December 28th, 1998

Harry flicked his right wrist up and down a few times, frustrated that it was bothering him again. The potion Snape had given him before Christmas had worked fairly well, but Harry knew nothing would be permanent and the nerves would bother him for the rest of his life. He debated whether he'd tell McGonagall, or try to use his left hand.

He'd had a quiet few days post-Christmas, working on a wand order from home and sending his notes off to Ollivander. The Weasleys, minus Charlie, had visited, and brought a letter from Charlie. Harry had almost burnt the letter before he decided to read it, but found that it appeared to be somewhat genuine in apology.

He walked between the rows of desks in the room, left hand fingers tracing marks carved into the wood of the flip top desks, remembering the lessons he'd taken there. As an eleven-year-old brand new to magic, it had been stunning to watch McGonagall at the podium returning back to human form after monitoring them as a cat. He'd never really had much interest in becoming an animagus himself, but just the fact that it could be achieved fascinated him.

There was so much magic he didn't know about. The wand lore he'd been studying was so nuanced and detailed that he knew he could spend years on it and not learn everything. There were even conferences where wand makers could meet and discuss newly found woods and core combinations. And that was just wand making – Harry knew there were hundreds of careers and specialties through other branches of magic too. The feeling of regret had settled back into his head again, regret and loss. He'd been marked to be the hero since he was a toddler, and he was more keenly aware than ever how many normal wizarding experiences that he'd never get because of it.

Maybe the half-heartedly proposed return year to Hogwarts was not such a rubbish idea after all. They'd been so eager to move on, to move out and live without the heavy thoughts of war constantly in the background, but Harry felt a draw to go back, to experience nights in the dorm laughing and chattering with the lads, rowdy dinners in the Great Hall, and days of learning new ways to do magic.

"Something wrong, Mr Potter?" McGonagall asked, swiftly walking into the room and startling him out of his thoughts.

"No," Harry said, giving her a smile. She looked good for her age and Harry was happy to see that unlike himself, she didn't seem to have any obvious scars from the war. "Just thinking a bit."

Her expression softened as she took her seat at the front podium desk.

"Have you sorted whatever it was troubling you three on Christmas?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry said. He was leaning against one of the student desks at the front of the room, but didn't know if he should be sitting down properly or if it was fine to stand as is.

"We got separated last year, around Christmas. It was time for them to see some of what happened."

She'd pulled out some notes from her desk drawer, and paused as she looked up at him.

"You've been rather careful not to leave many pieces to put together about last Christmas," she said, and it wasn't an admonishment either. Harry had always respected her as a professor, especially as a much younger student, but she'd begun talking to him more and more like the adult he'd become over the last few years, working in the Order. He was inordinately pleased to see that that progression had not changed.

"You know I was with Severus at the time," Harry said, his voice calm with a neutral tone. There'd been a boisterous meeting and argument after the final battle, when the members of the Order of the Phoenix had gathered in secret in the early hours after the war to take stock of what had happened and what information they were going to let out. Snape's defence had been planned at the same meeting, and it had been the combined force of the Order that had guaranteed Snape's acquittal and path to acceptance with the public as a true agent of Dumbledore.

"I couldn't say anything then, because Snape was supposed to still be working for Voldemort."

"I've little doubt you were both working on something very important and secretive," she said.

Harry could feel his face flushing red, and hoped she either wouldn't notice or at least wouldn't comment on it.

"We were," he confirmed, quieter than he'd been speaking earlier. "There's a few reasons I don't want to talk much about it. People don't know a lot of what I did last year, and that's fine. But they know the barest things about December and January, and they're curious about them. But they only know about them because they're two things that went wrong."

He felt slightly uncomfortable with the soft look that she gave him, her hands clutched together at her desk.

"It's not for teaching that I would like to know," she gently said. "But rather to provide support in dealing with whatever happened. I can see the same scars on both of you."

"Oh," Harry said, looking down at his hand. It was colder in Scotland than it was in London, and his nerves were predictably going haywire and pulsing sporadically with pain.

"Did Severus tell you anything?" Harry asked. "I've just done an interview with Denis and Katie for their magazine, and gave a few more details there."

