Thanks for reading along! Coming out is a terrifying experience that never ends so hopefully this was an interesting and helpful story for those unfamiliar with the process. I also want to say on today, the International Transgender Day of Visibility, that trans lives fucking matter. They're important and real and deserve support and respect. And I hope that one day a certain author comes to their senses about this.
I will go through in a few weeks and correct any typos, so for those of you that like to download epubs, you may want to wait a bit until I've done that. Cheers for the notes along the way, you're lovely readers.
January 7th, 1999
Harry ducked into the restaurant door, avoiding a tiny owl that flew out above his head. It was dim inside, but warm and loud as conversation bubbled up. People looked toward him as he entered and Harry tried to ignore it. It was rather hard, as he kept scanning the room, but finally Ron stuck his arm up and Harry went to the table.
"Wasn't expecting it to be this busy," Harry said, dropping his gloves on the table. He struggled to pull his jacket off, trying to hide that he was having trouble with his arm.
"They had just opened before you came back," Hermione said, pouring him a glass of water from the jug at their table.
"It's mad popular," Ron said. "First modern restaurant in the Alley, it's always booked."
"How'd you get a reservation, then?" Harry asked, picking up the menu to have a look.
"We are famous, you know," Ron said, smirking as he took a sip of his pint.
"You told me you booked this a few days ago!" Hermione said, turning to glare at him.
"Not likely," Ron said, with a bit of an amused scoff. "I'm not a seer, am I? You only got your acceptance this afternoon."
"Acceptance to what?" Harry asked. A waitress came by and he asked for a glass of white wine, to Ron's astonishment.
"Well," Hermione said, leaning on her elbows on the table. She tapped her hands a few times, either out of excitement or nerves, Harry couldn't quite tell. "I've been applying for a few positions since I completed my NEWTS. Today I got accepted into an apprenticeship with the Ministry."
"Hermione, that's brilliant," Harry said, giving her a genuine smile. "What will you be doing?"
"Working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'll be apprenticing under Amelia Bones."
She nodded, looking chuffed and she couldn't stop grinning. Harry noticed that Ron was looking at her with a wide, pleased grin, as if he was quite proud but didn't know how to tell her.
"Amelia Bones," Harry said. "I thought she was killed two years ago, wasn't she?"
"We all thought that," Hermione said. "It was a trick; she was in hiding."
"Really," Harry said. "She fooled Voldemort?"
"Yeah," Ron said. "She won't say how, but I think she also used a ghoul."
"Creepy," Harry said. Hermione nodded.
"She's brilliant," Hermione said. "She'll be incredible to work for. That's why it took so long, there were quite a few applicants and I had to write an essay and…"
"As if they were not going to pick you," Ron said. "We beat You Know Who."
"Ron–" she started.
"Well, Harry did, but we played a big part," Ron corrected.
"You destroyed some horcruxes," Harry shrugged, with an approving nod.
"That's the beside the point," Hermione said. "There was still an application process. I was up against some very strong applicants. And there's still a lot of nepotism in the Ministry. Theodore Nott was in the running until he attacked you and Alice."
"Theodore Nott? For Law Enforcement?" Harry asked, blinking.
"I think he was trying for anything in the Ministry," Hermione said. "And he made it through the first few rounds, despite him and his father being Death Eaters."
"Some people are born with silver wands in their hands," Ron muttered.
"What about Snape, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Is he going back to Hogwarts?"
"Well, he's one of the headmasters, isn't he?" Ron said. "Is there a battle or something to see who becomes the true headmaster? I'd watch that."
The waiter came by with their meals and Harry thought he could hear the table groan when they were put down. His large plate of roast beef, potatoes, veg, and Yorkshire puddings had piping hot gravy poured on it and Harry couldn't wait to tuck in.
"No," Harry said, grinning. "I'm not sure who would win, they fought at Hogwarts on the night of the final battle, but that was under very different circumstances."
"Do you think he'd even want to be headmaster?" Hermione asked. She'd gotten duck as her entre and Harry thought it looked both delicious and enormous.
