One of his favourite things in life was a lie in on a Saturday morning. The bed was warm and a comfortable wreck from last night's loving, and he was snuggled up on top of his absolute favourite thing in the world. His face was buried in Hermione's soft hair, his right knee sandwiched between her sleek thighs.

Ron couldn't recall falling asleep. She'd let him know if he'd conked out on her at an inopportune moment, but from the lush scent of the sheets, he doubted that had happened. He stroked his hand over a pink-nippled breast, smiling at the sigh she gave. Even sound asleep, she was so damn responsive.

The grandfather clock near the bed chimed seven, but they didn't have to get up this morning, not if they didn't want to. Ron glanced up from the nipple he was fingering, looked towards the pleasantly chiming clock, and froze.

"Damn," he muttered.

"Hmmm? What's wrong, Ron?" Hermione stirred to wakefulness. She'd sleep through an explosion or the castle falling around their bed, but if he said something in a certain tone, it always penetrated.

"The clock," he answered.

"The clock?" She lifted her head. "Oh, dear."

For the last three weeks, both Harry and Severus' clock hands had been in a new designation on the clock called 'Courting'. That had changed this morning. Harry was back in 'Lost' and Severus was in a whole new designation, 'Despair'.

"What do you think happened?" he asked.

"I don't want to think. Maybe – " her words broke off as an uncertain knock sounded at the front door.

"That can't be good," he muttered.

"Really?" Hermione's sarcasm got the better of her. She always did get snarky when one of her schemes didn't work out as planned, and nothing had been as important to her as seeing the boys that had been their own for a few short months find happiness.

She had her wand in her hand already. She passed it over herself, him, and the bed. With a sudden jolt, he found himself totally clean and lying on a pristinely made bed.

"Give us a warning, luv, will you?" he complained, dragging himself to a sitting position. So much for their lazy lie in.

"Hurry," she said, tossing him last night's brown robe.

She was already buttoning up the lavender one she'd worn to the pub last night and hurrying towards the sitting room.

Still more asleep than awake, Ron trailed in her wake. She threw open the front door as nervous looking as any worried mother.

Both of them did a double take at the man standing there. It wasn't Harry or Severus.

"Blaise?" Hermione questioned.

It was barely seven am. Zabini never saw daylight before noon on the weekends.

"Er, I'm sorry to bother you so early, but – " Blaise said.

"Come in," Hermione said, taking his arm and leading him towards the couch and setting him down at the far end.

Ron looked around for the teapot and started it steaming. This had the looks of being a long day.

"Is everything all right?" Hermione asked their guest, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

Both of them stared at Blaise. The handsome Slytherin looked fine, but he was nearly as good at hiding things as Severus.

"I don't know," Blaise answered. Before they could ask anything else, he continued, "At about one this morning I heard something that sounded like a gale shrieking through the Slytherin corridor outside my quarters. When I opened the door to see what was going on, I found Harry lying out there covered with cuts."

"Oh, my God!" Hermione jumped to her feet. "Is he . . . ?"

"He's not hurt," Blaise quickly assured. "It was just some glass splinters and minor scratches, nothing deep. I healed him up and got him back to his bed."

"Glass splinters," Hermione repeated. "What . . . ?"

"He wouldn't say what happened to him, but I've my suspicions. He was lying stark naked in front of Snape's door," Blaise relayed with obvious anger.

Ron's stomach lurched. Hermione was so sure that Harry and Severus were made for each other, but he wasn't anywhere near as certain.

"Severus would never hurt him," Hermione quickly insisted. She'd gone white as a house ghost.

"Well, someone sure as hell did," Blaise replied.

"What did Harry say?" Ron asked, trying to make sense of it. He mightn't be wearing rose coloured glasses as far as Severus and Harry's potential as a couple were concerned, but everything inside him insisted that Hermione was right. Severus would never knowingly hurt Harry.

"All he'd say was that he hurt Severus and that everything was all his fault." Blaise's frustration was obvious.

He'd hurtSeverus?

The sudden shrieking of the teakettle made them all start.

"I'll get it," Ron said, moving from his standing daze to deal with the tea.

"Where is Harry now?" he heard Hermione ask.

Ron quickly poured three cups of tea, manifested some milk and sugar, and added it to all their likings. He handed the darkest cup to Zabini, the lightest one to Hermy, and perched on the wide, cushioned arm of the couch with his own.

After muttering a soft thank you, Blaise answered, "He's in his rooms. I stayed with him till just a few minutes ago. I haven't seen him this upset since that bastard Julius. He wouldn't let me stay any longer, but . . . I really don't think he should be alone."

"No, of course, he shouldn't," Hermione immediately concurred.

They looked at each other. He could read the fear in her eyes.

"I'll go to Severus," Ron offered to take on the more difficult task. Harry was never easy to deal with when upset, but Severus made Norwegian Ridgebacks look amiable when he was in retreat.

"I can go," she said.

"No. You're more reasonable than me. Harry will need that," Ron argued.

"Let Ron deal with Snape," Blaise advised with something like satisfaction in his tone. Harry must have been in a bad way to get Zabini so angry with his fellow Slytherin, Ron recognized.

"Blaise," Hermione scolded, "you've seen them together. You know Severus would never hurt Harry."

"I don't know that at all," Blaise snapped. "I saw him after Snape was through with him, Hermione, you didn't. If Snape can do that without meaning to, then God help Harry if he ever consciously decides to hurt him."

Hermione bit her lip and looked to him, guilt and worry bright in her eyes. "This is all my fault."

"Oh, for – " Ron started, then, seeing the effect his anger was having on her, he forced himself to calm down. "It's not your fault. And I'm sure it's not Harry or Severus', either. It's just some big misunderstanding that they're both too proud or stupid to sort out on their own. You know Severus would never hurt Harry, Hermy." He turned to fix his stare on Blaise. "And you know it, too. He's your housemate. I know Severus scares the tar out of the students, but when has he ever really physically hurt anyone, even when provoked?"

Blaise looked down. "You're right, of course. It's just . . . ."

"I know," Ron said. "We'll sort it out. Don't worry." Slurping down his tea, he gave Hermione's cheek a quick peck and rose to his feet. "You go see how Harry is doing. I'll deal with Severus."

"You're a brave man, Ron," Blaise said, seemingly in complete seriousness.

Snorting at the compliment, he headed out the door.

There was one flaw in his plan. In order to deal with Severus, he had to see Severus. He hadn't set foot in the Slytherin dungeons since he and Harry had drugged Goyle and Crabbe to do that polyjuice potion in second year. He knew where Snape's quarters were only because Harry had told him. He banged on Severus' door for five minutes straight to no effect. Thinking that Snape might be in the potions lab, he checked there as well. No Severus.

The Great Hall was beginning to fill with students and teachers when he poked his head in to see if Severus were having breakfast, but Snape wasn't there, either.

He was on his way back down to the dungeons when a blood splattered, translucent ghost passed him on the stairs.

"Excuse me, Baron?" Ron nervously called the most intimidating of the house ghosts.

"Yes, young Weasley?"

Even when dead the man knew how to put a rival house member in his place, Ron acknowledged.

"Have you seen Professor Snape this morning?" he asked.

"No." The ghost turned from him.

"Er, is he still in his quarters?" Ron persevered.

"That's for him and me to know and you to find out, ey, Gryffindor?" the Baron laughed and floated away.

Slytherins, even when dead, they made you want to kill them!

"Thanks," Ron said. "Thanks for nothing."

"Is everything all right, Professor Weasley?" a sweet voice asked from behind.

Realizing that he was standing here at the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons, for all intents and purposes, talking to himself, he swung around to see Joan Holland, a third year Slytherin student behind him. She was a petite blond with huge blue eyes, a lovely disposition, and a drive to prove herself that was downright terrifying. She was nearly as smart as Hermione had been at that age, but far more aware of her effect on the opposite sex. From her looks and carriage, Ron had always suspected some connection to the Malfoy house. It was the only reason he could think of for the girl to have been sorted into Slytherin.

