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Harry watched the exchange between Voldemort and Snape with a morbid fascination. When Nagini attacked the Potions Professor-turned-Headmaster, Harry was in agony as he waited for Voldemort to leave. He had known…ever since Snape had revealed that he was the Half-Blood Prince, Harry had known that he wasn't a monster. He didn't know what Snape was, but he knew that much.
So when Voldemort was gone, Harry grasped onto this little piece of knowledge and escaped from the cloying hands of his friends. He threw open the door to the secret passage in the Shrieking Shack and raced to Snape's side, skidding to a halt on his knees. He ignored Snape's grasping fingers as he began to dig frantically through the many pockets of the man's cloak.
"Why the hell does he have so many pockets?" Harry demanded in a shriek-y voice that wasn't his own. Hermione and Ron joined him beside the professor's body.
"Harry-"
"Do something about his bleeding, Hermione!"
"But, Harry-"
"Now!" Harry shouted. The intelligent witch jumped slightly but pulled her wand and cast a few rudimentary healing spells that slowed the bleeding from the gaping wound in Snape's throat.
"But, Harry," She tried again. "The poison…"
Harry scowled. "I'm working on it." He slumped with relief when his fingers found the solid, smooth lump of a Bezoar in one of the pockets. It wasn't the antidote he wanted, the one he'd been so sure Snape kept on his person, but he hoped it would do. Already the man's ragged breathing had become almost nonexistent, despite his slowed blood loss.
With a silent prayer that this would work a second time on a second person, Harry withdrew the stone from Snape's pocket and forced it into his mouth. Snape swallowed a little involuntarily, and, after a breathless moment, sat up from the dusty floor, sucking in a deep, agonizing breath. Harry caught him as he tried to fall back again.
Snape gripped the front of Harry's his dirty, bloodied shirt. "Potter," He wheezed.
Harry tried to shush him with a trembling hand, but Snape pushed the hand away.
"Look at me," Snape croaked.
Harry, who was hoping for some enlightening moment of clarity, hoping Snape would proclaim something that would vindicate his belief that the Potions Master wasn't the monster everyone saw him as, stared deeply into the glazed black eyes. He frowned as those black eyes rolled back and Snape passed out in his arms.
"Well, that just sort of figures, doesn't it?" He looked at his friends, who were looking on in something akin to horror. "Come on, let's get him to Hogwarts. We'll figure everything else out later."
It took another few minutes of coaxing to get his friends to cooperate, the voice of Voldemort carrying on the air and scaring them into immobility, but they did finally relent. Together, and with the greatest of care, Harry and his friends gingerly carried the unconscious form of Dumbledore's murderer into the secret passage that would take them to Hogwarts. About halfway down the passage, Hermione uttered a startled shout. Harry, who had been walking backwards and watching their path, turned to see her staring at their professor. Black eyes had cracked partially open, and a silver liquid had begun to leak from his eyes, nose, and mouth.
Harry stopped moving, and his friends, who were holding Snape's legs, stopped as well. He shifted Snape's weight and brushed away the hair on his face.
"Snape? What-?"
"Take them."
And with that, black eyes fluttered shut again. Harry sighed and looked at Hermione.
"I think they're memories, can you collect them?"
The witch nodded and passed off the leg she'd been holding. After a moment of digging in the magical 'bag of everything' she came up with a large-ish phial. She spelled the memories into the phial and handed it to Harry, who pocketed it. They continued towards the castle, and the Hogwarts Infirmary.
When they'd reached the Hospital Wing, Harry and his friends set Snape on the nearest empty bed. Poppy Pomfrey bustled over to them, having been attending to the many other injured or dying. She gasped upon seeing their burden lying prone in the bed.
"What is that beast doing in my Wing?! I want him out of here!"
Harry bowed up, furrowing his brow. "He's hurt, and he needs help!"
"I don't care!" Pomfrey screeched. "I won't help him, not after all he's done!"
