Harry Potter stamped one foot in frustration. The stone gargoyle in front of the headmaster's office remained stubbornly unmoving.
"Let me try," came a thin, aged voice behind him. "Lemonade," said Albus Dumbledore, immediately accompanied by the grinding of stone on stone. "I've been working my way through beverages this year, my boy."
They rode the winding stair in silence and Harry resisted the urge to just lean back into the voluminous robes and close his eyes. He'd thought his life would be simpler now that Voldemort was dead. Once inside the familiar office Harry sank without invitation into one of the overstuffed visitor's chairs. He waited for the elderly headmaster to offer him tea; instead Dumbledore went behind his desk and sat down, his kind eyes holding Harry's.
"I've just been down to the dungeons," he said without preamble, as though to judge Harry's reaction.
"Oh!" He'd always known that news traveled quickly at the school. "So, you've heard?" he asked, mind racing frantically.
A smile flickered across the bearded face. "I imagine by now the whole school has heard that Professor Snape finally tried to kill Harry Potter," he said mildly.
Harry bolted out of his chair. "What? That's not what happened!" He leaned against the heavy wooden desk, eyes blazing.
Calm, unruffled eyes met and held his own before Harry felt some small measure of that calm invade him, unbending his spine. He sank back onto the chair. "I think you should know that my Potions master has asked me to let him resign."
Harry bit his lip and looked away.
"Rather than being sacked," Dumbledore went on.
Harry looked back, bunching his fists in his lap. "Are you going to? Let him resign? Or sack him?"
The white brow shot up in surprise. "I'm not prepared to do either just yet." He studied Harry. "Do you want to tell me why he thinks I should?" A slight smile ghosted around his lips. "Since, if he tried to kill you, it was remarkably ineffective."
Harry looked up hopefully. "Didn't the professor--?"
Dumbledore sighed. "He was, er, reticent on the subject. He did ask for a Time Turner in order to resign retroactively."
Harry smiled for the first time in what felt like days, but was probably only a scant hour or so. He fidgeted in the chair.
The headmaster sighed again. "I cannot help either of you if my only witness to the incident is Mr. Malfoy."
Harry's eyes narrowed. Malfoy! An hour or so before Harry had been in Potions class, eyeing the dropping sands of the hourglass Snape kept on the worktable beside his teaching lectern. It had been nearly a month since Harry's life had changed, but now he felt like something important was escaping, much like the sands rushing through the narrow glass.
It had been a month since he had found himself back to back with the Potions master, casting spells, casting the final spell that had broken Voldemort's power, defeating him once and for all. And then…nothing. Snape--Professor Snape--he corrected himself mentally, had been avoiding him. Not even rude remarks fell from those perfect lips, though Harry had done his share of things to elicit them.
True, there had been celebrations, moderated by the losses they'd taken in the final battle. But in the end Harry still had to finish school, and Snape had to finish teaching. Avoiding him by sometime ingenious means. But not today, thought Harry, eyeing the diminishing sands in the glass.
It was Friday, after Advanced Potions, and Harry, having been forced to learn every possible defense against the forces that had by then become blatantly directed at Harry, had become rather good at Potions.
He'd got used to the professor's quick escapes after every class, and was ready when the last of the sand trickled through. The bell rang. Snape was already striding toward the arched stone doorway.
Harry, seated near the back of the classroom, moved toward the door, planting himself in the way despite dirty looks from his fellow students. It was the last class of the week and everyone was anxious for the weekend to start, the last one before classes let out for the year next week.
Except Harry. He only wanted to get through the next few minutes, and hopefully he would get an answer to some of the questions that had been plaguing him. "Professor?" Harry asked, before Snape could sweep past him.
Dark eyes looked down the long beaky nose, but Snape stopped, blocked from escape not only by Harry but by other departing students. Harry let a few more students brush past him, staring at the pale, lined face. He'd been looking at that face, with varying degrees of loathing, respect, and more for, nearly seven years.
"Could I have a word with you?"
"No." No hesitation.
Harry moved a step backward as the last student pushed through the dungeon classroom door. "It'll only take a second," Harry insisted.
Something wary settled in the half-lidded eyes, and he exhaled. "Very well."
Now or never, Harry thought, suddenly nervous. "I was wondering about the ceremony. After term ends." Harry had received an invitation to a ceremony inducting both him and the professor into the Order of Merlin. "I--I was wondering," he went on, rushing to fill in the silence, "if you'd like to go. With me."
Suspicion stole over the pale face, replaced quickly with the customary sneer. "Mr. Potter, I'm quite certain you've qualified for your Apparating license."
"Yes, sir," he said, inwardly cursing the slip into formality. It hadn't been that way when they'd been fighting Voldemort. He'd even got a 'Harry' once. But only once. "I mean, it'll be the day after I finish school, and I won't be a student any longer, and I'd like to go with you." He got it all out in a rush, but he got it out.
"Don't be absurd," Snape said coldly, then turned away, toward the half-open door.
Again Harry slipped in front so that Snape would have to all but push him out of the way to escape. "Why won't you even talk to me?" Harry asked, voice echoing in the now empty classroom. Why had everything changed when Voldemort died? He almost wished there was still a tangible enemy to fight.
"We are talking now," came the cool reply.
"I mean, is what we did so wrong?" Harry asked plaintively. Only to be met with silence.
Without anther word, and despite having to brush past Harry, Snape slid past him, gliding out the door, without so much as a backward glance.
The door to the storeroom at the back of the classroom swung open, and Harry looked up in surprise. Draco Malfoy, cauldron in hand, stood there, an evil grin on his face. Harry remembered he'd asked for spare ingredients before class ended and Snape, trusting the rotten git, had waved him in.
"Lover's spat?" sneered the other student.
Harry's face flamed. "None of your business, Malfoy!"
But Malfoy was crossing the dungeon classroom, languid satisfaction in his stride. "Not my business? That a respected teacher is shagging a student? Are you mad?" He'd emphasized the word 'respected' in a way that made it clear he meant just the opposite. Harry suspected that having Malfoy's idol and Head of House turn out to be instrumental in Voldemort's demise had been a blow to his pride.
Glee tinged the honey-coated drawl. "He'll be sacked, and you'll be ruined."
"Keep your filthy mouth shut. I'm warning you--"
"I hope it was worth it, Potter I hope he let you get on top. Or did you just let him do it from behind? I'll bet you like--"
Harry was reaching for his wand, conscious of the fact that he was playing into Malfoy's hands but unable to help it. He'd been rejected on the most basic level today; he was in no mood to take more abuse. And spoiling for a good fight.