"Ah, I'm fine, thanks," he said. Suddenly inspired, Ron asked, "Have you seen Professor Snape this morning, Miss Holland?"

"He's been in his rooms all morning. It’s not like him to be so late in rising," she answered, real worry in her face.

He'd seen this time and again. While at school and when he'd first started teaching here, he hadn't been able to comprehend how even Slytherins could be so fond of Snape, but the children of Snape's house really had a genuine affection for him. Ron belatedly recognized that he should have realized that there was a lot more to Severus than the snarl he turned on the world.

"He's not answering his front door," Ron said. "The Gryffindor house head has a private entrance to the dorms. Is there one in Slytherin?"

She gave a guarded nod, the house rivalries so ingrained that she was even suspicious of a Gryffindor professor.

Ron sighed. He hated being viewed as the enemy. Hermione was right. It was long past time for these divisive conventions to be put aside. But he couldn't deal with that now.

"Does Professor Snape always answer that door?" he questioned.

Seeming slightly chuffed, the young Slytherin insisted, "Professor Snape would never ignore us. It doesn't matter what time of the day or night we knock, he always helps us."

"Do you think I could ask you to deliver a note to him at that door?" Ron asked, almost holding his breath. "It's rather important."

After a moment in which she seemed to weigh the dangers to her house head, she gave a guarded nod. "All right."

"Thank you. Hang on a moment." A quick flick of his wand and a few muttered words brought him parchment, pen, and inkwell. Leaning on the dungeon wall with the inkwell floating beside him, Ron quickly scribbled his message and handed it to the girl. "Thank you, Miss Holland."

"You're welcome, sir," with a blinding smile, she scurried past him to the dungeons.

With a weary sigh, Ron turned back towards the Gryffindor Tower.

***********

This knock he couldn't ignore. Ron had been out there at his front door a while ago, banging for nearly five minutes. Harry had called his floo three times this morning. Deep in his misery, Severus had ignored them all. But as Slytherin head of house, there was no way he could ignore a knock from the dorm door.

He glanced around his quarters. They were pretty much restored, except for the glass. His cuts were healed, his attire totally presentable. Only his soul remained broken.

Severus smoothed his robe down and opened the door.

"Miss Holland," he greeted, somewhat surprised. In the three years she'd been at Hogwarts, he'd never once had to counsel her privately. She had a queen's grace and charm. Even the Gryffindors liked her.

She gave him a smile that would conquer any man in three or four years. "Good morning, sir. I'm sorry to disturb you, but Professor Weasley asked me to deliver this to you. He said it was important."

His stomach roiling, he accepted the offered parchment. "Thank you."

About to turn away and hurry back to the dorm, she paused to ask, "Are you all right, Professor?"

He was going to have to get used to lying again, but he wasn't up to it at the moment. So he just nodded, said, "Thank you," and closed the door.

His blood running cold, he lent against the door and unfolded the parchment. There in Ronald Weasley's messy scrawl, he read:

Severus, I need to see you. My place. Immediately. No excuses.

It was signed only Ron.

So it started. Severus knew this was the beginning of the end. The Weasleys had always sided with Potter in everything. Life as he'd come to know it was about to end. Well, it had been nearly six weeks since his restoration to adulthood. That was the longest he'd ever kept any friend besides Albus, let alone three.

He supposed he could ignore this summons as well, but what was the point? What was done was done. He couldn't undo it. His only choice now was how he would react to the dissolution of his new, beloved world. But as much as he feared this interview with Ron, he was no coward. He'd face it with as much dignity as he could muster.

Taking a deep breath, he went to face the proverbial music. It was only his imagination, of course, for the house elves would have cleaned hours ago, but he thought he could still see some brown stains on the grey flagstone floor opposite his quarters where Harry had come crashing down on the stones last night.

He paused in front of the Weasleys' door, his gaze straying to the next one down. The red bearded wizard in the portrait on the door glared at him in near hatred.

Turning quickly away, he knocked.

The door was flung open immediately. Ronald Weasley stood there in last night's wrinkled brown robe, with an indecipherable expression on his pasty face. Hermione didn't seem to be present, which was probably a statement on how they wanted to handle this. Her peace-making tendencies would probably only hinder whatever Ron had to say to him.

He hadn't known how to approach this meeting, how to deal with Ron now that there could only be hatred between them again. The thought of losing Ron and Hermione hurt nearly as much as losing Harry. Knowing Ron's protective streak, he had a pretty good idea as to how this meeting would go.

Looking at this man who had been the only father he'd ever known, Severus resolved that, whatever happened, it would not come to wands between him and Ron. With that thought in mind, he removed his wand from his pocket and held it out to Ron on his open palm.

It was the most ancient of rituals between their kind, rarely done in the past, and unheard of in modern times. Turning over one's wand left a wizard defenceless and completely at the mercy of the person to whom the wand was offered. In the ancient past, this was a symbol of fealty, always an act of submission, and often an admission of guilt. Severus supposed that all three applied to him this morning.

Ron's eyes had widened as Severus reached for his wand, but he hadn't gone for his own. As Severus held his wand out to him, the strangest expression claimed Ron's freckled features. "What are you doing?"

"I won't fight you," Severus explained, holding that gaze.

"Fight me?" Ron had never been the brightest of students, but rarely had he appeared so cretinous.

"Your summons said no excuses. I offer none," Severus stiffly stated. This was harder than the verbal fencing he used to do with Voldemort fourteen years ago.

"My . . . ." An expression of horrified understanding washed over Ron's pale face. "I needed to see how you were. Harry said that he'd hurt you."

"You . . . ." His knees nearly buckled under the shock. He gaped at Ron, incapable of fitting Ron's words into his reality.

"Put that thing away," Ron ordered and then stepped up to take his arm.

Too stunned to protest, Severus allowed himself to be guided over to the couch.

Ron was only an inch or so taller than him, but he was nearly twice as broad. At the moment, Severus felt as small and uncertain as a seven-year-old beside him as Weasley guided him back to the couch. Ron left him for a moment. When he returned, the mug Severus had used here as a child was placed into his hands.

He stared down into the milky, tan liquid, letting its heat seep through his frozen fingers. It was all he could do to keep from bursting into tears.

He hadn't lost everything.

Taking a deep breath, he sipped his tea and attempted to get control of his emotions. He wasn't thinking very clearly this morning. He was so tired and this hurt so damn much.

"First off, are you all right?" Ron questioned as he took a seat on the cushion beside his, sounding as though that really were the most important thing on his mind.

"In what respect?" Severus attempted to evade.

"In the not needing medical attention respect," Ron snapped. "Quit the word games. We're both too tired for them. Just answer the question."

"I am physically unharmed," he quietly offered.

To his shock, Ron's hand reached out to squeeze his shoulder as his former father murmured, "Thank God," and then asked, "All right, what the devil happened?"

Severus couldn't hold that steady gaze. "Do you want the details?"

"Spare me the sexual hi jinks. Just tell me how Harry ended up bullocks naked out in the hall all cut to pieces."

This must be what it was like to have a father, Severus thought. He could hear the disappointment and anger in Ron's voice, but over it all, he could hear the love and concern.

He didn't want to answer, but he owed this man. Ron was making an attempt to understand. He hadn't just judged him unfit and discarded him from his life. If for no other reason, the novelty of that unprecedented kindness should be rewarded. So, he took a deep breath and tried to answer. "After . . . afterwards . . . Harry laughed at me. I didn't mean to injure him. I just wanted him gone."

"Harry . . . laughed at you?" Ron repeated, sounding shocked.

Feeling like the ostracised seven-year-old this man had befriended, Severus gave a tight nod and stared into his tea.

Ron was quiet for what seemed a very long time. Finally, he asked, "How long have you known Harry?"

"As long as you," Severus snapped, not looking up.

"In all that time, did you ever see him mock anyone? He never even teased Malfoy unless Malfoy started it," Ron reminded in a reasonable tone.

Still not able to meet those eyes, Severus said, "Nevertheless, he laughed at me."

"Tell me what he said – exactly," Ron ordered.

