Harry knelt upon the prie-dieu, his forearms resting in a raise that naturally brought the hands up to clasping. The altar of candles, red and white votive lights that danced below a mother and her darling boy. Sweets to the sweet. Harry had never been to church with the Dursleys, mostly because they wouldn't go anywhere in public with him, but maybe because they thought he was damned anyway.

The church was beautiful, a cathedral of glorious heights and sun-lit windows that could make the unbeliever weep. Harry imagined it with an enchanted ceiling, like the one in the Great Hall, crowded with a multitude of forms. The sound of wings.

Harry knew him by scent and did not turn around, even though echoing footfalls betrayed him. He smoothed a hand over the red plush.

"It'd make a nice spanking bench, you think?" Harry said.

Severus raised his baleful gaze to the candled altar.

"Quite heretical of you, Mr. Potter."

"Define heresy, Sir."

One moment's rest.

"Any opinions or doctrines at variance with the official or orthodox position," Severus said. "Adherence to such controversial or unorthodox opinion."

"Now define why you never owled me."

Severus took the taper and lit one, two, three candles. Two red and a white. He didn't speak until he stepped back.

"It wasn't safe."

Harry turned his head to look at the man. There was mystery in the shapeless shroud of professorial robes, but the fine cut of the tailored jacket and trousers defined and accentuated in wonderfully appropriate ways.

"There's a confessional here," Harry said, green eyes daring.

"I'm not going to desecrate..."

"We did it in the Great Hall."

Severus blanched. "Nearly everyone was gone on holiday."

"I seem to remember desecrating more than one table in the..."

"Harry!"

Harry hid an impish smile behind one hand. "Sorry." He looked up to the candles once more.

"Who did you light candles for?"

Severus' looked up to the serene child in the mosaic. He had no use for religion nor its trappings, but with Harry kneeling here

Severus wanted to believe.

"O rubor sanguinis, qui de excelso illo fluxisti, quod divinitas tetigit,"

Harry flushed.

"Stop that or I'll speak Parseltongue and I know what that does to you."

Severus laid a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I didn't owl you because I thought you were dead."

Harry looked back up at him in shock.

"Dead? You would have known."

Severus snorted faintly. "Such are the ways of lovers? Predisposition for sudden divination? I don't believe that."

Harry rubbed his cheek against Severus' hand and the man exhaled quietly.

"Harry, not here."

"Say something, then. You weren't finished."

"tu flos es, quem hiems de flatu serpentis num quam lesit."

Harry shivered. It had been two years. He wanted to fuck this man. Now.

"Serpentis. Serpent, right? I can pick out that much."

"'You are the flower that the winter of the serpent's breath

can never injure.'"

"Who's the serpent? Surely not you."

"No. The Dark Lord."

Harry was very still.

"I felt him die."

A wry smile twisted Severus' mouth. "And how does that fit into your romantic divination?"

"Fuck you, Snape."

"Please," Severus said demurely, pulling his hand away. "We're in a church."

"Yeah, and the impure thoughts I'm thinking could snuff out every one of those candles."

Severus put his hand on the back of the boy's neck, fingers sliding into a very familiar hold. Harry held.

"That, Mr. Potter, is heresy. Apologize."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

A breath.

"Can we go now?"

"Yes."