Snitches and Songs

by Lizzy0305

Can you ever really miss someone you haven't gotten to truly know only after their death? Seven years after the war, Harry is still troubled by Snape's memory, when he runs into a man with a hauntingly familiar voice. But Snape's dead and this man's a singer, so it can't be him. Right?

I couldn't leave out Snape's birthday, so I've returned with... something different?

This story was inspired by Blues Saraceno's The River. I definitely recommend giving a listen to this song, it's gritty and sad and just perfect. There will be quotes along the way from the songs I listened to while writing, in case any of you lovelies want to get in the mood :)

Thanks going out for Sheankelor, for the eternal encouragement and for being my test reader for all my unfinished nonsense. Sexy_Lil_Emo helped with all the above and also with editing. I dont know where I'd be without you guys, love you both so much!

HUUUUUGE THANKS for each and every one of you, who followed me into the Detroit fandom. I'm honestly just shocked at your loyalty and I cannot express how much it means to me that you enjoy my writing so much! This is a gift for you as much as for our dear Snape :3

I hope you lovelies will enjoy this! I'm sorry I'm not posting as often to this fandom as i'd like, but i'm still here and so is my never-ending list of WIPs lol

Happy 9th of January everyone and happy birthday, Severus! No matter how long it's been, you'll always be in our hearts!

---

"What have you done,

What have you done, when your favourite colour's black…?"

(Blues Saraceno – Evil's on the Run)

The first time Harry meets the man, he is on a date with Draco Malfoy.

It's a horrible idea, the date, Malfoy, all of it, but Harry craves something and Malfoy might be the only one who can still give it to him. There's a similarity there, years of hate and loathing, sides turning during the battle, a sense of amity reached after the war. It could work, and Harry desperately wishes it will, because there is no one else left. Even with Malfoy, their relationship used to be different, the hatred more childish, immature.

Snape was on a whole different level, another category entirely.

It's not something Harry wishes to admit to himself, that he's willing to do this with Draco to have an experience that just might remind him of Snape. It's a taboo thought, one he outright denies, yet he's here, meeting someone who was once an enemy.

It's not entirely clear to him what he hopes for tonight. Sex, for sure, but on an emotional level his own expectations are still a confusing mystery.

He's not sure what feelings he has for Snape even seven years after the war. It's hard to hate a man who's dead, harder still to hate someone who spent their life protecting you. It's hard to forget a friend, who helped you out, guided you, even if he was nothing more than an old memory of a young boy on the pages of a book. It's hard not to respect a man, who gave his life for a cause you fought for. It's hard to get clarity when all you have are questions and no living soul to answer them.

Seven years ought to have quelled this desire in him, this need to find out more about Snape. It hasn't. Where there was a thirst for answers, now there's a hunger that wants to consume. The fact that it's unobtainable feeds the longing; the very idea that it will never happen, it cannot anymore, brings forth devastating want instead of a peaceful acceptance. There's no resolution, no outcome, no answer, no forgiveness, just memories and doubt, and self-judgement.

And Malfoy, who might be able to give some absolution, instead of Snape. Harry knows it's all fucked up, has been warned by Hermione, who noticed the pattern in Harry's exes. But even she agrees that Harry needs to get this obsession out of his head.

Why it has to happen in the form of sex, Harry doesn't know, doesn't much care either. It's not like his previous lovers haven't been tall and skinny, some with long hair, some with short, but always black. None of it worked out, something was always off, not right.

Well, of course it was off. None of them hated Harry for years, while protecting him, saving his life. None of them died right in front of Harry's eyes, crying memories to gain his trust and giving him some explanation. None of them left Harry riddled with guilt and blame and still with a need for a deeper connection. No one ever has, except Snape, who's not here anymore.

Draco is, though, a close second and maybe he might just be good enough. A Slytherin, he used to hate. An enemy who, upon closer inspection turns out to be a decent bloke. Someone with a complicated past, with expectations thrust upon him by people he ought to have trusted. There are similarities, not much, maybe enough.

Harry hates it, but he also hates the sleepless nights, the memories he can recall with as much clarity as actual visions, the dreams where he relives that night in the Shrieking Shack, where he sees the gentle glow of the doe in the Forest of Dean, where he recalls with gut wrenching remorse the six hate filled years before that moment.

Whatever this is with Malfoy, it has to happen far from their reality, far from the Wizarding World. They are both pretty famous, after all.

They meet in Muggle London, a couple corners from the Ministry. Draco has abandoned his Healer robes, left them probably at St Mungo's, at least that's what Harry did with his own Auror robes.

The dingy Muggle pub they agree on in the end is only a couple of corners away, in a slightly worse neighbourhood, with lamps that sometimes decide not to work, and streets dirty and littered.

The place is dark and small. Extremely cramped compared to the places Harry knows Draco prefers, elegant and stylish and lofty. This one looks ancient; it feels like the fumes of cigarettes and cigars, from an old time when it was still allowed to smoke inside, have filtered into the walls, which is probably the case. Their smoke can almost still be seen in the air, fogging up the bar, as if it would be an illicit place, something from the last century.

The room is filled with round tables big enough to hold two glasses of beer and maybe an arm, but not more. The bartender, a blond woman in her forties, is polite enough, though has a lopsided smile as she talks. The patrons talk in hushed voices since they are leaning in so close, there's no need to shout. The place has a scent of old leather, wood and beer.

Naturally, right away Harry loves every inch of it, while Draco hates it to the last dirty corner.

Not that they plan on staying for long.

It's not quite a date, more like a drink before a shag. They haven't really talked about it yet, but there isn't much to discuss either. Harry has been aware of Draco's interest for a while now, it's the exact reason why their relationship didn't grow further than mere amiable acquaintances. Harry's not sure why Draco would want to sleep with him, probably for the same reason half the wizarding population does. He has put it off until recently, but now he's desperate enough to try anything to get over Snape.

He sips into his beer, as Draco talks about work and looks around, eyes on the men and women at the other tables. He seems to hear children's laughter which creeps him the hell out, because it's late evening, children shouldn't be playing in a bar anyway, but he doesn't even see them, which just makes it all worse. Maybe, like the smoke, they're in the walls, too, memories, ghosts, something from the past.

He shudders, feels like something cold went through him, but it's probably just the air as the bartender comes back from the cellar.

Draco talks. Harry doesn't much care. He almost feels bad, using Malfoy like this, but it takes two to tango, and Draco only talks to pass time, until it's just grunts and moans.

They order another round, Harry talks a bit too, asks after Narcissa and Lucius. Musicians come on stage, settle down, tune their instruments. There's a sudden thud on the drums one minute then the next it's quiet guitar strings. A tambourine shakes in someone's hand, and cymbals chime. Invisible children giggle somewhere far away.

Background noises that get swallowed in the general hush of the place, soon start to occupy all of Harry's attention. The stage, barely lit, still beckons his gaze, more than Malfoy's boring grey eyes. He listens to sticks knocking on the drummer's leg more avidly than anything Draco has said the whole night. Which doesn't bode well to his sex life.

Harry shakes his head, tries to focus on the man he's here with. It's Draco's time to ask questions, inquire about the Weasley's and Hermione, as if they haven't met at work regularly. A couple polite responses has him satisfied, and Harry dearly hopes that's how it's going to be in bed too, because he's not really in the mood to play up anything.

He's not in the mood, period. No matter how much he wants this to be enough, he doubts it will be, and he has a pretty good feeling, Draco's not into the evening as much either, otherwise he would have suggested leaving the pub already. Why they're still here, is beyond Harry. They're probably waiting on the other to chicken out. Lovely prospects for the night. Truly.

Better here than at home, anyway.

Age twenty-five, Harry doesn't have much to go home to. Ron and Hermione have their own place now, and Ginny's long in the past.

Even boring sex with Draco is more enticing than an empty flat, and the prospects of work tomorrow. Harry hates his work with as much passion as he had for it when enlisting at the Auror Corps. Now, he can't even tell what made him choose this as a carreer. Fame and glory? A sense of justice? To hell with all that. Being an Auror is more about bureaucracy and ass kissing than catching dark wizards.

"Hello everyone," says a cheerful voice on the stage. "I'm Jim and this is your absolute misfortune to listen to Me and the Chaps play you some nice music. We brought you your favourites and some new songs too, nothing original, no need to worry, just some good old covers." He laughs and a couple people clap along the tables. Harry is one of them.

He looks back at Draco, who seems weirded out.

"What? He was funny." Harry shrugs. "And I like the band name."

"No, he wasn't. And the name sucks."

Harry shrugs, again, drinks into his beer, but then a man starts singing, and Harry almost chokes on the ale.

Coughing, he looks up. It's not Jim, but another chap at the mic, tall and lean, with long brown hair, reaching below his shoulders. His face is average, nothing remarkable there, but his voice.

His voice.

Harry knows that voice, heard it call his name enough times, heard it shout at him, heard it sneer insults, heard it growl threats, but he never ever heard it sing.

"Does he sound familiar to you?" He asks Draco, because it's impossible, no matter how certain his ears are. The fact is, Snape's dead, and there's nothing bringing him back. Although if anything, the man's voice is deep enough to reach hell, which, Harry is certain, has been Snape's new home for seven long years now.

"Who? The singer?" Draco sneers. "I don't listen to crap like this."

"Not from the wireless. From – " Harry cuts himself off, not wanting to appear a lunatic.

Snape's dead, he tells himself again. Snape has black hair, long and greasy, not shiny brown. Snape has a long nose and a face that still haunts Harry in his dreams. Snape's not an average bloke with easily forgettable facial features, like the fellow on the stage. Harry barely even remembers him, it's just his voice that's special.

No, Snape's not forgettable at all.

Draco looks up, listens to the man. There's a moment, where Harry thinks Draco hears it too, but then he shakes his head. "No. Doesn't ring a bell." He looks back at Harry, then asks, "So are we going to shag tonight, or what?"

"Or what…" Harry sighs, but stands.

They leave the bar, start walking towards a dark alley where they could apparate, but a couple steps are enough for Harry to realise, this isn't going to happen tonight, or any other night, in fact.

Malfoy takes it well and they say goodbye. Harry considers going back to the pub, however he's not even sure which way to go. He apparates home instead, opens another beer and puts on some music.

But nothing sounds good enough.

o.O.o

"Lord I've been righteous, trying to be good.

When temptation came knocking, did the very best I could."

(Alex Runo – Devil)

For a week straight, Harry tries to find the pub again. He roams the area around the Ministry, walks into shady alleys and through bright streets, but the pub, like an elusive creature, hides from him. He has a vague idea that it's perhaps magical, open only one night a week, moving from spot to spot and asks around his colleagues whether they heard of such a thing, but of course they haven't, not since the great war, when secret jazz bars were kept open in such scheming ways.

And yet, as if guided my magic, exactly a week later, Harry does find the place.

He's mindlessly following a bloke, his eyes stuck to grey pants covered lanky ass, when the smell gets to his nose. It's the same mix of cigarette and smoke, beer and leather, that he found so alluring the first time. He lifts his head and there it is, his obscure little mystery, materialised again.

It's called Devil's Trap. Their logo shines above the door, a black circle with a red pentagram and the name written in bold white letters.

Harry looks around, trying to find landmarks and street names to help him get back, discovers a dark spot that is perfect for Apparition, too. Next time it will be easy to find the place.

He steps through the door, then walks the five stairs down. The place is a little more crowded this week, but other than that, nothing has changed.

The blond bartender is chatting with a bloke, and if he still had some doubt whether he found the right place or not, the sound of giggling children is an eerie reassurance.

He walks up to the bar, and the woman smiles at her friend that lopsided smug grin he'd noticed often grace her face even last time, then comes to Harry. "What can I get you, sweetie?" She asks, while she's cleaning a whiskey glass with a towel.

"Ale, please," Harry says and puts a couple quid on the counter. "Is the band playing tonight?" He asks once he has the beer.

"They're about to start," she nods towards the stage, where the members are, indeed, setting up the equipment. "Unless, the lead singer is too busy drinking," she adds then, slightly louder.

At first, Harry doesn't understand, but then two seats away, her friend speaks up.

"If you would stop watering down my drinks, I wouldn't need to order so many." He sneers, and a shiver runs down Harry's back.

He looks that way, and he has to force his mind to remember the man he'd seen a week ago. They could even be the same, but he can't recall that average face anymore. The voice, though… the voice is the same.

"Hey," Harry smiles at the stranger. "I heard you last week. You're –" He can't finish. The man stands, takes his drink, and walks away without a glance at Harry. "Okay, bye…" Harry huffs after him slightly hurt.

"Don't take it personally, dear. He's not a chatty one, that fella." The bartender grins, then reaches her hand over the counter. "Layla, nice to meet you."

"Harry, pleasure."

"You're new here, right? I don't think I've seen you around."

"I was here last week, that's when I heard hi- the band play. They were really good."

"That they are," She smiles. "My pop used to own the place, had a band, too, to play for the folks who come around for a beer or two. We decided to keep the tradition going."

"We?" Harry asks, motions with his head towards where the singer disappeared.

"No, not him. My husband and I."

"Oh, he's in the band, too?"

"Not anymore," She says, looks towards the stage for a moment, then her gaze is back on Harry. She's smiling fondly as she says, "We started doing this pub because we both loved music and beer and we hoped we'd find a few similar souls."

"Well, you got me coming back for both," Harry grins, lifts his glass for a toast.

Layla gives him a sly look, says, "Thought you're here for him," then nods behind Harry.

That's when he starts singing again.

Harry lets the first few notes just wash over him, the soft voice, like a hum enters his ears and resonates in his whole body. His eyes close and his first thought is that that one line of verse got him more aroused than Malfoy did throughout their nearly fifteen years of acquaintanceship.

Gods, that voice.

Slowly, Harry turns around, not wanting to spoil the sound with the look. He's not superficial, it's just incredibly annoying that even now, having had seen the man only a few minutes ago, he still can't recall his face. Not to mention, even if he could, it wouldn't be Snape's anyway, so it doesn't really matter.

First time in his life, Harry thinks of sleeping with someone solely to hear his moans.

Then he reminds himself, he's got about zero chance with the bloke, given his earlier coldness.

Harry looks up. Under the bright spotlights, the band plays a melancholic song. There are four members, Jim, the man who announced them last week is the one who plays the guitar. He is a bearded guy, wearing a tartan flannel shirt and torn jeans. He has tattoos up his arms, a wide shoulder and short, brown hair. He's concentrating as he plucks the strings, drawing sad tones from the instrument. The drummer, an Asian girl with reddish hair reaching only to her chin, sits motionless, her eyes closed, waiting to join. There's one more guy, gangly with a bushy, curly hair who's currently playing an accordion. Strangely, it sounds amazing.

And of course, there's the singer.

He sings about death, his eyes closed and Harry feels the cold shiver again and this time it has nothing to do with any open doors and cellars. The emotions his voice brings forth in Harry aren't simply sad, they're aching, and hurt and devastating. His tone lulls Harry, even though the deep despair vibrates in the air and everyone in the room looks up.

"Bloody hell, he's good…" Harry notes quietly, but Layla is still right there and she hears him, though doesn't say anything, they both know he's right.

Harry doesn't really have a clear taste in music, he would listen to anything he deems good. He has no idea what he's listening to now, never heard the song before, not that he cares, no one would sing it better anyway. It's maybe rock, but he hears a note or two that reminds him of country music, only it's sad and melancholic and gritty.

The singer barely moves, he taps the beat with his leg, his hips sway a bit. Long fingers wrapped around the mic stand, he just sings, he sings everyone into pain and ache and sad longing, and when Harry thinks his heart is properly broken, lying in the dirt in pieces, the man hums the refrain and oh, the whole world comes crashing down.

The song ends, everyone claps. They go on with something a bit more refreshing, more upbeat, not really cheery but rebellious more like, and sure, Harry feels the tune set something on fire in him, and if it goes on like this, he's going to need the loo for more than just a piss.

Oh boy…

Throughout the evening Harry falls in and out of love, aches for a lost lover, lusts for a new one, he walks his way to the death row, gets hanged for his crimes. He watches the world burn, sets it on fire, fights for fame and accepts defeat. All because a voice tells him to, entices his mind enough to believe every word is solely for him, there's no one else in the whole damn pub just the two of them.

When the concert is over, Jim's baseball cap is passed around for tips and Harry practically empties his wallet. He stands to leave with the crowd, but Layla stops him.

"Wait a few more minutes." She winks.

Harry does. He has work tomorrow, he has to work pretty much every day, but he doesn't much care. Eight hours of sleep or five, it won't really matter, Auror business will be just as awful.

The laughter of lost children signals midnight and Harry looks around the emptying place. It's like everyone just stayed for the music, which might just be true. Within that five minutes, the pub nearly empties. Me and the Chaps is a little unknown treasure that Harry would like the whole world to know about, but, strangely at the same time, would like to keep it entirely to himself, too.

"It's getting late. Shouldn't you be in bed already?" Comes a way too familiar drawl and Harry has to swallow a heartache.

He turns towards the singer, who stands leaning against the counter, glass of whiskey in hand.

Being nice didn't work, so Harry chooses another option. He gives the man a once over and says, "Yours or mine?"

He sees the thin lips twitch. A bloody shame that come tomorrow he won't be able to remember their shape, the little curve of the upper one. Even when he blinks, looking at them again is like a surprise, like he's never seen this man in his life before.

What a shame, indeed.

"You have a bloody good voice," Harry says, turning fully towards the man.

"And you've got a bloody good arse. Your point?" He grunts. "Or are we just throwing facts around?"

Harry feels his cheeks heat up slightly and he has to clear his throat. "You don't take kindly to compliments, do you?"

"I just don't like my time wasted."

"Didn't realise, I'm wasting your time. I thought we're talking."

"That's a good way to waste time," he says, drinks a sip. "What do you want?"

"Can't a man just enjoy a drink, while listening to good music?"

"Why do you have to do that in this pub?"

He may not look like him, but the man sure has Snape's temper.

"Why should I do it in any other pub?" Harry replies. He's getting more and more irritated the worse this conversation gets.

"You came back. Why?"

That surprises Harry. "Wait, you saw me last week?"

"You're hard not to notice." He says, looks away, as if recalling that night. "You were with… someone."

"Yeah, a friend."

He sneers. "Friends don't come here –"

"Potter," Harry supplies, knowing there was a name missing from the end of that sentence. Why not Harry, he's not sure.

"Potter," The man says, but doesn't offer a name in return, and Harry won't ask it, even though he dies to know.

"It was an accident, the first one. But I had to come back."

"Why?" He drawls.

"To hear you sing again."

The man just watches Harry for a long moment. There's something strange on his face, something weird, and Harry can't tell what and it's frustrating as hell, but so is this conversation that's not going anywhere, at least not where Harry would like it to go.

"Well, you did," the singer grunts, then downs his whiskey. "So don't come back here anymore."

Harry screws up his face. "Sod off, I go wherever I want."

Surprisingly, the man just smirks. "Don't I know that, Mr Potter…" and walks away.

Harry stays for an hour more, frozen to solid stone, riddled with memories he doesn't want to remember.

o.O.o

"Could I buy you a drink, could I sing you a song

I could start a war or we could both just get along…"

(Kongos – Birds Do It)

The band plays every Thursday, as Harry finds out from Layla. So next week, Harry comes again, naturally. Not like such a warning from a Muggle could stop him. What's the worst that could happen after all? His heart is kind of broken already, really, what worse could come?

He's welcomed by the smell of beer, wood, whiskey and smoke combo, and of course the unforgettably haunting giggles of probably long dead children. He makes a mental note to get a few ghost relocators to look around this place.

He says hi to Layla and sits down again at one of the bar stools in front of her. He doesn't even have to ask, she puts the glass of ale in front of him. "He's still in the back." She informs Harry, who thinks about pretending he doesn't know who that he is, but who is he trying to fool, because he sure as hell couldn't fool Layla. Apparently.

"What's his name?" Harry asks her, since he doesn't dare ask the man himself.

She shakes her head. "You got to ask him yourself, kid. He directly told me not to say anything, if you come around demanding answers."

"I'm not demanding anything," Harry says, taken aback.

"Yeah, I know. For some reason he doesn't seem to like you."

"What did I do to him?" Harry grunts under his breath, then takes a sip.

"Beats me, kid." Layla shrugs. "But look, there he is."

Harry doesn't look back. He waits until the musicians settle and Jim introduces the band. Some people clap, Harry's not among them this time, his hands are folded around his pitcher. Jim sends the first song to a bloke in the first row, named Dave. He's probably the drummer girl's boyfriend, because she hits a couple beats after the dedication. There's another round of applause, giggles and some catcalling whistles, then they start.

That voice.

It's what has kept Harry going this week. Hearing that voice again was like a promise of fresh water at the end of a demanding hike.

If Harry closes his eyes and doesn't turn around, he can pretend it's Snape. He lets the voice fill his ears, his mind, his heart.

He sings of the devil, and Harry sees him. The black clad monster of his childhood, the lanky boy he'd never met, his mother's best friend from ages ago. He sees his protector, who never stepped into the light, the scowls, the annoyed glares, the anger, the hate, years of hate. He sees eyes, black like a tunnel, endless darkness, lips thin, twisted into a sneer. He sees white skin, and black robes. He sees

Look at me

Nothing.

His heart clenches, and he closes his eyes firmer, trying to chase those images; of blood and ripped flesh, of pain, of hurt. He huffs, "Pathetic, Potter…" he grunts to himself, then turns around.

It's him.

His heart stops for a moment as he stares into black eyes, but he blinks and he's gone the next moment, nothing just a ghost of a faded memory, like the children who run around Devil's Trap at midnight. The voice is there though, just as deep, just as soft, a murmur, sensual, husky and hoarse, perfectly fitting to the hauntingly sad music, the two together thus creating something beautiful.

Long legs wrapped in black jeans tap the rhythm, black boots hit the floor of the stage. There are no black robes or even a white button-down shirt, just a black tee with a picture of the universe and the bold letters BE LIKE A STAR written across it. There are letters underneath, too, but the man's too far away and Harry can't read it.

How could he think it's him for even a second? Brown hair not black. Eyes forgettable, not intense, filled with hate and black as the darkest night.

This bloke is so average Harry forgets him the moment he closes his eyes, everything about him is just strangely mundane, but of course the voice is there and he calls Harry back week after week and he will come for as long as Me and the Chaps will play.

He grabs his glass and stands from the bar. He steps towards the stage; eyes follow his movement while the singing never stops and Harry walks to one of the front row tables that are still empty.

The man glares at him, but Harry just smirks. "I go wherever I want," he mouths at him, pulls the chair out silently with his foot and sits down, legs crossed.

The fact that the man's irritated is like an aphrodisiac to Harry. It makes it feel more like Snape, even his tone changes, becomes slightly more passionate, wilder, rougher. He all but flashes teeth at Harry like a mad dog, but that only drives a shiver down Harry's spine.

The song ends and the man draws his fingers through his long hair to get his tresses out of his face, and for a moment, Harry's desperate mind sees black glint under the spotlights again, and he hates himself for this torture. The thought is gone then, because he's singing again and oh boy does Harry forget about the existence of the world.

He's close enough now to read the smaller letters, too, on the shirt and laughs.

BE LIKE A STAR - distant and dying

He loves everything about this man, except the fact that he's not Snape.

Harry drinks; the man sings. Songs follow guitar solos, people clap, they move from love to death row, from cold hearts to hot lovers. Harry feels it, every line hits differently, when their gaze meets, it's like he's being given a serenade, even though there are many people around and the song is about smoke and fire.

The moment the last song ends, the man jumps off the stage, grabs Harry by the wrist and drags him towards a side door. Not that Harry needs much dragging, he's as eager as a second year during the Quidditch try-outs.

They rush past some closed doors; the eerie laughter of children follows them on the empty back corridors lit barely with faint yellow light. It is almost louder here and Harry has a feeling he's being dragged into hell, and he doesn't much care, Snape's there, so hell can't be all that bad, really.

He's shoved into a room, he sees backpacks, and instrument cases, a bike helmet, chairs, clothes, it's all a blur really, because he's pressed against the nearest wall the next moment and oh.

Hands are placed on both sides of his head. Spark of lust flashes in the pit of his guts, vicious, cruel, needy.

Harry's hands fist into the universe as the man snarls, "What do you want from me, Potter?"

God, the things he wants are not to the ears of any decent man. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He growls back. "I was just listening to you!"

"I told you not to come here!"

Harry can barely force himself to look up into eyes the colour of nothing, to see a face resembling nothing. He just wants to hear and feel, deny all other senses.

"And I told you to fuck yourself."

"Why are you following me? What do you want?"

"For fuck's sake, I'm not following you." Harry tries to push the man away, but he doesn't budge, not that Harry puts much effort into it. "I don't even know who you are. I just came here, because I like your voice, okay? It reminds me of someone."

Suddenly, there's a great change in the everyday face. Raised eyebrows, surprise. "It remin– You don't know me?" It comes softer, quieter.

"No," Harry pants. "Shit, no." His gaze drops to thin lips that are just not right, so he just closes his eyes. He really can't blame it on the alcohol, it was just one beer after all, haven't even finished it, but he's tugging the man closer.

Smell of sweat hits his nose, mixed with some generic aftershave, or cologne, or maybe just soap. Fresh, clean. Nothing like a dungeon, like the fumes of potions, like the scent of herbs. It's still good though, makes Harry keen.

"What are you doing?" The man asks softly, when Harry's hand slips up onto his neck, fingertip pressing into his nape.

Harry grunts, eyes still closed. "God, just shut up for a moment." He whispers as he leans closer, then right as the sentence is out of his mouth, he takes it back. "No wait, no, keep talking."

He hears a chuckle, feels it against his cheek, the hot breath, the humidity of it.

"Oh, aren't you just going to feel a little embarrassed in a few minutes," the man says.

"Are you expecting someone?" Harry asks and there's disappointment in his voice. He pulls back, but just a little bit, since he can't move far away from the man. He has his own pull, just like a star.

"That's not what I meant." Another low chuckle; Harry shivers, he's back at the man's neck, lips almost on skin.

"Should I stop?" He breathes.

"Oh no, don't stop on my account, I quite enjoy myself." Comes the answer and Harry kisses his neck. He wants to feel the marks left behind by that awful serpent so badly, he all but does, his fantasy creating the sensation for him, that his mouth sucks on marred skin, that he licks long, smooth scars.

They both gasp; his makes Harry's mind spin and his cock harden like nothing before.

"Say the name that begs to fall from your tongue." The man whispers in a rough voice.

Harry moans against skin, his hand shifts into tresses, black in his mind's eyes not this dull sand coloured. He exhales, presses against the lean body longingly.

"Say it!" More urging.

Harry grunts, shifts his face, nibbles on sharp jaw. "Oh fuck, Snape…"

"Well, hello, Mr Potter." Hands on his hips press him firmly back against the wall, a leg wedged between his keeps him there.

Harry sighs, throws his head back. His eyes open; he wants it to be true so badly, he forgets it's not reality.

But it is. Black eyes look down on him as intense as ever. Slim lips curl into a smirk. His hand fists in black tresses and he leans in. Even the nose, the fucking nose. "Hello, Professor Snape," he breathes then kisses him.

It takes him a moment, but then it gets to him, the impossibility of it all, and still he saw it. He jerks away, looks up.

It's Snape. It really is Snape.

"What the fuck?!" Harry grunts, shoves the man back. "What the fuck? Snape?" Harry stares, heart beating wildly. "Is this really you? Is this-" the reality of it reaches him then, the name he said, the kiss. "Bloody fucking hell! You fucking bastard!"

Leaning against the opposite wall, Snape just laughs, cold and cruel to Harry's ears at first, the sound so alien, he's never heard it before.

Harry leans on his knees, clutches at his wildly beating heart, afraid that it would simply give out. He's panting, probably having a heart attack but he has bigger issues at the moment to deal with. He looks up again, his eyes roam on the man leaning against the wall.

Long black hair, narrow face, beak, black eyes burning, thin lips twisting… except it's not hate in those black eyes, but something else, and the mouth too, there's no distasteful sneer, just a little smirk, smug and self-satisfied, yes, but not vile.

Harry takes a couple more deep breathes, then straightens. "Is it really you?"

"Yes," He states calmly.

Harry stares. "Are you real?" He whispers, thinking of the sound of invisible children. Stranger things have happened, after all.

Snape pushes himself away from the wall and steps closer, arches an eyebrow. "You felt me, didn't you?" There's the smug smile again.

"Fuck," Harry grunts, bending over again. He might be sick. He pushes his glasses up and rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, then his fingers drive through his hair. He grabs into it, takes another couple deep breaths, grunts, "Bloody hell," occasionally.

"Are you going to die on me, Potter?" Under the mirth there's actual worry in the silky drawl.

Harry looks up again. He lets his eyes take in the sight, for real this time. Snape stands there, head tilted slightly. He forces his body to stand straight, and edges closer, hand held out. The moment the tips of his fingers connect with the middle of the man's chest he jerks his hand away as if burned.

"You're real. It is you!" It's not a question anymore. "How?"

"It's a simple disguising charm. It makes my face –"

"Look forgettable as long as they don't know your name, yes, I know how they work." Harry nods, almost wincing for not noticing such an obvious thing. "That's not what I'm asking."

"There are many questions you could be asking now that start with how. How did I get here? How did I get on that stage? How-"

"How are you not dead?" Harry's voice breaks on the last word.

The silence becomes more tense.

Snape answers without any animosity, as if sensing the distress in Harry. "Albus left me a vial of phoenix tears."

Harry falls back against the wall, all strength leaving him. He tilts his head back, too, eyes closed and just breathes. "Seven years…" he grunts. Slowly the tingling sensation fills up his whole body. Snape's alive. He lets it happen, allows the time for his entire being to understand this. Well… some inches have already been aware, but the rest… Harry feels like he's coming alive. "For seven years I thought you dead." The relief is so clear in his voice it hurts him.

Snape says nothing to that, doesn't apologise, doesn't give any explanation or excuse.

There are footsteps outside, and a loud thud against the door.

"Hurry it up, Severus! Layla is waiting and we need the beers!"

"You can come in, Jim," he shouts back, his eyes still on Harry.