Attempting to remember the painful words he'd been doing his best to forget all day, Severus squeezed his eyes shut. "He started to say something about how that when he was in school, he used to speculate on my . . ." Feeling his cheeks go scarlet, he forced himself to continue, ". . . on my sexual habits. And then he laughed."

"And then?" Ron prodded.

"And then I became angry. A great wind ripped my quarters apart and flung Harry out into the hall," Severus reported as unemotionally as possible.

"That's it?" Ron asked.

"He was laughing at me," Severus said.

"Are you sure?"

"I know laughter when I hear it. I've endured enough of it," he snarled.

"Too much, perhaps," Ron softly countered.

"What do you mean?" he snapped.

"The cruelty you suffered as a child left you very sensitive to any form of teasing – maybe even oversensitive. You and I both know Harry. He isn't cruel. He would never laugh at someone he was . . . intimate with, not in a mean or hurtful way. That's just not part of his character. You know that," Ron insisted.

"What else could he have been laughing at after what he'd said?" Severus demanded.

"How about himself?"

An altogether new kind of chill passed through him at Ron's question.

Seeming to realize that he had his complete attention, Ron continued with, "At a certain age, all kids are curious about what the adults around them get up to in bed. We used to wonder about our teachers. Our current students speculate about us. It's natural."

"Is it?" Severus asked, his stomach tight as a rock again because Ron was right. Mockery simply wasn't Harry Potter's style. That was why this betrayal had hurt so much, because it was something he had never expected from Harry. If betrayal it even was. Ron's words were casting doubt on even his own memories.

"Shall I tell you what I heard Stanton telling his friends last week about what Hermione gets up to with a leather riding crop?" Ron laughed.

"He didn't," Severus said, appalled. The students were so intimidated by him that they never talked freely in his class. He'd seen the easy relationship Ron had with his students. Ron could very well have overheard something of that nature before the speaker was even aware he was around.

"He most certainly did. He'll be serving detention for another three weeks," Ron reported.

"Did you tell Hermione?" Severus shuddered at the thought.

Ron gave an earthy chuckle. "What? And put ideas in her head? She's got enough ideas of her own, believe me. She doesn't need Stanton's help."

Unable to believe how easy Ron was about all of this, Severus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was so out of step with the world. He supposed it were possible that he'd misunderstood Potter's meaning completely. It certainly made more sense than thinking Harry would scorn him like that after making love, which meant . . . which meant he'd committed yet another horrible, unforgivable mistake.

"You think my anger was precipitative," he said.

Ron sighed. "I believe you've both been hurt so badly in the past that you can't see clearly. Trust isn't easy, Severus, but you can't get anywhere in life without it."

"Every time I've trusted, I've been betrayed," Severus softly admitted.

"Not every time," Ron firmly countered. "Harry never let you down once in the entire four months you spent together."

He remembered the tiny boy who had defended him like a lion from classmates twice Potter's size. That boy would never have mocked him – nor would the man Harry had grown into. This new guilt taking a stranglehold around his heart, Severus tried to hold on to his anger, to the possibility that he'd been wronged. But he knew Ron was right. Harry just wouldn't do something like that, no matter how it might have sounded at the time.

"I've ruined everything," he whispered, crushed by the weight of this mistake.

Ron's hand returned to his shoulder. "No, you haven't, Severus. It's all part of it."

"Part of what?" he asked, finally looking into those familiar brown eyes.

"Being part of a family. Families don't break up because of a misunderstanding. They work things out. You've got to talk to Harry," Ron said.

"If you're right about Harry's intentions, how could he ever forgive what I did to him?" Severus questioned, utterly lost.

The hand on his shoulder gave another encouraging squeeze. "All Harry seemed to care about was the fact that he hurt you. Talk to him. You'll work it out. It will be all right. You'll see."

"Do you really believe that?"

Ron's gaze was totally guileless as he nodded. "Yes. You're very important to him."

It both warmed and embarrassed him to hear Ron say that.

After an oddly comfortable silence, Severus asked, "Hermione is not here?"

"She's in with Harry."

"I see. Did you lose the coin toss?" he tried to joke.

"Huh?" Ron asked as he moved to pour himself some tea from the magical kettle on the coffee table in front of them.

"Having to deal with me instead of Harry," Severus specified.

Ron's gaze pierced his skin like the glass shards had last night. "I volunteered." When he made no response to that, Ron softly said, "I know what it feels like to be where you're sitting this morning. When you cut through all the superficial stuff, you and I are a lot alike, Severus."

"We are both carbon based, male wizards. That is all we have in common." Severus nearly laughed at the idea of Ronald Weasley, who had been on the side of light and right since birth, comparing himself in any way to a former Death Eater.

"Is it?" Ron mildly replied. "I'll admit that I'm not as smart as you or as good with words – "

"That isn't what I meant," Severus quickly interrupted; less more misunderstandings ensue. He was so exhausted from his sleepless night that he could barely keep his eyes open.

Ron's smile was quick and warm. "I know. But whether you realize it or not, we are a lot alike."

"How?" Severus asked, willing to be distracted from the mess he'd made of things with Harry.

"Our personalities are almost exact opposites, I'll give you that. But under it, well . . . most days, we both operate on a pretty even keel. You're more reserved than I am. You do dark and glowering; I do bright and peppy, but we're both fairly stable from day to day. Until something hits us where we live, and then, we're exactly the same," Ron said.

"The same?" Severus questioned, allowing the arch of a brow to reveal his feelings on that matter.

Ron chuckled at the gesture. "The minute you and I get upset, we stop thinking. We react emotionally to the situation. Our tempers get the better of us and we fly off the handle."

His jaw didn't quite fall open. After last night, he could hardly argue the evaluation. He'd flown off the handle with a vengeance – and had a history of doing so, he realized. Incredible as it might seem, Ron was totally right. They were utterly alike in that respect and it was probably the defining characteristic of both their personalities. It stunned him that Ron had seen this and he never had.

"I stand corrected," he softly acknowledged, dropping his eyes to his cooling tea.

"Severus, Harry knows that about us and loves us anyway. That's how I know it will be all right," Ron said.

He was amazed by how difficult it was to muster the control to meet Ron's gaze. When he did, the hope and acceptance there were enough to finish him.

His throat went so tight he could barely swallow around the lump there. He didn't deserve this. Not after what he'd done to Harry last night. Not after what he'd done as a Death Eater thirty years ago. He wasn't worthy of this kind of love.

"Are you as knackered as you look?" Ron asked.

He gave a quick nod at the potential for escaping without further humiliating himself.

"Why don't you rest for a while in the guest room?" Ron suggested. "Your bed's still in there. I know Hermione is going to want to see you when she gets back."

"I . . . That isn't necessary," he softly refused.

"I know. Humour me, okay? We'll all feel better if you stay close," Ron said.

There was no way he could refuse anything Ron asked of him. If Weasley had asked for his heart on a platter at that moment, Severus would have agreed and handed him the knife.

"As you wish," he whispered.

"Good. Come on. Let's get you settled," Ron said, rising to his feet.

"Ron," Severus said, overcome by a sudden need to acknowledge this man's generosity of spirit.

"Yes?"

"Please don't ever disparage your intelligence in my presence again," he asked.

Ron's face went blank for a moment, then he grinned, and a heartbeat later he did the unthinkable and gathered him close in a hug.

Severus was so shocked by the contact that his body froze up like the lake out front in January. But Ron didn't release him, for all that he'd turned to ice. After a few awkward breaths, Severus relaxed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, and buried his face in Ron's shoulder.

Harry hugged him sometimes, but any contact with Potter was always coloured by his feelings for him and the need to control and hide them. He didn't have anything to hide from Ron.

When Ron's hand started to rub his back, it was one of the most wonderful things he'd felt in his life. Severus knew that he was being weak, but he couldn't help himself. He just stood there and allowed himself to be held, soaking up the closeness and acceptance.

Ron held him like that until Severus pulled away some time later.

"Are you going to be okay now?" Ron asked as they parted.

"I think so – thanks to you," he acknowledged.

