Entry tags:

harry potter, harry/snape, severus snape

[FIC] Number Thirteen (Part Three): Snape/Harry
Originally posted here on 12 September 2007

Title: Number Thirteen
Requester: unbroken_halo
Author:
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Summary: Harry and Hermione have been friends for a long time, but he still isn't too sure about her suggestion to use a dating service (especially when that dating service has a reputation for catering to, shall we say, "alternative" tastes). What follows is a mix of passion, disappointment, meddling, and new discoveries, as Harry finds himself facing choices and situations he'd never dreamed of.
Warnings: AU. D/s relationships.
Author's Notes: Written pre-DH, but AU anyway. Many many thanks to the exchange moderator, and to my betas for their help! Any remaining errors or plot holes are entirely my fault. ~28,000 words.

Part One!
Part Two!

---

It was Sunday afternoon when Hermione answered the telephone and gave Harry a Look. "That was Remus," she said. "He's coming over in just a few minutes it it's all right."

Harry nodded absent-mindedly. He was only half concentrating on the Spanish Inquisition he was supposed to be reading about. Last weekend he'd gotten all kinds of work done, but this weekend all he could think about was his trip to the Leaky Cauldron. And not the fun trip, either. The strange one that ended in the presence of Remus and Mr. Black. Oh, there was a thought. "Is Mr. Black coming too?"

"He didn't say." Hermione took her seat on the opposite sofa, curling her toes up underneath tucking her feet underneath her body. "Harry..."

He did not need a lecture. "Yes, Hermione?"

"Are you all right? You've been kind of mopey the last few days."

Harry reminded himself that Hermione cared about him, or else she wouldn't ask these sorts of things. And he needed someone in his life who cared about him long-term, didn't he?

"It's just... well, Remus is coming over to set me up with someone else."

Hermione nodded, waiting for him to go on.

"I... I just don't know if I want someone else." Instinctively, Harry covered his tracks. "I mean, someone else for just one time. I envy you, sometimes, you with your long-term relationship. I think it would be nice to have something that was more than just sex."

Hermione smiled. "Well, predictability has its benefits, but it's still just a physical relationship, and not exclusive, either. It's great for relieving some of my stress and tension, but meanwhile I am looking for someone else, someone to date. I still want to get married someday, you know."

Harry nodded. He hadn't thought about it, actually.


"Anyway, if you want to see the same person more than once, that's not something to mope about!" She was grinning now. "Remus can set you up – just tell him exactly what you're looking for."

Great, Harry thought. Now if he could just figure out what that was, since Number Thirteen wasn't an option.

There was a knock at the door, and Harry went to answer it. "Hullo, Remus," he said, noting that the man was alone this time. He waved Remus into the sitting room.

Hermione got up to give the older man a quick hug, and then Remus set his binder on the coffee table just like last time. It was a strange sort of déjà vu, and Harry found himself wishing that he was back there again, because it would mean he still had another date with Number Thirteen to look forward to.

"So, Harry," Remus said. "I won't ask anything about the last partner you had, though you're more than welcome to tell me anything you think would be helpful in choosing someone else." He smiled kindly and began to turn the pages of the book.

Right. Someone else. Someone who wasn't Number Thirteen. "Oh, um... it was actually pretty good," he said, trying for a casual attitude. "It would be nice if there was someone... kind of like that but that was interested in the possibility of seeing me more than once... you know, repeat business." His face burned.

"I know what you mean," Remus said. "I think I have just the one for you here. I could look for another, but really I think this is a very good choice for you. He's a lot like your Number Thirteen, but he is interested in a longer term scenario – or at least the possibility of more than one. Of course, the first few times would be like a trial run – you're not signing up for anything you can't get out of – and it would be completely up to you whether or not to continue."

Harry swallowed. It sounded too good to be true, but there was the issue of performance again. He would be evaluated even as he evaluated the other person. But then, he thought, wasn't that really just like life? Two people get together, they both have to see if they like each other to see if they want things to continue. He would just be himself, and if what he himself was wasn't a good fit then the other person would say so and they could part amicably.

"Sounds good," he said around a dry throat. Why not? He could try it and just see what happened, after all.

"Excellent," Remus beamed. "I'll set it up for this Friday, unless that's a conflict for you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Friday would be good."

---

Severus was of two minds the following Friday as he prepared for the evening. Remus had put him back in Room Thirteen, his usual, which was nice though he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Remus and Black booked several rooms every Friday night for their Moonlight Escapes nonsense, and on the rare occasion when Severus wasn't available they'd always kept Room Thirteen to themselves. Which meant that no one had been here that was like this before.

