Title: Cockroach Clusters, Please
Author: Ziasudra (ziasudra_fic)
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: Romance, Déjà vu
Betas: The wonderful members of Team Romance

Disclaimer: None of the HP characters are mine; they’re JKR’s. I’ll return them after I’m done playing

Summary: A defeat in a Knockturn Alley battle convinced Harry that he needed to learn more before he could even think about defeating Voldemort. A most unusual idea came to mind…






I.


The first thought that came to Harry when he exited the secret tunnel was how much he missed Hogwarts. True, he’d only been away for three months, and he didn’t regret his decision to not return for his seventh year. But Hogwarts was home and coming back was thrilling, even if the homecoming was covert, under his Invisibility Cloak, with the Marauder’s Map in hand.

The burly wizard in a too-tight robe jeered at him. Harry couldn’t see his face. But he could see colours, lots of them. How could such a beefy wizard be so quick? One jet of light cancelled his Expelliarmus; the rest flew toward him.


Seconds later, his world went black.

He came back because he knew things couldn’t stay the way they were. He knew nothing about duelling, and his working range of offensive attacks consisted only of common spells.

Two cracked ribs, a sprained ankle, and a concussion. Multiple scratches and cuts. A full month of bed rest.

How could he have been so … useless? Some Saviour of the Wizarding World he was. He couldn’t even win a Knockturn Alley scrimmage. He supposed he shouldn’t have gone tracking the locket alone. But he was so sure Mundungus Fletcher had sold it to some seedy Knockturn shop…

He needed to practise sparring with Ron. He needed Hermione to help him with spell theory. And—a thought flashed through his mind—he needed to learn how to create new spells.

Harry paused to look at the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower. Then shook his head. He didn’t come back to reminisce; he had Horcruxes to destroy and a war to win. He resolutely turned the other way.



When he reached the other side of the seventh floor, Harry checked his map one last time to make sure the dots labeled “Filch” and “Mrs. Norris” were nowhere nearby. McGonagall was in her office, and all the students were in class. He turned the last corner into a corridor to his left.


There it was. The familiar tapestry, and the even more familiar blank wall next to it. In the past, he had passed in front of the blank wall asking for cushions and bookcases. But today—Harry passed the wall once … twice … three times … and opened the door to the Room of Requirement.


-


The room was bare except for a window and two couches—one in the Gryffindor colours of red and gold, one in the Slytherin shades of green and silver. On the Slytherin couch sat a boy of no more than fourteen.


When the boy saw Harry, he stood up in horror. But the unguarded expression was quickly masked by a sneer as he walked away from the couches, pulled out his wand, and readied himself in duelling position. Harry smiled and just stood there.


When he saw that Harry made no move to fight, the boy flicked his wand and let loose a string of hexes and curses that Harry had never heard of before. Harry recognised only a few: Petrificus Totalus, Stupefy, Riddikulus (Harry almost laughed. He was the boy’s boggart?). Later, he was sure he heard Expecto Patronum (He supposed he was a Dementor too, he snorted.) and even Accio (He did not just hear “Accio Potter!”). Harry stood and played docile target to the hurling curses as every red, purple, and green light bounced off his body.


The boy’s eyes widened in apprehension. “What are you playing at, James Potter?”


Harry gave him credit for the false bravado. He walked over and extended a hand. “Hello, Severus. My name’s Harry. I’m not James Potter.”


The boy looked skeptical, but stopped hurling hexes. Harry smiled as he pulled back his untouched hand. Some things never change. Even at such a young age, Snape was level-headed and practical. Why cast more spells if Harry was immune? This worked well for Harry, who wanted a conversation with school-aged Snape without being blinded by jets of light.


“You look like Potter,” the young Snape prodded.


Harry nodded. “It’s because I am a Potter. Harry Potter.”


Snape scowled, and for a moment, Harry swore Snape looked like his 40-year-old self. He laughed. “It’s confusing, I know. I’m Harry, and you’re my guest. We’re in the Room of Requirement. I asked for you to be here.”


Snape cast surreptitious glances around the room. “Where are the others? Black? Lupin? Pettigrew? And Potter … you’re not his twin, are you?”


“We’re – sort of related. But I’ve never lived with James Potter, not for any stretch of time I could remember…” Harry’s voice drifted off as he realised he didn’t have any memory of his parents. “But no matter. You’re the Half-Blood Prince, right?”


Snape choked back a gasp. “That’s – who told you this?”


“You did.”


Snape’s scowl deepened. “I don’t remember conversing with you.”


Harry waved a hand in the air. “It doesn’t matter. Come on, sit.”


When the two were seated in their respective couches, Harry took a good look at the Half-Blood Prince. He was a near replica of Severus Snape—the same curtain of long, greasy hair; the same dull-yellow skin; the same all-black attire save the Slytherin tie he was required to wear as uniform; and the same unpleasant temperament—only shorter, younger, and very much not intimidating.


Harry began, “I need you to teach me everything you know about spell construction.”


Harry classified Snape’s wide eyes and open mouth as the “how do you know I know spell construction” look, definitely a new look on Snape. Too soon, though, the open mouth twisted into a sneer. “Why should I? And why do you need it anyway? You’re nearly invincible.”


Harry chuckled. “That’s because I asked the Room of Requirement to make me immune to your hexes. This is my room for now, and I get to ask for whatever I want. That’s why you’re here, so I can ask you to teach me.”


The look on Snape’s face made it clear that he thought Harry insane.


Harry pressed on. “I know you’re in the process of developing original curses. At the rate you’re going, I’m sure you’ll have come up with functional hexes in two years. And you must know the theories behind spells and their defense in order to create them—that’s what I want to learn.”


Snape lowered his head, concentration etched on his face. “What do I get in return?” he asked, after some deliberation.


“I can give you anything as long as it’s legal and within my power.” Harry hastened to add, “And nothing against the Marauders. I am related to James, after all.”


Snape nodded—tentatively—but it was distinctly a nod. Harry grinned. “So what is it? What would you like?” he asked.


Snape looked up. “How old are you?”


“Seventeen.”


“Are you a Hogwarts student?”


“I was. But not anymore.”


“You’re a Gryffindor,” Snape said. It wasn’t a question.


Harry challenged, “How can you be so sure? Maybe I was a Ravenclaw.”


Snape pointed to the couch with Gryffindor colours. “And those are Ravenclaw colours.” He smirked. “Don’t play dumb, you’re a Gryffindor.”


“Hey, now, you make it sound like a bad thing! I’m both Gryffindor and Slytherin. The hat told me I could do well in both.”


“You can’t be both!”


“What if I was? You’ll never know, will you? Look, I have nothing against…” Harry paused. He’d be lying through his teeth if he said he had nothing against Slytherins. And he’d be telling a bigger lie if he said he had nothing against Snape. “…against you, the Half-Blood Prince.”


Snape looked mollified, and Harry caught himself breathing a sigh of relief. This was stupid. Why did he want Snape’s goodwill so badly? It wasn’t as if he couldn’t ask the Room of Requirement to reset the scenario if things had gone badly. But for some inexplicable reason, Harry was glad that the Snape before him was seriously considering his request.


After a minute of thinking, Snape said, “I base all my experiments on the Second International Wizardry Council’s Edict on the Proper Use of Theoretical Spell Construction. You’ll be able to create any spell you want once you’re familiar with the Edict.”


Harry waited for Snape to say more, and noticed something most unusual—was the young Snape shuffling his feet?


“If I teach that to you … would you get me a sack of cockroach clusters from Honeydukes?”


Severus Snape, the surly future Potions Master, wanted sweets. Harry grinned. “Of course! In fact, I’ll pick up a bunch of other sweets so you can sample and see what you like…”


-


Harry visited Hogwarts on Wednesdays. He would walk past the same blank wall three times every week, asking for Severus the Half-Blood Prince—not Snape, for the two were very different. The awkwardness of the first meetings subsided, and Harry now found himself opening the door to shy smiles and polite greetings.


The Second International Wizardry Council’s Edict on the Proper Use of Theoretical Spell Construction was well beyond Harry’s capacity of comprehension, so he only copied the Edict’s archaic language verbatim for Hermione to decipher later on. Severus always glared at Harry with the “you’re an idiot” look, but the glare softened with each visit and Harry could almost believe Severus now considered him a friend.


Harry liked Severus and Severus liked him. He rolled his eyes. Apparently, cows could fly and Voldemort liked milk and cookies by the fireplace.



Harry entered the Room of Requirement four months later to a Severus whose trousers were no longer too long—time passed differently in whatever dimension this Snape was from. The room provided a faux window, showing a beautiful view of Hogwarts’ grounds in early summer. He looked at the lake. If he squinted, he could even make out the shadow of the Giant Squid just beneath the surface.


“Hello Sev – what’s wrong?” Severus looked different. Very different. “Here, want some cockroach clusters? I brought enough for both of us.”


Severus shook his head wildly, the strands of hair that usually draped over his face whipped about in a fashion worthy of the Whomping Willow.


Harry settled next to Severus. This won him a nasty glare. “Move away, you Gryffindor! I want nothing to do with you.”


He quickly shuffled onto the Gryffindor couch. Something was off. Harry swore that Severus’ voice sounded different. It was more velvety, had less teenage crack, and was just a tiny bit deeper. Not to mention he was a lot less friendly.


“Severus? How old are you?”


“Sixteen.”


Sixteen. That would be … fifth year? “It looks like summertime outside,” he said. “Did you just take your O.W.L.s?”


“Don’t you dare mention the O.W.L.s!” Severus was now in hysterics. “You were there, weren’t you? You spent all this time pretending to be a former student, only to play traitor and turn against me at the first opportunity. You’re as bad as Sirius and James!”


Harry’s mind raced, trying to piece together what he knew about Severus’ life up until this point. This would be his fifth year. It was right after the O.W.L.s, which meant…


Harry following James out of the examination hall. Sirius and James were bored. Snape was dangled in midair. Snape was threatened to have his pants removed. Harry was thrown out of Snape’s office because he stumbled across one of Snape’s worst memories.


“No, I wasn’t there! I had nothing to do with it! What they did to you was cruel. I apologise on behalf of them. But I didn’t –”


“Then why would the Marauders know how to use Levicorpus?”


That … oh. Severus was suspecting him, accusing him of teaching one of the Half-Blood Prince’s self-invented spells to the Marauders. “Listen to me, Severus, I didn’t tell –”


“You’re the only one I showed my spells to! You’re the one who’s been asking for instructions! Do you think I go around telling my spells to my enemies?”


“I said I didn’t –”


“I’m a fool to have trusted you these past two years. Get out!”


Severus’ body was shaking with fury, and Harry sat petrified, dumbfounded.


“I said leave,” Severus hissed.


Harry opened his mouth. “But –”


There was a flurry of movement, and Harry found himself at the receiving end of Severus’ pointed wand. “I don’t care if you’re immune to magic in this room. I’ll blind you with the light of the spells if I have to. Leave now!”


Severus was shaking even harder, and all Harry wanted was to gather Severus into his arms. Hermione always hugged him when he was shaken, and it always worked. But this was Snape. Whether Potions Professor or the Half-Blood Prince, he was still Snape, and Harry doubted Snape had received many hugs in his life.


But he couldn’t just leave and end this friendship—or whatever it was—that he had developed with Severus over the past few months (two years in Severus’ time). The friendship had meant something to him.


Harry raised his arms above his head, something he’d seen in Muggle television when one party was about to surrender, and slowly stood up. “Room, make me magically normal,” he said in a loud voice.


He turned to Severus. This was a risky move, he knew, but he also knew that the teenage Snape was not yet cruel. “I just asked the room to make me normal. Go ahead, play out your revenge on me. I didn’t rat to the Marauders. But since I’m related to James, I suppose I’ll take his punishment as penance.”


Severus, now also standing, was wide-eyed. His wand-holding hand lowered—just a bit, but enough for Harry to believe that he was calming down.


“Go ahead. Don’t you want to get back at the Marauders? Pretend I’m them. I won’t fight back.”


