InsaneJournal

"Severus, you miserable old sod!"

Snape’s head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed at the blinding blondness of the unexpected visitor who had just strolled into his study. "How dare you. How did you get in here?" he sputtered, nearly dropping the volume in his hands.

Stepping around an improbably stacked tower of books, Lucius Malfoy smacked it with his cane before the stack tumbled all over the carpet. "That ridiculous house-elf of yours."

Snapping the book in his lap shut loud enough to show his annoyance at being interrupted, Snape glanced at the doorway, certain he saw the tip of the guilty elf’s ear disappear behind the sill. "You were not invited," Snape pointed out with a sniff.

Lucius was too well-bred to roll his eyes, but he did fix his icy stare on Snape. "I know I wasn’t; you never invite anyone over. Even your oldest and dearest friends." Since they both knew his icy stare hadn’t intimidated Snape since their school days, Lucius tried a smile that was only slightly less chilly than his stare. "Speaking of invitations," he said, his smile obviously intended to be pleasant and disarming.

"We weren't," Snape clarified.

Lucius's smile didn't falter. "We should be," he said, "You haven't replied to mine."

"The absence of a reply is the answer," Snape said, leaning back in his chair. He wanted to stretch his legs out but he didn’t want to look too relaxed. Lucius could be cunning, despite his obvious attempts at civility.

"No, the absence of a reply is an opportunity," Lucius said, fingers brushing over the head of his silver-tipped cane. "An opportunity for you."

Snape’s nails tapped the cover of the book still in his lap. "What makes you think I need an opportunity?" he asked.

"Because despite, er, fluctuating allegiances, I am better at being a public figure than you are." Lucius let that sink in, not waiting for a denial, which Snape could not offer.

Instead he sighed. "Very well, speak. Briefly," Snape said.

He smiled and leaned back against the sofa, one hand still holding the cane. "Narcissa sent you a perfectly reasonable invitation to participate in a perfectly reasonable social event. You should come. It's only a weekend house party after all."

"What about me suggests I would enjoy such a preposterous notion?" Snape asked, too disbelieving to dissemble. "My jovial smile? My witty disposition? My fashion sense?"

Lucius ignored the sarcasm. "See, you're getting into the spirit of the thing. You should come because people expect to see their heroes from time to time." He let a beat pass. "Potter does," he said slyly.

"I don’t care what that ridiculous boy does," Snape said quickly, unable to keep from growling.

"You should, he's the one who went swanning all over--after the last utterly regrettable war-- telling everyone what a hero you are. He made you out to be some sort of Lord Byron. Noble and tragic." Lucius made a face that had less to do with tragic figures and more to do with tragic facts.

He narrowed his eyes because Potter had once compared him to a Byronic hero, a reference he was certain Potter had picked up from Granger. Snorting Snape said, "Byron joined some damn fool cause and died young. Too late for me for that."

Lucius looked as though he wanted to add something else but he said, "So instead of getting Azkaban as you deserved--"

Snape pointedly cleared his throat.

Lucius reconsidered. "Instead of getting Azkaban, you got a hero's medal, a lifetime stipend to indulge your every whim, and a fairly small house." The house was three storeys, had sixteen rooms, including a basement that had once been an indoor badminton court but was now a potions workroom and had come with a house-elf. Snape ignored the slur on his home. Spent, Lucius flopped back into the cushions of the sofa. "I'd wager you even get fan mail." His gaze slid to the basket by the fireplace stuffed full of unopened letters, ready to be used as kindling. Some of them had conspicuous red hearts drawn on them. Snape ignored his glance.

"I'm not the house party sort," Snape grumped, fingers drumming again on the cover of his book.

Lucius shrugged. "Neither am I. Rather got my fill of it when--" He made a face and Snape shared his memories of when the late Dark Lord and all his cronies had taken over Malfoy Manor and made it their base of operations. "Anyway, the house has been cleaned, top to bottom." Snape further knew that the Aurors had been all over the house and rooted out any lingering dark presences. There were no more old schoolboy diaries to find. "You should get out more. I know for a fact you get regular invitations from the Ministry." He shrugged, looking down at the head of the walking stick as though the silver snake had an opinion. "It's just a few friends, or what passes for them these days. No one from the, er, old days. Draco has a special friend he's eager to introduce into our set."

One of Snape’s fingers traced over the book's title, the gilt faded and barely legible. He'd dreamed, in those rare moments when he thought he might outlive the dark forces rising around him, of having the time to do all the things he'd been denied by being bound to Hogwarts. When his life had inconveniently been saved by Gryffindors with a sense of duty, he'd pictured his life wasting away in the Dementor's prison. Instead Potter had spoken of sacrifice and danger and in their world, weary of war and strife, had instead embraced its heroes, even ones as reluctant as Snape. Unwilling to go back to Hogwarts, he had bolted himself inside his house with only a house-elf for company. He had read the book in his hand twice.

Perhaps sensing victory, Lucius said, "At least at Malfoy Manor you won't have to worry about reporters. Or swooning fans. Or Potter."

"It won’t do your reputation any harm either," Snape said, by way of a concession he hoped he would not regret.

Lucius could not quite hide his smirk. "Oh, do you really think so?"

Snape regretted his decision nearly as the door closed behind Lucius's elegantly shod feet. Unfortunately Narcissa's invitation made it nearly impossible not to accept once he'd committed. The invitation unfolded itself once he'd said yes, which Lucius had made sure he had done before taking his leave and reminded him constantly about the upcoming event. He heard Narcissa's voice at all hours reminding him to pack, what to pack, when to arrive and when to send his house-elf. When he tried to have a lie-in on the day he was due to travel to Malfoy Manor, a trumpet formed in his bedroom and played Reveille until he grumpily got out of bed.