It was always strange to think about what might be going on in the other rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, but Severus tried to push those thoughts out of his mind. He'd never met any of the other Masters that participated in the service – not counting Black, of course – and he didn't really care to. Not that he saw them as competition, just that there could be no benefit in it, so why bother?

Remus had found him a suitable applicant in a remarkably short time, given that he'd only just agreed to look at applicants for the possibility of a long term relationship. It made Severus slightly suspicious, but he'd been rather taken with the description of the boy.

"I know you liked Harry," Lupin had said, and Severus had started to protest only to be cut off. "With that in mind, I have someone I think you'll like... just as much. Maybe even more, I don't know. Give him a try." There hadn't been a picture, but Remus had promised he wouldn't be disappointed. There were a few instances in the past of applicants not having pictures, but Remus was a fairly good judge of what he would and wouldn't like, after so many years of setting him up with people, so he trusted Remus on this one.

And it was nice to be back in his own room – he did tend to think of it as his. Perhaps he had a tendency toward possessiveness after all.

The knock came at precisely seven o'clock. Severus went to the door, settling his face into the calm mask he had used so many nights before, and opened it, stepping to one side and motioning the boy to come in.

It was dim in the hall, and he only caught a bit of reflected light from the boy's glasses before he shut the door and turned to take a closer look at his prospective partner.

Harry.

It was Harry, the same face and eyes and skin he'd been dreaming about for two bloody weeks, now here in the flesh. Harry had a stunned look on his face, his lips parted slightly either in surprise or anticipation - could it be he was looking forward to this, that he'd arranged to get Lupin to–

No. This was not what Severus had signed up for. This was not what he'd expected and he was fairly sure someone had lied to him or at least misrepresented the truth along the way, and the boy was just looking at him–

He tried to keep the snarl out of his voice, but a Severus Snape who is thrown off balance is not a friendly Severus Snape. "What do you think you're doing here?" He tried not to clench his teeth and probably failed.

The boy went pale. Apparently he hadn't been very successful in keeping his voice calm.

"I..."

"Well?" Severus snapped. The boy would finish a sentence if it killed the both of them.

"I'm supposed to be meeting someone – there must be some kind of mix-up – I mean, a mistake, Remus said there was someone, and then the barman gave me the room number but you're here and you're not supposed to be here because you never see anyone more than once." Slightly out of breath, Harry looked up at him almost wonderingly. "Right?"

Impertinent. "I'm not supposed to be here? On the contrary, I am in exactly the right place." Severus needed to reassert control over the situation, and the sooner the better. "Let me make one thing perfectly clear. You may not ask me for explanations or clarifications unless I specifically invite you to do so." He took a few steps across the room. He thought best while walking, and right now he needed to think.

Harry started to take a step – towards him, he thought, though he couldn't be sure and he could not, for his own sanity, afford to find out. "Stop," Severus ordered, and pointed at the wall. "Stand over there. Do not speak."

"Now just a minute–"

Severus whirled. If the boy wasn't going to do as he was told, then there was no way they could stand here and have a conversation about it, much less allow him to think and figure out exactly what had gone wrong.

Gone wrong? a voice said in his mind. You have Harry again, and he's come here for sex, and you can keep him the whole night. What's gone wrong with that?

Because, he answered himself harshly, he's not here for me. He was tricked as much as I was and I'm not about to force myself on someone who was obviously expecting someone else!

He forced his face to remain calm. Harry had stopped talking when he'd whirled, but the boy hadn't moved as ordered, either. Unacceptable.

"Go," Severus said, and gestured toward the door.

Harry blinked. His eyes flickered, and Severus would have called it panic on anyone else's face, but something was different about Harry.

"Go, I said." His voice was harsher this time, and he realized with growing dismay that he was very quickly losing control, not just of the situation but of himself. In another few minutes he'd be throwing things or worse, and he wanted Harry out of the room long before he reached that point. He clenched his hands into fists and did his best to stare Harry down.

Almost automatically, Harry took a step toward the door, but then he paused. "But..." He seemed to be doing some quick thinking, and Severus let a bit of natural curiosity sweep over his anger and humiliation for a moment. He could always lose control after the boy left. He raised his eyebrows at the boy.

"But..." Harry said again, and then took a breath. "Why do you want me to go?"

Severus thought for a moment, trying to decide if the question violated the "no asking him to explain himself" rule he had set down not two minutes ago. It was borderline, and anyway Harry was starting to look rather miserable there. He wanted something, and Severus wasn't sure what it was, much less whether or not he was capable of giving it to him.

