Snape woke gradually, aware of cool sheets against his naked skin and the perfume of honeysuckle in the air. He had no idea where he was. There was a taste of something familiar in his mouth. He concentrated. Vervain and self-heal, amongst other things, which certainly meant he had been fed a healing potion of some description. There was, he noted, a dull ache in his back, consistent with recovering from a considerable wound. These various pieces of information encouraged him to believe he was in no immediate danger. Snape opened his eyelids fractionally and peered out through his lashes. The room was sizeable and airy, with sunlight pouring in from several windows. On the floor was a makeshift bed, from which the covers were pushed aside even as he watched.

It took every ounce of will Snape could muster to continue the illusion of sleep. Before him, Harry Potter rose naked from the floor, sunlight caressing his body. Snape could barely breathe. The boy who lived was exquisite beyond anything he had dared to imagine. The last few years had taken the last gawkish awkwardness from the youth, and his figure was blessed with lean, enticing muscles. Clearly unaware that he was being watched, Harry ran his fingers through his hair and stretched. Then he glanced towards the bed, ascertaining that Snape still slept. The young wizard grabbed a large cloth and tied it about his waist, then began rolling up the blankets of his improvised bed.

Snape rolled over in the bed, realising this must be the place Harry normally slept. It was a curious intimacy, and he wished that instead of these pristine sheets, he had been allowed to lie in fabric that smelled of his beloved boy. Clearing his throat, he tried to make it obvious that he had woken.

"Hello," Harry said, returning to his field of vision.

Snape attempted to speak, but found his tongue thick and unresponsive. Harry grinned and offered him a glass of water.

"You passed out on the way back here," Harry said, by way of explanation.

Snape wondered if the lad had stripped him and put him to bed. He wished he could remember. Harry was looking at him, his expression searching and wary.

"How do you feel?"

"I've been better," Snape replied. "A rather crude vervain healing potion by the taste of it, but you never were very good at potions, I should hardly expect better."

"Actually, it's one of yours," Harry said.

Snape stared at him. "No it isn't," he said levelly.

Harry smirked. "Hermione made it."

"That would explain a good deal. Adequate, but uninspired."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, you're probably well enough to be up and about, so there's nothing to stop you going home and making your own bloody potions if you want," he said irritably.

Snape's heart sank. His returning memories of kisses and tender embraces were perhaps nothing more than fever dreams, or the product of a mad day, never to be repeated.

"If you want me to go, I won't further trouble you with my presence," he said, his voice intentionally terse.

Harry gazed at him, those large, innocent eyes difficult to read. They had been fighting for so long, how could they now do differently?

"I thought so."

"What did you think, Potter? I am in no condition to try and read your mind."

"Yesterday. You were just manipulating me so that I wouldn't leave you to die. I should have known."

If the words had been offered in anger, Snape might have apparated away without further comment. The boy sounded aggrieved by the idea, his face a picture of wounded sorrow. He was close enough that Snape managed to reach out and take his hand, raising it to his lips.

"Oh!"

Harry's exclamation sounded both sensual and vulnerable to Snape's ears. Keeping Harry's hand in his, Snape pulled the boy closer. He ran his fingers over Harry's firm stomach, and the young wizard trembled to his touch.

"I have lied to you many times Potter. I have manipulated you so well that you acted as I intended, oblivious to my influence upon you."

He covered Harry's hip with his hand and placed a lingering kiss just beneath his belly button.

"Having spent the best part of a decade in that charade, I am utterly sick of it."

His fingers strayed along the edge of Harry's simple attire. It would be so easy to loose the knot, but Snape suppressed the urge.

"I spoke nothing but the truth yesterday," he concluded.

He looked up then to find Harry biting his lower lip, his eyes closed, dark lashes beautiful against his pale cheeks. He had always been so responsive, both to kindness and to cruelty. Snape had seen how deeply the boy responded to those who showed him affection. He was equally determined in his reactions to Snape's verbal brutalities. Snape had used this capacity for years, nurturing hatred. Each time he saw a flash of resentment or loathing in Harry's face, Snape had felt as though a part of him was dying. There was a very bitter sort of pleasure to be had in seeing just how much pain he could cause them both. All he wanted to do was tap the rich vein of affection in Harry's nature, but for years that had been impossible. Before, he could only serve Harry by appearing to loathe him, but those days were gone.

