Title: A Lesson in Love
Author: fbowden
Characters: Harry/Snape, side of Harry/Charlie
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adultery, rough sex, dub con.
Themes/kinks chosen: Adultery
Word Count: 5,500
Summary: Harry discovers that guilt is a heavy burden to bear.
Author's notes: I cannot express enough gratitude to brknhalo241 , who worked tirelessly with me on this fic. She is far, far more than a beta and deserves a huge portion of the credit. Thank you!

“I’m sorry.”

The cork made a dull pop. Snape carefully set two glasses down. “Whatever for?”

The truth danced on his tongue. He forced it to stand still. “Just – for being a prat, sometimes.”

Snape snorted quietly and filled Harry’s glass. “Only sometimes?”

Harry smiled weakly, battling the guilt that threatened to eclipse everything. Holding the wine glass gave him something to focus on, cold and smooth beneath his restless fingers.

“I – I’m covering the late shift tonight. Sorry, I should have mentioned it before.”

“Again?” The seamless flow of red liquid hit the bottom of Snape’s glass with too much force, a few stray drops escaping over the rim. Tears of blood, Harry thought, watching them soak into the tablecloth.

“Yes, we’re short staffed.” Another lie. More clawed their way up his throat, poised to dispel any suspicions his husband might voice.

Snape simply sighed and disappeared into the kitchen. Harry picked up a knife and stared at his reflection. Even distorted, he could hardly bear to look himself in the eye anymore.

“Perhaps I should apply for a position,” Snape called out. Harry had heard the same empty threat and its sarcastic implication numerous times. He knew an answer wasn’t required of him.

Snape returned carrying plates of steamed fish and vegetables. As always, he served Harry first. As always, it was cooked to perfection and smelt delicious. It failed to stir Harry’s appetite.

“I’m quite serious,” Snape continued, sitting down. “The Ministry’s system to efficiently organise employees’ working hours is very obviously flawed. They require someone with enough common sense to ensure the unpleasant shifts are distributed fairly.”

“Bored of potions?” Harry teased. He speared a flake of fish and chewed dutifully. The difficulty came in swallowing around his unease. A sip of the vintage Merlot did little to ease its passage. “We’re just a few people down, not badly managed.”

“It is precisely that sort of attitude that allows them to take advantage,” Snape scolded. “Why do you insist on making excuses for their shortcomings?”

“I don’t,” Harry said brusquely. Snape glanced up in surprise. “I mean, it’s not a big deal. Really, it isn’t. Can we talk about something else, please?”

Snape’s displeasure thinned his lips. “By all means. Since the current topic of conversation is not to your liking, perhaps you ought to elect a new one.”

Harry bit his lip and studied his food. It took three attempts to impale a baby carrot. All the while, Snape’s dark, unwavering gaze kept watch. “Well?” he enquired, after a minute’s silence had passed between them. “What intellectual splendours are you planning to astonish me with today?”

Harry noted the underlying hint of fondness and despised it. It was to be, it seemed, their undoing.

“How a bond – ” He cleared his throat and tried again. “How a bond is dissolved. We should talk about that.”

***

The resounding clatter of Snape’s fork had followed Harry out into the wintry November evening. An echo, like his own personal form of tinnitus, it tortured him more than the terrible lies he had no longer been able to tell, and finally purged himself of.

Harry walked until his fingers turned blue. No destination in mind, he simply put one foot in front of the other. Long after the tear tracks had dried, leaving a legacy of smudges on his wind bitten cheeks, he came to a pub. It looked warm inside. Non-judgemental. Just a room full of people seeking solace at the bottom of a glass. Harry unconsciously rubbed his hands together. He took a step towards the heavy double doors. The vision, a hazy mirror image of wretchedness in the frosted glass panels, made him reconsider.

Harry scrubbed his face with a sleeve and moved past the entrance, finding shelter from wind and prying eyes in a nearby alleyway. Bracing himself against the imminent nausea, he Apparated.

***

“Harry?” The man dipped his head in an attempt to infiltrate Harry’s vacant stare. “Shit, look at the state of you! Get in here before you freeze to death.”

