Harry flushed, and mumbled, "I don't think I could wait long enough to get them all undone."

Severus arched an eyebrow, smirking. "Your nerve seems to have returned."

Harry responded by sliding back against Severus' cock and wiggling his arse. Severus nearly screamed. His fingers clawed and tried to puncture the bedspread. Harry snorted. "Serves you right. Seems like you're the one whose nerves are acting up."

"Quite." Severus made his eyes uncross and blinked sullenly, fingers cramped on the covers and refusing to budge. After a moment of trying to wiggle them, they came loose. He flexed them several times and got the blood flowing again while Harry counted twenty buttons under his breath.

"Sit up," he said, hesitantly grabbing the hem of Severus' under-robe. He started to tug it upwards, but his shoulder seemed to have frozen. His face went very red.

Severus rolled his eyes, sat up, and tugged one long arm out of its wrist-length sleeve. Harry dropped his head and mumbled an apology. Severus noted that he didn't drop his eyes, though, instead intently watching every possible glimpse of sun-starved flesh. The fear in his eyes had been replaced with curiosity, courage, and something that couldn't be mistaken for anything but hunger.

Severus smiled softly, freeing his other arm and letting the fabric settle around his waist. He leaned forward, letting his fingertips rest against Harry's cheek, and kissed him softly. Harry pushed him back on the bed, turning a gentle touch into a ravenous display of lust. Something thick and rigid dug into Severus' stomach; he suddenly had some ludicrously reverential idea of why Harry had responded so overtly to the notion of causing that reaction.

"I can see," Harry said between smacks and grunts, "why you've had so many people trying to get in your robe."

"Because I'm a semi-emaciated scarecrow?"

"No, because you're... I don't know, but I like it." Harry put his hands flat over Severus' nipples.

"Oh, god..." Severus dropped his head back. Searing tingles shot from two spots on his chest, turning his brain to mud and his skin to a thin layer of jelly.

Harry yanked his hands back. "Was that a good noise or a bad noise?"

Severus lifted his head weakly and blinked in annoyance. "Which do you think?"

"Oh. Only making sure." Harry skittishly put his hands back in place. Severus moaned under his breath.

"God, everybody forgets those," he breathed. "You've no idea how many people forget that men's nipples are more than decoration."

"I didn't know they were," Harry said sheepishly.

"When did you learn the error of your ways?"

"Er... when you touched them." The flush ran from his forehead to the waistband of his boxers. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Hmph." Severus closed his eyes and lifted his brows and dragged Harry down for a long, slow, wet kiss that left them both with ragged breathing and trembling limbs.

"My god, I want you," Harry said. His voice held an edge of a growl.

"Then move so we can get the rest of these godforsaken clothes off."

"Yes, Professor." Harry gave him a last taste of hot breath and swollen lips and wicked, wet tongue and slid to the side. He slipped his hands into his boxers. Just as he started to pull them down, a shudder went through his body. "It's... this is going to be okay, isn't it? I mean, it's not going to hurt, is it?"

Severus rubbed one thigh; it was covered with far more coarse, black hair than his own, but not in any unattractive way. "It may, but every happiness must be bought with pain."

Harry dropped his head. He started to say something, stopped with his mouth halfway open, and busied himself with trying to remove his boxers without showing anything.

"I don't think that's going to work," Severus said, sitting up and wriggling his under-robe down over his hips. Harry glanced at him; his eyes went wide at the sight of a perfectly normal piece of masculine anatomy. Severus tossed the under-robe aside and lay back, stomach jumping with sharp-footed insects beneath his calm exterior. He felt Harry's eyes skitter nervously over his body, pausing to take in his modest erection only to dart away.

"Go on," Severus said softly. "Have a look." He breathed slowly and evenly, trying to ignore the crawling sensation running up his back. The novel experience of being aroused and naked in front of another man crashed into the knowledge that he was no larger than average and in no way spectacular. While he'd never gotten any complaints, compliments lay in the realm of skill. For the first time in the best part of thirty years, he was, for all intents, a quaking virgin.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and opened them directly at Severus' cock. Hesitantly, he reached forward. "Could... could I touch it?" he asked timidly.

"You may." Severus bit the inside of his lip as warm, tender fingers brushed his foreskin. He moaned softly at the flash of heat it triggered. Under his watch, Harry slid his fingers underneath it, then his palm. He lifted it carefully, staring but trying to act like he wasn't. The fingers closed, wrapping most of the way around, Harry's thumb resting on the tip. Severus whimpered. Harry's eyes darted towards his face, then back, and he slowly, carefully squeezed. He smiled at the loud moan it produced.