For a moment, Severus stood motionless, and Harry wondered if he’d just made the stupidest proposition of his life. But before he could change his mind, Severus’ eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, like a predator ready to strike. Wordlessly, with the barest flick of a wand, Severus hit Harry with his hex and dangled him upside down by the ankle in midair. The sudden rush of blood into his head made Harry dizzy. He closed his eyes.


Harry was almost grateful when Severus spelled away his robe, which draped uncomfortably over his head. His glasses slid off his nose and hit the floor with a clink.


Severus left Harry’s jumper untouched, but with another swish of the wand, the trousers were gone. Harry’s heart pounded, wondering what would come next. There was no Lily Evans to intervene, and he never found out if Sirius made good on his threat to remove Snivellus’ pants…


The answer came soon enough. Cool air settled around Harry’s groin, making him feel very exposed. Heat spread from his cheek up his ears and down his neck. This was embarrassing!


“Why aren’t you protesting?” Severus asked. There was no longer hostility in his voice, only curiosity.


Harry cracked his eyes open. All he could see was a Severus-shaped blur holding out something in the shape of a wand. “This is punishment,” Harry said. “Your revenge. Why would I protest?”


The Severus-shaped blur lowered his wand and came closer. “Because,” he said, softly, “James Potter never went this far. You really weren’t there that day, were you? Hagrid stopped him before he could remove my pants.”


Harry felt himself lowered a bit, and he again closed his eyes. Then something—a hand—was touching his left thigh, gingerly rubbing up and down. The same soft voice spoke again, but this time it was against his ear, “Would you protest now, if this is still punishment?”


Harry shivered. If he was blushing before, now he was flaming. But Severus’ touch felt so good. The hand slid around and grabbed a handful of his arse—oh!—no one had ever touched him there before. A finger teased the crease between his cheeks—Harry’s hips jumped at the ticklish sensation. This was incredible, but surely something was wrong. Because even when he was dating Ginny, they’d never got this far…


Ginny.


Harry snapped his eyes open. “Severus, stop!”


Severus’ face was looming close enough for Harry to make out his expression. He wasn’t angry, but … disappointed. Severus let go, redressed Harry, and levitated him onto the Gryffindor couch. “Sorry,” he mumbled.


Harry Accio’d his glasses and pushed himself up by his elbows. “No, it wasn’t you. It … I’ve just never done this before, not with … I-I like girls.”


Severus nodded, pointedly looking away. So the rumours were true. Everything Fred and George said about Snape being gay. Harry prodded, “You fancy me. How long?”


Severus’ face turned beet red. Being rejected was hard enough. Harry supposed that to someone as private as Snape, his question was like rubbing salt into a wound. Seconds passed. Maybe Severus wasn’t going to answer.


He did, after sinking into the Slytherin couch and still not looking at Harry. His voice was a whisper. “Since last year. When you kept visiting even after I taught you everything I knew about the Second International Edict. I started thinking of you as … a friend.” Severus was gripping the edge of the couch so hard that his knuckles were white. “And then you didn’t leave disgusted when I started showing you some of my more nasty curses. I … no one would stay around to be with me for this long.”


He was Severus’ only friend? What about the gang of Slytherins he always thought Snape was part of? Harry’s heart ached. “Severus, I like you. You are a friend. I just can’t…”


Severus’ shoulders slumped, looking every bit like the awkward, gangly teenager that he was. “I understand. Go back to wherever you’re from. I’ve shown you everything. I’m of no use anymore.”


“Severus, I can visit again next week my time –”


Severus shook his head wildly. “No, don’t come back. Don’t give me false hope. That would be cruel.”


Even though Harry didn’t like it, he understood. Coming back was the equivalent of dangling a carrot in front of a mule, perpetually out of reach. Severus would have a life of shattered hope ahead of him. He didn’t need to introduce more false hope into his life. Harry stood. “So … it’s goodbye then.”


Severus didn’t answer, but followed Harry out the door with his eyes.


Before returning home to Grimmauld Place, Harry walked in front of the blank wall three more times and asked the Room of Requirement to bring him back to the storage bazaar. There, he found the furniture behind the vanishing cabinet in which he had hidden the Half-Blood Prince’s Advanced Potions textbook. He didn’t need it for the notes anymore; Severus had already shown him everything except for the final incantation of Sectumsempra, which he would develop within a year. But Harry took the book with him nonetheless. He needed something to remember the young Severus Snape by.


Harry stared blankly at the book, doubts plaguing his mind. Was he so sure that the carrot would be perpetually out of reach?


-


It turned out that deciphering the Second International Wizardry Council’s Edict on the Proper Use of Theoretical Spell Construction was a project that would take months. Snape really wasn’t the best teacher, no matter at what age. Harry managed to copy copious notes on the subject, but it was Hermione’s task to translate his scribbles into understandable magical theories. From there—if they ever finished deciphering—Harry would use the theoretical base to improve his duelling skills, and hopefully develop new spells that would protect all three of them in their search for Horcruxes.


“Harry, is this an ‘N’ or an ‘M’ … Harry James Potter, put that book down at once!”


Harry jumped, closed the Half-Blood Prince’s Advanced Potions book, and hid it under a pile of Witch Weekly. “Mmf … yes?”


Hermione held up Harry’s notes. “This word. Is it ‘E-N-Y-R-T-H’ or ‘E-M-Y-R-T-H’?”


“Enyrth. It’s derived from a family of Invigoration spells. Ennervate, for example, is a distant descendant of the En- prefix charms.”


Hermione scribbled down the answer, while Ron turned to Harry in awe. “Blimey, Harry! If only you had half this memory during Binns’ class!”


“It’s because Binns isn’t the Half-Blood Prince,” Hermione muttered.


“What do you mean –”


“Harry, look at you! I haven’t seen you go a day without carrying that book around. And for the past months it’s always been ‘Severus this’ and ‘Severus that.’ If I hadn’t known about your crush on the Half-Blood Prince last year, I’d have agreed with Ron that you’ve gone mental.”


“I’m not mental – what did you say about a crush?”


“The way you pored all over that book. Don’t play innocent. You know what I’m talking about,” Hermione said.


Harry looked to Ron for help, but his friend only shrugged in a way that said he agreed with Hermione. “Ron! Last year at this time I was going out with Ginny! Remember her? Your sister?”


“Probably not,” Hermione fumed. “Ronald was preoccupied with ‘Lav-Lav’ this time last year.”


“And you were going out with McLaggen!” Ron accused.


“That’s not the point! The point is Harry!”


“Me? How’d it get back to me?”


Hermione went over to the stack of magazines and fished out the Advanced Potions book from the bottom. “Your mind was on only three things last year: Ginny, Malfoy, and the Half-Blood Prince. Ginny you dumped. Malfoy you hexed. And the Half-Blood Prince? You kept his stupid book!”


“I broke off with Ginny because I didn’t want her to get hurt! Imagine if she’d been with me at Knockturn Alley that day. I would never forgive myself!” Harry sighed. “And the book … I retrieved it because I wanted to have something to remind me of Severus.”


“He’s Snape, Harry!” Ron said, the same time that Hermione said, “I thought you turned him down.”


Harry took the book from Hermione and moved his hand over the cover. “I did. I told Severus I like girls. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him. And Ron, he’s Severus. He’s not Snape, not yet at least. They’re different.”


Ron crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. Harry supposed he could understand. Before this, he’d never believe he could get along with Snape—any manifestation of Snape … Severus. He ran his hand over the book’s cover once more, and sighed. The carrot was reining in.


Pieces of parchment came into Harry’s field of vision; they were covered with Hermione’s familiar script. “Go visit him, why don’t you? I’ve compiled a list of questions on the Second International Edict. Maybe you can get some answers and save us weeks of deduction, and check up on your Severus at the same time.”


Harry took the parchments. Hermione’s questions were complex. Harry knew each individual word, but strung together as sentences, he had no idea what Hermione was asking. He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll go see him again.”


-


When Harry stepped into the Room of Requirement, he came face to face with a startled and shifty looking Severus.


“Hullo, Severus,” he greeted.


Severus took a step back. “Harry Potter.” His voice was cold. There was no trace of warmth or joy that Harry was half-expecting to hear from him.


Severus looked older, now in his late teens. But there was the Slytherin tie, so he was still a student. Severus’ face had stretched length-wise, his features more angular, and his nose disproportionately large. He was beginning to resemble the Snape of Harry’s time.


“I come with questions.” Harry took out the parchments, more to break the awkward silence than to get to business. “They’re from my friend, Hermione Granger. She’s been helping me with understanding the International Edict theories.”


Severus didn’t move or talk, so Harry walked over to the familiar Gryffindor couch and sat down. To his relief, Severus soon followed and took his seat on the Slytherin couch.


“How old are you?” Severus asked.


“Still seventeen. But I’m turning eighteen soon.”


Severus nodded. “I’m eighteen now.”


Harry smiled. “Happy belated birthday.”


They fell silent again.


“So … how’s school?” Harry asked.


Severus shrugged. “I’ll be glad when it’s over.”


“Do you know what you’ll do next? A Potions apprenticeship, perhaps?”


Severus shrank back, and Harry noticed Severus lifted his right arm unconsciously to cover over his left forearm … his heart skipped a beat. Oh God, Snape was marked while he was still in school?


Severus became aware of Harry’s eyes on his arm, and he stiffened. “Go. You’re a Gryffindor. There’s nothing for you here.”


Harry leaned forward, careful not to break eye contact. “Severus, let me see it. I know what it is. Just…”


“No!” Severus snarled. “You don’t have the right! You can’t just disappear from my life for two years and come back as if nothing has happened!”


Harry inched toward the Slytherin couch, bending his knees. He had learned this from watching wildlife shows on the Dursleys’ telly. Approaching threatened animals slowly lowered the chance of the animal attacking out of panic. At this moment, Severus was very much a threatened animal.


When he was only inches from Severus, Harry knelt down, and placed a hand over the hand that was clutching at the Mark. “Severus, I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t know how long it’s been. In my time, it’s only been a few months. I’ve … I’ve missed you.”


Severus’ scowl was replaced with a look of uncertainty, and Harry took the chance to bat Severus’ right hand away. He then returned to the left arm to roll up the sleeve—Severus became very still. Harry himself was barely breathing, his eyes widening as first the snake, then the skull, came into view inch by inch.


Harry lifted his head and found Severus’ eyes searching his face for signs of fear or disgust. He made sure he looked as calm as possible. “Why?” he asked, genuinely curious.


“They offered me a future,” Snape said.


“That’s it? But you’re bright enough to get any apprenticeship.”


Severus looked away. “Camaraderie, security, the promise never to be humiliated again…”


Harry inwardly cursed the Marauders. “Was there no one else? No other option?”


Severus shrugged. “You left.”


“What do you mean I –” Harry’s jaw slackened, and his voice left him. Severus had no other friends, a not-too-friendly voice spoke up in his mind, of course he’d join Voldemort. You left him all alone to fend for himself, Harry, you were his other option.


Fingers touched Harry’s head and hesitantly began threading through his hair. Harry welcomed the touch and lowered his head onto Severus’ lap. “It was my choice, Harry. No one’s to blame. I was the one who asked you to never come back, remember?” Severus paused. “And the inconvenience of Dumbledore’s prejudice aside, I’m quite happy with my decision.”


“But you’re a half-blood –”


“And I have use for the Dark Lord.”


This time, Harry couldn’t stop disgust washing over him. He yanked his head back and stood, pointing a finger at Severus. “You’re serving a madman! Don’t you care that his mission is to kill? To destroy? He’s going to kill my … a lot of people! Don’t you give a damn?”


Severus’ eyes glittered dangerously, every line on his face screaming that no, he didn’t give a damn. “You’re as weak as the rest of them,” Severus spat. “Get out of my life.”


Harry narrowed his eyes. “What did you say?”


“I didn’t ask you to come back, you useless Muggle-sympathiser. All you Gryffindors are the same. I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”


Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Where was the Severus who was vicious but not cruel, spiteful but not sadistic? “What’s got into you? How could you believe this crap –”


“You’re no longer the older one, boy, you can’t tell me what to do. Get the fuck out of my life!”