Harry hesitated. He hadn’t come for sex, not this time. It felt dishonest to cross the threshold without making that clear.

“Charlie, I – “

Strong fingers closed around his wrist and dragged him inside.

“What the fuck, Harry?” Charlie cupped his face and searched his eyes. Harry winced at the sensation of his skin heating too quickly. “Why the hell didn’t you Floo in like usual?”

“I couldn’t I – I needed to walk – clear my head. I wasn’t going to come but - Oh God, Charlie, I’ve made such a mess of everything.”

His teeth were chattering so hard he wondered if Charlie had understood a single word.

Whether he had or not, Charlie gathered him in strong arms and pressed a reassuring kiss to his forehead. “Calm down, kid. Whatever it is, we can sort it, okay?”

“No, we can’t,” Harry whispered miserably, “It’s never going to be okay again. I told Severus I want to dissolve our bond.”

Charlie’s body stiffened, though his hands continued to rub soothing circles on Harry’s back. “Bloody hell, what did you do that for?”

Harry looked up in confusion. “Because I can’t bear it anymore! I thought we could move away, you know? Start over somewhere, just the two of us. You could return to Romania and I’ll come with you – no one knows us there! Severus deserves better than the cheating, lying bastard I am, I had to tell him, Charlie, I just had to.”

Charlie smiled sadly and ruffled his hair. Something sank to the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Oh God, you never thought I’d actually leave him, did you?” Harry wrenched himself out of Charlie’s hold and laughed wildly through sudden, hot tears. “So all this – all this fucking heartache – it’s been for...for nothing, is that it? I’m nothing more than a convenient fuck?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa – get over yourself, will you?” Charlie kicked the door shut before Harry could escape. “You’re the one guilty of that, kid, not me. Ask yourself why you come here, time after time, and beg me to take you to bed? And let’s be clear: you do come to me, not the other way round. I’ll tell you why. Because I give you something Snape doesn’t, and I’ve never asked you for anything in return, have I?”

“No, and now it’s obvious why,” Harry choked.

Charlie shook his head. “You just don’t get it. I care about you, Harry, and you walking in here saying let’s be together, let’s run away together, it’s a dream come true. But I know damn well the only reason you’re saying it, is to justify cheating on Snape. You’re lying to yourself, if you think you’re in love with me. All this has ever been about is what he doesn’t give you. If I’m guilty of anything, then it’s taking what I can get, when I can get it, and no-one can blame me for that, Harry. You can’t blame me for that.”

Shocked, Harry backed up and hit the wall, letting the cold stone support him as he slid into a crouch. Charlie sighed and knelt in front of him.

“Look at yourself,” he said softly, taking the cold flesh of Harry’s fingers and rubbing warmth into them, “how could anyone resist you? You’re fucking gorgeous, kid. I’d have to be crazy to turn you down, married or not. I should have helped you make it work with Snape, I know that, but I was selfish. I admit it, I wanted you for myself. But leaving him – you’d regret it. Harry, in time, we’d both regret it.”

Harry bit his lip until it stung. Charlie’s thumb soothed it. “You know it’s true, kid. And you know what else? It’s okay. I want you to be happy. So you’re confused, but you love him, any fool can see that. Snape makes you happy in a way I never will.”

“But he’s not you,” Harry cried, pitching forward and wrapping his arms around Charlie’s neck. “He doesn’t – I want him to – when we’re together Charlie, you say – you say things he’ll never say and I need to hear them, Charlie, I need to hear them so badly.”

Charlie pulled him close. Harry couldn’t find the strength to resist the comfort offered. Never before had he felt so defeated, or upset. The hurt on Severus’ face earlier, the disappointment on Charlie’s now – Harry wanted to reach into his chest and rip his own heart out, because all it had ever done was cause others pain.

***

Incredible how just a few glasses of cheap, strong liquor could dilute even the worst bone-weary tension in a person, Harry mused a short while later.

He peered into his empty glass expectantly, but there were no prophecies willing to share their secrets, or answers waiting to reveal themselves.

