CHAPTER 24

A/N: This chapter is the beginning of a sensual chain of events. The next chapters will be even more, uhm, explosive in nature. Enjoy.

René Magritte is, or rather was, a Belgian artist who specialised in painting surrealist themes. His paintings are really wonderful.

The chapter title translates as "The time of love" and is borrowed from a beautiful and melancholic song by Françoise Hardy.

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November and most of December slipped past serenely. The weather became very cold; Hogwarts and its surroundings soon acquired a blanket of snow. Snowball fights became a cherished activity – something Snape scrupulously avoided, although he did fall a victim to snowballs enchanted by Harry; they followed him everywhere when he went outside, bouncing off his person. Snape, enraged, condemned an amused Harry to learning six pages of sheet music by heart for his piano lessons.

Harry was proving to live up to Snape's expectations. He indeed had a natural feel for piano music, and Snape did not have much to criticise. The lessons became tinged with a seductive hint of eroticism whenever Snape knotted the black silk scarf around Harry's eyes. Harry's body and mind would react strongly to Snape's presence behind him or next to him, to the breath of his voice playing upon his neck, to the long hair brushing the back of his head or his cheek and ear. More than once he could have sworn that Snape's lips was just inches from touching the place which joined his neck and shoulder; it would tingle, and the tiny downy hairs, as if attracted by a magnet, would raise themselves in innocent expectancy.

At night, sexual dreams often visited him, resulting in him sitting up in bed, sweaty and thoroughly aroused. This had been a rare occurrence during Voldemort's tyranny. Now, with the monster vanquished, he was discovering his sexuality and enjoying the path of exploration. Hermione's books were extraordinarily interesting, and he devoured them one after the other. His knowledge about the facts of life had not been very extensive; he had gleaned the basics from his friends and nocturnal talks with Ron. Hermione, always matter-of-fact, had even taken it upon herself in her seventh year to explain things in such a technical manner as to leave him nearly disgusted.

"And that is supposed to be…pleasurable?" he had asked.

Hermione had bossily informed him that the books in the restricted section of the library were not only on magic. He had not bothered to follow up on her hint. People, most of all he, had had far more pressing matters to think about, what with Voldemort and his Death Eaters spreading terror.

He hoped that Bellatrix Lestrange and her small group of escapees would be caught soon. So far, no one had seen or heard anything about them. No news was good news.

Now, he was eighteen years old, allowing rampant dreams to roam his imagination freely –and not only during the night. One look from Snape would trigger daydreams full of vague hopes and wistful longings. He wished Snape's fingers would caress him like they caressed the piano keys, that they would draw forth his individual melody praising the fusion of lust and love, that those slender fingertips would awake the language of his body.

Harry poured all these desires and reflections into his work and especially into the piano. The Music Master was happy to see him in front of his portrait nearly every night. Harry became attached to the instrument, dusting and cleaning it himself – without magic.

Snape seemed to be pleased at this development; he never offered to help, naturally, but his approval was expressed in the way he ran his hand over the piano and glanced at Harry or when he uttered the occasional remark:

"I am glad to see that my piano has not sustained any damage from your prodding, Potter."

He was fully aware of the fact that Harry did far more than simply prod the piano.

When Harry informed him that the dusty piano at Grimmauld Place was going to be tuned by Isabella right after Christmas, Snape actually smiled a little.

"A little practise during the holidays certainly won't hurt, Potter."

"You can play on it, too."

"I certainly shall, provided that witch does not make a mess."

Typical Snape, always reluctant to give compliments, ever generous with negativisms, Harry mused.

Harry forgot all about negativity when he left Hogwarts for the Weasley residence. Hermione, Lupin, Tonks and other members of the Order were present, as well as all the Weasley children – with the exception of Percy, who seemed permanently estranged from his family. It was full house indeed; the Burrow was packed to the brim. The ghoul in the attic was imprisoned in an old trunk in order to accommodate Lupin, Bill and Charlie; the Christmas tree was encrusted with Christmas decorations and, on Christmas Day, surrounded by a horde of gifts. Harry was heavily loaded when he left for Grimmauld Place after Christmas. Isabella came to tune the piano and was happy to receive a warm greeting from Harry after Snape's coldness towards her.

