Severus Snape looked up when the knock sounded on his office door. The early morning sun slanted through the blinds of the his office, making tiny slashes of light on his heavy teaching robes, hanging on the wooden coat rack by the window. "Come in," he said, pen poised over his notes as the door opened.
"Professor, er, Snape," a pleasant male voice said, and Snape felt his shoulders untense. A young male voice. At last, he thought, then frowned at the random thought. At last…what? As usual, the answers were just out of reach.
The thing one noticed immediately was the incongruously messy hair on an otherwise tidy, compact young man. What an odd week for unusual hair, he thought, eyeing the slim young man. He was holding a slip of paper, shouldering a book bag, and looking at Snape right back.
"Yes?" he asked, studying his visitor. The young man didn't look old enough to be a student here, though he admitted there was something about the rather piercing green eyes behind the spectacles that didn't look young at all. "May I help you?"
The young man closed the door and consulted the folded piece of paper. "I've come about the lab assistant job," he said.
At last, he repeated, sure now that was what his brain had been trying to tell him. There had been a strange dearth of applicants for the position, despite his colleague's assurances that students usually clamored for such posts.
His only other applicant had been a rather strident young woman with bushy hair who'd quizzed him extensively on the requirements of the position, then had looked a bit startled and turned him down when he'd actually offered her the job.
"Are you a student?" Snape asked, trying to place him. Classes had only been under way a week, and he hadn't learned everyone's faces yet. For some reason he thought he should be able to place this particular young man.
"Yes, sir. New this term."
Ah. Snape tamped down his disappointment and summoned a neutrally polite expression. "It's an advanced level position," he said with real regret. Perhaps he would quiz Professor Henry on other methods for recruiting student assistants. The popular literature professor seemed to have no end of them. It had been her suggestion that he seek an assistant when he'd pleaded paperwork demands to get out of dinner with her.
A smile slid easily onto the angular face. "I meant new to this school, sir. I've got the props." He shifted the obviously heavy book bag. "I've got two years undergraduate and a transcript from my other school, if you'd like. Do you have an application, or a time I can set up an appointment?"
Snape shifted in the leather chair behind his desk. "Do you have time now, Mr.…?"
"Potter, sir. Harry Potter." The shy smile came out again. "And yes, I've the time."
Snape indicated the other chair in the office. Potter slung the backpack off his shoulder before sliding into the chair, then rummaged through the bag and pulled out a folder.
"My transcripts and references," he said, handing the folder over. Snape took a moment to study it, expecting the young man to fidget. He looked like the type, and Snape disliked fidgeting. If they were going to spend time together in close quarters, it would be better to know now if Potter was going to get on his nerves.
Potter remained remarkably still, waiting with a kind of patience Snape only occasionally saw in his oldest colleagues. Again, Snape was reminded that Potter seemed simultaneously younger than his age and impossibly older.
"You're in my class, then?"
"Yes, sir," he answered, obviously not offended that Snape hadn't picked him out of the large class.
"Have you been to any of my lectures?" Snape asked, quite unprepared for the leap in interest in the green eyes.
"Yes, sir!"
Organic chemistry did not usually inspire such fervor. "Where do you sit?"
"Last row, with my study group."
Snape raised his eyebrow at this. A study group in the first week of term was industrious and he said so.
A slight flush of color crept into the pale cheeks. "Being new, I thought it might be a good idea to have someone show me the ropes."
Taking into account the slight blush, Snape thought perhaps a young lady was involved. Potter, of pleasing face and demeanor, probably didn't spend too many evenings alone.
He quizzed Potter on his knowledge of organic compounds, then, satisfied, gestured to the plastic-draped computer on the smaller desk in his office. "Do you know anything about computers?"
Absently Potter's fingers rubbed a chased pewter bracelet around his right wrist. "The basics, I suppose. I didn't have one growing up, but I've learnt a bit since."
That was more than Snape himself knew, and much more than he was willing to learn, despite increasingly disparaging remarks from not only Evelyn Henry but colleagues in his own department. He outlined the job duties, much as he had done yesterday with the bushy-haired girl with the old-fashioned name, while Potter nodded thoughtfully.
"Very well, then," he said at last, very conscious of the green eyes studying him. "I'm prepared to offer you the position."
Satisfaction was palpable in the young man's face. Potter extended his hand and Snape took it after only a moment's hesitation. The young man's grip was sure and firm. Warm. Potter gathered up his books then hesitated and fumbled in his well-fitting jeans for another slip of paper.
"If I could ask you one question?" Snape nodded and Potter passed the paper over. "I'm looking for this address."
The writing was smaller than the transcripts so he pulled out his reading glasses.
"You wear--" Potter began, then he bit his lip, gaze fixed on the spectacles. It was almost seemed that Potter was surprised to see him in reading glasses.
"Need lodgings," Potter explained, as if covering the moment, leaning over Snape's shoulder. For just a moment Snape got the oddest impression that Potter was surreptitiously trying to inhale very deeply, as though Snape smelled very good.
"These are a bit expensive," Snape admitted, recognizing the address--off campus and more private than most students could afford. "Campus housing is much more reasonable."
A slight but definite shudder went through his new lab assistant. "Too modern for me," Potter said, pulling a face. "I'm looking for something with a bit of…character, and I'm told these have fireplaces."
~~**~~
As expected, Potter was spot on time for duty the next morning, as though bent on disproving all the clichés about the trend of student slovenliness. He was presentable as well. No t-shirts with slogans, something Snape disapproved of. Simple khaki trousers, a pull-over shirt. Polished but not overly expensive loafers that dispelled the idea that, despite the disregard for the cost of his lodgings, Potter might be from money.
Not that such things mattered to his professor as he showed the attentive man around the lab in the basement of the chemistry department.
"There's a computer down here, as well," he said, picking up a notebook from the desk. "My notes." He handed them to Potter. "See if you can read them."
Potter gave them a cursory glance. "Of course."
Snape frowned. He knew his handwriting had been giving students fits for years. "Read me the second paragraph on the third page."
Challenge brought an interesting air of animation to Potter's face. He flipped open to the appropriate page and read, "Of all the systemic reactions available, surely the most…"
He continued flawlessly. When he was finished, Potter looked up, expression carefully neutral, but amusement glinting in his eyes.
Snape accepted defeat gracefully. "My notes all need to be transcribed on the computer."
"Shouldn't be a problem, sir," Potter said, flipping through the pages again. "I may need your help with some of these equations." Snape nodded, relieved Potter had the sense to ask for help with the advanced material.
"Shall we get started, then?" Snape said, looking, at his watch. "Oh, there's a studio kitchen at the end of the hall. For tea and such."
Potter set the notebook down and turned the computer on. Luckily it made a sound to indicate that it still worked. Snape had got a bit impatient with it the last time he'd tried to use it. "Would you like some tea, sir?"
He nodded distractedly, and the next time he looked up, it was to the sight of Potter holding a chipped plastic tray. Snape had never realized the tiny kitchen stocked sugar cubes instead of those awful paper packets. There was a small stack of cubes on a small china plate and a matching creamer.
"How do you take it?" Potter asked, setting the tray on one end of the waist-high work table. He looked up when Snape didn't answer immediately, seemingly perfectly content to play mum.
"I didn't hire you to--" Snape began, waving a hand over the perfectly prepared service.
Potter smiled softly, as if in reminiscence. "I don't mind." He was already adding the two sugars, with elegant little silver tongs. Plated, surely.
"You didn't bring a cup for yourself," Snape said, accepting the cup. There was even a matching saucer. Maybe one of the other professors had left a tea set in the public kitchen.
"Next time," Potter said, taking the squeaky office chair in front of the computer. "What format do you want your notes in?"
Snape took a sip of his tea. It was perfect. "You mean there's a choice?"
Potter grinned, an infectious thing, and fiddled with the keyboard. Turning the bracelet round his slender wrist, he said, "Loads. Depends on what you're planning to do with the notes once they're transcribed."
"Publication, eventually," he replied, coming over to stand behind the chair just as a blank graph appeared on the screen. "For now, I'd just like to organize the results of the research. Look for patterns."
"Well, that's easy enough," Potter said. "I can even teach you. It isn't that hard."
"No."
Potter looked up at Snape's harsh tone, obviously puzzled. Snape turned away. "I get headaches," he admitted, though it was no secret. All of his colleagues, and indeed most of the staff knew his history. "Staring at the screen…exacerbates them."
~~**~~
He caught sight of Potter easily the next day in class, just where he'd said he'd be, in the last row. He was deep in conversation with a young lady. Snape recognized the other student as well--Jayne Something; she'd been in his class last term as well. He'd expected her to apply for the lab assistant position as well, but she'd never turned up.
A young man, taller than Potter, joined the group, dropping his hands on Jayne and Harry's shoulders. Snape smiled thinly. Potter certainly made friends quickly. Another young woman joined them, taking her seat along the back row just as class started, looking quite put out at not being able to sit next to Potter.
Potter seemed unaware of the mini-drama over seating, focused instead on whatever the other student--what was his name?--was saying. Snape snuck a peek at his seating chart. It was Brevard, Marcus Brevard; he took his seat, as all four of them took out their pens.
After class he caught up with the group in the crowded hallway outside the lecture hall.
"I was going to apply," Jayne said, her smile tipping down to a puzzled frown. "But I suddenly remembered an urgent appointment elsewhere."
Harry turned to listen to something Brevard was saying on his other side, then shook his head as Snape stopped at their group.
"Professor!" he said, taking a step away from the group, looking almost relieved to see him.
Snape nodded to his students before addressing Potter. "I shan't need you this afternoon, Potter," he said, puzzled by the distinctly disappointed look on his assistant's face. Perhaps the pricey lodgings meant that he needed every hour on his pay packet.
"Excellent!" Brevard said, as all heads turned toward the boisterous student. "No excuse now, Harry," he said, with a flashy smile. It reminded Snape of someone but he couldn't think of who.
Potter looked very much as though he wished he did have an excuse. "All right, then," he said, but he looked again at his professor as if making sure Snape wasn't about to change his mind.
Again, Snape had the feeling of watching a mini-drama. This one, though it included sound, was not so easy to fathom as the one earlier. One of the girls shot the other a distinctly triumphant look, while the other one just looked miserable. Perhaps Brevard had invited one but not the other. Or so he thought until Jayne spoke up.
"You two have fun," she said, then glanced at Snape, still hovering. "Don't forget to do your chapter outlines."
As the girls left Potter gave Snape another of those looks, nearly accusatory, that clearly said he'd rather be hunched over a keyboard rather than being led off to whatever Brevard had in mind.
~~**~~
There was no sign of whatever excesses last night had wrought as Snape caught sight of Potter waiting in front of his office, looking down the corridor as though he couldn't wait to see Snape again.
"You're early," he said.
Potter laughed and ran a hand through his hair, backpack shifting. "I suppose I am. Wanted to get started on those notes on the samples from yesterday."
They'd been working for the better part of an hour when the telephone rang. Snape, his mind already working to come up with an excuse to get out of the inevitable dinner invitation he expected from Evelyn Henry, was surprised to hear a male voice in greeting.
He frowned and turned the receiver around. "It's for you."
Potter's head jerked up, eyes blinking owlishly. When he made no move to take the phone, Snape leaned over the desk, irritation showing as he thrust the instrument at his young employee.
"H..hello?"
There was a pause, but Potter was frowning, his thick brows nearly meeting in the middle. "Look, I'm at work," Potter said tightly. "I'll see you in study group." He hung up the phone, though Snape had the feeling the other party was still speaking.
"Sorry," he said, his usual good humor visibly shaken. "It won't happen again."
"Busy social calendar?" Snape inquired dryly, noting how the innocuous comment made Potter flush.
"No, just Marcus from class." He sat back on the rolling computer chair. "It won't happen again," he repeated. Clearly the subject was off limits. And it wasn't as if Snape had an interest in his student's social life. Snape himself was not very social, save when compelled to be by his job, and the odd evenings out when Evelyn Henry dragged him out.
He picked up the stack of notes he'd just finished. "Can you transcribe these for me before next weekend?" he asked.
The relief at the new subject was plain on Potter's face. He flipped through the pages before replying, reinforcing Snape's notion that he was thoughtful in most things.
"I think so, yes." He paused, reading a few lines, and Snape waited to see if Potter could properly transcribe them the way he needed them. The notes were not his usual style.
"I'm giving a lecture next weekend and would like to take these along," he admitted.
Potter neatened the pile, smiling his ready smile. "I'll make sure they're done." He turned back to the screen, doing the incomprehensible things he did to change to another project. "Where's the lecture, sir?"
"Glasgow," Snape answered, taking off his reading glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.
There was a pause. Then, "I went to school up there." Potter was still staring at the screen. Then he shook himself out of the reverie and went on. "It'll be getting chilly this time of year. Better pack a jumper."
It wasn't funny, but for some reason the admonishment amused Snape. "Yes, Mother." Even from behind, he could tell that Potter was blushing. It would start just under his spectacles and flow down to his neck.
"Sorry!" Potter said, half turning on the rolling stool, his color still high. "It's just that people don't expect it to be cold, and it nearly always is."
Pulling his handkerchief from his breast pocket, Snape began polishing his glasses. "I've been, and you're right." He considered. Potter had no trace of a Scottish accent, so it must not have been his place of origin. "How long were you at school?"
"Seven years," Potter answered.
"Boarding, then?"
Something flickered in the expressive green eyes. "Yes, sir. I was raised until then by my aunt and uncle in Surrey after I was orphaned. I was glad to board."
Snape's brow furrowed. Somehow he'd pictured this outgoing, personable young man as the delight of his doting parents. "You must have had some excellent masters," Snape went on, edging away from the personal subject. "Your grasp of the material is impressive."
A fond smile tugged up Potter's mouth. "I did. I wasn't always the best student, but they managed to drill some things into my skull." He stood up, stretching. "I'll make us some tea, shall I?"
When Snape came back the next week he admitted to Potter that he'd been right about the weather. "It was chilly. You were right."
"I hope you packed a jumper."
Snape made a face. "Not sure I even own one," he admitted. His closet was full of three piece suits. He and Potter were in the downstairs lab. Potter was labeling samples while Snape measured them out.
"You'd look smart in one of those really soft, knit ones." Laughter flickered through his eyes. "They make them in black." He dated the sample with his precise writing. "Look great with your coloring," he added, almost absently.
For some reason Snape found himself oddly pleased by the offhand compliment. He knew it was sincerely meant. Potter never bothered to suck up. He got the feeling Potter was aware of how much the compliment had pleased Snape and was even a bit anxious that perhaps he'd crossed some line.
"Here's the last batch," Snape said, not unkindly, smiling inwardly at the obvious relief in the young man's face.
He repeated his conversation at dinner that night with his friend, Evelyn Henry. She taught literature, and if he managed to keep their conversations intellectual rather than personal, he usually enjoyed her company.
"He's right," she said, handing him the after dinner wine. "You'd look smashing. I keep telling you to let me upgrade those fussy old suits you wear." She was a thin, stylish woman with short curly blonde hair. They'd been friends even since he could remember. She took a sip of her wine. "Level-headed boy. You were lucky to find him."
Snape made a dismissive noise. "He was the only one to apply."
"Odd, that," she said, frowning. "You said he was from Scotland?"
He was already shaking his head. "No, just went to school up there."
"What school?"
He paused, trying to think if the information had been in the transcripts he'd glanced over. "He didn't say. Private sort."
"Like you, Severus?" she asked, with enough of a smile so he knew she didn't mean to take their conversation deeper. The few times she'd tried, early in their friendship, he'd claimed a headache, and fled.
"He's a bit of a cipher, but he works hard." He found himself smiling slightly. "Mothers me a bit." There'd been raisin scones on this afternoon's tea tray. The lunchroom budget must be exorbitant this year.
She laughed out loud. "You could do with a bit of mothering." That she was available for the position, she left unspoken.
As he walked home he supposed he ought to be thinking of the increasingly unsubtle hints Evelyn kept throwing out, but instead found himself picturing Potter in a pinafore, baking apple pies in his kitchen.
The thought made him chuckle and startled a neighborhood cat. It eyed him disdainfully before falling into step. It had shown up a few weeks ago, near the start of term, a gray striped tabby. In daylight the markings around its eyes resembled spectacles. Sometimes it could be coaxed inside with the lure of a treat. Snape tried to think what was in his larder. He wasn't a proper cook, preferring instead to pick up take-away from the local pub.
"I've a bit of salmon put by for breakfast that I don't mind sharing," he told it, turning into his own gate.
The cat scurried ahead as if it understood, waiting by the door while Snape unlocked it. Once inside the kitchen, it rubbed his ankles once before leaping from stool to counter. Giving into impulse, he scratched its head.
He was fairly certain it was a she, and probably had half his neighbors gulled into handing out treats. That knowledge didn't stop him from doling out a bit of the salmon cake leftover from lunch.
