The Fourth Year

by Caligryphy

SnapeHarry, HBP compliant. Snape is Harry's prisoner. An unforeseen event changes their relationship. Or has it already been changing?

5. Chapter 5

They arrived home hand in hand, because Potter still claimed he couldn't apparate with someone unless they were touching. Severus had never stepped through the front door. He'd only opened it from the inside before.

The house felt familiar. Familiar was good. Going from the cabin to the house made it seem much bigger. Add to that the fact that it was uncontaminated by Weasleys, and it was like a breath of fresh air.

"It's like we've been away for ages."

"I'm going to cook tonight," announced Severus.

"Don't you want to—I don't know, get settled?"

"I am settled," answered Severus, and went to his kitchen. People had been through it, touching things. There were scorch marks left on the floor, presumably from where the flaming wizard had fallen before they'd put him out. The whole place needed a good scrub.

Severus shed his robe and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen table chairs. He found a spare elastic band in the odds and ends drawer and used it to pull back his hair.

In the doorway, Potter shifted from one foot to the other. "Do you want help?" he asked. "Because I could help. If you wanted."

His automatic response was no. He didn't brew collaboratively, and as a child, the phrase 'plays well with others' had never gone out on the comment card under his staggeringly high marks. "You remember the difference between chopping and dicing?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have made it through your class."

"Vegetables. In a bowl. Diced. Finely. You remember the difference between diced and finely diced?"

"If this turns into an exam…" Potter shook his head and took out a knife. "What are we making, anyway?"

Snape thought. "Don't know yet. Make sure nothing's gone off before you use it."

"…If you don't know, why I am cutting up vegetables? How do I know what to cut up?"

There was passable chicken in the icebox. "Pick something."

"Pick something? Don't you go by some kind of memorized, highly secret recipe index?"

"No. Pick something. Not the cauliflower. It's going brown, and it doesn't mingle well with onions."

"I was throwing it in the bin. …Could I ask where you learned to cook? Was it from your… your Mum?"

"No. Cooking was something only the women did." A touch of bitterness tinged his words.

In a rare moment of wisdom, Potter steered away from rough waters. "At school, then? Or after you finished?"

"Hogwarts was stuffed to the gills with house elves. I had enough trouble chasing them out of my laboratory. Forget preparing my own food."

"So, then… where did you learn to cook?"

Snape brought an armful of bottles and spices out of the pantry. "Here."

"Here?" Potter's mouth dropped open. "You complete liar. I thought you were practically a ruddy gourmet."

"Potions, food, it's all very much alike. Same principles."

"But you're just making it up as you go?"

"I usually have an aim in mind. Once you've got the basics down, the variety is near endless. You aren't dicing those finely."

"Are you telling me the truth? You really don't know what we're making?"

"Chicken?"

"Chicken what?"

Severus shrugged.

Potter blinked at him.

"You never cared before."

They arrived home hand in hand, because Potter still claimed he couldn't apparate with someone unless they were touching. Severus had never stepped through the front door. He'd only opened it from the inside before.

The house felt familiar. Familiar was good. Going from the cabin to the house made it seem much bigger. Add to that the fact that it was uncontaminated by Weasleys, and it was like a breath of fresh air.

"It's like we've been away for ages."

"I'm going to cook tonight," announced Severus.

"Don't you want to—I don't know, get settled?"

"I am settled," answered Severus, and went to his kitchen. People had been through it, touching things. There were scorch marks left on the floor, presumably from where the flaming wizard had fallen before they'd put him out. The whole place needed a good scrub.

Severus shed his robe and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen table chairs. He found a spare elastic band in the odds and ends drawer and used it to pull back his hair.

In the doorway, Potter shifted from one foot to the other. "Do you want help?" he asked. "Because I could help. If you wanted."

His automatic response was no. He didn't brew collaboratively, and as a child, the phrase 'plays well with others' had never gone out on the comment card under his staggeringly high marks. "You remember the difference between chopping and dicing?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have made it through your class."

"Vegetables. In a bowl. Diced. Finely. You remember the difference between diced and finely diced?"

"If this turns into an exam…" Potter shook his head and took out a knife. "What are we making, anyway?"

Snape thought. "Don't know yet. Make sure nothing's gone off before you use it."

"…If you don't know, why I am cutting up vegetables? How do I know what to cut up?"

There was passable chicken in the icebox. "Pick something."

"Pick something? Don't you go by some kind of memorized, highly secret recipe index?"

"No. Pick something. Not the cauliflower. It's going brown, and it doesn't mingle well with onions."

"I was throwing it in the bin. …Could I ask where you learned to cook? Was it from your… your Mum?"

"No. Cooking was something only the women did." A touch of bitterness tinged his words.

In a rare moment of wisdom, Potter steered away from rough waters. "At school, then? Or after you finished?"

"Hogwarts was stuffed to the gills with house elves. I had enough trouble chasing them out of my laboratory. Forget preparing my own food."

"So, then… where did you learn to cook?"

Snape brought an armful of bottles and spices out of the pantry. "Here."

"Here?" Potter's mouth dropped open. "You complete liar. I thought you were practically a ruddy gourmet."

"Potions, food, it's all very much alike. Same principles."

"But you're just making it up as you go?"

"I usually have an aim in mind. Once you've got the basics down, the variety is near endless. You aren't dicing those finely."

"Are you telling me the truth? You really don't know what we're making?"

"Chicken?"

"Chicken what?"

Severus shrugged.

Potter blinked at him.

"You never cared before."

XXXXX

It was different.

Very different. But the same, in a way.

The telly light flickered blue. He'd lost all thread of the program. It was a film. Something where the actresses wore dresses that threatened to engulf them before they ran onto the moors because life was oh so painful. They'd been watching something else, but hadn't bothered to change the channel when it ended. Whatever it was.

Potter was holding his hand again. He kept doing this thing with his bitten thumb, where he'd move it around a little, stroking the webs of skin in the valleys between Severus' fingers.

He'd never been in a position to hold hands with anyone. It was the sort of thing you did when you were fourteen and walking to Hogsmeade. You picked a girl, you asked her to go for a butterbeer, you held her hand, and if you were lucky, she'd let you carry her books while you walked her to class.

