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PART ONE

Time stays long enough for anyone who will use it. – Leonardo da Vinci

Harry Potter died not with a bang, but a whimper.

Years of battling the darkest wizard ever to live always resulted in, at worst, a few days resting in the hospital wing. Four different assassination attempts by the age of 30 had been thwarted with lazy flicks of his wrist. Even a Chinese Fireball looking for her missing children that for whatever reason had assumed Harry had packed them in his suitcase on his holiday in Beijing was charmed and quickly subdued. For so long, the wizarding world had assumed Death, upon looking Harry Potter in the eye, decided the compassionate man with impossibly green eyes and impish grin had just been through enough and decided to pass him by.

But in the end, it was a mysterious, lengthy illness that ultimately killed the Boy Who Lived. It was barely perceptible at first – just an unforgiving weariness, a persistent headache, a constant low-grade fever that somehow latched onto Harry so tightly he could scarcely lift a finger, let alone get out of bed, by the end. Nobody had seen those famous green eyes for weeks, so long had it been since he had the energy to open them. He simply grew paler and paler, thinner and thinner, until one had to look closely to realize there actually was a person shivering beneath the white bed sheets. And then, at long last, when his skin was nearly translucent and his breathing hardly detectable, Harry Potter died.

The first thing Harry noticed was how bright it was. He had spent years – well, maybe it was only weeks, or perhaps even days, but it certainly felt like years – lying on his back in a dimly lit room, and even then with his eyes closed most of the time, so now all this light was blinding. Strange that there seemed to be no sun about, though. He blinked a few more times.

Then he blinked a few more times. But it had nothing to do with how bright it was.

Before him were great golden gates that glimmered as though fairies were dancing around its bars. And standing before them, holding a tome with gilded pages, was an angel. He was the traditional sort of angel, with feathery white wings and matching robes cinched in with a golden tasseled rope. But that face! That face could never be described as angelic. Sallow skin, hooked nose, eyes as dark as the surroundings were light…but that could all just be a coincidence. All Harry needed was to hear the voice…

“How cliché, Mr. Potter.”

Harry gulped. There it was. That rich, deep voice, positively dripping with derision. Nobody could possess that voice except for Severus Snape. But that would mean Snape would have to be an angel, and that just made no bloody sense. And why would Harry be seeing angels anyway?

The Snape-like angel-like creature held up his arm to inspect his attire, gave a resigned sigh, and then, opened the book.

“Welcome to the afterlife,” he said in a monotone reminiscent of a flight attendant. “We hope you will enjoy your stay. Based on our extensive studies of your life on earth, we have determined the best possible accommodations for you to spend your eternity. If you find you need assistance adjusting to your afterlife, please CloudCall Mneme Musel. For assistance with…”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted. The angel looked up, clearly irritated at the interruption. “Are you…are you Professor Snape?”

“You have no idea what great joy it gives me to see death has not addled your wits, Potter,” Snape said with a sneer. “Now, as I was saying…”

“I’m dead?” Harry blurted out.

“One can hope,” Snape muttered. “For assistance with…”

“But…what are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?”

Snape’s martyred expression would have put Joan of Arc to shame. “I am on the welcoming committee, Potter. I am forced to assume whatever attire would make you, and whatever other poor recently dead witch and wizard who has the misfortune to cross my path, feel most comfortable in this brave new world.” He bowed slightly. “Do you feel welcomed?”

Harry couldn’t think of a worse person to welcome anybody to the afterlife. Snape was about as welcoming as a rabid bloodhound. “Erm, well…”

Snape returned to the book, one finger running over the text. “As I was saying, for assistance with…oh. Hell.”

“What?” Harry yelped. “Why am I going there? I swear, I didn’t do anything that awful.”

“Shut up, Potter, I’m trying to think.” He held the book right up to his gigantic nose. Clearly this afterlife did not mold its workers’ physical appearances to make its new residents more comfortable – Snape was as unattractive as ever. “No. Absolutely not,” he muttered. “He has to be here.”

“Am I not in the book?” Harry wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned. “Am I really dead? Or do I have to go…” he gulped. “Down there?” Truly, he hadn’t lived such a bad life. Sure, he nicked a biscuit every now and then, and he wasn’t always polite, and had engaged in a petty curse or two against a few of the more annoying media wizards, but surely nothing to merit that. And if even bloody Snape had managed to make it up here…but he had made the ultimate sacrifice. Shit. He hadn’t saved anybody since Voldemort died. Perhaps he should have vanquished another Dark Lord in his spare time instead of reading Quidditch Weekly?

“There has to be a mistake.” Snape’s face was turning red. He slammed the book shut. “ALBUS!”

Harry blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling from his eyes. Albus Dumbledore had been dead for more than fifteen years, but now, with the old man standing right before him, Harry felt the pain of his death as acutely as if he had just fallen off the tower yesterday.

“Harry, my boy, imagine seeing you here.”

He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He was sixteen again, forcing his beloved headmaster to drink a deadly potion that filled his final hours with utter terror…and he wanted to do nothing more than wrap his arms around Dumbledore’s waist and feel the older man stroke his hair and tell him everything was alright, then impart some life lesson he wouldn’t actually comprehend until months later. Harry sniffed back a sob and straightened his shoulders. Perhaps if he kept repeating to himself “I’m an adult, I’m an adult,” he’d start acting like it.

“I realize you may be slightly distressed over being recently deceased, Harry, but are you not at least a little happy to see me?”

That was it. Harry lunged at him and hugged him tightly, feeling hot tears stream down his cheeks. This is what he had so needed when he was a teenager. He’d had little time to mourn Dumbledore’s death before having to hunt for the remaining Horcruxes. Then once Voldemort was dead, Harry had wasted precious little time marrying Ginny and starting a family. A part of him had never completely reconciled exactly how Dumbledore had died, particularly Snape’s role in the affair, and it had become abundantly apparent in his later years that he had never had the closure he needed. Fitting he should get it now…now that he was dead as well.

He wanted nothing more than to stay there all day – wait, did dead people even have days? How could you measure eternity? – in Dumbledore’s arms, but he could tell without even looking that Snape was impatient to proceed and already tired at the excessive display of sentimentality. After discreetly wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his robe, he turned back to Snape.

“So, I’m not in the book? What does that mean?”

“Yes, Albus,” Snape said in a deathly sweet voice. “What does that mean?”

“Wait, why would he know?” Harry blurted out. “He’s not God. Or…are you?” he added with a little uncertainty.

“He ran everything and everybody when he was living, what ever led you to believe he would stop in the afterlife?” Snape muttered.

Dumbledore only smiled, his blue eyes sparkling as vividly as they ever had. “Of course not, my boy. I merely have the pleasure to serve as Supreme Chancellor of Time, Talent, Strategy, and Operations in the Wizarding Division of the Afterlife. SCOTTSOWDA, if you will.”

Snape was growing visibly more impatient by the second. “Albus,” he ground out.

“Ah, yes, yes,” Dumbledore said as he clapped his hands together. “The Book. Now, I don’t want to leap to assumptions, so let us first be sure. Severus, Harry, I am going to need the two of you to hold hands for a brief moment.”

Harry was surprised to see Snape immediately stretching out his hand. Granted, he held it flat palm up, as though he were expecting Harry to hand him a platter, and not extended as a lover would (but of course, why would he?), but Harry still expected him to put up a bit more of a fight at the thought of having to touch him. At yet another irritated sigh from Snape, Harry placed his hand on top and twined their fingers together.

“Now then,” Dumbledore said, and pulled two long white ribbon out from his robes. Harry warily watched him tie it around his and Snape’s clasped hands, leaving the ends long and dangling. When Dumbledore pulled away, seeming satisfied with his work, Harry looked at him expectedly.

“Is that it?” he asked. “Isn’t there some sort of spell?”

“Ah, Harry. Time will tell.”

Harry didn’t have time to ponder the meaning of this before a sudden breeze filled the once calm air. It swirled around them before encircling Harry and Snape like a cyclone. Harry felt constricted upon himself, felt his body twist and turn and become tighter somehow, as though his center of gravity had suddenly shifted and he was being pulled toward another force. Then, just as suddenly as the wind came, it stopped.

He blinked.

The first thing he noticed was that Snape was furious. His brows were knitted together, his face red, and his eyes flashing. Harry immediately took a step back.

That’s when he realized the second thing: his other hand was now also linked to Snape’s as well, and the previously dangling lengths of the ribbon were now wrapped tightly around both of their hands.

“Umm…”

“I refuse.” Snape said. He wasted no time in tearing at the bindings as he spoke. “Absolutely not. I’d rather stay dead than be forced to return to the land of the living with this brat.”

“Hey!”

“Now, Severus,” Albus said soothingly. “You know that is not how this works. Now that we know you and Harry are linked, you have no choice.”

“I find myself often having no choice where you’re concerned, Albus,” Snape said. “No choice but to teach. No choice but to risk my bloody neck spying for you time after time. No choice but to fucking kill you. For once in my goddamn life…or non-life, I am going to make my own choice!”

The humor left Dumbledore’s eyes. “Severus, you can either accept Time’s changes willingly or you can fight them. I can assure you it will be infinitely more pleasant if you accept them.”

Snape’s face had returned a bit to its normal pallor, but he was clearly still angry and ready to have a prime sulk. Harry decided to speak when he was likely to have a bit of silence.

“Right. Um, would somebody mind telling me what’s going on?”

“Ah, of course, my dear boy. Here, have a seat.” A plush armchair materialized behind him. Harry couldn’t help but grin at the garish scarlet and gold coloring. A more staid black one appeared next to it, but Snape did not move toward it. Dumbledore continued to move about.

“Now, Harry, as you know, Time is a powerful force. How much can change in a single day! A day, if you can imagine, is less than a blink of an eye for Time, who sees the rise and fall of civilizations in single heartbeats. When one stops to think of how much can be affected by a simple exhaled breath of Time…”

Harry was afraid Dumbledore would force them to stop to think about this mysteriously capitalized Time, but he mercifully continued.

“Well, Harry, so much happens that, inevitably, Time sometimes makes mistakes. Such as was the case with both you and Professor Snape’s untimely – do pardon the pun – deaths.”

“I…I don’t understand,” Harry stammered.

“It’s quite simple, Harry. Time erred. And now she must bring about the impossible to remedy her mistake and right her wrong.”

“So…am I actually dead?”

“It’s an odd state, as I’m sure Professor Snape would be delighted to tell you all about in the coming days.” Harry wasn’t so sure of that; Snape still looked entirely unapproachable with his arms crossed against his chest and his face down. “On the mortal plane, you are deceased. However, you were not supposed to enter the afterlife for some time, so you cannot exist past these gates either. This terminal, if you will, is an in-between state. Professor Snape has had to reside here for years, waiting for you, it turns out.”

“So that was a test…but why me? Why him?”

“That is something we will have to examine further,” Dumbledore said. “However, that test did confirm what I have suspected for years: dear Severus was not meant to die in the Shack that day, as his fate was still meant to be entangled with yours for years to come…and in such a way, I believe, would have prevented you from dying when you did as well.”

Harry was getting a headache. He’d bet his right arm he wouldn’t still be getting headaches if he were allowed past those gates. He was also beginning to get grumpy. It just bloody figured he couldn’t even rest in peace peacefully.

“Albus, you know the boy could not handle complex mental activity even when he was walking among the living. Why don’t you take mercy on us all and put him out of his misery?”

“I’m not a boy!” Harry felt compelled to protest. “I’m at least thirty years old…or I was. I mean…well, anyway, you’re dead too!”

Pathetic.

Clearly Snape agreed with his assessment, for he only looked bored when he said, “Done now, Potter? I would like to learn the details of this bloody mess.”

The fight knocked out of him, Harry nodded.

“Let us see,” Dumbledore murmured as he stroked his beard. “We have two actors in this play.” He knelt and scooped a fluffy white substance into each hand. Harry glanced down and realized for the first time they were all standing on a cloud. Observant he was not.

Dumbledore stood again and held his hands directly in front of his face. A breeze swirled around them, lifting the clouds from Dumbledore’s hands until they were in plain eyesight of all three of them. The puffs continued twisting and forming until they were both clearly shaped into the figures of two men. And then, somehow, they were Harry and Snape, and the air behind them had morphed as well. It was no longer just sky and clouds, but the dungeons at Hogwarts. It looked solid, and the cloud figures were assembling to fit in the scenery. It was almost like watching the telly, but three-dimensional.

“We are about to watch the scene where Time erred,” Dumbledore explained. “This will give us an idea of how to proceed.”

Harry leaned in closer. There was Snape in his usual voluminous black robes sprinting down the corridor, coming to a stop just in front of the door to the potions classroom. The roar of battle was all around him, but Snape must have heard something else, because he froze. Harry was startled to see himself then run by, apparently completely oblivious to Snape standing mere feet from him. He continued dashing down the hall, not even paying heed to the pile of rubble in front of him. He merely leaped over it and…

“Why did it stop?”

“Time stopped, Harry, because that is the precise moment where you did not act in the way Time anticipated you to.” Dumbledore waved a hand over the cloud scene; it immediately vanished.

“It didn’t expect me to jump over a pile of rubble?” Harry asked. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Fall.” Snape said flatly.

“Fuck you, Snape,” Harry snapped. “Now…”

“I’m afraid Professor Snape is correct, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Based on where the action stopped in this little performance, it is clear Time expected you to stumble. You will admit, I’m sure, that your undeniable grace in the air did not always translate to sprightliness on ground in your youth.”

It was true. Harry hadn’t exactly been a klutz, but he had a rather awkward adolescence and had been rather prone to taking an odd fall or two. He tried not to be offended that Time expected him to continue making an arse of himself.

“But what difference does it make whether I fell or not? Isn’t it a good thing I was able to keep running? What if I had gotten hurt? Maybe Voldemort wouldn’t have died.”

“Severus, perhaps you have a theory?”

Snape finally took his seat. He looked at no one, simply stared straight ahead with his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“I knew this would be the final battle,” he said dully, as though reciting a passage from a textbook. “I was running the potions lab, where I knew there was still a supply of the potion I had been imbibing daily for the past few months. It was an antivenin potion of my own creation. Instead of merely eliminating the poison from the blood stream, it expelled the poison out through the wound and then caused the blood to coagulate…it would be impossible to die from either poison or loss of blood.”

Harry could not help but marvel at Snape’s foresight. In the years following Snape’s death, he had developed a great respect for the man, even going so far as to name his son after him. But it was one thing to admire the bravery and intellect of a dead man; it was quite another to hear straight from the man’s lips just how calculating a fighter he was.

“I heard Potter coming down the hall. He was screaming for his friends, and I recognized his voice. I wanted to seize that opportunity to grab him, take him to the classroom, and tell him everything. That I wanted him to succeed, about Lily, about how I had killed Albus.” He gave a nod to the headmaster, who smiled benevolently at him. “I saw the pile of stone and thought I would be able to reach him quickly, since he would need extra time to get around it. But he was fast and agile, and my chase was unsuccessful. I was then surrounded by Death Eaters and did not have time to go back to the lab before my final meeting with the Dark Lord.”

They sat in silence. Harry couldn’t believe it. Because he hadn’t stumbled, because he had been blessed with one ounce of what he then would have thought was good luck, Snape had died. That one small act, one seemingly inconsequential act, had had such severe ramifications was mind-blowing.

He coughed. “Um. I’m sorry?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Typical of a Gryffindor. Fuck everything up and then expect a bumbling apology to make me not die on the filthy floor of the Shrieking Shack.”

“Now, listen here, Snape…”

“Boys, boys,” Dumbledore interrupted. “Severus, you know Harry would not have wanted you to die. Especially since it seems somehow he needs you to be alive in order for him to live the life he was destined to as well.” He rose. “I need to have a discussion with Time now to determine how best to proceed. Severus, I trust you will show Harry to his lodgings.”

Snape’s eyes widened. “Albus. You cannot mean…”

“I’m afraid we don’t have much choice in this matter, Severus. Besides, it is perhaps best you learn to work together. Who knows what Time has in store?” With a wink and a wave, he stepped through the gates.

Harry had never so dearly wished for the gift of Divination.

Harry followed Snape along a path parallel to those blasted gates. His mind was spinning in roughly a thousand different directions. It really had to be some sort of record. To find out you’re dead, then that you’re not really supposed to be dead, and you accidentally caused the death of your most hated professor who really was a hero, and that somehow you’re supposed to become alive again, all in the period of…well, he still hadn’t established if they kept time in this quasi-afterlife, but it certainly didn’t feel like very long.

They stopped in front of a small thatched cottage. Clouds puffed up from the ground to form fluffy shrubs blooming with brightly colored flowers. It was entirely peaceful and quaint and the total antithesis of Snape.

“I suppose it’s been expecting you,” Snape muttered, and he shoved open the green door. “Welcome…to my home.”

It was every bit as cozy on the inside. The space was wide and open, with shiny wooden floorboards and crisp white walls. A small kitchen table in the corner was set up for tea. The unnatural sunlight cast everything in a glistening glow. The only real sign that Snape resided here was a cauldron bubbling in the fireplace.

“You will be residing in my home,” Snape said briskly as he headed up the stairs. “The afterlife goes through great means to ensure that each deceased citizen is made to feel comfortable. Apparently it shows less consideration to those who are not yet supposed to be dead.”

Harry followed Snape along his way. The upper landing revealed just two doors directly across from each other. “Is it just us?”

Snape stopped in his tracks to throw Harry a withering glare. “Time, you will find, Potter, is not a bumbling idiot like so many of your peers. It is very seldom she errs…and, try as I might, I cannot fault her for thinking you would continue to make an utter sod of yourself. You certainly defied expectations.” He turned back along his way and opened a door. “Ah, this is still my room. Yours is the one across the hall. Feel free to spend all your time there.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks. No, I was just wondering…if I messed things up for you, maybe there were others who also weren’t supposed to die? Like…Lupin? Or Tonks? Or…”

If Harry didn’t know better, he would have thought something had softened in Snape’s eyes. “No, Potter. Your unexpected bout of agility affected nobody but the two of us.”

“Oh.” Harry looked down at his feet and tried not to be disappointed. Then another thought occurred to him. “Can I visit them? Or can they come here?”

Snape shook his head. “Nobody who is not meant to be dead is permitted past the gates. And those beyond the gates are not able to leave. They are in an entirely different realm. Why do you think my job is to be the blasted welcoming committee? It certainly is not due to my sunny disposition; there is simply nobody else up to the task of being both up in these blasted clouds yet outside the gates.”

“But Dumbledore…”

Snape snorted. “Professor Dumbledore is, as always, the exception.” He moved to enter his room. “No, Potter, I fear if you are desiring a social companion, your sole option is me.” And with an unpleasant smile that completely belied the earlier moments of almost sympathy, he closed his door.

Well, apparently dead people did sleep, Harry noted as he rose out of his bed with a yawn. But now there was the question of what exactly dead people did with their time. Snape was apparently the questionably-named welcoming committee, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about Harry joining him on his duties. Harry hoped he wouldn’t have to; it would be terribly awkward if he happened to come across somebody he knew.

He took a quick shower and headed downstairs. Snape was sitting at the kitchen table reading a newspaper and eating a piece of toast.

Harry cleared his throat. “Is that paper from the living world or the dead?”

“The living. The paper for the dead doesn’t arrive till afternoon. If it comes out at all. Can’t trust the dead for anything. Get all caught up in watching the clouds and playing halo toss they entirely forget about practical matters.” Snape folded the paper and placed it in front of him on the table. “Dumbledore has relieved me of my welcoming duties for the time being. He wants us to become better acquainted in hopes it will aid us when the moment comes for us to right Time’s error.”

“When will that happen?” Harry grabbed a chocolate éclair from a basket on the table. The first bite had him sighing with pure bliss. Ginny had never allowed such things in the house. She said they went straight to her hips. It was worth being stuck with Snape if he could just enjoy one of these. Harry flushed, suddenly vaguely guilty for having a reason to be happy to be away from his wife.

“When the stars align, or some clodtrop like that,” Snape said with an impatient wave of his hand. “Well, have a seat. Let’s…get to know each other.”

Harry did not trust that sneer at all.

“Um, well, you know me. Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived and all that,” he said. “Did a bit since you died…married Ginny Weasley. Three kids, James, Lily, and Al.” Harry bristled at Snape’s snort. “There’s nothing wrong with naming your children to honor your loved ones!”

