InsaneJournal

we travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls

Anais Nin

It’s during another dull potions class that Harry first notices the familiar triangle on the spot where the base of Snape’s thumb meets his wrist. It’s small and exact, a precise match to the triangle Harry has on his hip. Because Harry is thirteen, Snape hates him and he’s getting the sneaking suspicion that he might be dead by the time he’s eighteen, he puts the peculiar mark to the back of his mind and determines not to dwell on it.

*

Harry thinks about the triangle on Snape’s wrist again when he’s sixteen and he stumbles across a book on soul bonding. He studies the colourful picture of a witch and wizard, displaying their matching tattoos and smiling for the camera as bright strands and sparks of magic swirl around them. Because Harry is sixteen, Snape still hates him and he’s now almost positive he’s going to be dead by the time he’s eighteen, he closes the book, puts it back on the shelf and uses a spell to try to get rid of the tattoo later that evening. The spell turns his hair temporarily purple, leaves a bruise that hurts when he presses his thumb against it and has absolutely no other discernible impact on the tattoo itself, which remains as dark and constant as ever.

*

Harry doesn’t have much time to think about his tattoo straight after the war. He’s too busy being shocked that he survived, not to mention trying to sort out corruption at the Ministry and getting the Dementors swiftly removed from Azkaban. Then there’s the whole I think I might be gay thing. That’s unexpected. He’s so busy doing serious (and not so serious) things involving Ministry edicts, training to become an Auror and taking part in an ill-advised one-off charity photo shoot involving no shirt, plenty of oil and a smattering of glitter, he barely has time to trace his fingers over the tattoo when the nights are long and shadowed. He definitely doesn’t have time to recall the perfectly straight lines of the triangle on Snape’s wrist, imagine a flash of fire behind Snape’s dark gaze or toss and turn to unhappy dreams of Snape whispering look at me as the light left his eyes. He has no time whatsoever to imagine what his name might taste like, falling from Snape’s lips in the middle of a kiss.

Besides, Snape still hates him, so ignoring the fact Harry may or may not share a soul bond with him is probably for the best.

*

Harry is reminded of his tattoo again when it begins to itch, a few months after his eighteenth birthday. It’s not unpleasant, exactly, but there’s a distinct niggling sensation which is both annoying and worrying. The last Harry heard from Shacklebolt, Snape was making his living as a freelance potions consultant somewhere miles away from anyone in an unplottable house, precariously perched on a cliff and accessible only by two Floo journeys, one difficult to acquire Portkey and a final stretch on a broom which would make Viktor Krum nervous.

With a sigh, Harry knocks on the door to Kingsley’s office.

He’s been due some time off for a while.

*

“What the blazes are you doing here, Potter?”

“I was in the area.” Harry pushes a hand through his hair and gives Snape a hopeful grin.

“I make a point of living somewhere that is sufficiently remote so as not to be in anyone’s area.” Snape’s eyebrow curves in a sceptical arch as he gives Harry a quick look up and down. “I suppose you might as well come in.”

“Thanks.” Harry props his broom against the door and begins to unlace his boots, so he doesn’t get mud on the carpet.

“No need to take off your shoes.” Snape’s voice sounds from the kitchen as the kettle begins to whistle. “You won’t be staying long.”

With a muttered curse, Harry laces his boots back up again and makes his way inside the small house.

*

“I assume you’re here on Ministry business.” Snape blows on his tea when they’re settled, seated at a rickety table in Snape’s kitchen. The cottage is surprisingly homely, full of books and warm, earthy tones which chase the chill from Harry’s body.

“Sort of.” Harry shrugs. He’s not sure how to broach the topic of soul markings. He’s had some time to get used to the possibility that there might be a connection between him and Snape beyond a history of acrimony. Harry pushed it to the back of his mind for as long as possible, until it got to the point where he couldn’t stop thinking about it. The strange idea stuck, and he spent far too much time studying old pictures of Snape, taking in the curve of his slender backside in his dark trousers and the voluminous robes which shifted and twisted in the air when Snape moved. Now Harry’s closer to Snape than he’s been in several months and he’s being scrutinised like a poorly chopped flobberworm. It’s a little disheartening. “I’m not here on official business exactly.”

Snape puts his mug down, his gaze intense. “If your visit isn’t about the Cuthbert case or because Kingsley requires additional assistance, then why on earth are you in Cornwall?”

“I’m actually on holiday. I thought I might explore a bit of the area.” Harry doesn’t want Snape to be forced into taking any drastic decisions based on a sense of duty as opposed to desire. As far as Harry can tell, the adverse consequences of not acting on soul markings only manifest when a person becomes aware of the markings and avoids contact with their intended partner. Harry isn’t avoiding contact. He’s gone above and beyond just to make contact. He doesn’t particularly like the idea of Snape entertaining him out of some sort of compulsion, so he decides not to say anything about the mark on his hip at all. His gaze drops to Snape’s wrist, tracing the lines of the little black triangle.

Snape snorts softly. “I hope you are under no illusions that I might entertain you during your break. I am a busy man and my home is not a bed and breakfast. Not to mention December is a peculiar time to visit this part of the world.”

“I like the storms and rain.” Harry shrugs, hoping it sounds convincing. He actually does enjoy flying when the sea’s at its most violent and the rain lashes down around him. It makes him feel alive. “I’m staying near Trevone. I’m going to fly there after I finish my tea.” Harry takes a breath. “I did wonder if we could do something while I’m here, maybe.”

“Such as?” Snape sits back, contemplating Harry. “Do you wish to exchange war stories or drink brandy beside the fire over a game of chess?” Snape’s lip curves into a sneer. “Perhaps we can discuss one of the multiple occasions we would have delighted in one another’s demise.”

