Thank you for all the reviews!

Part Two

"So, as you can see, esteemed members of the Wizengamot, there is no evidence proving that my clients were actually involved in the burning of the potions lab of notorious Death Eater Severus Snape."

Harry sneered a little as he watched the smug barrister standing in front of the Wizengamot. He was a man Harry had dealt with before, named Arnold Puffevin. Harry wouldn't have despised him so much if he hadn't made a point of representing only pure-bloods and curling his lip about everyone else.

And if he didn't keep bringing up Snape's Death Eater status, as if that had been the case for more than twenty years.

"Well, you certainly present an interesting case, Mr. Puffevin," said one of the simpering members of the Wizengamot whom Harry despised for much the same reasons as he despised the barrister. "I don't suppose the prosecution has another witness to call?"

"As a matter of fact, we do, Madam Smythe-Blyton. May I present Auror Trainee Harry Potter?"

Gasps and unhappy murmurs swept the room for a moment, along with the clicks of cameras. Harry ignored the reporters and walked into the light from the small chair in the shadows that he'd taken earlier on. Puffevin's face tightened when he saw Harry, but his smile remained pleasant.

"I fail to see what evidence Trainee Potter could present that has not already been presented, Ms. Bones."

Susan Bones smiled a little. If Puffevin had had any sense, Harry thought, he would have feared that smile, coming from a witch who had already completed the intense training necessary for a Ministry barrister and was already winning her cases. But he didn't, so Susan just shook her head a little and said, "Trainee Potter was actually in the fire while it was burning, and was treated afterwards for smoke and fume inhalation at St. Mungo's, along with former Professor Snape. It was the treatment that brought up an interesting issue."

"Indeed," Harry said, in his best imitation of Snape's drawl, which made Puffevin jump, Susan look at him with a softer, more knowing smile, and Snape probably scowl behind him. "You see, one of the poisonous fumes that the Healers had to treat me for turned out to be the smoke of burning blueshade. Deadly in small amounts, not useful for most potions, so Mr. Snape didn't have any in his stores. But, of course, the Aurors who arrested your clients found their hands covered in the dust. One has to conclude—"

"You planted that evidence!"

Harry turned his head, his eyebrows rising a little. This is a turn of events I didn't anticipate. One of the clients Puffevin was representing, Yolanda Jacobs, had leaped to her feet after not saying anything during the trial, and was pointing at Harry with a trembling hand.

"I don't believe that there's evidence of that at all, Ms. Jacobs," Harry said, politely but firmly. "If you wish to dispute that, then you will have to present—"

"We didn't try to murder Snape! We hate him, but we didn't try to murder him!" Jacobs looked around, but any sympathetic members of her audience didn't care to identify themselves. "It's ridiculous to say that we did! And I think this farce of a trial has gone on long enough," she continued, voice firming as though she thought no one had interrupted her because she was stunning them with her genius.

Harry waited for a second, but Puffevin was too busy trying to stare his client to death to respond. "There is also the recognition of Mr. Gorman by the apothecary who sold him the blueshade," he continued smoothly. "It might not have been relevant, but after the evidence of blueshade inhalation found by the Healers of St. Mungo's, the Aurors looked into the records of apothecaries that had recently sold it. In addition, we have a witness who spied both Mr. Gorman and Ms. Jacobs near the site of the fire."

"It wasn't attempted murder!"

Harry cast a glance at Jacobs, and then at Hector Gorman. The man, a cousin of Jacobs, was sitting with his hands tucked between his knees and a carefully blank expression on his face.

Hmm. What she says could still be true if they didn't tell her they were going to murder Snape.

"I do have a question for Mr. Snape," Puffevin snapped suddenly, before the Wizengamot could ask to speak to the apothecary or the other witness. "I understand that you came out of the fire almost unharmed, with a large collection of experimental potions with you. How did you manage to escape if you were suffering from blueshade inhalation in the middle of the fire?"

Snape turned his head a little and studied the Wizengamot. "Permission to answer the honorable barrister's question?"

