Entry tags:

creation: fic, jadzialove, rated: nc-17

Happy Daft Day, chiralove!
Recipient: chiralove
Title: Dystopiary Deluxe
Author: jadzialove
Rating: NC-17 / Mature
Warnings: Vague DH Spoilers
Prompt/Summary: chiralove's prompt: I'd love to see something set in a post-war dystopian world that explored the limits of unconditional love or obsessive love, the limits of forgiveness and redemption, trust and hope … but if that doesn't work, I honestly will be thrilled with anything Snarry. :)
Author's Note: Dear chiralove, I don't mind telling you, your prompt gave me no small amount of panic. Then I convinced myself that you were being tongue in cheek. (It's a coping mechanism—my powers of denial are legendary.) So, the resulting fic is probably not what you had in mind. It was, however, undeniably inspired by your prompt in an odd but entirely sincere way, and for that, I thank you. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Many thanks, as always, to Cyn (aka: joanwilder and RaeWhit), not only for excellent beta service but for being the best darn sounding board around—I couldn't wouldn't write my name without her seal of approval. Any errors you might stumble upon most assuredly happened after she had it, and are a direct result of my own horrible tweaking obsession. And thanks to my most excellent friend from the future, blamebrampton, for the Brit-pick, and for sexy, rock-star Aurors.

---

Dystopiary Deluxe


The florist locked the door of his small corner shop and flipped the sign to read 'Closed' to any passersby. As he turned away from the display windows, a sudden crash and the tinkle of shattered glass marked the conclusion of what had become his daily routine.

"Sorry! Sorry, Sebastian!" his assistant called out plaintively. "I'll pay for it, I swear."

Grimacing, he briefly considered sacking the clumsy boy. It was enormously tempting, but the thought of training yet another new assistant was daunting enough to stay his tongue. "You will indeed, Crispin; it shall be reflected in your pay packet."

He found the boy in the workroom behind the main shop area, broom in hand and a woefully contrite look upon his face. Irritated, the florist waved him away. "Out with you. Go. I'll take care of it."

"See you in the morning?"

"Nine sharp. Go."

Crispin grinned in relief. A breezy, "Cheers!" followed in his wake as he flounced out the back door.

Ignoring the glass for now, the florist sighed and headed for the small lav. He considered his reflection for a moment. An average-looking man, approaching middle age but not yet there, with ordinary brown eyes and nondescript features stared back at him. He sighed again and bent to splash some water on that boring visage, needing a bit of refreshing for the night of work ahead of him.

Reaching blindly for the towel, he rubbed some of the day's toil off of his face and quietly uttered, "Finite."

He replaced the towel on the bar and studied his reflection once again. This time, the craggy features of Severus Snape stared back at him. Whether or not it was an improvement, he couldn't say. It was, at the very least, familiar.

After indulging in one last weary sigh, he moved back into his workroom and silently cast, "Reparo," wondering with a smirk what the hapless Crispin would make of the fact that he'd broken and paid for the same vase six times this month alone.

Moving to his worktable, he checked his supplies. He would have to go collecting tomorrow night, but for tonight, he had enough for two, maybe three. Feeling content for the first time that day, he settled in for a long night of crafting, of creating, diving almost gleefully into the craftwork that was his passion.

~**~

The bell over the door rang as it opened and Severus looked up from his task, prepared to greet the new customer, if in his own gruff manner. The words died on his lips, though, while his stomach knotted with apprehension.

It was precisely the fifth time Potter had darkened his doorway in the last year and a half, but each visit set him on edge as if it were the first.

"Mr. Potter," he intoned.

"Mr. Snead," Potter mimicked his formal tone. "I wish you'd call me Harry—may I call you Sebastian?" He smiled pleasantly.

Severus harrumphed, then asked, "To what do we owe the honor of your presence, Harry?"

The smile brightened then dimmed somewhat. "I, er, need another one."

Severus took up his pen, prepared to fill out a delivery ticket in the event Potter wanted this one delivered. "To whom this time?"