"Harry! No!" came the voice behind him, distracting him and ruining his aim. His hex went wild. A flash of yellow light shot from the hallway, countering Harry's glittering hex before it could impact. The force of the two spells colliding sent Harry sprawling into Malfoy, whose own spell had gone wild as well, sparking in the crackling melee of magic sputtering over their heads. Stunned by the impact Harry, vaguely saw the fluttering sparks raining all around them as though an umbrella over their head was diverting them.
Malfoy pushed off him distastefully, shoving him a bit harder into the stone floor than absolutely necessary. "He attacked me!" he screamed. "You saw it!" He looked down and nudged Harry's arm with his shoe. "You've killed him."
Dimly, Harry heard a noise above him, a shout of rage or pain or something, but all he could feel was the hand slapping his face until he sputtered and tried to sit up.
He coughed, lungs hurting as though he'd breathed in smoke, and felt strong arms--familiar arms--holding him upright.
"Well, you tried, anyway," Malfoy said, tone implying that Snape couldn't even kill anyone properly anymore. "I hope he was worth it. I don't imagine even that old fool Dumbledore will let you stay after this."
Harry's eyes shot open as the arms holding him disappeared. When he could focus--there seemed to be something wrong with his glasses--he saw that Snape had risen to his feet. After setting his glasses back in place, he saw that Snape was looking down disapprovingly at him.
"Get up, boy. Report to the hospital wing to make sure you're all right."
Already climbing to his feet, Harry said, "I'm fine." But then he swayed a bit, wondering what spell it was that had hit him. He grabbed at the closest thing to steady him, a black sleeve, and got shaken off for his pains.
~~**~~**~~
"I didn't go to the hospital wing," Harry, from across the headmaster's desk, said. "I ran straight here."
The headmaster sat back in the chair and regarded Harry, not unkindly. Then he sighed. "I suppose you'd better tell me what happened that night."
There was no question about *which* night. Harry hadn't had much to say about the night he and Snape faced Voldemort for the last time. He'd reported the facts, such as he knew them, but Dumbledore hadn't pressed him, not when confronted by two exhausted souls. Harry himself had slept the clock round after that night. Snape hadn't been there when he woke up.
Instead of answering, though, he fidgeted with his hands in his lap. "Nothing, really," he said finally. "We had to join hands--for the final spell. You know." Harry saw the white head dip in a nod. "And when it was over we didn't let go. Shock, I suppose."
He remembered the hard feel of the other man pressed against his back, remembered the tightness of the fingers holding his. It had hurt a bit, once there was silence all around them, but he hadn't wanted to let go. He'd clung to it as a lifeline, barely conscious of murmuring spells, just of that warm steady hand in his.
Harry cleared his throat. "Anyway, I sort of turned around and we sort of kissed."
"Sort of?"
Harry felt the dull thud of his own heart in his chest, knowing he was probably blushing. "It seemed right at the time. Sort of an everything's-going-to-be-okay thing."
"On the cheek, then?" Dumbledore, said, looking decidedly curious.
"No," Harry said quietly. "Not exactly."
When he could, Harry looked up, expecting the headmaster to be shocked. Then he remembered he could never tell how the old man was going to react, and this was one of those times. Dumbledore didn't look remotely shocked. If Harry had to pick an expression, he'd peg it at smug.
"I see." For a long moment the two men stared at one another. "And did the professor, er--"
Harry burned at the memory. What had seemed so natural at the time--the pressing of bodies, the wanting to touch Snape everywhere--had been cut off abruptly with the arrival of Aurors.
"No," Harry admitted gloomily. "He's gone all noble on me, and he's been avoiding me ever since. Now I've just gone and made things worse."
The smile he gifted Harry with was the same one Harry had seen so many years ago on this man's face; that of welcoming, of a feeling of home. He'd never lost that feeling, or that smile, even in their darkest hours.
"I've often told you that who we are is determined by our choices." An expression crossed over the agile features swiftly, and he went on, "Though some choices had to be made on your behalf." He got slowly to his feet. "I think it's time you learned about some of them."
Puzzled, Harry watched the tall wizard cross the room to the elaborately carved cabinet along one wall. Harry remembered a visit to this office when the door of that cabinet had been slightly ajar. Dumbledore tapped the door with his wand, and the door sprang open with a slight snick. Harry recognized the object he removed immediately. The Pensieve.
"To do so, I'm afraid we must confront the lion in his den," Dumbledore went on, then chuckled at his own humor. "Though I daresay he wouldn't appreciate the analogy." He tapped the bowl itself with his wand. "Saranitus." A shimmer of crystal sparks showered over the bowl, coalescing over the top and sealing the liquid in.
Harry stood up too. "Where are we going?" Dumbledore handed him the tightly covered bowl.
"The dungeons."
~~**~~**~~
"Go away!" The voice coming from behind the heavy door was unmistakably Professor Snape's. There was a dull sound next that Harry couldn't identify.
"Severus?" Dumbledore called out, then looked at Harry with a reassuring smile. Harry had experience with Dumbledore's reassuring smiles, and wasn't necessarily reassured.
Suddenly the heavy wooden door was jerked open. Harry, standing behind Dumbledore, gasped. The normally icy Potions master was very obviously disheveled. Missing was the oh-so-formal frock coat. Instead Snape had stripped to his shirt sleeves, unbuttoned at collar and cuffs, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. Even his hair looked more unattended-to than usual, as though his fingers had been more cruel to it than normal. Harry didn't want to look away despite the obvious displeasure on the man's face.
"What's *he* doing here?" Snape sneered, the cold black eyes glittering strangely. One arm rested on the doorjamb closest to Harry, and Harry could see the wiry ebon hairs on his wrist.
"Couldn't resist running straight to the headmaster, could you, Potter?" he went on. He didn't wait for an answer, shifting his glare to the taller man. "Get him out of here. I won't be responsible--"
Calmly, Dumbledore interjected, "I'll take full responsibility."
It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. "Damn you, old man," Snape hissed and Harry's eyes widened. He'd never heard Snape talk that way to the headmaster. "You know what I'm capable of."
Untroubled blue eyes met the cold dark ones. "I know you are capable of great restraint. That's why I brought him."
Snape's expression turned sly. "And great excess." The look he turned on Harry was just as heated as the one he'd given him on the field of battle but had nothing to do with kisses. But Snape was looking back at the headmaster when he said, "Is that what you want? I could *show* you what Death Eaters are capable of. Show you both." His voice had that mad hiss in it Harry had only ever heard once, at the Shrieking Shack when Sirius had been revealed and Snape had lost it.
