A Wizard Song

Chapter 14 - God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen

By Telanu

       

The kiss had been a promise.

Harry was very aware of that. When you kissed someone, it just wasn't cricket to pretend you hadn't kissed them or that it didn't mean anything. (Harry politely ignored the fact that Snape had done exactly that for eight whole months last term.) No. Harry had laid down his terms; Snape had made the requisite conciliatory gesture; and Harry had kissed him to…well, to show all was forgiven, he supposed. Or something. Anyway, it was all very simple.

Except it wasn't. With the holidays approaching, the school was thrown into a flurry. Harry barely had time to see Snape, let alone talk to him about anything, and they still had a lot to talk about. It wasn't the sort of conversation you could have in a few stolen minutes after class -- you'd need a good long time alone…

Unfortunately, when Harry thought of being alone with Snape, talking wasn't what came to mind. It had been two whole months, after all, with nothing but a couple of kisses! It wasn't nearly enough to tide him over, especially now that he knew what he was missing. Masturbation was all well and good, especially with more realistic fantasies to help him along, but it was lonelier, and there was nobody to cuddle up to after, no warm skin to rub against his own. He missed the weird dungeon smell of Severus' bedroom. He missed the sound of Severus' heartbeat. And a lot of other things besides.

It might not have been as bad if he hadn't known Snape was thinking along the same lines. Harry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling like crazy during every meal and knew that Snape's eyes were fixed on him like magnets. Sometimes they would pass by each other in the corridors and he would feel his whole body tingling -- that happened more than usual, actually, and Harry wondered if Snape had taken to following him around again. Well, Snape was a teacher, he could get away with it; Harry might raise some questions if he started haunting the dungeons, as he wanted to. But they would pass in the corridors, or at meals, and perhaps walk a little more slowly than usual, and Harry could see Snape's hands trembling with the urge to reach out and just grasp…

But there were no more detentions. For all his heated looks and shaking hands, Snape didn't appear to be going out of his way to get Harry alone. Was this part of being more "careful"? Or was Snape trying not to push things? Let Harry come to him, again?

Harry wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. But there was no time -- at least, not for a few more days.

Ron and Hermione were both going home for Christmas. Harry had, of course, been invited to the Burrow, which he had both anticipated and dreaded -- he'd never had anything like a Christmas with a real family, and he thought it might be a wonderful thing, but he wasn't looking forward to pretending to be cuddly with George Weasley. But Dumbledore had vetoed the idea, for much the same reason he'd brought Harry back to Hogwarts early that summer: a couple in Brighton, both Aurors, had disappeared, although the incident hadn't made it into the Daily Prophet.

Ron had turned pale at this news, but had manfully said, "Well -- Brighton's pretty far away -- and You-Know-Who's in Tanzania, so maybe it was really nothing to do with…"

"I'm staying here," Harry had said firmly. "I won't put your family in danger, Ron. I won't have it."

"I could stay too," Ron had volunteered, but Harry could tell his heart wasn't in it. Hermione had invited him to spend Boxing Day with her and her parents. Ron had never been in a Muggle home before, and Harry could tell he was thinking wistfully of the time he'd be able to spend with Hermione without all his family and friends around. He didn't seem very unwilling when Harry urged him to go home.

Aside from being a little put out at Ron's easy capitulation, Harry wasn't that unhappy about missing his visit to the Burrow. It would be a lonely Christmas, but during the first decade of his life with the Dursleys he'd got well used to those. And at least he'd be at Hogwarts, with a few people who liked him, in a place he loved. And it would be safe. And he wouldn't have to pretend to flirt with George. And…Snape would be there.

He spent the day before his friends left trying to look suitably downcast. It was easier when they did leave; the sight of happy, chattering students all flooding out of the castle, going home for the holidays and leaving him in a nearly-deserted castle, made Harry feel a bit glum. Only five students were staying this year: Harry, two first-year Gryffindor girls, one third-year Slytherin girl and a fourth-year Hufflepuff boy. Harry was glad that the Hufflepuff boy was old enough to stay on his own -- otherwise he might have got put up with Harry, and that would have seriously complicated Harry's plans. Well, such as they were. Harry didn't have any concrete plans -- just that he wanted to be able to sneak in and out of his dormitory as he pleased, without interference.

He did enjoy having the run of the castle, though he was very disappointed to discover that Dumbledore, just at the end of examinations, had set Snape to working on a new experimental potion. Dumbledore announced this with some pride on the first night at dinner after the students had left, although he wouldn't say what the potion actually was. Snape wasn't at dinner, nor at any of the meals the next day. Harry tried sneaking down to the dungeons, wanting desperately to see him, but the doors to his office and classroom were both firmly bolted and didn't respond to knocks. One morning Harry saw a steady stream of purple smoke coming out from underneath the classroom door, so he was pretty sure that was where Snape was, but it didn't seem wise to disturb someone who had purple smoke leaking from underneath a door. Particularly not when he could hear that someone emitting an equally steady stream of foul language through the walls. No, Snape wouldn't feel much like talking now. Harry resigned himself sadly to waiting a few days.

He passed the time with Hagrid instead, who was delighted to have the company. "Yeh've been a bit scarce round here," he told Harry, as Harry sat down for tea on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. It was snowing lightly outside, and all of Hogwarts, blanketed in white, seemed to have fallen under a hush.

Harry shrugged apologetically. It was true: what with Quidditch, and studying harder than ever before, and moping over Snape, and going out with George, and, well, everything, he hadn't seen too much of Hagrid. "I'm sorry, Hagrid," he said. "Things've been…busy."

"Oh, I know, I know," Hagrid said, setting two enormous mugs on the table, complete with a plate of his jaw-cracking fudge. Harry decided not to chance it this year. "Yeh've been real busy, what with yer love life, an' all." He winked, but looked troubled.

Harry studied the table. "Er. Yeah," he said. "Well, that's just a bit of fun for us both, really…"

"Really? Cause when I look at yeh, it don't look like yeh're havin' much fun," Hagrid said, sipping his tea. He frowned down into it and then added some brandy.

Harry was a bit startled. He'd thought the photos of him and George in the Prophet had always been pretty convincing. "Oh, you know George," he said. " 'Course we have fun. Bit hard not to, with him around." He managed a weak smile.

"If yeh say so," Hagrid said, sounding doubtful. Harry winced. He must really be off his form if he couldn't fool Hagrid, who had no natural guile himself and was always willing to believe the best of him.

"It's just," Hagrid continued, still sounding hesitant, "I know this year's been a tough one for yeh, Harry. An'…an' I reckon somethin's up wiv yeh that maybe yeh can' rightly tell anyone. I'm not pryin,'" he added hastily as Harry stared at him, "an I'm 'opeless at guessin' games, an' I can't keep a secret t'save me life -- but if yeh ever wanted ter talk about anythin', whatever's been troublin' yeh -- if You-Know-Who or anythin' 'as been…" he trailed off, looking helpless. "I just want ter help," he finished, sounding sad.

