Title: Sadness of Eros
Author: loupgarou1750
Team: Dragon
Genre(s): Angst
Prompt(s): Infidelity, Reckoning
Rating: NC-17
Warning/Kinks: *Public sex. Het sex. Violence.*
Word Count: 63,000 +/-
Summary: The open palm of desire wants everything*, or Harry cheats. Canon-compliant incl. Epilogue. (* Paul Simon — Further to Fly)
A/N: Thanks to auctasinistra, joanwilder, and perfica. The most amazing betas and the best people evah to have at one's back. Without them, I would be nothing, my fic might very well be gibberish, and "heel" would consistently be spelled h-e-a-l. And many thanks to centaury_squill and gingertart50 for Britpicking; they never got to go through the whole fic, so any errors in usage are entirely down to me.

Sadness of Eros

1

The muted, thumping bass-line of a popular dance tune filtered through the walls; it was getting late and the club would soon be full, with crowds of men spilling out onto the pavement in front and the alley at the back, making it difficult to leave unseen. Harry straightened up, flexing slightly to get a kink out of his back. A familiar wave of guilt washed over him even as his tongue made a circuit of his mouth, seeking out the last traces of semen. Last time, he told himself. Last time. I can't keep doing this. I won't.

Sighing, he fumbled in his pocket for the vial and drained the remainder. He was always careful about this. Never once had he forgotten. Half the potion before and half after. He didn't like the way its taste masked everything, nor the way it made his lips and tongue slightly numb. Just once he'd like to try this without the potion's slightly distancing sensation, but he couldn't put Ginny at risk. Not for this. And it didn't matter anyway, because today was the last time. The last time.

Harry waited through the sounds of a zip being pulled up, the stall door banging open, water splashing in the sink, footsteps fading away, before he stood up. He tucked his spent cock back into his trouser and straightened his clothes, then waited another full minute before leaving his own stall. Even in a Muggle club he never took chances. It would be a disaster if he were recognised. Ginny would kill him. His kids would be destroyed, friendships, reputation and career ruined.

Yeah. Definitely his last time. It was a relief, actually.

2

"Da-ad! James is–" Al's thin whine filtered down the stairwell and into Harry's makeshift laboratory in the basement.

"James, whatever you're doing to Al, stop it."

"I wasn't–"

"Da-ad!"

"James! Don't make me come up there. I'm in the middle of something delicate." He hovered over a collection of specially made steel cauldrons and copper tubes, watching a clear liquid drip into a glass flask. Hope changed to disappointment as he gently swirled the flask and nothing happened.

"Harry?" Ginny poked her head through the doorway to Harry's workroom. "Dinner's almost ready and your son is driving me to distraction. Please do something about him before I web his fingers and toes." She crossed the room and looked over Harry's shoulder, one hand resting lightly on his arm. "How's it coming along?"

"Poorly." He set the flask down with a thump. "I was sure I had it this time." He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. "Not sure where I'm going wrong. Well, I'll try again later." He put his arm around his wife's waist and squeezed. "I suppose I'd be better served saving my son from impending duckhood. Why is he always my son when he's misbehaving, and your son when he's done something cute? What's the crime this time?"

Ginny laughed and hugged Harry in return. "He's a hellion who hasn't done anything cute since he stopped wearing nappies. Nothing unusual. He's taunting Al about Slytherins again. I really don't know what gets into him. He's turning into a bit of a bully."

"Nonsense," Harry said, although he privately acknowledged she might be right. "He just likes to tease. Too much time with George, I expect." He smiled crookedly at his wife.

"Hmph. Don't blame this on my family. From what I gather, he could give your father and Sirius a run for their money. Anyway, Al's feeling a bit sensitive about Slytherin again. Apparently Hagrid gave James the same speech he gave you: 'There's not a witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin.' James has been rubbing Al's nose in it. You know how much they both adore Hagrid."

Harry sighed as he led Ginny from the workroom and up the stairs. "The great oaf. Putting his foot in it as usual. I'll have a word or two with James. He knows it's not true. So does Hagrid for that matter. Maybe I'll pop over to Hogwarts tomorrow and have a word with him as well. Whoa there, Sunshine!" he exclaimed as his daughter hurled herself into his arms, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist and burying her tear-streaked face in his shirt. "Your old dad isn't as spry as he used to be and you're getting a tad big for this, aren't you?" He shifted her easily onto his hip. "Why the drippy face?"

"James said I'm a wrong 'un, just like Al, and that I'll be sorted into Slytherin and nobody will like me anymore."

Harry nuzzled his daughter's hair and patted her back. "Well, at the moment I don't like James very much and neither does your mother. And he's in Gryffindor, so it just goes to show." He turned to Ginny. "I think your son has just done himself out of dinner, don't you? An evening scrubbing cauldrons – and I've got some perfectly foul ones – might make him reconsider his opinions."

Ginny stopped and squinted at him.

"What?"

"Just checking the shape of your nose and the state of your hair."

"What?"

Ginny laughed. "You're getting very Snapish in your dotage. Brewing. Making James scrub cauldrons. You'll be taking points from Gryffindor before you know it."

"Good thing Snape didn't live to see a Potter in Slytherin. Can you imagine his agony, having to give points to someone who looks just like me?" He set Lily on her feet. "Go and help your mother finish dinner. I've got a detention to supervise."

"They're in bed at last. You'd think it was the beginning of summer instead of the end, the way they're acting." Ginny came into the bedroom, loosening the sash of her bath robe.

She was, Harry thought, even better-looking than she had been twenty years before. And more cheerful, although she hadn't lost a bit of her edge. He was a lucky man; if only he kept a grip on himself and didn't destroy everything. He frowned, worried about the desires recently reawakened after a long dormancy.

Standing in front of the mirror, Ginny looked at Harry's reflection in the glass as she picked up her hairbrush. "Want to help me with this?"

"What?" Harry stared blankly for a moment before focussing on the hairbrush. "Oh, sure." He swung his legs over the bed and toed into his slippers; it was bloody cold for August. He paused, trying to remember why he had got out of bed. Ginny waggled her brush at him. "Right. Just coming." He took the brush from her hand and began to work it through her hair, enjoying the clean silkiness of it as it ran through the fingers of his free hand.

"Al wants a new broom. 'A grown-up one' he says."

"Right," Harry said, not really listening. He enjoyed brushing his wife's hair; it was soothing, bringing about an almost meditative state that allowed his guilt-ridden mind to go blank .

"James will have a fit if we get Al a new one and not him."

"Mmm."

"I was thinking about spending the whole week at the Burrow. Maybe the kids will work off some steam with their cousins before school starts. We could invite Teddy."

"Mmm." Harry concentrated on untangling a snarl at the nape of her neck.

"I think I should raise nargles in my lingerie drawer."

"Good idea."

Ginny snorted and Harry looked up, startled. "What?"

"Are you planning on telling me what's wrong?"

"Hmm? No. I mean, I'm fine."

"You've been distracted all evening, for days actually. Here, let me do it, you're just making it worse." Ginny took the brush from Harry's hand and shooed him back to bed.

He watched her finish brushing her hair and getting ready for bed without ever really seeing her. He didn't want to think about the reason for his distraction, didn't want her thinking about it, didn't want to be distracted. He just had to be strong and the feelings would go away.

Ginny slipped her robe off, folded it over the back of a chair, and slid under the covers, curling her naked body around his side. Threading her fingers through his, she said, "Tell me."

"It's just work."

She prodded his chest with a finger. "Don't make me hurt you, Potter. You know I can."

Determinedly pulling himself away from thoughts that had no place in their bedroom, Harry managed a chuckle. "Promises, promises. I did something stupid today and there's bad news for the department. Same as every other day."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Your choice. Stupid first or bad first."

"Lucius Malfoy has been made head of MLE."

"Oh Lord. Is that the stupid or the bad?"

Snorting, Harry replied, "The bad. Even I'm not stupid enough to make a Malfoy my boss." Harry turned over Ginny's hand and started playing with her fingers. "I don't know, Gin. I thought I'd accepted it, their entire fucking family getting off scot-free. After twenty years, you'd think I'd have got over it, but it's galling. For fuck's sake, forget that he's a cowardly ass and a supercilious prick, what the devil does he know about Magical Law Enforcement? It's a fucking travesty. Lucius Malfoy gets another reward when, after twenty years, I've still not been able to convince them that Snape was on our side, let alone a hero." He shook his head in disgust. "Lucius Malfoy."

"Ron must be livid; surprised he isn't over here plotting."

"He doesn't know yet. Nobody knows but me, and now you, of course. They're not ready to announce it yet. Poor Percy." Harry laughed. "He was having a Hagrid moment. Let it slip when I was in his office about the stupid. "

"And that was?"

"Somebody installed a statue of Snape in the Ministry Atrium," Harry said blandly.

"Somebody, hmm? I've a feeling that's not the whole story."

"The problem with having the same woman for twenty years is that you can't slip anything past her."

"You could, however," Ginny said, leaning in and nibbling Harry's ear, "slip something into her."

"I could, but that would interrupt the flow of my story."

"Bastard."

Harry grinned and planted a kiss on his wife's forehead. "Later, woman. Let me finish. It wasn't so much the statue, although they weren't happy about it and I was instructed to remove it. Rather insulting, actually. The Minister didn't even have the decency to come tick me off himself; he sent a lackey. Have you met Percy's lackey? Peas in a pod, those two. I expect Perce to call the lad 'Weatherby' at any moment."

"You've strayed from the topic. And do not bring Percy into my bed again!"

"Ah, I see. You're OK with a brother in your bed as long as it's Ron?"

"Harry!" Ginny gave him a scandalised look and then collapsed laughing against his chest. "You are such a pervert!"

Guilt clawed at Harry's insides. God, if she only knew the half of it. Shit, what if she does? What if this is just her way of probing, looking for a soft spot? No, she doesn't know. Please god she doesn't know! He managed a weak grin. "Me? A perv? You're the one sullying our marriage bower with incestuous longings."

Ginny gasped for breath. "Stop!" She slapped his belly. "You're going to make me choke!" She waved her hand in front of her face as if she could dispel her laughter that way. After a few gulps of air, she gasped out, "Change the subject. Statue. Snape."

"You want Snape in your bed, eh?" Harry shook his head sadly. "Incest isn't stimulating enough for you? Now you want some mouldy old bones? You have hidden depths, wife."

"You are beyond disgusting. Keep it up, Potter, and you'll never have access to my depths again." She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

Harry idly wiped a stray drop from her cheek, fondly stroking his thumb over the tiny wrinkles at the corner of her eye. "I bet he had a big one, don't you think? Although I doubt he had much chance to use it, the ugly git. Still, if it's a bigger one you want, I could always–" He made the appropriate wand movement with his hand hovering over his groin.

Ginny bit her knuckle and slapped his chest again. Harry grabbed her hands and pinned her down while he rolled on top of her. He thought of Snape as he once had been – roughly the same age when he died as Harry was now – and imagined him dishevelled and hard. The thought was arousing in an utterly disturbing way. Harry stifled a sigh and thrust his burgeoning erection against Ginny's thigh, hoping to distract her from whatever showed on his face.

"Finally remembering what that's for?" She twined her hands in the hair over his ears and gently shook his head back and forth.

Harry smiled weakly. She was beautiful, generous, understanding. These should have been their best years, all three kids away at school most of the year, time for each other. So why was he so unhappy? Why wasn't it enough? Everything he'd ever wanted was here in this house. The sadness of it almost overwhelmed him. Hiding his face in her neck, sniffing her clean scent, he silently mouthed, "I'm sorry," against her skin. "I love you," he said out loud.

"Then finish the 'stupid' story and prove it to me. I don't have all night. Early start tomorrow."

"Hot date?"

"Mmm. With the kids."

Harry laughed. "And I thought the idea of your brother was perverse. The kids. Really, Gin, have you no shame?"

"Pig. Diagon Alley? School supplies? The Burrow for a week? Any of this sounding familiar at all? I did tell you."

"Did you?" His heart had stopped at the words 'Burrow for a week.' A week? A whole week without wife or kids to think about? Unless– "I can't take a week off, not now, not without notice."

"I know." She gently stroked his face with the back of her hand. "You've been so tired lately. I thought maybe you could use the time alone, maybe even take a day or two off, and my mother's been complaining that she never has the chance for a good visit anymore."

"I don't deserve you." Harry's inadequacy made his chest ache.

"No, you don't, but finish your story and then you can try to make it up to me. After all, if I'm going to be gone for a week, I'll need something rather spectacular to tide me over." She waggled her eyebrows at him.

"Right. Story. Make it up to you." He inched down her body until his mouth was aligned with her breasts and nuzzled her nipples as he spoke. "Well, Percy sent ten Auror cadets to remove the statue. I wouldn't let them."

"Wouldn't let them? What do you mean 'wouldn't let them'? Oh, that's nice. Just a little more of that and you can have your way with me."

Harry scoffed. "The day I can't best ten still-wet-behind-the-ears cadets is the day I break my wand. Like this?" He wet his lips and worked her nipple gently between them. "Or this?" He tugged a little more roughly with his teeth.

"You didn't! Teeth. Teeth are good. Not too hard."

"I did. Left them in a tidy pile behind the statue. Then Percy came to get me." Harry laughed and blew a raspberry under the swell of her breast. "He was beside himself. For a moment I thought he was going to haul me into his office by my ear. Anyway, he said, 'You're walking a very thin line, Harry. If you weren't my brother-in-law I would have sacked you as soon as I became Minister. Don't be the cause of another family rift.'"

"He's right, you know. Being Percy, I'm surprised he hasn't sacked you already anyway. He's always such a stickler. It's kind of sweet that he hasn't. Stop that!" she exclaimed as Harry blew another raspberry. "It tickles. It's quite putting me off the whole thing."

Harry snorted. "He knows damn well he wasn't first choice." He paused, worked a nostril down over her erect nipple and snorted again, earning a sharp rap on the top of his head. "He doesn't dare flex his muscles when he only has the job because I don't want it. Now, about flexing muscles . . ."

"Come here, beast." Ginny spread her legs and Harry's body slid naturally between them. "To think of the years I wasted trying to groom you to become Minister. You've a lot to make up for."

At her words, Harry tensed. They were another reminder of the myriad ways he had failed to live up to Ginny's expectations. He didn't want to be Minister of Magic. He had never wanted to be. Although his fame had diminished greatly in the twenty years since the war, he was still too well-known, still scrutinised too carefully for his liking. Why couldn't she understand that? Why wasn't what he was, who he was, enough for her? Why couldn't she give him a break for once?

Looking down at his wife's face, her eyes closed, her features smiling and relaxed, he fought down the bitter feelings. She had been teasing. She loved him. She only wanted him to be happy. If he felt a failure, it was his own fault, his own lack.

She loves me. I love her. It's enough, Harry thought as he pushed into her a little more roughly than usual. It's more than enough. It has to be.

3

Harry picked himself up off the pavement and dusted off his robes. He had more than half a mind to go back in and teach them a lesson, but maybe it was better to allow a cooling off period. For all of them, himself most of all.

He should, he knew, go home and send an owl to the Burrow – this was not the kind of news one saved for later – but Ginny would be livid when she found out. Though on some level he was spoiling for a fight, he had no desire to see the look of disappointment on her face that would accompany the inevitable recriminations. He briefly considered knocking up Ron and Hermione and then dismissed that idea as well; Ron would probably laugh, but Hermione would be appalled, and he was in no mood for a lecture from that quarter either. Without any clear idea of where he was going, he Disapparated with an angry pop!

He Apparated in a dark alley, squinting a bit as he looked around. It was just a passageway between two brick buildings, filled with the usual overflowing bins. "Hmm," he muttered, "where've I got myself to this time?" But he knew what he'd see when he rounded the corner; he'd been here before, even though it had been several years past, and there was little point in trying to deny it to himself. Excitement rippled down his spine as he shrugged off his Auror robes, shrunk them, and stuffed them in a pocket of the trousers he wore underneath.

Don't, said a small voice in his head. Go home, Potter. Just go home. Eat some dinner. Watch the telly. Go home.

It's no big deal, he thought angrily, shrugging off the scolding voice. It's been a rough day. I could use a drink. Better in a bar than home alone.

You swore, the voice nagged.

"I know I did," Harry responded out loud. "But it's just a drink. One drink and then I'll go home. Maybe see what Ron and Hermione are up to. One drink."

One drink, then you'll tell yourself you need the loo. It's the same every time. You swore you wouldn't do this anymore.

"Oh, shut it," Harry grumbled at himself, grinning sheepishly when the club's burly doorman gave him a questioning look. He waved a hand dismissively. "Work's got me down, that's all."

The Muggle club hadn't changed much; the same dim interior, the same scratched and pitted bar, the same smell of spilt beer, stale smoke, sweat, and if it seemed a little seedier, if some of the men milling around, pairing off and disappearing into rooms in the back, seemed a little young, it was only to be expected after such a long time.

Wending his way through the crowd, head down, he ordered a pint and scowled to himself as a bartender in a tight string vest and leather waistcoat gave him an appraising look, taking in Harry's neat woollen trousers, button-down shirt, and sedate tie.

"Lost, or slumming?" the bartender asked.

"Neither," Harry snapped, putting a fiver down. "Keep the change and your thoughts to yourself, and we'll both be happier."

"Suit yourself," the bartender said, twitching the note off the bar. "It's just you don't look the sort for this crowd. Shoot me for trying to be helpful."

"Oh, I don't know," Harry said, suddenly cheerful. "It looks like it might be exactly my type of crowd." He let his eyes linger on a strapping lad wearing leather chaps over well-worn jeans.

"As long as you know what you're getting into, it makes no difference to me."

"Not so much what I'll be getting into as what might be getting into me." Harry grinned, nodded at the bartender, and moved to a dark corner where he could watch everything without being noticed.

He should leave and he knew it. Wizards other than himself sometimes frequented Muggle places, and with a crowd this size the chances of being recognised before he even realised his worlds had overlapped was too great, but being here was exhilarating, and he stubbornly silenced the voice that once again told him to go home. Just the one drink and I'll go.

A sudden ruckus from the front caught his attention. Several rowdy young people, male and female, were trying to bull their way past the bouncer. "Oi. Still a free country, innit?" a high-pitched voice made itself heard above the music.

For a panicky moment, Harry thought the voice was familiar, but a quick scan of the group's faces revealed no one he knew. He took several deep breaths to slow his racing heart. It's nothing. No one. You're fine. Everything's fine. Calmer, he watched in amusement as the leather-clad man he'd eyed earlier bulled through the crowd and joined the bouncer at the door, helping to push the interlopers back outside.

Mission accomplished, the leatherman slapped the bouncer on the back and swaggered back through the crowd. If Harry'd had a type – which he didn't, as his interest was not in men per se but rather in quick, dirty, anonymous sex – the strutting, leather-wearing young buck wasn't it, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the dark form as it moved through the bar, heading toward a door Harry knew led to the toilets.

Signalling the bartender for another lager, Harry watched the door swing shut. He feigned disinterest, but kept one eye on the back and felt himself marking time – a minute, two minutes, three. Surely if the man had simply gone for a slash he'd have returned by now. Resolutely dampening that part of him that knew he shouldn't, he downed half his beer in a single, long swallow, wiped foam from his lip, set the glass down on the bar top, and headed for the toilets.

The loo boasted chipped tiles, graffitied walls and stalls, broken taps, filthy basins, even filthier urinals, and a damp, grimy floor littered with paper, but it smelled less foul than some places Harry'd been and its grunginess suited his mood perfectly. The room appeared empty, the tall youth he'd followed not in sight, but the door to the end stall was closed and the other stall empty.

Heart racing, Harry stumbled into the vacant one and locked the door. Legs trembling, threatening to collapse under him, he sank down onto the toilet. Fumbling a vial from his pocket – refusing to think about why he happened to have one with him, why he had even brewed more after the last time – he drank the potion down, grimacing as usual over the taste and the slight numbing sensation.

Opening his trousers to expose his erection, he waited, all sweaty palms and nervous excitement, for the signal that didn't come – no finger crooked through the fist-sized aperture between the stalls, no foot sliding under the partition, nothing. Was it possible his prey had left unheard? Impatient, but cautious, Harry leant forward and peeked through the hole. Heart sinking, he sighed and sat back; blue denim and black leather framed a lovely stiff cock, but the other man was seated.

"Catcher." The word drifted into Harry's stall. It wasn't a question, but a simple statement of disappointment.

"Mmm," Harry mumbled. Not speaking was part of being careful; although he didn't think his voice was particularly recognizable, he'd done interviews for the Wizarding Wireless service several times over the years. Better safe than sorry.

Give it up and go home! his conscience scolded. Harry was finding it increasingly easy to stifle the nagging voice.

He heard a sigh on the other side of the partition, and then the familiar sounds of a zip, the kerchunk of the toilet seat catching on something and smashing back in place. "I'll leave you to it, then. Hope you've better luck with the next."

Harry remained silent.

The man laughed. "You'll have to open your mouth at some point."

Harry tilted his head back until it rested on the cold tile behind him. His erection had subsided, but he left himself exposed. I'll give it three minutes, he thought. Nothing by then, I'll go home. He began to silently count the passing seconds. At one hundred forty-three he heard someone enter the stall the muscular leatherman had vacated. Harry sat upright, startled; he hadn't heard any footsteps.

Holding his breath, straining to hear the soft noises through the wall, he refrained from putting his eye to the hole again, but instead worked his cock back to hardness as he waited. His own ministrations were silent and he could just hear the slap of skin on skin from the adjacent cubicle. After an interminable wait, long past his three minutes, a shadow darkened the hole in the partition. Harry's hand stilled and saliva welled up in his mouth as he saw the cock that slipped through the hole. What it lacked in beauty it made up for in size.

His conscience having apparently given up the ghost and gone home ahead of him, Harry leant forward eagerly, and swiped his tongue over the broad head of the proffered cock, thrusting under the thick cowl of flesh that nearly covered it. Taking a deep breath, not wanting to waste anymore time, he took in as much of the perfect thick length as he could.

The sound of a gasp filtered through the blood pounding in Harry's ears; the stranger's cock jerked and Harry heard a hoarse whisper. "Prostasy!

Panic-fuelled adrenalin made Harry suddenly dizzy. Fuck! Fuck! He pulled back, terrified. The muttered word was the name of his prophylactic potion; his trick was another wizard! Visions of banner headlines, an enraged wife, sobbing children, total ruin and embarrassment, assailed him. Heart racing, fingers tapping a staccato rhythm against his chest as he struggled for breath, Harry tried to think.

Steady on. Don't freak out. Think. It's OK. He can't see you. You haven't spoken. He can't possibly know who you are. He's a wizard, and he knows you're one, but that's all . . . and he really does have a lovely cock. Harry's breath evened out and he grinned to himself as the panic subsided almost as quickly as it had flared, replaced by a bright flame of pure lust. He gave an appreciative look at the heavily cowled one-eyed monk still bobbing through the rough-cut hole. Suck it. Enjoy it as if it were the last time, because it is. It really is. Finish what you've started. Make it one to remember then go home. Don't come back. It will be all right. He doesn't know who you are! Just enjoy it while you can.

Harry's own prick was rock hard, as if it welcomed the danger of discovery. Maybe Snape had been right all those years ago, maybe he welcomed, even needed, his notoriety. He would think about that later; right now he had more pleasurable things to contemplate. With the stranger's thick cock stretching his mouth, with his own full and hard and bobbing neglected between his shirt-tails, Harry could forget everything else: his failure to meet the expectations of his world, his wife, his friends; his sadness; his inexplicable loneliness. This, this was something he was good at.

"Whore’s mouth." The harsh whisper seemed to dissolve the stall’s walls, seemed – in spite of its muted volume – to sound directly inside Harry’s head.

Harry's prick jerked at the words and he was forced to grip it tightly at the base to keep from coming. "Yes," he whispered in turn, releasing the stranger's cock from his mouth for a moment and rubbing his face against it.

The stranger thrust forward, his stiff cock nearly impaling Harry’s eye. A laugh rose upward, buoyed on a wave of giddiness, and Harry stifled it with a devouring mouth, with teeth and tongue, with near overwhelming arousal.

Perhaps, Harry thought, it was the events of earlier in the day, perhaps his disappointment with the man he'd originally followed into the toilets, maybe the idea of doing it with another wizard, perhaps a fluke of perfect compatibility in the anonymous give and take, or simply the freedom of his wife and children being away from home, but Harry didn't want this encounter to end.

The thrusts came faster, harder, accompanied by guttural whispers of pure poetic filth. Deep inside, Harry acknowledged the justice in the names he was being called, felt freed by them. Somehow this stranger knew him, knew what he was, and it was clear, despite the obscene invective, that he really didn't disapprove at all.

A mad idea took hold of Harry while his lips, tongue and throat worked, and when they were done, when the trick's deflating cock disappeared back to its own side of the wall, while the traces of semen still lingered in Harry's mouth, he fumbled in his pockets for a pen. He scribbled 2:00 tomorrow? on a scrap of paper and thrust it into the hole before he could change his mind.

There was an interminable pause, as if time had stopped, as if the earth itself had ceased spinning, while Harry waited for something, anything – a long moment of fear and, surprisingly, peace. Caught in an agony of awareness, Harry absorbed every detail of his surroundings – filthy floor and graffitied walls; the soft plink of water dripping from a leaky tap; a burst of laughter from the club proper – but no sound at all from the adjacent stall. With a soft, nearly inaudible rustle, the scrap of paper Harry'd scribbled on drifted to the floor, followed by the usual banging of a stall door, quiet footsteps, running water, more footsteps, and then nothingness.

Afraid of what he might see, Harry prolonged the moment of revelation. He stood and tucked himself, still hard, back into his trousers, recovered his vial of Prostasy from his pocket and drank the remainder. Only then did he stoop to retrieve the paper. The words 2:00 tomorrow? seemed to pulse and glow. Holding his breath, he turned the scrap over, but there was nothing there.

Disappointed, he released his pent up breath in a long, whistling sigh, and mumbled, "Fuck me. I need another drink."

4

"What's for breakfast?" Ron brushed ash from his hair and robes as he stepped through the fireplace into the Potters' kitchen.

Harry held up a glass. "Eggs and vodka. Less the eggs."

"Little early for that, isn't it? Well, I guess when the wife's away . . . Why no eggs?"

"You know what they say, the sun's always setting . . . somewhere." Harry waved his hand vaguely; he was busy watching tiny white flakes of snow in his glass as they drifted slowly down and enlarged the miniature glacier forming at the bottom.

"Mebbe, but here in merry old England, it's just an hour after the crack of dawn, and you have to get ready for work. Or don't you remember Shacklebolt calling an early meeting? If there's no eggs, what is there? I'm starving."

"Should have eaten before you got here. Doesn't your wife feed you? Didn't go to market, not going to work." Harry laughed and held up his glass. "There's a storm coming." Right on cue, a tiny cloud formed above the rim and began dumping a new flurry of snow into the clear liquid.

"The wife – and you'd better believe I'm telling her you said that – is taking advantage of the kids being gone to sleep in. And what do you mean you're not going? You're already, forgive the pun, treading on thin ice with Shacklebolt."

"Not treading, trodden. Already broke through." He nodded at his glass. "In more ways than one. Seemed like a good opportunity to revel."

Ron stared at his friend, concern furrowing his brow. Suddenly he jerked his head, eyes widening comically as he watched snow falling in Harry's glass. "Oh bloody fucking hell! You secretive old sod! You did it, didn't you?" He pounded Harry on the back. "I've got to try it. Except I can't. We've got to get to work. I can see why you'd want to celebrate, but really, mate, on a Monday morning? Why couldn't you have your success on a Friday night?"

"Not exactly celebrating." Harry speech was slightly slurred. His hand trembled as he took another drink. The frigid Snow Vodka sloshed over the rim and drenched his chest, making him shiver.

With a sigh of exasperation, Ron took the glass from his friend's hand and set it on the table. After a moment's thought, he banished the glass completely.

"Up you get." Ron put his arms under Harry's and tried to lift him out of his chair. "We've got twenty minutes to get you sober, fed, and dressed. Come on. Get up. A shower'll make you feel better."

"Nope," Harry said, resisting Ron's efforts to haul him to his feet by sagging, making himself a dead weight. "Don't have to. Don't want to. Won't."

"You've been whinging about hating being an Auror for years. Why don't you just quit and be done with it?"

"Out of my hands now. Bring back my drink, you sodding prick. I wasn't done with it. What're you doing here, anyway? Too early for a rescue mission. Nobody'd even know I was drowning yet."

"Harry, get up."

"Told you, don't have to, don't want to, won't."

"Fine. Drink yourself silly. I'll tell Shacklebolt you've got dragon pox, or something, but this makes the third time this month you haven't reported in. I doubt he's going to believe me. And given all the other trouble you've got yourself into–"

"Don't worry about it, mate. It's over. Done."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've been let go."

"What?"

"Sacked. Terminated. Made redundant. Set loose. Emancida–emancipateded."

"What? Oh bloody hell." Ron rubbed his face with both his hands, then stalked over to the fireplace and tossed in a handful of Floo powder. "Weasley-Granger residence."

Behind him, Harry groaned in irritation.

"This had better be good. It's my first free day in two weeks." Hermione's hair was wilder than usual and she had a sour look on her face as she tightened the sash of an ancient, shapeless bathrobe.

"You're just going to spend it reading, or something equally daft. I'm at Harry's and I think you need to be here too."

"Why? What's wrong?" She looked at her watch. "Why aren't you at work? I thought you had to be in early."

"There's nothing wrong!" Harry roared from his chair without turning his head. "Except Ron stole my drink. Go back to bed, or whatever. I'm fine. I'm more than fine, I'm a fucking genius and aren't you jealous?" Harry stood up, wobbled drunkenly, and fell back into his chair.

Ron scowled. "You see how he is. Really, I could use your help. We've an interdepartmental meeting in five minutes, but he says he's been sacked."

A sloppy grin creased Harry's face as he heard a muffled oath from the fireplace. "What do you think I can do about it?" Hermione asked irritably. "He's been trying to get himself sacked for the last ten years. If he wants to pickle himself in a vat of firewhisky, there's nothing we can do about it, Ron. We've talked about this before. He won't get counselling and if he won't tell anybody what's wrong, there's nothing we can do for him."

"Snow Vodka," Harry said. "Firewhisky's for wankers. And you needn't talk about me as if I weren't even here. You're in my fuckin' house! Have some fuckin' respect!"

"Hermione, please?" Ron was begging.

"Fine. Give me twenty minutes. I've got to shower and eat something."

"Don't bother!" Harry roared.

"Twenty minutes? Shacklebolt's going to have my head!" Ron sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "You'd better firecall the Burrow and get Ginny."

"NO!" Harry roared. "I'll tell her when I'm good and ready and not a fuckin' minute before! She'll fuckin' kill me and I'm much too fuckin' young to die! Just go away, all of you. Let me enjoy my success for a few fuckin' moments, can't you?"

"Success?" Ron bellowed. "You call getting sacked a success?"

"Ron, don't," Hermione scolded. "You know you're wasting your breath. There's no point yelling at him until he's sober. Fine, Harry. I won't notify Ginny yet, even though she has every right to know."

"At least get Neville, then," Ron beseeched his wife. "And Luna. Hell, McGonagall if you can manage it. We need every possible reinforcement. I'm going to wrestle this idiot into a bath."

Harry's hair was still wet, as was most of Ron, when Hermione Flooed in. Neville was right behind her. They had barely said hello when Luna stepped from the fireplace.

"Oh bloody hell!" Harry yelled. "Sorry, Luna. Not because of you."

"Of course it's because of me, or you would have said it before I got here." Luna smiled serenely. "Did you know there's a snowstorm over your glass, Harry? You should be careful, you probably have an infestation of Tibetan Yetinis. They won't much like being in England; not cold enough and being away from their mountains might make them grumpy. They may be tiny but they're fierce when irritated."

Neville smiled fondly at Luna while Ron and Hermione rolled their eyes, but Harry suddenly seemed to recover some of his previous animation. "Yetini! Great name! We could use that. I've got other ideas. This is going to be terrific. There's a mint to be made, I'll show you all I'm not such a loser as you think!"

"We don't think you're a loser, Harry, just occasionally a bit . . . misguided," Hermione said primly.

"I don't know, Harry. You might have to pay a licensing fee, or something. Although that could be quite a good thing, actually. We could set up a Yetini protection fund, or something. They're very nearly extinct, you know. Might mean an expedition to Nepal. I've always wanted to go to the Himalayas." Luna's usually placid face was wreathed in a smile of enthusiasm.

"What are you going on about?" Ron asked, looking at Harry.

Harry was too busy rummaging in the whatnot to respond. He pulled out five glasses, poured everyone a measure and then raised his for a toast. "To me. To Snow Vodka, magical geniuses – that's me – and capitalist enterprise. To Lucius Fucking Malfoy, without whom none of this would be possible."

"Harry?" Hermione's face was wreathed with concern.

"Malfoy? What's that fuck got to do with anything?" was Ron's contribution.

"Is he funding you?" Luna asked.

Neville simply gazed at Harry as if he were trying to puzzle something out.

"Sit down, boys and girls. Uncle Harry has a story to tell."

Flippant as his tone was, Harry found it difficult to find the words. "Well, um, I suppose I'd better start at the beginning. Not the very beginning, we'd never get done and you were all there anyway."

"You need to get to the point, mate. Shacklebolt won't be half-pleased if neither one of us shows for the meeting."

"OK. Let me see. I guess I should start with the statue."

"Now that was funny. I wish I'd been there for the whole thing instead of just the mopping up."

"Ron, you're not helping. Don't interrupt," Hermione scolded. "Go on, Harry. The statue of Snape."

Harry turned to Luna and Neville. "I'm surprised it hasn't made the Prophet already. I put a statue of Severus Snape in the Ministry Atrium."

"And then bested fifty of the Department's best Aurors."

"Ron!"

"And disarmed ten green cadets," Harry corrected, smiling. "All right. Well, I'm not supposed to tell anybody this yet, but as the cat's already poked his head out of the bag . . . Percy was ticking me off and happened to let slip that Lucius Malfoy had been made head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"No he didn't!" Ron's face had turned an unattractive shade of red.

"It's true, dear," Hermione said.

"You knew? You knew and you didn't tell me?"

"I couldn't. It's all very hush-hush. Harry shouldn't have said anything."

"See what happens when you leave work early and take the next day off? You miss all the good stuff, Herm. The story's probably all over the Ministry by now."

"Oh, dear! What have you done now, Harry?" As an afterthought she added, "And how many times have I told you not to call me 'Herm'?"

Harry rubbed his face, suddenly aware he was far more sober than he cared to be. "Malfoy was in the building yesterday. He walked past me and smiled. I wanted nothing so much as to smash that supercilious smirk right off his face, but I restrained myself." He tried a grin, but even without seeing his friends' faces he knew it weak. "I followed him to the Minister's office. He waltzed in like he owned the place, not so much as a rap on the door, and sat down."

"Prick," Ron muttered.

Bulling past the interruption, Harry continued, "I waltzed in right after him, sat in his lap, put my arms around his neck and asked, 'What did you do in the war, Daddy?'" Harry smiled happily as he thought about the look of outraged anger on Malfoy's face. "Wouldn't have been so bad if there hadn't been a contingent of Lord High Mucky-mucks in Percy's office."

Ron laughed while Hermione and Neville looked at Harry in horror. Luna, having produced a butterbeer cork from somewhere, was watching it bob up and down in the snow-storm tossed waves of vodka in her glass.

"Percy had me bodily thrown out." Harry laughed ruefully. "By the same ten cadets I'd bested before. They're a smarter bunch than I gave them credit for. Learned from their earlier mistakes. My arse met pavement. And that's all there is. The end. Somebody pour me a drink."

"But Percy didn't actually say you were through, did he?"

"Don't be daft, Hermione. If Percy hasn't sacked me, Shacklebolt will. Or Malfoy will as soon as he takes up residence. No, it's over, and I'm glad." He held up his glass, admiring the snow drifting gently down to the bottom. "I was so angry, I hurled every bit of magic I had at the still, and behold! Snow Vodka."

"Effin' brilliant, mate! So, what was it did the trick?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I really just let loose everything I had. I've got a few bottles' worth and no idea how to recreate it. Maybe I am a loser."

"Harry," Neville said, speaking for the first time since they'd exchanged greetings on arrival. "What is it with you and Snape? He's dead. Why can't you let him rest? I mean, I know, have known, that he was on our side, because you told us that back when . . . But why are you so certain? You've never said."

"Haven't I?" Harry looked at Ron and Hermione.