Outwardly, once he arrived at the gates, there was no sign that a house party was going on, though, Snape supposed, he wasn’t certain what one looked like. The house and grounds looked much as they had the last time he'd been there, in darker times. As if to thwart this thought, the clouds broke and the sky changed from gray to brilliant blue as Snape trotted down the drive. Probably Narcissa’s doing as well.

Before he could pull on the enormous dragon-shaped door knocker, the door swung open and Narcissa herself greeted him, smiling as though he'd brought her a potency potion for her birthday.

"Severus, come in, please," she said, air kissing his cheek and ushering him inside the front hall. "You're the last to arrive," she went on, a reproving note in her voice.

Before Snape could respond, Lucius was greeting him, standing very close to his wife, so that Snape couldn't see who else mingled behind them in the enormous hall. Snape knew the layout as well as he knew the dungeons at Hogwarts. To his right was the white marble staircase that curved around to the grand landing on the next floor. Behind Lucius were several arched doors--to the library, to the dining room, to the study and several parlors and hallway to the kitchens. To his left was the enormous fireplace with its marble mantel. By the noise level in the entry hall Snape knew there were other guests but so far he hadn't seen anyone but his hosts.

Then he heard the sound of a throat clearing, and Narcissa’s smile faltered a bit as Hermione Granger craned her neck over Narcissa's shoulder. "Pardon me?" Both Lucius and Narcissa stepped aside the minimal amount necessary to admit her between them. Once Granger had shouldered her way through the wall of disapproving Malfoys, her face changed and she beamed. At Snape. Then she stepped closer and flung her arms around him and hugged him. "Professor, it's good to see you," she said.

"Miss Granger!" Snape said, outraged. "Disengage!"

Obediently, she stepped back, but she was smiling, despite Snape's scowl and unmoving posture. "I'm so glad you came. Mrs. Malfoy said you were, but I wasn't sure." Her smile was blinding. Her parents must have recovered their memories and their dental skills. "Sorry about the, er, hug, but it's allowed now, you know, you aren't our teacher, haven't been for ages. And we did help save you."

"It may be allowed but it is not encouraged," Snape said, wondering how his teaching career could have been such a dismal failure if former students engaged in such tactile behavior.

Her cheeks went pink but being a doggedly determined know-it-all was apparently a quality she was born with, not one she had been taught at Hogwarts. "I'm sorry, but Harry said you were fit and healthy, even though you didn't want to see him after you were released from hospital. And now you're a hero. Ladies are naming their babies after you." A growl from Weasley, hovering behind her, cut her off. She gave him a reproving look and went on. She looked around as if some lingering stench of evil was about to rise up and engulf them. "I think the opportunity to do good this weekend, outweighs the--"

Snape missed whatever she was nattering on about because he turned and walked away.

Once the barrier of the united Malfoy front was breached, Snape was able to take in the other guests. The Weasley boy was right behind Granger. Draco stood by the fireplace, with the Greengrass girl; Snape had forgotten her first name. He was about to complain of the low median age of the guests when he spotted Hubert Bisset, editor of the French wizard newspaper, La Monde Sorcellerie. So much for the promise of no reporters, Snape thought, though he supposed the editor did little of his own reporting, even in France. Hubert was talking to a man about his own age, whom Snape knew was a cousin of Longbottom's grandmother, Winslow Longbottom who had been a professor at Hogwarts when Snape had been there. Another woman was present, Amelia Throckmorton, whom Snape knew owned the book publishing business, Obscurus, in Diagon Alley.

As he watched, trying to ignore Granger still gaping at him, he saw Genevieve Ollivander, who had recently reopened her uncle's shop join their group from the library. At least there would be people his own age, with interests comparable to his own to while away the hours of the house party weekend. He hoped Lucius didn’t have too many compulsory activities planned. Genevieve's face changed when she caught sight of Snape and she edged away from whatever story Longbottom was regaling her with and made her way over.

"I just had to meet you," she said, holding out one hand to shake his. Snape stared at her hand for a moment without offering his own. She withdrew it without obvious embarrassment. "I don't usually like things like this, house parties of the rich and famous, but when I heard you were coming--" She looked him over from top to bottom as if he was an especially alluring wand core. "I'm a huge fan--"

Snape pursed his lips. So much for Lucius's promises of no adoring fans. She looked determined to continue "I even sent you a letter. Did you get it?"

"I wonder if I could speak to you a moment," Granger's voice popped up beside Snape. She deftly maneuvered around Ollivander, stepping directly in front of her. Genevieve's smile was tight as she tried to resume her former questioning. Weasley, still following Granger, glared pointedly at him.

"Not now, girl," Ollivander said, barely moving her lips. Granger ignored her, apparently still determined to press some point Snape was trying to ignore.

"Professor!" a voice called but it did not come from Granger’s mouth, or Weasley's. It came, in fact, from the mouth Snape would never forget.

"Don’t call me that, Potter," Snape said, adding the final broken promise to Lucius's count. "I am no longer your teacher," he clarified as Potter came down the last few steps of the grand staircase. He strode across the hall to utter silence. Even Granger had stopped nattering. In fact no one looked surprised so Snape was determined not to either.

Potter was smiling, striding confidently across the marble floor directly toward Snape. "So you're finally going to let me call you--"

"Absolutely not," Snape growled, aware that more heads than Grangers and Weasleys were craned in their direction. "I warned you about that."