"Severus!" Dumbledore's voice, sharp as a whip-crack, rippled through the sitting room, and the madness faded from Snape's dark eyes.
Tension stiffened the teacher's spine, whitening the hand gripping the door frame. Harry, holding the Pensieve, watched, fascinated. Snape shook his head violently. "Doesn't matter," he said coldly, shoving away from the door, tacitly inviting them in by not slamming the door in their faces. As angry as Harry thought Snape was, he didn't think he'd slam the door in Dumbledore's face.
A heavy wooden trunk sat in the middle of the floor, half-full of books and jars. A smaller worn traveling case stood beside it. "I'm packing," he declared, as if anticipating the question.
Harry looked around. He'd been in Snape's room before, but it was always an interesting place, even when being stripped. Unnoticed, he hoped, he set the Pensieve down on the heavy table in the room's sitting area. The comfy armchair looked forlorn without the usual stack of books beside it. There was a sofa too, and Harry turned so he was between the table and the sofa, watching the two men before him.
Snape stood in the middle of the room and ran a distracted hand through his hair, then his eyes widened slightly at something on his arm. Very deliberately he began to roll down his sleeves, covering the Dark Mark. "If you won't let me resign, you'll have to sack me for deserting the undeserving brats for the rest of the term."
Dumbledore sighed, "I won't sack you."
Snape shook out his second sleeve and finished buttoning it. "I'm not staying. My 'usefulness', shall we say, ended the night Potter killed Voldemort."
Harry knew he hadn't done it alone, knew Snape himself had, before the silence had descended between them, enjoyed telling him that fact.
"And I won't accept your resignation," Dumbledore went on, as though Snape hadn't spoken. Harry could tell that both men had almost literally dug in their heels; it was visible in every line of their postures.
"I'm certain you can find someone to take over my class for the final week of term," Snape said, ignoring, quid pro quo, what Dumbledore had said. Then, as if just thinking of it, said, "Poppy should have lots of free time on her hands now that she isn't patching up Potter here for his usual end-of-term fiasco."
He wheeled about, crossing to the trunk and tucking in more books. "And I won't be attending that damn-fool ceremony. Tell them they can heap all the so-called glory onto Potter." He shut the trunk with a final thud.
Harry burned in embarrassment. He felt that he should say something, but also felt a bit battered by the undercurrents in the room.
Then, very quietly Dumbledore said, "Severus, this isn't necessary."
Snape looked up sharply, and Harry repressed a shiver. The professor's eyes blazed. "Nothing has ever been more necessary, Albus! I've had enough of being manipulated. I won't stand for it now the boy's out of danger. Now, get him out of here before I do violence to you both!" The usually languid voice had risen with every point until Snape was leaning up to the taller headmaster.
For a long moment two sets of eyes held until, unbelievably, Snape backed down, tilting his head to the side, not looking at either of them. Not, Harry thought glumly, that Snape had spared much of a word or glance in his direction.
Dumbledore exhaled heavily and looked over at Harry, who still stood by the sofa, beside the Pensieve. He gave him a reassuring look--not quite a smile. Then he turned back to his about to be errant Potions master. "He isn't a boy," Dumbledore said to the side of Snape's face. "You owe him that much."
A harsh noise came out of the pale throat. Snape's arms dropped until they were rigid by his sides. "Damn you, Albus," he hissed, so softly that Harry had to strain to listen. "You know what I owe him, and you wouldn't let me pay."
Harry felt something peculiar jolt through him. What did Snape owe him, or think he owed him? Was it the only reason he'd ever joined the fight against Voldemort? Harry had always suspected his wily headmaster had some hold over Snape. He'd never even suspected it might be himself.
Dumbledore swept one arm toward where Harry waited. Involuntarily the Snape's eyes followed the voluminous sleeve, sliding warily away from Harry down to the silver bowl. "There is your coin, Severus," Dumbledore said in a voice that brooked no disagreement. "Pay up."
Harry saw the horror in the dark eyes and pale face. Snape dragged his gaze away from the table, back to Dumbledore, pleading plainly without words. "No!" he said, voice rising slightly.
Dumbledore stood his ground. "He has a right to know."
Snape was already shaking his head, dislodging the already untidy hair. "You show him, then." Sullen.
"It isn't my debt," the older man said with an air of finality.
"I was young and foolish. Surely you can't hold that against…"
"You've held it against yourself all these years. See where it has led," Dumbledore said, the aged voice sounding quite strong. "He has a right to know," he repeated, and Snape seemed to sag visibly, turning away, presenting his back.
For a long moment no one spoke. Then Dumbledore put a hand on Snape's shoulder. "Do you need the date?"
Snape shrugged him off, but with no real violence. "You know bloody well I don't." Another silence. "I will never forgive you for this." Harry saw the headmaster bow his head, still behind his Potions master and out of Snape's sight.
Snape looked over his shoulder at Harry for the first time since they'd come down to the dungeons, but Harry didn't like the look in the molten eyes. "Can we at least have a little privacy?" he said.
Harry's heart started beating abnormally fast. The voice was cool again, having lost its heat, but something about it warmed Harry's blood, even as the warning bells were going off in his brain.
The blue eyes followed Snape's gaze then moved slowly toward the spot where Harry stood. "I'll stay," he declared.
Snape rolled his eyes, radiating frustration. "Don't trust me? Even now?" he asked, coming over to the sitting area. He gave Harry the briefest of glances before collapsing on one end of the couch.
Dumbledore ignored the comment, easing into the single chair. "Sit down, Harry," he said, leaning on the arm of the overstuffed chair.
Harry sat down silently, on the opposite end of the couch. Once he was seated, Harry darted a glance at Snape but focused on what Dumbledore was saying. "You've been inside a Pensieve before, Harry, so you know what to expect."
"But, sir!" Harry said, speaking for the first time. "Why? I mean, what--?"
Dumbledore held up one hand. For the first time he looked uncomfortable. "Harry, I've always tried to do right by you," he said, though Snape made an indelicate noise. Dumbledore went on, ignoring his Potions master. "That meant making choices, difficult ones, on your behalf." He looked away, to the man at Harry's side. "Some of those decisions involved Severus."
Slowly Harry turned his head to look at Snape, who turned, if possible, even further away, hunched into his corner of the couch, arms over his chest, not looking at either of them. Harry looked at the man in profile until Dumbledore started to speak again.
