Title: Norbert et Chloë
Author: I Got Tired of Waiting
Team: Dragon, baby!
Genre(s): Romance
Prompt(s): Separation Anxiety and Possessiveness
Rating: 18+
Warning/Kinks: *Mild Het, Minor OC Character Death, 98% DH and Epilogue compliant.*
Word Count: 77,255
Summary: Norbert and Chloë are destined to be life-mates, or at least they will be, if they can just find each other. However, to gain true contentment, they have to help their respective humans find their own happiness—hopefully together. An eggsemplum on the meaning of heart's ease and the capricious nature of second chances.
A/N: My undying gratitude to Amand-r, Aseneth, and Jadzialove for the kick-ass beta. Awl udder mis-steaks mussed bee mind. Dedicated to RaeWhit aka joanwilder, a most wonderous team capitan and this dragon's 'keeper'. ♥
The ale was almost as flat as his mood, but truthfully, Harry Potter was a bit beyond caring. Oh, he had quite a lovely glow going on somewhere between his numb ears, but he'd yet to reach that uninhibited happy state which would allow him to freely celebrate with his friends. Like his dart game earlier, he kept missing the bullseye.
His friends had blamed his horrid aim on the ale.
It seemed only yesterday he'd faced He Who Still Must Not Be Named, but the calendar, not to mention the Daily Prophet, insisted it was a year ago today, an occasion marked as much by who was missing as by who was attending. Of the Weasleys, only two were present. Ron because Hermione insisted they needed to move on, and Ginny, who'd come because she'd already moved on; he admired that. There'd been others from Hogwarts as well, but none of the staff. He didn't know why that surprised him so much. Come to think of it, the wild revelry he'd half-expected had proven rather tame. People had come and gone, there'd been hugs and a few misty eyes, but, other than a raucously loud darts tournament, it had been night of fairly quiet drinking. Not much of a celebration, really.
He looked around the empty table. Where had everyone gone? Oh, right, then. He hazily recalled Hermione mentioning something about Ginny and visiting the witches' room. Ron must have gone, too, only to the wizards' room, of course, or maybe he was at the bar. Had it been his round this time?
He blamed his lack of observation on the ale.
Ginny. Now there was something, or someone, he supposed, he should think about. He loved her and wanted to eventually marry her, but he was tired of everyone pushing him to do so. Why was it everyone assumed he'd bend his knee as soon as she finished Hogwarts? He didn't even know what he wanted to do with his own life, let alone muck about with someone else's. And had anyone other than him bothered to ask Ginny what she wanted? Would being Mrs Potter hinder her dream of playing professional Quidditch? He couldn't help but think it would, so why would she want to tie herself to him so quickly, so soon?
Then there was all the flotsam that came from dating someone. He wasn't exactly the randiest bloke on the block, but, hell, she was only seventeen and, beyond kissing and a bit of petting, he'd not touched her. Shame that, really, but he didn't know her all that well, not marrying well, anyway. And what did that mean? 'Know me well.' Could anyone really claim his acquaintance through a photo on the front page of the Daily Prophet? Who else, beyond Hermione, or Ron, or Ginny, could even claim they 'knew him well'? Why would they want to?
He blamed his irritation on the ale as well.
"Oi, Earth to Harry." Ron's cheerful face swam into focus. "Brought you another pint, mate." Hermione soon followed and, as Ron slid the tankard to him across the table, they both sat down across from him.
"Where's Ginny?" he asked, taking a cautious sip. Nope, not him. The ale was definitely flat right out of the tap. Ron looked anxiously around the room, but Hermione wouldn't meet his eyes. Tapping his finger on the back of her hand, he asked, "Well?"
Hermione sighed. "You were supposed to have taken her home by curfew, remember? When you didn't, she left."
Harry looked at his watch. "That was two hours ago," he exclaimed. "Why didn't she say something?" And why had Ginny mentioned she could stay as late as she wanted if she had a curfew? The answer floated somewhere in his head, and, knowing he probably wasn't going to like it, he decided he wasn't going to ask that particular question in front of her brother.
"You were in the middle of your match, and she didn't want to bother you," Hermione explained. "Don't worry, I walked her back to the castle and made certain she got safely inside."
"So that's where you went," Ron said, taking a deep draw on his bitters.
It was after eleven, the ale was flat, he was half-soused and getting sleepy from it. He set his drink aside and was about to request they go home, when Ron beat him to it. "Sorry, Harry." As if being here was his idea? "Have to report for training first thing tomorrow morning." He drained his glass. "And Hermione needs her beauty sleep."
Harry grinned as Hermione smacked Ron on the arm. "Yeah, I'm more than ready to go home," he said, pulling on his cloak. It was damned cold for May in Hogsmeade. They said good-night to Madam Rosmerta and left, pulling their collars around their ears.
After leaving Ron at the Burrow, Hermione silently accompanied Harry to his flat.
"You want to come in?" he asked, half-hoping she'd say no.
He got his wish. "No, Harry. I have classes tomorrow." She studied the tops of her shoes. "I just wanted you to know, I made Ginny go home tonight. I knew she'd got special permission to join us, but when it came time for curfew and she'd not said anything, I asked her what was going on." She raised her eyes and held his gaze. "She said she planned on coming back here with you for the night, and when I found out you knew nothing about it, I told her that wasn't playing fair with either you, or McGonagall, and she should go home."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, thanks. I'm not ready for that with her yet, I'm thinking."
"I know, which is why I threatened to tell Ron if she didn't cooperate."
He chuckled. "Well, that certainly would have put a damper on the evening." Not that there weren't other things to have done so as well.
"Well, yes." Hermione started to say something, but stopped, her cheeks rosy from more than the cold.
Harry thought he understood. "Look, it's really all right," he stammered, glad Ron was on the other side of England. "She's too young, and I'm... and when we do... I want us both to be sure because it's... it's special, you know?"
Hermione patted Harry on the shoulder and gave him a one-armed hug. "You're a good man, Harry, and you'll someday make her a good husband." She moved far enough away to Apparate, her last words, "I truly hope she realises just how much so," barely reaching him before she popped away.
A tapping at the window roused him. Every muscle aching from the odd position he'd occupied on the sofa, he blearily peered outside and found himself face to face with an irate owl bearing a large package. He opened the window and it flew in, settling on the back of the only chair in the room. He untied its burden, signed the receipt held out for him from someone called Benson and Sons, and before he could return from the kitchen with a treat, the owl was gone.
The package had fallen in the seat of the chair. He started the fire again and, after casting several detection and warding spells, turned the parcel over in his hands until he could see a bit of writing on one side. Calling forth light from his wand, he saw there was a letter stuck to the plain wrapper that read:
Open this first.
He shrugged. All right. He pulled the letter off and broke the seal.
My dear boy,
I have entrusted the care of this object with my solicitor, Camry Benson, to be delivered to you on this night, the 2nd of May 1999. I know this is odd, even for me, but its time is near and can no longer wait.
I trust you are well and that the war is finally over? I have every confidence that you and Severus will succeed where others have failed. Trust him, Harry, and let your compassion colour your dealings with him. Don't let his exterior fool you. Inside he is a good man, who I have placed in an impossible situation. I only hope you learn the truth in time for you to do something good with it.
Regardless of your circumstance, this is my final gift to you. Whether you are still waging a war and need comfort, or have conquered and are moving on with the happy life you so richly deserve, this gift will bring you your heart's ease. I do so wish I could be there to see you grow into your full potential, but, alas, my time also draws near.
When you open the package, immediately place the egg in the midst of the fire. Be certain to do this before midnight. Don't worry, you can't harm it, but you do need to stay awake until it hatches. Within its shell you will find a guide to your future.
All my best,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry shivered as if Albus' and Severus' ghosts had passed through him. He held the package in his hands, glancing at the clock. Seven minutes to twelve; he'd better hurry. As he stripped the plain paper from the outside, he couldn't explain why he was doing this without question, nor did he once doubt the package's authenticity; perhaps that, more than anything, explained everything.
Beneath the paper was dragonhide. Layers and layers of the stuff, he soon found, as he unravelled the bundle. At two minutes to twelve, he finally came to a pale green egg about the size of his fist and marked with the runes, 'AD 1'. Making the fire blaze with his wand, he held the egg in the end of the hide and gently set it in the fire. He sat back in his chair just as the clock struck midnight, and he waited.
The war is over, the dead have been buried. Why in the hell am I still here?
On the first anniversary of that momentous victory, he sat alone in his tiny home, a rug across his lap, a half-full tumbler of cognac held loosely from the top by long thin fingers. Drinking the last bit of his false courage, he wondered whether this was a good night to finish the bottle. He idly fingered the thick, heavy neck cloth from long habit, so much so, the tattered ends looked like long, grey fringe.
He never seemed to find the energy to do more than his simple daily activities and some days not even those. Food that could not be torn off a loaf or dished from a tin and warmed by wand was sometimes not worth the bother. Bathing was optional, exercised only when he couldn't stand the itching, or when the postal owls delivering his necessities wouldn't come near enough to allow him to remove their burdens. What was the point? He couldn't sell his potions because he had no reputation, no name except the one on his empty tombstone. While his foresight in planning this alternate life, just in case, proved to be prudent, he'd not laid enough by for more than a year or two. He'd never imagined he'd be dead, at least not like this. Even with thrift, and barring any catastrophes, he'd only be able to stretch his funds for perhaps another year.
Staring morosely at the waning fire, he'd just decided that, if he could gather enough ambition to fetch it, the blue potion would be easier, when he heard something tapping at his window. He grabbed the wand lying on the table beside him and cast a detection spell. He relaxed; it was just a postal owl. Despite the late hour, it wasn't unusual to receive packages at this time of night. The tapping continued and he reached for the cane leaning against the side of the chair. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he rasped. Slowly, painfully, he worked himself out of the chair, half-pushing on the cane, half-pulling on the chair's arm. Both hands on the cane's head to steady it, he pulled, then pushed himself upright, the series of ensuing pops in his hip as unpleasant as they sounded.
And still the owl tapped. "Idiot bird," he shouted, hobbling to the window. As he'd thought a thousand times since his accident, he really should get a real cane, not some windfall with a hook on the end he'd found in his garden. He snorted. Just like he should get real food, real ingredients, and a host of other real things to populate his surreal existence.
He finally reached the window and opened it. Burdened with a heavy package, an eagle owl all but fell into the room. Straining, it flew to the chair he'd just abandoned. Leaning heavily on the cane, he winced and limped his way back to it, muttering, "So help me Merlin, if you move even a feather, I'll Avada you and have roast owl for dinner."
The bird, however, didn't seem overly concerned, nor did it move an inch. Upon reaching it, he untied the package, but when the bird held out a receipt, he snarled, "I am not signing anything. You just tell your master you delivered it." The owl turned its head and continued to hold the parchment out. In a contest of wills, bird and man stared at each other. "I've never had owl before," he stated softly, his wand inches from the bird's chest. "Are you tasty?"
Man won as, with a squawk, the owl flew off. Chuckling wickedly, he set the package on the table and waved his wand, hoping to close the window, but it wouldn't budge. Muttering something about fixing that some day and knowing he wouldn't, he made the painful trip to close it. Soon after, collapsed in his chair, he picked up the package and, with no distractions, knew in a heartbeat it was from Albus. He closed his eyes against the flood of memories, but for the first time in years, they brought only a twinge of sorrow, not the horrors to which he was more accustomed.
For this surcease alone, he turned the package in his hand and stopped cold when he saw the name on the address change from the one he now used to his real name, Severus Snape. How in the hell...? He shook his head. He should have known better by now; Albus did whatever Albus did with no man the wiser as to how he'd done it. However, Severus recognised the firm from which the package originated and was well-pleased: Benson and Sons, Attorneys At Law, a fine old firm with a sterling reputation of iron-clad discretion.
Per the instructions on the envelope, he opened the letter first, the salutation as fresh in his head as though he'd heard it that morning at a staff meeting.
My dear boy,
I have entrusted the care of this object with my solicitor, Camry Benson, to be delivered to you on this night, the 2nd of May 1999. I know this is odd, even for me, but its time is near and can no longer wait.
I trust you are well and that the war is finally over? I have every confidence that you and Harry will succeed where others have failed. I only hope you can impart the truth in time, so our boy can do something good with it. Never doubt him, Severus. He is courageous and compassionate and willing to risk everything for his beliefs. He will embrace the truth when the time comes.
Well, that certainly had proven true, all of it. Against all odds and his own fears, Potter had done what needed to be done. He couldn't fault him for that.
Regardless of the circumstance in which you find yourself, this is my final gift to you. Whether you are still deep within your role, or have prevailed and are moving on to wherever the horizons may lead you, this gift will bring you your heart's ease.
"Heart's ease, old man? You always were overly optimistic that I even possessed one," he scoffed, his voice rough with only a hint of its former honey.
I do so wish I could be there, son of my heart, to thank you in person for granting my last wishes, but, alas, as you well know, there is no stopping time.
He blinked. The room seemed a bit smoky. He really must remember to clean the flue.
When you open the package, immediately place the egg in the midst of the fire. Be certain to do this before midnight. Don't worry, you can't harm it, but you do need to stay awake until it hatches. Within its shell you will find a guide to your future.
All my best,
Albus Dumbledore
An egg in the fire? He removed the outer packaging to reveal something wrapped in dragonhide. He glanced at the clock. It was eleven, and he had to decide what to do with this sudden largesse. If he were smart, he'd throw the whole mess in the bin without opening it, then he'd fetch that bottle of blue potion and be done with it. All of it and, perhaps, collect that dram of gratitude from the old man in person.
Nevertheless, he didn't discard the package or the note, his hands holding both carefully, eyes staring first at a bookcase bearing a framed picture, waving and twinkling at him, and back to the bundle in his lap, studiously ignoring the photo standing next to the one of the old twinkler of a fourteen year-old boy flying rings around a Hungarian Horntail. He contemplated the costly wrappings. With any luck he could salvage it for later use, or perhaps even sell it if there were sufficient length; dragonhide of any quantity was dear enough he could eke another careful year out of it.
He came close to throwing the egg away, but at twelve to midnight he succumbed to his two greatest banes: curiosity and an unswerving faith in Albus Dumbledore. Carefully, he unwrapped the single length of hide until he reached the prize in the centre, a pale red egg about the size of his fist. The warmth pulsing in his hand decided him, and he set the egg and wrapping aside on the table and once again worked himself out of the chair. The hide protecting his hands, he carefully set the egg into the embers. He stepped back and flicked his wand to raise the fire until it roared in the grate.
Given his difficulties with the damn chair, Severus levitated a pouffe close to the fireplace, directly in front of the egg. He lowered himself carefully onto its cushioned surface, knowing he would regret this tomorrow, but it was better than struggling out of his chair should something go wrong. Stretching his bad leg out to the side, he set the cane on the floor, his wand beside it, and waited, wondering what the runic 'AD 2' written on the side of the egg could possibly mean.
And what the hell was in the egg? His first thought had been a phoenix, but it was too large and too pale for it, not to mention, too cool. One did not handle a phoenix egg with one's bare hands. A snake maybe? How fitting for a Slytherin. There were several which were semi-sentient, rare, but not impossible to obtain; the egg was the right size as well. A firedrake? No, even Albus wasn't that insane, nor that wealthy. Or perhaps the final joke, a basilisk to send him into the hereafter, rendering his blue potion redundant. He shrugged. No matter, he would find out soon enough.
The deeper his thoughts delved, the lower his lids fell, and soon he lightly dozed by the warmth of the fire, jerking awake every now and again as his head dipped, or some sap popped, or the logs shifted and crackled. In his few lucid moments, he realised his hip fared surprisingly well. Perhaps he should sit on the pouffe more often.
Nearer to dawn than not, a loud crack, followed by a sharp cry woke him fully. The egg had split and was spilling onto the hearth! Startled, he caught something small in his cupped hands as it fell out of the half-shell rolling off the raised hearth. Opening his hands cautiously, he at first thought it a tiny, crimson lizard about eight inches long from tip to tail, that is, until it unfurled broad, almost transparent wings still wet from the egg. A drake? Albus had given him a firedrake?
What an ineffable gift, or so he thought until the hissing creature bit his thumb. Then there were plenty of words to say as the blood welled in the tiny bites, but none he could utter aloud. Indescribable were the sensations as the tiny beast licked the wound clean, taking the pain away and leaving in its wake a dazzling feeling of warmth and hope and a sense of well-being so strong, it vanquished the despair under which he had recently fallen.
Heart's ease, indeed.
Golden eyes blinked up at him and he raised his hand so they were at a level. The long forked tongue flicked out and tasted his nose. Without a doubt, he knew her gender. Chloë, he would name her Chloë. "Do you like that, little one?" he whispered. "Do you like the name, Chloë?" She rubbed her head against his thumb in approval.
How he stood he might never remember, but the awkward, lurching trip to the chair, a hand hovering possessively over his new companion, would stay forever etched in his memory, if only because of the soft croons of encouragement she gave him. Once settled in his seat, his hand upturned and snug against his chest, Chloë carefully extended her wings to let them completely dry, her tail curled for balance. The tiny claws on her three-toed feet tickled his palms, but he knew as she grew older, he would have to protect skin and clothing from them, especially the front ones in which the third toe (or would that be a finger?) was set like a prehensile thumb, allowing her to grasp things like a hand. Which skill she promptly demonstrated by suddenly leaping an inch into the air, catching a moth in a two-paw clasp. Holding it still, she ravenously dispatched it in four messy bites.
Beyond tired, he watched her lick her paws clean, her miniscule teeth biting at the claws. Obviously satisfied with her grooming, she waddled across his palm and, flipping her now-dried wings securely against her back and haunches, she crawled into the sleeve of his robe, turning about so her snout faced his wrist. He was surprised at how warm she was. With a yawn, she gave his wrist a little lick and laid her head across his pulse point. Eyes closed, she was soon asleep. Afraid he would drop her, he tried to stay awake, but his exhaustion soon convinced him otherwise.
And he didn't dream.
The kids have packed their trunks except for the last minute items they'll need tonight. Al finished first, not that I expected anything less; he's always so methodical, so serious. I worry about that sometimes. Lily panicked when her trunk wouldn't close, even with both Al and James sitting on it, so we removed half the contents. Hopefully, she learned a lesson on compromise. But James? It was all I could do to get him to put anything in his trunk at all. I don't think it's so much he doesn't want to go, but that he doesn't want to be forgotten.
So much has changed since last summer when Ginny left the Daily Prophet. As assistant manager for the Harpies, she's always at work, always on the road, and while I'm so proud of her accomplishments--a witch breaking successfully into what has always been traditionally a wizard's field--I miss her. So do the children, James--always her darling--more so than the others. And there is nothing I can say, nothing I can do to mitigate my eldest son's misery. In the love story between Ginny and James, I discovered long ago, I'm merely a bit player.
We didn't clean up, though, because we'd no more finished packing when Ginny came home from an exhibition game in Italy. There was little time to spare for eating and dressing before Molly arrived to watch the kids, so we could attend an SF fundraiser for the Manchester Orphanage.
Ginny looked so lovely tonight, but I hardly recognised her. Who was this creature so gracefully hosting our guests, yet danced with everyone but me? I realise she needs her independence like some people need air, but somehow over the years we've disconnected. Was it because of the children, or is there something more, something... 'me' I've not noticed before? Well, it will soon be just the two of us, so I guess I better find that something and fix it. Forever is too long a time to continue this way.
On a brighter note, we managed to raise over £2,000,000, enough to operate the facility for a year with a bit aside for the endowment. I never imagined when I started the STARS Foundation nineteen years ago, that it would grow so large, nor that we would find so many abandoned wizarding children, nor so many Muggleborns who'd never made it to Hogwarts. Perhaps Albus had been trying to maintain a balance between purebloods and the Muggleborn, but the sheer volume of the dispossessed we found after the war tells a much different story. However, Minerva's thoughts at the time--wondering what our future could have been, had someone taken the time to care for a then-innocent Tom Riddle--well, the rest is history, I suppose. Sirius, Tonks, Albus, Remus, and Severus: how I wish they could have been here to see what Minerva and I built from their ashes.
They were late because Lily couldn't find 'Puddley', who was eventually discovered in the bottom of her bed under the covers. After madly dashing to London and spending forever finding a place to park the Ministry car, they half-ran to the station, oblivious to the indulgent smiles from the Muggles they passed. Never had the magical gate taken so long to suck them into Platform 9-3/4, nor had it ever been this crowded as they carefully wended their way through hoards of boisterous students, nervous familiars both caged and loose, and anxious parents trying to watch their progeny.
Harry had a headache, and Norbert's tail wrapped choke-tight around his neck wasn't helping any. Almost as if he'd spoken the thought aloud, the tail loosened enough so the blood flowed to his brain again, the ache easing. The claws tightened on his robes as the trembling body endeavoured to stay put on his shoulder. He patted the drake lightly on the haunch and got a pushing caress on his cheek for his effort.
Her hand on the top of the trolley to balance the load, Ginny glanced at him over her shoulder and said, "My mother is very upset you wouldn't let her come to the train with us."
Pushing the heavy load, Harry protested, "I didn't tell her she couldn't--"
"James Potter!" she called out to her son walking away from them at a rapid clip. "Where do you think you're going"
"--couldn't come to the station. I just mentioned I didn't think--"
"Lily, where on earth did you find that puddle?" she cried, sweeping her daughter to her side, her eyes fixed on her wet shoes. "I leave you alone for a second..."
Harry stopped the trolley as Ginny pulled up short. "--just didn't think we'd have room in the car with--"
"Al-bus! Did you remember to bring your sister's carrier out of the car?"
"Yes, Mum," he replied, setting his hissing and spitting burden next to the trolley.
"--no room with us and all the trunks and three cats and all the extra--"
"Good. You know how attached she is to the beast."
"--all the extra things the children bring with them and, of course--"
"Lily! What is that all over your face?" Lily tried to hide behind him, but her mother was faster. Pulling her forward, she firmly grasped Lily's chin and turned her face this way and that, studying the small stains ringing her mouth. "Chocolate? At this hour of the morning?" Pulling her wand, she spelled the gooey mess from around the child's pink mouth and sticky hands. "I wonder where you could have got that?" she asked, glaring briefly at Harry, who decided now would be the perfect time to shut up and study the seal on the side of the train.
She stood, calculating purpose in her eyes. "Albus! James! Get back here this instant!" Harry winced as her 'coach voice' ripped through the very air to land heavily on the backs of his sons, who hesitated only a second before walking faster. A second shout from her turned heads and caused a small, warm head, which had been resting against his left ear, to duck with a shudder between his long hair and the loose collar of his robes at the nape. "Steady, old boy," he murmured, "she's just in a small snit."
As Ginny hurried across the station's stone floor, Harry leaned over to whisper, "I thought we'd agreed you'd wait until you were on the train."
Lily stared after her mother. "One of the chocolate frog packages came open and I was afraid it would jump out--"
"And so it did, right into your mouth," he replied with a small smile.
She hung her head. "Sorry, Dad. I really didn't think she'd notice."
Harry straightened with an, "It's all right, although your brothers may disagree," and watched his wife chase down her sons. Well, not exactly a running chase, but he could hear the staccato clicking of her heels even from here. "Not notice?" he muttered. "She can sense trouble at fifty paces. Maybe because she used to be so good at it herself," he murmured more to himself, "once upon a time." He sighed. Once upon a very long time ago.
Now the only trouble she stirred was at the dressmakers when the new robes she ordered, for the latest rounds of charity balls, were not finished on time. His thoughts turned to the ball last night and he sighed again. Sometimes he wondered if she even noticed he existed beyond being an escort to their affairs. A light head-butt to his cheek followed by a hot huff of air drew his attention to a pair of golden eyes set wide atop a long delicate snout, blowing a thin stream of smoke. "Yes, yes. I know," he whispered, "you never forget me."
He watched her catch up to the boys, feeling a most inappropriate satisfaction at his sons' disobedience. At his side, Lily fairly vibrated, partly he knew from excitement, partly from trepidation. Dropping down to her eye-level, he gave her a hug and a quiet, "You'll make lots of friends." When his daughter looked askance at him, he assured, "Don't worry about the sorting; it will all work out." To punctuate his comment, a long sinuous neck and heavily muscled chest stretched out so the green firedrake, once sitting comfortably on Harry's shoulder, could reach Lily. A long tongue licked her face, capturing a tear Harry had not noticed. "See, even Norbert agrees with me."
His heart lightened with her small smile, and he hugged her close. He barely got the, "I love you," out when Ginny returned, Al in tow. Lily took a step back, pressing hard against his legs. Tightening his arm around his daughter, he looked over in apology to his middle son, who nodded his understanding; Lily needed him more right now.
He stood and beckoned. Al walked over to him on his other side. Hugging him tight, Harry realised they were almost of a height. At thirteen Albus was getting tall with that gangly awkwardness heralding adolescence. As Ginny continued her admonishments to mind their manners and to obey all the rules, Al and Lily rolled their eyes. Harry placed a hand on Ginny's arm. "I think they got it, love. It's time to board."
Their relief almost palpable, the children moved from his side. Harry helped Al pile Lily's cat carrier atop their belongings already stacked on the trolley. Rolling it to the train, they unloaded everything, and he traded long, hopeful glances with both children as they climbed the stairs, only to disappear from his sight.
A boy-rocket collided with his side, "Bye, Dad," the hug brief and tight as James threw his arms around his chest and squeezed hard. Just as quickly, he hugged and kissed Ginny before running pell-mell for the train. Harry's quiet, "I'll miss you, son," was lost under Ginny's muttering about the boy's abysmal manners.
Harry sighed. They were good kids. They weren't trouble, they weren't bad. A bit high-spirited, perhaps, but there wasn't a mean bone in their bodies. If they didn't know how to behave by now, no amount of lecturing would make it so. He'd tried to tell her this, and yet Ginny persisted in demanding instant perfection and obedience. Maybe it was the coach in her, but good lord, her own mother was a prime example of affectionate smothering and yet Molly also knew the boundaries and respected them. Most of the time, anyway.
Lily waved from the window of the train, her face stiff with false bravado. He waved back and blew her a kiss, holding her gaze as the train pulled out of the station. Al, he knew, would watch out for her.
Before leaving the platform, Harry smiled to himself as, with a raised brow, Ginny silently handed him the confiscated bags of sweets he'd given the children for the train; at least she'd not found the Sickles he'd given them for the trolley, just in case she found their stash (and she had quite the knack for doing so), nor had she discovered the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes Hyper Hula-hoops and other such toys and tricks he'd snuck in their trunks this morning after she'd sealed them against such fatherly contraband. He grinned. Mischief managed.
As they started walking to the car, he unconsciously placed her on the side away from Norbert and put his arm around her shoulder. Kissing her cheek, he whispered, "Vee're all alone, now." He waggled his brows. "Vhat to do, vhat to do."
Ginny half-smiled but said nothing, not that he'd expected it; however, he was inordinately pleased she stayed by his side. When they finally found the car, he whirled her around and settled her between the car door and his body pressing against hers lightly. She giggled as he kissed her, but she rolled out from under him, evading his more amorous attempt, her tongue making a Molly-like clucking noise as she walked to her side of the car. Adjusting his trousers, Harry slid into the driver's seat and couldn't help but chuckle at Norbert's quiet chittering so closely mimicking Ginny's clucking. His firedrake and his wife were never on the best of terms.
"What are you laughing at?" Ginny asked abruptly, although by the smooth lines on her face he could tell she wasn't too annoyed; Ginny in a real snit was easy to spot. He frowned. She never seemed to smile anymore and he didn't know why. Maybe it was past time he found out. After all, it was just them now with no buffers, no distractions. No more playdates, or junior Quidditch leagues, or music lessons, or any of the flotsam and busy-ness the children had brought to their lives.
Starting the car, he nervously guided it through the crowded car park and soon smoothly merged into the thick London traffic. From here on, the magically enhanced Ford Kuga would pretty much drive itself. "Oh, nothing," he lied. "I was just thinking it would be nice to have some time to ourselves."
"And this made you laugh?"
He shyly rubbed the back of his neck, almost dislodging Norbert's tail wrapped there for balance. He glanced over at the drake, whose wide-arm stance against the car window braced him so he could stick his snout outside. Given his joyful, snorting snuffling, Norbert was thoroughly enjoying the passing scenery.
He turned a bit to face her more, one eye half on the road. "I was thinking of all the... things we could do without the kids interrupting... in front of the fireplace, in the bathtub, on the kitchen ta--"
"The kitchen!" she exclaimed loudly, a splash of colour darkening her cheeks. "Why on earth would we want to do it in the kitchen?" she asked, modulating her voice lower when he winced at the volume. She did try.
Why indeed? "It's different," he began, "you know, someplace new." Strange, before the kids were born, the kitchen table had been one of her favourite spots and now...? He couldn't remember the last time they'd not used their bed. Maybe it was just because they were out of practice? If so, he had some ideas how to fix that. Or maybe they were just getting older? Well, supposedly there were the advantages to that as well, but he'd be damned if he saw them.
He hesitated, running his schedule through his mind. Yeah, he could move things around. "How about we take a small holiday away from here? Start off our newfound freedom the right way. Just the two of us. Maybe Majorca, or one of those exotic islands in the tropics with a secluded beach." He grinned and waggled his brows. "We could walk around naked all day and make love under the moon and stars." He hazarded a full glance. Leaning against the door, Ginny just stared at him. "Or maybe not," he murmured. "We could go anywhere you want. Just for a week, or so."
Ginny huffed a sigh. "Sounds lovely, Harry," she began with only a hint of her usual sarcasm, "but just because you have full control of your time does not mean that I do as well."
"True, but can you spare a few days? Surely you've earned some leave?" he asked, hoping the desperation didn't show.
She pulled out her calendar. "Let's see. Tonight's free, then I'm off for a week with the team, home five days, but we have the Manchester meet, Malfoy Industries Party, which you said you wanted to attend because you'd be meeting Manny there, then there's the Market Square fundraiser, then another week with the team, then the Mannington party..."
Must be an "M" month, Harry thought wryly as he listened to the on-going litany of fundraisers, Quidditch games, parties, and meetings. He hadn't realised they'd let their lives get so out of their control. When she finally stopped, he said, "All right, all right. I understand. If you can't take a week, how about we go out on a date, then? Something romantic. Dinner in Paris with a walk along the Seine? Or how about the opera and a late dinner in Venice?"
"Really? You're serious?" she asked, and if he hadn't known better, he would have said her voice sounded almost timid.
"Yeah. Pick a date and we'll go."
"All right, how about Venice on the 22nd?"
He hesitated. He was supposed to meet with the Minister that day, but he'd move it to some other time. "Sure. Can we make it a day?"
"We could leave in the morning. I won't get in from Greece until late the night before, but we could leave around nine?"
"Greece? You're coming in from Greece?"
"Yes, we have an exhibition game."
"Oh. Could you just meet me in Venice, then, rather than going home? I can get a Portkey made for you special."
"But what about my clothes?"
Harry knew better than to offer to pack her things himself. That was a recipe for instant disaster. "You can pack a few extras and then, in the morning," he gulped, in for a Knut and all that, "we can go shopping for something nice for dinner and the opera."
"Oh, can we go to Rome for shopping?"
"Don't see why not."
"Oh, that would be so lovely, Harry."
With her blinding smile, he felt ten feet tall. "Um, can we stay the night in Venice? After the opera, that is?"
She flipped her calendar to the next day. "Sure, I don't have to be in the office until nine and there is the time difference to consider."
"All right. You'll meet me in Venice on the night of the 21st, we'll make love and sleep in, make love and go shopping in Rome, make love and go to dinner and the opera, make love and go to sleep, and make love and come back home on the 23rd in the morning."
She raised a sceptical brow. "Really? All that?"
"C'mon, I'm male, and I'll have my beautiful wife all to myself. What else did you expect me to do? Besides, you'll owe me for the shopping."
And the rest of the ride was almost as if the years hadn't passed.
Norbert launched from his shoulder as he took the receipt from the attendant and walked over to where Ginny stood to the side. Smart drake, he thought, watching him settle atop a nearby shrub.
"I have to go into the office," Ginny remarked before he could even draw breath to ask her plans. "I'll be home in time for dinner, though," she added, looking over the rows of autos awaiting return to the pool.
Harry touched her shoulder, almost ashamed of doing so when she jumped. "Oh. All right. You said you were free today, so I thought we might go out and do something together."
"No, I'm free tonight after I go through the team's paperwork, but I have to make it an early one, I'm afraid. We leave at dawn tomorrow."
"I thought Ivy always did the papers," he said with a touch of exasperation, his hand stroking her shoulder.
"Normally she does, but Bendle gave her a holiday, and I have to do it instead." There was no mistaking her bitterness.
"What an arsewipe," he muttered, not missing the look of gratitude she threw him. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Well, there's no helping it, then, is there? Probably just as well, the house is a disaster; it will take me awhile to tidy it up."
"I appreciate your patience, Harry, really I do, and I'm sorry. If there was any way to get out of it..."
Her cheek was just as soft as it always was, and so were her lips. "I understand. It's not easy is it?"
"No, I suppose not," she replied quietly.
He turned her into his arms and held her close. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered. He gave her a lingering kiss. "I'll have dinner ready when you get home." He settled his hands on the small of her back. "And after dinner..." He dropped his hands lower.
"Harry!" she cried, laughing. "Is that all you think about?"
"Uh-huh," he said, nuzzling her neck. "Healthy male, beautiful wife, remember?"
Pushing away from him, she playfully swatted his arm. "Enough of that," she growled and Apparated away.
Within moments, Norbert winged his way back, and they went home.
Silence filled the empty house. Nothing greeted him upon his return. No Lily colliding with him at the door, almost bowling him over in her exuberance, no Al behind her, prattling a mile a minute about the latest spell he learned, and no James yelling at the lot from the other room to keep quiet. Nothing but the sound of his footfalls on the wooden floor and Norbert snuffling in his ear.
He didn't much like it, either. After making a cup of tea and defiantly setting a dish with a few mealy worms on the table, he watched Norbert grab one in each paw and wolf down his wiggling meal while he planned the rest of his empty day.
"I suppose I should start by sorting the mounds of clothes and toys left behind in the kid's rooms; surely some of them aren't so worn they can't go to the STARS outlet stores," he mused. "Then while the wash is going, I probably should start dinner."
Norbert burped his agreement.
Harry eyed the empty dish. "You done there, or do you want more?"
Licking his chops, Norbert seriously considered it. However, after a series of raised brows and much scrunching of his mouth, followed by a smoky sneeze, he pushed the edge of the dish with his front paws until it flipped over.
"I'll take that as a no," Harry said with a chuckle. Sighing, he rinsed his cup and Norbert's bowl and set them in the drainer.
Upstairs, the children's bedrooms were utter chaos. After setting a deep-cleaning spell on their bathrooms, he gathered all the clothes lying about, tossing them onto the floor of the broad landing at the top of the stairs. He knelt on the floor to sort them into four piles: one for the bin, one for his charitable stores, another for laundry, and the last to fold or hang to put away. Wanting the satisfaction of manual labour, he left his wand in his sleeve and chucked the first shirt, Al's he thought, into the laundry pile. Getting into the rhythm of it, he was soon lost in thought.
Merlin, there were a lot of them, he reflected, laughing as Norbert erupted from the bottom of the dirty pile in a shower of clothing. Just another example of Ginny's efforts to give her children an easier life than hers had ever been. Given his own childhood, it wasn't something against which he could argue, although he wondered if she'd forgot in her quest that it wasn't the possessions which made things special. He snorted, a sound echoed by Norbert as he dove back into the dirty clothes, digging his way through the mound to the floor. No, there were no hand-me-downs for the Potter kids.
Or her, for that matter. Her stylish day robes, the custom evening robes she rarely wore twice, going to the spa for her skin and nails--these things he didn't mind as they made her happy; however, "I hate her hair," he said vehemently, reaching for the next thing in the heap. He sniffed a towel, inhaling the almost-clean boy-smell before he tossed it into the dirty pile. He'd all but cried when she'd first cut the waist-length mass during their courtship but had eventually accepted it as the price one paid to play Quidditch. With her first pregnancy, he'd hoped she'd let it grow longer when her condition forced her off the team.
"It's not practical, she'd say to me whenever I asked, and who can argue with a pregnant woman?" he grumbled.
Norbert snorted his agreement.
He shrugged, throwing a barely-worn grey jumper, James's he thought, onto the charity pile. "But what's so practical about it now?" he asked, tossing another towel onto the ever-growing dirty pile. "She keeps it cropped so short, you can practically see her scalp. And I don't understand why she needs all that goop to 'tame it'; it's rather like using a whip to scold a kitten." He tossed a stray pair of trousers in the general direction of the clothes to be washed. "It makes her hair stiff." He set Al's shirt in his lap. "It used to be so soft. She used to like me running my fingers through it." He shook his head and the shirt sailed over to charity. "Can't do that anymore."
Norbert whimpered, he thought in sympathy, but when the pathetic noise didn't abate, he looked up from his task. Incredulous, he stopped his sorting to rescue Norbert from Al's smalls, bursting out in laughter as he tried to untangle the drake's head and long neck poking out through the slit in front. With the long, soft, spiky tendrils flowing from the top of his head, it wasn't easy. He finally had to rip the undergarments at the front "Y", Norbert accidentally nipping his finger as he tried to help.
Sucking the small hurt, his eyes strayed to the scar on the pad of his left thumb, so much like a smiley emoticon with two small dots on the left with a curved row of teeth marks on the right. He smiled, remembering that long night of waiting. Albus had been right; Norbert really had been his heart's ease over the years, making life's little hurts seem less important somehow. Norbert's head peeked over the top of his hand, his eyes liquid with concern. How could a creature who couldn't talk, express so much? Norbert licked his finger.
"It's all right, boy. Just a scratch," he said soothingly.
Stroking the distressed drake hunched on his thighs, he wondered if Norbert's apparent ability to know what he was thinking or feeling was due to some innate draconic talent, or was it just because he paid attention? And could such a talent explain the ambivalence between his drake and his wife? Ginny barely tolerated Norbert, and Norbert had made his disdain for her perfectly clear from the moment he'd hatched, although he was fine with the rest of the Weasley clan, especially George. Was it mere jealousy, or something deeper, something they recognised in each other that made it impossible for them to get along?
Soft and supple, the silvery green hide slid easily beneath his fingers, and he decided it didn't much matter; he was Norbert's human as much as Norbert was his drake. He couldn't imagine life without either one of them, so it was up to him to keep the peace.
Norbert butted his hand for more petting; Harry sighed and patted the floor. "Sorry, old son, but we have to finish this if we're to get dinner ready on time." Norbert started smoking but half-flew off Harry's lap all the same. "You can pout all you want, but don't set the house afire, all right?"
Harry made quick work of the rest of the clothing. A flick of his wand banished one smallish pile to the bin, a second transferred the largest pile to the baskets in the storage room for the STARS outlets. He gathered the small pile to be put away, all Lily's, and carried them to her room. Dumping them on the bed, a quick spell had them flying into the closet where they draped themselves on the hangers. Returning to the landing, he surveyed the remaining heap. Only a few loads left for the washer; he should be able to get those done before bedtime. Norbert flew to his shoulder and they went downstairs, the clothes obediently following, to the utility room. After starting the first load, he and Norbert moved to the kitchen.
Of all the rooms in the house, even more than his private study, this one was his, a mixture of the best of both worlds. With Hermione and Arthur, they'd slaved for months getting the Muggle appliances to function in a magical environment. With proper shielding, it had worked, although magic powered everything rather than electricity. All modern stainless steel and glass and light woods, this was his haven, a place to create and vent his frustrations.
Absent-mindedly, he wandered into the open pantry, wondering what he should make. Italian sounded good, and it seemed all he was missing was the pasta. Linguini, he thought and, eyeing the expiration date on the cream in the fridge, clams; he'd need those, too. Writing a quick list, he whistled for Putney, Ginny's owl, and sent him to the market for supplies. He'd just finished chopping the onions and smashing the garlic when Putney returned, two owls behind him carrying bags of goods.
While things steamed, sautéed, and boiled on the cooker, he started another load of laundry. Checking his pots, he moved to the board and chopped herbs, Norbert handing them to him in bunches as he finished each one. As the meal shaped beneath his hands, his thoughts wandered, but not too far. Stirring the sauce, he thought of the compromises in his life. Like this kitchen. Ginny was a good cook, but she hated doing it, thinking it a waste of time when they could go out instead. He hated the circus whenever they stepped out and wanted to eat in. She'd been more than willing to hand over the preparation of their meals to him. Molly she was not.
Not that he necessarily wanted her to be. Molly's constant smothering and more recent nagging he could easily live without, but the caring and love that had always underlined it? Were the attributes which made Molly special so intertwined with those other less desirable things that one could not separate them? He suspected this was the case. Had Ginny truly managed to be the very opposite her of mother in those things she considered unattractive? When one compared Ginny as she was when he'd courted her to the Ginny she was today, one had to wonder if her sophistication was worth the coin. Was the change really her doing, or more the work of his criticism of her mother? How else had he made her feel insecure?
A quiet trilling in his ear soothed him and he leant his head to the side, knowing there would be a soft swipe against his cheek before a gentle scolding. He smiled, blessing the day he'd received Norbert.
The front door slammed as he set the washer for the third load, the first having already been sent upstairs with folding and hanging spells. He looked at the clock; she was a bit late, but as always, he didn't comment on it.
"Sorry, I'm late," she said, striding into the kitchen.
He set down his spoon on a tray and turned to greet her, his arms catching her as she walked near, drawing her close. "Hallo, love," he replied, giving her a lingering kiss.
She wrinkled her nose. "You smell like garlic," she said, rolling away out of his arms.
Well, he'd chopped it, but he certainly hadn't eaten any, yet. "Sorry," he replied quietly, turning back to his pots.
Ginny made a soft noise and placed her hand on his shoulder, kissing his cheek. "It's all right. Bit strong, though."
He smiled. "Makes the meal taste better that way." He put the pasta in the water. "Did you get everything done you wanted?" he asked.
"No." she replied somewhere behind him. "Bendle decided he's not coming this time, so I did his part as well. I still have to go though my mails tonight after dinner."
Well, that scotched his plans for the evening. Harry shrugged and chuckled as a new thought struck him. "I know some good long-distance hexes. We could make his supposed holiday totally miserable."
The sentiment might have been a good one, but if her reaction was anything to go by, the chuckle had been a mistake. "You don't appreciate what I have to go through with that man," she ranted. "I think he only hired me so I could do all the work while he takes all the credit. A little support from you would be nice here."
Harry reined in his temper; getting upset would get them nowhere. When he felt able to speak rationally, he said quietly, "Bendle is an idiot who couldn't manage his way out of an open bag. I'm sorry he's your boss. If I could find a way to waste him for you without leaving a body, I would. I have ever been supportive. You know this. You're frustrated, and I do understand. I was just trying to be funny, so could we please leave the accusations at the clubhouse?"
Norbert nudged him and he turned around to see her sit at the table and put her head in her hands. "I know. I'm just so tired."
He poured her a cup of tea from the steaming kettle at the back of the cooker. Placing it on the table in front of her, he kissed her temple and rubbed her back. "Here, drink this. You'll feel better for it."
She grabbed his hand and held it a moment before letting it go. Curling her hands around the cup, she sighed and said, "Thanks."
"So everything's set for the trip tomorrow," he ventured a few minutes later.
"Yeah, the Portkeys are ready, the pub is reserved, and the reports on the pitch are favourable. I need to make certain the transportation is there on time..."
He listened to her outline the things she still needed to do, amazed as always at her recall; if he didn't have a keeper, it wouldn't get done. Throughout, he made sympathetic noises about the team's chances, never dreaming of interjecting an actual opinion; after her three day snit two years ago when they'd disagreed about the Puddlemere's chances at the cup--and the subsequent games proved him correct--he knew better than to voice his uninformed comments about Quidditch.
Meanwhile he was occupied with trying to finish their dinner and shushing Norbert, who was snorting and rolling his eyes and flipping the ends of his wings with every word she uttered. If Ginny caught him, she'd throw a wobbly. However, even though she sat nearby, she never looked at either of them as she spoke, and Harry wondered what exactly she did see, if not them.
