Title: In the Gloaming
Author: joanwilder aka RaeWhit
Team: Wartime so_teamwartime
Genres: Angst and Romance
Prompt: Draught of Living Death
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 40,200
A/N: Heartfelt gratitude to my beta and friend, jadzialove, as well as thanks to my teammates for encouragement along the way, especially meri_oddities, for the read-through, corrections and reassurance. And a special hug for all the mods—they're amazing folks, and all us Snarry shippers are fortunate to have such talented and devoted masters organizers.
Disclaimer: The Potter Universe is the sole property of J.K.Rowling, Bloomsbury and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros Inc. I make no money from writing fanfiction. It is my own private obsession.

Summary: Even in Wizardom, death is permanent…except when it's not.

In the Gloaming

To be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.
~~~George MacDonald

The crescent moon of late May hung high in the sky, its scant light shrouded by wispy clouds and a low-lying mist. He made his way along the edge of the trees, then stepped out into the open only when it became absolutely necessary. It was well past midnight; he gazed up toward the castle where the students, he hoped, were tucked snug in their beds.

Striding across the last expanse of open ground, he came to a stop in front of the tomb. It was the first time he had seen it, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, reliving the memories of that night. When he opened them again, he stared down at the inscription, and was suddenly overcome with a surge of familiarity and comfort that came from being on the grounds again, Hogwarts having been his haven for so many years.

He sensed rather than heard the movement behind him, but before he could react, he heard the hoarse, "Stupefy!" He was aware of the rustling of cloaks as he fell forward toward the white stone of the monument. Unable to slow his momentum, his eyes were open as his head struck the unforgiving marble. He literally saw stars, then blackness took him.

°°°°§§§§°°°°

His eyes were just beginning to focus, when he heard that same raucous voice utter, "Enervate." He could move now, but his first attempt to do so confirmed that he was bound, hand and foot, on the cot where he lay, his head and shoulders propped up by something scratchy. He could feel a warm trickle of fluid at his mouth. Blood, he surmised, given the throbbing in his temple.

Blinking several times, he focused on the figure standing at the end of the cot. He studied him for a moment, then stated simply, "Shacklebolt."

"Snape," the man said venomously. "I'm surprised. I told them you'd never be so foolish, but it appears I was wrong."

"You were wrong…." Snape licked his lips, pausing to buy himself time, trying to realign his muddled senses.

Shacklebolt made a harrumphing noise. "Returning to the scene of a crime on its anniversary. Didn't seem like something you'd do. I underestimated your ego, it seems."

"Ah. I've been found out," Snape replied dryly as he looked around at the squalor of the room. "So, it's time for the inquisitorial squad, I take it? By the way, I'm cold—may I point out you have a rather heavy cloak, and mine's been…mislaid."

The Auror eyed him suspiciously, then waved his wand as he muttered a warming spell. Leaning in over the cot, he almost snarled, "You'll be answering questions, yes. All of them, in fact."

Snape dissected the man with a piercing look, then the lines around his mouth relaxed. "I'll gladly answer, except those pertaining to one particular matter."

Shacklebolt's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You will?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically bewildered. He seemed to think better of his tone, then commanded authoritatively, "You will!" Standing up straight, he glared down at his prisoner, his hands on his hips.

Snape pursed his lips, relishing what was to come. "I'll answer your questions, Miss Granger, although I doubt your capacity to believe, but isn't it Mr. Potter who has the questions? Why not forgo the intermediary? It would make things so much easier, don't you think?"

When the Auror's hand went to his mouth with a gasp, Snape ploughed on, "Even Polyjuice requires that you supply the proper mannerisms, silly girl. And Kingsley would've never accommodated me with a warming spell." He smiled as he watched the shock spread on his face. "Now, I'm going to close my eyes and take a nap while you inform Mr. Potter that I've agreed to answer his questions, in person."

Through his half-lowered lids, he watched as Shacklebolt took several steps backward, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. Snape heard a low voice command, "Finite Incantatem," as a figure stepped out from the shadows of a corner of the room.

As the walls and furnishings seemed to reconfigure themselves, Harry Potter stood beside the bed, staring down at him. But Snape was looking around the room, and for the first time in the encounter felt a trace of fear. "Where are we?" he demanded, his eyes returning to rest on the man beside the bed.

Potter laughed without mirth. "I’m asking the questions, remember? I don't think you're in a position to demand anything," he commented. Snape heard something new in his voice, and decided it was confidence, perhaps a bit bitter and unwarranted, but confidence, nonetheless.

"You brought me to Grimmauld Place? Well, then, you'd better ask your questions quickly—this may soon be out of your hands entirely," Snape warned him.

Potter laughed. "Oh, I don't think so. Everyone's off somewhere for the weekend, so we won't be disturbed." He looked sideways at the mute Shacklebolt, then said more kindly, "It's all right, Hermione. We'll still get what we wanted." He pulled a chair over to the bed and straddled it, then addressed the still-bound man once again. "You're going to sing like a bird." He held up a small phial as he grinned, not nicely.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Veritaserum, and from my own stores, by the looks of the bottle. How resourceful of you all." He lowered his voice and skewered Potter with a dark look. "But before you begin, I have a question for you, Potter."

Potter looked surprised. "I'm asking the questions," he reminded him, bristling.

Snape shrugged. "I'm willing to answer, and without the Veritaserum, which, as you know, limits how expansive my answers will be. In other words, you risk losing valuable information if you do not know the correct questions to ask. I'm offering to eliminate this hurdle. Make your choice, but you'll answer one question for me first, and honestly. I will know if you've lied," he cautioned. He watched as Potter chewed his lower lip, then observed as something, almost imperceptibly, in the man seemed to waver.

"One question," Potter said warily, still biting his lip.

Snape intentionally let a moment pass, then strategically asked, his voice soft, "Why did you capture me?"

Potter immediately opened his mouth, but seemed to reconsider when he saw the look on Snape's face. Snape felt relief course through him, as he suddenly knew that he'd been correct. "Although I asked one question, I realize there may be more than one answer," he pointed out soberly, holding Potter's eyes.

"I wanted revenge for the headmaster's death," Potter said, almost savagely.

Snape nodded. "So I surmised; yet here I am, bound to a bed in Grimmauld Place, with nary an Auror in sight. And alive still." He paused, then added, "There's more. What are the other reasons?"

Potter swallowed visibly. "I want to know why you did it, when the headmaster swore he trusted you." Snape waited, his eyes glittering, until Potter spoke again. "I've spent the past year doing what he told me to do, and now…" His eyes slid from Snape's face to his still-bound hands.

"You've found all the Horcruxes, and have come to an impasse," Snape said neutrally.

The green eyes snapped back to his face. "You'd know I was looking for them. Dumbledore would've told you what he was up to," he accused.

"The truth, Potter. Again, why am I here?" he insisted.

"I'm at am impasse," Potter echoed his words. "I need information."

Snape waited, determined not to prod him further.

"Why didn't you kill me, Snape? You had a chance, but all you said was that I wouldn't be casting any Unforgivables. Why did you say that? What did you mean?"

The waiting continued, as Snape held his tongue. A staring match ensued, which Snape won when Potter finally blurted, "How can I kill Voldemort? I don't even know where to begin." With the words out, Potter looked away quickly, studying his white-knuckled hands on the top of the chair.

Time to strike the bargain, Snape thought. "You're asking for my help?" he queried softly.

"No! I mean…" Potter shook his head. "I'm asking for information, that's all. I don't need your help!"

"Oh, but I think you do, Potter. What else could've reduced to you such a foolish caper? To apprehend a Death Eater with the aid of two seventh-years?"

Potter lifted his eyes defiantly. "Wasn't so foolish, was it, Snape? You're the one who's lying here, wandless."

For the first time in the whole affair, Snape smiled, obviously not a welcome sight, given the look of distress on Potter's face. "Do you actually believe that I'd sink to something as foolish as revisiting the scene of my crime, as Mr. Shacklebolt," he snidely emphasized the name, "so aptly put it?" He watched the dismay grow on Potter's face, then delivered the final blow. "I allowed myself to be captured, Potter, because I'm ready and willing to offer my assistance," he said stiffly.

Potter barked out a laugh. "Oh, right. You're mental, you know."

Snape didn't give him any time to regroup. "Perhaps, but you've admitted that this is precisely why you snared me, something I've suspected you would try to do, and why else would you so easily have me here? Ask yourself that question, and answer honestly."

"Harry," 'Shacklebolt' warned from the foot of the bed, to which Potter raised an impatient hand, as he still stared at Snape, then seemed to take a minute to think.

"How would this work, if I were to consider it?" Potter challenged, then was quick to add, "Not saying I am, but hypothetically speaking. How could you help?"

Snape tried not to let the relief show in his voice. "First, release me. You've my wand, and I give you my word not to do anything wandless." He ignored the muttering from the figure at the end of the bed. "The rest of it can only be discussed between you and me. Granger and Weasley are out from this point on." The muttering had morphed to protestation, but Snape barreled on, "And we must relocate to a more secure location. No doubt you will have reservations about trusting me to this extent."

Harry laughed out loud. "Yeah, you've got that right—I'm not going anywhere with you. Why would you even think I'd be so stupid?"

"You have the Veritaserum, so use it. Ask me anything you like, regarding my trustworthiness so far as your safety is concerned. However," he warned, steel in his voice, "you must give me your word that you'll restrict your questions to this matter, and ask no other extraneous ones, especially those you might be tempted to ask to satisfy your curiosity over the headmaster and my 'arrangements.'" He summoned his most severe and forbidding demeanor. "That is my offer, take it or leave it, but give me your word, Potter."

He held Potter's eyes, unflinching, then watched as the man stood and led the counterfeit Auror from the room. His head fell back on the pillow as exhaustion swept through him, mingled with a cautious optimism for the first time in a year. He'd taken a terrible risk, had made his case, and now all he could do was wait for the verdict of two wizards and a witch, all three of them still green behind the ears.

Hearing the creak of the door, he opened his eyes and watched as Potter, Weasley and 'Shacklebolt' filed in silently. The Boy Who Lived retook his seat at the head of the bed.

"All right, we've agreed," he said, then shot a glance at his cohorts, "sort of. We'll use the Veritaserum." He stared at Snape for a moment, his eyes narrowed. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but at this point…" Snape heard the misery and desperation in his voice as he said to himself, "I really don't have any other choice."

"Give me your word, Potter."

This earned Snape a roll of Potter's eyes. "You have my word—only questions about your intentions, so far as I'm concerned." With a last glance at his friends, Potter unstoppered the bottle, then grimaced when Snape willingly opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. Snape noticed that the hand shook slightly.

He felt the burn of the drops, and pulled his tongue in quickly, not trusting the trembling Potter to stop at the prescribed dose. A wave of serenity spread through him, but he had the presence of mind to hope that Potter's integrity had survived his year of being left to his own devices. His distraction was abruptly ended by the words spoken close to his face.

"Did you allow yourself to be captured?"

"Yes," he answered thickly.

"Why?"

"I knew you needed help."

Potter looked stunned. "How could you know that?"

Irritated that Potter was deviating from the agreed upon script, Snape growled, "Potter," but then had no choice but to answer. "I've been monitoring your progress for months," he unwillingly confessed, then ground out, "Keep your word, Potter!"

