Title: Water Lilies and Lotus Seeds
Author: chazpure
Team: Phoenix
Genre(s): Postwar
Prompt(s): Career Change, Optical Illusion
Rating: NC-17
Warning/Kinks: *frottage, semi-public sex, oral*
Word Count: ~11,800
Summary: When his godson recommended a "fascinating" Muggle establishment for a relaxing experience, Harry was intrigued, but he was unprepared for finding the owner fascinating as well.
A/N: My thanks and my abject apologies to the moderators of the Games for the lateness of this submission! I had an overdose of RL that unfortunately had a serious impact on my available writing time, plus, this seems to have been another Inanimate Uncooperativeness Week. Strange, I never got the memo... Also, my thanks to my beta for hot tea & putting up with my swearing. Any errors remaining in this story are mine.
Aunt Leenie's house was much as it had always been, Cynthia mused, smiling a little to herself at the tired furniture and faded rugs over worn lino. The bookcases hadn't taken up all of the walls when she'd visited as a child, but they'd been well on their way, so it was little surprise that they now surrounded the little sitting room where she sat sipping tea with her dour-faced, taciturn aunt.
She pushed the fancy tin of biscuits toward Aunt Leenie. "They're all the way from Hong Kong, would you believe it, Aunt Leenie? And I bought them down t'village, right in Abbott's!"
Aunt Leenie picked up a thin pastry roll filled with strawberry cream and arched an eyebrow. "Oh, aye?" She sniffed it dubiously, then took a cautious bite. "Not bad," she pronounced, rinsing the bite down with a sip of tea. "T'box's right fancy," she added, running a finger over the brightly painted tin.
"Hard to believe, Hong Kong biccies in Abbott's," Cynthia said, "and that odd little shop with pyramids and all in the windows 'cross t'square, and the new blocks of 'deluxe flats' goin' in, south o' t'river."
"Gentrified, they call it, eh?" Aunt Leenie scoffed, her thin fingers plucking a delicate rosette dusted with sugar crystals from the biscuit tin. "Tear down the old rubbish, make way for t'new."
Cynthia sighed. "It'd be a grand time to start up a new business, if I'd the brass."
The kitchen door opened, and a tall man stooped slightly as he entered. He glanced at the women and was about to turn away, when Cynthia called out to him.
"Uncle Donny! Aunt Leenie told me you'd come home!" She sprang to her feet and ran to greet him, throwing her arms around his bony form impulsively and hugging him tightly. He stiffened in her grasp and pulled back, then looked piercingly at her.
"It's Cynthia! Don't you remember me? It's been a fair few years, and I've grown a bit, but..." she smiled up at him, and felt her smile start to fade at the blank expression in his eyes. She was about to release him and apologise, when suddenly his lip quirked.
"Cynara...artichoke of my dreams," he said, his voice rusty as if with disuse.
Cynthia laughed delightedly. "You do remember!" She hugged him again. He still stood stiffly, barely tolerating her touch, but then she felt one long, thin hand pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. She let him go and stepped back, smiling at him. "Come and have some tea. I was just telling Aunt Leenie about all the changes in t'village. You'd not recognize it!" She took him by the hand and led him to a seat, pouring tea - where had that extra cup come from? - and pressing biscuits on him.
"Uncle" Donny had changed a bit in the ten years or more since she had last seen him. He wasn't really her uncle, of course, but her older second-cousin, their grandfathers having been brothers. He still wore black, just as she remembered, but his hair had gone from jet to steel-grey with an odd streak of white behind one ear. His eyes were hooded, and he seemed to have...shrunken, somehow, folded in on himself.
She remembered him from her childhood summers, wandering about Aunt Leenie's garden with her in tow, telling her the names of the flowers and herbs and how each one had its place and purpose. He worked up north, she knew, in some sort of research lab, she'd always thought, probably associated with a university, as he was forever grumbling about "idiot students" who couldn't be arsed to observe proper safety or procedures. She had always loved tagging along at his heels and soaking in every bit of lore he was willing to give her.
He had taught her how to pick mushrooms down by the river and drilled her on the differences between the poisonous and wholesome ones until she could tell them apart at a glance. He had let her stir the old iron pot Aunt Leenie used for brewing up her home-made syrups and salves, and sometimes he had lifted her up into the branches of a tree and had her pluck moss or blossoms or seed pods or whatever else he had wanted to study.
He'd always been dour, like Aunt Leenie, and not much given to laughter or indulging his young cousin, but she had always gone home from such visits with her pockets full of leaves and seeds and slightly-squashed flowers, and her hair studded with feathers and ferns. He had been one of the reasons she'd studied botany, naturopathy and homeopathy, though she'd had precious little luck finding work in her field.
"It's so good to see you again, Uncle Donny! It's early for hols, though; I wouldn't have thought your lab would shut down 'til next month," Cynthia said.
Aunt Leenie muttered something under her breath and slid the biscuit tin toward her son.
He eyed it but made no move to take one, instead picking up the teacup and sipping, then rubbing at the thick black muffler wrapped around his neck. "The lab...has closed," he said shortly.
"Oh, I am sorry!" Cynthia exclaimed.
"Don't be," Aunt Leenie said darkly, grimacing as she refilled her cup.
Cynthia cast around for a change of subject. "I was just saying to Aunt Leenie, there's that much new trade coming into the area, it'd be a grand time to start up a new business. They're building new housing, huge buildings, very posh, all glass and chrome, down past t'river, and I've heard this whole area is a 'best kept secret' for new developments and all." Cynthia smiled ruefully and munched a biscuit.
Uncle Donny tilted his head and regarded her for a moment. "Did you...finish school?" he asked, finally, his voice still harsh as a raven's.
"Oh, aye. Last year," she told him.
Aunt Leenie snorted. "Top o' her class at uni, so Eliza told me...over and over." She rolled her eyes and took another biscuit.
Uncle Donny settled back into his chair. "How is...Aunt Eliza?" he asked, as if barely remembering the social niceties.
"She's fine," Cynthia said. "Thinking about retiring, now Dad's pension's coming in. If I were working regular, I'd have made her do it long since."
"Hm." Uncle Donny's long fingers wavered over the biscuit tin and settled on a long, chocolate-dipped biscuit. "What sort of business...had you in mind?"
Cynthia crunched up the last of her biscuit and sat back, watching him. The Uncle Donny she remembered had had little patience for small-talk, and he certainly didn't seem to have mellowed in the past ten years. He was watching her intently, heavy black brows pulled down over his eyes.
"I'd start off with a sort of cafe," she said thoughtfully. "But a special one, with soothing herbal teas, restoratives, fruit blends, infusions and such. There's a demand for that sort of thing, in town, and if the village is getting gentrified, they ought to go well here. I'd find a spot with good foot traffic, near a bus stop and on the main road, if I could, and I'd have scones and buns for the breakfast trade, and maybe salads and sandwiches for lunch. Local produce, of course, and a little display of home-made jams and syrups, like you used to teach me to make," she said, smiling.
Uncle Donny nodded slowly. "And then?"