“No, not at all, other than it’s utterly clichéd. Just like everything you do, Potter. You do what’s expected of you, instead of using what passes for a brain in that thick skull of yours to come up with a creative, meaningful way to honor your loved ones. I trust Al’s full name is Albus Sirius.”

“Actually,” Harry said, picking up a buttery croissant, “It’s Albus Severus.” He chose that moment to shove the entire thing in his mouth. It seemed the best way to stop himself from blabbering like an idiot.

“Oh, dear Merlin,” said Snape. “Potter, your proclivity for the sentimental astounds me. You do recall you despised me for at least seven years of your life.”

“But you were a hero! You gave up everything…I can’t even imagine what you went through. On both sides…we were just as brutal to you as I imagine Voldemort was. It seemed a small matter to honor you by naming one of my children after you.”

“Ah, Potter, how ever did you know it was always my life’s ambition to have my wretched name bestowed upon a snot-nosed Potter brat? I imagine there are souls beyond the gate who would gladly trade places with me to only be given such an honor.”

Harry took his time swallowing, assuming Snape would move on to another topic if he stretched it out long enough. He was disappointed.

“To return to our earlier discussion of needing to become better acquainted, I have compiled a list of questions for you to answer.” He handed Harry a roll of parchment. “You will find a quill in the study. I will take the time to answer them as well. We will exchange answers at lunch. It will be served at noon. Do not be late.”

Harry unrolled the parchment and stared at it in disbelief. There were twenty questions listed, starting with “What is your favorite color?” and closing with “If you could only read one book for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Snape, don’t take this the wrong way, but…do you have any friends?”

Snape’s eyes sparked with anger. “Of all the insolent…”

“I just mean this isn’t usually how you go about becoming friends with somebody. I’ve had deeper questions asked to me by Daily Prophet reporters.”

“Well, you must excuse me for not living up to your celebrity standards,” Snape hissed. “Besides, I have no desire to be friends with you. I plan on simply returning back to the mortal plane, and only because it is forced upon me, and then, at some point, be forced to save your wretched, ungrateful self once more. So just fill out the bloody questionnaire and leave me in peace. My tea is growing cold.”

Harry sighed and grabbed a cinnamon muffin. If he was going to get through this exercise, he would need all the encouragement he could get.

Lunch was a simple and silent affair. Snape seemed to perfectly time his looks up from his sandwich so he would never once lock eyes with Harry. Harry tried not to take offense; after all, the man had to be used to his solitude, and it had to be awkward to suddenly be sharing quarters with a former student.

Snape carefully wiped his mouth with a crisp white linen napkin. “I trust you have completed your questionnaire?”

Harry nodded and handed Snape the parchment. The explosion would come in three…two…

“POTTER!”

Harry bit his cheeks to stop the smile from spreading. “Yes?”

“What,” Snape hissed, spittle escaping from his teeth, “is the meaning of this?”

Harry shrugged. “I just answered your questions in the way I thought was best.”

“By writing ‘Ask me in person’ next to each and every one? I should have known you would continue to undermine my authority.”

“Authority?” Harry laughed. “What authority? Snape, I hate to point this out, but we are both in this bizarre dead but not dead state. You have no authority over me here. We’re as equal as two undead souls can get.”

“You little…”

“Not so little anymore,” Harry continued. He was trying his best to sound casual, but inwardly he was quaking at the thought of so blatantly attempting to stir Snape’s ire. “I’m just about the same age you were when I first met you. I’d say that qualifies me to be an adult.”

“And yet you still act like an arrogant, spoilt child. If there is any good that came out of this entire mess, it’s that I left the mortal plane before being forced to deal with your own brats, who are most likely exponentially worse than you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Harry said. “Al positively worships you, you know. Actually has a bit of a shrine to you in his room. It’s rather sweet.”

Snape’s eyes were ablaze with fury. “Fuck you, Potter.”

Harry opened his mouth to issue a snappy retort, but Snape had already stormed out of the cottage and slammed the door.

Good to know some things never changed.

Harry waited twenty minutes before heading outside after Snape. He found him about ten yards away, sitting cross-legged on the cloudy ground. Harry wished it were a bit more substantial so he could announce his presence with noisy footsteps, but settled on clearing his throat.

“You needn’t have bothered, Potter. I heard you the second you opened the door. As I said before, Time was not wrong in judging you to be lacking in grace.”

Harry refused to rise to the bait. He sat down next to Snape. “Why are you trying so hard to get me to hate you?”

“You do hate me, Potter, and for good reason. I spent six years making your life a living hell. I belittled you in front of your friends and took great pleasure in doing so. I taunted you about your parentage, a matter over which you had no control. I killed your beloved headmaster for reasons you had no hope of understanding. I allowed students to be tortured by Death Eaters while I was headmaster. I have done nothing, nothing,” he repeated loudly when Harry started to protest, “to cause you to not hate me.”

“You gave up your life,” Harry said quietly. “You fooled Voldemort up until the very end. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like. You did things I know you didn’t want to do, all so we would stand a fighting chance…and what did we do? We gave you shite. Given the way we treated you, you would have been well within your rights to just leave us on our own to rot. But you didn’t.”

“A touching tribute, Potter. However, that doesn’t give you reason to like me.” He reclined back and rested his head in his hands. “I am still the same bastard I always was, regardless of how I wished the war to end.”

“Maybe,” Harry conceded. “But I’m not the same boy I was then. I know you were a right berk to me, and I’m sure you’ll continue to be that way. But I can’t, in good conscience, continue treating you with the lack of respect I once did. It just wouldn’t be right.”

“A Potter with a conscience,” Snape murmured. “Will wonders never cease?”

“Ever since you died, I've regretted that I never had a chance to talk to you and get to know you. The real you, not the you tainted by our mutual prejudice against each other. And now I have the chance…and even Dumbledore thinks we should get along to help this…whatever this is…so can’t we just try?”

Snape didn’t say anything for a long while. Finally, he sighed and sat back up. “I suppose we can declare a temporary truce.”

Harry grinned. “Great. So, what were you doing out here? Cloud watching?” He chuckled a bit at his own joke.

“Yes.”

“Wait, seriously? Doesn’t quite seem your thing, looking for dragons and puppies in the clouds.”

Snape snorted. “No. Watch.” He reached out and grabbed a cloud that was slowly floating just above their heads. After pausing for a minute, he began molding the vapors with his hands until they vaguely resembled a female form. He stopped to examine his handiwork and, evidently pleased, held it so it appeared as though a six-inch misty woman were standing on the palm of his hand. Then he brought the cloud woman close to his mouth and exhaled a light gust of breath.

Suddenly, it wasn’t just a cloud. It was a real miniature person, with pale blonde hair and blue eyes, and she wasn’t just floating in air, but somehow pacing in a small room lined entirely with books. She sat down at a mahogany desk and began to scribble on a roll of parchment.

“Cynthia Whitean,” Snape explained. “Hogwarts’ new potions mistress. I check in on her from time to time to see how she is handling her duties.’

Harry stared at the scene, fascinated. It looked so real. “Can you hear her too?”

Snape nodded. “Wait a moment.”

As though waiting for Snape’s cue, Harry heard a light rap on the door. He watched in amazement as Minerva McGonagall walked in the door and began questioning Professor Whitean on the first years’ syllabus.

“That’s amazing,” Harry breathed. “It’s what they’re doing right now?”

“Yes. It serves as some sort of entertainment. It also helps to maintain a connection with the mortal plane. I imagine those who left loved ones behind use it to ensure they are well. I use it more to stave off boredom.”

“Who else do you check up on?” Harry peered closer to the scene. He could even see the titles of the books on Whitean’s shelves.

“None of your business, Potter.” He didn’t sound angry, but Harry noticed he was determinedly not looking at him.

“Well, I think it’s brilliant,” Harry declared. “I can’t wait to check in on Ginny and the kids. And Ron and Hermione, of course. They’re expecting another child any day now.”

“I’d advise against that for a little while.” For the first time since he’d known him, Snape sounded hesitant, as though he was not sure his advice would be welcomed. “At this very moment, they are most likely grieving their loss. To see them as such, and knowing you are the cause of their pain and that you are powerless to do anything to comfort them is as close to torture as you can get in these parts.”

Sobered by the thought, Harry closed his eyes. Since he was fine, albeit confused about his current status in the universe, it hadn’t even really occurred to him that his family would be upset. He began to feel homesick. He opened his eyes and turned to Snape.

“Did you experience that?”

He really wasn’t expecting an answer, so was surprised when Snape banished the image of Whitean with a wave of his hand and turned to him. “As I said, I left few loved ones behind. However, I did make the mistake of watching the aftermath of the war. It was devastating, Potter, a pain I would not wish upon anybody. Not even you.”

“It seems rather heartless, doesn’t it? That we can’t be with them, but also can’t be with the ones beyond the gates? I would have thought that when I died I could finally be with my mum and dad, and Sirius…strange, but now that I’m closer to them, I feel even more removed from them.”

This time Snape was quiet for so long that Harry thought he may have fallen asleep. “It is, Potter, indeed the cruelest trick Time can play upon us.”

His mum. Harry had nearly forgotten how Snape had loved her. How devastated Snape must have felt, to finally have hoped to have absolved himself of the sins that caused Lily Evans to spurn their friendship and led to her death, and to find she was once more just out of reach. Harry shuddered at the loneliness and yearning Snape must have felt all these years.

“Snape…I know you won’t believe this, but…if I had to be stuck here, I’m glad I at least have you with me.”

Snape snorted and stood up. “You’re correct. I don’t believe it.” He stood up and wiped some miscreant clouds off his robes. “Well, I do believe I have fulfilled my Potter quota for the day. Don’t hold dinner for me; I’ll be late.” He strode off and disappeared into the clouds.

Harry couldn’t even bring himself to be offended. For now, he was content to sit alone in the clouds and just remember.

Harry didn’t see Snape again till the next morning, when he came downstairs to see him sitting at the kitchen table with Dumbledore. Deep in conversation, they didn’t even look up until Harry sat down with them.

“Ah, good morning, Harry!” exclaimed Dumbledore. “How are you enjoying your stay?”

Trust Dumbledore to make it sound as though Harry were simply enjoying a holiday at a luxury resort. “It’s alright, sir. Starting to miss my family though.”

“Understandable,” Dumbledore nodded. “It is just as normal to grieve for those you have left behind as it is to mourn the passing of a loved one.”

That made sense. That eternal separation still divided them. “I just can’t wait till we figure this out and I’m back with my children.”

It was the barest of glances, hardly perceptible, but the look Snape and Dumbledore exchanged filled Harry with trepidation. “What? What is it you’re not telling me?”

“Potter. A brief moment of grace in your life ultimately caused both of our premature deaths. You can’t imagine my being alive longer in this new timeline than in the last would be without any other consequences.”

Harry gaped at Snape, scarcely able to breathe. “Do you mean…my children might not even be born?” Panic began to course through him. “Because if I have to choose between me being here and them not even existing, I can’t, there’s no way. I’m sorry, Snape, but I just…”

“Unfortunately, Harry, as you heard me tell Severus, it’s out of your hands,” Dumbledore said gently. “The effects of your not-fall were significant, which is the only reason Time is going through so much to remedy the mistake. It would be wonderful if the two of you were able to fall back into your old lives and simply live longer. But the fabric of Time is not that simple. It is made up of billions of threads, and if but one but pulls, the entire tapestry unravels.”

Harry was shaking. Memories that he had fondly recalled the night before now rushed at him with brutal intensity. James stammering and blushing as he summoned up the courage to ask him about girls. Lily, sweet Lily, who went from playing with her beloved Winora Witch doll on Monday to eagerly experimenting with flavored lip glosses on Tuesday. And Al…Christ, how he loved his gentle boy who always had a smile on his face and a kind word on his lips. What comfort all three of his children had brought him on what was to be his deathbed. Even though he knew they had tears in their eyes, they tried to be so brave for him…and now…how could they, his very real children, just not exist?

He didn’t care what Dumbledore said. It seemed unbelievably selfish to condemn them to possible inexistence just so he could live again.

“If it helps, Potter,” Snape drawled, “Once we go back, you may not even remember them ever having existed.”

No. It didn’t help. It didn’t fucking help at all. The brightest parts of his life, what he was proudest of…to have no recollection of his time with them? What would he think of when he needed a spot of happiness?

Something must have shown on his face, for Dumbledore quickly added, “Of course, we don’t know for certain what you would and wouldn’t remember, of both your previous life and your time here. I imagine Time would allow you to remember exactly what was meant for you to remember.”

“I am so fucking SICK of hearing about this goddamn saintly TIME!” Harry shouted. “SHE was the one who fucked up, so now I have to give up the life I made for myself? I don’t CARE if it wasn’t right for the world, it was right for me. I was happy,” he added softly. His voice cracked. Great, now it was going to get embarrassing. Unable to face the other men with tears in his eyes, he stormed out of the house.

Harry came to rest just past where he had found Snape the day before. Chest heaving, heart still pounding, he rested his head in his hands. It was strange; he had never been afraid of dying. But now he was terrified of living.

Completely disregarding Snape’s warning, Harry reached up and snatched a piece of a nearby cloud. Thinking of his children, he began to tug and pull at it. To his surprise, he was soon holding three smaller clouds, all vaguely human-shaped, in the palm of his hands. “Please,” he whispered, and the air from his plea blew the clouds away from him.

They took their definitive shapes quickly. Harry wiped his eyes and leaned in closer. There they were, all three of them. He had to smile when he realized they were sitting huddled together in the treehouse Lily had insisted upon years ago. Even though they were Hogwarts age, they still escaped there when they wished to avoid adults.

“I don’t understand,” Lily was saying. There were no tears in her eyes, but they were clearly bloodshot and she looked as though she had not slept in weeks. “Daddy was invincible. And now they don’t even know what killed him?” James wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “It’s not fair.”

Al squeezed her hand. “Lil, you know what Dad always said. Death’s but the next great adventure. I bet he’s off playing Quidditch against some fire-breathing dragons or something.”

“But I don’t want him to be having an adventure! I want him to be here, with us.”

Harry’s chest felt tight. How could he sit here and watch his little girl cry over him and not be able to offer her the slightest comfort? Snape was right. This was torture. He needed to leave.

“Well, I’m just glad I never had to tell him about Mum,” James said harshly.

Harry paused. James and Ginny had developed a rather hostile relationship in recent years. Harry had always chalked it up to James reaching that impossibly angry adolescent age, but perhaps there was more. He couldn’t help it…he leaned closer once more.

“To think Dad’s not even in his grave yet and she’s with him,” James spat.

Wait…

“I’m sure she’s just upset as we are,” Al offered hesitantly. Lily gave a rather unattractively wet sniff.

“Like hell she is! She’s probably in bed with him right now, asking him how soon they can be married. Hell of a lot of luck she’ll have with that. You know he’s only using her for Dad’s money, only shagging her because she’s the wife of the Chosen – ”

“JAMES!” Lily snapped. Her cheeks were still damp with tears, but they were now flushed with anger as well. “That is our MOTHER.”

“She’s not my mother,” James said darkly.

Harry didn’t allow himself any more time to linger. He quickly dissolved the scene with a wave of his hand and sat back on his haunches.

So Ginny had been cheating on him. He was somewhat surprised, not by her actions, but by his own reaction. Their marriage had been shaky for years, really, since before the birth of Lily. But he stayed with her because he did genuinely love her, and she was a good mother to their children. But upon hearing she had taken another…where was the possessive anger? Where was the heat, the devastation of finding the one he loved did not stay true to her wedding vows? He only felt a vague sense of betrayal that somebody he had known since he was eleven apparently did not hold him in the same high respect he held her, and that his children had been hurt.

If he had lived, what would have happened? Would Ginny have confessed, or would James have told him? Would he have cared more if he could still take Ginny to bed and she chose another, cared more than he did now that he was an incalculable distance away, forever out of reach? Who was this man anyway? Well, that he could answer. He reached up for another cloud.

“Do you really think it’s wise to look at that just now, Potter?”

Harry let the cloud go in shock over hearing Snape’s voice. “What’s one more little tragedy anyway?”

“I did not realize you were such a masochist. Besides,” he said far too casually, “he was nobody you knew anyway.”

Harry froze. “You knew?”

Snape took a seat next to him. “I look in on everybody from time to time. Several times I caught the lovely Mrs. Potter in a flagrante delicto with a young man who certainly was not Mr. Potter.” He arched a brow at him. “Surely you were not completely unaware?” His tone said not even Harry could be that oblivious.

Harry shrugged. “I was pretty sick the last few years.” He meant to let out a sigh, but somehow it evolved into a sob. “I hate this. I thought when you were dead you were supposed to feel free. I just feel trapped and alone.”

“Ah, but Mr. Potter, we are not truly dead. Trapped between the two worlds, to be sure, but as we have experienced one and not the other, I would be inclined, if pressed, to describe ourselves as more alive than dead. And therefore we are still chained with the same sense of entrapment and loneliness mortality entails.”

The clouds, which had been steadily growing darker, began spitting out fat droplets of rain. Harry looked up in surprise. “I didn’t realize it rained in the afterlife.”

“The afterlife tries to make all its inhabitants comfortable,” Snape reminded him. “I suppose it felt you needed some gloom to match your mood. Misery loves company and all that rubbish.” He paused. “When I first cloud watched after the war, it rained for so long I could scarcely remember what the sun looked like.”

Harry attempted a weak smile at Snape. If he had to deal with him for however long, it would probably be best to show at least a little gratitude for revealing such a personal detail, one that he was sure was Snape’s attempt at relating to him. Harry was sure he would appreciate it more sometime when he didn’t feel so dejected.

“Would you like to go inside?”

Harry shook his head. He did not have the strength to move. And somehow, it felt right to just sit here, being slowly drenched by the rain. It was cleansing the grief out of his soul, and reminding him that, just as Snape said, he was more alive than dead.

“Very well.” He laid a hand on Harry’s back. Soothed by the surprisingly compassionate gesture, Harry leaned into him until Severus’s arm was wrapped around his shoulders.

This is nice, Harry thought as he huddled closer. Yes, this is what I need.

Harry wasn’t surprised to see rain pouring down outside again the next morning. He would no longer consider himself miserable and depressed, but the rain just felt right, as though he had been waiting for it ever since he first stepped foot in this strange afterlife.

He was, surprised, however, when Snape, upon finishing his tea, gathered his book and came to sit with Harry by the window to watch droplets fall on the windowpane. They sat together silently, the only sound to be heard the steady rush of rainfall.

“Do you mind?” Harry finally asked. “The rain, I mean?”

Snape set down his book. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Interesting. “Unlike your time in the mortal realm, the world does not revolve around you here. It would not rain unless I too was desirous of it.”

“Why?” Harry asked, surprised. “I’m still shocked you didn’t tell me off for being melodramatic.”

Snape peered out the window. “I always enjoyed walking outside after a rainstorm such as this. There is a damp, fresh scent you will find nowhere else. That smell reminds me more of a beginning than the sickly sweet smell of morning. For a rainfall washes away all the sins of the preceding dry spell and promises a fresh start, no restrictions, no reservations.” He looked at Harry. “Sometimes, that fresh start is what is needed most in life, is it not?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you disagree?”

“No, not with that,” Harry said as he shook his head. “You’ve just been so, well, civil. Yesterday you looked like you were ready to kill me. What happened?”

Snape did not say anything, simply looked back at the rain. “As I said, Potter, rain washes away sins of the past. But it can also wipe away those smudges that once besmirched our vision. And happily for us, for I imagine it will only aid us as our return to the land of mere mortals approaches.”

Harry still did not really understand, but figured that was probably the best answer he would get for now. “I guess. How much longer anyway?”

Snape shrugged. “Time would never tell. What if, upon knowing our return would be in three hours, we drastically altered our actions, which subsequently affected our descent back? No, we will be caught completely unawares, although Albus assures me Time will know what is best.”

“Of course.” Harry was getting bloody sick of hearing about Time. “Well, what do we do until then?”

“We listen to Longfellow,” Snape said, once again opening his book. “The best thing one can do when it’s raining…is to let it rain.”

“What was it like when you died?”

Snape looked up from his book, startled. “You were there, were you not?”

“Yeah, but…” He sighed. “I only ask because my death wasn’t at all what I expected.”

Snape carefully marked his place in his book and set it aside. “Oh really? Do tell.”