"I like it," he said in a low, sweet voice.

Severus peered at him. "You do?"

Harry nodded. A bit sheepishly, he said, "It's nice to hold. You know, it fits."

A bit stunned, Severus said, "Thank you."

Harry shrugged. He gently lay Severus' cock back in its bed of stiff hairs and put his hands on his shorts again. Eyes closed, and with a sharp intake of breath, he slid them down his thighs, awkwardly contorting to pull his legs out one at a time. He tossed them on the floor and fidgeted with his hands, apparently trying not to cover himself. Severus looked him over, noting first the strange coat of hair that seemed to cover the brat from the hips down. He blinked, amused.

"Well?" Harry asked softly, and a little sharply.

"Apart from the sudden revelation that you are, in fact, the god Pan, I have no complaints."

Harry's eyes snapped open. He glowered. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Simply an observation on your, ah, unusual patterns." Severus traced the line across Harry's hip where the fur stopped dead.

"Very funny." He leaned forward and plucked at the sparse chunk of hair in the middle of Severus' chest. "'Least I've got some."

"I'm not entirely bald."

"Close enough!" He tugged one of the widely spaced black curls on Severus' thigh. "You look like you've been plucked."

"If you would finish your analysis, you would notice that my shins are perfectly furry."

"Oh, and that's supposed to make up for the rest of it. Merlin, I've had girlfriends with more body hair than you!" Harry snorted and began giggling wickedly. He slapped both hands over his mouth and turned quite mirthfully pink.

"That's enough of that, Mister Potter," Severus said through a small grin that refused to go away. He used the opportunity to take in the rest of Harry, the slender muscle, the small frame, the thick, short erection bobbing with his giggles. It was situated at the base of an inverted triangle of dense hair, darting upwards through the furry trousers and tapering out just below his chest. There was something artistic about it. Severus was suddenly struck by the utter beauty of the young man giggling beside him, sitting on his knees, eyes crinkled with his smile, more self-conscious about his red face than the blatant arousal displayed for all the world, for Severus, to see.

"Utterly, completely lovely," Severus murmured. He extended a languid arm and rubbed the back of his hand over the fur on Harry's thigh. Harry watched. He dropped his hands to reveal flushed cheeks and a shy smile.

"Not so much," he said, still smiling.

"Quiet." Severus sat up and leaned over for a slow, deep kiss. It was warm, wet and rich and punctuated with low smacking noises, and grew gradually more so. Harry's arms wrapped around Severus' neck again, one draping down his back. Severus slid his around Harry's back, letting his palms rest flat against the jutting shoulder blades before sliding down smooth flesh to stop at the edge of fur that traced the top of Harry's arse. Harry broke the kiss for a moment.

"Go ahead," he whispered, and dived in again.

Severus ran his hands over rounded muscle and soft, coarse hair. He squeezed where thigh met backside, and Harry whimpered. Severus found himself pressed hard against the pillow, approximately nine stone of randy teenager pinning him down.

He followed Harry up as the brat shifted backwards. Their lips never broke... at least, not until Severus realised what Harry was doing, situating himself between Severus' thighs. He pulled back, arching an eyebrow. "What are you planning to do?"

"Er," Harry flushed and dropped his eyes. "Have sex with you?" he asked sheepishly.

"I think there are other factors to take into account first."

"Like?"

"Like the fact that some portions of human anatomy self-lubricate and others don't."

Harry cocked his head. "But..."

"Ever heard of de-gloving?"

Harry recoiled, eyes wide. "You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't. You might. Enthusiasm is a dangerous thing, Mister Potter. And then there's the matter of turning me to mince."

Harry shuddered. "It wouldn't really... you know... peel right off... would it?"

"I wouldn't know. I'd rather not find out."

"Oh." Harry looked around. "Um... then what--"

"And I think it would be wise for you to, ah, take the less invasive role?"

Harry frowned, sneering in surprise. "You're joking."

"I'm not."

"But I've always..."

"As have I. This is a slightly different situation." Severus blinked, glancing down Harry's body. "If you'd like, we can come up with some alternative means to an end."

Harry shook his head frantically. "No, I want to actually have sex with you. Only... you're sure it won't just peel off?" His eyes were wide, and glazed with fear.

Severus pulled the brat closer and kissed him softly. "If you're willing to trust me, I think I know a way to make this as painless as possible for both of us."

"How?"

"You'll see."

"Am I going to be on top or bottom?"

