Poco Allegretto
by Gin Tonic


Severus Snape, star conductor and rigorous slave driver of the HSO – the Hogsmeade Symphony Orchestra – stormed into the hall, displeasure written all over his face. He had just come back from a meeting with the management – something that he already hated on principle. Not only did they constantly try to interfere with his work, but they also had the gall to restrict his artistic freedom by prescribing what pieces his orchestra had to perform. And now, barely one week before the orchestra was supposed to go on a tour through Europe, beginning and ending in London, they told him that they had found a new Oboe player for the orchestra. True, they had been short on one musician in that department and Severus had even agreed on needing someone, but they had decided on some young idiot without even asking him... He would show them that they couldn't treat him like that. The Oboe – Potter or Snotter the management had said his name was – would be out of the orchestra before they even started packing their stuff for Europe.

"Attention!" Severus yelled, making every single head of the orchestra snap up and stare at him wide eyed. How satisfying fear could be, he thought as he jerked his hand towards them, sending them to their respective seats. "I do not want any tomfoolery. Now, you know the program and you hopefully know your scores as well. If you do not, I suggest you pack your instrument and leave now."

Not one person moved and Severus gave them a nod that had them relaxing ever so slightly.

"The management, in its wisdom, has decided," he said with contempt, already making his orchestra wince, "to gift us with an additional oboe player." This had half of the orchestra snickering in malice – mainly the leader of the HSO, Gilderoy Lockhart. Fulfilling every stereotype of a viola player he was foolish, conceited and every bit as narcissistic as someone who had his whole house decorated with mirrors and pictures of himself could be.  He was also one of the biggest bitches in the orchestra. The other, more sensitive, half was pitying the poor newcomer even before they had seen him, knowing fully well what was coming.

"You know what that means. He"  – no need to bother telling the orchestra the name of someone who wouldn't stay long enough to say hallo – "will be here in fifteen minutes sharp and I want everyone to be ready for Tchaikovsky's Waltz of Flowers."
*

A shade under twenty minutes later, the first thing that Severus noticed about the new boy was his completely atrocious hairstyle. The second was that he was four minutes and forty-four seconds late. Severus frowned in displeasure.

"Mr Potter," he said, drawing out the name in a displeased drawl.

Potter cleared his throat nervously and had the gall to look up at Severus with a smile. Severus sent a sneer back – one of the finest in his repertoire, if he said so himself – and tapped the music stand in front of him. "You are late. If you would stop your dallying so we could begin? Now."

Ah, how he loved it when these little musicians stumbled and stuttered and nearly let their instruments fall, just because he had said something that he had really meant with all his shrivelled heart. Severus would have sighed happily, were he not congenitally incapable of such a thing. Potter barely had the time to raise his oboe to his lips before Severus gave the ever-ready (and they had better be, after all the pains Severus had taken to train them) orchestra the signal to start.

As the last tones of the piece died, Severus frowned. Unfortunately Potter hadn't turned out to be another untalented pity-job of Dumbledore's. In fact he was rather gifted, but this didn't change anything. Potter would leave the orchestra. Even if it was only so Severus could prove a point.
*

Harry watched blinkingly how Snape stormed out of the room, a murderous look on his face. Slowly and a little bit afraid of what might be coming, he turned around and found the second oboe and the trombone grinning at him. Hoping it was a good sign he gave a feeble smile.

"What just happened?"

The second oboe stepped forward, shrugging unconcernedly. "Nothing. Snape just didn't find a reason to kick you out."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "Does that mean I can stay?" There was so much wonder in his voice that the others' grins grew even wider.

"Certainly does, mate." It was the ginger haired trombone player speaking. "My name's Ron, that's Neville."

"I'm Harry." They shook hands.
 
Harry, biting his lip, gave Neville an apologetic look. "I … I hope you're not angry at me for becoming First Oboe, Neville," he blurted, blushing immediately and looking down at his shoes.

But Neville, instead of throwing an insult at him as Harry had feared, just smiled and said: "You play better than me. Besides, I feel rather comfortable being in the background. Means I’m not right under Snape’s nose."

"Plenty of room under there, though!” Ron joked.  “Come on, we'll introduce you to the rest," he said, putting a friendly arm around Harry's shoulders. 'The rest' were staring at the three of them with curiosity as if they had been waiting for some kind of drama show to happen. Some of them might even have been waiting for Snape to rip Harry apart and verbally slaughter him – there was a pompous looking man with carefully styled hair, on whose lapel a brooch in the shape of a violin had been fastened, who looked particularly disappointed. Still, he was the first to come over to Harry, taking his hand in his and shaking it like a cocktail mixer. All the while implying that Harry should be grateful for the touch. Harry was not.

"Gilderoy Lockhart – I'm sure you have heard of me!"  Lockhart had sweaty hands and spoke in a sing-song manner, as if he’d introduced himself this way so often that some people actually thought of him as Mr G. L. I’m-sure-you-have-heard-of-me. It was also apparent that he really enjoyed shaking hands – Harry's particularly.
 
"Pleasure," Harry forced out and yanked back his hand. Lockhart seemed to be waiting for something, but when it didn't come he breezed off.

Ron cleared his throat. "Well … meet the rest of the orchestra," he said and made a sweeping gesture, then proceeded to point out a few people, naming them and their instruments as he went. "This is Tonks – she plays the tuba. Kingsley Shacklebolt – tympani, Dean – tenor, snare and bass drums, Seamus – cymbals and the other things that go TING!, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil – both harpies, excuse me, harps," This definitely earned Ron two combined Evil Looks. "Fleur Delacour – violin," Ron pronounced the name that was so obviously French in a way that didn’t just sound wrong, also it actually caused Fleur, an extremely pretty blonde, to shudder. Harry nodded at all of them with a smile. "And Hermione Granger, who plays the violoncello."
 
Harry doubted that he would be able to remember all those names. "Hey, nice to meet you. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Hi Harry!" the orchestra chorused and grinned at each other, tight-knit bunch that they were. After the initial round of friendly and semi-friendly greeting everyone dispelled, leaving Harry alone with Neville and Ron. Hermione joined them, standing suddenly so close to Ron that it looked like they had been joined at the hip.

"So, you're gay then," was her first sentence - and it sent Harry sputtering.

"Hermione! You can't attack a bloke like that!" Neville admonished her and patted Harry's back. "Don't mind her, Harry."

Harry nodded and tried to regain his breath. "How ... how did you know?" he asked and coughed, trying not to blush and failing.

Ron shrugged. "Well, it's just that I showed you the prettiest -" an elbow in his stomach stopped him from saying more. Harry saw Neville just barely managing to suppress his laughter before adding: "He introduced Fleur and you didn't start drooling. It's something that gets used as a test here, so no-one bothers to try and chat you up when you're clearly batting for the other team."

"And for amusement purposes as well, obviously," Ron amended with a grin.

Hermione sniffed. "It's just a childish game they like to play. Now, Harry, how about some coffee?"
*

At the end of the day, Harry barged in through the front door of No. 12 Grimmauld Place and shouted "Sirius!" Sirius was Harry's Godfather and had been his guardian since Harry's parents had passed away when he was a small child. Harry had been living at his Godfather's place ever since he had come back from school - he had been trained in France and in Russia and had seen more of schools and practice rooms than anything else. London had been an adventure to him - or it could have been, if he had had someone else but Sirius to go out with. But since he barely knew anyone and since going to pubs and the like with your guardian was not exactly what Harry aspired to do, he had been more than glad when Dumbledore, who had been a friend and father figure to his parents, had suggested that he could get Harry an audition to the famous Hogsmeade Symphony Orchestra.

"Sirius!" Harry ran down into the kitchen, where Sirius was sitting with his feet propped up on the table and a mug of coffee in his hands. Upon seeing his godson storm into the room like that he quickly placed the cup on the table, spilling some of the coffee, and stared at him.

"Well?"

"I got in!" Harry beamed at Sirius - a beam that got even wider when Sirius ran over to him and pulled him into a bear-hug.

"Congratulations!" He pushed Harry back at arm's length, holding onto his shoulders and looking at him with pride in his eyes, before letting go of him and striding to the fridge. "This calls for champagne!"

The bottle was quickly opened and - after they had managed to stop getting the Champagne foam everywhere - soon they were holding their mugs of bubbly, as Sirius hadn’t managed to find any glasses and sipping.

"I can't believe that I got in," Harry said, practically bouncing. The champagne made him slightly dizzy, because he rarely drank. Oh, there had been parties at the schools, but as he had never managed to become part of the in-crowd he had rarely been invited to those. "We’ve got two weeks to rehearse the pieces, they said, and then we will be off to the tour through Europe."
*

Unfortunately for Severus, Potter’s abilities didn't noticeably diminish during the next rehearsal either. He was far from being the next Antonio Pasculli, but he was better than Longbottom - which explained why Dumbledore had appointed Potter First Oboe without even asking Severus. Not that he would ever admit that he agreed with one of Dumbledore's decisions. No, far from it. Severus continued to protest as loud as he could. But the tour crept closer and closer and Severus was well aware that he would not be able to find someone else for the post of the First Oboe so quickly. And Dumbledore and his conservatory had told Severus decidedly that they wanted pieces with a strong oboe - and that was something that Longbottom definitely was not. And that left Potter.

