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**********
The school year started. Snape found his pupils doubly irritating; he put it down to his new-found notoriety and dealt with any outbreaks of giggling by issuing detentions to be spent with Mr Filch and taking more house points than ever. Nobody found that humorous, not after Ravenclaw went into minus house points, and the outbreaks were not repeated.
Potter occupied himself with helping Madam Hooch - completely unofficially. The pupils loved him as they always had. He visited his son every day; he and Snape rarely spoke, but Potter continued to feed the snake, which stayed wrapped around Snape's wrist. It seemed its protection extended to James, though quite how that worked Snape wasn't sure.
**
Potter arrived in Snape's rooms one day about halfway through the term, holding a letter. He watched Snape change James; it was not Snape's favourite job, but something he had to do. Potter didn't interfere; the one time he'd offered to help, Snape had squashed him - did Potter imagine him incapable of a simple task like changing a nappy? But as soon as James was dressed again he held his arms out, and Snape handed him his son.
In doing this, Potter had dropped his letter. Snape picked it up. "Are you going to accept?" He realised when he saw the headed paper that it was an offer from a Quidditch team.
"The Manchester Mosquitos? I don't know."
Snape didn't follow league Quidditch. "Why wouldn't you?"
"Second division."
"Does that matter? I would have thought the question is do you want to play? Or would you rather sit around and teach idiot children to fly and fill in whenever a teacher has a sniffle?"
Potter rocked his son, gently. "I suppose if they can put up with me..."
"I doubt they'll have to 'put up' with you."
"I'm glad someone appreciates my talents."
Snape thought Potter looked unaccountably cheered, and felt a bit baffled.
**
At lunch, several months later Rolanda Hooch said, "The Mosquitos are doing very well." Snape looked at her, vaguely puzzled.
"You know. The team your husband plays for."
Light dawned. Potter never talked about Quidditch when he came for his daily visit. He rarely talked about anything very much at all; he played with James, and if they exchanged a remark it would be about their son. Snape said, "Oh, really?"
"Third from the top in the second division."
"Good."
Hooch made a wordless noise of irritation, and strode off, cloak flowing after her. He sighed. He supposed she had a point; as they were linked for life a polite interest in Potter's career wouldn't go amiss. And...that was the first time anyone - including either of them - had managed to describe one of them as the other's husband rather than, 'your...er...husband' or 'your...um...husband', so he supposed he should be grateful for that. The hesitation had become rather wearing.
Over the next few days he discovered in the sports pages of the Daily Prophet that the most common adjectives used to describe Potter were 'tragic' and 'troubled' though occasionally the phrase 'bedevilled by scandal' came up as well. Potter himself was never interviewed; obviously he'd learned his lessons well as far as the press were concerned.
On the positive side, the team stressed that their 'tragic', 'troubled' Seeker was a family man who went home every night to his husband and baby. This was true as far as it went, but Snape couldn't help but wonder why he bothered when he got so little welcome. Though James was always pleased to see his father.
**
Dumbledore said, "Do you think it's wise for Harry to be so exposed to danger? And to apparate every day from Hogwarts to Manchester?" He'd invited himself to tea in Snape's rooms to coo over James and interfere in Snape's life.
"Where is Manchester?" Snape's geography, even of Britain, was a bit hazy.
"Not far from Liverpool." That didn't help Snape very much. Somewhere he had no idea of the location of was near somewhere else.
"About two hundred and fifty miles south of here."
Despite himself, Snape was impressed. To apparate five hundred miles a day, every day, was no mean feat. He couldn't have done it, but Potter did. And played Quidditch on top of it, a sport which demanded accuracy, stamina and concentration. Snape knew perfectly well that the adulation heaped on Quidditch players was not just because they tended to be handsome and young - the sport was difficult and physically demanding.
Snape said, "I think if you want to tell him to give it up you'd better do it yourself."
Dumbledore looked enquiring.
"My marriage is a disaster already; I can't alienate my husband still further by asking him to give up his heart's desire. I won't do your dirty work for you, Albus. Not this time."
"It puts him very much at risk from Voldemort."
Snape stirred his tea. It was a delaying tactic, and Dumbledore must realise it, because Snape didn't take sugar. "He must realise that. It's a risk he is prepared to take."
"I'm not so sure...tell him-"
"No," Snape interrupted Dumbledore, and even he trembled a little, inwardly. "I'm not a messenger between you and my husband. If you have a problem with Harry, you sort it out."
Dumbledore looked momentarily surprised, then said, "Of course, Severus. That was insensitive of me, you are quite right."
Snape sighed. Dumbledore had a way of doing that - challenge him over something and he'd take the wind out of your sails by agreeing cheerfully. It could be damned annoying.
"How is James?" Dumbledore asked.
"He's a baby. For a baby, he's pretty normal, or so Poppy tells me."
**
A few nights later, Snape was woken by a knock on his bedroom door. He slid a dressing gown on - the dungeon was inclined to be cold - and opened the door. It was Potter, as he had suspected it might be.
"You need to leave now," Potter said.
"Why?"
"Voldemort's going to try to kill James tonight."
"I see." Snape didn't waste time arguing. Potter didn't play tricks about Voldemort, nobody did. He went over to the cot, picked up his son and a few necessaries in a bag.
"Tell Dumbledore," said Potter. "He's been expecting this, and he'll know what to do." He led the way out of the dungeons. "Then get out as fast as you can. Go to Hagrid's cottage, and wait for me there. What's the password to get into the Slytherin common room and dormitories?"
"Why do you need to know that?"
"Someone's got to get them out, and it's not going to be you. I need you to guard James. What is it?"
"'Standing water'. What's Voldemort going to do?" The other question was: how do you know about it? But he didn't ask.
"I can't explain. No time. Go to Hagrid."
With everyone out of the school, they waited. Some of the students were inclined to treat the whole thing as a huge joke. Snape wasn't; he could see the strain on Potter's face.
His reverie was interrupted by a question. "What's your baby called?" It was Edna Bulstrode, younger sister of the Millicent Bulstrode who had been in Slytherin in Potter's year. Edna was in Gryffindor, to the irritation of her family.
"James," said Snape.
"He's beautiful," she said. "Can I hold him?"
"He's asleep."
"I won't wake him. Honestly."
Warily, Snape gave her James to hold.
"He's gorgeous," said Edna.
Some of the other girls came over, not just Gryffindors but from all the houses, even a few from his own. James woke up, but he didn't start to cry. Instead he seemed to enjoy being the centre of attention. He's like his father or his grandfather, thought Snape, uncharitably. They all worship him and he loves it.
"We won't lack for babysitters," said Potter.
Snape couldn't imagine going out with Potter and needing a baby sitter. But he didn't say so. "What are we expecting?" he asked.
There was a slow rumble, like an earthquake. "That," said Potter. He looked over to the castle. Snape followed his gaze as Hogwarts collapsed like a house of cards. James started to cry. Snape felt like doing the same, but knew he was being absurd and controlled it ruthlessly. He hushed James as best he could.
"How did You-Know-Who do that?" one of the girls asked, when the noise had stopped. It took a long time.
"Nobody knows - knew - how far Hogwarts stretched underground. Nobody except Voldemort," said Potter. "It looks like he made good use of it." He raised his voice slightly, "Everybody! Stay together." Then more softly to Snape, "Get James and stay with me." The strained look was still there.
**
The Death Eater attack that followed left seven students and two professors dead. Snape never really remembered it, but while it was going on it seemed interminable. He took a wound to the arm, Potter one to the thigh. James, protected by both parents, was unharmed though he screamed with shock and fear for most of the night.
Morning came. "Why is he crying?" Potter asked.
"Hungry," said Snape. "I haven't had chance to feed him."
"Oh. And I don't suppose you have any in a bottle?"
"No." Snape looked around at the school, now in the main street of Hogsmeade. They were mostly sitting on the wet ground, still in nightwear, looking as if they would never move. He shrugged, sat down and unbuttoned his robe. Nobody took the slightest notice of a man breastfeeding a baby, they were all too tired or shocked. Potter watched him; Snape supposed the expression on his face was besotted. It looked more like gormless. James suckled powerfully. Snape hadn't lied when he'd said he was hungry. Snape hoped it would be enough; he was beginning to wean James off breast milk, but in the circumstances it was all he had.
"What are we going to do without the school?" Edna Bulstrode asked, from a position at Potter's feet.
Snape didn't know what to say, but Potter answered her. "Hogwarts isn't the buildings," he said. "It's the people. And most of us are still here."