Harry blinked. This wasn’t Severus he was looking at. This was Snape, the Death Eater, the future murderer of Dumbledore. “Fine, I will. And for the record, I hate you.” He stomped out and slammed the door behind him as hard as he could.


When he returned home, he took out the Advanced Potions textbook and tore every page to pieces.


-


“But I don’t understand why I can’t channel the shield charm into a stronger version!” Harry said. “When I was in the Room of Requirement and asked for immunity, I could feel the room providing me with some altered form of the shield charm, only combined with something else!”


“Well, it’s the ‘something else’ that we don’t have, isn’t it?” Ron muttered. It had been five weeks, and they only managed to create one spell.


“Ron, you’re not helping,” Hermione admonished. She turned to Harry. “Your question is precisely the missing piece of the puzzle to developing the immunity charm necessary for destroying Horcruxes. And I believe the answer lies in one of those passages in the International Edict that we couldn’t figure out.”


“So we’re not getting anywhere,” Harry said. Hermione shook her head. Harry stood. “Well, then, let’s go and practice our duelling then. While the sun’s still out.”


“Great idea!” Ron said. He’d been dying to try out the new maneuver he developed from a Quidditch dive.


“Ready?” Ron yelled from the far edge of the warded area. From the opposite end, Harry and Hermione gave a thumbs-up.


Ron hopped onto his broom and shot into the air. Halfway up, he pulled out his wand and rolled over, so that he was hanging on the broom upside down. Without warning, the broom took a nosedive and charged toward Harry and Hermione.


Harry pulled out his wand, ready to deflect whatever Ron would send his way. The sky suddenly turned a blinding white, and before Harry could think, his reflexes told him to brace his arms in front of his face. Harry’s heart pounded. What spell was Ron using? He’d never felt something so powerful, and it was white –


“Harry!” He heard Hermione yell. Was he hurt?


“Harry, are you all right? Harry!” That was Ron. But he sounded so far away…


-


Harry found himself deposited onto the Gryffindor couch he had come to know so well. There was no Severus in the room, but he heard footsteps outside, as if someone was pacing back and forth by the door. Everything suddenly made sense. He’d been summoned to the Room of Requirement; Severus was conjuring him. But why?


The door opened, revealing a Severus who now looked about twenty. He had scarcely closed the door before he charged toward Harry, kneeling by the couch, touching him all over with his hands.


“You’re Harry Potter! You’re James and Lily’s baby. It’s you!” he said. “Oh, Merlin … you’re alive! You’re alive in your time, so you’ll live in my time too. The Dark Lord is going to choose the Longbottoms. Oh, thank Merlin…”


One look at Severus, panicked and desperate—and every negative thought Harry had harboured against him in the past weeks evaporated.


“Severus.” He grabbed Severus’ hands and tried to still them. “Severus!”


Harry breathed deeply. There wasn’t any way to break the news to him gently. “Voldemort’s going to choose my … choose the Potters.”


Severus’ face blanched. “You mean … oh, no! I’ve killed you. There won’t be a Harry Potter in my time…”


“But there –” Harry snapped his mouth shut. Ought he mess with time? Severus was looking at him, waiting for more words. The anxiety, the panic—to hell with time travel rules. Time could handle little intrusions like this.


“Don’t worry, I’ll live. I … I don’t know how it happened, but I’m going to live.”


Severus looked at Harry, his eyes wild. “And your parents? Potter? Evans?”


Harry shook his head and turned away. The mere mention of his parents hurt. He swallowed hard, forcing down the bile threatening to leave his stomach. But the harder he tried to suppress everything, the more intense the rush of anger felt pooling in his chest, needing an outlet for explosion.


“I did it,” Severus confessed. “I was the one who told the Dark Lord. I was there –”


Harry flung Severus’ hand away as hard as he could. “I KNOW!” he screamed, “I’ve known since I first met you! Just, stop talking … please…”


Severus shrank away, but he didn’t leave. Harry supposed it was a kind gesture on Severus’ part. But he wasn’t feeling too charitable at the moment. Severus could disappear into thin air and he wouldn’t give a flying fuck about it.


“I apologise, Harry.”


“That’s not enough!” he shouted. And it wasn’t. It would never be enough.


Severus’ eyes darkened, any trace of hope for reconciliation gone. He stood. “I understand. I’ll send you back to your time then.”


Harry watched Severus’ back as he walked toward the door. This was not the proud professor with billowing robes; this was a broken man, someone who had just been told the consequences of his action. This was … his Severus.


“Thank you.”


Severus turned.


“The Severus in my time never apologised.” Harry patted the space next to him. “Come here, sit down. I want to have someone nearby.”


Severus shuffled over, step by step, each more hesitant than the last. When he was close enough, Harry stood and guided Severus down onto the couch. He kept a hand on him, maintaining touch even as his emotions battled fiercely inside.


Gradually, Severus’ body relaxed and he no longer looked like he was about to bolt for the door.


“How old are you, Severus?”


“Twenty.”


“I’m eighteen now.”


Silence.


“I’ll be twenty-one when you’re born. I’m old for my time’s Harry.”


“I like you like this better.”


Severus whirled around. “Like me? How can you like me after all that I’ve done?”


Harry considered what Severus said. Had he spoken too lightly, when what he meant was simply that he preferred this Severus to the Snape of his time? But if Severus was merely the lesser of two evils, then why was he so afraid of him leaving, of losing what guise of a friendship they had? And then there was the element of the time loop. To Harry, Severus was a twenty-year-old plus twenty more years of Professor Snape. Yet reality was suspended in the Room of Requirement. This was a not-yet Snape, someone Harry could—it suddenly struck him—and did, care about.


“For now I do.”


Harry’s declaration emboldened Severus. He snaked an arm around Harry, inviting Harry to rest his head on his shoulder. Harry was starting to feel tired and was only too happy to comply.


“Is this farewell?” Severus asked.


“Huh?”


“The next time we meet, if we meet, I’ll have been responsible for your parents’ death.”


“Hmm,” Harry said, thinking hard. What Severus said was true, and to Severus, this issue was pressing and present. But to Harry, his parents’ death happened so long ago. “I don’t remember my parents.”


“They’re … tolerable.”


“You’re not saying that just because I’m their son, are you? Right, of course you are. You hate them.”


“And they hate me.”


Harry sighed. “So much hate,” he mumbled, and burrowed his face further into Severus. “I had a horrible childhood.”


“Did Dumbledore raise you?”


“No, my relatives did. They didn’t like me. They said wizards are freaks.”


Severus began petting Harry’s shoulder, at first hesitant, but the motion soon became comforting. “James and Lily would make great parents,” Severus said, grudgingly, and after some deliberation.


Harry smiled into Severus’ neck. He remembered both Sirius and Remus telling him how much his parents loved him. “Thank you.”


Harry was half-asleep when Severus’ hand stopped stroking. He shifted and sat upright. “Is something wrong?”


“The Dark Lord … does he continue killing everyone until the war is over?”


“He would. But I’m going to live, remember? Things will be all right, for a while, anyway.”


“For everyone?” Severus asked. “I mean, will I…”


Harry had never seen such vulnerability on Severus’ face. He wasn’t sure if Severus was asking whether he would live or die. It didn’t matter; the looming inquiry was the same.


He looked straight into Severus’ eyes. “You’ll have to make a choice.”


Severus grabbed his left arm and pushed his sleeve up. “There is no choice, Harry. There’s no out. I saw Regulus Black die with my own eyes! I was there. The Dark Lord doesn’t permit traitors.”


“What about someone who can protect you? Dumbledore?” Harry asked. “You’re at Hogwarts right now, aren’t you? You snuck into the castle to summon me into the Room of Requirement, didn’t you?” Severus nodded. “Then go to Dumbledore! He probably knows you’re here anyway.”


“He’ll turn me over to the Ministry,” Severus said, a hollow protest. Harry could tell that even Severus didn’t fully believe that himself.


“But you’ll save me,” Harry said. He attempted a smile. “I think I want to live longer than a year.”


Referencing himself tipped the balance. “All right,” Severus said, his face resolved. “I’ll pay the Headmaster a visit when I leave.”


Harry beamed. He knew what was going to happen. Dumbledore would accept Severus and carry him through the First Voldemort War. And maybe if Harry continued visiting Severus, he could avoid history repeating itself in this timeline…


“Are we all right again, then?” Severus said in a barely audible voice.


Harry thought for a moment. “I guess we are. I’m not angry anymore. Well, I am, but not at you.”


Severus let out a held breath. “Harry Potter, you’re a very generous person.”


Harry supposed he was, to Severus, who managed to worm his way into having a soft spot in Harry’s heart. He placed a hand on Severus’ shoulder, absently rubbing out the tension at the base of his neck.


Severus leaned into the touch at first, but then he pulled away. Harry wondered if he’d done something wrong. Maybe Severus didn’t like people touching him there? But Severus didn’t look offended, just … nervous.


“Do you – do you still like girls?” he stammered.


“What? Huh?”


Severus shrugged. “You’re so sure that the Headmaster will take me in, but I’m not. What if I end up in Azkaban? I don’t want to go without … I’d like to know what it’s like to … do it with someone.”


Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Merlin … Severus wanted sex! Only someone the social skill of Snape would think it appropriate to go from barely mending a friendship to asking for a fuck. Harry knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t help it. So the groping in Severus’ fifth year wasn’t just a fleeting teenage crush.


“Or we don’t have to,” Severus quickly amended, his face bright red. “I … forget that I asked.”


Harry swallowed, forcing his words to be as calm as possible. “W-Well, to answer your question, yes, I do still like girls. But as I already said, I like you.” Please let that be enough. Let Severus drop the topic. Let him talk about something else…


“I … I want to give you something,” Severus said, and reached into his robe and pulled out the Advanced Potions textbook. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He suddenly became very interested in looking at the book.


Toward the front, between two pages were several sheets of parchments—the ones that Hermione had written her questions on. Harry squinted and noticed that Severus had written answers on those pages. “This book contains notes on all of my devised spells, and the answers to your friend’s questions are written on the original parchments. Take this. May you and your friends succeed in what you’re trying to do.”


Harry couldn’t stop himself from a bitter smile. Following the days of his tantrum, he had often regretted tearing the book to shreds. “Thanks,” he said and placed it securely in his pocket. He would have to return the book before the Harry in Severus’ timeline reached sixth year.


Severus looked nervous again. “So what should we do now?”


Harry bit his tongue to keep himself from snapping a rude retort. God, couldn’t Severus take a hint? Maybe he should suggest that they paint daisies on the wall. That’d be something to do. But Harry knew very well that wasn’t the “doing” Severus had in mind.


And if the weird sensation in his groin meant anything, it was telling him that he did want Severus.


“How about just a kiss?” he suggested. “Then you’ll have something to look forward to.”


Severus pounced at the suggestion. He kissed Harry fiercely, hungrily, possessively. This was nothing like stealing kisses with Cho or Ginny. Severus latched onto Harry’s lips and refused to let go. Harry inhaled. Severus smelled like dried Potions ingredients.


Barely anytime had passed when Harry felt a tongue prodding at his mouth, demanding entrance. He smiled into the tongue. If Severus lacked finesse, he certainly made it up with enthusiasm. He parted his lips.


At first, the tongue felt slimy and weird, but it was soon causing incredible sensations on, around, and inside his mouth. Harry drew back for a quick breath, only to have Severus lean forward like a starved predator and recapture his mouth. Arms snaked around him and pressed their bodies together. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. Everything about Severus felt right.


As the kiss went on, he gradually became aware of a bulge digging into his stomach. Thrill tingled down his spine. Severus was hard; Severus wanted him. Within seconds, Severus was gyrating his hips, not-too-subtly trying to find release in Harry. More heat pooled into Harry’s abdomen. He pulled his head back and broke the kiss. They needed to stop, they should stop … but neither wanted to.