One thing Harry didn’t need a crystal ball to realise was that his marriage was in grave danger of dying a premature death, if it hadn’t already. For the millionth time since walking out, he remembered Severus’ expression. Every single unwelcome recall of it felt like a knife to his chest.

“More?”

“More what?” Harry glanced up, shaken out of his contemplation. “Oh, yes please.”

Charlie pushed the bottle of whiskey across the coffee table with his foot.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The tan leather chair squeaked in protest as Charlie resettled himself. Harry poured a generous tumbler of the golden liquid and sent the bottle skidding back.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, idly swirling his glass. “You’re wondering what I told Severus. How much he knows.”

Charlie ran a hand through his hair. “Nope, nothing of the sort. Besides, I’m pretty sure you told him everything in a great big guilty rush of verbal diarrhoea , and then disappeared before he had a chance to draw breath – or his wand.”

“Christ, am I that transparent?”

“No, but then I like to think I know you pretty well by now.”

The deeply personal implication of Charlie’s statement effaced Harry’s thin veneer of alcoholically-induced serenity.

“Fuck.” He covered his face with his hands. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. I’m sorry for dragging you into this, and – why are you being nice to me? You should hate me, but you’re sitting here letting me drink your booze and whinge on about this catastrophic fuck-up like I’ve done nothing worse than forget to return a library book.” Harry imagined how terrible that would be to someone like Hermione and laughed humourlessly before falling silent.

Charlie sat up straight and leaned forward.

“Look kid, stop beating yourself up over this. At least as far as I’m concerned, okay? I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. I knew what I was getting into with you, that it wasn’t a forever thing. It’s not like this is a surprise; I’ve known all along it would end someday, and I’d rather be friends than nothing at all, so will you give it a rest? Just let me be your friend, yeah?”

Harry’s bottom lip trembled. He hoped he’d be as sympathetic in Charlie’s position, but he sincerely doubted it.

“How could I not,” he replied hoarsely, looking up when Charlie’s weight depressed the sofa beside him. They sat in silence, save for the occasional pop of firewood and the sound of whiskey being imbibed. Harry kept expecting Charlie’s strong, freckled hand to slide across his thigh like it always did, but this time it didn’t leave his side.

“Can I stay here tonight?” Harry said softly, staring at the flames until flecks of red danced across his retinas. “Just – in the spare room, I mean.”

Charlie put his arm around Harry’s shoulder and squeezed. It was still tender but it felt strange and awkward. He could feel the tension in Charlie’s comforting grip and a fresh wave of regret surged within him.

“No, Harry, I’m sorry, you can’t put this off. Imagine being in Snape’s shoes, what he’s going through right now. If you don’t go home tonight, it’ll only make things ten times worse.”

“I doubt it,” Harry said with conviction. “You didn’t see his face, Charlie, he hates me. It couldn’t possibly be any worse.”

Charlie gently pried the empty tumbler from his grasp. “Go,” he said firmly. The fragile smile didn’t lessen the turbulence in his blue eyes. “You know where I am if you need –, “ he faltered,“ – a friend.”

***

Harry didn’t know why he was bothering to tiptoe when the pounding of his heart was loud enough to wake the departed, never mind someone like Severus, who was practically an insomniac.

But if Severus had heard him come in, he certainly wasn’t rushing to greet his cheating spouse with open arms and a pledge of forgiveness. Harry leant wearily against the banister and removed his coat and scarf, grateful that, for once, the talkative portraits lining the hallway had nothing to contribute. Their disapproving expressions spoke volumes anyway.

Severus wasn’t in the kitchen, nor was he in the dining room. The intimate arrangement of their abandoned meal, two plates bearing congealed dinner, mocked Harry. He closed the door behind him and went to the sitting room. Impeccably tidy, but no Snape. Harry made his way around the house, a sense of unease growing with each room he searched and found unoccupied. The door to the cellar, however, the one room in the house Severus had declared off limits to everyone including Harry, was ajar.

Severus never left the door unlocked. If he were brewing, he warded it from the inside. If he were elsewhere in the house, it was warded from the outside. Not once in five years had he neglected to do so, not even when simply ascending to use the bathroom.