The man's mouth hung open for a moment, then he shook his head, and muttered, "All right. You're willing to help me now?"

"Yes."

"You want to help me figure out the rest of it, then? How I'm to kill Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"You don't have any plans or tricks up your sleeve, to turn me over to him?"

"No."

"You're not truly a Death Eater, and you've been working to defeat him." Potter seemed to realize that this wasn't a question, so hastily added, "Is that true?"

"Yes."

Potter looked at his two friends and shrugged. 'Shacklebolt' stepped forward to murmur something in his friend's ear.

"Do you have any intentions at all to harm me? Is it really necessary that I go with you?"

"Yes, and yes, and I'll remind you to ask one question at a time, Potter." He glared at the man.

Looking slightly defiant, Potter asked, "Will I be held at this place against my will?"

"No."

"And nothing will be done to me against my will." Potter was learning. "Will it?"

"No."

"Will I be able to communicate with Ron and Hermione?"

"I don't know. Perhaps at some point. Secrecy will be of paramount importance."

"Where is this place?" 'Shacklebolt' blurted out, unable to contain himself.

"Potter," Snape growled, "it's Unplottable and protected by a Fidelius Charm, and if you continue, I swear that—"

Potter waved his hand in dismissal. "No, I'm finished." He stood and conducted a whispered conference with his friends, then turned to face the bed again. "Evanesco," he murmured, and Snape felt the bonds holding him melt away. He sat up awkwardly, massaging his sore wrists, then brought a hand up to his temple, wincing slightly as he fingered the blood-encrusted lump there.

He looked up to see the three staring at him, somewhat fearfully. Making a noise of disgust, Snape waved them toward the door. "Say your goodbyes, and Miss Granger, would you be so good as to pack Potter's necessities in a bag and leave them at the door? His owl as well, if she's here." He sat on the edge of the bed, casting a baleful eye on the two friends as he delivered a parting warning. "I'm warning both of you—do not speak a word of this. You will endanger both our lives if you do. I suggest you concoct a convincing cover story for Potter's absence. Miss Granger, I believe you're quite capable of coming up with something?" At her quick nod in reply, he flicked his hand toward the door once again. "Go. Mr. Potter and I have some things to discuss, but will be on our way shortly."

Snape observed as Potter walked with his friends to the door, then waited until the man was about to turn back to murmur, "Finite Incantatem."

He watched with satisfaction as Potter's eyes went wide, then feared he might faint when the color drained completely from his face. Standing, he held out a hand and guided him to a chair, then Albus Dumbledore said kindly, "Hello, Harry."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

"Harry?"

Harry heard the concerned voice call his name again, and was vaguely aware of the same voice casting an Imperturbable. He shook himself slightly, then rubbed at his eyes before looking up. The old wizard was still there, leaning down to peer at him over the top of his spectacles.

"You…you…" His voice shook as he tried to speak.

Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder compassionately. "I know. Quite a shock, and you've no doubt questions, but now isn't the—"

Harry shook the arm off his shoulder. "Questions? Questions! You're damned right I have questions! And for starters, how do I even know who you are? You could be a Death Eater for all I know," he bit out sharply. "I may be young, but I'm not stupid." He glared at the man, whose blue eyes were piercing and clear, but not twinkling, he noted.

"Ah." The man sank to the side of the bed, stroking his beard, studying Harry closely. "Well done, Harry. Well done." He squinted as he seemed to ponder, then asked, "Do you remember that little visit I paid to Privet Drive when I came to collect you for your sixth-year? The Dursleys were not very impressed with Madam Rosmerta's oak-matured mead, were they?" Harry's mouth fell slightly open, which must've been encouraging, for Dumbledore moved immediately to the next proof. "Do you remember what happened when you tried to Summon the Horcrux in the cave?"

Harry felt his world begin to tilt precariously, but the caution he'd learnt over the past year was proved by his slightly suspicious question, "What did you tell me happened to your hand?"

Dumbledore's expression saddened, but he smiled as he replied, "Alas, I never got around to telling you that story, Harry."

Harry's face crumpled, then he sat forward, his face in his hands. "How could you? How could you?" He sobbed unreservedly, vaguely aware that Dumbledore had moved to his side once again. He felt a hand smoothing his hair, and the headmaster's comforting, familiar voice.

"I know, Harry, I know. But the time for stories is almost at hand. Just a little while longer."

Some minutes passed, Harry becoming quieter as the headmaster waiting patiently, until Harry looked up at him blearily, then matter-of-factly accepted the handkerchief that Dumbledore held out to him. "So, I'm going with you, then? Well, at least you're not Snape," he said irritably as he stood to his feet. He trudged to the door, opened it a crack, then after a cautious look into the hallway, pulled in his pack and Hedwig in her cage.

As he held out his arm, the headmaster gave him an appraising look, then said serenely, "Oh, Professor Snape is waiting for us."

Harry let out a loud sigh. "Of course he is. Just perfect."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

They'd Apparated into what appeared to be a wilderness. The same moon hung above them, slightly relocated, but the sky here was star-studded and cloudless. Harry looked around him and saw only blackness, except for the lighting in the three-story structure in the garden in front of them.

"Where are we?" he asked as Dumbledore motioned him through the gate.

"The northern Highlands, Harry, about as far from London as one can be, and still be in the British Isles." He shut the gate behind them, then took Harry's arm and steered him up the path. "Nothing like the salt sea air and the smell of the moors to rejuvenate a soul," he confided, pulling a still slightly dazed Harry along as he walked.

Just at the doorstop, the headmaster turned to him and, although they were alone, he lowered his voice. "Harry, a word before we go in." Harry stopped short and looked up at his face. "You have every right to be angry… with me. Professor Snape was acting on my instructions, and although the two of you have always been at odds, now is the time to set your feelings aside and listen to the facts of what's occurred, and why. It's been a difficult year for both of you, I think you'll find. So, promise me that you'll listen to what we have to say before drawing any conclusions. That is all I ask."

Harry scrutinized the wizened old face in the moonlight, then shrugged. "All right, I'll listen."

Patting him on the arm, Dumbledore said approvingly, "Good."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Despite his disorientation, Harry registered the interior of the dwelling: high-vaulted ceiling, walls adorned with paintings, and a banistered loft that encircled the room from above. Two empty chairs were pulled up to a dying fire, a book lying face down on the cushion of one of them.

"Through here." Dumbledore's voice startled him. Harry followed down a short corridor into a kitchen, where he took a deep breath at just the sight of Snape sitting at a small wooden table. Three cups and a teapot stood ready, and Harry felt a surge of irritation; it was obvious they'd been confident of the evening's outcome.

"Well, well, Severus, here we are, safe and sound, and none the worse for wear." Dumbledore gingerly traced the wound at his temple.

Snape snorted. "You're fortunate that's all they did. I'd have thought I might've warranted more mistreatment."

"We didn't do that," Harry objected. "He fell when we stunned him." He glared at Snape. "And besides, you have no idea…no idea…" He fumbled with the words as he finally noticed Snape's physical state. He looks…terrible. "You…what have you…you don’t…."

Snape shot back at him, "What, Potter? Choking on your apology?" He held Harry's eye as he waved lazily at the teapot to start the pouring.

Harry was still flummoxed by Snape's appearance. Not any thinner, he supposed, but his cheeks were sunken in, accentuating the sharpness of his facial features; a scar, still red and angry, angled from behind an ear to just under his nose; but it was the dullness of his eyes that struck Harry most of all. It's been a difficult year for both of you, the headmaster had just told him. Then the meaning of Snape's words hit him full force.

"What? Apologize for what?" he demanded hotly.

"The final words out of your mouth, if you'll recall that last conversation," Snape told him just as intensely, his hand clenched on his cup.

Harry's mind raced. What did I say…what did I say…? "I told you to kill me," he said as he remembered how helpless he'd felt when he'd said it.

"You called me a coward!" Snape snapped at him.

"I…I …" Harry could hear his voice screaming it from across the months. But wait! Given what he'd known, he'd had every right to—

"Gentlemen." The edge in the headmaster's voice made the two of them look away from each other and focus their attention on the old man. He'd outstretched a hand to both of them, but his face was anything but grandfatherly.

"Severus, Harry's had a bit of a shock, as we discussed earlier. Perhaps we can postpone discussion of this misunderstanding?" Somehow, Harry knew this wasn't a suggestion, but a command.

"As for you, Harry, Severus has endured false accusation and exile willingly, not to mention Voldemort's displeasure. Your perception of his character will require some realignment, perhaps?" Again, no hint of mere suggestion in his voice.

There was a brief staring match between the chastised parties, and Harry was just about to acquiesce, when he remembered…who had just gently rebuked them both.

"Wait one damn minute!" he growled, pulling his arm out of Dumbledore's reach. "How could you? How could both of you? You let me believe you were dead! And you! I saw you kill him! How the fuck did you expect me to react?!"

The headmaster's hand shot out and pinned Harry's wrist to the table. Harry gasped as he realized that the hand was whole, since the last time he'd seen it… "Professor, your hand…it's…" He trailed off in wonder, then remembered that the man had promised him answers. He looked up from the hand, his eyes full of question.

Dumbledore did not release his hand, but squeezed it gently. "As I told you an hour ago, the time has come for you to hear the facts. Well, most of them." He released Harry's hand and flexed his fingers, admiring them as he wiggled them one by one. "A magical prosthesis, my boy. It serves its purpose—I can manage very well with it, but alas, there is no sensation." Harry stared at the fake hand, but for the life of him could not see any difference between it and the other.

"That's great, Professor, " Harry murmured, thinking to himself that this was at least a start. But there sure as hell better be more.

"The burning question, I believe, is my death, or should I say the fact that I'm alive." He glanced at Snape, then turned slightly in his chair. "If you think about it, Harry, I've no doubt you'll realize what a stroke of genius it was. Oh, we wouldn't have done it had there been any other way, I assure you. There are many details that I'll pass over for now. For instance, there was an Unbreakable Vow that Severus made."

"To protect Malfoy," Harry interjected, his bitterness apparent.

Snape's eyebrows lifted slightly. "You knew?" he asked, incredulous. "How could you know?" Harry felt a thrill, that he'd been able to put that expression on Snape's face.

"Severus." The headmaster stopped him with an upraised hand. "There'll be time enough for that later. For now, this is for Harry's instruction. Now, where was I? Ah yes, the benefits of my apparent death." He stopped and flicked a hand, then continued as the teapot made the rounds of their cups. "As you might've guessed, I was not well, given the considerable injury of my hand, a curse scar, in fact. Something of which we made certain Voldemort was well aware, the fact that I was ailing. While Severus was searching for a cure, you and I were moving along on our little journey through Tom Riddle's past, as I hoped to prepare you in the likelihood that you'd have to continue the quest on your own. A fortuitous decision, as it turned out."

He gave Snape a thoughtful look, then continued, "Severus and I both anticipated a scenario such as occurred on the Tower. That it happened on the very night you and I paid a visit to the cave was pure serendipity. From the time I saw the Dark Mark over the school, I knew how it would end. I suspected that young Mister Malfoy would fail in his quest, and I only needed to gently nudge Severus to follow through on what we'd discussed on numerous occasions. It was difficult for him, Harry."