"Geoff, the bastard. But I'll deliver it myself."

"Ah." Severus nodded in understanding. Potter's unexpected sexuality had been a small shock, and Severus still felt a bit of that every time he was reminded of it.

He turned to the case behind him, the sign over which read: Dystopiaries, and pulled out one of the three glass orbs currently on display. Large enough to require both hands, he placed it on the counter and turned back to rearrange the remaining orbs, closing the case and locking it.

"It's so amazing what you do, Sebastian."

Severus indulged in a moment of pride, admiring with Potter the bleak miniature landscape he'd created only the night before. This one, as all the others, had a diminutive, petrified tree at its center; though, unlike the others, this one had a forlorn little swing attached by one tiny rope, its seat swaying lopsidedly in the swirling gray mist as Potter lifted it from the stand.

The idea for the Dystopiary had come to him out of the blue, a by-product of his mood, he suspected. He'd never imagined there would be any interest in such a thing. Quite to the contrary, they were popular with a wide and sometimes surprising variety of people. Of course, some were to be expected: the woebegone Goth children, and people, such as Potter, who sent them to recently ex-lovers. It was the brigade of elderly church ladies, with their flowered frocks, sensible shoes, and tidy handbags, exclaiming over the intricacies and the craftsmanship and their preciousness that had caught Severus by surprise.

"The detail is fantastic—and look at the tiny black roses tangled on the broken trellis. It's almost a shame to give it to an idiot like Geoff." Potter smiled unevenly, then looked at Severus, considering. He leant closer and said conspiratorially, "Can I ask—does the Ministry know about these?"

Though filled with unease, Severus remained outwardly calm. "I fail to see why our venerable PM would have any interest in a tiny flower shop in Cardiff," he replied stiffly.

"Not that Ministry," Potter raised his eyebrows significantly, "our one."

Severus took the orb from Potter and placed it on the stand. How he did so without shaking hands was mystery, as everything he'd worked for, everything he'd built, since dragging his sorry arse out of that shack seven years ago, appeared to be crumbling around him.

There were customers 'oohing' and 'ahhing' over the arrangements near the display window, so he decided it prudent to take the conversation elsewhere.

"Come with me." Severus motioned with his head towards the back room, using the brief respite to calm his jangled nerves and form a plan. It wouldn't do to panic; Potter hadn't indicated he knew of his true identity, he'd only alluded to knowing he was a wizard.

Whatever he was after, Severus knew Potter's twice-damned nobility wouldn't allow him to accept a bribe, but Severus would not go down without a fight.

He opened the door and ushered Potter into the backroom. "Crispin, please see to the customers in the shop."

Crispin headed for the door, looking Potter over as if he were a prized cow at auction. Potter withstood the inspection, arms akimbo, with an amused look on his face. Once at the door and out of Potter's line of sight, Crispin turned to Severus, and while backing out of the open portal, waggled his eyebrows, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up, before closing the door soundly.

Potter opened his mouth to speak, but Severus held up a hand, then counted down, "Three. Two. One."

A crash immediately followed, along with a muffled, "Sorry, Sebastian! I'll pay for it!"

Potter chuckled as Severus responded, barely raising his voice, "You will indeed, Mr. Llewellyn. The usual terms."

He took a moment to lament the loss of whatever it was the idiot had broken, then turned his focus back to Potter. "What do you want from me?" he demanded. "There is nothing harmful to Muggles in a Dystopiary, not a single misused Muggle artifact." Not entirely truthful as far as misused artifacts, but that was neither here nor there. "So, extortion is pointless."

Looking appalled at the implication, Potter sputtered, "No! I… I don't want anything! I mean—" He took a deep breath and started over, "Oh god, I am so sorry; I really cocked this up. I was fairly certain you were a wizard, and I wanted to let you know that without making an arse of myself if I was wrong… because I wanted to ask you to have a coffee with me. Maybe even… dinner?" he added hopefully.

