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Harry hadn't expected an owl to be sitting on the perch in his kitchen when he woke the next morning. It was far to early for Hedwig to be back from hunting and no one he knew would send an owl overnight just to send him a note. Taking a few owl treats from the bin atop his refrigerator he stroked the owl's neck and removed his letter from its beak. He watched as the delivery owl gave a small hoot and flew out his window into the morning light. It was early, the horizon painted pink and orange while the sky around it still held onto the dark grayish blue that spoke of night.

The envelope in his hand wasn't heavy, but the parchment was good quality. A dull ivory color with flecks of green and gold through out it, it was smooth to the touch. Harry noted the penmanship, it was slanted and thin. It looked as though the person who sent it cherished the process of writing the letter manually. He could tell that there were no dictation quills used by the man that had written the letter. He knew it was from the person who had placed that ad, because his name was conspicuously missing from the front of the envelope. With deft fingers he turned the letter over and took in the seal. Black and glossy it stared up at him. Little flecks of silver, as though someone had sprinkled glitter dust over it, winked in the light from the now rising sun. The seal had been pressed with a delicately carved 'S'. It was slanted to the side, much like the writing on the front of his envelope, but somehow it looked bolder. It was as if the 'S' could stand on its own, which is precisely what it was doing. Standing alone, letting the intended reader of its secrets know that it was not a seal to be trifled with.

Curiosity got the better of Harry and he slid his wand under the slightly loose flap beside the seal. Muttering a spell he watched the wax release, then moved his long golden fingers to remove the letter itself from its simple yet beautiful packaging. It contained three pieces of parchment, all of which matched the envelope in which they had come.
The hand writing, slanted as it had been in his address, now danced before his eyes.

Lightning~
I have to admit, it is rather odd for me to be writing to someone when I do not even know their proper name, or at the very least their first initial.
I was quite pleased when I received your letter earlier today. It was my first response and to be honest I liked it very much. Like you said, I am a very private man. The years have taught me that discretion is always the best answer. I am happy to know that you too, are a man that values his privacy. I would rather not have the entire world knowing the in and out's of my personal life.

I think that it would be best to start out by telling you something of myself.
I am in my late thirties. I have black shoulder length hair and dark eyes. I stand just over six feet tall and have kept in good shape over the years. Though not conventionally handsome I have a few redeeming qualities about me. I have been told on more then one occasion that my voice is rather like warm melted chocolate. I do so love to use it to my advantage. And my hands, though slightly rough from work are skilled in more then one area. I am an educated man and I still love the process of learning something new. Though not a bibliophile I will admit that my book collection rivals many a library here in Britain.
My love of books is only rivaled by my love of cooking. The process of measuring and mixing until I have just the right concoction is soothing to me. I use it as a way to relax after a grueling work week. I would tell you what I do, but that in and of it's self would give away who I am to most people. Don't worry I'm not with the ministry.

I would like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind. I think that that would be a wonderful way to get to know one another until such a time that we are willing to meet face to face or call it quits all together. How old are you and what do you look like? What do you like to do for fun? What is your favorite food? What is it about leather that you like so much?
I'll answer the last two for you before I close this letter off and send it.
I have always like spicy foods and was recently treated to a delicious jerk chicken by a friend. It isn't my absolute favorite, that would be banger and mash, but I have to say that it is rather high on the list.
Now for the leather, I find the smell intoxicating. When properly treated it feels wonderful against the skin. The sound a leather strap makes when it flies through the air is, in my opinion, a beautiful thing. I have also found that nothing compares to the feeling of a leather handle resting against my palm. I, like you, adore leather in all of its qualities.