Severus composed himself. When he spoke, his voice was back to his normal timbre, without any trace – so he told himself – of agitation. "It's very simple. Regardless of what you were expecting when you came here tonight, regardless of what you were told, and regardless of what I was told... I refuse to have anything further to do with you if you cannot follow a simple instruction. Now, get out of here. And don't come back."

Harry took another step towards the door as if by reflex, then hesitated. He looked at Severus with an almost beseeching look on his face, and then went the rest of the way to the door. The click of the door opening and then closing again echoed in Severus' ears, filling up the emptiness of the silent, dark room.

---

Harry had to blink rapidly as he made his way down the stairs and through the crowd at the Leaky Cauldron. He'd really messed things up this time. Somehow, he'd been given another chance and he'd been so stupid or eager or insistent or surprised that somehow, he'd messed it up entirely. He stepped out into the chill London air onto the London street and leaned against the building, breathing heavily.

The worst part was that now, right now, this very second, he knew exactly where Number Thirteen was, and what the man had been preparing for the night. Number Thirteen was ready for sex, and he'd been going to have it with Harry – again – and oh, how his body liked the idea of that! But now Number Thirteen was alone, and Harry knew it, and how could the man throw him out like that? They should have sat down and laughed about it, they should have written off the whole thing as a silly ploy from one Remus Lupin – and then gone ahead and made love anyway, because they wanted to – and Harry did want to, and he believed Number Thirteen had wanted to, too.

He had believed that Number Thirteen was just as interested in him as he was in him. But how quickly the man had got rid of him once they both had been revealed! The only possible explanation was that Remus had got it wrong: yes, they both were interested in repeat sessions, but Harry was interested in repeat sessions with Number Thirteen whereas Number Thirteen wanted someone else.

A passing couple of girls bumped against him, and the girl nearest him giggled. "Oops, sorry mate," she said, and traded a glance with her companion.

The companion, Harry noticed, was the pug faced girl he'd seen in here last week. She smirked at Harry, nodded once in recognition or perhaps in appreciation for the drink he had bought her, and then the two girls went into the bar.

Well, hell. Maybe he wouldn't leave just quite yet. If he stayed in the bar, here, then he would be able to see when Number Thirteen left, or maybe – a tiny voice whispered in his mind – maybe he could go back up there, somehow, and they could try over.

Better give the fellow a chance to get over his anger, he thought, and went into the Leaky Cauldron to order a pint.

Pint in hand, he went wandering in search of an empty table, or even a chair. The place was packed. Finally he caught a stool at the end of the bar counter just as someone was leaving. He had an excellent view of the staircase in the back corner, and he would be able to tell when Number Thirteen left. If he left. He might just stay there all night, all by himself, and then Harry could go up there when it got late, and he would do exactly as he was told just so long as he could stay and not be sent away. Yeah, in his dreams.

People-watching was not his thing tonight. People kept bumping into him, and he kept knocking elbows with the fellow next to him, who was tall and long-limbed and vaguely attractive if you liked that many freckles on a bloke, which, frankly, Harry tended not to. But he was well muscled. Probably an athlete or something. Of course, he was also chatting up a dreamy looking blonde-haired girl on the other side of him from Harry, so he was probably straight as an arrow.

Harry, on the other hand, was straight as a circle, a label which never failed to amuse him. He was on his third pint, he realized, and he wasn't typically much of a drinker so that might have something to do with the amusement level going on at the moment. That was an amusing thought as well.

"Find your fellow last week?"

Harry turned to find the snub-nosed girl (she really was attractive enough, if you liked girls. He just didn't) wedged between him and the wall. The quarters were close, but at least they didn't have to shout to be heard.

"Er. No," he answered, feeling awkward. She had thought he was after that other bloke last week, when in fact he'd gone home alone and dreamed about Number Thirteen.

"Sorry to hear that," she said with a smile that said she wasn't sorry at all. There was a poutiness to her lips that Harry was kind of entranced by, even though it wasn't what you would call attractive. It was just... different. Hermione was never pouty.

"What are you thinking about?" the girl purred, tilting her head towards him.

"The girl I live with," Harry answered distractedly. "She's got lips, two of em, but not like yours, which are all curvy."

The pout turned into a devilish smile. "Would you like a... closer inspection of the curves?"

Actually that sounded rather interesting. Harry finished off his pint and set the empty glass on the counter before leaning over and taking a close look. The girl's lips were full, and expressive, and very definitely amused about something. There was a little line around one corner that made the smirk seem even smirkier, and Harry thought he'd seen Number Thirteen smirk kind of like that once – oh, he was supposed to be watching!