"It didn't look like it," Harry muttered, almost shuddering as he remembered that night on the Tower.

"Oh, but it was—he knew he wasn't killing me, but he knew what his life was about to become," he disagreed. "It sealed his oath of fealty to Voldemort, in addition to sowing false seeds of security, with the belief that I am dead. Incidentally, it prevented Mister Malfoy from becoming a murderer."

"But I saw him, sir, the Killing Curse…and then when Hagrid and I found you…you were dead." Harry shook his head, staring at the evidence to the contrary sitting beside him.

"Yes, you heard the words, but it's not what he cast, Harry. Just a spell to send me over the parapet, then once at the bottom, I took the final step in our plan." He lowered his chin and looked at Harry from over the top of his spectacles.

"Draught of Living Death—enhanced and fortified by the best potions master Hogwarts has ever seen," Dumbledore said as he beamed at Snape.

Harry was incredulous. "Draught of Living Death? But the Ministry would've been able to detect it—surely they would've been able to tell," he protested feebly, his mind struggling to process the possibility.

The old man shook his head. "Not this formulation of it, and there was no need, as you witnessed the Unforgivable," he said gently, then added, "And Hagrid, I've always told everyone that I'd trust him with my life."

"Hagrid knew?" Harry asked, disbelieving, for some reason feeling even more betrayed.

Snape finally spoke, impatiently. "No, of course he didn't. But Albus told him long ago about his wishes for interment."

Dumbledore nodded. "And he followed them to perfection. He never left my body unattended, and had the Ministry tried to interfere, they'd have had a fight on their hands. But predictably, that was not necessary."

Harry looked wildly from one to the other, both of whom were almost gleeful in their account of the whole affair. "But you were entombed," he said numbly, thinking back over how he'd felt that day…that month…how everyone still felt, in fact.

"Only until midnight of the day after the funeral," Dumbledore told him. "Then Severus and Fawkes paid me a visit." He waved a hand wearily. "You'll hear all the details of it, I promise, but for tonight, I think you've had rather a bit much to take in?"

"Everyone mourned for you," Harry said softly, then shook his head. "When this is all over, they'll be so happy to have you back." He could just picture their faces.

"Another conversation for another time, Harry," the old man replied, somewhat sadly. "But for now, it's long past my bedtime, and yours. In the morning, I'll want to hear all about the Horcruxes. Then it will be time to begin."

"Begin?" Harry asked, for some reason suspecting the answer he didn't want to contemplate…just yet.

The headmaster nodded sagely. "You and Severus have work to do. Now, off to bed with you."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Harry lay in a room of the loft, just on the verge of sleep, exhausted by the adrenalin rush and shock of the past several hours. It boggled his mind, that he was tucked into a bed with Dumbledore and Snape still talking in the room beneath him. As he began to drift off, he felt strangely conflicted. He should've still been outraged, but the sound of the voices below, and knowing to whom they belonged, had him feeling safe and secure for the first time…in a year. It's so much to take in…so much still to know…so many more questions...and I was wrong…so…wrong.

°°°°§§§§°°°°

"Harry," Dumbledore admonished gently, "you posed these very questions last night, when you thought I was Professor Snape. I'm simply asking you to repeat them for his benefit."

"That was different, that was before I knew…." He gestured between Dumbledore and Snape. "…what you'd done."

"Ah." The headmaster sat back, stoking his chin thoughtfully. "So, what you now know has changed what you need?"

Harry sighed in exasperation. "No! No, that's not what I mean—you know it isn't," he accused. When neither man spoke, Harry became uncomfortable under their scrutiny. "All right. I need help. What do I do now? How do I even begin to think about what's next? We've spent the past year figuring out the Horcruxes, and now, even though I've been thinking about this all along, I don't know what to do. Just waiting for him to find me didn't seem like a good idea. So…."

I need all the help I can get…but oh god, from Snape? It seemed reasonable when the three of us thought this through…but now…sitting here across from him….

He paused, took a deep breath, and finally gave in. "I need help with the next part. What is it that I'm supposed to do? What's this power I have, because I haven't a clue. And when and how—I don't even know where to start. That's why I thought if we got Snape, he could answer some of those…." He felt the heat in his face as he finished. .

Snape's eyes dissected him. "You need my help," he said, his voice surprisingly free of the things that Harry expected to hear.

Harry held his eyes. "That was the plan, but now with the headmaster alive, I don't think I do," he said quietly.

He watched as the black eyes narrowed, then heard Dumbledore say, "Oh, believe me, Harry, you do. Severus and I have worked long and hard to arrive at a plan, and given that it is the two of you who will execute it, it only makes sense for him to be the one to assist you…train you, if you will."

"The two of us?" Harry asked suspiciously. "I thought the prophecy said that I'm the one."

The old man shook his head. "The prophecy only indicated that you have the power; it revealed nothing of how, or even with whom, you might wield it. Remember, you could choose to turn away altogether, but alas, I'm afraid that Voldemort will make certain that your paths cross."

Harry was still considering Snape's silence, then said to the headmaster, without looking at him, "The two of us how?"

The answer was immediate. "Power wedded to ability. Not that you are without ability, my boy, but I fear that we could never train you in time to stand on your own. No, you will need Severus' help, I'm convinced. Time is pressing, which you no doubt understand, as you were seeking Severus out."

"I've felt time pressing for the past year," Harry said slowly, his brain uncertain of how to react in the face of this information. "All I've done is work."

"You were not the only one," Snape finally spoke up, irritation in his tone.

"Really?" Harry shot back at him.

"I've continued my role as a Death Eater, Potter. Not an easy one, given circumstances of which you are so blissfully ignorant."

Harry swallowed hard, suddenly aware once again of the man's physical appearance and the scar that transected his face. He dropped his eyes, then looked up, relieved, at the headmaster's voice.

"Harry, what of the Horcruxes? I assume Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger assisted you?"

"Yeah, they did. Took us a year, but we found all four," he told him.

Dumbledore beamed. "Well done! The locket and the cup?" he asked eagerly.

Harry nodded. "As well as the Ravenclaw brooch that the Gray Lady had. The last one was the hardest. It took us almost six months to track it down. It was Hermione, really. Turned out it was a rosary, a relic that belonged to St. Godric. Found it at Finchale Priory in Durham, under a sacrarium. I knew it was there the minute I saw that—it reminded me of the stone basin in the cave—you remember, Professor?"

"Hmm, yes, how could I forget?" he murmured, then brightened. "I’m impressed that the three of you managed to destroy them on your own." He held up his prosthetic hand. "A testimony to my own difficulty."

Harry's eyes widened, then he started guiltily. "Er, we didn't. I mean…we didn't destroy them. That's part of what I needed help with," he explained, casting a pointed glance at the headmaster's new hand.

Dumbledore leant back with a knowing look, but Snape sat straight up in his chair as he slammed his cup down so forcefully that tea sloshed up over the edges.

"Potter," he growled. "Am I to understand that—"

The headmaster held up a hand. "Where are they, Harry?" he asked with a worried frown.

"They're safe! Give me some credit here. We had no idea how to even begin to—" He stopped at the thunderous look on Snape's face. "They're safe. I made sure of that," he finished defiantly.

"Harry, they can never be safe," Dumbledore cautioned.

"What have you done with them?" Snape asked in disgust.

When Harry hesitated, the headmaster gently reminded him, "We're on the same side here, Harry."

Letting out a pent-up breath, Harry said, "They're at Privet Drive. Hidden under the floor of my bedroom."

Snape stood and leant back against the sink. "Oh joy. Four pieces of the Dark Lord's soul lie exposed and unprotected amongst a gaggle of Muggles."

Harry gave him a murderous look. "Oh yeah? So where would you've put them, huh? I knew better than to try something I didn't have a clue about." He turned to the headmaster. "It made sense to me. I went on foot, and the only magic I ever used was to open the lock. It's my aunt's sewing room now, and they're hidden in the floor under a rug. And I've only been there the four times to put them there." He watched apprehensively as the old man considered this, then was startled by Snape's comment.

"Hmm, not the worst place they could be, Albus. Since Potter's come of age, the Dark Lord is aware that he no longer resides with his relatives. He'd have little reason to meddle with them."

Harry's mouth dropped open at this approbation from such an unlikely source.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Perhaps. But they'll have to be retrieved immediately. When are the Dursleys usually away, Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "I go on Tuesday or Thursday afternoons. Dudley doesn't live there anymore, and Aunt Petunia's garden club meets then. It's worked out well so far."

"Good. You'll go today, then. Severus will go along as well, I think."

Harry was about to object, then thought better of it. Instead he asked, "So…this training, when will it start?"

The headmaster gave him a smile. "It already has. You've just passed the night, asleep in an upstairs room, with the man you'd only hours before considered your sworn enemy sleeping just around the corner. Trust, Harry. That's the first lesson you must learn."

"Trust?" Harry asked uncertainly, eyeing the man still standing against the sink with his arms crossed in front of him. How can I ever trust you? You're a miserable berk who's made it your mission to make me just as miserable.

Dumbledore observed the fragile standoff, then prodded Harry gently, "Whom do you trust, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, then closed it abruptly. He looked from the headmaster, to Snape, and then back again. He shook his head.

Dumbledore made a small sound of agreement. "Neither of us, I'm afraid, and for good reason, to your credit. What of your friends?" he asked.

Harry thought for a moment, then confessed, "I suppose I trust Ron and Hermione…for some things. But not everything…like what I'm going to have to do. I don't want to see them get hurt."

"Just as I thought. You trust no one, Harry, but that must change now. You will have to learn to trust Severus. Not an easy task, but I've every confidence that you'll succeed."

Considering them both warily, Harry asked, "What about him?" He gestured towards Snape. "He doesn't trust me either," he scoffed, challenge in his eyes.

Snape studied him for a moment, then said with surprising neutrality, "On the contrary, Potter. I trust you more than you know. My mistrust of you was founded on the belief that you are incompetent. With what you've accomplished in the past year, I must admit that you've shown yourself to be quite the opposite." When Harry struggled for a suitable reply, Snape finished, "Your mistrust of me, however, is based on the assumption that I am evil—a bit more difficult to overcome. I'd say that the learning of trust will be largely a lesson of your own, if you're up to it."

Harry stared at him, his heart pounding as he thought about what the man had just said. It was true; up until the night before, he'd thought Snape the epitome of evil. Even now, knowing the truth, his experience of the man still left a bitter taste in his mouth. But…he looked at the two of them, watching him expectantly.

"All right. I can try," he told them both. "But I'm not convinced there's enough time for this." He looked uncomfortably at his feet. "Sounds like something that might take a while." I can't imagine what would ever make me trust you.

"We have time," Dumbledore assured him as he stood. "Severus will explain things as you go along. There is a plan, Harry, and I'm asking you to trust me just for this, as you once did. I have every confidence in the both of you." With a pat to Severus' shoulder, the headmaster turned and left the room.

"So, what do I do now?" Harry asked, satisfied that he was the first to lay down the gauntlet.

Snape turned to go, but said over his shoulder, "Dishes."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Harry and Snape stood just outside the door of the Highlands hideaway. The old man hadn't been exaggerating—they were in the middle of nowhere. Not another soul or building in sight, as far as the eye could see. Harry turned to Snape.

