After Harry went to bed, Ash stood at the sink washing their plates. His mind overflowed with irreconcilable thoughts of his guests and their dilemma. He had no doubt they would figure it out. He couldn't hope to understand their world and he was just giving lip service about most of the things he'd said to Harry. He'd been sincere about comforting him and did his best to rationalize Snape's behavior, but he knew he was out of his league. The minds of wizards couldn't possibly work like normal humans. They were already outside the rules of the game, and he had no idea what rules in life really applied to them. So how could he council anyone? Still, he wanted to steer Harry in what he believed was the right direction.

That young man had too much energy and lightning-quick spirit to let loose on an unsuspecting world. He was a bit hot headed for his own good, and that was a shame, seeing how smart and compassionate he was. Ash's own son had taken after his mild temperament, balanced by his mother's cautionary way of living life. He could trust his children to their affairs, thank God for that, but this kid was as sling shot in a glass museum, and hadn't the first clue. He needed guidance. And what the hell was Snape doing, always spying on the kid and apparently never offering a damn bit of advice? That was the most reckless thing he'd seen Snape do. It didn't add up to all the other ways that man was meticulous in his handling of things.

Uneasy feelings swept over Ash and he stared off into space, reliving his conversation. Harry kept asking if he still had feelings for Snape and did he want a deeper relationship? The responsible thing to do, was to admit that he and Snape were not compatible and to show that he was mature enough to accept that. He'd been honest and confident in his answer, until now. Until his denial haunted him at the sink.

It didn't matter. Even if his feelings went deeper than he knew was wise, he trusted himself to let go of things that weren't good for him. Still, something about Harry's young mind, filled with adult crises and obscene curses, made him feel the inadequacies of his answers. He wished he'd come up with better responses for questions that required more time to answer. In truth, he wasn't finished processing his feelings about Snape, and chose to brush them under the carpet, rather than put them on display. If he thought about it, it was like Snape was already taken and a part of him knew that. Had, from the moment he'd carried Harry's wounded body into his house years ago. As long as that wizard was consumed with keeping Harry alive, there could be no one else in his attention. No one else in his heart. Those two might as well be in love with each other.

With this thought, his chest felt heavily weighted down. Realization broke free. He couldn't admit that he still wanted to get somewhere with Snape, not while that wizard and Harry were obviously going through something together. He didn't stand a chance, so he hid that from himself and Harry. After all, it couldn't hurt if he didn't want it. There's no point in wanting it, if he can't have it.

Harry lay awake, replaying his conversation with Ash. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even if Ash didn't quite get it. Snape had lucked up finding this gentleman. Though Ash hadn't asked for anything in return for letting them stay there, Harry had made arrangements to pay him handsomely for his hospitality. That, on top of what the CIUM was compensating him with. He felt a little sorry for Ash. Nobody was that selfless. It was obvious that Ash did stuff for Snape, almost like a child or a servant waiting for approval. When he really thought about it, was he no different?

His mind drifted to the heavier aspects of their talk. The curse, his father, and all that baggage Snape must be carrying around with him. He tried to keep his thoughts respectful, but when he had told Ash about Draco's body, and Snape came to mind, there was an unexpected thrill there, catching him off guard. He had no idea that his brain could conjure up that kind of naughty thinking with Snape. Highly inappropriate, but shockingly hot.

He caught himself laughing at the absurdity. There was a time in school when that might've been something he could go for, but Snape had long since put a stop to any delusions. He did remember what he felt the first time he saw his teacher. A new school, a magical school, new friends, and an unexplored world of wonder, had his imagination wide open that day. Snape was so tall and imposing to his eleven year-old mind, he could've stared all day without saying a word. This man reeked power. Everything from the shimmering black of his robes, to that sadistic glint in those dark eyes, had Harry transfixed. That is, until Snape humiliated him because he couldn't answer those stupid questions. And now he understood why Snape had done that.

Everything about his new life at school, had been elevated to fawning, fame, and praise. Harry thought everyone he was meeting, must've had some admiration for him, for a past he new nothing about. It left him naive and trusting of every smiling face. After the Dursely's, he was willing to run to any stranger's open arms. But Snape let him know that not everyone in the magical world, was his friend. Not everyone was going to lavish him with admiration. That hurt, but it helped protect himself against the drawbacks of being known.

It took a whole year to forgive Snape for that shit. As he got older, any admiration he felt, was buried beneath constant contempt at being dressed down and having to defend himself against Snape's scrutiny at every turn. Occasionally, spotting him walking down the halls, or sitting next to McGonagall at dinner, inspired a wistful moment of awe, for something he could not verbalize. He wished Snape didn't hate him so much, and they could drop the perpetual challenge they presented to each other, but the minute they faced each other, all that angry energy immediately came into play.