The house was gleaming after Dobby's preparations. The house elf greeted him with a loud squeak. Harry had not forgotten to buy him a gift – clothes, as usual – for Dobby and send it to Hogwarts before Dobby moved temporarily to Grimmauld Place. Dobby, in return, had knitted a pair of mittens for Harry – one green, the other red. Harry immediately wore them, and Dobby's eyes glistened with overjoyed tears.

Both elf and wizard were there to greet Severus Snape when he arrived at Harry's home on the night of the 30th December, a trunk gliding behind him in the snow. His tall slim figure was wrapped in a thick fur-lined cloak. His black hair was mussed by the wind.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sight.

"Good to see you, Severus! Please come inside," he said.

Snape didn't reply to his greeting, preferring to nod curtly instead.

Dobby came forward to take care of Snape's trunk; but the Potions Master gently told the elf to stay indoors. Harry was pleasantly surprised and enforced Snape's suggestion. Dobby scuttled inside, followed by Snape.

"How was your Christmas?" Harry wanted to know.

"As always," was the unenlightening answer. A slender gloved hand deposited a large package in Harry's arms.

"Christmas gift," Snape said abruptly.

Harry, who not expected anything at all from Snape, was flabbergasted.

"For me?" he asked.

"For whom else, Potter?" Snape snapped, stamping the snow from his boots and undraping his cloak. He cast a cleaning charm on his boots and stepped into the hall.

Harry had opened his gift in the meantime. He gasped.

"Wow! I mean…Like…Wow!"

Glossy sheet music, brand-new books on composers of piano music and a piano-cleaning-toolkit…Harry spontaneously embraced Snape briefly.

"Thank you so much," he said, reddening.

"Thank you for wrinkling my robes," Snape said waspishly.

"Uhm, I've got something for you as well."

It was Snape's turn to unwrap his present, which contained fifty must-have Muggle movies – milestones of Muggle cinema. He stared at the contents for a good minute before saying:

"Thank you…Harry."

Harry's mouth went dry for a second. Snape had said his first name. At last.

"Did a Bowtruckle just jump over the moon?" he asked jokingly.

Snape approached and took Harry's hand in his.

"It landed again on the other side of the moon…Potter."

Harry shook his head, laughing softly.

"Since you expressed a wish to see more Muggle movies a few weeks ago, I thought I'd get these for you. You've got equipment at home?"

"I have no home, Potter, except at Hogwarts. The equipment over there will be adequate enough."

Harry pressed Snape's fingers gently.

"Sorry. I didn't know," he apologised.

"You couldn't know." Snape released Harry's hand.

The teenager proceeded to show Snape around the house, ending with the piano in its separate room.

Snape approached the instrument and touched it as if in greeting. Harry smiled as Snape slowly sat down, opened the lid and began to play. The music echoed through the whole house, from the cellar to the attic. Even Dobby poked his head inside to listen. Harry motioned him to come right into the room. Together, they listened to Snape play. When he had finished, they both began to clap; Dobby vanished to reappear with an enormous supper-tray while Harry and Snape retired to the hall to have supper and discuss their gifts.

"Don't use those books to kill flies, Potter."

"In winter, Severus?" Harry asked sceptically.

Snape pulled a wry face.

"You have a point."

After supper, Snape went to install himself in his room and to unpack. Harry sat down at the piano and let his fingers run over the keys. Hopes and joy buoyed him up, and his emotions were reflected in the music. He didn't notice Snape slip into the room, unnoticed, and lean against the wall, his eyes half closed as Harry played "Legends of the Fall".

"Very nice, Potter," he remarked when Harry had finished.

Harry turned around, startled.

"Thank you, I'm glad you liked it. You're a really good teacher, you know."

"Maybe I should resume my teaching…now that I'm here," Snape said softly, pulling up a chair next to Harry. They played until late at night. Harry, in spite of his love for the music, was yawning and Snape, too, was tired.

The next day, Harry came down to discover that Snape had already had breakfast prepared by an eager Dobby and was playing with something which was familiar to him.

"You brought that scarf along with you?" he exclaimed as he sat down to a plate of fried eggs, bacon and toast.

"I anticipate using it, Potter," Snape remarked. "You will see after breakfast."

"For playing the piano?"

"No. For something else. Patience is a virtue."

Harry therefore remained patient until he had finished breakfast and brushed his teeth. He made sure that his black jumper was straight and his jeans neat.

"Very nice, dear," his mirror said approvingly as he left the bathroom and went to the hall, intrigued.

Something soft was draped over his eyes and Snape's voice spoke into his ear.

