AN: I wasn't happy with this at first, hence the wait. Thanks for your patience.

January 1, 1999

"Go back to the muggle world, you bent bastard!"

The howler exploded into flames, spitting hot ash at Harry's fingers as he glumly sat on the couch. It was anonymous, as the other two had been, but this was the more vitriolic. He'd expected the comments about being a disappointing role model, and the one about keeping his business to himself so no one had to think about such deviancy.

Harry eyed the stack of letters next to the howler ash carefully, wondering if there was anything positive in them. Part of him wanted to burn the whole lot, but he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't resist reading them, he wanted to know what they all said, despite the potential for more anger and disappointment.

"Dear Mr Potter,

I'm not particularly certain why you've chosen to share that information. The magical world's population is small, and we are in need of more witches and wizards. Your decision will leave the next generation bereft of witches and or wizards with your strong character and powerful magic. This is very selfish.

Regards,

A puzzled and concerned neighbour."

Harry hesitated before putting that to the side. It wasn't a great letter, but he hadn't decided if he was going to destroy it yet.

"Harry–

Hard thing to read about, mate. My brother didn't have much luck; he's gone muggle. Maybe he'll feel safe coming back soon. Good luck."

Harry flipped the letter over and upside down, trying to see any familiar mark. The note read like it was someone he knew, but he didn't recognise the writing and wondered if it was someone from a different house, but the same year. He placed that letter on the sofa, as if it was a bit more acceptable than the rest he'd read so far.

The next one had a wax crest seal that was a letter Q with a wand through it. Harry lifted the seal, careful not to crack it, curious about what it stood for. The writing was neat and had lots of flourish to it, and Harry immediately sensed that the author was older.

"Mr Harry Potter,

Whilst we appreciate that our sort has a tendency toward drama, we would appreciate if you cease from making such a public commotion in the news. The unwanted attention and ruffling of feathers is bothersome when we have such a longstanding peaceful truce of remaining secreted in this society. You would do well to learn that.

Sincerely,

Q."

Harry scowled and threw the letter down atop the pile of ash. He stood up and stomped toward his desk, pocketing the purple heart wand he'd been working on. It was New Year's Day, but Harry thought he might get lucky and find Ollivander's shop open.

….

The door to his building was a non-descript wooden door with a diamond shaped looking hole in it. It was on a wall slanted away from Potage's Cauldron shop, barely noticed by anyone entering the Alley through the Leaky Cauldron. Harry slipped out, hands in his pockets as he kept his shoulders hunched up, eyes down at the worn cobblestones below his feet.

The Alley was unnaturally quiet, and Harry could hear soft music coming from an open window somewhere above. The snow had started again, but it was a bitter morning with harsh little pellets of snow that stung his cheeks as it landed.

He walked with a knitted winter hat on, and a thick grey scarf wrapped around his neck. Between that and his black cloak and dark jeans, Harry didn't look any different than other halfbloods or muggleborns making their way through Diagon Alley, and mercifully didn't receive any looks or comments.

"I was wondering if I'd be seeing you today, Mr Potter," Ollivander said, opening the door for him. The shop wasn't open, but Ollivander appeared to be working on a wand at his desk.

"Black walnut you added, wasn't it?" He asked, leading Harry to the desk in the middle of the shop. "A wood that is very attuned to inner conflict. If you were to perform any self-deception, it would lose its power."

"I've known what I was for a long while," Harry said, sitting in the now familiar stool that Ollivander had left transfigured from Harry's last visit. "The wood I chose to fix my wand was not a mistake."

Ollivander nodded, and returned to his own stool, sitting opposite of Harry. He didn't say anything else, and Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he unwrapped his scarf.

"Do you have a problem with what I am?"

Ollivander placed the wand he was working on to the side of the work mat, and studied Harry.

"And there is the impetuosity of the holly," Ollivander said, waving his hand toward Harry. Harry didn't realise how tense he'd become, sitting at the edge of the stool and waiting to see how he'd be judged.

"I do not have a problem, as you so put it. I wonder how this will affect a working partnership, as I suspect that you have received some not so pleasant correspondence by now."