Snape looked over at the row of bodies, each covered with a sheet. He could just see Dumbledore's hand, and a length of silver hair. The desire to hex Potter for being so trite receded slightly. He swallowed, and looked down at James who was still suckling. Bulstrode looked comforted. Snape wished he could say the same.
**
Potter, of course, was once again the hero - he'd saved most people's lives after all. He seemed to Snape to be remarkably unimpressed, but then he knew better than anyone probably that such treatment was fleeting at best. It had happened to him often enough. The Daily Prophet even wanted a picture of him with husband and baby. Potter caught Snape's eye and refused as politely as he could, to Snape's relief.
Not that he was weeping and creating a fuss, unlike the younger children, and some of the older girls, but even Snape - who found Potter remarkably opaque - could see that the loss of Hogwarts had hit him very hard. It was almost as if he'd lost a family.
Snape's own family fell into two groups. Those few who had disowned him when he joined the Death Eaters, and those who wouldn't speak to him because he hadn't remained one - foremost among these were the parents who had given him to Voldemort. This was not something he confided to anyone. But he still didn't want any of them to see him with a husband young enough to be his son and a small baby. He could imagine only too well what they would say, and he wondered why he should care. Neither group had ever given a damn about him.
**
It took a full day to arrange for all the students to go home for the rest of the term at least, and Snape knew that not all the parents would be pleased to have them back or would be able to find temporary places in Muggle or other wizarding schools.
"That's it," said Potter, when the last of them disappeared on a hastily arranged train. "Now we can go to my place."
"Your place?"
"Unless you've a better suggestion?"
He didn't, as it happened. "Very well," said Snape, unwillingly. "Where is 'your place'?"
"I have a flat in Manchester, I use it on nights when games go on too long for me to be safe apparating back to Hogsmeade. I've told McGonagall; she knows how to get hold of us."
"All right." Snape was too tired to argue.
"We'll apparate, we'll have to. I'll guide you."
Silently, Snape took Potter's hand and concentrated. He felt the usual sickening dislocation of apparation and then arrived in a belt of trees beside a path. Potter led the way to what looked like a Muggle building. Snape was no expert at dating Muggle architecture, but it didn't look all that old.
"This is Chestnut Lodge," Potter said. "My flat's on the second floor."
"Oh."
Potter led the way in, along a rather dark carpeted corridor, up two flights of stairs, along more corridor and to a door. This he unlocked with a key rather than a spell. Potter said, "Alohomora sends this lock funny, I don't know why."
Snape followed him into the flat. He'd rarely been into a Muggle house before - though Potter's flat was really a mixture of wizard and Muggle. He shivered; it was cold.
"I'll make us a drink." Potter looked a bit uncertain. "And arrange somewhere for the baby to sleep." He left Snape in the living room.
Snape looked around. He supposed it wasn't that small, but compared with massive chambers at Hogwarts it felt tiny. He carried James to the window and looked out; he could see small formal gardens, the bulbs were just beginning to flower and it actually didn't look too bad. James was heavy in his arms, he'd been mostly carrying him for over a day. He felt dirty; he had arrived in this strange place still in his nightclothes. He realised, with a sickened feeling that with Hogwarts gone he'd lost everything. He looked at James again. Or almost everything. He kissed the baby absently, but didn't wake him.
Potter returned. "The room's ready," he said.
Snape put James into a cot. The baby was already asleep, and barely moved. Just his fist came up to the small pink mouth. His black hair looked like his father's.
Potter handed Snape some tea, his first really hot drink for two days. "Why tea?" Snape asked.
"I don't have any coffee; I don't like the taste."
Snape could have changed his tea to coffee, but he was too tired. He sat and stared at Potter. If Potter resembled the long dead, what must he look like?
"Bastard's still not dead," murmured Potter.
"No," said Snape, knowing he meant Voldemort.
"What's it going to take? Tactical nuclear strike?"
Snape didn't answer; he hadn't a clue what Potter was talking about.
**
He woke up next morning with Potter beside him. Potter's mouth was slightly open, and his eyelids creased in sleep. It occurred to Snape that this was the first night they had shared a bed since James had been conceived. He had been far too tired to be afraid - no doubt Potter had been too tired to take advantage. How long would that last? This flat had only two bedrooms, and James was in the other. Besides, they were married. In the circumstances and given his past it seemed somewhat ridiculous for him to flounce around like an affronted virgin. He'd have to make the best of it - he didn't have anywhere else to go and he had James to consider.
He'd fed the baby, changed him and made himself some tea before Potter put in an appearance. And then all he did was look at them both and fetch his own tea from the kitchen.
"Where do you get your robes?" Potter asked.
"Madam Malkin, same as everyone else. Why?"
"So she'll know what you like?"
"Yes." She certainly should do; Snape had an idea she regarded him as her most difficult customer. "Why?"
"You'll need new clothes, you can't go to Diagon Alley dressed like that, and my robes won't fit you. Always black, right?"
"Except the shirts. Black shirts make you look like a faded rock star."
"And you'd know this how?"
Snape smiled at him - a look he knew annoyed people beyond bearing. Actually he'd read it in a Muggle book somewhere, but he wasn't about to tell Potter that.
**
Potter had no sooner gone than there was a knock at the door. Snape sighed, stretched, and went to answer it. Weasley and Granger, he should have guessed they would be along. Snape looked down at them - well, at Granger anyway. They both seemed rather taken aback.
"Is Harry in?" Weasley asked.
"Not at the moment." Snape paused. They were Potter's friends, and after the shock of last night he would want to see them. He added, "But come in anyway."
"Where is he?" Weasley looked as if he thought Snape might have eaten him.
"Shopping," said Snape, as if the truth were a lie.
"We heard about Professor Dumbledore; you must have known him a long time. It was a dreadful shock. We're very sorry," said Granger, after another moment of tense silence. "We'll...all of us miss him very much." She sounded as if he meant it, and Snape couldn't think of anything to say. They'd reached the living room, and Granger said, "Oh."
Snape followed her, and saw her looking at James. He was annoyed; she had no reason to look at James as if he were one of Hagrid's monsters.
"I'm sorry," she said, after a moment. "Harry's talked about him, of course, but-"
"Can I hold him?" Weasley asked. Granger looked at Weasley as if he were mad.
"If you wish," said Snape. He handed James to Weasley, who took him perfectly competently.
"My brother's wife had a daughter last year," said Weasley. "Bill, you know. The one who works at Gringotts. But she's not as pretty as James." Weasley smiled at the baby, who gurgled back at him, and tried to pull his hair.
"I'll make some tea," said Granger. She went out.
"She's not a great one for babies, our Hermione," said Weasley. "No brothers or sisters, you know."
"I didn't," said Snape.
"She doesn't mean anything by it. Actually, I'm hoping that what with James here and Victoria - that's my brother's little girl - she might come around. Hasn't worked so far." He kissed James, indulgently. "Harry's really proud of him, he can be really boring about it sometimes. He'd love to spoil him, I think he thinks it would make up for the rough time he had."
Snape looked at Weasley. He was rather puzzled, and it must have shown.
"The Muggles he lived with...he used to make a joke of it, but they didn't like him much. Like...his first Christmas at Hogwarts they sent him a fifty pence piece as a present. I mean, to send Muggle money to Hogwarts was bad enough, but so little. It wouldn't even buy a loaf of bread." Weasley stopped to remove James's hand from his hair for a second time. "Hasn't he told you about any of this?"
"No." But then, Snape hadn't asked.
"Probably thinks it would sound as if he was whining. Tea! Thanks, Hermione."
Potter wasn't long - he'd clearly apparated both ways - and he handed Snape two of Madam Malkin's distinctive bags. Snape curled his lip slightly - he usually asked her to put whatever he bought into a plain bag, to her annoyance.
He returned to the living room clean, in new clothes, and feeling slightly more human. Potter, he could see, hadn't quite lost the strained look he'd had last night, but he seemed to be honestly enjoying showing James off to Weasley. Granger was sitting some distance away, looking prim, and she glanced up at Snape as he sat down.
"How do you cope?" Granger asked. Her voice was quiet.
"I do the best I can." He wasn't sure himself how he did it, sometimes.
"I would never have thought babies were your thing."
"They're not," he looked across at her. "But James is my son. That's different."
Hermione frowned slightly, "My Mum always says, 'It'll be different when it's your own'. But the thing that worries me is what if it's not? It's a bit like watching someone cut their arm off, and having them tell you, 'It'll be different when you do it'. You can't help thinking, 'Why should I?'" She sighed. "But there's Ron, and he'd make such a good Dad."
