Archive of Our Own

Do As You Like
by Merri-Todd Webster
January-March 2003

Muggles would have called it a press conference. Dumbledore had called it an interview. Harry called it a three-ring circus: Reporters and photographers from The Daily Prophet and virtually every other prominent wizardly publication, even those that weren't news-oriented, filled the great hall of Hogwarts and shouted questions at the Heroes Who Defeated Voldemort.

The Heroes in question consisted of the entire Surviving staff of Hogwarts, along with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Arthur, Bill, and Charlie Weasley, and a number of other witches and wizards whose names Harry had never quite memorised. There was Alastor Moody, of course, and Arabella Figg, but after that things got a little blurry for Harry.

And, at the far end of the high table, in a shadowy corner, Professor Snape, who had saved Harry's life yet again during the final showdown. He wasn't asked any questions, nor did he volunteer any information. Harry kept repeating, whenever he got the opportunity, that he wouldn't be here to answer questions if it hadn't been for the good offices of Professor Snape, but it looked to him as if no one was writing that information down.

When it was over, he felt almost more tired than he did after the battle that finished Voldemort--whom everyone was casually calling by name now. But when he saw Snape rise and begin to slip out of the hall, unnoticed as a shadow, he knew he had to make his move, tired as he was.

He managed to catch up with the long-legged Potions teacher in the corridor that led down to the dungeons.

"Professor--could I have a word with you?"

Snape turned in a swirl of black and waited for him. He looked as tired as Harry felt, but some of the old wariness had receded from his face--replaced by something Harry couldn't identify.

"Professor, I'd like to thank you for--for working so closely with me over these last few months. And for everything else...." He trailed off--how did one thank a man for saving one's life? repeatedly?

"It was nothing, Potter. I would have done the same for anyone." Snape turned to go, and Harry clutched at his sleeve.

"Yes, but you did it for me. I want to do something to thank you. Would you let me take you to dinner, maybe? I know a nice, quiet place in London--it's a Muggle restaurant but it's out of the way--"

Snape was looking at him with those penetrating black eyes, a look that made Harry feel he was being dissected, weighed, measured, and noted down. He was just about to tuck his tail and run when Snape nodded, once.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. Where and when did you have in mind?"

Harry closed his mouth, swallowed. "How about meeting me at the main gate tomorrow at seven, and we can Apparate from there?"

"I shall be there promptly," Snape replied, and Harry let him slip away.

Harry spent the rest of that day and into the next agonising over what to wear, what Snape would wear, and what the hell they were going to talk about. He had nothing else to agonise over any more, so it was rather pleasant. He had a raucous dinner with Ron and Hermione and some of the other Gryffindors, then slept late and dreamt of Snape, dreams which he forgot as soon as he woke.

At about a quarter to seven he left the castle by a side door and walked to the main gate. After spending so long in the bath that he wrinkled himself, and ripping through seven or eight different outfits without being satisfied, he'd settled on a dark blue patterned sweater over a white shirt and dress trousers, with his coat rather than his cloak since they were going into Muggle London. His shoes squeaked out their newness as he hurried along the pathway toward the gate. What on earth would Snape be wearing? He hadn't had time to caution him on how to dress, and he had no idea how much exposure the man had had to Muggle dress, or Muggle anything, for that matter.

Snape was already waiting at the gate when Harry arrived, holding up his wand to illuminate the area. Harry was relieved to see that he was wearing a fairly conservative outfit--an old-fashioned suit of charcoal gray under his usual black cloak. It was rather Edwardian-looking, but given Snape's normally reserved manner, he'd probably pass for "eccentric" rather than "outright weird".

"Professor."

"Mr. Potter." Snape gestured at the gates; they opened, and Harry followed him out.

"I'll have to do the Apparating, since I've been there and you haven't."

"I am well aware of that, Mr. Potter." Snape took hold of Harry's upper arm in a firm grip. "Apparate away."

It took Harry a minute to concentrate properly; he was distracted by the warmth of Snape's hand on his arm, by the mere fact that the Potions Master had touched him, voluntarily. But the Apparation went smoothly, and the two of them appeared in a shadowy side street a few minutes away from the restaurant that was their destination.

They walked into a dim low-ceilinged room with islands of warmth from lanterns on tables and a low hum of conversation. The maitre d' seated them without even the flicker of an eyelash, and Harry was relieved when Snape ordered a stout and accepted the Guinness he was served without complaint.

"Not bad." Snape licked the foam off his upper lip, a gesture Harry found disquietingly sensual. "So one can make a decent stout without charms."

Harry grinned. "They've been doing it for hundreds of years." He sipped at his Coke--something he missed when he was immersed in the wizardly world. "I recommend the shepherd's pie."

Snape picked up the menu and perused it. "I think I could eat a dragon," he murmured. "I don't remember the last time I had a proper meal."

"The house elves have been cowering in the subdungeons, I hear." Harry flipped through his own menu. "I went over to Hogsmeade for dinner last night with some friends."

Snape made a non-committal murmur and reached for the wine list. When the waiter took their order, he asked for a salad, the shepherd's pie, and some bread for starters, with a glass of red wine. Harry devoured his own shepherd's pie and watched Snape plow through his food as if he, too, were a hungry adolescent. High metabolism, then, not ascetic lack of appetite, was what kept the man so thin.

"So," Snape said, once he'd polished off all of his salad and made a sizable dent in the shepherd's pie, "what are your plans now? What does the Boy Who Lived do now that he's finished with school and war?"

The tone was as cutting as ever, but the usual sneer was absent from Snape's face. Or maybe it was just that his mouth was full and he was chewing voraciously.

"I'm not entirely sure," Harry admitted. "One thing I'm going to do is get my own flat. I can afford to pay for it out of my inheritance for a while, until I get a job."

He gulped at his Coke. "Opinion is divided as to what I should do next. About half the people who've offered their unsolicited opinion think I ought to become an Auror--finish cleaning up after You-Know-Who, use my combat skills, and so on. The other half think I should lead England to glory on the Quidditch pitch. I've already received substantial offers from several teams."

Snape was eyeing him sardonically over a bite of bread. "The truth is," Harry found himself saying, "I don't much want to do either. I never asked to be in the front lines of a war. It's not what I want for a career. And I love Quidditch--I think I'd like to coach beginners--but it's not my life, either."

"What is your life, then?" Snape had always had a way of coming right to the point. Harry fidgeted in his seat and picked at the remains of his pie.

"I don't know, Professor. I might be the Boy Who Lived, but I don't know what I lived for. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing now that--the enemy is defeated and my life is really my own."