"Yesterday night, you mentioned to me that you know this house like the inside of your pocket. I would like to test your knowledge. Try to discover my whereabouts by touch, Potter. Don't cheat – I have put a charm on that scarf."

"So you will be somewhere in the house?"

"Yes."

"You won't hide in the bathtub or closet or something?"

A low laugh caressed his ear.

"Certainly not, Potter. I am not inclined to ridicule myself."

Without warning, he seized Harry's shoulders and swivelled him around several times. After a few turns, he was released and his hand taken; he was guided along a few corridors and stairs before Snape left him to his own devices.

Disoriented, Harry stretched out his hands. There was no sound of Snape moving. Harry took a step forwards. His hand touched a door handle. He passed his hand over the door and felt something rustle underneath his palm – a poster of one of René Magritte's paintings which Harry liked very much. Now he knew where he was. He continued, bumping his hip against a commode. It was extremely difficult. He kept on banging into things, stubbing his fingers or tripping. After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, he retreated to the piano room – and instantly sensed Snape's presence. He moved around until his outstretched hand touched something soft. Hair.

"Severus."

"About time, Potter," a silky voice whispered into his ear. The blindfold was removed from his face. Harry smiled at him.

"Your turn now."

"Potter, I'll find you in no time at all even with my eyes covered."

"Really? Try me," Harry said indignantly.

Snape's eyes glinted.

"Fine. If you want to fool yourself into thinking that you will receive an ego boost…"

Harry rose on tiptoe to put the blindfold on the taller wizard. Snape, however, stretched his body and neck, making himself even taller.

Harry glared at him and hopped a little to fulfil his mission, but Snape simply stretched again.

"Severus, you are the recalcitrant one here!"

He conjured a footstool and stood on it. Snape smiled:

"Not bad, Potter."

He allowed Harry to tie the scarf around his face.

"Right. Spin around."

Snape obeyed with a haughty smirk on his lips.

Before Vanishing the footstool, Harry removed his shoes in order to make less noise and breathed to Snape:

"Catch me if you can. I'm off!"

He rushed away, trying to be as quiet as possible.

He stopped where he could still see Snape. He watched the wizard stand still for a moment, then stretch out a slender hand and touch the wall. Next, to his surprise, he began to move in Harry's direction. He fled, a big smile on his face, feeling like a small child enjoying a game of hide-and-seek. It was something he had never been able to do with the Dursleys. Hide, yes – but not with an enjoyable or playful goal in mind. Seek – only if he wanted to be punished. Now he jogged along, rushing up the stairs with the maximum of stealth and silence. He slipped into the attic, wondering how long it would take Snape to find him. Perhaps half an hour?

Five minutes later, he was examining some old Hogwarts papers and books of his when the door to the attic creaked open.

"I know you're in here, Potter," Snape said in a bored tone.

Harry managed not to gasp loudly in shock.

He backed away. Snape didn't move from the entrance.

"No magic, remember, Potter? You can't Disapparate. It is good that you decided not to become an Auror. Anyone would have been able to track you down."

Harry remained silent. Snape uttered a short laugh and walked towards him gracefully.

"Okay, okay, I'm here! How did you manage to pull that off? Have you got Extendable Ears?"

Snape simply began to laugh as he removed the blindfold.

Harry went up to him, arms crossed upon his chest.

"No magic, right, Potter?"

"Am I smelling strongly of something that you found me here within five minutes?"

"Smell?"

Snape's agile hands pulled Harry close and he breathed in the scent of his neck. He shifted his grip to a dancing hold, one hand resting on Harry's waist, the other on his shoulder. Harry felt vaguely dizzy with exhilaration. They danced slowly across the creaking floor to imaginary music, Harry consciously directing Snape towards a box.

For the second time since he had got to know Snape, Harry made Snape sit down so that he could straddle Snape's lap. This time, it was he who caressed Snape's thighs, his slight hands squeezing and fondling skilfully.

"I'm the host, I get to spoil you," he informed Snape gravely, moving his hips forward abruptly, rocking back and forth slowly on Snape's lap. The black eyes flared with passion at his bold moves. His robes couldn't hide his body's eager response.

"I am glad that you take your duties as a host so seriously," Snape whispered, cupping Harry's face, kissing the young wizard's forehead, then moving on to his cheeks, his nose and everywhere else – except for his mouth. He drew back a little, without moving those blazing eyes from Harry's flushed face.

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