snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays, @ 2007-11-18 14:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, post-dh: epilogue compliant, rated: nc-17 |
Echoes (2/2), for klynie1
Title: Echoes (2/2)
Author: gingertart50
Giftee: klynie1
Word Count: 17500
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Severus
Warnings: Canon compliant including the epilogue, so beware of DH spoilers.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and characters are the sole property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. I make no money from writing fanfiction.
Summary: Everyone has been given perfume for Christmas, odd things happen as a result and Harry finds himself juggling match-making children, senile household appliances and two very fraught relationships.
Prompts: "A mystery man enters Harry Potter's life. He seems familiar, but Snape is dead, isn't he?" and "If possible, I would love to see Albus Severus (and/or Scorpius, James or Teddy Lupin) worked into the story."
Back to Part One
A bell jangled as Harry opened the door of Slug and Jiggers. He headed towards the perfume and cosmetics counter, where a cloaked and hooded witch was fingering the trial sample spray of Snape’s latest fragrance, “Green Eyes”. She glanced up as Harry approached, then gave a gasp. He recognised her with a little internal twist made up of sadness, dismay, anger and fondness.
“Hi, Ginny.”
“Hello, Harry. Are you all right?”
“Fine. You?”
She nodded, staring down at the perfumes.
“Yes, I’m fine. Isn’t it odd, you’d have thought that they’d have given up on this by now, wouldn’t you?”
“Given up on what, Gin?”
“Naming things for you, all that ‘Boy Who Lived’ nonsense.”
“What makes you think this is named for me?”
Ginny sighed theatrically, seized his hand, sprayed a little jet of the fragrance onto his wrist and replaced the sample bottle at the front of the display.
“Smell it, go on.”
The perfume was not what he expected; neither sweet nor flowery. It smelled of pine and sandalwood, with overtones of spices, a woody scent, very adult and sophisticated. He had a fleeting image of figures in a restaurant, the clink of glasses, someone with dark hair and green eyes sipping wine. The memory had been carefully selected so that the identity and even the gender of the person were indistinct, except to those who knew Harry very, very well. The tilt of his head and the wisp of hair that always stuck up at the back of his neck gave him away.
“How odd,” he said, and his tone sounded false even to himself. Ginny stared at him, her forehead crinkled in thought.
“I miss you.”
A spike of anger lanced through his chest.
“You’ve got him. Hector Mablethorpe the Quidditch star.”
“Not any more.” Ginny turned away, almost unnaturally calm. “I finished it three weeks ago, I won’t see him again. I made a mistake, Harry. I made a terrible mistake.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek briefly and gave him a brave smile, her lip quivering just a tiny bit. “Take care.”
She turned and walked away, the hem of her plain brown cloak brushing the floor. A waft of perfume drifted up on a draught as she left the shop. Harry turned round, to meet the furious glare of black eyes. A storm of snapping robes made it clear that Snape had raised dramatic exits to an art form; Ginny was a mere amateur in comparison. The doorbell shrilled as he swept out with his head high, leaving Harry bewildered but in no doubt that Snape was very displeased.
Harry hurried out of the apothecary’s shop. Ginny was walking away with her hood pulled over her bright hair, while in the opposite direction, a tall, slim figure in black strode rapidly towards the Leaky Cauldron. Harry took a deep, fortifying breath. He was a Gryffindor, wasn’t he? He could dither here like a Hufflepuff or he could act. He could do the heroic thing, go after his wife (she was ensuring that he would be able to catch up with her) and attempt to put his marriage back together. He glanced once more at Snape’s rapidly retreating form and it hit him then, the realisation that Snape was jealous. Snape was jealous of Ginny, he had seen that quick kiss, that moment of connection and he had been hurt, and a hurt Snape was an angry Snape, always had been, and when hurt, he pushed everyone away. This was how Snape had lost Lily, wasn’t it, in a moment of angry rejection? Harry took off towards the Leaky Cauldron at a run.
- - -
“Wait!” Harry had the presence of mind to not call the man by name. “Please, wait.” He reached out, catching the edge of Snape’s billowing robe. Snape halted, rigid as a fence post, and without turning round, snapped: “Let go of me, Potter!”
“Just wait a minute, will you? I thought we were going for lunch at the Plumed Serpent?”
“You appeared to have more important concerns, far be from me to come between a hero and his wife.” Snape shook his arm, as if Harry was an annoying insect who could be dislodged with a flick of the sleeve.
“If you’d listened, you would have heard her asking me to take her back and me refusing to agree to a reconciliation. She asks me on a weekly basis at the moment, she expects to wear me down.” Harry stepped around so that he could watch Snape’s face, the implacable hook-nosed profile and folded mouth. “I liked the new perfume, by the way. I’m very flattered.”
“What made you think it was anything to do with you?”
“Oh, maybe I was mistaken.” Harry released Snape’s sleeve. “Are you coming to lunch, Severus?” He spoke quietly and earnestly, aware of how disappointed he would be if Snape refused, allowing that emotion into his voice. The skin flickered at the corner of Snape’s eye. “Please. Talking to Ginny unsettles me, I’d be grateful if you’d let me take you to lunch so I can forget about her for a while.”
“So I’m a temporary distraction, am I?”
“You know you’re far more than that.”
He heard Snape’s breath hitch in a little gasp.
“Don’t expect me to be a marriage guidance counsellor, Potter.”