When she left to change clothes, Norbert let out a frustrated stream of fire.
"Not you, too? I've just about had it with both of you. Go put that to good use and light the candles on the table, will you?" With a sheepish puff, Norbert flew to the table and did as he was bade. With a flip of his tail, he took off again, flying out of the room.
Glad he didn't have to fight his drake as well, Harry set the table.
Ginny returned, looking much more comfortable for having had a shower and a change of clothes. "Mmmm. Something smells good. Is that linguini in clam sauce?" she asked as he put the bowl on the table.
"Yeah, with herbs and anti-pasto."
They served themselves and he poured them both a glass of pale Chianti. He knew it was a success because conversation devolved into little moans and short requests to pass the vegetables. Through the door into the sitting room, he could see Norbert sulking on the mantel of the fireplace. He smiled, thinking he would give him a treat of some ice cream after dinner for absenting himself with no fuss. Sharing a meal with the drake was not high on Ginny's list of pleasurable activities and tonight, especially, his antics might have proven disastrous.
After dinner, Ginny disappeared to work. Harry did the dishes by hand with Norbert batting the suds. After clearing the last load out of the dryer, he briefly peeked into Ginny's study, but, given her frown of concentration as she worked on her computer, he didn't disturb her.
He decided he might as well get some work done himself, so he entered his own area, a small room that used to be a storage closet. Every inch of wall space from the floor to the ceiling was lined with shelves, broken only by a small fireplace in the corner. A single chair, wedged in the opposite corner, hid a small notebook table to the side and another one behind it to set his tea. The books filling the shelves were half-hidden behind dozens of pictures of his family and friends. After gazing fondly at the kids and Ginny, he sat in his chair and went through his e-mail. By his side, Norbert lay in a basket lined with a Gryffindor scarf he'd stolen from the laundry years ago; trying to remove it, or wash it, would get one's hand scorched. Not that it was dirty or anything, but it did reek of dragonet, which was not necessarily a bad thing, just a strong thing.
Eyeing the mess, Harry sent a mail to Rae, his keeper, asking her to make certain the ventilation in the new office (which he hoped would be finished in another month or so) was sufficient to withstand Norbert's draconic excesses. He stared at the small fire, imagining the finished product: four rooms plus a loo in what the Americans called a shotgun house--plain, simple, and efficient. He sincerely hoped the new location would give him a bit more privacy and relieve the stress caused by the chaos surrounding their central London office. With a Floo and Apparation, the outskirts of Dorking was close enough for him to conduct his charity business and still enjoy the country. He didn't think anyone would begrudge him this one indulgence, although Ginny had asked him to keep it as far from their home as possible. He couldn't fault her logic, so it was sited on a corner of their property, well away from the wards which would prevent him from running, with electricity, the communication and copying machines he used in his dealings with the Muggle world.
After an hour of it, Harry had enough for one day and set everything aside. He retired to their bedroom and made the bed with fresh sheets. He took a quick shower, Norbert flying gleefully in and out of the water, splashing them both. He'd forgotten to give him ice cream, but he supposed this was treat enough as he usually didn't allow the drake in the shower with him, just the bath.
As he dried off, Norbert gave a huff when Harry said, "You'll have to go find somewhere else to be tonight." The drake started whining. "Now, none of that. You know how she feels about you being with us at night." He chuckled, thinking Ginny always said that, with all his noises and hoots and whistles whenever she and Harry were intimate, Norbert was like having a sporting commentator in bed with them. While he didn't quite see the problem--who noticed those kinds of things when one was having sex--he'd accommodated her anyway.
He donned his dressing gown and ambled off to collect Ginny, surprised when she shut down her computer with nary a complaint. From the bed, he watched her change into pyjamas, and he grinned to himself, thinking she wouldn't be in them long enough to enjoy them. She climbed into bed and turned out the light.
Immediately reaching for her, he took her in his arms and kissed her. He carefully unbuttoned her top, knowing how shy she seemed with him touching her body. Which he didn't quite understand. Yes, he'd noticed she wasn't as trim as when they'd first married, but it didn't bother him. Her hips were wider, but she'd borne three children, so it wasn't unexpected, and if her breasts were heavier, more pendulous, he could only assume that came from nursing three babies. It seemed to him she'd earned it. If she were a bit more... pillowy than before, that was all right, too, and he'd told her so on numerous occasions. He still liked kissing her and touching her skin, still enjoyed sinking into her body, still thrilled to see her lost in ecstasy.
Only not so much of that anymore, nor did it seem there would be tonight, either. All his efforts beyond the most perfunctory actions were met by resistance and refusal. He tried to tease her into arousal with his fingers, but she wiggled away. His kisses and suckles to her full breasts were met by sighs of impatience, not joy. With pulls and tugs, she urged him to mount her, but he balked when he discovered how dry she was. She opened herself for him and whispered, "Don't worry, it'll warm up soon enough," and she'd been right, but the initial easing into the Sahara of her entrance shrivelled some of his ardour. He held out as long as he could before nature overtook him and he came deep within her.
If he'd thought his performance less than adequate, it was nothing compared to what followed. As he rolled off her and reached to pull her into his arms for a bit of a cuddle, he missed because she was already half-way out of the bed on her way to the bathroom, mumbling darkly about the mess he always made. Deflated, he lay back on the bed, wondering why he'd even bothered. She soon returned, the bed dipping as she climbed in. A warm, wet flannel dropped on his stomach. "There, love, that should make you feel better," she said softly, laying down beside him.
He quickly cleaned himself and dropped the flannel to the floor. He turned on his side, his head cushioned on his hand. Snaking an arm across her waist he scooted closer. Thinking that even though it hadn't been what he'd hoped, he was still gratified she willingly shared her body with him. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing her full on the mouth.
"Oh, that's all right," she said more like her old self. "A good wash always makes one feel better, don't you think?"
Stunned, he could only stare. Was she just teasing him? He soon found out when she leant over and briefly kissed him good night. "Love you," she said, sliding out from under his arm to turn on her side. His hand lay heavy on her waist and for every inch he moved closer to snuggle, she moved away, mumbling that he was too hot for that, until he could tell she was right on the edge of the bed. Sighing, he kissed her nape, and retreated. Back on his side of the bed, he whispered, "I love you, too."
He barely heard her slurred, "Night, Harry," and he knew she was already asleep.
Eyes staring at a ceiling he couldn't see, he wondered when all the kisses and cuddling had disappeared. Where had his Ginny gone? As he pondered this, Norbert returned and settled on the wide pillow next to his head and suddenly it didn't seem so sad. He shrugged under the covers, letting it go. Turning on his side, he soon fell asleep, lulled by Norbert's soft purring.
Wiltshire was admitted to St Bartholomew's this afternoon. Given his declining health, I don't know why this surprises me so. However, there is a certain feeling, a prescience, if you will, that tells me he will not be leaving this time. Nevertheless, his spirits proved chipper enough to set my teeth on edge, so I suppose in that respect, he's his usual self. I spent the evening playing chess with him until he fell asleep half-way through a game. Pity, I'd hoped his incapacitation might afford me the rare opportunity to win.
The knowledge of Wiltshire's imminent demise merely adds another reason to hate tomorrow - September 1st - which has, for more years than not, been the worst day of the year. Ironically, I'd actually looked forward to it once. In my youth, the 1st meant freedom, the day I would take the Hogwarts Express away from my parents' house, away from my erstwhile family, away from that life. Despite all the misfortune I experienced there, including the loss of a dear friend, life at Hogwarts wasn't nearly as painful as it was anywhere else.
That is, until I took the Mark. Need I clarify what date that happened?
With my return to Hogwarts as a teacher, I discovered yet another reason to dislike the day, for it heralded the end of freedom, the day the brats returned and we began anew another year of idiocy. Yet compared to that one accursed 1st, when the Potter whelp arrived, the first few years seemed almost peaceful. Then followed seven years of Potter's ignorant arrogance and rebellion, augmented by Albus' crafty indulgence and ruthless dedication to 'the cause', both of which were more than any one human should be expected to tolerate. However, I am honest enough to admit, it didn't end so badly, and Potter eventually earned a measure of my respect. He paid the full price for his victory, as did we all, although of the living, Potter and I may be the only ones who truly understand the meaning of resurrection and second chances.
Since the war's end, the 1st heralds the early chill of autumn, grasped by the icy fingers of the dead. Each September 1st, I think of Hogwarts, which brings various thoughts of Albus and visions of Voldemort and a previous life from which I can never seem to escape. My former masters, one called good and the other evil, played the white and black of a desperate chess match, their pawns scuttling blindly across the field as they sought a victorious check and mate. Even in death they still bind me. The patterns and roles with which they imprinted me move through my memory as the stuff of nightmares, where white becomes black becomes lifeless grey, until one can no longer distinguish between them, or their original purpose.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow I will more than likely have to say goodbye to yet another former master, albeit one fair and benign; the bonds of friendship between us have assured us that small mercy. Unlike the others, I'll actually be able to remember Wiltshire and our time together with a fond sorrow well-suited to the bright light of day.
However, it would be kinder, if only to me, if Wiltshire could hold off until the 2nd.
The fit was still superb and, as Severus tugged the bottom of the waistcoat to settle it against the top of his hips, he felt a rare measure of vanity that his success had not thickened his slim waistline. Eyeing his reflection in the mirror, he decided that, while the subtle reds and golds woven into its ebony fabric were far too Gryffindorish for his taste, the total effect proved quite handsome. Besides, he knew the colours had been chosen to match Chloë, rather than a bow to former house rivalries; Wiltshire had gone to Durmstrang and wouldn't know, nor care, about such things. He'd bought this for him several years ago--for the opening of the Paris office, if he recalled--but Severus had never worn it until today. A silly affectation, perhaps, but he knew it would please his old friend.
A few minor adjustments to the coal black outer robe and the razor pleat of his trousers completed his salute to grooming. Satisfied with the fall of his full sleeves, he checked to make certain his wand was seated properly before reaching for his cane leaning against a small table next to the ornately framed full-height mirror. The smooth gold of the head fit perfectly in his left hand, the magic tingling through it, activating its balancing charms and its affinity with the faerie fibre brace he wore against his skin under his clothing. Between the brace's support and two procedures done almost too late to help, he now had better mobility and rotation in the joint. Not wonderful by any means, but it was the best modern wizarding medicine could do and certainly a far cry from his pathetic state over twenty years ago. As he studied the enamelled, red firedrake winding around the cane's ebony shaft, he chuckled; he never did get rid of the old windfall, he'd just hidden it under a veneer of refinement.
Much like himself, if he thought about it. Certainly no one recognised him now.
A happy chittering from the tabletop caught his attention. Her wings spread, Chloë clasped her paws to her chest and continued her one-sided conversation. He held out his arms with a smile. "So, your highness, do I meet with your approval?"
Her response was a cheerful cheep as a hop and a powerful down-sweep of her wings launched her towards him. Flying a few circuits, she approached from behind and landed heavily on his right shoulder, more of a drop than a glide since she folded her wings back at the last minute so she wouldn't clip his head. Fierce talons immediately dug into a specially magicked patch of thick leather sewn into all his robes, and he braced himself with his cane against her forward momentum, a lesson he'd learned the hard way in the early days. As soon as her three-quarter stone weight settled evenly on his shoulder, he checked their appearance one final time and Apparated them away.
Wiltshire was situated in a corner room overlooking the Firth of Clyde and the Isle of Arran. A VIW room, it was the best Centaury's reputation and endowments could buy. He and Chloë Apparated into a silenced anteroom before entering the large main room with its two walls of floor to ceiling glass. Wiltshire was still sleeping, a blessing as far as Severus was concerned; despite the very best potions, his partner seemed to experience some discomfort when awake. For all Severus knew, he still felt the pain while asleep, but Severus suspected Wiltshire's dreams were sufficient to counteract any remaining distress; the man couldn't be more opposite to him in disposition if he tried.
As he approached the chair set close to the bed, Wiltshire's eyes opened, their dark brown instantly alert. They at least had that in common. He licked his dry lips, and Severus immediately picked up the glass of water sitting on the bedside table. Bracing his own legs against the side of the bed, Severus levitated him into a sitting position and helped him sip the cool water. When he'd had his fill, Severus held him in place while Wiltshire pressed the panel to allow the bed's back to rise to meet him. Half-reclining, his gaze ran rakishly up and down Severus, his slight frown changing to a brilliant smile.
"Silas!" he exclaimed hoarsely with open delight. "How handsome you look this morning! I knew that fabric would look fabulous on you." With the merriment in Wiltshire's eyes, Severus knew what he wasn't saying and felt a mild rush of shame that it had taken Wiltshire dying for him to wear it in the first place.
He was spared a response, though, when Chloë launched off his shoulder and flew to the bed. Waddling along the length of his legs, she flopped down near Wiltshire's waist and laid her upper body, neck, and head across his stomach. Severus tamped the surge of irritation he always felt whenever Chloë showed affection to another, and thankfully, she usually only did so with Wiltshire, but he supposed it was her uninhibited reaction to the other Potions master that allowed him to trust him in the first place.
Wiltshire's hand gently caressed her head and neck, finally settling on her shoulders. She shifted to take the added weight and crooned softly to him. "What a sweet, lovely girl, she is, Silas. I was always so jealous that you had her. You were kind to share."
"Kindness had nothing to do with it, George," he said, cautiously sitting in the too-squashy chair. "She has a mind of her own, as you well know. That she liked you was just another reason to like you myself."
"Did you? Did you really?" he asked, a wistful note in his voice.
Severus sighed. "I know I'm not very demonstrative--" both Chloë and Wiltshire snorted "--but I would certainly hope you realised the level of my... esteem."
Wiltshire chuckled. "How very formal you always are. It took me years to finally understand your humour." He turned his head to look at him, his eyes soft in the bright mid-morning light. "You're a very funny man, you know."
Severus smiled weakly. Wiltshire had always assumed the best of him.
"It's been, what, twenty years now?" George asked, his head settling heavily into the pillow behind it.
"Close enough," he replied, alarmed at the pallor creeping into his partner's face. He wondered if he should call the Medi-witch.
"Yes, it was a very long time ago, wasn't it?" he murmured, his eyes half-closed. "I remember the first time you came to see me after the war, Severus. My, what a mess you were. Your hair, your clothes... you had to put rocks in your pocket to hold you steady in a strong wind..."
Severus let him continue and set the heaviest silencing charm he knew around the room. Let him ramble as much as he wanted, or needed. He could always Obliviate the help if they noticed the change of name.
"...but look at you now. I know you'll be fine. Used to worry about that, you know. But not any more..."
Wiltshire... George was asleep once more, and Severus eased back in the chair to wait.
How the man had aged in the last year; he couldn't have been more than 120, although he'd only admit to 80. Perhaps it only looked that way because his full head of hair, kept short, had turned from grey to white in a matter of months, for the rest of him remained much the same. He supposed others considered George a handsome man, his bright, inquisitive eyes, bracketed by laugh crinkles and topped by expressive brows, were by far his most arresting feature. There had always been something devilish, almost Puck-ish, about him that belied his more serious moments.
So much he owed him, though, regardless his age or appearance, for he'd been Severus' Master for many years, first for his apprenticeship when he'd left Hogwarts, and later when he'd re-certified him under his new name. Taking Wiltshire with him and starting Centaury Potions together had seemed so natural then, the two of them so opposite in everything except their competency. In that respect, George still left him behind sometimes. However, with Severus to run the operations and George to be the public face and the head of research, their success was only a matter of scrupulous formulas, innovation, hard work, and long hours.
He supposed much of their success was due to neither of them having any immediate family, although over the years they'd come to see each other as such--brothers to Severus' mind, if he could choose one for himself. However, he knew George would have liked them to be much more than that, an issue he never avoided; he'd propositioned Severus more times than he could count, but it was always light-hearted, always easy to say no. Perhaps George's blatant advances, even going so far as to steal a kiss or two, was the reason Severus had always held him off with a certain formality. It wasn't that he was upset with George's inclinations, nor was he convinced that he himself could never participate in such a relationship, it was more that George wasn't the right person for it. In fact, he'd met no one, man or woman, with whom he wanted to be intimate, nor had he been with anyone in that way since before leaving Hogwarts.
He shook his head. What a eunuch he'd become.
He stared out the windows, idly watching the fluffy white clouds float across the bluest of skies. Even the sea seemed calm today, the storms of last week clearing the blackness from the water, leaving it a shimmering blue-grey. A few sailboats lazily tacked across the small bay leading into the Firth. It was a fine day to die, he supposed, somewhat amazed at how calm his own thoughts were at this moment. Usually his mind was awash with the detritus of running a multi-billion Galleon company, but today all those normal thoughts had absented themselves from his consciousness. Perhaps this peaceful respite represented his last gift to his good friend, his best friend: the whole of his undivided attention.
Over the course of the next few hours, he went on a walk to stretch his legs and relieve his aching bladder while the Medi-witch administered new potions and spells, working around the firedrake since Chloë refused to leave. After the medic's second visit, Wiltshire stayed awake. Severus leant forward, his arms on the bed's edge, as much to hear Wiltshire's quiet tones as to take some pressure off his back. A spotted hand covered his, the long fingers curling in a surprisingly strong grip. They sat like this for how long Severus couldn't say, but long enough he became aware of the pulse in the cold hand above his. He placed his other hand atop his friend's, hoping to warm it.
"What time is it?"
Severus looked out the window. "About mid-afternoon, I'd say."
George shook his head. "You're hopeless, you know. Most people carry a timepiece of some sort."
"What's the point? Things get done when they get done," he replied easily. "Morris sees to my appointments, and no one could fault the chronographs in the lab. Beyond that, I'm done measuring time."
Wiltshire nodded as if he'd said something wise. "Yes, I suppose marking time is a foolish pastime." He chuckled. "Almost as foolish as..." He stopped abruptly, his smile fading. "Yes, almost," he whispered. He pulled his hand away gently and began fiddling with the covers. He stared out the window for the longest time; Severus thought maybe he'd fallen asleep again when he heard a soft, "Kiss me, Severus."
Severus startled. Had he heard correctly? "Pardon?"
George smiled and, turning towards him, sighed. "I said, kiss me, Severus."
Hesitating only a heartbeat, he stood unsteadily and sat on the side of the bed. He braced one hand on the mattress, the other touching George's face, and leant in close until he could feel the man's breath on his face. "Just once so I can pretend that you love me," George breathed before pressing his mouth to Severus', his hand threading through his salt and pepper hair, knocking askew the tie holding it. Long silky tresses poured down around them, and still George kissed him, and Severus let him, even participated, if for no other reason than their friendship, all the while thinking that he really did love him, just not the way his friend had wanted.
Their lips separated with a soft sound, and their gazes locked as the souls within their eyes said goodbye.
"Ah, what a fine pair we would have made," he murmured, patting Severus' cheek. Severus made to answer him, but Wiltshire had other ideas as the hand in his hair came around to settle palm-flat over his heart. "I understand, my dear," he said softly. "There will come another who will capture your heart and, oh, how fine that will be when it happens." He coughed with his weak laughter. "You can rest assured that I will be having a good laugh at your expense when you realise how all-consuming it is."
What could one say to that? How did one respond when faced with the reckoning that someone, thought to have been only teasing all these years, had really been in earnest? He had never known. Nor would he ever admit it with words, for as he was about to speak, Wiltshire closed his eyes, effectively stilling any possible reply.
"I'm very tired, Severus," he said, his face grimacing as he shifted a bit under the covers. He opened his eyes slowly as if their weight were unbearable. "Stay with me?"
"Of course, George," he replied, taking the hand that had fallen to his thigh. "I've this time only for you."
Wiltshire smiled beatifically as he fell asleep, and in that smile, Severus felt a measure of peace and absolution for himself. George had heard, as always, what he hadn't said, but what he'd really meant. And wasn't that the true meaning of friendship and family?
He remained sitting on the side of the bed, clasping George's hand, until the stars shone brightly, unhindered by the sliver of a waxing moon. It was as lovely a night as it had been a day. His limbs stiff, Severus rose, tied his hair as neatly as it had been before and, with unsteady gait, paced around the room to work the kinks out of his back and hip. Tired, he levitated the chair parallel to the bed before finally settling into it and once again took the cold hand, the quiet wheezing of George's slumber audible from this close. Chloë flew in through the open window and landed on the bed between him and George; he'd barely noticed when she'd left them to hunt and see to her own needs. He laid his head back against the chair and sighed, soothed by her warmth against their hands. Lulled by her soft purring, a hazy lassitude crept upon him, and his last thought before sleeping was how much he hated the first of September.
Tomorrow I go before the Wizengamot and a Special Wizarding Tribunal with our final summation against the Bloodlines Initiative. Lucius Malfoy gave the supporting arguments today; he was eloquent and almost convincing, or so I keep trying to tell myself. In the end, I suspect the outcome will depend on how deep he dug in his pockets. Sad to say, I also did my share of... persuading; unfortunately, the Potter pockets aren't bottomless.
While privately supportive, Kingsley has been strangely ambivalent in public, and his unusual reticence scares the hell out of me. I used to think the issue started because someone in Vital Statistics wanted to track the bloodlines, but I now know its real purpose--power and the need for certain former Death Eaters to hide their crimes during the war with Voldemort. They were so close to success, except for one small obstacle--the children they left behind.
So now the Ministry wants all persons, regardless of their age or station, who list only one parent (or none) on their birth certificates to be magically tested to determine their full parentage. On the surface it seems so simple, a mere inconvenience to satisfy an anal bureaucrat, until one looks at the war orphans, especially those who were the product of rape.
I know most of them at least by name as they have passed through the foundation's care at one time or another, whether in the orphanages themselves, or through their mothers receiving assistance at the war's end (and though we'd like to think we're above it now, even in this time of peace, we still see a steady influx of children, usually squibs or Muggleborns, who have been thrown away by uncaring or frightened parents).
Fortunately, the new ones are not at risk; it's the older ones concerning me most. Many of them already know their true bloodlines and want nothing to do with them, or are afraid of the consequences should they become known. They now have families of their own, complete with new names, new lives, new bloodlines. Why should anyone wish to rip this away from them?
However, we were willing to support the measure, if only to keep half-siblings from inadvertantly marrying, until Malfoy--damn him--added a caveat disallowing the victims any recourse against those who may have harmed them. Malfoy claimed that, because of the time factors and subsequent personal impressions which could distort fact, there was no proof a rape ever occurred in the first place. Under his plan, there would be no penalty for those found to be responsible, except perhaps some embarrassment should their culpability be revealed. And, of course, any woman who tries to do so will be reviled by his peers as a gold-digging slut.
The families identified by the testing will owe their victims nothing, not even an apology. No one will be held accountable for their welfare. The children will not be acknowledged, nor included in the lines of succession. In essence they will be invisible. So why bother to test them in the first place?
As far as I can see, the only reason is so the purebloods, whose roles in the war and after are still carefully ambiguous, can control (and, dare I say, eliminate?) any illegitimate relation who proves to be a liability, or an embarrassment, to their line. Although I would like to think I'm wrong, I can only see heartache, and possibly murder, as the end result should it pass.
Gods, we can't lose tomorrow.
Harry left the Wizengamot chambers both furious and depressed. They'd tried so hard to lobby for an equitable solution for months now and today, they'd lost. Walking beside him, his solicitor was already outlining their next steps.
"You'll need to call your office immediately and have them surrender the records as ordered..."
He'd call Rae and tell her to lose them, especially the rape victims. It wouldn't stop this travesty, but it would at least make the bureaucratic buggers work for it and, perhaps, buy some time for those who wished to emigrate.
"Remember, Harry, if it's not already established, they all must undergo the testing..."
Maybe he should become the most virile man in wizarding history and have Rae change all the single name records to identify him as the father. That would be what? Three, four hundred women? He could do that in his sleep, and wouldn't Ginny be so thrilled to be a grandmother?
"While I don't agree with the involuntary nature of this edict, I do think establishing the bloodlines is imperative."
Harry stopped in the middle of the concourse and stared at the portly man. "You're fired," he hissed, holding the rage at bay by only the slimmest margin. He balled his hands at his sides so he wouldn't do something... unforgivable.
"Mr Potter!" he protested, his skin taking on an unhealthy hue.
"No! You're supposed to be on our side. This... this edict is wrong. You should not be advising me how to conform to it, but how I can work around it."
"But... it's the law."
"It's a stupid, dangerous law," Harry shouted. His wand dropped into his hand from his sleeve. Harry aimed it below the brief-bag the man held close to his chest. "Now get out of my sight while you still have the legs to do so."
As the man scuttled away with a cry, Harry ignored the stares of the passer-by. Tucking his wand up his sleeve, he was suddenly grateful he'd never given the idiot any of the records in question. Damn it, he had to talk to Rae, and quickly.
Harry strode to the Ministry's central atrium to search for Norbert, who'd been relegated there when Harry entered the lower levels. Squinting, he found him perched on the head of a decorative gargoyle high up in the vaulted ceiling. About to whistle him down, another firedrake dive-bombed him from the side, his flames barely missing Harry's head. Having experienced this before when Norbert was much younger, Harry ducked, his wand drawn to cast a disciplinary spell. With a cry, Norbert flew down as well, scolding the other drake in a, 'He's mine, leave him alone,' kind of manner. Suspicious, Harry called Norbert to him.
Norbert's smug landing on his shoulder only fired Harry's irritation. However, his suspicions were confirmed when the previously flaming drake, coloured an innocent blue, hovered before him, its chirping apology sounding more like, 'Sorry, I thought you were someone else,' rather than the preferred, 'Sorry, I shouldn't have done that.'
Harry looked between them and said sharply, "Oh, no. Tell me you didn't."
Norbert hung his head as Harry glared at him and the other drake, who sheepishly flew back to the gargoyle to await his own master.
"I can't believe it!" Harry scolded. "Did you spend all day flaming everyone?" Norbert shook his head, and Harry somehow knew he wasn't denying the action, just the quantity. "Norbert!" he cried, his already frayed temper about to erupt.
Norbert ducked under Harry's cowl with a, "Meep."
"That's not going to save you this time, you know," Harry began, but his gaze was caught by a panicked Umbridge almost skipping through the commons, lazily chased by the other blue drake. When she passed him with a gasp, he noticed her backside was scorched in several places, and he couldn't help but chuckle. Setting off for the Floos with a grim smile, he said mildly, "You can come out now." When the drake snaked his neck around to peer at him warily, Harry asked, "So, how many toadies did you two roast today?"
Chittering happily, Norbert told him all about it.
Once home, he waved Norbert off. Obviously frustrated with the abrupt dismissal, Norbert flew outside. Relieved, Harry urgently fire-called Rae, telling her to make certain 'those records' went missing during the Ministry sweep. Ever efficient, Rae vented her opinion of the outcome, then suddenly assured him she would take care of the matter.
Mystified by her abrupt formality, Harry turned around, spying Ginny in the kitchen. He ended the call and went to greet her. Taking her into his arms, he hugged her tight, only pulling away enough to give her a kiss. "Hallo, love. This is an unexpected surprise."
Stiffening, she wormed her way out of his embrace and ran a hand through her hair; he absently noted the nervous gesture hadn't mussed it. "Yeah, there was no reason to stay. We lost the game by ten points and no one wanted to hang around when the sponsor pulled their support."
"Ginny, I'm so sorry," he said as sincerely as possible, effectively covering his own disappointment that she'd not come home early for him. Given there was nothing more he could do at the moment with his own concerns, and desperately needing a distraction, he concentrated on what she'd said. In her world, the loss of a major sponsor could be devastating. Without them the teams couldn't play, but he knew how these things worked by now. "Perhaps the foundation needs to finance a charity exhibition match between the Harpies and the crappy team of your choice. That might attract some new backing."
Gratitude shining in her eyes, Ginny threw her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his. Ah, this was more the thing. He encircled her waist with his arms and pulled her closer, surrendering himself to the heady feelings of her pliant lips meshed so perfectly with his and her lush softness beneath his hands. For one forever moment he had his Ginny back, and he was loath to release her. One kiss became another until, panting, they separated enough to gather air into starving lungs.
Holding her close, he murmured, "Merlin, you feel good," before a bit of reality crept into his reluctant consciousness; at least his scattered thoughts tried to remain a bit romantic. "Before I forget," he said, kissing his favourite freckle on her nose, "I got the reservations for our date, a veddy posh suite overlooking the fountain at the Park Hotel Ai Pini. Oh, and Stanley down at the Ministry said our Portkeys will be ready the day before you leave for Greece."
Ginny pulled away abruptly, her hands flying to her flaming cheeks. "Our date? Oh, shit, Harry, I forgot to write it down! I'm so sorry. I told the Benningtons we'd be at their fundraiser on the twenty-second."
Harry went still inside. Hands shoved in his pockets, he leaned back against the counter. Calm, he would remain calm. "Well, you'll just have to call them and give them our regrets."
"I can't!" Ginny cried. "Bennington Industries is the Harpie's biggest sponsor. I can't risk the team's funding just so we can have a romantic rendezvous. We'll have to go another time."
Torn inside and knowing how important it was to her, he almost caved, but the part of him wanting to set something right, wouldn't let it go. "I'm sorry, but our respective careers are not more important than our family, nor more important than us. We made a commitment, and we need to abide by it."
"How can we even pretend to enjoy it, if we both know harm will come of it?" she countered.
"We don't know any such thing," he replied sharply, the anger edging into his voice. "We've skipped before and it never made a difference."
"Why do I have to always be the one to compromise?"
He sighed, exasperated. "Do you know how many appointments I had to move around to accommodate your schedule? Even the Minister got cancelled."
"Well, la-ti-da," she drawled, her hand gesturing her disdain. "You're so free with your talk about commitments, but you don't even keep your own!"
"Ginny," he growled in warning. Perhaps he was just being selfishly stubborn, but damn it! He didn't want to give up his time alone with her for some... stupid, boring party. "C'mon, be rea--"
"Do you smell smoke?" she asked, her arm slashing the air between them.
"--sonable, huh?" He inhaled deeply. Yes, he did. As one, they ran through the house, checking all the rooms. With everything clear, they went outside, only to see smoke off in the distance. Apparating, they arrived in time to see the north wing of his new office collapse just as Putney flew by, a flaming Norbert hot on his tail feathers. The wind of their passage was still ruffling his hair, when the area erupted into chaos as the private fire-wizards Rae had hired, just in case, arrived. Within minutes, they'd doused the flames although most of it still smoked and smouldered.
Concerned, Harry searched for Norbert and finally found him up in a nearby tree, slapping at Putney with his wings while the owl fought back with his wicked beak and claws. Further up in the branches he could barely see another owl, similar but smaller, who watched the combatants but didn't interfere.
He pulled his wand, ready to Stupefy the owl if he had to, and called Norbert to him, alarmed as the gliding drake wobbled badly before falling like a stone. Reflexes kicking in, he slowed Norbert's fall and levitated him into his arms. The drake squirmed and whimpered piteously as Harry examined several deep gashes on his back and chest. Gently extending the right wing, he took care not to tear the thin membrane any more than it already was; the left was fine. A series of healing and strengthening spells soon set Norbert to rights, but Harry knew it had to be tender. Because Norbert kept arching his neck to attempt to lick the wounds, Harry placed restraining and calming spells to keep him quiet.
Holding Norbert like a baby in his arms, he watched Ginny climb the tree for her owl. She'd just reached him when the fire-wizard in charge came over to talk to him.
"Mr Potter?"
"Yes, I'm Potter," Harry said, extending his hand.
Since his was still half-tucked under Norbert, the chief merely grabbed it without shaking it. "Dolby, sir. There's nothing left of the north wing and not much more on the south, but we were able to cast a revelation spell on the lone surviving camera."
"Oh? So we know what caused it?" Harry asked. Given the events of this morning, he was afraid of the answer.
"Yes, sir. It appears an owl built a nest up in the rafters on the north side, where the workman had stored all their supplies, and one of its young, a fledgling flying about the room, knocked over some chemicals, starting the fire. Unfortunately, it died instantly. From the looks of it, the mother went after the dead baby, and then there's this blur and your boy here," he said, pointing at Norbert in Harry's arms, "flew in and chased her out. Then he came back to get the other fledgling. Then a second owl appeared and attacked your fellow, who managed to chase them both out. The spell doesn't show anything more afterwards, except the burning building."
Stunned, Harry hugged Norbert closer. "Thank you, Dolby. I'm very relieved to hear it was an accident and not arson. If you'll contact my office, my assistant, Rae, will take care of the invoice."
"That'll be grand, sir. We'll just make sure everything's cold before we clear out."
"Thank you. They were supposed to install the fire sprinklers on Monday." He chuckled. "Perhaps before the fire might have been more prudent."
Dolby laughed with him, saying something about the serendipity of owls, before heading back to the building.
As Dolby walked away, Harry held Norbert close and whispered, "What a wonderful, brave boy you are." Eyes half-lidded with pleasure, Norbert crooned with the praise. Harry set off for the house, trying to decide what kind of treat one gave to a heroic dragonet.
Soon after, Ginny came in with her owl, whose feathers bore the singed marks of Norbert's efforts. Harry couldn't explain the bald spot on the owl's tail, but it was fairly obvious he was hopping mad. Considering what poor Norbert had suffered because of Putney, Harry wasn't all that upset about the owl's obviously minor injuries and was, therefore, totally unprepared for her outrage.
"Just look what your beast did to my Putney!" she exclaimed, holding his wing out for Harry's inspection. Putney struggled a moment and finally broke loose. Before Harry could blink, he'd flown out the still-open door, albeit a bit wobbly.
"He seems fine to me," Harry remarked calmly, "in fact, you should have seen what he did to Norbert. The--"
"I don't care! Whatever Putney did to him, that... that beastly thing deserved it. Why you ever allow him in the house... He's dangerous! You are far too lenient with him. He's a menace, and I want--"
"Ginny, if you'll only listen for a moment. I spoke to the--"
"Are you going to deny he hurt Putney? Are you going to make more excuses for what he did?"
Her arms folded tight across her chest and stomach were familiar signs. He sighed, surrendering speech for the moment. It was useless once she got this angry, and, ah, here they were at the litany of the woes and tribulations she'd suffered at Norbert's paws over the years they'd been together.
This one was new, however: "You love that damned thing more than you love me!"
Well, she might have a tiny point there; Norbert was very important to him, but he'd married her. He tried to move near her, but she shook a finger at the drake in his arms and backed away. He stopped his advance, realising this explosion, like others in the past, was a long time coming. Once she'd calmed down, they could talk about it; arguing at this stage was pointless, a waste of breath and energy.
"Ginny," he finally said firmly, "listen to me." She drew breath. "No! You will listen." She exhaled and, eyes flaming, she gestured for him to continue. "I talked to the Fire-wizard and he said it was an accident." He recounted what Dolby had told him and finished with, "See, Norbert was only trying to save Putney and his family, not hurt them."
If he'd expected a change of heart, he was sorely disappointed. "You'll say anything, won't you, to defend him." Against her pale skin, the freckles seemed alive as she hissed, "I've had it, Harry, and I'm not going to stand for this... this travesty any longer. Make your choice, husband: me or the wyrm, 'cause if he stays a minute longer, I'm leaving you."
He stared at her, realising this was no shouting fit of pique. The seriousness of her statement shivered through him like an icy finger down his spine. She meant it. She truly wanted him to choose between her and Norbert. Why? Why now?
And like that night, months ago, when he'd finally understood exactly what Lucius Malfoy was doing, he saw the answer to this question just as plainly. His stomach clenching, he realised it wasn't about his drake, or what he'd done to Putney, or even Norbert's place in his life. Those were just the symptoms of something deeper, a sickness he'd not noticed creeping upon them until just this moment. This was about control and the perceptions of equality. Ginny wanted his everything, but was unwilling to give anything in return because, to her mind, she already had.
What had he done to make things this way? As he frantically searched for an answer, it dawned on him it wasn't that simple, nor was there any blame to assign. It just was. He could clearly see the downward spiral their lives had taken from a time of mutual happiness to now, when every aspect of their lives was weighed quid pro quo on a scale forged by her broken dreams. He'd known from the beginning how much she'd hurt when she'd surrendered her life's ambitions for his dreams of a family, but he'd surrendered to his own helplessness when he'd discovered there was nothing he could do or say to console her. Nor could he give her what she needed--a new definition of self she could embrace with the same joy she'd once had when she'd been in complete control of her life.
So, in compensation, he'd tried to give her everything she said she wanted, to please her as best he could but now he had to ask himself whether this was true. Had he, instead, yielded to her increasing demands as the path of least resistance? The answer shook him; it was both. So what did that make him? And what, exactly, did that make her?
He stared at the woman standing before him with her hands planted defiantly on her hips, her face starkly white with rage. Where was the woman who used to make him laugh so hard his jaw would ache and his sides spasm? Where was the lover who had made him forget to breathe? He tried to paint across her snarling mouth the treasured memories of happier smiles, the ones with which he'd fallen in love, but he couldn't. They didn't fit anymore. This wasn't his Ginny.
And maybe she'd never existed beyond the image he'd made of her in his mind, but he still loved her. He'd committed his life to hers with vows spoken most sincerely. They'd managed to come to compromise all these years, and with his new understanding, surely they could work through this as well? Perhaps they could set things right?
"Please, don't do this," he implored.
"I'm serious, Harry. Make your choice." Her eyes filled with tears.
Or perhaps not. Harry studied her face, his eyes tracking the course of her tears. Was it sorrow, or merely the frustration of not getting her way? Or perhaps it was the culmination of those many somethings he'd only just now surmised?
Her eyes hardened, the fury in their depths belying the wetness staining her cheeks. "Well?"
He closed his eyes. Whatever he'd hoped to find between them was gone. There was nothing he could do to make it right. No words, no deeds on his part could return to them whole that which they'd lost in pieces. There was no going back.
The ice in his belly spread through him until he shivered from it. Norbert tightened his tail around Harry's wrist, his breath huffing warmly against his inner arm. Well, maybe they'd died long ago, and he'd just not noticed, or perhaps he had refused to see, but one thing was excruciatingly clear: at this moment, Norbert loved him unconditionally, but Ginny no longer did.
And, evidently, he no longer had anything worthwhile to give.
He opened his eyes, the decision made. Holding Norbert securely, he said quietly, "You can keep the house," and without another word, he turned and walked out the door.
George died just after half-past three on the morning of the second of September; even in death he granted me a wish. He never awakened and, if the smile on his face was any indication, he died peacefully.
Per my instructions, we had a Memorial Service yesterday for Centaury employees and affiliates only; everyone was invited. The very air trembled and thundered with the number of people Apparating and Portkeying into the compound to pay their final respects. So many came, we shut down operations worldwide, a first in our history, and enlarged the commons to accommodate everyone. I really shouldn't have been so shocked by the number of those who had personal recollections of the man. It's just the way he
iswas. I even wore the green waistcoat he bought me last Christmas, assuming that, if his personal remarks were to be believed, he could have another chuckle at my expense.In accordance with George's will, his personal Dissolutionment was this morning. Though I witnessed hundreds during the war, I'd never actually participated in one. Words fail me to describe the utter wonder of the ritual, the feel of his spirit flowing through me as it dissipated into the ether. The euphoria that followed was more potent than any potion I ever devised. Perhaps its longevity is for the best, for it dawned on me this evening that, for the first time in years, I am alone now amidst a sea of people. There will be no more cheery, "Good morning, Silas," breezing into my office every morning, no more idle nattering over tea in the afternoon, no more late nights slaving over a cauldron while my personal mad scientist gleefully tossed in ingredients with a, "Now, we shall see what this does, my dear." No more will there be someone who cares whether I eat, or sleep, or who will jolly me out of my sulks. I'm such an idiot at times.
Merlin, how I will miss him.
Chloë's not left my side all day, most probably to remind me that I'm really not truly alone, and for that small blessing, I am grateful. While losing Wiltshire hurt in ways I am only now discovering, I don't believe I would survive losing my little red minx, perhaps my most difficult task-master, for she demands the highest standard of all: that I live beyond today.
One life debt, one unbreakable vow, one foolhardy risk of his entire life's savings, and twenty years of bloody hard work later, Severus Snape stood in the centre of Centaury Potions' main compound and inwardly grinned at the industry around him, heavy for a Saturday. Crossing the shade-dappled paths on his way to his office, he acknowledged the friendly greetings respectfully given as he passed various apprentices and Masters on their own way to wherever the morning took them.
He entered the administrative building, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the mage lights floating over the reception area and every desk. In some respects, it was brighter in here than it was outside, but given it was an especially brilliant day, the contrast was the opposite from what it normally would be. Everything looked calm, so he moved through the hallways, intent on reaching the marketing department; however, as he neared it, he paused to examine the receiving office because there was an unusually large number of clerks and long queue of owls waiting patiently to be divested of orders. Most unusual. Perhaps the overage was due to the one day they'd closed, but the backlog should have been cleared the next day. He shook his head; far be for him to complain about an upsurge in business. If it were important, someone would certainly bring it to his attention, but he decided to ask Morris about it all the same.
Detouring to his office, he entered a scene of utter chaos. Papers were strewn all over the room, his assistant's balding head barely visible over the piles of forms on his desk. Two owls were waiting impatiently on the backs of his prized antiques and the other pieces of furniture bore the unmistakable signs that many more had been present since the last time he'd been here. It smelled like an owlery.
"What is going on here?" he asked a bit more harshly than he'd intended.
Morris's head popped up over the paperwork, his bleary eyes red-rimmed with dark pouches underneath. "Sorry, sir. Been up all night with this mess. We'll clean the furniture when everything dies down."
With more patience than alarm, Severus repeated, "What's going on here, Morris?"
Morris blinked. "Oh, right, sir. You weren't here for all the kerfuffle yesterday. We had to call in five extra clerks to answer the deluge of orders we received late yesterday and all through the night. Nasty stuff it is, too." He picked up a sheaf of papers. "Almost every one of these is for various poisons and other unsavoury things."
Poisons? What on...? The front page from this morning's Daily Prophet filtered through his mind. "Any idea why we're getting them?"
"Haven't a clue, sir."
"I wonder...? I assume none of them came with the proper permits?"
"Not a one, sir, which is why we've been up all night writing refusals, but we're inviting our customers to secure the Ministry papers and try again."
"Hmmm. Well, pull Masters Alta and Josan off the line today to scan the replies for any... dubious attachments; I don't want anyone hurt. It might also be prudent to double the number of clerks to handle all the forgeries after they've been screened."
"Quite, sir. You anticipate trouble, then?"
"If it's what I think it is, then yes, there are more than a few who won't let a bit of bureaucracy keep them from getting what they want."
Morris cleared his throat. "Speaking of which, I had word from Mr Green about five minutes ago that Mr Malfoy is waiting to speak to you in the London office.
"Elder, or younger?" he asked, hiding his alarm.
"Oh, the elder, of course, sir."
He'd not seen Lucius Malfoy since the end of the war and was hard-pressed to quell the panic rising within him. This was Wiltshire's bailiwick and... Damnation, what did Lucius want? As if he couldn't guess that Malfoy had been first in line with his request and the first one to get his refusal. What did he think Centaury was, the black market?
A soft chirrup and a sweep of Chloë's head across his cheek calmed him. Really, why was he so concerned? No one would recognise him now, not even Lucius, who would be more concerned about his 'request' than noticing the servant from whom he begged it. This could prove amusing.
"Tell Green I'll be there directly." He turned to go. "Oh, and Morris?" He received a nod in response. "Well done. Release the orders to the staff, give this..." he waved his hand around the office, "mess to the receiving department straight away. Go home, and don't come back until Monday."
As he moved swiftly into his office, he didn't hear Morris' reply, but he was certain it was polite. Morris was predictable that way and, fortunately for him, an impeccable worker.
He Floo'ed to his private office in London. Chloë immediately headed for the top of a full-length mirror, while he rummaged in a wardrobe situated near the loo. As he changed into more formal clothing, a sober navy outer robe and sharply pressed trousers with a pristine white shirt, he hesitated and donned an ocean blue jacquard waistcoat hanging in the back, just for luck. Chloë whistled her approval as he deftly tied the matching neck-cloth, and he smiled.
