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When Harry was seventeen, he thought killing Voldemort would mean the end of the war; he never imagined it would only be its beginning. Of course, he had been hopelessly naive and idealistic back then, two qualities that hadn’t survived almost ten years of guerilla warfare. Nowadays Harry felt mostly cynical and bitter, and often exhausted beyond belief.

“Harry? I need to talk to you.”

Harry wearily stood up from his bed and walked to the entry of his tent. He pushed the flap open.

“Kingsley? How did the raid go?”

Kingsley looked grimmer than Harry had ever seen him.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. May I come in?”

Harry wordlessly stepped away. Kingsley came in, closing the flap behind him and casting a Silencing Spell for additional privacy.

“What?” Harry frowned. “Wait, wasn’t Hermione with you on the raid? Where’s she?”

Kingsley closed his eyes and Harry felt his heart stop beating.

“Kings, tell me she’s all right!”

“I’m sorry, Harry. It was a Killing Curse; she didn’t suffer.”

How was that supposed to be a comfort when his world and heart had just shattered into a million pieces? Hermione was the last link to his childhood, after Ginny’s death last year. Harry wrapped his arms around himself and fell on his knees. Distantly, he heard Kingsley speak and then pull him into his arms. Harry heard a soft spell and he knew no more.

Harry woke up with the headache that sedating spells always gave him. For a moment, he thought he’d had a particularly loathsome nightmare, then his eyes caught the gleam of Kingsley’s earring in the dark, and he remembered.

He let out a shuddering breath, which brought Kingsley to his side instantly.

“All right, Harry?”

Harry pushed himself up until he was sitting with his knees hunched against his chest. Kingsley sat on the edge of the bed, not making any move to come closer.

“I don’t think it’ll ever be all right again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. When will we. . . ?” Harry wouldn’t bring himself to say the words; it would have made it too real.

“Tonight, just before we leave camp.”

Harry nodded. “Okay, thanks.”

Kingsley made no move to leave and Harry added, “Leave me alone for a moment, please. I promise I won’t try to off myself or something like that.”

Kingsley stood up and put a friendly hand on Harry’s shoulder. “All right. But if you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

Harry attempted a smile, but felt he had failed miserably.

“I know. Thanks, Kings. I mean it.”

The hand tightened, then fell away. Kingsley let himself out. Harry spent a long time thinking, not moving from his position.

The war had taken all his friends, one by one. The day that should have been Bill and Fleur’s happiest had turned to nightmare instead when Death Eaters had attacked the Burrow and massacred the Weasleys. Ginny and Charlie had been the only survivors, and Charlie had fallen a few months later during the attack on Hogwarts. Only the strong love he felt for Ginny had enabled her to go on. And in the end, it had been what had killed her, when she had stepped in front of a curse meant for him.

And now, Hermione, his best friend.

It was enough.

There had been this idea Harry had toyed with for a long time, and Hermione’s death was all the impetus he still needed.

Summoning parchment, ink and quill, Harry thought about what to write, and how to put it. In the end, he went with conciseness.

I would like to meet you, in a neutral setting, as soon as possible.

H. Potter

Harry covered himself with his invisibility cloak, and Apparated out of the tent as silently as he was able. He was careful to keep within easy reach of the camp; no need to put himself in too much danger.

Softly, he called for Hedwig. He didn’t have to wait too long as the snowy owl flew up to his arm. He stroked her feathers gently.

“I’m sorry to put you in such danger, girl,” he whispered, “but there’s no-one I trust as much as you.” He tied the letter to her leg. “Can you take this to Severus Snape? Be careful not to get hexed; people know you’re mine.”

Hedwig hooted and puffed her feathers. She took off, and Harry looked at her until she was nothing more than a speck in the darkening sky.

Silently, he Apparated back to his tent. Harry carefully put on his best clothes, unwrinkling them with a quick spell. He took a deep breath and stepped out. Another spell packed and shrunk his tent and its content until it all fitted in his pocket. Around him, people were doing the same.

When the camp had been brought down and everyone was ready, Harry turned toward the small pyre. Hermione’s clothes had been transfigured into a white, plain shroud, and laid down on a bed of hastily dried faggots.

Harry looked around him, at the people’s expectant faces.

“Hermione was my best friend, ever since we fought a troll together in the girls’ toilets, back during our first year at Hogwarts. She was one of the most intelligent people I ever knew.”

Harry closed his eyes, picturing the vibrant Hermione from ten years ago, before the war had started in earnest, before most of her friends had been killed. He went on talking for several minutes, though he wouldn’t have been able to recall what he had said.

Finally, Harry had nothing more to say. There was no point in delaying the unavoidable. Under his breath, he whispered, “Farewell, my friend,” and pointed his wand at the shrouded body.

The wood underneath caught fire instantly, flames mounting high and hiding her body from view. It only lasted a few minutes, and then the fire was gone, along with all traces of Hermione.

Harry let out a deep, shuddering breath and, looking at the others’ faces, said, “Let’s go.”

With a crack, he Apparated out of the clearing to their new campsite. People followed him, and soon the familiar routine of setting camp had driven all thoughts from Harry’s head.

It was four days before Harry received an answer, during which time one soldier was killed, and another two injured, albeit lightly.

The letter was terse and to the point. Very Snapish, in fact.

Meet me on Sunday at noon by Dumbledore’s tomb. Only you and me. No others.

SS.

Could he trust Snape? Not that Harry’s death would be a great loss — he had fulfilled his purpose when he had killed Voldemort — but still. . . Despite his misgivings, Harry decided to accept Snape’s conditions. He told Kingsley about it, and dissuaded him from coming with him. It took a great deal of persuading, but Kingsley finally agreed. They still arranged for him to Apparate to the meeting point if Harry wasn’t back by two o’clock.

Harry Apparated to the edge of Hogwarts’ lake at precisely noon. Immediately after, Snape appeared. The years hadn’t been kind with him. His hair was now liberally streaked with grey, though it wasn’t too obvious at first sight, as it had been cut very close to the skull. His face was lined with stress and worry, and Harry was reminded of the picture of a Roman emperor, he couldn’t remember which, in one of his primary school books.

“Potter. You have finally learned the virtues of punctuality.”

Well, it seemed there was an aspect in which Snape hadn’t changed at all. Harry reminded himself that he was twenty-seven, an adult, and that he shouldn’t rise to the bait.

“Snape. May we talk?”

Snape crossed his arms and looked down his long nose at Harry. Quite how he could do that when Harry was the same height, Harry didn’t know, but he found it very annoying.

“You were the one who requested this meeting,” Snape finally said.

“I want a truce. No, not a truce,” Harry immediately amended. “I want to end this war, before our world as we know it is completely destroyed.”

Snape remained silent for a long time. Harry did his best not to fidget under his gaze.

“A most admirable endeavour. I’m open to negotiations.”

Harry let out his breath in a rush. “Good. Wonderful. Absolutely grand. Er. . .” He took his wand out. “May I?”

“May you what?”

Harry looked up and realised that Snape was watching him with suspicion.

“Oh, er, sorry. I meant to conjure us a table and chairs.”

Snape nodded. “By all means.”

Harry conjured a very simple, sturdy table, and two chairs. They weren’t very stable on the uneven ground, and Harry spelled the legs to adapt to the bumps and holes. He caught a glint of approval in Snape’s face, but it disappeared as soon as it had appeared.

They sat down on each side of the table, and Harry took a sheaf of papers from his cloak.

“I read the manifesto you published last year.”

Snape relaxed back in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest. Harry chose to interpret the lack of sarcastic rejoinder as interest, and went on.

“I found it very reasonable. In fact, there is a number of points I agree with. Of course, there are others I find too radical, but I’m sure we could reach a compromise.”

Snape definitely looked interested.

“So, you are willing to treat with us Death Eaters, Potter.”

Harry took the time to organise his thoughts. “I wouldn’t have treated with Voldemort. Death was the only possible recourse against him. You, on the other hand. . . There have been no Muggle deaths in quite a few years, no gratuitous killings. Voldemort was a madman; you are the general of an army. An illegal, rebel army, but an army nonetheless.”

“Can you give me an example of these things you found unacceptable?”

“Taking Muggleborns away from their families,” Harry replied immediately. Because of his own situation, he had given it a great deal of thought. “Some people love their children, regardless of their magical status.”

“And what do you propose instead?”

“Children Protection Service. Wizards would visit Muggleborns’ homes, perhaps unexpectedly, to inspect their living conditions. If there was abuse going on, then the child would be taken away and given to a magical foster family. There would also be a day school from the age of six onwards where those children would mix with wizardborns and be taught the history and customs of the Wizarding World, if possible by someone a little more interesting than Binns.”

Snape had nodded at various points.

“Who is the leader of your army?” he said brusquely. “Who do people turn to for orders?”

“Well, me, but it’s nothing official. If there can be anything official when our government is in shambles.”

“We need a new government.”

“Elections would be impossible to organise in the present state of things.”

“A provisional government, constituted with key people from either side.”

Harry took off his glasses to rub his eyes. He put them on again and looked at Snape. “You and me, in other words.” Snape nodded curtly and Harry sighed. “And you think that people will accept it? Us working together, at the head of magical Britain?”

Snape looked pensive for a moment.

“I think people are tired of the war, mostly. And there is this old custom. . .”

Harry waited a moment, but when nothing was forthcoming, he prompted, “. . .Yes?”

“It was intended for the scions of warring houses, but the situation is actually very similar. . .” Snape’s voice trailed off as he thought.

Harry waited more and more impatiently. Finally Snape resumed, “Pacificatorium Connubium.”

“Remind me to include Latin lessons to that day-school I was talking about,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Peace-making marriage,” Snape translated.

“Wait a second. Marriage? I thought we were talking about forming a government together.”

“We still are,” Snape said calmly.

That infuriated Harry. “So what’s all this talk about marriage, then?”

“In Medieval times—” Snape began. Harry blinked, finding himself projected fifteen years earlier in the potions classroom. “—families sometimes were ordered to put an end to the feud between them with a Pacificatorium Connubium. One member of each family would be married according to this rite.”

“I actually have a rather large objection to that,” Harry said. “Negotiating with the man who killed Dumbledore leaves a bad enough taste in my mouth. I don’t think I could stand marrying him.”

“What can I say? I killed him. You saw it; you were there.”

Snape’s casual tone infuriated Harry.

“Why? Why did you kill him? It’s not as if you were loyal to Voldemort!”

“No?”

Harry longed to wipe that smirk off Snape’s face. “Look, I might not be the most observant person, but even I couldn’t fail to recognise your handwriting on all those notes. Without you, I wouldn’t have found the Horcruxes, or at least not so quickly. What’s your game, Snape?”

“What happens when you cast the Killing Curse on someone, Potter?”

Harry recognised the tone instantly. It was the one Snape had used when asking trick questions, where the most obvious answer usually wasn’t the right one. He frowned. “They die. What do you mean?”

“How do they die, Potter?”

“They drop dead, without a mark on their body.” But that wasn’t what had happened, was it? Dumbledore had been blasted backwards, over the battlements. Harry looked at White Tomb in wonder.

“And what happens to inanimate objects that get hit by a Killing Curse?”

“When they aren’t fixed, they get blasted backwards. . . Dumbledore was already dead.”

Snape nodded. “You aren’t actually stupid.”

“You needn’t sound so surprised about it!” Harry said, annoyed. Snape snorted. “Don’t say it! . . .So you were on our side—”

“The fact that I didn’t see eye to eye with the Dark Lord’s vision doesn’t mean I preferred Albus Dumbledore’s. I was, first and foremost, looking out for my best interests.”

“Slytherin to the core.”

“Well, yes,” Snape said matter-of-factly.

“But why drag on the war for so long?”

“Actually, you were supposed to die with the Dark Lord.” Severus shrugged. “The so-called Light side would have been without a leader, then, and taking over would have been easy. But of course, you never did what was expected of you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Harry said with heavy irony.

“Well? Have I put your mind at ease? Will you consider entering Pacificatorium Connubium with me?”

“I still have questions about that spell, if you would.”

“You mistake my meaning, Potter. Pacificatorium Connubium is not in itself a spell. In fact, it’s not magical at all, although I don’t think Muggles ever used it. At least not as such. It’s a non-standard form of marriage. The vows and the nuptial contract are noticeably different.”

“If we end up marrying under that Pacesomething—” Harry ignored Snape correcting him under his breath. “—it would be public?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Of course. Otherwise there’s no point in doing it. You don’t actually think I want to marry you, do you?”

“No more than I want to marry you, I expect,” Harry replied. “So it would be a façade, then.”

“Marriage does require consummation to be valid.”

“Yes. Of course.” Harry pushed the thought of sex with Snape to the back of his mind.

“D—”

Snape was interrupted by two simultaneous Apparation cracks. Harry realised that it was two already and that Kingsley had come to check on him. It appeared that Snape had left similar instructions, as Malfoy was behind him, his wand drawn and raised, his eyes wary.

Malfoy’s eyes widened when he caught sight of Snape and Harry conversing civilly, sitting on comfortable chairs in the middle of nowhere. Harry would have laid good money that Kingsley’s reaction had been similar.

Malfoy’s stance relaxed a little and he stepped closer to Snape, talking to him in a low voice. Harry felt Kingsley’s hand on his shoulder.

“All right, Harry?”