"Well, I never told anyone what you told us. Didn't think it was my place." Hermione looked uncomfortable. "And I never saw them myself, of course."

"Snape gave Harry some memories. As he was dying," Ron explained to Neville and Luna. "But he never showed them to anyone else. Harry I mean, not Snape."

"I told you what was in them. The important stuff, anyway. I would have shown you, but . . . there are things I don't think Snape meant to include, and I don't know how to separate those things out from the others. I'm afraid I'd destroy them all."

"You still have them," Neville said, something like wonder in his voice. "After all these years."

"Couldn't just toss them, could I? I thought about burying them with him, but we never found the body, so I couldn't. Then I thought maybe someday I'd figure out how to separate the strands, but . . ."

"But you didn't want to," Neville said. He gave Harry a peculiar look.

"I'm sure we could figure it out," Hermione said. "There's bound to be something in the Ministry library, or at Hogwarts. Or perhaps Flourish and Blotts can order something for me, if I can figure out what that would be." Her voice took on a familiar animation as she contemplated her research possibilities.

"Fine. Do that," Harry said. He felt uncomfortable under Neville's steady scrutiny. "Look, I know you're all worried, and thank you for caring enough to come by, but I'm fine. Really I am. Ron, you're already late for your meeting, and you'll want to hear what's being said, I'm sure. Hermione, you've taken enough time away from your holiday. Neville, Luna, thanks, really, but I'm sure there're things you'd rather be doing. I'm going to go downstairs and see if I can recreate last night's experience." He held his glass up again.

"You've got to tell Ginny," Hermione said.

"I know. I will. Don't any of you do it for me. But I need some time alone, and she's going to be upset. Let her enjoy her time with her mum."

"You can't be meaning to wait until she gets home? That's days away. Oh Harry! She'll read it in the Prophet or hear something on the wireless."

Harry grimaced. "You're right. Of course you're right. Look, I'll tell her tonight. I just need some time to figure out what I'm going to say. Get on with your day, all of you. Hermione," Harry said with exasperation as she opened her mouth to speak, "I'm going to tell her."

He ushered the group firmly to the fireplace. Neville stood back until the others had left, then turned to Harry. "We should get together. Talk. We haven't done that in awhile."

"Yeah. Right. We should. Just not now, OK? Not now."

"All right, Harry. But soon." Neville threw his handful of Floo powder into the flames and stepped into the fireplace. "Soon, Harry," he said and disappeared.

"FUCK!" Harry roared, smashing his glass on the hearth.

5

"Don't you look lovely, ducky. Such a nice rosy colour to your cheeks."

"Shut it," Harry commanded distractedly. He and Ginny had agreed on no talking mirrors in their room, but the kids liked theirs and whined whenever Harry suggested it be silenced.

He could have avoided the problem by using the en suite, but the idea seemed barbarous somehow. He never used the bedroom or loo he shared with his wife for certain activities he considered a betrayal of their relationship. He'd even stopped wanking in the shower if thoughts of Ginny's lush body were replaced with images of anyone other than her. Not that it ever fully assuaged his guilt.

"I think you should wear the green. Makes your eyes sparkle."

"I think I'll get dressed in James' room. You're beyond annoying." Using his children's rooms for this was hardly better than using his own, but he had to get dressed somewhere, and truthfully it gave him a sort of perverse, but almost innocent thrill; it made him feel naughty rather than dirty.

Harry looked at his watch and sighed. Only noon. Far too early to leave, but already his cock was putting a strain on his y-fronts. Trying to will it into a flaccid state only seemed to serve to make it harder. He didn't want to wank now; he wasn't as young as he once was, and it might send the wrong signal if he couldn't get hard later. He ran a hand over his chin, checking its smoothness. Even though he'd just had a shower, he sniffed his armpits, then shoved a hand into his pants, rubbed once, then held it to his nose for its own sniff. Shaved, showered, clean and clean smelling, there was nothing to do but get dressed.

Grinning self-consciously, he slipped into the green shirt the mirror had admired, and tucked the tails neatly into his trousers. Not wanting to risk the mirror again, he tried to see himself in the window, but his image, faint and distorted, was completely unsatisfactory. He groaned and went back into the kids' bathroom. "One word out of you and I'll hex you into a million shards."

"No need to be so hostile, ducky."

Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the glass. "I'm not joking. Not one more word."

The mirror gave a deep sigh but said nothing further.

Chewing nervously on the inside of his lip, Harry looked at his reflected image. He couldn't wear these clothes! He looked like a fucking accountant. Just do it. This one time. She won't know, and you can't go out looking like that.

With another groan, Harry darted out of the loo and ran hurriedly up the stairs. Each step made his cock bounce, each bounce made it stiffen further. Ridiculously holding his breath, he plunged into the master bedroom, rummaged in his drawers for jeans and a black t-shirt, his closet for his soft Chelsea boots, and hurriedly changed into them. He didn't loose his breath until he was halfway down the stairs again.

His watch read 12:10. Walking slowly, trying to avoid the accusing click of his bootheels, Harry went to the kitchen and switched the kettle on. A simple spell would have had it boiling instantly, but time was already hanging much too heavy on his hands.

He brewed a pot and drank a cup, then another. His watch said 12:21. He toasted a muffin, and then distractedly looked around for the butter that was right in front of him. Biting into the toast, he nearly choked as his throat closed. He poured another cup of tea. His watch said 12:26. He was going to go mad.

You could always change your mind. You don't have to do this. Not like it's going to happen in any case.

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up."

You don't need this. You don't. Call Ginny now. At least send her an owl. Make things right, Harry. Best years of your life.

His watch said 12:27.

Did he look all right? The boots were good. He knew the boots were good. Supple, soft, expensive but not ostentatious, and they made him taller. The t-shirt was a bad idea, maybe. Didn't want to come off as mutton dressed as lamb. Not that anyone would ever make that mistake; his face was still boyish, but he had a few grey hairs and the beginnings of crow's feet at his eyes. Harry sucked in his gut a bit. Not too bad for a man rapidly sliding into middle-age. If only that fucking mirror . . . Did he look all right? Maybe he should risk the mirror again.

His watch said 12:27. He tapped it. The second hand continued its slow, steady sweep around the face.

"Don't be an idiot. You've already been in and the earth didn't swallow you." Before he could talk himself out of it, he was back up the stairs and in front of his own blessedly silent mirror.

Yeah, the boots were good. His stiff prick made an attractive bulge against his thigh. Arse still good, not at all bad for an old man. The t-shirt was OK, too; made him look like he wasn't trying too hard. He arranged his fringe to cover his scar and looked at his watch. 12:30. Maybe the boots weren't the thing. Maybe his red high-top trainers. Youth was, after all, always at a premium. He leant forward, examining his face closely in the mirror. No whiskery shadow, crow's feet not too pronounced; perhaps he should use a glamour? Don't be stupid. No one's going to be looking at your face, or your feet for that matter. Well, maybe your feet. I mean, after all . . . OK, red trainers, no glamour. Don't let your ego get the better of you. He looked at his watch. Still 12:30. How was that even possible?

He wasn't going mad, he was mad. Dejectedly, Harry left the room, pausing to look back as if it were the last time he would see it. Get caught and it will be the last time you see it. Don't do this. Don't do this to Ginny. He pushed the thought away; he didn't want to think about Ginny. This isn't about Ginny, it's about me, what I need. And what she doesn't know . . .

Another cup of tea. 12:40. And fuck all, now he had to pee and his cock was hard as fucking Gibraltar. He took another bite of his cold toast and then spat it back out on his plate.

What a mess his life was! There was a chasm between him and Ginny these days. A wall of silence and secrets. How in hell had they ever ended up together? Why exactly had Harry thought them perfect together? Wishful thinking. Ginny was everything good and smart and beautiful. She deserved better than him, nasty, filthy, sneaking fucking pervert that he was.

If only once, just once she had indicated some interest in a variety of sex outside the usual marital version of a slap-and-tickle. She showed an adventuresome spirit in every other area of life.

Harry looked at his watch and sighed. A wave of sadness washed over him. How had he got so fucked up?

Slow, scrupulous washing of the teapot, cup and plate consumed another two minutes. Harry stared out the kitchen window, ruthlessly censoring every thought that entered his head, trying to ignore the ache in his balls.

Fuck this! His balls weren't aching, they were killing him. Much more of this and he wasn't going to be able to walk.

He looked around the kitchen; with the same sense of naughtiness he'd had while dressing in his son's room, he unbuttoned his jeans and slid them and his pants down to his knees. His cock jerked and bobbed but he didn't touch it. Wanking could kill some time, he should take it slowly. He closed his eyes.

Ginny's, uh, we're naked. His cock wilted slightly. OK, no. Just no. Don't think of her. Not now. Not when you're going to . . .

You don't have to. You shouldn't. Cheating on her makes you feel ill? Then don't do it. It's really that simple.

It's not that simple. I'm not thinking of her. I'm thinking, I'm thinking of the first time.

I'm walking, alone and aimless, through Muggle London on a bitterly cold night, shoulders hunched against the wind, hands shoved into the pockets of a jacket much too thin for the weather. We'd been fighting, me and Gin. No. That isn't true; memory is a funny thing. I want to remember it as the aftermath of an argument, because it allows me to feel less guilty, but I know remembering it that way is an attempt to make Ginny somehow at fault, and she wasn't, isn't. There is no one to blame for this. He looked down at his cock. Except you, of course.

Harry twitched irritably. He'd always hated this about himself, that he couldn't even fantasise properly without his mind tangling in details that had no relevance and no place in what was supposed to be a down-and-dirty way to get off quickly.

It's cold. The wind is icy and cuts into me like shards of broken glass. Well, of course broken glass; there are no shards without the glass breaking. OK. It's bitter cold and the wind makes my cheeks burn; it's like a thousand red-hot needles pricking me. Oh, stop with the similes. It was just fucking cold, all right?

Groaning, Harry let his cock fall from his hand and pulled his jeans back up over his arse. He snorted bitterly. His cock was definitely losing interest in the proceedings. Maybe that was a good thing. He should have some more tea, make himself try to eat again. He needed to relax. Stretch. Do some deep breathing. But having finally decided to go ahead and toss off, he was reluctant to give it up. He really needed to take the edge off. The kitchen clock read 12:50. Over an hour to go.

Maybe if he took it into the bedroom. No. What the fuck was he thinking? He couldn't do that! Couldn't defile the room he shared with his wife, the room where two of his kids had been conceived. The kitchen was better. The kitchen was public. Harry's cock jerked. Reminding him. He needed this. He needed to remember. Remember so he could wank, wank so he could walk, wank to forget, for a while, how much he needed it.

Grunting in frustration, Harry re-opened his flies and pushed his hand inside, through the Y of his pants, and cupped his now flaccid cock in a warm hand. Yeah, warm hand. That was better, except – he pulled his hand out again, licked his palm until it was thoroughly wet with spit, and pushed into his pants again. He manoeuvred carefully around the material, not wanting to wipe his hand dry, and rubbed up and down his shaft.

Oh yeah. Wet. Much better. Wait. Too warm. It was so cold that night. Cold is part of it.

Gritting his teeth, more irritated at himself than ever – why couldn't he just get on with it? – he pulled his hand out again, stretched to open the window above the sink, shivering a little as cold air rushed into the warm kitchen, pushed his jeans and pants back down to his knees, and hoisted himself onto the worktop, grimacing as cold granite met bare bum. It really shouldn't be this difficult. If this kept up, he was going to end up having to buy himself flowers, drinks and dinner before he could toss off. Except flowers, drinks and dinner were never part of it, and that was the whole point, wasn't it?

Sliding back across the worktop until his back rested against the wall, he closed his eyes and stroked himself slowly as he tried to recreate the very first time.

It's cold and I'm not wearing my winter coat. I'm walking around, no destination, aimless, trying to think. We were about to be married . . . No! Do not think of her. It's dark out, I'm on a street that's not very well lit.

The street in Muggle London was poorly lit, every third or fourth lamp cast a weak puddle of light, the rest were broken or burnt out. The day had been warm, but as the sun sank a biting wind had risen; it swept between buildings, howled through alleyways, and Harry's light jacket hadn't been proof against it. He walked hurriedly, hands thrust in his pockets, head down, his mind an agony of spinning thoughts he really didn't want to be having.

He loved Ginny. Loved her warmth, her laughter, her sharp mind and keenly honed wit. He had known since his sixth year at Hogwarts he would marry her, and six months before, when he'd finally asked, she had said yes without hesitation. In six more months, they would be married. Perhaps by the following year they would start a family. Harry hoped so. It was all he'd ever wanted – a chance at happiness, normalcy – but now that the fulfilment of his dreams was drawing near, he found himself perversely miserable and terrified.

"Hey!"

Harry looked around and, seeing nothing, dismissed the voice as imagination.

"Oi, mate. Over here. That's right. Lonely? Looking for a little fun?"

It was beyond stupid to move towards the voice, to leave the ill-lit street and venture into the dark copse that bordered the pocket park he was passing, but the words had been said in a friendly tone and Harry felt inexplicably compelled to see the speaker of them.

"Do I know you?" he asked as he stepped off the pavement.

"Don't think so, but you could. Whaddya say? Oh, aren't you the prettiest little thing? I adore a lad in specs."

Harry bristled. Years of plentiful food at Hogwarts had not made up for the deprivation he'd suffered at the hands of the Dursleys, and his short stature was always a sore point with him; he disliked being called little. Harry turned away.

"No, don't run off. Didn't mean to offend you. Was it the pretty, the little, or the bit about the specs?"

Harry didn't answer. The moon had emerged from behind a cloud and he could now see the voice's owner. A tall, thin, loose-limbed body and a friendly face were crowned by a short mop of curly hair. He was several years older than Harry, perhaps thirty, and was clad neck to toe in black leather. A thick mat of black hair peeked from the v-neck of the vest he wore under his leather jacket.

Harry's cock stiffened before he even heard the words, "I can give you a little heaven right here on earth."

Mind blessedly silent for once, Harry tugged on the leather sleeve, pulling the man further into the trees, away from the remnants of street light. Before he could ascertain what exactly was on offer, the man had fallen to his knees and was opening Harry's flies.

"Oh lovely," the man said. "Your prick's even prettier than your face."

"I haven't any money," Harry groaned, thinking of the purse of useless Galleons in his pocket.

"I'm not a rent boy," the man answered around a mouthful of cock. "Just a talented and hungry amateur."

To Harry's mind, talented didn't even begin to cover it. The warm mouth and wicked tongue coaxed him to full hardness in a matter of seconds, and it was only a short, embarrassing minute more before Harry came, muffling his cry against his fist.

It took him longer to recover than it had to come. The man had risen, wiped his mouth, lazily stroked Harry's face, and was halfway to the pavement when Harry called, "Wait!"

In the dim light, Harry could only just see him stop and look back.

"I'd like," Harry said in a squeak. Shamed, he cleared his throat before speaking again. "What about me returning the favour, then?"

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Harry thought, wriggling his naked bum against the worktop as he nearly twisted his cock from its root. No condom, no potion. I could've caught something, given it to Ginny. No! Don't think of her. Think of his cock. Thick and salty, a weird, rubbery, alien thing in my mouth but– "God!" Harry shouted, his voice echoing in the empty kitchen as his semen arced through the air and splattered on the table three feet away. "So fucking good! It was so fucking good!"

His knees buckled as he slid from the worktop to his feet and he staggered. He tried to catch himself on the table but his hand slipped through the sticky mess of his come and he fell, catching himself a good knock in the ribs against the table's edge before sliding to the floor.

Disgusted, amused, guilty, Harry cast a weak Scourgify! and had to cast again before the mess was clean. He let himself recover on the floor, hand pressed firmly against his bruised ribs. Finally, gasping from both pain and near hysterical laughter, he rose and looked at his watch and started laughing again. 12:54. Four minutes. Four minutes to fantasise, berate himself, fantasise some more, come, clean-up, and recover from a nasty spill. Four minutes!

At quarter past one, he couldn't stand it a second longer. He looked around the kitchen as he had his bedroom, memorising every homely detail. There was something irrevocable in the air. It frightened him. Censoring that thought as well, he stepped out onto the doorstep and Disapparated.

6

The same bouncer was at the door, the same bartender behind the counter. He might as well have stepped back twenty-two hours in time. Reaching in his wallet, he pulled out a wad of crumpled bills and slapped them on the counter. "Whisky, and keep them coming."

His mind flitted to the day he'd be able to order a Snow Vodka, and smiled. The bartender, assuming the smile was meant for him, returned it. "You were in yesterday, right? This is a better look for you." His eyes roved appreciatively up and down Harry's body. "Maybe sometime we could go, I dunno," he laughed, "get a drink or something."

"Don't think I'm in the market for the same thing as you," Harry said, his eyes on the door leading to the toilets. "Unless you want to step out back for a quick go?"

The bartender gave him a regretful look. "Can't leave the bar." He picked up Harry's empty glass and replaced it with a full one.

Downing it immediately, Harry pointed at his empty glass and nodded. He drank two more in rapid succession. Head spinning slightly, he winked at the bartender. "Better hit the back before I hit the floor. Need some protein to balance that out, if you know what I mean. What time is it?"

"Going on half past." He slipped a condom packet under Harry's hand. "Be smart. Four whiskies in fifteen minutes will knock anybody stupid. 'Course if you wanted, you could just duck behind the bar here. Nobody'd be any the wiser, and your tight arse has my cock drooling."

The memory of yesterday's perfect, perfectly ugly cock sticking through the hole in the bathroom stall was all Harry could think of. "Sorry," he said. "I've got a date." He fervently hoped it was true. He could feel the bartender's eyes on him as he stumbled off.

Two men were using the urinals and Harry, heart once again thudding in his chest, almost turned tail and ran, but forced himself to walk the three paces across the sticky, grimy floor to the empty stalls. He locked the door, checking it twice to make sure, before undoing his flies and taking his cock out. He heard a mumble, then a brayed laugh and flinched back, hoping that neither of the two men he'd seen would enter the empty stall next to him. But the soft susurration of two zips nearly in tandem and the banging of a door signalled their departure and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

He looked at his watch and groaned softly. Still twenty-five minutes before the designated time. What the fuck am I doing? So stupid. It's not like he's going to come back. Wasting half the day hiding in the toilets with my cock hanging out? For what? For what? Still, I'm here. Why not see what happens? Never know.

Taking a seat on the toilet, not touching his cock because it was much too soon, Harry closed his eyes. He'd have liked his mind to go blank, to kill the remaining minutes by dozing, but his brain was in a feverish state, jumping from thoughts of his earlier wank, to Ginny, to Snape's memories, to Snow Vodka, to Ginny, marriage, life, kids, Snape, vodka, Malfoy, Ginny, men, desire, the first time, Ginny, Snape, Malfoy, the last time, uselessness, hopelessness, incompleteness, the next time, victory, death, Snape, Malfoy, Ginny.

Lost in his private hell, Harry didn't hear footsteps, banging door, a zip, nothing at all until several deep, thudding blows struck the wall next to him. He jerked upright, drenched in sweat as if with fever, and looked, wild-eyed, at the cock sliding through the hole between the stalls.

"You asleep in there or what? Take care of this or get the fuck out and give another bloke a chance at nirvana, why don't you? Fucken' amateurs."

The cock on display was ordinary, average, definitely not the same one whose image had been plaguing him for the past day. If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with. The lyrics of the mouldy-oldie flitted through Harry's mind, almost making him giggle. Well, why not?

With one hand on the wall to steady himself as he leant forward, Harry used his other to grasp the stranger's prick, pumping it a few times before lowering his mouth to it. He worked his tongue around the head, probing the tight ring of foreskin and then backing off a bit, grimacing as the strong, unpleasant taste of scented soap invaded his mouth. The soap masked whatever natural taste the prick had and Harry found that disappointing. Closing his eyes, Harry concentrated on working every skill he had to bring the man off quickly and was rewarded a bare two minutes later with a flood of salty spunk over his tongue.

Laughter came from the other side of the wall as the spent cock withdrew and was quickly replaced by another, longer and skinnier. For a shocked moment, Harry thought he must have blacked out for a second, then realised two men were sharing the adjoining stall. Grinning, imagining the first rubbing up against the bum of the second – a deliciously dirty, arousing thought – Harry bent back to his task and brought the second off almost as quickly as the first.

More muffled laughter, two grunted "Thanks," and then two grubby fingers – and they must have belonged to the second man as the first had been too clean to sport such filthy nails – pushed a couple of twenty pound notes into the hole. This was a first; no one had ever taken him for a rent boy before. Harry was momentarily offended, then just smiled and shrugged and pocketed the notes; Muggle money was always useful and what did he care what two strangers thought of him?

Even as he told himself he wasn't going to, Harry glanced at his watch – thirty minutes to go.

I can't believe I just sucked off two total strangers. The thought made him choke on bitter laughter. He'd been sucking off total strangers for twenty years; why should two in rapid succession matter?

As Harry tucked himself away, no longer interested in coming, he listened to the sound of bumps and soft laughter spilling from the adjoining stall. It seemed to take them an interminable amount of time, but finally he heard the two men exit. Once again, Harry closed his eyes and leant his head back against the cool tile. His tongue circuited his mouth, still tasting the combined bitterness of soap and spunk. Harry grinned. Even if his hoped-for assignation didn't happen, the two men had provided fodder for many wank sessions to come.

He spent a few minutes amusing himself with ornamenting the fantasy before letting it go and allowing his mind to simply drift. With his eyes closed, the muted music and soft plink of water dripping from the taps became strangely soothing. It was stupid to wait – he was sure now that the man wouldn't return – but he was . . . comfortable. Harry smiled at an odd thought, that this was where he belonged, his natural habitat. Then once again he heard someone enter the next stall; once again excitement and fear clashed, churning his stomach; and once again the cock that appeared was not the one he waited for. Busier than platform nine and three-quarters in here. Harry laughed to himself. Well, in for a penny. . . he thought as he leant forward once again.

Soft grunts of pleasure came from the next stall as Harry took his time, wanting this one to last, to bridge the long minutes until two o'clock. Even if the hoped-for assignation never happened, he'd be able to go home sated, if not completely satisfied. And if his "date" didn't show, Harry would take it as a sign that he was meant to stop, that the cock currently in his mouth would be the last he ever tasted. And if that's the way it is, I'm going to make this the one to remember.

It took several glorious minutes before Harry heard the accelerated breathing and guttural moans warning him of the punter's imminent explosion. He felt a slight pang of disappointment – as far as he was concerned, he'd have been happy to go on forever – but didn't slow down or ease off until the man's moans were matched by his own near whimpers of arousal and the briny wave at last washed over his tongue.

"Fucking hell! You should blow for England, mate! That was bloody fantastic!"

As usual, Harry remained silent, but he gave the man's limp cock a good-bye lick before gently nudging it back through the glory hole. This time he was wholly amused when a twenty pound note was slipped into the hole, and he pocketed it without hesitation.

For perhaps the thousandth time that day, Harry looked at his watch and then leapt to his feet. 1:59. Panic, the like of which he'd not experienced since the war, pounded through him, making his heart race, constricting his breath, causing his limbs to shake and his brow to bead with sweat. Absurdly, one hand flew up to smooth his hair, while the other attempted to do the same with his clothes. He found himself wishing there were a mirror in the stall. The idea that he could step out and use the one over the sinks flitted through his mind, but the thought of a potential face-to-face encounter made him feel like puking.

Go home! Go home! Go home! It's not too late! Leave! Get out! Go! Oh god! What was I thinking? What the fuck was I thinking? Harry whirled, his fingers fumbling at the door's latch. He was nearly hyperventilating now, dizzy, afraid he might even lose consciousness.

He was too late. Even through the feverish roar of blood in his head, there was no mistaking the squeal of the adjacent stall's door, nor the bang as it closed, nor the rasp of the bolt sliding home. Harry collapsed onto the toilet. As quickly as the panic had risen, it went, replaced by a cold, numb feeling.

"Are you seated, or kneeling?"

The question came in the same grating whisper Harry'd heard the day before and all the blood that had earlier been pounding in his ears rushed to his cock. The cold numbness ignited and burned away in a bright flare of lust.

"Seated," Harry responded, breaking his habitual silence without hesitation, but still cautious enough to disguise his voice.

"I would prefer you on your knees."

Harry looked down at the damp, grotty floor; the idea of kneeling on the filthy tiles was both disturbing and arousing. Given his actions of the last half hour, it also seemed appropriate and oddly amusing. "You're joking."

"You'll get on your knees, you greedy little whore, or we'll stop this farce now."

Harry closed his eyes, uncertain. He wanted to kneel, to grovel, to give in, give up, and he didn't want to.

"You requested this . . . repeat performance. You want more of my cock and I want you on your knees. It seems a fair exchange." The man sounded almost bored, as if he didn't care if Harry sucked his cock or not. A spark of dismay scorched Harry's nerves. Will he leave if I don't? After everything Harry'd gone through just to be here at this moment, he wasn't willing to risk it. He rose from the toilet, and with only a passing thought for his poor trousers, knelt.

"That's right," the man whispered. "Wallow in the muck like the filthy pig you are." The man slid his cock slowly through the hole as he spoke.

It was even thicker than Harry remembered, and uglier, with thick veins like worms under the surface. Harry swallowed hard against the rush of saliva that flooded his mouth. He leant to take it in his mouth, but the man pulled back slightly.

"Admit you're no more than a whore."

"Yes," Harry whispered, ashamed.

"Tell me. Work for your prize, boy."

"I'm a whore." Saying the words should have been humiliating, not exciting. Harry groaned.

"Pathetic," the man said. "I told you to work for it. You'll have to do better than that."

"Oh god," Harry groaned. The man's ravaged whispers seemed to vibrate along his nerve endings. Harry's cock strained against the thick fabric of his jeans; the friction and the man's voice seemed to be conspiring to finish him off before he'd even begun. "I'm such a slut. I need this so much. I haven't thought of anything other than taking you in my mouth since you left yesterday."

"Better." The stranger seemed to know Harry's exact position and his cock came forward again, but only just far enough to brush against Harry's lip. "More."

In Harry's clouded mind, it seemed both a question and a demand; he responded to both. "Yes. Please. I want you to fuck my mouth, like you did yesterday, hard and fast. I want to be used by you." He couldn't quite believe these words were actually coming out of his mouth. It was never like this with Ginny. No! Don't think of her! He never spoke during these encounters, but now he felt helpless to resist. "If you want a slut, if my being a slut excites you, then I am."

"Yes. You are. How many men did you service with your whore's mouth, you dirty boy? In the last half hour before I appeared, how many spent themselves on your tongue?"

Oh shit! Harry squirmed in an ecstasy of shame. He knows.

"Two?" The cock slid closer.

"Yes." Harry groaned again, extending his neck to take the dark cockhead in his mouth.

"Little liar!" And the cock slipped away again.

"Four, five. I don't remember. I didn't think you would come."

There was a low laugh, and Harry's nerves thrummed excitedly.

Suddenly, his mouth was full, his cheek distended. Harry closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer of gratitude to whatever god was dispensing such gifts. His tongue danced around the glans, probed the tiny piss-slit, wormed its way under a foreskin so thick and heavy it allowed only a portion of slick, sweet cockhead to protrude. Harry felt a rising exultation; everything he was, had ever been, would ever be, seemed to condense into this moment, this pleasure, this burning, painful desire.

So involved was he in his rapture, Harry didn't hear the whispered spell that conjured invisible rope to bind him. Blinding panic struck again. He instinctively tried to jerk away and found that nothing but his head could move, and that only a little – not nearly enough to release the cock from his mouth.

No! Fuck no! No! Fuck! Nononono!

"Such a depraved boy. Such a nasty, dirty boy. Four. Five. You don't remember! And they paid you. Every one of them. Shoved their dirty money through the hole the same way they shoved their dirty cocks into your slutty mouth."

It seemed like each word was punctuated with a violent thrust; each thrust received in fear, in mounting, savage desire. Bound, helpless, reviled and scorned, but willing. Willing and grateful and hungry for all of it.

It seemed like it might go on forever. Harry choked. His eyes watered. His lips seemed stretched to the tearing point. Phlegm welled up, choking him further and greasing the way for the wide head and thick shaft that fucked him without mercy.

His own cock extended down the leg of his trousers, rock hard and rubbing almost painfully against the thick ridge of inseam. Harry came explosively, only just rational enough to keep from biting down.

At last, long minutes after Harry's own orgasm, the man's obscene narrative faded into a low-pitched keening. The savage rhythm of his thrusts eased to a long, slow slide out of Harry's mouth. He spent himself, not, as expected, in Harry's throat, but spurting over his face and chest.

For a long while, there was silence punctuated only by harsh panting and the inevitable rhythmic drip from the tap. Harry licked a thread of spunk from the corner of his mouth, but, still spell-bound, was unable to wipe his face until he realised with a quiet laugh that he didn't need to move to cast his own simple spell. Scourgify! solved the problem of splattered face and sticky pants.

He heard a movement beyond the wall. "Don't," he whispered, not knowing how he knew what was coming. "Don't Obliviate me. Please. I want to remember. This is my last time and it was perfect and I want to remember."

There was no answer, but neither was a spell cast.

"Thank you," Harry said fervently. "Do you think we could–" he stopped, feeling stupid. Oliver sodding Twist. Please, sir. I want more. Pathetic. Disgustingly pathetic. "I want more." If he could have writhed in embarrassment, he would have. Still, he was pleased to hear his voice come out steady rather than desperate.

"Surely you didn't expect to meet your heart's desire in a filthy toilet stall in a club catering to society's dregs?" The harsh voice practically dripped amusement.

Harry flushed and was glad the man couldn't see him. "I didn't . . . I don't mean a relationship, for god's sake. I . . . I just want something beyond sucking your cock." Blood was once again pounding in his ears; he only barely heard the hoarse laugh coming from the next stall.

"You want me to fuck you. Can't say it, boy?" The sneering whisper caused a ripple up Harry's spine. "There's insufficient room here."

Harry felt faint; he jerked his head, trying to shake himself out of it.

"In any case, I have no wish to be seen, nor to see you. I'd rather preserve my fantasy of golden youth, I'm sure the reality of you would be depressing. And what would your wife say?"

"How did you know–" Harry cut himself off abruptly.

"I didn't. But I do now, you idiot. I hope for your sake you're good looking enough to get by with so little brain."

Harry smiled happily – knowing he'd just been insulted, he wasn't sure why.

"Two minutes. The alley at the back."

Shocked disbelief collided with a wild delirious hope. Too stunned to respond, Harry rocked back on his heels, not registering the sounds he usually waited for. Then he started. How long had he been crouching here? How many minutes had passed? Rising unsteadily to his feet, he felt for his vial of Prostasy. Halfway to his mouth, his hand stopped. Later, he thought. After. He stumbled out of the stall, hurriedly splashed water on his face, drying it on the tail of his t-shirt, and quickly headed for the rear door.

Too late! Too fucking late! He'd stepped out of the bar's back corridor and into the alley just in time to catch a glimpse of the man before he Disapparated. For several long minutes, Harry stared at the spot where he'd vanished, unable to comprehend what he'd seen, what he thought he'd seen. For an instant the man's face had been lit by the streetlamp illuminating the mouth of the alley: just enough time to register sallow skin and a hawk-like nose; just enough time to send Harry's reality spinning.

7

"When were you planning on telling me?"

Harry's hand jerked, his fingers losing their tentative grip on his tea cup which clattered to the floor, miraculously not breaking but spreading a pool of tepid brown liquid over the tiles. "Fucking hell! You startled me." He dropped to his knees to wipe up the mess. "I didn't hear you come in. How are you? How're the kids? Where are the kids?" Standing, he flung the dripping tea towel into the sink and moved to hug his wife, but she backed away from him, her expression steely.

"Don't," she snapped, backing even farther away. "Just don't. When were you going to tell me?" she repeated.

Alarm bells went off in Harry's mind. A wave of guilt was closely followed by the feeling of being trapped and a desire to run away. She knows, he thought. How? I've been careful! I've been so careful!

"Gin, I–"

"You didn't think I'd find out? Are you stupid? Did you think I wouldn't care?"

"No, of course not! I–"

"I'm your wife! We're supposed to be partners. I found out from Teddy, for fuck's sake!"

"Teddy?" Teddy? Harry felt his knees go weak. It's the job. She found out about the job, that's all!

"Because apparently you thought to tell everyone we know before you told me. Did it even occur to you how that might make me feel?"

"I didn't tell Teddy!" Relief was rapidly turning into self-righteous anger. He'd been trying to spare her. Give her a little more time with her mum, for fuck's sake. Was that so terrible?

"No. You told Ron who told Bill who told Fleur. Victoire overheard and told Teddy, who told me. And it doesn't matter who else you told! It only matters that you didn't bother to tell me!"

"Christ! Can't anyone keep their damned mouths shut?"

"That's not the damn point! I don't appreciate you keeping secrets from me! I don't appreciate being treated as if I don't matter. You've been shutting me out for months, keeping secrets, lying. What the fuck, Harry?" She had folded her arms across her chest and her mouth was a grim line of anger.

"Look, I–"

"I'm sick of it!"

"Calm down. You're–"

"I won't calm down. Don't treat me as if I were a child, as if I'm just an hysterical female! I'm damned angry and I bloody well have a reason to be. Do you have any idea how embarrassing, how humiliating it was? 'Are the two of you having troubles, dear?' my mother asked me. 'You hadn't said anything. I had no idea.' she said. 'Eet ees so zad when couplez keep zees thingz from each othayr,' was Phlegm's offering. I fucking hate it when she pats me on the shoulder! And you know what's worse? Everyone of them thinks it's my fault! I must not support you enough. I must've done something to make you think you can't trust me." Ginny suddenly seemed to collapse inwards, head bowed, shoulders slumping. She sank into a chair, hiding her face in her hands.

"Gin, I was–"

"Did I do something? Have I been so inattentive, so uncaring, so distant that you thought you couldn't talk to me? Am I so horrible that you had to take your big secret elsewhere?"

Her defeated posture was more irritating than her anger had been. "No, damn it! If you'll just shut up for a minute, I can explain!"

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up! How could you?"

"How could I? This is your response to finding out and you fucking want to know how could I? Christ! Do you ever even listen to yourself? Maybe I didn't welcome the idea of you ripping me a new arsehole! Maybe I needed a few hours to lick my wounds before you inflicted new ones! Maybe if you just supported me every once in awhile, I wouldn't feel the need to–" Harry cut himself off, as appalled by his own irrational anger as he was by what he'd been about to reveal. "Ginny, I–"

"Wouldn't feel the need to what? What is it I'm responsible for this time? When did I ever fail to give you support?" She was advancing on him, her face blotchy with anger and hurt. She looked as if she might pull her wand and hex him.

Harry felt close to tears himself. He almost wished she would hex him. He deserved it. "Honey, I–"

Ginny's eyes flashed. "Don't you fucking 'honey' me!"

"I'm trying to fucking apologise! OK?"

"Mummy?"

Harry and Ginny both turned to see Lily, pale and frightened, standing in the doorway.

"Lily, I told you not to go in there." James had come up behind his sister and was tugging on her arm, trying to pull her back. Lily jerked out of his grasp and ran across the room, wrapping her arms around her mother's waist.

Harry felt a pang of jealousy; he was usually the one Lily ran to for comfort. The anger that he'd been trying to throttle flared up again. "What did you tell them? Huh? Did you tell them what a bad husband I am, what a lousy father? You get pissed off at me and you try to turn my kids against me? Is that it?"

"Shut up!" James yelled from the doorway. "Just shut up! You're scaring Lily."

From somewhere outside himself, Harry watched as he advanced on his son, watched himself raise his hand.

"Go ahead, then! Hit me, why don't you?" James yelled, standing defiantly in place.

Horrified, Harry dropped his hand and turned away. "Take Lily out, James. I'm sorry your mother and I are fighting. I know it's scary. I'm sorry I frightened you, both of you."

"I'm not scared of you," James snarled. "Come on, Lils. I'll take you for a ride on my broom." He looked at Harry as if daring him to say no.

Ginny hugged Lily and then pushed her gently towards her brother. "Go on, Sunshine. It's OK. Truly. Your dad and I just have to work something out. I'm sorry we were yelling. Go on, now."

Squeezing her mother once again, Lily nodded. She didn't even glance at Harry as she left the room and he thought his heart might crack wide open.

Closing the door behind the kids, Ginny turned to Harry. "Proud of yourself?"

"No," was the only thing Harry could think to say.

"I'm going to go fix the kids dinner. No, don't touch me. I'm fairly sick of you at the moment."

"We need to talk about this," Harry said miserably.

"Do we? Is there a point?"

"Gin, don't."