Harry stood to his full height, and for the first time in his life, he decided to act like the bellowing general everyone expected him to be. "You will help this man, Poppy Pomfrey!" He shouted, his voice echoing off the suddenly silent Wing. "So help me, you will do your duty by the school and save it's Headmaster! Never you mind who he is or what he's done, he is your patient and you will save his life!"
Pomfrey looked ready to dismiss Harry entirely, but Ron and Hermione, bless them, stood up beside him. She still seemed prepared to argue the matter further. Then Voldemort's voice echoed across the grounds again, relaying just how little time they had for such trivialities. She slumped and gave a bitter nod. Her wand rose and she began casting a litany of spells at the unconscious Death Eater.
Harry, seeing that his work was done here, took the phial of memories from his pocket. He only knew of one place to view them. He sent up another silent prayer that he would be able to gain access to Snape's new office.
-
After the Final Battle, Harry had hoped to find Snape still in the Hospital Wing. He didn't know what he would say to a man who had sacrificed so much, but it didn't matter. Snape had left as soon as news of Voldemort's death had spread through the half-destroyed school. At some point in the aftermath, he'd regained consciousness and slipped silently into the night. He stayed gone for several months. By the time he returned, his name had been cleared (thanks in no small part to Harry's efforts) and Minerva McGonagall had taken up the post of Headmistress for the recently rebuilt Hogwarts.
Harry, who felt no small measure of guilt for the way most of the Wizarding World felt towards Snape, watched from afar for a few years as the man resurfaced and struggled to establish himself as a small-business owner. Namely, he tried and failed to open his own mail-order Potions business, but received mostly hate-mail, a fact that was widely and gleefully published in the Daily Prophet. With his business a bust, he sought employment at a few apothecaries, but found that even those who wanted to hire him wouldn't for fear it would drive sales down. This, too, was published gaily in the news.
Harry made the effort of writing a letter to the newspaper, pleading with the Wizarding World to look again at the man he saw as the true hero of the war, but the letter never saw print. Apparently, it was just easier for people to believe the worst of someone, even though the court records were open to the public, and anyone who cared to look could see the transcripts of the memories Harry had entered into evidence. But no one cared. With Voldemort gone, they needed a new monster, and they found it in Severus Snape.
Finally, under urging from the resident Defense Master and Head of Gryffindor, Minerva McGonagall personally invited Snape to return to his post at Hogwarts as the Potions Master and Head of Slytherin. Horace, who had never wanted to come out of retirement in the first place, was more than happy to give up the post. He felt he had done his duty, had gained more than enough contacts to live off of comfortably, and wanted out of teaching. He had only come back after the war because he thought he'd owed it to Dumbledore's memory.
Five years after the war had ended, Severus Snape returned to Hogwarts. Despite several angry letters from parents, the homecoming was very mild. No students were pulled out of the school, all of the scheduled First Years arrived, and in general the world continued to spin. Snape, after a stern, no-nonsense talking-to by the new Headmistress, returned to his classes as if he had never left. His behavior towards his students was all-together milder, and he was no longer allowed his blatant favoritism regarding his House, but otherwise it was all scarily familiar.
Particularly, his behavior towards Harry, who had done so much to save him, protect him, and generally preserve his good name, didn't change at all. In fact, Harry thought it might have gotten worse, though this wasn't much of a leap, when he considered that the last time they had truly 'conversed', he had been in his Sixth Year. Now 23, Harry did his best to ignore Snape's unguarded hatred of him, and pretended for months that it didn't bother him. In fact, he did everything to ignore Snape in general; if the man wanted nothing to do with him, he would be happy to oblige. That is, until Snape began not only undermining his teaching, but outright rebelling (and encouraging the rebelliousness of his students) against it.
"Mister Roget, please remain behind," Harry called as his sixth year class was packing away their things. The arrogant Slytherin groaned obnoxiously loud and slumped into his chair. Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatic response to such a simple request.
When the class was gone, Harry stood up and rounded his desk to lean against the front. "You had a detention last night, as I recall."
"Yes, Professor," Roget replied, looking bored.