Severus started to open his mouth. Instead, he reached down, took Harry's member in his hand (Harry moaned most appreciatively and muttered, "Oh, god..." under his breath) and fitted his thumb and forefinger around it. He pulled it away, retaining the girth, and slipped the circle easily around his own cock. His cheeks grew warm at the difference in size; he quickly reassured himself that he was longer, if not by a great deal.

Harry glanced down. "Oh." He blinked. "I thought thick was better."

"Let us work out the basic logistics. Then we can determine sensory details."

Harry nodded meekly. He was on his hands and knees, legs still between Severus'. Severus kissed him softly.

"Budge up. Let me get something."

Harry obediently fell to the side. He stole another kiss, arms around Severus' neck, legs tangled together, bodies pressed tight and members rubbing languidly. Severus finally rolled away, panting, thinking desperately about Sibyll Trelawney and Gilderoy Lockhart rutting like donkeys. He shivered; the image was more than effective at pushing his threatening orgasm to the wayside.

From the sitting room he fetched a bottle of strained liquid coconut oil - the slipperiest substance on the shelves with no harmful side effects - and found his wand on the table. For a moment, he pondered turning off the wireless, but given the enthusiastic young man waiting for him he decided not to waste the time. He pulled the door closed behind him, and very nearly moaned at what he saw on the bed.

Harry's eyes were closed, and one hand clawed again and again at the rumpled bedspread. The other ran slowly and lazily over his cock, squeezing the foreskin over the tip, pulling it down teasingly, pushing it back up again. The purple flesh made a regal contrast to the pallor of Harry's hand. His lips were slightly open, and his breathing ragged.

Swooping in, Severus fell on him, pushing their mouths together until he thought his lips would bruise. Harry squeaked; it faded to a moan, and both hands crept up to clutch in Severus' hair. "That," Severus murmured between smacks, "was perhaps the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life."

Harry moaned. "Was thinking about you. Couldn't help it."

Severus dropped his wand on the bed and slid his hand down Harry's stomach. He grasped the hot member and shivered wickedly when Harry cried out. Severus squeezed it experimentally, surprisingly comfortable with the thick, unfamiliar organ. It was certainly easier than fondling a woman, everything out in the open with a minimum of annoying stickiness. Harry's nails dug into his skull, leaving sharp, moon-shaped pains.

"Oh, god, Severus," Harry moaned. "Don't stop... gonna... oh, GOD!" He threw his head back, hips jerking. Several drops of clear liquid dribbled from the tip. Severus let go abruptly. Harry keened.

"Not just yet." Severus kissed him again.

"But... I'm young... I can recover..." Harry trailed off in a whimper.

Part of Severus' chest clutched in fear. There was something... odd about the thought of another man's semen flooding hot over his hand. Not unpleasant, exactly, but new enough and forbidden enough to leave him a bit apprehensive. He kissed Harry yet again - it was addictive, like crisps, he couldn't resist just one more. "Soon." He picked up his wand while Harry whimpered, and muttered an incantation over the randy little brat's abdomen.

Harry's eyes flew wide. He gasped, and shouted, "What the Hell was that?"

"Ah, a precaution."

Harry squirmed, a look of great perturbation twisting his face. "Feels like my guts just got hoovered."

"'Hoovered'?"

"Muggle cleaning thing, sucks things up, cleans carpets. What the fuck just happened?"

"As I said, a precaution. I've, ah..."

Harry's eyes went even wider. "Where the Hell did you learn that?"

"It was part of the course on field mediwizardry I took after I left school. Never imagined I'd be using it like this, mind."

"Er... are you going to have to do that every time we...?"

"I expect we'll find alternative means soon. That particular spell can't be used often. Upsets the balance of intestinal flora."

Harry blinked up at him. "Can we just get to shagging? This is really starting to kill the mood."

Severus chuckled and leaned forward for a long, slow, sloppy kiss - he mentally chuckled at the thought of a handful of crisps. "I trust your urgency has abated somewhat?"

"Yeah, you could say that." Harry shifted a bit to let Severus settle in next to him, automatically putting his arms around Severus' back. The wand went to the other side of the bed, the bottle of oil still clutched in Severus' hand.

"You still wish to do this?" Severus asked softly, stroking Harry's cheek with one finger.

Harry nodded. "God, yes."

Glancing down, Severus pulled the ground glass stopper from the bottle. "I'll be as gentle as I can. This... tell me if you think I'm doing something wrong."

"What are you going to do?"

Severus bit his lip a moment, trying to think of a tactful way to put things. "Attempt to acclimate you to the sensation of penetration."

"You're sticking your fingers up my bum."