Severus clung onto Harry and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, moving his hips against Harry’s with abandon. A tongue darted out to explore Harry’s neck, accompanied by suckling and light biting. Severus was now thrusting, snapping his hips back and forth, doing anything to get more, more…


And then he stilled. Harry couldn’t tell whether Severus came or if he suddenly realised he was doing much more than just kissing. Too many layers of clothing separated them to make out whether Severus’ trousers were damp. All Harry knew was that Severus was breathing heavily against him, and that when he got home, he’d have his own pressing problem to take care of.


When their eyes met, Harry could see a fire there, something he never thought possible with Snape. Harry prayed to God that Severus would remember this moment. Maybe in this world, he would stay loyal to Dumbledore for his sake, for the memory of the kiss.


“Harry, I … you … I…”


Harry drew Severus close. “I know,” he said muffled into Severus’ robes. “Me too.”


-


Life was in full gear for Harry over the next months. Hermione broke through her research barrier with Severus’ notes, and Ron and he developed new battle moves that would make Professor Flitwick proud. They worked on creating new spells in the morning and sparred in the afternoon. During evenings, they would either relax or track down leads on the whereabouts of Horcruxes when they got wind of something new.


Several nights a week, Harry would meet with Severus who, now working at Hogwarts, would summon him. The years sped by in Severus’ timeline.


Harry rested his head on Severus’ abdomen as they lay on the four poster bed, a now-permanent fixture in the Room of Requirement. “When I come to Hogwarts, be nice to me, okay?” he said. His counterpart in Severus’ time was months away from entering Hogwarts.


Severus ran his hand through Harry’s hair. “That depends on whether you’ll show up drunk with the glory of your fame.”


Harry shot up. “Severus! I don’t like being famous. I never did! It was you who got it into your head that I’m some kind of celebrity expecting special treatment.”


“You’re getting plenty of special treatment from me now.”


Harry stuck out his tongue, delighted to see an answering glint of amusement in Severus’ eyes. “Don’t you dare do anything to the Harry in your time. The world’s not kind to pedophiles, you know.”


Severus choked. “Harry! When we started we were practically the same age –”


“I know. I’m just suddenly feeling jealous of myself in your time, that’s all.” Harry smiled. “Let’s talk about something else. So what’s Fred and George like?”


“Horrifying.”


Harry’s smile broadened, and judging by the way Severus was looking at him, he could tell that Severus did not find the twins remotely entertaining. “You can’t deny that they’ve got talent. And I’ll let you in on a secret: they’re going to use their potions skills to open up a joke shop after they leave Hogwarts.”


“Joke shop? May God protect us all…”


“Quit with the melodrama. You know you like it when students learn from you.”


Severus snorted. “I’d like it more if they learnt Defense Against the Dark Arts from me. But if the rumours are correct, then I’ll be stuck teaching Potions for at least another year.”


Harry suddenly remembered what happened in his time when Snape finally got the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Despite himself, he trembled. “Severus,” he whispered. “You’re much better off teaching Potions. None of the Defense professors have lasted more than a year. The position must be cursed or something.”


“If the hearsay going around the staff room is correct, then Albus plans to hire a Master for next year. I’m afraid he possesses the knowledge and skill to last more than a year.”


Harry froze. The incoming Defense professor, the one who would be teaching Harry when he was a First Year. “Do you mean –”


“Quirrell is his name. Renowned researcher and adventurer who specialises in Dark creatures of Albania. He already interviewed with Albus. The Headmaster is keen on hiring him onto the staff for next year.”


“Severus, have you met this Quirrell?”


“I will. Term ends in another month. I believe there’ll be the usual summer staff meetings when the students leave.”


Harry grabbed Severus’ arms. “Promise me, promise me you’ll occlude your mind every time Quirrell is nearby. He can’t find out about us, about me. Can’t!”


“Do you think me incompetent?” Severus snapped. “No one has found out about us yet. Not even Albus.”


“But I’ll be at Hogwarts next year, and Harry Potter will be the centre of attention! Severus, don’t talk with him, don’t go near Quirrell, please…”


Severus pulled Harry forward and silenced him with a kiss. “Not a word,” he said in between kisses. “I suspect Quirrell’s in league with the Dark.” Severus’ teeth nibbled lightly on Harry’s lower lip. “Dabbling with Dark creatures.” Lips moved down Harry’s jaw, throat… “But he can’t do anything –” On the collarbone… “– not with Albus around.”


Oh, he could. Harry knew Severus’ tenuous position in the First War, how he barely survived under serving two Masters. Severus had no idea … he would let something slip and endanger himself, even if the “something” was as minor as treating the first year Harry Potter fairly.


Harry gasped, not from the kisses, but from the cold realisation that Severus could not have any prior knowledge about Harry Potter and live.


“Severus…” Harry whispered, clutching to his lover.


Severus responded by trailing more kisses down Harry’s neck. In this timeline, it must have been weeks since Severus had last seen Harry, maybe even months.


There was no guarantee that when Harry next visited, it would be before Quirrell’s arrival.


Harry forced his mind to clear and let Severus make love to him. He let Severus uncover him, then cover him again with hands and mouth over every bit of revealed skin. He moaned when Severus’ hand found his cock and began stroking. No matter how many times they’d done this, it still felt so good.


With his other hand, Severus loosened his trousers and freed his own cock from the confinement of clothing. He lay down, side by side with Harry, and guided Harry’s hand to his cock.


Harry stroked, languidly at first, but soon was moving as fast as Severus. He felt every familiar bump and vein. This was his Severus, hardening with each stroke, thrusting into his hand. Precome gathered on the tip of Severus’ cock; gently, Harry pushed back the foreskin and smeared the fluid down the shaft.


Severus’ hand was moving even faster now. Harry panted and tried hard to think about ice storms and Filch dressed in fluorescent pink knickers, anything to stifle his own arousal. His free hand flailed about, catching the edge of his robe that was bunched up in a wrinkled ball next to him. Severus twisted the head of his cock during an upward tug… “Oooh…!” Harry moaned, digging his nails into the robe, into what felt like a pocket. His own hips were thrusting up to meet Severus’ strokes, each skin-on-skin contact bringing him closer to climax. Filch in pink knickers, he mentally chanted. Filch in pink knickers…


After another minute or so, Severus’ body went stiff—the only signal he gave—and Harry’s hand was coated in come. “Harry…” Severus gasped.


Harry wanted to call out Severus’ name, to choke out that he loved him. But the threat of Quirrell was still very fresh on his mind. Taking advantage of Severus’ temporary pause in the wake of his orgasm, Harry pulled away, snapped out his wand from the pocket, and aimed it at Severus.


“Obliviate!”


For several seconds, Severus looked confused, and Harry hastened to spell away the semen and zipped up Severus’ trousers. The bed in the room was beginning to disintegrate. Harry grabbed his clothing and quickly dressed himself, his fading erection digging uncomfortably into his pants, tenting his trousers. Within seconds, the bed disappeared.


It took Severus close to a minute to gather himself, his eyes eventually landing on Harry. “You! What are you doing here?”


Harry’s heart turned into ice. Severus was addressing him as a student, just another rule breaker. And why wouldn’t he? There was no longer a “them.” There was no longer a four-poster bed.


Harry ruffled his hair to hide his scar and turned his gaze to the floor. “Professor Snape, sir, I was just trying to find a quiet place to study.”


Even without looking, Harry could tell that Severus wasn’t convinced. He hated the familiar feeling of hair rising at the back of his neck. He was once again a nobody in Severus’ eyes. A student. An inferior.


“Ten points from Gryffindor for lying,” Severus said.


Harry couldn’t resist looking up. “H-How do you know I’m a Gryffindor?”


Severus pointed to the Gryffindor-coloured couch. “Because those are Ravenclaw colours,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t play dumb, you’re a Gryffindor.”


Harry sucked in a breath. This was Severus, the same one who at fourteen had said the same thing to him. Tears pricked at his eyes. He couldn’t stand being in Severus’ presence anymore, not when he had no recollection of their years together. And so he ran, dashed for the door, and let the magic of the Room of Requirement transport him home.


-


There was no ripple in time, no travelling between timelines, no differing realities. There was always just one Harry Potter, one Severus Snape, and one Room of Requirement. When eleven-year-old Harry Potter entered Hogwarts in two months, his Potions teacher would be the same nasty Professor Snape that Harry had always had. But this Professor Snape was still Severus, still someone with a dry sense of humour and who had a sweet tooth for cockroach clusters; he was still the object of Harry’s affection, still Dumbledore’s murderer, still Harry’s lover, still the person he hated most second to Voldemort…


Magic dumped Harry into the living room of Grimmauld Place. His knees gave out, and before Harry could feel his body crash to the floor, blackness overtook him.



II.


Harry had never argued so passionately for anything. At 24, he thought teenage idealism had exited his system. But here he was, standing in front of the Wizengamot, presenting his petition to stop all uses of Dementors in Azkaban and in executions.


“…the use of the Dementor’s Kiss is nothing short of robbing a witch or wizard of basic humanity, turning that person into a physical shell, ripe for outside manipulation. This is just as despicable as Voldemort using his army of Inferi during the Second War. The Wizarding World must put an end to hiring Dementors to guard Azkaban and using them to execute the Kiss.” Harry looked up from his prepared speech. “And this is why I implore you, respected witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, to rule in favour of banning the use of Dementors once and for all,” he concluded, folded his notes and stuffed them inside his pocket, and waited for the elders and Chief Warlock to ask him questions.


A wizard with greying hair and a long beard spoke, “Mr. Potter, I understand your reasoning behind wanting to see the Dementors banished, and as the Boy Who Defeated You-Know-Who, you certainly have a right to initiate such a change. But why do so now, right before the sentencing of Severus Snape, a known Death Eater?”


Harry’s ears rang at the sound of Severus’ name. Although he had initiated the petition specifically to save his life, he was careful not to mention Severus once in his speech.


“Elder … Kirkland?” Harry guessed. The wizard nodded. “I brought this up precisely because Severus Snape is due for sentencing in two days. I have no doubt that with his crimes, the Wizengamot is going to sentence him to the Dementor’s Kiss. So what better time for me to present my petition than when I can halt a possible execution?”


“Severus Snape is the last remaining Death Eater yet to be sentenced. Why not have him Kissed and then implement your petition, Mr. Potter, so we can usher in a new judicial system with a clean slate?” the Chief Warlock suggested.


Harry thought hard even as his heart sank. He knew that the entire Wizarding World would sooner see Severus Kissed than to consider alternate methods of punishment for him. But Harry just couldn’t help shuddering each time at the thought of a soulless Severus.


The Chief Warlock was well respected, and were he not Harry Potter, he doubted the Wizengamot would so easily agree to consider ridding the Ministry’s employment roster of Dementors. To push his position further would alienate him from the Council; any sensible wizard would back down and accept the compromise. Yet this was Severus’ life they were talking about…


“I understand, sir, but I … I don’t want Severus Snape Kissed.”


As soon as the words left Harry’s mouth, commotion broke out inside the courtroom. Numerous people voiced their outrage from the balcony. Harry shouted over the noise, “I … there’s been too much death already! I don’t want to see another, even if it’s a Death Eater’s.”


His heartfelt plea seemed to have convinced half of the Wizengamot, while the other half shouted back with claims of crime and punishment and of justice. Witches and wizards stood from their seats to argue with one another. Within seconds, the room was utter chaos.


“Silence!” the Chief Warlock yelled, bringing down his gavel in forceful strikes. “SILENCE!”


The Chief Warlock waited until the courtroom was so quiet that anyone could hear a wand drop. “We will reconvene tomorrow and vote on Mr. Potter’s petition. In the meantime, court is adjourned.”


Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. He bowed in thanks to the Wizengamot for hearing his petition, and quickly exited.


He made one detour before returning home. Brushing his fringe aside to reveal his scar, Harry left Level 10 of the Ministry of Magic and descended into the holding cells where he knew Severus was kept. Any guard he ran into recognised him as Harry Potter; no one gave him any trouble for wanting to see Severus Snape.