Snape drained his wine and gave Harry a thoughtful look through his hair. The man might not be half bad-looking, Harry thought suddenly, if he didn't hide behind the greasy hair. He was still dealing with this unexpected thought when Snape sat up straight and pointed a bony finger at him.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Mr. Potter. I'm going to do as I like. I'm going to leave Hogwarts, for one thing. I've never liked teaching and Albus can't hold me to it any longer. I'm sure I can get as many good offers as a research consultant in Potions as you've got as a Seeker. I'm going to take the one that suits me the best, retire into my laboratory, and not come out until I'm good and ready. And when I'm not working, I'm going to eat well, travel often, and do my best to forget about the last twenty years of my life."

He retracted the finger with a nod and looked challengingly at Harry. Harry stared back, wondering who was this strange man who looked like his old Potions Master but ate like a starving man at a banquet and offered personal revelations about himself.

Snape's expression softened, just a little, as Harry continued to stare at him. "If you don't mind one more piece of unsolicited advice, Mr. Potter, I say do as you like. Take some time off. You have enough money to live on for a while, I take it. Get yourself that flat and take time to think about what you really want to do. When you really love a thing, you'll do it well, and make a contribution that's worthwhile. Now, what do you say to some dessert?"

They Apparated back to Hogwarts after brownie sundaes dripping with fudge and caramel sauce. Harry felt stuffed, but Snape seemed to have burned it all off by the mere intensity of his gaze. Before they parted, where the path divided and led to Gryffindor tower on the left, the lower levels off to the right, Snape stopped and laid a hand on his arm.

"Do you care at all for Italian food, Mr. Potter?"

"Um, yeah. Sure." "Italian food" usually meant a miniscule portion of Aunt Petunia's soggy, tasteless lasagna, but there had to be better alternatives out there.

"I know of a wizard establishment that has excellent food. Perhaps you would accompany me there--say next Friday night?"

Harry blinked. Snape sounded almost... friendly. "I'd like that, Professor, but I don't know where I'll be by then."

"Right, you'll be leaving Hogwarts this week." Snape took a few steps forward. "I shan't be leaving so quickly, I'm afraid. Why don't you owl me once you've moved and we can make arrangements to meet in Hogsmeade and go from there?"

"All right then. I'll do that."

"Very good. Good night, Mr. Potter." And Snape vanished into the darkness, grey and black into grey and black.

*

Harry took the Hogwarts Express back to London and the Dursleys', gathered up what little of his life he had left there, and moved into the Burrow for a week. Mr. Weasley promised to help him find a nice flat, and Ron made noises about the two of them sharing a place. Harry, however, was determined to live alone for a while, much as he loved his friend. Eleven years under the stairs followed by seven years in a dorm made him long for his own space.

He sent Hedwig back to Hogwarts with a letter telling Snape that he was at the Burrow for the meantime. Snape's reply arrived on Wednesday, when Harry was, miraculously, alone in the house, and suggested that they meet in Hogsmeade, at the train station, on Friday at five, and would he please wear formal dress. Harry sent Hedwig out again to confirm the meeting and promised her a treat and a rest when she returned.

He let Mrs. Weasley know he wouldn't be around for dinner, but he had no desire to let her or Ron know that he was going out with Snape--for the second time. Ron respected Snape, but he still didn't like him, and he would surely find it preposterous that Harry wanted to spend time with him. After being made much of for nearly a week by the Weasleys,Harry found himself craving the man's acerbity, like something to cleanse the palate after too much sugar. Snape was vinegar and garlic and dry red wine.

Harry wasn't happy about the formal dress business, but he complied. Everyday clothes for wizards usually included trousers nowadays, but formal dress still meant robes only. Harry had never quite got used to the sensation of skirts slithering round his bare legs; he'd dressed the Muggle way for too long.

He showed up on the train platform dressed in a dark red robe without too much fullness in the skirt and burgundy leather boots, a recent purchase. It was a good thing, too, because there was Snape in full-scale Slytherin green with silver stitching--absolute yards of velvet, and was that fur around the cuffs? If it hadn't been for Snape's normal poker-spined bearing, the effect would have been, well, "over the top" was a kind way of putting it.

"Mr. Potter. I'm glad you are punctual. Will you please take hold of my arm?"

Harry did so, opening his mouth to say something. That quickly, Snape Apparated.

"Do you think you could call me Harry?" he got out, and then took a look round.

One look, one moment, one feel of the place-- "We're not in London."

"Nor anywhere in Great Britain, Harry." Snape smiled--the nearest thing to a friendly smile Harry had ever seen him make. It looked quite unnatural on his sallow face. "Welcome to New York."

It was big, loud, dirty, fast, and throbbing with so much energy that Harry's feet didn't quite touch the pavement. Magical energy, yes, and other kinds as well. So many bodies, so many different faces, so many cars on the street, and so many of those cabs, boxy yellow cabs that honked and beeped and wove in and out of the stream of traffic with terrifying speed. Harry was grateful for Snape's hand on his arm, towing him along.

"Where are we exactly?"

"Greenwich Village. Where our appearance will cause not the slightest notice. This way, Harry."

Snape made a sharp right, and they were suddenly walking down a quiet street of New York brownstones that seemed miles away from all the hullabaloo.

"This is one of the wizarding sections of Manhattan." Snape slowed down a bit and released Harry's arm. "The restaurant is just two streets over."

The tingle of magic was stronger here, and got stronger still as they descended a flight of steps to a basement entrance. Unlike the place Harry had taken Snape to in London, this restaurant was brightly lit and abuzz with conversation, laughter, snatches of song, helped along by swinging background music.

Half a dozen people, at least, greeted Snape as they were walked to their seats. Harry noticed particularly two men, both dark-haired and middleaged, one with a mustache and one without, who called out, "Hey, Sev!" Snape visibly winced--Harry had never thought anyone would call Severus Snape "Sev" and get away with it--but he led Harry over to their table for a brief chat.

Their names, Harry gathered, were Tom and Carl, and they appearedto be dining with three or four cats and... something that looked like a space alien from a horror movie. The alien had one tentacle in a glass of chianti and waved another one at Snape and Harry. It had quite a few other tentacles to spare.

He must have looked a little dazed by the time they were seated, because Snape grinned at him. Yes, that was a grin. "Wizardly New York is even more, ah, New York than Muggle New York, if you take my meaning."

"Quite," Harry said, and decided he'd best concentrate on the menu.