"I don't know," Harry said. "He was a professor for so long, but it was under Dumbledore's orders. Now seems the best time to leave, if he wanted to."
"I reckon he'd be good at patent approvals," Ron said, spearing his lamb with a fork. "Seems smart. Likes to judge people."
Harry laughed.
"I won't tell him you said that," Harry said.
"Won't you?" Ron teased. "Meeting up with him again?"
"Seems like it," Harry said, and he didn't bother to hide his flushed cheeks.
…
January 8th 1999
"What feeling does the wand give you now?" Harry asked, holding up the pearwood wand.
"Like it's missing something," Hannah Abbott answered. She was dressed smartly and looked like she'd either come from the ministry or had a date that evening. "It's sort of felt that way for a while. I know I'm good at magic, but the wand doesn't make me feel it."
"Since the war?" Harry asked, rolling the wand between his fingers and looking for any scratches on it. He had his notepad next to him and started taking a few notes as he inspected it.
"No," Hannah replied. "It's been a while now, but it got worse leading up to the battle."
"Really?" Harry asked. His eyes flicked up as her right hand came into view, placed gently on the desk.
I will know my place and stay there.
"Umbridge," Harry said, putting the wand down.
Hannah gave him a sad smile. "She really knew what to target, didn't she?"
"Hannah," Harry said. He sighed a bit and gave her her wand back. "You're a brilliant witch. You must know that."
"I know what my OWLS and NEWTS say," Hannah said. "But it just doesn't seem like the wand knows."
"Is the core unicorn hair?" Harry asked. He could see Ollivander nodding out of the corner of his eye, but waited for Hannah to confirm.
"Yes. Do you think the core may have died?"
"I think it's still alive," Harry said, with consideration. "Can you do a spell?"
Hannah held up her wand and conjured a small yellow tulip in a purple clay pot. The tulip looked exactly as it should have, but there was no life to it, no little sheen to the stem.
"You see what I mean?" she asked, holding the flower up to inspect it.
"Yes," Harry said. "I have some ideas, but I need to think about how to get it to work."
"Thanks, Harry," she said, and Harry could see the relief as her shoulders dropped from their hunched tightness. "Do you need to keep my wand?"
"No, but come back on Monday and I'll have something to try.'
She stood up quickly and almost tipped back the chair she was sitting in.
"If only getting rid of the scar was this easy," she said, giving him a bit of a bubbly nervous laugh.
Harry, who was holding his quill, turned his hand over so his palm was visible. Most of the scarring was faded, or mixed in with that from the gravestone curse from the year before, but the I must not tell lies was still legible.
"I don't think I'll ever fully be able to forget what happened," Harry said. "It's sort of a mark of what we went through, and reminder that I never want it to happen again."
…
Harry looped his scarf around his neck and buttoned his coat. He wasn't a neat person naturally, and had set a goal for himself to ensure his work desk was at least fairly tidy before leaving for the day. He waved goodbye to Ollivander, and stepped out into the chilly January evening, pondering whether he felt like going for takeaway or cooking whatever he had at home for his supper. He'd hoped to go out, but Ron and Hermione were busy and Snape–
"Mr Potter!"
Harry stopped a step away from the door, sceptical look on his face as he looked around for the sound of the noise.
"Mr Potter, I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you," the voice continued. A short looking man crossed the alley, carrying a notebook and a large blue quill.
"Who are you, exactly?" Harry asked, his hand draped casually at his side, within easy reach of his wand.
"James Ainsthistle, from The Daily Prophet."
"Right," Harry said, relaxing a little. "The one who wrote the Not Happy article."
"Yes, precisely. Ms Skeeter has been moved to another department and I shall be writing these pieces from now on."
"Interesting," Harry dully said. He glanced down the alley and felt a jolt of cheeriness as he saw Snape walking toward them. "No thanks."
Ainsthistle looked disappointed, but not all together surprised.
"No need to decide right now," Ainsthistle immediately said, trying to wheedle Harry into reconsidering. "Just that, it is soon the anniversary of the Burning of Dartmoor."