"How'd you know?"

Ollivander pointed toward the door, where two owls sat on the landing poles he had outside the door, envelopes in their beaks as they stared at Harry.

"Blimey," Harry muttered. He walked to the door and fetched the letters, putting them in his pocket without reading them. Ollivander made a pot of tea, and used magic to bring it to the table.

"It will stop," Ollivander said. "I'm certain there will be another quidditch event or some sort of international soiree that catches their attention."

"I hope so," Harry said. He sat back down on the stool, determined to change the topic away from himself. "What did you think of the purple heart notes?"

"Very interesting," Ollivander said, summoning Harry's notes from underneath a pile of sawdust. "Your observations regarding the characteristics of the wood were correct – the only purple heart wand I have sold has gone to a witch who later became a diplomat."

"Really?" Harry asked. "You've only ever sold one?"

"Purple heart is a tree that grows in mostly South and Central American climates," Ollivander said. "It's a popular wood with witches and wizards in those continents, but not so much in Great Britain."

His tone definitely conveyed his opinion that Harry should have known that.

"It blends well with the elm," Harry said instead, pulling the wand he'd made out of his pocket.

Ollivander took it carefully, studying the joint Harry had made to connect the two. He'd made tiny finger joints with his chisel and his own wand to connect the two pieces and was pretty chuffed with how well they'd turned out.

"The intricacies of the design is befitting of the personality that would suit this wand," Ollivander murmured, turning it over and holding it up very closely to his face for a better look. "And what of the core?"

"Dragon heartstring," Harry answered. "It was in the elm already so I knew it would pair well. I removed the old and replaced it with a new, longer piece."

"Yes, I had wondered about the sizing difference," Ollivander said, swishing the wand up and down, perfectly controlling his glass of water as it hovered over the desk.

"You can't combine two pieces of heartstring to make it longer," Harry said. "The dragons battle, and it's very volatile. You can weave together unicorn hair though."

"If you have a sufficient supply of varying lengths, that should not be necessary," Ollivander said. He floated the cup down to the table, and handed the wand back to Harry.

"I've only bought what I wanted for what I was working on," Harry said, shrugging. "I've never actually combined cores in a wand, just experimented."

"Well no, of course not," Ollivander said, slightly scandalised. "Each core has its own properties and own strengths for the caster. Should you combine them, you'll pit the cores against each other."

"But what if it made them work together?" Harry asked. Ollivander looked sceptical and Harry shook his head. "All three cores that you use are distinct and established enough that they don't pair well together. But thestral hair– "

"–Never to be used in my shop," Ollivander said, sipping the water.

"Might work," Harry stubbornly said. "Thestral hair is said to be unstable, but maybe it would be balanced with unicorn hair and its tendency to produce consistent magic. Or with a phoenix feather, for the range and control."

Ollivander looked dubious.

"I don't think it would work well with dragon heart string," Harry admitted. "Too combative and the heartstring would take to dark magic too easily."

"You have considered this greatly," Ollivander said. He summoned the familiar tea set over, and gave Harry the same cup he'd used the last time. "Have you made a wand with thestral hair?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head. "But I'm considering it."

"And who will you give this wand to?"

"I don't have a client for it," Harry evasively said. "Luna gave me the thestral hair."

"Yes, yes, that's right," Ollivander said. He regarded Harry carefully, and Harry could tell that Ollivander didn't fully believe him.

Instead of saying more though, Ollivander picked up a sheaf of paper from beside the tray. It was long and had very neat scripted writing on it, and Harry immediately knew he'd want a second pair of eyes to read it over.

"This contract is a trial period," Ollivander started, laying the paper out in front of them both.

"It states that you will work out of my shop, with access to the same clients and shop space. It provides materials at the same purchasing discount that I receive, and that a percentage of your charged repair fees will be paid to me."

Harry nodded. It sounded fair to him, but he'd definitely need time to read over the paperwork itself.

"Window advertising is of course included," Ollivander added.

