2009_Larte_degli_amanti_by_Iani

L'arte degli amanti
by Iani Ancilla

With a deep breath, Harry opened his eyes.

Yes. No doubt about it. This time, he had really absolutely royally screwed up. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Fuck.

Well, at least he had an idea about how to fix it.

He stood up and stretched his legs which ached after two hours of kneeling on the cold stone floor in meditation. The Chamber of Secrets was probably not the most comfy of places he could have chosen, but he needed to be sure he wouldn't be disturbed. Trying to think about a way of starting the conversation that was waiting for him, he made his way out of Salazar Slytherin's ruined sanctuary, hissing softly at the doors to coax them into opening and letting him out. It was nice being back at Hogwarts, even if the reason was not a happy one. He got no inspiration as he walked the mercifully empty hallways which descended into the dungeons, and still had no plan when he knocked quietly on the door to Severus Snape's office. When no answer came, he sent his patronus to the Headmistress's office, to inform McGonagall of what he had decided and of his whereabouts. Then he walked down the narrow corridor which he knew led to the Potions master's private rooms.

The frame guarding the entrance to Snape's quarters was empty, just a quiet landscape, mountains and a vast field of light, purple heather rippling in the wind. In the distance, one could see a small cabin and several goats. Hesitantly, Harry brought up his hand and knocked lightly on the frame. He was starting to wonder whether he shouldn't just go up to the Headmistress and ask her to contact Snape for him, when a tiny figure emerged from the cabin and started making its way towards the front of the picture. Trust Snape to have a portrait that makes you wait before even speaking to you, thought Harry with a snort. Finally, after almost a minute, the figure, a curved old woman in dark robes and a headscarf, was near enough to speak. She stopped, pointed piercing grey eyes into Harry's and asked, in a heavily accented English:

“Who are you?”

“Harry Potter, ma'am. I'm here to see Professor Snape, please.”

The old woman studied him for few long moments, then shuffled off to the side of the painting without a word. Harry was starting to feel more than just a bit ridiculous when the door opened and he found himself staring into the dark eyes of a man he hadn't really spoken to in more than ten years.

“Potter.”

“Professor Snape, sir.” And really, even if he had felt like he could still call him Severus (which he didn't), it wasn't something he should do in the middle of a school corridor, was it?

“What do you want?”

Ah... nice question Snape, to the point as usual. Once, Harry might have bristled at the implication that he wouldn't be here unless he needed something from his former professor. Now, he knew how to pick his battles and how to know the simple, if sad, truth from an accusation. So he put on a brave smile, steeled himself for the conversation to come, and took a step forward.

“May I come in? This is going to take a while.”

With a refreshing lack of pleasantries and small talk (Merlin, I've missed this man!) it took only a silent couple of minutes before the two of them were seated in twin maroon armchairs, two tumblers and a bottle of Ogden's resting on the coffee table between them.

“So...” started Harry, and Snape's only answer was to arch that damn eyebrow the Boy-Who-Lived had spent years learning to ignore. Failing to learn, actually. Damn it, but Snape was the only person still able to rile him up with a single fucking eyebrow. Sensing his distress, and probably enjoying it, the bastard, the Potions master cleared his throat and broke the silence:

“We haven't spoken to each other more than polite bullshit at Ministry parties in more than twelve years, since the day you did us a great favour and rid us of one of the most powerful madmen of our history. That leads me to assume you are not here to catch up or simply consume my whisky for the sake of old times, but that you need something. You have spent the last years, according to the press and Minerva's incessant nattering, as a private researcher in curse-breaking. So tell me, Mr Potter, what nasty curse have you managed to upset, that can only be cured by a potion, and how long do you have left before coming to a surely horrible demise? Just so that I know how quickly I have to brew whatever impossible antidote you must need.”

Snape's quickly clipped words, and above all his readiness in offering his help before even knowing what he was here to ask, threw Harry, and he was left speechless, staring at the other man who misinterpreted his silence for something else, apparently, for he blanched and stood, closing the space between them in two steps and taking Harry's chin in his hand, turning his face this way and that while he peered into his eyes.

“It's not Morgana's geass, is it? Because the antidote to that is pure legend, there is no cure whatsoev-”

Finally pulled from his reverie by all the touching – and was that concern in Snape's voice? – he shook his head out of the older man's grasp and held up his hands.

“It's not a curse... well, it is but... sit down, sir, please. I'll explain.”

And so Snape did, with a skeptical look at his former student and a graceful economy of movement that the Gryffindor had always envied. Gathering his thoughts, Harry took a good look at the man before him. He must be somewhere in his mid-fifties now, just past his prime for wizard standards, and unlike many, he looked it. None of the cosmetic potions he brewed were for personal use, apparently. But then, even twelve years before, when they had been forced to live together in a safe-house for months, before Harry was ready to take on Voldemort, the man had never appeared to give much thought to how he looked. No, that was not true, he reasoned. Snape's clothing had always been spotless, perfectly ironed, never sloppy or careless. In all his life, Harry could not recall ever seeing Snape leave a button undone or forgetting to make sure all pockets and folds of his robes were lying flat and tidy. His personal hygiene could be described as meticulous, but fastidious and obsessive probably came closer. And nobody could claim that Snape was ever careless or casual about the way he moved, gestured or spoke. The man was a drama-queen if he'd ever known one. How he managed to pull it off with dignity and make it even look natural, Harry would never know. Yes, it was wrong to say Snape didn't care for his looks. He did. He just clearly didn't care about beauty. And yet, there was something in the set of his thin, wide mouth, the angle of his eyes, the unforgiving line of his famous nose and the brisk shrug he used to dismiss the world as foolish and beneath him... something in all these things made him... not beautiful, and maybe not even handsome. But... compelling. To Harry, at any rate. Which was one of the reasons behind their... tryst? love affair? Well, behind whatever it was that had bound them during the months they had spent alone in that damned safe-house, giving each other some sort of emotional comfort along with the physical release of sex and casual touching. It was a wonder, after the degree of closeness they had reached, that they had virtually never laid eyes on each other again after the final battle against Voldemort, but Harry had never really dwelt on it before.

While pondering all of this, Harry had also somehow managed to put some order in his thoughts, and he started exposing his problem to Snape:

“You remember the day we killed Voldemort, right?”

A snort was the only answer he got. As if anyone could forget. He went on.

“Well, we didn't kill all of him.” he held up a hand to prevent any interruptions, and continued. “As before, part of his soul remained, disembodied. That was because even before his first demise, Voldemort had found a way of splitting his soul, hiding it in an inanimate object...”

“Are you saying” interrupted Snape “that not only was the Dark Lord mad, but that he was an accomplished necromancer, that he actually made... a horcrux?”

“Horcrux, phylactery, vessel...” nodded Harry, “call it what you will, the answer is yes. None of us suspected it, but Dumbledore and I noticed something was amiss after the battle, and we managed to locate it.”

“You... have it?” Snape's skin was chalk white, the only indication of how badly the news was really affecting him. Well, it had more or less the same effect on him, and he'd had twelve years to get used to the notion.

“I had it.” he answered, and seeing the other's expression he hurried to go on, “It's not lost. I spent the last ten years looking for a way to destroy it... I found it. It was destroyed last week.”

“Then why are you telling me this? And why just now? Who else knows?”

“Minerva and Hermione knew from the start, and Dumbledore asked us not to tell anyone else, he didn't trust anyone with the knowledge that He was not yet gone for good.”

The hurt that caused to Snape was only reflected in the artful blankness in which he schooled his features. “Not you, Professor! He trusted you to the day he died. But... he was afraid of the horcrux connecting to your Mark. I agreed.”

Some colour was slowly coming back to the Potions master's face, but still there was a light of doubt in his eyes.

“Why tell me now? What happened?”

“Something went wrong.” murmured Harry. And now for the hard part. “The horcrux is destroyed. But the soul that was inside it... isn't.”

Just a moment pause, and Snape's eyes came alight with sudden understanding.

“Sweet Merlin... it's inside you, isn't it?”

Got it in one, as usual. One couldn't help but admire Snape's grasp of the inner workings of magic. Especially since in ten years of research Harry had never once seen this coming.

“Yes Professor. I do not need the Potions master, I need the Legilimens. With Albus gone, you're the only one skilled enough to find the piece of Voldemort within my mind and kill it. Your Mark is still a danger, I know, but no one else has the power for this. And of those who might, there is none I'd trust with my mind.”

Rising from his seat, Snape started pacing the room, finally stopping in front of the fireplace, raking a hand through his hair, leaving it messy and tangled. It was such an unusual gesture for him, that it carried the depth of the man's distress over the news. Well, if the fact he hadn't drowned Harry in petty sarcasm wasn't enough to show that something was wrong with the man, anyway.

“Even if I find it... what then? I have no idea on how to remove it, let alone do it without destroying your mind.”

“I'm still working on it, but before anything else we have to make absolutely sure that it's...”

“Dormant,” completed the Slytherin for him, “Legilimens!”

