It was a damn good thing he was working for the side of Light, for if he'd been working on the other side, the school would have fallen decades ago, Severus Snape reflected as he watched Madame Pomfrey make her way up the stairs to the break room and her usual third period tea. Routines were so ingrained in Hogwarts that their practitioners never comprehended that those patterns that were the bulwark of their daily lives could be their ultimate undoing. Minerva was somewhat more scrupulous when it came to the monitoring of the students' behaviour and safety, but Hogwarts was still wide open to internal sabotage.

Sighing at the ease with which he accomplished his goal, Severus slipped into the nearly deserted infirmary. He walked through the ward of empty beds to the private room in back, where a peevish, but low cawing could be heard through the door. Miller speaking to himself, no doubt.

He turned the old brass, dragonhead handle and entered the room unhindered. If he'd been a Death Eater intent on assassination, the patient would already be dead. As it was, Miller was sitting straight up in his bed, pointing his wand at him, and cawing at the top of his lungs. The noise was deafening in the contained stone chamber.

"Unless you are going to skewer me with that useless wand, I suggest you lower it immediately. Or would you like some fancy black feathers to go with your pretty new voice?" This was nearly too much fun, Severus thought, taking in the terrified expression on the other teacher's handsome face as Miller lowered his wand with a mewing croak.

"I expect you're wondering what brings me here?" Severus said with a predatory smile.

The squawk that earned him was oddly eloquent.

"I've come to help you. Well, not for your sake, obviously. Personally, I think this is an unmitigated improvement. However, your current predicament is causing a friend of mine undue distress, so it seemed the sooner this is rectified, the better," Severus said.

Miller finally lowered his wand, snatched up a nearby parchment roll and pen off his nightstand to rapidly scribble one word. How?

"And well you might ask that. A self-limiting spell, the parameters of which seem at first glance insurmountable . . . the prognosis is rather bleak. I suspect that if your condition remains unchanged for another two or three days, the school will have no choice but to ship you off to St. Mungo's. We both know how helpful that will be to your condition."

Once, the despair in those frightened blue eyes would have pleased him, but even though a part of him was enjoying this, another part knew he shouldn't be. Had things worked out just a little differently in his life, it could have been him here in Miller's place.

"Now, where I might feel that you deserve anything that might come your way, Harry Potter doesn't need the additional guilt. Therefore, I have given your situation some thought and believe I have come up with a possible solution. The spell, as I was given to understand it, is that you will remain in this condition until you learn manners. Is that not right?"

Miller gave a despondent nod.

"Fortunately for Wizardkind, spells are very literal devices, even self-limiting ones such as this. The solution to your problem is, of course, to learn manners. I've come to help you with that."

More frantic scribbling followed his announcement.

Severus actually smiled as he read 'YOU'VE come to teach me manners?'

"I must admit that there is a certain irony to this situation. Obviously, I have not come to give you deportment lessons. Were I afflicted with the same curse, we both know I would be cawing right along with you in the next room. However, the person who wrote this," Severus reached into his robes and withdrew a small leather covered book, "knew more about manners and etiquette than any wizard of our age could hope to aspire to."

He passed over Lady Seraphina Malfoy's treatise on proper behaviour and watched the other man's hope plummet as he read the ancient title.

Miller took up his pen and parchment again and quickly wrote, 'You think reading a book will fix this? I've already read those!' Miller gestured at a pile of etiquette books stacked on the nightstand. Severus nearly grinned, recognizing Hermione's handiwork. She was the only one other than himself in this school who wasn't blinded by emotion. She had the right idea, just the wrong method of execution.

"You're right. I do not believe that reading a book on manners is going to help your condition in the least. The spell specified that you had to learn manners, which is why I brought this along as well," Severus explained, removing the second phase of his remedy from his robe pocket.

Miller stared at the small brown bottle as though it contained sulphuric acid.

"You are no doubt wondering what that is. It is a memory-enhancing potion of my own creation that I used during my years as Albus Dumbledore's spy. Once you drink it, whatever you experience in the following hour will be impressed upon your memory for the rest of your life. I used it twice and still recall in gruesome detail the tortures suffered by the Muggles the Death Eaters were amusing themselves with those nights, every word spoken in my presence, and every detail on the documents I perused when I visited Voldemort's private chambers unobserved. If you drink this potion and read that book, I promise you that you will learn manners, to the exact definition of the word 'learn'. Are you interested?"

Of course, he was interested. Miller was a fool, but he wasn't completely brainless. He could see that this was his only chance for success.

Severus savoured the play of expression over the other man's near perfect features. Finally, Miller lowered his head and engaged in another burst of furious writing.

Once again, Severus smiled at the outcome. 'How do I know it won't poison me?'

"You don't, of course. You have only my word on that."

More writing followed. 'And why should I trust you?'

"Because as much as I might enjoy watching you fall over dead, I will not enjoy seeing Harry marched off to Azkaban for your murder. I want this situation to go away, and helping you recover is the fastest means to that goal."

Silence followed, then more writing. 'You really are a cold-blooded bastard.'

"That was never in doubt," Severus replied.

Miller bent his head again and put pen to paper. 'What will I owe you in return for this cure?'

Perhaps the man had a brain, after all, Severus thought, approving of the nearly Slytherin suspicion. "Providing that it is in fact a cure and not poison, all I will require of you is your silence. No one must know of my involvement in this. Are we in agreement?"

Miller nodded and reached for the potion.

Severus lingered only long enough to see him pick up Lady Malfoy's etiquette book before leaving.

Just as he'd planned, he encountered no one on his way back to his lab. As with everything of importance in life, timing was everything in the subterfuge game.

*************

Hermione glanced up from the Arithmancy homework she was grading as she heard her name called. Mediwitch Pomfrey was seated at the far end of the break room table. From the state of her half-eaten scone, it was clear she'd been there for some time.

"Good morning, Poppy. How are you?" she asked, lifting her own cold tea and taking a sip.

"Fine, dear. I was just wondering how Harry was doing? He wasn't at breakfast this morning."

"I think he's still a little embarrassed about what happened with Miller yesterday," Hermione answered, wishing like Harry and everyone else that the situation would just go away.

"I'm sure he was provoked. Callis never did know when to keep his mouth shut. Why just last month he – " An odd expression claimed Madame Pomfrey's face. Pushing her white robe's sleeve aside, she glanced down at her left wrist. "Well, isn't that a surprise!"

"What? Are you all right?" Hermione asked, worried by the older woman's expression.

"Come look at this, dear," Madame Pomfrey instructed.

Hermione quickly crossed to the chair next to hers and stared down at her thin wrist. What appeared to be a watch rested there, but instead of the normal watch face, it showed a tiny picture of Callis Miller's hospital room. Severus Snape's figure stood poised in the doorway as the Charms teacher held up his ineffectual wand.