She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing. "If everything went well, in a year or so, I'd get in touch with a couple o' my old mates from school, and we'd add on a room or two for therapeutic massages, aromatherapy, maybe even acupressure, if I could get Mei to come up here. We'd enlarge the cafe, too, add on a dining room and offer a full menu for lunch and supper. In another few years, I'd have enough put by to buy out one of the old mill buildings and convert it, or even a farm, out in the hills, and I'd set it up for a healing centre and restorative spa, where the well-to-do would come for a week's relaxation and de-stressing." She opened her eyes and laughed, a bit self-consciously, at having spilled out so much fantasy so readily.
Uncle Donny was still watching her, then gave a decided nod. "It should pay well," he said, "people are always looking for a quick solution to their problems."
"Yes, well, I'd imagine some of them would actually benefit, Uncle Donny," she said mildly, "and the others would enjoy themselves anyway, so where's the harm?"
He made a sound that might have been a short, strangled laugh, quickly broken off. "Very well," he said, "do it."
"But, I--" Cynthia felt herself about to babble and stopped, staring at him with her mouth open.
"Close your mouth, Cynara, before you trap flies. I will provide the initial capital for your business, as well as financing for the first year. If your venture is not earning by the end of one year, we shall re-evaluate the situation. If it is, we shall share the profits between us."
Aunt Leenie stared at him. "And just where would you come by that sort o' money?"
"I've a good bit put by," he told her, "and I've sold the house on Spinner's End, as you know. There should be enough to finance a modest cafe."
"But, Uncle Donny, are you sure? The bank would give you a guaranteed return; this is just a dream, and you don't even know if I've a head for business!"
"I've taken far worse risks," he said, a dark shadow falling over his face. "I am satisfied with the odds...and at least this time, the gamble is of my own undertaking." He looked off into the distance with a bitter smile that made Cynthia shiver.
Harry ruffled his fingers through the stubble on his scalp and grinned ruefully at his reflection in Fortescue's gleaming shop window. He'd just passed by two good friends and an acquaintance on his way down Diagon Alley, none of whom had recognized him. It was hardly surprising; he almost didn't recognize himself!
The Healers had been quite put out with his insistence on leaving St. Mungo's only two days after he'd awakened there, but a month's enforced medical leave, a spell-sealed monitoring bracelet, and his solemn promise to follow their prescribed potions regimen had mollified them enough to sign his release, albeit grudgingly.
It had been a near thing, this time. He'd gotten a bit too close to an unstable Dark artefact, as he was trying to push one of his Auror Trainees out of the way of the blast he had just known was coming. He'd taken the brunt of it on his right side. His arm and shoulder were singed, but healing. His neck had a nice collection of shrapnel scars, and the winged bronze lid of the ancient urn had spun across the room and sliced into his head, nearly scalping him and sending a shower of Dark curse energy cascading over his head. The Healers had managed to neutralize it, but they'd shorn him like a sheep in the process. The point of impact was marked by a livid red line that ran diagonally from just above his right ear to the middle of his scalp, slicing right through his old curse scar. He still had a mild headache that flared uncomfortably in the presence of powerful magic, but the Healers sounded reasonably confident that it would fade, as would the slice through his scalp. One of the younger mediwizards had taken pains to assure him that his "famous" scar would most likely be undamaged, once the new injury had healed.
Harry snorted. For once in his life, he didn't look like the Boy Who Lived, or the Famous (or was it Notorious?) Senior Field Auror Potter. The vision-sharpening spell helped, of course. His glasses had been shattered in the blast, and he had let one of the Healers talk him into trying the new spell, at least until his head had completely healed. The spell worked rather well, he had to admit, and the improvement to his night vision alone was probably worth the only side-effect he had noticed: under the spell, his eyes looked rather more turquoise-blue than emerald green. It was odd, though, waking up and being able to see, right off the bat. He tilted his head this way and that, stroking the moustache that had finally filled in, and wondering if he ought to try growing a goatee as well. The novelty of not looking like the Famous Harry Potter was mildly intoxicating, particularly when accomplished without a glamour!
He pushed the door open and walked in, scanning the patrons quickly to spot the young man he was meeting. It took him a moment, then he noticed a husky young fellow sitting against the back wall, whose sandy blond hair had a narrow streak of purple in it, just behind the right ear. As he watched, smiling fondly, the purple lock faded to pink and then blended into the rest of the sandy mass.
"Hullo, Teddy," he said, taking a seat opposite his godson. Teddy grinned up at him. "Uncle Harry! Special department business today? You're incognito!"
Harry snorted. "Hardly. Just the results of my last little trip to St. Mungo's."
Teddy nodded solemnly. "I heard. Is it true they've benched you for six months?"
"Two months," Harry corrected him, "and I needed a holiday anyway."
Teddy cocked his head to one side, his features sharpening into an echo of his mother's elfin face, with his father's warm brown eyes shining at Harry. "You do look like you could use a rest, Godfather mine."
Harry sighed and waved at a waiter. When they had ordered, he slumped back against the chair. "I'm not sleeping much, lately," he admitted.
"Bad dreams? Flashbacks?" At Harry's dismissive head shake, Teddy pursed his lips. "Hm. When's the last time you talked to Aunt Ginny?"
"Teddy, I know you're very nearly a counselour, but please don't start on that again. Your aunt and I have been divorced for years now. We've managed to hang onto a semblance of friendship, or at least civility, but that doesn't mean we're getting back together."
"Oh, I know; I just thought you might have been worried about Jamie, or Al, and I wondered if you'd had news from Aunt Ginny."
"No, everything's fine. In fact, I had tea with the kids in Hogsmeade last weekend." Harry rolled his shoulders and sighed. "It's just one of those things, I suppose. It will pass." He took a sip of his cinnamon malt.
"Could I make an...unorthodox suggestion?" Teddy leaned forward earnestly over his sundae, his hair turning cornflower blue as he focused on Harry.
"Sure."
"There's a place I ran across a few months ago, a Muggle shop, of all things, that has some really amazing relaxants. Not drugs or potions, just 'natural' teas and infusions and tinctures and such. They've got a restaurant and some sort of salon where they stretch you out and light scented candles and massage you until you'd swear you hadn't a bone left in your body." Teddy smiled in reminiscence.
"A Muggle shop? Whatever were you doing to run across a place like that?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. Teddy was a half-blood like himself, of course, but he'd never shown any great enthusiasm for anything outside the magical world before now.
Teddy coloured a bit and his hair turned bright pink. "I was dating a girl from the Salem Institute for a bit, last summer, and she wanted to look up her family origins, up north. We were exploring one weekend, and she wanted to stop for lunch in this 'quaint' little village. They had some great shops, so we stayed the afternoon and wandered into Water Lilies for tea. I couldn't get the place out of my mind, and I've been back at least a dozen times since then."
"What happened to the girl?" Harry asked, grinning.
"Oh, she went back to the States," Teddy said. "I'm meeting her brother for drinks next Thursday."
"You're incorrigible," Harry laughed, shaking his head.
"Seriously, Uncle, would you try it? I'd love to hear your opinion on the place. It's got something...I just can't quite put my finger on it."
