CHAPTER 27

The next evening, Harry came back massaging his ribs after a particularly difficult Duelling session with Shacklebolt, who was pleased with his progress. However, Harry had not been fast enough to avoid a hex and had been slammed against a wall, resulting in a painful bruise on his side.

"More practise," Severus commented impassively, watching the young man, "and rubbing at your ribs like that will not help. Sit down on the sofa and remove all those layers you are wearing – you remind me of an onion. I will be right back."

He returned to find a topless Harry sitting innocently among the cushions, completely oblivious to how sensual he looked. Severus suppressed a most appreciative glance.

"Lie down and I will apply this."

Harry obeyed and closed his eyes, enjoying the skill of his husband's agile fingers.

"Snape Deluxe," he remarked at one point.

Severus glared at him and muttered "Ridiculous!" underneath his breath. He continued massaging Harry gently.

"Severus, that feels so good! How about a range of potions for therapeutic uses?"

Severus snorted, trying to ignore Harry's teasing. He continued with his ministrations for another five minutes. Harry was completely relaxed, one hand resting upon his abdomen, just above his navel.

"You can sit up," Severus announced finally.

Harry sat up and touched his side. The bruise had already faded considerably thanks to the magical properties of the ointment.

"Super," he commented.

Severus's mouth quirked a little and he handed him his t-shirt and Weasley jumper.

"Any news from your friends?" he asked after Harry had dressed again. Harry was taken aback for a moment. Severus had never inquired about his friends or about what they were doing, although he was aware of Harry's lively and faithful correspondence with them. Harry proceeded to give Severus news about his friends. He watched Severus discreetly for signs of boredom but could not see any.

"What about your friends?" Harry asked.

Severus's eyes darkened.

"Are you mocking me?" he asked coldly. Harry looked at him, puzzled.

Severus uttered a short laugh.

"I have no friends. Is that such an astonishment?"

"But I am your friend. And so is Dumbledore," Harry said calmly.

"You have your own friends. Am I truly the kind of friend you desire?"

"We've been friends for quite a few weeks so far," Harry replied, raising his legs and perching his feet on the edge of the sofa, "and I can't imagine you as another person, Severus. It's the quality, not the quantity, after all."

Severus's eyes lingered on Harry's jeans-clad thighs for a moment before moving on to his face.

"True," he agreed, his tapering fingers playing with the jar of ointment. Harry watched Severus's agile hands. Severus noticed his gaze.

"You have such quick hands," Harry remarked as Severus raised his eyebrows questioningly.

He took Severus's hand – the Potions Master did not protest – and pressed their palms together. Harry's hand was as delicately built as Severus's though not as thin and slender; it was also smaller than Severus's palm.

"You have longer fingers," Harry stated. Severus's finger curled over his.

"You are smaller than me in general." He rose, retaining Harry's hand in his, making Harry follow his movement. Severus bent his head a little to be on the same eye-level as Harry.

"If your relatives had fed you properly, then it is possible that you may have been a little taller."

"Who knows," Harry said, once again startled because Severus had referred to his relatives and was acknowledging what he had seen in Harry's mind during their Occlumency lessons: that Harry had not been spoilt and pampered at all – rather the opposite.

"Your parents," Harry said softly and carefully, knowing that he broaching a very delicate topic, "did they-"

"Feed me?" Severus finished his question. He pressed Harry's hand slightly. "My mother did, but without…" he shrugged slightly, "emotion."

His voice dripped with disdain as he uttered the last word.

"Were you ever locked up?" Harry asked even more softly. Severus knew that Harry was thinking of his cupboard.

"No. They didn't care. I just happened to exist. Did your aunt and uncle shout at each other and row all the time?"

Harry shook his head.

"That they didn't."

There was a small pause during which they gazed at each other, the tall wizard and the smaller one.

"Are your parents still alive?" Harry asked finally.

"No. They died. My father drank himself to death and my mother committed suicide. They were dead by the time I was nineteen."