Harry swallows back a familiar wave of anger. He wonders if he’s mistaken about the soul mark. It’s just a triangle. Triangles are dead common, and he can’t really tell if they’re identical in size without comparing them close-up, which would involve Snape getting up close and personal with Harry’s hip. At the moment, Snape doesn’t look like he wants to get up close and personal with any part of Harry’s body. Harry’s hopeful visit feels more ridiculous by the second. He doesn’t even know if he finds Snape that attractive. Harry’s spent so long dwelling on the fact he might share a bond with Snape, he had almost forgotten about the fact Snape barely tolerates Harry at the best of times. He created a fantasy with no reference to the reality of his fractious history with Snape. Harry doesn’t enjoy being made to feel like a fifteen-year-old all over again, and the familiar anger bubbles under the surface of his skin as his initial optimism begins to waver.

“I thought we should get to know one another. Put the past behind us.”

“Why?” Snape still looks suspicious. “I am quite content in my solitude. I have precious little desire to spend my already limited time developing a friendship I am certain I do not need.”

“I’m trying to resolve unfinished business.” Harry takes a breath, trying to find the right words. “I think it would be good for me.”

“Do you?” Snape doesn’t look convinced. He pours himself a brandy and doesn’t offer Harry any, watching him with the same, dark stare. “Did it ever occur to you that it might not be good for me?”

Harry shrugs. “I think having an opportunity to put things straight is long overdue for both of us. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before we have to work together. I would rather address any issues between us now, rather than in the middle of a case.” Harry is quite proud of himself for sounding so mature and professional.

Snape mutters something impolite under his breath and reaches for more brandy.

He doesn’t seem impressed in the slightest.

*

They make small talk about the weather, the process of rebuilding Hogwarts and why Snape is so reluctant to share his brandy, before the conversation dries up entirely. The mark on Harry’s hip almost burns as Snape brushes past him, but still he can’t bring himself to say anything. He wants to prolong his visit but with Snape so clearly uninterested, even the small talk is flat and deflated. Harry would almost prefer the fight and snark of their years at Hogwarts to the bland conversation of strangers with little in common.

“I imagine you will visit Padstow during your travels.” Snape hands Harry his coat, as Harry stands awkwardly in the hall. “There are a number of overpriced restaurants. I highly recommend the local, non-celebrity endorsed fish and chips.”

“Thanks.” Harry swallows, the itch on his hip more niggling and aggravating than ever. There’s something about Snape’s obvious eagerness to get Harry out of his house which makes his heart clench painfully in his chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.” With a shaky breath, Harry takes one last ditch attempt to entice Snape into conversation. “I could get some for you too, if you like. Maybe you could show me around Padstow.”

“I’m sure you can find your way around easily enough. There’s a harbour, a handful of shops and a couple of decent pubs. Even you should be able to manage without a tour guide.” Snape strides to the door, his back to Harry. There’s a tension in his shoulders which Harry can’t quite read, but his voice is the same dispassionate tone he adopted shortly after Harry’s arrival. “There’s no need to push this peculiar agenda of yours too far. Civility shouldn’t be a problem if we are required to join forces in the future. We are both adults, after all.”

“Right. Civility.” The mark on Harry’s hip flares and he grits his teeth against the way it itches and burns hot on his skin. He was stupid coming here. Stupid to think Snape might actually be interested in spending time with Harry, let alone consider him as a potential partner. Harry doesn’t even know if Snape’s that way inclined, and it would be just his luck to share a bonding mark with a straight man who probably still dislikes Harry just as much as he ever did.

Snape tuts under his breath. “Let Kingsley know I will have the potion he requested with him before the new year.”

“I will.” Harry opens the door, a gust of salty air chilling his skin. “I’ll just get my—” Harry looks for his broom, which he propped carefully against the wall and finds it in tatters on the rocks below Snape’s house, clearly caught by a violent gust of wind “—broom.”

“You bloody idiot.” Snape yanks Harry back inside, slamming the door behind them.

“I can just Apparate,” Harry offers. He rummages in his pocket for his wand. He’s going to miss his broom.

“It’s unsafe to Apparate or Disapparate from this location.” Snape glares at Harry. “I have set some very advanced wards, much like those found in Hogwarts. I refuse to start dismantling them just for your convenience.”

Harry had forgotten about Snape’s stupid wards in his embarrassment at the lacklustre meeting. “Then I’ll walk until I reach somewhere I can Apparate from.” Harry tugs his scarf around his neck. He doesn’t much fancy going out now. It’s dark and the wind’s howling. He’s probably going to topple off a cliff in the rain just looking for somewhere to Apparate from safely. He’s starting to regret his impromptu visit to Snape. He should have just put up with the itch on his hip for a while longer. If anything, the visit has just made the itch worse – painful now, instead of simply irritating.

“You’ll do no such thing. I refuse to be responsible for the untimely demise of the great Harry Potter.” Snape rolls his eyes. “You might as well stay this evening. You can make your journey in the morning. Preferably before I wake.”

“Stay with you?” Harry swallows, staring at Snape. He doesn’t miss the splash of colour in Snape’s cheekbones before he turns away from Harry.

“I have a spare room. It’s not the levels of grandeur I’m sure you’re used to, but I believe you will find it adequate. I eat a light supper and retire before ten.”

Harry’s stomach grumbles and he takes off his boots before following Snape back into the kitchen. A small tendril of hope flares in his belly. “I haven’t eaten all day. It’s a bloody nightmare travelling here. I had to wrangle with the Portkey office in Bristol for an hour just to get to Penzance.”

Snape harrumphs. “I imagine it didn’t occur to you there might be a reason I choose to live somewhere relatively inaccessible?”