Harry hadn't even had the time to see the ten inches of dark wood being pointed at him before feeling the push of another mind against his, a push the likes of which he hadn't experienced in twelve years. With a deep breath, he reached for his shields, and tried to open them to the sharp glowing point of Snape's spell, not hammering on his mind like Voldemort's would have, but single-mindedly concentrating on one tiny point, trying to crack it open and enter. He relaxed, and ordered his shields to come down and open for the Potions master. They didn't. He was as much a prisoner of his Occlumency as he was protected by it, he realized with a sense of growing panic. He wanted the other man in his mind, hell, he needed the man to overcome his shields.

Sensing he was not going to be let in, Snape increased the force behind his push until Harry could feel beads of sweat breaking on his forehead. And then, all of a sudden, the pressure was gone, his shields free. Just to start again not even a moment later, in a different point of his shield, trying to catch him unaware, just as persistent as before and even stronger, if possible.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Harry pushed back, hard. Pressure on his mind suddenly gone, he opened his eyes to the crack of the Potions master's skull connecting with the mantle, and only a quick cushioning spell on his part kept the Slytherin from stumbling into the lit fireplace.

“Oh God, sir, I'm so sorry...”

Helping the man to his feet and guiding him to the armchair, Harry kept on apologizing, until Snape cracked one eye open to glare at him:

“Be silent.”

A few minutes and a conjured pot of tea later, Snape was back to his usual self, if still a bit the worse for wear.

“Obviously those final months I spent teaching you how to occlude were not wasted.”

“I'm really sorr-”

“Enough! If you apologize once again, Potter, so help me, I'll be glad to leave the Dark Lord to fester inside that empty box you call brain until he's all ready to come out and play. Your being sorry does not change a thing, and frankly, I don't care.”

“Yes, sir, I'm so-” luckily he caught himself , but Snape's glare turned up a notch all the same. Really, sometimes he felt like a house-elf. It was an automatic response for him.

“Evidently,” started Snape, “you perceive any attempt at entering your mind as an attack, and respond in kind. Any ideas on how to proceed?”

It felt strange, being asked for his opinion by this man. Sure, he was thirty and an expert in his field, and to most people he would always be the Saviour of the Wizarding World... but he was so used to being bossed around by the Potions master, that the possibility that he might now be regarded as an equal surprised him. Snape had always been petty and condescending at best, short-tempered and mean at worst, which meant most of the time, where Harry was concerned... so what had changed? Maybe, said a voice in the Gryffindor's mind, it was not the professor who had changed, but Harry himself had finally grown up and now deserved what he had never been granted before.

Anyway, the mind boggled.

“Maybe... just maybe I have to relax a bit. It could help me open my mind, and not feel threatened.”

“Very well. Then, I guess we'd better go back to using first names, if you don't mind...?”

“Severus,” he tested the name, trying it on his tongue for the first time in years.

“Harry,” acknowledged Snape with a nod. “And... maybe you can tell me something about your life in the last ten years or so?”

The whole concept of small-talk with Severus Snape was surreal, there was no denying it, but in Harry's opinion they managed quite well, with him telling Severus about his job as a curse breaker, which had originated from his need to destroy the horcrux and was now a true calling, a passion. He told his ex-professor about Gareth, who'd been his sponsor during a project on ghoul-banishing almost six years before, and had been his boyfriend ever since, and he told him about a new curse-detection spell he was developing for Gringotts. Amazingly, Snape listened through it all, even the bits which he probably already knew about from the papers and those which surely did not interest him in the slightest. At one point, he even went as far as to volunteer information about himself. Not that there was much to say, apparently. After being cleared of all Death Eater charges, thanks to Harry's and Albus's statements, he'd gone back to teaching at Hogwarts. He had since then been the author of some major breakthroughs in potions, but Harry was not really versed enough in the subject to even understand what Snape's research was about most of the time.

Little by little, Harry felt himself starting to relax, and even enjoy the quiet evening. It shouldn't have come as a great surprise, then, when Snape took advantage of a small lull in the conversation to look deep into his eyes and murmur:

“Legilimens.”

There was no struggle this time, but all the same Harry could not take down his shields to let Snape in, and after a few tense and tiring minutes the older man retired back to his own mind, breaking the spell.

“I have to admit you took at least one of my lessons to heart.” Sarcasm imbued Snape's words, oily and sticky and cruel. “Pity it's working against us now.”

Even knowing it was just the man's frustration speaking, Harry couldn't help himself:

“Would you prefer I hadn't? Would you rather I had let Voldemort inside my mind, twelve years ago?”

“Well, he is in your mind now, isn't he, boy?” surprised at the sharp cut of the Potions master tone, it was the truth of the words which took all the wind out of Harry's sails. Leaning back against the armchair with a sigh, he gave voice to the question which had been nagging at him since he'd explained the problem to Snape:

“How is it that you believe me, anyway?”

“Pardon?” puzzlement took the bite away from the Slytherin's voice, and that damned eyebrow quirked again.

“When I explained all this to Minerva... well, she thinks it's all just in my mind.” Seeing Snape smirk and open his mouth for a droll remark, he quickly clarified “You know what I mean! She thinks I'm imagining it, that if the vessel was destroyed, then Voldemort is truly gone, that he can't be inside me.”

After a few moments of silence in which he tried not to flinch under the speculative gaze Snape was trapping him with, the Potions master leaned forward, extended his left arm and undid his cuff, baring his forearm.

Harry had to suck in a gasp at what he saw: he knew very well the man was Marked, but... the Dark mark on Severus's skin was livid, the lines which should have been thin and fading were a net of angry red, pulsating and raw and alive, and he could not tear his gaze away as they grew, grew to occupy all his vision, painting the world red black and green. A million colours of power that were his, and should only be his, his forever as...

“Expelliarmus!”

The spell hit him square in the chest, and he felt his breath leave him as he was slammed back against the back of the armchair, hitting his head and somewhat clearing it. Snape stood in front of him, expression guarded and the tip of his wand trained between Harry's eyes. Eleven inches of holly were gripped tight in the man's left hand.

“What happ-” he began, but realized he already knew. Voldemort had seen his Mark on Severus's arm and had nearly succeeded in taking over his mind. “What did I do?” was what he asked instead.

Still wary, but apparently convinced Harry was back to his self, Snape lowered his wand and sat down, without relinquishing his hold on the Boy-Who-Lived's wand.

“You almost succeeded casting Morsmordre in my living room, Pott- Harry.”

Sick to his stomach, Harry blinked and accepted the tea that he was being offered. The evening didn't last long after that, both men too shaken to try again breaking down the shields to Harry's mind. The Gryffindor was once again in control of his body, and Snape agreed to give him back his wand and see him to the wards.

“So... I guess we have to find another way.” said Harry as they stood ankle-deep in fresh snow, just a few steps away from the anti-apparition wards.

“Hmm... I might have an idea. Come back tomorrow morning, ten o'clock.” Not a question, a statement. The arrogance behind it was not lost on Harry, but for once, instead of letting it irritate him, he felt oddly warmed by its familiarity.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next morning saw Harry wake up insanely early by his Sunday standards. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been awake before noon on a Sunday, and he felt a pang of guilt as his alarm clock went off and beside him Gareth awakened with the pained groan of a man with a powerful hangover.

“Sorry, love, I need to get up, but you can sleep for as long as you want, it's Sunday.”

“Mmnngh... wazdatmm...ngh...?”

“It's just nine o'clock, you can go back to sleep, Gar, I'll be quiet.”

Blinking owlishly in the half-light of the room, Gareth rested his light green eyes on Harry, and slung a muscled arm over his lover's chest, pinning him to the bed.

“Mmmh... morning.”

With an exasperated smile, Harry tucked an errant lock of light brown hair behind his lover's ear, and leaned in for a soft kiss on his temple.

“And good morning to you.”

“Cuddle?”

He couldn't help a soft laugh at that... only Gareth could be smiling and asking for a cuddle despite the splitting headache Harry could guess in the wrinkle on his forehead.

“I really have to get up, you know? And you don't have to stay awake, I heard you coming in about three hours ago, you must be tired.”

“Where're you going?”

“Hogwarts. I have to speak to the Headmistress and to Professor Snape. I'll be back in the afternoon, I think, but it all depends on the project...” he felt guilty about not being able to tell the whole truth to his lover, but so Dumbledore had asked him, and he was not going to break his promise to the man, not even now he was dead.

“Hmmm .. bye then. Not right to work on a Sunday “ mumbled Gar as he dived back under duvet. He stirred once when Harry leaned in to give him a kiss goodbye.

Ten to ten and Harry was in front of Snape's rooms, after a quick chat with the Headmistress in which he'd explained some of what had transpired the previous evening. He loved her dearly, but Harry had to admit that Minerva lacked most of what had made Dumbledore exceptional. She'd been a perfect Deputy Headmistress, but since Albus' death it was like all the fun and gentle madness he'd used to create had disappeared from her, and the school.

“Come in!” snapped a voice from within Severus's rooms, and the door cracked open to let him in. He found the Potions master at his desk, staring at a dark bowl which looked as if it had been carved out of stone in the shape of a flower. Feeling the magic inside it, Harry guessed the shape came from the first memory which had ever touched it, and not from craft, for it was a Pensieve.