"You missed said detention," Harry pointed out. "You realize this means you'll have to serve another tonight, and I'll be taking points from your House."
The young man straightened, no longer looking bored. "That's not fair!" He exclaimed. "I served my detention last night! Professor Snape made me serve it with him!"
Harry scowled but tried not to let the depth of his anger show. "You may go," He said. "I will discuss this with your Head of House. If I find out you're lying, I will have to take this matter to the Headmistress, and your parents will be called."
Roget rolled his eyes and stood up. "Whatever." He left the room.
Harry waited a few minutes to be sure none of his students would see him when he went storming down to the dungeons. He couldn't believe Snape had not only reassigned his detention without asking him first, but hadn't bothered to tell him afterwards, either. It was quickly becoming clear that Snape held no respect for him as a teacher. For the last year Snape had made a terrible habit of rewarding points Harry had taken (even to Harry's own House, so there was obviously no favoritism), arguing every point taken from Slytherin as if it were a personal attack, and intermittently being an ass or completely ignoring Harry. Now he'd begun undermining Harry's teachings in this new and aggravating way, and it was just a little too much for Harry to take.
When the Wizarding Savior was sure the corridors would be mostly empty, with the students back in their dorms or on the grounds before dinner, he left his classroom. The door closed and locked magically behind him, perhaps a little too hard, and he began the stoic walk to the dungeons. His anger boiled darkly beneath the surface. He was absolutely done putting up with Snape's mistreatment. They didn't have to be friends, but he was sure as hell going to make the man treat him like a colleague.
-
Harry didn't bother to knock on the door to the Potions Classroom. He knew the last class was well over, and even any students who might have remained behind for various reasons would be gone by now. He slammed into the room, slamming the door shut, and stormed up to the desk at the front. Snape, for his part, didn't even bother to look up, he simply continued to grade the phials on his desk.
"What the hell is your problem, Snape?!" Harry shouted, slamming his hands onto the desk.
"Get out of my classroom, Potter, until you can address me with some respect," Snape snarled, still grading the phials.
Harry resisted the urge to sweep the potions onto the floor in his anger. He'd carefully called Snape "Professor" for over a year, being sure never to slip up, with no reward. He had always been addressed as Potter, with no care for his well-earned title, but of course the first time he slipped, Snape used it against him. He snarled.
"Why the hell should I show you any sort of respect?" He demanded. "As far as I can tell, you haven't earned any from me! Certainly, any you earned before coming back to Hogwarts has been good and lost thanks to your constant antagonistic attitude towards me."
Snape didn't answer, simply set down the last phial to be graded and stood from his desk. Apparently, he'd opted to ignore Harry this time. Harry normally wasn't sure if he preferred this response, or the legendary screaming matches they'd had once or twice since Snape's return. This time, however, he'd have greatly preferred the screaming match. At least then he might have gotten some answers. He refused to give up.
"Damn it, Snape, I want to know why the hell you've taken your undermining of my position to a new low! Why the hell can't you just accept that I'm a teacher at this school as well and I do a damn good job?"
Snape still didn't respond as he moved calmly around the desk, passed Harry wordlessly, and started towards the door to the classroom. Harry followed closely.
"Answer me, Snape!"
Harry reached out and grabbed Snape's arm. Snape retaliated by swinging around and grabbing Harry's lapel, probably intending to push him away. Harry, months of training with Kingsley kicking in, knocked away the hands that grabbed him, grabbed Snape's lapel in turn, and shoved the man roughly back against the door to the classroom, pinning him there with his own body.
His anger began to dissolve as his instincts slithered back to the back of his mind. He swallowed thickly as Snape flicked his head, getting the hair out of his face. Snape was scowling violently, but Harry hardly noticed. Their actions had caused the collar of Snape's robes to loosen a few buttons, and it had revealed the pale scar on the man's throat. The memory of Snape bleeding out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack destroyed what was left of Harry's anger, and he looked back up into the angry black eyes of the Potions Master.