“All those years you spent as Head of Slytherin, didn’t you deal with broken relationships and emotional teens?”
“Only as a last resort,” Snape said, turning so that they walked side by side. “Home-sick first years could expect a small degree of sympathy but by the time they reached the fifth year, Slytherins knew that I would interfere only in the cases of academic problems, bullying or cheating. Those with broken hearts could confide in their friends or in extreme cases, Madam Pomfrey or Professor Sinistra.”
“Survival of the fittest, I suppose.”
“I preferred to regard it as training for real life, Potter.”
“I thought you agreed to call me ‘Harry’?”
Snape snorted.
“If you insist, Harry.”
“Training for real life, Severus. Here we are, the Plumed Serpent. I hope you like Mexican food.”
“That depends upon who pays. I’m a Slytherin, you recall?”
“How could I forget?” Harry grinned and held open the door, watching Snape sweep in as if he owned the place.
- - -
“Are you telling me that you allow your house to bully your guests and inconvenience your children?” Snape sipped from his cup of coffee. The lunch crowd had left, replaced by a group of witches and wizards in formal robes, arguing about obscure points of Wizarding law over glasses of wine.
“I don’t exactly allow it,” Harry said, uncomfortably. “I just can’t seem to stop it. Kreacher has most of it under control. I wish – well, I like the old furniture, it has character, I just wish it would behave.”
“It sounds to me as if you have a low-level but deep-seated jinx on the place.”
“I never thought of that.”
“Really? And you claim that you were an Auror?” Snape’s expression suggested that Harry was living up, or rather, down to all his expectations.
“Number 12 Grimmauld Place always had this air of holding dark secrets, I suppose I took it for granted that the bureau would chew my robes, the fire alarm would be deaf and bronchitic and the saucepans catch their own meat.” Harry cocked his head. “Are you in a hurry, Severus?”
“Haven’t you grown out of expecting me to haul your nuts out of the fire yet, Mr Potter?”
“You’re the best person I know for dealing with Dark Arts.”
“Flattery doesn’t work on Slytherins.”
“What about asking nicely?”
“Perhaps. Bribery usually succeeds.”
“I can offer dinner.”
“Hardly a recommendation; I recall your attempts at brewing potions.”
“I still have Kreacher and he’s a great chef.”
“In that case, I may reconsider.”
“Great.” Harry could not control the grin that took over his face. “Shall we go?”
- - -
“I see Mrs Black finally loosened her grip on the house.” Snape nodded at the amateurish watercolour of Hogwarts that hung where the old witch’s portrait had once ranted at everyone.
“I had to blast her off and then rebuild the wall. Teddy painted that in his third year.”
“Typical Gryffindor, no subtlety.”
Harry was unsure whether Snape meant the painting or Harry’s frustration-fuelled DIY. It was so strange, seeing Snape here again, swooping through the narrow hall. Just for a moment, the years fell away and Harry could almost hear Moody stumping down the stairs and Remus Lupin’s gentle voice offering tea and biscuits. Then he caught a glimpse of Snape’s profile, pale and rigid as carved ivory, and he realised that the last time Snape had set foot inside this house, Albus Dumbledore had still been alive.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly, “I forgot you hadn’t been back before. This house must hold so many memories for you.”
Snape turned in a swirl of black.
“Unlike the average Gryffindor, I am not a sentimental man, although the knowledge that I have outlived my enemies does afford me a certain degree of satisfaction.” He smirked and settled his cuffs more comfortably around his wrists, as if he had never known a moment of introspection in his life. “Which furniture is causing the problem? It all appears very ordinary to me.”
Harry led the way to the kitchen. The pans lay in stacks on their shelf and ladles and knifes hung, lifeless, from the hooks on the wall. Kreacher hummed as he mixed batter in a bowl.
“Would Master like a cup of tea?” he enquired, glancing at Snape with no change of expression.
“No thanks, Kreacher. Is everything behaving?”
The old elf looked surprised.
“Yes, Master Harry. Is hotpot and pineapple upside-down cake suitable for dinner?”
“That’ll be great. Severus will be staying for dinner, is there enough?”
“Of course. I’ll make onion soup and vanilla custard...” his eyes glazed as he murmured to himself. “Pearl barley, onions, stock, potatoes...”
“Thanks, Kreacher.” Harry guided Snape out of the kitchen before the house elf could plan an entire banquet. “He loves it when I entertain guests,” he explained, “makes him feel needed.”
As they returned to the hall, Harry heard a furtive scrabbling from upstairs, as if clawed feet scuttled across the landing. He immediately caught Snape by the sleeve and pointed upwards. Snape’s eyebrows rose but he said nothing and followed as Harry crept up the stairs, wand at the ready.
The dressing table made a low grinding creak, almost a growl, as it attempted to drag the quilt from James’ bed. Harry gave a yell of triumph and launched himself at the wayward furniture, slamming it back against the wall. “Caught in the act, you bastard!”
The dressing table squeaked, its drawers flew open and it spat a handful of mothballs and a battered copy of “The Lord of the Rings” into Harry’s face in an attempt to distract him.
“Petrificus totalus!” Snape snapped, wielding his wand with a flourish. The dressing table slumped into immobility. Harry sat up, waving the book.
“I’ve been looking for this for months! You see what I mean? This sort of thing happens all the time!”
