Chapter One, in which the Potion hits the fan.

Very slowly, Snape's eyes traveled the room, slipping from student to student, studying bent down heads, the various postures of effort and concentration. His instinct said there was trouble afoot. A decade of teaching had honed certain instincts. There had been no clue or hint, and yet still....

Ah. Young Malfoy. Not in his usual space near the instructor's table, for one thing. Shoulders too tense. Head bent a little too low. Planning, that one. And knowing the young Slytherin, it was--ah, yes. It was Potter he was focused on, at the next table. Potter was studying his ingredients list with a dumb animal stare that suggested he had missed something and was trying to retrace his steps, but he had no idea where he had gone wrong. Snape shook his head impatiently and moved over to his demonstration table, where he slipped a bit of snap powder under his cauldron, not too close to the flame. Then he began to circle the room, as if inspecting each student's work.

Humm. Yes. There it was. The colour of the liquid in the cylinder in front of Malfoy was too dark. And...yes, the cylinder in front Potter was wrong, too. No one else's. Ah?

The loud snap drew all eyes to the teacher's cauldron.

"Get busy!" Snape snarled as he stepped back. His hand came up to his nose and he sniffed the small sample he had stolen from Malfoy's cylinder. Well, well. The tip of his tongue touched the liquid. Ah. The entire suite, then? Ambitious. Who would have thought a Malfoy would stoop to peasant concoctions such as this? But who was the object of Draco's affections? Who did he want to lure into his bed?

Snape's eyes settled on the dark liquid in front of Potter. Snape had instructed them all to smell and taste the slugwort they were to us in this potion. Nasty stuff, harmless, but if not fresh the potion would be unstable, and the best way to be sure it was fresh was to taste it. So Malfoy had substituted some potion for the slugwort, or added something to it. Potter had already sipped it...ten minutes ago?

Malfoy's wand was resting on the table. Snape watched as the thin lips moved, as a pale hand closed on the wood, lifted....

Snape quickly stepped between Potter and Malfoy. He felt the jar of the spell in the center of his back, but ignored it, for he had never neglected the protective charms for his clothing. He loomed over Potter and snarled, "You stupid boy! Go to my office. Now!"

Potter gave one wild glance up, froze for a moment with is eyes as wide as saucers, and the scuttled out, head down in confusion and shame, while Snape whirled and snapped, "Twenty points from Slytherin!"

The gasp was universal. Points from his own House? Snape's eyes promised additional points from anyone stupid enough to open their mouth and comment on it. All eyes turned back to potions. Snape whirled and let his glare fall on Malfoy.

"I'll take that," he said, snatching up Potter's cylinder and then Malfoy's. "I admire initiative, Malfoy, but I will not put up with interference in my classroom. Clear away your potion, I have something else for you to do. Miss Granger, at the end of class, you will be responsible for Potter's mess. Take his things with you when you go; I doubt he'll be needing them for awhile."

Snape watched with hawk eyes as Malfoy poured his half finished potion down the drain, cleaned his tools and cauldron, returned the unused ingredients to the instructor's table and then slouched sullenly back to his place. "Take out your parchment. Write out an account of why you chose to waste class time in this particular manner. An apology might also be in order. I'll want it by the end of class."

Snape turned, his robes snapping with the force of it, and stalked to the front of the class again. "The potion should turn red when you mix the two aspects. If it turns brown you used too much charcoal. If it turns pink, not enough." While he spoke he was testing the contents of the two confiscated cylinders, arching a brow as he dropped in a bit of this, a little of that. As the class drew to a close he placed the evidence in the nearest cabinet. He made sure it was locked He then took a moment to investigate each student's potion, and walked them through the neutralizing process and disposal. He hoped they could not see his impatience.

Last out of the door was Malfoy, who turned in his parchment and almost ran out. Snape frowned, as he had expected a fawning attempt at reconciliation. He shook his head. Let Dumbledore sort out Malfoy. Snape went to his office, opened the door and called out, "Potter!"

And was flattened against the doorframe by twelve stone of apparently rabid teenage boy. Potter's sturdy hands were clutching Snape's hair, his mouth had fastened like a leech on that of his potions master, and his hips were....

"Potter!" Snape managed to wrench his mouth away and growl out the one word, but this caused Potter's mouth to slip down and begin gnawing on his neck desperately. This was scarcely an improvement. Pushing away from the door didn't help either, as Potter climbed his body, wrapped his legs around Snape's waist and-- well, humped.

"Potter! Malfoy has...how much of that did you drink?" he demanded, but if there was an answer he missed it as they unbalanced and went crashing to the floor. Potter seemed pleased at the change in their position and smiled down at Snape.

The dark hair had gone from unruly to complete disarray, the famous glasses awry. Green eyes glowed and the flush on the cheeks was cherry red. Same color as the lips which were descending towards his. Warm, delicious lips that fell on his without technique or finesse, and the tongue which was wiggling against his was...wait..."Potter!" he screamed. Potter's fingers had wormed into his robe and were...was....

Rubbing. And....

With a shove and a twist Snape was on his feet, kicking his foot free of a clinging hand. His own hand scrabbled for his wand and a binding spell, the mauve and maroon ribbons of force not all that steady, went spiraling along to wrap around the young man and hold him still. The very end of the force ribbon fell across Potter's mouth and held it shut.

"How much of that did you drink?" Snape asked again, and then went stomping out of the room and out the door, up the steps and into the corridor, where he frightened a passing third year with his order to take a message to Dumbledore saying that his immediate presence was required by Professor Snape. Stomping back down the stairs, he went into the room and ignoring the young man trussed up on the rug, he pulled Malfoy's parchment out of his pocket and read it through. His frown deepened. He went and sat down in his chair, ignoring the huge green eyes staring up at him from the floor.

There was a knock.

"Come in," Snape barked. It was, as he expected, Dumbledore.

"Oh, dear," the headmaster said as he stepped in.

"Even you will find stronger words than that," Snape predicted. When Dumbledore would have gone over to Harry, he said, "Leave him there until the end of the explanation. It's safe enough for him, and much safer for us,, and he might as well hear this. I think he will be able to focus more if he is restrained." He handed over Malfoy's note to the headmaster.

Dumbledore read it aloud. "Professor Snape, I apologize for disrupting your class. I made this Potion of Three because I thought it would be funny to have Potter fawning all over me. I realize now that it was inappropriate. Of course, I will serve your assigned detention at your convenience. D. Malfoy." Dumbledore shook his head. "Exemplary."

"You don't believe it for a minute either."

"No." Dumbledore sighed. "I fear it was not a mere prank."

" I see his father's hand in this," Snape said.

"The potion?"

"A professional job. I almost think...remember a student we had ten years ago, Caitlin Forrest?"

"A small blonde girl who transferred out her fifth year?" His brow wrinkled as Dumbledore tried to remember.

"It has the feel of one of hers. She had a skill with nuance not usually found even in professionals I believe we now have another name for our list of probable dark practitioners."

"I am sorry to hear that," Dumbledore said, and pulling a scroll of parchment from his pocket and a quill from the air, he slowly wrote a name down on the bottom of a very long list.

"This potion was made up for this purpose, made up specifically against Potter," Snape said, and both of them looked down at the trussed up boy on the floor. He was listening to their conversation, and probably comprehending most of it, but his intense gaze was on Snape the entire time.

"What tells you this?" the old wizard asked as he carefully chose a chair and sat down. He waved Snape into his desk chair.

"The Potion of Three is a combination of certain potions which, when together, intensify each other greatly. They must be in exact proportion, or the intensifying effect is lost. The components are the Everswore Love Potion, the Decanter of Lust, and any one of several Loyalty potions as long as it is built upon lavender and tumeric oil. This potion...the love component was excellent. Textbook perfect. The Lust component was also well made, but not to standard. In fact, it was made to wear off quickly. Not at all the usual thing. The Loyalty draft was double strength, and in fact it would not have mixed with the rest if rose oil had not been added to stabilize it. It was the rose oil which alerted me. It was a favorite of Forrest."

"So Draco's potion was made to induce deep love, temporary lust and complete loyalty in Harry for Draco." Dumbledore summarized. He said, "I think Harry is cold. If you don't mind," and pointed his wand at the fireplace. A cheerful blaze sprang up and he gazed into the dancing flames as if the flickering fire would help him think.

"More than that," Snape went on. "The spell cast would have erased any other love Harry was harboring, bent those feelings away from the beloved to the new object of affection. Very sophisticated. I'd never seen it done just that way before. It uses your own strength for love against your love, it eliminates the competition. Wickedly clever. The spell was also one I have never known before--I wish I could have heard Malfoy utter it."

"The lust component was weak?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not so. I should say it was strong, but designed to wear off quickly. The other two components were not designed to wear off at all." Snape stroked his finger down his cheek to his chin as he thought about that one.

"And of course, a loyalty potion given to a Gryffindor, who are known for feeling things strongly...well." Dumbledore mused quietly.

"Someone wanted to own Harry Potter. While making it appear to be merely a schoolboy crush. Draco is true Slytherin. You know that well more than half of us are bisexual. And in our creed, opportunity must be taken where you find it. Draco is...shall we say, busy? Like a bee in a garden, he stays with no one for very long. The novelty of banging Potter would not hold him, although I am sure he enjoyed the prospect of having life-long devotion from Potter. I wonder if he had a voice in the composition of the potion?"

"Draco." Dumbledore sighed. There were some students lost to you before they ever arrived at school. He feared Draco could be one of them. He shook himself and said, "Let us turn to the problem at hand. Harry drank the potion and Draco cast the spell that would make sure that Draco would be the object of his affections. And then?"

"I stepped between them. You know my robes are made by Theron deFancy. I am careful to renew the spells every week. I am guarded against most potion accidents, many spells and certain hexes."

Dumbledore nodded. Terribly expensive, and he didn't blame Snape from wearing them until they were rags. He had a robe of that sort himself which he wore on occasion. Heavy with magic, they made it impossible to go unnoticed among other wizards, but they were, indeed, very useful.

"This robe is made to absorb and dissipate any novice magic thrown my way," Snape said. "Although primarily it is spelled against potions accidents. My defense against the stupidity of children. Careless creatures, children. It is not designed to repel actual attack, although it seems to have worked well enough against this spell. I did wonder if any of the spell reflected back to Malfoy? If so, he may become a little more enamored of himself. It was a powerful spell--no doubt he was fully coached in the use of it, for it was quite well defined. It was broad. It possibly created a temporary nimbus around my form, and Potter was looking up at me by then." Snape did not look at the boy on the floor, but let his eyes settle on the fire, which was dying down.

"Ah. So there was enough residual to be seen at the edges of your frame, and for Potter to be affected by it when he focused on you. You became the object of his affection," Dumbledore realized. "That explains why he's trussed up on your floor. I did wonder."

"Quite. They also made the potion incredibly strong. The full strength was in Draco's cylinder, and he had poured as much as a fourth of it into Potter's slugwort. Potter's was then perhaps a twenty percent solution, and I think he took a good mouthful of it. Draco waited for it to take full effect, but he took some risk, as Potter could have focused his attentions on another while he waited." Snape gave a small smile. "My fault. I was too close, investigating the nagging feeling that something was wrong, and he had to wait longer than he liked. In fact, he was forced to act even though he was taking the chance of being observed because Potter was lifting his head, looking in my direction--and his."

Dumbledore nodded and looked at Harry. "An antidote?"

"The infirmary has it. Quite painful, I believe, and slow to act. The lust component would fade on it's own after a day or so, but he may show other symptoms for as long as a month. Perhaps two. It should make potions class a living hell," Snape said dourly.

"You can endure a student mooning over you for a few days, Severus. A student with a crush on a teacher is nothing new."

Snape snorted. "It is for me. I make sure there's no reason or time for mooning over anything in my classes."

Dumbledore's mouth turned up. "I'm sure that's so. Well, I will go deal with Draco Malfoy. Will you transport Harry to the infirmary and explain the problem to Madam Pomfrey?"

It was clear that Snape would rather not, but he said, "Very well!" and reached for his wand. He levitated Potter off the rug. "One last thing," he said as Dumbledore stood and moved to the door. "This was the only class I have this year that uses potions similar in appearance that would allow this type of deception. The slugwort is neutral to the Potion of Three and harbored it without reaction. I only added the potion we worked on today to my curriculum last year. Someone studied me, my teaching habits, probably through questioning someone who had this level, last year. A seventh year student this year. Or, something or someone is spying on me in my own classroom. Perhaps you could look into the possibilities."

"I certainly shall," Dumbledore agreed. "And I'm afraid we will have a faculty meeting tomorrow morning at six.". Snape, who hated faculty meetings and made no secret of it, scowled as he held the door open for his superior and followed him out into the corridor, Potter floating along behind.