At first, he felt guilt for his anger, but this was swallowed up by a sudden and unexpected wave of gratitude that the man was here for him to be angry at. He had never really dealt with the emotions that had swarmed through him in the Shrieking Shack, and they flooded him now. The fear that Snape would die before Harry got an explanation, the panic at not finding an antidote, the relief when the Bezoar did its job against the poison…
It was the relief that overwhelmed Harry now, and he was suddenly very happy Snape was here. He expressed this immense emotion by placing what had probably been intended to be an incredibly chaste kiss (Harry was never quite sure what he'd meant to do in that moment) on Snape's lips. Unfortunately for them both, the moment their lips met Harry felt a spike of lightning that felt like fire light up his spine. He pressed his lips more firmly against Snape's, melting a little into the terribly one-sided kiss, as never-before-imagined desire coursed through his veins. Only when he realized that Snape was in no way responding to the contact did he pull away. As soon as he did, the spell of his unexpected desire was broken, and he stared at Snape in confusion. Where the hell had that come from? Since when was he attracted to Snape?
"If you're counting on my life-debt to prevent me hexing you, I wouldn't. I will hex you in a heartbeat if you do not stop manhandling me this moment, Mister Potter," Snape growled angrily.
Harry frowned. "Your what?" Clarity crashed over him, and he tightened his grip as his scowl returned. "Are you bloody thick?! You mean to tell me that this whole time you've been treating me like shit because you think you owe me something and were waiting on me to collect?!" He pushed off of the man as if scalded. "That's the stupidest- You don't owe me anything, Snape!"
Snape sneered as he straightened his clothes roughly. "Why else would you molest me in my own classroom if you didn't think I owed you something, Potter?"
Harry was flabbergasted at the insinuation. "I didn't molest you! It was a kiss, and I did it because I'd wanted to, you git! Not out of some imagined debt!" He pulled out his wand and waved it distractedly. The door opened, shoving Snape violently aside. "Merlin, you're an idiot!" He stormed from the classroom. Never mind his momentary lapse in sanity, there was nothing about that man he could ever be prevailed upon to find attractive.
-
A few days later, Harry still refused to meet Snape's eye. It wasn't as if the man made an abundance in effort, but he did at least appear to be trying to catch his eye. Harry was having none of it. He hadn't expected Snape to rejoice in the stupid kiss (Harry certainly wasn't), but he had never expected the man to so baldly accuse him of attempted rape. Even if he hadn't used the word 'molest', his point had been clear. He'd thought Harry was trying to coax some physical retribution for some stupid debt that Harry was pretty sure didn't actually exist.
It was following lunch almost a week later that this new thing with Snape came to a head. Harry was walking down the corridor to his classroom when he discovered the man waiting outside said room. His first thought was to turn around and walk away, but he had classes to teach, and he'd be damned if he would let Snape make him into a bad teacher on top of everything else. He continued to his door stoically and opened it, allowing the frightened students who'd amassed around the Potions Master to enter before him. He refused to even acknowledge the Potions Master until the man stepped into the open doorway, preventing his own entry.
"What do you want, Snape?"
"We need to talk, Potter."
Harry scoffed. "Pretty sure we did plenty of that in your classroom. I'm done talking, and I'm done with you. If you want to undermine my post, that's fine, but you aren't going to prevent me doing my job in the first place." He pushed past Snape and addressed his Third Year Gryffindor/Slytherin class. "Turn to page 394. We'll be looking at werewolves today."
Snape, who was apparently not done, followed Harry up to his desk. "I will not be ignored, Potter," He hissed, moving in front of Harry.
"Unfortunate, Snape, since that's exactly what I plan to do about you," Harry said. "Please leave, I have a class to conduct."
Harry turned to address his class, only to have his elbow grabbed roughly. He fought down the urge to retaliate in a manner not dissimilar to Snape's own response to a comparable move a week ago. Instead, he let himself be swung around into firm arms and a firmer kiss. At first, the same flash of desire he'd felt the last time had him melting into the kiss, but he stiffened when the word 'molest' echoed deafeningly in his mind. He pulled away sharply and glowered.