"I don't expect there to be a large steam of clients," Harry said, drinking his tea. "It does seem like buying new is the standard practise."

"Yes, however let's not be delicate about the reality, Mr Potter," Ollivander said. "You are a celebrity, and there will be interest based solely on your name."

"Which you will benefit from," Harry pointed out.

"Of course," Ollivander agreed. "And the contract is written to be as beneficial to both parties given all factors. Read it over at your leisure."

"Thanks," Harry said, finishing his tea. "I look forward to it, and learning more about wands. I've read a few of your books, but It's not quite the same as learning in person."

"It is long hours working with delicate shapes and shavings of wood," Ollivander said and he had a quiet pride to his tone.

"It sounds really relaxing, to be honest," Harry said. He stood up and put his scarf back on, before rolling up the contract.

"An unusual profession for the hero of the war," Ollivander said.

"That chapter's done," Harry easily said. "On to the next. Happy new year, Mr Ollivander."

"Garrick," Ollivander said, holding his hand out to shake.

"Harry," Harry replied, feeling positive for the first time that day.

….

Harry leaned against his kitchen worktop and idly licked curry off a spoon as he waited for the rest of the leftovers to reheat in the oven. He had another letter in his hand and skimmed it at first, re-reading again when he determined it wasn't a rude one.

"Harry! What news mate. Pretty brave and a little mad to come out in a magazine, but I support you. We should meet up for drinks some time. All the Gryffindor lads. – Dean."

He moved back to the living room, where the pile of letters had at least stopped growing. He wondered what Snape thought of it all; if he'd even be surprised at the reaction. Likely not, Snape had warned him more than a few times about what was coming.

At least no one had sent him a curse in the mail.

Maybe he would be fortunate enough that there would just be these grumblings, and no real issues, and he could get on with things. People would likely still stare at him in the streets, but that was certainly something he was already accustomed to. Seven years in the magical world and he'd never really had any time yet in which he wasn't the focus of people. Or at least in their peripheral view.

When he was younger, he used to worry that he wouldn't live up to what the magical world thought of him. As it was New Year's Day, Harry decided that he'd make it his resolution to be unapologetic for who he really was.

There was a pad of paper on the coffee table and Harry started writing on it.

Freak. Boy. Orphan. Useless. Potty. Scarhead. Roonil Wazlib. The Boy Who Lived. Champion. The Chosen One. Undesirable Number 1. The War Hero.

Gay man.

Harry circled the last one. He didn't really like any of the nicknames he'd been given growing up. The Boy Who Lived wasn't terrible, but it had built him up to be a huge public figure of reverence, one with big expectations and no real way to step down. And that was the problem, wasn't it? Some expected him to lead the aurors against bad wizards, some expected him to teach. He was watched with curiosity. And he knew that, that's why he'd done his article. Jump ahead of the rumours and the speculation.

He opened another letter, reading it with trepidation.

"I don't know why you think this is relevant to anything, Potter. Congratulations on winning the war, once again, but keep these personal details to yourself. No one wants to think of these disgusting acts."

Harry sighed and turned round on the couch, picking up the picture frame of his parents that was on the credenza. He didn't have a lot of photos of them, but really liked the joyous photo of them dancing and smiling together.

"I wish you could see me now," Harry said. "I've been hired at Ollivander's. I'm going to be a wandmaker. I just have to get over this stupid thing."

He felt his eyes sting, and took his glasses off. The small wetness in the corner of his eyes wiped away easily. "I didn't do the right thing, did I? This was a mistake."

Harry looked up again a second later, hearing some noise that he thought was another owl. It wasn't, so he shoved the letters into a bag to be forgotten for another day.

He knew he could probably find something stupid to watch on television. He considered seeing if Alice was around, but she'd get suspicious and want to know more details of what he was upset about.

Harry sighed and got up to get his curry from the oven. Maybe he'd send Neville an owl and ask what he was up to. Ron and Hermione were busy with Hermione's parents, and Harry didn't want to bother them.