"Not now. I can't now. I just can't. Dinner will be ready in about an hour. Personally, I'd rather you didn't join us, but it would be better for the kids if we could at least make a pretence of being a happy family."

Dinner was an exercise in slow torture. Harry tried to act cheerful, making horrible jokes and asking the kids about their week with their cousins, but the answers were all monosyllabic and Ginny refused to engage at all. Halfway through, Lily asked to be excused, saying she didn't feel very well and thought she'd better go to bed early. As she passed his chair on the way out, Harry wanted to pull her into a hug, but a bitter self-loathing stopped him. The rest of the meal was eaten in silence.

When they were done, Harry said, "You boys can watch the telly for a couple of hours, if you want. Maybe tomorrow we can do something special. Think about what you'd like."

James avoided eye contact with his father, but Harry's heart lifted a little when Al gave him a small grin and a thumbs up. When they left, Harry turned to Ginny and raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"I've got to clean up in here. You haven't washed a dish since I've been gone, you lazy bastard."

"Sit down, please. Talk to me."

"No. I don't think so. Not now. I'm still too angry and too hurt to be reasonable. Maybe later."

Dejected, scared, and more than a little angry, Harry left the kitchen. Hearing raised voices, he looked into the lounge as he passed. The boys were fighting over the remote control, and Harry was just in time to see James punch Al in the chest, bowling him off the couch and onto the floor. "James! How many times have I told you? No hitting."

"It's OK," Al said hurriedly. "We were just messing around. Honest. It didn't hurt at all. James can't punch for toffee."

"You sure?" Harry asked. "Looked like a pretty solid hit to me."

"He said he's fine, all right?" James snarled.

Harry nodded. As he left the room he heard James say, "You're such a fucking little brown-noser."

"Just shut it, James. I was saving your arse. You ought to thank me, you great fucking wanker."

There was no point in haranguing them about their language; tonight, Harry was the enemy and anything he said to anyone was likely to fall on deaf ears.

Feeling very sorry for himself, Harry went into the bedroom. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to climb into bed, close his eyes and forget about the fight and everything he'd done, but it seemed wrong to him somehow, as if he didn't have the right to it. He'd settled in a chair instead, an unread book open on his lap, and stared miserably out the window.

It was nearly midnight before Ginny came into the room. She gave him a look and then ignored him as she got changed into a long flannel nightgown. Harry almost grinned – her message was unmistakable – but knew it would be a mistake.

He had read somewhere that couples shouldn't go to bed mad. It seemed like a good idea. The idea of sharing a bed with her locked in rigid anger beside him was unbearable. Stripping down to his pants, he crawled into bed and sat up against the pillows, watching her in the mirror as she went through her nightly ritual of brushing out her hair.

"I'm sorry! OK? I'm sorry." He didn't really feel sorry and he knew by her still stiff shoulders that his attempt had fallen flat. He took a breath and tried again. "I should have told you. I should have told you before anyone. I didn't. That was wrong of me." There, that sounded better. Somehow, striking the right tone opened his heart to the reality of his actions. He had been wrong not to tell her right away and had no one but himself to blame for the ensuing fight. "I'm sorry," he said again, meaning it this time. "It wasn't at all that I don't trust you, or that I was afraid you'd be mad . . . OK, I was afraid you'd be mad." He laughed lightly. "But I only wanted to not spoil your holiday."

"Yeah? That worked well, didn't it?" Ginny's tone was still hard, but in the mirror he could see the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Silently blessing her generous nature, he gave her a wry grin and said, "Snape once told me that given the choice between the smart decision and the stupid one, I'd go for stupid every time."

"He may have been mean, nasty, bitter and spiteful, but he was never a fool," Ginny said, finally turning around to look at him.

"He wasn't that bad," Harry said softly. He grinned when Ginny's jaw dropped. "All right, he was that bad. He was all those things, and maybe a fool too, but he was right about me. At least that time. I think. Maybe." Harry shook his head wonderingly. "Funny how things change."

"Can you for once stop thinking about the dead and concentrate on the living? You were apologising. Finally. You should have at least owled me, Harry. Before you told your friends."

"I know. You're right. You're absolutely right. So was Snape. I'm an arrogant, unthinking ass. I am sorry. Truly."

"Not half so sorry as you'll be if you ever do that to me again."

"I won't. I swear. Never again. Ginny–" Harry paused, he hadn't really thought this through. "He's not dead."

"Oh, Harry." She sounded almost sad. Pulling back the covers she slipped into bed but didn't curl her body around his as she usually did.

Harry brushed his fingers across her neck. "Am I forgiven?"

"Barely," she said, turning to face him. "It's just . . . Fleur. God. Sympathy from that woman is like being pricked with a red-hot needle."

Harry laughed. "She really loves Bill, you know. And the rest of you."

"I know. And it should make her less annoying, but it doesn't. Let's go to sleep. I'm unbelievably tired."

"Can't I just tell you about Snape first?"

"Harry."

"No, really. He's alive. He is. I saw him, Gin. I know it was him. And," Harry added with a smug look, "you're the only person I've told."

Ginny touched Harry's cheek, her eyes clouded with concern. "I wonder if this is what the Muggles call post-traumatic stress, an hallucination brought about by being kicked out of the Ministry. I think you should talk to someone at St Mungo's, darling. No, don't glare at me. I'm worried about you."

"It wasn't an hallucination." Harry struggled to keep the irritation from his voice. "I saw him."

Propping herself up on one elbow, Ginny looked at him, her eyes searching his face. "You really believe this, don't you? When did you see him? Where?"

This was the sticky part. Harry hoped his face wasn't giving anything away. "I was just walking around town, right after, you know, the thing at the Ministry. Not even sure where I was, actually." He looked at Ginny and saw only rapt attention where he'd been afraid of suspicion; it was going well. "Anyway, I'd just passed this Muggle bar and I happened to glance down this alley. Idly, you know, like you do, and there was a man standing there. I was just about to pass when he turned my direction and I saw his face, and then he Disapparated. I only saw him for a second, but it was him. I know it was. I'm sure of it."

Rolling onto her back with an exasperated sigh, Ginny said, "Great. Just fucking fantastic. I can't even begin to imagine what new heights your obsession will rise to this time. Just don't sell the house to support him. If he's survived this long, he'll do just fine without your help. Now, I'm going to sleep."

"Hey, what about my make-up sex?" He ran his hand up and down her flannel-covered sleeve.

"Take it up with Snape. There's nothing on offer here." Ginny turned her back and closed her eyes.

Harry sighed and closed his own eyes, hopelessly wishing his cock hadn't twitched at the thought of taking it up with Snape.

8

"Hi, Harry. You were a bit late and the waitress was starting to give me nasty looks, so I went ahead and ordered. Hope you like lamb." Neville stood as Harry approached the table then politely waited for him to sit before taking his own seat again. "And I've ordered wine, but I can call her back if you'd like something else."

He seems nervous, Harry thought. Why? Not like it's the first time we've had lunch. "No, wine's great and I love lamb. Thanks, Nev."

"It's the season for new peas, so I ordered those as well."

"That's fine. Peas are good." Harry was starting to feel uncomfortable himself. Perhaps it was best to get whatever it was on the table right away. "So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Neville gave him a look and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. That look was much more like the old Neville – well, the new old Neville, the war had changed him even more than most people – than his apparent nervousness had been.

"Cut to the chase, eh? Fine. No small talk." Taking a deep breath, Neville went on. "Are you gay?"

"What?" Harry nearly sprayed a mouthful of wine over the white tablecloth. "Are you daft?" He only just managed to hold back the angry, ugly epithet that rose to his tongue.

"Not at all. It's a legitimate question, I think."

"I'm married. Wife? Three kids? Stop me if this sounds familiar." A horrifying thought struck Harry. "Uh, you're not, I mean, you don't think–"

"This isn't a proposition," Neville said with only a hint of rolling eyes. "Look, I've known you for a very, very long time. And I notice things other people don't. Always have, although no one ever seems to credit it. It's ridiculous how hard it's been to live down people's childhood perceptions of me." He held up a hand to stop Harry's interruption. "I knew I liked boys long before I ever went to Hogwarts. I think that's why, you know? Always watching other people, hoping I'd meet someone who had the same feelings I did. There were a few of us at Hogwarts."

"There were?" This was news to Harry. He'd always assumed Neville was the only one.

Grinning, Neville relaxed back into his chair. "That's right, you're not the only one." He laughed.

Harry saw red. "Fuck you!" he spat, not even trying to keep his voice down. "I'm not fucking queer. I don't know where you get off!"

"Usually in my bedroom," Neville responded mildly. "Although I have been known to make the occasional foray out into public. And you might want to keep your voice down. I'd like to at least sniff the lamb before we're thrown out."

The panic that had become all too familiar in recent days rose up bitter and strong in Harry's throat; he thought he might be sick. Neville's comment about venturing out in public was a little too pointed, he thought. Had Neville seen him? Did he know, or was it just a stab in the dark?

"I don't want to know about your sex life, you prat." Harry tried to make it sound friendly, but knew his fear had coloured his tone.

"Don't you?" Neville asked softly. "Most people are fascinated, if repulsed, by what two men get up to in bed."

"Yeah, well, I'm not one of them. I mean, no offence, Neville. I don't care that you're gay, but thinking about the mechanics is a bit sick-making." Casting about for something else to say, something that would move them away from the dangerous territory of Harry's own experiences with public sex, he asked, "So, who else then? At Hogwarts I mean."

An engaging, easy grin wiped at least ten years from Neville's face. Harry had the feeling that there was more than a love of gossip in that smile. Neville obviously had recognised Harry's gambit for exactly what it was. At least he seemed willing to go along with it.

"Why don't you try to guess?" Neville suggested easily.

"Um, Draco Malfoy always seemed like a fucking little ponce," Harry said and then mentally kicked himself for his choice of words.

If Neville was offended, he didn't show it. "I think Malfoy's demeanour can be written down to too much inbreeding. No, his relationship with Pansy was quite genuine. Guess again."

Harry thought, running down the list of his old cohort. "Oliver Wood?"

"Oh, don't I wish," Neville said, then frowned. "Not that he would've had anything to do with me even if he had been. No, Oliver's just wishful thinking on your part."

"Fuck you," Harry said again, although he was more amused than irritated, "I'm not gay. I'll admit that Oliver was attractive, but only in a sort of abstract way. Now, stop being coy. Tell me who else at Hogwarts."

"No, I don't think I shall. I was willing to answer in the affirmative if you guessed someone correctly, but a loose tongue can destroy a life, and I won't do that. I shouldn't have started the topic."

"Millicent Bulstrode and Susan Bones," Harry said.

Raising an eyebrow, Neville smiled and gave a very short nod. "So, you can peg the girls but display no knowledge of any boy queers. Typical denial."

"Have I said 'fuck you' recently?" Harry asked. "Because if I haven't, I've been remiss."

"I'll give you one name, because he's dead and it can't hurt him now."

"Don't tell me you bought into that utter crap about George and Fred. It isn't true. I know that for a fact."

"No, not Fred and George. That was a hateful rumour. Makes me angry just thinking about it." Neville took a sip of wine, looking at Harry consideringly over the rim of his glass. He put the glass down and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

Harry waited. Something constricted his breathing and he had the sudden urge to tell Neville not to say anything else, but he hesitated a moment too long.

"Professor Snape." The two words seemed to cast a pall on the entire room.

Looking around wildly, Harry realised no one at all was paying any attention to them. Once again he struggled to find something to say, and was given a reprieve when their waitress arrived with their plates.

"Lamb and spring peas for both. Enjoy your lunch, gentlemen. Can I get you anything else?"

"Looks lovely," Harry said, giving the waitress a wink.

The waitress beamed at him in return. She leant over – giving Harry a nice glimpse of the tops of her breasts – to slip a scrap of paper under his plate before quickly moving away. Harry picked up the scrap, grinned, and showed it to Neville.

I get off at 6:00 was written in a florid hand.

"She obviously recognises a straight man when she sees one, even if you don't," Harry said. All his fear and worry seemed to have vanished.

"Obviously a fag hag," Neville responded with a disparaging look. The look reminded Harry of what Neville had said before the waitress arrived. The sick feeling returned.

Giving Harry a sympathetic and apologetic look, Neville returned to his topic. "I know how you felt about him when we were in school, Harry, although even then I wondered. Because the tension between the two of you was so thick."

"You're the one who's thick," Harry snapped. "Don't be disgusting." He wadded up his napkin and threw it on the table. "Thank you for lunch. I think I should leave."

As Harry stood, Neville rose as well and put his hand on Harry's arm. "Don't go. Please. This is important. It took me a lot of work to get up the nerve. Hear me out. Please, Harry."

Not knowing why he did, Harry sat down again. The tightness in his chest had not abated at all, and he suspected whatever Neville said next would seal some kind of inevitable fate.

"The way you talk about Snape, the way you can't let go of him, it means something."

"God, what is it with people? First Ginny, now you? I am not obsessed with Severus Snape. You want to know what it means? It means we all treated him like shit when he was alive and he didn't deserve it. It means he was a hero and no one wants to accept that. It means I owe him, we all do. And that's all it means. I want some kind of justice for him, even if he's dead." And now that you know he's not dead? an annoying little voice said in Harry's inner ear. What do you want now?

The thought was so disturbing, so unwanted, that Harry had almost forgotten he was sitting at the table with someone else. Neville's voice startled him.

"He treated you like shit. He treated all of us that way. It wasn't wrong to hate him for that. Just because he died is no reason to rewrite history."

"He didn't. . . OK, he did, but Christ, Neville, can you imagine what kind of stress he was under? You don't know what his life was like. How he was treated by people who should have known better. Dumbledore!" Harry spat the word out. "Dumbledore fucking used him shamelessly. And Voldemort? Think about what it would be like to toady to that fucking monster! He was a kid when he joined the Death Eaters. You can hardly hold him responsible for that! And then my mother! And when Lucius Malfoy–" Harry caught himself and clamped his teeth together. Some things he'd seen in the Pensieve were private. He'd almost said too much.

"We were kids, too, when the Dark Lord came back. We didn't join him. You didn't."

"It's not the same!" Harry struggled to keep his voice down. "We had people who loved us, who guided us. What did Snape ever have?"

"I don't know, Harry. I never saw his memories, remember? I never saw anything but what he showed us, which was scorn and derision. Why don't you tell me?"

So Harry did. He told Neville everything he'd ever told Ron and Hermione, and just as carefully as he had with them, he omitted the details he thought Snape would never have shared had he not been near death.

When he had finished, Neville was quiet. They ate in silence until Neville finally pushed away his plate and refilled both their glasses. The wine reminded Harry of the great gouts of Snape's blood that had darkened the floor of the Shrieking Shack, and he pushed his glass away.

"What does Lucius Malfoy have to do with any of that?" Neville asked finally, breaking the awkward silence.

Oh, what the hell? Harry thought. If Neville already knows Snape was queer, where's the harm? It dawned on him that he'd wanted to talk to somebody about this for years. And who better than steady, sturdy, compassionate, gay Neville?

"Malfoy," Harry paused, his entire being suffused with hatred. "Malfoy seduced Snape his first year. Snape thought . . . well, actually he was flattered. Malfoy was everything Snape thought he wanted to be. He had money, breeding, looks. My mother tried to warn him, but Snape was desperate to believe. He was only what? Eleven? Twelve maybe. Poor and ugly. Malfoy said it was because of his wit and his intelligence, and, like I said, Snape wanted to believe. Malfoy'd humiliate him in front of other people and then apologise and Snape always forgave him."

"Merlin, you almost have me feeling sorry for him."

"Almost? Christ, Nev! He didn't stand a chance."

"You're right. It's awful."

"Even after he left school, Malfoy kept using him. I don't know why. I can tell you I hate that bastard more now than I ever did when I was a kid." Harry sighed, thinking about all the things he'd seen in Snape's memories, all the secrets that hadn't been shown but which he'd teased out, reading between the lines.

"Then there was Dumbledore. Snape worshipped him and, I think, was more than a little bit in love. Father figure, maybe. His own was as much a bastard as Malfoy, although in a completely different way, of course. And Dumbledore treated him horribly. Used him, kept him dangling. Held out the promise of forgiveness, redemption, then yanked it back again. Then there was something about Regulus Black, Sirius' brother, you know? And maybe even Sirius himself. I can only guess at a lot of it. I don't think Snape intended to leave those kinds of memories, but so many of them were hooked onto the memories he did intend to leave. I think he was too weak at the end to censor himself as he would've liked."

Harry stopped, Snape's memories overlaid his own until it was like all the hurt and humiliation was his. His fingers toyed with the stem of his wine glass as he looked bleakly at Neville. "Snape fucked things up with my mother. She was his only friend, really. Fucking sad. So, when Malfoy crooked his finger and invited him to meet Voldemort, Snape went. You've got to remember that back then, before Voldie disappeared and returned, he was a very good-looking son of a bitch, and um, what's the word? Charismatic. Stands to reason, all the people he attracted to his side. And he made Snape feel special. Gave him the kind of appreciation Dumbledore should've shown. It's a fucking tragedy. Change any one thing and everything would have been different."

"It's more than pity you feel for him."

"What? No. I don't actually pity him. Not exactly. It's just–" Harry groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I don't know what it is. He had so much potential, and everything he wanted, everything that would have set his feet on the right path, was snatched away from him. And in spite of that, he gave his life to set things right."

"You–" Neville cut himself off.

"What?"

"No. I was going to attempt a completely inappropriate witticism."

Desperate for anything that might relieve the way he was feeling, Harry said, "You might as well say it. It's not like you've been pussyfooting around things up to this point." He gave Neville a crooked grin.

Smiling in return, Neville said, "OK, but I did warn you. I was just going to say you've gone gay for Snape."

There was a long moment of shocked silence, long enough for Neville to start looking worried, before Harry gave him a pained smile. "You know, I think you may be right. Oh god. Somebody Obliviate me now. I'd better go. Ginny'll be wondering where I've got to."

"Oh no you don't," Neville said, raising a hand and gesturing to their waitress. "We've gotten past the worst bit, but there's still more to reveal. Dessert menu?" he asked as the waitress approached the table.

She smiled at Harry, who averted his eyes, suddenly ashamed. He didn't look up again until she was gone.

"So," Neville began, but Harry interrupted him.

"There's something else." The need to talk about Snape was almost overwhelming, exciting and scary at the same time, but he thought now that if anyone would understand, it would be Neville.

Neville looked at him expectantly.

"He's alive."

Under different circumstances, Neville's blank look would have been amusing; in the aftermath of Ginny thinking he was having some sort of breakdown, it was anything but. "No. I'm not crazy. I don't need to check into St Mungo's. It isn't an hallucination, nor anything else that's running through your mind. It's the truth."

"OK. I'm listening."

Harry appreciated Neville's attempt to look unconcerned. "Fuck. Where do I start?" Just tell him the truth, you idiot. After all, he's gay. He's not going to judge you.

Fat lot you know. A familiar worm of guilt ate at Harry's insides as he thought about once again telling someone something he hadn't told Ginny. But how could he tell her this? And after nearly two decades of silence, it would be such a relief to tell someone.

"OK. Fuck. OK." Harry took a deep breath and plunged. "Before you get the wrong idea, I'm not gay, no matter what you think, but I may be, um, bisexual, or something. It's just that it's not men, actually. I mean it is men, of course, or at least it has been, but that's just circumstantial. I mean, I'd rather it were women, but they just don't seem to do that sort of thing. Unless you pay for it, you know, but that's hardly the same. And Ginny would never. And guys will. It's just a. . . kink, I guess you'd call it. You know what I mean?"

Neville grinned. "Actually, I have no idea what you're babbling about, nor what it has to do with Snape being alive. But it does sound intriguing."

9

"There's an article in here you might find interesting."

His back noisily protesting hours spent bent over his brewing apparatus, Harry straightened up and looked at Ginny. She was standing at the doorway to his lab, an hesitant expression on her face, her fingers tightly gripping a rolled magazine. At a critical stage in his latest round of experiments, any interruption was unwelcome, but he recognised the attempt at peace-making and made an effort not to snarl. "Yeah? What's it about? When did you start reading that?" he asked, catching a glimpse of the magazine cover: Practical Advancements In Theoretical Magic.

"After twenty years you might have noticed I don't confine my reading to Quidditch Monthly," Ginny snapped.

Wanting to snap back just as sharply, Harry forced himself to smile. "I know. Bodice rippers, that's more your style. Fragile witches with enormous knockers being ravaged by the manliest of hairy-chested wizards."

It was good to know that in spite of everything he could still make her laugh.

"Are you still having trouble getting the weather to stick?" she asked, approaching his work table. She still seemed hesitant, but laughing had softened the lines of tension that creased her face.

Harry nodded glumly. "I still can't figure out where I'm going wrong, why sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. I've used every spell, every wand movement I can think of, and different things have worked, but when I try to recreate a successful experiment, the results are never the same. I'm careful; I make a note of everything I do so I can be sure of repeating it exactly, and it makes no difference." He rotated his neck, trying to ease its tightness, and groaned at the crackling sound it made. "I may as well give it up for the night. Try again tomorrow."

"You've been grinding away for days, barely stopping for meals." She slipped a hand up the back of his shirt and rubbed the muscles beneath his shoulder blades. "Or anything else. We've barely spoken. I miss you, Potter."

"It's not like you've been home much," Harry said defensively. "Oh, damn it. I'm sorry, Gin. That was completely uncalled for."

"Yes, it was." She took a thick wad of flesh between her fingers and squeezed. "I suppose you expect me to just hang about upstairs, eating chocolates and waiting for you to poke your head out of your hidey-hole occasionally."

Harry grimaced and then smiled; the pinch had actually felt pretty good. "It's beastly the way I dominate my women. Why don't we go upstairs and I'll make it up to you? Then you can do a little more of that back torture thing you've got going, and I'll make it up to you again."

Smiling, Ginny pinched him again and then soothed the sting away with the palm of her hand. "You always like the oddest things." She sighed heavily. "Charming as your offer of make-up sex is, we can't. Dinner, remember?"

It was Harry's turn to sigh. "Right. Weasley, Granger-Weasley, Longbottom and Lovegood. Sounds like a Muggle firm." He looked at his watch. "I suppose it would be rude to cancel thirty minutes before they arrive?" He gave his wife his best puppy-dog look and conspicuously rubbed his groin.

"Stop that this instant. Unless you're planning on suggesting a ménage à six for afters."

"Ah," Harry said, rubbing his growing erection against Ginny's hip, "I quite like that idea."

Ginny laughed. "You would, you pervert." She laughed again. "Oh my god! Can you imagine Ron's face?"

"It's not his face you should be worrying about." Harry grinned, loving his wife immensely.

Shuddering dramatically, Ginny slapped his chest. "That's the second time you've accused me of incestuous longings, but I think you're having gay ones, you–" she stopped suddenly and stared at Harry "You're not!"

Heart in his throat, Harry screwed his face up even further, hoping like hell he could derail her suspicions. "Ugh. Ron in our bed would be like incest squared. No, no," he continued, relaxing a bit as Ginny laughed again and stopped her close scrutiny. "It's Neville I fancy." Harry's cock gave a little twitch as if to affirm his comment; now that he'd admitted to himself that he liked men, he could definitely recognise Neville's appeal. Hastily shutting down this new train of thought, he cleared his throat and continued. "Maybe it's you who's having the gay thoughts, hmm? You are the one who suggested the orgy. Maybe you've been harbouring a secret longing for Hermione and Luna." Harry nodded. "That's it, isn't it? You want to do the nasty girl thing." He sighed dramatically. "I should have known. First Ron, then Percy, then Snape's bones, and now a little threesome with the girls. I'd better start working out if I'm going to keep up. Mind you," he added, thrusting a little more firmly against Ginny's hip, "I wouldn't mind watching. The three of you would be really hot together."

"I've said it before, but it bears repeating: you're a pig, Potter. Now, stop humping my leg and come help me set the table."

"Can't," Harry said, pulling Practical Advancements In Theoretical Magic out of her hand. "My wife's set me some revising."

"Lazy sod," Ginny muttered. "Fine, be that way. It's the article called, 'Tropical Gardening in the Yorkshire Dales' or something like that."

"Do you mean this one?" He pointed to an entry that contained several multisyllabic words, only two or three of which he recognised.

"Yeah, as I said, 'Tropical Gardening in the Yorkshire Dales'."

"God," Harry groaned. "Maybe I'll have Hermione read it to me after dinner. She can break it down into the sort of tiny bits I'm capable of digesting."

Dinner with friends was one of the best things in life, and this one had been a smashing success. Hermione, knowing that the Potters had been going through a rough patch and that Ginny could use a break, had suggested each of the guests bring their favourite take-away, with Harry and Ginny providing the afters.

Hermione had arrived, sweaty and out of sorts, with what looked to be twenty pounds of tandoori prawns and an enormous masala dosa. "Honestly," she said, steam practically coming out of her ears, "I told them enough for six. Apparently they thought I meant six hippogriffs. The damn dosa was so big I had to shrink it to Floo in."

"Sit," Ginny said. "You look knackered. Get her a drink, Harry."

"No, no. I'm fine," Hermione insisted. In the same headstrong manner she had set the date for dinner and arranged for everyone to bring something, she now began to bustle around, taking the food as their friends arrived and arranging on the table.

Harry watched her fondly. It seemed people didn't ever really change once they left school; each of his friends had arrived at Hogwarts with their essential personalities already defined. He caught Ginny's eye and winked.

Predictably, Luna brought something no one had ever heard of, let alone eaten before – Double-bellied Scritchback eggs marinated in rhododendron butter. "They're a Tibetan delicacy. Only one place in Britain makes them. I thought they'd be perfect, especially since the Yetinis have taken up residence. I thought they might like something from home."

Ginny whispered to Harry, "Looks like melted Fizzing Whizbees," and after tasting it, Harry said she was probably right.

Neville had arrived with his otherwise snowy-white shirt stained red with grease. "Texas barbeque. New girl at Magical Botanical thinks I look underfed. I've tried to tell her I'm gay, but she seems to think a little Texas hot-sauce will put hair on my chest." He shuddered. "Merlin, I hope not. I spend a fortune on depilatory cream as it is."

In a group, Neville was usually fairly quiet and thoughtful. You'd never know he was gay, if you didn't know, Harry thought. But he's fairly screaming tonight. Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that it might have something to do with everything Harry'd revealed during their lunch. Maybe I'm just paranoid. Nobody else seems to notice anything different.

Ron, his usual oblivious self, had brought ice-cream from Fortescue's.

"What?" he asked innocently when his wife glared at him.

"Harry and Ginny are responsible for afters," Hermione scolded. "You knew that."

"Who said it's for pudding? Life's too short to eat veg first."

There was a roar of laughter. After a prolonged discussion, they all agreed that, as everyone present was an adult and their assorted children were not able to witness, there was no reason not to start with ice-cream and break into the take-away containers later.

The group stood around the table, taking in the eccentric assortment of dishes.

"Good thing you have more than one loo," Ron said.

Once the groans had died down, Ginny firecalled Madam Pomfrey – still Hogwarts' nurse after all these years – and, accompanied by a chorus of laughter, asked what she would recommend for upset stomachs.

"Oh dear, is one of the children feeling ill? Tcha! Silly me, they're all here at Hogwarts, aren't they?"

Ginny stepped back so Madam Pomfrey could see the loaded kitchen table. The aged nurse's eyes popped. "I've got some extra Tummy Tonic. I'll just send it along with a stomach pump, shall I?"

Amid all the noise and hilarity during dinner, Harry found himself feeling a bit guilty they didn't get together more often, knowing it was more his fault than anyone's. But while at the beginning of the evening he'd felt a bit uncomfortable, what with Neville knowing about Snape and Ginny not . . .

Hell! What with Neville knowing about everything! I'm such an idiot; I could have told him about Snape without giving him every last detail.

Don't be such a berk, you know he's completely trustworthy. He'll never tell another soul.

Yeah, but look at that knowing way he's smirking at me.

Oh for fuck's sake, he's happy, you stupid cunt.

. . . by the time they were all sprawled out in the lounge, drinks at hand and groaning over bloated bellies, Harry was completely relaxed and happy for the first time in ages. It came as something of a shock to realise he hadn't thought of Snape for at least three hours.

"Oi, mate!" Ron, already three sheets to the wind, yelled from two feet away. "Why're we drinking this shite? Why isn't it snowing vodka?"

Even the reminder of that particular failure couldn't mar Harry's mood. "Because I am a fucking wanker. That's right. If I spent half as much time studying magical theory as I do tossing off . . ."

"Harry!" Ginny collapsed against him giggling. "They'll think I don't put out."

"Ah, which reminds me. I know you're all wondering why I called you here."

"Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare!" Ginny's look of horrified amusement was priceless.

"So the wife . . . I call her the wife because, well, you know, she is . . . had a perfectly brilliant idea earlier this evening. She had a French name for it–"

"Harry James Potter! You'll be tossing off solo forever if you say another word!" She tried to clap her hand over Harry's mouth but he wriggled away. "This was not my idea," she protested. "He just has a filthy mind."

"Or maybe it was Latin. Something with a god-awful number of syllables, anyway." He grinned as Ginny collapsed against him, covering her face with her hands. "Anyway – and I assure you, no matter what dirty thoughts are occupying the wife's mind, that we're still on the topic of Snow Vodka – there's some bloke up north who's a wizard, if you'll excuse the pun, with weather. Unfortunately, I can't understand but every fifth word he used in his article, so I'm counting on you to translate for me, Herm."

"Wait! Wait!" Ron roared. "Get back to the French thingy. Anything can make my sister blush, I want to know about."

"Well, Ron," Luna said, "French is a euphemism for–"

"No! Don't! I've changed my mind. Anything involving my sister and euphemisms is something I definitely don't want to know about! Now, what were we talking about before we ended up in the gutter? Oh, I know! Harry! I've had a brilliant idea."

Hermione groaned.

"Yellow Snow. Brilliant, what?"

Everyone looked blankly at Ron, except Hermione who rolled her eyes.

Ron gave an exaggerated sigh. "Look, people want choices, right? They don't always want the same thing. Variety is the spice, et cetera, et cetera."

Harry nearly choked when Neville raised an eyebrow at him and smiled.

"So you could have different flavours," Ron continued. "Something for everyone. You could make loads of money."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," said Neville. "How exactly does 'yellow snow' fit into this?"

"A gimmick. A . . ." Ron waved his hands about. "A crook. No, that's not right." His brow furrowed for a moment. "A hook, that's it. It's all about the marketing. I've learned a lot from George. I could help you. Well, that's what I'm doing now, isn't it?"

Hermione looked at her husband with fond exasperation. "Let me tell it, you pillock."

"Oi, it's my idea!" Ron protested.

"Oh, let him explain it, Hermione. It's probably the first original thought he's ever had and you can see he's nearly bursting with it." Ginny poked her tongue out at her brother, who waved his fist in mock threat as everyone else laughed.

"Shut it, all of you," Ron grumbled good-naturedly. "In spite of Neville's disgusting mind–"

Neville opened his mouth in outrage, then laughed and closed it again.

"–I'm thinking about something citrusy, lemon would probably be best, you know, the whole yellow thing, but it's really the label I'm thinking about, that's where my true genius come out."

Hermione made a 'speed it up' gesture with her hands.

"Right. Well, I can't draw, or I'd show you, but imagine a label with a nice picture of a snowy field, and then a spray of yellow comes out of nowhere and writes the words 'Yellow Snow Vodka'. It'ud be a real eye catcher and it'ud make people laugh and want to buy it, if for no other reason than to amuse their friends. And then, you know, if it actually tasted really good. . ."

The other five stared at Ron dumbfounded. Luna giggled and began to clap; one by one the rest of them joined in. Ron turned red to the roots of his hair with delighted embarrassment.

"That's actually really good." Harry grinned. "Be a bit of a shock at first, I'd imagine. Some might be offended. He turned to Ginny. "Your mother will have kittens. But it would definitely get people talking. And you're right, Ron, we could have a whole series of flavours with clever names."

"It's not good, it's disgusting! I can't believe I married this man." In spite of her words, Hermione's expression was affectionate.

"No, it's good," Harry said. "Maybe it's the kind of thing that will only appeal to blokes, but if it's good enough, all you girls will roll your eyes and drink it anyway. Great minds think alike, mate," he continued, looking at Ron. "I've been pondering the marketing possibilities. Luna said something," he hesitated, half afraid to bring up a reminder of the last time they'd all, less Ginny, been together. It'd hadn't been his best moment, and Ginny was still brassed off about it. Can't tiptoe around it for the rest of your life, he thought, and plunged ahead. "She mentioned Yetinis, brought them up again tonight, and the thought occurred it would be a smashing name for a drink. Like a martini, you know."

"You could serve it in a furry glass." Ron howled with laughter.

"Well, maybe not that," Harry said indulgently, "but you keep thinking, mate. You're bound to come up with something."

"About the time the Cannons win the cup," Ginny teased.

Harry sighed. "Of course no matter what we come up with, it's no good if I don't figure out how to get consistent results. Where's that magazine, Gin?"

"You left it in the lab, I think. Want me to get it?"

"No. I'll fetch it. It's about time for the next cycle, so I may be a few minutes." There was a general outcry that he was ruining the party, and to the sound of catcalls, boos and laugher, Harry left the room.

In spite of being half-bladdered, he had timed it perfectly. The current batch was just ready for a second distillation. Opening his notebook, he put a tick mark next to the experiment he was trying to replicate, carefully revised the spell he would use, and cast. He was fiddling with the temperature when Neville poked his head through the door.

"Ginny sent the cavalry. Says you need to be rescued from yourself."

"I'm almost done. I'll be up in a minute."

"Can I help?"

Harry laughed. "Right. Neville, you suck at potions, remember?"

"I don't actually. I only sucked under Severus Snape." Neville choked, then grinned. "That's a thought that didn't bear thinking. Speaking of which–?"

The familiar feeling of excited panic made Harry's heart skip a beat. "No. I haven't. I won't either."

"You haven't been back at all? I'm surprised."

"Look, he could have waited. He didn't. It was a one-time thing, well, two-time thing, I guess. Doesn't matter. I'm through with all that. I wouldn't know how to find him if I wanted to and I don't want to." The way his heart raced every time he thought of Snape didn't really mean anything, Harry told himself. He only had to be strong and wait it out; the feelings would fade. He could do that. He could be strong for Ginny, for the kids. He knew he could.

Neville gave him a sceptical look.

"I'm serious," Harry insisted. "Too dangerous. I mean, what if he had recognised me? What if one day someone does? Even if I ignore that possibility, it's not fair to Ginny. No. I'm through with it."

"Harry," Neville said, then paused and shook his head. "It's been going on for twenty years. It's not like it was some freak occurrence. Well, the bit about Snape probably was, but–"

Harry shook his head stubbornly. "No. I'm through. Snape's the reason, actually. I was forced to see the insanity of the whole thing. It was quite an eye-opener."

"What will you do when the need strikes again?"

"It won't. Fuck. It probably will. I mean, you're looking pretty good at the moment, but . . ." Harry sighed. "I'll spend a lot of time polishing my wand."

"No amount of wand polishing will–"

"It will have to be. Enough. Let it go, Nev. It won't happen again."

"Have you tried talking to Ginny?"

"Are you mad?"

"I didn't mean tell her, you twit. I meant have you asked her if she'd–"

"No! I can't! And she wouldn't anyway. I know her. Besides, if she were interested in that sort of thing, she'd have brought it up herself sometime in the last twenty years."

"If you haven't asked her, how can be certain?" Luna drifted into the room.

Harry's heart nearly stopped. "You shouldn't be listening at keyholes!" he snapped.

"I wasn't," Luna said placidly. "The door was open and I could hear you as I came down the stairs. I don't even know what you're talking about, but I did hear Neville ask if you'd talked to Ginny, and all the bits after that."

Frantically replaying the conversation, Harry relaxed a bit as he realised she'd heard nothing really incriminating.

"Sorry, Luna. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I know you wouldn't eavesdrop."

"I still want to know how you can be certain Ginny wouldn't do something if you've never asked her. I mean, you're just assuming, aren't you? It's obvious you haven't mentioned whatever it is to her. Maybe your reasons for not asking are the same as hers for not bringing it up; she assumes if you wanted to do it, you'd have mentioned it."

Harry shook his head in wonderment. Luna always seemed to have the knack for getting to the heart of a matter, even when she had no idea what the matter was. Suddenly he felt very happy. This was the solution to his problems. Of course it was! Ginny had never refused him anything, really. And who knew better than Harry himself how hard it was to broach this topic. If Ginny would, then I won't need to seek it elsewhere. He ignored the little voice that reminded him he actually liked men in spite of what he'd told himself for years.