"So you did," Potter said, with some of the insouciance of the hero the Wizarding world had proclaimed him to be, though even Snape had to admit he did not lord it over everyone. Snape would have if their positions had been reversed. Snape had, aside from his freedom, accepted a house. And a house-elf. He was human enough to admit he would have accepted more if it had been on offer. It had been on offer for Potter. Probably still was.

Potter was now close enough to breach the cozy little circle that had formed around Snape, with Granger and Weasley closing ranks behind their friend, and Lucius and Narcissa doing the same for theirs. "What would you like me to call you?" Potter asked, folding his arms across his chest but still far too close.

Snape shrugged. "Your Excellency?" he suggested.

Potter’s lips were twitching. "I could give that a go," he said. There was a certain way he tilted his head to meet Snape's eyes that still had something of the schoolboy in it. But Snape's gaze lingered too long and Potter had taken a step closer, nearly grazing Snape's own folded arms.

"Why are you here?” Snape demanded, glaring at Potter, but, post-academia, his glare had lost some of its power to wither, and Potter was untouched by it.

"I was invited." Potter’s face was very close now. "I heard you were coming, so I said yes."

Snorting Snape said, "I was promised a Potter-free weekend." Behind him Lucius made a noise that Snape could not interpret. Behind Potter Granger made a noise Snape definitely could.

"Are you sure it wasn't a Potter-full weekend?" Potter said, his lips still doing that little twitching thing that Snape found his gaze drawn to. Snape wrinkled his nose but before he could retort, Potter went on. "I had to come, you didn't answer any of my letters."

Snape felt his own lips twitching. "Did you write?"

Potter shrugged. "Once or twice. I even put pink hearts on one in case you wouldn't guess who sent it." Snape felt something touch his sleeve and realized Potter was tugging on it. "Let me guess, you burned them, unread."

Sniffing, Snape said, "You might be cleverer than I thought."

Potter's chuckle was sexy, er, much too close. "I have my moments." As easily as it had formed, the intimate miasma around them dissolved. Snape stepped back, not quite certain how he and Potter had come to be standing so close.

Behind him, Narcissa said, "What just happened?"

Though his voice was low, Lucius replied loudly enough for Snape to hear, "Not now, dear."

Snape whirled on them, finding his glare again. Behind him, Granger cleared her throat. "Professor--" she tried again.

Potter had the audacity to chuckle. "It's Your Excellency, remember."

Brightly--too brightly--Lucius said, "Cocktails at five everyone, in the library. My staff will show everyone to their rooms."

As tempting as it was to stay in his admittedly sumptuous room and sulk, Snape knew Lucius was not above sending someone to drag him down to the cocktail gathering once the Ormolu clock on the mantel politely told him it was five o'clock. That Potter might be the messenger also did not escape his mind, wondering what confidences his hosts had exchanged once their guests had been shown to their rooms.

That Snape himself had not stormed back home once he realized Potter was one of the guests here was still a matter of contemplation. Was it too much to ask that Potter might cease to haunt the remainder of his life? He repressed a twinge of conscience--he had experience with doing so--and looked over the clothes he had packed for the weekend. His house-elf had already unpacked for him and had withdrawn to the Malfoy kitchen, where he was, no doubt related to some other elf on staff as were nearly all house-elves in England.

He studied his choices, all black naturally, trying to focus on something besides the memories Potter's unwelcome appearance had unleashed. The first face he'd seen when he'd recovered consciousness in St. Mungo's. That ridiculous smile when Snape had asked him to explain what had happened after Snape had been wounded. The obvious pleasure in telling Snape that he was not going to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. That first tentative kiss--

Savagely Snape jerked off his shirt and tossed it aside. Potter was not going to ruin his weekend. With the contrariness of someone who hadn't wanted to do something in the first place, Snape was determined to have an excellent time. Thankfully he'd brought along a pullover jumper, this place was freezing. Apparently the Malfoys did not have an endless stack of fan mail to burn in their overly large fireplaces.

He'd been right to toss Potter out on his arse three years ago. Potter had been flushed with victory, flushed with possibility and desire and he had desired Snape. But it had been a romantic image of Snape, as some doomed tragic hero. Snape was no Byron. He did not even like romantic poetry. He wrinkled his nose in the large mirror on a stand in the corner of his room, suspecting it had been enchanted at one point to spy upon the room's occupants. The silver backing was thinning in one spot and looked like a winking eye. Snape did not wink back.

Potter had been too young then to know what he truly wanted. He would only have broken Snape's heart if he had let the affair continue. It was right to break the ridiculous boy's heart first. Better to get such things over with, no matter how avid the declarations of--

"Stop it," he snarled at the mirror, tugging the jumper into place. "Nothing to see here."

The library was deserted except for his host, who looked as though he'd already sampled one or two of the cocktails mentioned in the invitation. He looked up as Snape entered. "You didn't bolt for home. I did wonder. Narcissa said you would."

Snape’s expression was strained. "I still might." He looked around cautiously. The library appeared deserted but the manor house had held many secrets in the past and not all magic was readily visible. "Is Potter still here?" he asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

Lucius swirled liquid in his glass. "Potter lives for danger."

"Did you send the lot of them packing?" Snape asked. This was one of the few rooms ignored by the Dark Lord, for which Snape was grateful. It had always been one of his favorite rooms in the mansion.

Lucius said, head tilted as though listening for a stampede of guests coming down the grand staircase. "Everyone else has the sense to be fashionably late." He waved the house-elf tending bar away and mixed Snape's drink himself, as though this was an honor bestowed on few others. He handed Snape a clear concoction. "As tiresome as it seems, this idea of theirs has some merit."