"Look, I usually Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, then take busses. It'll take us about an—"

"Not this time. We'll Apparate directly into the house. In and out. It will be your final excursion there, in any case." Before Harry could say another word, Snape sighed heavily and said, "Oh for pity's sake, Potter. You do know how to Side-Along someone. Give me your arm."

When Harry held out his forearm tentatively, Snape took hold and pulled him closer. "Concentrate—I've no desire to be splinched." When Harry hesitated, Snape almost hissed at him, "Now!"

They Apparated to just inside the Dursleys' front door. Harry held up a hand to signal Snape for silence; they stood there, unmoving, for at least a minute, until Harry said softly, "All right. Coast is clear." Without another word, he treaded stealthily up the stairs, and could sense but not hear Snape, following close behind him.

When they reached the doorway to his former room, Harry thought to himself that he was glad that his uncle had removed the exterior locks…not something he'd like to explain…. "Give me a hand with the rug," he instructed, and waited while Snape positioned himself on the other end, then the two of them rolled it back from the wall, until Harry sat back on his heels, saying, "That's it."

He pulled a small folding knife from his pocket, then worked it delicately into the slit between two indistinguishable floor boards, until one of them lifted slightly. He used his fingers to pry it the rest of the way, then heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of the plain brown sack crammed into the hollow of the floor. Pulling it out carefully, he undid the string at the top, peered down in at its contents, then retied it before looking up. Snape stood waiting, glancing from Harry to the door and back again. Harry realized that the man was on high alert, despite the fact that the house was empty. For some inexplicable reason, Harry felt suddenly grateful that Snape had come along.

When they'd replaced the rug, Harry shrugged, shifting the sack in his arm. "Let's go, then."

Snape, who'd been visually inspecting the room, swiveled his gaze back to Harry's face. Looking towards the bedroom door, he glanced back at Harry, then pursed his lips. "What time is your aunt due back?" he asked.

Harry frowned. "About half-past four. Why?"

Snape took a step towards the door as he said, "That's almost two hours. Come. I'd like to have a look around."

"Look around? Here? Why?" he asked, perplexed. But Snape was already on the stairs, so Harry had no choice but to follow.

He stood and watched from the hall as Snape examined the sitting room—picking up photos, fingering the drapes, bending down to inspect the telly. When he saw him go around the corner into the dining room, Harry sighed in resignation, and took the corridor to meet him in the kitchen. He'd just rounded the bend in the room, and almost ploughed straight into the man, who only raised an eyebrow.

"It's rather small for four people, isn't it?" Snape asked as his eyes traveled over the kitchen. When he stepped to look out the window at the back garden, Harry decided to answer. Anything to get us out of here.

"It was fine. Four bedrooms for four people is actually rather roomy," he replied, thinking of the Weasley Burrow.

Snape turned back to stare at him, then took his time to run a hand along the countertop; without commenting he stepped around Harry into the hall. When Harry saw where he stopped, however, he felt a growing dread in his heart, which was validated when Snape said sotto voce, without turning to look at him, "Very roomy, considering one of those four spent his nights in a cupboard." Now he did turn to look at Harry, a question in his eyes.

Harry didn't know how he knew, but he wasn't about to have Snape feeling sorry for him, as ludicrous a possibility as it was. "The room we were in upstairs was my bedroom," he countered, alarmed by the look of impatience on Snape's face.

"Ah. The one where the padlocks have been removed from the door? That room?" Snape asked, leaning against the wall opposite the cupboard under the stairs.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. How…? Strengthening his resolve to act maturely, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched against the wall. "All right. So you know. So why're you even bringing it up? I survived, I'm over it, no one's business but my own." Especially yours, he held himself back from saying.

"But it is my business now," Snape surprised him by saying. "Here beginneth the lesson, Potter, so pay attention. Albus has told me everything. Do you understand? Everything. Because," he said slowly, stepping away from the wall to stand directly in front of Harry, only an arm's length away, "with knowledge comes understanding. And if I'm ever to succeed in teaching you to trust me, I must first understand you."

Harry pondered this for a moment, then conceded, "All right, then. But he should've asked me first." He found he had to look away from the intensity of the other man's eyes. I've never seen him look at me like this before. "I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me," he muttered.

"Potter, have you ever known me to have a sympathetic bone in my body?" Snape asked him.

Sliding his eyes back to look at him, Harry shook his head, wordless, mystified by the lack of rancor in the man's voice.

The black eyes seemed satisfied. "Well then, there'll be no pity from me, you can count on it."

Harry wondered then if the issue of trust would really be a two-way street. "Your childhood wasn't any bed of roses either, from what I've heard," he risked. He was rewarded by a spark in those eyes, then a small twitch at the side of a lip.

"Pity, Potter?"

Harry gave him the slightest of begrudging smiles then. "No, sir, not a trace of it."

Snape scrutinized him for a moment, then took a step closer, so close that Harry could feel the breath of the man as he said, "Hold on tight."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

By the beginning of the second week, Harry had become resigned to the fact that the timetable of future events was beyond his influence. At first he'd chafed at the quotidian activities…sharing the cooking tasks with a mostly taciturn Snape, reading alone in the loft study, lengthy afternoon discussions with the headmaster, and a game of chess with him in the evenings. Snape was there every day, but Harry noticed that he often was not there at breakfast in the mornings. Not that I really want to know where he is…or what he's up to.

He was mildly surprised, then, to find Snape in the kitchen the next morning, dishing scrambles onto three plates, listening to an animated Dumbledore.

Sliding into a chair, Harry slipped a, "Good morning, Professor," into a break in the conversation, then when they both paused to look at him, he looked from one to the other, swallowed, then amended, "Both of you, I mean."

Dumbledore only smiled, while Snape gave him a curt nod, then said, "We begin today, Potter."

After breakfast, and a direction from Snape to "wear old clothing," the two of them set off around to the back of the house, and headed in the direction of a lower-lying copse of trees. Snape explained as they walked.

"I've been entrusted with the care of Albus' extended family. It's a daily chore, one I'm quite willing to share with you—many hands make light work," he commented dryly as they cleared the tree and the outbuilding came into view

Harry slowed as he asked, "What is that? It looks like…" He frowned as he came to a halt.

Snape turned back to look at him, then waved him forward. "A stable. That's precisely what it is."

Mystified, Harry followed as he murmured, "The headmaster has horses?"

Snape nodded as the reached the exterior Dutch door. "Two—he's always had a passion for them, and now has no reason to deny himself. So…" He stood to the side and jerked his head for Harry to enter. "Merry and Pippin." He watched as Harry walked down the center aisle, stopping at the far end where the stalls were occupied.

"They're beautiful," Harry breathed as he moved from one stall to another. "A dapple mare and a bay gelding—they look like they're in terrific shape." He looked down the aisle to where Snape still stood, watching him. "Who rides them?"

Snape paced his way down the aisle, then came to a stop and stuck a hand over the top of the stall to rub the muzzle of the dapple, who responded by pushing her head against the slats. "Mostly myself. Albus does, from time to time." He stood in silence for a moment, and Harry watched the incongruous sight, Snape so obviously fond of an animal.

Pulling his hand away, Snape turned to him. "You seem to know something about horses—you're correct, a dapple and a bay."

Harry stuck a hand tentatively through the slats to stroke the cheek of the gelding. "Nah, I don't really. I've done some sketches of horses—they're such great subjects to draw, but I've never really been around any." He glanced at Snape. "So, how're they part of the training?"

Snape tossed him a broad flat shovel. "Physical conditioning, for starters. The stalls must be mucked out daily, the horses fed and watered, and at least every other day, they require exercising."

"I don't know how to ride," Harry admitted, a little sorrowfully, following Snape into the mare's stall. "But I've always wanted to learn."

Gesturing for Harry to begin in the opposite corner, Snape informed him as they began to work, "So you shall."

Harry felt a thrill of anticipation, an emotion he'd not felt in a long while, and for now, set off happily to work, momentarily forgetting who worked alongside him. It felt good, in fact, to tax the muscles of his arms and back, stressing himself to the point that he actually broke into a sweat. His preoccupation of the past year had been primarily cerebral, and he was soon appreciating his need for 'physical conditioning'.

After they'd finished cleaning the stalls, Snape led the horses into the aisle and tethered them to the wall rings. Tossing Harry a curry comb, he instructed tersely, "Watch and learn."

Harry observed closely as Snape brushed the dapple from cheek to shoulder, then withers to thigh. Taking up his own comb, he started in on the gelding, using long, sure strokes just as Snape had, murmuring calming words to the animal as he brushed. It was a soothing activity, running his free hand along the coarse hair, feeling the heat and smelling the scent of the horse as he worked.

He glanced up and caught Snape watching. "Am I doing it right?"

Snape nodded. "You've got it down. Talking to the horse…very good, Potter."

Wow, this has to be the first time he's ever told me I've done something right. Keeping his eye trained on the bay, Harry said what had been on his mind for days. "I'm relieved we're starting. I was getting a bit antsy, waiting…"

The sharpness in Snape's voice made him look up. "We were waiting for you, Potter. Not a criticism, you understand? I've had months to prepare, whereas you've had only days. Albus told me this morning you were ready to begin."

Harry hung the comb on the hook, then turned back to Snape as he wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. "I take it he tells you everything he and I talk about?" Snape didn't answer immediately; instead, he motioned with his head for Harry to un-tether the bay and lead him back to his stall. He was standing in the aisle, waiting, when Harry returned. Once again, Harry was struck anew by the change in the man.

Dressed in black, as usual, sans robes, the simple jumper seemed sizes too big; Harry noticed for the first time that his hair, still a dull blue-black, was showing just the first traces of silver threaded through it. The angry red of the scar had disappeared, but the line still marred the symmetry of his features; the eyes, however, seemed to have regained some of the spark that Harry remembered from his school years—a remembrance that made him shudder in spite of himself.

"He has told you everything we've talked about, then," Harry repeated flatly, feeling slightly betrayed.

Snape scrutinized him thoughtfully for a moment, then looked around them. He sat on a crate along the wall of the aisle and motioned Harry to the one across from him. "Sit."

Harry obeyed, suddenly uncomfortable, not knowing what to do with his hands. Snagging a piece of straw from the floor, he studiously began shredding it, until Snape's voice made him look up.

"No, I doubt he tells me everything. Only those things that concern the two of us." He watched as Harry digested this, then added more softly, "And I'm well aware of what he's told you about me. So…I imagine we're even on that account."

Harry dropped the straw and clasped his hands around one knee, as he stared at the man across from him. "I don't know that he's told me everything either, but he told me enough…. I've had a week to think about it as well. So…" What the headmaster's told me about him…it's true—knowing the truth about someone else's life can change how you see them. "It's made me think…that maybe not having any parents is better than having bad ones…."

Snape stiffened as he sat up straighter, his face remaining emotionless. "I wouldn't say they were bad ones, just not…good ones." He glanced to the side and flicked a piece of chaff from his sleeve, then looked back. "I loved my mother, and my father…well, let's just leave it that he was not a happy man."

Harry snorted. "That's no excuse."