Hermione gasped as she heard Severus' tinny, amused voice say, "Unless you are going to skewer me with that useless wand, I suggest you lower it immediately. Or would you like some fancy black feathers to go with your pretty new voice?"

"That's amazing," Hermione remarked, staring in awe at the magical video feed. "Is that happening now?"

"Yes," Poppy said. "I'd better get down there. I can't leave Callis defenceless like that."

"Severus won't hurt him," Hermione said a little too sharply.

"How can you be so sure, dear?" Poppy replied. "You've heard the dreadful trash Callis has been talking. Anyone would be angry with him."

"Yes, but Severus won't hurt him. I'm sure of it. Let's watch for a moment and see what he wants, all right?" Hermione suggested. She had no clue what Severus was up to, but she was certain Miller would come to no harm.

"Well, I'll be damned," Poppy laughed as the scene played out. "That old faker."

Feeling very proud of Severus, if somewhat disturbed by the obvious pleasure he'd taken in frightening Miller, Hermione watched the tiny Severus leave the room on the watch face.

"I knew he wouldn't hurt him." Hermione sighed.

"Do you think the potion will cure Miller?" Madame Pomfrey asked.

"We'll know in an hour, won't we?" Hermione laughed. "I take it Severus doesn't know about your watch?"

"No, you know how he is. He thinks we're all stupid here. Like I'd really go off and leave my patients defenceless like that," she huffed, shaking her head.

"I'm sure it was no reflection on you," Hermione quickly assured.

"Of course, it was a reflection upon me. My dear, Severus is not a wicked man, but he isn't a kind one. I've known him for more than thirty years now," Madame Pomfrey said. "Whenever he does something that seems kind, it's always for his own reasons. A more selfish man you'll never see."

"Well, you just saw him do something totally selfless," Hermione argued, unable to believe how angry she still could get on Severus' behalf, even though he was no longer that solemn little boy placed in her care. "Curing Miller wasn't going to gain him anything, especially since he requested that Miller not tell anyone he helped him. How is that selfish?"

Knowing she should calm down, she performed a quick warming spell on her tepid tea and took another sip.

Madame Pomfrey stared at her as though she'd lost her mind and then gently patted her hand, "My dear, a blind man can see that he's head over heels in love with Harry Potter. He did this for Harry."

Just barely, she missed spewing the tea on either her colleague or the homework she was grading.

Poppy patted her back until she stopped choking and asked, "Surely, you knew?"

"W-what makes you say that?" Hermione asked through teary eyes, ignoring the question.

"I've known Severus for thirty years, but I never saw him happy until these last few months. Harry Potter is the best thing that ever happened to him," Poppy said, the obvious affection she bore Severus belying her earlier critical statements.

"You approve, then?" Hermione whispered, because the teacher's break room was really not the proper place for this type of discussion.

"I approve of anything that makes my patients happy," she said with a motherly smile.

"You know that they probably wouldn't want people talking about this – providing it were true, of course," Hermione belatedly covered.

"Well, even if it weren't true, I'm sure you'd realize that it wouldn't be in my patients' best interests to gossip about them. I just felt that you were the only other person in this school who might be . . . glad for Severus," Madame Poppy hesitantly explained.

Hermione smiled into her worried blue eyes. "Yes, I'd be very glad for him. I'm just not certain that their relationship is what you think it is."

"I hardly care what it is, so long as it makes them both happy. A lonelier pair of young men you couldn't find," Poppy sighed. "Well, I'd best get back to the infirmary. Do give Harry my regards. With any luck, we'll have some good news for him shortly."

Hoping the same herself, Hermione turned her attention back to her papers.

*************

A waxing gibbous moon shone down on the Hogsmeade road. The night sky overhead was clear and bejewelled with stars, the damp air perfumed with the scents of wet soil, fresh sprung grass, and moist herbs. The quiet was a welcome respite from the smoke and noise of the Three Broomsticks.

Up ahead, Hermione and Ron were snuggled close together, giggling like teenagers. Spring had a way of doing that to people.

Harry Potter snuck a peek at the dour figure at his side. Severus amazed him sometimes. Hermione had told him what Snape had done to help Miller. The cursed Charms teacher's miraculous recovery had been the talk of the table at the pub tonight, the theories from the Weasley twins growing progressively wilder as the night wore on. Not once in the thick of it had Severus revealed so much as a smug smile. Snape had behaved the entire night as if he genuinely had no clue as to the cause of Miller's recovery.

He could almost hear Severus' rich, cultured voice telling him the other night that everything would be all right. That assurance had been a gift in its own right. But the fact that Severus would secretly aid someone he despised, for no other reason than to make him feel better, moved him on levels that he couldn't even appreciate. If he'd ever needed proof that he was important to Severus, it would be this. A Slytherin taking care of his own, he thought affectionately.

Warmed by the thought, and overwhelmed by an almost gravitational pull to the dark presence at his side, Harry stepped a little closer. But it still wasn't close enough. Taking a deep breath, he calmly slipped his arm under Severus' and linked their arms at the elbow. They always used to walk to and from school like this when they were seven, but hadn't touched this way since their restoration to adulthood.

He held his breath, waiting for Severus to jerk away from him, but aside from tensing, Severus did nothing.

Harry relaxed. For the last two days he'd been waging a conscious campaign to see what his friend would and wouldn't permit. So far, he hadn't hit a single no trespass sign, whether he were snitching food from Severus' plate or doing something unthinkable like touching him, Severus allowed it all.

"Thank you," Harry said, sidling closer as they stepped into the thick, pine-scented shadows that darkened this tract of the road.

"For?" Severus asked, his gaze seeming very intent on the dark path ahead of them. Hermione and Ron weren't even visible up ahead.

"For restoring Miller."

"He told you," Severus didn't sound anything but resigned.

"No. Hermione was in the break room with Poppy. She's got a wristwatch that monitors her patients and they watched the whole thing on it. It was very kind of you," Harry added.

"I suppose the entire school knows now?"

"No, just Hermione, Ron, and me," Harry assured. "Why don't you want anyone to know?"

"I didn't do it for the sake of kindness," Severus snapped.

"I know. You did it for me," Harry said. He waited for some waspish denial, but only the sounds of their footsteps and breathing followed. "Thank you. I think it's the best gift anyone ever gave me."

Realizing that they were in a patch of moonlight where vision might be possible, he stared up to where Severus' face was. Dappled with silver light, his friend looked dark and strangely sensual, like the night itself. He could feel Severus watching him. He was always watching him with an intensity that would have been unnerving were they not friends. Even so, it sent a shiver through him that he hadn't felt in a long time.