"I don't know, Miss Granger. I can't help you."
"I know, I was just thinking aloud."
He looked at her, then down at the table. "I'm not sure I would have done it had I been given the choice." Hermione smiled at him.
**
A few days later Professor McGonagall arrived at their door with a house- elf in tow. Snape had never seen a house-elf like this one. She was dressed for one thing, but looked as if she'd slept in a coal bucket. He let the ill-assorted pair in before their Muggle neighbours could see them, and looked enquiring.
"You'll no doubt have heard-" began McGonagall.
"That it will take seven years, minimum, to rebuild Hogwarts, even using magic? Yes, we get the Daily Prophet."
"And cost several million Galleons."
"So I understand. Congratulations on being appointed Headmistress."
She frowned at him, "Thank you. In the meantime we're looking for temporary new buildings-"
"Seven years is a fairly elastic use of the word 'temporary'," commented Snape.
"When we do find somewhere, I trust you'll be returning? I know your loyalty was to Professor Dumbledore, but-"
"There isn't anyone who understands Potions as I do. Yes, I'll come back."
"Good," she sounded relieved, and Snape wondered why - what had she imagined he might do with his life? Then she went on, "This is Winky."
Winky raised her round eyes to him, and gave a loud sniffle.
"Oh," he said, when the silence had gone on too long.
Winky gave an even louder sniffle.
"She needs a new home," said McGonagall. "I hoped perhaps you and Potter..." She trailed off and started again. "Albus paid her a Galleon a week with one day off a month."
"Albus paid the house-elves?"
"Only Winky and Dobby, they've been freed. Dobby is staying with me."
The last part of McGonagall's words were drowned out by a howl from Winky. Immediately, James joined in from the bedroom.
"Oh, no!" Snape muttered to himself. "I'd just got him to go to sleep." He went and fetched the baby.
McGonagall's face softened, and Winky immediately fell silent. "I kept hoping you'd bring him to see us," McGonagall said. "He's lovely, Severus."
Snape said nothing. In truth, he had been ashamed. Not of James, but of himself, of what they would say about him, of what they would think about his physical submission to Potter.
Winky looked up at the baby as if she'd seen a deity. "Master has a child?"
"Er...yes," said Snape. He held James so Winky could see.
"You needs a house-elf?"
"It would be very useful, yes." More than that, as Snape admitted to himself. Domesticity had palled after only three days.
"I will stay."
"Thank you, I am honoured." Though he'd never had one before, Snape knew the protocol for accepting a house-elf.
"Thank you, Severus," said McGonagall, looking embarrassingly misty-eyed. She sniffed. "I'll be in touch when I have some news about replacement buildings."
"I hope it's soon," said Snape, disgustedly. "Before I blow up Potter's kitchen - or become completely addicted to daytime television."
"Television?"
"I'm afraid so." He didn't have the words to explain to her how it filled up the silence left by the end of the life he'd known for so long - but she seemed to understand.
**
"What are we going to do with James when you start work again?" asked Potter.
"Can't he stay with me?"
"I think he's got beyond that stage."
Snape could see that Potter was right. James was lively, into everything. Not the sort of child anyone would want in a Potions classroom. Snape said, "He could stay here with Winky."
Potter considered it. "I think he needs other children," he said, at last. "Perhaps we could find a nursery-"
"Muggle children?"
"They're not poisonous."
"I don't know how you-"
"I don't hate all Muggles," said Potter. He reached for Snape's hand. "Only the Dursleys and people like them."
"Don't touch me!"
Potter let go again. "They're not all like that. I know they're not. James needs company and stimulation. Human company. Winky's very sweet, but he needs people."
Reluctantly Snape had to accept that Potter was right.
**
Hogwarts' new home happened - fortuitously - to be in Manchester, the former home of a convent school. Snape understood from McGonagall that it head been lent, or rather leased, to the Ministry of Magic by the city. It was only just big enough, and any students who were able to and staff who could be spared were required to live out. This included him, because as McGonagall pointed out he and Potter had a perfectly adequate home at Chestnut Lodge. Snape swallowed his fury with difficulty.
Despite this, it was a relief to be back at work again. The empty days in a flat with a small child had nearly driven him insane. He looked around his new domain with guarded approval; it was light, a former chemistry lab, generally well suited to the teaching of Potions. Better, if truth be told, than the dungeons. At least here he had natural light. Using whiteboards and markers rather than chalk took a little getting used to, but he managed. By the end of the first week he made a mental note to ask McGonagall when they outfitted Hogwarts to stick to the whiteboards, even if that was in six years time. Chalk had been hell on the clothes.
He looked out of his window, seeing Hooch leading a line of second years across the playground. One of the major problems with the temporary home was that it offered nowhere safe for them to teach flying, a necessary skill for a witch or wizard as he admitted - though he didn't do it often. The best they could come up with was the use of the Manchester Mosquitos training ground, as that was magically concealed already. But it was some way away, and he and the other teachers were already complaining about the loss of time.
He turned back round and fixed one of his fifth years with a baleful glare. She went back to her potion, swiftly pretending she hadn't also been staring out of the window. Maybe they weren't such a good idea.
**
Snape still read the sports pages of the Daily Prophet every day. If he didn't, he'd never find out anything about Potter's career - though it was restful to have a husband who left his work at work. The Mosquitos were doing well, they'd moved up a division and were getting some better players to add to their star Seeker.
The England team, on the other hand, were doing appallingly. Their group for the World Cup were not especially strong - Luxembourg, Zimbabwe, Japan, Germany and France. Well, France and Zimbabwe were good, but the other three should have been easy meat for any halfway-adequate team. England, however, had been flattened by all of them, and their cup chances were squashed again.
The problem - or so Snape read - lay in the fact that they constantly changed Seekers. There were very few really good English Seekers, though Scotland, Wales and Ireland didn't have that problem. Occasionally, the sports letters page would contain a note from someone pointing out that the Manchester Mosquitos currently fielded the best Seeker in England, but Potter was constantly passed over. It didn't make the slightest difference.
What Potter thought Snape had no idea. He never saw him read the paper, and he never raised the subject.
**
"Papa!" James ran to Snape and held his arms out to be picked up. "I made a dinosaur!"
"Well done," said Snape. He took the gluey thing off James and looked at it.
"Isn't it good?"
"Marvellous." Snape hoped he managed to sound enthusiastic.
"Professor Snape? I'm glad to meet you at last," came a voice from behind him.
"Yes?" Snape turned and faced a young woman in a yellow overall with blue rabbits all over it. Her name tag read, 'Doreen'.
"James talks about you, of course, but Mr Potter's not very forthcoming." She smiled at him, and Snape tried to think of something to say.
"Papa?" James pulled his collar. "Can we have rings for tea?" By this Snape knew he meant spaghetti hoops.
"I don't see why not, James."
"Good! Get down now?"
Snape put James down and watched him rush off, waving his 'dinosaur' with abandon. He turned back to Doreen.
She said, "We're all very impressed with James. It's not every little boy who can read at three."
"I could," said Snape. He was rather surprised.
"And you taught him?"
"Yes."
"He's such a friendly little boy, too."
James ran back towards them. The dinosaur was looking rather the worse for wear. "Is he?" said Snape. "James! Time we were going."
"Yes, Papa."
"You must have loved his mother very much to still be in mourning for her. And to put James in mourning, too. Very sad."
Snape looked at her as if she was mad. The Muggle ability at self-delusion was truly stunning. With those green eyes and that nose any fool could see that he and Potter were his parents. Snape could only hope he'd grow into the nose.
Snape only collected or took James to the nursery when Potter was involved in a particularly long match, and thus he didn't see the staff all that often, but it was still a bit too often for his taste. However, James liked it there, and that that was the main thing.
**
Potter's habit of touching him in public was beginning to get on his nerves, rather. "Not here!" Snape said one day at a feast - the school still had them, and Potter was often a guest. He was a local celebrity after all.
"Where then?" Potter sounded exasperated. "You won't even let me hold your hand."
"Why do you want to?"
Potter looked confused. "You're my husband. Of course I want to."
"Look at me," Snape hissed.
Potter did. "What am I looking for?" he asked, after a moment.
"You haven't seen."
"I recognise you. You're Severus Snape, my husband. What are you getting at?"
Snape sighed, and looked away. He just stopped himself from resting his head on the table in frustration.
"I get it!" said Potter, just as the dessert arrived.
"What?"
