Title: Seven Year Itch
Author: Melisandre
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: NC-17
Betas: Thanks to joosetta, bethbethbeth, hel_bee and thisaestus

Summary: Contrary to all probability, Snape and Harry find love in each other. But when the seven-year itch sets in, will their relationship be strong enough to survive?

Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love, have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.
-- Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres

***

Part One

Harry Potter did not believe in chance. For years, when he looked back on it, he was sure that it was fate that had guided him to Diagon Alley for the first time since the war.

Post-war Diagon Alley was a much-changed place. Few of the shops Harry remembered had survived the war, and those that had managed to remain in business had changed hands many times over. The unfamiliarity was disconcerting in a place that should have been so well-known to him.

He'd had no purpose in coming here, only a restlessness that had driven him from the vast emptiness of Grimmauld Place in search of some distraction.

Passing a restaurant, the aroma of cooking tempted him with memories of feasts at Hogwarts. His feet guided him inside of their own volition

The interior was drab and uninviting; in the frantic rebuilding since the war, function had taken precedence over form in most areas of the wizarding world, and this was no exception. It was dark, the only light being provided by the scarce candles in broken and mismatched sconces. The tables were scattered haphazardly about the available space, occupied by hunched figures with hidden faces. Everything about the place resonated with the weariness that pervaded the post-war wizarding world.

Harry was about to turn to leave when one of the figures caught his attention. He was robed in black and concealed in shadow, but the man in the corner was unmistakably Severus Snape. Harry hesitated, still in the act of turning back to the door yet unable to wrench his gaze from his former professor.

"How many is sir wanting a table for?"

It took Harry a moment to realise he'd been spoken to, and a moment longer to locate the house elf by his feet.

"Er," he replied. "Actually, I'm…I'm meeting someone."

Without knowing why, yet somehow with complete conviction, Harry approached Snape's table. Snape did not look up, did not acknowledge him in any way, and Harry couldn't think of anything to say. Instead, he sat down on the opposite side of the table. Snape looked up at him then, but his face was blank, impassive – not so much as a raised eyebrow betrayed what he was thinking. Then he looked back down at his menu.

The silence stretched out between them, the tension tangible. Harry had no idea why he was there, couldn't even be sure whether he wished to thank the man or to kill him; however, he knew that to leave would be to concede some sort of victory.

Not until Snape had stood beside him over the fallen body of the Dark Lord had Harry believed what the Order had known for some time: that Snape was on their side. In the end, it had been undeniable, for it had been Snape who led him to Voldemort, Snape who gave him the opening he needed. It had all come down to Snape. And Harry had hated him for it, paradoxically because it had meant that he couldn't hate him.

"Are the sirs ready to order?"

The waiter elf's voice tore Harry from his reverie. He stared at the house elf for a moment, flustered.

"The pheasant," said Snape calmly.

The waiter wrote that down and then turned an expectant smile upon Harry. "And for you, sir?"

Harry glanced between the elf and Snape. The latter, too, was looking expectant. He was waiting to see if Harry dared order, Harry realised, so he steeled himself and said, "Um…" he looked over at the next table, where a portly wizard was sitting, but he couldn't tell what the man was eating. "Er, the…chicken?" he guessed.

"Very well. And would you like to select a wine?" To Harry's irritation, the last was directed towards Snape.

"The chenin blanc will do," Snape replied in a tone that suggested otherwise.

"Very good, sir."

The waiter bowed and departed, and suddenly Harry wished he could follow. As they sat in awkward silence, he wedged his hands beneath his legs to prevent him from twiddling his thumbs. He was just about to excuse himself to go to the toilet when Snape spoke.

"Potter, are you going to tell me why you have chosen to intrude upon my dinner, or are you planning to sit there in silence all evening?"

Harry could feel a blush rising to his cheeks, so he snapped, "Bit sad, isn't it, eating in a restaurant by yourself?"

"Indeed," Snape replied. "And tell me, whom are you meeting here?"

Harry was thankfully spared from replying, as the waiter chose that moment to return with the wine. He poured a small amount into Snape's glass first. When Snape nodded to pronounce it acceptable, the waiter filled Harry's glass, then topped up Snape's and placed a cooling charm on the remainder of the bottle.

Harry took a sip of the wine, glad for something to do with his hands. The wine was dry, not at all to his taste, but he would have felt daft ordering pumpkin juice, so he forced a smile as he set the glass down.

There was that silence again. Aware that he was swinging his legs, Harry crossed his ankles and desperately sought something to say. There was a lot he ought to say, he knew; thanks for the number of times Snape had saved his life were long overdue, perhaps even some acknowledgement of the risks Snape had taken to protect and aid him during the war. However, the words that came out were: "I bet you're thrilled I didn't end up getting any NEWTs."

He winced inwardly even as the words left his lips. He hadn't gone back to school after his sixth year, so preoccupied had he been with the war. Yet it was a small price to have paid, compared to what others had suffered. He waited for Snape to point this out, but the rebuke never came.

"On the contrary," Snape said, "it means that the hours I suffered with you in my classroom were wasted."

"Yeah, well, at least you'll have it nice and easy now. You won't have to see me again."

"So I thought some weeks ago, yet here you are."

"You want me to leave?"

"If you wish. Though I would sooner know why you are here in the first place. No doubt there is some trivial diatribe you wish to unleash upon me?" Snape raised his eyebrow. "Some points that you thought ill-taken? Some detention you believed unwarranted?"

Harry simply stared at him, unable to speak.

"Or perhaps there is some greater crime you wish to lay upon me?" Snape continued. "Responsibility for your parents' deaths? Or Black's? The Headmaster?"

"I…um…" Harry scratched his scar; a force of habit, for it was barely even visible now.

"Come now," said Snape impatiently. "I would sooner hear your invective, then we can both get on with our lives in relative peace."

"Actually," said Harry, "Voldemort killed my parents, and you helped me kill him. Bellatrix killed Sirius, and you killed her yourself. And I know about Dumbledore, even if I didn't believe it for a while."

He dared himself to look up at Snape who, for once, was speechless.

"I didn't really have anything in mind that I wanted to say to you," Harry admitted. "I just saw you here and…" He shrugged, not quite able to admit that it had almost felt like seeing a friend in this strange post-war world. "But since I am here," he continued, eyes carefully downcast, "I suppose I ought to thank you, you know, for all those times you looked out for me…and for the end. I wouldn't have been able to do it without you."

There was a long silence before Harry gathered the nerve to meet Snape's gaze. He looked uncomfortable; he clearly hadn't been expecting gratitude. In truth, Harry had hardly expected to offer it.

"I suppose, then," said Snape, somewhat stiffly, "that I ought to thank you for ridding me – the world, rather – of the Dark Lord." Snape raised his glass, and Harry followed suit.

"Chicken for you, sir." Seemingly from nowhere, the waiter arrived and, with a flourish, levitated a plate upon the table. "And pheasant for your father. Enjoy your meal, sirs."

For a moment, all Harry could do was to stare at his plate in stunned silence. When he looked up and saw an identical expression of horrified shock on Snape's face, he was suddenly overcome with laughter that burst from him with such force that tears streamed down his cheeks. He laughed so hard that it ached, and the sensation was one of such relief that he could almost feel the pent-up tension pouring out of him.

When he had composed himself enough for Snape's image to swim into focus, he saw upon the man's face a smirk that was only just on the safe side of a smile, and the faintest glint of humour in his eyes.

"Sorry," Harry choked, struggling to contain another fit of giggling. "It's just…"

"Frightening," Snape supplied.

Harry grinned. "I was just going to go for funny, but… yeah."

For just a fleeting moment, the creases that formed around Snape's eyes almost suggested a smile, but just as quickly it was replaced with a frown.

They ate in silence, but without awkwardness. Somehow, it felt strangely comfortable to be in the presence of someone familiar, even if it was with someone he could barely count as a friend. And it gave him some sense of relief to know that one regret – his reluctance to trust a man who had taken more risks than almost anyone for the Order – could be put to rest.

When the bill arrived, Harry felt almost unwilling to leave, yet he could hardly invite Snape back to Grimmauld Place. It was Snape who made the first move to leave, swirling into his cloak with such ease that it was almost graceful. Harry managed to rein in his smile before Snape saw it.

"What will you do now?" Harry asked.

Snape showed no signs of having heard, and for a moment Harry thought the man meant to ignore him, but then he said, "Term begins in a few weeks."

"Term?" Harry frowned. "You mean you're going back to Hogwarts?"

Snape looked uncomfortable at that, and Harry felt a surge of guilt for having made his surprise so obvious. "Er, I didn't mean…" he rushed to correct himself. "That is, I just didn't expect you'd want to, now that you don’t have to."

"It remains the best option open to me." Snape's face was impassive, but Harry could hear the tension in his voice.

"I don't understand," he said. "You could do anything now, you're free. Aren't you?"