The thrum of fear-induced adrenaline turned into something altogether different as relief warred with temptation, then temptation with self-preservation. "A… coffee."

"Or dinner." Potter nodded.

"With me." The very idea was astounding. And utterly absurd. "Why on earth would you wish to have a coffee with me?"

Potter shrugged. "There's something about you. Something I like. You've a great voice for starters… among other things."

The appraising look Potter sent him was thoroughly obscene, and for the first time in decades, Severus felt flummoxed, if only for a moment. "Surely you can find more suitable companionship elsewhere. And what of Geoff?"

"Geoff?" Potter asked, perplexed. "Oh! Geoff, right. Well, he's—"

"It's of no concern to me. I'm merely pointing out that it would be unwise if we were to… deepen our relationship beyond that of florist and customer."

Potter waved him off. "No. Listen, don't say anything right now, just think about it some." He sent Severus a beguiling smile and added, "You can give me an answer the next time I ask."

When Severus hesitated, Potter reached out and ran his fingers lightly down Severus's arm, then squeezed the meat of his hand, releasing it before repeating, "Just think about it."

Unfortunately, Severus did just that. With irritating and somewhat alarming regularity.

Still, when Potter arrived only two weeks later, looking like a Muggle musician in head-to-toe black, Severus was surprised. He experienced the same sort of apprehension he'd come to associate with Potter, along with a sense of anticipation that he hadn't experienced in… too many years to recall.

Severus took in the long, black leather coat, the heavy, nearly knee-high black boots, and the longish hair that curled over Potter's collar as the man approached the counter and felt his libido strong-arm the voice of caution that was desperately vying for his attention.

"Hi!" Potter greeted him brightly. "I was on an Auror assignment nearby and thought I'd pop in while I was here."

"Sebastian, where d'you… Oh, hullo." Severus's assistant interrupted.

"You were saying, Mr. Delvecchio?" His tone had been beyond terse, and Severus inwardly cringed, disgusted with himself—he may as well have urinated on Potter, marking his territory like an animal. And Delvecchio was straight, for pity's sake.

The assistant looked perplexed and mumbled, "Oh, er, s'all right, I'll figure it out."

Potter smiled as the boy headed to the backroom again. "What happened to Crispin?"

"Mr. Llewellyn outlived his usefulness."

Potter chuckled and said jokingly, "You finally killed him, then?"

Severus merely raised an eyebrow in answer, and when Potter laughed nervously and lifted a hand, saying, "Wait, best I don't know," he felt the shifting sand beneath his feet firm up slightly.

Gesturing toward Potter's ensemble, he asked sardonically, "This is how they're dressing Aurors these days?"

Potter grinned and stood back, holding his arms out. "D'you like it? Minister Shacklebolt's idea."

"Hmm. Good to know our Minister is on top of the important issues."

"Hey, you don't know—Aurors've gained a bit of a tarnished rep over the years." Potter moved forward to lean against the counter, placing his hand on it, a hairsbreadth from Severus's own hand. "Kingsley's trying to make us sexy again."

Severus thought, but didn't say, that Shacklebolt's efforts had been a success, if Potter were the proof of it.

He watched Potter's hand move fraction by fraction, and was mesmerized by the sight and sensation of those fingers tracing over his knuckles, running the line of them, then tracing lazily over the back of his hand; he felt the somewhat firmed-up terrain under him give way once again.

"So," Potter began, continuing the light, caressing touch, "d'you think you might like to have that coffee now?"

It was a spectacularly bad idea, and the answer, of course, was a resounding no.

Which was precisely why he was astonished to find himself pressed up against a wall in Potter's living room, with Potter frotting against his hip and hungrily attacking his neck.

Coffee, it seemed, had been a success after all.

Severus had thought his moral fiber such that he might have felt even a niggling sense of conscience about engaging in any intimacy with Potter under a false identity. However, as he seemed to be suffering no such ethical dilemma, he pulled Potter closer, put a hand in that enticing, too long hair and tugged downward, covering Potter's mouth in a demanding kiss when his head tilted accommodatingly, then twisted their positions, so that Potter was now the one pressed against the wall.