"You were trying to tell me you're ugly."
Snape didn't say anything. He had been trying to say exactly that, but that didn't prepare him for someone else saying it.
Potter grabbed his hand. "You're not, you know." Potter's hand tightened. "That's why you won't let me do the other thing as well, isn't it?"
Snape stared at the green eyes. "Let go!" he said. "We are not going to talk about that here."
Potter let go. "But we will talk."
**
Their babysitter gone, Potter faced him. "How long have you felt like this?"
"You don't know how I feel."
"You were doing a good impression of hideous and worthless at dinner. Were you pretending?"
"No." Somehow, lying to Potter was never worth it, and Snape felt it beneath him in any case. "I know what everyone says about me."
"They're wrong."
"You used to say them, too."
"Then I...no I can't say I know you, even with James and having lived with you all these months. But I'm not ashamed of you."
"I ruined your life."
"Voldemort did that when he killed my parents, just as he ruined yours when he did those things to you. Being dragged into a prophecy hasn't helped either of us. But none of that was your doing." Potter sat down beside him on the sofa. It was small but Snape pulled away as much has he could. Potter said, "But there are things you could do that would help."
"Such as?" Snape tried hard to keep the sneer out of his voice and partly succeeded.
"Stop behaving like an apology and be my husband."
"You mean, have sex with you."
"Partially," said Potter. "I also mean that we could actually get to know each other. You never know, you might like me. I think I like you."
Snape stood up, and stared at him, "You can't."
"Oh, sit down. What I mean is, the small amount of the real you I've ever seen seems OK."
"I will not remind you of the several incidents which would prove the opposite." Not least because it reminded Snape of how much younger than himself Potter really was. He looked away, not wanting to see the expression in Potter's eyes as he remembered the various things Snape had done over the years. Snape sat down as Potter had asked him to, and stared at the carpet. 'He's trying his best' - everybody seemed to have told Snape that. 'Meet him half way. Talk to him.' Snape took a deep breath. "How about you stop touching me in public if I agree to the...sex...thing with you in private?"
"That's rather businesslike." Potter sounded rather taken aback.
"It's the only offer you're going to get."
"Very well, I agree."
Snape had second thoughts almost immediately, but didn't retract the offer.
**
He had half expected Potter to jump on him at once. He didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed that he didn't. Grateful would have been more logical, he realised that, but he wanted to have reason to be angry, to take back his words, and he couldn't. All that happened was that from time to time, when they were alone, Potter would take his hand or touch him. Slowly, over the following days, the touches grew more intimate - and more frequent. But never in public - not even in front of James who hardly counted as public.
Finally, just when Snape was beginning to feel he'd scream if nothing happened between them soon, Potter kissed him. It felt strange, as it had done before. It didn't hurt, and he'd agreed to let Potter use him so knew he had no reason to object. And now given carte blanche to explore, Potter did just that. It was strange to feel someone else's hands on his body, and he closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the triumph on Potter's face.
Potter penetrated him, and the sensation of having that inside him was peculiar, as it had been the first time, the time James had been conceived. Potter took time and trouble to make sure he was ready if not exactly eager, and Snape relaxed as much as he could and let it happen. It was an odd feeling; not unpleasant, and it felt as if he was reaching for something but whatever it was he didn't quite get there.
When he opened his eyes again, the expression on Potter's face wasn't triumph. More a sort of curiosity, a lively interest he was sure he'd never seen in a Potions lesson. Snape thought this most strange, but then Potter always had been weird.
**
The next time it happened, he was more prepared for that odd reaching feeling, and rode along with it. Then it - something - hit him like the Hogwarts Express at full speed, and he knew nothing but that...sensation.
Potter looked extraordinarily, irritatingly, pleased with himself; Snape was covered in fluid, sweat, (mostly Potter's) and semen. His own, he realised. He felt strange, as if his entire body had been shifted in time and space and was now settling slowly.
"What was that?"
Potter's surprise showed. "Orgasm," he said. "You've never had one before?"
"It seems not." Definitely not. He would have remembered a feeling like that. It was rather like the end of what he mentally categorised as 'a weird dream', but not quite. And he never liked those because of the mess they made. Not, he thought as he lay on the wet patch, that this made any less mess.
**
Why had he ever thought lust was simple? The present Harry Potter gave him for his 40th birthday turned out to be a raging libido - unintentionally, because he'd never told Potter when his birthday was. He was grateful for his foresight in not allowing Potter to touch him in public, or the school would have been treated to the sight of their Potions master being shagged senseless by his Quidditch player husband - and not caring until afterwards. He could just manage to stop himself reaching out, but sometimes the desire was so strong it crawled over his skin like ants at a picnic. Now he understood what led the students to fornicate in corners; he could barely resist it himself.
For all he'd been told - and told - that lust was a powerful force, until now it was as if he'd been told that water was wet but never put his hand in a stream. Now suddenly he'd been thrown in at the deep end. He wondered what Albus would have said. There was nobody else he could confide in. Snape's need for Potter's body consumed entirely too much of his waking hours; he didn't care if the man never said another word to him as long as he had that cock inside him at every available opportunity - not that there were all that many opportunities with him working full time and taking care of James.
Potter seemed stunned. As well he might be, given that his difficult and unwilling husband had suddenly turned wanton. On the other hand his Quidditch improved and for a professional player that could only be a good thing.
**
Marking sixth year homework actually required some attention, so Snape hadn't listened to the start of whatever game James and Harry were having. At some stage over the last few weeks, probably during sex, 'Potter' had become 'Harry' and stayed. But one phrase stood out. "If you don't behave I'll keep you under the stairs."
"Wouldn't!" James, of course.
"Wouldn't I?"
Snape looked up from his marking, "Of course you wouldn't, I wouldn't let you." He put his quill down and turned, "Why under the stairs?" Potter ignored him and went on with the game.
He waited until Harry had given James his lunch and convinced him to take his nap. Snape said, "What was all that stuff about keeping James under the stairs."
"It was a joke."
"I know. This is a flat, there are no stairs. But it's a strange joke."
"You don't tell me about your family."
It seemed an irrelevance, but something clicked in Snape's mind, "Why did they keep you under the stairs? Weren't there enough bedrooms?"
"There was plenty of room. They just didn't like me very much. I told you. Why don't your family have anything to do with you?"
Snape shrugged. "They don't agree with the decisions I've made."
"To join Voldemort?"
"Some of them. Or to leave."
Potter reached out for Snape's hand. "My family and yours sound as if they might get on well together. Just as well we're both away from them." Snape looked down at their joined hands.
**
Another long match, and Snape went to the nursery to collect James.
"Professor Snape?" A voice from behind him - they seemed to like doing that.
"Yes?" Snape turned to Doreen. They always called him this, and if they liked to think he was a Professor at one of the Manchester universities he didn't disabuse them.
"I don't want to worry you, but a very strange man was here and he asked about James - but he asked for James Potter, not James Snape."
"What did you tell him?"
"That there was no child at this nursery by that name."
"What was he like?"
"Small, blond. Older. Rather a ratty-looking bloke Vannie said - I didn't see him. Is it someone you know?"
"I'm afraid so. If he comes back, send him on his way again. He had no legitimate reason to be asking about James." Snape controlled his fear before James could catch on. Like his father, James could be more intuitive than was entirely comfortable.
"I'll do that," said Doreen. "I'm glad I mentioned it."
**
Harry's match finished very late that night, a win against the Chudley Canons, which always pleased him. Snape waited for him.
"You think it's Pettigrew?" said Harry.
"It sounds like it," Snape agreed.
"I think it's time for the Fidelius Charm again."
"Didn't work last time," pointed out Snape.
"We'll make a better choice of secret keeper." Harry sounded confident.
Snape wasn't so sure. "Who?"
"I thought Ron," said Harry.
Snape would have liked to think of some objection to Weasley, but couldn't come up with one. He had no doubts that Weasley would keep Harry's secret even beyond death. They had that kind of friendship. It wasn't something Snape had ever known, but he recognised it.
**
Lunch on Sunday - they were teaching James to sit at table so had to do the same themselves.
"Papa?"
"Yes, James."
"When the new baby comes, is he going to sleep in my room?"
Severus and Harry looked at each other and then at James. "He's right, you know," said Harry after a moment. "You are."
"He'll have to share with you," said Severus, neutrally.
"Or we'll have to get a bigger house," said Harry. He sounded surprisingly cheerful about it.
"I don't mind sharing," said James. "I like the flat, and I'm sure the baby will."