"No, it is you who are free. The same will never be true of me."

Harry frowned. "But you've been cleared, they said… You were honoured as a hero."

Snape smirked at that, not quite a smile. "You and I have different concepts of freedom, it seems." With that, he gave a curt nod and turned away.

"Wait," Harry called, leaping from his seat. Snape paused, but did not turn around. "What do you…" He trailed off, realising that the eyes of the restaurant were on them, and lowered his voice. "What do you mean?"

Snape looked around at the diners, all of whom were staring unabashedly, then turned to face Harry, his head cocked to one side and one eyebrow raised. That was all the response he gave before he departed, his black cloak billowing gracefully behind him.

*

He could never be sure why, but that meeting with Snape ran through Harry's mind again and again over the following days and weeks. He began to walk to Diagon Alley almost daily, never quite admitting to himself that he was hoping to run into Snape again. It didn't happen, though, and gradually the unexplained wish dwindled, until the memory of their shared meal hardly crossed his mind at all.

Then, almost two months later, an owl arrived from Hogwarts. Harry's chest constricted when he saw the seal, and he could barely breathe as he tore it open. He spread the parchment out on the kitchen table, and then his heart fell as he recognised Hermione's writing.

She was back at Hogwarts, she wrote, working as an apprentice to the Muggle Studies professor, who was looking to retire the following year. She wanted him to visit, she said, so that they could talk.

Harry didn't particularly want to go; he knew he was in for another lecture about the lack of ambition he'd demonstrated since the war. It was hard to suppress his guilt as he scrawled out an acceptance note, knowing that he was hoping only to run into someone else.

The following weekend found him at Hogwarts' gates, his heart racing as he stepped inside the grounds. It felt so strange, to be here not as a student but as a visitor, not to be carrying a bag full of books, dreading his next lesson or looking forward to his next Quidditch match.

Hermione met him in the Entrance Hall, sweeping him into a crushing hug. Harry laughed and pulled away.

"It's really good to see you," Hermione said as she led him to her quarters. "It’s so strange, being here without you and Ron."

"Ron's not here?" Harry asked with a sly grin.

Hermione blushed. "His Auror training's in London, so…" she trailed off and looked away.

Harry opened his mouth to tease further, but thought better of it; their relationship was still relatively new and he still wasn't quite comfortable with making light of it.

"I always knew you'd be a teacher," he said instead.

Hermione gave him a warm smile. "So did I."

Hermione's quarters were close to Gryffindor Tower and were decorated so similarly to the Gryffindor common room that Harry felt instantly at home there.

Over several glasses of wine, they discussed everything from Quidditch to politics, but not once did they mention the war. That was until Harry made the mistake of mentioning his dinner with Snape.

Hermione almost choked on her wine. "Snape?" she said. "You had dinner with Snape?"

Harry shrugged, attempting to appear as though he didn't consider it a big deal. "It wasn't exactly planned, I just turned up and he was there."

"That's wonderful!"

"And I – er, what?"

Hermione beamed at him, one of her proud smiles. "I mean, I've been telling you for years that you ought to trust him. I was beginning to think you'd never get over that and learn to accept him."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not over anything," he insisted. "It was just…nice, in a weird sort of way."

"Did you talk about what happened? About Dumbledore, I mean, or your parents, or…"

"Not really." Harry shrugged. "We didn't talk about anything, actually. It's just… I don't know, just that he doesn't talk to me as if I'm going to break."

Hermione bit her lip and lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm just worried, that's all."

"I know," Harry smiled. "And it's all right, really. It was just nice to be around someone who doesn't treat me any differently. He's a bit more mellow, maybe, but otherwise… Everything else has changed, and that felt, well, familiar, you know?"

"I think so," said Hermione with a frown.

"And I think Snape's probably the only person I know who could be like that, precisely because he doesn't care about me."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," said Hermione, her frown fading into a smile. "You've had a pretty big impact on his life, one way or the other. I very much doubt you mean nothing to him."

Harry could find no response to that and, to his relief, Hermione did not push the matter.

When he came to leave, Harry found his own way out. Although Hermione said nothing, Harry suspected from the way she put up no resistance that she knew his reasons.

He took the most roundabout route he could to the Entrance Hall, ascending and descending countless flights of stairs, passing numerous old and familiar portraits and a fair number of new ones. He was sure, so sure that fate would collude to make him run into Snape on one of the night time wanderings that had seemed so common to Harry as a child, yet at last he could delay the inevitable no longer and he found himself in the Entrance Hall, facing back out over the grounds.

He hesitated for a long while, fighting back the disappointment that he could not even explain. Then, suddenly, conviction came from nowhere; he spun on his heel and headed straight for the dungeons.

He paced the Slytherin corridor for some time, cursing his oversight in neglecting to bring the Marauder's Map with him, for he had not even the slightest inkling where Snape's quarters might be concealed. Wherever they were, they were well-hidden, or perhaps not even down here at all, for Harry spotted none of the telltale signs of a masked entrance.

As a last resort, he headed to Snape's office. There was no chance, he told himself, that Snape would be working this late – the hour must be close to midnight, after all – yet he needed to try. Taking a deep breath, he raised his fist, knocked, and then turned to leave.

"Enter."

The unexpected voice caused Harry to freeze in his tracks, and some time passed before he regained the presence of mind to return to the office and, with some trepidation, step inside.

What greeted him caused his heart to sink; somehow, he had expected Snape's office to seem different, but it was as imposing and intimidating as ever, and something about the way Snape's eyes bored into him, betraying no surprise at his presence, let alone any pleasure, caused him to feel like a schoolboy once more.

Snape said nothing, but his eyebrow was raised inquisitively, so Harry stumbled for an explanation that he couldn't even provide to himself.

"Um, I – er," he stammered. "I was, er, just visiting Hermione, and I thought I'd pop in and see you." Harry could feel his face flush, and he focused on a point somewhere over Snape's shoulders while he willed his embarrassment away.

"Why?"

Harry looked back at Snape; the man's brow was furrowed.

"Er…Actually, I don't know," Harry admitted. "It's just that the other week… well, it was…" He took a deep breath and settled for, "I just wanted to say thanks."

"For what?" Snape still looked confused.

"Never mind," Harry sighed. "I have to go."

He turned to leave, waiting for Snape to stop him, but there was no sound. He was halfway down the corridor before he heard a curt, "Potter."

Harry spun round. "Yes?"

"You ought to complete your NEWTs."

"What?" It was Harry's turn to frown.

"Even your name will only get you so far with no qualifications," Snape added.

Harry walked back down the corridor and stood awkwardly in the doorway.

"I know," he said. "But I can't come back here, can I? People are… well, they're weird around me now. Actually, that's what I was thanking you for. For not being different, I mean."

Snape arched one eyebrow and smirked, and Harry could not help but smile. "I know how ridiculous it must sound," he continued. "But…" Unable to explain, he simply shrugged.

Snape looked as though he was unsure what to make of that, and Harry could hardly blame him. "If you were to decide that you would like to attempt your NEWTs," Snape said, "perhaps private tuition would be more suitable?"

"Yeah," Harry laughed, "and who am I going to find to do that?"

Snape did not reply directly, but their eyes met and Snape's gaze was intense and expectant. Harry felt the colour drain from his face.

"Surely you don't want to do it?" he said.

"As I said before," said Snape, lowering his eyes, "I dislike the idea that my time has been wasted."

Harry could think of nothing to say, but he found himself nodding.

"I am available on Thursday evenings," said Snape. "If you choose to turn up, then I will teach you."

"Thank you," Harry replied. "That's really…thanks."

A curt nod was the only response he received, but Harry knew that he would be there the following Thursday.

*

Harry's enthusiasm had faded somewhat by the time he returned to Hogwarts. In the intervening days, he had thought constantly of the degradation and humiliation he had suffered in Snape's classroom, and of his less than pleasant experience of one-on-one tuition in his failed Occlumency lessons.

Therefore, it was with no small amount of trepidation that Harry returned to Snape's office on Thursday. Snape was marking a large stack of essays when he arrived and seemed genuinely surprised to see Harry in his doorway.

"Er," said Harry, feeling awkward. "It's all right if you're busy…"

"Hufflepuff essays can wait," Snape replied. He stood and gestured for Harry to follow him through a door behind his desk. It led into a private workroom, with a large cauldron set up in the centre. The walls were lined with shelves covered in books, jars and peculiar devices Harry could not identify. It was dark and gloomy, and the light filtering through the jars stacked upon the high windowsill was an eerie green colour.

"I am developing a new potion to improve visual acuity," Snape explained.

"A new potion?" Harry repeated. "But…I have to know how to do that?"

"Not directly, no," Snape conceded. "However, the process of developing a new potion should give you a much broader understanding of the underlying principles than you would acquire from a traditional classroom education."

"Okay," said Harry slowly. "Um…so, where do we start?"