"No," she said, a small pursed smile on her face. "I look forward to the interview though. He also does not share details, but commented that you have a talent for strategy adaptations and are a magnet for chaos. The fact that you refer to him as Severus, though, is certainly telling."

Harry coughed.

"What am I making today?"

McGonagall looked very much like a cat that had cornered its prey, but she graciously dropped the topic.

"A silver biscuit tray, Mr Potter. Out of that tarnished broach there," she said, taking his obvious subject change with great amusement. "I normally have students make the tray out of wood, but I hear that you're very good at working with that in other capacities now."

"It's a fun hobby," Harry said, studying the broach and seeing if there were any pins or bits that stuck out on the underside that would affect the transformation. "I started out because my wand wasn't working quite right after the war."

He waved his wand as steadily as he could, watching the silver of the broach melt down on the desk and thin out into a rectangle, with a tidy pattern of lines around the edges.

The tray wobbled a bit as it settled into shape, and Harry scowled at his hand. Once the silver had set though, it was straight and even, with symmetry in the design.

"Well done, Potter," McGonagall said, and Harry knew she'd noticed the hand wobble. "Does that happen often?

"It's fine," Harry said. "Another reason I won't be an auror."

He hated the look she gave him, the small flash of pity. She'd championed so much for him to be an auror when Umbridge threw up every possible roadblock, and Harry felt grateful for it. But wand making had given him some purpose again, had sparked the thirst he had to know more and spend hours working on getting the right shapes and combinations of woods and cores.

"I must say, I didn't picture you as one to sit down and work on wands," she said, and there was no malice in her voice. "You were never particularly good at sitting still and staying out of trouble."

"Don't worry. I'm working with knives and some wand combinations can be destructive in testing," Harry said, with a grin. He held his left hand out, where she could see all the little still-healing knicks on his fingers from his carving knife hitting them. "It's just, I'm my own danger now. That's all."

She handed him his transfiguration certificate, giving him a stern look.

"It was not a challenge, Potter," McGonagall said.

…

December 31st, 1998

Harry circled around his flat, trying to take a long look about and make sure that he hadn't left anything out that was overly wizardly. His loo was plain but clean, the kitchen had been tidied and the box of Owl O's on his table had been put away. The sitting room was tidy; his broomstick stored in the bedroom, newspapers shoved into a trunk, and his books on wand lore and potions hidden in his credenza. Harry hadn't put any pictures or posters on the wall yet so he didn't have to worry about those at least.

A banging sound on Harry's door distracted him, and he went to answer.

"You can use magic to carry these, can't you?" Harry asked, finding Ron at the door balancing a paper bag of snacks and two six-packs of Runespoor Red beer in his hands.

"Didn't know if Alice was here already, did I?" Ron grumbled, shoving some of the beer at Harry's chest.

"Nah, not yet," Harry said. "I have to go get her anyway, the door is really hard to find from the muggle side."

"Makes sense," Ron said, dropping his stuff on the beat-up wood kitchen table. "The labels on these aren't exactly magical."

Harry pulled a bottle out of the box he put down next to Ron's and checked it out. The snake would likely get a comment, but nothing mentioned wizards or magic specifically.

"I think it's fine. Anything else I forgot?"

"I dunno, this is my world," Ron said, clapping Harry on the back. "Ask Hermione."

"Idiotic…" Kreacher popped into the room, expertly carrying three plastic bags of takeaway, a sour look on his face as he muttered.

"Yeah, he's definitely not muggle friendly," Ron said, opening a beer and pointing at Kreacher.

"No kidding," Harry said, helping Kreacher open the bags. They'd ordered in some Indian food, and Harry planned to give Kreacher the rest of the night off.

"Harry!" Hermione called, from the door. "Brought some muggle snacks; is Alice here yet?"

"No, not yet," Harry replied, walking out of the kitchen. "Can you do one last look round for magic things?"

"It's fine," Ron said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. "If she notices something and we can't explain it, we can just modify her memory."

"No, we certainly cannot, Ron," Hermione said, her expression firm. She'd put the snacks down on the credenza top and was trying to glance around the room to help Harry. "It's against the law."

"Oh, you're one to talk," Ron said.