And in that moment, Harry wanted to tell him. Hagrid had been the first friend he'd ever had. He'd rescued him from the Dursleys and made him a birthday cake, and gave bone-cracking hugs like nobody else. Harry knew that, whatever Hagrid might think of his relationship with Snape, such as it was, he wouldn't blame Harry for it. Might not even blame Snape. Might actually… understand.

But Hagrid was terrible at keeping secrets. He'd just said so himself. Harry stifled the yearning inside; no, he couldn't share this with Hagrid. Which just served to bring it home, yet again, that he couldn't share it with anybody.

"Thanks, Hagrid," he said quietly. "I appreciate it. But I'm doing all right."

Hagrid only looked sadder at that. Harry felt compelled to stand up and lay a hand on his shoulder, where it looked even smaller than it really was. "I do appreciate it, Hagrid," he said seriously. "And you know that if I ever had a problem where I needed someone who'd understand, I'd come to you if I possibly could." He meant every word. He hoped it came through.

Hagrid stared up at him, and to Harry's astonishment, large tears welled up in his dark eyes and ran down his cheeks into his beard. "What?" Harry asked, alarmed. "What did I say? I'm sorry…"

"Nuffin'," Hagrid said, and blew his nose deafeningly into his handkerchief. Then he gave Harry a watery smile. "I jus' realised…sometime when I wasn't lookin'…yeh went an' grew up." The watery smile grew. "Yeh're a young man now, Harry. Yeh do yer parents proud, that yeh do."

Harry sat down, throat too full for words. Hagrid seemed to understand, and pushed the mug of tea back at him. "Better drink that 'fore it gets too cold," he said, voice still sounding choked.

Harry nodded wordlessly and gulped his tea. After a moment, he was able to say quietly, "Thanks, Hagrid."

"Well, yeh're welcome," Hagrid said gruffly as he went to refill the kettle.

       

Christmas morning dawned bright and lonely. Harry had tried again to sneak down to the dungeons last night, hoping for at least a glimpse of Snape, but this time the smoke coming from under the door had been bright yellow, accompanied by the smell of rotting eggs. He'd been forced to retreat again, and wondered if Snape was doing this on purpose, as selfish as the thought seemed.

Well, it was selfish, he'd decided glumly. Snape wanted to see him, too, Harry could tell that much, and Dumbledore's request for a new whatever-it-was potion was just bad timing. Really bad timing. Harry wondered if they would ever get their chance.

All this crossed his mind as he sat in his quiet dormitory, surrounded by shreds of wrapping paper and bows, and his Christmas presents. Hagrid had sent him the usual batch of homemade treacle fudge. If it was anything like yesterday's, Harry knew to avoid it, though he'd be sure to tell Hagrid he loved it. Hermione had sent Harry a book, which was no big surprise, but it was a good book: the newly-published work on the history of the design of the Firebolt broom. Harry had seen it in Flourish and Blotts at the start of term, and had thought it looked very interesting; he was pleased to see the book was filled with diagrams, photographs of prototypes, and detailed information about wind shear, the design of the braking charm, and the bristle selection process. It was everything you needed to know about how to make a really good broom. That would be great, Harry thought pensively. If he ever got bored with actually playing Quidditch, designing his own broom sounded like a wonderful idea. The "Potter 5000" or -- something. No, it needed a fancy name, like all the other ones had, something to do with fast things. "The Meteor," maybe. International standard…sold across the world, no better broom available anywhere…

Ron had given him an enormous box of Honeydukes chocolates, complete with the new cream-filled Chocolate Frogs, which Harry sampled extensively. George had sent him a package of the best Filibuster Fireworks, with a little note saying they were from Fred as well, and how the twins could arrange a more romantic gift if Harry thought it proper. Harry didn't. Then there was the usual Weasley jumper, of course, and Sirius had somehow managed to send him -- Harry gasped -- a splendid pair of black dragonhide boots, complete with little gold lions on the buckles. They looked too big, but when Harry pulled them on, they shrank to fit his feet exactly. Sirius' note said that they were enchanted to fit the wearer perfectly for as long as they lasted. Harry spent a good ten minutes tromping happily around the empty common room, enjoying the ringing sound the bootheels made on stone floors. The boots wouldn't be any good for sneaking around after dark, that was for sure, but they were extremely handsome. Ron would have been jealous. Perhaps it was just as well he wasn't there.

But Harry still couldn't help feeling a little lonely, and was glad when one o'clock rolled around and it was time to go to the Great Hall for Christmas dinner. Surely Snape would be there for that! Remembering Dumbledore's injunctions about formal dress, Harry fished out his green dress robes, mumbled a quick spell to make the sleeves come down to the ends of his arms and the hem fall to his ankles, and hurried downstairs, wearing his new boots.

The Great Hall was as gorgeously festooned as ever. Magical snow, dry and fluffy, fell from the enchanted ceiling and melted on the air before it could so much as touch any of the food on his plate. Massive wreaths of holly and ivy crowned the doors and windows, and small haloes of fairy lights fluttered around the room. Outside it may have been freezing cold, but the air inside the huge, draughty-looking Hall was warm and carried the smells of the perennially-remarkable Christmas feast.

Like Harry, everyone was dressed in their best robes. It still seemed a little silly -- why dress up when it was only five students and the teachers? Professor Delacour, however, seemed delighted. She had discarded her black clothes for a ridiculously expensive-looking robe of cobalt satin trimmed with gold that only made her look even more beautiful. Harry could see why she dressed more soberly for class; she was positively distracting when she looked her best. Professor McGonagall, he noted in puzzlement, kept staring at Delacour and pinching her lips into a thin line. How could anyone, even someone as austere as his Head of House, object to a bit of extravagance on Christmas? And besides, McGonagall was being as friendly as always to Dumbledore, who was nearly blinding in his own scarlet robes.

Then Snape came in through the back door, and Harry forgot to be distracted by Delacour, or puzzled by McGonagall, or dazzled by Dumbledore. Snape was wearing black, as he always did, but this time his robes were trimmed with silver serpents embroidered on the sleeves and the winged collar. The robe was made of different material, too -- it seemed to sort of ripple around Snape's body. He looked even more imposing than usual. Harry was torn between wanting to eat him alive, then and there, and wanting to smooth out the wrinkles in his own robes, which had been squashed in the bottom of his trunk for two years.

Realising he was staring, Harry tore his gaze away and lowered his head to inspect the front of his robes, which he only now realised looked a bit crumpled. He ran a hand self-consciously over a rather prominent wrinkle on his chest, then glanced up again. Snape was staring at him as he took his own seat by McGonagall, and his look was not disapproving. Harry gulped, feeling his face turn red, and quickly scooted his chair closer to the table to hide his lap from view.

