More Ramblings:

I love you all.

You, the reader, are a part of the most amazing people in the world. I worship your feet. Thank you SO MUCH for everything. All the praise, all the commentary—just amazing. Thank you so much. For example, LegacyLady, gosh, your enthusiasm just blows me away!

Thanks also to Mystical Witch for pointing out that the Waldorf-Astoria might have been wrong. I really don't know; I don't live in New York. I checked up the hotel website though, and the name seemed intact. Could anyone clear this up for me? And as for the time zones, well. My computer says that London is five hours ahead, and so does Ask Jeeves, but I think I failed to take Daylight Savings into account. ::sighs::

Welcome to the third chapter. Please write down a review as you leave through the "Back" button.

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New York, New York

by Galae

"I want to wake up

In a city that doesn't sleep"

The next morning was awkward. They both didn't get enough sleep. Harry knew that he had bags under his eyes, and was only slightly mollified to see that Snape did too.

Snape downed the coffee black. Harry simply stirred the milk in his bowl, trying to look like he's actually doing something with it. A bird was singing outside. Dammit. Since when did birds sing in this accursed city?

Snape was seriously growing on him.

"Um." Harry cleared his throat. "Professor?"

Snape looked at him. "Yes?"

Harry swallowed. That wasn't so bad. At least he said something. So he wasn't ready to kill him or anything like that. "Um. Look, Professor, about last night . . ."

"I understand, Potter," Snape cut him off immediately. His timing was almost uncanny. "You were tired. It was a long day. You weren't thinking. No need to apologize, it happens to all of us. Even the celebrities."

Harry seriously believed that Snape added that last one just to spite him. Well, he thought, at least he's back, whoever "he" is.

"But. I'm, just. I'm sorry."

Snape looked at him. Of course. Head hung down in shame. Of course he was sorry. Potter looked like he expected to get a disease.

"No need to look . . . like that," Snape amended. He shook his head and continued in his blandest, most matter-of-fact voice. "We have lots to do today. Get a move on, Potter."

Harry got up, almost reluctantly, and followed Snape out of the hotel.

"So," Snape said, sneering. "This is the first day on Dumbledore's sadistic tour. I expect that you will behave yourself at all times, Potter."

"I will," said Harry, who, at the moment, probably would have obeyed if Snape told him to jump off the Empire State.

Snape slid him a humanly surprised glance, but then he was back again. Stony Snape and . . . Not-So-Stony Snape. Harry decided that he was going to spend the last week of his trip trying to figure out how to bring Jekyll back more often.

The Statue of Liberty was fine. It was a little long, climbing the millions of stairs packed with Muggles. Harry tried not to laugh at Snape's face as he struggled to retain some politeness and not indiscretion.

"Where're y'all from?" asked the Park Ranger on the bottom of the winding stairwell.

"Switzerland," said the two women standing in front of Harry. The man behind Snape let out of string of foreign abuse. "And he is from Germany."

"England," Harry said promptly.

"Ah, England. I'm going to London, actually, this fall."

The Swiss women kept on trying to talk to Snape and blinking very rapidly while doing it. Harry was going to ask if they've got something in their eye until he realized—oh. Okay. They were making eyes at Snape.

Harry thought that he was going to throw up. Is it something in the American air? How else can he explain the fact that every woman in the US seem to think that Snape was attractive?

After enjoying the view on the top of the Statue (or rather, in the case of Snape, "conjuring up a dire headache from the ceaselessly jabbering Americans"), Harry checked Dumbledore's list. "Ellis Island. Come on, Professor." When Snape didn't move, Harry sighed and grabbed his wrist, dragging him unceremoniously to the ferry.

As soon as they got on the ferry, Harry stared at his hand for a minute. Yeah. His hand, which was currently wrapped around Severus Snape's thin wrist like a vine around a tree. Snape reacted faster. He shook off Harry's fingers with usual grace.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, snatching back his traitorous hand.

Snape said nothing, only shot Harry a look that plainly said he would not care to do that again unless he wished for a painful death. He put his hand in his pocket again, grasping that small, elusive object. Harry had gotten used to it by now.

Ellis Island was kind of boring for two English citizens who had no connection to America whatsoever. At three, they were back in Manhattan.

