"No," was all he said, and then he took Harry's hands in his own, lacing their fingers and gripping tight. It hurt, and Harry had half a mind to tell him so, even though he was pinned to the bed and getting fucked at the moment, but then Number Thirteen began to move. He slid out and back in long, smooth strokes, filling Harry in a way he'd never been filled before, and rubbing against something inside him that heaped the pleasure up in layers, building and making him jump with every thrust. God, he was close – and no one was even touching him, and he just needed a minute and one hand to fix himself and he'd be good to go, really–
"Wait!" he said again, and tried to pull one of his hands out from Number Thirteen's iron grip. It was no good. How was this man so much stronger than him? Something about struggling was so goddamn exciting, though, especially with the way Number Thirteen was giving him that knowing half smirk. "Just – let me – " He was trying to speak in between the thrusts, but there just wasn't time, and after a moment he couldn't really remember why he'd wanted Number Thirteen to stop, anyway.
Suddenly the pleasure mounted up, spiked too high for him to control, and he remembered why. With a cry, he began to come, and at the very instant Number Thirteen released one of his hands and stroked him off. The touch sent Harry's orgasm spiraling out of control and he jerked and spasmed, sending jets of come across his own belly and Number Thirteen's hand. He kept his eyes open, remember what the man had said, and to his surprise Number Thirteen watched his eyes the entire time, and started to come himself just afterwards. His lips moved, but Harry didn't hear anything – surely that wasn't his name the man was mouthing? With a grunt, Number Thirteen fell onto his elbow, half on Harry, hand still wrapped around him and cock still buried in his arse.
Harry sighed, completely sated and utterly relaxed – all except for the one hand that Number Thirteen was still gripping. He flexed his fingers gently, wondering if the man would release him now, and the hand unclenched and drew away, but slowly. Then Number Thirteen shifted, pulling out and sliding off of Harry, lying just to his side on his side. One arm was still draped across Harry's chest, and Harry risked a glance at the man's face. Eyes shut. Surely he wasn't asleep – just recovering. Harry wondered if he always did this. A pang hit his chest when he realized that whatever Number Thirteen might be to him – possibly the best fuck he'd ever had – he himself was just one more stranger to Number Thirteen, one in a row of ever-changing faces. Probably young faces, probably more attractive than Harry for the most part. That shouldn't have bothered him, just like it shouldn't have bothered him to imagine Number Thirteen doing this with any other boy – or girl – but it did. And not just any girl, he realized, but Hermione, too.
He propped himself up onto his elbows, displacing Number Thirteen's arm down to around his waist, and Number Thirteen opened an eye to peer up at him. Harry wasn't sure if he was still just supposed to do what Number Thirteen told him to, or what, or maybe if that was over now that they'd had sex. What happened now? What was he supposed to do? Should he leave?
"Lie back down," Number Thirteen said, and though his voice was quiet there was no mistaking the edge of command in his tone. Harry again thought of protesting, but then what would be the point of that? He flopped back down onto the pillows and waited.
A few moments went by. Harry tried not to fidget.
Number Thirteen had closed his eyes again. "Can I ask you something?" Harry finally said, unable to stand it any longer.
"No."
Taken aback, Harry's mouth fell open for a second. Then he closed it again and shifted his head on the pillow. Well. That was that, he supposed. Then again, what was the man going to do if he did keep talking? It's not like he could do anything physical again so soon, unless he just tied Harry up or actually hurt him or something, and Harry didn't really think that was the sort of thing Number Thirteen did. It seemed to be all in play – although, he thought, remembering the way Number Thirteen had trapped his hands, just because it was all in play didn't make it any less real, either.
He glanced around the room a bit as he lay there, waiting for what, he wasn't sure. A large mirror appeared to be the closet door, and there was a small chest of drawers in the corner. Basically, the room was furnished simply but with older, high quality furniture. The wallpaper was a charming old Victorian pattern, all diamonds and curlicues, and if the particular shade of purple was a bit odd, at least it was understated.
The strangest thing was the sense of timelessness of the room. Harry wasn't wearing a watch, there was no clock on the wall, and he had literally no idea what time it was or how long he'd been there. And how long had he been lying there looking around? Was Number Thirteen sleeping? Harry didn't think so. He glanced to the man, lying snug against him, eyes closed tight.
His face looked relatively smooth for forty or so, Harry thought. He would have guessed him in mid or young thirties. His mouth was turned downwards and in general the man looked like he was generally had an unpleasant scowl on his face, but he seemed relaxed at the moment. Just a faint downward turn at the corners of his mouth told Harry that he wasn't totally relaxed – wasn't asleep. The hair was falling over his face, and for a second Harry was half tempted to reach a hand up and brush it back, but he was afraid of doing anything that seemed too intimate. He wondered again how long it would be before Number Thirteen kicked him out of bed – would he get to shower before he left? Or would he be expected to just button up and run on home, so to speak?
And why, Harry thought, staring intensely at the face of the man lying in bed next to him, why doesn't he see anyone more than once?
"All right," Number Thirteen said suddenly, his mouth barely opening to get the words out. "Ask your question."
Harry's mind went blank. What had he been going to ask before? It wasn't about why Number Thirteen didn't see anyone more than once, was it? Was he going to ask about the other people Number Thirteen had been with? Or if he preferred blokes to girls? Harry's mind searched for an appropriate question and he couldn't think of anything.
"Why don't you ever see anyone more than once?" Harry blurted. Instantly he wished he could take the words back, but there was no stopping his mouth when it got going sometimes.