Potter had fetched it, assuming yet another task that was not in the initial job description. Snape, mindful of his dinner engagement, hadn't eaten the whole thing, earning himself a frown from his assistant.
He admired the cat's markings while it cleaned off its paws, then he picked it up to put it out. It was obviously used to humans as it relaxed at once, curling over his arm. He noted absently that the street lamp across the street was out as he dropped his visitor gently on the stoop.
Snape froze in the act of straightening up. He'd caught a glimpse of something, no, someone in the pool of light from the next lamp down. The cat looked up at him as if curious. For a moment Snape thought he saw an old man was across the street, and the thought shot panic through him, as if--
Then the person across the street moved slightly, nearly in the light now, and Snape realized the light had merely bleached the passerby's ginger-colored hair to white. The cat bounded down the walk without a backward glance.
Snape shut the door, already feeling the throb of a headache behind his eyes.
He got to his office early the next morning, sleep not worth seeking after too long staring at his own ceiling. He'd left the door ajar so Potter would know he was inside. He was thinking of giving the young man a key when he realized the low murmur of voices outside his door included the man in question.
"Damn it!" said Potter, his voice sounding frustrated.
"You skived off study group," came another voice, louder now, as though Potter's outburst had loosened some restraint. "I have to talk to you."
Frowning Snape stood up and approached the door.
"What about?" came Potter's voice and Snape could clearly picture him running a distracted hand through his already messy hair.
"You know what about, Harry." The other voice had become unattractive. Petulant.
"I told you, I'm not interested," Potter said. "I came out that night because you put me on the spot. It *wasn't* a date."
Something clicked in Snape's memory, of young Marcus Brevard asking Potter out, and the knowing look between the girls fell into place.
"Just give me a chance. It could be--"
"I said no," Potter said, as Snape opened the door.
For a moment no one moved. He'd expected Potter to look embarrassed, but he was surprised to find a fierce sort of confidence on his face, as though dealing with unwanted advances was routine.
"Everything all right, Harry?" he asked, slipping easily into the familiarity of using the name.
Potter jumped at the diversion, as Snape had known he would. "Yes, sir. Fine." He spared the barest glance at the other student, who hadn't spoken, hadn't moved. "Excuse me."
Snape stepped back to allow Potter to pass by, then closed the door.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Potter was already apologizing, his book bag sliding from his shoulder. "I told him it wasn't a proper date at the time but--" He stopped abruptly, looking up at Snape. "And you didn't know I was gay, did you?"
Snape leaned back against his desk. "No." Something flickered in Potter's face and Snape felt his own face grow warm. "I…see. You thought I was." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you mind if I ask why?"
Potter seemed nonplussed. "Just…just the way you look at me sometimes," he said, then added, "sir," as if that made the startling statement somehow more mundane.
Snape cocked his brow at that. "Very pleased with our own attractiveness, are we?" His tone wasn't quite angry, but not quite teasing either.
"Er, no sir. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply--" He sighed hard. "Are you going to sack me?" He began worrying his bottom lip.
Snape looked away from the sight. "I don't know quite what to make of you, Mr. Potter," he said, unfolding his arms. "You do wish to keep working here?"
Potter nodded, expression wary. Idly Snape wondered how one looked at a homosexual young man, to be thought queer oneself.
"And can you keep your private life out of my laboratory?"
"Oh yes. Definitely." He looked hopeful now, an eager pup one couldn't kick without repercussions.
Snape pushed away from the desk. "Are you going to keep bringing me tea?"
Potter nearly sagged in visible relief. "I'll get it now, sir." In less time than he would have thought possible, Potter was back. There were fruit tarts today, a nod to the early hour, to go along with the always perfectly-brewed tea.
Setting the tray on the desk Potter frowned when he looked at his professor. "You look done in."
"Headache last night." It was the first serious one he'd had since start of term, since Potter had started working for him.
"Was it very bad?" Potter asked, helping himself to a tart.
"I've had worse," Snape admitted. "Didn't sleep much." He seldom talked about his headaches and surprised himself by doing so now. Perhaps some part of him felt that the revelation about Potter deserved some revelation of his own.
"Do you take anything for them? M…medicine?" Potter asked, stumbling oddly over the last word as though he'd meant to say something else.
Snape frowned, already regretting the impulse to discuss his headaches. He and Potter never discussed topics of a personal nature and Snape preferred it that way, being the solitary sort himself. "Not really," he admitted.
Setting down his tea, Potter thumbed the power switch for the computer. From past observation, Snape knew it took several minutes to warm up. Potter looked like he wanted to ask something more, but was debating going over the comfortable line they'd set.
Comfortable, of course, save for the fact that Potter thought he looked at him a certain way. Snape wasn't sure whether to be amused or appalled.
"I have a friend," Potter said, just as the humming screen came to life. Potter fiddled with the bracelet on his arm, his sole nervous habit. "A really good physician."
Snape tried to summon his customary freezing expression, the one he usually used when such overtures were made. Potter seemed so earnest, but he'd heard the entreaties before. "Thank you, no. I go to the university doctor."
Again the hesitation as he turned toward the stack of notes. "She has some…alternate treatments for headaches."
Right then. He should have known this would turn awkward. "No thank you," he said again, more firmly this time, letting his tone convey his opinion of 'alternate treatments.'
Potter took the hint.
~~**~~
Snape did notice in class that Potter no longer sat beside the redoubtable Mr. Brevard, letting the two girls in his study group sit between them.
When he waited for Potter after class for their walk to his office, he thought Brevard was going to approach again, and wondered briefly if Potter was relying on his teacher to keep the other man at arm's length.
Snape was a firm believer of letting people solve their own problems and was debating whether to say anything when he saw Potter come out of the classroom. He wondered briefly if Potter were cursing under his breath, for he saw his lips moving slightly, as one hand went into his trouser pocket.
There was a soft pop from somewhere, and Snape looked around to see where it was coming from. By then Potter had joined him, looking unconcerned about the noise.
As they passed Marcus, the other man looked as though he'd suddenly remembered an urgent appointment elsewhere.
They cut through the small park on their way to the office. Potter was shifting his backpack, trying to zip up his jacket. It had got brisk now that the leaves were turning.
Snape stopped and held the shoulder strap so Potter could make a proper job of it. The brilliant smile beamed up at him as he settled the pack on his shoulders. "Thank you, sir. As I was saying, I've set up your email account. The uni provides it for free."
Snape frowned. "You needn't have bothered. I shan't use it."
Potter went on as though he hadn't heard. "This way the other professors can contact you. I can relay their messages and your replies. You won't have to learn how to--"
Snape stopped again. They were on the edge of the macadam path, a wrought iron fence bordering the edge of the small park. Potter continued on a step before realizing Snape had stopped. He stopped too, obviously puzzled.
"I said, I won't use it," Snape said adamantly.
Potter nodded. "All right. I just thought--" He shifted nervously on his feet. "I mean, I don't mind."
"You won't always be here," he pointed out, aware for the first time how true that was. They'd been working together nearly six weeks, but so seamlessly had Potter barged into his ordered life, he could hardly remember a time when Potter hadn't arrived every morning with tea. He brushed past Potter on the narrow path.
"I'm not going anywhere," Potter said, as he caught up.
"Of course you are," Snape insisted, stepping off the curb into the street in front of his office building. He heard Potter sputter a few times but the truth of it was irrefutable. He'd never given it a thought until now. As much as Potter seemed to enjoy looking after him, even mothering him, he would move on in his studies and onto a career. Why did the sudden thought plunge like a stone in his belly?
They walked up the stairs in silence, though he sensed Potter was not done with the subject. Only now, something was throbbing at the edge of Snape's temple.
As they settled into their customary places in the office Potter slid off his backpack before facing the desk. "Are you okay?"
"Touch of the headache." The terse reply was out before he could moderate it.
"Right. Tea, then," Potter said, disappearing and reappearing with a tray so quickly Snape hardly realized he was gone.
He set the tray on the desk. There were exquisite little sandwiches on the tray today. Absently, through the thrum of pain in his head, he wondered if all the other departments rated such a large tea-room budget.
"Any better?" Potter asked, still hovering.
"No," Snape replied. The sandwiches even had their crusts cut off. The haze of pain thickened between his brows.
"May I?" Potter asked and Snape blinked, still staring down at the half dozen little sandwiches on the tray.
Suddenly there were hands on his shoulders, a pause, then a gentle tug to get his hair out of the way. Long, slow strokes across his shoulders, then down slightly across his back. Another pause as though deciding whether to ask permission, then, as if taking his silence for consent, pressing thumbs up along the column of his spine, up under his hair, stroking his neck.
No one, male or female, had touched him like this since-- He couldn't remember. Worse, the slow strokes had begun something that would embarrass him if he let them continue.
"That will do," he said, a bit too snappishly, for Potter's hands jerked as if scalded. "Thank you," he added in a softer tone. He looked over his shoulder.
Potter looked uncharacteristically indecisive. "Did it help any?" he asked, though Snape got the impression he'd been about to say something else.
It had and he said so. "Thank you," he said again.
It was nearly dusk by the time he left the office, but the gray tabby cat darted out from wherever she'd been hiding to bump his ankles. She came by nearly every night now, and when he didn't see her, he worried.
For some reason, tonight she reminded him of Potter. Here for one term with his perpetually cheerful demeanor, his quiet efficiency, and his slightly motherly air. As he watched the cat reach the end of the sidewalk and look to either side before crossing the street he reminded himself not to get too attached. To the cat.
Or to Potter.
Fate reminded him forcibly of his own vow a few days later. It was one of their lab days, so they hadn't walked together from class. He was so used to Potter being early most days that he had to tell himself it was perfectly acceptable to be just on time, when the young man wasn't waiting for him. Only Potter didn't make it on time, either.
He was, in fact, late. Snape looked up at the clatter of the door, prepared to berate the student for his no-doubt pressing social calendar. The remark died on his lips.
"Sorry I'm late, Professor," Potter said, closing the door without his customary smile. "I had a visitor from home," he went on, running a distracted hand through his hair. "I'll have to ask off tomorrow, if I may."
Snape frowned at the somber tone, the slight breathlessness in Potter's voice. "Of course," he agreed readily.
Obvious relief went through the thin frame and Potter finally looked up. "Thank you." The backpack slumped off his shoulder. "I wouldn't ask except--" He sighed. "My uncle died. The one who raised me. I've got to go." He looked toward the tiny basement window even though the blinds were drawn. "They won't care but I've got to." He seemed to realize he was babbling. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." He set down his pen and notepad. "You're obviously upset."
"Right," Potter said, looking around as though just realizing where he was. Snape had the oddest sensation that Potter had used up some well of inner strength just to get here.
Potter cleared his throat. "I'm not upset," he went on, oblivious to the quaver in his voice. "I'm sorry he died of such a stupid, useless Muggle heart attack before I had a chance to-" He stopped, as though horrified by what he'd been about to say.
Snape stood up and strode over to the door, taking his coat from the peg. "Come on."
"I don't--" Potter said, eyeing him dumbly. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing." He opened the door. "Come. On." Potter obeyed the quiet tone as he had known he would.
Outside the wind had kicked up, swirling the brown leaves around their feet. Snape guided them down the short street, around the corner to the pub. It was nearly empty at this time of day.
"Sit." It was not a request. Potter slid into the booth while Snape went up to the bar. He came back with two amber-filled glasses. "Drink," he instructed, keeping his eye on the young man as he picked up the glass and took a cautious sip. Snape handed him a napkin when the alcohol hit his system and made him cough. A silence fell between them as Potter took more slow sips of the drink.
Finally Potter looked up. "I'm--"
"Sorry, I know," Snape said, and something like relief filtered into the gloomy expression.
"Look," Potter tried again, "I really am sorry. I didn't love my uncle. I don't know why--" He took another sip of the nearly empty drink. "He was a prick but I can't just let--"
Snape was beginning to get the idea. "So, you're glad he's dead."
"No!" Potter said, then exhaled harshly. "I mean, when I think of the times I wished--"
"So you feel guilty?"
Potter stared into the glass. "I don't know," he admitted.
Snape set down his own glass. "I believe the correct answer would have been 'of course not, I've done nothing to feel guilty about'."
The young man across from him swallowed hard. "He took me in. He wasn't even a blood relative; my aunt was. And…I was a lot of trouble."
"No doubt," Snape said, taking the first sip of his own drink.
"And I was different. My uncle hated that." He fiddled with the tumbler. "I shouldn't even go to the funeral. My aunt didn't even try to contact me to let me know. I don't even think she knows where to find me." He sat back in the booth, staring into space. "They won't be happy to see me, but I've got to go." He looked back at his teacher. "Sorry to miss work." Then he grimaced. "I know. Don't keep apologizing. I don't mean to be any trouble."
Snape let himself smile. "You do seem to be the center of an inordinate amount of it." He met the young man's eyes, letting him see he was only teasing. "Have you eaten?" The blank look told him the answer and he signaled the waitress.
"Could we have some sandwiches please?" he asked. He usually only got take-away from here, but he was familiar with the menu. "Better bring an extra one for the boy." Potter looked like he was going to protest but refrained. Not all thick-headed, then. "And some chips."
"Sure thing, Professor," the girl said, one hip very close to the wooden frame of the booth. She collected Potter's empty glass. "Another round?" Her bright smile was directed at him so he looked around her to see if Potter looked like he needed it.
"No, we're fine."
When she'd left them alone Potter leaned over their table. "She fancies you."
Snape glanced at the pretty redhead and shook his head. "Aurelia? She was in my class last year," he said, as though that explained the situation. She'd had peculiar ideas about personal space back in class too, he remembered.
"No, I mean, she's flirting with you," Potter said. "She practically sat in your lap to take your order."
Frowning Snape looked back toward the bar. Aurelia had always been friendly, chatting him up after classes. She'd been another one he'd thought might apply for the assistant's position. "She's too young."
"Whatever you say," Potter said, the skepticism showing in his voice.
When the food arrived, Aurelia lingered on Snape's side of the booth. "Anything else?" she drawled. She'd barely given Potter a glance. At the shake of his head she looked like she wanted to say more, but nodded and went back to the bar.
Potter gave him an 'I told you so' look but dug into his food. He had no trouble polishing off both sandwiches Snape ordered for him, half of Snape's when offered, and all the greasy chips.
"Where do you put it all?" he asked, sliding his plate over.
Stuffing a chip into his mouth, Potter grinned. "I keep pretty active."
Snape blinked. "I daresay."
It took Potter a moment but his eyes went very round. "Oh! Not like that. I mean, not lately." He leaned his face into his hand. "I'm making this worse, aren't I?
"It isn't any of my business," Snape said carefully.
Nibbling the last of the chips, Potter said, "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I--you've been great about this even though I've brought my private life into your office again." He pushed the empty plate away.
"You'll be all right?" Snape asked, though he hadn't meant to.
Potter nodded solemnly. "I always am."
After he saw the young man off Snape returned to his office, though it felt gloomy in there without Potter's presence. He decided to get himself tea and went down to the staff tea room for the first time in weeks. Only it looked exactly the same as he remembered. The same Styrofoam cups. The same packets of sugar instead of the cubes Potter dug up every day. Snape looked in the rattling old fridge. No fruit tarts, only a shriveled up orange and someone's brown bag lunch. Where had Potter been getting the spectacular teas from every day?
He took the cup of hot water back to his office, still a bit out of sorts. Admittedly he'd learned more about Potter's unhappy background than he really had a right to. It wouldn't do to feel any sort of undue sympathy for the boy. Potter would be moving on.
~~**~~
He was at home the next night, having got through another uninspired tea, when a knock sounded at the door. Snape hesitated. Who on earth? His friend Evelyn always phoned when she invited him over. He'd never invited her here.
When he opened the door he was surprised to see Potter there.
"Hello," the young man said quickly. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."
Snape just stared for a moment, uncertain. Potter had been here before, but only on brief visits with his professor to retrieve things when their work required it.
"Hello, Mr. Potter," he said, swinging the door open, as though letting the barrier decide
whether to let Potter in. "Come in," he added. He was in his bare feet and comfortable clothes. Jeans and a polo shirt with the uni logo on the pocket. It felt odd, for some reason, to have Potter see him like this.
Then he noticed the hamper and watched Potter drag it in. "I, er, thought I owed you dinner, so--" Snape closed the door behind him, making sure his feline visitor hadn't followed Potter up the path.
"You don't owe me anything," Snape said, not sure if Potter was as flustered as he appeared.
"Well, a thanks then, for yesterday." Harry eyed the enormous basket. "I just wanted to find a way to say thanks." He pushed his glasses back up onto his nose.
It would be ungracious to refuse. "What have you brought, then?" Potter's eyes lit up and he followed Snape into the small kitchen, setting the basket on the counter.
"It's all stuff that will keep if you've eaten," Potter explained. "There's a quiche and--" He started pulling dishes out of the hamper while Snape looked on.
"And enough for two," Snape pointed out dryly and Potter looked up as though horrified.