Only when the door opens and Jim saunters in saying, "Ooh, a threesome!" does Snape look at him, but only to roll his eyes. "I always knew you wanted a piece of this." Jim winks slapping his arse. He nods to Harry grinning, as he passes by and offers a cheery, "Hello, mate."

"Hi," Harry bobs his head.

"That flat thing? No, thank you." Snape grunts. "But this is approximately the fifth time you've offered, Jim. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

The man grabs two six packs and looks longingly at the bottle that's still on the ground, before he looks back at Snape.

"Oh Severus, sweet as that sounds, you know I love those soft and cu-" His gaze moves from him to Harry then back at the man. He's shaking his head as he murmurs, "Never mind… Who am I even talking to?"

Harry snorts and the brown eyes snap back at him. "Would you grab that for me?"

As Harry walks there to take the bottle of whiskey, he hears Jim's hushed question to Snape. It's not hard to hear since they are standing right next to each other.

"Who's this again?" He asks.

"An old… friend." Snape answers and Harry twirls around to stare at him.

"And is your… old friend staying with us tonight?" Jim's gaze shifts from Snape to Harry as he waits for the answer.

"That, I imagine, is up to my old friend to decide."

Harry carefully looks at the man. That wasn't a straight out get the hell away, far from it, in fact.

"Old friend's name is Harry," he grins as he turns to Jim. "And, he would like to stay, thank you."

Jim grins back and offers his hand for a fist bump. "Harry, pleasure to meet you. Now let's go! I hate cold burgers."

He storms out of the room, but Harry doesn't move. He just looks up at Snape to see if he changed his mind or would prefer Harry to bugger off and just didn't want to say that out loud in front of Jim.

But Snape just moves out of the way and motions with his hand. "After you."

o.O.o

"If you ask me to change

I don't know, if I can,

I'll always be who I am."

(Royal Deluxe – I'm a Wanted Man)

The pub is closed and the lights are turned off for the most part. Only the bar is still lit like a beacon, and exactly like moths, people are circling around a larger table there. They walk towards that way too.

Couple curious looks assess Harry, and Snape must notice them because he clears his throat and says, "Everyone, this is Harry. Potter, you know Layla," She only smirks at Harry as she takes the whiskey from his hand.

"I told you not to bring your own booze." She chides softly.

"Oh love, you know us, we'll drink you out of your liquor in a month." Jim laughs. "Besides, you got us covered with the food, so it's only fair."

"That's Keiko," Snape points at the Asian girl sitting and nursing her bottle of coke. "And the current love of her life, Dave." Harry says hi to both before Snape moves on. "And that's Will." He motions at the gangly bloke with the bushy hair.

He reaches out a hand that Harry accepts. There's a rainbow coloured crystal bracelet around his wrist with runes etched into them. Harry recognizes some of them, but not all. His sudden confusion must be written on his face, because Will smiles as he releases Harry's hand, and shows him the bracelet.

"Healing crystals. They are supposed to help me quit smoking."

Not a wizard then. "Do they work?" Harry asks cheerfully.

Will takes out a box of cigarettes, pulls one out and lights it with a set of matches he has fished out from his pocket. He inhales the smoke, lets out a pleased grunt. "Nope, still feels bloody good."

They sit down around the table, beers get passed along with chips and burgers, a large box of pizza is opened in the middle. There's a general noise, laughter, teasing words as they eat. Harry hears none of it.

He watches Snape, all but feasts his eyes on the man. It's not him, not the man he'd known for years, strict and demanding. This man laughs. He's funny. The banter he has with Jim gets the whole table wheezing. Bloody hell, he can't be the same man.

Once again, Harry's brain and heart are confused, at war with each other. Previously, his heart knew what his brain wasn't seeing. Now, his heart doesn't understand what his brain shows. How can seven years make such a difference? Can it? Did it make any difference at all, or maybe the mythical creature Harry had seen growing up, the monster under the bed, the black-clad vile professor never even existed?

Could it be that Snape, Severus Snape, is no mythical creature, no dungeon bat, not even a vampire in hiding, nothing special in fact, just a simple man. Not more but not even less than any average person? Could that be? Impossible, Harry's heart says. Probable, his brain answers. Look at him.

Look at me

Bloody, torn, betrayed, dying, a wizard.

Not this man at all. This man is laughing. He touches people, just general gestures, a slap with the back of his hand on Jim's thigh to get his attention, a squeeze on a shoulder as he laughs. Nothing inconspicuous, nothing out of the ordinary, the same touches Harry unconsciously does when having fun with his friends, what most humans do in fact, craving connection.

Harry's heart aches. For seven years he wanted to see Snape again. Apologize, get answers and ask questions. His obsession with the Half-Blood Prince never left, just changed, festered. It's not love; it can't be, how do you even fall in love with someone you've only got to know after he died? And yet, it feels like that. Like love and want, affection, adoration, all of those things.

But that man doesn't exist, apparently. Only this one. The one who eats pizza (Harry could never even imagine Snape eating pizza, let alone with his hands), who drinks beer (was he ever drunk? of course he was. did he drink at school? spend nights relaxing at the fire with a glass of whiskey or beer?) who laughs (Harry doesn't even have to think of that, he knows he's never seen Snape do that, but it suits him, lifts the frown from his face, erases years and overwrites a past edged into wrinkles that perhaps only Harry sees).

Harry drinks to ease the pain. Eats to fill the emptiness.

"So what do you do, Harry?" Layla asks. She's sitting next to Harry, so her voice drifts quietly not to gain attention, but Harry can feel Snape's gaze turn at him.

"I'm a… an inspector."

"And how do you know Severus?"

"He was…uhm…" He looks at the man, uncertain, not wanting to ruin what Snape has built. A tiny nod signals to him that he can tell the truth. "He was my professor at school."

"Oh that's right," Jim says on Snape's other side, apparently paying attention to the conversation, too. "You were a teacher."

"What did you teach?" Dave asks.

"Chemistry," Snape says with ease.

"Why did you leave?" Harry asks, knowing he's cornering the man. He has to answer, even if it's a lie.

"I thought that was obvious. I hated every second of it." Snape answers. "Don't tell me you enjoyed my classes."

Harry shrugs. He wants to say it wasn't that bad, but he knows what a gigantic lie that would be. "That doesn't mean you weren't good at it."

"I liked the subject, not the children and I never made a secret of that."

"Yeah," Harry huffs and hears a bitter chuckle come out. "That wasn't a secret. Only everything else."

Snape looks at him. The ease with which he has carried himself until now is gone and Harry sees for a second the man he used to be and Harry hates that. Hates that he's the one making the man's shoulder tense again, to make a frown mar a crevice between his eyebrows.

"Fuck," Harry murmurs, looks away. "Sorry, it's just… Sorry."

He excuses himself and stands. He feels his throat close up and he walks fast paced towards the entrance. He can only breathe again when fresh air hits his face. He leans against the wall outside, inhaling deeply.

"I kept one secret from you," Snape says behind him and the muscles in Harry's heart jerk. "My friendship with your mother. The rest was not on me. If you want to blame someone, blame Albus. He was the one pulling the strings. All of them. Not just yours, but mine, too."

"Do they know?"

"That I killed a man?" Snape shrugs. "They know I was in a war. They must have drawn their own conclusions because they have never asked."

Harry stares at him, sees two men. The alcohol is to blame partly, but there are two men, the old Snape, and this new, overlapping in some areas, but otherwise practically different entities. Which is the real one? Is it one or the other, or perhaps a little bit of both? Does the old one even exist?

"Who are you?" Harry asks softly.

Snape pointedly looks down on himself, then back at Harry. "Why don't you come back and find out?"

The door is kept open for him and as Harry pushes away from the wall, a hand on the middle of his back gently stirs him inside the pub.

Harry's eyes close at the sensation. Whoever he is, Harry still longs for him.

o.O.o

"Why did love put a knife in my heart?

Why did love open up my scars?"

(Dorothy – Gun in My Hand)

They end up staying way after midnight. Harry's having fun, the alcohol helps his mind relax and slip over the fact that he's having drinks with a man who ought to be dead and his band in a bar where invisible children giggle. Harry's life has never been normal, and this night isn't going to change that.

Layla eventually decides she needs to wake up relatively early and breaks up the impromptu party. Keiko and Dave say goodbye, she gives Harry a firm hug, too, then they leave arm in arm. Dave's about as drunk as Harry, but she was just having coke all night, so she leads him firmly.

Though Harry is drunk, he's not drunk enough to not realise how much he doesn't want this night to end. He doesn't want to let go yet of something he wished to hold for years now. He knows the moment he takes his eyes from Snape the man will be gone. Something tells him, the man would not be here next week, like a ghost he would disappear again. And he's just not ready for that.

He lingers, helps pack away. Layla insists she can do it on her own, Jim insists on helping, Harry just wants to stay near Snape.

"Come on," the man says, "They've got this."

Fingers twirl around Harry's wrist, fingers he's all too aware of. They are hot on his skin, burn him, mark him.

They go to the back, Snape grabs his jacket, lets Harry go to put it on. Harry feels a strange need to cling to the man again before he's gone, dust in the wind, history, again. He almost makes a move to grab him the moment Snape's hands are through the leather, but of course, he doesn't.

Snape goes to the back door. "Can you open it?"

"Sure," Harry says. He doesn't need to take his wand from the holster, even drunk he can manage a simple Alohomora. The lock clicks, and Snape slips out into the darkness.

Harry hesitates, then a hand appears in the open doorway.

He takes it wordlessly, whispers a Nox, and locks the door behind them.

They walk briskly, hand in hand. Harry should feel strange, but it's all a dream anyway, hazy and incomprehensive, impossible even. He doesn't let go; his hand is welded to Snape's fingers. As long as he holds on to him, Snape can't disappear, can he?

They cross empty streets and avenues that always stay busy even in the middle of the night. People walk around, some alone, others, like them, in pairs. Harry feels odd in the cool air of the spring night, attached to a stranger. He feels like he's just picked up a bloke in a pub and not someone he'd known since he was eleven.

He doesn't know where they are headed, he just follows Snape one step behind. He has a suspicion only, somewhere in the marrow of his bones, an idea he doesn't even dare think about, because the possibility of it becoming true is just too much.

Nothing could say clearer just how drunk Harry is, that when they stop at a two-storey building and Snape fishes around his pocket for his keys, Harry opens his mouth and asks, just a little breathlessly, "Where are we?"

Unfazed, Snape just answers, "My flat." Keys rattle in a hole, and Harry is pulled up on stairs. Keys rattle again, a door opens and he's standing inside Snape's place.

Snape closes the door, drops the keys in a small bowl on the counter nearby. He kicks off his boots. Black socks with little green angry cacti walk away. Snape is somewhere in the kitchen now, doing something. Cabinets open and close. The tap is opened, glass is filled with water.

Harry takes off his shoes and walks further in. It's like the first time he's seen Hogwarts. Stranger still.

There are no chains on the wall, no black curtains keeping the streetlights out, (thankfully) no specimens in glass jars either. There are white walls though with some grey accents, and no fireplace, but an elegant L-shaped couch, also charcoal grey, the floor is dark wood, so is the big table in the middle, chairs white, simple but comfortable looking. Wooden counters, telly, an old record player. A toaster.

One look around is enough to tell, this is not a wizard's home and something Harry has known all night but decided to ignore now solidifies in the pit of his stomach. Snape has left behind the Wizarding World, their world.

A glass of water with something bubbling inside it is pressed in his hand. "Drink it, so you won't get a headache tomorrow."

Harry doesn't question it, just drinks obediently, eyes on Snape as he moves in his element. His current element, which is not a potion ingredient cupboard, but a pretty neat flat in the middle of London.

Snape downs his water, eyes on Harry. "I'll go have a shower. Make yourself at home."

Before he could move, Harry asks quietly, "What am I doing in your flat, Snape?" He's drunk enough to ask it, but not drunk enough to hear the answer, whatever it will be.

"It's three in the morning and we're both drunk. Where else would you want to be?"

"Nowhere," Harry mumbles under his breath. "I could Apparate."

"Out of the question, Potter. You're going to splinch yourself."

Harry wouldn't. This isn't the first time he has to get home drunk. He's authorized to make Portkeys too, but Snape doesn't have to know that.

"So I'm… staying the night then?" Harry asks carefully.

"Up to you. Door's that way, just lock it if you leave."

Snape moves towards the bathroom, but Harry isn't ready to allow him out of sight yet. He steps up to the man and grabs his arm, holding him back. "Don't leave yet!"

He knows his eyes are pleading, when Snape says softly. "I won't be far. I'll leave the door slightly open." Harry forces his fingers to loosen so the man can slip away. "Don't step on the cat." Snape says as he steps over a black rug on the way.

He does leave the door ajar.

"Cat?" Harry asks and suddenly the rug is looking back at him with big yellow eyes. Like two shiny stars in the middle of a black hole. He walks closer and squats down. "Oh hi there."

The cat meows back, stretches. Harry pets it, and it seems friendly because it nuzzles Harry's hand. He picks it up, checks the red collar around the slim neck.

Mittens, it reads.

Harry straightens, leans against the bathroom door frame. "You have a cat called Mittens? You? Have a cat? Called Mittens?"

Snape gently pulls the bathroom door open with his heel while he's taking off his shirt. His jeans are unbuttoned, the blue edge of his briefs is showing slightly. There's a black thestral with flashing white eyes tattooed across his ribs.

Mittens purrs at the sight of his owner. So does Harry.

"I like that name."

"Yeah. Yeah, I like that, too. The name." Harry says and tears his eyes from Snape's body.

The tee lands in a laundry basket. "She likes to lie on my chest. Makes cold winters a lot more tolerable."

Harry can see that all too well in his mind's eyes. Snape lounging on the grey couch, watching telly, legs covered with a tartan blanket, black cat across his chest. Such an idyllic picture. All it's missing is Harry.

When Snape makes a move to push off his jeans, Harry turns around. He's drunk, he reminds himself, and drunk leads to stupid.

"So what am I supposed to do in your flat, while you're having a shower?" He asks louder now that the water is flowing.

"Keep petting Mittens, she likes that. Or snoop around. That's what you like doing, isn't it, Potter?"

Harry doesn't need the reminder. But he still walks around, curious. He finds old vinyls in a box, most of it is rock, but there are some classics as well. Harry even recognises a few that he had heard Snape sing at the bar. The corner next to the window is completely green, even the wall. For a moment he thinks at last he found a tiny piece of the man he used to know, but he's wrong. None of the greens and flowers are potion ingredients, or even magical.

A couple orchids in different colours, a few prayer plants, bromeliad, and kalanchoe, snake plant and aloe vera, dracaena, and many, many cacti, all common plants, Harry had seen in the Burrow, back at Privet Drive or at Hermione and Ron's place.

He finds only one picture on the bookshelf, which refuses to move. It's Snape, Layla, Jim and another man. There's something written on the frame and it takes Harry a moment to read the letters in the dim room.

See, old man, 40's not the end of the road. M.

He doesn't realise the shower has stopped until there's a dripping man next to him. Harry refuses to turn that way for almost five seconds, but that's as long as he can hold on.

Hair tied into a bun not to get damp, Snape stands next to him, lower half wrapped in a towel. Upper half naked. And wet. White thestral eyes seem to flash warningly at Harry not to stare at dark nipples and the birthmarks scattered all around. There's another tattoo of a feathery creature down below, covered mostly by a towel, showing only a tip of its wings across a hipbone.

Harry looks away, breathes out, feels his whole body heat up. He wants to reach out, but Mittens is still lazing in his arm. He ought to be thankful for that, but he's really not.

Snape leans against the bookshelf. "I got that from Mark. Layla's husband." He takes the picture from Harry, shower warm fingers drifting over his. "He was a friend of mine, from a long time ago."

It's weird that Snape offers information. It's weirder still that Harry wants to know about it all. He thirsts for knowledge of this man, every drip he needs it, wants it, craves it.

But he barely dares reach out.

"Was?"

"He died, a couple months after this picture was taken. Car accident. He was just about to turn forty, too. Guess, for some, it is the end of the road." His voice turns sombre, and he places the picture back onto the shelf. "Anyway, shower's all yours. Towel's on the sink."

Harry puts down the cat who escorts Snape into the bedroom, where the man dresses. Harry takes one more look at the picture, the smiling man he sees there. Two years after the war, Snape was smiling. Six years Harry has watched but saw none of that, only in memories that were not his own.

Were you always like this? Harry wants to ask. Did he just miss these moments, because they didn't happen in a classroom but in private, away from students? But he doesn't dare. Drunk he might be, but brave he is not.

He takes that shower, lathers himself with Snape's soap, some generic brand from Tesco's probably, advertised to have the scent of rain. It does smell nice, but nothing like anything found in nature. He dries himself with the towel, then he's facing a dilemma. He could walk back out there, wearing nothing but a towel or his old clothes. He could use magic and clean them, but for some reason, he feels that would be inappropriate. This is Snape's flat, with Snape's rules and if the man doesn't use magic, neither should Harry.

Snape solves the dilemma, when he hears the shower is turned off. A hand sneaks through the open door, holding out a couple clothes. "Didn't know what you needed."

Harry takes it, his glance shifts over the dark mark, now nothing more than a faint reminder of a man from a long, long time ago.

"Thanks," he says. He pulls on the shirt and shorts, but leaves the pyjama bottoms untouched, then walks back out.

The flat is dark, only a small golden light in the bedroom gives any indication as to where to go. Harry does hesitate, looks at the couch, and while there are decorative pillows on it as usual, nothing indicates that it should be used tonight.

He takes a deep breath. This is fine. Snape's alive and he's going to sleep next to him. He had both better and worse dreams than that. He knows he will wake up with a headache in his own bed tomorrow, but for now, he allows his alcohol numb mind to convince him that this is real.

He walks in the bedroom. The bed is at the opposite wall, under two windows. Snape's lying under the covers already, clearly just waiting for Harry to get in, too, so he can turn off the light.

Harry slips under the blanket, white with thin, marine blue stripes and some cat hair, and turns his back on Snape. The light is switched off, Snape shifts too, probably onto his side as well.

The end of the bed dips under lightweight feet. Harry feels a body, elegant and graceful fall over his legs then sees the dark shadow climb up on Snape's figure. "Hello Mittens. Did someone take your place?" Says that deep voice that haunts not just Harry's dreams but now his reality, too.

The cat meows indignantly, then settles somewhere on the other side, probably curled next to Snape's chest.

It's three in the morning and Harry's had the longest day ever, but he's sure he's not going to fall asleep. He doesn't feel tired for once, but more importantly falling asleep means eventually waking up, and he's certain if that happens, Snape won't be there anymore.

"Potter?" Comes a hesitant, soft whisper. "In the backroom… you didn't really want to stop even after you found out it was me, did you?"

Harry exhales through an open mouth so it won't be conspicuous, not that his drumming heartbeat can't be heard all across the city.

"No. I didn't." He says, because he's drunk and drunks are allowed to be honest and blame it on the booze the next day, open their hearts and just take it back when the night is gone and sunlight only brings back the shadows of doubt.

There's silence on the other side of the bed for a long moment, then, "Hm. Neither did I, really."

Harry's hand twists in the soft fabric of his pillow. "Why did we then?" He asks quietly.

Silence, again. This time longer. "Because you are not real." Snape says in the end, his voice muffled by pillow, cat, or blanket. "You are like a ghost from the past and the moment I close my eyes you are going to disappear."

Funny, how many ghosts there are in this room. Harry's heart aches. He swallows, turns around.

But are they afraid of the same thing for the same reason, too? Tentative as if every motion could destroy this fragile moment, Harry sneaks closer under the covers, until his ends and another begins. He reaches out then, his hand is drifting over Snape's hip where his shirt has ridden up slightly, then up on the side of his body. He shifts, slithers, softly touches, barely noticeable until his body lines up with Snape's back and his arm is around the man's midriff.

He buries his head into black tresses, inhales the scent of the soap that covers him too. "I'm no ghost. I'm as solid as it gets." He breathes against Snape's nape.

"I can feel that." Snape huffs, shifts slightly, presses back against Harry's erection, leg drifting until Harry hooks one over it.

"Sorry about that." Harry apologises with burning cheeks, but Snape's hand twines over his own and drags it down.

"Don't be." Snape whispers brushing their joined hands over his own hard cock, before he lifts it back up to his chest.

It's one of the few nights Harry has no problem falling asleep.

o.O.o

"Feel the death grip of fear wrap a claw around your petrified heart,

Ain't no way to make you stay…"

(Son Little – Oh Me Oh My)

Naturally, when Harry wakes the bed is empty. The body he has fallen asleep against is gone and so is its warmth, its scent. He's not even upset, he can't be, after all he knew all along it wasn't real, it couldn't have been. Snape's dead.

He turns on his back and something lets out an outraged meow when he accidentally lies on it.

Harry jumps up, puts on his glasses and looks at the lazing cat at his side of the bed. She's curling like a big black worm, rolling on her back, paws snatching at thin air. Harry rubs her belly and she murmurs pleased.

Harry doesn't have a cat. Snape had a cat in the dream.

"Mittens." He says the name and the cat bites him. Harry would jerk his hand away but at least ten claws have latched into his skin, so that would mean the cat comes too with his hand, and he's not sure he wants Mittens and her claws anywhere near his lap.

Harry looks around in the apartment that's clearly not his. When he hears the soft thuds of bare feet, he almost expects the singer with the ordinary face, the dust coloured hair and with eyes the colours of nothing, but no, it's Snape at the door.

Hair tousled from sleep, worn light grey pyjama bottoms riding low on his hips. "Morning," He stifles a yawn, then scratches his belly through his shirt. This one's white with the line Roses are red, I'm going to bed written over Snape's heart.

Harry falls for the man a bit more.

"Coffee or tea?"

"Coffee." Harry says, then lifts his cat covered hand. "And a crowbar."

Snape huffs, yawns again. "It's a trap. Don't ever scratch her tummy."

Harry knows he should get up. He should probably dress and get the hell away from here. He's not drunk anymore (there's no headache either) he really has no excuse to stay. Other than wanting to, of course.

He looks out the window behind the bed. Sun brings soft, bright light to London, still low enough on the sky not to be bothered by clouds. Streets are crowded with cars and people rushing to work and suddenly he realizes he should probably be at the Ministry already, but still he doesn't move.

Things might not have ended with waking up, but leaving this apartment, leaving Snape will surely mean he's not going to see the man ever again.

He remembers last night as clear as day, everything from the concert, the kiss, the panic, to the drinks later on. Still it's like a dream, seems just too otherworldly, too impossible, even with Mittens now curled once again against his leg.

He makes a move to get up when he sees Snape in the door with two mugs, but with a sleep roughened voice the man says softly, "Stay," then climbs back into bed himself handing one of the mugs to Harry.

He sits back against the headboard, and sips into his hot coffee. Harry does the same. He holds the mug with two hands, letting its warmth spread in his body. This ought to be uncomfortable or awkward like many mornings are after a night spent drinking and then in someone else's bed, but it's not.

It's comfortable. Snape's shoulder against him, Mittens' loud purring, the heart-warming scent of fresh coffee. Harry could get used to this way too easily, which is the exact reason why it's so hurtful. Because he can't. The moment he leaves this apartment, it's over.

"Are you still in touch with… the Order members?" Snape asks after a while. He's hesitant and quiet as if afraid to break the silence.

Harry has a suspicion where this is going. "A few. Kingsley's still Minister for Magic, so I see him often. I go visit Hagrid and Minerva whenever I can."

"How is she?"

"Good. Managed to keep a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for five years now, she's very proud of that. Gryffindor has a winning streak now, too, but she says winning doesn't feel the same as it used to."

Snape inhales deeply, then takes a sip. "Does she still hate me?"

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, because a knife is twisted in his heart and the pain is nearly unbearable.

"No one hates you, Snape, especially not her. She feels horrible for fighting you, for ever doubting you, for not having the same faith in you that Albus did." Harry says and he's not sure anymore that he's talking about Minerva McGonagall's feelings or his own. "She hates that she can't apologise to you, that you'll never know what your sacrifice meant to her. She hates that she can never tell you that you were the one who gave her strength to face the end. She hates that she can never properly thank you for everything you did throughout the years."

Snape says nothing, lifts the mug to his lips again instead. But his hand falls onto the bed between them. So does Harry's.

He feels warm fingers against the back of his hand and that desperate pain grows to heights Harry can't even comprehend anymore.

"She must realise that I had no other choice. I killed a man. I killed Albus Dumbledore. It was better for everyone if I just stayed dead."

Harry puts his hand over Snape's, entwines his own fingers with the long ones. "Not for everyone," he says and all but chokes on each word.

Snape says nothing, so the silence stretches like the fresh toffee they serve at the Honey Dukes. Harry's not worried though, he just enjoys his coffee and the gentle thumb that strokes his.

"When do you have to go?" Snape asks when their mugs are empty and no real reason remains to stay in bed.

"What time is it?"

"Around ten."

Harry huffs. "Then about three hours ago."

Snape nods, understanding, then looks at Harry. "Breakfast?" He offers, lips twitching.

Harry can't help the laughter. "Sure, why not."

They relocate to the kitchen, Snape makes eggs and bacon, while Harry cuts up some tomatoes and cucumbers. Bread is toasted, food is served onto plates and they sit down across each other at the big table.

"So you don't use any magic?"

"Not for a while now, no." Snape says as he bites into his toast. "If I wanted to leave, I had to put everything behind me."

"Do you do anything else besides singing?"

"I still help out Layla at the bar on weekends, but other than that, no. Don't need to. I lead a simple life and this covers the costs."

"Does it now?" Harry asks incredulously. "I tried getting a place near the Ministry, but the Muggles are insane with the pricing. So either singing in pubs across London pays really well, or..." Harry insinuates with a suspicious side glance at the man.

Snape smirks. "Let's just say the landlord was rude and I still used my wand when we signed the contract."

Harry laughs out. "You confounded him?"

"Given you're an Auror and I a wanted man, I might just ignore that question."

Harry shrugs. "I'm not on the job. And you're not a wanted man, Snape."

"Oh? Is murder not a punishable crime anymore?"

Harry just rolls his eyes. "It is. Except when you do it by command of the good guys."

Snape raises an eyebrow. "You are serious?"

"Yeah. Your name was cleared during the trials. I uhm… I showed them your memory. About Dumbledore telling you what to do so Draco doesn't have to. Just that. Mrs Malfoy talked about the Vow."

Snape seems shocked for a moment. He puts down his cutleries and leans back, looking blindly ahead. "All these years, looking over my shoulders, wearing that disguising charm… all for nothing, huh…"

"There's more actually." Harry says carefully, not sure how Snape's going to take the next bit of news. "You're not a wanted man, Snape, in fact you're a national hero. You've got an Order of Merlin, too, First Class."

Snape laughs out at first but then he realises Harry's not joking.

"A hero? Me? Oh, Potter, this has your name written all over it. Only you could turn me into a martyr."

"And Minerva, too." Harry admits bashfully.

"Unbelievable." Snape grunts, drives his fingers through his hair. He shakes his head as if judging the information to be nonsense, but slowly he seems to accept it, or at least he returns to eating.

There are a few moments of silence, which Harry uses to gather courage to ask Snape the question which has been nagging at the back of his head since he found out that the man on the stage is the same person as his old professor.

"Why singing?" He asks over his scrambled eggs.

"It's a long story."

"I have time."

"Do you?" Snape arches an eyebrow.

Harry should be at work for nearly four hours now. Still he nods. "I do. For this. For you."

There's something in those dark eyes that make Harry shiver. "It's all because of Mark really, the man you saw in the picture last night," he nods towards the bookshelf.

Harry doesn't have to turn around; he remembers his face, quite average but handsome, short haired, blue eyes, with a small stubble and a big smile.

"How did you meet him? He wasn't a wizard, was he?"

"I had a feeling he was brilliant with Legilimensy, at times, but no. He was a psychologist."

"Oh." Harry says.

"Indeed," Snape sighs, pushes his empty plate away. "Not exactly the occupation you would expect from the founder of Me and the Chaps, is it?"

Harry chuckles as Mittens jumps up into his lap and stretches out, then curls up into a fluffy black ball. He keeps watching Snape expectantly, waiting for the rest of the story. Surprisingly, Snape keeps talking.

"I was at a rather low point after your mother's death. I was riddled with guilt. My life has fallen apart, people who I called my friends once, wanted me dead. Albus only kept me alive because I was valuable, or might become it one day. I had to keep living at Hogwarts and was forced to teach, something I absolutely abhorred. And there was no way out. I wasn't even twenty, and I knew my life was over."

"What happened?"

"I became self-destructive." Snape shrugs as if it's nothing. "I didn't need drugs or alcohol to do it. I just didn't eat, didn't move if I didn't have to, didn't care at all. Apathy, depression, name it whatever you want. I was just waiting for the Dark Lord to return and end it all, since I didn't have the courage to do it myself. Minerva was having none of this shit, of course." He laughs fondly. "She dragged me out of Hogwarts, far away from those spoiled little brats who made my life a living hell. We went for hikes on the weekend, had lunches in random pubs across England. She did everything she could to make me see I'm not trapped in my life."

"Did she introduce you to Mark?"

"No. But I'm certain to this day that meeting him wasn't an accident either. I was waiting for Minerva, we were supposed to have an early lunch at a café here in London. Mark started talking to me out of the blue, and Minerva never showed up. Later on, she told me she was there but didn't want to interrupt. If I recall, her exact words were: we both need you to shag someone, Severus. It would do you a world of good." He smirks. He stands up then, takes the plates and walks to the sink.

Harry hoists the cat in his arms and follows. He is hesitant to ask but too curious not to. "So you and Mark…?"

"God, never." Snape grunts with distaste. "He wasn't gay, met Layla not long after having met me. But we talked a lot, met during the weekends. He helped me overcome my grief as best he could, given I couldn't tell him much more just that I have lost my friend and that I was responsible for it. Or so I felt. We lost touch a while ago, but when I needed him the most again, he was there once more. I'll always be grateful for that, for him and for Layla, too."

"Why did you two have a fallout?"

Snape hesitates to answer for the first time in practically two days. "Many issues were happening at the time." Is all he says.

There's something in his voice that makes Harry feel cold, all of a sudden. He can read between the lines, no matter how much Snape would prefer he didn't. "You mean me. Me coming to school was the reason you lost touch."