Number Thirteen didn't move for a second, and Harry almost hoped against hope that the man hadn't heard him. What an embarrassingly stupid question; he sounded like some kind of desperate, lovesick teenager – well, maybe he hadn't heard.
Then he opened his eyes – both of them. Time for damage control. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," Harry added hurriedly. "I think it's a fine – I mean, you're perfectly within your rights to set up a policy – er, I mean, actually I'm sure it's really a very nice rule, I was just curious... as to..."
Number Thirteen's pushed himself up on one elbow and raised his eyebrows, waiting for Harry to finish.
"Just curious as to your reasoning," Harry finished with as much dignity as he could. "That's all."
"I see." Number Thirteen was staring at him, and even though Harry had been naked for quite some time now he felt even more exposed with those dark eyes staring straight at him. "So it's not because you would want to see me again?
Harry was confused. Did that mean he wasn't going to answer? "Erm..."
"Just in case you were wondering, no, you aren't the first person to ask me that. The very policy seems to engender some sort of... mystique." Number Thirteen pursed his lips – a very slight motion that drew Harry's attention immediately. Number Thirteen didn't seem to notice his attention, though, as he went on. "In fact I rather wish Lupin would stop mentioning it to people. It would serve my purpose just as well if no one knew about it until afterwards. Then he could deal with them and I would never have to answer any questions about it." He shook his head, and Harry blinked. Serve his purpose?
"At any rate," Number Thirteen went on, "I am not going to answer the question. It doesn't matter. For whatever reason, Lupin saw fit to tell you, and that's the end of that."
"Actually," Harry said before he could change his mind, "that rule was the only reason I agreed to try this out in the first place."
Something subtle shifted in Number Thirteen's gaze, and he tilted his head slightly. "Is that so?"
"Uh..." Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer or not. Did that sound bad, if he said yes? Did it make him sound desperate, or too repressed? He wasn't sure and couldn't begin to guess how this man, who was still for all intents and purposes a stranger, would interpret whatever he was going to say, so he gave up and decided to stick with the complete and bare truth. "Yeah. It, uh, takes the pressure off."
A bit of the intensity of Number Thirteen's gaze lessened, then, though Harry couldn't have said why.
"I see," he said again. Harry took the lack of anything more critical to be a good sign. He thought of asking what happened next, but decided not to press his luck.
Number Thirteen lay back against the pillows, settling himself in for what seemed to be a while. "If you're wondering what happens next," he said as he closed his eyes, "the answer is that it's up to you, within the following framework. I am going to sleep. I have the room until tomorrow. You may stay here and sleep, or you may go at your leisure. If you stay, you will be silent. If you go, you may not return. Any questions?"
Harry was a bit taken aback. So, apparently, they were done, and his ideas about the pressure being taken off were all well and good, but he was still plagued by a kind of performance anxiety. If he had lasted longer, would he still be given the same options? Maybe if he had been better at sucking Number Thirteen off, he'd be invited for another round later or something. Maybe if he stayed now, there would be another round. But Harry wasn't tired, and he was beginning to be more uncomfortable in the presence of this man, especially as he couldn't help but wonder about how many others – about all the others that had been given the same option, that had been with this man in a post-coital stupor. If he stayed, could he snuggle? Did he want to? His bravery was beginning to give out – well, if Harry was being honest with himself, it gave out rather a long time ago.
The sex had been good, but he was definitely feeling the awkwardness. Hesitantly, not wanting to disturb Number Thirteen – who he could tell wasn't sleeping anyway – Harry pushed himself to a sitting position. He watched the man's face for some sign, some flicker of approval or disappointment or something, but there was nothing. Maybe if he spoke again, Harry would be able to tell. He swung his legs off the bed and looked felt around for his glasses so that he would be able to find the rest of his clothes.
"Can I ask you something else?"
"No."
Harry sighed with exasperation, but quietly. He couldn't tell anything from one short syllable. He stood up, then, and gathered his clothes. Maybe a quick shower would be a good thing, and maybe he'd be able to tell something when he came back from that.
He was still in a bit of a daze when he showered and got dressed. What did he want from this man? Some kind of sign, some kind of indication, but what was he hoping for? Did he think that an experienced Master like this was going to suddenly change his policy of not seeing anyone more than once and ask him for a second – date, session, whatever this was? And why would he? Harry was nothing special. Nothing to write home about. Nothing to break a longstanding policy of single dates for. Still...
He shook his head and stepped out into the bedroom again. Number Thirteen had pulled a sheet up to his waist and was lying on his side, facing the far wall. There was no hint that he was still awake, but Harry got the impression he wasn't really sleeping yet, either. He stood there, a moment, and then a moment more, wondering. The skin of Number Thirteen's bare back was pale. Harry had an insane urge to go and wrap the man up in his arms, but surely that sort of overture would be rejected. And he wasn't quite as eager to leave as he had been a few moments before. After all... this was his one and only chance.
Maybe he'd call Remus up again, see if there was someone else. After all, everyone else in the world seemed to have survived without multiple sessions with Number Thirteen. Just because Harry was curious about him, didn't mean anything – he was probably just feeling the after-effects of good sex. That was it. He looked down at his shoes for a moment. They hadn't really played much part in the evening after all, and he'd agonized so much about which shoes to wear. Well, it had been a good night, no doubt about it.
He thought about moving towards the door and found himself utterly incapable of leaving without at least saying something. The man might be asleep, or he might not be, but Harry had to say it anyway. "Thanks," he said, just loud enough to be heard, and then he fled.
Time was a funny thing. Harry had left the Leaky Cauldron without seeing what time it was – there were still people there, though perhaps not as many as before, and by the time he made it back to his own flat he still had no clue whether it was even before midnight. Time had a way of getting away from him, but surely it couldn't be that late?