Severus rubbed his forehead. The idea of letting Dumbledore win and keeping Potter in the orchestra hurt almost physically! But he couldn't change that Potter was with them. ... At least not until the first concert. Not until after they had opened in Paris. Then he would have fulfilled the wishes of the conservatory, would have played the pieces they wanted to. Accidentally - oh, who could have known this would happen? - Potter and he would have a falling out. After that, Potter would have to leave the orchestra.

Severus rubbed his hands together. It was almost too easy. He just would have to scare Potter a bit. Put on the thumbscrews - he had enough time to learn where he had to press to make Potter flip. Potter would be too nervous to play properly and they would fight and Potter would be gone in no time.

Just wait, Severus, he told himself. Just wait.  Everything will go well.
*

Things were not going well. His orchestra was supposed to be one of the best of Europe – if not the world – but their performance today was more than lacking. And they were supposed to go on tour soon!

Severus rubbed his hands over his face and forced himself not to scream. Because even though it would make him feel better, he really didn't want to make the orchestra - moody bunch that they were - start crying. After all they still had several hours of rehearsal in front of them and they couldn't lose more time than they already had.

"Once more," Severus growled. "And do try not to butcher this again." If they did Severus would start screaming. There was nothing else for it.

Severus looked over at Potter, hoping to find mistakes in his play, his posture, anything that he could point out. But all that Potter showed was an irritating nervousness. The boy looked like a shy and scared kitten - and Severus really was not a kitten man -, but unfortunately Potter did not let his nerves influence his play. Severus groaned.

Severus' head swivelled around towards that dreadful red-head. "And Mr Weasley. We all know that you and Ms Granger are going to follow the wiles of concupiscence as soon as practice is over, but if you would please refrain from undressing her with your eyes right in front of us? I do plan to eat during the next week, so do not spoil my appetite." Weasley, true to type, blushed beetroot-red from head to toe, so, somewhat mollified, Severus quickly turned away and raised his hands to start again.
*

"He's staring at me again," Harry mumbled through the corner of his mouth, trying not to be too obvious.

"Who? Snape?" Neville asked, not looking up in fear that his look might cross with Snape's. It was like staring into a Basilisk's eyes - equally paralysing and frightening.

Harry, though, did look at Snape. It was true that the man had been staring at him quite often with a look that continued to set Harry at unease. But it wasn't out of fear, like it was with Neville. It was because he couldn't quite tell what the look was saying. Was it hatred? Anger? Something else altogether? He couldn't figure out the man.

But that wasn't his current problem. "No, it's Lockhart. He keeps staring at me like he’s expecting something to happen."
 
"Like what?"

"Oh I don't know. Maybe that I start fawning over him like Parvati and Lavender do."

Neville looked like he was about to snort, but then he frowned instead. "You don't think …?"

Harry shrugged. "I actually don't even want to think about it. Lockhart is -" The look on Neville's face – like a constipated hippopotamus on a diet – and his panicked pointing with his eyeballs made Harry stop short and jump up hurriedly.

Turning around Harry found himself standing face to face with Lockhart and his terrible shiny-teeth grin that was so bright there was a serious danger it could blind you.

"Harry," he purred, then repeated the name as though that granted him magical powers over it, "Harry, I have made reservations at Le Ménure for tonight."

Harry blinked, wondering if he had missed something. Sneaking a glance at Neville, who was wearing a funny look, he decided that he hadn't. "Good for you. … Err … I mean that's nice. You got a … date tonight?"

Lockhart tsked and shook his head slowly, while wearing the most patronising grimace that human kind had ever seen. "Silly you. It is for us." He put his arm around Harry's shoulder, pulling Harry close to his side. "I'm sure you must have noticed my … expertise and my influence here at the HSO and I thought you could use a little bit of … instruction." At the last word his hand slipped off Harry's shoulder and ran down his arm before making a quick move to Harry's bum.

Harry squirmed out of Lockhart's reach immediately. "I'm very …" Disgusted. Close to puking my guts out. Close to strangling you with my bare hands and then letting Sirius bury your body in the garden. "… honoured, but I'm afraid I can't make it. You see … I …" Harry broke off, looking for a good excuse.
 
"He already has something planned for the evening," Neville said quickly. "With me. And Ron. And Hermione."

Lockhart just sniffed and looked down on Neville. "Is that so? Well, Harry, I'm sure you can cancel -"

This time Harry was ready. "Reservations, you know. Very hard to get. If I cancel now they will never let me in again."

Lockhart's eyes narrowed, but he didn't question Harry's statement. "In that case … enjoy your evening, young Harry. I'm sure I will find someone else who is eager enough to come with me." He  turned around, flicking his hair back like the diva he was, and rushed off to find some other unsuspecting victim.

"Thanks, mate, you saved my arse," Harry breathed and clapped his hand on Neville's shoulder.

Neville just snorted. "That's closer to the truth than you think."
*

Severus stormed up to Dumbledore's office – the man had had the gall to summon him! - feeling very much not amused about the goings-on downstairs with the orchestra. Potter hadn't been here for long and already he was letting Lockhart feel him up. Lockhart! Of all people! That slimy, petty facsimile of a man, whose taste in clothes was even worse than his ability to shut up during press conferences – and Potter let him touch him!

Severus grabbed the handle to Dumbldore's office and opened it with a violent jerk, not even bothering to knock.

About five minutes later...

"You what?" Severus thundered before he got up and started pacing. He couldn't believe the nerve of that man!

"Why, my dear Severus -" Dumbledore was sitting serenely behind the desk he had been given in the building. There were so many nick-nacks cluttering this room that one could be forgiven for thinking that Dumbledore did nothing but collect them instead of spending time organising his beloved orchestra.

"Don't you dear me!" Severus didn't even stop to glare at the man. "You can't do this!"

"I'm afraid I can. Besides, it's just a small change of the plan."
 
"Small? Has someone been meddling with your mind? You are sending us to Madrid!"

"Yes, I believe that is correct."

"Madrid is in Spain. And -"

"This is also true." Dumbledore said approvingly, as if congratulating Severus on his command of geography, and gave Severus a smile that made him want to cram the whole bucket of Dumbledore's stupid, icky-sticky lemon drops down his mouth.

"Dumbledore! Going from Paris to Madrid and afterwards up to Germany is insane! It will not only cost a tremendous amount of our time, but also money." Severus knew all too well that while Dumbledore couldn’t give a hoot about what they would be spending, his second-in-command Minerva McGonagall would be less amused. Unfortunately Dumbledore didn't seem to be the slightest bit perturbed. "You cannot expect us to go all the way down to Madrid by bus. It will take at least twelve hours – if we are lucky."

"Of course not."

"And we – what?"

"I said: of course not, my boy. You will all go by plane. And don't you worry about dear Minerva – she has been informed and has agreed to all the changes." Dumbledore got up. It was the sign to leave.

Severus sent one last glare in Dumbledore's direction before he left, but his mind was working furiously. If Minerva was consenting to this madness – sending the whole orchestra by plane from Paris to Madrid and then up again to Cologne – it could only mean that his orchestra was in such demand that Madrid had paid them quite a nice sum to re-arrange all of the plans. And that in turn meant that they were keeping everything hush-hush so no-one (including Severus) would get ideas about demanding more money for this tour. Oh, how they would be surprised when Severus was done!
*

"God, Sirius, I'm so nervous!" moaned Harry the day before he was supposed to fly to Paris. His taxi would pick him up at six thirty in the morning, which should give him ample time to get to the airport, check in and go through duty-free before reaching the time-limit that would make Snape tear his head off his neck.

Sirius poured the last bit of beer into Harry's glass and pushed it over to Harry, who grabbed it without even looking at it and took a healthy swing. "You’ll be fine," he then told Harry for the fifth time tonight – or it might have been the fifteenth. Sirius himself probably didn’t have a clue either, as he always tended to go into auto-pilot in this sort of situation and said whatever he thought Harry wanted to hear. Sometimes he even managed to say the right thing. "You’ve practised hard for this – just think of all the years of training! - and you wouldn't be in the orchestra, if the conductor and the other people responsible didn't think you're good as well."

Harry sniffed and swayed on his chair. "I don't know. I think Snape just wants to see me fail," he said miserably.
*

Harry paced up and down in the corridors of the concert hall on the night of his debut performance with the orchestra. He'd already chucked up twice today and his stomach still didn't want to calm down. He'd drunk camomile tea, he had even had some Valerian drops, just like Hermione (or the herb-witch, like he called her now secretly in his head) had told him to, but it didn't help. It might have had something to do with the fact that he could hear the audience coming into the Salle Pleyel. Or that the orchestra was being told to take their seats and get ready. Or that Snape was staring at him with a look that could quite possibly kill.

Harry swallowed and hoped it would keep the big lump in his throat down. Regurgitating in front of nearly two thousand people would surely do him no favours with the orchestra – or Snape.

"Break a leg!" Ron called, sotto voice, over from Harry's right and waved, Harry felt himself go green. Break a leg? Could he really break a leg while playing the oboe? He had to stand after all. Maybe if he didn't breathe in deeply enough he might get out of breath and lose consciousness. And faint. And fall. And break a leg. The concert would be a disaster and it would be his fault. Snape would kick him out of the orchestra quicker than the ambulance would be there to take him away. Harry gasped for breath, feeling his throat constricting.

"It's just a manner of speaking. Calm down," Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice tore him out of his thoughts. The man patted his shoulder as he passed Harry to take his place at the timpani. "You'll see – it'll be fine."

