The best thing that ever happened to him. Harry Potter had said that he was the best thing that ever happened to him. Said it, and meant it.

Severus took a deep breath and did his best to force his attention back to the quizzes he was grading, but despite his best efforts, all he could really think about was the sex this morning, and last night, and the night before that. Too aware of his body, he shifted in his seat before his sitting room desk. He was still tingling from what Harry had done to him. So much so, that the third year test answers looked like nothing so much as chicken scrawl.

Not that they weren't, of course. He was certain that he could put parchment down on a barnyard floor and receive more intelligent communication than some of the gobbledegook his students had spewn up this time. However, Harry's loving had left him unbearably distracted, and he couldn't muster his usual glee for taking off points. He wished the dunderheads would actually listen and learn for once, so that he wouldn't have to waste hours disavowing them of their delusions. To save time, he was trying to be as lenient as possible, but Stanton's illuminating answer of "So Professor Snape won't yell at me and the spoon won't melt," answer to the question "Why must we take precautions when dealing with dragon venom?" simply could not be ignored. Sighing, Severus tried to focus enough to manage a deservedly scathing response, but . . . but Harry Potter had said he was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

After having spent the night and morning in Harry's company, it felt strange to be alone in his own quarters, but he'd had students to counsel and papers to grade, as had Harry, and the sooner he got through this mess, the sooner he'd be free to spend time with Harry. It felt strange to have something to look forward to, stranger still to know with absolute certainty that everything was not going to fall apart this time. Beyond the fact that Harry never lied, that Harry had said that he loved him no less than four times this morning and had said – he felt his lips twist up again – that he was the best thing that ever happened to him, there was that energy exchange to consider. If he'd wanted proof of Harry's intentions, he couldn't have gotten anything more concrete than that. Words and even actions could be faked, but never that.

A wizard's power didn't call to simple paramours. It didn't come into play with one night stands. And it certainly wasn't a component in relationships based on pity, which had been Severus' deepest fear here. That psychic exchange of magical force was beyond a wizard's ability to manipulate. One couldn't choose with whom one shared the experience. Thaumaturgical chemistry, emotional commitment, and factors that even the wisest of wizards had failed to comprehend ordained that exchange. It was so rare that most wizards never experienced it at all; that commingling of power didn't even grace most marriages. Severus knew how unique and rare a gift it was. That he would experience it with Harry Potter was nothing short of miraculous, but, then, he felt that way about their entire relationship. That Harry could like him at all, let alone find him worthy of love, was more than he'd ever dreamed possible.

Severus stared down at the hopeless Stanton's answer of "So Professor Snape won't yell at me." Normally, he'd deduct twenty-five points for such impertinence, and spend half a page denoting the idiot's intellectual shortcomings, but today he found himself suppressing a smile as he wrote in his neat script beside the ink stained mess, "Personally, I'd be far more concerned about the venom eating through my cauldron, desk, and trousers had I failed to contain it in a ceramic receptacle than my professor's wrath, but Gryffindors have never been noted for their common sense. –5."

Fortunately, the remainder of Stanton's answers weren't nearly as imaginative. Severus placed Stanton's quiz on the finished pile. Only two left. With luck . . . .

He straightened in his chair as he heard the corridor door open and felt the prickle of power against his skin, which was the signal Harry Potter's magic unconsciously generated.

Harry didn't say anything, and he pretended not to be aware of Potter's arrival, but the test paper was a blur in front of him now. His concentration was focused fully on the man behind him. He could feel Harry standing there staring at him. His gaze was like a hot spotlight on his back.

Irritated with himself, Severus realized that he'd gone hard. A sudden sweat dewed his flesh and a telltale tremor ran through the hand that held his black-feathered quill.

He felt Harry come up behind him, so close that he could nearly feel his body heat vibrating through the air between them.

"Still grading?" Harry asked in a hushed tone that turned Severus' faint tremor into an all out shake.

Severus hissed in a breath, and forced normality into his voice as he replied, "As you can see."

"Ah," Harry whispered, and simply stood there, not touching him, but not moving away. After an eternity of silence seemed to crawl by between them, in which Severus couldn't even pretend to be grading the papers he couldn't focus on, Harry said in that same sexy sub tone, "I missed you."

"It's only been since lunch."

Lunch, with a grinning Hermione and Ron, who'd looked as though they'd known everything that had passed between him and Harry at a glance. Lunch, where he'd been brought up short by that shared knowledge, where Harry's warm hand on his back had guided him to his seat. Lunch, where everyone in their corner had seemed to know just by looking at them that they were lovers. Lunch, where Harry had been beside him through it all, and because of that, none of it had seemed as bad, even the imminent conversation with the glowering Blaise Zabini that he could sense hovering in his immediate future.

"That was hours and hours ago," Harry complained and finally touched him.

Harry's hands settled tentatively on his shoulders, as if giving him a chance to protest and finish his work. His quill dropped from his limp fingers, fortunately hitting the blotter instead of the test papers. Severus knew that there was no way he could even see his papers, let alone read them with the erection raging inside his pants. His gasp was apparently taken as permission to proceed.

Those strong fingers squeezed the muscles on his shoulders.

Potter's right hand skimmed up his neck to his ponytail. A quick movement, and Harry flicked his hair clasp open so that all his hair fell loose around his shoulders. Then both his hands returned to those shoulders, where Potter's fingers began to move in small, rhythmic circles.

"You're tight," Harry observed.

"Yesss," Severus agreed, not referring to the muscles Harry's fingers were exploring. The muscles he was concerned with were lower and much more demanding at the moment. Still, the pressure of Harry's fingers as they kneaded his dreadfully thin shoulders felt almost sexual in itself. In fact, the more Harry manipulated the kinks out of the area, the better he felt all over.

"My god, Severus, these muscles are like rock. You carry all your tension here," Harry murmured, leaning in to kiss his neck and add a shiver to the melting sensation that his hands were inducing. "Can I work on them a while?"

"You can neuter me if you keep that up," he grated out, ending on a groan as Harry tackled a particularly sore spot.

Harry's chuckle was like music to him. The moist air from it tickled over his exposed neck, adding even more shivers.

"That's the furthest thing from my mind at this moment," Harry assured in a silky tone that had as much effect on him as those talented fingers.

Maybe it was the fact that no one had ever given him a massage before, or perhaps Harry was simply that good at it, but within moments Severus felt himself slipping into a dreamy state of lassitude. His arousal no longer so demanding in light of the pleasure seeping through him, he allowed Harry to do as he would.

"Can we get rid of this?" Harry asked, tugging at the collar of his jacket.

Severus gave an absent nod of consent and moved like a puppet as Harry manoeuvred the jacket off him.

"The vest's nearly as thick," Harry jokingly complained, his hands coming around Severus from behind to start undoing the dozens of tiny buttons that held his waistcoat closed. "Jeez, how many of these are there?"

"Thirty-eight," Severus answered in a sleepy tone.

"That's all, ey?" Harry chuckled and continued to carefully unbutton.

"You could use magic to remove it," Severus suggested.

"What, and miss out on living one of my fantasies?"

"You . . . fantasized about my waistcoat?" Severus questioned, nonplussed by the idea of anyone entertaining a sexual fantasy about him, let alone his clothing.

"Well, not about the waistcoat, but definitely about undoing all these buttons, one by one, to get at what's under it," Harry replied with what sounded like perfect, if breathless, candour.

"You had this fantasy today?" That might explain Harry's stare at lunch.

"I've had it for weeks now," Harry laughed. "These tiny buttons are just so . . . distracting . . . and sexy. So damn sexy."

"Weeks, but we only . . . I mean, it was just Friday that we . . . ."

"I guess I've been noticing you for a while now," Harry confessed. "Is that all right?"

He tilted his head back so that he could see Harry's face. He appeared legitimately concerned. "Harry, I've been called many things in my day, but never a hypocrite."

At first Harry didn't seem to understand what he was saying, but then the proverbial light went off behind those smoky green eyes, and they widened in surprise. "You mean that you . . . . " The confusion transformed into a bright grin, " . . . brilliant!"

Once again, this incredible man made the unthinkable acceptable. Harry was happy he'd been having lascivious thoughts about him? How often in the past had his attention even been tolerated, let alone welcomed with such enthusiasm? The few times his interest had been returned, it hadn't been him his paramours had wanted to know, but the Death Eater. What Harry gave him truly was miraculous.

Still feeling as though this were all a dream, he watched Harry's somewhat delicately shaped hands open his buttons.

The last little black button was finally undone and Harry eased the waistcoat from his shoulders.

He sighed in contentment as Harry's hands urged him to lean forward in his high backed chair so that Harry could work the same sensual magic on his spine. The edge of his desk pressed into his chest as he propped his head up on his elbows. His eyes drooped closed in pleasure as Harry dismantled his vertebrae one by one. Those fingers were so sure and skilful, so seductive.

"Can we move inside, Severus?" Harry whispered after a long while.

Lost in a sensual daze, Severus opened his eyes, sat back up, and stared about his fire lit sitting room. He almost felt as though he didn't know where he was.

Strong hands guided him to his feet. His gaze took in his discarded jacket and waistcoat, which were flung over the back of the nearest wingback armchair. The top test paper on his unfinished stack was crumpled from where he'd leaned on it, and his quill was lying on his blotter in a pooling black stain with all the ink bled out of it, but Harry's hand was on his elbow, gently urging him to move, and none of that other stuff seemed the least bit important.

"Lumos," Harry murmured as they entered his bedroom. The wall torches and hearth fire immediately leapt to life as they would in Potter's own chambers.

Harry stopped them by the bed. Those hands that had given him so much pleasure framed his face, holding his hair up around it as Harry guided him downwards so their mouths could meet. As if under Imperius, Severus allowed himself to be kissed. His hair fell like a black curtain around both their faces, cloaking them in warm, moist darkness.

Harry took his mouth with a passion that sent shivers quaking through him. Potter was so strong, so charismatic, so powerful that Severus was utterly intoxicated by him. The actual power exchange that was going on wasn't helping matters any, either. It wasn't as intrusive as before, but Severus could feel Harry's wizards power seeping into him at all points of contact: their hands, mouths, jaws, even through both their clothes where their fronts were pressed together.

Harry's hands snaked around his back to recommence that seductive massage while kissing him. It was nearly more than he could take. Overwhelmed by the triple assault of lips, fingers, and power, the strength seemed to go out of Severus' legs.

Harry's arms tightened around him as Potter positioned his body to prop him up. When they parted for air an unhurried time later, Harry murmured, "Bed?"

Severus thought he knew what the word meant, so he nodded.

Harry's smoky gaze was expectant for a moment, then a delighted smile spilled over his face and he manoeuvred them over to the bedside. The mattress caught the back of Snape's boneless legs, and he sank down onto it with a gasp.

Harry's hands moved towards him. Trapped in that wonderful daze, Severus watched Harry undo the buttons on his white linen shirt. Then, before taking it from his shoulders, Harry lifted each of his hands in turn to remove his cufflinks, which Potter carefully placed on the nightstand. Only when the silver and emerald baubles were safely stowed did Harry slip the damp shirt from him.