"Succinctly, yes."

Harry's nose wrinkled. "That's a bit... well, gay."

Severus arched an eyebrow and snorted. "And you would describe this situation how?"

Harry flushed. "Okay, you've got a point."

Severus urged him onto his back. "You may wish to bend your knees. It may make for an easier angle."

Harry obeyed, but as he did so, his eyes clouded with fear once again. "Severus--"

"I'm not going to force you to do anything. The moment you tell me to stop, I'll stop."

Harry nodded a little. He reached up and gripped Severus loosely around the shoulders. Severus kissed him, dousing his right hand with coconut oil at the same time. He managed to get the stopper back in the bottle before reaching down, running the heel of his hand over Harry's abdomen, his pelvis, his thigh, down between his legs. At the first momentary touch, Harry flinched.

"Shh, I won't hurt you." Severus gazed down at him seriously. Harry quivered. "Relax, Harry, you're going to be fine."

Harry took a breath and closed his eyes. He nodded quickly, shifting his hips and setting himself at a better angle. Severus ran his knuckles over the curve of muscle, along the cleft, biting his lower lip as he gently nudged his way between the arcs of taut flesh. He gently, exceedingly gently located and touched the small, fleshy pucker. Harry gasped and flinched, but didn't jump. Severus brushed it again. After a few more gentle touches, Harry relaxed. He even wriggled against the finger.

"That's sort of nice," he said shyly. "I could get used to it."

Severus smiled. "Good boy." He dived to kiss Harry, pressing his finger a bit more firmly against the pucker. Harry moaned against his mouth.

"Yeah," he breathed, "could definitely get used to this." He wriggled his hips gently and cried out.

"We may turn you from women yet," Severus said with a smirk.

"Hush." Harry nibbled Severus' earlobe, earning a moan.

"Imp," Severus said. "Are you ready for more?"

Harry blinked. Without his glasses, he seemed slightly cross-eyed. "I suppose." He sounded nervous but resolute.

"Tell me if this hurts." Severus tentatively pressed his finger harder against the hole. Suddenly, it popped through a ring of muscle. Harry's fingers clenched on his shoulders and he cried out in what sounded like pain. Severus started to pull himself free when Harry shook his head.

"Keep going. Burns a little, feels weird."

Severus pressed on and Harry nearly yelped. "Burns a lot! Ow, ow, ow, ow..." he trailed off, lips silently forming the word "ow" over and over again.

Severus yanked his finger out. "Do you need to stop?"

Harry seemed to think for a moment. He shook his head tentatively. "I think... I think you need to use more oil." His voice was high, soft, and reedy.

Severus frowned. He un-stoppered the bottle and doused his hand thoroughly before trying again. As he did so, he whispered, "Relax, my love."

Harry smiled at him softly, a little pained. "I like it when you say that." He took a deep breath, and Severus felt the ring of muscle around his fingertip lax. It wasn't much, but it was enough to let him push his finger in more than halfway. Harry hissed when he tried to go further, so he stayed there, rotating his hand and gradually moving back and forth as well.

It was several minutes before he was able to press in further without sharp sounds of discomfort. He spoke softly, encouragingly, to Harry, kissing his face, his neck, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking at it until the brat whimpered. Gingerly, he pressed the inner surfaces of soft tissues, wondering at the delicacy of the convoluted flesh, the smoothness, the palpable beauty. His finger brushed a slightly domed spot. Harry screamed, arching and bucking his hips.

"Good noise!" he panted quickly as Severus started to retreat. "Oh, my god, whatever that was, do it again." His eyes gleamed with hunger, very nearly starvation. Severus obeyed, rubbing the spot a bit harder. Harry's moan made him dizzy.

"More," Harry growled after he'd cried out a third time. Severus hesitantly obeyed, carefully working a second slender finger inside. The muscles had relaxed enough to accommodate it, but barely.

"Does it hurt?"

"Don't care. Do it again." Harry dropped his head backwards and gave a long, garbled moan that made Severus' face break into a mirthful, somewhat evil grin. He drummed his fingers against the little spot, making Harry pant like a dog in summer, cock twitching and bouncing as his hips shook. "What is that?" he managed between moans.

"Judging by size and location... I don't believe it's an un-descended testicle. Prostate gland, perhaps?"

"I've got two bollocks, thanks," Harry said with all the annoyance he could muster. "You know... an awful lot... about this stuff," he panted as Severus started rubbing small circles on the spot.

"For a time, I considered becoming a paramediwizard. I'd completed half the training before I realised that the thought of taking care of sick people made me cringe."