"Oompf. Yeah." Potter grunted in approval as his back hit the wall, pulling frantically at his shirt with one hand and unfastening his trousers with the other. "Right here. Fuck me right here."

"Demanding bottom, hmmm?" Severus gritted out, then feasted on the cords of Potter's neck, which had been absolutely crying out for the attention of tongue and teeth and lips.

"Mmmm. Just know what I want—and I want you—ungh—to have me—mmm, oh, that's nice—against this wall."

Potter successfully removed his own trousers, then worked on Severus's, slipping a hand inside and brushing his fingers along the head of Severus's cock teasingly, before pushing the trousers down Severus's legs.

"Wait. Like this." He hooked a leg over Severus's forearm, then said, "Ready for the other?"

It took a moment to work out what Potter meant, but he grunted his assent and watched in fascination as Potter braced himself against the wall and lifted his other leg, which Severus obligingly caught with his free forearm.

"Now. Fuck me now."

Needing no further invitation, Severus muttered the only preparatory spell he could recall at the moment and pushed forward using his hands both to support Potter's arse and to guide himself in, hissing as he sank into the incredible heat.

He hesitated, giving Potter a moment to adjust to the intrusion, but Potter didn't seem to require it. He smiled in an impish and satisfied manner, then leant forward, lifting a hand from Severus's shoulder to the back of his neck, gently pulling Severus's head closer to him and capturing his mouth, breaching the lips, darting his tongue in and out in a playful chase with Severus's.

Blood pounded in Severus's ears as heat pooled and began to coil at his center, then Potter squeezed around him impatiently and Severus's restraint broke. He pulled back then thrust up again and again. Pounding into Potter, who called out soft noises and incoherencies that drove Severus's need ever higher.

Potter pushed down and met Severus thrust for thrust, then he moved his hand from Severus's neck to the small space in between them, stroking himself in time with Severus's pumping hips until he cried out, "Ungh! Gonna come!" spilling over his own hand and onto Severus's stomach.

The rhythmic clenching of Potter's release was Severus's undoing, pulling his own fierce orgasm from him with a silent rictus of pure exaltation.

Breathless and dazed, he leant heavily against Potter and the wall behind him. As his wits returned to him, he realized that Potter was bent nearly in half, his knees pressed against his own ribs, though the man scarcely seemed to mind—he smiled languorously, licking at the sweat pooling on his upper lip from their exertions.

"So," Severus began, then questioned dryly, "Aurors are trained in contortionism?"

Potter laughed breathlessly, and kissed Severus soundly. "That was brilliant, Sebastian. I knew it would be with you." He nuzzled Severus's neck, then requested, "Take me to the bed, yeah? We can stretch out. It's that way." He gestured with his head.

Severus could hardly refuse.

And so, Harry Potter became a wholly unexpected but not unwelcome part of Severus's, or rather, Sebastian's routine.

~**~

The bell over the door rang as it opened, and Harry stepped inside, smiling broadly and sending a tendril of desire curling through Severus.

He watched the bride-to-be and her twittering entourage look appraisingly at the man in his Auror garb as he moved through the shop, and as the twittering turned to giggling, he assumed they approved.

When Harry arrived at the glass counter, he leant over it and kissed Severus—quite passionately for the venue, though in this, as in most things of late, Severus found he couldn't deny him.

Slow to open his eyes as they parted, Harry sighed, "Hi."

"Hi, yourself." Severus smirked, then added, "It is the middle of the day."

Shrugging, Harry responded, "I can't very well come all the way to Cardiff and not come to see you while I'm here."

Severus only responded, "Mmm-hmmm," somewhat dubiously.

Harry kissed him again, then smiled in a way that only served to confirm Severus's suspicions—clearly, he was up to something.

"Show me where you make the Dystopiaries?"

"My workroom? Whatever for?"

"You'll see."