Harry gave him a blank look.
"And?"
"Well, you were there of course, and your interview for The Brass Telegraph merely glossed over it. The public would be very interested…"
"Potter," Snape said, stopping short of Ainsthistle, but still close enough to tower over him. "You're late for our appointment."
"Professor Snape," Ainsthistle said, switching gears in half a second as Harry continued to show disinterest. "You have an appointment for Mr Potter to fix your wand?"
"No."
"I see. Well do you have a quote or statement on the opening of his wand repair shop?"
"No."
Snape looked ever impassive as he stood there, waiting for Harry, and Harry noted that he was once again wearing slimmer fitting and more up to date clothing.
"Excuse us," Harry said, taking a step to push past Ainsthistle.
"Have you read his article in The Brass Telegraph?" Ainsthistle continued, trying to get more than one-word answers out of Snape. He raised his voice as they turned away. "Are you surprised to learn that he's an homosexual?"
Harry controlled his flinch fairly well, but had a full scowl when looking back. Ainsthistle had been heard loud and clear, and a few people had paused their errands to watch what was happening.
Snape clicked his tongue against his teeth and gave Ainsthistle a withering look.
"I am also one. I fail to see how that has anything to do with the quality of wands he is able to produce."
"You are?" Ainsthistle asked, with a surprised expression. His quill, which had been recording the conversation on the parchment notebook he was holding, stopped dead and dripped ink.
"Yes."
The few people that had stopped to see what was going on were watching very intently, and Harry started to feel uncomfortable with the attention.
"Two people so closely involved in the death of You Know Who, both homosexuals? What are the odds?"
"Unusual, I'm sure," Snape dryly said. "There are many of us about. Perhaps you should consider that they don't reveal themselves to you for fear of stupid and unwanted questions."
"There's no need to be insulting, Professor Snape," Ainsthistle haughtily said. "The integrity of the –"
"The Daily Prophet has very little integrity," Harry interrupted, fed up and wanting to go. "You've printed lies and half-truths for the majority of my life in the magical world. A minor child's life. You became the ministry's propaganda during the war, and now insist on drudging up a small blip during the last year of hell. Let it go, and leave me alone."
Harry turned away from Ainsthistle brushed up against Snape as he tried to leave. He'd put his hands in his pocket as his arm had been aching for most of the afternoon. Snape showing up had been a pleasant surprise after not responding to Harry's owled date invitation, but Harry wasn't going to mention a date night with Ainsthistle there.
"We're sorry that you feel that way," Ainsthistle started, calling after Harry.
"You are not," Snape sneered. "You're merely lucky that no one had been annoyed enough by the paper to take some sort of vengeful measure."
Harry had been walking slowly away, shoulders hunched up as he gazed at the ground and avoided making eye contact with other witches and wizards in the alley. It didn't take long for Snape and his long legs to catch up to Harry, as Harry had hoped he would. Snape also had his hands in his wool coat pockets, and nudged Harry's shoulder back.
"Ow, that one's sore," Harry said, making a face. Snape said nothing, but kept close to Harry without bumping his arm again.
"You know he'll print something, right?" Harry said, leading them to the Leaky. "About what you said. He'll question why we have an appointment, probably comment about you being a gay schoolteacher."
He said it casually, but Harry knew that an article focusing on him might make Snape hesitant to get involved with Harry until the attention faded once again.
"My title is professor, not just schoolteacher," Snape snobbily said. The pub was fairly busy, and Ginny waved at them from the table she was at. Harry waved back, and Snape gave a pained nod of acknowledgement that Harry almost laughed at.
"Not really the point I was focusing on. Where do you want to go for dinner?"
"This was your invite," Snape said.
"Right, I didn't get an owl back, so I thought I was on my own tonight," Harry said. He opened the muggle door of the Leaky and stepped out onto Charing Cross, expertly avoiding a woman with a pram who looked surprised to suddenly see him.