Harry snorted. "Doctor Snape," he muttered sarcastically before another yelp took him.

Severus smirked and kissed him. "Not quite." He wiggled his fingers, and Harry clawed at his shoulder and screamed.

"Now," he growled.

Severus frowned. "Are you sure? I'm nothing extraordinary, but I do hope I'm larger than two fingers."

"Now," Harry repeated more firmly. He spread his legs wider to make the point clear.

Severus frowned acquiescently and removed his fingers. Harry whimpered in loss, bucking weakly as they retreated. As quickly as he could, Severus took more oil in his palm and rubbed it over his cock, reminding himself firmly that the lovely body stretched out before him was good for much more than masturbation.

"You will tell me if I need to stop," he ordered as he positioned himself between Harry's bent legs.

"'Course I will." He lifted his hips greedily, hands still on Severus' shoulders. "Um... love you," he said softly just as the tip of Severus' cock pressed against his hole.

"I love you, too," Severus said just as softly. Gazing down at Harry, he held himself with one hand and balanced on the other. He pressed forward.

Harry yowled. "OH, MY GOD!" He scurried up the bed, legs kicking indiscriminately, keening. One foot caught Severus in the solar plexus and knocked the wind out of him. Shivering, Harry huddled on the pillows, eyes wide, lip slack, on the verge of hyperventilation.

"Harry, calm down," Severus wheezed. He crawled up the bed, wrapping his arms around the jumpy brat, rocking him gently. "What happened?"

"Burned," Harry croaked. "Felt like... I don't even know."

Severus stroked his hair with his clean hand, kissing the pink lightning scar. "Do you need to stop?"

Harry shook his head. He nodded. He shook his head again. "Don't want to," he said stubbornly.

Severus bit his lip. "Perhaps... perhaps it would be easier if I were to take the supine position, and you, ah, mount?"

Harry squinted. "You mean like girl-on-top?"

"Exactly."

Harry squinched up his mouth thoughtfully. Without another word, he pressed Severus back against the bed. Glancing at the bottle of coconut oil, he grabbed it, opened it, and trickled more of the slippery liquid over Severus' cock. It was a bit chilly, but the chill was oddly enticing on his hot flesh.

"Er... could you... you know...?" Harry hunched sheepishly, motioning towards Severus' pelvis with his head.

Severus reached down and held himself steady. Harry blushed and mumbled his thanks. Without looking up, he climbed over Severus, sock-clad toes clenching and unclenching.

"Here goes nothing," he said, balancing himself against Severus' chest, hands splayed, lifting up on his knees and settling back down. He and Severus shifted until a shudder took Harry's body and he moaned, Severus' tip pressing against his hole. Taking a deep breath, he began to settle himself slowly, whimpering softly, his face contorting in obvious pain.

"Do you--?"

Harry shook his head. He pulled his lower lip into his teeth, eyes closed. "Oh, god, this hurts," he whispered. Severus rubbed Harry's arm with his free hand. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ohhh, god, right there." The discomfort on his face melted, replaced with a look normally caused only by the discovery of an oasis. He panted, leaning heavily on his hands. With a little whimper, he fell forward and pressed his mouth hungrily against Severus'.

Severus urgently reciprocated. The warmth and tightness on his shaft, not to mention the tiny muscular twitches, sent small bolts of lightning arcing through him. Harry lifted up a little, and sat back down, letting himself settle the last inch onto Severus' cock this time. He wriggled, and Severus moaned at the small detonation in his abdomen.

"My... god... you're... big," Harry panted. "Absolutely... fucking... huge."

"There are those who would argue," Severus said. He grasped Harry's hip, kneading the firm muscle encouragingly.

"Idiots." Harry gave an odd little shimmy and moaned from the bottom of his throat. "Oh... god... you fit perfectly."

Severus gazed up at him, panting, watching the slender, pale body impale itself on him. Harry's hands were still splayed on his chest, fingers clutching with every down stroke. A steady series of, "unh," sounds came from his slack mouth. Severus ran both hands up Harry's sides, stroking them, grabbing his waist and pulling him down. Harry shrieked, but dropped his head backwards, bucking his hips in abandon.

It was a disconcertingly short time before the familiar - if unusually urgent - knot began to build in Severus' groin. The image of such a gorgeous, delicate creature lifting and dropping himself again and again, taking such unmitigated joy in the blend of their bodies, the steady, fluttery, fuzzy feeling it built in his chest, all pushed it further, harder, faster. His abdominal muscles began to clench. Reaching out, he grabbed Harry's member in his oiled fist, squeezing, tugging, dragging the foreskin down the thick shaft then squashing it into a bundle over the tip. Harry's ragged moans grew louder, steadier, urgent.