“Oh, it occurred to me alright.” Harry gives Snape a tentative grin. “I like a challenge.”

“Is that so?” Snape’s gaze is dark and intense, the air in the small room carrying a strange energy which travels the length of Harry’s spine, warming his skin and making his heart thrum harder in his chest. “Will cheese, bread and a little pork pie suffice?” Snape changes the subject swiftly, his eyes travelling over Harry once more. “You’re clearly not eating enough.”

Suddenly self-conscious about his scrawny frame which never quite filled out the way he thought it might, heat rises in Harry’s cheeks and he shrugs half-heartedly. “We can’t all be Oliver Wood.”

“No.” Snape puts the kettle on and uses his wand to Summon various items of food, each one looking more delicious than the last. “It was an observation, not a criticism.”

Harry isn’t sure what to say to that, so he tucks into a generous slice of pork pie and says nothing at all.

*

True to his word, Snape retires soon after supper with the excuse of needing to complete some research before he can sleep. He shows Harry to the cosy guest bedroom and gives Harry directions to the nearest point he can Apparate from. The message is clear that Snape doesn’t intend to be awake when Harry leaves in the morning.

“You will be able to purchase a replacement broom from Truro. It looks like a Muggle pet shop, but the owner is a wizard who supplies brooms to Diagon Alley. They’re as good as any Firebolt.”

“Thanks.” Harry clears his throat. “Thanks for the room for the night and the food. It was good.”

Snape inclines his head. He looks almost as if he wishes to say something else, but he doesn’t. Instead, he closes the bedroom door behind himself without so much as a murmured good night.

With a sigh, Harry cleans his teeth and splashes water on his face. He goes to the loo and stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t exactly look brilliant. There are dark shadows under his eyes from the multiple sleepless nights he’s had since the mark on his hip became harder to ignore. His hair is windswept and lively, caught in messy tufts after flying close to the salty sea-spray. He is thin, just as he’s always been. His t-shirt reveals his collarbone and the curve of his neck, the straight, firm line of his jaw, which is rough with light stubble. Harry can’t help but wonder what he was thinking, turning up unshaved and pale, hoping Snape might…what? Be flattered by Harry’s efforts? Express delight at the offer of an olive branch? Fall into Harry’s arms and declare his eternal devotion?

“You’re an idiot,” Harry tells the mirror. He points a finger at his reflection, in case there can be any doubt. “A bloody idiot.”

The mirror doesn’t respond, and Harry unshrinks his weekend case, extracting some comfortable flannel pyjamas and sliding under the fresh, crisp sheets. It’s rare that Harry is in bed before midnight, yet there’s something about the sound of the crashing waves, the fresh sea air and the strangely comforting scent of potions and Snape’s spicy cologne that lulls Harry into a deep, dreamless sleep.

*

It’s just as it always is. The river running through the forest is slick black, tar-like and bubbling. The trees stretch upwards blocking out all light from the sun, the moon or stars. Something pops in the shadows and robed figures push into the clearing.

“The Dark Lord is back.”

The wind whispers and something hisses Harry’s name. He’s bound and breathless, everything aches and his throat is raw from screaming. He can’t even remember the last bout of Cruciatus. He just knows he’s been trapped deep in the forest for some time now. He also knows there’s no escape from the dark and sleepless night – no more room for love no hope that there will be anyone rushing in to save him. There’s nobody. Just broken bodies of people he loves and voices whispering his name in the darkness with malevolent intent.

Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Harry Potter.

The spell hits Harry with unstoppable force and his body lifts, jerks and arches beneath it, pain searing through his limbs and burning through his veins. He opens his mouth and screams.

“Potter!”

Harry twists and turns, trying to cower back from the hands which pin him down.

“Stop, please. Stop it, stop.”

“Harry.”

The voice is low and insistent, familiar and not like the others. It breaks through the screams and whispers, the hands clutching Harry’s shoulders warm instead of painful. He reaches out, grasping for something, and finds a solid, comforting heat.

“Please.” His voice comes out in a shallow gasp, his throat ragged and aching. “Please.” He tugs the warmth closer, finding himself pressed gently back on soft pillows by warm hands.

“I’ve got you.”

The voice. So familiar and warm. Harry blinks and the blurry figure sitting upright on the bed comes into focus. “Professor?”

“It’s just a dream. Nothing more. Just a bad dream.” Snape’s voice is gruff, and Harry looks around, disoriented.

“Where am I?”

“At my home in Cornwall, where you are apparently vacationing. Making a nuisance of yourself, as always.” Snape’s voice is clipped but his words are bellied by the way he brushes his long fingers through Harry’s hair, his thumb briefly sliding over Harry’s scar. Harry takes a breath, the memory of his long journey and awkward conversation with Snape flooding back.

“I’m sorry for waking you.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” Snape clears his throat and he moves to a standing position. Harry misses the warmth of his body and the gentle flex of his fingers through Harry’s hair almost immediately.

“Snape, I—” Harry breaks off. His head is still woozy from his dreams, his brain like cotton wool. “I’m not in Cornwall on holiday. I’m just...just here to see you.”

“Ah.” Snape’s eyes are dark, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I see.” He pauses, appearing to weigh up his words. “Are these nightmares a regular occurrence?”

“Yeah.” Harry pulls the sheets up to his chin. “A bit. I can cast a silencing charm, if it would help.”

Snape snorts and mutters something Harry doesn’t quite catch. “You will do no such thing.” He flicks his wand and he hands Harry a small bottle. “Drink this. It’s a temporary measure only. Prolonged use of potions such as this have side effects I can assure you are unpleasant in the extreme. However, it will help you sleep tonight.”