A little later he was downing his third glass of chianti, eating a fabulous shrimp scampi and stealing bits of Snape's saltimboccaalla romano, and laughing hysterically at something Severus had said. Somehow Snape had become "Severus" and Harry had gotten drunk, or else Severus really had missed his calling as a stand-up comic. That sarcastic wit was funny when it was aimed at someone Harry neither knew nor cared about, and the saltimbocca was so good he made a mental note to have it next time. If there was a next time, and if he could remember a mental note. All the rules seemed to have changed. He was calling his former teacher "Severus", and Severus was laughing but not at him, and if he didn't know better, he would think Severus was also giving him some very seductive glances over the chianti. But that had to be the chianti talking. Didn't it?

He was sure it was the chianti right up to he point when he found himself leaning against the front wall of a brownstone with Severus Snape's tongue in his mouth.

Snape kissed well. He kissed like a man who knew who he was doing. He kissed with the same mix of appreciation and voracity with which he approached a plate of good food. Garlic and vinegar and dry red wine, and Harry's cock was beginning to push insistently forward. Snape's hand slipped into his robes and gripped, and Harry gasped.

"Sh. It's all right. No one will see. No one who'd care what we're doing."

Snape fondled Harry expertly, all the while watching his face, his reactions. That black gaze peeled the layers back, and Harry realized he'd wanted this for a long time. They'd both wanted this for a long time.

"Could we--would you--"

That quickly, Snape Apparated. Again.

Straight into a bedroom that could have been at Hogwarts--heavy wooden furnishings, canopied fourposter bed, fireplace that blazed into life at a glance from Snape. Harry barely had time to register all this before Snape dropped to his knees and opened Harry's robes. His mouth took over where his hands had left off.

"Oh, Jesus!"

Harry swayed, grabbing the other man's shoulders. Oh, yes, Snape knew what he was doing. Had to know. Had to have practiced. Oh, God--

Harry came so abruptly that his knees buckled. The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back on the bed, with Snape standing over him, smiling that unnatural, predatory smile.

"Do you want more, Harry?"

"Um, yes, please," he answered, feeling rather like Oliver Twist.

Snape snapped his fingers. "Dishabileo!"

Well, that was practical. One quick spell, and they were both naked. Even Harry's glasses were gone. Snape was thin to the point of bony, fairly hairless, and well-hung. That was all Harry was able to see before the Potions Master pounced.

Silky skin, hot skillful mouth, and warm hands that went everywhere. Snape kept going down on him and then pulling away, getting him hard again and then teasing him by playing with his nipples, sucking on his throat, nipping his lower lip, or doing any one of a dozen other things Harry hadn't known he really liked. He hadn't really had a lot of time for sex, what with Voldemort and all, and two pretty thorough experiments--one with Hermione and the other with Lee Jordan--hadn't decided him on whether he preferred it with boys or with girls.

He was sure of one thing, however: Once Severus had him on his belly, one hand caressing his arse, Harry wasn't going to say no.

Snape muttered "Accio" something, and Harry heard the something hit Snape's palm with a good, solid slap. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to hurt, but it didn't. A slippery fingertip circled his hole, in a considering sort of way, and tucked itself gently inside. Mm, that felt good, actually. The fingertip moved round a little bit, round and round, in and out, and went away. It came back with more slipperiness and a friend, and two fingers slid slowly but steadily inside him until fuck! What was he touching back there? Harry squirmed and panted and hoped there would be more.

"Come up on your knees, Mr. Potter."

What possessed Snape to address that way, now? It made all those kinky fantasies he'd never had time for come to life. He shifted so he was braced on knees and elbows, head down, and whimpered as Snape's hand touched the small of his back.

Snape eased into him slowly and carefully, letting him breathe, letting him shift. It did hurt a bit, but Snape's hand caressing his back distracted him, and when Snape was all the way in, he reached for Harry's cock and distracted him more. A few good strokes, and Harry was hard all over again, moving against the hand outside and the cock inside and hearing his breath and Snape's deepen and synchronize.

"Oh, Harry... so tight...." Snape moved in and out just a little. Harry groaned, his voice deepening until it was as deep as Snape's. "That's good. Move with me. Don't want to--hurt you--ah! can't--"

"Please--" Sweat was running down Harry's forehead into his eyes. "Do it!"

And then it was good hard fucking for a couple of minutes, the bed rocking and squeaking underneath them, and Harry really didn't care who heard the squeaking or his yelling because he suspected he was going to stick with men from now on, and it was a good thing to know that.

*

Harry was still lying on his stomach, half asleep, when Snape stroked his bottom--and hissed. "You're bloodied! I didn't think I was that rough."

Harry raised his head and tried to focus. "No, it's fine...."

Snape glared at him. "Harry. Was this your first time?"

"No, not really." Harry rubbed his eyes. "Well, sort of."

"Harry--"

"Lee Jordan and I tried it once, but--well, he got it inside, but it hurt so much I couldn't let him keep on." He reached out for Snape, who was visibly dismayed. "You didn't hurt me, Severus. It was good." He grinned. "It was bloody great, actually."

Snape cupped Harry's arse and muttered a healing charm before slithering down next to Harry. "I wish you had said something."

"Wasn't time." He yawned.

"You're welcome to stay the night. This is my home in Bath--you can Apparate straight back to the Weasleys' in the morning. And your glasses are on the bedside table."

"Thanks...." Harry was snoring almost before he knew it.

*

Fortunately, no one was worried when Harry Apparated back to the Burrow the next morning. It was obvious that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Ron all thought he had Got Lucky, and were quite pleased with the idea. Mrs. Weasley put an obscene amount of food on his plate and smirked at him. Mr. Weasley clapped him on the back before heading out to the office. Ginny looked down her nose at him and then winked. The only trouble was that Ron wanted details. And Ron was adorably, incorruptibly heterosexual.

"So who was she, Harry?"

They were de-gnoming the garden, an activity done mostly pro forma and for its mild exercise value. Harry let go of his latest gnome and watched it sail off over the hedge before turning to Ron, who was grinning lasciviously. Grinning lasciviously, however, tended to make Ron look about five years younger, so Harry felt he was being grinned at by a thirteen-year-old.

"Nobody you know." It hurt to lie to Ron.

"Well, then, you can tell me all about it." Ron dived into the hedge and dragged out another kicking, squealing victim. "Hair color, eye color, measurements?" He flung the gnome in an impressive arc.

"Wasn't your type." Not by a long shot, Ronald.

"Well, she was yours, right?" Oh yes--tall, dark, and hung.

"I don't want to be the sort that kisses and tells, Ron." He ran after another, wilier gnome.

"All right then." Ron shrugged. "If you didn't look so plainly well fucked, I'd think you were having me on."

Well fucked indeed. "Let's go get your mum to make us some lemonade."