"Oh, god," he whispered. "Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god. You're bloody brilliant, Severus. Oh, god, yes." His sweet voice grew higher with every desperate word. Severus could feel the cock in his hand twitch, writhe, begin to tighten. He was in no different a state. It only grew more pronounced when the muscles in Harry's arse began to spasm. Harry threw back his head and screamed, "Oh, GOD!" He ground his hips in a last desperate motion and suddenly he froze, thick spurts of semen shooting from his cock and splattering all over Severus' concave belly. Only the desperate contractions of his muscles were left to bring Severus along as well, but the knot twisted, built, and snapped, filling him with a sensation of white noise and crashing unreality as Severus came. Through his dimmed perception, he heard himself calling Harry's name, heard the brat's breathing slow, felt those weak, tapered hands rubbing his chest in affectionate circles.

However much later, Harry carefully disengaged himself. He cuddled up at Severus' side, putting his arms around him and leaning in for a kiss. Sweat gleamed on his body, and Severus suspected he was in the same shining state himself.

"That was brilliant," Harry breathed.

"Hmm. I agree." Severus rubbed his back gently. Harry purred.

"God, I love you," he murmured.

Severus smiled. "I love you, too."

Harry kissed him. "Always will."

Severus pulled Harry closer. "I certainly hope so," he whispered, nuzzling the disheveled, sweat-soaked hair.

Minister Fudge was slated to speak first, then Albus. Severus glared as the pretentious, narrow little man, whose willful ignorance had allowed Voldemort to reach his final sickening level of power in the first place, cleared his throat. Fudge had at least remembered to wear a black suit to the occasion.

The speech rolled off of Severus like rain. He huddled against the wall, wrapped in his own arms, wishing they were Harry's. He turned his eyes to the casket, then closed them. The warmth of Harry's body, the weight of his skull against Severus' breastbone, the clutch of his hand on a thin shoulder returned from the depths of memory. It was all Severus could do not to sway gently to the soft strains in the back of his mind, or to picture a hint of longing in Harry's remembered smile.

Harry had spent perhaps ten minutes dozing lightly while Severus stroked his hair. Severus ignored the itchy mess starting to dry and flake on his belly. He snorted upon properly realising that Harry still had his socks on.

Soon enough, Harry kicked, stirred, and made a little noise. He snuggled in closer, one hand lightly gripping Severus' shoulder. His eyes were closed, but he said softly, "Hi."

Severus kissed him chastely. "Good afternoon."

"What time is it?" The green eyes fluttered open halfway, a sliver of colour amidst dark fringe.

"You're facing the clock."

"Don't have my glasses, can't see it."

Severus sniffed and craned his neck. "You didn't even try, lazy brat. It's only now five o'clock. Detentions don't start until eight," he added with an amused smirk.

"Hmm, wonder what to do until then?" Harry purred, turning Severus' head towards him again and brushing their lips together.

"You are an insatiable little brat." Severus laced his fingers through Harry's hair and kissed him more deeply. "If you're that determined to give me apoplexy so soon, the least you could do is get something to clean your mess up." He smiled softly, wickedly.

Harry blew him a raspberry. "Fine, I'll be your slave boy." He nipped the corner of Severus' mouth and rolled off the bed, vanishing over the edge and hitting the floor with a thump. A moment later he was up, shuffling across the floor. Severus watched his naked body appreciatively until it vanished through the door. He lay flat, smirking contentedly for the first time in far longer than he wanted to think about.

From beyond the open door, he heard the wireless. It was too low to make out anything said, but it most certainly wasn't music. Probably some daft programme on house-elves, or worse. He sighed softly, wriggling into the damp, thoroughly disheveled covers. Water ran in the bathroom - hopefully warm, and over a facecloth. He closed his eyes, listening for Harry to return. Something about the voice on the wireless was urgent. Probably an advertisement for something; they tended to blow every trivial problem with the world out of proportion. He heard the rapid thud thud of sock feet and Harry slid on the stones, grasping desperately at the doorjamb.

"You've got to come listen to this," he panted. His fingers were white, as was his face. He gulped and his wide, wild eyes glittered erratically in the firelight.

"What on Earth could be that important right now?" Severus asked, sitting up slowly. Harry darted towards the bed, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him out of bed.

"Ministry... Ministry's gone..."