Harry took the stairs two at a time, skidding to a halt on the second to last step when his brain registered the carnage before him.

Rows upon rows of jars had been upended, swept from the safety of their shelves. The flagstone floor could hardly be seen beneath the sea of broken glass, liberally sprinkled with aconite to wormwood and every other ingredient between. A blackened cauldron crowned the mess. Harry suspected its recent contents were responsible for the trail of scorch marks adorning the far wall, creatively splattered from ceiling to floor.

The chaotic state of Severus’ beloved Potions lab should have been alarming, but instead the destruction whispered seductively to him, one word over and over again: passion.

Harry turned and fled, shouting Severus’ name as he frantically combed the house. He already knew, long before he stopped searching, that Severus was not there, but his legs were restless and his palms itched with frustration and he could not, absolutely could not, bear to sit down and do nothing. And yet, there was nothing he could do but wait.

An eternity passed. Having admitted defeat roughly a decade ago, Harry fancied he’d witnessed the plant on the kitchen windowsill bloom and wither in an endless renaissance before the Floo spat green flames and startled him to his feet.

If his mind hadn’t been solely immersed in the unprecedented spectacle of Severus drunkenly stumbling out of the fireplace, Harry would have coloured at the ridiculousness of jumping to attention in his own home.

Severus brushed soot from his clothes, rocking unsteadily as he turned around. Harry caught the look of surprise before it was usurped by a scowl so hateful it made his eyes water.

“Back so soon?” Severus sneered, using the kitchen counter to anchor himself. “Did Weasley access his solitary residual brain cell and arrive at the conclusion that the only thing you are suitable for is the one thing he has been freely helping himself to for months?”

“Severus, please,” Harry implored, “I know you hate me right now, and I deserve that, but we have to talk.”

“We have to talk,” Severus mimicked nastily. “I think not. You’ve said quite enough for one evening, Potter. Get out.”

“What?” Harry gasped, the sick, panicky fluttering in his stomach growing exponentially. “You can’t throw me out into the streets, this is my home!”

“Ahhh.” Severus laboured the exclamation, complimenting it with a hideous smile that revealed uneven, yellow teeth. “You wish to remain living here as part of the conditions of our divorce? Well then, I shall commence property hunting first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, I think it best if you find somewhere else to reside. Perhaps Mr Weasley would be so kind as to provide you with a bed, Merlin knows he has done so often enough in the past.”

“No – that’s not what I – this is our home, Severus, I want to stay here, living with you!” Harry tried to fight the abject misery leaching his very soul, but it was futile. A hundred dementors couldn’t have caused him to feel more hopeless. The shattering idea of not seeing Severus every day, of not sharing his bed, made the hot tears fall thick and fast.

Severus observed them coolly. “Really, Potter, such attempts at emotional blackmail are pathetic, even by your standards.”

“I’m not pathetic!” Harry said angrily, wiping the wet from his cheeks. “I’m miserable and upset, and frustrated that you won’t listen to a word I say, as usual! God, can you please just stop being an arse and let me speak?”

“Oh, is that what this is all about, Potter? Being an arse? Does Weasley permit you to top? Dear me, had I known you were so desperate to switch, I would have offered long ago. I’m quite fond of bottoming as it happens, just ask the nice young man I encountered at the bar this evening.”

“STOP IT!” Harry shouted, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. The thought of another man being intimate with his husband replaced the panic in his belly with a primordial urge to strangle. “You wouldn’t do that!”

Snape folded his arms across his chest and smirked. “Are you so sure?”

Harry could feel himself shockingly close to losing his remaining thread of composure. He took several deep breaths, inhaling so harshly that they burnt his lungs. “Yes,” he said shakily, “I know you, Severus.”

Snape turned his head sharply and met Harry’s gaze with furious black eyes. “Which, one must ironically conclude, means less than nothing, Potter, since I too assumed I knew you. Apparently, I was grossly mistaken, given that I find myself married to an adulterer – “

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Snape cut him off. “ – A lying, cheating, ungrateful brat – “ His hand flew to his mouth, as though the bitter tirade stung the delicate skin of his thin lips. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed them carefully, schooling his anger back into impassivity. “How dare you stand there claiming to know me. For the second time: Get. Out.”