The delicious meal became a kind of exercise in torture. As only a few people remained at the school this year, they all squeezed in at one table, and Harry was next to the Hufflepuff boy -- who sat directly across from Snape and looked as if he wished he was anywhere else. Harry longed to trade places with him; what he wouldn't give to be able to bump knees, drop his napkin accidentally on purpose, touch the toes of their shoes together, find some way to see if the fabric of that robe was as exquisitely soft as it looked…

The thoughts plagued Harry's mind. He was so hard he was surprised that it didn't drill straight through the table. It was an effort just to choke down his mulligatawny soup. His belly was consumed with heat and it took all his might to keep his face pointed down at his plate and not up staring at Snape, who, the one time Harry allowed himself to look, seemed similarly engrossed in his own food.

By the time the turkey appeared, Harry had managed to pull himself together a little. He made himself think about grindylowes and dragon dung, which didn't help his appetite too much, but alleviated his arousal. It was just…he was so lonely, and he hadn't even had a chance to talk to Snape, and it had been so bloody long…

"Didn't anyone ever teach you manners, Worthington?" Snape suddenly barked at the hapless Hufflepuff boy, who, when Harry looked up, was dribbling gravy down his chin. Worthington jumped in his seat and gave a frightened squeak. "I swear," Snape continued venomously, "even Potter there would be a more pleasant sight than you are at the moment."

Harry could recognise a Snape-compliment when he heard it now. With the warmth suddenly rushing through his whole body, he forgot to feel sorry for the Hufflepuff. But Dumbledore said reprovingly, if gently, "Now, now, Severus. It's the holidays. Let us essay to be of good cheer." He swirled a peppermint stick around in his mug of hot chocolate. Harry noticed he looked less worn today: maybe even Voldemort was taking Christmas off this year. "Perhaps you are tired from your researches. How are they going, by the way?"

Snape was silent for a moment before answering, "Quite well, thank you, Headmaster. I was going to take tonight off, as a matter of fact."

Dumbledore smiled. "I think that's an excellent idea," he said. "A night of proper relaxation will no doubt have you in a better mood."

Professor McGonagall's disbelieving snort was poorly disguised, but Snape merely said quietly, "I believe it will."

Harry's heart began beating very quickly.

Then Madam Pomfrey said, "So will you be joining us in the staffroom tonight, Severus?" She raised her eyebrows in invitation. "Holiday Charades!"

"No, thank you," Snape replied, still in that disturbingly even tone of voice. "A quiet night in my quarters, I think…"

"But it's Christmas!" Pomfrey seemed to realise then that the other teachers were staring at her as if she was insane. Probably Snape was not very popular at staff functions. "Although," she finished weakly, "you might just want a bit of time to yourself."

"I might," Snape agreed, and tapped one long finger against the stem of his wineglass. Harry concentrated hard on that finger, instead of Snape's face, which had taken on a touch of colour at the cheekbones.

Harry thought about a risky, hasty kiss given at the end of an exam. He thought about the promise of a Christmas gift. He thought about the gift itself, unwrapped, but still stored safely in his trunk and doubtlessly in better shape than his dress robes. He thought of long, yellow fingers slipping into the soft red velvet lining of the black dragonhide gloves. Those gloves…the most unforgiving, abrasive exterior, and within, near-sinful indulgence and pleasure…

Snape's words had been a veiled invitation. Harry was sure of that. Nearly.

The rest of the meal somehow passed by. Harry didn't remember much of it, apart from the bit when Hagrid, over the dessert (the chocolatiest choclate cake Harry had ever tasted), attempted to practise his French with Professor Delacour. He hadn't got very far with it yet.

"Par-lez vooz," Hagrid tried. "Tha's the way it looks in the books…"

"But it is pronounced par-lay voo," Delacour corrected.

"Pahr-leh voo," Hagrid said, doing an interesting blur of accents.

"But zis is so basic! Didn' Olympe teach you anyzing zis summair?" Delacour asked in amazement. "What did she do wiz you?"

At that, Hagrid went bright red and quickly looked elsewhere, a shy grin tugging at his mouth. Harry felt his own eyes getting very big in his face. Next to him, Worthington looked mercifully blank, and so did the Gryffindor girls, although the Slytherin girl down the table sniggered. Dumbledore coughed and quickly changed the subject.

Harry forgot about his own libido for a minute as he was lost in the astonishing discovery that Hagrid apparently had one, too. It didn't seem possible. But then, just two years ago, he certainly would've thought the same thing about Snape…

Growing up was so weird.

Harry dawdled as the feast ended, pushing chocolate crumbs around his plate with his fork. He noticed Snape was doing the same thing, lingering over his coffee. Harry took a deliberately slow sip of his own hot chocolate, then got up, cradling his mug, and wandered over to sit on the bench at the Hufflepuff table that faced the enormous Christmas tree. As people drifted out of the Hall, chatting and patting their full bellies, Harry pretended to be lost in the contemplation of the glittering lights and shining icicles hanging from the branches. A slight breeze from the open doors caught a red velvet bow and lifted it from the tree, sending it spinning down towards Harry's lap. Before it could come close to landing, though, long yellow fingers came from behind him and snatched it out of the air.

Harry felt his heart start to pound again. The Hall was very quiet now; he thought everyone else was gone.

But Snape said nothing and the silence stretched on. Harry kept his hands clenched tightly around his mug, which was poised strategically over his lap. He didn't quite dare look round at Snape. Finally he muttered, through the tightness in his throat, "Tree looks nice."

"Mm," Snape said. "Don't look up."

"Is somebody still here?" Harry tried to ask without visibly moving his lips, in case somebody was.

"No," Snape said quietly. "I am merely not sure what would happen if…" his voice trailed off.

If what? Harry wondered. If somebody came back in and saw them talking to each other? If Harry looked up, saw Snape, and jumped him then and there? That last didn't seem unlikely, Harry thought, hunching farther down over his mug.

"You have chocolate icing on your cheek," Snape whispered. "Left side."

Harry automatically scrubbed at his cheek with the sleeve of his robe. He shivered. Snape was whispering, and it was better than any old chocolate icing. That voice…he'd needed that voice…

"When you said," he managed in a breathless whisper of his own, "that you wanted to -- to be alone tonight -- "

"Harry," Snape said, and it sounded like a groan.

" -- I -- could I bring you your Christmas present? Your Christmas and your birthday present, I mean…I haven't had much chance to talk to you, and I wouldn't stay any longer than you wanted, and -- "

"Ten o'clock," Snape ground out. "You may come down at ten, if you wish. W-wear your invisibility cloak. Of course."

Harry felt a cold draught and heard the sound of quickly receding footsteps. He shivered again, and the hot chocolate didn't help.

Harry looked down at the bench. Snape had dropped the red velvet bow next to him. He picked it up, fingering the soft surface, staring unseeingly into the brightness of the Christmas tree.

       

The next few hours dragged interminably.