What to do in Manhattan at three o'clock in the afternoon?

"Professor," said Harry, rather timidly. "I was just wondering . . . do you care if we hang around here for a few hours? I kind of want to buy some . . . stuff. For my friends."

Snape sent him a withering glare, but Harry stood his ground. "It is far too unfortunate that I have to look after you this entire trip. I should not be forced to go along because your mind is pickled with nonsense."

"Professor, don't you think it is wise if we buy Dumbledore a little something? After all, that way we can warm him up before we tell him that you turned a boy into a Cornish pixie."

Snape paled. "Damn you, Potter!"

"Great!" said Harry brightly. "Let's go to Macy's first!"

Snape cursed himself and wondered if Harry had planned this all along.

Going from street to street and store to store with a very unappreciative Snape trailing behind him, Harry noticed something. Something that he didn't notice before, as a matter of fact. That Snape, in his black Muggle shirt and dark grey slacks, was garnering a lot of favorable looks from women. But the thing was that every time, when the female eyes rested on Harry, they sighed and looked away.

That was what disturbed him. Was he—did he—does he have some weird sense of possessiveness hanging around him? All of the sudden Harry couldn't breathe. He wanted to hyperventilate. Snape—did he notice? God, if he had seen . . . no, Harry didn't want to think about that. Snape, and him.

Damn, damn, damn.

But luckily for him, Snape didn't seem to notice. He was too busy complaining. After eight stores and many bags on his arm, Harry was quite used to it.

"Here," said Harry, pushing open a door.

Snape looked at the store with skepticism. "Banana Republic" was placed very strategically across the storefront, and in the windows four headless mannequins posed, wearing tight shirts.

"No," he said emphatically. But Harry didn't seem to listen. At least, he was pushed inside the store, much against his own wishes.

The horror. Snape adjusted his eyes. Well, at least the lighting was somewhat like his dungeon's. But the contents!

"May I help you, sirs?" said a woman wearing a ruffled blouse and a beige skirt.

"No thank you. We're buying something for him."

"The men's section is that way."

"Potter, I assure you that I will refuse vehemently to buying anything from this . . . charlatan of a store," Snape told him clearly.

"Oh, come on, Professor," said Harry. "We're just going to get you a nice shirt. I don't know how you could wear those robes of yours during the summer . . . You need one. Seriously."

"I do not." It was meant to come out menacingly.

Harry looked at him. "All right. You let me get you a shirt, and I'll . . . we'll go back to the hotel. Or else it's five more stores."

Snape gritted his teeth. The boy's blackmailing skills were certainly getting better.

Finally, Harry marched into the fitting room armed with twelve different pieces of clothing—all shirts, of course, but all much cooler than a stuffy robe. Snape went inside the fitting room rather cautiously, as if expecting the ghost of Voldemort to pop up at any second.

"Isn't it time for you to come out?" Harry demanded after five minutes.

"I refuse to step into good light with this on."

"I won't laugh. I promise."

The door clicked.

Laughing was probably the furthest thing from Harry's mind as Snape stepped out.

The man was dressed in one of the less dressy shirts that Harry picked out. It was rather a simple one, well-cut, with a row of buttons down the front. It wasn't black, but a white shirt that seemed loose and well-fitted at the same time.

For once in his life, Snape looked neither imposing nor frightening. In fact, Harry had a very funny feeling in his stomach as he stared at the older man. The shirt outlined a thin but graceful body, and Snape had left the first two buttons undone, giving him a very good look at the smooth collarbones.

"I suppose by the way you're gawking at me, it is not as ghastly as I imagined."

Snape had just paid him a very, very subtle compliment, but Harry failed to catch it. All he could do was tear his eyes away from Snape's torso and towards his face. "No," he said weakly. "It looks. Fine."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Then I suppose I am obliged to buy this."

Harry's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. All he could think about was that he's going to have a lot of trouble in Potions the day Snape wears that to class.

They hailed a taxi to get back to hotel, as promised. Harry felt slightly dizzy.

"What are we going to eat?" asked Snape as they walked into the Waldorf-Astoria.

Oh yeah. Food. Harry had been too busy figuring out that Snape had a body that he forgot his stomach. "Room service," he said quickly.