Harry nodded, his eyes still on Snape and Malfoy. With a wan smile, he said, “Don’t worry, we haven’t killed each other yet, as you can see. We haven’t even exchanged insults, in fact.”

“Have you finished?”

“Not quite,” Harry said, standing up. “Wait a sec, please.”

Harry walked toward Malfoy and Snape. Malfoy broke what he was saying and turned suspicious eyes at Harry.

“May I have a last word with you, Snape?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed threateningly, and he would have said something if Snape hadn’t interrupted him.

“Stop it, Draco. And leave us a minute, please.”

Harry could see him seethe with anger, but Malfoy obeyed.

“I think we should declare a cease-fire,” Harry said.

Snape nodded and added, “We should meet regularly to discuss the particulars. I’ll do some more research on Pacificatorium Connubium, and I’d like you to go through the manifesto and propose the changes you want. We’ll discuss them next time. Say, next Sunday?”

“Very well.” Harry reached out his hand. Snape looked blankly at it for a moment, then shook it firmly.

They separated and went back to their respective bodyguards before Apparating away.

Harry wasn’t surprised to find that Kingsley’s reaction to his news was mostly positive; they were all tired of the war. Nevertheless, he was rather worried at the others’ reaction.

And indeed, the meeting he organised that night had mixed responses.

“Are you proposing we treat with them? This is unacceptable! They’re Death Eaters!”

“I know, Hannah,” Harry said patiently. “But the Death Eaters aren’t the same as they were under Voldemort. Have you read the manifesto Snape wrote last year? I have, and I found myself agreeing at more than one point.”

“I’ve read it too,” someone else said, “and let me tell you I’m uneasy with some of the concepts stated there.”

“This is what compromises are for. I do not intend to accept the manifesto blindly, but it’s a good starting point for negotiations. Now, what I’d like is for everyone to read it and write down their objections, all right? So that I know which are the hot buttons and which are acceptable.”

A hand raised. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to say that I approve of anything that brings peace back to our world.”

“Thanks, Neville.” Harry’s gaze swept the small assembly. “Any questions?” People shook their heads. “Okay. Thanks for coming, and let me know about your objections to the manifesto. Good night!”

People started to stand up and go back to their tents or congregate in small groups to chat. Kingsley moved closer to Harry.

“You handled that well.”

“Thanks.” Harry paused, then decided to go ahead. “Kings, you’re wizardborn, right? There’s something I want to ask your opinion about. I haven’t told the others because it’s not yet finalised, but. . .”

Kingsley interrupted his ramblings. “Let’s go to my tent, we’ll have more privacy that way.”

Harry nodded and followed Kingsley inside his tent. He dropped on a comfortable sofa while Kingsley sat down on an armchair facing him.

“Well?”

“Hmm. . . What do you know about Pacificorium Consomething?”

Kingsley’s face registered his surprise. “Pacificatorium Connubium? It’s a very old custom where two members of warring families were married as an attempt to bring back peace. Why do you ask?”

“Snape seemed to think it would be a good idea.”

Kingsley frowned. “You mean, you and him? I can hardly think of a worse idea, honestly.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s Snape, and you’re, well, you. And also because I think you’ve given enough of yourself to the Wizarding World.”

Harry remained silent, mulling about it. After a moment, Kingsley continued, “You’re actually thinking about doing it, aren’t you?”

Harry tried to smile. “I’ll do anything to stop the war. If that includes marrying Snape, well, so be it.”

Kingsley stood up and paced, obviously upset. “I don’t believe you! You’ve sacrificed your family, your friends, your lover and who knows what else to this fucking war, and now you’re ready to sacrifice the rest of your life?”

“Whatever it takes, Kingsley. Whatever it takes.” Harry stood up suddenly, agitated. “Look, Kings, I don’t want to argue about that right now. What I need is a run-down of the Pacifithing. What do you know about it?”

Kingsley sat back down and Harry slowly followed suit. Kingsley took the time to organise his thoughts. Finally, he spoke.

“First of all, while there are elements of magic in it, Pacificatorium Connubium is not inherently magical. It’s not a spell, rather the name encompasses a series of practices.”

“Wait a second. What do you mean by ‘elements of magic’? Snape said it wasn’t magical at all.”

“Well, a marriage, any marriage, is a contract, and when two wizards or witches enter a contract, magic links them and holds them to the contract’s terms.” Harry must have looked as surprised as he felt, because Kingsley added, “Honestly, Harry, didn’t you learn anything in History of Magic?”

Harry stared at him. “You did go to Hogwarts, didn’t you, Kings?”

“Only after my OWLs, actually. But I did hear about Binns, point taken.” Kingsley chuckled. “All right. Pacificatorium Connubium. If I remember correctly, but you’d better research the matter to be sure, the main differences with a standard marriage are the contract and the marriage ceremony. Mostly, wizards nowadays have their wedding celebrated by a third person, generally a powerful wizard from their friends or family. They use the vows from the Book of Prayers, and young people even write their own vows. In contrast, the wedding ceremony for Pacificatorium Connubium is much older than that, and it has its roots in the Middle Ages. Among other big differences, there’s no need of a third party. The vows include a line about maintaining the peace in your home and your country, or something to that effect. The contract reinforces that.”

“Okay. That’s all?”

Kingsley hesitated. “That’s all I remember, yeah, but you need to research it anyway.” Harry nodded. “Harry, there’s one thing more.”

“Yes?”

“To make a marriage valid, there needs to be consummation, followed by cohabitation.”

Well, that was it. What he had tried to avoid thinking about. Sex with Snape. Harry repressed a shudder. “Snape told me the same thing. But it’s a one time deal, right? I won’t need to have regular sex with him?”

“No, just the once.”

Harry sighed in relief. “Thank God for small favours.”

“Are you determined to go on with this?”

“Determined, no. But if it can convince the general public to reach a hand to the other side and work to make things happen. . .” Harry shrugged and stood up. “Thanks for taking the time to listen to me. Good night, Kings.”

“Good night, Harry.”

Harry walked out of the tent, feeling Kingsley’s gaze on him the whole time. Contrary to what he had expected, he slept like a baby that night.

Snape and Harry met regularly, and more and more frequently, as negotiations progressed. Harry didn’t delude himself that all changes would be unanimously accepted, but hopefully they would satisfy the majority, which was what compromises were for.

Unexpectedly, Snape and Harry managed to keep their relationship more or less friendly. Snape was as sarcastic and sharp-tongued as ever, but Harry gave as good as he got. One or two of his more clever replies had even earned him Snape’s approval, not that Harry cared about that, of course.

Against Kingsley’s better judgement, Harry had decided to enter the Pacificatorium Connubium with Snape. Apart from the political repercussions of the gesture, it would be an occasion for public celebration and would give the resurgent economy a much needed boost.

Harry had just been down to the newly re-opened Madam Malkin’s — Madam Malkin herself had died during the war, but her former head seamstress had inherited the business and decided to keep the name and the reputation it came with. His dress robes were almost ready, and Harry could feel more jitters every day.

Cautiously, Harry pushed open the front door of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The Black House would not have been his first choice of residence, especially as Mrs Black’s portrait still hadn’t been dealt with, but it was the only one of his properties that was habitable. Harry promised himself to see to rebuild Godric’s Hollow as soon as possible.

Harry stepped in the kitchen. Kingsley was already there, nursing a mug of tea while reading a long roll of parchment — Harry’s marriage contract. Harry supposed the latest version must have arrived while he was away.

Without looking up, Kingsley said, “You won’t be able to take a lover.”

He was pointing to a paragraph near the end of the scroll. Harry stepped nearer to have a look.

Neither party shall engage in extramarital affairs or otherwise share his body with a person other than his husband.

Harry shrugged and went back to the cup of tea he had been making for himself.

“It’s been in the contract since the second or third version, I believe; I don’t know how you missed it.”

“You don’t care?”

“It would have been different if —” Harry forced the name past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “— Ginny had been alive. But as it is, I don’t care, no.”

“What if you fall in love in the future?”

Harry wanted to shout that he loved Ginny and would never forget her or replace her, but he was lucid enough to realise that at twenty-seven, he still had a very long life before him, and numerous opportunities to fall in love. Ginny would have wanted him to go on with his life.

“I’ll deal with the situation when— if it comes to pass. Have you read the whole thing?”

Kingsley pushed it away, letting the parchment roll itself back tightly. He steepled his fingers under his chin and replied thoughtfully, “It’s very fair to you both. Not too restricting; you won’t find yourself Snape’s prisoner or even dependant, or vice versa. Personally, I think it’s good and ready to go.”

“Just in time for the ceremony, too,” Harry said drily. “All right, I’ll look at it tonight and owl Snape tomorrow. Now, whose turn is it to make dinner?”

When the alarm rang, Harry was already awake, and seriously considering fleeing far, far away. He had heard that the Bahamas were nice at this time of the year.

His project was thwarted by Kingsley’s entrance. He pushed the curtains open, letting the bright morning light flood the room. Harry groaned in dismay, but he did get up.

“Come have breakfast before you’re decked in your dress robes, Harry.”

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and let his head fall into his hands.

“Why did I agree to this, Kings?”

“Beats me, but now, it’s too late to change your mind. Come down and have a cup of coffee. You’ll feel better after that.”

“You really shouldn’t be feeding my caffeine addiction,” Harry complained. He stood up and followed Kingsley to the kitchen.

Two cups of coffee and a long shower later, Harry was back in his bedroom fighting with the traditionally cut dress robes. He felt uncomfortable without trousers under the robe and would have asked for long underwear if it hadn’t been the hottest May in thirty years.

Still, Harry had to admit they looked good on him. The bright red colour, appropriate for a wedding, contrasted nicely with his tanned skin and dark hair. His hair had learnt to behave when Harry had grown it long. Harry combed it into a low ponytail, tying it with the hair clasp Hermione had transfigured for him years before.

The picture of Ginny he kept on his bedside table winked at him and blew him a kiss. Harry picked the frame up.

“You understand why I do it, Ginny? I love you, I’ll always love you, but it needs to be done. . .” Harry felt a little foolish. Ginny smiled indulgently at him and gave him a thumb-up. Harry smiled back.

He put back the picture frame and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. When he stepped out of his bedroom, Kingsley was waiting for him, arrayed in robes of maroon and gold that would have looked gaudy on anyone else. Kingsley pulled them off effortlessly, with an innate elegance Harry envied him.

They Apparated to the path between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, at the limit of the anti-Apparation wards, and started down the path to the castle. They were early, but there was already a lot of people milling about in their best clothes.

Finally, they arrived to the expanse of lawn between the castle and the lake. The crowd already gathered parted to let Harry and Kingsley pass.

Snape and Malfoy were already there. To Harry’s surprise, Snape wasn’t wearing his customary black, but robes of deep blood red offset by silver embroidery along the edges. His hair was a little longer than at their first meeting four months ago, but not long enough to look greasy and unkempt as it used to. Harry surprised himself by thinking he was, if not handsome, then very striking.

He walked up to Snape while Malfoy stepped away and joined Kingsley.

Snape nodded. “Harry.”

That was a first. Harry couldn’t recall Snape ever calling him by his first name before. But of course they were about to be married, so it was rather appropriate.

“Severus,” he answered in kind, glad he didn’t stumble on the unfamiliar name.

They made small talk for a moment, until it was time to begin. Snape pulled out a watch from his pocket, and examined it.

“It’s time, shall we proceed?”

Harry nodded and placed himself facing Snape. He placed his right hand in Snape’s extended one and waited as silence fell over the crowd.

In a clear and loud voice that he hoped would carry to the farthest ranks of the crowd, Harry started, “I, Harry, declare that I am here today of my own consent to take Severus as my husband.”

Snape repeated the ritual sentence, his eyes never leaving Harry. When it was done, he paused a moment, then continued, “I, Severus, give my body to you, Harry, in loyal matrimony.”

“And I receive it.”

“The bond between us shall only be broken by death. I shall stay with you through sickness or health, through poverty or wealth, through sorrow or joy. I shall uphold peace in my home and for my country.”

Snape paused and reached with his free hand into a pocket, taking out a ring. Holding it with three fingers, he said, “This ring shall be the visible symbol of my engagement to you.”

He slipped it on Harry’s right hand, which he still held. The ring was snug on Harry’s finger. It was a simple, discreet band of gold, but nonetheless it felt heavy, heavier than its size warranted.

It was time for Harry’s own vows. He had practised for hours and managed to say them confidently, never hesitating. At last he slipped his own ring on Snape’s finger.

Harry brought his left hand up to clasp Snape’s, their wrists now in an X-pattern between them. They stepped closer to each other and kissed, a simple peck of the lips to seal their union. Harry was quite surprised to realise that he was taller than Snape by a couple of inches; the man had so much presence Harry had never realised he wasn’t that tall.

They slid to their knees in the soft grass. Harry watched Malfoy and Kingsley step up close and spread a large veil over their heads, the light fabric falling over their bodies until they were entirely covered by it. Clapping broke out, and Harry distinctly heard several people give blessings.

After a long minute, the veil was taken off and Harry found himself engulfed in Kingsley’s wide embrace. He was slightly amused to see that Snape got a similar treatment, leaving him looking quite ruffled.

Malfoy offered quieter congratulations to Snape, then turned to Harry to shake hands. He leant close and whispered, “If you hurt him, I’ll make you regret it.”

He didn’t wait for an answer and left for the long tables that had appeared on the lawn.