Snape turns back, foam dripping from his hands. "No." He states. "Or… not just. We could all feel that something was gathering. There were signs. Back then, I may have held you responsible for pulling me back into my reality, but in truth it was only I who was to blame. And maybe the Dark Lord… a bit." One side of his mouth curves up, before he turns back to finish the dishes, then he goes on. "Those seven years… I hated them, but it was at least somewhat better now. The cogs were in motion, you were there at last. Keeping you alive became my sole priority, my purpose. You gave me reason to keep going."

Harry puts the cat down and steps closer. He's not sure what he wants to do, his muscles move on their own. He feels the demand in every drop of his blood, the ache in his limbs to hold, the craving in his skin to feel. He's right behind Snape the next moment, hands flat on the man's back. He presses his forehead against Snape's nape, mouth against his spine between his shoulder blades. He's not brave enough to pull the man into an embrace, but perhaps, this is enough.

Snape's motions still, his foamy hands settle on the edge of the sink. Harry feels the tension leave his body; muscles relax under his hand.

"What is this?" Snape asks softly. "An apology? You're the last person who should do that, Potter."

It's as far from an apology as it can be. Is there even a word for it? A hug is sweet, an embrace warm, this is longing defined with motions instead of feelings, desire carved into muscles, aching need edged into fingertips.

"Potter…"

Harry can't decide what to say, so he says it all. "I'm sorry. Thank you. Missed you. Forgive me." The words rush out of him, and he speaks them in a broken tone into sharp shoulder blades.

Snape turns around, wet hands settle on Harry's back, he feels them soak through his thin shirt. Tight hold, unrelenting pulls him against the warm body. "Don't…"

"Yes," Harry firmly states, head against Snape's chest, ears listening to the wild drumming of the man's heart, healthy, strong, animated, even if the rhythm is a bit elevated right now. "Yes."

Harry feels Snape's hot breath against his scalp. Long nose buried in his messy hair inhales, then softer than a whisper, Snape says, "Me, too."

When they pull away, Harry can't raise his gaze and look up at the man, afraid of what he would do. Instead he turns away, starts to inspect small jars of spices and herbs. He hears a huff from behind, then Snape returns to the dishes and Harry leans against the counter again, eyes on the man's back.

"Then you died." Harry says simply, wanting to know the rest of the story. "You left…" Me. "…us."

"I did." Snape admits. "After my… death, I needed a place to lie low for a while. So I went back to Mark and Layla. He helped me out before, and it wasn't different now either. I started working at the pub, staying behind the bar or helping out in the kitchen. That's when he realised I had a good voice. I tend to sing or hum when I work, you see. It's a habit I formed during brewing. Chanting a magic spell or singing an old rock ballad – there's really not much difference. He heard me one night, told me I should jump in, join the band."

"And you said yes? Just like that?" Harry asks, gaping.

"Of course, I didn't. I wasn't just about to put myself out there in front of strangers and do something I've never done in my life."

"And yet…" Harry waves his hand at the man. "Here we are."

"Mark was the Me, in Me and the Chaps. He founded the band with Jim ten or so years ago, Will came slightly later on. Keiko is the freshest member; she came after me. It was always meant just a side thing, a garage band, nothing more, but for them it was important. When Mark died, it was all over in one night. Or so we all believed."

"Jim convinced you?"

He shakes his head. "Layla. She said, I had the voice for it and it would have been a shame not to use it. I still said no, or course. I wasn't interested in singing. But she said I owed it to Mark to at least give it a try, which was true. Mark saved my life two times, if I could do something to keep his band alive for a little longer… why not?"

"How very Slytherin of her." Harry notes with a smirk.

"Yes, one of the reasons why we are such good friends. I agreed to one show. This was five years ago."

"And Mark's band is still playing." Harry smiles warmly.

"But enough of my past," Snape says, as the sink gurgles when Snape closes the tap. He takes a towel and starts drying the plates, putting them away in their correct places. "What about you, Potter? How has the Chosen One fared in the last seven years?"

Harry shrugs, even though Snape won't see it. "Well enough, I guess. Finished my N.E.W.T.s after the war, went straight to Auror Academy. Finished that and now I'm an Auror."

"Oh yes, the pride and pleasure you have for your profession all but overflows in your tone." Snape jests over his shoulder. "That bad, is it?"

"Absolutely horrible." Harry admits. "I hate every minute of it, I'm not even over-exaggerating. I wish someone told me how it was going to be at the beginning. We have to fill out as many papers every day as we cast spells. More, actually, because we have to fill out papers about the spells we cast, too. It's a nightmare, honestly."

"Why are you still there then?"

"I don't know. Ron left already." Harry says. "But it's the only thing I'm good at."

Snape finishes with packing away, wipes his hand on the towel. "You can help the Wizarding World in different ways, you know, not just by catching dark wizards." He says as he faces Harry again. He motions towards the couch and they go sit there.

Harry can't really comprehend that he's spending Friday morning with Snape sitting on a couch still in their jammies.

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"Healing, for one. Wandmaking. Politics. Teaching children how to use magic. You were good at that weren't you?"

Harry laughs. "How the hell do you even know about that?"

"Oh please, you think Albus didn't know what you were up to? What did you call yourself? Something grandiose and imposing, wasn't it?"

Harry turns crimson but answers looking straight into black eyes, unashamed. "Dumbledore's Army, and I'll have you know we were good."

"Don't I know. Those sneaky little…" He bites the end of the sentence given he's talking about Harry's friends, and only says, "They made my last year there uncharacteristically irritating."

"Sorry about that." Harry says, but Snape waves his apology away.

"What about Granger and Weasley? Well, I hope?"

"Yeah, great actually. Hermione's pregnant. Again. Supposed to be a boy this time, which is only bad news for my little Rosie. She really wanted another girl to play with."

"Such tragedies at her young age already, terrible." Snape smiles. "How old is she?"

"Will be four this year. Clever little witch, just like her mom."

"And who is the lucky witch, her mother?"

The question confuses Harry for a moment, but then Snape looks away and it's all so clear suddenly. "Oh no, she's not mine. Ron and Hermione's. Rose was the first, and now little Hugo's on the way. I'm her godfather."

"I see," Snape draws. "So then… Mr Malfoy?"

He looks up, and inquisitorially quirked eyebrows just barely signal his interest in the topic.

"Again, no." Harry grunts trying really hard not to remember that incident. "That evening was a mistake."

"I couldn't help but notice you left with him rather early that night. Was that the mistake, or coming to the pub in the first place?"

"Coming to the pub with Malfoy. And also leaving with him." Harry sighs, decides to say a little more, after all, Snape's been pretty honest about his past, too. "I haven't really been good with relationships. There was Ginny at first, took us a while to figure out what was the problem there. Nothing serious after her, Malfoy, too, was just…" A substitute for you. "Well, you know."

"I imagine I should be glad you two managed to move beyond your earlier animosity." Snape just sighs.

"And? Aren't you?"

Snape turns away, looks towards the window instead of Harry. "I want to crush that little cockroach with the heel of my boots."

The possessiveness in Snape's tone makes Harry blush, but he covers it with a chuckle and says quietly, "Nothing happened."

"Which is why I'm sitting here, instead of crushing cockroaches." He frowns at the window then slowly gets up. "I'm either having a pest problem, or you got a letter, Mr Potter."

He walks to the window and opens it. A little owl flies right in. Mittens lifts her head from Harry's lap, her eyes becoming gigantic yellow saucers for a moment, then she's hunting already. Just as she would launch at the bird Snape snatches her out of the air and holds her against his chest.

"That's not yours," Snape chides the cat softly.

The bird lands on Harry's shoulder, squawks at the cat tauntingly while Harry gets the little rolled up parchment from its leg, then she's back in the air, and out the window. Snape puts the cat back on the couch, then goes to close the window before Mittens could follow the messenger.

Harry rolls out the parchment, though he has a suspicion where it's from.

Where the hell are you, Harry? We've got a new case. Meet me at the office in fifteen minutes.

Robards.

"Shit, I got to go." Harry says, still he doesn't get up from the couch. He leans on his knees and looks up at Snape.

The man is still at the window, looking out onto the street, hugging himself. It's a lot cloudier now, and probably about to rain.

Harry wishes he had the bravery to stand up and walk there, to put a hand on those shoulders and make Snape look at him. To brush his hand against his cheeks and kiss him again. But he doesn't.

Whatever little bubble they had managed to create for themselves it has burst. Reality sinks in for him, but for Snape too. Who they were, who they are, the two different worlds they live in now. They both knew the time would come when they had to wake up, and now it's here.

Slowly, Harry gets up and moves to the bathroom to get himself ready. He's never in his life dressed as slowly as now. He still has to go home to grab a set of robes for work and he's never going to make it there in time, but he doesn't care.

He doesn't want to leave behind this place with Mittens and the plants, with the many tiny cacti, the fresh coffee and Snape. They won't meet again. They shouldn't. Even if Harry comes to another concert, it wouldn't be like this ever again. But he won't come, because it's too painful. He would long for these mornings for the rest of his life.

Snape's still there by the window, when Harry comes back. He only looks up when Harry heads towards the door.

"No goodbye?" He asks, almost tonelessly.

Harry steps into his shoes and walks back into the living room, careful not to step on either carpet or cat.

"You left without that, too, didn't you?" Harry says and his voice comes out just a little too emotional and reproachful. "Not a bye, or a see you again. Just blood."

"There was a goodbye," Snape tells him softly as his hand comes up to cup Harry's face.

Harry nuzzles the hand like Mittens, presses against the warm touch, and his eyes close. Why is this too much to ask for? Hasn't he done enough in life? Didn't he die to save the world, yet he cannot even have this little slice of happiness for longer than a minute.

"Look at me," Snape says quietly.

There's the goodbye again, a farewell that's supposed to last forever.

Harry covers the hand with his own, turns his head and kisses Snape's palm. He looks up only then, straight into black eyes that has haunted him for seven years.

There's no blood this time, but the pain is still greater than ever. He got what he wanted and now he's going to lose it again.

"Goodbye, Severus," he says, heart screaming in agony and steps away.

Snape's hand fists as it falls to the man's side. He frowns, his eyes close for a moment.

Harry's about the turn on his heels, when a hand shoots out and grasps his arm. "Harry, wait!"

Eager, heartbeat a wild mess, he says, "Yes?"

"Layla's birthday is tomorrow." Snape tells him, swallows. "The band's going to play for her. If you… do you –"

"Yes." Harry says right away. "When?"

"At eight. There will be a small party after, mostly the people you've already met."

Harry can't get the giddy smile off his face. "I'll be there."

"Good," Snape nods, then lets him go. There's a little smile tugging on his lips as he says, "Go, now. The wizarding world needs its hero."

"See you tomorrow, Severus." Harry says, squeezes the man's hand then disappears.

o.O.o

"I hold my head low

I let my heart show

I don't worry no more

Set me free..."

(Blues Saraceno - Rock 'N' Roll Girlfriend)

Harry works till late on Friday and even has to go back on Saturday morning to finish some paperwork, but come lunchtime he can't sit still anyway, so he apparates away to have something to eat with Ron and Hermione.

Ron's standing in the kitchen, stirring some sauce when he walks into their flat. Hermione is setting the table. They talk and he doesn't say anything about last night, but they still notice something is off.

"What put you in such a chipper mood?" Ron asks, taking the sauce to the table.

Harry's not sure how much to say just yet, but he doesn't want to lie either. "Met someone yesterday."

"Oh Harry, that's great," Hermione beams.

"Details," Ron says as he sits down. "What do we know about him?"

"He's… a singer."

"That's cool. Anything we might have heard?"

"It's a Muggle band."

"Oh really?" She perks up. "He's a Muggle?"

Harry doesn't quite know how to answer that since he used to be a wizard isn't really a proper answer, but then Ron swallows the food in his mouth and asks, "Did you sleep with him?"

"No," Harry answers quickly, letting them decide what it was a reply to.

They get preoccupied with food, so there's a lull in the conversation, but once they are done eating, Ron keeps asking questions and in the end Harry finds himself saying, "Actually, they are going to have a concert tonight."

"Awesome, are you going? Can I come?" Ron asks. "Hermione's working tonight anyway and it's been ages since I've heard live music."

Harry's hesitant at first, afraid of what Snape might think if he showed up there with Ron.

"It's going to be a birthday thing…" He says slowly.

"Oh, I don't want to stay for the party, just for the concert. C'mon Harry, it'll be fun. Let me check out your bloke. We know you can have a terrible taste in men sometimes, at least you get a second opinion."

Harry's not sure he needs that second opinion, especially not from Ron. Yet he finds himself, slowly nodding. "Sure, why not. Just don't make a scene."

"When do I ever?" Ron grins as he levitates in the pudding.

They stop by Harry's place where he changes, and they Apparate from there to a nearby dark alley. Harry leads Ron towards the pub. When they walk down the stairs, they find Devil's Trap more crowded than ever probably. It's the weekend, and Harry has only come here during weekdays, so it makes sense, still it's almost weird to see so many people here.

Layla spots him and waves them to come closer.

"How the hell did you even find this place?" Ron asks as they head towards the bar.

"Malfoy and I came in here when we…"

"Don't remind me," Ron shudders, shaking his head slightly. "You're my best mate, Harry, and I'd die for you, but if you hook up with Malfoy, we're done." He laughs, nudging Harry with his elbow.

Harry really doesn't want to think about what Ron might say to hooking up with Snape, although for now, Harry's not even sure that's an option still. Things are just way too fragile in that department.

Layla comes out from behind the bar and hugs Harry. "Good to see you back so soon," She smirks as she pulls away. "Knew you were going to soften him."

"I haven't, not yet." Harry smiles. "Happy birthday," He says, handing her a little wrapped box.

"Ah, you're too sweet, Harry." She answers, sinking it into the pocket of her apron, then looks at Ron.

Harry quickly introduces them, then asks, "The band's still in the back?"

She flashes him another smirk, then nods. "They're all set up, you have about five minutes. C'mon, Ron. First round's on me. What's your poison?"

As Harry is walking away, he still hears Ron's answer. "Dragon Claw, but I doubt you have that, so how about some Guinness?"

Harry presses through the crowd then slips in the same door he was dragged through two days ago. He finds the changing room fairly quickly. The door's open, but he still knocks. "Hey guys," he calls, leaning against the door.

"Hi, Harry!" Keiko says and comes up to give him a hug. "Have you seen Dave?"

"Not yet, there's quite a crowd out there."

"Yeah, Saturdays be like that. He's reserving a table in the front." She smiles then turns back to peak over her own shoulder, before looking at Harry again. "Severus may have mentioned he's expecting someone."

"Did he now?" Harry asks back, his smile widening. He looks over the girl's shoulder, too, his eyes meeting black.

She pats his cheek gently, whispers, "See you out there, Romeo," then rushes past him, banging on a door outside the corridor. Her voice carries back easily, especially since she's shouting. "Jesus Will, hurry the fuck up, you're not the only one needing to stress-pee before a show."

Snape rolls his eyes and Harry chuckles. He walks closer to the man, who's leaning against a desk, holding his glass of whiskey. Jim's sitting right next to him on a chair, they must have been talking before Harry came.

"Hey Jim. You good?" Harry asks from the wildly grinning Muggle whose eyes are shifting between Harry and Snape as if he'd be watching a tennis game.

"Yeah, swell, all hyped and –"

Suddenly the chair he's sitting on starts to move and for a single moment Harry thinks it's magic, but no, Snape's pushing it away with his feet. "Doesn't your guitar need tuning?" He asks from the man, eyes on Harry though.

"All tuned." Jim grins as he scratches his bearded chin.

"Surely something needs your attention." Snape insinuates.

"Nope, all good to go." Jim nods, pretending not to get the hint. Harry can't hold back his grin either anymore.

"Get out, Jim," Snape says in a soft voice, but Harry knows this tone. There won't be any resistance.

And just so, Jim stands, laughing. "Good to see you again, Harry," he says, lapping his shoulder as he leaves. "Don't let him be late." He winks.

"I won't." Harry promises.

Snape follows Jim with his eyes and then Harry hears the door close. Being alone in this room again makes Harry tense with some sort of apprehension. Then Snape stands up, pulls himself to his full height. Electricity cracks in the base of Harry's spine and he has to exhale slowly, as his eyes roam upon the man again.

"You came," Snape says quietly. He finishes his drink, puts the glass down on the table.

"Of course, I did." Harry smiles timidly.

Snape steps a bit closer, tilts his head to the right, just a bit. His gaze drops, looks over Harry once, then again. "You look good."

He's not wearing anything special. Dark grey jeans, and black shirt, with a jacket. Snape's casual look is a feast to Harry's eyes, too. After fluttering robes it's good to see the man in tight black jeans and slim black shirt, too. This one has a rainbow in the middle and the text under it says, EVERYTHING SUCKS with all capital letters.

"So do you." Harry says, then clears his throat. There was a reason he came back here. "Listen, I uhm…" The previous intense moment evaporates and he feels tension rolling off Snape. "I'm not here alone." The man steps back, so Harry goes on quickly to explain. "Ron's here. I mentioned to him the concert and he really wanted to come. I didn't tell him who you are. It… it's fine, right? We can go if –"

"No." Snape says, shakes his head. "There's no need for you to leave." There's an evil gleam in his eyes though, as he adds, "But please allow me to introduce myself after the show."

Harry laughs. "With absolute pleasure."

He finds himself trapped in that intense gaze again, sinking deeper and deeper into blackness. He moves closer, steps right up to Snape, who doesn't back away. Harry leans up and presses a soft kiss on the man's cheek, then all but whispers, "Good luck, Severus."

Snape shivers, nuzzles Harry lightly, and he feels the need shimmer in the pit of his stomach. But the next moment, there's a knock on the door and they pull away as if caught.

Jim opens the door slightly, doesn't even look in, just says, "We're starting, guys, c'mon."

"I'll be right there," Snape calls, but doesn't make a move to leave.

Harry does though, turns around and steps towards the door, not trusting himself so close to the man.

A hand on his shoulder stops him however. "Potter, I'm…" Snape starts, but then cuts himself off suddenly, swallows. "I'm sure Layla is very glad you came."

Harry turns back enough to look into black eyes. "So am I."

Once back out, Harry picks up Ron at the bar and they join Dave in the first row. The band comes on stage, Severus is there too, and Harry glances at Ron to see if the disguising charm works, and it seems it does because soon Ron turns to him with a questioning gaze.

"Him?" He nods at Snape who takes his place by the mic, adjusting the height, while the band settles.

"Him." Harry nods with a soft smile. Black eyes meet his, and he feels a strange fluttering in his belly.

"Mate, I knew you needed that second opinion." He huffs. "He's so… he looks so… I don't know… average."

Harry laughs. "Trust me, Ron, there's not an inch on that man that's average."

Blue eyes widen. "Oh, you mean…" He boxes into Harry's shoulder and grins. "Good for you, mate."

Harry feels his cheeks heat up straight away. "That's not what I meant!" He grunts under his breath as Layla joins them and sits on his other side. "We haven't… you know."

Ron grins, then winks. "Maybe tonight."

Not that the idea hasn't crossed Harry's mind yet, he still sinks lower in his chair, before he turns towards Layla instead. "Taking a break?"

"Yeah, Jim said I need to be seated for the first song." Layla shrugs. "I bet he's up to something. He's been plotting for a while behind my back."

On the stage, Jim walks up to the mic, so the pub settles.

"Hello everyone, I'm sure you all know who we are, but in case you missed it, you're listening to Me and the Chaps, playing you some good old covers."

Ron sniggers and turns to Harry. "The band's called Me and the Chaps?" He asks in a low voice.

"Yeah," Harry nods.

"Oh fucking brilliant," He grins. "I love them already."

"Today is a bit special." Jim says. "Layla, the owner of this fine establishment is celebrating her birthday. I won't say numbers, or she might kick me out –"

"You bet I will!" Layla cries and a small laughter rolls around the room.

Harry hears again the eerie soft giggle of children and sees Ron looking around curiously, trying to locate where the sound is coming from.

"Uhh, Harry…?" He says under his breath.

"Yeah, forgot to tell you. Place is haunted."

Ron's face brightens. "Brilliant."

"But it's a nice round number, worth celebrating." Jim continues, unfazed, but grinning, too. "Me and the Chaps can still exist thanks to her, she lets us play here, regardless whether you want us here or not, she allows us to raid her booze, stuffs us with food. She takes care of us. She's supported the band since we formed. She is the one holding our little family together even through the greatest of losses."

Harry can tell she's touched by the words. She tries to hide it, making faces, and rolling her eyes, but even in the dim pub, Harry can tell her eyes are glimmering just a tad too much.

"You know we never do originals and we know you don't want us to, but maybe this once, you'll forgive us." Jim says. The crowd claps and he moves back to his place. The members of the band look around each other, then Snape gives a final nod.

Suddenly there's the sound of chains coming from the side followed by soft thuds of drum, like heartbeat.

"What are they doing there?" Layla hisses and Harry's surprised she sees the same thing Harry does.

Two blond girls step on the stage, the chain clunking rhythmically in their tiny hands. Their pure white dress seems to flow in the air, long hair shines under the spotlight like glory. They look adorable and pure up there in front of a black curtain, surrounded by black and silver instruments. Especially as they stop next to Severus, reaching barely to his waist.

"Wait, you see them?" Harry asks Layla, surprised.

"Oh, I wish I hadn't right now!" She grits through her teeth. "Those are my daughters. And they have no place up on that stage!"

Wait, they're real? is almost out of Harry's mouth but then Severus starts singing and the thought is long gone. His velvet voice, deep like a river washes over Harry, carries across the room and everyone seems to freeze. People in the middle of their sentences stop talking, glasses lifted to mouths halt mid-air. All eyes turn up on the stage.

Snape has the same presence up there, as he had back at school. He is commanding attention; one can't help but look at him when he opens his mouth.

"Whoa, Harry…" Ron grunts, eyes wide.

It's a slow song, filled with emotion, sadness and pain. It's not at all a happy little birthday song but something truly coming from the heart. Soulful, heavy and gritty, and after the first verse, the first line even, Harry knows who has written the lyrics.

It's Snape. Every line, every letter. His past, his remorse, his acceptance of death and his rebirth, it's all in there. Harry has the context to truly understand the verses, but as he looks around their table he realises, no one needs to know what Snape's been through to feel emotions behind the song. Layla is crying, there are tears on her face, but she's still smiling happily. Ron and Dave are just staring gobsmacked at Snape and the others.

And Harry understands now why this Snape is so different, why he's not filled with rage and hate. He's accepted here, his past is rewritten, he had a chance to start over in a place no one knew him and, heart aching, Harry cannot help but wonder whether Snape would have grown into this man sooner if his childhood had not been filled with so much darkness and suffering.

He does have a great voice, but it's more than that. It digs into Harry's heart, clutches it and twists it, makes him feel everything the man has gone through. But underneath that all, like the steady rhythm of the drum, the soft chime of chains, there's hope too; that it will get better, that it is better.

There's a sudden whirlwind of noise, electric guitar and drums, loud, passionate. Snape has his eyes closed as he listens to the harmonic chaos, feet gently beating the rhythm. Music is like therapy and singing is the man's outlet, something he's never had. Every song cures him a little, invisible scars heal deep under ivory skin, and they heal Harry, too.

The two little girls look up at Snape, he smiles, nods. Then the girls start singing.

Layla gasps, it's almost a sob, her hand shooting out and grasping Harry's almost painfully. They have beautiful voices too, angelic, soft, not yet matured fully; unearthly like their laughter. They are at different ages, one maybe ten or eleven, the other younger, around six. With their pristine white dresses, they look so innocent as they sing the sad choir.

Still holding on to Harry, Layla leans forward, hides her face behind her other hand as she cries. Harry nudges her, then when she doesn't resist, he pulls her into a tight hug.

"They haven't…" She sobs, choking in her tears. "They haven't sung since Mark died." She explains.

Gently patting her head, Harry looks up at the stage. Snape's has entered in again, his deep tenor a rumbling undertone to the girls' higher voice, the distant thunder to the soft tweets of birds. The others join in too, Will and Jim and Keiko, the whole band sings for her and she pulls away, crying still but laughing now as she watches her friends.

The pub joins, led by Ron, beating the bass on the table, kicking their feet on the ground. The band is smiling now too, looking at the others over instruments. When the song ends, there's a sudden silence, then the whole crowd erupts in cheers. Ron's joyful shove almost pushes Harry off his chair.

"Harry, they're bloody amazing!" He cries, clapping hard.

"Yeah," Harry says, eyes on Snape.

With a swift motion, the man brushes his long hair back, out of his sweaty forehead, then looks around the members, pleased. The girls give him a quick hug then run off the stage and straight to their mother.

Layla kneels on the ground as they crush against her, hugs them tight. They are all crying, the girls probably only because their mother does too.

"Happy birthday, Layla," Jim calls on the stage, lifts his drink and so does everyone in the pub.

The band returns to playing their usual songs and Ron turns to Harry with a slight frown as if concentrating.

"Did you say he was a wizard? He sounds so familiar…"

Not wanting to ruin the surprise, Harry just smiles. "Just enjoy the music, Ron. I'll tell you all about him later."

Ron shrugs, attention already back up at the stage, his head bobbing according to the rhythm. Snape must see him enjoying himself, because his lips tug up into a smug smile and he almost messes up his lines.

Layla leaves, but the children stay, looking wide eyed at the adults on stage. Harry leans closer to the younger one who is sitting right next to him and says smiling, "You were great up there."

"Thanks," she beams. "It was fun singing with Uncle Jimmy." She waves at the stage wildly and Jim waves back at her. "Daddy used to sing a lot and we always sang with him."

"Yes, I heard how great he was." Harry notes with a smile.

She nods. The older leans closer. "He died five years ago," she informs Harry. "Did you know him?"

"No, didn't have the pleasure. I'm a friend of Severus'," Harry tells them then holds out a hand. "My name's Harry."

"I'm Hailey," Says the smaller, shaking hands enthusiastically with Harry.

"And I'm Emilia, but everyone just calls me Em." She goes for a fist bump instead of a shake.

She's the tougher one, Harry can tell right away. There's something in her eyes, that says she's lived through more than her young age suggests. Something Harry sees all too often in the Wizarding World even now. Maybe it's the death of her father, but something suggests, there's even more.

"Severus has never brought a friend here before." Em says suggestively, then leans over her sister to whisper, "Are you his boyfriend?"

Harry feels himself blush. "Well, I don't know about that…"

Emilia looks at Hailey with eyes almost comically wide and suggestive and they both giggle. "That wasn't a no." She grins at Harry's confused reaction.

Layla returns then, bringing another round of beer for the table and apple juice in fancy tall glasses for the children. When she notices Harry talking to the girls, she comes there.

"Don't let their angel look mislead you. They are both little devils."

The girls chuckle loudly, it's the same sound Harry has been hearing during his previous visits.

"I thought I was going mad." He tells Layla. "I could swear I heard children here somewhere, but they never showed up."

"Yeah, these two just don't understand the concept of bedtime." She huffs. "We live upstairs. I can keep an eye on them better this way."

After an hour the concert ends, and Layla reminds everyone of the early close. Strangers leave wishing her happy birthday, the band receives some congratulations for their performance. While they pack away, Ron and Harry help Layla clean up the place as best they can. Harry catches a few sneaky charms Ron casts when no one's paying attention, and he's tempted to do the same.

Layla is surprised how fast they finish up with everything. Harry and Ron just share a grin, but then suddenly Ron's pulled away by two small hands. Harry has a certain admiration towards Ron when he assures the kids that he's wanted nothing else all night just to play darts with them.

"He's a dad?" Layla asks, looking after the trio.

"Yeah, has a four-year-old. Next one on the way."

"Good for him," she smiles. "Children are a blessing." She wipes off the counter, grabs a few beers from the fridge, a bottle of whiskey, some nuts and crisps. Harry helps her carry them all to the big table.

She seems strangely deep in thought as she stops for a moment and looks around the empty pub.

"Are you okay, Layla?" Harry asks, concerned.

"Yeah," she smiles. "Yeah, kid. All's good."

"I know that expression." Harry says. "It means something is not good, you just don't want to talk about it. But it's fine." He shrugs. "But I'm here, if you want to chat."

"Oh sweetie." She smiles, ruffles up Harry's hair. There's something motherly in her. She's not like Molly, more like a cooler older sister, although she should be around the same age as Snape, maybe a bit younger. She motions towards the table and they sit down.

"Mark was a wonderful dad. He gave the girls everything. Sometimes I feel like no one can live up to that, especially not me."

"I'm sure you're a lovely mother." Harry tells her. "The girls love you, that's clear. If tonight's show was anything to go by, I'd say the band adores you just as much, Severus said so himself, if maybe with different words."

She lifts a finger and smirks shrewdly. "Don't think I'm not noticing that you're calling him that. You weren't Potter either when he told me he invited you."

Harry looks away to hide his blush. "Yeah well. It's a work in progress."

"Work for it hard, if you need to. He's worth it. You won't find a man more loyal than Severus."

Harry nods, "I know. And I also know you're trying to change the subject." He smirks. "It won't work. So, what's up?"

Layla laughs, but her expression changes rapidly.

Harry frowns. "There is something wrong, isn't there?"

"Money." She shrugs. "Em was in the accident with Mark. She survived it, thank god, but her liver got damaged. Its function can be maintained with medication, but eventually she's going to need a liver transplant. Her pills, the hospital visits and all that, it's a lot of money, but what's really bad is she has some sort of autoimmune reaction, too, and as long as that keeps happening, she can't even get on the list." She sighs. "We're running low. I'll have to sell the pub. I haven't told the band yet. No one knows. I don't know how to tell them. Mark started the band here; this is their place as much as mine."

"I can give you money." Harry offers straight away.

"You're sweet, but I can't accept it. We'll be fine once I sell. We'll move back to my mom, get some office job. We'll manage. I'm more worried about the chaps." She smiles, nodding towards the band members who just came in. "Don't tell them anything, yet." She asks and stands. "I'll do it later. Let them enjoy tonight." She walks to Jim, greats him with a warm hug.

Harry looks up, eyes following the two blond girls dashing for Jim, too. Emilia is the fastest, so he grabs her first, lifts her up, twirls her around a few times then comes Hailey. Harry sees another awkward couple, the sight making him grin.