**
**********
The school year started. Snape found his pupils doubly irritating; he put it down to his new-found notoriety and dealt with any outbreaks of giggling by issuing detentions to be spent with Mr Filch and taking more house points than ever. Nobody found that humorous, not after Ravenclaw went into minus house points, and the outbreaks were not repeated.
Potter occupied himself with helping Madam Hooch - completely unofficially. The pupils loved him as they always had. He visited his son every day; he and Snape rarely spoke, but Potter continued to feed the snake, which stayed wrapped around Snape's wrist. It seemed its protection extended to James, though quite how that worked Snape wasn't sure.
**
Potter arrived in Snape's rooms one day about halfway through the term, holding a letter. He watched Snape change James; it was not Snape's favourite job, but something he had to do. Potter didn't interfere; the one time he'd offered to help, Snape had squashed him - did Potter imagine him incapable of a simple task like changing a nappy? But as soon as James was dressed again he held his arms out, and Snape handed him his son.
In doing this, Potter had dropped his letter. Snape picked it up. "Are you going to accept?" He realised when he saw the headed paper that it was an offer from a Quidditch team.
"The Manchester Mosquitos? I don't know."
Snape didn't follow league Quidditch. "Why wouldn't you?"
"Second division."
"Does that matter? I would have thought the question is do you want to play? Or would you rather sit around and teach idiot children to fly and fill in whenever a teacher has a sniffle?"
Potter rocked his son, gently. "I suppose if they can put up with me..."
"I doubt they'll have to 'put up' with you."
"I'm glad someone appreciates my talents."
Snape thought Potter looked unaccountably cheered, and felt a bit baffled.
**
At lunch, several months later Rolanda Hooch said, "The Mosquitos are doing very well." Snape looked at her, vaguely puzzled.
"You know. The team your husband plays for."
Light dawned. Potter never talked about Quidditch when he came for his daily visit. He rarely talked about anything very much at all; he played with James, and if they exchanged a remark it would be about their son. Snape said, "Oh, really?"
"Third from the top in the second division."
"Good."
Hooch made a wordless noise of irritation, and strode off, cloak flowing after her. He sighed. He supposed she had a point; as they were linked for life a polite interest in Potter's career wouldn't go amiss. And...that was the first time anyone - including either of them - had managed to describe one of them as the other's husband rather than, 'your...er...husband' or 'your...um...husband', so he supposed he should be grateful for that. The hesitation had become rather wearing.
Over the next few days he discovered in the sports pages of the Daily Prophet that the most common adjectives used to describe Potter were 'tragic' and 'troubled' though occasionally the phrase 'bedevilled by scandal' came up as well. Potter himself was never interviewed; obviously he'd learned his lessons well as far as the press were concerned.
On the positive side, the team stressed that their 'tragic', 'troubled' Seeker was a family man who went home every night to his husband and baby. This was true as far as it went, but Snape couldn't help but wonder why he bothered when he got so little welcome. Though James was always pleased to see his father.
**
Dumbledore said, "Do you think it's wise for Harry to be so exposed to danger? And to apparate every day from Hogwarts to Manchester?" He'd invited himself to tea in Snape's rooms to coo over James and interfere in Snape's life.
"Where is Manchester?" Snape's geography, even of Britain, was a bit hazy.
"Not far from Liverpool." That didn't help Snape very much. Somewhere he had no idea of the location of was near somewhere else.
"About two hundred and fifty miles south of here."
Despite himself, Snape was impressed. To apparate five hundred miles a day, every day, was no mean feat. He couldn't have done it, but Potter did. And played Quidditch on top of it, a sport which demanded accuracy, stamina and concentration. Snape knew perfectly well that the adulation heaped on Quidditch players was not just because they tended to be handsome and young - the sport was difficult and physically demanding.
Snape said, "I think if you want to tell him to give it up you'd better do it yourself."
Dumbledore looked enquiring.
"My marriage is a disaster already; I can't alienate my husband still further by asking him to give up his heart's desire. I won't do your dirty work for you, Albus. Not this time."
"It puts him very much at risk from Voldemort."
Snape stirred his tea. It was a delaying tactic, and Dumbledore must realise it, because Snape didn't take sugar. "He must realise that. It's a risk he is prepared to take."
"I'm not so sure...tell him-"
"No," Snape interrupted Dumbledore, and even he trembled a little, inwardly. "I'm not a messenger between you and my husband. If you have a problem with Harry, you sort it out."
Dumbledore looked momentarily surprised, then said, "Of course, Severus. That was insensitive of me, you are quite right."
Snape sighed. Dumbledore had a way of doing that - challenge him over something and he'd take the wind out of your sails by agreeing cheerfully. It could be damned annoying.
"How is James?" Dumbledore asked.
"He's a baby. For a baby, he's pretty normal, or so Poppy tells me."
**
A few nights later, Snape was woken by a knock on his bedroom door. He slid a dressing gown on - the dungeon was inclined to be cold - and opened the door. It was Potter, as he had suspected it might be.
"You need to leave now," Potter said.
"Why?"
"Voldemort's going to try to kill James tonight."
"I see." Snape didn't waste time arguing. Potter didn't play tricks about Voldemort, nobody did. He went over to the cot, picked up his son and a few necessaries in a bag.
"Tell Dumbledore," said Potter. "He's been expecting this, and he'll know what to do." He led the way out of the dungeons. "Then get out as fast as you can. Go to Hagrid's cottage, and wait for me there. What's the password to get into the Slytherin common room and dormitories?"
"Why do you need to know that?"
"Someone's got to get them out, and it's not going to be you. I need you to guard James. What is it?"
"'Standing water'. What's Voldemort going to do?" The other question was: how do you know about it? But he didn't ask.
"I can't explain. No time. Go to Hagrid."
With everyone out of the school, they waited. Some of the students were inclined to treat the whole thing as a huge joke. Snape wasn't; he could see the strain on Potter's face.
His reverie was interrupted by a question. "What's your baby called?" It was Edna Bulstrode, younger sister of the Millicent Bulstrode who had been in Slytherin in Potter's year. Edna was in Gryffindor, to the irritation of her family.
"James," said Snape.
"He's beautiful," she said. "Can I hold him?"
"He's asleep."
"I won't wake him. Honestly."
Warily, Snape gave her James to hold.
"He's gorgeous," said Edna.
Some of the other girls came over, not just Gryffindors but from all the houses, even a few from his own. James woke up, but he didn't start to cry. Instead he seemed to enjoy being the centre of attention. He's like his father or his grandfather, thought Snape, uncharitably. They all worship him and he loves it.
"We won't lack for babysitters," said Potter.
Snape couldn't imagine going out with Potter and needing a baby sitter. But he didn't say so. "What are we expecting?" he asked.
There was a slow rumble, like an earthquake. "That," said Potter. He looked over to the castle. Snape followed his gaze as Hogwarts collapsed like a house of cards. James started to cry. Snape felt like doing the same, but knew he was being absurd and controlled it ruthlessly. He hushed James as best he could.
"How did You-Know-Who do that?" one of the girls asked, when the noise had stopped. It took a long time.
"Nobody knows - knew - how far Hogwarts stretched underground. Nobody except Voldemort," said Potter. "It looks like he made good use of it." He raised his voice slightly, "Everybody! Stay together." Then more softly to Snape, "Get James and stay with me." The strained look was still there.
**
The Death Eater attack that followed left seven students and two professors dead. Snape never really remembered it, but while it was going on it seemed interminable. He took a wound to the arm, Potter one to the thigh. James, protected by both parents, was unharmed though he screamed with shock and fear for most of the night.
Morning came. "Why is he crying?" Potter asked.
"Hungry," said Snape. "I haven't had chance to feed him."
"Oh. And I don't suppose you have any in a bottle?"
"No." Snape looked around at the school, now in the main street of Hogsmeade. They were mostly sitting on the wet ground, still in nightwear, looking as if they would never move. He shrugged, sat down and unbuttoned his robe. Nobody took the slightest notice of a man breastfeeding a baby, they were all too tired or shocked. Potter watched him; Snape supposed the expression on his face was besotted. It looked more like gormless. James suckled powerfully. Snape hadn't lied when he'd said he was hungry. Snape hoped it would be enough; he was beginning to wean James off breast milk, but in the circumstances it was all he had.
"What are we going to do without the school?" Edna Bulstrode asked, from a position at Potter's feet.
Snape didn't know what to say, but Potter answered her. "Hogwarts isn't the buildings," he said. "It's the people. And most of us are still here."