"No!" he said quickly. "I didn't mean--" He looked torn.
"You're welcome to share," Snape said, unfolding his arms and moving to the cabinet to take out plates and glasses. Then he turned back to see if his visitor had made up his mind. "Unless you have other plans," he said, hand hesitating over putting the second glass back in the cabinet.
"No," Potter said, "but I really didn't mean to imply--" He bit his lip and Snape smiled.
"You can't possibly think I can eat all this before it goes to waste."
Potter made a face and again Snape thought of coaxing the cat inside with a treat. It was always a delicate business, even when the cat wanted to be coaxed. Which he rather suspected Potter did.
"It is a lot, isn't it?" Potter said, his gaze brightening. They sorted out food, plates and implements.
"How was the funeral?" Snape asked while Potter cut the quiche.
Potter made a noise. "Lots of his friends and relations. I paid my respects. I doubt my aunt even knew I was there. My cousin spotted me, but at least he didn't try to pick a--"
He scooped out some of the dish. "Anyway, I was glad to have gone, but gladder still to come home."
Home in a figurative sense, Snape assumed. "I usually eat in there," he said, directing Potter to the couch in his sitting room. He'd been reading in there when the knock at the door had come. They sat at opposite ends of the couch, their plates on the coffee table, and talked about the day and a half Potter had missed. Snape thought he'd seen an enormous lemon cake for dessert and they broke their conversation to explore it.
One of the things he liked most about Potter, and Snape realized he did like Potter, was that unlike most people of his acquaintance, Potter didn't feel the need to fill every silence with idle conversation. The silences were comfortable, and the conversation the more meaningful because of them.
"I should go," Potter said at last, trying to cover a yawn. Snape realized he must have come straight from the funeral, and that he had no idea how long Potter'd had to travel.
"You may have tomorrow off, if you need it," Snape told him as they were walking toward the door.
"No, I'll be there." He smiled, silhouetted in the open doorway. The street lamp across the street was still out, so it was nearly completely dark on his stoop. "I--" he began, then stopped himself. "I'll be there," he said again, though Snape was certain he'd been about to say something else.
"I missed you too," he said, making the easy mental jump. He was about to continue with some rejoinder about missing his tea when the young man's face just lit up in happy surprise. Snape chalked it up to a stressful few days and they bid goodnight.
The next morning Potter walked him from class as usual. Snape caught him up on the few tasks that needed doing. They didn't mention the funeral again.
Potter dropped off his shoulder bag and stretched, as he always did. "I'll just get tea, shall I?"
Snape nodded absently but it was not until Potter had disappeared down the hallway that he remembered the barren little room he'd visited yesterday for his own tea. When Potter came back with the tea there were two types of biscuits on it, chocolate-dipped and strawberry-filled. The tea was in the same elegant pot they always used, and although the cups may not have matched, they were definitely not white foam.
"Where do you get this stuff, Potter?" he wondered aloud. Potter shot him a glance.
"My secret," was all he said. "I had an email from Professor Henry. She's delighted you've set up your email at last."
Snape frowned over his perfect cup of tea; Potter was clearly changing the subject. He remembered telling Potter not to bother with the email. "I told you--"
"She'd also like to know if you can come over for dinner on Friday."
Snape picked up one of the cookies and took a bite. "I suppose I should," he said, aware that his tone was less than appreciative. Potter looked up from the computer console.
"She's that pretty literature teacher, isn't she?" he asked. A nod. "Good cook?"
Snape nodded again, still worrying his biscuit. Potter shrugged and snatched another biscuit. "So, go."
"I should do a longer test on those samples we started working on this week. Friday would be the perfect time to do it," Snape said.
A slow turn of his head and Potter was looking at him again. "I'll do them if you like. I don't mind making up some of my lost time." There was a decided twinkle in the green eyes; Potter clearly saw that he was inventing excuses.
Snape ran a finger over his mouth to check for crumbs. "Not necessary. I'm sure you have other social engagements more interesting than a night in the lab."
One corner of Potter's mouth cocked up. "Not at all." His hands poised over the keyboard. "Shall I tell Professor Henry you'll come?"
He made a quick decision. "No, tell her I've got to spend some time with those samples." He felt better for having a good explanation to get out of dinner. "You're welcome to join me, of course." A peculiar feeling shivered up his back, expectant and yet languid somehow. Waiting. For what? He could not say.
"Sure," Potter said with an offhandedness that Snape was sure was feigned. He looked at Potter's back. There was a lit computer screen in front of him but Potter's hands seemed to be unmoving.
They saw each other all the time. Friday evening was nothing special. It wasn't like a date. They'd be working. For just a moment he thought about explaining that to Potter, then realized what an idiot he'd sound like.
The rest of the week passed in their familiar routine. Friday night was just another lab session, even if he knew he could have done the work some other time. Potter was as cheerful in the evenings as he was during the day, and even seemed eager when Snape suggested dinner after work.
The pub was considerably more crowded than in had been the last time they'd visited, but they found a space in back, and ate standing up at the bar. Aurelia, despite being busy, made sure their drinks were filled and their plates arrived hot. When she gave Snape an inviting smile, he glanced over at Potter, already expecting the knowing smirk.
At least Potter had the sense to hold his tongue until they were outside. They cut through the park, sticking to the well-lit path. "I told you she fancied you," he said, breath steaming slightly in the chilly air.
"You're becoming tiresome," Snape said with exaggerated flippancy.
"I've been in there loads of time, picking up your dinner, she's never been even remotely friendly to me."
"Perhaps she realizes you, er, aren't her type," Snape said. They'd never made further references to the boy's sexual preference, but Snape was feeling very good tonight.
Potter just rolled his eyes. The lamps that lit the path were huge old-fashioned ones, probably installed by the Victorians. The diffuse light made Potter look very young. "We don't exactly wear signs, you know." He took several hurried steps to catch up. Snape was much taller and had forgot to moderate his stride. "You really don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?" He already misliked the smirk stealing onto the young man's face.
"Half the girls in class and about a fourth of the boys would trip you and beat you to the floor at the slightest sign of interest," Potter said.
Snape had an interesting mental image of all his students piled up in a tangled jumble of limbs, while he stood on the edge, still bravely trying to teach them. "I don't seduce students," he said, suddenly feeling very prim.
"You wouldn't have to."
"You're exaggerating," Snape said, wondering where this was going.
"So, why didn't you go out tonight with Professor Henry?" Potter asked, with the air of someone certain of their point.
"I told you--" Snape stopped. They had the path to themselves. Not many students used it after nightfall and it was still too early for stragglers from the pub seeking someplace to be alone. "I enjoy her company--in small doses." He dug his hands into his coat pocket. "She's just being polite."
"Polite!" Potter's jaw dropped. "You are the most stubborn man I've ever--" He ran a hand through his hair. "If I were a girl--" he began, then stopped, his mouth closing with a nearly audible snap.
"If you were a girl," Snape prompted, suddenly very curious.
"If I were a girl, or you weren't straight," Potter said, then stopped again.
"Oh, don't tell me you--" Snape realized they were standing very close but he didn't step away. He saw Potter studying his face, then followed the gaze down to his mouth before it flicked away guiltily. Harry Potter had been thinking about kissing him. The thought wasn't nearly as extraordinary as he thought it should be.
"Me," Potter said simply. Then he pulled a face, as full of doubt and uncertainty as it had been full of gentle humor before. "Are you going to sack me?"
"Are you going to ask me that every time I kiss you?" Snape found himself saying. It was as though the words had been just lying on his tongue waiting to be said to the right person. It didn't seem extraordinary in the least that Potter's face leaned up to his, nor that his own leaned down ever so slightly, and for a moment he thought he wasn't really going to do it, wasn't really going to stand here and let those red lips touch his own.
But then he was doing it, as though the question had been an invitation. He kept waiting for his brain to tell him to stop, waited for his hormones to kick in and tell him this was just not his thing, but they never did, so he brushed his lips very lightly across Potter's. There was something almost familiar about it, though he chalked that up to the few kisses he'd shared with women. Then Potter's lips were moving over his own and suddenly it was not like kissing a woman. It was like kissing Harry.
He heard the small noise in the back of his throat, which Harry took as a cue to press in further, his body, swathed in the folds of his jacket, radiating warmth in the chilly night air. They were not touching anywhere but this one tiny, nerve-jangling spot. His tongue slid along the seam of the closed mouth, and he wished he knew a spell to be invited inside. Then, as though wishing made it so, the slightest breach appeared just under his tongue.
Curbing the overwhelming urge to surge inside, Snape heard an echoing noise of need from Harry's throat. The lips parted and a moist tongue came to meet his. He felt a shudder go through him, as though something long denied had found its release. He was never more conscious of Harry's height, the smallness of him, the sense of protectiveness that welled within him.
He was waiting for some sort of outrage, something that would tell his treacherous body that this was a young *man* beneath his mouth.
Nothing approaching outrage entered his brain. Outrage seemed to have been replaced by all things Harry. The way Harry's body leaned into his, not quite touching. The way Harry's breath stirred on his face. The way their tongues met slowly. This didn't feel outrageous; it felt right.
Heat grew between them, so that they almost might not have been out of doors. His hands - awkward, heavy things - sought purchase against the rush of lightheadedness, and almost he thought he might have another headache coming on. But no, he felt none of the dullness of an impending headache. His hands landed on Harry's shoulders, striving for balance, allowing him to press deeper.
Harry swayed slightly and Snape tightened his fingers, pulling away, gaze searching the young face beneath his. Harry's eyes opened slowly, misty with arousal - and something else. He seemed to be holding his breath, as though waiting for Snape to speak. Snape's own breath was uneven, uncertain.
He wanted so many things in that moment. To pull Harry in closer, to push him away. To regain his equilibrium, and to sway with the odd joy of the moment. To kiss Harry again. To see where this led.
It could not lead there.
Snape stepped away. He'd gone mad. He was not…Harry's sort.
"I suppose it's too late to claim scientific curiosity," he said, his voice sounding shaky to his own ears. He saw the hurt flare in the green eyes, and cursed himself for letting things get this far.
"I'm not--" he tried, but Harry wasn't looking at him anymore, as though aware that his eyes gave away too much.
"I know. We should get back," was all he said, and Snape nodded, even though Harry couldn't see it. They came out of the deserted park and Harry still wasn't looking at him, watching the lorry coming down the street until it was safe to cross. They finished the walk to Snape's cottage in silence.
Snape didn't know how to explain, how to dismiss the very real fault in doing something he should have realized he couldn't follow through on.
But then Harry was looking up at him, his eyes unreadable. Before Snape could begin any explanation - not that it would help - Harry nodded. "I'll see you Monday."
Snape went inside, closing the door. He couldn't leave it like this. He'd hurt Harry somehow, and hadn't even tried to make it right. He opened the door quickly, to at least invite the young man in for tea. But the sidewalk was empty. It was as though Harry had just disappeared. Snape stepped back out on the stoop. Not even the gray tabby was out tonight.
He closed the door again and leaned against it. He'd kissed Harry Potter. Somehow he thought it should bother him more that he'd kissed a *man*. But there with the moonlight slipping in and out of the clouds, it hadn't been about gender. It had been about himself. And Harry.
He went into his lab the next day, even though it was Saturday, needing the distraction of being surrounded by his work. Here among the vials and beakers, the mortar and pestle, the neatly labeled bottles, he felt truly comfortable. He worked the morning away, then decided to break for tea. The basement was nearly deserted on weekends, he knew, so he was surprised to see someone emerging from the tiny staff kitchen. For just a moment he thought it might be Harry.
It wasn't. It was a young woman, and for just a moment Snape looked at her, as she seemed familiar somehow. It was her broad smile at seeing him that gave him his clue.
"Professor!" she said, with more exuberance than seemed reasonable after their brief meeting at the start of term.
"Hello, Miss--" he began, in the manner of one who doesn't mind admitting not remembering.
"Granger," the woman supplied, then laughed softly. "I'm sure you don't remember me, but--"
"You applied for my assistant's position," Snape said.
She blushed becomingly, her face becoming a bit more serious. "Listen, you haven't seen Harry, have you?"
Snape frowned. Until now, he hadn't realized they were acquainted. "No, but that isn't unusual. He doesn't work here on the weekends." She nodded and he went on. "I wasn't aware that you two knew each other." It wasn't really any of his business, but he felt he had some sort of claim on the young man now, tenuous as it was.
"We were at school together," she said absently, "and we're working together on…a project." A smile turned up the corners of her mouth, but didn't linger. "That's why I'm looking for him. He hasn't turned up."
"I'll let him know you're looking for him, if I see him," Snape said as she let him pass her and go into the tiny kitchen. While he was waiting for the kettle he thought about what sort of project Harry could be working on with Miss Granger.
It really wasn't any of his business. Just because you kissed a man -
He was an idiot.
He'd expected everything to be awkward between them when Potter showed up for work on Monday. He was determined to think of the young man as Potter again, certain they could slip easily into their former comfortable relationship.
Potter had his usual sunny smile; even if he was doing it solely for Snape's benefit, it was acceptable to them both. He was in his squeaky old rolling chair, warming up the computer as if nothing untoward had happened at all. If not for the unvanquishable memory of warm lips moving against his own, Snape could almost believe nothing had.
"Your friend was looking for you," Snape said, after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.
"Hermione?" Potter made a mock shudder. "She found me." He turned back to his computer screen, which had flickered to life. "She said I probably shouldn't kiss you again."
Snape sat back in his chair, thunderstruck. He was a private sort of person, and had thought Potter must be too. "What did you say?" he asked, when he could speak.
Potter shot him a look over his shoulder. "I disagreed."
A warm coil of something unexpected curled through Snape's belly, like a snake curling around its prey. "You did, did you?" He didn't know whether to be amused or appalled at Potter, and suspected it would not be the first time he had such conflicting impulses toward the boy.
Potter turned around on his stool. "May I ask you a question?" Then before Snape could reply he went on, "Did you get a headache after I kissed you?"
Snape frowned, but answered honestly. "No, can't say I did."
This time Potter's smile was smug. "Then, yes, I disagree. I think we should do that a lot more."
This was dangerous territory, but somehow with the taste of him still fresh in his mind, Snape didn't feel as odd as he thought he ought. "Is this your 'alternative' medicine?"
Potter shrugged. "Whatever works." He turned serious for a moment. "You don't mind my saying so, sir, but you aren't taking this the way most straight men would."
"Don't you think I've thought of that?" He leaned back in his chair. He'd hardly been able to think of anything else all weekend.
With a lithe movement, Potter stood up, the chair rolling softly out of the way. "I'll get tea, shall I?"
Snape nodded, and concentrated on the papers in front of him, and not on watching the young man walk out the door. As usual, it took less time than it would take a kettle to boil. Today, in addition to tea, there were small, orange-colored scones with little pots for jam and cream. Potter set the tray in its customary spot, and began laying out the things. Only today their ritual had some sort of new significance. He found himself watching Potter's hands, wondering things no absolutely straight man had any right to wonder.
Only it seemed Potter was wondering back. He handed the warm cup to Snape before he straightened. "I like taking care of you," he said, and for a moment, Snape didn't get the inference, until he realized the boy hadn't moved away, hadn't taken his usual seat after serving the tea. Something as warm as the tea sparkled in the green eyes and Snape's hands trembled, the china cup rattling on its saucer.
He realized too that he was being given time to refuse the kiss so obviously in the offing. He couldn't use the excuse of intellectual curiosity this time. Nor did he want to, when Potter--Harry--was leaning over him like that.
This kiss had the same sweet hesitancy of the first. Only now their mouths had been warmed by the tea, and tasted of sugar and cream. Harry's hands moved over his shoulders, fingers scrabbling against the heavy fabric of his suit coat.
He knew now it wasn't scientific curiosity, otherwise, he'd have been able to think past the initial slide of tongues, ones that have met already but had no objection to renewing their acquaintance. There wasn't anything intellectual about the way he felt the needy pulse of arousal centering in his groin.
"Let me take care of you," Harry murmured, his lips moving over Snape's, leaving damp traces where they touched. Needing something to hang onto he wrapped his hands around Harry's waist, feeling large and blundering, but Harry made a slight noise at the contact, a noise that was not displeased.
"I want to take care of you," he said, lips lifting only slightly, moving against Snape's before kissing the side of his mouth. The edge of his jaw. Under his ear. Small touches with lips and fingers that shouldn't feel this good.
Shouldn't feel this right.
"Harry," he said, realizing his head had dropped back under the onslaught of kisses.
Harry stilled, the fingers cupping his jaw tensing slightly before he looked up. They stared at each other for a long moment, when Snape realized he had no idea what he was going to say. He lifted one hand from its secure spot on Harry's waist and wrapped it around his neck, pulling Harry's mouth down for another kiss.
His mouth no longer tasted of tea, but of something sultrier, something half-forgotten and strange. He craved more, but had no idea how to get it. His tongue licked inside, following Harry's then taking over, moving them closer, using his hands on the boy's waist. They slipped down, but did not quite cup the curves of his arse.