“Spell-senility,” Snape remarked, replacing his wand up his sleeve. “Domestic charms begin to degenerate after a couple of hundred years; their logic components are unable to handle the modern lifestyle. You can think of it as Alzheimer’s disease of the fixtures and fittings. If you wish to retain the furniture, I recommend that you call in an expert restorer and have the charms renewed.”
“Thanks,” Harry grumbled, brushing the mothballs from his robes and glaring up at the now-quiescent dressing table. “Senile furniture makes my life complete, somehow.”
Snape held out a hand.
It was one of those defining moments of Harry’s life. So simple a gesture, that slim, pale-skinned hand extending in his direction; a symbol of their new and unlikely friendship. It demonstrated how much the relationship had changed; for surely Professor Snape would never have offered to help the adolescent Harry up from the floor. Harry would never have expected the offer, and would no doubt have refused it even if it had been made.
He felt the warm, smooth skin, the unexpectedly strong grasp as Snape braced against his weight and pulled him up to his feet. Harry smiled and met Snape’s gaze and his flippant remark died unsaid in the dark heat of those eyes. Snape's expression was open and vulnerable. Something was about to happen, the unguarded moment stretched and Harry dared not move, afraid to break the connection. His lips parted and Snape's gaze flicked down to his mouth and back up.
Then Harry staggered backwards as the air clapped shut over the space where Snape had been.
- - -
At first, he was angry and hurt. Did Snape really find Harry so vile that the idea of kissing him made him Disapparate in disgust? Yet the way Snape had been looking at him, suggested that the older wizard was far from disgusted.
Once Harry had calmed down, he reminded himself that this was Snape he was dealing with; Snape the irascible, unpredictable, defensive and prickly git, and the operative word here was 'defensive'. Snape's memories had shown how awkward he was when trying to deal with emotions; losing Lily and pushing away Dumbledore's affection, keeping his distance from colleagues whether Order members, Hogwarts staff or Death Eaters. If Harry wanted to investigate this strange, difficult and fragile little thing, this unexpected gift, he would have to work for it.
He almost laughed at himself, to even be considering a relationship with the greasy old git of the dungeons. Yet he could recognise aspects of Snape that his student self had never understood. Snape was far from handsome, but he had terrific presence. His apparent ferocity overlaid a repressed sensuality that Snape might not even realise he possessed.
Harry would have bet money that Snape's father had attracted a witch because he had displayed that same dark, dangerous, masculine allure as a young man. That Tobias Snape's intensity had turned to frustration and aggression was his wife's misfortune. Probably the elder Snape had recognised and resented his own helplessness in the face of Eileen and Severus' magic.
Dealing with the arch-Slytherin was never going to be easy and the first problem was going to be finding the man. First, Harry sent an owl with a brief note, asking if Snape would contact him. The owl returned, decidedly ruffled, with the scroll still attached to its leg. At least Snape had not chopped the poor bird up for ingredients. He left a message at Slug and Jiggers in the hope that Snape would accept it when he brought his next batch of perfumes and potions, although he had a feeling that Snape was perfectly capable of Incendioing the note. Then he decided to use his brain, or someone else's.
- - -
Harry Apparated to Warren Cottage and knocked on the back door. A scrabble of claws and a sharp yap announced his arrival, and a small tan and white body circled his feet, wagging as furiously as only a Crup could.
"Hello, Sandy, where's your boss?"
"I'm in here, Harry! Come on in."
He followed the voice into the dining room, where Hermione was using the dining table as a desk, surrounded by scrolls, books and files.
"Hi, 'Mione. Still working on the vampire legislation?"
"Yes." She pushed back her hair and smiled at him. "Things are so much better for werewolves since the Wolfsbane potion became available on prescription. I'm convinced that we can do something similar for the undead." She flicked her wand, levitating a pile of ancient, dusty law books from one of the chairs and stacking them neatly against the wall. "Ron's at work till eight today."
"I know." Harry sat down and Sandy the Crup immediately flopped onto his foot, tongue lolling in happy excitement. "It was you I wanted to talk to."
Hermione waved her wand in the direction of the kitchen and something clattered. She might not approve of keeping a house elf, but she loved domestic magic. She had set up a series of clever cascading spells in her kitchen, each one triggering the next, and Harry heard the kettle whistling and the teapot scuttling to be filled.
"Hm," said Hermione thoughtfully, "Is it about Ginny?"
"Sort of. Has she been to see you?"
"Yes, and she went to the Burrow. She knows she made a terrible mistake, she realises she shouldn't have left."
"So she tells me."
Hermione nodded, eyeing him shrewdly.
"You don't sound so sure."
"I'm not. We've been drifting apart for years and I don't think I want to go backwards."
"I can't say I'm overly astonished."
A tray swooped into the room, coming to rest gently on the table. It held two china mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits.
"Why do you say that?" Harry helped himself to tea and biscuits.
"You remember after Voldemort died, you came to us, to me and Ron? Not to Ginny. You left her with her mum and you asked us to go up to the Headmaster's office with you. I wondered then. You see, nothing, no giant or Death Eater or friend, not even you, could have torn Ron and me apart just then."
They drank tea and Harry slyly dropped biscuit crumbs for Sandy, who vacuumed them up as if he had never been fed a proper meal in his life.
"It's none of my business," Hermione said eventually, "So don't answer if you don't want to, but have you met someone else?"