Harry shrugged, distinctly uncomfortable. “I really didn’t notice much of anything. I had been sick for a while, you see, even longer than I let on. I never saw a healer because I just couldn’t shake the feeling that, no matter how terrible I felt, it wasn’t going to kill me. And at the end, when I couldn’t open my eyes…they said it was because I was so weak, and I guess that was part of it, but really it was because every time they were open I was just overcome with this sense of vertigo…that what I was seeing wasn’t what I was supposed to be seeing, and those images just fought each other and I got so dizzy.” He shook his head. “So I was thinking that maybe that was a sign then, you know, that I wasn’t really supposed to die then.”

“Quite possibly.”

“Did you have something like that? Where you just felt like this wasn’t your time?”

When Snape didn’t respond, Harry thought he was just going to ignore him. But a minute later, he answered, “I was terrified. I was drowning in the sense that my time had been cut drastically short. I could see my potions that I had taken religiously every day but that one. What were the chances? I was about to die, and suddenly I was aware there was so much I wanted to do, so much I had to do.” He laughed humorlessly. “Strange, considering how I had spent so long wondering what the point of my life was, giving little care to anything. I spied on the Dark Lord without fear, thinking I did not care if I lived or died. But at that moment, I realized that it did not matter what I cared to do, simply that I had to.”

“You had to live because that’s what Time originally intended.” Great, now he was doing it to, speaking of Time as if it were a real person. He was losing his bloody mind here.

“I suppose. But perhaps I did not think so much of it at the time…you, Potter, have lived a charmed life. You've defied death more times than I’m sure you can even recount. Things have a remarkable way of working out in your favor. It makes sense you would be confused by having the life knocked out of you by a mere fever when you survived years of the Dark Lord marking you as his personal kicking toy. But I?” He smiled, and Harry could see the pain and weariness etched into every line that curve created. “It was just one more instance of life not giving a damn about me.”

Harry felt an unexplainable urge to apologize to the man, but he knew Snape would only sneer at him and tell him not to apologize for things that obviously were not his fault.

So instead he reached out and placed his hand over Snape’s, and they continued to look at the rain.

“Do you still hate me?”

“When have I ever hated you, Potter?”

“Umm, since my first day at Hogwarts? You know, the whole ‘our new celebrity’ bit?”

Snape crossed a leg over the other. “I hated you no more than any other student.”

Harry laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. You tormented me and you loved every second of it.”

A smile played at Snape’s thin lips, and Harry noticed he did not deny the accusation. “You simply gave me more ammunition, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, what about now? Do you still hate me?”

“When you irritate me.”

“And I suppose that I accomplish that simply by breathing?”

“Potter.”

“Yes?”

“Right now. Right now I hate you. But I might, might, mind you,” he repeated when Harry started to snap back a retort, “hate you a little bit less if you cease asking banal questions and allow me to enjoy the rain in peace.”

Harry sighed but made no objection. At least he wasn’t completely despised by his only company for the time being…if he understood his non-answers as he thought he did, anyhow.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you were my father?”

Snape choked on the tea he had been sipping. Harry stood up and gave him several firm slaps on the back. His face was still red long after he stopped sputtering.

“Potter, what the hell are you on?”

Harry shrugged and sat back down in his chair. “Just something I’ve wondered about, mostly when I’m trying to get to sleep. I know you loved my mum. What if things had worked out differently, and she married you instead, and you had me. Would I have grown up with a father? And a mother? And – ”

“Potter, if you learned anything through this, I would like to think it would be that even the smallest change in a life’s path can have infinite consequences. To wonder on the how of it is enough to drive a man to madness. Although,” he said thoughtfully, “I can assure you that if you were my child, you would not have to worry about growing up with a father, for I would have hung myself rather than bear the shame of being known as the one responsible for inflicting you upon the rational world.”

Harry supposed it was saying something that instead of taking offense, he could only laugh at Snape’s response. Exactly what it was saying…that was another story.

“However, to answer your original question, no, I do not wonder, because it was entirely outside the realm of possibility. Your mother was very beautiful, very intelligent, and very popular. I, however, very much preferred the company of men.”

“Wait…you…”

“Gay, Potter, I believe is the term you are familiar with. Or is ‘queer’ more commonplace these days? I do lose track so easily.”

“But you loved my mum!”

“She was my best friend, yes. I loved her dearly and would have done anything for her. But I never wanted to marry her.” A pause while Snape took a sip of his tea. “Do close your mouth, Potter. Beached trout is not an attractive look for you.”

Harry shut his mouth with a snap. He knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t help it. All throughout his time at Hogwarts, he had thought of Snape as completely asexual. Then, for years afterward, he thought he had suffered from an unrequited love for his mother, exacerbated by knowing he had unwittingly sent her to her death. Now, apparently he was gay.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. He had several friends who were gay. There were even some times when…well, that was neither here nor there. It was just the idea of Snape being gay that boggled his mind.

“Thanks,” he finally muttered. More clearly, he said, “For telling me.”

Snape inclined his head. “I would be remiss in my duties as an educator to allow you to dally about with ill-conceived notions polluting your mind.”

Harry set his tea cup down. “Snape?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. Sincerely.” For telling me. For saving my life more times than I can count. For sacrificing yourself. For living a life of hell so others can live a better one. For not leaving me alone not leaving me alone not leaving me alone…

Snape stared at Harry, his gaze piercing. Harry tried not to flinch under the scrutiny, the sense from his schooldays that Snape was reading his every thought. No, now he wanted Snape to know what he was thinking, needed him to know the depth of his gratitude, the magnitude of which was so great even bloody Shakespeare would struggle trying to express it fully in words.

“You’re welcome.”

Outside, the storm began to clear.

“Ah, Severus, Harry, my boys!”

Snape and Harry exchanged a look and simultaneously drained their cups of tea. They had not heard a word from Dumbledore since the rain had begun to fall, and Harry winced when he suddenly remembered how loud Dumbledore could be.

“Miserable weather you’ve been having. How fortunate the sun is once again shining!”

“Indeed,” Snape said with thinly veiled distrust. “What do you want?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Now, Severus, can’t a man simply stop by to pay a visit to an old friend?”

“Not if he has the same look in his eye as you do. Out with it.”

Dumbledore smiled, clearly unconcerned with Severus’s aggravation. He took a seat at the kitchen table and pulled out a newspaper. “Have either of you seen the Daily Prophet today?”

Harry hadn’t. He still hadn’t come up with the nerve to read the Wizarding paper since that incident cloud watching. Given that Snape had been spending most of his time with him ever since, he didn’t think he had either. This was confirmed by a shake of his head.

“What about it, Professor?”

“I do believe we have an indication of precisely why Time deemed your deaths as they occurred cannot be allowed.”

His curiosity piqued, Harry made a move to grab the paper, but Snape had already snatched it out of Dumbledore’s hands. Harry stood up on tiptoes to read over Snape’s shoulder, feeling the blood drain out of his face when he realized it was an entire special edition commemorating his funeral.

“Which article, Albus?”

“Second page, toward the bottom.” Dumbledore helped himself to a lemon tart.

Harry nudged more insistently until he was able to get a good enough angle of the paper so he could read it as well.

POTTER’S DEATH THE END OF THE WORLD, PREDICTS SEER

“Oh, Albus, you cannot be taking this charlatan seriously?”

“Severus, I would think you of all people would know at times Sibyll’s prophecies do come true.”

Snape had the good grace to keep quiet so Harry could read the accompanied article.

Sibyll Trelawney, professor at Hogwarts and renowned seer, was in attendance at yesterday’s ceremonies for fallen boy hero Harry Potter. But as she stood over his coffin to pay her respects, the crowd was taken aback when she went rigid and let out an inhuman wail. When others gathered around her, believing she was simply expressing her devastation, a guttural voice sounding nothing like Trelawney’s speaking tones proclaimed,

“He who destroyed He Who Must Not Be Named
Lies in the ground, oblivious, as in life,
To the betrayal by she who boasted to love him most.
The child, conceived in lies and treachery,
Will possess only darkness where our fallen hero held light.
The only love in her heart is for the Dark Lord,
And as love once conquered him, it will conquer his death.
Together, side by side, they will enter the world into their stage of death and decay,
And as the only one who once would have saved us all
Is dead, betrayed by the Dark Queen’s mother,
We will all fall, never to rise again.”

Ginny Potter, Harry Potter’s widow who has long been rumored to be having an affair with rising American rock star Algie Wilde, fainted upon hearing the prophecy and refused to comment once roused.

Harry felt his legs begin to shake and give out from underneath him, but was quickly ushered into a chair by Snape. “So, now the entire world knows Ginny’s been cheating on me, and she’s going to get pregnant and pop out a baby who’s going to make Voldemort look like the Easter Bunny?”

“That appears to be the general idea.” Snape thrust a glass into Harry’s hands.

Harry gratefully took a sip. Brandy. A part of him cringed at drinking so early in the day, but as he remembered exactly where he was, and where he was not, and he raised the glass to his lips once more.

“Now, there’s no need to be upset by this,” Dumbledore was saying. “There is a very strong possibility that once the two of you return to the mortal plane, this prophecy will never be made and never come into fruition.”

“With my luck?” Harry asked with a humorless laugh. “No, I’ll end up back on earth, then eventually find out my childhood sweetheart’s been unfaithful, and ultimately have to kill my wife’s child. Or ex-wife,” he added after a moment’s thought. “Seriously, though, is there nobody else in the god forsaken planet who can kill dark wizards and witches? It gets exhausting.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Drink your brandy, Potter. Besides, if you were listening to the headmaster, you would realize that this Dark Queen may not even be born.”

Harry finished off his brandy with a gulp. He looked around the kitchen for where Snape had kept the bottle. He had never come across any alcohol in his time here. Snape took pity on his search and produced the bottle from a small cabinet off in the corner. Harry gratefully held out his glass.

“Don’t become accustomed to this, Potter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

Snape turned back to Dumbledore. “I can see why Time could not allow our deaths if Potter here is required to save the world once more. And, by extension, I would be required to save Potter’s neck once again. Time clearly knows he cannot be trusted to look after himself. But I don’t understand – ”

“You know, I am getting bloody tired of hearing everybody speak of Time as though it’s a real person,” Harry blurted out. “I’ve never seen her. All I know is that every day something else gets messed up or falls apart and somehow I’m expected to fix it. I’m fucking tired of killing people, but does this bloody TIME care? Of course not! Could she at least keep my goddamn wife loyal? No, I have to fight alone. AGAIN. Fuck this.” He downed the rest of his brandy. “Snape. Give me another.”

Snape crossed his arms, unmoved. “No. I do not supply alcohol to children.”

With a muttered curse, Harry threw his chair back and stood up. Not looking at the other men in the room, he hurled the glass at the wall, taking some satisfaction in the sound of it shattering into tiny pieces on the wooden floor.

Time could fuck herself.

He had told himself he was never going to do this, but here he was, waiting for the cloud he had shaped to materialize into Ginny. Harry watched, his blood hot, as the scene began to unfold: his indisputably lovely wife, dressed in a stylish black suit with the diamond necklace he had given her at Al’s birth sparkling around her neck, sitting on a bed next to a shirtless man who had to be at least ten years younger than her.

“Do you really think it’s true?” Ginny was asking. Harry was pleased to note her eyes were red-rimmed and her voice shaking.

The man sat next to her and began to take off his boots. Harry was not surprised to see they were dragon-hide. They certainly fit the rest of his image. He was tall and broad, with blond hair that fell in tousled waves just to his shoulders. A tattooed band encircled his left bicep, which, Harry noted with disgust, was at least twice as big as his own. Another large tattoo, which appeared to be an ancient rune that Harry dearly hoped meant something embarrassing, adorned his entire right shoulder blade.

“Divination is a load of crap, Gin. Don’t pay any attention to it.” He caressed her cheek and leaned in to kiss her on the mouth.

Ginny turned her face away from him. “Algie, I just came from my husband’s funeral.”

“We fucked after you came from his deathbed. What’s the difference?” Undeterred, Algie began unbuttoning her jacket and pressing kisses to her neck.

“Algie…Algie, stop it.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ginny, don’t go playing the virtuous maiden on me now.”

Ginny wrapped her jacket around her tightly. “I’m late, Algie.”

Algie looked confused. Harry felt a vindictive bit of pleasure that he clearly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. “For what?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I’m late, Algie. I haven’t had my period in more than a month. I thought it may have just been the stress with Harry being so ill, but…”

“You’re knocked up?” Algie’s eyes were wide.

Ginny sighed. “Yes, Algie.”

Algie exhaled deeply. “Well, shit.”

Fresh tears were coming to Ginny’s eyes. “What am I going to tell my children? James has hated me since he caught us two years ago, and Lily and Al have barely looked at me in months. They’ll never forgive me.”

“Can’t you get rid of it?”

Ginny shook her head. “I tried. But it…resisted. It shouldn’t, but…Algie, I really think the prophecy is true. It just fits. And now the entire world is going to suffer because I was so selfish and couldn’t stay faithful to my husband.”

“We’re not in the fucking Middle Ages, Ginny. Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“Didn’t you hear the prophecy?” she asked, her voice edging on hysterical. “This child will be even worse than He Who Must Not Be Named. Because I couldn’t get what I wanted from my husband and just spread my legs for the first attractive man who showed me any interest.”

“And what attractive legs they are too,” Algie whispered as he pressed another kiss along her neck.

“Algie!” Ginny exclaimed. “Are you mad?”

“Look, Gin,” Algie said impatiently, “If you are pregnant, and it’s some dark lady or queen or whatever, the damage is done. So we might as well enjoy ourselves before you get all bloated and cranky.”

Ginny opened her mouth as if in protest, but a masculine hand had reached out to grasp her breast, and then the only sounds escaping her lips were moans.

“Have you satisfied your voyeuristic tendencies?”

Harry jumped at the sound of Snape’s voice and quickly dispelled the scene before him. “Christ, how long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” Snape sounded bored. “You know, it’s frightfully rude of you to always storm out of the house whenever Dumbledore comes to call. He will begin to think you don’t want him around.”

“Fuck you, Snape.” He paused. “Is he gone?” He tried not to look too relieved when Snape nodded an affirmative. “Fuck, I just want to get pissed right now.”

“I would not be averse to that myself.” Harry looked up in surprise. “Come. I have an excellent ever-filling bottle of Syrah.”

“Red wine goes straight to my head.”

“All the better. Come,” he repeated.

Harry followed, determined to leave all thoughts of cheating wives, muscular musicians, and dark wizards and witches behind.

And wine seemed to be just the way to do it.

“So I Stupefied him, and he fell right out the door into the corridor, naked as the day he was born. And it was an exceptionally chilly night.”

Harry burst out laughing. The image of Lucius Malfoy with a tiny prick exposed to the entire school was just too rich. His laughter diminishing to a persistent giggle, he poured himself another glass of wine and topped off Snape’s as well.

“To you, Sev’rus Snape!” Harry proclaimed, not even caring if he was slurring his words together. “To you and to me and to scorning love and lovers!”

“Cheers,” Snape agreed, clinking his glass against Harry’s. He was not as visibly drunk as Harry was willing to admit he was, but the sheer fact alone that he was telling such personal stories of his youth revealed his intoxication.

Snape was actually quite hilarious when he wanted to be, Harry thought cheerfully. He’d been laughing almost ever since they first popped open the bottle. He could barely even recall why they felt the need to get sodding drunk in the first place. Harry furrowed his brow, trying to remember.

Oh, right.

“My wife’s a whore,” Harry whispered conspiratorially to Snape. “Fucking fame whore. She’s been shagging a rock star with bloody tattoos. Guess my scar wasn’t good enough. Say,” he said with a flash of brilliance. “You’ve got a tattoo! Maybe Ginny would have shagged you too!”

Snape arched an eyebrow. “If she did, she would have found herself envying Lucius Malfoy. My cock does not come anywhere near pussy.” He sounded offended at the very thought.

“Nooooo, of course not!” Harry said. “Oops!” He murmured a quick cleaning charm on the spot on the carpet that was stained with wine. He looked back up at Snape. “You like men. Lucky. Men aren’t whores.” He looked gloomily into his glass. If only his life were so easy!

“Ah, but that is where you are incorrect, Potter. Men too can be reduced to the basest of sluts, begging to fuck and be fucked, uncaring of who it is. As long as there’s thick cock in front of their face, they are content.” He sighed. “It can be lovely, at times. But unfortunately, feelings,” he spat out the word as if vermin would literally come out of his mouth along with it, “interfere with those simple hedonistic delights.”

Harry tried to make sense of this information. “Are you saying you’re a whore?”

Snape snorted. “Oh, I love a good fucking as much as the next wizard. But a whore? No. Whores fuck without thought. I have the unfortunate tendency to vest an interest in the arse I violate.”

“Oh.” Harry struggled to continue putting the pieces together. “Was Malfoy…”

“Ah, yes. Utterly shameless. Lucius Malfoy may have the cool, imperious stare ascribed to the most noble purebloods perfected, but rest assured, Potter, it is merely a facade. Lucius would beg, beg absolutely anybody with a functioning cock to give him a sound fucking. I must confess,” he added conspiratorially, “to having my own bit of fun with his gloriously licentious ways. When I would pay a visit to Malfoy Manor, my greeting to him would appear to an outsider to be just a friendly reunion. I would lean in and hold him in a quick embrace. But what they didn’t hear was the filthy insinuations I would whisper in his ear, and what they didn’t see was how I gave the slightest thrust of my hips into his crotch as I hugged him. He would be hard instantly, and I knew, for the rest of the evening, all he would be thinking about was how I would be fucking him before I left.”

It was the alcohol, Harry told himself. That was absolutely the only reason he was leaning forward in his seat, straining to hear each and every one of Snape’s words. Because he absolutely was not interested in hearing about his former despised professor’s sex life, nor the sex life of the Death Eater father of one of his childhood enemies. Reassured, he felt comfortable asking, if perhaps a little breathlessly, “Did you?”

Snape crossed one leg over the other and gave Harry a nod. “Usually. Sometimes I took more pleasure in the knowledge that I could torment him so than I would have taking him. But yes, there were so many places in that blasted mansion that were splattered with Lucius’s seed that I’m surprised the house elves did not stage a revolt.”

“Did his wife know?”

Snape laughed. An actual laugh. Deep and hearty, as though it had escaped from deep within him. Somehow it warmed Harry’s belly.

“The way Lucius moaned and screamed, there was not a soul within ten miles of the house who did not know. A slut to the very core, that one.” He took another sip of wine and added reflectively, “A trait that appears to be genetic.”

Harry spat out his mouthful of wine. “Draco? Draco’s gay?”

Snape shrugged. “Indiscriminate. He propositioned me several times, but I know he shagged his way through both the male and female population at Hogwarts.”

“He never shagged me!” Oops, that probably came out wrong…

Snape cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps you were not his type.”

“And you were?” Harry shot back indignantly. Why, oh WHY am I getting offended over this?

“Draco knew the type of lover I am,” Snape said smoothly. “With the sounds of his father’s pleasure as evidence, he would be a fool not to want a part of that for himself.”

“So did you do it?”

“Of course not,” Snape said primly. It sounded oddly out of place in their salacious conversation. “I do not sleep with students.”

“Of course not,” Harry repeated, mostly to himself. This was ridiculous. He was sitting here, drunk off his arse, listening to Snape talk about fucking as though he were some sort of Slytherin sex god. And what’s more, his face burning at the realization, he was getting turned on by it.

“Is something the matter, Potter? You look flushed. I’d feel your forehead for fever, but I know for a fact those are not possible in this plane of existence.”

Harry shook his head. “N…no. The wine’s just got to me, I think.” Aware that Snape probably knew that was a lie, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to pour himself another glass.

“Ah, you did say red wine goes straight to your head.”

If Harry’s face was burning before, his entire body was now heated with Snape’s unnatural emphasis on the word straight.

“It couldn’t be that the Chosen One is aroused by my ribald tales?”

“I’m not gay!” Harry insisted. “I’m just…I just like hearing about your past. You know, I said I wanted to get to know you better, and you’re opening up…” Pathetic, Potter.

“Indeed?”

Harry fought to suppress a groan. Snape’s inflection in that one word caused his balls to tighten dangerously. There was no doubt about it now. He was fully hard…hard listening to Professor Snape talk about fucking. He yearned to down his wine, but he needed to at least keep up the appearance of being calm. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could move his arm if he tried.

“Yes,” he choked out.