"Mm," Snape said, taking up his spot walking next to Harry again. "I was caught up in paperwork, and did not receive your owl until very shortly before your chosen meeting time."
"Oh," Harry said, his grumpy mood melting away with each step they took. He'd thought Snape had turned his date invitation down by ignoring it completely, but was pleased and a little thrown off kilter to find that wasn't the case.
"You've completed your NEWTS," Snape said. "The results will be posted to you."
"Hah," Harry said. "I'll be sure to let Hermione know. She was certain I'd need them to get a job."
They passed a group of tourists who were taking photos of an old red phonebooth, paying Harry and Snape no mind.
"There's a place in Blackfriars that we can go to," Harry said, turning east. "They've a load of brilliant types of tarts."
An hour and a half later, Harry polished off what he considered the best treacle tart in the city and Snape was obscenely –in Harry's opinion– licking lemon curd off his spoon.
"What changed your mind so quickly?" Harry asked, considering whether it was worth the risk to try to snag some of the lemon tart with his own spoon.
Snape raised a questioning eyebrow.
"You told me not that long ago that people would judge us, that it wouldn't work. Now we're on the second date in a week. What changed?"
Snape put his spoon down, having polished most of the tart. He took a sip of water and considered his answer.
"Originally, after surviving the battle, I had assumed that you would wish to deny anything had ever happened," Snape said. "When you didn't, I needed to consider all possible outcomes."
"Hard habit to break?" Harry asked. He was playing with his spoon, and Snape pulled the lemon tart plate close to himself and away from Harry.
"A good habit to have," Snape corrected. "I was suspicious of your motives."
Harry rolled his eyes.
…
Snape said he was merely escorting Harry home, but took his shoes off as soon as they entered Harry's flat and had an intense gaze to his eyes as Harry locked the door behind him.
"The dinner was nice," Snape said, dropping his scarf on the side table behind the couch.
"Yeah," Harry said. And it had been. They'd had good conversation, not about death this time, and a fairly enjoyable meal. Harry had even forgotten that his arm had been bothering him earlier. "Would you like coffee?"
"After," Snape said, glancing toward the other end of the sitting room, where Harry's bedroom was.
It took Harry a very short amount of time to quickly go to the washroom and sort himself out. He found Snape in his bedroom, shirtless and the black elastic band of his boxer briefs just visible over the waist of his trousers.
Harry pulled his own shirt off as he walked toward Snape, for a brief and terrifying second almost yanking his glasses off accidentally with the shirt.
Snape steadied him, his roughened hands holding Harry's waist as Harry flung the shirt aside.
"How does your arm feel?" Snape asked, his thumbs circling Harry's hips and starting to move upward.
"Still useless," Harry said. His eyes were closed as Snape's hands wandered all over Harry's chest.
"Perhaps we'll save the vigour for next time, then" Snape said, as his fingers found Harry's fly and deftly undid it. Harry was stripped slowly, Snape exploring Harry's pale skin. It was very different from their time at the bothy – unhurried, without the weight of war ever present in the back of their thoughts.
Harry ended up on his back on the bed with a naked Snape leaning over him, his long hair draped over Harry's chest as Snape licked at Harry's nipples.
"Bottom?" Snape murmured, as Harry tipped his head back and moaned almost silently.
"Yes," Harry hissed, eyes closed as Snape continued to seek out sensitive areas of his skin. Snape's left hand found its way down and around Harry's hip, to his backside. Somehow there was lube, and Harry groaned slightly as Snape prepared him.
"I'm glad you agree," Harry said, panting as Snape slowly started to push in. "That this will be an equal opportunity sort of thing."
He exhaled a big breath as Snape pushed all the way in, and they both stilled to allow Harry to adjust.
"There will be," Snape said, putting his arms next to Harry's shoulders and lowering himself a bit, "no inequalities of age or status."
He started to slowly thrust, and Harry let out a whimper that he wasn't expecting. It was slow and steady, very unlike their rough and frantic times in the bothy. Harry raised his legs and hooked them over Snape's lower back, lifting himself up slightly with each thrust.