"The time has apparently come to show you how those choices were made, so that from now on you can freely determine the course of your own life."
Harry swallowed hard and looked again at Snape. "I'd like you to examine these memories, my memories, with the professor. You are, of course, under no obligation to do this."
The pale face finally turned his way, studying him sharply, daring him, Harry was sure, to say no. It was Harry's turn to ignore the older man as he'd been ignored himself, as much as he wanted to ask what was coming.
"I'd like to do this, sir. Er, sirs." Snape jerked his face away, obviously furious, but not speaking.
Clearly this was what the headmaster expected, and he went on to explain. "So that you may both examine the same memory, you'll have to maintain some kind of physical contact--hands perhaps? Once inside, of course, that will no longer be necessary." Snape sent the other wizard a withering glare and kept his arms folded across his chest. Dumbledore waited until the other man had uncrossed his arms and smoothed both hands down his thighs as if wiping them dry.
Harry slid a bit closer; then, when he didn't get his head bitten off, dared a bit closer. Without looking at him--indeed, the black gaze was fixed squarely on the headmaster-- Snape extended one hand, and Harry took it without hesitation. Neither of them had soft hands. Nevertheless the contact felt good.
Once their hands touched Dumbledore reached over and uncovered the Pensieve. "Good boy, Harry," he said simply, and waited. Harry looked over at the severe profile. Snape's lips were compressed to a thin line, but he slid his gaze sideways.
Harry expected a cutting remark, or a sneer. Something about their previous Pensieve disaster, or his own part in whatever this was Snape felt he was being forced to do.
Instead he felt a quick squeeze of his hand. "Hang on," Snape said, leaning forward, forcing Harry to follow, even though his heart had sped up again quite inexplicably. For just a moment their clasped hands hovered over the swirling silver liquid. Harry saw images sweep past, formless and almost familiar. He could feel Snape's eyes boring into his skull, but Harry couldn't look away from the swirling silver pool. Then their hands went into the bowl.
As before, Harry felt the sensation of falling, felt his body go over icy cold, but this time, with Snape holding tight, the landing was almost like stepping off a broomstick. Harry recognized their location immediately--he'd just been there earlier in the evening-- Dumbledore's office. They were not in the front part however, but in the curved sitting area behind his desk.
To their right was the large stone fireplace, a cheerful fire in it as there almost always was. Harry felt Snape beside him, and looked up to make sure it wasn't some Pensieve- induced illusion. But Snape wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the other two men in the room.
His hand still in Snape's, Harry turned and gasped slightly, seeing not just Dumbledore, but the other Snape as well. Even though he expected it, having two of him in the same room was a bit overwhelming. Instead of daylight outside the broad bay window behind the two inhabitants of the office, it was night, the darkness glimmering with the first rays of moonrise.
"It's true, then?" a voice said, so easily recognizable to Harry that he looked up. But it was the other, younger Snape who had spoken. Again Harry followed his gaze. Dumbledore, looking much the same, was nodding at the speaker, and though Harry knew it was the man who had ended up teaching him Potions, he had to stare hard. For it was Snape as Death Eater who had spoken, receiving a nod from Dumbledore at his pronouncement. Long robes, the hem dirty, one shoulder seam ripped, covered his impossibly thinner frame.
Everything about this earlier version of Snape looked odd, from his hair--more disheveled than ever Harry had seen it--to the thin, unlined face.
"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore said solemnly, sounding older and more tired than he had just moments ago in Harry's own time.
Snape rubbed his face with both hands, and when he looked up, his black eyes went to the table beside the chair where it looked like Dumbledore had been reading. Harry gasped. The Death Eater mask lay discarded, tilted to one side. It gave Harry a chill to see it, to think of it hiding Snape's face. There was a red stain on it, near the base. When Harry looked up he saw a trickle of blood on Snape's neck as well.
"Sorry," he murmured, when Snape gave his hand another warning squeeze. They both knew the inhabitants couldn't hear, him but Harry didn't want to miss what they were saying. He waited for Snape to release his hand, but they were both soon caught up in the unfolding drama.
He looked back at the younger Snape, feeling wrenched by the contrast. He could tell this man must be not much older than himself, early twenties, perhaps. The Snape of his time looked much older than his years.
Harry heard a disconsolate noise as the body of the younger Snape sagged, bracing himself on the back of the armchair. "I should have gone there straight away, instead of wasting time--" he began.
"This tragedy is many things, Severus, but it is not your fault," Dumbledore said, shaking his head.
"I could have--" Snape began again, only to be cut off again.
"You didn't know where they were!" Dumbledore said sharply. "None of us did. You at least got a warning to me."
A harsh laugh split the somber office. "Fat lot of good that did. They're still dead." Snape ran a strangely unstained hand over his face. "I could have got the information from the Dark Lord himself, if I'd known it was going to be tonight." He pushed himself away from the desk, arms wrapping around his lean body as if cold.
"And got yourself killed in the process," came the firm, unshakable reply.
"Damn it, Dumbledore!" Snape said, his voice rising. Harry heard that mad edge in it, the one Snape got when his emotions ran high. Snape was scowling at the headmaster.
Dumbledore took off his half-moon spectacles and rubbed the lenses against the full folds of his robe sleeve before putting them back on. "Severus, listen to me. Even if you had got to Godric's Hollow before Voldemort, do you think James would have listened to you?" Snape seemed to sag and Harry, watching, felt a chill go through him. He realized suddenly that although there was no longer any need to hold the older Snape's hand, his professor hadn't let go yet.
The thin young man sagged into one of the chairs by the fire, staring into it glumly. "I can't believe they're all dead." A hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked up bleakly.
"Not quite all."
The words hung in the tower office as it penetrated all the room's occupants, both actual and virtual. Snape's head shot up quickly, eyes filled, Harry was astonished to see, with the strangest emotion he'd ever seen there--hope.
"The baby?" Harry thought Snape suddenly looked very young. He looked up at the man beside him and found him just as riveted by the scene as he was. He wanted to stroke the other man's face, feel the harsh lines that had formed there in the intervening years. "Then it's true?"
A nod passed between them.
"Then there's still hope." Relief swept over the obviously overwrought, exhausted man. Then as he watched he saw the elegant, expressive hands, that would age into the ones he was holding now, reach up and rip the dark robe quite literally off his body. He felt the hand holding his loosen as if requesting to be set free, then tighten as the younger version of himself was revealed. This younger man wore simple black pants and a short sleeved shirt, the dark mark plain on one arm. Without the robe he looked even younger and leaner, the harsh black emphasizing the sharp planes of his face.