Ever so slightly reassured by Kingsley's words Harry nodded and breathed in again. He got in position and the curtains parted, baring them to the audience and their applause.
*

Harry packed away his oboe and, taking the case, followed the rest of the orchestra out. His legs were still a bit shaky, but at least they weren't broken. He hadn't got out of breath and hadn't fainted. And he had played reasonably well. Not fabulous, not standing-ovation worthy, but well enough not to be shouted at by Snape when the man rushed out.

The buses the company had hired were waiting for them outside, ready to take them to their restaurant to celebrate the first successful concert on the tour.

The menu was huge - the biggest part was the wine menu - and there was so much to choose from, that Harry didn't know what to pick. He noticed the looks that Snape was giving him and the rest of the orchestra - as if he felt superior to all of them. But before he could waste any more thought on this the waiter came to their table.

"Do you need help with deciphering the menu, Potter?" Snape sneered at him.

Harry quickly ducked his head and shook it, before looking up at the waiter and saying: "Je prendrai Le Canard à l'orange, s'il vous plaît. Et, pourriez vous me dire quel vin serait le plus convenable en accompagnement? J'aimerai du vin rouge mais je ne saurais pas dire lequel conviendrait le mieux avec le canard."

Harry knew it might be a bad idea to drink wine, even if he drank it while eating a big meal, but everyone here was drinking wine and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had deserved it. He had just played in front of a Parisian audience with one of the most famous orchestras in Europe, after all!

The wine arrived before the meal and Lockhart got up for a toast. Usually Harry would have expected the conductor to do the honours, but apparently those rules didn't apply here. Nobody looked at Snape anyway, nobody expected speeches that didn't involve any scorn.

"My dear friends," Lockhart began, making Harry want to retch already. This promised to be a terribly long spiel – once again. Probably mainly about how wonderful and great he was, only to be applauded by the brainless violins and harps.  "Now that we have successfully played our very first concert here in the wonderful Paris – and at this point I might mention how very dear the Parisians are to me. Several years ago I played some soli here and was greatly -"

Harry switched Lockhart into mute-mode and concentrated on how his wine looked in the shimmer of the candles. The waiter had indeed advised him to drink red with the duck, but he had forgotten what the red was supposed to taste like and what exactly its name was. He supposed it didn't matter much in the end.

He was jerked out of his thoughts as Ron suddenly started clapping heartily, making the rest of the orchestra clap along. From the faces around the table – most of the orchestra looked relieved, Lockhart looked livid – Harry gathered that Lockhart hadn't been done, but he didn't give a rat's arse. Instead he quickly took his glass in his hand and raised it along with everyone else. Calls of "Cheers!" and the French version "Santé!" were chorused and glasses clinked against each other.

The wine was fruity, but not heavy in its taste. Harry noticed that it had a lot of alcohol in it, but that didn't stop him drinking.

"Good?" asked Ron with a wide grin that Harry answered.

"Good!"

Severus regarded Potter thoughtfully as he sipped his dry red wine (French and extra expensive of course – Dumbledore would be footing the bill for tonight, after all). So the boy could speak French. And while this was not that remarkable a feat Severus couldn't help but be slightly … less unperturbed. Potter apparently wasn't as callow and boringly one-dimensional as he had thought. It didn't mean that he had been wrong in his judgement of the boy. It just meant that he hadn't taken in every aspect. It was known to happen. Occasionally.

Severus regarded Potter out of the corner of his eye as he took a small piece of bread out of the bread-basket and started to butter it. Potter wasn't talking, he noticed, just listening and once in a while joining the laughter at the table – although his reaction always came a little after the reaction of the others. As if he had to find out whether he was allowed to join them.

'Peculiar,' Severus thought and bit into the bread. It was baguette – the proper French one with the correct taste, not the stuff he was usually fobbed off with in Britain. Potter seemed to be a bit behind on social skills, even though he apparently had managed to get into contact with Weasley, Longbottom (they should be ripping each other apart, as rivals, not becoming friends!), and Granger. Not that Severus was the Prince of social skills – but at least he had a nodding acquaintance with the concept.

Very peculiar indeed.

Harry was in a full laugh about something or other when Snape made to get up.

"Where are you off to?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Snape looked down at him (but didn't he always?) and raised one of his eyebrows. Those were dangerous eyebrows, Harry decided. He might or might not have said that out loud – Snape's expression didn't change though.

"Not that it's any of your business, Potter, but I'm about to pay for my meal and then I will go to the hotel. Do I have your approval?"

Somewhere in his brain a little voice waved its invisible arms and shouted at Harry that this was a rhetorical question. Harry answered nevertheless: "No, I think you should stay." Those who had heard gasped or snickered, depending on whether they had noticed Harry's ever so slightly inebriated state or not. Snape just scowled at him.
 
"Oh, really? Well, sorry to disappoint,  you, but I do not care about your opinion. At all."
 
Harry wanted to say something, but Neville's fingers bored down into his arm, making him look down instead. When the fingers eased away Snape was gone and Harry had forgotten what he had wanted to say.
*

It was the evening of the third concert and the orchestra were getting ready for yet another round of entertaining the masses. No matter how much fun it was, how much recognition they got, and how much money they earned from playing so far away from home, they would always complain. At least until Snape snapped at them.

Harry, though, had slightly different problems. He jumped from one foot to the other and wrung his hands.

"What are you waiting for, mate? Go to the loo!" Ron, who just came over, trombone in his hand, said with an amused look on his face.

"It's not that. I don't need to pee. I just …" Harry stopped and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't say it. It was ridiculous. He shouldn't let himself get intimidated by …

"What?"

Harry sighed. "Snape just said something to me. He leant down – really close – and whispered into my ear 'Don't you dare to muck this up, Potter. It has to be perfect.'"

Ron waved this off with an uncaring movement of his hand. "Don't mind him. That man is bloody nuts."

"But he wants me gone!"

"He wants everyone gone. Just go out there and play like you did before." When Harry didn't look much more reassured, Ron put his arm around him and added: "Look, mate, everyone here is nervous. Even people like Kingsley. Of course you can't see it, but they are. Snape scares the hell out of us. But we know that if we give our best everything will be fine. And you’re good, Harry, so you’ll be fine as well!"

Harry nodded and tried to give Ron a smile. It seemed to have worked, because Ron went off to find his place at the back of the orchestra. Harry, though, was still incredibly nervous. Because it hadn't only been what Snape had said that made his legs feel like pudding, but also the way Snape's hot breath had felt against his skin.
*

They played twice more in Paris and each concert was a success, before they got on the plane to go to Madrid. Most of the orchestra had been out the night before and even though everyone had had the chance to sleep in late, they were reasonably hung-over, which was only one of the reasons why Severus was not in a good mood.

The other one was that his plan had failed. Yes. Failed. To say that he wasn't amused was more than just an understatement. His plan had been perfect!
*

"YOU WHAT?!" Snape's bellow made Harry wince as he entered the hotel lobby. His luggage had been in the lost and found department of the airport for some reason and he had lost the group on the quest to get it back. Before he had entered the hotel he had been glad to finally have managed to get there, but now he was wishing that he was still searching for his trunk. A feeling that intensified when Snape whirled around and glared at him. "Potter!"

Harry winced again and hurried over, wondering what in the heavens he had done now. A part of him longed to speak his mind to Snape, wanted to tell him to shut up and stop shouting at him, but he really, really liked this job. And really wanted to keep it. A row was probably all that Snape needed to kick him out, so Harry just held his tongue. "Yes?"

"Potter, this gentleman," Snape practically spit the word out as he looked at the concierge, "has just informed me that we are to share a room."

Harry's eyes grew wide, but bizarrely his vision narrowed. This must be how a deer caught in headlights must feel. It knew that it should move and do something, but for some reason its legs wouldn't move and it just watched how the car came closer and closer and waited for the crash. The only reaction he could manage was to swallow heavily.

"Some imbecile has allowed a double booking. A hotel like this, a hotel expecting an orchestra, and now they are out of rooms. And since everyone else has already taken up their rooms they have decided that it would be a sensible idea to put you and me in one room." Snape's voice had grown in volume until everyone in the lobby could hear him. The concierge looked positively panicked – something which Harry found he deserved.

"I'm sorry, señor, we didn't put you together just now. We have a booking for you and Señor Potter to share a room. I'm immensely sorry about this misunderstanding – someone must have made a mistake while entering the booking." The man quickly took a breath, but managed to continue his speech before Snape could get in another complaint. "And I'm equally dreadfully sorry, but I cannot make any changes to the arrangement tonight. It's too late to move people to other rooms and most of your group have already gone to sleep."

'Or to a bar, more like,' Harry corrected him in his head, but tried not to let his thoughts show. Snape seemed to follow the same lines though, because he just snorted.
*

In the end Snape just grabbed the key and marched off to the lift, which they rode in silence, Harry's eyes glued to the floor. He wondered what he had done to deserve this punishment, this cosmic joke, and if he would still be alive the next morning. His heart was threatening to beat through his ribcage.

The lift doors opened.  A little way down the corridor was the deserted smokers' area where some couches stood around a low table scattered with fag-end filled ashtrays.

"I could sleep out here, sir. It's no problem – I'm sure the hotel will have a room for me tomorrow or I can just sleep at someone else's room. I don't have to bother you or anything."