Standing before the mirror, he cast a spell allowing him to observe Malfoy and chuckled as Chloë, viewing the man upside down from her perch, immediately started growling, her wings half furled. "No, Chloë, he is not a good man, but we have to make nice with him until we no longer can." She chittered her unhappiness with this, but he knew she would behave herself nonetheless.
He turned his attention back to the image, mentally preparing himself for what he suspected was going to be a trying conversation. Malfoy hadn't aged much, but no pureblood who dabbled in the Dark Arts ever did. If anything, Malfoy appeared even haughtier than before; if his nose went any higher, he'd get whiplash. His robes were as tastefully outrageous as ever, a study in russet fur and leather and semi-precious gems for closures. With his hands behind his back, Malfoy explored the public office, studying the bric-a-brac dotting the book-lined shelves, although he wisely touched nothing. Malfoy's impatience, worn like a familiar cloak over his costly garments, had not yet reached levels to cause alarm.
Severus waved away the image. Let the bugger wait. He studied his own reflection a moment. Was he wise to even attempt contact with someone who had known him very well indeed? It was one thing to mingle with acquaintances, but Malfoy had once been far more than that.
The answer was slow in coming, more a result of his own fears than anything he saw in the mirror. He didn't look anything like he had before. The basic features which had once defined him no longer existed, irrevocably changed by a snake, life, and artifice. His silver-streaked hair now reached mid-back and was neatly tied at the nape into a sleek tail. The outer and inner edges of his black irises were now rimmed in gold ochre, an unforeseen legacy from Nagini and the antivenin. And his nose, of course, couldn't remain the same. No glamour would hide its size and unusual shape, so Wiltshire had arranged to have it re-sized a bit, not too much, just a shave here and there, but enough one would doubt the similarity. Some might call it vanity, but he preferred to think of it as a disguise.
However, few noticed even those attributes when confronted with the melted skin running along the hairline and covering half of the left side of his face from a potions experiment gone awry. With the fifteen years which had passed, he hardly noticed it anymore, but it was the first thing strangers saw, and it was a rare individual who looked beyond it; he'd used this to his advantage before. No, Lucius would never recognise him.
Satisfied with his appearance and the fall of his robes, he briskly entered the office from a back door, his cane softly clicking with each step. Flying beside him, Chloë immediately set off for the window seat where she settled into a wicker basket with a velvet cushion. She made a pretty picture in the sunlight, the burnished gold opalescence shining from her sangria red hide.
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr Malfoy," he said, holding out his hand.
Lucius stiffened and turned from a small Orrery he'd been studying. After Malfoy's initial survey had calculated the value of his robes to the Knut--and Severus was suddenly glad Wiltshire had insisted he keep a set of the costly robes here, just in case--Malfoy glanced at Severus' face and relaxed almost imperceptibly, although his eyes flickered to the left side, just as he'd expected. Taking his hand, Malfoy replied, "It is of no concern, Mr Marner. I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice."
"I always try to take time to help our customers personally, if I'm able." He sat behind his desk and gestured for Malfoy to take a seat. "Would you care for some tea?" he asked politely, biting his tongue on any number of epithets he would rather be hurling at the other man.
"Thank you, I believe I would," he replied. While Severus called for tea, he noticed Malfoy staring at Chloë who, to her credit, ignored him completely while grooming her wings. "Handsome creature, your drake. I tried to obtain a pair when my son, Draco, got married, but alas the eggs are impossible to get nowadays. I was told it's 'out-of-cycle' for them."
Interesting. "I wouldn't know. Chloë was a gift from an old friend," he responded.
"Has she mated yet?" Malfoy asked, a shade too eagerly. When Severus didn't reply, Malfoy back-tracked. "My apologies, that was a bit forward of me. I was only thinking that, if the time were approaching, we could perhaps make an arrangement for me to purchase her eggs. As a gift for my son and his wife."
Severus cleared his throat, the resulting tone hoarse. "I've never really thought about it. She's shown no signs, but if she should, I'll be more than happy to keep your offer in mind." In the far, far back of his mind. As if he would let Malfoy anywhere near those eggs. It set off an interesting train of thought, though, that he quickly set aside for another time.
"I very much would appreciate your consideration," Malfoy said formally as Mr Green, an ancient wizard who guarded the company's concerns like a rabid ferret, came in with the tea service and a slim folder. While they went through the ritual, Severus set the folder aside. When Green left and they both had steaming cups in hand, he asked, "How may I help you, Mr Malfoy?"
If Malfoy was surprised at his foregoing the niceties, he hid it well. "It's actually a very small matter, but my secretary sent in a rush order for a potion and it's not been delivered in the time one would normally expect. I'm certain it's just a clerical error, something we can easily correct."
Severus tilted his head to the side as if considering his words. "Hmmm. Most unusual. What was it you ordered?"
"I don't recall the name off-hand, but it was something for pest control," Malfoy offered.
Ha! And he was a Gryffindor, too. However, Severus said nothing and instead picked up the folder Green had left him. He scanned the contents and chuckled; it was as he'd thought and in a large quantity to boot. Given everything he'd been up to during the war, Lucius must have been desperate. "Looking to off a stray by-blow or two?" he asked with amusement.
"No, no, of course not," Malfoy sputtered.
"I'm very glad to hear it. However, I must remind you that one must have the proper Ministry permits for us to produce your... pest control."
"Surely exceptions can be made?"
"Not here," he stated flatly.
"Perhaps there is a less noxious derivative we can obtain?" he asked reasonably.
"Anything less... noxious would also be ineffective. There are several mild insecticides that may be obtained without permits, but I suspect they would prove inadequate against the particular... pests you wish to control."
"Hmmm. I see your point. However, I've not the time to wait for the tedious paperwork you are requesting. Perhaps if I gave my personal guarantee that the papers are forthcoming, that would suffice?"
"If you wish the brews before the permits can be issued, then I would suggest you dust off your copy of Schaum's Potions and prepare your number four silver cauldron." Severus chortled inside. And be certain to wear dragonhide gear and wear goggles, for it has a tendency to explode when one least expects it. That was assuming Malfoy could find one of the two copies of the text extant, both of which resided in his personal library in Scotland.
Malfoy turned an interesting shade of puce before his visage paled in deep anger. Oh, he'd touched a nerve all right; Severus had always wanted to do that before, but, due to his precarious position, he'd never dared. He wasn't hampered by such things anymore and eagerly drank in the sight of Lucius Malfoy about to throw a wobbly.
"I can move our business to another company," Malfoy stated, barely holding back the snarl. "All of our business."
Severus sat back in his chair. It would mean a substantial loss of revenue, but they would easily survive. He slipped his hand surreptitiously into his sleeve. Now, to poke an angry dragon... "Perhaps, but you would do yourself a grave disservice if you were to do so. There are not many other companies to supply you and certainly none of our calibre. Our competition might accommodate you in this one request, but they're less secure with the Ministry overall; you may find they are not even permitted to make many of the brews your companies requires. It would be a pity, were you unable to do your business in a proper and timely manner."
"I understand you lost your partner recently. I wonder how long Centaury could function were you no longer at the helm." This time the snarl was no longer hidden.
A threat, Lucius? How subtle. "Longer than it would take you to obtain the Ministry permits," he replied dryly, aware of Chloë launching herself from the window seat. She didn't take well to threats and, as he expected, gouts of flame streamed from her open maw as she landed on the desk between the two men. Wings half-outstretched, she prepared to launch herself at Malfoy. He placed a hand on her quivering tail, and murmured, "Steady, girl."
Malfoy laughed derisively. "Protective little thing, isn't she?"
"One would be wise not to ignore her warning," he drawled. Which wasn't an idle threat; she could be vicious when it came to protecting him. "The last man to pull a wand on me wound up in St Mungo's having an eye replaced." Now if he could just keep her out of Malfoy's wand sights.
However, the interlude did allow the man to calm a bit. Now he was merely vindictive instead of murderous, a positive gain for Severus.
"I can ruin you, and Centaury, you know," Malfoy said with a knowing smirk.
Severus laughed outright and gestured around them. "Even you can't undo all this," he replied evenly, secure in his position for the first time in his life. It was true. Centaury Potions was too widespread, in too many countries, for Lucius to destroy it, systematically or otherwise. The most he could do was set him back, and Severus had already endured worse things. "I believe our business is concluded, Mr Malfoy. Send the request with legitimate Ministry permits, and we'll be happy to accommodate you."
Perhaps the door slamming behind him was satisfying for Malfoy, but it made Chloë jump. Wisps of smoke were still streaming steadily out of her mouth and nose, interspersed with small, thin bursts of flame as she paced from one side of his desk to the other. He let her work the ire out of her system, chuckling aloud at how similar they were in anger management. She stopped and huffed at him, her, 'Are you laughing at me?' as plain as the nose on his face.
"Come here, little one," he said, extending his arm on the desk. She waddled over and climbed on top, her head facing his hand. Sitting back in the comfortable leather chair, he cradled her in his arms, gently petting her neck and head. "My, what a brave girl you are." She chittered in agreement. "You would have taken out both his eyes, wouldn't you have, my little red minx." He really shouldn't have encouraged her. She preened with his praise.
Stroking her soft hide and letting her purring soothe his own anxieties, he thought about the articles and commentaries he'd seen this morning and then about Malfoy's visit. He probably wouldn't be the only one to complain, and Severus decided to stay here in case any more problem customers decided to attempt the direct approach. No one could enter the main compound in Ayr without his direct permission, so he could only assume they would come here, or perhaps to Paris, or Moscow for those who'd fled after the war, but he had Portkeys to take him wherever he needed to go.
Regardless, it was a pity that Potter had been correct in his summation to the Wizengamot yesterday morning as to the possible results of the new law. One had only to look at the piles of orders already pouring in to see the proof of his supposition. He had to give Potter credit, though; the poor sod had tried. Perhaps he should warn him of the immediacy of his concerns, but just as quickly discarded the notion. Potter was obviously no idiot in this matter and, given his Gryffindorish tendencies, probably had his own damage control well in hand. After all, if the Ministry had no names, then no one could be tested, now could they?
Well, he was not going to waste his time with the Ministry, for there was no telling how many lackeys were currently swimming in Malfoy's gold-lined pockets, but he could make certain the ensuing mayhem did not originate from Centaury. It was the least he could do.
What a crap week. I'm really beginning to hate this time of year. From 'the ultimatum' three years ago to the divorce the next year to last week's fight at the train, all of which happened at the end of August or the beginning of September, I'm thinking it might be better to just fast-forward through these weeks every year and forget about them.
It seemed so simple at first. I let her tell the world I wronged her and in return she promised me a quiet divorce. Right. Eleven months of frenzied media coverage, and this from a woman who 'hates' the notoriety. At the time, I was willing to believe it was Bendle trying to snag some free publicity for the team, but now that Ginny has taken over the turd's job, and it still continues, I have my doubts.
But we coped, I suppose. This summer was one of change. Per the usual, Ginny never came by the cottage, but the kids did manage to see her at two of her games and had dinner with her once over at the Burrow. I think we spent more time there this summer than ever before, especially Lily, because Arthur was home recovering from a curse he got from an artefact at work, and he enjoyed the company.
James turned seventeen in June, now a man who just doesn't seem ready to stop being a boy. Between his angry defiance and the accusations that I'm babying him (and how many times have I replied that if he'd just act like an adult...?) we've had some serious disagreements. Hermione tells me this is normal, but how the hell would I know that? The children, unfortunately, didn't come with instruction manuals.
Thinking he needed something to occupy him, I made James apply for a job. There's not much work available for those still attending Hogwarts, so McMaster at the London office hired him as a messenger. Pay wasn't much, but Jed quickly got him his Apparation licence and ran the boy's arse off. It seemed to help and on the weekends James kept himself busy--pick-up Quidditch with Al and friends, swimming and camping with the other Weasley kids, once even playing pirate with Al, mock-swords and all, just like they did when they were little. I wish I'd had a camera.
And I just found out that James has a girlfriend; I saw them kissing in the compartment last week, and now I begin to understand why every errand took just a bit longer than necessary. I thought he was just dragging his tail; turns out I might have at least been right about the tail part. Methinks I need to find out who she is.
Lily is becoming quite a lovely young lady and even had two young men come to the house to take her out for ice cream at Fortesque's. James decided on his own to tag along, and I'm afraid I turned deaf ears to her 14 year-old protestations. About the only thing James and I agreed upon the whole summer.
Al was quiet, too quiet, and this worried me. Based on some things Lily mentioned, he's been having trouble with a few of his Ravenclaw housemates. She says it's because he's befriended Malfoy's son, Scorpius, but knowing some of his housemates' parents, I'd wager there's another reason as well. Ginny had always said giving our son Severus' name would bring him grief, and it seems she was right, but I still stand by my decision to honour the man. The only thing important is that Albus understands and is all right with it.
Last week at the train got messy, though. Ginny always promises she'll be there to see them off at the station, yet something always comes up and she never shows, but this year she did come, but - by her story - she couldn't shake the news cameras and Skeeter. I wasn't buying it, however, and I don't think I've ever been that angry with her before. Ginny's a witch, right? She's the one with the temper and a Bat Bogey Hex that makes her older brothers quake. So why didn't she just block Skeeter and be done with it? Well, I know why: the stories sell team tickets.
Needless to say, I hustled the kids on the train so they wouldn't get caught by the media circus, and Ginny was furious she'd missed them. If I were a bit more cynical, I'd say it was more because she missed her 'family photo op', than missing the opportunity to see her children. Anyway, the row we had after the train left made the front page; I'm sure the children truly enjoyed seeing that the first day of school.
And they may get to see their dad again tomorrow. Which is really the story of my life. One date, one lousy date, just for drinks, with a bloke I met at one of our fundraisers. I wasn't even looking for anything beyond that; I mean, I only met him the one time. What a disaster. Cameras flashing, Skeeter in my face right there in the restaurant. He left while I blocked her. I'll never see him again, just like all the other women and men I've never been able to date twice. I should know better by now; if it's on two legs, and it's out in public with Harry Potter, it's news. But it's not safe to take them home, and a quickie in the back alley doesn't appeal to me, and Merlin help me if I got caught in one of the back rooms at a club.
I'm never going to get laid.
Whine, whine, whine. I'll survive, but next time I may not hold Norbert back from eviscerating the bitch. He seems to be in the mood for it right now.
I'm worried about him. He's... well, I don't think he's sick, but he's... acting odd. Like this morning, he turned this really awful shade of green. When he went hunting, he came back with a snake. He knows I don't like it when he brings home snakes. But he did it anyway, and he was... savage. He tore into that poor thing - it screamed! - and he ate it all up. I'm afraid I lost my breakfast over that one. Yesterday he caught and devoured a sparrow. He hates birds because he always gags on the feathers. He's restless. Snappy--almost bit my finger off the day before. And hot. His skin is burning one moment and cold the next. Damn. And I can't scold him because he looks so miserable. If he doesn't get better soon, I guess I'll have to go see Charlie and find out what's wrong.
I hope he's all right.
It was colder than he expected up in the Caspian range. That Charlie met him at the Apparation point was welcome, as he'd not worn a heavy cloak. Not that it mattered much to his upper half; Norbert radiated enough heat these days to warm the entire cottage in winter; he couldn't ride his shoulder, though, so he nestled in his arms instead. While the drake only weighed around a stone, Harry's right side felt unbalanced without Norbert in his normal perch, but he didn't want his ear singed either.
"Hallo, Harry," Charlie called as he approached the circle of stones marking the arrival point. He stopped close and added, "I'd give you a hug, but I might squash your drake." Norbert hissed at him. He squatted and looked him over from a distance clear of claws and teeth. "Merlin, he's magnificent! And huge!"
"He had another growth spurt this last year," Harry replied with a laugh, until Norbert hissed at Charlie again and lunged. He tightened his grip. "He's a bit testy, too."
"So I see." Charlie stood and smiled. "C'mon, let's go to the commons; your lips are turning blue."
Harry followed, a bit abashed; Charlie was in shirt sleeves, and now that he was following him, Harry admired his other fine attributes. He shook his head. What was it with him and Weasleys?
Inside the commons, what Harry would have called a dining room, several people were scattered across the room in pairs and small groups, obviously taking a mid-morning break. Charlie led them to a secluded corner where they wouldn't be disturbed. They took their seats, Harry sitting on the edge of his chair. Not wasting time on chit-chat, Charlie pulled a pair of thin gloves off his belt and donned them before reaching for Norbert, who promptly bit him during the transfer; the gloves held, and Charlie chuckled.
"Sorry, he's not normally this bad," Harry apologised.
"No, I daresay he's not," Charlie replied absently, setting the drake on his lap. "Hot, aggressive, odd colour," he murmured, lifting the drake high enough, he could palpate his belly. "Hard as a rock." He petted Norbert a few minutes until the drake relaxed and started purring. "Nice biddable fellow, though." He handed him gently back to Harry, Norbert almost flopping into his arms. "Eating habits changed, you say?"
"Yes, he's been hunting snakes. I don't know if he never ate them before because he knows I don't like their screams, or because he doesn't normally eat them, but he's caught at least one every day for the last week."
"No, the males don't normally eat snakes. The females do, though."
"Is he going to be all right?"
Charlie nodded. "Sure, he's just getting ready to mate."
"What?"
"Mate, Harry. As in making little baby firedrakes. Norbert is clearly showing the signs of an impending mating flight... if he finds her, of course."
"Finds who?"
"His mate. There's only one; they were matched in the egg."
A mate? Norbert? And did that mean that once Norbert found her, he'd lose him? "Where is she?"
Charlie sighed and then chuckled.
"What's so funny?" Harry asked, not at all amused.
Charlie grinned. "I'm sorry. Got distracted there for a moment. It's been an... interesting and busy day. To answer your question, Norbert has to seek his mate. He doesn't know where she is, but he can sense her and the nearer he gets to her, the better he'll feel. Think of it as directional homing."
"Why didn't the pamphlet you sent me say anything about this?"
"Hmm, probably because it was just a feeding guide. The rest of it is traditionally handled privately amongst the purebloods and the wealthier merchants."
"Why?"
"Well, because they're not really pets available on the open market," Charlie remarked dryly.
Norbert snorted and Harry had to smile. "No, I s'pose not," Harry replied, tickling Norbert with the tip of his finger. The dragon rolled on his back, his wings extended partway for balance, while his front claws dragged on Harry's finger to bring it in, while his back paws tried to push it away.
Harry noticed Charlie's wistful expression as he explained, "You have to understand the traditions concerning them, Harry. When the eggs pair, they're usually kept together and are either sold, or gifted, as a pair, usually by doting parents to newlyweds as a means to ease their relationship. Since the purebloods already know how to take care of firedrakes and know the signs of mating, there's no need to write about them."
Harry had to concede that made a bit of sense, but it didn't help him now. When he nodded, Charlie continued, "No one in possession of the eggs laid by their drakes ever keeps them; their beasts won't allow it. So they sell or gift them, thus keeping the traditions." He smiled and watched Harry rub Norbert's belly, the drake's purring rumble clearly audible. "However, when the paired eggs are separated and given to unrelated individuals, which is not done often, the male drake journeys to find his mate. Your Norbert," he gestured to the sleepy creature, "is only days away from flying for her."
"Does he go alone?" Harry asked, his guts roiling.
Charlie shook his head, saying, "You have a bond with Norbert, so I'd say it would be a good idea for you to go with him."
Harry sighed in only partial relief, his eyes fixed on Norbert. "Will I lose him when he finds her?" he asked tightly.
Charlie stroked Norbert gently before laying his hand on Harry's knee. "I can understand your concern; if I had a twenty-year old bond with such a magnificent creature, had given up my spouse in his favour--and I still think Ginny was an idiot--I would be beyond frantic at the thought of losing him."
"She just didn't understand," Harry murmured.
"Harry." Charlie tapped his leg. "Harry, look at me." Harry raised his gaze from contemplating Norbert, surprised by the earnest expression gracing Charlie's face. "Look, I know Dad ordered us not to say anything, but I just can't let you continue to shoulder the blame. Ginny did understand what she was asking, believe me. Both Bill and I talked to her, at length, so did Dad, trying to make her change her mind, but the conclusion was the same. It wasn't about you, it was about Norbert and some misguided notion she had that, if she could just get rid of him, she'd have 'it' back, although she never could explain to us what 'it' was. Finally we had to conclude she was simply jealous of your relationship with him."
"Well, one can hardly blame her; he didn't much like her."
"Perhaps that should have been your first clue, Harry. I don't think he didn't like her, per se, I think he didn't like your relationship with her. The firedrakes have an uncanny ability to judge people and their motives. If the relationship is healthy for both parties, the drakes are friendly, affectionate to the other partner, and they allow as much touch and play as they would with their master. That Norbert didn't like Ginny from the beginning was a commentary in itself. That he tolerated her, told a story of how much you wanted her. And, of course, there were the children. He was always fine with them, wasn't he?"
Harry nodded. Norbert had been wonderful with the kids. The children thought he was 'cool', and he'd been the object of more than one show-and-tell when they were little, but they never considered him their pet. Norbert was Dad's, even though the drake had played with them when they were infants and had purred them to sleep when Ginny wasn't looking. Maybe Charlie was right. However, that didn't explain, "Why didn't you say something while Ginny and I were courting?"
"What was there to say? It was obvious to anyone with eyes how much you loved her. Should I have said, 'Harry, your drake hates your fiancée because he thinks you're incompatible, don't marry her'?" He chuckled. "Would you have believed me, and, even if you had, would it have stopped you?"
Harry stared off into the distance and shook his head. Probably not.
Charlie said, "Look, I'm sorry I brought this up, but you just needed to know. You weren't fully to blame."
"No, no, it's all right." He sighed and frowned. "In fact it really helped a lot, but it doesn't help me with this. Charlie, I need to know: am I going to lose him?"
"The answer is no, I don't think so."
Harry asked quietly, "What happens if we miss her? What if he can't find his mate?" He waved his free hand in the direction of the window. "It's a big world out there."
"Oh, it may take him a few weeks, but he'll find her, all right," Charlie said with a chuckle. "Or die trying." Harry gasped. "I mean that quite literally," Charlie emphasised. "He may be bonded to you, but this supersedes your relationship. He needs his mate. They're like one dragon hatched from two eggs. He can't survive without her."
"What about the other person who has the female drake? You said they were normally given to married couples. What happens if the two people are unrelated? What happens if they don't even like each other?"
"Hmmm. That's a hard one, it is. Like I said before, if the relationship, whether friends or lovers, is healthy, the drakes are fine with it. A drake's mating can't cause more than what already exists between two people, so it just depends on the persons involved. The only thing for certain is that there is a bond of sorts between you and Norbert. There is also one between his mate and her owner. Don't worry; Norbert won't leave either of you completely."
Wonderful. "So it's possible for two total strangers to work this out so neither loses their drake?"
"Seems that way, although it's better if the two parties at least live near each other. The optimal solution is, of course, for them to live together." Charlie chuckled again, this time knowingly.
His friend just seemed too smug about something. "How come you know all this?" Harry asked suspiciously.
Charlie smiled, a sly amusement colouring his open face. "Let's just say the subject comes up from time to time and leave it at that." He shrugged. "Someone has to know the answers."
The roast beef was succulent and tender, the potatoes roasted to a rich dark brown on the outside, steaming hot and fluffy on the inside. In fact, the whole meal was perfect, the food very fresh. When he mentioned this to the waitress, she told him the vegetables came from 'the compound' as if that made everything perfectly clear. Harry thanked her and watched her shapely behind sway to the next table, wondering if he could try his hand at seeing how true the folk tales were about accommodating serving wenches and randy customers.
Ah, well, the randy part was nothing new, unlike some of the bugs Norbert was currently eating. Considering he'd not left the table, where he'd caught them Harry really didn't care to know.
Harry shifted in his chair. His arse hurt. His German Bummeln's cushioning charms might be the best in the industry, but they were no match for a two-week meandering journey, a mischievous firedrake who insisted on chasing every single flock of ducks they passed (and expected him to protect them when they caught them up) and who regularly liked to pull his hair to change their direction, or flip them upside-down. Poor thing would get tired, too, and like a small child would often nap the afternoon away in a basket mounted on the front of the broom while he leisurely flew in whatever direction Norbert had set them in.
The seeming aimlessness of their journey was steadily taking them north; they'd passed into Scotland two days ago, and perhaps it was the very unplanned quality of the trip, the first real holiday he'd taken in over twenty years, which made it so pleasant. Rae had evidently taken his request for privacy seriously, for although he'd brought his mobile phone and slate, there'd been no calls and no e-mails since he'd left on the 18th. The resulting isolation lent him a lightness he'd not experienced since before the children were born, a thought which brought a bit of guilt with it, but Norbert hadn't given him much chance to dwell on it. Instead he revelled in the new-found freedom, shedding the depression and stress he'd experienced since the divorce like a snake's too-small skin. He felt well, laughed openly at Norbert's aerial acrobats and duck-stunts, ate like a pig, and slept deeply with no dreams to haunt him.
Considering how many nights they'd spent in a small tent he'd brought, just in case, the comfortable slumber was as surprising as the lack of public wizarding establishments on the way. This one, The Green Man, in Ayr, was only the second they'd encountered (the first being The Black Cauldron in Synn just north of Blackpool). In fact, just this morning he'd begun to worry about their dwindling supplies when he'd spotted a huge gathering below them, a third of which had advertising wards overhead. The Ayr Sunday Market, mostly Muggle, also held a kind of roving Diagon Alley of open-air stalls selling everything from books and wands to Quidditch supplies. He'd spent a few hours there exploring. Norbert had been impatient to move on, but quieted when they found a booth selling his favourite foods--live, of course--held in stasis so they'd be fresh for up to a month; he'd bought enough for another week.
When they'd finally left the market, with a list of nearby public houses the bug merchant had been happy to impart, it had been late afternoon, so Harry decided to stay at the closest, The Green Man, rather than travelling further. The place proved old, with heavy timber construction and a set of privacy wards to rival Hogwarts. The public room sported a U-shaped bar on one end with table seating for about two-hundred people on the other, the air redolent of beer and malt whiskey and left-over fumes from potions overlaid with roasted beef and potatoes and burnt butter. An odd mixture, but not unpleasant. He and Norbert currently occupied a snug corner table in the far back, near a second staircase to the rooms above. For so large a space, it was relatively quiet, even though most of the tables were occupied by folk all wearing a uniform of sorts, dark navy robes with bright colours inset on collars and cuffs and rank knots on the upper arms which certain professions used to fasten their full sleeves out of the way while working.
Beyond the quick glances given any newcomer, most of the patrons ignored him, but if the widening eyes were any indication, more than a few recognised him. No one bothered him, though, nor did anyone pay the least attention to Norbert, both of which were a relief.
His meal efficiently whisked away, he spread the map out on the tabletop and studied the route they'd so far taken; it looked like a drunken worm had crawled across the surface. Norbert waddled up the Atlantic Ocean, and sat down on lower Ireland, his snout touching briefly on Ayr before he raised it to snort at Harry.
"Yes, yes, that's where we are," he murmured, amazed how the firedrake could always pinpoint their location on the map. "Where to tomorrow?" This time, however, rather than point to a new place, Norbert gave the equivalent of a draconic shrug. "So, I get to pick where we're going?" he asked incredulously. Norbert stared at him. "Or are we already there?" Norbert blinked.
So they were close. A formless dread filled him. Unwilling to even think about the implications which had already been chasing themselves through his head for weeks, he carefully moved a strangely compliant Norbert off the map and folded it precisely before placing it in his bag. He held out his arm and the drake minced up to his shoulder.
The waitress soon came by with his check and, as he counted the change, he nodded to the nearest group of uniformed patrons and asked, "They all from the same company?"
"Yes, they're all apprentices and journeyman from Centaury Potions," she replied, shifting her serving tray from one tempting hip to the other.
He eyed the movement. Well, maybe not so far-fetched a tale as he'd thought, but a hiss near his ear clearly stated the popularity of that notion. "Hmmm. From what I saw earlier, you caught both the shift going to work and, now, the one going home?"
"Oh, yeah, The Green Man's the closest place to the compound," she replied, giving him a dazzling smile. "The Master at Centaury is very strict and they're not allowed to eat or drink anywhere on site except at the commissary, which I've heard is really good, but only the masters can afford it. Since no one wants to find out if there are second chances if they get caught with home-food, they all come here to fill-up before work, and then back to tank-up after."
"Ah, speaking of next meals, when is breakfast served?" he asked with his most winning smile.
"Breakfast starts at 6:00, although the bar's not open until 10:00 and closes at 11:00 during the week." She winked. "And I get off an hour after last call." A snort of smoke shot out from his shoulder. "Oh, what a cute little dragon," she cooed.
The smoke became flame. Well, that really scorched the idea. "Yeah, he is sometimes, and it's way past his bedtime. Thanks for answering my questions." He grimaced, doubled the tip and handed the money tray back to her.
Merlin, even her sulky little pout looked promising, as did her mesmerising arse as she walked away with a shrug and a rueful smile. Damn.
"You know, old son, we're going to have a bit of discussion about this," Harry murmured, making his slow way up the stairs to their room. "A long, long, little chat."
Norbert just snorted and yawned, the belch of flame purely an accident.
After a hearty breakfast, they took to the air, Norbert flying by his side, moving slowly north of Ayr along the coast. The brisk wind carried with it the first hints of winter, and he shivered in its icy hold. Harry couldn't believe how many golf courses they passed, huge affairs with dotted sand pits to either side of narrow, bright green fairways. After the fourth one, Norbert slid over and grabbed the top of his hair, turning him on a diagonal course inland, then dropped neatly into his basket to rest. After a few minutes of their leisurely pace, Harry spotted a large wizarding village below. He hovered while wrestling the map open. Ah, there, just to the east of the Royal Troon, Little Dorning showed on the map, its wards obviously triggering its sudden appearance. He folded the map and put it away before resuming their course over the busy village consisting of dense housing, surrounding a business centre; if they had time, he thought he might like to return to visit, but for now they moved on.
Just past Little Dorning, in a broad but shallow forest, he could see a clearing containing another large grouping of buildings with a very small one far off to the side, barely visible through the trees, all of which was fenced by what appeared to be a tall stone wall. There seemed to be a lot of people moving within the sculpted grounds, the patterns of which looked quite lovely from this height. The map had shown nothing of this magnitude in the vicinity, and as he thought about pulling it out again to see if something new had appeared, his broom was knocked off-kilter as Norbert launched himself violently from his basket to greet another firedrake, rising from the buildings below to meet them.
It took several moments to gain control, time in which his only observations were that the other drake was a lovely gold and red, and that he was rapidly losing height as he tried to manoeuvre his way through their joyous dance without a collision. Finally on a steady course, he smiled and laughed at their outrageous aerial acrobatics, some even more daring than what he used to do on his long-retired Firebolt.
Following them down, he noticed below, an older man in dark clothing waving his arms at him and shouting a greeting. Waving back, he was too busy dodging the drakes to notice the warning shimmer of a powerful ward. The first hint he was in trouble came when the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood at rigid attention from a blast of magic. Mere seconds later, he crashed through it and the broom began to disintegrate beneath him. Spinning and falling, he hit the top of the trees, the branches, and what he hoped might be a cushioning charm, broke some of his momentum, but it wasn't enough, and, with several ominous cracks, his body slammed into a walkway far below. His last thought, as a blessed blackness filled his vision, was that Madam Pomfrey was going to be so pissed off at him for crashing his broom again.
Returned today from a two-day inspection of our Romanian hydroponics. Production is up for the cold-weather potions crops, and we can't seem to keep up with the exponentially increasing demands from both Muggles and wizards alike for the vegetables and fruits we grow year-round. What started as a means to distribute surplus foodstuffs now exceeds our primary business. Master Dacro explained that the local ground water has been contaminated by factory waste from Pitesti to Resita, and as far away as the Ukraine and Hungary. Much of the arable land in the region lies fallow, and, at the moment, we're the only ones selling clean produce. He asked if we wanted to raise the prices, and I admit the avaricious side of me began chanting mantras about supply and demand, but the blasted nagger within--who sounds suspiciously like Albus--reminded me of my neglected social values, so I initially told him no.
However, if we weren't going to cash in on such a golden opportunity, neither was anyone else. After a morning spent formulating our business plan, we decided to build seven more greenhouses around the country. Our Romanian business licenses should allow it, and, if they don't, a judicious oiling of certain Ministry wheels will rid us of any annoying squeaks. From there we will set up distribution centres in the form of farmers' markets (calculated at four per greenhouse) to sell the produce to individuals and the few communal markets remaining. A twenty-five percent overall hike in prices should cover all the start-up and operating costs with a three year break-even point (which is two years longer than I'd like, but nagger/Albus won that round) and will certainly be less than the current middle-man mark-up; it won't make us much profit, but we won't lose either money or business. *NTS: Have Strangelove contact Jadzia at the Merchants' Guild and request twenty-eight apprentices for the new markets. Standard terms only.*
Everything else proved unexceptional, except that our general manager, Master Meri, has requested a transfer. I promised him I would find a replacement as soon as possible. He's an odd duck and perhaps this is why he's survived out there longer than I thought he might, but it's time--for his sanity's sake--to bring him home. *NTS: Flora Moon - possible replacement? Need to pry her out of Tibet. Pay raise?*
With Chloë's continuing condition--her skin almost singed me yesterday--I decided to seek expert advice. Since our greenhouse location is in a valley just below the Romanian Dragon Reserve, it was nothing to stop by there this morning to consult with Charlie Weasley. I know it was a bit of a risk, but thankfully, he didn't recognize me. The reserve is much larger than I'd imagined, but very well run. While Charlie received another visitor, I was able to talk to their director, Clarence Didley; they may be able to help with our Tibet problem. At least they are willing to try. *NTS: Have Morris contact Chu to send DR seedlings to Didley.*
As for Chloë, well, at least I now know she's not dying, and the hotfoot root Charlie suggested she consume twice daily seems to be making her more comfortable. That is assuming a draconic hot flash can be described as 'uncomfortable'. Anyway, she's looking less miserable and that ghastly colour (hot pink, I believe he called it) she's sported the last week or so has reverted back to her more normal sangria red. She's still restless, annoyingly so, and she won't stop preening my hair, but Charlie informs me this is perfectly normal for a horny drake. Horny. What a shocking thing to contemplate: she will be mating soon, and with a male she's never met, but for whom she has been destined from the egg. A male who has his own master. I wonder who it could be? And is this something that needs concern the 'old' me?
That Weasley fox knows something, though, but no amount of subtle pressure on my part could get him to divulge it, and his shields are as strong as my own. But whatever his secret, and I'm certain it concerns me, it amuses him greatly.
Damn you, Albus, what have you done? Who got the other egg?
He decided he could read the quarterly reports as easily at home as he could in his office. Of course, the change in routine had nothing to do with Chloë's restlessness, nor was it caused by the unwarranted anxiety pooling in his stomach; he'd not been this nervous since his Death Eater days. While it had plagued him for weeks now, he hadn't a clue why, today, it bothered him enough to shun company.
Settling deeper into his comfortable desk chair, he flipped a page. Ah, the revenue projections by region. How exciting. The Ayr facility still out-produced all the others, but the Provence Plant was only behind by thirteen percent. Sales were up, production costs down--a corporation's wet dream--but today it left him cold.
Or maybe the shivers, running down his arms and back, came from Chloë nosing through his hair, snuffling and nibbling, strand by strand, over and over. Preening, Charlie had called it. A nuisance was more like it, but it kept her happy, although he found it very inconvenient to leave his hair unbound.
Pull, snuffle, snuffle, pull, snuffle, snuffle...
There was an almost soothing rhythm to it.
Pull, snuffle, snuffle, pull, snuffle, snuffle, pull, pull! Yank! OUCH! Rip!
He rubbed his shoulder where her dangerous claws had torn through magically enhanced leather, shredding it in her frenzied launch. Trilling wildly, she sailed out the window and was gone before he could see where she'd fled. It was a matter of two wand flicks to repair the damage to his robes, and he settled back in his chair, picked up the report, and... Wait a minute, was that two firedrakes he heard outside? He tilted his head. Must be, unless Chloë had learned to sing harmony with herself.
Grabbing his cane, he walked outside as quickly as possible and looked up into the sky. Sure enough, there were two firedrakes doing the wildest stunts imaginable around a third party. Chloë's mate was here and the speck following them must be the mate's master. On a broom. Shit! The wards! There was no time to dismantle them and the fool looked like he was either ignoring the shimmer the Ministry had insisted he install to warn the unwary, or was so blind he couldn't see it.
Wonderful.
Bracing himself with the cane, he cast the spell to fix it in place so he could have both arms free. He leaned into its support, cast a Sonorous spell on himself and began waving his arms while shouting, "Go back! Go back, you idiot! Stop! The wards will destroy your broom! Land! Outside! The! Walls!"
It was no use and with dismay he watched the man crash through the powerful wards with a bright flash of destructive magic. The broom immediately began disintegrating, and the rider fell like a stone. Cursing a blue streak, he released his cane. He rapidly walked to where he thought the fool would land, trying to aim levitation charms to help break his fall. He made only marginal progress redirecting him to more open territory and watched helplessly as the rider bounced through the thick trees. As soon as the man cleared the branches, Severus cast one more cushioning charm, barely catching the limp body as it slammed onto the walkway with a sickening crack. His hip burning, he half-ran to the unconscious man lying on his side, facing away from him.
Severus fell heavily to his knees on the grass behind the injured man, warily watching the green firedrake who landed near the man's head. Making the most piteous cries, the drake stretched out his neck, just touching his master's face. The drake settled back on his haunches, and stared at him. Chloë circled Severus, chittering unhappily, clearly torn between him and the drake. Silently she landed next to the other drake, the two of them leaning towards each other, but not touching.
Right, then.
Ignoring the firedrakes for the moment, Severus cast a series of quick spells at the man's back and ascertained that not only was his visitor alive, he'd only sustained multiple breaks to his ribs and limbs. Severus sighed with relief. No head, back, or neck injuries other than contusions and some cuts. The man must have had bones of steel, or more luck than Harry Potter. He threw a handkerchief to the ground in front of him and transfigured it into a stretcher. Placing it under the man, he carefully rolled him onto its flat surface. As his face came into view, Severus gasped, his heart suddenly pounding. Absolutely gob-smacked, Severus firmed his grip on his wand and finished the transfer,
Harry. Bloody. Potter.
What a fucked-up bit of irony. "Of all the misguided, dumb, rotten..." Luck. For a panicked moment he thought he'd called it upon himself with his ill-guided thought earlier, until blessed reason reasserted itself, followed by the realisation of his true situation. Then he experienced a legitimate reason to panic.
He struggled to his feet; given the shakiness of his limbs and the sweat slicking his palms, it wasn't easy, nor was it painless. "The gods damn you, old man," he muttered, steadying himself with his cane. As he raised his wand to levitate the stretcher, the green firedrake launched himself from the ground and, flaming, attacked him.
"Stop it!" Severus cried, waving him off. "I'm not going to hurt him; I'm trying to help him!"
The panicked firedrake obviously had other ideas about his motives and it was all Severus could do to keep himself safe without hurting the creature. "Chloë! Talk to him!" he shouted, narrowly dodging a flame to his head, his jerk away almost unbalancing him. He dug the cane into the turf and held on. "Damn it! Chl-oë!"
Silence. Where the hell did they go? Wild chittering broke out behind him as, with big, gusty sweeps of her wings, Chloë interposed herself between him and the other firedrake and manoeuvred the raging beast to a place on the far side of the stretcher, out of harm's way and in a position where he could easily see him. Good girl. The green drake hovered over his master, his whimpering enough to tear the most hardened heart. Chloë maintained her position, her trilling a soothing counterpoint to the other's cries.
Slowly the green firedrake calmed and landed, still near his master, but not close enough to interfere. Chloë landed next to him and this time there was no mistaking the way they leaned against one another, nor could he ignore the touches of support and comfort she gave her future mate. His sweat turned cold at the sight, his stomach tightened with dread. Was he losing her already?
Severus shook his head clear of such thoughts; there was no time now for speculation. He cautiously raised his wand. "I am not going to hurt him," he said directly to the firedrakes. "I just want to get him inside and call the healer." Slowly he raised Potter to waist level and began moving him towards the house. Hobbling badly, the sweat drenching his skin, he struggled to keep Potter aloft, his own pain causing a distraction he could ill-afford. Chloë flew by his side, her chittering now encouragement for him. The other drake kept apace with the stretcher on the far side, near Potter's face. It looked bad, but there was nothing here that couldn't be fixed as good as new with a healer's magic, some potions, and a bit of time.
Chloë flew ahead. Sensing her presence, the pair of front doors swung inward before her. A few steps behind, Severus and his burden walked in unhindered. Two rooms later, he levitated Potter carefully onto the guest room bed, a room which had been, until now, unused by anyone but Wiltshire. He quickly checked Potter's pulse and breathing while the green firedrake landed on the other pillow. Satisfied that his guest would be safe for the moment, he limped to the sitting room and fire-called the compound's healer, telling him he had an emergency. He checked to make certain the front door was unlocked before making his laborious way back to Potter's side. The side chair, more suited as a place to hang clothes than to seat a body, nonetheless beckoned like a siren's call and he eased himself down to its hard surface, grateful to get the weight off his leg and hip.
Knowing he needed to remain alert for a while longer, he summoned only a mild pain potion. Tossing it back, he waited and seethed.
A short man around Severus' age, but as round as Severus was thin, Memson closed his case and straightened. "Well, Master Marner, that should take care of our guest for a while." He picked up his case and prepared to depart. "Nasty business, but he should be right as rain in a few days. May take him as long as another day to come around, though; I've dosed him fairly heavily."
Severus walked him to the door.
"I'll send one of the elves over to help Dinky keep an eye on Mr Potter." He poked at Severus' chest with a chubby forefinger. "And you, my friend, need to stay off your feet for a few days. You almost popped it this morning with your heroics." When Severus snorted, the healer shook his head. "Not that you will, of course, but at least stay home for the rest of today. I left you a supply of that long-term analgesic, Pain's Bane, you and Wiltshire were working on. Twice daily should do it--for both of you; I suspect you'll need it for a longer period than Mr Potter, but continue to give it to him until all signs of his mishap have disappeared."
Memson paused at the front door. "Oh, and good news: the patent came in this morning, so we can start producing Pain's Bane for the final trials. Be sure to keep a log of its efficacy. So far the results have been most promising, but until I get the placebo results back, I can't yet approve it for public consumption."
"How much longer?" Severus asked impatiently.
"Now, now, patience really is a virtue," Memson replied with a laugh. "You know the double-blind testing takes time. Won't do to rush it, no, it won't. You made a drug to be used long-term, so we need to make the trials long-term as well. We'll have forever to sell it, but only this short while to ensure its safety."
Severus tapped his fingers on the head of his cane. "Yes, yes, I know all that. I have been doing this for over forty years. I had merely assumed that, like all our trials, you'd assigned a time frame for testing. Seeing that there have been no untoward results, to this point, my query as to the time remaining was not borne out of impatience; it was merely a question."
Memson laughed and waved to him as he walked away from the house. As he reached the junction of the private walk to the public way, he briefly turned and called loudly, "At least another year," before resuming his trip back to his lab.
Severus chuckled at the man's audacity. How well Memson knew him, to wait until he was out of wand range to utter something bound to get him hexed. A year? Preposterous! It had already been two. He sighed and closed the door, knowing a protest would prove pointless. Memson was right, and no matter how much he might grumble, he would never gainsay the man he and Wiltshire had hand-picked to run Centaury's clinical trials; he'd not failed them yet, he would not fail him now. But a year? He shook his head. Well, at least for now, he and Potter could benefit from the four years of, 'pain-staking, please pardon the pun, my dear,' research he and Wiltshire had spent inventing it.