“Severus?”

“Since it is evident that I cannot force my way into your mind, I thought it might be useful to examine the memory of the transfer. If you would be so kind as to think of when you destroyed the horcrux and then put the memory in there, I could have a look at it.”

Just like that. The man was asking him, no, he was demanding to see one of his memories, without any thought to common courtesy or to how he might feel about it. Oh, he was the height of politeness when required, but it was just a façade, he cared nothing for others. Severus Snape, the emotional steam-roller, step out of his way or be crushed to pieces. Times like this, he remembered why he'd hated the man in school, despite his brilliance and quick wit. At the time, they'd all thought he was a fucking sadist. Now most of his former schoolmates still did, but he knew better. The man was an utter bastard to others, and he did enjoy being the cause of discomfort to those he considered fools (which covered most of humankind), but that was not what made him tick. He was a perfectionist, obsessed with the smallest detail, and as egocentric as only a five-year-old brat had any right to be. That said, it came as natural to him that he should be perfect, and he taxed himself, making his own life hell most of the time in the struggle towards that absolute perfection he was looking for. If others, or their feelings, happened to stand in the way... well, that's not Snape's problem. Add to that a streak of intolerance towards those less intelligent than him, and the complete refusal to contemplate that someone might actually be smarter than him, and there you had Severus Snape in a nutshell. A man who had taken being a git to himself and the rest of the world to an art form. Harry could feel no sympathy right now, and he felt pretty proud of himself for not hexing him.

And yet, he truly wished to do everything in his power to get rid of Voldemort once and for all. And he knew that it was impossible to argue with Snape. Especially when he was right. He couldn't let a wizard's natural shyness of Pensieves get in the way of their task. As usual, after losing the fight against Severus's no-win arguments, Harry capitulated and did as he was told. The only difference this time was that the fight had been all in Harry's mind, without need for humiliating himself and looking childish in front of his ex-professor. Snape gestured towards the Pensieve and looked like he was guessing far more than he had any right to, just from Harry's expression. Damn Slytherins.

Recalling the memory of the transfer was not hard at all, it was still fresh in his mind. He thought about the locket laid out in front of him, about the incantation he'd spent years creating leaving his lips, the power surging from the earth and dancing to the rhythm of his magic. The locket had shattered, and then... a sense of incredible wrongness inside him, something alien and rotting and not his, burrowing deep in places of his mind he himself could not access. Touching his wand to his right temple, Harry watched as the silver thread of his memory was pulled from him and started swimming lazily in circles on the surface of the Pensieve. Light-headed and dizzy, he stepped back. Snape eagerly took his place, and stuck the tip of his wand into the silvery liquid of the artefact, entering the memory.

It didn't take long, just a few seconds, to study a memory no matter how long. Harry knew that from experience. It may seem far longer to whomever was in the Pensieve, but the whole thing was quite brief. So he stood where he was and watched Severus's face carefully, hoping to read something there. What he read after just a moment was unexpected: pain and horror distorted the Potions master's face, and he dropped his wand into the Pensieve to claw at his left forearm.

“Snape!”

Catching him under his arms, Harry tried to keep Snape upright, but he couldn't hold the older man up. Instead, he helped him kneel down onto the floor, where the professor kept shaking like he was under a Cruciatus and digging his fingers into his forearm, where the Dark Mark was hidden. There was a red stain forming on his sleeve. Panicking, Harry tried to have a look at the Mark, but his hands were beaten away by a hysterical Potions master.

He was aiming his wand at the man, a calming spell on his lips, when the fireplace came alive, and a tall man came into the room in a flurry of expensive robes and silky blond hair.

“Severus, what the hell is happening here?”

Lucius Malfoy... Harry was not certain whether he should curse the man before or after asking questions, just for entering the castle uninvited, but right now Snape was in the line of fire. Gaping at him, Malfoy stood still for a moment, then looked at Severus and seemed to reach a decision, coming to the Potions master's other side and helping Harry lift him to his feet.

Together (and wasn't that a first?) they managed to guide Severus to the sofa and cast a calming charm on him, Lucius holding the other Slytherin steady against his chest as Harry aimed.

“Potter, get some tea and a calming draught. First shelf, on the left, the mint green one.”

Too shocked to do otherwise, Harry followed the order, not even wondering how Lucius Malfoy knew where Severus's potions were until he'd fetched what he'd been asked. As he put the conjured tea tray and the potion on the coffee table, Harry couldn't help but stare at the scene before him. Snape was still in pain, but was clearly recovering, and Lucius Malfoy, Mr High and Mighty, Pureblood Elitist, had an arm around his shoulders and was stroking his hair while talking to him quietly. What the hell was going on? What business had Malfoy acting all cozy with his... his... his nothing, actually, thought Harry, trying to swallow the funny taste in the back of his throat. He had no claim whatsoever on Snape, nor did he wish one. Or did he? No, no, of course not, he had Gareth. He was feeling mildly... jealous, for lack of a better word, only because he'd been intimate with the man in the past, and this whole thing with Malfoy, who he'd not even thought was gay before a second ago, was coming as a surprise.

Settling down on the free armchair and trying to ignore how close the blond was sitting to Severus, Harry cleared his throat, but instead of Severus it was Malfoy who raised his eyes and spoke:

“Potter. I should have known you were part of this. What have you done this time, you stupid boy?” The harsh bark was so different from the silky drawl Harry was used to hearing from the man in public, that he was left speechless long enough for Severus to cut in:

“Lucius, you forget yourself, the boy is as much my guest here as you are.” Still hoarse, but perfectly composed, Snape's voice sounded mildly chastising, and Lucius looked at him with a moue of distaste so perfectly Malfoy that Harry felt nauseated by it.

“I beg your pardon, Potter. I am merely concerned over the situation.”

What was it with Slytherins and being polite at all costs? Did their mums drop them in acid when they were small, if they forgot their please and thank you's? Well, probably so, reflected Harry, they were Slytherin mothers after all. Completely different breed.

Still, he was not going to be taken in by fake courtesy.

“Why do you think I have anything to do with it? And why the hell are you here, anyway? Do you often enter rooms uninvited?”

“Mr Malfoy has a standing invitation to my quarters, and I'd thank you to keep a civil tongue while you're here. Although I have to say, Lucius, I did not expect you this morning...?”

The smirk Snape's first comments had painted on Malfoy's face was erased by the last.

“The Mark, Severus. It started... aching, bleeding... as if He were calling. I wanted to see if it was just me or...” he left the rest unsaid, but his meaning was clear. Snape was the only other Marked wizard still alive.

“As you can see,” said Severus, pointing to his bloodstained sleeve, “it is not just you.”

“I guessed so... and of course he's involved.” Malfoy's lips curled in distaste as he looked at Harry, and he missed Snape's warning glare. Harry didn't, and answered with a smirk of his own.

“Yes, I am. And you're not. So you'd better leave and let me speak with Se-”

“If you two gentlemen could stop acting as cretins -not that I'm sure you know how- we could all benefit from the fact. Lucius, I'm afraid that even I might have to concede that whilst Potter is a dunderhead prone to severe miscalculation, he is not entirely at fault in this particular occasion. And Potter, given what just happened to Mr Malfoy's Mark, I'd say informing him of the situation-”

“Absolutely not! I promised Albus, for fuck's sake! I haven't told a man I've lived with for six years, and you want to tell this-”

“POTTER! I will not have you speak that way to someone-”

“He's back, isn't He?”

Malfoy's cool tone had the effect of shutting them both up, and then they both answered at the same time:

“Yes.”

“NO!”

It was clear from the blond's frown that he knew which answer to trust, and that, surprisingly for Harry, he didn't like it.

Angry beyond words, the Gryffindor glared at them both and left Snape to explain the whole fucking mess to Malfoy, who looked on the edge of fainting. Served him right.

Not even eleven, Harry was home already, nothing concluded, nothing solved, a whole new load of problems to think about and damn, he could hex Severus right now. The nerve of him, spilling everything to a fucking Death Eater! Careful not to wake Gareth, Harry got back to bed, having decided that sleeping was the only way of averting extreme violence towards a certain Potions master and his blond slut.

Miles and miles of pale skin, stretched out before him on the dark sheets covering everything. Snape's graceful hands roamed lazily over a taut stomach, and then up, to tweak a nipple and draw a gasp which was met by a chuckle as the Potions master tangled his right hand in pale blond hair and pulled, bringing the other Slytherin up for a heated kiss.

“Severusss...” hissed Malfoy as a line of kisses and bites was traced down his throat, ivory skin blotching red under Snape's lips and teeth.

“Silence,” ordered Harry, and both men had no choice but obeying, looking hungrily at him and knowing their pleasure depended on him and him alone. “Fuck him,” he drawled, and Severus did, hard and fast and deep, and only because of him, he could stop them if he wanted, he could make them come, or he could make them beg, or he could just leave them and not care. Instead he reveled in the sounds and sight of their coupling, and knelt before Malfoy's face, feeding him his throbbing cock and pushing, fucking his mouth at an angle which must have been painful and impossible and he didn't care...