But lying there, he did remember being fourteen and having days where he didn't give a shit what anyone thought, including Snape. He'd been very disrespectful with his classroom thoughts. How he found the freedom to let go, he didn't know. But certain fantasies had crept through. The ones that were too strong to be shut down by Snape's glares. Sometimes, arousal was the only means of escape, and when he was absolutely fed up with the boredom of classes and kids that he saw everyday, he let himself slip into that energy and ride it like a roller coaster. He hadn't cared where his thoughts took him when it came to sex, for he had no experiences to give him preferences. He simply enjoyed the feelings as he faced forward in class and saw nothing of the lesson in front of him. It didn't happen too often, but when he let it, heated imagery eclipsed anything he was supposed to be learning. This was before he had to stop it completely and focus his entire mental capacity on Voldemort.

He enjoyed how his imagination used to play with anything it was given. Even the most uninteresting students could become fodder for a hands-free quickie on the movie screen of his mind. Sometimes he was with them, sometimes he used them with one another, in outlandish and impossible scenarios. He didn't think it disrespectful at the time because it had nothing to do with anyone else. It was his private world, his thoughts were his to manipulate and they couldn't affect anyone else. Everyone deserves their own private world. What he was really manipulating, was the way his penis lengthened under his uniform and behind his robe. That never got old and never ceased to be a source of amazement and melting thrills. He had a freer mind then, and he remembered that one of the most eventful, discreet, no-hands, masturbatory climax he'd ever had in his life, was a flash fantasy of Snape forcing him to stay after class. Snape had him pinned, face down across his desk and those thick, beautiful hands, riffled beneath Harry's robe as he hissed a battery of verbal assaults in his ear. Those hands found the offending object, wrestled it out of Harry's pants and savagely made him pay for his wicked lack of attention.

That class had gone by like a breeze, and he clamped down on his body's shudders to keep from drawing attention to himself. Years later, when he learned that occlumency was a thing, he purged his mind of all wrong-doing and never revisited that carefree abandon ever again.

Now, his thoughts turned rebellious and he revisited the moment that stood out in his conversation with Ash. Slathering Draco's chest in wet, heated kisses until the moans coming from him assured him of what was between his legs and diving there. Only, when he went down, it was Snape on the receiving end of that determination. It was Snape gnashing his teeth against the unexpected pleasure rolling through his gut. He imagined it being too much for his stuffy old professor and enjoyed the satisfaction of winning an argument this way. But the more he envisioned Snape's head thrown back in helpless ecstasy, having control wrenched from him by Harry's sweet mouth, the more he liked what he saw and appreciated that there was nothing old about Snape.

So what if he was twice Harry's age, he was way cooler than anyone Harry knew. By cool, he meant so well put together, in body and mind. So sharp and exacting, handsome in his brooding, polished in his mastery, strong and domineering in his demeanor, and more capable than wizards in their so-called prime. He didn't even have one gray hair. Well, maybe one hidden in all that abundant blackness, that could only be seen if the light hit it just right. But it was the same one Harry noticed at the age of eleven and hadn't changed since. If he was aging, it was happening very slowly. He was the very essence of "good stock," physically preserving an athletic composure when springing into action, and built like an immovable, well-stocked bookcase when standing still. The custom carved variety. Victorian. Darkest Oak. Gleaming with high gloss varnish.

Harry laughed at his own comparison. He tried to think of a better way to describe Snape's body, and suddenly the seventeen-year old version of Snape stood in his mind. Now that, that was a figure. If he were into roles, he'd choose current Snape to pin him to the bed, as long as this was just a harmless fantasy. But if he had his way, and his father's mistake wasn't relative, he'd be the one pinning that svelte, lonely teenager. Nothing rough, just steeling a kiss or two and making him blush. That's where the image of that youngster put him. He didn't know if Snape had been lonely, but that was the closest he could come to labeling what he felt coming from that frightened, dangerous youth. More like a wallflower, socially awkward, and not knowing what to do with all that long hair and knowing even less how his appearance affected others. Loneliness could be the only outcome of all that, Harry figured.

That boy would need a hundred small, tender kisses to his neck, until he realized Harry wasn't trying to kill him. Was there a world where that was possible?