Severus never had any of that. Archie Plimpton had once kissed him in the loo. Then he'd shoved him against the wall and told Severus he was a dirty little liar and a poof, and had punched him in the guts. Funnily enough, most of his adult encounters amounted to the very same sequence of events, albeit with a bit of escalation here and there. Oh, and the part where Severus did something horrible in retaliation. (Mustn't forget that.)

"Are you tired?"

Credits rolled across the screen. "Mm? I suppose. It's that time, isn't it."

"It's the weekend. Don't have to wake up early tomorrow." Potter yawned.

Severus groped for the clicker with his unengaged hand and turned off the television.

The room went dark.

After a few seconds, Potter cleared his throat. "Could I walk you up?"

XXXXX

"Forgot about that."

"I saw it earlier."

Severus touched a fingertip to the jagged splinters left where his bedroom door used to hang. "They could've at least left the door."

"My comforter is gone, too. We'll get them back after they close the file. Until it's all over, they're evidence." Potter paused. "Are you comfortable sleeping without the door?"

"Not as if it kept anything out anyway." He shrugged.

Potter stilled. His eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry about that."

"Wh—oh. That." He'd forgotten.

"I didn't mean to walk in like that, I swear. I never had before. Just that I couldn't sleep and I heard you moving around like you were still awake—I'm so sorry."

"Leave it alone, Potter. I'll make do without a door. Get to bed. Goodnight," he prompted, when Potter still hadn't let go of his hand.

"You could sleep in my room." Potter swallowed. "That is, we could trade. I mean."

Severus pried Potter's fingers away from his own. "No need."

"I'll get you another door," he said. "One with a lock this time. You know. For privacy." He stammered quickly onward. "And I've been thinking about what you said. I think maybe you could hold a job. If you wanted one. A lot of people work from home, and I was th—"

"Potter. Do you intend to simply darken my door all evening, or are you hoping to sleep with me tonight?" Snape folded his arms.

His eyes were like saucers. "What? No. No!"

"Really?"

"No! Yes!" Potter blinked. "What? No!"

"Then you're quite happy to toddle off to your own bedroom."

"Yes, of course."

"Which is why you're not doing it."

"You're still talking to me."

Snape stopped.

Potter swallowed. "Goodnight, then." Quick as a rabbit, he stood on his tiptoes and fairly lunged at Snape, who received a kiss on one sallow cheek before he realized what was happening.

XXXXX

"Come in." It was a honeyed knife of a voice, sharp and sweet.

The cabin was dark. His head almost brushed the ceiling. He bowed his head. "Sir."

"Ah, Snape. Just the man I wanted to see. Close the door."

He did. The cabin rolled and swayed under his feet. Lanterns moved with the rock of the ship, casting dancing shadows. He put a hand against the wall to steady himself.

"Don't you think you'd be more comfortable on your knees?"

He sank to his knees. It put him just above eye level with the Captain.

"Take down your hair." The Captain sipped from a goblet. He reclined in a chair and regarded his guest from under green, heavy-lidded eyes.

Severus pulled his hair from its tie, shaking it out until it fell like an inky curtain around his shoulders.

The Captain shifted in his chair, pushing his parted legs slightly forward. His breeches clung close to his skin. "The shirt, next. Take off your shirt."

Shaking fingers plucked at the buttons. He ducked his head as the fabric parted.

"No. Look at me. Look at me," he barked. The Captain's free hand slid across his thigh, drawing Severus' eyes with it until his fingers came to rest on the bulge between his legs. He drew his fingertips up and down. "Keep going. You've almost got it."

He found the last button on his shirt, unfastened it, and pulled his shirttails free of his waistband.

"That's right. Take it off. Good," the Captain purred, pressing his palm against his erection. "That's good. That's wonderful."

A little thrill coursed through him. "Sir."

"You know, Severus, you're quite fetching when you aren't scowling." The Captain smiled and set aside his goblet. "Come here. I think I'd like to kiss you."

Severus found it was easier to simply crawl the distance to the chair. When he felt the warmth of a hand on his cheek, he closed his eyes and tipped his face up.

It was soft. Sweet. The Captain petted his hair, smoothing it away from his face. He kissed Severus' eyelids, his cheeks, his nose. His hands settled on the Captain's thighs.

Fingertips trailed down the planes of his bare, nearly hairless chest. The Captain kissed his neck, his collarbone. Severus stretched like a cat.

He laid his head on the Captain's shoulder and sighed.

XXXXX

They replaced his door. The new one had a conspicuous lock. "It's not as if a muggle bolt would keep anything with a wand out."

"I know that. Still."

There were other improvements. A rug over the scorch mark in the kitchen. A pile of new linens. New robes for the both of them (though Severus mostly stuck to muggle dress). New books. A video player that took him three days to attach to the telly. Potter added wine to the shopping list.

"I'm thinking of putting in a garden. A house should have a garden. You think? We've got all this land…"

"If you want a garden, put in a garden."

"But do you want a garden?"

"I suppose it'd be something new to look at out the window."

Nothing had really changed, Severus told himself whenever something that could've been excitement (or maybe panic) threatened to overwhelm him. They kept to their routines. He woke, he dressed, he woke Potter, breakfast, cleaning.

He stopped watching his soap opera when Althea, Kristine, and Charles decided it would be best to try a threesome. Potter had come home for lunch and caught him shouting about venereal disease.

"I didn't know you had such a strong opinion," Potter later said, trying his best to make dinner conversation without turning the color of the beets.

"Do you know how many emergency contraceptive potions I've had to brew over the years? How many cures for 'mysterious' rashes and itching?"

"Do I want to know?"

"No. Children are innocent, my foot. …You disagree?"

"I think you're being a little harsh. They're just trying to figure things out. I mean, you must've… when you were that age."

"Must've what?" It was an especially good day when he could push Potter to a shade of magenta.

"You know. Explored."

"I went all the way into the Forbidden Forest when I was thirteen."

Potter gaped. "Thirteen? You did—when you were—thirteen?"