"Of course it's your business; you and Ron are my best friends! I think I have, but it's complicated. We've been meeting for lunch once a week, just as friends, but I think I want us to be more. The trouble is… well, he's male for a start."
Hermione Weasley, wonderful clever Hermione, did not show a single flicker of surprise.
"Could make life very uncomfortable if the press gets hold of that," she commented.
"And he'd go berserk," Harry muttered. "But unless I can find him again, there won't anything for the press to report. Oh hell, Hermione, he's supposed to be dead."
"You mean he's undead?"
"What? No, I don't think so! Everyone thought he died in the war but he faked his death and he's been living in France until very recently. Until Ginny left me…" Harry stared, unseeing, at the wall. "He came back in disguise when the papers reported that she'd run off with that Quidditch git. He came back."
"Harry, who is this man? What is he like?"
"He's very intelligent, sarcastic, courageous and loyal, and he's as sexy as hell. You know those perfumes, 'Echoes', that everyone's been raving about? He makes them."
"Oh my God," Hermione whispered, "Severus Snape."
"Yes, and I think I've lost him."
Hermione stared at him for a moment, then raised her hand and said "Accio Firewhisky." A bottle slapped into her hand. She unscrewed the cap, splashed a generous measure into each mug and commanded, "Tell me."
- - -
Hermione frowned and scratched her nose. Harry decided that this was quite smart of her, as she appeared to have two of them.
"Is obvious," she said. "Innit? He makes Wolfsbane, yeah?"
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "He's clever as you are. Cleverer. Ererer. And he makes perfumes."
"Right." Hermione squinted at the bottle on the table. "Ish empty. Oh shit. What was I saying?"
"He makes Wolfsbrain."
They both found this so funny that Sandy gave them a dirty look and wandered off to find more sensible company in the form of the family's Kneazle.
"Woolsbane," Hermione hiccupped, "Wolfsbrain. Whatever. He makes it for sale. So he's gotta have a licence."
"So?"
"So," Hermione enunciated carefully, "He's gotta be rerere… registered with the Minishtry. Right. And they got his name and everything." She waved a hand. "Addresh. At the Min'stry. Ron can get it for you."
"Holy cow," Harry said reverently, "Hermione, you're brilliant."
"I'm going to be sick," Hermione said and was.
When Ron came home, Hermione was sleeping it off on the sofa with Sandy and the Boy Who Lived Twice was snoring on the hearthrug with the Kneazle curled up on his chest.
- - -
"You want me to get the address of this Tarquinius Spellman bloke for you, from the Apothecary Licensing office?"
Harry began to nod and thought better of it.
"Yes, please."
"The bloke who makes the perfumes? Why?"
"Tarquinius Spellman is a pseudonym," Hermione said, placing a small green bottle on the table in front of Harry. "Hangover potion."
"Who made it?"
"Me."
Harry grabbed the bottle and chugged back the contents. His brain pulsed a couple of times and his stomach lurched, then he blew steam out of his ears, sighed and blinked as everything came back into focus. "Cheers, 'Mione, you're a star."
Ron rolled his eyes.
"Now perhaps you'll explain to Uncle Ronald why I came home to find you passed out in the living room with my wife?"
"We needed Firewhisky," Hermione told him, "And so will you when you hear about this. Harry, explain from the start."
- - -
"Are you sure you don't want me to follow you?" Ron watched as Harry checked his robes and hair yet again in the mirror. "Just in case he hexes you and leaves you lying in the street for the Muggles to find?"
"Ron, Snape spent years saving Harry's life, he's hardly going to do something like that now, is he?"
"Wouldn't put anything past that bastard," Ron muttered. "He could have told us he was alive."
"He didn't know Harry had watched the memories and told everyone Snape had worked for Dumbledore," Hermione said, ever the voice of reason. "He thought he was going to be arrested and tried for murder. Harry, you look terrific. Stop fiddling and go, you're only making yourself more nervous. Go get him, tiger."
"Let us know that you're all right," Ron urged, "Just – not the intimate details, okay?"
"I'll be lucky to get intimate anything," Harry muttered, took a deep breath and Apparated.
- - -
Harry had visited Spinner's End with Kingsley Shacklebolt, after Snape's apparent demise. Unsurprisingly, this was nothing like that rundown industrial slough of despond. Snape had bought himself what might have been a gamekeeper's cottage, on a lane lined with huge oak trees and two miles from the nearest farm. A high wall surrounded the stone building and Harry could feel the wards prickle like ants on his skin as he approached. Any Muggle would have felt an urgent need to hurry past, and Harry had to fight the compulsion to continue to the village four miles away. He forced his feet to carry him to the gate and watched his hand tremble as it lifted the latch. Walking up the short path to the door felt like wading through treacle. The doorknocker was a heavy brass snake, which writhed as he touched it and hissed, "Pisssss off!" in Parseltongue.
"That'sss exssstremely disssscourteoussss," Harry hissed back and the snake lifted its head in surprise.
"Thisss issss the houssse of the Sssslytherin. Are you an undesssirable?"
"I ssshould rather hope not," he murmured with a wry smile. "Pleassse let me knock on your door. Ssssurely a Parssselmouth issss almosssst Ssslytherin by default?"
"Yessss, very well."
The snake lifted its tail and used it to rap smartly on the brass plate to which its head was attached.