He could send Snape a note…Harry put his curry down on the coffee table and went to get the potion recipe card from his desk. The first line of the recipe was empty, as always, and Harry tapped his pen against his chin as he thought of what to write. He didn't want to whinge, as he knew Snape wouldn't have much sympathy, and Harry wanted Snape to think of him as an adult who could solve his own problems.

Official wand-maker now, Harry finally scribbled on the card. It would only disappear once Snape had seen and acknowledged it, so Harry pinned the card back to the board where he'd be able to notice it from the couch.

It wasn't that late in the day, and Harry was feeling a restless energy that he didn't like. He could work on another wand, but felt like in this state he was more likely to stab himself with a chisel. It felt like he'd just discovered something at school and was waiting for nightfall before taking action. It reminded him of when he and Ron had decided to go into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny, when they were terrified twelve-year-olds dreading what they were going to face.

A knock on the door broke him out of his thoughts, and it opened before Harry could say anything.

"Hello!"

"Mrs Weasley?" Harry said, his head popping up from the couch. She gave him a warm smile from the door.

"Hello dear," she said, shaking her gloves off. "I can't stay too long, Arthur's fiddling with some muggle electric things and I don't like to leave him, of course."

"Right," Harry nodded, still confused as to why she was visiting, but pleased to see her. She was looking at him expectantly, and Harry was scrambling to remember if he'd missed an appointment.

"Yes, so bring your things. I thought you might like to come for a cup of tea."

"Oh, I … yeah, that'd be nice," Harry said. He stood up and looked at the curry bowl, before banishing it to the kitchen. She'd said to bring his things, but Harry didn't really know what that would be.

"Your contract, Harry," Molly gently said. "Arthur and I can have a look at it."

"Yes," Harry said, grabbing it from the table. He still felt a little off kilter, but it was a better feeling than his restlessness and so he followed her to the door. Harry turned back to check the potion card, and in the process, caught a glimpse of Fred in the portrait, giving his mother a salute.

….

You'll regret coming back, you deviant halfblood.

Arthur held the letter up to the kitchen light and squinted at it.

"Have you had more like these?"

"No," Harry said. "Well yeah. But the others have been more generic in telling me that they don't like what I am, or that it's disgusting. This seems more like a threat."

The owl that had delivered it hadn't stayed long, but was easily identified as a Diagon Alley owl post. The letter had no markings to it, and Harry was concerned, but not as much as he would have been had he received it in his own flat. He knew that there were likely one or two Death Eaters left, but it somehow felt different than the year before. It was very different being back in a world where he wasn't Undesirable Number 1.

"We should probably let Kingsley know," Molly said. She stood up from the table, taking Harry's empty cup as she went.

"It's probably nothing," Harry said. A threat, certainly, but nothing to the effect of what Voldemort had put him through over the last seven years of his life. He'd be careful, he didn't think that he would ever be naïve enough to not be.

"Most likely," Arthur agreed. "But good to share, just in case."

Harry nodded. He'd been there for an hour already, and they'd discussed his contract at great detail. Arthur though it very standard, though he gave Harry some pointers on what to expect with wizarding taxes and employment. Molly had just told him how proud she was of him.

"Now, just between you and me," Arthur said, keeping his voice low. Molly had dropped the cup off in the kitchen and gone upstairs to the bathroom, but Harry knew her hearing was particularly good.

"I want to nip this in the bud now. Once people find out about your involvement with Severus, I fear the violence may escalate."

"My…what?" Harry asked. It was bad enough that Arthur had known about Harry's homosexuality without him realising, but that he knew about Severus as well? How was it possible?

"I have six boys," Arthur said, with a smile. "Molly isn't the only one to notice things."

"I didn't think I was that obvious," Harry said, feeling his face heat.

They heard movement above, and Harry knew Molly would be back shortly.

"You weren't," Arthur said, calmly folding the note back up. Maddeningly, he still didn't explain how he'd figured it out. "But keep the letters and we'll report them to the aurors. It may escalate."

Harry nodded, still not sure what to say about Arthur's revelation.

"You'll have to explain how these portable telephony things work to me later, Harry," Arthur said, just as Molly rounded the corner of the stairs.