Severus smirked. "That wasn't a euphemism. I was speaking of the actual forest." He took a sip of wine. "I lost my virginity when I was twenty. If that's what you were fishing for." It was easier to talk when they were both a few meters off sober.

"Oh." Potter gulped from his glass. "…Isn't that a bit late?" he asked.

"Thirty would've been early for me. It was a mistake. One in a long line." He smiled. "I'm getting maudlin. No more wine for me."

"Want to play a game of chess?"

Severus shook his head.

"Checkers?"

He arched a brow.

"Exploding snap?"

He chuckled. "No, Potter."

"Want to watch telly until we fall asleep on the couch, then pretend we didn't?"

"It's an exciting life."

"Bugger excitement," said Potter.

When they got up to wash the dishes, Potter gave him another kiss on the cheek.

Really, it would have been impolite not to return it.

XXXXX

"I'll be speaking full time. Except now I'll be working for myself instead of the Ministry. They said I can't use their speech. I said, 'Bugger your speech. I never liked it in the first place.' …Ben says hello."

"The blond git?"

"Don't call him a git. I saw the original copy of that interview you did with him. He made you look halfway decent in the Prophet."

"The Prophet. I seem to remember that. Oh, yes, wasn't it a newspaper? Didn't we get it here, once?"

"I cancelled our subscription."

Severus paused. "And why, pray tell?"

"I don't feel like supporting them anymore."

Snape nodded thoughtfully. "I see. So—I'm to get all my news about the wizarding world from the telly? Yes, I'll just turn to the wizarding channel."

"…You could borrow the wireless from my room. Maybe you can find a news station on it."

"I'll bet you dinner, Mister Potter, that the news stations on the wireless are mysteriously blocked." He took the cover off the pan.

"That smells good."

"Are they blocked, Mister Potter?"

Potter folded his arms. "Look, it's just for a little while—"

It would be quite dramatic, he thought, to pick up the pan and flip it into the air like a tennis racket, sending a lovely supper spraying across the room. Quite dramatic, he thought, but he stayed his hand. "Note my displeasure, Mister Potter."

"Snape—"

"Note," he paused, taking a moment to fill a plate with the requisite meal parts, "my displeasure." He covered the pans and left the plate on the counter. "Mister Potter. There you are. Dinner is served."

"Where's yours?" asked Potter.

"I'm not eating," said Snape. "Wrap up the rest when you're done. No need to be wasteful."

He had a cigarette in his room with the window open and the door locked, then went to bed early.

XXXXX

He woke up, restless, around three. The house was quiet. He crept downstairs, hoping Potter had saved the remains of dinner.

A pile of newspapers sat on the table.

Severus flicked on the light and slid into a chair. He pulled the first copy from the stack.

After a few minutes, he got up, found a bottle of wine and a glass, and sat back down.

He read until sunrise and took a small break to use the bathroom before he returned and continued. The wine bottle emptied at seven-ten, which was when he looked up again.

Potter sat across from him.

Severus hadn't seen him arrive. "They have pictures of my parents." His voice broke.

"Yeah. Mine, too."

Severus tilted back his glass, shaking the last few drops into his mouth. "I don't even have pictures of my parents." He shook his head. "…Don't you have to be at work?"

"I owled in. Do you want some breakfast?"

"Oh. I didn't—"

"Sit down. I'll cook. I can do eggs. Or french toast. Waffles."

He noticed that his dressing gown had been hung over his shoulders. He threaded his arms through the sleeves. "French toast?"

"That's the one I wanted. How did you know?"

Severus tied the dressing gown. His hands and head felt heavy. "There's a good one of Albus."

"All his pictures are good. He was photogenic."

The chasm of history yawned. Severus covered the image of the old man with the heel of his palm, as if he could press the smiling picture out of existence.

"Do you regret it?" Potter asked. He lit the burner with his wand.

Severus paused. He wasn't sure. "He was the only one I didn't fail." He felt for a cigarette. He'd left them upstairs. "I knew I was reviled, of course. Different to see it in print."

"The Prophet decides what everyone wants to hear and prints that. You sell more papers as a dangerous outlaw. Most people just think you're terribly interesting. It's all become a bit mythic." Potter cracked eggs into a bowl. He was practiced at it. Not a scrap of shell escaped into the mixture. "Best not to take it too personally. There's nothing you can do about it. Notice the difference from Thursday to Friday, the way they can't decide whether I'm controlling you or you've got me under permanent Imperius and I'm doing your evil bidding." His tone was light, but laced with bitterness.

Severus stared into his empty wineglass. "I don't think my bidding would be particularly evil. A few hexes here and there, all right, but I daresay it would be a lot of playing fetch and carry." The tip of Potter's wand invaded his field of vision and tapped the glass. After it was scoured clean, he filled it with orange juice.

"I'll fetch and carry for you, every once in a while," replied Potter, breezing away with the pitcher of juice. It almost sounded like he was trying to flirt.

Severus lifted his hand. Albus winked up at him. "May I have these, Potter?"

"The papers? Sure. Um. …There are some… letters. For you. They came care of the Ministry. I've put them through with the screeners who check my post. You know, to make sure they won't spit curses or explode. They weed out all the howlers, too. I can get them for you this afternoon. Unless you'd like to wait. I can bring them back from work tomorrow."

"That'll be fine. I've had enough literature for one day."

XXXXX

"Quite likely I'm mad. Quite likely he's mad. Kissed me on the cheek again today. Twice."

Albus nodded at him from the picture's hiding place in 'C is for Curses: An Introduction to the World of Underhanded Casting.' It was a weighty tome, and required reading for Aurors. Potter wasn't going to need it anymore, so he'd repossessed it. He clipped all the pictures he wanted to save out of the copies of the Prophet and secreted them away inside. He kept the one of his parents, and the Potters. Even one of a young Tom Riddle. He kept one of Potter, too, in blue robes. Then he clipped those of himself, and arranged them from young to old. They looked like different men. Impersonators, perhaps. Like someone had started a costume contest based on his life, and these strange, sad creatures were the finalists.

"It's like being invited to one of your teas, the kind where you keep putting out biscuits and making idle conversation, and all while there's something you're hinting at. An ulterior motive."

Albus beamed and smoothed his considerable length of beard.