Inclining his head slightly, Snape conceded, "Perhaps not. But he was a man who had hopes and dreams for his life, which ended in profound disappointment. He had his good moments, however." He shook his head, then continued, "As I've grown older, my bitterness over his treatment of my mother and me has been tempered by my own experience. I'm no stranger to the behavior of…being disappointed with one's life and choices, and making those around me…miserable because of it."

"With knowledge comes understanding," Harry ventured.

Snape nodded and looked away, then seemed mildly surprised at Harry's next question.

"Just so…I understand, Professor. What was your disappointment?" he asked, suddenly unafraid. "I'd really like to know. I can guess…but I'd like to hear it from you."

Snape looked uncertain for a moment, then his expression cleared at the same time as it hardened. "Consider your life, Mr. Potter. In spite of the considerable threat on your horizon, you've not compromised your integrity. You're almost eighteen, are you not?" When Harry nodded, Snape gave a grim smile. "By your age, I'd sold my soul to the devil, and within months of doing so, I regretted it." He stood wearily to his feet, then gestured to Harry to follow, so that Harry could not see his face as he finished, "And it's all been disappointment since then."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Later that afternoon, they sat in the loft study, a small wooden table between them. Snape began by placing his wand to one side, then said, "Yours as well, Potter." After Harry'd followed suit and placed his beside it, Snape nodded and explained, "It's a gesture of good faith between the two of us. Wands will not be needed, in any case, in what we're about to do."

When Harry gave him a nod in reply, Snape continued, "I'm wondering how much progress you've made since our last attempts at…you clearing your mind?"

Harry was tempted to groan, but suppressed it. "You mean this is going to be like Occlumency?"

"Regrettably for you, parts of it will be. But," he cautioned, "the purpose will be entirely different. You will need to be able to clear your mind completely, but instead of trying to block my intrusion into it, you must learn to willingly allow me in."

"Why?" was the instant word on Harry's lips. But before he could ask more, Snape held up a hand, his face disapproving.

"Do you recall what the headmaster said, that this will require the two of us working together?" He seemed to realize that his tone had been harsh, for he softened it slightly. "If I were to stand you in the midst of a desert, and tell you that you must walk a thousand miles, you might be daunted by that task, would you not?"

Harry answered warily, "I might."

Snape gave him an almost sneer. "Good, you're confident. But if I were to stand you in place and direct you to a visible point on the horizon each morning, and tell you that you only had to reach it by nightfall, I daresay the task would seem far easier." He stared at Harry for a long moment, then added, "The goal is not to hide the destination from you, but to forestall discouragement. Something that is a distinct possibility here, Potter, were I to lay it all out in detail at this moment, as you have not developed the requisite skills, nor do you trust me. Believe me, as soon as you're ready, you will know the truth of it. Something in which," he said dryly, "the headmaster is in complete agreement. So, if you cannot trust me at this point, can you find it in yourself to suspend judgment until you do? It sounds arse-backward, I know, but this is critical, Potter. Can you do it?" he asked, almost urgently. "One day at time, until you are ready?"

Harry hid his surprise at the tone of Snape's voice, but he gazed at his face and took in the weariness of the eyes, and the careworn lines around his mouth.

He's been an enemy for so long…but now…now… He so changed, and the things I've learned about him from the headmaster…and look at how differently he talks to me…and treats me. All of it, it's telling me to give him a chance. Besides, we're on the same side now….

"All right. One day at a time, for now," Harry agreed. "Where do we start?"

Something flashed in Snape's eyes, something that Harry couldn't identify, but then he sat back and crossed his arms. "Close your eyes and clear your mind."

Harry did as he was told, but murmured, "I've practiced this since then, you know. I can do this." It was true, he had got better at this; he wasn't too certain about his ability to keep it up with Snape trying to intrude, though.

"Good," Snape told him. "Now, when you've cleared your mind, I want you to choose a color—and fill your mind with it. Take a moment and think before you choose. It should be something you find pleasant and calming, and can easily summon to mind."

Harry rolled his head on his shoulders as he made an effort to relax; this was easy. After a minute, he said softly, "I've got it."

Snape said nothing for a moment, then warned him, "You're going to feel me just at the edge of your mind. Remember, this is not Occlumency, so no throwing up of a shield to keep me out. You'll feel just a slight sensation, because I'm only interested in seeing what you've chosen. Are you ready?" he asked, his voice dream-like to Harry.

"Hum, yeah, go ahead." For a moment, Harry felt nothing, then saw a small rippling in the color. "Okay, that's you, isn't it?"

Harry heard the sharp intake of Snape's breath, then his voice, seeming surprised, asked him, "Green, Potter? And such a brilliant one…textured, almost alive…. Might I ask your inspiration? Because this seems to be more than just a color…."

Harry smiled as he sensed another ripple. "A meadow…an endless meadow…. I can just imagine what it'd feel like to lie down and fall asleep in it, can't you?" He heard Snape make a commiserative noise, then watched as the rippling of the meadow ceased and the green was completely undisturbed once again. "You're gone, I can feel it."

"Open your eyes now." When Harry slowly did just that, he found Snape staring at him, a slightly bemused expression on his face. "You've been using this for some time, haven't you? It was almost effortless on your part," he stated, almost reluctantly.

Harry shrugged. "I've had time on my hands this past year, and it always seemed like a good idea, even though I didn't do it…when you tried to teach me. Something I regret…" he said, then lowered his eyes. "Maybe things would've turned out different if I had."

"Perhaps, perhaps not, who can say? But that's water long under the bridge," Snape told him frankly, then added after a slight hesitation, "Perhaps, had I been more patient…" He didn't finish, but only shook his head. "No matter. Suffice it to say we'll be able to move more quickly, as you've already mastered something I thought would take us days. A pleasant surprise."

"What will we do next? I mean, I understand about the journey of a thousand miles thing…but emptying my mind, why?"

Snape gave him a measuring look. "To fill it with something, why else?"

"Oh, of course," Harry said sarcastically, then once again found that he was unsettled by the lack of a reaction from Snape.

Taking up his wand, Snape gestured for Harry to do the same. "That's all for today. Continue to practice; we'll take it up again tomorrow, and move on to the next step."

Harry stood and slipped his wand in its slot, then was about to turn to leave, when Snape's voice stopped him.

"One more thing," Snape said.

Uh-oh, here it comes, but hmmm, what could make him seem so…well, awkward?

"Given what we're doing, Albus has suggested, and I'm in agreement, that it's at cross purposes for us to address each other as formally as we do." When Harry gave him a blank look, he said, a bit impatiently, "First names."

"Oh," Harry said as realization dawned. "That'll be…odd." He enjoyed the look of discomfiture on Snape's face, and so felt a slight thrill as he tried it out. "Severus." The discomfiture morphed to resignation, so Harry added easily, "Sounds like a snake." When Snape's mouth dropped open, Harry prodded him, "Your turn—say mine, then." Severus.

"Harry," Snape said without hesitation. "Makes me wonder if you are." When Harry stared at him dumbly for an instant, Snape smiled thinly, then waved him out of the room. "Go."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

The next morning, Harry arrived in the kitchen, and greeted the men already seated at the table. "Good morning Professor Dumbledore, Severus."

Dumbledore gave him a gleeful look and slapped the table with his palm. "Ah, progress, I see!

When Harry rolled his eyes in response and looked at Snape, he found the man doing the same. Unable to stop himself, he grinned, then was surprised when Snape gave him a small smile in return. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that," Harry admitted.

This is beyond believable—in the space of weeks, my world has been turned upside down. For the first time since Dumbledore died…well, didn't die…I feel half a hope. I think maybe it's because I know I'm not on my own anymore. It was a good feeling, he decided, but where it would lead…he hadn’t a clue.

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Not too many days after, Harry had grown tired of reading on his own, and, incredibly, found himself wondering where his teacher had got to. Many nights he was gone by now, but for some reason, Harry didn't think he was this time. I'm looking for him on my own…a measure of how far gone I am, I suppose, that I'd rather talk to him now than the headmaster. He found him sitting at the bottom of the garden, perched on the bench that overlooked the small lake bordered by wild cherries and birches.

The sun had just set, but the light from beyond the horizon still lit the sky. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Harry asked, as he fell to the ground near his feet.

"Hmm, yes, it is. The gloaming is my favorite time. All the mistakes of one day gone, and the new ones yet to be written. An in between time…twilight. A clean slate," he remarked, glancing down at Harry.

Harry cocked his head. "You're usually gone by now," he observed, then asked bravely, "Where do you go?"

Severus considered him, then looked out over the lake. "I have a home of my own, although not much of one. I go there because my associates," he drawled, almost sneering the word, "expect me to be there. In fact, I have a house guest, at least part of the time. "

"Oh, I see." Harry frowned. "Death Eaters, you mean?" When Severus nodded absently, Harry asked him, "Who in particular? I mean, I guess I should've figured you'd have a place like that…."

"Peter Pettigrew, for one," Severus said matter-of-factly. At the look on Harry's face, he commented wryly, "The Dark Lord's afflicted me with the man's presence for some time. Not to worry, he's an idiot and a sycophant, easily handled."

They sat and watched as the last of the daylight fled; the new moon of July soon spilled a cooler, paler light over the landscape below. I can't imagine how he holds this all together—being up here with the headmaster and me, but having to put on that damn mask and play Death Eater too.

"Such a difference between being here and being in London," Harry said. Severus didn't comment right away, so the two of them sat in silence, until Harry ventured, "It's so peaceful here—no one around, you can almost make yourself believe…."

"Believe what?" Severus asked him when he didn't finish.

"Oh, I don't know, that none of it exists, that it's another world in another time." He squinted up at Severus, unable to see his eyes in the low light. "Did you ever think about…just staying here? Not going back? Leaving it all to sort itself out? You have to admit it's tempting." When Severus didn't speak, Harry continued, "I've thought about it, and it seems like it's what the headmaster's done."

Severus shifted so that Harry could see his face, and the emotion in his voice was unmistakable. "You're completely off the mark. He's done what he believes will serve all of wizardom best." He frowned, then said more gently, "Albus regrets every single student lost, each one that's gone astray. It's his mission to see the world set aright. Surely you know this," he chided.

"I was just thinking out loud; I didn't really think it through," Harry protested.

"You weren't that far afield. I've certainly considered it, but not in earnest," he admitted with a sardonic twist of his mouth. "I take my responsibility seriously, and I long ago committed myself to see this done, so I will." He surprised Harry by reaching out and flicking him on the cheek with a finger. "As will you. Am I wrong?"

What in god's name was that? He's never touched me before, except when absolutely necessary. "No, you're not. But it's a…tempting thing to think about." He flushed as he remembered. Yeah, I've thought about it—seriously too—for an entire night, and then I couldn't sleep because of it. "I'd never be able to live with myself. I have to do it," he said grimly, then amended, "We have to do it."

He could see Severus' eyes glittering as he replied, "We will. But dreaming about an alternate universe never hurt anyone; in fact, it's normal and healthy, as long as one doesn't linger too long." Standing, he nodded towards the house, "Back to reality?"

Harry sighed as he stood. "Yeah, nothing like reality," he groused insincerely.

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Harry looked at Severus' outstretched hands, palms up on the table. "All right, I'm game." Closing his eyes, he reached out tentatively and felt for the hands with his own, then opened his eyes in surprise when Severus made a small sound of disgust.