Ron's talking to Snape, animatedly waving his long arms towards the stage. It's obvious that he's praising the show, Snape's voice, everything. His enthusiasm is written all across his face. He doesn't know yet. Snape has a little curl to his lips, his eyes are glinting. He holds his hand out, Ron takes it, says his name, then so does Severus.

The effect is immediate. Ron's eyes go comically wide, his jaw drops. He doesn't jerk away, if anything his hand tenses around Snape's. Harry can read his lips easily, Ron's reaction not much different than his own initial shock.

You? Ron mouths and finally lets go of Snape. He looks around for Harry, whistles sharply to get his attention. Smiling, Harry motions with his head, "What's up?" He calls over as if it would be absolutely normal to have their long dead Potions Professor come back alive.

Ron's still gaping, and points at the man next to him while trying to cover it with a hand, and articulates silently, SNAPE! BLOODY FUCKING SNAPE! with an utterly shocked expression, head shaking slightly, eyebrows knotted.

Snape rolls his eyes and starts heading towards the table. Ron joins him and a few seconds later they're talking again.

"Knobhead," Ron grunts, tosses a beer cap at Harry as he sits down and opens a bottle. "You could have warned me."

Harry just shrugs. "Where's the fun in that?" He turns to Snape then, who takes his seat next to Harry. "You were amazing."

"Thank you," Snape smirks. "We even managed to gain another ardent fan. Weasley was about to ask for my autograph…"

Harry laughs, and Ron just flips the man two fingers. "You can sod off, too," Ron tells Snape and Harry knows he's only joking, because the next moment Ron leans closer to them and says to Harry in a low voice, "I knew that weirdly average bloke could never be your type, no matter how not-so-average all his inches are." Ron grins smugly.

Harry feels heated black eyes turn on him and he looks away, flipping Ron off in the meanwhile.

He almost thinks he got away, Ron's chatting with Dave and no one pays him attention, but then Snape leans to his ear and asks in a low voice, "Taking guesses about my inches, Mr Potter?" Harry shivers, his cheeks heating, but then the honied voice goes on, "No need to speculate, I'd gladly let you feel it up… again."

Thankfully, Harry is spared the embarrassment of a stuttered answer, because the cake arrives.

o.O.o

"I know what you're thinking, I know your name,

We're both the same, falling out of control…"

(Blues Saraceno – Blow Me Away)

Layla doesn't show her distress all evening, she smiles and laughs as if everything would be all right. Jim helps her put the kids to bed at around midnight, and they come back some time later, looking a little ruffled. Harry draws his own conclusions, but says nothing, but then Snape turns to him, his black eyes following the couple.

"How blind do you have to be not to notice?" He asks, shaking his head a little. "They practically flaunt it in our face. Even you figured it out, and you've only met them a couple times."

"Is it a secret?" Harry asks.

"They keep it a secret, but everyone knows, I think even the girls. They're just afraid of what we would say. Jim and Mark were best friends, after all. But no one really cares, as long as they are both happy."

"Why not just confront them?" Harry asks.

Snape contemplates on it for a moment, then says, "People don't tend to appreciate it when you force them to show their emotions. They will tell us, when they are ready."

Harry can't help but keep thinking of Layla. He now understands why she hasn't said anything so far. Being that close to Jim, it must be even harder to leave everything behind and move away, not to mention to sell the place the band grew so attached to. He wishes he could help Layla too, but more importantly, he wishes he could prevent Snape from another wound.

The party has lulled down a bit. He and Severus are standing at the bar, leaning against the counter. It is practically the first time they're alone or even near each other since the party started. After the cake arrived and everyone gathered around the table, they were soon separated, Snape drawn away by grabby children hands covered in whipped cream. They shared glances over the heads of the others, flickering smiles, when the girls climbed up into Snape's lap and practically used him as a bouncing castle. Apparently, as long as there wasn't a cauldron full of potion around, Snape didn't have much problem with children. Or maybe Hailey and Emilia were just different.

Harry caught Ron looking at the man a couple times, too, but after a while, he either got used to his presence or he had swallowed his uneasiness with the beers, because he struck up a conversation with Will and Snape. It must have gone smoothly, because soon Will left to have a word with Keiko, but Snape and Ron just continued their discussion. There was even occasional laughter coming from their side of the table, and suddenly Harry had the feeling that Ron may have accepted this version of Snape even sooner than he himself did.

Ron quickly found his place among the others, even invited Dave and Keiko over for dinner next week, which might have been slightly rash, since they did have a wizarding home. But that's a problem for the future.

Harry's more immediate concern is the hand on his back, and the half-hard cock, he's trying to hide in his tight jeans. Fingertips run lazily up and down on the line of his spine, while Snape does not even spare him a glance. It's meant to be a casual touch perhaps, yet it sets every inch in Harry's body aflame. He's breathing more rapidly with every stroke, exhales coming out loud and shaky. He fidgets, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

"Is this unwanted?" Snape asks in a low voice and the hand stops in the middle of his back.

Harry shakes his head and relaxes against the touch. "No."

Harry surveys the people around, but no one pays them attention, except for Ron, who's noticed them standing close. His eyes go wide momentarily, even though nothing inappropriate is happening yet. But then again, it's Harry Potter and Severus Snape – even something as proper as a handshake would raise eyebrows, let alone a casual touch on Harry's back.

Harry's cheeks heat up, but then Ron grins, and his best friend takes out his wand under the table and Harry feels the illusionment charm settle around them. No one will even notice them from now on, their eyes will just skip on, their brain not registering what they're seeing.

"What a friend you have," Snape hums, as he continues with the soft touches. "I owe him one."

"Yeah," Harry says, thinking it a good idea to bring Ron along. It's nice that he doesn't have to keep this a secret from his best friends anymore, but also this way, he'll have someone to affirm that this was real, in case he does wake up one of these days.

They stay like this for a while, not speaking, just enjoying the other's closeness, watching the rest of the people in the pub. His eyes might be on the band, but Harry's thoughts are far away. He can smell Snape's cologne, feel the warmth of his skin as they stand next to each other. He can't help but recall the memory of the man's body against him and it seems Snape's thoughts are not dissimilar.

"I still don't understand what happened that night." Snape says softly, fingers drawing small circles on the lower half of Harry's back. "In the backroom."

The motion unwinds Harry's body, even though there are sparks happening at the base of his spine. His eyes flutter closed. He says nothing. He doesn't much understand it either, after all.

"You recognized me, regardless of what your mind was telling you."

Harry allows his silence to answer for him. He has nothing to add to a correct statement.

He feels the hot breath on his skin as Snape leans closer. There's almost the touch of lips against his ear, too as he says softly. "And yet you still kissed me."

Harry inhales deeply, this time feeling he must speak. "I did."

"Why, Harry?" Snape asks, fingers gently caressing his back, a steadying touch, reassuring. "Why did you kiss me that night?"

"Because you were alive." Harry says quietly as if that would explain everything. His voice breaks on the last word.

"That I was. More so in that one moment than the seven years before it." Snape admits, then Harry feels a gentle pull and he's manoeuvred half-way in front of Snape. It does make him wonder if maybe the man has something to hide as well.

The hand drops from his back only for a moment, then his shirt is lifted away from his skin and fingers slip in there, drifting up on his bare back. A palm, dry and warm settles in the middle and Harry has to grasp into a chair to stay standing. That wild shiver that runs up his back makes his legs all but tremble.

"Should I stop?" Snape asks, lips now against Harry's ear.

Harry allows himself to lean a bit more into the caress. "Severus, we shouldn't…" When the hand pulls away and Snape tenses against him, Harry reaches behind, grabs Snape's thigh. He looks over his shoulder as he insinuates, "Not here. Mittens should be hungry by now. Don't you have to go home and feed her, yet?"

Snape gets the hint and the hand starts moving again. Fingertips grace his skin, a feather-soft touch that causes shivers all over Harry's back and nape.

"Are you offering to come with me and… help me feed the cat?" Snape asks, smiling against Harry's neck.

"Or water the cacti. Or… anything." Harry grunts a little breathlessly.

"What are you waiting for, then? You know where I live, don't you, Mr Potter?" Snape suggests darkly, voice low. His mouth shifts against Harry's ear, he licks the lobe and Harry's legs do buckle for a second. The hand under his shirt sneaks from his back to the side, then onto the front, drifting gently over his navel. "I'm sure there is a long… hard… wand… attached to this body somewhere."

Harry moves a bit to the side then presses back against Snape's hardness. "You mean this?"

Snape stifles his low grunt against Harry's hairline, but he doesn't pull away. If anything, he tugs Harry even closer with the hand splayed over his abdomen. He shifts slightly, aligns himself, cock right against Harry's cleft. "This can work its magic too, but first you're going to have to take us home."

Harry smirks. "A bit further down and to the left." He instructs and the hand moves on its quest obediently. It slips down Harry's thigh, Snape must even feel the leather straps of his holster, charmed practically invisible by the same spell that keeps them unseen now.

However, instead of left, the hand takes a sharp right and cups Harry's cock.

It jumps to attention, and another hand shoots up to cover Harry's mouth and muffles his soft cry.

"Quiet, we can't be seen, but we can be heard."

"Other left," Harry grunts reproachfully, once the hand moved away from his mouth.

He hears the quiet laughter and Snape's hand shifts again. Long fingers curl around his wand, his magic wand this time, and pulls it out. "Apologies," he whispers but as Harry turns around, he can see him smiling smugly.

He takes Harry's face in the palm of his hand and kisses his forehead right over the lightning bolt shaped scar. Harry wonders if that was an accident or not, and whether Snape will kiss the other mark, too, tonight – the one with the exact same shape that's over his heart.

"I'll go say goodbye, then we can leave." He says, then steps away.

When Snape walks up to Layla, and she asks for the other's attention, too, Harry realises there won't be kisses tonight, not on his heart, or his scars, or anywhere else.

He walks closer, too, lingers near the man, knowing Severus will need the support more than Harry needs those kisses.

o.O.o

"I think they got it all wrong

We just gotta hold on

And on, and on, and on…"

(Welshly Arms – Legendary)

Layla's announcement is received with stunned silence and confused expressions. Keiko crashes onto the nearest chair, Will at her side right away. Jim walks up to Layla, wordlessly they just stare at each other for a long moment, then Jim pulls her against his chest, hand stroking her back. He kisses the top of her blond head, as he mumbles, "We'll figure something out, love."

Snape just stands, immobile and silent. He's glaring, heated gaze directed at Layla. For anyone he might have appeared angry, but Harry sees the concern in his eyes. Layla is not intimated by him though. When she walks up to Snape, her gaze is just as fierce as his.

"Don't start, Severus."

But he does start, of course. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Severus, please…"

"How much time do we have till you have to sell?"

She glares but doesn't answer him.

"How much?" Snape flares and Harry sees his teacher there for a second. Snape has changed nothing, not really. He's still there, the man he's known all his life is there.

"A month. Maybe two."

"You foolish woman." Snape says harshly. "I could have helped."

"With what?" She accuses. "I know how much you earn, Severus, I'm the one paying you."

"I could have taken another job, gone back to teaching even, anything. You foolish, foolish woman. Why are you so stubborn to get help?"

"I learned from the best," She snaps back, eyebrow raised reproachfully.

"And who would that be?" Snape snarls, waits a moment for the answer but when it doesn't come, he goes on, "Because it can't mean me, after all, I wouldn't be here if I didn't accept help from Mark and you all those years ago. So, I ask again, why didn't you come to me?"

She's quiet and the heat starts to quell from her eyes. She looks to the side, but says nothing.

"Jesus, Severus, leave her be!" Jim calls as he's walking closer. "She's had –"

"Shut up, Jim!" Layla and Snape tell him at the same time, not even looking at the man.

He stops next to Harry, all but pulsing with nervous energy. He crosses his arm, snorting, but lets them keep arguing.

That fierce anger is back in Layla's eyes. "I failed my daughters, Severus! I've clung to the memory of my dead husband for long enough now, I have to let it go! The pub, the band is his dream, not mine."

"Oh, so what's yours?" Snape jeers. "Rotting away in an office, burying yourself deeper into debt? Is that it?"

"To see my daughter turn eighteen!" She snaps. "How about that?"

"Be honest!" Snape demands. "You've loved this life! You love this place, Layla, as much as Mark did, even more so. The Devil's Trap is yours, it's as much a child for you as Hailey and Em."

Harry wants to grab Snape, drag him away, preferably Apparate him straight into the cold Thames to cool down, but Jim stops his hand the moment it flinches. "Don't," he says quietly. "She needs to realize it. And only he's as stubborn as she is."

"So what?" She shouts, and angry tears start flowing from her eyes. "What if I do love it? It doesn't change the fact that I need money to keep Em alive, don't you understand?"

"Let us help, Layla. We'll do more shows for free. I'll help out more, get a proper job."

"Oh really, Severus? And how are you going to feed yourself? How's Keiko going to finish university?"

"Hey, don't drag me into this!" Keiko's strong voice snaps. Harry hasn't even noticed but they were practically standing in a circle around the arguing couple. "I've made it work before the band, I can manage again. And I'm studying marketing anyway, I might as well just do all my ad projects on a made-up bar called Devil's Trap."

Desperate, Layla looks around, searching for someone who would agree with her. Her gaze finds Will, but even before she could say a word, he shrugs, "Don't look at me, babe. You nutters think I bought that bike out there with the money I got here? Hell no. Where do you think this shit comes from?" He holds up his rune bracelet. "I'm an idiot, but even I ain't stupid enough to believe in magic."

Harry catches Ron's eyes and they both try to hide their smile.

Slowly, she looks at Jim, who's shaking his head slowly. "I love you, Layla," He says quietly. "You have my support either way, but I got to say, I do hate your mother, and I'd be very happy if I didn't have to visit her every time, I want to see you and the girls."

That brings a few chuckles out of the group, easing the tension. She wipes at her tears, smiling, then finally looks up at Snape.

"I hate you Severus Snape." She says but her face says otherwise.

"An emotion, I assure you, I often evoke in people." He moves a step closer. "Your mother is horrible and lives in Dumfries. The hospitals Em needs, the girls' school, your friends, your… whatever Jim is to you right now, is here in London. If you really want to move to Dumfries and leave all this behind, I'll get a car and drive you up there myself."

"You can't drive." She says softly.

"I know," Snape smiles and draws her in an embrace. "But I won't even have to, will I?"

Her hands go around his shoulder as she hugs him closer, holding on tightly. She burrows her head in the crook of his neck and the little tremors of her shoulders tells Harry she's crying.

"Will you let us help?"

"Do I have another choice?" She sniffs and smiles as she pulls away.

"No." He tells her.

She looks around the band members. "You're all mad. But my god, do I love all of you." She laughs and they all come up and crush both Layla and Snape in a group hug.

Ron wanders near Harry and says in a quiet voice. "Does Snape know about the –"

"Yes, but I don't think he realised what it means." Harry nods. He flashes a smirk at Ron. "I guess there's some more surprises left for tonight."

"I tell you what won't be a surprise, though," Ron grins, then leans closer. "You not spending the night in your own place again." He says and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry elbows him in the ribs, flushing red.

"Listen, I'm going to go. Hermione should be home soon and her nightshifts always make her hungry."

"Hey Ron, do you think you can maybe ask her to look into Muggle liver problems for me? Autoimmune disease, liver failure, that sort of thing. Especially happening with children."

"You know Healers can't treat Muggles unless their maladies are magic related." Ron warns, understanding what Harry wants.

"I know." Harry nods with a smile. "I just want to see if there's a way."

"And if there is?" Ron asks. "You're an Auror, Harry, you see first hand what happens to wizards who mess with the law."

Harry shrugs. "I also know that not all of them get caught." He looks at Ron, his gaze questioning, but his friend just huffs and shakes his head in disbelief.

"Please, Harry. I broke into Gringotts with you. Do you honestly think I have a problem with healing a ten-year-old Muggle girl?" He laughs. "We'll look around. If there's a way, we'll find it."

"Thanks, Ron. I'll drop by tomorrow."

"Alright, mate. Thanks for bringing me. Despite the minor heart attack, this was actually fun." He grins, and taps Harry's shoulder. "See you then."

Ron walks away, jogging slightly to catch up to Keiko and Dave who are also slipping into their jackets, apparently ready to leave. Will's standing there, tossing his bike keys from one hand to the other, clearly waiting for them, too. Jim and Layla are sitting at the table, talking. He's holding her hand, clearly not caring whether anyone sees it or not.

Harry turns around and looks for Snape, finds him standing in front of the stage, just watching the equipment that's still there. He grabs Snape's jacket along with his, says goodbye to Jim and Layla, then walks there, his footfalls almost loud in the quiet of the bar.

"C'mon," he says, his hand sliding up on Snape's back, then settling on the broad, tense shoulder. "Mittens is hungry."

Snape just huffs and turns around. He looks up and nods at the leaving group over Harry's head. He holds his hand out reaching for his jacket, but Harry folds his fingers around it instead. He backs away towards the backroom, hesitant at first, pulling Snape with him. Soon Snape moves, too, apparently coming to a decision. The moment they're out of sight, Harry Apparates them home.

o.O.o

"How do you fall in love? Harder than a bullet could hit you

How do we fall apart? Faster than a hairpin trigger..."

(Bishop Briggs – River)

Their feet barely land on the floor and Harry is shoved against the wall. Hands on his hips steady his body while a mouth on his lips claims him. He never would have imagined Snape's lower lip could feel so sensually full, that it could elicit such electric sparks in his lower half and yet here he is, with legs trembling, a wall and strong hands keeping his weight up. He kisses back, lips moving with sweet wildness against that mouth, delightful and ardent, demanding the same needs.

There are fingers on the side of his neck, a thumb on his chin tilts his head up and he feels a low grunt vibrate against his mouth as Snape kisses him wildly. His hands dash up into long tresses, sink low in a black river, fingernails scraping sensitive tissue. The inch between them is gone the next moment, as Snape presses against him, or staggers perhaps if the soft moan that slips out of his mouth is anything to go by. Harry welcomes him, hand twining around slim waist, palm pressing firmly, following the straight line of vertebra to a small valley only to run up on tight mounds.

He grabs into Snape's bottom and tugs him even closer. The first contact, another hard cock against Harry's, has both of them gasp for air. Harry looks up, seeking out black eyes before he does it again, rolls his hips while he pulls Snape against him and sees the most delicious desperate abandon in those blackholes, which suck him right in.

Lips, once thin perhaps but now swollen latch onto his neck, kiss their way down from the edge of his jaw, teeth grace his collar bone. Harry throws his head back, grunts loudly. Severus pulls away only long enough to lift Harry's shirt over his head, long fingers are back on his body, exploring his bare chest. Thumbs flicker over his nipples, rough and crude and Harry cries out. The next moment, there's a mouth there, teeth biting, tongue teasing and all he can do is hold on, fingers grasping uselessly into the waves of the black river beneath.

Harry toes off his shoes, and he hears boots knock against the wooden floor, too. He grasps into Snape's shirt over his back and pulls, tugs, all but yanks it off him. Snape's barely willing to pull away, but in the end, the black shirt lands next to their jackets on the ground. Severus straightens in front of him, and Harry's breath catches at the sight.

The orange light of the streetlamp comes in under the blindfold in one single stripe, that shines on Snape's chest, right across the thestral tattoo. Harry's hand goes there on its own, fingers drifting on midnight black ink. Eyes stuck to the strange animal, he can't bring himself to look at anything else but those thin lines, that eternal darkness.

As his fingertips drift down on the thick mane and the long bony neck of the beast, eerie white eyes glow up, fill with life.

His touch brings magic back to the terrible creature and black leathery skin tight on piercing bones seem to shift, shimmer, bristle. Wings spread, stretching lazily over Severus' ribs, then slowly fold back. White eyes look at Harry, narrow head tilts, slim tail whips about.

Harry's eyes flicker up to Snape's face, questioning, then he grasps into Snape's upper arm, pushes it out of the way and leans there to place a kiss on the horse. He almost feels the gentle stroke of wings against his lips, bones scratching his flesh as the thestral cavorts in one place, then dances away, luring Harry with it. It moves, campers a few steps, jumps, unfurls its wings and struts.

Harry chases it, corners it with his hand, catches it with his mouth, tries to keep it in one place by holding Snape's skin between his teeth. It makes Severus moan, but the beast escapes, frolics across slightly hairy chest. It sashays arrogantly under an arm, Harry lifts it, dives after the creature, slips around Severus in his haste to track the elusive beast.

Proudly, it prances from a shoulder blade, leaps behind the waterfall of hair. Harry leans there, buries his head in the soft black tresses. It smells of citrus and mint and it tickles his face.

His hot breath ghosts on Severus's bare skin. Harry all but feels the angry snorts of the thestral, and he burrows deeper into the waterfall, too. He presses his nose there, inhales the smell of skin now, Snape's rain scented soap. He licks it, tastes slightly salty sweat, then bites again.

"Harry…" Comes a desperate little grunt from Snape as he falls forward, has to lean against the wall to stay upright.

Harry pulls away, his hands resting for only a moment on Snape's waist, then they come up slowly, shift on the man's sides all the way up to his shoulders.

The thestral watches the hands warily, white eyes flashing. It frisks angrily in one place, throwing its long black mane around, and once again, Harry leans there, kisses it soothingly.

"Harry!" Another growl and Harry just smirks against pale white skin.

He brushes away Severus' hair and kisses his way up, following his spine to the very base of his skull.

"Severus…?" He moans into the man's hair, as he grinds against him slowly.

He can feel the slim chest deflate against him as Snape exhales, then expand with the next intake of breath. Severus looks over his shoulder and Harry leans there to kiss him, pressing their bodies flush against each other. Severus turns around in Harry's hold without breaking the kiss. He's demanding as he presses his tongue into Harry's mouth, licks around, bites teasingly.

Precisely aimed thrusts rub their erections together and they moan into the other's mouth, unwilling to pull away. One hand fists in Harry's hair, the other dips below the band of his jeans and cups his arse. One round cheek fits perfectly into Snape's hold and the man clutches at it. Harry keens, needy sounds breaking through his throat.

Harry tears his mouth away, his head falling back, hands holding Snape's shoulder in a death grip as they grind. Snape bites down his neck, and Harry almost falls apart. He steps back, slips from the hold.

Severus watches him through thick eyelashes, head slightly tilted forward. They are both panting, jeans uncomfortably tight now. Black eyes watch him avidly, intense and full of heat. The thestral descents in small circles, soaring all around Severus' torso. Harry's hungry eyes follow its slow flight for a moment, before he looks back at the man's face.

Harry holds his hand out and when Severus takes it, he pulls him in for another kiss, this one slow and gentle.

"It must have been hard to explain that to any Muggle." Harry notes as he slowly steps back towards the living room, pulling Severus with him as well.

"Magic makes it alive and I haven't been using that in years."

"Poor creature," Harry purrs against soft lips, before he kisses Severus again. He looks down on ivory skin searching for the black beast and finds it teetering on Severus' navel. "You want some more magic?" He asks then drops to his knees in the middle of the living room.

Severus grunts over him, long fingers diving into Harry's messy hair as a mouth sucks hungrily on his skin below the bellybutton. The thestral cavorts, large black leathery wings beat threateningly towards Harry. Harry blows at it, gently, and soothing hot air bristles the long mane.

Severus trembles over him, sucking in his breath sharply. "Harry, you're killing me," he grunts breathlessly, eyes closed.

"Tell that to your tattoo." Harry answers as he places a hand over his red bite mark. The thestral seems to attack it, wings unfurling angrily, while it frolics around, mouth open, sharp teeth glinting white like its eyes. Harry draws his hand in front of it tauntingly, and the beast follows, its pompous struts signalling its confidence in its victory.

Harry draws it all the way up, as far as he can reach, brushes brown nipples on his way, thumbs them long enough to have Severus sigh keenly, while not letting the eerie creature catch up.

His hand stops in the middle of Severus's chest, right over his sternum. The beast prances on the side of the man's neck, contour distorted by scars. Harry waits for black eyes to open and look at him, flashes a toothy grin, smug and leering. As if waiting for this moment, the terrible winged horse attacks again, chasing Harry's hand down in a straight line from chest, to navel, to abdomen, to –

The thestral disappears under black jeans, while Harry's fingers run over on Severus' cock. He cups it, feels it up. Severus throws his head back with a wanton moan that breaks out of his throat from depth unknown, it's low and guttural. Harry echoes it back right away as he presses his mouth against tented jeans.

"Fucking hell, Harry…" Hips canter forward as Severus swears over him. Fingers fist in his hair. Harry tongues the hardness, sucks on it, he wants to taste it already, feel its weight in his mouth, its taste, have it fill him up completely, stretching him.

He holds onto Severus' thighs not to palm himself as he would come right away. One touch would be enough, he's so pent up. He pulls away, presses his forehead against Snape's jutting hipbone as he takes deep, calming breaths.

"Good god, Severus," He moans, voice hoarse with need. He turns to the side only to watch his hand rise slightly and shift back over that hardness. He palms Severus, feeling his full length under his touch, the swell of the head, slight wetness around it.

"Harry, you need to stop," Severus begs but his waist moves, he's slowly rutting forward, pressing against Harry's hand anyway.

Harry doesn't. Instead he works on buttons and pulls down a zipper. He slowly drags down the black jeans on long legs, all the way down until they pool on the ground around Severus' feet.

Harry looks up, searching for the thestral. Finds it peaking over the grey waistband of Snape's tight briefs, eyes curious. He finds something else, too. Different wings, another creature.

"And what's this?" He asks, looking back up into intense black eyes that seem to glow in the dark. Before Severus could answer, he leans there and kisses the tip of the wing, hoping to bring it to life too, but the feathers remain unmoving.

"That one's Muggle." Severus says. "It won't –"

He can't finish. Harry murmurs a small chant he has learned back in school when he was maybe in his third year and the inked lines shiver and the wing disappears.

"Oh," Harry smirks, "Shall we look for it?" He feels Severus quiver as he hooks his fingers into the waistband, but before he could pull the briefs down, too, the thestral comes back chasing the other. Harry follows their swift dash across Severus' chest with a small frown as he realises what the other tattoo is.

"A snitch? Not what I expected I admit." He says with a soft smile. Their eyes meet and Severus snaps his gaze away. It's dark, but Harry feels like he can see the man blush.

"I had my reasons." Is all the explanation Harry gets. He shrugs it off, there will be time later on to ask questions. He starts peeling off the tight briefs, placing kisses on every revealed inch.

Severus gasps over him, clutches into the back of the grey sofa with both hands.

Tongue against the head, Harry looks up at the man, inquisitive. He slides it down on the underside, feeling Snape's legs tremble as the briefs end up on the ground as well. Eyes locked with black gaze, he mouths the thick member, licks it all the way up. He gets a nod in the end, feeble and shaky and he drives the tip in his mouth.

Severus throws his head back, bites into his lower lip. Harry feels the same electric zap in the base of his spine, too as his gaze takes in the man before him.

A hand breaks away from the couch, fists in the air for a moment, before it folds over Harry's head, gently. Fingertips rub his scalp, as they rush through his black tresses. It's incentive enough, and Harry takes the cock deeper in his mouth. He sucks around the soft head, tongue against the slit, tasting precome.

His hand drifts up and down on Severus' leg, soft hairs bristle against his palm. He can feel scars here too, and he wonders if he could find the one Fluffy has left behind. Maybe later, he reminds himself, and puts a hand around the base of Snape's cock, fingers making a tight ring. He strokes the man in rhythm of his mouth, tongue lapping teasingly against the head.

Severus' loud grunts are another kind of music to his ears, sweet and wanting and Harry thinks he likes these even more than the songs on the stage but only because this is for him alone.

He's dying to palm himself but his hands are busy. He rolls his hips trying to get some friction from that, but it's not nearly enough. He keens, moans around the cock in his mouth and suddenly the fingers tighten in his hair and he's pulled off. He lets out an embarrassingly needy whine, and leans forward again but he's stopped.

"Potter!" It's a warning and Harry watches Severus take a few deep breaths. "Not in your mouth." He says darkly.

The words send a shot of arousal to the pit of Harry's belly.

He understands, but he still can't help himself. The circle his fingers make around the base gets even firmer as his mouth opens inches from the tip. Gaze daring, he looks up at Snape, who can't resist, pushes between his lips, just a few inches, then he's out. Every slow thrust has the man shudder, half lidded eyes frowning in concentration to stay on the edge and not tip over just yet.

Soon, he can't even move. Eyes shut tight, his cock rests on Harry's lower lip, who keeps licking across it carefully, gently, slowly. It's teasing and he can all but see Snape break apart every time he does it, feels the fingers tighten and release in his hair, ready to either pull him away or to shove him down on the hard erection.

None of that happens, Snape has control in every moment of his life it seems, because he manages to withdraw in the end. Harry admires him for it, because he almost comes just from this sight alone and he has no mind to stop the feeling.

He lets go of the man and stands up. He moves back a step and appreciates the naked form in front of him. Snape seems unashamed as he stands there, eyes burning, cheeks flushed, hard cock straining against his belly. The quick rise and fall of his chest make the street light dance on him, bringing flashes of orange spotlight to scars and birthmarks scattered on ivory skin.

The magic has run its course and the snitch has settled again underneath his hipbone. The thestral on the other hand stands expectantly on his left thigh.

Harry looks up into impassive black eyes and wants to say something poetic, something that could accurately describe this sight, what it makes him feel, how long he's imagined it, how exceptional it is to see it at last, witness it with his own eyes, but all he can muster is, "You're so fucking gorgeous."

Snape recoils slightly as if it had been an insult, and Harry would have thought he said something bad, if not for the treacherous twitch of that hard cock.

"You are," he confirms as he moves closer. "You're stunning."

He presses against the firm chest, seeks out Snape's lips with eyes closed and kisses him long and languid. None of them seems to care where his mouth has been just moments ago, Snape welcomes his tongue in his own mouth with sweet licks and stifled grunts.

They stagger towards the bedroom; Harry lets himself be directed, pushed and stirred, nudged one-way or another, since he has no mind to look around, to see which way to go. He's lost in the kiss, in the sensation of warm lips moving lovingly against him, hands caressing his body, exploring every inch. Innocent touches across his back make him claw into naked skin under his own fingertips, while a hand dropping down to his butt and grasping it has him beg unashamed.