*

It started with getting together once a week, usually for dinner followed by sex. Harry found a decent flat in London, in a Muggle area but close to Diagon Alley, and spent most of his time walking around, Apparating someplace where he could fly, and throwing out job offers that came in the mail. At first he saw a lot of Ron and Hermione and the other Gryffindors, but pretty soon everyone seemed to get busy with the business of living, and Harry found himself seeing Severus two or three times a week. Severus had tendered his resignation at Hogwarts-- it was all over the front page of The Daily Prophet--and was happily ensconced in his home laboratory, doing research for a major potions manufacturer. He always seemed to have time for Harry, unlike Harry's old classmates.

Sometimes it was dinner, sometimes it was shopping, sometimes it was theatre or music. He discovered that Snape loved to terrorise shop clerks whilst shopping for potion ingredients, to browse for hours in bookstores of all sorts, and to see plays and hear concerts. He thought nothing of Apparating to some obscure little village in Ireland to see an all-wizard production of Much Ado About Nothing, played in true Shakespearean style with boys in women's roles. Harry didn't mind the Shakespeare--with Severus along to provide commentary, it was bloody good fun--but after he yawned his way through two or three performances of medieval and Renaissance music, Severus took the hint and stopped dragging him to concerts. Harry's musical tastes remained both Muggle-influenced and largely contemporary.

And sometimes they just had sex. Harry had thought that all the groping and snogging and sweating and shagging he'd snuck in between battles with Voldemort were just adolescent hormones that one grew out of eventually. Severus, however, seemed to be just as eager, at times, to cut the preliminaries and go straight to the sex as any eighteen-year-old would be. He didn't get hard as quickly or as often as Harry, but he had all the finesse in sexual activities that he had for making potions.

Harry liked to watch Snape undress, for example. He removed his clothes, folded them, and laid them on the chair as precisely as he chopped leeches or crushed beetle wings for a potion. Naked, he moved with no less dignity than he did with his robes billowing around him. And then, when Harry was beguiled by all that dignified grace, Snape would pounce, pinning the younger man to the bed.

Snape kissed with the extreme thoroughness Harry had come to expect from him. The man could give lessons in oral technique. First, the basics of kissing: lips, tongue, teeth. Second, kissing the neck: nibbling, sucking, and biting. Harry hissed, but he liked it when Snape bit him. It hurt in a good way, and Severus never broke the skin. Third, stimulating the nipples: advanced lips, tongue, and teeth.

"Ow! shite! Severus, you're merciless!"

"Yes, of course...."

Was it more like a snake's hiss, or more like a cat's purr when Severus's voice turned smug like that? Fourth and finally, oral-genital contact: cock-teasing, cock-sucking, and deepthroating.

Harry all but roared when Severus pulled back just before he would have come. "You bastard! why don't you finish me off?"

Snape regarded him calmly, propped on his elbow with his head by Harry's hip. "Because I was thinking I should like you to fuck me tonight."

Harry stared at Severus for a minute, then fumbled on the nightstand and put his glasses back on. Yes, that was Severus, and yes, he appeared to be quite serious. "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes, very much."

Harry's cock gave an encouraging little jump, as it quite approved of the idea. "You want me to top?"

"If by that you mean I want you to penetrate me, and not the other way round, yes, I do." Severus hauled himself up eye-to-eye with Harry and thumped him on the chest. "What is so astonishing about this?"

"Because you're... you're older, dominant, used to be my teacher--" Severus snorted.

"Rubbish, all rubbish. Outmoded Muggle notions. If you don't want to, say so, but--"

"Oh, I want to!" Harry pounced and pinned the older man down for a rough kiss. Severus lay compliant, only his hands moving, swirling up and down Harry's back.

"I want to," Harry repeated, rubbing his cock against his lover's thigh. "I just never thought you'd let me."

"Foolish boy." Severus brushed his knuckles against Harry's cheek, a chiding caress. "How would you know unless you asked me? You may take it as read that I like to receive about one time in three, all other factors being equal."

"Oh, I'll write that down this minute," Harry assured him, right before he took one brown nipple in his mouth.

Severus was quieter than Harry, but he was mobile--he writhed about elegantly as Harry worked over his nipples and sucked his cock. He really was a gorgeous man, Harry thought, when he wasn't thinking about being ugly and intimidating. Harry liked the man's deep chest and long legs and the way his stiff carriage melted little by little as he got more and more aroused.

"Where's the goop, then?"

"It's Madame Orgyle's Unctuous Unguent, not goop, Harry, and it's over here." Severus handed him the jar and wantonly spread his legs, drawing up one knee.

Harry bit his lip for a measure of control. He'd never imagined Severus being like this--God, spreading his legs like that! Wanting to be fucked.... He bit his lip a little harder and approached his lover with a dollop of goop.

Severus let out a sigh and seemed to go limp as Harry pressed in one finger. "Good?" Harry asked, though really, the question was unnecessary, considering the way Severus was moving.

"Wonderful... more?"

Two fingers went in just as easily, and Harry noticed that, unlike Harry or Lee, Severus maintained his erection. He spent a while stroking that unflagging cock with one hand while messing with Severus's prostate with the other, until he had the older man groaning loudly.

"Have pity on me, Harry, I'm a poor decrepit old man...."

"Oh, shut up." Harry wiped his hands on a convenient towel (Severus Snape, Boy Scout--always prepared) and knelt between his lover's thighs. "A poor decrepit old man who's normally fucking me into the mattress instead of the other way around."

He pushed in and Severus pushed up, in welcome, and Christ! it was tight, but Severus hooked his bony knees over Harry's shoulders and moaned for more. Severus Snape, moaning. Harry liked the sound of that, so he did a few interesting moves, in and out, side to side, and damned if Severus didn't moan some more, and he stayed hard, too, so Harry took hold of his cock and tried a few more interesting maneuvers in that position.

Severus arched underneath him and clutched at Harry's arms. "Stop toying with me, Potter! Just fuck me!"

Fuck, he sounded exactly like he did in the classroom, right down to that clipped, explosive way he said "Potter," and it was simply not possible for Harry to maintain control in the face of having his secret fantasies come true. He planted both hands on the mattress and pounded Severus mercilessly, urged on by hisses and gasps and the man's relentless grip on his arms, and coming was like dying, like being born, like absolutely the best climax of his life.

Afterward he curled up with his head on Snape's chest, feeling quite boneless and not a little smug. Severus made contented little sounds and toyed with Harry's hair.

"That feels good." Harry yawned.

"So did getting fucked." Severus chuckled. "Been too long."

Harry wondered, but he didn't ask. Severus valued his privacy, and Harry's, too; there were things they didn't talk about.