Harry reached up with his left hand, drawing Snape's hair back and scrunching it in his fist. Snape wasn't a talker, which suited Harry fine because Luke had been and Harry had found it awkward. The room was filled with low moans and a few grunts, with the low bump of the bed frame as Snape's thrusts got deeper.
Reaching between them, Harry flexed his arse muscles as he started stroking himself. Snape swore quietly and sped up, so Harry did it again.
"Harry," Snape groaned. He paused for a moment, shifting so that he could scoop up Harry's legs with his arms and put them over his shoulders. The intensity increased immediately and Harry could feel Snape's thighs smacking against the back of his. It lasted for all of twenty seconds, Harry stroking himself faster and faster until Snape came with a deep moan.
Harry whimpered, following soon after and making a mess between them. He winced as Snape pulled out and disentangled himself, but didn't complain when Snape used magic to clean them up.
Harry watched, contentedly, as Snape got out of bed to find his boxers and slip them back on, he seemed to consider his trousers.
"There's pyjama trousers in the wardrobe," Harry said. He was unsurprised that Snape chose the ones that looked like the pair he'd borrowed in the bothy.
"Coffee?" Harry asked, finally sitting up. "One cream, no sugar, right?"
"I'm surprised you remember," Snape said, slipping his knitted jumper over his head.
"I spent a month living with you, Severus," Harry said, stuffing himself into his boxers.
He waited until Snape's head had popped out of the neck of the jumper, before grabbing the fabric. The kiss was new, and slightly awkward. They'd kissed before: shoulders, hips, the side of the neck. Never an actual kiss on the lips, and it was a hesitant one at first. Harry tried again, finding Snape a little more relaxed the second time.
"We'll have to practise that," Harry said, nodding to himself.
"If you insist," Snape answered, leaning in for another.
…
January 9th, 1999
Through Harry's bedroom window he could see a few owls flying by in the cool blue of morning. The sheets had been skewed and Harry smiled, glancing over and seeing Snape curled up beside him, hair draped over his eyes like a cat trying to avoid the light. One furry leg was stuck out from under the duvet, and Harry could see the faded scars from Fluffy on Snape's calf.
"What are you so happy about?" Snape grumbled. He did not open his eyes.
"Well," Harry said. "I'm here. A year ago we were sharing a bed in a bothy hideaway, and neither thought we'd survive. Voldemort's gone, my secret is out, and I'm doing something I like."
"Mmh," Snape said. He shifted slightly, but still didn't seem fully awake.
"It's not really the life I predicted after the war," Harry said, rolling over to face Snape. "But I'm happy with it."
"Sleeping with your professor you mean."
"Having a bum arm and not being a star quidditch player or auror. Thank you."
A dark brown eye peeked at him from behind the curtain of hair, followed by a small smirk.
"One of the many reasons I became interested in the wands. Because I don't think I turned out anything like I thought I would when I was 11, and did the wand know that back then? Who knows."
Harry reached across Snape's side, picking up the black wand that had been placed on the bedside cabinet only hours earlier.
"Ebony?" Harry asked, holding the wand up.
"Brave of you to take my wand," Snape mildly said. He finally swiped the hair away from his eyes.
"Inspecting, not taking," Harry clarified, sitting up and uncaring that he was still naked. "It's gorgeous, powerful, and has a subtle intricacy to its design."
"Are we still talking about my wand?" Snape dryly asked. Harry nudged Snape's blanket covered leg with his knee.
"What's the core?"
"You tell me, Mr Wandmaker," Snape said. He lifted one arm up and put it under his head, to raise himself up just enough to better see Harry.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"I can't tell without breaking it open," Harry said. "I'm going to say it is likely not unicorn hair."
"Mm," Snape said. "It is phoenix feather."
"Blimey, all three of us?" Harry asked, looking up from the wand.
"So it would seem," Snape said. He was watching Harry carefully, but didn't appear that he wanted to snatch his wand back. Harry thought that odd, because he didn't like others holding his.