He stopped. Appalled. He had no right to disrespect Snape with his imagination like this. He hadn't meant to, it just started as something that took the weight off. It took the sting out of being insulted, but he didn't want to be on the wrong side of decency, especially not in the wake of his father's cruelty. He felt ashamed for how much pleasure he'd gotten from amusing himself this way. His body obviously enjoyed itself and now he felt guilty about that. It was wrong. He shut it down.

As he tossed to get comfortable, one thought sneaked surreptitiously back into his head, having the last word. That beautiful teenage version of Snape was still running around in Snape's head, in his nightmare, fighting for survival. He had no idea that the sweetness of life even existed. Why should that boy continue to suffer just because Snape was an asshole? It's a shame to let that brilliant young body go to waste. This was perhaps the most selfishly driven, egotistical and shallow thought he'd had all day, and a secret, mischievous smile crept back through his sense of responsibility. Why couldn't they just be done with all these social and psychological constraints?

He fell asleep with that question and his subconscious used his dreams to negotiate the answers.

The next day, he woke up with an overwhelming urge to talk to Draco. He used the watches they shared to warn that he would be contacting him. A blue hexagonal light beneath the face of the watch, was selected to illuminate the clock numbers on Draco's end. They weren't supposed to be in communication just yet, it had only been a little over a month since they went separate ways, but Harry couldn't stand it anymore. He knew the watch would alarm and waited an additional thirty minutes, since it wasn't an emergency and he was trying to be considerate for whatever Draco might've been doing.

He took a shower and made his bed, deliberately staying in the room and avoiding Snape and Ash, as he wanted to concentrate only on Draco. He was agitated and knew that conversation with anyone but him, could spell disaster. Draco was the only one who knew how to talk to him when he was like this. And it would help if he could hear his baby's sweet voice call him daddy. He didn't want to make her cry for him, but if Draco could get her to talk to a stuffed animal even, he'd settle for that.

The blue light was still on when he sat on his bed and spoke softly into it. "Draco. Are you there?"

At the time the watches were created, they were on the run and had agreed not to include imaging spells that would allow them to see one another, lest the watches be confiscated and examined for spells that could be revealed and reversed to show the whereabouts of the other. Ten minutes went by without a voice from the other end. By the next ten, he'd grown more anxious and knew that this had to be the equivalent of home sickness. Why wasn't Draco answering? Was everything okay?

Persistently, he resorted to digging out his CIUM ring and pressing the back of it. Within seconds an invisible barrier, a grid of magnetic perforations, separated him from the room around him, as if a net had been draped over him. He couldn't see it, but he felt its effect on the air around him. Everything went dark and he found himself in the strange airport setting he had last seen when he visited Thella. This was a hub for off-grid travel and he stood in front of the machine that allowed him to have his questions answered by a virtual agent. One appeared into view, and waited expectantly in a smart uniform, for Harry to state his business.

"Hi, I'm, I'm an agent and I was hoping I could have a word with Admiral Bicksby."

"Hello Agent Potter, your identity is confirmed when you access this portal. I'll see if I can locate him for you. Is this an emergency?"

"Um, no. It's personal and very important, though."

A few seconds later, Bickby's white-haired head replaced the young woman's. "What can I do you for, Agent Potter? Is everything all right?"

"Sorry to bother you, sir. It's just that, Draco and I have a signal for safety and he hasn't responded. Can you check on him, sir?"

"We've got a feed on him. He's being monitored, same as you. Nothing is amiss."

"But has anyone talked to him?" Harry asked, his agitation showing.

"We have visual confirmation that he's fine. We have cameras all over his property and in the house. Our people are stationed in his neighborhood. His last courtesy call was three days ago. He answered all the questions and gave no indication that we should change our strategy. He's asked for distance, and we're giving it to him. Your family is safe, Harry."

"Can I just hear him say that?"

Here, Bicksby said solemnly, "No. You're an agent now. You have to trust us. Besides, you and Draco both agreed to this. No communication for now."

"Yes, through normal means, but if we spoke through one of your secret channels, there would be no risk."

"I understand that this arrangement poses some psychological stress. Would you like to speak to your therapist? Doctor Avi Rankar, I believe?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "If I can talk to him, why can't I talk to Draco?"

"You wouldn't use any third-party communication devices. We would send him to the grid hub to speak with you directly. We can arrange for a private room where you two can hold a session."

Harry took a deep breath, trying not to be rude in the face of such attention to his convenience and needs. But therapy wasn't what he needed right now.

"If you can do that, then Draco and my daughter can be brought here as well. Just fifteen minutes with them, that's all I'm asking for."

"Agent Potter, there are extenuating circumstances."

"Such as?"