The holding cell level of the Ministry was dark and humid; the air felt too heavy for breathing. Harry had never been to Azkaban, but he had the distinct feeling that this place was intentionally built to duplicate the dreaded prison, an Azkaban simulation that would torture prisoners equally well while relieving already incompetent Ministry workers the added task of transporting prisoners for trials and executions. Harry grumbled. Of all the administrative red tapes to cut, it had to be something so idiotically insignificant.


But this worked to his advantage today. Harry located the correct cell and—as if on cue—a Dementor floated toward him. “Leave!” Harry told the Dementor, which, half-comprehending, kept even closer to the cell. “Go away! I need to talk to the prisoner!”


Provoked, the Dementor glided toward Harry. Screams and images of death flashed through his mind, but he’d seen too much horror in the war to flinch at mere memories. He pulled out his wand and yelled, “Expecto Patronum.” Prongs appeared and goaded the Dementor away with its antlers.


“And don’t come back!” Harry screamed after it, every word a threat.


Securing his wand back into its holster, Harry peered through the heavy metal bars separating him from the prisoner inside. The lighting was dim, but he could pick out the shape of Severus from anywhere, even as he was, hunched in a corner, hugging his knees, visibly determined not to look Harry’s direction.


Harry tapped lightly on a metal bar. “Se … Snape,” he called.


Dull eyes turned toward him. Harry couldn’t tell if Severus recognised his visitor. He inwardly cursed the Ministry. It was obvious the Dementor never ceased haunting him since his capture two weeks ago.


Instinctively, Harry knelt down so he was at eye level with Severus. From this angle, he could see him better. Severus was a complete mess. His mat of hair was dirty and disheveled, his face dark with stubbles that were growing too fast to be unnoticeable, too slow to form a beard. His hands around his knees were like two clumsy claws—fingers once so elegant were now crooked and knobby around the knuckles. Severus didn’t smell too good either. Even from more than five feet away, Harry could tell that Severus hadn’t been given a proper wash in the fourteen days he’d been here.


Just when Harry believed Severus was going to look away, he spoke: “Potter.”


“Severus…” Harry said, pleaded—to no one in particular but feeling pain in his heart for the atrocious condition Severus was put in. “H-Hello.”


“Come to gloat?” Severus said, his words slow and monotonic.


“What – no. No! I’m … just visiting,” Harry said. “Just wanted to see you.”


Severus continued dully, “So what have they decided? Severus Snape, Dumbledore’s murderer, active Death Eater … Dementor’s Kiss, no doubt. I wonder why they haven’t already done so. So simple, just unlock the door and send it in. There’s one always around. The one you chased away. I would be soulless in minutes…”


Harry stared at Severus in horror. There was not a shred of pride or dignity left in the man before him. It was as if he was visiting someone polyjuiced into Severus Snape, adopting only the physical appearance but not the sarcastic wit and the sharp tongue. The Severus he knew—whether as lover or enemy—never had so little life in him.


“Severus?” Harry prodded.


Slowly, as if moving a heap of lead and not his head, Severus laid his eyes on Harry again.


“They’re not abusing you, are they?”


Severus’ mouth moved in shapes that Harry couldn’t decipher. But there was a change in his face—ever so slightly, the features on Severus’ face scrunched into a look that Harry interpreted as disdain.


The muttering eventually slowed and Severus was back to resting his head on his knees, aloof, face emotionless, and unmoving.


“Severus, talk to me. Say something, please?” Harry tried again, his voice almost a sob. “Can I get you something? Anything? I’ll come back with whatever you want tomorrow. I promise.”


It was another eternity’s time before Severus’ head rose. Dark eyes stared at Harry, dull, but just as inscrutable as ever. Harry wondered if he had spoken too much, if Severus had lost the capacity to understand complex speech. But he’d made a promise to return tomorrow, and Merlin be cursed if he couldn’t pry from Severus what he could bring him, just to ease his affliction a bit.


Severus’ eyes suddenly glinted. It was fleeting, but Harry didn’t miss it. Was it fear? Uncertainty? Or even desire?


“If you would be so kind, Potter, though you don’t have a reason to do so. I certainly wouldn’t if I were you…”


Harry waited, every slowly spoken syllable grated on his nerves. Severus was drifting off into introspection and self-talk again.


“Harry Potter…” Snape repeated, his eyes drifting off to the far wall. “Something to bring me. You, Potter, want to bring me something…”


“Yes, Severus?” he prompted, choking back tears.


Severus’ voice was a whisper, timid like a child’s. “Would you bring me some cockroach clusters?”


Harry’s arms and knees suddenly lost strength and he crashed onto the floor. He let out a wail, the tears he tried so hard to hold back rolled down his cheeks. Before long, he was hugging his own knees, smearing and blurring his glasses. He didn’t try to stop, didn’t want to. All the self-control in the world couldn’t hold him back from breaking down.


He only hoped that Severus didn’t misinterpret his tears as a refusal.


-


Harry walked into the Ministry of Magic, a giant bag of cockroach clusters in hand. The simple act of buying the sweets was surreal. He hadn’t been to Honeydukes for five years, not since he stopped visiting Severus in the Room of Requirement. Ambrosius Flume still recognised him and greeted him with a smile. “Here for some cockroach clusters, Harry?” he asked, just like five years ago.


In the holding cell, Harry couldn’t help but feel that he was the human trying to bribe the puppy with treats. Severus looked much better today—the Dementor hadn’t returned. But he was being stubbornly unresponsive.


With the sack of sweets in one hand extended as far as he could in between metal bars, Harry tried everything from saying Severus’ name repeatedly to describing how good the cockroach cluster tasted, all to no avail as a motionless Severus Snape sat hunched and knee-hugging in the same dark corner of the cell.


Frustrated with the lack of response, Harry huffed and retracted his hand, pulled out his wand, and Apparated into the cell. He supposed there were wards against Apparation out of the cell, but he would figure out how to do that later.


He approached Severus with care, knees slightly bent, steps slow, one hand extended with the peace offering of sweets. The memory of the Dursleys’ telly flashed across his mind: trapped animal, approach slowly. How ironic, here he was again, trying to get near Severus just like years ago.


Severus was looking at Harry by this point, the familiar awareness and intelligence once again present in his eyes, though his hands were still resolutely crossed in front of his knees, refusing to take the sweets. Harry hesitated. He was close enough to touch Severus, but he didn’t want to pry at Severus’ hand by force. Instead, he reached inside the sack and popped a cockroach cluster into his mouth. “See, no ’oison,” Harry said while munching. “Ta’te ’ood, duncha want ’ome?”


Severus’ next move could only be described as a viper’s strike. Before Harry knew it, his hand was emptied of the bag of sweets, and Severus was back in his hunched position, right arm still wrapped around his knees, but with a bag of cockroach clusters in his left hand.


“Mm-hey!” Harry gulped down the content in his mouth. “I got enough for us to share.”


“Living off your family riches so you don’t have to work a single day in your life? Or did you get the sweets for free because you’re the famous Harry Potter?”


Harry wondered why he ever thought Severus had lost the ability to make him feel insignificant. He glowered. “I brought you sweets to make you feel better. If you’re not going to thank me, at least leave off the insults!”


Severus didn’t respond, but finally reached inside the bag to take a cockroach cluster. Harry watched him in wonder. Severus closed his eyes, his expression completely unguarded, when he popped the first cluster into his mouth. He chewed deliberately, as if to suck out every bit of flavour, to make the sweet last as long as possible. The perpetual scowl relaxed into an almost-smile. Lines were gone from his face, replaced by puffed cheeks as Severus shoved in more clusters. He kept eating until the entire content of the bag was gone. Harry looked at the empty bag and regretted not buying more.


Severus was still again, limbs returning to their default position. The sound of munching and swallowing gone, Harry now became aware of how loud the occasional scurrying of critters along the cell floor was.


“Thank you.” It was the slightest whisper, soft, with no malicious edge behind the words.


Harry nodded. “Any time.” He settled next to Severus, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him. “Would you want me to bring you more tomorrow? I can get a bigger sack.”


Severus tensed. “I’m getting the Dementor’s Kiss tomorrow. I won’t be alive to eat anything.”


The sentencing. The Kiss. In the flurry of Honeydukes and cockroach clusters, Harry had completely forgot. “I’ve petitioned the Wizengamot to abolish the Dementor’s Kiss. They’re going to make a decision later today. You won’t get Kissed. It’ll be illegal come tomorrow.”


Severus barked a dry laugh. “You would have to be Merlin incarnate to convince anyone I shouldn’t be Kissed.” He turned to face Harry. “Why are you rallying for me all of a sudden? I seem to recall your fervent desire to splice me with Sectumsempra the last time we met.”


“Why did you take the Dark Mark? Why follow Voldemort?” Harry countered. “We all have things we don’t want to explain to others.”


Severus snorted. “You’re wrong. I have no qualms about my allegiance to the Dark Lord. I took the Mark because I could.”


“Because they offered you a future,” Harry recited. “Camaraderie, security, the promise never to be humiliated again…”


Next to him, Severus’ entire body jumped. “Who told you that?”


Harry continued, “It was your choice. No one’s to blame. And the inconvenience of Dumbledore’s prejudice aside, you were quite happy with your decision.”


Severus grabbed Harry’s shoulders. “What game are you playing, Potter?” he snarled. “Did the Wizengamot show you my memories? The ones they force extracted from me? Which ones? Who are you? What have you come here for?”


Harry neither flinched nor shrank back from Severus’ grip. He was thinking instead how good it felt to be held by Severus again, even if his shoulders were screaming in pain, on the verge of breaking. “You had a friend. He … you told him all that.”


Severus’ grip loosened, but he didn’t let go. “A friend, you say? There seemed to have been someone, but I don’t remember.”


Harry shook his head. “Don’t bother trying to remember. Think about now. I … I want us to be friends.”


This time, when Severus dug his untrimmed nails into Harry’s shoulders, he screamed.


“You’ll never be a friend, Potter. Bane of my existence, son of my enemy, yes. But don’t think we’ve developed positive rapport simply because you brought me sweets.” Abruptly, Severus retracted his hands.


Harry rubbed at his shoulders. He’d have to check for bruises when he got home. The pain faded after a while, and he settled for tipping his head back against the cell’s wall, breathing hard to calm himself down. The silence between them was tense, but not unbearable.


Harry was about to check if Severus had fallen asleep when he spoke, “Did my killing the Headmaster not affect you?”


“Don’t mention him!” Harry snapped. “Of all the things you could talk about, you have to raise this one sore point –”


“One sore point, Potter? I think not. I seem to recall a lot of sore points between us. What about Black? You’re always intent on blaming me for his death. Or your parents? Surely you’re aware of the part I played by now. And while we’re at it, perhaps I should claim responsibility for Mr. Diggory’s death as well? After all, he died because of a Death Eater’s plot –”


Harry covered his ears. “Stop it! Stop talking!”


“I will not stop, you imbecile. I have yet to bring up my grievances against you. Stealing potions ingredients? Embarking on reckless adventures that put you and your friends in danger while the entire Order lost sleep because of you, multiple times? Freeing a Ministry-wanted criminal? Cheating using my textbook? And trying to curse me with my notes? Being so indiscrete about your search for Horcruxes that by the time the Dark Lord fell, the entire Wizarding World knew of your mission?” He paused for a breath. “You’re a pathetic, useless, bumbling, immature, selfish brat who survived only because of your stroke of luck. Not to mention how you’re a general waste of my time, a horrible student, a snoop who doesn’t know the definition of the word ‘privacy,’ and even now doesn’t know the definition of giving a man some peace of mind on his last day alive.”


Harry stared at Severus, open-mouthed. He had dropped his hands at some point, as there was really no way of blocking Severus’ voice from such close proximity. He had a feeling that Severus would say more had he not worn himself out from the sudden excitement, not that he wanted him to continue. No, every word Severus said so far had stung. Gone were the days of shy smiles and half-spoken “I love you’s” and of a Severus not yet so embittered with the disappointments of life. Harry kept staring, the image of Severus now blurred with unshed tears.