Ron blushed so bright his freckles stood out like spots on a robin's egg. "You would have worked it out for yourself in time. Come on. Let's get you settled."

The guestroom was just as he remembered it: two four-poster beds, two nightstands, the picture with the herd of deer grazing. All that was missing were Harry and his schoolbags and toys.

Ron led him to his bed and peeled the blue duvet back while Severus removed his boots and jacket.

"Sleep well," Ron said, gave his back another pat, and left.

Wand in hand, he crawled under the duvet.

Severus didn't think he'd be able to sleep, despite his exhaustion, but it was almost as if Ron had placed a spell on him, which perhaps he had. As soon as Severus' head hit that familiar pillow, his eyes sank shut and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke, he didn't know where he was at first. Recognizing his surroundings, the part of himself that was concerned with his survival relaxed, while at the same time, the part that worried about his dignity recoiled in horror at how he'd come to be here.

Had he really allowed Ron to hug him, comfort him, and put him to bed as though he were still seven?

He remembered what Ron had said about their similarity in characters, how they were both prone to flying off the handle. Perhaps this type of indignity was some form of cosmic punishment for acting like a child.

Only, it didn't feel like punishment.

He was highly self-conscious about the events that had brought him here, but he wasn't sorry to be here. He didn't know what he'd say to Ron when he stepped out of this room, but even though nothing had changed with Harry, Severus' spirit felt healed from his talk with Ron.

Well, there was nothing for it. He couldn't stay in here forever. If nothing else, he had to use the facilities.

Taking a deep breath, he climbed out of bed, slipped his boots on, and moved to the door. As he crossed the room, he was struck by how dark it seemed. It had been no later than ten thirty this morning when Ron had brought him in here, but the patch of sky he could see through the window was pitch black. Wondering how long he'd slept, Severus eased the guestroom door open and silently moved to the loo across the hall.

When he was done, he used the toothbrush he'd neglected to remove when he'd left here last month, washed his hands and face, and finally left the bathroom. His jacket was still in the bedroom, but he didn't require that formality with Hermione and Ron.

He was spared the embarrassment of facing Ron. As he stepped into the sitting room, the only person there was Hermione. She was cuddled in her fuzzy blue bathrobe in the corner of the couch with her legs drawn up beside her, and her nose deep in an oversized book that had to be ten inches thick.

How many times in the months he'd spent here as a child had he seen her thus, head bent over some spell book as she searched for a cure to their condition?

It was a strangely comforting sight. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays Hermione and he spent their shared third period break together; he saw her every day at meals, and socially most evenings. There was no sensible reason for the pang of nostalgia that passed through him, and, yet, looking at her now, he was struck by how terribly much he missed this.

She glanced up at that moment and caught sight of him standing there. Her smile was instant and warm, the same one she would have given him yesterday or the day before that.

"Severus!"

"Hello," he greeted, self-conscious despite her obvious joy.

"I was beginning to think you were going to sleep the night through," she smiled up at him.

"What time is it?" he asked, off-kilter by the lost hours.

"It's just gone nine," she said.

Nine? He'd slept for over eleven hours?

"Did Ron place a sleeping spell on me?" he voiced the only explanation he could come up with.

"I doubt it. Come in and sit down."

He moved into the sitting room to take a seat beside her on the couch after the briefest of hesitations.

She closed her tome and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. Startled, he noticed the tray of nut bread, butter, and tea set there.

"I thought you might be hungry," Hermione said, no doubt noticing the direction of his gaze. "Go on, you must be famished."

Realizing that he was starving, he cut a piece of bread and buttered it while she fixed his tea for him.

"I've made quite a mess of things, haven't I?" he commented almost ruefully after a few bites and sips.

"Rather, a bit. It will get better, though," Hermione assured, her eyes warm with compassion.

Severus looked down at his crumb-laden plate and asked the question his embarrassment had prevented him from asking this morning, "How is Harry?"

"Hurting. The same as you." She patted his arm, and then reached out to cut and butter another piece of nut bread. "Here, eat some more."

Although his favourite treat suddenly tasted like sawdust, he obligingly took a bite of the bread she handed to him. When he'd finished that piece as well and half his tea, he asked, "Where's Ron?"

An impish grin lit her face and she rose to her feet.

"Come see," Hermione invited, offering her hand to him. She did it so easily, as though he were still the child that was dear to her.

Caught off guard yet again, Severus rose slowly to his feet. He placed his hand in her open palm. She gave his hand the same kind of encouraging squeeze she had that night he'd first dared reach out to her when she'd been showing Harry and him the Hogsmeade Christmas decorations.

To his surprise, she steered him to the window seat. Both bedrooms of the Weasleys' quarters overlooked the lake. The sitting room, however, faced the other side, giving a fairly decent view of the quidditch field.

It was a clear night. The moon seemed even larger and more enchanting than it had last night. It cast a bright, silver-blue glow over the seemingly empty quidditch pitch.

Severus' gaze focused on the tiny, turreted mud fort that still stood in the centre of the playing field. Ron hadn't removed it yet. Severus knew that it was sickeningly sentimental for a Slytherin to think this way, but he viewed that rough structure as a kind of monument to Potter and his friendship.

Recalling that he'd asked her where Ron was, he was about to turn and question Hermione when something as fast as the black streak of spilt ink shot across the face of the gibbous moon. Startled, Severus realized that it was someone riding a broom.

Another streak followed fast on its brush. His eyes widening in surprise, Severus watched the two flyers chase each other across the moonlit pitch. They seemed to be engaged in some type of high-speed chase, zooming too close for comfort around each other and the empty spectator stands. In the moment it took him to identify what the flying figures were, they nearly crashed into each other twice.

Though the flyers were nothing more than distant silhouettes against the moon, he immediately recognized them as Ron and Harry.

"It's almost like a mating dance," Severus remarked, unable to force his gaze from the sleek movements of this strange aerial ballet.

Hermione chuckled. "Yes, that's what I always thought. Please don't tell Ron, though. It will make him too self-conscious."

"What are they doing?" he asked, as the dark shadows circled each other in a wide, almost ritualistic pattern.

"Chasing the snitch. It's Harry's idea of stress management," Hermione answered. "I can't watch them for long."

"I can see why," he concurred as the smaller of the pair made an abrupt nose dive for the ground, the larger flyer tight on his tail. If they didn't crash into the wet ground, they were sure to smash into each other.

After waiting until what seemed too late, the larger flyer turned his broom slightly to the left. A long arm reached out, made a grab around the smaller flyer, and then the larger of the pair punched his clenched fist into the air in an unmistakable sign of victory.

"Poor Harry," Hermione laughed. "He's not having a good day."

As the two flyers dismounted below, Hermione took his arm and led him back to the couch.

"How often do they do that?" Severus asked a few minutes after they'd sat down, struck by how little he really knew about Harry. Potter's silhouette streaking across the gibbous moon seemed frozen in his mind.

"Whenever they have a really bad day," she said, refilling their teacups.

"I suppose today qualifies as such," he remarked, daunted by the mess he'd made of everything.

He couldn't help but believe in his heart that tying that graceful flyer to something like himself would be tantamount to cutting off its wings. The sex last night had been the finest experience of Severus' life, but he wasn't fool enough to believe it could possibly have been the same for Potter. Harry was so young and incredibly vibrant. He needed someone more like himself to share his life with, someone like Zabini, or Ron. Not a used up Death Eater.

Hermione snorted. "He's had worse, Severus, much worse. You'll sort this out and things will be fine. Harry – "

Her words cut off as the door burst open. Ron and Harry entered the room. They were both in black quidditch robes, both smiling, and flushed from their exertion.

Harry's smile faltered the instant he saw him. His face went as blank as Severus felt.

From the look Ron threw in Hermione's direction, Severus knew that neither he nor Harry had expected him to still be here. He looked at Hermione himself, wondering if perhaps he'd accused the wrong Weasley of the sleeping charm.

"Did you have a good game?" she asked so smoothly that even a veteran spy like himself could admire her cool.