"Am I really so terrifying--" Severus also yawned, a sound like a wordless bass aria-- "so terrifying that you would never have asked to 'top', as you put it?"

Harry raised his head and looked at Severus, deadpan. "Yes." He dropped his head. "When you want to be."

Severus cuffed him lightly. "Insolent boy." He wrapped both arms around Harry and held him firmly. "Good night."

*

It occurred to Harry eventually that he and Severus were... dating. At least, he would have called it dating had it involved anyone other than his former Potions instructor. After all, they met at pre-arranged times and places, did mutually enjoyable activities together, returned to his flat or Snape's cottage to have sex, and frequently slept the rest of the night together. Yes, that was dating as far as his definition went.

The funny thing was that he'd never dated before. He'd fooled around at Hogwarts, done a bit more than fooled around with Hermione and Lee, but between school, Voldemort, and confinement at the Dursleys' every summer, he hadn't had a chance to socialize, either to go out in groups or to have real dates with one other special person. The closest he'd gotten was weekends in Hogsmeade with his two best friends.

He was trying to write a letter to Sirius one afternoon and somehow casually include the information that he was dating Severus Snape. "Writing" meant mostly twirling his quill between his fingers and staring out the window at the rain. He had no idea how he was going to tell his godfather about this relationship, which was becoming more and more important to him. In spite of everything that had passed between them over the past few years, Black and Snape still hated one another as much as ever. He'd avoided mentioning Sirius to Severus, but he was starting to feel that he had to mention Severus to Sirius. Sirius often asked if he was seeing anyone.

Two nights ago Harry and Severus had eaten at an obscure little curry place close to Diagon Alley. After a lengthy dinner that included a lot of beer and a lot of laughter, they'd come back to the flat, pissed and more than a little silly, and had clumsy, drunken, but still happy sex that consisted of mutual oral sex followed by lots of snoring. Severus had insisted on using the French term, "le soixante-neuf," which he pronounced with an exaggeratedly correct accent and kept repeating until Harry managed to get his cock in Severus's mouth, and vice versa. The next morning they were both so hung over that no plans had been made for the evening before Severus departed, and Harry had prowled restlessly around his flat, missing Severus, until he just had to go out flying a while.

He put down the quill when he realized he'd been chewing at the feathers. Yes, he could just imagine his godfather's reaction if he wrote about his date of two nights ago. "Dear Sirius: You asked in your last letter if I was seeing anyone. In fact, I have been dating Severus Snape for over two months now. I believe the two of you were at Hogwarts together. He and I have been having a great time eating at ethnic restaurants and shagging each other senseless. Just the other night we went to a curry house...." Sirius would leap out of Harry's fireplace frothing at the mouth even before he finished reading the letter.

Harry was just realizing, guiltily, that he hadn't told anyone he was dating Severus, when a familiar voice sounded out of the fireplace. "Harry--are you home?"

He got up at once and bounded to the hearthrug. "Yes, I'm here, Severus."

"Might I come over?"

"Sure."

Harry tried not to twitch too much as the fireplace lit up green with magic and Severus whirled into view. He stepped forward, smiling and brushing the burnt Floo Powder from his sleeves. Harry cupped his hands around his elbows, fighting the urge to grab the older man and squeeze him breathless.

"Hello, Harry." Severus's smile still looked unnatural, but his voice was warm with genuine pleasure. Harry grinned back, and then Severus was holding out his arms and Harry was grabbing him, hugging him first and then kissing him soundly.

"Missed you last night," he mumbled.

*

Harry finally decided to tell Ron and Hermione about his relationship with Severus, in the safest circumstances he could think of. Once a month they met at a little place in Hogsmeade they had discovered in their sixth year. The Sickle and Dove was not as well known as the Three Broomsticks-- and therefore less busy--and had better food, if not quite as good butterbeer as Madam Rosmerta brewed. They met for lunch on Saturday or brunch on Sunday and usually made a day of it.

At first Harry thought he would never get a chance to tell his news. Hermione had met a boy she fancied at Cambridge, where she was attending Gwydion College for wizards, and wanted nothing more than to talk about him. His name was Raphael but he went by Ralph, pronounced in the American fashion; he was a Muggle and what Hermione proudly called "a computer geek. Spends most of his free time on Internet message boards arguing about trivia in Star Trek and Babylon 5. Loves fantasy and science fiction--I expect he'll be only too happy when I tell him magic really exists and I'm a witch." She popped a chip into her mouth. "Unless of course he decides I've gone off the deep end like his friend Marty, who believed he really was an elf in a roleplaying game and had to be put into a psychiatric hospital for a month. But he won't think I'm barmy if I throw a few spells about, will he?"

Ron had listened to all of this with the look of affectionate but goggle-eyed incomprehension which Hermione so often induced in him. He'd confessed to Harry once that he rather fancied Hermione but couldn't see dating someone whose conversation left you in the dark ninety percent of the time. Harry was doing a bit better at following her simply because he understood the Muggle references.

Ron turned to Harry when Hermione paused for breath and said, loudly and jovially, "So, Harry, are you still seeing that certain someone who kept you out all night while you were staying at the Burrow?"

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice a bit as disingenuous blue eyes and sparkling brown ones both fastened on him. "Well, yes, I'm still seeing that person. But, er, well, actually, it's a man."

Ron choked and turned red. Hermione nodded sagely. "Figured that part out, did you?"

"You didn't put me off girls," he assured her, grinning. Ron choked some more.

"I didn't think I did." Hermione winked theatrically. Ron wiped his mouth on his napkin and signaled the waiter for more butterbeer. "So tell us about him. Is it someone we know?"

Harry picked over his lamb stew. "Yes, in fact, it is."

"Harry, you never told me!" Ron managed to blurt out.

Harry tried not to look too guilty. "Well, I'm telling you now."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense!" Hermione leaned f orward, elbows on the table, and lowered her lashes conspiratorially. Harry could tell she had mentally filed him forever as the queer best friend every woman needs. "It isn't Lee, is it?"

"Lee?" It was less a question from Ron than a moan.

"No, it's not Lee." Harry shoveled in his stew.

Hermione frowned, thinking. "Well, what about Percy, then?"

Ron disappeared under the table. Hermione pounded him on the back. "Your own brother and you don't know about it?"

Harry hadn't known. "No, it's not Percy," he said, as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"Well, who is it then?" Hermione mopped up vinegar with the last of her chips, evidently tired of guessing.

Harry waited until Ron had composed himself and set down his second butterbeer. "It's Snape," he said.

No reaction. From either of them.

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for--something. After a moment, Hermione shrugged.

"All right, then--if you don't want to tell us, why not just say so?"