Harry sat down on the bed, and his fingers tightened around Snape's.

"Yesterday I was ready to die for you Potter. I very nearly did. I wish you had the good sense to appreciate what that means."

"Forgive me Snape, but I find it hard to trust anything you say."

"Then judge me by my actions."

He kissed Harry's shoulder, his lips following the young man's collarbone to his neck, then up amongst the tousled hair, over ear and cheek until at last Harry's mouth was beneath his. For a second the boy was still, then his lips parted, and Snape licked tentatively at him. Harry's arms circled his shoulders, his kisses growing eager and certain until they were devouring each other with a passion. With one hand, Snape pushed the covers from the bed. Then he set to work on the knot at Harry's waist. Harry sighed as the cloth fell from his hips. Snape lay down, drawing Harry with him so that they were pressed together from lips to toes. Snape ran his finger's down Harry's back, over the mouth-watering curve of his bottom, and up again.

"Have I convinced you of my sincerity?" Snape asked, raising his hips slightly.

Harry took his weight on his arms and looked down into Snape's face.

"You're persuading me," he said.

His face was flushed and his eyes bright. Snape recognised these signs of passion at once, and could not help but smile in delight.

"You never used to smile like that," Harry said.

"I've never had the pleasure of holding you like this before," Snape replied.

"This is weird," Harry said.

Snape laughed aloud.

"I never thought I'd end up kissing you," the lad said, bestowing a brief kiss on Snape's forehead. "Or wanting to…"

"Wanting to do what, precisely Potter?"

Harry blushed. Snape allowed his fingers to glide down the boy's back again. Harry whimpered.

"Come, come Potter, what was it you wanted to do?"

Rather than offer a spoken answer, Harry kissed Snape with wild abandon, his tongue plunging deeply into the older man's mouth. He pressed his hips into Snape's, his desire unmistakable. Snape ran his fingers over the young wizard's body, wanting to touch and know every part of him, to have this beautiful youth gasping with pleasure.

A loud knocking on the door made Harry start.

"Hey Harry, are we leaving today or what?"

Snape recognised the voice beyond the door. Ron Weasley. He supposed he should have realised Harry's closest friend would be nearby. The two were seldom far apart. Harry swore.

"I probably ought to get us moving," he said.

"Going?" Snape enquired.

"It's all right," Harry said, "you can stay put. You won't even know we're moving, promise."

Snape pulled him close again, tasting Harry's lips one final time before he let him go.

"Your clothes were totally ruined and I'm no good at all that domestic stuff," Harry said. "So, you can stay in bed until I get back, or you can come out as you are, although it's cold out there. Otherwise, you can borrow something of mine."

Sitting in the bed, Snape watched as Harry pulled on a few rather non-descript garments and headed for the door. The boy reached for the handle, paused, glanced back over his shoulder and pouted a little kiss in Snape's direction. Then, with a gush of cold air, he was gone. Snape remained still for a while, gathering his thoughts. He could detect no obvious signs of motion and wondered where exactly he was. The easiest way to find out, would be to dress and venture beyond the door.

Investigating the wardrobe, he found an extensive selection of rather non-descript clothing in an assortment of dark colours. Harry was still slightly shorter than he, but there wasn't a great deal in it. He selected a pair of dark trousers. They fitted snugly across his hips and were sufficiently long not to look ridiculous. Then he tried what he suspected was a muggle item – light fabric with short sleeves. Its one redeeming quality was its perfect blackness. Snape had never been one for colour. If the draught from the door had been remotely indicative of the temperature beyond, further layers would be required. Delving further into the wardrobe, he found several jumpers. Serviceable, but hardly to his tastes. He wondered why the young wizard hadn't invested in something a little more suited to his calling. That, he supposed, could perhaps be explained by the lad's ridiculous upbringing at the hands of singularly banal muggles. Snape was about to abandon all hopes of finding a decent cloak, when his fingers closed around a rather promising fabric. Just the feel of its velvety texture enticed him. He pulled the item out. It was the last thing he had expected to see. The jacket was long and straight, adorned with a large number of silver buttons. It wasn't precisely the sort of thing he wore, but close enough to surprise him. What was Potter doing with something like this in his wardrobe? It appeared never to have been worn, and still had a new, unused smell to it. It proved to be quite a good fit.