Harry holed himself up in Gryffindor Tower, gladly changing out of his dress robes into his everyday clothes. When it was time for supper, which would be soup and turkey sandwiches if past years were any indication, Harry sent word that he was ill and got a sandwich brought up to him by Dobby, who used the opportunity to present Harry with the usual pair of hand-knitted, mismatched socks. Harry had thought ahead this year and was able to present Dobby with a very smart-looking bowler hat, just the right size to balance on his ears. Harry's own ears were ringing with Dobby's squeals of delight for almost an hour afterwards.

Saying he was ill was only half a lie. He felt hot, feverish, distracted. And this way he wouldn't get any unwelcome visitors when ten o'clock rolled around; Worthington, the Hufflepuff boy, had been making ominous noises about looking for someone to play Exploding Snap with him that night and had looked at Harry rather too hopefully. Professor McGonagall stopped by briefly at eight to tell him she was sorry he was ill during the holidays, but after that, he was left safely alone.

Ten minutes till ten. Finally. Harry had passed some of the time in putting the dragonhide gloves in one of his own gift boxes and wrapping them up rather clumsily with a spell Hermione had taught him once. Clutching the box, he now exchanged his noisy boots for his quiet runners, and donned his invisibility cloak. Then, with stomach all a-flutter, it was off to the dungeons.

The chill in the air helped to distract him from the desperate arousal that had teased and tormented him all afternoon. After supper he'd been forced to take the edge off by himself just so he could think straight for a minute or two. He'd been frustrated by his lack of self-control at the time. Now Harry decided it had probably been a good thing -- it might mean he would last more than five seconds if Snape actually decided to touch him.

But would Snape decide to touch him? Should they wait some more? Would that be the best thing? Harry's brain made a valiant effort to consider these questions, but the storm of hormones was overwhelming all other forms of thought.

Well, Harry thought, hands tightening on the box, it wasn't like they had an agenda or a schedule. He could just give Snape his present and go, if that's what Snape wanted. Or they could…talk, or play chess, or something. Whatever Snape wanted, really. Just being able to spend time with him, that would be the important thing, Harry told himself firmly, trying hard to believe it.

He raised his fist, trembling, to knock on the door to Snape's office. It swung open silently before he could even touch it. Harry gulped.

As he closed the door behind him, he saw that the office was as dark, cold and silent as usual. But he could see a faint glow coming from behind the door that led to Snape's personal chambers. Steeling himself, he gripped the box in his hands more tightly and moved towards the second door, which again opened itself before he could raise his hand to it.

Snape was standing in front of the fire. He was still wearing his dress robes, making Harry's mouth go dry. His lips were sealed together in a tight, thin line. He didn't look up at Harry's entrance. Harry's hands clenched the box even harder, and he forced himself to loosen his grip before he crushed it. An unwelcome image of a broken Snitch invaded his head. Pushing it away quickly, and removing his cloak, he cleared his throat.

Snape turned his head very slightly, but still didn't look directly at Harry.

"I…I brought you this," Harry stammered, holding out the box and feeling his nerve starting to fail. Severus had looked…interested…in the Great Hall, but his reaction right now wasn't very promising. He seemed to be made of stone. Why wouldn't he even look at Harry? Desperate, Harry fell back on the old game of looking for hidden clues. Severus' arms were crossed, with his hands gripping tightly -- very tightly -- at the elbows. His shoulders were ramrod-straight. But in his face…nothing.

"I know I made that joke about -- people welshing on gifts for your birthday and Christmas. Looks like I did too. Ha ha," Harry said, and then just wanted to vanish. But his voice continued on talking without his permission. "I…I just thought it was something you could use…I hope you like it…"

Severus still wasn't looking at him. Feeling that he was on the verge of screaming, Harry took another step closer and thrust out the box again. "Here!" he said, and to his humiliation his voice cracked with nerves.

Severus slowly raised his head and looked at him then. The box nearly tumbled from Harry's fingers, gone suddenly nerveless. Severus' eyes…

No one had ever looked at Harry like Severus did. And even Severus had never looked at Harry like this before -- those glances in the Great Hall were nothing, even that wild kiss in his office didn't compare -- he looked possessed, eyes wild and face pale, body starting to tremble, and Harry saw a man who was hanging on to sanity by a thread.

He did drop the box, then, as all the blood in his body rushed straight to his cock and he heard himself gasp. Severus took one step towards him. Two steps. Three.

Then he was standing right in front of Harry, so close that Harry thought he could feel his body heat, although Harry was so hot himself he wasn't sure. Severus' hands unclenched from his elbows and raised, quite steadily for once, to hover just in front of Harry's face, fingertips not quite touching his cheeks. They were inches apart. Harry stared blankly at Severus' mouth, wondering if it was possible to faint from lust.

"Happy Christmas," was all he could think to say. But the second word was muffled because Severus had bent his head and crushed their mouths together, seizing Harry's head in an iron grip and kissing him as if in a fever, moaning into his mouth while Harry clung on to his shoulders for dear life. Harry's glasses mashed back into his cheeks, digging in unpleasantly, and Severus swore and tore them off, tossing them to the side before diving back into the kiss. Harry heard them land with a faint 'thump' on the rug, but couldn't really be bothered to see if they were all right.

The black robes were indeed soft, he realised hazily. But he didn't have much chance for further observation, because he was pretty sure that any minute now he was going to die. Severus, still moaning, was kissing him so hard that it hurt, and his hands moved from Harry's face to grip brutally at his hips, and Harry couldn't breathe, and all he could think to do was tilt his hips forward and just grind, anything, more, more touch, more feeling, more of this, all of this…

Severus tore his mouth away from Harry's with a gasp of, "Oh, God!", the first words he'd uttered since Harry's arrival. Then his hands were clawing at Harry's shirt, and the buttons began popping off, and the devouring kisses moved down to his throat, then his collarbone, then his chest. Harry felt his knees starting to buckle, dragging him down to the floor, and Severus went with him. They landed on something moderately soft, with Harry going flat down on his back. The rug, Harry thought vaguely, which was odd -- they'd always made it to the bedroom before -- Severus had never been like this --

Severus suddenly gave a high, keening cry of frustration and gave up on Harry's shirt, going directly for the zip on his trousers, fingers shaking so hard that they could barely work it. Harry was only too happy to help; it felt like his cock was about to pound its way right through the material. Together they fumbled the zip down, and Severus, panting and crouched over Harry's body like some great hungry predator, shoved Harry's trousers down to mid-thigh, with the underpants soon following. His eyes fastened on Harry's purpling erection and he moaned again.

It was all happening so fast! Harry's head was spinning and his heart was beating so quickly he thought he might pass out. His fingers ached for Severus, wanted to grab great handfuls of that dark, fine hair, pull the lanky body close, wanted to seize and clutch -- he whimpered, hearing his own neediness echoing across the walls, and he tried to sit up, arms reaching out to embrace his lover, pull him down --

But Severus grabbed hold of Harry's seeking hands and swatted them away. Harry cried out in protest, but Severus only pushed him firmly back down on the floor, gasped, "I'll die if you touch me," bent down, and swallowed Harry whole.