There was no response at first. Harry's chest felt tight with a mixture of relief that he could postpone his encounter with Snape, and disappointment. Then he heard staccato footsteps, boots upon a stone floor, and the door was flung wide.
"Harry Potter." The deep voice reached down inside him and did things to his libido that made Harry glad he had worn robes rather than Muggle clothes.
"You left," Harry said, all his carefully rehearsed words leaking out of his brain. Gryffindor honesty and dogged determination remained behind. Snape folded his arms, robes hanging like wings or the carved drapery of a memorial statue.
"Why should I not?"
"I didn't want you to."
"I had no desire to remain."
"Why?" Harry stared at the emotionless black eyes; all feeling tucked away behind their Occlumency shutters. "You were never a coward."
"Cowardice has nothing to do with it. Go away, Potter."
"No. Not until you tell me why you left, and convince us both that it was the right thing to do."
Snape bared his uneven teeth in a mirthless smirk.
"I have no use for foolish entanglements in my life."
"Because things didn't work out for you once, you'll never try again with anyone else?"
"I loved your mother, Potter; I could have been your father. This is foolishness taken to the extreme."
"Who gives a toss?"
Although Harry did not look away from the black eyes and the pale face, he was aware of Snape's hands, clenching as he gripped his own elbows.
"I made a misjudgement, an error," Snape said, speaking as though his jaw muscles were so tight that he could barely open his mouth. "I thought… never mind."
"You thought I wanted to kiss you," Harry whispered. "You were right. I do."
There was no sound but their breathing, and the tiny Parseltongue hiss of the doorknocker, whispering "Yesss, kisss….." Harry stepped forward, placed his hands lightly on Snape's shoulders, leaned in and touched his lips to the taut, angry line of Snape's mouth. "Pleasssse," he whispered, and realised that he was speaking in Parseltongue. Snape's breath came out in a sigh and his lips softened under Harry's. Harry pressed closer, allowing his tongue to emerge and gently stroke along the seam of Snape's mouth.
"This is wrong," Snape breathed against him.
"Not wrong. Not if you want it, and I want it."
"I am…. I am not what you think I am. Not what you need."
"What are you, then, Severus? Other than a man with desires and needs, like anyone?"
"I have done wrong before."
"And made atonement."
"I am about to do wrong again." Snape seized Harry's shoulders and pushed him away, holding him at arm's length. "Go. Go away and find your witch."
"That's over, Severus. This is what I want. If I'd known you were alive, I might have wanted this all along."
Snape shook his head, the untidy locks of his hair flying.
"You don't understand; I am not like you. We're different creatures, you and I, you were made to play in the light and I am a creature of darkness."
"That's crap," Harry said strongly, "utter crap! You made a mistake when you were very young, you worked to pay your debts and that's all behind you now. You are allowed to love!"
Snape released him, drawing back into the dark interior of his house.
"Go."
Harry stuck his booted foot in the doorway.
"Not until you look me in the eye and tell me that you don't want me. Tell me that this isn't another of your noble sacrifices, that this isn't something that you want but are denying yourself the chance to have."
"Go away."
"Show me again that you're the bravest man I know." Harry backed up the foot with a few wordless charms before Snape thought to use his wards to repel him. "I know you want me." He thought of the brief, sweet pressure of lips against his own, that almost innocent kiss. "Let me show you how good it can be." He felt the door give slightly against the side of his toe. "Please, Severus. I do want you."
"Do you?" Snape's lips twisted into a wry grimace. "Will you?"
"Yes." Harry took a breath and gambled. "Let me show you, let me be your first."
Snape went very still. The pressure against the door relaxed and the hinge creaked as it swung wide again.
"I am no longer young," Snape murmured. "I am scarred, and bitter, no match for a young hero."
Harry reached out, slowly, wonderingly, and placed his fingertips lightly against Snape's cheek.
"Don't you realise how sexy you are? All that dark, controlled energy?"
"You will be disappointed."
"That's why you Disapparated, isn't it? You thought that I'd be disappointed in you and you went before I could find out what you're really like. You're so wrong, Severus."
Snape took a step backwards, clasping his hands in front of himself, white fingers intertwined like the petals of night-blooming flowers against the black of his robes. The gesture was a silent invitation. Harry did not give him the opportunity to change his mind; he stepped into the cool, dark hallway and closed the door behind him.
The cottage held the deep silence of old stone buildings and the distinctive scent that Harry had always associated with Snape; hot metal and spices, cool herbs and chemicals.
"God," Harry said, "I missed you. I didn't realise how much."
"You are mad, Potter." There was an edge of amusement in the dark voice, heat in silkiness, ginger and spice wrapped in chocolate.
"Call me Harry. Please?"
"Harry," said Snape, for once pronouncing the name without derision, "Harry Potter, ultimately you are my nemesis."
Severus Snape reached out and ran his fingertips down the curve of Harry's cheek. The contact was light and steady, barely enough to be felt, as if Snape feared that Harry would flinch away from a firmer touch. The black eyes followed the trace of the fingertips with utmost concentration, as Snape mapped every cell in Harry's skin, every angle and shade of colour, committing them to memory.
"My nemesis," Snape breathed, "God, you're so beautiful." Then Snape's gaze met Harry's with a look of wild alarm. Harry reached up and caught one of Snape's hands in his own before Snape could take flight again.