*

The process, it turned out, was a long and arduous one that stretched over many weeks and months. In that time, Harry learned more than he ever thought possible about potion bases, interactions between elements, the reasons behind various stirring techniques, even the difference between 'finely chopped' and 'ground' as he observed the different reactions of various techniques.

While they were waiting for various permutations to brew, Snape would teach him Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Herbology. Perhaps their strange truce had improved Snape's teaching methods or perhaps it was simply that having only one teacher made his education so much more coherent, but for whatever reason Harry found that his capacity to learn was higher than he had ever experienced. Soon, he even found himself looking forward to their Thursday evenings.

"I just don't understand how it works," Harry protested one evening when they were going over wordless spells. "I mean, do you just think the word?"

Snape did not reply, and for a moment Harry thought he had not heard, but then he said, "Do you know what sound is?"

"Huh?" Harry stared at him blankly.

"It is merely a compression of air that your ears are able to interpret as meaningful signals. Those compressions are not magical; they contribute nothing to the spell you are trying to perform. Saying the words merely focuses your energy into producing the desired result. What you need to learn is how to concentrate your mind upon that spell without the need for saying the word. So all it really comes down to is the power of the mind."

Harry frowned; he remembered Snape talking about mind power in class and he was not likely to forget the malicious glare that had been aimed towards him.

"For one thing," Snape continued, "you are not going to master it if you continue to convince yourself that you won't."

Harry carefully removed the scowl from his face and said, "But why won't you just tell me how to do it? You've always done that, with this, with Occlumency…just tell me what I need to do."

It was Snape's turn to scowl now. "I do not give you step-by-step instructions," he said tersely, "because I do not myself know how it is done. Once mastered, it comes naturally, and there is no identifiable process involved."

They stood facing one another for a moment. Snape looked as though he was fighting to keep control of his temper, but Harry merely felt confused. It had never occurred to him the reason Snape found teaching so frustrating was not that he hated students – at least, not only that he hated students – but that all of this came so easily to him.

"Um, maybe if you try hexing me or something?" Harry suggested. "See if that forces the right reaction out of me?"

"You were not fond of that technique when I employed it before," Snape replied.

"Oh."

Snape sighed, raised his wand and gave it a light flick in Harry's direction. Before he could even process what was going on, Harry had raised his own wand and silently screamed, "PROTEGO!" in his head, forcing all of his thoughts onto repelling whatever curse Snape had aimed at him. Snape went flying back against the wall, landing in a crumpled heap upon the floor.

Harry ran over to him, his wand clattering to the floor, forgotten. Kneeling beside Snape he said, "Sorry, I didn't mean to –"

Snape opened his eyes and smirked. "You see," he said, "you can do it."

Harry laughed, offered Snape a hand and pulled him to his feet. "So," he said, "what were you hexing me with, anyway?"

"I wasn't. I merely made you think I was."

"Huh?" Harry looked at him in shock for a moment, then laughed. "Well, you deserved that, then."

Snape smoothed down his robes and smirked. "It had the desired effect. You may yet be prepared for your exams."

Harry's laughter ceased as suddenly as it had begun. "Exams?"

"That is the purpose of this, yes."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry. "It's just that…well, they're actually quite close now, aren't they?"

"Two months away," Snape confirmed.

"Oh." Harry fell into the chair in front of Snape's desk. "I'm never going to be ready by then, am I? Can't I put it off until next year?"

Snape arched one eyebrow and sat down on the other side of the desk before replying. "No, you cannot."

"But I need more time…"

Snape gave a long-suffering sigh. "You already take up quite enough of my free time," he said, though his tone lacked the acidity of the words. "But I may also be free on Sundays. That is, should you be willing to put in more work."

Harry grinned at that. "Thanks," he said. "That would be great."

He left that evening hardly believing how pleased he was to be spending even more time with Snape.

*

Late on one Sunday night, they were standing over the cauldron, experimenting with valerian roots. Harry was stirring the potion while Snape chopped the roots. They were working in silence; the only sound the steady, even chopping from Snape's workbench.

There was something almost hypnotic about the way Snape worked. He chopped so swiftly that the knife was barely more than a blur, and his hands were steady, almost elegant. The lines of his face seemed less harsh somehow when he was deep in concentration; his expression was something akin to peaceful.

Realising that he was staring, Harry turned his attention back to the potion. Its colour was beginning to change from a deep bronze to purple, and the surface shimmered with the combined tones. It was strange now to think of how he had once loathed Potions; they had an intrinsic beauty that he had never perceived before. It was a delicate balance between art and science, method and creativity.

"You should hold it further down when using circular motions." Snape's voice broke into his ruminations before Harry had even noticed that the sound of chopping had ceased.

Harry looked up from the glimmering surface of the potion. Snape was standing on the opposite side of the cauldron, watching Harry with such intensity that he felt compelled to look away. Silently, he shifted his hands; sure enough, the strain on his shoulders eased.

Snape walked around the cauldron and came to stand beside him, gazing intently at the swirling mass of bronze liquid, which still glistened with a purple sheen under the light.

"You are… not so incompetent as you seem," Snape said, his voice sounding unusually distant.

Harry smirked. "Was that a compliment, sir?"

He earned a scowl for that, and grinned in response. Snape gave him a look then, one that he couldn't read, and he could respond to it only with a tentative smile.

"Your exams are just a few weeks away," said Snape. "Do you feel prepared?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Actually, I really do. Thanks."

Snape merely nodded in acknowledgement and turned back to the potion. Harry watched him for a moment, lost in thought. He was suddenly overcome by the urge to say something, but he couldn't think what; something to let Snape know how grateful he really was, or that he was forgiven for his past. All that came out, though, was, "You're really not that bad a teacher, y'know?"

Snape turned to face him with one eyebrow raised, but if anything he looked amused rather than offended. "Very good of you to say so," he responded.

"Do you ever laugh?" Harry blurted without thinking.

One corner of Snape's mouth twitched ever so slightly. "Rarely," he said. Then, as he turned back to the cauldron, he added, "I am able to find things amusing without making an absurd show of it."

Harry smiled and walked over to stand beside him, gazing into the simmering liquid. "I know," he said. "I see it sometimes."

They stood side by side for some time; Harry was mesmerised by the glimmering surface of the liquid and was strangely reluctant to leave. Although he did not look at him, Snape's presence by his side was something almost tangible; warm and comforting, but with some unidentifiable tension.

"Good night," Harry said at last.

Snape did not look up as Harry left, but he was sure he heard a faint murmur of "Good night, Harry," before he closed the door behind him.

*

When the owl arrived with Harry's NEWT results, he Apparated to Hogwarts without a second thought and went straight to Snape's office. He gave only a perfunctory knock before tearing inside and flopping into the seat opposite Snape's desk. There was a pause before Snape looked up from the book he was reading.

"What are you doing here?" Snape asked.

"You know why I'm here," said Harry with a grin. "Why else would you be reading in your office?"

Snape rolled his eyes and set his book aside. "Go on, then," he urged. "Let's see whether my time has been wasted any further."

Harry barely resisted the urge to stick his tongue out as he tore open the seal on the letter in his hand. Then he held it, unable to look at the words. Snape sighed and held out his hand; Harry's hand was trembling as he handed the parchment over.

Snape frowned as he read the page, and Harry's heart sank. He had been so sure that he had done well; completing the exams had seemed almost a formality.

"Well?" he prompted when Snape did not speak.

"I fear we spent too much time on Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts at the expense of your other studies," said Snape. His brow furrowed further and he set down the parchment with a sigh.

His trepidation only increased, Harry picked up the parchment and held his breath. Then he laughed so hard that tears spilled down his cheeks.

"I got four NEWTS!" he cried.

"Well, yes, but-"

"'O's in Defence and Potions, an 'E' in Charms and 'A' in Herbology," Harry read out. "That's amazing!"

"Really? Surely, with the level of tuition you've received…"

"This is me," Harry pointed out. "I'm no good with exams. I'm not you, Snape."

That familiar glint of amusement flickered through Snape's eyes, and Harry laughed aloud once again.

"Thank you," he said, and without thinking he climbed over the desk and flung his arms around the professor's neck.

It felt intoxicating to be hugging Snape. Perhaps it was merely the thrill of the forbidden, but Harry found himself clinging tightly to the man's neck, never wanting to let go. Snape was warm, and smelled of the dungeon workroom that had become so familiar to him over the past months. Snape did not return the hug, but nor did he push Harry away, and Harry found that he didn't mind. Being with Snape felt comfortable and familiar in a way that nothing else in his life did, and he wished he could say that, but words never had been his strong point.

At last, he had to pull away. He knelt back upon the desk facing Snape, who was still seated, searching the man's face for some inspiration as to what he was to say. There was a distinct impression of surprise upon Snape's features, and some uncertainty. For only the most fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be like to kiss him; strangely, the thought did not fill him with horror.

