Fallen by Jade

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters belong to J.K. Rowling and others. All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story archived at http://www.snarry.net/viewstory.php?sid=149

Index

Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 3: Chapter 3
Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Chapter 5: Chapter 5
Chapter 6: Chapter 6
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Chapter 9: Chapter 9
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Chapter 11: Chapter 11
Chapter 12: Chapter 12
Chapter 13: Chapter 13
Chapter 14: Chapter 14
Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Author's Notes:

Rube co-wrote this with me until part 6, when she had to stop due to real life stuff. Blame me for the rest.

He hurt.

This in itself was not new, but the throbbing pain had declined none, and Harry (just Harry now, since he'd dropped 'Potter' just as quickly as he'd been forced to drop Hogwarts) winced and moved towards his balcony. He pushed open the rickety screen door and flinched at the burst of cold night air that met his nude, overheated body. In his hand was his pay; £190.50. Harry had been sure to check for accuracy before his client dashed out of the door. It'd been a rough fucking and now he was sticky and the wet was drying but he couldn't give a damn.

Sighing, he grabbed the packet of cigarettes off of the balcony and lit one, inhaling, his fingers shaking and his eyelids drooping. He scowled when one of his false eyelashes worked loose and poked him in the eye. He balanced the fag on the corner of the ashtray and plucked at the eyelash, rolling it and tugging until it came free. He did the same to the other eye, and flung the horrid things off of the balcony. Sleepily, he rubbed his hands under his eyes and came up with chalky remnants of caked-on eyeliner and shadow. He looked like a fairy. Of course, that was the point - his gothy, almost feminine appeal, but he never shook the uncomfortable feeling he got when he dolled up, which was pretty much all the time.

So now he huffed on a fag, straightforwardly naked and freezing his arse off on the damn balcony. He contemplated a shower because he desperately needed one, but his eyelids were weighing down and it wasn't from the makeup. With a final puff and a final shiver, he dashed back inside as quickly as his worn limbs would allow. He slumped into bed and pulled the covers up to his chin after flinging the wad of money on the bedside table. He'd stash it tomorrow, before his next client.

And so Harry let himself start to drift towards slumber, groaning a bit and tossing around. His eyelids stung from his lack of sleep, and that would have normally kept him awake with annoyance, but surprisingly, he drifted off rather well.

To watch his body while he slept was a fascinating study. He grunted, twitched, groaned and scuttled about in a kind of sleepwalk. He jolted about when something particularly exciting happened, and occasionally, he'd wake himself up if he was crying in the dream, and find his cheeks wet and his eyes swollen and puffy.

Tonight, his dreams were trodding along at a fairly ordinary pace. There was nothing wrong, nothing overly surreal or *too* normal. He was breathing steadily.

But then.

His body clenched in a tight, tight grip, the muscles contracting and his teeth grinding in a painful seal.

Another dreamscape. Another flashback.

And there he was, Harry Potter, looking like the saintly figure he was supposed to be, wand arm outstretched, eyes already blazing with victory. He had Voldemort in his fucking *fist* and he knew it. He could taste it; triumphant and sweet on his tongue. With a wide, sneering flourish, he pointed the wand directly at Voldemort, just above his heart, and his mouth formed the words; "Avada Kedavra," and a jolt of surging green current seized his arm and he felt the power jut out in fierce thumps.

And then it was gone. Voldemort was a heap on the floor, a charred lump of a body surrounded by collapsed robes. And Harry was exhausted. He, too, fell to the floor, feeling faintly drained and strangely empty. With a hitched breath, he croaked out the simple words to a summoning spell he'd learned earlier that year.

Nothing happened.

Nothing, not a pop, not a sizzle. Not even a sound. Harry pressed his palm to the tip of the wand, as if it was somehow at fault, and shook it. He tried again.

Again, nothing.

Harry gaped. Behind him, he felt Professor Snape gently envelope him in his arms and hoist him up. They were leaving. Harry drifted towards unconsciousness, more tired than he'd originally thought.

The setting changed, and Harry grunted in his sleep, a hand at his side twitching.

Dumbledore. He was back at Hogwarts. He couldn't remember the journey. In fact, he could hardly remember anything; not the time, not the day. Harry grunted and shifted on his bed. Above him, sitting - no, slumping - in his chair, Dumbledore broke a forced smile that Harry knew instantly was *wrong*. He was wrong. Something was wrong.

"Sir," he asked hesitatingly, propping himself up on one slim, wobbly elbow.

"Harry, my boy. It's good to see you awake," Dumbledore said in a decidedly hushed voice, most likely to shield others from their conversation.

"What happened?"

"Voldemort is dead, Harry, much to the relief of the Wizarding world, and we have you to thank for it."

"That's great," Harry said, trying to sound enthusiastic. It came out flat. There was a *but* in there somewhere, Harry could feel.

"But something has gone terribly wrong." Dumbledore took a breath, and for a moment, Harry gave an extraordinarily rare, probing glance at the man behind the spectacles, and what he saw worried him. "Harry, when you... no. I have to go further back. Harry. When Voldemort came to Godric's Hollow, something happened, even to this day we cannot say exactly what, and the spell flubbed. By cursing you, Voldemort somehow managed to nearly drain himself of all powers and, unexpectedly, passed them on to you. It explains a lot, Harry, if you think back. Your uncanny ability to talk to snakes, your seemingly endless capacity to avoid death at every impossible turn. Tom Riddle was a great wizard, and now that he is dead, completely drained of all powers, so are you, in a sense."

"I don't understand."

"Ah. Well. There was a link created that night, Harry. A very rare and very dangerous link. You were fed off of Riddle's powers, Harry. And now you seem to have none, which is the most peculiar affliction. By all accounts, even if Voldemort *had* been the main source of your power, you *are* a Wizard, almost done with your training, and you should have retained magical ability. But... you cannot cast a simple spell. Very curious."

"You mean..."

Dumbledore waited.

"I'm a squib? That I was born a *squib*?"

Dumbledore winced.

"Well, I wouldn't say a squib, Harry. But yes. You were born without magical ability."

Harry left Hogwarts later that evening, carrying only a cloak and a satchel of food with a handful of Muggle money. He left the key to his vault at Gringotts to Ron out of commitment and a guilt he felt, (stupid, he knew) at not *being* truly the friend Ron deserved to have and had before. The note to Ron and the Weasley's was left with the key atop his dresser, with no explanation, no reassurances. Just two names and some interspersed, meaningless words.

"To Ron", it read, like a bloody *birthday* note. "From Harry."

He severed the ties and didn't look back.

The body on the bed jerked awake, panting, sweating, his heart racing and stinging tears pulsing under his smudged eyes. Harry was clutching the bed sheets with unlikely ferocity, trying to quell the bubbling memories.

"Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Shit." Grunting, he idly rubbed the spot on his forehead where his scar used to be, then remembered it wasn't there to touch, that it had disappeared when Voldemort had died and there was not a damn thing he could do about it, and slumped back gloomily.

It was too easy to remember. He wasn't sure what did it that night. Could it have been that his companion was a redhead? Did it, in the back of his mind, remind him of Ron? Of the Weasley's? Whatever it was, it left him... *weepy* and unsettled. Not good. He took a deep breath and swung his legs over the sides of the bed, bent down and retrieved a pair of boxers from his hamper. They might have been clean; he didn't remember what he'd put to wash, but it didn't matter, since they'd be off again, come morning.

Once again, Harry declined to shower, and instead padded into the kitchen to wash off his stomach with a rag; they'd fucked with condoms, but the man had pulled out and pleaded to come all over Harry's stomach. It was fine, just that once; Harry knew he was clean, and since he was a regular costumer... rules were meant to be broken, he'd learned that as early as Hogwarts.

God. There it was again. Harry had tried to forget *that* place as soon as he'd taken refuge in Muggle London. He'd tried to go to the Dursley's, to attempt their 'normal' life as he was bloody well *meant* to, but they... had refused to let him in. Harry cringed. And instead... he'd stayed that night, alone, without luggage, in a hotel. He hadn't slept at all that night.

He hadn't meant to be a whore. In fact, the thought hadn't crossed his mind, despite his being so ashamed... he couldn't have stayed in the Wizarding world. What he'd already seen of the Daily Prophet had been horrible. What would he do, with his powers gone? Be a fucking caretaker like Filch? Fuck that. Harry had resigned his hopes and dolefully applied for simple muggle jobs - working in retail, working as a bank teller... but he had no references and no identification and no real experience. He was a virtual con to them, and they'd refused him flat out. One night, after doing practically nothing, he sat outside of the motel he was staying in, watching the passerby with deferred interest.

There was a man hovering on the street corner, he noticed, eyeing him. He wasn't bad looking; dressed simply in frayed jeans and a stained white top with, oddly enough, cowboy boots. He just about bounced in place, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Every now and then, he'd check his jeans pocket for something, probably to make sure that something was still there. Harry watched him with some growing interest, and watched with some amusement when he strode over to where Harry was.

"Got a light," he asked.

Harry wordlessly flicked open his old fashioned zippo. The man nodded appreciation and bent over to light his cigarette, puffing greedily on it like it was the *only* thing he needed and hadn't had it all day. Then he straightened, blowing the air out between cracked, dry lips. "Nice lighter," he commented, rocking on the balls of his feet. Harry said nothing, but gave a vague nod. The man went back to his cigarette. They were silent, until, "My name's Mike."

"Hm."

"Yours?"

"Harry," he said. Simply Harry.

"You're a goddamn stud, Harry." Harry smiled.

"Hm."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be bothering you about it... you look straight to me, sorry." Harry said nothing, but kept his gaze the same. "I.. look. Listen. What do you? For a living?"

"I don't."

Mike seemed to expect this, or he was betting on it.

"Listen, do you live in this area?" Harry gave him a look that said 'we're standing outside of my hotel'. Mike chuckled. "Stupid, I know."

"It's all right. I'll have to be out of here anyway."

"Hey." Mike started as if an idea had just come to him. "Do you need some place to stay? I have some friends that'd be glad to put you up in return for a few favors..."

And so it had happened. Harry had been set up, completely willing, though his depression and lack of motivation might have been to blame. The first night had been rough; he'd checked out of his hotel room and stayed with Mike, learning the tricks of his newfound 'trade'. He'd been in pain for several weeks, and hadn't been ready for a client yet, and so Mike had done his best to transform Harry's image into something more appealing.

They went shopping, to some muggle establishment called Cyberdog where the employees walked around in groups and avoided you unless you came up to them. They watched with hawkish eyes, and wandered around with various parts of their head shaved, wearing what he learned later were UV reactive piercings. He stared at them as Mike shoveled him around the store, pointing at similar things to what they were wearing.

When he left Stables Market in Camden that day, he had two new piercings; a nipple ring and a small nose stud, and he'd been taken to some sort of makeup bizarre and he couldn't move his cheeks for all the caked-on face stuff he was wearing. His eyes stung from mascara and eyeliner, and his nipple was still tingling from the piercing.

He hadn't been the same since. He left his clean-cut jeans and shirts behind, in exchange for netted shirts and slick vinyl pants. He wore heels that he could barely walk in and pierced his ear all the way up to the cartilage. He talked with an even deeper accent - lower, and schooled himself to say things during sex that would normally make him blush red. "Fuck," came so simply to his lips it was as if he was merely saying his name. "Cock," flew from his mouth so gracefully it was like poetry. He was a *dream.*

Harry got used to being seen as an *object*, a *cock*, very easily.

It was nights like these, however, that he wished he'd never been born.

+

Snape paced his room. He didn't want to go to sleep. The dreams... the dreams were so intense, so disturbing that he may as well not even have slept. And they were getting worse... The only time he felt vaguely happy was when he was tormenting his students. Well, happiness was all relative to Snape. He really couldn't remember a time he could say he was truly happy. Looking back, he could remember a few times he had felt something that maybe by some stretch of the imagination might have been called contentment... and they all seemed to revolve around one Harry Potter. Though Potter seemed to be the bane of his existence at first, at least he had felt truly alive... not some shadow of a person, haunting the Hogwarts dungeons, arising only to sneer and insult. Something about the Boy Who Lived made him want to live too... if only to see him fail, to compare him to the memory of his father whom Snape had hated so much.

Then he had fought alongside Potter, and the boy's true spirit had overwhelmed him. No matter what the odds, no matter how dire the circumstances looked, Harry kept going. Looking back, Snape realized that Potter must have had as miserable a life as he had. He had heard the horror stories about his aunt and uncle, but had thought them hyperbole. But then Dumbledore had assured him that the stories were all true, and perhaps the reality was even worse. His opinion of Potter changed slowly over the seven years he had known him. Snape was never sure exactly when he had stopped disliking the boy. In any event, the final battle against Voldemort was etched into his mind. When he had finally accepted Harry as a wizard and an equal, only to see all of it ripped away from him. Defeat snatched horrifically from the jaws of victory.

Parts of the night were still a blur; of course Voldemort would choose a dramatic night like the full moon to make his move. But he remembered clearly the moment when only Harry had had a clear shot; heard his clearly spoken curse, had marveled at the fact that the seventeen-year-old's voice hadn't even wavered in speaking the most unforgivable curse of all. Green light flashed; and it was all over at last. The dark wizard was no more, and Harry Potter had done it. The boy had fulfilled his destiny at last. It should have been his finest hour, his moment of triumph. Snape himself had felt proud of Harry then, something he had never thought possible. The strength of the curse had stunned him; he could feel its backlash even from where he stood. Harry had given his all, his ultimate, his very soul. He hadn't known till later just how true that really was.

He had watched Harry sag, amazed how small he looked in his robes just then, and he had instinctively rushed forward to help him. Harry looked drained, ghost pale, and seemed unsure of himself; Snape held him close, hoping the boy would forgive his touch, but he was the closest person to Harry. The spell's power had set the surrounding forest on fire, and he needed to get the boy away. He remembered whispering soothing words to the boy, words he didn't even know he knew how to speak. He felt his arm burning, and as he looked down, he saw the dark mark was gone; so Voldemort was truly dead. Harry had been mumbling, frowning at his wand, as if something was wrong with it; at the time he had paid it no mind, just dragged the boy back to the school, to safety, as other wizards rushed forth to extinguish the fire.

Looking back, he knew that was the moment it had happened, that Potter had lost his powers, become the Muggle he had been raised to be. None of them had realized it at the time; even Dumbledore was hard pressed to accept the evidence. Potter's powers had been Voldemort's all along. Parselmouth, Quidditch, all Harry's prowess was only from the Tom Riddle and the dark wizard he would become. He would never forget the look on Potter's face as he left Dumbledore's office that day. He had waited outside the office, but he hadn't had to ask what Potter had been told. The boy looked like he had lost everything; and in truth he had. He had tried to speak to him; tried to offer words that after seven years of tormenting must have seemed pathetic. But words were all he had. The extent of Potter's loss he couldn't pretend to fathom; all that he was, all that he had thought he would be, gone. Forever. Irretrievably. He felt the loss as if it were his own; though truly he could still not comprehend it. Potter didn't seem to hear his words; he seemed to not even see him.

Though Dumbledore had not said he had to leave Hogwarts, Snape knew in his deepest heart that the boy would never stay, to face on a daily basis what he could never do, never be. To watch the greenest first year do what he could not, no matter how hard he tried. So Potter had fled, and Snape had been dismayed to discover how much he missed him. The rest of the term had passed as if under shadow. They tried to track Potter, keep up with his movements. But to no avail. Magic was little help in tracking a Muggle in Muggle London. And when Potter had gone, Snape was dismayed to find the dreams about him started.

Snape had always known where his preferences lay; he had made little secret of it, but nevertheless his affairs had been brief and unsatisfying. His work was his life, teaching was everything. Then Harry Potter came into his life, and he had a new focus. Sometime in Potter's sixth year, Snape had suddenly become aware of the boy's attractiveness. Rumors about Potter, crushes and flings; it happened to all the attractive students at one time or another. But more so; Potter's charisma seemed to draw both boys and girls to him. Snape himself realize he was not unaffected. But he could use his spite towards the boy and his father to keep it at bay; only once or twice had inappropriate thoughts managed to surface, and they were well stifled.

But then came the final battle, and Potter's tragedy; it seemed that thinking of the boy as a person opened the floodgates. The night the boy had left for good, Snape had had the first dream. Erotic, twisted, frightening; the only image he could hold onto from the dream was Harry bound and naked before him. More dreams followed, not every night or even every week, but they persisted. He began to try to find Harry himself, just so the dreams would end. He was obsessed; he barely slept.

A new school year started; if anything, he was even more horrible to the first years than ever before. The Gryffindors as usual bore the brunt of his ire; several of them were reduced to tears by his tirades, and Snape felt only empty satisfaction. And then he would dream; and wake aroused and frenzied with need. At first, he refused to touch himself. Thinking of Harry while he stroked himself was wrong; he wouldn't do it. But he couldn't help himself finally; one sweaty night, he woke with his hand already wrapped around his rock hard cock.

He gave in; stroking himself roughly, he gave in to desires and thoughts of Harry. It felt so good, nothing should have been this good. Squeezing the base of his erection, the floodgates opened, and visions of that slim body, those green eyes burned him. Harry under him, spreading creamy thighs, welcoming him; Harry kneeling in front of him, taking his cock into his mouth, stroking himself at the same time... visions, fantasies, depraved in their detail, paraded before his closed eyes as he pumped, faster, desperately, as if this one climax would wash away all the perverse need.

Snape awoke with a start; he had fallen asleep in his chair, and it had happened again. He could no longer resist the siren call of self-pleasure; when had tried to give it up, his behavior worsened so much that the headmaster himself had called him into his office just like a misbehaving child. He had been warned not to let personal problems affect his professional life; that was all that was said, and that was all it took. Dumbledore always knew what was in his heart, even without magic. A threat, disguised as an offer, of a well-deserved vacation and Snape was dismissed. But he had learned his lesson.

So when he awoke this night, cramped from the chair, he didn't try to resist. Flinging off his robes, he lay back on his bed and dropped his hand to his aching cock. Not since the first dream had he thought about, or ever wanted anyone else; but the nights of self-pleasure were becoming more frequent and less satisfactory. He needed more; more of what he could never have. But it would have to do; his cock was already wet with desire and no more lubrication was necessary. He stroked, roughly, violently, squeezing his erection almost painfully, as if to punish himself. He arched up off the bed, thrusting up into his own hand, trying to hurry; he needed relief. He stroked faster; images of messy hair and glasses flashed back at him. An image of Harry staring up at him reproachfully became one of Harry looking back over his shoulder as he kneeled on all fours, ready to be entered. That was it; Snape's breathing was labored now, so close, so close... suddenly, from nowhere, an image, crystal clear; Harry Potter, hair dark and spiked, face heavy with makeup, dressed erotically and Snape went over the edge, a strangled cry that might have been Harry's name the only sound as he pumped out his release, once, twice, three times before settling back to the bed, ashamed but sated. For now.

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Chapter 2: Chapter 2

A sharp, precise rap sounded at Snape's door, and he slowly pulled himself up from his desk, where he'd spent the last several hours grading papers. He opened it and stared at Minerva, who wore the same pinched expression as always, and blinked when she told him to go see the Headmaster.

"The password," she said, lowering her voice, "is Mike and Ike." Severus couldn't help himself, and a small smile formed on his lips.

"Mike... and Ike?" Minerva straightened, her expression still fairly severe, but it softened enough to where he knew they'd shared a private joke.

"You know his fondness for Muggle candies," she said nonchalantly, as if there wasn't anything remotely humorous about the password. It amazed Severus some days, how stoic McGonagall was; even more so than himself, and how *difficult* it was for her to crack a smile.

Pot. Kettle....

Severus shook his head absently, to clear it, and assured her he'd leave immediately to see Dumbledore.