“Well, if you want to get to know me, why am I wasting your time speaking of my former lovers? That is certainly not conducive to truly getting to know a person. Perhaps you’d rather hear about my potions discoveries throughout my years?”

Harry twisted in his seat. That would certainly be safer, but right now there was nothing he wanted more than some sort of relief. Not that he expected to get any from Snape, especially after he just finished gloating about leaving Lucius bloody Malfoy with blue balls, but he just wanted a little bit more…

“No? I also wrote several articles on the Dark Arts. Would it interest you to hear about of one of those?”

Only if it contained a spell that would get him off as quickly as possible without letting Snape know. Oh, fuck fuck fuck…

“It’s strange, Potter, you seem the most interested in hearing about my sex life. Which is strange, given that, as you so succinctly proclaimed, you are not gay.”

“I’m not,” Harry felt obliged to protest.

“Of course not.” Snape’s voice was no more than a husky whisper now, but it was practically echoing in Harry’s mind. “So if I told you how much I love sucking cock, stroking it, feeling it harden in my hands and mouth, it would not affect you at all? You would only be pleased you learned one of my interests, no matter how prurient?”

Harry coughed. “Yes.”

“You wouldn’t begin imagining me cupping your prick through your trousers and teasing you with a kiss, would you? And then me slowly making my way down your body, removing your shirt as I went, and stroking you through the fabric as I knelt at your feet?”

Harry couldn’t say a word. He knew his cock would have to be leaking pre-come at this point. He was so hard he could barely see straight. The wine glass in his hand was in danger of shattering. He used all of his will to set it down on the table, and then clenched the arms of the chair tightly with his fingers.

“Your thoughts wouldn’t turn to how I would lick the head of your cock, swirling my tongue around it, before swallowing you whole? And then sucking, sucking you, as you watched your wet prick thrust in and out of my mouth?”

Harry couldn’t control the movement of his hips. He was aching for contact, any sort of contact at all. Unable to resist any longer, he allowed one hand to sneak down to the front of his trousers.

“Why are you gripping your prick, Harry? Surely you cannot be aroused by my talking of sucking you off. That’s simply absurd, seeing how are you are not gay.”

Snape’s eyes were somehow darker than Harry had ever seen them, and right now they were staring at him with such intensity that it took all his willpower not to close his own at the scrutiny.

“I just – ” his words cut off as a moan escaped him.

“Perhaps you’re imagining it’s someone else, a lady friend,” Snape said, leaning back in his chair. “Not your wife, of course. Perhaps somebody you only know in passing…perhaps that charming new Seeker for the Cannons, Melinda Waters. She’s quite stunning with all that blonde hair. Most likely part Veela. Wouldn’t she look lovely with her plump lips around your cock?”

“No, no,” he murmured, not even realizing he was speaking out loud. It wasn’t Melinda’s lips he wanted around his prick. It was Snape, Snape damn it. He wanted him to stop taunting him with that damn seductive voice he had and put his mouth to good use. Abandoning any sense of modesty he had remaining, Harry hastily pulled his fly down and released his cock. He sighed as air hit it. Finally, he could touch himself the way he had been aching to ever since Snape started revealing his more carnal side.

If Snape was surprised, he didn’t show it. He only fingered the stem of his wine glass as he continued, “For a gay man wouldn’t be thinking of that. He would imagine how I would continue to lick and suck until he was on the very precipice of nirvana, at which point I would release his prick, and…are you aware of the mechanics of gay sex, Potter? I am asking, of course, out of the simple curiosity of a friend sharing a hobby.”

There was a spell in Snape’s voice. There had to be. There was no other reason why Harry’s cock practically jumped in his hand at the mention of anal sex. It had to hurt. There was no way a cock, even a small one, would fit up that tiny hole. But right now, somehow, Harry was yearning to feel that opening stretched. Harry stroked himself faster.

“I will take that as a yes. But I cannot understand why the thought would affect you so. A straight man would be cringing at the thought of having another man bending over him, rubbing his cock against his cheeks before plunging it in, and thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, over and over, fucking him hard until he comes, spraying his seed all over his lover’s hand, and then loving the maddening, frantic pace his lover then acquires before ejaculating deep into his warm body. But you, you Potter, look positively crazed at the idea, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Crazed was putting it mildly. Harry couldn’t remember ever being so aroused in his life…or non-life, as it was. One hand was jerking his cock while another fondled his balls. He couldn’t get enough. His breath was coming in short gasps now, interjected every now and then with the moans he couldn’t quite suppress. He wanted more, more than just his own hands. He wanted Snape, wanted to rub himself against him, wanted all those images Snape had planted in his mind that were now playing over and over in high definition. Oh, God, if only he could stand up to get that additional contact, if only he was sure Snape wouldn’t just laugh him off and leave him there, aching, desperate…

“Please,” he begged, too far gone to be embarrassed by the keening whine his voice had taken. “Please.”

A heartbeat later, Snape rose. “Luckily for you, Potter, I am gay.” With that, he crossed over to Harry’s chair, knelt down, and expertly took his prick in his mouth.

Harry didn’t last long. It only took three good sucks before he felt that familiar tightening in his balls. Unable to form warning words, he gripped at Snape’s hair and tried to pull him back, but Snape only tightened his hold on Harry’s hips. When Harry came with a low, shuddering moan, Snape swallowed it all, not letting a single drop escape. He released Harry’s prick slowly, letting it slide out of his mouth, and took his time lapping up any remaining semen. Slowly catching his breath, Harry tried to catch Snape’s eye to see how he wanted him to reciprocate the favor, but Snape was already heading up the stairs.

“I have a situation to take care of,” Snape called in far too blasé a manner for a man who had just had a cock down his throat. “I trust you can clean up tonight?”

A situation to take care of. Snape was going upstairs to jerk off. Harry’s prick twitched at the thought and began to harden again. This time Harry’s groan wasn’t of pleasure.

So much for not being gay.

Harry groaned and covered his head with a pillow in an attempt to block out the sunlight. Considering the two rather explosive orgasms he had the previous night, Harry expected he would sleep like…well, the dead. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Snape, and that got his head so confused there was no way he could possibly fall asleep. Admittedly, he had not hated the man for years. But it was one thing to come to respect a man for being a war hero; it was quite another to masturbate to said war hero describing a sexual fantasy. What’s more, the conversation, if one could describe it as such, kept playing over and over again in Harry’s mind, and it was as arousing as it was baffling.

Accepting defeat and fully hoping Snape already had coffee brewing, Harry tied a robe around himself and shuffled downstairs. He smiled at the scent of hazelnut coffee. Mmmm, bliss.

“Morning, Snape.”

Snape did not set down his newspaper. “Good morning, Mr. Potter.”

Harry poured himself a steaming cup of coffee and prepared himself some toast. Snape continued to hide his face behind the newspaper; Harry could not help but notice, however, that the normally quick reader seemed to be stuck on the same page for an inordinately long period of time.

It was only once Harry finished his breakfast that Snape neatly folded his paper and set it aside. His expression was grim. “Potter, I owe you an apology.”

Harry blinked. That was unexpected.

“What I did last night was unconscionable. While it is not by any means an excuse, I was quite inappropriately intoxicated, and excessive amounts of wine has always tended to make me rather…licentious. While I certainly would not blame you if it did, I sincerely hope you will not hold my behavior against me, if only because there is a strong possibility it will hinder our efforts to return to the mortal plane.”

Wow. A sincere apology. Really bloody unexpected.

“Um, Snape, you do know I was the one who had my prick out, right?”

Snape looked as though he wanted to melt into the floor. “Yes, but I went out of my way to arouse you to such a state, and you never would have if you were not similarly intoxicated. My actions were entirely reprehensible. As I know my usual reaction to alcohol, I should have exercised caution and behaved more responsibly.”

Harry studied the man sitting across from him and tried to make sense of all the pieces he was slowly putting together. When he first arrived in this strange place, Snape was just how he remembered – bitter, sarcastic, and with the ability to cut him down without batting an eye. Then he had shown an oddly sympathetic side, as they sat together watching the rain. But last night, Snape finally appeared human – willing to laugh and share those tales of unrequited love. He also revealed he had a compelling sexual side that Harry wanted to inspect further.

“So you really don’t want to sleep with me?”

“As usual, you miss the point. What I did was completely unacceptable on so many different levels I’m surprised you didn’t hex me on the spot this morning.”

Harry grabbed an éclair. He had a feeling he was going to need nourishment for this conversation. “I kind of enjoyed it. I’d prefer it to be a bit more two-sided in the future, but for a start, it was a pretty nice introduction to what I’d have to look forward to.”

Oh, that was a priceless expression on Snape’s face. Harry bit back a chuckle. “Really, Snape. Beached trout is not a good look on you.”

Snape closed his mouth with a snap. “Potter, there is no need for you to act as though everything is fine. I assure you, you will not hurt my feelings. You have every right to be disgusted by me – by what I did.”

Harry had a feeling it was going to be next to impossible to get past this part, so he tried a different approach. “You were in love with Lucius, weren’t you?”

There was that look again. Harry was determined to surprise Snape more often. “I was infatuated with him. Nothing more.”

Harry shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I think you were in love with him but you knew he would never fall in love, only in lust, so you settled for that. And you would tease him so you’d feel you had some control over the situation, over what you felt…so maybe you couldn’t make him love you, but you could make him want you. Isn’t that right?”

Snape blinked. “You clearly missed your calling in life. You should have been a Muggle psychiatrist,” he said dryly.

A bit encouraged, Harry continued on. “What’s more, I think you have feelings for me.”

This time Snape caught his expression before his mouth formed that perfect O of shock. “Potter! How – no, absolutely. Just – what the hell do you think you’re doing anyway, you presumptuous little…”

“I’m not saying you’re in love with me or anything,” Harry hurried on. “I was just thinking over what you said last night. You said you weren’t a whore because you tended to vest some interest in your partners. That’s how I knew you loved Lucius. And I could tell last night that you wanted to be with me…so if you have an interest in your partners, and you want me as a partner, you must have an interest in me, right?”

“Potter, you are crossing into dangerous grounds,” Snape growled.

“Oh, yeah?” Harry walked over to Snape’s side of the table and perched himself on the corner. “So if I just sat here, and realized I had some cream left on my fingers from that delicious éclair, and I just,” he raised a finger to his lips, “sucked it off.”

Snape’s eyes burned. Harry did his best not to gloat. That wouldn’t be sporting at all. But it felt wonderful to finally have this victory.

“You wouldn’t be affected at all, would you?”

The sound Snape let out was positively primal. Quick as a flash, he tugged Harry’s face down toward his and roughly crushed their mouths together.

Oh, this was nice. Snape was still an ugly bastard, and Harry didn’t know exactly how he felt about him, but God, he knew how to kiss. His tongue darted about Harry’s mouth, as if desperate to explore every crevice, never enough to cause discomfort, but always leaving Harry wanting just a little bit more.

They parted, panting.

“Can’t blame that on the alcohol, can you?” Harry asked with a smirk.

Snape sighed and rose from his chair. “Care to take this into the sitting room? I’d rather be comfortable if we are going to engage in an undoubtedly uncomfortable and humiliating personal conversation.”

Harry grinned. “After you.”

“I fail to see why we are having this discussion at all, considering how you were quite insistent last night that you are not gay. This should be a non-issue.” Snape settled down in the sitting room. Harry noticed he pointedly ignored the chair he had taken the night before.

“I’m not. At least, I don’t think I am. But with you…I think I might want that.”

Snape’s eyes flashed. “I will not serve as your experiment to satisfy your curiosity.”

“No, you had Lucius for that.” At the murderous expression on Snape’s face, he hurried on. “I wouldn’t want to do that to you. I know you get emotionally involved with your partners. I’d never be so cruel to just use you to satisfy my urges and know that you feel something more.”

“You make me sound like a bloody woman,” Snape muttered.

Harry laughed. “Well, I tend to be the same way, so that would make me just as much of a woman as you.”

“It’s still irrelevant. You feel nothing for me.”

“That’s not true. I wouldn’t say I’m in love with you just yet, but I definitely feel something. And really, I have ever since you died and I started thinking about all the memories you showed me. You know, I think you were the only person Ginny was ever jealous of. Ironic, right, given that you were dead and all? But she always thought I was obsessed with you, with finding out more about your history, seeing that you received all the honors and accolades you deserved. Did you know I was late to my own bloody wedding because there were some snags in the paperwork for the scholarship I had established in your name?” He chuckled at the dumbfounded expression on Snape’s face. “Yeah, Ginny wasn’t too thrilled at that.”

“Insisting on erecting a statue in the middle of Hogsmeade in my honor does not mean you have feelings for me. It means you’re a sodding sentimental Gryffindor with a propensity for garish grand displays.”

“Touché. And maybe they weren’t romantic feelings. But that’s because it never even occurred to me to think of you that way, just because I’ve never thought of any other man that way. And I obviously wouldn’t think to fantasize about a dead man. But those feelings I was having…respect, admiration, a desire to get to know you better and just to talk…aren’t those the kind of feelings that usually build the foundation of a relationship?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, I do. And I think they are.” Harry scooted his chair across the floor until he was sitting directly across from Snape. He took both of his hands in his. “I know you feel something too. I know it.”

“I –” Snape hesitated, but then seemed to gather his courage and continued. “I have never had somebody act so relentlessly on my behalf. It certainly inspired some…warm feelings on my part. I’m only human,” he said defensively, as if he expected to be mocked for admitting to a softening of his heart. “If an attractive, courageous young man were to constantly work to ensure my sacrifices were not forgotten or ignored, how could I not feel something for him?”

Was it possible for a heart to break and swell at the same time? Harry wanted to do nothing more than to take Snape in his arms and hold him close enough to banish any hurt he must have felt over the years that made him so defensive at the thought of caring for somebody, to admitting to feeling some pleasure at being appreciated. It wasn’t love rising in his chest just now…Harry was too old to believe in such a feeling developing so quickly. But it was something like it.

Harry placed a gentle kiss on each of Snape’s hands, and then a chaste one on his lips. “There, was that so painful?”

Snape looked utterly bewildered. He shook his head, and some of the haze seemed to clear from his eyes. “Potter, what can you expect to come from this? In case you’ve forgotten, we are not truly alive to engage in some sort of relationship, and we could be thrust back into the mortal plane at any moment without knowing it. Besides the fact that, once we are back in that plane of existence, there is a strong possibility we won’t remember anything that happened up here.”

Harry climbed into Snape’s lap and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “As a very astute man once told me, we are both more alive than dead. And perhaps it’s the Gryffindor optimism in me, but I think if we both want to remember, what’s there to stop us?”

“So speaketh the great Harry Potter.” But there was a smile in his voice, and it was that positive note Harry latched onto.

“So knoweth the great Harry Potter. Now, do you want to keep worrying about the future or just enjoy what we have now?”

Snape’s lips covering his answered his question perfectly.

If the passing of time had seemed arbitrary before, it was even more so now that Harry and Snape (who was now mostly Severus in his mind, except for when he was angry with him, which still did happen a fair number of times) spent their time lounging in each others’ arms, kissing, and chatting over tea. It was utterly surreal and wholly wonderful.

It was strange, but they felt right together, as though it should have been this way for years. They could talk or sit in comfortable silence. Kisses came frequently and naturally, as though their lips were just meant to be touching. Harry had never felt so warm or cherished.

It also made him question the integrity of his marriage. He had always thought himself to be in love with Ginny, but now he was wondering if that was truly the case. He knew, without a doubt, he loved her as he loved any of the Weasleys, and he wanted to see her frequently and, despite recent revelations, would never truly want anything to harm her. However, he had never once felt this need to be with her, a desire that went beyond mere lust. With Severus, it was as though they were two oppositely charged magnets that were tugging on each other until they were united as they were meant to be. Ginny had brought him happiness, yes, and all the comfort and security he always thought marriage was meant to entail. But it had been less than a week, and already he felt more connected with Snape than he ever had with his wife.

Even knowing she had cheated on him, Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. Ginny was his childhood sweetheart, and a part of him protested at denying that relationship. But now, more than ever, he was thinking he had made a mistake in marrying her so young. Theirs was a puppy love. And while this new love was just beginning, Harry could already tell he was already falling fast, head over heels, in love with Severus Snape.

It certainly wasn’t the smartest move. Despite the confident air he showed to Snape, he was rather terrified of what might happen to them. He missed his children terribly, yes, but he was happy here now, in this strange world where he wouldn’t age and passed his time watching clouds. What if he went back to the mortal plane and still remembered the joy he felt at Severus’s touch, but still couldn’t be with him for whatever reason? Would his children be humiliated to know their father wanted to be with another man? And what if he went back and didn’t remember his time with Severus at all? Just as he had been devastated to think of going back and never knowing his children existed, the thought of never realizing what it was like to be held in Severus’s arms pained him.

But for the most part, Harry tried not to think about it. He contented himself by sitting with Snape for long hours and basking in the pleasure of knowing that he, Harry Potter, was with Severus Snape, and there was peace between them, and they were both more alive than dead.

They would watch clouds (but only of people not especially close to them in order to avoid any more traumatic incidents) and hold hands and stay with each other from morning to nightfall. And when it came time to go to bed, it was only a desire not to rush things, even after that one salacious night that still made Harry hard just thinking about it, that had them departing to their separate rooms. But even then, Harry would go to bed dreaming of Snape, and he was fairly certain Snape did the same.

That’s not to say they didn’t fight. They were two extremely opinionated, passionate wizards, and with that much power bubbling at the surface, there were bound to be some explosive rows. But when they were over, instead of avoiding each other as Harry and Ginny had done, the adrenaline coursing through their veins had them rushing to frantically embrace and touch each other, as though to assure themselves that the other had not ceased to be due to the verbal attack, that they were not being punished by Time for their transgressions.

It was such an intense feeling that Harry felt he should have been frightened, or at least overwhelmed by it.

But with Severus by his side, it was pretty damn difficult to be scared by anything.

“Ah, well isn’t this a pleasant sight to behold?”

Harry expected Severus’s arm to drop immediately from around his shoulders, but instead was surprised when Severus only held him more firmly.

“What is it, Albus? We are quite busy here.”

“Yes, you do look quite cozy reading together there before the fire. Truly, I only wish I had an artist’s hand so I could paint this portrait to memory forever.”

Severus snorted and carefully set down his novel as to not lose his page. “Sentimental fool. Now, I must ask again. What is it you want?”

“Severus, sincerely, I wanted to do nothing but spend some time in the company of two of my most beloved friends.”

Something in Dumbledore’s tone prickled a sense of unease in Harry, but he quickly brushed it aside. Dumbledore had every right to pay a visit, and he hadn’t ever since Harry’s last outburst. There was nothing to be concerned over.

“Well, if that is the case, I would suggest you not say anything that would trouble Potter.” Snape slowly rose and stretched out his long legs. “You do have an alarming talent for causing him to run off in a sulk.”

Harry gave Severus an indignantly playful slap on the arm, and laughed when he simply raised an eyebrow at him. How natural it had been to slip into this easy camaraderie.

The afternoon was spent in much of the same vein of carefree affection. It was strange, Harry realized, but he'd never really known his old headmaster. They had never been peers. But here they were, finally, chatting about all matters great and small and laughing over jokes that he never would have dared to utter back in his Hogwarts days. And it was fascinating to watch Severus interact with his old friend. Despite Severus’s gruff tone, it was clear he held a great deal of respect and fondness for Dumbledore.

Once more, Harry found himself wondering if it would be so terrible to stay here. He was happy being with Severus. It was peaceful and pleasant, with no obstacles or obligations. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to go through life without having this chance to become better acquainted with Severus; it would be wonderful to have a similar experience with Dumbledore. Although, certainly, not too similar.

Dumbledore politely declined the invitation to stay for dinner. “No, no, what do you two young men want with an elderly coot during your romantic dinner? Have some time to yourselves.”

Saying goodbye to Dumbledore was unnaturally difficult. Intending on only giving him a friendly handshake, he was unable to resist wrapping his arms around his waist and hugging him with all of his might. To his immense relief, Dumbledore squeezed back just as tightly.

“Thank you for not running away on me tonight, my boy,” Dumbledore whispered.

“Never.”

To Harry’s surprise, Severus also enfolded Dumbledore in a warm, although more stoic, embrace. Dumbledore whispered something in Severus’s ear and smiled in satisfaction when Severus gave a slow nod. Then with one last smile at the both of them, Dumbledore swept out of the cottage.