With a noise of disgust Snape crossed to the fireplace and threw the robe into the fire, making sure it caught before adding the white mask still tilted on the reading table. For long moments both men stared at the crumpling bundle. Dumbledore had put his hand on Snape's thin shoulder.
"I have one more thing to ask of you, Master Snape," the headmaster said.
This Snape looked up, effort and exhaustion writ plainly on his face but he said, "Anything, Professor."
Dumbledore clapped him once approvingly, and the older man took a deep breath. "I need to perform some blood-relative magic on the boy's new home. I'll need a potion for both Harry and--"
"Harry?" Snape repeated as though he'd never heard the name before, and the real Harry shivered slightly hearing his name from this stranger's lips. He sidled closer to his companion, feeling strength and warmth. Needing more, suddenly, than the clasp of hands.
"That's the boy's name, Harry," Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "We need to protect the house and grounds before he arrives in Surrey."
Only the younger Snape appeared to have stopped listening. "Surrey? What the hell is in Surrey? Surely you're keeping him here?"
Dumbledore turned, his long robes flaring slightly. "Oh my, no! He has relations."
Something of the Snape Harry knew surfaced. "Muggle relations! You can't leave him with that lot."
Dumbledore considered his former student. "They're all he has."
"Are you mad?" Snape said, shaking his head. The longish hair, then as now, remained stubbornly untidy. "He needs powerful protections, constant supervision--" The enormity of the task seemed to stop him, made him look at the older wizard impatiently.
"He needs a normal life," Dumbledore countered softly. "Away from the unwarranted attention his fame in our world will give him."
Snape frowned as he stared intently as the crumbling remains of his Death Eater robes. "Then give him to a normal wizarding family. There must be dozens who would take him in. Anyone but those Muggles on Evans' side."
Something in the young voice broke when Harry's mother's name came up, and this Harry looked up at the taller man beside him. Snape stood frozen as the scene played out before them, only his eyes moving in the still face.
Dumbledore sighed deeply. "I'm doing what I think is best."
"Best?" Snape echoed hollowly and for a moment the thin shoulders sagged again. Then something stiffened his spine as he repeated, "Best…" He looked up, a look of something like cunning coming onto his face. He put one hand on Dumbledore's arm.
"Give him to me," Snape said, voice rising excitedly. "I'll raise him as my own." The idea was obviously taking hold, and Harry wanted to look at his professor, but this was too riveting. "I've no purpose now the Dark Lord is gone and a debt to pay to the boy for my incompetence." Dumbledore started to voice a protest, but Snape cut him off. "Let me take him--anywhere you'd like--someplace he'll be safe."
Dumbledore was shaking his head. "Severus--"
"Please let me do this, sir. You know I wouldn't ask if I didn't mean to carry through. I've fortune enough to keep him anywhere in the world if we don't live extravagantly. No one would ever find him." He turned away from the fireplace, away from the ashes of his robes. "You know I can blend in with the Muggles if I have to. I can even raise him as one of them if you like."
"Severus."
"Please, Albus. Surely even a creature such as I would be better than those Muggles."
Slowly Dumbledore considered the anxious face before him, and though Harry already knew the answer, he craned forward to see the outcome. He got a warning squeeze on his hand for his trouble.
"Careful," Snape whispered warningly, but there was no malice or coldness in the single word, as though this Snape too was as overwrought and tired as his younger doppelganger.
"I can't," Dumbledore said at last. "I have to do--"
"What's best," Snape finished and turned away. Harry thought he might have imagined the shiver run through the proud back. It only took a moment before the younger man turned back around, eyeing his superior with evident coolness.
"Is it because of…the way I am?" Snape asked, his voice cold .
"Of course not," Dumbledore said immediately, but Snape appeared not to have noticed.
"Because I swear to you he would know only a father's love from me."
The hand holding Harry's suddenly seemed very tight. Instead of looking up he moved closer, leaning against the older man, his head just brushing his shoulder. It took a moment but the figure beside him relaxed a bit.
"I know," Dumbledore was saying, "My god, boy, don't you think I know that?"
Something about the way he said it, made Harry want to stop the scene and ask Dumbledore some questions, but the memory kept unfolding with the urgency of real life.
"There's more at stake here than a debt you think you owe, that no one, least of all this child will hold you to," Dumbledore explained gently. "There are other things you can do."
The young Snape's tone was flat. "But not to atone."
~~**~~**~~
"I think it's time to come back."
Dumbledore's mild voice made Harry aware suddenly of the dungeon surroundings as he felt his hand, still in Snape's, clear the silver bowl.
For a moment no one said anything. Snape wouldn't look at him, withdrawing his hand to his own lap as soon as the memory cleared. Harry looked across the table at the headmaster.
"I had to choose, Harry. That day. That moment." He sighed, ruffling the fine white hairs of his moustache. "I tried to choose wisely." He looked into the thick robe in his lap. "I know Severus would have been a good father to you." Beside Harry, on the couch, Snape's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. "But then he could never be anything more."
Harry's jaw dropped. He had a million questions, but as usual Dumbledore didn't appear to be answering them. "I'll leave you two to sort this out," he said, rising slowly and slowly getting a rise out of Snape.
"Take him with you," Snape said, in thin-lipped fury.
Harry started to protest, but wasn't sure he should stay with all these tense emotions swirling around him. Then Dumbledore looked at him. "Do you want to leave, Harry?"
Another choice that was his to make. He looked over at the closed off face of his professor. "No, sir," he said quickly, sensing the man beside him turn toward him at last.
"I believe," Snape said, in that tight, dangerous voice, "that these are still my quarters."
Dumbledore looked puzzled for a fleeting moment. "You resigned, remember?"
Harry's mouth opened, but he didn't think it wise to laugh. "Shall we say, until Monday morning?" Dumbledore went on, "At 8a.m. sharp. You are officially relieved of your teaching duties until then. I'll review your debt repayment at that time to see whether you've met the terms Harry sets forth." He re-sealed the Pensieve and took his leave.
As the door closed Harry heard Snape exhale slowly. Without looking at him Snape said, "This doesn't change anything."
Harry nodded. "I know. I still love you."
Snape snorted derisively. "You're confusing love and lust."
Harry scooted closer on the sofa. "You have all weekend to teach me the difference, er, Mr. Snape."
"Back off, Mr. Potter. I won't be teaching you anything this weekend. Just because you think you know something about my character--"
"My character too. Or did the fact that I kissed you not clue you in?"