“Harry. Harry. HARRY!”

He came awake with a start, and it took him a few moments to gather his wits and become truly aware of Gareth, looking at him and shaking his shoulder.

“I'm ok, I'm ok. I'm awake.” Fuck. What the hell was that?

“You were... dreaming?” asked Gareth, a strange light in his green eyes.

“No... yes. It was a nightmare.” Oh God, was it?

A moment of tense silence stretched between them. Why was the silence tense? What was happening?

“Harry... you know you talk in your sleep.” And in the hurt and ice in Gareth's stare he read exactly what he must have said, and how.

“Oh God, Gar... I'm sorry... I- I can explain this... It's not how-”

“Don't! Don't you dare tell me what you moaning, and I quote, 'Fuck yes suck it, fuck Snape yes!' might or might not mean! I know you were with him for a time years ago, but it was before... before us. You have not been working on a new project, you've just been going around my back!”

“Gar, no-”

“Shut up! How can I trust anything you say now? It's respect, Harry, RESPECT. Hell, you want to fuck your Death Eater, go and fuck him, see if I care! But you could have been decent about it! Did you even wash your mouth from his come before kissing me goodnight?”

“Gar!”

“You're a little disgusting piece of shit, Harry. Fuck you.”

It took Harry three hours, tears, five different bouts of screaming, a couple of hexes and a lot of curse-dodging before Gareth accepted his apology, and listened long enough to understand that he was not dreaming about fucking and dominating Severus Snape, but that the part of Voldemort in his mind was. Of course, he had to break his promise to Albus to explain that, but after Snape had told Lucius, it felt satisfyingly fair. Gareth believed him, because he wanted to believe him, and Harry was glad because his lover was one of the things he cared most about in his life. After a tense lunch and a much needed cup of tea, they found themselves on the couch, kissing and touching and grasping each other like their first day, knowing it could have been their last. And while Harry was driving deep into his lover, trying to fill every empty space with his presence and heat and abandoning himself to the connection that bound them, if he sometimes forgot the blondish curls and saw black hair on too light skin and knew Voldemort had nothing to do with it, he didn't say. And he didn't love Gareth any less because of it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“Legilimens!”

“Expelliarmus!”

Severus could see himself fall to the floor under the strength of the spell.

“Damn… accio!” he hissed, and standing up he grasped his wand in mid-air, stealing it from the boy who'd just disarmed him.

“Snape!” screamed the Gryffindor.

“Potter!” Severus mocked him. “Now that we're done with the introductions I suggest you help me set up my potions lab and then we can start with the lessons.”

“Lessons?” echoed the boy in a puzzled tone.

“Yes, Potter, lessons. Those magnificent sessions of wasted time during which my knowledge is transferred from my notes to yours without touching either of our brains? I'm sure you're already familiar with the notion.”

“No… I mean yes, I mean… Snape! Why the hell are you here?!?”

Standing inside Potter's memory, Snape remembered clearly this scene from his point of view. He'd been furious, finding out that Albus had locked him up with a boy he despised, without even telling the boy first. The task of explaining everything had been up to him.

“Potter... the Headmaster did inform you that, since my spying career just came to an abrupt end, he's decided that I am to live in this hole with you and teach you how to die with some dignity at the hands of Voldemort, didn't he?”

The disbelieving, distrustful and above anything disgusted stare the boy had given him had been answer enough, and he'd truly hated Albus for a handful of moments.

Raising his wand again against the intruder, Potter had started casting:

“Petrificus tot-”

“Sweet Morgana!” He'd cut him off, closing the distance between them and pushing Harry's wand aside with his in a shower of sparks. “Will you stop it with that wand? I didn't come here for you to hex me!”

“Then why the hell did you come here?”

“First, nobody gave you leave to speak to me in that tone. Second... the Headmaster deemed it right that I teach you what I know in the hope you might one day be a little less pathetic an opponent for the Dark Lord.”

“What? Hold on a sec... Dumbledore wants me to take lessons from you?”

“Ave gratia plena! Potter understood something I said!” he'd mocked the boy, his tone dripping sarcasm. “Yes, professor Dumbledore wants exactly that. And don't use such language with me.”

“Impossible! Dumbledore wouldn't do something like that to me!”

“You tell me, boy...” muttered the ex-Death eater, but the boy had not even heard him.

“Dumbledore would have warned me! He'd have written me a letter, he'd have come himself!”

Sweet Circe, the boy had been an arse. How had he survived those months? No wonder he'd taught the Hero of the Wizarding World how to give head, just the benefit of shutting him up would have been reason enough!

“Potter, this might come as a shock revelation, I know... but hold fast... the world does not spin around you. The Headmaster has other things to do apart from babysitting a spoiled brat with a hero complex and obvious self-control issues. Like it or not, I'm here to teach you. Potions, Occlumency, Legilimency, Dark Arts, whatever damn thing I deem necessary. That includes manners, and if it's not too late, humility. Do you understand?”

“But-”

“Do. You. Understand?”

“No! Why should I get lessons from a Death Eater, wh-”

“Very well,” barked Severus, glaring at him with hatred, “then teach yourself!” and he'd stalked off in a billowing of black robes that seen now from the outside made him want to applaud his own dramatic style.

“No Voldemort?” was Harry's first question as he came up from the boy's mind.

“No, no trace of the Dark Lord.”

In the last week and a half they had met almost every day, and they'd managed to break down Harry's shields, but Severus had yet to get a glimpse of the foreign presence in the boy's mind. Were it not for the painful twinges his Mark gave when he was in the Gryffindor's presence, he might think he'd imagined everything, like Minerva did.

“I...”

“Spit it out, Harry.”

“I'm sorry I was such a prick back then.”

Merlin, if the boy didn't stop saying things like that, he might very soon come to respect him. If he was honest with himself, he already did. He respected the man he had become, and tolerated his company with an ease which was unusual for him. He still had to decide whether all that was a good or a bad thing, though.

“Sorry does not change it. Try not to be one now.” It was almost a compliment from him. From the little smirk playing on the dratted Gryffindor's mouth, he understood. Damn. When had Harry started understanding what Severus said?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Severus, I was thinking..."

"Nothing good ever came of those words, especially when spoken by you."

"Ha, bloody ha. Anyway, listen. We haven’t managed to catch even a glimpse of Voldemort, even if you have been poking around in my mind for weeks now. So…”

“So?”

“Ok, this might be a bit far fetched, but I think Voldemort is running through my memories, escaping every time he feels us near. Being in my mind, he notices whatever I notice, so…”

“Are you suggesting I render you unconscious before using Legilimency on you?”

“No, I’m not that dense, I know you cannot access somebody’s mind unless they are using it…”

“Which in your specific case should make any attempt at Legilimency impossible.” muttered Snape. “So what are you suggesting?”

“Alcohol. Or sleep. But I don’t think I can get to sleep knowing you’ll be entering my mind, and a potion would make my mind unreadable...”

“So you plan to get drunk in my quarters while I stay sober and watch?”

“Well, it's an idea, don't you think?”

“What I think,” said Severus with a much put-upon sigh, “is that you just want to drink up all of my finest Ogden's and would use any excuse to do it. But the excuse you managed to find might have some merit, so we might as well proceed.”

And proceed they did, with Harry imbibing more than half of the whisky under Severus's dismayed glare, while the older man had to make a couple of shots last through the afternoon, wary of the consequences of alcohol on his casting. And really, thought the Slytherin, it was not fair that Potter held his alcohol so well. Watching sadly as his beloved Ogden's bottle become emptier and emptier, he found himself remembering that twelve years ago Harry used to get tipsy with a couple of butterbeers.

Finally Harry excused himself to the loo, and in coming back he looked uncertain enough on his feet to be deemed drunk. And if he wasn't, Severus did not care. Another minute of sitting sober watching a delectable young man getting wasted on his armchair was not an option. Getting his wand, the Slytherin stood up, blocking Harry's path to the armchair.

“I think-” well, maybe the boy was drunk enough, after all, mused Severus as he found himself with an armful of warm Gryffindor and fogged green eyes looking up at him.

“Uh?” was the boy's only apology, if it was indeed an apology.

“You're ready, Harry, get on the bloody armchair if you can't stand, I'll see if I can catch the bastard now.” What right did a drunk man have to smell that good? He was meant to stink of alcohol and possibly vomit, not to smell like bread and fresh sweat and orange peels.

“Mmmh... comfy.” Very intelligent, Potter. How did he manage to look sober until a minute ago? Instead of getting on the armchair, though, Harry unexpectedly let his hands roam up Severus's chest, tangling in his black hair as he stroked his neck, briefly toying with the white collar peeking out from under his dark robes, all the while pressing himself tight against the older man and merciful Merlin, was he smelling him? Rationally, Severus knew this was the perfect moment to cast the spell, but the urge to just turn the Gryffindor around, slam him against a wall and fuck him was so strong he could hardly think straight. How could someone do this to him and not expect to be taken, used and kept as his? It was not Harry's beauty, even though that made it even harder to resist, or the noises he was making as he nuzzled Severus's neck, but the absolute evidence of how desperately he was wanted, needed-

“Bloody hell!” he gasped, as a jolt of pain went up his left arm, sharp enough to make his jaw lock and his vision go black. After a few seconds the pain in his Mark stopped, but it had been enough to make him focus. He still wanted to give the Gryffindor what he so obviously wanted, and more, but right now he wanted the Dark Lord dead even more.