"Oh no, you mustn't," Molly said. "No more muggle things, Arthur! Our house is full."

"They're small, Molly," Arthur said, holding his hand up and making a c shape with his fingers. He was not really close to the size of any mobile phones that Harry had seen recently, and Harry smiled.

"Thanks for inviting me over," Harry said, suddenly feeling quite warm and cared for. "I thought Ron would be back by now, but this has been nice even without him."

"Harry dear," Molly said, shaking her head at him. "Why ever would you think you weren't welcome if Ron wasn't here?"

….

January 1, 1998

"And are we waking up full of regrets this morning?"

Harry lifted his head and blearily looked at Snape, who was leaning against the back wall of the bed and holding his book. He was blurry, as Harry didn't have his glasses on, but Harry felt that softened some of the glares.

"Were you expecting me to?" Harry asked. He rolled over and stretched, the blanket pulling down a bit and exposing his bare chest.

"Yes," Snape frankly said. Harry could tell that he had Snape's rapt attention.

"No, is the answer," Harry said. "I had a great sleep actually. We should do more training today."

Though Snape was still rather blurry, Harry was certain he was getting a look that conveyed Snape's doubt about that.

"And I'd like to do it again, just so you know," Harry said, putting his glasses on.

"I would think that you'd have time to refle…"

"Do you want to fuck again?" Harry interrupted, sitting up. "Sex isn't the only thing I want, but this is hardly the situation to judge whether that'd be a good idea."

"And if we survive, more later?" Snape asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Something like that," Harry said. He struggled to get out of bed with how weak his arm was, but managed it with some dignity. Snape had clearly been up for a while, and had made coffee, which drew Harry over to the worktop.

He poured a cup, standing at the sink in nothing more than his boxer briefs.

"You mentioned yesterday that you had the sword of Gryffindor?" Harry asked.

….

Snape was surprisingly graceful as he avoided Harry's map on the floor, and the little representational pieces that Harry had made out of random clutter from the bothy. He was doing the washing up, as Harry pushed things around and figured out alternate routes of attack.

"You own a Hallow," Snape said, not turning to look at Harry.

"Yes. If they're real," Harry said, plopping the white sliver of soap and piece of black shoestring (Voldemort and Nagini, respectively) into the area marked as the forest. He had a feeling that he'd be back in the forest, at some point.

"But I'm focusing on the horcruxes."

"I have no further information," Snape said, dunking Harry's mug in the water. "Dumbledore was very selective with what he shared and when."

"Probably for a good reason," Harry said, scowling at his written notes. He'd had to write with his left hand, and it was quite frankly terrible looking. "Though I doubt that he ever envisioned you and I meeting in a secret bothy to discuss war tactics."

Snape stayed quiet, and Harry smiled to himself.

"Or other things."

Whatever Snape was washing slipped a little and dropped in the sink.

"I find it hard to believe that the…."

"No," Harry firmly said. "I am not the son of anyone, as far as this is concerned. I didn't grow up knowing them, and I'm not going to be used as some weird revenge plot."

Snape glanced down at him and looked annoyed but Harry cut him off.

"I'm interested in more, but if all you're going to do is think of my father and some weird twisted relation to that situation, you can fuck off and we'll never speak of this again."

"This has nothing to do with your father," Snape snapped. "Of course you're nothing like him."

"Then why do you always say I am?!"

"Use your brain, Potter! How would it look if I went around complimenting you?" Snape argued.

"Complimenting?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrow. He knew a small grin was growing on his face, but Snape was still facing the sink and couldn't see it. "Have you ever actually given a compliment in your life?"

"I believe I gave words of appreciation last night," Snape retorted, turning and pointing his finger at Harry.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, full on grinning. "You certainly did. We should do that again."

He swept the bits of clutter from the map and awkwardly stood up from the floor.

Snape leaned against the worktop, a tent forming in his pyjama trousers as he regarded Harry.

"You're sorely mistaken if you think I'm going to only be submissive."

"What?" Harry asked, stepping closer. "That isn't exactly a trait I associate with you."