You spoke of having a tattoo as well. I will tell you about my first. My family has always lived in Britain. We were here before even the Romans. My first tattoo is similar to that of many of the men in my family. I have Pictish marking made of wode along my upper back and torso. Swirls and lines that are unique to only me and my family. They follow my spine up onto my shoulder blades, curling over my shoulders and onto my collar bones. There they rest. From time to time the curls will pulse and move; they are magical in nature after all. The wode was spelled into my body's chemical makeup, so it will never fade and never wash away.
I must leave you now, but I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits.
Sincerely
~S~

Harry closed his eyes and tried to imagine the wode swirls creeping up his new friends' spine. Winding themselves over his shoulder blades then dancing across his collar bones. In his mind Harry let the deep blue swirls make their way down, on to the other mans nipples. Tickling and teasing them like small tongues. He had seen a man with Pictish tattoo on his face during a trip to Hogsmeade. Ron had explained that only the oldest wizarding families, those who could trace their families roots all the way back to Merlin, we allowed to have those markings. Ron's family, which was a very old pureblood line that dated back centuries wasn't even allowed to have them. Harry sat back in his chair and sighed. The idea that he was corresponding with a man who had every reason to be just as private as him made him smile.

He had mentioned that he was in his late thirties. Age wasn't an issue for Harry. He fully understood that what seemed to be a large gap to people now really meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Witches and Wizards aged at a highly slower pace then muggles.

The way he talked about leather also intrigued Harry. It sounded to him, that his pen friend enjoyed being on the controlling end of a leather strap which suited him just fine. After all the things Harry had had to go through to ensure the safely of the wizarding world. All the pain and all the pressure, he had discovered that giving himself up to another, even if only during sex, was something that he enjoyed and sometimes required. Harry knew that his friends were aware of his drunken night with Charlie in Romania, but what they didn't know was that Harry and Charlie had played around the last few times that the dragon keeper had been at home on the weekends. Living as close to the Burrow as Harry did, Charlie was able to slip away at night and visit his fuck buddy. Charlie had introduced him the joys of submission on those nights. It hadn't been anything Harry wasn't able to handle physically. His wrists and ankles held in place by buttery soft leather cuffs that tightened when he struggled. Charlie's belt, thick and hard, used on his upturned ass before it was fucked. The steel and leather cock ring that Charlie had insisted Harry wear so that he wouldn't cum without permission. As much as he had enjoyed his time with Charlie, Harry knew that the distance and his place in the family as adoptive brother and Ron's best friend made it near impossible to be anything other then close friends. Their sex had ended just as abruptly as it had started. Leaving Harry to find his own out let for his desires.

The idea that he might have someone else to explore those desires with had him reaching into a drawer for a piece of parchment and a quill. His mind filled with responses to the questions he had been asked and with questions of his own for 'S'. Before he was even aware of it, the quill in his right hand began scratching softly across the parchment. The fingers of his left tracing the outline of the seal his new friend had placed on the letter.

Dear S~
Where to begin?
Your idea of asking each other a few questions was brilliant.
So to start…
I'm a bit younger then you. I'm not as tall as you are either. I topped out at five foot ten inches. My hair is dark like yours, but I have lighter colored eyes. I have more then a few scars but my best girl friend tells me it makes me look even more handsome. I'm fit. I try and get out for a run every morning. I also do a bit of fitness training with some Auror friends of mine. What do I like to do for fun? I love Quidditch, playing it watching it reading about it. It doesn't matter. I just love the sport. I also love nature and gardening. When spring finally decides to arrive I plan on starting a garden. My favorite foods are chicken and ham pie and treacle tart. I have to admit to liking curry as well. I love Indian food.
I love the smell of leather. The way it feels when my wrists are bound in it. The way it tastes when shoved into my mouth to keep me quiet. I'm sure that I have other reasons but those are the ones that stand out the most in my mind.

Hmmm… what should I ask you now?
Do you have any bizarre talents?
What is your least favorite part of your job?
What made you place the ad?

You wanted to know about my tattoo. Well, it's a bit personal, but you told me yours so I'll tell you mine. My two best mates and I decided on the day we graduated Hogwarts, that we needed tattoos. We all decided to get something that represented the other two. So I have a Jack Russell terrier biting an Otters tail between my shoulder blades. Each animal represents one of my friends. Sometimes they like to run around back there, but only when we are all together.

It's early still, and I just woke up, so I am going to leave off for now in favor of a bit of tea. I hope this finds you well.
Awaiting your reply
~Lightning
PS… Your letter made my morning.