"Hey," the girl said softly as he turned away and looked at the stairs. "You're really gone for someone, aren't you? I'm Pansy, by the way." She held out her hand, which he took shook automatically and looked up at her again. "Harry Potter," he said.

"Pleased," she drawled. Harry wasn't sure if she was making fun of him or not, but it didn't seem to matter all that much.

"So," she said after a moment. "Want to tell me about him?"

Harry didn't know how she knew him, but that was all right. "Gorgeous," he sighed. "Well, not in the burly kind of way, or pretty boy way like a model or something." He turned and jerked his head at the tall redhead sitting next to him. "That one you could see in a catalog or something, selling sweaters in fifteen shades of brown. Just look at the lips."

Pansy looked. And nodded. And kept looking. "But yours isn't like that?"

"Nah. Gorgeous, though. He has this way of telling you something with his eyes... not even saying a word, just looks at you and it's like he understands everything."

"Nice," she said. "Hey, are you going to buy me a drink or what?"

A short while later, Pansy had had two and they were deeply engrossed in conversation. He'd given her the stool and was practically leaning up against the redhead next to him, but the boy hadn't seemed to mind so far. Harry thought everyone sure seemed friendly in this place.

"...and his hair is black and long and it's so soft between your fingers that you just want to kiss it."

Pansy frowned a little even as she finished her drink. "That sounds like an old teacher of mine. One more, Tom?"

"What's that you're drinking, anyway?" Harry peered at the next glass the barman brought over.

"Firewhisky." Before Harry could ask what that was, she went on, "Now, you were telling me about your man? What's the problem, he doesn't notice you or something?"

"No, he noticed me. I mean, we already – well, it was kind of a one night thing, and then..."

"Now you want more than one night?" Pansy finished. "Well, that doesn't seem so bad. What does he think about continuing it?"

"That's just it! We were there, I mean here, I mean in the room again and I said sounds good to me, and then he threw me out." Harry slumped against the boy. He'd probably had too much to drink, he realized.

"He threw you out?" Pansy seemed skeptical. "Just because you said it sounded good?"

"No, no – he threw me out because he told me to do something and I didn't do it. Stupid!" Harry had ended on more of a moan, rubbing his forehead with the palm of one hand. "I should have just..."

"You shouldn't just do whatever someone else tells you to do. I mean, what if he had told you to kill your parents or something?"

"Can't. They're already dead." Harry picked up his glass again, but it was just as empty as it had been a moment before when he had put it down. He looked up to see Pansy looking at him with some sort of strange expression. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't know."

"Yeah, well... it's not like I missed much. From what I heard, they wouldn't have been so great as parents anyway." He put the glass back down and looked for the barman, but the man was busy helping other customers down at the other end.

Pansy was quiet a moment. "What happened to them?"

"Car crash. When I was about a year old. Spent the rest of my childhood with my aunt and uncle or being bounced around at different boarding schools." Harry made a face. "Do you want to talk about this? Because actually it's rather unpleasant for me."

"No, I'm so sorry." Pansy laid a hand on his arm.

Harry waved a hand in the air. "It's all right – oh, sorry." He had bumped into the fellow behind him, who was turning and smiling over him at the girl – Pansy, right.

Harry glanced between them and then at the staircase. This was really turning out to be pathetic.

Pansy must have seen something on his face, because she patted his arm again and turned her attention back to him. "Hey, now, it's okay. You'll work everything out with – what did you say his name was again?"

Harry almost groaned. "I didn't."

She waited. "Well?"

"I don't know his name," Harry admitted. This probably wouldn't sound good, but she had asked and Harry was really bad with coming up with a lie, especially after a couple of drinks. He wished Hermione was here.

Pansy laughed. "Oh, you are unbelievable," she said. "Well, does he hang out here? Is that why you keep coming back? Maybe I know him. I'm something of a regular myself." That smirk again.

Harry looked around. There was such an odd assortment of people here, but it was impossible to imagine Number Thirteen standing around, having a pint, chatting someone up. "I don't see him," he said, disappointed. "But anyway if you knew him you'd never be able to forget him. He's got a voice like... like... I can't even find words to describe it, it's so..." He waved a hand in the air.

"You said he has black hair? Tell me, is it kind of long and a bit lank?"

"Lank?"

"A little greasy. Oily."

"Yeah, I guess so, but it's still nice."

"And his eyes... dark? Almost black?"

Harry frowned. He hadn't mentioned Number Thirteen's eye color earlier. "Yeah. Hey, what..."