Calling Dinky for a belated lunch tray, he limped back to his office and his reports. The firedrakes would let him know if there was any change with his guest, and it wouldn't be too long before Memson's house-elf popped over to help. In the meantime, he desperately needed a distraction to stay the myriad of thoughts--the firedrakes, Potter, the trials, Potter, Tibet, Potter, Chloë--rattling inside his head. He needed distance, perspective; the quarterly reports were dull enough to stultify even the keenest mind. Resolved, he settled into his chair, and, deliberately blanking the morning out of his head, he immersed himself in profits and losses and roast beef sandwiches and busy graphs and tiny pie charts, all of which soon blurred into a restless afternoon slumber.
His stomach noisily digesting the succulent minted lamb dinner Dinky had brought him from the commissary, Severus found himself once again sitting on the rock-hard chair next to the bed in the guest room, his only concession to comfort being a flat pillow he'd Summoned from the sitting room. Memson's house-elf, Farky, had taken a break, leaving him in charge of Potter's care for the moment. He supposed he could have set Dinky to watch in the other elf's absence, however, despite every warning ringing in his head, something irresistibly drew him to Potter's side.
Perhaps he only wanted to be near Chloë; she'd not left the green firedrake's side since Potter had arrived, and he keenly felt the implied separation. He stifled the fear chilling his gut. Surely he wouldn't lose her.
However, now that he had some time to actually observe the creature destined to be her mate, he had to admit that if one were a firedrake, and one was bound to be smitten, the green male was quite a handsome fellow. He'd always thought Chloë a good size, but this male, wider in the chest and heavily muscled, was easily three feet in length from snout to tip of tail, and dwarfed her by a good eight inches. If memory served, and assuming his wings were in the same proportions as Chloë, they must span at least five to six feet when fully extended.
Regardless of size, they were both beautiful. The male's sage green hide shimmered with healthy hints of silver much like Chloë's red sometimes shone with gold. Seeing them curled up together on the pillow like a draconic ying-yang, he noticed how similar they were to the Slytherin and Gryffindor house colours, only reversed by owner. Perhaps a sign of capricious fate, or was it a portent of potential suitability between the drakes and their humans?
If Charlie were to be believed, the drake's mating was inevitable, but the humans had options. He'd held onto that reassurance like a candle in a dark room, only to have it extinguished when he'd discovered just who the other human in question was. Of all the people Albus could have chosen for him as a companion, why Potter? What the hell had the old man been thinking? Had he seen it as doing them a favour, his one-track mind thinking they could bring consolation to each other at the war's end? In a strange Albus way, it made sense, but why such an odd way to go about it and why wait so long? What had been his purpose? These were not new questions by any means, but now that he'd reached the day of reckoning, they became urgent.
So maybe he should approach his concerns from a different direction. Given their firedrake's situation, did it really matter who owned Chloë's mate? Would a stranger prove any easier to befriend than someone he already knew, and, more to the point, someone to whom he'd already given a modicum of trust, someone with whom he had history? Was he blinded by the filters of his past?
He unabashedly studied the man before him, so alike, and yet so different, from the man depicted in the Daily Prophet. Although a bit longer, Potter's black hair, now touched by silver at the temples, still looked like he'd been dragged through a bush backwards. Although he needed a shave, his smooth skin shone with a natural paleness, but his eyes and mouth, even in sleep, now bore creases formed by life as much as by laughter. He'd grown a few inches in the intervening years, but was still lean and lanky. Potter... Harry no longer wore those horrid spectacles, but this minor cosmetic change, when combined with the others life had dealt him, made him seem oddly vulnerable, and strangely appealing when viewed through the filters of his present.
Perhaps a compromise could be reached. Would it be possible to convince Harry that he was no longer the man he used to be? If only to placate Chloë, he would at least have to try, and yet--if he were being brutally honest--he acknowledged he also wanted something for himself. Until Wiltshire had died, he'd never realised how much comfort and joy he'd drawn from their friendship, and he missed it. Perhaps--
A low groan drew him from his thoughts as Harry opened his eyes. Harry's gaze tracked over the plain room, his eyes widening to owl proportions when they lighted on him. His skin taking on a sickly pallor, his hands grasped the sheets tightly as he stared.
"Severus?" he whispered, then cleared his throat. "How? Where?" He blinked several times against the moisture glazing his eyes. "Is it possible?" He squinted, rubbing his eyes before asking again, "Severus? Is that...?"
"I am sorry," Severus replied quietly, "but you must be mistaken. I don't know anyone by that name." He pointed to the green dragon now mewling on the pillow next to his master. "Is this creature yours?" he asked over the pitiful sound.
"Sn-Snape?" Harry gasped, his face scrunching in pain.
"You named your firedrake Snape?" Severus asked wryly. He reached for the Pain's Bane on the dresser and studied the log; Potter had not yet been given his second dose. He poured a small measure into a medicine cup and set it next to a glass of water. His hip creaking as he stood, he leant over the bed and helped Potter sit up enough for him to sip some water before he gagged the potion down. Tsk'ing as he sat back onto the chair, Severus chided, "Come now, it doesn't taste that bad."
Harry couldn't seem to make his mouth work properly.
Severus tried again. "That green menace is yours, yes?"
"Yes, Norbert's mine," Harry croaked.
"Norbert?" he asked, his brow rising of its own accord.
"Um, yeah. In honour of Hagrid," Harry ventured, turning his head to eye the two firedrakes sitting cosily side by side. Before Severus could draw breath to ask how the two could possibly be connected, Harry asked, "I take it the red one's yours?"
Switching thoughts, Severus replied, "Yes, Chloë has been my companion for over twenty-three years."
His guest pushed his head into the pillow. "Chloë. What a pretty name. Same age as Norbert, then. He hatched the morning after the first anniversary."
Snape started. Swallowing hard, he murmured, "The same night as my Chloë, about an hour before dawn."
Potter's eyes narrowed; Severus didn't remember ever seeing such a calculating expression on his face before. "Any chance you got your egg from an under-handed former headmaster?" he finally asked slyly.
He almost snorted; he wasn't hatched yesterday and if he'd managed to hide his existence this long, no idiotic Gryffindor was going to trick that from him now. "Hardly, Mr Potter. Mine was a gift from an old friend, now deceased."
Suspicion colouring his voice, Harry asked, "How old a friend, Mister..."
Taking a deep breath, he replied, "Marner. Silas Marner."
Harry's brow scrunched in confusion. Sitting up slowly, he grunted, a small grimace fleeting across his face. Arms crossed over his chest, Severus made no move to help him. Harry stared at him, his gaze tracking all over his face and his body, but the thing most telling was that, beyond a stray flicker or two towards the burnt side of his face, Harry's attention was primarily drawn to his eyes.
"Marner, eh?" Harry raised a brow, and winced when the action wrinkled a recently healed cut. "You're no more Silas Marner than I'm... Dorian Gray."
Who knew the man read? Holding in his chuckle and keeping his public face firmly in place, Severus dropped his arms from across his chest and waited.
Potter sighed, his shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry, my mistake." He glanced sideways at him. "You just look remarkably like someone I used to know." Pulling the covers up around his chest, Harry asked, "Where am I?"
Severus replied evenly, "You're in my home at the main Centaury Potions compound near Ayr and Little Dorning."
"You work here?" Harry asked, then, rubbing his temple, he stopped Severus from replying with a hand in the air. "Sorry, stupid question. Silas Marner. You're part owner of Centaury Potions, yes?"
Severus shook his head. "No, I am sole owner of Centaury Potions."
"Ah, what happened to...? No, never mind, none of my business." He stared at Severus as if he could see into his soul; Severus strengthened his shields, just in case. "What happened? How did I get here?"
"What do you remember?" Severus asked him as if bored.
This obviously took some thought, for Potter paused. "Um, Norbert and I were flying, well actually, I was and he was riding, and the next thing I know your Chloë showed up, and I was following them and then, WHAM!, I was crashing through the trees and... I don't remember anything after that."
Well, at least Harry's inability to string words together into a coherent sentence hadn't changed over the years. "Understandable," Severus replied wryly. "You passed through our defensive wards, which are designed, in specific, to disable brooms and other flying devices. There is a warning shimmer to them, but I'm going to assume you didn't see it. You did indeed crash through the trees and landed on my walkway. You've already been seen by our healer; despite three cracked ribs, a broken femur, a cracked collar bone, a dislocated shoulder, and numerous internal injuries, he's determined you'll live."
Harry chuckled, his eyes glazing as if recalling something. "I vaguely remember... a Cushioning Charm?" He tilted his head. "You tried to stop my fall?"
"Yes, but I was largely unsuccessful." Which still stung a bit.
"It's all right, you saved the important stuff, like my head. Thank you." In obvious discomfort, Harry started to lay back down and stopped with a start. "Hey, if you're not Snape, how do you know my name?"
Severus did laugh at this. "You are obviously suffering from an undiagnosed head injury, Mr Potter," he said snidely. "The whole world knows who you are; I am merely one, small specimen." He hesitated and, almost believing it, added firmly, "And I am not Severus Snape; he's been dead for over," he paused to calculate it, "twenty-four years."
Harry shrugged, clearly not believing him.
When he tried once more to lay down, Severus took pity on his painful struggle and levitated him into a better position. Harry said nothing more, but he seemed unable to stop staring at Severus, his eyes jerking away every now and again as if he'd only become aware of how much he was doing it. Uncomfortable under such minute scrutiny, and glad when it finally ended, Severus wished there was a way to Obliviate Harry without harming his firedrake, Norbert. Norbert? What a name. Severus' snort attracted Harry's half-lidded gaze, and he turned his head to stare again, the lids fluttering over the brilliant green eyes, and in that moment, before the medication took full effect, and Harry's lids closed completely, Severus had no problem reading Harry's final message to him: "Bullshit."
He shook his head, hiding his smile. Tomorrow, he knew, would bring the real challenge... and the questions.
I'd forgotten what a pain in the arse being injured is. Today that sadist, Memson, let me walk a bit around my rooms (I have two) and to the loo - thank Merlin he took that awful toileting spell off me - and he agreed I could sit at the room's desk, but I'm not allowed out to the rest of the house until tomorrow morning.
The pain medication they've been giving me has worked a treat against the discomfort, when I remember to take it, that is, but it doesn't make me hinky and woozy. The other potions taste horrible, although I can tell they're working well. I guess I should expect that, considering where I am. Straight from the source, and all that.
My rooms have a lovely view of a pristine garden and an ancient oak tree, it's certainly nicer than mine at home, and I've had just the right amount of company and sleep, meaning I've been awake and alone enough to think, but not enough to brood. It's been fun, though, to watch the firedrakes outside playing. They seem to be getting along well. That Chloë is a character and is leading poor Norbert on a merry chase.
Since the accident, Silas has spent every evening with me, either reading a book if I doze, or engaging me in conversation, or for the last two days, reading me titbits out of the Daily Prophet. While we've discussed me and the foundation, he avoids talking about himself, but that's hardly surprising; if I were incognito, I'd want to keep conversation about myself to a minimum. We also do not speak of the drakes, who sleep in my room every night. Discussing them would mean discussing 'us', something we both assiduously avoid. And every night, Silas sleeps on a chaise lounge he transfigured from that horrid wooden chair. We don't speak of his reasons for staying in my room at night, but I think he knows I understand why he does it, and if I thought for an instant he was doing it for me, I'd offer him the empty spot in the bed, but I know better: right now, he's there for Chloë.
I think he's as lonely as I am, though, with or without them, and I believe friendship between us is definitely a possibility, although I wouldn't mind exploring a deeper relationship, if he were willing. It's funny how the only thing constant is change. I used to think of him as Snape, but since Al's birth, Severus seems far more comfortable, but now, 'Silas'?.
Silas Marner, my foot. Oh, I'll grant he's a gracious host, and based on his comportment alone, one would never guess it's Snape underneath that overly polite, charming exterior he wears as easily as his custom-tailored clothes, but I know it's him. It's in his eyes, a certain light, a fierceness that only belongs to Severus Snape, one that could never be duplicated. It's there in the occasional turn of phrase and the passion that sometimes creeps into his speech when he relaxes his guard a bit, or the way he holds himself, especially if he's tired, or the way he cares about some things, but not about others. What I can't decide is if this person was always in him, but never seen, or if someone along the way, someone close, reshaped him, buffed away the rough edges until the person inside him is visible to the outside. He may have changed his name, and his appearance is certainly different, but he can't hide himself from someone who had studied him closely for years. And I did then, but for utterly different reasons than I do now.
This conviction, and the reasons for it, have blind-sided me with their implications. I'd no idea I knew so much about him until confronted with his current persona. I still don't know how I feel about that, although I find him attractive, both in personality and in his person. His eyes, with their thin gold edgings around the more familiar black, are riveting; one is drawn into them immediately. I suppose, given Nagini's handiwork, it should follow that his voice changed. It's still low, the tone almost sultry, but where before it reminded me of smooth, warm honey, it's now huskier, rougher with a hint of a soft rasp that floats like raw silk over my skin. And his hands... He talks with them now, their elegant expression an intense accompaniment to his words. What I wouldn't do to have them map his passions all over my body.
I am in so much trouble.
After eight days of infirmary-like captivity, it felt wonderful to be out of bed, in clothing other than pyjamas, and eating a normal meal at a real table. After a pleasant greeting, Snape buried his still-considerable, but shapelier, nose behind the morning's Daily Prophet, his hand appearing sometime later to grasp his cup, which also disappeared behind his paper.
A second copy awaited Harry, which might have been a surprise if he had not received such unfailing consideration ever since his arrival. Everything thus far had been provided for his comfort, from the type of sheets he preferred, to his favourite brands of soap and shampoo. He picked up his paper and started reading.
Breakfast was brought to the table by a smaller-than-normal house-elf named Dinky, who was so cheerful it almost hurt to watch. Both he and Snape set their papers aside on the empty chairs next to them. Norbert and Chloë sat across from one another on special mats on the table in the two empty spots, each with a bowl half-full of bugs and worms. How good it felt for both humans to consider the roiling mess perfectly ordinary. However, when Norbert picked up a small snake and tossed it across the table into Chloë's bowl, Harry winced and, without thinking, cried, "No! Don't!"
Too late, and Snape looked up from his plate at the same moment Chloë bit into the screaming creature. Norbert chittered in distress and lowered his head sheepishly. Chloë, the tail of the dead snake hanging from her mouth, just looked as confused as Snape, both of whom were staring at him.
"I'm sorry," Harry murmured. "It's hard to listen to them eating snakes."
Severus' face cleared from concern to understanding. "Oh, I forgot, you're a Parselmouth." When Harry nodded, Severus turned his attention to his firedrake. "Chloë, eat your snakes outside and away from Mr Potter. They are his friends and it upsets him when you kill them."
Chloë tilted her head from one side to the other and rolled her eyes, but after a burst of scolding chittering from Norbert, she nodded. Her golden gaze fixed on Harry, she considered him a moment before waddling to the table's edge near his hand resting on the table. Delicately, she stepped on his arm. She stretched and rubbed her head against his cheek, her tongue flicking out to lick his ear. With a soft, "Eep," she moved away and back to her place. Harry stared at her, bemused. A quick glance at Norbert, who was leaning against his other arm, showed the drake gazing at her with affection and what Harry could only call pride. Ignoring them all, Chloë resumed eating as if nothing had happened.
Severus cleared his throat. "Well, that should do it."
"Thank you," Harry said as he petted Norbert. "I'm sorry for all the fuss."
"You have no idea how pale you just turned," Severus replied, glancing up at Harry, his knife suspended mid-cut, "so it's no bother; she normally hunts them outside anyway."
A spate of chatter from Chloë startled Harry, but Severus seemed inured to it. He put his knife down and was about to fork a slice of perfectly grilled banger into his mouth, when Chloë stopped him by touching the shaft of his fork with her snout. His eyes raised to the heavens, Snape held his fork out and waited while she lightly flamed the sausage.
She moved over to his plate and began to roast the rest of his meal, one wing extended to protect the table. Shaking his head, he commented, "I swear that damned elf undercooks everything just so you have something to do." When finished, she tapped a potato with her claw. She glanced at him and he asked, "Is that now to your satisfaction?" As she flamed the potato again, he remarked, "I'll take that as a no."
Harry bit back a laugh as Norbert, his mouth curled in confusion, stuck Harry's banger with his claw. Harry watched him and shrugged at Norbert's look of enquiry. Norbert glanced over at Chloë, now intent on her own meal, and, snorting a puff of smoke, he rolled his eyes and waddled back to his own place.
The two firedrakes were so different. While Chloë daintily ate and licked her claws between bites, Norbert had his face buried in the bowl, slurping and gobbling his breakfast. Chuckling, Harry remarked, "I think your girl has fewer of the messier draconic tendencies than Norbert. Look at her; she preens more than a phoenix after burning day, while he always looks like he's wearing all the bugs in the bowl."
"Like master, like drake?" Snape asked with some amusement. Harry smiled, knowing it to be true, and went back to his meal in better spirits.
When finished, Snape placed his fork and knife across his plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Memson says you're to be encouraged to walk about today. With the medication I left for you on your bed table, you should be comfortable the rest of the morning. Feel free to walk around the grounds, but I would ask you not to leave the compound unless you wish to wait several hours before anyone notices you at the wall. Entrance to Centaury Potions is via special Portkey only, so we don't bother with a front door."
"Or by broom," Harry remarked acidly.
"Only once," Snape quipped.
Harry had to laugh grimly at that; the ward's uppermost height was such that, had Snape not caught him, he probably would be dead, a sobering thought. As it was, a week-long recovery, even with the best Centaury Potions could provide, spoke volumes about his injuries.
"In any event, if you're interested, we can have lunch in the commissary."
"Thank you, I'd like that. I heard about it at The Green Man and am a bit curious if it's as good as they claim."
Snape seemed pleased. "Good. I'll meet you in there at noon. You can either ask Dinky for directions, or anyone walking about will be able to show you."
"That's fine," he replied, wondering what he would do with his morning. He should probably call Rae, who must be foaming by now, even though Severus had already fire-called the office the day of the accident. His mobile phone had no signal here, so, "May I use your Floo this morning? I should check in with my office."
"Certainly." Severus turned his regard to the kitchen, and said loudly, "Dinky! Bring Mr Potter his messages." Looking uncomfortable, he said to Harry, "Memson insisted you not be disturbed during your recovery, so I had Morris take down all the messages you received in the interim. Most of them are from someone named--"
"--Rae, my assistant," Harry murmured, flipping through the small stack Dinky handed him. Rae and Ginger had both tried to reach him. "Judging from the number Rae sent, I'm surprised she hasn't torn down your wall to check up on me."
"We didn't tell them you were injured, just that you were here for an extended visit. Even locked, no Floo is truly secure during communications, and given that I'd seen nothing about your trip in the papers, I assumed you would want to maintain your privacy. My apologies if I surmised incorrectly."
"None needed, Severus. I appreciate the consideration. Rae knew I was going to be gone for a while." He grinned. "These aren't urgent, but I'll fire-call her anyway, just to keep her happy."
Severus nodded and stood from the table, saying quietly, "And it's Silas." Holding out his arm, he hid his disappointment well when Chloë licked his hand, but stayed where she was at the table. Harry watched him shrug and stride off into his day, admiring his sangfroid, an equanimity he didn't share.
Harry sat in the library, quietly digesting his fine meal while he waited for Severus to arrive. After an extended conversation with Rae, lunch had proved interesting despite the absence of his host. Relieved to be out of the house, he'd had no trouble finding the place, a low-slung, single storey building modelled after the American Prairie style. In fact, all of the buildings he saw on his walk could have stepped out of the pages of a Frank Lloyd Wright catalogue. Solid and functional they were, yet each bore a low-key elegance of proportion and material well-suited to their owner.
He'd been met at the door of the commissary by Morris, who apologised for 'Mr Marner's' unavoidable absence. Whether Morris was his first or last name, Harry never discovered, but the man was unfailingly polite and obviously well-regarded by those they passed. The succulent lunch of roasted pork and potatoes with gravy and the freshest broccoli Harry had ever consumed passed quickly as Morris conversationally filled him in on some things that had been missing from his picture of 'Silas' and Centaury Potions. All of which only served to convince Harry further that Silas was Severus.
Harry went back to Severus' house after the commissary emptied out, surprised when the wards let him in even though he was alone. He explored the library and found an interesting volume on Ministry family law he'd never seen before, so he sat comfortably in one of the chairs by the fire, reading and occasionally dozing. Mid-afternoon, he awoke refreshed, and he decided he should make a fire-call to the manufacturer of his broom. An hour and two subsequent fire-calls later, he tried to return to his book, but his irritation with the recipients of his calls had made him too restless to sit still.
Eyeing a long, winding staircase, he climbed to the second level and found a large refractory table and some of the oldest books and scrolls he'd ever seen. He reached to touch one and a painful jolt of what felt like electricity shot up his arm, throwing it back. With the sound of a wry chuckle behind him, he whirled to confront a smug Snape.
"Paranoid much, Snape?" Harry asked, sucking on his stung finger. "You know, I can understand the tight security you have around the compound, but this?" he asked, pointing at the heavily warded bookcases in Severus' personal library, which was already secured in a house with--the gods knew how many--layers of more wards. "Do you honestly think there's some hoard of rabid readers scheming to stage a book raid?"
"Marner, Mr Potter. My name is Marner." He swept his hands to encompass the upper shelves. "Many of these books are quite rare and several are irreplaceable." He gestured for Harry to precede him down the stairs. At the bottom, Harry took his chair by the fire, fascinated with how the stair turned in place for Snape the same way Albus' stair had. After he was seated, Snape said quietly, "My apologies for cancelling our lunch date today. We had an emergency in the preparation area."
There was a tenseness about the man that had Harry asking, "I hope no one was hurt?"
Staring into the fire, Snape shook his head sadly. "Unfortunately, three journeymen will be out of commission for several weeks while they regrow limbs, and one will need most of her skin replaced. One of my masters, Amand, is in critical condition and his amanuensis has lost an eye."
Appalled, Harry asked, "Good lord, what happened?"
Snape shook his head. "A mis-labelled shipment of Darrow Root exploded. The entire shipment." Harry sucked in air; the volatile Darrow Root was something he'd avoided in his own potions-making, if at all possible. "We used to grow it ourselves in Tibet, but with all the regulations the Chinese Ministry have put in place, we lost our foreign rights and have no choice but to buy it from Ministry-sponsored combines. This latest shipment came from the last one available who would even sell to us."
"What will you do now? You obviously can't continue to purchase it from them if they can't be trusted to label your shipments properly."
"Don't you think I know that?" Snape snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forgive me. It's been a trying afternoon."
And Snape didn't need him to be telling him his business.
Severus thanked Dinky when she brought them tea. Sipping the scalding brew, Severus contemplated the flames before commenting, "I'd hoped for more time to get our plans in motion." He swirled the tea in his cup. "About two weeks before you arrived, I went to the Romanian Dragon Reserve because it's a similar type of environment as the Tibetan farms. I spoke to their director, Didley, about setting up a site there for growing our high-altitude crops, in specific, though, our Darrow Root. The Chinese use their Fireballs to nurture the plant; we're hoping the hatchlings at the reserve can be trained to do the same thing, but it will take months to know whether we've been successful, and more time after that to test if the resultant Darrow Root carries the same efficacy. It's just so frustrating."
"I'm sure it will all work out," Harry murmured sincerely. "And I can certainly sympathise with frustration." Harry smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Although I admit my crisis is tiny and merely annoying compared to yours."
"Oh?" Severus asked, pouring himself another cup and refilling Harry's.
"I got tired of waiting, so I fire-called Bummeln about my broom."
"And?" he drawled. Every hair on Harry's neck rose, but he ignored the internal warning.
"It took three calls and a wasted hour on my knees to find out that crashing your wards invalidated the warranty. I had to order a new one, which will take weeks to arrive." The irritation he'd managed to suppress earlier, flared darkly within him.
"And this is a problem, why?" Snape asked snidely, the hard unforgiving tone pushing every 'hated Potions master' button Harry possessed. "Surely, if you feel the need to escape, you can Apparate, or did that lesson exceed your limited attention span as well?"
Harry's blood pressure rose in direct proportion to Snape's smirking lip curl. Marner, his arse; this git was Snape, all right, and the continuing deception blew the lid off his temper. "That's it! I'm outta here!" Beyond angry, Harry stood and walked away, his heels pounding hard into the carpet.
"Where are you going?" Snape demanded.
"To pave your way to Hell, Snape," he retorted loudly. The library door made a satisfactory bang as he slammed it behind him.
Harry stomped to the kitchen, intent on anything to cool his temper. Making dinner sounded like a fine idea, but Dinky was already there and Harry had learned the hard way this morning, when he'd sought his own tea, just how possessive the creature could be if anyone dared to even think about invading her domain. The inability to do something, anything, drove his anger deeper.
He decided a walk around the grounds might help. The fresh air was a balm to his anger and as he walked around the side of the house, he began to relax a bit. About to enter the formal garden in the back, he heard an angry chittering and, hiding behind a bush, he carefully peeped around the edge of it to see what was happening.
Norbert, who'd been absent all day--a fact he suspected contributed as much to his foul mood as his circumstance--was trying to give Chloë some pretty rocks he'd gathered, and it was glaringly apparent she was having none of it. In fact, one might say she was in a snit about something and was taking it out on him. Like master, like drake? he wondered, thinking of Snape's comment that morning. He was debating whether to interfere or not, when he felt a presence behind him, standing so close he could feel its heat. A hand gripped his shoulder firmly when he jumped, while a voice murmured, "Steady. I didn't mean to startle you."
Together they watched Chloë meanly reject Norbert's gifts, Severus pressed tight against him because of the limited view angle. Severus whispered in his ear, "That's not well done of her." A moment later, he added, "Perhaps it's a lesson her master needs to learn as well." Harry's skin stippled from the breath on his ear, and the warmth of the arm banding his shoulders. "Forgive me for my earlier behaviour and commentary; it was clearly over the line and unwarranted."
Before Harry could get over his shock, could tell Severus he'd forgiven him years ago, Severus was gone. His back and shoulder turning unpleasantly cold, he watched the firedrakes a few more moments before retracing his path back to the kitchen.
Delicious smells of garlic and basil greeted him when he came through the door, and though he saw no sign of the diminutive kitchen Nazi, the urge to cook just wasn't there anymore. So instead, he sat at the table and relived the fleeting moments when Severus had pressed against him so closely, his imagination taking it further than a chaste encounter in the garden. When he got to the part where they were kissing their way into his bedroom, reality intruded with the sound of house-elf hands rummaging in a flatware drawer.
Harry had to chuckle ruefully about his fantasies. While the 'new' Snape seemed more approachable than the 'old' Snape, the fact remained that they were one and the same, only seen now through a bit of time and different perspective. Severus had somehow overcome his own past, something with which Harry still struggled. Nothing could ever happen between them, unless he somehow put his own past and his old reactions behind him. Dropping his head in his hands, he wondered when he would ever learn.
Which was how Norbert found him when he flew in a few minutes later. He flopped on the table in front of Harry and rolled to his back, the very picture of dejection. Harry gently stroked Norbert's belly and asked, "Having a rough time with Chloë?"
Norbert chuffed loudly and groaned. "That bad, eh? I know exactly what you mean. I can't seem to make any headway with Severus, either. I just wish the man would trust me not to reveal his secret." Norbert lifted his head and butted his hand. Harry resumed his stroking and mused, "It's not the secret that's important, though, but the friendship I'd like to have with him, maybe more, regardless of how we met again." He tickled Norbert's belly and barely evaded the nipping bite that followed. "At least you have it easy, old son. Chloë's not nearly as prickly as her master." Norbert snorted a stream of smoke. "Laugh if you will, but I bet if you brought her a bouquet of flowers and laid them all over her pillow, she'd swoon. If I tried it, I'd just get a snarl and a nasty comment about the various methods available to have my head examined."
Norbert licked his hand and plunked his head back onto the table.
After a few minutes of such completely depressed accord, Severus joined them in the kitchen with the comment, "No one sulks better than a drake."
Harry raised his head to smile at him.
Severus said something low to Chloë and, with a repentant 'cheep', she hopped-flew over to join Norbert, sheepishly extending her neck in apology. Norbert rolled back to his feet and immediately twined his neck with hers. When grooming commenced a few moments later, Harry sighed wistfully and surreptitiously glanced at Severus, who appeared to be looking everywhere but at him. This perked him up a bit, and it was with a lighter heart he followed Severus into the dining room for dinner, the firedrakes remaining behind.
For the first time in my life, I find myself unable to organise my thoughts into something resembling coherent order, and while it would be very convenient to blame it all on Potter...
Although it's only been eight days since they arrived, so seamlessly have they fit, I find it hard to remember a time when Harry and Norbert weren't here. Of course, the first few days Harry spent mostly sleeping, but since then, he's been an interesting and stimulating companion. It's been hardly any bother, except that not having Chloë on or around me all the time makes it impossible to concentrate, let alone sleep, and I find myself making excuses to be around her as much as possible. That Norbert is there as well, with Harry hovering not far away, is merely coincidence. Since Harry is perfectly fine now, I'm running out of legitimate excuses to stay near her. I really should stop sleeping in his room, but as long as Chloë stays there...
Oh, who am I fooling? Certainly not myself. I like the man. I more than like him. I have no real friends since Wiltshire died. Hardly surprising, really, all things considered, for a true friendship would mean revealing myself, which I can't do. I want to sometimes, but there's a part of me convinced that the moment I do so, everything I've built so far will come crashing down upon me. Not that I don't trust Harry. For some unfathomable reason my instincts say I can. Yet I find myself confused. I don't know what to do. How do I express my wishes for a friendship (and dare I hope for more) without revealing myself? Is that even possible? I came close to blurting it out this afternoon when we stood in the garden after that ridiculous display of childishness in the library. I have no idea what made me say those hurtful things to him. I knew it would upset him, and yet there is a part of me wanting to push him away, even as another wants to draw him closer. Much closer. Standing next to him watching Chloë abuse Norbert, it took all my will not to grab Harry and kiss him. The impulse was so strong, I fled.
That I ran is truly confounding. Is it because he's a man? Or is it because I desire him? Wiltshire's inclinations aside (and George must be cackling madly by now), I've never thought of a man that way before, but I'm thinking of it with Potter now. When I caught him sucking his finger in the library this afternoon? Merlin, it's been years since I felt that kind of jolt. However, what truly disturbs me is not that I felt the desire, but that the moment I thought about acting on it, I bolted like a rabbit with a fox on his heels.
What would have happened had I done it? The impulse hounded me all evening. During dinner, watching him eat was positively obscene, and I can't believe I was so distracted by his hands afterwards that I let him beat me at chess. And before dinner? I shamelessly overheard everything he said to the beast before I came into the kitchen with Chloë, whose behaviour had been no better than my own. Walking in on Harry at the table, I just wanted to comfort him, but I didn't know how, not even after I knew how well it might be received. I still don't know, and I wonder if it's even possible for us to be friends, let alone more, if I can't overcome my own obstacles.
And I would not have snarled at flowers - unless, of course, Harry ripped them out of my garden.
"Mind if I join you?" Harry asked quietly.
Severus closed the book lightly on his finger. "Do you mind if I read?" he countered. Harry held up a book of his own and grinned. Severus gestured to the chair next to him, admiring the grace with which Harry flopped into it. It sounded silly when he examined the notion, but given his own struggles, and that most of the men of his acquaintance tended to be precise about everything, including how they sat, the ability to casually drop into a chair without being sloppy about it was something worth noting.
Or he could just be grasping at any distraction to keep his thoughts from turning into less comfortable territory, like admiring Potter in the first place.
Right, then. He opened his book and re-entered the world he'd left only moments before. Unfortunately, he didn't stay there long. It was as though the margins, giving his eyes purchase on the page, broke at the end of every paragraph, allowing his gaze to helplessly slide towards his companion. And unless he'd developed a miracle method to do so with his book closed and his eyes trained on the drakes sprawled on the hearth, Harry wasn't reading either.
Giving it up as a lost cause, Severus set his bookmark and closed the volume for the night, absently placing it spine down in the space between his leg and the arm of the chair. He folded his hands across his stomach and stared into the fire, but even its dancing merriment, and the amusing diversion of watching Chloë groom the spiky tip of Norbert's twitching tail, proved less fascinating than observing the man sitting so quietly next to him. Totally oblivious to Severus' surreptitious scrutiny, Harry's open face clearly revealed the course of his ever-changing thoughts, and Severus found it nearly impossible to look away.
Which was probably why, when Harry's brow furrowed with puzzlement, his sudden question caught Severus off-guard. "How did you escape Nagini?"
"I'd taken the antivenin every day for years," he replied without thinking, "but that day, I'd only a half-dose--" he raised his head "--remaining." He paused and almost smiled. "That was rather clever," he remarked calmly, his roiling insides tempered only by a profound relief.
His face pale and body stiff, Harry glanced at him from the side, openly gauging his reaction. Severus raised his brow. Shaking his head, Harry said contritely, "Wasn't trying to trick you; it's been on my mind a bit, and I guess it just came out. I'm sorry."
Well, in that respect, not much had changed, although it had been years since anyone had managed to slip past his defences, but Wiltshire had been kind enough not to mention it. "Still, even for an accident, it was well-done." He shifted in his chair.
Bitter eyes, Lily's eyes, greeted him when Harry finally turned to fully face him, a comparison thankfully stopped cold by the features surrounding those eyes.
"So, Silas," Harry asked coolly, "Is this when you Obliviate me?" His chin tilted up a bit. "You've been wanting to for days."
Snape shook his head. "I don't know. You tell me."
"If you're asking in your usual round-about manner if I'll keep your secret, the answer is yes." Harry folded his hands on his lap. "However, I won't lie about it, either."
Severus snorted. "Still more Gryffindor than Slytherin, I see."
Harry sighed. "Severus," he replied a tad impatiently, pointing at their firedrakes still grooming each other on the hearth, "I don't know how it escaped your attention, but they show every sign of mating soon. Mating. For life. Which means, in the usual fucked-up way that is my life, that if we don't want to lose them, it's going to have to be 'for life', somehow, between us as well, since I don't exactly think they'll be arranging 'play dates' to spend quality time together. They're going to want, no, they will demand we at least remain civil to each other. And we both know how... determined they can be." Harry glanced away to contemplate the two drakes, now sitting up with interest, as if following their conversation. His voice a soft murmur, Harry added, "I don't want, nor do I need, another adversary, Severus. I have more than enough already." He sighed, his gaze falling to study his hands folded neatly in his lap. "If not for ourselves, if only for them--" he raised pleading eyes to Severus "--can we at least try to foster a bit of trust?"
Severus studied their firedrakes, noting their tails intertwined behind them. Would that he could so easily adjust. Trust and friendship, not something he gave easily, but, within the eddies of his past memories, and recent thoughts, it was at least a part of something he'd already bestowed upon this man as his life's blood had spilled to the floor. Perhaps, he could give more. Perhaps, he wanted more.
"Ten points to Gryffindor, Mister Potter," he declared, standing stiffly from his chair.
As Severus moved to the sideboard and set two tumblers and a decanter on a tray, Harry murmured, "Better late than never, I s'pose." He could feel Harry watching him closely. "And do you think we can dispense with the 'Mister Potter' shit?" Harry asked suddenly, almost defiantly. "My name is Harry, and I would very much appreciate it if you would use it."
Turning to face him, Severus nodded and, as he walked back to his seat, the tray floating ahead of him, he knew what was coming next as Harry's stare almost bobbed in time to the gait of his game leg.
"How... When did you hurt your hip?" Harry asked quietly.
Astute of him to ascertain what body part had been injured. Severus poured them each a measure of the Talisker single malt Scotch he reserved for special occasions. And what could be more special than a long-postponed truce between him and Harry Bloody Potter? Setting the decanter aside, he twisted into the chair, stoically enduring the forever-torture of sitting, then savoured a mouthful of the smooth, spicy liquor before answering, "After you left the Shrieking Shack, Harry, I made good my escape, as they say--"
"But how? You'd almost bled out when you--" Harry stopped abruptly, the word 'died' swallowed behind the bobbing of his Adam's apple. His cheeks lightly flushing, he amended, "When I thought you'd died." He took a small sip of his drink, his eyes never wavering from Severus' face. "How...?" he whispered.
"I crawled," Severus stated flatly. The silence hung between them and still he couldn't tear his eyes away from Potter. Harry. One way or another, it had always been about Harry, and it still was.
'Yes, damn it, I crawled,' he thought savagely, somehow keeping a snarl from twisting his mouth. 'I crawled away from the wreckage you left behind. Away from my former life, my former self. I left it behind me like some putrid skin Nagini shed with her death. My death.' Or so he'd thought.
He didn't want to say anything more, didn't want to reveal the secrets he'd held so close for so long, fearful the revelations would be like opening some Pandora's box full of his demons, of which none could ever to be returned once let loose. He held Harry's steady, implacable gaze. Potter would never let it lie at that, though, now would he? No, only the full Monty would do for The Boy Who Still Lived To Be A Pain In His Arse. Nothing but the gory details of his humiliation would satisfy the brat. His hand tightened on the glass tumbler. What gave Potter the right to--?
Soft caresses against his cheeks and a harmonious trilling in his ears startled his inner raging and slowly brought him back to himself, brought him back to this time, to his place, the one he'd earned by honest sweat and his own talents, even if under another's name. Chloë and Norbert's soft song calmed him back to rationality and the realisation that, if anyone on earth deserved such a thing, Harry had at least--by his own actions that day--earned the rights to the full truth.
He cleared his throat and, determined to see it through, continued as if he'd never stopped. "As to how I was injured, that's a bit of a tale. As luck would have it, I'd been so busy the weeks before, that I found myself with only a half-dose of antivenin the morning Nagini struck. I took what remained, determined I would find a way to make more that night; I obviously never had the opportunity to do so. While it was enough to save my life, I was sufficiently incoherent after you left, that I splinched myself upon arrival at the cottage I'd bought and stocked over the years in anticipation of such a happy event." He set his drink aside and absently petted the firedrakes, one in his lap, the other perched on the back of his chair. "And while I am well versed in many forms of Medi-wizardry, properly healing such an injury requires the services of a trained Healer, of which I was sorely lacking. I patched myself up as best I could, but my pelvis and the hip joint never set right... hence the resultant limp."
Harry's apparent embarrassment further mollified his lingering anger, as did Harry's attempts to find something to say. He drew breath several times as if to speak, his mouth floundering like that of a fish out of water, before he finally said mildly, "Well, that certainly explains the whole 'lack-of-a-body' issue. We always wondered what had become of your corpse."
Severus snorted. "My erstwhile corpse tucked tail and ran for cover as soon as it was able to access its Gringotts and Bank of England accounts. Fortunately, the goblins, like all bankers, are singularly uncurious as to the nature of their depositors as long as there's money to hand." He tilted his head to the side, hiding his amusement as he added, "However, I heard my... funeral was very tasteful and private, if a bit premature."
Harry looked away, his cheeks reddening. Shaking his head, he smiled ruefully as he replied, "Yeah, I think you would have been pleased." He chuckled and smiled when he heard its echo next to his left ear as Norbert joined him from the back of Severus' chair. "There were only a few people in attendance, mostly Order members. Minerva, Hermione, Ron, Arthur--"
"Arthur? Why on earth...?"
His face quite serious, Harry replied, "Believe it or not, you were missed. Even if he didn't always agree with you, and maybe even didn't like you, Arthur respected your efforts. All the Weasleys did--" he paused and frowned "--well, most them, anyway."
"Considering the death of his son, I am surprised he didn't want to resurrect me just so he could kill me with his own hands."
"Arthur would never do that; he knew it was an accident of war." Harry sighed and smiled tightly. "No, I'm the one who married the only vindictive Weasley; the rest were usually forgiving." He glanced at Chloë lounging on Severus' lap. "Speaking of Weasleys, you mentioned the other day that you'd been to the Dragon Reserve. Did you meet with Charlie while you were there?"
Glad for the change of subject, Severus easily replied, "Yes, I was concerned about Chloë."
Harry chuckled. "I went to see him as well about Norbert. After our conversation, it dawned on me why Charlie was so secretly amused. I'd wager we were there the same day, if Charlie's reactions are anything to go by."
"Possible, but improbable because Charlie doesn't know my real identity."
"You'd lose money on that one. I knew who you were immediately and I never doubted it for a second. You might have changed their colour, but you cannot change your eyes and what's behind them."
"I never had as much contact with Charlie as I did with you," he replied sullenly. "And I didn't change them; they turned this colour when the antivenin counteracted Nagini's poison."
Harry's mouth dropped. "It was a side effect?"
Severus nodded.
"Fairly useful one at that," Harry muttered, staring into the fire.
The silence stretched between them. Draining the last of his Talisker, Severus poured himself another tot and topped Harry's off as well. He studied the man half-slumped in his chair, still surprised at how... comfortable it all was between them, even the silence. Should he take the chance and leave Potter alone with his knowledge? Dare he trust him?
Chloë was the key, he supposed. Generally she ignored other people unless they threatened him, but with Potter she'd been openly affectionate, much the same way she'd been with George. He'd always trusted her judgement before, so why was he questioning it now? Or was he merely questioning himself?
Was Harry right? Had Charlie known who he was and kept his silence? Were there even more--?
"You know, the nose and all the rest of it aside, I'd wager that a lot of people know who you really are but have either made allowances for it, or they just can't reach you. This place is a bloody fortress."
"True, but as you've seen, I'm frequently absent. If someone wanted to 'reach me', there would have been ample opportunity to do so."
"Well, just don't go all paranoid on me."
"I am not paranoid." Harry's stare would have mocked a paragon. "I am merely cautious."
"Right, and remember? I'm Dorian Gray."
"Adam Bede would have been a much better choice," he muttered.
Harry's grin as he stood from his chair, tickled Severus' insides. "And on that note, I'm going to the loo. I'll be back."
Severus settled into his chair. Like he was going anywhere?
His mind returned to Harry's arguments in favour of people knowing who he was and just not caring about it, and while he thought Harry might be spot-on about the latter part of it, he remained convinced Harry was mostly wrong about the recognition part of his argument. There was a certain... gleam people got in their eyes when they saw through any number of disguises he'd used throughout his life and that recognition had saved his life on more than one occasion. Wiltshire, Harry, and any number of people had exhibited the same signs, but only Wiltshire and Harry had been allowed to remember, the others had been Obliviated; George had been especially talented at memory charms.
However, he could not discount that there might be others, people with whom he'd worked, who might suspect, but frankly he didn't care about their knowledge. If they'd said nothing, nor done anything against him by this time, he could only assume their acceptance, and possibly even their approval, of who he was now.
Which led him back to Harry and his now-moot conundrum about trust. Seeing how calmly Chloë allowed Norbert to groom her ears, a feat that had usually earned him a nip to his fingers, he wondered at her immediate surrender to a creature she'd only just met. He smiled. Perhaps he should take all his cues about Harry from Norbert and Chloë.
A quick swivel of Norbert's eyes alerted him when Harry returned. As he rounded the chair, Harry pointed to a bookcase on the other side of the room by the door. "Who's the older man in the photo with you?"
Severus didn't need to look to know to whom Harry referred. "My former partner, George." Harry eyed him strangely, and it dawned on him why. "No, partner as in business."
"Oh, George... Wiltshire?" When Severus nodded, Harry asked, "When can I meet him?"
It was his turn to stare. Slowly, he stated, "You can't; he's dead."
Harry's cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. Which is really odd, because I usually keep up with such things, and Centaury has always been worth watching." He tapped his knee rhythmically with his hand. "When did it happen?"
"September 2019," Severus replied.
Harry nodded in understanding. "Ah, that explains it. That's about the time I left Ginny. Wasn't paying much attention to anything then."
What? "You left your wife? But the papers--"
"--were... misinformed. It saved her pride and kept her position."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, poor Ginny and all that, married to such a workaholic, self-centred, all-around insensitive rotter; I did everything but sleep around and beat her. I drew the line at that. However, I knew people would eventually forgive the Golden Boy any transgression, especially considering the foundation, but for me to have left her? They would have crucified her and, although I daresay she might since have deserved it, for the sake of our children and what little affection remained between us, I couldn't do that to her."