Snape had barely touched the glass with his lips before he jerked it away and glared at Lucius. "What idea?"

If Lucius was surprised Snape didn’t know what he was talking about, he was schooled enough not to show it. "No one likes the way things fell out, not their side, not ours." He gave Snape a glance and shrugged. "Whatever side you were on. That doesn't mean generations after us have to pay for our indiscretions. And they are. Hogwarts is open but still rebuilding. Qualified teachers are scarce, unless we want our students taught by the French. Or God forbid, those barbarians at Durmstrang. I don't want Draco's children to incant spells with an American accent."

Snape suspected Lucius had known full well what side Snape had been on, and, like so many others who had lived through the first rise of the Dark Lord, had not been overly anxious to bring about his return. Though not brave enough to work against the Dark Lord, Lucius had never hindered or questioned Snape's activities. "I'm not getting involved," Snape declared, idea still unexplained, and took a sip of his drink. It was good.

"I didn’t think I would either but here we are." He smiled as several more of his guests arrived, as well as Draco and Narcissa who stopped to chat with Snape. If Draco's look was a bit more curious than usual Snape ignored it. If Potter wanted to flaunt ancient history it was of no concern to Snape.

"Anyway," Lucius went on, as Narcissa engaged Bisset and Longbottom in conversation while they watched the house-elf mix their drinks. "It's some sort of Mentoring Program, promoting inter-House cooperation, getting the community involved in the school again, recruiting teachers, blah, blah, blah."

"Dad," Draco said, glaring at his father. "You said you’d help."

"I am, aren't I? I got Severus here." Lucius looked very pleased with himself.

"I'm not getting involved," Snape repeated.

Draco ignored him. "We’ve been saying for years that Hogwarts needs new blood." The Greengrass girl--she'd been introduced as Astoria--arrived and Draco guided her over to the makeshift bar.

"I'm not at Hogwarts any longer, as you are both aware. Whatever this program is, I can't help." That was a very satisfactory feeling. He took another sip of the drink. It went down very smoothly.

"Ah, but the core of this program is that older, presumably wiser heads will supervise. And inspire others to do the same." He looked pointedly at Snape.

"I'm not getting involved," Snape said firmly.

"Of course not," Lucius said as Potter, flanked by Granger and Weasley finally made their entrance. To his surprise, they all nodded politely and headed for the bar. Apparently the full Trio was determined to present a united front. And that front turned away from Snape en masse.

Frowning at the lot of them, Snape asked Lucius, "How did you get them to set foot in your house? Granger might be full of the milk of Muggle forgiveness but the Weasleys know how to properly carry a grudge. And you did have them tortured."

Lucius shrugged. "Not me personally." He swirled the liquid in his glass. "Plus, I said I would finance the first year of their Mentoring project."

"First?" Snape asked.

"All right, five," Lucius admitted. "Potter might be involved in this thing, but so are a lot of others. We'll never get Hogwarts up to even the French standards if we don't make some changes now. Before we make the same mistakes all over again." His gaze found the back of his son's head. Draco was standing possessively close to Astoria. "She's good for him," Lucius went on, as though Snape had followed his own internal dialog. "Even an irascible old reprobate like you can see that." The piercing blue eyes sought out Snape's. "There is a force stronger and more compelling than any dark lord ever born." His gaze went misty and skittered back to Draco. "The possibility of grandchildren."

Bisset approached him, glass in hand. "I am honored to meet you, sir," he said in accented English.

"Don't be," Snape said. "I am reliably informed that I am irascible and unsociable."

Bisset merely laughed, as did all Frenchmen when contradicted. "I am glad you are on board with the new program. We plan to study the program in my country--"

Snape narrowed his eyes, halting mid-sip. The ice in his glass tinkled. "I'm not."

Bisset looked confused. "But I heard--"

Snape finished his sip. "You heard wrong."

Lucius, who had apparently appointed himself Snape’s guardian, growled. At least it sounded like a growl. "Severus," he said warningly.

Bisset laughed again. "I heard you were difficult."

Snape finished his drink and held out the glass for another. "Difficult does not begin to describe it." Then Potter was at his elbow, taking his glass, smiling in a portentously intimate sort of way. He brought back another drink, ignoring Snape's glare, and, for that matter, Lucius's and insinuated himself between them. The other guest, Amelia Throckmorton came over, all smiles at the group of them. "It's all arranged, we will announce the mentoring program after this weekend as well as Mr. Potter and Mr. Snape as the first sponsors," she said, lifting her own glass in salute.

"Absolutely not," Snape said, the vehemence in his voice making the ice shudder in this glass. "I haven't even been asked."

Granger was somehow suddenly beside Bisset, looking worried. "But Harry wrote to you, I'm sure he did," she said, as though that explained everything.

"I did," Potter said, tilting his face up to speak very closely beside Snape’s face. Then he looked at Granger and shrugged. "More than once." Somehow his hip bumped Snape's, in a gesture that looked far more intimate than Snape knew it to be.

Then everyone was discussing the program as though it had been decided, and Snape let the conversation swirl around him. Potter was too close, pretending to be paying attention to what the others were saying, but really just standing close to Snape and being confusing. Then Potter's voice spoke softly, for Snape’s ear alone.

"I really did write you about this. It wasn't just about--" Snape found himself leaning in closer to hear the end of Potter's sentence. "What happened between us. Listen to what they have in mind, with an open mind." Ice tinkled. "Please. By shutting yourself up in that house and not coming around more, everyone sees you as some sort of dark romantic hero, like Lord Byron." There was a soft chuckle beside his ear and Snape nearly shivered. "Lord Byron would do it," he murmured.