"What in Hell...?" Severus stormed to his feet and dashed into the sitting room, Harry clutching his wrist painfully. He froze as soon as he was close enough to make out what the desperate announcer was babbling on about.

"... Repeat, the Ministry of Magic was destroyed at approximately four forty-five this afternoon. The remains of the building are still burning... magical and Muggle attempts to douse the flames have proven unsuccessful... no survivors are expected... it is unknown whether this is retaliation from escaped followers of the recently defeated Dark Lord, or if some other motive was the cause for this despicable act of terrorism. It is unknown how many were in the building, as very few workers are scheduled on weekends, but so soon after the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named it is expected the numbers are significantly greater than the norm..."

Severus stared. He felt oddly calm, oddly relaxed, as though he would wake up next to Harry any moment. Harry, on the other hand, trembled like a leaf. Severus put his arms around those thin, bare shoulders and held tight.

"He can't have," Harry said weakly. "I killed him... he can't have come back... oh, god... Mister Weasley... Percy..."

Severus tried to tell him that Voldemort couldn't have returned from the grave, that the Weasleys couldn't have been there over the weekend. His mouth refused to open. He settled for hugging Harry tightly, feeling a fragile chest rise and fall in shuddering goes.

Harry grabbed his hands and squeezed too hard. "He's back, isn't he?" he said in a hollow voice.

"Very possibly," Severus whispered.

Harry swallowed. "It's my fault."

"You had nothing to do with it." He hugged Harry more tightly. "We're safe within the school, he still can't enter the grounds."

"But... what if... he'll come after you, he knows you were the only one there. Voldemort knows about necromancy, he has to." Harry's voice was firm but empty. He dug his nails into Severus' hands. "I'm not going to let him touch you."

"I have no intentions of being touched." He squeezed Harry tightly. "I need to speak with Albus."

"I'm coming with you." Harry picked his glasses off the table and scurried towards the bedroom, socks kicking up blue sparks on the rug.

Severus started to tell him it wasn't necessary. The determined squaring to Harry's shoulders told him it wouldn't get him anywhere. They dressed quickly and in silence, worried or blank glances cast up between them whenever possible.

"Have you still got that map?" Severus asked as they hurried out the door.

"'Course I've got it." Harry dug in his pocket, pulling out the folded bit of parchment. He tapped it with his wand (retrieved from his trunk) and muttered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"Never a truer word spoken," Severus said under his breath. Harry flashed him a drawn, bitter smile.

"I don't see him in his office... looks like he's going out to Hagrid's hut. Wonder where Sirius is?" He blinked. "I think he's coming down here. Hold on." Harry frowned profoundly. "This thing's malfunctioning. I'm showing up in two places at once."

"Show me."

Harry did. One of the tunnels leading out of the school very clearly showed Harry Potter. Harry shook his head. "Better show Sirius, he can probably fix it."

Severus snorted. "That would be a first." He glanced again at the map. The dot was moving slowly. He had a sickening, nagging feeling it wasn't Harry at all. No, that's not possible. Bloody faulty map.

They walked quickly, nearly running, towards the dot marked Sirius Black. Just as they reached the third floor, they ran into him turning to come down the stairs. He grabbed Harry's shoulders. "You've heard?"

Harry nodded. "We were coming to find you." He held out the map. "It's not working properly."

Black frowned. "Bollocks. We had this problem in the early stages, phantom images. Some of the spells must be disintegrating." He plucked out his wand, tapping it against the map, muttering. "Must be a pathing issue," he mused. "It's coming up on the third floor now. God, of all the times for this thing to fail, why would it have to be now? Let me try something else." He tapped it again, muttering a different incantation.

Black froze. His eyes went round and darted towards the statue of the hump-backed witch down the corridor. "Fuck. Snape," he said in a low, urgent voice, "take Harry and go."

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Severus snatched the map from Black's hand. "Oh, bollocks." His eyes followed the tiny dot, its label changing erratically, flashing from Harry Potter to Tom Riddle. "Oh, bollocks, this is all my fault,"

"Why are you still here? I said to take him and go!"

"Harry's not the one he'll be after!"

"Voldemort's here?" Harry asked. He snatched at the map, yanking it out of Severus' hand. He whimpered. "No... I won't let him touch you!" He grabbed Severus' arm and yanked him down the corridor just as the hump-backed witch slid aside with a muffled grinding noise.

Severus let himself be dragged away, glancing back, wincing inside as a pale, hooded head, a long, black-draped form emerged, glanced around, and smiled a twisted smile when it saw him. His mind tried to determine how the wards had failed; all he could think of was that the life animating Voldemort was the same that animated Harry, that they were inextricably linked, that the wards had been confused like the map and let him through on the premise that the Dark Lord was his Harry.