It was only a transitory thought, though, and Harry was about to climb down from the desk when something in Snape's expression stopped him. He looked shocked, and there was an intensity in that gaze that seemed to want to draw him in. Harry felt a jolt in his chest; of course, Snape was a Legilimens.

He opened his mouth to say something, to protest that it had only been a stupid thought, but his reckless Gryffindor courage swept in to point out that Snape hardly looked disgusted by the idea. Deliberately forcing back any rational thought, Harry leaned forwards and pressed a firm kiss against Snape's lips.

It was perhaps the strangest feeling he had ever had, but also the most exhilarating. Snape's lips were dry, and when Harry's hand threaded into the man's hair he found it limp and oily, but he could not bring himself to care. This, he knew, was what was meant to happen; this was why fate had conspired to bring them together in Diagon Alley on that evening so long ago.

Harry moved to pull away, but pressure on the back of his head held him in place, and then it was Snape pressing his lips against Harry's, and gently coaxing them apart. And if Harry had felt exhilarated before, it was nothing compared to the sensation of Snape's tongue sweeping across his lips and then dipping inside, offering him a taste of something dark and intoxicating. Harry shifted forwards, allowing Snape's arms to draw him closer.

Somehow, he ended up in Snape's lap, his legs entwined around the man's waist while his tongue eagerly explored Snape's mouth. Snape's hands were all over him, first running up and down his sides, then in his hair. Harry pressed himself closer still, wanting more contact, wanting more of Snape. Unthinking, he ground his groin against Snape's leg, and felt there an unmistakable bulge. With a shuddering groan, he threw his head back and thrust his hips. Snape's lips latched onto his neck, his teeth teasing at the flesh.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Snape was leaping to his feet, depositing Harry on the floor. Harry clambered to his feet and replaced his glasses before daring to look up at Snape's tense figure. He was standing with his arms crossed, and murder was upon his face.

"You should leave," Snape said. His mouth set in a thin, hard line, so different to the one that had been at his throat only a moment ago.

"Leave?" said Harry. "I don't… Why?" He dared himself to meet Snape's eyes then, and beneath the anger he told himself that there was doubt. "I want this," he said, trying to sound reassuring.

Snape was frozen to the spot, seemingly trapped in some internal conflict. Summoning all of his courage, Harry stepped towards him and took one of Snape's hands in his own. He said nothing, but looked Snape steadily in the eye while he wordlessly cast a spell to close and lock the door.

Snape's eyes widened at that display of power, and Harry gave him a smile.

"No," said Snape under his breath.

"No?" Harry repeated with a frown.

"Not here."

Snape tugged on his hand and led him to the far wall. With his free hand, he reached for his wand and flicked it towards the wall. The wall drew aside, revealing Snape's hidden quarters. The living room in front of him was sparsely furnished but homely, decorated in the deep green of Slytherin House. The walls, as Harry would have expected, were lined with books: dusty old volumes bound in leather.

He had only a moment to take in the sight, though, because then Snape was throwing him against the wall, and his lips were fastened to Harry's, and a leg was insinuated between his. Harry surrendered himself to the sensory onslaught as Snape deepened the kiss and rubbed his leg maddeningly against Harry's groin.

Harry squirmed and writhed against the wall, threading his arms around Severus' neck to draw the man closer. Their tongues entwined frantically and the rhythm of their thrusting hips increased in pace until the heat building within him became unbearable.

Then Snape's fingers were at his waist, toying with the fastening of his jeans, and Harry's capacity for lucid thought was lost. The next few moments passed in a flurry of discarded fabric as they tore at each other's clothes. Harry was sure he heard a rip or two, but he could not have cared less; his entire world at that time consisted only Snape's hands and lips and the expanses of pallid yet heated skin that were gradually being revealed to him. He took no time to look upon Snape's form; it did not matter to him that the man's body was all angles and planes or that it was covered in scars.

Harry could never be sure how it happened, but somehow Snape had guided them to his bed, and now he lifted Harry by the waist and deposited him upon the covers before climbing over him and pressing the entire lengths of their bodies together. And then it was all heat and sweat and frantic passion as writhed together, their limbs entwined and their erections pressed together. Harry was vaguely aware that he was babbling inanely, but Snape, uncharacteristically, made no comment. He was silent, methodical yet frenetic as he mapped Harry's body with hands, lips, tongue and teeth.

At the moment before Snape entered him, their eyes met. Harry looked up at the face looming over him: harsh angles covered in a fine sheen of sweat, framed by limp, dark hair. His black eyes were glistening and his breathing was harsh and ragged. Harry could feel the hard, smooth tip of the man's cock pressing against him, and he pushed back against it, desperately drawing him inside. Then he looked back up to meet Snape's eyes once more, reached his hands up around the man's neck, and drew him down into a long, lingering kiss.

***

Part Two

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The Leaky Cauldron was busy tonight; the air was heavy with smoke, and there was more than one set of eyes upon him. He checked his watch; it was a quarter past eight, half an hour after the appointed time. He took a sip of his drink; all that remained of it was melted ice, no longer even cool.

Anxiously, he tapped his foot. Severus knew they were meeting here tonight; they'd discussed it just that morning. Or rather, Harry had told Severus that they were going out, and Severus had not refused. In the seven years they had now been together, Harry had learnt that lack of refusal was as close to agreement as he ever got.

Harry was just about to leave when Severus finally materialised in front of him. He sat down slowly and without a word, smoothing out the folds in his robes before looking up at Harry.

Harry was silent for a moment, waiting for the explanation for Severus' delay. When it was clear that none would be forthcoming, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"What kept you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"Work," was Severus' only reply.

"You could have let me know you were going to be late."

Severus only sneered. "Not everyone is able to leave their job behind at five o'clock."

Harry tensed and silently counted to ten, forcing back an acerbic retort.

"Frankly," Severus continued, "I fail to understand why you think that selling Quidditch supplies is worth your time."

Harry dug his nails into his palm and bit his lip.

"I find it most disappointing that I wasted my time ensuring that you passed your NEWTs only for you to-"

"All right!" Harry hissed. "I know you disapprove of my job, but like I keep telling you, it's only temporary. It's just to keep me busy while I look for something else."

"You've had that 'temporary' job for a year," Severus pointed out.

"Well, I haven't found anything that I want to do yet."

"Then perhaps-"

"Will you just let it go?" Harry snapped.

"Very well," Snape replied through clenched teeth. "Remind me, why are we here?"

"We're just having a drink," Harry sighed.

"We have plenty to drink at home."

"Yes," said Harry with forced patience, "but sometimes it's nice to go out."

"Why?"

"I don't know." Harry shrugged. "To get away from the dungeons, I suppose."

"I do not recall forcing you to live in the dungeons."

"Well, you weren't going to move, were you?"

"I believe you have the means to support yourself. You even have a house in London somewhere, if I recall."

"Stop missing the point."

"And what, pray, might that be?"

"It was a choice between the dungeons and not living with you at all. For some reason, I wanted to live with you."

Severus inclined his head. "More fool you."

"Yeah," Harry laughed. "Anyway, I like the dungeons. It's just nice to go out once in a while."

Severus rolled his eyes. "One drink, then."

As Severus went to the bar, Harry sank back in his seat and let out a long, heavy sigh.

*

That night, Harry lay awake for some time, staring blankly at the ceiling. Severus was still up, reading some dusty old tome in the lounge while Harry went to bed alone once again.

It was hard to believe how they had come to this; from that intense, passionate beginning they had descended into a life of mundanity. All of their time was spent in their dungeon quarters at Hogwarts, with Severus usually working or reading while Harry went from one worthless job to the next.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because he was aware that he was dreaming. He was in Severus' classroom, back in the early days of their relationship, bent over his lover's desk while Severus relentlessly pounded into him, whispering obscenities into his ear. He couldn't be sure whether it had ever happened, or whether it was just a fantasy, but it was hot, and he woke breathless and achingly hard. It was fully dark now, and Severus was asleep beside him, on his back. Harry rolled over to the other side of the bed and draped himself over Severus' back.

Severus yawned and murmured, "You have plenty of room, Harry."

Harry leaned up and kissed Severus' neck, then laved the area with his tongue. Severus just rolled onto his side, facing the other way.

Harry sighed and slumped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He lay awake for a while, restless and distinctly uncomfortable, before giving up and climbing out of bed.

He had intended only to pour himself a drink before returning to bed, but he awoke some hours later in his armchair, bleary-eyed and confused. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and groped around for his glasses. They appeared before him, and he put them on before realising that Severus had handed them to him.

"Thanks," he murmured. "Did I fall asleep?"

Severus smirked. "At a guess, I would say so. Now get up, you'll be late for work."

"Work?" Harry groaned. "What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock," Severus replied. "I've asked the house elves to bring your breakfast here."