Harry took an unsteady step backwards, his head full to bursting with accusations that remained unspoken, as well as those already voiced by Severus. His chest felt excruciatingly tight, and his legs wobbled precariously as he moved.

“Fine, I’ll go,” he said quietly, unable to look at the dark-robed figure whose physical proximity was as near as his emotions were unreachable. “But you should know that I didn’t - that Charlie – I’m not in love with him – I’ve hurt him too and this is all my fault – I just wanted – I wanted – “

“What?” Snape hissed, “What did Charlie Weasley give you that I was so clearly ill-equipped to provide?”

“Love,” Harry blurted, between hiccupped sobs, “words that you wouldn’t – he – he – always told me – he said – said I was beautiful, he – he made me feel – feel wanted and I – you – you never tell me – me – you never say – say you love me – you never – you don’t – “

Harry’s knees gave way under the tremendous release of pressure, but there was no explosion of pain as the floor came up to meet them, because Snape flew across the room and seized him by the collar, slamming him up against the kitchen door.

“Words?” he bellowed, spraying Harry’s face with angry spittle, “You would jeopardise our marriage, our life together, everything we have worked to achieve, purely to satisfy an insatiable desire to have your ego massaged?”

Snape’s vice-like grip tightened, and although the synopsis held only a hint of truth, Harry hastened to agree in order to make his point. “Yes! Because I need it. I need to hear it like I need air to breathe, and you’ve been suffocating me for years! I tell you I love you all the time – when we have sex and - and you – you haven’t said it since the day of our bonding, Severus, and never once in bed!”

“Liar,” Snape roared.

“I’m not lying,” Harry shouted, “I don’t think you’re even capable of it, and it doesn’t excuse what I did, but you have no idea how bad it gets, how often I spend wishing you would show me you actually care.“

The unexpected relaxation of Snape’s stranglehold startled Harry, who hadn’t realised his feet were free of the floor until they touched solid ground again. Still, Snape maintained a firm hold, and Harry tried not to blink as he surrendered to that intense, black stare, less than an inch separating their faces. Snape’s breath flickered hotly across Harry’s mouth. Despite the pungent smell of alcohol, the acuity of Snape’s gaze proved just how incisive he remained, intoxicated or not.

“You,” Snape accused, ending a long moment of deathly silence, “hold me accountable for your inability to remain faithful?”

Harry shut his eyes against the ugly, mocking laugh. “No – of course not, but – “

A terrible ripping sound caused them to snap open again. Snape was admiring the desecration of Harry’s shirt, palms flattened against the exposed flesh. Harry shivered in shocked arousal as Snape deliberated the contours of his chest.

“When I touched you here,” Snape said gruffly, watching the journey of his fingers culminate in the discovery of Harry’s nipple, “All those times I touched you here, I thought you understood it meant I desired you.”

Harry bit his lip and tried not to dwell on Snape’s use of the past tense. His hands twitched restlessly at his sides, not bold enough yet to encourage more contact.

“And when,” Snape continued, “I caressed you like this – “ His thumb stroked the damp skin of Harry’s cheek – “I was telling you how beautiful you are, how yours is the only face I cherish seeing morning, noon and night.”

Another tear slid down Harry’s cheek and onto the pad of Snape’s thumb as it withdrew.

“I didn’t realise,“ Harry confessed in a broken whisper.

With a suspicious moistness gathering in his own dark eyes, Snape leant forward until barely a current of air could pass comfortably between their mouths. “So when I pressed my lips here,” he breathed, making Harry moan when he kissed each corner of Harry’s mouth, “you had absolutely no idea that my actions illustrated how crazy I was for you, that I couldn’t have imagined my life without you in it.”

Harry turned his face to catch Snape’s mouth, but he shifted out of reach.

“No, I swear,” Harry cried softly, “I swear I didn’t.”

Snape seemed not to hear. He found Harry’s belt, freeing the leather from its buckle and neglecting the triviality of buttons in favour of yanking Harry’s trousers and pants until the cloth yielded to his might.