He sat cross-legged on his bed and propped the book open between his knees. "…They're right, you know. I probably would kill for Potter. If he asked nicely." He smiled faintly. "I'm really a very weak person. But you already know that." Severus ran his thumb across the picture.

He shut the book and set it on a shelf that was rapidly filling with carted-in muggle books. He hadn't read many of them. There was one with a cover that pictured a ship and a lighthouse. He took it off the shelf, tucked it into the pocket of his robe, and went downstairs to find Potter.

XXXXX

His case review came four months later. Granger was there. So was Lupin, who kept trying to smile encouragingly at him. Even the blond git Potter liked showed up.

His sentence wasn't shortened. As far as the Wizengamot was concerned, he was already getting special treatment and shouldn't be greedy.

Severus was just happy not to be frog-marched off to Newtgate.

"Hermione's upset. As far as I'm concerned, we won," said Potter later. "Once the paperwork goes through, you get to go outside. You can even get a job, so long as you aren't using magic to get there or to do it, and you're in by curfew. And Ministry approves it. Guess that's a little complicated. Still. If you want a job. You don't need to work. You know that, right?"

"Frightened you'll lose your help, now that they've lengthened my tether?"

"No," answered Potter quickly. He seemed distracted throughout dinner. "Are you thinking about a job, though?"

"Haven't even the faintest clue where to start looking. Don't panic."

"I'm not panicking. Want to play chess?"

Severus beat him three times in the space of an hour. "Terrible playing, even for you."

"Been thinking."

"Thinking?"

"I got asked out today."

"Hm? Doesn't that happen every day? One of your countless admirers throw herself at you?"

"Ben. Ben asked me out. And then he kissed me."

"What?" Severus reset the pieces. "When did this happen?" His pawn objected to being moved, and slouched in its space.

"Um. Today. During break. In the bathroom."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "He didn't punch you afterward, did he?"

"No." Potter blinked at him, then stared at his pieces until the queen screamed at him to get a move on. He moved a pawn.

He nodded. He quashed a possessive flare and tried to look on the bright side. A Potter with romantic obligations would actually leave the house, affording him some time alone. There hadn't been much of that lately. "So. When is it? Assuming you are open to a date with those of the male persuasion?" Another pawn.

"I'm not dating someone who pushes me against a wall and shoves his tongue in my mouth. That's just rude." Potter mimicked his movement with another pawn.

Perhaps he would get a hobby. He'd never seen the attraction in painting. There had to be something else. Music, perhaps. He'd think about it. "Is he supposed to ask permission?"

"Well, yeah. Sort of. Or at least give me a signal." Potter nearly always attacked with his rooks and knights.

Severus preferred his bishops and the queen. "Such as?"

"I don't know. …He could try holding my hand first." Potter lost his first knight to a pawn.

Severus looked up sharply. "…Then perhaps a kiss on the cheek?" he hazarded.

"Yeah, maybe."

"What then?" Severus lost his pawn to one of Potter's.

"Then, you know, if I agreed, we could go out. Spend some time together. And if I liked that, then he could kiss me. If he wanted. If he wasn't totally revolted."

He was flirting. Was he flirting? "Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"The blond git didn't actually kiss you, did he?" Severus' bishop caught out one of Potter's rooks. He wondered if Potter was deliberately throwing the game. Some of the pieces shouted helpful instructions.

"Yes, he did. You don't think someone would want to kiss me?"

"I didn't say that. I simply don't believe he'd be so stupid as to clumsily proposition you today of all days, and in a restroom."

"Well, he did." Potter's king shouted at him. He moved a bishop and narrowed his eyes. "You think I'm lying?"

Severus took it with one of his own. Potter's pieces railed against their player. "Aren't you?"

"No, I'm not." Potter rolled his eyes. "It was the only place he's been able to get me alone lately. I've been staying away. I knew he wanted something. Everyone wants something."

Oh. He wasn't flirting, then.

"They don't just want to be my friend, ever. Ben thinks it'd be a great idea if I went to work with him. The twins want me to work with them. Ron thinks he can get me a place in the planning office. Hermione thinks it'd be a great idea if I helped out on one of her campaigns. And Remus keeps telling me how much I remind him of my father." Out of nowhere, Potter's queen snatched up one of his bishops. "I like my job. It's fun, now that I don't have to say what they tell me to say."

"Working ten hours a week speaking and pocketing nearly double your previous salary doesn't seem fair to anyone." Severus frowned. A pawn stood between his queen and Potter's. Blast. He sent it to Potter's remaining knight out of spite.

Potter smiled and took it. "I do volunteer stuff, too."

"Volunteer to lie out in the garden and play in the dirt," muttered Snape. He took Potter's remaining knight with his queen, even though it left Potter's queen open to take his. He didn't feel like playing much anymore. The board shouted at him.

Potter moved a pawn instead, completely missing the crippling move. "Are you okay?"

There was no way he hadn't seen it, hadn't heard the board screaming at him. Potter was throwing the game deliberately. Something in him broke. Severus' lip curled. "Am I something to you, Potter, or am I nothing?" Severus' queen was free to take Potter's. "No more games. Decide now. Am I something, or am I nothing? A partner, or a pet? Decide now."

Potter's mouth hung open slightly. He blinked. "Um."

"Fine," he snarled. "Let us declare this particular season in hell officially over. If you require something to nuzzle against when you're feeling lonely, I suggest you buy a cat." Severus picked up the box and swept the protesting pieces off the board.

"We were in the middle of that," Potter protested.

"No, I think we're done." He folded the board and banged it into its box.

"…I don't want a cat. They make the house smell funny."

"So do I." Severus took out a cigarette. "Good evening, Potter."

"Snape…?"

He left Potter sitting in the parlor, went up to his room, and locked the door.

XXXXX

He had two cigarettes in the dark. The second made him a little sick; he'd been cutting back.

He thought about sneaking down for a bottle of wine. Twice, he heard Potter pace past his door. He didn't knock, though.

He pulled the pages out of a paperback, folded them into little gliders, and sailed them out of the window. He only managed up to chapter three or so before he got bored and chucked the remainder of the book on the floor.