Ron opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Harry was still staring at him with a totally unnerving intensity.

Recognizing his own cue, Severus got to his feet. "I should go."

"No!" Hermione and Ron protested as one. But it was only the silent, green-eyed man whose wishes counted at this moment.

Severus was relieved to see that the glass cuts from his thaumaturgic temper tantrum were gone from Harry's face and hands. At least he'd caused him no lasting physical damage. As for the emotional, the chill in that feline green gaze told Severus how effectively he'd wounded Potter.

"Don't leave," Harry said with little to no inflection. Severus hadn't a clue as to what he was thinking or feeling. He supposed his own uneasiness must be mortifyingly obvious.

He braced himself, waiting for the 'we're all adults here' type of comment that usually was voiced in these sort of untenable situations, but Harry never gave the lie that social convention called for. Apparently, his anger or hurt went too deep.

The agonizing silence stretched like Cruciatus.

"You're giving me a crick in the neck. Sit down, all of you!" Hermione said.

No one moved.

Finally, Harry said very stiffly, "I didn't mean what I said last night the way it sounded. I'm sorry."

Harry's gracious acceptance of responsibility for last night's debacle only made him feel worse. Needing to say this for his own sake as much as Harry's, Severus softly replied, "It is you who are owed the apology. I . . . overreacted. I am sorry."

Those bitter words, too rarely spoken, seemed inadequate in light of his offence. Harry seemed to feel so, too, for his expression never changed. He wasn't used to seeing Harry so guarded against him. Even when Potter had first returned to Hogwarts to teach, he'd always looked at him with something like amused affection.

The last of his foolish hopes dying at that cold expression, Severus' stomach clenched into a painful knot. Keeping his face a tight mask, he turned to Hermione, "I really must go. Thank you for your kindness. Both of you."

He added the last without looking at Ron, for to look at Ron, he would have to look at Harry, who was at his side. His gaze on his boots, he took a blind step towards the door, and stopped as he realized that Harry and Ron were blocking his retreat. He knew 123 secret exits in Hogwarts. Not a one of them was in Gryffindor Tower.

He'd faced Voldemort without flinching, yet it took every bit of nerve he possessed to walk past Potter to the door.

"Harry," Ron softly said when Severus was close to them, the word sounding like a reprimand.

Severus almost thought he was home free, until a fine boned hand touched his sleeve and he found himself rooted in place. He looked down into Harry's tense face. Potter's hair was askew from the wind, far messier than normal. His cheeks were still flushed from his exertions. Severus could see the perspiration soaking his black robes, making them conform to the lines of his body instead of concealing them. Though a head shorter than him, Potter was broader – who wasn't? – and still well muscled from his years as a quidditch player.

Taking a deep breath, he could smell Harry's salty sweat. It reminded him of what he'd been free to taste and touch last night. Something deep inside him began to tremble. This had been his for the taking and he'd thrown it away in a fit of pique.

"We need to talk," Harry said.

One wouldn't think that four small, common words could undo a man nearing his fifth decade. But Severus felt his throat totally close up, his mouth running dry as the Sahara. All he could do was nod.

"Fine. Hermy and I will just pop out and – " Ron began.

"Don't be absurd," Harry said. "Hermione's ready for bed. My place is right next door."

"Maybe you should stay and . . . ." Ron's words faltered, as though he'd realized this wasn't a discussion anyone could have with an audience.

"We have to be alone sometime, Ron," Harry said gently, his tone becoming more cautious as he turned to check with him, "Is next door all right with you?"

"Yes." Severus found his voice. Though hardly a shining example of articulation, it was better than the head nodding.

"Good night, then," Harry said to Hermione and Ron. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," Ron echoed, his expression making it plain that he thought they were both making a huge mistake.

"Harry, Severus," Hermione waited until they were both looking at her, "some things are more important than pride. Try not to be too hard on each other – or yourselves."

That last was aimed directly at him. Severus gulped and returned to nodding.

"You're incorrigible – you do know that?" Harry said to her, but then he went over and kissed her on the forehead, leaving her smiling.

Her worried, but warm gaze settling on him, Severus debated a moment, and then returned to the couch and mirrored Potter's gesture – plainly startling everyone in the room, except for perhaps Hermione, who was grinning like a proud mother now.

"Many thanks," he whispered before straightening. He turned to Ron and repeated the sentiment.

Ron grinned and patted him on the arm.

It was only as the Weasleys' door closed behind them that he realised he'd left both his jacket and robes behind. Feeling nearly indecent in his trousers and shirtsleeves, he followed Potter to the next door in the dim and drafty corridor, where he withstood the unblinking glare of the red-bearded wizard in the portrait standing guard there.

"Hello, Harry," the portrait greeted.

"Hello, Martin," Harry returned, murmuring the words that would allow them to pass through his wards.

"If you hurt him again, you will regret it, Slytherin," the portrait warned with open hate.

"Martin!" Harry chastised. "Don't be rude."

"If you can be foolish, I can be rude," the picture replied. "You're making a grave error. You saw what he did to you last night. That handsome Slytherin won't always be around to pick up the pieces. He – "

"Martin, enough!" Harry ordered.

"I know his family. Bad blood, all of them, straight back to Solemnus Snape who – "

"Razed a Muggle town to the ground, killing all in it, after they burned his pregnant wife at the stake," Severus completed with as much calm as possible. "I don't believe I've ever been threatened by a portrait before."

Harry finally got the door open and waved him inside. Severus passed the glowering portrait without another word.

"Sorry about that," Harry said once they were inside, where the wall torches and hearth fire blazed immediately to life without so much as a flick of Potter's wand.

Blinking at the sudden onslaught of light, Severus asked in disbelief, "You told the portrait on your door what happened last night?"

Harry looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, which was seriously in question. "Of course, I didn't tell him. I suppose Collie did."

"Who is Collie?" Severus asked.

"That lovely young redhead in the green gown in the portrait at the bottom of the stairs to Slytherin. She's Martin's granddaughter. She comes to visit with him sometimes," Harry said.

"She can't see down the Slytherin corridor," Severus said. "And none of the Slytherins in the pictures on our wall would ever discuss such a thing outside of their house."

Harry sighed. "Then you'd better move that mirror along the far wall because Collie can see everything that goes on in the corridor outside your quarters reflected in it."

Severus digested that and then questioned the one piece of information in the picture's words that had raised some real emotion in him. The last thing this situation needed was jealousy, but he couldn't simply let the comment pass unchallenged. "And what was the bit about the handsome young Slytherin picking up the pieces? I suppose he was referring to Zabini?"

"Oh for – a gale ripped through the hall outside his room last night. What did you expect Blaise to do when he saw me sitting out there naked on the floor, close his door and go back to bed?"

"The entire school knows, then?" Severus voiced his deepest fear. For thirty years he'd managed to keep his reputation spotless, and within six weeks of befriending Potter, he'd turned himself into the laughing stock of Hogwarts. He couldn't even imagine what people were saying about him. He'd be surprised if Minerva didn't call him on the carpet on Monday.

"Are you trying to be an idiot? Of course, the school doesn't know. Just Ron, Hermione, Blaise – "

"And every gossiping portrait in Hogwarts," Severus said.

"Martin and Collie won't tell any of the other pictures," Harry assured with the unshakable faith of a child.

"How can you be so damn certain?" Severus snapped, wanting to throttle the fool already.

"Because Martin's related to my dad eight or nine centuries back," Harry supplied, his glare nearly as irritated as Severus felt. "Is this what you want to spend the night arguing about?"

"I don't want to spend the night arguing," Severus stiffly answered.

"What do you want, then?" Harry demanded.

Severus took a deep breath. There hadn't been this much contention between them since Potter's school days. But it was his own fault, and he had to at least try to make things liveable. He wasn't naïve enough to believe he could make up for what happened. All he could hope for was a return of civility – or, at the very least, perhaps he could remove some of the pain from the eyes behind those ridiculous round spectacles. Harry looked nearly haunted and, while Severus himself was remarkably refreshed from his nap, it was clear that Potter hadn't slept at all since they'd parted.