"It couldn't hurt, I suppose. Shall we have a look in, tomorrow, maybe? Incognito, of course." He held up his wrist, shaking the bracelet and grinned wryly. "I don't want the Healers screaming down my floo, complaining about excursions and lack of bed rest."
Teddy laughed. "I'll be very discreet, I promise, Uncle...hm...Henry? No... Edmond? Hm...Ian? Yes, Ian! And not a single morph, I swear. Let's meet here at ten and I'll give you the apparition point."
"All right, it's a date." Harry drained the last of his malt and stood up, ruffling Teddy's now-green hair. "Give your grandmother my best. Tell her I'll stop by for dinner next week."
"See you tomorrow, Uncle 'Ian'!"
Harry looked around appreciatively as they emerged from behind a storage shed, after apparating from Diagon Alley. Teddy was fairly bouncing with excitement as he waited for his godfather's assessment. The boy had been as good as his word.
He was clad in worn but unremarkable jeans, trainers and a faded blue jumper, and his face was so ordinary it would have been hard to describe it. Harry had opted for casual slacks and a comfortable old jumper of his own, and he'd cast a very mild glamour to cover the still-healing scar across his head.
"Here's where Tina and I first decided to stop," Teddy said, waving at a self-consciously quaint little tea room with brightly painted door and window-frames. "Then she caught sight of something across the street, so we went to investigate," he explained, drawing Harry along with him.
The little jewellery shop had a nice selection in its display window, but Harry had never cared much about jewellery, and he couldn't have said if the merchandise was unusual in any way, but he was staring at the little card in the corner of the window. "Albert Snape, Jeweller?" Odd, he thought, I wonder if he's any relation?
Teddy waved toward the larger building on the corner. "That's the place. You'd never guess to look at it, would you?"
"No, I suppose not," Harry said with a smile for Teddy's enthusiasm. "Well, let's see what they have on offer."
There was a musical chime as the door opened, and a waft of scented air rose up to greet them, filled with floral and spicy scents. "Welcome to Water Lilies, gentlemen," a smooth voice said. "How may I assist you?"
Harry turned and smiled at the woman in the rosy silk tunic and trousers. She was rather plain, with prominent nose and chin, but she had beautiful, long black hair and a welcoming smile. "My nephew, Johnny here, recommends your relaxing teas," he said. "He's been insisting I come and try them.
Teddy flashed her a brilliant smile as well. "Uncle Ian has been suffering from insomnia," he explained, turning toward the shelves of herbal teas.
"Oh, that's a shame," the woman said. "I'm Cynthia Snape, one of the owners," she added, extending a strong, shapely hand to Harry.
Snape! He took her hand and covered his momentary surprise by bowing slightly over it. "Delighted, Ms. Snape. Ian Jones. Any relation to the jeweller next door?" he asked casually.
She chuckled good-naturedly. "Not to my knowledge. Although most of us Snapes probably are related, if you trace the lines back far enough. There's a fair few of us in these parts. There's even a village of Snape, up by Bedale."
Harry smiled politely. He'd always thought it an unusual surname, but apparently he'd been mistaken.
"So, Mr. Jones, please tell me about your insomnia." She stepped behind a long counter and began rummaging behind it.
"I've been under a good bit of stress lately, I suppose," he said, pausing to translate into Muggle terms. "It's my work; it's rather dangerous and there was a nasty accident a week or so ago; one of my young assistants was very nearly killed. I was injured - very slightly, fortunately - and since then I've had difficulty sleeping through the night, and very disturbing dreams when I do sleep."
"Oh, I shouldn't wonder!" Ms. Snape was nodding sympathetically.
Teddy had wandered over to inspect one of the large framed paintings of water lilies that decorated the shop.
Ms. Snape pulled out several small tins from beneath the counter and opened them up, releasing a blend of scents that stirred Harry's memory but danced just out of reach before he could identify them.
"Hm...yes..." Ms. Snape was carefully measuring a bit from one tin and a bit from another, adding a spoonful of something powerfully fragrant and a pinch of what looked like dust. She looked up and frowned briefly. "Have you any allergies?"
"Hm? Oh, no, I don't think so."
"And would you say you're generally in good health, apart from your recent injury?"
"Yes, I would say--" Harry broke off as one of the inner doors swung open and a man entered.
He was tall and thin, with what must have been prematurely silver hair, very elegantly cut and styled. His nose was even more pronounced than his niece's, and his eyes were very dark, deep blue. He wore an expensive-looking suit of dark charcoal, and, incongruously, an open-collared silk shirt in vivid blue, patterned with lotus flowers and wading birds. "Cyn--" he stopped short when he noticed Harry and Teddy in the shop.
"I beg your pardon," he said, nodding at Harry. "I didn't realize we had customers." His voice was deep, but husky, as if his throat hurt. "When you're done assisting the gentlemen, Cyn...thia," he said, turning to go.
"Oh, Uncle Donny, just a moment! This gentleman suffers from insomnia and was interested in our relaxing teas." Ms. Snape smiled brightly at the man, giving him a meaningful look that Harry couldn't decipher.
One elegant silver eyebrow arched. "Indeed? My condolences to a fellow sufferer," he said, turning back and inclining his head to Harry.
"You also have difficulty sleeping, Mr...?"
"Snape, Donovan Snape," the man replied, bowing slightly. His lip quirked at Harry's look of mild surprise. "My parents were fans of the singer," he said by way of explanation, leaving Harry equally in the dark, but at least able to pretend understanding. "I've always found sleep elusive," he added.
"Could you suggest a blend for Mr. Jones, Uncle?" She smiled at Harry. "Uncle Donny is the real genius behind our custom-blended herbal teas and many of our other products."
"Hm..." Mr. Snape laid a finger over his lips and considered. Deep blue eyes beneath expressive silver brows studied Harry intently. The regard sent a flush of heat rushing from Harry's cheeks all the way down to his groin. He cleared his throat and tried to relax under the man's scrutiny, as he fought the unexpected surge of lust.
Mr. Snape seemed not to notice. "Yes, I think I may be able to suggest something," he said quietly, stepping over to the counter and examining his niece's work. "A good start," he approved, reaching up for one of the crystal cannisters on the shelf behind them and adding a few threads of some dried herb to the mixture. "This should assist you, Mr. Jones," he said, pouring the blend into a small white bag and sealing it with a gummed label in the shape of a water lily. "Try a teaspoon brewed as tea, half an hour before bed."
Something about the way he said "bed" made Harry's cock twitch. He told himself sternly that this was neither the place nor the time to be getting ideas like that! It was bad enough when he put on a glamour and went out for an evening at one of the more notorious establishments in Senshoe Alley; this was Muggle Yorkshire, and he was buying tea with his godson, for Merlin's sake! He managed to control himself enough to nod and pay for the surprisingly expensive tea - really, £42.50 for a few ounces of herbal tea? It wasn't dragon scales after all!
"Uncle...have you seen their brochures?" Teddy stumbled a bit as he bounced back to Harry's side. "Last time I was here, their spa was closed," he explained, holding out a folded pamphlet with deep crimson borders and an elegant lotus blossom on the cover.
"We've recently completed some renovations and added a new wing to our Lotus Garden Healing Centre," Ms. Snape said. "We've received a five-star rating from New Age Destinations magazine," she added proudly.