"I'll walk with you part of the way," she informed him crisply; nothing Minerva 'suggested' was ever an option to begin with. "I've got to go back to the Gryffindor dorms and remind Mr. Kovet of his detention tomorrow. He's likely to forget." They walked down the dungeon hallway, passing several laughing Slytherins on the way. Minerva gave them stern looks; it seemed her noxious dislike of Slytherins hadn't lessened any, and instead had increased to the point of offense if they so much as enjoyed themselves. Rather than being affronted, as Snape normally would have been, he found himself nearly grinning, and receiving a few odd looks from his companion. Good lord, he was losing his bloody mind.

"You've been acting rather strangely lately, Severus," Minerva began, and inwardly Snape cringed. Here was Minerva, starting in on him, when likely enough Albus was going to do the same thing as soon as he arrived.

It wasn't as if he could blame them, though. He *had* been a bit off the wall, lately, and sometimes wondered if he wasn't about to crack and run screaming off in the Forbidden Forest. Perhaps members of the faculty had noticed it, or students brought it to their attention when his usually forbidding discipline had gone lax. Either scenario was likely, for as much as Snape hated to admit it, he was under intense scrutiny; had been ever since he'd been outed as a Death Eater, but that was another matter entirely.

"Have I," he responded airily, two paces in front of her when they rounded the corner.

"You have," she affirmed, and Severus knew he wasn't going to get out of this diminutive lecture so easily. "Nearly everyone has noticed the change."

"Change?" She went on as if she hadn't heard him.

"Severus, I've known you for a long time, since you were a student here, and I know when something is the matter, as withdrawn from you as I may seem at times." Snape gave a very un-Snapeish grunt. "You're not the same, Severus Snape. I don't know who you've become, but you don't seem too happy with yourself. You can't concentrate. You don't sleep. You rarely eat. All symptoms of depression, Severus..."

"Minerva," he snapped, feeling a bit more like himself when he was angry, which was a welcome relief. "The mere fact that I don't scowl at the Gryffindors during supper is cause for all of this claptrap?" He gave a sigh. "I appreciate that you're concerned, really, but further than that you're just a nuisance." McGonagall didn't even appear to be taken aback.

"Very well." She rounded the corner and went in the direction of the Gryffindor tower without another word, and Severus gave a heaving sigh that was part relief and part frustration.

"Damnit."

He kept walking without a word, nodding to Hagrid as he passed with some gigantic beast on a leash, several paces in front of him, and forgot to glower at a few chatty Hufflepuffs who nearly smashed into him when they rounded a corner. Finally, after puffing up a few flights of stairs (Snape had done little in the way of physical activity lately) he arrived at the Headmaster's office.

"Mike and Ike," he muttered to the gargoyle, pushing his lank hair out of his face, before it swung out of his way. He did, he noted with some satisfaction, remember to give it an uncommitted glare before it disappeared from sight.

Severus cleared his throat when he noticed he was alone. "Albus?"

"Severus..." It came from behind him, and so Snape spun around, face blank. He knew what he was here for. It was better not to waste time in feigned unawareness.

"Can we got on with this," he said lamely. Albus didn't even offer him a piece of that damnable candy he always kept with him (at which Snape gave a mental chuckle; he must have really been imposing if Dumbledore skipped that routine) but instead gestured for him to sit down. He did, in the seat furthest from Fawkes. The last time he'd been in here, Fawkes had chosen that moment to explode and he'd been covered in fluff, and right about now, Fawkes wasn't looking too good.

"Severus." It seemed that whenever someone was trying to get a point across, they used his first name like some sort of reprimanding parental figure. He could picture Dumbledore bearing down on him, in his minds' eye, wagging a finger and scolding Severus for riding his broom too late after sunset, and Snape stifled a loud laugh. "We need to talk."

"I gathered that," Snape retorted, straightening his cuffs. It was a nervous gesture, and anyone who didn't know him would think it was insouciance. But Albus knew him. "You've been expecting this?" Snape didn't give a reply; he was far too smart for this game. "If you have," Albus continued, nonplussed, "you should know what we're worried for you."

"Who, might I inquire, is 'we'?"

"The staff. A few of the students. You're not yourself."

"Apparently," Snape shrugged. "Minerva chided me for the same thing after she summoned me."

"Ah, yes. I should have suspected as much." This seemed to amuse Albus. "Minerva has been one of the more vocal members of the staff. She's concerned."

"Why should she be? Am I endangering the students?"

"No, not at present, but I can see you becoming even more unwell, and possibly... not catching a simple mistake that could have serious repercussions."

"Unwell? I'm not ill, in the first place..."

"Depression, Severus, and a fairly advanced case of it."

"What," Snape started to sputter, completely unnerved. "You can't possibly ~"

"But I can, as the Headmaster of this school, decide when my staff is becoming unfit to teach and must retire temporarily."

"You're forcing me to stop teaching?!"

"Yes, but only until I'm convinced you can return to Hogwarts of ready and able mind."

"I'm perfectly sound of mind as it is! I can't believe..."

"What were you doing, before Minerva summoned you?" This gave Severus some pause, and he considered, racking his brain for any inkling. There was none, and he gave a heavy sigh...

"That doesn't mean..."

"Which houses did you teach today, Severus?"

"You expect me to remember something like that," he shot back desperately.

"No. That is, of course, if you usually have trouble remembering the same schedule you've had for the past twelve years." This caused Snape to frown. Albus leaned over, his elbows braced on the desk, and the sleeves of his robes slid down over his wrists and exposed quite a bit of aging skin. Snape was once again reminded of how *old* the Headmaster truly was. "You don't eat. You don't sleep. You can barely keep your eyes open during classes, and you're not even sounding like yourself theses days. What is *wrong*, Snape?"

"Absolutely nothing was the matter until you brought up this... obtuse accusation," Severus snarled, teeth clenched.

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm simply stating the facts. You're not acting the same. Do you need a break? Is Voldemort-"

"Voldemort is dead," Snape hissed, "I'd have thought you'd have remembered that, as senile as you're becoming." Albus blinked at him, looking dumbfounded, and sat back while Severus mentally cursed himself.

"Hmm. Is that was this is about? Voldemort?"

"How could it be," Snape muttered. "He's dead."

"Yes, as you so.. erm, compellingly reminded me, he is. But so is Harry Potter." Snape winced.

"Potter isn't dead..."

"No. But he's gone, Snape, somewhere in Muggle London, living the life of someone who's never even heard of us and our world." He shook his head sadly. "Doesn't seem fair, does it, that we lose the one true hero we ever had?"

"He wasn't a hero to begin with. They weren't his powers."

"Oh, he was. Even you can't deny what a bright and interesting child he was, even if his powers came from a source that wasn't his own." There was an odd silence, but then Albus sighed. "Whatever the case, I'm sorry, but I have to send you on leave."

"What!? I thought we went through this-" Snape started heatedly, nearing yelling, but Albus cut him off.

"Severus, if these outbursts are examples of your controlled mental state, than I'm forced to inform you that you're sorely misguided." Snape was quiet at that. "I'm not going to keep you away long. Perhaps you simply need a good vacation? Who knows. But you're to go to London - nowhere else - so we can keep an eye on you-"

"Why? Its not as if I'm about to cut my wrists if I should venture to France." Albus gave him a look.

"You're staying in *London*, Snape. I'll check in with you periodically. For now, I suggest you pack your things, and bring along your Muggle clothing. Money will be provided." Snape scowled, and started to get up from his seat. He itched to protest, but there was no contradicting Albus when he was decided on something. "*Try* and enjoy yourself, Severus?"

Snape said nothing, but shut the door behind him when he left.

+

Harry stood under the harsh streetlamp, body on view but face in shadow. He liked it this way, it gave him some measure of anonymity in a profession that degraded uniformly. He spent most of his time waiting, waiting to be picked up. Hoping the next customer wouldn't want it too rough, or argue too much at the price, or want to talk too much. He hated to talk, didn't want counseling, didn't want to explain why he did what he did. Luckily, the talkers were few and far between. Mostly they just wanted his still-young body and the brief pleasure it could give them.

Sometimes, and those times were the worst, something about a customer or a night would remind him of someone from his other life, as he thought of his past. Not really connected to what he did now; another life, not his own. Mostly he could just forget, but sometimes he was forced to remember. Those nights were usually the ones that brought nightmares.

Funny; the person he thought of most these days was the one who he had once hated most. Severus Snape. He had been there that night, the night he had lost it all. He had been the one to bring Harry in. Harry could still remember those arms around him, surprisingly gentle. The funniest part of all was that during that last year, Harry had developed a crush on Professor Snape, of all people. Crush. What an idiotically childish word, to be in his mind, given what he was. But that was when Harry was still close to innocent, and that was what he had felt for Snape. Once he had hated the man, but as the time wore on, Harry had found that Snape was mostly misunderstood; a spy against the Death Eaters, he had endangered his own life many times over. Being on the side of good didn't make Snape a nice person, though; but Harry had been beginning to think there was an actual personality there, underneath the sneer. He had had naïve fantasies, of meeting up with Snape after he graduated from Hogwarts, forging some kind of bond once they were equals. Now Harry was no one's equal; even the lowest laborer toiled honestly and was above him. He had swept away such things with his old life; such fantasies held nothing for him save false hope. A waste of time.

+

He didn't know what he was looking for, really. Well, he did know, and it wasn't a what, it was a who. A him. Harry Potter.

Why he thought he would see, him, Snape wasn't sure. In a city of millions of Muggles, all going about their interminable business, how would he find one... no, he refused to refer to Harry, even in his mind, as a Muggle. He would never be, Snape refused to believe there was no natural magical talent in the boy, despite what he had said to Dumbledore. He had fought alongside him, felt the power of his magic, and it wasn't all from Voldemort. It couldn't be. He would have known. Or so he told himself.

Now here he was, banished to Muggle London, supposedly for a vacation. What a joke. As if being even closer to where Harry was would make his problems diminish. It only served to deepen the obsession, to make him imagine Harry around every corner, convinced that if he walked just a little farther, turned another corner, there he would be. What would happen if he found Harry, even Snape didn't know. So he walked. He took the underground sometimes, but the city proper really wasn't all that large, and he had plenty of time. Well, if nothing else, he was in much better shape than when he had slunk away from Hogwarts. Walking ten miles a day would do that for you.

A sneaking suspicion began to creep in his mind as he mentally berated Dumbledore for doing this to him. Perhaps the old man meant for him to look for Harry? He couldn't do it himself, so he chose the most efficient instrument for the task, thereby killing two birds with one stone? He wouldn't put it past the headmaster, now that he stopped to think of it. The man was nothing if not crafty and devious enough. All the while projecting the image of kindly benevolence as if he hadn't intended things to happen this way all along. Interesting. But it did get him no closer to his unspoken goal.

He tried to imagine what Harry would be doing, how he could support himself as a Muggle. It had been far too long since he had lived among them; his thought processes resisted. More useful perhaps to consider what Harry might do in his free time. If the rumors about him were true, and Snape was selfish enough to hope they were, perhaps the gay district might not be a bad place to check. He decided to check his guidebook and see where that might be these days.

+

The first client was always the hardest, or at least it was for Harry. He wasn't sure if it was the same for everyone else in his... industry, but he knew that whenever the first of the day would approach him, (leisurely crossing one foot in front of the other as if pondering over asking for directions or the time) his heart would start to race and his palms would sweat and he'd nearly dash away. He could picture himself running down the street, running so damn hard one of his shoes would fly off of his foot but he'd keep running.

It was a pleasant fantasy, but one never fulfilled. Harry needed money, and even if he hadn't, even if there was something like another job lined up, it was difficult to leave this profession. There were too many people who'd chase him if he ran. Too many people he owed favors to. Too many mistakes to go back and fix.

So here he was, smoking a fag, leaning against a wall with guarded eyes, surveying his clientele. It wasn't bad - the balding, overweight sycophants never approached Harry, for his nearly cosmopolitan features were too criticizing for someone of ordinary stature to deal with. He was too beautiful for the mundane, but he himself didn't believe that. Harry just thought he was lucky.

It happened. The man who'd been watching him (plain, leather sports jacket and shaggy brown hair) finally advanced, and Harry pushed himself off of the wall.

"Hello," he said huskily, throwing the butt of the cigarette away. It bounced along the wet concrete like a rock skipping over water.

"'Lo," the man muttered. He wore shady sunglasses and looked almost comically suspicious, but Harry figured it went along with the 'John' disposition.

"You live around here," Harry asked casually, dragging his tongue over the bottom lip in a way he knew to be very enticing.

"Mm, no. I'm vacationing here."

Harry grinned. Of course. No, they were *never* local, which is why they always ended up at *his* place.

"Its a shithole, but people seem to enjoy it," Harry stated, smirking. "Though I'll never guess why."

"You live here?" Duh. Harry nodded. "What do you do?"

At this, Harry knew his cue. His eyes drew down into a smoldering, intense stare, and he walked closer to his companion, who drew in two careful, shuddering breaths, and gently brushed a strand of his brown hair out of the man's face, smiling with feline knowledge as he gasped and whet his lips.

"You, honey."

"How much," he asked. Harry gently let his hand rest at the man's neck, right where shoulder met collar bone, and shrugged.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"What you want. Do you want me to fuck you, to suck you? Or do you want to watch your cock disappear slowly inside my tight little asshole? Its up to you, gorgeous, its what you want."

"If I want it, you'll do it?"

"Uhuh. Whatever you want." Harry smoothly, almost tenderly, played with the buttons on his jacket. "What's your name?"

The man hesitated for just a moment, but Harry acted as if he hadn't noticed.

"Ron."

Harry gave a smile, but inwardly, he winced; it would be hard to comply convincingly if Ron wanted his name repeated while they fucked.

"Well, Ron. Follow me. I know where we can converse in privacy." Grinning once again, Harry grabbed Ron's arm and guided him down the street and towards his apartment.

Back to index

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Snape leaned against the bar, looking around him in disgust. He hadn't even liked this kind of scene when he was young enough for it; now he just looked like a desperate aging pedophile. Some of the boys in here looked young enough to be second years. And they played up that youthfulness, wearing what looked like sexed-up versions of school uniforms, ripped strategically, piercings all over their bodies. He tried to imagine Harry in here and failed. The boy had always been clean-cut, except for the perpetually unruly hair. He couldn't imagine Harry changing that much... but he also couldn't imagine what it would be like to live without magic.

He would rather drink one of Longbottom's potions than what passed for beverages in here. God knew what they would put in it. So he glowered, and tried to look for anyone resembling Harry. He didn't know how long he'd been in there, or how many clubs he'd visited. This one was the worst; from the moment he'd walked in he'd been assaulted by male Lolitas asking him if he needed company. Snape quite easily grasped that they were not offering out of the goodness of their hearts or an undeniable attraction to him. At first he was shocked, but he soon got used to it. Why else would a middle aged man like himself be hanging around a place like this? He comforted himself with the thought that the boy he sought was no longer a minor.

Looking around, he tried not to catch anyone's eyes as he searched. Once there was eye contact, they thought you were interested. He had to admit, some of them were beautiful; he always had fancied younger men, and it had been so long... but no, the only one he wanted... to find... he corrected himself... was Harry.

Finally, Snape decided he had had enough of the smoke and the noise and the decadence. He would try another night. He walked out of the club, taking deep breath of relatively fresh London air. He paused, clearing his head, getting his bearings, intending to walk back to the hotel. It was nearly 1am. There were people out here, not as many as in the club, but various drunken couples stumbling around in the nearby park. He was distracted by loud voices. He glanced up at one of the couples. They seemed to be having a disagreement. His eyes narrowed as something about them drew his eye back.

+

Harry felt a pressing sense of disaster, but kept walking, keeping a healthy two steps ahead of Ron, still turning back every few paces to throw him a bawdy wink. Ron just stared back stoically, and Harry was nearly put off, but his need for money (he had forgotten to pay rent, and had already spent his last cash) kept him where he was.

This street was lined with clubs of all sorts, from S&M to all different fetishes. There was even a popular gay club Harry sometimes visited, the doors open and music blasting. All sorts of young, delightful boys hung around the street, wearing artfully ripped or open clothing. Harry would have been moved to arousal, but he'd been treating sex as a chore for so long it was near impossible for him to truly relish attraction.

"Hey." It was Ron. Harry spun again, and grinned.

"Yeah, watcha need?"

"I changed my mind.." Ron drew closer, and Harry's lips curved down into a frown.

"You mean you don't want-"

"No, I want it." Ron's face was drastically changing, turning into a feral sort of grin that made Harry want to shiver. "But I want it here."

"Pardon?" Harry blinked. This was out of the ordinary, and if Ron truly did want it there on the street then he was fresh out of luck; Harry made it his policy never to fuck out in the open.

"I said I want you here. In front of everybody."

"Mmm." Harry drew his eyebrows together as if he was considering, and gave a shrug, trying to laugh it off, as he did all prohibited requests.. "Sorry, babe, not for that. We're nearly to my apartment, anyway," he said, grinning and pointing ahead pointing. "Another block."

"Here, or not at all." Ron played with a wisp of Harry's hair, twining it between his fingers. His face held a small smile, a teasing threat. Harry did shiver, then. "Come on."

"No," he insisted, and was surprised at the noise level it was at. Ron's small smile disappeared and turned into an ugly glare. "No. I mean it."

"Now, you little whore, or you'll regret saying no to me." Ron's voice had raised, too, and Harry wouldn't be surprised if they were attracting a crowd of onlookers. Instead of calming down, Harry gave a humorless laugh.

"No. What part of it don't you understand? I'm not doing you here. No," he said pointedly, starting to scowl deeply.

The first was only a slap, but it was enough to dislodge one of Harry's contact lenses and leave a red mark that looked like a blush on his powdered cheeks. It didn't hurt - he was used to pain, a lot of his clients wanted to whip him or beat him during sex - but it surprised him, and he didn't do a thing about it.

"So?" Ron asked, as if Harry might have changed his mind.

"No," Harry whispered.

There was another, one that *almost* split his lip but possibly broke his nose. This one actually *hurt*, leaving a burning pain, and he stood up straight, only to allow another blow, this one to his eye (luckily the one missing a contact).

His teeth bared despite the stretching pain, and he raised his fist to strike a punch of his own, only to find that the body that was towering in front of him was gone. He peered, his vision double, either from the hits or the missing contact, but he could hardly see, and the scene in front of him he futilely tried to make out through the waves.

Another man, probably from the club, wearing jeans and a long white shirt, had grabbed Ron by his expensive leather jacket and was doling out a few hits of his own, each landing on his jaw or hollowed cheeks. Harry couldn't help the swarming sense of relief, but the nausea his blurry vision was setting off caused him to slip to his knees. He cradled his head between his palms.

Finally, Ron was dumped to the ground, Harry could see that much, despite his swimming vision, and the man who'd just randomly appeared (no doubt unaware it was a quarrel between whore and john) was panting, his arms crossed over his chest. Stumbling, Harry got up, still kneading his temples and wincing. He felt the blood slowly dripping down his chin and put his hand up to stopper the flow, but it was nearly futile.

"You okay," the stranger asked, as Ron started to pick himself off the ground.

"I guess. As good as I can be." He shrugged, and this sent spasms of pain through his head. He groaned.

"Fuck you," Ron spat at him, startling Harry. The other man stiffened and moved slightly in front of Harry, in case Ron got any ideas. "Back off," Ron snarled, staggering backwards. "He's just a whore. Nothing you should concern yourself with." Small chills coursed down Harry's spine; what if his mystery savior found him disgusting, and left him to the vile will of Ron, who was undoubtedly even more hot-tempered. Harry could handle pain - customers loved to inflict it - but wasn't sure how severely Ron would actually take it, if allowed.

"Does that really matter," the person growled, and Harry sagged with relief. "I don't care what sadistic tendencies you have. Leave him, and the general public, out of it."

"Sod off," Ron hissed, but he himself did exactly that, turning around and stumbling off. Harry could hear him cursing. The man turned back to him.

"You all right," he asked again, this time bending over and helping to steady Harry, who was stumbling about a bit himself. His head *pounded*.

"I will be," Harry muttered, brushing off dirt and smearing several splatters of blood off of his (horridly expensive) black shirt.