Remembering how he'd ignored this face in his floo this morning as Harry had all but begged him to talk to him, Severus softly offered, "To apologize."

"You did that already," Harry answered, still stiff and guarded.

"Not well enough," Severus said.

"What are you going to do? Offer up a pound of flesh?" Harry said, obviously trying to lighten the situation.

Severus took the words at face value. "Would it help?"

The birthing humour died completely in Harry's eyes. "You sound serious."

"Would it make a difference if I were?" Severus questioned and then said, "But that would be too easy, wouldn't it?"

"Easy?" Harry echoed, watching him as though trying to sink into his mind.

"If there were some form of reparation to be made for my mistake, it would be over and done with, not another unforgivable sin to be dragged around with all the rest."

"What happened last night wasn't a sin," Harry countered.

"I note that you do not contest the unforgivable," Severus sadly acknowledged.

After a moment, Harry said, "It wasn't unforgivable, either. It wasn't even intentional, I bet."

"No, it is perhaps the first wandless, wordless magic I've managed in my life, for all the good it did me," Severus admitted. "It may not have been intentional, but I know it hurt you. If I could change anything, it would be that."

The atmosphere in the small foyer lightened after his admission. Harry stared at him and said in a low voice, "I wasn't the only one hurt last night. I know how what I said sounded. I've been kicking myself for it ever since."

"I . . . reacted badly. The fault was not yours," Severus insisted.

"Yes, it was. If you'd really trusted me that never would have happened." He knew Harry didn't mean the words as an accusation, but that's how they sounded to him. Severus also sensed that this was the core of what was really bothering Harry.

He wished he could protest the words, but how could he after the events of last night?

"I regret that it has come to this end," he could barely get the words out, but he owed Harry too much to make this any harder on him. "I will endeavour not to make the situation any more awkward than it already is."

"So, we just walk away and call it quits?" From the expression on Harry's face, he'd hurt him again, deeply.

Totally out of his depth, but unwilling to let this end with the acrimony that had followed the few pathetic attempts he'd made to reach out to another of his species, Severus asked with as little aggression as he could manage, "What else is to be done?"

"Oh, Severus," the exclamation was lost somewhere between exasperation and despair. Those turbulent green eyes stared at him for nearly two minutes before Harry seemed to pull himself together and come to some type of decision. "What you said before about making reparation, was it just lip service?"

The chill that passed through him went straight to his soul. He had no clue where this discussion was headed. But . . . his body bore the mementos of every attempt he'd ever made to atone. He'd gladly add Harry's to their ranks. So he shook his head and firmly affirmed, "It was not."

"Okay, let's go inside and discuss this, then," Harry suggested.

Patience had never been his strongest point, but he followed Harry into the sitting room and took a seat on the couch when Harry waved him in. It was the same comfortably furnished room he'd visited Thursday night, Severus thought, looking around at the bookcases and pictures on the mantle, but the room felt entirely different tonight. The titillating thrill of visiting Harry on his own territory was absent tonight. He felt more like an intruder than a guest, but that was all of his own making.

As soon as Severus sat down, Harry moved to the bar and returned with two snifters of amber liquid. Without any apparent hesitation, Potter took a seat next to him on the couch, no farther away than he would have sat in the past.

Grateful for the false courage in his glass, Severus sipped his cognac and practiced waiting. But Harry just sat there staring into the fire in the hearth, as though searching for the right words to say.

Finally, Severus could take it no longer. Putting his glass down on the coffee table, he turned from his own study of the dancing flames to ask Harry, "What do you require of me as reparation?"

"I suppose you could drop trou, bend over the table and I could paddle your bare bottom, but what would that solve?" Harry snapped.

Severus was so caught up in the imagery that he nearly missed the last part. Taking in the disappointed question, he said, "There is no solution for this kind of situation. There are only steps to be taken to make it more bearable."

"And how would that make the situation more bearable? It was a joke, Severus."

"Punishing me would allow you to vent your anger. I am agreeable to your suggestion," Severus added, so there would be no doubt in Harry's mind as to his sincerity.

"It means that much to you?" Harry asked in a completely different tone.

"I will do whatever I can to make amends," Severus stated. It would be humiliating to follow through on Harry's suggestion, but he'd do it and more if it would help undo the damage he'd wrought.

"Do you mean that?" Harry questioned.

He was almost reduced to nodding again, but he managed a hoarse, "Yes."

"And you'll do anything I require of you?"

"Yes," Severus whispered, dying of shame inside at the thought of the ignominy he'd agreed to.

"All right, then, this is what I want from you," Harry said.

Severus stared down at the hands he had clasped tight in his lap, and held his breath.

"First, I require you to answer a question for me – in absolute truth."

"All right," he agreed, confused by the demand. What could Harry possibly want from him that would require absolute truth? He could think of only one thing, the mistake that had aroused the morbid curiosity of everyone he'd known his entire life. He knew his time with the Death Eaters and his motivations for leaving their ranks had to have stirred Harry's curiosity, but Potter had never asked him to delve into those dark memories to share them. He didn't think the issue pertained to their current dilemma, but he could imagine no other subject that would require this kind of build-up.

"Have you ever known me to break my word to anyone once I gave it?" Harry queried.

Severus stared at him. This was so far from what he'd expected that he hardly knew how to respond to it, but after a moment's silence, he shook his head and said, "No. Your word is your bond."

"I've heard the same about you. Is that true?"

Severus dropped his gaze. "I'm a traitor, Harry. How true could it be?"

"You never broke faith with Albus Dumbledore once you'd given your word," Harry protested.

"And I'd made exactly the same promises to Thomas Riddle before him," Severus reminded.

"That doesn't count."

"Why? Because you don't approve of him?" Severus asked.

"No. It doesn't count because the man you betrayed wasn't the same one you made your promise to, was he? Riddle's increasing insanity and bloodlust drove you to that betrayal."

Thunderstruck, he gaped at Potter, almost terrified of him. "How can you know that?"

"Because I know you. It's the only thing that makes sense. I could see you following Malfoy and your other Slytherin friends into Riddle's group when the movement was all about increasing the privileges of wizards and exploring the power of the Dark Arts, but you're too good a judge of character to have been comfortable once Riddle took on that Lord Voldemort title. But that's not what we're here to talk about. Is it true that if you give your word, you keep it?"

Shaking inside, he tried to hide how unnerved he was. No one had ever known him well enough to guess his true motives for joining Dumbledore, but Harry . . . Harry voiced those reasons as though they were confirmed fact, rather than mere conjecture. Recognizing what he would lose here if he didn't salvage this situation, Severus softly replied, "As true as it can be for one such as I."

"Severus!"

"All right, yes. It's true. What's this in aid of?" he snapped.

His sour tone brought the first real smile to Harry's face. "That's better. What it's in aid of is this. I want you to listen to me, and hear what I'm saying. And then I want you to promise me something. Agreed?"

"This is how you wish me to atone?" he asked in open bewilderment.

"If that's how you need to look at it, then, yes, this is how I wish you to atone. Do you agree?"

"Yes," he replied instantly. "What did you want me to listen to?"

Severus braced himself to hear a detailed list of how he'd failed Potter last night.

"Look at me," Harry commanded and then put down his drink to face him. Those compelling green eyes fixing on his with mesmerising intensity, Harry said, "I, Harry James Potter, do hereby most solemnly swear that I will never knowingly betray Severus Snape in heart, word, body, or action, so long as I live, so help me, God."

Severus felt his controlled demeanour falter. There was no condemnation at all in Harry's words.

This was what Harry wanted him to hear? Belatedly recognizing what Harry had just said to him, he felt even more adrift. How could this oath of fidelity possibly count as atonement?

"Did you hear what I just promised, Severus?" Harry asked.

He was back to nodding. It was really all he could manage at the moment. His body was as frozen with shock as if Potter had petrified him.

"Do I keep my promises?"

Another nod. Harry kept his promises – always.

"Now I need a promise from you," Harry said.

Severus gave a dry swallow and croaked, "What?"