"Let me guess. He's about this tall?" She held her hand up at exactly Number Thirteen's height.

Harry stared at her hand for a moment and then his eyes dawned realization in them. "You know him?"

"I do," Pansy said. "In fact... I don't know where he normally spends his weekends, but I certainly know where he'll be Monday morning." This last was said rather smugly, and Harry felt himself begin to hope.

"You do? Where will be be Monday morning?"

Pansy was leaning forward so that she could soften her voice and still be heard. "What will you give me if I tell you?"

As he tried to figure out what she meant, it occurred to Harry that if Number Thirteen did show up on the staircase at that moment, he might see Harry sitting too close to a girl on one side and a boy on the other and being touched and whispered to and it would really be the wrong idea. He wasn't interested in Pansy, but appearances could make people think he was.

He pulled away from Pansy and dug in his pocket for some money for the drinks. "It's been really nice talking to you," he said.

She looked a little put out, but got to her feet. "Ah, well. You should call me sometime. Even just as friends."

"Yeah, what's your number?" He patted his pockets for a pen, but he was a history grad student, not Hermione. He snickered at the thought, then realized Pansy was looking at him oddly.

"I thought you would have a fireplace," she said.

"A... what?"

"A fireplace," she repeated. "You could just Floo me; I'm on the network."

Harry swayed, slightly. "Either you're making up words or I've really had one too many."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Pansy's eyes widened slightly. "You mean you're not... I thought when you walked in here that you were one of them, for sure."

"One of who?"

"Listen." She put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, and looked into his eyes intently. "Don't you have a brother or sister who can... do things? Strange things?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm an only child."

"Your parents, then."

"They died when I was a baby, remember?"

Pansy frowned. Harry could tell she was thinking through some intricate problem, but he didn't really want to hear about it right now, especially not if it involved his parents and fireplaces and made-up words.

"Look," he said. "If you don't want to tell me where he lives, that's fine. I know where he is right now. I'll go up and talk to him, try to reason with him..."

"Oh, Harry." Pansy patted his shoulder, in a manner frighteningly similar to Hermione. "I'll tell you, but now that I know you're not... I mean, you're not going to be able to get there on your own." She looked at him critically. "But I think we'll be able to come up with something. Come with me."

Dazedly, Harry took her hand.

---

The next morning, Severus was in his rooms at the school, debating whether or not to go for his weekly walk down around the lake. It was a habit of so many years, ingrained so deeply, that he thought he would feel rather lost if he didn't go. At odds with himself. And what was he supposed to do instead?

The drawback, of course, was that Remus Lupin knew where he would be and might try to talk to him to find out how his brilliant little scheme had gone. The thought made Severus want to throw something, but the only thing at hand were his own potions ingredients, which he actually wanted to keep. The second drawback was that he would be thinking, and right now he did not want to think so much as to not think. Lost in some kind of oblivion would be nice, not that sleep was any respite considering the way his dreams had left him panting and waking up and tangled with the sheets and whispering Harry's name.

Come to think of it, if he want for a walk perhaps he would get the chance to hex Lupin into the lake, and that would be rather satisfying. He dressed and took his cloak, scarf, and gloves, as the chill in the air was quite a lot though the breeze was down.

He walked across the grounds and managed not to think too many thoughts as he went. All he had to do was focus on his steps, one foot in front of the other, and the grass, and the view of the lake glistening in the early morning sun. He began the circuit of the lake and found himself remembering the first time he'd come down here.

It was back when he had been a student himself, not that he liked to remember those days particularly, as Severus Snape had been one of the less popular boys in his form. The other students had made fun of him for who knows what – he wasn't pretty enough, perhaps, or friendly (at all); he was too clever, and he had his mother's sullen attitude. On top of that he had never made a secret of being queer, even in those days when that sort of thing wasn't done, and he had always found it disgustingly ironic that two of the boys in a group that had used to target him rather mercilessly were now in a homosexual relationship.

Not that Lupin would have any explanation for that, of course. He would just shrug – as Severus had in fact asked him about this very thing before – and say that you never know how things were going to go. He'd also apologized from time to time about some of the things the other boys had done – for not stopping them, or some such rubbish, though Severus didn't really like to think about those days even if it was to accept an apology.

At that thought, he couldn't help thinking that he might be willing to listen to an apology from Harry, not that one was likely to be forthcoming. No, after last night, Severus would almost certainly never see the boy again. Not after he threw him out.

He allowed himself a moment to imagine what might have happened if Harry had come back, just once more, full of apologies and willingness to do what he was told. Strangely, he had the idea that Harry would never be a true submissive, though he seemed willing to play the part on occasion. And yet Severus found himself even more drawn to the young man for his... what was the word? Impulsiveness?