Severus sobbed in a breath as Harry undid his trousers, and then peeled off his undershirt. Severus knew that there was some reason he would normally be concerned at this point in the proceedings, but, for the life of him, he couldn't remember what it was. All he could remember was how good that slightly swollen mouth tasted, and how incredible those hands felt on him.

Harry's hand landed in the centre of his chest. The soft pressure he exerted guided Severus against the pillows. The silk sheets and duvet felt slick and cool against his bare back, causing a shiver.

Harry bent to scoop his legs up and lay him straight out on the bed.

Clad only in his trousers and boots now, Severus shook with need as that hungry green gaze behind those ridiculous round-lensed spectacles surveyed him.

"You're magnificent," Harry murmured.

"And you're blind as a bat, but thank you," Severus gave a gaspy response.

Harry smiled and chuckled. "You don't take a compliment well."

"They're not something to which I'm accustomed," Severus replied, doing everything in his power to maintain coherency.

"You'll learn to be," Harry said in the tone of a promise. Since he ran his hand down the centre of Severus' chest immediately after speaking, his words might just as well have been voiced in Swahili, for all the sense they made to Severus. The roving hand paused at the top of his trousers and gave a tug while Harry asked in a stronger voice. "Can I get rid of these?"

Severus was back to nodding, but it seemed enough for Harry at the moment. He watched as Harry knelt beside the bed to remove his boots and socks.

"You've got fantastic feet, you know," Harry whispered in a thick tone. "All long and sleek and sexy – like the rest of you."

To his horror, Harry's hand took hold on his left foot and gave the sweaty appendage a squeeze.

Severus was braced for the touch to tickle, but once again the sensuality of that firm grip overcame his lack of tactile experience. He didn't embarrass himself like a giddy schoolgirl by giggling. Bemused, he stared down at his kneeling lover as Harry gripped his left foot in both his hands. His bare foot looked almost ghostly white under the cuff of his black trousers, and the contrast with Harry's weather-tanned hands didn't help any. He looked like a corpse against Harry's healthy, quidditch induced colour.

Yet Harry didn't seem put off by his unhealthy pallor. Harry gave his foot an affectionate squeeze and then his thumbs dug into the sole to deliver the same kind of massage Harry had given his shoulders earlier. If his shoulders had felt good, the pleasure here was even more intense and visceral. Who would have thought his feet could be this sensitive, that feet could possibly be an erogenous zone? Never him, that was for certain. But what Harry was doing to him was redefining his definition of what was sensual with every touch.

By the time Harry reached for his right foot, Severus felt malleable as putty. That touch had him floating, lost in a sensual daze. No one had ever taken this kind of time with him or been this concerned with his pleasure. There was nothing in this for Harry. It was all for him, and, yet, Harry appeared happy. His face was relaxed, for all that his concentration seemed completely focused on his unprepossessing foot. He seemed to really be enjoying what he was doing.

"Severus?" Harry softly called a long time later.

"Mmmm?" He tried to rally – truly, he did – but that was the best he could manage.

"I want to learn you from head to toe, will you let me?" Harry asked.

Meeting that heated gaze, he gave a nod.

"I . . . don't know how long I'll be able to . . . hold out," he warned, feeling his cheeks warm. He was forty-eight years old. He should have some control over his body at this age, but he felt ready to come just from what Harry had done to his feet and shoulders. And, at forty-eight, one climax was all that could be expected. That mightn't occur to Harry, who was still in his twenties.

Harry gave his bony foot another of those absurd, affectionate squeezes. His smile was very tender as he replied, "I don't want you to hold out. I want you to give in, again and again and again."

Severus felt the ends of his lips twitch at Harry's preposterous statement. "You overestimate my capacity. I'm forty-eight years old, Harry. I . . . don't want to disappoint your expectations."

He held his breath at the shadow that passed through those sea green eyes. To his unending shock, it wasn't disappointment that touched Harry's features. It looked more like desperation, he thought.

"We've both been alone way too long. I don't care if you come once or a dozen times, just so long as you're enjoying yourself. I want to learn all of you. Let me have this, Severus. Please?"

What could he refuse Potter when he looked at him with that expression? Despite his reservations, Severus found himself nodding again. "I place myself in your capable hands. Do as you will to and with me."

From his expression, it was clear that Harry was astute enough to understand the distinction.

"Thank you," Harry whispered, and then did something extraordinary.

Severus couldn't contain his gasp as Harry pressed a kiss against the top of his foot, right above his scrawny toes.

Harry's grin was wicked when he lifted his head again.

Severus' insides clenched tight, because he knew he was in for the time of his life. Harry was so far outside his ken that he didn't even know what to expect. The power that was flowing between them with every caress made everything that much more intense and unbearable, made it impossible to think.

Potter raised his right hand expectantly into the air and whispered, "Accio Harry Potter's massage oil."

A moment later, a clear bottle with a green liquid in it came floating through the narrow, high placed dungeon windows to land in Harry's outstretched palm. Harry put the bottle down on the bed beside his narrow hips. Then he removed his glasses and placed them safely on the nightstand.

Severus started to pant as Harry's hands reached for the opening of his already unfastened trousers. Harry snagged the band of his underwear as he pulled the trousers down, taking them along. Severus lifted his hips to aid in their removal, and then settled back against the bed to await Harry's pleasure.

His skin pricked up in goose flesh as those green eyes surveyed his naked form. For so many years he'd been ashamed to reveal his body. Even though Harry knew what he looked like naked, it was difficult to lie still under such close scrutiny. Harry was still fully clothed in his black robes with Muggle clothing beneath, while he lay stark naked before him. The inequity of their positions was palpable. Yet, somehow, even that was exciting – with Harry. For the first time in his life, he didn't mind being naked and vulnerable before another.

He swallowed hard and let Harry look his full, doing his best not to be embarrassed as his erection pulsed even larger under Harry's gaze.

Harry reached for the bottle. When he unstopped it, the lush scent of a pine forest filled the air. Harry poured some of the oil onto his left palm, and then placed the bottle on the nightstand.

He watched Harry rub the oil between his palms. The hopes of his hungry shaft were dashed as Harry took hold of his right foot again. The massage felt even better this time with the oil. Severus found himself forgetting the eight inches of need made flesh at his groin, while Harry awakened pleasure centres he'd never even known he possessed in his foot, heel, and then up to his calf, knee, and higher.

Totally desperate, his hips surged upwards as Harry's kneading fingers worked their way midway up his thigh, but then Harry abandoned that leg and took hold of his left foot to repeat the procedure. The denial should have been horrible, but somehow, Severus wasn't upset by it. Harry wasn't rejecting, teasing, or torturing him. Rather, Harry was introducing him to delights he'd never dreamed existed before. How could he possibly begrudge Harry that? He'd never been this aware of his legs and feet. Everything below his waist was tingling in a slick web of sensation.

Severus held his breath as Harry reached the top of his left thigh, certain that Potter would have no choice but to deal with the situation he'd created. To his shock and frustration, Harry re-oiled his hands, shifted on the bed so that he was facing his head, instead of his feet and legs, and then he reached out to begin working his shoulders again.

Every muscle of his neck, shoulders, and arms felt as if it were dissembled and put back together, minus the tension that kept him so stiff all the time.

Harry's hands were still working his shoulders when Harry bent his head to nuzzle his left nipple.

Severus cried out and arched upwards, nearly sobbing as Potter's tongue came into play.

His body froze as Harry's mouth shifted further left. Potter grabbed hold of his arm and pushed it upwards above their heads. Severus was confused at first until Harry buried his face in the moist hair at his armpit, kissing and sucking there as though it were some tasty treat and not an area most people avoided contact with.

Severus wasn't prepared for the pleasure bursts that exploded through him. It was his underarm Harry was touching, not his cock. This shouldn't have felt so amazing, but somehow, it did. He rode the attention out, trying not to be unnerved by anything Harry did. Obviously, when Potter said 'head to toe' that was precisely what he meant.

Severus was almost relieved when Harry's mouth finally stopped nuzzling his armpit to move back to more normal areas. What followed was a tormenting, delightful mix of massage and foreplay, as Harry learnt his chest, ribs, and tender belly by feel and taste.

He'd had tongues in his navel before, but what Harry was doing there felt as intense as anal penetration. The increased sensitivity had to do with the power exchange, and how close Harry was to one of his most potent chakra points, Severus knew. The influx of Potter's magical energy was wrecking havoc with his own, creating crests of power that were as much of an assault to his nervous system as Cruciatus, only, in this case, the experience was intense ecstasy instead of torture. Severus understood the cause of his extreme reaction, but no amount of empirical, scientific reasoning could remove the almost mystical sense of wonder he experienced as those sensations crashed through him. Gone was that floaty lassitude; gone was that dazed dream state.

The intensity, the sheer, visceral thrill of Harry's touches was transforming his view of himself. How long had he believed himself old and used up? Since forty? Thirty? Or perhaps even before that? For so many years, he'd believed he'd missed out on the possibility of sexual fulfilment forever, his body had been all but dead to him.

With every touch, Harry was teaching him the error of his ways. Severus had never felt so connected to his flesh. As Harry's tongue and fingers transformed his torso into boneless protoplasm, he was intensely aware of every neuron firing up with mind-blowing delight. He could almost feel every separate cell throb in reaction.

He sobbed in each breath. His body was soaked with sweat, or perhaps it was Harry's saliva, for Potter seemed to be drinking the perspiration down as fast as it dewed on him. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Harry was still fully dressed, knew that there was something not right about that, but couldn't figure out what the problem was.

Finally, Harry's journey brought him down to the area Severus had been the most conscious of, but once again his hopes were thwarted. When Harry's tongue and fingers reached the top of his pubic mound, Harry lifted his head, gave him a gamin grin that made him want to shriek in frustration and then . . . and then Harry scooted down to the bottom of the bed.

What the devil? Was Potter going to start on his feet again?

Panting for breath, every inch of him soaked with sweat, Severus stared wild-eyed up at his lover.

There was a time when he would have known what this interruption signified. Lying there in this boneless need, Severus was struck by the memory of the handsome, blond Death Eater Warren Folta grinning sadistically down at him in a similar moment of interrupted passion. 'Let this be a lesson to you, you mudblood pervert.' That was all Folta had said before walking out the door.

It was hard not to harken back to all the horrors of his past as Harry pulled back from him. But . . . Harry wouldn't do that. Harry would never abandon him like this at the apex of agony. Others he'd known in his past were cruel enough to do it to him, but not his Harry.

Their gazes touched. Harry's face seemed tense at first, but then he gave him a gentle smile, and Severus knew that, whatever was going on, it wasn't about abandonment.

Harry whispered something and all his clothes seemed to melt from him, leaving him sitting naked and erect beside Severus' knobbly knees. Severus' eyes followed the trail of liquid garments as they slithered over the bedclothes and down to the floor, where they coalesced into a neat pile of normal clothing again.

Even in this state of mindless stupor, Severus was struck by what he'd just seen. If he'd had any sense, he'd be terrified of this man, and not simply for the emotional wounds Harry could inflict upon him. Wizardry like this could rule the world, if Harry were so inclined. There weren't spells for what Potter had just done. You could remove clothes magically, but they didn't just melt from your flesh. Buttons and zippers had to be dealt with in their normal, if magically enhanced, fashion, and limbs likewise manipulated to remove the clothes. Harry had bypassed all of that, using a complex transmutation spell that he had invented on the spot for his convenience.