"I had wondered," Harry started, being careful to sound nonchalant. "If like I, you had trouble with your wand hand after the curse."
Snape narrowed his eyes.
"Which is perhaps harder to hold now, because in certain weather, your hand doesn't work as well at holding things as it used to."
"No," Snape said, but he looked uncomfortable and it was what Harry expected.
"And other stuff. Things like inconsistent spell strength, inconsistent aim and accuracy," Harry continued, swallowing.
"Potter–" Snape said, and this time he looked both awake and annoyed.
"And it doesn't quite feel right, since the war, and it's the hand, but not just how your hand holds things now."
Snape stared at him, and though Harry found it slightly unnerving, he kept going. He held his hand up and summoned something from his desk.
"Ebony wood is impressive, and good for transfiguration and combat. It's a wandwood for a courageous person, an outsider, and a perfect match for someone who will hold fast to their beliefs and not be swayed from their purpose. The phoenix feather only confirms that, an allegiance hard won, capable of brilliant magic."
Harry realised that he probably should have put something on before starting this discussion, but it was too late now. He held up the red oak block that had landed in his palm. It was no longer a block, but instead a rounded handle, grooved to fit a large palm, with swirls of wood tapering down into where it would meet its new wand pair. The grooves doubled as finger rests.
"Red oak is the wand of a dueller, of someone with lightning quick reactions. One that is adaptable, a creator of his own spells, and a good man to have at one's side in a fight."
Snape's stare was intense, but Harry had stared down death more than once in his life and held firm.
"I am not a good man."
"I think that's subjective," Harry said. "I thought you were a complete arse up until not that long ago, but that didn't mean you weren't still a good man."
"How charming," Snape said. "My wand is perfectly serviceable."
Harry was still holding Snape's wand, his fingers lightly tracing the surface as if to memorise the grooves and very few nicks on it. It was a dueller's wand, a creator's wand, and Snape had clearly taken good care of it.
"I don't think it is," Harry quietly said. He held the oak against Snape's wand, as if measuring by eye that the carving he'd done was to the correct scale.
"There is a separate core to this, a small piece of thestral hair. It was believed that thestrals and their hair are a sign of death; it's in the Elder wand after all. But I don't believe that. I think it's a core for a very rare wizard, for one who has been master of death. Not literally, with the Hallows, but one who has acknowledged it, come to terms with it."
"Caused it," Snape said.
"Yes," Harry admitted. "Brought death to an old friend suffering an irreversible curse. In the story of the Three Brothers, that's how death appears to the brother with the cloak. He greets him as an old friend."
"It is rather the opposite of the phoenix feather core, of rebirth," Snape said, sitting up fully.
"I bet they'll still work well," Harry said. "Wand magic doesn't use the same logic as regular magic."
Snape gave him a dubious look.
Harry took the two pieces, Snape's original wand and the carved red oak, and placed them on the bed. With his own wand, he murmured a spell and watched as the two bits of wood, pale greyish red and stark black, joined together. A small spark of light shot up from the joint, and the wood felt warm as Harry handed it to Snape.
Snape tested the grip, turning it over in his hand until it settled well in his palm. He then flicked it upward in the air, and Harry watched with a smile as two plates appeared, filled with the same lemon tart that Snape had had the night before.
"You can't conjure food," Harry said, looking pointedly at Snape. "Gamp's law said so."
Snape sat up in the bed as the plates hovered, waiting.
"Gamp's law says nothing about purchasing two more slices for later whilst one's partner pays the dinner bill."
Harry snatched the plates out of the air and laughed. He waited as Snape fiddled with the pillows against the headboard, and then sat back against Snape.
"So, we are dating now, officially…" Harry said, wanting absolute clarity because he knew he was bad at missing even the most obvious of signs.
"I have determined that my earlier advice to you is in need of an amendment," Snape answered instead, taking his plate from Harry.
"Oh?"
"It was a very lonely life. But perhaps, it does not necessarily need to remain that way."
Harry smiled, and with his own wand conjured a small lit candle to hover over Snape's tart.