God, his control, Harry thought in admiration. He'd learned how to hold back his temper and follow Auror reporting structures in a lot of instances, but he didn't know if he could have been so calm when someone accused him of trying to stage his own murder.

It made him wonder what other circumstances Snape could demonstrate that control in, but he shook off the thought as Minister Shacklebolt nodded. "Yes, you may speak, if Ms. Bones thinks it advisable."

Susan spent a moment examining Snape as if she questioned his control, but then nodded. Snape stood and faced Puffevin. "I survived and took the potions with me because of Auror Trainee Potter's actions."

Harry felt as if fire was trying to eat his face from the inside. He had not known Snape was going to say that!

Puffevin frowned. "What?" Susan just looked smug, rubbing her nails on her robes and studying Puffevin.

"Auror Trainee Potter came to rescue me, running into the building despite its burning state," Snape said. His back was turned to Harry, so he might not be aware of the fact that Harry was blushing like a maiden. Thank Merlin for small mercies. "When I refused to leave without my experimental potions, Auror Potter Levitated them, and then ensured that he was touching both me and them when he Apparated us."

"That shouldn't have been possible, either," Puffevin said quickly. "I understand there were wards preventing Apparition around your shop."

"Auror Trainee Potter tore through them. He is—quite powerful."

Snape turned his head then, and Harry made himself meet the man's eyes. They had a depth of warmth for a second before Snape covered it. Harry was frankly relieved. It would make Snape's case harder to support if people thought he was biased for Harry.

Also, and this was no one's business but Harry, seeing emotions like that in Snape's eyes made the mark on his neck itch and burn.

"Permission to call another Auror who can testify to the state of the wards on Mr. Snape's shop?" Susan asked, turning to face the Wizengamot.

She received it, and other Aurors testified to the wards being torn, Harry's "suicidal" charge into the building, and to the fact that they had seen Harry remove Snape's experimental potions from his office later. Healers from St. Mungo's also testified to the blueshade inhalation both Snape and Harry had suffered. Snape didn't have to say anything else as Susan skillfully made her arguments for what the penalty should be and deflected Puffevin's inept questioning of the witnesses.

Of course, he didn't have to sit in his chair and watch Harry, either. But that was exactly what he did.

Harry felt as if he was standing in sunlight.

"I'm not sure why you wanted me to come."

Harry hoped he didn't sound as embarrassed as he felt, but, well, it was strange to be standing in the doorway of what was apparently a new lab Snape had set up. This one had an entrance that looked like a cave and so many protective spells around it that it was hard for Harry to breathe.

"I thought you should have the chance to see the new environment of the potions that you rescued from extinction," Snape said over his shoulder. He was placing flasks and vials and what looks like glasses and mugs and cups of ingredients on new stands and in new drawers.

Harry laughed, and watched as Snape tilted his head down a little in acknowledgement of that laugh. His fingers flickered and danced like insects' wings. Harry followed them with his eyes for a second before he looked away.

"I didn't want you to feel that you owed me anything," Harry said to the walls. "I mean, not another life-debt or something like that. I saved you because I wanted to."

Snape was silent, but there were no more clinking sounds, either. Harry looked at him and found Snape frowning at him over his shoulder.

"I know you did. And what I feel that I owe you is my own."

Harry nodded awkwardly. Then, because Snape had turned back to stocking his new cabinets but also hadn't dismissed him, he stuck his hands in his robe pockets and started wandering around the room.

It was enormous, nearly a cavern, and mostly located underground other than a small section that was being sprayed with sunlight through a window. Harry suspected there were some ingredients that needed natural light. The wall was made of joined squares of flagstone, and the walls were spotlessly clean, probably Transfigured from earth. Harry touched a sleek marble table next to him and imagined it covered with bubbling cauldrons.

"Where did you find this place?" he asked Snape.

"It belonged to Mr. Gorman, my would-be assassin."

"Really?" Harry turned around to stare at him. "Did he give it to you in exchange for a reduction in his sentence or something?"