"You know I was questioned over my parents' case," Hermione tersely reminded him. "I know it was war and Kingsley helped out, but I was almost fined for doing magic on muggles."

"All right, all right," Ron said, shrugging. "We'll just give her firewhiskey then."

Hermione rolled her eyes at that, and pointed to the top of the tv.

"Fred's portrait."

"Right," Harry said, walking over to it with his wand out. "I can just put a stasis spell on it, I think."

"Did they give you the frame?" Ron asked, clearly suspicious. He laughed when Harry nodded. "No, you can't. They made sure you couldn't silence them."

"What kind of pillock blocks a portrait stasis spell," Harry muttered, picking up the frame.

"You rang?" Fred asked, sliding into the frame.

"You're going in the bottom of my trunk," Harry firmly told him.

"Kinky," Fred replied, giving him a wink.

…

"Blimey your flat is hard to find," Alice said, following Harry up the stairs. "Also, these stairs aren't level."

"Aren't they?" Harry asked, taking a closer look. Nothing in the wizarding world was dead straight, and he found it comforting. Magic removed a lot of concern about rickety and wonky buildings.

"No, you really need your glasses checked," she muttered. Harry popped open the door and was grateful to see that Kreacher had left.

"Wow," Alice said, stepping in. She handed her coat to Harry, who tossed it toward the coat rack he had at the door. One of the hooks stretched to catch it, as usual, and Harry's face tensed, but Alice was busy looking around and didn't notice.

The sitting room was a fairly large space, though the eaves were sloped by the windows, it being the top floor flat. He'd stuck a sofa in the middle of the room, with a tv on one wall and a short credenza behind the sofa. His desk was under the window, cleaned up except for the purple heart end he'd been carving a few days earlier.

"Hey Alice," Ron said, sitting at the sofa. He'd lit a fire in the fireplace, but done it the muggle way as the flames were the regular orange-y red colour instead of a vivid green.

"Hello, hello," Alice said, kicking off her boots. She had a Tesco carrier bag in one hand and after taking out a bottle of wine, plopped it on Harry's credenza. She looked around with unhidden curiosity, hand on her hip.

"Hi Hermione. I have to say, I'm a bit disappointed. It's very boring here."

"Excuse me," Harry said, giving her an offended look. "I just moved in…."

"No, no," she waved her hand. "It's fine, I was just expecting bats or weird ritualistic things or ghosts in the rafters or something."

She sat down on the couch next to Hermione, still looking around the flat. Ron gave a fake laugh at her comment.

"Yeah, hah, who has ghouls in the rafters?" he asked. Hermione kicked him to shut him up.

"Alice is trying to figure out who I am," Harry explained to Ron and Hermione, rolling his eyes. "She doesn't think I'm human."

"I think you're human," Alice said, correcting him. "Just a fuckin' weird one. Have you seen Neverwhere? If you're from London Below I would not be surprised."

"Mm, I can see that," Hermione said.

"Yeah, that makes sense. London Below. This is a fourth floor flat, Alice" Harry said.

"Well, I don't know how it works," Alice said, grinning. "It was so hard to find I was beginning to think it was on purpose."

"I think this is a weird leftover factory building," Hermione offered. "That's why it's not marked properly."

"Sure," Alice said. "but those aren't the only odd things. Turn out your pockets," she said raising her eyebrow at Harry and waiting.

"Fuck off, Alice," Harry said in a mirthful tone. He went to the kitchen and started bringing out the dinner containers. Hermione jumped up to help, and they soon had a heaving coffee table with a variety of Indian food, with New Year's festivities on mute on the telly. The conversation flowed between what happened at Christmas and plans for the future, with Alice trying to suss out if Harry had ever resolved things with Snape.

"I'm working on it," Harry told her, sitting back in the chair and putting his plate back down. "I don't work as fast as you do."

"You move like a glacier, you do. Anyone else you're interested in?"

"Is there anyone else?" Ron said. "I don't know of anyone else in our… community."

Alice squinted at that, but didn't call him out.

"You probably just don't notice them," Alice confidently told Ron. "Unless you know what you're looking for."

"Like gaydar," Hermione said.

"Exactly," Alice confirmed. "Which, I like to think mine is pretty good, but if I saw Harry on the streets I wouldn't really peg him as gay. But I met him at a gay bookstore, so here we are."