Harry's back arched up into the air, tears squeezing into his eyes, and his scream caught in his throat; all that emerged was a choking, wheezing sound. Silk -- hot, wet, silk, Severus' mouth, all over him, swallowing and swallowing, rippling all around him --

Harry opened his eyes, managed to look at Severus, who had lain down between Harry's legs, a curtain of dark hair shielding his face from view. He was making some kind of noise in his throat that produced vibrations and caused Harry's eyes to roll back in his head. It wasn't like before, when Severus would hum deliberately; this time the vibrations were more uneven, the noises more ragged and deep, and Harry realised that Severus was moaning around the cock in his mouth, was thrusting his hips against the floor, rubbing himself against those soft, soft robes -- he was -- he --

Harry collapsed back against the floor and screamed for all he was worth as his back arched, his hips jerked up, his knees locked into position and he came convulsively in Severus' mouth, the sensation impossibly intensified by Severus' own scream. They lay there together for an immolating moment, joined only by Severus' mouth on Harry's cock and his death-grip on Harry's hips, both of them shaking so hard that Harry was afraid they would fall apart.

And then it was over.

Harry's muscles turned to goo and he fell back down onto the floor, boneless. He took several burning breaths, nearly choking on the air. How long had he been screaming, anyway? Had anyone heard him? Would they come looking? He couldn't quite bring himself to care, not as he felt Severus' head land with a thump against his thigh, felt his cock slip out of that exquisite wetness, heard the rustle of cloth as his lover began to move. Harry tried to move, too, but he couldn't. His face felt cold and wet; he realised the tears in his eyes had spilled down his cheeks when he'd come. He couldn't stop shaking.

And then he felt a heavy, blessedly warm weight descend on him as Severus crawled up his body and then lay down on top, supporting himself on his elbows. He was shaking too. He kissed Harry's mouth very lightly, and it was only then Harry noticed how swollen and sore his lips felt. Those kisses…he moaned softly.

"Are you all right?" Severus croaked. For answer, Harry moaned again and turned his head to burrow his face in the curve where Severus' neck met his shoulder, rubbing his cheeks dry. His hands lifted to curl and fist in the soft material of the dress robes. Severus. Severus. He could smell him, he could feel him…

"Can I touch you now?" he asked in a small voice.

He got a dry, rasping sound in return that might have been a chuckle. "Not much point." Harry blinked and realised that Severus was quite limp against his thigh, and that there was a spreading wet patch on the front of the robes. "I already…when I was…" Severus muttered.

If Harry had been less shattered by the whole business, he would have been astonished. Severus never lost control like that, not during sex. Never. Instead of thinking too much about that, though, he wound his arms up around Severus' neck, nuzzling him and savouring the feeling of long, trembling fingers stroking through his messy hair. He wished they were naked and in the bed; he couldn't move his legs very much, bound as they were by his trousers, and he had the feeling his shirt was ruined beyond repair. And the rug wasn't really very soft.

"Did anybody hear me?" he mumbled.

"Silencing spell," Severus said by way of reply, and with that settled, Harry went back to nuzzling and being petted, wanting to move somewhere more comfortable but not wanting to give up this incomparable bliss to do it. Severus, however, seemed to draw on hidden reserves of strength as he shifted up off Harry's body with a grunt, and got to work on taking off Harry's shoes and socks, and then removing his trousers and underpants. Harry lifted his feet and hips cooperatively, but didn't do much else to help, as he still felt as if his body had been hit by a Stunning Spell.

Then, when Harry was clad only in his destroyed shirt, which hung open, Severus helped him to his feet. Harry leaned his head on Severus' shoulder, smiling nonsensically as they made their way into the bedroom. He was vaguely aware of Severus making his glasses come floating through the air behind them before landing gently on the bedside table. He'd missed this bedroom. Was that a new coverlet? And it was warmer in here, too.

Severus took Harry's shirt off too, and helped him into the bed. Harry fought to keep his eyes open, dismayed when Severus did not immediately join him in the bed; then he relaxed when he saw his lover was merely undressing. "I really like your robes," he said sleepily.

Severus' lips twitched. In the low light he looked tired, and Harry wondered how much sleep he'd been getting lately. Probably not enough, with the way he'd been working on that potion. "I prefer you out of yours, especially given their state of disrepair," Severus said, and let the expensive-looking garment fall down to the floor in a messy puddle before crawling in next to Harry, naked as the day he was born. Harry tried to get a good look at the body he'd missed so much, and once Severus was under the covers he wrapped himself around it more boldly than he ever had before, determined not to leave until he was forcibly evicted. He was sore, and so tired, and so very, very happy.

"S'warm," he mumbled into Severus' neck.

"Yes," Severus said, laying one arm around Harry's shoulders.

"Don't go anywhere."

"All right."

"I mean it," Harry slurred, already dropping off. "You can't leave again."

"No, I can't," he thought he heard Severus whisper, as the darkness closed in. The voice sounded soft, and…sad. "Next time will be your turn."

But maybe he'd only imagined that.

       

It was very dark. The only sound came from the three voices, intermingling until it was hard to tell them apart.

He knows nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

He will learn.

But not fast enough!

No, not fast enough.

He must learn faster.

There is so much he must learn.

So much, much faster.

Then let him learn. Let him be filled with the desire for it.

Let him seek the forbidden knowledge.

Let him know the hunger unending.

And then he will be prepared.

And so will we.

Yes. We.

And it will be time at last.

At last!

       

Harry woke up with a gasp.

He thought he'd heard a woman's voice, whispering in his ear -- saying…something, he couldn't remember what any more. Or had it been more than one woman? What had she…they…said?

Then he realised that he was in bed and that it had all been a dream. Whatever it was. Had he been dreaming? Why had he woken up again? He'd been…trying to remember something…but what? Did it matter?

Something stirred in the bed next to him and Harry quickly decided it didn't matter at all. Within seconds he forgot entirely that he'd been dreaming, caught up as he was in the memories from his waking hours. He was warm, feeling sore and happy, and above all, lying in bed with Severus. They'd…and he must have fallen asleep after…his cheeks warmed as he remembered the devouring passion in Severus' eyes, the need he'd never seen before. Would Severus be like that when he woke up? Or would he have collected himself?

Harry rolled over onto his side, still snuggled under the blankets, and watched Severus' eyes slowly open. He realised that, for all his bedside vigils last term, he'd never seen Severus wake up before; in fact, Harry could never remember Severus actually falling asleep when they shared a bed. The dark eyes regarded him with a sleepy solemnity: Severus plainly remembered why Harry was there, even though he'd just woken up. Harry's breath caught. Now they'd had their tumble, would Severus kick him out, just like always? He didn't want to go!