"Congratulations!" Teddy said brightly. "Uncle, shall we get some lunch?"
Harry was about to answer when he saw Ms. Snape give her uncle a sharp elbow to the ribs. He glared at her, but recovered quickly and stepped from behind the counter. "Actually, I was about to lunch as well. Would you gentlemen care to join me? A complimentary meal, in thanks for your patronage," he said.
"Oh, you don't have to--" Harry broke off as Teddy stepped on his foot. "Er...that is, thank you, that's very kind." He shot Teddy an annoyed look and had the distinct impression that his godson was sharing some sort of vast joke with Ms. Snape.
They followed Mr. Snape through a beaded archway, past a small impluvium with scarlet water lilies, and into a dining room furnished with black lacquered chairs, snowy linen-draped tables, and more paintings of water lilies on all the walls. Teddy chattered happily, drawing a few comments and an arched eyebrow or two from their host, but when their food arrived, he subsided and left the conversation to Harry and Snape.
Surprisingly, it was not awkward at all. Harry found himself talking about his work and family, all in rather general terms, of course, but speaking far more easily to this stranger with the familiar name than he would have been able to talk to some of his own team at the Ministry.
Snape, for his part, was a responsive listener and an interesting speaker, despite his husky voice and quiet demeanour. He had some interesting anecdotes on the development of herbal formulae sold in the shop, and his explanation of the area's history was particularly fascinating. Harry listened avidly, musing on the odd strength of his sudden attraction to the man. The nose must be a Snape trait, he thought, wondering idly if the jeweller next door had similar features as well. Other than that, and his general build, this man was nothing like his former professor and saviour. He was suave, cultured, witty...and he smelled very nice indeed.
Harry wondered idly just how outraged Mr. Snape would be if he were to proposition him. The man was a bit older than Harry...it was hard to tell with Muggles, really. Harry was coming up on forty, and between Snape's silver hair and smooth skin, he could have been anywhere between forty-seven and sixty. Presumably he was accustomed to a somewhat unorthodox clientèle, given the nature of his business, but that didn't necessarily mean he would be able to take a sexual overture from another man in his stride.
It took Teddy's pointed reminder that they had a prior engagement for him to realize they'd spent more than an hour sitting and talking after their plates had been cleared.
He clutched the little bag of tea in his pocket as he followed Teddy back to the apparition point, thinking about the elegant hands that had measured and mixed it for him.
"So, what did you think?" Teddy asked him, grinning.
"Nice place," Harry said absently. "I'll try the tea and let you know," he added, just before they apparated. He steadied his godson as they landed. "I wonder what that 'Healing Centre' of theirs is like?" he mused.
Teddy laughed. "I knew you'd like it! Here! I brought this back for you," he said, holding out the brochure. "They take bookings by the weekend, week or longer," he added. "Apparently the Snapes live on the grounds," he said, rather too innocently.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded.
"Nothing, nothing!" Teddy protested, hands held wide. "Only that they seemed very nice, and you certainly hit it off with Uncle Donny, Uncle 'Ian.'"
Harry snorted, but he put the brochure into his pocket alongside the tea.
"Well! Did you have a pleasant lunch?" Cynthia raised her eyebrows as Uncle Donny came back into the shop, two hours after he'd left with their customers.
"Satisfactory," he said. "Tell Evelyn the sorrel soup could stand a bit more toasted cumin."
"Mr. Jones seems nice," Cynthia said, grinning.
Uncle Donny gave her a sour look. "Quite."
"I think he liked you," she said.
"I bought him lunch; it would require particularly ill-breeding to be less than polite to someone who is paying for your rather expensive meal in an exclusive restaurant," he pointed out.
"I meant before that. He was hanging on every word you said."
"I was giving him instructions for treating his insomnia. He was appropriately attentive."
"Uncle Donny! He blushed like a young lass when you gave him the eye!"
"Or he was mortified at your lack of discretion in discussing his condition - and I did not 'give him the eye!'"
Cynthia snorted. "Have it your way, then! But he was a handsome one, in the compact size an' all. He ought to let his hair grow, though; it's nice to have summat to grab onto, don't you think?"
Uncle Donny glared at her, but she grinned unrepentantly. "He'll be back," she predicted. "And then we'll see, won't we?"
Muttering under his breath, Uncle Donny left.
The tea from Water Lilies was surprisingly effective. Harry drank it as directed and found himself drifting off to a deep, restful sleep for the first time in weeks. What was more surprising, it didn't even taste nasty!
He still dreamt, but the dark, foreboding imagery was gone. He no longer spent his nights racing around, trying desperately to save people he loved, only to have them die, hideously, in front of him. Now he slipped into slumber and found himself in lovely, serene gardens, fragrant with jasmine.
And he usually had company. Lately, his dreams had featured the tall, elegant Donovan Snape, who had greeted him in the gardens with open arms and proceeded to show Harry a repertoire of skills that he couldn't even name, but which left him sweaty and sated, waking in the morning in a sticky mess.
It was absurd, of course. He'd met the man once and had lunch with him; they hadn't even shaken hands! Why had he made such an impression on Harry's libido? He tried to dismiss it as merely the result of too long a stretch of celibacy, but Donovan's face, with his intense gaze and subtle smile, kept intruding into his thoughts, no matter how he tried to divert them.
Finally, he made up his mind, apparated back to the northern village, and returned to Water Lilies.
Ms. Snape was delighted to see him again, asked after his nephew and insisted he call her Cynthia. Harry felt a mild pang at asking her to call him 'Ian,' but there was no harm in it, and switching to his real name would only have confused the situation.
"I'll have to tell Uncle Donny that you were in," she said, smiling brightly at him. "I know he'll be sorry to have missed you, but he's on a buying trip at the moment, picking up some new hybrids for our greenhouses."
"Oh, I hadn't realized you grew your own ingredients!" Harry looked around at the crystal cannisters of teas, herbs, dried flowers, fruits and spices and was suitably impressed.
"Well, not all of them, of course, but a fair few," Cynthia said with modest pride. "Uncle Donny's a wonder with plants. You should come out to the Lotus Garden, some time. We offer free tours of our gardens, greenhouses, and test kitchens."
"That's your spa, the healing place?"
"Oh, yes! It's not only for healing injuries or illness, you know," she explained. "So many people are suffering from less obvious things. Stress, fatigue...spiritual injuries and illness, if you like. We try to help them heal themselves. And apart from all of that, the Lotus Garden is just a lovely, peaceful place for a bit of a break. We get a good number of clients who just want a mini-break, away from their day-to-day lives, in some lovely, restful place."
"It sounds wonderful," Harry said, almost wistfully. He thought about it, but discounting forced medical leave, the last time he remembered taking a break had been years ago, just before the divorce.
Cynthia gave him a very knowing smile. "Uncle Donny works out at the Centre most of the time," she said. "He has a cottage on the grounds, for convenience. He likes to keep his eye on the gardens and the labs, you see."
Harry wasn't sure how she had managed it, but he found himself signing up for a week's stay at the Lotus Garden, starting the following Friday evening.