He said nothing to the student as he hurried along, taking the darkest and most obscure corridors to avoid meeting others. He turned Potter over to Pomfrey, explained the problem in as few words as possible and hurried back. He did not go to his office, but to his own quarters. He strode in, slammed the door shut and threw himself into the overstuffed chair he kept by the fireplace. A vicious gesture and the fire sprang into being. His book from yesterday rested on the small table on his left, but he did not pick it up. Instead, he threw his head back, closed his eyes and tried to unclench his teeth.

He began to plan what he would do to Draco Malfoy. It would no doubt come as a shock to Draco, but for once he would not slide out of his well-deserved punishment. Nothing too bad, of course. Snape intended to stay on the good side of the Malfoy clan. Nasty biting spiders, all of the Malfoys, and he yearned to turn the lot of them into actual arachnids and stomp them into the floor one by one. But it was not his intention to make enemies of that powerful family, and as he could not kill them, he would find another way to make them suffer. He would put his mind towards finding the best revenge. Perhaps Draco should fall in love with a Muggle. Male muggle. The punishment would fit the crime, after all. And where will your grandchildren be, Lucius? I shall rob you of you future, you scheming, scuttling spider. I'll do it with such subtlety that no one will ever know I was involved.

How dare they use his classroom, his specialty, for their petty plans? Ensnaring him in their little webs. How dare they do this to him?

How dare they try to take Harry Potter?

His.

Harry.

Potter.

He shuddered and tried not to gag. Oh, yes. His Harry Potter.

His because Snape had tasted the smallest drop of Malfoy's hellish potion.

His because Snape's protections had failed.

His because Harry had looked up just as Malfoy had cast his spell, and their eyes had met. Snape had never, ever seen that look directed at him before. Or if such a thing had happened, never before had he had enough heart in him to react to it. Now, he never wanted anything more in his life than he wanted that stupid skinny....

Student.

He had no scruples himself. He had always held that if you were old enough to do it--you were old enough to do it. But the rules here said the students were off limits.

Perhaps he should leave. Put temptation away, leave it behind.

But there obligations. Promises he had made. The job he had to do for Dumbledore, and the other one for the Ministry.

And if he left here, he wouldn't be able to see Harry.

He sighed and pulled himself up. He would make up a fresh batch of the antidote. Take a double dose of it. He rather suspected it would do no good at all. This was his own fault. He could safely taste many potions thanks to certain spells, but this potion had not been made by his own hand and had been made damnably well.

His own fault. If love and hate were two sides of the same coin, and he loved no one, then the potion had only his hate to subvert, to twist inside out and use. But the antidote, if it worked at all, would affect the traditional love, not his warped and two-sided version. Who knows what would be left to him.

Chapter Two. In which Harry Confesses All.

Ron leaned over the bed. "Harry?"

Harry opened one eye. Then he tried the second. His eyes were not cooperating, and so he groaned and closed them.

"Harry, you have to wake up and tell us what happened," Ron said. "We're only supposed to stay a minute."

Harry forced his eyes open again. Ron. Hermione. Only Ron and Hermione. He wanted to see....

"Harry?" Hermione was glancing through the long row of bottles lined up on the table beside the bed. "Have they given you ALL of these reversal potions?"

"Gah," Harry said, trying for agreement but gagging at the very memory. "They taste terrible," he managed to say. "And I have to take some every fifteen minutes."

"What at they trying to reverse?" Ron asked, settling down on the edge of the bed.

Hermione answered him. "By the looks of these, a love potion. Actually, more than that, it looks like.... The Potion of the Three L's?" she guessed, her expression slowly turning horrified.

"What's it do?" Ron asked. "I brought you a chocolate frog," he said to Harry, holding it out. Harry turned slightly green. Ron slid it onto the table. "You can eat it later."

Hermione answered. "It's an old potion used in medieval times on those poor girls who were married off for political reasons. They'd end up in some castle far from home, married to some old man they'd only met that day who had a lot of money or connections. After the wedding the bride and groom would toast to the union. The man would have wine or an aphrodisiac in his glass and she'd have the Potion of Three. It was supposed to make sure she loved him, wanted him and was loyal to him." Hermione's indignation at the whole process came through loud and clear. Her hands went to her hips. "Who did that, Harry? Who tried to make you into a love slave?"

Ron choked and practically fell off the bed. "Love slave?" he gasped.

"In strong doses," she said, "it has exactly that effect."

Harry blinked. "Draco," he said. "Malfoy did it."

"I'm killing him." Ron said with admirable sincerity.

"Don't bother. He pissed off Snape AND Dumbledore," Harry said. "He's going to be punished."

"As if Snape would punish him like he truly deserved. I hope Dumbledore comes through. So...are you okay?" asked Ron, hesitantly. "I mean, did it work?"

"Yes. No. Agh," Harry moaned as a cramp hit, and he clutched his stomach.

"It worked but the antidote is working too?" Hermione asked helpfully.

"It worked but Draco missed." Harry managed as his stomach eased.

"Missed? Good. There's nothing I can think of worse than being gaga over Draco Malfoy."

Harry gave a weak laugh. It was a soft, moaning sound without a lot of humor in it.

"I don't like the sound of that," Hermione said uncertainly. "If it missed but you're still taking the antidote, then the spell focused you on someone else in the class."

"So who is it?" Rom asked. "Beryl?" he asked hopefully, naming one of the pretty Slytherin girls in the potions class.

"I wish," Harry sighed.

"Are you going to tell us?" Hermione asked.

"I don't think so. It's too embarrassing," Harry said, and sighed again. Or maybe that was gas from the sheer number of potions he'd consumed in the last twelve hours. "Maybe I'll tell you when it's all worn off."

Hermione asked, "But how can we help you if we don't know who it is?"

"You won't understand," Harry insisted.

"Come on. We're your best friends. We're not going to make fun of you or anything," Ron assured him.

"Yes you are," Harry predicted.

"Harry, the effects of these spells linger for weeks. Some time we're going to figure it out anyway, don't you think?" practical Hermione added..

"You'll make fun of him. And me. And that will hurt. Because I do love him. I do!" Harry whispered. The anguish in his voice made it quiver.

"Him?" Ron blinked. "It's a he? Harry, that's...I mean, you never...ew."

"He." Hermione was taking it better "You didn't like boys before, Harry. Right?" She assumed she was right and went on. "If the potion forced you so far outside your norm, that should make it easier to reverse." She nodded, happy to be finding something positive in the situation.

Ron looked relieved at that. Harry was still just looking sick to his stomach.

"Him." Eyes closed, Hermione was remembering back to class, thinking about where everyone was standing and who was near Harry when it happened and ... she opened her eyes wide and gasped, "Snape!"

"What's Snape have to...Snape?" Ron echoed. He went so white his freckles seemed to blaze. "You're hooked on SNAPE?" he asked. "Our mean, nasty, disgusting Potions Master?"

Harry looked up at him, frowning. "I told you you'd just make fun of him. And me."

"It's not like you had a choice. Of course we're not making fun of you," Hermione said soothingly.

"No, no," Ron assured him. "Look, is it time for your next dose?" he asked, snatching up one of the bottles from the table. "Make sure you take them right on time. Are they strong enough?" he asked anxiously, giving the bottle a shake.

"They're disgusting, and I don't have to take any for five more minutes." Harry said. "I wish I didn't have to take them at all. Adoring Snape isn't so bad, compared to swallowing this stuff. It burns going down and burns even more after it sits in there awhile. I have to eat something between each draught, and it all just sort of sits down there and stews."

"Adore?" Ron said, weakly, sitting down. "Those two words should never be in the same sentence. Adore and Snape."

"He's smart and handsome and...and interesting," Harry insisted. "He's big, and tall, and strong, and..." His litany of Snape's positive characteristics was, by necessity, short, even given Harry's currently prejudiced view.

"And he looks good in black," Hermione said helpfully. At Ron's indignant squeak she said, "With his skin tones he can't wear very many colors. Black is a good choice."

Ron said quickly, "Don't encourage him. Remember, this is Snape. He's nasty, he cheats, he plays favourites, and lets not forget his little Death Eater habits. He even smells, Harry, you know he does, and his hair is disgusting."

Harry didn't seem to hear. "He just smells of potions. Sometimes that's nice. Did you ever look at his mouth?" he whispered. "His lips are beautiful, with that little arch at the top. He tastes like sage and cinnamon and tea," he murmured, remembering.

"He tastes like..." Ron could not have sounded more horrified. "You TASTED him? You TASTED Snape?"

"I grabbed him and I kissed him," Harry said proudly.

"How many points did THAT cost us?" Ron moaned, his hands going to his head as if it suddenly hurt.

"I grabbed him and I kissed him," Harry said again. And the smile he smiled was, as Ron described it later, just creepy.

"Gods, I hope he gets over this fast," Ron said to Hermione as he put down the bottle of potion. A voice called from outside the room, reminding them that they were not to stay long. "Harry, uh, we're going to go now."

"We'll come back later," Hermione agreed, backing up.

Harry scarcely noticed they were gone. He had closed his eyes and was remembering. Remembering, over and over again, just how it happened. How he had looked up and seen Professor Snape turning towards him. How the black cloak the Potions Master sometimes wore over his robe had flared out as he whirled, and how it had seemed as if a nimbus of rainbow color had glowed around his shoulders and head as their eyes met. Intellectually he knew that was probably the spell Malfoy had cast, but in his memory the glow made Snape's skin turn from sallow to gold. His black eyes had sparks deep inside them, red and green and blue. His voice, when he ordered Harry from of the room, caressed the ears. The sound of it echoed in his bones even now.

And other places. He'd paced restlessly in Snape's office, his groin throbbing. He had rubbed his sweating palms on his robe and yearned for things he had no image for, no words to express. The pictures his mind made almost made him ill with wanting. Wanting Snape to touch him with those big hands. Kissing him. Tearing his clothes off. And then his imagination failed him because he could not exactly picture what would come next. Only he knew. Knew right down in his center what he wanted Severus Snape to do to him.

What he wanted to do to Severus.

Ohhh.

And Harry had waited for him, and literally thrown himself at the man.

I know what he tastes like. I know what he smells like. I know how his hair feels under my fingers. I know the silk of the skin on his stomach and I know he wears boxers and I know I made him hard.

Not that he'd had more than an instant to sense that heavy heat against his palm. But whatever message Severus's actions were sending, his body had been offering a counter opinion. He wanted me. He did. I felt it!

And then Severus made us stop and that was right because everything Severus does is right. He frowned as memory contradicted that. Okay. Severus might not be always right but he always had a reason.

"Time for your next dose, dear. I added a little sweetener to it this time. I know it tastes vile," Pomfrey said, and handed him the bottle. He drank it down quickly, hoping his tastebuds would be saved at least a little misery that way.

The cramps hit a minute later. He curled up, clutching his stomach, riding it out, scarcely feeling the friendly hand patting his shoulder. "Sev, Sev, Sev," he chanted under his breath as he fought to keep the stuff down. They were stealing Sev away with every draught, stealing his love and his lover, and that made him as miserable as the cramping did.

I had somebody. For just a few hours I had somebody, he thought. I had my Severus, my handsome, irritating, uncooperative lover.

Lover.

My boyfriend.

The thought of Severus Snape as anybody's boyfriend was so ridiculous that he laughed through his pain at even thinking it.

But he repeated it in his mind, over and over. MY Severus. My boyfriend. My lover.

All lies. Severus was letting them do this to him, allowing them to poison him and hurt him. And it was okay, if that was what Severus wanted but oh it hurt to lose it. To feel the love and lust and loyalty fade. He tried to hold on to it. Grabbed hard at the misting truth.

Lust was first to go. It was hard to stay lustful when your stomach was cramping and the beginning of diarrhea was stirring your guts. Hard to keep the lust when you wanted to puke like a dog.

The love and the loyalty lay twined and listless, fading a little with every swallow of the damned antidote. But the loyalty had lodged in the core of his Gryffindor heart and no loyalty could entirely be drained away once it had a place there. And love was such a foreign thing, such a rare and precious and wanted thing to him that he refused to give it up. In his mind he cupped his two hands around it and hid it away, held it tight against his heart and refused to give it back.

Mine.

My Severus. My own.

Chapter Three. In Which Everyone Fakes Normal for Awhile

A week later, Harry was back in his classes. He looked a little wan and tired, and was generally a little languid, but that was to be expected. He also had developed a healthy paranoia, poking at his food and pouring his own drinks.

Every Friday he reported to the hospital wing for another dose of the antidote. The taste got no better.

Outwardly, things went back to normal. Harry remained brilliant on a broom, sweeping his team to the Quidditch championship. His grades actually improved. He studied with an intensity he hadn't shown before, and considering the amount of work he had to make up, this was all to the good.

He had a growth spurt just after Christmas, which resulted in the need for an entirely new wardrobe. For once he got to do his own clothing shopping. Most of it was in black.