“Severus?”

Grasping a handful of dark curls, he yanked Harry's head back to look into his eyes as he whipped out his wand. The mewling noise that came from the man's throat at that was almost too much, but he kept his stare fixed into green eyes and cast:

“Legilimens!”

The misty sensation of being in somebody else's mind was even stronger than usual, probably because Harry was drunk. Looking around he found himself once again in the safe-house, and again it was Harry and him in the kitchen, but this was a new memory, one of a moment he recognized instantly as he saw Harry's hesitant hands undoing his teacher's robes for the very first time, the boy unconsciously licking his lips as he looked at Severus's body. Then Harry's gaze shifted up and crossed his, and he was sucked in, he was in the boy's mind, thinking what he thought, feeling what he felt, and fuck, this had never happened before, what was he supposed to do? And then Harry's eyes, his eyes now, moved down to look hungrily at Severus's cock, and he drowned in the boy's thoughts, losing all sense of himself as he, they, went down on their knees before the Potions master.

Nobody would ever imagine something about Snape could be nice, but his cock surely was. Hell, Snape's cock was more than just nice, it was glorious. It made him want to revere it, adore it, go down on his knees and start licking and sucking, and never come back up.

Other men's cocks sometimes were... different from the person. It was weird how someone's cock could have close to nothing in common with the man it belonged to. It made Harry feel funny. Sometimes giving a blow-job made him feel almost like having sex with a stranger, while his partner watched on. He felt a bit stupid and self-conscious about it, but he'd actually felt a twinge of guilt while giving head to other boys, guilt about becoming so lost in making love to a man's dick, while he'd never felt that same kind of abandon while making love to the man himself.

Snape's cock, on the other hand, was exactly as one would imagine it, if one ever took the time to think about such a thing. Hot, smooth and velvety, slightly curved upwards, it looked arrogant, demanding and precise, standing up and pointing to Harry's face as if daring him to touch and taste.

Unable to resist, Harry laid his hands on Snape's shins, enjoying the rough texture of his trousers under his touch, and he held his tongue out, flicking the tip to feel Snape's cock. It was delicious. The taste and smell was the same as those of the man's body and mouth, only stronger, purer, and had an overall saltiness and muskiness which erased any other perception from Harry's senses.

At that very moment, Harry felt he was taste, and he was smell, and his lips and tongue moved of their own accord to get more, licking what was in front of him, mouthing it, feeling it and making it his.

“Sweet Merlin...” gasped Snape as Harry took him in, sliding forwards on his length until his forehead was pressed against the man's belly, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as the long shaft pressed against the back of his throat. He consciously enjoyed the taste, his throat too full to inhale the precious smell, or to do anything apart from wiggling his tongue a little, trying to capture the flavour of his lover's precome and impress it into his memory. He remained like that for as long as he could, before the muscles in the back of his throat spasmed and he was forced to pull back, gasping for breath.

As he did, he looked up at Snape's face, and felt a shiver of pleasure at the heat in those black eyes. He bent down again, intent on worshipping what was in front of him, cock, balls, flesh, muscle, everything.

It was a shock to come back to his mind and the real world. For a moment he was lost, unsure if the eyes he was staring into were his own, a mirror, or another's. And then it all fit together, he was Severus, and Harry was in front of him, and the strange angle at which the Gryffindor held his head was because of his hand's punishing grasp on the boy's -man now- hair, which he still had not let go of. He did, and something in Harry's eyes told him the spell had somehow sobered him up.

“Severus...” raspy, unsure.

“Sober now?” and that was not the real question.

“Not... not quite.” which was not the real answer, but rather a plea for help. And who was he to refuse? If Potter didn't want to make a decision, he could make it for him right now. That's what Slytherins did, after all. The dirty work.

Looking deep into Harry's eyes, he put away his wand and lifted his hand to cradle the other man's neck, stroking his thumb along the pulse point and making him shiver. That was enough for the Gryffindor to fall, to forget the consequences and accept what he couldn't take for himself but had to beg to be given. They kissed, and considering how hot and ready they both were, it was a slow, thorough, coming together after twelve years and finding the other different, a new person in the shape of an old lover. Severus couldn't take it anymore, he pushed Harry back onto the armchair, deftly undoing buttons and removing robes until the Gryffindor was naked and he himself was not far behind. Now that he'd seen into Harry's mind he understood at least in part how truly different they were in this. He enjoyed Harry's moan as he took him in his mouth, and used all the small tricks experience and knowing the man had taught him. He wanted to see Harry lose all control, he wanted to know he had that power over him. Even in performing the very same act, Harry wanted to serve, cherish and love. He wanted to possess, spoil, claim. When Harry could finally take no more pleasure and shot his seed, hands clutching at the back of the Slytherin's head as he was swallowed whole, Severus drank it, relishing in the thought that it was him, and him alone, behind that pleasure.

The alcohol was apparently gone from Harry's system, but after Severus's blow-job he felt dazed in a way he couldn't remember being in... well, too long. As he came down from his orgasm, he looked at the man who was now reclining next to the armchair where he was sprawling. Not beautiful. Better. He was too thin, too pale, the black hair on his legs, under his arms and around his crotch a sharp contrast against his sallow skin. Some parts of him were beautiful. His hands, long and thin and graceful and strong; his eyes, hot or cold, but unreadable apart from the intensity behind them, his mouth, expressive or blank or cruel... and his voice, dark and deep and emerald, like silk snapping and hissing and gliding. Gareth would love Severus's voice if he could hear him like Harry did. Thinking about Gareth and Severus made him feel strange, more jealous than guilty, even if it was unreasonable and silly. It also made him inexplicably hot. He suffocated the feeling in a kiss, sliding off the armchair to kiss and bite Severus's lip and then tracing a wet line down his neck with his lips and tongue, until Severus pulled on his hip and he was on the armchair again, straddling the Slytherin. Caressing shoulders and chest with his hands while he pressed his nose into the older man's hair, inhaling deeply the scent of sex and potions and old dust in a sunny room. He'd missed this, and hadn't even realized he'd missed it.

Snape murmured a small wandless spell, one of the first the Gryffindor had actually mastered, which right now did not seem so silly, and Harry lifted himself up just to sit back down, on Severus's cock, feeling it slide in inch by inch until he was sitting in the man's lap and breathing on his lips. Moving, and loving the friction, he set up a rhythm, bracing his arms on the back of the armchair and gasping every time Severus tilted his hips and thrust upwards to brush his prostate.

“Merlin, yes...” the slightly breathless note in Severus's voice was something Harry only heard while they had sex, and it sent liquid heat down his spine, making him ache for more. He bent his head to capture a hand with his mouth, and moaned when Severus pressed it against his mouth, letting him lick and suck on each finger as he wanted.

“Get up.”

It took Harry a few moments to decipher the words, he was so lost in that beautiful voice.

“Get up!” and he was shoved, wincing at the loss of contact. A hand closed on his shoulder and pushed him to the door at the far end of the room, and past it, and they were in Severus's bedroom, and he managed to press himself to the man and kiss, taste, touch, feel...

"Turn around."

And Harry did, unable and unwilling to resist, basking in the power behind Snape's voice.

Seconds passed, he could feel the other man behind him, could hear him and smell a faint trace of his sweat, and it took all his self-control not to look, not to reach out a hand and feel his lover. He was rewarded when fingers closed around his neck making it difficult, but not impossible, to breathe, and a hand stroked down his back, then went around and wrapped around his prick for one, two, three demanding strokes that had him panting and wanting more. All contact stopped, and for a moment he was suspended in a grey limbo where the lack of feeling was a perception as acute as the feeling itself had been. Then he was brusquely shoved forward on the bed, a hand pressing at the back of his neck until his cheek was mashed against a pillow, and another pulling on his hip, keeping his arse raised in the air. Merlin... he wanted it, wanted it so bad that he didn't even know what 'it' was anymore so long as it was Severus giving it to him, taking him, marking him as his. Instant or ages, Harry was not able to measure time anymore as he pressed himself back against his lover as much as he could, feeling the taut lines of Severus's thighs against his, the hard line of his cock and the scratch of his hair.

“Severus, please... please!” he said, or thought he had. It might have come out as a single moan, he wasn't sure. But then Severus was inside him again and it didn't really matter. He felt his orgasm build up with each slide, and he wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking it in time with their fucking. He wanted to lose himself in this moment, he wanted to become one with Severus and still stay separate so that he could feel the beauty of the contact of having him inside, taking him and claiming him and spoiling him for anybody else with every thrust. He came with a choked breath, his muscles clenching hard on Severus, who came just a short while later, shuddering until he'd completely emptied himself inside him.

“Tea?”