"No one has ever said that to me before," Harry whispered. His heart was thundering in his ribs and he could feel the heat pooling in his belly and his groin; burning in his face. "I've never wanted anyone like I want you."
Snape nodded once, a sharp dip of his head, wary as a marsh bird. Then, just as Harry was wondering how to proceed without alarming the man again, there was a sudden swirl of robes and Harry felt his back thumping against the plastered wall. A bony body pressed against him and Snape smirked down into his face from a distance of six inches.
"I may not have your vast experience but I can learn by example."
The dip of his eyelashes, the curves of nose, mouth, jaw and cheekbones, were all almost too much for Harry to bear. Snape was no beauty but he was exquisitely true to himself, all sharp angles and planes, dark purpose shining from his eyes. Harry reached up to touch the cool, pliant reality of his skin.
"Show me, then."
Here was a perfect moment as Snape leaned down to kiss him. Mouth pressed lightly against mouth, soft skin puckering as tiny muscles worked against one another, tensing and releasing. Snape tentatively suckled his lip; Harry responded by gently pushing his tongue into Snape's mouth. This obviously took Snape by surprise, but he returned the kiss with enthusiasm and their wet, slippery tongues explored one another, twining and pressing together.
Snape undulated against Harry as they kissed, the fabric of his robe twisting around his legs. Harry felt the hard shape of Snape's arousal, and the exact moment that Snape realised what he was doing. Snape froze. Harry slid his hand down and pressed it firmly against Snape's erection.
"Don't stop," he murmured, guiding Snape's hand to his own needy cock. "Please, don't stop."
As if waiting for that reassurance, Snape closed his fingers around Harry in a gloriously tender clasp, cupping his balls, then sliding up to press the heel of his hand against the blindly thrusting head of his cock. Harry returned the pressure and Snape groaned.
"Do that again and I'll come here and now."
"That's what cleaning spells are for," Harry told him and rubbed. Snape jerked against him, once, twice and again, and Harry felt a shudder running through him and the wet warmth in the cloth of his robe. Knowing that he had brought Severus Snape, master of sarcasm and self-control, to orgasm against a wall without even touching his skin, gave Harry a piercing sense of fulfilment. He pressed against Snape, revelling in the caress of those fingers even through the weave of his robe. He thrust into Snape's hand and came hard, seeing dark shapes against the wall as his vision almost blacked out.
They held on to one another, panting and sweaty. Harry was delicately balanced between amusement and embarrassment. He knew that it was the same for Snape, utterly the same, and in this moment they could understand one another completely if only Snape would allow it. He stared up into the dazed black eyes and said, "Look at me."
He felt Snape's mind, like a handful of icy needles, or sparks of sun on frost, all light and angles and jaggedness, blinding intellect over depths of loneliness and insecurity. Harry let him in, opening up his memories and trying to keep his mind limpid and still.
"You really do want me," Snape said.
"I said that I did."
"Slytherins always look for the ulterior motive." Snape frowned thoughtfully. "Let's go to bed."
"Now that was almost Gryffindor," Harry said, delighted. "You do learn fast."
"Just watch me." Snape whirled away and then paused. "Are you coming?"
Harry grinned and followed at an unsteady run.
- - -
Severus Snape, in turn diffident and ferociously needy, slowly peeling off his heavy robe, was the hottest thing Harry had ever seen. This was the stuff of fantasy; Snape at his mercy, willing but unsure.
The idea of deflowering an innocent witch or young wizard had never appealed to Harry at all; so he was amazed at how much he wanted to be the first to make love to this man. Maybe it was because Snape was no soft youngster but a powerful, clever wizard who would not allow Harry to dominate him.
Harry was filled with a fierce, unexpected desire to ensure that Snape was never again dragged into anything against his will. It was an instinct as powerful as his need to protect Teddy or his own children. He wanted Snape, needed Snape, but he wanted him whole and happy. Harry needed to hear the rare, hard crack of the man's laughter and cherish his sardonic humour.
"You watched me grow up," Harry said, sitting on the high, old-fashioned bed and pulling off his boots. Snape gave a melodramatic shudder.
"Do not remind me. You were a defiant and troublesome menace."
"Yeah, I know, and you were the saintly, patient teacher who had to try to educate me. You watched me grow up, then when you gave me your memories, I had the chance to watch you grow up, too. We were so alike in so many ways."
Surprisingly, Snape considered this remark with a modicum of seriousness.
"Perhaps we suffered a similar degree of early neglect."
"Yes, and then were manipulated and controlled by the same pair of megalomaniacs."
"And your point is?"
Harry's point had been to engage Snape in conversation that would make him forget his current apprehension, but he was not about to say so.
"My point is that in your memories, I watched you grow up from a troubled adolescent into a controlled, powerful and independent wizard who was capable of great sacrifice and heroism." Harry had by now stripped down to his dark red boxers. He rolled over onto his front and propped his chin in his hands, grinning at Snape. "Now I want to see you grow even further, into the sensual Slytherin that I know you really are."
Snape narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"You are the only person in the world to ever want me, Potter. I do have my doubts as to your mental state."
"A great many people would want you," Harry said carefully, "if you would only let them close enough to try." He sat up and glanced down at the tented silk of his boxers. "Are you suggesting that this isn't genuine?"
Snape folded his arms; an attitude that would have been rather more impressive had he not been standing in a pair of ordinary white briefs, black wool socks and a scowl.