Even though Harry could only see the upper portion of Bicksby's chest, he could tell that the older man leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. That was the gesture of someone comfortable with delivering unpleasant news.

"Mr. Malfoy has requested that we not allow you to contact him. You know the reasons better than I do. I'm truly sorry that we must have a presence in your private life, but there it is. It's only temporary."

"What? It's not like he's an agent."

"We're protecting your family and we need his cooperation. He has the right to make such a request and frankly, he's got a point. Our collaboration succeeded in subduing the rebels, but there are still smaller factions, less organized, that have to be suppressed. Their activities have gone silent since the new queen appeared, but the safest thing to do is give it time before resuming any old habits, including your life with Draco."

This was like a punch in the face and it visibly shook Harry, who could say nothing. He could talk, he just didn't want to erupt in anger on the man who had helped him so much.

Bickby's tone softened. "I know it's hard, son. But wouldn't you do anything for your family? As long as they're safe? My advice to you is to get busy. Find something to take up all that empty space in your mind. Some project. You won't feel so empty and it won't hurt as much. You will talk to him again, I promise you that. But right now, keep to your agreement."

Harry didn't know what to do or say. When Bicksby's image started to fade, he shouted, "Wait!"

The screen went from dim back to bright and the Admiral waited.

"Give him a message. Tell him, if he changes his mind, I'll be waiting. And I'd give anything to hear his voice and see Iece. Just tell him that. Please."

Bicksby nodded, "Will do, son."

The screen faded and the dispatch agent returned. "Will there be anything else, Agent Potter?" Her eyes were bright and sincere, making Harry wonder if she was real or an extremely advanced form of artificial intelligence. He didn't feel like he could trust anyone's sincerity at the moment. With a heavy heart, he said no, and seconds later, found himself sitting on his bed with the ring gripped in his moist palm. He let his body fall over. There was too much day left, and not enough interest. If Snape didn't want him around, then he'd have to find a project for himself to keep from losing his mind, just as Bicksby had said.

Around noon, after Ash came to check on him for the second time, he finally pulled himself off the bed and decided to help out with chores, even asking Ash, "Are there any errands I can run for you? That is, if you don't mind me driving your car."

"You getting cabin fever?"

"Yeah. Big time."

His answer was to take Harry to his favorite fishing spot. They packed some sandwiches and Harry followed as they hiked along a short trail behind Ash's house. He kept a small aluminum boat, overturned and tarped, sitting on a rocky riverbank. The boat was so light, he could've moved it all by himself, but Harry helped and soon they were in the middle of a river, lines cast. He had never fished before and it felt kinda good to have Ash teach him. The sun was nice on his shoulders and the natural green of the landscape had a tranquil effect on Ash. But every time Harry's thoughts drifted to Iece and Draco, his spirit took a dive and Ash noticed.

"Just think about the future," Ash advised, "and what you're going to do when you get back to them. No matter what's going on, always have something to look forward to."

Harry appreciated it, but didn't want to talk much. The water, a bit choppy in the breeze, put him in an introspective state. He stayed zoned out, half listening to Ash through out the day. He moved mechanically, just human enough to let Ash think he was enjoying himself, but reserved enough to keep his mind hoping that Draco would call. When Ash wasn't looking, he sent blue flashes to Draco. And by dinner, he figured that he wasn't even wearing the watch and must've thrown it into a drawer.

Rather moody, Harry did his best to hide it as Ash showed him how to clean the fish. Snape was gone and Harry pretended that he wasn't the least bit curious where he'd run off to. He was no longer worried about the leg if Snape could get around as well as he was. He sat with Ash on the back porch, overlooking the small garden, and watched as Ash spread old newspapers all around, prepared buckets of water and began explaining the skill of removing fish innards. Harry made a face, but tried not to be rude as he watched how their dinner was being prepared.

"These are White Fish. Their bones are easy to remove," said Ash.

Once Harry stopped feeling sorry for the fish and secretly made peace with the massacre that allowed people to eat good meals, the gore didn't bother him as much and became a little fascinating, especially when Ash upped the bar and filleted one by removing its entire spine and all corresponding bones, still attached, with just a few strategic cuts of his knife.

Harry was set up with his own folding table beside him, and was supposed to follow suit with every move. He succeeded rather clumsily, but couldn't help feeling a sense of satisfaction when he lifted the fish spine out just as Ash had done. "Wow, it worked."

"This little trick impresses the ladies. Not when they see it like this, but when they eat it the way I'm going to cook it…" He made a chef-kiss gesture with his fingers not quite touching his lips.