Snape gave the couches a disdainful look. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. I need you in top form for the concert and I will not let your health – and with that my concert – be ruined by a draughty hallway and malodorous, lumpen sofas. You will sleep in my room."

And that was that. Harry wasn't foolish enough to try and argue with Snape and just followed him silently. The room itself was probably not what Snape was used to – and so much more than Harry usually got. It wasn't exactly spacious, but there was a plasma TV, the sheets looked posh, and the bathroom promised a whirlpool function in the tub. Unfortunately there was only a double bed, king size.

Harry swallowed again.

"Don't stand there and look like a scared kitten, Potter. I will hardly jump on you and have my wicked way with you. Now get ready for bed, I want to sleep." And with that Snape turned around and walked into the bathroom.
*

In the end Severus hadn't slept at once, but had rather enjoyed reading another chapter of the book he had bought at the Charles de Gaulle airport, while Potter had squirmed around trying to get to sleep. It had been quite amusing to see the boy so uncomfortable and that had lessened Severus' own discomfort immensely. Besides: Potter slept in boxers and a t-shirt and the boxers didn't do much to hide the shape of Potter's delectable bottom.

Seeing that right before falling asleep had given Severus pleasant dreams for once and yet he had managed not to wake up with an erection. The remnants of the dreams still lingering, though, had made Severus' morning shower a very delightful experience.

They had separated for breakfast, after leaving their room. Severus preferred just to drink two cups of coffee in the morning and later grab some toast or a sandwich, while Potter seemed to enjoy stuffing himself. At least that was what it looked like when Potter stormed the buffet. Severus had seldom seen a plate that was carrying that much food. Only Weasley seemed to be able to top that with his two-plate-diet of sausages, eggs, and fat.

The practice was reasonably well. Lockhart tried once again to get Severus to recognise him as a must-be solo-player, but Severus managed to ignore that with just a minimum of shouting. They were ready for the concert that evening.
*

As the heavy sounds of Brahm's Poco Allegretto slowly died away to make room for the applause that filled the hall, Harry breathed in deeply. They had just begun playing and would soon start the Sibelius – a piece that was both beautiful and difficult. Snape looked at him with a warning in his eyes, like he did every time, but for some reason it didn't carry the usual threat with it. There was something else, something that Harry couldn't decipher.
 
Why did Snape have to be so complicated? It would be so much easier if he knew what the man wanted. At first he had been so hostile. And now … now Harry didn't know what he was any more. He had survived the night and woken up and not heard any comment about his sleeping habits - no insults whatsoever. Actually Snape had been almost relaxed and had even appeared to be in a good mood the morning after their first night spent together.

Truth to be told Harry hadn't been able to keep himself from sneaking a peek at Snape when the man had dressed after his shower. Not that Snape had left the bathroom naked – he had already been wearing his undies and had looked rather better than Harry had expected. That trail of hair leading down … Harry shook his head. No, no. He refused to think of that. Especially here, in front of all these people.

But Harry had left the room shortly after finding himself staring at Snape's bum. Harry shook his head slightly, trying to concentrate – but then Snape looked at him and he found himself flustered, remembering suddenly that he had woken up in the middle of the night and only Snape's calm breathing had him lulled back to sleep.

Harry had hoped that time would help him to understand Snape, but now he had known the man for several weeks already and no questions had been answered. Instead there had been only new ones. Like why did Harry's heart have to beat faster with every second of attention he got?

The first sounds of Sibelius' second symphony made him return to present again.
*

The concentration on Potter's face had been noticed by Severus a couple of times already, but today it had seemed even more intense than usual. It was remarkable how Potter seemed to change whenever he lifted his oboe to his lips. Without the instrument he seemed shy, introverted, and sometimes so insecure that Severus wanted to do nothing more than grab the boy and shake him. But when Potter picked up the oboe his face suddenly looked open, passionate.  Potter only had ever looked that open when he had been asleep. Severus wanted to see more of that. He told himself that this was solely reserved for the stage, but even he himself didn't believe that.  That night with the boy in his bed had, it seemed, allowed his subconscious free range, and his dreams since then had been most… interesting.

Was it something from Potter's past? Something that haunted him? Of course Severus had heard bits and pieces about Potter. His orchestra was full of crazy gossips and even the management (and yes, he did think of Dumbledore at this point) wasn't any better. Severus, naturally, only listened to it because he needed to know what was going on in his orchestra. It was not like any of them ever actually gave him information about themselves voluntarily.

Potter’s parents were deceased – rumour had it that it had been a car accident. He had grown up with an aunt and uncle until the godfather had taken him in – Severus didn't know any reasons for why Potter's living arrangements might have changed. The godfather's partner had, or so word went, once taken Potter to a symphony concert – possibly one where they had met Dumbledore, the old family friend. Potter had shown an interest in the oboe and had been encouraged to play. His teacher then had noticed his talent and Potter had, even though he had been a late starter compared to other musicians, been sent to several music schools around Europe.

It was an interesting Curriculum Vitae, Severus found. One with a lot of holes that needed to be filled with information. One day he would make Potter talk and tell him everything.
 
Also it showed that Potter had talent. Of course one could hear that he was good, but the fact that he had started late for a musician to learn his instrument and still managed to master it like this was the only evidence one needed to know that there was more to Potter than what one saw. If only Potter had the right mentor...
*

"Potter, you will wait. I wish to talk to you," Snape told him as soon as the curtain had closed for definitely the last time. Harry shot a panicked look towards Ron and Neville, but they only grimaced and tried to get away as quick as possible, lest Snape started getting ideas about talking to them.

So this was it. This was the moment when Snape told him to pack up his things and get lost. He would probably live with Sirius for a while, then see if he could get a job somewhere. Maybe up North, in one of the smaller cities. There were some where orchestras were also quite nice. And life would be calmer. Not as many jobs, no tours. Harry hung his head.

"Yes, sir?" He wondered what part exactly he had mucked up. He hadn't noticed making any mistakes, but he usually got lost in his music so that was no surprise. He had often been criticised by his teachers because of that.

"I noticed how you played today and -"

"What did I do wrong?" Harry asked, then just shook his head. "Doesn't matter, right? I'll just pack my stuff. I think there will be a plane leaving today. I'm sure I can catch that." He turned around with a sigh that was both sad and disappointed. He expected scorn or agreement to follow him – not the hand that grabbed his shoulder, turning him around again.

"I do not appreciate being interrupted, Potter. Nor do I like it when people presume to know what I am about to say. Especially when they are wrong."

"Wrong, sir?" Harry couldn't squelch the hope that was suddenly blooming in his chest. He looked at Snape, who was wearing a frown but no real, dangerous anger, and his eyes widened.

"Wrong indeed. As I said:  I noticed how you played today and while I was satisfied with your performance, I still think that there is room for improvement."

Harry stared at Snape, unsure what the man wanted to say. That he wasn't good enough? But he had said that he was satisfied with Harry's performance. It couldn't be that, now could it? "Sir?"

Snape rubbed his forehead. "You don't understand, do you? What I'm saying, Potter, is that I wish to give you some tutoring. I believe that you have great potential and I am planning on making you use it."

One blink. Two blinks. Harry swallowed. He wanted to ask why Snape was offering this, but he was afraid to risk his luck. Snape offering to tutor him … one of the most important contemporary conductors … how could he say no? "That … that would be terrific!" And terrifying. "Thank you, sir!"

"Very well then," Snape sniffed. "We will start tomorrow, after the regular practice. You will stay behind." And with that Snape left, leaving Harry alone on the stage, his eyes wide in wonder.
*

His friends' reaction to Harry's news was predictable.

While Neville only squeaked and looked like he'd throw himself from the next cliff if he was in Harry's place, Ron shouted: "He what?"

Harry opened his mouth to explain again – and to tell them that he really appreciated what Snape was doing there for him, that it meant a lot and not a lot people could pride themselves in being taught by someone as famous as Snape – but Ron was quicker than him: "I'd watch it, if I were you."

"Huh?"

"Well, Harry," Neville cleared his throat, "Snape never offered something like that to any of us." His muttered 'Thank God' didn't go by unnoticed.
 
"He must really like you if he does that for you," Hermione, who had so far just sat there in silence, said wisely.

But Harry shook his head. Snape liking him? It would be a cold day in hell before something like that happened. Snape wanted his orchestra to get better. Wanted advancement or something. And if he taught Harry how to play even better he would get that. His international reputation would become even better.

"I'd watch it, if I were you," Ron added. "He probably wants to get into your pants."

"Don't be daft, Ron!" Harry protested. Snape surely didn't want him. And no, his heart definitely didn't beat any faster at that thought.
*

Three days later they arrived in Cologne, Germany, in the midst of the starting Christmas cheer. Even the airport was already decorated and blaring from some car rental place, Christmas songs filled the hall. The orchestra, tired as it was, even though the flight itself had barely taken more than two hours, dragged itself to the buses to be carted off to the Hyatt that was situated on the eastern shore of the river that parted the city.

Harry's head rested against the cold window and his breath fogged the glass. Idly he drew weird shapes on it as he stared out into the night. He had read that you could see the city's big cathedral – the Dom – from everywhere when you approached the city and indeed he could. Even from far away he could still see that the cathedral was a huge building and the lights that illuminated it were strong enough to be seen from quite a distance. He wondered if he would have time to actually see the city, unlike in Madrid, where he had spend most of his time practising. Maybe he would be able to get Snape to go to visit at least the cathedral with him. Though there wasn't much hope.