"Twice the reason to be happy, then," Harry said. "Happy birthday, Severus."
…
May 2nd, 1999
Harry booked it up the stairs, wincing as the door slammed behind him. The wooden stairs creaked as he rounded the corner of the landing, and Harry tried to be light footed as he made it to Snape's door. Mrs Everly upstairs had ears like a hawk and had mentioned more than once that Harry sounded like an elephant thundering up the stairs.
"Potter, you're late," Snape said, flinging open the door and looking annoyed. Harry slipped by him, reaching up to give a quick kiss as he passed into the living room. It was the largest room in the flat, with large windows looking out onto the street and a comfy couch and side chairs. Snape had clearly enlarged the coffee table so they could play games, but the spell had been done so perfectly that it looked like the table had always been that size.
"Just a minute late," Harry said. He turned around the corner to the kitchen, arms full of carrier bags.
"You took the tube again, didn't you?" Snape questioned, managing to look imposing despite having a tea towel slung over his shoulder.
"Maybe," Harry grinned. "Unexpected delay on the Bakerloo line."
Snape followed him into the kitchen and shook his head. The flat looked incredibly clean, and Snape had several empty bowls out on the table, waiting for the food Harry had brought.
"You're a wizard, Harry. Why you insist on taking muggle means of transportation is beyond me."
"You know I can't apparate from Trafalgar Square," Harry protested, opening a family bag of crisps and dumping the little bags into a bowl. "There's no good spots and loads of muggles."
"Why were you in Trafalgar Square?" Snape asked, grabbing wine glasses from the cabinet.
"To take the tube," Harry said, with a smirk. As Snape walked to the living room with the wine glasses, the tea towel floated off of Snape's shoulder and started swatting Harry on the arse.
"Oi!"
"Oi yourself, and grab the merlot," Snape said, walking into the sitting room.
"The fuck is a merlot," Harry muttered, opening the fridge to see if he could find it on a label.
"The red one!" Snape called.
Harry shrugged and picked the bottle front and centre in the fridge. The rest of the snacks and drinks were ready, and Snape was doing a final check to make sure nothing overtly magical was visible.
"Your flat is viewable to muggles, right?" Harry asked, bringing out the wine.
"Of course," Snape said, fingers on his chin and brows furrowed as he looked around. He had moved into the second floor flat in February, and it already looked better than Harry's Diagon Alley space.
"Are you certain she won't want to play gobstones?" Snape dryly asked, moving the set from his book case and sending it along the hallway to the bedroom.
"She might find that a little suspicious," Harry grinned. "You've got floo powder on the mantel," Harry said, nodding at it. He watched as Snape flicked his wand and the label for the floo powder flittered off and into the hearth.
The bell rung, and Harry gave Snape's arm a squeeze.
"Thanks for hosting."
"Mm. I don't know why I indulge you."
"Because you like having friends too," Harry said.
…
"This is much better than any of the anniversary ceremonies," Ron said, popping a sausage roll in his mouth. His turn had just ended, and he was sitting back with a pleased grin on his face.
"What anniversary?" Alice said. "It's bank holiday weekend."
"It's just a school thing," Harry said, kicking Ron's foot.
"Harry!" Hermione tsked. She had started to remove a brick from the Jenga tower, and Harry's kick had moved the table slightly. She'd already told them off for using magic when Alice was in the bathroom.
"What do you do, Severus?" Alice asked, offering her glass up for more wine. "Harry's never said."
"I am a retired professor," Snape said, not giving any further details. He was sitting in the large leather chair closest to the fireplace, and looked rather professor-ly as he watched the game.
She stared at him incredulously.
"You're a retired teacher and you've a flat in Mayfair? How the bloody hell?"
"He and Harry are rich and famous," Ron said, tipping his beer bottle toward Harry. "Didn't they tell you?"
"No, we're not," Harry protested.
"You're a little famous," Hermione said, holding up the piece of wood she successfully freed.
"Not by choice," Harry grumbled.