It was a rather nice meal. Neither said anything throughout it. Harry would look up occasionally to see Snape's hands move the silverware. That was the first time he'd ever noticed those fingers. When they weren't disemboweling frogs, they were quite . . . elegant.

It was quiet after dinner. Snape was studying a large and immensely boring text called Essays on the Use of Herbology in Potions. The last time Harry looked, he was on "Periculosus—Deadly Drug, or Wizard's Best Friend?"

Harry got the cot that night. He had never been so thankful for the extra bed as he was right then and there. Especially when Snape breezed into the bedroom, newly wet from his shower. The water had pushed his hair back, revealing a slim column of moonlight skin.

Snape looked at Harry for a minute, then climbed into his bed after taking something out of his pocket and placing it in a drawer. Potter seemed rather . . . distracted that day. His normally idiotic face had been more clueless than ever. But now he seemed to very absorbed in a book that looked familiar . . .

"Potter. What are you reading?"

"Your book, Professor."

It took Snape a moment to register this. When he did, he sneered. "My, Mr. Potter, aren't you turning into quite the academic. This is probably the first time you have ever showed concern for Potions."

"No, it's just this essay," Harry said, tapping the page. "This potion they mentioned—I think Voldemort used it on me. In the last battle."

"Wha—Let me see that."

Two hours later they were still at it. Snape had pulled out his parchment and scribbling down notes. He sent Harry to his briefcase for more books, which Harry assiduously retrieved. Harry cross-referenced various ingredients as Snape fervently did calculations (calculations? Potions required calculations?).

It was one o'clock. "I think we need some tea," said Harry, exhausted. He made some hot water from the coffeemaker, and added tea leaves from the canister he brought. He brought two steaming cups into the bedroom.

"I think I have it." One more cross-out. "Ah, just what I suspected. He used a variant of the Acries Alius Potion, with Adflictatio leaves. Interesting. No wizard had ever thought of doing that before. But then and again." A look at Harry. "No wizard was ever Voldemort."

"Acries Alius . . ."

"It is a mind-changing potion. The Adflictatio makes the change go in a more . . . negative direction."

That would explain it.

"Would you turn off the lights, please?" asked Snape, putting away his quill and parchment.

He did, and he handed Snape the other steaming cup of tea. "Professor, you need this," said Harry.

"Thank you, Potter."

Their fingers brushed. What would have repulsed him weeks before now sent tingles down Harry's spine. And was he imagining it, or did Snape's breath just go a little faster . . .?

He looked at the older man. Snape's face was, as usual, shuttered. But for one tiny fraction of a second, it opened up, and Harry found himself looking into a pair of eyes that were not hateful, not inexpressive, but instead living glows of onyx. And that made his breath hitch and his heart throb. The eyes seemed to draw him in into its infinite depths. God, he wanted to drown in them . . . and he wondered . . . he wondered . . .

All of the sudden Harry was leaning forward. So, this was the end to all he had believed and knew. Warmth radiated off of Snape, beautiful warmth that welcomed him as he touched his lips to his. He was drowning.

Snape's thin lips were immobile for a moment. Harry opened his mouth and pushed his tongue at his mouth, coaxing the warm, soft lips to open. They did. His tongue slid into Snape's mouth with delight, touching every nerve in that hot, wet cavern. Oh Merlin. Harry moaned as his tongue met another just like it, and before he knew it Snape's tongue was pushing against his own. Snape's tongue slid into his mouth easily, dueling with his muscle, licking and doing extraordinary things to his groin.

Harry, without even realizing he was doing it, had moved onto the bed and then onto Snape's lap. That was when Snape chose to take Harry's tongue and suck on it. Harry moaned, fingers struggling to mash their bodies even closer together. Snape seemed to understand, because his legs parted. Harry fell into the space between them and for once, life seemed utterly perfect.

Somehow Snape's arm had wound around Harry's waist, just as his own hands had snaked into Snape's wet hair and was now massaging his skull. He groaned. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as Snape ran his hands up and down Harry's back, then moved down just a tad to touch every part of his arse.

It was incredible. There was no other way to describe it. Harry's arms compulsively unwound themselves and his hands are now touching every part of Snape he could get his hands on. It was lovely. Lovely.