Fingers crept up under his hair, then slid down and were loosened his tie. For a moment he couldn't think why this should be significant. His brain felt less sharp than he was used to, so it wasn't until the tie slid open and warm lips fastened onto his neck that he thought to question it. Only now the question was: who was making those noises, those soft moans that raised the hair on the backs of his hands?
The sound was a cue. A signal, pre-arranged with his brain to drive him mad. How could he *want* this much? Had he always had this capacity, this neediness, and for a slip of a boy to arouse him--
Aroused.
He was aroused, and suddenly needed to let Harry know. His fingers clenched, drawing the young man closer, into the open slice of his thighs. He heard Harry moan softly, felt one hand slide down his shirtfront, just as his body came into closer contact.
The kissing stopped. Harry was blinking down at him. "I--" Then the shy smile, the one he'd only seen a few times. "Okay." Then Harry was moving, dropping to his knees. "I'll take care of you," he said again, "I'll always take care of you."
Harry was on his knees. The fingers he always associated with the soft clatter of typing on the keyboard, or the deft handling of tea cups, were moving over his zipper, easing it down. He wanted to hold his breath but couldn't. His heart was pounding too hard to take any momentary lapse in autonomic functions.
His own flesh surged into the skillful fingers, already damp, already hard. He had no idea what to expect next. What would--
And then Harry's untidy head bent to lick the slight drop at the tip of his cock. His tongue, the tongue that had been inside his mouth, Snape reminded himself, traced a circle around the fleshy head before covering it, lips surrounding him, taking him inside.
Fingers wrapped around him, almost protectively, then before he had a chance to crave more contact, they tightened, holding him nearly exactly as he would do himself. Another hand reached into his trousers, under the elastic of his underpants, to pull out his balls. The lips slid down the long column to the softer sac below.
Snape nearly slid off the chair. "Harry," he murmured, his hand curling into the never-tidy hair, not surprised that despite appearances it was soft as silk, and smelled of things like childhood, of rooms not entered, of homes long forgotten. He brushed the hair from the intent face, and Harry smiled briefly around his mouthful, but did not stop that slow slide of his lips.
He could feel the pressure of Harry's tongue along the thick vein in his cock, tracing it like some meandering trail. Then he was licking along the underside, and Snape watched the play of Harry's face from this angle, the concentration. He was certain he'd never seen Harry concentrate so much in class. Then down again, sucking in his balls, releasing them with a warm exhalation.
Back up to the head, a glint of mischief in those green eyes, before swallowing him down, and squeezing just so, just like that, just..just..just… and he was coming, though he was sure he should have said something, given some warning, but it had come about so suddenly his mouth couldn't form the words.
Harry didn't seem to mind, drinking him down more greedily than he'd ever drunk his tea, holding him in the heated cavern of his mouth until the pulses ebbed. He could hear his own breath, ragged and nearly hoarse, as though he'd been shouting, and he had a sudden thought of being discovered and shot a glance at the door. It was locked. They never locked it, only it was locked now, and they were safe from discovery.
Slowly Harry lifted his mouth off the deflating cock, smile one part shy to one part smug. Then, immediately contrite. "I didn't mean for it to go this far," he said, eyes full of something that could, with a word from Snape, manifest as regret. "I'm--"
"Don't apologize!" he demanded hoarsely, as he ran a hand through his own hair where it had fallen into his eyes.
"I'm not sorry about what I did," Harry began, lifting his chin.
"What we did," Snape said.
"Only if it made you feel uncomfortable," he went on, belying the sentiment with a slow swipe of his tongue to clean up the slight leak from the tip. He shifted with the motion, then made a face, one Snape had no trouble recognizing.
"Are you--" he began, but he could see for himself, that Harry *was*. His jeans didn't hide much. "I should have thought," he tried next. "I'm sorry."
"My own predicament," Harry said, shifting less covertly now that the problem was out in the open. "It'll go away, one way or another." He was still on his knees, still between Snape's legs, leaning on one thigh now as though he couldn't bear to move away. Snape could see the abandoned computer screen, frozen with a graph he'd given Harry to work on.
"I--I don't think I can--" he began, feeling miserable all of a sudden. The joy of the orgasm now overlaid with the sense of obligation, an obligation he didn't know how to fill. "I'm not ready for that, not yet." How could he have allowed this to go so far when he knew he couldn't--
But Harry didn't look angry, looked almost shy again, though how that was possible among the ruin of Snape's spent sex was beyond belief. "Yet?" he said, blinking. "Oh god, Professor." He ran a hand along one of Snape's still clothed legs. "This can be whatever you want it to be. What..what we did, or more."
"I can't promise it will ever be more." He shook his head. "I don't recognize myself."
Harry rubbed his cheek along the black fabric of his trousers. "You don't have to justify this--not to me." It was absurd to feel caught up in this sort of languid sensuality, here in his utterly familiar office, with his utterly familiar Harry.
Only he had no knowledge of this Harry. He leaned back in his chair as though to distance himself from the creeping sense of sultriness. "If not to you, whom?" He shook his head as though he had a headache. "I can't justify it to myself." He lifted his pants over his recumbent sex before giving it the chance to become interested again. "And I can't justify playing with your…affections for a bit of a toss off."
With deft movements, Harry took over, waving Snape's own hand away and doing up the zip. He did not, however, give up his place between Snape's legs. "And if my affections are already engaged?"
"Then I'm being unfair to both of us," he said firmly.
Despite the words, Harry frowned. "Would it help if I told you, you aren't taking this as badly as I'd think a straight bloke would? Or that I don't mind risking my affections?"
Snape found himself smiling despite the absurdity of their situation. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a very attractive young man."
Harry was sitting back on his heels and looked up with a smile. "Thanks for noticing."
That earned him a sharp look. "I mean, you could have anyone you want. Male or female." He spared a thought for the members of Harry's study group, several of whom still looked at him in class like holiday pudding.
On the way to his feet, Harry stopped to shrug. "Maybe that's made me selective." Snape felt glad that Harry at least did not try to dismiss his own attractiveness.
"You can do better." There were plenty of homosexual young men on campus. He was about to point that out when Harry brushed a light kiss on his forehead.
"That doesn't sound like 'go away and leave me alone'."
Really, Harry was hopeless. Snape gave the appearance of giving the idea some thought. "Would it work?"
Straightening Harry stretched. His jumper rode up enough to see his white undershirt. "You could always sack me."
His brow shot up. "And lose the services of the best lab assistant I've ever had? You must be mad."
That intense gaze flickered over his mouth briefly, but wasn't followed by another of those extraordinary kisses. "And that sounds like 'yes sir, may I have some more'."
The idea that this was not a one-off startled him for an unguarded moment. "Enough of your cheek."
Harry retrieved the chair from where it had rolled to the front of the desk. The hands that had so recently been wrapped around his cock were now dancing over the keyboard. Snape felt a pulse go through his groin, as though he had not already come once this afternoon.
Oh, God.
This was going to be awkward. How could he have let-- Enough. It was what it was. Eyeing the young man's back over the now-tepid tea, he could not bring himself to regret what it was. Whatever it was.
They worked amiably enough through the afternoon, and sometimes Snape had to remind himself that something had shifted between them. It only showed in the warmth that lit Harry's eyes when he looked up, or the slight smirk when he offered to warm up the tea.
By the time Snape had to leave to teach his next class, things seemed almost as they had been. Until Harry asked, "Can I come round tonight?"
Snape had the oddest sensation that Harry was actually nervous about asking, though his expression was expectant, hopeful. Before he could reply, the young man went on. "I'll bring dinner?"
"All right," he found himself saying. For a moment he thought Harry was going to kiss him again. He could almost see the mental process involved in pulling back, not leaning up. And for just a moment, the same moment, as though their brains had somehow been switched, he wanted to feel those lips on his again, to convince himself that what Harry had done--what they had done together--had actually happened.
"I'll see you tonight, then," Harry said.
Snape already knew it would be awkward. Already knew he'd be fending off more of the young man's advances. He looked down and could not retract the invitation.
That evening he was restless, waiting for Harry, peering out the window. Something warm went through him when he saw Harry approaching from across the street. Then he saw the gray tabby sitting on the curb, tail wrapped around its paws, as if waiting for the boy. Snape smiled as Harry knelt to rub its head. Then it looked as though he were speaking a few words to the animal. Not that that was unusual in itself. Snape did it himself. Only it looked as though the cat were *listening*.
A trick of the light, he told himself, making a mental note to call the city utility about repairing that streetlamp. It had been out since start of term and needed fixing. Lack of light could play tricks on the eyes.
Finally Harry was striding up the path and Snape opened the door before he could knock, making no secret of being glad to see him. It looked like he'd brought the same hamper and with an ease Snape had never found with Evelyn, they got dinner sorted out. He'd brought a stew, wrapped up in a plastic bowl. Steamy rice with apples. Thick crusty bread that looked homemade. Strawberry tart for pudding. This hadn't come from the pub, but he had the feeling that if he asked he'd get put off again.
Harry Potter had his secrets. Snape wasn't sure which of them he wanted to know.
~~**~~
Snape set his sticky plate down on the coffee table. They'd eaten again on the couch, since Snape used the tiny dining table as a proving ground for certain experiments he didn't trust to the lab. Harry took a last forkful of the tart and set his own plate down.
"Thank you for dinner," he said, trying to ignore the coil of desire in his belly. Now that he knew of such things, he could read the answering desire in the other man's eyes. Yet, Harry had made no overt suggestion. No move to seduce him. He should be grateful, really.
"My pleasure," Harry replied, smiling slightly.
"You're going to make me ask, aren't you?" Snape said, as the air thickened suddenly between them. He heard the breath catch in Harry's throat.
"This has to be what you want," he said. There was a moment of no movement, as if they'd been frozen there, stupefied.
"Sit beside me," Snape said at last, and Harry wasted no time sliding over the single cushion that separated them.
"Is this better?" Harry asked in a low tone, as if not quite trusting his voice.
Snape considered. "Not quite," he said, leaning over, seeking Harry's mouth. The other man arched into the contact, as if denied for a long time. His mouth tasted of the strawberry tart and Snape groaned. He'd never even kissed Evelyn like this, despite his sense that he'd be welcomed. Kissing Harry was like a need, an intoxicant.
Arms slid around his neck as he pressed Harry back into the sofa back, fingers spearing into his hair, gripping his scalp.
Movement, hard and sweet, met his mouth, of tongues, of lips, as Harry's whole body strained like a racehorse being released from the gate. He hadn't touched the boy anywhere but his mouth, but he was suddenly achingly hard. A tentative hand, unsure of its welcome, sought the bulge between Harry's legs.
Harry broke away with a gasp, breathing hard. Snape nearly lifted his hand from the snug bulge but then Harry smiled, a little shyly, and covered the heavy hand with his own. Harry's other hand ran down the side of Snape's face as though familiarizing himself with its contours.
The touch led to another kiss, softer, exploring. Snape didn't move the hand covering Harry's fly, but the young man's hips began rocking into his fingers. The movement sent some sort of primal signal to his own cock, as though movement on one enticed the other. And as though aware of the shift in his trousers, Harry's hand smoothed over Snape's trousers, moving over the shape of him, not hesitant at all about touching another man's--
"Is this what you want?" Snape demanded, passion-roughened voice little more than a growl. "To drive me mad?" He kissed the side of Harry's jaw, aware that the young man must have shaved before coming over. "Take it out," he commanded softly.
The green eyes widened, hesitant in this, as though thinking to question. But the arm still around his neck, and the hand on his crotch slid to Harry's waistband and undid the top button, then slid down the zip.
Snape couldn't remember the last time he'd seen another cock besides his own, but he was fairly sure it hadn't been in this state of arousal. Harry was well built for a man of his height, and Snape wrapped his fingers around him. It was nothing like and everything like touching himself. Harry's own hands slid away.
It was easier if his brain was occupied, so he lowered his mouth for another kiss, stabbing in almost harshly. He swallowed one groan, then felt one of his own well up in his chest as though Harry's had planted the seed there. He was pushing the other man back into the sofa cushion, straining to get closer, welcomed by the small movements lovers know. The rock of the hips. The clench of fingers, pulling him closer. The restless dance of legs spreading, beckoning him within.
When he looked up, his thumb had swiped over the tip, catching the fluid as it leaked out, the way he did with himself. He disliked being messy. "You like that?" He was surprised how rough his voice sounded, unused to speaking while doing this to himself, much less another person.
"Yes," Harry said, though it was more like the hiss of a serpent.
Another pull at Harry's cock that prolonged the hiss. He decided he liked the way the boy hissed. "Why?" he asked, turning his head so he could see what his hand had got up to while his brain had been busy. "It isn't anything you couldn't do yourself."
Harry's head thudded against the back of the sofa, eyes opening slowly. The green of them nearly sparkled and Snape frowned. Green was the color of an efreet's eyes. Perhaps that explained why he was in his own living room with another man's cock in his fist.
"It's just--" he began. Another knock against the back of the sofa. Snape, though curious, had not stopped stroking. "Oh god," he murmured. His tongue came out to moisten his lips and Snape could not drag his eyes away. It occurred to him that he'd been granted entry inside that mouth, had been welcomed like a lover.
"You can lecture me later, Professor, on human sexuality, or whatever you like." Harry's smaller hand covered his own for two quick strokes. "Just don't stop--" His eyes widened and he came all over Snape's hand.
It was nothing like coming himself. None of the vague sense of unease, or shame. He watched it, unabashed, fascinated by the runnels on his hand. He pulled more slowly now, but did not take his hand away.
Harry was watching him, his head tilted onto the sofa back, eyes half-lidded. Sated. But not done. "Sorry," he said, but there was no real regret in his voice.
"Whatever for?" He wondered about the etiquette of these things, whether it would be polite to excuse himself to clean up his hand. He only ever did this to himself in the shower, and left no evidence.
"I didn't mean to," Harry said, wrapping his hand around Snape's, getting it squishy with the thick liquid. "I mean, I can usually last longer," he tried, becoming, quite suddenly, the anxious lab assistant who wanted to please him. "It's just been a while, you know?" He pulled both their hands to his mouth, lifting his head, and it wasn't until his tongue darted out that Snape realized what he was going to do.
When he was done, Harry reminded Snape nothing so much as the stray cat he let into his kitchen, when given a treat.
He didn't want to think about the 'a while' part. He didn't want to think about Harry with anyone else. He had a sudden swift vision of Harry--his Harry, his mind clarified--writhing beneath a man's heavier shape. His mouth forming a name, tiny syllables that were nearly hisses spilling out over his tongue. He shoved the image away.
"Come here, you," Harry said, unbending from his position, returning Snape's now clean hand to its owner, his own hand reaching for Snape's trousers. He was almost surprised to remember that he was hard, had become aroused by making another man come. Harry slid off the couch, into the space on the floor between Snape's knees. He was unzipped and pulled free before his brain could quite process the information.
It was Harry, not himself, who groaned at the first wrap of lips around his cock. Harry whose tongue was doing things he'd never imagined possible. Harry whose fingers, coming up short against the unforgiving fabric of his clothes, snuck under his balls, pushing them against his body, one finger dragging behind into the space between, sending jolts of pleasure through him.
Snape had never felt *this* in the shower. He slid one hand into Harry's hair, as if to smooth it. He brushed the fringe away from the boy's glasses, and saw that Harry's eyes were closed, though he opened them at the touch. Smiled around Snape's cock. But didn't stop sucking him, didn't stop working that incredible magic with his mouth.
Magic. It *was* magic that had made him succumb to this. It had to be. Harry seemed to know when he was going to come before he did, leaning in more intently, his strokes gaining speed, his mouth moving, sucking, twisting, pulling until it was all Snape could do to hold onto his sanity, much less the young man stealing it away.
Harry took his time, didn't release him right away, held onto the fading erection like a hungry man, fingers gentling him, while Snape tried to catch his breath. Then he looked up, and Snape could swear he'd been about to smile when his eyes widened, apparently at the sight of Snape himself, as though seeing him for the first time. Then the smile slid onto his face, and the moment was gone.
Using one thigh to brace himself on, Harry stood, his own penis not nearly as limp as when he'd gone down. He hadn't tucked Snape back in either, instead sliding onto the couch by straddling him, careful of their cocks, but heedless of his weight pushing Snape back into the couch.
His mouth lowered, then pulled away, the question in his eyes. "Okay?" Snape nodded, still quite as far beyond speech as he was rational thought, uncertain of why he was being asked permission until the flavor of Harry's mouth hit his tongue. He tasted himself, groaned, and clutched his fingers into Harry's shirt, pulling him closer. Smoky and sharp, flowing between them, with the warm seduction of Harry's kiss.
"Not unpleasant," was the verdict, when he could speak and he saw Harry's eyes warm appreciatively.
"The kiss or the blow job?" Harry's arms slid onto either side of his face, draping over his shoulder.