There was a cloak, right at the back. It was dark green, which was tolerable. His boots had somehow survived the carnage of the previous day, but were scuffed and battered. It was only when he reached for his wand to clean them up, that Snape realised the all important item was no longer about his person. He had no recollection of having seen it. Without it, there was relatively little he could do. The thought was far from comforting.

The door out of the room opened onto a swaying platform that almost threw him off balance. Wind lashed his hair across his face. He caught himself quickly, and slammed the door shut. The platform included a seat, from which Harry was smiling up at him. There was something rather like a horse between the shafts, and it appeared to be pulling them along a bumpy forest road. Despite the wind, the air felt close and prickly. There was light, but Snape could see no sign of the sun, nor could he get any sense of the direction they were moving in.

"Have a seat," Harry suggested.

In front of them, a gaudy, painted wagon rumbled along the road.

"Where are we?" Snape asked, climbing into the seat beside Harry. He felt the warmth of the boy's body at once.

"It's a short cut, but you have to stay in the wagons, it isn't safe otherwise. Going off the track at all would be messy."

"Ah," Snape said. He had a nasty idea he knew where they might be and how this youthful band had managed to surprise Voldermort's stronghold.

"I wondered if you might find that," Harry said, looking Snape up and down.

"While I was wondering what such an elegant item was doing alongside your usual scruffy attire," Snape replied.

"I thought I might need something formal some time."

"A curious choice nonetheless."

"Ron said it made me look like you, which apparently is 'bloody off putting'," Harry said.

The road they followed was narrow, granting a degree of privacy. Snape arranged his borrowed cloak so that it covered them both.

"Look," Harry said. "None of the others know you're here. They know I carried someone out last night, but they don't know who. I get the impression they think you were a prisoner or something."

"Whereas my actual identitywill cause issue?"

"You can bet on that."

"Would it be preferable if I stayed out of sight?" Snape asked. "I would rather not find myself bludgeoned to death by one of the Weasleys, if that's all the same to you."

"I wouldn't let them," Harry said.

"How touching."

Snape found he couldn't help himself. Ten years of needling was a hard habit to break.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking him straight in the eye. "If anyone kills you, it's going to be me."

There were very few measures of time in this place. The light did not change, but remained a constant golden glow permeating the leaves above. The trees themselves contained some variety, but not enough to give any sense of passing time or distance travelled. There were no birds and, when the wind finally dropped, everything fell deathly still. It was frustrating indeed, being so close to the boy, but being able to do so little. Snape circled Harry's waist with his arm, pulling the slender youth closer to him.

"I nearly forgot this," Harry said, reaching for something under his clothes. He placed Snape's wand in his hand.

"That's very trusting of you Potter. Aren't you concerned I might take unfair advantage of your generosity?"

"Not in the slightest. Anyway, you were the one who woke up in a strange bed, with no clothes. If anyone ought to be worrying about being taken unfair advantage of, that's you Snape."

"Tell me, did you take advantage of my prone condition?"

Snape could see a slight flush creeping over Harry's cheeks.

"Only a little bit," he said.

"Do please elaborate."

"Well, it probably wasn't totally necessary to strip you."

"Is that all you did?" Snape employed the tone of voice he had spent years using on recalcitrant students.

"Well, I couldn't help but look," Harry confessed.

"I see."

Snape leaned across so that his lips were close to Harry's ear.

"Did you touch me?" he asked.

"Yes," Harry said, blushing fiercely.