The man waited a few odd moments before saying anything, taking some time to helpfully brush off Harry's shirt alongside him, and offered a handkerchief that Harry quickly pressed to his busted face. He wasn't too worried; for some reason, any injuries he had healed remarkably fast. He wouldn't be surprised if his face healed within a couple of days.

"Is it true," he asked, in a low, civil voice.

"What? That I'm a whore? Yeah." Harry resisted the urge to laugh bitterly, and instead gave an all-too common shrug.

"I'm sorry," the man said simply, without a trace of disgust, but Harry wasn't sure if he meant in regards to the attack or his profession.

"Thanks," said Harry warily, and dabbed at his nose with the napkin.

"Listen," he said, fishing in his pocket for something. "I feel bad you lost your client, and this," he said, using his other hand to gesture at Harry's face, "will mean you'll be out of work for a day, at least. So," he said, hand rising from his pocket, clutching something, "will you take this? I know its uncommon," he admitted, and Harry registered what the man was holding had to be money. He blinked but didn't extend his own hand to take it.

"I..."

"Please? Or it'll haunt me." The stranger's voice held a hint of a guilty smile. Harry thought carefully.

"I don't need pity."

"You don't have it. You have understanding. Now," he said, grabbing Harry's thin wrist, opening his palm and placing the money in it, "take it."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, the word foreign to him. He squinted at the blurred outline of the cash in his hand, and tucked it in his own pocket.

"Let me get you home. I don't have a vehicle, but I'll help you walk." Harry nodded, trying to conceal how grateful he was, given that he probably couldn't have made it home on his own.

"It's not far."

"I don't care," the man said.

Harry gingerly linked his arm with the one offered to him, and gave more of his weight to the taller man. Then, they started a jagged pace, sometimes nearly tripping over each other, but it did help Harry's movement a great deal. Thankfully, they had not far to walk, and were at Harry's flat in a surprisingly short amount of time.

Harry reached in his pocket for his keys, and pulled the ring out, slightly perturbed by the loud jangling, and shakily inserted them in the lock. The door opened with a creak, and inside, the place was pitch black. He paused.

"Come in," he said finally, stepping inside. "I'll fix you some tea or coffee or something. It's the least I can do."

Inwardly, Harry felt bothered by accepting the man's money. Of course he needed it; the manager would be after him for rent tomorrow, since it was already late, and he didn't have it to give, without what he'd just been given. Still, it was unbelievably uncommon, and he felt pressing guilt. He hadn't done anything that warranted money, or pity.

He was just a whore.

"Tea, please. Mint, if you have it." He heard the faint sounds of the man parking himself of Harry's sofa, and Harry went in the general direction of the loo, to take his other contact out.

"I do," he called out.

"Thanks."

"Sure. Let me put the water on after I take my other contact out," he said, not caring to hear the man's response. Sighing, Harry reached for the small contact case laying on his kitchen counter.

Shit. At least his nose had stopped bleeding, but his eye hurt to all high heaven and he couldn't see. Gingerly, he pulled out the other contact and his already horrible vision got *worse*. He didn't think that was fucking possible, but it did. There. Now, where did he set his glasses? Maybe then he'd be able to tend to those bruises and makeup still caked on his face..

That's right. They'd been crushed while he was vacuuming. Harry swore softly; he couldn't see a damn thing, and was likely to hurt himself if he tried to clean his face up without glasses. Well, maybe he could call Mike in the morning and tell him to pick up that new pair he'd ordered; they had to have come in already.

Sighing again, feeling irrepressibly low and awkward, he filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove to boil, and reached up in his cupboard for tea. While he busied himself with that, he could just hear the sounds the other man was making in his living room, likely flipping through the magazine on the coffee table.

"Listen," he said, talking though no real train of thought prompted his speech, "I feel bad about taking your money."

"Don't be. I feel horrid." Harry gave a half smile that hurt his face.

"You're not the only one." He paused, the tea bag half out from its pouch, his face in deep thought. "If you're not adverse to it, I'd like to pay you back." Shit. This was coming out all wrong. "I mean. Arg. I'll never be able to pay back the money, with the way things are going, but, um. If you'd like, I could. You know." He gave a half shrug that he knew the man could see from his vantage point in the living room.

"I see." There was an odd silence. "Well, if its all the same, I'd rather not. It's just that you're hurt, and well..."

"Please." Did he just say... what he thought he said? "Please," he said again, and his voice held real desperation. "It's the only thing I can do. That I need to do."

He could *feel* the man shifting about on his couch, possibly considering, and Harry moved fast before he could say anything.

What are you *doing?* Its an out, Potter, bloody well take it and forget about this nonsense. Its not as if you want this bloke, anyway.

Without warning, as Harry stumbled over to the couch, he startled inwardly at the thought.

You're not thinking with your dick, are you, Potter?

I've forgotten how to, he thought grimly, trying to banish the all-too accurate voice.

So, instead of dwelling on that voice and the suspicious swelling in his slacks, Harry fumbled onto his knees in front of the man at his couch, placing one arm up on the rest and the other beside the man's hip, so he couldn't escape. Harry could see through his double and shaded vision that the man was indeed dark haired and lanky, very possibly older than himself, judging by the timbre of his voice.

Reminds you of someone, doesn't he?

Fuck off.

"Please," he said again, trying to look earnest but very possibly failing with that damn bruise that was certain to be around his eye, and not to mention the smudged makeup.

The man made a breathless sound in the back of his throat that *might* have been acquiescence, but Harry wasn't about to waste time to find out otherwise. Instead, the hand by the man's hip slowly crept towards the button on his denims, and worked it loose. There was a singular heat and hardness there that Harry couldn't mistake even at his most deluded, and he grinned, hurting his face but not caring.

He didn't dally long, but instead inched the zipper down, that same smart-arsed grin planted on his face. He slid closer, still on his knees, and slouched a bit, the better to do his task. Hazily, he felt fingers purchasing in his hair, wrapping around strands of it.

There wasn't going to be a refusal.

Harry found the part in the man's boxers (cherry red, he observed. Lovely), and gently tugged the hard, already leaking prick from them, licking his lips slowly in that *way* he'd learned so well, and heard the man's breath quicken, and his hips shifted forward just a bit. He tipped his head up, and gave a small smile, trying to see the man's face clearly through the jumbled outline, but it was no avail, and he finally gave up, giving an inward shrug and tightening his hands around the base of the man's thick cock.

His lips furled around the head of it easily, and he groaned, the sound muffled, at the first taste of the man's pre-come. Swirling his tongue, Harry received the most encouraging responses, and continued, sliding the cock just a bit deeper inside of his mouth, and running his tongue along the underside, then bobbing his head back up again, suckling gently. His fingers roved the bottom, tensing, releasing, then lightly almost tickling, until the moans that his companion had been struggling to hold back came forth copiously from his lips.

Harry grinned around the man's cock, nipping with his teeth gently, just to nudge the moans up an octave, and leisurely cupped the sac with a firm hand, squeezing gently. Oh, the man was positively bucking now. He sucked hard and fast, moving up and down, waiting for the first bursts of release to fill his mouth.

+

"No," groaned Snape, burying a hand in the boy's hair, dragging his mouth away reluctantly. God, the boy was good... he tried to ignore the voice in his head that reminded him just *why* he was so good with his mouth. Fuck it, he was halfway to hell now, he may as well enjoy the rest of the ride. He had never felt so out of control before, had never done anything like this before. But something about the sheer wrongness, the depravity of it all, drove him on. It seemed a fitting culmination of these months of depression and internal torment. He had a sense of déjà vu that he just couldn't shake. The boy looked so familiar... his spiked, half-bleached hair, his bruised face... with the half-light he couldn't see him clearly, it was almost as if the boy was keeping his face in shadow. Ashamed of the bruises, he supposed...

When he had stepped in to rescue the boy, he had had a suspicion about what he was; but he couldn't stand to see needless pain inflicted, not any more. He had seen too much pain. How he had got to be here, his cock buried in a male prostitute's mouth, even he didn't know; it seemed reasonable, to offer the boy money, just so he would be off the streets, just for the night. Then, walking him back to the apartment, in case the violent jerk had followed... then, just a cup of tea.... Then, in the dim light of the apartment the boy was kneeling in front of him, and he was hard, and no longer thinking at all... it had seemed a natural procession, and now... it had been too long...

"No?" Harry repeated, wiping the back of his mouth, knowing he was smearing his makeup more, but not caring. It was dark, after all. He didn't care. He liked the dark. Without his contacts, he couldn't see well, anyway, and the dark, blurred images suited him. He really didn't need to see well to do what he did. "What do you want then?" he drawled, already knowing the answer. And trying to ignore the unfamiliar twinge of... arousal?... that accompanied his question. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"To..." Snape paused, wondering if he'd come this far why he couldn't just say the words. "To come inside you."

The man's voice ran over him like a silken sheet. God, that asshole must have hit him harder than he thought. He felt his breath catch, ever so slightly, and yes, he was definitely getting aroused. By a man's voice and a vague outline in the dark? A suggestion of lanky dark hair, a tall muscular form... for some incredibly perverse reason, for the first time in his career, he was looking forward to sex. His arousal brought back thoughts of how, once upon a time, he used to enjoy sex... back before... he shut his mind to that train of thought. Why were these memories coming back now? It must be a concussion. He forced himself back to the present. His customer wanted what he had paid for. He pulled his shirt over his head and reached for the man's shirt. "Sounds perfect," he breathed, not acting very much. "Let's get you out of these..."

Snape closed his eyes and let the boy divest him of the rest of his clothes, trying to suppress a gasp as his nipples were brushed by the agile fingers. Soon he stood naked, and watched the boy's outline as he wiggled out of the rest of his clothes. If he wasn't so hard he would have been embarrassed. But he wasn't thinking, he was feeling... and if he felt enough maybe he could forget...

Having ascertained the man's sensitive spots, Harry tried to ignore the novelty of his own half-erection as he pressed his body against the man. The man's skin was burning, as if he had a fever. He felt the hands all over him, drinking him in, and the man moaned, rubbing his arousal against his stomach. God, why did this feel so good? Almost as if... he suddenly realized he was fully hard, just from the man's hands and voice. That hadn't happened in... he couldn't remember. He realized the low keening sound he could hear was his own voice.

The boy's body against him fit so perfectly, as if it was meant to... he tried unsuccessfully to drive the traitorous thoughts out of his mind, of how Harry Potter would fit just like this... and of course that was what had driven Snape to buy the boy's time for the night, some indefinable thing about the young man that reminded him of the Boy Who Lived, and Lost... and why was he thinking of Harry now, when he was defiling his memory by bedding a whore, but he was beyond shame now, the boy in his arms was pressed against him, and he was touching him... he pushed the boy back on to the rickety bed, consumed with need for... sex, and something else.

Confused by his body's unfamiliar need and his own pounding heart, he let the man push him, spreading his legs so the man would settle between them, almost forgetting in his desire to grab a foil packet from the bedside table. Almost. Some things were too well ingrained. He clutched at the square as if it would save him. The weight of the man on top of him was threatening to drive him insane.

Falling onto the bed with the boy, Snape felt the thighs part for him, and groaned again; too good, too easy, too... much. "God..." He felt the boy's hard cock between them and breathed a sigh of relief... he wasn't sure he could stop for anything, but the fact that the boy seemed to be enjoying himself as well kept him in his fantasy world. The world in which he was doing this to, with, Harry, and the boy wanted him back... The boy wrapped his legs around Snape, and in his mind Harry did the same. He knew in his mind that what he was doing wasn't healthy. He told the voices in his head to fuck off. "Want..."

"You got me, baby," moaned Harry, stunned by how much he *wanted* this, how much his body was actually *aching* for it, how his legs seemed to spread themselves wider now, inviting. Before he could stop thinking entirely he ripped open the packet with his teeth and held it in front of the man. "Want me to put it on for you?" the offer usually sidetracked any complaints the customers had.

It took Snape a full five seconds to comprehend what the boy was saying; but then he realized that this was necessary, and he was thankful the boy knew it. He snatched the packet, mumbling, "I'll do it."

"It's already lubricated," offered the boy, wondering why he felt badly for insisting on a condom.

Snape didn't know what to say to that, so he settled for fumbling with the bit of latex. Finally it was on, and he looked up at the boy. He had the impression of moonlight glinting off of light eyes and even teeth, then the boy was speaking.

"How do you want me?"

Any way, anything, anywhere, his mind chanted, supplying him with an image of Harry spreading his legs for him. "Just like that. On your back," was what he said, because he just couldn't wait any more.

The man's growl lanced straight through him, and Harry fell back on the bed, his legs spread once more, and said, quietly, almost losing the put-on drawl, "Take me."

If Snape had any reservations left about what they were doing, the boy's voice swept them away. He leaned forward and supported himself with one hand. With the other he positioned his condom-covered erection. It had been so long, he almost forgot what to do, but then he felt the pressure of the boy's flesh yielding to his length. He took a shuddering breath and pressed harder, deeper, pushing inside, losing his mind slowly. In his mind he was claiming Harry, only Harry, sliding inside him, impaling him. The sweetly agonizing sensation drove thoughts and guilt out of his mind. He only felt. He moved slowly, feeling tentative, but inexorably.

Harry had never been taken so gently. He had almost forgotten that sex didn't have to hurt. His cock lay hard and dripping against his stomach, further evidence that all was not normal. Looking up at the looming figure outlined by moonlight, Harry almost hoped... for what, he didn't know. He found he was holding his breath, and he let it out slowly, relaxing slightly, and suddenly he was fully impaled. And, god help him, it felt good. He actually wanted more.

It felt like forever, that slide inside, but Snape enjoyed every second; the hardest part was not driving in too quickly. Not only did he not want to hurt (Harry) the boy, but he knew he was so close to climaxing already that the added friction of a fast entry would finish him off before they even began. Finally he was seated; his balls against (Harry's) the boy's ass. Tightness, gripping him, all around him, and then he pulled out and thrust in automatically, gasping.

Harry had tired of waiting; he wanted movement, wanted to feel that cock slide in and out of him. So he had flexed his internal muscles in a way that he knew drove men mad. And it worked. For his efforts he felt the man tense and thrust inside him, but not hard enough. So he did it again.

That was what finally made Snape lose control. Those wicked muscles, caressing his length... he drove in again, deeper, and moaned more loudly. He clamped his mouth shut because he *knew* he was about to call out Harry's name. It felt so good, so perfect, so right, not even the condom dulling the intensity. Again, again, and he couldn't stop; he ran one hand down (Harry's) the boy's torso, brushing a nipple ring, coming to rest, wrapped around a hard cock. He stroked, and (Harry) the boy cried out, the first sound he had made.

Every thrust inside him felt better; Harry wasn't sure why he was enjoying this so much but he was beyond caring. When the man started stroking his cock, he did something he had never before; cried out genuinely. With customers, he usually verbally encouraged them if they seemed to like that; but any sounds he made were purely fake. Not this time, though; he realized how silent he had been up till now. And this was real; no faked moans, he really was close to climax. This man, whose face he couldn't even see clearly but somehow felt familiar, was giving him what no one else had done.

Snape was growling now; so long, so much frustration, want, need, he poured it all into fucking (Harry) the boy beneath him. Higher, harder, deeper... he lost himself and knew he was about to go over the edge. He stroked (Harry's) the boy's cock harder, wanting, needing, to take him with him. (Harry's) The boy's cries were music to his ears.

Harry arched up, trying to drive the hard length deeper, and that hand stroked him, and it was happening, he was coming, he never came, this was so good... he cried out, and his hot seed splattered all over his chest.

He felt (Harry) the boy climax, and the muscles that gripped him tightened even more, and he lost control, gasping and pulsing, filling the body beneath him. He was blinded, he couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe for a long moment. He froze, emptying his need, and finally remembered to breathe as he tried to keep from collapsing onto (Harry) the boy. He finally withdrew shakily and lay down on the bed. Draping an arm across the boy beside him, Snape dozed off; the even breathing next to him told him the boy had done the same. Shame tried to wash over him; but he pushed it aside and fell into a deep sleep.

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Chapter 4: Chapter 4

He awoke with a start, his hands clenched into fists so tightly his ragged nails were starting to draw blood. Harry looked around in the still darkness, having a moment of complete confusion where he didn't know where he was or why, but then, in a brutal flush, reality came back to him and he slunk back against the headboard, running his hands through sweaty hair.

Glancing down in the direction of his chest, he could imagine what a wreck he must be; covered with dried come, makeup and sweat. How delightful. He made a face and pushed the covers aside, starting as his hand brushed against something hot and very human. He snatched his hand back as if it had been burned, scrambled out of bed and switched on the nightstand light.

A man's face was illuminated, but the sudden and blinding (to Harry's sleep-ridden eyes) light didn't bother him in the slightest. He slept on, face cushioned by Harry's spare pillow. Harry's vision was still blurred, but he could make out the inky-black hair contrasting to the pristine white of his pillow. The man appeared to be very pale, his skin tone meshing confusingly with the white of the sheets and pillow. Harry stared down at him, his face drawn in a pinched, pained expression, and he suddenly had the disturbing urge to crawl back into bed.

Instead of succumbing, Harry opted for the shower he so desperately needed, but not before considering sending his partner for the night home. It wasn't like him to let clients sleep over - he strongly discouraged it - but the man had been so kind and just looking at him was causing all sorts of reactions that Harry didn't want to process. He closed the bathroom door quietly behind him, so as not to disturb his companion, and started the faucet, turning the cold water up to a high setting. He dunked his hand under the spray and winced at the burning water, so hot it felt cold, and turned it down.

He sighed when the torrent of hot water hit his skin, a thousand different jets shoving against him so sharply it felt like a massage. Groaning, he leaned back and doused his head, reached for the shampoo and lathered the filmy substance through his fingers, until it reached a fragrant foam. His hands moved up to his scalp where he rubbed and washed, rubbing away the pain lingering in his temples with soapy fingers. That done, he quickly rinsed his hair and grabbed for the conditioner, rubbed it in, let it sit for around thirty seconds and dipped back under the water spray.

He already felt better. The come sticking to his stomach (his own come, Harry remembered with a frown) washed away easier than he thought it would, and so his body was nearly scrubbed clean. He ran a hand through his damp hair, looked around the shower, and grabbed a wash cloth. He dampened it, then tentatively, still aware his face might be a bit sore, gently cleansed his face of all traces of makeup. It didn't hurt; his lucky healing habits hadn't failed him. By morning, there should be little trace, and he could go back to work the next day.

This didn't reassure him as much as he'd hoped.

Undecidedly, Harry let his mind wander over the man sleeping in his bed. Why was he so disturbed by his presence? Why had he let him spend the night? Christ, he didn't even know the man's first name - and vice versa - and Harry was planning on crawling back into bed with him like nothing at all was unusual?

What a strange life I lead, Harry mused, turning off the water. The sudden silence in the room hurt his ears, so he hustled for his towel, and wrapped it around his waist. His left eye started to sting and felt extremely dry, so Harry bent over and ruffled through the contents of his medicine cabinet. His wandering hand caused quite a few small items to fall out - hand cream, moisturizer, and... a box of 24 hour contacts. He'd forgotten that he'd got those about a month ago; they were free with the sunglasses he'd gotten. Whistling softly with joy, he opened the package, removed the contacts and gently placed them in his eyes. He blinked, the reflection in the mirror rolling for just a moment before his vision was normal again. He leaned over the counter top to inspect the damage to his face, and smiled when he realized it was almost completely gone. There was a faint red mark underneath his eye where he'd been punched, but that was the only indication of the brawl earlier.

Feeling clean and slightly better about the world, Harry opened the door and turned off the light to the bathroom, dropped his towel and made over to the bed. He carefully slid the sheets back down, and crawled in. The man was still asleep, and Harry didn't feel like waking him quite yet, but he wanted to look at him a bit, to see if he was really as good looking as Harry thought. He turned over, facing the mans back, and was about to smoothly turn the man over when he did it himself.