Snape didn't reply, instead traced a finger across Harry's damp bottom lip. "This is mad," he said, eyes focused on his finger, rather than what his words would have on Harry's expression.
"I know."
The air in his lungs leaked out at last, as though this were his first breath. "I try to tell myself to stop, to not want this." He heard the doubt in his own voice but couldn't retract it now. "To not want you." He'd never felt this way toward another person, much less another of his own gender. "Am I mad?"
Harry kissed the tip of his finger and smiled. "Maybe you're just coming to your senses," he said, pulling the tip of the finger into his mouth, tongue moistening it before releasing it again.
He shook his head. "I've never wanted…anyone like this." He frowned. "Is it just because you want me?" To his amazement, he felt the seep of arousal in his just-emptied balls, felt them check in with his cock, and got approval for what he was thinking. He *was* mad.
"I do want you," Harry said, his breath coming out in a soft gust. Their faces were very close. "That must be pretty clear." He was moving slightly, rocking his hips.
Snape was surprised to find an answering response in himself. His fingers crept onto Harry's thighs, covered in his jeans. He could feel the play of muscle beneath them, and let himself move with the sweet rhythm Harry was building between them. Then up, over the slight bare patch to cup the taut arse.
Hands moved over him, unbuttoning his shirt, sliding over his chest, lifting his undershirt. Shrugging out of his own shirt made Harry look wild, wanton. Severus could not believe this wanton creature wanted him.
There was no rush, no fumbling. Just a slow building passion, friction, and heat between them. When Harry leaned down for a kiss, it felt like Snape had been waiting for him to do just that, and he let himself respond with answering hunger. They were belly to belly, gliding over one another, though admittedly Harry was doing most of the moving.
He heard that delicious moan from Harry's throat, swallowed it and chased after more, his tongue sliding across Harry's, as his fingers clenched into his waist, pulling him closer. Harry was rocking them, using his hands now that Snape was bracing him, wrapping his hand around both cocks, rubbing them together. Stroking, sliding, rocking.
Harry's fingers touched him as if he knew exactly what he liked. The muscles moving beneath his splayed fingers moved with the perfect rhythm of need. He sucked harder at the mouth moving against his, as though to impart some signal, but Harry knew, Harry knew, for his fingers sped up. Snape's head dropped back, mouth still open. Harry's head dropped to his shoulder, the thick hair damp with sweat as he strained, guided them both toward their release.
"Severus, Sev-oh, Severus," Harry said, sounding mindless, and Snape wondered that he of all men could make this lovely young creature so needy with desire. He slid one arm from the boy's arse and covered Harry's moving one. Heat pooled between them, hot and sticky, as Snape pulsed out his less lush offering. Still Harry's hand moved, capturing the sticky stuff and spreading it along their shafts, coating them both.
Breathing hard, Harry collapsed against Snape's chest. Unsure, Snape let his hand rest on Harry's back, then as the breathing slowed, and leveled out, realized he was stroking him, soothing motions across his back. Then Harry lifted himself, but not far, not leaving his seat. Though Snape was certain it couldn't be comfortable, legs splayed like that, jeans bunched around his crotch.
There was something about Harry's smile that made Snape think no harm had ever befallen this young man. It spoke of ease and idleness and hazy summer days. Only of course he wasn't that sort of young man. Snape frowned in confusion.
"That was surprisingly intimate," he said, to cover the odd thoughts he was having. Of Harry, orphaned, being raised by those relations who'd made him glad to board. Of being 'different'. The smile broadened though and Snape went on. "I thought this..sort of sex was all 'me first, then you'."
"It can be, I suppose," Harry said, voice strengthening. His smile was quite languid now, and pleased. "That's true of straight sex too, isn't it?"
He seemed disinclined to leave his perch. "I suppose," Snape answered.
Harry took a deep breath. "It all depends," he said, wiping the messy hand on his jeans leg. "On, I don't know, an emotional component. How you feel about the other person, regardless of gender."
The motion made the scent of sex heavier in the air, as though he'd uncorked a vial of fragrance. "So it's best if you're in love or something?" he asked.
Harry was looking at him, eyes half-lidded and sleepy. He waited for the reply, though his stomach clenched at Harry's simple, "I think so, yeah."
He felt his coarse brow pulling together. Young men fell in love so readily. "But you *have* been in love?" He needed to fit the pieces of this young man together. Strange how many bits did not fit.
"Yeah," came the soft reply, only Harry kissed along his jaw, sucking just below his ear.
"I shouldn't pry," he said, as primly as he could with a half-naked man sprawled across his lap.
A finger traced his lower lip until Snape looked at him. "No, it's all right. I think he loved me too, in his way." He smiled again, and Snape's brow cleared. "How about you? Ever been in love?"
The silence went on too long. Harry frowned, obviously aware that he'd said something amiss.
Snape found his carefully neutral expression. "I don't know. I can't remember."
Harry shifted, and Snape let himself look at his face. At least there was no pity there. He went on. "These headaches I get." Harry nodded. "I took a fall a few years ago and I don't remember much before that."
Harry stiffened. "A fall?" And then he did a very strange thing. He leaned his head on Snape's shoulder again. "Oh, Severus, my--" When he looked up, his face was very determined and Snape prepared himself to turn down another suggestion for 'alternative methods' of curing him. He'd had enough of hospitals to last a lifetime.
Only Harry nodded, and began sliding off his lap. "I've got to go," he said, and suddenly Snape felt very ridiculous, with his cock hanging out and another man's-- He should have known though, should have trusted Harry. Dropping to his knees, he carefully tucked Snape back in, not without a playful kiss to the head. He ran his hands along Snape's legs. "I'll see you in class tomorrow?"
Snape nodded, and Harry was gone, flinging one of those heartening smiles back as he shut the door.
This was mad. *He* was mad. There was no other explanation for it. He thought he might dream of moving bodies, and a shape under his hand that was not familiar, but he woke with the unsettling feeling that he'd dreamed of an old man. Of kind eyes searching for…something.
~~**~~
The next morning in class Snape looked up to where Harry usually sat and felt a stab of disappointment not to see him. Had the information about his past, or lack thereof, changed something about how--
But then the doors at the back opened, and Harry sidled in, keeping his head low until he'd found his seat. Before Snape could start his lecture, something else came through the door. A bird. Snape's mouth opened in astonishment. An owl. It circled the amphitheater in an elegant swoop before it skidded to a stop.
Right in front of Harry. Snape caught his eye, and Harry nodded, extending his arm. "I'll take care of it, sir," he said, and owl in tow, he went back outside the double doors. When he came back he sat down as though nothing had happened. Snape saw Jayne lean over and say something to him. Harry smiled and put his attention forward to the lecture. Which Snape gave with half a mind to. He could not decide which was the more extraordinary, the appearance of an owl inside his classroom, or the appearance of one Harry Potter in his life.
Both tended to be disruptive to his thought processes. He waited for the young man after class for their walk.
"There was an owl," he said. "In my classroom," he added, as if that somehow had escaped Harry's notice.
Harry grinned. "Lovely one too, did you see?" He smiled and Snape felt his groin tighten. Damn. There was more to him than physical attraction, more to their relationship than this sudden lust that had sprung up between them.
They exited the teaching hall, and crossed the street to the small park.
"An owl," he said again, "and you took it outside as though - " He stopped, and he felt the low throb of a headache, but he ignored the slight pain. "Only, when I got home - " He looked intently at Harry who'd kept walking a pace, then turned around when he realized Snape had stopped.
"When I got home from hospital, there were owls at my house, at all hours of the day and night." He'd thought at first he lived in a bird sanctuary. Then as the months went by and he'd settled back into this life he couldn't remember, they'd stopped coming.
"A snowy white one?" Harry said softly.
"How did you *know*?" Snape demanded. They were alone along this path, the cold sending everyone scurrying along shorter routes.
"They're very common," Harry said, his smile still a little sad.
"I've never seen one before, or since," Snape said, pulling up his collar. It had been a lovely creature, and he'd spotted it long after the others stopped appearing on power lines and on his garden fence, and once even on his porch railing. He'd never had one inside his classroom, though.
Harry stepped very close. "I grew up around them," he said. "At my school, they had an owlery. Sometimes--" He stopped, looking down the path. A man was coming toward them, and Harry's expression changed to one of surprised welcome.
"Ron?" Harry shot a glance at Snape that he could not interpret.
"Harry!" the new arrival said, breath blowing against the cold. The ginger-haired man nodded solemnly to him. "Professor Snape, sir."
Snape studied the man. He appeared to be about the same age as Harry and suddenly Snape himself felt unaccountably old.
Ron nodded to Harry. "Just a word." Harry stepped aside and Snape felt something alien and unfamiliar watching. They way they stood together, close, confidential, during the brief conversation. Ron did most of the talking, with Harry nodding, then a clap on the shoulder and Ron was striding away with another of those polite nods.
"Sorry, sir," Harry said, with that smile again. Only this time Snape did not feel desire. He wasn't sure what he felt, but it wasn't lust.
They walked up to the office, unspoken thoughts heavy between them. Instead of going at once to get tea, Harry rolled up the squeaky chair beside his desk and sat down. "May I ask you something?"
"You may ask," he replied, feeling tense, and his headache pulled at the back of his skull.
"When you fell, where were you?" Harry asked, and it was not the sort of question he'd expected.
"I don't remember," he said, "I woke up in hospital." He still remembered the heaviness in his head, as memories everyone assured him he had, had not come into focus. "You're a teacher," the doctors had said. "Here's where you live. These are your friends. Doesn't anyone look familiar?"
Yet no one had. Until-- He thought about that brief feeling that Harry had looked like someone he knew, that first day when he'd come in for an interview.
"Do you know if you were out of doors, or inside?" Harry went on.
"Inside I suppose. I was wearing some old teaching robes. I still have them if you'd like to examine them for evidence of foul play." He expected a smile, but got instead a nod, as though Harry were going to take him up on his offer.
"I really don't remember," Snape said, when Harry looked like he were debating how to ask. "Only from the first time I opened my eyes in hospital. Dreams sometimes, but I don't know if those are real." Like the one of the old man last night.
Harry slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. "I'll get tea then, shall I?"
When he came back with the tray, his face was less clouded and they set easily to work until the smell of fresh fruit tarts drove Snape to sample one. Harry looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes.
"Here," he said, and stood up and leaned down, brushing a bit of the flaky crust off Snape's upper lip. Their gazes held and then it was just so easy to move into a kiss, full of sweetness and the slow sort of languor he didn't expect. Nothing he expected seemed to be true of Harry.
When Harry pulled back he said, "You should get to your next class. I'll finish up here."
Snape smiled, all traces of the impending headache vanished. "Yes, mother."
"Finish your tart," he said, breaking off a piece of it, and handing the rest back to Snape. Who dutifully ate it. The strawberries were fresh. "Can I come round tonight?" Harry asked, as though voicing the one thought lying dormant between them.
"Yes."
Harry smiled, in that half happy, half shy way that made Snape forget he was a man; he was just Harry, his--
"Yes," he said again, as Harry handed him his notes for the next lecture.
"I'll bring dinner," Harry began but Snape cut him off.
"No, I'll do it. I can pick up something, or cook--" He frowned.
Harry laughed. "*Can* you cook?" Before he could answer, Harry kissed him again. "Pick up something. You know what I like."
He stopped by the pub on his way home, though he got a decidedly cool reception from Aurelia when he ordered take away for two. Perhaps there was something in what Harry had said, that she'd fancied him. He tried to imagine chatting her up, taking her home. Nice figure, pretty face. Not what he wanted, now that he'd run his hand down Harry's smooth chest, felt the thrill of a bulge between another man's legs. Perhaps it had never been what he wanted.
Harry arrived with another kiss and a cheerful report on what he'd got accomplished that afternoon. "What's for pudding?" he asked after they'd eaten, sidling over on the couch and answering his own question. Snape didn't even pretend he didn't want what Harry was offering. They ended up nearly horizontal on the narrow sofa in a sprawl of open trousers and unbuttoned shirts.
Snape, on top and happily spent, was disinclined to move, or at least to move more than his mouth over the oddly erotic surface of Harry's nipple. He was quite certain his own nipple was not nearly this exciting, though earlier Harry had explored it eagerly.
"Can I ask you something?" Harry said, stroking his fingers through Snape's hair. Snape looked up from his self-appointed task and nodded. "If you don't remember anything from before you took your fall, how do you know you *aren't* gay?"
Snape felt himself coloring, and oddly embarrassed considering his own cock was resting between Harry's legs. "The doctor in the hospital where I recovered was a woman. After I was discharged, we--"
Harry separated out a strand of the jet black hair, sliding it between his fingers before letting it fall back. "Do you mind if I ask if you and Professor Henry - "
Snape looked up. "She's been a good friend."
The same strand of hair passed through the agile fingers. "But she'd like to be more?"
"Yes," he said, and Harry's eyes glittered strangely, as though he were jealous of the admission. It was an extraordinary thought, that anyone could be possessive of him.
The fingers slid across his neck. The other hand lay across his back, beneath his untucked shirt. Harry's expression was edging toward interested. He shifted his legs, bringing them into more contact.
"She's been a good friend to me," Snape said, "but--" There was no way to explain. It didn't make him gay that he hadn't wanted Evelyn. Lying here with Harry's cock stroking softly across his belly, *that* probably made him gay.
Harry lifted one leg, rubbing it across Snape's backside. "It's all right," he said softly, fingers spearing into his hair. He brought Snape's head down for a kiss, more enticing because his hips were moving slightly beneath Snape's, tempting with gentle motion, sweet motion, blessed friction.
Not that Snape needed much tempting these days. He'd already had more sex in these last few days than in the last few years. That it was with a man seemed less important than that it was with Harry.
"Does this still feel weird?" Harry asked, his mouth very close still, moving along Snape's jaw.
"Not as weird as I imagine it ought," he said, moving his arms over Harry's head, forearms down on the sturdy sofa cushion, giving himself more leverage.
Harry laughed softly, moving his kisses along the underside of Snape's neck. With Harry's leg on his back, and Harry's mouth trailing kisses along every spot it could reach, Snape felt his cock tightening with arousal.
"Mmm," Harry said, his voice thickening as he draped his head back on the pillow. "Feels good." His hips began moving with Snape's, very slowly at first. "Oh yes, just like that." Hardness pressed into him, Harry, just as aroused as he was. "Harder, yes," he went on, "like you're fucking me."
The idea was so extraordinary, in a short but intense series of extraordinary events, Snape stopped dead. Harry opened his eyes in surprise, studying his face. "Would you like that?" he asked, ignoring Snape's stillness, moving against him anyway. "I would," he went on. "I'd like you to."
The idea was as seductive as Harry himself. When he moved again he was grinding himself against the other man. Their cocks brushed, both damp, both seeking. Harry's eyes widened in delight.
"You like that idea," he said, his fingers clenching against the back of Snape's neck, urging him on with every movement. Tightening his legs, drawing Snape closer, though there was no space between them now. "Yes, fuck me, Severus," Harry said, weaving that brand of magic he seemed to be the master of. "It's been so long. Want you inside me, want you to fuck me."
Snape groaned, quite unable to stop now. He wasn't sure if it was the idea, or Harry's obvious enjoyment of the idea. "God, yes," he said, cock sliding through the valley of Harry's hips, against his cock, seeking, believing, nearly there.
"I want you inside me, want you to fuck me," Harry said, lost in the fantasy he was creating. "There's been no one else since--" His eyes flew open. "No one in a long time."
A surge of jealousy slithered into his brain and there was no rational part to disprove it. They were moving together, humping against each other frantically, bodies dampening with sweat, sliding as though he were indeed inside Harry. The idea was so tantalizing he groaned aloud, swaying as Harry bucked frantically into him, shuddering through his pleasure. Snape held him tight, but did not stop. Harry had a young man's libido. Snape needed more.
"Yes, more," Harry moaned, and for an odd moment, Snape thought he'd read his mind, then he realized he must have spoken aloud. "Take," Harry said, voice rough with lust, and breathy satisfaction. "Yes--"
"Yes," Snape echoed and suddenly he was *there*, spilling himself along Harry's belly, their cocks still sliding together, through the heavy strands of come. He felt something like a sob of intense relief well up inside his chest, and dropped his head onto Harry's shoulder, panting with effort, trying to catch his breath, or his sanity, whichever could be beckoned closer first.
"We can, you know," Harry said, tracing patterns along his skull, heedless of his damp hair. "Just because we're men--"
"I know the mechanics," Snape rasped. "I just never thought to apply them to myself."
The smile on Harry's face was sated and soft and Snape wanted to run his finger along it. He settled for a kiss. The slight rasp of Harry's beard no longer seemed odd. He was not sure kissing from now on would feel normal without it. The kiss, too, was sated and soft. The kind one takes before drifting off to sleep. He thought about the idea of having Harry waiting for him when he woke up in the morning, of seeing that sleepy smile from the other side of the pillow.