Lord Voldemort at the peak of his power hadn't been able to manage something like that. After several hundred years of life, Albus Dumbledore hadn't, either. Yet, this precocious young man, who hadn't even reached his thirtieth year, did it without thought. Somehow, that made Harry's power even more frightening. Severus didn't want to consider what Potter could do when he set his mind to being inventive, if this type of thing happened without thought. If it were anybody else, Severus would have been petrified with fear, but he knew Harry. The entire world might have been Potter's for the taking, but Harry wasn't interested in ruling the world. At the moment, there was only one thing the greatest wizard ever born was interested in.

His handsome face transfigured into a mask of raw need, Harry reached for him.

Severus shivered as Harry took hold of his knees to spread them wide apart, prepared for nearly anything – except for what Harry actually did.

Potter bent down, and for a second or two of relief so intense it felt like orgasm, Severus thought that his lover had finally taken mercy on him and was about to deep throat him. Beyond pride, he whimpered as Harry's tongue tip made contact with the hairy, inner thigh of his right leg. Harry licked a wet swab down to his knee, and then . . . he blew over all that wet skin and hair.

Severus' cry nearly deafened his own ears. He bucked up on the bed like a galvanized toad as the pleasure exploded through him. Harry repeated the caress on his other thigh, with similar results. Then Harry brought his pine-scented fingers into play and worked at Severus' utter destruction.

There was no other word for it. He had no control left, not even a vestigial remnant of pride or dignity. If Potter asked him to beg for it, he would, but Harry wasn't asking. Harry seemed to have an agenda all his own as he sucked, caressed, and kneaded his inner thighs until he was literally sobbing with need.

Every drop of blood he had was in his throbbing prick at this point. His penis had always been large when aroused, but tonight it seemed almost monstrous as it pulsed and trembled, waiting for the release that he was beginning to fear would never come.

Finally, Harry appeared to have done all he could with his thighs for he lifted his head up.

Time seemed to stop for Severus as Harry opened his mouth and matter-of-factly sucked in his long neglected shaft. At the same time, those slick, oil saturated fingers took possession of his balls, and then Potter's power sizzled through him from each point of contact.

Severus couldn't help himself. Screaming as he had only in his life as a small child under his grandfather's belt, he bucked up off the bed and thrust as deep into that hot, wet mouth as he could. Horrified by his lack of regard, Severus tried to hold back, but there was no moderating his response at his point. He thrust into Harry's mouth wild as a rutting bull, and Harry took him. More than that, Potter's hands slid around to his backside to hold him up and encourage his pumping.

It didn't take long. How could it? Between the wait and the thaumaturgical power exchange, Severus was helpless. His body and mind liquefied in one searing flash of ecstasy that took all he was and gave it to Harry, who swallowed him down as though his semen were nectar of the gods.

He seemed to come forever. At last it stopped, and he lay there panting with his deflated cock still in Harry's juicy mouth and Harry's wizard's energy still thrumming through him like a drum beat. Harry released him at last, but Harry stayed where he was, with his head pillowed on his bony hip and sweaty pubic mound, every breath he breathed causing a shiver as it played across his limp penis.

After a few more minutes, Harry rubbed his cheek against Severus' radically minimized shaft. Looking down at him, Severus knew he had never seen anything more beautiful than this dishevelled man with his passion swollen mouth, flushed cheeks, and myopic gaze, not even a full blooded Veela male.

As if sensing his gaze, Harry cut off the feline rubbing and raised his head to meet his eyes. "Mmmm, you're exquisite. Do you know that?"

His stomach clenched tight in reaction. Harry thought he was exquisite – not bony, not ugly, not perverted. He didn't know how to respond to such a statement, and Harry was clearly awaiting some type of reaction from him. All he could manage was a negative shake of his head.

"Are you doing all right?" Harry asked.

There was no way he could answer that. After forty-eight years, he'd finally discovered what it meant to be alive. It was nearly too much for him to handle. Lost, all he could do was nod.

Harry's dark green gaze took a leisurely sweep of his body. "Okay, I've learnt the front. On to the next tasty treat."

"There's more?" Severus wondered aloud, astonished. How could there possibly be anything more than what Harry had made him feel?

"There's a whole other side, isn't there? Will you turn over so I can learn your back now?"

After that tremendous orgasm, there shouldn't have been anything like tension left inside him, but Harry's request twisted his guts like a fist squeezing them. Turning over meant revealing his back, and even though Harry hadn't been put off by his scars before, showcasing them still wasn't something he was comfortable with. He couldn't. It was too much.

Just like everything with Harry was too much – too much pleasure, too much feeling.

"What is it?" Harry's pine scented palm reached up to cup his cheek.

"My back. The scars. I don't . . . I mean . . . ." Clearly, he didn't know what he meant. Frustrated with his inability to articulate his misgivings, Severus closed his eyes tight, so he wouldn't see how huge a coward Harry thought him.

He felt Harry shift around a bit. A moment later, strong arms pulled him close and Harry pressed a gentle kiss to his brow.

"They're just skin and memories, remember?" Harry whispered, repeating the sentiment he'd voiced earlier. "Just like mine. You've touched and kissed mine every time we've been together. Why won't you let me do the same for you?"

Severus opened his eyes again and tried to glare. "It's not the same."

"How's it different?" Harry questioned, his index finger spreading a slick trail of oil down the bridge of his nose as Harry traced it.

"You've only got the one and it isn't . . . ugly."

"Neither are yours – to me," Harry qualified. "I know all this is new and scary to us both, but . . . we're the ones who choose what it is. Severus, I don't want to feel that half my lover's body is off limits because of what those monsters did to you. Please, don't let their cruelty taint what's between us?"

Severus' gaze shifted nervously away. He looked over at the fire dancing merrily in his hearth. Then looked to the armoire, the bureau with his brush and comb neatly on its polished top, the landscape paintings on his wall, the books piled on his nightstand beside his pewter candleholder . . . the familiarity of his surroundings was in some way reassuring. Nothing bad had ever happened to him in this room.

To the contrary, Harry had happened to him here. And now Harry was asking him to trust him enough to allow him free access to the part of him that had repulsed every other man he'd ever been with.

Taking a deep breath, Severus stared his fear down. Without further ado, he pulled back from Harry and rolled over, this seemingly simple concession taking every ounce of courage he possessed.

He wrapped his arms around the pillow and rested his cheek and chest against its cool silver silk surface. Though he'd just had the most fantastic orgasm of his life, he felt tense as a strung bow as he waited. This position in itself stirred up so many bad memories, reminding him as it did of all the times in his childhood he'd lain naked on his belly like this waiting for the strap or the whip to fall.

Caught up in the nightmares he'd lived, Severus was only barely aware of Harry shifting on the bed behind him and fiddling with something.

He jerked when he was touched. Warm, slick hands settled on his shoulders.

"Ssssh," Harry soothed, and then his fingers began to move. The pattern of kneading was becoming familiar to him, but, trapped as he'd been in his memories, Harry's gentle touch was still a shock. Flesh that recalled all too well the bite of stinging leather and rush of blood was unprepared for this tender manipulation. Severus knew that his lover had spent over an hour massaging him before, but this really felt like the first time he'd ever been touched with kindness this way.

A sob caught in his throat at the shock of it, and he buried his face in the pillow. Harry . . . .

Harry's fingers courted his flesh, seducing the tension and memory of pain out of muscles and skin that had known little of gentleness in their time. His neck was totally dismantled, his shoulders turned to gel, and then Harry set to work on the field of scars that was his back.

He felt Harry's oily fingertips learning the length and depth of each mark. They kneaded and stroked him as if every one of those disgusting disfigurations were dear to Harry, and then . . . then Potter brought his mouth into play. Severus hoped that that oil was safe for consumption, for Harry seemed to be nuzzling and licking off every drop his fingers had deposited.

After a long time, Harry lifted his head again and his fingers returned. Making his way slowly down his spine, Harry's manipulating hands called forth every lingering trace of tension as they worked from vertebrae to vertebrae. Severus almost felt as though Harry were performing some kind of healing spell on him as the memory of pain was gently kneaded from his scarred flesh, to be replaced by something he'd had little truck with – the knowledge of pleasure.

With a shock, he recognized that he mightn't be imagining things. There was so much power seeping from Harry's fingers into his body that Potter might be working some more unintentional magic. While Severus was normally quite vehement in his refusal to allow another wizard any type of magical access to him, he could refuse Harry no more than he could his next breath. Whatever Harry was doing to him, it was something he'd needed for his entire life. He gloried in those caresses, his lonely soul embracing them as eagerly as his touch-starved body.

Finally, Harry reached the base of his spine. Remembering Harry's sensual modis operendi from the front side, Severus was ready this time when Harry moved down to his feet to work his way up the back of his skinny right calf. Harry's talented fingers homed in on the knot in the centre of his calf that often contracted without warning while he slept, leaving him in agony in the dead of night. Harry worked that damaged muscle for a very long while before moving upwards.

His thigh was treated to similar attention before Harry started on his left leg. The sheer, unadulterated love in every one of Harry's caresses was unmistakable. Although the passion they shared was unprecedented in Severus' life, it was the near reverence in Harry's attitude that moved him most. He'd never been cherished like this before.

All too soon, Harry was finished with his left thigh.

Severus held his breath. There was only one part of him that Harry hadn't 'learned' yet.

He didn't have much of a bottom. His arse was as skinny and bony as the rest of him. Perhaps Harry wouldn't want to . . . .

His foolish concern broke off as those wonderful hands settled on his bum. Harry spread the oil across his skin, as he'd done everywhere else, then his fingers pressed into the tight muscles of his lean butt and did their best to turn him to melting butter there as well. Always oversensitive in this particular area, Severus gasped as Harry's kneading fingers reminded him of needs he never allowed himself to consciously acknowledge. When those hands cupped his cheeks and squeezed, his body sparked with delight bright as a magnesium flare and he couldn't contain his pleading moan.

Harry's hands froze as that needy sound filled the room.

"Good or bad?" Harry asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"G-g-goood," he rasped out.

There was another pause, in which Severus could almost feel Harry's uncertainty. Then the fingers of Harry's right hand tentatively slipped into the cleft of his arse and Harry whispered, "Do you like this?"

Like it? The touch all but melted his brain. He cried out like an animal as quicksilver delight danced through his loins, his hips humping mindlessly against his Slytherin green silk duvet.

In an utterly embarrassing display, he spread his legs wide and whimpered like the wanton whore this need always made of him. Once he got to this point, there was no dignity left, no refinement. Like some rutting beast, all he wanted was to be mounted and penetrated. Though his feelings would change as soon as the blood heat passed, when he was on fire like this, it didn't matter that this act would cost him the respect of his partner, that Death Eaters would snicker at him even as they buggered him, that they'd all but spit on him when through with him. None of that inevitable humiliation ever mattered, as long as a cock slid into him and gave him what he needed.

He supposed he should have warned Harry of the consequences of touching him there, but what would he have said: that he had no pride when his anus was stimulated, that he'd do anything to satisfy this disgusting need, anything at all?