And then it was gone.

Harry's eyes flew open at the loss of contact. He was gasping for air and trying to wrap his head around reality. When he realized that Snape had pulled away, Harry made a little whimpering noise and reached out again, but the older man gently pushed his arms down.

"Har—Potter. No. We can't do this."

Harry searched Snape's face desperately. Even in the moonlight Snape's cheeks were tinged with pink, lips swollen with the passion of their kiss.

He licked his own lips, unconsciously. They felt dry and cold alone. "Wh—" His voice came out raspy and he tried again. "Why—why not?"

"We just can't." Snape's voice was unusually low and quiet. "You're my student. You're still in school."

Harry snorted. "After another month, I'll graduate."

"Good," said Snape. He was carefully disentangling himself. Damn that man! Harry felt like spaghetti. He could barely even resist as he was lightly moved onto the bed.

"Good," repeated Snape again. "We could wait another month."

"But I don't want to! I want to . . . now."

"No, Harry. We have just made a very bad, very impulsive decision. It is wrong. We shouldn't . . ."

"S—P—" Just then Harry realized that he was at a loss at what to call him. "Damn you! The war against Voldemort is finished. We're not drawing up battle plans here! This isn't . . . this isn't a war, Professor."

"I never said it was."

"Then what's wrong with impetuous and impulsive?"

"Everything," said Snape, matter-of-factly. "We're not thinking enough. We're rushing ourselves into something that would end up being just a wrong, painful fling. We're not in a relationship."

"What if it's not?" Harry drew in his legs. "What if it's more than a fling? What if it was meant to be . . . something more?"

"If you're implying in any way that this might be the start of a passionate relationship, Harry, I must tell you that I have no such inclinations whatsoever," said Snape, dryly. "And what are you smiling about?"

"'Harry,'" he said softly, a grin lighting up his face. "You called me 'Harry.'"

If Snape was thunderstruck, he didn't show it. The shuttered face was back again. "So I did."

"S—P—" Harry sputtered to a stop again before pounding on the bed. "I don't even know what to call you!"

"I guess 'Professor' would be a little inappropriate in the current circumstance," Snape said, arching one eyebrow. "But it very well highlights the situation, doesn't it?"

Harry's fuse was definitely shortening. "Fuck you. I should have expected this. I should have known. You know what? You and I have just spent a week in New York City. Alone. And for once, I have been able to see you as who you really are. Or at least, I've seen the other part of you. And maybe I just thought that it meant something. Namely, that you are comfortable enough with me to show that side. We've spent seven years fighting The Bastard side-by-side, and I thought that sometime during those seven years, maybe we'd develop something . . . I don't know . . . something other than hatred, maybe? But no. I guess Professor Severus Snape is too good to consort with mere mortals like myself!" Harry paused his ranting for a breath.

When he continued on, his voice was quieter. "I don't know. You said it was impulsive. It wasn't. It was really seven years in the making, just bottled up inside us. We never wanted that part of us to show through. But I thought that somewhere along this trip, we were able to admit to ourselves that we wanted each other. That seven years of being on the same side meant something. Developed something. And just now, we were able to tell each other that. And I got the best snog I've had in—forever. I thought that that would be enough to show you. But I guess not. Professor Snape is all rhyme and reason."

Harry flopped down on the bed. He wanted to cry. Either that, or scream and run and get very, very, very drunk.

"Harry."

"Go away."

Snape moved to the cot. The silence in the room was audible.

After a long while, Snape said, "Severus."

Harry stirred and peered at him over the darkness to see if the man had finally gone insane. "What?"

Softly, "You can call me Severus."

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I have activated my Yahoo! account, which means that you can now e-mail me at marieblanche00@yahoo.com. Feel free to e-mail me with any questions and comments. (Please do! I love opening my inbox! But don't send spam, that would just force me to get a new address.)

Lastly, yes, I have started writing a sequel to this. Am I being overconfident that people will actually read both stories? Perhaps. But seeing my track record for finishing stories, I might as well keep writing while I'm on a roll.

REMEMBER! Reviews = happy me. I love feedback. I love criticism. I love everybody who reviews. Reviewed the last chapter? Review this one! It might as well have sucked. Thanks!