Severus checked the progress of the bridal party and potential customer, noting she and her friends seemed much more interested in the two of them than the portfolio she was supposed to be perusing—she'd not made it halfway through the book depicting his past work for other such blessed events.

Still skeptical, he agreed. "Very well."

As they entered the backroom, they found his very efficient assistant at the work surface along the wall near the sink, putting together an arrangement for Mrs. Flynn, if Severus recalled correctly, who was in hospital with a bad gallbladder.

"Mr. Delvecchio, please kindly attend to the blushing bride in the shop."

The young man laid the daisy in his hand back down with its fellows, and smiled good-naturedly. "Okay. Hiya, Harry."

"Robbie." Harry smiled, and once they were alone, he added, "So, is this where you make them?" He ran a hand along the large worktable in the center of the room.

"Primarily," Severus answered, still uncertain as to where this was leading. He pulled open the doors of his supply cupboard and Harry moved to stand next to him, reaching in a hand that Severus had to smack out of the way. "Do not touch—they've been soaked in a petrifying solution and aren't safe to touch until they've finished the process." He turned to look at Harry, adding, "Unless, of course, you wished to have a stone hand?"

"They're real trees?"

"Of course they're real trees—they wouldn't very well be topiaries if they weren't."

Severus watched as Harry gazed in fascination at the half-finished Dystopiary on the center shelf, no doubt itching to touch the stone bench and the ugly little gargoyles that adorned it.

"How d'you make the mist inside, then?"

Leaning in, as if he were going to reveal some privileged information, Severus whispered, "That, I'm afraid, is a trade secret."

"Fine, fine." Harry made a gesture of surrender. "I was always crap at potions anyway."

For the first time, Severus suffered an entirely uncomfortable moment, wherein he had to censor himself to keep 'Sebastian' from revealing something that would be the knowledge of a man presumed to be dead. "I can tell you that it is a chemical process—one that would harmlessly dissipate into the air, were the orb to break open, Merlin forbid."

Grinning indulgently at him, Harry said, "Excellent." He gestured toward the half-finished cemetery scene. "It's sort of more like a terrarium than a topiary, isn't it?"

Severus was about to object when Harry added, "Though, I guess Dysterrarium doesn't make much sense."

He made a non-committal noise and moved to close the doors, then turned to find Harry had seated himself on the worktable.

As Severus drew closer, he reached out, gathering a fistful of Severus's shirt, and pulled him into the V of his legs. "C'mere."

The look in his eyes was delightfully provocative, and Severus did the only thing one could when faced with such a look—he kissed the man thoroughly, nibbling on and licking his lower lip before pulling back. "Whatever are you about?"

Harry grinned wickedly, then nuzzled Severus's neck before moving upward and capturing an earlobe between his teeth and flicking it with his tongue, sending a delicious shock of sensation dancing along Severus's nerve endings. Releasing that bit of flesh, he breathed into Severus's ear, "I am about," he traced the shell of it with his tongue, "to beg you to fuck me into this table."

Severus lost his breath when, before he could object or rally any sort of argument against such a proposition, Harry grabbed his now very interested prick.

"Would you like that? I think you would, and your cock seems to agree." Harry whispered huskily, "You want to fuck me, while your dependable assistant and a potential customer with her gaggle of friends are just feet away, only a partially opened door keeping them from knowing your hot, hard cock is filling my—"

Cutting him off with a hard kiss, Severus grabbed Harry's shirt and pulled him up roughly, plunging his tongue into a battle with Harry's. Then, without warning, turned him around and bent him over the table, pressing him into its surface, responding harshly, "Oh, I will fuck you, Harry: but know, if you make a sound, you shall pay dearly for it."

Severus bit his ear, then released him only long enough to yank down Harry's trousers and pants. Harry swallowed hard and moaned softly, "Oh god, yeah."

Something wild awoke in Severus, and he lowered his own trousers impatiently, just enough to release his throbbing flesh, then muttered a lubrication spell, pushing into Harry with no other preparation, giving the man little time to adjust. He grabbed Harry's shoulders for purchase, pounding into that tight arse with barely controlled thrusts and uncommon vigor.