The lights were off when he let himself in to the flat, and Hermione was nowhere to be seen. Probably had her own date, or else went out studying with someone, Harry thought. He dropped his keys on the counter and glanced at the clock on the wall. Just now the stroke of midnight. He didn't think it was possible for five hours to have passed, but obviously they had. He sighed, scrubbed his face with the heel of his palm, and headed to bed. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep, but if he was going to toss and turn he'd better do it in his own bed instead of walking around the living room.
Hermione caught him over a bowl of oatmeal the next morning. "So?" she said.
Harry added more cinnamon to his bowl and shrugged. "What?" But he couldn't help the slight blush from rising in his cheeks, and Hermione had been a friend too long not to notice something like that.
She rolled her eyes at him, true to form. "So how did it go, Harry? Honestly, it's like pulling teeth with you sometimes."
"It was..." Actually, while the sex had been pretty amazing, Harry was left kind of confused about the evening on the whole. Part of him was almost... disappointed. But the experience itself had been great. "Brilliant, I think. I definitely forgot about my school work for a while." He grinned to show that he was none the worse for the night.
Hermione looked pleased for him. "That's very good, then," she said. "What did you think of Number Thirteen?"
I should have asked what to call him, Harry thought. He might have told me that, there, just before I left. "Oh... quite a... I mean, he was... well, words aren't really adequate, I guess."
Hermione smiled. "Yeah, I remember the feeling." An icy knife slipped between Harry's ribs, and it felt so sharp and sudden that he actually glanced down to see if something was stabbing him before he caught himself. Get a grip, Harry, he told himself. Hermione had a sort of dreamy look in her eye, and Harry found himself wondering if she'd stayed the night, when given the option. Don't ask, it was better not to know, it didn't matter anyway, and there was no sense in comparing yourself to someone else, especially when the someone else was Hermione, a friend and not to mention a girl and therefore totally different. Apples and oranges.
"Hermione," he said hesitantly. "Did you... I mean, with Number Thirteen, after you, um, were done, did you stay or go?"
Hermione looked confused. "What do you mean? Stay or go?"
"Well, I mean when it was all over, did you stay the night? When he gave you the choice, I mean?"
Hermione shook her head slowly. "He didn't give me any choice, Harry. After... well, afterwards, he was very nice about it, but he – I mean we both left."
"He left? You saw him leave when you did?"
"Oh... no, he let me have the shower first. A gentleman, if you ask me, or at least he's good at faking it. Then I left and I didn't see him after that. But I assume he left like he said he was going to." Her brows furrowed. "Why? You mean, he gave you a choice about staying or going?"
This was bizarre. Had Harry been given an option no one else had? Or had Number Thirteen just changed his ways since a year ago? Or maybe girls got the boot and boys were allowed to choose? "Uh, kind of, I guess. Yeah."
"And? What did you choose?"
Well, he could hardly refuse to answer after he'd just asked her the same thing. "I, uh, I left. I wasn't tired and it was just too strange to lie there, next to him like that..."
Hermione shook her head. "Well, I can see what you mean. What a strange thing, though. Maybe he liked you."
It was Harry's turn to shake his head. "Nah, I would guess he just didn't feel like getting out of bed and doing anything then. I mean..." Right. End of conversation.
Well, he had the rest of the weekend to work on his history project. It should be good, and actually Harry was looking forward to some time with the books. He liked history, and this promised to be an interesting topic – Myth and Magic from 1300 to Present. And there was nothing like diving into some serious work to get his mind off of those piercing eyes and the feel of silky black hair between his fingers.
"Three more for you to choose from, Severus." A sheaf of papers hit the desk in front of Severus, covering up the papers he'd been marking. He looked up.
"For God's sake, Lupin, how many times do I have to tell you that your stupid collar is completely visible when you wear that?" Severus pushed the profiles aside and tried to get back to his marking, but Remus Lupin leaned over the desk and planted his fist in the middle of the essay.
"Collars are hip these days. No one knows what it means." Remus smiled. "Or if they do, they've already participated in the service and aren't going to tell anyone."
Severus sighed. Remus was always too bloody confident. "Anyway I haven't got time for anyone else right now." He picked up the profiles Remus had brought, intending to push them back into Remus' hands, but the man danced away.
"Come on. Something's up. You haven't even looked at another sheet since – what, almost a week now? You have some other hot date for Friday night that I don't know about?"
Severus scowled. "Is that so far beyond the realm of possibility?"
Remus rolled his eyes. "I've known you for thirty-two years. Forgive me, I know you hate it when I say this, but I actually do know a few things about you. And one thing I believe quite firmly is that something is up. Now. Are you going to tell me or do I have to send Sirius over to find out what's going on?"
With an exaggerated sigh, Severus swept his essays – still in need of marking – into a folder and put it in a leather satchel. The profiles he kept out, and with an exaggerated blinking of his eyes and clearing of his throat, he looked at them.
Applicant one. A girl, barely out of secondary school, with long hair and nice breasts and a willing, eager attitude. Sirius had written underneath Remus' careful notes: Too pretty for you, Snivellus. Severus scowled at that and tossed the sheet back to Remus. "No," he said, and turned to the next.
Applicant two. Older boy – man, maybe, Severus noted as he saw the age – just divorced after a two year marriage, seeking new experiences. Might be temperamental, Remus had noted. Severus snorted. Remus wouldn't know the meaning of the word temperamental if it bit him in the throat. "Too tall," he said and tossed it to Remus with the other.