"Luna, I could kiss you!"

"I wouldn't," she replied with an other-worldly smile. "Whatever your problems are, I doubt they would be made better by you kissing another woman."

Neville looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow and they both convulsed with laughter.

"Don't care," Harry said. "I'm kissing you all the same."

"Well, if you insist," Luna said, closing her eyes and puckering up.

Harry kissed her cheek.

"That was disappointing. No wonder you and Cho Chang didn't hit it off. I'm surprised Ginny puts up with you. By the way, she said, 'tell him to get his skinny arse upstairs immediately, or he'll be wearing his balls for earrings.' I can't think that would be very attractive, so you'd best do as she says."

"Right," Harry said. "Very unattractive indeed. I'm done here. Let's go see if Hermione can translate this article."

10

"Good luck," Harry said, giving Ginny a hug and a brief kiss. "Sure you don't want me to take you all the way? I hate leaving you here by yourself." He looked around the still-dark landscape; in the pre-dawn hour buildings were just beginning to take shape as grey lumps across the river.

Ginny smiled. "We've already had this discussion. Three times. I've got my wand and my wits about me. I've hours yet, and I want to walk, work off my nervous jitters. Plus, I'm sure the entire team would be horrified if their lovely pitch was defiled by a flying motorcycle."

"Yeah, well, thanks for humouring me. It's been a long time since we flew together by moonlight." He mounted the bike, dropping down hard to kick start it before leaning over to give Ginny another peck on the cheek.

"Helmet, Potter," she yelled over the roar of the engine.

Sneering at her, Harry picked up his helmet. "We don't wear protective gear on brooms, why should a bike be any different?"

"Because crashing a broom doesn't involve several hundred pounds of twisted metal and a tank full of petrol, idiot."

Laughing, Harry put the helmet on then pulled back on the handlebars and soared into the rising dawn. In a matter of seconds, Ginny was no more than a speck far below. Two minutes later, he landed in an empty field and stowed the helmet behind him. Ginny had a point, but Harry wasn't about to give up the feeling of the wind whipping his hair and roaring in his ears. Besides, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

The bright light of day lived up to the dawn's promise. Above him the sun shone brilliant and fierce in a cloudless blue sky, while far below on what he thought was the M1, traffic moved sluggishly. Somehow that was the crowning glory on the morning. A wave of contentment washed over him, so strong he relaxed a bit too much and nearly tumbled from his seat before catching himself. Won't be telling Gin about that one! Harry let out an exuberant whoop. He had sun, blue skies, and the vibration of a powerful motor between his legs. His days in the bars and parks were over; he hadn't been back, hadn't even had the urge since unburdening himself to Neville. True, he hadn't yet approached Ginny about dramatically changing their routine in the bedroom, but he'd been rehearsing what he might say and knew it was just a matter of time before he worked up the nerve to actually say something.

He and Ginny still had their rough spots; things had nearly gone pear-shaped when Snubb – the Weather Wizard as Harry thought of him – had invited Harry to visit on the same weekend they'd had a mini break planned, just the two of them, but then the letter from the Manchester Manticores had arrived, offering Ginny an interview on the same weekend and the marital crisis had been averted. The idea that it was OK for Ginny to postpone their weekend rankled a bit, but since it all worked out for the best, he couldn't be too upset about it.

Yeah, things are looking up! The kids are doing well, although if I hear one more whisper about James's pranking, I'll pull him out of Hogwarts so fast his head will spin; take away his wand and send him to work in the mines, the little prat!

Ginny's bound to get this coaching position – she flies better than half the players in England – and that'll give me all the time I need to really work on Snow Vodka. Maybe when the season's over we can take a real holiday together. Spanish islands maybe. She'd like that.

He'd been a fool, he knew that, but things were definitely turning around. Life really didn't get any better than this.

Lost in his pleasant daydream, Harry nearly crashed as the craggy top of a hill suddenly loomed in front of him. He yanked back on the bike's handlebars, raising the front end and cresting the hill barely in time to avoid scraping his boots on the rocks below. He was shocked to realise how heedless he'd been. He needed to be more careful; he should have taken to the ground ages ago. It wouldn't do if some Muggle on the road below looked up just in time to be crushed by a falling flying motorcycle. He anxiously scanned the landscape below and realised with another shock he'd been flying faster than he'd realised. The busy highway he'd just passed over was the A1; he'd already left the M1 far to the west. "Bugger!" he yelled, glancing at his watch. It was almost time for his appointment with Snubb and he didn't want to create a bad first impression by arriving late.

Tugging his wand from the pocket of his leather jacket, Harry asked, "Quo Grimsthwaite? and was pleased when his wand pointed to a winding country road just to the right of his position. Checking his watch again, he smiled. He was closer than he'd thought, so no need to worry about being late, and the road's gentle undulations and sharp turns seemed to be made for a motorcycle enthusiast.

As he rounded a turn and crested a hill, he could see the dale spread in front of him, empty except for a squat white house with smoke rolling from its chimney. A rutted dirt road that twisted and turned for no apparent reason ended at a wide swath of grass in front of the house. Pulling a fragment of parchment from his pocket, he flattened it with one hand against the bike's gauges. A rough sketch showed a reasonable likeness of the dirt road and the house with a big fat X drawn over it; he laughed as smoke puffed from the tiny chimney and twined about the X's bars. He was definitely in the right place.

The dirt road was even more chewed up than it had looked from a distance. Had it been straight, it would have been little more than a quarter mile in length, but with all its eccentric windings, it was at least two miles of kidney-jarring torture. Snubb, it would seem, didn't generally encourage visitors. Harry parked the bike and used its mirror to check the glamour he'd decided to assume – enough like his own features to be easily maintained, but just different enough that no one who didn't know him well would recognise him. Satisfied, he dismounted and walked across the expanse of green; what he'd taken for a grass lawn proved, on closer inspection, to be some kind of thick moss that seemed to bunch and shift under his feet as if it were trying to cushion his steps.

Seen up close, the house was considerably less charming than it had appeared from the hill. Wind, weather and neglect had turned its white paint a dingy grey and it looked like there was mould growing in the shade of the eaves. Dark curtains obscured every window. It was overwhelmingly forbidding and Harry had the sudden urge to get back on his motorcycle and ride away, but he hadn't come this far to turn tail simply because Snubb wasn't house proud. Squaring his shoulders, he knocked firmly on the wide plank door.

There was no answer, no sound at all from within, and after a few moments he pounded again. It took a few minutes more before the door finally swung open. A thin, spotty youth wearing ratty jeans and a baggy jumper stood in the opening.

"What does tha want then?" the youth asked rudely.

"Mr Snubb? Silex Snubb?" It hardly seemed likely, but you never knew.

"What about him?"

"I'd like to speak to him, if he's at home. I have an appointment." There was something about the lad that irritated Harry, and he let his annoyance seep into his tone.

The boy shrugged and said, "Happen he'll be down t'shed," before closing the door in Harry's face.

Harry stared at the wide planks for a moment, debating whether knocking again would serve any purpose. He decided it wouldn't and stepped back onto the moss, which immediately scrunched up beneath his boots, sending exploratory tendrils over his toes. Harry smiled and thought he'd ask Snubb if he could buy some; the kids would love it. Of course he had to find Snubb first. He hadn't seen any sign of a shed from the road, but if there was one he reckoned it would be behind the house.

Rounding the corner of the house, he came upon an extremely orderly but otherwise ordinary kitchen garden, bordered on the left by several long rows of grape vines. Maybe the garden wasn't so ordinary after all; surely grapes had no business being so large and purple this early in the year.

On the right, ugly as a scab on the lush landscape, was a dilapidated shed. Its roof sagged and like the house it was several decades past needing a new coat of paint. Behind it in the distance was a long wall, lushly covered in living green. That hadn't been visible from the crest of the hill either. Definitely not an ordinary garden, then.

Intrigued, Harry followed the path of paving stones that led through the rows to the shed. There was no moss here, herbs grew between the stones and a clean smell sweetened the air as he trod on them. "Hello?" When there was no answer he raised his voice. "Oi! Anyone about?"

As had happened at the house, there was no sound at all from within, and Harry couldn't see anything but darkness through the filthy windows. Trying the door he found it locked, but a simple "Alohomora!" took care of that. Cautiously, he stepped inside, using his wand for light; it barely seemed to penetrate the gloom. Taking another two steps forward, Harry whirled as the door slammed shut. Seeing no one behind him, he wrote it off as the wind and turning back to examine the room, felt his eyes widen and jaw drop.

Where there had been darkness, possibly bounded by rough walls, there was now an impressive greenhouse filled with tropical plants both magic and not. Long windows and an arched ceiling of tinted glass let in filtered bright light. Awed, Harry moved through the rows of plant-covered tables, noticing a change in temperature every few paces. He gave a silent cheer. Snubb was definitely going to have the answer to all his problems; Harry was sure of it.

It took longer than it should have to cross from one end of the greenhouse to the other. Hanging baskets framed a second doorway at the back. Harry opened it and peered out into the blinding sunlight. There were more tables, more plants and in the middle of them stood a man in an ancient Barbour jacket and thick woollen trousers tucked into green wellies. Harry's first thought was that the man must be mad, or ill, to wear such clothing on a day like that. His second was more along the lines of, "Fuck me!"

The man, still unaware of Harry's presence, had turned slightly. The bright sun was behind him, casting his face in shadows and obscuring the details of his features, but there was no mistaking the sharp outline of that nose. For six years at Hogwarts and for the more than twenty that had passed since, Harry had seen that nose in person, in Pensieve memories, in dreams, and once, just recently, in a dark alley behind a Muggle bar.

Although frozen in shock Harry must have made some noise because the man turned to look at him. "You're early, I wasn't expecting you for another hour. I presume you are Victor Volatilis and not some random trespasser?" The words were spoken in the same hoarse whisper Harry remembered.

Harry couldn't do anything but stare. He only half-recognised the pseudonym he'd picked in a rare moment of whimsy, but mostly he could barely comprehend that he was standing face-to-face with a very much alive Severus Snape.

"Well?" the man asked, still whispering.

"You're alive," Harry said without thinking.

Snape went very still then seemed to slump slightly, something like a grimace passing over his face. "Explain yourself."

How to even begin? Snape didn't even know who he was. Well, that was easily rectified. Not sure if it was smart or not, Harry braced himself for an onslaught of rage and dropped his glamour. "I was sure it was you but I didn't really believe it!"

The outrage didn't come. Snape's shoulders seemed to sink even more and he rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "Harry Potter," he said tonelessly.

Having steeled himself for an outpouring of vitriol, Harry didn't know how to react to its absence. Smiling inanely, he said, "The one and only."

There was no visible emotional response, neither disdain nor amusement. In the same toneless voice, Snape asked, "What did you mean by 'I was sure it was you'?"

Still nonplussed at Snape's resignation, Harry didn't answer. That, at least, seemed to provoke something. A slow flush crept up Snape's cheeks.

"If you suspected I was Snubb, why didn't you identify yourself properly when you wrote so that I might have had the pleasure of refusing to see you?"

In spite of the splintered whisper, that sounded exactly like the Snape of old, the Snape who had always been able to get under Harry's skin, wound him, infuriate him. Unsure of whether he wanted to hug the man or bloody his nose, Harry had not moved at all since he'd first recognised the great beak, but now punching it seemed like the best option. He took a step forwards and stopped as the import of Snape's words filtered through the maelstrom of his own emotions. He doesn't know it was me in the loo. The thought brought both relief and disappointment.

And then Harry couldn't contain his excitement any longer. "Snape. Fuck! How? Why didn't you tell anyone? Why are you hiding out here? You were a hero, damn it! You deserve recognition. How the fuck did you survive?" And now Harry did move, his hand reaching out to touch the gnarled, ugly red scars just visible above the Barbour's collar.

"Stop. What the devil do you think you're doing?"

Blushing, Harry dropped his hand. "How?" he asked again, unable to think of anything else.

"That is none of your business. Your subterfuge, however, is very much my business. How dare you use a false name when you wrote? Never mind. It really doesn't matter. You will leave instantly and not return."

"I didn't know Snubb was you!" Harry rubbed his forehead as if the motion might clear his mind. It didn't help. Should he mention the bar? Would that soften Snape, or irritate him further? He decided to circle around it and see how things played out. "Look, when I said I was sure it was you, I meant that I saw you once. In London. A few months ago."

"Nonsense," Snape snapped and then his lips thinned and his face drained of blood. "You saw me." He sounded defeated. Harry couldn't tell if Snape had realised where and when Harry would have seen him.

"Yep," Harry said, trying to smile.

"I had hoped," Snape said, so quietly he might have been speaking to himself, "that my near death and twenty years of keeping myself to myself might have been enough to atone for my sins, to placate whatever capricious gods there are, but it seems my luck is as bad as it ever was. Please leave, Potter."

"No," Harry said simply, stubbornly. His eyes searched Snape's face; his fingers fairly itched to touch the horrible scars left by Nagini's fangs. "Do you have any idea how often I dreamt you were alive, how often I wished I could thank you for everything you did? And then I saw you. It was only a glimpse, but you were alive, and there was no way I could find you, so I tried to tell myself I had dreamt it, or hallucinated, or that it was only someone who looked a little bit like you. And now I have found you! Maybe it's supposed to be. Maybe it is just those capricious gods, but you're alive and I've found you, so no, I'm not leaving. Not yet. I owe you."

"Are you quite done? You owe me nothing. Whatever I did was not done for you. Never for you."

"That's not true. I know why you did what you did."

"Fine. Believe what you want to believe. You always did. You avenged my murder by killing the Dark Lord. All debts are paid in full. And if you must believe you still owe me for something, consider paying me back by leaving." Snape turned away, wending his way with long strides in between the tables of plants.

For a moment, Harry simply stared after him, then hurried to follow, taking two steps for every one of Snape's. About twenty yards beyond the shed, when Harry had only barely managed to catch up, Snape whirled on him. "What will it take to get you to leave?"

There was something so perfect about the snarling mouth and black glare, Harry nearly bounced with pleasure. The first two responses that entered his mind – 'nothing', and 'a blow job' – were probably best kept to himself. "Look, I came up here for a reason. I really am looking for help."

"I thought you'd implied I'd already given you help, years ago."

"Well, yeah, of course you did. But I didn't know it was you when I wrote the letter, and I think you might have the answer to my problems."

"As if there were an answer to your problems. Very well." Snape shoved a hand in his jacket pocket. Probably has his wand in there and is now about to hex me, Harry thought. But Snape merely stared disdainfully down his nose and said, "How may I assist you further?"

"Show me around?" Harry asked hopefully, happy at the thought of following Snape around and not really wanting to talk about Snow Vodka if it meant he would have to leave sooner rather than later.

"Fine. That," Snape said, pointing to a long low building with a sloping roof, "is the byre." He took off towards it, using the same long-legged stride that had Harry trotting to keep up.

"Those are goats." He pointed to a small herd munching grass around the byre. "I keep them so I needn't worry about mowing – there are more important things on which to expend my energy. They also, of course, provide milk as well as manure. Cows for the same." Snape pointed across the field to two dark shapes grazing near the tree-line. "Thestrals. A breeding pair; they're in demand. Useless for manure, of course, being meat-eaters." Turning, he pointed to the small paddock where a roan horse kicked up its heels. "The mare to get around on – the property is extensive, far more acreage than you can see from here – and it also provides manure, although it's more time-consuming to deal with. Obviously, chicken manure would be better–"

"Obviously," Harry supplied with a grin. He couldn't believe Snape was actually showing him around rather than verbally skinning him alive and hexing him into oblivion. He was also having difficulty holding back his laughter; Snape seemed more than a bit obsessed with shit.

Snape looked down his nose and continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "–but I couldn't abide the clucking."

"You kept chickens, then?"

"Briefly. I had to carry a stick whenever I entered the enclosure, to beat off the rooster. Most aggressive. It was tedious. I killed the rooster and stewed it. Tough old thing, but quite tasty. Sold the chickens off. I miss having the eggs, but it's easy enough to buy them."

"So all that . . . manure. For fertilizer, I reckon?" He hoped it was for fertilizer. "That would be for the famous garden. I'd like to see it. It is why I'm here, after all."

"If I give you a guided tour, will you leave me in peace? Emphasis on leave."

"You're having fun, admit it. You're proud of what you've built up and you like showing it off." Harry cocked his head. "And I think you like showing it off to me, in particular."

"Good Lord! Spare me your tedious insights into my deepest psyche. If, after twenty years, I had to have an encounter with my past, you, of all people, would not be my first choice. You aren't even in the top one hundred."

Although a little hurt, Harry laughed. He held up his hands in surrender. "OK. I get it. But you did invite me here, even if you didn't realise who you were inviting. Let me just explain what I'm working on. If you can help me, and are willing to, great. If not, I'll leave and not come back. Fair enough?"

"If that's the only way I can induce your departure, I suppose I have no choice but to acquiesce. You may as well come up to the house. I have something I need to check on."

"Don't suppose you have anything to eat? I dropped my lunch about fifty miles back and I'm starving," Harry said deceitfully.

Snape's only response was to roll his eyes before turning to walk away, leaving Harry to hurry along after him.

'Something to check on' evidently needed an hour or nothing. Snape pointed. . .no, pushed Harry through the back door and into a rather dark, dingy kitchen, poured him a lukewarm cup of coffee without asking if Harry wanted it, nor whether he took it with milk or sugar, and left.

Beyond a bubbling exhilaration, Harry wasn't really sure how he felt, how he should have felt. He had spent so much of the last twenty years imagining what it would be like to find out Snape was alive, but the reality was nothing like the fantasies. In his daydreams, Snape had been frozen in time: forever the ugly, long-haired, pasty-faced, hook-nosed, not-quite middle-aged man in billowing black robes. Their brief encounter in the toilets and the even briefer glimpse of him in the alley had done nothing to change Harry's mental picture. The actuality was so far removed as to be disorienting. Harry grinned. The nose was more or less unchanged, although somewhat more pronounced now that the curtain of greasy black hair no longer obscured it; Snape's hair had gone grey and was cropped close to his head – although truthfully it still looked greasy. The sallow skin looked healthier, the result of living above ground and spending time outdoors, Harry supposed. And he had definitely aged, although less than he might have done, now that Harry considered it. That too was probably a result of getting out of the dungeons and into the sun and air, or maybe it had more to do with being shut of the stress of spying. It was something of a shock to realise he wasn't ugly the way Harry remembered. No one would ever call him handsome, but there was a strength and dignity to his face that was appealing.

But the biggest shock of all was the apparent change in attitude. True, he'd been rude, but the underlying anger and loathing seemed to be missing. He'd been, if not exactly friendly, then at least not completely unfriendly as he'd shown Harry around the byre and pasture. He'd actually almost seemed to enjoy Harry's presence, no matter what he'd said to the contrary. And hadn't he invited Harry into his house? The old Snape would have never done that.

Of course, inviting him in and then completely abandoning him to his own devices wasn't exactly hospitable. Where had the man got to? Harry looked at his watch; almost twenty minutes had passed since Snape went to check on whatever it was.

Bored and curious to find out what he could about the new Snape, Harry got up and padded around the kitchen, checking out the Muggle refrigerator and inspecting the contents of each cupboard. Twenty-five minutes later, after nearly completing his third round of inspection, Harry was squatting in front of the ancient AGA for no reason he could think of, when Snape finally reappeared.

"You're still here," Snape said flatly. His, "Why?" was unspoken, but Harry heard it all the same.

Harry wasn't entirely sure why he was still there. Snape had made it clear his presence was not appreciated. Any reasonable person would have left long before an hour had passed. He'd discovered nothing in his triple-inspection beyond Snape's disinterest in wiping down the cooktop. He felt like a fool. But he couldn't leave. This was Snape. He was alive. And Harry had once given him head. And liked it. Clearly it was time to blurt the first thing that came into his head.

"I was the guy. You know, that time in the loo?"

Snape stared at him with a perfectly bland expression.

"The Muggle bar? In London? You don't remember? I'm. . . Hell. You probably do that all the time." Nice one, Potter, you stupid fuck. If I was him, I'd throw me out.

Snape's expression didn't change, the flat line of his mouth didn't shift at all, but it was evident he was literally biting his tongue. That was just wrong. The real Snape would have torn Harry a new arsehole by now.

Harry gave a mental shrug. "Sorry. That's not what I meant. Or it is what I meant but not in a bad way. In an envious way, actually. 'Cause you know, you seem so sure of yourself and you're pretty hot, actually, although it might surprise you to hear me say it, and that was one of the best days of my life and I'm just going to stop talking now and sit down over here in the corner if that's OK with you WOULD YOU FUCKING SAY SOMETHING?"

"Potter, shut up."

"Yeah, OK, I'm talking too much. Only I'm nervous. My palms are sweaty and everything." He held them up for Snape to see. "And I'm acting like the world's biggest moron and I don't seem to be able to stop."

"You never could."

There! That was a twitch! The right corner of Snape's mouth. . . or is that the left corner? Harry tilted his head and squinted. Yeah, right corner. Twitched. That was definitely a twitch. That's good, right?

You always talk too much. Even when you have nothing to say. Especially when you have nothing to say.

God! Could everybody just shut up now? Harry wiped his palms against his jeans and silently begged Snape to speak.

Snape tilted his head, rubbed his eyelid with his middle finger, and sighed. "For fuck's sake. This is ridiculous. Get on your knees, boy!"

The last word snapped out like a lash and Harry jerked, falling to his knees like a marionette.

Snape stepped forward, undoing his flies and unbuttoning the old-fashioned combination underwear he wore underneath. Almost drunkenly, Harry's head fell back and his mouth opened. It was so simple. Snape hadn't even touched him yet but every nerve was singing. At that moment, he didn't have a wife. He didn't have children. Or notoriety. Or a past. Or a future. Or any friend but Snape, and Snape was surely no friend.

"So you managed to find your way back, whore?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "Yeah."

"Do you want this?" Snape asked, pulling his cock from his trousers.

Soft, Snape's penis was really nothing special, but Harry found himself salivating nonetheless. "Yeah."

A vein in Snape's temple pulsed. The Y-shaped vein on his forehead bulged and reminded Harry of his own lightning-bolt scar.

"Do not keep saying, 'Yeah'. Tell me what you want."

"You. I want you."

"Not good enough."

Harry knew what Snape expected, but there weren't words for everything he wanted – no amount of dirty talk would serve – there was only doing. Harry awkwardly moved forwards on his knees, close enough to press his cheek against the crease of Snape's trousers where thigh met groin. This close he could see the thick nest of wiry black hairs threaded with grey that framed Snape's cock. He could feel Snape's heat; inhale the musty, slightly sour odour of sweat. This close he could close his eyes and take Snape's cock in his mouth without using his hands.

Snape remained silent – neither assisting nor resisting, simply letting Harry do as he wished – until his cock was fully hard. Then he took Harry's head in his hands, holding him immobile as he began to fuck his mouth, each thrust slow and smooth, penetrating a little deeper every time until, almost without realising it, Harry was taking in the full length of him without choking.

"The mouth of a whore," Snape whispered. "You're better at this than you were. Have you been practising? Have you been indulging your sluttish greed, taking in every cock on offer?"

Harry wanted to protest, wanted to explain there had been no one since he'd done Snape in the loo, but he couldn't speak with Snape's cock in his mouth, couldn't shake his head with Snape's fingers tangled in his hair. He knew it wouldn't matter anyway, knew Snape didn't care if he had or hadn't, knew that – although he would never say anything of the sort – Snape appreciated him for all the shameful things he was.

After, when Snape had come with a muffled groan– in Harry's mouth this time, instead of on his face – Harry realised he had spent himself in his pants without even knowing it. Humiliated, he eased his body to the ground, turning away from Snape, and closed his eyes, wishing he could disappear. He was grateful when Snape was silent.

The clock's sixteen soft chimes seemed to gradually increase in volume and speed until Harry could no longer shut them out. He groaned as he struggled to sit upright and was surprised to discover Snape sitting on the floor beside him, a bare six inches separating their thighs, his back propped up against the wall.

"I counted sixteen. What kind of ridiculous clock does that? What time is it?"

"It chimes the quarter hours. Sixteen chimes on the hour. It should then strike the hour, but I don't care for that sound, so I silenced it." It was too much information given in a curiously listless voice that didn't sound at all like Snape. He didn't look at Harry when he answered, but instead looked down at his own hands as he twisted and stroked each knuckle in turn.

"So what time is it?" Already knowing he wouldn't like the answer, Harry had got to his feet and was pulling up his trousers.

"Five o'clock." Snape raised his head but his gaze still fell short of meeting Harry's eyes, focussing about chin level.

"Shit! I'm supposed to meet Ginny at five thirty! I'll never make it!" Harry looked around for his boots, not sure when or why he'd taken them off, then suddenly stilled his frantic movements. "I've got to go," he said quietly, willing Snape to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't want to."

Waving a hand dismissively, still not making eye contact, Snape said, "It doesn't matter. We're done here in any event."

"Yeah, but, God!" Harry squatted down in front of Snape and gingerly grasped one of his hands. Snape didn't pull his hand away, but neither was there any answering pressure. "I feel like an absolute berk running off so soon after . . ." He made a vague gesture, not sure of the right way to refer to what they'd done.

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape snapped, pulling his hand away from Harry and getting stiffly to his feet. "It's no different than grabbing an anonymous mouthful anywhere. You get what you came for and you leave. The simple fact that we once knew each other changes nothing. Don't make it more than it is."

Harry wanted to argue, but there just wasn't time. Ginny would be frantic. Or angry. Or both. An extraordinary feeling of euphoria seemed to bubble just under his skin and he dreaded the idea of it being lost in the throes of marital discord.

"I'm not making it more than it is, but I'd like to. I'd like to make it a lot more." He'd spoken without really thinking, but now, with the words still hanging in the air between them, he knew they were true. He'd found something today, something far bigger than the 'anonymous mouthful' Snape described, something bigger even than finding Snape alive. The idea of losing it before he even knew what it was frightened him.

Snape stooped, fished Harry's boots from under a chair and tossed them, hitting Harry in the stomach. "Go. Your wife is waiting."

"Can I come back?" He couldn't look at Snape and instead busied himself with pulling on his boots.

"I don't think that would be wise. Whatever it is you think you want, you won't find it here." Once again Snape's voice was flat, disinterested.

"We didn't discuss the spells for my project." It was a stupid thing to say, Harry knew. Learning the spells wasn't half so important as understanding what was going on between him and Snape.

"Ah, the spells. Your reason for being here. I'd nearly forgotten. I think the problem is quite easily resolved by–"

"I can't. Not now. I have to go. Let me come back. Please?" Harry's voice had taken on an embarrassing wheedling note. He shouldn't beg, Snape wouldn't respect begging, but Harry couldn't seem to stop himself. "Please? I can't lose you again."

"You don't have me to lose, Potter. You never did. Now, as you yourself pointed out, you have to go."

Feeling hopeless, Harry nodded. He walked to the door, opened it and stood hesitantly, staring out into the yellow glare of the sun. "I'll come back," he said aggressively, and then slammed the door behind him, cutting off whatever Snape might have said.

For a few seconds he stood on the doorstep, hoping the door would open, hoping the earth would swallow him, then took off running towards his motorcycle. The unfamiliar, giddy-making euphoria was back. Snape had said not to come back, but he didn't mean it, he couldn't have; no matter how ill-humoured he'd been, eventually he would have to recognise they stood on the threshold of something amazing.

Harry was almost buzzing with nervous, excited energy; he hadn't felt this alive since the war ended. It felt as if his feet weren't even touching the ground as he ran across the moss. He wanted to jump, whoop, punch something, kiss someone. If he'd been wearing a hat, he would have hurled it up into the air. In short, he felt terrific.

And he damned well needed to get a grip and calm down before he got to Manchester, or Ginny would surely know something was up.

11

"Anyone home?" Harry didn't bother to knock, just stuck his head around the plank door.

There was a pause and then a guttural, "No!" boomed through the house.

Harry laughed. "Good. Glad I haven't wasted a trip."

He smiled as Snape stalked into the room, his wand still pointed at his throat.

Snape scowled and pointed his wand at Harry. "Haven't you someplace else you should be? I'm really in no mood for your inane chatter today." Somehow even without Sonorus, Snape managed to make a whisper resonate.

"I thought maybe we could . . . you know . . . pick up where we left off."

The vein at Snape's temple pulsed. "Go home, Potter. If you're randy I'm sure your wife would be more than happy to accommodate you."

"She hasn't got what I need at the moment." Harry couldn't believe how easy it was to dismiss all thoughts of Ginny, but seeing Snape, being in Snape's house, made him feel reckless and invincible.

"Then I'm sure there's someone in a public toilet or the wildwood at Holland Park."

"Yeah, I'm sure there would be, but that's not what I want. It's good between us. You know it is."

Snape rubbed an eye with his middle finger, a gesture Harry already recognised as habitual. "Fine. Go into the lounge." Snape jerked his head in that direction. "Get on your knees. I'll join you in a minute."

"No," Harry said, his lips set in a determined line. "That's not what I want. We've got something, Snape. I want to know what it is. I don't just want to suck your cock and then have you toss me out on my ear."

"Gravity being what it is, and given that we don't exist in a vacuum, I'm sure the universe would arrange for you to land on your over-sized arse."

Harry twisted his spine to look at the item in question. "It's not a bit over-sized. I've got a perfect bubble-butt. You're jealous because you've barely got an arse at all."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've never seen my arse. And, knowing the way your mind spins like a hamster's wheel, I hasten to add you never will."

"Do you grow any frozen tundra type plants, or only tropical and desert?" Harry thought it wise to change the topic before Snape really hit his stride with the insults.

"Hamster," Snape muttered before pushing past Harry on his way out the front door.

Giving a silent cheer because Snape had not thrown him out on arse or ear, Harry trotted after him.

"You won't be impressed," Snape said without turning around as he led Harry through the gate of his walled garden. "Nothing flashy enough for your child-like brain to appreciate. Here, put this on." He threw Harry a ratty and unbelievably filthy jacket. "Don't be squeamish. You'll be glad enough of it in a moment. And you'll probably want these as well," he said, turning over a flower pot and extracting a pair of thick gloves and a woollen watch cap.

Sure that there would at least be spiders, if not nesting mice, Harry shook everything thoroughly before putting it on. Snape did not wait.

"Mosses, lichens, a few shrubs, the odd grass–" His whisper seem to fade away completely as he walked away, leaving Harry behind.

"Wait!" Harry yelled as he struggled to catch up. They were passing through the tropical zone and sweat beaded up on his face and dampened his armpits. "Christ! You might have told me to wait to put this rubbish on. I'm about to smother."

He looked around in wonderment. The foliage here was dense and the air close. Several great trees with leaves bigger than serving platters formed a canopy above them. By squinting he could just see the bright blossoms of what he took to be orchids nestling in the crooks of branches.

"Don't dawdle," Snape snarled. "The sooner you see what you came for, the sooner I can be shut of you."

"You don't mean that," Harry responded complacently. "This is fucking stunning, Snape! Are all these useful, or merely ornamental?"

Snape paused and pointed to a bright red and gold spiky flower. "Potteriensis," he said smugly. "All flash and of no earthly use at all. Well named, don't you think?"

"Really?" Harry asked excitedly. "You named a plant after me? Gryffindor colours too, you old softy!"

"Sod off," Snape said mildly. "I am not responsible for the name. I'm not even responsible for it being here. It merely popped up, uninvited and unwanted. I've tried to uproot it several times as I consider it nothing more than a weed, but magical plants can be hard to kill."

"Good thing for all of us, don't you think? Tell me why I'm wearing this jacket again? It's like a rainforest in here."

"It's not like a rainforest, you cretin. It is a rainforest. And stop whinging, we're nearly through." As he said it, they stepped out from under the canopy into a desolate landscape.

Although Harry knew that outside the garden the English skies were overcast, here everything was bathed in a harsh yellow light. He looked up, half expecting to see the sun shining fiercely, but the sky was as grey as it should have been. He turned around trying to spot the source of the light and saw nothing. "How–"

"Magic," Snape said drily, punctuating the word with rolling eyes.

"Ah, thank you. I was wondering. About this jacket?"

Snape took off again, kicking up powdery dirt as he walked. He pointed out a few plants, citing both their botanical and their common names. Harry was impressed; he'd had no idea that frankincense grew on trees, nor that Shrivelfigs' natural habitat was the desert.

They passed through a section of nasty, spiny cacti that seemed intent on stabbing Harry and he was suddenly glad of the thick jacket in spite of the fact that it now seemed to be clinging wetly to him. And then he had even more reason to be glad of it as the temperature suddenly seemed to drop about a hundred degrees.

"Fucking hell!" Harry gasped through chattering teeth.

"We are now, metaphorically speaking, above the tree line. The weather is set to late summer; as you can see the blooms are nearly gone."

Harry looked around, seeing some vaguely mossy stuff and nothing that looked like flowers, although there was a little patch of red in the distance. "No snow? I expected snow."

Snape sighed and pulled his wand from a pocket. "It's a little soon for this, but seasons can be unpredictable in the arctic north. This will probably do little harm." He described a complex pattern in the air with his wand and muttered a long incantation.

Harry looked up. The visible sky was unchanged, neither darker nor more ominous, but fat flakes of snow began to slowly drift down. Filled with the same sort of glee he'd experienced as a child, when he'd first seen intentional magic done, he wanted to applaud.

"Bloody well done! Can you teach me? Will you?"

"Weather charms are not particularly difficult. Applying them appropriately can be. Whether or not I can teach you depends entirely on you. The Potter I taught at Hogwarts did not exactly have the patience for learning."

"The Potter you knew at Hogwarts suffered under the thumb of an incredibly bad teacher. The man had no patience, no finesse, no–"

"Well, that's that then. Good day. I trust you can find your own way out." If Snape was trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice, he wasn't doing it well.

Appalled that his joke had actually wounded, Harry threw caution to the wind. He advanced on Snape, threw his arms around him, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. There was a horrible moment as Snape tensed, jerking his mouth away, but then the clever, long-fingered hands clamped like vises around Harry's biceps and Snape pulled him closer.

He held Harry like that for a moment, not kissing him, his fingers digging in harder and harder until Harry made a noise of protest. Snape's hands immediately fell away and he stepped back.

"No. It's OK, just a little rough." Harry grasped both of Snape's hands and placed them on his shoulders, before leaning in for another kiss.

"This is a very bad idea." Snape said, dropping his hands again. "Your wife–"

"No. Don't bring her into it. I think it's a really good idea. Kiss me, you idiot."

Snape's hands, previously so strong and firm, were oddly tentative as they rested on Harry's shoulders again. The expression on his face was unsure, vaguely irritated, and he was maintaining an uncomfortable distance, one completely unsuitable for kissing.

Harry was startled by a sudden, incomprehensible thought. He doesn't know what to do! Has he never done this before? How is that possible, he's how old? Nearly sixty, anyway. What about all the rumours of Death Eater orgies? Maybe orgiasts aren't big on kissing? It's not like I'd know. Maybe he's just out of practice? And then his thought processes were completely short-circuited as Snape loomed closer, so close Harry could see nothing but glittering black and the tiny red veins that threaded the yellowish whites of Snape's eyes. Their noses smashed together awkwardly and somehow as they shifted away their teeth jarred together hard enough for Harry to see stars and taste blood in his mouth. Harry laughed.

"If you're incapable of taking this seriously–"

"No!" Harry yelped. "You have to admit it's funny, but."

Snape's face was so rigid and cold, Harry was afraid his attempt at gentle teasing had made things worse.

"We'll try it again. For the love of God, keep still and let me come to you. I'm of an age where teeth start falling out on their own, without the assistance of your clumsiness."

Snape's expression was so professorial Harry wanted to laugh again. Instead, he nodded and said, "Yeah. We can try again." Maybe I should be the one leading this since I'm the one with experience.

Maybe you should just stop thinking in case you do something really stupid, like mention the reason for your experience.

Snape glared for a long, agonising moment, eyes so dark with suspicion that Harry worried about Legilimency and hastily closed his own eyes, trying to shut off all thought. In an unexpectedly unified movement they shifted closer together and while their noses tangled briefly their teeth didn't clunk. It was less than a heartbeat before Snape's tongue was in Harry's mouth.

It wasn't a good kiss – Snape's mouth was sour, his lips firm when they should have been soft, and soft when a little pressure would have been good – but all the same, it made Harry's toes curl with delight and made the hairs on his arms stand straight up; his cock wasted no time following suit. He made a half-hearted attempt to take control of the kiss, but Snape was having none of it; his hands held Harry's face hard enough to make his jaw ache and his tongue seemed to be everywhere at once – sloppy inside and out, hard, warm, wet, messy. OK. I'm wrong again. It is a good kiss. Hot. Really hot. OK, literally hot, that's not right.