“Thanks.” Harry knocks back the potion. It’s sweet and has a light fizz, like Muggle sherbet. It reminds him of the sweets in Dumbledore’s office. His eyes are already getting droopy and he battles to focus on Snape. “I don’t want to go tomorrow.” His words spill out of him uncontrollably and he can hear a ragged sigh from Snape.

“Sleep, Harry.” Snape pauses in the doorway and Harry wants to say something else, but the words slide away from him as he falls back into a deep sleep.

*

When Harry wakes he can smell the delicious scent of sausages cooking in the oven, his stomach grumbling despite his ample supper from the previous night. He swallows as he recalls his revelation from the previous night and the stroke of Snape’s long fingers through his hair. He pads downstairs and watches as Snape busies himself frying eggs and stirring something in a saucepan which his wand hovers over.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.” Snape doesn’t turn from the stove. “You might as well sit. I’ve made enough for two.”

“Thanks.” Harry clears his throat and takes a seat, helping himself to a piping mug of tea from the pot on the table. “Sorry about last night.”

“Why must you always be such an insufferable Gryffindor?” Snape turns, finally. He looks as if he’s just freshly showered, his hair slick and damp. He’s wearing a slim cut black jumper and dark grey wool trousers. Just watching him sends a pulse of arousal through Harry and he can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed by his flannel pyjamas. He curses himself for not dressing before coming downstairs, once again completely wrong-footed by Snape.

“Excuse me?” Harry can’t help but bristle at Snape’s comment. He’s rewarded with a scowl.

“Am I expected to read your mind? You turn up on my doorstep with a convoluted story about an impromptu Cornish holiday and a festive desire to make amends, which didn’t exactly ring true. What do you imagine a man with my history might think when a Ministry official turns up unannounced?”

Harry swallows. “I don’t know.”

“No.” Snape glowers. “You don’t. He imagines he is under surveillance, Potter. Imagines that perhaps at long last those rumours that he’s not to be trusted have stuck.”

“I didn’t think.” Harry pushes a hand through his hair and winces. Of course Snape is a paranoid arse who thinks Harry would come all the way to Cornwall to spy on him. “It’s not the Ministry, I swear. It’s all to do with me. I should have just told you from the start.”

“You should. If last night is anything to go by, whatever it is you’re concealing does not seem to be doing either of us any good whilst it remains a secret.” Snape rolls his eyes and gestures to the table. “Instead of spending the day working on my potions I am cooking like a glorified house-elf whilst you lounge around in your sleep wear making my kitchen look untidy.”

Harry glances at his attire and a wave of shame claws through him. Snape’s right, of course. He’s just turned up with half the story – not even that – and the expectation that Snape would talk to him, feed him and spend his precious time with a former student he only ever barely tolerated. At the same time, a wave of anger pulses through Harry. A desire to cut through the forced, polite interactions about fish and chips and skirting around all mention of the war. His dream is still fresh in his mind, together with the light swipe of Snape’s calloused thumb over his skin and the murmured I’ve got you which Harry still thinks he might have imagined.

“I’ll change if it bothers you that much.” Harry is about to stand, when Snape shakes his head and glares at him.

“You will do no such thing. You will eat your breakfast and tell me the real purpose for your visit. I am hardly likely to take offence at somebody’s clothing.” Snape pauses and then he continues, his voice smooth and dispassionate. “How frequently do you have dreams such as the one you experienced last night?”

“I don’t know.” Harry clears his throat, a further wave of embarrassment crashing over him. He hates that Snape saw him like that. “A lot. The potion helped.”

“Unfortunately, that particular potion must be used sparingly.” Snape dishes up two generous plates of food, sliding one in front of Harry before sitting opposite him with his own plate. “I believe I might be able to assist with a more suitable solution.”

“You can?” Harry swallows a mouthful of his toast, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with a napkin. “Thanks.”

Snape inclines his head. “You are not the only person of my acquaintance who has need to forget the war from time to time.”

Harry thinks of the circles Snape still moves in, the pictures of him and Draco which would send an unexpected spike of jealousy through Harry’s veins. He wonders if Snape himself has bad dreams. “Do you mean Malfoy?”

Snape’s eyebrows knit in a frown. “I wouldn’t share his business any more than I intend to share yours.”

Harry can’t help but be relieved that Snape doesn’t intend to gossip about his odd visit and inability to sleep without being overcome by bad dreams. “I know you wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have asked.” Harry takes another mouthful of his food. “Anything you can do would be great.”

“If you wish, you can return around noon tomorrow. I will have something for you then.” Snape dabs at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “In the meantime, I assume you are not here because you require medication.”

“No.” Harry takes another delicious mouthful of breakfast and tries to find the right words. He nods towards Snape’s wrist when he’s finished chewing his food, after taking a large gulp of his tea. “That triangle of yours is a bit like mine.”

Snape’s eyes slide to Harry’s wrist then up again. His cheeks turn dusky pink. “Don’t be preposterous.”

“I’m not.” Harry pats his hip. “I’ve got one here. It’s why I noticed yours ages ago. I’ve never had a tattoo, so I’m pretty sure mine’s a soul bond mark.”

“It could be any manner of things.” Snape doesn’t sound entirely convinced.

“Like what?” Harry shakes his head when Snape doesn’t seem able to provide an alternative answer. “Yeah, thought so. Anyway, when it started to get annoying I decided to come and see you. I wanted to see if it might help.”

“And does it?” Snape’s voice is low and crisp, his plate of food seemingly forgotten.

“A bit. I think so.” Harry shrugs. “It didn’t help all that much when you told me to go, but being around you makes it less itchy. I know how these things work, though. If I’m the only person who’s aware of the match, it’s only going to affect me. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“How noble.” Snape rolls his eyes. “In the process neglecting to consider my position in the matter.”