When the ruined garments slithered down his thighs, Harry tried to cover his groin, certain that Snape would be disgusted when he saw how hard Harry was. But Snape’s expression disclosed nothing as he slapped Harry’s hands away and slipped his long, stained fingers around the blood-filled shaft.

Harry couldn’t help but whine in pleasure, missing the first murmured words of Snape’s solemn declaration.

“When I did this, when I held you and stroked you to orgasm, when, on countless occasions, I took you in my mouth and feasted on your cock, did you not stop to consider that I might have been opening my heart?”

“Please,” Harry begged, searching Snape’s face, “please forgive me, Severus.”

Snape evaded the intense scrutiny of Harry’s gaze and released his cock. Harry moaned in disappointment as it bounced up, aching and stiff against his stomach. Snape ran the tips of his fingers over Harry’s hips and the curve of his buttocks, dipping into the damp cleft and spreading them apart. Cold air rushed to fill the crevice, and the delicate outer muscles of Harry’s anus instinctively contracted in pleasure. They did so again when Snape demanded access.

“When, at times, I could hardly bear not to be inside you a moment longer, when I threw you down roughly and entered you with barely a lubrication spell to aid us, I was not using you simply to derive my own pleasure. I had always assumed that you knew I was unable to control my passion, that each hard thrust, each gentle slide, was a declaration of my deep, unswerving love.”

Harry tried to speak, but Snape stole his breath with a violent kiss before spinning Harry around and pinning his body to the door with his own.

“These actions,” he said, unbuttoning his robe and letting the trapped erection spring free, “were my words, Harry. Perhaps if you had taken the time to listen, you would have heard.”

Harry’s chest pounded expectantly as Snape rubbed up against him. “Then again,” – his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl, “perhaps you made a conscious decision not to.”

Harry screamed as Snape entered him, driving the fat head of his cock through Harry’s unprepared hole with such force that before the muscles at his entrance could protest, Snape was already halfway inside.

Fire spread through his lower body, attacking the base of his spine. Snape’s fingernails dug cruelly into his hips, sending another set of nerve endings into a panicked frenzy. The rational part of Harry’s mind implored him to escape the pain, but a much larger part reminded him that no matter how excruciating it was physically, Severus still wanted him, and that meant more to Harry than his own comfort or sexual enjoyment.

Besides, Harry thought dazedly as a wetness that could only be blood eased the way for Snape’s grunted thrust, he deserved this, deserved to be punished for what he’d done to Severus, to Charlie, even to himself. He’d let himself down, too.

Fully sheathed, Snape’s hand left Harry’s hip and lingered in the air before coming to rest between his shoulder blades. Not quite a caress, it awkwardly traced the bumps of Harry’s vertebrae.

“You were mine,” Snape growled, snatching his hand back and replacing it with the weight of his chest. His robes billowed with the movement, swathing Harry’s shoulders and arms in heavy black fabric that seemed to cling to his body.

“I still am,” Harry panted, shuffling his legs apart despite the lancing pain it caused.

Snape snarled angrily, sinking his teeth into Harry’s shoulder. Harry cried out in surprise, pleading with Snape not to stop as the walls of his arse inventoried every ridge of thick shaft, hampered in its withdrawal by the flesh clenched around it.

“You are a liar,” Snape taunted, slamming back in.

“I know,” Harry gasped, bracing his arms against the door and using them to cushion his forehead.

“A cheat.”

“I’m sorry!”

Snape’s hot, angry breath hit the back of Harry’s neck as he thrust repeatedly. Furious nails scored deep, crimson lines into Harry’s buttocks, and his teeth left puncture marks of revenge scattered across Harry’s shoulder blades, sucking the pale skin into a rainbow of bruises as he went.

Harry swore and begged, encouraged and pleaded, but his appeals went unheard as Snape fucked him harder, hands and mouth creating a patchwork of retribution that left Harry both grateful and shocked.

Still a litany of words tumbled out: please, sorry, forgive me, don’t stop: and each time Snape branded ‘Liar,’ and ‘Cheat,’ onto Harry’s torso with colourful bruises and vicious bites.