Harry found amusement in the thought that Ash must've forgotten he was married to a man, or that he was so passionate about what he was saying, it didn't matter. Ash gave Harry the assignment to finish the rest of the fish while he prepared some side dishes. Harry filleted one more by hand, but then sped up the process by using magic to clean the rest, now that he understood what needed to be done.

Ash fried up the meal with vegetables and they ate it, grinning across from each other. All the other chairs were empty and Harry realized that he'd been avoiding asking where Snape was. Either Ash knew and didn't think it was any concern, or Ash had no idea either, and wasn't concerned. At some point in the middle of the meal, they heard Snape in the living room. He would've apparated from outside with his flying gear, to inside, to avoid awkwardness with the door threshold. He had the manners to alert them to his return instead of apparating directly to his room, but it was as good as saying, 'I'm here. And now that I am, do not disturb me.'

Harry tensed and Ash called out, "Bout time you showed up. Harry and I have been busy providing. Like real men. Come on in here and grab a bite."

Harry didn't wait for Snape to darken the doorway. He stood up, grabbing his plate. "If you don't mind, I'm going to watch some TV in my room."

Ash grabbed his arm and said under his breath, "Rude! Don't run off. This is my table. Don't offend me just because you're mad at him. Sit. Eat like a man. Let him know his tantrum hasn't gotten him anywhere."

Harry tried to do as he was told and braced himself for a silent confrontation. But Snape had other plans. He brushed by the doorway in a hurry for the stairs. "No thank you. I may take something later, right now I'm tending to my notes."

Harry and Ash looked at each other. That sounded rather odd.

"Notes?" Ash shouted at the sound of Snape's whirring scooter as it floated up the landing. "Since when did Snape justify his absences with details of his work.

They heard him say from the top of the stairs, "I've moved my lab and I'm making plans to reopen the village storefront. It's only temporary."

They all heard what Snape didn't say. Temporary, until Harry finds a way to release his magic's destructive hold upon my body.

Suddenly the fish tasted like straw in Harry's mouth and Ash saw him deflate even more.

"You'll figure it out," Ash supported.

But this made Harry feel even worse because he hadn't discussed Snape's injury with him, so the fact that Ash knew he had caused it, meant that Snape must've complained to him.

Harry stuck with his plate another five minutes, just to please Ash, but his heart was no longer in it. He washed his plate and headed for his own room. There, he turned on the small TV sitting on a teenage boy's chest of drawers, and the television watched him for the rest of the evening. He took off his watch and lay on the bed staring at it for hours, willing Draco to call.

Around 3:00 A M, he drifted to sleep and abruptly awoke to the vibration of his phone beneath him. It was a message from an unknown caller and location. When he opened it, a video started to play. Images of Iece sprung into vibrant clarity as his baby, nearing her third birthday, ran around a swing set with another little girl. Extremely bright, American sunlight lit up her pale tresses with a natural glow as she ran and laughed. She wore yellow shorts and a white shirt with a giant holographic butterfly plastered across her tiny chest. Both she and the other girl wore something akin to fairy wings or costumes pinned to the backs. The other little girl wore an array of tiny, colorful hair snaps in her braided hair, as she was an African-American muggle and this bit of diversity thrilled Harry. Draco was actually allowing their child to play deep within muggle culture, and it said a lot about the changes in him.

As the girls chased each other, the paper-thin fabric tied to their backs, lifted and flitted like real wings. He couldn't see him, but he heard Draco's voice say, "Wave to daddy," and Iece did so. She glanced briefly at the camera. Her tiny voice squealed, "Hi daddy!"

Warmth exploded in his chest.

The girls ran around the swing set, collapsing in giggles and hugs whenever they caught up to one another. The swings were too big for them, but they didn't seem to care as they ran in between the seats. The twenty second clip ended and Harry found himself smiling like an idiot. He loved that it had somehow crept onto his face without his being aware of what his lips were doing. Something in him had received just what it wanted. Draco had risked this video, risked pissing Harry off by not answering directly, risked another argument, risked making Harry feel like shit for being so lonely and needy and moping half the day. But the message was enough. It was clear enough. The real message was, be strong. Stick to the plan. Iece is doing so well that she's made her first friend. Don't come looking for us just yet. Don't come home. Not yet. We're fine.

He wiped away the wetness that had sprung from his eyes and replayed the video over and over again. He had to find a way to stay strong and let them have this time without him. The clip restored him and he knew that he was going to have to make things work here. He had to stop trying to see Draco. He had to concentrate on the mess he'd made here. He knew that he was going to have to have another talk with Snape. A talk that would change everything.