There was a rustling noise and then a shrill beep that announced that someone had picked up the microphone. People started, some with a surprised grunt, others just with confused looks on their faces. Whatever would be said in this bus would also be transmitted to the other – Snape liked to give them bad news himself.

"Wake up," was his greeting – that it was rude was no surprise to anyone – before he cleared his throat and continued, "There is a change of plans. I have just been told that for the concert here in Cologne we will be joined by Draco Malfoy." There was clapping as well as some groans that told Harry that the orchestra must have worked together with that Draco Malfoy before. He himself had heard about Malfoy of course. He was one of the best-known solo pianists in Europe and while Harry had never seen him live, he knew from recordings that Malfoy was an excellent musician.

That, unfortunately, didn't change anything about the fact that Malfoy was a solo-pianist – a deadly combination when an orchestra was concerned. Not only did soloists steal the limelight that everyone in the orchestras (especially people like Lockhart) craved, but solo pianists also obscured half the orchestra.

"I will not hear any complaints about this. Did I make myself clear?" Snape snarled. Harry couldn't tell if Snape was pleased or displeased about this new arrangement, but he certainly wasn't about to ask. "As you can imagine this also means a change in the pieces we will play. We will leave out the Schubert and take in Liszt's piano concerto number two instead. You will get the scores come morning and I expect you all to be able to play them during our first practice." The microphone beeped again and Snape was gone.

Harry slumped back in his seat.
*

The night was short, but at least they had enough coffee waiting for them before practice. Harry clung to his cup like to a lifeline and thanks to his heavy-lidded eyes he nearly missed the entrance of their solo artist. He had always expected solo artists to be all flourish and glitter – and Draco Malfoy was certainly both. And he was more: alert, shining, and awfully pretty.

"Hello, pleased to meet you all!" he called out and received tired mutters from the orchestra. As a response he shrugged and made his way towards the coffee. Then his eyes landed on Harry.

"Why, hello there," Malfoy said and studied him. Harry squirmed uncomfortably and felt like a worm on a sterile plate, about to be cut open. "Draco Malfoy."
 
Harry took the hand that Malfoy offered and shook it. "Harry Potter." God, he wasn't awake enough to hold a conversation, least of all with someone who held his hand for a tad too long.

"And what instrument do you play, Harry?"
 
"I'm first oboe." Harry took a deep gulp of his coffee and tried opening his eyes further.

"First, huh? Not bad." Malfoy gave him a smile – one that seemed genuine – and Harry smiled back.

"Yeah, think so too."

"How long have you been in the orchestra then? I haven't seen you before in Snape's ensemble."

"Have you worked with him before?" Harry asked. Malfoy nodded. "I just started. Joined right before the tour."

"Is that so?" Malfoy pursed his lips and looked as if he was about to add something, but right that moment Snape stormed in, his gaze falling on Harry and Malfoy and immediately turning to a glare. "Uh, better go and sit down. He seems to be in a terrible mood today."
*

Apparently Malfoy was right, because Snape was a bastard all morning. That didn't even change when they started their private lessons, Snape barking orders at Harry, never seeming to be satisfied with what Harry did. In the end it took all Harry’s patience and willpower to ask Snape about lunch.

"Sir, I was wondering..." Harry stopped and hesitated. How should he put this without Snape ripping off his head for cheek?

"Spit it out, Potter, I don't have all day!"

"Well, I was wondering … since it's lunch-time and all … could we go to the city centre and grab a bite there? I'd like to see the cathedral and the Old Town." Carefully not looking at Snape he put his oboe in its case.

"I don't care what you do, Potter. I'm not your chaperone," Snape snapped and grabbed the scores he had brought forcefully.
 
"No, I meant that we could go together. We as in you and me." Harry felt himself blushing from head to toe. It was just a normal lunch between conductor and musician. Nothing special. Nothing at all.
 
As Snape didn't answer and the pause became longer and longer, Harry sighed. Oh, who was he kidding? Of course it wasn't a normal lunch. It could never be normal with Snape! Harry still didn't quite know what to make of all the feelings tumbling through his chest, but what he did know was that none of the things he connected with Snape – that he felt he might want to do with Snape – were appropriate at all.

"Oh," Snape finally said, his voice not as sharp any more. Almost pleasant, in fact. Harry looked up. "Well. In that case … yes. Why not?"

Harry beamed at him. "Great! I'll just grab my coat and then we can leave!"
*

There was nothing unusual about this, Severus told himself as he and Potter slowly walked through the city centre of Cologne. The Old Town and the cathedral were practically next to the Philharmonie where they were practising and would be performing, so it wasn't hard to get there at all.

Potter, although he must be hungry (the boy always was – it was as if he always feared to starve), wanted to see the Cathedral first and Severus conceded, fearing that he would never have a quiet lunch if he did not indulge him.

The cathedral, even though filled with tourists, was quiet and cool. Men of the church, dressed in red and black, were wandering around, some wearing boxes for donations around their necks, others just watching the crowds.
 
Awed, both he and Potter stopped, taking in how the light fell through the colourful windows that stood in stark contrast to the dark grey pillars and floor. The roof of the cathedral was incredibly high, just as the outside view of the Dom had already promised. Severus had read a bit about the cathedral beforehand – he liked to know at least some facts about the cities he visited – and told Potter that it had taken several hundred years to build it. Apparently people had started in the thirteenth century and hadn't been able to finish it until the nineteenth.

Potter pointed to something in the cathedral and moved forward, but Snape still wasn't finished with looking around and taking in the first view, so he didn't move. Suddenly a hand grabbed his and pulled – Potter's of course, warm and strong, yet slightly smaller than his own – and like a child Severus allowed himself to be led.

Potter led him further down the rows until a completely different kind of window came into view. This one didn't show any pictures of saints or Jesus, but squares. Thousands of colourful squares.

"Es ist wunderbar, nicht wahr?" someone said next to him and, turning, Severus found himself faced by one of the red-and-black men. Slightly surprised, Severus needed a couple of seconds to dig out his slightly rusty German.  He cleared his throat. "Ja, sehr."

"Es wurde von Gerhard Richter gefertigt und dieses Jahr endlich eingesetzt. Nicht alle befürworten das Fenster, aber ich persönlich finde es wunderschön," the man told Severus and gave him a smile.

"Es ist mit Sicherheit anders als die anderen. Und es strahlt," Severus added. The man nodded at him and took his silent leave.

"What did he say?" Potter asked and tugged on Severus' hand to get his attention. Only now did he notice that he and Potter had held hands all the time – and the churchman, who surely must have seen, hadn't even batted an eyelash at them. Quickly Severus extracted his hand from Potter, ignoring the sudden cold around the flesh.

"Just that he liked the window and that an artist named Richter created it," Severus answered and, rubbing his hand, turned to take a look at the altar on the northern side of the cathedral.
*

They found a small restaurant in the Old Town that was called "Der Walfisch", which Snape translated as "The Whale". From the inside it looked like a typical German restaurant-pub – loads of wood and big tables which you usually had to share with other people. Many locals were eating here – a good sign, Snape informed him.

Harry ordered a Spätzlepfanne and Snape a Gefülltes Schweineschnitzel and, upon seeing the thin glasses in which they served the beer here, they ordered two beers (here the waiter corrected them and said it wasn't beer, it was Kölsch) as well.

Raising the still slightly wet glasses (one of the signs that the beer was really fresh), they clinked them together, Harry mumbling an echo of Snape's curt Prost, and drank.

"So …" Harry started, suddenly not quite knowing what to say. He went through the available possibilities: This restaurant is really nice? What exactly did I order again? The city is quite interesting? Nice weather?

"How do you like playing with my orchestra, Potter?" Snape asked.

Harry toyed with the cardboard beer mats on which an advertisement for the beer brand they served in the Walfisch ("Sünner Kölsch – Kölsch von seiner schönsten Seite!") was printed, trying to think of what to say. In the end he decided to go for the short and simple truth. "I like it," Harry smiled shyly. "I like the pieces you chose and the orchestra is great." He took another sip of his beer – it was already more than half empty – and ignored the colour that crept to his cheeks. "And you're a great conductor."

Judging from the expression on Snape's face it must have been something that Snape had wanted to hear, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Snape lowered his head slightly, denying Harry a full view of his face. "Thank you," he finally said, his voice low, and looked up at Harry with a look that left Harry feeling slightly flustered.

After lunch they walked along the river, looking at all the small ships that were waiting for tourists to get on, offering cruises. The waterfront was lively, people walking around in the winter sunshine, laughing and chatting along. Somehow Potter's arm had found its way into Severus', presumably holding on for support; his walk was not quite steady, although not actually drunk. Severus could feel the effects of the alcohol himself, even if only slightly – he wasn't, after all, a light-weight like Potter – and made a mental note never to underestimate German beer again, no matter how small the glasses were.

They didn't talk much apart from deciding to walk back to their hotel, Potter mumbling that the fresh air would do him good and Severus agreeing. They had a concert to play soon and he wanted every single one of his musicians to be in perfect shape.
*

"Where have you been all day?" Ron wanted to know when Harry finally joined him in their room. His voice had a sly tone to it and Harry, sighing, silently cursed that Ron wasn't in Hermione's room for once. Usually Ron and Hermione used such extremely smart and cunning excuses as having to go over the scores together or Hermione needing help with the TV - or else Ron just waited until he thought Harry was asleep to sneak out. They just could count themselves lucky that Hermione always shared a room with Lavender – and that Lavender never slept in her room.