"You know, in all the time I've known you, you've never had a job," Alice said, giving Harry a curious look.
"Rich," Ron repeated.
"Shut up, Mr Weasley," Snape mildly commented, utterly relaxed in his chair.
Ron snorted.
"I'm back to Mr Weasley, am I? Your turn, Severus."
Snape put his wine glass down and studied the jenga tower.
"I inherited some money from my parents," Harry needlessly said. "That's all."
He'd also inherited from Sirius, and there had actually been a Ministry award for killing Voldemort. Harry had received the largest share, but Ron and Hermione and Snape had also received some galleons. Harry also knew that Snape had taken a regular pay packet for nearly seventeen years with no expenses, and that had certainly helped. None of these were explainable to Alice, however.
"Finished," Snape said, pulling free a piece from near the bottom with his left hand and plopping it back on top with the sort of ease that made Harry suspect he was using a little magic.
He glanced over at Harry with a smug look, which only confirmed it.
"The most I got from my parents was a swift kick out the door once they realised what I was," Alice muttered.
"I'd like to think mine would have been okay with me," Harry said, but there was some uncertainty in his voice that he couldn't quite hide.
"Mine were," Ron said. Hermione nodded.
"I'm sure they would have found a way to signal their displeasure," Snape said, looking straight at Harry. Harry had never gone back to look for the resurrection stone since the battle, nor tried to find any other way to contact his parents, but he was still fairly certain Snape was right.
"That's probably true," Harry agreed. His eyes blurred for a second over the game, remembering the last time he'd seen his parents. They'd all been distracted, worried about his final walk to Voldemort, so he supposed his sexuality was so far down on the concern scale that they wouldn't have mentioned it either way.
A sudden crash echoed through the room as Ron pulled a jenga block and tipped the whole tower over. Harry accidentally spilt his wine in surprise, getting it on his shirt and jeans.
"Fuck," Harry said, holding the glass up as if it had betrayed him.
He saw Hermione flinch, as if to reach for her wand, but Snape gave a very subtle and quick shake of his head.
"Sorry," Harry said, looking down on his shirt. It was one of his nicer ones, and he wanted to get the wine out before it was too stubborn even for magic.
"Sorry mate," Ron said, re-stacking the blocks with Alice and Hermione's help.
"Yeah," Harry said. "Back in a tick."
Harry walked down the hallway, passing the kitchen and bathroom. Snape's bedroom was at the back of the railroad style flat, with a cool blue tone and rich cherry furniture.
An owl was at the window, and Harry popped it open to fetch the paper.
Potter and Snape Missing on Memorial Day
The controversial couple is said to be hiding out in London.
He rolled his eyes and dropped it on the corner of the bed.
Harry had secretly taken over Snape's second bedside cabinet, and in it, stashed an extra shirt and some spare underpants. He quietly slid the drawer open and was surprised to find it empty.
He looked around the room, wondering if Snape had moved it or had an issue with Harry leaving his stuff there. He felt a pang of guilt and being caught out, but also curiosity as he noticed that the bottom drawer of Snape's armoire was glowing slightly.
Inside he found that his clothes had been laundered and a new pair of pyjama trousers had been put in there, the same style that Harry had worn in the bothy. There were also a pair of slippers, and a hooded jumper that looked both cosy and slightly worn.
"I expect if you move in this early we'll likely kill each other."
Snape was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and watching Harry.
"Likely," Harry said, with a small smile. Leave it to Snape to kill any mood of warmth. "But, this way I won't have to take the tube as much."
Snape stepped forward and helped Harry unbutton his shirt.
"Precisely," Snape said. His fingers danced along Harry's shoulders, running down the scarred arm, as Harry twisted out of the shirt.
"Now, before your friend starts searching my flat for coffins or poisons, or a tell-tale heart…"
Harry huffled out a laugh and grabbed his spare shirt.
"Yeah. She still thinks I'm an Addams. And that you're a vampire."
"May she never be interviewed by the Prophet," Snape said, following Harry back out to the sitting room, his hand on the small of Harry's back.
Fin.