Once they're in the bedroom, he's let go. Hands settle on his bare waist, thumbs drifting over his lower ribs. Snape kisses a wobbly line up on Harry's face, cheekbones to jaw, to sensitive skin behind the ear, ending with his lips against Harry's temple.

"I do not know what put you on my path again," Severus whispers against Harry's skin, "God or the devil, destiny or chance, but I am not letting you go again. If we do this, you will have to stay, Harry."

Harry pulls away only so he can look up into black eyes. "I've never left. You did." He tells the man in a quiet but passionate tone. "I went back for you, but you weren't there. I'll stay, but you can't disappear on me again either."

Snape nods, just a tiny little bob of his head, and Harry undoes the button of his jeans, pulls down the zipper. He shoves his pants down, steps out of it fully naked.

Severus moves forward, hands on Harry's hips turn him around and a firm body presses against him from behind. Cock nestled right against the cleft of his arse, Harry wriggles, pushes back as he turns to the side, asking for a kiss.

He gets it, it could almost be called chaste, except there's a hand sneaking around his cock, which starts stroking him slowly but with a firm touch making Harry gasp into the kiss.

"What do you want?" Snape murmurs against his lips, before he catches one and rolls it between his teeth.

Harry, thrusting between the hand and the hard member all but fainting with need, freezes for a moment. "Isn't it obvious?"

He all but hears Snape's eyeroll, his grunt though is definitely audible. "Top or bottom, Potter?"

Heat climbs up in Harry's chest at the idea. Fucking Snape sounds tempting, but so is that cock already there rubbing against his arse. "Bottom… for now." He adds after he swallows.

"There's always tomorrow," Severus says with a smile against Harry's neck, then Harry is pushed towards the bed.

He climbs into the middle of the covers on all fours, but before he could turn around, he feels the bed dip next to his legs and a hand between his shoulder blades stops him and pushes him down onto his elbows.

He feels soft hairs first as Snape leans over him, long black tresses caressing his back, then there's a mouth at his nape. Soft kisses are placed along his spine, wet and sweet that has Harry arch back slightly. Fingers on his bum rub and clench and pull at the skin and he's begging already, stifling his pleas against the cover.

He knows what Severus wants to do, the line of kisses leads straight there, it's obvious yet still, when he feels the hot mouth against his hole, Harry cries out. Hand on his lower back tries to still him, but it's worthless, since a tongue drifts against puckered skin and he's clawing at the sheet.

Something strangely soft brushes against the side of his body, then meows demandingly. Harry jerks away, giggling stupidly, while Snape just growls at the cat. "Hush Mittens, he's mine now."

Snape nudges the cat, then when she still doesn't move, he taps on the blanket loudly. It seems to work, and Mittens dashes off the bed with a few indignant mews.

Harry tries to ignore the heat Snape's sentence has set off in him, but of course, that's impossible. He buries his head in the cool sheets and takes a few calming breathes, but all he gets is a whiff of Snape's rain scent and he's moaning, before Severus touches him.

He's lost when the tongue drifts over him again, teasing and innocuous at first, as if it would be there solely by accident, a harmless little lick here and there, gentle and innocent – only there's nothing innocent in the way it circles around, how it presses against the tension, making Harry whine, then pulls back just as the muscles would ease up.

Minutes, that is all it takes and Harry's a whimpering mess, hands fisted in the sheet. He's looking over his shoulder, sees nothing much, black hair covers the sight, but he feels Snape's tongue wriggle and slip in and out, feels those dark tresses tickle his skin, feels hard and needy and pretty much ready for anything.

Or so he thinks, until Snape steadies him with hands holding Harry's waist firmly and pretty much just fucks him with his tongue.

Harry breaks apart bit by bit. His hand shoots to his cock, eager to stroke himself, knowing he wouldn't need more just a couple strokes, but Severus notices the motion and swats his hand away like the cat. His own fingers twine around Harry's cock instead, thumb swirls firmly around the head, but all Harry gets are a few delicious strokes, then the tight ring of fingers settles around the base of his cock, trying to prolong the inevitable.

Harry whimpers, thrusts back and forth, ruts against that mouth unashamed, even though he has a wild suspicion just how indecent he must look right now.

"Fuck, Severus…" Harry groans, between harsh breaths. "Fuck, so good…"

Snape hums against him, appreciating the feedback, but then pulls away. He licks across the perineum, then sucks on Harry's balls, before he drags his tongue all the way up again. He feels a finger there, circling the sensitive spot along with that wicked tongue, then the next moment, it's inside him.

Harry's arms give up and he falls on the bed, ass still in the air, thighs wide apart. Severus sits back as he pushes that finger deeper into Harry, twirling it around, twisting and bending it, until he finds Harry's prostate.

Harry sees stars. He's not aware he's crying out for long seconds since the finger keeps prodding.

"Fucking hell, Harry," Snape growls, and his motions slow down a bit but he still keeps nudging that little bundle of nerve with ridiculous proficiency. "Do you want to come?"

Harry rubs his head against the sheet, it's meant to be a headshake but he's not in full control of his body anymore it seems. He whines as another spike of lust jolts through his body, forcing his back into an arch. Another finger joins the first and Snape bites down on his cheek. His hand moves on Harry's cock, a sudden upward surge and Harry's panting, all but tearing at the sheets.

"No… no…" He begs with small whimpers. "Severus, please… I need you…"

He hears a grunt, low and growling, coming from the depth of hell. He's let go then and Snape pulls away. The man shifts from the bed and the next moment, he's off it.

Moaning, Harry pulls himself together only to open his eyes and get up on his elbows again. His thighs are shaking already, and it only gets worse when he sees Snape yank open a drawer from the nightstand and pull out a bottle of lube.

Snape pops open the cap and squirts out a larger dollop into the middle of his palm. His hand is on his cock the next moment, caressing himself with long, languid strokes, eyes on Harry. Harry pushes himself up, watching the man kneel back onto the bed, then edge closer. He pulls him into a kiss, delightful and sweet and teasing and he feels an excited smile spread on his lips.

When he touches Snape's cock again, the man shudders, the needy moan that slips from him is just as eager as Harry's earlier sounds were. His finger curls around the heated member, long and wet and twitching as he spreads the lubricant, too. He's touched in return. Snape grasps his aching cock, slippery fingers slide on the hard shaft, circles the head.

Snape climbs back behind him and Harry gets down on all fours again. He looks back over his shoulders, and his gaze meets black eyes. He can't see what Snape does, but he feels the blunt tip against himself. Eyes flash, black lightning in the dim room, before Severus starts pressing inside. Harry wants to keep watching, but the heat in his belly erupts and floods his arms, making them weak.

He falls down on the bed, but reaches behind, fingertips at the point of contact, feeling in more than one way as the man slowly edges inside him. Only a few inches deep has Harry keening, but then he starts pulling out, the sensation is otherworldly.

Harry's been with men before, but it wasn't ever like this. Every inch in his body is on fire, even his magic buzzes under his skin like little angry wasps.

"Bloody fuck, Severus…" He grunts against the sheet as Snape starts pushing in once again. He feels the man's cock slide against his fingers, feels it disappear, get deeper and deeper inside and at the same time, he feels Severus stretching him, too.

It takes a hot minute for Snape to get fully in, sheathed in Harry balls deep. They are both panting now. The room is filled with the sound of their harsh breaths, Harry's occasional whimpers and Severus' low grunts, which happens whenever one of them moves, shifts weight from one leg to the other.

Severus' hand moves from Harry's waist, slips to the middle, then up led by the line of his spine all the way to his nape. Long fingers curl possessively around the front of Harry's neck, fingertips dig into tense flesh and Harry's cock twitches as he's pulled up slowly by the throat.

Snape says nothing, he doesn't have to, his whole body trembles as Harry straightens and they press against each other. He grunts though, a desperate little sound against Harry's ear, then he moves, gentle and languid thrusts at first, calm, unhurried, just a small roll of his hips that still has Harry gasp with ecstasy, eyes rolling back.

With one hand, Harry claws at Snape's thigh, firm muscles under his touch tenses and releases with every motion, the other he buries into soft hair as Snape kisses his neck, his jaw, then his cheek, soft and loving. Harry turns into the invitation, moans slipping past his open mouth as a tongue slides in there, runs against the line of his teeth, the tip of his tongue.

Arms across his chest hold him firmly against the hot, lean body as they kiss, barely moving, just enjoying the other's closeness for a moment, the intimacy, the heat.

"Harry…" Snape's whisper's barely audible against his ear. "Oh Harry…" Eyes shut tight, the man nuzzles his face, thrusts becoming harder, a quick snap, then he's pulling back slowly just to do it again, over and over.

Harry keens, mad with desire as he meets the man, pushes back. The pace picks up within moments and everything becomes just wild and ardent. Sheen layer of sweat forms on Harry's skin, covers his chest and face, he feels the heat between their bodies increase, it's almost scorching. Tight arms keep him in place as rough thrusts draw the most shameful sounds from his throat, sounds he doesn't want to hide, sounds he wants Snape to hear and revel in.

He can tell Severus loves it, craves it. Unlike the man himself, his body is eager to speak, to communicate what it wants and Harry's whimpers make it tremble with need, they pull a low grunt of his own from the pit of his stomach, deep and hoarse.

Harry falls back onto all fours first, but there's no chance that his arms can uphold their joined weight with thoughts not comprehensive enough to give proper orders, muscles weak and trembling. He falls forward, doesn't even bother to try and keep himself up anymore.

Thighs slipping further apart he lies on the bed and Severus comes with him, never apart for even an inch. He drives into Harry hard, hips rolling, grinding down. He licks a line up on Harry's spine, bites his nape to stifle his own fervent moans and all Harry can do is clutch into sheets and pillows and hold on, body numb, senses blinded. There's nothing but pleasure, sheer, unadulterated delight, as every thrust has the tip slide against his prostate.

"Ahh… fuck, Severus…" He buries his head in covers, bites down to quiet his grunts, but Severus' arms come up over his, settle there, hands cover his own and their fingers entwine.

"Don't," the man pleads with voice deeper than the lowest circle of hell, "Let me hear you, Harry…" He murmurs against Harry's ear and Harry turns that way, lets his cries slip out unchecked.

Every thrust has him shift against the sheet and he's rutting against the blanket in mere seconds, unable to hold on any longer. Fingers tighten around his, Snape's hold becomes almost unbearably strong for a moment and he doesn't need to hear Snape' desperate, low grunt of, "Fuck, Harry, I can't… I can't…" to know what is about to happen. Sudden, hard shoves nail him to the bed and he's coming seconds before Snape would press his open mouth against his nape, not biting down, but teeth still squashing almost painfully hard against his skin.

Slow, languid shifts bring back momentarily the ecstatic pleasure. Severus' body twitches still, and trembles, and sparks of desire flares in the back of Harry's mind, in the pit of his stomach and in every nerve ending of his sensitive cock. Wet sheets are almost unbearable against his skin, torturously good as they rub against him. Severus' pleasant weight is still on him, their sweaty bodies sticking together. Long hair, longer than it ever was, caresses his face smelling faintly of citrus and mint.

It takes a long moment, but in the end, Severus pulls out and rolls off Harry. His breathing is still a bit fast, like after singing. Harry wants to move but finds his limbs stone heavy each. He turns his head to the side, at least that is willing to obey, and looks at Snape.

"Don't fall asleep," he tells the motionless form. "The sheets are sticky."

Snape huffs. "You messed them up, you change them." He says in a rough voice.

"We messed them up." Harry stresses.

"Oh, did we?" Snape asks, turns to his side and leans up on his elbow. His left hand wanders up on Harry's thigh, then shifts over the curve of his ass. Fingers nudge at the sensitive rim and Harry has to bite down onto his lower lip, not to moan. "My mess is all in here, Mr Potter."

Harry feels the heat return into his cheeks in one quick flood and he buries his head in the covers. The finger circles his entrance for another teasing moment, then he feels Severus lean closer. "Look at me…" he whispers gently against Harry's scalp and what was once a goodbye, now sounds like a warm welcome.

Harry turns towards him, meets the black eyes as the hand pulls back and settles on his lower back. Severus edges closer and kisses him softly on the lips, lingers there for long seconds, Harry's lower lips between his, before he moves again. Sweat drying on his skin makes the air cool and Harry wants to press closer, but Severus is not much warmer. His skin is cold to the touch, and Harry feels goose flesh form under his palm.

"Shower first," He mumbles as he pulls away and pushes himself up. His knees give a weak tremble, but he manages to hold himself up in the end. "I'll deal with the sheets later."

o.O.o

"Those eyes, sweet lies, I've been drowning out for you

Don't you tell me no truths, I want all of your lies..."

(Jamie N Commons – Rumble & Sway)

Freshly showered they climb back into bed. Too tired to do anything about it, they agree that a couple cleaning charms are perfectly fine. It's late again, almost two, but Harry doesn't have work tomorrow, and Severus doesn't hasten sleep either. The man is lying on his back, leaning up against a pillow, while Harry uses him as one, his head resting on Severus's chest, as he's curled up against the lean body.

The blanket covers Harry almost to his shoulders, while Snape's navel is out. He issues no complaints

, Harry keeps him warm on one side, Mittens on the other. Long fingers buried in Harry's mess of hair stroke him and he has a suspicion they are the exact same automatic motions Severus does while petting the cat. He doesn't mind, it's rather a lovely feeling, tender and affectionate.

There's something very intimate in this time way past midnight, just after sex, body and mind still buzzing, too strung up to fall asleep, yet too tired to do anything else. It is strange, the closeness they have experienced just now was something very raw but it is gone, that sort of unity can rarely be reached otherwise. Yet the other's warmth remains, the gentle touches are still there, skin prickling at a phantom touch, a taste lingering on the edge of the tongue, a whiff of scent heavy, tangy, intoxicating.

The fragility of the moment is almost tangible, fleeting, slipping away, as easily as a distressed butterfly.

Harry keeps redrawing the snitch tattoo with his fingertips all the way from wingtip to wingtip. It looks very lifelike, although black and white and smaller than the real one.

"Why a snitch?" He asks quietly, not to break the soft mood. "Because you were one?"

The hand stops in his hair for a moment, then goes on, but Harry notices the hesitance. He turns to his stomach, resting his chin on his hands, which are across Severus' stomach. The question was just an idle thought, but now he's truly curious.

He searches Snape's dark gaze, but the man turns his head away to avoid the conversation entirely. The windows behind them bring enough light to see, highlighting the small frown on the man's stoic gaze.

Harry feels the previous intimate moment evaporate faster than thought, but he still doesn't understand how a simple question about a tattoo could shatter it.

"Hey," he says gently and kisses Snape's belly. The intense gaze shifts back on him and the uncertainty he sees there is shocking.

"I got it after the war, after I left." He answers in the end evasively.

They both know it's not an answer to the question, but Harry's all but scared to ask more. Snape has been more than willing to share private information with him in the past few days, but for some reason this seems different.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He says, kisses the soft skin under his chin, then turns to his side and curls up against Severus again. His hand is back on the small tattoo, drifting on the black and white globe and slim wings.

"I was willing to leave it all behind, never use magic again." Severus says softly, not louder than a whisper. His hoarse tone carries in the silence easily still. The hand returns to his hair, gently petting, but Harry's sure he's not the one who needs the calming touch. "I wanted to forget it all, except one thing."

He remains quiet, listens avidly, while his fingers drift over and over the artwork. He won't look up at Snape; apparently, it's easier for the man to talk this way and Harry wants to hear the reason. Why a snitch, of all things? He knows Snape liked Quidditch enough, but he never took the man as a major fan of the sport. Then again, he must realise, he's never truly known him either before.

But the answer has nothing to do with any sport or even spying.

"They called you the snitch, the Death Eaters." He sighs. "You were the elusive golden snitch, the single most valuable thing that would win them the game instantly. Except the Dark Lord's eternal gratitude was a far more enticing prize than any Quidditch cup and winning it meant your certain death. So, while they looked for you, seeking throughout the country, I hoped that this snitch would remain as resilient, as clever and as uncatchable as it ever was, even for me."

Heart drumming wild, Harry turns his lips against the hot skin and kisses Severus' abdomen. He wants to look up, but he is uncertain. There's more, he knows there's more, but if he looks up too soon Snape will not say the words.

"I was willing to walk away from all of it, even from magic, but not you. Hence the snitch. A reminder of the elusive boy that no one could catch."

Harry looks up then, sits up even and leans closer. Snape's looking away, eyes again to the side, but this time Harry takes his chin between his fingers and turns the lean face. Eyebrow cocked, Severus glares, but Harry ignores it.

"Seven years ago, you gave me your memories, then you died. I was supposed to follow you, but I didn't. So, I had to live with that, with the knowledge that the man I spent seven years hating, fighting, disrespecting, accusing has been doing nothing but keeping me alive. I remember your memories better than my own, you know. I wanted to apologise, to talk and finally understand who you really are, but you were dead, and all I had were memories of the bravest, most loyal man I've ever known, and no chance to actually get to know him. Can you imagine how weird that was? How frustrating?" Harry says and he has to take a deep breath before that bitter desperation he has felt since the beginning returns once again. "You caught the snitch, Severus. You've had me from the moment I saw your memories, saw you, the real you."

Severus swallows, eyes roaming on Harry's face, skittish like the thestral on his skin, never holding eye contact for more than half a second, as if he found what he saw there just too overwhelming.

In the end, he nails his eyes on the bed as he asks, "But for how long can I hold on to it?"

Harry's forced to remember their first night here, his own fears that Snape seemed to have echoed.

"I'm not a ghost, Severus. I told you I won't disappear." He reassures him quietly. "I'll be here as long as you want me to stay, longer still." He allows a small smirk to curl his lips. "A snitch has flesh memory, you see," Harry says then takes Severus' hand and entwines their fingers. "You were the one who caught me seven years ago. And a snitch always remembers."

Black eyes watch him and worry seems to melt away. Harry's pulled in and kissed, slow at first, loving and sweet, that has a mellow heat gathering in his chest. Hands stroking skin, breathing the same air, they relax into a calm embrace, that has Harry shivering. No matter how serene every touch is, how softly Snape caresses his lips with his own, within minutes Harry's body demands more.

He lies down and pulls Severus over him. He can feel the thin lips tug up into a smile as the man settles on him, knees on Harry's both sides, and then Snape smiles against the kiss and pulls away. He brushes his hair over to one side as he leans with his hand on Harry's bare chest.

"I am not the man I let you to know. I am not even just the man you saw in the memories. He is a part of me, but not all." He warns.

Harry laughs. "Severus, I heard you sing. You have a band, and a cat called Mittens. You wear socks with angry cacti and sarcastic shirts. I know you're not who I thought you were, trust me, I've gathered as much in the past few days. But I like this you, and I want to know you even better."

"Well, the singing might stop, if we can't save the bar." He sighs, then admits quietly, "I'm not sure what to do, to be honest."

"Oh, that's easy…" Harry laughs. He taps Severus' thigh as he shrugs, "Just buy Devil's Trap."

Severus rolls his eyes. "With what money, Potter? All I've saved up before the war has been confiscated and I tell you, cover bands playing once or twice a week don't earn nearly enough money."

"Yeah?" Harry asks and cocks an eyebrow. "How about war heroes with an Order of Merlin?"

Severus frowns confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You're not a criminal, Severus, I told you. The first thing I did was to clear your name. Nothing was confiscated. It's all there. Your money, the house, all your belongings, everything." Harry grins. "And there's the award. Order of Merlin, First Class. It comes with money. Thousand Galleons a year."

Severus stares, mouth open slightly. "What the bloody hell are you saying, Potter?"

"I'm saying," Harry says as he grasps Snape's waist and turns them over, pressing the man against the sheet, "that you, my dear Severus, are filthy rich."

"Oh," Severus gasps, but it might have something to do with Harry's hardness pressing against him. "And what do I have to do to get my money back?"

Harry looks into black eyes, suddenly a bit more serious. "You can't hide anymore. You have to return from the dead."

To his surprise, however, Snape just smirks, then drives a hand over Harry's back, and another onto his arse, pressing him down, while he rolls his hips up. There's a challenging expression on his face as he says, "Well then, why don't you make me feel alive again, Mr Potter?"

o.O.o

"I was driving down a one way street, heading in the wrong direction

You picked me up from the downbeat, a well needed interception..."

(Alex Runo – Preaching To The Choir)

This time, Harry wakes up first. It's not his own merit, someone has stepped on his face and is now sniffing in his ear, perhaps hoping to find some juicy chicken bits there.

He chuckles silently against Mittens soft belly, then pets her. She meows in response, purring loudly like a car engine against Harry's face. She curls up, presses her head against Harry's chin, then rolls around like a furry worm. Harry gets the hint.

He climbs out of bed as quietly as he can and snatches up the cat, too, who has been already on her way to wake Severus. They pad over to the kitchen, and Harry looks around for the cat food. Remembering Crookshanks' resilience, he starts the search in the upper cabinets and he's lucky, the second try is already victorious. He picks out a silver package which states it contains tuna and opens it, while Mittens meows loudly and demandingly to be served already.

Once the cat is settled over her bowl, Harry looks for coffee. While it brews, he goes to the bathroom, then walks back quietly to the bedroom to check on Severus.

He's still lying curled up on his side, facing towards Harry's empty spot. His eyes are closed, and his expression softened, wrinkles and frowns smoothed out as he dreams. Harry can make out only a hint of long legs tucked up against his body, although one peaks out, escaping the warmth under the cover.

He is naked under there and the thought brings heat to Harry's body. Severus was too tired, too spent last night to move an inch, to even bother to get up after Harry was done with him. A cleaning charm got rid of most of the mess, but Harry knows Snape's skin would still taste of salt and the knowledge makes him shiver.

The gentle morning light ought to soften the sight of the man, but its unforgiving on the pale skin. Bony shoulder peaks out of the blanket, a constellation of birthmarks scattered across it draws Harry's gaze. He connects the dark dots with his eyes now, instead of his tongue like a few hours ago.

Black hair, a myriad of serpents slim and long are slithering on a striped pillow, a couple is trying to escape the other side, wave their way over Severus' face. Every exhale has them shudder slightly, a feeling Harry's all too familiar with – hot breath on his skin, humid, shaky as Snape sighed Harry's name in sheer pleasure had covered Harry's skin in goose flesh last night.

It's a strange notion that now he has intimate knowledge of this man's body, of Severus Snape. Harry has always been the one to sneak behind the curtains and have a peak, unauthorized and punished for it later. Memories attained during an Occlumency lesson, stolen from a pensive, given freely on the dirty floor of the Shack – there were so few who knew of Snape's past, and probably even fewer who had seen him like Harry did last night.

There's most likely only one who's allowed now to perceive it all and Harry revels in that trust. Information is a privilege and Harry understands that. To comprehend not just Snape's past, his true role in the war, the brutality of his father or even his friendship to Lily Potter is one thing, but to see the birthmark on the lower curve of his bottom that's the size of the nail on Harry's thumb, to feel the smooth scars on his throat left behind by Nagini, to taste Severus' manhood on his tongue, the scent of his sweat, to hear his keen gasps, his needy sighs, his low grunts; these all speak of such an intimate nature Harry never imaged he'll have with Severus Snape.

He is not in love. Not yet anyway, but the temptation to let go and allow himself to fall is far too great to resist. It would be way too easy with Snape, they are too much alike. He wouldn't have to hide, to worry that he will be seen more of a hero and less as Harry Potter – when has that ever been the issue with Snape, after all. He could speak freely of the nightmares that still haunt him, especially of one that features the man himself, throat torn to shreds. Snape wouldn't mind the quiet nights, the occasional silences, he would understand the need for a few moments of solitude, probably demand it himself, too.

He is not in love, but he could fall for the man who wears cute socks and snarky shirts, who cuddles with a cat in winter evenings, who sings of pain and love and death and makes Harry yearn, as easily as the Half-Blood Prince had attracted him all those years ago. There was a reason why he couldn't let go of Snape in the past seven years, the seeds were there, planted deep inside him with memories, only the man was gone.

He wonders about Severus though, whether he's in love, could love at all. Something tells Harry he can and he does. There's the snitch for one, evidence etched into skin that Snape has cared for him enough not to want to let go of him, when he was even willing to give up on magic. But protecting something for eighteen years forms attachments. Love is different.

When a man wants to be selfish and take, love is giving and nurturing. That's what makes it all so painful. It's a constant fight against one's own self, own needs in order to bring happiness to someone else. Harry knows love with as much familiarity as he knows death, he knows its magic, its elemental power. He has never been in love though. He loves his friends, he has loved them enough to die for, but somehow Snape is different.

He had seven years to lament on his feelings for the man and he never came closer to understanding them. There is care and gratefulness and remorse, but something more, darker, possessive, too. He wants the cuddly winter nights, but he craves the vicious arguments too, the challenge, that he's not accepted just because who he is, but has to prove himself like everyone else. He wants the professor as much as the singer, wants the sweet delight as much as the harsh truth.

The coffee is ready and with one more glance at the tenderly sleeping form of Severus Snape, Harry walks back to the kitchen. He takes two mugs from the drying rack and fills them up, adds some milk, too. He takes the mugs, but Mitten twirls around his legs, before he could move. Claws dig into his flesh as she wants to climb up and Harry hisses. The cat lets go of him, twists and bends around her own body, then ends up lying on her back, belly presented.

"Oh no," Harry tells her. "You fooled me once. You don't get belly rubs from me, you little menace."

"You're a quick learner," Says a rough voice from the bedroom doorway. Harry looks up, warm smile spreading on his lips as he takes in Snape's sleepy form.

Long hair a tangly mess, he rubs at his eyes with his middle finger as he comes closer. He's put on his grey pyjama bottoms. They ride low enough on his hips that the snitch is visible. The thestral is back over his ribs, eyes flashing at Harry in a warning not to get molested again. Leather wings stretch, then pull back against bony, slender body, mane bristles as the animal notices Harry's watchful gaze and Harry smirks knowing the beast is ready for another chase, just like him.

Harry shows the scratch marks on the back of his arm to the man once he's close enough. "Had my fair warning." He tells Snape, then hands him one of the mugs.

"Hmph…" Snape comments then tilts his head, showing Harry the side of his neck. "So have I, I imagine."

Harry's raw, red marks stand out vividly against the pale skin. That dark surge of possessiveness is there again, only more eager at the sight. Harry swallows, feeling his cheeks heat up. "Sorry about that," he says meekly, then offers, "I can heal them if you like."

Snape sips into his coffee, black eyes watching Harry over the rim. "No need." Is all he says in the end, before he turns around and heads over to the couch.

Mittens follows him happily and so does Harry. The thestral trots over to the back, sniffs at another bitemark on Snape's shoulder then glares at Harry, who just shrugs, unapologetic. "I'd do it again," he tells the tattoo quietly.

The creature whips its black tail and hides beneath the grey pants. Snape looks over his shoulder, eyebrows raised questioningly.

Harry grins as he plops down. "Just having a discussion with your tat. Doesn't seem very happy that I left some marks on its… canvas."

"Luckily for you, the canvas doesn't mind." Snape smirks and he looks down on his own body, searching for the elusive creature. "The beauty of magical tattoos is the very same as their bane: they move." He seems to give up on locating the thestral. His eyes turn to Harry, who all but squirms in his seat.

Snape places his mug on the little coffee table, then the couch dips right next to Harry, as Severus kneels there and for a wild moment Harry thinks Snape is going to straddle him, but he only puts his hand on the back of the sofa, and tilts Harry's head up with two fingers on his chin.

The first kiss of the day is as gentle and warm as the rare sunshine outside. Harry's eyes close and a pleased hum leaves his mouth as Snape pulls back and settles, too. He tucks his legs up and runs his fingers through his hair, drawing his tresses back and out of his face.

"Do you feel it move?" Harry asks.

Severus shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee. "No. Maybe if I concentrate hard enough on the magic, I could locate it, but it usually stays in one point. Hasn't moved around this much since I got it probably."

"Hasn't been chased, you mean." Harry smirks.

Snape tilts his head in affirmation. "You appear to have a tendency to irritate it. It's not used to such… liveliness."

Harry's not sure whether Snape means he hasn't had many lovers in the past, or that they cared very little about the tattoos on his skin, but he doesn't much care anyway. "Well, it's lovely. I like it."

"Yes, I could tell," Snape says darkly and his eyes flash at Harry, then his gaze drops onto his lap. "Look who is suddenly brave enough to show its ugly face."

"Don't say that," Harry chides softly as he watches the winged horse carefully edge back to its place. He lifts Snape's arm out of the way as he says, "Thestrals are really beautiful in their own dark and terrifying ways. And really clever, too. I rode one to London once."

"I know, Potter, I saw you. Only I was too late to stop you." Snape sighs through gritted teeth.

"I should have trusted you." Harry says quietly. "Maybe then… maybe –"

"There's no changing the past."

"There is. We did it with Hermione. Saved Sirius and Buckbeak. You were furious with me."

"Of course, I was. I thought the man who betrayed Lily had hoodwinked you and was a free man once again. I would have twisted your neck if I put my hands around it that night."

"You don't even seem surprised that I just told you that I time travelled and changed the events."

"Albus told me… after I attempted to curse him. Twice."

Harry chuckles, but his expression turns serious quickly. "I haven't told that to anyone," He admits. "I couldn't. No one would really understand. That's why I want to make this work, Severus. You know me, you know what really went down, you know I'm not this hero they make me out to be and I need someone like that. I want this to work."

Snape's looking the other way for a long moment, morning light bringing some softness and warmth to his dark gaze.

"It is hard to maintain any meaningful relationships on half-truth." He says to the window, but then looks Harry in the eyes. "I never wanted it to happen, but you know me more than anyone in my life. You've been given many opportunities to shame me, betray me or humiliate me even. Instead you cleared my name. I know I can trust you and I've never been with anyone like that. This shall be an interesting affair."

Harry looks from intense black eyes to wary white, and smiles. "You hear that. Better get used to me."

The thestral shakes its head, but makes a hesitant step, when Harry moves closer. He places his hand on Severus' bare skin and waits.

The creature edges closer, then dances away. It's almost infuriating to stay patient, Harry wants to touch it again so bad. He knows he won't feel the soft mane, or leathery wings, but still, his brain longs for the sensation.

Severus arches a little to see what's going on and the skin stretches on his ribs. There are only inches between Harry's fingertip and the thestral, and it takes all his concentration not to move his hand.