"No." Snape smiled, a faint press of his lips. "There were other charges I could have pressed against him. I chose not to press them. In return, he offered this to me for a substantially reduced press."

"Hey, good for you."

Snape paused for a second, his eyes sliding sideways to Harry. "The embodiment of law and justice is praising my underhanded negotiation tactics?"

Harry shook his head. "I was never that. I got into too much trouble as a student. And you didn't do anything that put anybody else in danger. That means, as an Auror, I officially don't have to care about it."

"And do other Aurors feel the same way as you do?"

Harry tried not to close his eyes or betray himself with a shiver. Damn, Snape sounded—deep when he talked like that. Deep was the only adjective that Harry would let himself think of.

"Not all of them," Harry chose to say instead, turning to the side to examine the cupboard where Snape had stacked some of the cauldrons, and what looked like kegs of butterbeer. Harry suspected it wasn't, but then, for all he knew, maybe butterbeer was actually useful in some potions. "Don't worry, I won't tell them."

"I do appreciate that, Harry."

Harry swallowed and decided not to comment on the fact that Snape had given himself permission to use Harry's first name. No matter how much things might have changed, there was still the fact that Snape had been bound by two masters and wouldn't want to see the stupid brand on Harry's neck.

"So," Snape said, facing Harry at last with one vial in his fingers, which he considered against the light and then discarded, presumably because of some flaw too small for Harry to see. "Lunch?"

"I wanted to speak to you, Auror Trainee Potter. That's all."

"Yes, and I appreciate the tea, sir. But we've also been in this office for twenty minutes without you saying why you wanted to speak to me."

Dawlish fussed with the edge of the teacup and frowned at his papers. Harry looked away from him and tried to read the titles on the bookshelves behind Dawlish. He tried to do that every time he was in the Head Auror's office, and so far, he still hadn't managed to read all of them. It might be his poor eyesight, or it might be the way that the books genuinely seemed to shuffle and shift around.

"Some of your peers have suggested that you might be compromised," Dawlish finally choked out.

Harry turned to him in true astonishment. "Really? Why? I was excused for the curses I cast during the war." There had been some people who hadn't wanted to do that, but then again, they would have had to investigate every use of illegal curses in the war, Unforgivable or not, and no one wanted to open that sack of Kneazles.

"Because of your closeness to Severus Snape."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So they think he might still be a Death Eater and I wouldn't do my duty if called upon to investigate him? But then the Ministry shouldn't be employing him as a brewer at all, should they?"

"He works here?"

"Yes, he does." Harry managed not to roll his eyes again; it was a near thing. "You didn't know that, sir?"

"I…" Dawlish dug for a moment and came up with a file. Then he read a few pages and frowned while Harry tried not to swing his legs. "Says here that you recommended him." His eyes darted back to Harry, suspicious.

"The Ministry themselves called me and asked me to be a reference for him. Maybe they expected a negative one, but I told them the truth about his brewing skills and they hired him." Harry stared back impassively. "Is there going to be an accusation at the end of this, sir? And what for?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, another Auror trainee has suggested that you may not have the clearest mind when it comes to Mr. Snape. Trainee Jensen said that he's seen interactions between the two of you that imply a personal relationship. That's the sort of thing you should have admitted at the trial, Trainee Potter."

Harry let himself lean all the way back and laugh. "Then I know exactly where this accusation is coming from, sir. Trainee Jensen wanted a personal relationship with me. I rebuffed him because I have a soul-mark."

Dawlish let his jaw droop a bit. "That explains the illusion spell on your neck."

Harry looked down a little. "Yes, sir. And it's someone who's absolutely unattainable due to the war. I want to keep it private."

"I can see why you would. So what happened? Trainee Jensen didn't respect that you only wanted a relationship with your soulmate?"

Harry enjoyed, without guilt, the sight of Dawlish looking as if he'd like to discipline Jensen. "Yes. And Mr. Snape happened to be nearby, on a trip to the Ministry, when Trainee Jensen pushed the issue. Mr. Snape himself deeply respects soul-marks. He told Jensen to leave me be."