"You're exaggerating," Severus softly protested in that beautiful, cultured voice of his. Even when he'd hated Snape in school, there were times during lectures that that voice could almost hypnotize him.

Harry stopped, his hold on Severus anchoring him beside him. "No, I'm not. Whenever I've messed up in the past, all might be forgiven because of who this stupid scar makes me, but no one ever helped me fix what I'd done. You did that, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it."

"I don't want your gratitude," Severus snapped.

"I know," Harry whispered.

"You do?"

He nodded. Mesmerised by the glint in those dark eyes, Harry was beginning to suspect what Severus might want from him. But he wasn't certain. In the past, whenever another man was attracted to him, there had been certain signals that were impossible to miss. Those clues weren't there with Severus. The older man's behaviour towards him had never been anything but proper. But, then, he knew that even if Severus burned for him with all his heart and soul, he wouldn't have acted any differently. The vivid memory of Severus holding out the forearm with the Dark Mark on it and telling him that he was sullied and damned flashed through his mind. Severus believed himself untouchable.

Everything in him rebelling at that, Harry reached up and cupped the taller man's clean-shaven cheek. They were now standing face-to-face, close as lovers, he realized as he breathed in his friend's distinct scent.

Severus froze as if petrified, the rise and fall of his chest even seeming to still.

Sometimes being so short was damned inconvenient, Harry thought, as he slid his hand up and around to cradle the back of Severus' head. The hair there was lush and soft beneath his fingers. He gave a gentle tug downwards.

Severus was stiff as a board, but he allowed himself to be moved as though he were incapable of resisting.

Harry tilted his head to the left. Severus' nose banged hard into his cheek. And then their lips touched in a dry, brushing contact that was awkward in the extreme, but filled with promise. At least that's how it felt to Harry as his insides melted to dancing quicksilver and his heart jolted like he'd just been hit with a dark curse.

He deepened the contact, pushing a little harder against Severus' thin lips.

Long fingers dug into his shoulders like talons and he expected to be pushed away, but they simply held him in place.

Pushing his luck, Harry slipped his tongue out to tickle the tight-guarded mouth he was kissing. Severus' lips parted for him with a gasp. Harry breathed the gasp in and let his tongue slip over into his friend's mouth.

He could taste the cognac Severus had drunk tonight. Somehow, it tasted better on him than it ever did in a glass. Below that, there was Severus' natural flavour, which was strong and juicy.

Severus' tongue flicked against his own and they met in a tentative, incredibly arousing brush.

With a shock, Harry realized that he was French-kissing Severus Snape. Six months ago the idea would have been unthinkable, but tonight the reality was an imperative he couldn't resist. His heart was hammering like he'd run ten miles, his entire body tingling with excitement. He hadn't felt like this since Blaise first kissed him, when he was young and there was still hope for a normal life. Severus was giving him that back, Harry realized. This wasn't about being seen with a celebrity; this wasn't about fame or fortune. What it was about made Harry's head spin, for he'd never thought to find it, not after all these years, and certainly never with Severus Snape.

The tentative quality in Severus' lips seemed to wear off. They kneaded almost frantically against Harry as Snape sucked the juices right out of his mouth. Strong hands scrambled down his back, pressing through the material of his robes as the taller man leaned into him, nearly bending him backwards in an instinctive try for more contact.

Severus' lean form pressed down his front, melding their bodies as tight as their mouths.

Harry let him do it. Holding on to Severus for dear life, he allowed the kiss to progress where it would. It had been so long, so damn long, and this . . . this was wonderful.

"Harry? Severus? Are you back there?" Ron's voice called from around the bend in the road.

Severus froze and immediately pulled back.

Deprived of those supporting hands, Harry stumbled, but Severus reached out to steady him.

Eyes locked on his friend's stunned, dark gaze, Harry found his voice and quickly answered, "We're coming." He opened his mouth to say something to Severus, but didn't know what to say. He was as blown away by what he'd just unleashed on them as Severus.

When Severus turned and started up the road after Ron and Hermione, Harry fell into step beside him. But he didn't link their arms again, didn't touch Severus at all. What he was feeling inside wasn't going to settle for holding hands. From Severus' closed in expression, he was fairly sure his friend felt the same way.

Hermione and Ron were waiting at the last bend to Hogwarts. The castle rose behind their silhouettes like something out of a dream.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, his arm around an attractively flushed Hermione.

"Never better," Harry assured, throwing Severus a quick look.

"What kept you so long?" Hermione asked.

"Didn't you ever find something unexpectedly beautiful in a place you'd taken for granted your entire life?" he asked, still too buzzed to guard his words with these two.

"Something beautiful in the forest?" Ron questioned.

"No, on the road," Harry said without thinking, which of course inspired Ron's totally predictable, "Show us, then."

Severus' quiet voice answered, "Like most things of beauty, it was transitory in the extreme."

Once again, Harry was forced to acknowledge how good a spy his best friend must have been. Nothing in Snape's tone or demeanour suggested that they were discussing anything other than some natural phenomenon.

Still, he wasn't about to allow Severus to deny what had passed between them, even if neither of them were ready to bring it out into the light yet.

"No, it wasn't transitory. I'm sure we'll find it again," he objected, eyes locked on Severus' unreadable gaze.

"I'm sure you're right, Harry," Hermione stunned him by saying in what sounded like a knowing tone. Her gaze flickered from him to Severus and then she grinned a very happy and impish grin. "It's getting late. Come along."

"Yes, mother," Harry snarked, causing her to giggle uncontrollably.

Side by side, the four of them walked the last half-mile back to the school. The towering doors parted for them when they reached the top of the entrance steps. They paused by the main stairs, where they would normally part with Severus when they returned from the Three Broomsticks on Friday nights.

"Well, good night," Severus said rather stiffly, nodding to them all.

"'night, Severus. See you at breakfast," Ron replied with a stifled yawn.

"Yes, good night, Severus," Hermione echoed.

Not sure how to play this, Harry uncertainly added, "Good night, then."

He didn't want it to be good night. He wanted to touch Severus so badly that he could barely hold his arms still. He knew that neither Hermione nor Ron would mind if he did, but Severus might. He was so private.

After an awkward pause, Severus nodded to him and quickly stalked off towards the dungeon stairs, his black robes flapping behind him like raven's wings.

Unable to mask his disappointment, he stared down at the flagstones beneath his boots. Well, what had he expected? Did he really think that Severus would ask him to spend the night in front of the people who'd acted as their parents?

He looked over to his left as a warm hand touched his arm. Hermione's eyes were filled with concern, her expression tentative as she softly said, "The night's still young, Harry." For a moment, he thought that she was inviting him to accompany her and Ron back to their place, but then she continued with an even more uncertain sounding, "Perhaps Severus would like some company for a while?"

