A/N: A couple people have noticed the spell that Snape cast to destroy the excessive post Harry received. It's not Japanese, it's…Mongolian. Yeah, that's the ticket, Mongolian. Ancient Mongolian. Pre-Atilla. And it means…um…um…"explode as my passion for you".

And if you believe that, I've got a bridge to sell you.

Seriously, it was a subconscious slip on my part. Telling, no?

Thank you, every single one of you, for taking the time to read and especially review.

"Hey."

"Hmmm?"

Snape looked up from the pile of letters he was sorting and stretched. He might not be old for a wizard, but that didn't make the floor any more comfortable, and he knew his bum wasn't going to forgive him easily for long hours on the hard floor. "Hmm?"

Potter stood up from the other side of the rapidly diminishing mound they'd piled by the fireplace and flopped down in his chair, examining one of the hundreds of envelopes still left with a fond, slight smile. Snape stretched his back while he watched Potter tear the thing open like an eager child and devour the contents.

"Potter?"

A soft, wistful smile spread across the younger man's face as he scanned the contents a second time. Sighing, Snape examined the next three envelopes and tossed two of them in the fire to join the pile of ash already accumulated. The third one he set aside in the pile for secondary consideration, as the writer was unknown to him, and thus at least marginally likely to not want Potter for his money or fame.

Or at least not strictly for his money or fame, Snape told himself a bit sourly.

He'd convinced Potter that he was right about the bulk of the letters, but the boy—man, his subconscious reminded him—had insisted on reviewing all the letters in the entire study. While the pile on and around the desk had been cut back to a manageable two-or three hundred, there was still better than a quarter of the study left, and the fireplace had been emptied of ash three times.

Snape flicked a glance at his partner from under lowered lashes before he stealthily pulled his wand and aimed it at the largest pile still to be sorted

"Severus, no!"

"Aishiteru!"

"Severus!" Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You agreed we'd go through the letters in here by hand."

"Really, Potter, you must have three hundred letters to go through. Surely somewhere in there is someone you can live with, especially as you're not likely to have enough time to actually meet more than thirty or so. And speaking of which," Snape came to his feet with a bone-cracking stretch, ignorant of the way the firelight warmed his skin and gleamed along his hair, "it looks like you have a likely candidate there."

Snape nodded in Harry's direction. The letter was still clutched in his partner's hand, and at Snape's reminder Harry hastily smoothed it out against his thigh.

"It's from Seamus. Finnegan." Harry looked up with an expression that was half-shy and all fatuous. "He thinks we might, and I quote, 'deal well together'."

"Finnegan?" Snape searched his memory before remembering the boy. "Didn't he wed a Hufflepuff some time back?"

Harry gave a short laugh. "No, a muggle, but I'll grant you she looked like she should be in Hufflepuff. He says she divorced him a bit later; apparently she wasn't quite as happy with the wizarding world as he thought."

"Ran off with the milk man, eh?" Snape sneered. Leave it to Finnegan to lose a spouse to mundanity; didn't the twit realize mixed marriages rarely worked? Just because his own parents had managed, didn't mean the majority did. "Still, you do at least know him." And didn't that thought nag at something in the back of his mind.

"Whatever the reason, I'm putting him in the 'definite possibilities' pile." Harry leaned over and dropped the letter in the small stack that held a half-dozen others. Snape noted the first faint smile on his partner's face since last Hallow's Eve, when Potter's parents had materialized and revealed the contents of their sealed codicil.

Snape's mind provided him a memory fresh from that morning, of Potter bent over with laughter, barely able to breath let alone stagger to his seat by the fire. His eyes had been brilliant with humor and tears, face flushed, the lines put there by pain and stress erased in a moment of sheer ridiculousness.

"Well, you've your work cut out for you here; I'm off for supper and the new Brewers Monthly has come in. I'll ride over in the morning and see how you've gotten on. You should start setting first dates on those, no later than day after tomorrow." Snape rang for his cape and gloves, but the thought of supper alone twisted his stomach. Perhaps he'd go out? The Cauldron was fairly tolerable, and the people there knew better than to disturb him.

"Severus, you're not staying for supper?" Harry rose from his chair and crossed to the door, an unreadable look on his face. "It's the least I can do for all your help."

Snape waved him off, something amazingly like panic beginning to grow in his chest. He needed to get out of here, away from the situation. The ash drifting in the air and the smell of char from hundreds of pages of burned parchment was making breathing difficult. Fresh air was definitely called for; fresh air and an evening out would be just the thing, followed by a quiet brandy and his magazine.

Yes. Pefect.

"Oh, Potter," Snape heard himself say as he pulled on his gloves and reached for the outside door, ignoring the house elf standing next to it. "You should really think about smiling more often."

Horrified, Snape managed to snap his teeth closed on the words, it looks good on you, and forced himself not to rush down the steps to his horse. He caught a quick glance of his partner's stunned expression before he reined Crow around and trotted off down the drive.

Damn, damn, damn. Why on earth would I say something like that? Stress, it must be that. After all, it's the least I owe his parents, to see he's settled with someone who'll be tolerable to live with.

Harry closed the entry door, absently waving the wards back into place and nodding to the elf nearby, puzzled by his imperturbable friend's actions. Suddenly Severus' last words sank in; Severus had noticed his smile? He'd noticed! Yes!

Harry pumped his fist in the air twice, shouting "Yes! Yes!"

"M-m-m-master Harry?" The foyer elf squeaked.

Harry laughed; maybe there was hope yet. "It's all right, Tilly. Tell Dobby and the others I'll eat in my study. I have some letters to write."