"Repeat after me: I, Severus Snape," Potter waited until he'd echoed the words. Normally, he would have demanded to know what was being asked of him up front, but he'd told Harry he'd do anything and he'd meant anything, so he softly echoed, ". . . do hereby solemnly swear," another pause for him to follow along, "to do my utmost to have faith in Harry Potter."

Severus finished parroting Harry and then tensely asked, "What else?"

"Huh?" Harry asked with a stellar lack of intelligence.

"What else do you require of me as reparation?" Severus demanded.

"That's it. You promise to do that and last night's misunderstanding is over and done with, a part of the past."

"I suppose it is best to pretend last night never happened," Severus reluctantly agreed. He knew he was getting off lucky. Every time he'd made errors of this nature in the past, it had cost him his place in the other person's life. At least Harry was willing to continue to interact with him on a civil basis.

Harry vented a long, exasperated sigh. "We're misunderstanding each other again. It's probably my fault. I'm so tired I can barely string two words together."

Needing to retreat and try to process this loss into his being, Severus swiftly said, "I'll leave then. Perhaps tomorrow when you are better rested we can continue our conversation."

Harry's hand shot out to grip his forearm as he made to rise from the couch. "No. We're going to straighten this mess out before it gets any worse than it already is." Potter ran a hand through his already disorderly hair, setting the shaggy black length into complete revolt. "Hermione spent half the morning reading me the riot act for not taking this slow with you."

"The riot act?" Severus questioned, unwilling to jeopardize what was left of their relationship through improper interpretation of vernacular.

"It's a Muggle expression. It means . . ." Harry rubbed his nose and bit his lip, then explained, ". . . it means expressing your displeasure in detail."

"And Hermione was displeased with you on my behalf?" Severus asked, unable to comprehend. Harry had ended up naked and bloody in the Slytherin corridor and Hermione was upset with Harry?

To his further bewilderment, Harry grinned and proclaimed in a very childish tone, "Mom always did like you better."

"Harry, please, I am attempting to understand," he pleaded.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm just so tired and so happy to have you talking to me again that I'm punch drunk."

Reminded of why Harry was so exhausted, Severus found himself repeating, "I'm sorry."

Harry seemed to force himself to focus. "We're both sorry, that much is clear. Are you angry with me for . . . what happened between us last night?"

"You already explained that you didn't mean your words as I interpreted them," Severus said.

"That's not the part of last night I was referring to," Harry said with a patience that was clearly hard won. "Hermione said that I should have talked things out with you before . . . before we made love. I didn't really give you a chance to refuse."

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who had lost his mind here. Recognizing how very tired Harry was and how cloudy his thinking probably was at the moment, Severus softly reminded, "Harry, I am probably the most powerful Dark Wizard left alive these days. If I had wanted to refuse, there was nothing short of an Unforgivable that you could have done to compel me to stay."

"That's not true," Harry protested, and then explained, "We've both been alone for a long time. When you've been without another's touch, your body will take you places your mind mightn't want to go. I never gave you a chance to think or say no. That was wrong of me."

Severus nearly smiled at that last sentence; it sounded so much like Hermione he suspected that Harry was quoting her verbatim. "Did Hermione tell you that?"

"Among other things. She wasn't happy with me. And she was right. I messed up so bad that you didn't even know why I was there with you. Don't even try to deny it," Harry warned before he could even open his mouth to protest. "There wouldn't have been any of that 'satisfying my curiosity' business if I'd handled things right."

Severus stared at the exhausted young man beside him. If he hadn't lost his soul to Potter months ago, it would have happened right now. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he softly pointed out, "You can hardly be blamed for my insecurities, Harry."

"Can't I?" Harry asked. "I know you don't trust your emotions, yet I overwhelmed you with them. I never said anything about how I felt about you while we were . . . touching," Severus suspected that the last word had been substituted on his behalf, "and then I went and hurt you when I was trying to compliment you."

"You were complimenting me?" If he could have sunk into the ground and disappeared for good, he would have done it at that moment; he was so mortified by the mistake he'd made. He couldn't comprehend how Harry could stand to be in the same room with him now.

"Of course I was complimenting you, you dolt," Harry said.

Severus watched the firelight shift through his cognac as though it were liquefied topaz for a moment before quietly asking, "I know I've soured everything, but . . . what were you going to say?"

Harry, too, knew how to make silence work for him. Or perhaps he was simply too tired to think fast. Either way, Potter waited until the quiet brought Severus' gaze back to his face before answering. "That I'd always imagined that you'd be very methodical when it came to . . . love making, but the only thing you were methodical about was making sure you melted every nerve I had."

"Oh." No one had ever said anything like that to him before. He'd melted Harry's nerves?

"I guess I should have said the good part first," Harry said, more to himself than to him. It was clear he was still blaming himself for what had happened.

"No, the error was completely mine. I . . . I really did muck everything up, didn't I?" Severus said, not even trying to mask his despair.

"That all depends," Harry softly answered in a tone that might have been playful had that not been such an utter impossibility.

"On?"

"Whether or not Hermione was right about me pushing you into something you weren't ready for," Harry said, his face almost eager.

"What are you saying?" Severus croaked.

"That it doesn't have to be over. If you think you could have enough faith in me to try again, we could give it another go," Harry suggested, more nervous than Severus could recall seeing him.

"You can't seriously be suggesting that you'd be willing to – " Severus shut his mouth before he could say too much. Clearly, he had to be misunderstanding something again.

"We were good together. We can't throw that away because we don't communicate well. When we cut the words out, we communicate just fine," Harry insisted.

"You are serious," Severus whispered, unable to believe that Harry would be willing to give him a second chance. Never in his life had anyone made this sort of allowance for him.

"Of course, I'm serious. You're my best friend. And, even if you weren't . . . we work in the same place. I wouldn't risk this if it didn't mean so much," Harry said.

Mean so much . . . when had he ever meant anything to anyone? Harry didn't lie. If he said this was important to him, it was important to him. Severus simply didn't know how to respond to it all.

Harry seemed to take in his expression and silence for a while. After a few minutes, he said, "Let's try this another way. Severus, what are you looking for?"

"Looking for?" he echoed, still too overwhelmed to think straight.

"In a companion, in a . . . mate," Harry added a little hesitantly.

A mate . . . Potter said the word as though it were a possibility, in the same way he might have asked Neville or Zabini. Grateful for that courtesy, Severus softly explained, "Harry, I'm not the sort of man people look at that way."

"I'm not asking about how people look at you. I'm asking what kind of person you, Severus Snape, wants in his life."

Severus lowered his gaze. "I've never really thought about it."

"What?!"

"I don't torment myself by dwelling on impossibilities. Once I'd recognized the error I'd made by following Riddle, I knew that the best I could ever hope for was to redeem myself enough to secure a respectable position where I could live my life out in peace and pursue my Potions studies," Severus said.

Harry was so quiet he couldn't even hear Potter breathing anymore. After a moment, Harry's hand touched his arm.

"There was never anyone . . . in your personal life?" Harry softly asked, as though afraid of the answer.

"There was the time I told you about while I was in school, but that ended badly. When I was in Ablus' service as a spy before Voldemort's first fall, I would occasionally seduce my fellow Death Eaters to relax them enough to use my Legilimens skills on them to secure information, but I don't suppose that counts."

"And after that?" Harry questioned.

Severus shrugged. "Twice I engaged in sexual relations with other wizards, but . . . both times it ended disastrously." Sensing Harry's unspoken question, he softly explained, "There are some men who will be drawn to someone with my past out of curiosity. Once their curiosity is satisfied, the relationship is usually over."

"You mean they only slept with you because you were a Death Eater?" Harry sounded almost sick.

Severus gave another of those nods that appeared to be his only means of communication tonight.

"God, no wonder you got so upset with me when I made that stupid comment. I'm so sorry, Severus." Harry sounded crushed with guilt.

"My past is hardly your fault," he softly dismissed.

"You know that's not why I'm with you, right?" Harry asked.