While he was fighting for the coherency to broach the topic with Harry in something other than four-letter invective, Harry removed the necessity of doing so by the simple expedient of pulling his hand back.

Well, he'd known that would happen. The . . . depravity of this particular act was pounded into their heads from birth. This wasn't something that a 'real man' submitted to willingly, even men who liked the company of other men. A wizard never allowed himself to be taken, though most with such inclinations would take if it were on offer – sometimes, even if it weren't. But to allow oneself to be mounted, to be used, was considered unmanly. If it weren't so painful, the hypocrisy of that double standard would have been laughable.

But Severus wasn't laughing. He'd finally found someone who could care about him, and he had to ruin it by revealing this . . . this perversion. Everything in Harry's manner had suggested that he was looking for a partner, an equal, not a . . . not whatever this need made him into.

No doubt he'd shocked Harry, perhaps even put him off entirely. Severus squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he were dead. There was no way he could salvage this situation. He'd fought – and lost – this particular battle his entire life. This was why he didn't engage in sexual relations anymore. He couldn't change what he was, what he needed.

He tensed up as he felt Harry shift away – of course. He was lying there with his face buried in his pillow, hating and berating himself, when Harry's freshly oiled fingers pressed back between his cheeks. This time there was nothing tentative as they felt around for his anus.

An embarrassing whimper was torn out of him as that long middle finger carefully brushed his puckered entrance. The sparks that lambent touch ignited through him were all out of proportion to the slight contact. Harry lightly stroked the pad of his middle finger over that long-denied pleasure centre, the gentle contact reminding Severus as to why he enjoyed this so much.

It had been so long, so terribly long . . . .

Severus tried not to betray himself, tried to hold the sounds in his throat, but it was impossible. The desperate cries escaped him as the reanimated corpse that was his body begged inarticulately for what it needed.

Harry indulged him there for an amazingly long time before his fingers pulled back.

Severus unconsciously tensed as both of his cheeks were gripped in a strong hold and forced apart, baring his anus to the light.

He now believed that Harry would never intentionally harm him, but he couldn't help but wonder if touching that forbidden spot had aroused Harry past reason. Would Potter enter him, without even breaching him first with so much as a single finger to stretch and lubricate him? Was Harry that far gone with passion? And, more to the point, what was he to do about it?

As far as Severus could see with his admittedly diminished common sense, he had three options. He could refuse Harry and end this madness, and possibly their relationship. He could allow Harry to penetrate him dry and suffer the inevitable damage. It had been more than twenty years since he'd been intimate with another man. He was like a virgin again back there and a dry penetration would be agony. Or he could try to invent a spell on the spot to lube himself before Harry took possession.

That last seeming the most sensible course, Severus frantically searched his mind for the Latin to voice his command. In his state of heightened arousal, it was a near impossible task. He'd thought he'd remembered the proper declension for the verb when Harry shifted around behind him and panic thrust all thought from his mind.

He'd waited too long. Harry was . . . .

"Ahhh," Severus' shocked gasp filled the room as warm breath wafted over his vulnerable anus, followed immediately by the slick brush of a tongue tip. As the tongue moved knowingly on that tender hot spot, Severus threw back his head and screamed. Gods, no one had ever . . . . There was absolutely no point of reference in Severus' universe to prepare him for the delightful barrage that followed. All there was was reaction.

Severus wasn't even conscious of the noises he was making. He had a vague awareness of Harry's hands holding his bucking hips still so that he could work his tongue around and into that tight little aperture, but there was nothing like higher thought left. His entire being was focused on his anus, and the unprecedented caresses Harry was bestowing on him.

Totally destroyed, he lay there a quivering mass, utterly at Harry's mercy. After an eternity of that beloved torture, the warm breath and slick tormentor left him again.

Glad of the reprieve, Severus rasped in a breath, which was expelled in a sharp cry as Harry's oil laden finger pierced his saliva-slicked entrance. The tongue play had left him incredibly relaxed, but after nearly a quarter of a century of neglect, there was no way anything solid could easily enter him there.

Severus' body clenched up with an almost virginal, instinctive fear of violation. But once again, Harry astounded him. He petted, brushed, and played with that tensed ring of muscle until it had no choice but to grant him entry, only then did Harry push past that initial resistance in a manner that clearly demonstrated that he knew what he was about.

Slowly, as though Harry were feeling his body's reluctance to accommodate him, Potter insinuated his middle finger up that tender tract. At a certain point, Harry's finger gave a sharp twist and . . . Severus nearly passed out under the burst of sensation that contact shot through him. It was just his prostate, Severus told himself, but it was just his prostate the wayCruciatus was just a spell. Beyond how long it had been since anyone had touched him there, no one had ever inundated that sensitive, hidden gland with magical energy the way Harry's finger was doing. Harry wasn't just stimulating his prostate in the usual manner. His fingertip was depositing bursts of magical energy that supercharged the poor gland.

There was no possibility of control at this point. Severus knew he was screaming like he was being murdered, but there was nothing he could do about it. Their magical conduit was intensifying every sensation to unbearable proportions.

Harry's finger pulled back, returning momentarily with a partner. The stretch was easier this time. Harry flexed his fingers around inside him, stretching the tight channel, opening him to what would follow, blasting so much raw power into his body that it was all Severus could do to hang onto consciousness.

He was probed and played with until his rectum was loose as a Knockturn Alley hustler's.

Finally, the fingers left him.

His hips were tugged up and back, Severus following along until he found himself on all fours. He heard Harry's shifting around behind him again. Then there was a stifled groan, and then Harry's hands took hold of his bum again and parted his cheeks.

A moment of frozen anticipation followed, during which Severus had the clear understanding that nothing was ever going to be the same for him again. The snub head of Harry's cock slipped between his cheeks, causing a helpless shudder to pass through him at the irreversibility of this action, and then . . . and then Harry's thick penis pierced him.

Harry was well-greased, and his sphincter was slick and pliable as butter. That initial penetration felt more like a homecoming than the violation it had always been in the past for those first few moments. There was no burn, no freeze up. Harry just slid home, and Severus' body and soul welcomed the man as though he'd been waiting his entire life for Harry Potter's cock to take up residence inside him – and perhaps he had.

They both grunted at the shock of it, at the unnatural flare of power that swept through them both, and then Harry began to move. In and out, harder and harder with every thrust. Harry's hand fumbled around in front of him to collect Severus' once-again erect penis and milk it as they rocked together. Severus thrust back with all his might to meet Harry's every thrust, wanting to take his lover as far inside himself as possible.

The angle was just right. Every time Harry entered him, he nailed his prostate, and that bizarre energy conduit shot a whole new blast of power through him.

This time two sets of incoherent, pleading cries filled the room. Severus knew he was a gibbering wreck of his former self, and he didn't care. All he cared about was the fact that Harry was filling all those empty, used up places, and, if there was as much pain as pleasure in it, so be it. On his hands and knees before James Potter's son, Severus was introduced to a whole new level of being. With his masterful cock and his tremendous energy output, Harry Potter was branding every part of his being as his personal property, opening him up and exposing everything he was to the blinding light that was Harry Potter.

Severus didn't know if he could bear to be known this intimately, but it wasn't as if he was being given a choice. By granting Harry access to his body, it seemed he'd opened his soul to the other man as well, and there could be no pulling back now, no erecting of barriers. Harry would take what he would, and he took it all. Every last dark and lonely corner in Severus' heart and mind was penetrated by the piercing brightness of Harry's thaumaturgical energy. He was blasted with the sheerest, most sensual delights until there was nothing left of his former self.

Harry screamed his name as he exploded inside him. Severus knew it wasn't physically possible, but he swore he felt those hot spurts of semen hit his anal wall. The fire in his own body coalesced into melting magma, and he came himself, spraying Harry's hand and the silk bedspread with his sticky gift.

With a grunt, he fell face down on the bed. Harry landed on top of him. He could still feel Harry inside him, remarkably deflated, but still there, physically and psychically.

"My God," Harry whispered a long time later.

Severus gasped at the unpleasant sensation of Harry's withdrawal.

Tender lips nuzzled his neck as Potter took most of his weight off him and lay half covering him, half on the bed. Severus quivered as the fingertips that had been so deep inside him brushed over his scarred back. He felt utterly exposed, utterly destroyed . . . utterly owned.

He didn't know what to say, how to act. All he knew was that he would never be able to return to his former state of self-sufficiency. If this had been too much for Harry, if it had been more than he'd bargained on and needed to retreat to their former distance, Severus knew he wouldn't survive.

"Severus?" Harry sounded nearly afraid.

Severus squeezed his eyes shut, and searched himself for the strength to bluff. It simply wasn't there. He felt blasted open. There was nothing left inside him. There were no places left to hide where Harry couldn't see right through him.

He lay still as Harry brushed the hair out of his face. Cool air touched his warm, wet cheeks.

Wet? Recognizing what that hot liquid must be, he felt even more exposed.

He could feel Harry staring at him and opened his eyes.

There was no victory, no arrogance in Harry's expression, only concern, and a light in his brilliant gaze that Severus had never seen before. Those green eyes were so bright; they were nearly incandescent.

When Harry leaned down to silently kiss the embarrassing wetness from his cheeks, the awful tension gripping him seemed to reach critical mass and shatter. There was nothing he could do to conceal the fact that he was trembling again, but there was no need to.

As soon as Harry felt it, he snaked his left arm under him, his right on top, and then gathered him close.

Almost timidly, he pillowed his head on Harry's chest. The light dusting of chest hair beneath his cheek felt wonderful. Harry's hand momentarily left his back, and a second later, Severus felt a warm duvet settle over them. It wasn't his. The green silk one was still beneath them. A glance at the royal blue fabric spilling over his shoulder identified the duvet as Potter's. Then Harry's hand returned to his back and started to rub in reassuring circles.

Severus choked in a shuddery breath. That sense of being cherished hadn't vanished. It was different now than when Harry was worshipping his flesh, but in no way weaker.

He knew there were things they should talk about, words that probably needed saying at such a time, but Severus simply wasn't up to dissecting what had transpired between them. Harry hadn't betrayed him, hadn't mocked him, hadn't abandoned him. Right now, that was all that mattered to him.

He lay there listening to the intimate beat of Harry's heart, his head rising and falling ever so slightly with the regular pattern of Harry's relaxed breathing. Harry's scent was all around him. There wasn't an inch of their flesh that wasn't in contact. Warm, safe, and loved for the first time in memory, Severus gave into the demands of his emotionally and physically exhausted body and allowed his mind to drift away. There'd be time enough tomorrow for words. The one thing he knew with absolute certainty was that Harry would be there.

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

"Clearly, I am missing something, Mr. Fletcher. Explain to me once again why it is preferable to remain in the form of an animated snake skin boot rather than remove the curse from Stanton?" Severus asked with dwindling patience. He tried not to stare agape at the pitiful creature before him, but it was near impossible to resist. The boy, if the legless, armless, scaled creature in its Slytherin robes lying in the infirmary bed could be called a boy, was a bizarre mix of a human and reptile. Stanton hadn't managed a completely successful transfiguration. Fletcher was still shaped like a human, but he'd lost his limbs and hair. He was now sporting silver and green scales, a forked tongue, and unnerving amber, almond shaped eyes.