Severus mumbled, "Time is it?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't even thought of that. They could have slept the whole night away. What if someone noticed he was missing? He squinted at the clock by Severus' bed, and with relief he said, "Ten past midnight."

"Mm." The eyes still focussed on him. "Your lips are bruised."

Harry touched them lightly. "Oh…yeah," he said.

"I am sorry," Severus said quietly. "Did I hurt you?"

Harry looked down at Severus' face, resting on the pillow and shadowed in the firelight, with his black hair tumbled around him, and felt a surge of joy so deep and sweet that it wrenched his breath away. "No," he managed.

Severus raised his hand and trailed the tip of a finger down Harry's cheek. Harry could feel the beginnings of stubble prickling as the finger passed by and couldn't help the small swell of pride -- soon enough he'd need to shave. Finally.

The fingertip dropped from his face, and Severus rested his hand on Harry's hip. "You've grown."

"Not much," Harry said, surprised but pleased.

"No. But some." The hand on Harry's hip began a soft, gentle stroking motion. Harry shivered a little. "You'll never be tall."

"I know," Harry admitted, ignoring the familiar pang and lifting a leg so that he was half-lying on top of Severus, who didn't protest. "It's okay, I reckon. Makes me a better Seeker. Smaller people can be faster."

Severus' hand shifted to caress Harry's arse. Harry's shiver was more pronounced. He caught his breath, and then bent to kiss Severus, very lightly.

It was different this time. Severus was in no obvious hurry; in fact, he kept up such a slow pace that Harry was afraid he would lose his mind. He didn't seem to want to stop kissing Harry, on the mouth, the throat, shoulders, chest, anywhere, all the way down to the soles of his feet while Harry squirmed and pleaded softly on the bed.

Harry felt as if he was underwater. His limbs felt heavy, his movements slower and more languid than usual. It was all so gentle, so good, and this time when he insisted on touching and exploring Severus, his lover didn't put up much of a fight. Harry couldn't see very well in the low light, especially not when the covers wound up going over his head, but he learned his way through touch, trying very hard to be skilful and knowing he was probably only managing to be gentle, at best. But he was getting soft, sweet thrills out of it anyway, and Severus seemed to like it at least a little, judging from his gasps and sighs. The end came slowly, with them both cocooned in the blankets, rubbing together, pleasure coming in deep, echoing, nearly silent pulses.

Oh, my God, Harry thought helplessly, I'm so in love with you.

As his heartrate calmed, he managed to loosen his grip on Severus a little bit, and swallowed the stupid words back down towards his heart where they belonged. He wouldn't know how to say something like that, not properly. Anyway, things were at such a delicate stage right now: he couldn't afford to ruin it, just because of saying something Severus wouldn't want to hear -- or believe.

They surfaced from underneath the blankets, taking deep gulps of fresh air. Severus fished his wand out from underneath his pillow and performed the familiar cleansing charm. Then they were silent, still lying close together, until Harry said, trying to lighten the moment, "You never opened your present."

Severus raised his eyebrow, waved his wand again, and said, "Accio gift." The small, brightly wrapped present zipped through the open bedroom door and landed lightly on the blankets. Severus sat up with a slight grunt, the blankets pooling in his lap. Harry remained curled up in the covers, watching and hoping.

Severus opened the box and took out the gloves, raising his eyebrows again. "Do you still need them?" Harry asked, biting his lip. "I saw a pair on your desk a while back that looked worn through, but you might have got new ones since then."

"When did you get these?" Severus asked. "I tried to order a pair through the apothecary and they were sold out of all the human sizes." He slid his hand inside the left glove, his skin making a soft hissing sound against the velvet. "This lining provides a good cushion -- they're in great demand."

Harry grinned. "I must've beaten everyone else to it, then," he said, feeling very proud that he'd managed to get something that Severus would have picked out for himself. "They'd just got them in stock when I bought you a pair."

"When?" Severus repeated. "That must have been…" he trailed off and looked surprised.

"Back in August," Harry admitted. "When I went with Hagrid to Diagon Alley."

"I see," Severus said, and looked again at his hand, encased in the smooth black dragonhide. "Quite possibly the first long-range planning you have ever done. I'm flattered."

"So you like them?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Yes. Thank you." Severus removed the glove and placed it carefully back in the box, which he then set on the nightstand next to Harry's glasses. "They will be quite useful. And you? Did you like yours?"

Harry blinked in confusion. "My what? Oh, I didn't buy a pair for myself, I already had…"

"I meant your Christmas present."

Harry frowned. "From you? You didn't get me a…"

Severus smirked. "Ah. Then you haven't found it yet."

"Found it?" Harry's eyebrows climbed. "Did you hide it? Why? Where? What is it?"

"You'll see. It should be something you can use."

"Severus!" Harry pushed Severus back down on the bed, too curious to marvel at his own daring, and clambered up on his lover's chest. "Where is it?"

"You'll have a job finding it. You might never actually find it, in fact. But it is already in your possession, nevertheless." Severus was looking insufferably smug.

"Huh?" What kind of gift was that? Who would give a Christmas present, and not even care if the recipient ever got it, much less liked it? Only Severus. And he wouldn't say anything else on the matter, no matter how much Harry wheedled.

Harry finally gave up and settled down in bed next to Severus again. It was now after one in the morning. He'd have to go in a couple of hours and he wanted to savour the time, even though he was sleepy again. "So…what kind of potion are you making for Dumbledore that's taking so bloody long?" He knew he sounded sulky, but he couldn't quite help it.

"I can't tell you," Severus replied blandly.

"Why not? Is it something to do with Voldemort? With all these people disappearing -- "

"What part of 'I can't tell you' did you not understand? It's a secret, Pot…Harry."

"So? It's not like you haven't got plenty of those," Harry said.

Severus was starting to look irritated. "As do you."

"Me?" Harry tried to look innocent. "Oh, aside from this, you mean?"

The irritation vanished from Severus' face, to be replaced with the unpleasant probing, examining look Harry hated so much. "Yes," he said quietly. "For example: where were you on the night Sirius Black escaped from Hogwarts?"

Harry felt his lips pinch into a thin line that rivalled McGonagall's best. Oh, no. Not this. He didn't want to lie to Severus -- but he wouldn't betray Sirius either. Never. He wouldn't do that for anybody. Instead, he decided to retaliate with a question of his own. "Why did you join Voldemort?"

"Where else have you sneaked in your invisibility cloak?" Severus shot back.

"Why are you teaching, since you hate it so much?"

"Are those rumours about your Muggle family true?"

"What about your family, are you really as rich as people say?"

"Have you ever slept with Fred or George Weasley?"

"What? No! Oh…damn," Harry said, as he realised he'd lost the peculiar game. Severus smirked and lay back down, but Harry hadn't been able to help noticing that he'd been clenching on to a handful of bedsheets rather hard. Especially when he'd asked the last question.