Snow was still falling and the temperature was even colder than it had been. Harry realised with dawning horror that the heat he felt was not Snape's but the cold burn of Snape's saliva freezing on his lips and face. He pulled back abruptly, wincing as their flesh seemed to rip apart. "Not here. Inside. We have to go inside." Snape wasn't listening; he was trying to recapture Harry's lips with his own. Precious moments were being wasted dodging him. "Snape! We'll freeze. Not a bad death, from what I hear, you pretty much just go to sleep and that's it. Poof! The candle's snuffed. But all the same, I rather not die just yet. Especially not right now."

Reluctantly, Snape pulled away. "Potter."

"Yes, what? Make it snappy, or better yet, talk while we're legging it for the house. I really don't think frostbite and gangrene of the face is something to aspire to."

"Do shut up," Snape grumbled. "Is this to be a feature of our every encounter? You babbling like a brook during snowmelt?" There was no bite at all to his words, and he had already started walking back to the house, dragging Harry by the sleeve behind him.

Snape's bedroom was a revelation, although Harry realised later it shouldn't have been. It was large, dark and dusty. Books were stacked on every available surface, including the floor and the bed. Snape ignited a torch which cast only a dim light and smoked badly; there were sooty black smears on the wall and ceiling above it.

"Maid's week off, is it?" Harry quipped. He was feeling giddy and young, and a bit unsteady on his feet.

Snape didn't even bother to snarl. He simply pushed Harry backwards until his knees met the mattress and he tumbled onto his back amid the rumpled bedclothes. Wasting no time, Snape stripped off his Barbour jacket and flung it in the corner. He sat on the bed to pull off his wellies and kicked them away as he stood to remove his trousers. Harry struggled upright and peeled off the borrowed coat and gloves, tossing them on top of Snape's Barbour, then stared in a kind of disgusted wonder as Snape began to unbutton his shirt, revealing the grotty, old-fashioned one-piece combination underwear he wore beneath.

"Wow. Just . . . wow. Those are–"

"Intend to remain clothed for this, do you?" Snape asked as he began to undo the approximate twelve-hundred buttons of his underwear.

It occurred to Harry that a shower might not be a bad idea, but the look of determination on Snape's face stopped him. "Right. Clothes. Off. Good idea. My cock's about to punch a hole through my pants and trousers." Harry unzipped his jeans and wriggled out of them. "And I was right, you have no arse."

Harry'd barely got his shirt off when Snape clambered onto the bed, pushed him flat on his back and straddled him. He barely had time to notice the cold grittiness of the sheets and the earthy funk rising from them before Snape's nose and lips mashed against his own, effectively cutting off both his capacity to think and his ability to breathe.

Nothing that was happening was like anything Harry was used to. There was none of the give and take he experienced with Ginny; Snape took and Harry was merely along for the ride. It shouldn't have been that good, that overwhelming, that shattering.

Snape pulled away suddenly. He efficiently stripped Harry of trousers and pants and rasped, "Turn over."

Excitement beat a sharp tattoo in Harry's chest, but he knew he couldn't; not now, not today. "Uh, I uh, no, I can't."

Wow, if looks could kill. Harry tried again. "I've never done that." He winced, expecting scathing derision, but Snape merely nodded abruptly and repeated the words, "Turn over."

Hesitantly, afraid to trust and more afraid not to, Harry did as he was told.

The tentativeness that had coloured their first kiss was gone. Snape's hands were again strong and sure as they stroked down Harry's back and slid between his arse cheeks. Harry flinched, all his muscles tightening in fearful anticipation, when Snape's thumb brushed across his hole.

"I can't . . . I don't want you to," Harry gasped. She'll know. If I let him do this she'll know. This isn't something I'll be able to hide. He was so tense breathing was becoming difficult.

Snape leant over, his chest pressing against Harry's back, his lips to Harry's ear. "Trust me."

Harry couldn't speak. I want to trust you, but she'll KNOW! He could feel Snape's cock pressing against his crack and clenched his cheeks together, resisting, repelling. But Harry's hips seemed to be operating independently of his will, they shifted side to side, humped the mattress, ground his cock relentlessly against the sheets. Oh god, don't. Please don't. Oh god, oh god, ohgodohgodohgod!

"For fuck's sake! Will you just relax? I'm not going to fuck you!" Snape's fingers were like vise-grips on Harry's bum.

"Then what's your cock doing prodding and poking me that way, eh?" Something cold and slick dribbled down his crack. "Bloody hell! That's freezing! You might warn a bloke. And I thought you said you weren't going to fuck me."

"You are utterly without imagination, aren't you? Shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you. You asked for this. You practically begged for it. It's a little late to get missish."

Snape's cock slipped through the cool slickness of the lube until it was wedged between Harry's arsecheeks like a sausage in a bread roll. The mental image was hilarious and Harry would have laughed if Snape hadn't flattened himself against Harry's back and moved his hips just enough to send his cock sliding smoothly up and down Harry's crack.

It was hard to move with Snape's full weight on him, but Harry did what he could to rock his hips back and forth, rubbing his cock against the sheets again, assisting Snape with whatever he was doing was called. The position was oddly comforting; he felt safe with Snape covering him, and the whole fucking/not-fucking thing was hot as hell.

Suddenly Snape's sharp teeth latched onto the skin of Harry's back and bit down hard. Harry yelled and his body fish-tailed, nearly pitching Snape off. There was a strange moment where time seemed suspended, then Snape slammed down against Harry's back again, his chin connecting painfully with Harry's skull. Snape hurriedly flung himself to the side and rolled onto his back, one arm covering his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I thought . . . It seemed . . . Oh for fuck's sake! I'm no good at this! This isn't what I do! And if you think having to apologise to you doesn't make me want to grind my teeth . . ."

"Snape, shut up." Harry yawned, rolled from his stomach to his back, and stretched out. He wasn't touching Snape at all but he could feel him – his heat, his damp sweaty skin, the throb of his pulse.

Snape rolled onto his side and looked at Harry, his face solemn. "I suppose, all things considered, I should invite you to call me by my given name."

Harry grinned crookedly. "No, don't bother. You're Snape. You've always been Snape. You can never be anything but Snape. If it makes you feel more cozy, you can consider it a pet name. Or . . ." He rolled on top of Snape, his still half-hard cock rubbing against Snape's belly. "You could punish me for my insolence."

Snape shoved Harry off of him, then waved a hand lazily in the air. "Don't be ridiculous. We're disastrous together. Anyone could see it, I can't imagine why you don't. I'm sorry to leave you like that." He gave Harry's cock a half-hearted squeeze. "But I think I need to sleep this madness off." He looked at Harry through a single open eye, a smile playing around his lips. "If you need to be punished, you can wake me in an hour with tea. There's eggs and bread and any number of tins–" The end of Snape's sentence was cut off by a long, shuddering yawn. His one open eye closed and with a slight flare of his nostrils, a flutter of his lips and a soft snore, he was asleep.

"Sodding wanker," Harry said grumpily. He began to stroke himself briskly, needing to finish what Snape had started. When he had had what was, all things considered, a remarkably satisfying orgasm, he looked at Snape's sleep limp body and pushed ineffectually at his shoulder. "Budge over. Fine, fuck it," he said. He flung an arm across Snape's belly, burrowed into his chest and was asleep in an instant.

The late afternoon sun had broken through the clouds and sent a harsh beam of light through the window. Harry awoke and blinked, confused at the unfamiliar surroundings. He almost yelled when he rolled over and bumped into Snape's hard, angular body, then grinned and stretched as he remembered where he was and who he was with. "You awake?" he asked softly. There was a grunt that could have been 'yes' or 'no' or just an aborted snore.

Smiling, Harry rolled onto his side and lightly touched his fingers to Snape's parted lips. When there was no response he grew bolder and bumped his forefinger over the line of ragged yellow teeth. Snape opened one eye and glared. Harry stilled his finger but didn't take it out of Snape's mouth. Snape snarled and bit down hard. Harry snatched his hand away, barely resisting the urge to thump Snape on the nose. With a wary eye, he cautiously moved his hand back and paused with the tip of his finger just touching the crooked teeth. When Snape didn't snap at him again, he began to run the fingertip back and forth, enjoying the feeling.

"What exactly are you doing?" Snape's words were slightly garbled.

"Just touching you. Feeling you."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Oh do spare me the romantic claptrap, Potter. I fucked you. More or less. You liked it. That doesn't mean we're going to go traipsing off, holding hands as we run through the fucking tall grass, which, I've no doubt, you would promptly trip over. Don't make it more than it is."

Harry grinned crookedly. "It already is more than it is."

"That may well be the most asinine thing you've ever said."

His expression suddenly serious, Harry pressed the palm of his hand to Snape's sweaty chest.

Snape simultaneously rolled his eyes, kneed Harry in the ribs, and moved back until there was at least two feet of space between them. "You've horrified me quite enough for one day. That's it! Go! Leave! Now!"

"I'll go," Harry said, trying for serious, "but you care for me, Severus Snape, and one day soon, you're going to admit it."

Snape's look of mingled horror and amusement sent Harry over the edge and he collapsed in a heap on the bed, giggling like a ten-year-old. "The look on your face," he gasped.

"Thank god," Snape said grumpily, "I thought you were serious. Not funny."

"Funny," Harry said.

"Not a bit of it."

"A little bit of it." Harry held his thumb and forefinger a millimetre apart and said, "At least this funny."

Snape threw Harry's shoes at him. "Go.

12

"You're late. I was expecting you three hours ago. I don't have time– WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU MEAN BY THIS!" Snape screeched, saliva spraying from his mouth.

Harry wiped a fleck of spit from his cheek and then held his hands up placatingly. "Don't scream, you'll hurt your throat. I can explain."

"No, you can't," Snape said through clenched teeth. "Get out. All of you."

"Right," Ron said, letting the boxes he was levitating sink slowly to the doorstep. "Told you this was a stupid idea, Harry. And don't point that at me, you fucking prick!" he snapped. The look of loathing on his face was a match for Snape's.

"Get out before I use an Unforgivable," Snape said, his wand wavering between Ron and Neville and Harry. "Don't think I won't. How dare you, Potter?"

"I needed help, OK? I couldn't get all this here by myself."

Snape advanced threateningly, his wand now pointed directly at Harry. "You are no longer welcome here. Take your rubbish and your friends and go."

"I won't!"

"Harry," Neville cautioned, placing his hand on Harry's arm and nodding towards Ron whose face was turning red with anger. Ron's hand was in the pocket where he kept his wand. "This is going to get very ugly, very fast," Neville said in an undertone.

Jerking away from Neville's touch, Harry rounded on Ron. "Don't even think about it. Leave the boxes and go. This was a mistake. RON, DON'T!" he yelled as Ron jerked his wand from his pocket.

Snape laughed derisively. "Think you can take me, Weasley? Do you really?" He laughed again then, showing Ron just how unintimidated he was, turned his back on them and walked away.

Harry and Neville both lunged at Ron and yanked his arm down. Fire engulfed an armchair as Ron's Incendio was deflected.

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" Harry screamed. "You want to kill him because he was rude? What the hell did you expect? Neville, get him out of here. No, leave the boxes. Just go! I've got to try to explain things to Snape."

Neville looked at Harry with dismay, then shrugged. Ron, face still flaming, opened his mouth, but Neville calmly clapped a hand over it and with a muted pop! they were gone.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?" Harry strode through the house, as furious as he'd ever been, and nearly crashed into Snape as he rounded a corner.

"Me? What the hell is the matter with you? How dare you bring them here? How dare you even tell them I am alive? Did it never once occur to you I kept my existence a secret for twenty years for a reason? That maybe I preferred people didn't know? Are you stupid enough to think that wasn't intentional? That I simply forgot to notify the wizarding world?" Snape rolled his eyes. "Now I'm the one who's being stupid. Of course you were idiot enough to think that. Your stupidity has always been your defining character trait!"

"Of course I told them," Harry spluttered. "How could you think I wouldn't? They're my friends! You're my friend! You're too important to me to keep secret!"

"Oh really?" Snape sneered, beginning to pace. "I suppose that means you've told your wife the true nature of our 'relationship'." He spat the word like an obscenity. "Have you told your friends that as well? Described in exquisite detail the way you grovel to me? The way you beg me to use you, humiliate you, shame you? How did they take that news? I wonder."

"NO! I–" Harry fell silent, suddenly feeling like a worm.

"I thought not. How very transparent you are, Potter. You want it all ways. You feign honesty, fool yourself that you maintain some semblance of honour by being forthright. 'I'll tell my wife it's Snape I'm visiting, then I won't really be lying to her. I'll tell my friends Snape's alive and then there won't be any real subterfuge. I can have my brains fucked out on a regular basis by someone other than my wife, but I'll still look good.' You sicken me."

"It isn't like that!" Harry protested. "You know it isn't! You know how much I care for you. How important you are. You must know. Do you think I would risk my marriage, risk everything if I didn't care? If I didn't need you?"

"And there's the crux of it." Snape sank into a chair. "You're such a self-centred little beast. You don't give a tinker's damn about what I need, about my privacy, my safety, my peace of mind. As usual, it's all about Harry Potter having everything he wants, doing anything he wants." Snape didn't even sound angry anymore; his rage had given way to that quiet impassivity that always made Harry feel sick and hollow.

"Go away, Potter. I meant it when I said you sicken me. And, although it's probably pointless to even mention, I would appreciate it if you'd ask your friends to keep their damn mouths shut. I built something good for myself out of the wreckage that was my life. I'd hate for it to be destroyed because of your selfish carelessness."

"You don't mean it. You can't!"

"Don't I?" Snape sneered, all the vindictive bitterness back in his voice. "Don't I? You've constructed an elaborate fantasy based on a web of self-deceit. It's pathetic and childish. Of course I mean it. Every word. You were enjoyable enough as a casual fuck, but now you've become a nuisance. I've never had any interest in you apart from your mouth and arse, and now I'm afraid what minimal attraction there was has quite worn off. Go peddle it somewhere else."

Feeling as if he'd been punched in the stomach, Harry nodded sadly. "I guess that's clear enough. I thought–" His tongue seemed too thick in his dry mouth. "I thought I meant something more to you." He cringed at Snape's noise of disgust. "I'll have to leave some of my equipment here until I can make arrangements. I know it's a bother, but it did take three of us to get it all here."

"There are no arrangements for you to make. You will not bring anyone else here. You'll have to transport it all yourself. I don't care how many trips it takes you, but you will let me know when you're coming back so I can arrange to not be here."

"OK. Right." Harry looked around vaguely, feeling lost and wishing desperately for some way to erase the last hour, some way to put things right again. He could tell from Snape's expression that it was hopeless. "Right," he said again. "I'll be off then. Snape–" He stretched his hand out and then let it fall limply to his side. "Thanks. For everything."

Heart aching, Harry Summoned as many of the boxes as he could manage and Disapparated.

"Hello?"

There was no answer. Feeling like an intruder in the house that had until recently felt like home and hating it, Harry cautiously pushed open the front door and stepped inside. Heart pounding, he stood listening and still there was no sound.

"Snape?" He knew he should summon another load of equipment and leave, but he had something he wanted to say. It had taken him two weeks to summon the courage to return. Two weeks of planning explanatory speeches, two weeks of rejecting them, and now he was here with no idea what he would say and determined to say it nonetheless.

"I should have known courtesy was the last thing I could expect from you."

Harry jumped as Snape's voice sounded right behind him. "Don't do that! You scared the shit out of me!"

"You were supposed to inform me when you planned to return." Snape's voice was cold.

"I want to talk to you."

"Well I don't want to talk to you. Get your things and go."

"You have to let me apologise."

"I don't have to do anything at all. Your audacity never ceases to amaze me." Snape turned on his heel and walked away. Harry followed him into the kitchen.

"You haven't hexed me yet. That has to be a good sign."

"Don't tempt me. Say your piece and leave me in peace. I'm in the middle of something." Snape's voice hadn't gotten any friendlier, but Harry took heart in the fact that it hadn't got any harsher either. He watched as Snape ignited the AGA and took a tin of tea from a cupboard.

Now or never. It's obvious he's going to allow you a hearing. Spit it out before he decides to throw you out again.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. You were right. It never even passed through my mind that I shouldn't tell people you were alive and that was unbelievably stupid of me."

"Not unbelievably," Snape said drily.

"Ha ha." Harry matched Snape's tone, but inside he was cheering. "I know it's unfair of me to . . . I know it isn't right to expect . . ."

"For fuck's sake, just say what you came to say. Listening to you stammer and stutter is beyond tedious."

The kettle began to sing. Harry watched Snape heat the teapot and then dump a measure of tea into it, taking the time to compose himself.

"I've been using you, and that was wrong. I'm married and I've no intention of leaving my wife and kids, so having sex with you under those circumstances is reprehensible and completely unfair to you."

Snape turned to look at him with an unreadable expression. Harry hurried on before the scathing sarcasm could erupt. "But I thought, you know, maybe we could be friends. You've been a big help, beyond you know . . ." He waved his hand, trying to wordlessly express everything Snape had done to and for him. "The Snow Vodka seems stable and I couldn't have done that without your help. We get along surprisingly well. You know we do. It just seems a pity to throw the baby out with the bathwater, if you know what I mean. OK, so we won't have sex anymore. I can live with that. But I like talking to you. I like working in your garden. And I think, no, I know you've enjoyed both my company and my help. Even outside the bedroom. Friends. What do you say?"

Harry had imagined a variety of responses, from being summarily thrown out to the two of them falling into a passionate embrace. It had never once occurred to him that Snape would burst out laughing.

"Friends," Snape said when at long last his laughter had subsided. He hooked a chair with his foot and pushed it towards Harry. "Friends. By all means, Potter. Let's be friends."

"Really? You're OK with that?" Harry looked at Snape suspiciously, his heart unaccountably sinking just a little. He wanted to believe, but it seemed too easy and really, shouldn't Snape be just a bit put out that Harry didn't want to sleep with him anymore?

"What dost tha want?" The shirtless blond youth that answered the door looked sullen, and vaguely familiar. Spotty, with two or three days worth of patchy whisker growth, he also looked to be at most twenty. There was something about him that set Harry's teeth on edge.

"I'm looking for Sev- er, Silex Snubb. You were here before, weren't you? I remember now."

"An' what if I were? What business is it of thine?"

Harry's wand hand twitched. He was saved from doing something he'd regret by Snape's appearance.

"Potter." Snape nodded at Harry, then turned to the blond boy and thrust a jumper into his hands. "Get dressed, lad.

"Who's she then?" Blondie asked as his head cleared the jumper's neck, jerking his chin at Harry. "Thy wife? Bit old in't she? That why tha keeps her hid?"

"Shut thy gob, Walt. Tha' should ha' been long gone. Thy mam'll be wonderin' where tha's been."

"I'll jus' tell her I were bein' buggered stupid by t'old fart downt road. Be reyt. Unnerstandin' woman, my mam."

"Tha may be big enow to cheek thy mam, but tha's not yet so grown I can't clip tha 'raand t'ear-oyle!."

At this last Harry, who had been following this exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, stared at Snape. The accent was thick enough to be nearly unintelligible and so far removed from the one he was used to – even given the throaty whisper Snape now spoke in – that it hardly seemed possible they came from the same man.

A low chuckle snapped him back. "Close your mouth, Potter. You look even a bigger fool than usual." Snape waved a hand, indicating more than just the room they were in. "When in Rome. Not to mention it is my native tongue. Your mother's as well, you know."

"My Aunt Petunia never–"

Snape's lip curled. "I've no doubt she hastened to eviscerate any evidence of her antecedents immediately on crossing the county line. Petunia always did have aspirations." Snape said the word as if it were an obscenity.

"But my mother–"

"No, that's true. It was a matter of survival for her and me, not an attempt to appear what we were not. Being at Hogwarts put edges on our vowels fast enough."

Harry nodded. Now that he thought about it, even Seamus Finnegan's accent was different at school than it was around his family, and McGonagall's thick brogue only slipped out when she was irate; he'd never thought about it before.

"'Ere now. What abaht me, then?" The blond youth's voice grated on Harry's nerves. Indeed, everything about him did.

"You scamper off back to your mam. I've business t'attend to," Snape replied.

Blondie looked as if he was about to say something else – no doubt in a highly petulant and irritating way – but Snape cut off whatever it was by pulling him into a thorough, and disgustingly obscene, kiss. Harry wanted to retch, and he didn't want to think about why his fists were clenched at his side any more than he wanted to think about why his cock was stiffening.

After what seemed to be five minutes or more, Snape pulled away and opened the door. Blondie hesitated for a moment, then, without saying anything, turned on his heel and walked away, pulling his jacket on as he left.

Standing in the open doorway, Snape watched him walking away. Blondie was nearly to the road when Snape heaved a sigh and called him back. There was no reasonable explanation for the way Harry's heart pounded as Snape whispered, "Don't come back again, Walt. There's nowt here for you any longer." He shoved a handful of notes into the blond's pocket. "This'll help thy mam with t’babbies. Be a good lad."

Walter jerked his head towards Harry. "There's nowt she can gi' tha I couldn't gi' thee more of." His voice rose into a near whine.

Snape put a hand to the Walter's mouth, silencing him, then dropped the hand to his shoulder and gently pushed him out the door. This time he didn't watch as Walter walked away, but quietly shut the door behind him.

An inexplicable desire to cheer and dance about bubbled up inside Harry but he held it back. He gave Snape a cheeky grin and asked, "Robbing the cradle, aren't you? Couldn't you find someone already grown? Bit of a cliché, isn't it? Pathetic. Really pathetic."

"Whilst repeatedly scratching at the door of the man who threw you out is neither pathetic nor a cliché, is that it?"

Snape's sneering, superior tone made Harry see red. He'd only been teasing, but now he was furious. "He's young enough to be your grandson! And Christ! The way he looks!" Harry knew he was overreacting. It was nothing to him what Snape did, nor who he did it with. If he wasn't careful, Snape would think he was jealous, or something equally ridiculous. He cast about for something else to say before Snape got the wrong idea. ""I can't believe you'd get involved with that." He mentally winced. Even given his past relationship with Snape – a relationship that was over by mutual agreement – it was incredibly rude; he'd meant to say, "someone like that," which, he admitted to himself, was probably only slightly less churlish.

Snape, however, didn't react at all in a way that could have been reasonably expected. Instead of verbally peeling the flesh from Harry's bones, he flashed an almost ferocious smile. "That can suck the varnish off a broomstick and then swallow it down to the twigs, which is a world beyond your own pathetic capabilities."

There was no possible answer to that. Or maybe there were too many to choose from.

"Well, good for you, I guess. Must be nice to know you can still pull the young ones. Look, I didn't know I was going to be interrupting something. Guess that's why I should let you know I'm coming before I get here." Harry laughed hollowly. "Uh, I should go. You probably want to call him back, or something. God, I'm really embarrassed."

"Get over it. He's gone. He probably won't be back, and I can't say as I'm really sorry. Walt is a bit high maintenance. Now, friend. Snape put his arm over Harry's shoulder and led him into the kitchen. "What was it you came to see me about?"

I hate you, Harry thought. I really, really hate you.

13

Unable to sleep, Harry tossed restlessly; the sheets seemed bewitched, possessed of a malevolent intent to strangle him as he lay there. Beside him, Ginny didn't stir, her soft snores proof of her deep slumber. She's probably only pretending just to plague me, he thought uncharitably, and immediately felt guilty, which only made him more irritable. I've nothing to feel guilty about. I haven't done anything wrong! Or I'm not doing anything wrong any longer.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Snape and their last conversation.

Harry had been sitting in one of Snape's old-fashioned, oddly comfortable lawn chairs, watching him moving purposefully from plant to plant, deftly wielding a pair of garden snips. An enormous lunch and the pleasant drone of honey bees had conspired with the late afternoon sun to make Harry drowsy and content.

"This is the life. We should have bought a house in the country, raised the kids in a better environment. They'd love it out here."

Snape turned and gave him an inscrutable look. "Bring them out for a day. I'll put them to work."

Harry snorted. "Right, and how would I explain that to Ginny, eh? Sorry, dear, kids only."

"Bring her along."

"You're mad!" Harry spluttered.

"Why? Isn't that what friends do?" Snape's tone was merely politely inquisitive, but Harry recognised a needle when it gouged him.

"Fine," Harry snapped, calling Snape's bluff, "when's good for you? Next Saturday, then?" He fully expected some pathetic excuse about why Saturday was no good, but Snape surprised him.

"Certainly. What do the little rodents eat?"

Isn't that what friends do? Isn't that what friends do? Isn't that what friends do? Harry yanked furiously at the sheet entwined like Devil's Snare around his legs.

"Penny for them," Ginny said sleepily, rolling over and peering at Harry through sleep-smeared eyes.

"Snape's invited us out on Saturday," Harry blurted and immediately wished he could call the words back. "I suppose we have other plans," he added hopefully.

"Sounds nice. It's about time I got to see his garden." Ginny yawned. "Now, either settle down or go sleep somewhere else, can't you?"

"Maybe I'd better," Harry said petulantly, sliding his legs over the edge of the bed. "God knows I can't sleep here with you snoring away like an asthmatic dragon." He pulled the duvet off the foot of the bed and left the room, grinning as Ginny's retort was muffled by another prolonged yawn.

Downstairs, he turned on the telly and settled into his favourite chair, pulling the duvet up around his shoulders. He flipped from channel to channel, finally settling on a nature programme about severe weather. Good omen. Maybe it'll rain buckets on Saturday. And with that comforting thought, he at last fell asleep.

Saturday dawned fair and bright and it was obvious things weren't going to get any better.

James, with what Ginny assured Harry was perfectly typical teenage behaviour, was sulking because he didn't "want to go on some stupid family outing," and he'd "heard plenty about Slytherin's famous greasy git, and none of it good neither." Harry was sorely tempted to box James' ears.

Ron had shown up with his ancient and cherished Morris Minor, wasting the better part of an hour explaining the "peccadillos" and "sensitive temperament" of "the old girl" and trying to give Harry a crash course on gear ratios. He was still babbling on when the family at last began to pile into the car.

"Ron, enough! I know all about it. I driven it before, remember? We've got to get a move on, we're probably going to be late as it is. Good thing it's a flying car."

"Uh, about that, mate," Ron said, refusing to meet Harry's eyes. "The flying thingy isn't working. And don't call my Moggie an 'it'. She doesn't like it."

Boxing Ron's ears didn't seem like such a bad idea either.

When at last they were en route, not five minutes from the house, they'd had to turn back because Lily had to pee. They were just about to set off the second time when Ginny realised she'd left the maps on the kitchen table. It was nearly ten o'clock when they finally turned onto the clogged M1; Snape was expecting them for lunch and on a good day with no traffic at the kind of speeds Ginny refused to tolerate, it was a three-and-a-half hour drive. James alternated between sulking in his corner of the rear seat and poking his brother and sister. Harry snapped at Lily for kicking his seat. Ginny snapped at Harry for being such a grouch. Al tried to relieve the tension by telling an off-colour joke, which earned him a glare from his mother. Happy families, Harry thought.

"No, Lily. We're not there yet. We're not even close. Try to take a nap, Sunshine. It'll make the trip go faster." Ginny sighed.

"James, if you poke your brother one more time . . ."

"Al, stop it. You're provoking him. No, don't say you didn't. I saw you. Yes, I do have eyes in the back of my head. Now stop."

"Da-ad!"

"James Potter, don't make me stop this car."

"Merlin, it's hot! Ron can afford a luxury car. Why did he buy this bucket?" Ginny was using a map to fan herself to little avail.

"We shoulda flown. It woulda been faster. But noooo. Ickle Illy can't fly that far." James heaved himself against the door and crossed his arms.

"Just shut it, James. It's too far for you to fly as well."

"Are you sure Snape isn't on the Floo Network?"

"Yes, damn it! I'm sure. Do you think I'd be putting myself through this hell otherwise?"

"Are we there yet?"

"I have to pee."

"James! Stop! Don't make me tell you again!"

"Maybe we should turn back. We can send an owl to Snape with our apologies."

"For fuck's sake, Gin! We're almost there. Hey! Fucking idiot! Did you see that?"

"Harry! Language."

"Da-ad! I really, really have to pee!"

"Are we there yet?"

"Fuck! That's where I should have turned. Aren't you supposed to be navigating? Can't you read a fucking map?"

No one was talking by the time Harry turned onto Snape's rutted road. Ginny was napping, a sleeping Lily on her lap, sweaty cheek pressed to sweat-damp hair. Al was asleep as well, a streak of drool glistening on his chin, hot breath steaming his glasses. James was picking his nose and flicking bogies at his sleeping brother; Harry didn't even have the energy to scowl at him.

"Welcome, Potter family. A bit later than expected, but very welcome nonetheless." Snape strolled down the verge towards the car, his wand pointed at his throat as he amplified his harsh whisper enough to be heard from ten paces away.

"Who are you and what have you done with Severus Snape?" Harry snarled as he stepped stiff-legged from the car. "I'm never setting foot in a car again. What a fucking day!"

"Language, Potter. There are children present, or hadn't you noticed?" Snape looked at Harry disapprovingly.

"Fuck off, Snape. Those aren't children, they're the mutant spawn of Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

"Well, I suppose you'd know. Let me help you with her, Miss Weasley. I'm sorry, Mrs Potter." Snape opened Ginny's door and scooped a still sleeping Lily from her lap. A peculiar look flickered across his face as he looked down at the small girl in his arms.

"Oh dear," Ginny said with a sour grin. "Mrs Potter, is it? Am I to call you Professor Snape, then?" She groaned and clutched her back as she stood.

"Severus, please. As you know, I haven't been a professor for many years now. Please, come in. We can put Lily on my bed. She can finish her nap. You must be James," Snape said, extending his hand awkwardly from under Lily.

"James," Harry said threateningly as his son pretended not to see the outstretched hand.

"How'd'ja do," James mumbled as he took Snape's hand, shook it once then dropped it quickly and wiped his hand on his trousers.

"And you would be Albus. I'm very glad to finally meet you. Sorry about your middle name. I don't know what your parents were thinking."

"No, really," Harry said. "Who are you? Why are you acting this way?"

"It's called common courtesy, Potter. How very predictable to find you unfamiliar with it. Mrs Potter, may I get you something to drink?"

Ginny gave Snape a look. "Please, Severus, call me Ginny."

"I'm not sure I can." Snape smiled. "Will you accept Ginevra?"

"If you must." Ginny looked at Harry and rolled her eyes.

Harry shrugged in response. "I don't know what's got into him." But he had his suspicions and didn't like them very much; Snape was trying to tweak his nose with exaggerated courtesy to his family.

The Potters trooped after Snape into the house.

"The loo is through there if you'd like to freshen up, Ginevra. Harry, why don't you take the boys through to the kitchen and get them something to drink. There's pumpkin juice and fizzy lemonade in the refrigerator. I'll just put Lily down and join you directly."

At the words "pumpkin juice", James and Al peeled off from their parents and thundered into the kitchen. Ginny decided she would freshen up. Harry followed Snape into the bedroom.

"She looks so very much like your mother. It's startling." He looked down at Lily with an inscrutable expression.

"Yeah, well," Harry said awkwardly. He didn't know how to respond to this version of Snape.

"We'll leave the door open so we can hear her if she cries."

Harry snorted. "She's eleven, not an infant. She'll be fine. It was just the heat in the car, I think. Got anything stronger than pumpkin juice?" He stepped out of the bedroom into the passageway.

Snape followed quickly and the minute they were out of sight of the door, pushed Harry against the wall and loomed over him menacingly. "This is going to be a very interesting experiment, Potter," he said, smiling sardonically.

For a moment, Harry thought Snape was about to kiss him right there in the hallway, and didn't know if he wanted that or not.

Then Snape stepped back. Still smiling, he dropped a hand to his groin and adjusted himself. "Very interesting indeed."

"Fuck off, you bastard," Harry croaked.

"Ah, but we don't do that anymore," Snape responded, his eyes glittering dangerously.

"You're a real son of a bitch, Severus." He made a point of emphasising his use of Snape's first name.

Suddenly Snape's hand was at Harry's throat, pressing painfully against his Adam's apple. "Careful, Potter. Your ambivalence about the status of our friendship is beginning to show. Don't push me, boy. I can destroy your life," Snape snapped his fingers, "just like that, and take great pleasure in doing it."

At the sound of a door opening, Snape dropped his hand and stepped back so quickly it was as if he'd Disapparated and then Apparated a mere foot away. His features settled easily into a mild, friendly look. It was creepy the way he could do that.

"She still sleeping?" Ginny asked as she approached. "Where are the boys? Is something wrong, Harry?"

Harry twitched his shoulders irritably and glared at Snape. "Just him being himself."

Ginny laughed and rolled her eyes. "Honestly. You're grown men."

"I must apologise, Ginevra. I shouldn't have pricked him that way," Snape said.

Harry nearly choked. He covered it with a cough. "Boys are in the kitchen. This way." He put his hand to the small of Ginny's back and guided her in the right direction. Throwing an angry glare over his shoulder, Harry's breath caught in his throat as Snape slowly adjusted himself again.

Once in the kitchen, Snape efficiently brought food from cupboards and refrigerator and put it on the oak table, inviting the family to sit. With surprising intuition, he offered the seat at the head of the table to James, indicating that he himself would sit at the foot, with Ginny on his right and Harry on his left. James, no one's fool, made a sly comment about Slytherins which Snape deflected easily while offering a discreet wink to Al. Tension started to drain from Harry's shoulders; perhaps the day would turn out well after all.

"Your father tells me you're quite the Quidditch player," Snape said, looking at James.

James gave Harry a look as if to say, "Talking about me to this git is just not on," and answered Snape with a mumble.

"He, of course," Snape continued with a small smile, "was famous for his skill, but I always thought there was more flash than substance to his playing."

As easily as that, James was engaged. He made a half-hearted attempt to defend Harry with, "No, he's actually pretty decent for an old man," and then was off, excitedly relaying every detail of the latest match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, a match where he had, apparently, been the star player, single-handedly scoring 100 points before the Snitch was caught.

It was a topic everyone could participate in, even Lily when she finally stumbled into the kitchen, wiping sleep from her eyes. A little stunned, Harry looked from Ginny to Snape and back again, shaking his head in disbelief. For the first time, he caught a glimpse of why Snape had survived so long as a spy. Any Slytherin who could get past James' instinctive hatred, while at the same time not excluding anyone else, was a diplomatic force to be reckoned with. Harry felt unbelievably content.

So content that he almost purred when Snape's hand slid along his thigh.

Shooting Snape a dirty look, Harry slid his chair closer to Lily on pretence of helping her build the world's biggest sandwich. Ginny, catching the look, gave Harry a quizzical one of her own. Harry just rolled his eyes, but when Lily's sandwich was assembled, he didn't slide his chair back to its original position.

When they had done eating, Ginny rose and began to gather the plates, but Snape stopped her with a hand laid on top of hers. "Please don't. It's kind of you to offer, but you'll just make me uncomfortable." Again he smiled at her, and Harry found himself gritting his teeth.

Stupid fucking poncy git. He doesn't smile at me. And where was his discomfort when I did the washing up last week?

"The thestral mare has foaled. The new colt's in the paddock. Would you like to meet him?"

Lily squealed in ecstasy and immediately hared off, James and Albus close on her heels.

"Stay out of the shed and the garden," Snape called after them. It was doubtful he could be heard above their noise.

"Got their hopes up for nothing. They won't be able to see him, will they?" Harry asked, failing to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Snape tipped his head at Ginny as if to say, 'What can you do with someone like this?' "The colt will be visible until he's weaned. That's basic Care of Magical Creatures, Harry. I'm surprised you don't remember. Would you like to see the climate garden, Ginevra?" He stepped back so Ginny could precede him out the door then followed her.

Left behind and ignored, Harry twisted his mouth and whispered in a childish voice, "That's basic Care of Magical Creatures, Potter." Fucking wanker with his fucking superiority complex. I don't know what the fuck I ever saw in him. Harry's cock twitched, as if reminding him exactly what he saw in Snape.

Through the doorway, Harry could see Snape say something to Ginny, then point down the path towards the garden wall. Ginny nodded and walked off. Snape turned, adjusted himself again, and called, "Coming, Potter? You're usually quicker off the mark than that."

Harry gave him a two-fingered salute and turned back to the kitchen. If I have to put up with this crap, I'm getting another beer. He knew it wasn't a good idea. Disconcerted by Snape's weird behaviour, he'd already downed two with lunch. A third would give him a headache, but at that moment, he really didn't care.