+

Snape swam back up to the surface of consciousness slowly. He had a feeling he hadn't been asleep that long; the gray light of dawn was just seeping into the room around him. An unfamiliar room. His mind struggled to pull together the details of the previous night. It was still fuzzy. As ridiculous as it was, somehow it seemed there should be someone in the bed with him, but there wasn't. Suddenly his mind crystallized; it all came rushing back. He opened his eyes fully, and looked around. There had been someone next to him, and recently. That someone was now in the bathroom; presumably in the shower. He could hear running water. Someone that he had fucked. Someone he had paid to fuck. A prostitute. He looked up at the stained ceiling and groaned. This surely wasn't what Dumbledore had intended when he sent him away for a vacation.

He wasn't sure what had come over him. He really was worse off than he thought. Why had the boy even let him stay? That surely mustn't be standard procedure. Not that he had ever done this before. A sense of emptiness washed over him. What was he doing with his life? He was certainly unfit to teach at the moment, and that really was all he had. As much as he despised teaching ungrateful brats sometimes, it was his life, and other than his long fight against Voldemort, his only reason to go on. He closed his eyes, wallowing in the patheticness of it all, when he felt the bed move. The boy had returned. For some reason Snape didn't feel like getting up just yet, so he lay quietly as the boy lay down next to him. He could smell the boy's shampoo or soap, he wasn't sure which; it was sort of an apple kind of scent, and it suddenly made him wistful. He hoped this wasn't going to be too awkward. May as well get it over with. He opened his eyes and turned toward the boy, who was just turning over to face him. Snape's heart stopped.

No.

No.

What his eyes were telling him couldn't possibly be true. He closed them and opened them again. What he saw before him hadn't changed. In the gray light of morning, hair falling into emerald eyes, makeup washed away now, face changed but still familiar, body thinner, Harry Potter.

NO.

Harry Potter.

He had fucked Harry Potter.

He had paid Harry Potter for sex.

Harry Potter had sucked his cock.

Harry Potter was a whore.

A million questions, but no words would come out. So many things to say, but none of them adequate. The sheer reality of the situation was so incredibly stunningly *wrong* that it defied words. He tried anyway. His voice croaked. "No."

He watched Harry's face react, go slack with shock before twisting into horror. "No," he agreed, scrambling back off the bed, clutching at the bed sheet in a ludicrous effort to hide himself.

"What-" Snape couldn't even form words, let alone a coherent question. The enormity of what they had done had hardly even hit him yet. The coincidence, the staggering odds against what had happened...

"P-professor? Snape?" asked Harry, mind completely frozen, absolutely sure that was who was in his bed, whose cock he had sucked, who he had had sex with, but his mind needed confirmation. He stood by the bed now, looking down, his mind nearly split in two trying to reconcile the two men; the man who had paid to fuck him after being so kind, the man who had made him enjoy it, and Snape. No. Life was cruel, but not this much.

"Harry Potter," whispered the black haired wizard, more to convince himself with the sound of the name than anything else.

"Just Harry," he responded automatically.

"Just Harry," Snape repeated softly, unaware he even spoke. His eyes flittered anxiously over Harry's face, and in his chest there was a pressing feeling that felt like hysteria. Harry Potter, scar absent but face wholly recognizable, not six feet away from him.

"Is it..." Harry started to speak, then bit his lower lip. "Is it really you, Professor?" A chill ran through Severus; it was hard to assemble the past with present. Hearing his title in that tone brought back too many memories.

"I was about to ask the same thing." He tried to force himself to smile, but it didn't even make it past a thought. He was too unnerved, too anxious and too shocked to do anything but stare.

A silence followed. Harry shifted around uncomfortably, eyes trained on the pattern of the sheet he had wrapped around him, and Severus couldn't bring himself to look away.

"Why are you.. here? In Muggle London," Harry asked, still not looking up. It was difficult to keep his eyes on Snape, especially now that they'd fucked.

"Dumbledore thinks I'm..." He was about to say, 'losing my mind,' but thought better of it; it wasn't something you told to a virtual stranger.

Only a stranger you knew for 7 years.

"Dumbledore thinks I'm overworking myself, and ordered me to take a vacation. I didn't feel like leaving the country, and I'd never been to Muggle London by myself, so..." He let Harry make whatever he would out of the information.

"I didn't know you were gay." Harry let the words slip from his tongue before he thought about them, and his face colored red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded..."

"I know." Snape paused. "I had no idea... you were..."

"A whore?" This, too, slipped out before Harry could stop it, but he didn't make an apology for it.

"I was going to say gay, but a prostitute is a big surprise as well," Severus admitted.

"Mm," Harry said. "The Boy Who Lived becomes The Boy Who Lived in London and Fucked Men for Money." Snape shuddered just a little, but Potter didn't notice. "It's an understandable shock."

Neither had given any mention to the fact that they had just spent the night together, and purposefully so. Things were so awkward, and it was hard enough dealing with the revealed identities... any direct comment on the situation would only increase the unease.

Snape lay back on the bed, eyes on the ceiling again, as if the stained plaster held the answer, would whisk him out of the excruciating situation. Should he stay? Should he go? Not looking at Harry made it easier to speak without being mortified. Slowly it was dawning on him, what he'd done.

Harry stood still, trying not to fidget and call attention to himself since he didn't know if he could stand to see the pity those dark eyes must hold. He would much rather those hypnotic eyes stay on the ceiling. Then a thought occurred to him, one that made his blood run cold. "You're not going to tell Dumbledore." It was halfway between a question and a statement, Harry himself wasn't even sure. The thought of the old wizard knowing the depths to which he had fallen was somehow worse than the most degrading sex act he'd ever had to perform.

Snape laughed deprecatingly, shifting on the bed, slowly becoming aware of his... stickiness. "I hardly think this is the sort of thing Albus had in mind when he sent me away. I don't think I wish to give him a full report of all my... activities."

Harry sighed in relief, sitting gingerly on the bed, trying to keep the sheet wrapped around him. He wasn't sure why modesty mattered at this point; he had spent the better part of last night with his mouth or body wrapped around intimate portions of Snape's body last night. But that was before he *knew*. Somehow that did make a difference. "Thank you."

Severus sighed and rolled onto his side, facing Harry. He forced himself to look at the boy. God, he looked so young, so vulnerable, and still so beautiful. His heart ached to think of what he had been doing all this time. "But... I can't just forget I, um, saw you." How could he forget, now that he knew what it felt like to touch Harry, to... he stopped himself. He couldn't think that way now.

Harry gaped at Severus, his eyes widened by panic and alarm. "Yes, you can," he amended quickly. "You can and should forget very easily that you've seen me, and what I am now. To you, I should be dead." He lowered his eyes.

"Why did you become..." Snape couldn't finish the question. His mind was filled with beautiful and grotesque images of Harry in indescribable positions; flashes of him pleasuring clients and fucking Severus spun before his eyes and he swallowed harshly, trying to dispel them.

"I have yet to figure out the answer to that question, myself," Harry admitted, binding the sheet he held in front of himself over his waist like a kind of sarong. Severus had to forcibly make himself look away from the broad planes of Harry's handsome chest.

"But surely you had other choices...?" Severus realized he probably didn't have the authority to ask Potter such delicate questions, but couldn't stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.

"What do you think," Harry snapped, not bothering to look into Snape's eyes and see the disdain that was sure to be found. He preferred instead to stare intently at the patterned sheet he wore tied around his middle. "If I had a choice, I wouldn't have done this, you can bet on it." Harry gave a weak, bitter smile to the sheet. "So, what do you think, now that you've found The Great and Fallen Harry Potter?"

"I'm not sure what I think," said the answering voice, in as soft a tone as Harry had ever heard it. Something about that quality made him want to study Snape's face, to look and see what changes time had given it, but more than that, he wanted something familiar to cling to, for however short a time.

"That says enough in itself," Harry whispered, tilting his head up and internally wincing, trying to brave himself for the mixture of pity and disgust...

There was none. This puzzled him so much he let his reserve slip and his face broke facade enough to look dumbfounded. Instead of what he had anticipated, Severus (Snape, he reminded himself) was looking at him with a completely benign expression, looking unmoved but uncritical. It surprised him so much his dazed stare turned into a flush.

Snape gazed back, directly into those emerald eyes that had been haunting him, and saw only a desperately sexy boy, one that he had a terrible compulsion to protect, and also to ravish. He wanted to know him, wanted to know everything... but he had no right. He was torn. He wouldn't let Harry go again.

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Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Severus was confused about many things. But he knew one thing for sure. He had to get Harry out of this situation. There was no way he was going to let Harry go back to his old life, now that he knew. Now that he had... but no, that wouldn't happen again, it couldn't. He had a flimsy excuse last night; he truly hadn't known it was Harry he was fucking. Even though he had imagined it was him, and on some level his body must have known because in his own mind he had been fucking Harry as surely as the boy was right here in front of him. What the exact difference was, he wasn't sure; but there was a difference, and a line he could no longer cross. No matter how much he wanted to. He looked at Harry, and his mind became split; the feelings he realized he had been harboring for his student mixed with the feeling of the body under him, and now he knew who that body was... oh god, what a mess.

Harry stared back challengingly. He repeated himself. "You won't tell Dumbledore." It wasn't a question. He said it partly to reassure himself.

"I said I wouldn't," Severus said faintly, mind racing ahead of him. This wouldn't be easy...

"No, you didn't, not exactly," Harry answered. He needed more concrete reassurances. He suddenly had a wild urge; he had to get the other man out of here, now, before he did something stupid. He was already having more emotion that he did in a month, and he wasn't thinking straight. "Maybe you should go."

Snape forced himself to look, really look, at Harry. In the morning's light he looked older, but not as old as he sounded. A handsome boy, grown into a prettier man, no makeup needed to enhance those features. Hardly any mark on him to remind of last night's altercation... suddenly that struck him as odd. "Harry. Your face."

Harry's hand flew up to the nearly faded bruise. "What about it?" he said guardedly.

"It's nearly healed. That's impossible." Severus was sure it looked quite bad last night.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Harry replied, "I've always healed fast. Good immune system."

"No. Not that fast. It's not normal." Snape leaned closer, excitement building. "Many people with latent magical talents experience accelerated healing."

Harry looked away. "Coincidence." He hated to be reminded of his lack of magic. It hurt too badly.

"Harry," Severus went on, "I'm serious. This is important. Do your injuries always heal this fast?"

Harry stood up, trying to keep the sheet around him as he turned his back. "Yes, I suppose. But it doesn't mean anything."

Snape stared at the expanse of firm, uncovered flesh in front of him. He was distracted for a long moment, but a small thought nagged at him. Such smooth, unmarked skin... "Harry. You have no scars."

"Don't remind me," he laughed mirthlessly.

"No! I don't mean that one. I mean, anywhere else. Most people have at least some small scars." He paused. "From what I can see," he went on carefully, swallowing, "You have none."

Harry turned around angrily, letting the sheet drop slightly. "I told you, it means nothing."

Snape leaned forward. He wanted to get up but he wasn't even sure where his clothes were. "Harry," he said earnestly. "It does! It could very well mean something important! Please, come back to Hogwarts with me and we can find out!"

"Find out what? That I'm a pathetic squib? I already know that!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm not going back there. I get enough pity as it is, thank you."

"But Albus may know someone who can help! A specialist in uncovering latent magical powers!" Severus' voice rose. Harry might have a chance!

"I'm not going back there," Harry repeated firmly.

Snape paused. The boy's face was set with determination. How well he knew how Harry's mind would resist being changed. A different tack. "I want to help, Harry. What if we went somewhere else?"

Harry thought fast. He had to dissuade Snape from what he obviously saw as his noble mission to save him. He didn't believe, couldn't let himself believe, that there was any chance of his having magic. That way lay only more disappointment, and he had already had enough for several lifetimes. He couldn't take it again. "No," he said firmly. He stared into those coal black eyes that shone with determination. He only knew one way, only had one weapon at his disposal. He dropped the sheet he had clutched around him.

"Wouldn't you rather do something else, Severus?" he dropped his voice, deliberately using the professor's first name. He didn't have to fake desire; the man looked incredible in his bed, inky black hair against ivory skin, hypnotic eyes and lean body. He dragged a hand down his chest, drawing Snape's eyes, across his flat stomach, toward his cock. Blood rushed there, and he started to harden, another anomalous erection caused by Severus. Twice in 24 hours, it must be a record.

Snape paled as he couldn't tear his eyes from the boy's body, so abruptly and deliciously revealed. Part of him recognized immediately the distracting ploy, but his body reacted anyway. "Harry," he said warningly, but his voice didn't hold the conviction it should have. "We can't."

Harry tried not to smile triumphantly. If there was one thing he knew, it was sex. He stroked his hardening cock a few times, letting out a genuine moan, before he dropped to his knees on the bed. He kneeled, looking down at Severus, who looked stricken. "But we already did, Severus." He leaned down, face inches from the older man's. "And it was good, wasn't it?"

Snape couldn't deny that; his body was clamoring to remind him. He fought the rising tide of hormones flowing through him. He couldn't let Harry distract him this way... his eyes roamed over the boy's nude, aroused body involuntarily. "Harry," he said firmly. "No."

Ignoring Snape's denial, Harry moved in closer. He tried to tell himself he was acting, playing a part, but he couldn't deny that he really wanted to feel what it was like to be with Severus, while actually knowing whom it was he was with. His body ached with unfamiliar feelings, and he was actually looking forward to sex. With Snape. Then he could get back to normal again. Right. He pressed his lips to the other man's. Softness, warmth, he ran his tongue delicately over Severus' lips. Demanding entrance. And as he knew they must, the lips parted for him.

He couldn't do this, mustn't do this, thoughts flew through Snape's mind as Harry kissed him. But those thoughts were drowned out by the memories that came flooding back at him, memories of masturbating to the thought of Harry, and then the reality of last night and the sweet heat of the boy's body. God, how he wanted it again, and his mouth opened to let Harry's tongue inside, and he tasted of mint and need and he had never needed anything as much as he needed to possess the boy once again.

Harry deepened the kiss, burying one hand in the other man's silky hair, realizing how much he really did want this, how long he'd wanted it and not known. Snape was responding, and he pressed him back against the bed...

Deep inside, Snape dredged up his will, and gently, reluctantly, resisted Harry's efforts to push him down. "No," he said, panting slightly. "We can't.

Harry stared back at him in shock. "You want me, I know you do!" he said, disturbed to hear the petulant tone that had crept into his voice. He looked down the length of Severus' body, and he could clearly see the outline of the man's erection through the thin blanket. "You can't deny it."

"No, I can't," agreed Snape. "But what I can do is not give in to every desire."

"Why not?" demanded Harry, trying not to pout. This wasn't like him at all.

"You know why, Harry," Severus said gently, gaining his strength back slowly. He couldn't believe he had done that, denied himself what he wanted more than anything. Well, not more than anything; he realized that what he really wanted was to help Harry. "If there was a chance of getting your powers back, Harry, wouldn't you want to try?"

Harry gazed back at him stonily. He couldn't think of anything to say.

"I can't guarantee anything," Snape said honestly. "But why won't you even try?" Harry still was silent, and he forged ahead. "We don't have to go to Hogwarts. I have a house, out in the country. Very private. I have nothing but time, and you have nothing to lose, Harry. Unless you really like this life."

Harry considered. He knew he couldn't keep this life up forever. Sooner or later someone would be too rough for even him to heal, and his "career" would be over. No one wanted a disfigured whore. And if there was a chance... Growing up, he hadn't healed this fast, had he? He hadn't really though about it, just thought that once his body was grown, his immune system had strengthened. He never got sick. Not once. Not even a sniffle. Did it truly mean something? And being with Snape... why did that give him a funny feeling in his stomach? One that was desire, but not quite?

Snape watched Harry's face carefully. Truthfully, he had no idea what he was doing. But there must be a chance. He had heard of cases where magical powers had been suppressed... he could find out details, ask Dumbledore without Harry knowing... and above all, get the boy out of here. The fact that they would be alone together crossed his mind, but he told himself he could resist; he had done so once, after all. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind. Harry had to say yes. He wouldn't take no for an answer.

Harry was torn. The unknown scared the hell out of him; he had no stomach for it any more. But... if there was a chance... he could always come back, it wasn't as if he would lose seniority. And he could be with Snape... he knew his hormones were controlling him, but suddenly he didn't care any more. His lips still tingled from Severus' kiss, and there was a faint twinge of something he hadn't felt for a long time. Hope. He took a deep breath. "Ok."

+

Harry packed his belongings after a lengthy breakfast with Snape. The two didn't say anything much to each other, of course, just stared and pretended not to stare over their toast and coffee. Harry was somewhat reassured by the behaviour; it meant that Severus was still interested, for however much he kept Harry at a distance and tried to ignore the mounting sexual tension.

Harry shivered, dropping a pair of underwear into his suitcase. There was little time if he wanted to backtrack, and he *should* change his mind and tell Snape he was deluded if he thought Harry was just going to up and leave. But he didn't feel the slightest inclination to do so; in fact, he felt like leaving, even if staying meant reassuming his old identity. What would it be like to be Harry Potter again? Oh, sure, his driving licence read Harold J. Potter, but what would it mean and how would it be to actually be known as Harry Potter again? What would he do, when he got his powers back? *If* he got his powers back. He heaved a sigh and slammed the suitcase closed.

This was madness. He was leaving -- without notifying anyone, not his landlord, not Mike, not a soul -- and this stunt most likely wouldn't work (or so Harry had been telling himself in a loop of reservation) so what could he come back to? No apartment (what would happen to his furniture?) and no... well, no job. Harry hardly liked prostituting, but it wasn't something he could easily up and leave... and if this jaunt with Snape didn't work, he'd have to do *something* to make money, and that had to be something he knew how to do well. There were little options.

A ruffling sound came from behind him, and Harry spun, his frazzled nerves not registering it had to be Snape until he actually saw the man, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans and hair freshly washed. He blinked.

"Are you ready to go," he asked softly, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. Harry glanced down at the suitcase sitting on his bed, and leaned over, zipping it up in one fluid motion with conviction that had no appreciable origins.

"Yeah, let me grab my wallet," Harry said hastily, brushing past Severus and walking into the front room, suitcase in hand. He glanced at the coffee table and frowned with unwelcome surprise when his wallet was nowhere to be seen. "Well, shit," he swore, dropping the suitcase to his feet and walking into the kitchen.

He didn't hear Snape coming up behind him again, and jumped when there was a light touch to his shoulder. "You left it on your bedside table," Snape told Harry, spinning him around and reaching around with his other hand to hold it aloft for him to grab. Harry took it, giving a fleeting look to the leather wallet.

"Thanks," he said mildly. His shoulder was tingling where Severus' hand was still lingering. The hand turned flat, the palm pressing down on his shoulder, before sliding partially down his arm and finally withdrawing.

"I'll call the taxi," Snape whispered, stepping past Harry in a lingering smell of dry herbs, a smell Harry found surprisingly agreeable.

+

Watching Harry pack while arguing with himself was maddening, but Snape thought he knew what was going through the boy's head. Well, not exactly, but he had to have been reviewing his whole life just then, comparing it with the unknown and the chance of failure. He knew Harry had to work through this on his own, if he was really going to try. He tried to stay mostly out of the way, but he could tell the boy didn't know his wallet was by the bed. When he had retrieved it he couldn't resist taking a peek inside, and the strangely unmoving picture of Harry on the driving licence startled him for some reason he couldn't fathom. He couldn't resist the small touch, and it had left his heart beating fast.

Now he sat next to Harry in the Muggle taxi, mind unable to stop racing ahead of him. What would it be like, to have Harry at his house, his house that he barely knew himself? The house always held too many memories, of parents who didn't understand their dark son. He could have spent more time there if he had wanted, but he also could have sold the place. He did neither, preferring not to think about it as much as possible. Now it seemed the place was useful, and if he could help save Harry there, then it would all have been worthwhile.

After a quick stop at his hotel to gather his meager belongings, they were off into the English countryside. For better or worse.