“It’s strange,” Harry said, blinking to clear the tears that were strangely pricking his eyes, “I feel like I did after his funeral, like I just said goodbye. Except this time I want to hold you instead of kill you.”

Severus quickly wrapped his arms around Harry and pressed his lips to his cheek. “There is a strange sense of tranquility in the air. As though we have said our final goodbyes and have made our peace with it.”

That same fear that had trickled through Harry’s veins earlier returned, but this time with a vague sense of panic. “You don’t…do you think this is it? That we’ll go back soon?” He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t had enough time. There were too many things that could happen when they returned to the mortal plane, and just in case they didn’t work out the way Harry wanted them to, he wanted to be able to soak up as much time as he could in Severus’s arms.

“Let’s not think of it,” Severus said quickly.

“No,” Harry agreed. He turned so they were standing chest to chest and lifted his arms around Severus’s neck. “No,” he repeated, and Severus tugged him even closer.

“No,” Severus whispered.

They stood there, linked together, unable to move except for the occasional kiss or caress, anchoring each other to this strange and magnificent world in which only the two of them existed.

“No.”

Dinner was a silent affair. Harry couldn’t shake the sense of melancholy sweeping over him, and while Severus refused to say anything on it, he could tell he was feeling similarly troubled.

They didn’t bother washing up their dishes. Severus took Harry’s hand in his and led him up the stairs. When they reached the landing, Harry found himself being pushed against the wall and kissed thoroughly.

Harry returned the kiss with just as much fervor. Desperate, he laced his fingers in Severus’s hair and gripped his body to him tightly with the other. Before tonight, he would have described Severus’s kisses as tender, passionate, intoxicating…but now it was just a blind, possessive need. It wasn’t a simple craving for pleasure…it was as vital as his next breath.

Gasping for air, Harry pulled away. “We’re sleeping together tonight.”

“We don’t have to,” Severus murmured into his neck, even as his arousal pressed into Harry’s lower stomach. Harry knew he still had not completely forgiven himself for that drunken night of debauchery, even if it had given them the impetus to begin this…whatever it was.

“Oh, yes we do,” Harry said, thrusting his own erection into Severus’s to prove his point. “My room is gone.”

“What?” With what looked like a herculean effort, Severus tore himself away from Harry’s lips and looked at where Harry’s door once was. True enough, it was now a blank wall. “Well, that’s settled,” Severus said. With one final toe-curling kiss, he guided Harry to his room and slammed open the door.

Harry had never been so relieved to land on a soft bed – had it not been for the wall and Severus supporting him in the hallway, he knew his knees would have buckled until he collapsed. He pulled Severus down with him, delighting in the pleasant weight upon his body.

They divested themselves of their clothing as quickly as possible, desperate for the need to feel skin on skin. Harry ached to touch every inch of Severus’s body, to memorize the feel of every crevice.

“Yes, Harry,” Severus whispered against Harry’s chest. “Even better than I remembered.”

Harry started, his reverie reluctantly interrupted by curiosity. “Remembered from when?” He gasped when Severus licked the tip of his cock.

“I may have done some cloud watching,” Snape said in a voice that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. “You made a rather captivating sight, fisting your cock, a finger teasing your balls…”

Harry gasped. Another time, his sensibilities may have been offended by Snape admitting to watching him wank. But now he could think of nothing hotter…except perhaps for this now very real possibility of Snape bringing those private moments into fruition, in a more fantastic manner than he ever imagined. He arched into Severus’s caresses, unable to suppress a long moan when he took him into his mouth.

It was madness and it was divine. It was so pleasurable it was painful. Every time that Harry simply thought he just couldn’t take more pleasure without combusting, Severus would slow down temporarily and then surprise him by taking him to even greater heights. By the time Severus was preparing his hole with his lube-slickened fingers, Harry was a whimpering pile of excited nerves.

“Do it. Please. Do it.”

“It may hurt,” Severus panted. “This first time.” He groaned, and Harry felt the head of his cock poking into his arse.

“Don’t care. Need it. Need you. Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Oh yes.

It hurt.

Harry breathed slowly, adjusting to the feel of Severus’s cock in him. Attempting to ignore the burn, he instead focused on how full he felt, how Severus’s eyes were burning with desire, how hard his own cock was…he clenched experimentally, and sighed in satisfaction at Severus’s groan.

“Severus. Now.”

Not needing to be told twice, Severus slowly began to thrust in and out. Harry fisted his own cock furiously. Severus slapped his hand away and gifted Harry with a searing kiss.

“You’ll come from me.” Another breath-stealing kiss. “Only me.”

Harry groaned in frustration, but was helpless under Severus’s touch. “Only you,” he agreed. “Only. You!”

“Yes. Harry!”

“Harder. Please.”

“Yes. Oh, Harry.”

“Yes, God. Severus! I’m gonna – ”

“Yes, Harry!”

Normally when Harry came, he was so caught up in his own ecstasy that he noticed nothing else. But tonight, blinded though he was by the force of his climax, he was still very conscious of Severus increasing the speed of his thrusts to an almost frantic pace and then coming deep inside of him.

A woman’s face flashed behind Harry’s eyelids. She was stunningly beautiful and breathtakingly terrifying, as young as a knight’s fair maiden but as old as all the oceans on earth. She spoke, words he couldn’t comprehend, and her voice echoed as though she was speaking from very far away, perhaps centuries or millennia. He reached out to her, but then he saw nothing but darkness, and felt nothing but his heart breaking; as tightly as he clung to Severus, he was not strong enough to fight the inevitable tug of Time.

PART TWO

Time discovers truth. – Seneca

“More alive than dead, as you can see, Potter.”

Harry gaped. Snape’s skin was even paler than usual, and the amount of blood crusting on his neck made it look as though he had no right to even be standing up. If Harry hadn’t seen the wounds close with his own eyes, he would have thought he was hallucinating. Finally, he came to his senses.

“You need to get out of here. They won’t stop to ask questions now. Go. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.”

“No.” Snape’s voice was husky, and he looked as though it was causing him great pain to talk. “I’m not going to run away like some coward, like...”

Harry didn’t know what came over him, but at that very moment, the only thing he could think to do to shut Snape up was to kiss him.

It should have repulsed him. Two hours ago, when Harry stumbled and felt Snape pull him upright and yank him into the potions lab, Harry had thought he was a goner. Up until then, when Snape hurriedly told him about his love for Lily and his double agent role, Harry had been convinced he was a traitor of the worst sort, a Death Eater who had deceived, betrayed, and then murdered Dumbledore. There was also the fact that his nose was large, his hair greasy, and his countenance passing unpleasant. And right now, he was covered in sweat, blood, and expelled snake venom. It should have been disgusting.

But instead it just felt natural, as though they had only been doing this only a short time before. Their mouths joined in a practiced kiss, their tongues darting and twisting expertly. Snape seemed to know exactly what Harry liked in his kisses, and if the tell-tale hardness pressing into Harry’s lower stomach was any indication, he was doing similarly well pleasing Snape. It felt as though they were kissing forever and yet for an impossibly brief interlude. Time held no dominion over them.

Afraid he’d get sucked up in this strange timelessness, Harry tore his lips away from Snape’s with a gasp. “No. Not a coward. Never a coward. A survivor. You deserve to be free of this mess, more than anybody. And you know if they find you now, that will never happen. Go. Now. Please.”

Something flashed in Snape’s eyes, but it vanished so quickly Harry thought he may have imagined it. He clutched the back of Harry’s head and pressed one last rough kiss against his lips. “Live.” It was an order, not a request. Then, with a sudden crack, he was gone, and Harry was alone, covered in Snape’s blood, and God knows what else, in the Shrieking Shack.

Harry woke with a start...not that anyone who may be in the room would know, of course. He rarely opened his eyes these days.

He pulled his blankets closer around him and thought back on the dream. It had been recurring much more frequently in the past year, and he both loved and hated it. Loved it because it allowed him to replay the best kiss of his bloody life, and hated it because it served as a bitter reminder of the lack of passion and depth of feeling in his marriage. Well, it was certainly better than that other dream he often had, when he would be hiding under his invisibility cloak as Snape slowly bled to death. At least this one had a happy ending of sorts.

Harry wondered what Snape was doing at that very moment. The last he had heard, he was harvesting potions ingredients in Morocco, but that had been two months ago. Harry wished he could work up the energy to ask one of his children if Snape had sent any mail since he had taken to bed last month, but it required a will power he just didn’t possess at the moment. Besides, his last letter to Snape had contained some information he’d really rather his children not know about.

It was pathetic, but one of the things Harry missed most was being able to read all the letters Snape had sent him over the years. Ginny had laughed at him when she discovered that Harry had not only saved all of them, but kept them neatly taped to the pages of a notebook where he could inscribe his own comments to give context to the letters. Only lovesick maidens saved letters, she had said. Harry was no lovesick maiden, but after watching that man come so close to death and then miraculously rise to his feet, it was comforting to have tangible evidence that, yes, he was alive and Harry hadn’t just dreamt the entire thing.

Of course, calling them letters may have been a bit of an exaggeration. They were never more than a few lines and contained very little of substance. Still, they were distinctly Snape, from the cramped, spiky handwriting to the snippy, vaguely arrogant tone. They ranged from the mundane (Attending a conference in New York. Dreadful place. No respect for personal space.) to demands (Do me a favor and refrain from naming your progeny after your parents. So long as I am still alive, I cannot stand to see another red-haired Lily or trouble-making James. And there is something vaguely incestuous about naming siblings after lovers.) to, for Snape at least, downright sentimental (Today the world is celebrating your birth. I find I cannot resist joining in. I drank the good scotch tonight in your honor. Cheers.). But they were all signed “Still alive, Severus Snape,” and then, eventually, “Still, Severus.”

Harry burrowed further into his covers. It wasn’t as though he didn’t already have all the letters memorized, he just missed being able to see them. He missed being able to see anything. But most of the time he was simply too exhausted or in too much pain to care. He hated to admit it, but his ever-present Gryffindor optimism was starting to fail him.

The door slammed open. Harry winced at the sound and tried to make out what the flurry of voices in the hallway were saying. Ginny’s voice was definitely the shrillest, shrieking at whoever it was not to enter, that Harry was sleeping.

“Potter!”

Harry’s heart rose. He hadn’t heard that voice in at least fifteen years, but there was no mistaking it.

Severus Snape had come to him.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Summoning every ounce of energy he possessed, Harry opened his eyes. Snape was only a blurry figure standing in the doorway, but it looked like he may be holding a newspaper. Given what he heard in whispers around his bed when everybody thought he was sleeping, Harry didn’t have to think very hard to figure out Snape was referring to today’s headline: BOY WHO LIVED AT DEATH’S DOOR.

He managed a weak smile. “As you can see, Snape, I’m still more alive than dead.”

Then, exhausted, he fell asleep.

When Harry came to, Snape was furiously scribbling at a desk that had been set up in the corner of the room. Harry blinked, surprised that he felt a bit more energized than he usually did. Perhaps not enough to get out of bed, but his eyelids didn’t feel like they were made of lead and he could probably stand a bit of conversation.

He pulled himself to a sitting position and cleared his throat experimentally. “Snape?”

Snape immediately rose from his seat and walked over to the bed. He plucked Harry’s glasses from the bedside table and handed them to him.

“Potter. You will describe all your symptoms to me, in detail. Be sure to leave nothing out.”

Harry put on his glasses, frowned, and then took them off to clean with his shirt. He hadn’t worn them in so long they were dusty. “Did you give me something?”

Snape waved his hand impatiently and took out his wand. “A basic healing potion and an energizing draught of my own design. It was the only hope I had to get you to keep your eyes open long enough to obtain the information I need…although I have yet to be convinced that your lethargy is due to an illness rather than your typical need to infuriate me with your laziness. Now, please do not make me repeat myself.” He began to wave his wand over Harry and muttered a series of spells.

“None of the healers have been able to figure out what’s wrong with me.”

Snape cursed under his breath. “That’s because you, being Harry Potter, could not be suffering from a disease, curse, or spell covered in Magical Maladies from A to Z, and it is far simpler for a healer to thus dismiss you as being a lost cause. I, however, know that you, like a particularly stubborn fungus, refuse to die and will continue to pop up from time to time to harass me.”

Harry smiled. “I didn’t realize you’d be so eager to have me continue to harass you. You could just let me die and be rid of me forever.”

Snape snorted. “I should be so lucky. No, with my luck, you’d haunt me as a ghost. At least I know how to handle a corporeal being. Ghosts are a wholly different element. Now, will you answer my damn question? When did your symptoms begin?”

Harry sighed. He could just envision how this would go. “I’m not sure.”

Silence. Well, this was better than…

“What the bloody hell do you mean, you’re not sure?”

Harry winced at Snape’s shout. Footsteps sounded up the stairs, but Snape quickly warded the door and threw on a silencing spell as well.

Snape turned back to Harry with a particularly nasty smile. “My apologies for upsetting your delicate ears, Mr. Potter. Now, please tell me what you mean by that statement, because I find it difficult to believe that even somebody of your feeble intellect would fail to notice he was dying.”

Harry wiped some of Severus’s spittle off his cheek. “It’s just that it wasn’t a sudden thing. I was exhausted all through that year I was hunting for the Horcruxes, but so were Ron and Hermione. Then afterwards I thought I was just caught up in the whirlwind of the aftermath, and that pain in my chest was just from…well, from when I was upset.” No need to tell Snape he cried himself to sleep every night for a year over all the deaths. “Really, it was just a slow accumulation of things. And there was always a reason for being exhausted…marriage plans, then Tristan was born, then Evander and Cassandra…just a lot going on. At the time I thought it made sense, but Ginny was never as tired as me, and she was going through the same things I was.”

“Sheer exhaustion has landed you in bed?”

Harry shook his head. “That was primarily it. I also haven’t had much of an appetite, but I just figured that was part of growing up and not needing as much food anymore. There’s also this dull pain in my chest…it came and went for a while, but it’s been steadily there for about a year now.”

“And you did not see a healer about it, or, better yet, tell me, because…”

Harry shrugged. “I had other things going on. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“And yet here you are, on what would have been your deathbed.”

“Luckily for me, you’re once again here to rescue me.” Harry attempted a cheeky grin. He knew he had succeeded when Snape rolled his eyes.

“Now, as I understand it, you collapsed just under two months ago.”

Harry nodded. “I was sending you a letter, actually. I had just given it to Lavinia and watched her fly away. And then I – ” He paused. “You received that message, right?”

Snape nodded and pulled a small piece of rolled parchment out from his robes. “Just saw Ginny snogging a man who looks about twenty outside our bedroom window,” he read aloud. “Not sure what I’m going to do. Feel like shite, but I’m still alive. Harry.” He re-rolled the scroll and returned it to his pocket. “I regret I did not have a chance to reply. Owls were most difficult to come by in Africa, and Lavinia did not seem eager to wait around, particularly after that wild boar came after her.”

Harry nodded. “Just as well. I haven’t had the energy to read anything myself anyway, and I wouldn’t have wanted any of my children to read your reply out loud to me. But I had just sent you that letter, and Tristan came to see me. He asked me if I’d practice flying with him, that he wanted to make the team his first year just like I did. And I was about to agree, when I remembered what I had just seen, and I knew I couldn’t let him see his mother with that man. So I was standing there trying to think of an excuse of why we couldn’t fly that day, when it was gorgeous weather, perfect for flying, and…”

“Your brain just couldn’t handle the strain and you fainted?” Snape suggested.

Harry chuckled. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, I just remember my heart seizing up, and I was overcome by a sense of wrongness, that something wasn’t aligned properly. It was really a sense of panic. I felt off-balance. And then I woke up in here.”

Snape nodded. “I saw from your records that you do not recall imbibing any suspicious substances or being hit by a curse.”

“No. I really think it has to be some sort of disease.”

“Or a slow-acting curse or poison.” Snape turned back to his desk and rummaged through a valise set out on the desk. He returned holding a vial of amber liquid. “Swallow, Mr. Potter.”

Harry did as he was told. Strange, how far he and Snape had come. When he was at school, he would have refused to swallow any potion Snape had given him unless he had objective proof it wasn’t a poison. The two of them hadn’t had much contact over the years except mostly weekly letters and those strangely vivid dreams, but Harry felt as close to Snape as he did to many of his friends, and certainly trusted him as much.

“I’m afraid I am going to need to collect some blood,” Snape said. At Harry’s nod, he took a small knife out from his robe and pricked his finger. He caught the droplet of blood in vial of clear liquid. It first turned crimson and then a nauseating bubble gum pink.

“My my my, isn’t this interesting?”

Harry did not like that tone of voice. Not at all. “What’s interesting? What does it mean?”

“Just as I suspected. There is a potion in your system, one that has most likely been there for years. And judging by this lovely shade of pink…well, I should not make assumptions as of yet. Your wife has been kind enough to allow me to set up a personal lab in your cellar.” That most likely meant Snape had put all his equipment there without so much of a by your leave. “I will analyze this posthaste.”

“I’m not going to die, right?” The potion was bright pink. There was no way something that disgustingly pink could kill him. It was the same color Cassandra insisted on wearing every day for a month. It couldn’t be any more harmful than a kitten.

“I would be most irritated if you do, Mr. Potter, as it would go against my express orders to you years ago.”

Live.

The memory flashed through Harry’s mind as vividly as if he had just experienced it. He flushed, remembering the kiss that had preceded it. He coughed. “Well, then I’ll try not to.”

Snape nodded. “See that you do. I am about to remove the wards and silencing spell on the door. I expect your wife is standing right outside it. It may behoove you to pretend to be asleep.”

Harry didn’t need to pretend. The potions Snape had given him must have been wearing off, because he was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open once again. “Thanks, Snape…for everything.”

Snape grabbed his valise and notes without looking at Harry. “No thanks necessary, Mr. Potter. Only your survival.”

Harry felt a smile come on his lips even as he let sleep take him.

An elegant woman, in flowing lavender robes that whirled about her, blowing in the breeze that did not exist, speaking in a whisper that moved mountains.

Heal. Remember. Love.

It was nighttime when Harry woke again. Unlike the last time he woke up, he did not feel especially energized. In fact, he doubted he would have woken up this time if it hadn’t been for the screaming taking place outside his door.

“He is my husband! You have no right to speak to him without me present!”

“Private medical matters are just that, you impertinent twit, private!”

“You’re not his healer, Snape. You just barged in here, as if you had any right – ”

Snape laughed. There was no humor in it. “Oh, yes, please do enlighten me as to why you have so much more of a right than I do. You, who have been the epitome of a good, faithful wife throughout the years.”

Harry winced at Ginny’s screech of outrage. “Snape, if you go in there…”

“Yes, Mrs. Potter?” Somehow he managed to turn the title into an insult. “Do tell me how you think you’d be able to stop me. I’ve had precious few laughs of late.”

Harry knew it would be futile to pretend to be asleep at this point, so he fumbled for his glasses and pulled a few pillows behind him so he could sit up. No sooner had he managed it than the door flew open.

“Look, Snape, you woke him up!”

“I’m sure that was more due to your own dulcet tones, Mrs. Potter…or, perhaps I should introduce you to your husband as his would-be murderer.”

Harry was quite certain his expression matched Ginny’s appalled and flabbergasted one. He felt his heart stop. Surely Snape only wanted to shock them into silence.

“If you had allowed me to speak with him in private as I had desired, I may have handled this more delicately, but you insisted on screeching” said Snape in a voice as smooth as silk and deadly as a blade. Harry had no doubt hearing this in private would have been just as traumatic.

“Snape, I believe you owe us an explanation,” Harry said once he had recovered his power of speech.

“Certainly.” Snape pulled up a chair and sat down in it as regally as a king holding court. Seeing no other chairs in the room, Ginny leaned against the wall with a pout on her pretty face.

“Mrs. Potter, do you recall using a potion on Mr. Potter some years ago? By my estimations, he would have been about 17.”

“Of course not!” Ginny huffed indignantly. “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Indeed. Why would a foolish girl in the throes of young love with her chivalrous knight about to go off to rid the world of its most wretched evil think of resorting to potions most commonly found in rubbish periodicals targeted towards amorous twits of similar intellect?”

Harry watched in horror as Ginny’s face flamed as brightly as her hair and then turned white.

“I thought it didn’t work,” she breathed. Her eyes were wide and wet.

