A/N: This is my first time posting on FF. Please feel free to point out any problems.

A/N2: Parts of this in a slightly different format can be found on the HPSS Fuh-Q-Fest, slavedriven…um…run by our very dearest Kira.

A/N 3: Most of this is written, there's just a few points in the middle I'm still working on. Reviews are welcome, constructive criticism is terrific, flames I find amusing (bigotry and blinders go hand in hand—it's hilarious).

Summary: Harry must marry before the 14th of February. Only problem is, nobody seems to want him!

Warning: While there is no explicit content, this is still primarily a SLASH fiction. If you don't care for it, don't read it.

A Delicate Dilemma

"I am afraid Draco has his eye on you, Potter, and he will not relent unless you are already taken—do you have a candidate in mind?" Snape said curiously.

Severus Snape replaced the poker in its holder and sat back in ragged-edged arm chair. In the last years of the War, Potter had gone from annoying student, to annoying ally, to cautious partner and then to—what? Snape was not a man to look too closely at his feelings; they were bothersome things that generally interfered with whatever business was at hand. Better that they be swept into a closet and the door firmly locked before tossing away the key.

Even so, some small voice worried at the look on his partner's face.

Nonsense, he told himself firmly, absently worrying at a loose thread hanging from the worn red velveteen. The boy is still perfectly acceptable looking; it should be easy enough for him to find someone.

The war had left its mark on all of them, in mind as well as body. Harry Potter, famous for the lightening bolt scar on his forehead, was now equally renowned for the streak of brilliant white hair just above it, courtesy of a second encounter with Voldemort's infamous Avada Kedava. Unfortunately for Potter while the scar could be hidden, nothing they'd found would cover what he referred to as his 'skunk streak'.

At the moment, said streak was being alternately clutched at and raked through while Potter tried to curb his frustration. From where Snape sat hands and hair were all that was visible from behind the desk-sized bouquet of gold and silver roses the Malfoy heir had sent. Real gold and real silver. Curious, Snape pulled his wand from his sleeve in an effort to determine if they were roses that had been transformed or metal that had been crafted and enchanted with rose-like properties.

"Damn it all to hell!" were the first truly intelligible words to rise from behind the mass in the last several minutes. "Snape, stop experimenting in my study! If you want to know, here, take them!"

The huge basket and its contents suddenly vanished, once more leaving Snape a clear view of his frustrated partner. Green eyes blazed from behind wire-framed glasses, the umpteenth replacement of the original round lenses. The black jacket and waistcoat showed off the upper half of a trim and muscular body that was rising from behind the desk to pace back and forth across the cluttered room. The slight limp, Snape noted critically, was even less noticeable than in December when the codicil to the Potter will had appeared in the Ministry offices.

"You know damn well there hasn't been anyone!" Potter snarled, returning to the original question. The look he threw at Snape was fury born of frustration, edging into momentary guilt when he caught Snape's raised eyebrow. "No one serious, anyways," he added lamely.

"Then perhaps you ought to start looking," Snape said from his chair by the fire. "This is your 30th year, and the addition only gives you until February 14th. Which is," he added, "only slightly more than a month away."

"I can't believe this is happening," the fury died as quickly as it had come, and Snape saw something in his companion's face he hadn't seen since he'd finally defeated Voldemort on the Field of Amhurst: resignation.

Potter drifted to the fireplace and stared down into the flames, hands thrust deep into his pockets. "I don't suppose there's anyway it could be a lie? A forgery or something?" The question was more wistful habit than hopeful inquiry.

Snape felt a pang where he supposed his heart should be, and it made his answer uncommonly gentle. "Potter, your parents appeared from the afterlife to validate it. You must wed by midnight on the 14th of February of this year, or you lose the Potter estates and fortune."

"And if it wasn't for the work the estate supports I'd say to hell with it," Potter glared at his long-time sparring partner, but it was half-hearted at best. "It's not like I don't have money of my own, and barring that I can work as well as then next man, magic or muggle. What I really want to know is how the Daily Prophet got hold of the story."

"Really, Potter, don't pretend to such naivety. It was leaked, obviously, and it could have been by most anyone at the Ministry. Even in the wizarding world, the dead don't return so often as to not excite interest." Snape started to wave his hands in disgust, until a thought occurred to him and instead they froze in mid-gesture.

"Snape? What is it?" In an instant, Potter crossed the last few feet between them and dropped to his knees, eyes alight with near-hope.

Snape frowned and leaned forward slightly, studying the fine features in front of him, pale skin caught in fire, the reflection making the emerald eyes in the face glow. His eyes lifted to the infamous scar, and his hand involuntarily followed. Softly he brushed back the heavy black fringe, fingers running gently through the white streak. If there was a slight pressure against his fingers in return he never noticed it.

"Severus? What is it?" Whispered words in a hopeful voice.

"You are Harry Potter. You must be wed by the 14th of February." Snape's hand dropped suddenly and he caught the end of Harry's chin, pinching it until the younger man lifted his eyes again. "Why then," he wondered aloud, "is there only one suitor you've heard from more than once?"

Harry bared his teeth and sucked in his breath. "Malfoy," he growled. "Malfoy must be stopping them somehow."

"Or at the very least discouraging them." A second question bubbled up from the depths of Snape's very Slytherin brain. "The codicil states you'll be disinheritedcut from the lineimplying that the estate will thus be dissolved since you have no heirs. Who stands to benefit if you fail to marry?"

Harry blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "I…I don't know for sure. I'd never planned not to marry, simply not like this nor so soon. Wizards live hundreds of years; why rush it?"

Snape seemed to suddenly realize he still held Harry's chin tight between his fingers and jerked his hand back. "We need to know who your heir is, if there is one."

Harry blinked and drew back. "Right, right; first thing tomorrow then. But what about Malfoy?"

Snape smiled a smile cold enough to freeze the dead in their tracks, and Harry felt his own heart lift; it was the smile that meant his partner had a plan, and someone, somewhere, was about to suffer for it.

"I think it's time to see how serious Malfoy is in his courtship. Where's some parchment?"