Harry turned to his new husband. Hand in hand, they mingled with their guests, accepting their congratulations with good graces.

After what seemed like hours, Snape leant closer to Harry, whispering in his ear, “I’m famished. Let’s get closer to the food, before the wolves have cleaned the last of it.”

Harry bit back a smile and followed Snape to the buffet. He realised that he was quite hungry, too. The piles of food had been mostly demolished, but there remained a few sandwiches here and there. Harry flinched back when one was thrust under his nose, then he remembered that they had to feed each other throughout the wedding feast.

He bit into the sandwich, trying to avoid all contact with Snape’s fingers, and blushing brightly when he failed. That raised a few catcalls from the onlookers, and Harry distinctly saw Snape repress a smile.

Harry took another sandwich and approached it to Snape’s mouth hesitantly. Snape bit into it, and very deliberately licked Harry’s fingers, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. Harry could feel his heart beat wildly, and his mouth opened a little.

The scene was broken by a woman leaping onto them with a screech. “Murderer! Death Eater! And you,” she screamed, turning toward Harry, “how can you marry that filth! Traitor!”

Harry felt paralysed, his feelings of guilt surging strongly from where he had buried them. Snape stood up to his full height.

“Madam, calm yourself!”

Obviously that had been the wrong thing to say. The woman launched herself at Snape, knocking him backwards in the grass, trying to claw his eyes out. Harry tried to pry her away, but despair gave her superhuman force, and he had bowed to tradition by leaving his wand with his witness before his wedding.

Malfoy and Kingsley elbowed their way through the gaping crowd and immobilised the woman, levitating her away. Harry caught Kingsley before he left.

“Giver her a Calming Draught and keep her around. I want to speak with her when she feels more herself.”

Kingsley gave him a short nod. Harry hurried back to his husband, who was pressing a handkerchief against his cheek. Harry coaxed the handkerchief off. There were three red parallel lines, starting just below the eye.

“She missed your eye by very little. Don’t move,” he said, as Snape was struggling to dislodge the hand Harry had placed under his chin. He obeyed reluctantly.

Harry delicately hovered his fingers over Snape’s wounds. He could do very simple healing spells wandlessly, but it demanded a great deal of concentration. He closed his eyes and let the magic flow through him. When he opened them again, the angry red lines were completely healed.

Harry smiled smugly and released Snape, who raised his hand to his face in wonder. For once, he didn’t bother hiding his appreciation.

“Thank you, Harry.”

“You’re welcome.” Suddenly embarrassed, he asked, “Are you still hungry?”

To his amazement, Snape smiled, a genuine, amused smile that illuminated his features and took ten years off his face.

They went on offering each other bite-sized pieces of food, Harry blushing every time tongues and fingers entered in contact. Snape was obviously enjoying his embarrassment, but not, Harry thought, in a mean way.

At last, Malfoy and Kingsley came back. Kingsley announced in a loud voice that it was now time to help the new couple to their wedding bed. There were a few more catcalls and racy jokes, before the crowd escorted Harry and Snape to the castle.

Once inside, Kingsley and Malfoy closed the front door, leaving the rowdy crowd outside to disperse on its own. Harry dropped Snape’s hand and sat down heavily on one of the benches in the deserted Great Hall.

Kingsley said, “We took the woman to a nearby classroom and dosed her with Calming Draught, if you want to talk to her now.”

Harry stood up. “It’s probably best. Which classroom?”

“Flitwick’s,” Malfoy said.

Snape stopped Harry before he could leave. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not sure it would be a good idea. But thank you for asking.”

Harry walked to Flitwick’s classroom, wondering what he would tell the woman. She was sitting behind what had been Flitwick’s desk, worrying a handkerchief with her hands. She jumped when he coughed to signal his presence.

“Madam? May I ask why you did that?”

She lowered her head, and fresh tears fell from her eyes.

“I-I’m sorry for disrupting your w-wedding, b-but— oooh, how could you marry that— that scum!”

Harry took a deep breath. “Madam, I understand that you have suffered losses—” That provoked a fresh bout of tears and mumblings sounding like ‘my dear son’. “— but you need to see that revenge is not the solution. The only possible thing to do is extend a friendly hand to the other side, and work to establish the peace. The escalation of violence would only destroy our world.”

“I don’t understand. How— how can you do this? Your p-parents. . .”

“My parents are dead,” Harry interrupted angrily, “so’s my godfather, my best friends, and the woman I loved. But killing more people wouldn’t bring them back.” Harry sighed. “Look, I obviously cannot make you see reason. Just— just stay away from my husband or me.”

Harry turned and left, annoyed at himself for having lost his temper. Snape met him in the corridor, and wisely said nothing.

“Come. We still need to sign the contract, and then we’re taking the Floo from Flitwick’s office; it’s the closest.”

Harry nodded wordlessly and followed Snape.

Kingsley and Malfoy were already waiting for them. A copy of the contract was unrolled on the desk, its corners weighed by books. A quill and ink pot had also been prepared.

“After you,” Snape said.

Harry signed his name at the bottom of the parchment, followed by Snape and the two witnesses. When that was done, Malfoy took off the weighs and let the parchment furl on itself. He tapped it with his wand, and a few copies appeared.

Kingsley frowned. “Normally, you should give a copy to the Ministry archives, but given the state they’re in, I’m not sure what to do.”

“They’re scheduled for re-opening in two months,” Harry said. “I suppose we can hold on to the copy until they’re ready.”

Kingsley nodded. He passed two copies to Harry and kept one for himself. Malfoy took the remaining one.

“Oh! Before I forget. . .” Kingsley took Harry’s wand from his pocket and handed it to him. Encumbered by the bulky rolls of parchment, Harry looked around him to put them down. Snape took them from his arms with a roll of his eyes.

“Thanks.”

“Well, now that’s done, I think we should all go our separate ways,” Malfoy said.

Kingsley gave another friendly hug to Harry, while Malfoy waylaid Snape to talk to him.

“Look. I hope for your sake this works out all right. Good luck,” Kingsley said under his breath.

“Thanks, Kings.”

Harry tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fire and called out, “Severus Snape’s house.”

After a sickening, spinning journey through the Floo system, Harry stumbled across Snape’s rug, barely managing to catch himself on a corner of the sofa. He was glad he had come through first, especially when Snape came out of the Floo elegantly and cool as you please.

Harry rid himself of the soot staining his robes, and did the same for Snape once he had set aside the contract copies. He looked around him; the walls were covered from top to bottom with books. Some were leather-covered and obviously ancient, but there was also a section of Muggle paperbacks in a corner.

“Do you want to drink anything?” Snape was crouched before an open cupboard, looking at him above the top of the door.

“Yes, please. Whatever you’re having.” Harry needed something to calm his frayed nerves.

After a minute, Snape handed him a glass with a finger of amber-coloured liquid. Harry sniffed it cautiously while Snape looked at him with a smirk on his lips.

“It’s brandy. Never had some before?”

Honestly, Harry said, “I had firewhisky once or twice, but that’s all.”

“You’ll want to take it easy, then, or you’ll likely pass out.”

Ignoring Harry’s glower, Snape sat down on the sofa and savoured a sip, closing his eyes in obvious pleasure. Without opening them, he said, “This is to firewhisky what gold is to horsedung.”

Harry slowly lowered himself on an armchair and tried a mouthful of brandy. The burn of the alcohol had him trying to cough his lungs out, much to Snape’s amusement.

They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence, sipping their drinks. Once Harry had got used to it, he had found the brandy pleasant, but he was already feeling a little light-headed.

Apparently, alcohol made him talkative, because Harry had no idea where his next words came from. “Look. I know we must have sex, but I’m not taking your cock up my arse.”

Snape stared at him in surprise that turned quickly to barely repressed hilarity. Harry found it very annoying.

“And stop laughing at me!”

Snape brought his amusement under control. “Harry, your conception of sex is far too traditional.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“How do you define sex, Harry? Penis in vagina?”

“Well, yes.” Except that neither of them had a vagina.

“And penis in anus, too, of course.”

How weird was it, to hear Snape say ‘penis’ and ‘anus’? “Of course.”

“What about lesbians?”

“Uh?” What the hell was Snape talking about? How were lesbians relevant to their situation?

“They don’t have a penis. Don’t they have sex?”

Really, where did Snape meant to go, with all those questions? “I suppose so. I’ve never thought about it before. What’s your point?”

“That penetration is not a requirement of sex.”

But it was, wasn’t it? After all, they were both men, and everyone knew that queers had anal sex. Harry shook his head. “I don’t get it. Explain it to me.”

Snape put his glass down on the low table and stood up. He held his hand out to Harry who accepted it to get up.

“I won’t explain, but I will show you.”

With that, he took Harry in his arms and kissed him. Harry had only ever kissed Ginny, and Cho way back then, but this was completely different. There were no breasts pressed against him, and the chin against him was stubbly. When Harry finally lowered the hands he had raised in his surprise, the body beneath them was hard, the hair short and coarse, smelling faintly of wood and spices.

Snape’s hands slid down his back to cup his buttocks. Harry tensed a little, then relaxed when they simply rested there, never trying to go any further. Then they jerked Harry hard against Snape’s body, until they were flush together.

Harry would have protested, except that Snape had his tongue in his mouth, and it really felt good. Snape knew how to kiss, and Harry had spent the last year and a half with his right hand for sole company. His cock didn’t seem to care that Snape was a man; it was hard, ready to burst.

Against him, he felt a corresponding hardness. Oh God, he was touching Snape’s cock. Snape’s hard cock. It didn’t matter that there were at least four layers of fabric between them, he was in contact with Snape’s cock.

And what a delicious contact it was turning out to be. Harry was grinding against Snape while devouring his mouth. Their movements now were frantic and urgent. Harry couldn’t get enough of Snape’s mouth, of Snape’s tongue.

His orgasm took him almost by surprise. He stilled in Snape’s arms, clutching at his shoulders and his mouth forming an O of delight. Damp warmth flooded his underwear. He sagged in Snape’s embrace, the only thing that kept him upright, as Snape kept on rubbing against him, until he, too, came.

When Harry’s mind was a little less befuddled and he realised what he had done, he blushed brightly. He had come in his clothes, like a teenager! His only consolation — but that was a poor one — was that Snape hadn’t controlled himself either.

The unmistakable sensation of a cleaning charm managed to rouse him from his own shame. Harry looked at Snape, expecting to see mockery on his face, but there was only the deep-sated satisfaction that followed orgasm, and a hint of smugness, too.

Snape leant against Harry and gave him another kiss, this time slow and tender. Harry instinctively answered it, until he realised what he was doing and pushed Snape away, albeit gently.

“What was that?” To his deep mortification, Harry’s breath was short, and his tone much less imperious than he would have liked.

Snape laughed; it was pure joy, and try as he may, Harry couldn’t find any traces of contempt in it.

“That, Harry, is called ‘frottage’. That is one of the ways for two men to have sex that don’t involve penetration. Though of course, usually it’s done naked. But I thought you would be too conscious of yourself to let go.”

Harry found it difficult to get angry at Snape when he was still languid from his orgasm, so he followed docilely when Snape led him upstairs, to a medium-sized bedroom.

“I’m afraid I only have the one bed. My childhood bedroom has long been converted into a study. I hope it won’t be a problem,” Snape said as he began to open his robes.

Harry stared at him; they were about to sleep in the same bed? He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.

“I thought what we’ve just done was enough for— for—”

“For the consummation of our marriage, yes. I’m talking about sleeping arrangements. You can always take the sofa downstairs, but honestly, I’d advise against it. It’s older than I am.”

“Why don’t we transfigure the bed into twin ones?”

The glare that Snape sent toward him would have made weaker wizards turn tail and flee; Harry was made of stronger stuff, but he still didn’t try to question Snape’s decision. Maybe the bed was a family heirloom or something.

Snape let the robe pool down to his feet and stepped out of it. Clad only in a shirt that reached down to his knees, he picked up the robe and shook out the wrinkles. He hung it inside the wardrobe, then turned to Harry, who hadn’t moved.

“Do you want to shower first, or shall I?”

Harry felt a little overwhelmed by the events. “Er, go.”

Snape nodded. He took nightclothes from a drawer and a comfortable-looking bathrobe from a peg on the door, and disappeared in the corridor.

Harry let himself drop on the bed. He should have visited Snape’s house before agreeing to live there after the wedding. He had been so glad to get out of Number 12 Grimmauld Place that he hadn’t thought about the possible consequences.

Anyway, it was only until Godric’s Hollow was built again, a matter of months, that was all. And Snape wouldn’t try anything funny, after all. It was not as if he was attracted to Harry.

Resigned, Harry took off his robes and hung them up with Snape’s. His everyday robes were there, too, and Harry realised that someone must have unpacked his luggage and set his clothes here. Opening the drawer form where Snape had taken his nightclothes, Harry got further confirmation when he found his pyjamas. He grabbed a pair of bottoms and hesitated over a jacket. In the end, he decided against it; the weather was hot, and it would be obvious that Harry only wore them in a fit of some kind of prudishness. He sat back on the bed, waiting for Snape to free the bathroom.

When Harry came back from his shower, he felt much freshened and relaxed. Snape was already in bed, propped against a couple of pillows, a book open on his knees. He had glasses on his nose, with thin gold frames.

When Harry entered the room, Snape took off his glasses and looked at him.

“Do you want to sleep now? I can set my book aside—”

“No, no,” Harry hurried to say. “It’s too early to sleep. Do you mind if I have a look at your books downstairs? I haven’t taken any with me.”