Snape looked over at the row of bodies, each covered with a sheet. He could just see Dumbledore's hand, and a length of silver hair. The desire to hex Potter for being so trite receded slightly. He swallowed, and looked down at James who was still suckling. Bulstrode looked comforted. Snape wished he could say the same.
**
Potter, of course, was once again the hero - he'd saved most people's lives after all. He seemed to Snape to be remarkably unimpressed, but then he knew better than anyone probably that such treatment was fleeting at best. It had happened to him often enough. The Daily Prophet even wanted a picture of him with husband and baby. Potter caught Snape's eye and refused as politely as he could, to Snape's relief.
Not that he was weeping and creating a fuss, unlike the younger children, and some of the older girls, but even Snape - who found Potter remarkably opaque - could see that the loss of Hogwarts had hit him very hard. It was almost as if he'd lost a family.
Snape's own family fell into two groups. Those few who had disowned him when he joined the Death Eaters, and those who wouldn't speak to him because he hadn't remained one - foremost among these were the parents who had given him to Voldemort. This was not something he confided to anyone. But he still didn't want any of them to see him with a husband young enough to be his son and a small baby. He could imagine only too well what they would say, and he wondered why he should care. Neither group had ever given a damn about him.
**
It took a full day to arrange for all the students to go home for the rest of the term at least, and Snape knew that not all the parents would be pleased to have them back or would be able to find temporary places in Muggle or other wizarding schools.
"That's it," said Potter, when the last of them disappeared on a hastily arranged train. "Now we can go to my place."
"Your place?"
"Unless you've a better suggestion?"
He didn't, as it happened. "Very well," said Snape, unwillingly. "Where is 'your place'?"
"I have a flat in Manchester, I use it on nights when games go on too long for me to be safe apparating back to Hogsmeade. I've told McGonagall; she knows how to get hold of us."
"All right." Snape was too tired to argue.
"We'll apparate, we'll have to. I'll guide you."
Silently, Snape took Potter's hand and concentrated. He felt the usual sickening dislocation of apparation and then arrived in a belt of trees beside a path. Potter led the way to what looked like a Muggle building. Snape was no expert at dating Muggle architecture, but it didn't look all that old.
"This is Chestnut Lodge," Potter said. "My flat's on the second floor."
"Oh."
Potter led the way in, along a rather dark carpeted corridor, up two flights of stairs, along more corridor and to a door. This he unlocked with a key rather than a spell. Potter said, "Alohomora sends this lock funny, I don't know why."
Snape followed him into the flat. He'd rarely been into a Muggle house before - though Potter's flat was really a mixture of wizard and Muggle. He shivered; it was cold.
"I'll make us a drink." Potter looked a bit uncertain. "And arrange somewhere for the baby to sleep." He left Snape in the living room.
Snape looked around. He supposed it wasn't that small, but compared with massive chambers at Hogwarts it felt tiny. He carried James to the window and looked out; he could see small formal gardens, the bulbs were just beginning to flower and it actually didn't look too bad. James was heavy in his arms, he'd been mostly carrying him for over a day. He felt dirty; he had arrived in this strange place still in his nightclothes. He realised, with a sickened feeling that with Hogwarts gone he'd lost everything. He looked at James again. Or almost everything. He kissed the baby absently, but didn't wake him.
Potter returned. "The room's ready," he said.
Snape put James into a cot. The baby was already asleep, and barely moved. Just his fist came up to the small pink mouth. His black hair looked like his father's.
Potter handed Snape some tea, his first really hot drink for two days. "Why tea?" Snape asked.
"I don't have any coffee; I don't like the taste."
Snape could have changed his tea to coffee, but he was too tired. He sat and stared at Potter. If Potter resembled the long dead, what must he look like?
"Bastard's still not dead," murmured Potter.
"No," said Snape, knowing he meant Voldemort.
"What's it going to take? Tactical nuclear strike?"
Snape didn't answer; he hadn't a clue what Potter was talking about.
**
He woke up next morning with Potter beside him. Potter's mouth was slightly open, and his eyelids creased in sleep. It occurred to Snape that this was the first night they had shared a bed since James had been conceived. He had been far too tired to be afraid - no doubt Potter had been too tired to take advantage. How long would that last? This flat had only two bedrooms, and James was in the other. Besides, they were married. In the circumstances and given his past it seemed somewhat ridiculous for him to flounce around like an affronted virgin. He'd have to make the best of it - he didn't have anywhere else to go and he had James to consider.
He'd fed the baby, changed him and made himself some tea before Potter put in an appearance. And then all he did was look at them both and fetch his own tea from the kitchen.
"Where do you get your robes?" Potter asked.
"Madam Malkin, same as everyone else. Why?"
"So she'll know what you like?"
"Yes." She certainly should do; Snape had an idea she regarded him as her most difficult customer. "Why?"
"You'll need new clothes, you can't go to Diagon Alley dressed like that, and my robes won't fit you. Always black, right?"
"Except the shirts. Black shirts make you look like a faded rock star."
"And you'd know this how?"
Snape smiled at him - a look he knew annoyed people beyond bearing. Actually he'd read it in a Muggle book somewhere, but he wasn't about to tell Potter that.
**
Potter had no sooner gone than there was a knock at the door. Snape sighed, stretched, and went to answer it. Weasley and Granger, he should have guessed they would be along. Snape looked down at them - well, at Granger anyway. They both seemed rather taken aback.
"Is Harry in?" Weasley asked.
"Not at the moment." Snape paused. They were Potter's friends, and after the shock of last night he would want to see them. He added, "But come in anyway."
"Where is he?" Weasley looked as if he thought Snape might have eaten him.
"Shopping," said Snape, as if the truth were a lie.
"We heard about Professor Dumbledore; you must have known him a long time. It was a dreadful shock. We're very sorry," said Granger, after another moment of tense silence. "We'll...all of us miss him very much." She sounded as if he meant it, and Snape couldn't think of anything to say. They'd reached the living room, and Granger said, "Oh."
Snape followed her, and saw her looking at James. He was annoyed; she had no reason to look at James as if he were one of Hagrid's monsters.
"I'm sorry," she said, after a moment. "Harry's talked about him, of course, but-"
"Can I hold him?" Weasley asked. Granger looked at Weasley as if he were mad.
"If you wish," said Snape. He handed James to Weasley, who took him perfectly competently.
"My brother's wife had a daughter last year," said Weasley. "Bill, you know. The one who works at Gringotts. But she's not as pretty as James." Weasley smiled at the baby, who gurgled back at him, and tried to pull his hair.
"I'll make some tea," said Granger. She went out.
"She's not a great one for babies, our Hermione," said Weasley. "No brothers or sisters, you know."
"I didn't," said Snape.
"She doesn't mean anything by it. Actually, I'm hoping that what with James here and Victoria - that's my brother's little girl - she might come around. Hasn't worked so far." He kissed James, indulgently. "Harry's really proud of him, he can be really boring about it sometimes. He'd love to spoil him, I think he thinks it would make up for the rough time he had."
Snape looked at Weasley. He was rather puzzled, and it must have shown.
"The Muggles he lived with...he used to make a joke of it, but they didn't like him much. Like...his first Christmas at Hogwarts they sent him a fifty pence piece as a present. I mean, to send Muggle money to Hogwarts was bad enough, but so little. It wouldn't even buy a loaf of bread." Weasley stopped to remove James's hand from his hair for a second time. "Hasn't he told you about any of this?"
"No." But then, Snape hadn't asked.
"Probably thinks it would sound as if he was whining. Tea! Thanks, Hermione."
Potter wasn't long - he'd clearly apparated both ways - and he handed Snape two of Madam Malkin's distinctive bags. Snape curled his lip slightly - he usually asked her to put whatever he bought into a plain bag, to her annoyance.
He returned to the living room clean, in new clothes, and feeling slightly more human. Potter, he could see, hadn't quite lost the strained look he'd had last night, but he seemed to be honestly enjoying showing James off to Weasley. Granger was sitting some distance away, looking prim, and she glanced up at Snape as he sat down.
"How do you cope?" Granger asked. Her voice was quiet.
"I do the best I can." He wasn't sure himself how he did it, sometimes.
"I would never have thought babies were your thing."
"They're not," he looked across at her. "But James is my son. That's different."
Hermione frowned slightly, "My Mum always says, 'It'll be different when it's your own'. But the thing that worries me is what if it's not? It's a bit like watching someone cut their arm off, and having them tell you, 'It'll be different when you do it'. You can't help thinking, 'Why should I?'" She sighed. "But there's Ron, and he'd make such a good Dad."