Snape turned, looking down his nose at the young man. "Byron did do it, found some damn fool cause and went off and got himself killed for it."

Potter’s face was focused on Snape and not the discussion around them, as though they were the only two people in the library, perhaps even the known world. "I promise you won’t die from being the head of a mentoring program. There's virtually no danger involved."

"Virtually?"

Potter shrugged. "Well, it is Hogwarts, anything can happen."

"The Headmistress will never agree to this program," Snape decided.

"What if I told you it was her idea?" Potter said. "With some help from Hermione as you know."

"I would call you the most miserable sort of liar," Snape said, with an air of superiority he suddenly felt was destined to be pummeled in the ground by the size increase of Potter's ridiculously bright smile. He exhaled. "It was her idea, wasn't it?" Potter nodded. "That doesn't mean I agree to participate. I am content in my isolation."

Potter looked into his own glass. "Just content?" he said softly.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Don’t start."

They both looked up as Draco's voice rose over Weasley's. "We all have to do more, it isn't only Slytherins that are being shut out."

Weasley had a poking finger out, not quite in use yet. "I'm not disagreeing with you, you git." The Greengrass girl stood between them, looking worried. "I know, it's surprising me as much as you," Weasley said, setting his cocktail glass down as if it was the culprit.

Draco looked confused. "You aren't?" he said, glancing at Astoria. "I suppose that's progress, right there." He darted a not subtle glance at Snape. Before Snape could ignore it, Draco was coming over, followed by Weasley and Greengrass.

"Why didn't I go back to my room?" Snape said quietly to no one in particular, not quite forgetting Potter was still standing right beside him.

"Or mine," Potter said, just as quietly. Snape glared at him.

"You aren't helping," Snape said, ignoring Potter's disturbingly intimate chuckle.

"I'm glad you came this weekend, sir," Draco was saying, "You'll be doing a lot of good, if you agree."

"Finally some common sense," Snape said, ignoring Potter's snort and focusing on Draco. "I have not agreed, and I don't see why I should."

Draco exchanged a glance with his father but before he could reply, Astoria spoke up. "I have a brother still in school, in Ravenclaw. He's really clever but they don't give him a chance because all our family was in Slytherin. They still look up to you, sir," she said, looking at Snape. "You're still a--"

"Don't say it," said Snape, his hand going up as if to ward off a horde of demons.

"Hero," she said.

Potter found him, despite his best efforts, before dinner. He had attempted to barricade himself in the Solarium but discovered the double glass doors could not be locked. Snape liked the scent of growing herbs that he was not responsible for brewing and was considering adding a Solarium to his home when a frond rustled behind him. Snape sighed. "Potter." He didn’t turn around, gazing through the glass at the grounds of the manor. "Can't I have a moment of peace?"

"Sounds like you've had too many," Potter said, his reflection joining Snape's in the glass panels of the Solarium.

Snape locked his hands behind his back, still gazing into the glass, ignoring Potter's reflection. "Did it ever occur to any of you that I have done enough for wizard-kind? That I deserve my peace?"

"I thought about it," said Potter. "I'm not completely insensitive." Potter’s reflection shrugged, silhouetted against the darkness beyond the glass. "But it's so little to ask and would do so much good. Others will step in to help after they see us united. You go to a few events, lend your support, maybe pose for a few photos--" The shadowy reflection glanced at shadowy Snape. "All right, no photos."

They stood for a few minutes in the dimness of the shadows of the Solarium. "I came by your house once, you know. Your house-elf wouldn't let me in," Potter said.

Snape smiled at his reflection in the glass. "You came by three times."

Potter chuckled. A frond behind them swayed as if attracted to the sound. "Four, if you count the flyover on my broom."

"And you sent that goblin pretending to be a census-taker to spy on me," said Snape.

Half-turning, Potter looked at him. "That one wasn't me."

Finally, Snape angled his head so that he could see Potter himself and not just his reflection. "What were you looking for?"

"The man I spent the best week of my life with," Potter said. His gaze angled over as well, but only for a glance. "It hurt when you tossed me out. You didn't even explain, you just ordered me out."

"You know as well as I do it wouldn't have lasted,” Snape said, looking back to the glass, seeing himself looking back. "It was all lust and adrenaline. Simple chemistry."

A sigh sounded beside him. "Well, it was really good lust and adrenaline." Potter shifted and his reflection flickered. "I came to find you to tell you, if you take on the Mentoring program with me, I'll stay out of your way as much as possible."

Was Potter being noble? "I would like to point out that thus far I've had no trouble keeping you out of my way without any noble sacrifice on your part," Snape said. Potter opened his mouth to reply but Snape cut him off. "I said I would consider it." Potter nodded and left the Solarium with barely a rustle of fronds. Snape tried to tell himself that he wasn't disappointed that Potter was giving up so easily.

Potter tossed no more innuendos his way over dinner, which was a surprisingly civil affair. Genevieve Ollivander looked slightly put out that she was not seated next to Snape but Potter also wasn't, either. Amelia Throckmorton, the book publisher, was on his right, and asked his opinion on the need for a new Potions text because she had one that had been submitted for publication but she felt it was not as in depth as the current one in use. Narcissa was on his other side, and had a contemptuous opinion of updating the current texts, but Snape, to his surprise, found himself defending the need for updating the course of study.