Ah, the quiet comfort of the typical post-orgasmic question. Harry almost smiled at the calm way in which Severus had spoken, not even opening his eyes to look at the ceiling. I wonder if everyone around the world uses tea to help with post-orgasmic stress, or if it's one of those British things that have the world giggling at us...

“Tea, Potter?”

And he was forced to come back to the world, something he didn't particularly appreciate at the moment.

With a nod and a quick cleaning spell for both of them, Harry sat up on the bed, mouthing one last kiss on Severus's shoulder.

Readying tea was a silent affair, and quite tense. Harry had to come to terms with what had just happened and to find a way of fitting it in the weird puzzle that was his life, and Snape... well, Severus was obviously thinking about something, whatever that was. But when one had magic to use, preparing a teapot and serving tea could only take so long, and soon enough they were sitting in the living room, staring at each other over the brims of their cups.

“This-” and he didn't really know how to go on. Damn Snape and his eyebrow. “Look, Severus, I'm not saying this was a mistake, but you know I have a boyfriend now.”

“Yes, I am aware of the fact.” Just like that?

“I'm not going to leave him, you know?”

“A fact of which he will be thrilled, I'm sure.”

Christ, how could one shag have ruined everything between them? It's not as if it was the first time they did it, but it sure felt different. Bugger.

“I'm sorry... maybe it was this thing, having Voldemort in my mind, I'm sorry I messed up, ok?”

All the detached calm melted from Severus's eyes, and Harry saw him as furious as he hadn't seen him in more than twelve years:

“Don't you dare say that!” he hissed, spittle flying into Harry's face like venom, “You might have 'messed up', you might have been drunk, you might not want to fuck me ever again to spare your precious Gareth's feelings, but it was you who wanted me, who screamed my name as he came down my throat, not the Dark Lord. This was not about Voldemort in your mind.”

“I know... I know.” his voice broke in admitting it.

“I am helping you get rid of the Dark Lord. I know he weighs in your mind. But don't go around blaming him for whatever idiocy you commit or think you have committed. That's his style.”

And he was right. Damn him. The idiocy was his own, and he didn't regret it nearly enough.

“So, Severus... any luck with exorcizing the brat yet?” asked Lucius as he carefully stepped out of the fireplace.

“Not yet, though we managed to lower his shields, finally.”

“I just hope for your sake you solve this whole mess soon, so you can have your weekends back to yourself.”

“I hope as well, but it has to do more with the fact that I do not like the idea of the Dark Lord skipping around in the mind of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Lucius just tsk-ed at that, and bent to examine the coffee table. There he found the remains of a bottle of Ogden's which he remembered had been full the day before, an empty teapot, and two empty cups resting on saucers which had been sloshed with tea and were just drying. Mmh... tea after whisky? And it was barely six? He stood and took a look around the room. The door to Severus's chamber was closed, which it rarely was, and the armchair looked as if it had just been straightened up with care.

“I see.” The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth was more because he had managed to piece together these hints, than because of what they meant. Severus needed a bit of fun, after all, and he had been far too busy in the last few months, what with 'Cissa trying to cheat him out of his fortune in an absurd divorce attempt and Draco's wife's difficult pregnancy.

“You wouldn't have, if you'd come just ten bloody minutes later.” muttered Severus, but there was no real anger in his tone.

“Oh, don't be a git, Sev. The boy is cute, when he's silent, you have my full approval and just a tiny bit of envy.”

“He's not the same empty-headed brat he was ten years ago, Lucius. There is actually a brain behind the eyes.”

“Mmh... I don't know, I haven't looked much past those eyes after he got his eyesight fixed and stopped wearing those muggle atrocities. But apparently you have. I wonder, Sev, I truly do...”

And being the Slytherin he was, his wondering took him to the realm of exploitable possibilities. If Potter was more than just a shag, what was he? Clearly he was not bondmate material, not for a while at least: the boy, man, he corrected himself, was engaged and from what he'd last heard there were plans for a bonding ceremony in the air. Which just went to show that Gryffindors could be lying little shits just as much as Slytherins could. Anyway, that meant that even if Severus and Potter were or became an item there wasn't much to exploit, since they wouldn't be going public. Pity, that. What was in it for Severus, then? Money... but only until the Potter brat was bonded. After that, spending relevant amounts of money on his paramour would be almost impossible for him. Power... Potter had renounced using all he had, in an exceptional show of Gryffindor stupidity. Fame... Severus did want that, but for himself, not reflected from somebody else. Sometimes he could be quite idealistic for a Slytherin, and Lucius had never been able to cure him of that. Which brought him to his last hypothesis.

“Sev, are you falling for a Gryffindor?”

It was proof of how much Severus valued him as a friend that he actually answered:

“Not yet, but I guess I might in the future.”

“He's going to be bonded in a few months.”

“I know.”

Of course he knew. Everyone knew. He should know better, though!

“He cannot be yours. Don't let him become a liability.”

“He won't. I am a Slytherin, after all. If life ever taught me something through my errors, it was how to take what I want without becoming dependent on it.”

“Good.” I just hope you're right about that. He did not have that ability, had never had it. If he wanted something, he had to have it, at the cost of destroying it. A true Malfoy. Which was why he'd never allowed himself to love Severus they way he deserved to be loved. Nothing good would have come of it, for either of them.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“Harry!”

Turning at his name, he finally spotted Hermione, seated at the back of Fortesque's shop and waving at him.

“Hi, 'Mione. So how are things?”

“Mmh... not bad. And you? Any progress with Snape?”

“What?” paled Harry, “No, nothing! Nothing!”

“Well,” said Hermione, watching him with huge eyes, “I was talking about the piece of Dark Lord surfing your brains, but apparently there is gossip more interesting that a new era of terror to talk about.”

And really, what was the point in trying to keep something from Hermione? The woman knew him better than he knew himself, most of the time. So he filled her in on both accounts, Dark Lord fighting and... well, the other thing. He still had no name for it.

“So what? Is it just sex? Do you think it could be more?”

Thank you, 'Mione, delicate as always. Years had made her even more perceptive, but nothing could blunt the sharp edges of her curiosity and tactlessness.

“I don't know. I mean, I hardly even know him anymore... and for twelve years, he didn't even try to contact me, asked me over for tea or whatever!”

“Well neither did you. And maybe... maybe he felt you should take the first step.”

“Me? Why is it always me who has to do stuff?” This was actually a sore point for him.

“You were young, Harry, and he wasn't. And let's say it... he's not the best looking man on Earth, let alone his personality. He might have thought that you wouldn't want him,once you left the safe-house.” And he had been quick enough to forget him, actually.

“I'm not so sure... You might be right, but something feels off in that.”

They chatted a bit more, all the while making huge dents in their ice-cream. Hermione's cherry monstrosity could be justified just on account of her pregnancy, it was so sweet that it made Harry gag.

“Why aren't you with Snape today, anyway?”

“Potions conference. I'm taking advantage of the free time to see you, and later I guess I'll go out with Gar for a drink.”

“So... this thing with you and Snape... what about Gareth, then?” Christ, where were you the day the taught tact at school? But it was an obvious question, and he should have expected it.

“I don't know, 'Mione, I really don't know.”

“So tell me, Sev... if you like the boy so much, why didn't you snatch him up right after he defeated the Dark Lord? He'd have been yours, that way.”

Bloody hell, Lucius could be worse than a hairdresser. He'd taken to the idea of him and Harry like a dog to a bone, and there was no way of making him stop. As if he needed this, after ten hours of taking notes on the newest idiocies the other British Potions masters thought could change the very basics of potionsmaking. Fools, the lot of them. It had been ten hours wasted on banalities. He just wanted to enjoy his pint and go home.

“Just leave it, Lucius, I'm not in the mood.”

“Oh come on! Why did you let him go? Did you feel too old and jaded for something as pure as our precious hero?”

“Oh, come off it. He is tolerable now, but when we were in that house... he was twenty-one, Lucius, barely more than a child! I didn't mind a shag. Or many. And I babysat him because I had to. I admit I saw the potential there for somebody I could grow... very fond of.” He pointedly ignored Lucius's snort. “But he was not what I wanted at that time, and I am no Hufflepuff, to slowly coach him through his twenties and help him fulfil his full potential.”

“Mmh...” it seemed Lucius could relate to that, and had finally understood. “So you waited for someone to do the job for you?” Or maybe not.

“Not really. I simply let it go, I had plenty other things on my mind. He turned out all right, after all.”

“But not for you.” and Lucius's eyes were grave as he said that. Ha!

“We'll see about that.”

“Harry, I really don’t have much time, I have a meeting in an hour…”

“Oh come on, that’s more than enough time for a pint! It’s the first Saturday in a month that I don’t spend holed up at Hogwarts…”

It didn’t take much cajoling to persuade Gareth, especially since it was snowing and the Three Broomsticks looked warm and cozy. As they made their way through the crowded tables to see if they could find a place to sit in the back, an elegant voice called them from one of the booths:

“Well, if it isn’t Harry Potter and his fiancé! Come and sit with us, the pub is quite crowded at the moment, I doubt you will find another table.”

Lucius Malfoy. Severus was sitting with him, nursing a pint of dark beer and looking like he could do without the added company. Which was the only reason why Harry accepted the invitation, missing the glare that Gareth sent his way.