Months of cheek kissing and hand holding—like the good parts of his childhood had got lost, then sneaked around the back way to arrive at a time when he'd desperately needed them. Then they'd gone away again. Everything deserted him.

He slipped his wand out from its hiding place. It hummed.

"How far do you think we'd get? China? India? Africa? We'd blend in better with the Australians. I don't think I could stomach the Americans."

Perhaps he wouldn't even apparate. Perhaps he'd fake a ticket, find passage on some great steaming ship. Be near the water. Perhaps he wouldn't even leave the ship. Perhaps he'd sail away the rest of his life. Teach himself to swim, to fish. Stand in the sun until he was hard as leather.

He stank of stale sweat and cigarette smoke. He hadn't heard Potter in some time.

He unlocked the door, grabbed a towel from the linen closet, and shut himself in for a shower.

Water ran over him. Severus let it warm from cool to scalding. He scrubbed himself carefully, thoroughly. He paid the same attention to cleaning himself as he did the floors.

Perhaps he'd leave in the morning. Perhaps he'd smile as he cooked breakfast, apologize for his horrible behavior, then slip out while Potter was in the garden. Snape could imagine Potter standing in the kitchen, wearing that just-concussed look on his face as he realized Severus was gone.

He'd stop eating so much. He'd let the fan letters make him guilty. Perhaps he'd even go back to the youngest Weasley. Or the blond git.

Severus dried off. He wrung the water from his hair and stared at himself in the mirror.

"All squeaky clean?" sang the mirror.

He frowned. Who was he kidding? There'd be a manhunt before he ever got to a boat. He couldn't even hide like Black or Pettigrew. Despite rumors to the contrary, he'd never found an Animagus form. He envied them, in a way. Life as an animal would be somewhat simpler.

He sighed. Perhaps he would get a job. Something that lasted all day, and meant he'd only have to duck Potter at night.

Severus wrapped the towel around his waist and went back to his bedroom.

Potter had his back to the door. His glasses rested on the nightstand. His hair had been smoothed down. His shoulders tensed as Severus' shadow fell across him, blocking the light from the hall.

He was reclined in a position that suggested he'd borrowed it from a painting; the line of his bare back drew Severus' eye to where the edge of one of his navy blue sheets hid the cleft of his buttocks. The comforter had been folded down. He'd arranged the sheet to drape strategically across his middle, so that he might still claim some decency. His legs were skinny and lightly haired.

As Severus studied him, Potter raised his head and peered back, blinking uncertainly. "I can't tell whether or not you're angry right now, so if you'd give me a clue…?"

Severus stepped in. He didn't shut the door. "What is this?"

"I'm, um, in your bed. Kinda naked. I sort of hoped I didn't have to explain it."

Severus narrowed his eyes to slits. "Do you do this often? Am I practice for the blond git?" If Potter was toying with him—

"No. And definitely not." Potter banged his head against the pillow. "I knew this was a bad idea. I just didn't know how to…" He sighed. "If you didn't like me at all, why have you been letting me kiss you?"

"Potter, are you even attracted to men, or is this some misguided attempt to give me what I want?"

Potter turned over. The sheet bunched across his thighs. His nipples were small and erect. "Do you—you do want me, then?" He shivered.

"Cold, Mister Potter?" His tone was silky.

"No. Just a little… keyed up. I don't know about all the… Look. I've been out with two girls in my entire life. With both of them, it felt weird and not right, and whenever Ginny wanted to—" He shook his head. "I'm not talking about her tonight. I've—I like being with you. I think I'd also like being with you. I do. I've thought a lot about it. You've had more experience. You're probably good at it—you're good at everything—not to say that you've, you know, been around the block or anything, because I d—oh, fucking hell." He pulled the sheet up to cover himself. "I'm sorry." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I meant to be all dashing about it. I brought a bottle of wine up." He pointed to the dresser. There was a bottle there, and two glasses.

Severus looked from Potter to the glasses and back again. "Potter. Are you a virgin?"

"Oh, sorry I tried to be slightly classy—I guess I'd have been better off if I'd hexed and jumped you."

"Potter. Are you a virgin?"

He stared accusingly at the shadow in the doorway. He sputtered for a few seconds. "Excuse me if I didn't want to end up a trophy on someone's wall."

Severus reflected. "That would be an odd trophy."

"Maybe they could put my name, the date, and the time on a plaque?" Potter laughed like he was about to cry.

Severus stepped further in. There was Potter, naked and trembling, waiting for his first time. He'd bypassed a host of colleagues and followers—people prettier and more successful than Severus could ever be. He couldn't know what he was asking for. "You honestly want to do this?"

Potter swallowed. He nodded. "Yeah." He flushed. It was strange to think that this Potter was the same one who used to turn red at the mention of anything sexual. He must be miles out of his comfort zone, Severus thought.

He remembered his first time. In a pub, in the back room. He'd been too drunk to feel anything, but that was how he'd planned it. He'd wanted to get the whole business over with. He'd been terrified.

He wondered how fast Potter's heart was racing. He wondered if Potter wouldn't suddenly leap from the bed and declare it to have been a mistake, then apparate them both back to the Ministry and turn Severus in for daring to molest the great Harry Potter.

That was probably the worst case scenario.

Best case?

"Snape? Are you… should I go?"

What if he made it good? What if it was so good, Potter forgot all about silly blond gits? What if he could have Potter all to himself, in his bed every night—like regular people. Like regular lovers. Even just for a while.

After a moment, Severus slid home the lock.

Potter clutched the sheet in front of him.

"For privacy," said Severus.

Potter nodded. "I've already cast all the protection and cleaning spells on myself. Not that I'm worried about where you've been or anything, just—you said people should be safe and I thought—"

"Quiet."

"Okay." He looked grateful.

Severus considered the wine. He approached it. It had been opened. "Had a glass already?"

"A little one."

"Did it relax you?"

"Not really."

Severus poured one. He walked to the bed and set it on the nightstand. "If you need it. Don't want you to dry out."

"I'm not sure what that was implying, but I hope it was good." Potter's eyes almost shone in the dark. Moonlight lit the room, along with the glow from the hall under the door. "Should I do something? I mean, do you want me to—" He tentatively reached for the spot where Severus had tucked his towel, pausing before he touched it. "Can I?"