And he stopped cutting his hair. At first, no one noticed. Harry's hair had always been unruly. No matter who cut it or how, muggle or magic, the cowlick stood up and the rest of it rebelled against lying flat for long. It looked considerably worse than usual for a few months, with more than one concerned teacher pulling him aside and suggesting it was time to visit the barber, or reminding him of the hair cutting spells. But Harry didn't seek out any of the house elves whose duties included cutting hair, and he didn't go to the magic barber in Hogsmeade who specialized in Hogwarts student hair fads. He didn't even go to the old man who cut hair in Muggle hair styles.

He just let it grow. And he discovered that if you brushed it a lot, and washed it every day, the natural oils helped hold it down. For the first time, his hair did what he told it to. He wore it so that it covered his scar.

Hermione noticed it first, noticed as Snape stood over Harry one day making one of his usual scathing remarks about Harry's potion, that the teacher and the student now looked an awful lot alike. When Ron noticed the same thing the following week she managed to keep his squawking opinions muffled until she could convince him that no good would come of pointing it out to anyone but Harry.

Eventually, others noticed, and there was some teasing, but Harry had also managed to pick up some of Snape's sarcastic wit and soon no one dared comment on it within his hearing. Besides, he kept it tied back a lot and didn't really look all that different from how he looked before. Everyone got used to it.

Harry worked hard in potions. Snape, who had noticed the changes and frowned over them, did not praise him, but then, the nasty comments were less forthcoming as well. Snape had observed that the young man listened to Snape's barbs avidly, picking up the technique of turning a scathing phrase while not letting the message disturb him. At the end of a scolding he would only smile softly up at his teacher, and agree that he had been most careless and he would not do it again. It was damnably frustrating and Snape had learned to bite his tongue and say nothing at all to him. Which didn't mean the venom didn't spill over onto other students as a result.

Besides, if he stood close enough to Potter to chastize him, the stupid idiot would stand there drawing in deep breaths and get this disgusting needy expression in his eyes. He'd sway towards Snape, staring at him like some cobra-eyed puppy, and Snape had never yet had the guts to stand there and see just exactly what would happen next. He always broke and stepped back. That annoyed him extremely. The whole stupid situation annoyed him.

It annoyed him most when he slid into bed at night and the spectre of Harry Potter joined him there. In his dreams, a long slim body twined around his, and a soft voice whispered love words and whose hand was it on his hard and weeping flesh?

Chapter 4. In which Harry Takes Matters Into his Own Hands

Three months to the day after Potter's unfortunate poisoning, Snape returned from his dinner to find Potter standing at his office door. "What do YOU want?" he growled as he muttered the charm which opened the door. He turned in the doorway, blocking Potter's entrance, should the young man be so stupid as to try to come in.

"I came to...consult with you. With the Potions Master," Harry said. "You're the only one who can help." He looked up and down the corridor. "Let me talk to you inside. I don't want anyone else to hear," he whispered.

His lips compressed, and he frowned, but Snape stood aside and allowed Harry to slip in. "What is your problem, Potter?" he asked.

"It's the same old one," Harry said, moving into the room. He wasn't looking at Snape, but at the jars which lined one wall. "You know. The Potion of Three. The antidotes worked up to a point. But they didn't work all the way. I stopped taking them a month ago. Madam Pomfrey says they've done all they can."

"The rest of the effect will fade with time." Snape said, turning away a little to gesture at his fire and watch it flare up in the grate.

"The books say maybe it will and maybe it won't."

"And what do you expect me to do?" Snape demanded.

"I was hoping...you wouldn't mind. Doing me a favor."

Snape snorted at the very idea.

"You could do it. Make a potion that would let me forget you. Or use the Potion of Three again, set it up so I...so there's somebody else."

"Hardly ethical to force your attentions on some other poor idiot," Snape said sharply.

"I haven't forced myself on you!" Potter cried, stamping forward. "I've fought it every day, every stupid day! I didn't send you roses on Valentine's day, did I? And I thought about it, I remembered how you said one day in class how rare December roses were getting and how they didn't seem to grow here at Hogwarts. You use them in at least three potions, you said so. And I know where they grow, I wanted to send them. But I knew you'd just throw them away if they came from me. And I didn't ever touch you when you walked by even though my fingers were burning to do it, and I never, ever threw myself on you and kissed your mouth even when...even when...." He got hold of himself finally, turning his back on the other man and standing there with his lungs heaving while he tried to calm himself down.

"I appreciate your restraint," Snape said sarcastically. "Try to manufacture a little more of it."

"I don't want to. I want to...take you and kiss you and...and....."

"Don't you know?" Snape said, laughing at him.

Harry turned around. His face was red but he firmed his jaw and said, "Well, I don't know, do I? I've never done that. With anyone."

"And you want me to be your first? Flattering." Snape went to his desk and sat down. Potter noticed that he did it rather abruptly and it seemed to him that the professor was looking a little disturbed.

"First? Yeah, and only. But that won't happen. I know that." Potter bit his lip and said, "Look, just make me a potion that will let me forget I love you, okay? How hard could that be for a Potions Master?"

"Harder than you'd think. These things aren't that selective, Mister Potter. A potion to make you forget your...feelings for me might also take away the feelings you have for other people you love. Even for yourself. I think you need a charm, not a potion. I'd go see...."

Potter interrupted him. "I can't tell anyone else about this!"

"Then do your own research. Hogwarts has an excellent library. Try thinking for once."

"Oh." Harry was looking at him now, head turned a little sideways. Considering. Looking at Snape.

Eventually he said, "You might not believe it, but I do think sometimes. You know, something's been bothering me. I heard what you said to Dumbledore about Slytherin. True Slytherin. A Slytherin takes opportunities where he finds it, you said. And that Draco was true Slytherin because he was bisexual. So." he said, wondering aloud. "Are you true Slytherin? Bisexual? And do YOU take advantage of opportunities that come along? Why aren't I flat on my back right now with you...slithering in?"

Amazing how someone with almost no color could go significantly more pale.

"Why aren't you taking advantage of me?" Potter asked.

In one snake-fast move, Snape whirled out of his chair and had Potter smashed up against the wall. His fists were at Potter's shoulders, twisted in the fabric of his robe, his sneering face was only inches from Potter's huge-eyed, gaping face. "Well, yes, Potter," he hissed. "Why aren't I?"

Fear faded from Harry's face. "Because you love me?" he whispered, and it was hope rather than conviction, but he leaned forward and pressed his mouth onto Snape's lips. Tasted him again, remembering, and reached out with his tongue and slid it into that hot wet mouth. His hands crept around the lean torso and he pulled them close.

A thousand of his dreams came true in that one moment. Because Severus Snape did not pull away, did not tear his face from Harry's, but leaned into the kiss, opening to it, taking control of it. Harry had imagined kisses, but not like this one, imagined loving, but never like this. The hard hands at his shoulder loosened and then pulled him close, driving their bodies together, and he felt the iron bar of Snape's need pressing into his belly. The mouth left his to feast on his neck, his cheeks, his shoulder, whatever could be reached, and then came back to his mouth again.

When that kiss had left him completely breathless Snape's mouth let go and his lips slid over to his ear and the large nose nuzzled there and sent goosebumps racing down Harry's arms and legs. He whispered into Harry's ear.

"Because I dare not have you while Voldemort lives." The lips rubbed, the tongue tracing behind the ear, tasting. "I will not have you while we are teacher and student." The lips angled down to the neck, the tongue licking and teeth nipping along a path up and over to the other ear. "If you're smart you'll never come near me again. Mine isn't the sort of love you need. It's nasty. There's jealousy in it, and possessiveness, and a tiny desire to hear you scream, be it from pain or pleasure."

"Uh," said Harry, and he plastered his mouth over Snape's lips, cutting off the words. And Snape allowed it for a moment. Then he tore them apart, took hold of Harry's shoulder, dragged him to the door and threw him out.

Harry sat on the cold stone floor and blinked hard to keep back the tears. He stood up, rubbing his bruised posterior, and started to limp up the stairs. Huh. So that was love.

Because it was, he decided as he forced himself not to stop on the landing. Because he wasn't in any doubt. Snape DID want him. And did love him. Snape was not going to risk him. Not going to let anyone see how he felt. Not while Voldemort lived, he said. Right, Harry could understand that. Voldemort could hurt them both with this. Use each against the other. Hurt others, too.

And of course there were rules about students and teachers. His Severus had integrity. Well, some, anyway. And Severus was giving him fair warning about the worst of having Snape's interest and affection. Like he hadn't figured that out about Severus over the last six years.

He hiked up the stairs and drew himself a hot bath. He lay there in the hot water, and started to think about exactly what he was going to have to do to get rid of Voldemort. He realized he didn't know enough, didn't have the answers to the questions which were coming up as he tried, for the first time in his life, to do some serious plotting. It looked like he was going to be spending a lot of time in the library.

Chapter Five. In which Voldemort's End is Mentioned

It was books that defeated Voldemort. Stacks of them. Violent histories and the dullest potion books, and dry spellcaster theories. When his homework was done, Harry Potter was always found reading.

Hermione approved, Ron found it insane and one step away from torture, but they both helped find the books he needed, and Harry read. Stayed up until the dawn broke some mornings, and dragged through the day with red eyes and a nasty snarl on his lips.

"Remind you of anyone?" Ron asked Hermione in disgust one day. But when Voldemort made his move, he came up against the mind he had unwittingly sharpened. The failure of his machinations started with The Potion of Three and ended on the point of a sword in Harry Potter's hand.

Chapter Six, Where the Dursleys have a Bad Weekend.

The first sign Vernon Dursely had that it was going to be a bad day was when he went to pick up his wife's nephew--he always thought of Harry that way, as his wife's nephew and thank god not his own--at the station. He hated having to take the time and go get Harry, but then, he pretty much hated anything that had to do with the nasty little git. And Harry was late.

And when he did find the stupid lout, he was horrified. For one thing, he'd grown this past year. What had they been feeding him at that Hogwarts place? He was, to Vernon's great disgust, taller than he was. Taller than Dudley. Still skinny and stupid looking, but it wasn't right he should be taller than them. Just not right.

He'd turned into one of those, too. Modern teenagers with their ridiculous hair and outrageous clothing. His hair was a mess--long, almost greasy, and it hung down in his face. It hid the scar, but that wasn't an improvement. He was wearing his bathrobe or something, over black trousers and a black jumper. His ear was pierced and from it hung a little ball with wings.

"Could you possibly be a bigger disgrace? You're getting a hair cut," was the first thing he said to the little snot. And do you know what the little snot said back to him?

"No, I'm not."

"We'll see about that," Vernon Dursley swore, and waited while the trunk and the odious owl were loaded into his car. He decided to drive straight home and let Petunia see just what the little horror had come up with now, and then take him for the haircut later. Besides, he wanted his dinner.

So they arrived back at 4 Privet Drive and Petunia was indeed duly horrified at Harry's appearance. Dudley mocked him, Hairy Harry, but Harry hardly seemed to even notice it. At dinner, when Dudley took both chops and left none for Harry, he was pinned with a green glare and found himself handing over one of the chops to Harry without even understanding what made him do it.

The meal was uninspired, the conversation mostly sporadic comments from Petunia to her husband. When he pushed his plate back, Vernon announced that he was taking Harry for a haircut, and if Harry made a fuss, he'd cut the hair off himself.

Harry said, "Why bother? It will just grow back. Instantly. I made a potion for that," he added. And looking up at the frustrated faces of his aunt and uncle, he added, "I'm getting pretty good at potions." And then he smiled. His friends would have recognized the smile, although they had never seen it on Harry's face. It was pure Snape.

They didn't go get a haircut.

Aunt Petunia didn't order him to clear away and do the dishes.

He probably could have turned on any program he wanted on the TV, but he found he didn't have much interest in Muggle entertainment anymore. He took his book up to the room he used which they'd painted an ugly chartreuse while he was gone and read until he was tired. Then he lay in bed in the dark and counted out the days. This was the last summer he would ever have to stay with the Dursleys. Seventy days and he'd be back at Hogwarts for his last year.

It was going to be a very long summer. And a very long year. But he amused himself by thinking about Severus. His favorite memory right now was how Severus had looked that night when Harry had reached down and pulled him up out of the muck, how their eyes had met and what Sev had said in that wonderfully sarcastic voice of his.

"My hero." They'd climbed up out of the mud, and Severus had poured the Potion of True Death all over what was left of Voldemort.

Then they'd slogged back side by side, the rain plastering their black hair to their heads and washing away the mud and blood and filth. They left only a few wet ashes behind them.

Harry fell asleep over his book and dreamed of dungeons and hard long fingers stroking his back and a hot sweet mouth that drew itself along his lips and lured him into....