“Good evening, Mr Malfoy, Severus.”

“Please call me Lucius, we have known each other since you were a child, after all.” Yes, and we tried to murder each other from the start, you slimy son of a bitch.

“Then please call me Harry. Oh, and this is Gareth Manning, my boyfriend.”

“Mr Manning.” Lucius rose to shake Gar’s hand. Harry wanted to burn away that hand with a curse. Busy glaring at Malfoy he hadn’t realized Severus had stood as well, and was now shaking hands with his boyfriend, polite interest plastered on his face.

“Ravenclaw class ’95, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes.” was Gareth’s only answer, and the scowl on his face was definitely unfriendly.

The first few minutes after they sat down were hell. Lucius kept talking amiably to Harry, effectively preventing him from taking part in the conversation between Gareth and Severus, which consisted of the latter trying to show an interest and be polite and the former glaring daggers at everyone in sight, especially the Potions master. Finally Rosmerta came around to their table, and Harry could have kissed her.

“So my loves, what are you having?”

Harry and Gareth asked for a pint of lager each, and Lucius went for ale.

“A dark ale for me, Rosmerta, and have one for yourself when you have time,” said Severus, and put two galleons on the table.

“Thanks, sweet.”

“Wait. I'm paying for mine.” Everyone turned to stare at Gareth, and Rosmerta hesitated a moment before collecting his seven sickles.

“Gar...” tried Harry, but instead of calming down, his boyfriend became even more livid.

“I am not in the habit of accepting drinks from Death Eaters. And you shouldn't, either.”

Harry winced at the words and at the ice in Gareth's tone, but amazingly Severus did not curse him on the spot. Instead, he quietly leant back on his chair and looked at Lucius, finally asking:

“So, Luce, tell me about this project Draco has been assigned. I hear it's quite the honour.” Please tell me I'm not dreaming, and he's going to let it pass...

But the hiss coming from Gareth told him Severus wasn't letting it pass. As the conversation between the two Slytherins went on, Harry realized the project they were discussing was the one Gareth had had his eyes on for months. And apparently Draco bloody Malfoy had obtained it instead of him.

That set the tone for the next half an hour. Severus was the soul of politeness, so much so that each time he brought up a painful subject or committed a small breach of etiquette at Gareth's expense, it was evident that he was doing it consciously and on purpose, almost artfully. Gareth was seething and being embarrassingly rude. Harry was caught in-between, and Malfoy... damn him, Malfoy was just having the time of his life watching Severus use all the rules of propriety to cut deep into Gareth's pride and patience. And pawing the Potions master in a way that Harry though indecent. Really, must he touch Severus every time he made a point? And why did Severus put up with it anyway?

Mercifully, his fiancé still had an appointment to get to, and they could excuse themselves after just the one pint, and run away.

“Going already? It's such a shame, Mr Manning, I was so enjoying talking to you. You have come quite a way from the pimply boy who used to spoil his potions forgetting the difference between clockwise and anticlockwise stirring.”

Merlin, the man was a real bastard.

“Actually, Severus, it is getting late, maybe we should head to the castle as well. I have to return home tonight, but it would be nice to have some time to... chat, after dinner, wouldn't it?” I know what you're trying to imply, Malfoy, and I don't believe you for an instant. But he did. And the way Severus looked the blond Slytherin over before moving his gaze to him hurt.

Gareth managed to stay silent until they had apparated home, but after that, all his anger at Severus, and for some reason his jealousy, came out:

“Harry, I don’t know if there’s something going on between you and Snape. I want to believe you, but look at the way he was acting!”

“For fuck’s sake, he was half sitting in Malfoy’s lap for the whole time, and you think he’s got a thing with me??”

“What reason did he have to be so rude to me, then? And why did you notice who he was sitting on, anyway?”

“Gar, he was rude because you were ruder, and you started it.”

“Are you defending him?”

“No!” exasperated, Harry didn’t know what else to say. “I’m just saying he’s a bastard, and he was probably riling you up for kicks. I am not cheating on you with Snape! Gareth, please.”

And something in the way he’d said it must have been convincing, for Gareth calmed down, and with a quick kiss and a tired “I’m sorry… I’m just afraid sometimes, that you’ll go away.” He was off to get ready for his meeting .

Since when am I such a good liar?

He needed to talk to someone, and a quick floo message to Hermione just as Gareth was going out was the only solution he could find.

Merlin bless the floo network, just the time to put on the kettle and Hermione was there, a curious light in her eyes.

“So, what’s up? Everything ok?”

And since it wasn’t, and that was the reason he’d asked her over for tea and a chat (their code phrase for “Hi, I’m a mess please come over and pick up the pieces’), he told her what was wrong, what had transpired at the pub, and how jealous he’d been of Severus being there with Lucius when he’d said he had no time for him.

“So, what do you say?”

“I say,” answered Hermione while quietly sipping her tea, “that you have a lot of nerve, considering you’re with Gareth, and that from the sound of things his relationship with Malfoy is nowhere near as serious as yours with Gar is.”

“But… I love him!”

“Who?” And that was the question, wasn’t it?

“… both.”

“Well. Maybe so does he.” Harry hadn’t honestly thought about that. Not even once. It was logic, rational, that if he could love both Gareth and Severus (and he did), then Severus could love both him and Lucius.

“But-” how do I know he does? What if he’s just laughing at the pathetic little Gryffindor pining after him?

He didn’t have to voice his doubts, Hermione knew him well enough apparently.

“Harry, you’re just jealous. It’s natural. He is as well, and you think he’s a fool because of it.”

“But he knows! He knows I love him!”

“Does he? Have you told him?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then you cannot be sure. And it doesn’t matter. I said you’re both jealous, not that you feel the same. You hate seeing him with Lucius because you’re afraid that he cannot love you both, that he’ll choose him over you and that you will not be good enough.”

“I don’t-”

“You do. And stop trying to interrupt me. He… well, I’ve worked with him in the past, I think I know him enough to say that he does not have that problem. The man’s ego could flatten mountains. I’d say he’s not afraid of not being good enough for you, but… ok. Put it like this. You are jealous because you’re afraid. You don’t want to share because you fear there will not be enough for everyone and you’ll be left out. He knows there is enough to share, but he doesn’t want to. He’s possessive. If you are his, then he wants you to be his alone, he’s the kind of man who could chain you to a bedpost and keep you as pet, if you let him.”

Which now that she said it did not sound so bad… or maybe it did.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“You know, I was thinking…” It was nice to have some time to chat after sex, for a change.

“Ah. Must be the after effects of shagging a genius.”

“Git.”

“Idiot.”

“We keep looking for Voldemort in memories related to him or to the time I spent in the Wizarding World… but wouldn’t that be too obvious a place to hide?”

“You mean… we should look into your years with the muggles?” rising up on his elbow, Severus studied his lover’s face, thinking about his theory.

“So… what do you think?”

“I think,” and he could feel a half smile curving his lips, “that you should shag this genius more often, if these are the results.”

They found him. In one week they managed what they had been trying to do for almost two months. It was painful, ugly, and anti-climatic. Severus had to find a replacement for his lessons, the pain in his forearm was now constant and prevented him from doing anything as precise as potions with his left hand. Harry was constantly thrown back into his worst memories, forced to share with the Slytherin the very things which he most wanted to keep for himself. Somehow the stress did not have the effect of driving them crazy and making them fight and hate each other like years before. Instead, they grew even closer, and they supported each other through those infernal days. During the nights, Harry went back to Gareth, who took his mind away from demons past and present, and in exchange for that he tried to soothe his fiancé’s jealousy and fear. Severus had Lucius, and considered himself lucky, for even if whenever they were not in bed (and sometimes even when they were) the blond was constantly bitching about the pain in his own Mark and making snide remarks about Harry. He was his closest friend, and the depth of understanding and comradeship between them was such that it made it worth it to live through this and see what would come next.

And so they managed to isolate the piece of Voldemort that was in Harry’s mind, and when the question of how to keep it in one single memory long enough to take it out and kill it arose, it was Snape who found the answer.

“The Dark Lord clearly can hide only in memories which are painful to you, since it has proved to be very easy for you to evict him from those which aren’t. So… as corny as that sounds, I’m afraid that the only way of keeping him still in one place is to surround him with a wall of happy memories.” Those last two words made Severus’s lip curl so much that Harry though it was going to rip. He couldn’t help but smile at that, and got a glare in return.

They didn’t waste time. Harry contacted Gareth via floo, then sat on the carpet in Severus’s bedroom to meditate and clear his mind. In the meantime, Severus called Lucius to help him bespell a vessel to receive the Dark Lord’s soul so that they may destroy it without damaging Harry’s mind. After two months of useless tries, they were ready in less than two hours.