Uncle Donny nearly spat his tea across the room when Cynthia told him about Mr. Jones' visit and the reservation he'd made.
"He'll be staying a week," she said happily, "and don't tell me you aren't pleased!"
"I am most displeased by your interference, Cynara!" he snarled. "An' I'll thank you t'stop tryin' t' 'fix me up' with charmin' chefs, fascinatin' botanists, interestin' guests, and random bloody strangers! I can manage my private affairs quite well enow wi'out your 'help,' havin' done so since a considerable time before you were born!"
"And how's that workin' out for you, then?" she asked plainly, knowing it would only infuriate him more. "Spendin' all your evenings out on the town, and your nights snug in bed with someone special, are you?"
"Cynthia Snape!" He was outraged, but not quite spluttering.
She took pity on him and moved to sit by his side and pat his hand. "Uncle Donny, you've always been my favourite uncle in the world, and I only want you to be happy. For a while, I thought the business was enough, but...you still seem so lonely." She stroked the back of his hand and then covered it with hers. "I just think you could easily find the right person, if you'd only try."
"Cynara..." He stopped and sighed. "I've never spoken of my past to you, and I will not start now, except to say that I have lost a number of people I cared for, and some of them died because of my actions...or my failure to act. I am not young, nor handsome, nor 'charming,' and I have too many skeletons in too many closets to be comfortable letting some stranger rummage around in them. I appreciate your concern, your...acceptance...and your apparent belief that I might simply wish for...companionship and have it, but please believe me...it is better this way."
She started to protest, but he held up his free hand.
"As for Mr. Jones...I admit he is a healthy specimen, not unpleasant to look upon, and a tolerable luncheon companion. In fact, he reminds me a bit of someone I once knew...but never mind that now. Did it even cross your mind that he might not be interested in men, let alone a man so much older than himself?"
Cynthia laughed. "Oh, Uncle! It's no wonder you've had no luck finding someone, if your eye's that far off! He was ogling the seat of your trews from the moment you slipped behind the counter, and if that's not enough for you, he'd tented his trousers just watching you work! I saw him adjust, just before you handed him the tea! The man's definitely interested!"
She got to her feet and looked him up and down, evaluating. He looked good, she judged. It had been a battle, the first few years of their business partnership, but she had eventually converted him to modern grooming and fashion sensibilities. Her favourite salon had taken his hair from lank and stern steel-grey to a very attractive silver in a becoming cut.
The surgeon she had insisted he visit had done wonders with that hideous scar on his neck, souvenir of the accident he refused to discuss. His voice would always sound rough, they said, but it had an attractive timbre, and a few years of better nutrition and regular exercise, therapeutic massage and occasional facials had given him excellent muscle tone and much healthier skin. When he'd started having trouble reading, particularly in low light, he had been oddly depressed at the prospect of spectacles, and the ophthalmologist had suggested contact lenses instead. Uncle Donny had been vastly amused at the notion of coloured lenses, and the ones he wore now turned his nearly black eyes to deep sapphire blue.
She patted his shoulder. "Just...be your own sweet self and let come what may, eh?" Stooping, she kissed the top of his head. "Oh, and be sure to wear that new silk jacket I got you, the cranberry one? It brings a lovely colour to your cheeks!"
Chuckling to herself at his snort of protest, she headed off to her own quarters.
The Lotus Garden Healing Centre was all that Cynthia had promised, and a fair bit more. It showed a subtle Asian influence of design and decor, while maintaining a natural harmony with the Yorkshire countryside around it. Harry's room was in the main compound, with a lovely view of one of the many water gardens from his window. There were several bungalows and a few cottages on what had once been a fair-sized sheep farm, as well as the main building, the greenhouses, the laboratory and "test kitchens" where many of Water Lilies standard formulae were developed and tested before making their way to the shop in the village.
Saturday morning, Harry took his breakfast out on the terrace, overlooking more lush gardens. He was just spreading a second piece of toast with a delicious lime curd when a husky voice spoke from behind him.
"Mr. Jones? I hope you are enjoying your stay?"
Harry twisted around and smiled up at Snape. "Yes, thank you! Your niece is a dangerous woman, Mr. Snape," he said, chuckling, "she only said a few words and she had me signed up for a week's stay! Please, won't you join me?"
Snape inclined his head and took the seat opposite Harry. The morning sun gleamed in his silver hair and cast a subtle shimmer off the shoulder of his deep red jacket. Harry caught a waiter's eye and another cup and plate appeared as if conjured. He smiled at his whimsy, as he poured tea for the very Muggle gentleman sitting across from him. "This place is amazing," he said, waving his toast at the gardens before them. "I'm very glad I came," he added.
"Thank you, Mr. Jones," Snape said, inclining his head slightly. "It has been my niece's dream for many years; I have only helped her to realize it."
"Please, call me--Ian," Harry said, wanting to kick Teddy. For some reason, he wanted to be open with this man. Impossible, of course, and he knew it, but still the mild fiction of his name rankled.
Snape nodded politely. "Ian, then. Please feel free to use 'Donovan,' although I'd prefer you avoid 'Donny.' Cynara is the only one who subjects me to that."
"Not a terribly common name around here, is it?" Harry asked "Did you say you were named for a singer?"
Snape snorted. "From well before your time, I fear. My parents were quite mad for him, both of them. It was one of the few things they agreed upon."
Harry grimaced sympathetically. "So, if this is your niece's dream, what was yours? Have you always been interested in...natural medicine?" he asked, struggling a bit for the term he wanted.
"To a degree," Donovan replied. "I have always had an aptitude for it, as well as...organic chemistry. I taught for a while, but my interests lay in the laboratory. The...facility ran into some...political difficulties, and I left, many years ago. Cynara had just completed her studies, and the timing was fortuitous." He looked off into the distance, but when he turned back, his slight smile was warmer. "I find I am far happier here than I ever dreamed possible."
"I'm glad," Harry said without thinking. He drank some more tea to cover the slight embarrassed flush that crept over his cheeks.
Donovan leaned back in the chair and studied him for a moment. "And what is your field...Ian?"
"Law enforcement, actually. I headed up a special division, focusing on...er...industrial crime." He ran a finger along the healing scar, then remembered that it was masked by the glamour. "Actually, I've been thinking of getting out of the field and into something more...positive. Does that sound silly?"
"Hardly. If you have spent so much time uncovering corrupt business practices and code violations, I imagine you would be more than ready for a change, perhaps ready to build up, rather than tear down."
Harry leaned forward earnestly. "That's it, exactly. I'm tired of it, and I'd like to be able to look back one day and say, 'I helped make that,' not, 'I put all those idiots out of business.'"
"Mm." Snape nodded. "Well, you are young; you can pursue any new career you choose."
Harry laughed. "You're not exactly ancient, Donovan," he said.
Snape arched one silver eyebrow. "No? Well, perhaps not teetering on the brink of the grave, but we may agree, I am sure, that I am past my prime."
On impulse, Harry reached out and touched his hand. He felt a sharp, electric thrill race from his fingertips along his arm and down his back at the touch."I disagree," he said quietly, carefully keeping his voice calm and neutral. His fingers stroked lightly over the back of Snape's hand, just down to the open cuff of his light green linen shirt.