~*~

Molly Weasley sat in her favorite chair by the fire, her ever keen eyes watching the clock above her mantle while her fingers moved effortlessly along her knitting needles. The most recent addition to the clock was pointing toward the word Traveling. Just as it came to rest on Home she heard a knock at the kitchen door. Setting down her knitting she made her way to the door. She could see Harry standing on the other side through the kitchen window. With a smile she opened the door and ushered him inside out of the snow.

"Hello dear. I was worried you might have forgotten our date for this morning." The older woman lightly chastised as she led the way to the living room and her cozy fire.
"I hope you didn't walk all this way in the snow."

"Come on Molly. We both know you know I apparated. I bet you were sitting her like a mother hen watching my hand moving on the clock." Harry's smile was light and full of love as he teased his adoptive mother. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was waiting for Hedwig. I needed to send an owl this morning, but she didn't come home. I was wondering if I could use Errol."

Molly just smiled and pointed toward the mantle. The owl in question sat on his perch, his head tucked beneath one wing while he snored softly. Twenty minutes later Errol was on his way to box #487763, while Harry and Molly made their way through a very crowded Diagon Alley in search of the perfect end tables for his sitting room.

~*~*~*~

When Harry had purchased the medium sized cottage in Ottery St. Catchpole, Molly had been more then a little put out. Her desire to have her family safe and sound in her own home made her want to demand that Harry march his happy little butt back to the Burrow right that instant. While she hadn't demanded, she had fire called him and asked why he had chosen to live on his own when he had a home, filled with people that loved and cared about him, just down the road. When he had tried to explain that while he loved her and the other Weasleys more then words could describe he needed a place of his own to call home, she had interrupted him. Saying in her loudest, I am your mother and there fore I know what is best for you voice, 'Harry James Potter, what in the world would make you think that the Burrow isn't your home? No son of mine is ever going to feel like he has to call another place home as long as I live. Do you understand me?'

Harry had been shocked and elated to hear those words fall from her mouth. Without pausing a moment to think about it, he had thrown a handful of Floo powder into his fire and shouted 'The Burrow'. Seconds later he had Molly Weasley wrapped in a rib cracking hug. He had always known she loved him, but to hear her call him her son. That was something Harry hadn't realized he wanted until it had happened.
Three cups of strong tea and many hugs later he had convinced her that the cottage on Church street was indeed just what he needed. He had agreed to come to Sunday suppers just as he always had and to let her help him with the renovations and decorating.

Over the next few months the two had transformed what had once been a run down cottage into a cozy home. It had all the trappings a single man's place should have with out passing over the simple things a woman's touch was able to add. All that the pair had left to do was purchase the seeds for the herb boxes Harry planed on adding to his kitchen window, the end tables for his sitting room and a nice new tea pot. Molly had insisted that the tea pot be a gift from her, explaining to Harry that 'Mothers always give such gifts to their children as house warming gifts.'

~*~*~*~

It was in the queue at the small stationary store between Flourish and Blott's and Quality Quidditch Supplies that Harry bumped into his snarky ex-professor. He hadn't realized who he was standing behind until it was to late. When it looked as though the line had began to move Harry stepped forward, his mind on the tea pot had abandoned him to look for, not realizing that the man in front of him wasn't moving, but merely shifting out of the way of another customer making their exit. It wasn't until Harry walked face first into a very strong set of shoulder that he realized his mistake. Before he had a chance to apologize the figure in front of him turned around, stopping his voice in his throat.

"Well, if it is Harry Potter. To good to stand in line with the rest of us are you? I'm sure someone of your celebrity status would be able to skip right to the front of the queue. Shall I point you out to the shop keep?" The years of hearing similar things from the Potion Masters mouth left Harry far from insulted.

"It's nice to see you too Professor. I see you're out of your dungeons for a change. What happened? Did you run out of red ink?" The last question was said with a wink.

"You know perfectly well that I never run out of red ink Potter. I'm here, if you must know you nosey little brat, because I took a personal day. Not that what I do with my time is any of your damned business. Why are you here?"

"Well, this being a stationary store I figured that it would be obvious. You're next by the way," Harry pointed toward the counter, indicating that the girl manning the register was free. "Nice seeing you again Professor. Have a good day."

Harry walked around the irritated looking older man and stepped up to the now empty register next to the one Snape was headed toward. Neither noticed that the other was holding stationary paraphernalia they had seen before.