"I was sightseeing." Harry threw his jacket on the bed, then reconsidered and flopped down on it as well. He put his hands on his face to see if it was still burning. He actually hadn't thought of removing his arm from Snape's until they nearly had been at the hotel. What must Snape had been thinking? Had he been clinging onto him like a lovestruck limpet? Had he been too … eager? Oh God, he could feel his face heating even more.

"Alone?" Ron drew out the second syllable like it was a toffee. At least he seemed to be enjoying it, the sod.

Harry groaned. What sense was there in lying about what he had done and with whom? He was sure that at least someone from the orchestra might have seen him and Snape together and if he denied it everyone would just be thinking that they were … they were … doing stuff (and at this he blushed even more). "No, I wasn't. I was with Snape."

Ron faked a heart attack and seizure – at any rate it looked like a combination of both. It might also have been an expression of joy in Ron's case, but seeing as they were talking about Snape Harry thought that highly unlikely. "Spending time with that vulture! Harry!"

"What?"

"Are you off your bloody rocker?"

"Ron. He can be … err … all right. If he wants to." Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. True, no one would ever call Snape Sunshine - just imagining someone doing that and Snape’s reaction made Harry shudder – and he would also never be called nice or anything like that, but he could still be pleasant. Otherwise Harry would never hang out with him, right?

Ron snorted. "You know what? That man … that man is never 'all right'. He's a mean, surly old bugger. And the only reason he treats you differently now is because he wants to get into your pants."

"Does not!" Harry sat up. That was not why he and Snape got along! Snape liked him. Well. Valued him. Somehow. They got along. They shared stuff. "Snape appreciates my music!"

Ron sadly shook his head and tsked. "Ah yes, the private lessons. You're already a good oboist, Harry. Why should Snape offer you private lessons if he didn't have some secret, evil plan on the side? Especially when he's never offered them to any of us? I tell you, mate, he just wants to fuck you."

Harry glared at Ron, then flopped back onto his back and rolled to his side, facing away from Ron. "I'm not listening to you."
*

But Ron's words had left their traces in Harry's mind and, sitting alone at the table after dinner in the hotel, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly Snape wanted from him. He wouldn't exactly mind if Snape found him attractive – it would be nice if the feeling was returned, after all – but what if Snape really just wanted Harry's body, just wanted to fuck him, like Ron had said? Was he spending so much time with Harry because of that? Because he wanted to lure him into his bed and … and … how had Aunt Petunia always put it? Debauch his virtue?

Harry shook his head. That couldn't be the reason – Snape would never do that to him, would be? He bit his lip and only looked up as he heard steps.

"Why so moody, Harry? Fluttery nerves because of the upcoming concert?" Draco Malfoy asked him cheerfully, not sounding compassionate in the least.

Harry shook his head. "No, nothing like that." His tone was intended to suggest that this would be all he was going to say on the matter. In response Draco pursed his lips.

"Well, whatever it is, it has to go. Can't have that mar your pretty face, now can we?"

"Huh?" Harry frowned in confusion. Draco was like a weird, fluttery hummingbird – always too fast and miles ahead with his thoughts so that Harry never understood what he was getting at.

Draco ignored his confusion and patted his shoulder. "You're going out with me. We have the night-life to explore – they are supposed to have some quite fabulous gay clubs here, I have been told – and I have no intention of doing that alone." Then he proceeded to grab Harry's arm and drag him up from his chair and out of the dining room. "Come on, we need to go and choose your outfit. Then some drinks in a bar, so we don't get to the club stone-cold sober."

Harry cast a helpless look back into the room, trying to find someone who might rescue him from Draco. His eyes fell on Snape, but Snape didn't move, just stared at them with an expression that could have been described as a Killing Curse, if such a thing existed.
*

Severus paced around in the hallway. Most of the orchestra were still out while, from other rooms definite sounds of occupancy came. And Potter … Potter still wasn't back. He had checked. No-one was answering the door of Potter's room – nor of Draco's – and both rooms were also quiet. Besides, he had been out in the hall for quite some time already and nobody had come back.

Severus checked his watch. It was already after two o'clock. What were they still doing out there? Images of Potter rutting against Draco flashed through his mind and Severus balled his hand into a fist. No. They wouldn't be doing that. Would they? Draco was pretty. Too pretty for his own good. But surely Potter wouldn't … oh, who was he trying to fool? Of course Potter would.

Severus turned again and walked back, unclenching, then clenching his hand again. He hated waiting. Hated it with a passion. He didn't even know why he was doing it – but he knew that since he was waiting Potter should have the bloody grace to come back. All this… whatever it was made him wish that he had never stopped smoking all those years ago. He would at least have had something to do now.
*

Harry watched Draco grind against a dark-blond hunk on the dance-floor and held on tighter to his drink. He'd actually just wanted a beer, but Draco had looked at him funnily when he had told him and had just ordered vodka and orange for him. Harry had started sipping slowly, planning to drink only one glass, and yet this was his second already. And it was nearly empty.

"Hallo." A brown haired guy squeezed in next to him at the bar. "Wie geht's? Ich bin Max." Nice smile, definitely interested.

Harry drew his shoulders up and made an apologetic face. "I'm sorry, I don't understand you." The guy's eyes widened in realisation and he quickly turned to the barman to order his drink. And that was it with the attention Harry got. He had never known before that the English language could be such a turn-off.

Sighing, Harry emptied his glass. Snape, at least, always paid attention to him. And he wouldn't desert him at a bar like this to go and dance with some random stranger. Snape was more the type who would (apart form the fact that Harry couldn't imagine Snape going to a club like this one) stay close to Harry and show everyone that Harry was his.

Harry blushed at the thought. His. Of course he wasn't. It was ridiculous to think about something like that. He shook his head at his own silliness. It didn't matter what he wanted. Snape was his conductor and surely he wouldn't … Maybe he should get another drink.
*

Severus was close to actually buying a package of cigarettes from the machine when the lift doors opened and Potter walked out. He didn't know what possessed him to move into action, but without even thinking about it he strode forward, grabbed Potter by his collar and pressed him against the wall. He had actually planned on launching into a speech that he had been preparing during the last couple of hours (it was, he flattered himself, a rather searing indictment of the loose morals of the youth of today), but instead his mouth landed on Potter's.

Potter groaned and whimpered at the same time, arms coming up to clutch at Severus' jumper. His lips parted and Severus let his tongue flick forwards, touching the insides of Potter's lips, his teeth, his soft, hot tongue, claiming each area for itself. Potter tasted slightly fruity and a bit like alcohol and so, so much like Potter, like Severus had imagined he would taste. It was addictive.

One of his hands wandered down to Potter's arse (small, firm, delectable) and he pulled him closer, squeezing his cheeks with the movement. Potter gasped this time and gasped even more when Severus managed to wedge his own leg between Potter's.

God yes, he thought, this was why he had been waiting in the corridor. This was why he hadn't been able to go to sleep.

He pushed his other hand up from the collar to Potter's messy hair, pulled slightly on the strands to make Potter angle his head differently.  “Damn you, Potter!  You are mine!”

First he kissed Potter against the door of his room , then up against the wall, and finally he managed to push him down on the bed, Severus on top, both of them closer than Severus had thought possible. Potter wriggled underneath him causing the most delightful friction and sneaked his arms around Severus' neck.

As Severus felt a hardness from Potter's nether regions rub against him, he just knew that he had to have him. "God, Potter," he breathed and lifted his hips so he could reach between them to open the buttons of Potter's trousers.

Harry's deliriously happy brain didn't notice the hand sneaking in his trousers at first. He just registered pleasure and moved his hips to get more of it. But Snape seemed to understand that as an invitation to move his hand into Harry's pants, touching his bare flesh. This got Harry's attention.

"Fuck," he moaned. This was going so fast! But it felt so good. It felt so bloody good and he didn't want Snape to stop.  He wanted that hand to move faster, harder.

Snape pushed Harry's trousers further down and moved his lips over Harry's cheek to his ear. Then, biting Harry's earlobe, he growled: "I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll be screaming for mercy."

Harry's eyes flew open. What? Fuck? Sex? Now? Like that? But they’d never even had a proper date! No tender first kiss! Snape was still using his surname! Hell, he was still using Snape's. Severus'. Snape. This couldn't … this wasn't good …

"Stop," Harry mumbled, but Snape didn't hear and kissed his neck, started sucking on the soft skin there. Harry put his hand against Snape's shoulders and pushed. "Stop!"

"What?" Snape sat up, staring at Harry confusedly.

"I … I can't …"

Snape's expression darkened. Soon he would say something hurtful, Harry thought. He couldn't bear hearing something mean now. Not when nearly had given Snape what he had never given to anyone. "'m sorry." He squirmed out from under Snape and hurried out of the room, shirt open and one hand holding his trousers up by the waistband.
*

The next morning, Severus sat brooding over his cup of coffee. He still wasn't sure what to think of yesterday's evening. First he had been livid. Potter, that bloody cock-tease! First to kiss him like that, coming to his room with him, only to break it off with so much of an explanation. He had been sure, at least for some time, that Potter had tricked him.