"I can't tell if this is an insult or not," Harry said, still relaxed in his chair. Hermione looked amused.

"Listen harder. So, here's the thing, gays are usually pretty clothing-conscious," Alice explained. "They make sure they match their outfits well, that they look good, take care of their looks."

Ron looked like he was fighting a laugh, and Harry knew exactly who he was thinking of as a prime example that went against everything Alice just said.

"But Harry here, doesn't follow that," she continued. "Sure, he's got clean clothes, and dresses simply but nicely. But that hair."

"His hair's always been like that," Hermione noted, agreeing with Alice. Harry gave them both the fingers.

"All right, enough of the roast, you arses; it's a games night."

"She's sort of right, mate, you've been wearing the same kind of thing since you were 12," Ron said, agreeing.

"He is an otter though," Alice continued. "Which is why I'm surprised Luke went for him. Luke's always been more into the effeminate type."

"An otter?" Hermione asked. She had a puzzled look on her face and Harry could tell she was frustrated that she didn't know what it meant.

"It's a gay stereotype," Alice explained. "Lean, muscles, but not a body builder. With a hairy chest. He's too small to be a bear, too hairy to be a twink."

"Otters and bears," Ron said, nodding. "What other labels are there? What would I be?"

"Straight, Ron. You'd be dead straight," Harry said. "Can we please play the game and leave me alone?"

Alice grinned at him but acquiesced. "All right. Everyone here know how to play Cluedo?"

It had taken a few rounds to get Ron used to the game, but once he got the hang of it Ron was fairly good at using his cards to work out who held what clue. Harry was just glad that the cards had drawings on them, so Ron could figure out what they were without asking in front of Alice.

"Okay, I suspect the Professor, in the conservatory, with the revolver," Ron finally said.

"Too soon," Harry muttered, taking a drink of beer.

Harry was picking through his cards to disprove Ron's accusation when he felt a little pull toward the door. It wasn't noticeable to anyone else in the room, but Harry knew someone had passed his wards at the top of the stairs and was about to knock. It was firm and decisive against the door, and Harry suspected it was Snape.

"Come in!" Harry said, putting his cards down so he could stand.

He was right about the knocker, and couldn't help looking Snape up and down when the door was opened. It seemed that Snape was slowly shifting his clothing to be a bit more current with the times, as he wore an almost muggle-like long black wool overcoat with a black knit jumper underneath and a grey scarf. The greyscale continued down with Snape's dark grey trousers, and the only bit of colour were his boots, which were not black as they first appeared but in fact a rich brown.

He looked good, and Harry felt the results of the once over going straight to his groin.

"Fuck me, it's a vampire," Alice said, under her breath but still loud enough that Harry knew Snape would have heard her.

"Hi, Severus," Harry said.

"I did not realise you had guests," Snape said, staring only at Harry.

"It's New Year's Eve games night," Harry said, swallowing the roughness in his voice. He couldn't figure out why Snape had come to visit, but was grasping at ideas for how to get him to stay.

"Happy New Year's," Hermione said, trying to appear casual as she played the next round of accusations of the game.

"Yes, and to you," Snape said. He was carrying his satchel, and nodded at Alice and Ron.

"Is there somewhere we could speak in private?" Snape asked, giving Harry a pointed look.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, leading Snape past the couch and credenza, toward the bedroom door next to the kitchen. He opened the door and gestured for Snape to go through, and as he closed the door, heard Hermione tell Alice that Snape was not, in fact, a vampire.

Harry had often thought about inviting Snape to his bedroom, but never with his friends in the sitting room on the other side of the wall. He was glad he'd made his bed earlier, and tidied up. As it was, he closed the door and leaned against it, watching as Severus glanced around. At the last second, Harry shot a privacy spell over his trunk, where Fred's portrait was.

"Muffliato," Harry added, waving his wand over the two of them.

"My own spell?" Snape asked, eyebrows raised as a challenge.

"It works well," Harry retorted, with a shrug. "I suppose you didn't come here to wish me a happy new year?"

"No," Snape said, pulling a glossy magazine out of his bag. It was the new issue for the next day, Harry on the front cover staring at the camera. "It would seem that your fame is still enough for the entire front cover."