He was already half finished with his beer by the time he decided to join Snape and Ginny. He stopped briefly at the paddock. The three kids were hanging off the paddock fence, miraculously not fighting, watching in rapt attention as the baby thestral twisted his neck awkwardly to feed from his invisible mother. Harry stared at them wistfully for a moment, wrapped in that constrained, aching, tender feeling he thought peculiar to fathers. It's a pity we can't live here, he thought, and then nearly laughed out loud at the idea of Snape and domestic tranquility. Speaking of domestic tranquility, Ginny'll have my head for leaving her alone with him so long.

Reminding his kids not to startle the colt and to stay out of the shed, Harry trotted down the path to the walled garden. The gate opened with its usual squeal of protest. It was, as always, ridiculously hot once he closed the gate behind him. He unbuttoned his shirt and hung it on the hooks provided, scowling sourly at Ginny's jumper and Snape's long-sleeved shirt hanging cosily side by side. Knocking Snape's shirt to the ground was an accident, but he didn't bother to pick it up and hung his own shirt on the hook next to Ginny's.

Snape and Ginny were nowhere in sight. That wasn't really surprising; at this time of day the tropical garden was unbearably muggy. They'd be somewhere beyond, looking at plants that didn't grow so close together, and where there was at least a chance of a cooling breeze. He found them, more or less where he expected, looking at a giant saguaro that had been damaged by frost. What he didn't expect was to find them standing so close together, arms linked, laughing.

It was unsettling. Harry watched them for a moment, trying to work out why their apparent amicability annoyed him so. He should have been glad they were getting along, shouldn't he? But they weren't really. They couldn't be. The Snape on display wasn't the real Snape. He was just making a show of being super-friendly to Ginny in an attempt to get Harry's goat. That was the problem: Snape wasn't really being nice, he was using Ginny, and Ginny didn't know him well enough to realise it. Of course he doesn't know you're around to see at the moment, and he's still being nice. What's that about?

Trying to get my goat, Harry thought again. Well, he's not getting it. I'll show him three can play this best-of-friends game. Tilting his head back, Harry drained the rest of his beer in one long, continuous swallow. Carefully setting his bottle at the edge of the path where it wouldn't be tripped over, he Summoned three more from the kitchen.

"Anyone want another beer?" Harry asked with forced cheerfulness, stepping forward and holding up the bottles.

"Is that your third?" Ginny asked. "I hope you have a headache potion, or at least some paracetamol," she said to Snape. "Three beers always give him a headache. You'd think he'd learn."

"Yeah, it's my third," Harry lied, "and look, Mother, no headache." He tried to hide a wince as something sharp seemed to jab him behind his left eyeball. "So, beer?" He waggled the bottles.

Snape took one, opened it and gave it to Ginny before taking one for himself. As Ginny took a swallow, Snape turned his back to her and gave Harry a seductive look.

"Trying to get drunk, Potter? At your size it won't take long." On the word 'size' he glanced down at Harry's crotch, and smiled.

"You really shouldn't have another, Harry. Don't forget you still have to drive home."

Damned if he would snap at her in front of Snape, Harry bit back his retort. "So, that's the cactus thingy got snowed on, is it?" And now he did wince. He knew the name of the damn thing, he just couldn't think of it at the moment.

"I don't know how you tolerate it, Ginevra. He drives me half mad with his inane questions and utter lack of common sense." Snape tucked Ginny's arm through his again and led the way back to the house.

"Sometimes it isn't easy," Ginny said with a smile. "Thanks for showing me your garden. It's wonderful."

The irritation that had been fermenting for the last hour suddenly gave Harry a sharp poke in the gut. They're flirting! They're fucking flirting with each other! He stared after them in consternation, unsure whether he wanted to say, "Oi, that's my man you're making so free with," or, "She's my wife, Snape."

It was disgusting. Deep down he knew it didn't mean anything, but it was insanely aggravating all the same. Better catch up, Potter. God knows what they'll get up to if you're not there to stop them. Harry hurried along the path after them.

"Where are your children?"

Harry and Ginny looked at each other.

"They were at the paddock," Harry said. "Watching the thestral colt."

"They're not there now." Snape pointed to the fenced area where the baby threstral kicked up its heels. The three kids were nowhere to be seen. "I told them not to go into the shed," Snape said with a frown of concern.

"I reminded them when I saw them. What's the big deal anyway? I don't remember anything dangerous in there."

Ginny laid a reassuring hand on Snape's arm. "I'm sure everything's all right. They can be a bit rambunctious, but they're very well behaved generally. They won't harm any of your plants."

"It's not them harming the plants that worries me. It's the Dragon's Heartstring."

Ginny paled.

"What?" Harry asked, but Snape and Ginny were already hurrying towards the shed.

A muffled shout sounded from within. Snape blasted the door open from twenty paces away and began running, Ginny and Harry hard on his heels. Harry still didn't know what the problem was, he'd been in the shed many times and never encountered anything more hazardous than Mandrakes, and both James and Al would know how dangerous they were and to keep Lily well away.

"Get it off me!"

That was James, with a note of panic in his voice. Harry tried to see over Snape's shoulder.

"Albus, Lily, I want you to back away from James. Very slowly. That's it. Back away." Snape's wand described a complicated spiral in the air and he was chanting something in a strange language.

Harry took another step forwards and saw James on the shed floor tightly wrapped by some kind of vile, wet-looking vine. He watched in horror as a thick, slimy red tendril made a tentative movement towards James's nostril. Snape's wand spiralled faster. Another tendril was creeping up James's neck, obviously seeking his ear, and a third was worming its way into his trousers. Snape finished his chant on a rising note; there was a flash and a puff of smoke, and the grotesque red creepers suddenly fell away, turning black and shrivelling before their eyes.

"So," Snape said in a deadly tone, "you thought you could ignore me without consequences, did you? You little idiot! Do you realise you could have been irreparably damaged? That your brother and sister could have as well? Do you think, as your father once did, that you are too good for rules?" Snape smiled nastily as he stepped closer still to James. "If you were my child, I'd beat you black and blue. Unhappily, that option is not available to me."

"Too right it isn't!" Harry snapped, remembering all the times Snape had threatened him with expulsion and hating the look of angry terror on James's face.

"Harry," Ginny admonished, "Severus is right. Well, not about the beating." She grinned. "But you were unbelievably stupid, James, and you deserve to be punished."

Snape flashed Harry a triumphant smirk and stepped back.

"What were you thinking?" Ginny continued. "Or weren't you?"

"We just wanted to see–"

"Were you, or were you not told to stay out of the shed?"

"Yes, but–"

"So you deliberately disobeyed Mr Snape."

"He's not my father! I don't have to listen to him!" James scrambled to his feet, his face blotchy with outrage. "He was a spy and a traitor! Like all Slytherins!"

"Oi!" Al protested.

"Well taught, Potter," Snape said in an undertone to Harry. "You must be proud."

"James! That's enough!" Harry snapped. He was still nursing his outrage at Snape for indignities inflicted years ago, but he was even more ashamed that his own son would spout such rubbish. He turned to Snape. "You said if I brought them you'd put them to work. I assumed you were kidding at the time, but I'm also sure there's something you could find to keep James out of any further trouble."

"Oh yes," Snape said smoothly. "The stalls in the byre need to be mucked out. There's nothing there he can damage, or use to cause damage to himself, unless he plans to choke himself on soiled straw." He gave James a malicious smile.

Harry turned to Ginny. She put her hand over her mouth to hide a grin and nodded. "That's it, then. Your punishment is mucking out the byre. Without magic."

"That's not fair!" James roared. "He should be reported to the Ministry! It's illegal to have lethal plants without a permit! You shouldn't be punishing me, you should summon the Aurors! Nasty, filthy, sneaking Slytherin traitor! I can't believe you're friends with him!"

"I do apologise for my son's horrible manners, Severus. Perhaps we should just take him home." Ginny looked as if she might be willing to reconsider the idea of a beating.

"Nonsense. If you leave, I'll have to muck out the byre myself." Snape laughed. "And I thought Lily and Al might like to ride the thestrals, or the mare if you don't like that idea."

Lily cheered and Al snickered at his brother, earning a half-hearted glare from Ginny.

"I think the mare would be better," Harry said. "There's been enough trouble for one day without putting these two hooligans on invisible, flying beasts."

"What's the deal with the Dragon Heartstring?" Harry asked after James had been locked in the shed with a rake, Al was perched on the paddock fence watching Lily ride the mare 'round in circles, and the adults were back in the lounge with fresh bottles of beer beside them. "Aptly named, from what I saw. Really disgusting stuff. But why would you want to grow something like that. It can't be any earthly use."

"Even after all these years your ignorance never ceases to astound me, Potter. I would have thought you, of all people, would have been intimately familiar with the cores used for wands."

"That stuff? I thought Ollivander used real heartstrings."

"Don't be ridiculous. He'd never have enough supply. Think about it, you twit. Phoenixes and unicorns are rare, true, but Phoenixes drop feathers as a dog sheds hair, and on the days immediately preceding their burning time, they can be plucked like a chicken without harm. In much the same way, unicorn hair can be gathered en masse. But you'd have to kill one dragon for every heartstring. It would be a terrible waste."

"They never taught us that at Hogwarts."

"Yes, well, Albus always was overly concerned for the tender sensibilities of children. He thought that if it were known that a simple plant made up a wand core, any child wielding such a wand might be ridiculed. I believe seventh year NEWT students are taught about cores, such students being deemed responsible enough to handle the information. The whole notion is absurd. My own wand uses Heartstring, as does, I believe, Hermione Granger's."

"It's a plant. I don't know why that seems so wrong. So what was it trying to do to James?"

Harry was irritated when Ginny was the one who answered.

"They're a sort of botanical dementor." She looked at Snape, who nodded. "The tendrils enter the body through any available opening, natural or wound, and then the plant feeds on the victim's magic."

"There was one creeping into James's trousers!" Harry felt ill at the idea.

"And into his nose and ear. Any available opening means any available opening. Eyes, rectum, urethra."

"OK, OK! I get it! You can stop now!" Harry took a long pull at his beer, draining the bottle and thumping it back on the table. "You grow these things? Do I even want to know how you feed them?"

Snape chuckled. "Let's just say there are fewer children in this community than there once were."

"You're joking. Tell me you're joking. That's disgusting, even for you!" Harry's voice was much louder than it should have been.

"Tell me what you would do, Ginevra," Snape said, giving Harry a disgusted look and turning his full charm on Ginny.

"Can't you just call her Ginny?" Harry demanded, irritated at the continued flirting. Snape and Ginny smiled at each other.

"Well, I didn't take a NEWT in Herbology, so I never read up on Dragon's Heartstring, but I'm guessing the feeding host doesn't have to be human?"

"Well done. It's none of my business, of course, but I do find myself wondering how two intelligent witches, such as yourself and Miss Granger, can tolerate being married to the likes of your husbands. I would find it tedious in the extreme."

Ginny giggled. It occurred to Harry that they were all a little the worse for wear after all those beers.

"There are other compensations," she said, giggling again.

"Indeed?" Snape gave Harry the once-over, not even bothering to hide it from Ginny this time, before turning back to her. "Would you like another beer?"

Determined that Snape should not win whatever game it was he was playing, Harry spoke up. "I think we've had enough to drink. How about coffee?"

Predictably, but still to Harry's surprise, Snape gestured negligently towards the kitchen, saying, "You know where things are kept. I'd prefer tea, if you don't mind. Ginevra?"

What am I? The fucking parlour maid? He won't let Ginny lift a finger, but I'm supposed to fetch and carry? Harry tried to keep the irritation from his face, but Ginny knew him too well. She gave him a small shake of her head and a warning look before saying she was fine with her beer.

A few minutes later, as the kettle was beginning to sing and Harry was slamming things around as he prepared to add grinds to the coffee press, Ginny came into the kitchen. "What in Merlin's name is the matter with you? You're acting like a child! You've been behaving almost as badly as James."

Harry sagged against the counter, suddenly ashamed. He knew he'd been acting like a complete berk. "I don't know. Snape said something nasty to me when we arrived – you caught the tail end of it, remember? It just seemed to get me off on the wrong foot. He does it on purpose. He knows he can get me worked up over nothing and he never passes on the opportunity to do it! And the two of you are acting like best chums. And James is a pillock. And I just hate everything and everyone at the moment."

Ginny laughed. "What did he say?"

"I don't want to talk about it. It'll just set me off again." Harry turned away, suddenly and inexplicably aroused by the memory of Snape crowding him against the wall. "It was nothing really, just one of his garden variety insults."

"Poor you. I guess twenty years and a bad case of hero-worship isn't enough to wipe out all the bad history between you. Try not to let it ruin your day. He's been quite the perfect host, you realise." She stepped closer and touched his shoulder. Harry turned to meet her.

"What a charming sight," Snape said from the doorway. His voice was pleasant but Harry was positive he could detect an underlying sneer. "I thought, as it's such a lovely evening, we could take our tea outside. Perhaps it's time to free young James from exile as well." He pulled a key on a long chain out of his pocket and handed it to Ginny. "This will unlock the byre door. I'll just help Harry get things ready while you gather the children. I laid in six flavours of ice-cream from Fortescue's, so I'm sure there's something they'll each like."

As soon as Ginny left, Snape crowded Harry against the counter, his eyes hot and heavy lidded. "Your wife is stunning, Potter." His breath was warm and damp against Harry's neck as he leant in. "You're a lucky man. What's she like in bed? I can see a lot of passion under that calm exterior."

"You fucking prick!" Harry rasped, trying to shift away, appalled that his cock had immediately leapt to attention. "Shut your fucking mouth!"

"Have I said something to offend?" Snape asked innocently, grinding his hips against Harry's. His voice dropped below its usual hoarse whisper. "I've enjoyed imagining the two of you together. You're so perfectly suited. And now, having met her again, I've something new to add to my fantasies. Have you ever thought about sharing her?"

Wild-eyed and breathing hard, Harry shoved Snape away from him. He had never imagined any such thing, but now that the idea had been planted, his cock seemed to pound with an unaccustomed urgency.

Snape laughed. "I suggest a visit to the loo before your wife returns with your children; you seem to be experiencing some difficulty. I'll just finish up here and you can join us outside when you're ready."

Harry nearly bolted from the room. In the loo, he leant heavily against the basin, panting and terrified, head swimming from too much alcohol, unbearably aroused, and listened to the sound of blood roaring in his ears. His body ached for Snape's touch. His mind rebelled at the thought of betraying his wife again. He was scared, exhilarated, shocked, disgusted and happy all at the same time. He thought his heart might burst from the emotion swelling inside it. Almost afraid of what he might see, Harry examined his face in the mirror and marvelled that, apart from a faint, feverish flush, he didn't look any different than he ever had. He stayed there, staring into his own green eyes, until his breathing evened out, until his heart stopped pounding, until his erection subsided. Feeling only marginally in control again, he washed his face and hands.

We'll have our coffee and tea, the kids can have their ice cream, and then we'll go. It was stupid to come here. So stupid. I don't know what Snape's playing at, what he's trying to do to me, but it doesn't matter. We shouldn't have come. I can manage this. I can do the polite thing, and then we can leave. I can manage this.

Harry looked in the mirror again, saw the flush had gone from his face, saw that the wildness had subsided from his eyes. Taking a deep breath and then another, he nodded at himself in the glass. "I can manage this," he said aloud, then turned away and left the bathroom.

The kids were seated on the ground, each with an enormous bowl of ice cream. Lily and Al scrunched their bare feet in the moss, laughing with delight as it curled around their toes. James sat apart on a patch of bare ground, face sullen, casting surreptitious dirty looks in Snape's direction. Snape and Ginny sat in lawn chairs, a small wrought iron table laden with tea, coffee and small cakes, between them.

"There you are," Ginny said, smiling. "I thought we'd lost you."

"Too much to drink," Harry said shortly. "I thought I might have lost myself." He avoided looking at either of them.

"You wanted coffee, I believe," Snape said, filling a mug and handing it to Harry. He appeared relaxed, more at ease than Harry could ever remember him being.

Harry'd thought the coffee would sober him up, but it seemed the beers he'd consumed had a delayed reaction. He had a fierce headache and his head was still swimming.

"Are we going to leave soon?" James asked.

"Shut it, James," Harry snapped. "You've been rude enough for one day!"

"Harry," Ginny scolded, "he's been behaving himself. The kids are all tired, especially James. He did a good job on the stables. It's been a long day for everyone." She smiled apologetically at Snape. It made Harry want to smash something.

"Excuse me for trying to teach my son some manners," Harry snarled. He gave in to his urge and slammed his coffee mug down on the table hard enough to crack it. "Maybe if you exercised a little more discipline, he wouldn't behave like such a prat!"

"What's the matter with you?" Ginny asked, her eyes flashing. "You're the one who's behaving like a prat!"

"Maybe I'm sick of watching you hang all over Snape. It's indecent!"

Snape put a restraining hand on Ginny. "Settle down, Potter," he said coldly. "You're acting like a child."

"Maybe if you'd stop pawing my wife, I could settle down!" Harry lurched to his feet, then swayed dizzily before falling heavily back into his chair. He thought he might vomit.

"Mummy? What's the matter with Daddy?" Lily sounded frightened and Harry felt bile rise up in his throat.

"What's the matter with Daddy, Mummy?"

"He's drunk, Lily. Not a very pretty picture, is it?" Ginny spoke mildly but she shot Harry a look of disgust.

James sniggered.

"Remember this when you get older, you lot. Too much of a good thing is still too much."

"Do NOT run me down in front of my kids!" Harry shouted. He tried to rise again with no more success than the first time.

Ginny looked helplessly at Snape who nodded grimly.

"Can you drive that contraption," he asked, with a nod towards Ron's Moggie parked on the verge.

"I have done," Ginny said.

"Then perhaps you should take your children home. I'd offer to help you take them Side-Along, but I'm afraid of what your husband might get up to, left to his own devices."

Harry turned his head and vomited on the moss. James snickered again, and Al and Lily scooted closer to their mother. Deeply ashamed and utterly unable to change anything, Harry watched morosely as Snape accompanied his family to the car. He offered the only thing he could. "James, sit up front with your mother. I don't want you harassing your sister and brother." His speech was slurred and he was vaguely aware it shouldn't have been. It was not possible that he was getting drunker by the minute. At the very least, purging himself should have cleared his head a bit.

"I hope you're proud of yourself, Potter." Snape said as they watched Ginny and the kids drive away. "You couldn't have behaved more reprehensibly if you tried."

"You put something in my coffee," Harry said accusingly, positive he was right.

"You have more of your wits about you than I thought." Snape pulled a vial out of his pocket. "Drink this."

"Why?"

"It will clear your head, you idiot."

"Not what I meant. Why did you poison me? Are you that angry? I thought . . . I thought things were patched." Harry knew he wasn't making any sense.

"Don't be daft, Harry. I didn't poison you. If you want to participate intelligibly in a conversation, drink that."

Still suspicious, Harry swallowed the vial's contents. Immediately his head stopped spinning and the roiling in his stomach subsided, although he still felt more than a little drunk. "What did you put in my coffee and why?"

Snape's lips twitched. "Powdered Dragon's Heartstring. Smoked, it's an anti-depressant. In solution, it dulls motor co-ordination and clouds the mind, much like an excess of alcohol. Perhaps now you understand my attempts at propagating it. There's a potential fortune to be had."

"Never mind that, you bastard. Why did you drug me?"

"I wanted you to myself for the evening. It seemed the easiest route," Snape replied blandly.

"Thought you were done with that. You said I made you sick and kicked me out." Excitement set Harry's heart racing again. He still wants me!

"That," Snape whispered, leaning forward and ghosting his fingers over Harry's crotch, "was before seeing you with your lovely wife put ideas into my head. Come to the house, Harry. Come to my bed."

There was something not quite right, but Harry couldn't put his finger on it, and the way his cock throbbed blotted out reason. He staggered heavily to his feet, leaning against Snape for balance, moaning as Snape's hand slid under his shirt and stroked up and down his back.

The early evening sun cast the dust motes in Snape's room in high relief. The same clutter covered every surface, books were still stacked everywhere including several by the pillows on the bed, but at least the sheets looked to have been changed since the last time. Harry sank gratefully onto the bed and limply allowed Snape to divest him of his clothing. The momentary clearness provided by Snape's potion seemed to be disappearing. Harry felt strangely lethargic and his head was spinning again. He groaned as Snape suddenly jerked him to his feet, propelling him by main force across the room to stand in front of a long mirror.

"Look at yourself!" Snape stood behind Harry, his long-fingered hands holding Harry's jaws, twisting his head, forcing him to look in the mirror. "You're a mess. Did you get drunk so you could let yourself do all the dirty things you think about?" He shifted his grip to Harry's chin, holding it with one hand while the other strayed slowly down Harry's chest. He pressed his lips to Harry's ear.

"Not drunk. You drugged me," Harry protested feebly.

"I merely saw to it that your pathetic state was enhanced to my benefit. You drank yourself stupid all by yourself. You're aroused, and you smell as if you have been for some time. Did you catch yourself imagining what it would be like to watch me fuck your wife?"

Harry inhaled sharply, suddenly dizzy from the filthy images in his head.

"Can you imagine it? Her beautiful head thrown back, exposing the long white column of her neck, offering it to me, to my teeth, my lips." As he spoke, Snape's hand had been rubbing Harry's torso with increasing firmness, stroking him from clavicle to navel.

Snape pushed two fingers between Harry's lips, pressed against his teeth, demanded entrance. Harry wasn't refusing, he was drunk and dazed and even after all this time, Snape still had the ability to make his brain freeze under the onslaught of powerful emotion. The instant his lips parted the pressure on his teeth ceased.

"Wet them," Snape growled.

Incapable of a single coherent thought, Harry could still follow orders. He sucked the fingers deep into his mouth with enough force to make them bump the back of his throat. He gagged and quickly backed off but kept his tongue in play, running it over, under and between, wetting them as thoroughly as he could.

"Think of my cock slipping in and out of her wetness."

Harry's whine when Snape slipped from his mouth turned into a hiss as he sucked his breath in sharply. Snape's wet fingers were in the crease of Harry's thigh, sliding back and forth over the smooth flesh there, rubbing firmly over a muscle that must have been attached directly to Harry's cock.

"Imagine sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking yourself as you watch me fuck your wife from behind."

It was easy to imagine. So easy. He could see Ginny's smooth, freckled arse pushing back, meeting Snape thrust for thrust.

Snape's fingers continued to do clever things to Harry's body as he described what he would do to Harry's wife. Each time Harry closed his eyes, trying to sink into the heady sensations, Snape would jerk his head back, forcing his eyes to snap open again, forcing him to watch everything in the mirror.

"Your depravity knows no bounds. You'd do it, wouldn't you? You'd let me fuck her. You'd watch with open-eyed glee as I ravaged her."

"Yes," Harry panted, knowing it was wrong, knowing he should say anything but that.

"And you'd touch yourself," Snape whispered against Harry's neck as his hand slid to Harry's cock, squeezing and tugging it roughly.

"GOD, YES!" Harry screamed. And that was all it took. His orgasm was blindingly intense. His knees buckled and he fell like a stone, tumbling Snape to the ground with him. They lay there in a sweaty, panting heap for several long, ecstatic minutes.

Finally, still labouring for breath, Harry rolled over, curling his body around Snape's. "That was amazing! Best ever. You've really got a filthy mind." He yawned and stretched luxuriously. "It's good to be back. I've really missed this. Whose ridiculous idea was it to just be friends anyway?"

"Yours," Snape replied coldly. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Potter. I wanted to remind you exactly what you've been missing." He didn't sound glad at all.

Harry sighed. "Can we not do this again? You're preparing to toss me out, aren't you? You do it every damn time!"

"I'm not the one with a wife and family. You don't have to leave. Stay the weekend if you like."

"I can't. You know I can't."

""Drink that," Snape said, his tone surly as he pointed to a small bottle on the bedside table. "It will get rid of the alcohol in your system. It is time you left. I've no desire to have a parliament of owls congregating in my kitchen as your wife and children send frantic missives demanding to know how you're feeling."

"I don't have to go just yet. Ginny won't expect me for a few hours. Maybe we could take a nap?"

Snape didn't say anything as he stripped down and crawled into bed. Harry hurried to join him.

"Stop it! What the deuce do you think you're doing?" Snape growled as Harry flung an arm over his chest and scooted closer."

"It's called cuddling."

"Desist at once. I am not your teddy bear." Snape sounded slightly less irritated than he had. Harry grinned.

"Don't care what you say," Harry mumbled, as he kissed Snape's neck. "We're spectacular together. And you're incapable of resisting me. I'm like a drug in your system."

"Perhaps," Snape said morosely. "But I wonder how long the high will last. I'm beginning to think someone should do an intervention."

14

Whistling happily, Harry turned the corner and then pulled up short. The front door was open and he could see a dark figure silhouetted by the golden light spilling from the hall. It wasn't Ginny, he could tell that much; the figure was much too tall, for one thing, and Ginny would not yet have returned from Manchester. For one wild, irrational moment, Harry held, then dismissed the thought it might be Snape. Whoever it was, his presence didn't bode well.

Drawing his wand and staying in the shadows along the street, Harry cautiously approached the house, every sense on high alert. The figure shifted, Harry caught a glimpse of red and almost sagged with relief – Ron.

Tucking his wand away, Harry smiled and called out a greeting. Ron hurried down the walk, stumbling in his haste.

"Where the hell have you been? We've been looking for you for hours. You weren't in your office, at Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts, anywhere in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley."

Shrinking back a bit from Ron's looming, angry, red face, Harry asked, "What business is it of yours?" He had been trying for a joking tone, but in his own ears he sounded nothing but guilty.

"For fuck's sake, Harry! Where the fuck have you been?" Ron's face was heavy with suspicion. He grabbed Harry's arm and shook him.

"Walking. Jesus! I was just out walking around. Ginny's in Manchester. I was bored."

"For six hours? You lying bastard! You were with Snape, weren't you? You son of a bitch!" Ron's grip on Harry's arm tightened. "I swear, if I had any proof I'd tell Ginny. You fucking queer! She's my sister!"

"What the hell? That's disgusting, Ron!" Harry jerked his arm away. "He's my friend, OK? Same as you!" He hated himself for lying.

"Don't put me on the same level as that slimy bastard! If he's your friend then I'm not! Got that, Potter?" Ron's voice was tight with hate.

"Fine, Weasley! Then you're not my friend! So get the fuck out of my house!" Harry was grinding his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

"Fine. FUCK!" Ron roared and pounded his fist into the wall. "Albus's in hospital."

It took Harry a minute to realise Ron was not speaking about Dumbledore. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say, "He's dead, you idiot," when the penny dropped and he understood it was his son who was injured. He felt the strength go out of his legs and he almost fell, but panic saved him. "What? What the fuck are you saying? Al got hurt and you're just now telling me about it? FUCK YOU! Fuck you, Ron!" Harry jabbed his finger into Ron's chest. "I could fucking kill you! Al's in the hospital and you're wasting time screaming at me about Snape? I could fucking kill you!"

Harry cocked his fist; he was a heartbeat away from punching Ron bloody when there was a loud pop and Harry could see Hermione hurrying towards them.

"Oh Harry! Thank goodness we found you. Oh stop it, you two!" she exclaimed, batting Harry's raised fist and whirling on her husband. "This isn't the time for juvenile nonsense."

She put a hand on each of their chests and pushed them apart. With matching sheepish looks, they stepped apart but continued eyeing each other warily.

"Ginny's frantic. Has Ron told you what happened? Did you tell Harry what happened? We should go then. Ginny's frantic."

Harry Disapparated.

The St Mungo's corridor he found himself in was completely unfamiliar. Ron and Hermione did not Apparate beside him. Harry grabbed the arm of an officious looking man as he hurried past. "Al Potter. Where is he? WHERE IS HE?! Albus Potter! My son, damn you!"

The officious man shrugged off Harry's hand and disdainfully dusted off his sleeve. "If it's the children's ward you want, it's that way." He pointed down the hallway.

Harry ran.

He clipped a corner and nearly skidded into Hermione. Over her shoulder he could see a depressed looking group huddled around each other. Red heads predominated but he could see Neville and Luna, and in a corner James and Lily hunched, trying to make themselves as insignificant as possible. Knowing how terrified and lost they must feel, his heart went out to them, but he thought there was nothing he could do for them at the moment.

"Will someone tell me what happened?"

"No one's exactly sure," Hermione began and then was interrupted by Molly Weasley. "Oh, Harry dear. They've found you. We were worried sick. Thought something might have happened to you as well!"

"Hi, Molly." Harry gave her a hug and pulled away quickly. "Hermione, you were saying?"

"He went flying. At night. By himself. At least we think he was by himself; he certainly was when he was found. Oh, Harry! He had an invisibility cloak. It must be yours."

"Hermione," Harry said through clenched teeth, "will you get to the point?"

"He crashed. His broom broke and a piece of it went into his thigh. He landed on his wand and it punctured his side." Hermione's face was pale and she was obviously holding on by a thread.

Harry pushed her gently towards Molly. "Just point me to Al's room." He started off in the direction she pointed and then stopped. "Where's Ginny?"

"She's with the Healer. Go on and see Al. I'm sure she'll be there soon."

They had put Al in a private room; Harry couldn't remember if that was normal. Harry walked up to the high bed and stared down at his son. He stroked the messy black hair back from the white forehead. Al's breathing seemed shallower than it should have done. Harry felt curiously empty. It didn't seem real. That couldn't be Al. It wasn't possible.

Unable to bear looking at his son's small, pale form, Harry let his eyes wander about the room taking in the antiseptic white of the walls and floors. It struck him as an oddly Muggle room. The windows were covered in mundanely-coloured flower-patterned curtains. Next to the bed stood a wobbly table that didn't seem up to supporting the multitude of cards and small gifts that littered its surface. On the wall opposite was a painting in a cheap frame. On it a poorly rendered ship was tossed helplessly on waves so violent their up and down churning made Harry queasy. Apart from the painting, the bare floors and the high bed, the room might have been found in a cheap hotel.

He opened a cupboard door and stared helplessly at Al's school robes hanging all alone from the centre of the rod. Harry stretched out a hand to touch, then snatched it back as if he might get burned.

"I'm sorry, you can't be in here. Immediate family only. There's a waiting room just down the corridor." A nurse bustled into the room and efficiently went to work taking Al's pulse, running her wand from forehead to blanket-covered toes, smoothing his bedclothes and checking the contents of the covered water jar.

Numb, Harry watched her brisk, competent movements. She turned and looked at him expectantly.

"I'm his father."

"Oh dear! I am sorry. What you must think of me, trying to shuttle you out that way. Nobody told me you had returned."

"Returned?" Harry asked blankly. It was as if the nurse was speaking a foreign language; one he hadn't heard for a very long time and which was only marginally understandable.

"Well, you weren't here. I assumed you were away on business. Oh my word! You're Harry Potter. How very silly of me not to recognise you at once." The nurse beamed at him.

"Where's my wife?" Harry asked before she could enthuse any further.

"Harry!" Ginny sobbed and ran towards him. She clung to his chest weeping. Harry simply held her and stroked her hair.

Suddenly, she pulled away from him and punched him in the chest. "You bastard! This is your fault!"

Catching her wrists, Harry pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her to stop her struggling. "How is this my fault?" It was odd. He was genuinely curious. He didn't feel angry or defensive as he usually did when accused of something. Al was hurt. It was his fault. Harry didn't doubt it for a moment, and he truly wanted to know what he'd done.

"That stupid broom and your stupid invisibility cloak! I told you that broom was too much for him. And where did he get your cloak? You fucking idiot! You know how I felt about the kids even knowing about that thing, let alone being allowed to use it!"

Al's not that bad a flyer. A little weak, but it was a beginner's broom. Could I really have made a mistake like that? Misjudged his ability that way? Did I let him use my cloak? Harry didn't know. But he knew he'd been distracted for months and Ginny said it was his fault. It felt like his fault. So it must have been. Harry looked at the floor, a fierce pain burning behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how–"

"Because you're completely uninvolved in your family. Everything is about your damn Snow Vodka! You’re either distilling at Snape's, or consulting with him. Or you're completely involved in marketing. Where do we fit in to that? Where does Al fit in?"

Harry was too numb to even feel guilty. It wasn't the Snow Vodka that took him away from his wife and kids; it was Snape. He didn't give a toss about the Snow Vodka. It was Snape.

"We can't do this here," Harry said, looking at Al. "Come on. You can yell at me all you want outside."

She glared at him but didn't resist when he took her arm. Hermione was waiting anxiously outside the room.

"Is there any news? What did the Healer say?" She stopped and gave Ginny a concerned look. "Never mind. You can tell me when we're sitting down. You've been here for hours and you haven't eaten a thing."

"I'm not leaving him."

"Yes you are. Just for a little while," Hermione insisted. "You've got to eat."

"Go on, honey. I'll stay with Al."

Hermione led a protesting Ginny away. Harry turned to go back into Al's room, and smashed his nose against Ron's chest.

"I want to know where you were."

Harry looked up at his friend and sighed. He didn't particularly want to have this conversation, not now, but he hadn't the energy to lie. "I was with Snape."

Ron's fist seemed to come out of nowhere, huge and hard and vicious. Harry staggered back, blood spouting from his nose.

"Feel better?" he asked, tilting his head back and pinching his nostrils closed with a wince. He could taste blood in the back of his throat. It was bitter, like truth.

Ron left without saying another word. Harry tried to staunch the flow from his nose. He looked at his son's colourless face and at the bright red stain on his own shirt and laughed mirthlessly. After washing his face and hands at the basin in the corner, Harry sat on the floor at the side of Al's bed, and slipped his hand up under the coverlet, gripping his son's cold fingers.

He was nearly asleep, his head sinking towards his chest when he heard the door squeak. He jerked and sat upright, tucking Al's hand, which had slipped out and was dangling over the side of the bed, back under the covers. Harry cast a quick Scourgify! on his shirt and scrambled to his feet.

A Healer in lime green robes came in, followed closely by Ginny and Hermione. The same nurse that had been in earlier brought up the rear. She made an attempt at shooing Hermione out, but retreated in the face of an intractable glare.

The Healer extended his hand and Harry shook it. "Mr Potter. May I say I'm delighted to finally have the opportunity to meet you. Honoured. I can't wait to tell my wife."

"Thank you. What about my boy?" Harry asked brusquely.

"I'm afraid we still don't really know. As I'm sure you know, he was stabbed by both his wand and a broken broomstick. We've actually never seen anything like it. The two wounds intersect and it appears the wand and broom splinter connected and created a kind of magical arc. At least that's our best surmise. His injuries are both magical and physical in nature. The bone doesn't seem to want to knit, nor the wounds to close. In spite of that we have managed to stop the blood loss, but right now we just don't know if he'll walk again. I'm very sorry."

"There must be something that can be done. I'm sorry, but another Healer perhaps?" Harry didn't give a toss for the man's feelings. Not when Al's ability to walk was at stake.

"You're free to consult anyone you like." The Healer didn't seem in the least perturbed. "I can give you names, although I assure you that I have as much experience as anyone. But in any case, there's nothing you can do tonight. Mrs Potter, you're exhausted. I suspect you're experiencing shock. You should go home. The boy won't wake up tonight."

"Albus," Harry said. "His name is Albus. Albus Severus Potter." It seemed important somehow.

"I'm not leaving him," Ginny said.

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist, Mrs Potter. You're of no use to him in your state. I'm sure Mr Potter will be happy to stay." The Healer gave Harry an inquisitive look.

"Yeah. Of course I'll stay! If he wakes up, I'll let you know immediately, Gin. Go on. He'll be fine. I won't leave him for a second." Hesitantly, Harry took his wife's hands in his. He was appalled by her white face and the dark circles under her dead eyes. "I swear, Ginny. I won't leave him." He shot a pleading look at Hermione.

"Come on, Ginny," Hermione said, wrapping her arm around Ginny's waist. "Let's get you home. I'll draw you a nice warm bath and put you to bed."

"Hermione," Harry whispered low enough to keep Ginny from hearing. "Can you ask Ron to take James and Lily back to school? I'd ask him myself but–"

Hermione gave him a disgusted look. Harry didn't know if it was because of him, Ron, or both of them. He couldn't really be arsed to care.

The moon had risen in the window, lingered awhile and was gone again. Harry alternated between staring blankly out into the night, staring blankly at the wall, and pacing back and forth in the small room. He periodically fussed with Al, smoothed his hair or his blankets, stroked his cheek. He couldn't remember a single thing that had crossed his mind in the time he'd stood guard. Every few hours a Healer or a nurse would come in to check on Al. They rarely spoke to Harry beyond hello. He didn't care. He had nothing to say to them.