The thought was so startling he blinked in surprise. He wasn't even considering it, was he? He thought of taking off his clothes, of having Harry see him unshaven, his own stubbly beard shot through with gray.
Then as though he could read his mind, Harry said, "I should get going." Wordlessly Snape nodded and they got themselves sorted out, assorted organs tucked back into respective trousers with remarkably little fuss. It should have been awkward but somehow it wasn't. He began to wonder again if he should ask him to stay over.
He didn't bother to button up his shirt, or to put on shoes as he walked Harry to the door. A quick kiss that didn't feel quite like goodbye before he opened the door on the chilly night air.
"Professor," Harry said, and Snape opened his eyes. Harry had begun calling him Severus in private, as was clearly appropriate. He was about to ask what was going on when he saw the cat, the gray tabby, on the front steps.
Snape smiled fondly. "It's all right; she comes in for a bit of a treat now and then." As if the cat understood, it ran between Harry's legs and into Snape's front room.
"Clearly a very naughty cat," Harry said, hiding a smile that Snape would rather have seen let out. "Night."
He watched Harry walk down the front path, then closed the door with a shiver. The cat sat in the middle of his throw rug, calmly observing him.
"You are naughty to come in uninvited, but I suppose it's cold outside so you may be forgiven." The unrepentant feline followed him into the kitchen, leaping first to stool then to counter in expectation. He rummaged through the refrigerator and pulled out a bit of fish. He set it down on the counter but the cat merely stared at him. "I'm not warming it up for you. If you're too spoiled to eat leftovers, you may leave."
The cat sniffed the fish, butted its head against Severus' arm, then rubbed against his bare chest. He stroked the top of its head absently. "What do you think? Should I have asked him to stay?"
The cat merely blinked and came round for another pass. "He'd be here in the *morning*, all bright eyes and that smile that makes me just not care that he's upsetting what I thought I knew."
Slipping its head under his fingers, the cat arched its neck for a thorough scratching. "I *did* know it, didn't I?" he said at last. The cat meowed back at him before it attacked the bit of whitefish. "I knew you were going to say that."
He stopped by the pub the next day to pick up something for lunch, since he was out of fish now thanks to one greedy cat, and Harry didn't come in until tea time. Only Harry was already in the pub. With the red-haired young man from the park. Snape's heart clenched.
He wanted to turn around and walk out before they spotted him but the other young man--Snape struggled to recall the name--Ron's eyes widened, clearly directed at him. Harry, seated opposite, turned around. Snape nodded but continued toward the counter.
The waitress, Aurelia, came over with a brown sack. "I've put it all on your bill, Professor, though I told you I don't mind bringing it over myself if you like." She was smiling but Snape could not help feeling it was a pale thing compared to the ones he'd got used to.
"That's very kind," he began, but she leaned over the counter, her low cut blouse gaping.
"I don't mind at all, sir. Part of the service."
"Not necessary, but thank you." He turned and nodded dismissively. He started to walk past their table without speaking but found his steps slowing.
"Professor," the red-haired man said, nodding.
"This is my friend, Ron Weasley. You met briefly yesterday," Harry said, looking uncertainly at Snape.
"Mr. Weasley," Snape said politely.
"Good to see--meet you, sir," he said, his fingers around his glass.
"Ron's a friend from school," Harry said, his uncertainty mounting as he looked from Ron to Snape.
Snape could not forget the way Harry had been in a hurry to leave last night. He'd been a fool to think of asking the fickle young man to stay. He'd obviously had other plans. He felt his expression grow frosty. "Of course." He turned away, toward the door.
"Professor!"
He heard Harry's voice behind him and he paused, his hand on the handle of the door. He waited until Harry had caught up with him, shifting the brown sack in his other arm.
"Is it all right if I stop by tonight?"
Snape looked over to the table where Mr. Weasley was taking an interest in the proceedings. "I don't think so, no."
Harry ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign he was agitated. "Ron is my friend. He and his wife are my best friends. We were all at school together."
He wished suddenly that they were alone. "I've no right to--" he began.
"You have every right," Harry said softly. He stepped closer, as if he too was trying to create that sense of intimacy they only had when they were alone. "Would it be okay--" he tried again but Snape cut him off.
"Yes."
Harry leaned in closer, dropping his voice. "God, I want you to fuck me."
Snape inhaled sharply, astonished by the hunger he saw in Harry's eyes, and the answering spike of arousal in his own blood. "Until tonight, then," he said, his hand moving again toward the door. Harry reached up then and brushed a quick kiss across Snape's slightly parted lips. Startled, he didn't react, then caught sight of Ron Weasley at the table. The other man had a slightly embarrassed smile on his face. Then he saw Aurelia, at the bar. He doubted Harry and his friend would get good service in the establishment any more.
Snape went home earlier than he usually did, having no wish to linger in the lab tonight. He tried not to think of Harry and the red-haired boy, tried not to think where his pride had gone that his good intentions could be so easily undone by Harry's smile.
When the knock sounded though, he had to force himself not to fling the door open. Snape yanked Harry inside and all but slammed him against the wall so hard he heard the back of his head make contact with the wall. He started to apologize then found his mouth unable to move. Harry was pulling him down, capturing his mouth, making those noises Snape suddenly realized he'd been missing.
"I've been half mad for you all day," Snape said, not lifting his mouth far above Harry's lips.
"Only half?" Harry said, freeing his arms, and sliding them around Snape's neck.
"I shouldn't have made a scene," he said, feeling contrite, but unable to stop the clench of raw desire.
Harry laughed softly. "You call *that* a scene?"
Snape worried his bottom lip. "I wanted to push your friend away, to throw you over the table--"
Lips pressed into his neck, his jaw. He had Harry pinned firmly to the wall, could feel his hardness pressing into his own. "Keep talking," he said, "I may come right here."
"Not here," Snape said, a little frightened of how much he wanted this. "I want to be inside you."
It felt like Harry's knees had gone weak, but since his body was covering his, holding him to the wall, they remained upright. "I think I went mad when I saw you in the pub," Snape said, "I've no right to think the things I've been thinking all afternoon." He leaned down for another kiss, needing to connect them again. "All I could think of was not wanting you to show up here, smelling of sex, doing the things we've done. Doing more than I--"
"Make me yours, then," Harry said gently.
"I don't know h - " he began but Harry put one finger across his lips.
"I'll show you." Their voices were very soft. "It isn't that much different, really," he said, then laughed and said, "as I understand it, anyway."
Hands slid down his body, cupping his arse, pulling their hips together, showing him that Harry was as aroused as he was. "Show me, then."
They covered the scant distance to the bedroom. As soon as they got into the room Harry lifted his shirt over his head. Snape had never seen him completely bare-chested. It brought an odd sense of intimacy.
Before he could respond, Harry took something out of his pocket and tossed it on the bed. A fat white tube of lubricant. Harry's gaze followed his own. "Only if you want what I want," Harry said, voice husky.
He could not answer with words, and contented himself with pulling Harry close, holding them beside the bed. His bare back felt good under his hands, and incited low licks of lust. Then Harry was undressing him, appreciating each step with licks and kisses until the madness of need this afternoon seemed a mere passing fancy to the want he felt now.
Then they were chest to chest, and Snape had never felt anything quite like this, hardness against hardness. He reached for Harry's trousers at the same time Harry reached for his. Harry scooted back onto the bed, pulling Snape on top of him. He was kissing Harry, moving against him, their cocks heating each other, moving like their bodies.
"Slow down, love," Harry said, cupping Snape's face with his hands.
"You just - this feels - "
"I know," Harry said, his voice pitched very low. "Much as I'd love for you to plunge into me, I'm going to need you to go slow." He moved his hand over Snape's cock, as though to punctuate this idea. "It's been a while for me."
Snape didn't want to think about that. Didn't want to think of anyone else with this lithe young boy. For some reason he felt unexpectedly protective, as though to protect Harry from even himself, but to judge from the eager expression, Harry didn't want a guardian. He wanted whatever he'd seen in Snape, though Snape himself could not imagine what that was.
"Use your hands first," Harry said, between kisses, that had been moving lower. Snape had yet to use his mouth on Harry, but right now, with the prospect of what he was contemplating, it seemed just another step on the journey he was bound to take. Snape shot a glance at the tube. It seemed too common for what they were about to do, as though there should be a vial of holy oil, or something blessed by a rector.
"I hope that's a good sort of smile," Harry said, when Snape had moved no further than his own brain.
"It is," Snape said, uncapping the new tube. He lingered long enough for one more kiss before settling himself between Harry's legs. Harry guided him, seemed almost eager for what they were building up to.
"Are you sure it doesn't--"
"It doesn't," Harry said with such sensual languor, Snape wondered if he should try this thing himself. "Okay, maybe a bit," he went on; as Snape made to call his fingers back, Harry stopped him with one hand. "It won't for long." Harry's hand guided him until he was moving inside again, uncertain how this could possibly feel good to anyone when Harry said, "And not at all if you keep doing that." There was that note in it, full of pleasure already, though all Snape could feel was a thick bump inside this tight place. Prostate, he imagined, though he'd never thought of it as a source of pleasure, just a thing to have checked by the uni doctor for men 'of a certain age'.
"More," Harry panted and Snape stared blankly until Harry held up two of his own fingers, and mimed what he wanted.
There was sweat on his face, and his hair was sticking to his forehead. Using one hand to brace on Harry's upraised knee, Snape complied with Harry's plea, hearing the start of low hissing, so concentrated on it that it sounded like speech.
How would he know when, how would he set about letting Harry know what he wanted? He was already so hard, having lost nothing in the giving of pleasure, as he'd expected. But as in all things, Harry set the pace.
"Let me do you."
Snape's eyes widened, misinterpreting. But the idea was not nearly so abhorrent now as logically it ought to be, and he was surprised to find himself almost vaguely disappointed when Harry slicked the warm stuff on Snape's cock without going lower. Then Harry was pulling him down, pulling them back together, wrapping his legs around Snape's waist, urging them together.
"You can probably figure this part out," Harry said, with a soft grin.
He had to use his hands to get himself positioned correctly, and he had to pause, as though in benediction, at the extraordinary altar he'd been given. Then Harry was urging him on, the teacher now, handling his student with praise before words became too much effort, and movement was the language they both understood.
He could never imagined anything like this. "I don't know if I can--" he said, needing to move, needing whatever it was that Harry's body was offering.
Hands stroked over his face. "Fast and hard is fine," Harry assured him. "I won't break," he added when Snape gave in and lowered himself onto Harry's chest, using his elbows to brace himself, needing the slick plane of Harry's chest beneath him.
"Angle up a bit, love," Harry said, and Snape shifted immediately until Harry made the most incredible noise, those extraordinary eyes rolled back in their sockets as though Harry had passed out. But they were still moving together, as though they'd always done this, as though they'd practiced somehow, in all the weeks they'd known each other, dancing around this desire, transmuting into the liquid, silver heat.
Snape's own body seemed to know what to do. Harry had been right, and it was not that much different. As he moved through that extraordinary heat, feeling Harry around him, he knew it was quite unlike anything else, anything else he'd ever done, though it seemed nearly achingly familiar. He wanted to come, needed to come inside Harry, but he had no idea how to pleasure Harry.
"Let me--" he tried, amazed at how short his breath was, then concentrated on the basic power of speech he knew he possessed. "Can I--"
Harry looked up. Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his glasses, and Snape nearly fell into the swimming green of them. "Yes, Severus," he said, whispered like a prayer to whichever god watched over them, "Yes, oh yes, please--" as Harry's hand slid between them, moving exactly as Snape did until Harry's face showed the unmistakable rictus of orgasm and Snape held on for a few more strokes, sliding now over the slickness between them, before convulsing inside the living body of another man.
He'd kept his eyes open as much as he could; it looked like Harry was going to say something, but he only smiled, and flicked one side of Snape's hair off his face where it had stuck in the damp sweat.
"Are you all right?" Snape asked, though he was fairly certain that was not proper etiquette no matter which sex one has bedded. Harry's smile widened. "I didn't mean to be so--" he tried.
"Enthusiastic?"
He had been that. They were still locked together, though he could feel the inevitable need to slip out before he fell out, yet delaying it for the sheer pleasure of being connected in a way he suspected he'd get used to rather quickly.
"Rough," he corrected, his voice more a growl than he'd intended.
"I'm fine," Harry assured him, wriggling a bit, enough to send a fresh shiver through them both. "Fast and hard is good sometimes." His finger, still on the side of Snape's face, traced a line only he could see. "Though slow is nice too. Sometimes."
As though there would be more, as though he wanted--wanted Snape--
"How about you?" Harry asked, when Snape seemed still unable to speak. "Are you all right with, with--" He wiggled again, to indicate what he meant.
Slowly Snape pulled himself free, angling himself up so he could watch. Then he looked up, feeling almost shy, despite what they'd just done. "I don't think I've ever been as all right as this." They were both sticky, sweaty. "I'll get a flannel," he said. When he came out of the bathroom he saw that Harry had taken the opportunity to get under the covers properly, turning down the other side invitingly.
He should have felt self-conscious, standing there naked, but it didn't seem odd somehow. He eased into the bed and cleaned Harry off, trying not to color as his hand dipped into Harry's cleft. When he was done he turned and put the flannel on the nightstand and leaned back on the headboard, sliding his legs under the chenille duvet. Wordlessly Harry clambered over one leg, leaning his back into Snape's chest, one leg over Snape's.
After a moment's hesitation, Snape wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, hands resting on his thighs. Harry nuzzled him against his jaw. "Sure you're all right with this?" Harry asked again.
"You must think I'm an idiot," Snape said with a sigh. Harry's hair smelled good, the scent calling up some memory he couldn't quite reach, like something he'd smelled as a child and remembered with fondness.
Harry angled his head up and Snape's nose slid out of his hair. "Hmmm, sexy, hot, a little dominant." He pretended to think it over. "Nope, idiot isn't on the list."
"I've been acting like a maiden trying to protect her virtue, then nearly attacking you as soon as you walk in the door."
"Like I said, a little dominant--"
"A little gay you mean," Snape clarified ruefully, head hitting softly against the headboard.
"Does this really bother you?" Harry asked carefully. He was tracing idle patterns on Snape's thigh, going against the woof of his hair.
He tightened his arms around Harry's waist. "Not as much as I'd have thought a few weeks ago." Harry had relaxed back into his chest and he nuzzled the thick hair again. "I just don't recognize myself," he said softly.
He felt Harry go stiff and he looked down. "Did you ever think," the young man said, as if choosing his words very carefully, "that you may not recognize yourself because you were someone else before your fall?"
Snape felt himself go still. He took in a deep lungful of the scent of Harry's hair. "When I woke up in hospital, everyone was so kind. When they realized I couldn't remember anything, the doctors showed me all of my papers. Then someone from the school showed my this house, my things."
It had been Evelyn Henry, whose face had sought his, looking for any sign of recognition. There had been none. "The psychologist said many head trauma victims with memory loss feel they are intruders in their own lives, that they feel they are living someone else's life." He shook his head again. "Nothing ever looked familiar until you walked in the door."
He felt Harry start in surprise. "I'm familiar to you?"
Snape shook his head again. "Not exactly. Something about you seemed so, but I thought--" He pursed his lips, taking in a small piece of Harry's hair. He lifted his head to pull it free. "Should you be familiar?"
In his arms, Harry had gone very still. Then, "Yes."
Snape threaded his fingers together around Harry's waist, as though securing himself from whatever lay ahead. "I have dreams sometimes," he admitted. "Cold stone walls." He thought for a moment. "An enormous room. A man, an old man." He let his voice trail off. "How did I get here, then, if--"
Warm hands slid over his. "We don't know." He let that hang for a moment. "We've been looking for you for a long time."
Snape frowned. He could feel gray pain building up in the back of his head. "You came here, deliberately," he said, "Seduced me." He felt like covering himself, but Harry still lay against him like a blanket.
Then Harry had turned sideways, never breaking contact. "I came to find you, yes. But just to know you're all right." Snape nodded once, not certain yet whether he believed the young man. Harry settled back against his chest.
"There was a man I was in love with--I told you that," Harry began, and Snape nodded into his shoulder. "He was my teacher for seven years, and saw me from boy to man. We loathed each other for a long time."
Snape frowned. This was not the sort of scenario he'd imagined for Harry's first love. Then Harry was talking again. "Or we said we did. But there was always something between us." He laughed slightly, a very pleasant sound under the circumstances. "He tried to push me away, telling me he was too old for me, not, er, conventionally attractive." Harry's voice trailed off, as if lost in a memory. "Then he disappeared," he said at last.
"Maybe--" Snape began, then cleared his throat. "Maybe he didn't want to be found."
Harry looked round, his green eyes gone very soft. He stroked a hand over Snape's cheek, as though he'd started the caress long ago and was only now able to finish it. "Maybe he didn't know he was lost."