"C'mon, I won't hurt you." He assures the beast and feels Severus take a deep breath, chest expanding under his touch. He looks up, smiles. "I won't hurt you either."

"It wants your magic. It feeds on it." Snape says quietly.

"Yeah?" Harry asks, eyes shifting between Severus and the animal. "It can have it."

Harry channels some into his hand, concentrates it in his fingers. He presses his fingertips deeper into Severus' skin and allows a tiny jolt of electric magic to snap the warm skin underneath.

"Ngh…" Snape jumps slightly and gasps but it doesn't sound painful at all.

The thestral whips its tail, sniffs the air and must sense the sudden surge of magic, because it rears up, wings beating a few times, then gallops to Harry's finger straight away. Then at last, black muzzle disappears under Harry's forefinger and he sighs.

He caresses the long mane with magic that is still gathering in the tip of his fingers. He doesn't feel the animal, but it clearly feels him. It soaks in the magic, or Harry's warmth, large black wings stretching out half way and shuddering.

Harry's thumb strokes the muzzle, the long, sturdy neck, the bony body and remembers the strange sensation of riding one back in his fifth year.

"See," Harry drawls sweetly, "We can be friends." He drags his fingers over Severus' unmarked skin and the thestral follows his touch, quickens its pace and trots up under Harry's hand.

"I'm glad you two are getting along so well," Severus grunts and Harry suddenly notices his breathing has become gradually shakier.

He looks at his hand flat against the man's side, thestral preening against it much like Mittens. Pale skin and love bites, expression stubborn, face turned away, blush high on his cheeks. Harry's hand twitches, inches a bit further up.

Harry swallows hard, gaze stuck on the man's profile. Slowly, Snape looks at him, black eyes bore down on him. Harry brushes a thumb over a nipple and Snape lets out a small gasp, and his eyes flutter closed for a moment. He breaks eye contact and snaps his gaze away, looking out the window instead as Harry makes gentle circles with his finger. Another shaky sigh, and Snape's body shivers.

"I think you should put down that mug," Harry tells him softly and Severus hands it over to him without an argument. Harry places both their cups on the coffee table then his itching hand is back on the man's body.

A couple strokes has the little bud erect, and Snape's pulse racing behind his ribcage. Black eyes watch him as Harry twirls his finger, presses down a little harder. Severus stirs slightly, leans back fully and drops his head against the back of the couch. Wings unfold under Harry's touch, asking for something more and Harry lets out another shot of magic through his fingertips. It shouldn't feel worse than a little prick of a needle, yet Severus' jumps, back arching slightly. The thestral frolics, too, soaking in the enchantment.

Harry keeps rubbing his thumb against the sensitive skin, making tantalizing circles. A pink tongue drifts quickly over thin lips, wets them then stays pressed against crooked teeth. Severus' breathing is definitely harsh now, splattered with choked sighs and low grunts. Another spike of magic has the tucked-up legs fall slightly apart, and the man roils in his seat.

Harry has to shift too, tight briefs too uncomfortable all of a sudden. He runs his whole palm over Severus' nipple, then pinches it between two fingers. Long legs stretch out on the couch in response, hard cock lifting the soft material of the worn, grey pyjama bottoms.

Shot of arousal pinches the base of Harry's spine at the sight.

A hand lifts and cups the side of his face, thumb strokes his chin. Black eyes, intent and dark, watch him. Harry places his other hand on top of it, then turns his face and kisses the middle of Snape's palm, drags his mouth up on long fingers, as bony as the thestral underneath his hand.

"Jesus fuck, Potter," Severus grunts when Harry takes two of his fingers in his mouth, tongue twirling around them. Harry just smiles around the digits, then sucks, watching as Snape's eyes roll back for a moment.

His own fingertips continue their teasing circles around the hardened nub. Every twist, every firm press has Snape's body jolt with pleasure. It's a lovely sight and Harry's cock appreciates it just as much. He's pretty much leaking already, can feel his underwear wet against the head. Snape doesn't look any better though, there's a darker blotch on his light grey pants, and it just makes Harry hungrier.

"Harry… please…" Snape begs almost silently and Harry pulls back from those long fingers and leans closer to the man.

"What do you want, Severus?" He asks, smirking.

Fingers, long and hot, close around his throat and pull him into a kiss. It's desperate, broken with deep sighs and harsh moans as Harry's digits keep moving, twirling, pinching. Severus bites down on his lower lip as his hips rise. Harry pulls away, only to look down on the lean body.

The head of Snape's cock peeks out from the waistband now, glistening with precome, yet the firm touch around his neck doesn't push him down there. He's guided to where his hand is, followed by Severus' desperate plea of, "Aah, please…"

He can feel the drumming heart against his lips as they touch down, it rattles its bone cage wildly. He flicks his tongue over the little bud and Severus presses up against him instantly, low moan slipping past his tight lips. He stirs, legs stretching then pulling back slightly, cock twitching. Harry wonders if the man could come from this alone, but knows he won't be able to resist touching him much longer.

He graces his teeth on the sensitive skin at first, just a small scratch while his tongue moves its relentless circles, but Severus is practically falling apart already. When he bites down and tugs, an undignified cry breaks up from the man's throat that seems to surprise even Severus. He attempts to cover his mouth, but Harry catches his hand and instead places it on the other nipple, left unattended for far too long.

Harry watches Snape caress himself and all but comes in his pants at the sight. He's so responsive as if he had never been touched before. Harry bites the skin on his chest, sucks on it, too, knowing that there will be another purpling bruise there soon and Severus's whole body jolts, writhes against the couch.

Harry's patience breaks at last and he shifts off the couch just to settle over Snape's leg. He presses his cock against a firm thigh and grinds down as he lifts the grey pyjamas off the man's hard erection and takes it in his mouth straight away.

A breathless "Harry!" is ripped from Snape's throat, sounding almost surprised as if it wasn't a given from the start that this is where Harry will finish.

The heavy member slides against his tongue, salty and hot, delicious, and he sucks, making needy, indecent sounds as he rubs himself against Snape. He wants to keep looking, watch Severus as he pinches his own nipples, but he is too close already, the pleasure too great, delightful, overwhelming and his eyes shut on their own accord after every thrust.

Snape moves his thigh, lifts it, presses it against Harry more firmly, and Harry can feel his cock twitching in his mouth. It's over too quickly, but the thought that they can do this any time they want to remains and sweetens the moment.

Severus doesn't pull away, comes straight into Harry's mouth, one hand fisted in Harry's hair, the other one clutching at the cushions. Harry's barely aware of it though; the moment the hot liquid hit the back of his throat he lost it too, soiling his shorts completely.

Panting he falls on the couch next to the man and kisses his abdomen. He looks up into black eyes, and is slightly surprised to find Severus' expression utterly satisfied and content as he gasps for air while his body calms as well.

"Are you always so active in the mornings?" He grunts, then wets his dry lips.

"Not really…" Harry chuckles. "But that might change now that we're..." Harry stops, hesitant.

"Together?" Snape finishes for him with an arched eyebrow.

"Yeah, that," Harry says and covers his violent blush and giddy smile with another kiss on the man's belly.

"Oh, no, you don't get to hide either," Snape huffs and gentle fingers drift into his hair on the back of his head, before Snape pulls him up into a lazy kiss.

It doesn't last long however, Harry's is just too uncomfortable in his wet briefs, so he pulls away. "I need a shower."

"Go," Snape tells him. "At least I can finish my coffee in peace."

Harry cocks an eyebrow, but jumps off. He hands Snape his mug and takes a sip from his own too, washing off the taste of come. He walks around the couch, but stops right behind Severus, hand sliding down on naked skin. "Didn't hear you complain just now…" He whispers against Snape's ear as his two fingers pinch the now softened little nub on the man's chest.

"Shit!" The touch must have surprised Severus, because he jumps, spilling coffee over himself.

Harry just laughs smugly, then walks to the bathroom.

o.O.o

"I got this life to fix

Threw it all out in a ditch

Broken down when I was sick

Gotta build it back up brick by brick..."

(The Record Company – Life to Fix)

They are having breakfast while Mittens is loudly begging for a piece of sausage from both of them. Harry relents first, unused to the loud demands, heart softened by Crookshanks' big yellow eyes already. Severus holds on for a while longer, but Harry can see him sneaking bits of his food to the cat under the table.

Once both of them are full and Mittens settles in her owner's arm, Severus leans back in his seat and puts up a leg on a neighbouring chair. His pose is relaxed, but his shoulders are tense as he takes a deep breath and asks, "So what do I have to do to get my money back?"

Harry shrugs, "Not much really. Do you still have your wand?"

"Of course." Snape nods, eyes momentarily shifting towards the bedroom then they are back at Harry.

"Good, you'll need that for identification. Given who you are, they will probably ask more questions, there is a chance you have to state your name, parentage, and date and place of birth under Veritaserum. They cannot ask you anything else as long as you are under the influence," Harry quickly ascertains when he sees Snape's scowl. "Since you left behind a will, all your possessions have been given over to Minerva according to your specifications, but she hasn't touched it in the last seven years. Collect your Gringotts key from her and you're good to go."

"Oh shit," Black eyes widen slightly. "And I thought the Ministry would be the toughest part. You wouldn't go there to pick up that key for me, would you?"

Harry laughs, points his fork at the man. "Absolutely out of the question. You deserve whatever you'll get from her."

"She'll harm me. I'll be useless for days." Snape warns.

"I'll be at work from Monday anyway." Harry grimaces with distaste. "You'll have till the weekend to heal yourself."

"I won't be seeing you till the weekend?" Snape asks softly and Harry feels warm all of a sudden.

"You see now, why I hate being an Auror so much?" He huffs.

"Quit that rubbish job, Potter." He tells Harry all serious, but then smirks. "I'm rich apparently. I can take care of you."

Harry laughs, sips his tea and swallows. "You want to be my sugardaddy, Severus?"

Snape bristles at the word. "This is your first and last warning not to ever call me daddy in any circumstance… ever." He growls then shudders again.

Laughing, Harry just says, "Still, I appreciate the offer, but I have money of my own. I'm just not sure what to do if not this. I wanted to be an Auror since I was fifteen."

"Exactly. I wanted to be a Death Eater when I was fifteen. Luckily that idea didn't hold either for much longer." Snape says easily. "You're young. Take a break and figure out what you want to do now, as opposed to ten years ago."

Harry cocks an eyebrow. "What about you? Name as spotless as ever, pockets filled, the Wizarding World at your feet. Do you have any plans, or is it just going to be singing till the end?"

Snape looks away, eyes towards the window, hand automatically petting Mittens. He seems to think for a long moment about the answer. "I miss magic, being around cauldrons full of dangerously bubbling potions. I was willing to give it up, I had to, but it was a sacrifice, a violation of my own nature." His eyes are back on Harry, harsh, but honest. "My name has not been spotless since my skin was tainted, and the Wizarding World will never be at my feet. I am not their hero, no matter what you told them. And martyrdom only works as long as one stays dead. I doubt I will be as welcomed by others as I was by you. Therefore, what I would like to do matters not."

"Humour me," Harry insists. "If our world awaited you with open arms, would you come back, or would you stay at Devil's Trap and sing every Thursday night?"

"Why must I choose?"

It's Harry's turn to remain quiet for a moment and think. "You're right. You don't have to. So, you want both?"

Snape puts the cat down and stands up. He goes around the table, heading towards the bathroom, but when he walks behind Harry he stops, and places a hand on Harry's shoulder. He leans closer, his voice dark as he says, "You should have an adequate assessment of my character by now to realize, I want everything."

While Severus showers, Harry cleans up the remnants of their breakfast. He does the dishes, wipes the table clean, puts the kettle on. The tea is forgotten though, because Severus walks out of the bathroom still wet, olive green towel around his waist. He only looks at Harry then marches to the bedroom, but that one glance is enough. Harry follows him.

He stops at the door, not trusting himself to go much further. He knows this won't be about sex, quite the opposite in fact. He leans against the frame and watches as Severus towels himself dry. His hair is tied in a bun on the back of his head again, but a couple of strands still managed to get wet, they are stuck to his skin, curly and shiny in the morning light.

Waterdrops glisten on his pale skin until he wipes them away with the green towel. The scene could almost be erotic, yet Harry feels serene. Expectant. Curious. It's almost like the excitement of welcoming an old friend he has not seen in a while. In seven years in fact.

Severus puts on navy blue briefs. He steps to his wardrobe, hands on the round doorknobs for a moment, then opens it with one swift motion. He doesn't have to search long, he just reaches in and pulls out the black set of robes.

Harry's heart misses a beat. He hasn't seen those clothes in seven years. The last time they were covered in blood and the dust of Shrieking Shack. Now they are as pristine as ever.

Severus slips into the white shirt, eyes cast down as his fingers move up on the buttons diligently. Years of practice makes the action smooth and fluid, even though he has probably worn mostly snarky shirts recently. The motions are etched into his muscles.

Harry watches the transformation avidly, but with apprehension. Cacti socks are exchanged to plain black ones. Black slacks instead of jeans cover the long legs. Shoes instead of boots.

Piece by piece the man he used to know is built up, put together once more. His marks disappear under high collar, clothes seem to overwrite last night. It is terrifying to see this, like watching someone transform via the Polyjuice potion, but at the same time Harry, his heart and his brain, too, knows this man is the same he had kissed this morning, the same he saw sing the other night. A familiar face and a familiar body and yet an unfamiliar sensation.

He makes a hesitant step inside. He needs to feel Severus, touch him to believe he's real, too, not just Professor Snape. Black eyes lift and look at him. It's the same man who sat and had breakfast with him half naked not twenty minutes ago, yet he's different now. He's also the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore, who wanted to expel him at every moment, who took every opportunity to fail him at Potions.

Impassive, not letting his hesitance show, he takes Snape's coat and holds it out to the man. Severus slips his hands through. Harry stands in front of him, watches him do the buttons one by one. There's so many. Every layer, every button is like another cover he can hide behind. But there is nothing concealing him from Harry anymore. He knows what's beneath all this darkness, body and soul, he knows it all, familiar birthmarks, teasing smirk, laughter and a voice to wake the dead.

For the first time in days, he truly understands that Severus Snape is alive. His mind, his very core comprehends the foreign concept that someone he had thought to be lost forever is standing once again in front of him. More extreme is the realization that he has slept with this man, and even more so, wants him still.

As if he had been drunk in the past days, now, he's suddenly sober. The two images he has been seeing now merge into one and the effect is nearly dizzying. He steps back, eyes on the man.

"Having doubts, Mr Potter?" Snape asks lightly as he does the buttons on his cuff, and it's him, really him. Everything just clicks in Harry's mind. The cloak, the voice, the tone his last name is said.

Harry's heart wants to burst. "Quite the opposite, in fact." He grunts as he brushes Snape's hand away and works on the buttons himself. "It just hit me. You're alive."

"Only now? I would have thought last night was but a testimony to my animation."

"That it was," Harry laughs as he finishes buttoning up Severus' one arm and moves to the other. "I don't know how to explain it, I'm just… glad you're here, okay. I'm glad you made it."

Snape raises an eyebrow, brushes off a speck of dust from his chest that's not really there. "Are you going to be all sentimental on me now?"

"No," Harry huffs, but keeps his eyes away from Snape.

Once all the buttons are done, Harry pulls his hands away, but Snape stops him, holds his wrist gently. Harry looks up at last.

"The man you met at Devil's Trap has been there all along, in the classrooms, on top of the Astronomy Tower, in the Shrieking Shack, the same way as the professor you have known all your life was here last night." Severus says quietly.

"I know," Harry assures him. "Now, I know." Hands drifting on black clad chest, Harry leans in and kisses Severus softly. He feels his full body shiver, as if an electric jolt has rushed through his whole system. He wants to pull back before the kiss gets out of control, but Severus comes with him. He kisses desperately and suddenly wild as if he would want to say goodbye, but Harry soothes his nervousness with gentle touches and sweet kisses.

They are both panting when Severus pulls only inches away, there's barely enough oxygen for both of them. He presses his forehead against Harry's as he asks almost silently with a tone filled with anguish, "And do you still want me?"

"More than ever," Harry reassures him, lips against the man, then he's kissed again, devoured. He pushes closer, chest against chest and the only reason he hasn't started undressing Severus yet is because his hands are kept in a strong hold on the side.

With a last small peck on his lips, Severus pulls away. Harry is glad to see he's not having a much easier time either as he comes back for one more kiss, then another.

"We need to stop." Harry grunts against swollen lips.

"Step away then," Severus challenges, but before Harry could, he thrusts his tongue in Harry's mouth and licks around. "I dare you," he growls.

Harry's leg quiver. He holds on stronger, hands tangled in the messy bun. He needs all his inner strength to step back in the end. "I'm not going to do all those buttons again." He grins. "If I get you out of these clothes, you're staying that way for the rest of the day."

Black eyes glint. "Deal," Snape murmurs, as he straightens his coat, corrects his cuffs.

There's only one article left. He takes off his cloak from the hanger and twirls it around his shoulder. He looks imposing and as fortified as a castle. Harry almost smiles, reassuringly.

The edge of the black cloak brushes on the carpet as Snape walks to the nightstand. He looks almost out of place wearing Wizarding robes in such a Muggle flat.

He pulls out a drawer and takes a key out. He walks back to the wardrobe and opens a safe in there, hidden somewhere in the back Harry cannot even see.

When he emerges, he's holding a black box, long and slim with a golden logo on top Harry would recognise any day. The twirly O then the rest of the name and a wand above it, Makers of fine wands since 382 BC written below– he doesn't even have to look hard to know, a glimpse is enough to recognise Ollivander's work.

Snape places the box carefully on the bed and opens it with as much reverence as he might have had when he first got it. His motions are slow, and careful, gentle even as he reaches for the handle, yet still an electric blue light zaps him before he could touch it.

He flinches, jerks his hand back a bit, but Harry is surprised to see, he's smiling.

"Come now, don't be angry." Snape all but purrs softly, calmingly as if trying to still a wild beast or a petulant child.

He reaches out again, middle finger gently running along the length of the black wand, then long fingers curl around the handle.

Suddenly, a swirl of magic surrounds him, and he inhales deeply, his eyes fluttering close. As it slowly ebbs away, his tresses and his cloak still drifts as if there was a small breeze in the room and Harry, too, feels the warmth of welcoming magic.

"I missed you too," Severus tells his wand as he rolls it between his fingers, then points it straight at Harry.

There's no audible spell but Harry is jerked forward with an Accio and lands in Snape's arm, almost pushing them off their feet.

Chuckling, he notes, "Bit eager to do magic, isn't it?"

"No," Severus smiles back, then kisses him. "Works as perfectly as always."

o.O.o

"Now if I could change the flow of time,

I'd break that strange,

That old design…"

(Kongos – Stand Up)

Harry sends a Patronus to Kingsley with the message to come to the office in half an hour.

They apparate first to Harry's place, where he changes into robes, too, then take the floo from there. The Ministry is usually mostly empty on Sundays and it's not an exception today either. Outside the guard, only a handful of wizards and witches linger around the Atrium, finished with their jobs and having some last-minute chat with a colleague, or popping back in for something they've left behind.

"A lot has changed here," Snape notes after a few seconds as they walk past the large, fancy statue in the middle.

Harry looks up at the sculptures, made of marble not gold anymore. A wizard, a witch, a centaur, a goblin and an elf stand in a closed circle, their backs against each other, hand in hand. They all have a fierce expression as they look up towards five different points. Unity in diversity – say the glimmering golden letters on the bottom of the statue. Other creatures are carved into the bottom of the marble, too, nearly every magical beast is represented.

"Yeah," Harry says. "Kingsley is trying. Look up," He points towards where the centaur is looking.

Snape does so, lets out a little gasp. "Don't tell me…"

The centaur leaning against a railing above their heads waves down at Harry, who raises his hand in greeting, too. Her long chestnut brown mane reaches almost to her waist, and her dark eyes glimmer, before she turns around and heads back to her office.

"Never would have believed a centaur is going to work at a wizarding ministry myself either, but Kallenope was more than willing. Others came after her from all across the country. Now we have seven working with us. Some house elves too, their office is over there," Harry notes pointing the other corner up above, exactly where the house elf statue looks. "Goblin liaisons became pretty much Department of Finances and now that they work with the goblins not against, we're getting a lot more use of that division, too."

"I take it we're headed there," Snape notes nodding towards the glass office in the line of the witch and wizard's view.

"Not just yet," Harry says and points ahead to a little booth.

They walk up to the guard's post and Augustus Dane, a fairly old man with a white goat beard walks out, peering through his bushy eyebrows. "Mr Potter…?" His voice is questioning as he looks at Snape. "You brought a guest?"

"Hi Augustus." Harry greets the man and they shake hands. "Yes, we have a meeting with the Minister."

"Always working you youngsters," Augustus notes with a headshake, then turns to Snape. "Name and wand please, for registration."

Snape hands him his black wand. "Severus Snape." He states.

The quill falls from Augustus' hand and he snaps his head at Snape. "You are not!" He frowns, squints his eyes even more. "It cannot be!" He looks closer, but then jerks back as Snape's feature finally become clear to his old eyes. "I'll be damned! Mr Snape, welcome back! What a miracle!"

Harry levitates the feather up and Severus takes it from the air, signing his name in the registry.

"No miracle, I assure you," the man says while his wand is measured.

"Ash with unicorn tail hair core, twelve inches," Augustus reads from the slip of paper, then asks, "Correct?" as he gives the wand back to Severus.

"Indeed."

"I hope you are well, son," the old man bobs his head, holds out his hand.

Hesitant for only a second, Snape takes it. "I am, thank you."

Augustus slaps him on the shoulder and nods once more, then returns to his little booth to his crosswords.

As they head through the Atrium, Harry notices that Severus is quiet. He guesses the reason must be Augustus' pleasant welcome and he's proven correct when Snape asks, "Is he always like this?"

Harry just rolls his eyes. "No one hates you, Severus, I told you."

"Hm," is all the cool answer as they head towards the elevators.

The new floor above the Atrium gives place to five new offices. The goblins don't appear to work this Sunday, but there are two elves conversing in their office. Other than them, only Kallenope is in. She walks out, when she notices Harry and Severus.

If she recognizes Snape, or his presence surprises her, she doesn't show it.

"Hello, Harry," she says cheerfully. "Coming in on a Sunday? That's very unlike you."

"Hey Kalle. I'm not here for work. Have you seen Kingsley arrive already?"

"Oh, I should have realized you're the one ordering the Minster for Magic in on his day off. He got here about five minutes before you did."

"He's the Minister for Magic, he doesn't have a day off," Harry smirks, then points at Snape. "You haven't met, yet, have you?"

"No," Severus says. "Severus Snape, pleasure."

"Ah, yes, indeed, the returning comet," she smiles, and holds out a hand. "Kalle, nice to meet you. You know what they say about the unstoppable force and the unmovable object meeting, right? You two might just be the explosion our little universe needs."

"I don't know about that," Harry notes, looking away from her knowing eyes.

"I do," She smirks. "Good luck on your new journey, Harry. It's a pity we won't be colleagues much longer. I enjoyed your company."

"Hey now," Harry says quickly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't have a choice. This clash will be big enough to move the sun, darling," She chuckles.

"Must you always talk in riddles?" He grouses.

"I'm a centaur, so yes, I'm afraid I do."

"No, that's not it. You just know I hate it."

She laughs, throwing back her long, chestnut hair. "It is part of the appeal." She admits. "Farewell, Harry, Severus."

She turns around, tail whipping about and walks back into her office.

Harry looks after her, wondering, but then shakes his head. "I hate fortune telling."

"It is a most annoying subject, for sure," Snape agrees, but there is something strange in his voice as well.

"Don't listen to her," Harry tells him then starts towards the Minister's office. "She's always like that."

"And do her predicaments generally come true?"

Harry doesn't answer as it wouldn't prove his own point, but his silence is just as telling.

"Thought so," Snape comments under his breath.

Once in front of the office, Harry knocks on the glass door, but doesn't wait for an answer, just walks right in, Snape on his heels.

"What was so imp –" Kingsley starts to ask, then his eyes turns to Snape and he gapes. His jaw falls open, and he stands abruptly up, his chair almost falling back. "Merlin's beard! This can't be!"

"I'm afraid, it can," Harry notes.

"Bloody hell! Snape, is that truly you."

"I assure you, Minister Shacklebolt, it is I."

Kingsley looks from Harry to Snape, then back again, still in shock. "How is this even possible?"

"Dumbledore made sure he survives. I told you, didn't I?" Harry says, pointing an accusing finger at the minister. "There was no body."

"Well, I guess you found the reason for that," Kingsley notes as he falls back onto his chair. He rubs his hands across his face, then points at the chair. "Where are my manners, sit, please. I'd offer you tea, but I need something stronger. Care to join?"

"Sure," Harry nods, as he and Snape both sit on the comfortable armchairs in front of the minister's desk.

Glasses appear, Harry takes a sip of his, Severus a measured gulp, while Kingsley downs the whole thing.

"I take it you want to come back and that's why you're here?" Kingsley asks, as he refills his own glass.

"Indeed." Comes Snape's calm answer.

"We'll get started in a second, but first, tell me. Why did you leave? Did anyone know you were alive? Minerva, surely..."

"She didn't. No one did." Snape says, then takes another sip.

"Will you let me understand?"

Severus nods. "Ask whatever you wish, Minister."

They talk for nearly an hour. Harry remains mostly quiet, having heard all of this before. Snape is almost cruelly honest about everything, including Dumbledore's orders, the night he murdered him. He doesn't leave out anything, doesn't try to diminish his role in the many deaths that occurred. They talk about what Snape's been doing in the past seven years and his hopes for the future. Snape answers carefully here, unsure of what he will be allowed. However, just like Augustus and Kalle, Kingsley doesn't seem to hold any enmity towards him either.

"So you fooled us all, not just the Dark Lord in the end, eh, Snape?" He laughs with a booming voice. "Good god, I cannot even believe it."

"It was never my intention to fool anyone," Snape states, chances a careful glance at Harry. "I was under the impression I had to run."

"Yes, the whole terrible ordeal with Dumbledore…" Kingsley nods, sighs. "Your name is cleared, of course." He assures Snape. "We had witnesses, Harry here and Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, too. Even I testified on your behalf as a member of the Order. I talked to Albus's portrait as well, to get all the facts right and he confirmed it all."

"What now, Minister?" Severus asks.

"I'm afraid you'll have to prove your identity. You were a high-profile wizard, and… well, we wouldn't want any more mistakes, now, would we? This will be awkward enough to explain."

"I am ready, when you are." Snape consents.

Kingsley nods, writes a quick note, taps it with his wand. It flies out through solid glass and splits in two as it dives down. "I'll need Ernest Houghton for this, and Robards, too." Kingsley tells them as he stands up and walks to a filing cabinet. He rummages around it for a while, apparently looking for something.

"Robards is my boss," Harry explains in the meanwhile. "Houghton is head of the Department of Mysteries."

Kingsley comes back holding a thick file. There's a photo in front of it of Snape, his name written below. "I need a law enforcement officer present as a witness to sign that your identity was investigated, and Ernest will be able to tell us if you are who you say you are." He tells them as he opens up Severus' folder.

After a few quiet minutes, two men burst through the door.

"Snape!?" Cries Robards. "That cannot be!"

The other is calmer, he says nothing for now, just watches Snape. Earnest Houghton is a very unsettling man. He's somewhat young, has a knowing smile, and blue eyes that see beyond Harry's soul.

"Potter, what have you done?" Gawain demands, once he realizes he's in the room, too. "Oh please, don't tell me you did something stupid again."

"Nothing," Harry says quickly. "He was alive all along. I just happened to find him."

"You were? Truly?" Robards looks at Snape suspiciously. "He didn't go back in time to get you? Didn't revive you?"

"No. We met in a pub by accident."

Robards lets out a sigh of relief. "Good, that means less paperwork for me."

They walk further in. Earnest starts talking with Snape, while Gawain looks strictly down on Harry. "Is this why you were late on Friday?"

"Yeah," Harry nods.

"You told him what I'll have to do, right?"

"Sure. And he agreed. We wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Why now?"

"You'll have to ask him," Harry shrugs.

Snape seems to listen in to their conversation, as do everyone else. They look at Snape expectantly, curious, too, about the answer.

"I believed myself to be wanted, gentlemen, however upon meeting Mr Potter, he informed me it was not the case. I would like my old life back now, thank you. Well, not all of it, perhaps and with some changes issued on some fields of it, but I am a wizard and I wish to live like one, too."

"Let's proceed then," Kingsley suggests, opens up Snape's file, then waves a hand for Earnest to start the process.

"May I see your wand for identification, please, Mr Snape." Houghton asks, kind smile spreading on his lips.

When Severus presents it to him, he doesn't take it from him, only places his hand on it gently, two fingers barely touching the wood. His eyes close for a moment, then he looks at Snape. "Ah, yes. A very loyal wand, like its master. It wouldn't even work for anyone else. Ash and unicorn tail hair, twelve inches indeed. This is Severus Snape's wand, no doubt."

"How can you tell that?"

"I know things, Mr Snape," Earnest states cryptically. "As an Unspeakable, it is my job to know."

"Could you perform some magic with it for me, please?"

Snape points his wand at the man and flicks it. Earnest raises from the ground a couple inches, then slowly lowers back. "Lovely," he comments, then steps next to the minister. "The wand says it's him."

Robards steps up, stands on Kingsley's other side and places in front of Snape a glass vial with a transparent liquid inside it. "You know what this is. There are more complicated methods, but if you are who you claim to be, you'll drink that. I'll ask you three questions: your name, your mother's maiden name and your date of birth. That's all I need, and you'll have your identity revived before the Veritaserum clears from your system."

Snape nods, says nothing but reaches out for the vial. He pops the cork with his thumb, looks at Harry then downs the potion. "Ask ahead, Auror Robards." He says once he swallowed it all down.

"What is your full name, sir?"

"Severus Snape." He states clearly.

"Your mother's maiden name, what is it?"

"Eileen Prince."

"And when were you born?"

"In nineteen-sixty, on the ninth of January."

"And we're done." Robards claps his hands. "I'd keep to myself for about five more minutes, that's as long as the serum will be effective. We'll go get the paperwork ready."