"I'mmm nott a sssssnake ssskin vhoot," the boy hissed.

"No, that, at least would have some use," Severus snapped. Catching sight of the time on the clock in the corner of the hospital room, he turned to Madame Pomfrey and asked, "May I borrow your floo for a moment?" At her nod, he requested, "Perhaps you can talk some sense into this fool while I'm gone," and stalked from the infirmary into Pomfrey's office.

Five minutes to eight. He'd told Harry he'd meet him in Potter's room a half hour ago. His guts clenched at the very thought of Harry. It felt like centuries since he'd seen him, though, in reality, it had only been since breakfast.

He took a handful of floo powder from the jar atop Poppy's mantel and tossed it into the flames, clearly enunciated, "Harry Potter's room," and leaned down into the fire. By the time he'd fully immersed his torso in the floo, Harry's sitting room could be seen on the other side of the flames. He only hoped that Harry was still there. They normally left for the Monday night gathering at the Weasleys' at a quarter to eight. "Harry?"

"Coming," Potter's voice called from the bedroom. A second later, his blue robed lover rushed into sight, skidding to a halt on the area rug before the hearth like an excited six year old. "Severus!"

"Hello." All coherent thought froze in his brain as he stared up into the long, handsome face of the man who'd put his tongue and penis inside him last night. His body had been reminding him all day of what they'd gotten up to last night and again this morning before heading down to breakfast. To his horror, he felt his cheeks warm. He was nearly fifty years of age, but Harry made him feel like a schoolboy.

"Hello, yourself!" Harry grinned at him, looking fully as sappy as Severus felt.

It was an odd feeling to know he was wanted as much as he wanted. This was all so new to him. He didn't even know what he intended to say. All he knew was that he'd had to make contact.

"I miss you," Harry said.

"I – " Recalling his circumstances, he looked quickly behind him, but there was nothing but Pomfrey's desk and bookshelves filled with medical tomes behind him.

"Where are you?" Harry asked, seeming to take in his reaction.

"In Madame Pomfrey's office," he answered, beginning to feel foolish. What had he bothered Harry for? What could he possibly say through a floo?

"So you're not really free to talk," Harry startled him by saying.

"Not really. I just . . . ."

"Yeah, me, too," Harry softly said. "How long do you think you'll be?"

"Forever, from the sound of it," Severus said with a sigh.

"You're dealing with the other end of the Stanton issue?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Fletcher is being quite recalcitrant. Although I can understand where he'd be tempted to leave Stanton with that donkey's head and tail indefinitely, I can't see where he'd want to remain as that scaled lump in the infirmary himself."

Harry chuckled. "Stanton's being just as impossible. Ron was in with him for three hours, but Stanton's still braying like an ass and refusing to lift the curse he put on Fletcher. Hermione's up there now trying to talk sense into him. Were we this bad in third year?" Harry asked with a soft smile.

Severus felt his lips twitch up at the ends. "You were worse, far worse."

"I don't believe you." Harry's chuckle filled the room.

"Oh? At least Stanton and Fletcher haven't gotten themselves mixed up with wanted felons and Dementors," Severus pointed out.

It was a testament to how far they'd come in these last few months of their adult friendship that there was no sting to the reference. That humiliating incident had been one of the worst days of his life, but now . . . it all seemed like ancient history, like events that had happened to someone else.

Apparently, Harry felt the same, for his smile was quick and easy as he replied, "No, one of them is just stuck in hospital unable to move out of the bed, and the other one is hiding under his bed in the dorm refusing to show his face. At least we never transfigured each other."

"Might I remind you of Draco Malfoy's unfortunate train ride in fifth year? As I recall, he spent several days in slug form," Severus reminded.

"Oh, I forgot about that," Harry laughed.

"I thought you might have. At any rate, I just wanted to let you know that I don't know when I'll be able to join you at the Weasleys'," Severus said.

"Well, Hermione's stuck with Stanton, so you won't be the only one late. You can come straight over once you've sorted this mess out. I dropped by your rooms to pick up the papers you put aside for grading."

"You did?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound nearly as stupid to Harry as he did to himself. He'd never had anyone this thoughtful in his life. He was accustomed to self-sufficiency and didn't mind it much, but it was nice to know that there was someone he could rely on for unrequested support when he wasn't able to deal with all the small details of his life.

"Yes, so try to hurry. I'll save you some nut bread," Harry promised.

"Thank you. I suppose I should return to the slug, I mean, Fletcher now," Severus said, reluctant to break the connection.

"Severus?" Harry called as he made to pull back into Madame Pomfrey's hearth.

"Yes?"

"Fletcher is sweet on Joan Holland. You might use that to your advantage," Harry suggested.

"How?" As ever, he was amazed by the things his lover knew about their students. Fletcher was in his own House and he hadn't been aware of the infatuation.

"Well, if logic won't work, maybe pride will. I'm sure Fletcher wouldn't want her seeing him in his slug form, especially since he was having such trouble keeping his trousers on once his limbs disappeared." Harry's earthy chuckle rolled over him like a wave of heat from the fire.

"This isn't funny," Severus reprimanded, although it was all he could do not to laugh himself.

"Not at the moment, it's not, but it will be. Take my word for it."

"If you say so," Severus allowed.

"I do. "

"Well, I really must go now," Severus reluctantly said.

"Good luck and . . . ."

"Yes?" Severus prompted.

Harry shrugged, something like self-consciousness fleeting across his features. "Nothing that wouldn't embarrass you. See you soon, I hope."

Warmed by the sentiment, in spite of his reserve, Severus allowed a small smile to touch his lips. "Thank you."

"For?" Harry appeared puzzled.

What was he going to do – thank the man for being his lover? It was what he really wanted to say, but he knew he'd never get the words out. Still he had to say something.

Severus resisted the impulse to glance over his shoulder again. He knew he was alone. Harry was alone. He was simply being paranoid, but old habits were difficult to break. Forcing himself, he quietly said, "For last night. It was . . . unprecedented."

That was all he was able to say, but it seemed to have been sufficient to completely shock Harry, who was gaping at him with rather the same expression he suspected he'd been wearing himself with Fletcher earlier. Tempted beyond resistance, Severus reached out through the floo to grip Harry’s cleft chin. Leaning forward, he deposited a quick kiss on the lightning scar that was peeking out from under Harry's messy bangs, and then indulged himself with a slower, deeper kiss to those luscious, moist lips. When he finally pulled back, the green eyes behind the ridiculously adorable round glasses seemed slightly dazed.

"You don't fight fair," Harry complained in a breathless voice.

"No, but then, I am Slytherin. Let me see how my tactics will fare on the unfortunate Fletcher."

"You better not use the method you just used on me," Harry warned with a laugh.

"Bite your tongue," Severus said, unable to suppress a shudder at the very idea of that kind of contact with one of their obnoxious students.

"I'd rather you bite it," Harry joked.

Unable to believe how easy and open things felt with Harry, Severus allowed his face to reveal his satisfaction as he said, "Later," and finally pulled back into Poppy's shadowed office. His instincts wouldn't allow him to resist taking a fast look around the room, but it was still deserted. Feeling absurdly refreshed, Severus returned to his slug-like student's infirmary room.

Harry's information on Fletcher's infatuation did prove invaluable. Even so, teenage tenacity being what it was, it was nearly an hour before he was able to floo Hermione in the Gryffindor dorms to inform her that Fletcher had agreed to relent first. Rarely had he seen his foster mother appear so frazzled. The smile she gave him as she thanked him before flooing over to the infirmary with Stanton to affect the cure looked as though it had taken the last of her strength.

"I'm glad that's done with," a green robed Hermione sighed once the restored boys were sent to their dorms.

"Yes, they were particularly recalcitrant," Severus agreed, taking her arm as they finally left the infirmary.

"I don't remember us being that unreasonable at that age," Hermione said, leaning on him a bit as they started up the moving main stairway for the Gryffindor tower.

"I do," Severus said, pleased by her infectious chuckle. "Strangely enough, Harry shares your selective amnesia on that subject."

"Ah, is that what ails us?" she laughed.

"Unfortunately, a great deal addles you all. However, selective, collective amnesia is my prognosis on this topic."

"And how do you explain this selective, collective amnesia?" she playfully asked as they approached her quarters.

"I suspect it to be a by-product of Gryffindor brainwashing," Severus said in a secretive tone. "When the world at large refuses to fit Gryffindor standards, Gryffindors rewrite reality."

"Oh, we do, do we?" Hermione challenged in a mock-dangerous tone.

"Without fail. Look at Harry and me, if you need proof," Severus advised. "Would anyone with any common sense at all, who'd been my student and was treated the way I treated Potter, take up with me, were he not capable of selectively erasing his memory and rewriting the past?"

"You're too hard on yourself," Hermione protested with the unflinching loyalty that was another of the Gryffindors' greatest flaws.

"And you are a victim of the same brainwashing, so you are hardly an objective judge in this," Severus quipped.

"And you are taking unfair advantage of my exhaustion," Hermione complained.

"Of course, I am Slytherin," he said with a droll arch of his brow, which sent her into gales of laughter as they finally entered the Weasleys' quarters.

"You two are having far too much fun," Blaise Zabini, who was perched on a pile of cushions in the area immediately near the door with a stack of test papers in his lap, said as they entered. The curly haired Zabini was wearing black velvet robes tonight that made him look especially attractive. The glare that the handsome Slytherin had been giving Snape since Friday night was absent at the moment. In its place was a guarded curiosity that was far easier to handle.

Severus was temporarily puzzled by Zabini's seating choice, until he caught sight of Hagrid on the sofa in Zabini's usual seat. Hagrid didn't often attend their gatherings, but when he did, it was always memorable. Apparently, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher was once again having difficulty grading the mandatory quizzes Minerva required they give. Hagrid and Neville Longbottom were sitting on the couch, bent over a pile of papers that Longbottom was apparently trying to explain to the giant. Severus, who had frequently been in the unfortunate position of trying to help Hagrid himself, didn't envy Longbottom.

"Hermione!" Ron's shout filled the chambers. He sounded like his wife had been gone for a year instead of the five hours it had taken to sort out the student debacle. Severus watched in bewilderment as Ron raced across the room to take Hermione in an embrace that lifted her clear off her feet.

He thought his former foster father's reaction was completely over the top . . . until he caught sight of Harry sitting at the dessert-laden table and found himself experiencing the same ridiculous urge.

Harry rose to his feet as Severus joined him. "Hello. I guess everything worked out, then. Stanton's not an ass anymore?"

Seeing the hungry look in Harry's eyes, Severus swallowed hard and tried to answer. "Stanton is still an ass. However, he no longer has a donkey head and tail. I suppose it's an improvement."

Harry's laughter spilled over his thirsty heart like cool spring water. "God, I'm so glad you're here. You won't believe how much I missed you." All the laughter abruptly died in Harry's expression. Potter's words broke off. For a moment, Harry stared past Severus' shoulder, with an almost hurt expression on his face.

Confused, Severus followed Harry's stare to where Ron was still kissing a giggling Hermione near the door. "What is it?"