"You're sweating. Why? I've explained exactly what we're to do."

Harry narrowed his eyes, then objected, "I'm adjusting, all right? Give me a minute here." Training is one thing, but holding hands is so…personal.

They'd spent the last month much as they had that first session: Harry clearing his mind, filling it with his 'meadow', becoming increasingly comfortable with Severus at the edges of it, prodding his consciousness, gently at first, then more boldly, until the meadow veritably rippled with the man's presence. Now, they were moving on to something altogether different: Severus actually pushing in and taking up temporary residence.

Severus began patiently again. "You'll sense me there, just as you have all along. Only this time, you must let go of the crutch. Let the meadow go. You're accustomed to my presence at the periphery, so this should not be difficult."

Harry swallowed, wiped his hands on his jeans, then closed his eyes and reached out again. "All right, I'm ready." The green of the meadow shimmered and vibrated as Severus pushed at it insistently. Then Harry felt the sensation of other as it invaded, and the green began to bleed at the edges, rapidly falling away as a memory flitted across his consciousness. Ahhhhhh, shite! No! He jerked at the hands, but they held him fast.

"No! Harry, concentrate. Let me in, and keep your mind clear." Harry was lulled by the voice, and slowly, slowly, he let the green of his mind go, adjusting to the feeling of Severus, as his presence grew almost palpably in his mind. The green was now just an oval patch of color, growing ever smaller, until, once again, the memory flashed, this time lasting longer, and uncomfortably identifiable.

"Harry, let it go. It will pass, don't…" Severus stopped suddenly as Harry wrenched his hands away.

"I…it's not something I…" Harry shook his head, then looked at Severus, who was watching him with a frown.

"What is it? It's just this one memory…." Severus raised an eyebrow in question.

"It's not something I want you to see," Harry said stiffly.

Severus leant forward. "So I guessed. Listen to me well. The more you make a focus of my not seeing it, the more likely it is that I will. Do you understand this?" He studied Harry for a moment, then offered, "I have no desire to see what is in your mind at all. It's none of my concern, you and this person. I don't care."

Harry mumbled, not looking at him, "It's personal."

"So I gathered," Severus said, his lips pursed, then sat back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "The difficulty is, if you're determined that I not see this, then you've already made a mountain out of a molehill." When Harry gave him a quizzical look, Severus rolled his eyes. "Your choice. We can spend precious days working on your ability to suppress this so I do not see it, or we can save valuable time and move on—allow me to see it, diffuse this irrational focus, and move on," he stressed again. "You have nothing to fear from me," he reassured him, "no comments, not a one. Now, which shall it be?" He sat up straight and placed his hands on the table as he waited.

"When you put it like that, what choice do I have?" Harry grumbled, stretching his hands out, but Severus batted them away, for the first time since they'd started, displaying anger in a session.

"No! Wholeheartedly or not at all," he gritted through his teeth. "You remember that trust is part of what we're building here? Not just this exercise of mind-sharing," he reminded him snidely.

Harry gaped at him, shocked, then felt the flush creeping up his neck into his face. He's right, Harry, you know he is. Think of how often you've tried to push this down, to keep it from playing over and over in your head…and all that did was make it worse. "Sorry," he said contritely. "You're right, of course." He stretched out his hands and gave Severus an imploring look. "Let's get on with it."

When he felt Severus give that telltale, gentle push, he acquiesced, and watched as the green receded to a small patch in the center of his mind's eye. He sensed the memory threatening at the edges, but this time, instead of focusing on pushing it down, he relaxed, and let it float lazily from the edges of his awareness to dead center. He sighed and felt Severus' hands grasp his more tightly.

The two of them were stretched out on the bed in Harry's flat, their bodies sweaty in the dim light. They writhed against each other, sensuously sliding, Harry pinned to the sheets as Ethan rutted into him, Harry's legs thrown atop his shoulders, Ethan's arms locked behind Harry's head as he pulled upwards with each thrust inward. There were moans and rasping breath, as they came within moments of each other, then Ethan fell to the bed, draping an arm across Harry's chest. Harry lifted the man's hand and placed a kiss on the palm of it. In reply, Ethan nuzzled his face in against Harry's neck. They lay still, and within moments, both fell into a sex-induced sleep.

Harry didn't know how long the memory had lasted, but with it played out, it was suddenly just…gone. Just as Severus had said it would be. He felt exhausted, but at the same time, strangely peaceful. And then he sensed it…a warmth spread through him at the same time as a glowing copper light filled his mind. "Severus?" he whispered.

"I'm here. Well done."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

They'd finished the session, and Harry was now standing, pocketing his wand as usual. Well, this is awkward. I can't even look him in the eye. I know he said he didn't care, but how do I know for sure he won't—

"Look at me," he commanded. When Harry looked up, Severus nodded. "Nothing's changed, except I gave you my word, and you chose to believe me."

Harry shrugged, then smiled, a little sadly. "Progress."

"Harry." He was startled by the note of exasperation in Severus voice. "Progress is a good thing—you sound as if it were a death sentence instead."

Slumping back down into his chair, Harry eyed Severus warily, then decided, Oh, what the hell. "Just so you don't overreact…you have to admit you're a bit strange. There was a time…knowing something like this about me…. Not that I'm complaining now. But I've got to tell you, the first few weeks I was here I kept waiting for you to…" He stopped as he nervously chewed at his finger, eyeing Severus, then said, "…you know, a day like today, I half expect…for you to go back to how you were."

Something akin to comprehension seemed to dawn on Severus' face. "Ah. I see. You mean regress to the way I treated you before?"

Harry nodded. "I don't worry about it now so much, but I did at the beginning. You don't seem like the Snape I used to know at all. Almost like you've gone soft or something."

Severus leant forward in his chair, his eyes intense, and for just a fraction of a second, Harry feared he'd gone too far. "You recall what I said when you first arrived—how I've had a year to…think about you and me?"

"Yeah, I remember, but still…." Harry was startled when Severus reached out suddenly and pinned his wrist to the table.

"Don't believe that I've not been tempted at times. My natural bent towards the sarcastic has been sorely tried on occasion. But," he emphasized, "I knew from the beginning what you thought of me, and indeed, what you would expect from me. Had I fulfilled those expectations, our work here would've been undermined, so I've…restrained some of my natural urges." He released Harry's hand, then sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm still the same person, I assure you, and although it's true that I've treated you differently, I submit that part of the difference you detect is because your own perceptions of me have changed as well." He watched Harry, his eyes calculating.

Harry thought for a moment, frowning as he concentrated, then looked up to say, "Oh, I see what you're saying. Because I understand some things about you, I see you differently."

Severus cocked his head to the side. "Yes, that's part of it, I'm certain. Along with my longsuffering patience," he added, and this time Harry definitely caught the sarcasm.

"Right. I'm such a trying child," Harry snorted.

Giving him a slow smile, Severus pointed out, "Your words, not mine." He sobered suddenly, the smile fading. "But no longer a child."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Just before Harry's birthday, the three of them made a trip in to the local village. It was a strange outing, Harry posing as Albus' grandson, only one of several surreal facets of the trip. The headmaster seemed to know everyone, and chatted easily with the locals, with Harry and Severus in tow behind him. They perused the market for hay for the horses, and purchased sundry foodstuffs, which Severus discreetly shrunk for both of them to carry. The hay, however, had Harry stumped.

"How on earth is it delivered to someplace Unplottable and under Fidelius?" he asked as they walked through the press of people in the outdoor market.

Severus leant over to examine a spread of filberts, then straightened. "Oh, he has an arrangement for it to be delivered to a wayside box not too far from the house. The two of us go down and transport it up to the stables. He's concocted some story for why, and since they're well paid, they don't really care what he does from there."

They ate street food, Albus gallantly paying with Muggle money for spit-roasted meat and oak-cured ale. Harry and Severus were sitting on a bench in the square, waiting while the headmaster haggled over hay prices. Harry reveled in the normalcy of it, and for a moment was reminded of that conversation he and Severus had had, in the gloaming. We really are straddling two worlds. I wish…oh god how I wish that some day we won't have to do this anymore…pretend in one world while hiding from the other one.

"This feels good," Harry confided as he sipped at his ale, stretching out his long legs.

Severus cast him an amused sideways glance. "How so?"

"I like it, sitting here with no worries that someone will know who we are." We…feels odd, thinking of him and me as a 'we'.

"Ah. So you're telling me that celebrity is overrated, then?"

Harry gave him a baleful look. "It wasn't all good celebrity, you remember. It all depended on which way the wind was blowing, metaphorically speaking."

"So it did." Severus sighed, and turned to him. "We've both had our fair share of libel and slander, I seem to recall."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, that's the truth. They called me mentally unbalanced, spoiled, and spurned by the woman I loved." He let out a laugh.

"And I," Snape took up the thread, "am a double-spy who hoodwinked the Order." He stopped, then said, "Well that part may be true, but I'm also a cold-blooded murderer, who will no doubt bypass the trial process and be kissed on sight by a dementor."

Harry sobered suddenly as he listened. "That's not funny, you know; it's exactly what could happen."

Severus shook his head and laughed softly, an unconvincing sound. "True, but considering what might happen if the other side finds me out, it'd be a mercy, believe me." He stood and waved Harry onward, as the headmaster was making his way toward them, a bright smile on his face.

It's not funny at all. He's really in danger, and could be caught at any time. I hope he's careful…I don't want anything to happen to him. Wait…when did I start to think of him this way…worrying over what he does when he's away? Ah, shite. Well, he just better be the best little Death Eater he knows how to be…because if something were to happen to him, I'd…I'd…I'd what? Oh, come off of it, you know exactly what. .

°°°°§§§§°°°°

It was natural now, sitting forward in his chair, to slide his dry hands into the firm and strong ones of his teacher. They'd progressed, under Severus' tutelage, to Harry imaging an object in his mind: it was green, like his meadow, but took the shape of a sphere, and it represented Harry's embodiment of his magic. Represented, being the key word, Harry thought, not for the first time wondering where this all was leading, but he'd long ago decided to accept Severus' assurances that there was some point to what they were doing.

Today, they moved on to something they'd not done before, when Severus directed, "I'm entering your mind again." Harry watched as the copper glow flooded into the space, pulsing as it bathed his consciousness. As usual, he had a familiar feeling of warmth again.

"Why does it feel warm?" he asked, curious.

There was silence for a moment, then Severus' voice, strangely different, asked, "You experience warmth when I enter?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I do, but it's not new. I feel it every time."

"Good. Very good. It's as it should be. Now, I want you to picture yourself, standing in front of the sphere, wand out."

Harry screwed up his face in concentration. "Okay, got it."

"Now, this is not just a visual exercise, Harry. It will begin as one, but it's something you're actually going to do. Do you understand?"

"All right, I think," he said doubtfully.

"You're going to raise your wand and point it at the sphere." He waited, then when Harry was poised as he'd directed, he said, "Now cast a spell. It doesn't matter which—try something innocuous, like a 'Lumos'."

Harry was about to open his mouth, when Severus corrected, "No, not out loud; remember, this is an interior exercise. Completely non-verbal."