"Hermione . . . ." Ron's voice was even more worried than hers.

He stared from one of his friends to the other, and knew that they knew. Ron had that 'don't push' expression he always wore whenever Hermione would try to counsel him in his love life.

"You saw," he said. He knew their secret was safe with Hermione and Ron, but he also knew that Severus would be upset that they'd been observed. Not that there was any secret to keep, not yet. He didn't know what there was between Severus and him, but he wanted to find out.

"No," she quickly denied, her cheeks warming.

"Then, how . . . ?" Harry stared from Hermione to Ron.

Ron looked to Hermione with a very clear 'you got us into this, now get us out of it' look. Harry returned his gaze to Hermione.

She took a deep breath and then said, "It's written all over you, Harry."

"What is?" he snapped, close to panic at the thought of Severus' response to this.

"How special Severus is to you. That's a rare gift. Don't let it pass you by," she urged.

He gulped as he tried to fit this new concept into his reality. He was attracted to his former Potions teacher, the most Slytherin Slytherin to pass through that house since old Salazar himself, and Hermione approved of it?

"You approve then?" he whispered, looking to Ron in something very like fear. Ron had hit the roof when he'd told him about Blaise, and Blaise had never had half the past Severus did. He could see his old friend remembering that horrible incident as well.

"I'm all for anything that makes you both happy. Go easy, though, mate," Ron advised with a worried frown.

"Huh?" That was the last thing he'd expected to hear from Ron.

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his brown robes and said, "Severus doesn't bounce well. If you're not sure, don't start anything. He can't do casual, Harry. It's not in his nature."

Ron was worried about him hurting Severus?

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Don't – "

"No," Harry quickly interjected, "he's right, Hermione. I'll be careful."

An odd pause followed in which his old friends just stood there staring at him: Hermione beaming, Ron uncertain.

"Well," Hermione said at last. "Good night, then. Don't let him give you any of that 'old and used up' nonsense."

Blushing, she threw her arms around him to give him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

He looked to Ron as she withdrew. Ron reached out to give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. Then, he seemed to change his mind and gave him a brief hug as well.

"Everything will work out fine," Hermione encouraged when they were standing apart again.

Another round of good nights followed, and then Harry was watching his friends ascend the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

Well, there was nothing for it. Committed, he turned to trace the same route Severus had taken.

For the first time in months, he felt uncomfortable descending the stairwell to the Slytherin dungeons. The Bloody Baron watched him from the door to the Slytherin common room, his dark, spectral eyes filled with a suspicion that was nearly hatred.

The ghost's unspoken disapproval seemed to hammer in the seriousness of what he was embarking upon. As if Ron's concern wasn't enough. Severus' reclusive personality aside, there was still so much else they were going to have to deal with if they decided to make a go of it. There were those old House rivalries, not to mention the Wizarding World's ingrained homophobia. The fact that they were both teachers in Britain's most prestigious Wizarding School made it all worse. Harry knew the trouble he was buying into by walking down these stairs.

But his mouth was still burning from that kiss. He didn't have a choice. If he didn't walk down these stairs tonight, he'd be passing up the chance of a lifetime – for, that's what Severus' kiss had felt like, a new lease on life. A chance for them both to join the world of the living again. Neither of them could afford to pass that up.

So, Harry marched himself to Severus' door. Once there, he paused. These last six weeks, he'd just used Severus' password to walk through the wards he'd set to guard his private chambers, but tonight Harry didn't feel that was appropriate. This wasn't something to be entered into lightly. Severus had to have the opportunity to refuse.

With that thought in mind, he raised his hand and knocked. His stomach was twisted in so tight a knot that he could barely breathe.

****************

Harry Potter had kissed him.

Severus Snape touched his mouth for at least the twentieth time in the ten minutes he'd been back in his quarters. It was still the same mouth it had been this morning, with the same thin lips and yellow teeth. Only, this mouth had been kissed, for the first time in over twenty years, kissed by Harry Potter.

It was nearly impossible to incorporate that fact into the world as he knew it. Harry had kissed him. In the grand scheme of the universe, the event had little meaning. It certainly wasn't as eventful as some of the other turning points of his life, say his decision to join Voldemort's followers or his efforts to undo his earlier mistakes. The meeting of two pairs of lips simply couldn't have the same relevance as defeating Lord Voldemort or laying Albus Dumbledore in the cold clay. And, yet, in its own way, the event was as cataclysmic as any of these others, for it made it impossible for Severus to continue his charade of platonic friendship with Harry Potter. How could he possibly fool himself into believing that there was nothing between them but friendship after Potter's tongue had checked out his tonsils? How could Harry expect him to?

It was this last that was troubling him, making him doubt everything that incredible kiss had made him feel. When they'd parted in the hall earlier tonight, he'd felt certain that Harry would follow him down, but it had been close to fifteen minutes, and still no Potter.

Had he misjudged everything? Was he really that big a fool? It had felt amazing to him, but . . . he'd had limited experience and hadn't been kissed in decades. Though hardly promiscuous, Harry was far more sexually active than he. Had Harry found his kiss unpleasant or wanting?

Now that he thought of it, Severus recognized that that was probably what had happened. Moon and ale were powerful aphrodisiacs. Moonlight alone was nearly a narcotic to their kind. The power it generated was extreme, that was why the most potent spells were always cast under the full moon, and there was no stronger moon than that of May, the old Beltaine moon. The ancient Celts had performed their fertility rituals under that same moon, and, now that Severus thought about it, Malfoy had taken his virginity under it. Of course, tonight's moon had been three-quarters and not full, but a gibbous Beltaine moon was stronger than most other full moons in power.

And now he'd made a fool of himself under it yet again. Would he never learn? Harry Potter would no more desire him than he would Filch. The thought was unthinkable, nearly obscene, and, yet . . . Harry had kissed him.

His mind kept coming back to that one point like a post owl returning to home.

Severus sighed and twirled the cognac in his glass. A creature of habit, he'd hung his robe and jacket up immediately upon his return. He'd hoped . . . well, it hardly mattered what he'd hoped. He'd finish his drink and go to bed.

Things would be damn awkward at the breakfast table tomorrow morning, but he knew Potter well enough to know that the man wouldn't ostracize him because of a single lapse of judgement. Likely as not, Harry would never mention the incident. As painful as the thought was, Severus knew he was going to have to follow suite. He could do this. He had no choice.

He took another sip of his false courage, and froze at a knock on his door.