“I wish you’d remember…” Harry whispered, more to himself than to Severus. “I wish you’d remember…”


“Oh, I remember very well. Every crime against me from your father’s days on –”


“Not that!” Harry screamed. “I wish you wouldn’t act like there’s absolutely nothing good about me, or about yourself, as if someone had Obliviated every single happy moment of your life and left you with nothing but negative views about me!”


“As my dying request to you, Potter, try to make some sense when you talk.”


Harry closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten. He didn’t know why he was willing to try to work things out with Severus—all he knew was that he would do everything he could to try, even if trying was taking more patience than Harry had. He opened his eyes.


“Let’s start over. We were doing fine in the beginning. You liked the cockroach clusters, and I liked being here –” There was a strange gleam in Severus’ eyes when Harry said that. “– so let’s pretend the last five minutes didn’t happen, all right?”


Harry took Severus’ silence as a yes. “So we’ve established that we hate each other. Okay. That’s not news, I’ve had five years to deal with it. But have you ever thought that there could be more? That there might be good moments between us that you’re not remembering?”


“No.”


Harry let out a frustrated scream. “Severus, can’t you at least try?”


Severus was looking at Harry with a strange expression, like he was appraising a curious artifact. “You insist on calling me Severus. Why is that?” he mused.


“Because that’s your name?”


“No, that’s not it…” Severus narrowed his eyes. “And your knowledge about why I joined the Dark Lord. Why, it’s almost as if I’ve been Obliviated –”


“That’s impossible!” Harry shouted automatically, guiltily, and judging by the gleam in Severus’ eyes, a bit too obviously. “I-I mean … how could they? How could anyone? Wouldn’t the Ministry find out?” Damn, Severus wasn’t believing a word he was saying. Well, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon… “But let’s say you were Obliviated, hypothetically. If, hypothetically, you’re not remembering because someone Obliviated you, what would you do to that person, hypothetically?”


Severus stared pointedly at Harry for a few seconds, then withdrew his gaze. Good, maybe Severus didn’t make the connection between him and the obliviation. “I would want to know why,” Severus said. “But at this point, I don’t suppose it matters.”


It matters to me, Harry wanted to say. But that wouldn’t be appropriate. He forged on. “So, yes, there might be something you’ve forgot. Let’s deal with what you do remember. Um, for the things you said about me, I apologise.” Harry added, “But not for everything. I’m never going to apologise for rescuing Sirius, because that was the right thing to do. Or for wishing you dead hundreds of times over while I was in school, because you really are a git.”


That earned him an almost-smirk from Severus. Harry waited. The almost-smirk faded.


“If you’re waiting for me to reciprocate, I advise you to give up now.”


Self-righteous bastard, Harry inwardly seethed. Teamwork was definitely not a strength Severus possessed. Nor was cooperation. Nor conflict resolution.


“Interpret this how you will, Potter. It was in my best interest to kill Albus.”


“You, you self-righteous –”


“Bastard? While I’m not proud of my parentage, my birth was quite legitimate, I assure you.”


Harry wanted to bang—no, crash—his head against the solid-stone wall. Calm down, Harry. He heaved, closed his eyes, and resolved to count to a thousand. Severus left him to the task, returning to his hunched position.


He was at four hundred and seventy-eight when Severus tapped his shoulder. He opened his eyes, lips still moving in silent syllables. Four hundred and seventy-nine. Four hundred and eighty. Four hundred and eighty-one, four hundred and eighty-two…


“Why are you still here?”


Four hundred and eighty-three, four hundred and eighty-four, four hundred and eighty-five, four hundred and eighty-six…


“Perhaps you do need things repeated multiple times to get it through that skull of yours. If you’re waiting for me to apologise –”


“I don’t want your apology!” Harry screamed. Four hundred and … where was he at? Damn, he needed to start over. One, two, three, four, five, six…


“Of course you don’t,” Severus said sarcastically. “Because you find my company so enjoyable as to warrant passing time by counting numbers.”


Fifteen? Sixteen? Argh! One, two, three, four…


A hand covered his mouth, forcing his lips to become still. “Why?”


The counting voice inside Harry’s head quieted. Why indeed? He closed his eyes. Because love was like that. Love was trying everything possible to understand, to mend things, to forgive wrongs, to hold onto the good. Even if the other person didn’t remember a thing.


Harry ghosted a kiss on Severus’ fingers before the hand pulled away.


“Because I love you,” Harry mumbled too quietly, too quickly and purposely slurring his words. He Apparated back to the other side of the bars—no ward stopped him—and fled the holding cells.


-


Harry walked into the main part of the Ministry to news of the latest verdict. The Wizengamot decided unanimously to ban the Dementors, but only after Severus Snape’s execution.


-


He didn’t go home that night, neither to The Burrow nor to Grimmauld Place. He wandered the streets of London, simultaneously getting lost and ending up in the same streets. He walked for hours, and then walked some more. When the sun was about to rise, Harry was staggering and tripping over his own feet, his head heavy and foggy and too tired for coherent reasoning. He had only one thought in his mind: to get back into the Ministry of Magic.


He didn’t know how his feet found their way to the Muggle phone booth, or how his fingers were nimble enough to dial the code to enter the Ministry. He didn’t know why so many people decided not to stop him upon glancing at his forehead. He didn’t remember making his way into the level of the holding cells, or how he managed to Apparate into Severus’ cell without splinching himself.


Severus was sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern. Harry sank onto his knees and crawled his way over to Severus. He fell asleep snuggled close to him.


-


He wasn’t quite awake yet when he felt fingers threading through his hair. The touch was tender, but cautious, just like how Severus used to touch him. Harry made a noise in his throat and moved closer to the touch. Startled, the hand left and Harry fell asleep again, his head feeling very cold.


In the haze of his half-conscious mind, Harry thought he heard a sigh and a voice whispering his name—“Harry,” not “Potter”—calling him an idiot, a horrible liar. But he was too tired to respond and drifted off to dream some more.


After who knew how long, he finally found the strength to open his eyes. Black eyes were already gazing at him. They were no longer dull, and for a second, not guarded at all. But as soon as he managed a smile, the familiar mask was back on Severus’ face. He felt glasses being shoved into his hand. Grateful, he put them on, and the image of an unkempt Severus came into focus.


Harry sat up, reality crashing onto him like a wave. “So this is it, huh?” he said sadly. “The last prisoner to be executed by the Kiss. You’re going to be famous in the history books.”


Severus didn’t reply. He asked instead, “Mr. Potter, why did you come back?”


“Stop calling me that! You called me Harry when I was sleeping. I heard you!”


Severus pressed on, “Why come back? Why me?”


Harry thought hard to find the right words. Should he tell Severus about their past, even though Severus remembered nothing of it? Or should he just give some generic explanation about war and maturity and how he was too tired to care who was on whose side anymore? Nothing seemed appropriate. He opened his mouth only to close it again.


Instead, he sat up, placed his hands on Severus’ shoulders, and very deliberately, leaned forward. Harry didn’t dare linger. He stayed long enough just to capture Severus’ lips with his, to feel the stubbles scratching against his cheek. Severus didn’t kiss back, but he didn’t pull away either. Harry felt like he was kissing a petrified victim, only this victim happened to be the lover he’d tried hard to not think about for more than five years.


Harry pulled away to find eyes staring intensely at him. He looked back, holding Severus’ gaze. “I wish you could remember what you’ve forgot.” He motioned between them. “Then this would all make sense. Then you wouldn’t be all formal and proper and hate me so much.”


“Hate you? No, Potter, no longer hate.” Severus said. “Not when you came back after I told you I’m of no use to you –”


When you kept visiting even after I taught you everything I knew about the Second International Edict.


“– I spoke too soon yesterday. You said you wanted to be a friend. I am … amenable to that.”


I started thinking of you as … a friend.


“You didn’t leave disgusted after what I said about you –”


And then you didn’t leave disgusted when I started showing you some of my more nasty curses.


“– truth be told, no one, with the exception of Albus, had willingly spent so much time with me.”


No one would stay around to be with me for this long.


Harry blinked. And blinked some more. He was seeing double visions of past and present, like a déjà vu. He was wrong, had always been wrong. Severus and Snape weren’t two people. They were the same. It had been five years, but Harry was falling in love with Severus all over again. Maybe he had never quite fallen out of love with him in the first place.


“I love you, Severus,” Harry said, loud enough for Severus to hear this time. “I know it makes no sense to you, but I love you.”


Instead of shrinking back, Severus reached out a hand to tip Harry’s chin up. Harry let out a breath of relief. At least Severus didn’t look scandalised or appalled at his confession.


“No, it doesn’t make sense,” Severus said, his thumb lightly grazing all over Harry’s jaw. “But just as I know there’s something I’m not remembering, I know I have at one point regarded you with more than contempt or indifference. Perhaps even with affection.”


Severus remembers, Harry thought. Not physical memories, but emotional memories, feelings that even Obliviate couldn’t erase. Harry was glad, thankful that an act of impulse on his part didn’t wipe out all evidence of their relationship that supposedly took place fifteen years ago.


At length, he distanced himself from Severus, his stomach queasy with nervous tension. He didn’t want to say it, but he needed to tell Severus. “If I tell you that you were Obliviated, and that I was the one who did it, can you … not hate me?”


Severus smirked. Smirked! “I’ve reckoned as much. You’re an impossible liar, Potter. With all the hints you’ve dropped about oblivation, you may as well have told me the truth two days ago.”


Harry’s face reddened, and the more he willed the heat in his face to go away, the more even the tip of his ears felt warm.


“As I said,” Severus continued, his voice soft and without malice, “at this point, it doesn’t matter anymore.”


As if on cue, the door separating the holding cells from the rest of the Ministry of Magic creaked open. Harry’s heart raced. They were here to take Severus away!


“Severus, let me Apparate you out. The wards have let me come in and out freely so far, maybe they’ll let me take someone along too.”


Severus sneered. “If you think the Ministry hadn’t already done everything to prevent me from escaping, then why would I still be here? It’s no use.”


“But … but –”


“Harry! There you are. We were worried about you when you didn’t come home last night!”


Hermione?


Harry whirled around. There, standing not five feet away on the other side of the cell, were his two best friends.


Ron grinned. “I was right. I told Hermione you’d spend the night with Snape, but she only looked all embarrassed when I brought it up … oh, hello Professor Snape!”


Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Severus glaring daggers at Ron. “I didn’t ‘spend the night’ the way you implied, Ron,” Harry hastened to explain. “Just got tired and decided to hole up here.”


Ron shrugged. “Lovers’ reunion, all the same to me –”


“Ron!” both Harry and Hermione shouted. Ron was treated to an elbow to the stomach by Hermione as she whispered, too loudly, “Snape doesn’t remember!”


The blush that was fading returned full force to Harry’s face, ears, and neck. Not too far from him, Severus looked like he wanted to bite someone’s head off. He fervently hoped Severus didn’t have his in mind.


“Look, we aren’t helping,” Hermione finally said, though not without amusement in her tone. She pulled out a scroll and a large piece of parchment. “Harry, we’re here to show you these.”


“What are they?” he asked as he took the items and began unrolling the scroll. “Oh.”


The actual text of the scroll was short. It was a revised version of the Dementor banning petition Harry had presented in front of the Wizengamot two days ago, rescripted in legislative format, with all the “I think” and “I want” edited out, and written in Hermione’s handwriting. She had added a line to the petition: “With enough signatures, this petition shall become binding law, effective immediately.”


Underneath the petition text were row after row of signatures. Harry was surprised how many names he recognised: Hermione’s and Ron’s at the top; most of the Wizengamot members, including the Chief Warlock; past and current staff of Hogwarts; witches and wizards Harry went to school with or had fought side-by-side with in the war … the list seemed endless. Harry had to drop the beginning part of the scroll onto the floor in order to unroll the rest of it.


“Only your signature is missing,” Hermione said. “Go ahead, sign it, and the petition will take effect immediately.”


Harry tapped his wand to the scroll. A glowing light emitted from the tip of the wand, etching his name onto the parchment: Harry Potter, petition initiator. The scroll disappeared.


“Hey, where’d it go?”


“To my dad,” Ron said. “He’s going to personally deliver it to the Minister. It’s a law now. No more Dementors.”