Harry, in his mind, opened his mouth and cast the spell, "Lumos." Severus held onto his hands when Harry's body jerked backward, as a streak of light issued from his wand and made contact with the sphere, which seemed to pull the thread of magic into itself.

"Good," Severus murmured. "Now, choose something stronger, and be certain to pull back just a bit at the end—don't break the thread, Harry." Harry tried again, choosing to cast a "Riddikulus." The corresponding light burned a little brighter, and this time Harry hesitated slightly at the end of it, keeping the thread from his wand intact.

They repeated this several more times, each time Harry using a spell of increasing difficulty and magical magnitude. I don't know why, but I'm starting to feel really tired. I'm just sitting here, so I can't imagine why, but I guess I should tell him.

"Listen well. What you've done is place a portion of your magical core within your sphere. It's not gone anywhere, Harry, as it remains inside of yourself. Do you understand?" Harry nodded in reply, then gasped at the next sensation.

"What was that?" he managed to stammer. What in the world? I'm hot… buzzed, and it's an incredible feeling.

"Me, touching the sphere," Severus informed him.

Harry was puzzled. "You've touched it before and it never felt like this," he said trying to pinpoint what was familiar about the sensation.

"Yes, I have, but only when the sphere was empty. It now contains a portion of your magical core, so, in a sense, I'm touching you. A very personal and usually unavailable part of yourself, except to you." There was a long pause, as Severus pushed again. Harry felt the heat streak through him, from the top of head to the tips of his toes.

"Oh." he gasped. Personal's a bit mild, don't you think?

"Don't resist," Severus cautioned, then asked softly with curiosity, "How does it feel?"

Harry knew he had to tell him exactly how it felt. "Uh, I'm not certain, because it's in my head, but it's…well…it's arousing…you know, arousing…sexually," he finished, embarrassed.

"Not surprising, that. As I said, it's a very personal part of you to share…to allow to be touched." Harry was about reply with a sarcastic rejoinder, when Severus began to speak. "Now, a simple spell to bring it back. Concentrate. The incantation is, 'Retirates.' Think the thread backwards, and enunciate the incantation clearly."

"Retirates," Harry said obediently in his mind, and his inner vision of himself was almost knocked off his feet by the pulse of light from the sphere, backward through his wand. He held on for dear life, until the thread became pale and wisp-like, then vanished completely. Whoa, what a rush! All of the sudden, bam! It's like a super jolt of caffeine.

"Very good, for a first attempt," Severus said, as Harry watched the copper glow fade from his mind, leaving only his softly pulsing sphere at the center of it. "Shut it down now, then when you're ready, open your eyes."

Harry relaxed and bid the sphere to vanish, and when he felt the darkness gathering, he slowly opened his eyes. Severus sat watching him, as he usually was. Harry was just about to open his mouth with a question, when he felt it: the unmistakable throbbing of a sizeable erection. Glancing down, he felt his cheeks flood in embarrassment.

"Oh god, it wasn't just in my mind, was it?" he asked, chagrined as tried to let go of Severus' hands so he could rearrange himself, but Severus was having none of it.

"It's a natural reaction. We're both men—we understand that what's in the mind can dictate reflexive reactions to the body. There's no shame in that." He released Harry's hands, then when Harry stood, Severus seemed to school his features to impassivity. "Ah, I see. You may go—it seems you have something that requires attention." Harry gave him a withering look, but was gratified to see nary a trace of a smirk.

Grabbing his wand from the table, Harry fled to his room.

I don't know which is worse—that he saw it or that he knows what I'm about to do. Ah hell, like he said, we're both men…and it wasn't anything personal. But still…me and Severus and an erection. He let out a snicker as he closed the door to his room. There's a first time for everything, I 'spose. Can it get any weirder than this? Hmm, I should know better by now, than to ask such a question.

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Dumbledore made a gesture of appeal with his hands. "I don't see how any harm can come of it, Severus. Harry's correct; his friends will be wondering. It's been more than two months, after all."

Harry watched Severus over the top of his cup, then breathed out a soundless sigh of relief when the man gave him a curt nod. "All right. I'll send it from Spinner's End."

"Great. I'll have it for you tonight," Harry told him gratefully.

"Make certain to tell them not to reply," Severus told him as he stood and pushed in his chair. "When you're finished, I'll be in the loft."

For some inexplicable reason, Harry felt the heat flame in his face. Oh god, what is this? Just the thought of sitting across from him and taking his hands…. He ducked his head and stared at his plate, then looked up to find the headmaster studying him.

"Anything you'd like to talk about, my boy?"

Harry shook his head, "No, just cabin fever, I guess." And having to toss off every time Severus touches me…well, not me, per se, but my sphere.

"Ah, I see." Dumbledore's expression brightened as he added, "You'll be pleased to know that Voldemort now possesses only a single soul." He nodded at the look on Harry's face. "Yes, the Horcruxes have been destroyed. Even an old man such as I can learn from his mistakes."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

They'd been at it a week, when Harry's notion that he could keep his 'natural' reactions in check through sheer effort came to a shattering end.

The session started like all the others, wands to the side, Harry reaching across the table to take hold of Severus' hands. This time, though, as he felt the slide of the sure grip taking hold of him, the unthinkable happened. Just the touch and the warmth of his skin, and Harry felt the arousal begin inside him. He jerked back as if he'd been burned, so forcefully that his chair rocked on its legs.

Wide-eyed, Severus stared at him. "What?"

Harry was mortified. "I…we're not even…and I…." He leant forward, elbows on the tabletop, and buried his face in his hands. Oh god, I can't control it. What will he think? When he looked up, Severus was still staring at him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You're aroused," he simply stated.

Harry nodded miserably. "Why? Just touching you…. I can't do this."

Severus sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Yes you can. Remember what I told you about making a focus of something unimportant?" When Harry shrugged, he pursed his lips and said, "Well? That memory? What's become of it?"

"Nothing," Harry replied unconvincingly. Nothing that I know of…but I don't really know what's become of it, so far as you're concerned.

"Exactly."

"But what does this mean? I can't control it, it just happens! It's…it's wrong."

Severus shook his head. "It doesn't mean anything. Touch is a powerful sense that connects your body and your mind, and your body is anticipating what your mind is about to experience, that's all." At the look on Harry's face, he amended, "Perhaps 'anticipating' is a poor choice of words. We must do with this as we did with that memory of yours—acknowledge it and move on."

Harry gave him disgusted look. "Move on, huh? Just ignore it? Easy for you to say," he muttered under his breath. "You're not the one who has to slink off to your room to 'take care of it'."

"If it were Albus in my place, you'd be having the same difficulty. It has nothing to do with me. Is that what concerns you?"

The look of disgust changed to disbelief. "You're serious. It doesn't bother you at all?"

"Why should it? It's a non-specific reaction," Severus confirmed. "Acknowledging doesn't necessarily mean you can ignore it, however. I'm aware that it creates a problem afterward, but as for it meaning anything personal… No, Harry."

Harry chewed at his lower lip as he considered Severus' inscrutable face, then came to a decision. He's serious. Nothing personal, so if it doesn't bother him, why should I let it get to me—I can't control it, after all. "Great, so I just…let it happen, don't worry about it. And toss off afterward," he added sarcastically, his voice tinged with relief.

Severus smiled for the first time. "You've figured that part out, I'm sure."

Sighing exaggeratedly, Harry pulled his chair in, laid his hands out on the table, then gave Severus a look full of challenge. "All right. More progress, I suppose."

This time when he slid his hands into Severus', there was no pulling back. Bring on the boner; I can handle it. Ha…handle it…Harry, concentrate!

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Harry found that Severus had been right—acknowledging his predicament allowed him to dispense with the preoccupation and move on. The very real occasion of arousal presented itself, day after day, with every single session, but didn't impede progress, as Severus had predicted, now that Harry had accepted what would happen each time.

With every day that passed, Harry poured more and more of his magical self into the visualized sphere, accustoming himself at the same time to Severus' probing and prodding of it with his own mind. What had at first been a begrudging permission to 'touch' him in this way, had now become a comfortable familiarity. The arousal continued, of course, but Harry had come to accept this reaction as something beyond his control.

He did wonder, however, about the other times…times that he knew were well within in ability to his control. It was almost as if he couldn't help himself; he watched Severus when the man was unaware of his scrutiny.

Look how the lines in his face relax when he curries Pippin….

I'll wager he doesn't realize it, but he strokes the side of his jaw with his thumb, over and over, when he's reading….

I can tell how tired he must be; he slumps his shoulders just a bit, not that anyone who didn't know him would notice….

See what he does when he tries not to laugh or smile, but he really wants to—he crinkles the skin around his eyes….

Harry thought it understandable, though, that what he most watched and noticed were Severus' hands. After all, I touch this part of him every day. He considered them now…one of them drumming out a rhythm on the tabletop in a perfect cadence, the other poised just above a pawn, the index finger and thumb suspended, motionless, as Severus hesitated over his decision.

The digits came together, pincer-like, and plucked the pawn from the board. Harry watched, fascinated, as the long, slender, perfectly formed fingers flicked the chess piece to the side, then moved an opposing piece to the square. I know what those hands feel like…the warmth of them…the strength of them…the comfort of them….

"Harry…" The voice broke into his thoughts. "Sometime tonight, it's your move, unless you're sufficiently cowed that you'd like to forfeit?"

Not looking up, Harry murmured, "Nice try."

But that night, for the very first time, and not the last, Harry dreamt of Severus' hands. Hmmm, what a dream, he thought, when he awakened and was stretching. Strange that I'd dream of him…Severus. But hey, there're only hands, after all….

°°°°§§§§°°°°

"You seriously think I'm ready?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"I do. I wouldn't allow it if I didn't think you were," Severus affirmed.

Harry relaxed, enjoying the feel of the warm body beneath him. "All right. What do I do?"

Severus, seated on the bay, pulled abreast of Harry's dapple. "Cantering, unlike learning to post, is just something you do. You'll see. Concentrate on the motion of the horse and merge into it—grip with your knees, lean forward a bit more, and let Merry teach you the rest. It's a rocking rhythm, not a full gallop, mind you," he warned. "And keep a loose hold on the reins, otherwise she'll think you're signaling her to stop."

Adjusting the straps in his hands, Harry nodded. "Grip with my knees, lean forward, rocking, loose hold." He glanced at Severus and grinned. "Got it."

Giving him a measuring look, Severus' lips twitched slightly. "Follow me, then. She'll break into a canter when Pippin does. Far side of the lake," he directed, as he gave a nudge with his thigh and a cluck of his tongue.

Before they'd cleared the small foraging area, both horses had broken out into a trot, then, after a coaxing from Severus, Pippin broke stride and pulled ahead. Harry felt the horse beneath him stretch her legs out, then felt the shift to the three-beat gait of the canter as she picked up speed. For a moment he struggled to hold his seat, then, remembering Severus' instructions, he leant forward, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the rhythm of the mare; Severus is right—it does feel like a rocking horse. He rolled his shoulders forward and allowed the gentle motion of the dapple to slide him back, then forward, then back again. Harry opened his eyes, amazed at how easy it had been. It was a much more natural gait than trotting, he found, and it seemed to him that the horse found it so as well.