"Tall? Now, wait a minute, Severus – "
Severus stifled a yawn and looked at the last one. Applicant three, a nice-looking young man at university, fresh faced and unsure of this whole thing, but he'd been with a bloke before and should have some idea of what he wanted. Still, needed an introduction to the strange dynamic that Moonlight Escapes presented. Hmm... actually, this one was tempting.
Remus was reading over his shoulder. "I thought you might like that one," he said. "Couldn't help but notice you've been lingering a bit more over the black-haired boys these days, and this one has glasses, too–"
"What are you talking about?" Severus threw down the sheet. "Glasses or black hair make absolutely no difference to me, which you would know if you knew me as well as you claimed to just a moment ago."
"Come on." Remus waved the sheets in the air. "You haven't said yes to any of the last ten – or is it twelve? And I don't say that you haven't liked any of them, because I think you have – look at this one–" He was pointing to the third applicant.
"My choices are my own. Drop it."
Remus shook his head. "Something's wrong, and you want me to drop it? I don't think so."
Severus sighed, this time a real, genuine sigh and he knew that Remus could tell the difference. "It's not wrong. There isn't anything 'wrong'... I just feel like spending a little bit more time by myself."
"A little bit more? You went from approving three out of every four to absolutely none. That's not a little more time to yourself, it's all the time to yourself. It's just not like you."
Abruptly, Severus got to his feet and collected his bag. "I'll thank you to mind your own business."
"Severus."
He kept walking and was halfway to the door before he paused. Maybe Lupin could help him, or give him advice, if he could just phrase it properly so he didn't give anything away. Lupin would tell Black and Severus did not want any sign of weakness reaching Black's ears. He turned back to the other man, who was still standing by his desk at the front of the classroom.
"Let me ask you one question, Lupin. What do you think of my rule?"
"You mean never seeing the same person twice?" Severus nodded, and Remus smiled. "I think it's an excellent way for you to make sure you keep your distance, and make sure that it's always just about sex. The physical, and the mental stimulation from the control you have, but never about the emotional."
Severus' face froze in a cold haughty expression. "Is that so?" He turned and stalked towards the door. Either he wasn't as good at this anymore as he'd used to be, or maybe Remus really did know him. A little.
He had dinner alone in his rooms that night, but for once, it was unpleasant to be by himself. He had far too much to reflect on and far too little to look forward to. The truth was he could barely remember why he'd made that rule in the first place, but sticking to it had given him the one thing about the process he felt he could count on.
Which wasn't accurate, of course. He had complete carte blanche over the selection process, the screening, and the time and location of the "dates" themselves. He'd told Harry he didn't really want Remus telling applicants about his rule any more, but he'd never mentioned that to Remus. It had seemed like a good idea – oh, ten years ago or whenever it was they'd roped Severus into their dating service. Trying it just once had led to "just once" for any one applicant, and since he had complete control over everything from his end that had been easy enough to implement.
But last Friday...
He gazed out the window, and let himself remember. He'd never had such a response from a lover before – and it wasn't just Harry's physical response that had been so appealing. When he'd searched Harry's eyes, there had been a sort of... resonance, almost as if Harry could answer his silent questions. To see that, and to feel that kind of connection while making love was a completely new experience for Severus. And he wanted it again. He didn't know much about Harry and hadn't asked Remus how he'd got the number for Moonlight Escapes, but he supposed it didn't matter. Remus would have his contact number, and the thought that Remus could just pick up a telephone and actually call the boy at any moment he chose was somewhat maddening. Severus could have done it too, but he would have had to go ask Remus for the boy's number.
And anyway he wasn't going to do such a thing because he had a rule, and in nine and a half years he'd broken that rule exactly once and he had more than paid for his trouble. It wasn't a mindless rule that had never been tested – he'd learned the hard way just what a good rule it was, and that the first session should always be the last session.
In any case, the sooner he could put Harry out of his mind the better. He really should just say yes to all three of the latest, and expunge any memories that way. After enough attractive lovers passed through his bed, he would hardly remember those flashing green eyes or the way Harry had thought about resisting and chose – decided to – go along with what Severus said to do. Yes, and the sooner he could be rid of those images in his dreams, the better. But the very idea of saying yes, of setting up another meeting and another date with someone that wasn't Harry – it seemed an impossible thing to do. How could he?
How could he not? he thought sternly. He couldn't continue living like this. There was just one thing to do, and that was to – somehow – get Lupin on his side. He'd have to either find out how the boy knew them and get his contact info that way, or else worm it out of Lupin directly, somehow without giving him anything he might take to Black even as an idle curiosity. He had the advantage of his profession, at least – Lupin and Severus worked together, and Sirius Black did not. Apparently the thought of a Black working for a living had given his mother fits, or something equally ridiculous. It didn't matter. The point was that Severus had the opportunity to talk to Remus – alone – on a regular basis, and if he started now he might be able to hatch a plan and arrange to talk to Harry again sometime within the next week.
His mind was made up, he realized with a start. He really did want to. Of course, the question of whether or not Harry would want to talk to him, much less see him again, was a completely different subject. Severus couldn't forget what the boy had said – his rule had actually been an inducement. The boy wasn't looking for anything regular: he had wanted something casual and been specifically looking for a one-off. The thought of trying or having to try to change the boy's mind was more than just daunting; it made Severus feel faintly ill, but he could at least try. He wasn't getting any younger, and if the boy turned him down, Severus would just have to make sure he would forget the whole thing ever happened.
For the next few days, Harry's life seemed almost back to normal. He didn't go on thinking about Number Thirteen – he got straight to work and did his lessons and homework and reading and studying, and he did his hours in the library with a better attitude than he'd had in months. Hermione seemed friendly and cheerful, although he suspected that was more a reflection of his own attitude than anything. And his classes were looking up. He actually thought he'd be able to get his project done by its deadline, and his advisor was in high spirits about it.