It was Sunday. He slept late, had a shower, dressed in his clothing from the day before, sans robe--it really was too hot to wear the robe, too, as much as it would annoy the Dursleys-- and fed Hedwig. Eventually he went down to the kitchen and scrambled himself a few eggs. He cleaned up after himself out of habit and wandered silently around the house, checking, as he always did, to make sure where everyone was. Petunia was hand-washing her unmentionables in the laundry. Dudley was in front of the TV. Vernon was frowning over his chequebook. All of them ignored him, which was just as well and he turned to go back up the stairs.

The door bell rang. Vernon lumbered up and opened the door. "Yes?" he asked impatiently.

"I've come for Harry Potter."

Halfway up the stairs, Harry froze, and then he whirled and practically leaped for the door, clearing all four steps at once. "Severus!" he whispered as he slid to a stop beside his uncle. And he stared.

It was Sev.

It was Sev. In Muggle clothing. Leaning against the doorframe.

It was Sev, in sexy Muggle clothing, smirking at him.

Sev, wearing tight black trousers, and a black t-shirt with the sleeves torn out. His arms were pale but showed off a bit of muscle and the criss-cross of his scars. His hair was sleek and well brushed, hanging straight and dark. His wand skewered the pocket of the shirt, with several inches of wood showing at the top and bottom.

On his left arm, the arm that had, for so long, bore the Dark Mark, there was--Harry bit back a laugh--a tattoo. An intricate green and silver Slytherin snake in the shape of a heart and in the middle of it, a field of faded Gryffindor red on which there was a name in florid script.

Harry. Spelled out in black, edged in gold.

"Who the hell are you?" Vernon asked, looking up and down and plainly finding the vision far less enchanting than did Harry.

Snape straightened up. "Snape. Severus Snape." he said calmly, and looking over at Harry he said, "You could spend the summer with me," he offered, as if the others were not there.

"Really?" Harry was delighted.

"Are you a rock star?" Dudley asked from the doorway to the lounge. "What are you talking to Harry for?"

"Who is it, dear?" Petunia asked, coming up behind her husband.

"Apparently one of Harry's...friends," Vernon said, his distaste evident in every syllable.

"Oh, it's much worse than that," Harry assured him, fighting back his grin.

Vernon Dursley turned pale. "Is this your murdering godfather?" he demanded, unconsciously taking a step back.

"Don't insult me," Snape said to him. "Have you unpacked?" Snape asked Harry.

"I never do anymore. Should I bring it all?" Harry asked hopefully. "And Hedwig," he added uncertainly.

"All, and owl," Snape said softly.

Harry turned and ran for the stairs. Snape stepped in. Vernon, who had not intended to give an inch, backed up. Snape looked left, and then right. His head went back a fraction, until he was looking down the impressive length of his nose at the Dursleys. His eyes dismissed them and roamed on. Casually, he walked into the entry hall. He glanced at the stairs, and moved over to the small doorway under them. He opened it, looked in, said nothing, and yet the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. Harry clattered down the stairs, his trunk bumping down behind him, Hedwig's cage swinging wildly from his other hand, broom tucked under his arm, earing in his ear.

"I'm ready," Harry said breathlessly.

"If you walk out that door you'll never be allowed back again," Uncle Vernon roared.

The smile on Harry's face grew wider. His green eyes sparkled behind his glasses.

Snape took hold of the trunk and pulled it out the door. The movement brought attention to his hands, with their black-painted nails. Harry, with Hedwig and the broom, stepped out after him.

Dudley, who had not been keeping up, turned to his mother and asked, "What's worse?"

His mother gasped and pointed. On the front steps--on the front steps where anyone could see!-- Harry had wrapped an arm around Sev's waist and was smiling up at him, and Severus pulled him close and leaned down. Their lips met.

They heard that door slam in France.

"So. Did that satisfy you?" Severus asked, letting go and straightening up.

"Are they looking out the curtains?" Harry asked hopefully.

Snape glanced to the side. "Yes."

"Well then, you might as well kiss me again," Harry said.

Snape sighed heavily and said, "Very well," and did it. It wasn't quite the kiss Harry was aching for, but then, that sort of kiss wasn't legal in a public place in England. This was short and almost chaste. Still, it was enough to cause a muffled thump from within the house. Harry wondered if Aunt Petunia had passed out.

Snape parted their mouths. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes. Definitely."

There was something that looked like an old Bentley and probably wasn't parked a little way down the street. As wonderful as it would have been to disappear in a cloud of smoke, Harry was forced to help haul his trunk to the car and help stow it away.

It was still a very satisfying exit.

Chapter Seven, In Which Severus Explains

The car was old and roomy, but with Hedwig and the broom beside him, Harry was still forced to sit rather close to Severus. In the front a gnarled old man was driving, paying no attention to the passengers.

"What's going on? I don't ever have to go back there, do I?" Harry glanced anxiously behind him towards the now vanished Privet Drive.

"Never." When Snape spoke in that tone, no one doubted the truth of it.

"Did Dumbledore change his mind?"

"I changed it for him," Snape said. Then he confessed, "I asked for a sabbatical. It was granted. I won't be teaching at Hogwarts this next school year."

"What will you be doing?" Harry asked, as his heart jumped. A whole year without....

"Research."

"And...."

"Dumbledore would not agree to my first proposal. Or my second, for that matter. We compromised. I have rented a cottage in Hogsmeade. When the students are allowed to visit the town next year, you'll be able to go where you will in the village."

"Once a month." Harry groaned.

"And Christmas." Snape said.

"And this summer?"

"This summer is ours. I told him you knew nothing of the world, nothing of the ways of wizards outside of school. That you had no education at all except what came from books. I said you were owed a lifetime of holidays. I'm afraid I really troweled it on." Snape said, but he didn't look at all contrite.

"But what about potions? Whose teaching that?"

"Dumbledore promised me someone competent, but could give me no name as yet. He has the summer to find someone, after all."

"I know what your potions means to you. And who is going to head Slytherin House? I can't believe you...."

"Don't wax sentimental, Potter. There are a few projects I've been putting off for years. Now that Voldemort is gone I can finally see to them. And I won't miss the stupid brats," he added.

Harry poked him for that--it wasn't even a good lie-- and wiggled closer. Snape said, "We've indulged your desire for public display enough for the day," he said, and did not respond in kind.

"How did you know?" Harry asked. "How did you know I wanted to thumb my nose at them and make them gag on me when I left?"

"It's Slytherin," Snape said, with a shrug, as if that one word explained it all. "They deserved more grief than that."

"I used to lay awake and dream about what I'd say to them on my way out the door. Really scathing things." And in his darkest moments, he'd thought about smashing a few noses before he left. "Thanks," he said again. He glanced at Snape again and said, "The tattoo was inspirational."

"Thank you," Snape said dryly. "Temporary, I'm afraid. It will start to fade tonight."

"Is it a spell? Can you teach me?" Harry asked.

"If you like."

"I want a Gryffindor lion with a snake in his mouth. And Harry Loves Sev under it."

Snape closed his eyes and looked pained.

Harry went on, "You look good in muggle clothing like this. Dud was right. You look like a rock star."

"Please."

"You do," Harry insisted.

"Don't get used to it."

"So where are we going?" Harry asked as the car slowed.

"A Floo House."

"Floo House?" Harry echoed.

"I was right. You really don't know anything, do you?" Snape said, just a trifle impatiently.

"Doesn't matter. You're going to teach me. Everything," he added, with his face flushing. "Aren't you?"

"I'll do my best Potter. You were never an exceptional student."

"I might surprise you," Harry said, and dropped his hand to Snape's thigh.

Snape may have blushed.

Chapter Eight, Some of Which they Spend in Bed

A Floo House, it turned out, was a sort of transportation terminal, a stone building with a lot of fireplaces. So many modern houses were made without a fireplace that sometimes it was easier to use the Floo House when starting or ending a journey which did not have a fire terminal at one end. Snape explained this, walked him through the procedure of identifying the destination, buying the floo powder and stepping into the fire.

They walked out of a huge fireplace into an elegant hotel lobby. Almost everyone was wearing wizard robes and they turned and stared as the two men in Muggle clothing arrived. Snape ignored the glances and whispers with his usual cold demeanor. A porter bustled up and whisked away the trunk, owl and broom. Severus turned and led the way up a long wide staircase.

"Where are we?" Potter asked , looking down at the fine carpet, his hand on the brass and mahogany rail.

"Highmoor. There's a conference here at the end of the week I wish to attend. We have a room."

We. We have a room. A shiver went down Harry's back.

Snape produced a silver key and showed Harry how to prime it, and let him open the door. "Keep the key. I have mine," Snape said, and followed him in.

"This is nice," Harry said. It was a big room, all done in brown, blue and cream, and touches of black, with thick rugs on the floor and framed landscapes on the walls. There were two long windows elaborately draped with velvet curtains. In one corner there was a table and four chairs in heavy polished wood, in another a long sofa and two arm chairs were grouped for conversation. On the other side of the room was a large bed.

A large bed. And just the one. Harry's eyes went wide, and he glanced at Snape.

Hedwig was there in her cage, and his trunk was against the wall near the bed, his broom on top of it. "This is where we'll be staying?" he asked. He wandered over and opened a door. Bathroom. Nice. "I think we're going to have to talk about money. And...everything."

"We will talk," Snape agreed. "Later."

"Later." Harry walked over to the window and looked out. "I'm nervous."

Snape came up behind him. "I. Too." He reached around Harry and pulled the drapes shut.

"What have YOU got to be nervous about? You've at least done this. Before." Harry looked up, turning around.

Snape's long fingers came up and trailed along the edge of Harry's face. "Oh, I've done it. But never before with...you." It was clear he had been going to say one thing and changed to another. He pulled Harry close.

"Never what?" Harry asked, his own hands coming up to settle at Snape's waist.

Snape pulled back a little. "Are you ready to do this? Now?"

"Yes."

Snape's fingers slid into Harry's hair, pulling through the length of it. Long, but not as long as his own. He considered Harry for a moment and then told him, "The first time is terrible."

"Terrible?" Harry echoed uncertainly.

"No matter what. At the very least, awkward. Usually somewhat short and very often, painful. Embarrassing and fraught with difficulty. We'll get it over with." Snape drew his fingers through Harry's hair again. "You understand? We will begin slowly. With the basics, before we move on to--advanced techniques."

"Just like in potions class?" Harry asked, amused.

"I'm hoping you show more aptitude in the bedroom than you exhibited in the classroom."

Harry answered by pulling Snape's sarcastic mouth close and shutting it with a kiss.

Snape's fingers drew through Harry's hair one last time and then he wound his long arms around him and crushed him tight in the sort of hug Harry had dreamed of. The hard and hot mouth devoured his, the tongue invaded. They were almost desperate for a few minutes, with one frantic kiss broken just so that another could begin, and some angles just did not work. Snape's nose really did get in the way, and so did Potter's glasses. They ended up panting on each other's shoulders, holding each other up.

Abruptly Snape let go. He swept to the bed and roughly tore at it, pulling down duvet and sheet. Harry began to undress, dragging his t-shirt over his head and then toeing off his shoes. He placed his glasses carefully on the bedside table. His hands hesitated as they went to his waist, and he unfastened his trousers more slowly, stepping out of them with nervous quickness. He felt a little silly standing there in his black boxers while Snape just watched with that intense, anticipatory gleam in his eyes. When it was clear that the younger man was not going to take off any more, Snape finally stirred. He carefully pulled his wand out of the mangled pocket of his shirt and placed it on the bedside table. Then with an easy, one-handed pull and a sinuous twist he was out of the shirt, throwing it from him carelessly.

A scattering of dark hair on a lightly muscled chest. The trousers were riding low on his hips, and quick fingers were tugging down the zip and Harry gulped.

Snape wasn't wearing any pants. No underwear at all. And he didn't seem to be shy or embarrassed as he stood there naked. He turned and slid into the bed, leaving a generous space beside him for Harry. Harry was left blinking, his brain playing that glimpse of white arse over and over.

Harry had always thought that when he did this for the first time it would be night. And the room would be dark. The details had been misty. But here, even with the curtain closed it was broad daylight, and he could see perfectly well. He had loved Sev for months, right, but didn't really know him, did he? And he hadn't realized. Hadn't realized how black the thatch of hair at his groin would be and how...big he was. But he didn't have too much time to worry about it because Severus was waiting and if Harry Potter was brave enough to face down the Dark Lord, surely he could strip off some pants? It took a great deal of effort and his arms felt like lead. But he did it.

He eased onto the bed, right knee first, and when his weight was off his feet Sev's arm came around and pulled him close. The feel of all that skin on his made him shiver. They rolled and he was underneath. Felt so strange. Wrong and right. And then, rather to his surprise, Sev twisted and Harry was on top. Also odd, equally right and wrong.