"I know it's just the way the world is, but I always envy them that freedom," Harry whispered. "I want to kiss you so bad it hurts." His gaze dropping to the floor, Harry assured, "Don't worry. I won't embarrass you. It's just hard, you know?"

He didn't know. There had never been anyone in his life to offer that kind of temptation before Harry, but now that Harry was here . . . . His thoughts suddenly flashed back to yesterday morning, to Harry's unmistakable pain as he'd told him how his last lover had refused to be open with even Hermione and Ron about the nature of their relationship. That had hurt Harry so deeply.

Unable to credit the thought he was considering, Severus studied his lover's down bent head. He hated the near-defeat there. The knowledge that it was totally within his power to change that weighed heavily on his conscience. But to do so, he would have to . . . have to what? Hermione, Ron, Blaise Zabini, and Neville Longbottom all already knew about their relationship. For all he knew, so did Hagrid. And even if Hagrid wasn't aware of what was between him and Potter, the giant had been one of Harry's closest friends for over fifteen years now. Although Hagrid was discrete by no one's standards, Severus knew he would never do anything to intentionally hurt Potter – or him for that matter. Even when he'd been at his most unpopular and mistrusted in the past, Hagrid had never been anything but friendly and respectful towards him. Surely, that wouldn't change simply because Harry had taken him as a lover?

He spent a long moment weighing his fears against Harry's pain. In the end, he bowed to the more important power.

"Harry?" he softly called.

Harry looked up at him, everything he was feeling clear in the eyes behind his round silver glasses.

Severus took a certain perverse delight in watching those eyes snap wide open as he lowered his head towards Harry's mouth. Almost petrified inside, he frantically prayed he'd made the right decision, that this would go right and not turn into another humiliating fiasco.

Somehow, his nose managed not to bang itself into Harry. Their heads tilted exactly the right way. Severus' hands gripped Harry's shoulders as he bent far enough down for their mouths to meet, and meet they did. He could feel Potter's visceral shock as their lips first touched, but then Harry's entire body seemed to melt into his, his mouth opened, and Severus found himself drowning in the chocolate flavoured depths. Apparently, Harry had been satisfying his sweet tooth with his favourite chocolate cake before he'd arrived.

He knew this was one of the most irrational, reckless, potentially disastrous things he'd ever done, but he also knew it was the only decision possible. This was a pain he could ease, and, from the way Harry was turning to butter in his arms, his foolhardy gesture seemed to be fulfilling its intended goal. So, Severus did his best to cease worrying and kiss. What would come, would come. He'd find out the cost of his impetuosity as soon as they parted. If they parted. It felt as though they might stay melded together in the kiss forever.

Finally, his stunned-looking lover gently disengaged. Harry's hand stroked his bound hair even as Potter pulled away, as though Harry were feeling the same irresistible pull to mesh that he was.

Harry just stared at him, seeming beyond words. But his face was shining with a joy that told Severus that no matter what disaster might befall them because of his rash action, Harry wasn't angry with him. To the contrary, Potter looked as though he were glowing.

Although he was aware of the intensity and quality of the absolute silence raging behind them, Severus knew that he would never regret following through on that impulse, not if it put that light in Harry's eyes.

"Is it hot in here or is it just me?" Blaise Zabini's sardonic question shattered the quiet.

Dread turned his muscles to stone as the possible consequences of his action became real to him. He was preternaturally aware of Harry stepping closer to him and their sides brushing as they looked back into the room.

Ron had his arm around Hermione's shoulders. They were watching them, like everyone else in the room. The Weasleys both had incredibly sappy, parental grins on their faces.

Severus looked to the couch. Both Hagrid and Longbottom were blushing furiously. Longbottom gave him a strangely shy smile.

When he met Hagrid's gaze, this man who had known him since he was eleven grinned and said, "I never would've thought it, sir, but you look like you fit together. Best of luck to you both."

"Thank you, Rubius," Severus softly replied.

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry echoed.

His gaze moved to the only other occupant of the room, the most dangerous. Severus was Slytherin himself. He knew how destructive his kind could be when they set their minds to it, and Zabini had no reason to be pleased with their relationship. Beyond being Harry's ex-lover, it was Zabini who'd found Harry after his temper tantrum Friday night had flung Potter bleeding and naked into the corridor. Zabini had no cause to love him or support him.

But Zabini didn't appear to disapprove of what he'd done. He didn't even seem angry. The handsome Slytherin's gaze was focused solely on Harry as he asked, "This is what you want, ey?"

He could almost feel the tension in his lover's body as Harry answered with a simple, "Yes."

"Then go for it, my friend. Only, do us a favour and get a room, all right? Some of us have overactive libidos and papers to grade." Zabini grinned at Potter, and then his dark gaze moved on to him. To his astonishment, Zabini gave him a mischievous wink and then returned his attention to the test papers in his lap as the rest of the room erupted into laughter at his comment.

Severus nearly sagged in relief. A part of him couldn't believe that disaster hadn't struck.

Harry's hand settled on his back. As the Weasleys started to speak to each other in undertones and Hagrid asked poor Longbottom another question about the meaning of a student's answer, Severus looked back at Harry.

"We appear to have survived that unscathed," he whispered.

Harry grinned, his gaze nearly incandescent as he replied, "Speak for yourself. I'm still reeling. I never thought . . . well, you surprised me. Really surprised me."

Despite the tightness in his stomach, surprising him seemed to be a good thing, were Harry's grin anything to go by. "I'm not a coward, Harry. I'm merely . . . reticent when uncertain."

"And you're not uncertain now?" Harry whispered, his hope clear.

He didn't know how to answer. His gaze dropped to Harry's royal blue robes, which were the same colour as Harry's duvet. He was beginning to suspect that shade of blue was his lover's favourite colour.

"Severus?" Harry gently prompted.

Collecting himself, he met that waiting gaze. "I know what you want to hear, but . . . I don't know if I'll ever be certain."

"Yet you acted." Somehow, it was a question.

"You were hurting," he whispered back.

"And that was more important to you than self-protection." He could see how touched Harry was.

"So it seems," he replied, trembling deep inside as he gave this man a power over him he'd given no other.

But Harry didn't exalt in his victory, although Severus could tell by the emotion in his eyes that Harry fully understood what he was feeling. Potter just reached out and gave his arm a squeeze.

"Here, have some tea and nut bread," Harry said, guiding him to the seat next to the one Harry had vacated at the table.

While he buttered his bread, Harry prepared his tea. Hermione and Ron joined them at the table a few moments later.

As they took seats beside them, Severus held his breath, waiting for some type of comment on what he'd done. But aside from squeezing his shoulder as she passed, neither Hermione nor Ron behaved as if he'd done anything out of the ordinary. As the pair sat down and started sorting out cups, sweets, and tea, Severus began to realize that nothing untoward had occurred in their eyes.

"I had some interesting news from Minerva today," Hermione mentioned between munches on her cinnamon roll.

"Whas' that?" Ron asked around a disgustingly visible mouthful of custard pie.

"Miller's turned in his resignation. He won't be returning next September. Minerva's going to announce it at the staff meeting tomorrow afternoon," Hermione said.

"No way!" Ron grinned.

"Way," Hermione insisted. "Minerva asked me to let you all know so that you can suggest candidates for the Charms position."

Ron and Hermione both stared expectantly at Harry, who dropped his gaze to the table. Although no one looked his way, Severus knew all three of his companions were very conscious of him at the moment.

He didn't have to practice his Legilimens skills to know what they were thinking. Every time an opening had come up at Hogwarts in the last three years, Harry had doggedly recommended Remus Lupin for the position. And just as doggedly, Severus himself had argued against it. It was the only argument he consistently won, mostly because Minerva was unwilling to risk another scandalous revelation.

In retrospect, those were really the only occasions that Potter and he had been angry at each other recently. At most staff meetings prior to their being turned into children, Ron and he argued, while Potter maintained an almost amused air with them both. The subject of Remus Lupin's employment was the only subject that left Harry and him shouting furiously at each other these days.

Severus tensed, waiting for someone to mention Lupin, but as the silence stretched, it became obvious that no one was going to broach the topic. Hating this type of hypocrisy, he addressed the subject himself.

"I expect you will be recommending the werewolf again." He tried not to sneer the question, but even he could hear the vitriol dripping in his voice. The moment the words were out, it was like a door slammed shut between him and Harry.

Harry flinched as though he'd struck him, and then those eyes that had been so happy mere minutes ago speared him as Harry quietly asked, "What would be the point?" Harry looked as though he wanted to say more, but he snapped his mouth shut and gave a tight, "Excuse me a moment," before rising to his feet and hurrying to the loo.

The silence after Harry left was deafening.

Hermione's sigh spoke volumes.

Severus shot a glare her way, ready to snap her head off, but the open disappointment in her eyes all but toppled him. Ron was white-lipped beside her with the effort it was taking to hold back whatever he was feeling. He wasn't expecting their disapproval to hit him as hard as it did, but looking at them made him feel almost nauseous. Gathering his nerve about him, he hissed, "Just say it."

"Like Harry said – what's the point?" Ron answered, his fury palpable. "Excuse me."

Without another word, Ron got up and went over to sit on the floor near Blaise. As Ron settled against the wall near him, Zabini looked over and said something that made Ron smile. As the two fell into conversation, Severus turned to his remaining companion and demanded, "Aren't you going to leave too?"

"No," Hermione shot back just as snarkily. "Stop pushing, Severus. You're hurting us for no reason. We all know how you feel on this issue."

"And, of course, I am in the wrong, even though the events that generated my opinion happened years before any of you were born." Sarcasm was always his last refuge, but tonight even that old faithful seemed to fail him under Hermione's hurt expression.

"No one said you were in the wrong," Hermione replied, sounding weary. "I know Harry's dad and his friends were cruel to you."

He wondered how much she actually did know. If Potter had ever revealed what he'd learned in the pensive during his Occlumancy lessons in fifth year, no one had let on. Severus remembered how he'd been braced for taunting after Potter's betrayal of his trust, but there had been no ramifications beyond the anger Harry's act had raised between them.

"If I'm not in the wrong, then what is the issue?" he asked, genuinely at a loss.

"Cruelty is never right, Severus," she answered.

"How does my reluctance to work with a werewolf that once tried to kill me translate to cruelty?"

"You know better than anyone that your Wolfbane Potion has removed the danger of working with a werewolf," Hermione said.

"I am not speaking of danger. Lupin tried to rip me to pieces. You don't forget a thing like that," Severus argued.

"Like I said, cruelty is never right," she repeated, her eyes seeming to dig straight into his soul.

"How is it cruel?"

"Remus hasn't been able to obtain a job of any kind since you disclosed his nature," Hermione said.

"That's regrettable, but hardly unexpected. Who in their right mind would want to work with a werewolf?" he questioned. "I am not responsible for his nature."

"But you are responsible for the Wizarding World knowing about it."

"So what if I am? I told no lies. Everything I said was the truth," Severus argued.

"Perhaps what you said was true, but you didn't reveal Remus' secret for the good of the Wizarding World. You did it out of anger."

"What difference does it make why I did it? What I said was still true," he insisted.

"Perhaps," Hermione allowed. "But you did it to hurt Remus. He has spent the last thirteen years suffering because of your anger."