He'd been acting so jovial and friendly with everyone he talked to, but it still surprised him when, Thursday afternoon after the History Department's weekly social for graduate students, one of the other students came up to him as he was heading down the stairs.
"Harry!" the boy called out, catching him by the sleeve. He dropped it immediately and looked slightly embarrassed.
"Oh... hi. Oliver, isn't it?" Harry was in a good mood still, and he couldn't help but smiling at the young man – a couple of years older than himself, he thought. "What's up?"
"I was just wondering if you were busy tomorrow night." Oliver glanced away and then back to Harry, looking a bit unsure. He ran a hand through his hair and Harry smiled even more.
"I'm..." He wasn't busy at all, and he hadn't had a proper date – visions of intense black eyes and lean thighs notwithstanding – the whole term. But somehow, although Oliver seemed like a perfectly nice young man, and someone that Harry might have wanted to get to know better once upon a time, the thought of actually going for a drink or something with him was not appealing. Not as a date. Still, he didn't want to put the boy off completely.
"Tomorrow night's not good," Harry said. "But, hey, why don't you check with me next week? I have a project due on Monday, but next week..." He let his voice trail off.
Oliver nodded, smiling. "Yeah, all right. Maybe next week." He turned and moved off.
It occurred to Harry that Number Thirteen wouldn't have let him just trail off – he had insisted that Harry finish his sentences. He missed that.
The next evening Harry was beginning to wish that he'd said yes. Hermione was going out, and he had absolutely nothing to do, and it was Friday and it was six o'clock and he wondered if Number Thirteen was meeting someone else tonight, there at the Leaky Cauldron. Did the man always get room number thirteen to match his code number? He could have asked Hermione, but Harry found himself reluctant to meet to discuss the man with her any more than he already had.
He found himself digging out a clean jumper and the jeans that one boy he'd dated had called flattering, and he wondered what the hell he was doing. Going out. Surely he wasn't going to go to the Leaky Cauldron?
As soon as one part of his brain admitted that he'd even thought of the possibility, it began to seem inevitable. Well, why shouldn't he? It's not like he was thinking he'd see Number Thirteen again, not really. Certainly not. Actually, he thought it was possible he could station himself near the barman, and if some young person came along and asked for a room key he could hear if Tom gave him the key to room number thirteen, and then he would know.
He should have stayed the night, he thought. He could have had hours more with his body pressed against Number Thirteen's, even if they didn't do anything physical for the rest of the night. And anyway, maybe if he had stayed then something else would have happened. He wouldn't know, and there was no way to go back and change it. Why had he left? Had he had such a difficult time with the awkwardness? Would it have killed him to swallow his pride and enjoyed a little physical attention from someone who knew something about it?
He laced his trainers and surveyed the flat. Two bedrooms, a sitting room and a kitchen. He'd been sharing it with Hermione for two years now, and it had never felt like home. But then, he thought as he trailed his hand along the wall, he had never really felt at home anywhere in his life. A moment later, he was headed for the door, and he was going out, and he was going to the Leaky Cauldron.
The Leaky Cauldron was just as bustling this week as it had been the previous one. Harry took a table close to the bar, looking around at the faces and wondering if any of these were prior customers of Number Thirteen as well. Perhaps the boy from the week before had sat here as Harry came in and went to the bar?
The crowd took no more notice of him this week than they had before, though it might have been that they were all just better at hiding it. Or maybe, if they were all part of some strange kind of Scene, maybe they just really didn't care.
He nursed a pint for a few minutes and gradually began to relax. He was out and having a good time and it didn't really matter about the whole Number Thirteen thing. Sure. Hey, in fact, there were even a couple of good looking blokes, and sitting here he had a good view of the bar and of them and it wasn't strange to be out by yourself, after all. This was London. He was reasonably attractive, and there was no reason he shouldn't go out on his own, maybe even meet a few people.
A young man came in just then, and Harry noticed immediately how out of place he looked. He was on the short side, with dark hair cropped short against his head, and glasses. Harry did a double take. The boy was looking around, and making his way to the bar, when suddenly Harry's view of him was cut off by a young woman, standing at his table.
He tried to look around her but she ducked to stay in his view. "Hi," she said, and Harry looked at her directly. She was conventionally attractive, he guessed, though there was a slight upturn of the nose that he didn't really go for. Then again, he didn't really go for girls at all.
The boy was almost the bar, and Harry didn't want to be rude, but... "Hi," he said. "Look, I'm terribly sorry, would you mind standing just–"
The girl looked over her shoulder, and Harry had a clear view for a second of the young man at the bar counter waving at the barman. Then she turned back and looked at Harry as if seeing him for the first time. "You're... ah. Never mind, I think I understand." She smirked and then, mercifully, stepped away. Harry made a mental note to buy her a drink later.
He'd missed what the young man said to the barman, but Harry had a perfect view of the barman leaning down to pick up that little book. He brought it to the counter, and Harry forced his eyes away. Someone would notice him staring, for one thing, and for another he needed to hear what was said more than what he could see. Of course, he wouldn't know anything if the room wasn't room thirteen, because what if Number Thirteen used different rooms each week? He'd never know.
"Upstairs, room four." There was a slight jingle and Harry flicked his eyes over to the bar just in time to see the young man put something in his pocket and turn away.