"So what really happened?" Severus asked. A flat stare the only response, he cleared his throat. "My apologies. It's none of my affair."
Harry seemed to think on this a moment. Obviously coming to a decision, he said quietly, "I spoke of trust earlier; it has to go both ways. If not you, then who else? Besides, I think you may be the only person I know who would truly understand the untenable position she placed me in." He looked away. "Not even Ron and Hermione know the real reason Ginny and I divorced, although they didn't buy the full litany of my supposed sins." He shrugged and shifted in his chair until he was fully facing him. "It's kind of complicated, but I suppose the simplest explanation is that she gave me an impossible ultimatum: abandon Norbert, or we were through."
Unbelievable. How stupid could the woman be? "Well, of course, you had no choice but to leave her," Severus stated with conviction.
Harry sighed and relaxed. "Yes, exactly. Norbert never did like her much--"
"That should have been your first clue," he muttered.
The chuckle caught him off-guard. "Yeah, that's what Charlie said, too. I know that now, but I didn't then. I think I'm always the last one to cotton on to anything. In any event, I just thought that, of all people, you should know."
Severus went still inside. "Why?" he asked quietly.
Harry stammered, "I-I don't know. I just... figured you would understand... with Chloë and all." He blushed. "I just did, all right?"
Severus nodded, a gesture that conveyed an assurance he in no way felt. This shaky ground between them made him tighten inside like a primed spring ready to pop at any moment. Even Chloë's soothing chirrup did little to allay it.
Unfortunately, Harry chose that moment of pure anxiety to ask, "Severus, why--?"
"Stop calling me that!" he snapped.
"What? Severus? Why? It is your name."
"Not anymore," he enunciated clearly. "Not for a very long time. I am not Severus Snape anymore. He died at the end of the war. I even have a tombstone to prove it! My name is Silas Marner. That is who I am now, and who I want to remain."
"Why?"
Of all the idiotic... "Silas Marner has a successful business, a real life. People respect him. Severus Snape only had bitterness and hatred and no life to call his own. People tolerated him when he could do something for them and vilified him when he could not. You figure it out. Given the choices, who would you rather be?"
Harry thought about it. "Me. I'd rather be me."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"I prefer to be just Harry. I used to be an orphan whose guardians abused him, then I became a hot-headed wizard who really respected no one until it was too late. Then came the war. I fought, I killed, I even died. I was invited to head the Aurors, but chose to be a philanthropist instead. Depending on who you talk to, I've been a husband and a father, a rascal, and a scoundrel. And yeah, I've even had a bunch of different names--Harry, freak, boy, Potter!, whelp, the Boy Who Lived, the Heir of Slytherin, the Heir of Gryffindor, scarhead, the Chosen One, honey, Mr Potter, pork-belly, Father, Daddy, and Dad--yet, through it all, I'm still as much me as you are you. I'm still just Harry, and you're still just Severus. You can't hide from yourself, and changing your name won't change you."
Severus slashed his hand through the air, almost knocking Chloë off his lap. "No! The name Severus means nothing but trouble. If I were to assume it again, the last twenty-four years of hard work would be forgotten, and I would be nothing more than another Death Eater who escaped justice. It would be better if Severus never existed."
"Severus is a good name, given to a good man. I know this. I even named one of my sons after you, so no one would forget."
"So I've heard, and I'm sure the naming stunted his growth. Poor child must be horrified, named as he is after a sinner and a saint."
Harry raised a brow. "Hardly, You're no saint."
Severus chuckled. "Hmph. That does beg the question as to whom is which, doesn't it?"
"I've told him all about you. He'd love to meet--"
"Impossible, I'm afraid. He's much better off believing whatever fantasies you've painted for him rather than the unvarnished reality."
"I painted no fantasies; Albus Severus Potter wouldn't tolerate them. There are times I think he's channelling both of you. He's smart and sharp-witted with a wicked sense of humour, yet at times he takes my breath away with his wisdom. But most of the time, he's just a kid."
"How old is he now?
"Sixteen." As an afterthought, Harry added, "He's a Ravenclaw."
"I hated sixteen."
"With reason. I wasn't exactly fond of it myself."
"Hmmm," Severus noised quietly, and that was all that needed to be said.
The silence tightened and Severus searched for something, anything to say. What came out surprised him, yet as he heard the words, he realised it was something he'd wondered about for a long time. "Speaking of names... However did you come up with the 'STARS' Foundation?" He took a sip of his Talisker. "Bit pedestrian, that."
The flush started at Harry's neck until it encompassed his whole face. Interesting. "Um, it's an acronym," Harry temporised.
"Oh?" Severus' brow rose of its own accord.
"Yeah. Sirius, Tonks, Albus, and Remus."
"And the last...?" Harry's face flamed. "Ah, I see." Severus nodded, his eyes glancing at him from the side before snapping to the space in front of him. "Yes, I see."
Harry stood abruptly from his chair. "I'm tired and am going to bed. You look tired. Want some help up from the chair, or are you going to stay here awhile and read?"
Severus studied Harry's face, and Harry let him. Yes, despite the early hour, he was exhausted, by their talk, by all that had been revealed, by the release of a tension he'd not even known existed until it was gone. The look in Harry's eyes, no longer bitter, told him he wasn't leaving because he was upset, and Severus thought he understood. They'd said all they could to this point. The time for further discussion was tomorrow; now was the time to just think about everything that had happened this evening. A most important evening, all things considered.
He suddenly felt old and drained and held out his hand. Harry grasped it by the wrist, and Severus pulled against Harry's strength; he didn't think he'd ever come out of the chair so easily. Side-by-side they walked to the hallway leading to the bedrooms, the lights going out behind them. Harry's room was first. With a quiet, "Good night, Severus," Harry opened his door and stepped inside after Norbert and Chloë flew into the room. The door snicked closed quietly. Well, there was no helping it; he would just have to try to go it alone tonight.
As Severus prepared to enter his own room just down the hallway, he heard Harry clear his throat. "Um, Severus?"
Turning from the door, Severus gave him his full regard. "Yes?"
"You know, I really appreciate that you've stayed in my room since I arrived--" Harry's gaze settled somewhere behind his ear "--because I'm afraid Chloë doesn't sleep very well when you're not there--" Severus' heart soared "--it's really annoying, actually, how much she chatters, and since I really need my sleep--" his eyes stared at the floor "--I was wondering, if it's not too uncomfortable, you could maybe help her sleep better if you stayed in here tonight."
"Of course, if you think it will help..."
"Oh, yes," Harry replied, "I definitely do."
Severus nodded and went into his room to change into his night clothes. He returned to Harry's room, already dark, and used his cane to locate the chaise. He turned to the right to gather the blankets and pillow off the small table only to find it empty. Perplexed, he was about to light his wand, when Harry's voice sounded softly in the dark, "You know, I was thinking, that chaise looks uncomfortable and there's plenty of room here." He could hear a soft patting noise. "In the bed, that is." Stunned, Severus didn't know how to answer him. "Just to sleep, of course." Of course. Only to sleep, the story of his life. "The drakes are already on the pillow between us, I mean, if you're..."
No, he wasn't worried, Severus thought as he carefully pulled the covers over him on the empty side of the bed. He sighed, surprised at how quickly sleep was catching up to him. Not worried at all, but he knew one thing for certain: he wouldn't run this time.
Oh, dear gods! I kissed him. He kissed me back. And it was wonderful. And I'm an idiot! He's never going to speak to me again.
All right, so maybe I'm over-reacting. Granted, he didn't say much afterwards, but he didn't snarl, or order me to leave, and I still have all my body parts. All of them. Even the insistent ones. Merlin, I can't believe I did that.
It happened as we were leaving the library. I don't know why that moment was any different to any other, but I turned to say something and he was right there. I could feel his breath on my face and it just happened. I put my hand on his hair--it's very soft--and I remember tugging his face down a bit, oh, and his arm came around me, just the one, and then...
I want to do it again. I want to feel him pressed against me, all of me. His lips are so soft and he tastes so fine...
Will he come to my room tonight or have I ruined it? He shared my bed last night for the first time, and oh, how I wish it had gone the way that sounds, but it truly was just sharing a bed. We didn't even wake up all tangled as I'd hoped, but it would have been impossible with two firedrakes occupying the space between us. Right now the room feels empty without him here. Norbert and Chloë are already settled on my pillow. All I need is him.
Do I have the strength to send them to him if he stays in his room tonight?
After our talk the other night, things have been easier between us. We never speak of the war, which is fine with me. We went on a tour today. This place is immense--it takes twenty minutes to walk from one end of the compound to the other--and I can't even begin to describe all the things I saw, but the one thing that stands out in my mind above all else was how much Severus is respected by those who work for him, and I began to understand exactly why he fears discovery. So much of him is tied to this place, it would kill him were he to ever lose it. I can~
Oh! I hear him walking down the hall.
The weeds were tough in this part of the garden, and Severus insisted they had to be pulled by hand. "No fancy wand-waving, this time," he'd said with a smirk, and Harry couldn't help but grin in response. He poked his weeder into the dirt around the root, taking care not to disturb the herbs nearby. Poke, poke, poke. There, that should get it. He set the weeder aside and took a firm grip on the thick stalk of whatever this menace was and pulled. He tried working it back and forth in the ground. Nothing. Setting his knees wide apart, he tensed his leg muscles and pulled. Pulled. Pulled. Nothing. Damn. Panting, he stood, studying the thing. It had moved a bit, perhaps it just needed more muscle. Sitting on his haunches, he planted his feet wide, grabbed the stalk with both hands firmly, and heaved. With a wrench and a dry rip, the root broke free of the earth. The remaining force behind Harry's effort sent him flying with it, only to land with a tailbone-jarring thump on the grass several feet from the edge of the bed. Ouch. Blinking the sweat and tears from his eyes, he held up the cause of all his recent problems and gasped. The taproot was nearly three feet long!
"I've always found that one has to be closer to the garden to weed it," a smug voice said from behind him.
Without turning to aim his glare, Harry replied, "Tell me again why I'm doing this?"
The deep chuckle moving to his side made his heart flop. "I believe it had something to do with being--how did you phrase it?--being antsy."
"Yeah, and you said this would be soothing." Harry snorted, eyeing the monster in his hand. "For a hedgehog, maybe," he muttered. And antsy didn't even begin to describe the feeling plaguing him all morning, like an electrical charge dancing over his skin, tightening it, making it far too small to contain him and, oh, so sensitive. The slightest breeze caressed his skin like a lover, leaving him half-aroused. Even when pulling weeds, the soil cool and moist under his hands, the pungent smells of the garden had only served to make his restlessness that much sharper.
That Severus had been snappy all morning as well was telling, a twitch under his eye and the nervous movements of his hands as he'd pushed his breakfast from one side of the plate to the other, all told Harry he was equally uncomfortable, if better controlled.
He'd not been hungry, either, but, oh, how he'd hungered. Since The Kiss, he wouldn't say Severus had been indifferent, far from it, but it hadn't happened again. They were still friends, though, they still talked, Harry still won half the games of chess they played, and Severus still occupied the empty spot in his bed every night.
An outstretched hand appeared in his peripheral vision and, when it came into full view, he gripped the proffered wrist, hoping the fingers wrapping around his own wouldn't notice his pounding pulse.
As Severus helped him to his feet, Harry stumbled. A strong arm wrapped around him, helping him keep his balance. "Steady," Severus murmured, and Harry stepped away as quickly as he dared, his body tingling from that fleeting touch and the hand still resting on his waist. Damn it, he wasn't a teenager anymore! What the hell was going--?
A raucous cry, followed closely by another, splintered his thoughts. The hand on his waist tightened, pulling him close, and at the gasp coming from the warm body pressed tightly to his, he raised his head to follow the cries as they soared high overhead.
A streak of fire, no, it was two streaks flying so closely, one behind the other, as to only appear as one. Norbert and Chloë. He sighed in awe, melting into the solid support against his chest, waking aware of their fire filling his veins as the drakes flew ever higher, their bodies alight, trailing sparking streamers of flame as one chased the other in a dance as old as time.
Unending joy. Blessed freedom. Blossoming desire as hot as the flames surrounding them.
They were on fire. He was on fire. The lips sucking his outstretched throat left trails of burning desire as long and beautiful as those flaming streams still flowing in the sky, slowly disappearing from his straining eyes. A groan, torn from his own throat, filled the spaces between them as his hands gripped rough cloth, kneading and pulling, the need, the want consuming him.
Glorious flight, wings stretching farther, taking them faster than ever before.
A room. A bed with no empty spaces. A cooler darkness unequal to quenching their heat. The need to know how they'd got there melted in the urgency of hot skin passing under his hands, silky and smooth, the moans coming from his touch an echo of those in his head. Mouths greedily meshed, tongues entwined as surely as dragon tails in the heat of passion.
A game of hide and seek played earnestly in the clouds. Wing tips brushing, igniting hearts with life's fire.
Desperate hands pulled him close, tight against the hard body he'd desired for weeks. Years, actually, this moment the stuff of his deepest dreams, never examined anywhere near the cold light of day. Mouths sliding, limbs entwining, their senses reeled as each touch, each kiss bought them closer than the ones before.
The time drew near. Only if he's strong enough can he capture his reward.
Inside, outside, Severus became the focus of his existence. Severus' hands, once awkward, soon found their calling, stroking skin and desire from without and within. Severus' mouth, once tentative, now boldly claimed his own, scorched his body with each nip, each bite, each suckle. Harry arched into that mouth, he twisted under those hands, begging with trembling limbs and raspy voice for Severus to complete him.
Chasing. Catching. Caught. Falling.
Oh, gods, after a lifetime of emptiness, he was full, so full, the joining of their bodies completing him. Completing them. He could feel this as surely as the strong, stroking effort of the beloved body above him, stoking the furnace between them. They were blazing, their bodies lit from within by a fire from without.
Possession. Sailing into heaven without wings, their flight the apex of fated passion.
They burned. He burned. One body fell to meet one rising, mouths met and separated, gasping for air to fuel the conflagration enveloping them. Higher, higher they rose until they reached the pinnacle in a burst of all-consuming wildfire. Hearts pounding, bodies straining, they strove to hold onto this moment of perfection, only to sigh as it slipped out of their reach, leaving behind only memory, burned forever in their hearts.
Repletion. Tenderness. Love. This place of joining a never-ending cycle where the present touched eternity.
They weren't alone. He was not alone. Forever could never be long enough to fully sate him. Wrapped in each other's arms, a quietness followed, a mortal tenderness marked by gently gliding hands and the soft presses of mouths and bodies. A sleepy twining which all-too-soon spiralled into more, building, climbing, strenuously reaching for the divine again, and again, until, wholly spent, they gently fluttered back to their reality, their room, their bed, their love, the promise of future satiation easing them into the healing realm of sleep.
And they did not dream.
His groping hand found only a cold empty space. Harry rolled away from the pillow he'd been clutching, wondering if the past few days, days of which he'd lost count, days of loving one another, had been just a wistful dream. But no, the pillow next to him dimpled with a familiar indent. The rumpled bedclothes surrounding him were redolent with their combined scents, overlaid with the musky headiness of sex and sleep.
He smiled. It had been wild and joyous and loving, yet so unexpected. Someday he was going to have a little chat with Charlie about his lack of clarity concerning the effects of a firedrake mating on the owners; he'd been a bit shy on the necessary details. Not that it would change anything.
He breathed deeply as he stretched, and smiled, his mind already formulating his plans for the day. Go to the loo, dress, find Severus, eat breakfast, and spend the rest of the day in bed. Or would another room suffice? Or several? As good as he felt, he thought on his way to the bathroom, where wasn't particularly important.
However, as he set off to fulfil part three of his plan, he discovered that 'where' could be very important indeed, especially when one couldn't find the object of one's pursuit. As he entered the kitchen a second time, hoping Severus had miraculously appeared in his absence, Dinky silently put her hands on her hips and pointed to the back garden. If he squinted, he could just make out a spot of black behind a small grouping of young trees. Thanking Dinky, he left the house, his eyes never wavering from his quarry.
When he arrived, the sight that greeted him was not the one he expected. Instead of a lover welcoming him with open arms, he found a man defeated. His cane beside him on the ground, Severus sat bent-over on a wooden bench, his head in his hands as he stared at line of bushes
Harry quietly sat next to Severus, but some instinct made him keep his hands to himself. He tilted his head to the side and said quietly, "'Morning, love--"
Severus' wince stopped him right there. All right, so his lover was not comfortable with the appellation. He could live with that. "Severus, are you all right?" he asked instead.
Severus nodded towards the bushes. When he stared at it a few moments, he realised there was a hollow near the roots, a deep pocket well-hidden and protected by the leaves and branches above it. A curb of dirt, to keep any ground water out, indicated it was not natural. A flash of colour told him exactly what someone, or he should say, somedrake had made such a private, cosy nest. He stood and started to walk near it when Severus spoke sharply, "Don't."
Harry stopped and turned towards him. "He won't let you come near them," a sentiment that was emphasized by a loud hiss. He'd know Norbert's voice anywhere and recognised instantly the warning issued, a warning he usually only heard when someone threatened him--stay away, leave us alone, don't make me hurt you--all rolled into one long, sibilant sound. He backed off.
"He guards her. She won't come to me."
The pain in Severus' voice made Harry close his eyes, and he immediately returned to his lover's side. He put his arm around Severus, almost snatching it away when he stiffened, but at least in this, his perseverance paid off as Severus eventually relaxed into his touch, but he didn't lean into it, he didn't take comfort as had been Harry's intent. No, they were merely two people touching, yet separated by more than mere space.
"He's just protective of her right now," Harry said soothingly, knowing exactly how Norbert felt, the possessiveness, the inability to share, even with someone dear, the creature who had somehow become dearer. He'd felt that way when he first married Ginny; he felt that way about Severus now.
"I know that," Severus snapped.
Harry didn't think he knew any such thing, but even assuming he did, there had to be something else bothering him. "That's not everything, is it?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.
Severus shook his head, and Harry waited. He laid his cheek on Severus' back, and found a small happiness when Severus didn't move away. It seemed like forever before he whispered, "I've never been with a man before."
Harry may have heard his words and known the literal truth behind them, but given all they'd recently shared, given the other words they'd spoken when their hearts had been open fully to each other, that was not how he took their meaning now. Instead he heard Severus say, 'I've never been in love before, I've never been this afraid before,' and this he could well understand. Neither had he, and even though their last few days had filled him with joy, it also had also left him with a similar fear, for what burned brightly today, might so easily be snuffed tomorrow.
Yet he had hope, something he suspected Severus had little experience with which to compare.
As to Severus' apparent inexperience, he didn't know whether to be surprised or not. "I'm not all that familiar with it myself," seemed to be a safe, true answer. He may have dated men, and had participated in a few fumbles, but he'd only ever slept with one man--Severus. "Scares the hell out of me, if you want the truth."
"What's there to be afraid of?" Severus asked, the sneer close to the surface, but Harry wasn't afraid of Severus' reactions anymore, not when he knew them for what they really were.
"Well, certainly not the physical act, but I think we both know there was much more to it than that, don't we?"
"Perhaps."
"There's no perhaps about it. Something happened to us. Something wonderful. I don't know how or why it happened, nor do I know where it will lead, but I know I want to follow it wherever it may take us. And to me, that's the scary part, the not knowing."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose that's true." He lowered his head. "I don't know... where it goes from here," he whispered.
"But do you want to find out?"
"Yes. No. I don't know," he whispered, seeming to draw in on himself. "At the time I clearly understood, but now?" He looked at where the drakes were nesting. "It's too much." For a brief moment he leaned into Harry. "Just too much."
"It's all right, it will be all right," Harry said, tightening his arm around Severus. "We'll work it out, you'll see," he murmured, only half-believing it himself. "It's just going to take time."
Severus nodded and straightened his back, and, in doing so, Harry's arm fell from his shoulders. They stared at each other, their recent memories passing strong between them. Severus looked away first. He reached blindly for his cane. Harry made no move to help him stand, knowing any assistance would be rejected. Severus stood and took a few steps away before stopping. He did not turn as he said, "I will be at my office. There'll be much work to catch up from... my unexpected absence. Do not wait... dinner for me. It may be very late when I return."
Harry didn't answer. What was there to say? He knew what Severus hadn't said, and the day, not at all as he'd hoped and planned, stretched interminably before him as he watched Severus disappear from view.
Harry closed the seal on his bag resting on the stripped bed. His new broom wouldn't arrive for another week, but he'd told the supplier to send it on to his house, for Harry was going home, such as it was. The last week had been the worst in recent memory. Severus hadn't been home very much, spending most of his time at his office and, as he'd heard from Dinky, one trip to Europe. None of which had been mentioned to him. On the two occasions he had seen him, one had been too late at night for more than a brief, banal "Hallo, how are you," type of conversation he could have with any stranger, and the other had been last night. While they'd barely eaten their meal, they'd talked, slowly, painfully, but when it was over, Harry had a clearer understanding of what Severus wanted.
Severus' apology last night, as much as his apparent weight loss and the grey pallor of his face, was what really prompted Harry to think of leaving, that and all Severus didn't say. Severus suffered because of what they'd shared; he suffered because of what they couldn't share.
They both suffered because of their drakes. Norbert and Chloë hadn't come in for two days after they'd seen them in the hollow. Since their return, they'd spent an equal amount of time with each of them, only they did it together. He ached watching them care for each other, and he knew they only did it because that was in their nature to do so, but to have grasped that same thing himself, even if just for a few brief days, made his heart hurt with its loss.
He couldn't imagine how Severus felt about it, because Severus still couldn't talk about them.
Norbert and Chloë, together in more ways than one, watched his every move from their spot on the mattress.
"Are you sure you don't want to go home with me?"
Norbert's shake of his head told him all he needed to know.
"Are you ever coming home?" The draconic shrug he got in return didn't tell him anything he wanted to hear. That they remained separate from him told its own story. If he wanted Norbert, he had to stay here, but to stay would be to endanger any chance of a relationship between him and Severus. He knew this, deep inside himself. Given the ending of his relationship with Ginny, he recognised the irony of this situation; that he would even consider leaving Norbert behind gave credence to his feelings about Severus.
"I'm sorry I can't stay, old son, but I can't do that to Severus. Having me here... hurts him, and that's the last thing I want." Chloë trilled at him in question. "I know, it doesn't make much sense, does it? It must seem pretty simple to you, but humans are a bit more... complicated. I'm ready, or at least I think I am, but Severus is not. He said last night that he just needs some time, without any pressure, to sort through everything that happened when you two mated, both during and after... When we mated, too, I guess. He didn't ask for this, it kind of fell on him." He chuckled grimly, thinking just how true that was. "Something has to give, and, since I'm the cause of his distress, I think it's best I go."
As he picked up his bag to leave, Norbert covered Chloë with his wing and hung his head. Harry reached across the bed and petted them both. "I understand," he whispered, hoarding for the future, their love washing over him. "You have a family now and you're doing what you think best. I know how that is. I love Severus, and I'm doing what I think is best. Not so different, is it?"
He just wished it wasn't so damned hard.
Harry left them behind and set his bag on the floor near the fireplace. As he looked around the room one last time, he stopped stock-still when he saw Severus waiting for him, his face unreadable. Standing in the door to the sitting room from the kitchen, Severus gestured to Harry's bag. "You're leaving?" Severus asked, more as a statement than a question.
"Yes, you made a request, and I am honouring it."
"I didn't mean... So soon?"
Harry almost grabbed the bag and marched back to his room to stay forever, but he strengthened his resolve. He needed to do this. They needed him to do this. "Is any time the best time? Besides, we both knew I was going to have to go back someday. I do have a business to run, after all." He took a deep breath. "I have to get the house ready for the holidays, too. It will be all too soon before the kids get home. Ginny will be away, so I'm to take them this year. It'll be nice; I haven't had a whole Christmas holiday with them since the divorce."
Severus stared at him, and Harry let him, but Severus never pried, although Harry almost wished he would. Severus finally nodded. "Do you have everything?" he asked quietly.
Everything unimportant, Harry thought before answering, "Everything but Norbert."
Startled, Severus asked, "Norbert is staying?"
"Yes, he won't leave Chloë." He looked around the room. "And since I shouldn't stay here any longer," he murmured, "I guess I will have to leave without him."
He noticed Severus did not offer him more time under his roof, not that he could have accepted under the circumstances. However, Severus did offer, "I understand. I'm just surprised, is all."
Harry wanted to cry. "I'm not leaving without anything that wants to come with me," he stated, hating the bitterness in his voice.
"I see," Severus said quietly, "Yes, I see. Well, take care. I hope to be seeing you sooner rather than later."
The trite words carried a weight of pain behind them. A pain that prompted him to blurt out, "I'll come back if you... need me, if there's any trouble, I mean. Just Floo me at 'Marigold Cottage'. Or you could come see me. I'd like that."
Please want me back.
Severus nodded, his unoccupied hand held stiffly behind his back.
"Well, I'll be seeing you, soon I hope," Harry said stupidly as he turned for the fireplace.
He was about to grab the Floo powder when a whispered, "Harry," reached him, and the urge he'd held back for days took over. His feet moving without his accord, he ran back to Severus, who caught him as he flung himself at him. The wild, open-mouth kiss lacked finesse, but contained within its very desperation a love poem spoken with ardent lips and punctuated by half-sobbed whisperings of, "I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm so sorry," from a man who had nothing for which to apologise but his own fear and longing. Harry understood every word spoken into his lips for what they really were and he accepted them, returning them with whisperings of his own, "It's all right, I understand, I'll wait for you."
Please don't let me go.
But he knew Severus would anyway. They might love each other, and this Harry knew from their days together when Severus hadn't been afraid, but they weren't ready to love in that everyday sense that people must have in order to live together. And that was what Harry wanted, what he thought Severus wanted, too. Not a flash of passionate fire, gone in a moment's time, but a steady blaze to warm both heart and home. They weren't there yet. They might never be, but he had to hope. Severus had asked for time, and he would give it to him.
Harry stepped away. He held Severus' face with shaking hands, conveying all his heart couldn't say aloud, before he picked up his bag and wordlessly turned back to the fireplace to travel back to his cold and empty house.
"Harry! Harry?"
Oh, shit, it was Rae.
"Harry Potter! Where are you?" He could hear her searching downstairs. He briefly thought about getting dressed, but be knew his clothes' thin veneer of civilisation would not hide his lack of recent ablutions. He couldn't even dredge up the least shame about it. He was wearing boxers, and that would have to do for modesty's sake.
"Harry, you can't hide from me!" she shouted. "The clock says you're here."
He should never have given her the means to track him. It was a stupid thing to do, really, especially now that he wanted to be left alone, and he could hear her stomping up his stairs. At least his current location would throw her off for a short while. She'd never think to look for him here, and she might even think twice before disturbing him.
"Harry Potter, what the fuck are you doing?" she cried as she opened the bathroom door.
He knew what she was seeing, him lounging in the bathtub amidst a sea of pillows and blankets, unshaven--hell, he might even have a beard by now--un-bathed, despite the location, and generally un-human. Or at least that's how he felt about now.
"Have you been drinking?" she asked suspiciously, her nose wrinkling as she tried not to breathe too deeply.
"Nope, nary a drop," he answered breezily, or at least as much as he could with a hoarse croak.
"Harry, you're in a bathtub."
"Yep, I noticed that."
She placed her hands on her hips. "Why are you in the bathtub?"
"It's close to the bog, and I'm a lazy sod." He blinked. "Hey, that almost rhymed!" he exclaimed.
"Bloody bonkers, if you ask me," she muttered. She moved into the room and sat on the toilet seat. "Harry, you smell."
"Well, one tends to do that when one hasn't bathed in a bit," he answered reasonably. Damn it, he wished she would go home and leave him to it.
She eyed him, her brow furrowed with worry. It almost made him angry; he hadn't asked for her to care. "Harry, love, why are you really in the bathtub?"
He sighed. "I already told you. It's close to everything I require. Water and toilet. What more does a body need?"
"Are you sure?" He couldn't be certain, but there seemed to be an edge of fear in her voice.
He thought about it a moment and then it dawned on him what she really wanted to know. "No, Rae. I'm not about to off myself. If you really must know, it's the only place I can sleep without having the nightmares." He held up his hand. "And don't ask me why that is. I haven't a clue."
She looked around the room. "Hey, where's Norbert?"
He winced; it was involuntary. "Um, he stayed with his mate in Scotland."
"With that bloke you were so keen on?"
"Yeah, that would be him."
Her face softened and he knew she 'got it'. "Oh, love, I'm so sorry it didn't work out. And to lose Norbert, too?"
"Thank for reminding me," he said meanly. "I have been trying to forget."
"Well, wallowing in a bathtub is not going to help any either, Harry Potter!" She stood and started pulling on his blankets. Brave wench. "There's a fundraiser you promised to attend tonight, and by damned, you're going to be there." She pulled his pillow and his head thunked on the hard edge of the tub. "It's for your own good."
"Stop it, Rae! I don't want to go anywhere."
"Stop it, Harry," she mimicked. It sounded better when he said it. "You need to get out of the house. You need to be with people."
How the hell did she know what the--. Wait a minute... What was that? He listened and could barely hear--
"Harry--"
"Hush! Do you hear something?"
She tilted her head. "Floo!" they said together. Harry scrambled out of the tub, the blankets flying, pushed past her, and took the stairs two at a time. He slid, rounding the corner into the sitting room and stopped short at the fireplace.
It was Severus, but a Severus he'd never seen before. Even as distorted as it was by the green flames, he could see the stark panic on his face, a horrible thing to see on one usually so strong.
"Severus! What's wrong?"
"Harry! Are they there?"
"Are who here?"
"Them, man, the drakes."
Panic seized Harry's heart. "No. What happened?"
"I woke this morning, and they were gone. I've looked everywhere, even the hollow."
"Do you know where?" he asked inanely.
"Idiot! Would I have called you, had I known? It's not like they left a note."
"No, I s'pose not. Sorry."
They stared at each other, Harry wordlessly begging as best he could for Severus to step through, to hold him, to make this emptiness go away. Harry shook his head, his spark of ebullience fading. Tearing his eyes away from the man he wanted more than life itself, he stared at the floor and murmured lifelessly, "I'll let you know if they come here."
When Severus, looking as equally stricken, nodded, Harry turned to go back to his room.
"Call me back, Severus," he whispered as he reached the stairs, but his heart was greeted by a silence broken only by the crackle of a normal fire.
I received a fire-call from Harry this afternoon at the office letting me know that Norbert and Chloë arrived safely at Marigold Cottage. He said they "wobbled to the sofa" and almost fell asleep before getting there. I shouldn't wonder. He'd considerately turned the sofa to the fireplace so I could see them; Chloë looked off-colour, but considering how far firedrake wings had flown in only four days, I was just glad they made it at all. He did offer to let me come through if I wanted to see her, but there is still something holding me back. It's as if the moment I enter his home, I also enter his life. No matter how much I miss the closeness that was growing between us before the firedrake's mating and hunger for another taste of the intimacy we shared during it, I can't seem to make myself take that one last step necessary to gain what I want.
Perhaps I can at least be honest with myself here. I don't know what I want, not clearly. When Harry arrived and it looked like we might become true friends, I wanted that very much. I missed Wiltshire and his friendship, but the other things George offered had always made me uneasy, so I never even considered it with Harry, until he kissed me, and I started sleeping in his bed, but that at least occurred at a comfortable pace. I'd barely wrapped my head around the concept, though, when the drakes mated and we were caught in their emotional revelry. I don't know why that shocked me so much; Charlie did try to warn me that it might happen. But it was too much, too soon. I'd never been with a man before, and though that's what I told Harry, it wasn't the full or even the real reason behind my apprehension. No, that was far more complex and not easily put into words. I'd been celibate for twenty-six years, and not for lack of offers, when it happened and I suddenly found myself thrown into something I'd never experienced before in my life. It wasn't sex, it was love, pure and simple. For three days I was loved like never before, a love not just of the body, but of the soul. Harry and I connected, it was as if we were one person, not in the way of the Legilimens, but that of true lovers, of mates. Part of me revelled in it, but the other part of me sat whimpering in a dark corner like some beaten child, afraid, so very afraid of losing it, of losing myself in someone else. The curse of the Legilimens, the one thing we all fear the most--that loss of self within another.
Control, I needed control, which after I got done sulking, I told Harry over dinner. When he asked how one gained such control, I grabbed the one thing I thought he might understand. I apologised for my recent churlishness and explained that I'd stayed away because I needed time and space away from the situation. I thought he understood, but when I overheard him talking to the drakes the next morning, I realised he had only understood part of it. I never meant to imply I need time away from him, just time away from the situation. That he thought he was hurting me by his presence was a new thought, and as I contemplated later, I saw it as a true one. It was hard to be around him when I had nothing to say that he wanted to hear, yet I didn't want him to go away. I know I hurt him badly when I let him go, yet what could I do? He really gave me little choice in the matter, in fact, had I not come home, I never would have known he'd gone. By leaving, though, he's made it impossible for us to reach an accomodation together. I have to make the decision by myself. For me. If I go to him, I am telling him I accept what happened between us, and I'm not ready for that yet. Yet. A powerful word, full of a hope I should not give him, for to do so and not follow through would hurt him more than my continuing silence. Is that why I'm so leery of stepping through his Floo?
So I'm alone here with Dinky, and I hate it, which I find very strange, for it's a state with which I am very familiar. It never bothered me before, although I had Chloë with me then, so it seems self-explanatory why it's not the same this time, but after my fire-call to Harry, the loneliness is even more keenly felt, and I would very much like it to end. Perhaps I could write him, try to re-establish at least our friendship without committing myself to the rest?
Or maybe Potter was right all those years ago. Maybe I am a coward.
Severus held Harry's latest owl in his hand. If his theory held true, then the drakes should be leaving Wedmore tomorrow morning for their four-day flight to Centaury. Which was utterly ridiculous when all it would take would be a simple invitation on his part to Harry and the drakes would never have to commute again. An invitation he very much wanted to extend, but something always held him back from issuing it.
He didn't think it had anything to do with Harry, but then again, if he were honest with himself, it had everything to do with Harry. Or actually him and Harry. Together. As a couple. That thought disturbed his slumber in more ways than one. Disturbed his day, too.
And speaking of his day, he needed to get on with it. He unrolled the Daily Prophet and almost dropped it when he saw the quarter-page headline:
Severus Snape Is Alive!
Severus Snape, erstwhile war hero and former Death Eater, thought to be dead at the end of the war, is alive. Recent good authority led this reporter to Scotland and a discovery of the secret life Severus Snape has been leading all these years as Silas Marner, the well-respected head of the world-renowned Centaury Potions....
Severus slammed the paper down on the table, causing the tea cup to roll off the saucer, spilling tea all over the its surface and drowning the paper. Good riddance. Anger as livid as the red lines lacing his vision, stabbed through him, robbing him of breath and no small measure of his sense. Grabbing his cane, he marched into the sitting room to the fireplace. Using his wand, he raised the small fire in the grate to a near conflagration, and threw a fistful of the Floo powder into the flames so violently it made him sneeze. Eyes still watering, he stuck his head into the flames and yelled, "Marigold Cottage." When Harry's sitting room came into focus, he bellowed, "Harry Potter!"
When he got no response, he debated stepping through, but knew if he did, he'd kill the bastard, which would definitely feel good right now, but he might regret it later. So instead, he cast a Sonorous and yelled again, "Harry Potter, get here this instant!"
Dishevelled, and wearing a green dressing gown, Harry slid into the room, the firedrakes a wingspan behind him. "Severus? Severus! What's wrong?"
He was so angry, it was difficult to force the words between his clenched teeth. "You son of a bitch! I can't believe... I TRUSTED you, damn it! How could you... HOW COULD YOU BETRAY ME LIKE THIS!?
"Whoa, Severus. Calm down! Do what to you? Betray what? What the hell are you raving about?"
"Skeeter, damn it! Don't tell me you don't know."
"I don't. Is it in this morning's paper?"
"Yes," he growled.
"Oh, I haven't been down yet. Let me get it, so I least know what you're grousing about."
Grousing? Grousing? Steaming, he watched Harry run from the room. While he waited, Chloë flew into the fire and out to his side. She landed on his shoulder and started trilling and stroking his cheek. It didn't help. Norbert soon joined her on his other side, and as their calming affected him, he cursed himself for being so stupid as to not think of the Floo as a way for them to go from one house to the other without them having to fly in the open. With winter coming, it would be one less worry, and they could alternate days rather than weeks.
And wait a minute, why was he being so calm about this? He turned to glare at Chloë, who merely cheeped smugly and shot her tongue at his nose. Interfering minx.
Harry ran back into the room, his rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet in hand. He tore off the wrapper and read, his eyes getting as big as an owl's the further down the page he went. The paper dropped to the floor. "Fuck," was all he said and Severus had to admit it was an appropriate response. Harry moved as close to the fire as he dared and declared, "Severus, I swear to you on, on Norbert, that I didn't say anything... to anybody about this. I haven't even seen the bitch since September... Oh, fuck."
"So you did slip somewhere. You did tell someone," Severus raged.
"No! No. But I didn't have to. It's Skeeter."
"What about her?"
"She's an unregistered Animagus. A beetle. It's how she spies on people. We caught her in fourth year; Hermione kept her in a jar."
"So if she spied on you, you must have told someone."
"Not necessarily, and I didn't, but she could have been here when you fire-called after the drakes left. Or it could be on your side, in your house. I wasn't as guarded with my speech there unless we left your house. It could be on your side."
"Our wards won't let anything through that's not supposed to be there."
"What about an Animagus?"
"The wards can sense an Animagus trying to enter the compound."
"Will they guard against an Animagus that hitched a ride with someone who's supposed to be there, or who accidentally crashed those wards?"
Not a contingency he might have foreseen. "Possibly not. What are you thinking?"
"She may be there and not here."
Severus thought about this. It was possible, he supposed. "I'll check my end, you check yours. I'll fire-call you back when I'm done. See that you stay there."
He was about to break the connection when Chloë lightly bit his ear. "What?" he growled, impatient to be off to see if the Skeeter bitch was anywhere near his home. In a perverse way, he hoped she was, because he had a bright green light he wanted her to examine closely before she left. Forever. Chloë scolded him and before he could reply, she and Norbert launched off his shoulder and sailed back into the fireplace to the other side.
Irritated, he pulled back and vaguely heard, "Severus! Severus!" before the connection closed.
Combing the compound with Morris and his home by himself had left him with only a basketful of beetles and not one of them an Animagus; he'd turned the lot over to his preparations team just in case. Disheartened, he started the fire and threw in the Floo powder. As Harry's sitting room came into view, he had to admit it looked like a cosy room. Harry was sitting on a central sofa, waiting for him. "Well?"
"Well, what? Did you find anything?"
"No. Did you?"
"Not exactly."
"What does that mean?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, I don't know the spell."
Patience, he needed patience. "Oh, for the love of..."
"Look, your highness, being the Saviour of the Wizarding World does not grant one free membership in Mensa."
Severus rolled his eyes. "I'm coming through."
"Be my guest," Harry said snidely, rising from the sofa.
Standing on the rug before Harry's tall fireplace, Severus pulled his wand. "You're going to feel very stupid when I show you how to do this," Severus said with a smirk.
"Promises, promises," Harry rejoined with a grin.
"Accio beetle." Nothing happened.
"You're right, I feel stupid." Harry raised his wand. "Accio Rita Skeeter!" Again nothing happened.
Harry flopped onto the sofa. "Well, just because she's not here now doesn't mean she wasn't here."
Severus sat beside him. "True. And your delay may have given her the chance to escape."
"Possibly, but maybe not with two firedrakes watching for her. I asked them to do that as soon as you left and I couldn't reconnect to ask you the spell; your Floo was blocked to me."
Damn, he'd forgotten about that. "I'll add you as soon as I get back. As it is, I was thinking we could use the Floo to let the drakes travel between the two houses, so I would have done it anyway."
Harry nodded, without the commentary Severus had half-expected. "Want some tea?" Harry asked, pointing to a pot on the table in front of where they sat. "I made it fresh about fifteen minutes ago."
As Harry poured, Norbert crawled up on the seat beside Severus, Chloë right behind, nudging him along. Severus took the cup absently from Harry and nodded at Harry's firedrake, who was doing his best to climb into Harry's lap. "What's wrong with Norbert?" he asked, curious.
Harry shrugged. "I don't know, but he doesn't look very happy, does he?" He gently pulled Norbert the rest of the way up, where he flipped on his back, his legs loose to the side. Harry lightly rubbed his belly and snatched his hand away when Norbert groaned and his belly rippled. Norbert grabbed his hand and dragged it back against his distended stomach. Harry laid it gently on top, but didn't rub. "He's has some kind of belly ache. You can feel it ripple and bubble under my hand."
Chloë sat on her haunches by Severus, her tail draped over his thigh while her front paws clutched Harry's trousers; Severus could feel her trembling. She made distressed chittering noises in counterpoint to Norbert's groans and smoky belches.
It hurt to watch his grimaces, the mobile draconic face obviously in great pain. Very concerned about Norbert's health, Severus asked, "Maybe you should take him to see Charlie? He really looks unwell."
Norbert's stomach suddenly distended with a squelchy burp. Harry's eyes widened, and he looked at the drake's position on his lap. "Oh, no, Norbert. Not here, please?" He tried to shift him, but the drake just moaned and burped and wouldn't budge. "Shit. The last time Norbert sicked up, I had third-degree burns on my legs.
Severus leant over, his strong hands gently disengaging and turning the green beast back to his haunches as another ripple distended his abdomen. Taking a careful grip on the broad shoulders, Harry had no time to lift him away from his robes before Norbert retched, his mouth stretched wide and tongue curled. His unfurling wings knocking Harry's hands away, Norbert's front claws tore through fabric and skin to get purchase as the muscles of his throat expanded and contracted. Although it was only a matter of seconds, Severus measured every painful inch the object travelled up the cramping neck until it shot out of poor Norbert's mouth, a scream following in its path. The object sailed through the air straight for Severus, but Chloë blocked the hand moving for it and swiped at it with her wing. Like an overripe windfall, it fell with a sick, wet plop on the top of Severus' dragonhide boot. He flipped the disgusting mess to the carpet.
Harry stared at it in shock, then unbelievably, he started to giggle and then to laugh. "Oh, you beautiful boy!" he cried, hugging Norbert, who looked much more comfortable. Chloë joined them and added her praise.
"What is going on?" Severus yelled over the joyful noise. He eyed the smouldering mess burning a hole in the carpet and waved his wand over it, dousing it.
Harry grinned. "There's your leak," he crowed, pointing to the crunched beetle lying half-digested in caustic firedrake juices.
"The beetle? It's Skeeter?"
"Yep. That's her Animagus form. Norbert must have eaten her before she could change back."
Torn between horror and the irony, Severus laughed. Oh, there would be hell for them to pay later, but for now? "Ah, gives a whole new meaning to 'News Digest', hmm?"
Harry lost it, falling back into the sofa, his laughter silent. Norbert and Chloë danced between them, licking and biting anything they could reach, including Harry and Severus.
"Oh, oh, I needed that," Harry declared, wiping the laugh-tears from his eyes. His gaze fixed on Severus, he said blandly, "You know, you owe me an apology."
An apology? He owed him many apologies, but, "Whatever for?"
Harry smiled as if he'd seen his thoughts. "For assuming I was the one who told Skeeter."
"And so you were, she was in your house."
"Severus..."
"Oh, all right. I'm sorry I assumed it was you."
"And...?"
"And what?"
"And you won't do it again."
"I won't?"
Harry laughed. "You are so stubborn. That's half your problem, you know. You see what you want, and you go after it; that's how you built Centaury. Yet, you can't seem to give yourself the same consideration you give your damned company," he ended a touch bitterly.
Severus brushed the hair out of Harry's eyes. "Harry, I never meant..."
"I know. It was my decision, remember?"
"Yes, but you look like hell, and I can't help but think..."
"Didn't you know? No thinking is allowed here."
Severus tilted his head, considering him. "Ah, that explains a few things."