The food was good, the company was on their best behavior, and the discussion, about a wide-ranging array of topics, was good. Snape hadn't realized how serious Draco was about Astoria, or that the hunt for dark wizards had not been abandoned. Some of the late Dark Lord's followers had tried to organize the giants to take over a small country Snape had never heard of in the Balkans. Bisset's newspaper had made much of the story, though it had been played down in the British press. Even Weasley managed a few comments that were not growls.

Potter did not even, when the Mentoring program was mentioned, give Snape any looks, significant or otherwise. Snape tried to imagine a renewed Potter-free life and was disconcerted to realize he couldn't quite do it. It did not matter, once this weekend was over, whether he had agreed to aid this project or not, he could retreat back to his home and bury himself in--whatever it was he had found to occupy his time of late.

That evening, after dinner Snape settled into bed with a book from Lucius's library. The mansion had settled in for the night as well. Snape was pleased to note there was not the least bit of evil miasma hanging over the place. It was just a house, a big house, granted, but no longer a lair of evil. Or whatever Lucius was up to now. He tried to imagine the Malfoys as doting grandparents and nearly gagged. For the first time Snape allowed himself to think what his participation in Granger's mad scheme might entail. If Malfoy Manor could be made clean and whole, perhaps the rest of the Wizarding world might follow along.

Outside in the corridor, Snape heard a creak of floorboards. In true house party tradition, Snape thought, one of the guests was hurrying toward an assignation with one of the other guests. Or perhaps Draco's ardor could not be contained a moment longer and he was on his way to the other wing of the house. Then, very distinctly, someone swore then groaned, someone who sounded remarkably like Potter. There was a crash at the door. Then silence.

Snape waited. All was quiet for a moment, then there was scratching at the bottom of the door and another groan. Reaching for his wand, Snape undid the protective spell he'd cast just before coming to bed. Potter, groaning, lurched in.

"What was that?" Potter said, hunched over, clutching his groin. He had on black pyjamas and his glasses but no shoes. His hair was unusually untidy. Probably from crashing into his door, Snape thought with satisfaction.

Placing his wand on the bedside table, Snape sat back against the headboard looking over his unwelcome visitor. "A little spell of my own invention," he replied.

Potter took a few uncertain steps into the room, groaned, then made a grab for the bedpost. "I should have known," he said, collapsing on the empty side of Snape’s bed, hand still over his groin. "What do you call it, Ball Shriveler?" He groaned again, draping his non-groin hand over his face. The hand bumped his glasses and he winced and set his glasses on the bedside table.

"Repellus Potter," Snape replied smugly.

Potter peeked through his fingers at him. "You can do that?"

"You know I can."

"Good spell," Potter admitted, tentatively lifting his hand from his groin and looking down at it as though he could see any damage through his pyjamas. Finally he looked over at Snape. "Do you hate me that much?" His head thumped back onto the spare pillow.

"Of course I don't," Snape said, sliding his book over onto the table beside his wand. He looked over at Potter. "Close your mouth. That wasn't a declaration of undying love."

One corner of Potter’s mouth was twitching. "From you, it sort of is." The hand dropped again over his eyes.

Time to change the subject. "What happened to all that noble sacrificing on my behalf you were up to?"

Potter’s fingers split to reveal one eye. "That still goes. The mentoring program needs us both." He rolled over onto one side, head propped up on one hand. He dipped his toes under the trailing edge of the sheet. "Only, I've been thinking--"

"Oh dear," Snape said.

Potter ignored him. Absently, he tugged the covers up to his waist. "How about the same agreement, only on a more personal level." There was something in his voice that made Snape think Potter was about to slide one finger down his arm. Snape tried to slide away, but Potter, as always, sprawled on the bed and left little extra room.

"The way your brain works is too obscure for me; spell it out," he demanded. "On your own side of the bed."

Obediently Potter slid back over, still under the sheet and half the blanket. "We were good like this, you have to admit it." He did a vague gesture meant to imply, Snape supposed, their current state of bedded proximity.

Snape gave an exasperated sigh. "Your point?"

Potter shrugged, as if the matter was of no real interest. "Occasional weekends? Like this?" He gestured again to reinforce his message, waving between them. "I promise not to make any, er, declarations, undying or otherwise." He slid his back against the headboard, gathering a fistful of blanket between them. "It can be just lust and adrenaline."

With a sigh, Snape said, "I will consider it." Before Potter could release the obvious whoop forming on his lips, he went on. "Don't you have other beds to visit tonight, your own for instance?"

Potter did have a pretty pout. The blankets were now around his chest. "Can't I stay here? I promise not to try to, er, persuade you to accept."

A smirk slid onto Snape's face. "So certain of your powers of persuasion?"

Shrugging, Potter said, "Well, you are a good teacher when properly motivated." He settled back against the pillow. "And you did teach me everything I know, er, knew."

Snape made a face. "If you say Lord Byron would do it, I will hex you into next week." He settled back, pointedly rolling over to present his back. "And there's always Repellus Potter if you misbehave," he added over his shoulder.

Of course Potter broke his promise, as Snape had known he would. His desire and need were so earnest, the lean length of him so familiar and--if Snape was being honest--missed--that Snape had no will to quench the unspoken declaration on Potter's face when they stirred together in the early hours.

Potter kissed him, fingers tangling in his hair. He made soft noises when he kissed. Desire coiled like a knot inside him.

"Come on then," Snape said, clinging to a vestige of grudgingness. Potter burrowed against him, their warm scents releasing with the movements. "Let's see how much you remember of what I taught you.”