Severus frowned. That word always made him think of Gryffindors, which was not a good thing. Not impulsiveness, then. Harry had a sort of inner resolve that was rather compelling. His frown deepened.

Lupin had been right, he realized with an inward groan. He wanted someone on a more regular basis. He was tired of always being the one to enforce the submissive posture, of breaking them in for other Masters, who got to enjoy the benefit of what he had done. He wanted something more predictable, Merlin help him. The idea of having someone longer term, for himself, who was already familiar with his likes and dislikes… the way Harry had been when he'd found out Severus was the one waiting for him, and wanted to stay anyway. And Severus had just sent him off.

He was an idiot.

Then he saw Lupin, making his way down the slope of the grass toward the lake shore. He wasn't headed right for Severus, but the only way Severus could avoid coming within hailing range of him was to backtrack all the way around the lake, and he was not about to do that. Actually, on the contrary, he was rather looking forward to the confrontation, as this time Lupin was entirely in the wrong.

"'Lo, Severus," Lupin called out as he drew closer.

"Lupin."

"How are you this morning?"

"Let's cut the small talk and discuss a matter of some importance. You set me up."

"I always set you up, Severus. A new one every week, almost every week for the last – "

"That's not what I mean. You set me up with him."

At least Lupin didn't try to deny it. "How did it go?" he said, a small smile on his lips.

"Not well. I threw him out of the room in the first two minutes."

"You – what?" Lupin faltered.

"You heard me. If you think I'm going to let someone – anyone – manipulate me like that, you don't know me as well as I thought you did."

"I – Severus, I wasn't trying to manipulate you –"

"Liar." Severus was seething now.

Lupin paused. "All right," he said. "I set you up. I set Harry up, too, in case you didn't realize that. You should have seen the way he was acting–"

"Lupin. You are failing to grasp a very important piece of information in this whole matter." Severus' fists were clenched tight at his sides: in the chill air it was rapidly becoming painful.

"And what would that be?"

"He – doesn't – want – me. He doesn't want anything to do with me. Even if he was looking for repeat custom, which he assured me he wasn't–"

"He was, he told me specifically–"

"Even then, as I say, he was expecting someone else. He doesn't... want... me." The words were like glass shards in his throat and Severus realized again that he was going to lose his grip on his temper.

Lupin was shaking his head. "You're wrong," he said. "He told me – God, Severus, you know I'm not supposed to tell you this – he told he wished you did take people a second time! The only way I got him to agree to see 'someone else' was by playing up how much like you they were! I only set him up with you, no one else was even on the list for a second!"

Severus blinked. He could believe it – it was almost exactly the same thing Lupin had said to him that made him agree to "someone else," after all. But that would mean that Harry had… wanted to see him a second time after all, and he… he had thrown him out of the room?

He was staring at the lake, he realized, and Lupin put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I…" He needed a chance to process this. It was not something he could think about while standing here chatting with Lupin. But then he realized, it didn't matter what he came up with, because the last thing he had said to Harry had been perfectly crystal clear.

"Severus?"

"Leave me alone, Lupin." Severus felt his eyes begin to sting, and he wanted to be alone before anything else happened. He had made a terrible mistake. He pushed roughly past Lupin and headed towards the main building of the school.

"Severus? I can talk to him, if you like." Lupin was following him, and Severus needed to put an end to this once and for all. With the barest of glances around to make sure they were completely alone, he turned and faced Lupin down, from a few feet higher on the slope which just gave him the edge of height as well.

"You don't understand, Lupin. I don't want to talk to you again. Ever. I don't want to be set up with someone else, not this week or next or ever again." He'd pushed away the only person who'd – Harry had wanted to see him again? "Leave me alone."

This time when he turned, he didn't hear anyone following him.

---

Harry had to pinch his arm, hard, to make sure he wasn't dreaming. But it wasn't what he'd been expecting at all.

Pansy had told him that Rannoch Station, out in the wild countryside of northern Scotland, would look deserted. She had said to ignore the desolation and take the one path away from the station, up into the hills, and right up to the "DO NOT ENTER" signs. Or maybe it was "GO AWAY;" she hadn't been sure what the exact wording was. But she said the sign was definitely there and he should definitely wait right beside it until someone came along.

The first problem had come when he'd arrived at the station to find it just outside a bustling little town. If this was Pansy's idea of "deserted," he would hate to see what she called "built up." Little old-fashioned shops lined the hard-packed streets, and men, women, and children were moving about on errands or stopping to chat with one another. None of them were paying him the slightest bit of attention.