Snape turned his hand over so their palms met, then curled his fingers around Harry's hand. "Do you?" he asked, gazing at Harry with those piercing eyes. His thumb stroked along the edge of Harry's forefinger, sending shivers down his spine.
"Yeah," Harry said, his own voice almost as husky as Snape's. "I do." He slid his hand down along Donovan's forearm and leaned farther forward, not quite sure what he was doing, but before he could find out, Snape pulled his hand back and hurriedly got to his feet.
"I-- My apologies, Ian. I must go." He pressed his right hand over his left forearm, and Harry suddenly noticed a flattish bump, indicating something under the fine linen...perhaps a bandage...
He stared in dismay as Donovan turned quickly and strode down the path toward the greenhouses.
Well, blast!
Disgruntled, he got up and wandered back to his room.
By Tuesday, Cynthia was annoyed. She'd done everything but put a big blue ribbon on that nice Ian Jones and deposit him into Uncle Donny's arms, and the irritating old sod just wouldn't cooperate! Mr. Jones must be feeling terribly rejected, poor dear!
She looked out the window and past the wisteria arbour at Ian, who was lounging in a chair by one of the fountains, looking rather mopy. Something had to be done, before he gave up in disgust and left.
Armed with a pitcher of sun tea, she headed out to join him.
"How are you, Ian?" she asked, filling the empty glass at his elbow.
"Hm? Oh, fine! Thanks, Cynthia. I was just relaxing a little," he said, sheepishly sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
"That's what we like to hear," she assured him. She poured herself a glass of tea and sat down beside him. "I wish Uncle Donny would follow your example," she said. "He's so focused on his work and finding ways to help people that he forgets he needs rest and recreation as well."
Ian nodded. "He seems to love his work, at least here at the centre," he mused. "I suppose after that research lab, it's a nice change for him."
Cynthia gave him a sad smile. "It is, but it's also an excuse to hide, you know. He's a very private man, but I know he's lost people dear to him, and...I think he's rather lonely."
Ian's blue-green eyes got a distant look. "I know the feeling," he admitted. He rubbed his forehead for a moment, then seemed to refocus on her. "Is he all right? I thought I saw a bandage on his arm, the other day when we had breakfast on the terrace."
"Hm? Oh, no!" Cynthia laughed. "It's so silly, but I guess he's a bit embarrassed, even after all these years. He's got an old tattoo on that arm, a dreadfully gaudy, gothic sort of thing, a biker tattoo it must be. I think he must have been a bit of a wild one when he were a lad," she said, grinning. "He hates to have anyone see it."
Ian smiled. "Well, we all do stupid things when we're young. They don't have to ruin our lives."
"Exactly. And it's never too late to make better decisions, is it?" She got up and smiled down at him. "I'm so glad you and he seem to get on so well. He could use...a good friend," she said.
"I think he's very fortunate to have you for a niece," Ian said, smiling back. "But I'm honoured you feel that way."
Harry spent the afternoon lounging by the fountains. After Cynthia had gone, he dozed a bit, but woke in time to watch the sun beginning to dip below the hills, painting the sky in brilliant orange and crimson. When the burning disk had slipped out of sight, leaving the glorious colours deepening behind it, he sighed and got to his feet, intending to make his way to the main compound and the restaurant for some dinner.
"Are you all right?"
Harry turned to find Donovan watching him from beside the wisteria arbour.
"Fine, thanks," he said, "I was just going to head back, now the show's over." He waved at the fading sunset above them.
Snape seemed hesitant, but came forward and said quietly, "You'll miss the second act."
Harry tilted his head. "Hm?"
"I...have a night-blooming cereus in the greenhouse; it should open tonight, once it's fully dark. Would...you care to see it?" His offer was almost shy.
"I'd love to," Harry told him. "I've never seen one before."
"Come with me," Donovan said.
He led Harry through the garden paths, past several fountains and around another water garden, this one filled with lily pads and iridescent gazing globes mounted on copper spikes gone green with age and weathering. The scent of jasmine was heavy in the air.
Harry reached out and caught Snape's sleeve, breaking his stride. "Look," he said, pointing at the jasmine. "I see there's quite a lot going on in a garden at night," he added, smiling. The rich fragrance made his head swim. He pulled Snape toward him and reached up to stroke the silver hair back from his temple.
Donovan swallowed hard, then ran his hand over Harry's close-cropped skull. "I--"
"Shh..." Harry cupped his jaw and pulled him down until their lips met. Donovan's mouth was sweet and tasted faintly of expensive tea and spices.
The kiss was gentle and tentative at first, then one of them made a sound almost like a sob, and suddenly their mouths were crushed together, and Donovan had pushed Harry back against the stone wall bordering the path and was kissing him as if his very breath depended upon it.
Harry tilted his head back and pulled the taller man forward, wanting to feel the warm press of his body against him. His hands slipped down to Donovan's back and urged him closer, as he opened his mouth and let his tongue invite Donovan closer, as well. His pulse was racing, and he felt his cock stir, straining against his jeans, desperate for friction.
Donovan gripped his shoulders so tightly it hurt, but he kept kissing Harry, accepting the invitation and sliding his tongue deftly into Harry's waiting mouth, to stroke along his palate and teeth, tease his own tongue, and lap at the tender, ticklish spot just beneath it.
Harry slid his hands down and cupped Donovan's bum, appreciating the smoothness of the fine wool over the curve of the equally fine arse. He pulled them together, tilting his hips until their groins met. The bulge of his jeans met answering hardness beneath Snape's well-cut trousers. Harry kissed him harder and began rocking his hips, rubbing shamelessly against him, filled with a sudden hunger.
Donovan muttered something against his lips, but Harry didn't really hear him. He traced the outline of Snape's lips with the tip of his tongue and kept dimly aware that Snape was matching him, stroke for stroke. He was awash in sensation, lost in the feel and scent and taste of this man who had haunted his dreams for weeks. His mouth opened on a deep groan as Donovan pressed him harder against the wall. Harry curled his arms around Snape's, gripping his forearms, and drew up one leg and to hook it behind Snape's knee, straining to get as close to him as physically possible. Snape dropped kisses along his jawline and down his throat, then fastened his mouth on the tender hollow of Harry's neck and began to bite and suck.
Fierce, hot pleasure bloomed from the place Snape's lips touched. Harry bit off a curse as he felt his bollocks tighten, and then he was coming in his pants like a pubescent boy. His hips jerked as he spent, wave after wave of shattering pleasure crashing over him, until he slumped in Snape's arms, gasping.
Donovan leaned his silvered head against Harry's, panting and sweaty. Harry swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath as he reached down for the other man's waistband. He fumbled the flies open and Donovan's prick surged out into his hand, hot and slick with precome.
Donovan bit off a moan as Harry wrapped his fingers around the pulsing shaft and stroked him. "M--my God!" he gasped, as Harry slipped back the foreskin and rubbed his thumb over the wet, sensitive head. It only took a few more strokes for Donovan's long, strong fingers to tighten painfully on Harry's shoulders, then he came, with a hoarse, choked off cry.