Throwing his head back, Harry laughed out loud, savoring the feel of the breeze blowing through his hair, the smooth locomotion of his body against the one beneath him, a fluid syncopation that he found exhilarating. He was barely aware of Severus in front of him, enjoying this sensation of being one with the horse, until it was suddenly all too soon over. Pulling up on the reins, he brought Merry to a stop beside the duo waiting for them at the head of a stream that emptied into the lake.

They let the horses wander, bridle-less, to drink from the small brook, while Harry and Severus sat on the grass at the edge of the water. Harry had rolled up his trousers to soak his feet, but Severus had shaken his head, and now sat cross-legged beside him.

"So, that was the exercise, huh?" Harry asked, jerking his head in the direction of the horses.

"No, that was because you were ready, as I said. Wait a little while," Severus said quietly as he reached forward to snag a piece of wild grass.

They sat comfortably for a few moments. Okay, I've been wanting to ask him about this, so now's as good a time as any.

Intentionally not looking at him, Harry asked, "What happened to Malfoy?" When there was a lengthy pause, he did look then. Severus was gazing out over the lake, still wrapping the length of grass around his finger. He finally angled his head to meet Harry's eyes. Instead of the rebuff he'd half-expected, Harry was surprised by the reply.

"Strange that you would ask this now," Severus commented. "He's been on my mind all week, in fact."

Malfoy's been on your mind? Why? Harry felt a pulse of irrational…what is this? he wondered, then ignored it to go on. "Do you know where he is?"

Severus gave him a wry smile. "He's got what he was after—service to the Dark Lord, although he's had cause to regret that decision." He nodded as Harry's eyes widened. "One does not incur the Dark Lord's displeasure without consequence. His memory is long and sadistic." He paused then dropped the blade of grass to turn to Harry. "Draco spends most of his time with him, in fact. The remainder he spends with me."

"With you—why?" Harry asked, perplexed. "You're not there, half the time."

"Oh, Pettigrew manages to keep him occupied," Severus said dryly. "Being at Spinner's End is a relief, I'd imagine, since the Dark Lord is still enraged by Narcissa's disappearance."

"His mother is gone?" Harry gasped. "She left him there, after all she did to make sure he'd be protected? Where?"

Severus shrugged. "To the Continent, I suppose." He narrowed his eyes as he studied Harry. "I'd not be too concerned for his welfare. I believe he'll eventually have his chance to leave, if he chooses to do so."

"You'd let him go?" Harry asked, amazed.

"Let him go? No, not directly, but Pettigrew may perhaps be less vigilant that he ought to be…with a bit of help from myself," he added darkly.

Harry was scandalized. "After all he's done, all the people who've suffered because of him, he's just going to go free?" he asked, disgusted.

Scowling at him, Severus replied just as disgustedly, "No, not free. He'll never be free—except in the sense that you mean. But he'll have a second chance. Not the same thing."

Still outraged, Harry swallowed and looked down at his hands, thinking of what he was about to reveal. I have to say it, now that I know. Isn't this what we both promised to do—be frank with each other, especially about important things…things that will help the other to understand? He took a few moments longer to summon his courage, then said softly, "You remember my memory?" He glanced up to see Severus' eyes dilate slightly at his words.

"I recall the gist of it. Harry," he added in warning.

Harry only shook his head and plunged forward. "No, it's my memory, and if I want to tell you, then it's up to me to decide." He paused. "Unless you don't want to know for some reason."

"I don't care one way or the other. As you said, it's yours to tell or not. I'm just wondering why…now?"

Ignoring the question for the moment, Harry forged ahead, not looking at Severus. "His name was Ethan—Shacklebolt introduced us when the three of us were making inquiries about curse-breaking—back when we were still thinking we could destroy the Horcruxes." He pulled his feet out of the water and turned on the grass to fully face Severus. "He was funny and kind, so willing to help us out, but in the end, he was the one who told us we were in over our heads. He didn't know what they were, mind you. He just looked at them for us."

He swallowed, took a deep breath and continued, "Hermione and Ron, they're a couple, you know. So, I had free time on my hands, and Ethan and I…" He blushed despites his best effort not to. "We became lovers. That's what you saw…the last time we were together." He ran his fingers through his hair, then said quietly, "He was killed, not long after. His Auror squad was ambushed on a raid. Shacklebolt came to tell me himself. He knew we'd been…close." When he finally looked up, he saw that Severus had cocked his head and wore a grim expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," was all he said, quietly.

"Pity, Severus?" Harry asked bitterly.

"Never," was the immediate reply. "But I understand…some things now."

Harry opened his mouth to retort a caustic question, then stopped himself. Wait, this is why you told him, remember? "Then you understand why I find it so sickening. That Malfoy gets a second chance, but Ethan's dead. It's not fair," he said stiffly.

Severus scrutinized him for a long moment, then agreed, "No, life's not fair."

Right in one, Severus. Not something I didn't already know, but I'm glad I told you…it feels good that you know…and somehow I knew you'd understand.

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Harry'd forgotten that they were actually there for a reason, until Severus directed him to bridle and tether the horses to a tree. Once he'd done so, Severus motioned with his hand for Harry to follow, and they took a path along the stream, meandering in a downward direction, until they came to a small ravine. The brook fell off at their feet into the chasm, while a large, twisted tree spanned the short distance from their side of the ravine to the other, the trail taking up again on the other side.

Harry gave Severus a questioning look, then glanced back up at the path behind them.

"We are crossing here," Severus told him soberly. Harry looked at the tree again; twisted was too mild a word, he decided. It was broken in places, jutting right and then left, in sections held together by only a slim shaft of wood and bark.

"It won't hold us," Harry said, half to himself as he eyed it critically.

"A chance we will take. That will be my concern, in any case." Severus stepped to the end of the log wedged into their side of the ravine, then held out his hand. "You first. I'll be directly behind you."

Harry gaped at him. "Both of us at once? And why me first? I think it'll only support—"

"Stop. This is a training exercise. Now, stand in front of me and close your eyes," Severus said as he motioned him to the front, impatiently.

"Close my eyes? Are you out of your—"

Severus rolled his eyes as he interrupted him. "You'll not be doing this on your own. Step up and stand still. I'll be guiding each of your steps." He waggled the fingers of both hands in a beckoning motion. "Need I spell it out for you? This is a lesson, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said, as he finally took Severus hand, then stepped in front of him, trying not to look down into the ravine. It wasn't a long way down, but far enough that it made Harry's head spin. "The tree does a right angle turn, right in the middle of—"

"Oh, for pity's sake, close your eyes and be still," said Severus' voice at his ear, at the same time that Harry felt the man's hands rest lightly on his hips. Oh, his hands there are …warm…firm…slow down your breathing, Harry…concentrate on the hands…you can do this…listen to his voice, right there at your ear.

"First step with your right foot, slightly to the left, and up about ten degrees." Harry took the first step, then was relieved when his foot found solid tree beneath it. He waited while Severus moved into position behind him again, never releasing his fragile hold of Harry's waist.

"Next step with your left foot, just drag it up behind the right one. Steady, yes, that's it." Harry obeyed, fighting the urge to open his eyes when he felt the groan of the timber beneath them. Severus, however, cinched his waist more securely when he heard the sound, and Harry couldn't help the streak of heat that he felt as the hands gripped him tighter.

Slowly, painstakingly, they made their way along the tree, Severus murmuring podiatric coordinates, gently steering Harry with his hands when he needed a course correction. After several minutes of the half-blinded two-step, Harry gave up and gave in; I'm completely helpless here, without him. He let himself go, almost an automation that obeyed as each switch was flipped, as over and over he slid his feet forward, adjusting as Severus murmured in the hair at his ear or exerted a subtle pressure on his hip, to move further forward or more or less to the right or left.

It's a relief, in a way, to give him control, to surrender myself, to trust, even if it's only log-walking. He relaxed back into the sensation of it, Severus' words at his ear becoming muted and fuzzy, as he contemplated…how would it feel, to lean back and melt into your arms holding me, to turn my head and lay it on your shoulder, to trust you beyond just this exerci—

"Potter!" the voice startled him, even as he felt his feet slip from the log. His eyes shot open as he brought his arms up to grab onto something, only there was nothing but empty air. He felt himself falling, then the hands caught him by the arms. As he was unceremoniously dragged upward, Severus chastised him.

"Imbecile! You weren't listening, were you? I'm supposed to be guiding you, not supporting your weight like a rag doll, or pulling puppet strings when you forget to make your feet move!"

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, trying to slow the racing of his heart. Yikes, so much for total abandon…close your eyes…concentrate….

They continued on to the far edge of the ravine without incident. When they finally stepped onto the rock-steady ground, Harry took a deep breath when he felt Severus let go of him. Turning, he saw that Severus didn't look irritated at all. Still, Harry apologized again.

"Sorry about back there. I…got distracted," he confessed.

"You had your eyes closed and were perched twenty feet above a rock-filled ravine, depending on me to get you across. What on earth could've distracted you?" Severus asked him, sounding slightly exasperated, but not angry.

Harry darted his eyes away, then looked back. "For a moment there, I was just thinking…actually enjoying the feeling of…trusting someone besides myself. Stupid thing to do, but…" He squared his shoulders. "I knew you wouldn't let me fall."

I'd never tell you the rest of it, though, how wonderful it felt to have your hands on me, to feel the tickle of your hair on my ear, how I wanted…oh god, I wanted….

Severus eyes brightened momentarily, then he reached out and flicked Harry's cheek with a finger. "There endeth the lesson, Harry. Not entirely how I intended to teach it, but you learned, nonetheless."

"Ouch," Harry said in reply, but Severus had already turned back to the log. "Oh great, we're going back the same way."

Severus was already halfway across. "Of course, but you're on your own this time, so keep your eyes open—it's a long way down," he called over his shoulder.

°°°°§§§§°°°°

"Open your eyes," Severus commanded.

Harry obeyed, and for a moment sat there, blinking against the brightness of the room. He sighed. "It's easy now—hard to believe how long this used to take." He realized he was still holding onto Severus' hands, so slowly withdrew them. "We're down to…what? About a minute or two?"

Severus nodded. "A minute. We're near the end now. You'll need one more spell to effectively empty your magical core," he said guardedly, watching Harry.

"I know—a Patronus," Harry said slowly.

"Albus believes that is where your true power lies. Your Patronus, because of what you are, is the embodiment of love, not just a sum of happy memories," he hastened to add.

Chewing on the end of a fingernail, Harry thought for a moment, then asked, "Severus, what's the Dark Lord's Patronus?"

Giving him an appraising look, Severus told him soberly, "I wouldn't know, but I don't believe he has one, not that I've ever seen nor heard. Not surprising, if you think about it."

"Hmm, guess not," Harry agreed, then asked, "So, I'll add my Patronus next time?"

Shaking his head, Severus answered, "No, not yet. First we'll work on speed. What we're aiming for is near instantaneous imaging." At the look on Harry's face, he waved him out of the room, saying, "The hardest part is done; we're in the home stretch now."

°°°°§§§§°°°°

Harry's fascination with Severus' hands continued throughout the summer, but near the end of it, he realized that in his mind and, yes, dreams, he'd moved on to Severus the man, intact.

What can all this mean? I feel comfortable with him, and I actually prefer spending my evenings wit