His idiotic heart leapt with hope, but he dashed it immediately. Harry didn't knock at his door anymore. Potter knew his passwords; he just breezed in whenever he felt like it. Severus recognized that it was long past time he changed his wards. Much as it pained him, he was going to have to repossess some of his solitude – for his own self-protection. Potter and he might know the fool he was, but he needn't enlighten the rest of the world. There were appearances to be maintained. He was a Hogwart's professor. He couldn't be seen as weak or pathetic. He had his pride to think about, and his duty to distract him.

It was probably the latter that was responsible for the knock. Though it seemed unbearably late to his weary soul, he knew it had just gone eleven thirty, hardly bedtime for the upper classes. Doubtless there was another teenage tempest brewing in the Slytherin dorms that he was going to have to sort out. Well, whatever fool it was, he'd make him sorry that he'd knocked on this door tonight.

Ready to take his ire out on the hapless Slytherin, Severus flung open the door, and everything stopped as he beheld Harry Potter standing on his threshold with his fist raised to knock a second time. Harry was in his black robes tonight and he looked almost like a student as he stood there, his uncertainty painted all over him.

But he was there, and that was all that counted to Severus' foolish heart.

"Er . . . hello," Harry all but stammered.

It wasn't really a compliment to his personality that the other man's nervousness would put him at ease, but somehow, it did.

"Hello," he answered with an almost urbane lilt, forcing himself to remain calm. Just because Harry had come, didn't mean what he wanted it to mean. Potter could just as easily have come down to apologize for his action and explain that their kiss was nothing but the result of spring fever rather than . . . well, rather than the kind of thing Severus needed it to be.

"Are you busy?" Potter asked.

"It's eleven thirty at night and we've just returned from a pub. Of course, I'm not busy."

"Can I come in, then?" Harry asked.

His courage and acting ability abandoning him, Severus answered, "I don't think that's a wise idea."

Harry nodded. "I know. I still want to come in. May I?"

It didn't matter what Potter wanted from him. Whatever it was, Harry would get it. Feeling as though he had no choice in the matter, Severus opened the door wider and stepped back, totally aware that he was sealing his doom with the invitation.

Harry stepped past him and he closed the door. The snick of the ancient lock catching sounded oddly significant and ominous in the silence.

Severus led them over to the hearth. Too nervous to sit, he stood with the fire at his back and waited to hear what Potter had to say, but all Harry did was stare at him. When the silence had stretched too long for his nerves to bear it another second, he cleared his throat and softly asked, "Do you want a drink?"

"No," Harry said with a negative shake of his dark shaggy head. He stepped towards him, and Severus found himself taking an unconscious step backwards, but he was brought up short by the mantle hitting his shoulders. It was a good job he'd removed his robes earlier; otherwise, he might have ignited himself. As it was, he could feel the fire's heat on the back of his legs and his buttocks. Severus held completely still as Harry reached up to cup his cheek like he had on the road before. The heat of that palm felt hotter than the flames at his back. "I don't want a drink. I want you."

Severus squeezed his eyes shut.

Harry's hand slipped around the back of his neck to give a gentle tug, and then he was falling – into the kiss, and into Harry. They were one and the same.

He wasn't certain exactly what happened – whether his knees had buckled or Harry's had, but they sank down onto their knees, kissing as they knelt there in front of the dancing firelight.

Even with the thick rug carpeting them, the stones on the dungeon's floor were still hard, but Severus barely felt them as his mouth was taken. There was another jolt of movement and they sagged onto their sides, still wrapped up in the same kiss and each other's arms. Then Harry rolled on top of him.

Lying down, their difference in heights hardly mattered. There was more than enough of Harry to cover all the important parts, and cover them, he did. Severus had never felt so sheltered. Harry was a warm weight between him and the rest of the world.

The mouth moving against his knew what it wanted and how to get it. The kiss was the most demanding Severus had known, but there was an inherent protectiveness in it that was as alien as the idea of someone actively desiring him.

When Potter's tongue swiped against his lips again, he didn't even think of denying him. He just opened up wide and tried to suck that sensuous envoy clear out of Harry's mouth.

His response pleased Harry. Even if Severus hadn't sensed it in the kiss, he would have known it from the hard erection that pulsed to life against his right hip.

As if becoming aware of it himself, Harry ground his pelvis down against his groin setting off sensual landmines in his body that Severus had never known existed. Burst after burst of pleasure rocked him. Almost afraid of what he was feeling, he groped at Harry's back. He knew to survive this, he needed to push Harry away, but his traitorous body was pulling Potter closer, and he hadn't the strength to deny it.

When Harry ripped his mouth free of the kiss, Severus thought he might have a chance to reassert some sanity into the situation, but that succulent mouth latched onto his throat then and all he could do was groan and allow it to happen. He simply didn't know how to defend against this kind of assault. Quite frankly, he hadn't believed sensations like this existed.

What had he known of pleasure, after all? His own hand? Inadequate, at best. A tumble in a haystack when he was more child than man? All he could recall of that was some frantic, mutual groping, his pants being opened, straw stabbing his backside for a moment until he was turned over for something harder and more painful to replace the straw. What followed could be called pleasure by no stretch of the imagination.

And the other times? There had been no kissing or caresses at all in those encounters. He didn't know if administering blowjobs and offering his arse to older Death Eaters even counted as romantic trysts. He'd been after information for Albus, which his unsuspecting paramours had been more than happy to supply to his Legilimens skills once he'd put his mouth or bottom to proper use to relax them enough. Sometimes, his Death Eater associates would return the sexual favour and his body would respond, but he usually was so physically repulsed by his partners that he couldn't feel anything but horror at their touching him.

He wondered if Harry felt that way about him. The age difference was about the same. Was Harry as disgusted by his body as he'd been by Voldemort's followers?

But . . . Harry had said he wanted him. And Harry wasn't touching him like he was something foul and loathsome. To the contrary, Harry was stroking him like he couldn't get enough of the feel of his skin. Harry's mouth was sucking and kissing his neck, while his hands petted every place they came in contact with, and they were roaming all over him, his face, his sides . . . everywhere.

Severus cried out as those fingers found his nipple and squeezed it through the layers of his shirt and undergarments. It was too much, too much. He was going to come, just from this, and that would be too embarrassing to be bourn.

Harry's mouth lifted from where it was nuzzling at his neck. Released from the shiversome assault of warm, moist breath and hotter sucking, Severus forced his eyes open and stared up at Harry's face.

Harry's cheeks were flushed like they'd be when they stayed out too long in the cold making their snow forts. His eyes were glittering bright as emeralds, his breathing a raspy pant as his shaking fingers reached for the buttons on Severus' shirt.

He lay still while Potter worked at the buttons. Harry's robe was open and half off his shoulders. Severus reached up to push it all the way off, then grabbed the hem of the blue tee shirt beneath it and tugged upwards.