At least he'd been able to find the path Pansy had told him to take, and headed up through the low hills along the moor. He was bundled up in his warmest gear to keep the chill out, but Scotland must have been on a different weather system than what he was used to. It looked like it was threatening to snow, which he was not prepared for at all.

Then he turned a corner in the path and had come to this vision, the one that made him pinch himself to make sure he was awake.

There was a castle, farther along the very path he was walking. It hung along a series of cliffs above a small, glistening lake, looking for all the world as if it should have tumbled into the water a hundred years ago. Or maybe a thousand; parts of the castle looked old.

The path led to a gate in the fence that surrounded the castle. There were no signs on the gate at all, and Harry wondered how Pansy had managed to leave this part out of her description.

Slowly, he stepped up to the gate and examined it. It looked old, but well cared for, and the chain winding through the bars made it clear that it was locked.

Evening was coming on, early here in the highlands, and Harry had no desire to be stuck out here in the snow waiting for someone to come along – after all, if Pansy had been wrong about how busy the station was, maybe she was wrong about this too.

He sighed and put his hand on the chain. To his shock, it began to move, sliding through the bars until it was entirely on one side of the gate. He pushed, and the gate opened.

Too bewildered to wonder what had happened, he started for the castle. With a little bit of luck he could make it indoors before it began to snow, and he could figure out where to go from there.

As he neared, he began to see just how huge the castle really was. The whole thing was stone and scrollwork, built with gorgeous attention to detail, and every step brought some new piece or touch into view that he hadn't noticed before. Battlements, towers, crenellations along one side; the whole thing a beautiful sprawl of wings and additions as if someone had built it without caring how much the odd shape would increase the heating or maintenance costs (which Harry had heard time and again from his uncle as sensible reasons why everyone should live in squat cubes of houses). It was breathtaking, and it was calling out to Harry, drawing him in.

The front steps were a work of art. He almost hated to step on them, but it was the only way to get to the doors. This time, he wasn't surprised when he was able to open them and go inside.

He moved through the front hall without thinking, letting his feet choose corridors and stairs, only belatedly realizing that he was always moving down. He barely noticed the few people he passed in the halls – they registered as younger than him, and he was aware of some kind of uniform, scholarly robes of some sort, and somewhere in the back of his head he decided it must be a school.

He found himself, some time later, looking at a door in what must be one of the lower floors of the castle. He had no real idea why this particular door was the one he'd been drawn to.

"Brothers or sisters doing strange things?" he muttered, remembering Pansy's odd question from the night before. "Hell, I'm doing things I don't understand, now."

Suddenly the door opened, and Harry wondered for a wild second if it had somehow heard him, until he saw who stood on the other side, and all rational thought fled from his mind: Number Thirteen.

"Uh... hi," Harry said.

Number Thirteen stared at him.

"You said not to back to the Leaky Cauldron, and I'm not, but I needed to tell you that I'm sorry I didn't... I mean, Mr. Lupin set us up, obviously, and I think we should both be angry with him instead of each other." Harry took a breath. "I mean, I'd like to start over. If you're willing."

Number Thirteen moved then, taking hold of Harry's wrist and pulling him bodily into the room beyond. The door slammed and Harry barely had time to register a neat, sparsely furnished sitting room before Number Thirteen gripped his shoulders and then there was nowhere he could look but those eyes.

"How did you get here?" Number Thirteen rasped.

"I... I had some help."

"Obviously," the other man muttered. "If Lupin was the one that let you in the gate, I swear I'll..."

Harry shook his head. "No one let me in the gate. It opened when I touched it."

Number Thirteen's hands dropped, and he took a step back. "Impossible."

"Look, I don't really know what this place is, but I'm not a liar. I walked up to the gate and touched it and it opened." When Number Thirteen didn't answer right away, Harry went on less stridently, "Can I assume you're not going to throw me out this time?"

There was a moment of silence, then, "Yes."

Harry blinked. "Yes you are, or yes I can assume that?"

"Harry..." Number Thirteen reached a hand out again, this time letting his fingertips trail down Harry's arm. "You're really here," he murmured.

That sounded encouraging. "Yes," Harry said.

"I don't care how you got here," Number Thirteen said abruptly. "I want you to stay a while, Harry, and I... I don't know how to ask you."

"How about you just say, 'Harry, let's do the courting thing later, but for now let me show you my bedroom?'" For a minute Harry held his breath – had he overstepped his bounds?