Hands on his back, stroking down, cupping the rise of his bum and settling there. When the hands were in place he was kissed again. Hips moving now, Harry could not stop them, and he was making noises that sounded stupid but he couldn't help it. Sev's long body and the hair roughened thighs against his, and that hand on his rear rising with every thrust but pulling hard as he descended, and the lips on his face and neck and... All too quickly he cried out and it was over for him, the suddenness of it shocking, and he ended on a whimper.

Soft hands were on his back. "I told you so," said the amused voice in his ear.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Oh sorry I..."

"Don't apologize. It gets better."

"But you...I...."

"Don't worry. I'll take proper advantage of you in a few minutes. Get a flannel," Snape ordered, and gave him a push so that their bodies separated. It wasn't at all what Harry wanted to do but the mess was sticky between them and he obeyed. He knew his lover watched him as he walked to the door of the bathroom. Once there he quickly wiped himself down and then brought the warm cloth, well wrung out, back to the bed. With a wave of his hand Severus indicated where Harry should wipe and it was both intimate and, well, awkward. The way those dark eyes watched his every move. He returned the cloth and climbed back into bed. Severus slung and arm around Harry's shoulders and drew him close, Harry's back to his chest. Sev spoke in his ear, the breath tickling.

"I've never known." the slight pause on the word gave it a sexual connotation, "one who was Muggle-raised," Severus said. "Wizard born would have," he gestured as if using a wand and a charm.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, feeling shame, and a little anger that the moment was changing, that he didn't get to bask in it for even a second.

Severus knocked him hard in the shoulder, then almost in the same movement pulled him tight against his chest again. He leaned down to speak directly into Harry's ear.

"Don't be. When male wizards have spent themselves, there is a short time when their powers fade, and when they are distracted or sleepy. Beware it. If your partner is false, it is then that he or she will strike. A spell against you is possible and your magical defenses may fail. To show strength, to impress the partner, a man or woman might call forth such comfort as a warm cloth, or merely remove the substance from the skin with a cleaning spell, a careless kindness and a warning of a certain level of alertness, all at once. You," he leaned forward a little more, and the black strands of his hair fell forward to lay on top of Harry's hair. Snape's were a truer black. While he spoke Snape let his fingers come up, combing through the hair softly, mingling Harry's dark strands with his own.

"You," Snape repeated more softly, "got up and brought comfort to me, and not from fear or to curry favor but because you wished to give us ease. It was a pretty demonstration of strength as well."

"Because I love you," Harry said, tilting his head back a little more. He felt a little shiver in Sev's chest against his back. And his lover did not trade back the words, but he did kiss him on the cheek.

They rested against each other for a few minutes. Harry was almost in a doze when a long black-tipped fingernail came out and flicked the tiny snitch hanging from Harry's ear. It spun as it swung, glittering brightly. "When did you acquire THAT?"

Harry leaned back. "Few days ago. Hermione did it for me." He fingered his still sensitive ear.

"Did you do it just to annoy your cretinous relatives?"

"No. It just seemed like something I was ready to do." Snape's finger was stroking the curve of the ear, playing with the dangle on its thin fine chain. "If you don't like it I'll take it off," he said.

"Keep it, for now. When the conference starts I may ask you to leave it off a day or two. It attracts attention. As it is designed to do. Attention is not always good." Snape's finger left the ear and slid down, whisper soft, to the shoulder, then up a little. He shifted his hand and his questing finger landed on the rosy-brown point of a quiescent nipple. It rose under his finger. "Perhaps, later, I'll have you wear it here."

"There?" Harry sounded half scandalized, half intrigued.

"It's common enough in young wizards, although not, I suppose, among the Gryffindor set."

"I bet that hurts," Harry said, his own finger coming up to touch his other nipple. He could tell watching that was making Sev excited. "Is it time to take advantage of me yet?" he asked.

"Turn over. Down," Harry was guided by one steady hand until his face was near Sev's groin. "Play there. Amuse yourself."

"You want me to touch you?" Harry asked, looking up.

The smile he received was the warmest he had ever seen on that usually saturnine face. "Oh, yes. The way you touch yourself."

Harry blushed.

"You do touch yourself?" Snape asked, leaning forward a little.

"Sometimes. Not...I have to be careful. She caught me once. Aunt Petunia. She made me spend the entire weekend cleaning out garbage bins. All ours, and the neighbors." The unpleasantness of that still colored his voice. "She said if I wanted to be touching dirty things, she'd find plenty of dirt for me to get my hands in."

"Surely you are not allowing the memory of those unpleasant people to distract you from the task at hand?"

Harry laughed, and didn't see how his breath gusting across Snape's skin made the older man twitch. "I should just...play with it?"

Snape reached behind himself and adjusted the pillows, leaning back into them. "Do."

Nervous, but intrigued, Harry began. The pubic hair had a slight curl and was long enough to rest in s curves. It fascinated him and he combed through it and tested the texture against his fingers. The hair surrounded what was possibly a very ugly set of genitals. More wrinkles and folds than his own, longer penis but less smooth, with the vein that ran the underside pronounced and dark. The sack that held the balls was marred by a heavy white scar along one side, and one hidden roundness was slightly larger than the other. It was all fascinating, and he explored, and touched and felt bold and wicked and powerful as the shaft filled and lifted.

He measured the length, finding it greater than his own and becoming longer still the more he touched it. He was tracing it with one finger, his head close enough that his breath caressed it, when the torment of it reached a point Snape did not care to endure. He pulled Harry up and under him, whispered, "Keep your thighs together," and began to push against Harry, changing angles until his leaking shaft was in position and he could thrust between the Quidditch hardened thighs.

It didn't take very long until Severus stopped, arched, gasped, and was still. It was quiet except for their loud breathing. For someone tall and spare he was quite heavy, and Harry dared to tip them over onto their sides. Harry was hurting, aroused again now himself and wanting something anything! keenly but not knowing exactly how to ask. But he didn't have to. A large hand snaked down between their bodies and took hold of him. Hard and steady, a master's hand that had him clutching wildly at Snape's shoulders and choking out a cry before he collapsed, panting, against Snape's sweaty, heaving chest.

"Better this time?" Snape asked.

"Yeah." he breathed out. And now he understood what Severus has said about the weakness following sex, and he groaned at the thought of getting up for another cloth. Snape had the wizard's solution, however, and a cleaning spell tingled over him and was gone. Harry closed his eyes and sighed gratefully.

He woke up some time later to the feel of long fingers stroking down the length of his back. It felt so good. "I fell asleep on you," he realized. "Sorry." He tried to roll off of the long body he was sprawled on.

The fingers dug into his skin for a moment as if to tell him to stop being a fool, then started up again. Mmmm. So good. He realized that he had gone months of this life and never been touched, and then it was just hands patting his back or a shoulder. Not like this. He didn't ever remember having his bare back rubbed. At Hogwarts he and Ron and his other friends were always shoving each other or wrestling a bit, and Hermione patted him once and awhile and Molly Weasley had hugged him hello and good-bye. And now there was this. There was nothing like this.

It was almost as good as the sex. He lifted his head a little to look. Severus had the pillows still behind him, his hair spread out over the white cloth, his eyes were closed and the very corner of his lips was turned up.

The hand on his back stopped. Without opening his eyes, Severus said, "I suppose you're hungry."

"No. I...May I touch you?"

The black eyes opened. "You ARE touching me."

Harry scooted up on one elbow and reached out to trace a slim black eyebrow. "I want to touch every single inch of you."

"But not right now. I didn't have breakfast." Severus said it with just a hint of surprise in his voice, as if he had just now realized it.

Food was one area where magic had limitations. Wizards had learned a thousand bits of magic to aid in the preparation, serving and clean-up, but transfiguration in the matter of food had been the occasion of disaster and transportation could border on theft. Possibly the assistance of house elves had also retarded the experiments in that area. At any rate, they were plainly not going to eat in bed.

"Get up. Dress in your robe, we'll be in the dining room." Snape said it over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Harry watched the lean, naked form vanish and sighed. It felt strange to go over to his trunk and open it up. Hedwig made an inquiring sound and he remembered that he really needed to send an owl to Ron and Hermione. Tell them he wouldn't be at the Dursleys' place.

He wondered exactly what he could say. What they would think. They probably thought he had gotten over Snape months ago. In fact, he wasn't quite sure what they would say to the news that he'd run away from the Dursleys to spend the summer with Snape. Maybe he'd better not mention the details at all. But he hated to keep it from Ron. And he was supposed to go to the Weasley's at the end of the summer as usual. What was he going to do about that? Couldn't exactly show up with Severus in tow and camp out on a cot in Ron's room the way he usually did.

Harry got up slowly. There were other things he was going to have to think about first. He stretched, scratched the itchy place on his stomach and blushed as he realized what it was.

His school robe was somewhat the worse for wear it was almost a year old now and was further suffering from being casually tossed in the trunk. Fortunately a small spell had it looking much better. He collected up his other clothing, his face flushing as he remembered how it had ended up scattered on the floor.

The bathroom door opened and Severus Snape, a towel around his hips, stepped out. It hit Harry anew that he was...that he had...and....

He tumbled into the bathroom, throwing himself under the hot water of the shower almost frantically. His hands didn't even feel like his hands. He kept remembering how it felt to have those other hands, hands longer and larger than his...folding over his bum. And then they...and.... Harry toweled dry quickly, dressed and came out to find Severus fully dressed and waiting for him. He scrambled to find fresh socks. Shoes.

Severus reached out, straightened the line of Harry's robe at the shoulder and said, "I suppose we should go shopping in a few days."

"Shopping?"

"I think you need clothes with a little more sophistication." Snape suggested. "I've signed you up for the conference. You may attend sessions or not as you wish. But I did not list you as apprentice or student, but as a general practitioner. A very neutral status, but adult. You may wish to dress the part." Then he added, "The hotel has a pool. Have you a swimsuit?" Severus was leading the way out of the room. Harry made sure he had his key and his wand and lengthened his stride to keep up.

"I think I still have one of Ron's. Which reminds me. I need to send him an owl. If Ron tries to send an owl to the Dursleys," he shook his head as the considered all that could go wrong.

"It's a bit far for Hedwig. I'll show you how to Floo a letter. It can't be used for the most important messages. Occasionally there is an accident and the letter burns. Or it falls out of the fire to lay neglected and unnoticed for a day or two on the hearth." Snape was leading the way to the less formal of the hotel's two restaurants and soon they were sitting next to a crystal clear floor-to-ceiling window which looked out onto the small lake or large pond. From here you could see that the hotel was built with two wings, each of which followed the line of the lake. There were old trees along the path around the lake, and people strolling along.

He followed Snape's lead, ordering aloud without the need of a waiter, from menus that vanished from the table after the order was given. The drink they had was water, in tall clear glasses. Snape tapped his glass. "All reputable wizarding establishments have clear glassware and white tea cups. More than one wizard has been brought down by a transfigured drink or an enhanced beverage."

"I know." Harry smiled up at him, hoping that the reference to their beginning wouldn't throw Snape into one of his foul moods.

Luck was with him. Snape sent one of his tiny bitter smiles his way, but did not comment.

The meal was strangely formal, with little conversation besides an occasional bit of advice from Snape and two reminders about his manners. Although, as the older man commented, having seen where he grew up, it was hardly to be wondered at.

Severus paid for lunch and Harry knew he was going to have to bring up money again soon, because it felt strange.

"Shall we walk?" Severus said, gesturing to the path around the lake.

"Okay."

The day was pleasant, a slight breeze coming from the hills to the west. The old trees were gnarled and none of them stood straight. They lined one side of the path and on the other a few feet of rocky slope ended at the lake's edge.

"Don't go in the water. There's merquin." Snape said.

"Oh." Tiny biting fish. "What are they hiding that they need merquin in the water?" Harry asked curiously, looking back at the hotel.

Snape grinned, the slightly unpleasant one that none the less contained approval. "Sometimes you surprise me. You have the ability to think like at Slytherin."

"I know."

That answer caused Snape to slow his pace and turn an inquiring face his direction.

"The sorting hat spent a long time making up its mind."

"I was there. It did not. But perhaps it seemed a long time to you," Snape agreed. "I wonder...." He did not enlighten his companion on the subject of his musings.

Harry decided to risk it. "What do you mean?"

"You have power, Potter. And fame. The Slytherin impulse to manipulate both might have been hard for even me to resist, were you in my house." Not to mention the Malfoy and Voldemort meddling which would have certainly occurred.

"It worked out pretty well the way it happened," Harry agreed.

"And that attitude," Snape said, "Is why you ended up in Gryffindor."

"Are you...."

Harry was interrupted by a smooth voice behind them. Suddenly there was a wizard walking along next to them. "It seems to be Severus Snape. They must have turned over your rock in the castle dungeon, that you've scuttled out into the light of day."