"I don't know, Miss Granger. I can't help you."
"I know, I was just thinking aloud."
He looked at her, then down at the table. "I'm not sure I would have done it had I been given the choice." Hermione smiled at him.
**
A few days later Professor McGonagall arrived at their door with a house- elf in tow. Snape had never seen a house-elf like this one. She was dressed for one thing, but looked as if she'd slept in a coal bucket. He let the ill-assorted pair in before their Muggle neighbours could see them, and looked enquiring.
"You'll no doubt have heard-" began McGonagall.
"That it will take seven years, minimum, to rebuild Hogwarts, even using magic? Yes, we get the Daily Prophet."
"And cost several million Galleons."
"So I understand. Congratulations on being appointed Headmistress."
She frowned at him, "Thank you. In the meantime we're looking for temporary new buildings-"
"Seven years is a fairly elastic use of the word 'temporary'," commented Snape.
"When we do find somewhere, I trust you'll be returning? I know your loyalty was to Professor Dumbledore, but-"
"There isn't anyone who understands Potions as I do. Yes, I'll come back."
"Good," she sounded relieved, and Snape wondered why - what had she imagined he might do with his life? Then she went on, "This is Winky."
Winky raised her round eyes to him, and gave a loud sniffle.
"Oh," he said, when the silence had gone on too long.
Winky gave an even louder sniffle.
"She needs a new home," said McGonagall. "I hoped perhaps you and Potter..." She trailed off and started again. "Albus paid her a Galleon a week with one day off a month."
"Albus paid the house-elves?"
"Only Winky and Dobby, they've been freed. Dobby is staying with me."
The last part of McGonagall's words were drowned out by a howl from Winky. Immediately, James joined in from the bedroom.
"Oh, no!" Snape muttered to himself. "I'd just got him to go to sleep." He went and fetched the baby.
McGonagall's face softened, and Winky immediately fell silent. "I kept hoping you'd bring him to see us," McGonagall said. "He's lovely, Severus."
Snape said nothing. In truth, he had been ashamed. Not of James, but of himself, of what they would say about him, of what they would think about his physical submission to Potter.
Winky looked up at the baby as if she'd seen a deity. "Master has a child?"
"Er...yes," said Snape. He held James so Winky could see.
"You needs a house-elf?"
"It would be very useful, yes." More than that, as Snape admitted to himself. Domesticity had palled after only three days.
"I will stay."
"Thank you, I am honoured." Though he'd never had one before, Snape knew the protocol for accepting a house-elf.
"Thank you, Severus," said McGonagall, looking embarrassingly misty-eyed. She sniffed. "I'll be in touch when I have some news about replacement buildings."
"I hope it's soon," said Snape, disgustedly. "Before I blow up Potter's kitchen - or become completely addicted to daytime television."
"Television?"
"I'm afraid so." He didn't have the words to explain to her how it filled up the silence left by the end of the life he'd known for so long - but she seemed to understand.
**
"What are we going to do with James when you start work again?" asked Potter.
"Can't he stay with me?"
"I think he's got beyond that stage."
Snape could see that Potter was right. James was lively, into everything. Not the sort of child anyone would want in a Potions classroom. Snape said, "He could stay here with Winky."
Potter considered it. "I think he needs other children," he said, at last. "Perhaps we could find a nursery-"
"Muggle children?"
"They're not poisonous."
"I don't know how you-"
"I don't hate all Muggles," said Potter. He reached for Snape's hand. "Only the Dursleys and people like them."
"Don't touch me!"
Potter let go again. "They're not all like that. I know they're not. James needs company and stimulation. Human company. Winky's very sweet, but he needs people."
Reluctantly Snape had to accept that Potter was right.
**
Hogwarts' new home happened - fortuitously - to be in Manchester, the former home of a convent school. Snape understood from McGonagall that it head been lent, or rather leased, to the Ministry of Magic by the city. It was only just big enough, and any students who were able to and staff who could be spared were required to live out. This included him, because as McGonagall pointed out he and Potter had a perfectly adequate home at Chestnut Lodge. Snape swallowed his fury with difficulty.
Despite this, it was a relief to be back at work again. The empty days in a flat with a small child had nearly driven him insane. He looked around his new domain with guarded approval; it was light, a former chemistry lab, generally well suited to the teaching of Potions. Better, if truth be told, than the dungeons. At least here he had natural light. Using whiteboards and markers rather than chalk took a little getting used to, but he managed. By the end of the first week he made a mental note to ask McGonagall when they outfitted Hogwarts to stick to the whiteboards, even if that was in six years time. Chalk had been hell on the clothes.
He looked out of his window, seeing Hooch leading a line of second years across the playground. One of the major problems with the temporary home was that it offered nowhere safe for them to teach flying, a necessary skill for a witch or wizard as he admitted - though he didn't do it often. The best they could come up with was the use of the Manchester Mosquitos training ground, as that was magically concealed already. But it was some way away, and he and the other teachers were already complaining about the loss of time.
He turned back round and fixed one of his fifth years with a baleful glare. She went back to her potion, swiftly pretending she hadn't also been staring out of the window. Maybe they weren't such a good idea.
**
Snape still read the sports pages of the Daily Prophet every day. If he didn't, he'd never find out anything about Potter's career - though it was restful to have a husband who left his work at work. The Mosquitos were doing well, they'd moved up a division and were getting some better players to add to their star Seeker.
The England team, on the other hand, were doing appallingly. Their group for the World Cup were not especially strong - Luxembourg, Zimbabwe, Japan, Germany and France. Well, France and Zimbabwe were good, but the other three should have been easy meat for any halfway-adequate team. England, however, had been flattened by all of them, and their cup chances were squashed again.
The problem - or so Snape read - lay in the fact that they constantly changed Seekers. There were very few really good English Seekers, though Scotland, Wales and Ireland didn't have that problem. Occasionally, the sports letters page would contain a note from someone pointing out that the Manchester Mosquitos currently fielded the best Seeker in England, but Potter was constantly passed over. It didn't make the slightest difference.
What Potter thought Snape had no idea. He never saw him read the paper, and he never raised the subject.
**
"Papa!" James ran to Snape and held his arms out to be picked up. "I made a dinosaur!"
"Well done," said Snape. He took the gluey thing off James and looked at it.
"Isn't it good?"
"Marvellous." Snape hoped he managed to sound enthusiastic.
"Professor Snape? I'm glad to meet you at last," came a voice from behind him.
"Yes?" Snape turned and faced a young woman in a yellow overall with blue rabbits all over it. Her name tag read, 'Doreen'.
"James talks about you, of course, but Mr Potter's not very forthcoming." She smiled at him, and Snape tried to think of something to say.
"Papa?" James pulled his collar. "Can we have rings for tea?" By this Snape knew he meant spaghetti hoops.
"I don't see why not, James."
"Good! Get down now?"
Snape put James down and watched him rush off, waving his 'dinosaur' with abandon. He turned back to Doreen.
She said, "We're all very impressed with James. It's not every little boy who can read at three."
"I could," said Snape. He was rather surprised.
"And you taught him?"
"Yes."
"He's such a friendly little boy, too."
James ran back towards them. The dinosaur was looking rather the worse for wear. "Is he?" said Snape. "James! Time we were going."
"Yes, Papa."
"You must have loved his mother very much to still be in mourning for her. And to put James in mourning, too. Very sad."
Snape looked at her as if she was mad. The Muggle ability at self-delusion was truly stunning. With those green eyes and that nose any fool could see that he and Potter were his parents. Snape could only hope he'd grow into the nose.
Snape only collected or took James to the nursery when Potter was involved in a particularly long match, and thus he didn't see the staff all that often, but it was still a bit too often for his taste. However, James liked it there, and that that was the main thing.
**
Potter's habit of touching him in public was beginning to get on his nerves, rather. "Not here!" Snape said one day at a feast - the school still had them, and Potter was often a guest. He was a local celebrity after all.
"Where then?" Potter sounded exasperated. "You won't even let me hold your hand."
"Why do you want to?"
Potter looked confused. "You're my husband. Of course I want to."
"Look at me," Snape hissed.
Potter did. "What am I looking for?" he asked, after a moment.
"You haven't seen."
"I recognise you. You're Severus Snape, my husband. What are you getting at?"
Snape sighed, and looked away. He just stopped himself from resting his head on the table in frustration.
"I get it!" said Potter, just as the dessert arrived.
"What?"