"Go big or go home," Harry said, his stomach flipping. "How did you get that already?"

"Printed at Hogwarts," Snape said, not breaking eye contact. "And is being published much faster than I expected."

"Than you expected? You can't accuse me of hiding without expecting me to act on it," Harry said. "I did the private thing and it already didn't go that well. So, I'm ripping off the whole plaster now."

"It's a quarterly magazine, Potter. As in, another issue will come out in late spring. You've only been back for a fortnight!"

"So?" Harry said. "What exactly are you worried about? Do you think I'll get some howlers and decide it's not worth it and fuck back off to the muggle world?"

"It's a possibility," Snape darkly said.

"No, it really isn't," Harry snapped. They were standing very close and Harry felt riled up, and also a little turned on. He needed to remain focused though, so tried to ignore that his dick was getting excited by the conversation.

"The muggle world isn't mine. I don't have family, a job, or a life there. And I'd have to live in secret for what I was for the rest of my life. It's hard enough to do that with Alice, and I don't see her that often."

He pulled the magazine out of Snape's hand and stared at the cover, him sitting in his darkened sitting room, wood block in his hand, scars, thick jumper and wild hair. It was a good shot, definitely not the happiest one, but one that Harry felt was fully him. Finally, he looked back up at Snape.

"So, what secret do I pick to battle with? A wizard amongst the muggles, or a gay amongst the wizards?"

Snape snatched the magazine back and put it back into his bag, as if he wanted to keep it safe from damage.

"Don't be so fucking dramatic. Your choice only affects the rest of us because it puts us to the forefront of the public's attention."

"Cut that 'the rest of us' rubbish out," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "You're famous too– "

"Infamous."

"–and it's not only me that can stand for gay rights," Harry finished, crossing his arms.

He'd missed arguing. Snape looked intense and annoyed, and Harry wanted to jump him.

"Yes, because as a Death Eater, I am a prime proponent for gay rights," Snape sardonically said.

"Former, I would hope," Harry said. "Which never actually stopped you from doing things in the past. So, did you just come to criticise me for the article?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes. "Or to wish me luck, or what?"

Snape straightened up and looked put out by the accusation. Up close, Harry saw that he'd done something to his hair to make it look better than it ever did at Hogwarts, and must have had it trimmed recently because it was just touching the top of his wool coat.

He hadn't immediately answered, and Harry looked at him with suspicion.

"That really is it. You're upset because I can't pull this back now, and whatever happens tomorrow is going to be what we have to live with."

"I do not get upset, Potter," Snape clarified.

"You absolutely do, Snape," Harry said. "And I'm right, aren't I?"

"Very bold and arrogant of you to assume you are," Snape said, leaning in and poking Harry in the chest with his index finger. "Typical Gryffindor to approach this without detailed forethought to the consequences."

"I thought we weren't measuring someone by the house chosen for them at eleven," Harry said, grasping Snape's finger with his hand. He squeezed it once and let go.

"Look, you were right. Whether it's you or someone else, I don't want to have to live in secrecy. This was the fastest way of clearing the air, and I was able to control how it was reported. I can't control their reactions."

"And are you ready for the fall out?" Snape asked. It wasn't an accusation to a student ill-prepared, like Snape had done often in Harry's time at Hogwarts. It was a calm question, from the stand point of someone who'd faced such a fall out before.

"Is anyone ever? I'm not going to be outing anyone else, if that's what you're worried about." Harry asked. "You never told me what happened when you came out."

Snape's eyebrows rose briefly in acknowledgement as he loosened his scarf. Harry didn't know if the heat of the flat was getting to him, or the discussion.

"I was kicked out of my home," Snape finally said. "Isolated amongst peers. Regarded as a person with a private life that would never be mentioned or acknowledged."

Harry had seen the loneliness in Snape's memories that weren't gay related, and felt sympathetic to the abandonment.

"Wouldn't it be great if we could change that? If we could make people realise it's not a big deal?"

"Optimist," Snape grumbled, but he looked calmer now and Harry was happy about that.

"Pessimist," Harry said. He took a step closer to Snape and looked up with a mixture of defiance and hope. "For good luck?"