The dark eyes looked remote even though they were now at least resting on Harry. "Don't you understand, Potter? Dumbledore is *manipulating* us. He wanted me to fall in love with you. It never mattered to him whether you were..this way or not. For all I know he caused--"
"*Are* you in love with me?" Harry asked breathlessly, cutting Snape off.
Snape gave him a look that was clearly designed to make Harry feel hopelessly naïve. "That's not the issue. Not the issue at all."
While Snape was speaking Harry slid his hand into the one he'd recently been holding in the Pensieve. Snape didn't pull away. "I mean, not as a father, though that would have been amazing."
Snape looked a bit startled, still not resisting when Harry used the hand clenched in his own to pull himself closer, levering himself over the spill of black robes, over the outstretched legs, waiting to be reprimanded for his daring. But Snape said nothing, and when Harry looked up, gratified by seeing the man's face so close, the dark eyes had gone molten.
"But I think this will be better," Harry said softly, not trusting his voice as he leaned in for a kiss, not sure he was going to get it until he did. It was just as good as he remembered, even without the just-killed-the-Dark-Lord adrenaline in his bloodstream. His mouth soon felt hot; his lips felt wet. He leaned in, sliding his arms around the older man's neck, just to steady himself, but it added the most amazing sense of intimacy, something that had definitely been missing in their first kiss.
Then Snape made a noise, a noise that sounded almost desperate, and Harry felt as though he himself had pulled it out of Snape's throat with his own mouth. This time it wasn't the heat of battle that sent the adrenaline shooting into his veins, nor the aftermath that plumped his arteries with arousal. Lust? Love? The distinction didn't seem to matter when he could feel a lovely hard-on swelling beneath his own.
"You *do* want me," he said, striving to keep the wonder and awe out of his voice. This was one time he most assuredly didn't want to sound like a child. He angled himself on the couch, on Snape, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I've never wanted anything else," Snape said, voice fierce as he closed his mouth over Harry's, pulling him closer, until there was no space save that the robes took up between them. Then he pulled Harry's tongue inside his own mouth, and that space, where their robes touched was suddenly too far apart.
Harry felt as though he never wanted to stop kissing Snape, but then thought of something--something that startled him so much he pulled back. "Hang on," he said, catching his breath, almost losing his resolve when he saw the way his teacher's face looked when it had just been kissed.
"You aren't--" he began, working the thought through, pursing his lips together. They still tingled a bit. "You aren't doing this because of some…debt? Something you think you owe me?"
One yellowish fingertip traced the line of his jaw, but Harry, as determined in this as he had been in the kissing portion, would not let himself be distracted. Finally Snape, looking a bit guilty, confessed, "I hadn't thought that far ahead."
Harry laughed, thinking that probably neither of them knew any of their longings would lead here. He shuffled his hips forward a bit. "You don't owe me anything." He reconsidered. "Well, you could be nice to me in public." He moved his hips again, eyes nearly closing with the deliciousness of the contact against Snape's lap. "You drove me mad being tolerable in private and a bastard while in class."
The faint praise of that 'tolerable' obviously wasn't lost on Snape. He put an end to Harry's shuffling back and forth motions, but since he did it by cupping Harry's firm erection, Harry didn't mind so much. Snape's dark eyes lowered, as if mesmerized by his own hands trailing over the bulge in Harry's trousers.
"I didn't want to--" he said, without looking up. "I'm unsuited for…softer emotions. I'm not good at love."
Harry let him speak, conscious of the gentleness of the tone. Then, the languid fingers pushed in harder. Harry grunted in pleasure and pushed himself in to meet them. Snape's eyes slitted in concentration.
"We don't need to have sex, or make love, or anything," Harry said, feeling very adult, yet pretty sure at least one of those two was in the bag. He wrapped his arms around Snape's neck again and smiled, feeling mischievous. "We *could* spend all weekend, er, brewing potions or something."
A flame, not unlike the kind needed to burn under a cauldron--banked, but very hot--leapt into Snape's eyes. He undid the clasp of Harry's robe. Even though Harry had to release his snug hold around Snape's neck, the loss of contact was worth it so the other man could slide the robe off.
"We will not," Snape said, moving his own arms around Harry's waist so he could turn them both around and press Harry back into the couch, covering him with his own body, "be brewing any potions."
Fingers set to work on the buttons of his shirt. Harry used the moment while Snape was leaning over him to settle his legs more comfortably over the longer black-clad ones. When slightly cool fingers touched his bare chest, Harry arched up into them, hissing with pleasure. Thumbs grazed his nipples, rubbing circles around them before Snape lowered his face for a kiss.
Harry tucked his arms around Snape's sturdy neck again, reflecting muzzily how much nicer it was while horizontal. And nearly shirtless.
Then all thoughts except kissing fled. It wasn't that Snape was such an excellent kisser. Even Harry's limited experience told him that. But the older man had a relish for exploring Harry's mouth that Harry found exciting. Their tongues stroked together, learning the way of it.
Snape's lips, heated from Harry's own body, moved downward, licking all the places his hands had touched, devoting time to each nipple. Save for the delicious weight pinning him to the sofa, Harry would have levitated off the cushions from the sensual attention.
Tendrils of night-dark hair fell on his chest and Harry combed his fingers through the blackness, guiding Snape's head Ouiji board-like over his torso. Snape leaned forward eagerly. Even this slight motion against his super-heated arousal was nearly painful. As if on cue, one of the long-fingered hands pushed against him again, almost tentatively, as if checking to see if Harry was still aroused.
Harry was still very much aroused. Snape's hand lifted and began to unbuckle Harry's belt, moving to the button, then lower still to the zipper. Lying back in the plump cushions of the couch, glasses slightly off center, Harry, eyes closed, waited for the sound of the zipper being lowered.
Then the delicious weight holding him down lifted, and Harry's eyes shot open. Snape was raising off him, sitting up, hunched over Harry's legs still in his lap. Black hair fell over his face, lowered in his palm.
"What--what's wrong?" Harry asked. He didn't see how he could have been found deficient when Snape hadn't even *seen* his cock yet.
"You'd better go," Snape said, and it was immediately clear to both of them that his voice was harsher than he'd intended.
"Go?" Harry said, his chest still damp from kisses. He pushed up on one arm, and tried to touch the loose hair hanging beside Snape's face but couldn't reach it. Snape turned aside anyway.
"I'm not suited for this," he said, his voice more under control, but still not quite normal.