He sighed heavily. "Sometimes I think they really want to, and sometimes I think they're kidding," he said, "but I wouldn't do it, either way."

"What about this…pact you've made with them?"

"That's another secret," Harry said firmly.

"As I said: clearly I am not the only one here with secrets."

Harry swallowed. "I really do want to know all that stuff I asked you, though," he said earnestly. "Come on, I answered one question. Now you do one. Pick any one you like."

Severus raised an eyebrow and allowed Harry to settle in closer on the bed. "Very well," he said. "To answer one of your many impertinent questions, yes, my family is quite wealthy. Almost obscenely so, in fact."

Harry's eyes widened. So Snape was rich -- but he didn't seem proud of it, like Malfoy always was, more as if he was just stating a fact. "So…so why do you teach, if it's not for the money?" he asked.

"That was another of your questions. If you want that answered, you had better answer another one of mine."

"Oh. Oh, um, okay." Harry tried to think back to Severus' questions. Only one of them wouldn't incriminate anybody else if he answered it, even though he really didn't want to talk about it. He wished he'd pressed Severus to answer the question about Voldemort, instead, if he had to open up this can of worms. "My Muggle family, I reckon…did you mention rumours? I don't know if they're true. I don't know what they are."

Severus settled Harry into the crook of his arm. "I know only what I hear circulating in the Slytherin common room," he said. "McGonagall refuses to gossip about it in the staffroom -- at least in front of me." He scowled. "Merlin knows what she says when I'm not there. But the rumours amongst my students are wide and varied: ranging from starvation to…" he hesitated, and peered down at Harry with narrowed eyes, "to other tortures of various types which I will not repeat here."

"Torture?" Harry could feel his eyes getting big. "Well, yeah, living with the Dursleys is kind of like torture, I reckon, but they don't hurt me. Well. Not like hitting me or anything, anyway."

"They don't?" Severus' gaze was more penetrating than ever.

"Well, my cousin Dudley used to when I was small, especially at school with his gang," Harry said. "But soon he got too fat to catch me, most of the time, and since I started coming to Hogwarts he's been too scared to try. It's because they hate wizards," he added. "They think we're all freaks and monsters."

"Then…they have only mistreated you since you got your Hogwarts letter?"

"Oh, no," Harry said. "It got loads better after that, really. I got my own room and everything. Reckon they were scared somebody was watching them then. Dumbledore might have been, in fact. They've always been afraid of me being a wizard, I think -- because they knew about Mum and Dad, you see. Thought I'd be like them." He thought. "So yeah, starvation, a bit, I reckon that one's right; they didn't feed me much, and they had me work a lot, so whatever I ate never seemed to last long in my stomach."

He peeked up. Severus' face was as closed and cold as he had ever seen it, and that vein was going at his temple again. "Um?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

"They've stopped now, of course," Severus said. "Since you came to Hogwarts and people know about it. They don't treat you like that any more."

Harry stared incredulously at him.

"They've stopped," Severus repeated, his voice getting louder. "They must have -- Dumbledore would not send you back otherwise."

Harry took a deep breath. The closed expression in Severus' eyes had changed into something Harry had never seen before -- it looked almost pleading. "They…well…almost," he said helplessly. "I mean, like I said, it's not as bad as it used to be. Last summer I pretty much got to stay in my room all day alone and..."

"But they fed you?"

"Well -- Dudley's been on this diet, so nobody -- " Harry stopped and his cheeks turned bright red as memories of bananas danced in his head. He tried to recover. "I mean, Dudley's their spoilt darling, so if he doesn't eat, then…"

"A cupboard. People have actually said you slept in a cupboard. Did you know that?"

"Oh -- well -- I used to, but when I got my Hogwarts letter they gave me Dudley's smaller bedroom."

Severus stared at him. And stared. And stared some more, until Harry started to squirm. "I believe I finally understand," he said slowly. "McGonagall does not gossip because she does not know. Or does not believe."

"Believe what?"

"Believe that the headmaster would knowingly allow you to live with such people," Severus said bitterly.

"Oh -- erm," Harry tried, "he says it's because I'm safe there. He's put some kind of spell around their house that only works for families." Honestly, Severus was getting so upset over this, and it was something Harry hated too, but he'd lived with it for years, and sometimes he knew there was nothing for it but to roll with the punches.

"You would be as well protected at Hogwarts," Severus snapped. "Or nearly."

"Maybe," Harry said, irritated. "I've asked him if I could stay. I've told him I never want to go back there and he says I have to! I suppose he's got his reasons."

Severus, who had been starting to sit up, flopped back down on the bed with a whoosh of air escaping his lungs, and jostling Harry in the process. "He always does," he said quietly.

Harry remembered his own question with a jolt. "Is that why you teach?" he asked. "Dumbledore?"

"You said I hated it," Severus said.

"You act as if you do."

"I do hate it. Though I rather think I would hate what would happen to me should I leave even more."

Harry bit his lip, remembering his own panicked response when Dumbledore had mentioned the possibility of Snape's removal. His fear that Voldemort would find Snape. But… "You can't have been in danger all this time, can you? I mean…Voldemort just came back when I got to Hogwarts, and you'd been here for years -- and Dumbledore sent you out as a spy again, so he must have thought nobody would try to hurt you -- "

Snape looked tired. "He did. I…hoped. For years my status as a 'Death Eater' has been…liminal. Lucius Malfoy claimed to have been under the Imperius curse; I claimed to have been a spy. My position was admittedly somewhat trickier, especially after I began teaching at Hogwarts. I did what I could to imply to those who escaped justice that I had fed Dumbledore false information; when Aurors arrested several known sympathisers of Voldemort after finding them lurking around my family home with ill intent, I discovered that not everyone -- indeed, perhaps few -- believed me." He paused. "Ironically, the discovery of these sympathisers near Snape Manor only served to implicate me further in the eyes of the Ministry."

Harry was horrified. "So -- the only safe place was here. But the Ministry says they haven't got files on you…"

"Not any more," Snape said quietly. "I should imagine they had several then. Any they now may well be confidential, if indeed they still exist." He smirked. "I'd bet my life Fudge has never seen them, certainly. As the years went by I became known for favouring my Slytherins and that helped both groups see me as a Dark wizard."

"You do favour them awfully, you know -- "

"Who else is going to?"

"Well, anyway," Harry said impatiently, "so people -- the Death Eaters, anyway -- thought you were a Dark wizard too right up until…er…Malfoy…on the balcony?" He flushed, both with embarrassment and anger.

Snape stared at the ceiling. "It took Dumbledore quite some work to keep me from Azkaban, and to keep my family name free from the scandal of a trial -- which, as there were no official records of my work as a spy, would have sent me to Azkaban as well." Harry didn't see how this was an answer to his question, until Snape went on, "The Ministry saw me as dangerous, but they trusted Dumbledore to control me; and to tell you the truth, so did I. They were willing to allow me to remain in his 'care' at Hogwarts, even act as a teacher, under certain…restrictions."