A floorboard creaked outside the door, a woman's soft laughter carried gently on the air as Delvecchio charmed the group of women, the doors of the refrigeration units opened and closed as he, no doubt, pulled blossoms from the white plastic tubs for sampling. All of the sounds, the ordinary everyday noises of his shop were ratcheting up his desire—he was half-crazed with it—and yet the only sounds in the room itself were that of flesh slapping against flesh, Harry's harsh breathing and nearly inaudible grunts of pleasure.

He reached down a hand, grabbing hold of Harry, stroking him firmly, feeling it as though he were stroking himself, and Harry cried out softly, alternately lifting his arse to meet Severus's thrusts, then pushing his cock through Severus's firm grip.

"Dunno, I'll have to ask Sebastian…" The voice was just outside the door and Severus held his breath but continued slamming into Harry roughly, his abdomen tightening, beyond any ability to stop. "Oh no, wait, here it is."

Severus thrust twice more then stilled, silently shouting out his release as Harry clenched, spurting warmth onto Severus's hand and the floor below.

He allowed himself a moment to recover, lying atop Harry, who was breathing harshly into the table, then he stood, a little stiffly, pulling Harry up with him.

The breathless man turned in his arms and rested his head on Severus's chest as Severus muttered, "Scourgify," cleaning them up to some degree.

"That was," Harry breathed, "guh."

He looked up at Severus, his glasses sitting crookedly on his nose, and grinned triumphantly.

Severus adjusted the spectacles and asked, "Is that what you had in mind?"

"Even better." Harry kissed him—rather chastely, all things considered.

Having already sorted out his own clothing, Severus reached down to assist Harry in his efforts, their fingers tangling on the zip and Harry laughed, swatting Severus's hands away to finish the job himself.

He kissed Severus again and said, "Gotta get back before they miss me. See you later?"

The beatific smile Severus received at his nod sent a curl of something long forgotten and too often denied twining around his insides. He was, he knew, most decidedly in trouble; though, he was loath to do anything about it. Instead, he kissed Harry one last time, shooing him out the door and back to work, saying simply, "Thank you."

~**~

"I'm just saying you didn't have to take it out on the waiter. It wasn't his fault the… how did you put it?" Harry scratched his chin in thought, then produced a fair imitation with a gleam in his eye, "Oh yes, that the 'house wine is vinegar I wouldn't use to pickle tongue, much less serve in fine crystal to the unsuspecting masses.'"

"He should not foist that swill on anyone, and now he knows better," was Severus's matter-of-fact response, though he chuckled despite himself.

He realized that he'd done that with some frequency since Harry had come bounding back into his life, or rather, since they'd begun this new intimacy several months ago. He never would have imagined it; with their history, entering into this thing with Harry Potter, of all people, should have been a disaster. Yet Severus's unique position had allowed them a clean slate, in a manner of speaking, and now Severus found himself with an ever-growing respect for the man, with an appreciation for his odd sense of humor, and an undeniable, nearly unquenchable, physical attraction.

Simply put, Severus genuinely liked him, enjoyed his company… his presence, in his life.

It was in that moment of revelation that his conscience chose to return, berating him for his deception, and Severus suddenly knew—he had to tell him, he had to come clean and hope against hope that Harry could forgive him.

Harry walked over to the bar, while Severus seated himself on the sofa, absentmindedly pulling out his wand and setting a fire blazing in the hearth. He took the drink Harry held out to him, and when Severus looked up at his host, the object of his pre-occupation smiled in such a way that something twisted painfully yet perfectly in his chest, blossoming warmly outward and causing Severus to swallow hard at the sensation.

Seeming to sense his mood, Harry straddled Severus's lap, sitting gingerly on his knees. He took a swallow of his scotch before setting it, and Severus's untouched one, on the long table behind the sofa, then removed his spectacles, placing them there as well.