"Please, leave," Harry repeated angrily.
Snape scowled, but he did release him. With the customary billowing of his robes, he swept from the room, ignoring the shocked and stupid stares of Harry's class. Harry winced along with his students as the door to his classroom slammed shut with much more force than was necessary. He sighed as his class turned back in their seats and several hands shot into the air. Damn.
"I will not be answering questions about what just occurred between me and your Potions Professor, so you can put your hands down," He told the Third Years bitterly.
Slowly, the hands started to lower, as if none of them were quite sure they didn't want to try asking anyway. Harry stifled a groan as he waved his wand at the board. Damn that man and his delectable lips. He'd be lucky if he managed to get any one of these kids to pay attention to the lesson after that little display. Never mind what would happen once the rest of the school found out Snape had kissed him. Harry stifled another groan as one of the bolder Slytherin/Gryffindor pairs raised their hands again seconds into his presentation, as if Harry wouldn't know that both girls (sisters, no less) only had questions regarding the damnable kiss. Thanks to Snape, this day was already turning to hell, and it would no doubt worsen as the day wore on. Damn that man.
-
That evening, Harry was making slow progress with his marking. He still had his Fifth through Seventh Year essays to grade, and his mind kept trying to wander. For the most part, it was the two kisses which invaded his thoughts, and he had to keep reminding himself that Snape had been the first to reject him. Second to this, he kept thinking of his students. Rumors were abound throughout the school about the scandalous kiss Snape had laid on him in front of students. Popular opinion seemed to be that Snape had tried to poison him with a love potion and Harry had valiantly fought its effects.
This was to say nothing of his public rejection's effect on Slytherin and Gryffindor relations. Excepting a few staunch friendships that crossed the House boundaries, most of the students in all the Houses were at each other's throats. Three Houses thought Snape had done something villainous, and Slytherin stood in stern defense of their Head of House. Harry almost wished he hadn't rejected Snape, at least not in front of his students. It would have prevented this sudden agony of unrest amongst the students. And worse, this evening started the weekend, giving the students time to build up their fragile walls of hatred towards the Potions Master.
The Gryffindor Head of House looked up in frustration as a bright glow suffused his office. What could it be now? He started when first the head, and then the body of a beautiful, luminescent doe walked through the closed door into his office. It stepped lightly across the room and stopped in front of his desk. What followed was the longest message he had ever seen a Patronus deliver, and it was in Snape's soothing baritone.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have accused you as I did. I kept expecting you to act as your father once did, by demanding something in repayment of my life-debt, and when you didn’t, I took your kiss to mean that was your demand. It never occurred to my shadowy heart that you might actually have other reasons for such a thing. I still don't know what you could want with a monster like me, but you should know that I felt the same wave of desire that you did. I wanted you, Pot-Harry. I still do. If you still feel the same, I'll be in the Hog's Head this evening. Come or don't, I only wish to speak with you. Perhaps we can shed some light on what has so far happened."
Harry stared at the doe until it vanished in a silver vapor, and then continued to stare at the place it had been. Never in his life did he imagine Snape even knew the words that constituted an apology, but here it was. Severus Snape, Potions Master, Death Eater, and all-around git had openly and unabashedly apologized to him. And he wanted to talk. 'Why' didn't really matter to Harry at this point. Snape was willing to open the lines of communication, and that was good enough for the stubborn Gryffindor.
Setting aside the marking he had no hope of finishing tonight, Harry summoned his cloak and left his office.
-
The night air was brisk. Harry had gone to the effort of walking the whole way to Hogsmeade, an aboveground foray that he hadn't made since he was a student. It took very little for him to recall the path to the Hog's Head from his Fifth Year, and by the time he arrived his cheeks were flushed from the cold. He walked into the disingenuous pub and gave a stiff nod to its proprietor. It still baffled him, in spite of the family resemblance, that this man could not only be related to, but be the brother of, the late, great Albus Dumbledore. Idly, as he scanned the pub for his quarry, Harry wondered if Aberforth had as many middle names as Dumbledore had had.