"M'kay," Harry mumbled. He yawned and stretched, the muscles of his back making painful protests as he did so. Then he climbed to his feet, shrugging off a blanket that had appeared over him at some time during the night, and staggered towards the bathroom.

Harry arrived at work with only a minute to spare, which earned him a scowl from the shop manager. Harry offered no apology, just a grumpy grunt, before he took his place behind the counter to await his first customer of the day.

It wasn't a bad job, really, when compared to some of the work he'd had over recent years. It was certainly better than the Ministry desk job, more stimulating than filing at Gringotts or copy-charming at the Daily Prophet, and he received far less abuse from customers than when he had answered the Floo for St Mungo's.

But the thought nagged at him that Severus had a point; he was wasting his time here, selling equipment to Quidditch stars, many of whom were not nearly as good fliers as he was. He had no desire to play professionally himself, though; if working here had taught him anything, it was that Quidditch was a pretty daft game, really.

It was almost lunchtime, and Harry was flicking through a list of broom orders when the bell over the door rang and he heard a cheerful, "Morning, Harry!" in a voice that he recognised but couldn’t quite place.

He looked up and grinned as Oliver Wood closed the shop door behind him. "Hey, Oliver," he called. "What’re you doing here?"

"Need some new gloves." Oliver held up the shredded remnants of his old pair.

"Ouch," said Harry. "How'd that happen?"

"Had a bit of a fall," said Oliver with a wry sort of smile. "Hey, got some fantastic bruises though!" Then he hopped up onto the counter and lifted the hem of his robes to reveal a ghastly purple bruise that ran from mid-calf to thigh.

Oliver leapt off the counter and laughed. "Pretty neat, huh?" he said.

"Yeah." Harry forced a smile.

"So," Oliver continued, "I thought I’d take the chance to pop in and see how you’re getting on. Long time no see and all that. Tell the truth, I didn't believe them when they said you were working here.”

“Yeah, well," said Harry. “I guess it's been a hectic few years, and this keeps me busy."

“Yeah, I gathered you'd been rather busy.” A sly smirk crept onto Oliver’s face and Harry blushed, reading the insinuation. “You free for a drink tonight? Catch up on old times?”

“Er…” Harry hesitated. “Just give me a moment.”

Oliver grinned. Harry stepped out from behind the counter and made his way towards the back of the store and into the back room where there was a large fireplace. Taking a handful of Floo powder, he knelt before it and called, "Severus Snape's office."

The familiar surroundings of the office drifted into view, with Severus seated behind his desk. He was alone, so Harry called, “Sev, you mind if I pop out tonight? Oliver Wood’s here.”

Severus waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever you like, Harry,” he murmured with an air of distraction.

"All right then," said Harry, feeling a little put out. "Guess I'll see you later, then."

Severus frowned, and Harry waited for him to say something, but realised he was only studying the parchment in front of him, so without another word he withdrew.

"Sure," he said to Oliver when he returned to the counter. "Whereabouts?"

"There's a new bar open on Knockturn Alley," said Oliver. "Supposed to be really cool."

"Knockturn Alley?" said Harry doubtfully.

"Yeah, up and coming area, apparently. Meet you there at eight?"

"All right," Harry agreed with some trepidation.

"Great, see you then."

The bell rang as Oliver departed, and Harry realised he hadn't even bought his new gloves.

*

The bar was crowded and loud. Smoke hung in the air, blurring the outlines of the figures and burning Harry’s eyes and nostrils.

“Want to dance, Harry?” Oliver yelled over the noise.

“Nah,” Harry called back. “Don’t dance.”

“Oh, come on.” Before Harry could protest further, Oliver had grabbed his sleeve and yanked him out of his seat and towards the dance floor.

It was far too crowded; there were bodies pressed against him from all sides, and the heat combined with the smoke was stifling. The music was pounding in his ears, piercing and overwhelming.

Harry wasn’t sure how it happened. One minute he was trying to copy Oliver’s dance moves, and the next Oliver’s hands were framing his face and warm, soft lips were pressing against his. Then a tongue was gently coaxing his lips apart, and without any knowledge of how this had come about, Harry found himself returning the kiss.

It was nothing like kissing Severus. Oliver’s lips were gentle and yielding, but his tongue was forceful, insistent, and his hands clutched possessively at Harry's arse.

"You look bloody hot tonight, Harry," Oliver shouted in his ear, before he plunged his tongue into it, causing Harry to squirm.

Suddenly, Harry was being dragged off the dance floor and out into the chill of the night air. Then he was thrown back against the wall, and Oliver dipped his head to suck at his neck. Slightly intoxicated and hungry for such physical attention, Harry permitted it, throwing his head back against the wall and drawing Oliver closer towards him.

Oliver clearly read his compliance, because he pressed himself closer and began to grind their groins together. Harry felt as though he were on fire, and didn't even notice as a cool drizzle began to fall over them. He was harder than he had been in a long time, and his need for release was a burning ache. Oliver was sucking feverishly at Harry's neck and his hips were rocking wildly, and Harry's world was spinning and the heat was flaring within him, and then it was all too much and he shuddered as climax wracked his body.

Oliver took a step back. Dizzy from his orgasm, Harry could only just make out the disappointment and disgust on Oliver's face before he turned and walked away.

Somehow, Harry must have got home, though he had no memory of finding his way, because he awoke the next morning in his own bed. He lay back for a moment, listening to the sounds of Severus’ unchanging daily routine. Really, did the man have to do everything exactly the same every single bloody day? He tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea washed through him and he fell back against the pillows.

"Don't try to move," Severus' voice drifted through the door. Harry scowled and screwed his eyes shut, trying to block the queasy sensation.

The door opened, and Severus appeared with a pewter goblet. He sat on the side of the bed and handed the goblet to Harry.

"It's a hangover potion," he said.

Harry rolled his eyes; as if he didn't know a hangover potion when he saw one. "But I didn't drink much," he protested.

Severus raised one sceptical eyebrow. "Then perhaps someone injected pure ethanol into your bloodstream. Drink." With that, he rose and left, closing the door behind him.

Harry gulped down the potion and set the goblet on the nightstand before flopping back down onto the bed. He really hadn't drunk much, had he?

His eyes drifted closed and sleep was about to claim him when suddenly he recalled the events of the previous night. Arriving at the bar, being plied with drink after drink, then being led to the dance floor, and then, with dawning horror, he remembered what he had done afterwards. The nausea that had been dispelled by the potion returned with force. What had he done?

Harry's insides were churning as he rose from the bed and dressed. He paced the room a few times, then decided that he could not bear to remain in his and Severus' quarters, so he made his way towards the door. Severus, fortunately, was nowhere to be seen, and Harry was able to make his way along the length of the Slytherin corridor and up the stairs without being seen.

He had no destination in mind, but his feet led him towards Gryffindor Tower and Hermione's quarters. He pounded on the door, silently praying that she would be in.

Some time passed before she opened the door. She smiled when she saw him, but the smile quickly melted into a frown.

"Is something wrong?" she enquired.

"No, nothing," Harry lied.

Hermione frowned and gestured him towards a seat. She disappeared for a moment, and then returned with two steaming mugs of tea. She sat herself opposite him, cradling her mug in her hands. The look of determination on her face put Harry in mind of Molly Weasley; he cringed inwardly, knowing he was not going to be able to escape this one.

"Is it Professor Snape?" she prodded.

Harry grimaced. "Can't you call him Severus?" he said.

"Sorry," said Hermione with a small laugh. "Anyway, is everything all right with him?"

"'Course," Harry grinned and took a long sip of his tea.

"Are you sure?"

Harry sighed and set down his mug. "You're not going to drop this until I talk, are you?"

"Nope."

"Fine. Things are fine, really. It's just… I don't know. I'm just being silly."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"All right," Harry sighed. He took a fortifying gulp of tea before continuing. "I don't know. It's like he never wants to do anything. He won't go out, won't even take me out for dinner…"

"But you know how hard it is for him, Harry. A lot of people still don't trust him."

"I know, but that didn't bother him in the beginning. Now, it's like he's not even interested in me. He just gets up every day, works, goes to bed…"

Hermione gave him a rueful smile. "That's life, Harry," she said. "Not all it's cracked up to be, is it?"

"It's not that," said Harry, exasperated. "I mean, we don't even… you know…any more."

He could almost see Hermione's inner battle at that, the part of her that was horrified at the thought of discussing their former professor's sex life at war with the part that wanted to listen to him. "How long?" she managed at last.

Harry hesitated, barely able to bring himself to admit to it. "A few weeks," he mumbled.

"Well, that's not so bad," Hermione began, but then she must have read the guilty expression on Harry's face, because she became stern and pressed him further. "How many is 'a few'?"

"Er…" Harry tried to do the calculation in his head, but got lost somewhere in the twenties and settled for, "A lot. Maybe four…all right, five months."

"Five months?" said Hermione incredulously.