"Right," Ron chimed in, "instead of having us on."

"I'm not having you on!" Several people turned and looked, and Harry ducked his head and lowered his voice. "I've been going out with Snape for almost three months. You know, the Potions Master. The Greasy Git. Bane of Neville Longbottom. Black hair, big nose, former Death Eater--?"

Hermione made a choked sound. "You must be joking."

"I swear to God I'm not."

Silence. Ron had turned white as a sheet, making his freckles look like coffee stains on porcelain. Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. Ron said something, but indistinctly, without moving his lips.

Harry leaned forward. "What?"

"Pz tl m'y'r not h'v'g sss w'th'm."

"Ron, it's all right, just say--"

"I said please tell me you're not having sex with him!"

The noise level in the room dropped so abruptly that Harry heard a chunk of wood in the fireplace split and fall in two.

"Say that a little louder, Mr. Weasley--I don't think they quite heard you in Edinburgh."

Harry recognized the voice, of course, before the familiar long, large-knuckled hand came to rest on his shoulder. Come to think of it, the looks of--was it terror or horror, precisely?--on the faces of his friends would have been enough to identify the Potions Master.

Without thinking he covered Snape's hand with his own, and smiled up over his shoulder. "Am I late, Severus?"

"No, you are not. I took the liberty of looking for you since you had informed me you would be in Hogsmeade today, and I had business here myself." The older man's black eyes flickered round the faces at the table. "I shall not, however, ask to join you, as I have just recently eaten."

"All right then. Meet me by Quality Quidditch in half an hour, then?"

"I look forward to it." Severus squeezed Harry's shoulder and offered a nod to Ron and Hermione. "Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger." He swept away without waiting for an acknowledgment.

Harry looked back at Ron and Hermione. They still looked like they'd been hit by a good strong Petrificus. Harry sighed.

"And by the way, yes, I am having sex with him," he said.

*

Now that he had tackled confessing to Ron and Hermione, he figured perhaps he was ready to come clean with his godfather. He owled Sirius an invitation to dinner, cleaned the apartment, baked some cookies (a recipe begged from Severus), and practiced smiling confidently into the mirror.

"You're what??!!!"

It was every bit as bad as Harry had feared it would be. Sirius's rather dark complexion turned magenta in a heartbeat, and was that a bit of spittle at the corner of his mouth?

"You heard me," Harry said, as neutrally as he could manage. While playing with a loose thread on his jumper. "I've been seeing Severus Snape."

"Severus Snape? That greasy git that used to be a Death Eater? Harry, what the hell are you thinking?"

Harry wasn't thinking when Severus kissed him senseless, but he wasn't going to say that to Sirius. He did not want to clean little pieces of his godfather off the walls of the flat, even by magical means.

"Sirius... we're dating. We eat out or go to plays or something. We have fun. It's no big deal."

"Have fun." Sirius underlined the heavy irony of his tone with an unnecessary loud snort. "Fun with Snape. Yes, I can just imagine that."

"No, you probably can't," Harry said calmly. Sirius actually shut up and looked at him for a moment--eyebrows crawling up toward his hairline. "Listen, you don't know Severus outside of two contexts--when the two of you were at school together, and what you both did for Dumbledore during the war. Until recently, I didn't know what he could be like outside of a classroom. He's sharp and he's funny and Potions isn't all he knows. He likes ethnic food and visiting New York. We're going to see a Broadway play next weekend."

"And who's paying?" Sirius asked. Harry blinked.

"I may not be working right now, but I've got money. I pay my own way." He yanked on that loose thread. "Most of the time."

Sirius, glowering, ran his hands through his hair. "Harry, you haven't come through all that you've come through, you haven't survived the greatest Dark wizard our world has ever known, just to be a boytoy for the likes of Severus Snape!"

"A boytoy?" Harry burst out. "Is that what you think?"

"Harry, until just now, I had no idea you fancied men! Not that that's an issue, but--"

Harry thrust out his chin. "Then what is the issue? Your old grudge against Severus? You don't really think I ought to let that stand in the way of a good relationship, do you?"

"I just don't trust him," Sirius muttered.

"Yes, that's obvious, but why?" Harry leaned forward, staring hard at his godfather. "Why do you always think the worst of Severus? I know perfectly well why he thinks the worst of you."

He wasn't unhappy to see Sirius wince and look away. "I'd feel better about him if he hadn't been a Death Eater--if he hadn't walked free while I was in Azkaban-- and, yes, if he hadn't got Remus sacked."

"Okay, so you don't trust him. I know that, so why do I bother arguing about it? I guess I was just hoping you'd say you trust me, and think I can make the right decisions. That was stupid of me."

Sirius sighed. "You do know, don't you, that I only want what's best for you? that I worry because I care?"

Harry got up and gave his godfather a quick hug. "Of course I know that. And I wanted to tell you about Severus because I know you care, and because I'm happy seeing him. Really. Do you believe me?"

Sirius returned the hug. "I'll try. Just don't let Snape buy you any expensive robes that glitter, okay? It'd be too much for my poor ticker."

*

Severus enjoyed the Broadway play, but all Harry could think about was his talk with Sirius. He couldn't follow the witty comedy on the stage, with two men and two women dodging in and out of various doorways and flinging quips at one another. He had barely noticed the expensive dinner they'd eaten at one of New York's most exclusive restaurants. He was torn between how much he wanted Severus, and how much he feared that Sirius might be right. Not about Severus, but about how it looked to other people. He felt the warmth of Snape's thigh against his own, the casual way Snape laid a hand over his on the rm between their seats, and an unexpected flare arose in his gut. Was that what people saw when they looked at him and Severus--an older man with a toy, a pretty boy to decorate his arm?

After the show they walked through the throng on Broadway for a while, up to Times Square. Severus took Harry's hand under the cover of their coat sleeves; Harry gazed up at the impossible lights of the square and tried not to be impatient when Severus dragged him into a large, wildly crowded store selling chocolates. He knew he was scowling by the time Severus maneuvered them into a deserted corner so they could Apparate. As soon as they were safely in his flat, he shoved Severus against the door and kissed him.

There was a moment's surprise; then the older man's lips parted and his arms wound lazily round Harry's neck. Harry pinned him with his full weight (reluctantly remembering that he actually weighed less than Severus, who had heavier bones) and devoured him, biting fiercely at
those marvelously tensile lips.

"I want to fuck you," he said abruptly, pulling back and pressing his forehead to Snape's. Severus nodded, pushed--and they were racing to the bedroom, tearing off their clothing, Severus fumbling a bit with his jumper and zippered slacks. They wound up on the bed with Severus right where Harry wanted him-- underneath, on his back, arms over his head. Harry grabbed both bony wrists with one hand and sat down firmly.