"You were trying to tell me you're ugly."
Snape didn't say anything. He had been trying to say exactly that, but that didn't prepare him for someone else saying it.
Potter grabbed his hand. "You're not, you know." Potter's hand tightened. "That's why you won't let me do the other thing as well, isn't it?"
Snape stared at the green eyes. "Let go!" he said. "We are not going to talk about that here."
Potter let go. "But we will talk."
**
Their babysitter gone, Potter faced him. "How long have you felt like this?"
"You don't know how I feel."
"You were doing a good impression of hideous and worthless at dinner. Were you pretending?"
"No." Somehow, lying to Potter was never worth it, and Snape felt it beneath him in any case. "I know what everyone says about me."
"They're wrong."
"You used to say them, too."
"Then I...no I can't say I know you, even with James and having lived with you all these months. But I'm not ashamed of you."
"I ruined your life."
"Voldemort did that when he killed my parents, just as he ruined yours when he did those things to you. Being dragged into a prophecy hasn't helped either of us. But none of that was your doing." Potter sat down beside him on the sofa. It was small but Snape pulled away as much has he could. Potter said, "But there are things you could do that would help."
"Such as?" Snape tried hard to keep the sneer out of his voice and partly succeeded.
"Stop behaving like an apology and be my husband."
"You mean, have sex with you."
"Partially," said Potter. "I also mean that we could actually get to know each other. You never know, you might like me. I think I like you."
Snape stood up, and stared at him, "You can't."
"Oh, sit down. What I mean is, the small amount of the real you I've ever seen seems OK."
"I will not remind you of the several incidents which would prove the opposite." Not least because it reminded Snape of how much younger than himself Potter really was. He looked away, not wanting to see the expression in Potter's eyes as he remembered the various things Snape had done over the years. Snape sat down as Potter had asked him to, and stared at the carpet. 'He's trying his best' - everybody seemed to have told Snape that. 'Meet him half way. Talk to him.' Snape took a deep breath. "How about you stop touching me in public if I agree to the...sex...thing with you in private?"
"That's rather businesslike." Potter sounded rather taken aback.
"It's the only offer you're going to get."
"Very well, I agree."
Snape had second thoughts almost immediately, but didn't retract the offer.
**
He had half expected Potter to jump on him at once. He didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed that he didn't. Grateful would have been more logical, he realised that, but he wanted to have reason to be angry, to take back his words, and he couldn't. All that happened was that from time to time, when they were alone, Potter would take his hand or touch him. Slowly, over the following days, the touches grew more intimate - and more frequent. But never in public - not even in front of James who hardly counted as public.
Finally, just when Snape was beginning to feel he'd scream if nothing happened between them soon, Potter kissed him. It felt strange, as it had done before. It didn't hurt, and he'd agreed to let Potter use him so knew he had no reason to object. And now given carte blanche to explore, Potter did just that. It was strange to feel someone else's hands on his body, and he closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the triumph on Potter's face.
Potter penetrated him, and the sensation of having that inside him was peculiar, as it had been the first time, the time James had been conceived. Potter took time and trouble to make sure he was ready if not exactly eager, and Snape relaxed as much as he could and let it happen. It was an odd feeling; not unpleasant, and it felt as if he was reaching for something but whatever it was he didn't quite get there.
When he opened his eyes again, the expression on Potter's face wasn't triumph. More a sort of curiosity, a lively interest he was sure he'd never seen in a Potions lesson. Snape thought this most strange, but then Potter always had been weird.
**
The next time it happened, he was more prepared for that odd reaching feeling, and rode along with it. Then it - something - hit him like the Hogwarts Express at full speed, and he knew nothing but that...sensation.
Potter looked extraordinarily, irritatingly, pleased with himself; Snape was covered in fluid, sweat, (mostly Potter's) and semen. His own, he realised. He felt strange, as if his entire body had been shifted in time and space and was now settling slowly.
"What was that?"
Potter's surprise showed. "Orgasm," he said. "You've never had one before?"
"It seems not." Definitely not. He would have remembered a feeling like that. It was rather like the end of what he mentally categorised as 'a weird dream', but not quite. And he never liked those because of the mess they made. Not, he thought as he lay on the wet patch, that this made any less mess.
**
Why had he ever thought lust was simple? The present Harry Potter gave him for his 40th birthday turned out to be a raging libido - unintentionally, because he'd never told Potter when his birthday was. He was grateful for his foresight in not allowing Potter to touch him in public, or the school would have been treated to the sight of their Potions master being shagged senseless by his Quidditch player husband - and not caring until afterwards. He could just manage to stop himself reaching out, but sometimes the desire was so strong it crawled over his skin like ants at a picnic. Now he understood what led the students to fornicate in corners; he could barely resist it himself.
For all he'd been told - and told - that lust was a powerful force, until now it was as if he'd been told that water was wet but never put his hand in a stream. Now suddenly he'd been thrown in at the deep end. He wondered what Albus would have said. There was nobody else he could confide in. Snape's need for Potter's body consumed entirely too much of his waking hours; he didn't care if the man never said another word to him as long as he had that cock inside him at every available opportunity - not that there were all that many opportunities with him working full time and taking care of James.
Potter seemed stunned. As well he might be, given that his difficult and unwilling husband had suddenly turned wanton. On the other hand his Quidditch improved and for a professional player that could only be a good thing.
**
Marking sixth year homework actually required some attention, so Snape hadn't listened to the start of whatever game James and Harry were having. At some stage over the last few weeks, probably during sex, 'Potter' had become 'Harry' and stayed. But one phrase stood out. "If you don't behave I'll keep you under the stairs."
"Wouldn't!" James, of course.
"Wouldn't I?"
Snape looked up from his marking, "Of course you wouldn't, I wouldn't let you." He put his quill down and turned, "Why under the stairs?" Potter ignored him and went on with the game.
He waited until Harry had given James his lunch and convinced him to take his nap. Snape said, "What was all that stuff about keeping James under the stairs."
"It was a joke."
"I know. This is a flat, there are no stairs. But it's a strange joke."
"You don't tell me about your family."
It seemed an irrelevance, but something clicked in Snape's mind, "Why did they keep you under the stairs? Weren't there enough bedrooms?"
"There was plenty of room. They just didn't like me very much. I told you. Why don't your family have anything to do with you?"
Snape shrugged. "They don't agree with the decisions I've made."
"To join Voldemort?"
"Some of them. Or to leave."
Potter reached out for Snape's hand. "My family and yours sound as if they might get on well together. Just as well we're both away from them." Snape looked down at their joined hands.
**
Another long match, and Snape went to the nursery to collect James.
"Professor Snape?" A voice from behind him - they seemed to like doing that.
"Yes?" Snape turned to Doreen. They always called him this, and if they liked to think he was a Professor at one of the Manchester universities he didn't disabuse them.
"I don't want to worry you, but a very strange man was here and he asked about James - but he asked for James Potter, not James Snape."
"What did you tell him?"
"That there was no child at this nursery by that name."
"What was he like?"
"Small, blond. Older. Rather a ratty-looking bloke Vannie said - I didn't see him. Is it someone you know?"
"I'm afraid so. If he comes back, send him on his way again. He had no legitimate reason to be asking about James." Snape controlled his fear before James could catch on. Like his father, James could be more intuitive than was entirely comfortable.
"I'll do that," said Doreen. "I'm glad I mentioned it."
**
Harry's match finished very late that night, a win against the Chudley Canons, which always pleased him. Snape waited for him.
"You think it's Pettigrew?" said Harry.
"It sounds like it," Snape agreed.
"I think it's time for the Fidelius Charm again."
"Didn't work last time," pointed out Snape.
"We'll make a better choice of secret keeper." Harry sounded confident.
Snape wasn't so sure. "Who?"
"I thought Ron," said Harry.
Snape would have liked to think of some objection to Weasley, but couldn't come up with one. He had no doubts that Weasley would keep Harry's secret even beyond death. They had that kind of friendship. It wasn't something Snape had ever known, but he recognised it.
**
Lunch on Sunday - they were teaching James to sit at table so had to do the same themselves.
"Papa?"
"Yes, James."
"When the new baby comes, is he going to sleep in my room?"
Severus and Harry looked at each other and then at James. "He's right, you know," said Harry after a moment. "You are."
"He'll have to share with you," said Severus, neutrally.
"Or we'll have to get a bigger house," said Harry. He sounded surprisingly cheerful about it.
"I don't mind sharing," said James. "I like the flat, and I'm sure the baby will."
**