“It’s your home too, Harry.”

With a smile of thanks, Harry turned back and went downstairs. Most of the books seemed to be about Potions or Dark Arts, but it was really the Muggle books which interested Harry.

He crouched in front of the bookcase and scanned the titles. Snape seemed to have rather eclectic tastes: Dickens sat next to Kerouac, and the Mabinogion was followed by The Complete Sherlock Holmes. But it was a large book on the bottom shelf that piqued Harry’s interest. He took it from the shelf, and opened it. It was called Italian Cities and was one of those coffee table books with more pictures than text. His eyes caught by the sunny landscapes, Harry took it and went back to the bedroom. Snape barely raised his nose when Harry set down comfortably to read.

It had been quite early when they had gone to bed, so it was a good two hours later that Snape closed his book and set it carefully on the bedside table, his glasses folded on it. Harry looked up; he had been fighting off sleep for the last twenty minutes, and he yawned widely before putting aside his own book and glasses. He snuggled down under the light sheet, trusting Snape to take care of the lights.

“G’night, Severus.”

“Good night, Harry.”

There was something wrong. Even barely functioning, Harry’s brain knew that. He was used to waking up with a warm body pressed against his, even though it hadn’t happened in a long time. What was new, however, was the hard. . . something poking him in his backside.

Harry opened his eyes wide when he realised what that something was. Even more worrying was the fact that Harry was hard, too. But of course, it was a completely normal physiological reaction, and had nothing to do with a possible — God forbid! — attraction to Snape.

Cautiously, Harry disentangled himself from Snape and escaped to the toilet. A few pulls on his cock picturing Ginny took care of his erection, and Harry proceeded with his morning ablutions. Once he was done, though, he was confronted with a dilemma: he had not taken any clean clothes with him, so he would have to go back to the bedroom and get dressed while Snape was there.

Not that Harry was shy or prudish — six years sharing a dorm and Quidditch changing rooms had taken care of that — but it was Snape.

In the end, all this worrying had been for nothing, as Snape was already waiting by the bathroom door when Harry came out. Snape’s eyes looked bleary and his grumbled “G’morning” sounded more like “Leave me alone”. Apparently Snape wasn’t a morning person.

Feeling cheered by this information, Harry dressed up and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he battled the ancient gas stove to make breakfast.

Maybe this marriage thing would work out.

Harry had first thought that this proposal of Snape’s to go out for the evening was an excellent idea. The small house in Halifax was intimate and cosy, but sometimes it felt a little claustrophobic. A nice dinner at a good restaurant would be just the thing to break their routine.

Harry started to reconsider the idea when they actually entered the restaurant. It was Muggle, so that Snape and Harry wouldn’t have to deal with well-wishers, petitioners or enemies. It was also a place meant for lovers; that was obvious even to the most casual of onlookers.

The lights were low, and there were tall, white candles on every table. There were only couples, mostly heterosexual, though Harry could see two lesbians gazing soulfully at each other.

The maitre d’ interrupted Harry’s reflections. “Good evening, gentlemen. How may I help you?”

“Severus Snape. I booked a table for seven o’clock.”

The maitre d’ looked at his list and smiled. “Yes. If you would follow me.”

He escorted them to their table and lit the candles with a lighter in a practised move. Once Harry and Snape were seated, he handed them their menu.

“Antoine will be your waiter tonight.”

He half-bowed and left. Harry wriggled in his chair; the table was so small that his knees were touching Snape’s. Under the table, he felt Snape spreading his legs slightly, enough that he could wedge one of his knees between Snape’s. He was comfortable, if he ignored the proximity of the other man.

Harry opened his menu and got another shock.

“Severus! The menu’s in French!”

Snape looked up, obviously amused. “That would be because the restaurant’s French, Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course I realise that. But it must mean it’s awfully expensive.”

Snape looked down again. “Don’t bother yourself with that. My treat, remember?”

Snape couldn’t be too rich, though, or he wouldn’t be still living in a derelict house in one of the worst areas of Halifax. Harry watched him for a minute and shook his head. “You’re insane.”

Snape didn’t even bother answering and Harry went back to trying to decipher his menu. Not that he had much success, as there wasn’t even an English translation. He wondered whether Snape spoke French. It seemed so, or at least he looked like he knew what he was doing, in contrast to Harry.

Many words resembled English, and Harry chose a dish whose name he was reasonably sure of. He would still confirm it with the waiter before ordering, though. He closed his menu, and as if on cue, their waiter appeared by their table.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Have you made your choice?”

“I’ll take a kir royal to start,” Snape said.

The waiter turned expectantly towards Harry, who had completely forgotten about anything but the main dish. “Er. . . same for me.” He had no idea what a kir royal was, but he supposed he could trust Snape’s taste.

“A starter?”

Snape looked at Harry inquisitively; Harry shook his head.

“No, thanks. For the main dish, I’ll have le sandre rôti.”

“And for you, sir?”

“Erm, is ‘filay deh boof’ —” Harry tried not to be self-conscious of his horrid French accent, especially compared to Snape, but it was difficult. “— the same thing as fillet of beef?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what is sauce Peri—” Harry abandoned his losing struggle with French language and turned inquisitive eyes at the waiter.

“Sauce Périgueux, sir. It’s sauce made with Madeira and truffles.”

Truffles! It must be very expensive. Harry sneaked a glance at Snape. He hadn’t batted an eye, so Harry figured he wouldn’t be left destitute by tonight’s meal. And after all, he’d been the one to make the reservation, hadn’t he? So he had to know what kind of establishment it was, and the prices they practised.

“I’ll have that, please.”

“And to drink with that?”

“I’ll have a glass of Riesling Vendanges Tardives. Harry?”

Would Snape stop rubbing Harry’s nose in his lack of sophistication? He felt like a peasant next to Snape’s French-speaking, wine-connoissing worldliness. And when and how had Snape come by his knowledge? He definitely hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in his mouth; the house on Spinner’s End testified to that.

Probably realising that no answer would be forthcoming from Harry, Snape said, “A glass of Saint-Émilion for my friend.”

“Very well, sir.” The waiter collected their menus. “I’ll have your drinks forthwith.”

Once he was gone, Harry asked Snape, “Where did you learn all this stuff?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Stuff?”

“French, and wines. If those courses were offered at Hogwarts, I seemed to have missed them.”

“Lucius took me under his wing when I was thirteen.” He didn’t say more. He didn’t need to; Harry could imagine the rest of the picture.

At that moment, their waiter came back with two tall glasses filled with red bubbly stuff. Harry eyed it suspiciously.

Snape chuckled. “A kir royal is champagne with blackcurrant liquor. Try it; it’s very good.”

Harry took a small sip. It was indeed very good, but Harry was glad there was only one glass of it; he had heard stories about the traitorousness of champagne.

While they drank their aperitifs, they talked about light subjects, avoiding the many hot topics between them. As good Englishmen, they started with the weather, but soon switched to the book Harry was currently reading, an enormous paperback claiming to contain the complete adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

They were discussing the accuracy of the portrayal of cocaine addiction when their waiter came back with their food. He was followed by the sommelier who served their respective wines.

The food was presented artfully on their plates, and it tasted delicious, too. The beef was so tender Harry could have cut it with a butter knife, and the vegetables melted in his mouth. He had never eaten food so good, not even when he had been at Hogwarts.

He realised that Snape was looking at him, smiling.

“What?”

Snape shook his head. “Nothing.”

His attention went back to his own plate, where Harry could see a fish fillet with a green sauce. Harry wriggled on his seat, and Snape suddenly clamped his knees on Harry’s.

“Stop moving around, it’s distracting me.” There was a faint smile on Snape’s lips and Harry wondered what it was about.

Their conversation soon resumed, turning to Ministry issues after Snape cast a Muffling charm around their table. Snape tended to state his opinions calmly, while Harry was more passionate about things, often waving his cutlery about to punctuate his arguments. Despite their frequent disagreements, Harry loved those discussions. They tended to do their best thinking when pitting their ideas against each other, and scrambling to keep up with Snape’s arguments was fun, if tiring intellectually.

Harry barely noticed when his beef let its place to cheese, but the fruit salad that followed caught his attention. It had been generously flavoured with rum, and the fruit were fresh and crisp under his teeth.

Snape had a chocolate cake that looked like a heart-attack waiting to happen. It must be sticky, too, judging by the way Snape kept licking his spoon off. Harry squirmed.

They had lapsed into silence again, each savouring his respective dessert. When they had finished, the waiter brought the bill, and Snape snatched it immediately, refusing to let Harry so much as look at it.

When they stepped outside, night had fallen and the air had cooled considerably. Neither was overly dressed, and it was a long walk to the apparition point. When Snape shivered, Harry gave way to his impulse to wrap an arm around his shoulders, gathering him close. To Harry’s surprise, Snape didn’t object and even took Harry by the waist.

It was late, and they had to go back to work in the morning, so neither dallied when they got home. After their usual evening ritual, they were quickly lying on opposite sides of the bed, ready to sleep.

No matter what position they would go to sleep in, he and Snape always woke up entangled together.

This morning was no exception: Snape’s head was lying on Harry’s chest, his short hair tickling Harry’s nose; a muscular thigh was wedged between Harry’s legs, and only narrowly missed pressing against his morning erection.

Snape also had his hand on Harry’s spine and was stroking it from the middle of his back to the top of his pyjama trousers, and even dipping under them a little. Harry’s heart stopped for a second, but Snape sounded asleep, his breathing even and deep, and the movement seemed involuntary.

Cautiously, Harry tried to slip away and get up, but Snape tightened his embrace, his head nuzzling closer against Harry’s chest and his breath now directly teasing one of Harry’s nipples. Harry swallowed a whimper as he felt his nipple tighten and his erection harden even more.

Suddenly seized by panic, Harry nearly shot off the bed. Snape grunted in protest, but to Harry’s relief, he didn’t wake up. Harry gave him a pillow to snuggle with and soon Snape had settled and was deeply asleep again.

Sighing, Harry went to the bathroom to take care of his problem.

They settled in a comfortable routine during the following few weeks. They would have breakfast together, head up to their respective office at the Ministry, share lunch in one of those offices then work together until the evening where they would floo back home and have dinner together.

Surprisingly, they cohabited quite well — not that they hadn’t the occasional screaming match at each other, but well, they were still Harry and Snape.

One Sunday morning, Harry was reading a thick file in the study upstairs while Snape was doing mysterious things in the kitchen. Reading to the bottom of a page, Harry frowned.

“Severus!”

After a minute, Snape appeared at the door. “Yes?” He took in the rolls of parchments spread over the length of the desk. “What on earth are you doing?”

Harry looked at him, wondering about his sudden dark tone. “September approaches and we still haven’t appointed a Headmaster for Hogwarts. I’ve got the list of potential candidates, and I wondered if you could have a look.”

Snape crossed his arms on his chest. “No.” There was a ring of finality in his words that had Harry bristle immediately.

“Why not? Look, like it or not, you know a lot about Hogwarts —”

“I said no. This is Sunday, and I refuse to sacrifice such a beautiful day to the Ministry. Close this file and come with me.”

“You’re my husband. Not my master. I don’t take orders from you.”

Snape frowned darkly. “Very well. Come with me, please.”

Ever so slightly mollified, Harry asked, “Where to?”

“I thought about having a picnic in the Peak District.”

Well, that was unexpected. “A picnic? You?”

“I’m not sure I like the implications of that.” Without giving Harry time to protest, Snape continued, “Yes, me. It’s something I liked to do when I was a child, and I thought you might like the experience, too.”

“Thanks.” Conciliating, Harry added, “I’d like very much to have a picnic with you.”

Snape lost some of his annoyance and nodded to acknowledge Harry’s unspoken apology. “There are generally a lot of Muggles about, so I’ve taken the liberty to lay out a few Muggle clothes for you on our bed.”

“Thanks. I’ll, er, I’ll get changed, then.”

Harry nearly flew to the bedroom. What on earth had got hold of Snape? A picnic? Harry knew, of course, that he wasn’t the vampire they had suspected him to be when he was eleven, but it didn’t mean that Snape was one much for sun and fresh air.

Almost dazedly, Harry took off his robes and put on the Muggle clothes. He couldn’t help notice that the jeans were exactly his size; they looked as if they had been painted on. What had made Snape choose such clothes?

Harry decided to wait and see what Snape meant by this unexpected outing, and enjoy it in the mean time.

When he came down the stairs, Snape was already there, a big hamper basket at his feet. He was still wearing his robes, though.

“I suppose you could pass for a Muggle priest, but wouldn’t it be easier to take off your robes?”

Snape looked at him silently then began to open the front buttons. Harry swallowed nervously; for all that they lived and slept together, Harry still hadn’t seen Snape naked — and he intended to keep it that way! However, when Snape shrugged off the robe, Harry realised that he had been wearing Muggle clothes underneath. Harry swallowed a nervous laugh.

“How are we going?” he asked to cover his embarrassment.

“Apparition. Side-Along, for now, as you’ve never been there.”

“With the basket? That will be awkward.”

Snape stared at him for a few seconds and sighed. “That’s what we have Shrinking spells for, Harry.”

“Oh.” Harry blushed; he hated to be caught in flagrante delicto of Muggleness, especially by Snape. For all that his father had been a Muggle, Snape thought like a wizard, more so than Harry.