“Oh, it worked,” Snape said dangerously. “But just like a Gryffindor, you charged full-speed ahead without researching the possible consequences of your actions.”

“No…no,” Ginny murmured. She slid slowly down to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. Harry hadn’t seen her look so child-like in years.

“Would somebody please explain this to me?”

“It’s quite simple, Potter. Your little paramour decided to dose you with a potion she likely read about in between an article on how to charm your smile to really sparkle and fifty ways to know you are destined to wed the celebrity of the day. Am I correct, Mrs. Potter?”

Ginny nodded, not taking her face out of her hands. “Teen Witch,” she muttered.

White hot betrayal bit at Harry. “How could you, Ginny?” His voice caught and his chest began to ache. Then it really began to hurt. Oh, fuck.

Snape seemed to anticipate this and was already handing him a potion to swallow. Harry did so, and the pain ebbed away to a bearable heaviness that he was willing to chalk up to his rushing emotions. “When?”

“At Bill’s wedding. I put it in your champagne. The article said it would taste fruity and bubbly, so you probably didn’t notice.”

Harry shook his head, trying to make sense of all the information thrown at him. Then he realized he still didn’t actually know what the potion was. He would have thought any potion in a teen magazine would be harmless.

“The potion used was all the rage for approximately two weeks,” Snape said in full lecture-mode. “At that point, it was discovered that the potential ramifications far outweighed any possible benefits. It was called,” he said with a disgusted sneer appearing on his face, “The Potion of the Power of Love.”

Harry stared blankly. “The Power of Love? You cannot be serious.”

“Unfortunately, I am. Given the fact that the creator, an insipid Beauxbatons-educated chit by the name of Stella Gioves, was not bright enough to explore all the possible outcomes of the use of her potion, and recklessly published the recipe to what may quite possibly have created the most imprecise potion of all time, do you really expect to credit her with creativity?”

“I suppose not…what does it do?”

Severus sighed. Clearly it pained him to even describe such an inferior potion. “Let us envision two individuals. The first believes the two of them are in love and love no others – in other words, nobody in the world holds more romantic love for the first than the second, and vice versa. She wishes to aid her lover, so she slips him this potion, which, reacting upon their mutual romantic love for each other, gives the second lucky individual increased agility, superior defense skills, and quick wit in any battle or similarly life-threatening situations.”

Harry frowned. He was utter crap at potions, but he liked to think even he would have noticed there were several large holes in this description. “But what if the feeling isn’t mutual?”

“A possibility Miss Gioves failed to explore as did, clearly, your wife. Unfortunately then, Mr. Potter, the potion slowly kills him. It will weaken his heart and cause him to become lethargic. Do note the potion assumes being in love with the person in love with you is the ideal state. Just as nerves alert you to pain when you touch a hot cauldron so you know to remove your hand as to not cause further damage, the potion causes you distress in order to provide incentive for you to fall in love with your intended.”

“You’re supposed to just force yourself to fall in love with somebody to keep yourself from dying? That seems bloody idiotic.”

Snape shrugged. “Potter, I have already made my opinion on Miss Gioves and her potion quite clear.”

“I didn’t notice any differences in your behavior after I gave it to you,” Ginny whispered. She finally lifted her head, and Harry could see that her cheeks were streaked with tears. There was also a strange expression of resignation on her face. “I just assumed I had messed something up with the brewing. But now, I think it just meant…”

“I was never in love with you.”

The words were out of Harry’s mouth without him even realizing he had uttered them. He simultaneously felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he had been punched in the stomach. His love for Ginny had been one of the few constants in his life. But now, he realized those words that so shocked him when he spoke them had really been whispering inside of him for years now.

He had never been in love with Ginny Weasley.

“Ginny…”

“I think a part of me always knew,” she whispered. “You and me, Harry…we just fell into place. We never questioned the why or how of it. I always just thought that meant we were in love. But it wasn’t. It was just convenient.”

“You mean, you didn’t…”

Ginny laughed softly. “Oh, Harry. I’ve been in love with you since I was ten years old. I doubt that’s going to change any time soon. It’s just now I realize you’re never going to be in love with me the way I am with you.”

Harry was grateful he was lying in bed, because he was sure if he were standing, he would have collapsed from the whirlwind of emotions swirling in his mind. The bizarre lack of real jealousy of discovering Ginny with another man suddenly explained, shock that he had been dying for years without realizing it, betrayal that Ginny would ever resort to sneaking him a potion, realization why his marriage was never what he thought a marriage would be, and, yes, a sliver of hope now that he knew what he was facing. And that was only the beginning.

But despite it all, despite how angry he was with Ginny, he knew forgiving her wasn’t even a question. In fact, he may already have done so.

“Ginny, I do love you. I always have.”

“Unfortunately for the Potters, platonic or familial love is not enough to sustain the potion.”

Harry glanced at Snape. He had completely forgotten he was there. “So I’ve been slowly dying because I wasn’t actually in love with Ginny and she’s the person in the world who is the most in love with me. So then why did I suddenly collapse? Shouldn’t I have just continued to, you know, die?”

“Here, again, it becomes painfully evident how imprecise this potion is. If the person falls out of love -- any type of love -- with the person most in love with him, the potion forces the unlucky individual into a crisis mode. Even if love is regained, the physical consequences remain. The only known way to counteract these unfortunate side effects is for the victim to fall in love with another individual who is similarly in love with him – essentially starting the entire damn process over. I digress. Potter, I believe you had a particularly distressing discovery about your wife before you collapsed?”

Ginny looked shocked and humiliated. Before, Harry would have been surprised that, given the circumstances, he didn’t take some pleasure in that. But now that he realized how he had never been in love with her, and how that must have worn on her throughout their marriage, he only felt regret and sympathy. “I saw you kissing a man outside our bedroom window.”

“Oh, Harry, I am so, so sorry.” Ginny’s eyes filled up with tears again. “I swear, it was only one time, and we never…did that. I was just so damn lonely and he made me feel so special and beautiful and I just wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, that may have been the problem. Not thinking. However, all dubious apologies aside, unfortunately there is no known antidote for the potion.”

“What kind of idiot created this potion, and what reputable magazine would think to publish it?”

Snape almost looked approving at Harry’s outburst. “I have asked myself the same question time and time again. My only hypothesis is that such magazines will do anything to sell an issue, and if a few poor souls are lost along the way…well, tragedy sells just as many copies as romance.”

“Figures,” Harry muttered.

“The potion was written up again a few months later in Potions Weekly. It was number four on the list of top hundred Potions Most Likely Created by a Murderous Troll list. Not the most scholarly of reading, but the research, unlike that of the creator’s, was solid. I can lend it to you, if you wish.”

“Lovely. So, that’s it? I’m just stuck here in bed until the potion decides it’s time to off me?”

“Nonsense,” Snape huffed. “I have saved you time and time again, Potter, and have been tortured and nearly killed in an effort to protect you. If you think I am going to let all those sacrifices go to waste over a sloppy potion, you are mad. At least this time when I save you, it will be by doing something I enjoy.” With that final proclamation, he swept out the door.

Harry looked at Ginny, who was still crumpled on the floor. He held out a hand. “Gin.”

She looked up and unsteadily rose to her feet. Her face was streaked with tears and was pale under her numerous freckles. Romantic love or not, Harry felt his heart break. This was one of his dearest friends, the only daughter in the family in which he had been adopted, and he was only now realizing that his utter inattention to his own feelings and emotions had been causing her pain for more than a decade. And it was likely to only get worse.

“I’m so sorry,” Ginny rasped as she grasped Harry’s hand. She gave a wet sniff, and burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Harry, so, so sorry.”

“No, Ginny, I’m sorry.”

“How can you say that?” she asked incredulously. “Did you not hear Snape? I’m the reason you’re dying. Because I was a foolish, lovesick little girl.”

“Yes, Ginny, you were a little girl. Merlin knows I did enough stupid things when I was in Hogwarts. Besides, you heard Snape. He’ll fix me right up, and then most likely hold it over me for the next twenty years. It’s the natural order of things.”

She shook her head. “You, Harry Potter, are a wonder.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, wondrously stupid. Ginny, I wish I had known back then what my feelings were. It would have saved you so much heartache.”

“I doubt it would have made a difference,” she said with a sad smile. “I was going to be in love with you no matter what. And you…you weren’t even thinking of romance. You had more important things to focus on, dark lords to slay. And as I said, we just fell into our relationship. Do you even remember our first date?” When Harry shook his head, she laughed. “Exactly. We didn’t have one. We went from being friends to engaged with no time to stop and think if it was right…for both of us.”

He pulled Ginny’s hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. “You have been a wonderful wife. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been a better husband.”

“It’s not your fault. I just wasn’t the one you were meant to be with.” She grinned suddenly, and Harry was reminded suddenly of the young, feisty girl she once was. “Who knows, maybe it’s Snape you’re meant to end up with. You did save all his letters, after all.”

Harry laughed. “That will be the day. Can you imagine?” He yawned. All the adrenaline that had kept him awake during the conversation seemed to escape him like air from a popped balloon. “Sorry.”

Ginny stood up and adjusted his blankets. “You need your rest. I’ll leave you to it. I need to write Mum anyway…and Ron and Hermione made me promise to write as soon as we had an update on your condition. They’ve been here, you know, but the last healer banned anybody who didn’t live in the house in case it affected your immune system. Oh, Merlin, they’re going to murder me.” With a resigned sigh, she turned to leave.

“Ginny? Stay with me?”

She looked down at him, and Harry was afraid she would burst into tears again. Instead, she only took the chair Snape had sat in and grasped his hand once more.

“Of course.”

“Final one, Potter.”

Harry downed the foul potion with a grimace. “You know, you would think one of the twelve potions you gave me today would taste halfway decent.”

“The Power of Love, as you recall your wife telling you, made for a refreshing summer beverage. I can always whip you up another batch of that if you’d prefer.”

“Ha bloody ha. You know, I do feel better already.”

“Of course you do, Potter. All the potions you’ve downed were fine-tuned to treat your exact symptoms.”

“So I’m not actually cured yet?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “I work miracles, Potter, but not overnight.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. With anybody else, an arrogant statement like that would have infuriated him at a time like this, less than a day after receiving a virtual death sentence. But with Snape, it wasn’t really cockiness…it was the truth. Harry had complete faith that Snape would eventually be able to cure him, and so he found the confidence comforting.

“If that’s all, Potter, I must return to my laboratory, and if I’m not mistaken, you will be falling asleep in approximately a quarter hour anyway.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Harry. “Wait. I assume you’re staying in the guest bedroom. Do you have everything you need?”

Snape turned and began to gather his vials and equipment. “Nobody expects you to play host from what until yesterday was destined to be your deathbed, Potter.”

“You’re saving my life, the least I can do is make sure you’re well taken care of. The guest room?”

Snape shut his valise with a snap. “It has not yet been an issue.”

“What do you mean? It’s half past noon, so you’ve been here almost a full day. You still don’t have a place to stay?”

“I’ve had more pressing matters to attend to.” He turned to face Harry. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer your wife to be a widow instead of a divorcee?”

Harry knew his marriage was over, and Snape certainly had to be aware of the fact, but hearing it out loud still stung a bit. Not so much from heartache as embarrassment and regret that he hadn’t realized he wasn’t in love with Ginny earlier, but still, it definitely struck a nerve. But now was not the time to fret over that.

“You mean you’ve been awake for almost 24 hours? How can you still be standing?”

“I’m accustomed to keeping long hours. Several potions I brew on a regular basis require it.”

“Well, I bloody well don’t require it. You’re getting some sleep. Now. I’ll make sure Ginny has the guest room ready.” He grabbed his wristwatch off the bedside table and held it tightly as he concentrated on his message. A warm hum of the watch told him Ginny had received his request on her own watch.

“Potter, you’re being ridiculous. I’m trying to work on developing a cure for you for a potion that is so bloody nebulous that it will probably take a half dozen different potions for a start. And you want me to sleep.”

“How are you going to develop a potion if you’re half asleep? And don’t tell me you’re not. No wonder you wouldn’t look at me all day. You look like you’re the one who belongs in this bed.”

Snape’s cheeks looked oddly flushed. “I’m perfectly capable of working in my current state.”

“Sure, maybe now. You won’t by nightfall. Please, Severus? I know you’re doing me a tremendous favor. I wouldn’t want you collapsing on your feet because of me.”

Perhaps it was the use of his first name, or the pleading voice Harry took on, or perhaps the mere fact that he was showing appreciation for him, but Snape finally slowly nodded his head. “I could afford a rest this afternoon. After I check on the potions I currently have simmering, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, pleased. “But no more than twenty minutes down there. I’ll know.”

It was an empty threat, they both knew. Harry’s eyes were already drifting shut. But somehow he knew, just as he knew that Snape would work on developing a cure until Harry was the perfect picture of good health, that he would listen.

With that pleasant thought, Harry allowed sleep to overtake him.

She let go, and he felt a keen sense of loss. “No…”

“You have what you need.”

Harry wanted to tell her she was wrong. Already he was so cold without her touch. But as she vanished in the mist, he realized there was still a small ball of warmth in his chest, and he vowed to do whatever it would take to nurture that heat until it once again felt as though he could rule the world.

Time seemed to hold no dominion over Harry as Snape worked diligently to find a cure. Before Snape arrived, Harry simply slept all the time. Now he was able to find the energy to stay awake, at least part of the time. However, there was no telling when those times would be. Sometimes he would open his eyes and bask in the sunlight warming the room, and other times he would have to blink repeatedly to make sure it truly was nighttime and he wasn’t simply dreaming he was awake. He was aware of having visitors every once in a while, Ron and Hermione more than once, but it was so damn hard to keep track when he kept drifting off mid-conversation.

Snape also did not appear to be following any normal type of sleep cycle. There were times Harry would wake in the middle of the night and find him asleep on the cot he ultimately set up in Harry’s room, insisting he needed to be close at hand to observe his patient’s reactions to the potions. But more often than not he was bustling about whenever Harry had his eyes open, reading or taking notes or, on at least one occasion, reading aloud to Harry.

It was strange, to be sure, but it was also comfortable. Harry felt at ease knowing Snape was never far away, perhaps more at ease than he had been in years. At times he found himself forgetting that he and Snape had only been communicating through letters for the past twelve years, ever since that…

Harry flushed, remembering that kiss. More than once he’d been tempted to ask Snape about it. He always just managed to stop himself. While he was certainly curious, and in more ways than one, he wasn’t sure his admittedly weakened heart could take Snape telling him it was an impulsive act that meant nothing or, worse, that he didn’t even remember it.

“Three sips of this, Potter, then drink the entire glass of water and down the rest of the potion.”

Harry nodded. He was used to this too, being handed potion after potion and being told to drink it in any manner of ways. He had learned early it was best not to question too much and just accept that Snape knew what he was doing and wouldn’t intentionally poison him.

He knew he wasn’t cured, but he definitely wasn’t feeling any worse. And considering how before Snape arrived he thought he was about two days away from being in the grave, that was saying something.

Ginny had already delivered the divorce papers, and Harry had signed them with only the token regret that his children would not have both of their parents living with them, and that his childhood dream had been just that…a dream that could not survive reality. Tristan, Evander, and Cassandra had taken the news better than he anticipated, in spite of, or perhaps due to the fact that their father had spent the past month unable to rouse the strength to get out of bed. Given the choice between death and divorce, his children were all practical enough to prefer the latter.

And Snape had been there for him through it all.

It was strange, really. Some letters (197, not that Harry was counting) over the years and one out of place, passionate kiss did not wipe out seven years of animosity and hostility. At least, not with normal people. But as Harry had been reminded nearly every day of his life, he was not normal. And he was willing to bet every Galleon he had that Snape wasn’t, either.

Strange, yes.

But it felt right.

“I want to go for a walk.”

“You want to stay in bed,” Snape said without looking up from the potion he was carefully pouring into three separate vials.

“I’ve been in bed for three months,” Harry whined. “I miss being outside. I can’t even remember what the sun looks like.”

Snape sighed. “Kindly cease the histrionics. They do not become you.”

“Please? I’ll be good, won’t even run or anything. And if I do anything recklessly Gryffindor-like I give you full permission to toss me over your shoulder and throw me back into bed.”

Snape’s cheeks had developed that odd flush again. Oh. Harry suddenly realized how what he said sounded and felt his face flame. “I mean, to punish me.” Snape’s cheeks looked even redder. Shit. “Never mind,” he mumbled into his pillow case.

Harry heard the door close and pulled the covers over his head. How mortifying. He’d have to pretend to be asleep the next time Snape entered the room to give him time to recover.

The door creaked open, and Harry quickly closed his eyes. Just to be safe, he let out a soft snore.

Snape snorted and tossed something over at him. “Your acting skills are appalling, Mr. Potter.”

Harry sighed and sat up in bed. “What gave me away?”

The corner of Snape’s mouth twitched. It was the closest thing to a smile he seemed to allow himself. “You don’t snore.”

“Oh. Good to know.” He looked down. A pair of trousers, jumper, robe, and thick woolen socks rested on top of his duvet. “What’s this for?”

“It’s autumn. I won’t have you catching your death from a mundane chill while I am working to save you from the world’s most dangerously mindless potion. Change, and we will go for a brief walk.”

Harry thought his face was going to split from his grin. “Thank you. Truly.”

Snape appeared to struggle with what to say; his lips moved a bit as though the words were forming on his tongue but simply refused to come out. Finally, he turned to leave. “I must check on my potions before we leave. I will collect you in ten minutes.”

Harry quickly hopped out of bed, then regretted it when a wave of dizziness forced him to sit down again for a minute. Pushing through it, he began to get dressed.

He had spent the past month trying to figure out exactly what Snape felt about him, whether he was there out of some bizarre sense of duty, could scarcely tolerate him, or only stayed for the challenge of completing the impossible. But today proved it.

Severus Snape wanted to make him, Harry Potter, happy.

The thought warmed Harry so much he was tempted to forego the robe. Picturing Snape’s reaction rapidly squelched that idea.

Snape may want Harry to be happy, but he had no doubt he would hex him in a heartbeat for a moment’s stupidity.

Chuckling to himself, Harry pulled on his socks.

“I love the fall,” Harry said cheerfully as he and Snape walked around the house. Snape refused to let them leave the property, but Harry didn’t mind. He just wanted to see the outdoors again.

“It is a fine day,” Snape agreed. A leaf crunched under his boot.

“Ever since Hogwarts, it was my favorite season,” Harry said contentedly. “No matter how awful the summer was with the Dursleys, I’d just keep waiting for fall because it meant I’d be back at Hogwarts. I know I had to stay with the Dursleys because they were my family, but really, when fall came, that was when I knew I was home. And things would just have to get better.”

“A time for new beginnings,” Snape murmured. “Most people associate spring with that phenomenon. Of course, being Harry Potter, you chose to go against the grain.” There was no scorn in his voice, only light amusement.

“That’s me!” Harry grinned at Snape, who returned the gesture with a twitch of his lips. “Say, what’s – ” Harry paused, overcome by an intense dizzy spell. Snape caught him in his arms, but the awkwardness of their positions forced them to the ground.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered. He tucked his face into Snape’s shoulder. A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. “I swear I was feeling better.”

“I have no doubt you were. Even if you were cured, three months in bed would weaken the body. I’m rather surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

“You’re not yelling at me,” Harry said, surprised.

Harry felt Snape shrug. “What purpose would that serve?”

“I dunno. I always thought it was one of your hobbies, yelling. Just to get the blood flowing and all that.”

Snape snorted. “Hardly.”

Harry huddled closer to Snape, wrapping both arms around his body. To his surprise, Snape didn’t stiffen or tense, but rather tightened his grip around Harry’s shoulders. Harry inhaled deeply, calmed by Snape’s scent and the steady beating of his heart beneath his fingers. It felt natural, as though the two of them had spent days together just like this, holding each other and taking comfort in each other’s embrace.

“Look,” Harry said, pointing up at the sky. “That cloud looks like a unicorn.”

Severus squinted. “I only see a Chimaera.”

“Leave it to you to see a dangerous creature in the clouds,” Harry laughed. “Look, look at that one. It looks just like the giant squid!”

“Or a Manticore.”

“Fine. See that one? That one’s you. Just look at the nose on it!” He was sure to keep his voice light so Snape would hopefully be able to tell that he was only joking.

“That’s enough. For that, you go back inside.” Snape began to stand.