For something as momentous as what they were about to do, the setting was exceptionally domestic. Harry sat on one of the armchairs, and in front of him was the coffee table, on which rested the stone basin he and Lucius had enchanted to receive the Dark Lord's soul. It was going to take every ounce of concentration he had to wrestle the fragment of his old master from Harry's mind, and then Lucius and Manning would have to force it into the basin. After that, all four of them would combine their power to destroy it. He did not like the idea of sharing the Ravenclaw's power. He was a decent man, he imagined, but he had earned Severus's contempt with the way he'd acted weeks ago at the Three Broomsticks. He could have tolerated such lack of propriety and inability to control his temperament from a Gryffindor, maybe, but a Ravenclaw? Really... he could understand what Harry saw in him, though. He was handsome, that was evident. The messy blondish curls, the light green eyes so open and carefree, so different from Harry's or Severus's, the strong build... and he had a strength about him, when he was not trying to defend his relationship with Harry against threats real or perceived, that even Severus couldn't help but find enticing. Still, he did not like him. He was a fool, making Harry miserable with his useless jealousy, and making an arse of himself wearing his fears and uncertainties on his sleeve, for all to see. And he did not tolerate fools well.

“Everyone in place?”

And with a nod from Gareth and Lucius, and the even sound of Harry's breathing, they began.

“Legilimens!”

He was in Harry's mind, he could see the hunched form of the child as he shivered in the dark cupboard, counting spiders to avoid falling asleep before his uncle had gone up to his room.

Not here.

Petunia Dursley's yelling at a child who had had the nerve of throwing up on his bed when he was sick.

Not there.

A small Harry being chased in a school courtyard by a pack of six boys, led by his cousin Dudley... and there, behind them, a flicker of wrongness.

He had him.

Help me, Harry, keep him there!

He could feel the soul sense him, try to run as it had done so many times before. He felt it jump to another memory, and jumped on it to follow.

Sirius Black, laughing and smiling, telling a young Harry he could go and live with him.

The soul stopped, shaken, and turned around, fleeing in another direction.

Granger and Weasley telling Harry that they wanted him as godfather for the baby Hermione was awaiting.

It tried memory after memory, in the desperate want to get away.

Gareth looking in Harry's eyes and saying he loved him.

Red hair and a sweet voice singing a lullaby.

Harry finding the key to break a curse he's been working on for months.

A Weasley family party.

Severus quirking his lips in a smile at one of Harry's silly jokes.

Gareth's shout of joy as he opened Harry's gift from last Christmas.

Severus kissing his neck and holding him.

Gareth.

Severus.

Gareth.

Severus.

GarethSeveusGarethSeverusGarethSeverus...

With a sharp twist, he grabbed the soul with his mind and pulled, hard. He heard Harry scream, but he could do nothing apart from holding the soul still in the air, and pray Lucius and Gareth did what they must. He felt their power close on the soul, freeing him, and he helped them guide it to the basin, slowly, carefully...

Shit.

The soul somehow broke away, Lucius's support wavering at the last second, and it went hurtling towards the nearest living target. Gareth. The man was not Harry, he'd be annihilated by the force of that soul. With all he had, Severus hurled his mind against the Dark Lord's soul and pushed. He felt it give, and collapsed onto the floor, exhausted.

He came to half an hour later. Harry was well, and so was everybody. Apparently he'd deviated the soul and sent it into a log of wood, which as soon as he was able to stand they destroyed. They knew immediately they had succeeded, from the lack of pain in his and Lucius's Marks. He was still dazed when Gareth put a protective arm around Harry's shoulders and led him to the door, taking him away from the nasty Potions master who had just saved his life.

“So… it’s done.” Lucius’s voice was almost unbelieving, and as soon as they were alone he collapsed on the armchair.

“Yes.” He looked at his friend for some seconds, trying to find an answer to his doubts. In the end, he had to ask:

“Why did you send the Dark Lord’s spirit towards Gareth instead of the vessel? It was lucky that we managed to lock him in that log.”

“Mmh… I thought you might notice. You’re too smart by half.”

“Lucius…” a note of impatience entered his voice.

“Well… why not? The Dark Lord would have been vanquished anyway. If Gareth had died or been reduced to an empty shell, you could have had Potter. If you saved him, like you have, either nobody would know or Potter would, and it would just make him fall for you even harder. It was a win-win situation, Severus, and I do like to help a friend.”

“Especially if you can have a bit of fun while you do it.” snorted the Potions master.

“Well, I am a Slytherin.”

“So am I, Lucius, so am I.”

And really, what else was there to answer? He had tried to explain it to Harry, how he could consider this man his best friend. Sneaky, manipulative, self-absorbed and conceited. Lucius put himself and his needs above anyone else, and even if Severus loved him dearly, he knew he couldn’t be trusted completely. He also knew that he was the one who understood him completely, and whom he could understand just as well. So his best friend had just tried to kill his lover’s fiancé? Well, more the fool Severus for not having thought that may happen. It certainly was not something about which to be angry: it went perfectly along with Lucius’s nature, so much so that the Potions master wondered at how he had not seen this coming.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

“Potter.” Frankly he had not been expecting him. Not after a week without even a floo call.

“Must we go back to surnames every time we vanquish a Dark Lord? Because if that's the case, I'm not getting rid of the next one that comes up.”

“I wasn't expecting you.”

“I... I know. Look, I'm sorry I didn't stop by sooner, but Gareth took some days off work to stay with me, and...”

Mmh. So the brat had wanted to come and see him, but his precious fiancé had been in the way. He could understand that, even if he did not like it. The question was: did he want to be nice about it? The deep shadows under Harry's eyes made him realize that he did.

“So, what excuse did you give him for visiting with your old Potions master, now that you no longer have a piece of a madman poking around your memories?” A slight smirk, and the tension evaporated from Harry's features. It made him wonder, that he had the power of doing that.

It was just a smirk, really, but it was a way of telling him that they were ok, that Severus did not resent him for putting his life with Gareth before him. Now they only had to work out where to go from here.

“Officially, I’m speaking to McGonagall about what happened last week.”

He was expecting a full-out glare for that, so the mild scowl on Severus’s face came as a sort of pleasant surprise. He knew his lover had a natural dislike of lies, and much preferred simply withholding information or misguiding somebody’s understanding of truth, but Harry was not able to do that, a simple lie was far easier, at least with Gareth. He didn’t lie to Severus, he knew very well the man could accept just about anything but would never speak to him again if he caught him lying even just once. Even for a Slytherin, Severus was definitely weird.

He accepted the cup of tea he was being offered, and sat down on his usual armchair.

“Has your Mark hurt again?” He didn’t really know what else he could ask about.

“No. He’s gone.”

“Yes. Finally.”

And Snape snorted and started to laugh, low and soft, something Harry would never had imagined.

“I still can’t believe you actually used memories of me to push back the Dark Lord.”

“Well,” he defended, “I love you, you make me happy, it’s just natura-” Oh. He’d actually gone and said it out loud. But by the way Severus was looking at him, he didn't mind too much. Still, better to change the subject.

“So... why did you save Gareth? It was risky.”

“Not too risky. And I think you know why.” That same light in Severus's eyes, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat.

“Humour me, then. Why would you save the life of the fiancé of the man you've been shagging for the last two months?”

“Because,” drawled the Slytherin, and Harry instantly knew he'd asked for too much, “I do not wish to have to deal with such a brat full-time, obviously, if there is someone stupid enough to willingly bear that burden.”

The words hurt Harry, but a look into his lover's eyes made him realize he was just being made fun of. Sodding Slytherin.

“Mmh... I don't think that's the reason.” he smiled.

“Well, it might not be the whole reason, but it certainly is what you get if you go fishing for professions of undying love.”

“How do I get those, then, if I cannot fish?”

“Well, you could stop chattering and put your mouth to better use, for example.”

And that, Harry could do.

They lay on the carpet, their bodies touching as they rested from one of the best hours of Harry's life. After a while, he turned around to lie on his side, his front pressed against Severus so he could steal body heat and look at the man he... I have to say it. Here goes nothing.

“You know I love you, right?” Severus did not even open his eyes, just tilted his lips in a relaxed half-smile.

“It is quite evident, yes, what with the lovelorn looks you usually send my way, or with how you scream it without even realizing you are doing it as I fuck you. The embarrassing post-orgasmic declarations are a dead giveaway, too.”

“Git.”

“Brat.”

And he was happy. He didn't need Severus to say it back, it was evident in the soft banter and in the arm which came up to wrap around his shoulders. But he had to make everything perfectly clear. Severus might be one for leaving things unsaid, but he couldn't.

“I- I love Gareth too, though.”

A deep breath, and black eyes were staring into his, trying to tell him something. “I know you do.”

“And...” how could he be so accepting?

“And while the Slytherin in me covets full ownership of your affections, body, time and soul, I'm more than smart enough to realize that I can share you with him or not have you at all. Who am I to spit in the face of something I want, just because it is not all I want, after all?”

Harry's brow furrowed at that. It didn't seem fair, really.

“So... beggars can't be choosers?”

He was rewarded by a swat on his arse.

“I am not a beggar, Potter. Reason: I do not beg. I don't need anything from others, and if there is something I want, I try to get it. I can compromise if it is worth it, but I do not beg, nor do I make do with scraps.”

Mmh. He could live with that. Nuzzling Severus's neck and embracing him tighter, he smiled and enjoyed the moment.

FIN

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