Snape stored the shrunk basket in the pocket of his trousers, then held out a hand. Harry made to grab it, but Snape wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders, drawing him into a totally unnecessary embrace. Harry had no time to protest as the sickening feeling of apparition was upon him.

Snape released him immediately when they arrived, and turned away to unshrink the basket. Harry observed him suspiciously, but quickly gave up understanding him. He looked around him. They were by a narrow path, hidden from view by a cranny in the rocky hill that rose from the edge of the path.

“Are we going to picnic here?”

“Over there, actually. The view’s better from the hill.”

“You want us to climb that?” Harry hadn’t meant to sound as horrified as he did.

Snape threw him an amused glance. “You’ll work up an appetite.”

They walked together in easy silence. The climb was in fact easier than Harry had anticipated, as the short cuts Snape led them on were not quite as steep. Harry proposed to help carry the hamper basket, but Snape turned him down. When they were up the hill, they found an area by a large rock.

Snape took a blanket from the basket and spread it on the ground. He then took out a dozen boxes, more than the basket should have been able to hold, while Harry stared at him, his suspicion returning in full force.

He sat down, frowning, and accepted a sandwich. There was definitely something wrong with Snape. Six weeks of cohabitation had taught him Snape wasn’t the ogre of his childhood, but it didn’t mean he was all fluffy-bunny, organising picnics and serving him his favourite sandwiches.

Harry ate mechanically, never tasting the bites. Could someone have put Snape under Imperius? But for what purpose? He took out his wand.

“Harry?” Snape asked, eyeing his wand.

“Don’t move, please. Imperiusne!”

Nothing happened, so there was no Imperius involved. Snape was looking at him with an expression Harry had never seen before.

“I don’t know,” Snape said slowly, “whether to laugh or be insulted.”

Harry blushed brightly as he slipped his wand back in his pocket.

“Erm, sorry, but you were acting so out of character. . .”

Snape laughed. “Because I took you on a picnic?”

Put like that, it sounded indeed ridiculous. Harry shrugged, embarrassed. He felt fingers on his cheek, tugging him gently toward Snape. Obeying them, Harry found himself kissed slowly and thoroughly. He closed his eyes and responded tentatively, opening his mouth to the sweet tongue exploring him.

Childish laughter and whispers rose behind them and they broke out of their kiss, Snape turning to glare at the family who had just arrived. They took the hint and left quickly.

“Why?” Harry asked.

Snape didn’t try to ignore the meaning of his question. “Because we are married, and I’d like not to spend the next hundred years with you as a polite stranger.”

Harry nodded. It seemed reasonable, and if he ignored it was Snape, Harry couldn’t help but approve a little.

“But why now? You never gave a hint of what you are feeling, and out of the blue you organise a. . . a picnic?”

Snape stared. “I had been wondering whether you purposely ignored my overtures, or if you simply hadn’t noticed.”

“Overtures?” Now that he thought about it, Harry could remember a lot of things. All the casual touches between them. The way they would wake up wrapped together, although Harry wasn’t quite convinced that was voluntary. All the times when Snape had actively sought out his company. That dinner at the expensive French restaurant, when Harry had been so sure that Snape was trying to belittle Harry for his lack of sophistication.

“I’m not. . . I’m not queer,” Harry warned.

Snape smiled. “And how would you know that? You were involved with Miss Weasley since you were sixteen. You never had time to explore your own sexuality. You could well be attracted to both genders. You certainly haven’t chucked me out on my ear as a defensively straight man could have done.”

Harry thought seriously about it. He had heard about people who were attracted to both men and women, but he had never considered he could be one of them. Yet, Snape’s kisses hadn’t exactly disgusted him, so that was a possibility he had to consider. How weird, and sad in a way, to reach the age of twenty-seven without knowing exactly what made himself tick.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Snape said, and he kissed him again. This time, Harry participated actively in the kiss. He slid on the blanket, trying to get closer to Snape. Snape lay back, taking Harry with him, until Harry was sprawled on top of Snape, never having broken the kiss. He was hard and could feel Snape’s answering hardness under his thigh.

Out of breath, he broke the kiss, laying his forehead against Snape’s.

“We should stop. . . There are children about. . .”

Snape laughed weakly, but he didn’t move to dislodge Harry. After a moment, Harry rolled over and sat back up, helping Snape to do the same.

With a serious expression on his face, Snape said, “I want you. I intend to court you. I don’t want to move this too quickly, because we can’t afford to have a bad break-up if it doesn’t work.”

Harry nodded. Sharing a house would become excruciatingly difficult if they hated each other.

Snape went back to the basket and took out a large bowl covered with a tea towel.

“What’s this?” Harry asked.

“Finish your sandwich and you’ll find out.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but nevertheless finished eating. When there was nothing left, he asked a little impatiently, “Well?”

Snape took off the tea towel. There were strawberries in the bowl, a lot of them, plump and a brilliant red. Harry felt himself drool. He went to take one, but his hand was swatted off.

Snape took a strawberry by the stem, taking care to gather all the leaves under his fingers, and presented it to Harry’s mouth. Harry bit into the fruit, juice escaping his mouth to roll down his lips. He licked them under Snape’s heavy gaze. Harry suddenly felt all powerful. He ate the rest of the strawberry, his tongue going out to lick at Snape’s fingers.

He ate a half-dozen strawberries that way, flirting heavily and wordlessly with Snape. Harry had to squirm to accommodate his arousal, and Snape wasn’t better. The trousers he wore hid nothing, and Harry felt half-proud half-mortified that he was the cause.

He took a strawberry, easily holding Snape’s hand at bay when he tried to stop him. With the point of the fruit, Harry stroked Severus’s lips, noting how his pupils widened and his breath shortened at that. Severus sucked on the tip a few times, and Harry bit his lips at the sudden flare of arousal. Finally, Severus bit into the fruit, staining his lips with red juice. Instinctively, Harry bent to lick it off, then he captured Severus’s lips into a heated kiss that left them both panting.

Harry had forgotten the half-eaten fruit he still held, but Severus, apparently, had not. Taking his hand, Severus guided it to his mouth. He ate the rest of the berry, then licked the juice that had run down Harry’s fingers, his tongue exploring every millimetre of skin.

Harry’s other hand fell to his lap. He had only intended to readjust himself, but somehow he ended up pressing the heel of his hand on his aching erection, trying to get a little relief.

When he realised what he was doing, he carefully took his hand off his crotch.

“I think we should stop. . . if we want to take this slow. . .” Harry’s breath was incredibly short.

Reluctantly, Severus released Harry’s hand. It still tingled where Snape had touched and licked it. Harry had to look away to get himself under control.

“Maybe we should start eating the strawberries ourselves.” Snape’s voice was just as ragged as Harry’s. They shared a self-deprecating laugh.

When they had finished, they put everything back in the hamper, and Severus shrunk and pocketed it.

Harry looked at Severus expectantly. Severus raised an eyebrow and Harry clarified, “Now, what do we do?”

“Do you feel up to hiking up to the castle?”

Harry looked at the rather steep path and turned to Severus to protest. He caught the gleam of challenge in his eyes and smiled wolfishly. “You’re on.”

Severus had kept his promise to take it slow. There were no more handfeedings and out-of-control kisses. On the other hand, there was now a great deal of touching, and they went to sleep spooned together, holding each other almost tenderly.

Of course, there was still a great deal of bickering, too.

“Harry, may I remind you that it would be unseemly for us to be late to a reception we host?”

Harry could feel the beginnings of a headache gathering at his temples. He knew Snape kept a few potions in the bathroom cupboard, and looked at the various vials and bottles, hoping that one of them contained a Headache Potion. Not that those were very efficient, but it was better than nothing, and Harry couldn’t afford to just stay at home and sleep the headache off.

He finally found the one-dose blue vials he had been looking for and drank one, shuddering at the acrid taste. He finally emerged from the bathroom. Harry glared at Severus when he grumbled “Worse than a woman” under his breath, but let himself be pushed into the floo.

A few minutes later, he was in his office at the Ministry, shortly followed by Severus. A quick spell took care of the soot, and they made their way to the Reception Room.

Thankfully, nobody was there yet, except the house-elves putting the last touches to the preparations. Soon everything was ready and the first guests began to appear. Most Ministry employees had been invited, as well as the staff of St Mungo’s, Hogwart’s surviving and/or retired teachers, and the heads of powerful wizarding families.

Using all of his self-discipline, Harry went to mingle with the guests, maintaining polite and meaningless small talk. He was almost relieved when he ended up where Malfoy was. Deciding it was as good a time as any to make amends, Harry nodded and said, “Draco.”

Malfoy hid his surprise quickly and responded in kind. “Harry.”

Harry took two glasses of champagne from a passing elf and gave one to Malfoy, who accepted it with a murmured “Thanks”.

“So, I hear you’re working in the new Auror Corps.”

“Under your friend Shacklebolt, yes. Interesting work, and training the kids is always fun.”

Harry thought back fondly of the D.A. “I miss doing that. I loved teaching the D.A.”

Malfoy frowned. “But you’re going to do that again, aren’t you?”

“How? . . . Oh, of course. You had lunch with Severus on Wednesday, hadn’t you?” Harry grimaced. “I more than likely won’t have time to teach, unfortunately. I’ll probably be swamped under mountains of paperwork.”

“Congratulations, anyway.” Malfoy took a sip of his glass.

“Th—”

Harry was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat under a Sonorus Spell. He saw that Severus was on the platform at the front of the room, trying to get the crowd’s attention, and he hurried to join him with a hasty “Excuse me” thrown at Malfoy.

Once he was there, Severus started to talk, glaring at the still chatting people, which seemed to shut them up quickly.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for coming. I have several announcements to make tonight. The first of them is that Harry Potter is stepping down from his post as co-Minister of Magic.” He ignored the gasps and exclamations. “He has been appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts. Congratulations!”

Severus stepped back a little to leave Harry in the limelight as applause broke out. After a moment, he stepped up again. “A new primary school for Muggleborn and Wizardborn children will also be created within Hogwarts. To allow for the deep changes this will bring, the next school year will begin on 1st October. Let’s wish the best of luck to Headmaster Potter!”

Clapping began again as Harry half-bowed. He performed a Sonorus Spell on himself.

“Thank you for the well-wishes, Minister Snape. I am delighted, and honoured, to take the direction of Hogwarts, a place I remember with much fondness. I am, of course, also aware of the work that is awaiting me, and I hope I’ll be equal to the task.

“Of course, a school needs teachers, and I want to encourage you to send applications in. We will not only need experts in their fields for the most advanced students; we will also need people who can teach basic writing and arithmetics to young children. I am working on the exact curriculum right now, but I welcome any kind of input, to be sent care of the Headmaster, at Hogwarts.

“I hope I can live up to your expectations and make Hogwarts the best wizarding school in the world again. Thank you!”

Harry was once more applauded as he cancelled the Sonorus Spell. Severus stepped up again and went on announcing new appointees or new departments. Harry clapped dutifully, his attention wavering more and more as the evening dragged on and his headache spread. When the announcement part ended, he went back among the crowd, accepting personal congratulations with a bland smile.

The light twinges he had been feeling at the beginning of the evening had turned into a full-fledged migraine. An iron band pressed against his temples and behind his eyeballs; his vision was blurry; and every loud noise seemed to reverberate inside his skull.

Suddenly Severus was at his side, drawing him a little apart and whispering in his ear, “Are you all right?”

Harry smiled at him, but Severus only frowned more deeply. “It’s just a headache.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Just a headache? Harry, you’re white as a sheet, and if I weren’t holding you by the elbow, you would fall. Do you want to go home?”

Harry wanted nothing more, but he also knew it wasn’t an option. “I’ll make do, don’t worry.”

Severus looked at him darkly for a long moment, then he shook his head. “Gryffindor martyr. . . Mippy!”

A house-elf appeared, wearing a Ministry-issued tea towel.

“Yes, Minister?”

“Mippy, escort Headmaster Potter to my office. Make sure he floos back to our home; stuff him in the floo yourself if necessary.”

The tiny house-elf nodded fiercely. Severus reported his attention back to Harry. “There are blue bottles in the bathroom cupboard labelled ‘headache’. Take one and go to bed; I’ll make your excuses.”

Harry began to shake his head, but quickly relented with a grimace. “I took one before leaving. Standard-strength potions don’t do anything to me. I think I’ll go to sleep, though. Thanks.”

“Do that, yes.”

Harry followed the elf back to Severus’s office. He nearly fell off the floo and undressed on his way to the bedroom. He threw his robes on the back of a chair with little thought for them, and fell on the bed, clad only in his boxers.

He woke up to a firm pressure on the sole of his foot.

“What are you doing?”

Severus was sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed. Both of Harry’s feet were on his lap, and he was holding one, pressing his thumbs in the flesh, an air of concentration on his face.

Harry was about to ask again when the pressure behind his eyeballs released suddenly. He fell back against the pillows with a moan of pleasure and let Severus weave his magic on him.

By the time Severus released his feet, Harry’s headache had completely disappeared. Severus crawled up on the bed and spooned against Harry who snuggled closer.

“Do you get those headaches often?”

“Often enough, though tonight was particularly bad. When I’m tired or when I’ve read too much, generally.”

Severus remained silent for a moment, then, “Have you seen a Healer for them?”

Harry chuckled mirthlessly. “When?”