Though he was at a loss for the right words, Severus opened his mouth to speak, to finally confess, but Harry placed two fingers over his lips, saying, "Shhhhh."

Severus looked into the green eyes, wondering at what he found there—something elusive, something indecipherable—and he felt as if he were falling into them, willingly drowning in their depths. Then Harry moved forward, brushing the softest of kisses over his face: on his eyelids, over cheekbones, across the jaw line, playfully nibbling earlobes and neck.

Their coupling had been, since its inception, rather aggressive, somewhat athletic—this was something entirely different. Something made of light touches, soft caresses, slow deep kisses, and quiet, contented sighs.

As they moved to the hearthrug, Severus finally understood: for the first time, they were making love. Knowing he was damned for it, he made no move to stop the gentle swell they were creating from turning into a full-on storm.

With mask still firmly in place, but stripped of his clothing and his other defenses, Severus gave to Harry all that he had, all that he was, aching with a need he'd never before experienced—a need to give wholly and freely—and took just as freely what was so generously offered to him.

He tasted every inch of the golden skin, marking it here and there, lingering at his throat, his nipples, his navel, savoring and committing every pore to memory, then pushed slowly into Harry. Time stood still for them, and they were content to remain in that instant, joined as one, until the exquisite torture became a ravenous entity, demanding more. They rode the lush wave higher and higher until it crested, and they came crashing down the other side, shouting out each other's name in mutual ecstasy, then landing softly in each other's arms.

Resting his head on his arm, he watched the flickering firelight cast shadows which danced upon Harry's face. Severus raised a hand, touching his cheek, tracing the bone and along the smudgy crescents that the long, dark eyelashes created there as Harry slept.

He wandlessly Summoned the throw that was draped over the arm of the sofa, arranging it to cover them both, and allowed his mind to relive their lovemaking. Closing his eyes, he sighed, determined to retain every second of the memory, in case it was the last of any such tenderness between them.

On the edge of sleep, he stiffened suddenly, replaying in his mind a single moment, again and again, just to be certain his recall hadn’t been clouded by emotion. He sat up, knowing it was true, other things falling in line behind it.

As they had plummeted over the edge of desire, the name Harry had cried out had not been Sebastian.

It'd been Severus.

He couldn't say from where the inspiration had come, but he had another moment of clarity, and he stood, striding out of the library, down the hallway to the door of the one room Severus had never before entered in Harry's flat.

It opened without resistance to reveal a study, which was somewhat anticlimactic—until Severus hit the wall switch.

There, in a wood and glass display cabinet that seemed to have been designed for them, stood the five Dystopiaries Harry had purchased over the last two years, illuminated in such a way as to show them off to perfection, capturing their moody aura and accentuating it with breathtaking effect.

He sat down heavily in one of the wingback chairs, staring at the orbs and the evidence before him, then heard from the other room, "Shit! Fuck! Severus? Don't be gone, please don't be gone—I can explain."

In his haste, Harry overshot the doorway, comically sliding and scrambling past it in his stocking feet on the polished floorboards. "Fuck!"

He stumbled into the room, carrying Severus's white oxford shirt, wearing only the socks that had caused him to slide and a look of abject misery upon his face.

"I thought you'd left."

Severus considered him for a moment, watching the nicely muscled chest heave slightly with Harry's uncertainty, then, pointing at the garment Harry carried, responded wryly, "I'm not given to traveling in the nude, Potter."

"Back to Potter again," Harry muttered dejectedly.

Momentarily lifting the shirt to his face and inhaling, as if gathering strength from the scent, Harry moved into the room, standing in front of Severus, who sat back in the chair to look up at the man.

"You were going to explain?" Severus asked, deliberately ignoring his own culpability for the moment—his motives were quite logical, but Harry's side of the story was unfathomable to him.

Harry hesitated, then seemed to arrive at some decision which had him crawling onto Severus's lap, straddling his legs, and when Severus didn't object, he once again settled lightly into a sitting position on Severus's knees.