Now it was Severus' turn to stare at his companion as though he'd taken leave of his senses. "I might not understand why you are interested in me, Harry, but I know it is not to satisfy your curiosity as to what a Death Eater gets up to in the bedroom."

"Oh, Severus," that same exasperation flavoured Harry's words, but this time there was no despair. "I'm interested in you because I care about you and want to be close to you. The only curiosity I've got is about how good we can make each other feel."

Severus gulped. His pulse jumped at those words, his entire body reacting as though Potter had just squeezed his gonads.

He swallowed hard and tried to think straight. Harry was right. They could not afford any more misunderstandings. With that thought in mind, he cleared his throat and asked as calmly as he could, "May I ask you the same question you just asked me? What are you looking for?"

An unattractive curmudgeon with an unsavoury past was unlikely to be anyone's answer to that question, but Severus felt he had to ask.

Harry's tired gaze speared him. "Something solid, something that will last. Someone who will be there for me when I need him . . . someone like you."

Harry's expression was that of a man who'd stepped out onto a very thin, shaky tree limb to cross a bottomless chasm. Severus could appreciate the feeling.

Dragging in a breath of air, he rasped out, "Someone like me?"

He knew his incredulity was obvious, but there was no way he could blithely accept those three words. He'd never been anyone's idea of the perfect mate. Hell, he'd never been anyone's idea of so much as a good shag. When he'd been at his most sexually active, seducing fellow Death Eaters to gather information for Albus, it had been his youth and his married victims' rare opportunity to indulge their socially unacceptable urges that had worked in his favour. It had never been his attractiveness.

Some of the uncertainty left Harry's features as he stared into his eyes. "No, not someone like you. You. I want to try with you. If you're interested and willing, that is."

Harry said that last bit as though he really believed he mightn't want to be with him. It made Severus appreciate anew how badly Potter had been wounded in that last relationship he'd told him about.

Normally, he was not a man given to expressing his emotions, especially in situations that had the capacity to wound him – and nothing had ever had more power to hurt him than dwelling on the absolute emotional isolation that had been his life – but Harry looked so worried and had been so incredibly generous and gracious about this entire debacle that Severus felt he owned his friend something in return, something that would have meaning to Harry. So, he took a deep breath and whispered, "How could I not be willing? It's like asking someone if they want their next breath."

He felt those words hit Potter like a dark curse. Harry's entire body seemed to tighten up and he hissed in a sudden breath. For the briefest instant, hunger and triumph flashed through Harry's ever-open gaze, and then, as if realizing how much his expression was betraying, Harry jumped to his feet and crossed the few feet to the hearth.

With his back turned to him, Harry stared down into the flames. Severus watched Harry's right hand rise to run through his wild hair. The flickering firelight cast both shadows and orange light over Harry in shifting patterns.

If this were anyone but Harry, he would have thought that his words were unwelcome, but he'd seen this reaction in his seven-year-old friend enough times not to mistake the fear for anything other than what it was.

Finally, Severus asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Sorry. I . . . I promised both Hermione and Ron that I wouldn't just jump your bones again, that I'd try to talk this out, but . . . ."

"But?" he softly prompted, trying to keep his promise and have faith, even though his guts were clenching up in dread.

"But when you say something like that, I just want to –" Harry stopped his words so abruptly that Severus thought he might actually have bitten his tongue to hold them back. Harry's arms came up to hug his chest, his head lowering. He looked so lost and hurt that Severus couldn't maintain either his distance or his guards.

Harry had said 'jump his bones.' Harry was standing there holding himself back from doing just that, Severus realized, nearly frozen in shock. He didn't know how Harry could possibly still want him after the events of last night, but it was clear that Harry did and was suffering because of it. Well, that wasn't going to continue. Severus was still not sanguine about the possibilities of this relationship working out, their age difference alone was daunting, but . . . . Harry had asked him to have faith in him, and he would do his utmost to believe.

Rising to his feet, he joined Harry in front of the hearth. He didn't think about his next action; he just did it. His arms slipped easily around Harry. There was no resistance as he drew the shorter man to his chest.

That muscular back felt warm and strong beneath the clammy, perspiration-soaked robes as Severus rubbed his palm over it. He breathed in the warm bouquet of a sweaty Harry, learning the scent, loving it.

Harry remained tight and stiff in his arms for perhaps all of two minutes, but then he released a long shuddering breath and sagged into him. Severus caught and held him as Harry's arms slipped around his waist.

"I thought I'd ruined everything," Harry mumbled into Severus' shirtfront as he tightened his embrace to a near painful hug.

Severus hugged him back. "No, it was me – "

"Let's not start that again, please?" Harry begged.

"Did you get any sleep at all today?" Severus softly questioned as Harry trusted more and more of his weight to him.

"No. I guess I mucked everything up again. I think I've got some Pepper Up in here somewhere. I'll just – "

"You'll just forget that idea. You need some rest," Severus said. "After you've slept, we'll talk some more. Perhaps it won't seem so overwhelming then."

"I don't want you to go," Harry protested.

"Then I'll stay," Severus soothed in a calming tone that betrayed none of the nervousness with which the very idea filled him.

"You will?"

How Harry could sound so overjoyed by that small concession was beyond him, but Harry was obviously pleased by his words, and his happiness eased Severus' own nerves.

"Yes. But I don't want us to sleep on the cold floor again," Severus remarked, the memory of the bitter hours he'd spent naked in front of his own hearth last night too raw to ignore right now.

"I've a bed inside," Harry said in a playful tone, tilting his head back to look up at him with a smiling face. "A big bed. Want to see it?"

There might come a day when he was relaxed enough to banter about such a thing, but that day was far off in a murky future. For now, Severus could only answer in dead seriousness, "Yes."

"Come on, then," Harry said and stepped back. Taking his hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world, Potter led him to the door on the far side of the sitting room.

His nervousness was back tenfold as he entered.

The torchlights in their wall sconces and hearth fire lit immediately in here, too, as Potter stepped into the room. Harry released his hand, standing close without being too intrusive as he took stock of his surroundings.

Severus looked around him in open curiosity. The big four-poster bed was very much like his own, except this one was draped with royal blue curtains. The duvet was the same rich blue, the pillowcases a stark, snowy white. Severus gulped and looked quickly away from the bed. He knew that was what they were here for, but he was still shy enough to be somewhat uncomfortable.

The rug beneath his feet was cream coloured with crescent moons, trees, stags, and owls stitched through it in predominantly brown, green, and blue patterns. The dresser, armoire, and night tables were a rich, highly polished cherry wood.

Potter's white owl sat its perch beside the bay window's seat. She gave Severus a curious once over as he entered the bedroom. Unnerved by her golden stare, Severus turned his gaze to the window, which looked out over the moonlit lake. The view was breathtaking. He could see the trail the giant squid left behind as it passed under the far side of the lake.

There was a well-stuffed armchair for reading by the hearth. On the mantle were a number of pictures. Most featured Ron and Hermione who were waving wildly and hopping around with grins on their faces trying to attract his attention, but it was the larger picture in the centre that caught his gaze.

He remembered that June day in Potter's sixth year as though it were yesterday. Albus had insisted that Weasley take a picture of Potter, Snape, and himself when they'd come upon the three Gryffindors trying out Ron's new camera. He'd always figured that the shot had been disposed of. It had never occurred to him that any of his students would ever keep, let alone display a picture of him.

"Did you put this up recently?" Severus asked Harry; only to have Albus' image quickly deny, "No, he did not. We've been standing on his mantel for decades now, haven't we, Severus?" Dumbledore asked of his picture self.

The tiny Snape in the picture gave a glum nod, which only made Albus chuckle insanely. Severus felt sorry for his image self. He'd loved Albus dearly, but that man would try the nerves of a statue. He didn't want to think about what it must have been like for that image of himself frozen next to his insane, beloved friend for decades.

"Don't be telling all my secrets, sir," Harry laughed as he came up to the hearth beside him. "In fact, I'm thinking that you all should probably give us some privacy for a while."

With that, Harry gently turned all the wizard photos face down on the mantle.