Severus sighed against Harry’s neck, sending pleasant flutters down his spine. “I insist you go see a Healer first thing on Monday.”

Harry yawned widely. “Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that? No protestations?”

Harry smiled. “Why would I protest when it’s the most sensible course of action?”

“Why indeed?” With that, Severus pressed Harry closer against him and they drifted off to sleep.

“Harry!”

Kingsley engulfed him in a big hug, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

“How are you? Are those new glasses?”

Harry fingered the light frames self-consciously.

“Good, thanks. And yes. My prescription was sadly out of date and that’s what was causing me the headaches. What about you?”

“No, I don’t have new glasses. I don’t have glasses at all.” Harry rolled his eyes, and Kingsley laughed. “Life is good, my friend, life is good.”

Harry followed Kingsley to the kitchen, where the table had been set for two. “I take it you like being the Head of the Auror Corps.”

Kingsley stirred something brightly coloured in the pan.

“There’s a tad too much paperwork for my tastes, but otherwise it’s all good. And training the kiddos is fun.”

Harry leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “That’s almost word for word what Malfoy said. Speaking of Malfoy, he doesn’t give you difficulties?”

“Draco? Nah. He’s got the makings of a great Auror. And most of the young ones have been looking up to him for years.”

“How so?”

“We’ve got fourteen recruits training right now, and ten of them had Death Eaters in their family. I was a little sceptical at first, but those kids were raised right. They have a great background in Potions, and most of them worship Snape.”

Harry blinked. “Worship?”

Kingsley nodded, adding spices from different shakers. “Yeah. The man’s got charisma. If you want my personal opinion, Snape got rid of the most extreme Death Eaters years ago, and the ones who were left are rather grateful that he helped get rid of Voldemort, if you can believe it.”

Harry thought about it. “They’d been promised to Voldemort, but weren’t too keen on continuing the family tradition?”

“Something like that.” Kingsley shrugged. “It’s pure speculation, you know. They aren’t a chatty bunch, and they tend to be wary of me. They speak more readily to Draco.”

“I suppose they would. I hadn’t realised how much influence Severus has.”

“On his own faction, a lot. Though of course, there’s a maverick in every group. We had to arrest an idiot the other day. Planned to use explosive potions in a Muggle hospital, can you imagine?”

“Well, fuck. Good catch, Kings.”

“Yeah. And of course, the majority of the wizarding population never cared one way or the other, as long as they were safe in their little homes.”

“I know. They thought nothing of sending a teenager to his death, but God forbid we should have asked them to risk their own lives.”

“Now, don’t be bitter. They’re now the ones who support your marriage and the peace it brought on. Speaking of which, how are things going between you and Snape?”

Kingsley took the pan off the stove and slid whatever was inside on the two plates. They sat down and opened their napkins.

“We’re getting on great, actually. I think we’ve both let go of the past, you know? In fact. . .”

Harry’s voice trailed off. Kingsley prompted him with a “Yes?”

“It— It’s complicated.” To cover his embarrassment, Harry bit into a shrimp. Fire exploded in his mouth. He managed to swallow the shrimp, but not without a large glass of water and a great deal of coughing.

“I may have put a tad too much pepper.”

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Harry looked up at Kingsley. “A tad?!”

Kingsley grinned unapologetically. Harry shook his head; he should have known better than eat so carelessly anything Kingsley had prepared. Now forewarned, he managed to finish his plate without more incidents.

They were in the middle of the next course when they took up their conversation.

“So. You were saying about Snape?”

Harry blushed. “Hmm. Well. He wants us to, you know, be a little more like a normal couple.”

“No, I don’t know.” But there was a large grin on Kingsley’s face.

“God, Kings, do I have to spell it out for you? He’d like us to be a couple, as opposed to two people who happen to be married and share a house.”

“That’s not much spelled out.” Kingsley grinned. “You aren’t talking only about sex, though.”

Harry shook his head and swallowed his mouthful before answering. “Nu-uh. It’s part of it, but we’re also talking about. . . you know, companionship.”

“Companionship, eh?”

Kingsley was wearing the smile that meant he was up to something. Harry had long ago given up on trying to make him share his amusement, though, and he didn’t even try.

After a moment, Kingsley added, “So, you’re thinking about having sex with Snape?”

Harry played with his cutlery, trying to avoid Kingsley’s inquisitive gaze. “Well. . . I feel a bit weird about that. Ginny—”

“Ginny’s dead, Harry,” Kingsley interrupted, with the brutal honesty Harry had come to expect of him. “You loved her, but she wouldn’t have wanted you to become a hermit without her.”

“I know that, Kings. In my head, I know that. But I still feel like I’m betraying her.”

“You wouldn’t. She’s dead, and you have moved on, well, at least halfway. And Snape is your lawfully wedded husband.”

Husband, yes. “There’s also the fact that Severus is a man.”

“Has that got to do with Muggles’ repressed views of sexuality?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Simply. . . I’ve been with Ginny practically my whole life. It’s strange to realise now that I’m also attracted to men.”

Kingsley shrugged. He stood up and collected the plates in the sink. While he was serving the desserts, he asked, “So, what’s the problem, then?”

Harry sighed again and put his chin in his hand. “I’ve only a very vague idea of the mechanics of sex between two men.”

Kingsley burst out in laughter and Harry, mortified, hid his face in his hands.

“That’s what books are for, Harry. I know that Flourish and Blotts has a sexuality section.”

“Kingsley. What do you think would happen if I went to Flourish and Blotts, or even just placed an owl order, for a book on queer sex?”

“Aah. Damn journalists.” Kingsley gave a plate to Harry and set one for himself before sitting back down.

Harry tasted his first spoonful. Only through sheer determination did he manage not to make a fool of himself again.

“Kings, did you hear that noise?”

Kingsley paused and frowned. “No. What did you hear?”

“That was the toll bell for my last taste buds.”

Kingsley nodded sagely. “A recipe from my grandma. Tasty, isn’t it?”

“And how would I know?” Harry snorted. “You must be responsible for half of Britain’s imports of pepper.”

“I like a little bite to my food, that’s all. Say, now that you’re Headmaster, why don’t you look into Hogwart’s library. I suppose the sex manuals they had when I was there haven’t moved. Wizard on Wizard was especially good. The illustrations were. . . informative.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Figure you’d know. But that’s an idea. I’ll have a look next week, thanks for the suggestion.”

“Eh, you’re welcome. Now, have you heard about the newly reformed Quidditch championship?”

Later in the evening, Harry went to his former bedroom in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He had left a lot of his things when he had married Severus, and there were a few he wanted to get back.

He opened the bag he had taken with him and carefully stacked his most prized possessions in it: the album that contained pictures of his parents and Sirius, the one he had rescued from the ruins of the Burrow, the mirror that Sirius had given him, his invisibility cloak and the carefully folded Marauder’s Map.

It was rather pitiful to show for twenty-seven, twenty-eight in a few days, years of life.

Finally, he took the picture of Ginny that was on the bedside table. It had been taken just before her OWLs, before the death of Dumbledore, before the Burrow Massacre, before all the losses had erased her carefree smile.

She had loved him, but she had never been completely happy after the death of her family. Harry missed her, but if he was honest with himself, he missed her 15-year-old self even more.

He sighed heavily and wished, not for the first time, he had been born a Muggle. He closed the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Kingsley was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

“All right here, Harry?”

Harry summoned a smile from he didn’t know where. “I will be.”

“If you ever feel like talking. . .”

“Yeah. I know where to find you.” Harry hugged Kingsley tightly. “Thanks and good night.”

“Sleep well.”

Harry stepped into the floo. Back home, he set the bag carelessly on the sofa; he’d take care of it in the morning. He ducked into the bathroom to take care of his evening routine, then went to the bedroom.

He stopped on the threshold as a smile curved up his lips and a wave of tenderness filled him. Severus was slumped against the pillows, a large book open on his lap, his glasses in danger of falling off his nose. He was sleeping quietly.

Harry quickly changed, then he took Severus’s book away, taking great care not to wake him up. He marked the page with a spare bit of parchment. He slid the glasses off his nose, then folded them and set them on the bedside table.

He climbed beside Severus in the bed and discarded his own glasses. Cautiously, he pulled Severus under the bedclothes, then curled almost protectively around him, smiling when Severus grunted and cuddled against him.

Harry was hunched over the many job applications he had received. The curriculum of the upper years had finally been fixed, slightly different from what it had been under Dumbledore. Divination had finally been done away with, and Dark Arts had replaced the Defence thereof. Harry had his reservations about that last change, but Severus had pointed that it made no sense defending against something you didn’t understand. Harry had agreed, thinking that it might break up the curse on the position, too.

So now Harry was stuck looking for someone who knew a lot about Dark Arts but wasn’t himself a dark wizard. It was easier said than done, especially as most of the applicants were woefully underqualified. It didn’t help that the weather was once again absolutely beautiful, and that his birthday was tomorrow. Harry had the greatest difficulty in concentrating on his task.

Harry let his attention wander a moment to the book he had locked in his top drawer. Following Kingsley’s suggestion, Harry had gone to the library and borrowed Wizard on Wizard. He had thumbed through it and had to acknowledge that Kingsley was right: the illustrations were informative. To avoid temptation, Harry had put the book away.

Still, a nice wank might distract him from the mind-numbing process of application selection. Harry retrieved the book and opened it to the table of contents. It was educative; apparently there was a great deal Harry didn’t know concerning sex and sexual slang.

Rimming, for example. What could it mean? Harry found the right chapter and the illustration that went with it. Surely it wasn’t. . .? Harry blinked in shock. How unsanitary! Though neither men in the picture seemed to mind, especially the one on the receiving end. Harry wondered what it felt like, but cut off that train of thoughts immediately. He had no intention of letting Severus put his tongue there. Ever.

He looked idly at other pictures before settling on a very attractive one: a man on his knees sucking another. Harry pictured the scene in his mind: himself, standing, his robes just opened enough to free his cock; Severus, naked, kneeling before him and bracing himself on Harry’s thighs. His thin lips were wrapped around his cock, and his tongue and teeth were stimulating him in all the right places.

Almost of its own accord, Harry’s hand sneaked under his robes to unbutton his trousers and push down his pants. He was already hard, just from the fantasy. His hand closed around his cock, his thumb brushing the barely uncovered head, making him gasp in pleasure.

For a moment, Harry contented himself with simply moving his hand up and down his cock, leisurely. There was no rush, and he was alone in the castle. Harry felt pleasure slowly building inside him.

His other hand went to palm his balls. He rolled them gently between his fingers, then abandoned them to play with the head of his cock. Harry was so hard now that his foreskin had completely retracted, leaving the head completely exposed and sensitive to all sorts of manipulations.

Harry was sitting in his armchair, his legs spread out, his head thrown back and his eyes closed. His groans and whimpers filled the room, fuelling his own arousal.

Suddenly the pleasure became too much and orgasm overcame Harry. Fire lights exploded behind his eyelids and a roar filled his ears. He stiffened, except for his hands which continued their frantic movements until Harry was utterly spent.

Harry was trying to catch his breath when he heard, “You’re beautiful when you come.”

His eyes flew open in dismay. Severus was there, leaning against the chimney, his eyes strangely bright. He straightened and stepped up to Harry. Taking Harry’s hand in his, he began sucking on the fingers, on the semen, Harry realised, that had spilled onto them.

Severus was particularly thorough in his task, his tongue darting in every crevice, the long fingers disappearing completely in his mouth. If Harry hadn’t been utterly spent, he would have grown hard again.

When Severus had finished, he perched on the desk, putting his arousal at Harry’s eye-level. Harry bit his lips and raised a tentative hand. He settled it on the bulge in Severus’s robes, moulding the hard length with his palm and fingers. Severus’s breathing grew erratic and he threw his head back.

Harry opened a few of the front buttons, just enough to be able to slide his hand inside. The sensation was both foreign and familiar. Foreign because it was another man’s cock and up until now Harry had never touched one; familiar because Severus’s equipment wasn’t that different from Harry’s, not the way Ginny’s had been. Harry could try the things he liked most on himself, and he wouldn’t be too far off. And indeed, Severus was coming, his hands clutching the edge of the desk, his come spurting on Harry’s fingers.

Harry kept stroking until Severus was completely spent. Looking at the fluid over his fingers, he wondered. He had never felt the urge to taste his own come, but after Severus’s display earlier. . .

Harry licked the pearly drop on the tip of his finger. He made a face; it was bitter and salty. Maybe it was an acquired taste. Pulling out his wand, he cleaned both of them, then tidied his robes as Severus did the same.

Harry thrust the book back in its drawer and locked it. He felt nervous and in desperate need to find something to occupy his hands. He picked up his quill and methodically tore off the barbs.

“Severus? Did you want something?”

“I wanted some company for lunch. Are you amenable to providing it?”

Harry couldn’t help it; he chuckled. Releasing the tortured quill, he said, “Yes, I’ll eat with you. It’ll have to be at the Ministry, though, because I forgot to take food with me, and as we still haven’t recalled the house-elves, well. . .”

Snape smirked and took the now familiar hamper basket from his pocket. He set it on the desk and unshrunk it. Levitating an armchair to Harry’s side, he said, “Budge over. I’m not sitting on the other side of that desk like an errant student.”

Harry pushed his chair back, then gathered all the job applications in a pile on the side. Opening the hamper, he began taking out the wrapped sandwiches. He looked up to ask Severus what he wanted, and saw that he seemed entranced with the photographs on his desk.