+

It was a very big house. This was Harry's first thought, shielding his eyes from the glaring sun in their path. He had to raise his head just to see the top of it, and even then it was a strain. It wasn't something he would have thought Snape owned at all; he expected something cottage-y, perhaps stone, but this... this was a lovely white mansion with a bloody picket fence and front porch. The house reminded him of the mansion in "Gone With the Wind." Cracking a small smile at the thought, he followed Snape up the pathway.

He was somewhat amused to discover there were no servants; occasionally, a friend of Snape's would come over and charm the house clean and the lawn cut. Harry grimaced at this reminded of the talents he'd lost and would probably never get back, despite this unenthusiastic attempt to reclaim them. He very easily shrugged off Severus' logic, after all, it was rare for a Wizard to regain his powers, even if they have only been blocked. Dumbledore himself had told Harry he was actually born a squib, and now Snape was challenging his judgment.

So, why had he come along then? The biggest pleasure would be the break from that wretched life he was living, and time alone with Snape, whom he was discovering a liking to as the hours went on. In the taxi, they'd discussed favourite films and novels and discovered they had a common interest in classics. It was a pleasing realization that he was compatible with Snape, and one he planned to deepen and explore.

"I hope you'll be comfortable here," Snape said, glancing over his shoulder at Harry, who increased his pace so they could walk side by side.

"I should be. Its the biggest damn house I've seen in some time," he said with a jaunty smile, looking up at the towering house.

"It's my birthright," Snape told him, "I inherited it from my father, who's father passed it to him and so on. Snape Mansion," he said, pointing at the sign Harry had previously missed which did indeed say 'Snape Mansion.'

"Do you have any siblings?" Harry asked, feeling the pressing urge for conversation.

"Two. Madeline and Harry."

"Ah." Harry didn't exactly know what to say to this, but they'd reached the house anyway, so it really didn't figure. He waited patiently while Snape unlocked the door. "Do you live here during the summers?"

"No, this is the third time I've been here since reaching adulthood," he was told coolly, before being ushered inside. And that had been three times too many, he added to himself.

From the inside, it looked even bigger. There were hallways leading off in too many directions, a staircase that had several stops and two sodding sitting rooms off to the left, not to mention a closet the size of Harry's bedroom, loo and kitchen combined. "Where the hell are the bedrooms?" Harry asked rhetorically, with a light chuckle.

"My rooms are on the third floor, you're welcome to sleep in close vicinity," Snape said, taking Harry's suitcase from his hand and moving towards the stairs. He winced at the involuntary thoughts that statement brought on. Dangerous territory.

"Not nearly close enough," Harry muttered to himself before following. He jogged up the steps until he came even with Snape again. "So you grew up here, then?"

"Yes. Well, until I was ten and then only spent summers here." He paused. "Hogwarts, you know."

Harry didn't react to the mention of magic this time, earning him a point in Snape's favour. He nodded silently and heaved a small breath when they reached the third floor landing. "This way to your room," Snape said, turning right and walking down yet another (they seemed endless) hallway. Harry followed diligently.

The room, Harry found, was absolutely huge. The bed took up around a quarter of it, and it held a dresser and desk set, a few odds and ends scattered about, but most of it was carpet space. It even had its own fireplace, which he found peculiar, given the whole house was magically heated, or so Snape had told him during the drive. It was a comforting touch. Snape watched Harry again; it seemed all he could do. Seeing him here, juxtaposed with his childhood memories, was too strange. He would analyze it later. "Is it all right?" he asked anxiously.

Harry turned to him and managed a smile. Severus looked really concerned. "It's fine," he reassured him. "You should see the room I grew up in," he continued, then regretted his words as Snape's expression darkened. "Where are your rooms?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "And is there a secret passage between them?" he joked.

Snape frowned, then decided to let the levity pass. If Harry was well and truly determined to seduce him he had a big problem. After last night he had very little resistance left, and he knew it. He took a deep breath and said, "Why don't you put your things down and I'll give you the grand tour?"

"All right," Harry smiled, and Severus let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Harry followed Snape out of the room.

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Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Severus sat heavily in the armchair by the fireplace. He had to contact Dumbledore. The headmaster would want to know what was happening with Harry, and he needed the old wizard's advice on how to proceed. But he had to wait until the boy went to sleep. Harry wouldn't like being talked about, Snape was sure of that.

They had spent a pleasant evening. Severus had shown Harry around the house and grounds, and they had had a light dinner out on the terrace. It was still just warm enough for that, though the nights were growing colder.

The house-elves, though out of practice, served up a fine meal, and Harry seemed to grow tired quite early. Severus suggested he go to bed, and Harry resisted the urge to respond with a suggestive comment. He made his way up to his room, and when Snape had left him he had been crawling into the huge bed. One more longing look and then he left. Now, he threw some powder into the fireplace and waited for Dumbledore to answer his call.

He didn't have long to wait. Within two minutes, the silver-haired wizard's head appeared in the fireplace, smiling his usual benign smile. "Severus! I see you've decided to spend some time at your old home. What a splendid idea."

"Professor," he began, "Circumstances have... changed just a bit." And he began to outline the tale of finding Harry, leaving out the parts where he rescued the boy prostitute from a violent john, then took him home and fucked him. Snape thought that part wasn't relevant at the moment.

At first, Dumbledore frowned silently, then as he began to grasp the situation, he began to ask questions. He was particularly interested in the boy's rapid healing. They talked for some time, and though Severus expected the other man to demand he bring Harry back to Hogwarts, he didn't. Luckily.

"I want to help him, Albus," Snape said earnestly. "Do you have any suggestions?"

The old wizard seemed to consider. "I will send over some texts which might help," Dumbledore began, "But I must warn you. Restoring Harry's power may not be easy, if it is even possible at all. It may be all coincidence. However, I never believed much in coincidence, and if you wish to try, I will not stand in your way, Severus."

"Thank you, Albus," Snape answered, and he was glad the old man didn't ask to talk to Harry, or why Severus suddenly seemed so eager to help the student he had once seemed to despise. Dumbledore always was much smarter than he let on, Severus had to remind himself. Underestimating the man was easy, and often dangerous.

With part of his mind reassured, he went to bed himself, trying to ignore that fact that the incredible sexy boy he had had the most incredible night of his life with was just in the next set of rooms.

Sleep came slowly that night.

+

Harry woke to a room full of bright light; he must have forgotten to shut the curtains last night. He forced his eyes open, wincing, to discover that he wasn't at home at all. An automatic glance at the bed revealed he was alone, thankfully. Then he remembered where he was. Snape Mansion.

He buried his head in his hands as he remembered what he'd agreed to. How could he have been so stupid? He apparently hadn't been thinking with his head. Luckily, Snape would soon grow contemptuous of him and send him away, Harry was certain. He could just go somewhere else, Liverpool maybe, he'd heard it was an easy place for a male prostitute to make a living. Rough, but the money was good. He had been stupid to stay in London anyway.

He automatically fumbled for his glasses until he realised he could see already. Oh, yes, the contacts, he remembered now. He could probably get away with wearing them for a few more days. He would worry about it when the time came. He got up and shuffled to the bathroom, amazed that his body was barely sore any more. He'd always taken his rapid healing for granted, but now he couldn't stop thinking about it. Did it really mean something?

He peered in the mirror, and noticed that all traces of his injuries were gone, as usual. He looked at himself with disgust, and decided to take a shower. He found the bathroom stocked with soap, shampoo and conditioner, and the massage head of the shower was much better than his. Snape certainly was a good host.

Thinking of Snape had been a mistake; his first mental image of him was the way he used to stand, forbidding and glowering, at the front of the classroom. Now, juxtaposed with that memory was the feeling of being pinned to the bed by him, the taste of the man's cock in his mouth. Predictably, his own cock rose at the memory; it seemed his crush on the professor had returned in full force, never mind that he was a whore who didn't have any personal interest in sex. His body disagreed.

He tried to ignore his erection, washed his hair and his body but it was still there, insistent. He felt foolish as he dropped his hand to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it, letting out an involuntary moan at the sensation. He couldn't even remember the last time he had masturbated, in the shower no less, like a fourteen-year-old. Snape certainly was having an effect on him.

He stroked quickly, moaning again; it felt better than he even remembered. All he had to think about was the night with Snape, replaying it in his mind now that he knew whom he had been with. How could he not have recognized that voice? But now he knew more than the man's voice, he knew what it felt like to be fucked by him, heard that voice raised in passion. Those elegant hands had touched him all over. He shuddered and stroked faster, his breathing harsh, echoing in the glass enclosure, reminding him of what he was doing.

Snape paused in the hallway outside Harry's room. He hesitated to disturb the boy; he probably needed his rest. But he also needed food, and Snape was eager to try a few of the spells that Dumbledore had suggested. A stack of books had arrived early this morning, magically shrunk and carried by a school owl. Snape had immediately returned them to their proper size and set to reading, hoping against hope for a clue about what to do. He had a few ideas, but nothing concrete. He hoped further study and some test spells would give him a new direction. The most promising lead, of course, was Harry's rapid healing ability. He had many more books to peruse, but, to be honest, he really wanted to see Harry.

He took a deep breath and knocked softly. There was no answer, so he knocked harder. Questioning his own motives for wanting to go into Harry's room, he decided to just do it. He opened the door, cursing himself for hoping for a glimpse of the boy's creamy skin. Fortunately or not, the bed was unoccupied and the sound of running water from the bathroom told Snape all he needed to know. So why was he still standing here, staring intently at the slice of steam-filled room he could see through the slightly ajar door? Tantalized by a glimpse of skin, he moved further into the room, cursing his own weakness. Then, a low moan echoed throughout the room, going straight to his already half-hard cock. He moved as if under Imperius, a step closer. Was Harry hurt? Or was he doing what he sounded like he was doing?

He had to get out of there, and fast. Or he might not be able to control himself any more. He backed out of the room, still looking into the bathroom, disgusted with himself.

Harry leaned back against the tile, stroking faster now, thrusting into his own hand, breathing hard. He was imagining Snape's hands all over him, the man's deep sexy voice murmuring nasty nothings in his ear. He gasped as he went over the edge, spilling his seed into the jets of water, mixing and washing away without a trace.

Snape was sitting at the dining room table, reading yet another book, when Harry finally found him. He looked up and immediately regretted it; the erection he had just managed to will away came back with a vengeance. Harry stood there, dressed only in a towel wrapped precariously low around his hips, still pink and damp from the shower.

Harry was feeling reckless; he had some clean clothes but he always wandered around his flat after a shower in his towel, and he wanted to see if he could get any reaction from Severus. "Morning," he said, standing still so Snape could get an eyeful.

"Good morning, Harry," Severus replied, becoming very interested in his book. "Are you hungry?"

Harry stretched, and the towel dropped precariously low on his hips. "Starving, actually," he said in a tone that suggested he wasn't actually talking about food. He wasn't sure if it was Severus or the change of location, but he hadn't felt this way in years. Damn if the man didn't look good sitting there, much more human out of his Potions classroom, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, and images of what he sounded like in bed kept intruding into his thoughts. He had an unfamiliar feeling in his stomach and he realized he was a bit nervous. Whatever for? They had already had sex! But... not with full knowledge of what, or who, they were doing... He slid into a chair across from the older man before he got completely tongue-tied.

"Shall I summon a house-elf to get you something?" Snape asked, trying desperately to will away his erection. He hoped that Harry wouldn't make a habit of wandering around the house that way, he'd never survive it. The last thing Harry needed right now was another man lusting over him.

"Sure, why not," replied Harry. A small creature appeared, and he asked for an omelet and coffee. Moments later, the food had appeared, and Harry found he actually was rather hungry. Snape's house-elves seemed to be just as good as he remembered the Hogwarts elves to be, and he set to.

Trying not to watch Harry eat, Severus instead went back to studying the books in front of him, sipping at his coffee.

Harry finished eating, then looked over at Snape. "That was great, thank you."

Severus glanced up and nodded, then went back to his reading.

Harry stood up and walked over to the other man. "What are you reading?" he asked, leaning over Severus' shoulder, bracing himself on the table as he tried to read the text. "It looks complicated."

Severus closed his eyes for a long moment, trying desperately not to breathe in the scent of the freshly-showered young man. When he had his voice, if not his body, under control, he answered, "I'm looking through these books to see if any of them mention a problem such as yours. Albus sent them over." He waited for that information to sink in.

"Dumbledore knows I'm here?" Harry said, sitting back down in his chair.

"Yes, I told you I had to contact him, he was worried about you," explained Severus, adding quickly, "I didn't tell him... many details."

"Well, the headmaster doesn't know I'm a whore. That's something, I suppose," Harry said bitterly.

"I told him only of your healing, and that you wished not to return to Hogwarts. He gave me permission to continue researching your problem here," said Severus.

"Oh," said Harry faintly, his anger disappearing as rapidly as it had formed.

"And, Harry," Severus said, leaning across the table toward him, willing the boy to understand what he was saying, "Please don't talk about yourself that way. You did what you felt necessary. It's in the past. I want to help you with your future."

Harry felt his heart ache. If Snape was trying to make him fall for him, it was certainly working. He felt something in him give. "Ok. I'll.... I'll try. And thank you."

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Chapter 7: Chapter 7

"I told you, it's no fucking use," snapped Harry, throwing the wand across the room in disgust. Snape had given him a spare wand he had lying around the house; Harry's wand had never been found after the final battle and Harry had left behind its replacement when he had fled. He'd protested when Snape had suggested he try some simple spells, but the older man could be very convincing. And maybe, just maybe, Harry had had a glimmer of hope that some of his magic might have returned.

To no avail.

The simplest levitation spell, one that he had mastered in his first year, produced not even the slightest motion in the feather. Not one spark emitted from the wand with a simple "lumos."

Nothing.

Snape unobtrusively accio-ed the discarded wand to him while he tried to reassure Harry. "It's ok, I didn't expect it to work. The books just suggested some baseline testing. For comparison purposes."

"Well, here's your fucking baseline," Harry snapped, and flung himself onto the couch. "I'm a goddamn squib, I didn't need reminding of that." His cheeks burned with shame; it was bad enough to have no magic when there was no one else around that did either. Now, with Snape, a powerful wizard here, his inadequacies were even more painful.

Sighing, Snape seated himself on the coffee table in front of Harry. They'd only been at this for a few hours and he was already being reminded of the parts of teaching he despised. And how much Harry Potter had annoyed him over the years. "Right. Well, we don't have to do this any more, Harry," he tried to say calmly. He looked more closely at the boy's eyes. They were red and irritated-looking. "Is there something wrong with your eyes?"

Harry snorted. "Other than the fact that I'm nearly blind without glasses or contacts?" Snape frowned at him, and with an act of will Harry tried not to sound like a total brat. "My glasses were ruined, as were my good contacts. These were a temporary pair, only meant to be worn for a day or so." He tried to think of how long he'd been wearing them. He'd slept for nearly two days straight after their arrival at the manor, then yesterday was spent exploring the house on his own. Severus had spent the time holed up in the impressive library, poring over the massive (and useless, he reminded himself) books that Dumbledore had sent. Today they'd started the testing, so that meant he'd been wearing these contacts for... five days straight now? No wonder his eyes stung. "I think I've been wearing them too long."

"Well," mused Severus, "What can we do? Do you have an eye doctor you can ring?"

Harry thought momentarily about his replacement glasses; they might be still at the optician's. But... that would mean going back to his old neighbourhood, his old life... a life that seemed so far away right now. "No," he said finally. "I suppose I could find a new doctor around here... it would take a couple of days to get a new prescription, though."

"I can do a spell," Snape offered cautiously, "That will enhance your eyesight temporarily. I cannot do the permanent spell; that can only be done by a certified healer. Can I ask why you never had your eyesight fixed?" He asked softly.

Harry looked away, reminded once again of all he had lost. "I was told I should wait until I was eighteen to have that done," he explained. "My eyesight was unusually bad. Then..." he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely, hoping he didn't have to explain what had happened before he had turned eighteen.

"Ah," Severus said, at a loss for words. "Would you like me to do the spell? Then at least you can take those contacts out."

"Why the fuck not?" Harry agreed, noticing that the more stressed he got, the more he slipped into what he liked to call "whorespeak." Lots of profanities, accompanied by suggestive looks. Not that the suggestive looks would do any good, he'd been lounging around the manor half dressed for the few days he had been here but Snape hadn't as much as laid a hand on him. More aggressive behaviour was required, apparently. Here he had just rediscovered his libido and Snape suddenly grew a conscience.

Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Harry's behaviour. He was starting to lose his already short patience, and the way Harry was teasing him with his body wasn't helping. Harry was acting like a child, and he'd had enough of *that* in the past twenty years or so. He knew how to handle children. "Do or do not, it's all the same to me," he snapped. He stood up and walked to the other side of the room. "Do let me know when you've finished your tantrum and are ready to proceed, Mr Potter." He used Harry's last name deliberately, to remind him that he was the teacher here. No matter that he knew exactly what Harry sounded like and felt like when he came...

Harry winced at Severus' use of formality. Point taken. Time to be nice. "I'm sorry," he said, getting up and trying to look penitent. "I was just frustrated. I'd like to try the spell, please." He hoped that was enough, because it was all he could manage. Resentment at not being able to cast any spell at all still bubbled close to the surface. Not to mention lust.

Severus narrowed his eyes at Harry's change of behaviour. He didn't quite buy it, but... "Very well. Perhaps you'd better remove the contacts first, then."

"Good idea," Harry replied, and quickly took care of that, returning to the living room to stand in front of Snape. Trying to wish away the half-erection that being so close to the older man brought on. Something about Severus, his forbidding manner, his unattainability perhaps, was really getting to him. And especially now that he'd had a taste... The fact that he couldn't see much past the other man's face gave a peculiar insulating effect, such that Snape seemed to be his entire world.

"Are you ready?" Severus asked, swallowing as he looked down at Harry. He could *smell* the boy, and his body sang with remembered touches. Focus, damn it. Don't want to blind him.

"I'm always ready," Harry couldn't help but shoot back. Old habits died hard. Then he mumbled, "Sorry." He felt just like he had when he was back at school, powerless and vulnerable. He didn't like it.

"Keep your eyes open, please," Snape said. A muttered spell with a flick of his wand, but it didn't feel right. There was a tingle that he always associated with casting a spell, but it felt... odd. "Harry?" he asked. "Can you see properly now?"

Harry was jerked out of contemplation of Severus' high-necked shirt, thinking of how it would feel to unbutton each of the tiny buttons with his teeth. He hadn't realised the spell had been done; he didn't feel any different. And he definitely couldn't see any better. "No, I can't."

Severus frowned. True, he hadn't done the spell before, but it was relatively straightforward. He tried again, enunciating even more clearly than usual and putting an extra push of power behind it. The same odd feeling again, but this time he cold define it more clearly. It was like pushing against a wall. A springy wall, but unyielding nevertheless. "Curious."

"What's curious? I still can't see properly," said Harry softly. In his mind, he'd freed Severus' neck from its captivity and was laying a line of soft kisses and bites leading inexorably downward. Snape's voice was intoxicating, no matter what he was saying.

"The spell. It didn't work," replied Snape in bemusement.

"Perhaps you didn't do it right," suggested Harry, still halfway in his fantasy of undressing Severus.

"Of course I did it right," snapped the older man, looking at his wand in annoyance, as if it was the cause of his problems.

"Well, it didn't work," Harry pointed out, and Severus glared down at him, suddenly realising how close the boy was, and stepped back quickly.

"There must be an explanation," he said, distractedly. Harry's eyes really were quite lovely, especially up close... pity he hadn't been able to look into them as he'd climaxed... "Let me try it once more."

"All right. But I'm getting a headache," sighed Harry, his fantasy interrupted.

This time, Severus concentrated, focusing his power and reciting the spell slowly and clearly. The same sensation of a barrier came to him, and a high-pitched hum filled the air briefly. Harry clapped his hands over his ears. "Ow! What was that?"

"I've no idea," said Severus slowly, completely astonished.

"It sounded like feedback," Harry said, rubbing his head. "And my headache's worse."

"Feedback?" Severus asked curiously.