"And a bit." Hermione raised her eyebrow. "Fine," Harry sighed. "Six. Six months. That's half a year, Hermione, and no action at all."

Hermione frowned. "Well, do you know why? I mean, has he actively refused, or…?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Not really," he admitted. "He's shrugged me off a few times, I suppose…"

"You mean you haven't actually talked about it?"

"Not as such, no."

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "Honestly," she said. "Men. How could you let this go six months without talking about it?"

"Well, what am I supposed to say? You're not suggesting I ask Severus Snape why he's not putting out?"

Hermione winced. "I don't know what to suggest, Harry," she said. "You made the decision to live with him, and if talking with him is that difficult, perhaps you have to question whether that decision was the right one."

The words dropped into Harry's mind like leaden weight, and he could only stare at Hermione, aghast and speechless.

"You rushed into the whole thing very quickly," Hermione explained hurriedly. "I mean, one minute you were having a bit of a fling, and the next you were moving into the dungeons. You never really did the in-between bit. You know – the courtship."

Her face reddened then, and Harry rolled his eyes, guessing that she was struggling to think of Severus 'courting' anyone.

"I guess that's just what felt right at the time," he said with a shrug.

"I know," Hermione added eagerly. "And that's why I didn't say anything back then. I knew you wanted security more than anything, and the same was probably true of him as well. But if you're wondering why there was little romance in your relationship, then, well, maybe that's why. You jumped straight into the domestic side of things."

"Huh." Harry sank back in his seat, processing what Hermione was saying. It made sense, he supposed. On the other hand, he couldn't really imagine Severus dating anyone. Though perhaps that was because he had never tried. "Do you…erm, do you think there's any way back?" he ventured.

Hermione sighed and turned to face the window. "I don't know," she said. "I'm afraid I really don't know Prof – er, Severus – very well."

Harry gave a wry laugh. "I'm not so sure that I do either," he admitted. "I mean, I thought I did, but these days… I don't know."

"I know you don't want to hear this," Hermione ventured, "but you really were very young when you made that commitment…"

Harry scowled. "You were even younger when you got together with Ron."

"Well, yes," she admitted, "but we're the same age. I think that makes it easier. You and Severus were at different life stages, and in trying to fit in with his life you've been making yourself miserable by doing jobs that you hate."

Harry dropped his gaze to the floor. It was true, he knew it was, yet he could not bring himself to accept that he'd made a mistake.

"I can't imagine not being with him," he said in a small voice.

"I know. But can you imagine staying for the rest of your life?"

Harry thought about that for a while, and was forced to say, "No. But I'm not…I mean, I don't want to…"

Hermione gave him one of her understanding smiles. "I know it's hard to think about," she said, "but it does sound as though you're only staying together because it's…" She threw her hands into the air. "I don't know, comfortable? Familiar?"

"No," said Harry coldly. "That's not it at all. You don't understand."

"Perhaps I don't," Hermione sighed. "Or perhaps you're trying to convince yourself I don't. Only you know what's really going on."

Harry sat in silence for a while, trying to think of some response. He knew that Hermione was only trying to help, but she was wrong, he knew she was. She had never really understood his relationship with Severus, for all that she'd tried to appear supportive. For just a moment, he considered telling her what had happened the previous night, but the mere thought filled him with shame and he could not bear to voice the words aloud.

"I have to go," he said at last, and all but ran for the door. Hermione did not stop him.

On the walk back to the dungeons, Harry's mind was in turmoil. He could not begin to contemplate leaving, yet now, after what had happened, he wasn't sure that he could bear to stay either. For all that their relationship had dwindled, Severus had never actually wronged him, and now Harry could no longer say the same for himself.

Somehow, convincing himself that he was in the wrong and that Severus would be better off without him made the decision so much easier. By the time he reached their quarters, he knew what he was going to do.

It was lunchtime, and Severus was sitting in his armchair, reading as usual. Harry sat in his chair and waited for a while, trying to compose himself. Then, concluding that it was futile, he took a deep breath.

“Severus?” Harry ventured. “Do you think we could talk about something?”

“What is it?” Severus replied, not looking up from his book.

“Erm, well, the thing is, it’s been a while since we… you know…”

Severus glanced up at him, a quizzical expression on his face. “Since we what?”

Harry blushed; a flicker of understanding crossed Severus’ face. “Very well,” he sighed. “May I finish reading this chapter first?”

“No! I mean,” Harry’s blush deepened. “I wasn’t asking for it, Sev. I just want to know why.”

Severus closed his book and regarded Harry carefully for a few moments. “Harry,” he said at last in what sounded like a resigned tone, “we have been – that is to say, our association has lasted for what, seven years?” Harry nodded slowly. “It is to be expected,” Severus continued, “that our baser instincts wane after the initial chemical attraction has burned away.”

"But why would it burn away?"

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” said Severus. “On the contrary, it’s entirely natural.”

Harry sighed. "And it's not just that. It's that this," he waved an arm between them, "it's… I don't know. It doesn't seem to be working."

Severus did not reply, but he was wearing one of his carefully blank expressions and his breathing was far too regular to be normal. The silence stretched out between them, the tension tangible while neither dared to speak.

Suddenly, the stillness was shattered by the chiming of a clock high in one of the towers.

"I have a class," said Severus slowly. "We will continue this discussion this evening." With that, he left hastily without so much as a backwards glance.

When Severus had gone, Harry sank back into his chair. His conviction now burned more strongly than ever; if Severus could not put their relationship before a stupid class, could not even react when Harry suggested ending it, then why should he stay?

By the time classes ended that evening, their quarters were filled with boxes. Harry stood in the middle of the room, watching as his belongings flew towards the open boxes, sorting and packing themselves neatly. It was easy, he told himself. He could do this.

He looked up when he heard the door open, and in a reflexive reaction opened his mouth to greet Severus, but no sound came out. Severus paused as soon as he entered the flat, his dark eyes fixed on the boxes that littered the floor. His face was entirely blank. Then, without a word, he turned away.

"Wait," Harry called. Severus did not pause, though, and did not look back, and when the door slammed shut behind him, the sound of it resonated throughout the room.

***

Part Three

"Great game, mate!"

"Good catch!"

Harry winced as his team mates slapped him on the back and tried to force a smile. Then he collapsed onto the bench of the dressing room and took a deep breath.

"Good match, eh?" Oliver flopped onto the bench beside him and squeezed his shoulder. Oliver had retired from playing for Puddlemere United the previous year and was now the coach of the Tornadoes, for whom Harry had been playing for three years.

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Close one, though."

"Yeah, for a minute there I almost thought you were going to lose it. Not likely though, eh?" With that, he patted Harry's thigh and rose to begin his usual post-match debriefing. Harry closed his eyes and tried to block out the sound of his voice.

"... can't allow ourselves to come that close again…"

Harry yawned; it had been an utterly exhausting match, coming only days after he had returned to the country after the World Cup in India. Today, the other team had produced a new Seeker, and damn but the kid was fast. Harry had had to employ every trick in the book and a few new ones of his own to keep him away from the Snitch, and he was sure that his own catch had been more by chance than design.

"…need to increase training to five days a week…"

Harry tried to stifle a groan. Oliver had been obsessed back in school, but that was nothing compared to the way he drove them as professionals. Training usually began and finished in hours of darkness, and every point conceded to the opposition was a failure.

"Oi, wake up!"

Harry wasn't sure when or how he had fallen asleep, but he was suddenly being shaken awake by someone with a strangely familiar voice. He blinked his eyes open, and his face broke into a grin.

"Ron!" He leapt to his feet and pulled his friend into an embrace. "What're you doing here?"

"Came to see the match," said Ron. "Awesome game, mate. I almost thought the other guy was going to get it!"

"Yeah, me too," said Harry ruefully.

"Anyway, you have to come and see Hermione, they wouldn't let her in here."

Harry allowed himself to be dragged outside, where the sun was beating down upon the ground. He squinted against the intensity of the light and didn't see Hermione until she was wrapped around him, squeezing the very breath from him.

"Oh Harry, it's so good to see you!" she cried.

"All right," Harry laughed, backing off. "I haven't been gone that long."

"Come on," said Hermione, "we need to talk."

Harry exchanged a long-suffering look with Ron and followed her. Ron fell into step with them on Hermione's other side.

"So, how are things?" Hermione asked, sounding far too carefully casual for Harry's liking.

"Good," he said. "Really good."

"Really?" Hermione gave him a critical glance. "I don't know much about Quidditch, but you seemed…less enthusiastic than usual today."

"You were still pretty awesome, though," Ron put in hurriedly.

"I'm just tired, that's all," said Harry. "The World Cup really took it out of me, and I wasn't really ready to get back into league games, but… well, you know Oliver…"

Ron laughed at that, and Hermione smiled. "You ought to take it a bit easy, you know. I worry about you."