Harry grinned and obligingly lowered his head so that Severus could remove it. Unlike Severus, Harry wasn't wearing an undershirt.

Gulping, Severus stared up at that bare chest. He'd wondered what Harry would look like. He hadn't seen him without clothes since that first morning they'd been restored, and he'd had too much on his mind at that moment to even think about looking at Harry's naked form.

It was as he'd hoped. The chest had a healthy crop of dark body hair, not too thick, but enough to decorate the surprising musculature there. When he saw the pink nipples peeking artfully out from their hiding places, he couldn't hold back. He strained up and sucked the nearest one in.

It tasted fantastic, like Harry's mouth had. Sweet, a hint of salt, and something addictive that was utterly Harry. He sucked it for all he was worth.

The groan that earned him filled the room. Harry's hands clenched in reaction, and there was a sound of shredding cloth and the pinging of tiny buttons against the hearth. His undershirt was yanked out of his trousers immediately thereafter and Severus had to separate from the tasty nub he was sucking in order for Harry to get his undershirt off him.

But then his chest was bare as well and before Severus could even begin to wonder if the thin, hairless expanse had disappointed his friend, Harry's mouth fixed onto his left nipple like a limpet.

Heads bent to each other's chest, they continued that way for some time. Severus had never known anything like it. He certainly had never experienced the almost painful clench of excitement his insides gave when Harry's hand moved down his belly, over the obstruction of his trouser fastening, to cover the needy bulge there. When Harry's hand gave a carefully judged squeeze, Severus threw his head back and groaned like he'd just taken a lightning bolt curse to the gonads. The energy felt that devastating.

He was nearly ashamed by how loud he was being. But since Harry seemed to be matching him moan for moan, he tried not to think on it. In fact, he was having trouble thinking at all. That hand on his penis knew what it was about, and the rhythmic squeezes were destroying him. His control was a dream of the past. In these moments of annihilating pleasure, Harry Potter owned him as completely as if he'd put him under Imperius. There was a part of Severus that wondered if Harry hadn't done just that. Potter was a master of both wandless and wordless magic, but if it were Imperius, it seemed to be operating as strongly on Potter as him, and, as long as that was the case, Severus really couldn't mind it, not so long as it kept him feeling this much.

Severus' entire body stilled in the shock of absolute concentration as Harry's hands fumbled his trouser buttons open. Trousers, underwear, boots, and socks were all peeled off with sensual expertise and tossed aside like so much detritus on his carpet.

Harry pulled his body back from him a bit. Severus stared on in a heated daze as Potter undid his own jeans one-handed, then scrambled out of them in what seemed like a single breath. Another set of clothing joined the jumble on his carpet.

They both paused in the breathy silence that followed to study each other's naked forms.

Harry was far better endowed than his lack of height and slenderness would suggest. Severus stared at the thick red cock rising out of its dark bed of pubic hair and the heavy pink balls that hung below. Magnificent was the only word that came to mind.

Severus absently licked his lips as he hungrily eyed that prize.

Only as an afterthought did he wonder how Harry felt about his own nude body. Height was really his only asset. He was nearly as thin as Harry, and, considering that he was more than a head taller, it didn't look nearly as fetching on him. His chest wasn't nearly as muscular, and he was as hairless there as a first year student. Add to that the collection of pink scar tissue, the mementos of his grandparents' tender care, and there wasn't much to commend itself. He didn't even want to consider what Harry would think when he saw what his back looked like with its cross work of strap marks.

As for what lay below . . . he supposed he was large there, perhaps even unusually so. While most times that would be considered an asset, his hips and thighs were so thin that Severus often thought his penis looked abnormal on him.

"My God," Harry whispered.

Severus raised his gaze to his friend's face, almost afraid of what he'd find.

Harry wasn't looking at him like he was about to lose the contents of his stomach. Those green eyes were hot and slightly unfocused as he whispered, "You're incredible. Sleek and smooth as a race horse."

That sounded good, as if Harry really were pleased with him. And then Harry's fingers stroked straight down the centre of his chest, and it didn't matter anymore how it sounded. All that mattered was how it felt, and it felt sublime.

Severus gasped under the sensual assault, and then released a rough groan as Harry collected him into his palm.

Nothing had ever felt as good as that hand closing around his needy flesh, not his first orgasm, not triumphing over Voldemort, nothing. It was beyond Severus' experience and almost beyond his capacity to endure. He was sure he was going to come from just the hand alone, but somehow he held on.

"It gets bigger?" There was no mistaking the shock in that emotion thick voice.

"I'm afraid so," he rasped out, worried that it might be too much.

"Brilliant!" Harry grinned and lowered his head.

Wet heat surrounded his hungry flesh. It was the most perfect connection Severus had ever felt to another human in his life. If his thundering heart gave out on him in the middle of this, he'd have no regrets. Well, none except that he'd like to have stuck around for an encore.

He managed to avoid disgracing himself by coming right away. Although, the sight of Harry's dark head bent over his groin was more than enough to make him climax; there was a part of him that wanted to relish this as long as he could, for experience had taught him that his pleasures, small as they might be, were always fleeting. And, this joy was anything but small. This all-consuming delight was beyond his ken. He knew he had no chance of holding onto it. He didn't even understand what had made Harry initiate this erotic madness, but he was grateful for it.

Trying to maintain the visual for as long as he could, he caught sight of Harry's genitals. Potter's cock was considerably more enhanced than it had been before, impressive in its own right. The purple vein running through it was pulsing with almost palpable need.

Recognizing how one-sided things were at the moment, and wanting to experience everything offered to him in this unanticipated gift, Severus shifted around until he was close enough to return the favour he was receiving.

Harry moaned around his cock as Severus sucked him in. The vibration in his over-sensitised organ was a whole new pleasure in itself. Then the taste hit him, and he was lost. Salty, a little bitter, but eminently satisfying, Potter's flavour spread through him like one of his potions. He could feel his mouth watering around the exotic taste as he sought to accustom his jaw to Harry's bulk. It had been so long that he was woefully out of practice.

His body finally remembered the way of it and he was able to both breathe and suck. Harry was making the most delightful groans, which shivered right from his throat to Snape's cock. Severus supposed he was giving Harry his own share of vibratory delights with his own suppressed moaning. Their coarse, slurpy chorus filled the room as they thundered towards ecstasy.

Severus had never felt so in sync with anyone or thing in his life. The rhythm seemed to be waiting for them. It didn't feel like something they were creating here tonight. Rather, it had the feel of some long lost treasure that they were rediscovering. Their bodies and very souls seemed to know each other, even if their pride and will had been too blind to acknowledge the connection before. Appalled by the cretinously sentimental idea, Severus attempted to deny it, but how could he? All he could taste, smell, and feel was Harry. How could he possibly deny it at a moment like this?