"Well I guess, I have a death certificate to revoke." Kingsley stands up smiling, too. "It won't take long. Stay here," he tells Snape, but motions to Harry to get up, too. "Better leave Mr Snape alone while he's under the effect of the truth serum." He says.

Harry stands to leave, too, puts a hand on Snape's shoulder and looks down at him. "Welcome back, Professor Snape," he smiles at the man fondly.

Just as he would step away, a flash of black eyes stops him. "Stay here," Snape says quietly.

"Are you sure?" Harry asks, carefully. Even accidentally, he doesn't want to take advantage of the situation.

"I am sure, Harry. You can stay."

Kingsley nods at that, then the three men leave.

"That was surprisingly quick," Snape notes sounding slightly surprised.

"I told you it will be." Harry says as he leans against the desk. "It's simple with the Veritaserum, there's no room for error."

"It feels strange." Snape admits quietly. "Every second I am expecting a group of Aurors to burst through that door and arrest me. I have been afraid of this moment for so long, yet I craved it in these past seven years, too. I am a wizard and I belong in this world, denying it felt wrong." He seems slightly surprised at his own confession and Harry knows it is the serum that makes him say this.

"We shouldn't talk," He tells the man. "Not while you can't lie."

"I would have expected you to use the situation to find out what you want to know." Snape says and stands up, too, walks closer to Harry.

"No, I won't do that." Harry shakes his head.

"Why?" Snape asks quietly. He moves even closer.

He feels his pulse pick up as the space between them gets smaller and smaller. If anyone were to see them now… Harry gulps, looks over Snape's shoulder but there's no one there. They are alone. "It would be unfair."

"Even if you would never hear the answer to your question otherwise?"

Harry can't look away; black eyes have trapped him. His stomach twists with need. He wants to ask, of course he does, no matter how much he plays the noble man, they both know he craves to hear the answer. Who wouldn't? There's something in that dark gaze that incinerates Harry's resolves, but his doubt, too. A hand rises up to his face, Severus caresses his cheek with the back of his fingers and Harry turns towards the touch slightly, kisses the hand.

"Ask me," Snape says softly like a whisper, desperately like a plea.

"I don't need to." Harry knows the answer. He knows.

"I want you to. Ask me."

And Harry does. "Do you love me?" Quiet, almost silent, yet eager. Hopeful.

"Yes," Snape admits, kisses him.

Harry's lost. Gone, absorbed in happiness. He kisses back, fingers clutched into the front of Snape's robes, he pulls the man closer, licks into his mouth. It's delightful, the sensation, he's spellbound by the confession, not quite shocked, he suspected as much, yet still, never hoped to hear it.

They pull apart and the dark gaze wanders on Harry's face, drinks in his expression, the colour of his eyes, the shape of his lips it seems. Harry opens his mouth to say something, but movement catches his eyes. Kingsley stands by the door, eyes wide, mouth gaping open with astonishment. Thankfully, Robards and Houghton are not there with him. Harry casts his eyes down, and steps away. "Kingsley," he tells Snape, when the man doesn't want to let him go.

Snape drops his hand, moves away, but doesn't look back. Still, Kingsley gets the hint, walks in, and clears his throat. Without a word, he goes to his desk, stamps down on two separate rolls of parchment. Harry and Severus both watch him silently.

When he's done, he steps up to Snape. "Here," he says, and hands him the first paper. "This is your death certificate. Annulled of course."

Snape rolls it out, looks at the big red letters across it saying WITHDRAWN. "What am I to do with it?" He asks confused.

The Minister for Magic shrugs. "I'd frame it if I were you," he chuckles in a booming voice, then hands Severus the other parchment. "And this, Severus Snape, is your new birth certificate. Congratulations, you are now, once again, a part of the Wizarding World."

Snape takes the paper reverently, opens it up. It's nothing showy, just the usual document, even the Minister's seal is just a small stamp in the lower right corner. "Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt."

"No, thank you, Severus." Kingsley says and holds his hand out. "We wouldn't have been able to defeat Riddle without you. Your Order of Merlin, along with the rest of your assets has been relocated to your Gringotts vault. I wish I could hold a proper presentation in your honour, but I doubt you'd want that." He smiles.

Snape agrees with a nod, and takes the offered hand.

"I wish you luck in all your future endeavours, Severus." Kingsley says, then glances momentarily at Harry. "I have a feeling we will be hearing about you soon."

"You won't alert the Prophet?"

"Hell no." Kingsley shudders. "The Ministry and the Prophet doesn't have the same good relationship as they used to."

"I would take that as a compliment," Snape smirks.

"So do I. And Snape, if you're looking for work, you know where to find me. We're always in need of good people here."

"Thank you, but I think I know what I want to do and it won't involve much bureaucracy."

"Where are you off to next?" The Minister asks, looking at Harry now. "Or perhaps, I shouldn't ask that, should I?" He teases with a smug smile.

Harry fights the blush creeping up his cheek in vain. "To Hogwarts."

"To see Minerva?" Kingsley snaps his gaze at Snape, his expression worried. "You are a brave man, Severus. Maybe you should have started there and spare me all this fuss. She's going to kill you, you know."

"I do have that feeling, yes."

"Well if she doesn't, come by in a few days. There's still some paperwork left, and we'll need your testimony too, but it can wait. Good luck… for everything. Harry, tell her to go easy on him."

o.O.o

"Harry nods, then they leave the office.

There's no silver or gold in my kingdom of dirt

All of that treasure is suffering and hurt..."

(Adam Jensen – Trouble)

Hogwarts has changed nothing. The castle is quiet as they walk through corridors, only dim voices filtering through classrooms can be occasionally heard. They don't meet anyone on the way to the Headmistress' office, just a small owl, who swishes over their heads quickly.

Harry finds it strange almost to see Snape back between these walls. Black robes and all, he looks like his old professor, but Harry knows now he's a lot more than that.

"Severus," he calls, grabs the man's lower arm. When black eyes turn on him and Snape stops, Harry continues. "Back at the Minister's office… I just… I wanted to say…"

"Shut up, Potter," Snape says, but there's a smile lurking there in the corner of his lips.

Still Harry puffs up. "What do you mean, shut up? I just want to tell you –"

"Being sentimental, Mr Potter?" He drawls. "In the middle of a corridor at Hogwarts?"

"Well…"

"Save it. I might die in a few minutes anyway."

"You know I won't let that happen, right?"

"Are you going to fight Minerva McGonagall for me?" Snape all but laughs.

"If it comes to that…"

"How gallant of you." Snape says then starts towards the ugly gargoyle.

He only manages a few steps, when Harry calls after him. "Severus!"

"Yes?" He sounds exasperated, but twirls around, robes flying as he moves.

Harry watches him, sees him like he is. It's the same inebriated sensation he had in the bedroom. Two pictures merging, two people, identities, one he thought he knew and one he only met a few days ago. And yet…

"I think I'm in love with you. I think I've been in love with you since you died and I found out the truth."

Snape rolls his eyes, but walks back to Harry. "You hardly know me."

"You know that's not true. You said yourself, I know you better than nearly anyone. And I'm not talking about your hobbies, or what food you like or whether you keep a pet or not. I know what kind of person you are and I love it. I love you."

"Far be it from me to talk you out of it, but have you even considered what your friends will say about this? What the whole world will? Not to mention the brief twenty years between us, have you considered that?"

"I don't care." Harry says simply.

"Of course, you don't," Severus sighs, but he looks at Harry with affection. "You've been a reckless fool all your life, why I thought it would be any different when it comes to your love life, I cannot even comprehend." He says. "But what to do, we both fell into this trap long ago, didn't we? Snitches might have flesh memory, Potter, but I bet you all my money, every Seeker remembers the first Snitch they caught, too, until they die."

"I will remember mine." Harry smiles.

"And so will I," Snape admits. He looks around, but no one is near, so he leans down and kisses Harry swiftly. "Now, that I know your overly fond regard towards my person, and that you'll protect me, can we please go up to that office? It might not look like it, but I am seconds away from fleeing from this place again, and returning to the Muggle world."

"You really are afraid of Minerva?" Harry asks lightly, as they start walking again.

"I do not often admit this, but to tell the truth, I am terrified. Not of her spells, but she was my friend, and I'm afraid I had lost that the moment I walked away from this life." They stop at the gargoyle and Snape looks down at Harry. "We were as close as you and Miss Granger. We haven't met in seven years and she thinks me dead. How would you feel? Because if our roles were reversed, I'd be livid."

Harry gulps. "We can leave. Send an owl instead?"

"And have her hunt me down?" Snape shakes his head. "Not a better prospect at all."

Harry twines his fingers around Severus'. "Shall we then?"

"The password, is it still catnip?"

The gargoyle becomes animate and moves aside, answering Snape's question.

They walk up the spiral staircase, share another glance, then Severus knocks on the door.

"Enter," comes a snappish Scottish accent and they do.

There are gasps all around, much more than a solitary figure sitting behind a desk would promote. Minerva perhaps is the only one silent, who just watches them walk in. The others, previous headmasters and headmistresses are all wide awake and gaping, even Snape's portrait himself. Next to him, Dumbledore even stands up and walks closer to his frame, fixing his glass.

Minerva places down her quill and Harry gets mentally ready for pretty much anything from spells to screaming and flying heavy objects. He even finds himself, stepping half way in front of Snape, when she stands up with an abrupt but graceful motion.

Gently, Severus pushes him aside though, and walks closer. He says nothing, only watches the tall woman, while green eyes measure him, too.

"So you have returned," McGonagall notes simply.

She's not angry, which is a surprise, to start with. The lack of violence concerns Harry more and more.

"You do not appear surprised," Severus says.

One of her eyebrows climbs her forehead and her thin lips curve slightly. "Because I am not," She states.

That seems to astonish everyone in the room.

Snape's stance relaxes slightly. "How long have you known that I'm alive?" Snape asks.

"Five years," She says. "I saw you at Mark's funeral."

"So you did know him," Snape nods, still hesitant to let his guard down. "Why didn't you say something?"

"Why didn't you, Severus?" She asks back, voice a bit snappy.

"That is fair." Snape murmurs under his breath.

She sighs, walks out from behind her desk. As she stands in front of Snape, nearly the same height as him, chin lifted, eyes hard on the man, and Harry knows there won't be spells, no anger, or violence. After Lily, Minerva was perhaps the second person who ever truly cared for Snape. She wouldn't hurt him, ever.

"It was a horrible day. Gloomy and rainy with the cold northern wind strong enough to make umbrellas useless." She recalls, voice soft.

Snape nods, "Yes, I remember."

"And yet, you were smiling." Minerva says, her hands rising, long, fragile fingers settling on Snape's shoulder. "With Layla on your arm and Jim next to you, you stood around the grave, soaked through and red eyed, and you all laughed. If you could smile there on a day like that, I didn't want you back here."

She pulls him into a hug then, strong and fierce, Harry can all but hear Snape's bones cracking. "I want you to be wherever you are happiest, Severus," She sniffs. "You deserve it. My lord, do you deserve it after all this time."

He's silent, and Harry can't see his face, but Snape holds McGonagall with equal force, fingers grasping into green velvet robes.

He looks away, feeling almost indecent for being present to this intimate moment. His gaze wanders and he catches twinkling blue eyes, filled with tears. Their gazes meet and Dumbledore smiles, white beard twitching.

Next to him, Snape's own portrait only rolls his eyes at the sentimentalism, then his dark glare shifts over to Harry. They stare at each other for a long moment and Harry wonders what that Snape thinks of him. Then he remembers this painting was done the same year he was on the run and the real headmaster was worrying about his Snitch.

A teasing smile lifts the corners of his lips, then Harry winks at the portrait. Snape's eyes widen for a moment, then narrow as he assesses Harry. For a brief second Harry sees doubt in the dark eyes, but then he bites into his lower lip and the Snape in the portrait gets the hint. He looks at his alive counterpart impressed, then his eyes are back on Harry, measuring him from the top of his head to the sole of his shoes. He smiles smugly as he leans back in his green highbacked chair, looking satisfied.

Pretty much everyone misses Harry's silent communication, though Dumbledore's blue eyes seem to be twinkling for an entirely different reason now.

"Why do I have the feeling I owe you thanks for dragging this snake back into the pit?" Minerva asks as she hugs Harry, too.

"He's coming on his own," Harry assures her.

"Oh, so there's something he wants," She whispers conspiratorially to Harry, then turns back to Snape and motions to the chairs in front of the desk. Snape sits down, but Harry just stands over him, placing his hands on the back of the armchair. He doesn't want to stay long. He'd rather leave some time for the two to catch up.

"There is indeed," Snape confesses. "But before we get onto that subject, tell me something. How did you know Mark?"

"I have known his father, Dougal McGregor since I was much younger, much prettier, and much more foolish. Yes, such a time did exist." She smiles at Harry's surprised expression, seated once more behind her desk. "His younger sister and I were nearly inseparable when we were young and I even almost married the man, but came to my senses. We kept in touch, however, and he told me his son became a mind healer, or well, phycologist, as the Muggles call them. I was to introduce you two that day during lunch, but then you went ahead and chatted him up."

"He chatted me up," Snape corrects indignantly. "So, he didn't know he was to meet me?"

"No," She smiles. "I told him later, of course, but we both agreed it was better this way. You wouldn't have tolerated a set up." She looks at Harry, and says, "Sit, Harry. You two are not going anywhere until I hear everything about the last seven years, so you might as well get comfortable."

"You have a lot to talk about and it's been ages since Hagrid's home cooked meals chipped away at one of my teeth anyway." He places a hand on Severus' shoulder, squeezes gently when the man looks up at him. "I'll be down with him, come pick me up when you're done here." Harry catches the sharp green eyes looking right at his hand on Severus' shoulder, but he doesn't pull away, he only smiles. "See you around, Minerva. Chess next Saturday still stands, right?"

"Why you insist on the game is beyond me, since you're horrible at it, my dear." She shakes her head, but then nods. "But yes, at seven as always."

"Because it sounds a lot better when I say I'm playing chess with the Headmistress of Hogwarts, than admitting we're getting pissed on whiskey while gossiping about children."

Snape snorts, but his hand lifts, he covers Harry's with it and gives it a small squeeze in return. "Enjoy your lunch with Hagrid. I'll meet you down there in a few hours."

Harry waves goodbye and is out the door, when he hears Minerva's excited voice. "Now, tell me everything, Severus, and perhaps, start with whatever that was."

o.O.o

"Can't be good for my sanity,

Can't be good for my lungs,

Chainsmoking your love…"

(Jacob Banks – Chainsmoking)

Hours later, they are back at Severus' apartment. It's dark outside, rain beats on the window. The orange street light dances on Severus' back as he rides Harry. His wild moans fill the room, thunder over the soft thuds of raindrops on the glass.

Harry is rendered speechless as he watches that round arse taking in his cock with every roll of slender hips.

Snape moves slow, takes his time, hands clasped around Harry's ankle. He looks over his shoulder, Harry can almost catch a little smirk. The man knows exactly how hot he is like this, but Harry still makes sure to tell him every now and then. Little whispered words of admiration slip out of him, tender one moment, vulgar the next, but it works.

"Jesus fuck, Severus, you're amazing. The sight of you like this, honestly…" Harry grunts, hands grasping into two mounds of flesh.

Snape quivers, his back tenses, arches back a little. Harry rolls his hips, just once, just a little, still Severus whimpers.

"You love this," Harry says, thrusts up. "Fucking hell, you love this, don't you?"

Snape remains silent, but he clenches down, not just with his hands. Harry's eyes roll back as he digs his heels into the sheet to thrust up once more.

His legs are let go as Snape sits up straighter, hips canting back and forth, never stopping, not even for a second. With lazy rolls, he's sliding almost all the way to the tip, just before he pushes back. Harry wants to scream, the sight is nearly enough to make him come, but there's more, the sensations, tight heat around him, there are sounds too, needy moans and breathless gasps, and the mind-numbing pleasure to top it all.

White eyes of the thestral watch him from below Snape's right shoulder blade. Its black, leathery wings flutter with every shift. Harry's hand slips up from the firm mounds to narrow hips, he caresses softly and lovingly, slow motions on smooth milk white skin. Like a drawn constellation, the beast stands connecting birthmarks, one at the tip of its muzzle, two down its long neck, on the edge of its wings and along its bony back. A couple inches below its hooves a curved scar is etched into his pale flesh. It's almost perfectly round, the tissue pink, smooth and marbled.

Harry draws his thumb across it. "What's this?" He asks in a soft tone.

Snape stills over him, hands resting on his thighs, Harry's cock buried in him to the hilt. He's breathing hard as he looks over his shoulder, long black tresses falling down in the middle of his back. "A broken beer bottle," he answers, once he catches his breath.

It's not what Harry expected. He had prepared in his mind a list of possible curses and spells already that could have done it. "Did you get into a fight?"

"We went out for drinks with Mark after Hailey was born." Severus tells him, as he leans back onto Harry's chest with both hands. His back is bent like a bow and this seems to hit a spot straight in him, because he gasps, bucks up before he can settle and go on explaining. "We were pissed as hell and a couple blokes came at us. It was ridiculous, honestly. Couple of drunks waving around, throwing fists at thin air, because we were plastered enough not to see shit. Someone fell, broke a bottle. I was pushed into it. The guy who started the fight rushed me to the ER, where it got stitched." Snape chuckles at the memory and Harry feels it, gasps at the sensation as the hot channel tenses around him for a second. "And that is the story of how we became friends with Will."

"Wait what? Will? From the band? You met during a bar fight?" Harry has to ask back as his mind gets distracted every second or so, while Snape makes slow, lazy circles and eights with his hips.

"Yes," Snape confirms with a shaky voice, then stops with wriggling so he can talk. Harry would be almost grateful if not for the incessant need simmering inside him. "Don't ask what the fight was about though, none of us remembers. We ended up at Devil's Trap sometime around five in the morning. He saw the instruments, started playing and Mark asked him to join the band."

Harry strokes the scar once more. "I wish I could have met Mark," he says quietly as it was intended to be more of a thought. "He sounds like a nice bloke."

Snape turns around enough to look at Harry. "You would have liked each other. He was a good man." He sighs melancholic. "The two of you would have drove me up the wall for sure, though…"

Harry laughs, then traces the man's spine all the way up, hand sliding on sweaty skin. "Let's not talk about another man while you have my cock in your arse, yeah?"

"Here's a challenge then, Potter… Make me forget about anyone else but you." Snape says over his shoulder, smirking.

Immediately, Harry grasps into his hips to steady him and thrusts up. Arched back curves even more, and Snape's hands tremble. "Jesus fuck, Harry…" Severus groans. "Do that again! For fuck's sake do it again!"

Harry complies, firm hands clutch Snape to keep him in place as he drives up into the man with wild shoves. Severus shudders every time, his loud moans and abandoned whimpers bring a jolt of pleasure to the base of Harry's spine.

"Oh fuck, please…"

Harry pushes into slicked up heat, pulls down Snape to meet his thrust. He slides in and out easily, body trembling as he hears Severus' keen moans, swearwords muttered under his breath. The orange glow of the street light shines on his dark hair, makes it look even more pitch black. Harry's fascinated by it, the long tresses, the rhythm with wihch they wave, quiver. Before he knows it, he has a hand fisted in it.

"Ride me," He grunts, "Fuck, Severus, do it…" It's not quite a plea, firmer than that, almost an order.

Snape keens, his breathing hitches, but he moves, hips grinding now faster, and Harry meeting him thrust after thrust after thrust, flesh slapping against flesh with an indecent sound.

He can tell Snape is close. He's tensing around him for one, but noises Harry never imagined his Potions Master was ever capable of come out of the man's mouth now, these desperate little gasps, shuddering moans. His fingers dig into Harry's chest, fingers claw into it, there will be marks, red bruises, delicious, crazy.

"I want to turn around," Severus says suddenly, urgingly, as he slows down.

"Yeah, yeah, c'mon," Harry urges, almost lifts him off his cock. He doesn't even have time to pity the loss of heat, Snape turns around, kneels over him again. He's grasping Harry's cock, making it stand straight as he lowers himself back down.

Harry watches his face, as his eyes roll back, as his mouth parts, opens a little wider as a gasp escapes him. Jesus fuck, it's so erotic, his cock twitches and his hips buck up. He's back in, Snape sinks down on his hardness, utter pleasure written on his face.

Harry's pulling him down for a kiss the next moment, hungry and needy, biting, teeth and tongue and eager growls. He clutches Snape's arse again, his new-found obsession with it growing as he kneads the taut flesh. Tongue swipes around in his mouth, hot and wet and sloppy as he fucks up into tight heat, while Severus' cock slides against his navel, hard like steel, like fucking marble, and so hot, sensitive, twitching.

Harry sneaks a hand between their bodies, folds it around Snape's erection and the man grunts in response. He's so thick, Harry can barely reach around the whole member. Glans slick and soft against his thumb, shaft velvety and firm. He feels even hotter against his palm, like his insides around Harry.

Kisses lazy and languid, they move slightly slower, prolonged rolls of hips and leisurely thrusts instead of wildness drive Harry ever closer to a breaking point that is inevitable now. His hand moves, he tries to bring Severus off first, fingers fisted around hard cock.

He aches for satisfaction, longs for that moment of pure bliss. His mind and mouth refuse to work together and he is speaking, whispering something, but he's not sure what, he doesn't know, he doesn't hear himself, maybe he's just swearing, maybe he's telling Severus how good he is, how amazing he feels, how stunning he looks naked, skin bathing in warm orange light. Or maybe he's a lot more vulgar than that, with lust having taken over his mind. Maybe he's telling Severus how long he wanted to fuck him like this, how delicious the heat of his body is, how dirty it felt to get him naked, out of his black robes at last, fucking finally, seven years of daydreams and fantasies, to suck his professor before he dragged him into bed and pushed a tongue in his arse first, then his cock.

Whatever it is, Severus trembles, tremors run through his whole body and he breaks the kiss, tears himself away as he arches back. Quivering hands grasp into Harry's hair and his shoulder, but it does nothing to steady the man, to quiet the raging need inside him. His eyes close, his upper lip pulls up, there's a flash of white, tongue pressing against teeth.

He's beautiful, stunning as he comes, messy hair falls in his face, gets stuck to his wet forehead, frames his sharp cheeks, his eyelids shoot open the moment he spills hot come across Harry's stomach, and Harry can't take it anymore either. Unfocused black eyes swim with sheer desire, watch him, widen slightly when Harry's cock starts twitching in him.

Harry blanks out for a moment as heat and thrilling ecstasy washes over him in a frenzy of waves, making his whole body tingle, suddenly sated still trembling and jerking and muscles aching with delicious pain. Oh, it's bliss, he feels weightless, even the body over him seems feathery, light and soft and comfortably warm.

He comes around slow, as if waking from a sweet dream, slipping back into pleasure, into the memory of it, electric snaps of lust still shoot through his spine, go straight to his cock that's still buried in tight heat, though now soft and sensitive.

His arms fall away from Severus' body and the man rolls off him. He's still trying to catch his breath, cheeks warm under Harry's lips as he leans there and kisses him, before he plops back onto the bed, panting too. They lie there like this for minutes next to each other, arms against the other, trying to still their hectic breathing and wild heartbeats.

After a while, when his body obeys and Harry can tuck up his legs, he slaps the back of his hand against Snape's thigh and says jokingly, "Not thinking of Mark, are you?"

"Who the fuck is that even?" Snape answers almost straight away and there's a moment of silence, then they both snort and burst out laughing. Severus sits up and looks down at Harry, shaking his head, but he's still smiling. "You pretty much made me forget my own name there for a moment…" He comments before he leans down for another kiss.

"Just for a moment?" Harry says. "That won't do." He smirks. "Maybe next time, I'll manage a whole minute."

Severus flashes a smug smile, then says, "You are more than welcome to try."

He sits up and takes his wand from the nightstand. He waves it over the bed and their bodies too, and the stickiness is gone from Harry's belly.

"Thanks," Harry says, "I don't think my legs could carry me to the bathroom just yet."

"Are you staying the night again?" Snape asks.

"I could…" Harry says and sits up too. "But I do have to go to work tomorrow morning."

"What time? I'll set an alarm."

Harry looks at the man contemplating. "That depends. Eight if I can nick a mug of coffee and have shower in the morning. Sooner if you want to fuck me before that." He smirks.

"Six it is," Severus nods and waves his wand at the alarm clock on the nightstand. He summons two glasses and fills them up with an Aquamenti, before he hands one to Harry, who takes it, grateful.

"We could go out next week," Harry suggests between gulps. He tries to hide his nervousness. They just had sex, asking the man out on a date shouldn't be a big deal. Still, he's almost anxious waiting for Severus' answer.

He shouldn't be, of course.

"You like Italian?" Snape asks then downs the rest of his water and vanishes the glass into the kitchen. He flicks his wand once more and the bedroom door opens, then he drops his wand onto the nightstand.

It's fascinating how quickly he reverted to living as a wizard and using magic for even the simplest of things. Or maybe he just doesn't trust his legs yet, like Harry.

"Yeah," he says. "You know a good place?"

"Never been, but Keiko says their pesto is to die for. Care to test it?"

They climb under the covers and Severus comes curling around Harry's side even before Harry settles, as if it would be their routine. Harry hopes it soon will be, because the warm, naked body feels amazing against him.

"Sounds good," Harry tells him. "I have training tomorrow evening after work, but Tuesday works fine."

"We have band practice till six, I'm free after that."

"Perfect. I'll come pick you up."

Severus nods then puts his head down on the crook of Harry's shoulder. "Goodnight, Potter." He says casually, hand across Harry's chest.

"Night, Severus," Harry answers twining his arms around the man, too.

The bed dips under soft feet and Mittens comes meowing indignantly at being closed out of the room for so long. She walks up between them, balancing on their legs until she's close enough for Severus to snatch her and snuggle her against his and Harry's chest.

The warm body against him, the soft rumbling of the cat and Severus' light breathing lulls Harry into a peaceful sleep very quickly.

o.O.o

"Fortune, fortune, smiling fate

I haven't seen you much of late

Need you now and cannot wait

But wanna look, you're not around..."

(Barns Courtney – Sinners)

He wakes to ringing but it sounds strange.

"Who the bloody fuck…" Snape murmurs, voice sleepy and rough, as he pulls away from Harry.

Harry misses his heat and turns after him. The alarm keeps ringing and so does Harry's head, although it is not nearly as loud as it ought to be coming from the nightstand. Also, it doesn't really sound like it comes from the nightstand at all, but Harry keeps his eyes closed and tries to fall back to sleep.

"Fuck work," He says and pulls the covers over his head.

"It's not the alarm yet," Severus tells him as he gets out of bed and heads towards the bedroom door. "It's the bloody phone."

"Phone?" Harry echoes, then emerges from the depths of the covers. "You have a phone?"

Snape just grunts and it sounds awfully like, "Not for long…" but he's out of the room already.

Harry searches around on the nightstand for his glasses, puts them on, then climbs over to Snape's side to check the clock. It's four in the morning.

"Bloody hell, tell them to fuck off and come back to bed!" He shouts after Snape and crashes back into bed.

The ringing stops, and he can't hear Severus' voice as he talks, only a distant mumble. Mittens was woken up too, and now she comes up to Harry's head and curls next to him on the pillow. He pets her and she starts purring straight away, kneading Harry's head with her paws.

Suddenly, Snape storms back into the bedroom, runs straight to his dresser, pulling out drawers. He's yanking on jeans and a tee the next moment.

"Wh-what's going on?" Harry asks, sitting up straight away, alarmed.

"Em's gone to the hospital. Her liver stopped working." Severus says as he pulls on socks. "Layla just called."

"Oh shit," Harry grunts and jumps out of the bed, too. He picks up his clothes from the ground, slips them back on quickly, and leaves only the robes there.

"You can stay," Severus says, as he watches him dress.

"Hell no," Harry states and that's all they say until both of them are ready to leave.

Snape tosses a faded black denim jacket at Harry as he says, "You're going to be cold in just a jumper."

"Thanks," Harry answers as he catches it and puts his arms through the holes. "You know we can't go there straight away, right? She only called not ten minutes ago."

"I'm not going to stand here for ten more minutes just so I don't need to explain why I got there so soon." Snape snarls.

Harry steps up to him, touches his upper arm. "Hey," he says calmingly. "It will be fine. She's a tough girl. Now, do you have a key to the Devil's Trap?"

"What the hell do you need that for?"

"Supplies," Harry says. "Spare clothes, food, favourite toy, some entertainment for Hailey. Trust me, I did emergency hospital visits with Hermione and Rosie when Ron was on duty and couldn't come away from work. Layla will be grateful."

Snape seems hesitant for a moment, but then nods, takes a set of keys from the bowl. "You have to Apparate us, I… I don't think I can be trusted right now…"

"Sure," Harry says, holds his hand out.

They get to the hospital twenty minutes later, carrying a backpack full of stuff that might be useful. They find Layla and Jim on the third floor, Hailey huddled closed to her mother, still in her pastel blue unicorn pyjamas and yellow jacket. They both jump up the moment they see Severus and run up to him.

"I told you not to come," Layla says, hands already around the man as she pulls him into a hug, but her voice betrays the relief she feels upon seeing him.

Snape doesn't even dignify the sentence with a remark, instead he asks, "What's going on, how is she?" When Layla lets him go, Hailey holds out her arm and Snape picks her up, "Hey there, sweetie," he hugs her, too and makes her sit on his hip as they all walk towards the chairs where Jim is waiting.

Layla looks at her daughter for a second and Harry understands the glance. She doesn't want to speak honestly around her.

"Hey Hailey," Harry calls, hold his hands out, while Snape passes the child to him. "I have a soft white bunny with me, who's feeling very lonely. Why don't we sit there and say hello to him?"

"Oh Mr Fluffy! You have him?" She asks, tired eyes glinting with joy. Harry walks away with her, passing Jim on the way to the uncomfortable looking waiting area. They nod at each other, but there's something in the man's eyes that tell Harry this will be a very long and dark night.

He's not wrong. As he gives the toy to Hailey and sets her up on the chair with a pillow and a small blankie, his eyes are continuously drawn over to the three adults. What he sees is rather disheartening. Half way through the explanation that makes Snape look paler than ever, Layla breaks down and starts to cry. Jim consoles her, while he keeps talking. In the end, even Snape has to cover his eyes for a moment with shaking hands, but he pinches the bridge of his nose and keeps it together for her sake no doubt.