"Like what?"

"Dark wizards saw me as a traitor. Light wizards and the ones in between did too. The Ministry knew they would not have to set Aurors on me to get rid of me, if I walked free. The only thing that would have kept me safe would have been the family money -- I could have fled anywhere, become anyone, bought any official I liked. Merlin knows Voldemort frequently dipped into his servants' resources to do precisely that…" he paused, and his lips thinned into a line of fury that Harry knew well. "So they locked it away from me."

"What?" Harry was flabbergasted. "But you said you were ri -- "

"I said my family was rich," Severus said angrily. "I can't touch a Knut of it."

"Wha -- how? Even when he was on the run, Sirius was able to get into his Gringotts vault -- " Severus stared at him, and he flushed and admitted, "He bought my Firebolt."

"How nice," Severus said coldly. "I would not expect such extravagance from this quarter, if I were you."

"I certainly don't," Harry agreed, refusing to be overly nettled, although minorly nettled was all right. He probably shouldn't mention his new boots, either. "Especially since you won't even tell me where my Christmas present is." Severus looked ready to snap back at him, and he said hurriedly, "So what happened to your money?"

Severus looked unhappy. "It is entrusted to the headmaster of Hogwarts," he said finally. "They gave my Gringotts key into Dumbledore's keeping and imposed a restriction on how much money I would be allowed to have. The allowance is just that of a teacher's salary -- slightly less, I believe, than most of my colleagues make. Meanwhile, the family home fell into disrepair -- not that it ultimately mattered much, given the events of this summer -- and I was only given a few personal effects to keep, once they had been thoroughly cleared by the Ministry. Including," he gestured wearily to the pile of fabric on the floor, "some of my father's clothes. Very generous of them, don't you think?"

"A-an allowance?" Harry almost winced, keenly feeling the indignity. That Severus, fighting for the light, had been robbed of everything he had -- while the Malfoys still ponced around, rich as anything, as if they owned the world! "But still, that combined with your salary…"

"I don't get a salary. That was another restriction. Only the allowance." 'Allowance' was clearly a foul word to Severus.

Harry was horrified. "So you…you have all this money…and it's just sitting there?" Severus nodded. "I'm surprised the Ministry didn't just take it, if they were so worried," Harry muttered.

"I'm sure they tried," Severus said, and smirked. "Have you ever tried to steal a Galleon from a Snape, Harry?"

"Er…no…"

"I would advise you not to try. We've always been particular about our money. You might find some nasty surprises in store for you. The Ministry certainly did, or so I am told."

"Serves the bastards right," Harry said fiercely. "You -- so you're kept here, and Dumbledore can't do anything about it?"

"He could go blazingly in defiance of the rules and give me my Gringotts key," Severus said blandly. "But it isn't quite worth the risk. Alternatively, he could send me to Siberia, the Sahara, New Jersey, or any other hellhole, if he provides sufficient reason to the Ministry, but I would prefer not to investigate that possibility. I'm here, and I'm alive. I'm grateful to him for that."

"But hasn't he ever tried to -- "

"I don't know," Severus snapped. "I don't know what he's tried and what he hasn't. He's told me he regrets it, if you must know."

"I hope so," Harry said hotly. "I hope they all regret it -- keeping you locked up here, and me locked up there, both of us trapped like…" his voice trailed off as an astonishing idea occurred to him. "Do you think that's why he's doing it?" he asked slowly.

"What?"

"Dumbledore. Letting us…do this. Because he feels bad. Guilty. Maybe?"

Severus frowned and looked sceptical. "I have rarely known the headmaster to be motivated by guilt. He knows some things are necessary. And I cannot see him allowing a situation like this merely because he feels 'badly' about our less-than-perfect private lives."

Severus' sarcasm aside, Harry couldn't let the idea go. Maybe Dumbledore did feel badly -- maybe he thought Harry and Severus at least deserved to find a little happiness together, if they couldn't get it from anywhere else. It was possible, wasn't it? But he didn't say it out loud; it wasn't likely Severus would agree.

The comfortable, content mood dispelled, they nevertheless continued to lie close together in the bed, Harry resting his head on Severus' chest once more.

"I don't ever want to go back there!" he burst out in a passionate whisper, suddenly unable to control himself. "I hate it -- I hate them! I don't want to go back!"

Severus' muscles tensed to iron under him, but his lover said nothing, only made a faint, choking sound. Harry turned his head up to look at him; Severus was still staring determinedly at the ceiling, but his lips were pinched again. Harry sighed, feeling his anger leaving him as quickly as it had come.

"I'm sorry," he said wearily. "I'm being stupid. It's only for one more summer. Then I never have to see them again."

"Promise me," Severus said in a very, very quiet voice, "that they have never touched you."

"I promise." The Dursleys hated him too much to want to do that.

There was another uncomfortable silence.

"Perhaps you will not have to go back," Severus said eventually, his voice neutral.

Harry blinked, and turned to look at him again. Severus' face was as blank as his voice had been. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously. Then, with hope surfacing in his voice that he could not entirely suppress, "Could you do somethi -- "

"I'm making no promises," Severus said.

As if that was anything new. Harry snuggled in closer, feeling strangely reassured anyway. Severus' non-promises were probably better than some people's binding oaths. If something could be done…he felt his eyelids starting to slide shut in exhaustion.

They opened back up when Severus said, "I have another question, but under the circumstances I believe I should get it gratis."

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked sleepily.

"Did you ever take the Somniesperus?"

Harry tried not to tense up. Given that he was as relaxed as boiled noodles, it wasn't too difficult. "Erm. Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I did."

A moment of silence. Then: "And?" Severus asked impatiently.

Well, here was a quandary. Things were just starting to go right again, they were getting comfortable again; Harry didn't want to tell Severus that his potion hadn't worked. Unless Harry wasn't supposed to remember what he'd dreamed, but somehow, he didn't think that was the case. Maybe he'd tell Severus later. But not right this second. "I'd like to keep it private for now," he said truthfully. "I mean…I…yeah."

Severus frowned, but obviously couldn't do much to gainsay that. "Thanks for making it for me," Harry added, feeling obscurely guilty. Well, he hadn't lied, really. "It was nice -- "

"Oh, go to sleep, Potter," Severus grunted, but he hooked his arm more firmly around Harry and rested his chin atop Harry's head.

Harry relaxed. "Wake me up," he reminded Severus sleepily.

"I shall set the alarm for three-thirty," Severus said, which was the only way, Harry realised, he would admit that he might not wake up on his own power.

"When can I come back next? Tomorrow night?"

"We shall see." Severus' tone of voice made it sound like a 'yes.' Harry kissed his chest gently, and closed his eyes. Oh, he'd be back tomorrow. And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, and…

Happy again, Harry sighed and went to sleep.

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