"That's not my concern," Severus said, unable to understand why she was being so difficult about this. "Neither Harry, Ron, nor you have lost any sleep over the fate of the Malfoys. How is this different? Lucius died because of your testimony."

"Remus was just trying to survive. He wasn't a killer like the Malfoys," she said. "He wasn't hurting anyone."

"That still doesn't make anything I said or did wrong. He is what he is. It's no concern of mine what hand fate has dealt him."

"I see," Hermione said with that icy tone that anyone associated with her learned to fear. "And what if everyone felt that way?"

"What if they did?" Severus snapped, losing patience with the whole stupid argument. You could never argue logic with Gryffindors.

"Where do you think you'd be if everyone believed as you do?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, although he knew.

"You know Hogwarts' Board of Governors was petitioned to remove you because of your former association with the Death Eaters. Neither Harry nor Arthur Weasley were particularly fond of you at that point in time, but they both moved heaven and earth to keep you at Hogwarts, even though absolutely everything the petitioners claimed was true about you. Had Harry and Arthur believed as you do, you would be in Remus Lupin's shoes at this very moment," Hermione said.

Even though nothing she said was news to him, his blood turned to ice at the matter of fact tone of her pronouncement.

"Are you calling the marker due for that debt?" he hoarsely whispered, unable to believe how terribly the night had degenerated in the last fifteen minutes.

To his astonishment, the anger left her eyes. She reached over and took hold of his rock hard forearm and said, "Severus, there is no debt. Harry and Arthur did what they did because it was right."

"Then what are we arguing about?" he questioned, at his wits end.

"You really don't get it, do you?" she asked, something uncomfortably close to pity in her eyes. When he didn't deny her words, Hermione softly said, "Harry is in love with you. Your behaviour seems to indicate that you feel the same towards him."

He stared down at the half-eaten nut bread on his plate and whispered, "You know I do."

"Love isn't just about accepting the person you're involved with, it's about accepting the people in their life as well. When I married Ron, I didn't just marry him, I married his entire family. Whether you like it or not, Remus is family to Harry."

He frowned down at his plate. "But I haven't married Harry. You know that's not possible in our situation."

"Perhaps not, but everything both you and Harry have said to me leads me to believe that you're both interested in something more lasting than a brief affair."

Though everything inside him rebelled at being open about his feelings, Hermione had encouraged his interest in Harry from the start. He owed her the truth. So, he looked up, met her gaze, and admitted, "I want as long as he'll give me."

"How long do you think a relationship can last where one partner is actively cruel to a member of his lover's family? Remus is the only person who knew Harry's parents well who is still in his life. He's been like an uncle to Harry since Sirius died. Hurting Remus is like hurting Ron or me to Harry."

"So what Lupin did to me is once again considered irrelevant? The man tried to kill me," Severus reminded, all the old outrage over that ancient cover-up burning through him.

Hermione squeezed the arm she was still holding onto.

He looked down at her pale hand against his dark robes, grateful even when angry at her that she was one of the few people who didn't mind physical contact with him.

"It matters, Severus. That was a terrible trauma and it should never have happened," she astounded him by saying.

"But?" he prodded, hearing something unspoken behind the assurance.

"But hatred has to stop somewhere. Remus was not in his right mind when that event occurred. He was used as a weapon by someone he trusted. What happened that day scarred him as much as it did you."

Severus looked away. He knew that. Afterwards, Lupin hadn't even remembered the attack. When he'd learned of the close call, Remus had been as horrified by what Black had done as James Potter had been.

But Lupin's lack of responsibility still didn't change what had happened or in any way diminish the risks involved with hiring a werewolf. His objections were still legitimate, no matter how guilty Hermione's observations made him feel.

Focusing on the one portion of Hermione's words that actively worried him, he asked in a low voice, "The morality of the issue aside, are you suggesting that Harry's feelings for me would . . . change because of this?"

Hermione's sigh told him that he was still missing the point. "I really couldn't say. I suppose it would depend on how vindictive you are about it. Harry knew your feelings on Lupin before you became close, so I doubt if he would hold it against you. But if you taunt him with werewolf snipes, you will hurt him more than your attitude already hurts him. Is that what you want to do, Severus?"

Abruptly understanding, he sucked in a breath, feeling as though she'd just punched him in the gut. Stricken, he looked into her troubled eyes, searching for a reply, but before he could get his thoughts together, someone gave his shoulder a pat from behind.

A second later, Harry slid back into the chair he'd vacated.

"So," Harry said with renewed cheer, sounding as though their disagreement had never happened – clearly, he hadn't been eavesdropping; Hermione had been speaking low enough that it shouldn't have travelled any further than where he was sitting, "tell me how you talked Fletcher into relenting."

"Severus was brilliant," Hermione stunned him by letting the former topic drop as well. "Poppy told me how he threatened to bring Joan Holland in to see Fletcher."

"Oh?" Harry said, as though it hadn't been his idea.

Bewildered by the warm smile Harry gave him, Severus sat very still as Harry shifted into his usual sprawl in his chair. Potter didn't settle until he was leaning heavily against him.

His thoughts on the Lupin discussion, he allowed his companions' conversation to flow over him while he pondered Hermione's words. He remained tense for the remainder of the night, waiting for someone to revive the Lupin argument, but no one did. By the time the get together broke up, even Ron was himself again, clapping him on the shoulder and wishing him a normal goodnight.

As the others all dispersed in a noisy chorus of goodbyes, Severus stood still as stone outside the Weasleys' quarters, unsure what would happen now. It was their first real quarrel since they'd worked things out on Saturday night. Although Harry had been acting friendly while in the group, Severus was socially aware enough to know that Harry mightn't have wanted to air their dirty laundry by fighting in front of people. Harry mightn't want to spend tonight with him.

"'night, Hagrid," Harry called as the giant trailed the hapless Longbottom back towards his quarters. Once the last of them had left, Harry turned to him and said in a soft voice, "You've been very quiet tonight. Is everything all right?"

"Perhaps you should be the one to answer that," he stiffly replied, refusing to give in to his nerves and fiddle with the graded test papers he carried in his hands.

"What?"

"I'm told my comment on Lupin was cruel." As a guarded expression clouded Harry's previously relaxed features, Severus stiffly said, "I regret my lack of . . . courtesy. I fully understand if you wish to be alone tonight."

Harry's sigh sounded as weary as Hermione's had. "If we start sleeping apart every time we disagree on something, we're never going to be together. Come on, let's go home."

Almost dazed under the rush of relief, Severus felt a hand land on his back to guide him to the stairs down to the dungeon. Home was the Slytherin dungeons to Harry?

As they passed beneath the sleeping portraits in the main stairwell, he peeked over at his companion. Harry's handsome face was tense. Everything he knew about the other man was telling him Potter was still upset.

Hating the silence, he walked with Harry to his quarters. The torches and hearth blazed to life without so much as a mumbled word from Potter.

Once inside, Harry headed straight to the bedroom. Severus paused in the sitting room long enough to place the completed schoolwork on his desk and then followed his lover inside.

Harry was in the loo. Apparently, his friend had done a quick strip, because Potter's clothes were in a messy heap on the chair in the corner. There was nothing unusual in that. It was just the silence that was new between them. Normally, Harry would have announced where he was headed.

Wishing he had Hermione's gift for peacemaking, Severus slowly disrobed. Not feeling comfortable enough to be naked while suffering the distance he'd created between them, he crossed to the dresser to pull out a nightshirt. He didn't want the nightclothes to make Harry think he was uninterested in sex, but by the same token, he wasn't comfortable enough to wait naked with this silence between them. After a moment's hesitation, he shouldered into the nightshirt.

When Harry eventually exited the bathroom, he was bundled in his black bathrobe. Although he knew that Harry was highly sensitive to the chill of the dungeons, Severus couldn't help but view the robe as yet another barrier between them.

His heart heavy, he took his own turn in the bathroom for his nightly ablutions. When he came out ten minutes later, the wall torches were down. The room was only lit by hearth fire – which was also perfectly normal.

Still, as Severus approached his own bed, he was unsure of his welcome.

Harry gave him a small smile and lifted the duvet. Relieved by the sight of his lover's naked flesh, Severus climbed in beside him. As he settled down onto the middle pillow, Harry turned to face him.

"I know who and what you are, Severus. It will be all right," Harry assured.

"Perhaps you could enlighten me as to your meaning?" he snapped, hearing a put down. His nerves were stretched too thin to take anything lightly.

"My meaning is that I know how different we are. I wasn't expecting this to be easy or perfect. We've both got to accept that there are going to be things we strongly disagree about. We can't let that change our feelings for each other. To be honest, I've been shocked by how well we've been getting along these past few days. Something was bound to come up to rock the boat," Harry said in a philosophical tone, but beneath it, Severus could sense how upset he was, how much he was holding back.

"I don't want the boat to be rocked," he answered, petulant as a child.

"Neither do I," Harry said.

Severus breathed a sigh of relief as Harry leaned in to kiss him. When they came up for air a long time later, Severus stared into those slightly unfocused, dazed green eyes. Harry really did seem to be willing to put their disagreement in the past. Being Slytherin, it astounded him that his lover wasn't attempting to change his mind or influence him with sex.

Harry seemed to notice something strange in his reaction, for he asked, "What is it? You look . . . I don't know . . . surprised."

"I suppose I was expecting you to ask me to agree to hiring Lupin as a favour to you," Severus reluctantly admitted. "It's what a Slytherin would do."

"Is that what I can expect from you?" Harry asked. He didn't appear too bothered by the prospect.

He looked away, met Harry's gaze again, and gave him the truth, "Probably."

"Thanks for the warning," Harry said with a confusingly playful smile as he reached out to tweak the clasp out of his hair.

As his hair cascaded down around his shoulders, Severus attempted to concentrate on the topic. "Well, aren't you going to ask me?"

His face becoming suddenly serious, Harry reached out to cup his cheek. "I know what my father and his friends did to you, how they treated you. Any reminder of that time's got to be painful. I'm not going to ask you to do something you hate for me. Hogwarts is your home. I don't want you to feel miserable or unhappy here."

Harry meant the words. Gulping around a sudden tightness in his throat, Severus looked away for a moment. When he thought he was in control, he turned back and said, "But you still want Minerva to hire Lupin for the Charms position."

"I'm not going to lie to you. It would make my life a lot simpler if my best friend and honorary uncle could be civil to each other, but I'm not a child. I know everything can't be the way I want it. It's just . . . Remus has spent the last nine years in hell, knocking around Sirius' house with nothing to do."

"You made him the caretaker, didn't you?" Severus checked his sketchy information. He saw Lupin three nights a month to deliver his Wolfbane Potion, but they never spoke beyond the most basic of acknowledgements. He knew Black had left everything he owned to Potter and that Lupin had been living in Black's family home since the war ended, but that was about all he knew. Harry went to see Lupin several times a month, but they never discussed his visits.

"It was the only way he'd accept assistance, but . . . there's nothing for him to do there. He puts on a good face, but I know how hard it is on him. I just . . . I know that one day when I go over there for my weekly visit, I'm going to find him with a silver bullet through his head." Though he could see how hard Harry was working to say that last part lightly, he could feel his lover's horror, how real a worry this was to him.