The discussion lasts not five minutes longer, then the three of them join Harry and Hailey on the chairs. Layla snuggles close to her daughter, while Harry stands. Snape motions him with just a jerk of his head. "Let's get some coffee."

As the machine spits out the hot black liquid into a plastic cup, Snape tells Harry simply, "She's dying."

To anyone else, he might sound cold, but Harry knows the man needs every inch of self-control not to break down right here.

Harry remains quiet, waits patiently for more information. Snape's nursing his coffee while they wait for the other three to be made then sighs. "She needs a liver right now, or she dies. But they won't let her get a liver, because her body would reject it more likely anyway."

"When can we see her?"

"In a few hours, they said."

Harry hesitates before he asks the next question. "How long…?" He doesn't have to clarify, Snape understands what he means.

"If the surgery goes well, she'll have a few more days. If not, then maybe till the afternoon."

"Good god…" Harry grunts, then takes a deep breath. He touches Snape hesitantly, fingertips running across the back of the man's hand, then he takes the cup from him. He places it down on the counter next to the coffee machine, then pulls Snape closer.

"It will be fine." He says, because he has to say it, no matter how much neither of them really believes it to be possible at the moment.

"Harry…" Snape whispers as he presses his face into the crook of Harry's neck. "I can't bare the thought of losing her. She's just a child."

"I know…" Harry nods, "…and you won't lose her." As he says the words, he realizes, he means it. No matter what, he's going to make sure, Snape doesn't have to face this type of sorrow.

Severus pulls back and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes to stop his tears.

"Go back to Layla and Jim." Harry says and Severus snaps his gaze at him. "You need to stay strong."

"Stay with me." It breaks him to say the words and Harry recognises that the man is in a very vulnerable state right now, yet he still shakes his head.

"There's nothing I can do here."

"Harry, there's nothing any of us can do right now. I need you here with me. I can't go back there alone. What if she…"

"She's strong, she won't die, Severus. I need to go. I need to see if there's something I can do."

"There's nothing, Harry, I checked. Besides, she's a Muggle, you cannot help her."

Harry shakes his head and looks around. He sees a door leading to the staircase and heads that way. "Yeah, maybe… but neither of us could live with me, if I haven't tried everything." He yanks the door open and looks around but there's no one there. "I'll be back soon, Severus, I promise."

"Just… don't be late, Potter."

o.O.o

"It's a mean world that I've known,

Never got no good doing what I'm told."

(Elle King – Where the Devil Don't Go)

Harry apparates straight into Ron' and Hermione's apartment. His appearance is nearly silent, yet he almost instantly hears whispers from the bedroom.

"It's just me!" He calls loudly, before Ron would curse off his hair.

There's still a wand pointed into his face the next moment.

"Harry Potter, you better have a good reason!" Hermione hisses, dragging her nightgown back over her shoulder.

"I knew it was a bad idea to give you free access, mate," Ron yawns, dragging his feet sleepily as he comes into the living room, too.

"Emilia is in the hospital," Harry says urgently as an explanation "She's dying. Good enough for a reason?"

"Emilia?" Hermione asks. "She's the reason I've been looking into Muggle diseases, right?"

While Ron prepares three cups of strong tea, Harry and Hermione sit down at the table.

"Please tell me you found something."

"I don't know much about Muggle medicine, Harry, but I did ask around. You remember Augustus Pye?"

"The bloke who thought he can heal my dad's magical snake bite by stitching it together? Sounds real promising, love…" Ron grunts as he sips his tea.

"Well, he's come a long way, actually," Hermione sniffs, looking at Ron reproachfully. "He knows a lot about Muggles and their ways in general. But he said, there's no help."

"Hermione, Madame Pomfrey grew back my bones, Ron was attacked by brains, we went back in time for Merlin's sake! There has to be something. We have magic!"

"It's the autoimmune disease, that's the problem. We could grow her a new liver with a spell, but her system would just attack it again."

"Well that would give her a little more time at least than the few hours she has now, wouldn't it?"

"Harry…" Hermione looks away from him and stares at her own hand around the mug. "You know what the main issue here is, right?"

"That she's Muggle. Listen, I know –"

"Harry this is illegal, it stands against the most basic of our laws. Can you imagine what would happen, if everyone started healing their non-magic friends and relatives? There's a reason we aren't allowed to help."

"You found a way," Harry states, suddenly excited. "I knew you would. We wouldn't have the conversation about why it's bad, if you didn't."

"There, and I can't stress this enough, might just be a way." Hermione nods, then looks at him again. "It will endanger her life, possibly kill her, and would any doctor look into her miraculous recovery it would certainly jeopardise the whole of the Wizarding World. We would be breaking the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy on numerous points, and would we be successful, we would both lose our jobs and more likely our freedom."

"Hermione, she's eleven years old. She has her whole life ahead of her. If we can heal her…"

"She's not a witch."

"She's a human. That's enough for me."

"It's not me you have to convince, Harry. I just want to make sure you understand the weight of what we're about to do."

"I do."

"I hope you're not planning on leaving me out of this," Ron chips in the heavy silence. "I hear Azkaban is lovely this time of the year."

Harry can't help but laugh as he looks at his friend. "No. This time, I'm really doing this alone. I'm fine putting my freedom on the line for her, but I won't risk yours, too."

"Harry, I have no option. I made a magical oath that I will be breaking the moment I tell you what to do. Besides, you wouldn't know what to even look for. I have to go with you."

"Out of the question." Harry states. "You tell me what I'll need and where I'll find it, then you call me in."

"You're going to need someone to watch your back, if you want to fight your way in and out of St. Mungo's." Ron says.

"No."

"Yes." Ron says sternly. "So, what are we looking for?"

Harry stands abruptly. "Ron, I said –" He starts, but Ron stands up, too.

"Don't think you're leaving me out of the fun, Harry!"

"The fun? We'll probably end up in jail, Ron!"

"Well, let's hope we get a neighbouring cell so I get to tell you every day what a goddamn bloody idiot you are for even thinking I'm not going with you."

"And what are you going to tell your daughter, Ron? And your son?" Harry sneers, pointing at Hermione's belly. "I'm not taking away my goddaughters' father, you better understand that!"

That shuts Ron up right away. Hermione places a hand on his and he plops back onto the chair. "Okay, you win," he huffs. "But I want it noted that I hate this."

"So do I," Hermione agrees. "But Harry has a better chance alone this time. Do you still have your dad's cloak?"

"Yeah, I do." Harry nods.

"Use that. All concealing charms will be detected the moment you enter the apothecary section of St Mungo's. There shouldn't be anyone there this early in the morning, only the guards. Usually, there's four of them. If you're lucky, they will be at the station so you'll have an easy way in. There's a red door, that's where we keep potions that are still in the experimental phasis. What you're looking for is a big silver cauldron near the far-left corner of the room. You have to hurry, Harry. Once you ladle out a vial of it, the reaction in the potion will start happening. You have less then ten minutes to administer it. Please remember that this is still in an experimental phase. It has never been tested on a human, let alone a Muggle child. The chances are, it will do nothing, or even worse, kill her."

"What's this potion anyway?"

"Practically, a magical immune system. What it should do," Hermione says sceptically, "is make you resistant to most medical maladies. What it does at the moment is… well, decimates the body's entire immune system. Which is good," she adds quickly. "At least in our case."

"I'm not a healer, but leaving a girl with a worthless liver totally vulnerable for any other disease doesn't sound so healthy to me."

"Which is where these two come in play," Hermione says, then flicks her wand. A rolled-up parchment and small red vial floats to her from her bag. "This," she puts the vial on the table, "gives her a new immune system. Hopefully a working one. And this," she hands Harry the parchment, is the spell that will grow her a new liver."

"When did you steal these?" Ron asks surprised.

"I did not steal anything." Hermione snaps offended. "I invented a fake personal research and I brought these home to experiment in my free time, which is perfectly legal. You," she points at Harry, "stealing them from me is not, but oh well, you are the great Harry Potter and I, a fragile little pregnant woman, what was I to do?" She says theatrically but with a wicked smirk.

"Hermione," Harry says seriously, "if you weren't married to my best friend, I would kiss you now."

"And if you weren't gay." Hermione smiles.

"And if Snape wouldn't murder you if he found out." Ron adds, grinning.

"Oh yes, by the way, I'm expecting the full report on that." Hermione nods.

"I'll have plenty of time to chat in Azkaban." Harry promises darkly.

"Surely they won't send the Hero of the Wizarding World to Azkaban." Ron notes quietly.

They look at each other, but it seems the heavy silence will be the only answer to that.

o.O.o

"I won't put my head down in the sand,

Dustin' off my shoulders to take a stand.

This beating heart won't rest,

So I'm not done yet."

(Sam Tinnesz and UNSECRET – Never Stay Down)

Hermione was right; all the four guards were in the booth near the entrance. Harry has sneaked past them without a peep and now he's headed towards the red door. He doesn't have much time left, Hermione has to notify St Mungo's any second, if she doesn't want to lose her job - she's probably even making the firecall right now.

Harry finds the red door in the middle of the corridor. It's unlocked. The four guards should be enough to stop any intrusion, or at least that was what the hospital has hoped for it seems.

Once inside, Harry moves quickly towards the far-left corner, taking the Invisibility Cloak off so it won't catch on anything.

The room is full of potions that have been put under stasis. Bubbles over eerie green liquid has stopped mid-bursting, red potion, thick like lava has frozen while still swirling.

The silver cauldron is easy to spot in the distance. It glimmers beckoning and Harry rushes that way. He looks around just to be sure, but he sees no other silver cauldron, only brass ones, and stone and a few gold ones, too.

He touches the small teaspoon in his left pocket, just to make sure it's still there. It's his only way out, since Apparition is not an option and neither will be sneaking out.

The alarm goes on the moment he reaches the cauldron. He flicks his wand and a clean vial swooshes into his open palm. It almost slips out of his sweaty hand, but he holds it firmly. A large amount of brewing equipment lies next to the cauldron, left there in a neat row and he picks up a ladle and dips it into the potion.

The moment the surface is broken, so is the Stasis Charm and the creamy white liquid shimmers and waves slightly as Harry ladles a small amount from it. He hears footsteps already as he slowly pours it into his vial, stilling the slight tremor of his hands.

The moment the door bursts open, he corks the vial and sinks it into his pocket where the other two items lie that he will need if wants to heal Emilia.

He feels the spoon warming up. It's buzzing slightly, which means, he only needs to not get caught for a single minute – which seems nay impossible given the four guards rushing into the room.

A couple candles are spelled alit, but more brightness comes from the corridor. There must be some photosensitive potions around. He could set off a series of explosions that would hinder his guards while he could escape, but he's done enough wrong. He understands the importance of these potions that some people have been working on for years, and doesn't want to do much more damage than already has been done.

Harry would almost be glad for the cover of darkness, however he's still recognised it seems, as someone from the door calls, "Auror Potter?"

There's a sudden echo of confused whispers, but none of the wands are lowered, so Harry steps forward.

"Oh, would you look at that… My sleepwalking is getting worse and worse…"

No one seems to buy his lie for some reason. One of the guards asks, "What are you doing here? This is a restricted area."

"Is it? Oh, I didn't know. I'll be off then, gents, no need to get your knickers in a twist."

"Don't move," says another voice, deeper, seasoned. "You're trespassing, sir. Your presence here needs to be reported."

"Report ahead," Harry says.

"Will you come with us peacefully, Mr Potter?" Asks a younger, timid voice. "Some of these potions… you see, they are very delicate and… valuable and… well, irreplaceable."

"I'm afraid, I can't go with you. But neither do I want a fight."

"Oh good, I shall just let you go then," says the older guard sarcastically. "Or you could just lower your wand and –"

"Yeah, that's not going to happen, either."

"Then what do you propose, sir?"

"Surely this is a misunderstanding, Warren. That's Harry Potter," says the young one.

"You heard the report, Stan, there's an intruder and we caught him. No matter who he is, he's got no business here."

"Listen to Stan, Warren." Harry chips in.

"I'll listen to myself, if you don't mind, Mr Potter. Now please lower your wand and come with us. Don't add to your list of charges with destroying these precious potions."

"I'm afraid my list of charges will only grow anyway," Harry murmurs.

The teaspoon in his pocket vibrates now so vehemently, Harry knows it's only matter of seconds and he's out of here. It's not going to be the end of this for sure.

It seems Warren is thinking the exact same thing, because he says, "We know who you are, Mr Potter, the Ministry has already been notified of your presence here. And if you took a vial from here, I have some bad news for you. There's a tracking charm on those around here, Potter, you won't get far."

"Damn…" Harry grunts, but it's time. "I'll be yours in five minutes, gents. See you on the other side." With that, he feels a violent jerk in the pit of his stomach and he's snatched away.

o.O.o

"Grave digger, grave digger

Slowly fill my grave.

Whisper to your God

Allow me to be saved."

(Blues Saraceno - Grave Digger)

His feet barely touch the white tiles of the corridor, when he breaks into a run. He hears the loud Apparition pop behind him and Warren's booming voice ordering him to stop. He runs towards the corridor he's seen Jim and Layla the last time, taking steps two at a time, but he can't seem to shake off Warren.

He spots Jim at the coffee machine where they have parted with Snape and calls from the end of the corridor.

"Jim! Jim! I need to get into Em's room!"

"They've just let in Layla," the man says confused. "Where have you been?"

"You wouldn't believe me," Harry says, then grabs the man by the hand and drags him ahead. "Show me the room!"

Hot coffee spills at their wake on pristine floor and an angry nurse yells, "Oy! No running!" but Harry doesn't care.

"Stop that man!" Warren shouts the moment he's on the same corridor as them, and doesn't stop to help the nurse either.

He looks out of place wearing his dark purple wizarding robes here, waving his wand. Thankfully, he's at least not shooting spells but the scene still turns some heads.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jim asks, trying to free his hand, but Harry keeps dragging him ahead.

"Which room, Jim?" He asks urgently.

"There!" He says at last, "508, will you let me go now?"

Harry drops his hand and runs to the door. "Stay out here! And don't let any Muggles in here!"

Jim snaps up his head. "Any what now?"

Harry rushes through the door without any clarification. Inside, he's greeted with Severus' surprised expression, while Layla and Hailey look at him confused from next to Em on the bed. She seems unconscious, as she lies there. Her skin has a yellow tint to it, her lips are parched, and there are dark circles under her closed eyes. For a moment, Harry thinks he's too late, but then the heart monitor next to the sick girl beeps weakly.

"And who are you?" Asks a strict looking man from the other side of the room. He must be Em's doctor and Harry waits no moment to stun him.

As he falls to the ground, Layla lets out a small scream, that her daughter echoes.

"Good job, Potter," Snape hisses, as he turns to his friend. "Layla, it's alright, don't be scared."

"What the hell just happened?!"

Harry points his wand at the door and makes sure to lock it tightly, but he doesn't have enough time for anything complicated. If Warren is a decent guard, he's going to be able to overwrite his locking spell withing minutes.

"Do you want Emilia healed?" Harry asks.

"What… why… what the hell is going on here?" Comes the confused answer from the woman.

"How about a little explanation here, Potter?" Snape asks, but when he sees Harry's expression, his changes to suspicious, too. When the loud knocks sound up at the door, his eyes widen with certainty.

He grabs Harry's hand and pulls it from his pocket. With it comes the little vial filled with the creamy white potion.

Harry doesn't waste any time, not that he has any to waste and levitates the other vial and the parchment from his pocket, too.

"White one goes first, red's the second if she survives. The charm gives her a new liver."

"You didn't! You fool!" Snape growls.

"You would have done the same!"

"I would have, yes, but I have nothing to lose! What about your job, your life!?"

"I don't care about my job, and you're the best thing in my life anyway, and I don't want to see you hurt. She deserves to live, we all know that."

"Harry…"

"We don't have time."

"We have to explain to her," Snape nods at Layla, who's standing in front of Em's bed holding Hailey behind her back, her eyes stuck to the floating vial and parchment.

"We don't have time; the potion is unstable."

Snape seems to think for a moment, then he nods, turns to Layla and walks closer.

"It all comes down to this: do you trust me?"

"Not at the moment," she hisses.

"You heard the doctor, she's won't wake up. Give us a chance to save her."

"Tell me what's going on first!"

"I can't, there's no time. It's now or never, Layla."

She looks behind at her daughter, then back at Snape. Her eyes are drawn to the stunned doctor lying on the ground then on the door, which Warren is trying to break through probably with a few Bombardas judging by the sound of it.

"Ma, it's Severus…" Hailey says from behind her as she steps forward. "You said we can trust Severus."

She looks down at her, shakes her head lightly then closes her eyes. She seems determined when she looks at Snape again. "I did say that, didn't I…? Alright, do whatever you want, but if you hurt my kid, Severus, you'll have a chance to tell Mark yourself what you did, because I'm going to murder you."

"Deal," Snape agrees and Harry rushes to the bed straight away.

He's pulling the cork out when the door burst open.

"Hold it right there!" Warren says. "You can't heal a Muggle with magic, Potter, you know the damn rules, man, you're an Auror!"

Harry steps away so Warren can see the little girl lying almost lifelessly on the pillows.

"Look at her," he says. "You can arrest me, I don't care, but let me do this first."

"Merlin's beard, that's a child…" Warren gasps.

"If we don't help her, she's not going to live long enough to celebrate her eleventh birthday." Snape tells the man. "Just wait a minute, that's all we're asking."

Warren steps further in the room, and closes the door in Jim's face. They hear his angry shouting from outside as Warren lowers his wand. "Do it. A couple minutes won't make a difference."

"Good man," Snape comments relieved.

Harry opens Emilia's mouth and pours the potion into her throat. It seems to work right away, although Harry can't quiet tell if it's a good reaction or a bad one.

It doesn't look good at all though. Her small body jerks up, every muscle seems to tense almost violently underneath her pale skin. Her eyes are shut firmly, most likely in pain, then she starts thrashing around. It's like she's having a seizure.

Layla jumps there to stop Harry, but Snape grabs her around the waist and pulls her away from the bed. Harry ignores her loud shouting and angry insults, too, while praying for the serum to work.

From one second to the next, she stills completely. Harry's heart beats wildly and he barely dares look at the heart monitor that seems silent for an eternity.

When the first beep sounds up, a collective relieved sigh leaves all the occupants of the entire room.

Harry pulls out the cork from the second potion and pours that down Em's throat, too. They all witness a strange golden light spreading all across the girl's body all the way from the top of her head to her toes.

Quickly, Harry pulls the parchment open and studies Hermione's writing. She even illustrated the wand-movement, for which Harry feels grateful, because it seems impossibly complicated.

He looks bashfully back over his shoulder at Layla. "I'm going to need a drop of blood from you."

"A drop of – what madness did you –"

"Oh just give him your blood, Layla." Snape sneers, then forces her arm towards Harry.

Harry makes a quick little incision on the tip of her finger and takes a single drop of blood with his wand. He moves it over to Emilia's chest and presses it inside her body with magic.

He moves his wand in the way Hermione described, a nice swish and a quick down, with a little flick in the end as he chants the spell over and over.

He watches Emilia's face apprehensive, but he sees no pain, but no change either. She still lies there almost motionless, breathing quietly under the covers, while Harry lowers his wand and looks at Snape.

"It's done."

"I don't know what quacks both of you are, but – "

She can't finish the angry sentence because the door bursts open once more.

Harry's boss, Robards and a team of Aurors and Obliviators fill the room.

"Potter, for fuck's sake, you promised me you won't do anything stupid!" Is Robards welcoming sentence.

"It wasn't stupid!" Harry cries. "We just saved a little girl's life. I hope, at least..."

"Who's that we, Potter? Who else will I be arresting today?"

"Oh, I mean… I saved a girl's life. It was me. Just me. You know, hero of the wizarding world and all."

"The Wizarding what now?" Layla asks. "Would anyone care to tell me what the hell just happened here?"

She receives no explanation, as a timid voice pulls all their attention. "Mom?"

Layla breaks from Snape's hold and rushes to the bed, nearly crushing on her daughter. "Oh baby, are you okay? How do you feel? Does it still hurt?"

"No… not really…." She says. "I'm a bit thirsty though."

"Here, hon," Layla says holding a glass of water out for her. She looks back at Severus then at Harry. "Don't tell me…"

Harry looks down at her, but the change is already visible. The yellowish tint is gone and her skin is back to pale pink, the whites of her eyes are the colour of fresh snow and even the purplish dark circles are shrinking and fading back to normal.

Harry slowly lifts his wand and flicks it over the girl. A couple Aurors make a move to stop him but Robards stands them down. The Diagnostic Spell swishes over her and a little white slip of paper comes out of Harry's wand. He reads it and smiles.

"It worked," Harry tells Layla. "She's perfectly fine."

She doesn't seem to believe Harry so she looks at Snape, too, for confirmation.

"She's as healthy as she should be, Layla. No more hospital visits, no more doctors, no more worrying about the bills."

"But how…?" She whispers.

"Mom, didn't you see?" Hailey says, as if it would be the most obvious thing in the world. "It was magic."

"Oh, magic, okay sweetie, sure. That… yeah, that's perfectly normal." She looks from her daughter to Severus. "Listen, am I going nuts, or…"

"You won't remember it," Severus tells her then points at Robards and the Obliviators. "But yes, it was magic. I'm a wizard and so is Harry."

"Okay, Severus, when this is over, we're going to have a chat."

"There won't be a chat." Robards states.

"Actually, there will be," says a booming voice Harry knows all too well.

"Minister!" Robards jumps as he looks at his boss.

Harry turns towards the door, too. Kingsley didn't come alone, though.

"Minerva?" Harry asks, looking at the woman next to Shacklebolt. "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering a letter… a bit early on, I admit, but given the circumstances, it is probably for the best."

"A letter?" Snape echoes, eyes wide in surprise. "The letter, you mean?"

"Yes, Severus, didn't I tell you?" She asks smugly. "Mark's father, Dougal and I, we knew each other because his sister, Rosaline, was my best friend at Hogwarts."

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Layla asks, narrowing her eyes as she studies McGonagall. "Have I seen you before?"

"I hardly think so. My name is – "

"She grandpa's girlfriend!" Emilia says grinning. "From the love letters."

"Excuse me!" Minerva exclaims and suddenly there's a red tint to her cheeks. "I am Professor McGonagall and I'm h – "

"Oh, you're right, Em. That's Grandpa's Minnie!"

Kingsley tries to hide his laughter as he turns to Robards. "I'll handle this. Go take care of the hospital stuff. Warren, you're good to go, too."

"Yes, Minister."

Harry nods to Warren one last time in thanks before the man would walk away. The room feels less crowded now, although there's still too many people in there.

"So who's going to explain to me what's going on?" Layla asks in the end.

Every eye is suddenly turned at Harry, so he straightens himself. "Listen, simple version is this: we're all magic folk here, and we used magic to heal Emilia, which is illegal in our world. I stole the magic potion that would cure her, and some of these fine gents are here to arrest me. But the thing is, we thought Emilia was Muggle, that's what we call magicless people, but if she's getting her letter…" Harry sneaks a glance at Minerva.

"She's a witch." She confirms.

"But you still broke into St Mungo's, Harry." Kingsley says. "And broke the Statute. You are under arrest, just so you know."

"He saved an innocent little girl!" Snape snaps, irritated.

"I assure you Severus, when the time comes, that will be taken into consideration, as well." He turns to the Headmistress. "Minerva, why don't you further explain to Mrs McGregor here, what having two little witches in the family means, while I handle our dear hero's arrest."

Severus turns to Minerva. "How long have you known about them?"

"I found out last night. I looked into it after you told me that the older one was sick. I found both their names on the application list and sent a letter to Kingsley asking if he could make a visit before her eleventh birthday. Given the circumstances, it was imperative we get her into St Mungo's as soon as possible. The moment Kingsley was notified that Harry broke into St Mungo's, we suspected instantly what was going on."

Snape shakes his head. "It never even occurred to me to check."

"Why would it? You didn't know there was magic in the family, none of them did. Rosaline died very young, not even Mark has met her. And you know that the children do not necessarily display accidental magic." Minerva looked behind her where the whole McGregor family was listening to her. She rubs her hands and pulls her wand out. "This is always the exciting part," she smiles as she turns around. "Alright, darling, have you ever heard of your great aunt Rosaline?"

Harry walks away from the bed and stands in front of Kingsley. "How much of a trouble am I in?" He asks.

"Big," says Shacklebolt. "If you would have just waited a little…"

"There was no time, Minister. She was dying," Snape noted quietly, as he joined them. "The doctor said, she probably wouldn't have lived till the afternoon."

"I understand, Severus, but you know more than anyone, that our actions have consequences. A life is saved, but the law has been broken. Mr Potter, especially as an Auror, was in full comprehension of his action. He must be arrested." Kingsley says, then gives a pointed look to Harry. "Although I'm afraid someone has leaked the story to the Prophet and there will be hell to pay on the Ministry's part if we dare punish such a reckless and foolish, although goodhearted hero."

Harry just laughs at that, while Severus raises an eyebrow. "I thought you don't work with the Prophet anymore, Minister," he notes slyly.

Kingsley flashes white teeth as he smirks smugly, "Only when it suits me." He then walks away to join McGonagall.

"C'mon, Harry, let's go." Robards says. "I'll need to take your wand, I'm afraid."

Harry hands it to his ex-boss. "What, no handcuffs? Shame…" He says, then winks at Snape.

"Give us a moment if you please, Auror Robards." Severus asks, as he walks up to Harry. "I've been back in the Wizarding World for no more than a day and you're already breaking rules?"

Harry chuckles. "Hey, it's not your merit. I never stopped with that. Bad news is though, I guess our date must be put on hold."

Snape steps closer, then says in a low voice, "I'm a very patient man, Mr Potter. I can wait." He steals a kiss while no one is watching then steps back and lets Robards escort Harry out.

"You know, Potter," says the Head Auror as they walk along the corridor watching the Obliviators work on the hospital staff. "You were a good Auror, but Merlin am I glad to see the back of you. You gave me more paperwork than all my other men."

Harry laughs heartily at the comment. "Let's just say we're both happy I'm going, Gawain." Then, after a moment, he asks, "So who's my replacement?"

"What- there's – we haven't –" Robards splutters, but Harry makes a calming wave with his hand.

"It's fine, Gawain. I figured Kalle would tell you."

He gives up the pretence of not knowing once the name of the centaur is mentioned. "She's a great witch called Chloe Fox. I interviewed her yesterday," he admits bashfully.

"Sounds good," Harry beams.

"And what's next for you, Harry?"

"Apparently, prison," Harry says with a sigh.

o.O.o

"Oh lord live inside me,

Lead me on my way.

Lead me home…"

(Jamie N Commons – Lead Me Home)

Harry sits on his narrow little cot, his back against the cold wall and reads yesterday's Daily Prophet. The news has picked up his name once again, but at least time, it shows him in a rather favourable view.

Soft footsteps hit his ears, whoever comes this way walks with a swift pace, but his feet touch the ground noiselessly, as if he were nothing but a ghost.

Harry knows only one person who walks like that.

He lowers the papers, puts it down on his pillow and watches the heavy iron bars. Soon the footsteps slow, then come to a halt right in front of his cell.

"I thought you forgot about me."

"How could I? Your name is everywhere." Snape says, nodding towards the papers. "How has prison life treated you?"

"Oh it's awful. Get me out of here. This place is inhuman. If this is what I deserve for saving a life, next time I'll just let everyone die."

"Oh please," Snape whispers sweetly as he steps closer to the rails that keep them apart. "You're a hero. Again."

Harry gets up from his cot. "I'd rather be on the other side of these bars."

Long white fingers curl slowly around the black iron, one after the other and Harry stares at them mesmerised. "Isn't that ironic? I murdered someone while you saved an innocent life and yet, it is you, who is incarcerated."

"Well, that's justice for you." Harry shrugs and moves closer.

Snape presses his head against the cool iron. "You broke into Gringotts, you broke into Hogwarts, you broke into St Mungo's. Is there no place safe from you?"

Harry grins as he stalks to the door. His hands cover Snape's, while he leans closer to the wizard. "None."

He's kissed fiercely the next moment, as if he wasn't in prison, but rather at home, private. He wishes for a moment that he was there, imagines doing this again at Snape's place and his body heats up.

They pull apart after a moment. "God, I missed you," Harry grunts against Snape's lips.

"I was here yesterday."

"Time goes slower in here, I swear," Harry says as walks back to the cot and plops down. "It's been what, five months, six now? And I have another eternity to go."

"It's been two weeks, and you have two more to go. Think of this as your holiday. You can sleep as much as you want, rest. Enjoy the breeze."

"I did that during the first week. Now I'm bored."

"I brought books." Snape offers as he takes a shrunken package from his pocket and enlarges it.

Harry jumps up again and rushes there, although a bit hesitant at the end.

"Oh please don't let them be about potions."

"You need to catch up if you want to work with me. However, you're in luck this time. These ones came from Mr Weasley."

Harry takes the books through the bars and checks the titles. "Quidditch, brooms, serial killers and androids. This is more like it! I love you, Ron."

"He echoes your sentiments and says, he'll be here tomorrow. They are taking Em to St Mungo's for her weekly check up, but everything seems in order regarding her health."

"That's great," Harry nods and leans against the bar. "Have you found a new place yet?"

"Yes."

"Shame. I loved your apartment."

"You'll love the new one too."

"Where is it? Still in London?"

"Just off Diagon Alley. There's a space on the ground level for the shop, room enough for brewing in the attic or the basement. It has a small garden for Mittens and the backdoor opens to Muggle London."

"Sounds great." Harry sighs wistfully. "Wish I could see it."

"Two weeks and you can." Snape seems hesitant, as he carefully asks. "There's a study, too…for whatever it is you decide to do in the end."

"Why would I be having a study in your apar- oh. Oh!" Harry breaks into a big smile. "You want me to move in?

"Well it would be more benefit –"

"You want me to move in." Harry states, grinning smugly. "Hermione has my flat keys if you wanna move stuff already. Or you can wait until I get out."

"There's no hurry," Snape smiles. "I'm not going anywhere."

Harry sighs again. "Yeah, neither am I… for two more weeks."

o.O.o