Great. Room four. Maybe it was Number Thirteen in a different room, or maybe it was someone else altogether, and Harry had no way of telling. He finished his pint and stared into the empty glass, wondering what he was going to do now. Why had he come? He'd known there was no chance of him spotting Number Thirteen, obviously. He could either sit here and wonder about it, or go home and wonder about it, or try to find someone to get his mind off it and stop wondering about.
None of those options sounded terribly appealing. With a sigh, he stood up to go pay his tab. He paid for a drink for the girl, too – luckily the barman knew who he meant.
That done, he collected his change and started for the door.
Suddenly a few people knocked into him, giggling and apologizing, and he smiled but realized he'd been knocked a few steps toward the staircase. Before he could change his mind, before anyone else could notice him, he was up the stairs and around the bend in the stairs and out of sight.
The hallway was just as dim as he remembered it, and there was no one in sight. His heart pounded in his chest as he made his way down the corridor. Out of curiosity, he paused outside door number four, but there were no sounds or any indications that anyone was there, Number Thirteen or otherwise.
A few steps further and he would be at the door to room thirteen. Really, he should just turn around and go back downstairs. There was really no point in this; he wouldn't be able to hear anything and he didn't want to hear it if he could. Would Number Thirteen be calling someone else by name in that low, honeyed voice of his? What would Harry do if he were? Nothing, obviously.
Then he was in front of room thirteen. He looked at the door, remembering how last week at this time he'd been expected, and had almost turned around to go home before even knocking. The man had answered his knock so quickly though – it had almost been like he had known that Harry was there and had just been waiting for the knock to yank the door open. What if he knocked now? Would the same man be behind the door, waiting for him? Did he just need to knock to get into that world again?
More likely, he reasoned, even if Number Thirteen were by some miracle here without another partner, even if he were here alone, he would be most displeased to see Harry again. Assuming he opened the door, that was. Okay, so now the string of things that Harry needed to be true for this to be a good idea was even longer: first of all, he needed Number Thirteen to not have another date for the night; and secondly, he needed the dateless Number Thirteen to be here, the only place Harry knew to find him; third, he would have to open the door to Harry's knock; and lastly, he would have to be willing to at least talk to Harry and not throw him out on his ear.
Well, what was the worst that could happen? Harry knocked.
His first knock almost missed the door, with a resulting knock that was so quiet there was no way anyone heard it. He knocked again, too quickly, and cringed. Nothing for it now but to wait and see if anyone answered. Of course, he realized, someone else entirely might answer, and then all he would have to do is say "sorry, wrong door" and make his escape. It wouldn't be the most embarrassing thing he'd ever done.
Still, he was sweating out the wait. If it was Number Thirteen, what would he say?
"Who's there?" a muffled voice came. Harry didn't recognize it at first, but he was certain that it was not Number Thirteen. Still, he couldn't get away without at least giving his name now, could he? It would be dumb to say "sorry, wrong door" to someone who asked who he was, without even seeing him.
"Er. Harry," he said, and chewed on his lip.
The door opened a crack, and for a moment Harry's heart stopped: he saw an intense gaze, long black hair hanging over the man's shoulders – but wait, no, the eyes were lighter, the man was too tall. The door opened further, and then Harry recognized the man.
Sirius Black.
The man appeared just as surprised as Harry was. "Harry," Mr. Black said, pushing the door all the way open. "What are you doing here?"
Good question. "Um..." A sudden thought occurred to him. Was Mr. Black here with Number Thirteen? His eyes widened as he took in the man's appearance – dressed attractively, in fine soft clothes – a damned sexy shirt with wide sleeves – and that same dog collar fastened tight around his neck. He wasn't wearing shoes – just as Number Thirteen hadn't been when Harry had shown up last week – and there was no doubt that he looked like a man expecting a date – or at least, the end of a date, back at his place. Or rather, at a hotel.
Mr. Black leaned his head out the door and looked up and down the corridor. Harry took the opportunity to peer into the rooms behind him, but he didn't see any sign of Number Thirteen. Mr. Black glanced back at him and said, "I tell you what, come inside and sit down for a moment. We can't stand around out here chatting all night."
Meekly, Harry followed him in. There was a small couch in the sitting area part of the room. Harry tried not to remember as he looked around exactly what had transpired in this exact space just seven days earlier. Mr. Black pointed at the couch, and Harry sat.
The older, taller man stood looking at him for a moment, and Harry couldn't help but notice just how attractive Mr. Black was, for an older guy. And as he well knew, older men could bring a lot to the table in terms of experience. Now there was an interesting thought.
But he could read Mr. Black's expression, and while there was some kind of excitement there, it was muted, as if Harry had interrupted. And no small amount of impatience, either. Harry realized he still hadn't answered the man's question.
"Sorry," he said. "I was..." Hell, he might as well go for the truth here as well. "I was actually looking for... well, I mean, this is going to sound silly but I thought on the off chance that he was here, that I might see him – I mean, just to talk to him, I don't really think he'd want anything to do with me, but I kept thinking about him and I wasn't sure if – "
Mr. Black held up his hand, and Harry stopped.
"Who are you talking about, Harry?" He seemed curious, but a trace of impatience ran through his voice.
"Number Thirteen."
"Number – oh." A small frown came over Mr. Black's face. "You met with him last week, then?"
Harry nodded.
Mr. Black glanced at the door, and then his watch, and then turned his attention back to Harry. He sighed. "You want to see him again?"
Harry nodded. He didn't mind admitting it to this man, who might actually be able to help him. If he wanted to. Mr. Black was a hard one to figure out.
"Just one little problem of course. He doesn't see anyone twice."
"I know," Harry said. Well, so much for that idea. He started to push himself to his feet.