The newcomer was as old as Snape. Or possibly older. He wore long robes of magenta and black, with pointed black shoes and he had a small pointed black hat over his sandy hair. He was a sturdy man, not as tall as them but broader, and he had no looks to speak of.

"Edmond Holbert," Snape said, perhaps for Harry's edification. "Potions dispenser at Eight Towers. Unless you've managed to lose your job?" Snape asked. The other man plainly took offense at the tern 'dispenser' and frowned fiercely.

"Potions Master for Eight Towers Publications," the other corrected frostily. "Have you decided to grace us with your presence this year, Snape? You usually don't deign to attend our little functions."

"You usually manage to hold them during the last week of term. Someone seems to have finally learned how to schedule the event for maximum attendance," Snape said coldly. "Now, if you don't mind, I was having a private conversation."

"I did notice you've brought your own broomboy this year." He looked Harry up and down, then gave a dismissive shrug. "Given up on trying to get anyone to marry you, I suppose?" The man was smiling very sweetly as he said it.

Harry turned to Snape. "I don't like it when someone who doesn't even know me makes assumptions about my character."

"Surely you've become used to it?" Snape asked, conversationally. He was ignoring Holbert completely, as if he were not even there.

"Well, yes. Still." Harry frowned, wishing he had Snape's way with words. The rude man definitely needed a snub. He'd managed to insult both of them at once. He might have been willing to ignore the insult to himself, but for some reason, the insult to Severus annoyed him more.

"He's going to be embarrassed, of course, should you ever be formally introduced," Snape pointed out.

That thought brought a smile to Harry's lips. "Holbert. I doubt I'll forget the name," he said, and linking his arm with Snape's he turned his back on the rude man. They walked away. Holbert seemed confused and did not follow them. Still, Harry lengthened his stride, wanting to get away. After a few moments they had left him behind. Snape extricated his arm from Harry's.

"Not a friend," Harry observed. "Dangerous?"

"As is a wasp. He is mostly buzz." But not entirely, his tone warned.

"What was that about a broomboy?" Harry wanted to know.

Snape's face went colder. "An insult to us both, as you noticed." He knew by the look Harry was giving him that the rest of the explanation was required. "A broomboy is a catamite. Do you know the term?"

"Well, yes, but-- "

"Broomboy. Something one keeps as a convenience to...mount and ride. They are also often assumed to be stupid." Beautiful, but stupid.

"And the married crack?" Harry asked.

"When I was eighteen I asked his cousin to marry me. She...turned me down."

"What was her name?"

Snape hesitated. "I'm sure you'll be amused. Hartshorne."

Nasty stuff. Designed to get right up your nose. Harry made a face. "Why did she turn you down?"

"She never said. I had few prospects. And a known interest in the Dark Arts. Either would have been enough to dissuade her, I suppose."

"Her loss." Had Snape loved her? More than....

"Thank you," Snape said dryly. "You handled yourself well enough."

"I wish you didn't sound so surprised. I WAS paying attention in class."

"Just not to potions."

"I haven't got any...any aptitude for potions," Harry tried to explain. "You know it's true!"

"All the more reason to give some attention to the subject." Snape slowed the pace and looked out over the water. "Perhaps you will do better under your new potions instructor."

"The only potions instructor I plan on being under is you." Harry grinned up as he said it, adding, "I'll try to do well enough in class so that he or she doesn't conclude that the last teacher was an utter berk."

"So grateful," Snape murmured, no doubt distracted, as Harry was, by the mental image of Harry under Snape. In Harry's version they were naked.

They walked on. It was a lovely afternoon, and peaceful. A pair of swans glided by on the water. Ahead of them a man and woman were holding hands as they walked. Harry didn't even think about reaching for Snape's hand. The path split at a point about halfway around the lake. Harry said, "Which way?"

If they followed the lake they would be back at the hotel and if they were back at the hotel they could go up to the room and...but what if that was not what Snape was in the mood to do?

Snape's fingers came up to his chin and his face was gently turned. Snape looked into his eyes. "Free choice. It is as you wish it to be. Never make a choice based on what you think are my own desires. You will very often be wrong."

"It's what lovers do, sometimes," Harry said, remembering Molly and Arthur Weasley. "Pick the thing that will please the other."

"Others, perhaps. It won't be that way between us, because most likely I'll not remember to do it. I prefer not to live with the confusion that would result. I'll accept what is given to me, Potter. Be careful not to offer too much."

"Fine. Let's go this way," Potter said, pointing along the lake path. "What's too much?" he asked.

"If I have my way when the choice is mine, and you give me my way when the choice is yours, it will be incredibly dull living with you, Potter."

"I thought that was the Slytherin ideal. Total control."

"I don't need a broomboy."

They were walking again, and the path went down a gentle slope into the deep shadows under a cluster of trees. A few stone benches, slightly mossy at the base, were set a little way off the path. Harry thought about pulling Snape down onto one of them, kissing out here where anyone going by could see them. Some sort of primitive desire to stake a claim, he supposed. A way to say, this one is mine. Clear off. But he knew that public displays of affection were not to Snape's taste. Petunia's front steps notwithstanding.

"What do you need?" Harry asked as they stepped out into the brighter light again.

"As far as I need a person at all, I need an equal. There aren't many," Snape said without inflection. "No, I don't want an equal," he corrected. "If I were matched too closely I would become competitive."

"So you picked me because I'm your superior?" Harry teased, and ducked away even though Snape made no move to physically reprove him.

"In your youth in your potential I suppose you are," Snape said, and that caused Harry to stop abruptly again. "It will be interesting to see what you make of yourself."

"I guess you'll have a front row seat," Harry said. There was too much to think about there. The question of his future kept him up at nights anyway. He looked out onto the lake, where the pair of swans glided. "Are we swans?"

Snape looked at him as if he were stupid. It was a familiar look. But now Harry could actually reply to that look, and not have to sit and fume because talking back to the teacher would lose his house points.

"What I mean is, what are we? Lovers? Something more or something less? Severus, this feels like...being here, what we're doing... feels like a," his voice dropped to almost a whisper, "a honeymoon." But you've never actually said I love you, he thought. Or proposed anything except being together until we get tired of each other. He dared to look up. At least Severus didn't look angry. Sort of blank and staring. It didn't make him feel much better to see that.

"Is that what you want? Swearing and promises? Pretty promises we might not be able to keep?"

"I just need to know how much you're going to try. And what to call you." He watched the swans glide closer to each other and said, as if trying out the words, "This is my boyfriend, Severus Snape. It just doesn't sound right."

Snape muffled a snort.

"Lover sounds better." Harry went on.

"But you're holding out for 'spouse'?" Snape asked, and his voice was mocking now.

"You make it sound stupid. Wanting something like that. I suppose it's not something you believe in?"

"I don't believe men are naturally inclined to it, no, although I admit there are some who do well enough with it."

"You don't think you can do it?"

"It does depend on if I can manage to be something I am not. And never have been."

Harry considered that. "Meaning?"

"I am alone. I have been alone. I like being alone. I don't know how to be anything else but alone. I rather suspect company would get on my nerves. Even yours."

"I know about being alone. I'm good at it," Harry said.

"You have the capacity to be otherwise. I am not sure that I do."

"So you need to learn to be alone with me."

"It will not be that easy," Snape predicted. "I don't even know if I can sleep with you." At Harry's startled look he said, "Not the sex. That I know I can endure," he said with a wintery smile. "But afterwards. Having another in my bed keeps me awake. I have never been able to sleep for long while someone is wrapped around me. If I do fall asleep I wake up again and again. I get no rest."

"You've never trusted the person you were sleeping with." Harry suggested.

"Never," he agreed. "And I'm not likely to learn it at my age."

They walked in silence for awhile. Finally Harry said, "There's a solution for that. Every time you wake up, reach over, wake me up and...." he grinned, meeting the dark eyes, urging him to laugh with him. "Once you're totally exhausted, you'll fall asleep," he predicted.

"It would kill me. I'm old," Snape pointed out.

"Not very."

"Enough to scandalize most people, wizarding OR Muggle, by taking up with one so much younger than I. And should I learn to sleep at your side? Then when we part in the fall, I will wake in the night alone and be unable to sleep again."

Harry did not know what to say to that. But recalling that Snape had seemed to want him to express his opinions, he said, "I want to be swans."

"Swans!" Snape said explosively. " We're not going to be traditional, Potter. We're not going to settle down in a rose covered cottage and have little babies, are we?" he asked, his tone withering, his stride lengthening.

"I hope not," Potter agreed, daring to grin at the thought.

"You're going to grow older, wiser, and then restless. You're going to leave me then. I know you'll leave me. Just because we might love one another doesn't mean anything. These things evolve, they change, it just happens. I intend to hold onto it as long as I can and then try not to act like a prat when I lose it."

"Severus...." Harry had a hand on Snape's arm, stopping him in the path.

"What?" he barked impatiently.

"I think we can learn to be swans," Harry said stubbornly. 'Just because we might love one another.' Severus had almost said it. Almost.

"Fine. Then we will be swans. Whatever that means to you," Snape said, too easily.

"Are we going back to the room?" Harry asked.

"If you like."

"Hum. I don't think I've ever heard you be so agreeable."

"Don't get used to it."

"Right."

Chapter Nine. In Which Something is Seen Somewhat from Severus's Point of View

They returned to the room, walking into the comparative dimness of the hotel and up the stairs. Witches and wizards were checking in, and there was almost a crowd at the desk. Several people looked up as they went by.

Hedwig asked to be let out, hooting the moment the door opened, and so the first thing Harry did was go to the window. It was designed with owls in mind, for there was fancy iron perch on one side of the casement, and an ornate hook in the wall from which to hang a cage. Harry lifted the cage onto the hook, opened the door, and while Hedwig launched herself into a short flight around the room he filled her water cup. She settled back in the cage, not caring to venture out in broad daylight, but staring out at the world with interest.

Harry went and washed his hands, and then came back to find Snape folded up on the bed, leaning over a book. Harry started undressing.

"Severus," he said quietly a moment later.

The dark head lifted and Snape froze. The book fell from his lax hand into his lap, and Harry picked it up and put it on the bedside table. He put his glasses on top of it. Then he stepped forward and began to unbutton the collar of Snape's robe. "What are you going to teach me this time?" Harry asked as he pulled the robe off. The muggle shirt and pants were there, and the tattoo, although it was getting a little faded. He started to work removing the rest of the clothes.

"Patience?" Snape suggested.

Harry's hands faltered and he look up. "Too fast? I'm sor..."

"Don't." Severus interrupted. "I dislike the word on your lips."

"Which word? Sorry?"

"That one, indeed. It hardly needs to be in your vocabulary, Potter."

"I'll try to eliminate it. Professor."

"See that you do." Snape's hands came down to help and a few seconds later he was stepping out of the trousers.

"Do that thing with the shirt again," Harry urged.

"That thing. You really do have a pitiful vocabulary." The shirt, however, received the swift one handed removal.

Harry practically choked on his indrawn breath, a hard sound that didn't even make it to word category.

"Pitiful," Snape repeated, and lowered his head to meet Potter's lifted lips.

He stepped back, drawing Potter with him, until they reached the bed, and then he tumbled them down onto it, the young man under him. Potter made some more sounds, but as none of them sounded like protests, Snape felt free to continue what he was doing.

Hands in that silky hair. With his long white fingers Severus tugged it back, off the forehead, revealing the famous scar.

He forced their lips apart. "Spread your legs," he ordered, and settled into the place as it opened up. Harry's mouth reached out again, but Snape ignored it and set his tongue to work. He lapped at the lovely nose, traced the scar and came down along the eye to the top of the jaw. Licked there, and then down to the ear and behind it.

Harry giggled. Ticklish?

With the tip of his tongue Snape traced the curve of the ear, then bent to follow the jaw to the chin, down to the throat and then along the collarbone, which he had to arch up to reach.

Harry's mouth found his again. They kissed for awhile, and did the young man never need to breathe? When his mouth was free he went back to licking. Down the smooth hard muscles, to the peak of the nipple. How nice that Potter was one of those who could be roused that way. He went to work on the nipple to his left, then moved to the one on the right.

"Sev, Sev!" Harry was moaning, as his hands kneaded at Sev's back. He arched up, fighting for more of it, and Sev gave it to him, occasionally nipping with his teeth and pinching a little with his fingers at the other rigid little point.

And then he moved his mouth to the center point between them, licked once, and started down to the odd knobby belly button. He nipped there and went on.

It was clear exactly what moment that the young man's sex-drugged mind realized precisely where those lips were heading. The whole body went rigid, even fingers and toes, and he gasped and lost his voice again. Since the fingers had been still kneading Severus' back, it wasn't entirely comfortable for a few moments, but Snape ignored the small pain.