"No regrets, Severus. Until you're ready, I'll wait. You did understand that was a promise?"
"The thought occurred to me." As did the one that he might not deserve such consideration.
Harry laughed. "So now what? Skeeter's gone, and I really don't want to think about how I'm going to handle it, but--"
"Why should you bear the full burden in this? After all, it is my problem, too."
He wanted to fall into the light shining in Harry's eyes right now. "Thank you, that means a lot to me; however, not this time. My house, my drake." He stared at the soggy mess and cast a containment and preservation spell. "Although I will probably take her remains to the Ministry, I would prefer to take them down to the Daily Prophet and drop them on Gidley's desk--he's the senior editor--with the threat of what will happen to him if anything more than a simple obituary appears in the paper. I think I could keep him honest at least this one time. Regardless, no one will prosecute a firedrake for consuming what should have been a light mid-morning snack." He grinned. "It will be all right, I'm thinking, but that still doesn't solve your problem. Or will it be a problem?"
"I don't know. According to Morris, before I left, the owls and Howlers were pouring into the office, but he told me they would handle it."
"And he didn't care did he?"
"Didn't seem to bother him overmuch."
"I bet he already knew."
"It's possible."
"See, I told you there had to be more who at least guessed and just don't care. I saw the respect your people give you; a change in name isn't going to change that a bit. And once the furore dies down, it will be yesterday's news. Been there, done that."
Severus was about to reply when Morris's head appeared in the Floo. "Mr Marner, er, Mr Snape, I am so sorry to bother you, but the Minister just arrived and is demanding to speak to you."
He sighed; it had started. "Show him into my office, Morris; I'll be there shortly."
"Very good, sir," and he was gone, the fire fading to normal.
"I must be..."
"I understand." Harry stood and helped him out of the squashy cushions.
Dusting imaginary lint off his robes, Severus said, "I'll add you to the Floo at the house should you need to reach me." He couldn't bring himself to add, 'for anything' and settled on, "I'll try to fire-call you tonight so we can talk about the arrangements with the drakes. If not that, then I'll owl."
"All right."
As he turned to go, Harry placed a hand on his arm. "I know this isn't the right time, and I know you have to go, but come for Christmas?"
Severus shook his head. "No, I don't think so."
"Why not? Do you have other plans?"
A semi-complete complement of Weasleys, and Harry's children, and Harry's ex-wife, all spending the holiday in a cramped house with a former Death Eater they'd all thought dead? It was such a bad idea. "No, I hardly think..."
Harry's eyes widened in understanding. "Ah, I see. Not ready for the Burrow, yet? Yes, I understand. How about Boxing Day? We could celebrate then, and the children will be at the Weasleys' and other friends' all day. I usually spend it alone, but I would love certain company. I'm picky about that, you know."
The idea was tempting. "I'll think on it."
"Please do," Harry enthused, "and you do know that my house is always open to you."
"So you've said."
"Seriously, come any time. You've always a standing invitation," Harry said, handing him the bowl of Floo powder from the mantel.
As Severus stepped into the Floo, he realised that fairly summed up their entire relationship.
After six weeks of almost daily fire-calls, ostensibly to transfer the drakes, Severus Floo'd for the third time to Wedmore, only this time he was ready and had come to take the first step in ending this isolation. He called out for Harry with his arrival, but was disappointed to find him not at home. Not feeling comfortable staying in the house, Severus made his way to the kitchen, noting along the way that Harry had placed his gift, an antique chess set, on its own table by the large bay window where the Christmas tree had stood, and that his tastes ran to wood and steel in the kitchen, which strangely he hadn't seen before. Out the back door of the kitchen, he found himself in a snowy and very messy garden. Movement along the back drew his attention and as he approached he had to stop and laugh at the sight of Norbert and Chloë chasing and flaming garden gnomes. He watched them a few minutes before Chloë saw him, her bugling cries loud and joyous. Flying towards him, she nearly bowled him over with her enthusiastic greeting. Norbert flew circles around him as he and Chloë moved to a small bench off to the side.
A few minutes later, flushed and panting hard like he'd been running a long time, Harry ran into the garden, calling for Norbert. Severus couldn't help but remember a similar memory of Harry lying under him, his eyes tightly closed as he'd tried to gather air into his lungs. He shook it off; now was not the time for such things.
Harry skidded to a stop when he saw him. Severus stood awkwardly, not knowing what would come next.
Walking carefully and keeping his eyes trained on him, as if he were some wild animal that would bolt at any moment, Harry approached him slowly until they stood mere inches apart. It was cold in the garden, but Severus couldn't think of a time when he'd been warmer. Holding his gaze, Harry placed a tentative hand on Severus' shoulder, the movement of their bodies together seemed as natural as breathing, a skill he finally remembered as Harry folded him into his arms. How long they stood there, just holding one another, was anyone's guess, but the firedrakes, with their wild flying, all too soon had them standing apart once more. Harry still had hold of his hand, though.
His breath puffing cloudy in the morning air, Severus remarked, "Your garden is a mess."
Harry grinned. "Yeah. Ginny and the kids always took care of it; I'm pants with plants."
When Harry registered his comment, he smiled ruefully, and Severus chuckled. Then he sobered, thinking of what he'd come to do. Harry seemed to catch his mood and tugged on their linked hands. "Come. Let's go inside where it's warmer."
Nodding, Severus followed him into the kitchen, where Harry sat him at the table. Severus watched him efficiently gather the tea things as a stainless steel kettle steamed on the back of an enormous Muggle cooker. Looking around, he asked, "All your appliances are Muggle?"
As Harry poured hot water into the teapot, the water turned an immediate dark rosy brown that soon deepened. Harry set the lid, which had a separate disk with a gasket and a long stem on top. "Yep. Arthur and Hermione and I figured out how to power them with magic. The spells have to be renewed every now and again, but otherwise they work a treat."
"You cook?"
Harry shrugged and smiled sheepishly. Bringing over a plate of aniseed biscuits and a tea cosy, he replied. "Yeah, I know I fed you left-overs the last time you were here, but I love to cook. Keeps me sane." He fitted the bright red cosy around the pot and tied it in place.
Watching Harry depress the stem into the glass teapot, Severus wondered how Dinky was going to take that. Well, he would address that if the need ever presented itself. "I don't believe I've ever seen a teapot quite like that one before."
"Like it?" Harry asked. When Severus nodded, Harry added, "I got it last week. It's a Bodum. There's a metal strainer in the middle for the leaves and when it's done steeping, you press the plunger down, like a French coffee press, and it stops the tea from brewing. Makes clean-up later much easier and solves the whole muddy tea issue."
Harry poured him a cup of the strong brew, splashing a bit of milk in until it reached the colour Severus preferred. After dropping two cubes of sugar into the cup, Harry handed it to him on a saucer with a spoon. There was something soothing about stirring it. Taking a sip, he nodded his approval. "Very good."
Harry beamed at him, which did funny things to the pace of his heart and the lightness in his stomach. Merlin, he was pathetic.
"You here for the day only, or did you plan on staying a while?" Harry asked nonchalantly.
Severus almost snorted; the Gryffindor was so transparent. "I have no engagements for the weekend, if you're not busy."
"Nope, not a single obligation for once." Harry sipped his tea. "Stay?" he asked, peering at him over the rim of his cup.
"If it's not too inconvenient," he replied coolly.
"Great," Harry said enthusiastically, standing from the table as the two firedrakes flew into the room and landed on the table. Two bowls lined with wiggling mealy worms and garden grubs soon appeared on the table near the plate of biscuits. Watching the drakes' two-fisted munching followed by much smoking belching, Severus was struck by how normal it all seemed, and he began to relax.
The afternoon passed pleasantly. Norbert and Chloë sat between them on the sofa as they talked, a convenient arrangement that allowed them contact with their respective owners and yet remain draped over each other. While Harry seemed a bit frustrated by the arrangement, Severus actually felt only relief; he still wasn't clear in his own mind how he was going to handle that part of their inevitable discussion.
Later that evening, while Severus demonstrated his superior skill with a blade as he prepared ingredients, Harry proved his prowess at the cooker and his finesse with the oven, and for the first time in months, Severus felt lighter, maybe even happy, although he had little basis to compare. The quality of the dinner surprised him; Harry didn't cook, he created, and Severus almost stuffed himself on the decadent meal. He most assuredly would have to keep Dinky around if he didn't want to assume Memson's proportions.
As the evening progressed over a game of chess, and the moment he dreaded approached, his ebullience faded. After a long and mighty battle, Harry won. He stretched and yawned, his arms held high over his head as his torso twisted. Severus licked his lips and looked away, the sight weakening his resolve.
"I'm for bed," Harry said around another yawn. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Severus from beneath his lashes. "Join me?" he asked shyly.
After hesitating, Severus replied, "If you have a guest room?" and he tried not to wince at the immediate dejection showing on Harry's face. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
Harry opened his mouth, but closed it with a snap. "It's all right, Severus," he said quietly.
He must have shown his scepticism because Harry repeated, "Really, it's all right." He held up his hand. "Promise."
"Perhaps I should explain?"
"No, I think it best you not," Harry said firmly. "At least not right now. I suspect that discussion would best be held in the light of the day, not when we're both tired and nervous."
"I am not nervous," he lied.
Harry grinned. "Ri-ight. And I'm Adam Bede."
Severus smiled, and suddenly, he thought it might be all right after all, just as Harry promised.
Harry sat back in his chair at the table, his smile forced as he declared, "Check and mate."
Damn, that was the third game Harry had won this weekend. He picked up his grumbling bishop and hesitated with it over the board, one brow raised in question.
"No, I think I'm done playing games for the weekend," Harry said plainly, his face unreadable.
So, they'd come to 'the discussion' Severus had been assiduously avoiding since his arrival. He opened the top of the chess board and started placing the pieces back into their carved niches, silently enduring their abuse about his less than stellar playing. Harry made no move to help him. Instead Severus could almost feel Harry's steady regard burning a hole in the top of his head. As he started to put Harry's jeering chessmen away, Harry stood from the table and disappeared into the kitchen.
"--couldn't play your way out of a sandbox," Harry's pawn was shouting at him. Probably true at this moment. "Off with his head!" the queen declared as he shoved her unceremoniously into her slot. "Stupid bint," the king commiserated. Severus was a bit gentler settling him into his place. Closing the lid on their epithets, he leaned back in his chair and tried to formulate the best way about this. Not that he hadn't been trying to do so all weekend, but ever since he'd turned Harry down on Friday night, there had been a distance he couldn't seem to bridge. Not that it had been totally awkward, but the easy camaraderie had gone missing. He very much wanted that back, but didn't know how to go about it, especially considering the problem was mostly his fault; Harry had been a more than gracious host.
Tea tray in hand, Harry returned and set everything up on the table in front of the sofa. Norbert and Chloë, who had been watching their game from the window seat by the chess board, glided to the sofa, where they established themselves right on the middle cushion. Harry sighed with impatience and pointed to the end. Chloë shook her head and instead climbed the back until she rested on the top. Norbert soon joined her and Harry shrugged as if that were the best he could expect.
Severus joined him, tucking himself into the corner between the back and the arm. This afforded him the most comfort for his hip while seated, but he would need some help to get back up. He thought Harry might oblige him, even after they 'talked'. Harry sat next to him, a few inches separating them.
Harry sipped from his cup and sighed. Setting it aside, he rubbed his hands along his thighs. "Right, then," he said quietly. "Did you come here just to see Chloë, or was there another reason?"
Brave of him, really. Severus cleared his throat. "Both, actually," he replied, still unsure where to begin, "but I also thought I needed..." He shook his head. "No, that's not right... I've been thinking we need to resolve some issues between us."
"I confess, I'd hoped that's why you came here, but after Friday night, I wasn't so sure why you'd come--except to see Chloë, of course."
Severus could feel his cheeks heat. "Ah, about that. I handled it very poorly and I'm sorry. I should have explained before we'd got to that point, but..."
"But what?"
He handed his empty cup to Harry, who after an incredulous stare, smiled and filled it back up. Handing it to him, Harry said shyly, "You were saying?"
"Things had been going so well, I... well, I didn't want to ruin everything too soon."
"You were so sure I was going to ask?" Harry asked with a grin.
Severus smiled back and the tension eased out of both of them. "No, I don't ever take such things for granted, but the odds were in its favour."
Harry chuckled. "True, and I admit, I did very much want you to join me."
Severus heard the question in his statement. "But not just to sleep." A few heartbeats later, Harry shook his head. "As I said on Friday, I truly am sorry, but I'm just not ready to resume that aspect of our relationship, and I'd be less than honest if I even said 'yet'." He hated the dispirited look on Harry's face, even more so because he'd caused it. "However, that does not mean I don't want a relationship. Can you be content with friendship?"
"I told you I would wait," Harry reminded him.
Foolish Gryffindor. Didn't he ever learn? "Yes, but I'm telling you, as honestly as I know how, that you may be waiting in vain if you are seeking... a romance. Look, I made a mistake with Wiltshire, and I don't expect you to understand, but he 'waited' for me for over twenty years before I realised just how serious he was about it. And in all the time we were friends, all the time he wanted more, I never said the words aloud he most wanted to hear because I was afraid he would take them the wrong way. My silence hurt him in ways I never understood until he died. I'm not the kind of man who repeats his mistakes twice if he can help it, so I will tell you plainly, Harry Potter, that I love you, but I don't know, and I may never know, if I am in love with you. I can easily offer you friendship, but if you want more, you may be waiting longer than forever."
Harry's eyes were almost as big as a house-elf's. "I-I... You love me?" he stammered. "Wow, I never hoped to get you to admit it." He smiled shyly. "Severus Snape, I can live with your conditions, but you need to hear mine. Even if it's forever, I will wait for you. I won't make you promises that I won't, every now and again, test the waters--" he placed his hand on Severus' arm "--but I won't push the issue. In this, you will have to come to me, and if you ever invite me to your bed, I will consider it an offer on your part to deepen our relationship. Can you tolerate my conditions?"
He'd no more nodded when Harry leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, his fingers running tingling lines down his face. Severus kissed Harry's palm when it reached his mouth, perhaps an imprudent act, but it was the only way he knew how to say, "yet."
This time, Harry was losing badly, his men in a rout. Whenever this had occurred on numerous occasions in the past, Harry would chatter inanely during Severus' turn in a most Slytherin attempt to distract him. However, tonight Harry's usual ramblings actually made sense, and despite Severus' desire to find the best moves, he gave it up as a lost cause and set the game aside to listen. Besides, it might give him the opening he needed for the rest of his mission here; with the coming of night, he was fast running out of time.
"I'd like to think Albus gave us a second chance," Harry said, picking up his cup. Stirring it well beyond what was necessary to mix the contents, he added, "Both of us were battered and beaten by the end of the war. I don't know about you, but after I turned down Kingsley's repeated offers to head the Auror division, I spent most of my time moping around, not doing much of anything."
Severus just snorted.
"You, too?"
"Yes, but not necessarily by choice. Without a name and a good reputation, one cannot sell potions. I had neither." He sipped his tea and grimaced. Something herbal and probably good for him; it tasted like hot grass clippings.
"But see, that's what the drakes did for us. Norbert never let me have the time to feel sorry for myself. He loved me unconditionally, and I went lengths to please him I never would have gone on my own. Albus said Norbert would be my heart's ease and my guide to the future; he certainly was that. Beyond what they could do for us, I think Albus hoped that, when we met again, we would, at least, become friends. Seems improbable, doesn't it?"
"Not as much now as it might have once seemed," he replied, taking a deep breath. From here on in, he trod unknown territory. "In fact, the improbable has recently been increasingly possible. I've been thinking. It's obvious this travelling back and forth between Centaury and Wedmore is not working well, and our firedrakes are certainly unhappy with the situation." Chloë chittered her agreement from the windowsill. "I could, perhaps, relocate here to Wedmore. With Portkeys and the Floo, I can easily travel anywhere from here.
Obviously stunned by the magnitude of such an offer, Harry shook his head. "No, that's not necessary. You are Centaury Potions; you should remain where you are needed most. I, on the other hand, can live and work from Little Dorning just as easily as I can from here."
Harry's eyes sparkled with excitement, and Severus felt the last of his anxiety drain out of him. "Actually, if you're willing, it might be easier for you to live in the compound. At least you, and your children, of course, would be safe from the journalists there."
"True, I can build a small house there just as easily as in Little Dorning."
Severus looked away from the hope shining in Harry's brilliant green eyes, eyes within which he just wanted to lose himself. He took another deep breath and let it out in a gusty sigh; it was now or never. "It might be faster if I just added a room or two to my house. And, of course, I think Norbert and Chloë would prefer the closer proximity compared to separate houses."
His heart raced waiting for Harry's answer. A tinge of colour touched Harry's cheeks. "I never dreamed..." he replied shakily. "Yes. Yes, I'd like that, too."
Thank Merlin. Harry would come to live with him, and this ordeal would be over. "Good. How long will it take you to settle your affairs here?"
"Not long if I sell the cottage. The office may take a bit longer, but Rae will handle the transfer for me. She's not married to Paul yet, and he can work from anywhere, like me, so I may even be able to talk them into moving to Little Dorning. I've been wanting to expand the foundation more into Scotland; now would be a good opportunity."
Pleased, Severus turned back to the chess set. With a raised brow and a low chuckle, he held out his hand. "I believe it's your move."
Harry laughed and the game resumed in earnest.
Phew! What a day. It took a month to set it up with Chilton's, but the Board of Directors finally approved the endowment from Centaury Potions. What a suspicious lot and, given the grief they gave Severus, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd told them all to go to Hell and to forget it. I'm still incredulous that Severus offered it in the first place, but he thinks I should have better control of my funding sources. Given the way the Muggles are waging war like it's the latest reality programme, I admit to some relief in not having to solicit Muggle donations that come with far too many political strings. However, it's such a huge amount, I insisted he retain half of the control; I believe he should have some say in how it's best invested. Which was half my problem with the Board--did I say how suspicious they are?
I wonder how the summer will play out since I'm supposed to have the kids as usual. Maybe I can broach the subject with him tomorrow night over drinks. While we may not always see each other at breakfast or throughout the day - and I don't think he's avoiding me, we're just both very busy - we always take the time to have dinner together in the commissary and then do something together in the evening (and he's learned just how badly I play chess, but I think he enjoyed the couple of matches he had with Ron when he and Hermione stopped by for an evening) and we always have a nightcap before bed. It's a pleasant ritual, and I think he enjoys it as much as I do.
It's hard to believe I've been living here for two months. The three rooms Severus made for me while I sold the cottage are quite lovely, with a view to the compound and the forest beyond, and they're every bit as big as the rooms in the rest of the house, which is amazing in how it's planned. It's not very large, but it's huge at the same time. All the furniture sits in cosy little groupings with enough room for a man with a cane, but surrounding it all are empty spaces and openings wide enough for the drakes to fly unhindered. The ceilings are tall with open beams for drakes to hide and have a bit of 'privacy', which given their noise and the 'feelings' that sometimes zing through me, is a bit more often than not. Even the bathroom showers and tubs are big enough for the drakes to play.
And speaking of play, Norbert and Chloë pranked Severus and me this morning. They were high in the rafters and when we passed below them, they dropped faerie balls they must have found in the garden. What a mess, and Severus looked so adorable (Merlin, he'll kill me if he ever reads this) with all the sparklies dotting his hair and robes. At first I thought he was going to explode, but all he did was look up at the ceiling and make a comment about how certain creatures were picking up bad habits, then - with this little smirky smile - he asked me, "Like master, like drake?" What could I say to that? The truth hurts. However, it does give me some ideas...
Harry awaited breakfast while reading the owl-post Rae thought necessary for him to peruse, which arrived twice daily; the personal letters came in the morning and business correspondence usually appeared in the early afternoon. One in particular, in a glistening pink envelope and smelling of his former wife, caught his immediate attention. He opened it and scanned the contents.
"Hey!" he enthused. "We got a wedding invitation from Ginny." Well, actually, he'd got an invite and Severus could come as his 'guest'. "You'll never guess who she's marrying."
Severus seemed to consider it, although it was hard to tell with the paper held in front of his face like a shield. "Marcus Flint," he finally guessed dryly, flipping the paper's top low enough for Harry to see the quirk of a smile before Severus disappeared behind his paper.
Chuckling, Harry shook his head and waited while Dinky set the table before replying mischievously, "Nope."
Brow raised, Severus set the news aside and served them both thick sausages from the steaming platter the house-elf had left.
Fork held midair, Severus stared at him expectantly, and Harry enjoyed confounding his curiosity. Relenting, he finally revealed, "Neville," just as Severus swallowed his first succulent bite of the perfectly grilled banger.
"Longbottom?" At Harry's nod, Severus snorted. "Well, one can certainly hope that menace fares better than you did."
"Neville's a nice man," Harry said in his defence.
Severus' curled lip gave eloquence to his opinion of 'nice'. "And will be no match for his new spouse. I'm sorry, Harry, but your former wife is more obnoxious than a tight-fisted fishwitch on market day. A manticore would surrender if only to shut her up."
Harry wished he could say something witty in her defence but knew it to be pointless; Ginny really could be a harridan at times, and always with Severus. But at one time, she'd also been loyal and fun. He shrugged and tucked into his meal; Ginny's being, well or otherwise, was thankfully none of his concern anymore.
As Harry rose to collect the dishes before the house-elf put in an appearance, an eagle owl arrived. Neither one paid it much attention. Harry unburdened it, scrawled his signature on the receipt parchment the owl held out for him. He tossed it a piece of bacon, which it carried out the window with its silent departure. He glanced at the scroll long enough to see it wasn't his, put it on Severus' pile, and went back to removing the dishes.
Later, while reviewing a grant application in his office, Chloë burst through the open window, hovering and growling anxiously. When she urgently plucked his sleeve, obviously asking him to follow, he did so, running behind her rapid flight as she led him through the house. Skidding to a halt in the doorway of Severus' workroom, the treated carpet at the entrance bunching beneath his feet with his sudden stop, he found Severus standing by the lone, narrow window, staring out over the compound with eyes that saw nothing. He was pale, beyond pale, his skin bearing the awful translucence of shock. Arms crossed tightly over his chest as though he were cold, the white-knuckled fingers of one hand fisted a piece of parchment, balling it on one side.
Heart hammering from more than his recent exertion, Harry asked, "Severus?" When the man didn't even blink, Harry moved over until he stood near him and asked again, "What is it, Severus?"
Without turning, Severus all but threw the parchment at him.
Harry smoothed the wrinkles with his fingers before reading the contents. By the third line, his blood turned cold. "For reparation of war crimes and acts against the state, you are hereby ordered to surrender all assets and accounts into the immediate stewardship of the Ministry of..." Harry's eyes continued scanning the lines until the end. "Oh, for the love of--" He made an impatient noise. "They must be joking. Kingsley pardoned all the former Death Eaters remaining over three years ago."
"Which must be why I felt so relieved when he did so," Severus replied, his voice devoid of any feeling.
"Come now," Harry lightly chastised. "They can't do this."
Severus cleared his throat. "Obviously, they think they can."
"But you've been pardoned as much as anyone else!" Harry protested before realising Albus' death just might be taken as a separate issue.
"Just because the Minister decreed it so, does not make it so," Severus sneered. "There was a reason I took a new identity." He turned his head to him, the ice in his gaze barely covering the fear. "You're so naïve, Potter, living in your faerie land of justice and fairness. Do you honestly think they would have let me live, let alone in anything but offal, had I given them even the slightest clue as to my whereabouts?" He turned back to the window and spoke so softly, Harry leant in to hear him. "And now I can no longer hide." His spine straightened. "They might not be able to imprison me," and his tone belied his belief in that tenet, "but they can harm me. Intimately. Through Centaury. Without it--"
"All right, so they're sneaky bastards. What else is new?" Harry's thoughts raced. "They did not directly seize your assets and have only 'demanded' you surrender them. Which means their case is not as secure as they'd like us to think," he mused, tapping his lip. "I could call Chilton's..." He paused. War reparations? Would that mean criminal charges as well? And Centaury spanned multiple countries, right? "No, wait, Benson and Sons would be better; they're barristers as well as Ministry Counsel and do international--"
"I don't need your help, Potter," Snape snarled, "I do have legal counsel of my own."
Harry flinched inside at this old epithet of 'Potter'. So they were back to that were they? Which may have been why his words came out a bit sharper than he'd intended. "Oh, really? You've had masters sent before the bar? For what? Bruising the herbs? Beating the apprentices?"
Enraged, Severus whirled on him, shouting, "You have no idea what--"
"I have plenty of ideas," Harry shouted back. This was not the time for the git-- Norbert's soft chittering in his ear broke his rage and soothed his temper. Taking a deep breath, he tried for an even tone. "I have two firms who do nothing but spend massive amounts of the foundation's hard-begged money finding every loophole--in both the Ministry and Muggle laws--to protect my orphans, and protect my properties when some over-eager coward--like Malfoy the Elder--decides I'm getting too close to surpassing him. And when those loopholes don't exist, or can't be defended, they stand before the bar and fight for the future lives of my 'children', who have just as many rights as you do." When Severus snorted, Harry held onto his patience by the thinnest thread. What did it take to make Severus see? "Do not mistake compassion for weakness, Severus. Do not assume that battles won in the courtroom are any less bloody than those fought in the fields. While you stayed safe in your anonymity," he couldn't help the sneer, "we waged scores of battles with the Muggles and the Ministry and have won far more often than not."
"Ha! Battles?" Severus exclaimed scathingly. "The Ministry's Golden Boy meets some slight resistance to his foolish Gryffindor ideals, and he calls it a battle?" Gritting his teeth, Harry balled his hands into fists, the parchment there crackling almost as much as his magic, and said nothing. Several moments later, Severus looked away, his eyes lowered. "I hardly see the connection between your children and my current circumstance," he murmured, a tacit apology lacing his words.
At this moment, Harry didn't see much difference between a sulking teenager and this most difficult man, but if he wanted to reach him, he needed to set that sentiment aside, no matter how true it might be. Instead, he explained, "The Foundation's children have been charged with everything from stealing apples, to culpability for their father's crimes." He walked over to the window to stand before Severus. Placing his hand on the black-covered sleeve, he said quietly, "Or for their own; not all my children are innocent. We've all waged our battles, and we win when we work toward a common goal. Together. I know, I understand how hard it is to trust your fate to someone else, to believe they have your best interests to heart." He placed a hand on Severus' shoulder, holding on despite the twitch rippling under his hand. "But I do. You're not alone, Severus. You don't have to fight this alone." Both hands now gripped Severus' shoulders. "Don't push me away," he whispered. "Let me help. Friends first, remember?"
He wrapped his arms around his stoic friend, the body against him rigid. With dread? With revulsion? He didn't care at this point, a glimmer of gratitude filling him when Norbert shifted from his shoulder to the empty one opposite. With both Norbert and Chloë giving their support with soft sweeps of dragon faces to Severus' cheeks, caresses Harry wished he himself could give, Severus relented. Muscle by muscle the man relaxed, and Harry knew he'd won this round when arms loosely banded him, the hands trembling at his waist, and a heavy head fell to nestle in the crook of his neck with a sigh. Watching the two drakes touch noses over Severus' neck, Harry tightened his embrace and murmured, "It'll be fine. You'll see."
Agreeing to wait to call his attorneys, Harry had heard Severus talking to someone over the Floo before leaving for the office in his rooms. Harry assumed Severus was contacting his solicitors, Davis, Squeak and Fodder, an outstanding international firm, but they didn't handle criminal law as far as he remembered. He wished Severus luck, but didn't think Joseph Squeak would take the case. After a while, he ignored his musings and got back to his grant applications.
Coming out of the loo just before lunch, he heard a familiar voice shouting his name. Smiling, he strode into the sitting room while an exasperated female called, "Harry? Harry! Bugger all, I know he's there."
As he settled on the hearth, her face disappeared for a moment, but he could hear her shout in the background, "Oi! Mimi! Ship this to Harry, will you, love?" before her face fully formed again in the flames.
"Damn it, man," she scolded, "I visibly aged waiting for you."
Harry grinned and waited; seemed he was waiting for everyone important in his life lately.
Her frustrated sigh blew embers up the chimney. "Harry, that Larry chap from Perfica called again," Rae said, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Shall I transfer him or would you prefer I tell him you're riding the high hard one and can't come to the phone right now?"
Almost choking, Harry heard Severus enter the room behind him, the snicker he thought he'd heard well-covered with a scowl by the time he turned to look. Harry sighed. "Bloody leeches," he muttered. "It was so much easier when all we had to do was grovel and beg for donations, now one must 'market' for them." Facing the green face poking out of Severus' fireplace, he shook his head. "No, put him through; I might as well be done with it."
"All right. I'll ring him up as soon... Oh! I almost forgot. I'm sending you an express owl with the Carawen contract you need to sign. Owl it back to me, will you, love?"
"Sure. Hold on a second. Don't go," he cautioned, ignoring her mutterings about where did he think she was, the Bahamas? He turned to look at Severus and, widening his eyes in enquiry, mouthed, 'Well?' Severus paused, a flash of fear passing through his eyes before he straightened and shook his head.
Harry turned back to the fire. "Listen, Rae, while I have you here, set up a meeting with Benson for us, would you please? For a personal matter," he added hastily.
An eyebrow raised in a manner eerily familiar. Did he surround himself with such eyebrows on purpose? "And when does his worship want this meeting?"
Harry closed his eyes. "Not now, Rae," he murmured. "Just not now."
Opening his eyes, he found her watching him speculatively. He willed her to shut it and was gratified with her brisk, "As soon as that?" She held up a finger. "Be back in a flash, love."
Several minutes passed before Rae returned; she must be using the second Floo in her office. "Betty was a love and got you in Monday morning at eight. Not so certain Benson will appreciate it, but..."
"Thank you. We'll be there."
"All right." She winked at him. "I'll just get Larry now," she called out as the fire changed from green to its more normal hues.
His phone rang before he'd even stood from the hearth, and Harry stepped outside to take the call; it was as tedious as he dreaded and half as productive as he'd hoped. Bloody marketers.
Coming back inside at the end of the conversation, Severus asked, "Who was that?
"Who Larry? He's the CEO of Perfica and is a right--"
"No--" and in Severus' sigh, Harry could hear the missing 'you idiot' "--the woman."
"Oh, Rae." Harry chuckled. "She's my..." Friend? Confidant? Rock? "assistant."
"Is she always so...?"
"Sharp, irreverent, opinionated, witty, eccentric?"
"Yes, yes." Severus rolled his hand as if to say, 'Get on with it.'
Harry smiled. "Yeah, she's a real pistol," and more than a match for his crotchety friend, Harry couldn't help thinking. He couldn't wait to see the sparks fly between them. Grinning in anticipation, he added, "You'll get to meet her soon. She's only staying in London until the new secretary learns our system and should be moving here permanently in a few months. I've already started looking for a nice cottage in the village for her." As an afterthought, he said, "Ginny hated her on sight and was absolutely convinced I was sleeping with her."
"Probably hated the competition," Severus mumbled. "And were you?" At Harry's frown of distaste, Severus nodded as if he should have known better. "So, what does the beast think of your... assistant?"
What an odd thing to ask, Harry thought, until he realised that, when it came to people, he'd almost always given draconic opinion more weight than spousal. What a time to finally learn that. Harry shrugged. "Fairly indifferent, except he's never scorched her, which really is a record."
Severus withheld any further comment, but given the rise of his brow, he didn't really need to say anything at all.
Leaning close, Severus murmured in an undertone, "I only agreed to this because my solicitor said the writ was beyond his firm's capabilities."
So he'd said at least a thousand times this weekend. Harry nodded because to do more would tempt him into saying something he really shouldn't. He felt naked without Norbert, but after the drake's antics the last time he'd been here... Well, Harry could only hope the ban wasn't for the rest of his natural life. And if he felt exposed and vulnerable, he could only imagine how Severus was taking Chloë's absence.
It was a matter of minutes before Betty ushered them into the barrister's office. After serving the tea, she withdrew, leaving them to it. Benson cordially greeted them both, but, as Harry expected, he did not offer his hand. Harry was glad he'd thought to warn Severus in advance of the barrister's many quirks.
Straightening the papers Harry had sent him into two neat piles, Bernard Benson sat back in his chair, studying the two men sitting before him. Or so Harry assumed he was studying them; with Bernard one could never be quite certain what went on in his head, but in his own convoluted fashion, the man was a genius at twisting the law to his own, or his client's, ends.
"Messy business, this, but let me first see if I understand your incorporation, Mr Snape." Silent and still, Severus only watched him, although Harry thought that, if Severus' tension even closely approximated his own, he must be positively vibrating with it.
Benson picked up the first sheet. "Before the end of the war, you made a will leaving all your property and patents to one Silas Marner and Mortimer Wiltshire." He glanced up and Severus nodded. This became a ritual between them as he continued reading through the list. "After your alleged death, you contacted Wiltshire, a former member of the Order of the Phoenix and the professor who originally certified your mastery. You redeemed two life debts with him," again there was a pause, "the first being a wizarding oath establishing his silence as to your real identity, the second being an unbreakable vow concerning the formation of your partnership in the company now known as Centaury Potions."
Severus cleared his throat. "Yes, that is true; however, the unbreakable vow concerned more than just the formation and maintenance of the company and its disposition should one of us die."
Benson dipped a quill and waited.
"The unbreakable vow was three-fold. Wiltshire would help me establish my new identity in the Muggle courts, he would re-certify my mastery under that new name, and he would be my full partner in our new venture because, in the beginning, I did not dare show my face in Diagon Alley and we needed to access Gringotts and the materials suppliers. He became, in essence, my public face to the wizarding world. In return he received fifty percent of the profits, assumed none of the risk, and, upon my death, received all my shares and visa versa. Of course, it also included a clause he wouldn't try to hasten my demise in any way."
"And did you also have to guarantee his survival?"
"Considering how dependent I was upon his good graces, he didn't feel it necessary to add reciprocity of our terms."
"Trusting chap," was Benson's only comment, his quill flying across the parchment.
"And a better friend than perhaps I deserved," Severus remarked. "When he died, I was shocked to learn he'd not only left all of Centaury Potions to both Silas Marner and Severus Snape, but years before, he'd changed the company register to include all three names as equal owners. I still don't understand why the Ministry never challenged it."
Benson chuckled. "Perfectly legal to leave property and assets to a dead person. Can't tell you how many ghosts we have as clients."
Harry smiled and was happy to note Severus seemed much calmer, more centred. Benson did that to a person as well.
"Is there anything else I'm missing about the company itself and your agreements with your partners?"
Severus considered this a few moments. "No, I don't believe so."
His eyes bright with mischief, Benson asked, "So then, Marner had no objections to Snape entering the business without his prior consent?"
Severus startled. Obviously confused, he shook his head, saying slowly, "No, I have no objection to myself taking over the business."
"Careful, now. According to the contract and registry, Marner and Snape are two separate parties, however they occupy the same body. With modern psychology, not to mention hauntings and possessions, the possibility exists for them--legally, mind you--to disagree." He made a note in the left margin. "We'll have someone draw up a letter of agreement for both of you to sign." Eyeing Harry, he added, "Marner and Snape, that is."
Severus nodded. "Very well. Does it need to be witnessed?"
He tapped his note in the margin twice and it disappeared off the page. "Yes, but the document will be ready for your signature before you leave today. Harry here and my secretary can witness it."
He set the quill down and folded his hands atop his small paunch. "The next steps are fairly cut-and-dried. We'll first have to issue a formal protest." He turned his regard to Harry. "This is where your influence is best used, Harry. Filing the forms in your name will make them step a bit more cautiously, if only not to offend; they're not that secure, but I'll warn you, it will be in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. As a matter of control, I would suggest you go to the newspaper of your choice this afternoon and lay before them the whole story; we can arrange an interview here for you as well, if you prefer."
Harry glanced at his companion's pained expression, but sighed when Severus nodded. "All right, but no matter how many I do, I'm pants with interviews. Just tell me what I need to say, how to phrase it properly, and I will."
Benson smiled. "Seems you collect loyalty as you go, too, Mr Snape." He dug into the second pile of papers. "The next steps are on us. We'll issue and file a Stay of Circumstance to stop the Ministry from halting your operations. You'll not lose even one second of production. Combined with the formal protest, this will prevent them from touching anything until the matter can come to trial and a verdict."
"Trial?" Harry asked, his voice squeaky.
"I doubt this issue will be resolved by a simple request to stop, Harry. No matter how nobly they couched their demands, this is merely a business ploy, a hostile take-over, if you will. Considering how they went about it, the Ministry expects big gains, and it intends to collect." Benson calmly turned his full attention to Severus as he stated, "You should also know my sources intimate that a certain Malfoy has expressed an unusual degree of interest in this situation. I don't know what you did to anger him and the Ministry, but you certainly did a good job of it; they're after blood, and since they can't legally drain it out of your body, they're looking to take it from your life's work." He shook his head. "Which is very foolish in the long-run as such actions eventually destroy the public's trust. However, I don't think they much care about such trivia at this point, nor do I think they've thought this through very well. It may take some time, Mr Snape, but I am confident we can defeat them and keep them from ever bothering you again."
He picked up the papers and stood, leading them to the door. Gesturing them through, he said, "Now, you meet the team. We have much work ahead of us, gentlemen, so let's get busy."
Much later, papers signed, work sessions attended and interviews completed, they shared dinner together in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron. Severus wordlessly ate his barley soup and rare beef sandwich. Knowing firsthand how taxing the whole day had proven, Harry kept his peace and tucked into the special of the day, steak and kidney pie; however, his silence didn't mean he wasn't hyper-aware of the man sitting across from him. In fact, it would be fair to say Harry could recount the number of bites and slurps his companion had taken to finish his meal. When Severus sat back and stared at him for several breaths, Harry placed his knife and fork to the side, taking a fortifying drink of the red claret they'd shared with the meal. He relaxed back in his chair, content to wait and see what Severus had to say.
"You're just doing this to save your precious foundation's endowment, aren't you?" Severus asked, his voice filled with a defeat Harry couldn't begin to fathom.
Harry gave his answer careful thought. "No, if necessary, STARS has ample funding without it, although I will admit I'm relieved we don't have to pursue the more dubious sources anymore."
"Damn it! Why, then?" Severus leaned forward, looking from side to side as if company had suddenly appeared, his voice canted low and confidential. "Aid of this nature does not come without its price, Potter. What is yours? What is it you want in return? An unbreakable vow?" Harry shook his head. "A life debt?" Severus hissed in anger.
Shaking his head again, this time in saddened disbelief, Harry murmured, "You just don't get it, do you?" Snape folded his arms over his chest and rested them on the table and waited. "There is no ulterior motive beyond our friendship." What could he say to make Severus understand his own motivations? As his fraying temper was about to come undone, Norbert licked his ear and growled. It tickled, and Harry made to scold him when a delightfully wicked idea took root. So Severus wanted to know what he wanted, did he? He tilted his head to the side and chuckled. "All right. A gentlemen's agreement and a kiss."
One eyebrow raised in alarm. "And?"
He nearly rubbed his hands together and, slouching in his chair, stuck them in his pockets. "Nothing. Just that. A gentlemen's agreement that if we win, I get one kiss, of indeterminate length, with the setting at my discretion." At the panic blooming on Severus' face, he amended, "And not in public." He stuck out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"
Severus' suspicious gaze travelled from Harry's eyes to his hand and back again. Harry couldn't much blame him; knowing himself, even he would be sceptical. "One kiss? Are you serious?"
He couldn't help it and grinned. "No, actually, I'm Harry." With the cloudy anger filling Severus' face, he hastily added with a touch of asperity, "Look, you're the one demanding a price. I'd give you everything for nothing. I'm just trying to honour your wishes. You asked what I want. I've told you. Nothing more... and nothing less."
"And if we lose?"
"That is not going to happen," he stated evenly. Harry thought he would combust under the intensity of those eyes. "I may be a foolish Gryffindor, but I am nothing if not persistent." He sighed, realising he couldn't make promises about something over which he had no direct control. "Should we lose, I will give you everything I own, if necessary, to help you build Centaury back to where it was when lost. On my wizarding honour, Severus, this I solemnly swear to you."
Something shifted between them in that moment, a tingle of magic he'd never be able to define, but from the widening of his eyes, he knew Severus had sensed it as well. Harry thrust his hand forward again. "Now, do we have a deal?"
He thought his arm would fall off by the time Severus extended his hand to grasp his own firmly. "One kiss."
Not letting it go, Harry replied, "Of indeterminate length, in the non-public venue of my choice."
Severus' long fingers tightened on his for one forever moment and let go. "We have a deal."
Severus' Talisker was always a fine way to close the day, a taste it had not taken him long to acquire, but tonight its smoothness did little to unravel the knots in his stomach. Harry leaned his head back against the top of the old leather wingback; he vaguely recalled there'd been many like it at Hogwarts and wondered if this one had come from Severus' old quarters.
He didn't ask, although not because he wasn't curious, or even because he thought the question would upset his prickly friend sitting in its twin opposite him. No, he remained quiet, hoping to coax out of the back of his mind something he suspected he should really notice in the front of it. Something about this evening nagged at him and he'd not a clue what it was. Their return to Centaury had been perfectly normal, if a bit strained, the fire in its grate danced as merrily as ever, Severus' silence was also expected, although the flames held his attention more than the book still sitting unopened on his lap. Norbert and Chloë, sprawled over the hearth seeking warmth, was a familiar sight...
He sat forward, staring at the drakes. Was it a trick of his imagination, or of the low fire, or was Chloë glowing. He glanced at Severus, gratified to see him staring at Chloë as well. Their eyes met briefly, then flickered back to the draconic objects of their study, both of whom were blissfully unaware of the human scrutiny.
Taking in the way Norbert was half-draped over Chloë, his wings all but hiding her, the last piece clicked in his mind. "Have you noticed," he began quietly, "how possessive Norbert has been with Chloë recently?"
"Can't say that I have, but then again I don't normally watch your drake, only my own, unless the little menace is flying alone around me."
Harry chuckled softly. Yes, Norbert had his moments, but it was usually due to clumsiness and poor luck rather than any ill intent.
Severus broke the ensuing silence with, "I have, however, noticed that Chloë is getting exceptionally fat. She can barely waddle now." He took the last sip of his scotch. "How does one place a self-feeding drake on a diet?"
Staring at the drakes, Harry would swear to his dying day, the idea came to them both at the same moment. Their eyes met again. "No," Harry whispered.
Severus nodded thoughtfully.
"Really?"
"What else could it be?" Severus mused quietly.
It was fairly obvious once one interpreted Norbert's position as that of guardian, rather than sprawling slob. "So what does that make us?"
Severus snorted. "Rather stupid, I should think, if we both missed spotting a broody firedrake right under our noses."
"Is she all right?" Harry asked, concerned.
"I've not felt anything amiss. In fact, now that I think on it, she's been rather smug ever since you moved here, but I just assumed it was because they won the skirmish, so to speak. She can be a bit competitive."
Harry stifled a laugh. Saying Chloë was 'a bit competitive' was akin to saying water was 'a bit wet'. Poor Norbert, he was forever lagging.
"So what now?"
Severus shrugged. "I suspect they do not need any assistance from us, so I suppose we wait."
"And then what?"
Severus chuckled, the first time in several days, and stood. He picked up Harry's empty tumbler as well as his own and headed for the kitchen, his cane clicking softly on the hardwood floor. Over his shoulder he tossed, "Then we figure out how we're going to cope when we're knee-deep in firedrakes."
"My, that's a vivid image," Harry murmured to an empty room. Standing, he watched the drakes for several minutes. "Are you coming to bed?" he asked softly and added a few heartbeats later, "and are you ever going to need me again?" When Norbert didn't so much as twitch, Harry grunted, a familiar uneasiness filling him, making his skin crawl. "I'll take that as a no," he replied quietly, and sadly went to bed.