"If you like." He couldn't help it. Potter was nude and offering to undress him. He began to stiffen under the towel. There was a momentary surge of panic. What if he was—not what was expected? What if he didn't measure up to some imagined ideal that—

Potter pulled the towel open. It slithered down his hips and puddled on the floor.

Severus shut his eyes.

Silence.

Technically, they hadn't done anything yet. There was still time for both of them to back out gracefully—

"Oh," breathed Potter.

"What?" He cracked an eyelid. "What is it?"

Potter shook his head. He blinked. "You're kind of big."

Severus watched as Potter leaned in for a closer look. He bit his lip.

"Oh! You—you jumped. I've done that, too," said Potter. He nodded sagely, like he did during dinner conversation when he thought he'd just made an important point.

Severus caught a chuckle. "Have you."

"Yeah." He tilted his head. "What?"

"Nothing. Lie back, Mister Potter."

"Oh—okay. Like this?" Potter stiffened. He stretched out like a corpse, his arms at his sides. "I don't know how you—want me to do this. Or—will you be able to get to me like this?" He raised his hand to his mouth and worried at his tortured thumb.

"Get to—no. Relax, Potter." Severus lowered himself to the bed, sitting next to the prone man. "We're a ways from any of that. I'm not going to hurt you. Do you trust me not to hurt you?"

He took his thumb away. "I think so." Potter clutched the sheet in one hand.

"I assure you, I will treat you like nothing less than a gentleman." Severus took the other and pressed his lips gallantly to Potter's knuckles.

Despite himself, Potter snickered.

Severus arched a brow. "You're not supposed to laugh at me."

"Sorry. I'll try to be properly solemn." He schooled his face into a mask of seriousness. "Just not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know." Potter pressed his lips together for a moment. "At some point, I want to be kissed. Properly. I think I can do this, but I won't know until—mmph."

Both of Potter's hands wound in the sheet, leaving Severus free to kiss Potter's soft, pink mouth. He curled alongside the tense young man and pressed his lips once gently to Potter's, tasting the swell of a lower lip with the tip of his tongue before he pulled away.

Potter's eyes fluttered open.

"More?"

He nodded. "Yeah, that'd be good."

He pressed his lips to Potter's once more. With only a bit of coaxing, Potter opened to him. He gasped and groaned into Severus' mouth, jerking bodily when Severus' tongue touched his own. His hands left the sheet to stroke Severus' cheeks before they buried themselves in handfuls of damp, black hair. He used them like reins, steering the slow exploration, pulling gently to let Severus know he needed a breath before nudging their mouths together once more.

Just once, Severus was weak enough to press his leaking prick into Potter's side, teasing himself with a bit of friction.

"Oh," said Potter, breathing hard. "That's your…" He angled his head up, allowing Severus access to his slim, white throat.

Severus licked at his bobbing Adam's apple. He kissed it, then sucked at the hollow in the base of Potter's throat, delighted to find that Potter wasn't steering so much as hanging on for dear life. "Relax." He paused to help untangle clutching fingers from his hair.

"Ngh," he gasped, "I want to hold onto you." There was an unmistakable tent in the sheet below Potter's waist.

Snape threaded his fingers with Potter's. "Better?"

Potter whimpered. He whispered something.

"What?" Severus bent his ear to Potter's mouth.

"Hurt."

He pulled back, slightly alarmed. "What hurts?'

Potter squeezed his eyes shut. He brought Severus' hands to his chest, guiding his fingers to small, pebble-hard nipples as pink as Potter's mouth.

"They hurt?"

Potter flushed. He pulled their hands away. "Never mind. Could we just kiss some more?"

Severus studied Potter's nipples. "Are they tight?"

Potter looked desperate. "I didn't mean to—forget it. Don't—"

He closed his lips over one of the tiny, pink buds and sucked it gently before laving it with broad, firm swipes of his tongue.

Potter cried out. His knees rose as if he wanted to fold in on himself. His hands fought Severus'. "Oh, please," he cried, his breath shuddering out. "Please," he begged. Severus released Potter's right hand in favor of rubbing and plucking at Potter's unattended nipple. The freed hand immediately found its way into Severus' hair.

"Do they still hurt?" Snape asked, releasing Potter's other hand so that he might switch and attach his mouth to the other nipple.

"Not really—hurt. Tight," moaned Potter. "Really tight—ahh. Nobody ever—" He took little hitching breaths. "Snape," he whined. "Snape. I c-can't—stop—too much. Too much," he cried.

Snape stopped. He stroked the planes of Potter's chest and stomach with his hands, reveling in the feel of each answering shiver and shake. "Potter?" he asked, when the heartbeat under his ear had slowed somewhat.

"Yeah?" He sounded distant.

"Do you think you might release my head? Or are you keeping it here all night?"

"Dunno." Potter's fingers relaxed and carded through Snape's hair, occasionally running into a damp snarl. Severus found a comfortable spot and settled in for a few moments. "Sorry," he said eventually. "I wasn't mentally prepared for that part. Didn't see anything nipple-related coming into the picture at all." He paused. "Do yours do that?"

"I don't think so. But the matter may bear some investigation." Potter released him.

Severus rolled off onto his side.

"Yours are sort of… crinkly," Potter pronounced. "You've got more chest hair than I do. Maybe it's just that yours is darker. Can I…?" He reached forward and fingered a single nipple. He peered down, intent on the small bud. It took him a moment to look up and realize that Severus was staring. "Oh. I—"

Severus captured his mouth again. He almost tasted sweet, Severus thought. It wasn't a cloying, sugary thing—it was something light and pleasant, the kind of taste he'd happily spend all day trying to identify.

Potter's hands fisted in his hair again.

"Potter," he snorted, breaking off. "If you don't stop that, we're going to have to tie your hands."

He flushed and removed them. "I'll be good," he promised with a small, guilty smile. "I like your hair."

"I can tell." This time it was Potter who leaned in for a kiss. Severus toyed with the edge of the sheet between them.

"Time for something else?" he asked Snape. It was impossible to miss the tremor in Potter's voice, or his appreciative full-body glance.