The first lick through the pubic hair, salt and tang. Potter wiggled. Along the tightening lines of the scrotum and under. Up the other side, tongue deep in the crease of body and thigh. And then, that penis, high and hard, the sweet red head of it peeping out from the pale collar of ruched skin. He closed his mouth over it, drew his tongue along the lovely length.

Harry made a strangled sound and convulsed, and Severus pulled back so that the head was on his tongue and he could suck and still taste. For the first time this taste he had never cared for had an edge of something besides sour, for the first time the bitter was bearable and even...good?

Harry was still. Severus' back was killing him. He opened his mouth, gave a last lick, and sighed. He stretched out, falling onto his back, pulling the lax form over onto his, holding tight with one arm while his other gave a rub to his half-hard cock. The young man was still breathing as if he had run a marathon, there was sweat on his face and neck, and although his eyes were wide open, it was clear he was not really seeing anything out of them.

It was so damn flattering, that Harry could be so stunned by the simplest of caresses, the most common touches. It wouldn't last, of course. In three months he'd be jaded. Casual about it. Looking over Severus's shoulder at a handsome stranger and wondering how it would be with him.

But for now...

Chapter Ten In Which Harry Gets His Tattoo

When Harry finally found his brain, he reached for Severus, but found his hand pushed away when he closed his fingers around the half-hard flesh.

"Tonight," Severus promised.

"If you're sure."

"Very."

"That was...that felt really good."

"Most men think so."

Harry said, "I'm thirsty. Excuse me for a minute. Do you want some water?" he asked over his shoulder as he headed for the bathroom.

"There's cold water by the door. The large pitcher with the lid. And glasses."

Harry changed direction and came back in a minute carefully carrying two glasses. His own was almost half empty already. Severus took a deep drink, reaching out with his trained senses, but there was no adulteration of the water. Not that he had expected any, but old habits die hard.

Harry drank the rest of his water and then leaned forward and said, "So. Show me how to do the tattoo."

"I shouldn't."

"Shouldn't?" Harry asked.

"If I do, half the school will be sporting tattoos by Halloween. Even if you share your knowledge with no one at all. And I know you'll show Mr. Weasley. And Ms Granger."

"Hermione always wants to learn everything. She might even know it. She knows some weird stuff. But show me anyway?"

"You must be able to draw what you wish to wear. It is important that it be your own handwork if it is to stay more than a day."

"I can draw a little. Waiting around for summer to be over a couple of years ago, I taught myself. Not really realistic things. I had a Muggle book. It was pretty good on perspective." Harry got up and went to his trunk, coming back a moment later with a pad of drawing paper and a pencil. He stopped by the bedside table to slip on his glasses, and he handed the book his glasses had been resting on to Severus. Then he climbed back up onto the bed.

"It's strange sitting around without any clothes on. I've never done it before."

"If it makes you uncomfortable, put clothes on," Severus said as he sat up, arranged the pillows to his liking, and leaned back against them as he opened his book. All was quiet except for the turning pages, the soft scratch of the pencil and the occasional rubbing-out-of mistakes sound.

"There. Only I don't have colors," Harry said.

Without looking up from his book, Severus gestured, and from across the room a leather case floated over to them. It was bound with ribbons which unwrapped themselves to reveal an artist's kit, complete with a row of twenty four colored pencils marching up the right side, each held tight in it's own little elastic holder, each precisely sharpened.

"Oh, just right. Thanks." He selected the green one and leaned over his drawing.

Severus lifted his head a few minutes later, looked his fill at the hunched over form, and went back to the book, although for a moment or two the words danced before his eyes and refused to settle down.

"There," Harry said. "Done."

Severus looked up at the drawing held out for his inspection. "Credible," he conceded, knowing quite well it was an excellent rendition. The yellow and brown Gryffindor lion stood in the heraldic pose the House usually used to depict their symbol. It held a fat green snake in his mouth. The snake coiled around the lion's shoulder and waist and even the end of the snake's tail twisted around that of the lion. The triangular snake head was lifted, and it looked out at the viewer, watchful and nasty-eyed, and not at all concerned to find itself clutched amid the lion's sharp teeth. One of the lion's paws rested on top of an unfurled scroll and on the scroll were three words, drawn to look as if they were carved in stone.

Harry
Loves
Sev

"And you want that on your arm?" Severus asked.

"High up here, on my upper arm, where there's a little room. I'm starting to get a little muscle there, which looks odd to me. My arms were always kind of thin," Harry said, looking down at his arm.

"Get your wand then. And mine. Mine is in the pocket of my robe," he added, and watched as Harry walked over to the chair. The garment in question had been thrown over the back, and it took a moment for Harry to find the wand--he had to bend over a little. He turned back to the bed, a wand in each hand, and said, "Yours tingles when I hold it."

Snape drew a deep breath. "It is warded. Only I, and now you, can touch it without being harmed. It resents the change in the ward and warns you with the sensation as you hold it."

Harry handed it over to its owner. "Can I learn how to do that, too?"

"If you put your mind to it. Pay attention," Snape ordered, and began to show him the tattoo spell. Twenty minutes later the drawing had been transferred to Harry's arm and he was looking at it raptly, his arm held so that he could see as much of it as possible.

"They can be renewed two or three times with the wand, but then will fade and the spell will need to be done again. The renewal is simple. "Repario," he said, and tapped his own tattoo with the tip of his wand. "Renew your own, never mine. There were marks on this arm that I do not want to see accidently reintroduced."

"Ugh," Harry said, nodding his agreement. Then he admitted, "I liked the symbolism. My name there, and the other mark gone."

"And I like yours."

"Mine?" Harry looked down at his tattoo again.

"Slytherin welcome in the mouth of Gryffindor."

A red blush traveled up from the middle of Harry's chest to the top of his ears.

"Surely you understood your own symbolism?" Severus inquired.

"Yes, but I've got a...a clearer, uh. Mental image to go with it. Now."

"I can envision it rather well, myself." Severus agreed, a quick smile flitting across his lips. Harry smiled back at him.

"Will you show me what's in your trunk?" Snape asked.

Harry blinked at the abrupt switch of topic, but replied, "If you want."

"I have a fancy to discard whatever strikes me as Dursley-esque. I did tell you I wish to take you shopping."

"I don't know how right it is for you to spend money on me." He had his pride, and it looked out of his eyes.

Severus nodded in acknowledgment of it. "But if I throw away an item of clothing, I expect to replace it. And you would be buying new things for school soon anyway."

"Some. But I don't even know if you...if it would be a hardship for you to do it." Harry was looking away now.

"And I have no idea of your monetary situation, although I know the house was sold and the money put aside for you. I can't imagine you've gone through it all yet. And that your Hogwarts fees were paid by your grandfather Potter before you were even born."

"Then you know more than I do. Did. People never want to answer my questions. Even when I finally figure out what the questions ought to be," Harry sighed. "I think the house money must be what's in my vault at Gringott's. It's holding up pretty well. I've used up some of it, but sometimes it seems like there's more in there than the time before."

"Which implies interest from another account. Something you should, indeed, look into. And as to your curiosity, the pay at Hogwarts is abysmal, but I have spent little of my salary during the last ten years. I have enough to take the year off for my sabbatical. Enough for the cottage rent for the year and enough to buy my lover small tokens of my affection."

"But clothes?" Harry asked.

"That you were forced to wear your cousin's castoffs offends me."

"Clothes never mattered to me much. I don't know about them," Harry confessed. Except can I wear your shirt sometime?" he asked, picking it up from the floor and sliding it on over his head. He stuck his wand though the holes in the pocket. "It goes with the tattoo."

"Do you expect to make a habit of wearing my clothes?"

"Well. Not a habit." Which was a lie, although he didn't fully realize that yet.

"Good." Severus picked up his book again.

Eventually, Harry got up and made his way into the bathroom, then came out and finished getting dressed, although the shirt was the only thing he appropriated. And when Snape stirred from his book and got dressed himself, he deigned to pull on Harry's shirt instead of getting a clean one from the wardrobe.

"Oh, wow. It's sexy knowing you're wearing my shirt," Harry breathed. It fit Snape as well as it did Harry, which is to say, indifferently. Each pulled on his own robe

"Write your letters now. There's parchment in the drawer of the desk."

"I haven't sharpened your pencils yet. I left a couple of them dull."

"I'll take care of it," Snape said, and with a softly mumbled incantation, the artists kit renewed itself and floated away.

"I'm going to have to learn that, too," Harry said, but Snape waved dismissively and he took that to mean it would be addressed at some future time.

Chapter Eleven, in Which Harry Writes His Letter

Dear Hermione and Ron. I'm sending you both the same letter, but two different copies because Severus says sometimes letters by floo get burnt up and this way at least one of you will probably get it. We're at a hotel called Highmoor for a potions conference. He came and got me from the Dursleys and I don't ever have to go back there again. You know how pleased I am about that! We're going to spend the summer together. You know. Together. Ron can stop gagging now. Because of that, there's going to be another Potions teacher at Hogwarts next year--tell you all about it when I see you, but Sev chose me over his job for a year. If I sent you the floo powder, could you both come visit me here? This would be easier to explain in person. Love, Harry.

"Sev?"

There was no answer. Harry looked up. "Sev'rus?"

This got his attention. Severus closed his book with a snap. "Is your letter ready?"

"Almost. Two short ones. Look, how much does floo powder cost?"

"Twenty galleons a pound."

"How much does it take to go somewhere?" Harry persisted.

"At very most, six ounces. It depends on the distance and the size of the person."

"There and back. I need to buy a pound then. Or should I get more just to have on hand? Maybe I should get a whole pound for the Weasley's, they've done a lot for me, but...."

"Are you planning on taking a trip?" Snape interrupted, somewhat impatient with the wandering sentence.

"I thought Hermione and Ron could come here. You know. To talk."

"I see. We can purchase it tomorrow, while shopping."

"Thanks. How do I get it to them? It doesn't seem right to send floo by floo."

"It's wasteful," Snape agreed. "You can have the shop deliver."

"Oh? Fine. Thanks." He sealed his letters and said, "Do I have to address them? What do I do?"

Snape came over and showed him how do so and how to coat the letter with floo, making sure none of the powder got inside. The letters were placed on the table by the door.

"Are we having tea?" Harry asked, with a glance at the clock.

"It makes you hungry?" Snape asked, his glance knowing.

Harry blushed. "Yes," he admitted.

"Come, then. Let's keep your strength up," Snape said, and showed him how to order room service.

Chapter Twelve, in Which we have Tea and Tales

They were sitting in their room at the small table in front of the far window. Harry was on his fourth bun. Snape had only a cup of tea in front of him, but he had refilled it twice. There was a knock at the door, and Severus got up to answer it. He came back with two portfolio packages, each yellow bundle wrapped with green ribbon.

"Here, one of these is yours," Severus said, dropping it on the table beside Harry's plate. "It's the conference packet." He dropped down in his chair to unwrap his own.

Harry was curious enough to unfasten his at once as well. There was an introductory letter on top. Fancy parchment, with a letterhead that sported a cauldron, stirred with a golden spoon. Actual bubbles rose up off the paper. "That's good," he said to Severus.

Severus gave a shrug. "Paper wizard tricks," he said disparagingly. "It even stinks. A waste of magic."

Harry leaned forward and sure enough, you could even smell the potion. Sev was right, the smell wasn't good. Ew. He turned back to the packet. There was a name badge. It said, 'Harry Potter. Practitioner' Hum. He leaned over. Sev's said ' Severus Snape. Potions Research.'

Harry felt a flash of guilt for being the reason it didn't also say Hogwarts on the badge.

He went back to the packet. There were several pages of advertisements, three free herb samples and some pouches of powders. A list of those attending. He checked for his own name. Oh yes, there. Severus too, a little further down the alphabetical list.

There was also the agenda and timetable. Harry pulled it out and started to read. Okay, opening remarks, dinner on Wednesday night. Thursday, Cauldrons in the morning, with sales demonstrations, two open debates and one presentation panel. Lunch. Afternoon, skill demonstrations. Dr. Lumeria showing how to make his Diagnostic Potion. Miss Selena Atwater displaying techniques for using Mandrake. Calmet Forthworthy was exhibiting twelve errors that can go wrong with Mock Fennel potions, the kettles right there so you could see the color and smell as each error was produced. Hedra Malfoy--a Malfoy here? Harry frowned.

"Hedra Malfoy?" he asked aloud.

"From the other branch of the family. Essentially harmless," Sev said, without looking up from his own papers.

"I suppose you can't help who your relatives are," Harry agreed. Imagine judging him by the Dursleys. He shook his head and went back to reading.

Supper, with somebody named Anton De Courcey as the after dinner speaker. Then Friday. Hum. Breakfast. Morning session on Ethics, which included a speaker from the Ministry of Magic, the overview of a recent case (the practitioner involved, it was noted, could not attend as he was currently residing in Azkaban), and two discussion panels. Lunch. Then in the afternoon a series of short panels each less than an hour long. An Herbologist answers questions. Quidditch potions, under review. Star Potions and how to negate them. Overview on the Tegron Recall. Skin Damage, the Hands.