"Sit down, Harry. Now, I don't know that much about – about your Number Thirteen, but in my opinion, if you just wait another week or see someone else from Remus' list, you will forget all about him. In fact, I strongly recommend you do that." Mr. Black tapped his foot and gazed down at him. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir."
There was a knock on the door, and Harry's heart jumped up his throat and swallowed his tongue. Was it him? Was Number Thirteen coming to play supplicant to Mr. Black? His eyes widened at the very thought. Surely not. He couldn't imagine these two getting along at all.
"Wait here," Mr. Black said, and disappeared. Harry could hear the door open, a low murmur, and then Mr. Black returned with Remus Lupin in tow.
Oh, God.
He had definitely interrupted. These two – these two? Of course, these two. He had seen it in their faces the day they'd come over to his and Hermione's flat. Remus was wearing simple but very flattering clothes, and Harry just hoped he wouldn't say anything in too sexy a voice – he was already feeling rather agitated from the location, the memories, and those sexy sleeves Mr. Black was waving around.
"Hello, Harry."
Harry decided he needed to flee, and the quicker the better. "Sorry I – I mean, I didn't mean to interrupt, I'll just be on my way." He stood up, and Mr. Black waved Remus to the couch in his place.
"It's all right, Harry." Remus glanced at Mr. Black as he took a seat on the sofa, but Mr. Black was standing off to one side, completely silent. Once again Harry wondered at the strange dynamic between these two.
Harry looked between the two men for another moment, wondering if Mr. Black was going to tell Remus what was going on. Apparently not. Apparently it was up to him.
"Sorry," he said again, and Remus looked at him. "I was just... um... well, this is where, I mean, last week I came here, and – Oh, God, that's not what I mean – "
Remus looked almost amused. "Hang on, Harry, calm down. It's all right." He flicked another glance at Mr. Black and an odd look passed over his face, one that Harry couldn't read. "I know where you met, ah, Number Thirteen last week. Tonight we have the room for a different purpose."
Harry thought he understood. "I know, I'm sorry, I just, um, I keep thinking about him and I was wondering if you could tell me why he doesn't see anyone more than once." There. That was actually a good question, and one that Remus might be able to answer, instead of something like "can you tell him I said hi" or something else equally childish.
Remus didn't glance at Mr. Black this time. He kept his gaze fixed on Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry, I can't tell you that."
"What? Why – I mean..." Harry trailed off, remembering again how Number Thirteen would have made him finish the thought, with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. In contrast to Oliver, in contrast to Mr. Black even, who had cut him off, earlier. "Okay," he said then. "Well... I'll just be going."
Remus gave him an apologetic smile. "I really am sorry, Harry. Perhaps you'd like to try someone else from the service? I could bring the book over this weekend if you like."
"Uh..." No, thought Harry. I don't want to see anyone if it's not him. But then, it didn't look like he would ever be given the chance to see Number Thirteen again. Was it really just a one time thing? And why did he have such a problem accepting a one night stand sort of scenario? Had he actually thought that Number Thirteen wanted to see him as well? Not really. As usual, Harry was only thinking selfishly, and he knew it. The man doesn't want to see me again, and that is that. He considered telling Remus that if Number Thirteen asked, then Remus could give out his number, or something, but that would just sound silly. He considered asking Remus what the man's real name was, since obviously both Remus and Mr. Black knew it, but that was probably something else he had no business asking.
Remus was still waiting for an answer to his question.
"Okay, sure. That'd be fine." Harry tried to look pleased by the idea and was sure he was failing miserably. He glanced once towards the bedroom. "Uh... right then. I'll just be on my way." With another sigh, he turned and left, ducking his head apologetically to Mr. Black as he passed, who watched him go in contemplative silence before turning back to Remus.
Just before the door closed, Harry heard Mr. Black saying, "Doesn't he remind you of someone?" but he promptly forgot it in his hurry to escape.
Severus took a walk around the lake every Saturday morning, rain or shine. Of course, usually he had a much more pleasant memory of a Friday evening to go over in his head as he walked. Normally, Fridays were for pleasure, and Saturday mornings were for remembering the pleasure, and putting it away in his mind to be saved, stored, and accessed at will. But this morning he had no such memory of the night before.
Instead, he was busy remembering the previous Friday – and a young man named Harry. The green eyes still haunted his dreams, and more than anything Severus wished he knew why Harry had left instead of staying.
Obvious, isn't it? He didn't want anything to do with you. He was in it for the sex and the sex only. He said as much very clearly when he said that your "one time only" rule was the reason he'd agreed. Sex only. And that's the way you prefer it as well, isn't it? You never wanted to get involved with anyone before.
'Get involved.' The very phrase was ridiculous. The wind was nipping up and dried leaves crunched underneath his boots as he stomped around the lake pathway, never slowing his steps.
He shouldn't have come out here. If he wasn't going to follow his normal Friday night routine, then he shouldn't have bothered to try to follow his normal Saturday morning routine.
Last week wouldn't have been the normal routine either, if Harry had stayed.
But Harry hadn't stayed. Severus never regretted offering someone a choice as much as he had regretted those words when Harry walked out of the door. But something had made him do it – some strange effect of an interesting boy, of the connection he'd felt between the two of them, and apparently Harry hadn't felt it. Or didn't know what to do with it. Or maybe Harry felt that way with everyone, which was why he'd been hoping to have a "sex only" no strings attached sort of fling. Bah.
Severus came around a corner in the path and stopped short.
A figure not ten yards away was kneeling down in the dried leaves, examining some sort of bush. The coat was old if well-cared for, and Severus didn't need to see his face to know who it was. There was only one person who ever bothered him on his weekly private walks at the lake.
"Ah, there you are, Severus. Bit late this morning, aren't we?"