Severus could actually see the process by which Harry resisted reaching out to touch him, and he had a small battle of his own to keep his hands very neutrally on the chair's arms.

Taking a deep breath, Harry began, "I … When you disappeared from the Shack, everyone insisted that you were dead. But I refused to believe it—I just knew you were alive, and I had to find you."

"Had it never occurred to you that I might not wish to be found?"

Harry looked away sheepishly, then turned back to answer, "Yeah, it had. But I couldn't let it go. Hermione was great, helping me, though she didn't really believe it would do any good. Even I had just about given up hope though, after five and a half years."

"And what changed?" he prompted. When Harry shivered, Severus tugged his shirt out of Harry's grip, throwing it around his shoulders, while Harry stuffed his arms into the sleeves.

"Thanks." He smiled gratefully, then continued, "What changed? An acquaintance showed me a Dystopiary. And as you can see," he gestured over his shoulder at the display case behind him, "I loved them. I'd like to say I knew it was you straight away, just by looking at it, but I hadn't a clue. I just wanted, no, needed to meet the person who'd created them."

"So Geoff and the other purported recipients?" Severus gave in and reached over to still Harry's hand, which was worrying the pearly shirt buttons, trapping the busy fingers in his own.

The gesture seemed to melt Harry, who sighed and sagged forward, kissing Severus's shoulder. "Geoff is a lovely man who has no idea I've abused his name so horribly." He kissed Severus's shoulder again, then a dam seemed to burst, as Harry sat up suddenly and gushed out without taking a breath, "Severus, I swear, I didn't plan this I had no idea that I would end up caring for you I just wanted to see if you were fairing well but then I couldn't stay away and I tried, I really, really tried."

It seemed to Severus that he'd held out long enough. The simple fact of the matter was that there was no blame to be laid, and as far as he was concerned, no forgiveness to be issued. They'd each entered into this thing for different reasons, but seemed to have arrived at this point in complete agreement of purpose.

Though, to be certain he asked, waving a hand toward his face, "And this? Can you forgive me for this deception?"

Harry looked up in surprise. "There's nothing to forgive. I understand why you didn't say anything," he said firmly. "And honestly? Even though I knew it was you, I was kinda relieved that it worked out that way, at first anyway. 'Cos we could sorta start over, without all that old rubbish getting in our way. Is it permanent?" he added, touching Severus's jaw. Perhaps realizing how that sounded, he amended, "I mean, I like it, I just wouldn't mind seeing you the way I picture you in my head."

Severus silently cast, "Finite," and couldn't account for the delighted look he received at the appearance of his less than ideal features.

"There you are." He smiled. "A sustainable Glamour. I should've known—that's an Auror trick. I thought it might be Polyjuice, but that didn't seem right because of your hands. Well, and your voice, of course. You've a great voice, very distinctive."

"So you've said."

I knew it was you the moment you opened your mouth." Harry grinned cheekily. "And could you have picked a more obvious name?"

"I am accustomed to the sibilants—and, as Severus Snape is a dead man, no one should have been looking for me in order for either my voice or chosen name to have been obvious."

Finished with talking, Severus pulled Harry closer and kissed him for the first time as himself, feeling a thrill at the little noise Harry made in the back of this throat.

"Bed?" Harry asked.

"Bed." Severus agreed.

They untangled and rose from the chair, and Harry hit the wall switch, dousing the light, though the Dystopiaries seemed to have a slight, somewhat eerie glow of their own, which Severus found enormously pleasing.

As they moved down the hallway together, Harry mused, "Y'know, if we ever broke up, I couldn't send you a Dystopiary."

"Have no fear, Harry," Severus reassured him, opening the bedroom door to allow Harry to precede him, "if that should come to pass, I shall introduce you to my new Dystopiary Deluxe. It's the same dark landscape you're so fond of," he paused for a beat, "but comes complete with the addition of a tiny, shrieking man."

"Ha ha. Very funny."

Severus smirked knowingly, satisfied with the sound of Harry's uneasy snigger as he closed the bedroom door.



~Fin~