"Quidditch Potions?" Harry asked.

"Performance enhancing potions. Banned by the professional teams," Snape replied.

Harry shook his head and bent over the paper again.

Friday evening after the meal there was a drinks party which included a potions tasting put on by the Culinary Potions Society. Saturday morning there was a session on Creating Special Effects with the Cauldron, followed by Antidotes and Emergencies, and then Children's Potions. Lunch. Then there was the Grand Convocation and a speech by Ama der Vortmon. The rest of it seemed to be a huge business meeting of some type, with a list of proposals, amendments to lines in the charter, and then presentations on the wording of several proposals to the Ministry.

It all ended with a Grand Banquet.

"It's a good thing I don't have to go to all of these. Saturday afternoon looks dismal. Although I suppose if you know what's going on it would be okay."

"Or, you could attend the other sessions and pay enough attention so that by Saturday it would make some sense." Snape turned his page, not bothering to look up while delivering his opinion.

"In your dreams," Harry said absently.

"Your trunk?" Severus said, changing the subject in that abrupt way he had.

"Right," Harry said, putting aside his papers. He felt funny going over pulling things out. It seemed so much, and so little at the same time, and how do you explain about how and why your kept strange things like one of Hermione's hair ribbons?

But all Snape expressed an interest in was the clothing. He took only a few seconds to glance at a piece of clothing, assess it and consign it to one of two piles. When Harry was done, the two piles were just about exactly the same size.

And three seconds later there was one pile of clothing and a second pile of ash, still with a thin thread of smoke rising up from it.

Harry had opened his mouth to shout, got control of himself and took a deep breath. In a mild voice, almost too mild, he asked, "What did you do that for?"

"Because," Snape said sharply, "it's exactly as you say. No one ever told you anything." He tucked his wand away as he spoke.

"You're supposed to burn clothing up when you don't want it any more? Because I don't think Ron's family does that. Or Hermione. Or...."

"None of them are Harry Potter," Snape pointed out.

Harry blinked.

"Their knowledge of the dark arts may also be lacking," Snape pointed out with a sniff. "Clothing worn for some time by the individual you wish to influence, shall we say? has certain value. With a pair of your underwear, Voldemort, to give an example, could have caused you several different types of grief, most of them involving pain, but some of them more subtle. You are already aware of some of the reactions people have to The Boy Who Lived. The attention you got at school was both positive and negative, and all of it an inconvenience. We are not talking inconvenience in this case, Potter. Never give the enemy a helping hand. Burn your discards. You may noticed I have turned the contents of the wastebasket to ash as well. It may be that someone might collect what is in your garbage just to have a memento of yours. It's generally safer to assume less positive motives."

Harry blinked again and said, "Help me remember until I get into the habit."

"Do you know the spell? It's the same one we used in class whenever Neville had one of his weekly disasters, but more heat is generated and it needs to be cut off more abruptly. Try not to set the hotel on fire."

Harry gave a small huff that was a strangled back laugh and set his face in angelic lines. "Yes, dear," he said, too meekly, and danced back from a cuff that never would have reached him anyway. He knew if Severus had wanted to actually hurt him, he would have used magic, and not his fist. "So, where are we going tomorrow?"

"Diagon Alley, to begin. You might," Snape added, "want to make a list."

Harry sat down at the table again and ate the last bun, with the quill and parchment beside him so that he could jot down ideas as they came to him. Snape, with a touch of his wand, reheated the tea and they finished that as well.

"I don't know why," Harry said, as popped the last bite into his mouth, "but I'm still hungry for some reason."

"Don't you?" Snape lifted one eyebrow and looked over at him.

"Sex makes you hungry?" Harry asked.

"Besides that," Snape said, his lips turning up in a smirk for a moment before he went on. "Have you never wondered why so many wizards and witches are thin? Magic takes a lot of energy. For that matter so goes growing. The food prepared and consumed at Hogwarts could feed twice as many muggle children, perhaps more. Sometimes I sit and watch the students eat in amazement. Young Neville, for example, once ate an entire chicken for dinner, as well as potatoes and veg, and a huge cake. Magic used incorrectly," he said dryly, "requires even more fuel. As you refine a spell and gain control, you need less resources to produce it. Some of the resources for a spell come from your own body."

"Come to think of it, I eat a lot more at Hogwarts than in the summer at the Dursleys. I drank more juice at school, too. I just thought it was the summer heat taking away my appetite. And I just didn't care as much about anything while I was at the Dursely's. I don't eat as much when I'm scared or depressed or worried."

"They did feed you?" Snape asked.

"Most of the time. I got food taken away for a day occasionally, if I'd done something wrong. My toast usually didn't have butter or jam if Dudley got to it first. That sort of thing. I got really good at eating things really fast," Harry remembered.

"Well, THAT explains a few things about your manners."

"We're always talking about me. Are you going to tell me about your childhood?" Harry asked.

"I see no need to. It was much less eventful than yours."

"Just the basics. Parents?"

"Margaret and Theopholis. Deceased."

"Brothers and sisters?"

"None legitimate. I understand I had a half brother who ran off to the Americas before I was born. I never knew what name he had. I only learned about him from a bit of gossip I overheard."

"Children?" he asked lightly.

"Gods, no."

"Any ex's I have to worry about?" Harry wanted to know.

There was a bit of hesitation. Then, in his driest voice, Snape said, "I think we managed to kill most of them this spring."

Harry drew in one deep breath as he thought about the implications of that. Suspicion grew inside him. "Did Voldemort...did he...."

"Let us just say he had a very personal way of applying the Dark Mark." Snape said, and then made a motion with his hand that indicated plainly that he wanted to say no more about it.

"If he wasn't already dead, I'd be planning to kill him just for that," Harry said.

"Why? I was willing at the time. You weren't even born yet."

Harry only scowled.

Snape glanced up at the ceiling. "Perhaps we should change the subject. To something polite enough to be discussed at dinner." He headed for the bathroom without waiting for a reply.

Chapter Thirteen, Not at All Unlucky

They sent the letters off, and Snape showed, by example, how one asked at the desk if any mail had arrived for them. They had to wait a moment, as there was once again a bit of a crowd in the lobby.

"How many people come to this conference?" Harry asked as they were ushered to their table by a solemn young man in the hotel's blue uniform.

"A hundred and fifty, perhaps up to two hundred. The defeat of Voldemort may bring out a few more. Of late, people had been staying home and keeping out of the public eye. The public eye being that of the Dark Lord. I expect that to change over the next year or two, as everyone regains confidence," Snape said. He opened his menu and said, "Chose something you have never had before."

"What?" Harry asked, tearing his eyes away from the menu he had just opened.

"We're educating you, Harry. Try something different." It was practically an order.

"Oh. What's Coc a Vin?" he asked.

"Chicken."

"I'll try that."

"Excellent."

"Are you going to try something you never had before?" Harry asked, and got a glimpse of the wicked grin that Severus managed to quickly rein in.

"Perhaps later. But I have a fancy for the lobster medallions on rice this evening. Am I right in assuming you also know little about wine?"

"It comes in white, red and pink. And I remember from class that quite a few potions are based on it. You told us about that potion which wouldn't work if you used white wine instead of red."

"Yes. I would have been charmed if you had remembered which one. Do not make a habit of alcohol, it has been the doom of more wizards than any Dark Lord ever born. Still, the properties should be known to you. I think we must purchase a few bottles for our cottage. It's useful, if one needs to poison a guest, to have the alcohol to hide the taste."

"I do hope you're joking."

"Probably."

"What's it like?"

Snape looked up.

"Our cottage."

"Ah. Small. Three rooms plus bath. Very country. The main room holds almost everything, kitchen and lounge and study in one. There are two bedrooms. One has a bed in it, the other is doing duty as a potions lab and storage room."

"Outside?"

"Painted tan, I think. Their Owl Tree has gotten out of hand." Many wizards planted a tree in a convenient spot for the owls, and found a few decades later that the tree was oversized and no longer convenient at all.

"I think I know it. It's pretty." Harry said thoughtfully. "Home."

"What?"

"I'm trying out the word."

"You haven't seen the bathroom."

"It's not outside?"

"No."

"Good. You know the very best part about being a wizard?"

"Do tell me."

"Never having to actually scrub out...."

"Potter. Our food is here. There are some things people prefer not to talk about over dinner."

Harry laughed and turned his attention to his food. He cleaned his plate and polished off two desserts, grinning at Severus and assuring him they were items he had never tried before.

They walked out again after the meal, this time going out the main doors and hiking up the gentle hill. From the top you could see out over a broad green valley dotted with small farms. At the far left there was a golf course. "Muggles," Severus pointed towards the course, "but the rest of it is wizard holdings. The school gets the four-eye mushrooms from that farm in the middle with the two barns."

"I've never been to a real farm. Maybe we could go see one someday?"

"Briefly. Ready to go back?" Severus asked.

"Yes." They turned and slowly hiked down the hill as the evening made the turn and the sky began to darken. It was getting harder to see as they opened the heavy doors and walked into the bright lobby and up the stairs.

Once back in their room, the first thing Harry did was let his owl out to fly. Hedwig gave a small sound of owl thanks and vanished out the window. The moon was coming up.

"Time to go to bed?" Harry asked.

"At this hour?" Severus replied, but he was not really objecting, Harry noticed.

He pulled the curtain shut over the open window--Hedwig knew how to nose the curtain aside and come in--and said, "I learned something new today. Want to help me practice?"

"Why not."

Harry laughed and went to wash up a little. When he came out the room was dark except for a pair of candles on the bedside table. Severus took his turn at the sink and Harry stripped off and climbed into the bed. It seemed strange that he'd been in this bed several times and not spent the night in it yet. Severus came out, removed all his clothing with careful precision and joined Harry in the bed.

Why should it feel more well, more exciting, to be here at night? But Harry was feeling everything more. More fluttering butterflies of anticipation in his stomach, and a deep delight at the sight of Severus in the flickering candlelight with the shadows turning his eyes to obsidian. The fall of his hair along the line of his cheek, exotic promise in the curve of his lip, and all of it his just for reaching out for it. He climbed up onto the bed with determination and aggressively took those lips with his own, a gnawing, deep and hungry kiss.

Their mouths fell apart. "Well. Mr. Potter," Severus mocked, "The hard man tonight, are we?"

"You've an objection?" Harry asked.

"Oh, not at all. Do with me what you will," Severus suggested, and it was not submission or mildness in his tone, but only permission. Severus reached over for the other pillow, dropped it behind him, and leaned back into the support. One eyebrow lifted and inquired what would happen next.

Kisses. Harry straddled the long body, leaned forward and went to work on Sev's face. With a familiarity that stunned him, shocked him that he could be so bold, Harry licked at the hair line, nibbled at the ear, nipped the sharp nose and came back again and again to take wet, fullmouthed kisses. He drew his teeth down the long neck and sucked at the points of the collarbone. Then he shifted and started all over again from the top.

Severus was not entirely passive, but allowed his mouth to enjoy only whatever part of Potter happened to be pressed to it. At one point Harry's hands were entwined around Sev's neck, holding them together while Sev's mouth made a meal of his nipples. Harry's head was thrown back and he was moaning. Unable to stay still, he was making tiny forward and backward movements that pressed the aching nub into the hot mouth. And then Sev would switch to the other and Harry would moan and change direction to follow that shattering pleasure.

Different, a few moments later, when he had claimed the dark point of the nipple that rode the swell of muscle over Sev's heart. He sucked and mouthed and licked, with Sev's fingers spread and buried in his hair as the big hand directed exactly where the mouth should be. Sev's eyes were closed to slits and his lips were open, and sometimes his breath would leave him suddenly with a small sound. Harry found those almost silent catches of breath or tiny gasps to be incredibly arousing. But he fought down his excitement, determined to make this all last long enough for him to do it right.

He kissed his way down the trail of black hair that began in the exact middle of Sev's chest and stretched down past the shallow dip of the belly button to the lifting shaft. He had intended to spend a lot of time there, kissing and exploring, but the moment he put his mouth there, Sev's hand was on the back of his head again, guiding him, and Sev hips were moving, and it was so big in his mouth that he spent most of the time trying not to choke and trying to figure out how you breathed this way.

It took only a few seconds before Sev was so deep in his mouth that Harry was indeed choking, and he had to pull away to gasp for air, while the hot white drops spurted against his nose and cheek.

"Sorr...." Harry began to say with his first breath, but he was hauled up into long, strong arms, which wrapped so tightly around him that he gasped again, and Sev's lips caught his in a merciless kiss, the tongue stabbing hard into his mouth again and again and that was all it took. Harry came like a fountain, crying out into the mouth which covered h