On his second sweep of the dimly lit tavern, Harry spotted Snape drinking alone about halfway down the bar. He was nursing what appeared to be a single shot of hard liquor, and looking for all the world as if he didn't expect anyone to interrupt him. Harry moved towards him, part of him screaming to turn back before it was too late. Snape was a mystery he didn't quite think he was up to solving, but Harry stood resolute. He had come this far, after all. He sat down on the bar stool beside the Potions Master and waved Aberforth down.
"A butterbeer, please," Harry said, laying a sickle on the filthy bar. The silver piece disappeared, replaced by two knuts, and the elder wizard set the open bottle down with a clunk. Harry caught the sideways glance of his companion and mentally shrugged it off. "I don't drink." He said mildly.
Snape grunted and they returned to their former silence. Harry wanted to be angry; Snape had been the one who said he wanted to talk, after all, and he felt he should still be pissed about the molestation accusation. Despite his best effort, Harry found he couldn't be angry about either thing. He knew who Snape was, an inexpressive man, and he knew Snape had apologized. So, he waited. Eventually, his patience paid off.
"I am truly sorry for my accusation," Snape mumbled, taking a sip of whatever he was drinking.
Harry nodded, picking at the wrapper on his own drink. "I know. I appreciate it."
Again, there was silence. This time, it was Harry who broke it.
"So…a doe?"
The answer startled him.
"I was in love with your mother."
"Really?"
"No," Snape said quietly, taking another sip of his alcohol. "But it makes for a better story. No one blames you for betraying someone who slighted you in love. When it's family, though, someone you truly thought of as a sister…well, then you're a monster."
Harry frowned as Snape finished off his drink. "I don't think you're a monster," He said clearly, turning on his stool to face the man. "I think you were a confused kid who needed someone to make him feel powerful, and the Death Eaters took advantage of that."
Snape looked at him sideways for a long moment. "Aberforth has rooms here."
Harry gave a slow nod. "Okay," He agreed. He didn't think about how dirty the rooms must be, or what he was agreeing to, he simply agreed.
Once the word was out, there was no turning back. The Wizarding Savior turned back to his butterbeer and gulped some of it as Snape summoned the barkeep back to them. No words were exchanged as he watched. The Potions Master merely laid a galleon on the bar and gestured to the small row of keys to one side of the shelves filled with liquor. Aberforth took the gold coin, moved to the keys, and returned with one that had been halfway through the row. He laid it on the bar, and Snape swept it up, turning to Harry.
The Gryffindor took one last swallow, half-wishing there was something stronger in the bottle, then set the butterbeer down on the bar. He turned on his stool, and let Snape stand first before joining him. After a moment's hesitation, Snape reached out and intertwined their fingers, refusing to meet Harry's searching green gaze. Harry followed Snape to the stairs across from the bar. The Wizarding Savior sucked in a steadying breath as he followed the Death Eater up the stairs towards their room.
-
Harry worried the whole way up the stairs and down the corridor that his nerves would make him freeze. As Snape made quick work of the door to which the number on their key corresponded, Harry became fairly convinced that he couldn't even rise to the occasion. He need not have worried.
Snape led the way into the smallish room and tossed the key onto a little table standing in the corner behind the door. Harry dislodged their entwined hands and turned to close the door, drawing another steadying breath. As soon as the latch clicked, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, only to find himself pressed back against the solid wood, thin lips covering his. A sharp tongue slithered between their parted lips to tangle with his, while strong hands grabbed his and held them above his head.
Harry melted completely into the kiss, his body grinding back as the taller wizard moved against him. He couldn't have said how long they kissed, leaning against the door for support, before Snape started moving him away and towards the bed. Harry felt his robes come loose under the ministrations of his lover’s deft fingers, and he shrugged it off before turning his attentions to the Potions Master's tiny buttons. He struggled for over a minute, as they kissed beside the bed, before pulling away in frustration.