Severus tried to tell himself that it was none of his concern what happened to the damn werewolf, but the idea of Harry coming upon such a grisly suicide scene chilled his blood.

"But enough of that," Harry said, wrapping his arms around him. The scent and warmth that was Harry filled him, lulling his jagged nerves.

Severus allowed himself to be kissed, even though his mind was still on their conversation. Troubled more than he cared to admit by Harry's words, he pulled back to assist Harry in removing his nightshirt.

They settled back, facing each other, flesh against flesh, with their power seeping through each other's skin the same way their body heat did. Severus was amazed by how comforting he found that energy exchange. With a start, he realized that was part of what had discomforted him in their argument before. The minute they'd started to disagree, the energy conduit between them had closed off. Now that it was open again, Severus felt much more at ease.

Harry's mouth was as addictive as ever. It was no time before he lost himself completely in its sweet depths. Wanting more, Severus rolled onto his back and pulled Harry up on top of him.

As their tongues slid around between their mouths in an intimate dance, their genitals nestled with mind-blowing familiarity. The resulting power spike was nearly as overwhelming as the physical sensation. Harry rocked his hips, sending wave upon wave of pleasure crashing through them.

Still, it wasn't enough.

Hungry for that most perfect of connections, Severus parted his legs, letting Harry slip between his thighs.

To his surprise, Harry lifted his head up, pulling back from the kiss to stare down at him.

Severus shivered as Harry's finger played along his collarbone, but it was the unusually pensive expression in his lover's face that drew his attention. At a time like this, Harry shouldn't be thinking. Since the power exchange didn't break off again, he didn't think that anything was wrong, but it was clear Harry had something important on his mind.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his muscles tightening at the uncertainty in Harry's face.

"No, I just . . . ." Harry's cheeks warmed with colour. "You've been . . . incredibly accommodating these last few days. I was just wondering if you wanted to turn the tables?"

"Turn the tables?" he echoed, wondering if he sounded as idiotically blank as he felt.

"You know," Harry prompted, scarlet as his House colour now, "do you want to be on top tonight?"

"Oh," he looked away from that waiting gaze, feeling inexplicably trapped.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he was conscious of the fact that this was the first time a lover had offered him this gift, but he was too busy trying to find a way to gracefully decline to give the thought the attention it deserved.

"What is it?" Harry softly asked.

"This is . . . difficult," he found himself confessing to those patient eyes.

"What is?" Harry sounded totally bewildered.

"I . . . ." The words simply wouldn't come. All his life he'd been made to feel less than a man because of this need. How could he admit that he preferred to be buggered than to bugger out loud to the person he respected above all others?

"You . . . ?" Harry gently prompted.

Seeing nothing for it, Severus took a deep breath. Feeling his own cheeks heat to probably an even deeper hue than Potter's, he looked for the words. They still weren't there.

"Severus?" When he once again met Harry's gaze, Harry asked, "There's a reason the last few times have felt perfect, isn't there?" As if sensing his increased tension, Harry swiftly continued, "It was perfect because we both were doing what we prefer to do, weren't we?"

"You . . . ?"

Harry looked as though he were having a bit of trouble finding words himself. "It was always an issue with Julius and me. We both always wanted to be on top."

Julius. The bastard's name had been Julius. However, this was hardly the time for such details.

Confused by Harry's original offer in light of this disclosure, Severus found himself saying, "But you offered to allow me to . . . ."

"I'm not making the same mistakes again," Harry said. "What we've found together, it's about more than just who does what to whom. We don't really talk too much about . . . what we like in bed, but I wanted to make sure I was giving you what you needed."

Severus realized that he might as well just cut his tongue out when dealing with Harry, for the man robbed him of speech so often he might as well be mute. Finally finding words again, Severus hoarsely rasped out, "You give me what I need – you're the only one who ever has."

"You mightn't believe this, but the same is true here," Harry quietly offered.

Severus heard the truth in Harry's voice. And, if he hadn't heard it, Harry's forbearance on the werewolf issue tonight would have proven it to him. As it was, he was feeling too much to answer with words. So, he pulled Harry back down into another kiss and let touch work for him.

The influx of magical energy set his nerves reeling, but somehow he held on. Harry's hands and lips seemed to be all over him, caressing and kissing with near frantic ardour. Before long, he was a shuddering mass of boneless, tingling protoplasm. Harry appeared to be only slightly more together. His lover's breathing sounded like a bellows as Harry explored his by now familiar body.

He let out a desperate mewing sound as his knees were pushed up to his shoulders and his bottom bared to Harry's sight. He was all sweat and panting, desperate breaths as Harry's head once again lowered to perform that incredible licking at his anus. As it had last night, his nervous system short-circuited at the sensual assault. The magical power alone seeping out of Harry's wet tongue into his most sensitive orifice was enough to undo him, when combined with that slick tongue action, it left him a gibbering wreck. He couldn't think; he couldn't speak; he didn't even have enough sentience left to initiate touches of his own anymore. All he could do was feel and react, and react he did.

Were this anyone but Harry, the frantic whimpers emerging from his throat would have mortified him. But he was barely aware of them, or anything aside from that moving tongue.

Severus didn't even notice when Harry summoned the lubricant. His first awareness of it was when Harry's slippery fingers replaced that no doubt weary tongue and eased inside him. His moan as those clever voyagers made contact with his prostate filled the entire room. If he hadn't had silence wards on his chambers, the noise probably would have woken half of the Slytherin dorms.

Although he'd called Thomas Riddle 'master', he'd never known what it was to be truly owned until Harry Potter's cock had slid into him the other night. It was the same now. When Harry's snub nosed, wide cock pressed its way inside him, his body and soul ceded dominion to this irresistible conqueror. Every cell he owned was blasted apart and branded by the concentrated delight Harry's penetration inspired.

It was a deliciously long and slow entry. Every considerable inch of Harry filled and stretched him, and then . . . and then Harry began to move, slow at first, but faster by degree as the passion claimed the last of his lover's restraints.

Harry was groaning like a cow giving birth, deep, reverberating cries that trembled through both their tight-pressed bodies. The sounds Severus was making himself were somewhere between sobs and whimpers. This pleasure was just so intense it left him feeling unbearably naked and exposed.

Falling into that ancient rhythm, Harry moved faster and harder into him, until Harry was slamming home full force so hard that Severus found himself sliding up the bed until his head would bump the headboard. Harry's hands on his hips would immediately pull him back down to safety, but then the next thrust would send him slipping back up the bed in what was quite possibly the wildest, most feral sex of his life.

All too soon, Harry froze within him and he sensed, rather than felt, the spurts of hot liquid deep inside him. His own body was aware of it, though. He spouted like a geyser as soon as Harry let loose.

Senses reeling, this most intense of ecstasies seemed to go on forever.

At last, Harry gave a final groan and collapsed on top of him. Severus buried his face in the untidy mass of black hair at the crown of Harry's head and just breathed in his lover's sweet scent as his chambers spun around him.

He gave a gasp as Harry's now-deflated penis slipped clear of his somewhat sore anus. Manoeuvring his legs down until the dead weight that was Harry Potter was resting between his wide-spread, thoroughly shagged out thighs, Severus groaned in agony as every muscle in his lower back reminded him that he wasn't seventeen anymore.

Stars, they were going to kill each other if they kept this up! But what a way to go, he thought, unable to suppress an evil chuckle.

His partner's breathing told him that Harry was already sound asleep. Part of him felt that he should be offended, but he knew his lover's loss of consciousness was a testament to the quality of the love they'd just made.

Stunned by what they'd just shared, he stared down at Harry. He'd never met anyone like him.

Potter hadn't balked when he'd told him he preferred not to take the dominant role in bed, hadn't seemed to think any less of him at all for his preference. To the contrary, Harry had seemed pleased that their different needs complimented each other so well. There was no hint that Harry thought anything less of him for allowing himself to be buggered. To the contrary, Harry seemed to cherish him all the more for it. He couldn't believe any of this was real, let alone that it would last.

But the heavy weight of the sleeping man pressing down on him was undeniably real. As Severus gazed down at his lover, he knew he'd never feel this much for anyone again in his life. He'd never thought himself capable of this depth of attachment. He loved Harry so damn much that it terrified him. There was nothing he wouldn't do to make this man happy.

Oh no, his conscience questioned, sounding remarkably like Hermione at the moment. His heart stinging, he recalled the pain in Harry's eyes as he spoke of his fears of finding Lupin dead by his own hand. While once it would have pleased him immensely to see all of the Marauders dead and gone, the part of him that loved Harry recoiled at the idea of anything inflicting that kind of pain on his lover. His selfish side couldn't help but wonder what type of impact Lupin's suicide would have on their relationship. Harry might be magnanimous enough of spirit to forgive his being cruel to Lupin while Lupin lived, but if the werewolf should be driven to such desperate straits as to take his own life, how could Harry possibly forgive the man who was almost solely responsible for the misery to which his old friend had been condemned after the public revelation of his nature? Harry was a great man, but he was no saint. Lupin's death was bound to taint their relationship.

And Severus would not stand for that to happen. Harry Potter was the only completely good thing that had happened to him in his life. No matter the cost, he would not jeopardize what he had with Harry. But he didn't know if he could pay this price.

Harry hadn't asked it of him. In fact, Harry had sworn he wouldn't. The Slytherin in him wondered if Potter's words were all a subtle plan to play on his guilt and make him change his mind. If it were, the plan was working perfectly. Only, his heart knew better. He or Zabini would engage in such an underhanded campaign, but not Harry. If Harry had really wanted him to change his mind, he would have asked him straight out. Harry had only been sharing his fears with him when he'd talked about Lupin's suicide, the same way Harry shared his thoughts about almost everything else.

It was a hard thing knowing that he was the only impediment to making Harry happy. Somehow, kissing Potter in front of a group of people seemed much easier than the moral dilemma with which he was currently wrestling.

If he relented and asked Minerva to hire Lupin, he knew she would. Minerva was no fool. Even in his admittedly prejudiced opinion, Lupin was one of the most competent professors Dumbledore had ever hired. Were it not for his cursed nature, any school would be lucky to get a teacher of Lupin's calibre. Severus couldn't deny that even his childhood nemesis would be an improvement over Miller.

Should he relent and ask Minerva to hire Remus Lupin, it would make Harry, Hermione, Ron, and everyone else immensely happy.

It would also mean facing the last of James Potter's thugs every day. Could he do it? He'd managed to coexist in Hogwarts with Lupin during Harry's third year, but it had been hard. The mere sight of Lupin at the teacher's table was like having salt rubbed into his humiliating history on a daily basis. Every time he brought Lupin that Wolfbane Potion, he'd find himself thrust back into all those old feelings as he remembered events he spent the better part of his time trying to forget. Just the thought of having Lupin here on a daily basis, interacting with him as he did the others, made his stomach churn.

No, he couldn't do it. Not even for Harry. It was too much to ask.

But Harry hadn't asked it of him, his conscious reminded.

Harry hadn't asked it. That was the bottom line. Until Harry did, it really wasn't his problem. Or so Severus tried to tell himself as his breathing slowed and the dungeon night closed in around him.

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