They leaned against the wall together, both out of breath and more than a little shaken by the experience, until Donovan pulled back and reached into a pocket for a snowy white handkerchief. Before he could do or say anything, Harry reached up and took it from him, gently wiped him clean and tucked him away, then wiped his own fingers. He slipped the handkerchief into his own pocket with a shy grin at the older man.
Donovan's elegant demeanour was in considerable disarray. His hair was wildly mussed, his brow damp, and his cheeks flaming with rather more mortification than exertion. The sleeves of his loose, silky blue jacket and rather exotic silk shirt were crumpled where Harry had clung to him, and a couple of shirt buttons appeared to have gone missing.
Harry smiled and reached over to smooth the rumpled silk down over Donovan's arms, but as he did so, his hand encountered a lump of something beneath the sleeve. Frowning, he pushed the loose sleeves up the long, lean arm and pulled a bit of wadded bandage free.
He nearly had a stroke.
Snape clapped his other hand over the tattoo Harry had revealed, pulling away hastily.
Harry tried to make sense and settled for making words, any words. "I-- your arm...you..."
Donovan's voice was even hoarser than usual. "An old mistake," he said, colour mounting in his own face. "I--"
Harry was still so dumbstruck at the sight of the Dark Mark that he failed to notice Snape was now staring at his arm...where the St. Mungo's monitoring bracelet was flashing bright orange letters, reminding him of his upcoming appointment.
They met each other's eyes, confusion and alarm mounting on each side. Harry was just wrapping his mind around the truth when Snape's - Severus Snape's! - eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Get out!" he spat.
When Harry made no move to go, Snape spun on his heel and strode away into the gathering night.
Harry stared after him, still trying to understand how a man twenty years dead could be here, to all appearances living a perfectly ordinary Muggle life...how he could have just rubbed off against Severus Snape and not known it...and how, despite all that, he could still ogle the man's arse as he was making his dramatic exit!
After few moments of dazed confusion and a quick cleaning spell, he opted for the main building as the simplest place to start, and luck was with him. Cynthia was sitting in the lounge with a cup of tea and a palm-sized computer on her knee. She looked up at his entrance and started to smile, but her expression changed when she got a good look at his face.
"Oh, dear! What's happened?" she asked in concern.
A good question, Harry thought, but he wasn't sure how to answer it. Your uncle and I just had sex in the garden and now he's angry with me? Oh, and by the way, did you know he's a notorious Dark wizard, a hero, and is supposed to have been dead for twenty years?
Probably not the best approach.
"I...look, Cynthia, I suppose you've noticed that your uncle and I...well, I find him very attractive. We..."
She sighed and shook her head. "The stubborn owd git!" she muttered, her native tones much in evidence. She put her gadget aside and rose, coming to stand beside him. "I am sorry, Ian. I really thought he'd finally open up; I've been hoping you would hit it off together, and well..."
"I...we did, that's part of the trouble. We've just...had a misunderstanding, I'm afraid. He stormed off, and I don't even know where to look for him." Harry didn't have to stretch for the plaintive note in his voice; his emotions were more than happy to oblige.
She smiled slightly. "Well, that part's easy. He'll have gone to his cottage." She picked up one of the little brochures and opened it to show Harry the map. "You see? Here, past the greenhouses, around the bend of the brook." She handed him the brochure. "Go talk to him. He's a stubborn man, but...I think you could make him see reason, if you try, Ian."
Harry smiled, then impulsively kissed her cheek. "He's a lucky man," he told her. "Oh, and Cynthia, my real name's Harry."
She tilted her head quizzically. "All right then, Harry. You go talk to him."
He went.
It wasn't difficult to find the cottage, but it was a fair walk through twisting garden paths and around a variety of ponds and pools. Harry's mind was racing, every step of the way.
Snape. Severus Snape, alive!
How on earth? He'd seen the blackened ruin of a body that had been pulled from the charred remnants of the Shrieking Shack, so many years ago. Hell, he had given the eulogy at the man's funeral! He had wanted the entire Wizarding world to know the debt they all owed to one unpleasant, stubborn, spiteful, heroic man.
How could Snape be here, alive, still bearing traces of his Dark Mark? How could he be living as a Muggle, with a Muggle niece and a Muggle business, full of Muggle clients?
And how in Merlin's name had Harry not recognized him? Even worse, how had he--
Oh, God! Was it only sex, or had he really fallen for Snape?
The memory of his burning kisses, his strong arms, his prick throbbing in Harry's grasp, were enough to set his mind swimming again. But they were overlaid with the remembrance of quiet moments of conversation, sly humour, and a hoarse voice telling him earnestly that he wasn't a fool to want a change, to want to create something after all the years of destruction.
Could he reconcile that man with the man from his school days, the man who had sacrificed everything to give Harry what he needed to defeat Voldemort?
The man who had loved his own mother, Li--
Harry stopped and covered his face with one hand. Water Lilies. Lotus blossoms. All of them red, in paintings, prints, brochures, in vases on the dining room tables, floating in ponds all over the Healing Centre.
Red lilies, for a red-haired, Gryffindor Lily?
When he finally stood before the cottage, with its window boxes of kitchen herbs and violets, neatly kept stoop and bright green door, Harry wasn't sure he knew what to do next. The sensible thing would probably be to turn around and go back to his room, pack quietly and leave before breakfast.
He'd never been very good at picking the sensible thing.
He stepped up to the door and smiled ruefully to see the name on a small brass plate, mounted on the door.
S. D. Snape, Director
The door opened as his knuckles touched it.
Snape stood in the doorway, arms folded and glaring as balefully as he ever had in Potions or Defense.
But Harry wasn't a child any longer, and twenty years was a bloody long time.
"Well?" Snape demanded. "I should have guessed, shouldn't I? A strange young man appears from nowhere and makes overtures - I should bloody well have known!" His hoarse voice was thick with contempt and self-loathing. "So this is what you've come to, is it, Potter? Quidditch palled, so you've fallen back to trading on your looks, seducing a lonely old fool into revealing everything? What's the going rate for whores at the Ministry, these days?"
Harry watched him rave, still amazed that he had not recognized him. His hair was the obvious difference, but there was also his voice, and something else about him that made him seem a younger, more vital, happier man.
Well, when he wasn't snarling in Harry's face, of course.
When his mouth finally opened, Harry was surprised at the words that came pouring out. "You're bloody sexy for a dead man, Professor."
Snape rocked back, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead.
"I gave your eulogy, did you know? The Prophet reprinted it in full, along with a double-page feature story and memorial announcement. I named one of my sons after you and Professor Dumbledore. There's a scholarship at Hogwarts in your name, too." He stepped forward, catching hold of the door. "I've been trying to figure things out, as I was walking over here, but I've just realized something. 'How' doesn't matter. Neither does 'why.' What matters is that I can't get you out of my head, and if I don't kiss you in the next few seconds, I don't know what is going to happen."
Snape's lip curled, but he never got the chance for whatever snide remark he'd had in mind.
Harry pushed the door wide and stepped through, grabbing Snape by the shoulders and pushing him back as well, until they bumped into the back wall of the little entryway.
"Potter--" Snape snarled, pushing at him, but Harry silenced him with a kiss.