Potter's still thin body shook with laughter against him. "Oh, I remember everything. How could I not?" His nose pressed against Snape’s shoulder, inhaling like a starving man in a bakery. He sighed, as though he'd found the source of some childhood memory.

"Then let's see how you've refined the techniques," Snape said, pushing the covers down a bit even though it was a draughty old manse. Potter held onto the edge of his blanket, only releasing it reluctantly as his face turned toward Snape.

"I...haven’t." He curled into the crook of Snape's arm. "Not really." He slid one hand over Snape's belly. "At first I was just hurt you tossed me out. Then I was busy, you know, testifying. I did a lot of testifying. Then learning my job." He shrugged. "Haven't had the time, really."

Snape frowned. "I don't believe you." His mind flew back to the endless reports of Potter's comings and goings, as faithfully reported in the Daily Prophet. Potter as the opening speaker at the re-opening of Hogwarts. Potter testifying at trial after trial as the remnants of the dark forces were rounded up. He had insisted that no one, not even key Death Eaters, be thrown into Azkaban without a trial. Snape could not recall a single report of a love affair, broken or otherwise. So more goings than comings. Their own brief affair had been over too quickly to make the papers so perhaps Potter liked the model.

Potter shook his head. "I can't prove it without breaking my promise." His hand wandered over Snape’s chest, mouth following slowly. He was only tentative at first, as his mouth wandered familiar trails that had lain dormant until now. He was disappearing beneath the covers.

Distracted, Snape said, "Which promise?"

"About no declarations." Potter lifted the edge of Snape's nightshirt, peering beneath it. "Little Your Excellency likes that," he said with a smile.

Tugging the hem out of Potter’s fingers, Snape said, "You are entirely too fresh for your own good."

Potter ducked under the covers, finding places to kiss that Snape himself had forgotten about. He made soft noises when he kissed there too. "So, you want me to stop, then?" The covers tented as Potter’s head popped back up. He grinned.

"Carry on," Snape said, since there was nothing wrong with his memory either. Potter did, his mouth as eager to wrap around Snape's cock as Snape's cock was eager to spring to life inside Potter's mouth. As loath as Snape was to interrupt him, he was bound by the shreds of his conscience to inquire, "Balls fully recovered then?"

Potter looked up, blinking dreamily, his eyes without his glasses pleasantly unfocused. "Quite recovered." He licked Snape’s cock. "Why?"

"Let me see what I remember." He let Potter do the shifting around. Once accomplished, their positions were as familiar as the old worn in stone path to his classroom even though they had only had those few days to forge the path. He didn't so much lose himself in the pleasure as discover it anew with Potter's mouth and Potter's touch. At first blush the ease of this had scared him because he knew he would not be able to do without it once the pleasure of it had imprinted on his bones. Potter had made no promises, but he hadn't needed to. Then as now his mouth was full of promises he felt no need to speak until Snape desired it. When he called out Snape's name, he had no heart to insist on anything else.

Potter rubbed his face along Snape's leg. Snape remembered how tactile the young man was. Once allowed, he had barely stopped touching Snape in those halcyon days. Holding hands when they went out to the market. Brushing hip against his as they made meals together--Potter was a surprisingly adequate cook. Brushing kisses over Snape's cheek for the smallest of smiles. Lust and adrenaline. And perhaps something more.

Exhaling Potter said, "I meant to say Your Excellency." He chuckled softly and Snape could feel the breath of it on his leg. "I was thinking it."

"If you were thinking about anything, then I didn't do a proper job," Snape grumbled, but his sarcasm wasn't cutting, even to his own ears and was rewarded by a renewed laugh from between the haven of his thighs.

"That was right and proper," Potter said, dropping a kiss in a most improper place before wriggling back into Snape's arms.

"What am I going to do with you?" Snape asked as they settled the right way around in the bed.

Potter was not as groggy as he at first appeared. He burrowed into Snape's side. "I think you know."

Snape let his fingers trail over Potter's bare shoulder. The too-thin body had filled out in the months they had been apart. Snape remembered Potter and his Trio friends had spent all that last year on the run, probably not eating properly. He remembered too the accusing looks Minerva had sent his way at his perceived treachery. They had spoken privately in hospital. She'd been full of grief at the loss of so much life, but hopeful enough to ask Snape to forgive her. He had wanted to weep at the sadness in her eyes but he had squeezed her hand and all had been forgiven.

He could not remember how Potter's clothes had disappeared. Another reminder of how passion could blind him. "Perhaps I do," he admitted. "Go to sleep."

There was silence, broken only by the soft intake of Potter's breath. "You still wear a nightshirt," Potter said, running one hand over the rumpled linen.

"It's the only civilized garment to sleep in." He found his own fingers were trailing through Potter's mussed hair. "I didn't become a different person just because you spent a few nights in my bed." His hair was soft and gleamed in the scant moonlight coming through the heavy curtains.

A soft laugh sounded below Snape’s shoulder. "It was nearly a week. And I didn't leave willingly, you tossed me out." He gathered a fistful of Snape's nightshirt. "Hexes were involved, I believe."

"Look how well that worked out," Snape pointed out. "You never stay hexed."

Snape was awakened by the soft chime of the breakfast bell. It had been many years since he'd had anyone, especially Potter, to wake up in his bed so he did not immediately leap out of bed to join the rest of the house for breakfast. Potter had lost none of his unshaven charm but Snape's sleepily besotted gaze did not last long. "Wake up," he said finally, when he felt Potter stir. "The breakfast bell rang a half an hour ago."

Blinking, Potter reached blindly for his glasses on the bedside table. "There's a bell?" he said, voice gratifyingly rough considering what his throat had been up to the night before.