Today, Harry and I spent most of the day at Benson and Sons to plan our strategy for my upcoming battle with the Ministry. Harry surprised me some during our working sessions. I always had this picture of him in my head as someone who's always a bit out of synch with everyone else, relying more on luck than brains to make his way through the world. However, I discovered that if you put him at the head of a table full of lawyers, he's an entirely different person. He's tough but fair and very effective in getting what he wants. He's smart and quick, not only in grasping the subtler nuances of what they were saying, but is also able to best them with ideas of his own. He was truly a joy to watch. With that and the way he handled the reporter from the Daily Prophet, I began to understand how he manages his foundation and has made the Potter name one to respect, beyond what he did during the war. Perhaps it was this newer image of him that made me challenge him at dinner, but by that time, I was also tired and out of sorts. I don't know why I said the things I did, but the outcome of them proved rather shocking. Instead of anger, I got humour and his 'price'. I well remember what he can do with that mouth of his, and I confess: had we left immediately afterwards, he would have been left with no doubt about how eager I was for us to win.
Which thought leads me to wonder why I'm still fighting him. He has proven good company and genuinely seems concerned for my welfare, and I find myself caring for him deeply in return and not always in a platonic manner. Not a day goes by when I don't fantasise about him, about us, the memories of our prior coupling breaking into my thoughts at the most inopportune times. His hands. His mouth. His arse! I can even say it now without too much embarrassment: I like his cock. I do want him, but despite all we did together, I don't really know how to go about it, and I don't want to look like an idiot. The three days we spent together are a blur now, with certain parts coming to the fore when I least expect them, but that small experience doesn't help me any when it comes to actually doing something purposefully, without being under the drakes' influence. Of course, I've read what few books are available in my library, but I suspect that what lies between the pages of a book doesn't necessarily cover what lies between the sheets.
And I don't quite know how to get myself out of this corner into which I've painted myself. Perhaps I should go with Harry to the anniversary celebration tomorrow night. An evening out as myself might be the way to overcome the last bit of my resistance, but on the other hand, mingling with the Ministry officials after the day I had today might not be the wisest strategy. I'm liable to strangle them before I could ever speak to them. Especially Shacklebolt. He presented such a welcoming persona when he came to visit me, but Benson says his approval was necessary for them to have issued their demands. Malfoy I expected, but Shacklebolt bears watching. Yes, I have to give this some thought.
Besides, if Chloë is indeed about to clutch, it might not be a good idea for either of us to leave the house for any length of time. I know I told Harry that we should leave them to it, but I'll admit here that I'm worried. What if something goes wrong? What if Norbert becomes too aggressive, as many dragon species do, and hurts her? Can I protect her? What if? What if? I could go on for hours with my concerns.
I have a feeling tonight is going to be a long one.
Severus was certain something had died in his mouth shortly before he'd awakened and, when both sides of his brain connected, he would be certain to make someone pay for shovelling sand in his eyes. When he made it to breakfast, after first checking on the firedrake as he had at least a dozen times last night, he found Harry already sitting at the table, drinking his tea and staring out the window. That Harry looked as dishevelled and bleary-eyed as he felt didn't bear comment.
Harry turned his head at Severus' entrance and gave him a wan smile. "So, how many times did you check last night? And don't deny it, I saw you there at least twice, I think, although I may have been hallucinating at that point."
"I stopped counting at half three," Severus replied, fixing a cup of tea. He looked around the kitchen. "Where's Dinky, and where's breakfast?"
"I sent her off for a holiday today. Bloody kitchen Nazi was driving me spare with her twittering. I didn't think you'd be any more hungry than I am, but if you want, I can whip you up an omelette, or something else if you like."
His stomach volubly protested even the thought of food. "No, you surmised correctly. Tea, and plenty of it, will suffice."
"Good, because it might have taken me several trips to the bog just to fix it for you," Harry said with only a puny version of his usual grin. He handed Severus his paper. "Here, the news is mostly about tonight's celebrations. I'm sorry, but your fifteen minutes of fame and glory is in Section 'B' near the obituaries. I guess Rita's remains had more of an effect on Gidley than I might ever have imagined."
Severus grunted and turned to the page in question. His eyes scanning the lines slower than his usual wont, he reached the end and chuckled. "And it's fairly accurate. In fact, I can only see one place where he deviated from the prepared statement. Whatever did you say to him?"
"Remember when I told you Hermione and I took Rita's remains to the Ministry, and no one believed us."
"Yes," Severus replied somewhat impatiently.
Harry laughed. "Well, I took them the next day to the Daily Prophet and dropped them on Gidley's desk. He hadn't a clue why I would be bringing him a dead beetle. I did tell him it was Rita's Animagus form, but he didn't believe me either, so when he made this wild theory that I'd actually transfigured her into a beetle and then let Norbert eat her, I didn't correct him. I guess he thought if I could do it to one of his reporters, I would do it with others."
"But if you did that, you'd kill Norbert because human to animal transfigurations always revert back to their original form upon death. He'd explode."
"I never said Gidley was very bright."
Severus set his paper down in alarm. "Tell me you didn't leave her remains with him."
Harry sipped his tea and shook his head. "I'm not totally thick. I packaged them up with a note explaining what happened and sent the lot by recipient-only owl to Kingsley. I reckoned he'd know what to do with a dead body."
Severus chuckled and went back to reading his paper. After checking on the drakes, who were still sleeping, he Floo'd Morris and told him he would be home for the day and he was not to be disturbed for any crisis unless it involved burning, or copious amounts of blood. If Morris's snort was any indication, he thought this humorous, but Severus didn't see the joke. Well, he'd never stopped to analyse his employees beyond their performance, and he wasn't about to start now.
At loose ends for the first time in weeks and not in the mood for any serious thinking, he went to his workroom and started preparing ingredients for the potion he'd always given Chloë when she'd been growing and stretching her skin. It had hurt her, and this potion had always worked the best for making her more comfortable. He didn't know if she would need anything like it now, although egg-laying and stretching seemed to go hand-in-hand, but it kept his mind and hands occupied and made him feel like he might be useful after all.
He'd just decanted the potion into a special dispensing bottle he'd designed for her, when a sharp keening knifed through him and cut up the back of his neck, threatening to detonate his head. A second keen sounded, followed by a deeper, distressed rumbling bellow. Grabbing the bottle he'd just filled, he capped it and ran for the library as fast as his hip would allow. Having reached it only seconds before him, Harry held the door open for him. Harry made a startled noise as he reached the fireplace, and as Severus drew nearer, he could see why.
Hissing and flaming, Norbert held Harry well away, his aggressive posture threatening; no man in his right mind would dare touch him. Scared that his concern of last night was becoming a reality, Severus breathed a soft sigh of relief as he spotted Chloë swaying and keening behind him, her paws firmly braced against Norbert's back as her rigid body strained. Almost as if their arrival was the impetus, she screamed and a soft-shelled, pale lavender egg appeared under her belly. Her cries stopped and, after she bent her neck almost double to look under her, Norbert's nose followed cautiously, and they both licked the egg. Pushing up on her neck with his, he nuzzled and licked her face when it came into view. They shared a few more touches when she hissed and bit him on the foreleg. He immediately placed her behind him with his wing, his stance once again defensive as she keened. For every cry she made, he bellowed in response. Just when Severus thought his head would fare better detached, a second scream, softer than the first, sounded and another egg appeared, this one a pale green. They went through again what was clearly a ritual in licking this new egg, but when done, and Norbert had cleaned her face, Chloë licked him back and chittered softly at him. They rubbed necks for a moment before twining them, each resting their head on the other's shoulder.
"Is that it?" Harry whispered. "Where's their nest? Surely they're not going to leave them there?"
"I don't know," Severus murmured, leaning close. "I've not seen them making one, but that doesn't mean anything. They hatched in the fire, maybe that's where the eggs go as well?"
Harry had no more nodded when the firedrakes pulled apart and Chloë moved well away, her gait ungainly. Raising his wings to protect her and the surrounding area, Norbert flamed the eggs in soft bursts making certain both were equally treated. Harry gasped and made a move towards them, but Severus stopped him with a hand on his arm. "No, don't. I think he's only hardening them." He pointed at Chloë. "See, she's not bothered by it at all. Trust me, if she was unhappy, she'd let him know all about it." One only had to look at the gashes on Norbert's arms to know the truth of that statement.
When done, Norbert stepped back and turned his head to Chloë. She waddled over and tapped each egg with a claw and added a few little bursts of her own flame to spots she obviously thought not hardened sufficiently. As he watched, Severus suddenly understood her actions at breakfast almost every morning since her hatching, and it dawned on him that after that one morning with Norbert at the table, she'd never done it since. She'd taught him, and, at that point, the flaming duty was all his. Amazing, really.
Satisfied with the eggs' readiness, Norbert and Chloë chittered quietly to each other before they began to push the eggs, one apiece, into the fire. Impervious to the fire's flames, they moved them, one to each side of the andiron, and shifted them about until they were placed well into the coals at the bottom. Why they changed places and shifted them again, Severus couldn't even begin to conjecture, but he wondered if it was just another part of what he saw as a fairly complex clutching ritual.
"Can you see the magic?" Harry asked, his voice tinged with awe. "It's very faint, though."
Severus squinted and could barely make out an aura surrounding each egg. "Yes. I suspect it's not very bright so it won't call attention to itself."
"Makes sense. Do you think it protects them from getting squashed?"
"I certainly hope so," Severus murmured, a vision of crushed drake eggs making him shudder. "Although I think they'll be all right, we probably should tell Dinky to clean this fireplace carefully."
Harry nodded and turned his attention back to the drakes.
When they were done, both firedrakes stepped out onto the hearth, their skins rippling to loosen the soot clinging to their hides. Without thinking, Severus cast a mild cleaning charm he'd often needed when Chloë was just a hatchling. He smiled; she used to get into so much trouble back then, and the fireplace had been one of her favourite places to hide. The spell did its job and removed the soot gently from both their hides, and Chloë chirruped her thanks.
After braving Norbert's suspicious glare, Severus held out the bottle he'd brought for Chloë. With a cry of pleasure, she waddled over to him. Taking the special tip into her mouth, she greedily sucked out a measure. Licking her chops, she purred and let him pet her gently. "Brave girl," he cooed quietly. "Well done, little one. What a wonderful girl you are, and such beautiful eggs. I'm certain they will someday grow into strong firedrakes as fine as you are." She preened with the attention and nuzzled his hand to be held. He obliged her and once again felt the connection they'd shared when she'd hatched. She didn't bite his thumb this time, but she did lick the scar with much the same results. Content, he eventually set her down on the stone hearth, where she sagged and waited for Norbert, who hopped out of Harry's arms to meet her.
Chloë swayed against Norbert, and Severus could feel the pull of her exhaustion. Norbert stepped away from her a bit and, with a mighty down-sweep of his wings, he was airborne. He hovered, waiting for her to join him, and when she finally struggled into the air, he wedged his body against her, in what should have been an impossible move, to steady her. Suddenly the normally clumsy drake seemed strong and sure as he helped her stay aloft. Wobbling, they flew out of the room, Harry and Severus following as fast as they dared. Harry stayed by Severus' side, though, and caught him the one time he stumbled in his haste. Thanking him, he watched the firedrakes coast across the sitting room and into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. By the time he and Harry arrived at the door to his bedroom, Norbert and Chloë had commandeered one of the plump pillows on his bed. Chloë was already asleep as Norbert settled in next to her. Throwing one wing over her, he closed his eyes, and soon the air filled with the comforting sound of his light purring as he slept.
Harry chuckled softly. "Let sleeping drakes lie," he quipped, and as one they quietly left their firedrakes to their well-earned rest.
"An idea I suggest we take to heart," Severus replied with a yawn. "I don't know about you, but I'm knackered. I think I shall take over the guest room and catch up a bit on what I missed last night."
How well Severus knew the look that passed across Harry's face, one he used whenever he 'tested the waters', but he obviously thought better of it when he rejoined instead, "Not a bad idea. It's going to be a late night, I think; I'll never make it if I try to stay awake this afternoon." He headed off down the hallway and turned, the mischief clear in his eyes. "I don't suppose this qualifies as a 'good night', does it?"
Severus shook his head with a chuckle.
"Pity," Harry said, grinning. "I'll set my wand so I can make us dinner. Chops all right?"
Severus unconsciously licked his lips; Harry-style chops with mash and greens, was his favourite.
Laughing, Harry said slyly, "I'll take that as a yes," and, his steps jaunty, he went off to his side of the house.
Severus heard the wards softly chime just after midnight, and he wondered if the celebration had been worth Harry's time. There was a small part of him sorry he'd not accompanied Harry, who'd asked him at least a dozen times, for the evening had proved less than pleasant, filled as it was with a pervasive anxiety stemming from the drakes' recent activities intermingled with the depressing thoughts of what would become of him and Centaury should they fail in their endeavour.
However, the greater part of him wanted as little congress with the Wizarding world as possible and still maintain his fortune; it was well-established that, as much as Silas Marner ever had, Severus Snape did not mingle. He wasn't blind to the advantages such events could bring, not by any means. Given his current situation and how much popular opinion swayed the Ministry, his absence tonight might not have been one of his wiser moves, although given his uncertain temper, it might have been a stroke of genius.
He heard Harry moving around the cottage and knew without a doubt what Harry sought, but wouldn't find, at least not out there. Eyes raised to the pillow next to him, the drakes slept on, oblivious to the worry they'd caused their masters.
He snorted in the dark. Masters? Hardly. Norbert and Chloë might continue to reside with them, and the mere thought of them leaving made his heart pound and his skin break out into a cold sweat, but he and Harry were no longer their masters. That painful epiphany had occurred earlier in the evening, after Harry had left for the party.
Shortly before he'd retired, when the words in his book made little contact with his brain, Norbert had stirred from the other pillow and, with much creaking and stretching and groaning, had set off into the night. Not much later, he'd returned, landing hard on the bed, which was hardly surprising considering the drake's burden. A small snake, thin and wiggly, depended from Norbert's mouth while his arms hugged an abundance of herbs and leaves, the most pungent of which smelled like oregano. Getting his bearings, Norbert waddled ungainly across the bed, his wings half-spread for balance.
As he closed the distance between them, Chloë's nose twitched and, with a huge, yawning sneeze, she opened her eyes. Norbert approached her slowly, almost reverently, placing the herbs on the pillow by her head. She eyed the snake first and neatly tore off the head and swallowed, leaving Norbert to quickly consume the remaining body and tail. Growling and crunching, the herbs were soon gone as well, although she shared the mealy worms caught in the leaves. With another jaw-cracking yawn and a smoking burp, she touched noses with her mate and flopped back to the pillow before going back to sleep. Norbert watched her silently, intently for a few minutes before carefully laying beside her, working his body very close. After nuzzling her neck for a moment, she curled it inward until her head tucked up under his chin. The moment his paw touched her chest, she let out a contented sigh and he cautiously extended one wing, gently covering her with it. Norbert eventually slept, but since one eye remained half-open, with only the inner lid gleaming, Severus knew he guarded as well.
No, Norbert and Chloë were definitely their own creatures now, dependent only on each other. Severus knew the sight of their independence and caring shouldn't have affected him so, but it had made him want, made him yearn for something equally good and sweet, though he probably didn't deserve it.
Setting such sentiments aside as counter-productive, Severus closed his eyes, the cottage's normal noises lulling him to slumber. Wrapped in nebulous dreams, he jolted awake with the sound of furtive movement by the door. By the waning firelight, he cautiously watched a swaying figure creep into his room. A whispered, "Damn," as the pyjama-clad spectre stubbed its toe on the pouffe before the chair, relieved his apprehension. There came the hushed scrape of the room's lone chair being dragged and turned. The swaying aspect revealed itself as a blanket and spare pillow Harry had clutched in his arms and tucked around him as he settled deep into the chair, now facing the bed.
Severus debated only a moment before saying quietly, "That can't be comfortable," and stifled a snort as Harry jumped up, the blanket falling to the floor.
"I'm s-sorry," Harry stuttered, his hand flat on his chest. "I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted..." His voice faded to nothing as he bent to pick up the blanket and turned as if leaving.
"Just wanted what?" Severus asked softly, his heart pounding in his chest. Just wanted to see the drakes? Or maybe... maybe him as well?
Harry drew breath to speak, then let it out on a long sigh. His head hanging, he murmured, "Just wanted to... Never mind, it's stupid. I'll leave you to sleep."
His hands shaking, Severus pulled back the covers. "There's enough room for both of us," he whispered.
The moment stretched into eternity as Harry stared at him. Now what? Had he changed his mind? Had he stopped waiting as Severus had thought he would all along? Was this when the man gave him one of his damnable chuckles and told him he was being a fool to even think about it?
Severus had almost reached the point of telling Harry to forget it, his mistake, when Harry dropped the blanket to the floor. The bed dipped as he carefully crawled over to the narrow empty space between Severus and the drakes. Setting his back to him, the air between them warmed quickly after Severus replaced the bedclothes, marvelling that two heads could so easily fit on a single pillow. Slowly, hesitantly, Severus laid a hand on Harry's waist, hoping he'd not misread all the signals Harry had been sending him these past few months. Yet even if his thoughts proved wrong, he was unable to resist the impulse, the lonely ache soothed with this one simple touch. When Harry grasped his hand firmly, he was certain it would get shoved back to his side of the space, but instead the other hand tugged gently until his arm wrapped around Harry's chest. A few moments later, the warm body wiggled back into his, snuggling close. Giving a contented sigh, Harry's breathing soon eased into sleep. With the comfort of Harry's heart beating softly under his closely held hand, it was a matter of a few breaths before Severus followed him.
And he didn't dream.
The children are gone now for the school year and I'm feeling a bit blue. Which is really stupid; the summer was wonderful. A bit odd, too, but not one I would trade for anything.
Wonderful in that I am falling in love with Severus a bit more every day. He has a generosity of spirit and person that is well-hidden, but once in the open is bigger than anything I've ever encountered. And when I think on it, that same spirit was present even when I was younger, only its expression was chained by others into something sinister and soul-wrecking.
Wonderful in that Severus and I are still sleeping together and, little by little, he's opening up to us physically. Compared to what I had before, it's so loving even if it's simple at this point, but the comfort and warmth and closeness and support are so much appreciated - by both of us, I'm thinking - that I'd wait forever, if I had to, for it to reach the level of intimacy I suspect everyone else assumes we share. I'm not going to rush things, though; Severus will let me know when he's ready, and if that's never, then that's all right, too.
A bit odd in that I still had the kids, like I always do, but only they lived here. Shortly after Chloë laid the eggs, which are still baking in the fire, Severus offered to add another suite to the house for my children. Two bedrooms and two bathrooms were attached to the area in which I used to reside. They actually liked it better than the old place because they each had their own room and a separate area from the adults. I guess it made them feel more grown up, especially since their meals could be taken separately at the commissary, or at home in their space; I did insist they eat with us twice a week, though, when I cooked. They were allowed visitors once a week, which was very generous of Severus, I thought, coming as it was from a man who only six months ago lived alone and who lives in a high-security domain.
Lily has 'sprouted' (Severus' term, not mine, but it's appropriate). I guess dads just don't notice those kinds of things, but when they do, heaven help the boys who want to date their daughters. And boy, did they ever. Lily has several suitors and she's been smart not to date one exclusively; at fifteen, I'd kill her. James or Al accompanied her on all her 'dates' (at least one every weekend, and again I turned a deaf ear to her protestations).
The real surprise was Al going over to Malfoy Manor to spend time with Scorpius. At first I was concerned, but Severus invited Draco and his family to join us in Little Dorning for dinner one night. Draco's wife is a sweet thing, his son very smart. And him? Well, I suppose even I can acknowledge that Draco's not the fiend he once was. It's not something we'll ever repeat, I don't think, but it did ease my mind about Scorpius as Al's friend. I can hardly believe this is Al's last year at Hogwarts.
The kids got along well with Severus, not that I really expected problems. Lily and James pretty much ignored him, although there was a bit of resentment on James' part that Severus ignored, and I should have expected. In particular, Al seemed the most fascinated with him, and I think the feeling was mutual. At least Severus found a decent chess partner for a while. Now he's stuck with me. To save us all some stress, I banned Ginny from the premises, although she blamed Severus for that, and he let her. The kids saw her at the Burrow, though, more than in summers past. And of course Molly and Arthur were happy to have them.
James is still here, but he's been making noises about getting a flat with some friends. Now that he's 18, there is little I could do to stop him, and I'm not certain I should. James has settled well into the London office under Klyne's tutelage. The man wouldn't lie to me even considering it's my son, and I'm glad to hear James seems to enjoy the job while he figures out what he wants to do with the rest of his life. Of course Ginny weighed in, complaining about my slip-shod parenting skills when she found out James wasn't going to University this fall, but I believe it's not a path everyone needs take. I told her that if James needs the time to sort things out, then by Merlin, she needed to step back and let him. We're still not speaking, which is not necessarily a bad thing.
And of course, Ginny was furious when she had to come in from Brazil to take the children to the train. Molly refused to do so, saying it was Ginny's turn since I'd been there every other year, and it was "about time the poor man has a private life," and there was the trial to consider; we were at the Wizengamot all day yesterday. Which made me feel a bit guilty. We were so caught up in the trial this summer, I didn't spend as much time with any of them like I used to.
I'll only admit here that I'm worried about the trial. The Wizengamot and the special commission started their private debate yesterday morning and are still deliberating; we hope to get a verdict early next week. It's seemed iffy all along to me, and although Benson remains cheerily optimistic, I think I need to talk to Rae when she moves in tomorrow, before her boyfriend Paul arrives, about what I can do, if anything, should Severus lose.
"Be an angel, love, and tell Gary to bring the other boxes into the bedroom," Rae ordered as Brian, one of the two men moving her into her new house in Little Dorning, levitated the bed sideways through the sitting room. "Careful with the door jamb," she cautioned, watching its bobbing progress.
Like the smart man he was, Harry and his briefcase full of papers stayed well away at the dining table. Seeing that Rae, as usual, had it well in hand and was finishing her move on time, Harry emptied the case on the table, spreading the quarterly reports and the ledgers out in chronological order. Next came several sheets of foolscap, a blue pencil and a red pencil, and a rubber. He laid them out precisely in front of him and fiddled with the edges until everything lined up perfectly.
Rae came out of the bedroom, took one look at the table and turned direction for the kitchen. How well she knew him. Five minutes later she returned with a huge pot of tea, two cups, milk, a bowl of sugar, and a box of biscuits. She laid it on the opposite end of the table, well away from Harry's piles of paper. Without comment, although her pursed lips spoke volumes, she poured them both a cup of tea and fixed them to order. Placing the tea to his left side, she sat on his right and waited.
"Everything done?" he asked, looking around the already organised space.
"Yes, I sent them off with a cheque about a quarter-hour ago." She nodded to the items on the table. "This looks serious; what's up?"
Harry squirmed in his chair. "Sorry, I didn't give you much time to move in..."
"It's all right, I still have the next few days off, and it's almost done anyway; I didn't have all that much to move."
"Right." Now that he had her here, he didn't know where to start. He moved the placement of the ledger two inches to the right and reversed the order of the pencils, the red one of which, he stuck behind his ear. "Ah, you know I've been trying to help Severus with his Wizengamot case, yes?"
"I know you've been spending a lot of time on it," she replied evenly. The 'with him' went unspoken.
"Yeah, I have and I've tried my best to keep you out of it, and you'll never know how much I appreciate your covering for me while I've been here," he said in a rush.
"I think a new house and top Galleon for my old one just about covers any expenses that might have accrued," she replied cheekily.
Harry hated it when he blushed. "Well, we did need it for your London replacement," he said a tad defensively. "Anyway, I need your help."
Her brow rose as if to say, 'What else is new?'
"You've been keeping track through the papers?" When she nodded, he continued. "Well, they've actually been fairly accurate, for once. Out of the blue, the Ministry demanded Severus give up his assets..." and so he caught her up to the present through two cups of tea and half the box of biscuits. "Benson is confident we'll win, but I've been up against Malfoy before, and my track record isn't exactly sterling with him. Now that he has a seat on the Wizengamot..."
"I didn't realise it had got so involved," Rae said quietly. She pointed to the documents in front of them. "What does all this have to do with the foundation?" she asked reasonably.
"Well, several things, actually. I've never bothered to calculate my net worth before. I have a fairly good idea, mind you, but not an exact reckoning. Never needed it before, but now I do."
"If I may be so bold as to ask: why?"
Harry took a deep breath. "Because, if we lose, I may have to liquidate all my assets."
"The foundation's assets?"
"No, just my personal ones. I wouldn't think of touching the foundation's funding."
Rae seemed to relax, that is to say, she still resembled a rod of iron, just not a white hot one. "And how can I help with this? I don't do the books."
"No, but you're the only one I would trust to pursue this with the accountants. I'm going to be unavailable for the next several days and I need to know before the verdict comes in."
"There goes my day off," she muttered darkly. "All right, assuming I agree to this madness, in return, I want information." Harry nodded cautiously. Rae seemed surprised, but it didn't stop her from asking, "Why would you do this? For him?"
"Partially for him, partially because Centaury Potions has been a long time contributor. We wouldn't be where we are today without his donations over the years."
"Harry, love, we only have the endowment, and while no one will contest that a hundred million is a huge sum of money, we already have it, it's not owed to us and therefore it's not part of the assets he would surrender. And, need I remind you, he has fifty percent control over the funds?"
"Yes, I know he does, but if he were to try to use it, the Ministry would seize it. And this is all a theoretical discussion, anyway. Severus would never try to take it back. That's not his style."
"Not his style?" Rae cried. "Harry, Snape was a Death Eater, damn it! You know, the people we've been fighting all these years? How can you trust him? How do you know he's not just using you to get out of a jam?"
"No!" Harry returned hotly. "No, he is Severus! He was a Death Eater. He was also a spy for us, he risked his life, he did things for Albus Dumbledore no man should ever be asked to endure, including killing the one person who meant everything to him. I trust him with my life. Look, if you have a problem with this, then let us end this conversation now, and I'll find someone else to help me!"
Rae took a shaky breath and let it out on a frustrated sigh. "No, no, Harry, I'll help. If you say you trust him, who am I to gainsay you? I just need to make certain you know what you're doing. This doesn't affect just you, you know; if it did, I wouldn't give a rat's arse about it. But you have children, minor children who also need to be protected. You can't just liquidate everything and give it to Snape."
"Severus, Rae, Severus, please."
"All right, Severus. How do you know Severus isn't just using you?"
"Are we going to go through this again?"
She shrugged. "It's a reasonable question and I guarantee, I won't be the only one asking it. You do have a Board of Directors, remember? They'll want certain assurances that you've not jumped off the deep end."
Well, she did have a point. "All right, from the foundation's perspective, he has given us an endowment he can't touch, but that's not the only monies he's given to us."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I was talking to his secretary one day, and found out the name of one of his subsidiaries, the one that runs all his Herbology interests. So, who do we know has been donating to the foundation for over sixteen years, incrementally increasing the amounts until it hit a million every year for the last five?" He waited, knowing she would put it together; they didn't have that many large donors.
"He's ExPANSe Green? God, you feel so stupid when you know who it is."
"Yep, sure did."
"All right, I can agree that from the foundation's perspective, we owe him some consideration, but it's not foundation money you want to risk..." She let the sentence hang, her brow raised expectantly.
"You're right, I should set aside trusts for the kids, and maybe something small for Ginny--" he ignored her snide aside about that one, "--and I should probably set aside a small amount for me as well." He took in a deep breath, "but I may need to liquidate the rest. Only I don't exactly know how much that is."
"You're still not telling me why you're willing to risk it all for him."
Merlin, would she never let it go? "Is it any of your business?" The instant it left his mouth, he knew he wanted to take it back.
Her eyes misted, and Harry felt like a shit. She stood from the table, briskly taking the teapot with her. Good going, Harry. The one person you felt you could trust throughout this whole thing, your rock, and you go and hurt her. Stupid prick. What the fuck was he afraid of? Why was he acting like a little boy caught dead to rights with his hand in the cookie jar, who then denies it? Why couldn't he tell her the truth? That he'd risk anything for Severus. That he'd finally found with Severus, a happiness that was worth any cost. That he loved Severus. If he couldn't tell her, how could he honestly tell his lover?
She came back with a full pot. Setting it aside on the table, she took her seat. Before he could say a word, she held up her hand. Her back straight and rigid, she said quietly, "You're right, Harry, it is none of my business. For the last nineteen years, your kids, your wife, your firedrake, your divorce, your woes, your triumphs, none of these things were any of my business, but still I listened, I celebrated them with you, I cried with you, I held your hand, I gave you my shoulder, I even let you sleep on my sofa." She looked away and then down at her hands folded in her lap. "I thought I was your friend. I thought you valued my opinion. I'm sorry, I presumed too much."
All right, a double shit. She stood to go, and he touched her arm. "Stay, Rae. Please?" Her red-rimmed eyes clearly asked, 'Why should I?' He didn't know the answer to that, especially with what he'd said, but he had to try. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I guess I expected your immediate acceptance; you've never challenged me like this before. But I never, ever meant to hurt you. Ever, and I'm so sorry I did. Please believe me, I didn't mean to. You have no idea how much I trust you. I've always considered you one of my best friends; I wouldn't have talked to you about this if I didn't feel that way. You of all people have earned the right to ask such questions, and I shouldn't question you when you express concern. I'm sorry." He pulled her towards him. "Forgive me? Please?"
It was awkward, but the hug felt so good and solid and what both of them needed right now. Eventually, she sat back in her chair and gave him her steady, if a bit wet, regard. "Thank you, love," she said, wiping her eyes with his handkerchief. Why was it women never carried such things when they usually needed them the most? "Maybe I over-reacted a bit. I'm really not trying to be nosy, I promise. I guess it just alarms me that you're willing to give him everything when all he's done as far as I can see is donate some money to the foundation. I've been with you through one hurt I was helpless to prevent; I just don't want to see it happen again when I'm not."
"I know you care," he said quietly, and he suddenly perceived he needed to proceed cautiously with this, but for the life of him, he didn't know why. "Severus is so much more to me than the money he donated, and I know you don't see it because you weren't here. You want to know why?"
Rae nodded.
"Because I love him."
"Love him," she parroted. "Love? As in...?"
"Rae, you already know we're lovers, or at least I think you do."
"Yes, it's rather obvious, in case you think you're hiding it."
Harry smiled. "Yeah, well." He sobered and gathered his thoughts. "Severus and I have always been... connected, for most of my life. When I thought him dead, I was... hurt in ways I didn't understand until I literally dropped back into his life. You have no idea how much I rejoiced to see him alive, living his life to his full potential. But, with time, I also came to understand it was that time away from the 'real' world under a new identity that allowed him to regain his life as it should have been in the first place."
He took a sip of his tea. "In many respects, he's not Severus Snape anymore, he's Silas Marner, and yet, inside, they're one and the same person and they've always been so. Nothing has really changed, and yet... it has. Being free of his past has changed him as much as time and distance have changed me. People don't see me anymore as Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, they see me as Harry Potter, the head of the STARS foundation, and they act accordingly."
"True. I've seen that happening over the years, and I can accept that he's changed for the better. But there's still folks who hound you for the whole 'Saviour of the World' thing."
"Precisely, and now that the Ministry knows who he is, they're hounding him for the 'whole Death Eater thing', as you phrased it. And it's not fair. Half of his predicament is my fault and I need to help him make it right."
Rae's brow scrunched in confusion. "How is any of this your fault?"
"If I hadn't found him, Skeeter wouldn't have either, and the rest of the world wouldn't even know he still exists."
"Oh, the newspaper accounts didn't mention you at the time, so I never made the connection. Is that how she discovered it?"
"Yeah, she was living in my house in her Animagus form and heard me talking to him over the Floo."
"What a bitch!" she cried indignantly. "You should sue her."
Harry could feel his face flush.
"Har-ry, what did you do?"
"Um, I can't sue her... per se." Oh crap, he got the brow again. "Ah, er, I mean, Norbert-ate-her."
Rae stared at him, and then burst into laughter. "Oh, poor Norbert! Must have given him indigestion."
"You have no idea," he muttered.
"Where is he, by the way? Normally, he's your shadow."
"He stays close to Chloë," he said, trying to hide the hurt.
"Oh, love, I'm sorry. That must be awfully lonely for you. Is that why you and Severus...?"
It was every reason, but not in the way she surmised, and explaining precisely why and telling her about the mating and all that followed was more intimate than he could share with anyone except maybe Severus himself, and since he already knew... "Maybe at first, but this isn't about assuaging loneliness, or sex, or any of the labels others place on it. It's about my heart, what I feel for him inside. I love him, Rae, in a forever kind of way. I've never felt this way before, not even with Ginny, and I don't think I ever will again. It's everything scary and everything wonderful, all rolled up into one relationship. It supersedes everything, even my own life. I want to protect him, I want him to be happy and to thrive and to keep doing all the things that make him so unique, so mine. I hate what they're trying to do to him, and if it takes everything I have, I'm going to help him."
Rae nodded in understanding and stood from the table. "I'll be right back."
Mystified, he waited. In a few moments she returned, carrying a small ledger. Halfway across the room, she explained, "Soon after you showed up on my doorstep, after leaving Ginny, when I realised you really were divorcing her, I asked the accountants to draw this up for you so we could make certain she didn't try to take foundation money as well as your own." She sat down and refreshed their tea. "That you didn't need it is probably the only nice thing I have to say about her."
Harry chuckled. "That's only because she took just about everything else."
"True, however, and more to the point, at that time we possessed a clear picture of your net worth, including the properties. The accountants set up these books to adjust daily, so at any time you can see your monetary value." She turned the book to face him, opened it, and pointed to a single line with a shit-load of numbers. "This is your current net worth of everything--land, cash, and other investments." She moved her finger to a second number, not quite as large, but still daunting. "If you discount your long-term investments and those that would cause harm should you cash them in quickly, this is your liquid net worth."
Harry sat back, stunned. He'd known he had a bit put by, but this?
"Don't look so surprised, love. Do you have any idea...? No, of course you don't," she muttered. "You just invest with anyone who needs money and with your luck?" She shook her head. "Harry, love, you have the Midas touch when it comes to investing in people. Unfortunately, a good portion of that money is in the 'harmful' category should you pull it out too fast, but even if you liquidated the rest, you could live comfortably off the remaining proceeds for the rest of your life."
Harry nodded and stared at the number, his mind racing. "If I understood the Wizengamot's prospectus correctly, this comprises a bit over half of Centaury's market value. It's certainly enough to buy the controlling interest, even if Malfoy were to buy the rest. By law, Severus has final say as to whom can buy his assets; even the Ministry recognises the economic damage it could do if they force Centaury Potions out of business." He looked down. "It's just..."
"What is it?" He blinked rapidly as she lifted his chin. "Harry?"
He wiped his eyes. "Sorry. I didn't think I'd have enough to do even this much. I'd thought I might be able to buy a small partial interest so we could at least make Malfoy's life a living hell, or give Severus enough to start another company, but this...? No, I had no idea."
"So, Malfoy's behind it?"
"We think so, but even if he's not, he's the only one with enough capital to buy Centaury Potions outright."
"Well, then, you can do more than that. That should please Severus," she said brightly.
Too brightly. Somehow the wording bothered him, too, but he decided not to pursue it and hoped he wouldn't later regret that decision. "I'm not so sure about that. He's a proud man; I wouldn't want to hurt him while I'm trying to help him."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"I don't want him to think I'm buying his affections, nor do I want to make him feel... less than he already does. I can almost hear him now, 'You're my lover, not my banker.'"
She placed her cold hand over his. Without thought, he covered it to warm it. "Are you sure, love?" she asked gently, her voice hitching. "Does he really feel the same way? He did, after all, give you the endowment. Isn't that the same thing? Buying your affections?"
He didn't have a clear answer to the first part, but to the second? Harry chuckled. "No, it's not the same thing. I know, it's hard to fathom, but coming from a man like Severus, giving the endowment was tantamount to a marriage proposal, the joining of the Potter and Snape fortunes and lifes' work. He has met me fully, equally, in every respect from our firedrakes, to moving here, to accepting my children, even to helping me arrange this house for you and our new office. He's not overt about it, that's my job, but he does so many little things, and big things, to let me know just how much he cares about my happiness, my welfare. So yes, in that respect, I believe he feels the same way about me."
Rae snatched her hand back. Confused, Harry really looked at her and was shocked by the tears slowly streaking her face. When had that happened? What the...? "Rae, what's wrong?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. It's just me. Don't worry about it."
Huh? Had he hurt her feelings again? He searched through the conversation and just couldn't see it. Then he remembered that cautious feeling he'd had earlier and the penny dropped. Oh, dear Merlin, he understood. Damn. He thought about it a moment and then took her hands, now wringing helplessly in her lap. Feeling more useless and upset than when he'd watched his children being born, he handed her another handkerchief and tried to keep it light. "Rae, love, it would never work, you know that, right?" She nodded, but still wouldn't look at him. "You know I love you, but just not... Being with you would be like shagging my sister," he said gently. "Besides, I thought you loved Paul."
She sighed and raised her head to look at him. The sorrow in her eyes tore at his heart. "Yeah, but I've been with you longer," she replied, trying to smile.
Brave girl, he thought. "But nothing. You need to make an honest man out of him."
"Maybe," she said, sniffling. She chuckled and he felt good he may have jollied her over the worst of it. "Can I at least think about you like that every now and again?"
"No," he said, laughing quietly. "Not only is that not fair to Paul, but I think, given my preferences, we're missing some basic compatibility in that area."
She stared at him a minute, processing his words; he could actually see when it dawned on her what he meant. She turned beet red and muttered, "Well, that certainly explains one of your problems with Ginny; poor girl, she had her bits outside-in."
Harry laughed and knew everything was going to be all right when she wiped her eyes, blew her nose, grabbed the pencil from behind his ear and said, "All right, Mr Gotlolly, let's see what we can do about saving your paramour."
I have been avoiding writing here for weeks now, for to record each night the litany of sins I'd endured listening to once already, has proved too much to bear. I am well aware of why I am guilty, and I know why I did what I did, both on my own and under orders, which, given the concept of free will, is at best a rationalisation. However with the events of the last few days, I feel I must record certain events because they are most unusual.
For all that Centaury's, and by extension, my, fate lies in the hands of less than impartial judges, I've been surprisingly indifferent. Assuming my loss a foregone conclusion, I made a business plan for a small boutique firm, just myself and perhaps a few others sharing the same interests, to create and sell the rarest of potions. It would give me a productive retirement and certainly would gain me enough income to live well. However, that assumption changed on Thursday when all seven of my divisional Masters arrived unexpectedly in court. At first I thought they'd come to see the show, but after they conferred with Benson, I was shocked when he called them to testify. Under oath, they staked their reputations and that of a host of other masters, journeymen, and apprentices, whose names filled dozens of signed pages, all swearing, should Centaury fall to the court, they would work for no other master but me.
I cannot possibly describe my utter astonishment that anyone would take such a risk for me. Only Harry will ever know how much such an unsolicited, bold claim on my behalf affected me. That they did so made my other plans impossible; I could not dishonour such a gesture just to satisfy my own selfish pride. So together, Harry and I devised a possible plan to start up a new company, and in true Harry-fashion, he found a way to accomplish it.
Yesterday he brought me a plan that, with his personal monies, would allow me to either retain a controlling interest in Centaury, or allow me to start over with a new company. Of course, I immediately refused, but when he showed me the options, and he was most insistent, I began to see the possibilities. Provisionally I accepted, pending the outcome of this travesty they call a trial. I can deny him nothing it seems, but I will admit here that I am afraid that any such arrangement might be the end of 'us'.
And I very much want an 'us'. Harry keeping his word and offering me, quite literally, everything he owns, has changed my whole perspective of him. I'd not thought it possible to love him more than I already do, but his willingness to put it all on the line for me just makes it deeper and clearer to me.
Tomorrow will bring us to the next turning point. Benson reports the Wizengamot will be ready to reconvene tomorrow afternoon. I'm upset with him, though. Through one of Harry's contacts we learned he revealed to the Wizengamot the scope of the donations I've made to the STARS Foundation over the years, as well as the endowment. When I asked him about it today, he just laughed and reminded me I did hire him, by any means, to win. And while this is true, the endowment, in particular, was something personal between Harry and myself. I must admit, though, it was rather clever of him.
It was standing room only. Spectators with their colourful robes, reporters with their pads open and quills primed, lackeys lurking about the edges lest they be discovered by their superiors, all crowded Courtroom Nine. It was hot and the fans struggled to move the torpid air; the air crackled with the magic of cooling spells.
Sans chains, Severus sat in the chair in the centre, facing the empty seats of the Wizengamot itself, where Clarence Puddleby, a mild man and known to Severus from the Order, would preside. If one were to believe Benson, Puddleby's appointment as his Interrogator was Shacklebolt's nod to the proceedings and could be construed in Severus' favour. He reserved judgement, but he did have to admit, given the snarls and scowls directed his way by various Wizengamot members over the last weeks of testimony, Puddleby's calm and almost friendly demeanour had been most welcome.
He glanced to the left where some of his divisional masters sat. One-by-one, as they noticed his attention, they nodded in encouragement, and he returned their regard. As much a rule-breaker today as he'd ever been, Harry stood to his right, his hand resting casually on the back of the chair. He'd assumed this position from the first day of testimony and such was his influence, no one protested the most unusual arrangement.
Benson strode out of a lower door to the court's private chambers, his narrow face smiling. It didn't mean anything; Benson always smiled, but today, he bent over slightly as he took his place on Severus' left side and whispered, "Bit of a haggle, that, but--"
"All rise!"
The members, dressed in their sombre court robes, filed in and took their seats. As soon as they were all present, Puddleby banged a gavel on his lectern. The clerk called out, "The Wizengamot is now in session."
The clerk moved to stand before Puddleby, who handed him three pieces of parchment. He returned to his post, which stood to Severus' right, and began to read, "Severus Snape, you have been charged with war crimes as a Death Eater against the state during the time between 1980 and 1999. While this court recognises that all Death Eaters were pardoned in 2020, your change of name and status during that time exempts you from the pardon's grace. The punishment, if found guilty, is monetary reparation."
How odd. The 'punishment' when the court originally convened had been total forfeiture of all assets. Now it was 'monetary reparation'? What kind of games were they playing now? He shot a glance at Benson, whose gaze met his for a mere second before snapping back ahead of him.
The clerk changed papers in his hand. "By vote of thirty-five to fourteen, with one abstention, the Wizengamot finds you guilty as charged."
If it was nothing less than what he expected, and everything for which he'd prepared, why did it feel like a dark, gaping hole had just opened in front of him, ready to swallow him whole?
Harry groaned softly and placed his hand on Severus' shoulder. With a life of its own, the connection Severus had denied ever existed, flared to life between them. It didn't come with a fanfare, nor did it course through his veins like fire, but there was no mistaking the warm glow suffusing his whole being like the breaking of dawn on a clear morning. Even clearer was its message: although flawed and possibly broken, he was wanted, he was loved. His life had purpose, if only to love the man standing next to him. Straightening from the slight slump his shoulders had taken, he tuned back to the words of the clerk.
"--light of irrefutable evidence that certain reparations have already been made, you are hereby ordered by the court to continue payment of, in perpetuity, the annual sum of one million Galleons to the STARS Foundation, and to surrender an additional payment, in perpetuity, of one million Galleons per annum to the Ministry's Widows and Orphans Fund. In this manner, over the course of your lifetime, will the court consider you discharged of your debt to wizarding society."
Silence reigned for only a few heartbeats before shouts of victory and cries of foul clamoured for equal attention. Severus swore Puddleby winked at him before banging his gavel on the lectern. The crowd settled quickly.
"Mr Snape," Puddleby said reasonably, "if you will please come forward and sign the court agreement, we can all go home. It's been a very long and tedious weekend; I'm certain you will agree."
Numb, Severus limped to the front, his cane clicking loudly on the stone floor. A table with two knives, two inkpots, and two quills magically appeared. The clerk approached with the contract parchment, which he laid on the table. Eyeing the contents of the table first, Severus quickly read the terms and, near the bottom, he found where they'd hoped to catch him. He had to have a co-signer guarantee full payment, without benefit of taxes. If he didn't have someone willing to risk such a large sum over their lifetime, he would forfeit everything.