"I see. Trainee Jensen mentioned none of this. I will of course be speaking with him." Dawlish made a note on a piece of parchment in front of him.

"Thank you, sir. Will that be all?"

"It will, Auror Trainee Potter. Though, one piece of advice. And I don't want to advise you how to conduct your dating life…"

"Sir."

"But if your soulmate is still alive and not in Azkaban, might I suggest approaching her? Soul-marks are rare enough that it's not only people of my generation or Mr. Snape's who admire them. She might be won over faster than you'd think if you reveal it to her and explain that you bear it, and you've waited for her."

Harry half-smiled, appreciating the support at the same time as he saw everything that Dawlish had wrong in that statement. The gender was just to start with. "I'll think about it, sir. Is there anything else you needed to know about my connection with Mr. Snape?"

"No. In fact, I think I'll be asking Trainee Jensen to attend me the minute we're done speaking here. Of all the disgraceful things, getting upset because someone with a soul-mark refuses to date you…"

Harry nodded to the Head Auror and walked out the door of the office again, his head bent a little and his eyes closed. God, if only the situation was as simple as Dawlish thought and he just had to convince a Voldemort supporter or someone who'd betrayed him that they should be together.

Instead of never being able to approach a man he was increasingly coming to care for without ending his freedom.

"Seriously, Harry. You know how he feels about soul-marks now, and you didn't even have to ask him! Just tell him!"

"Look, mate, I think you should. I mean, yeah," Ron had added in response to the way Harry raised his eyebrows, "I'm not comfortable with it and it's going to take me a long time to get comfortable, but that's my problem. You deserve to be happy. Soul-marks are rare things, and you've got close to Snape anyway without even telling him. What's the worst that can happen when you reveal it?"

That the joy leaves his eyes.

And that, Harry couldn't bear. He could have borne it if Snape was angry because Harry had lied to him—if only by omission—or if Snape had seen the mark and said that, all things considered, they were better off in the strange friendship they'd fallen into. But he would suffer far more than he did now if he snuffed out the joy Snape had barely begun to believe he could have.

Snape would accept the soul-mark as a duty, especially if he respected them. But Harry wanted to be held and comforted in love.

That, or nothing.

So he said nothing, even though his friends continued to urge him, even though Dawlish would give his disguised neck a disapproving look every time they met in the Ministry, and even though Snape's eyes had come to linger on it with a deepening curiosity.

If he loved Snape…

If he could love Snape, Harry had added to himself hastily. He knew he wouldn't dare describe his feelings as love just yet.

If he could, keeping him free and happy was worth more than snatching at some selfish happiness that wouldn't be like he was envisioning anyway.

"Enough is enough."

Harry looked up in surprise as Snape put his wineglass heavily down on the table. They were at an Italian restaurant in the Muggle world, and Harry had noticed when they walked in how dim the lighting was, how soft and romantic the music, and how whispery the Italian words that were mingled in with the music for no apparent reason. He wouldn't have brought them here, but it had been Snape's choice.

And now Snape was glaring at him in a way that made Harry's heartbeat pick up. He sighed. He knew very well that that flood of adrenaline wasn't related to fear.

"What's enough?" Harry sipped his wine and looked around for distraction. It didn't help. The people sitting at the tables nearest them were all couples, holding hands or grinning at each other like fools. A little further away with a solitary woman, who cradled her head in her hands and regularly blew her nose into a handkerchief.

"You have carried that soul-mark on your neck for at least two years, am I correct?" Snape's voice was hard and precise. "Since your nineteenth birthday."

"Yes." Harry frowned a little, toying with his wineglass. "What about it?"

"Have you made any effort to approach this person?"

"I already told you, they're out of reach due to the war—"

"It is not like you to be a bloody coward, Potter." Snape's voice roughened, lowered. "Unless they were dead, which you have not spoken of, I would have expected you to at least ask. There are people who might have hated you during the war and who would still be honored to know you were marked as theirs. You do not understand how often soul-marks are respected by our kind."