"You obviously get off on the novel and bizarre."
"Severus!" Harry slid off the bed and stalked across until he was standing almost chest-to-chest with the taller wizard. "Stop running yourself down! There is nothing bizarre about wanting you."
"It's pretty bloody unique."
"Of course it is, you git, your attitude puts everyone off! You are an attractive man – stop it, you are! You're elegant and sexy and you have a voice that makes me want to lick it. Or lick you." Harry leaned forward and dragged his tongue across Snape's left nipple. Snape gasped and took a step back. Harry grasped him by the shoulders to hold him still and tongued the right nipple. Then he sucked it. Glancing down, he could see obvious signs of interest occurring within Snape's underwear.
"Harry, what are you doing?" Snape murmured, his voice a honeyed rumble close to Harry's ear.
"Conducting an experiment."
"What?"
"Seeing if I can reduce you to incoherence." Harry spoke without removing his mouth, allowing his tongue and teeth to move against the little stub of Snape's nipple. He could feel it hardening and Snape's breathing deepened. Harry licked and kissed his way downwards, until he was squatting on his heels. He pressed his nose against Snape's briefs, breathing in the musky scent of the man. Even this was faintly spicy, as if decades of brewing potions had permeated him with the essential oils of cinnamon and clove, ginger and rosemary. Snape's cock unfurled, hot and damp, straining the white fabric against Harry's cheek. Harry turned and took the tip between his lips. Snape whimpered, clutching Harry's head so hard that it hurt.
"This is…"
"What?" Harry mumbled against him.
"Wrong."
"No. Right."
"Rude."
"Erotic," Harry breathed into the wet cloth.
"Too much."
"Not enough." Harry hooked his thumbs into the elastic, lifted it so that the head of Snape's cock popped free, rosy with the hot blood flowing under its skin, took it into his mouth and sucked. Snape bucked helplessly and spurted bitter liquid. Harry was startled by the suddenness of it but he forced himself to swallow, not wanting to encourage Snape's idea that their behaviour was distasteful or offensive in any way. He smiled up, hoping he did not look like someone who had just given his first ever blowjob. Snape staggered, staring at Harry in stunned astonishment.
"See?" Harry whispered. "You are a sexual being, aren't you?"
Snape's expression changed into a smirk and his black gaze fixed on Harry with feral intensity.
"And do I learn fast, Potter."
Before Harry could react, Snape launched himself, throwing them both flat onto the bed. A little later, Harry decided that there were much worse things to have attached to his cock than an inexperienced but highly motivated Snape.
- - -
Teddy had done a great job. The sign swung gently in the breeze, plain black lettering on a background of a glass bottle. 'Echoes Apothecary. Potions and Perfumes.' The window display was equally tasteful; just five bottles ranging from a tall, slim vial to a squat jar, all containing the pale green 'Lily' perfume and bath essence range, standing against a swag of plain, unbleached linen. To one side was a matching vase containing a spray of lily of the valley under a stasis charm.
Harry turned at the sound of running feet. A small witch in Hogwarts uniform robes flung herself into his arms, squealing with delight.
"Dad! Dad, hey Dad, you're here!"
"I could be an apparition," Harry remarked, "Or someone under Polyjuice or a ghost or a hologram."
"That's a Muggle thing isn't it?" James asked, sauntering across the road with his hands in his pockets.
"It certainly is; ask your Aunt Hermione if you want more details. Where's Al?"
"In the sweet shop," Lily waved a hand in the general direction of Honeydukes. "He was talking to some Slytherins."
"You'd expect him to, Lils, since he is one."
Lily stuck out her tongue at her elder brother.
"You always have a clever answer for everything, don't you, Jimbo?"
Albus Severus arrived before the bickering annoyed Harry enough to prompt him to do something about it. Al was pink in the face and puffing.
"Sorry, sorry, Scorpius reckoned he'd found a hedgehog-flavoured Botts bean. Hi, Dad! Hey, what's happened to the apothecary shop?"
"Under new management," Lily told him importantly, pointing at the sign on the door. "If you bothered to read."
"Stop squabbling, please. There's someone I want you to meet."
Harry pushed open the door, ignoring the 'Closed' sign. The bell jangled and the new owner and his accountant looked up from the ledgers and documents spread out on the counter.
"Aunt Penny?" Al said, puzzled. Penelope Clearwater-Weasley smiled, nodded a greeting and began rolling up the scrolls.
"Good afternoon."
Lily gasped and stared up at the tall, black-haired wizard.
"I've met you before." She frowned. "I don't think you looked the same, though. Was it a glamour?"
Snape inclined his head. "It may well have been."
"In Slug and Jiggers! You said I was like my grandmother; I recognise your voice."
"I'll owl you the rest of the figures, Professor, and I'll call back next week." Penny went out with a bundle of paperwork under her arm and Harry tried to quell the butterflies dancing in his stomach. James was frowning, unsure, while Al stared around in fascination and Lily's small cool hand slipped into her father's, as if she sensed his anxiety.
"Come through," Snape said and swept through the door behind the counter. The Potter family followed him into the workroom, where a cauldron stood ready next to a chopping board and bowl of big, oval green-and-yellow fruit. Lily inhaled deeply.
"Do you make the perfumes? Are you Mr Spellman?"
"That is the name I use for my business, yes."