Harry, who thought if the other man were any better at what they'd been doing he'd pass out, uncurled from his end of the couch. Hunching over like this made his normally taut belly look flabby, but he hoped Snape wouldn't notice.
"We needn't then," he said, though his nearly-freed cock jumped in protest. He pushed enough hair away to see Snape's unlovely profile. No, his lover was not beautiful, but Harry had never had anything that was, and he didn't mind. "We needn't at all," he repeated softly, as if coaxing a unicorn, though his mind refused any other implications of the analogy.
Snape's eyes shifted, nearly beast-like, reinforcing the image in Harry's mind of a reluctant unicorn. One that knows it's gone a bit mad and wants to be coaxed back to its lead.
"You're not--" Harry began, then bit his lip at his own forwardness. He thought of how the other man's tongue had just been down his throat, and it gave him the courage to plunge ahead. "You're not a virgin?"
The man beside him flinched. "No." His eyes shifted again. "Not exactly." Then, "No." Firmly. He ran a hand through his hair roughly, disentangling Harry's gentler fingertips. "I'm unsuited to be any lover, never mind yours," he said, not looking at Harry. "I'm hideous at it." When he looked over finally, he said, "I'd have made an awful father to you."
Harry pulled the trailing edge of his uniform shirt back up to his shoulder. He didn't think he would ever fully understand the forces that had shaped this man; truthfully, he wasn't sure he wanted to understand all of them.
Abruptly Snape's head dropped back onto the scuffed wooden edge at the top of the couch, connecting rather brutally with the wood. The hair fell away, exposing the raw face, and Harry looked at it, unafraid of what it would tell him. Hadn't he been looking all this time? Snape's Adam's apple was jutting out, much like Harry's own did. His eyes were closed.
"Would you have taught me hexes and dark spells?" Harry asked, folding his legs beneath him. "If you were my father, I mean?"
One black eye opened. "No doubt."
"And wizard things like broomsticks and Quidditch?"
An echo of a shape no beast's mouth could make curved upward into that slight smile Snape employed. "Wizard things like potions and cleaning spells." He opened the other eye. "I know what you're doing, you know."
Harry grinned. "I've never been subtle." He thought there ought to be a few times when acting without thinking worked out in his favor, so he laid one hand on the prominent bulge in Snape's trousers. "You'd have never done this," he said, the heel of his palm pressing in while his fingers traced the shape of the hard cock beneath. "You'd have never let me see you with a boyfriend, probably never even let me know you were gay," he went on, petting the shifting thing under his hand. "If you'd raised me, I mean."
"I didn't let you know *this* time," Snape said, but his eyes had drifted shut again.
"Yeah, that kiss pretty much left me clueless," Harry said, "and hard." He picked up Snape's slack hand and laid it at the slit of his underpants. "You'd have given me a talk about witches and I would have asked you if it was okay to like wizards instead. Then maybe you would have told me."
"I know what you're doing," Snape said again, but his hand didn't move away. Harry's fingers trailed lower, lost in exploration, when a low warning growl sounded above him.
Suddenly Harry was being propelled downward again, back into the soft cushions of the sofa, with the equally delicious pleasure of pulling Snape down by gathered fistfuls of robe. "You're wicked," Snape said, between kisses. "If I had raised you, I'd have to punish you now."
Harry shivered slightly as Snape lifted and tugged down Harry's trousers and pants. Harry helped him wiggle them off, hoping Snape wouldn't be appalled by the musky scent down there that didn't quite go away.
"As it is," Snape said, eyes gleaming, "I'm going to have to punish you anyway," and he took Harry's cock in his mouth.
As punishments went, it was about the most effective Harry had ever had. If this was what Snape called 'being hideous' at it, Harry was sure he could never survive Snape's version of being 'really good'. His whole pool of sensation narrowed to the centimeters of cock sliding in and out of Snape's mouth. Snape's incredible, hot mouth.
Harry's hand scrabbled for purchase, as though the upward stroke would lift him off the cushions. Searching blindly, his hands found the top of Snape's head, holding on.
Snape stilled instantly. Harry burrowed his fingers in close to the other man's scalp. He felt Snape swallow around him, then slowly lift up. He looked up questioningly. When Harry just stared, he cleared his throat softly. "Should I stop?"
"Only if this is some weird plot to make me beg." He lifted his glistening cock to emphasize his point. "Because I *will* beg if you want. It's absolutely not a problem for me."
Snape frowned slightly, despite Harry's teasing. "What did you stop me for, then?"
"I--I didn't. It was really good until you stopped." He bobbed his hips again. "Really, really good," he said, hoping Snape would get the hint. But the uncertainty still lingered, and Harry tried to think of the ways a person could 'not exactly' not be a virgin. "Never tell me this is your first one," he asked, threading a hand through the inky blackness.
Snape looked almost relieved. "The first one I sought to give," he said, letting Harry guide his head back down.
Try as he might, Harry couldn't hold back after that. He heard Snape take a deep breath, and Harry wondered if he smelled good or bad. One hand reached under his balls, the cool fingers like little electric shocks on the crepe-thin skin there as Snape cupped them. Wet heat overtook him then. Harry felt his chest heaving, though he wasn't conscious of taking more breaths. His hips moved into the seeking heat like they were enchanted.
He didn't know whether to warn Snape what was about to happen, but before he could connect the idea of speech to actual words, he felt himself erupting into that heated mouth. Harry was slow to open his eyes, afraid Snape's expression would be accusatory. Looking at the other man he decided no warning had been necessary. Snape looked like a cat in cream, gently licking the head of Harry's toppling cock. He looked up only when it was obvious Harry had no more offering to make.
Releasing his tight grip in the thick hair, Harry folded his arms behind his head. "Oh, whatever shall we do now for the rest of the weekend?" he trilled, rolling his eyes disingenuously. "Brew some potions?" He pretended to consider it. "Have you teach me dark spells and hexes?" He unfolded his arms and his body at the same time, bolting upright. His voice lowered to what he hoped was a suggestive tone. "Play with our broomsticks?"
Snape sniffed at him. "You aren't amusing. That joke has been around since Merlin was a boy--oh!" Harry hadn't really been listening. Getting pleasure was wonderful, but giving it was promising to be even better. He could see the surprise in the other man's eyes as he sealed their mouths together. It was different tasting than their earlier ones but Harry didn't mind. His tongue explored again, and Snape let him, let him taste himself from Snape's mouth.