Like a potion that required prolonged brewing, the sensations built until they boiled over, tumbling both Harry and him into orgasm. Severus stilled in his bobbing as the shaft he was fellating spasmed and shot a hot spurt of liquid against the back of his throat. As if that were the signal he was waiting for, white-hot delight seared through Severus' own body, liquefying his neural network until the overloaded remnants exploded forth like boiling magma into Harry Potter's mouth. Harry drank him down as greedily as he did Potter.

Only when it seemed that they were both deflated beyond hope of rekindling did they raise their heads from each other's groin.

Severus swallowed the last of Harry's seed, attempting to acclimate himself to its bitter aftertaste. He remembered that when younger, he'd always wanted to run and rinse his mouth out after doing this for his fellow Death Eaters, but with Harry, he wanted to savour the flavour.

Moving as though it took every ounce of energy he had left, Harry settled down onto the carpet beside him and turned on his side to face him. He looked so beautiful lying there, still flushed from passion, with his hair a wreck, and his glasses slightly off kilter. Just looking at him took Severus' breath away again.

Wondering what the proper etiquette was in situations like this, Severus slowly met Harry's gaze. Abruptly conscious of their circumstances, Severus realized that they were lying buck naked on his sitting room floor with their clothes scattered around them like fallen leaves.

A grin took Harry's face, and then . . . and then he laughed.

Remembering a haystack and an all too similar reaction, Severus froze. Telling himself that this needn't be what he thought it, he asked with as much control as possible in the circumstances, "What is it?"

"You. When we were kids, we used to speculate what you'd be like, if you did it at all, and – "

He didn't give Potter the opportunity to finish. Unable to credit what a fool he'd been as his world came crashing down around him, Severus rolled away from Potter as though he were a rotting corpse.

"I trust that I have satisfied your curiosity," he sneered, finally understanding what had motivated this tonight. Their souls had known each other . . . what utter twaddle. It was clear he didn't know Harry Potter at all, and never would.

"Severus?" The smile fell from Potter's face, to be replaced by an expression of nearly imbecilic confusion.

"Get out," he whispered.

"What?"

"I said get out!" His wand was lost somewhere in the tangle of their clothes, but for once in his life, Severus didn't need it. His rage was given instant expression, as it hadn't been since he was a very young child.

A hot wind filled the room. Books and parchments swirled around them, along with their discarded clothes. The few knickknacks Snape owned, the entire contents of his bar, candles, couch cushions, and anything else that wasn't nailed down all took flight, becoming dangerous projectiles. There was the sound of glass shattering throughout the room, and Severus felt the tiny shards dig through his skin all over. But he didn't care about the pain. His arms, legs, or head could be hewn off by the flying detritus and it would be nothing next to the betrayal stabbing through him.

The wind picked the naked Potter up from where he lay sprawled on the floor. Harry's shocked yelp filled the room as he was swept towards the front door, which obligingly opened at the whirlwind's first touch.

He watched as Potter was flung arse over teakettle out the door. Severus' last sight of him was his naked butt tumbling midair. And then the door slammed close with a resounding bang behind him.

The wind died as soon as Potter was out. Severus' belongings and their shredded clothing fell with various crashes and thumps, depending on the nature of the item.

Severus squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe, but it was as though his lungs were truly frozen. His entire body felt like ice and he was beginning to shudder. Finally, he sobbed in a hoarse breath.

What had he done? How could he be so stupid as to imagine that Harry Potter – or any other normal wizard – would want to fuck him out of anything but morbid curiosity? He wasn't a seventeen-year-old innocent anymore. He knew what he was, and he knew the way of the world. What the devil was wrong with him?

There were a number of things wrong with him at the moment – physically. His skin was speckled with glass shards and cuts for starters. But the emotional rips hurt worse, because he sensed that he was never going to recover from those. He could heal his skin and repair the damage done to his rooms, but what could he do to mend the blow his soul had taken here tonight.

Harry had used him and laughed at him afterwards, just like Malfoy had all those years ago.

Harry . . . .

The thought of Harry, dumped naked without his wand in a similar bloodied physical state in the Slytherin corridor crossed his mind, but he stamped down hard on the thought. What did he care what happened to the bastard? Potter had gotten off easy. He thought of the curse he'd laid on Malfoy, considered it . . . but the memory of the seven-year-old Potter crossed his mind and he couldn't do it. For the sake of the boy Harry had been, he would do no more harm.

It wasn't even Harry's fault things had come to this strait. He'd known what he was, what an obscenity it was to even think that Harry might desire him. It was his own weakness that had caused this. Potter had merely capitalized upon it. Who wouldn't?

The answer Harry whispered through his broken heart, but he ignored it.

Potter had shown his true colours, as he should have known he would. This was his own fault for buying into fantasies.

Knowing himself to be every kind of fool, Severus pulled his bleeding legs close to his chest and lowered his face to his knobbly knees.

Breathe. He had to keep breathing, and not think. That was the only way he was going to survive this.

**********

The silence and cold were intense after the heat of the angry wind. Stunned and dizzy from being tossed about like a feather and then slammed full force into a stonewall, Harry tried to take stock of himself in the abrupt quiet. He didn't think anything was actually broken, but he felt bruised and beaten all over, and he still hadn't a clue as to what had happened, how he had come to be lying here naked in the Slytherin corridor.

He heard a door open.

Thank God. Severus had come to his senses.

"Harry?" the concerned voice was familiar, but it wasn't Severus. Rushed footsteps followed, and then, "My God, Harry, what's happened?"

Strong arms gathered him up, hurting his cuts as they did so. His dazed gaze settled on Blaise Zabini's worried features. "B-Blaise?"

Blaise appeared to have been awoken from a sound sleep, were his sleepy look, tousled brown curls and nightshirt anything to go by.

"Don't talk. I'll get you to the infirmary and then – "

"No, please!" he begged as Blaise rose to his feet with him cradled in his arms. "Just . . . please, just get me out of the hall? Nothing's broken. I promise."

Looking completely uncertain, Blaise reversed direction and carried him into his quarters. Harry took in the messy clutter of his friend's sitting room, wincing as he was deposited onto a comfortable, over-stuffed blue velvet couch in front of the hearth – in which a fire roared immediately to life. The warmth embraced his shivering skin like a lover.

Thinking of his most recent lover, Harry closed his eyes and shied away from the thought. He still didn't know what had happened, what he could have done to so anger Severus – aside from the obvious. Was Severus this furious with him for seducing him?

Blaise leaned over him for a moment. "There's glass in these cuts."