Harry exchanged another look with Ron behind her back. "You're always worried about me," he pointed out. "I'd worry if you weren't worried. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Um…" This time, Hermione exchanged a look with Ron. "The thing is… well, we've decided to get married."

Harry laughed. "About time," he said. "It's been, what, eleven years?"

"Well," said Ron, "we wanted to wait until we could afford to do it properly, and now that I'm a senior Auror and Hermione's Head of Gryffindor…well, it seems like a pretty good time. And we just want you to know, mate, that we'll do everything we can not to make you feel left out…"

"It's fine," said Harry, waving a hand dismissively. "I've known this was coming since we were what, fourteen? I think it's great, really."

"Thank you, Harry." Hermione beamed at him, then turned to kiss Ron. Harry rolled his eyes.

"So what else has been going on?" he asked, keen to change the subject for reasons he couldn't quite explain.

"Well, work's been pretty hectic," said Hermione. "The new term starts soon and we haven't found a Potions master, so…"

"What happened to Slughorn?"

"Retiring for good this time," said Ron. "And about bloody time too, that bloke's a pain in the arse."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Other than that," she said, turning back to Harry, "well, Ginny's expecting…"

Harry switched off as Hermione filled him in on all the news that he'd missed. His mind was reeling, but the thoughts forming in his head were vague and abstract; he couldn't form them into any coherent order.

"Hermione," he ventured at last, "do you think McGonagall would take me on for Potions?"

Hermione stopped whatever she was saying and stared at him, dumbfounded. "What?" she said.

"But you hate Potions," Ron pointed out. "And you're a Quidditch player."

"Well…" Harry took a deep breath. "That's the thing. I'm nearly thirty, you know – I'm already the oldest Seeker in the league. And it's getting harder to keep up. That kid they had on the other team today, he was what, eighteen?"

"You still beat him though," said Ron.

"Only just," Harry sighed. "And I'd really like to stop while I'm still at the top, you know? The World Cup was such a high…that would be a good note to go out on, I think. I don't want to wait until I'm completely past it."

"But you have to do the next World Cup!" Ron insisted. "You came so close this time!"

"We got to the final for the first time in who knows how long," said Harry. "That's far more than we ever could have hoped for."

"But-"

"Are you sure?" Hermione interrupted, silencing Ron with a glare. "I mean, you don't really want to go back to Hogwarts, do you?"

"You know," said Harry, "I think I do. I've never really thought of anywhere else as home."

"You said you felt trapped there before…"

"That was different," Harry insisted. "I've been out in the world now, done things, travelled."

"And also…" Hermione looked uncomfortable. "Well, you know that Severus is still there?"

Harry felt a painful jolt at the sound of his former lover's name. He had done his best to put Severus from his mind over the last four years, but it still hurt to think of him and, in particular, of the way he had left.

"I know," he said quietly. "There're things I need to talk to him about as well."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" said Hermione. "I mean, he didn't handle the whole thing very well…"

"He's been a complete arse," Ron added. "Even more than usual. You're well out of that one, you know."

"Ron!"

Harry forced a smile. "Maybe," he said.

"Would you really want to teach Potions, though?" asked Ron. "I mean, you hated Potions."

Harry's smile became wistful as he recalled the late evenings spent in Severus' workroom over simmering cauldrons. "Not so much," he said. "I mean, yes, at school, but afterwards…"

"You really did spend too much time with Snape," said Ron, rolling his eyes. That earned him a glare from his wife-to-be.

"If you're sure," said Hermione, sounding distinctly unsure herself. "I know Minerva would love to have you, and we already know you're a good teacher from the DA… But would you really want to give up this whole jet-setting Quidditch star lifestyle?"

"Yes," said Harry, sure now. "I think I'm ready to come home."

*

Harry had expected it to feel strange, returning to Hogwarts after everything that had happened, but in fact it felt as though no time at all had passed. Hogwarts changed little; the portraits may have moved around and the stairs led somewhere different now, but it was still the home he remembered.

He had been there no more than a few hours, just long enough to move his trunk into his new quarters and have a cup of tea with Hermione, before he headed down to the dungeons.

His heart was racing and his hands trembling as he raised his hand to knock upon the door of Severus' office.

"Potter," said a voice from over his shoulder. Harry turned, flustered, to find Severus standing behind him, arms folded and a sneer upon his face. Other than the obvious malice upon his face and the passage of time that showed in the streaks of grey through his hair, he looked the same as Harry remembered him, and that caused his insides to twist painfully.

"Severus," said Harry. He tried to smile, but it would not come. "I…um, can we talk?"

"I see no need," said Severus, sweeping past Harry into his office. He left the door ajar, though, so Harry followed him through and into his quarters.

Harry stopped dead when he stepped into the living room, the colour draining from his face. It was entirely unchanged from the day he had left; there were even gaps upon the shelves where Harry's books had been.

"Well?" Snape prompted. He was standing stiffly beside the fireplace, his arms still folded.

"I…I just wanted to see you," said Harry in a small voice. "And to apologise for the way I left. And to explain."

Severus glowered at him, and for a moment Harry thought he was going to order him to leave, but then he sighed and sat down. Harry hesitated before following suit and sitting in his – what used to be his – armchair.

"I know I shouldn't have left the way I did," Harry said. "I was…I don't know, I just didn't want to talk about it." He took a deep breath and continued, "You told me a long time ago that I had a different concept of freedom than you." He paused, waiting for Severus to contradict him, but he seemed to be listening. "I understand that now. I thought that just being rid of Voldemort would free me, but it didn't. I ought to have had the freedom now to do whatever I wanted, and I didn't. I felt trapped here."

Severus' features softened slightly, and he looked away towards the empty fireplace. "You were not trapped," he said. "You did that to yourself by wandering aimlessly from one useless job to the next."

"I know," said Harry. "I see that now. That's why I decided to play Quidditch, so that I could get out, travel…live, I suppose."

"It was Mr Wood who suggested this to you?"

"Er, no, not directly. I guess seeing him might have made me think of it, though, on some level."

"And you and he are still…involved?"

"I – er, what?" Harry felt as though his insides had turned over; surely Severus couldn’t have found out about what happened?

"That was why you left, wasn't it?" The look in Severus' eyes was a challenge, an accusation, and Harry's heart sank.

"Shit," he muttered and fell back into the armchair. "You know?" he breathed, his heart constricting.

"I know," said Severus, so softly that Harry barely heard.

"How could you have…I mean, how?"

Severus gave a wry smile. "I knew the moment you arrived home that night. You would have made an appalling spy. No discretion at all."

"Oh." Harry could feel his cheeks redden. He felt suddenly dirty and shameful, and mentally berated himself for allowing this to happen. "Look," he said, "I know I shouldn't have cheated. I feel bad about it, I really-"

"There is no need," Snape interrupted him. "I had known for some time that it would happen. If not him, it would have been another opportunist."

Harry frowned. "You knew? Why?"

"You had been miserable for a while. I had hoped you might find some way of dealing with it without having to leave… I did try to make you realise that your jobs weren't good for you…" he sighed and rose to stand beside the fireplace, gazing listlessly into the empty grate. Harry watched him, his mind racing.

Severus had known what had happened, yet he had said nothing, taken care of him, even brewed him a hangover cure. Even Severus' persistent nagging about his jobs had been in Harry's interest.

"I… I don't know what to say," said Harry. "I mean, I was so sure that you were just fed up with me… I was wrong, wasn't I?"

"You were fed up," Severus agreed. "And not just with me: with everything."

Harry dropped his head into his hands. "You're right," he mumbled. "It was me all along, wasn't it?"

"No," Severus sighed. "It never is just one person."

Harry closed his eyes forcefully, willing back the tears that threatened to fall. "I thought we were meant to be together," he said in a choked whisper. "I thought it was fate that we ran into each other in Diagon Alley, so I jumped straight into it believing that it would last forever. That…that night made me realise that it wasn't meant to be. I didn't think I had any choice but to go."

Severus sighed and turned around. For a moment, Harry thought he meant to leave – that was Severus' usual response to confrontation – but instead he knelt beside Harry and took his hand.

"Fate does not bring people together," said Severus, "and fate does not cause them to part. Only people do those things. I did not going to ask you to stay, because for some foolish reason I considered it more important that you were happy. I knew you were not."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to meet Severus' eyes, but could not quite bring himself to do so. "I've done a lot of thinking since then," he said in a choked voice. "I needed to go, to appreciate what I had. And I know I've probably lost that forever, but if you ever felt like you could forgive me…"

Severus sighed, and for just a moment Harry thought he meant to say that no, he didn't, but instead he lifted his hand to Harry's chin, tilted it towards him and leaned forwards for a kiss.

It was the first kiss they had shared in many years, but Harry felt himself being instantly transported back and it was as though no time at all had passed. He could feel the tension within him melt under Severus' coaxing lips, so much more refined than the desperate, clumsy fumbling he had experienced with his other lovers. Harry swept his tongue across Severus' lower lip and then pulled away.