His fingers began scrabbling with the fussy fastenings of Snape's robes and shirt, parting them finally before moving his mouth. He knew suddenly that the aroma he'd smelt so many times on himself was just as strong on the other man as he worked his way down. They weren't expert, his kisses, much as Snape's hadn't been, but it was glorious.
There was this perfect sense of intimacy, as though they were alone in the world, the only ones who'd ever made such love. It was intoxicating, sending tendrils of heat and desire pulsing through him. Unlike the desires his lover had woken in Harry, this was the longing to unleash the same in the other man.
"We've got to change places," Harry said, pushing the upper clothing off as Snape slid around. Harry, heedless of his nearly naked state, clambered over him, nearly falling on top as they both went down with an 'oof'.
Harry smiled slyly, liking very much the idea of being on top now. The smooth fabric of Snape's trousers felt pretty good on his own cock, even though he'd just come. He had a hunch, from the way the hips beneath his pushed up, that Harry felt pretty good to Snape as well.
He slid himself down, wincing at the strangled cry when he touched something he ought not have. "Sorry!" he tossed up, blithely, hoping to make up for it in the frenzy of unfastening that followed. He was greeted by more of that musky scent, partially arousal, partially that of the environment around them. It wasn't unpleasant, any more than the Potion's classroom was unpleasant, or this room.
There was a sort of comfort in the simple white underpants. Harry hesitated. He'd never touched any penis, save his own.
One long finger tilted his chin up. "Never tell me this is your first one," Snape teased, and Harry grinned.
"Don't judge by this first one," he replied. "I'm sure to get better at it if you let me practice."
"Me? Judge you by first impression? Whatever gave you--"
Harry swallowed down as much as he could, went down too fast and felt his throat working to clear the obstruction. Only Harry didn't want it cleared and slowly slid his lips back up. He'd hoped he'd like doing this, and he did. There was that sense of intimacy again, as though no other place existed but this sofa.
Only belatedly he realized he should be using his tongue, and when he did, he heard a moan above him. He was hooked. He was convinced no one had *ever* made Snape moan like that. Then he remembered how good the other man's hand had felt on his balls and worked his own hand underneath. Now he was sure no one had ever heard those particular noises from Snape's throat.
Harry hardly spared a thought for his own burgeoning erection, which was sending urgent notices to his brain not to be left out. He felt fingers in his hair, expected pressure to guide him but didn't get it. Snape was trusting him to set the pace.
He heard words above him, but felt wrapped in a sensual haven, cushioned by pale thighs to either side, and didn't hear them. The splatter against the back of his throat gave him the non-verbal answer, and hungrily he drank it down, sucking, then regretful, as Snape had been, when there was no more.
He looked up finally. He hoped he looked that sexy when Snape had looked at him after. "How'd I do?"
Slowly the head nearly buried in the sofa cushions raised. "Replete as I am, you can't expect me to criticize your technique." He lifted up still more, but Harry was settled firmly between his legs. He nodded toward Harry's erection. "Does that need attention now or can it wait?"
Harry blushed, amazed that he could. "Wait for what?"
A hand slid into his and tugged him up, making allowances for the narrow clearance of the couch, sliding Harry up onto this body. "To be put to good use later."
The idea of any one of those good uses made Harry quiver. "I can wait." Though he wasn't so sure when a warm hand closed around him, just stroking slowly. The other hand laced into the short hairs at the back of his neck, up into his sweat-dampened hair.
They were quiet for a moment, save for the soft rustling of Snape's fingers around Harry's jutting flesh. Then Harry, to distract himself, said, "I'm sorry the headmaster made you do what you did, with the Pensieve, I mean. But I'm not sorry it led us here."
For a moment he wasn't sure Snape was going to say anything. "I never wanted you to know," the older man said finally. "It doesn't do you any good to know."
Harry thought Dumbledore had, for once, done exactly the right thing. "Would you really have done it?" he asked.
"Taken you on? Yes, though I expect I'd have regretted it." The lazy fingers stroked just lightly over and around Harry's loosened balls.
"No, I mean, live as a Muggle--if you had to?" Harry clarified.
A sigh. "Yes." The heavy head over Harry's shifted so he could look at Harry clearly. "What? Don't you think I could have done it?"
Harry tried to picture it and couldn't. "You don't owe me anything, you know." Since he could look into Snape's eyes again, he did, and saw again the struggle within them. "You never did."
"You're wrong," Snape said, "I owe you everything. But I can consider us square if you can."
Harry wasn't sure he believed the offer but decided to take it for now. He hoped he'd have a while to convince the older man. He shifted again, Snape's fingers having done their magic. Some of those 'good uses' Snape had mentioned earlier were starting to sound more attractive. He maneuvered his hands to either side of Snape's head, the only empty space left on the over-full couch. Deftly Snape had kept his hands in place, working them around Harry's shifting cock.
Harry undulated his body through the nimble fingers. "Yours too," he urged, nudging Snape's recumbent cock with his hips.
"I'm too--I'm not--" Snape began, but Harry interrupted him.
"I like the way it feels," Harry said as Snape gathered up his own length and pressed it against Harry's, creating a sheath with his fingers for him to thrust both cocks through.
"I suppose," Snape said, always pulling in one direction while Harry moved in the opposite. "Since we only have the weekend, you'll want to try the bed at some point."
Harry stilled, even though Snape did not. "Only the weekend?" He looked down suspiciously.
Snape smirked. "I get reinstated at 8 o'clock Monday morning. Providing my debt is paid."
Harry tried to ignore how good the slowly moving fingers were on his firming cock. "I told you--"
"No debt, I know." Snape lifted slightly and kissed his shoulder. "I'm merely repeating the headmaster's instructions."
"And next weekend is the end of term," Harry went on, not quite allayed, but still giving the benefit of the doubt. "I'll be back then."
"You might fall out of love with me over the weekend," Snape pointed out.
Harry knew he was back on firmer ground. "Or you might fall *in* love with me over the weekend."
For a moment he thought Snape hadn't heard him, for the other man appeared to be concentrating on aligning their cocks, even though his own was still recumbent. Definitely firmer ground. "Harry--" Snape began, then looked up, almost as though he'd forgotten to ask permission to use his name. "I never said I wasn't in love with you."
Harry lowered his mouth for a kiss, sucking in the word 'love' from Snape's tongue. "I know. You *did* kiss me."
Firmer ground still. "It was an 'everything's going to be all right' kiss."
"No, it wasn't."
"Do you want to argue about it, or do you want to try the bed?"
Harry kissed him again. "The bed. Definitely the bed."