"Testy!" Snape called.

Potter groaned. "No, just a bit out of sorts--" Then he yelped as a house-elf popped in beside the bed. "Who are you?"

As commanded, Snape's house-elf, Testy, had appeared beside the bed with tea. Disconcertingly enough it was for two. Since the bed was higher than Snape's at home, the elf couldn't quite reach, trying to lift the tray over his head. Snape was treated to a rather luscious view of Potter's backside as he bent over to help with the tray. With a grumble, Testy departed, presumably for the kitchens.

"This is civilized," Potter said, taking a sip as soon as he settled back against the pillows. They stared at each other a moment before taking sips at nearly the same moment. "Should I, er, go back to my own room?"

Snape shrugged. "If Testy knows, the whole house knows." He sipped again. "Unless you think your friends will disown you for taking up again with me." He tried not to look hopeful. If Granger was so far gone as to greet him with embraces, Weasley could not be far behind and that did not bear thinking about.

Potter's face brightened. "Are we taking up again?"

"I'll consider it," Snape said. He wrinkled his nose. "If you make Granger promise not to embrace me again."

Potter grinned and set down his cup. "I'll consider it. You're sexy when you're grumpy. We could take up right now if you don't mind skipping breakfast."

"I do mind," Snape said, setting his empty cup on the tray. "As tempting as your unshaven face is."

Potter ran a hand through his scant whiskers. "I don’t have you to brew Depilo potion for me."

"It's commercially available," Snape pointed out.

"It's not yours."

"You’re pouting."

Suddenly Potter was in his lap, as cups clattered, held aloft by a casually cast spell until they floated over back to the tray. "I'm not." Potter's mouth, flavored by tea, was as sweet as he remembered. He undulated a bit as if reminding Snape what he was missing before he slid back to his own side of the bed with a promising grin. Once they were presentable they headed down the grand staircase.

Snape expected a pointed silence when they entered the breakfast room, some equally pointed looks, some smirking, and from the former Gryffindor contingent, some renewed horror. Instead the entire house party, including Snape's elf were huddled around something on the long dining room table. When a board creaked under their combined weight, every eye raised to look and the group all looked anywhere but at Snape, and oddly enough, Potter. Genevieve Ollivander compressed her lips but looked resigned.

It was, not surprisingly, Granger who looked up putting on a ridiculously grave face. "They'll find out sooner or later," she said, as the entire collective breath was released from every set of lungs in the room. Winslow Throckmorton blushed a bit but nodded.

"Find out what?" Potter said, reaching the bottom of the stairs a pace ahead of Snape. Granger pushed whatever they had all been looking at toward Potter. There, in Second Coming typeface was the headline, "Potter and Snape, Heroes, Create Mentoring Program." In slightly smaller type it said, "Joint Agreement Reached at Malfoy Manor. Hogwarts, Wizarding Britain, World, to Benefit."

Snape snorted. His snort seemed to break the expectant tension as nearly everyone began speaking at once. Granger was justifiably outraged that Minerva's brainchild had been credited to Potter and himself. Hubert Bisset was practically rubbing his hands to get the story to his own newspaper.

"So you'll do it, sir?" Draco said, his cheeks flushed. "When we saw the headline this morning--" He looked around at his family and guests. "Well, no one wanted to be the one to tell you." He looked at Potter. "Or Potter--" He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

Laughing, Potter nudged Snape with one shoulder. "I swear I didn't leak anything." When Snape didn’t laugh back, he gulped, suddenly nervous. "I really didn't. Not even before we, um…"

"I said I would consider it, and I have," Snape said, not realizing that everyone had quieted for his, what amounted to a pronouncement. "The fact that the newspaper is not on fire should let you know my decision is yes."

Again, the collective group seemed to exhale. Potter gave his hand a squeeze before stepping close to the table, leaning over to read the article. Draco and Astoria pressed in on one side and Granger and Weasley on the other. They were laughing at a typo when Lucius sidled over.

Very quietly Snape said, "I assume you leaked the story?" He could see that there was an old photo in the article of himself and Potter just after Snape had been released from hospital. In the photo Snape took a step away from Potter as the flashbulb went off. He remembered the moment. Potter had just told him he would not be prosecuted for war crimes and Snape's incredulous look showed in the photograph even from this distance. Later they had made love the first time. Potter looked then as he did now, as desirable and uncompromisingly desiring of Snape.

"How dare you," Lucius said, looking pleased. "Why would I do a thing like that?"

"For your own gains.”

"I don’t see how you and Potter forming an alliance benefits me at all. Or my family. Or my enormous estate. Or my prospects for grandchildren before I die." He nodded benevolently toward the group clustered around the table. "You and Potter have formed an alliance, have you not?"

"None of your business," Snape snapped. "That is not fodder for the press."

"You're welcome," said Lucius. "But I meant for the Mentoring program not, er, anything more."

"If any photos, moving or otherwise, turn up from that bedroom, I'll make certain Draco can't sire anything more than a wistful thought for the rest of your life," Snape said without raising his voice.

"Understood. You wound me," Lucius said, his lips barely moving.

As Snape watched, Weasley said something that made Potter laugh. The movement, slight as it was, turned his gaze toward Snape and he smiled. It was a private look and promised things Snape would not be so foolish as to turn down twice. There were still things he wanted to do in life. He could picture those weekends Potter had asked for stretching into quiet weeknights by the fire. Perhaps even burning fan mail together. It was an oddly satisfying picture. He could deal with an undying declaration or two for that.