One was the picture of Ginny that had been beside his bed at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The other had been taken during one of their recent picnics, this one in the Lake District. Severus was reading one of the brightly coloured pamphlets the Information Centre had been handing out. He was frowning a little and pushing his glasses up his nose every few seconds.

Severus turned his attention back to the sandwiches. He didn’t say anything, but he was a little redder than usual.

They ate in silence, but it wasn’t oppressive or uneasy. Harry marvelled that he had come to be so comfortable with Severus Snape, of all people. When they had finished, Harry turned back to the hamper.

“Chocolate cake? What’s the occasion?” Harry wondered whether Severus knew it was his birthday on the next day.

“I like chocolate cake.”

Probably not, then. Harry glanced at him amusedly. “The house elves indulge you shamelessly.”

Severus glared at him haughtily while helping himself to a part of cake. “You are just jealous because they prefer me.”

Harry laughed; he couldn’t help it. Who’d have thought he could be so happy trading barbs with Severus Snape?

While they were savouring their excellent cake, Harry asked Severus about his job applications. “Severus, do you know Dietrich Jaegle? He’s a Dark Arts Master from Germany, and so far, he’s the most promising candidate.”

Severus swallowed his cake, a thoughtful frown on his face. “I’ve heard of him, yes. I think he taught briefly at Durmstrang.”

“Briefly? Why didn’t he stay?”

Severus shrugged and cut himself another part of cake. “I don’t recall.”

“I’ll write Durmstrang to ask.”

“Hm-mm. Any other names you wanted to run by me?”

“Potions Masters.”

“Millicent Bulstrode,” Severus said immediately. “She doesn’t hold a mastership, but that’s mainly because of the war. She’s a very good brewer, and mostly rather patient. She’ll make a good teacher.”

Harry located her file in the pile and made a note at the top.

“Do you think she would accept to become Head of Slytherin?”

“You’ll have to ask her, because I’ve no idea.”

“I’ll ask her at the interview.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” Harry shuffled the scrolls on his desk, wondering how to breach the subject. “We still haven’t decided how the kids would come to Hogwarts for the day-school. Wizardborns can floo in, but it’s trickier for Muggleborns.”

Severus nodded, licking the last traces of chocolate on his spoon, in a way that must have been illegal in quite a few countries. Severus probably knew it, too, as he was looking at Harry’s reaction beneath his eyelashes. Harry squirmed and told himself sternly not to imagine this mouth and tongue on other places.

“How many are there?”

“Thirty-eight, if I remember correctly.”

“Among those, there must be a few who have a working fireplace. We’ll hook them on the floo system and organise a class. Even Muggles can travel by floo.”

“We’ll have to keep them supplied in floo powder,” Harry said, jotting down notes on a scrap of parchment. “What about the others?”

“Portkeys would create a lot of work for the Ministry, and there’s the potential for abuse.”

Thinking further, Harry said, “The kids could stay for the week and only go back home on weekends.”

“All the children, or only those without a floo?”

“All, I think. After all, the main purpose of that school is to mingle the Wizardborns with the Muggleborns.”

“I’ll think about it, but I’m afraid there won’t be an easy solution.” He stood up. “As much as I would wish to spend my afternoon with you, I have duties to attend now.”

Harry stood up too. Taking his courage in both hands, he laid his hands on Severus’s cheeks, lightly stroking with his thumbs. Severus looked up expectantly.

Their kiss was slow and tender, tasting strongly of chocolate. Severus sucked on Harry’s lower lip until Harry had to lean on the desk, his legs suddenly unable to support him. He buried his hands in Severus’s short hair, bringing their faces even closer.

At some point, they had to come up for air. Harry pressed his forehead against Severus’s. He could hear his heart beat in his chest, or maybe it was Severus’s heart.

Reluctantly, they separated. Severus’s lips were swollen and damp, and Harry strongly suspected that his were in the same state.

Severus cleared his throat. “Erm. Good afternoon and see you tonight.”

Harry nodded, wordlessly, sure his voice would betray him if he tried to speak. He watched Severus disappear down the stairs, and sat back down slowly in his chair.

Harry looked at the pile of scrolls on his desk, then, throwing responsibility and duty to the winds, took the book out again. He fancied having a “real” wedding night for his birthday, and he wanted to be as knowledgeable as he could be without personal experience.

When Harry arrived home, Severus was still at the Ministry, not an unusual occurrence. Harry penned a quick note and left it in evidence in front of the floo, before changing into Muggle clothes and going shopping.

One hour later, he stumbled back in the small house, his arms laden with food. He was putting it away in the cold box, when he heard the rushing sound of the floo in the sitting room.

It was Severus, but only his head floated among the flames.

“Harry! I’ve been trying to contact you for half an hour now. I’m sorry, but there’s been an emergency. It’s unlikely I shall be able to come back home tonight, I’m sorry.”

Harry’s face fell; he had been looking forward to a pleasant dinner and an even pleasanter night. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” Severus repeated.

“No. . . Of course you must do what you must. Do you need my help?”

“No, thank you, Harry. Don’t wait up for me; I might be all night.”

“Wake me up when you come back.” Harry knelt before the floo and gave Severus a short, chaste kiss. “Good luck.”

Severus looked a bit stricken. “Thank you. Good night.”

Morose, Harry went back to the kitchen, contemplating the food he had bought for a refined, romantic dinner. Putting it away, he took two eggs and a wrinkled pepper and proceeded to make himself an omelette.

He went to bed early and tried reading, but his concentration seemed to slip away constantly. In the end, he boxed his pillow into shape and willed himself to sleep.

A hand on his shoulder shook him awake. Harry raised his head from the pillow and looked into Severus’s eyes. He squinted at the clock while groping for his glasses. Severus found them for him and helped him to slip them on.

“Thanks. Oh my God, it’s late!”

“Yes. Get up and get dressed. Muggle clothes, something comfortable.” There was barely contained excitement in Severus’s voice and he whirled around and left the room before Harry could ask him questions.

Wide-eyed, Harry obeyed, putting on comfortable jeans and a short-sleeved tee-shirt. Bare-footed and his socks in the hand, he went down to the kitchen where Snape was making coffee.

“What’s the emergency? What happened?”

Snape slid a mug of strong, unsweetened coffee before him.

“Drink. We only have fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes for what? Severus!”

It was too late; Severus had already gone back to the sitting room. Harry swore loudly and put on his socks, before swallowing his coffee, nearly burning his tongue.

In the sitting room, Severus was bending over the low table, shuffling books and papers. The jeans he wore hugged his hips perfectly and Harry felt his mouth go dry. Severus straightened and turned back, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s arousal. He was holding a Muggle backpack in one hand, and an old piece of parchment in the other.

“Hold this.”

Automatically, Harry’s hand reached up to take hold of the parchment Severus was handing him. When his fingers touched it, he felt the familiar, sickening sensation of a hook at his navel.

They ended up in a small room, brightly lit with high windows. It was empty, except for a desk and an old man beside it. Severus gave him the portkey and accepted a handful of brightly-coloured leaflets.

“Bonxorno, siuri, e benvenhùi Venesia!”

“Thank you,” Severus said hurriedly, as he pushed Harry outside.

“Severus, where are we?”

Once they were in the street, Severus stopped. “Happy birthday, Harry. And we’re in Venice.”

Harry’s mouth fell down. “Venice?” he finally said. “The Venice? And you remembered!”

“Of course. Did you think I hadn’t noticed how much time you spend looking at pictures of Venice in that book?”

“Wow.” Harry had spent hours contemplating the pictures, but he hadn’t expected Severus to notice it and act on the knowledge. He kissed Severus on the cheek and gave him a tight hug. Severus pinked lightly.

“Unfortunately, we only have today, because I couldn’t justify leaving for longer. So, what do you want to do?”

Only one day? It would be tough, limiting himself to a minute part of the treasures Venice had to offer.

“I want to cruise down the Great Canal in a gondola!” Harry was mortified to realise he sounded like an eager five-year-old, but nothing could curb his enthusiasm.

Severus nodded with a smile. “Already booked for two o’clock, after lunch. What do you want to do this morning?”

Harry thought about it. “Can we come back after today?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t tease you with such a small taste of the city without planning to come back for a longer stay.”

“Then I think I’d like to simply walk around, taking pictures. . . You have taken the camera, haven’t you?” Harry asked, suddenly unsure. But Severus was already taking it out of the bag he was carrying. He handed it to Harry.

“I’ve got a dozen rolls of film.”

“And a map, too?”

Severus shrugged. “I’ve been given one by the Wizarding Tourist Office, but I’ve no idea how good it is.”

He identified it among the numerous leaflets he was carrying and gave it to Harry, who unfolded it. In the top corner, there was a small map of the entire city, with a portion marked by a red outline. It was embedded in a larger map, more detailed and which obviously was the blown-up version of the selected area. At the centre of the map, there was a red dot with the words “You’re here” floating next to it.

“Good. We’re next to the ghetto. Let’s go.”

Harry took off, the map in his hands and the camera hanging around his neck. He took a lot of pleasure simply walking around and taking photos of picturesque buildings.

Severus was trailing along. Harry gave him frequent glances, but he didn’t seem to be bored, quite the contrary. Harry could see him smiling, probably at Harry’s almost childlike eagerness. Periodically, he handed Harry a new roll of film and stashed the used one in his bag.

They had covered quite a bit of ground when Harry called for a halt. Hiding between a doorway and Severus’s frame, he took out his wand and transfigured his trainers into leather sandals. He wriggled his now bare toes with a new-found sense of freedom.

“Want me to do the same for you?” he asked, already pointing his wand at Severus’s feet.

Severus hesitated, then shrugged. “Go for it.”

Once Harry had transfigured Severus’s shoes, too, he asked, “Are you hungry? I’m feeling a little peckish.”

Severus laughed. “You don’t say. We’ve been walking for more than three hours. In fact,” he added, “it’s time for us to go to the restaurant where I’ve booked a table.” He consulted the map. “Here.”

Folding the map closed, Severus took Harry’s hand and led him through a maze of small streets and canals, until they were in front of an old house, converted into a restaurant. There were a few tables outside, and they sat at one.

Their waiter came to take their order, and soon they had a few typical Venetian dishes before them. They tucked heartily into them.

Harry decided to ask the question that he had been dying to ask all morning. “So, what kept you at the Ministry yesterday?”

Severus paused, and set his fork back on his plate. “Hmm.” He filled his glass and drunk it, obviously prevaricating. “There was a. . . Situation. Nothing really important, and it was resolved quickly. A few Ministry employees had been taken as hostages by an extremist group.”

“And that’s nothing really important!? What did the terrorists want? Who were they?”

“A group calling themselves ‘The Sons of Liberty’.” Severus rolled his eyes. “A more clichéd name I never saw. You knew a few of them; I think Hannah Abbot was part of your staff.”

Harry closed his eyes in dismay. Hannah had been against compromises and negotiations from the start, but Harry hadn’t realised how deep her hatred of Death Eaters had run.

Severus was continuing, “They mainly wanted elections to be held to constitute, I quote, ‘a real government chosen by the people and not this parody based on a gothic custom’.”

Harry sighed. “I thought most people viewed our marriage positively.”

“I hope you weren’t under the impression that our government or our marriage has met with universal approval. Most people do approve, but by no means all. Anyway, they were bumbling fools, disorganised and incompetent, and a small team of Aurors managed to get the situation under control without bloodshed.”

“You should have sent me to talk to them. After all, I used to be their. . .” Harry hesitated — he had never held an official rank. “. . .general.”

“It would have been worse, actually. They think of you as a traitor, and my puppet.” Severus’s eyes gleamed, and Harry was suddenly wary of what he would say next. “Apparently, I hold some sort of sexual power over you.”

Boldly, Harry said, “Well, I get hard every time I see you licking your fork or spoon, but I don’t think that’s what they had in mind.”

There was now a wicked grin on Severus’s face. “Really? How. . . interesting.” Never dropping his gaze, he made a show of licking every last drop of sauce off his fork. Harry squirmed in his chair, his breathing suddenly ragged. Severus’s grin widened.

“Stop that!” Harry said weakly. Severus burst out laughing.

“You make it so easy, Potter.”

Harry most maturely stuck his tongue out at Severus, and concentrated on his plate, trying to ignore the show Severus made of eating.

An hour and a half later, Harry was rubbing his stomach. “Ooh. . . I think I’ve eaten too much.”

“I told you not to take a dessert. Now you’re going to sink our gondola.” Severus was smiling at him smugly, but Harry couldn’t work up the energy to protest.

Their waiter brought tiny cups of coffee to conclude their meal. Harry took his, blew gently to cool it, and took a sip. He nearly moaned aloud.

“What is it?” Severus asked, looking a little worried.

“The coffee. . .”

Severus took a sip of his and frowned. “What of it? It’s excellent.”

“Yes. Remind me to buy a pound or two.” Harry closed his eyes and inhaled the bitter, wonderful smell. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to drink the swill we’ve got at home again. . .”

Severus chuckled softly. They finished their brew in companionable silence, before leaving for the quay where a gondola was waiting for them.

Their gondolier was chatty, friendly, and fluent in English, and he regaled them with a running commentary about the palazzos they could see bordering the canal, occasionally breaking off to insult in coloured Italian the faster motorboats cutting him.