"No, because no one bothered to bloody explain it to me," Harry snapped, hoping to start an argument that would get him out of the one Snape was trying to start.

Snape didn't follow his lead. "Because they are rare and not something that is part of the ordinary life experienced by most wizards," he snapped back, leaning in. "There is no need to explain it in detail to children who may never have one or be part of a bond. But you…you are the only one I know who has received this gift and not at least tried to pursue it."

"It's impossible."

"No more impossible than your saving my life and my not resenting you for it. Go, Potter," Snape said, and stood up abruptly. "Find your soulmate. Try to at least convince her that you would spend your life with her and that the war need not stand between you forever."

"That shows how much you know," Harry said before he could stop himself. "It's a him."

Snape paused. Then he turned back around. "And what holds you back, then? Childish fear that the wizarding world would disapprove of you for having a male lover? Fears of your own, that you are less than straight?"

"I already told you it had to do with the war."

"I want to know who it is."

Harry hissed in astonishment before he could stop himself. The books he'd found had been pretty clear. It was the height of bad manners to ask about a soul-mark that someone had chosen to hide—which they did, sometimes, if the person they were soulmated to was already married or infamous or otherwise unsuitable. Someone who had been gifted with a soul-mark was already special enough, without being pressured to disclose it.

"I want to know." Snape's face was closed. "Is it the Dark Lord?"

"Are you insane?"

"You did not answer the question."

"No, it's not! And not Fenrir Greyback or Albus Dumbledore or Rabastan Lestrange, either, before you can ask about that."

Snape's posture softened enough that a laugh huffed out of his mouth. "Then I don't understand why you would have such reluctance to reveal it. Someone who is separated from you by the war…It cannot be a Weasley whose marriage you are reluctant to disrupt, then, which would have been my second guess." He curled his fingers into the edge of the table and then sat back down, probably because he was attracting attention. "Do you not trust me enough to tell me?"

"There are reasons I can't." Harry swallowed the last of his wine, and stood himself with a soft ache in his chest. This would probably be the last of his friendly outings with Snape. Honestly, he should have cut them off a while ago. It was getting close to him under false pretenses, to chat and let Snape call him by his first name and be his friend when he was carrying the man's soul-mark on his throat. "I'm sorry. If I could tell you those reasons, you would understand."

"But you have not told me, and I do not understand." Snape was smiling, but there was an edge like a sliver of broken mirror to it. "Tell me, Harry."

"I'm sorry." Harry put enough money to pay for his meal on the table and turned away.

"Potter."

Part of him winced; it was a really bad sign that Snape was calling him that, when he had called Harry by his first name for months. But on the other hand, Harry didn't call him "Severus," did he? Everything about the relationship they had was, in the end, not as open and free and frank as it needed to be.

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated. He walked out of the restaurant without looking back.

He intended to find a darkened alley that he could use as an Apparition point. What he hadn't counted on was finding that alley only to have his arms gripped and his back almost slammed against the wall.

"Tell me," Snape snarled, leaning down right into his face.

"No—"

Harry started to kick out, but then he realized that most of what was going on had been a distraction. Snape had already got his wand into place and aimed it, muttering, "Finite Incantatem," under his breath.

Harry closed his eyes as he felt the illusion spell above his mark dissolve. For a moment, he hoped Snape couldn't see it in the darkness, but they weren't far from the lights of Muggle restaurants and shops, and the alley was dim, not black.

Snape's breathing stopped completely.

"I said you wouldn't understand," Harry said softly as Snape's hands fell limply away from his arms. His chest hurt more than ever. He wondered if Snape would think that Harry saving his life and going to meals with him and arguing, as they had done, about Ministry policy was just a deception to get close to him. "I'll—"

His eyes flew open as the grip was renewed, and Snape leaned right into his face and said, "We are going to go back to your home and we are going to talk, Potter."