Harry didn't know what to say. Severus merely looked at him. At last, the words came back to Harry.

"Hogwarts is home and family for us both, then. And you, too, are my family, Severus."

Severus said dryly:

"You have to be a Gryffindor to regard me as a family member."

The grandfather clock in the corner chimed.

"Go ahead and eat," Severus told him. "I have a detention to supervise."

"Did the student do anything worse than I used to do in your classes?" Harry asked, humour sparking in his eyes.

"He gave vent to an excessive amount of flatulence."

Hary stared.

"You mean he…er…?"

"Yes. Resonantly. In my class. It naturally distracted many people and led to ruined potions."

Harry covered his mouth and began to giggle helplessly.

"That is the first time I have heard of such a thing," he gasped, leaning against the table and clutching at his sides. Severus glared at him and marched out of the room.

When he came back later, he was greeted by the sight of Harry comfortably lying on the carpet near the hearth, swinging his feet up and down while he read a letter from Hermione, to judge from the handwriting. Severus looked at the youth. Handsome, brave, smart and sweet-natured. He could be rather stubborn and impulsive sometimes. Just as stubborn as Severus himself, in fact.

Harry smiled at him. Severus gave him a nod and went over to his favourite sofa, opening a book; but his dark eyes were trained on Harry, lingering on the curve of his feet, calves and legs, travelling over his firm posterior and back, and finally coming to rest upon his face, where Severus studied Harry's slightly parted mouth, his nose and the glimmer of green from behind his spectacles. His jetty hair was as messy as ever. Harry got up, stretching lightly. Severus's probing gaze followed his movements. Harry removed his glasses, raised one arm to his face and rubbed one side of his face against the inner crook of his elbow.

"Dobby has kept dinner for you," Harry said.

Severus went over to the table while Harry disappeared inside the library.

When he went to bed, Severus discovered that he could not sleep. His mind's eye lingered on Harry lying on the carpet. Harry sitting on the sofa with his upper body bare. The suppleness of his skin when Severus massaged it. Harry's hand resting peacefully near his navel. Harry's hand in his…A spark of desire stirred within him. His brief premarital thrills with men he didn't know had been superficial and desperate. Too quick, too transient. When had he last felt true and profound desire? Who in their right mind thought of the surly Potions Master as a sexual being? Severus's hand glided down to his stomach and further down. He touched himself, and his nerves reacted with pleasurable vibrations. He was aching. Severus began to discover himself anew, drinking in the way his body reacted to his own touches, to its growing sensitivity. He forcefully shoved aside the fake memories he had to show Voldemort. They would turn his desire to choking ashes if he did not banish them out of his mind for now. Instead, he imagined consummating his bond with Harry all over again. Except that Harry was facing him, and his legs were wrapped around Severus's waist. His head was thrown back, the unruly hair sweaty. What did Harry smell like when he was sweaty? What did he look like when he was aroused? What did his mouth taste like? He wondered whether Harry had ever thoroughly explored and touched himself the way he was exploring and touching himself now, fingers sliding under the waistband of his pyjama trousers, his other hand unbuttoning his top, caressing the heated skin beneath it. The dark and the confines of his bedroom were the silent witnesses of his moment of ecstasy, of his suppressed moans and the sound of hands clutching at bedclothes.

Severus lay in bed, exhausted and sticky, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I am insane," he muttered to himself. "What am I thinking?"

Harry was half his age. He was a youth. If they survived, they would divorce. His thoughts turned to Voldemort.

"Play with your toy, my dear Severus. Breaking it in well does take its time, especially if it is as recalcitrant as you tell me."

A wave of sickness engulfed Severus. He felt like a pervert. How could he possibly think of Harry in terms of desire? Severus flung back the bedclothes and rushed to the bathroom. He filled the tub with hot water and soap. He lay in the tub for a long time, as if hoping to wash away the memories of Voldemort and his yearning for Harry's freshness and innocence.

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