Of course, the wizard wouldn't know... "It's something you get from Muggle electronics, sometimes. If two things are too close to one another, that...never mind. It was like that, but different," Harry tried to explain. "God, my head is killing me now."

"Let me do a spell to cure your headache, then," offered Severus, still at a loss to explain the spell's failure.

"Fine," Harry said impatiently. "I can't even think with this pain." His eyes were closed tightly.

Again, Severus cast a spell on Harry, but was met with the same resistance. "Did it work?" he asked hopefully.

"No," said Harry softly. "If anything, it's worse."

"Let me try again..." offered the older man. He felt responsible somehow.

"No, never mind, I've got some paracetamol in my bag," he waved his hand vaguely, stumbling toward his room.

Severus watched him go, utterly confused. Harry not only couldn't do spells, but they didn't work on him either, any more. He had never heard of such a thing.

Harry fumbled three white tablets from a bottle and swallowed them dry, before shutting off the light and collapsing on the bed. He didn't even open his eyes when Snape spoke from the open doorway.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No," he whispered. "I just need to rest for a bit," he said. "Thank you for trying."

Severus backed out of the room and walked back to the library. He had research to do.

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Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Harry slept nearly the clock round, and Severus hardly any. The Potions master pored over every book he had, looking for any reference to a situation like the one they found themselves in. Of course, there was nothing, as no one had ever had a life like Harry's. Any of a thousand things that had happened to him could be affecting him right now. As dawn broke, Severus nodded off on top of a book on Ancient Runes and their Application to Modern Wizarding Ailments.

Harry had finally woken, and snuck out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He felt drained and dehydrated. He saw Severus sleeping at the table, and wished there were a way to move him without waking him. But there wasn't, so he settled for finding a blanket to drape over his shoulders. He watched the older man's shoulders rise and fall steadily for a few moments, before putting a chaste kiss on his temple and padding quietly back to bed.

He didn't dream.

Severus did, though; he dreamt of the first time he had seen Harry, when he was just a first year waiting to be sorted, and the reality of who this child was struck him. But in the dream, Harry turned into a snake and then into Voldemort, who laughed at him from beyond the grave, tauntingly.

He woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright and making the blanket slide to the floor. He sat for a full minute, not having the slightest clue where he was, until the familiar surroundings of the kitchen came into focus. Slowly, everything came back to him, and he spied the blanket on the floor. Harry had been here. His heart ached unexpectedly. He couldn't afford these feelings. But he couldn't seem to help it. He went to the kitchen sink and splashed icy water on his face, bringing him back to reality quickly. He pushed his hair back off his face and walked quietly down the hall to Harry's room. The door was ajar, and he peeked in.

Harry slept, sheets twisted round him yet not covering much, and Severus allowed himself a moment of contemplation of the boy's beauty before starting to back out of the room. A voice brought him back.

"Severus?" the boy's sleep-roughened tone was almost too much for him. Severus quelled the urge to crawl into bed next to him and wake him properly.

"Yes, Harry?" he answered instead, turning back to look at him. He paused in the doorway, not wanting to bring himself any closer to the temptation that sat up in bed, boxers pulled low...

"What time is it?" he asked, stretching.

"Just before noon. Did you sleep well?" Severus asked carefully, looking only at the boy's face.

"I think so," Harry answered, trying to gather his wits. He squinted at the fuzzy outline that was Severus. "I got up once, though, and you were sound asleep at the table. I wanted to move you, but..." he trailed off. If he'd still had his powers, he would have been able to. "I hate to talk to a blur, could you come a bit closer please?"

Sighing, Severus moved into the room, not really wanting to get closer to temptation. "Thank you for covering me with the blanket. It does get drafty in the kitchen." He sat at the desk next to the bed, looking anywhere but at Harry's exposed, sleek body. "I don't know what we're going to do about your eyesight, Harry. We'll have to go to a Muggle doctor, I suppose. I'm afraid I don't know much about that."

Harry untangled his legs from the sheets and swung them over the side of the bed. He thought for a moment. "Hey! I just had a thought. I get my contacts from David Clulow, they've got other offices around the UK. Perhaps there's one close?" Harry's mind finally started to work. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of that before.

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea," Severus answered, hating to feel useless.

"Neither do I, but I can find out!" Harry said happily. "You have a telephone, right?"

"Yes, but I've hardly used it."

"Where is it?" Harry asked eagerly.

"In the sitting room," answered Severus, and then Harry fairly flew out of the room. He followed. By the time he'd found Harry in the sitting room, he was already on the phone, speaking to someone quickly. After a few moments, he hung up the phone, turning to Severus, beaming. "Perfect! They were able to look up my prescription, and they can have a replacement pair of contacts ready for me by the end of the day! The shop is about twenty minutes from here. We can get there easily by taxi or bus."

"That's good," answered Severus, completely enchanted by Harry's exuberance. He couldn't help but smile back at the boy. He thought he might be a bit over-manic, but at least he wasn't depressed any more.

"I'll be able to see properly again!" grinned Harry. He suddenly felt a lot better. He tried not to think about the fact that being able to see wouldn't give him his magic back, but they could face that problem later. "I'm going to go put those old contacts in again, just so I can get there. They should be all right for that." Harry rushed past Severus, and the older man watched him go.

By the time Harry emerged, contacts bothering him only slightly and freshly showered, Severus had lunch on the table waiting. He'd told the house-elves to put out a light lunch, but of course they'd gone overboard, still over-excited by having a guest.

Harry smirked as Severus' eyes swept over him before fixing on his face. He suddenly realised he was starving and sat down at the table. "This is wonderful. I really appreciate what you're doing for me, Severus," he said seriously.

"Trying to do for you," corrected Severus. "I'm afraid I'm no closer to a solution. But I'm going to speak to Albus this evening and hopefully he'll have some other ideas." Like how he was going to be able to keep his hands off that lithe body... not that he would ask the headmaster that. If only the boy would stop hanging around practically naked... "We could also get you some clothes," he offered.

Harry laughed. "Don't you like my clothes, Professor?" But he had to admit, most of his clothing was unsuitable for anything but its intended purpose, seducing men. He had a couple of pairs of jeans and a few t-shirts, but the rest was decidedly sleazy and in fact he'd not even brought all of it along.

Severus just raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. Harry got the point.

Leaving the books for now, Severus went to get cleaned up after lunch. He rang for a taxi to take them to the high street, and they had time to visit a few clothes shops before the contacts were due to be ready.

Harry had a thought as they pulled out of the driveway in the back of the taxi. "Severus," he said, "I don't have enough money for clothes and contacts and the taxi ride."

Severus looked over at him; in the light of day, Harry looked heartbreakingly young. "Don't worry, Harry. I have Muggle money as well."

"Oh," said Harry in a small voice. He felt like a child.

They got out of the taxi, and Harry looked around. Typical shops; he selected one at random and walked toward it, glancing back at Severus. Then he stopped short as it struck him how incredibly odd this whole situation was. There stood Severus Snape, Potions master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, standing in Muggle clothes on a Muggle street. He hadn't thought in terms of the magical world in quite a while, but the dichotomy of the scene struck him then. He sighed, wondering if he would ever be part of Severus' world again.

Severus paid the taxi driver, and walked up to Harry. The boy was just looking at him, and he was struck by a fresh wave of determination to do whatever it took to help him. "Ready, Harry?" he asked, more gently than he intended, and the boy smiled at him, impishly. He knew immediately what the boy would say before he said it.

"I'm always ready," purred Harry, putting his arm in Severus'.

Severus sighed, removing his arm and opening the door for Harry. "Come on."

The entered the shop, and Harry looked around. "Not bad, a bit tame..." At a look from Severus, he relented. "Ok, no leather trousers this time. You're no fun."

He picked a few pairs of jeans and shirts to try on, since he wasn't sure of his size anymore. It had been while since he had shopped in a normal store. The clerk offered to help Harry and his "father," and Harry had to stifle laughter at the look on Severus' face at that.

Halfway between insulted and appalled, Severus brushed off the clerk's offer of help. He still felt guilty for sleeping with Harry, and also still wanted the boy badly. To be mistaken for his father didn't exactly help. He glared around the store.

"Relax, Sev," Harry smiled. "He meant well."

"Don't call me Sev," he responded automatically.

Harry headed for the dressing rooms. The clerk let him in, and looked up at Severus. "Would you like to go in as well, sir? In case your son needs your opinion?"

Severus opened his mouth to protest, but Harry said quickly, "Yes, please, Dad, could you come in? It would make it ever so much easier, I won't have to come out to show you."

Severus glared at him, but there was no choice. The clerk let them in to the largest of the fitting rooms, where there was a three-way mirror and a small bench to sit on. The door closed behind them, and Harry tried not to smirk.

"Harry," Severus said warningly.

"What, Dad?" Harry laughed. He put the new clothes on a hook and pulled off his shirt. He dropped it to the floor and looked at Severus.

Severus averted his eyes quickly, but not quickly enough. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Harry unbutton his jeans. His body reacted involuntarily, and he shifted in his seat.

The exhibitionist in Harry reveled in this. In public, stripping in front of Severus... he was getting hard again, and as he dropped his jeans to the floor it was more than obvious. If Severus would just look at him...

But the older man was suddenly very interested in the wall.

Very nearly sweating, Severus cursed Harry for dragging him in here. He wasn't feeling particularly strong right now, and with the boy nearly naked in front of him, it wouldn't take much at all to give in to temptation... As long as he didn't look at him...

Harry nearly moaned in frustration. The man was made of ice... suddenly, he crossed the small room and wiggled his way onto Severus' lap. He wouldn't be able to ignore him now.

"What are you doing?" gasped Severus, trying to push Harry off.

"What do you think?" Harry felt bold and pressed his mouth to the older man's.

Severus automatically kissed back until he got control of himself. "We can't do this here! I mean, at all! People could hear..."

"Well, do a silencing and locking spell then," murmured Harry, wiggling closer to Severus.

"God, Harry..." Severus moaned, his body reacting.

Harry smiled, getting to his feet, pulling Severus up too. It looked like he wasn't that icy after all...

Severus sighed, pulling out his wand and muttering the spells. "Harry... we shouldn't..."

"Severus," moaned Harry. "Just kiss me, that's all..."

He knew full well that he'd never be satisfied with just a kiss, but he gave in anyway. He bent down, pressing his mouth against Harry's, and the world went away.

Harry moaned as Severus finally kissed back, and he wound his arms around the taller man's neck. He pressed as much of his body as he could against Severus'. He could feel the other man's arousal pressing into him, and he thrust his own hardness against Severus' thigh. He ached for this; Harry couldn't understand why, after all this time of selling his body and not feeling anything, Severus was able to awaken these feelings in him once again. It felt like ages since Severus had touched him, though it hadn't been long at all.

Severus' hands ran all over Harry's silky skin as they kissed; suddenly he realised that he had shoved the boy up against the wall. Their bodies pressed together and his thigh was pressing against Harry's erection. His own pulsed in answer, and he'd never felt so out of control. He had to force himself to pull back, breaking the kiss. "No," he said breathlessly. But he didn't move away from Harry. He'd had a taste of what it felt like to make love to the boy, but he couldn't give in again.

Harry stared up at the older man, panting. "What do you mean, no?"

Finally finding his strength, he pulled back from Harry, noticing as he did that the thin walls of the dressing room trembled when he did. He wondered what people outside would make of it, then blushed. "We're in a dressing room, Harry. Not to mention the fact that I'm supposed to be helping you, not..." he trailed off, unable to say it.

"Not fucking me?" Harry snapped.

"Yes, if you want to put it that way," sighed Severus, sitting back down on the bench.

Harry frowned. "Damn it, Severus. I finally remember that I used to like sex, and you go all noble on me. Or is it because I'm a whore? I'm not good enough for you?"

Severus stood up again, angry. "It's not that and you know it, stupid boy," he growled. "Don't be a melodramatic idiot. This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion."

"Why not?" answered Harry mockingly.

Severus walked over to Harry and grabbed his too-thin shoulders. "Stop insulting yourself. You're not a whore," he spat out the word. "You did what you had to do for your own reasons. I may not agree with them, but that's not my decision to make. I am hardly one to be noble, as I already have shown you my weakness. So shut up and stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Harry looked up at him, slightly stunned. "We want each other. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. Except that it makes it more difficult for me to focus on solving your problem." Not to mention that he didn't make a habit of sleeping with his students. But then again Harry had always been an exception. He realised he was still holding Harry, too tightly, and released him. "Sorry."

Harry stared at Severus for a long moment. "I don't understand," he whispered. The older man just looked at him.

"I've learned that wanting something too much is dangerous," he said heavily. "Now try on those clothes and let's get out of here before they arrest us."

Harry smiled then. "Yes, Daddy."

Severus just glared at him.

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Chapter 9: Chapter 9

The rest of the day went fairly smoothly; Harry behaved himself and only brushed against Severus a few times.

The optician had Harry's contacts all ready, and Harry put them in gratefully, throwing away the old pair, and he grinned at Severus. "I can see!"

Severus tried to ignore how his heart ached when Harry merely smiled at him. He was too old to be in love, but damn if it didn't feel just like he remembered it.

They left the shop, walking along the High Street. It was nearly dinner time, and Harry's stomach was growling. He spotted an Indian restaurant and he grabbed Severus' arm. "Can we go there? I fancy a vindaloo, haven't had one in ages."

Severus vaguely remembered that vindaloo was a synonym for acute digestive distress, but he reckoned he could find something less volatile to eat. "All right."

The pungent smell of spices enveloped them as they walked into the dimly lit restaurant. They were led to a circular, corner booth, and they perused the menu.

"So what on this menu will *not* destroy my stomach lining?" Severus asked with trepidation.

Harry laughed. "Anything can be made mild or spicy," he explained. "Haven't you had Indian food before?"

"A long time ago, when I was young and foolish," replied Severus, looking at the menu.

"Want me to order for you?" Harry suggested.

"Against my better judgement, yes," Severus said. "Of course, most things about you defy my better judgement." He caught himself staring at Harry over the top of his menu. He looked back down quickly, but his body was remembering the time together in the dressing room, and how *right* it felt to have Harry in his arms once again.

Harry grinned at him. "Ok, I'll take care of it. Do you prefer chicken, lamb or vegetables, then?" He liked the idea of knowing something better than Severus; it made him feel less useless. Less like just a Muggle whore. Not to mention he really liked the way Severus was looking at him, and the way it felt to kiss the other man. He really was turning into a hopeless romantic. A few days away from the streets and it was fucking Romeo and Juliet.

Severus considered. "Chicken should be safe, shouldn't it?"

"Right. Chicken," Harry agreed, and just then the waiter arrived to take their order. "I'd like Chicken Vindaloo, hot, and he'll have Chicken Korma, mild. Two orders of naan, and two Kingfishers." Harry closed the menu and handed it to the waiter. "Oh, and a pitcher of ice water, please."

The waiter disappeared. Severus watched him go, then looked back at Harry. "What have you gotten me into? And what's a Kingfisher? I thought we were having chicken."

Harry laughed. "We are. A Kingfisher is beer. Indian beer. Different, but good. You have to have it with curry. It should be a law."

Just then, the waiter arrived with two enormous bottles and two glasses. He set them on the table and disappeared once again. The bottles were already opened, so Harry poured two glasses, moving one in front of Severus. "Go on, then," he urged, picking up his own glass. "What shall we drink to?"

Severus picked up his glass, sniffing the contents warily, then looked up at Harry. "To my intestines surviving the evening."

Harry smiled. "I was going to say, to us." And without waiting for Severus to refute that, he clinked his glass against the other man's and drank.

Severus sighed and drank as well, only grimacing slightly. "It's cold."

"Indian beer is supposed to be cold," Harry explained.

"Hmph," sniffed Severus. "Barbaric." He didn't often drink, but when he did it was usually quite a good firewhiskey. He took another sip, and had to admit, if only to himself, that the cold liquid felt good burning down his throat.

They chatted about inconsequential things in the time it took the food to arrive; Harry didn't want to talk about anything magical and Severus didn't want to spoil the mood. He quite enjoyed being with Harry, and the beer warming his stomach was giving him a warm glow on the outside as well. He knew he was putting off solving Harry's problem but he was just enjoying being with the boy.

The food arrived, and with it another set of drinks; Severus reflected that since he wasn't apparating or flying, it didn't really matter.

Severus tasted his meal gingerly; he was surprised to find it quite good, and not spicy at all. Harry's food, on the other hand; he could smell the chili oil from here. One of the requirements of a Potions master was a very sensitive nose; he knew he wouldn't want to get closer than a foot to Harry's meal.

Yet the boy was making short work of it, shoveling the chunks of chicken and sauce in with the rice and eating with every evidence of relish. How Harry had any taste buds left after that, Severus didn't know.

"Mmm," Harry said, and the moan was almost sexual. "Love curry. English food doesn't come close." He looked up to see Severus watching him with mouth open. "How's yours?"

"Very nice," admitted Severus, looking down quickly at his plate. "I like it." What he also liked, but couldn't admit, was Harry's mouth and the way his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He took a deep drink of the beer, and felt his inhibitions slipping away. He was allowing himself to think of Harry again, in a sexual way, and he'd already proven that he couldn't resist the boy. He closed his eyes as he felt his arousal return; this wasn't good.

Harry grinned. "See? I do know a few things you don't, Severus." The older man looked positively edible himself, in the low lighting of the restaurant, and the beer was affecting him as well.

They finished their meal, both men getting more and more focused on things other than the food. They caught a taxi back to Severus' home, and Harry cursed the seat belts that kept him from getting closer to the older man. He was hard as a rock and pleasantly tipsy, and he had decided that tonight he would sleep with Severus.

Severus spent the first half of the taxi ride wishing he could touch Harry as well. But then he sobered up slightly, and realised that the worst thing he could do would be to sleep with Harry again. Not that he didn't want to, with every fibre of his being; but he wanted to help him get his magic back even more. Harry had once had the potential to be one of the most powerful wizards in the world; indeed, he had defeated the most powerful dark wizard ever. He just couldn't believe that Harry had no natural powers of his own. And Severus was afraid that if he was sleeping with Harry, he wouldn't have the drive to restore his powers. His judgement was clouded enough already. He couldn't do it.

As soon as Severus had shut and locked the door behind them, Harry was all over him. He pushed the larger man against the door and pressed his mouth on his. Harry pushed his tongue into Severus' parted mouth and they kissed, hard.

Severus couldn't help his hands coming up to the boy's back; couldn't help the way his body reacted automatically to Harry. He was on autopilot, rocking his arousal against Harry and kissing back.

Then he pushed him away.

If Harry could have growled like an animal, he would have done. "What the fuck?" he yelled.

Severus leaned against the door, panting. "We cannot, Harry."

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "We've been through this. We want each other. It's simple."

"Nothing is ever that simple," stated the older man calmly, and Harry lost it.

"You prick! You fucked me once before you even knew who I was! Now that you do, you just fucking push me away. I'm sick of it!" He rushed back at Severus, intending to kiss him again.

Years of serving Voldemort and hiding from death had given Severus lightning fast reflexes, however, and they told him that when someone was running at him, they were a threat. His wand was in his hand before he knew it, and he had uttered the Immobilus spell. An arc of light sprang from his wand, hit Harry squarely and... did nothing. His shock at having thrown a spell at Harry was overwhelmed by the fact that it hadn't worked.

Harry stopped a few feet from Severus, not because the spell had frozen him as it should have done, but from surprise. "You fucking tried to hex me, you bastard!" he yelled, but didn't advance. "And now my headache is back, damn it!" He rubbed at his forehead.

Severus stared at Harry, stunned. No effect at all from such a powerful spell? Without warning, he tried it again, with similar effect.

"Fuck you," Harry snarled. His head was splitting now. "Stop it!"

"No," stated Severus. "I'm sorry." Even if Harry was a complete Muggle, his spells should still have the same effect. He tried it again, putting more of his power behind it. The arc of light hit Harry as before, but now some of it seemed to split off and shoot across the room, hitting a mirror and shattering it. Severus gaped; he'd never seen anything like it before.