Anger rolls through Harry. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to know your position on any of this? All I know is that the last time you saw me was during the Wizengamot trials. You told me I looked like a bedraggled kneazle, needed to run a comb through my hair and suggested I try to avoid swaggering around the Ministry like I own the place.”

Snape huffs. “I have never seen someone soaking wet from head to toe and yet still capable of swaggering like—”

“I don’t swagger!” Harry heaves a breath, his anger making him raise his voice. He counts to ten and tries to adopt a more neutral tone. “I don’t even know if you like men.”

Snape pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you think it likely that your soul mate would be a heterosexual man?”

Harry snorts. It does sound a bit barmy when Snape puts it like that. “Knowing my luck, you never know. I didn’t exactly expect my soul mark to be matched by yours, if I’m honest.”

“Are you quite sure about this?” Snape glances at Harry’s hip.

“I can show you, if you like. It’s just a bit…” Harry waves his hand. He’s not sure how to show Snape without giving him a bit of an eyeful of other, more intimate things.

Snape mutters under his breath. “Very well. Eat your sausages, Potter. We can discuss this mess you’ve got us both into afterwards.”

Harry glares at Snape before tucking into his breakfast, the rumble in his stomach settling somewhat.

*

They don’t discuss it, though. Snape most pointedly avoids the topic until Harry is all packed up and ready to leave. The wind has calmed down somewhat and together they wander to a spot where Snape’s wards are no longer in place. Harry can almost feel the difference as he steps out of the cocoon of Snape’s powerful magic. There’s a distinct chill in the air without the background hum of magic which gathers and swirls around them like the salty tips of the cresting waves.

“Tomorrow, then.” Harry extends his hand because it seems like the polite thing to do. Snape gives it a disdainful look.

“Noon, sharp.”

“Got it.” Harry glances at Snape’s wrist, now covered with his white shirt sleeves, the triangle obscured from his sight. “What about the other stuff?”

Snape turns his eyes towards the sky. “We can discuss that tomorrow, too. I wish to undertake some research in the first instance.”

“Okay.” Harry wonders what Snape needs to research and why. Still, he can hardly begrudge him taking time to adjust to the strange discovery. It’s taken Harry years to wrap his head around and he’s still not sure he understands any of it.

There’s a pause and then Snape speaks, low and firm. “I would cast aside any romantic imaginings you may be harbouring. I have little desire to be bonded to another master through a marking on my skin.”

Harry swallows, his gaze instinctively going to Snape’s forearm where he knows the Dark Mark sits. Like the triangle, it is fully hidden by crisp, white cotton. “I just thought you should know.”

“Indeed.” Snape studies Harry, his expression pinched and sharp. “What were your hopes in coming here? Were you simply hoping to ease your discomfort?”

Harry tries to pick through the mess of thoughts occupying his brain from the moment the idea of visiting Snape first occurred to him. “I don’t know if I had any hope,” Harry says, honestly. “I just thought there must be a reason for it all. I thought there wasn’t much chance of finding out why someone has the barmy idea we’re a match made in heaven if we aren’t even speaking.”

“No.” Snape’s lips twitch. After giving Harry another long look, he turns on his heel. “Noon tomorrow, Potter. Don’t be late. You can bring chips if you must.”

Another tendril of hope unfurls inside Harry’s chest and he can’t help but smile as he watches Snape’s retreating back. “Will do.”

Harry watches until the door to Snape’s cottage closes, withdrawing his wand and starting his journey to Trevone.

*

It’s a bit peculiar standing crotch to nose with Snape, his hands large and firm on Harry’s hip as he examines the triangle. Peculiar and also a little arousing. Harry counts to ten and thinks of Ron and Hagrid snogging to take his mind off the way Snape’s hands feel against his skin and the way he seems particularly close to Harry’s cock which is altogether too eager to bring them closer still.

The chips went surprisingly well, and Harry was even offered a glass of wine this time. Snape was relaxed and less off-hand than the previous day, despite one or two pointed comments about Harry invading his peace and quiet. He gave Harry a potion to help him sleep, together with careful instructions about its usage. Then he asked Harry if he could see the corresponding soul mark, resulting in Harry standing in front of Snape with his jeans unbuckled and his arse twisted a little too close to Snape’s face to be entirely comfortable.

“Does it cause any reaction if I do this?” Severus presses his fingers gently against the mark on Harry’s hip and a wave of desire crashes over him with unexpected force.

“Y-yes. Fuck, yes.”

Severus removes his fingers from Harry’s hip, stroking them against Harry’s belly instead. His touch is still warm and welcome, sending sparks of pleasure along Harry’s skin. It doesn’t match the intensity of the press of Severus’ fingers against his tattoo, however. He lets Harry buckle his belt, before fixing him with a dark, intense stare. “How long have you known?”

“I saw your mark when I was thirteen. Didn’t really know what it was then. I ignored it for ages, even when I had some idea what it might be.”

“Is that so?” Severus hums, thoughtfully. “And yet, here you are. Most decidedly not ignoring it.”

“It was itchy, and I felt weird.” Harry shrugs, meeting Severus’ gaze. “I just wanted to know if they’re the same. Are they?”

Snape nods. “I believe so. Your reaction was also rather telling.” He looks as though he’s smirking.

Harry huffs and drops into a seat next to Snape, looking at him. “What the blazes do we do now, then?”

Snape looks thoughtful. “We determine why the universe has decided to match us together.” He pauses and raises an eyebrow at Harry. “You should know I treat anything the universe does with a healthy degree of scepticism and believe nothing to be pre-destined, fated or otherwise written on the stars.” Snape shudders as if even the turn of phrase bothers him.