He was sitting on the floor by Al's bed again, holding his hand, when he realised there was someone standing in the open doorway. Harry stared in incomprehension, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. Then, with the first spark of animation he'd felt all night, he leapt to his feet.

"Are you mad?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Are you absolutely fucking insane? What if somebody sees you?"

"They likely won't think much of it unless you continue to act like a raving lunatic. There's nary a Weasley or Longbottom to be seen, and only such staff as are necessary in the middle of the night."

"You've got to leave, Snape!" Harry insisted, his teeth still tightly clenched. "I've got enough to be worrying about."

"How is he?"

"He's . . . he's not doing well. They don't know if he'll walk again. Snape, please. I'm begging. Just go. I'll get in touch with you later. Just go. Please."

Snape tightened his lips and nodded. "As you like. Take care, Harry. Of both yourself and your son. We'll talk later."

Al was in hospital for a fortnight. Harry and Ginny took turns staying with him. For the first week, on the nights that Harry watched, Snape always appeared. He never came into the room, or spoke, but he was there, waiting, pacing the corridors, every night after the others had gone home.

The start of the second week found Harry at home, prowling restlessly around the lounge, idly, unseeingly rearranging things on the shelves and tabletops. He felt cold all the way through and it was more than just the unseasonable snow falling like a shroud over the house. For the first time in his life he understood the expression sick with fear. Under his ribs his stomach was a solid, frozen mass that nonetheless seemed to roll and heave.

How did this happen? Is this what love misplaced did? Terrorise the innocent and guilty alike? Dumbledore had spoken in glowing terms of Harry's great capacity for love. Harry snorted bitterly. Look where his great capacity had got him now: alienated from wife and friends, about to toss away the only thing he had left. If this is what love brought, he wanted none of it.

He sat at his desk, methodically pulling out parchment, quill and ink, arranging them just so on the blotter. He twirled the quill between his fingers, ruffling and smoothing the tiny barbules in turn. He sighed bitterly, dipped his quill and began to write.

Dear Snape,

He stopped, staring at the two words, completely unable to think of what should come next. "Dear Snape," he said aloud as if speaking them might summon the next word and then the next.

How exactly did one go about severing a limb?

Harry smoothed a hand over the parchment, fingers lingering over the letters. He was surprised to feel something wet against his palm and looked down in confusion. The p in Snape was smeared, blurred by a circle of clear liquid. He tried to wipe it away and only made the smear worse. Another drop splashed down, merging the p and the e into a unified blob. As he stared at the parchment in consternation it never once occurred to him he was crying.

Dear Snape,

I love you and that may be the reason my son lies in a hospital bed unable to wake up.

I don't know exactly what I've done, but I know I have to get my priorities right. And my priorities have to be my children, my wife.

No one is speaking to me and maybe they never will again & maybe they shouldn't. Maybe it's no more than I deserve.

You told me once that I am self-centred & that I wanted to have it all ways, no matter what it did to to anybody else. I didn't listen to you then. I thought you were just jealous, or something, and maybe you were, but you were also right.

This is not how I would have chosen to end it. Given a choice, I don't think I would. Fuck no. I can't let myself think that way. I had a choice & I guess I made the wrong one and now Al's in St Mungo's, looking so frail and tiny & we don't know if he'll ever walk again & it's my fault and I'll never be able to forgive myself.

It kills me to say it, but I can't see you anymore.

I'm sorry. I hardly even know what I'm writing. You're one of the best, most important things that ever happened to me, right up there with finding out I was a wizard, but my kids are the best thing in my life.

Good-bye.

Harry

Harry signed his name and sat staring at the letter. It seemed so false somehow. Every word he had written was true, but somehow putting them down on paper made them inadequate. He owed Snape more than this. Snape deserved more. But there was no way to say these things nicely, kindly. It was an ugly situation, and it was entirely his own fault.

He rolled the parchment and tied it with a bit of string. Walking to the window, he whistled for an owl, and when it came, tied the roll to its leg and shooed it out the window. Returning to his desk, he let his head sink onto his folded hands. For better or worse, it was done.

Oh god. How am I supposed to live without him?

"Harry."

It took all his will to not slam the door in Snape's face. Harry ran a hand distractedly through his hair, then mopped his face with both hands. Childishly he hoped that when he uncovered his eyes, Snape would be gone.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I had ample opportunity to learn your schedule." Snape's tone was distant and formal, his face expressionless.

Harry nodded. Of course Snape knew. Although he'd remained in the background, he'd been keeping vigil just as Harry had. "Why?"

"Because you might have needed me."

Harry sagged against the door jamb. "God, you're a cruel bastard."

A pained look flitted across Snape's face and disappeared. "You might invite me in," he said almost mockingly. "Unless you want your neighbours to learn some of the more intimate details of your life."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Harry said weakly. All he really wanted was to fling himself into Snape's arms and sob like a baby. "Bugger it!" He turned abruptly and walked away, leaving Snape to follow him into the kitchen.

"I'd offer you a drink, but you're not staying long," Harry said churlishly, sitting down and not inviting Snape to do likewise.

Snape smiled as he pulled his wand from his pocket. Two glasses and a bottle of Snow Vodka landed gently on the kitchen table. He poured and slid one of the glasses in front of Harry, then picked up his own and downed it in a single swallow.

"Make yourself at home, why don't you?"

"You may be as rude as you like, Harry. I know it doesn't signify anything." Snape sat down across the table. He folded his hands in front of him.

"You got my letter." It wasn't a question.

Snape nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Then why are you here? Wasn't I clear? Didn't I say I couldn't see you again, or did that signify nothing as well?" Harry's voice was rising in anger.

"It signified much, but I thought you owed me the courtesy of saying it to my face." Snape wiped his lips with his fingertips. "No. I didn't come here to fight with you. Nor to beg you to take the words back. It's simply that–" He rubbed his mouth again, looking suddenly uncertain. "I simply had to make sure." Snape pushed his chair back and stood. "It was a mistake to come. My apologies."

An uncertain, apologetic Snape was worse than an angry one. Harry steeled himself and stood up as well. "Wait. You're right. I should have had the guts to do it face to face. All along I've been trying to take the easy way out." He chewed nervously on his lip. "It's as if, if I don't see how much I'm hurting people, I can pretend I'm not hurting them at all. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Not you, not Ginny, not my friends, or my kids, and I've hurt all of you."

Snape started to say something and Harry hurried on, knowing he only had one chance to get it out before he backtracked completely. "I kept telling myself I couldn't help what I wanted, and maybe that's right, I can't help what I want, but I can help what I do. Do you know how Al got hurt?"

"I understood he crashed his broom."

"Yeah. He crashed his broom. A broom I bought for his birthday. A broom I chose in a hurry because I kept forgetting to do it, because I was distracted, because every free moment I had, I wanted to spend with you. And then his birthday was just around the corner, and I told the shopkeeper that I needed a beginner broom for my son. He showed me three, and I bought the one that looked most like mine, because I thought Al would like it, because I thought the other kids at Hogwarts might think he'd got the real deal."

"Harry–"

"No, don't. It was my fault. I know about brooms. I live and breathe them. But I didn't even check it out. Because I had something else I wanted to be doing. My son, my Al, and I know parents aren't supposed to have favourites, but he's mine. He just is. He's sweet and a little goofy and very funny. And I couldn't even be arsed to take the time to thoroughly inspect a broom I was buying for my favourite kid. He got his hands on my invisibility cloak. I don't know how. I don't think I gave it to him, but you know what? I can't remember. So either I gave it to him, or I left it where he could find it. Minerva organised a search party, but they couldn't find him because he was under my cloak. The Healer said–" Harry choked and irritably dashed tears away from his eyes. "The Healer said if he'd been found sooner, they might have been able to stop the damage."

"It wasn't your fault." Snape made a gesture as if he were about to touch Harry.

Harry jerked away and laughed bitterly. "Odd to hear you say something like that. You always used to think everything that happened was my fault."

"You were an arrogant, thoughtless little prat. Things usually were your fault," Snape said acidly, his face suddenly set in the all too familiar sneer. He sat down and poured himself another glass of vodka, schooling his expression back into one of bland indifference. "But you're not that child anymore. You've changed."

"Have I? Have I really?" Harry agitatedly paced the narrow space between the table and cupboards, not quite knowing what to make of Snape’s sudden attack and retreat. "If you really think it wasn't my fault, you're the only one. Ginny, Ron, Hermione – everybody thinks I'm responsible. And you know what? I know I am. I have to accept that. I have to live with it. I can't change what happened, but I can keep anything like it from ever happening again. Ginny rightly says that I haven't been involved with my family. That's something I can change. It's something I will change. But I can't do it if my attention is on you, and when you're around I can't think of anything else. I'm so fucking sorry, Snape. You were fucking right when you said I was self-centred. I wanted everything and now I have to pick up what's left from the wreckage."

"Well, having excoriated you so thoroughly, I can hardly be bitter when you heed my words," Snape said bitterly, picking up his glass and draining it. "It’s high-time you thought of someone other than yourself." He stood and smoothed his robes unnecessarily. "There’s no reason at all for you to believe me," his tone left no doubt that he thought Harry wouldn’t and that he didn’t care one way or the other, "but I do wish you happiness."

"That's it?" Harry asked, a sudden feeling of panic rising in his chest.

Snape nodded. "You have a lovely wife." He gave Harry the ghost of a smile. "And two lovely children."

"I've got three kids."

"Yes, well, forgive me if I find your eldest son less than charming," Snape said with some heat. "It must have something to do with his name as it certainly couldn't be that he's just inherently evil."

Harry chuckled half-heartedly. "Shut it, you prick."

It seemed for a moment that Snape might laugh, but then his posture stiffened and he seemed to pull into himself. He brusquely held out his hand. "Thank you for seeing me. Good luck."

Harry, bravely fighting down the urge to hug him, shook Snape's hand. "Good-bye, Severus."

Snape looked at him coldly for a long moment before Disapparating.

15

Harry gasped and shivered as needles of ice-cold water beat down on his head and shoulders. He couldn't remember ever being so tired for so long and lately a cold shower seemed to be the only thing that shocked him into movement before noon. Living a double life had been draining: trying to act as if his attention wasn't absolutely elsewhere; walking the razor's edge between honesty and deceit; summoning the desire to make love to Ginny with the same frequency they had before Snape; finding the energy and stamina to deal with an increasingly rebarbative Snape who ended nearly every encounter by throwing Harry out. But none of it compared to the difficulty of trying to mask a broken heart.

No matter how hard he tried, Harry could not stop thinking about Snape, and it was horrible that simply remembering was enough to make him hard, even while being battered by near-freezing water. Poking his head out, he peered myopically around the bathroom. Of course he was alone; once she was dressed for the day, Ginny rarely came into the en suite when Harry was in it. These days it seems she rarely comes into any room I'm in. Not that she'd necessarily think it strange to find him masturbating even if she did come in, but hard and taking a cold shower would make her suspicious – and the lack of steam would be a dead giveaway.

That wouldn't do. Harry turned on the hot water, trying half-heartedly to keep his thoughts from straying back to Snape. He gave another quick peek around the shower curtain, briefly contemplating locking the bathroom door before realising that would be suspect as well. His cock twitched, reminding him he had a job to do. Sighing, Harry relaxed against the tile wall and began to stroke himself slowly. Any number of things had gone by the wayside in recent months, giving a damn about where he tossed off was only one. His difficulty fantasising without his mind straying off topic was also long gone. All he had to do was think of Snape, touch his cock, and he seemed to be effortlessly transported – sights, smells, words, tastes, feelings all heartbreakingly clear.

Harry bit his fist to keep from crying out as his legs gave way and his spunk splattered and dripped down the tiled walls. He knelt on the shower floor, breathing hard, watching the water swirl his seed down the drain.

It should have been a relief, but instead it was torture. Miserably, Harry stepped from the shower and towelled off. He couldn't delay the inevitable indefinitely. The point always came when he had to go downstairs and face the day, pretending that everything was fine even in the face of Ginny's coldness. Clearing a spot of the steam-clouded mirror with the side of his clenched fist, he stared at himself and practised smiling until he was reasonably sure it looked sincere. He dressed quickly, then paused at the bedroom door, taking a deep breath before slipping on the mask, and stepping out into the hall.

He clattered down the stairs, jumping high off the bottom step to slap the ceiling as James always did. "Did you see what I left on the hall table?" Harry fairly bounced into the kitchen.

Hands cradling an enormous mug of coffee, Ginny peered tiredly over the bags under her eyes. "What?"

"The brochures from Wayfaring Wizards. The travel agency?" he added helpfully as she stared at him blankly.

"Oh. No, I didn't." She looked away.

"I thought we could take a holiday," Harry said snappishly. It was difficult holding on to his feigned cheer in the face of Ginny's complete indifference.

"Don't be ridiculous! Al–"

"Al is fine. He's fine. I thought you talked to Minerva yesterday."

"We don't know that there aren't lingering complications."

"Yes, we do. The Healer said he was good as new. Come on, Gin. Worrying isn't doing you any good. It's been almost two months. He's fine. I was thinking we could go some place warm. Majorca, or something."

"How can you think of leaving? You don't even care! Damn it, Harry! We almost lost him. And–"

"Don't say it was my fault. Just don't. I made a mistake. I can't change it. But what happened is in the past."

"Is it really?" Ginny asked snidely.

Angry, Harry leapt to his feet. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It doesn't mean a damn thing."

It was obvious to Harry she was lying, but he let it go. "So, what do you think? A Spanish island? Or what about Morocco?"

"Just let it drop, can't you? Now is not a good time!"

"OK. All right. Sorry I brought it up." Harry threw up his hands in exasperation, then became twice as annoyed when Ginny acted as if she hadn't noticed.

He boiled water for his tea and toasted bread while it steeped. The silence in the kitchen was deafening.

"Any plans for today?"

"Uh, no, not really."

"I thought you might see Severus. You haven't said anything about him for awhile." Ginny's back was to him and Harry couldn't tell what she was thinking.

For awhile after their good-bye, Harry had kept up the pretence that he was still going to visit Snape, gradually tapering off until he never mentioned him at all. It had seemed to be the best way.

"Yeah. Well. You know he was pretty narked at me that time for getting drunk. Never really got over it. He said I was a self-centred, egotistical, little prick and he was tired of me." It hurt to remember it. It hurt to know it had been true. And somehow it hurt that Ginny didn't know it hurt. Harry sighed.

"Well you behaved horribly. I don't blame him for being mad. It's a wonder I ever spoke to you again, and no wonder he didn't want to. But that was months ago; you'd think the bastard could have got over it enough to at least write a letter when Al got hurt."

"He came to St Mungo's," Harry said, trying to keep the snarl from his voice.

Ginny looked at him accusingly. "Did he? I never saw him, and you never told me."

"You weren't exactly speaking to me at the time."

"Well, I would have spoken to him, had he bothered to approach me."

"Maybe he thought he would be intruding."

"Right!" Ginny scoffed. "As if he'd let something like that stop him."

"You know, Gin, you don't know what you're talking about, so maybe you just shouldn't talk about it at all." Harry's fingernails dug into his palm.

"That was completely uncalled for!" Ginny snapped.

"Was it? Well for your information, Snape was there every goddamn night! He didn't talk to me either, but he was there. I finally asked him why and do you know what he said? 'Because you might have needed me.'" Harry was appalled by what he'd just admitted. He searched his mind frantically for something else to say. "He meant both of us. He was there just on the off chance that there might be something he could do. Angry at me as he was, he still showed up. So maybe he's not such a bastard as you think!"

"Fine. I was wrong. Are you satisfied? God! I'm so sick to death of fighting with you!"

Harry wanted to retort that she'd started it. He counted to ten. "I don't want to fight with you either. Look, let's not talk about Snape anymore. I'm sorry. I think I'm angry with him because he won't speak to me."

"Well, don't take it out on me because you managed to alienate him." Ginny tiredly rested her chin on her hand and stared at her coffee. All the fight seemed to seep out of her. She looked up at Harry and said quietly, "You do have other friends."

"Christ!" Harry shoved back his chair, not caring that he nearly upended the table. "Can you not speak to me as if I were a child? I said I was sorry! What do you want from me? And what friends do I have? Who's speaking to me since you told everyone Al's accident was my fault?"

"Poor pathetic you. You can be a right prick sometimes, Harry. I'm not going to fight with you. And if you don't want me to treat you like a child, maybe you should stop acting like one!"

"Fuck off!" Harry stormed out of the room, but not quickly enough to avoid hearing Ginny yell, "Been precious effin' little of that lately!"

Harry put a handful of notes on the bar. "Let me know when I've spent that. Whisky. No, wait. Got any of that new stuff I've been hearing about? Er, Snow Vodka."

"We just got a case in. I'll break open the first bottle for you."

Harry smiled. He was pleased to see his Muggle distributor was doing her job. Discovering that he could "Muggle-ise" Snow Vodka had been a real breakthrough; it didn't snow in the glasses, but it did freeze exceptionally well, and his distributor assured him that Yellow Snow was a terrific name for lemon-flavoured vodka. He'd devised a spell based on the ones that hid wizarding buildings from Muggle eyes. Too bad he couldn't tell Snape about it; Harry thought he'd have been impressed.

"Um, I was wondering if you'd seen a friend of mine. Older bloke, short grey hair, rather greasy." Dangerous territory, Potter.

The bartender laughed. "We get any number of chicken hawks fitting that description."

"Right. Well, he's about this tall." Holding his hand a few inches above his head, Harry added, "Thin?" The bartender just shrugged. "Oh bugger it! He's got a nose you could puncture a tin with." Harry's hand described Snape's hooked-nose in the air.

"That I'd remember." The bartender laughed. "You know what they say–"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, not wanting to think about how true that was in Snape's case. "I know."

Leaning against his side of the bar, the bartender asked, "If he comes in, who should I say was looking for him?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry waved him away. "Never mind. I don't think he comes here anymore." It had been a dim possibility at best. Could be in the loo. Harry shook his head as if responding to someone saying the words aloud. "I've changed my mind," he said, standing up and sliding a couple of notes towards the bartender before picking up the rest of his money from the bar top. "I should be getting home."

Quick slash?

NO!

Just look. Where's the harm in that?

I'm not going! But Harry was already walking to the back as he thought it.

Harry's heart seemed to skip several beats and then started pounding hard. The door to the far stall was closed. He knew it was so improbable as to be nearly impossible, but what if Snape was behind it? Approaching cautiously, as if there were a trap waiting to be sprung, Harry gingerly pushed open the door of the vacant stall. Empty. He slipped inside, carefully, quietly slid the latch home and leant heavily against the wall, fighting down the sick feeling of hope mingled with despair.

There was a soft rustle on the other side of the painted wood. Harry's heart stuttered again; he nearly bolted, but he had to know. He knew it was absurd to take such care to be quiet. Whoever was on the other side of the wall surely already knew he was not alone. Harry had done this fifty, a hundred times over the years. There was nothing to worry about.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Harry changed his mind. It didn't matter if Snape was there. It didn't matter that his cock was swollen and aching. He was not going to do this. He would not! Slamming back the latch, he bolted from the stall and head down, made his way out of the bar.

Harry rolled over, his mind dimly registering that the sheets on Ginny's side of the bed had already grown cold. Through the window, he could see the pale, thin light of the day just dawning. He groaned and closed his eyes again.

"Get up, Potter," Ginny said, her tone light and unusually friendly. "I'm making breakfast. All your favourites, and it won't keep until noon. Come on, lazy boy."

"Won't," Harry mumbled, burrowing his head in his pillow.

"Will," Ginny laughed, stripping the sheets from his naked body.

Harry sat up groggily, clutching his pillow protectively lest she decide to take it as well. "You're cheerful this morning," he commented. "It's a bit disgusting this early." Feeling happy in a way he hadn't for a very long time, he patted the sheets. "Come back to bed."

"Can't. The sausages will burn. I only came up to roust you. You've fifteen minutes before I toss it all out," she called as she left the room.

After a quick shave and shower, Harry entered the kitchen cautiously, wondering if Ginny's rare good mood would have vanished as quickly as it had come.

"Smells good. I'm so hungry I could eat a thestral raw." Thestrals made him think of Snape, which made his cock twitch. He smiled wanly and then quickly sat down before Ginny could see he was hard.

"Eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes and toast. Think you can manage all that?"

Harry's stomach rumbled in the affirmative and Ginny laughed. "I don't know what's got into you lately. You're eating like a teen-aged boy. I thought I'd got shot of the last of those when we packed the kids off to school."

It's true. Keep piling it on like this and I'll get fat and Snape won't want me. Just stop! He doesn't want you now. It's over. Your decision, your choice, and it was the right one! "Not my fault you could cook for England," Harry said with a grin. He speared a fat sausage from the platter. "What's the occasion?" he asked with his mouth full.

"Glutton. You're worse than James. No occasion really. More of an apology." Ginny brushed her hand across Harry's shoulder.

"There's nothing for you to apologise for," Harry lied.

"Nice of you to say, but I've been horrible."

As long as she was being so nice and apologising, Harry thought he could be magnanimous. "You've been worried about Al." She had been acting like a complete bitch for months though. And you've been acting like a spoiled brat. Don't ruin it, Potter. "It's been a rough time for everybody."

"And I've just made it that much worse."

"Well, every day's a new chance, isn't it? Maybe we can just leave the past in the past."

"I got an owl from the owners. They've scheduled several exhibition games around Europe. I have to be in Manchester in the morning. By five o'clock. Somebody in that organization is a bloody sadist."

"Must be, scheduling exhibitions in the dead of winter. How long will you be gone?" Harry pushed back his plate, suddenly unable to choke down another bite. His heart had momentarily soared at the idea of having time to see Snape, and then crashed back down again at the thought he couldn't.

"Two weeks. I'm sorry to spring it on you like this, but the owl just came this morning."

"And the reason for this luxury dining experience becomes evident," Harry smiled sourly. "So where are you playing?"

"Scotland. France on Tuesday. Then Tunisia."

"Heavy schedule. I'll miss you. Be dead quiet here." Harry let some of his misery show, knowing she'd mistake its source.

Ginny walked over and put her arms around his shoulders, resting her cheek on his head. "What's the matter with you, Potter? It's only two weeks. I've been gone longer than that in the past."

"I know. It's just–"

"I'd beg off. They don't really need me, but there have been rumours that there are going to be cuts. I'm the junior member of the coaching staff. I really don't want to make it easy for them if the rumours are true." Ginny shrugged her shoulders, her expression suddenly irritable.

"Well then, you have to go. I'll be fine. Two weeks? At least you'll be home for Christmas. It could be worse."

"As if I'd leave you and the kids alone for the holidays! I haven't sunk that low!"

"Whoa! Easy. I wasn't suggesting anything of the sort. For what it's worth, I don't think they'll cut you. You're too good."

"Don't patronise me, Harry."

I am not going to lose my temper. I am not going to lose my temper. I am not going to lose my temper. "Look, is there any way I can help? Do you want me to talk to somebody? Maybe I could sponsor the team or something. The Snow Vodka Winter Tour. They wouldn't dare sack you then." As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry knew he should've bit his tongue in two before saying them.

"NO! I DON'T FUCKING WANT YOU TO FUCKING TALK TO ANYBODY! And I don't need your patronage to keep my fucking position!"

And here we go again! Harry sighed and debated whether he should try hugging her. He decided not to. "Is there anything I can say here? Anything at all? Something you won't think sounds patronising, or condescending? Because I am sorry you might lose your job. I think it's crap. I think you're a terrific coach and they'd be fools to let you go. And somehow I'm not managing to get any of that across to you."

"Maybe I wouldn't think you patronising and condescending if you weren't so fucking condescending and patronising!" Ginny clutched her hair tightly in both hands and paced irritably.

Harry held his arms open and was a little surprised when Ginny walked into them. He stroked her back. "If the worst happens, there will be other jobs. You'll see. There isn't a team in the world that wouldn't be lucky to have you."

"Well, nothing's happened yet. Perhaps I'm worried about nothing. Or maybe I should just quit Quidditch altogether and go help Charlie with his dragons," she said miserably.

"Oh, now you sound like James used to: 'I'll just go into the garden and eat worms. See if I don't.'" Harry chuckled.

"I hate you, Potter."

"I know you do."

"I wanted to make today special because for once I woke up not feeling miserable, but then the owl came, and I tried to pretend it didn't matter, and now I'm not fit company. I don't suppose you could make yourself scarce for the day? Oh fuck. I'm the one in a snit, I should be the one who goes."

"No!" Harry said quickly. Here, finally, was a clear opportunity to be the concerned, supportive husband he'd sworn he would be. "You stay. Have a nice long bath. Read. Frump around in your least sexy, most comfortable underwear. The white cotton ones would do."

Ginny laughed and hugged him. "You really don't mind? Because that sounds perfect."

"No. I need to do some work anyway. Oh, damn! I never told you. I wanted it to be a surprise. I was going to be very casual about it, take you to a Muggle restaurant or bar and just casually order."

"What are you going on about?" All the tension seemed to have left Ginny's face. It was so good to see her like this – almost like old times.

Harry told her about 'Muggle-ising' Snow Vodka, sure she would be as excited and proud as he was.

"I suppose Snape helped you with that," she said sullenly.

Fucking hell! This is what I get for telling Snape to bugger off?

Be reasonable. She doesn't know you did that.

Sod that! It's not worth it. All we do is fight! I'm fucking sick of it! At least with Snape I always fucking knew where I fucking stood!

You were usually standing on your ear, after he tossed you out.

Fuck. I fucking miss him.

It's over, Potter. She's your wife.

Harry sighed and rubbed his head until his hair stood up like straw. "Ginny," he said with exaggerated patience. "I don't know what you're thinking, but you need to stop. I haven't seen Snape in months. We haven't spoken, or communicated at all in that time. I don't know why you think I'd lie to you about that. So no, Snape didn't help me with it. I'm going to leave now, before this turns into something stupid. Enjoy your day. Maybe, if you try, you can recapture you good mood of this morning. I hope so. For both our sakes."

"Go to hell."

"Already there," Harry said. He left hurriedly, churlishly pleased to have had the last word.

That time, going to the bar felt like coming home.

Forever after, Harry would think of them as The Three Maulings. They were all equally horrible.

"Ginny thinks there's something going on between you and–" Hermione paused; she rarely used Snape's name and never quite new what to call him. "–Severus Snape."

"Don't beat about the bush that way, Hermione," Harry said sarcastically. "I haven't seen Snape in months. I have neither firecalled nor owled him nor sent him a romantic missive via the Muggle post. Ginny's wrong. There's nothing going on between me and Snape."

"Harry." Hermione's voice deepened on the second syllable, indicating both censure and disbelief.

Harry's jaw tightened. He ground his molars together. His nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply and his cheeks filled as he exhaled through pursed lips. He began pacing and, as he clasped his hands behind his back he suddenly became uncomfortably self-conscious – he must make a ridiculous picture, striding back and forth like a mad scientist lecturing his half-witted assistant. Or like Snape when he was teaching. Harry grimaced and pushed the irrelevant thoughts aside. He stopped suddenly, halfway across the room, and whirled on Hermione.

"Pay attention. He was a friend. I liked being around him. He's changed. Or maybe he hasn't changed as much as I have, or the way I see him . . . saw him has. Anyway, I liked talking to him. He's smart and he's actually very funny, in a skin-peeling sort of way. He kept me on my toes. But he got angry, and, as you well know, he's a man who can hold a grudge. Forever." Harry paused, feeling as if his last statement was somehow a betrayal of Snape. "He was my friend. He's not now. I don't know why Ginny thinks there's something going on between us – me and Snape, not her and me – but there isn't."

"My God, Harry. Do you ever listen to yourself?"

Hermione was rubbing her eyes and her hands obscured most of her face, but to his surprise, Harry could see the corners of her mouth curving upwards slightly.

"Of course I listen to myself. I know exactly what I'm saying. Snape was my friend and if, after twenty years of–" Harry raised his hand and thumbed his gold wedding ring, "– Ginny is suddenly going to go 'round the twist over absolutely nothing, well, maybe I should never have put the ring on." He didn't mean that, of course; he was simply angry at Hermione's prying.

"You don't mean that!" Hermione practically screeched.

"No. Of course not. But seriously, Hermione, the way she's behaving, it doesn't make any sense."

"You've got a crush and your wife's jealous and you're an idiot. But then you always have been."

"Stop it. Just stop. I do NOT have a crush on Snape. That's just stupid. Get it through that gigantic brain of yours. I haven't seen him in months. Not since Al's accident, as a matter of fact."

"Harry."

Harry would have liked very much to smash something.

Talking to Ron was even worse.

"What do you want me to say, Ron? That there's nothing going on between me and Snape? There isn't. Do you want me to tell you I still love Ginny? I've never stopped." Both things were true, and not. Harry had promised himself he wouldn't lie anymore, but it seemed so pointless to admit to things now, when they were over. There were times that the truth was overrated.

"Did you ever–?" Ron wasn't going to let it go.

Harry couldn't do it anymore. He could feel the anger that thickened Ron's features reflecting in his own chest. You want to know the truth? I don't think you do. I really don't. "Yeah, we did. It was terrific." Harry pugnaciously stuck his chin out. "Go ahead. Hit me. Hit me or fuck off! What, if anything, happened between me and Snape is none of your business."

"She's my sister!"

"She's my wife! And our private life is exactly that, private!

Once again, Harry didn't even see Ron's fist coming.

Somehow, facing Neville was the worst of all. Harry didn't know why that should be true. The best idea he could muster was that it was some kind of gay guilt thing.

"Charming atmosphere," Neville said with ironic humour as he looked around the bar.

"I had the feeling I wasn't going to want to be someplace where I might bump into someone I know. Your summons was ominous." Harry was chewing the inside of his lip again, something he did often enough these days to raise a painful bump. He really, really didn't want to be there.

"It's about Ginny."

"I figured that much out by myself. Look, I don't know who you heard it from – Ginny herself, or Ron, or Hermione – but–"

"She was bound to suspect, Harry. You usually are up to something." Neville smiled, but it didn't take the sting out of his words. "And it would be a hard thing to keep to oneself."

"But why now? When it's over? It doesn't make any sense and it's fucking unfair!"

Neville laughed. "I don't think under the circumstances you get to complain about things being unfair. You're like the kid who gets accused of taking the last biscuit the one time he isn't guilty of it."

"Sod off," Harry said grumpily, tacitly accepting Neville's point.

"And no matter what pap you're feeding yourself, it isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Intent on letting himself think about the possibilities in Neville's last statement, Harry let his eyes wander the length of the bar and settle on the dark-headed man who perched on a stool at the end.

"And distracting yourself with strange men isn't going to take your mind off Snape."

"Wanna bet?" Harry said.

"So you're going to continue cheating on her, just not with Snape?"

"Come on, Nev. You, of all people, should understand!" Harry was starting to feel decidedly uncomfortable.

"You did not just imply that because I'm queer I would just naturally cheat on my partner?" Neville was as close to angry as Harry had ever seen him.

"That's not what I meant!" It was though. "I just . . . oh fuck! I don't know what I meant. I'm going to say this to you one more time, and I hope it's the last time I have to say it to anyone: there is nothing going on between me and Snape!"

"Go ahead and tell yourself that, Harry, but you know the truth as well as I do. And one more thing," Neville said, rising and putting some money on the table, "I'm not telling you to fuck off, but you need to remember that I'm Ginny's friend too, and I won't just idly sit by and watch you tear her heart out."

Harry sank back in his chair as Neville walked away and then stood as soon as he passed through the crowd and disappeared from view. Well, as long as I'm here . . .

16

Diagon Alley was awash with Christmas decorations. Fairy lights hung from the eaves of every building and twinkled in the trees placed in nearly every shop window. A light dusting of snow covered the ground. On the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron the streets had been clear. Like everything else, it made Harry think of Snape.

"I don't suppose you want ice-cream?" Harry asked, tucking Ginny's arm in his as he shoved away his painful memories.

Ginny laughed and shook her head. "I'd kill for a cuppa, though. I'm about frozen through, and I'd like to put down these packages for a bit."

It was good to see her looking relaxed and happy; it had been much too long since they'd last been able to be together without snipping and sniping at each other. Harry patted her arm. "Told you we should have had them sent."

"Don't be silly. It's the best part of Christmas, being unbelievably loaded down with things for the kids." She smiled at him. "I'm glad you decided to come with me. It's been a nice day, hasn't it? Harry?"

Harry jerked himself back to the conversation. He'd just caught a glimpse of a wizard in dark robes striding purposefully towards Knockturn Alley and for a heart-stopping moment, he'd thought it was Snape. "Sorry. What?"

"Where'd you go?" Ginny asked, half-fondly, half-exasperated.

"Nowhere. Just thought I saw someone I knew. What were you saying?"

"Nothing," Ginny said quietly. "Tea?"

They found a table in a crowded, fancy café – new since the last time Harry'd been to Diagon Alley – and sagged heavily into their chairs, piling packages up all around them. A tall wizard with short grey hair walked past and once again Harry's chest ached.

"Looks a bit like Severus," Ginny commented mildly.

Shocked, Harry started; she hadn't referred to Snape as Severus for months, much less without any venom in her voice. "Yeah. He did a bit. Wonder how the snarky git is doing?" Harry thought he'd achieved the right amount of casual interest. He looked idly around the room, as if their conversation didn't have him wanting to swallow his tongue.

"Maybe we should invite him for Christmas. Do you think he'd like that?" Ginny poured milk into her tea and blew on it.

Harry choked on his mouthful of biscuit. "You've gone 'round the twist, wife. And no, I don't think he'd like it. I don't think you'd like it much either. What happened to you thinking I had a thing for him?"

"Are you sure you really want to discuss that now?" Ginny smiled sweetly. "We're having such a lovely time."

"Oh fuck!" Harry gasped. He didn't know what to do, where to look. "Speak of the devil and up he pops." Coughing again, he surreptitiously pointed. Ginny followed his finger. Across the room, Snape had taken a table and was clearly involved in a heated discussion with his waiter.

"Shall I invite him to join us?" This time Harry caught the mischievous glitter in her eye.

"No, I don't think that's wise," Harry said in a strangled voice. "Oh shit. He's seen us."

Ginny turned to look and Harry's heart sunk; Snape's mouth twisted into an unpleasant sneer and then he stared through them as if they weren't there.

"Look, I know we just sat down, but would you mind very much if we left?" He could not sit calmly sit there with Snape just across the room. The pain of seeing him at all was unbelievably raw. "It's just . . ." It occurred to him he could actually tell the truth, more or less. "It's kind of hard to see him and know he doesn't want anything to do with us, with me. It's hard to lose a friend, even when it's my own fault. I feel, I don't know, horribly embarrassed and small." He gave Ginny a wistful grin.

"You never told me what happened. Not really."

Harry didn't know if it was his own guilty imagination or if Ginny was really beginning to get an edge to her tone. He rubbed his scar. "I don't really know. Not for certain." And in his darker moments, that was true. He couldn't always remember why he'd told Snape to go away. Sometimes it seemed like such a mistake. "Can we go, please?"

Christmas was pleasant. It had been good to have the kids home, to have something other than their own fractious relationship to focus on, but Harry and Ginny's fragile detente lasted only until they saw the kids off on the Hogwarts Express. They had barely arrived home from the station when Ginny turned to Harry and quietly asked, "Are you in love with Snape?"

Why did she have to ask him that now, when things had been going so well? What possible good could it do? Harry laughed, hoping it didn't sound as forced to her as it did to his own ears. "Ginny. . ."

"It's a simple enough question: do you love him?"

"How can you even ask that with a straight face?"

Ginny just looked at him.

Suddenly, shockingly, there didn't seem to be any point in denying it; he knew in the mood she was in she wouldn't have believed him if he had. "Yes. I loved him." Saying that was harder, more painful than it should have been. Loving Snape had been good thing. It didn't take away from what he felt for his wife. Especially now that it was over.

"Is that what happened? Why you're not friends any longer?" Ginny's voice was oddly calm.

Feeling hopeless, Harry nodded dumbly.

"Then I don't even know why you're still here."

"Gin, don't. I'm here because it's where I belong, where I want to be. I love you. I have always loved you. How I felt about Snape doesn't matter because when it came down to it, I chose you and the kids."

"Did you? Funny it doesn't feel like that. Did you ever really love me, or was it just the idea of me, the cute girl with the ready-made family?"

God! She sounds like she doesn't even care what the answer is! Harry didn't know what to say, what would break through the barrier, how he could make her understand. He was still looking for the words when Ginny laughed. It had the same hollow sound he'd been trying to hide.