“Wait, wait!” Harry grabbed at Snape’s hand and pulled him back down. “See that one?”

Snape looked up. “A phoenix.”

“Yes.” He gripped Snape’s hand. “I know you didn’t agree with everything he did.” Harry didn’t catch what Snape muttered under his breath at that, but it sounded something like understatement. “I know I certainly didn’t. Some of the things…just ruddy awful, really. And I have been so angry at him. But still…I miss him.”

Snape’s eyes didn’t leave the cloud. “As do I.”

They sat there together for a few minutes without speaking, marking an unnamed moment of respect for their fallen headmaster.

“Wouldn’t he be surprised to see us here like this?” Harry asked, breaking the silence. “Sitting together, speaking peacefully, just watching the clouds?”

Snape sighed and pulled Harry close to him. “Something tells me he would simply say he knew it all along.”

Harry woke up and knew he was cured.

It didn’t matter that the diagnosing potion still turned vivid pink whenever a droplet of Harry’s blood touched its surface. It didn’t matter that Snape was looking increasingly tense and frustrated by his seeming lack of progress. Harry listened to Snape explaining over and over that the potions were only treating the symptoms, that he was certainly not cured yet.

But that didn’t matter. Harry was cured.

And the proof was in his pants.

Harry cast an eye around the room. Snape was not there, and it appeared to be late at night. Hopefully he was finally getting some rest. With a sigh, Harry grasped his erection under the blankets and tugged.

Ah, this was heavenly. Harry couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had an erection. Certainly not since he’d taken to bed, and probably not for at least a week or two before that. He’d barely had the energy to stand, let alone for his cock to do so.

He rustled through the drawer on his bedside table and managed to locate some lube. He squirted a bit of it on his fingers and grasped his prick again.

Yes…

Harry tried to conjure a fantasy in his mind. It had been so long, he wanted to make it a good one, so he could fully savor the heavy sweetness of arousal. Out of sheer habit, his imagination shifted to Ginny, but he squelched that quickly. She wasn’t what he wanted, what he needed.

No, he wanted the exact opposite of Ginny. Instead of freckles, pale, creamy skin. He would run his hands up and down that thin frame, taking pleasure in the feel of wiry muscles moving beneath his fingertips. And no flaming red hair. It would be black, and it would fall into his face as he writhed underneath that fit body.

Yes, he groaned, he could feel it. Feel lips pressing against his own, and then trailing down his neck, his chest, all the way down to his hard, leaking prick. And then that mouth would close over his cock and suck him down, and Harry would thrust, thrust, and then, when he was getting too close, he would switch positions so he would have the other man’s cock in his mouth.

Harry’s hand stopped its frantic rubbing. Man? Sucking another man’s cock? Since when had he found that arousing? But the slight hitch of his prick proved that, strange as it may be, the thought was definitely making him harder than he had been in years.

Harry ran with it. He would lick the prick slowly, from the balls all the way up to the head, just the way he liked it. He would tease and tantalize, waiting until the man was making desperate keening noises deep in his throat, till he was begging for Harry to touch him, to suck him.

And then Harry would.

He groaned as he felt his balls tighten. So close, so close…

He imagined taking that cock into his mouth, slowly at first. He’d be nervous, since he’d only done this once before (once? When had he even done it once?), but he’d soon find his rhythm. And the man would be whispering harshly, words of encouragement and of want, and fingers would tighten in his hair, until the man let out a harsh groan and…

Harry dimly heard the door creak open. “Potter?”

“Severus!” Harry gasped, and came all over his hand.

Even if Harry weren’t humiliated, he wouldn’t be able to open his eyes. The orgasm had left him shuddering and panting. He collapsed back onto his pillow, and didn’t look up until well after he heard the door click close.

Harry thought she was going to kiss him, but instead she parted his lips with a graceful finger and blew into his mouth. Harry swallowed her breath, grateful for it, even as he was overcome by dizziness, and was falling, falling…

Harry didn’t see much of Severus for a while. He claimed it was because he had made a breakthrough with his brewing and needed to be in the laboratory non-stop, but Harry didn’t believe that. Severus brewed all the time before, but still spent a good deal of time with him. He knew he was embarrassed by that little scene. Harry couldn’t blame him, because Lord knows he was absolutely humiliated, but it still grated on his nerves. He wanted to see Severus more than ever.

He had been dreaming a lot lately, and Severus had been the center of them. They weren’t the old ones so much, the one where Harry relived Severus fleeing the Shrieking Shack or the alternate horror when he bled to death on the dusty floor. Usually they took place in a cozy cottage that seemed to be in the clouds. Often there wasn’t anything really interesting in the dreams…sometimes he and Severus were reading in front of the fire, or drinking tea at a small table in the kitchen, once even watched clouds just like they had the other day. And that incredibly bizarre one where Snape was glaring at him in ludicrous white angel’s robes with great wings protruding from his shoulder blades. But the dreams were so vivid that Harry just felt as though he were reliving them instead of experiencing what his subconscious had to offer.

Harry had feelings for Severus, that he knew, but he didn’t know where they came from. Prior to that kiss in the Shrieking Shack, he'd despised the man. But even that moment of passion had seemed utterly natural, as though they had kissed only hours before. And although their letters throughout the years had a mostly platonic tone, Harry was slowly beginning to see what Ginny had always laughed about: beneath the benign updates and casual questions was an undertone of that special connection that exists only between lovers separated by distance.

He didn’t understand the how or why of it. All he knew was that he wanted Severus to hold him and for them to explore whatever this strange thing was between them. He couldn’t help but feel he had just touched the surface of something wonderful before it was wrenched away from him, and he wanted it back more than he wanted his next breath.

Now, if only he could get Severus to stay in his room for more than three minutes at a time…

“I swear I’m feeling better.”

“The potion is still that vile shade of pink, Mr. Potter. You are not cured. I will take this down to the laboratory now.”

“Harry.”

Severus didn’t turn around. “Pardon me?”

“My name’s Harry. You’ve called me that before. You can call me that again.”

Harry held his breath. He was taking a risk here, he knew. As far as he could remember, Severus had never called him by his given name in his waking hours. But in his dreams…yes, in his dreams he was Harry.

“I suppose I did.” He headed toward the door. “Harry. Be sure to get some rest.”

Harry fought the urge to tell Severus exactly where he could shove that rest. It wouldn’t suit his purposes now. “Wait.”

Severus slowly turned around. While his face was as stoic as ever, there was a strange, open expression in his eyes. He looked almost vulnerable. “Yes?”

“I want you to meet my son.”

The guarded look was back in those eyes. “I thought you had two sons, Harry, both of whom I have already met.”

“Not really. They’ve been about, and you’ve been about, but you’ve never really talked. And anyway, Tristan is visiting Hugo Weasley this week. I really want you to talk with Evander. It would mean the world to him.”

Severus snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

Right on cue, a timid knock sounded at the door. “Dad?”

Harry grinned at Severus’s glare. “Come in, Evander.”

Evander entered, and Harry was warmed by the familiar sense of pride that filled his chest whenever he saw one of his children. There was a special place in his heart for Evander. He had been born a month premature and was sickly for the first few years of his life. He had since grown up to be a thoughtful, gentle child of seven years who could calm his older brother Tristan down from even his wildest antics. He also harbored a great admiration for the man who gave him his middle name.

“Hello, Professor Snape.”

Severus nodded at the boy. “Mr. Potter.”

Evander wrinkled his nose. “That’s my dad. I’m Evander.”

“Merlin, does nobody want to be called Potter anymore?” Severus muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “Very well. Evander.” He seemed to be wracking his brain for something appropriate to say. “How are you today?”

“I’m fine.” He walked over to Harry’s bed and grasped his hand. “I miss having you around. The house is too quiet.”

Harry lifted his son’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Don’t you worry. Professor Snape will have me out and about in no time.”

Evander nodded solemnly and faced his idol. “My dad says you’re the greatest potions master who’s ever lived.”

“Oh, really?” Severus crossed his arms and arched a brow. “What else does your father say about me?”

“That you’re the bravest man he’s ever known. That he was a right ars- I mean, he wasn’t very nice to you when he was in school and that I should always be respectful of my teachers, no matter how mean they might seem, because you never know all they may be going through. That he wishes you would come around more. And that you loved Grandma Potter…that’s why he named me Evander Severus, so that you could be together in some – ”

“That’s enough, Evander.”

Evander flushed and glanced apologetically at his father. Harry gave his hand a sympathetic squeeze. “You don’t want to tell the professor everything at once, do you?”

“I really must be going.”

“Hush, Severus. I’m not getting any sicker, and you need to take a break too. Sit with us for a while.”

Severus eyed the door longingly.

“Please?” Evander asked.

Severus finally gave a jerky nod and took a seat. “Very well. Sit down, Evander, and I will tell you exactly how you are not to behave when you begin attending Hogwarts. That is, if you expect to leave school alive. It is one of life’s greatest mysteries to me that your father escaped with all his limbs intact.”

Harry snorted and settled back into his pillows. He patted the spot on his bed next to him, and Evander scampered up to rest against him.

Thus began a rather pleasant afternoon. Severus did not mince words describing just what “an utterly irresponsible, reckless, lucky dunderhead your father was,” but a line of humor underscored everything that he said, so Harry was able to chuckle and admit that, yes, he really had been just that foolish. It was cozy and comfortable, and he was quite glad he had asked Evander to visit him that day.

A soft snore alerted him to the fact that his son had fallen asleep against his chest. Harry smiled and stroked his unruly hair, so much like his own. Of one thing he was certain: even though he and Ginny did not work out, they had been blessed to have three wonderful children. And for that reason alone, he could not regret ever marrying her.

“Strange to see a Potter asleep in the bed who is not you for once.”

Harry tried not to laugh, in case he should disturb Evander’s slumber. It was a force of habit, even though typically a herd of angry erumpets could march through the house without the boy even tossing in his sleep. “He still needs an afternoon nap every once in a while.”

Severus nodded. “He is an…endearing child. He has a peaceful, tender heart. Quite precocious as well.”

“Without a doubt. He’s our little poet.”

Severus appeared to be struggling to find words. Finally, he asked, “You named him after me? And your mother?”

Harry nodded. “I’ll admit, if you hadn’t sent me that warning letter when I first told you Ginny was pregnant, there would be a miniature James and Lily Potter running around. Not sure what I would have named Evander. Probably Albus. And believe me, I was tempted to, just to see if you’d be so furious you’d come out of hiding from wherever you were to yell at me for being a sentimental fool. But then I figured it wouldn’t be worth it for you to come out just to kill me a minute later. So I tried to be a bit more subtle.”

“Tristan?”

“Tristan James. Ginny picked Tristan. Said he was a romantic hero.”

Severus snorted. “Yes, one who swallowed a love potion. Fitting.”

“Oh. Didn’t know that. No matter, I liked it. She also picked Cassandra Lily. Evander Severus…well, you heard what he said.”

“It’s true?” Severus’s voice was no more than a rasp.

“I know you loved my mum, and I know she loved you too. And you…you’ve done so much for me, even when you didn’t have to. Even now, when you could be quit of me, you’re here, day after day, trying to cure me from a ridiculous love potion gone awry. I needed to honor you in a personal way, in a tangible way that I could never forget you. I knew you’d murder me for naming my child after you, so I had to tie it to somebody you would also be honored to be associated with. Evander just seemed natural.” He paused. “Do you mind?”

Severus shook his head slowly. “You are most…generous in your assessment of me, Harry Potter.”

Harry smiled. “You deserve it. Everything, Severus.”

The lines in Severus’s face seemed to be etched deeper than ever. He was fighting an internal battle, it was clear, like a lion ready to pounce but restraining himself until his prey was alone and vulnerable.

“Severus,” Harry breathed, “I saved your letters. All of them.”

Severus blinked slowly. He looked like a man entranced, overcome by a spell clouding his mind. “As did I,” he croaked.

“Severus…”

The word had not even fully formed on Harry’s tongue when Severus was at his side, tilting his chin up with a finger, and cradling his face in his hand, and then, yes, his lips descended upon his own.

It felt like more than heaven; it felt like coming home after a lifetime away. Harry arched into the kiss and grasped the back of Severus’s head. This is what he had been waiting for all these years. These were the lips he was meant to kiss, the body he was meant to embrace, the man he was meant to love.

Harry wondered if Severus was practicing Legilimency on him, because he pulled away the very second that terrifyingly wonderful thought crossed his mind. The haze had left Severus’s eyes, replaced by horror.

“My apologies. I shouldn’t have – ”

“Hush. I was a completely willing participant.”

“Nevertheless, I should not have compromised my position as such.”

“Severus…”

Evander made a small noise, and Harry felt a moment’s chagrin that he had forgotten his son was still nestled in his arms.

“I must go.”

Harry did not fight him as he hurriedly packed his supplies into his valise and headed out the door. He didn’t regret any of it; in fact, he craved more of it, but he knew Severus well enough to know the man needed time. Hell, it took him fifteen years to pay Harry a face-to-face visit. Who knew how long it would take for him to admit to feeling something other than indifference to him?

With a sigh, Harry pressed a kiss to the top of Evander’s head and contented himself with holding his son while he was still small enough to allow such simple pleasures.

“What are you doing up?”

Harry determinedly met Severus’s eyes. “I insisted Ginny take a holiday to get away from the house and taking care of the kids, so I’m making lunch. Want a sandwich? Evander and Cassie wanted turkey, but I think we have some ham around here.”

Severus grabbed Harry by the bicep and pulled him toward the stairs. “You are to be in bed, you impossible whelp.”

“Only if you join me,” he quipped.

Severus let go of his arm as if burned. “Fine. Collapse on your feet for all I care. Just don’t expect me to brew you a potion for the concussion on your thick skull.” He stormed out of the kitchen in the direction of the cellar.

Harry counted to fifty and then took off in the same direction. He found Severus in his makeshift laboratory, staring intently at a boiling chartreuse potion in a crystal cauldron.

“I’m sorry.”

The only indication Severus gave of hearing him was a slight stiffening of his posture.

“I really do feel better. A lot better, actually. And I don’t think it’s all just those potions treating my symptoms.”

“As long as the potion is in your system – ”

“I don’t care what that stupid diagnostic potion says!” Harry shouted. “I feel fine!”

“I refuse to leave when it is clear – ”

“Well, isn’t that just the icing on the cake?” Harry was aware he sounded slightly hysterical, but he couldn’t stop. “You refuse to leave. When for fifteen years you couldn’t even be arsed to pay me a visit for tea. And now you suddenly care and won’t leave my side? What changed?”

Severus whirled around, his eyes flashing menacingly. “What changed?” he growled. “Oh, I can think of a few things.” He stepped closer to Harry, like a sleek panther stalking its prey. “Like you, I have had a poison running through my veins for fifteen years, but I suppose it never occurred to you to ask, did it?”

He was standing right in front of Harry now, practically shaking with tension. Harry gulped and licked his lower lip nervously. “Poisoned?”

“Yes,” Severus hissed. He pulled Harry until their bodies were flush against each other and his hands were dipping dangerously close to gripping the cheeks of his bum. “Ever since I saw you running through the corridors on that last battle, all I’ve wanted to do is back you up against a wall and kiss you breathless.”

Harry’s breath did hitch at that. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Severus ground his hips against Harry’s, his hardness arousing him more than he ever thought possible. “And every night since then I’ve been plagued with intoxicating dreams, dreams of sitting across from you and talking you into climaxing, dreams of taking you to bed and fucking you,” a deliberate thrust of the hips there, “until you’re screaming my name and can’t remember your own.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry moaned. “Please, Severus…”

“What, would you have rather I came here?” Severus whispered into his ear. “Accost you where you stood, taken you just as I had longed to do in the Shrieking Shack, destroyed your perfect little family with my lust? Because I assure you, Harry, that I would not have left until I was satisfied.”

His last few words were each accompanied by a sharp thrust. Harry was practically keening from arousal. A fire had been lit within him and was threatening to consume every fiber of his being. He fought through the fog filling his brain. “And now?”

Severus grasped at Harry so tightly he was sure there would be bruises, then released him so abruptly he stumbled a bit. He stalked back over to where the potion was still bubbling.

Harry blinked a few times and cursed. Figures Severus would get him all hot and bothered and then abandon him to go off and have a little snit. He took a few calming breaths and slowly approached him.

“Were those the only dreams you had?”

“Oh, of course not. I also dreamed of sitting with you for hours watching the rain fall, reading in a parlor together as we lay nestled in each others’ arms, and sniping at each other over tea.” The words were said with a sarcastic edge, but Harry knew better.

“Severus.”

Severus’s only response was to cross his arms across his chest.

“I have those dreams as well.”

Severus stared at him, the expression in his eyes unfathomable. Then he turned back to his work table, seized an empty vial, and hurled it at the wall. When the shards of glass his the floor, he picked up another and threw it against the wall as well. Then another, and another.

“Severus!” Harry cried. He tugged at Severus’s arm and dragged him away from the work table. Severus offered surprisingly little resistance. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I won’t stand for being mocked, especially by you.”

“Mocking you? Severus, I meant what I said. I’ve been having very similar dreams, on and off for years now, but almost every night since you’ve been here.”

Severus shook his head slowly. To Harry, it looked as though he desperately wanted to believe but found the concept too strange and foreign to grasp. “You have no idea what it was like,” Severus rasped. “It felt as though I was being physically pulled toward you, and I knew what the inevitable result would be. I knew I’d have to recreate those dreams. And how could I do that with a man who finally had a moment’s peace and had chosen to retire with his Hogwarts sweetheart and produce a number of similarly perfect children?”

“Why Severus, I didn’t know you cared.”

Severus snorted. “Don’t be so vain to assume I was worried about your sensibilities. I assure you, I cared more about my own. I can certainly do without more rejection in my life.”

At that moment, Harry wanted to do nothing more than to hold Severus and never let go. Seeing this proud, brilliant man stand there looking so defeated was more than he could bear. He laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“So why did you come when you heard I was sick?”

“I thought if I came for a specific purpose, one with no romantic entanglements, I would be able to escape unscathed.”

“And now?”

“I fear doing so would kill me.”

All the breath left Harry. The stark simplicity of Severus’s words struck him much more than histrionics would have. He knew then what his dreams had been telling him was true: Severus loved him. And for some reason, though he didn’t know how or why, Harry was pretty sure he loved him in return.

“I want to explore this, Severus. I wouldn’t kick you out just because I was cured.”

Severus laughed, and Harry was relieved to see a spark of genuine humor back in his eyes. “You are not cured, Harry. I would not lie about that. The potion is very much still active in your system. Unfortunately, it has been behaving like a decapitated hydra – for every success I achieve, another two complications spring forth.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Harry knew that with certainty. What he wasn’t sure was if it really mattered at this point, because whatever Severus had been doing, it was working. He felt stronger than ever and completely in control of himself in body, mind, and magic – really, as if he could take over the world if only thought to do so. What’s more, he had hope…hope for a better future, for pleasant surprises, and best of all, for love.

“I did not believe it would take quite this long,” Severus sighed. “It has been most frustrating.”

Harry laughed. “Don’t lie to me. I know you love the challenge.”

Severus’s eyes met Harry’s. “I would prefer the incentive not be to prevent your death.”

Harry clutched his hand. “Not a chance of that happening, now that things have finally gotten interesting.”

Severus chuckled. “There is that.” A pause. “I must apologize for my display earlier. I was…not myself.”

Harry smiled and squeezed his hand. “No, Severus, you finally were yourself. You’re the most passionate man I know. It doesn’t do to keep it all in.”

“It was rather juvenile,” Severus protested, but he leaned into Harry’s touch.

“Hush,” Harry said. It was only then, when neither of them were talking, did he notice what sounded like an oboe playing off in the distance. The ethereal melody made Harry feel he was traveling on a boat through the mist to some strange land. It was frightening and beautiful all at once. “What’s that?”

Severus shrugged. “Debussy. It soothes me.”

“Who wrote it?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Claude Debussy. It is his Nocturnes suite, specifically the Nuages movement.”

“Nuages?”

Severus nodded. “It is French for ‘clouds.’”

Harry felt his face flush. “Is that…is that because of me?”

“What have I told you about not thinking the world revolves around you?” Severus sniffed. “I have found great serenity in this composition for years.”

Harry grinned at the careful evasion. “Have it your way, then. But come upstairs, please. I’m starved.”