Standing by his side, Harry muttered, "Arseholes," and, without hesitation, he picked up one of the knives and pricked his finger. He let three drops fall into one of the inkwells, dipped a quill and scrawled his signature on the co-signer line before Severus could even utter a protest. "There, that'll fix the bastards," he whispered as he banished his inkpot, and stepped back to give Severus room.
His own actions were automatic in his preparation to sign, but as he held the quill over the parchment, he hesitated. If he signed this, he was tying his life to Harry's in perpetuity. Was this what he wanted? What if he failed? What if Harry grew tired of him? Could he ever be content with just a friendship between them, or was he damning himself to a lifetime of longing?
Harry's hand settled on the small of his back, and he whispered, "It will be all right."
The warm glow renewed, and Severus finally understood. It would be all right. His hand dropped to the parchment, and he boldly signed his full name. A yellow flash sealed his and Harry's signatures to the parchment, which triplicated into three sealed rolls. Two of them disappeared with a pop!, the third was plucked from the table by Benson, who tucked it under his arm. Banishing both the quills and the remaining inkpot, Severus bowed to Puddleby, turned on his heel, and strode away a free man. Harry kept pace by his side.
Once free of the courtroom, the reporters surrounded him, their questions a cacophony in the confined space. Benson pushed ahead to stand between them and the press. The flashbulbs nearly blinding, he held up a hand and loudly stated, "Gentlefolk, I have here a prepared statement for your use until such a time as Mr Snape is ready to give an interview." He eyed the irritated mass. "One interview only, so I suggest you not ruin your chances." He smiled broadly as they lined up like errant school children, each taking a copy and leaving. Soon the three of them were an island in a steady stream of people leaving the courtroom. "May I suggest we take our leave before we're run over?"
Severus agreed, and they walked down the narrow, dark hallway, pressed before and behind by the crowd eager to leave. He hated this place, the memories of his times here still vivid despite the passage of time. Harry's hand on his back became a lifeline to sanity as the images fled with his touch. They reached the stairs and began to climb. Severus noticed there was no one around them anymore, and he realised that Benson must have cast a nonverbal Proximity Charm, a tricky spell to cast with so many people around. Clever.
Benson chuckled. "You know, you could have co-signed your own contract."
Severus stared at him. "How so?"
"Remember, you're legally two people? Probably for the best, though. This way I don't have to establish a new precedent. Would have been a fun challenge, though."
Severus grunted but said nothing. Harry just laughed.
They reached the first landing at the ninth floor, the going slow as Severus carefully checked the placement of his foot on every worn tread, before taking it in a two-step manner. Taking a breather, Severus asked Benson, "How? How did you get him to capitulate?"
Benson mopped his forehead with a pink handkerchief. "Who? Our mutual friend?" When Severus nodded, Benson continued, "Oh, that was fairly simple once someone dug up the two aliases he used during the war. Legal aliases, mind you, so he could set up Muggle corporations in case he had to run. I believe he received an anonymous owl containing a copy of the proof. He's a bright boy, and I heard he used his considerable powers of persuasion to convince the others to go lightly. After all, it really was in his best interests to do so."
Not for the first time, Severus enjoyed what made this man so brilliant; it was a move worthy of a Slytherin. Severus smirked and raised his brow.
"No, sir, not telling," Benson said with a laugh. Holding his hand out, he said, "Shall we? There's a bunch of folks behind us wondering why they're not moving."
As they finally entered the atrium, Benson turned to them both. "I'll be seeing you soon, gentlemen; I have business upstairs. I have the contract and we'll check to make certain it was properly filed. In the meantime, we'll hold on to this copy in our vault, shall we?"
"That's acceptable," Severus replied.
Harry looked like he was going to embrace the man, but with an obvious effort limited himself to a heart-felt, "Thank you, Bernard, for everything."
Benson laughed and turned to go to the lifts. Over his shoulder he remarked, "You may not thank me when you get my bill."
Moving in amongst the crowd Severus noticed they were still isolated as though they walked in a bubble of security. "You cast the Proximity Charm?" he asked incredulously.
Harry shrugged. "I hate crowds; they make my skin crawl. I learned how to do them when the kids were little to keep them from being trampled if we took them out of the house." He nodded towards a group of people pointing at them and waving. "I'm not fond of adulating fans, either."
This Severus could well understand as he'd soon learned that almost any time out in public with Harry meant contact with people. If they went to a restaurant, Harry always reserved a private room, but to get there still meant running a gauntlet of well-wishers and sycophantic name-droppers, all of whom wanted some kind of contact with Harry. He drew them to him like a magnet, and although Severus knew how much the gushing sentiments, the photos, and the touching of his person irritated and distressed Harry, his very nature and charm would allow him to be nothing less than gracious. That they generally ignored him, proved to be a blessing.
However, he didn't think he would escape attention today, as there were more people pointing at him than Harry. He just wanted to get home without any fuss. They'd made it halfway across when Severus heard his name being called. The voices sounded familiar, so he turned to see his Masters rushing towards them from the stairs. He turned to Harry with a sigh. "As much as I would like to leave this place quickly, I really should talk to them."
Flicking his wand to end the isolation spell, Harry grinned and stepped aside.
"Gentlemen, thank you for attending; your support has been... very much appreciated."
"Oh, we couldn't allow you to face them alone, sir," a tall thin man declared.
A stocky man whose bald head towered over the group said sternly, "And we're very sorry the bastards even got one Knut, sir. You paid your dues years ago; they shouldn't be making you pay now as well."
Severus swallowed hard. "Well, it was not as egregious as it might have been, and we at least have a business to run." When they all nodded brightly, their smiles wide and happy, Severus added, "And speaking of which, I will be absent the next two days making the arrangements to fulfil my obligations, so I'm thinking..."
And so he outlined the next few days' business with them, a task which usually took very little time considering the quality of his masters. When all was agreed upon and they prepared to part, Severus drew Harry forward into the group.
"Harry, I'd like you to meet Master Belleamante, in charge of preparations..." The tall thin man immediately held out his hand for Harry to shake. "Master Rakain, our ingredients procurer..." The portly man wiped his hands on his robes before taking Harry's. "Brooke, our master brewer..." The jovial man grinned and waved. "Master Simon, in charge of our greenhouses..." The older man solemnly shook Harry's hand once and let go as if it burned him. Severus was surprised he'd done that much; he knew how much the man abhorred others touching him. "And, of course, you have already met Master Vartal, who makes certain our product arrives where it is supposed to." Tall and bald, he did not proffer a hand, and Harry nodded to him.
Thank Merlin that part was over, and there only remained the, "Gentlemen, this is my partner, Harry Potter." And he realised that was true beyond a recently signed piece of parchment.
Brooke grabbed Harry's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Oh, it is so good to finally meet you! I've seen you around the compound, and the commissary, of course, you and your beautiful firedrake, but I never wanted to intrude, so I just never got the--"
"Master Brooke?"
Startled, Brooke dropped Harry's hand with a sheepish smile. "Yes, sir?"
Severus' lips twitched. "You're babbling. Cease it at once."
Harry and the others hid their smiles; it was almost ritual by now with the overly-effusive master. If the man wasn't the best...
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Er, it won't happen..."
Severus raised his brow.
"Oh, bother," Brooke said, with a soft chuckle.
Addressing the group, Severus said, "Thank you all. I believe you have your assignments?"
They all nodded and set off quickly for the Floos. At a much slower pace, Severus and Harry followed. He noticed Harry had re-established the charm, and they walked unhindered through the thick crowds.
Nearing the far edge of the atrium, Harry tugged on Severus' sleeve and dragged him into the wizards' room, which was empty except for two closed stall doors. Harry pulled him into a stall, closed the full-height door, and cast a powerful silencing charm.
"Harry, what are you--?
Harry cupped Severus' face in his hands and covered his mouth in a possessive kiss.
"Mmmm. Been wanting this all day," Harry murmured, his tongue tracing Severus lips.
Well, actually, so had he, and he grabbed Harry at the waist and pushed him the few inches to the wall. Bodies pressed close together, the kiss deepened. Harry slid his hands under Severus' outer robes and cupped his arse. When his hips pushed into Severus', the friction wonderful, a toilet flushed next to them, startling them apart.
Chuckling, Harry nuzzled his neck. "I am so glad you won."
Severus pulled his head back. He stared at Harry's jubilant face, utterly confused. "Harry, I did not win."
"Sure you did."
"I distinctly heard a guilty verdict."
Harry looped his arms around Severus' neck. "Yes, that's true."
"And, if I recall, there was a punishment involved."
"Again, true, but you still won."
"Harry..."
"No, really," Harry said, giving him a chaste kiss. "See, the trial was never about your innocence or guilt; what you did during the war was well documented, and your role never came into question. Not one person levelled a clear accusation at you, only that one catchall, 'war-crimes', and if one argues semantics and takes your past actions literally, a guilty verdict against 'war-crimes' is almost a foregone conclusion. Benson had the right of it: this was a nothing more than an elaborate hostile take-over attempt."
He had a point. "Go on."
"They didn't get what they wanted: total or partial control over Centaury Potions. That means you won. Sure, you have to pay their 'reparations', but it's no more than what you have already established. And look at all you gained."
"Gained? Harry, I'll be paying, not gaining."
Harry grinned and Severus' insides melted. Softly, Harry replied, punctuating each point with a kiss. "You now know that your peers respect you and are willing to fight for you. You gained public approval." He pressed against him. "And we have each other. Looks to me like you won everything that really matters."
Severus laughed quietly. "Brat. You just want your kiss."
"Uh-huh," Harry murmured, his tongue running up Severus' neck.
Shivering, he gathered his wits, and said as sternly as possible, "I believe we agreed this would be in a non-public venue."
"We're not in public." Harry licked his jaw.
"We're at the Ministry... oh, Merlin." Harry tongued his ear. Trembling with need, he gasped, "It doesn't get... more public than that."
Harry thrust his hips against him. Severus pushed back and, oh, how fine that felt.
"No, it's not, the door's closed. It's just us."
Another toilet flushed. "Harry..." and if his voice had a tinge of desperation in it, so did the rest of him as every inch of skin begged him to take Harry right there. What was the matter with him? With an effort he managed to get a hand between him and that wicked tongue. "No, not here."
Harry pulled back, his eyes glazed. "No?"
"No," he stated firmly. "If I recall, there's a four-poster with our name on it, waiting for us at home. If given the choice between quick wall-sex in a public loo, versus a long, leisurely fuck in our downy bed, I believe the bed wins hands-down."
Harry stilled, and his eyes grew large. "Really?"
"You are my partner, are you not?" he asked softly, taking Harry's lips with his own.
"Oh, yeah," Harry breathed, and the kiss this time was long and sweet, a perfect meshing of their mouths. With a little lick and nip to Severus' lower lip, Harry pulled back, his hands smoothing the front of Severus' robes. "Let's go home," he said softly.
He stepped out of the Floo right into Harry's arms. "Vee're all alone now," Harry murmured, "Vhat to do? Vhat to do?" The firedrakes flying at them gave a concerted squawk and detoured up into the rafters overhead.
Severus turned his attention back to Harry. "Well, you could start by giving me that kiss you keep promising me," he muttered, taking Harry's lips with his own.
A hoot sounded from above followed by a firedrake laugh. Smiling, Harry pulled back and chuckled. "Uh-uh. Not right now."
Harry's neck tasted salty as he chased his mouth up the stretched column. "Why not?" he asked eagerly.
"Because I have to start it, not you, and I want to get us comfortable--" the firedrakes chittered merrily "--where we won't be interrupted. Like bed."
"Bed sounds good." His stomach rumbled. "Ignore it," he said sternly. "It doesn't know what it wants. I, on the other hand..."
Harry's belly answered it.
"Perhaps not, but mine's fairly certain it wants to eat." He kissed Severus briefly. "Fuel, Severus. We need fuel."
Grumbling, Severus reluctantly agreed, and they moved into the kitchen, their arms around one another.
"There, you brat. Everything's ready for you," Severus declared, brandishing the chef's knife. He took it to the sink along with the board and started washing them by hand in the waiting soapy water. When done, he cast them dry and sent them off to their respective cupboards.
"Thanks. Love to cook, hate the clean-up," Harry said, his spoon stirring a thick white sauce. He took the bowl of cheese Severus had grated and dropped a few handfuls into the sauce.
"Light on the cheese, please," Severus commented. "Too much gives me heartburn."
"Really? Why didn't you say something before?" Harry asked, setting the bowl aside.
Severus could feel his cheeks warm.
Harry smiled. "Ah, all right. More of that strong silent stuff, eh?" He tapped the spoon on the side of the pot and set both aside. "The kids like it extra cheesy, and I don't have a preference, so speak up next time, all right?"
"Well, there are potions to take care of the problem."
"Yeah, and they taste so awful, they ruin the wonderful aftertaste we cooks slave to imbue in our food."
He had a point. While Harry stirred the pasta and mussels in their respective steaming pots, Severus stood behind him and wrapped his arms around him, pressing his body close. He enjoyed feeling the little movements Harry made as he cooked; not only did it rub all the right places, but there was something sensual in the act of working itself.
"Hmm," Harry hummed, "That's nice." He turned his head and took a brief kiss before going back to their meal. "Would you be a love and get the bread out of the oven?" he asked, wiggling his arse against him.
"Tease," Severus said, but with a caress to Harry's arse, he moved away to the oven on the far wall. Opening the door, he got a face-full of hot air redolent of buttery garlic. "I can see we're going to lose your wonderful aftertaste this evening," he commented dryly, "if you want to kiss me, that is."
"Yeah, I didn't think of that when I planned the meal." He pointed at the pot. "Fish, too."
"No matter. We'll enjoy it long enough to properly savour it. Besides, it will give us a chance to test the new mouth freshening brew Brooke's come up with. It doesn't leave any taste in the mouth, which is good; I can't abide the minty ones."
"Brooke... he's the talkative one?"
"Yes," Severus answered on a sigh. "One of the best brewers I've ever met, or I'd throw him out on his ear for all his chatter."
"Seems like a nice bloke, though. A bit enthusiastic."
"Yes, he is that," Severus said, setting the table. "Chloë! Come light the candles!"
Harry turned around and surveyed the table. Severus had laid out two place-settings, and of course, the firedrake's bowls, but all around the table, hanging in the air was dozens of candles. "Oh, very nice," Harry enthused, turning back to the cooker.
Chloë flew in, Norbert right behind her. Gliding and darting, the two drakes flamed the candles until the whole room glowed. Watching the difficulty they had keeping them alight as the wind from their wings blew them out, Severus supposed he could have just spelled them, but given how much fun they were having, he was glad he hadn't. He glanced to the side and saw Harry watching them, his eyes crinkling as he laughed. Their gazes met and held, and Severus shivered with look of love in Harry's eyes.
Harry carried the pasta pot to the sink and drained it. After tossing the pasta in the sauce he carried it to the table while Severus arranged the mussels on a plate. Severus took off the smock he used in the kitchen and smoothed the dress robes he'd worn to court. While Harry hung his apron on the hook next to his, Severus poured the wine, a light Chardonnay he'd picked up on a trip to Australia. As they sat down, the firedrakes settled on the table and they all began to eat.
Merlin, Harry could cook. The sauce was light, the pasta perfect, the mussels tender and not too fishy. Watching Harry suck the mussels out of the shell bordered on obscene, though, the way his tongue snaked out and his lips pulled on the shell. Finally Severus couldn't take it anymore. "Are you planning to eat your food, or are you going to fuck it?" he asked sugar-sweet.
"Now there's an idea. Maybe we should take some sweet things with us to bed for afters." He licked his lips. "Ah, yes, crème de Severus. An epicurean delight."
Severus snickered. "You don't need any extra ingredients if all you want is crème."
"Or perhaps honey? I could dribble a ribbon of it anywhere you like, and then lap it up. You could be my very own Severus lolly."
"It's already in the lube."
"You put honey in the lube?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.
"Honey and the essence of clover. Don't tell me you hadn't noticed?"
"No, but it gives me loads of ideas..."
It gave his cock plenty of ideas, too.
Nostrils flaring, Norbert chirruped at Chloë and they looked at their respective masters. Flipping their empty bowls upside down, they chittered and flew out of the room. Severus would have sworn they were laughing. Harry chuckled softly, but said nothing.
They savoured the rest of the meal, finishing it off with a tiramisu Dinky had brought from the commissary at his request. A light Muscato d'Oro he'd discovered when visiting the States polished it off nicely, especially when consumed in front of the fire in their bedroom. Setting the glass aside, he decided to taste it again and pulled Harry towards him. "Thank you," he whispered before taking the kiss he'd been yearning for all day. Harry's mouth tasted rich from the sweet wine, his tongue lapping against his own. Pushing against him a bit more, yet never letting go of those lush lips, they fell back on the sofa, Severus covering him.
"I'm not too heavy, am I?" he asked quietly.
"Have you ever been?" Harry answered breathlessly, his hips pushing up. Severus ground down, the familiar pleasure shooting up his spine. He wanted more but he didn't know how to ask for it.
Harry spared him having to try. Wiggling underneath him, he broke from their kiss, panting. "Take a bath with me?" he asked, his eyes searching Severus' face. "I want to wash the court's stink off us before we get... cosy."
Severus thought about it. "A bath would be good," he said hesitantly.
Harry smiled and worked his way out from underneath him. Standing, he held out his hand and helped Severus up. Embarrassed, Severus turned away, but Harry caught his arm before he could step away. "Your cane?" he said quietly, holding it out.
His cheeks warming further, Severus took it from him with a nod of thanks. They went into the bathroom together. While Harry got the bath running, Severus began to undress, a prospect that could take some time as he tried to balance without his cane. By the time he got the outer robe off and thrown on a nearby hook, Harry was down to his smalls. He walked over to him and began to work the clasps on his underrobe. Severus felt foolish, but Harry stopped his comment with his hand on his mouth. "It's all right. I like undressing you," he said, waggling his brows.
"Fine, but the next time I get to undress you," he growled, holding onto Harry's shoulder for balance.
Harry's hands smoothed over Severus' skin when he had the robe unfastened. He eased it down Severus' shoulders and off, hanging it over the other robe. Taking his hand, Harry led him to the sunken tub and helped him over the wide lip to the stair going down into the swirling water. Once in, the water reached his waist and he could move freer than he could on land. Half-swimming to the side, he sat on the ledge running the length of the bath. Harry floated over to him and faced him, his hands running over Severus' slippery skin.
There was something so sensual, yet not terribly arousing, about soaping each other up and washing with hands and flannels. Every crack and crevice was explored and cleaned with long languid kisses in between. Severus felt as if he worshipped at the alter of Harry's body, his skin soft and slick and a joy to touch. When Harry paid homage to him, his skin stippled with pleasure. Harry's hands exploring and washing his hips made him stiffen, and not in the manner he preferred.
Harry stopped his stroking. "Everything all right?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.
Severus hesitated; he hated that he was less perfect than Harry. "Just be careful of the brace. It can stretch and loosen in water."
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that. I'll take care." Harry set the flannel to floating and gently used his hands to finish washing the area. "Better?" he asked, sliding his hands around Severus' waist.
He nodded and let Harry kiss him, his tongue exploring and playing with his own. Severus broke away, his breathing hard, as were other parts of his body. "Slow, we need to slow down a bit." Merlin, he really didn't want to admit this but, "Unless you want to finish this quickly, that is. Unfortunately, this old body only gets one shot per night, I'm afraid."
Harry kissed him and smiled. "Not so old, and mine's no better. And no, I want this to last a while."
Severus nuzzled his throat. "Good. So do I."
They made one final rinse, Harry taking care with his brace, and then he helped him out of the tub. Each time he lent his aid, he did it with such seriousness and dignity, Severus began to relax. Perhaps having Harry help him wasn't such a bad thing after all.
They dried each other off, Severus casting a drying spell over the brace; at least one couldn't see the horrific scarring underneath with it in place. Harry ran his hands gently over it. "It's as soft and supple as your skin, yet you say it helps support the joint?"
Strange that they'd never discussed it before, and yet, they'd never bathed together before, either. "Yes. It's made of faerie fibre, a type of webbing made from their nests. It holds magic extremely well and, when moulded to the skin, will stay there as long as it's not dislodged. The spells are woven into the fibre. In my case, they are charms for stability and movement within the joint. I don't have a great range of motion, but it's far better than the none I had before."
Harry handed him his cane and, clad only in towelling robes, they walked to the bedroom.
As Severus crawled on top of the bed, Harry ran his hands over his arse, making appreciative noises. He laid down and held out his arms. Harry joined him and they wrapped around each other, legs scissored as much as his hip would allow.
"Comfortable?" Harry asked.
"Very," he replied, running his hands down Harry's flank. "Do I get my kiss now?"
Harry smiled slyly. "Maybe," he said, his mouth covering Severus'. Their tongues tangled while hands roamed. The fire starting in his groin spread, making his skin tingle and, oh, so sensitive. Harry moved his mouth to place wet kisses along his neck. "And maybe not," he teased, his eyes dancing with mischief.
Further down Harry travelled, his body shifting and rubbing as he went. He licked along Severus' upper chest and down, his tongue tracing circles around his nipples. This was familiar territory and Severus tensed with pleasure under Harry's sure mouth. He ran his teeth along Severus' ribs; it tickled as much as it singed.
Harry's tongue lapped all along his soft belly, one of his most sensitive places. Each swipe of his tongue pulled Severus' senses with it; he could come from this alone. As the tugging within his groin became an urgent need to spill, the tongue slid over his navel, his balls tightened, and then the sensation disappeared with the sound of a soft, "Damn."
Oh, he was going to die if he didn't come soon. "Brat, finish it!"
"Nope," Harry breathed on his sensitive skin. His cock twitched. "Your belly button got in the way and I lost contact."
"Tease."
"Yep, but you love it."
He did. He really did.
Harry's mouth travelled lower. Special attention was paid to the insides of his thighs until he thought he would go mad with it. He tugged on Harry's hair, moving him up, but he got stuck at Severus' prick. Lapping up the back with the broad side of his tongue, he wiggled the tip against the sweet spot on the back. His hand rolling Severus' balls, he took just the tip into his mouth, his tongue licking the top. He then kissed his way down the shaft, his mouth open and sucking.
Severus shuddered with the sensations running through his groin. "I don't know how you can stand my grey dick," he gasped, his question half-serious.
Harry buried his nose in Severus' pubic hair and inhaled. Looking up, he grinned. "Nah, it's more like salt and pepper, the basic spices of life."
Severus rolled his eyes and snorted. Laughing, Harry kissed his way back up his body. When he lay atop him, he said with a kiss to Severus' nose, "It's true, you know, and I have my fair share of salt 'n' pepper, too."
"Ah, but you have more pepper than I," he replied with a smirk. He ran his hands down Harry's back, the skin as smooth as satin. Harry squirmed under his touch, his, "Feels good," always a reason to do it some more. They kissed, a slow slide of lips and tongues. He widened his legs as much as he could and felt Harry slipping between them, their bits rubbing together pleasantly. This he knew, the familiar slide of their bodies, how much pressure he could exert, how much he needed to move to make his lover cry out in completion. Yes, they could continue this way and it would be pleasurable for them both.
But he wanted more. Harry had always held something back, had never pushed even though Severus had known he wanted more, and today he'd finally realised that Harry had been waiting for him to decide how far to take it. Well, now he knew; he wanted it all. He wanted Harry in his bed, in his home, in his life. For life.
He slowed their urgent kisses, almost ashamed he'd missed a moment of them in his thoughts, but there were things he needed to say. Harry raised his head, his expression questioning. Severus cleared his throat. "Earlier today, when I signed the parchment, I realised it... signing it would... join us together. I meant what I said about you being my partner, not only in this affair, but for... well, for life as well. Assuming you're interested, of course."
Harry's hand trailed down his face, his eyes shining. "Yes, I'm very interested."
Severus kissed him. "I do love you," he said quietly. "What do I have to do to make you mine?"
Harry buried his face in Severus' shoulder. His mouth ghosted up his neck, making his whole body shiver in response. When his mouth reached his ear, it whispered, "Make love to me?"
Oh, yes, he would do that. He was about to ask how, which one, when Harry said shyly, "If you don't mind, can we...? Well, that is to say..." He took a deep steadying breath. "Assuming you don't mind, I would very much like it the way we did it before. It's all kind of a blur, really, but..."
Severus replied with some embarrassment, "I have done this before, if you'll recall... I just don't remember too many of the specifics."
Harry chuckled. "I know exactly what you mean, but I don't think there's any right or wrong way to do this, you know."
"No, I don't, but I suspect you're about to find out how true that is."
They both broke into laughter. "How do you want me?" Harry asked, sitting up.
"I don't know. How do you want you?"
Harry blushed and Severus got an odd feeling from it. Cupping Harry's face with his hands, he asked quietly, "Harry?"
"Um, I've only done this with you."
Severus went still inside. He'd been Harry's first? "But I thought..."
"I dated other men, but I never..." He shrugged. "I always thought making love was something special, not something to toss about casually. I never had more than a first date with any of them."
"I see," Severus mused. "Yes, I see." And he did, and for some strange reason, the thought that he alone would have Harry made it all the more exciting. "Come here," he said softly, pulling Harry back into the bed with him. As their lips met he didn't think he'd ever tasted anything sweeter. Leaning over him, he deepened their kiss and Harry moved closer to him, their arms wrapped tight around each other. His heart raced as Harry responded, his leg sliding between his own. With the pressure from Harry's leg, a small pain started building in his hip. Surfacing from their kiss, he knew from prior experience that if he didn't move soon, it would build into a debilitating cramp.
Harry must have sensed it as well, for he pulled away, panting. He moved his leg and gently rubbed over the sore spot. "Hip?" he asked.
"Yes, damn it," he growled.
Harry looked deep in thought for a moment before he asked, "How about this?" He turned on his side, facing away from him and raised his upper leg until it almost touched his chest. "Will this work?" Scooting behind him, Severus pressed himself against Harry's arse. He rubbed lightly, and Harry groaned. "Suits me to a 'T'," he muttered.
Severus laughed softly. "This will be just fine." He twisted and reached into the bedside table. Feeling around, he retrieved the pot of lube he and Harry always used. His hands fumbling with the lid, Severus scooped a bit of the cool ointment onto his fingers and worked his hand down, trying not to smear any on the sheets; he wasn't completely successful and his thigh would just have to get used to the wet spot. He found Harry's cleft and ran one finger down the crack, finally finding his opening where he hadn't expected it. As he placed some of the lube around it, Harry wiggled a bit with a ragged, "Cold."
He kissed Harry's neck in apology and pushed against the puckered opening. His finger breached him easily, and he moved it around, as much fascinated by its smooth texture as he was by the heat. As he passed a spot two knuckles in, Harry gasped and arched his back a bit. "Like that do you?" he whispered.
"Yes, feels good. Don't stop."
But he had to. He went back to the jar. Two fingers made Harry moan, a good sound if he'd ever heard one. He worked them in and out, trying to find that magic spot Harry seemed to like so much. He remembered this part, and as he came back with more lubricant, he found three fingers made Harry squirm, his body pushing back with little cries of, "Yes," and "More," and "Don't stop." He didn't know how loose was loose, but he knew that if he didn't get there soon, he'd spill all over himself. His last trip to the jar left his dripping cock glistening, the slickness moving along his foreskin, almost making him come. He pulled down on his balls, and the urgency faded.
Shifting closer to the warm body before him, he smoothed his hands down Harry's back, gentling the lingering tenseness in his shoulders and spine. He kissed him on his nape and whispered, "We don't have to do this, you know. If you're not ready..."
Harry settled his arse against him firmly. "I want to. I want you. I want to feel full again, love. I want to feel you inside me again. Please."
How could he say no when his body said yes and Harry begged so prettily? He shifted down in the bed a bit until he could feel where he was going and spread Harry's cheeks. With a slow, but hard push, he passed the tight ring, the head slipping in easier than he remembered. With small, gentle thrusts, he gauged the pressure he exerted by the way Harry breathed. Or didn't. Inch by inch he sank into Harry, and, oh, gods, it was so tight and hot, and so right. Inch by inch he felt Harry relax, his body more supple under his hands. Inch by inch Harry bore down, until inch by inch he was fully seated, his full length inside his lover. He stilled, adjusting to the pulsing around him, the pressure so tight around the base of his cock it almost hurt. Harry pushed against him and the tightness eased, and he could breathe again.
"You all right?" he asked softly, his hand resting on Harry's hip.
"Yeah, it's fine now," Harry replied, pushing back against him.
Moving in this position was easy, and he established a steady rocking, adjusting the angle of his body until he heard Harry gasp, "Oh, yeah. That's it. Right there." Severus tightened his grip on Harry's hip and let his body take over. Shallow thrusts soon became longer, and Harry moved with him, both of them pushing and pulling in a rhythm as old as time. Sweat broke out over his back, and he could feel the sharpness of Harry's breathing through his chest as he encouraged him with pleas of "More," and "Faster," and "Harder."
A warm glow spread between them, in them, through them as they climbed closer to their climax. Severus slid his hand along Harry's hip until he grasped Harry's rigid shaft. Harry's hand joined his and together they stroked, the timing with his steady thrusting perfect. Harry arched his back, his mouth open, his breath catching as he threw his head back on his shoulder. "Oh, gods! Yes, I'm... I'm... Oh! Sev'rus!" Harry spilled over his hand, he could feel the blood pulsing in Harry's cock as he stroked, slower, gentler, milking every ounce of pleasure out of Harry's orgasm. His own body tensed, his thrusts becoming uneven, ragged, as he reached his own peak. With one final thrust, he pushed hard against Harry and hung suspended forever before tipping over the edge, pumping his own joy into his lover. Small thrusts brought him down through the aftershocks until, spent, he leant limply against Harry's back.
"Oh, I'm going to feel this in the morning," Severus groaned.
Harry raised his head and grinned. "You? I'll need cushioning charms for a week!" The smile faded. "But it was worth it."
With as much care as possible, Severus pulled out, wincing at Harry's hiss of discomfort. "Sorry, I think there's still a few things I need to learn.
Harry turned in his arms. "It's all right," and there were kisses, more the soft pressings of lips and tongues against one another than anything passionate and grand. Kisses saying so many things words could never convey. Bit by bit, Harry slid down until his head rested on Severus' shoulder. He threw a leg over Severus' good one, the position familiar as was the spoken, "That's not too heavy, is it?
And as always, he replied, "It's perfect."
But this time there was something different as Harry kissed his chest and whispered, "I love you."
Severus tightened his hold and kissed Harry on the temple. The warm glow had never left them this time and it burned brighter as Severus replied quietly, "I know, and I love you," hoping that saying it wouldn't someday rob it of its meaning. He ignored the small sniffle coming somewhere from around his chest, his hand stroking Harry's hair soothingly.
Much later, Severus woke from a twilight slumber. "As much as I hate to move," Severus said with a grunt, "I have to use the loo."
"Such a romantic," Harry groused sleepily, but he pulled away and they began the business of untangling their limbs. Harry helped him up and handed him his cane. "You first. I'll just straighten the bed while you're gone." There was a sad quality to Harry's voice that made him pause, but when Harry said nothing but grabbed the sheets, Severus limped to the loo. On his return, Harry wordlessly passed him, his face pointedly looking at the floor. Alarmed, Severus climbed into the bed and waited for his return. Had he done something wrong? Had he misread Harry after all? Had he been utterly horrible at it? He hadn't thought so, not judging from Harry's reaction, but what did he know? By the time Harry returned and laid beside him, Severus was wound as tight as a spring.
Bodies entwining, Harry sighed pensively.
Well, he'd be damned if the first time they'd made love would be their last. Gently, he asked, "What's wrong?"
His tone clipped, Harry replied, "Nothing."
Severus sighed. "It's not nothing if it bothers you."
"All right, it's not nothing, but I don't want to bring her into our bed."
Relief flooded him; so Harry had some old baggage he needed to discard. He could work with this. "If you say it, you won't think it anymore."
Harry was silent for a long moment. "It's silly really, but I was just thinking how different it is now. When we'd get done... having sex, Ginny would be out the bed on her way to the loo as soon as I was done, always complaining about the mess I made. It was really mortifying, you know?"
Ah, so it was the loo that had caused all this. Well, he couldn't help his body's urges. "Good thing I'm not her, then. Of course sex is messy; there's bodily fluids and squashy bits involved. Hadn't she ever heard of a cleaning spell?"
Harry lifted his face to him; it had to be kissed. "I never thought of that before," he murmured.
"No, you were probably too busy wondering what you'd done wrong," Severus said good-naturedly, knowing the feeling. He stroked his hand through Harry's hair, pleased with the sighs of pleasure it elicited. "You always were such a martyr," he teased, glad to hear Harry's low chuckle. "Your penchant to please everyone, except perhaps yourself, was one of your most annoying traits.
"Only one of them?"
"Amongst many, I assure you." He kissed him on the temple. "Add to that your silly need to save people and you have the perfect setting for someone to take gross advantage of you."
"And you don't?" Harry asked lightly.
Severus could feel Harry's smile against his chest, the sensation of which he never tired. "Of course, I do. I am Slytherin, if you'll recall." He smiled and pulled Harry closer. "However, you know I do it, and it is your choice to let me get away with it."
Harry yawned. "I s'pose that makes all the difference in the world." He snuggled in. "You're right," he slurred, "I do feel better about it." Soon his breathing eased into sleep, and Severus held him as if he'd never let him go.
He didn't know where this was going to lead, but he sure as hell was going to follow it. As sleep overtook him, an image of Harry lost in his pleasure flitted across his mind. No, there was no reason at all why the brat should have all the fun.
"You're absolutely right," Harry murmured sleepily, and Severus smiled in the dark.
And they dreamed together.
"Are you certain it's today?" Harry asked, settling back against the couch.
Severus tightened his arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him a bit closer. "As certain as I can be. Camry was very clear as to the timing and Charlie concurred: tonight's the second year since the eggs were clutched, so tonight's the night of their mating."
Harry stretched his legs, his feet to the fire. "Funny, even though Charlie told me Norbert and his mate were destined for each in the shell, I thought the 'mating' part took place the first time they flew together, but who knew it really happened hours before they hatched." He took a sip of his Talisker. "I wonder how Albus obtained a matched pair."
"They can be bought, but the price is exorbitant. However, I'd wager Albus blackmailed someone to get them."
"Probably. He had a talent that way, didn't he?"
"Indeed."
Severus cast the non-verbal spell controlling his second and newest brace, and his body easily shifted the few inches he needed to reach the fireplace.
Harry nodded at Norbert and Chloë, sitting taut on the hearth with an air of expectancy. "And they'll tell us when we need--?"
He stopped as both drakes suddenly darted into the fire, each rolling an egg out onto a sheet of dragonhide waiting on the hearth. Standing side-by-side, their tails twined, they waited. Severus and Harry leaned forward, eyes intent on the eggs. The change came so fast, Severus almost missed it in a blink. A brief, soft flash of sparkling white enveloped both eggs, followed by a joyous tickle of magic, and the green egg disappeared to be replaced by a sky blue egg.
Releasing a huge sigh, Harry grinned. "Wow. So they're mated now?"
Severus nodded. "So it would appear. These two are now paired." He used his bracing spell again to move from his sitting position to his knees, where he sat back on his heels. Ah, the blessings of movement.
Marking the egg on his side with a runic, 'NC 2', Severus set his wand aside, noting that Harry had already completed his 'NC 1'. Chloë nudged his hand, a corner of dragonhide in her mouth. Taking it from her, his hands began to fold the egg in the complicated pattern he'd memorised just yesterday. He'd just got the hang of it when Harry remarked, "I see the new spell seems to be holding. Any problems?"
He made the turn in the hide before replying, "It still has a tendency to over-compensate and pitch me forward a bit when I stand from the floor, but other than that, this version is very stable."
"Good. I'll see what I can do to adjust it," Harry said, his hands fumbling with the intricate folds.
"Or I could just learn to compensate for it," Severus replied, amused. If Harry fiddled with the spells anymore, he might need flying lessons.
"Nah, I want it to be perfect."
Severus touched him with a gaze that tried to say, 'You already are,' his large hands wrapping the dragonhide protectively around the egg on his side of the hearth. Judging from the way Harry's face lit up, he could only assume he'd been successful.
"I wonder where the green egg went?" Harry mused.
"To whom it was destined," Severus replied quietly.
They worked in silence, wrapping the still-hot eggs in the layers of protective hide. "Think Ginny will appreciate this?" Harry asked with hope in his voice.
"Probably not, but it will help her. Although I daresay Neville will certainly be needing it by now, especially considering he made her stay home so close to her confinement." Severus chuckled wickedly. "Would have liked to have been a fly on the wall when she found out she was pregnant." He waited a beat, and added, "And when these two mate in twenty-three years, maybe she can have another litter then as well."
"Severus, behave!"
"Where's the fun in that?" he replied, relishing the wicked gleam in Harry's eyes. He called to Loopy and Garou, their postal owls, and gave them clear instructions about the packages. They silently watched the owls fly away until swallowed by the moon.
Severus adjusted the spell and, aided by the tips of his fingers, his body half-shifted, half-floated back to his original position of sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, his arm outstretched across the seat.
Watching him closely, Harry nodded. "Much better," he murmured, as he hauled his own body around to nestle close to Severus'. Once Harry settled in the crook of Severus' arm, Norbert and Chloë waddled over and climbed into their laps and flopped down, draping over each other.
Sighing contentedly, Harry snuggled in. "This is ever so much better than the Ministry's party."
"There's no comparison," Severus replied dryly, "although I thought you were supposed to meet Chilton there."
"When Camry contacted us yesterday, I called Barry. The incorporation approval came through this morning, and he's going to owl me the papers I need to sign."
"Ah, so 'Potterings' will soon be official?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, his voice excited, "and at the end of the month, when they get back from their honeymoon, Rae and Paul will take over the Foundation, and I can officially retire." He chuckled. "Think you can stand having me underfoot all day?"
"Only if I don't trip over you," Severus quipped, kissing his temple. "I'm so proud for you. The new brace is a brilliant piece of charm work."
Harry's hand squeezed his thigh; from the faerie fibre encasing it, a tingle of magic followed his movement. "Perhaps, but half of it was my mother's work. I just adapted a spell I found in her journal and applied it differently," he replied diffidently.
"Stop denigrating your intelligence. It's not becoming," Severus admonished, rehashing an old argument. "Every new idea and inspiration is built on old ones. That you got this one from Lily is pure happenstance. The next one, and the one after, and so on will all come from different sources. It's the adaptation and application that matters."
Harry nodded and reached to the side and lifted the decanter, filling his and Severus' tumblers with another measure of the Talisker. Raising them aloft, they clinked them together in a silent toast and sipped the spicy liquor.
Severus stared at the fire, his free hand absently petting a purring Norbert. "Speaking of Lily, what did Teddy say when you talked to him this morning?"
Harry smiled. "He says he's waiting until she leaves Hogwarts in another year to officially ask me to court her, but that other than kissing, he's not touched her."
"And you believe him?"
"Yeah, he seems pretty serious about it, although, for some reason, he thought I'd object to their age difference."
Severus snorted. "I suspect he can expect some leniency there." He sipped the Talisker, savouring the sharp sting down his throat. "Does Ginny know?"
Harry laughed. "No, and I'm not telling her until after her drake hatches."
"Smart man." Severus eyed the clock on the mantel. "They should be getting their packages soon. The owls will be tired when they return."
"Probably won't be back tonight, though. They usually rest a day at Ginny's before flying back." He shifted until he leant against Severus, earning him a sleepy cheep of protest from Chloë. "Oh, I forgot to tell you I got an owl from Al."
Severus was pleased to hear it. Of all Harry's children, Albus was the one he understood the best, and he didn't think it was entirely because of his name. "Where is he now?"
"He and Scorpius arrived in Paris and are staying with Bill and Fleur for a few days. I think they're making their way east across Europe."
"Any idea when they'll be back?"
"Nope, although he did say they want to travel a bit more before starting university." Harry seemed upset, the reason clear when he added, "Al says James and Theresa will be joining them on Saturday... tomorrow, that is."
Severus turned to look at him. "I thought James had started a new job."
"Yeah, so did I. Evidently, he quit." He picked a pleat in his robe. "I swear, that boy's never going to learn to control that mouth of his," Harry said with exasperation.
"Is that why Norbert slapped him last week at the train station? You never did say."
Harry looked away. "Something like that," he muttered, clearly not wanting to explain further.
"It's all right; I know it was probably about me. There are certain known constants in the universe: Ginny's a shrew, Molly nags, both Neville and Arthur are addlepated and have the patience of saints, and James really dislikes his 'step-partner'."
"Step-monster, this time," Harry murmured, chuckling.
Severus laughed. "That's at least clever."
"It's disrespectful!" Harry said with indignation. "I don't know what I can do to help him."
Severus rubbed Harry's shoulder where his hand rested. "Harry, we've talked about this. James will be fine. He's just a very angry young man, most of it directed at his parents; I think I know something about that. You've done everything you can. Ginny doesn't know how and never has. It must be very difficult to both dearly love and deeply resent your oldest child. Having a firedrake will give Ginny back her sense of self and change her perspective, which is the only reason I suggested gifting them to her and Neville in the first place. As soon as Ginny bonds with her firedrake and settles down, I think she will find the way to work it out between her and James. They need to make peace first, or James will never lose the anger."
"You're amazing," Harry said, kissing him softly. Severus wanted more, but the yawn he swallowed put an end to that notion.
"Actually, I'm tired," he said with a smile, tracing his fingers down Harry's cheek, conveying his own wonder and thanks.
Harry stood with a groan and waited, watching Severus closely as he used a different charm, this one providing a soft levitation when his arms and legs pushed off. Once aloft, he had to manoeuvre his limbs into the proper position for standing as it lifted him. It did take a while to learn, but he had just about everything perfect except this last bit--the landing. The last little push from the spell was just a tad too strong and, as he became fully upright, it tilted him a bit too far forward, and he stumbled a step.
Harry caught him easily, though, and pulled him into his arms. "I see what you mean." His face thoughtful, he speculated, "I think I can fix it. Give me a couple of days on it."
Severus stole a brief kiss. "Take your time. It's not dangerous, and I've yet to fall." And he'd need time for those flying lessons.
Harry, though, wasn't listening, his attention wholly on making Severus mad with a kiss fit to curl his toes. Merlin, he loved Harry's mouth, his last thought before Harry's tongue stroking his own stole his reason.
Sometime later, they broke for air, their mouths reluctant to part as they shared little nips and licks with each other. Pulling back enough to see Harry's flushed face, he asked, "When am I going to get my pay-off?"
"What pay-off?"
"You know perfectly well..." Severus sighed. "I'm never going to get that kiss am I?"
"What, you don't like my kisses?" Harry teased.
Severus shook his head. "I never thought you'd renege on our deal."
Harry grinned. "Nah, you'll get it some day; I just want it to be perfect."
Glancing at Harry out of the corner of his eye, Severus murmured, "Perfect, eh?" He chuckled. "I may not survive."
"Sure you will. In the meantime, we can always practice."
"Makes perfect?"
"Uh-huh, my thought exactly."
"You think? Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything."
"Git."
"Brat."
They set off for bed, arms around one another, and were soon joined by Norbert and Chloë, who settled on their touching shoulders, their tails twined down the lovers' backs.
"Ever think about getting married?" Harry asked.
"Maybe."
"Want to?"
"Hmmm. I'll take it under advisement."
"All right, you do that."
And if there ever was a pinnacle of draconic triumph, it would have been when Norbert and Chloë rolled their eyes at each other behind Harry and Severus' backs, touched noses, and with a joyful chittering, smacked their masters up-side the head with their wings.
THE END
Don't forget to close this window to go back to vote and review!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Severus Snape and other Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling, her lawyers, handlers, editors, personal umbrella carrier, pedicurist, and those guys in the suits from the WB. The Snarry Games and its participants want nothing to do with that lot or their money. Okay, we'd take their money, but they aren't offering. Web space doesn't come for free, ya know?