But then, as soon as he had calmed down somewhat, he had thought back on how Potter had behaved. Nobody – especially not that bumbling boy – could be that good an actor.

But what had possessed the boy to run off? It couldn't have been something he said. They had barely talked after all. Well, if that blasted Potter didn't want Severus, then Severus didn't want him any more either.
*

Four days later Harry said goodbye to Draco and Cologne. He hadn't been to any private lessons ever since he had run away from Snape; hadn't dared to face Snape all on his own. It would have been too awkward. He would have had to explain himself and he just couldn't imagine doing that. Instead he had practised all on his own after he had been sure that everyone else was gone.

And Snape? He hadn't talked to Harry either. Not a single word – he hadn't even, in fact, barked at him during practice. This undoubtedly had to mean the end of … of whatever they had.

And so Harry was once again sitting in a plane (economy class, of course, this time heading towards Slovakia), hiding behind a magazine so no-one would see his broody expression and ask what was wrong with him. At least Snape was sitting in first class.

Harry was just in the process of sighing into his magazine once more as someone tapped his shoulder. It was Seamus, the expert in everything that went TING!, and he was wearing his usual ear-splitting grin. "Hey Harry!"

"Hey Seamus," Harry sighed and raised his hand in a tired wave. "What can I do for you?"

"I was just checking out first class," Seamus bent down and looked around in the most obvious conspiratorial manner that Harry had ever seen a human being display, "and they have so much free booze there! Got the stewardess to give me something small for the flight if you get my drift." With that Seamus put his hand in his pocket and when he pulled it back out again – thank God not doing anything improper – he was holding a small bottle of schnapps. And a folded paper towel, which he stared at with momentary confusion. "Oh, yes. Right. I'm supposed to give this to you." Seamus pressed the paper towel into Harry's hand before he hurried down the aisle where he would undoubtedly share his new possession with Dean.

Harry looked at the still folded, white paper towel in his hand. It wasn't anything special, didn't have any flourish, which meant that it didn't come from Lockhart and therefore was safe to open.

"You will play Haydn's oboe concerto," Harry read out loud. Then he read it again, recognising the writing as Snape's, only to have his eyes grow until they threatened to pop out of his head. He wanted to shout, to cheer, to dance. He would do a solo! Even after everything Snape would still allow him to play a solo!
*

Severus ended the call with Dumbledore – an enraged and oh so powerless Dumbledore – with a satisfied grin on his face. Hogsmeade had just received the slightly changed plan for the concerts in Košice and apparently people weren't very amused. Ah well, Severus had told them, sometimes life is a bitch and you don't get what you want. Or you just got exactly what you didn't want – like he got the concert in Madrid.

There would be one more practice and tomorrow they would open in Košice. He just hoped that Potter was ready for the whole thing. They hadn't had any private lessons, not even after he had written that note for Potter. Hell, they hadn't even talked. Maybe Potter wanted to … but if he did Potter could just come to him. He knew where to find him.
*

Harry was so nervous that he nearly peed his pants and the only thing that kept him from fainting minutes before the concert was that Ron tried to keep him distracted and that Kingsley had given him a pat on the back. And that Snape was looking at him with what could only be described as faith.

Harry breathed in deeply and exhaled, his eyes on Snape. Snape believed in him. He was the conductor and if he hadn't thought that Harry was up to this, up to playing the solo in front of so many people, then Harry wouldn't soon be standing out there.

He would make Snape proud, would make him see that this was the right decision. He could do it. And afterwards he would go and talk to Snape. Explain. Because if he managed to play the concert well without fainting or breaking his leg then talking to Snape wouldn't be so hard any more. Right? Right.
*

And then they were in for the solo. Potter stepped forward and put that blasted mouthpiece of the oboe in his mouth again, lips closing around it like Severus would like them to close about a wholly different thing. As if he was savouring it, loving the taste, excitement in his eyes. Then the eyes closed and the green vanished - hadn't Severus told him not to do this? But he couldn't very well tell him now, not in the middle of the concert. All he could do was to wish for the green to come back. That beautiful green.

Severus nearly lost the beat, but quickly regained his stance and managed to bring in the violins as smoothly as possible. Their tunes mixed with Harry's, circulating the piece higher and higher. Yes! Yes, this was it! This had been what Severus had been waiting for! What he had tried to teach the boy!

Potter didn't only play the score. Potter played with it, made it bend and form to his will, his imagination, without making the tunes break. They seemed to dance around his lips – and Severus was sure that the air caressed Potter's tongue before it flowed through the instrument.

He had to look away from Potter, at least for a moment, get that picture out of his and try not to think of how Potter's lips would look around his cock. Never had he felt that a concert had been more erotic and sensual than this. God, if only he could have Potter – mind, body and soul.
*

Harry waited until the last one of the congratulators had gone – not only Snape's, but also his. There were two things about soloists that he learned today. The first was that suddenly everyone wanted to shake your hand and take a picture with you. The second was that the orchestra didn't wait for you any more and went to have dinner without you. Well, Hermione had said she'd save him a seat and Neville and Ron had waved, but still. It felt weird.

But at least the room was empty now that everyone was gone and this left Harry ample opportunity to shuffle over to Snape, who was just finishing packing his bag.

"Sir?" he started tentatively, feeling stupid immediately. How could he call Snape sir after they had snogged? The thought alone made him start blushing and Snape's attention as the man turned towards him did the rest. "I …" Harry cleared his throat. "I just wanted to thank you. For the opportunity and all."

Snape sniffed and cocked his head. "I gave you the chance because it was the best for the orchestra. But you're welcome," he said stiffly. Harry nodded and turned to leave. "And Potter? Passably played."

He couldn't stop the grin that was taking over his face. Out of Snape's mouth that was more than just a normal praise. That was phenomenal. "Thank you!" No sir this time.
*

Two days. Two days since the first concert. Two days since he had finally managed to talk to Snape. Two days without any reaction. He had talked to Snape again, keeping it superficial, suddenly finding he was unable to explain himself. And Snape … Snape hadn't done anything to come forward to Harry. Hadn't even given him the tiniest of signals that there was a chance for them.

Harry sighed. Maybe he should just give up. He had blown it when he had run from the room. Had probably hurt Snape's pride and now the man thought Harry was an indecisive idiot that wasn't worth all the trouble. Maybe if he had let Snape fuck him … no. No, that would have been wrong. Not for Snape – oh he was sure they would have had fun – but for Harry. He had always dreamt of his first time being something special. Not something alcohol-induced with Snape attacking him in the hallway. Of course he hadn't minded the attacking per se …

Putting one hand deeper into the pocket of his coat – he had forgot his mittens – he ran the other through his hair. He should forget about Snape, accept that the thing wouldn't be repeated and play as well as he could for the remainder of the tour. It wasn't that long any more after all. And maybe he'd manage to find someone else when they were back in Britain. Only he didn't want anyone else.

A piece of paper flew against his leg, stuck there, and Harry bent down to pick it up. It was a flyer advertising their concert in Slovak – and it had Harry's name on it.

"Hogsmeadesky orchester v Košiciach!

Prídte a nechajte sa oèariﾝ dirigentom Severus Snape a jeho orchestrom.

Budete vtiahnutý do nezabudnutenej atmosféry známych skladateov ako Tchaikovsky, Sibelius, Schubert, Haydn!

Harry Potter ako sólo hráè na hoboj vám predvedie magický Haydnov Hobojový koncert v C-major."

Harry smiled and pocketed it to keep it as a souvenir. Sirius would probably want one and put it up on a wall somewhere. And he found he kind of liked that his and Snape's name were both on the same page. The only names from the orchestra on the page.
*

The situation was wholly unacceptable, Severus found and growled at the bathroom mirror. Potter had kept his part of the bargain (a bargain that Potter didn't know about, admittedly, but a bargain nevertheless) and had talked to him. Potter might not have explained himself, but at least he had been trying. And now it was Severus' turn to talk. Or react. Possibly not quite as he had last time, not unless he wanted Potter to run away again.

He took a deep breath and nodded at the mirror, where his double nodded back at him, before he left the bathroom and rejoined his orchestra at Gate Seventeen, from where their flight to Helsinki would leave shortly.

"Potter, a word." Severus cleared his throat and led a deer-caught-in-headlights-eyed Potter away from his posse. So, striking up a conversation had been the first step. Now what? He wanted an explanation. Wanted to ask Potter out and then fuck him silly.

"I …" Potter started then stopped, deciding to let Severus start, the mean little bugger.

"Regarding that night in Cologne …" Severus crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I think an apology is in order."

Potter lowered his head. "Yes, I think you're right. I'm really -"

"I am sorry, Potter. I shouldn't have -" Severus stopped short. Had Potter just been about to apologise? Why hadn't he shut up and let the boy talk? It would have made so many things easier. But the damage was done now and there was nothing left but continuing. "- thrown myself at you like I did."

"No, I …" Potter shuffled his feet, a sign of nervousness that Severus had seen him doing once or twice before his solo during the concerts. "I have to apologise as well. I shouldn't have run off like that. It's just that," Potter swallowed and Severus suddenly wanted nothing more than to lick Potter's throat, circle his tongue around Potter's Adam's apple. "I've never done this before."