Black tried to step in front of Voldemort, wand raised. Severus looked away and only heard, "Don't you dare touch him again, you cold-blooded son of a--"

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a burst of green light and a heavy thump. Harry whimpered and hesitated, making him trip into the wall. Slow, easy footsteps followed them up the corridor; at least, Severus thought they were slow. Time seemed to be moving sluggishly.

"Keep moving," he hissed at Harry. He didn't even hear the spell, only saw the flash of green out the corner of his eye. Harry lunged, and took the spell with a yelp.

"I'm okay," he said through gritted teeth. "Move, damn you!" Harry clutched his side. Severus could have sworn he smelled the earthy stench of blood.

He dragged Harry around a corner as quickly as possible. Two empty classrooms stood there. He fished out his wand, slammed the door of one from across the corridor, and ducked into the other with Harry in tow. Within seconds, he'd layered the door with every locking charm he knew.

Harry crouched on the floor, white and shivering. The fingers clutching his side were clawed; blood oozed between them. Sweat trickled from his face and dripped to the floor. "My god," he whispered. "Sirius."

From the corridor, Severus heard high, soft, mocking laughter. As quietly as he could, he muttered a one-way silencing spell. Severus slid to the floor next to Harry, stroking his hair, forcing himself not to shake. His heart fluttered viciously. Glancing at Harry, he refused to ponder the obvious or his own part in the sordid situation.

"Severus..." Harry keened.

"Shh."

"Hurts."

"I know." Severus tried to ignore the sheer quantity of blood drenching Harry's robe and starting to pool on the floor. He shuddered at the thought that the wound wouldn't kill the brat; rather, he'd have to suffer the utter torture of exsanguination before his body repaired itself. Severus glanced at the door, taking Harry into his arms. The locking charms wouldn't last long.

"Necromancer," a high, cold voice called singsong from the corridor, "come out, come out. Lord Voldemort wishes an audience." The mocking tone dissolved in wicked laughter.

"I'll kill him," Harry whispered. "I'll kill him again if it's the last thing I do."

"Don't say that." Severus swallowed. "I have to do it."

Harry shuddered. He rested his head against Severus' neck. From across the hall came an explosion. Shards of something, perhaps wood and stone, rained down on the floor.

"Only one more door. I wonder where my necromancer could be? Severus, come out. I shan't hurt you, I only wish to reward you. How did you do it? Blood?" He laughed softly. "Or was it tears? I'd be so dreadfully disappointed if it were. Naughty Severus."

Harry's fingers clutched at Severus arm. They tugged until the tip of his wand was positioned against the thin skin of Harry's throat. Green eyes, wide and determined, fixed on Severus'. "Kill him," Harry whispered.

Severus stared. "I..."

"Please. If you love me, kill him." Harry's jaw set hard.

Severus shuddered. He glanced from Harry to the door and back again. A small pop indicated that the locking charms were coming down one by one by one. He blinked back tears, leaned forward to kiss Harry one last time. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Severus twisted his mouth and rasped, "Avada Kedavra!"

The light burst from his wand, through Harry's throat, outshining even the adoring, apologetic green of his eyes. Even before the light had faded, Harry's head dropped back over Severus' arm, his eyes fixed and staring at the ceiling. Just outside the door he heard a low rattle and a thump. The popping sounds suddenly ceased.

A low shiver started at the base of his spine. It ran upwards, radiating out through tiny muscles, down his arms, making his fingers spasm. His wand hit the floor with a clatter. Shaking, Severus gathered Harry's body in his weak arms for the second time. He gently kissed away the tears that slid from those beautiful eyes, kept his wet, salty lips well away from the open mouth turning bluish and cold from sheer blood loss. Very gently, oh, so softly, he rocked Harry. Under his breath, he choked, "Oh, my love... my darling... I've hungered for... your touch... a long... lonely... time... and time goes by... so slowly... so slowly... oh, god, Harry." He buried his face in the brat's black robes and wracked.

From outside he heard Filch snap, "What's goin' on here, eh? Who's havin' a lie-down in my clean--Bloody Hell!" Footsteps banged down the corridor. Severus thought he heard a choked gasp, but couldn't be sure. The contents of his chest seemed to have failed to exist. Most things seemed to have failed to exist. Severus cradled Harry carefully. He gazed sadly into those eyes still trying to drip deathly tears. It struck him that he now had Harry's gift, he had his freedom from Voldemort.

Pity he didn't want it anymore.