Severus smiled wickedly. "Turn over, Mister Potter."

"What?"

"Turn over," he said, letting each word drip like honey.

Potter stared, then slowly rolled over. He discreetly adjusted his erection before sinking against the mattress. "What are you going to do? Snape? I… do you want me to call you by your first name? Snape just seems strange now."

Severus slid easily astride Potter's thighs. "Then call me Severus."

"Severus. Okay. Could you call me Harry?"

"Is it that important?" Severs smoothed his hands across Potter's back, mapping the surface, noting the topographical features—a mole here, a scar there.

"Yeah. Call me Harry, please?" He sighed slowly. "That feels nice."

It wasn't a massage, really; he wouldn't have a clue how to give one of those properly. It was just touch, pressure, the warmth of skin against skin. Potter was ticklish near his ribs at his sides. The knots in his shoulders melted, untied. Severus kissed his neck, his shoulder blades. He traced the line of Potter's back with his tongue, following it down, down.

He didn't ask permission. Perhaps he should've. Severus moved down the bed. He nudged Potter's legs apart and settled between them. He lavished attention on Potter's lower back, kissing his sides until the younger man was well distracted. Then he pulled down the sheet, revealing a tight, gorgeous arse.

It was perfect. His buttocks were round and firm, and flexed delightfully when Severus reached out to stroke them.

"Severus?" Potter asked.

"Shh," he hushed Potter, lost in a moment of private communion. "I'm going to show you something so lovely." He sighed dreamily, petting Potter's naked bottom. He pressed a kiss to the center of each beautiful cheek, and smirked at the startled gasps.

"That's my bum. You know that, r—oh my god, okay—oh—kay—fuck. Fuck me, fuck, fucking—oh. Wow." Potter panted and turned to look at him. "Snape. Severus. Did you just—was that your—okay, you're doing it ag—guh."

He wasn't going to give Potter a chance to become self-conscious. Snape parted his cheeks and licked from the top of his cleft down to his tiny, puckered hole. He gave it a slow kiss and rubbed his nose in the fine hairs that surrounded it.

Potter's hands scrabbled at the sheets. "That's—that's my—oh. This isn't sanitary," he sighed, and buried his head in the pillow.

Severus licked softly at the wrinkles surrounding his hole. He was ever so pleased when Potter suddenly seemed to let go of the terrible tension he'd been carrying, and Severus was able to easily wriggle his tongue past the tight ring of muscle. He thrust his tongue into Potter, pleased to feel the answering ripple of movement, of Potter humping desperately at the mattress in search of satisfaction.

"You need a good fucking," he whispered to the puckered hole. He gave it a slow lick and felt Potter's responding whimper go straight to his cock. "Don't you? You need a nice, hard prick inside you. That's what you want."

"Oh, please," sobbed Potter. His hips bucked.

Severus shifted and tugged Potter up onto his knees. The younger man's cock bobbed in the air. Fluid seeped from its head. Potter was longer and thicker than he had any right to be. His eyes were glazed with lust. "Are you going to…?"

Severus was forced to make a slight detour. He went to the nightstand and removed a small jar. While he was there, he considered the glass of wine. "Do you mind?"

Potter shook his head no. He didn't look like he'd refuse much of anything.

Severus swished a sip around in his mouth and swallowed it before he returned to his preferred station between Potter's legs.

"What's that jar?" Harry croaked.

"Lubricant."

"Wh—where'd you get that from?"

"I made it." Severus unscrewed the top of the jar. It had originally contained jam, but he'd washed it thoroughly and put the jar to a more noble purpose.

"You're not allowed to make potions." Potter propped himself up on his hands and craned his neck.

"It's not a potion. There's nothing magical about it." Severus slicked his fingers. "It's nothing but a precise mixture of some very common, very benign ingredients."

"What're you going to do with it?"

Severus blinked at him. He supposed he could let that kind of question go—just this once. "Allow me to demonstrate," he said, and slid a single finger into Potter, who absorbed the intrusion with nothing more than a soft touch of sound and a confused expression.

His eyelids fluttered and he gave a sort of strangled yelp at the addition of the second. Severus started with gentle thrusts. He listened to the way Harry's breath hitched, searching for the right spot.

"Ahh," Potter cried, and canted his hips. Severus dipped his fingertips into the jar and reached around with his free hand to collect Potter's dripping prick.

Harry hardly needed any more involvement. He found his own rhythm before Severus could set it, and rode the fingers penetrating him with his eyes closed and his lip between his teeth. Needy, plaintive groans wrung out of him. Severus slipped in a third finger. Every noise Potter made jumped an octave.

He lasted for another minute or so. Severus murmured encouragement, his own cock aching.

When Potter came, he did it without a sound. His head was thrown back. His mouth opened as if to shout. Severus drew his fist back and forth, milking Potter's cock until it had nothing more to give. His hips pumped one final time into Severus' fist before his arms gave out and he collapsed face-first into the mattress.

He should let Harry have a minute to recover, he knew. He should stretch out supportively and wait. His jaw clenched. "How do you feel?" Severus barked. He softened his tone. "In your own time, of course."

"…Like I've got your fingers up my arse," Potter eventually answered. "And pretty brilliant, thanks."

Relief flooded him. "Good."

"…Sorry about your sheets."

"They're used to it."

Potter snickered into the pillow.

Awkwardly, Severus removed his fingers and reached for the discarded towel on the floor. He wiped his hands.

Potter watched him. "Are you all right?" He realized something. "You haven't—you didn't… Don't you want to…?"

"Are we capable of finishing a sentence?" He tossed the towel aside.

"You know what I mean. Aren't you going to…? You know."

"No. What?"

Potter blinked before he realized he was being toyed with. He rolled his eyes. "Don't be a git. Come up here, or I'll think you like my bottom better than me."

Severus stretched out at Potter's side. "It would be a close contest." He arranged himself. "It'll hurt, you understand."

"Thought you said you wouldn't hurt me?" Potter bit at his thumb.

"That claim only applied to the previous portion of the evening's entertainment."

"Oh. Not much of a liar, are you?"

"I've quite lost the knack."