"I want to fuck you," he repeated, his nose inches from Snape's. "I want you on the bottom, just like this, so I can see you, so I can look into your eyes while I'm fucking you and see your face when you come, when you come with my cock up your arse and my hand on your cock."

Severus drew in a rough breath--not quite a gasp--but said nothing. Only smiled. Harry let go of the other man's wrists, experimentally; Severus's arms stayed where they were, wreathed around his head on the pillows.

Harry dived in for another rough kiss and dragged his mouth down to Severus's chest, ran his fingers along the prominent ribs, tugged hard at the brown nipples until they stood up begging for his teeth. Severus arched beneath his touch, twisted and writhed, but didn't try to take control or tell him to stop. Harry took a firm grip on Snape's balls with one hand and kneaded them carefully while holding Snape's cock with the other. He'd learned a thing or two from his older lover, such as how to make a blowjob last, when exactly to stop to keep him from spilling over, just how much Severus liked to * watch* Harry suck his cock--and he made sure this time that he faced away from Severus, denying his lover the view he wanted.

Finally, when Severus was about two heartbeats away from demanding something more, Harry sat up and reached for the jar on the bedside table, to cover his fingers with the smooth, creamy white stuff while Severus watched him. He settled beside the older man and kept his eyes on Severus's face as he delved between the man's legs--legs that spread for him without hesitation-- and opened him up, spreading the silky slick stuff inside and getting him ready for what promised to be a good, hard fuck.

He wiped his fingers carelessly on Severus's thigh as he knelt into position. Severus curled up perfectly, lifting his hips off the bed so that Harry could slide in. His legs were heavy over Harry's shoulders, his eyes heavy-lidded but fixed on Harry's. Once he was comfortably lodged, Harry leaned forward and trapped Severus's hands under his own.

"Don't close your eyes."

He'd pulled off in the shower that morning, but he still was going to come too soon, he was sure. Severus was so tight, and he moved so deliciously with Harry's thrusts, his muscles clinging to Harry's cock. His fingers curled and uncurled against the pillow, but he never tried to free himself from Harry's grip. He could have, easily. Severus was heavier, stronger, more experienced a wizard--he had lots of ways to get away. But he only whimpered softly between lips that were just parted, eyes slitted but never quite closed, and moved in perfect synchrony with Harry until Harry let go one wrist and grasped his cock.

"Who's on the bottom now, Severus? Is this what you want? To get fucked by your boy? Why don't you fight me off? You could, you know--we both know it--damn!"

Harry started coming, his hips slamming mercilessly as his grip on wrist and cock tightened--and Severus came with him, eyes finally going shut, mouth opening fully, the most gorgeous thing Harry'd ever seen in his life.

Harry didn't quite remember collapsing on top of Severus, or being moved, by force or by magic, to one side of the bed. He barely noticed the hand that wiped his groin clean. But it was impossible not to respond to the keen voice that sliced through his fog of satiation like a well-kept rapier.

"You are not my boy, Mr. Potter."

He rolled over to see Severus, propped on his elbow, giving him an all too wakeful glare.

"What was that all about, really? Besides giving me a quite enjoyable pain in my arse?"

Harry rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "It's just... the trips to New York. People looking at us. You are--well, a lot older than me, you know. Taking me to a play, for culture." None of this was coming out very well--it was hard to express his mixture of rage and desire when both had been blown away by their shared orgasm. Severus had let Harry take the lead without a murmur of protest, had let Harry fuck him and loved it, obviously--even if he could have got the upper hand, easily. Harry looked down at Severus's body, the long cock lying soft now against the man's thigh. He should never have listened to Sirius, Sirius and his warped notions of what Greasy Git Snape was like.

"Harry." Severus poked him in the chest. "I'm no good at fawning over people, as you should know. But you should also know that you are not my boy. I'm not the sort of man who fancies younger men on principle. Most of my liaisons have been with peers or persons older than myself. I have very definite likes and dislikes in all things, including friends and lovers, and I like you, Harry. I like your companionship. I like having sex with you." Another poke. "And I like being fucked from time to time." The corners of his mouth turned up in that not very attractive smile which Harry nevertheless found so appealing now. "By you."

Harry yawned. It was really very late, although it was getting on for morning here in London.... "So you like me?"

"Yes. I do."

*

The next morning Harry was finally able to put his finger on the problem--the source of his unease and the reason why Sirius had been able to get to him. It came clear for him in the shower, and he felt brave enough to bring it up once he'd had a cup of Snape's fearfully strong coffee.

"Severus... why did you go out with me in the first place? Why did you say yes when I offered to take you out to dinner?"

Severus eyed him over the rim of his mug. "Are you wishing I'd said no?"

It was said lightly, but Harry recognized an evasion when he heard one. "I mean... for years you acted as if you hated me, even though you did everything you could to protect me. Why... why decide to get closer to somebody you despised, just when you had the chance to get away from him?"

Severus got a hooded look which Harry hadn't seen in a long time. He didn't answer for a moment, making a great show of putting jam on his scone. When he did speak, he did not meet Harry's eyes. "I never hated you, Harry. Or despised you. Although I can't say the same for your canine-brained godfather." Harry snorted. "I realize I gave that impression quite effectively, but it was necessary that I do so. Necessary for maintaining the illusion that I might still be in Voldemort's camp. And necessary for p rotecting both of us against--" He stopped, looked away, and cleared his throat. "For protecting us against my attraction to you. An attraction which I have felt for a long time."

Harry took a couple of minutes to digest that. It was a bit creepy to think that Severus had been, well, interested in him all the time he was regularly insulting him and giving him grief. On the other hand, it was rather silly to protest a past attraction now that he was quite grown-up, having regular sex with the man, and even topping him from time to time.

"But why?" he said at last. "Why are you attracted to me? We haven't anything in common, except--well, Hogwarts, and being wizards, I suppose you like Quidditch, and you knew my parents--"

He broke off, not wanting to voice the thought which had just occurred to him. Severus, however, seemed to hear the question he refused to ask.

"You're afraid I'm attracted to you because I was to your father?" Severus snorted, which cheered Harry immensely. "Hardly. I never cared for your father or wanted anything from him. We were not friends."

"People tell me I'm like him," Harry ventured.

Severus snorted again. "They are quite wrong. You are nothing like your father, Harry." He picked up the coffeepot and refilled his own mug and Harry's. "You do look like him, but less and less so as you mature. You have his hair and his frame, but your mother's eyes and her mouth...." His expression softened, and Harry gulped. He was afraid Severus would say he'd been in love with Lily, not James.