“Excellent.” Harry rolls his eyes, because of course Snape is a prat who treats soul bonding like a poorly conducted potions hypothesis. “Where should we begin?”

Snape runs his tongue over his lip. The action is disconcerting and Harry shifts in his seat. “With questions for one another. I will not hesitate to use Occlumency if I believe you are lying.”

“I won’t lie.” Harry tips his jaw and meets Snape’s gaze head on. “Questions about anything?”

Snape nods. He doesn’t look concerned. “Try your best, Potter.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Harry’s lips tug into a wide smile. “I will.”

*

“Have you ever thought about fucking me?” Harry supposes he might as well start with the question he’s been dying to know the answer to for longer than he cares to consider. He highly suspects the answer is no, but sometimes he catches Snape looking at him with a certain heat behind his gaze which allows Harry to think perhaps this whole thing isn’t hopeless after all.

Snape sneers at Harry. “How banal. That’s your opening gambit?”

“Yes.” Harry nods, firmly. “Have you?”

Snape inclines his head. “On occasion. I am, after all, a gay man with eyes and you do have a tendency to parade your naked torso around in publications of a highly dubious nature.”

Harry bristles. “That was for charity.”

“I’m sure the orphanage was delighted by your naked contribution. I’m not sure all that oil was strictly necessary, however.”

Harry glares at Snape. “Sod off. It made you think about shagging me, so it can’t have been that ridiculous.” He pauses, rolling Snape’s words around in his head. “You said on occasion. Does that mean more than once?”

Snape’s eyebrows rise. “Is that your second question?”

“No.” Harry holds his hand up before Snape can answer and Harry loses one of his turns. He can read more than once into on occasion. Snape seems the sort to choose his words carefully. “Your turn.”

“Very well.” The corner of Snape’s mouth twists in a worrying smirk. “As you have lowered the tone, I believe I shall start with one of the questions I had intended to ask later. Have you ever been with or fantasised about a dominant partner?”

Harry swallows, his palms clammy and a flush of arousal coursing through him. It’s as if Snape has reached into the darkest corners of his mind and revealed all of the fantasies he doesn’t dwell on too closely. “Never been with.” His voice is gruff and a little thin. “Fantasised about, though.”

Snape’s eyes flare with interest. “I can’t imagine it being at all challenging for you to find sexual partners, if you so desire. Is there a reason you haven’t explored beyond fantasy?”

Harry shrugs, thinking about it carefully. He wants to be honest, somehow. As embarrassed as he might be, it doesn’t look as though Snape’s laughing at Harry. To the contrary, he looks interested. Very interested in Harry’s response. “Trust, I suppose. I don’t fancy that stuff being splashed all over the press. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to start,” he adds, with a shaky laugh.

“Hm.” Snape gives Harry a once over, his eyes raking over Harry as if he’s undressing him. Harry is suddenly conscious of the fact his jeans are not fully fastened, leaving precious little to the imagination as his body responds to the conversation. “A pity. I do believe you would enjoy such an encounter.”

“Yeah.” Harry takes a shuddery breath. “I think I would.” He adjusts himself and then leans back in his seat. “I’m not that experienced with much, though. I’m not sure I’d know what to do if it got fancier than the basics.”

“You have demonstrated a knack for learning through intuition and instinct.” Snape’s voice is smooth and seductive. “I imagine this would be no different.”

“Do you think?” Harry meets Snape’s gaze. There’s a heat behind it which makes him shiver and provides a couple of welcome images of all sorts of things he and Snape could be doing. Perhaps sex is intuitive, after all.

“I expect so.” Snape nods.

Harry frowns, a thought occurring to him. “Wait a minute, you found out loads of stuff then.”

Snape looks smug. “I did, didn’t I?”

Harry works through his next question in his mind, rephrasing it before he can ask it. If Snape’s going to attempt to throw Harry off with sex, two can play at that game. He shifts forward, his thumb brushing against the triangle on Snape’s wrist and hoping it elicits the same kind of reaction as Snape’s earlier investigation of Harry’s mark. “Is the thought of fucking me getting you hard?”

Snape bites back a low growl, his eyes flashing. “Yes,” he rasps. It’s exquisite, seeing Snape unsettled.

Harry shifts closer and presses his thumb more firmly against the triangle on Snape’s wrist, sliding his hand over Snape’s thigh. “Do you want to try my way of seeing if the universe is right about us being compatible? It’s really more of a practical experiment, and like you say, I’m good at those.”

Snape responds with a kiss.

*

The rough, wild location of Snape’s house begins to make sense as his lips fuse with Harry’s. His kisses are like the stormy sea, powerful and untamed. Harry is quite sure they need to talk more rather than relying on sex to do the talking for them, but there’s something about the unbidden way Snape kisses that tells Harry he might get more from Snape’s actions than his carefully selected words. They move with a clatter onto the nearest soft surface, with Harry straddling Snape’s lap and allowing himself to be pulled closer and deeper into the kiss. Snape is already hard beneath Harry and every brush of his fingers against Harry’s backside and the grip of his hands against Harry’s hips send further bursts of pleasure travelling along Harry’s skin.

“More than on occasion, I bet,” Harry says. He wonders if Snape hears the breathless, light, pleasure in his words. He hopes so. He likes the idea that Snape might have wanted him before all this.

“Perhaps.” Snape’s lips curve against Harry’s and he brushes them together, before setting to work kissing Harry’s neck. “Impudent child.”

“Not a child.” Harry rocks over Snape. “Come on, come on.”

“Impatient.” Snape stills Harry, pushing his hand under Harry’s jumper and running his fingers against the hot skin of Harry’s stomach, which flexes beneath the touch.