"Would you *stop*?" yelled Harry. He'd stopped trying to advance now, and was standing hunched in the middle of the living room with his hands to his head. Indescribable, agonizing pain lanced through him, reminding him of how it felt to be close to Voldemort. Not even Crucio had hurt this much. He couldn't believe Severus was doing this.

"Forgive me, Harry, but I have to know," Severus whispered, though he doubted Harry could hear him. He cast first the Imperius curse, trying to will Harry to spin in place. Harry didn't move except to collapse to the ground, holding his head. Across the room, a vase on a shelf shattered. Taking a deep breath, Severus cast the Cruciatus curse for the first time in ten years. Harry should have been paralyzed by it, writhing in pain on the floor. But, though Harry was clearly in agony, the level hadn't changed, nor had Harry moved from his position of rocking on the floor. As he was beginning to expect, something else shattered in the room, though he didn't pause to see what it was. He dropped his wand to the floor and rushed to Harry's side, pulling the moaning boy close.

"It's ok, Harry, I've stopped now, I'm so sorry," he chanted as he held Harry close.

Harry sobbed with pain into Severus' shirt, but the pain was starting to ease. He couldn't even be embarrassed about crying in front of the other man. Now the tears were from the absence of pain, but he was still crying.

Severus held Harry, and neither of them knew for how long. After a while, he stood. And pulled Harry to his feet gently. Harry sagged against him, and Severus picked him up in his arms.

He carried the boy to his own bed, and lay him gently on it.

Severus felt so guilty about hurting Harry, he didn't have the heart to leave him alone. So they slept together that night, but only slept. Harry passed out nearly immediately, but Severus lay awake for a long time, holding Harry close as his mind raced with possibilities.

He knew the solution. He was certain he could restore Harry's magic powers.

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Chapter 10: Chapter 10

As soon as dawn broke, Severus was up, writing a message to Albus. He knew what he had to do, but he wanted to clear it with the headmaster first. It was a huge risk. Harry had to be aware of the danger of what he wanted to try, though Severus suspected the boy would not hesitate.

He sent the owl off, and sat at the small table, sipping idly at the coffee a house-elf had brought him. He knew he probably had a while to wait for Dumbledore's answer, but he couldn't bring himself to go back to bed. Where Harry was.

In a surprisingly short period of time, his owl came flying back. He was just untying the note from its leg when Harry stumbled in.

"Morning," he murmured.

Severus looked up. Harry looked like he hadn't slept at all; there were dark circles under his eyes and his skin was pale. "You look terrible," he commented.

Harry snorted, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Severus." He ran a hand through his tousled hair, only mussing it more.

Severus didn't mention the boy still looked far too sexy for his own good. "Sorry."

"No, it's probably true," smiled Harry. "What's that?"

Severus looked down at the scroll he was holding. "A reply from Albus," he explained. "I wrote to him, explaining what I thought I needed to do."

"And are you ever going to tell me, then?" asked Harry with a touch of resentment in his voice. He felt like a science experiment.

"I wanted to ask the headmaster first," explained Severus. "In case he thought I'd lost my mind. Let me read his response, then I'll explain everything."

Harry was annoyed, but sat back in silence while Severus scanned the note.

Albus congratulated him on his breakthrough with Harry, and expressed his concerns about his idea to "cure" the boy. But he said he trusted Severus never to hurt Harry, and it seemed this was the only way. He agreed that it might work, and he hadn't been able to come up with anything better. He suggested that it was ultimately up to Harry, as it was his life.

Severus related this to Harry, who remarked, "This would make a lot more sense if I knew what the fuck you were talking about."

Severus sighed. There was no easy way to say this, so in his usual fashion he just laid it out bluntly. "I have to cast Avada Kedavra on you." He waited for Harry's reaction.

He wasn't disappointed. Harry didn't know what he was expecting Severus to say, but that hadn't been it. "Are you out of your mind?" he finally sputtered.

Severus allowed a ghost of a smile to haunt his face. "Quite possibly," he replied. "But that has no bearing on this matter." When Harry just gaped at him, he began to explain. "Not only can you not perform magic, no magic can be performed on you. You seem to be resistant to spells, Harry. The stronger, more complex the spell, the bigger the backlash. The spells don't work, they seem to react with your, well, aura for want of a better word, and they are repelled. The spells do affect you, in that they seem to give you pain. I think that whatever happened to you when the Dark Lord died set up some kind of magical block on you. I think your magic is trapped behind that block, and likewise it blocks magic from the outside. Your magic can only work inherently, on yourself, hence your ability to heal yourself."

Harry considered. "That seems to make sense," he allowed. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made.

"Albus seems to agree," said Severus. "But he had no idea how to proceed. But after last night, I think I know."

"Avada Kedavra?" asked Harry with trepidation.

Severus nodded. "Even Imperius and Cruciatus didn't seem to affect you, other than to cause you more severe pain. But the killing curse is the most powerful spell of all. I think that it could break through the blockage. If this is a spell that Voldemort managed to cast on you as he died, he couldn't have thought anyone would ever try to cast that on you. For good reason."

Harry nodded. The thought of willingly standing there and letting someone cast the killing curse on him gave him the creeps. But… "Well, I suppose, if you're wrong, the curse will just bounce off me."

"Well," Severus began, "Considering the level of pain you seem to experience from the spells, if the Avada Kedavra does not break the shield, it may well cause you enough pain to seriously damage you."

"Great," said Harry sarcastically. "Let's see, my choices are," he paused. "Being killed by the curse. Being killed by an extreme amount of pain. Or," he said as Severus tried to interrupt, "Spending the rest of my life as a squib."

Severus opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. Harry had a pretty accurate assessment of the situation. Then he realised something. "Or, it could work, and you would have your magic back."

Harry shrugged, "I'm afraid I've become a bit of a pessimist in the last year or so. But yes, there is a slim chance it would work." He wouldn't allow himself to even think about it, though.

Severus looked at Harry, trying not to let the new feelings he was having about the boy influence what he was suggesting. He had a sudden urge to protect the boy, to keep him safe from everything. "You don't have to do it, Harry. You can stay here. As long as you want." He didn't add, with me.

Harry just looked at the man across the table. Did he mean what he thought he meant? He knew he was falling for Severus; ever since they'd had sex, he'd wanted nothing more that to do it again, now that he knew who it was. Severus made him feel safe and dangerous at the same time. He wanted to make him happy. He thought that he might possibly be falling in love with the man. Great.

Finally, Harry spoke. "I trust you," he said quietly. He looked directly into Severus' dark eyes, willing him to hear his thoughts.

Severus felt a pang of something indescribable in his chest at Harry's words. He wanted to help him, but he also didn't want to lose him. Harry was annoying and infuriating and oh god he was NOT going to fall in love; that was for children. He refused.

"When can we do it?" Harry said hoarsely.

"As soon as you want," Severus answered. "As long as you understand the dangers and accept them."

Harry nodded, and looked down into his cold coffee. "I understand. I could die, or be in a great deal of pain and still die, or I could stay the way I am. There's a small chance it might work, but a bigger chance it won't. Does that about sum it up?"

Severus swallowed, nodding, suddenly reluctant to do this, to take the chance.

Harry took a deep breath, reviewing the last year or so in his mind, and coming up lacking. He didn't want to go on this way. While he was turning tricks he'd convinced himself that this was all he could do, all he was good for, that no one else would care anyway. But now, Severus had helped him, and he was starting to feel again, and he thought the older man might actually feel something for him, and he was willing to do this for him… "Right. I want to do it." He held up a hand. "On two conditions."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Do tell me, Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled at Severus, aware he was acting like a brat. But… "If it doesn't work," he said, leaving the rest unsaid, "I don't want you to think it's your fault. Don't feel bad. It was my decision."

Severus' eyes widened. "I don't think I can say that for certain, Harry. It was my idea in the first place."

"But even Dumbledore agrees," Harry said earnestly. "It's the only way. I don't want to continue this way."

Severus looked back at Harry. He knew that look of determination. It felt good to see it again, to be honest. "Understood. I will try to fulfill your request."

"Thank you," Harry said. He swallowed, then plunged on. "The other condition…" he trailed off, suddenly nervous.

"Yes?" asked Severus, suddenly worried. If the boy was loathe to say it, it must be bad…

"Make love to me. Before we do this. Just once. Just in case. I want to know what it's like to be with you, and know it," Harry said quickly, then held his breath. He knew the older man wanted him, but he also knew that Severus was very stubborn. He just had to try. He ached for Severus to touch him again.

That was not what he had been expecting at all. "Harry, I…" he paused, thrown for a loop. Of course he wanted Harry, wanted to touch and be touched in full knowledge of who he was with. But he'd promised himself he wouldn't be weak again, wouldn't give in to his baser instincts. But then, he didn't feel just lust for Harry, he felt… he wasn't sure what he felt, but it was more. Protective, possessive, desirous… nothing was ever simple when Harry Potter was involved. "You don't want that."

Harry frowned. Not that he'd expected Severus to just give in, and in fact he hadn't thought all that much about it, the idea, the need had just come to him. "Don't tell me what I want," he snapped.

"I'm supposed to be helping you. I'm much too old for you," said Severus, though all he wanted to do was throw Harry down on the table and take him.

Harry stood up and walked around the table, and, before the older man could stop him, he had straddled his lap. He moved forward as far as he could go, so the older man could clearly feel his arousal. "That doesn't lie, Severus. I want you."

Severus bit back a moan as his own body reacted, hardening fully against Harry. He struggled with his conscience, but it was an unequal battle.

"Please say yes," murmured Harry, leaning down to kiss the curve of Severus' jaw. "If something bad happens, at least we will have had that. For us to be together, knowingly, willingly. Please." He closed his eyes and waited, hopefully, knowing by the man's answering hardness that he wanted it too, but yet not assured of victory as yet.

As if there was any doubt that he would do absolutely anything for Harry… and making love to him was certainly no hardship. Severus hoped he was making the right decision as he nodded. They could sort everything else out later, if the spell worked.

It had to work.

"Yes."

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Chapter 11: Chapter 11

"Yes." Severus said.

"You'll do it?" Harry said hopefully, barely able to believe it, though his body had no such problems.

"I said yes," Severus replied, unable to keep a trace of annoyance out of his voice. The boy might be sexy and brave and he might well be in love with him, but he could still be annoying.

Far from reacting to the annoyance in Severus' voice, Harry grinned widely. "Just making sure," he said.

"Insufferable brat," growled Severus, but without rancor.

Harry shifted against the older man, rubbing their erections together. "So can we do it now?" he said hopefully. "No time like the present and all that."

Severus stifled a moan. "I certainly hope so," he purred in Harry's ear, and was rewarded by a whimper.

"God I love your voice, have I told you that?" Harry whispered in Severus' ear. He was aching already, anticipating the slide of skin against skin, being able to look into Severus' eyes as they moved together. It felt like years since he'd been fucked.

"I think so, but feel free to tell me again," murmured the older man, burying his nose against Harry's skin and reveling in the sweet clean scent of him. So young, and he seemed so untouched despite what he'd done for a living.

"I used to sit in class, and just listen to your voice," Harry admitted softly. "Just the tone, not the words." He started kissing along Severus' neck as he spoke. "It would make me so hard, I'd imagine you touching me..." He rocked his arousal against the other man's as if to illustrate.

Severus was amazed. He'd had no idea. Not that he hadn't acknowledged in the back of his mind that Harry Potter was quite an attractive boy, he'd never let the thought get farther than that. He couldn't afford to. But now, Harry wasn't his student, and he was free to imagine, and more. "No wonder you did so badly in Potions," he said, smiling.

"Bastard," Harry said amiably, still kissing between words. He loved the smell and taste of the older man, could quickly get addicted to it.

Severus pulled back and looked into Harry's eyes. "And don't you forget it," he agreed, then gave in and pressed his mouth to the boy's. Harry tasted sweet and he knew already he wouldn't be able to get enough. But this might be all they had, so it would have to be enough.

Harry moaned softly into the kiss, melting against Severus, his hands coming up to rest on the older man's shoulders. He deepened the kiss, parting his lips and urging the other man's tongue to twine with his.

They kissed for what seemed like forever, both men lost in the play of tongues and lips. Harry had never liked kissing, but Severus made it an art form. For his part, Severus thought he could almost be satisfied by the intimacy of joined mouths.

Until Harry rocked his hips against him, and he was reminded there was a great deal more they could do.

Severus pulled back from the kiss reluctantly. "Shall we remove to a more appropriate location?"

Harry laughed, a deep sound that made Severus bite his lip. "Must it be appropriate, Professor? I feel decidedly inappropriate."

Severus mock growled, "Don't call me that, Mr. Potter." And he stood, lifting Harry with him.

Harry laughed delightedly and wrapped his legs around Severus' waist. "What, does it make you feel like a dirty old man, fucking your student?" He pressed his arousal against Severus' stomach greedily.

"Something like that," replied Severus vaguely, carrying Harry into the bedroom. He placed the boy carefully on the bed and stood to look down at Harry. Despite what he'd been through, the boy still looked heartbreakingly young; he was still more than twenty years his junior. "Are you sure about this, Harry?"

Smirking, Harry pulled down on his boxers, wrapping his hand around his erection and pulling it out. He stroked a couple of times, moaning, and said, "What do you think?"

Severus' eyes darkened with passion as he looked at the sinful vision on the bed. "I think I'd like to watch you do that," he groaned.

"That can be arranged," murmured Harry, wiggling out of his boxers and lying back on the bed. He spread his legs enticingly and continued to stroke himself. Doing this in front of his former professor was incredibly erotic, and he had to slow his hand lest he come already. "You see anything you like?"

Severus could not take his eyes off Harry, on his bed, offering himself. Any doubts he might have had about their relative ages, positions, or anything else, fled in the face of his desire for Harry. "Merlin, yes," he hissed, and pulled off his shirt.

"Mmm," Harry moaned. He loved the way Severus was looking at him, and everything else now faded into the background. He was totally focused on this moment, the man who was now approaching him, kneeling on the bed, coming toward him.

"Keep doing that, please," breathed Severus, and he crawled between Harry's legs. He leaned over the boy, not touching, and kissed him languidly. He pulled back and just watched, his own arousal aching.

Harry stroked, slowly, savouring the decadence of what he was doing. Those dark, commanding eyes, that impassive face, the thought of doing this in the middle of the potions classroom... "Oh, Severus..." groaned Harry, on the edge already. But he didn't want to come until the older man was inside him. "Want you..."

Severus' eyes fluttered shut as Harry's words went straight to his cock. "And I'm going to be inside you, Harry, quite soon," he purred, opening his eyes and pouring all his desire into his voice. "Deep inside you."

Harry whimpered; he'd imagined the Potions master saying things like that, in that incredible voice, but the reality of it was mind- blowing. "Hurry," he begged.

But Severus shook his head. "No, I think not. I think I shall take my time," he said silkily, getting off the bed briefly to take his trousers off and get a vial of oil. He unstoppered it, and poured some of the oil onto his fingers, all the while looking down at Harry intensely. He loved the effect he was having on the younger man.

Harry moaned; he had to stop stroking himself so that he wouldn't come immediately from Severus' words. He arched as the oil-slick fingers touched him, tracing circles on his sensitive flesh, spiraling closer to where he wanted then.

Severus slid one finger carefully inside Harry, sliding it in and out as his cock ached to do the same.

"Don't need prep, just do me," whined Harry, squirming slightly under Severus.

"Hush, boy," murmured Severus. "Patience." He would do this properly. He took his time, getting to three fingers before relenting.

Harry pouted when the fingers were removed; he was enjoying it, though he would never admit that. Oh god, but now... now it was even better, because that hot demanding pressure on his sensitive entrance was Severus' cock. "Yes..."

Severus positioned his oiled arousal carefully, and, hoping he would be able to last more than five seconds, pushed in slowly. He locked eyes with Harry as he entered him, determined that this time the younger man would know exactly who was taking him.

As if Harry had any doubt. He lay back, still but not passive, entranced by the look on Severus' face. The older man was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen, leaning over him like that, ready to take him... Harry squirmed, trying to hurry Severus, that sweet pressure driving him insane. Then he was in, and that familiar burn took him, but it wasn't that familiar any more. Harry couldn't ever remember sex feeling this good. No pain, just pleasure, and the deeper Severus went the more he felt owned, just the way he used to like it. He'd topped before, but nothing compared to the feeling of being taken, surrendering to a man on top of you, giving it all to him. Especially this man.

Inch by glorious inch, Severus joined with Harry, the tight heat of the younger man's body already pushing him near the edge. He concentrated, trying to get control back, and he paused when he was all the way inside Harry. "Is this all right?" he said as steadily as he could manage.

If Severus' voice was sexy before, it was nothing compared to how it sounded while the man was deep inside him. Those few words made Harry moan, and tighten around the hard length inside him. "God yes," he breathed. "More than all right, Severus, give me more..."

A groan was wrenched from him with those words; Harry was asking for more, wanted him, and he pulled out slowly, gasping at the delicious friction. Pushing in again, it got even better, and Severus had to close his eyes from the sheer perfection that was pushing him to climax far too soon.

Harry squirmed, unable to keep still as Severus began to move in and out. "Harder, faster, please," he begged, wanting more sensation.

"Patience, Harry," Severus said, his voice gone hoarse with restraint. It was about the fiftieth time he'd said that to Harry, and he knew full well it wouldn't be the last. But he didn't care, didn't want him to change, wanted him just the way he was. He wanted to take his time. He wasn't sure if this would ever happen again.

Severus built up his speed, though, and soon he really was slamming into Harry, taking him hard and fast and both men were gasping for air.

Harry couldn't stand it; he slipped a hand down and stroked his cock quickly, and at his own touch he arched up and moaned.

Severus groaned as Harry tightened around him, and the sight of the boy stroking himself spurred him to thrust faster. They were both close.

Neither man spoke much but no words were needed as they both strained for release. Two more strokes and Harry was there, gasping and clutching at Severus with his free hand, spilling his seed between them in the most intense climax of his young life. He gasped, mouthing Severus' name, certain that even if he died tomorrow, he wouldn't regret this at least.

"Harry." One word, and Severus followed, breath taken away with the intensity of making love to the boy. Making love, not sex, it had gone beyond that and he knew full well. For one brief moment he forgot what they had to do tomorrow, and just felt.

It wasn't enough, it would never be enough, but it would do.

Clinging to each other, they drifted off to sleep together, another brief respite.

Tomorrow would come, and with it they would try to regain Harry's power. But for now, they had each other.

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Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Harry woke, snuggled against a warm solid body. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of his lover, Severus. Severus. Lover. The proximity of those two words made him happy.

Then he remembered how they had got here, and the apprehension returned.

For his part, Severus remembered everything the moment he woke; the instant alertness was a product of far too many years of spying, and he doubted he'd ever get over it. He felt Harry stir, and pulled the boy close against him. Last night had been incredible. Though he had enjoyed every second of it, he entertained no notions of ever doing this again.

As brilliant as last night was, though, it would almost be enough.

Almost.

At the moment, Severus couldn't think past today, this attempt to restore Harry's powers. If they succeeded, well, then he could consider the future.

He had long since gotten used to expecting the worst, so there would be no disappointment when it came. That was the theory, anyway.

But Harry was ever the optimist, and he couldn't help but be bravely confident that in a few short hours he'd be back to normal.

He would not allow himself to consider the alternatives.

+

Harry and Severus stood, facing each other in the cleared living room of Snape Manor. Anything remotely breakable had been put away, in preparation for the destructive magic that was sure to accompany this effort.

Harry took a deep breath, looking over at Severus; first his teacher, his enemy, and now his lover. And after today, either his saviour or... he refused to think of the alternative. He felt odd; facing possible death, he wasn't even that worried. He was just glad to have some sort of resolution. For as nice as last night had been, he knew he couldn't go on this way forever. He really cared about Severus, and wanted to explore that, but until they tried this, he knew they couldn't go forward. It would always be hanging over their heads. That was, even if Severus wanted to be with Harry for more than sex. That wasn't something Harry felt prepared to deal with right now. First things first.