Harry grinned. “Does this mean Severus –”


“Look at the piece of parchment,” Hermione said, a sly smile on her face. “I’ll explain the details later.”


Harry’s eyes grew wider as he read. The parchment was another petition—no, an edict—demanding the exoneration of Severus Snape. “In case of my death,” it read, “and in the case that Severus Snape is linked to my cause of death, I submit to the Wizengamot that he be cleared of all guilt…” The edict went on, but Harry wasn’t reading the words anymore.


At the bottom of the parchment, it was signed: A. Dumbledore.


“You found this? Is this Dumbledore’s will?” Harry asked.


“No, and no,” Hermione answered, smile still on her face. “Let’s just say that the Wizengamot and the Department of Magical Artifacts spent the entire morning trying to disprove the document’s authenticity, but couldn’t. This was genuinely signed by Dumbledore.”


“But … how?”


“Room of Requirement, mate,” Ron said. “I was in McGonagall’s office asking her to sign the petition while Hermione went into the Room of Requirement to obtain Dumbledore’s signature.”


“Did you travel back in time?” Harry asked. He knew the Room of Requirement could do strange things. “But how did you persuade Professor Dumbledore to sign what’s basically his death warrant?”


“No time travel,” Hermione said. “And all I can say is that Dumbledore signed it, last night, within the Ministry’s allotted time before a signature expires.”


Harry hoped he didn’t look as confused as he felt. But this was Hermione, who knew the entirety of Hogwarts, A History and who figured out how to brew Polyjuice Potion in second year. He supposed there would always be things about Hermione that he didn’t understand.


Severus approached him from behind, bringing him back to matters at hand. “Does this mean –” Harry looked at Severus, then at Ron and Hermione. “Severus…”


Hermione tapped an odd looking item on the cell door, and the metal bars dissolved. “Full exoneration of the murder. Ron’s here in place of Mr. Weasley as witness and escort. Professor Snape’s free to go.”


Harry felt his knees give and immediately, Severus’ hand was on his arm to steady him. But soon he wasn’t sure who was supporting whom. Severus’ entire body was trembling, and Harry subtly leaned over so Severus could transfer some of his weight onto him.


“Let’s get out of here,” Harry said. “A night in this cell is already too long for me. This place is beginning to smell like livestock.”


“Goats, to be specific,” Ron said. “And it’s not you, mate. You don’t reek of goats.”


“Of course not, there aren’t any goats here,” Harry snapped. Next to him, Hermione burst out laughing, and behind him, Severus snorted.


Harry had a feeling that even Severus understood what Hermione did, and all three of them were hiding it from him. But at this moment, he really didn’t care.



When they got into the lift, Hermione pressed the “8” button.


“Hermione, the atrium isn’t on the eighth floor,” Harry pointed out.


“I know,” she said, her voice wavering. She bit her lower lip. “There’s a place we need to take Professor Snape.”


“Where?”


“The place to strip me of my magic,” Severus said, his tone nonchalant.


“What do you mean –”


“I assume the document Miss Granger obtained from A. Dumbledore –” Hermione smiled and Ron snickered at Severus’ emphasis on the name. Harry pretended not to notice. “– absolved me only for that particular murder.” He extended his left arm and rolled up his sleeve, showing a faded Dark Mark. “Don’t forget. I was also indicted as a Death Eater.”


“And all non-executed Death Eaters are to be turned into Squibs…” Harry said quietly. “But –”


The door of the lift opened. Severus stepped out and led the way. “Come. It won’t take long. It’ll be over soon.”


-


When Severus returned to his abandoned house at Spinner’s End—returning with a younger male who was definitely not a relative—his Muggle neighbours eyed him with suspicion and started whispering among themselves.


“Wonder where he’s been all these years.”


“In and out of prison, I reckon.”


“I bet he’s a thief, or a murderer!”


“Bless your heart, Jonathan. Don’t jinx us all. What if it’s true?”


Harry put away his Extendable Ear that was sticking out of Severus’ living room window, and snorted. In a way, the neighbours were correct. But Harry had never felt happier to be with a convicted murderer.


“Will you be all right being here all alone?” Harry asked. “I can stay with you for a while until you get used to living as a Muggle.”


“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Potter,” Severus said. His tone was polite, but Harry couldn’t help feeling a stab of pain at the way Severus insisted on referring to him so formally.


Severus sighed. “Your face is an open book. You’re dismayed.” He motioned for Harry to sit. “From the pieces I gathered,” Severus began, sinking into the opposite couch. “We used to have some sort of amorous liaison before you Obliviated me.”


Harry nodded. “We were lovers…”


“Mr. Potter,” Severus interrupted. “Stop thinking along such a line of logic. We were never lovers.”


“How would you know? You don’t even remember!”


Severus stood up and began pacing about the room, hands folded primly behind him. For a moment, Harry thought he was seeing Professor Snape making rounds in the dungeons. Even after what he went through in battles and in the Ministry of Magic, Severus’ steps were still steady and proud.


Severus spoke in his lecture voice, “In all the times we have known each other, save for the past few days, we were socially identified as teacher and student. Now, I know you believe that society’s rules don’t apply to you, but to hold such an opinion puts you in the minority, of which I’m not a part.


“Our ‘relationship’ was never proper. I know myself, Potter. I am very capable of manipulating others to do things in my favour. I may have manipulated your feelings. I may have blatantly taken advantage of you. Whatever the reason, you were used and were right in Obliviating me.”


Severus kept talking, listing reason after reason why having a teacher-student relationship was not only illegal, but unforgivable. Harry’s jaw dropped and his face paled—Severus thought Harry had Obliviated him because they had an illicit relationship!


“But that’s not true!” Harry screamed while Severus was in the middle of Reason Number Five.


Severus stopped pacing. “Shouting like a child only makes you more the immature youth.”


“And making false assumptions makes you more the arrogant git!” Harry countered. “Severus, think back to your feelings. Can you honestly say that you don’t care for me at all, not even in some ghost of a memory that you used to have?”


Severus’ eyes flashed dangerously. “Do not bring up feelings, Potter. What was once improper will always be improper. You heard my neighbours. They already think badly of me, and I’m no longer able to hex them for speaking against me.”


Harry wrung his arms, feeling frustrated. Was there a spell to un-Obliviate someone without getting St. Mungo’s involved? “Severus, you were fourteen!”


Before Harry could blink, there were hands on his shoulder and collar, dragging him up, shaking him hard. “What did you say?”


“Sev’rus…” Harry choked. The hand pulling at his collar loosened. Harry coughed. “I met you through a time loop. You were fourteen. By the time you were sixteen and I was seventeen, we were good friends.


“It was right after your O.W.L.s, after the Marauders … you know, did stuff to you. I met up with you afterwards and allowed you to dangle me in the air for revenge. But you went further. You actually removed my –” Harry blushed. “– my pants and started touching me. That was how I found out you fancied me.


“Then nothing happened for a few years in your time. We didn’t become lovers until you turned twenty,” Harry said.


Severus dropped Harry none too ceremoniously onto the couch. He was rubbing his temples, as if his head was hurting from mere thinking. Harry supposed that if Severus was trying to remember obliviated memories, his head would hurt.


“I remember I used to call you Harry,” Severus eventually said. “That came back to me after I was de-magicked at the Ministry.”


Hope flared inside Harry. Maybe the removal of Severus’ magic also meant removing any magic that was cast on him!


“Give it time. Try to remember when thoughts come back to you,” Harry said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. What we had was real, was good. I-I’m sorry for taking it away from you.”


Severus dismissed Harry’s apology with a wave of his hand. “I’m sure you had your reasons.” He gestured toward the door. “I will take you up on your offer to give it time. If you don’t mind … Harry.”


Harry beamed. Never mind that Severus was kicking him out. He had called him Harry.


-


Harry didn’t hear from Severus for two months. And then one day, he received a Muggle post. The angular script on the envelope was enough for Harry to know who sent the letter. His heart was pounding, his hands sweating, and his stomach twisting in uncomfortable knots by the time he it picked up from the letterbox and walked into the sitting room.


The note was disappointingly short.

September 23

8 p.m.

S.S.

Harry double checked the envelope to make sure the letter was addressed to him instead of “Potter, Granger, and Weasley.” Well, at least Severus seemed to only want Harry’s company. That was a good start, he supposed.


When the initial excitement subsided, panic took over. Harry was sure—absolutely sure—that Severus was inviting him over to cut ties with him. Severus would have remembered most of their past by now, and Harry could only guess how mortified the present-day Severus was feeling at the moment, knowing that Harry had once seen him laugh, cry, despair, throw tantrums, and worse of all, naked and vulnerable in the throes of passion.


Maybe Severus would Obliviate him, using Kwikspell or something. Compared to pining unrequited for Severus, perhaps forgetting him altogether was easier.



Severus’ face was as inscrutable as ever when the door opened. Harry assumed that his host’s stepping aside was a cue that he was allowed to enter the house. “Er, hello,” he greeted the silence, not even receiving a nod in acknowledgement.


Severus’ body was stiff, and Harry could feel nervous tension emanating from him. This was making him tense. What could he do to make Severus relax? Would a hand on his arm work? Or a smile while looking into his eyes? Or maybe he should leave. After all, Harry was sure he was the cause of the tension.


“Where are you going?” Severus asked—barked—when Harry began backing out.


“Well, my presence is obviously making you feel uncomfortable,” Harry huffed, very much desiring to leave at the moment. He could deal with Severus being socially awkward, but he couldn’t stomach him being such a git about it.


Hands rested on his shoulder and turned him around. “No, stay, please.” Severus’ face still resembled a drum skin stretched too tightly, but his tone was soft.


Dinner was excruciating. Severus picked at his food throughout the entire meal, which in turn diminished Harry’s appetite, causing Severus to think that Harry didn’t like the food (it was delicious), and resulting in their present predicament, sitting at opposite ends of the table, neither one looking at the other.


Harry sighed and pushed his plate away. “Look, you invited me here for a reason. Get it over with and I’ll go home.” There, he said it. Severus would make his prepared speech about how they should never see each other again, Harry would agree as he’d planned to, he would go home, and they would move on with their respective lives, happily ever after.


Severus approached Harry and extended a hand. “I want to show you something.”


That was unexpected. Confused, Harry let Severus take his hand and lead him to a door.


The door opened to a stairway. “This leads to the cellar. I can’t make potions anymore, so I transformed my lab into something else.” He gestured with his hand. “After you, Harry.”


Harry stepped down the stairs, not knowing what to expect. Severus was acting really strange tonight: distant and cold, unusually tense, monumentally awkward. Almost like a schoolboy with a crush that he didn’t know what to do about … oh.


Harry gasped when he reached the bottom of the stairs. There, in the dimly lit cellar, was the exact replica of the Room of Requirement: Slytherin couch on one side, facing an identical couch in Gryffindor colours. There was no window in the cellar, but Severus had put one of the torches where the window used to be. And—Harry let his eyes drift to the place where he hoped to find a third piece of furniture—there was the four-poster bed.


He reached a hand to the staircase’s railing to steady himself. Memory after memory flooded back to him, times when he and Severus ate cockroach clusters together, when he copied the International Edict without understanding it, when Severus first showed him his Dark Mark, when they argued, when they first kissed, when they first made love… in this room, everything had happened before, and Harry was suddenly, completely sure that he would do everything to make it all happen again.


Severus stepped close. “I started remembering everything two weeks ago. All seventeen years’ worth of obliviated memories involving you. I thought even if you have no intention to resume what we had, at least I’d try to convince you.”


Harry whipped his face around. “No intention? I have every intention! Why else would you think I worked so hard to stop the Ministry from giving you the Kiss?”


“You haven’t contacted me in two months,” Severus pointed out.


“What? I thought I was giving you time! Didn’t you say you needed time?”


“So you weren’t trying to cut ties?” Severus asked, his voice uncertain. He brought a hand to Harry’s cheek. In the dim light, Harry could see the barest flicker of hope in Severus’ eyes. “Not even when the me who most recently interacted with you is Snape the nasty Potions Master?”