He glared at the infinitesimally small clasps. "How do you-"
Snape chuckled warmly, the sound washing over Harry and sending a shiver up his spine, and withdrew his wand. A silent spell later, and the Potions Master was shucking his robes onto the unswept floor, his wand clattering onto the floorboards with them. The passionate kiss resumed as Harry sat on the bed and Snape straddled his thighs. Harry moved back on the small bed, still engaging fervidly in the clash of their lips and tongues, and Snape followed, crawling along the mattress with him.
They each removed their own shirts, tossing them onto the floor without ever diverting their attentions from one another. Harry drew Snape’s body against his as he lay back against the pillows. He hissed as their chests collided. Their lips parted and he listened to the cloying breaths of his lover as he turned to marking the scar on a pale throat.
"Merlin, Severus," He moaned as short nails scraped at the skin of his sides. "I want you."
His lips were captured again, and Harry devoted his attention to the belt buckle that gnawed at his stomach. Snape shifted his own weight on his knees and reached down as well, brushing his hand over the bulge pressing uncomfortably beneath Harry’s slacks. Harry groaned loudly into the kiss as he felt himself explode in his slacks without warning.
Rather than alert Snape further to his failing, he prayed he would stay firm as he finally pulled the belt free of its clasp. His fingers grazed what felt like a burning stone as he tackled the black button of Snape's pants, and Snape pulled away with a shout. Both of their fingers ceased their movement as Snape shuddered above him. The moment ended with Snape pulling away entirely to sit on the edge of the bed.
"I'm sorry," Snape murmured, holding his head in his hands.
Harry smiled a little in relief, realizing what had happened. He sat up. "Me, too."
Snape turned his head slightly to glower at him. "You didn't-"
"Before you did," Harry interrupted, blushing.
This seemed to relieve some of the Potions Master's anxiety. He let his hands fall into his lap as he smirked at Harry. "I am sorry. I had intended to… It's been awhile."
Harry blushed further. "I haven't ever…" He admitted. He straightened slightly when he received an incredulous stare in response. "It's not like I've had a lot of opportunities."
Snape moved back on to the bed beside him. "I'm sorry," He repeated, leaning against the headboard. "I just assumed that, since you are the Savior of the Wizarding World, you had people throwing themselves at your feet. I thought you had your pick of anyone to be with."
Harry sighed, leaning against the headboard as well. "I suppose I do. I'm just not interested in being a prize, or a notch on a bedpost."
"You mean this wasn't-"
"I had hoped not," Harry said firmly. "But if that's what you wanted, I wouldn't push you. I want you, Severus, but not at the expense of your comfort."
The Potions Master turned slightly to look at him. "I think I might love you, Harry Potter."
Harry chuckled. "It's a bit too soon for that, I think. But I do have feelings for you."
"And I you," Severus agreed readily. "Though, you're right that it's too soon."
They settled comfortably into silence. Harry let his mind wander until he felt himself begin to drift. He looked at Snape a little sheepishly.
"How long do we have the room?"
Snape shrugged. "The night, if we want it. Aberforth will give me whatever change I'm owed when we leave. We could stay the weekend, if we had the mind."
Harry smiled in relief. "Good. Sleep?"
"As you wish, Mister Potter."
After some decidedly awkward maneuvering, the two professors shifted around enough to get the blanket out from under them. After a short, silent discussion that passed from green to black, they agreed to sleep atop the sheets. Together, they curled up under the topmost blanket, facing one another. Pale arms held a tan back, creating gentle, nonsensical circles with feather-light fingertips. Tan, calloused hands held onto pale shoulders, drawing their chests close together.
Together they slept, and when they woke in the light of the morning sun, their bodies ached for one another in a way neither had ever experienced. The burgeoning relationship was consummated on the dusty floor after they fell off the small bed in their desperation to feel and be felt. When they returned to Hogwarts hours later, it was hand-in-hand, and the students had new rumors to spread.