Severus regarded him carefully before saying, "You wish to come home?"

Their eyes met, and Severus gave him the smile that only Harry would ever recognise; there was barely even a twitch to his lips, yet his eyes glimmered. Harry smiled and squeezed his hand.

"No," he said. "Not now."

Severus' face was instantly shuttered, and Harry had to place a hand on his shoulder to prevent him from pulling away. "I want to do it properly this time," he explained. "I…" He took a deep breath and fought to maintain eye contact while the heat rose to his face as he said, "Would you allow me to court you?"

Severus looked as though he couldn't decide whether to be amused or scornful.

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Harry added hurriedly. "But I think the problem last time was that it all became very ordinary and domestic so quickly. I'd like to stay in my own quarters, at least for a while, but… well, I'd really like it if you would have dinner with me."

He could almost see the internal battle reflected in Severus' eyes, and he waited with bated breath until finally, without a word, Severus gave him a single curt nod.

*

Harry paced his living room, anxiously biting his lip. It was ridiculous to be so nervous about a date with someone he'd lived with for seven years, but he was absolutely terrified. This had to go well, it had to.

Severus arrived the moment the clock struck eight. He was dressed in robes of black silk that flowed around him with such elegance that Harry felt a stirring in his groin almost the instant he stepped over the threshold.

Harry indicated the table, which had been laid out by the house elves with the finest china, silverware and candles. Severus stared at the setup for a moment.

"Have you perhaps mistaken me for a woman?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Hardly," said Harry with a smile. "Just humour me, all right?"

Severus rolled his eyes, but took a seat without further complaint. The moment they were seated, bowls of soup materialised before them.

They ate in silence for a while, but their eyes barely left one another. When their empty bowls had vanished, Harry said, "I think I should explain what happened –"

"Harry," Severus interrupted. "You wanted to start again, yes? That is the purpose of this…" he waved his hand over the table. Harry nodded slowly. "Then there is no need to talk about the past."

Harry's eyebrows shot up; could Severus Snape really be talking about forgetting the past? "You've changed," he said.

Severus gave a wry smile.

The main course was chicken, which arrived with a decoratively-dressed salad. Harry stared at it for a moment; it looked remarkably similar to the very first meal he had had with Severus.

"I am given to understand that you are to subject yourself to the latest round of dunderheaded students," said Severus.

"Yeah," Harry laughed. "I'm kind of nervous, actually. I mean, I'm quite looking forward to it in a way, but the thought of having a whole class full of students that aren't much younger than me…"

"I hate to break this to you," said Severus with a smirk, "but the eldest are at least twelve years younger than you. You are considerably older than I was when I started teaching. As least none of your pupils will remember you as a student."

Harry grinned. "Wow, that must have been weird."

"Challenging, certainly," said Severus with a wry smile.

"So what are the students like at the moment?" Harry asked.

"The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are not as bad as in some years. It's the Gryffindors and Slytherins who cause all the trouble."

"As ever," Harry laughed.

"There's a particularly troublesome group in the fourth year…"

*

Once conversation had begun to flow, dinner passed quickly, and before Harry knew it, he was faced with an empty table and a decision to make about what his next move should be. He hesitated only slightly before gesturing towards the sofa.

They took their wine and sat side-by-side, discussing school politics, students and teaching methods.

"You should try to introduce potions in groups so that the brighter students will see how they relate to one another. A set which share the same base, for instance."

"Do you still have a list of which potions you used to give to which years?"

"I believe so," said Severus. "I will look it up for you."

"Thank you," said Harry. "You know, it feels a bit weird to be taking your old job."

"It feels decidedly strange to have so many of my former students as colleagues."

Harry laughed and turned to look at Severus. He looked thoughtful, his brow creased and his eyes distant. Without thinking, Harry set down his glass, leaned over and placed a kiss upon Severus' temple.

Severus turned to face him, eyes widened in surprise. With a tentative smile, Harry took his hand and leaned forward. He hesitated, giving Severus time to pull away if he wished, but then there were soft, warm lips pressing against his own and a hand was creeping around his waist.

His heart pounding, Harry slowly parted his lips and drew Severus into his mouth. From there, the kiss became desperate and hungry, and their hands roamed over each others bodies. The silk of Severus' robes was fine, and Harry could feel the heat of his body beneath. Harry pulled him closer, needing to feel him, needing to make up for all the time they had lost; not just the last four years, but the time before that as well.

"Harry," Severus panted into his ear. "We should stop."

"Stop?" Harry pulled away, confused.

"You said you wanted to do things properly this time. More slowly. Perhaps I should leave."

"No," said Harry, taking Severus' hands in his. "I do want to take things slowly, but I meant that I don't want us to live in the same quarters, at least for the moment. I want this. I want us to enjoy this, the way we should have done last time."

Severus' gave a resigned sigh. "You mean you want all the ridiculous romance before we commit to one another." There was a sneer upon his lips, but Harry could see the smile in his eyes.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Very well." Another sigh, and Severus stood, pulling Harry up with him. Then he lifted Harry into his arms, kissed him once upon the brow, and bore him towards the bedroom.

Harry wrapped his arms around Severus' neck and buried his face in his chest. He was grinning with joy he could not contain, and when Severus laid him upon the bed, it burst forth in laughter borne of pure release.

Severus lay over him, looking down at him with a gaze of such intensity that it silenced him instantly. They kissed, gently at first, then with increasing fervour, until Harry was arching his back and thrusting his hips, desperate for contact where he most needed it.

Severus, though, was intent on moving slowly. He moved to kiss Harry's jaw, then his throat, and only then did his fingers slide under the collar of his shirt to loosen the buttons. Harry writhed upon the sheets, his skin aflame where Severus' lips touched it.

When the last of the buttons was open, Severus guided him to sit upright so that he could remove the shirt. Their lips met again, but when Harry leaned in to deepen the kiss, Severus pulled away, guided him back down and returned to place feather-light kisses upon Harry's stomach. It tickled, and caused Harry to squirm and groan as his growing erection strained against his trousers.

Severus made quick work of the fastenings of his trousers, perhaps sensing his discomfort, and Harry lifted his hips so that they could be removed, along with his underwear.

Unclothed at last, Harry sank back onto the bed, closed his eyes and waited. There was nothing, though; Severus was gone. Harry opened his eyes and saw that he was sitting on one corner of the bed, staring intently at him, his lips slightly parted.

When Harry moved to join him, Severus stilled him with a glance and leaned over to cover him once more. He traced the line from Harry's navel to his groin with his tongue, then licked along the length of Harry's cock slowly and torturously. Harry gasped and screwed his eyes shut, then groaned as Severus took the head into his mouth and then swallowed him to the hilt in one motion.

"Oh," Harry panted. "God, you always were good at that."

He was almost sure he could feel Severus smirk around his cock. Then he began to move, fast, up and down, with long swipes of tongue and just a hint of teeth where Harry liked it, and Harry was gasping and thrashing on the bed, and begging Severus to stop because he couldn't last much longer.

When Severus withdrew, he dispensed with his robes quickly and then moved back up the bed to cover Harry's entire length. They kissed, fervently and hungrily, while Severus guided Harry's legs up over his shoulders and summoned lubrication to them.

The first of Severus' fingers entered him, and Harry bit his lip and pushed back against it, drawing it in as deeply as he could. He moaned into the kiss, and Severus responded by curling his finger to brush tantalisingly over Harry's prostate. Another finger slipped inside, and they began to move slowly in and out.

The fingers withdrew, and Severus broke off their kiss, positioned himself and gazed intently into Harry's eyes as he pushed forwards. When Severus began to breach his body, Harry knew that it was right, that he had loved Severus all along, even if he had once forgotten it.

Harry could feel tears well up in the corners of his eyes as Severus moved, slowly at first, but then with increasing pace, until they were both panting and Harry was arching his back and pleading with Severus to move harder and faster, because he wanted to feel this, wanted to remember it always.

Just when he thought he could bear it no more, the muscles in his entire body spasmed and his climax crashed over him, pouring his seed over his belly. For a few moments longer, he lay there, shuddering and concentrating on the sensations inside him as Severus thrust raggedly into him. Then Severus' hips snapped towards him once more, and his lover collapsed atop him, murmuring incoherently. Harry held him close, threaded his fingers through the coarse strands of his hair and kissed the top of his head.

While they lay there entwined, a silent sob wracked Harry's body. Severus must have felt it, because he rolled away, gathered Harry into his arms and held him. Harry smiled through his tears and pressed a fierce, possessive kiss against Severus' chest.

Perhaps they were meant to be together, or perhaps it was all by chance as Severus had said. Either way, it really made no difference. After all, in a world where form was changeable and matter could be conjured at will, it was hard to be sure what to believe.

---

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