"Did you call the Lily one after my grandmother?" She stared up at Snape, unafraid, and Harry saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
"That is my business, Miss Potter, not yours."
"What are you making now? It looks very interesting."
Snape's eyebrow quirked. "What do you think I'm making?"
Al examined the fruit, the little bottles of cinnamon sticks, cardamom pods, allspice berries and cloves, and the line of empty glass jars.
"It looks as if you're making spiced quince jelly."
"Ten points to Slytherin."
"But you can't do that, you're not a teacher…" James allowed his words to trail off into silence as Snape turned slowly towards him. The young man coloured under the dark regard like an errant first year.
"I began to wonder if you spoke at all," Snape purred. "How like your father. He used to attempt to tell me what I could, or could not do. Indeed, so did your grandfather, whose name you carry. I have spent a large proportion of my life demonstrating to Potters that I never have, and never will, obey their commands."
"Severus," Harry said, unable to prevent a pleading note from creeping into his voice.
"Severus?" Al whispered, "I'm called 'Severus' too."
"I am aware of it," Snape sounded supremely, gloriously nonchalant. "You were named after me."
"You're Severus Snape? But you're dead!"
"As I remarked, I refuse to obey any decree from a Potter, especially that one."
"You were the Headmaster." Al gazed at Snape as if he expected him to sprout another head. "You were a hero, you helped Dad fight Voldemort and his snake killed you."
Snape twitched his hand, his wand appeared in it and he directed it at the kettle sitting in the hearth. "Amazing, isn't it?" Another flick and the teapot, mugs, sugar and milk arranged themselves on a tray.
"Wow," Lily breathed. "This is really exciting. You know, sometimes Dad tells us stuff and you never know if he's having you on or not. Did the snake really bite you in the neck?"
Casually, Snape reached up, hooked a finger in his collar and pulled it away from the skin, revealing the white, puckered scars.
"Cool," Lily said.
"Tea." Snape levitated the tray across the room to the table, casually transfiguring empty storage boxes into extra chairs.
"Are you coming back to teach potions at Hogwarts again, Professor Snape?"
Snape gazed across the table at Al. "I cannot imagine anything that would either convince me to do so, or persuade the school governors to allow it." He gave a delicate shudder. "Accompanying a third generation of Potters to Hogwarts – no, I think not." The eyebrow went up. "Why, did you wish to learn Potions from me, Mr Potter?"
"Everyone says you were the best." Al blushed and carefully added milk to his tea. "I like Potions."
"Tell me, Mr Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"The Draught of Living Death, sir." Al's smirk was eerily like Snape's. "And I know where to find and how to use a bezoar. I'm not a dunderhead."
Snape's mouth did not move but the skin around his eyes crinkled briefly, as if he was repressing rather more than his smirk. "Perhaps there is hope for us all yet."
Harry heard James take in a deep breath. Unlike his father, James rarely took anyone at face value. Yet James said nothing, until they had finished their tea and were on their way out, Lily enthusing about the bottle of bubble bath in Snape's newest range of toiletries. James nudged Harry's shoulder and asked very quietly, "Is he your new boyfriend?"
James was standing stiff and tall, his hands clenched and face pale with tension.
"Yes."
Something inside James seemed to relax, as if Harry's admission answered a question James had not asked, rather than the one he did. He nodded and said softly "Al? Al, it's all right."
Albus Severus's green eyes darted from brother to father and back. Harry was aware of Snape, watchful and silent nearby.
"Why?"
"The way you look at each other," James said, "The way you touch."
"We don't."
"Yes, that's what I meant. But anyone can see how you want to."
"That wasn't what I meant when I asked 'why'."
"I know." James patted his brother's shoulder once, as if restraining himself from giving the younger boy a little shove. "Tell him, Al."
Al stared into Harry's eyes as if lifting a heavy weight.
"I've got a boyfriend. James found us in the library, kissing. He said I ought to tell you. Mum'll go ballistic when she finds out."
"Very probably," Harry agreed, knowing Ginny. "Surely you knew I wouldn't?"
"He's Slytherin."
"There are good Slytherins. You're one, aren't you?"
"I know that! It's just… " Al let out his breath, sighing the words aloud onto the air. "He's Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy."
"As long as you're happy," Harry said.
Somewhere in the background, Severus Snape gave a stifled snort of amusement. Without even looking round, Harry sent a minor stinging hex his way, and heard Snape's Protego charm repel it. Lily squeaked and clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in delighted awe.
"Dad! You hexed Professor Snape!"
The hex bounced across the shop and set off the fire alarm. The Boy Who Lived Twice grabbed Lily and Al by a hand each and ran for it, James pounding along beside them as the alarm shrieked its indignation to the denizens of Hogsmeade and Snape swore fluently in French.
"Fire! Run for your lives! Cast 'Aguamenti' before you go! Save the valuables! Take the cash box! Witches and children first! Help! Send for the Aurors! Run for –"
The voice snapped off into silence.
"I think he cursed it," James said as they slowed to a walk.
Harry nodded. "No doubt he did."
Harry took a deep, cleansing breath of air and tipped back his head, gazing up at Hogwarts castle on its hill.
"Will he be angry with you?"
"I expect so, Lily, but he'll forgive me." Harry draped an arm around his daughter's shoulders. "He always forgives me, in the end. All will be well, you'll see."
And so it was.