"You just want what you want."

Yes! Exactly! "No! I. Love. You. That hasn't changed."

The cold, sad look on her face made him want to squirm.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted the calm these last few days. I knew you couldn't be trusted!"

Harry saw red. After all he'd done! "Well for Christ's sake, Ginny, it was Christmas. No matter what you think about me right now, no matter what you feel – and I know you probably hate me at this moment – did you really expect me to ruin Christmas forever for the kids? Do you think I wanted their most memorable Christmas to be the one where their father left?"

It took several seconds for Harry to realise what he'd said. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! This isn't what I want! I want everybody to just be fucking happy! Why can't she hear me when I tell her it's over? He rubbed his hand over his scalp in frustration and took a step towards Ginny. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm not leaving you and the kids!"

"How the fuck am I supposed to believe you? How am I supposed to trust you? I can't. You are not to be trusted!"

"Oh, Ginny. Don't be like that. We can work something out. I know we can." The hurt and anger in her eyes, in every exaggerated line of her face, was like a knife in Harry's gut. It wasn't worth that. Nothing was worth that. Not even Snape was worth that. Then he remembered a similar look in Snape's eyes and the knife twisted.

"I didn't want to hurt anyone." Harry's voice was so quiet he wasn't even sure he'd said the words out loud.

Ginny's mouth twisted. Unshed tears dampened her eyelashes. "You never do, but you never really think of anyone else. You never have. The only thing that motivates you is not getting in trouble, but you've never once accepted that you only get in trouble because you do shitty things."

"That's not true!" Harry said, stung. "I was thinking of you!"

"Oh god, Harry!" Hands clenched into fists, Ginny began to pace the room. "Really? You were thinking of me when you fucked Snape?"

"I didn't fuck him." Unable to believe his own stupidity, Harry paled.

"Spare me the details. I'm serious as fuck about that, Harry. I do not want to hear them. I can't even believe you would say that! What is wrong with you?"

"I don't know. You're just making me so fucking–" He grit his teeth, unable to find the word.

Ginny shook her head sadly. "I don't know how I could have missed it all these years. You're like a child, always chasing what's in front of you, never noticing what you have."

That is so unfair! "If I'd never noticed what I had, I wouldn't care if I lost it. But I do care about losing you. I don't want to. You and the kids are my life!" He had to make her understand. Nothing, not even killing Voldemort, had ever seemed so important. "Please, you've got to believe me."

"How? How am I supposed to believe that?"

"I didn't mean to fall in love with him!"

"You didn't mean to fall in love with him? Are you trying to say you're somehow innocent in all this? That it was an accident? Harry! If you're so innocent, how did you end up being around him long enough to fall in love? Did you accidentally sleep with him? You chose to do this. You chose to ignore the fact that you're married, that you have children and that all of us would get hurt."

"It just happened! Good lord! Do you think one day I just said, 'I think I'll fall in love with someone who's not my wife?'" Harry wasn't going to think about having had sex with Snape little more than an hour after re-encountering him, about returning the very next day. It wasn't relevant. "It just happened," he repeated. "And it didn't last. It's over."

"So none of this is your fault; you didn't mean to fall in love with him; it just happened. Have I got that right?"

"Now you're just being ironic. Of course it's my fault. I know that."

"Oh, I think you know it's true, I just don't think you believe it. I don't think there's any point in continuing this now." Ginny took off her gloves and coat and threw them over a chair.

"So because you say we're done, we're done? Just like that?" How dare she? Harry was livid.

"That's right. Just like that. Somebody's got to take responsibility for things, Harry, and you're obviously incapable of taking responsibility for anything."

"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Ginny flinched away from him. "I'm sorry," Harry said, lowering his voice. "I shouldn't have yelled, but you really need to listen to me, and you need to do it now, not later when you'll have had the chance to blow everything out of proportion. Yes, I cheated on you, with Snape. I did that. It was horrible and wrong and selfish and it was a huge fucking mistake. Not because he won't have anything to do with me anymore, but because it just is."

"I'm tired, Harry, and really not up to this now."

"Well, you need to hear it anyway, damn it! Have you not listened to anything I've been saying? I. Chose. You. I told Snape to fuck off. I'm sorry I cheated. I can't say that enough. And I know just saying it doesn't mean anything, but it's true. It's also true that I ended it with Snape. I told him it couldn't continue. I told him that whatever it was he and I had, it wasn't worth hurting you and the kids. What happened between me and Snape just happened, but--"

"And there you go again. 'It's not my fault! It was an accident!' Just like a child. And somehow you think telling me that is supposed to make it better? Jesus Christ, Harry! How did it just happen? How does a straight married man end up in bed with another bloke? Oh fuck!" The red flush of anger suddenly drained from Ginny's face, leaving her looking wan and listless. "He wasn't the first, was he? How many, Harry? Did you love them all?"

"Let me finish before you go haring off, damn it! I fell into the thing with Snape, but I purposefully walked away from it. That has to mean something! I realised how wrong I'd been and I did what I could to take responsibility for it!" Harry had been trying his hardest to maintain an even tone. He knew he hadn't been completely successful, but now he was close to really taking the gloves off. He was appalled to realise he wanted a complete blow-out and recognising that was enough to make him take a step back.

"Are you finished now? Good. Now answer my question? How many? How long has this been going on? When did you figure out you were queer?" She spat the last word out.

Harry lost it. "WHEN? WHEN WAS I SUPPOSED TO FIGURE IT OUT? I WAS SIXTEEN WHEN WE GOT TOGETHER! SIXTEEN! I DIDN'T KNOW ANYTHING. I JUST WANTED TO BE FUCKING NORMAL!" Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Harry continued, feeling more sad than angry. "Then everything had to be put on hold. And then it wasn't on hold anymore, it was over, and I could finally be normal. God, you were so pretty, and smart and strong. You loved me. You had this terrific family. You wanted kids. You were just perfect. Everything I thought I wanted."

"But I wasn't what you wanted at all." Ginny's voice hovered between anger and hurt.

"No. You just weren't everything I wanted. But I swear I didn't know that. I never meant to hurt you. I didn't want to hurt anybody." Harry chewed the sore place inside his lip. "But I did. I've hurt everyone I love. God, Ginny, I'm so very fucking sorry."

"Don't, damn you! You won't make me feel sorry for you! Did you imagine I was someone else when we had sex?"

"No! Never! And we don't have sex, Ginny. We make love. It's love. I do love you. That part was never a lie!"

"OH BALLS!" Ginny screamed. "You couldn't have done what you did if you loved me!"

"DOES NOTHING I SAY MEAN ANYTHING AT ALL?" Harry screamed right back. He felt almost exultant at the smell of blood in the air.

"No! It doesn't! And do you know why? Because you cheated on me! And with god only knows how many people! It's a wonder I didn't get some disease!"

"What the hell kind of man do you think I am? I took better care than that! You were never at risk. Never!"

Ginny gaped at him. "What kind of man do I think you are? I think you're an absolute pig!"

"This? This is what I get for telling Snape to sod off? This is what I get for putting you and the kids in front of my own happiness? And god damn it! That's not what I meant!"

"Get out, Harry. Just get the hell out!" Ginny picked up a glass and smashed it at his feet. "Get out!"

Harry was more than happy to oblige.

17

"Aerrrgh!" The dark-haired man came with loud grunt and a final jaw bruising thrust, then quickly pulled out and tucked himself back in. "That was good. You're a talented little cocksucker, I'll give you that. Now, I think you should give me something in return. What do you say?"

Harry struggled to his feet; his right knee had been grinding into a sharp stone during most of the encounter. He smiled, wiping spit and spunk from his lips. "Want to return the favour, do you?"

Something smashed into Harry's temple. He staggered back, then found himself on his knees, head spinning, stomach heaving. Dizzily he thought it must have been a fist because he'd seen no weapon, but he'd had no idea that a fist could cause so much pain, and what difference did it make? Fist or club, he didn't think he was going to be able to get up any time soon.

"Fucking faggot!"

It took a minute to make sense of any of it. He expects me to pay him! Harry groaned, as much over his own stupidity as the throbbing in his head; this park was frequented by married punters hungry for a one-off and gay lads with a taste for the great outdoors, not pros. There had been no mention of money when Harry'd dropped to his knees, nor during the ensuing act, and now, with the hateful word hanging in the air, Harry knew he was in trouble. Abstract knowledge turned to real fear when the dark-haired man whistled and two figures emerged from the shadows of the trees, moving quickly and silently in spite of the heavy-soled, steel-toed boots they both wore.

Taking a deep breath that made his head spin worse than ever, Harry pushed himself to his knees just in time for a booted foot to connect with the wider target his ribs offered. With a strangled grunt, he fell back to the pavement, curling into a foetal position in an attempt to protect his rib cage from further damage.

"This is a family park, innit? We don't need you filthy fugging faggots here, making decent people scared to walk through at night!" The words were punctuated by kicks to his back, thighs, and shoulders, and then there was a rain of agonizing blows to his face and the back of his skull.

Wand! Your wand! Get your wand out, you fucking idiot! Jesus! They're Muggles, you're a wizard! Harry struggled to raise a hand from the pavement, but the movement made his ribs scream and his stomach felt as if it might leap out his throat. Whether the three thugs had seen his movement, or whether it was just general principles, a foot lashed out again, connecting with his groin this time. Harry screamed as he went over. He only barely registered a loud crack! before blackness overtook him.

He awoke shivering. Every sinew in his body screamed in protest as he tried to straighten his legs. His cheek was resting in a cold, sticky pool that he first assumed to be vomit – he had a vague memory of puking – until he raised his head and touched his hand to a gash still seeping blood. It took several sickening minutes before he could raise himself into a sitting position, and then several more to process the weak and confusing memories of what had happened. His breath caught painfully in his chest as he remembered the loud noise just before he'd passed out. With a shaking hand, he reached for his wand. It snagged on something in his pocket, which it shouldn't have done. Desperate, he fought back the waves of pain and tugged hard, nearly screaming as his wand came free with a suddenness that tumbled him onto his badly damaged ribs. Tears sprang to his eyes as he looked at the two splintered pieces of wood, only barely held together by the phoenix feather core.

Harry felt as if something had died. He could not let Ginny see him in this condition – stiff, sore, dizzy, broken-wanded, broken-bodied. He thought briefly of his friends and then dismissed them; they would feel obligated to tell his wife. St Mungo's was out of the question unless he wanted to greet the morning over banner headlines enthusiastically screaming the salacious details of his fall from grace. There was only one option. Getting to his feet was an exercise in torture, but at last he made it. Awkwardly fitting the two halves of his wand together, Harry held it aloft and summoned the Knight Bus.

"Grimsthwaite," Harry croaked as he made the agonizing climb up the bus's stairs. Ignoring the looks of the driver and the other passengers as they took in his bloody, battered face and the arm curled protectively around his ribs, he staggered to the first available seat and slipped into darkness again.

He awoke to the smell of smoke. "Fire!" he croaked, his voice so weak he almost couldn't hear himself. "Somebody! Fire!" The words came out a little louder that time, he thought.

"Fucking moron. Yes, there's a fire. In the fireplace."

The words, though whispered, were loud enough to make Harry wince, but they sounded oddly affectionate. Ginny, he thought, but that didn't seem right; the voice had been too deep. "Ron?" he asked thickly.

"That's the thanks I get for saving your pathetic life? Insults?"

"Snape? Fuck! Snape!" Not knowing why, Harry began to weep. Appalled, he struggled to wipe his eyes but found he couldn't move his hands. He soon discovered he couldn't move anything else either.

"Stop struggling, Potter. I've restricted your movements lest you re-injure yourself. Not my imagined scenario for having you tied down in my bed, although you being all over black and blue certainly fits."

Black and blue? What's going on?

"And stop snivelling. You'll choke on your own snot." For the first time, Snape moved into view as he bent over Harry, wiping eyes and nose with a handkerchief. "Bones take almost as long to knit as they do to grow; you've got at least another four hours in front of you. You might as well relax."

"What happened?" Harry thought he might as well take advantage of working mouth and vocal cords, since no other parts of his body seemed mobile.

"I had assumed you'd tell me."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling tears leaking from under his lashes. He didn't remember. He didn't think he wanted to remember.

"Well, I'll tell you what I know, although it isn't much." Snape dabbed Harry's eyes again before summoning a chair to the side of the bed and sinking into it. "Apparently, from someplace in Muggle London, you flagged down the Knight Bus, gasped out the word 'Grimsthwaite' and proceeded to collapse in a senseless, bloody heap. As luck would have it, the conductor is a cousin of Walter's. You remember Walter?" A malicious smile twisted Snape's mouth.

Harry grimaced in response – only Snape would use the guise of a helping hand to prod so viciously at an emotional sore point.

"The driver remembered that his cousin had an 'odd friend' and putting two and two together and miraculously, given the sort usually employed on the Knight Bus, came up with four. The 'odd friend' must be a wizard. He brought you to my door. You had a seriously damaged kidney, several broken ribs, and enough cuts and contusions to lend you a more than passing resemblance to chopped meat. Perhaps you'd like to fill in the background."

"I don't remember," Harry lied. The details of his encounter in the park had come flooding back. "And don't you dare!" he snapped as Snape leant forward and Harry felt the familiar probe of Legilimency. He tried to Occlude, but was too tired and weak.

Snape easily pushed through Harry's pathetic defence. Images of his fight with Ginny and his experiences in the park flashed through Harry's brain, sickening him. After several long minutes and, Harry thought, more than one run through, Snape sat back, a look of disgust on his face.

"I won't say you deserved it – no one does – but even knowing you as I do, I find it hard to grasp you could be so monumentally STUPID!" Snape's ravaged vocal chords were incapable of actually producing a shout, but the last word was like a blow and Harry would have cringed if he could. "To even put yourself into that situation, let alone forgetting you had the power to stop it before it was too late!"

Snape stood, looming over Harry, an unfathomable look on his face.

"Terrific bedside manner you've got," Harry croaked.

"If you wanted sympathy, you should have gone home to your wife." The words were said in a scathing tone, but Harry took what comfort he could in the fact that Snape wiped his eyes and nose with the handkerchief again before turning away and fairly storming from the room.

Judging by the position of the sun as seen through the grime-streaked window, several hours had passed when Harry woke again. He struggled to sit up and was surprised to find he could. It didn't even hurt very much.

"Sleeping Beauty awakes."

Harry looked to see Snape sitting in a chair by the window, a book in his lap.

"There's soup. I'm sure you'd like something more substantial, but teeth take longer to re-grow than bones to knit, and you're still missing a few. You should be able to manage the bread if you dunk it thoroughly."

"Thank you," Harry said, suddenly aware of his rumbling stomach. "And I don't just mean for the soup." He clutched the bowl Snape held out to him and began to drink without even waiting for a spoon.

"You are obviously a glutton for more than punishment."

Harry thought he heard a note of affectionate amusement and he smiled, but Snape's expression was devoid of tenderness. Glumly, Harry nodded. "Thank you again for fixing me up. I'll be out of your way as soon as I find my clothes." He set the bowl on the small table by the bed and looked around for his jeans and shirt. "I'm sorry if coming here was a mistake. I didn't know where else to turn."

"Do not make the mistake of thinking I care, Potter. I'd have done the same for any stray dog that wound up on my doorstep." Snape gave Harry an ugly look and returned to his book.

Sliding his legs over the edge of the bed, Harry stood, painfully aware that he was naked, in Snape's bedroom, under the worst possible circumstances. It had been a mistake to come here and his only excuse was that he had fucked his life so badly he'd had nowhere else to turn. "My clothes?" he asked quietly.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Snape stood, his face red with anger.

Something withered inside Harry; the words were exactly the ones Ginny had used. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"Not good enough!" Snape snarled, whirling and advancing on Harry. "Do you need the danger? Is that it? Is that what has you kneeling on the piss-stained floors of public toilets, opening your mouth to any stranger that shows his cock?"

"Because you don't frequent those same filthy toilets?" Harry snarled back.

Snape grabbed one of Harry's arms, twisting it violently till Harry's fist was pressed painfully between his own shoulder blades. All colour had drained from Snape's face, making his features harsher than ever. His mouth was twisted into an ugly sneer. "You want to be hurt, is that it? Or is it simply that your life is too tame, and by exposing yourself, you hope to draw back the notoriety and attention you claim to despise? Which is it, Potter?" He frog-marched Harry to the window, flinging it open with one hand. "Do you want the world to look at you?"

Even though the view from the window showed no human figure or house, Harry felt horribly exposed. "NO!" he roared, trying to twist out of Snape's grasp.

"So it's the punishment you seek? Very well." And with that, he yanked Harry's arm again, forcing him to turn so they were face to face. Suddenly, Snape stepped back and laughed derisively, his gaze shifting from Harry's eyes to his crotch.

Fervently wishing the earth would split open and swallow him, Harry glared back. His nakedness, Snape's proximity after months of being apart, had made him hard. That's all it is! Harry thought desperately. That's all.

"A life, a wife, children, friends, fame, money – none of it's enough for you. The great Harry Potter needs more. Get down on your knees, you filthy little fuck. Get down there and suck my cock as if your life depended on it, because the way I feel at the moment, it very well might." Snape's wand was in his hand. He made a short, stabbing motion with it and Harry fell, his knees thudding painfully against the floor. "That's better," Snape said. "Now start sucking while I offer a prayer of thanks to the men who knocked out your teeth."

"No!" Harry screamed again, scuttling backwards. "No! Not like this! Not with you! Never like this with you!" Ridiculously, tears were streaming down his cheeks and he swiped at them angrily. "God help me. I love you, you fucking son of a bitch! I love you and I don't know what to do about it! I don't fucking want to. I don't. I don't."

"Spare me." Snape looked down, an expression of pure loathing on his face. "You don't love anyone. I don't believe you're capable of it. You're the same self-centred, arrogant twat you've always been. Nothing matters to you. No one matters but you. As long as you get what you want, the whole bloody world can go to hell. Well, you want to suck cock bad enough to be beaten for it? Suck then."

His back literally against the wall, Harry could retreat no further. He looked up at Snape and suddenly felt horribly empty. "No," he said weakly. "You want to kill me? Go ahead. I think you might be doing me a favour." There was no bravado in his voice, no feeling of melodrama inside him. The words had come out without thought, but now, thinking about what he'd said, he recognized the truth of it. He'd made such a mess of his life and no matter what he did, which way he turned, he hurt the people he loved most. All he wanted was to disappear.

To Harry's shock, Snape backed away and began to applaud slowly. "Bravo! Harry Potter in a stellar performance as the desolate maiden. Spare me."

Harry laughed. Snape looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

Perhaps I have. I can't believe I've actually been missing his insults.

"Release the spell. I won't do anything rash."

"I'll regret this, I'm sure." Snape waved his wand and said, "Finite Incantatem!"

Wincing and holding his ribs tightly, Harry sat up. He wanted to scream as he straightened his legs, but managed to keep it to a grunt. "I could have," he said through gritted teeth, "gone anywhere, I think. Even home. I could have. It would have been horrible, although probably no worse than coming to you. But at that moment, all I could think was, 'I have no choice. There is nobody else I can turn to.' So I turned to you."

"It was–"

"It was presumptuous and wrong-headed and maybe even cruel of me." Harry stopped and rubbed his forehead; he had no idea how to make what he was saying any clearer. The movement made his ribs ache and his mind filled with images of boots and fists. "I couldn't think of anywhere else to go," he said helplessly. "Please, Snape?"

"I knew I would regret it," Snape said sourly. Harry winced as Snape pulled him to his feet and kissed him greedily.

Harry stretched and made a low purring noise deep in his throat. He felt incredible, in spite of the fact that his body hadn't completely recovered from the beating in the park. He should never have pushed Snape out of his life and having him back again felt like Christmas and his birthday rolled into one. "Come back to bed, you idiot! Dawn isn't for hours yet," Harry said cheerfully as he rolled over. He frowned, all good humour gone. Snape's back was an uncompromising line as he stood at the window looking out into the night. He was already dressed for the day, right down to the green wellies.

What the fuck is the matter now? God, do you have to do this every time? Sex with Snape had always been better than good and that night it had been made better by an unexpected gentleness, but once again it appeared the aftermath was going to be another tiring round of Snape being irritable.

"Get dressed. I want you to leave and I don't want you to ever come back."

"Very funny." What the fuck is wrong with him?

"This isn't a joke!" Snape screeched. "It's my fucking life! It's over, Harry. We're through. I can't keep doing this." There was a finality to his tone Harry had never heard before. It made him shiver.

"Snape, don't."

Snape whirled, his face showing the strain of both anger and resignation. "I'm tired of longing for people who are unavailable. My heart is tired. It's a dynamic as old as I am and I'm sick to death of it."

Harry felt as if he were drowning; his lungs seemed ready to explode from lack of air. "Don't say that. I'm here, aren't I? It's where I want to be."

"For how long? How many days before you feel guilty about your wife and children and go running back? No, you're not available, but you expect me to be, always here waiting for you when the mood strikes, when it's convenient, when you can slip away or manufacture some pathetic stratagem, or tell yourself you've nowhere else to go." Snape's fists were clenched at his sides. "I can't do this anymore. And it's wrong of you to ask me to. Go, Harry. Go back to your life, to what is really important to you. Work things out with your wife. Hire a prostitute to fill your needs if she can't meet them. Just leave me out of it."

"You don't mean it. You can't! God, how many times have I told you how much you matter to me? How much I need you, want to be with you? I know our situation isn't ideal, but we can work something out. We can! I know we can if only you're willing." Harry groaned, straining to find the right words, the ones that would snap Snape out of this horrible gloom. "I love you! You can't just–" Harry stopped, floundering for the right words.

"Do you? Well, perhaps you do. God knows in spite of everything I've tried to do to stop it, I'm afraid I may love you as well. It isn't enough. It's even less than not enough. Loving you diminishes me. Do you understand? It shouldn't be that way."

"You mean that, don't you?" Harry's insides seem to turn to ice. "You love me and you think it weakens you. You're wrong! Love isn't like that. It doesn't do that!"

"I'm tired, Harry. I'm tired of making do, of subsisting on what's left over. It isn't enough. I must stop this. It's a form of insanity. It's a disease. My whole life has been this way. I deserve more, damn it!"

The pain on Snape's face was horrible. Harry stood and began to slowly gather his things. I did this. I put that look on his face. God! That's it then. If he feels that way, I have to leave. I've no right to stay.

"Snape, I never meant–"

"I know."

"Is there some way . . .something I can do–"

"Nothing except leave. Please go. And please, if you really do have any love for me, don't come back."

"I . . . I can't do that. I need you. I've been miserable since I sent you away. When we're not together, I can't think of anything, anyone but you." Harry put his hand on Snape's arm and flinched as it was immediately flung off.

"I will not do this," Snape said through clenched teeth. "I will not exist on scraps! Not anymore. Never again."

"But I love you!"

"Grow up, Harry! For fuck's sake. Be a man and not that hard-headed arrogant boy. You're not the Chosen One any longer. You don't get to have everything you want. YOU ARE NOT THAT SPECIAL!"

"We can fix this!" Harry flinched, remembering having said the same thing to Ginny. But it isn't so unreasonable, is it? "God! Something is better than nothing! You have to think that! I know it isn't ideal. I know that, but we're good together. You love me, you admitted it!"

Snape looked at him wearily. "No. Something is not better than nothing. Not in this case. You're trying to destroy me and I won't let you succeed. You want to fix this, Harry? You have two choices: you leave your wife, or you leave me be."

"What? You can't mean–"

"Oh, but I do. I am as serious about this as I have ever been about anything, anything in my life! You need me? You can't think of anyone but me? Prove it. Put me first."

Are you mad? "Snape, I–"

"I'll give you three months, Harry. Three months to make up your mind. Three months to get your life settled. Today is the second of January. Show up here on the second of April and you'll find me waiting. Show up any time after that and I'll hex you into oblivion!"

"I–"

Snape advanced threateningly. "Do not make the mistake of thinking I don't mean what I say, that I'll get over it," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I will not see you again unless you're a free man. Those are my terms. If you show up and expect to pick up where we left off, with nothing changed, I will kill you. I believe you know me well enough to know I'm capable of it. Three months, Harry. It's beyond generous. It's up to you." Snape pushed Harry's bloodstained jacket into his hands. "NOW GET OUT!."

Five Years Later

The engine of the huge black motorcycle roared as it rounded the turn and began the long climb up the hill. At the crest, Harry throttled it back and parked on the edge of the road. His breath caught at the familiar, beloved sight of the broad valley bright with wild flowers and the squat, white house nestled cosily against one edge of the dale's bowl. His legs were unsteady and his hands shook slightly as he dismounted the bike. Inside him, a sense of peace and hope warred with the fear of uncertainty. He needed some time to compose himself; once he began the slow descent, Snape would know he was here and he would appear foolish if he stopped after that.

Sitting cross-legged on the verge, Harry pulled a small thermos flask and a packet of sandwiches from his pockets and set them out in front of him. He didn't really have an appetite, but he knew he would later, and he hadn't wanted to assume Snape would have a meal standing ready. As he slowly munched his sandwich, he took in the details of Snape's property. It had changed since he'd last seen it. Tall trees formed a protective half-circle around the house. The expanse of green that Harry knew to be a magical form of creeping moss was larger and greener than it had once been. As ever, smoke rolled out of the house's chimney in spite of the glorious weather. There was an overall impression of prosperity in the well-tended land, and that too was different than it once had been.

Sighing, feeling vaguely lost and out of place, Harry crumpled the waxed paper that had held his sandwiches into a ball and shoved it in his pocket. He uncapped the thermos and drank straight from the bottle. He could have happily stayed where he was all day, but that would have defeated the purpose of being there at all. With another deep sigh, he mounted the bike and started the motor. There was no reason to be nervous, he told himself.

As he jolted over the last bone-jarring rut – that at least hadn't changed – Harry could see Snape walk swiftly from the house to the verge. "Hullo," he said awkwardly as he throttled down the motor and rocked the bike onto its stand. He felt stupid and ridiculously shy.

"Harry." Snape nodded, his expression sombre, but with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

"Um–"

"Don't be an ass, Potter. Come here."

Absurdly near tears, Harry sank gratefully into Snape's embrace. He sniffled and wiped his eyes against Snape's shoulder before stepping back.

"You look . . . great, actually."

And Snape did. His once thin, sallow face had filled out and his skin boasted a much healthier olive hue; against it, the great beak of a nose seemed more in proportion. The ancient, filthy Barbour jacket had been replaced by a new one, and he was wearing trousers that fit entirely too well, in Harry's opinion. He looked like what he apparently was, a prosperous English landowner.

"You said things were going well, but I really had no idea." Harry made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the house and entire landscape. "You've painted the house, I see. No mould under the eaves." He gave a small, nervous laugh.

"Do you need help with anything?" Snape asked mildly. The good humour in his eyes had moved to his mouth which was curved in a small smile.

"Uh, maybe in a bit. I'd like to say hello first, you know, and maybe look around. Everything looks so different."

Snape nodded. "Five years allows for some significant changes. I want a beer," he said abruptly. "Memory being what it is, I am loath to offer you one, but I think under the circumstances, you may be allowed one. Only one, mind you."

Harry blushed and laughed. "Thanks. I'd like one."

Snape began walking back to the house and Harry simply stood and watched, enjoying the long stride and stubborn straightness of Snape's back. Halfway across the mossy lawn, Snape turned and held his wand to his throat. "Are you going to join me, or are you just going to stand there gawping?"

"I think I'll gawp, if you don't mind," Harry called out. "You're effin' gorgeous."

Snape rolled his eyes and continued on. Laughing, Harry hurried after him.

Later, after the beer and a rather frantic bout of what could only be termed 'necking' under the lush canopy of tropical trees in Snape's garden, as he was pulling T-shirts out of his rucksack and stowing them in a drawer, Harry turned and gave Snape a steady look. "Are you sure you're OK with this? Because I don't think I could stand," he paused as his voice broke slightly. "I don't want to be tossed out again. I don't think I could bear it."

Snape drew himself up to his full height and stared haughtily down his nose. "I reserve the right to forcibly evict you if you behave like the stupid, stubborn prat you were in the past."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's as good an offer as I'm likely to get." He flung himself at Snape and childishly burrowed his head against Snape's chest. "I've really missed you, you miserable sod."

Snape held him briefly and then pushed him away. "Don't get misty-eyed over me, Potter. It's pathetic. I said yes, and I meant it." His tone softened as he repeated, "I meant it."

"Good," Harry said. "Don't you forget it. Now, don't just stand there." Harry shoved a handful of pants into Snape's hands. "Help me unpack."

They worked in companionable silence for a few moments before Snape ventured, "What does your wife think of this arrangement?"

Harry turned and stared at him. "I haven't got a wife, as you bloody well know! I don't know how Ginny feels about it. I don't know whether the kids told her or not. I certainly didn't. I doubt she'd care anyway. Not any longer. She's moved on, new job – with the Wasps, I think I wrote you about that – new boyfriend and everything."

"You seem remarkably sanguine about it," Snape said, his bland tone at odds with the glitter in his eyes.

"I don't know what 'sanguine' means, but if you mean I'm OK with it, yeah, I am. I'm happy for her. Shit. If we're going to have this conversation, I think I want another beer. Please, Daddy? Just one?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "If it's a beer you're wanting, laddie, that's not the way to go about it."

"Really?" Harry asked, leaning in and batting his eyes innocently. "And how exactly should I go about getting what I want?" He straightened up and laughed ruefully. "I've spent so long trying to make things not about me, I'm not sure it's actually OK to want things."

"It's not the wanting that was your problem, Harry," Snape responded severely. "It was the way you went about getting, and your expectation that if you wanted you automatically deserved to have." Snape smiled. "But, if what you want at this moment is to call me 'Daddy', I'm hardly likely to object. I would prefer we confined it to the bedroom, however."

"We're in the bedroom," Harry reminded him, his voice unusually hoarse.

"Wrong bedroom. Put those things down and come with me. If you want a beer, you'll have to earn it."

Sometime later, Snape helped Harry to his feet, pulling him onto the bed and into what Harry smugly recognised as a cuddle. "Your technique leaves quite a bit to be desired, but your enthusiasm was admirable."

Harry laughed. "I'm out of practice, you'll be happy to know."

Once again Snape quirked an eyebrow at him.

"It's been, uh–" Harry silently counted on his fingers, "–three years, four months, twenty-seven days. Give or take."

Snape laughed. "I'm surprised you don't have it down to hours. I never expected you to be celibate, Harry," he added seriously.

"I wasn't. Not at first. Threw myself into the bars with a vengeance. Pretty much went with anything in trousers. Trying to prove I was wanted, I guess. I mean, after all," he continued in a slightly accusatory tone, "I abandoned my wife and children for you, but you said it wasn't good enough. 'Live alone, learn about yourself, figure out what you really want,' you said. Well, what I wanted, what I thought I wanted, was raunchy sex and lots of it."

"And," Snape prompted as Harry fell silent.

"And once again, I was wrong. It wasn't what I wanted at all. Took a nasty dose to realise it. I had to be treated by a Muggle doctor. Didn't dare go to St Mungo's. I mean! I'm sure you saw the headlines in the Prophet when Ginny and I divorced. Can you imagine what they would have made of the Boy Who Lived with a bad case of the clap? Anyway, the doctor gave me a stern dressing down and somehow, it was what he said that finally got through to me, where you and Ginny hadn't. He gave me statistics, broke it down so I understood exactly how many people I'd fucked over by sharing my dose, and how many people they'd fuck over because I couldn't be arsed to keep my cock sheathed and my mouth closed. Jesus!" Harry ruffled his hair distractedly. "He pointed out how many kids on the street survive by peddling their arses, how many children I was responsible for infecting, hurting. It was horrible. And then every awful thing you, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Neville had said to me made sense. I saw it all in a new light, and I was ashamed."

"You should have been," Snape said. "You really behaved abominably to all concerned."

"Yeah, I did," Harry said, surprised and pleased that he didn't feel at all defensive at Snape's words. It was the simple truth, after all. "So I stopped. Stopped going to the bars and the parks. Became something of a hermit for a while. Occasionally, some bloke or bird I met through my business would show their interest, but I knew I'd just end up fucking them over as well, so I just politely told them no.

"I tried to say something to Ginny once, apologise for being such a shit, you know, but I think it was too soon, everything was still too raw for her. She told me to get fucked." Somewhat shamefaced, Harry laughed. "I wanted to argue with her, make her listen, but then I realised that's what I always did. I wanted her to listen to me, but I never bothered to really listen to her. Well, I heard her that time. She wanted me to go away and stay away, so I did. Honestly? I think it was harder to do that than to stay away from you." He searched Snape's face, wondering if that had been the wrong thing to say, but Snape simply nodded his understanding. "It was really hard, what with the kids and all, because I still had to see her regularly, but I did my best to be friendly and not too familiar. Yeah, it was hard."

"And you don't really care that she's moved on?" Snape's look was piercing.

"You mean do I care about her and Tony? 'S'fine with me. Truly. According to Al, James thinks he's an upperclass twit, but Al and Lily think he's all right. I don't care as long as he treats Ginny and the kids well. And by all accounts he does, so–"

"They're not kids any longer, are they?"

"Barely, I suppose, but it's hard to think of my kids as anything but. This is Lily's last year at Hogwarts. Time flies. Except when it doesn't. It's done both these past five years."

"And now what?"

"You have to ask? Well, there's moving in here, and I still have fences to mend. Then there're the kids. I've got no influence over James at all, and that's a problem, because I'm afraid he's headed in the wrong direction."

"Personally, I'm surprised he's not in Azkaban," Snape said drily.

Harry snorted. "He did spend part of a night in a Muggle jail once. Blasted his way out. Percy managed to keep it out of the papers. For Ginny's sake, of course, not mine. Anyway, I don't like the blokes he hangs out with these days. Entirely too much like Death Eater Youth in their ideas." Harry shook his head sadly. "Hard to think he could have that attitude, growing up with me and Ginny and the Weasleys. I suspect that's all down to me as well."

"You usually are to blame," Snape said, but he put his arm around Harry's shoulder and squeezed gently.

Harry grinned. "I am not trying to make James's problems all about me. I just think it started as his way of getting even with me for everything. Now, though . . . well, he's a man. Hopefully he'll start acting like one much younger than I did. At any rate, there's little I can do about it. I'm banking on Al getting through to him."

"How is Albus?"

"Good. He's good. Doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Which reminds me." Harry was a little worried about how this next bit of information would go over. "He's very interested in both Herbology and Potions. Took NEWTs in both," Harry said proudly. "I told him I'd ask you if you'd consider taking him on, like an apprentice, or something. Mind you, I didn't tell him you would, or even that I thought you might, only that I'd ask and I had no idea what you'd say. If the answer's no, he can always have a job in my company. We've got room for any number of bright young things. Research and development, you know."

"Have him spend the summer with us. I'll know well enough at summer's end if he's got any real talent."

"Seriously? The whole summer? That won't be too much for you? I mean, think about it, Snape. Two Potters, and only one of them marginally mature?"

"Idiot," Snape said affectionately. "I'm sure you'll improve under his example. Yes, he can come. We can devise a room for him in the attic, or build an addition to the shed, if you think he'd prefer his own quarters." Snape laughed. "Walter will be frightfully annoyed. He was always after me to do just that."

"How is Walter?" Harry asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Snape looked so grim, Harry squirmed uncomfortably, wishing he could call his words back. Then Snape laughed again. "Walter is fine. Proud father of four mewling brats." Snape shook his head. "I always knew deep down he was straight; he simply liked the money, and the freedom from his mam. Still, it's a horrible waste of a marvellous mouth."

"Bastard," Harry said, punching Snape's shoulder. "And because I know you're going to ask, Lily is fine. She's going to go to work for her Uncle George when she's out of school. She's a natural, same sense of humour." Harry rolled his eyes. "But, like Ginny, she barely speaks to me. I hold out hope she'll get over it eventually. It was harder on her than anyone, I think. She really just wanted her mummy and daddy to get back together again, and didn't understand why we didn't. She hates you with a passion, I might add. Thinks it's all your fault, you see? I have to admit I'd rather she thought it your fault than mine, no matter what the truth is," Harry said guiltily. "Pathetic, isn't it? Maybe I haven't changed much at all."

"If I didn't think you'd changed, you wouldn't be here. You do know that, don't you?"

Harry nodded.

"I can bear Lily's blame. It's actually not completely undeserved."

"Big of you to admit it." Harry smiled. "Do you think we could talk about something else? I feel as if I were doing penance on top of five years of penance."

"Oh," said Snape, banishing Harry's clothes with a flick of his wand, "you haven't even begun to pay for your sins."

THE END

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