Harry reached up to him, his hand slipping under Snape's hair around the side of his neck. The kiss was soft, much more so than their last frantic kiss in the bothy. Harry pushed himself against Snape, his chest pressing against the chill that was dying off of Snape's coat. Snape had his eyes closed, lost in the kiss, and Harry smiled against his lips when Snape opened them again.

"Your eyes are great," Harry said. He'd gotten hard, which he knew Snape could feel, but wasn't bothered by it.

"My eyes are mud brown," Snape replied, amusement on his tone.

"Shut it," Harry said, smiling wider. "They're the colour of caramel, and coffee, and trees, and cookies."

"Potter," Snape said, rolling said eyes.

"Harry."

"Yes," Snape agreed, stepping back and adjusting his coat to better cover his front.

"You've decided then?" Harry asked, nodding at the magazine barely visible from Snape's bag. "We can try dating?"

"Possibly, in the near future," Snape said. He seemed to be pulling himself back together from the distraction of the kiss. "I believe you will face criticism, which will only be compounded should the public find out of my interest, most certainly worsening if they realise that the interest is not new."

"The only three people who know vaguely of what happened in the bothy are in the room next door," Harry said, nodding at the bedroom door. "I had never planned on sharing that particular part."

"Well, isn't that a surprise," Snape dryly said. "I have yet to receive any death threats from Mr Weasley."

"Maybe because he wants to see his best friend happy?" Harry shot back. "We're not twelve anymore and things haven't been black and white in a long time."

"No, they certainly have not," Snape sighed. "And what have you told your muggle friend?"

"She knows I'm interested in you," Harry said, shrugging. "But she doesn't know I'm a wizard; she certainly won't be interviewed by the Prophet."

"To be so fortunate," Snape muttered. He flexed his hand at his side, and Harry saw that it was trembling a little. It was the same sort of tremble his own hand had, when the nerves were acting up and randomly pulsing.

Harry broke the spell on the room and opened the door, leading Snape to the front of his flat. Ron, Hermione, and Alice did a fairly passable job of pretending they hadn't been trying to listen in, and Harry refused to answer any of their questions as they got back into the game.

….

December 31st, 1997

"What's your resolution for the new year?" Harry asked, finishing the washing up at the sink.

"To not die," Snape mildly said. He was sitting in bed, leaning against the headboard with leftover dinner wine in a glass next to him. "Perhaps a new coat."

"Definitely go for the coat," Harry said, wiping his hands dry. Between them they'd had most of the bottle of wine, and Harry was feeling courageous.

"I suppose yours is more altruistic." Snape said, flicking the page of his book over and not hiding the doubt in his voice.

"I want to have sex," Harry said. This got Snape's full attention, and the book was lowered a bit.

"With anyone in particular?"

Harry approached the bed slowly, watching Snape carefully for any negative reaction.

"It's a short list," Harry answered.

"It's not yet the new year," Snape said, spreading his legs ever so slightly on the bed. Harry took that as a good sign.

"Concessions can be made in war," Harry replied.

"What are you asking me, Potter?"

"Don't put me back to Potter," Harry said, pulling shirt off above his head. He stood at the edge of the bed, his jeans getting tight as he gazed up Snape's long legs toward his midsection. Harry knew his arm still wasn't the strongest yet, but he was able to climb up on the platform, crawling up Snape's side of the mattress and straddling his hips.

"This is very inappropriate," Snape murmured, dropping the book he was holding off the edge of the mattress.

"According to whom?" Harry asked, flexing his thighs around Snape. He drew his hand down the side of Snape's face and tipped his head up so they were making eye contact. "Two consenting adults."

And he was. Harry knew his body looked good, that he had enough muscle on him to not look scrawny. He'd filled out over the year, and had hair smattered across his chest, with a healthy trail from his navel down to his dick. His voice was deep, hands were roughened and he had a day's worth of stubble on his face and neck.

Harry's finger traced over Snape's lips and then let loose a gasp of surprise when Snape surged up, hands strongly against the muscles of Harry's back. He was pulled toward Snape, who had buried his face into the hair on Harry's chest. His hands grasped for purchase against Snape's shoulders, keeping himself upright.