Harry leaned into Severus’ touch. “That’s the Snape that Harry the Hogwarts student knew. I’m Harry the… well, I’m just me. Harry.”


Severus looked thoughtful as he processed Harry’s words. “I believe I can work with that,” he said eventually. “I’ve always only loved this version of you.”


Harry’s jaw dropped. In all his years with Severus—and in Severus’ seventeen years of knowing Harry before the Obliviation—he had never mentioned love. Severus’ hand pushed his slackened mouth close.


“Silly boy,” Severus said. “It’s always been love.”


Harry grinned. “Well, technically you still haven’t said ‘I love you’.”


The hand on Harry’s jaw tightened into a grip, pulling his face forward. “Don’t push your luck, Potter,” Severus growled, and leaned in to claim Harry’s mouth.


There was something very right about Severus’ lips on his again. The same fierceness, desperation, possessiveness … the same licks and nibbles and movements that defined Severus. Predatory, demanding, unyielding.


They somehow made their way to the bed without breaking the kiss. Harry credited it to years of practice, when kissing and groping would start around the couches and they’d have to move toward the bed for more interesting things. Everything was so familiar, Harry thought, flashbacks still flooding his mind, like five years hadn’t passed.


Eventually, they broke apart to catch their breaths, and Harry proceeded to remove Severus’ outer coat and helped him get rid of his many layers of clothing. He noticed more scars on Severus’ body, more blemishes, more signs of age. But this only made him want Severus more. And besides—he tugged at the strings and grey pants dropped to the floor—Severus’ cock was the same. Harry licked his lips. Severus was getting hard under his gaze.


“Beautiful,” Harry breathed. He smiled and looked up at Severus, only to find trepidation etched on his face.


“Harry, I’ve been through two wars and served two Masters –”


“And I’ve hopped between two timelines and vanquished Voldemort twice. This is completely irrelevant,” he said, taking his clothes off as fast as he could so Severus would stop thinking too much and they could move onto the fun part.


Severus didn’t answer right away, but looked Harry’s now naked body up and down with appreciative eyes. “You look just as I remember you. If anything, your body’s even more perfect.”


“And yours isn’t?” Harry murmured. He closed the gap between them and gently pushed Severus onto the bed. “Stop talking, and we’ll see whether your worries or my actions speak louder.” And proceeded to explore Severus’ body.


He didn’t leave a square inch of skin untouched. From the top of his head to the soles of his feet, Harry’s hands roamed all over Severus, mapping and memorising, doing their best to communicate to Severus that he was desired. The past fifteen years had taken a toll on his lover. Harry spent a good five minutes working loose a knotted muscle. He wondered if that particular spot on Severus’ back had ever been relaxed.


Harry was delighted to find that touching the back of Severus’ right knee still made him moan, and that slowly licking down his spine still made him squirm—accompanied by the expected swearing because, dammit, Severus did not squirm. Harry giggled.


“Watch it, Potter!” Severus warned. With a growl, he retaliated by rolling on top of Harry and latching his mouth onto the hollow of his neck.


“That tickles!” Harry giggled some more, though no longer because he found anything funny. “I – hee – c’mon, Severus, stop please…”


Severus lifted his head, the smirk on his face made it clear that no amount of begging would stop him. “Stop, Harry? I haven’t begun yet.” His dove his head back down, this time at Harry’s left nipple.


Harry hated that he could feel so tortured yet so good at the same time. Every swipe of tongue sent waves and waves of sensation straight down to his groin. It hurt a little when teeth lightly pinched at his nipple, but it only caused him to arch up for more. Severus paid the same attention to his other nipple. Harry moaned and wiggled.


“Who’s squirming now?” Severus gloated.


“Mmm … you’re cheating!” he complained, and wiggled about some more, trying to push Severus away. If this continued, he would come just from Severus’ tongue alone.


Their lovemaking became a fight for dominance. Harry managed to roll on top again and repaid the favour by assaulting Severus’ nipples. He lapped—oh, he loved the sensation of a nipple hardening under his tongue—and relished the noises he was causing. Didn’t Severus say he never moaned? Then what would he call the noises he was now making? Harry snorted. Liar.


He shifted so he could reach from one nipple to the other—and his left knee found air. Shit, this isn’t the Room of Requirement! This bed doesn’t lengthen to accommodate us, Harry realised too late, barely catching himself from falling over the bed. Severus took the chance to roll them over and straddled him. Harry gulped. He was completely at Severus’ mercy now.


A hand reached out and gently removed his glasses. Severus blurred into a shape, but his heavy breathing sounded just as loud. The same hand returned to his face and two fingers stopped in front of his lips. Harry opened his mouth. He could taste hints of their dinner on the fingers and imagined a nervous Severus meticulously preparing the meal earlier that day. He swirled the fingers around with his tongue. He missed tasting potions ingredients on Severus, which was now a thing of the past—he’d always loved the wooden taste of dried herbs and the earthy flavour of fluxweed.


The fingers began moving in and out in a rhythmic fashion. Harry welcomed the thrusting motion, pretending that something bigger and smoother was in his mouth. He hadn’t tasted Severus’ cock in years, and he suddenly wanted to very badly, right now.


“ ’E-erus,” he spoke around the fingers. “I ’ant-oo.”


Severus looked at him with a raised eyebrow.


“ ’Eease,” Harry begged. “ ’eed-oo.”


In a swift motion, Severus withdrew his fingers and pulled away. “Very well, Harry. Do as I say, and you’ll have your reward.” Severus moved back and reclined on a raised pillow. “Touch yourself. I want to see you come.”


Harry needed no other encouragement to wrap his hand around his cock. He was already seconds away from coming, and Severus gazing at him only made him more aroused. His hand stroked up and down. His stomach tightened, his balls retracting…


“Hand off,” Severus suddenly commanded.


What did Severus say? That didn’t make sense at all; he thought he was going to come for Severus. Harry ignored him. Another tug. Then another…


“Move your hand, Harry.” The words were soft, with a hint of a smirk, but they were clearly meant to be obeyed.


Oh, he was so close, so close…. But Severus was watching and he was withholding his cock as a reward. With a frustrated scream, Harry yanked his hand away and flung both arms hard onto the mattress, trying to think about something else, anything besides his pulsating need for release.


Then he felt a gush of wind. And another.


“I want to see you come,” Severus repeated.


Harry propped onto his elbows. There was Severus, now hunched over him, head lowered, blowing warm air up and down the length of his shaft. Each breath was like the ghost of a touch, caressing him, urging him to tip over the edge. Harry mewled. Severus was driving him crazy. All he needed was one more blow right there…


He came untouched, his orgasm more intense than he had felt in years. He came all over his chest and stomach, and yet he was still coming. Severus leaned forward and—finally—took his cock into his mouth, sucking, soothing the throbbing of the softening cock. Carefully, almost reverently, Severus placed a kissed at the tip and backed away.


Harry bathed in his afterglow, feeling sated and lazy. His breathing slowed and his eyelids felt heavy…


When he opened his eyes, his head was neatly propped on a pillow and he was lying on one side of the bed while Severus occupied the other. He rolled over. Severus was looking at him, was still naked and—Merlin!—he was still hard. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Harry asked, scrambling to sit up.


“I haven’t been this aroused in fifteen years. Masturbation has been an annoyance, a mere scratching of an itch. I’m rather enjoying this sensation.”


Harry roused and crawled toward the foot of the bed. “And I’m going to make you enjoy it even more,” he said, grinning, and lowered his head to claim his promised reward.


Severus tasted exactly how Harry remembered—musky, his precome a bit sour, and strong with something that Harry could never quite identify. Something that he had long ago labeled the “Severus taste.” He also remembered that Severus liked licks—the delicate art of fellatio, 26-year-old Severus once told him—so he took the time to glide his tongue from the base to the tip of the shaft, repeating the motion until Severus’ hitched breaths turned into audible moans.


Severus’ cock was responding nicely, hardening, foreskin pulling back, tip glistening with precome. Harry wrapped his right hand at the base of the cock and finally attended to the long-neglected head, lapping up the fluid, swirling his tongue around the glans, prodding at the slit. Severus shuddered under him.


Forming an “O” shape with his mouth, he began bobbing his head up and down, right hand moving in sync with the movement. Severus lifted his hips, thrusting up to meet him. Making Severus come would be so easy—he wanted to make him come. But he had other things in mind…


Imitating what was done to him earlier, Harry gave a final suck and placed a kiss at the tip of Severus’ cock. “All right?” he asked. Severus grunted.


Harry propped himself up and leaned over to the bedside table, opening the drawer where he knew he would find lube. Behind him, he heard Severus shift. “Relax, you stay put.” He turned and smiled. “I’ll do the rest.”


Coating Severus’ cock with lube was a sensual act of its own. Harry took pleasure in spreading the oily liquid all over his hands, then gently, lovingly, massaging the entire cock until it was shiny and slick. He even gave the balls a light squeeze. There, Severus was ready. He stoppered the vial of lube and returned it to the drawer.


Harry straddled Severus, legs spread as far apart as he could, and lowered himself onto his lover. It had been years since anyone had been inside him, and Severus by all definitions was large. But the burning sensation was a welcomed one. Harry pushed down slowly, relaxing as much as he could until Severus’ cock went past his sphincter muscle.


“Harry…” Severus said, breathing hard. He reached out his hands to steady Harry by the hips. “Don’t force it if – ahh –” His nails dug into Harry as the sensation of being completely sheathed washed over him.


Harry grinned. He moved up and down once tentatively. God, how he missed this, having Severus inside him! It felt good; it felt right. He was moving more boldly now, riding Severus as he leaned forward a little and moved back a bit, searching for that perfect angle.


“Here…” Severus panted as he gripped tighter, bringing Harry’s body forward –


Harry’s inside exploded with sensation when Severus’ cock hit his prostate, again and again. What remaining shred of control completely left him, and Harry now moved with abandon, landing hard on Severus just to feel the cock brushing over that exquisite spot. He was hard again, the familiar pressure building in his groin for a second time that night.


Through half-lidded eyes Harry saw Severus biting his lip, a telltale sign that he was close. He leaned forward and brushed a kiss on Severus’ forehead, thanking the stars and whatever deity was watching over them that they were here, enjoying each other, loving each other.


Harry almost came right on the spot when one of Severus’ hands moved to fist his cock. He moved faster, each up-and-down motion setting off sparks inside him as well as driving his cock into Severus’ hand. Harry gasped. He really wouldn’t last long now. “Sev – Severus … I’m coming … I’m going to…”


He threw his head back. A second orgasm, yet it felt as intense as the first. He could feel his arse muscles contract and how the rippling motion pleasured Severus—Severus, both hands back on Harry’s hips, taking control, lifting Harry up and plunging him low, fast and wild and frantic and before Harry’s own orgasm subsided Severus was coming and coming inside him.



Harry gave Severus a quick kiss on the lips before rolling onto his side of the bed. There was semen all over them, and the duvet was nowhere to be seen. The entire cellar smelled of sex.


“Can I stay the night?”


Severus rolled his eyes. “Need you even ask?”


Harry grinned. “Just making sure. We never did spend a night together, you know. If this was the Room of Requirement, I’ll be transported back by now.”


“So the déjà vu ends here,” Severus said, his voice quiet.


Harry nodded. “I’m tired of living and reliving time loops.” He yawned. “Let’s start new from now on.”


Harry turned when Severus gave no reply. “What is it?”


Severus motioned between them. “This. You, me. This … ‘us’ thing. I know it worked when I saw you only once every few weeks, in the Room of Requirement…”


“Then let’s start with once every few weeks.” Harry brushed a strand of Severus’ hair behind his ear. “I’ve no problem with it. Having hot amazing sex every twenty days or so is still much better than every five years, or fifteen.”


Severus snorted.


“What? You don’t think it was amazing?”


Severus turned his eyes to the ceiling. “Sleep, Harry. You’ve completely worn me out.”


Harry quickly performed a cleaning spell and summoned the duvet to the bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard Severus whisper that the sex was indeed amazing, and that he loved Harry, loved him, loved him very much.

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