Harry’s left side was flush with Severus. He had wrapped his arm around Severus’s shoulders, bringing their heads together. Severus had his hand on Harry’s knee, slowly sliding to the inside of his thigh.

It was perfect.

Well, it would have been perfect, if it hadn’t been for the mosquitoes, the beating sun, and the heavy stench of silt.

Harry whispered, “Remind me to come back when it’s not so hot.”

Severus chuckled. “That may be hard. You have to be at Hogwarts from September to July, remember.”

“Damn. Why did I volunteer for the job?”

“No idea. You couldn’t have paid me enough to take it, I can tell you that.”

Harry smiled and let his head slid down until it was pillowed on Severus’s shoulder. He brought his right hand up and intertwined his fingers with Severus’s. They remained in that comfortable position until their cruise was over and the gondolier brought them back to the quay.

“Was there something you wanted to see?” Harry asked.

Severus shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s your birthday, Harry.”

“That,” Harry said, “isn’t an answer to my question.”

Severus flushed. “Well. . .”

“Out with it.”

“I’ve been told that the Frari Archives have some books that belonged to Laura Malipero, and I would have liked to see them.”

“Laura Malipero?”

“A Potions mistress from the seventeenth century.”

“Let’s go, then. You’ll go to the archives, and I’ll visit the basilica.”

Harry wasn’t sure he could identify the emotions in the smile Severus gave him, but it made him feel warm. He smiled back and took Severus’s hand, feeling a little as if he was sixteen again.

They strolled quietly, referring to their map from time to time, making sure they didn’t get too lost. They separated at the door of the former convent, now housing the city’s archives.

Harry went on to the basilica nearby. He began his visit by idly admiring the numerous treasures displayed, but he was soon waylaid by an enthusiastic old man who insisted on telling him all about every painting and every sculpture in the church. The man was interesting and passionate about his subject, and Harry enjoyed the impromptu guided tour immensely.

When the man left him — probably to pounce on other unsuspecting tourists — Harry realised that more than two hours had passed. He had no idea when their return portkey was scheduled, so he hurried to the Archives to collect Severus.

He was led by a gracious lady into a small room where Severus was reading and frantically taking notes under the watchful eyes of a burly wizard.

Severus’s glasses were perched on the end of his nose, ready to fall off. His hair was sticking on end where he had passed his hand in it, and there was an inky print on his cheek.

Even if he had wanted to, Harry couldn’t have repressed the wave of tenderness, possessiveness, even love, that welled in him at that moment. He felt deep satisfaction knowing that this man was his, just as much as he was Severus’s.

He touched Severus’s shoulder gently. “Have you finished?”

Severus raised startled eyes at him. “What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

“Already? You’re joking.”

Harry shook his head.

“All right. Let me finish this chapter and we’ll go.”

Harry sat down, facing Severus. He was reading and taking notes at the same time, never looking at his quill. For all that, the lines he was writing were surprisingly even, showing his familiarity with the practice.

A few minutes later, Severus put down his quill. He spelled the ink stains on his fingers away, then closed the book and handed it to the guard who took it reverently and placed it back on the shelves. Severus gathered all the rolls of parchment he had filled and shoved them in the magically enlarged backpack.

With a last “Grazie” at the wizard, they both left the room. Before they stepped into the Muggle area, though, Harry stopped Severus. He touched his wand to the ink print on his cheek and vanished it. Severus didn’t even flinch, and Harry gave him a light peck on the lips before releasing him.

“Thanks for trusting me.”

Severus smiled wordlessly. Their hands found each other and they went back to the Wizarding Tourist Office at a leisurely pace.

The Tourist Office was half the city away, and they arrived there with only ten minutes to spare. The old wizard of the morning had been replaced with a younger one who asked how their visit had been.

Harry answered, making small talk while waiting for their portkey to be ready. He was also trying, with more and more difficulties, to ignore the hand that was stroking his back under his tee-shirt, threatening to slip under the belt of his trousers.

It was with much relief that Harry took the portkey the Italian wizard was giving him. Severus put his free hand on it, and a few seconds later, they were back in the sitting room of the small house on Spinner’s End.

Severus took his hand off Harry’s back, much to Harry’s regret, especially now they were alone. He asked, “Are you hungry?”

Harry turned what he hoped were smouldering eyes at Severus. “Not for food.”

It must have worked, because suddenly Severus was all over him, kissing him possessively. Harry melted against him, whimpering when Severus released his lips.

“Come. There’s one last surprise waiting for you upstairs.”

He pushed Harry into the stairs, following him closely. Harry made for the bedroom, but Severus stirred him in the direction of the bathroom. Harry stopped at the door, impressed, and Severus embraced him from behind.

The bathroom had been enlarged with wizardspace, and the old glaring bulb replaced by dozens of fairy lights. Where once had stood a cramped hipbath, there was now a modern bathtub, large enough for two.

“However did you manage to have this done in one day?”

“I’m the Minister of Magic; it has to count for something.”

Severus released Harry and stepped inside the room. He turned the water on, and while the tub was filling, he kissed Harry again. They undressed each other, only letting go of the kiss when it was absolutely necessary.

Harry felt intoxicated by the feeling of Severus’s naked skin against his. He could feel Severus’s half-hard cock digging in his thigh, his own pushing against Severus’s belly.

He let his hand slide down from Severus’s shoulders to his arse. Gripping the scrawny flesh there, he ground against Severus, gasping loudly against his lips. Severus pushed him back a little.

“Stop that. If you keep on, I’ll come.” He sounded out of breath, and his raspy voice aroused Harry even further.

Harry stepped inside the tub and reached out a hand to Severus who followed him, settling down between Harry’s spread legs. He turned the tap off, then relaxed back, pillowing his head on Harry’s shoulder, in a perfect position to be kissed again. So Harry did.

With his hands, he explored Severus’s chest, following every scar with his fingers. He brushed against a nipple and a moan answered him. He found the other nipple, and pinched them, tugged them, scratched them lightly, then reached down, taking Severus’s cock in his hand. It was fully hard, now. In that position, it wasn’t so different from masturbating, something Harry was good at.

While he stroked Severus’s cock leisurely, he sneaked his free hand between their bodies, until he reached Severus’s arse. With the tip of his finger, he circled Severus’s hole a few times, making him squirm in what Harry would have thought was an effort to escape, if not for the string of yeses that Severus was hissing.

Harry pushed his finger inside. He had read about the prostate, but he was in entirely the wrong position to reach it, so he contented himself with simple in and out thrusts. He added a second finger, and quickened his pace on Severus’s cock.

Severus was whimpering in his neck, his hands grabbing mindlessly at Harry’s thighs, splayed around him. Harry’s hands sped up, and he was rewarded by Severus’s body arching up, his mouth opened in a silent scream, as his release clouded the bath water.

Severus sagged bonelessly, Harry’s hands the only things preventing him from slipping into the water. Harry let him catch his breath, while he licked and sucked on Severus’s ear. His own cock was aching now, needing release, and Harry couldn’t help thrusting his hips forward.

Severus turned in his arms and knelt before him, the water leaping teasingly at his nipples. He shot a rakish grin at Harry, took a deep breath, and plunged his head under water. A second later, Harry’s cock was encased in warmth, Severus’s mouth, he realised. The idea that Severus was sucking him, under water, had Harry moaning loudly.

The warmth disappeared, replaced by the sensation of the cooling water, and Severus reappeared. He only took another deep breath, though, and set back to his task. The interruptions were maddening, and soon Harry was whimpering with need.

He felt a finger breach him slowly, and it sent him over the edge. He tried to warn Severus, to push him off, but it was too late. The suction on his cock increased, and Harry felt himself black out.

When he came back to his senses, he was sitting in much shallower water, half held by a smug Severus. They kissed slowly, leisurely, the frantic urgency of before gone.

“We must try this again with gillyweed,” Harry whispered.

Severus burst out laughing, dropping his forehead on Harry’s shoulder as his body shook with mirth. Smiling, Harry kissed Severus’s ear, relishing the simple pleasure of holding his lover in his arms.

Severus backed away a little. He took the bar of soap and worked a lather in his hands. He began washing Harry, lingering on sensitive areas and playing with his body. Once he was done and Harry rinsed clean, Harry returned the favour.

They stepped out and began to dry each other with plush new towels.

“What do you say to a few sandwiches now to strengthen ourselves, and a second round later in our bed?” Severus punctuated his question with a small peck on Harry’s lips.

“I say it’s an excellent idea. In fact. . .” Harry wrapped the towel around his hips and tucked it. “Ham and gherkins?”

“Of course.”

Harry went to the kitchen. He felt a sort of elation that made him want to skip merrily while he climbed down the stairs. He whistled as he buttered a few slices of bread, and smiled happily when two arms wrapped around him from behind. Severus kissed him in the back of his neck, making him shiver with renewed arousal.

They sat down and shared the plate of sandwiches. They didn’t talk; they didn’t need to. Severus took his time washing the few dishes they had dirtied. Harry half-enjoyed the teasing, knowing that Severus would make up for it later. He felt a little like an overstretched drum, taut with anticipation.

They climbed up the stairs to the bedroom at a sedate pace, neither letting on their desire for each other. Once inside their bedroom, though, they flared up, kissing each other with near desperation, tugging at the towels until they came loose and fell, unheeded.

The back of Harry’s knees touched the bed, and he let himself fall back on it, taking Severus with him. Severus placed Harry’s arms above his head.

“Don’t move. Let me explore you.”

Harry groaned and wrapped his hands to the bars of the headboard. Severus left his mouth to explore his neck, licking, kissing, nipping every inch of his skin. Harry made small noises, utterly unable to stop them.

He yelped when Severus found a nipple and toyed with it until it stood hard, red and shiny with saliva. Then Severus’s lips went up again, along his side, until his nose was buried in Harry’s armpit, tickling a giggle out of him.

It seemed an eternity before Severus reached his groin. Harry protested as Severus sat up, abandoning him. But it was only to push Harry’s legs up against his chest.

Harry felt open and exposed in that position. Severus’s mouth attached itself to the sensitive skin behind his balls, and Harry howled. He kissed and sucked Harry’s balls in his mouth, carefully avoiding his cock.

Then he slid lower, licking the crinkled skin around Harry’s hole, probing it with his tongue. Harry had read about the practice in Wizard on Wizard, but he hadn’t really believed that it was something people did to each other in real life, until Severus’s ministrations proved to him that it was all too real.

Severus alternated broad licks and pointed stabs, and soon Harry had no brain cells left to think. He could only submit to the onslaught of sensations Severus created in him. He vaguely felt Severus insert a finger or two in his hole, pulling new cries of ecstasy from Harry.

Severus shifted, covering Harry with his body and kissing him once again. Harry felt something blunt and thick breach him slowly. Severus must have added lubricant at some point, because he slid in rather easily, until the whole length was inside him.

It felt full, and a bit odd, but it didn’t hurt as Harry had feared. Then Severus slid out slowly and thrust back in again.

“Fuck yes!”

Harry locked his legs behind Severus’s back and began to respond with enthusiasm to Severus’s movements. Their foreheads were pressed against each other; they breathed in each other’s mouth, the occasional grunt or “Oh God!” escaping them.

Severus changed the angle of his thrusts slightly, and Harry saw stars. His world became a blur of movements, punctuated by Severus’s heavy breath in his ear and the dull thud of the bed hitting the wall every time Severus thrust inside Harry.

Harry’s cock was wrapped in a warm hand, and Harry could no longer repress the wave of ecstasy that overwhelmed him. He was vaguely aware of Severus stilling and warm dampness filling him.

Harry’s legs fell down on each side of Severus, and they remained in that position for long minutes, catching their breaths and letting their heartbeats calm down.

“Wow,” Harry finally said.

Severus chuckled breathlessly. “You weren’t bad yourself.”

Pushing himself up on one elbow, Severus helped Harry take his hands off the headboard. He massaged the cramped arms, and Harry sighed softly.

“Thanks.” The end of the word was swallowed by a huge yawn, and Harry closed his eyes, giving up on fighting off the urge to sleep. “Best birthday ever,” he mumbled.

Severus took the sheet that had bunched at the foot of the bed and covered them both with it. He took Harry in his arms and nuzzled against his neck. Harry tightened his hold on Severus and fell asleep.

Epilogue

It seemed the Sorting would never end. The school had been closed for ten years, and they had to sort every student. Harry probably would have been fidgeting a great deal if his guest of honour hadn’t had his hand on Harry’s knee for the whole duration of the ceremony.

At last, the last First Year was Sorted, and Harry stood up, feeling with regret the hand slip off his knee.

“Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!” Silence fell instantly, and Harry felt a brief moment of panic at the hundreds of faces turned towards him. “It is my very great pleasure to open the best and oldest wizarding school in the world again, and I'm sure Minister Snape —” Severus, at his right, bowed his head in acknowledgement. “— joins me to say to you, again, ‘Welcome’. Now, I could introduce your new teachers to you, or enumerate the school rules, but the Sorting went on for long enough, and I can hear your stomachs growling from here.” There was some scattered laughter at that. “So without more ado. . . tuck in!”
Plates and dishes appeared on the tables and Harry sat back down as the students pounced on the food as if they had been starved for a month. Severus leaned over, and his hand went back to Harry’s knee.

“Well done.”

He didn’t say anything else, but compliments were so rare in his mouth that Harry flashed him a brilliant smile. Looking back at the happy children sitting under the founders’ banners, he squeezed Severus’s hand.

“Yes. Well done.”