Severus frowned. Never did what? What could the boy possibly – Potter blushed beetroot-red. Oh. Oh! Realisation dropped like a grand piano on a cartoon –character: too slow to be real and yet very, very heavy. He opened his mouth to say something, but the ground staff announcing that their flight was ready for boarding beat him to it. Oh.
*

It took Severus the whole flight and another practice – which was followed by the first private training since Cologne – to find the right words to say. Potter was just packing up his oboe and Severus fastened the buttons of his long, black coat that was reminiscent of a robe (which was the reason why he had bought it in the first place).

"How about dinner?" he finally managed to say, making Potter raise his head and look at him in surprise. Severus, cheered by the fact that there was no fear or denial visible on Potter's face, came a bit closer and continued. "In my room – I don't want the rest of the orchestra to disturb us."

Potter's look turned doubtful – no, no, he couldn't turn Severus down now! Not when it was him who was taking the first step back to how they had been. Hesitatingly Severus put his hand on Potter's arm and squeezed gently. "I promise not to … exploit the situation or the privacy we will have. I just want to spend some time with you."

Potter nodded and then, finally, gave him one of his smiles, green eyes shining brightly. "I'd love to join you for dinner."
*

Harry bit his lip and knocked on the door to Severus' room, feeling only slightly nervous. But Severus had said that he would behave tonight and Harry didn't take Severus for a man who broke his promises.
 
Severus opened the door almost immediately. He was wearing black trousers and a plain white shirt – and no shoes over his black socks – and smelled like freshly applied after-shave. Harry was more than glad that he had chosen similar attire.

"Hallo," Harry said shyly and smiled, then walked in as Severus stepped aside to let him in.

The room was lit by candles – the most perfect candle-light dinner setting that Harry ever could have imagined – and the atmospheric feeling was only intensified by the view outside. The lights of the city glittered nearly as brightly as the chandeliers in the entrance hall of the hotel and snowflakes were softly falling from the sky, only adding to the drifts on the streets and in the park below.

"Dinner will shortly be ready," Severus said quietly. "I took the liberty of ordering in advance. The staff will knock and leave the carrier outside, so no-one will disturb us."

"Sounds good." Harry knew that he sounded silly, that his voice was on the nervous point of breaking, so he didn't say anything further and just smiled at Severus.

"Would you like to drink some champagne?"

Harry let out a little laugh. "Oh, you're trying to get me drunk." As he noticed Severus' sober expression that might have been only the slightest bit hurt, Harry walked over and placed his hand hesitatingly on Severus'. "Champagne would be lovely."

Severus took the champagne bottle out of the wine cooler, his one hand holding it around the neck, while the other worked to free the stopper. The stopper popped gracefully into his hand and didn't fly around until it nearly knocked someone out, not like it did whenever Sirius opened a bottle. With Severus there even wasn't a single drop spilled. With a satisfied look on his face Severus filled their champagne flutes.

"To a successful tour," he said, clinking their glasses.
 
"To …" To what? He wanted to say something meaningful and yet he couldn't find the right words.  "To … To a wonderful evening."

The meal that followed was nothing short of delicious and Severus proved not only to have great taste in music and musicians, but also in food and wine. Though Harry had made sure he didn’t drink too much so he wouldn't say or do anything that he would regret later, he felt slightly hot. Though that also might have had to do with the fact that Severus had put his arm around Harry's shoulders as they were looking out into the night.

Harry looked up at Severus just in the same moment when Severus looked down. The distance was closed, their lips softly meeting, opening under the ever so slight pressure of the other. First feathery kisses, breath mingling, hands running through messy black hair. Then opening the eyes, realising that yes this was real, before diving into the kiss and sinking … sinking … sinking.
*

The next day they went out together again, doing some sight-seeing. It was already dark before three in the afternoon and there were lights reflecting on snow, making Helsinki look like a city taken straight out of a fairy-tale.

They walked close together, neither of them actually daring to take the other's hand , it being such an open symbol of affection, until someone ran into Severus, making him stumble. Harry reached out and caught his hand, steadying him, and then just didn't let it go.
 
Severus looked down at their joined hands, just for the shortest of wink of time, and then smiled at Harry.

Their hands stayed locked even when they entered the hotel and, when they were alone in the lift, Harry quickly leant up and pressed a kiss to Severus' lips. "Can I … can I come to your room?"

"Why shouldn't you?" Severus asked, watching the digital display switch from sixth floor to seventh. Only when Harry squeezed his hand ever so slightly and Severus, looking down at him, found him blushing, he realised the true meaning behind Harry's words. "I …" he cleared his throat, suddenly speechless. "Of course. Yes. Are you sure?"

Harry was sure – more than sure. He had waited long enough; and yet he couldn't help but feel a little bit nervous, as they walked into Severus’ room together.

Severus seemed to sense that and, after he had put their jackets away, pulled Harry into an embrace, kissing him tenderly. Kisses that turned into caresses covering Harry's face, wandering down to his throat and, after opening some bothersome buttons, to Harry's collarbone. All Harry could do was to hold of for dear life.

"Undress me," Severus whispered against his skin and Harry's shaky fingers started unbuttoning Severus' shirt, exposing his chest. Then his own shirt fell and Severus pulled him close, making their naked chests touch for the first time.

Lying naked on his back Harry was glorious, Severus found. The right amount of masculinity, mixed with something different, something vulnerable. Harry was shivering under his gaze, but he was smiling, and Severus bent down to catch Harry's mouth in a kiss while rubbing his hand up and down Harry's body, only just stopping before he reached Harry's cock.

"Severus, please," Harry whimpered and spread his legs, causing Severus to bite his lips to keep himself from ravishing Harry.

"No yet." The lube was lying next to them and he quickly coated his middle finger with it, before starting to tease Harry's hole. He pushed and was surrounded by tight heat, making him groan along with Harry.

"It feels strange," Harry panted.

"It will feel better soon." Severus moved his finger in and out, slowly, hypnotically until Harry relaxed. Then he changed his angle and Harry gasped. "There you go."

When Harry was stretched and desperate, his cock still untouched, Severus gently spread his legs and raised them to his chest. He didn't ask again if Harry was sure, feeling that it would break the mood, just leant down and kissed him as he pushed in. Severus swallowed Harry's whimper, moving slow, his hands encouraging, one of them moving down to Harry's cock, touching it before he was even fully sheathed.

He gave Harry a moment to recover, showering his face with kisses, and finally – Oh God! Yes! – finally started to move when the tension eased out of Harry.

"God!" Harry moaned and Severus knew that he had found the right spot immediately. "Oh God!" Harry's hands clawed on his back, leaving marks for sure, urging him on to fuck Harry faster, harder. His hand on Harry's cock moved while he used the other for leverage for his thrusts, feeling himself coming closer and closer to the edge. A burning tingle ran up from his toes, collecting – just for a second – in his thighs, until it exploded and he came with a scream. And in those last seconds of frantic fucking, Harry came as well.

They fell asleep arm in arm, come sticky between them and on the sheets and neither of them caring.
*

During the flight back to England Severus sat next to Harry in economy class. To forestall any prying questions he claimed that Dumbledore, the old sod, had cancelled his booking for first class, punishing him for introducing Harry as a soloist, and cursed the senile old coot for good measure to be convincing. Even if he hadn't, none of the musicians would have called his bluff, being far too afraid of the genuine wrath Severus could display.

Occasionally Severus' hand would brush Harry's as it rested on the arm-rest and Harry would smile and blush prettily.

Severus smirked.  Perhaps Dumbledore hadn't gone too far wrong in his hiring policies after all.  But he was damned if he was going to let the meddling old git know it.  Especially since Severus had a very strong suspicion as to precisely who had mixed up the hotel bookings for that night in Madrid…


The End/ Ende/ La Fin/ Koniec





And for those that would like to know what the foreign language bits meant:
 

French (Harry's order in the restaurant):

"Je prendrai Le Canard à l'orange , s'il vous plaît. Et, pourriez vous me dire quel vin serait le plus convenable en accompagnement? J'aimerai du vin rouge mais je ne saurais pas dire lequel conviendrait le mieux avec le canard."

"I will take the duck á l'orange, please. And could you please tell me which wine you would suggest for this one? I'd like to drink some red, but I can't tell which of these would be the best to go with the duck."


German (conversation between the man in the cathedral and Severus):

"Es ist wunderbar, nicht wahr?"  "It's wonderful, isn't it?"

"Ja, sehr."  "Yes, very."

"Es wurde von Gerhard Richter gefertigt und dieses Jahr endlich eingesetzt. Nicht alle befürworten das Fenster, aber ich persönlich finde es wunderschön,"

"It was created by Gerhard Richter and was finally fitted in this year. Not everyone supoorts this window, but I think it is beautiful."

"Es ist mit Sicherheit anders als die anderen. Und es strahlt,"

"It surely is different than the others. And it's shining."


Slovak (the flyer Harry finds; rough English translation):

"Hogsmeadesky orchester v Košiciach!

Prídte a nechajte sa oèari dirigentom Severus Snape a jeho orchestrom.

Budete vtiahnutý do nezabudnutenej atmosféry známych skladateov ako Tchaikovsky, Sibelius, Schubert, Haydn!

Harry Potter ako sólo hráè na hoboj vám predvedie magický Haydnov Hobojový koncert v C-major."

"Hogsmeade Orchestra in Košice!

Come and let yourself get enchanted by Conductor Severus Snape and his orchestra and the marvellous tunes by Tchaikovsky, Sibelius, Schubert, Haydn!

Harry Potter as solo oboist performing Haydn's Oboe Concerto in C-major."
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