Snape studied the young man's face. "This life is familiar now," he said. He didn't want to go through the first few months out of hospital again, when nothing had looked right. Everything had been too small somehow, the school, his house, his clothes. Everything fit now. Everything except Harry.
Then Harry's rough fingers stroked over his face. "I'm not asking you to leave it," he said. "I just…needed to know you were okay." He seemed on the cusp of revealing something else, but all he said was, "There are people who just wanted to know the same thing."
Snape's arm was tight across Harry's chest. "This is a lot to think about." He felt Harry tense beneath him. "Can I let you know in the morning?"
He felt the shifting, movement against his arm, as if Harry were trying to get out from beneath his arm. Puzzled, he lifted it so Harry could turn around. "Of course," Harry said, nodding but looking miserable. It wasn't until Harry slid his legs over the edge of the bed, that Snape figured out his mistake.
"I mean," he said, hooking his arm back around Harry's waist, "can I let you know," he went on, pulling him close, hand sliding between his legs, "in the morning?"
"Uh--" Harry said, and Snape was gratified to discover that his lack of speech was due mostly to what Snape was doing between his legs. Snape decided he liked the way his own fingers looked like around Harry's cock.
Harry pulled himself closer, lips sliding around Snape's earlobe, then nuzzled his way down to the side of Snape's mouth. When their lips met, Snape was surprised by the hunger he found there, not sure if it was all Harry or whether there was some of his own in the mix. He felt like Harry was the last familiar object in an about-to-be-different future. He groaned into Harry's mouth. Could he really have a past he knew nothing about? It seemed impossible somehow, but with Harry here, doing these things with him, to him, Snape wanted it to be true.
Harry got hard fast, and Snape took his time exploring, as though knowing he might not be as straight as he had thought had freed some inner homosexual. He liked watching both his own hands, moving over Harry, and Harry's face, open and rapturous. When his fingers trailed behind the crepe-soft balls Harry moaned softly and turned in his arms, straddling his lap.
Harry studied his face, and Snape wondered, for the first time, who he saw there. Not Severus Snape, organic chemistry professor, surely? Some specter from his forgotten past? He felt a surge of jealousy for that hypothetical man. Why had he loathed Harry? How could anyone? He felt a flicker of pain along the back of his head.
Some glimmer of it must have shown in his face. "Are you okay?" Harry said, stroking his cheek, eyes full of concern. The pain faded and Snape nodded. Harry was his, no matter that other life, whether he chose it or not.
"What will you do if I don't go back?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to know.
"Finish out the term," Harry said without hesitation, sliding his arms around Snape's neck. "Try to convince you to keep me on as your assistant. Make love to you as long as you'll let me."
"Bring me tea?" Snape asked, running his thumbs over Harry's tight nipples.
"Every morning," Harry promised. "And those little fruit tarts you like."
The pain had disappeared completely. Harry moved so that their cocks, now both interested, brushed together. It shouldn't have felt so good, but it did. They were kissing again, then just rocking, taking a slower route to passion than the one before. When Harry reached for the flattened tube beside the bed, Snape tried to shift from under him, but Harry locked his thighs.
The slick felt unaccountably warm, as though it had been lying near a lamp as Harry coated his cock. "Guide it in me," he said, raising up. Where Snape would have continued their slow pace, Harry had more urgent needs in mind. He pushed himself down as Snape angled the head near the taut hole. Snape sat back, letting Harry rise and fall, letting him angle himself, scrabbling against Snape's chest, the only solid thing he could reach.
Snape slipped his hands around Harry's bottom. "Put your arms round my neck." He was bracing Harry as he pitched them both forward, so that Snape was on top, keeping them connected. Strong legs went around his back, sealing them together. Harry was moving with him, urging, commanding, until they were both mindless from it. The slow spurt of orgasm was almost secondary to this roll of pleasure that seemed to come from all points, not just the one relaxing now inside Harry.
He was looking at Harry - probably smugly - for he could not help it, when Harry's eyes opened. He brushed damp hair away from Harry's forehead. There was a scar there, an odd one, though much faded. Snape had seen bits of it when the wind blew the hair away from Harry's forehead, but never the whole thing, not this close.
"This man you loved, this teacher?" Harry nodded. They were still locked together, though Harry's feet had gone flat on the bed. "Do you love him still?"
"I never stopped," Harry said.
"And you think he loved you too?"
Harry's face was soft, slightly damp from their tussle. "In his way. He never said."
Snape kissed him softly. "I think he did." They turned round the right way in the bed, beneath the chenille spread and slept.
He didn't know what time it was when he awoke, but he had probably only been asleep a few hours. The unfamiliar weight of someone in the bed beside him should have felt more uncomfortable than it did, for someone who could never remember having woken up with someone else. Harry's head was turned away, and he studied the softly stubbled chin, remembering his own fear of having Harry see him first thing in the morning.
He still didn't know what he was going to do once the time to make a decision came. With Harry wrapped around him, the issues of the future didn't seem quite so urgent. But he had to decide, to be fair to Harry. To be fair to them both. He slid the bedspread aside, careful not to wake Harry, but wanting to look at him.
There was something about the pale slenderness that seemed exotic, though Snape supposed that was just the idea of another male body, one not his own, that made it seem so.
Exotic and desirable. He looked at the quiescent cock, tucked up now in its pouch. He slid down in the bed, thinking there was something Harry had done for him, that he'd never reciprocated, never thought he'd be able to until Harry had unlocked this desire within him.
Gingerly he slid between Harry's legs, needing to ease them apart to fit. Harry moved restlessly, one hand dropping to the empty pillow beside his head. It took a while, long enough for Snape to appreciate Harry's skill in the art, but Harry started to stir. It wasn't all wrapping one's mouth around a cock and simply sucking. There were shapes to smooth his tongue around and hidden places to explore. By the time he felt fingers tangling in his hair, Harry's legs were moving, spreading apart.
"Severus, oh god," he moaned, sounding very sleepy still, fingers pulling a bit too roughly in his hair, the sharp spike of pain sending his lips further down, feeling Harry's body responding, all of his body, not just his swelling prick in his mouth.
"Been so long, love, so long," Harry whispered, though the words were slurred slightly.
Snape nearly stopped dead. This was the first time he'd done this for Harry. But Harry had had this done before by that other. That Snape he'd come to find.
Should he be jealous? Of himself? Of the other life Harry's prickly lover had led? But that other man had led it with Harry, and suddenly that sounded very enticing indeed.
"Let me know," he said, lifting up enough to speak, though the words were hampered by the rounded edge of Harry's cock that he could not quite release fully, "if I'm doing this right."
"Fine so far," Harry panted, lifting his legs so he could spread them wider. Snape licked one finger and began teasing the rim of Harry's arse. Harry was pressing in on his finger so Snape slid it inside. With a long groan Harry came, and Snape, who had wondered if he'd have the nerve to reciprocate as fully as this, found himself in an unproclaimed contest with that *other* Snape, and swallowed.
"Good morning," Harry said, as soon as his ears had cleared the tightly pressed thighs.
"It is that," Snape replied, his finger still buried deeply inside Harry.
Do you want to--" He lifted his hips suggestively.
"Very much, yes," Snape admitted as Harry was reaching for the visibly thinner tube of lubricant on the nightstand. Snape bent to his task with a concentration he usually reserved for a really spectacular germ culture.
"I suppose I should stop asking if you're all right with this," Harry said, as Snape lifted, guiding his cock to the slickened, nearly dripping hole.
"I do seem to have taken to it," he said, feeling Harry's tightness close around him. They were moving, as Snape sealed their mouths together. Harry's hand went round his arse, urging him to move. Snape very much wanted to move, to take, to be inside Harry this way. Harry was making strangled little noises, and urging him on with the words all lovers know, ones that didn't really need to be strung together into a sentence, yet somehow got the point across. Pleasure and pressure poured out of his balls, into Harry, tied up with the boy, giving him what--
Snape shuddered. What Harry deserved. And what he deserved was the man he loved. The Snape he'd fallen in love with. He shook with desire and decision.
"I'll go back--" he began, only to have his head seem to split open with pain. He yelled, clutching his head, saw Harry, anxious, then alarmed, speaking to him, but Snape couldn't hear through the curtain of pain ripping his head apart. He fell back, knowing he was probably hurting Harry but not knowing how to stop, how to do anything other than try to get away from the rending pain in his head.
Harry scrambled out of bed, searching the room for something; then he seemed to give up and just stretched out his hand, lips moving inaudibly as his trousers flew to him. The pain was making him see things, making him imagine that Harry pulled out a wooden stick out of his jeans, and drew a circle in the air.
Gray clouded the edges of his vision. And the edges of the circle Harry had drawn. He heard a yell, "He's in trouble!" and saw hands, impossibly, yet moving, grabbing the edge of the solidifying circle from the inside. A face followed, and dimly Snape recognized it as Harry's friend, Ron, who took one look at them, and somehow pulled himself *out* of thin air.
Snape dragged a hand over his eyes, but the scene was still there, Harry, naked, with a stranger, then Ron was calling into the hole, the circle, leaning in, starting to pull someone else out before leaning over his shoulder.
"For gods' sake, Harry put something over yourself." Harry stretched out his hand again and a towel from the bathroom flew into it. He was knotting it, scrambling back on the bed, when a cat, a damned *cat* jumped into his bedroom.
"It's going to be okay," Harry said, from somewhere very close, but the words seemed to echo through the split in his head.
"Hurts--" he tried, but Harry was shushing him, holding him as the cat jumped onto the bed. It was the stray. But he didn't have time to ponder how, since more hands and another head, this one in what looked like a wimple, were coming through the hole. It was a woman, and Ron was hauling up a black bag behind her.
Questions and strident tones were all around, but through the pain all Snape heard clearly were Harry's soft words saying everything would be all right. He heard a moan, and could not mesh it with his own body until Harry looked at him with such worry that it must have come from him.
By then the wimpled woman was on the bed, heedless of Snape's unclothed state, fingers moving softly over the hand holding his head together lest it fly apart. Ron was leaning over once more, helping someone, more hands, a head, white hair, a man, an old man.
The gray around his eyes closed in and Snape knew no more.
~~**~~
"I'm not leaving him!"
Snape heard the voice as though muffled, but other senses were sharpening, coming into focus. He could feel a damp hand clinging to his.
"I wouldn't dream of asking you to," came another voice. The grip on his hand did not lessen. "Only that I believe he is coming around."
"Severus?" Harry said, voice so full of hope that Snape made the last final effort to open his eyes. Harry was there, his face filling Snape's immediate range of vision. But Harry was the only familiar thing about this place.
"How's your head?" Harry asked and Snape tried once more to focus, despite the odd sense of dislocation - of waking up to a place one has no memory of.
"It doesn't hurt," he said. "Where am I?"
To his surprise, Harry's gaze skittered away.
"Home, dear boy," another voice said. "Though I daresay you haven't spent as much time in the infirmary as our Harry."
It was the old man. The last face Snape had seen before he passed out. Almost he expected another blinding flash of pain and unconsciously clung harder to Harry's hand.
"Do you know me?" Snape asked, and the old man's eyes had the sad sort of kindness Snape recognized from his many sessions with doctors who expected more than he was capable of.
"Very well, Severus," the old man said, voice patient, so Snape knew he'd given no offense.
He was in an infirmary. The long windows outside were bright with daylight, though it was still dim and cool in the ward. The walls looked like stone, and the whole place had an air of great age.
"I had to bring you here," Harry said, "That headache--I've never seen anything like it."
Snape turned his head back to face Harry. He felt sleepy and slow, bewildered and tired, as he always did when he got a headache. "Where is here?" he asked, feeling it was important to know.
"Hogwarts," Harry said, then paused as if waiting for recognition. Snape had none. It was an odd name, surely, but nothing about it spoke to him of home. Home was his little bungalow, just off campus, with a stray cat he sometimes fed.
The cat. He remembered it from just before he'd gone out. And people filling up his room. That boy, the red-haired friend of Harry's and a woman, just appearing out of a hole in the middle of his--
"It's all right," Harry said, squeezing his hand again, and Snape realized he'd closed his eyes.
"We have every hope it will be," the old man said. He was sitting in a heavy chair by Snape's bed. Harry, still holding Snape's hand, was perched on the side of the bed. He'd at least put some clothes on. Snape had the feeling he wasn't naked either, but who had dressed him in what felt like a long nightgown, he didn't know.
"Though there are some things I'll need to know."
Both Harry and Snape looked at the old man. Then Harry looked at Snape, as if expecting him to answer. When he didn't, Harry said, "We just want to help figure out what happened to you."
Snape frowned. "I had a bad headache," he began, but Harry was frowning.
"Before that. When you first started getting them."
"I had a fall; I told you."
The old man held up one hand. "Harry, do you have your wand?"
Briefly Harry released his hand, and lifted up, sliding something out of his jeans. It looked like a conductor's baton. "Yes, sir," he said, holding it as though about to cue an oboe.
"Severus, when you woke up in hospital, did you have anything like this on your person?"
He started to deny it, but remembered. There'd been some strange things they'd asked him about in hospital. "There might have been," he admitted. He described the box he'd put everything into after coming home from the hospital. He'd wanted to chuck it all, but the doctors had insisted some of the rubbish might mean something to him later. He'd never opened the box again.
The old man turned and looked over his shoulder. It was then that Snape noticed Ron standing in the corner, one foot resting on the stone wall. He nodded once, then pushed off from the wall and left.
Harry sat back on the edge of his bed, the wooden stick in his lap.
"I've gone mad, haven't I?" Snape asked and Harry laughed. If they'd been alone Snape suspected Harry would have kissed him. He seemed to like kissing Snape when he smiled.
"Not a bit," Harry assured him, glancing over at the old man, still sitting quietly in his chair.
"What is a Hogwarts?" Snape asked, as the door at the back of the infirmary opened and the woman he'd last seen bending over his bed bustled in.
The smile on Harry's face was reminiscent. "A school for magic."
Snape frowned. "*You've* gone mad then," he said. Harry gave his fingers one last squeeze before hopping off the bed as the woman, presumably the nurse, judging by her old-fashioned dress, stopped by his bed.
Harry and the old man were quick to let themselves be shooed away after helping set the screens in place that let her examine him in private. It was clear she knew him too, though her examination was nothing like any he'd ever undergone. For one thing, she asked him when he'd last eaten chocolate, and had a wooden stick like Harry's which she passed over him several times, making tutting noises with every pass.
"You still don't eat enough, Severus," she said.
Before he could rebut that, she was handing him his clothes. Harry's head popped through a gap in the screens.
The nurse gave him a frosty look. "Severus has been able to dress himself for many years now, Mr. Potter."
Her demeanor did not deter Harry in the slightest. "Where's the fun of that?" he said, with what was clearly meant to be a winning smile. It certainly won the nurse who shook her head at him.
It had already won Snape. He felt like a schoolboy, though he had no memory of being one.
Harry closed the curtains and leered comically, crossing the tiny space of floor, going into the V of Snape's legs. "Ron will be here with your wand soon," he said, keeping his voice low. Snape wondered how everyone around here kept from making wand quips.
"We don't have time then," Snape said, closing his night-shirted thighs around Harry's, "for what you are thinking."
Harry's exaggerated smile relaxed into a natural one. With two fingers he stroked Snape's cheek. "I think we have all the time in the world, now." Despite the low murmur of voices outside the curtain, Harry was kissing him, leaning closer, wrapping arms around his neck. Then tugging Snape back into his clothes--the same ones he'd been wearing before he and Harry--
These people had found them in bed together. The breath caught short in his throat. He must have made some noise, because Harry looked up. "What--happened, there in my bedroom?" His muscles locked, as though bracing for more of the slamming pain in his head.
"I must not have been any good, if you don't remember," Harry said, tone tentative, and Snape found himself coloring.
"After, I mean, you were--we were--"
Harry stood up, setting his shoes on the bed. "How much do you remember?"
"I was thinking I should come back, that you deserved *him*, when my head exploded. You--did something, and all these people-- That nurse. And your friend Ron." He shook his head. "Even the cat." He knew Harry would look at him as though he were mad, but Harry was just staring at him.
"I deserve *you*," he said, voice low. "Now I've found you again, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me to bugger off."
Snape noticed that Harry had completely avoided telling him how his bedroom had suddenly been full of people. And cats. Then there was a noise outside and Harry gave an exaggerated sigh. "That'll be Ron back with your wand."
"My--"
Harry opened the curtains, as Snape tied up his shoes. Sure enough, Ron was holding a wooden stick out to the old man. He wondered what all the fuss was about. A wooden stick. Perhaps they all were barking, and this was just an odd asylum. School for magic. What rubbish.
The old man and Ron came over, the old man holding the stick out like a sacred relic. "It appears undamaged," he said, handing it to Harry.
"What about his magic?" Harry asked, giving the wand a cursory glance.
"Intact, according to Poppy," the old man said.
Snape was a scientist. "There's no such thing as magic," he said.