"'We' are not late for anything, Lupin." Severus had difficulty working up the necessary level of venom. He really did not want to talk to Lupin, but things were already off balance today. He sighed and continued on his path, knowing Lupin would fall in and not bothering to tell him not to do so.
Lupin fell in beside him. "How does this morning find you?"
The sun was bright, and it was only a bit chilly, but Severus was well aware that Lupin's pleasant voice would have been just as pleasant if it were twenty below and sleeting. He ignored the question.
"Had an interesting visitor last night at the Leaky Cauldron," Lupin continued after a moment.
Some days Severus longed for a return to the days when torture meant having your fingernails pulled out instead of listening to the sexual anecdotes of colleagues. "I do not want to hear about you and Black–"
"Not Sirius – I was referring to a certain young man named Harry."
Severus almost missed a step, but he recovered, and hoped Lupin hadn't noticed. So Harry had visited Lupin at the Leaky Cauldron last night. What was he supposed to infer from that? He decided to strive for a casual tone of voice and get more information. "Oh?" he asked, as disinterestedly as he could.
"Indeed." Lupin's voice had just a touch too much satisfaction in it, and Severus waited for the explanation.
They walked on in silence for another few moments, and Severus gritted his teeth. The man was going to make him ask? Never. But without asking, he had no way of knowing what the purpose of the visit was, or if – God damn them all – if the boy had joined in with him and Black and–
No, surely Black would not allow anything like that. Severus had never met a man more possessive of his lover. But why else had Lupin's voice taken on that edge of smugness?
"Well?" he snapped at last.
Lupin had the gall to look surprised. "Well, what, Severus?"
"Well, what did he want?"
"You know, I'm really not sure," Lupin mused. Severus thought about hexing him, and this made him feel marginally better. "He showed up at the Leaky – actually, he was in room thirteen talking to Sirius when I got there."
Two things were good about that statement. Severus was trying to process and make sense of what Lupin was telling him – and perhaps more importantly, why Lupin was telling him – but for now the two things stood out. First of all, that the boy had come to room thirteen, and secondly, that Sirius and the boy had been talking. So he could just wipe that little vision of a threesome out of his head.
The vision of Harry in his mind returned instead to the one from the prior week, the way the boy had moved underneath him and moaned. Still disturbing, but for different reasons, and he much preferred it to seeing Harry in bed with either Black or Lupin, God forbid both of them at the same time.
"He–" Severus had started the question before he could stop himself, but now he may as well ask. "He came to room thirteen?"
"Apparently." Lupin glanced at him sidelong. "I think perhaps he was... well, no."
Silence dragged out again between them, and Severus started measuring the distance to the school. This was not a conversation to be held where students might overhear, and in his mind he cursed Lupin thoroughly for making him ask, again.
"You think what, Lupin?"
"He asked if I would tell him why you didn't see anyone more than just one time."
Severus did stop walking at that. What was that supposed to mean? The boy asking him... about his rule? And what on earth had Lupin said? He didn't put it past the man to actually tell the boy what he'd said to Severus just the other day, about protecting himself and all that rubbish. Merlin's beard.
"And what did you say?" He knew he sounded irritated, but honestly, Lupin deserved it at this point.
The other man had stopped as well, and turned to face Severus. An odd half smile formed on his lips, and he replied, "I told him I couldn't tell him."
Relief ran through Severus, closely followed by puzzlement. Why had the boy wanted to know? What could he think the reasons were? Surely he was intelligent enough to guess at a few things, and he already knew that Severus did not have some sort of disfigurement that limited the sessions to one per person because of embarrassment or anything like that. He tried to put himself in Harry's shoes, to see what the boy would come up with on his own, but the only thing he could think of was that anyone who refused to see someone more than once, just didn't like that particular person. So Harry probably thought he just didn't like anyone, and knew beforehand that he wouldn't like anyone, and made the rule because he was some kind of anti-social crotchety old bat.
Not too far from the truth, that. Perhaps it was just as well. With a final scowl at Lupin, Severus began his trek back up to the school.
"Severus?" Lupin caught up within a few steps. "Don't you have anything to say?"
"And what am I supposed to say? For your information, he told me in no uncertain terms that my little 'rule' was one of the reasons he agreed to the whole thing in the first place." A sidelong glare. "You were there. Is that so?"
Lupin appeared to falter, which was immensely gratifying. "I – well, he did say that–"
"So what am I supposed to think when you show up here telling me this rubbish about Harry coming to visit you and Black at the Leaky Cauldron?"
"No, it wasn't like that – he wasn't visiting us, Severus, he–"
"No? What then? Tell me." Severus kept his eyes fixed ahead of him.
"He was looking for you."
Severus snorted. "And yet he ended up with you and Black."
"Look – okay, forget about Harry."
Impossible, Severus thought, but he said nothing.
"Perhaps you'd like to... reconsider your rule? Take a look at some applicants who interested in a longer-term relationship, maybe try them a few times. You still have absolute control over who you take, how many times, all of that. It would still be entirely up to you."
Severus thought about it. Did he want to see the same face more than once? Yes, if it was Harry's. Look, he told himself sternly. Harry isn't the only one out there. You could find someone else, some other connection just as easily, and have the same thing over and over again.
He wasn't sure if he believed himself. That sort of connection was rare, and he'd been doing this for a long time without ever finding someone he wanted to see again. But maybe that was because he'd only been taking the ones who knew it would be a one time only thing, a voice said inside his head.
"I'll think about it," he said to Lupin. Lupin seemed to take that for a 'yes,' and looked extremely pleased with himself. Which just made Severus more cross.