It was firm, but gentle at the same time. He brought one hand up and cupped Severus's jaw, stroking beneath it with his thumb as he continued the kiss. Snape was rigid beneath him at first, then he gave a tiny groan and his lips softened beneath Harry's. His mouth opened and his tongue snaked out, flickering over Harry's lips and beyond, to slip sensually beneath Harry's questing tongue and writhe against it.
Harry breathed against Snape's lips, "I don't know what this is, but I'd like to find out." He pulled back, just a little, and looked inquiringly at Severus.
One silver eyebrow arched. "There are two doors," he pointed out. "The one through which you came, and...that one, which leads to a bedroom."
"Bedroom," Harry said decisively.
Snape snorted, but led the way.
The bedroom was simple, with a dresser and night stand, and one large bed, draped in a soft blue coverlet. Harry paused by the bed, but his hesitation seemed to amuse Severus, if anything. Snape pulled off his jacket and began undoing his shirt buttons. By the third button, Harry brushed his hands away and took over the task.
Once Severus's shirt was open, revealing a lean, pale torso marked with scattered scars and lightly dusted with hair, Harry slipped it off his shoulders and manoeuvred Severus around until the backs of his legs were against the side of the bed. Harry ran his hands down Severus's chest, then dropped gracefully to his knees, undid Snape's belt and trousers and slid them down his long, slender legs. He hooked his thumbs in the waist of Snape's pants and slid them off as well.
Snape caught his breath. Harry grinned to see that he was half-hard already and his prick was continuing to rise.
A gentle pressure on Severus's thighs made him sit on the bed. Harry leaned forward and breathed in the rich, musky scent rising from the lush black pubes, then licked slowly from root to tip, smiling as Snape's prick jerked in response, hardening further. Harry licked again, then gently slid the foreskin back and closed his mouth over the head. He ran his tongue in little circles around the edge, then flicked lightly over the slit.
Severus groaned in pleasure, his hands coming to rest on Harry's close-cropped head. He rubbed the stubble gently, then cradled Harry's head with both hands as Harry took him deeper and began to suck him in earnest.
Harry cradled Severus's weighty scrotum with one hand and rolled his bollocks over and over with his fingers as he moved his mouth up and down on Snape's shaft. He pressed his tongue flat against the great vein on the underside, feeling the blood surging beneath the skin.
His own erection was straining the confines of his jeans. He fumbled his flies open with his free hand and pulled his prick out. As he continued to lick and suck Severus, he wrapped his fingers around his prick and began wanking. He slid his mouth all the way down to the base of Snape's prick, until the coarse hair tickled his nose, then moved back up until he held only the head in his mouth. Up and down, over and over and over, until Severus's fingers felt as if they were about to drill through his skull.
Snape's thighs were quivering with the effort to keep from thrusting down Harry's willing throat. Harry let him slip almost free, then took him deep again and swallowed. With a raspy shout, Snape came.
Harry drank him down, still wanking madly, until he felt the flood ebb and Snape's prick softened in his mouth. He gently released him and looked up into the piercing black eyes. Snape was staring at him, watching as he wanked, then suddenly grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up, rolling back until he lay prone with Harry atop him.
He slid a hand between them and slapped Harry's away, wrapping his own fingers around Harry's prick. "You're a wizard, Potter," he said huskily. "Do something about your clothes."
Harry managed to get his kit off, with a combination of wandless magic and some old-fashioned tugging and writhing, until at last they were both naked.
"Top or bottom," Snape demanded hoarsely.
Harry paused. "I--"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, don't try to tell me you've never done this before!" Snape rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Er...twice, I think, actually," Harry admitted.
Snape muttered something about ignorant virgins and idiot celebrities (or possibly the inverse; Harry couldn't quite be sure), then reached for the night stand and fished a small bottle out of the drawer. "Your fingers," he snapped, pressing the bottle into Harry's hand. "Use it liberally and prepare me."
Harry got to his knees and opened the bottle. "There are spells," he began.
"None that I am willing to allow a novice to perform upon me," Snape said firmly.
Harry blushed, but coated his fingers generously with the slippery fluid. Snape pulled his knees up and back, exposing his entrance. Harry ran a fingertip down along his perineum and around the tightly puckered rosette, slicking it well and rubbing it with a fingertip until he managed to tease the centre open just enough to slip the fingertip inside. He added more lube and continued teasing, rubbing, lightly scratching, and pressing, until he had one finger inserted to the knuckle.
Snape was tense, but not snarling, which was probably a good sign.
Harry added a second finger and began moving them in and out, over and over, stretching and rubbing until Severus sighed with pleasure. Harry might not have done this with many other men, but he knew what he liked when he was alone. He spread his fingers a bit, stretching the tight passage, then crooked them and twisted a bit, feeling for that one particular spot, just there...
Snape groaned and his prick jerked as Harry found the right point. "Get on with it, Potter," he said, hooking his hands behind his knees and pulling his legs farther apart.
Harry sat back on his ankles and slipped his fingers out, then coated his still-aching prick liberally with the thick, slippery fluid. He set the head of his prick to Severus's opening, took a deep breath and slowly began to push inside.
"Get ON with it--OH!" Snape broke off as Harry slid all the way home, grazing that particular spot. "Yes...yes, move!" he cried.
Harry pulled out part of the way, then pressed home again. And again, faster. And again. Over and over, until he was slamming in all the way on each stroke, shaking the bed and rattling the headboard against the wall.
Snape threw his head back and arched, taking Harry even deeper. He wrapped his legs around Harry's thighs and pulled them more tightly together on every stroke.
Harry looked down at Severus, seeing his face flushed and gleaming with sweat, and marvelled that he had ever thought this man ugly. He was rapt in passion, given over to sensation and losing himself in it.
Beautiful.
So beautiful, with his fathomless eyes staring up at Harry in a sort of wonder.
Yes...
Harry stared into those eyes and opened his mind, letting Severus in to see all of it.
Yes...beautiful...so beautiful...
Snape's eyes widened, and Harry felt the subtle touch of his mind, questing around in Harry's head. He welcomed it, wrapped his own thoughts around it, then opened the deeper recesses of his mind, letting Severus see everything that he was and ever had been.
Harry slid home once more, and their linked minds soared together as his climax broke free.
Cynthia got out of bed at two in the morning, restless and wanting a snack. She poured herself a glass of milk and grabbed a handful of icy grapes from the refrigerator, munching them as she padded back to bed.
Her suite was on the top floor of the main building, with windows looking out over the grounds. She could see the whole Centre from her vantage point, and she often loved to stare out at it and marvel that she and Uncle Donny had made all of this happen.
She paused now, looking out at the moonlight dancing over the lily ponds. At first, it seemed the only light to be seen, but after a moment, something drew her eye aside. She looked off into the distance, beyond the greenhouses, and saw a soft, yellow glow coming from Uncle Donny's cottage, from the bedroom window. There were shadows moving against the light, two blurry shapes that came close and merged into one.
The light went out, leaving only the moonlight illuminating the scene.
Cynthia popped the last juicy grape into her mouth and went back to bed, smiling.
THE END?
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