Potter leaned in and kissed him soundly.

"Remember where that mouth has been."

"I am," said Potter. "By the way, you're wrong about that stuff in the jar. I think it is magic."

"Oh? Is that what you think?" He leaned in for another kiss, and used the momentum to prod a sweaty, defiled Potter onto his back.

Potter was a great deal more docile when sated. Between kisses, his mouth curved into a strange little smile. Severus slid over him and slipped into the valley between his parted thighs. Harry sighed. "I've done a lot of reading about this."

If Potter wanted to talk, he could talk. Severus moved lower, tracing Harry's collarbone with his tongue.

"Didn't want to be completely unprepared, you know. Ohh."

He flicked each swollen nipple once with his tongue. No need to torture him unduly, Severus thought. At least, not too much. His descent hid a smirk.

"It's an odd switch. I mean—ah—there's thinking about it. Then there's having a fantasy. Then there's the actual mechanics of the thing—hnn."

Severus tried not to be too obvious as he slicked himself. He ached. It was tempting to give up and stroke himself to a finish all over Potter's quivering stomach.

Even more tempting was the resolute look in Potter's eye as he lifted his hips ever so slightly. "I tried to practice a bit. On my own, I mean. When I decided."

"Oh?" He hooked Potter's right leg over his arm and leaned down for another kiss.

"McGonagall never intended Transfiguration to be used for that sort of thing." Potter broke off into a gasp.

Severus nudged the blunt head of his cock against Potter's entrance.

"I used one of the candles. We pretty much don't use them, and they're tapered, so…" He swallowed. "Plus, they're easy to shape."

Severus arched a brow. "I do hope your practice involved more than remedial Transfiguration." He pressed forward.

Harry bit his lip and closed his eyes.

"Breathe." He slid in slowly. Potter was hot and tight and—

"When I walked in and caught you wanking, I went back to my room and did it myself," Harry gasped out. His hooked leg kicked at the air. "I couldn't stop it. I didn't even want to—I had to. I just couldn't—couldn't stop it—"

He couldn't be bothered to think up a response. He pressed harder, deeper, further, more. Severus petted Potter's chest, stomach, thighs with his free hand as he bore down. Sweat broke out on his brow. He needed a better angle. He hooked both Potter's legs over his arms and pressed them toward the young wizard's shoulders. The leverage lifted Potter's hips even further, presenting that beautiful little bottom in mid-skewer. Another inch. "Good." Just a bit more. "Good. So good." Finally, Severus sank in to the hilt. His bollocks made a delightful slapping sound against the firm flesh of Potter's arse.

Harry was very still. Wetness pooled at the corners of his eyes. He breathed in shallow gasps.

"Potter."

"Just go ahead," he said. "I can take it."

Severus arched a brow. "It's not about taking it, Potter, it's about enjoying it." Potter's breath was hot on this cheek. He tried to hold still, but the temptation proved too great. He rolled his hips, slowly surging forward and back.

Potter jerked in his arms. He bit his lip. "I don't know if I can. I'll try—ngh."

"Don't try, Potter. Relax," he grunted.

Harry nodded. He kept his eyes shut.

Severus stilled. "Potter. Try putting your hands in my hair."

Potter opened his eyes.

"Just this once," said Severus. "Don't go getting comfortable."

His shy smile returned. Potter reached up and dragged Severus down into a kiss. His fingers wound in the black locks. "Mm. Better. Okay. Now."

"You're going to be demanding, aren't you?"

Potter rolled his eyes. His reply was cut short by a sudden moan. "Oh—right there. Right there—that's good." He smiled between gasps. "It's good," he told Severus, and began to match his lover thrust for thrust.

That's what they were now. Lovers.

Severus drove his cock into Potter's arse. He leaned his full weight on Harry, daring him to object as Severus pinned him against the mattress and fucked him into an incoherent stream of sighs and squeals. Severus stroked Potter's rapidly hardening cock, murmuring obscene words that made Harry's eyes widen even as he hardened further.

Harry put his mouth on anything within reach. He kissed lips, he bit at the pale expanse of neck—he sucked Severus' fingers, illustrating a surprising amount of natural talent that might come in handy on other occasions. They both wriggled and shifted; Potter locked his ankles around Severus' waist, using his legs to pull Severus deeper.

"Oh. I'm going to—" Potter panted.

Severus was nearly there himself. He screwed his cock into Potter's arse with renewed vigor, his balls tightening at the sight of Potter furiously stroking his erection. "Come, Harry. Come," Severus hissed.

Potter whimpered. His hand was a blur.

He couldn't bear it. Every part of his body tensed—and then he was coming, coming, filling Potter's arse as a moan announced the arrival of Potter's own climax.

Severus wasn't certain a moment after, but he wouldn't have been surprised if he'd blacked out. Harry held him. They were sticky and sweaty, and if they didn't do something about it soon, they would wind up glued together. Potter was awfully quiet.

Severus pulled back slightly. He looked down at Harry, who hadn't bothered to unlock his ankles, and gazed back as if he just might decide not to. "All right?" he grunted.

"Yeah," said Potter, nodding. "You?"

"Mm." He settled back down into the embrace.

"Think it'd be uncomfortable to sleep like this? Because I'm all for trying, right now."

"Just for a minute," Severus conceded, and put his head down.

A short while later, they woke. It was indeed cold, sticky, and uncomfortable, and Harry winced a bit before he healed himself and spelled them clean.

Severus reclined on the bed and watched as Potter adjusted the fallen sheets and blankets, then made a show of fluffing the pillow under Severus' head. He then flopped down on top of Severus, pulled up the bedclothes, tucked them both in, and (there was no other word for it) snuggled close.

"You're going to drool on me, Potter, aren't you."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've never drooled in my life."

"I'm going to wake up in a puddle of saliva."

"Oi."

"This mattress is going to squelch—"

"Go to sleep."

He wasn't going to, at first, but then he realized he was tired. Severus yawned. Potter yawned.

Potter fell out of bed at three, waking them both. Severus wiped the very small amount of drool off his chest with his hand. Potter clambered back into the bed.

"You snore," Potter said.

Severus wiped his hand off on Potter's shoulder.

They slept.