Snape tried to cross his arms, but didn't quite get the effect he wanted as he had to lift his right up because it wouldn't move quite how he wanted. It didn't stop Harry at all.

"I got what I wanted last night," Snape said. He remained leaning against the worktop as Harry approached, seemingly unbothered that his erection was noticeable. "But if you think that for the remainder of our time in the bothy that I will be the submissive one, you are quite mistaken."

His eyes were sharp as he glared at Harry, and Harry was more than a little turned on by the intensity.

"Is this more famous Harry Potter rubbish? The idea that he wants to be the winner in everything?" Harry asked. He was less than a foot away from Snape, his own erection close to touching Snape. "Because I would have thought you'd realised by now that I'm not him."

His hands grabbed Snape's hips, the right struggling to grip as strongly as he'd like. By the slight jump though, Harry knew he had both Snape's attention and interest.

"Don't be stupid. You are him," Snape said, the sharpness in his voice softening ever so slightly. He was still staring, watching to see what Harry would do next.

"I'm not who you think he is," Harry said, slipping his left hand under the elastic waist band. Snape's cock was hot and swollen, straining against the flimsy fabric. The skin felt velvety and Harry kept a strong grip as he slowly stroked. "Not some arrogant arsehole who doesn't care about fairness or other people."

Snape grunted as he started moving his hips with Harry's strokes. He lost concentration on keeping his injured arm crossed and it swung down and almost dislodged Harry's. Harry squeezed extra tight on the next stroke, his palm sticky with pre-cum from the head of Snape's dick.

"Not some selfish gay man who won't reciprocate," Harry finished, as he sunk to his knees, dragging Snape's trousers down with him. Snape's dick was thicker than Harry expected, but he was grateful it wasn't too long that he couldn't fit most of it in his mouth.

He'd never given a blow job before, but dreamt about it. The salty flavour wasn't unexpected, but Harry knew it'd take him a bit to get used to it. He knew he wasn't great, holding the base of Snape's cock and sucking down as much as he could, in and out. Snape's hands had immediately gone to Harry's head, keeping him where he was but not pushing or choking him.

He was careful to keep his teeth from causing Snape any pain, but quickly felt that the blow job was getting a bit sloppy. Snape didn't seem to care, and when Harry reached up to fondle his balls, Snape moaned. Harry groaned around Snape's dick, feeling his own cock aching to be touched. He ran his tongue flat on the underside of Snape's cock, before sucking hard as he pulled most of his mouth off like a lolly. Harry's hands continued in sync with his mouth, the right just able to keep Snape's cock steady, but the left moving slowly back, circling and then pressing against Snape's arsehole.

"Ugn," Snape said, pushing Harry's head away after one final thrust. He pointed himself upward and came shortly after, come oozing out and getting on his shirt.

"Didn't want me to swallow?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

Snape didn't answer, but instead gripped his collar and pulled Harry's shirt up with urgency that made Harry quickly stand. He wasn't expecting the ferocity of Snape's kiss, nor to be spun around so that he was the one leaning back, where Snape had been standing seconds earlier.

"What," Harry got out, before Snape disappeared and Harry's trousers were yanked down. Unlike Harry, Snape knew what he was doing and deep throated Harry's cock in one go.

"Fuccccck," Harry hissed, his hips automatically snapping forward. He ran his fingers through Snape's hair, his hands trying to part the long hair so he could see Snape's face, see his dick in Snape's mouth. Harry had been close as the giver, and now he felt like he had little control over when he was going to come, especially with how Snape's tongue was swirling around his cockhead.

"You'd," Harry got out, before he looked down and saw Snape's piercing dark eyes looking right back up at him. He came hard, keeping upright only because Snape was holding him against the kitchen cabinets. He'd tried to give sufficient warning, and had thought for a microsecond about pulling out before he came. Snape's grip was strong and unyielding though and he swallowed every last drop, keeping eye contact and showing Harry exactly how he liked to mix the dominant and submissive stereotypes of sex.

"Someday," Harry said, panting a little as he caught his breath. "I'd like to try this in a bed."