Snape’s comment about Harry looking underfed comes bubbling unhappily to the surface and Harry’s cheeks heat. “I’m not…it’s not all oiled torsos under there. They doctored those photos, I think. Got rid of some scars.”

“Ah.” Snape’s eyes bore into Harry’s and he slowly unbuttons Harry’s top. “Foolish of them. I can’t imagine their artificial tans and glistening biceps are a patch on the real thing.”

“Give over.” Harry laughs, breathlessly. “Isn’t that what everyone looks for?”

Snape’s eyebrow arches. “If it is, I am going to be quite a disappointment to you, Potter.”

“No. Not you.” Harry shakes his head firmly, giving Snape a look. “You’re sexy. You know you are. That voice and all that black you wear. Very sexy.”

Snape helps Harry tug off his jumper, dropping it onto the floor. He slides his hands over Harry’s body, his fingers lingering on the bumps and scars from the war and the long, desperate months that came after. “You imagine I am not similarly enthralled?”

Harry shrugs, his cheeks heating at enthralled. “I dunno.”

“Stop overthinking.” Snape ducks his head and flicks his tongue against Harry’s nipple, the damp touch making Harry arch towards Snape whose other hand seeks out Harry’s aching prick. “Stop thinking at all.”

Snape’s fingers slip into Harry’s open jeans and wrap around Harry’s cock. With a cry, Harry jerks forward for another messy, needy kiss.

That’s one instruction he’s quite happy to obey.

*

They end up stretched out on the lumpy sofa which Severus – as he insisted Harry call him – elongated and widened for their comfort. Harry slides his fingers down Severus’ chest, still enjoying the low thrum of his receding orgasm. They just used their hands on one another but even the way Severus helped to guide Harry’s eager fingers as they wrapped around his length caused something to shift in the air between them. Unlike any of Harry’s previous limited sexual experiences, touching Severus came with an immediate intimacy. An intimacy found in kissing him, tasting him and savouring the salty beads of perspiration on his tongue. It makes Harry relax and he presses his cheek against Severus’ chest, relishing the feel of skin against skin.

“I’ve got a week off.”

“Have you, indeed?” Severus brushes his hand through Harry’s hair. He sounds as though he’s smiling. “Whatever will you do to entertain yourself for a week in Cornwall? I can recommend the shopping centre in Truro.”

“I had other ideas.” Harry looks up, meeting Severus’ eyes. He’s not quite hard again but his cock fills slightly, and he presses hopefully against Severus. “I know you’re not a bed and breakfast, but I could pay you to keep me fed and watered.”

Severus snorts softly, his hand slipping to Harry’s backside and his lips close to Harry’s ear. “I have precious little use for Galleons from the Potter vault.”

“I never said anything about paying in money.” Harry smiles against Severus’ skin.

“Hussy.” Severus laughs, low and deep. It’s the best sound Harry thinks he’s ever heard. “You appear to have forgotten I am a man who enjoys his solitude.”

“It’s only a week. I can go after that.” Harry deflates a little and Severus makes a noncommittal sound.

“It is, however, entirely possible I will not find it quite so easy to let you go after a week.” Severus keeps his voice low and it makes Harry shiver with pleasure. He doesn’t want Severus to let him go. He knows he can’t charge into this – whatever this is – in a typical Gryffindor fashion but something just clicks with Severus. It’s as though he’s a jigsaw puzzle and the piece that’s been missing all along has just been slotted into place.

“I probably won’t mind if you want to tie me to the bed to stop me from leaving.” Harry pulls back to look at Severus. “You might have to tell Kingsley, though. He was very specific about not getting killed, lost or stranded at sea.”

“Perhaps a compromise can be reached, then.” Severus squeezes Harry’s backside. “I can’t keep you tied to the bed indefinitely.”

“Maybe just for a little while.” Harry flexes his fingers and imagines his arms pulled up above his head, with Severus doing all manner of unspeakable things to him. “In fact, you should definitely do that.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Severus sounds amused. “However, if we spend the entirety of the week in bed, I’m not sure we will reach any conclusion about these marks of ours. They won’t simply go away and you’ve already experienced irritation which led you here in the first place. I am concerned if not properly managed, we run the risk of causing one another more discomfort.”

Harry pulls a face. “I suppose. I’m still not sure I fully understand what they even do. Loads of people don’t have markings at all, and those that do might never meet the person with a corresponding mark. It doesn’t mean they can’t be happy.”

“No.” Severus sounds as though he’s thinking. “However, it is rare that those who do find someone with the same marking choose to ignore or refute the connection.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in fate,” Harry says.

“I don’t.”

“Don’t you think that’s exactly what this is?”

“Yes and no.” Snape’s shoulder lifts and falls. “I believe it merits further investigation, in any event.”

Harry presses against Severus and bites down lightly on his skin. “Yeah, you should definitely investigate me.”

“Brat.” Severus pushes Harry back and rolls over him, nevertheless. “I intend to do research. With books, not orgasms. I barely scratched the surface yesterday evening. The magic involved with soul bonds is complex and often varies significantly depending on the match. I believe based on our past any bond between us would be quite…unique.” Snape sounds intrigued and Harry pokes him in the side.

“You’re going to treat this like a potions experiment, aren’t you?”

Snape rolls his eyes. “I’m certainly not going to start delivering roses to your office at the Ministry, if that’s what you’re expecting. It’s a magical bond, Potter. Not a personality transplant.”

Harry grins. “I don’t much care for flowers, anyway.”

“Well, then. Another sign of our compatibility.” Severus smirks, pressing his lips to Harry’s once more. The kiss gets firm and breathless rather quickly, before Severus pulls back and looks at Harry intently.