Harry was barely aware of Blaise removing his wand from his nightshirt pocket or the spell his friend muttered. The next thing he was conscious of were dozens of sudden stings as the glass shards exited his cuts. A whispered, "Accio healing cream," brought a brown jar floating in from the bathroom and then relief in the form of cool, white cream. The instant Blaise rubbed it on his skin, the pain stopped and the scores of cuts closed up.

Blaise pulled a red blanket from where it was folded on the back of the couch and wrapped it firmly around him. Then the tall Slytherin rose to his feet and moved outside of Harry's line of vision. Blaise returned momentarily with a glass of amber liquid.

"Drink this," Blaise ordered.

Harry nearly choked on the rough whisky, but its warmth moved reassuringly through him.

"Did Snape do this to you?" Blaise demanded with a tight-lipped anger that would have given Ron's a run for its money.

Did Snape do this to him?

Harry tried to follow the chain of events that had led him to this end. He'd kissed Severus on the road, and then followed the man down to his quarters. They'd made love – perhaps the most beautiful love he'd known in his life. Everything had been perfect. They'd even come at the same moment. Afterwards, he'd climbed up beside Severus for a cuddle. And then everything had gone horribly wrong. Harry tried to remember exactly what he'd said, for he now realized that his words had been the catalyst to his expulsion from Severus' chambers. Something about their being so wrong about Snape as kids – no, he hadn't even gotten that far. He'd mentioned how they'd used to speculate about Snape's sexual habits and then . . . and then he'd laughed.

Mortified, Harry realized how that must have seemed to Severus, who had spent his entire life being an object of ridicule and distrust. Severus must have thought that he was laughing athim. He tried to convince himself that Severus would have more faith in him than that, but the fact that he was sitting here in this condition pretty much proved that wasn't the case.

Damn it. How could he have been so stupid?

He wished he could be angry with Severus, but how could he? The only person to blame here was himself. He'd known how badly Severus' life had scarred him. Severus had been conditioned to expect nothing but humiliation and rejection every time he lowered his defences. Ron had even warned him to tread carefully, but had he? No, after all his promises, and all the time he'd spent earning Severus' trust, when it came down to the wire, he'd barrelled right over Severus like a steamroller.

"Harry," Blaise repeated, "did Snape do this to you?"

Harry looked up into his friend's angry brown eyes. "It wasn't his fault."

"Right," Blaise did a passing imitation of Severus' sneer. "Did he . . . I mean, were you . . . ?"

At first he didn't understand what Blaise was asking of him. But then he saw the blush claim those round cheeks and he unravelled the unspoken question. "I wasn't raped. He never touched me in anger."

"You had at least forty-three cuts when I pulled you out of the hallway," Blaise said.

"I know. But . . . Severus didn't mean to hurt me. If he had, I'd be dead, not bruised."

"What the hell happened?" Blaise asked, still seeming ready to string Severus up by his privates on his behalf.

Harry sighed. How much to tell? He trusted Blaise with his life, but Severus guarded his privacy so closely that anything he said might be viewed as yet another betrayal. Finally, he settled on, "I screwed up, big time. And I hurt him – bad."

"You hurt him?"

Harry gave a short, affirmative nod.

"How?" When he dropped his gaze and refused to meet Blaise's eyes, his old friend continued, "Harry, I've known you since we were kids. It just isn't in you to injure someone you're . . . intimate with."

Blaise knew. Harry sighed. Of course, Blaise knew; the man had found him naked in the hallway.

"Not all hurts are physical," Harry said softly, hating how stupid he'd been. "I was . . . thoughtless, unbelievably thoughtless."

"So you really expect me to believe that this is all your fault?"

He'd been blessed with loyal friends his whole life. Sometimes, though, he wished they'd be less protective of him.

"I know it doesn't look that way, but I caused this. Please, Blaise, I need you on my side. I can't deal with another crisis right now," he all but begged.

As he'd known it would, his plea immediately broke through Blaise's fury. "Of course, I'm on your side. That goes without saying, you idiot. What do you want me to do?"

"Help me floo back to my place and lend me this blanket till we get there?" Harry asked.

"What else?"

"I know I don't have to ask you to keep this to yourself," Harry said.

Blaise went very still. "What about Hermione and Ron? You don't think you're going to be able to hide this from them, do you?"

Harry looked down at the red wool covering his lap. Blaise was right. It wasn't fair of him to expect Zabini to keep this kind of thing from the Weasleys. "No, I suppose you're right."

"Harry, can't you tell me what's happened?"

He shook his head. "Will you help me home?"

"Now?"

He nodded. "Will you?"

"Of course, you prat. Come on." The hands that lifted him to his feet were so gentle his black and blues barely felt the pressure.

Two minutes later those same hands kept him from measuring his length as they flooed into his sitting room hearth.

Without waiting to be asked, Blaise guided him to his bedroom.

His bespelled bedroom hearth flamed to life as they entered the room.

Harry looked up at Blaise's handsome profile as the orange firelight flickered across it. If things had gone differently, this man would have been sleeping here and sharing his life. But it wasn't the handsome Transfigurations teacher he wanted. For better or worse, he'd lost his heart to Severus . . . Severus . . . who might never forgive him.

It was all too much. He allowed Blaise to get him under the covers. Turning to face the wall, he pulled his knees up to his chest and tried to banish the betrayed expression on Severus' face from his mind. But it almost seemed to be pasted on the back of his eyelids. Try as he would, it wouldn't go away.

"You don't have to stay," he whispered as he felt the bed dip behind him as Blaise sat down on it.

"I know. Humour me, all right?"

All he could hear in the quiet that descended was Blaise's breathing and the steady crackle of the fire. After a few minutes, a hand settled on the blankets covering his back and began to rub.

"Close your eyes, Harry," Blaise softly instructed. "Can you hear me breathing?"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. Blaise remembered. It had to be almost twelve years since he'd told him how he hated the quiet of the dark when he couldn't sleep.

"It will be all right," Blaise said, the promise and soft stroking lulling him in spite of himself.

But it wouldn't be all right. He'd screwed things up royally this time, and he was realist enough to know that Severus would give him neither a second chance nor an opportunity to explain himself.

He didn't deserve this comfort. He wasn't the injured party. He thought of Severus lying alone in the dark and hurting . . . and hated himself.

He wished more than anything that he had that time turner that Professor Dumbledore had loaned Hermione during third year, then he could go back and undo the damage he'd done in the last half hour. But he didn't have the time turner; all he had was the mess he'd made of his life. Hurting all over, he watched the firelight throw shadows on the far wall and listened to Blaise breathe.

It was nearly two hours later when the hand on his back stilled and the breathing deepened to that of sleep. And still he lay there, staring at the wall.

***************