Number Thirteen stepped close to him again, sliding his hands up Harry's arms and around to his back. Harry began to relax, but his body couldn't help but tense in anticipation when Number Thirteen began to speak again.

"Harry," he murmured, mouth close to Harry's ear. "Let's do the courting thing later, but for now... Let me show you my bedroom." Lips pressed against his neck, and Harry shivered.

"Oh, yes, er... yes sir."

"Call me Severus," Number Thirteen said, pulling Harry's body against his.

"Severus," Harry agreed, and kissed him.

---

Some time later, they walked leisurely through the corridors of the castle, Harry asking questions about everything – architecture and moving portraits, ghosts and history – while Severus puzzled over the mystery of Harry's entry into the school grounds.

"Tell me one more time," he said, and Harry sighed impatiently. He would much rather talk about the things he was seeing, Severus knew, and he tried to sympathize by remembering the first time he'd seen Hogwarts.

"She said I wouldn't see anything, but there was a whole town by the station. Then she said there would be 'keep out' signs, and instead I saw a gate. I touched it and it opened and I walked right in."

He would have to remember to thank Miss Parkinson later, Severus decided. "Obviously, she thought you were a Muggle. The gate can be seen by Squibs, of course–"

"What's a Squib?"

"Any child of a wizard who is not himself a wizard," Severus answered automatically. If Harry was a Squib, though, it still wouldn't explain how he'd opened the gate.

Harry paused to look out one of the windows in the high corridor they were currently in. "What do they call children when both parents are magical, then?"

Severus shrugged slightly. "It doesn't matter. As long as one parent is a wizard, then the children will be either Squibs or wizards."

"And everyone else is called a Muggle."

"Yes."


Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. "Pansy asked if I had a brother or sister who could do 'strange' things. She must have thought I was a Squib, at first. But when I told her I was an only child, she concluded I was a Muggle."

Severus nodded. Squibs were often part of their family's wizarding life, but Muggles would have no knowledge at all of things like Hogsmeade and Floo calls. Still... there was something in the logic was bothering him. Harry turned to face him just then, and he completely lost his train of thought when Harry's green eyes found his.

"She concluded I was a Muggle, because I didn't know about Floo calls. But what if I had a wizard parent who just didn't tell me about magic?"

"Impossible. Wizards are obligated to send all children that are not Squibs to school to learn how to use their magic properly."

"But what if–"

"It just isn't done, Harry." Harry could not be a wizard. Wizards did not go unnoticed, living in the Muggle world until age twenty-one. But it would explain why the gate had opened for him. Severus shook his head, but Harry was already taking a breath to continue.

"Severus, my parents died when I was a baby and the only thing I know about them is what my aunt and uncle chose to tell me. Maybe they lied. Maybe my mother was really a witch, and she fell in love with someone who wasn't a wizard, and they had a baby and that's why her family hated her – or maybe he was the wizard, or maybe they both were. I don't know. All I know is when I stepped into this place, I felt like I was home." Harry waved a hand, taking in the stone floors, the suits of armor, the portraits hanging on the walls. "I don't want to leave, and I don't want to go back to university. I want to know why my heart feels like it's finally free. I want to know how this place came to be, the history–" he put his hand on the wall– "of every brick, every painting, every person that ever walked these halls."

Harry's breath caught, and Severus stepped forward to grasp his arm. There was a simple question that could take care of this, he realized.

"What were your parents' names?" he asked quietly.

"My mother was Lily Evans..." Harry paused, obviously hopeful, and Severus had to shake his head. He'd never heard the name. "And my father was James Potter."

"Potter..." Severus frowned. That did sound familiar, actually. He cast his memory back, to school days he'd tried to forget about, and came up with a vision of a boy with unruly black hair and spectacles, one of the Gryffindors that had made his life so difficult during his time at Hogwarts.

He looked at Harry, seeing him through the memory of James Potter, and there could be no mistaking the similarity. "Your father was a wizard, Harry."

Harry's face split into a broad grin. "Really? Then I am a wizard? Maybe?"

"Not 'maybe.' You have a wizard parent and you're not a Squib, which means you are a wizard – or perhaps I should say will be, once we've got you trained up."

"What do I need to do? Will you teach me?" Harry was almost trembling with excitement.

"Before you can do anything, you'll need a wand. And yes, I will teach you. I do know a few things about magic." Severus felt the tug of a smile pulling at his lips.

Harry threw his arms around Severus. "Oh, I'm sure you have lots of things you can teach me."

His suggestive tone sent a thrill through Severus' body, and he decided there was something to the idea of letting the other person have some initiative when it came to the bedroom.

Perhaps Harry had a lot to teach him in return.