"You make a compelling argument," Snape said into Harry's stomach, as his left hand snuck around front and fiddled with the button on Harry's jeans.

"I do like to argue," Harry said, thrusting his hips up into Snape's hand, which had snuck its way into Harry's pants. He was bent over at an awkward position, trying to get both closer to Snape and keep Snape's hand on his cock at the same time. It wasn't long before he started to teeter, unable to catch himself with his right arm.

"Perhaps this is not the best position," Snape said, tangled up in Harry's legs.

"Have something better?" Harry asked, panting slightly.

"Clear the table," Snape said, shifting to the end of the bed and taking a quick trip to the washroom. He came back out in tented underpants a moment later, looking slightly suspicious that Harry had changed his mind. Harry, on the other hand, was fully naked and had haphazardly shoved everything from the table to the worktop. A lone bottle of lube sat on the table.

Making his decision, Snape kicked off his pants and strode over to Harry. He was firm and dominant, his hips rubbing against Harry's abdomen as he held Harry's face and kissed him strongly. It was animalistic, rough kisses of two men that had either been without or never had, and were expelling months of anxiety and pent up energy into a few moments of intimate trust.

Finally, Harry pushed Snape back toward the table, but instead of sitting on it, Snape turned his back to Harry. He bent himself over, Harry planting his feet on either side of Snape's and grabbing the lube bottle.

"Tell me when," Harry needlessly said, his fingers dripping with lube as they traced down Snape's furrow and found his hole. It slipped inside with a bit of resistance, and Harry started massaging and moving his fingers around in a slightly uncoordinated manner.

"Stop fucking around," Snape growled, a moment later. Harry laughed, squeezing Snape's arse in response. He put more lube on himself and took his cock in hand, breathing steady as he pushed in.

Demanding as always, Snape told him to hold still as he adjusted, and Harry fought every instinct to move. Finally Snape started moving himself, tentatively back and forth as he adjusted to Harry, and Harry barely could keep his focus.

"Go, Harry," Snape snapped, holding himself up on the table with his elbows.

Snape's back was long and slim, narrowing to his waist and Harry could just barely reach his shoulder. He held on, fingers digging into Snape's skin as he pulled Snape back to him with every thrust. Snape was quiet, his moans swallowed by gasps and air as he worked with Harry, his bum eagerly pushing back to slam against Harry's pelvis.

Looking down, Harry could just see his own cock, in and out, squeezing between Snape's surprisingly muscled arse. He tried to imagine the look from below, Snape bent over at the table and legs spread by Harry's, heavy cock swinging with each slap of contact, Harry's dick at the crux, slick with lube and sliding in and out, in and out.

"Fuck," Harry groaned, his left hand moving to Snape's hip to join his right. He sped up, the grip inconsistent as he pulled Snape back to him, as fast as he could manage. The table made a banging noise against the back cabin wall but Harry didn't care, he just felt a primal urge to fill Snape, to get as close as physically possible.

Snape let loose a low groan and Harry felt his balls tighten, his cock surge upward as he buried himself deep and came.

Snape shifted and Harry held tight to keep him there, but realised that Snape was moving his left arm around to stroke himself. Now that the table wasn't moving as violently Snape's right arm was enough to support him, and he firmly told Harry to stay put as he quickly masturbated. Harry clumsily reached down, finding Snape's hand with his own and joining the wank. Snape didn't last long, the burning hot skin in Harry's hand surging as he came.

Later, after Snape had demanded the washroom for clean-up first, and Harry had done a naked little celebration pose whilst Snape was in the bathroom, Snape returned to reading his book and Harry flopped on the bed beside him.

"Good start to the new year, Severus," Harry said, splaying out on his side of the bed in just boxers.

He had his eyes closed and started laughing when Snape reached over and shoved Harry's head further down into the pillow.

….

January 1, 1999

Harry, not quite hungover but not feeling at his greatest, peeked out of the bedroom just after 10 to survey the disaster of his living room. He'd told everyone to leave it for the next day, knowing that without Alice there he could use magic to make the task faster. It didn't hold his attention for long though, as Harry soon noticed several owls at his window, some with letters in their claws, and at least three with bright red howlers.