Severus paused and gave Harry a long look, the sort of look he would give a student's potion ingredients to make sure they were prepared properly. "You look less like either of them, and more like yourself, as you leave childhood and adolescence behind." He took a bite of his scone and chewed slowly before continuing. "When we are children, we resemble our parents. When we are adults, we resemble ourselves. And then, when we reach a certain age, we discover our parents' faces in the mirror again...."

Harry made a mental note to ask Severus about his family, some other time. Preferably over drinks.

"My father saved your life." He said this as neutrally as he could manage.

"Your father had a greater sense of fair play than his friend Mr. Black. And a keener understanding of consequences--" His mouth thinned. "He did not wish to leave his friend Lupin with the burden of having killed or maimed another--even another whom he despised. That was why he saved me. Not because he cared for my life."

Harry frowned. This didn't sound like the James he had heard about from Sirius, but then, he'd always known Severus had quite a different perspective on his parents than Sirius or Remus did.

"Your father had something of which his very death has robbed you, Harry. He had a sense of entitlement as great as any Malfoy's. He thought that because he was good-looking, reasonably intelligent, and above all, confident, he was entitled to have anything he wanted." Severus fixed him with a dark stare. "Up to and including the friendship of any person he wanted, or the affections of any girl he wanted. It was inconceivable to him that anyone should refuse his overtures--as inconceivable as that a house-elf should disobey its master."

Snape's expression again softened. "Your mother, I will say, tried to befriend me. We were partners in Potions--even then, Gryffindor and Slytherin had Potions together--and she was quite good, really." From Severus, Harry thought, that amounted to saying she was a genius in the subject. "She tried to befriend me and I was grateful for it, but James wouldn't allow it. Black wouldn't allow it. They forced her to choose between them and her friends outside Gryffindor."

Harry shifted in his seat. "All right, then-- so your interest in me has nothing to with my father. Or my mother. We've established this. So why--"

Harry could say no more, for Severus's lips had closed over his. Long thin fingers slid into his hair and cradled the back of his skull, massaging in tiny strokes, as Snape's tongue gently but thoroughly seduced his mouth.

When Snape let him go, the hawkish nose only an inch away from his, Harry was as hard as if they hadn't gone at it for hours last night. He wanted it so badly he was panting. And Severus smiled crookedly at him.

"Does it really matter why, Harry? when we both feel like this?"

Severus rose and began to clean up the remains of breakfast. Harry sipped his coffee and watched his lover move about the kitchen with his usual efficiency. Severus broke the silence, his back to Harry as he puttered at the sink.

"You've lived for seven years with the knowledge that someone wanted to kill you. Now that threat is gone, and you're free to do anything you please. How does that make you feel?"

"Free," Harry answered. "And--a little crazy. Intoxicated, you might say."

"Precisely." Severus turned round, while behind him the dishes had begun to wash themselves. "I've lived for over twenty years with the knowledge that a large number of people wanted to kill me--or at least put me away in Azkaban. I was condemned both by Voldemort's faction and by a great number of ordinary wizards. Now both of those parties have been silenced, forever. I may not have journalists beating down my door to ask me what it's like to be a hero, but I'm free. There's not a Death Eater left who's strong enough to destroy me, or an idiot in the Ministry who's fool enough to try to discredit me." Severus spread out his arms, a startlingly effusive gesture for him. "I don't have to pretend any longer. I can do whatever I like--and I find that dating Harry Potter, talking with him about everything in the world, and shagging him into a limp bag of bones is something I like and want very much to keep doing."

He smiled at Harry, folding his arms triumphantly, and Harry grinned back.

"Okay. I think I can live with that answer.

*

Harry checked himself in the mirror and smoothed down the front of his dress robes for perhaps the twentieth time. Severus wasn't late, of course not; Harry just hoped he didn't faint from nerves and an empty stomach before his lover arrived.

The dress robes looked good, he had to admit. Violet with gold trim and, yes, a little strip of fur around the hem. But just the hem, not the cuffs. Severus had helped him to pick them out and not even offered to purchase them for him. Harry had been able to pay lavishly for a new, more wizardly wardrobe, at his lover's urging, thanks to the job he had started six months ago. A recommendation from Severus had pointed him to a position available with the potions manufacturer for which Severus worked as a consultant. They needed a tester, someone strong in Charms and Transfigurations to study the effects of potions under various conditions. The job had turned out to be agreeably challenging as well as lucrative, giving him the opportunity to work with Severus from time to time, and Harry was content with it for now.

He was more than content with his relationship with Severus, though he could hardly believe they'd been together for almost a year.

It was only an extremely long five minutes later that Severus emerged from the fireplace, resplendent in his favorite silver and green. He gave Harry a measuring look and then nodded. "Every inch a wizard, Mr. Potter."

Harry grinned. From Severus, that was high praise.

Severus took his hand, kissed it, and then held it while they Apparated to the party.

Harry had been told ahead of time that the hostess of the party lived in the city of Troyes, in France, so he wasn't surprised to hear people speaking French as well as English. A quick translation spell took care of that, as despite Severus's obvious hope that he would, he hadn't learnt any French in the past two weeks. If Fleur Delacour's veela-enhanced charms hadn't inspired him to do it at the age of fourteen, one skinny British potions master's reproving looks weren't going to put him to it four years later.

However, it was rather intimidating that everyone at the party was older than he was and exceedingly well dressed, with the air of a 100% wizard who would never allow trousers to defile his legs or Lycra her torso. Harry gulped. Severus squeezed his hand and let it go.

"Let's get something to drink."

Severus introduced Harry to a number of people, all of whom seemed duly impressed with him, before he spotted the person they had come to the party to see. Harry felt more scared than he had once felt facing Voldemort as he followed the older man to an armchair positioned by an enormous fireplace. In the armchair was a tiny woman dressed in black silk with thin silver hair done up in a bun, who looked up expectantly as they approached. Harry had never seen anyone who looked so old. She was so old that she looked transparent--she made Albus Dumbledore look robust. But the black eyes that fixed on him were disconcertingly alert and critical-- not unlike another, familiar pair of black eyes--and, oh, Merlin, she had the family nose.

"Great-Aunt Livilla, I'd like to introduce you to my lover. This is Harry Potter."

Great-Aunt Livilla, Severus Snape's only living relative, put out her tiny, claw-like hand, and Harry took it, bowing. "It's an honor to meet you, Miss Snape."

"It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Potter, and do call me Livilla." The ancient black eyes twinkled. "I've been anxious to meet you, you know. Severus has never brought home a lover before."

*

end!