Three sets of eyes, their expressions ranging from pitying to openly skeptical, rested on him.
"I beg to differ, Severus," the old man said. He nodded at Harry.
"Right," Harry said, pulling out his own wooden stick. "Accio tea tray," he said, and Snape was about to correct him on his Latin when a tea tray came floating over to his bed. The kettle was even hot. Harry came over to survey it with satisfaction.
"Oh wait, you like those pumpkin scones more than the raisin ones." Another wave of the wooden stick and the scones turned orange, the sharp scent of ginger wafting up.
"This is--" Snape began, waving his hand beneath the tray as if feeling for wires.
"Magic," Harry finished. "And you taught me some of it." Using the wooden stick, he guided it down to the bed. There were four cups this time. Harry lifted the cozy off the pot and began to pour.
"What about me?" Ron asked, taking his cup.
Harry rolled his eyes. Another pass of his wooden stick and a small pile of sugary biscuits appeared.
Ron nodded his thanks and scooped them up. "Going to go tell Hermione and Professor McGonagall, he's awake."
Harry set the wooden stick purported to be Snape's down on the bed beside the tray and handed the old man his tea. Snape looked at the cup Harry offered him next. When he didn't take it, Harry said, "I don't have to turn Professor Dumbledore into a toad to convince you, do I?"
The old man--presumably the Dumbledore in question--laughed. "I'd enjoy being a toad," he said. "Though perhaps not the diet." One of the scones floated over to him as he sat down.
Snape saw no other choice. He began eating one of the scones. Harry went around to the other side of the bed and sat down. Just a cozy tea party, Snape thought, feeling as if his sanity ought to feel more precarious than it did. Just an average tea party in an average school of magic. At least the tea was good.
"Are you going to do Priori Incantatum?" Harry asked, swallowing a mouthful of tea. He hadn't taken a scone. Snape was about to correct his Latin again when Dumbledore shook his head.
"Not yet." He eyed Snape as though he were about to paint him. "I want to talk to Severus first."
Harry's gaze slid between them. "Should I go?" Snape looked over, about to protest.
Again Dumbledore spoke as though reading Snape's mind. "You've as much to do with this as Severus," he said.
"We've been very worried about you, dear boy," Dumbledore said. For a moment, Snape thought he was talking to Harry, but then realized to one so old, even Snape must seem very young. "I've counted many witches and wizards among my friends over the years, but none I've worried about, and for so many varying reasons, as you." His glance, behind half-moon spectacles, moved over Harry, then back to Snape. "But you don't remember me," he went on, "though the Severus I saw grow up would no doubt count that a blessing. So, I am compelled to tell you a little bit of history, what we know to be true, before we see what your wand has to say. If you'd like to go back to the Muggle world after that, I shan't stop you."
Again, he looked at Harry. "Though I believe your Harry might be persuaded to accompany you."
He shifted on his chair, old eyes not clouded by time, but instead as clear as an azure lake. "Three years ago you were a teacher at this school. You were also my friend, and Harry's teacher. But you were also a member of a select organization, one to which you made many sacrifices."
Harry's hand slid over, across the rumpled sheets. "I saw the need for one more sacrifice, one greater than all you'd endured before, and could not ask it of you." He sighed. "Telling you would have revealed my knowledge of something you and Harry were trying desperately to keep secret."
They'd been student and teacher, then, Snape thought, though it was no more than he'd picked up from Harry.
"But I had to do it," Dumbledore went on. "I had to kill Harry."
Snape looked over sharply. He'd been a fool to listen to this. Harry's hand over his tightened, trying to quiet his agitation.
"He isn't--" Snape began, only to have Harry interrupt him.
"I was."
Snape swallowed hard.
"There was a reason. I know you don't remember, but there was a reason." He squeezed Snape's fingers. "But I got better."
"The day you disappeared," Dumbledore went on, "I had to be near Harry. Had to have the spells ready to--to bring him back."
The catch in his voice made Snape look up from the bed where his and Harry's hands were tangled. He'd taken the old man for the kindly, harmless sort. Something in the blue eyes made him rethink that assessment.
"What I didn't know was whether you'd left us of your own will or whether the remnant of our enemy had you. We began looking for you before the smoke cleared. Before--" He looked over at Harry, who grinned.
"Before you had to tell me he'd gone missing." He looked over at Snape, and there was something of the old man's expression in the young face. Something of steel and determination and something more. "We found you," Harry said, "at last, but it took longer than--" He stopped, swallowing hard.
To cover the moment, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Let's see what your wand has to tell us." Harry picked it up from the bed, and handed it to Dumbledore. Another wooden stick appeared from the depths of the long nightgown Dumbledore was wearing. With a whisper of bad Latin, Dumbledore touched the two tips together.
It was Snape's voice that came out of it. "The boy's gone and got himself killed," Snape heard himself say, though the tone was harsh. "Might as well have been born a goddamned useless Muggle--" A pause and a sound like something sizzling. "A goddamned straight Muggle for all the good--" A rushing like wind, sounding very loud in the Infirmary. Then, an anguished cry. "Harry!"
The sound cut off abruptly and Dumbledore separated the two wands. "Wish magic."
~~**~~
Snape looked out over the lake. From this height, it still looked like it wrapped around the low-lying hills for miles. He'd come up here, led by Harry, to think. The open tower room, with one window along each of the four walls, ought to have been colder than it was, but Snape had more important things to think about than that.
He'd listened to Harry and Dumbledore go back and forth over the words that had come out of his--his wand. For those words had undoubtedly been in his own voice, even though he still wasn't exactly sure what they meant, or what on earth a Muggle was.
They'd tried to explain, something about a battle, and Harry having to die so that someone else wouldn't take over his body but it was sounding more and more like he'd landed in the middle of a madhouse and when the first flickers of headache had burst behind his eyes, Harry had offered to take him to his rooms. That had been the last thing Severus had wanted, to have another man's memories to deal with, and he'd asked for someplace to go and think.
Harry had offered next to take him home, to the quiet cottage on the edge of campus, but Snape didn't want to go there either. Harry had led him up stairs that moved, along corridors full of portraits that talked, past a ghost that blew a raspberry at him until Snape was sure he was mad. Only no one else seemed to think so.
It had been easy, when Harry was in his arms, to decide to come back to whatever they said he'd left behind. Wished himself out of, if their explanations made any sense. Which of course, they didn't. No one could just wish their life away, wish themselves into another, and no piece of pointed wood was going to change that.
Dumbledore had told him it could be undone, the ripple of his old life smoothed out, the mistake of his new one erased. Magic.
There was no such thing as magic.
Except, apparently there was.
He stared out over the water so long he thought he saw a tentacle break the water. Snape frowned and backed away, moving to another window. Here the whole of the castle known as Hogwarts was spread before him. There were turrets and battlements, greenhouses and halls. He couldn't imagine anyone living here, especially not himself.
That other Snape.
Harry had left him up here with a little kiss that Snape could not help but return. "Either way," he had said.
Out the third window the wild Scottish countryside stretched away endlessly. On a hillside he could see sheep grazing, tiny thick blots on the green of the meadows. The edge of the lake, the grounds of the castle sloping down. He wondered if he'd ever bathed in that lake, ever drowsed by its shores. A sudden sharp image of Harry, skin pale in the moonlight, taunting him to come into the water flashed against his eyes. Memory? Or fantasy?
"Either way."
Only there was a right way and a wrong way for Harry. To be something Snape didn't quite understand, or to always have to hide what he was. Willing to do it, to be a bloody lab assistant when he could just wave his pointed--his wand--and be anything.
Snape pushed away from the window and crossed to the last. A speck was moving beyond it, something in the sky like a giant bird. Only it wasn't a bird. It was--
"Hullo," Harry said, sitting astride a broom. He looked quite natural on it, Snape thought, the way the riders at Ascot looked on their horses, as though they should look quite unnatural off them. Harry was holding something that looked suspiciously like a tea tray.
"I thought you might be hungry," Harry said, sliding his feet onto the stone ledge and hopping off the hovering broom exactly as though they were not hundreds of feet up in the air. Once both feet were on the ledge, he hopped inside with a rattle of cups and the broomstick followed along like an obedient dog. Harry set it against one wall and took a breath, looking at Snape for all the world like he'd just arrived in his office from the staff kitchen down the hall, save that his hair was untidier than usual.
"You didn't eat anything, in the infirmary," Harry said, looking around the stone room as though there were anything to see but Snape and four windows. He set the tray on the wide ledge and straightened up.
Since Snape still hadn't said anything, Harry went on. "I know I should stay away--let you think," he began.
Snape spoke at last. "I've thought."
Harry looked like he wasn't sure he would like the answer. He looked like he wanted to say something, and when Snape didn't go on, rushed to speak. "I thought maybe I'd pressured you, saying I'd stay with you either way, as though there weren't any other options." He looked up at Snape. "Because of course, there are. If you don't want--"
But he couldn't speak anymore. Mostly because Snape was kissing him silent. "I've thought I should come back. Keep you out of mischief." He admired the just-kissed dampness on Harry's bottom lip. "Apparently this Dumbledore person isn't good at it."
Harry's smile hadn't changed, even if their circumstances had altered radically. "No one was ever any better at it than you."
Coming back meant he could reclaim that past with Harry--a thought that both troubled and intrigued him. "This place--this school. This is where you boarded?"
Harry handed him a tea cup he hadn't asked for and nodded.
"When did we meet then--I mean, how old were you exactly?"
Harry took a slow sip of his own tea then said, "You know, if you come back, we'll undo the spell, and you'll remember all this?"
Snape nodded. "This part of me needs to know."
"I was eleven." Harry imparted the information with great care, as though double checking a specimen for contamination.
"We weren't--" Snape began, aghast. He never would have thought of himself as a child molester, but until recently he did not imagine he was gay. "That is, I didn't--"
Harry silenced him using the same tactic he'd recently employed. "Don't be absurd. I was properly seventeen." His expression turned sultry. "Though don't think I didn't try before that."
"Very sure of our own attractiveness, are we?"
Instead of smiling though, Harry looked uncertain. He set down his cup. "I've never been sure of anything where you're concerned."
"Will it help if I come back?"
He knew he wasn't going to like this answer. "There are a lot of things you won't thank me to remember," Harry said.
Was it better, then, to have his past be the smooth glass of a specimen slide, or to have it back, with all its sharp edges and emotional pitfalls? When he'd eased into the life he'd been told was his, he'd often wondered what it would be like to have his past returned. To be able to sort through it like neatly labeled slides.
"What will happen to the life I'm living now?" he asked, "My students, my friends?" A picture of Evelyn Henry's face swam into his mind.
"Hermione reckons they won't remember, that you created a--a ripple somehow in the Muggle world, one that gave you everything you wanted. If you undo the wish, the ripple will go back to the way it was." He ran a hand through his hair. "No one really knows. Ron and Hermione will help put things to rights if we need to. And Professor McGonagall. She's looking forward to seeing you again in her normal state." Before he could explain that statement he looked out of the window nearest to his broom. "Wish magic is funny stuff."
Part of Snape's brain didn't believe any of this was real. The other part desperately wanted to. A past with Harry-even a rocky one, versus the mundane one he'd always imagined he had.
"What do I have to do?"
Harry looked like he wanted to say more, but only nodded instead and went over to the tea tray. There was a covered silver plate on one end. Harry removed the cover. Snape saw only an apple; a particularly lush, ripe one, but just an apple. Harry picked it up and brought it over.
"Eat this," he instructed. He turned it over to show him. "There's no core, all fruit, so you've got to eat it all." Snape's fingers closed over the fruit, brushing with Harry's. "Albus did the spell himself."
Even though he felt ridiculous, Snape took the apple. "This is it? Eat an apple?"
Harry smiled. "Well, it *is* an enchanted apple."
Snape took a bite, then another, as though expecting to get a memory with each bite. Nothing happened. He finished off the apple, unable to contain his disappointment. "It didn't--"
Harry handed him the pointed stick retrieved from the back of his closet. As soon as Snape's fingers closed around it, he felt as though the wind were rushing through him, only the wind had pictures painted on it. Everything swirled around him, memories, faces, images. Sensations that ought to have made him blush if there were time to examine them. Nothing was neatly labeled on a slide.
His knees felt weak, would have buckled, save Harry was there, one arm around his waist, holding onto him, not letting go.
He remembered hating Potter, and loving Harry. The heated fury of their first frantic coupling. The near desperation of their last, when they'd known Voldemort was near.
Voldemort.
"I saw you die," he said, the words harsh, as though he'd been shouting over the wind in his brain.
"Only for a moment. Long enough for Voldemort's soul to leave his body, and not be able to get into mine."
The grief was as new as though it had just happened. Though he remembered his time in the Muggle world, he felt as though he hadn't seen Harry in three long years.
Three years. He was a fool.
"We couldn't tell you, or anyone. He'd have found out, and made another plan." Harry's face was open, unguarded.
"I wished myself away from you," he said, and Harry's expression softened.
"I just wish--" Harry made a face and went on, "Just wish we'd found you sooner. I was frantic, thinking Death Eaters had got you. But we rounded them up. Ron, especially, was fierce at it, while I was--recovering." For just a moment Snape saw some of the pain that time must have caused on Harry's face. "It was a long way back," he said at last, and then they didn't speak again for a while. They were still wrapped close together, still by the window in the tower room.
"It was Hermione that found you. She's become quite good with computers." He held out his arm, to the chased pewter bracelet. "Put a good learning charm in this so I could do the basics." He dropped his arm, but no further than Snape's waist. "She got the idea of looking through Muggle records, and spent months combing through them until she found an advert. The one you placed looking for an assistant. It ran in the Uni paper, and they put it on their computer system."
Harry's face was somewhere below Snape's shoulder, but he didn't have to see it to hear the emotion behind his words. A long way back indeed.
"Of course, I wanted to just run in and snatch you back, but Albus said maybe you'd gone off on your own free will." A small laugh. "I knew you hadn't, of course, but there were days there I wondered--"
Snape tilted his chin up. There was nothing he could say, so he settled for giving Harry a kiss. It was his first one as himself, in a way, so he made it count. Harry looked gratifyingly dreamy-eyed by the time he was finished. At least he hadn't forgotten that.
A sigh, as Harry settled back in the crook of his arm. How could he have forgotten how perfectly they fit together? Harry had grown no more since he'd come to him that first time, wanting without knowing exactly what, getting turned down cold, then coming back for more. He'd been as weak to Harry in his other life as well.
"Then we had no idea what was wrong with you," Harry went on. "Obliviated? But by whom? And why? Polyjuiced? Had you really lost your magic, or just the memory of it? And then I found out about the headaches." Snape could hear the smile in his words. "Believe me, you weren't the only one getting headaches. I couldn't just go mucking about in your head, in case I did more damage than whatever else had happened, and I wasn't letting St. Mungo's get you."
Harry's fingers dug into his waist. It pinched but Snape endured it. "We should go tell everyone you're back," Harry said at last. "They all worked really hard to help me," he said, looking up.
"In a bit," Snape said, "All right?" Harry nodded.
"What's the first thing you want to do?" Harry asked.
Snape looked down at himself. "Get out of these ridiculous Muggle clothes!"
Heat blazed in Harry's eyes. "I'm sure we can arrange that."
~~**~~
Snape looked around at the small pub then at the man across from him. It had been a hectic few weeks, but Harry had been by his side every step of the way.
Harry was looking over his shoulder, at Aurelia at the bar. "She still fancies you, even like this," he said, not bothering to hide the flare of jealousy in his eyes.
Snape made a noise. "Like this? Returned to my former self, you mean?"
Harry looked back at him and smiled. "Your former gay self, I mean." The jealousy slipped over easily to proprietary heat.
They'd checked in to see that every detail of Snape's former life had been rippled away. The cottage now stood for sale. Ron had gone back to retrieve the rest of Snape's things, but all but the clothes he'd been wearing and the box of wizarding robes in the closet had melted away. The office had been reassigned to another staff member, who looked as though he'd occupied it for several years. No sign of his classes remained; the students off in other courses, with other instructors.
Snape had even insisted on going to the literature building to check on Professor Henry, only to be told the former professor had married a year previously, and was now Professor O'Donnell.
The ripple that had been Severus Snape's Muggle life had closed, as he'd again taken up his place among his own kind.
It might have made him a little sad. Except for Harry, whose evident delight in having him back was infectious. Snape surveyed the young man, who was making short work of his lunch. They'd had a brief but caustic argument over who was more proficient at Muggle money, but Snape had won and paid for their meal. Finally Harry pushed his plate away and looked at Snape.
"Have I got something in my teeth?" he said, running his tongue exaggeratedly around below his upper lip.
"You're fine," Snape said, his hand reaching across the table, to give Harry's a squeeze. "Let's go home."
His home was a castle now, thanks to Harry, but it didn't matter. Home was wherever Harry was.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Beta Read by Isis, written for Kardasi's Dusk till Dawn Fest, Post-Hogwarts challenge.