Harry tried not to smile too broadly as he led Severus up the steps. They only ascended one flight of stairs, but Harry felt as though he were floating among those heavenly clouds.

They sat before the fire, long after the children had all been tucked into bed, each holding a glass of Syrah. Harry typically hated the stuff, far preferring a sweet Moscato. But Severus had suggested it, and Harry had found immediately that it just seemed right. He took a sip, silently relishing the smooth, earthy flavor that made him immediately think of Severus.

Harry couldn’t remember ever being more content with life. It didn’t make sense, of course. He had recently found out his childhood sweetheart had cheated on him and was thus newly divorced. But right now, he couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be than sitting here, ensconced comfortably on the couch with Severus.

He curled up closer against Severus’s chest and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. When Severus made a soft noise of contentment, he took his face in his hands and kissed his lips.

One kiss melted into two and then three, and then Harry realized he was being an utter moron doing things like counting when Severus’s lips were gliding over his in this utterly divine rhythm. Honestly. He just needed to lay back and enjoy.

Except he didn’t want to just lay back. With a groan, he swept a leg over Severus’s waist and straddled him, moving his hips in a fair imitation of the act he truly wanted to commit.

“Harry.”

“Hmm?” He kissed Severus’s neck, right over the two tiny scars, taking pleasure in the vibrations he felt beneath the skin.

“We can’t.”

Harry hastily threw up a couple of wards around the room. “There. Now no children will come by.” He tried to kiss Severus again but found himself being pushed away.

“It’s not the children. Harry, please, listen to me.”

With a sigh, Harry reluctantly stood up. “I should have known you’d want to move slowly. It’s all right, really. I just got carried away, is all.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I am no prude.” He held his face in his hands. “This is most mortifying.”

“Severus, what is it?” Harry asked, concerned.

Severus raised his head, his expression bleak. “For years, I have had the most incredibly vivid dreams of finally taking you, of finally sinking into you, feeling utterly complete…and the second we are satisfied, seemingly simultaneously, it all ends. You disappear. I’m somewhere else. It never happened. And it is then, when I am overcome by an inexplicable sense off loss, that I wake up.” He shook his head. “You realize it is only due to the wine that I will admit such a disgustingly sentimental bit of tripe.”

“Of course.”

Severus sighed. “I don’t understand any of this. I swear to you, I truly did despise you. You were an arrogant, obnoxious little twit.”

“Thanks. You’ll be pleased to know the feeling was entirely mutual.”

“And yet…ever since that kiss in the Shrieking Shack…”

“I know. I’ve wondered the same thing myself.” Harry sat back down next to Severus and took his hand. “I mean, I’ve never even been attracted to men. But you? You just feel right, like this should have been the way we were all along.”

“I don’t understand,” Severus repeated.

“You don’t have to understand. Just enjoy.” He paused. “You are enjoying it, aren’t you?”

A slow smirk spread over Severus’s face. “Oh yes. I am enjoying you immensely.”

As Harry pulled Severus down until their bodies were flush against each other, he decided he couldn’t agree more.

Harry sighed contentedly and breathed in the crisp autumn air. He couldn’t shake the feeling of utter rightness that was coursing through his veins. Despite Severus’s aggravated curses and complaints that there was still no cure for the potion, Harry had never felt stronger or more aware of the natural genius of his human body. With each step he rejoiced in the muscles gliding beneath his skin, the joints rotating just as they should. Each breath of air felt sweeter, his chest no longer ached, and the steady beating of his heart resonated like a gentle, comforting timpani.

It was enough to make him understand why Healers could be so fascinated in the marvels of the human body.

But his feelings were beyond physical. He was content with life – with how happy his children were, how he had worked out his feelings for Ginny with relatively little grief and anger, with Severus…

It was enough to make him laugh out loud with the sheer pleasure of it. He was no longer the Boy Who Lived. He was the Man Who Lived and Loved and Loved to Live and Lived to Love.

Still chuckling, Harry shook his head. If only Severus knew what was going through his brain right now. Harry knew he’d find himself on the short end of a (mildly harmful, but not particularly life-threatening) hex before he could so much as blink. Fortunately for him, Severus was still safely ensconced in his laboratory, insistent he had made some sort of breakthrough relating to the restorative properties of the liksgendal root…or something along those lines. Harry still tended to zone off whenever Severus got technical.

The sound of laughter broke Harry’s thoughts. Harry followed the noise and immediately felt his heart stop. There, high above the trees and zipping about on Harry’s broom as though she had not a care in the world, was Cassie. And his sons – his reckless, irresponsible sons – were standing below, clapping and laughing.

“Here, Cassie, catch this!” And then, just as Draco Malfoy had done so many years ago, Tristan hurled a small object into the air, and, to Harry’s horror, Cassie accepted the challenge and dove.

As far as Harry knew, Cassie had never even been on an adult broom before today. How could she, when it was only last year she was still crying over wetting the bed. Harry was beyond terrified. He didn’t even have a broom nearby to reach her, and already Cassie appeared to be losing her grip. He just wished there was a way to fly into the air without the aid of a broom.

Before the thought was even fully formed in his head, Harry found himself soaring into the air. He reached Cassie in mere seconds, swung a leg over the broom, and brought them both down to the safety of solid ground.

Cassie had tears streaming her face when they landed, and Tristan and Evander wore identical expressions of profound guilt.

Harry sighed and mentally prepared himself. Ginny, her mother’s daughter, was always so much better at these sorts of things. He hoped all their years together had prepared him for this. But, in the end, it wasn’t Ginny’s style of discipline that influenced him, but somebody else who had always had him on edge.

“Now then,” Harry hissed, his voice as smooth and deadly as a newly sharpened blade, “which one of you is going to tell me exactly why you felt it necessary to participate in such a theatrical, suicidal stunt?”

All three lips began quivering. Harry knew Severus would be proud.

“How’d the breakthrough go?”

Severus spared Harry a quick glance before handing him a vial. “That remains to be seen. Drink.”

Harry downed the contents in a single gulp. He grinned. “Hazelnut. Delicious.”

“The point of the potion is not to please your taste buds.”

“I know, I know.” Taking note that the worktable was mostly clean and with no potentially volatile potions resting on it, Harry hopped onto it. “Listen, did you ever think that maybe we’re going about this in the wrong way? That maybe we don’t have to work so hard to find a cure?”

Severus’s eyes darkened. “If this is more of that ridiculous bunk about you feeling at one with your body, or any of that hogwash…”

“I know, I know, the potion is still in my system,” Harry interrupted. “But I was thinking. Does the potion always have to link me with Ginny?”

“No. If you recall, I told you that you would feel the supposed benefits of the potion if you were in love with the individual who held the greatest amount of romantic love for you.”

“So I need to be in love with the person who is also in love with me.”

“I believe that is what I said.”

Harry nodded. “Just checking.” He stretched out his arms and knew the second Severus stepped into them that his suspicion was correct. “I learned today little Cassandra has inherited the Potter death-defying stunt gene.”

“Oh? I assume since you are perched rather calmly she has also inherited the Potter sheer bloody luck gene?”

Harry laughed and pulled Severus closer to him. There was something so comforting about being held by this man. “It was the strangest thing. Potter that she is, she took my broom. Being five, however, she was entirely out of her element. She was about to fall off by the time I reached her.” Harry was gratified by the tightening of Severus’s arms around his waist. “But it was the strangest thing. I was just thinking of how I needed a way to reach her, and before I knew it, I was flying up in the air and landed right on the broom.”

“Strange, but not unheard of,” Severus said. “There have been several reported cases of individuals being able to test the limits of their magic when a loved one is threatened.”

“Yes, I know. But what is strange is that all while it was happening, I was thinking of you.”

Severus stiffened. “Yes, well, you did once witness me flying without the aid of a broom. I suppose that’s natural.”

“True. But that’s not it. I felt like you were there with me. It was almost as if you were standing behind me and lifting me up. I wasn’t flying so much as being held by you…a thirty foot high, invisible, but a very real, very strong you.” He paused. “I think that, finally, the potion is working the way it’s supposed to.”

“I really do not know what you’re trying to imply.”

Harry silenced him with a kiss. “I think you do.”

“Harry…” Severus’s face was as vulnerable as Harry had ever seen it, almost desperate in its yearning.

“I’m in love with you. And you’re in love with me.”

Severus began to pull away. “I hardly think…”

“Don’t tell me it’s not real, because you wouldn’t be working on finding a cure for the potion for months if it was not a real force. I know, Severus.”

“Harry. Listen to me.”

“Why are you fighting this? It’s not a bad thing, you know, to love and be loved. I’ve heard that some people wait their entire lives to experience it.”

“I’m not one of those people. I never expected to find love…” Severus stopped. He looked furious with himself.

“But you did,” Harry said softly. He pressed a chaste kiss to Severus’s lips. “It’s alright. You can admit it.”

“Something’s missing,” Severus said, dazed. “I know what I feel, but I can’t help but feel this absence of something that would explain the why of it. And I’m…I fear that until I do, I’m always going to be waiting for that dream to come true, that you’ll suddenly disappear. I couldn’t take that, Harry. Merlin knows why, but you have become one of the most important fixtures of my life”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Harry attempted to smile, but the distressed look on Severus’s face diminished some of his mirth. “Look. It doesn’t make sense. We both know that. But why not just accept it? You deserve to be happy.”

“And I suppose you’re to be the key to my happiness?”

“I’d certainly try to be. Severus?”

After a moment, Severus sighed. “I suppose you won’t let me get a moment’s peace if I don’t agree to this, this…”

Harry grinned. “It’s called a relationship. And no.”

“Very well then. I accept.” Severus pressed a quick kiss to the top of Harry’s head and stepped back. “Now, get off of my work table. I have a good deal I need to accomplish before supper.”

“I was hoping we could accomplish it on the table,” Harry said, spreading his legs in what he hoped was a seductive manner.

“Hardly. Don’t think this development will stop me from finding a cure.”

Harry blinked. “But there’s no need.”

“Harry, as idealistic as you may be, not all relationships work out. I will not take the risk that you will die simply because you fell out of love with me.”

“I wouldn’t. And what about you?”

Severus shook his head slowly. “My feelings have been fixed for fifteen years, fifteen years when I only communicated with you through letters. I don’t think they’re at any risk of changing, now that I have you in the flesh. You will most certainly be the one to leave me.”

Harry hopped off the table and pulled Severus close to him. “I’m going to prove you wrong,” he said between kisses. “This is going to work. Just you watch.”

Severus didn’t say anything, but Harry knew his answer was in his kiss.

The children were asleep, the house was clean, and Harry wanted nothing more than to take Severus to bed. But Severus was stubbornly refusing to leave his laboratory. He didn’t say anything, but Harry knew that old nightmare was still haunting him.

“Severus? I’m heading to bed.”

Severus nodded. “I’ll be up once I’m finished with this.”

Harry looked around the table. He was no potions expert, but even he could tell when there were no ingredients laid out and no fire underneath the empty cauldron.

“Severus, you know, just because we’ve acknowledged our feelings doesn’t mean we actually have to have sex tonight. We could just sleep together...I mean really, just sleep.”

Severus snorted. “You think a great deal of my self control. If we share a bed, we will most certainly be fucking in it.”

Oh. “Well, then there’s always the guestroom. Or you could use that same cot that’s been in my room.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He took a deep breath. “This is absurd. I’m no coward.” He looked defiantly at Harry, as though he expected him to insist otherwise.

“Never a coward,” Harry murmured, stroking Severus’s cheek. “I would never think that of you. But this is important. And I’d never force you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.”

Severus leaned into the caress. “I’ve wanted you for a very long time, Harry Potter.”

“Then have me,” Harry breathed into his ear. “I’m yours.”

“And if the darkness takes you from me?”

Harry smiled. “I’ll just hold onto you so tightly nothing could tear us apart.”

This was it.

Harry could never remember being so excited to get into bed with someone. Well, really, his only lover had been Ginny, and he had just about thrown up from nerves their first time. But right now, Harry only felt excitement, joy, and, oh right, heady arousal.

“More,” he whispered into Severus’s ear. “Please.”

“Yes,” Severus agreed, and moved Harry until the back of his legs hit the bed and they both fell onto it. Not once did his lips stop roaming over Harry’s face and neck. With a growl, he hastily pulled Harry’s jumper over his head and latched onto his nipple.

Harry groaned and thrust up, desperate to make any contact with Severus. His lover had mercy on him and ground his hips downward, causing ripples of glorious friction to course through Harry’s body.

For the first time, Harry understood why he had so often heard lovemaking being referred to as a dance. That was truly what this was – a well-rehearsed, intimate, rhythmic dance with smooth, undulating movements. With each article of clothing that was removed, Harry grew more and more confident of his role in this dance, and moved together with Severus, their motions becoming faster in a dramatic crescendo.

Severus took great care with Harry, using more lube than was probably necessary and slowly stretching him with his fingers. A small voice in Harry’s mind was squealing indignantly that he should be quite embarrassed, to be writhing on the sheets while a man had his fingers up his bum, but fortunately the voice was very small and Harry’s especially eager prick silenced it right away. Harry groaned and arched into Severus’s touch. It was wonderful, but he needed more.

“In me,” Harry whimpered. “Now. Need your cock in me now.”

As Severus slowly slipped his prick into Harry’s entrance, Harry wondered how he had ever gone without. It had been so long since he had felt…

No, that didn’t make sense. How could this feel familiar? This was completely new, new but wonderful, but certainly nothing he had ever felt before.

But somehow, as Severus began to thrust into him, brushing against his prostate every other stroke, Harry was overwhelmed with a sense of not only rightness, but déjà vu. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he had done this before, had felt Severus’s hot, sweaty body rubbing against his, had heard his guttural moans and the filthy words of encouragement whispered into his ear. This was his Severus, had been all along…how could he have ever forgotten?

Severus’s thrusts became less controlled and more forceful, and Harry couldn’t hold back any longer. He came with a shout, his come shooting up on his chest.

He barely even noticed Severus’s own climax a second later with the memories that suddenly started whirling through his mind.

Severus, dressed as an angel, enraged at not seeing Harry’s name in that heavy tome.

Sipping tea at a small table and looking out the window at the clouds…clouds that would change shape into Harry’s loved ones on earth.

Sitting inside by the fire in a deep depression, staring at the rain, hearing Severus’s deep voice sweep over him and somehow, reigniting that small flame within him that had been in such danger of being completely blown out, being left feeling warmer than ever.

The taste of wine on his lips as Severus’s voice brought him to climax.

Being in bed with Severus, limbs entangled, and falling…

“Severus!” Harry gasped.

Severus seemed to be encountering a similar sensation, for his eyes looked just as wild and confused as Harry felt.

“We’ve done this before,” Harry said, his voice full of astonished certainty. “But we weren’t here. We were – ”

“Dead,” Severus said. Harry had never seen him look so stunned. “Those weren’t dreams. They were memories.”

Harry was glad he was already lying down on the bed, because there was no way he would still be standing at this point. “And I tripped this time…so you didn’t die, and then you could come back to save me.”

“And by doing so facilitate an amicable divorce between you and your wife, whose affair did not progress far enough for her get pregnant, thus preventing a female version of the Dark Lord from being born,” Severus murmured, sounding stunned. “Not to mention children who managed to maintain their innocence.”

“Well, nobody can ever complain about my clumsiness again, I suppose,” Harry said with a shaky laugh. “It’s strange. I feel like I remember most things, but there have to be things I’m missing…and it’s as though whatever happened in that other life didn’t actually happen to me, but that I was watching a play that was based on one of Skeeter’s exposés.”

Severus pulled Harry close to him. “I imagine you only remember what you need to remember in order to make sense of the experience. Anything that is unnecessary, or that would complicate your emotions was forgotten.”

A sudden image of an exquisitely beautiful woman with hair that billowed behind her until it became the wind flashed in Harry’s mind. You know what you need to know. The vision dissipated as quickly as it arrived.

“Like the names of my children,” Harry whispered. “I just know they weren’t Tristan, Evander, and Cassie, but I can’t imagine what they were. And I feel like I must have been older when I died…so much must have been different.” He gasped as a thought occurred to him. “You died before I even had a chance to really talk to you!” Suddenly panicked, as though Severus were now only seconds away from bleeding to death on their bed, Harry gripped him tightly. “You died!”

Severus chuckled hoarsely. “As did you.”

“But you…you left me alone.”

“I hardly believe you were actually thinking along those lines at the moment. You married and had three children.”

Harry shook his head. It was terrifying, really. “Yes, but it was all wrong. Everything would have been wrong.”

“Clearly, as Time saw fit to allow us to re-sit our exam.”

Harry giggled, a little hysterical. “Time was a far kinder teacher than you.”

“Oh, was there ever any doubt?”

Harry tugged Severus’s face down to his. “The reason we fell into this so easily is because we already worked it out. Up there,” he whispered against his lips.

Severus met his with a searing kiss. When they finally parted, both panting, Severus stroked Harry’s cheek in what could only be described as a loving caress.

“Don’t even think of leaving again,” Harry said. “Not this time.”

“No,” Severus agreed. “This time is ours alone.”

EPILOGUE

Harry stretched out on the grass and gazed up at the sky. It was a gorgeous May day, one of the last few peaceful ones before Tristan and Evander returned from Hogwarts. Cassie was an angel when she had Daddy and her Severus twisted around her little finger, but that was not likely to last once her brothers were back at the house.

So strange to think that it had been nearly three years since Severus had walked into his bedroom, furious at not being aware how close to death Harry was. And now, here they were, so much the picture of damn domestic tranquility it nearly made Harry himself sick.

It was astounding how perfectly everything had worked out. Ginny was married to Neville, who had been in love with her since their Hogwarts days. He treated her like a queen, just what she deserved. The children adored him, just as much as they loved Severus.

Now that was bizarre…children who idolized Severus. It just went to show how much could change in two decades. Evander wrote Severus more than he did Harry and even requested to come home so he could see the look on Severus’s face when he told him his potions professor said he showed all the signs of being as talented in the subject as his stepfather. Cassie seemed to make it her personal mission to crack a smile out of the dour man, and was often quite successful. Harry took great pleasure in watching his precious girl curled up with Severus as he read her a story before bed. Severus claimed it was only so she was exposed to proper literature instead of the “typical juvenile fiction geared toward curly-haired twits with as much sense as a flobberworm,” but Harry knew he enjoyed it just as much. Tristan was quieter in his admiration, being the manly age of 14, but they too had a close bond.

Harry smiled contentedly. He truly was a lucky man – how many others could say that Time had given them such a magnificent second chance as this one? At times he was still afraid it would all be snatched away from him, that he would wake up and realize it had all been a dream while those dream memories had been the reality. At first, these moods would leave him in a blind panic, and all he could see was the crimson blood seeping out of Severus’s neck and onto the filthy wooden floor. But now he knew how to handle such episodes – he simply reached for Severus, held him close, and listen to his heart beat as he pressed his lips against the pulse point in his neck.

Severus was right. Nothing would separate them now. Even if Time were so cruel as to revoke her precious gift, Harry knew the two of them would put up a damn good fight.

Speaking of…

Harry sat up and tugged Severus’s hand until he too was crouched next to him on the ground. “Hey, you.”

Severus pressed a kiss to Harry’s temple and held out a vial with a golden liquid in it. “Your health.”

Harry took the vial. The potion glimmered in the sunlight. “What’s this?”

“Your results from this morning. The last potion appears to have eradicated all the toxins from your body. You are completely cured.”

Harry let out a whoop of delight and hugged Severus tightly. “I knew you would figure it out! I’m so proud of you!”

Severus pulled back, his expression puzzled. “I would have thought you’d be more relieved at no longer being the victim of a love-sick brewer’s fancies.”

“What difference does it make?” Harry asked with a grin. “I still feel exactly the same as I did with the damn thing running through my veins.”

“Oh?”

Harry nodded happily. “Joyous. Warm. Light. As though I could take over the world.” He kissed Severus tenderly. “In love.”

Severus’s jaw dropped, and Harry braced himself for a cutting remark that had the potential of ruining this delightful mood, something on how Harry would not always feel that way, or that he was most likely still suffering some lingering effects. But instead he simply drew Harry close to him and pointed up at the clouds.

“That one looks quite like you on your broom, don’t you think? Pity there’s also a bludger cloud right behind you.”

Harry laughed out loud. Watching the clouds pass by on a perfectly peaceful day with Severus. What leisurely lives they led.

Fortunately for them, they had all the time in the world.