It didn’t take long for Snape’s thrusts to become erratic as he neared orgasm, and Harry groaned appreciatively when his prick was suddenly encased in Snape’s controlling fist, dragging a desperate, physical release from him in a few hard tugs.

Harry cried out as Snape kept going, as the thick ropes of come left his body and his cock trembled violently, as Snape drove deeper and deeper, shaking with effort and rage and wringing Harry’s spent prick until the last few clear beads fell to the floor below, until Snape himself was swearing and coming, filling Harry’s arse with wet warmth and his ears with the accusation, “I loved you.”

***

The kitchen seemed as good a place as any to talk. Except, sat at the table across from each other, Snape wasn’t talking. He hadn’t uttered a single word since pulling out of Harry and tucking himself in, leaving Harry to gather the tattered remains of his clothes and spell them back together. If only it were that easy to fix their relationship.

“Did I hurt you?”

Harry hesitated. “Yes,” he confessed softly, “but I hurt you too.”

Snape met his eyes accusingly. “How fortunate that you can be healed with the aid of magic and lotions.”

“You could forgive me,” Harry said, “I swear to you, Severus, I’ll never hurt you again.”

“I am inclined to believe that,” Snape replied. Harry’s heart leapt. “Nevertheless, I cannot forgive you,” he continued, “nor forget what you have done.”

“Severus, please – “

“Every time I touch you, I will remember. Every time – “

“Please!”

“ – I kiss you I will feel his lips on yours. Every time – “

“Severus – “

“ – I wish to make love to you, I will hurt you instead – Harry – I cannot be with you this way.”

“Oh God, stop it, please stop it,” Harry begged, “Just tell me what I can do, how I can make this better, there must be something! Because I love you, Severus, and I made a terrible mistake but if I could change it, I would.”

Severus reclined in his chair, black eyes boring into Harry, silently considering. Behind him, the flower shed its petals and bloomed once more.

“Obliviate me,” Snape said resolutely. “Erase the knowledge of what you have done from my mind.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“I will not be capable of maintaining this relationship otherwise. My anger, my jealousy will consume me, it will destroy us both. Obliviate me, Harry, or leave and never come back.”

Harry blinked back the tears as the truth of Snape’s words hit him. His guilt had not been vanquished when he’d selfishly confessed his infidelity. It had only heaped misery on the man he loved, a man who he had neglected to take the time to understand properly. Whether Snape knew of his transgression or not, Harry’s guilt would forever remain.

“I -,” Harry swallowed heavily, knowing they would barely last a week if he didn’t do as Snape had asked. Snape’s eyes, no longer lustful or loving but cold and condemning, decided for him.

“Okay,” Harry said quietly, “I’ll do it.”

Snape nodded his approval.

***

After it was all over, after he’d helped Snape restore his laboratory to order, and pointed, wand in shaking hand, to Snape’s temple, after he’d recited the incantation in a thick voice and observed the wretchedness softly crawl away from his husband’s features, Harry kissed him on the cheek and went to sit in the lounge.

Snape followed, taking a book and settling himself in the armchair opposite. His eyes travelled across the page, absorbing each word with a hunger that was evident in the quirk of his lips. Harry watched the flickering firelight fill the lines of Snape’s brow, creased in concentration.

“There won’t be any more late shifts,” Harry told him.

Snape made a noise of approval. “Grew a backbone eh?”

Harry smiled, content to spend another few minutes in comfortable silence.

“Why are you staring at me?” Snape asked, not looking up.

Harry shrugged. “No reason. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Mmm, thank you.”

Snape caught Harry’s hand as he walked past, pulling him down to stroke his cheek. “Perhaps after tea, we might adjourn to the bedroom,” he murmured, eyes alight with nothing more sinister than desire.

Harry’s stomach fluttered pleasantly, as much at the implicit meaning of Snape’s caress as the suggestive invitation to retire.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Snape nodded contentedly and returned to his reading. Harry lingered beside him, touching his cheek where Snape’s fingers had left an invisible mark. ‘I love you too,’ Harry thought, smiling softly as he realised when it came to the heart, actions spoke louder than words.