Harry drinks in the darkness in Snape’s eyes and the warm strength of his body over Harry’s. It should feel so unfamiliar. Sex, Severus. It doesn’t, though. Even Snape’s cottage reminds Harry of the little plans he drew up for rebuilding Godric’s Hollow shortly after the war. The simple, rustic décor appeals to Harry, as does the location of the property which sits firmly in position whilst it withstands a battering from the elements, the wind howling around but never penetrating through the walls. There’s a cosy fire which crackles heartily and Snape’s simple diet is familiar and comforting to Harry. The scent of potions and Severus’ cologne mingle together and take Harry back to Hogwarts, which always felt more like home than his cupboard under the stairs. Even as Severus presses his fingers along untouched parts of Harry’s skin, it feels like an old lover retracing their steps.

“Do you want to find a way out of it?” Harry holds his breath after asking the question. He desperately wants the answer to be no.

“I’m not sure I could if I tried.” Severus sounds gruff, his words lingering on Harry’s skin as he presses his lips against a thin scar on Harry’s torso.

“That’s not a proper answer.”

Severus shakes his head, moving up Harry’s body again and kissing him soundly. “I have no desire to find a way out of regular sex with a young man I have allowed myself to fantasise about on more than one occasion.”

“That means you thought about me loads, doesn’t it?” Harry crows triumphantly. He rocks into Severus and parts his legs when Severus seeks access to his most intimate places, his fingers slicked up with some potion which smells like citrus fruits and summer. “God…fuck, please.”

“In good time.” Severus rubs his finger in a maddening fashion through the crease between Harry’s buttocks, applying a light pressure to his hole. “And yes, I may have done.”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s my first time.” Harry gasps out when Severus finally works a finger inside him, clutching onto the cushions as Severus mouths over his prick before taking Harry deep into his mouth. “It feels like we’ve done this before.”

Severus hums and he twists his hand just so, sending sparks of pleasure through Harry’s body. The talented way he works his mouth over Harry’s cock as he fingers him open is almost unbearably good. The muddled thoughts inside Harry’s head all collect together until they are just garbled, white noise. He gives in to sensation and the pure spikes of pleasure which jack-knife through his body and bring him to the precipice. With his hands pushed into Snape’s hair and his body hot with the blissful pleasure of being well-fucked, Harry lets his orgasm overtake him and it drives all thought of the marks to the furthest recess of his mind.

*

Eventually Harry manages to shower and change, even as Severus grumbles about Harry’s annoying fascination with wearing clothes.

“It was weird, earlier.” Harry tucks into a sandwich, ravenous after his morning and early afternoon rolling around on the sofa with Severus, lost in a blissful haze of pleasure. “I felt as though we’d done that before.”

“I can assure you I would have remembered if we had.” Severus sips his tea and contemplates Harry over the mug. “However, I do recall reading something about soul bond markings which suggested that those who share them will often experience a sense of familiarity which is less common with other relationships. Souls themselves are complex. They exist on multiple layers, on different temporal planes. I’m not entirely surprised that such a connection would feel a little abstract.”

Harry touches his fingers to his scar, thinking. “I like that. It’s like, our souls are out there in all these other worlds and they’re together in every one of them.”

Snape’s lips quirk and he studies Harry. “Nothing more than foolish, romantic imaginings.”

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugs. “It’s magic, isn’t it? I reckon the universe knows what it’s doing.”

“I think the universe most decidedly does not.” Severus rolls his eyes. “If the universe had any sense it would know that the last thing an eighteen-year-old war hero discovering his sexuality requires is a soul bond with his former professor.”

Harry glares at Severus. “If the former professor had any sense, he would know that most days I feel a damn sight older than eighteen. He would know that in other ways I’m so far behind where my friends are with all the normal stuff teenagers get to do, I’m not even sure who I fit with or where I fit anymore. If he had any sense, the former professor would know that I feel safe with him. There’s a lot to be said for that.”

Severus ponders over the word, his brow furrowed. “I am nobody’s guardian angel.”

“Aren’t you?” Harry shrugs. “I sometimes felt like you were mine when I thought about it all after the war.”

“Then you are even more foolish than I believed.” Severus reaches his hand out for Harry despite his words.

Harry stands, slipping his hand into Severus’ and following him into the sitting room, where the fire crackles and spits and the dark room is lit by the bright flames which send shadows moving over the walls.

“I think the universe knows a bit more than you give it credit for.” Harry watches the fire hiss and jump, leaning into Severus’ arms before turning to face him. “I’m not sure we’d have found our way here on our own.”

“Perhaps not.” Severus rests his hand on Harry’s hip. The heat of his palm combines with the flickering warmth from the fire and it makes Harry’s tattoo heat. This time, it’s not itchy and unpleasant. It’s a warm pleasure, like curling up with a hot water bottle on a cold evening or wrapping a soft scarf around your neck on a winter’s day. With the easy warmth comes a low ebb of passion which pulses through Harry’s tired body, the tension in his limbs seeping away as Snape holds him close.

“Do you think it’s going to work out?” Harry tries to keep the nerves from his voice and Snape pulls him closer.

“The world has taught me the dangers of misguided faith.” Snape rubs his thumb against Harry’s cheek, contemplating him.

“Yeah, well it’s taught me the importance of hope.” Harry swallows. “Love, too. That’s pretty important.”

Severus raises his eyebrows. “Love?”

“Eventually. Perhaps.” Harry shrugs, glancing at the fire. “I don’t know. If this soul bond thing knows what it’s on about, that’s where this ends up, isn’t it?”

“I have no idea.” Severus presses his lips to Harry’s. “But I believe I am willing to find out.”

Harry loses himself in another one of Severus’ brilliant kisses and the triangle on his hip emits a steadying warmth which travels along Harry’s skin, sending heat into the already fiery kisses and keeping the icy winds at bay.