Severus felt a slight tremble in his hand where it held his wand. He'd cast this spell before, on several occasions he didn't really want to remember. Even though the victims were trying to kill him at the time, he had never killed lightly. And now.... He knew he really had to mean the killing curse if he wanted it to work. And how was he supposed to do that, faced with Harry Potter, the boy who he quite possibly loved? But he knew he had to, knew that only a full- fledged spell would break Harry's curse. If it worked at all.

The men faced each other, both of their heads filled with thoughts but speaking none of them.

"Harry," said Severus softly, his deep voice even, not belying his anxiety. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be to have Avada Kevadra thrown at me," Harry smiled.

Neither man had any idea what to expect. Severus raised his wand and was about to speak when Harry said abruptly, "Wait."

Severus loosened his grip on his wand, biting back the words he'd been about to utter. "What, Harry?" Perhaps the boy had changed his mind...

Harry flung himself across the room at Severus, clutching handfuls of the older man's shirt, and pressed his body against him. He mumbled something into the material.

"What, Harry?" repeated Severus, his hands coming up automatically to wrap around the younger man, trying not to notice how perfectly the boy fit in his arms, against him.

Harry raised his head. He might not have a chance to say this, and Severus deserved to know... "I love you," he repeated.

"Oh, Harry," Severus sighed, his grip tightening. In that instant, he knew he loved Harry too, and the words came out for better or worse. "I love you too."

Harry smiled and rested his head on the older man's chest. Now he could do this, because if this was his last moment, it was, for once in his life, perfect. "Good."

They stood that way for several moments, and when they parted Harry looked more confident than he had for a long time. He backed up slowly, resuming his place, and took a deep breath. "Do it, Severus. I'm ready."

Severus composed himself for a moment, looking down at not at the handsome young man across from him. He had to do this; he loved Harry, and he deserved a chance at the life he had lost. He would do this for Harry, even if it was the last thing he ever got to do for him.

"Avada Kedavra."

Severus put all his power behind it, and all his longing and love as well. He felt a crackle through his whole body as his magic gathered to deliver the most powerful spell. He was never more aware of his magic, and the way it flowed from him, than right now. Before, when he'd cast this spell, it had been in haste and as a last resort. He'd never been able to *feel* it, the way his magic was pulled from him and thrust out through his wand. It was painless, and yet at the same time he could feel every cell of his body twinge individually. Green light gathered, faint at first, around the tip of his wand for a split second before it jerked in his hand; and a bolt of green fire shot out of the tip as if eager to do its lethal work.

It was done. Severus watched in apprehension as, as if in slow motion, the green lightning arced across the room toward Harry, who stood still, beatifically awaiting his fate.

It occurred to Harry that this might very well be his last moments of life as he heard the velvet tones of his former professor perfectly enunciate the killing curse. To him, the green light seemed to hang still in the air for a long moment before it hit him, squarely in the chest. The words were still ringing in his ears as it hit him; a pain so excruciating that his body couldn't even process it. Harry slumped to the floor, his last sensations the sound of every window in the house shattering, and a feeling like a ton of bricks falling on his head all at once.

When he saw Harry collapse, Severus dropped his wand to the floor with a clatter and rushed to the boy's side. Just in time to catch his head, to keep it from striking the hard stone floor. He ignored the continuing crashes of glass still reverberating though the house.

Severus gathered Harry into his arms and searched his still face frantically. "Harry, speak to me," he whispered, then repeated it loudly. He held the boy close to him, running his fingers over his face is if to feel if he still lived. But Harry was still as death, not responding at all.

"No." Severus stood with Harry in his arms as if he weighed nothing. "No," he repeated, carrying Harry to the couch. He lay the boy down, and fell to his knees next to him, his hand on Harry's chest. He tried to remember Muggle first aid that he'd learned years ago. His magical healing skills probably wouldn't work, and he really didn't think he could focus his magic right now.

He'd seen his spell hit Harry, and the boy's body had glowed vivid green for what seemed like an eternity, and Severus had feared that nothing would happen. Then, it seemed as if all the air in the room had been sucked away, then returned with a deafening boom. That was when all the windows had literally disintegrated. It was as if a great wind has roared though the whole house but yet the air had been still.

Then the boy's mouth had opened in a soundless scream, and he'd fallen.

Now, Severus ran his hand down Harry's arm, trying to remember where to check his pulse. He gave up and felt at Harry's throat, vaguely remembering a pulse point there. But he couldn't find it.

In despair, he put his head down on Harry's chest to see if he could hear the boy's heart beating.

Nothing.

Severus moved his head around, certain that he must be mistaken. He was listening in the wrong place.

Harry couldn't be dead.

Severus grabbed Harry's shirt, roughly pulling the slim body toward him, against his chest. "Wake up, idiot boy!" he yelled, shaking him. His mind refused to process that fact that Harry wasn't responding. "Wake up this instant!" More quietly, he whispered, "I love you, damn it."

Then, a ripple of magic or something like it swept through the room. It was completely silent, but it took Severus' breath away.

And Harry coughed.

In his arms, Harry coughed and gasped for air, clutching at Severus' robes, knuckles white.

Severus stared down at Harry incredulously. Harry smiled weakly up at him and croaked, "Hello, Severus."

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Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Severus' mouth worked for several seconds, opening and closing as if his velvet voice had suddenly deserted him, then finally he whispered, "Harry!" He closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them as if he expected Harry to be dead again. "You're alive!" He was aware that the remark was somewhat unnecessary but he just wasn't up to his usual verbal gymnastics.

Harry smiled, then groaned; even that small movement hurt. "I must be, because everything hurts." That was an understatement; it felt like all the blood in his body had been replaced by broken glass and it was circulating throughout his body.

Unwilling to cause any more pain, Severus refrained from trying any healing spells. "Would you like me to get you to a Muggle healer?" he asked. Though he didn't know what the person would make of magical injuries.

Harry shook his head, then regretted it. He gritted his teeth and said, "I think I can survive it, it's already easing a little." That wasn't quite a lie, but maybe he was just overloading his pain receptors.

Severus didn't quite believe that, but he was still ecstatic that Harry was alive. Of course, given that he was Severus Snape, ecstatic was a relative definition. He wasn't sure of Harry's status, but he'd survived the killing curse once again. No matter that Harry had never wanted his fame, no one else could claim to have taken two Avada Kedavras and lived to tell the tale. "How do you feel?" he asked carefully, trying to be subtle about it.

Harry smiled weakly. "I know what you're getting at, Severus. I feel about the same, to be honest. I don't know if I have the strength to cast a spell, and at any rate I don't have a wand." He barely had the strength to speak, to be honest. He wanted to sleep for a week.

"I understand," Severus said softly. "And I do not wish to chance casting a spell on you, in your condition. I suppose we shall have to wait and see."

Harry managed a weak laugh at that. "As you know, waiting is one of my least favourite things, but I guess I have no choice," he said.

"Indeed," said Severus, a ghost of a smile running over his severe features. At least Harry was alive.

+

Harry slept on and off for days; Dumbledore came and went with Harry managing only a few words. Even the old wizard couldn't say for sure if Harry had his magic back or not. But he offered a theory that Severus privately found comforting:

"It is entirely possible that Harry's magical abilities have indeed been restored, but his magic reserve has been depleted. It is a theory of some of the magical scientists that we as wizards take our magic from the world around us. Absorb it, as we do oxygen and other things we need to survive. It is possible that Harry just has to "fill up" again, if you will. It may just take time. Don't hurry him, Severus."

Severus also got the distinct impression that the old man knew exactly what the two of them had been up to besides trying to get Harry's magic back. It was extremely disconcerting.

He wished Albus good day and went back to his accustomed spot in Harry's bedroom, in a chair by the window. He took up his book again; at the very least he was catching up on his reading.

+

Harry had never thought he'd get tired of sleeping. Most of his life, he'd never gotten enough. At the Dursleys, he was always too cold, too hot, or too hungry. At Hogwarts, sleeping in a dorm with other boys, in a castle that was haunted, was never an easy prospect. And since Hogwarts, Harry had had to catch his sleep as he could, in cheap motel rooms or apartments with less-than-savoury neighbours.

But now, all he could do was sleep. It was beyond exhaustion; it was as if he was an empty shell that needed filling. Though he had neither the strength nor the inclination to try to relate that metaphor to Severus.

His ex-teacher (Harry hesitated to call him lover even in his own mind, though they'd confessed their love before the curse, it hadn't been mentioned since) had to help him to use the toilet, which was demeaning enough. But Harry could barely feed himself. That, for some reason, was worse.

And now Harry was tired of sleeping. Tired of feeling too weak to take care of himself. Tired of being tired. And inevitably, he got bitchy. He kept it to himself at first, but after a week or so of Harry feeling no better, he finally threw the Daily Prophet across the room and said, "I want this to be over!"

Severus just looked up from the notes he was making and smirked. "Feeling better, are we, Harry?" He wasn't sure if he should point out that the fact that Harry was complaining was actually a good sign.

"No, I'm not, and I'm tired of being an invalid!" Harry sulked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Severus suppressed an amused grin, thinking it wouldn't go over too well at this point. "You seem to have the energy to act like a three- year old Muggle," he observed.

Harry stared at Severus, and was about to protest when he realized the man was actually right. He sighed, his irritation fading, and said, "When am I going to *know* one way or the other?"

Severus explained patiently, with the air of someone who had said the same thing over and over (and he had), "Albus wishes you to wait until you are stronger to attempt any magic. If you do attempt it, it may damage you further and set back your recovery process." What he didn't say was that if Harry hadn't regained his magic, it wouldn't matter one way or the other.

Harry left the unpleasant alternative unspoken as well, though it was very much in his mind. He lay back, trying to sense something, anything, stretching out all his senses. Nothing.

Severus watched him out of the corner of his eye, unwilling to let his own frustration show. He knew it would be bad for Harry if his magic didn't return. He might lose him forever. And just after he'd managed to admit to himself that he needed Harry.

+

Finally, Harry wouldn't be put off any more. He insisted on being allowed to attempt magic. Severus talked to Albus and the old man relented, only insisting that he be present for it. Harry agreed, and they'd decided on a day.

Harry couldn't wait. One part of him didn't want to know, wanted to stay in the safe limbo where he didn't know one way or the other and thus didn't have to deal with it, but that part was getting smaller every day. He wanted, no, needed to know.

The headmaster arrived right on schedule, emerging from the fireplace with much more grace than Harry had ever been able to manage. He supposed that after using floo powder for 150 years himself, he might be able to emerge at the other end clean and with unbroken glasses, though he wasn't sure. In his years at Hogwarts he had avoided travel by that means as much as possible.

Harry stood nervously in the living room, dressed in Muggle clothes so as not to jinx himself. He knew that was a silly notion, but he didn't want to dress as a wizard until (if) he truly was one again.

Severus stood near Harry, but not too near. He stepped forward to welcome Albus into his (their, his mind insisted on supplying) home.

The headmaster beamed around at the both of them. He carried a small, oblong and very familiar looking box. "Hello, Severus, Harry," he said, and stepped closer to the younger man. "I have something for you." He pressed the box into Harry's hands.

Harry looked down at the box, then up at Dumbledore. "This... this is a wand," he said, not even having to read the Ollivander's logo on the outside to know what it held.

Severus smiled, watching the exchange. Albus never failed to amaze him.

The old wizard smiled more deeply. "Indeed," he said, as if Harry had correctly guessed a particularly difficult exam question. "I had a word with Mr. Ollivander, and he insisted on making you a new wand. And Fawkes insisted as well, practically forcing a tailfeather upon me," he went on. He glanced over at Severus, then back to Harry. "People do get insistent when it comes to you, Harry."

Severus bit back a smile at the surprise on Harry's face. The boy had truly never thought of this.

Harry opened the box with trembling hands, just looking at the slender piece of wood nestled within. "I... I don't know what to say," he stammered. He hadn't thought of a wand at all, he'd supposed he would just use Severus', just to try... and looking at this exact duplicate of his own wand brought back all sorts of memories, both good and bad.

"You don't have to say anything, Harry," Albus said kindly. "It was the least I could do." He stepped back, giving Harry room.

Severus watched as Harry stared at the wand in the box as if afraid of it. He could well imagine the boy's trepidation. He wanted to help Harry in some way, but he knew that, in this, he couldn't. Harry had to do this himself.

Harry looked at the wand again, and had a thought. "The... the first time I held my wand, I knew it was the right one," he said softly. "I could feel it." He looked at Dumbledore, then Severus. "When I pick up this wand, I should feel something, shouldn't I?"

Severus hadn't thought of that, but Dumbledore clearly had. The old man nodded, and said, simply, "It is likely, yes."

Fuck. Harry stared at the wand in the box, as if it was a viper and might bite him at any moment. He wanted to pick up the wand, but the mere touch might tell him all he needed to know. He took a deep breath. He glanced up at the headmaster, then over at Severus.

Severus nodded, smiling slightly at Harry. He wanted to lend the boy strength, but all he could do was mouth "Love you," while clenching his hands into nervous fists, hidden in his robes.

Harry's eyes widened slightly as he understood the words, and he smiled genuinely. "Well, then, here goes nothing," he said, reaching into the box with his right hand as he held it with his left. He tried to sense anything at all as his fingertips neared the wand, but it was futile. Finally, he just plunged his hand into the box and wrapped his fingers around the smooth wood.

And held his breath.

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Chapter 14: Chapter 14

For a split second there was nothing. Even the air in the room stilled, and Harry reached desperately out with all his senses for anything.

Anything at all.

Then it felt like an explosion in reverse; it felt to Harry as if all the air, the very energy in the room, rushed toward him in a sudden implosion. As if he was sucking... something... from every object in the room.

And then a wonderful tingling started, from the point of contact of his hand with the wand, and spreading throughout his whole body. He couldn't describe it but he knew what it was.

Magic.

Something he hadn't known he was missing until it was back with him.

His hair stood on end, and to Severus, Harry seemed to glow from within. He too could feel the magic in the room rush toward Harry. As if it belonged to him, and was returning home happily. He berated himself for anthropomorphizing, but he couldn't help the comparison.

Harry looked up at Severus, smiling more widely than he had in years. "It worked."

Forgetting that Dumbledore was there, forgetting everything but the fact that he was alive and he had his magic back, Harry flung himself into Severus' arms.

Severus held him close, not looking at the headmaster, figuring that the old man already knew. If not, he did now. Harry was legally an adult, and no longer his student. And he loved him. He wasn't ashamed of that.

Harry felt like he was melting into Severus' arms, and his heart was lighter than it ever had been. Finally he raised his eyes, meeting his lover's coal black ones, and smiled.

A discreet cough reminded them that they weren't alone, and both Harry and Severus looked up to see Dumbledore beaming at them.

"Well, well, congratulations to you, Harry, I had hoped that the magic you possessed was truly your own and I think you've proven that conclusively," he began. "Even if it was Voldemort's power, you've managed to claim it as your own and if I'm not very much mistaken, you will find that your talents are even more formidable than they once were. With the proper training, of course."

Harry nodded carefully and Severus stayed silent, as it was obvious the headmaster wasn't finished.

"As for you, Severus," Dumbledore said, tuning to the older man. A chill ran through Severus but then the twinkle returned to Albus' eyes and Severus hissed at the man internally for toying with him. "I congratulate you on your fortitude in charting an unsure course though unexplored territory."

Severus tried to decode that for a moment, and finally settled on, "Thank you."

Harry giggled, and Severus shot him a Look.

Dumbledore smiled his usual, kindly smile at them both and said, "You must still be cautious, Harry. Your magic is new and untested. You'll need a great deal of training before you can safely be a part of the wizarding world."

Harry nodded as solemnly as he could manage. It wasn't easy; he felt elated. He wanted to jump for joy, jump on his broomstick and... he almost giggled again. As he had a thought. He could ride a broomstick again!

Severus, for his part, was fairly vibrating with impatience, wishing that Albus would just *get to the point*. The point he hoped was coming. He said nothing, though, knowing the old wizard would not be rushed.

"Severus," Dumbledore said finally, looking over his spectacles. "The fall term is about to begin. However, I think we could do without you for a term or two if you were to consent to taking on the task of helping Harry to regain control of his talents."

Harry tried not to bounce in place as he looked from the headmaster to his lover. He kept quiet, though, through extreme force of will.

Severus snorted. As if there was any question... "Yes, of course, Albus, I would be glad to take on the task," he said dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching up slightly.

Dumbledore smiled benignly at the two of them, and then turned to Harry. "Is that acceptable to you, Harry?" he asked carefully.

Harry wanted to shout, Of course it is, but instead he nodded and said, "Yes, sir, it is." He couldn't help but beam, though.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, looking from one man to the other with evident satisfaction. "It's all settled then. I'll make the necessary arrangements; I believe that Professor Lupin would be more than glad to take over your Potions classes, Severus."

That made Severus bristle, and he stepped forward, only stopping when Harry grabbed the sleeve of his robe and muttered, "Settle down."

"Lupin? That mongrel knows nothing of the fine art of Potions making..." Severus began. "And since when is he welcome at Hogwarts?"

"Since we are at peace and that idiot Fudge no longer mismanages the Ministry," the headmaster said mildly but with an undercurrent of steel. "Professor Lupin is back with us." His tone held no possibility of argument. "It's only temporary," he said more gently.

Severus sputtered unhappily for a few moments, and Harry thought he heard something about 'dog hair everywhere' before he went silent again. He himself was delighted at the idea of seeing Remus again.

Dumbledore appeared to think, then went on. "Once you are satisfied with Harry's progress, Severus, I believe I can arrange for him to take his NEWTs and his full wizarding certification, presuming of course that he passes."

Harry grinned at both men. "Really? That's great!" he said, nearly ready to explode from happiness.

Albus nodded. Severus offered him tea but the old wizard declined, citing a previous appointment with Madame Trelawny for her annual predictions for the upcoming year.

They were finished, it seemed, except for one thing. Severus approached the older man just as he was preparing to leave. Harry had gone off to lie down, having exhausted himself.

"Albus, I think you already know, but I wanted to be honest. Harry and I are..."

Dumbledore held up a hand to stop the man's words. "What you and Harry are to each other is none of my concern any longer," he said softly. "Other than to be very happy for you both, that the two of you were able to let go of the past and find each other."

Severus could only nod at that and say, "Thank you, sir," as he watched the old man disappear into the fireplace.

"Thank you."

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Chapter 15: Chapter 15

Severus was having a lovely dream, which didn't happen that often, so he was determined to enjoy it. In fact, he was enjoying it rather a lot... He came awake with a start, realising that his cock was deep in Harry's mouth and that was no dream.

"Harry!" gasped Severus, his usual deliberate tones a bit more hurried and high-pitched than normal. He looked down, and the blankets rose and parted to reveal the shaggy head of his young lover, his insolent mouth put to good use for once, wrapped around his cock.

Harry just grinned as best he could around his mouthful, pleased with his own inventiveness and the fact that he'd managed to wake before Severus for once. He bobbed his head up and down, happy that at least some of his misadventures had had a positive result; he could suck cock for hours without getting a sore jaw. Severus didn't seem to mind.

Severus let his head fall back to the overstuffed pillow and just let himself enjoy what Harry was doing to him. He'd gotten much more hedonistic lately, learning to appreciate everything that he and Harry could do together, and by now he only felt the smallest twinge of guilt when he looked at Harry and thought about how very young he was. At least he had the consolation that he hadn't been the one to rip away Harry's innocence. Harry was very much an adult now, despite his youthful appearance, and if people sometimes mistook them for father and son he could live with it.

Harry, for his part, had never been happier. He had his magic back, and he was loved. He wasn't a whore anymore. He loved Severus with an intensity that frightened him sometimes, but he knew that would temper with time. Now that he actually had time. Voldemort was dead, the wizarding world was at relative peace, and his studies were coming along as fast as could be expected. Not to mention the fact that every night he got to fall asleep next to his lover. And of course the sex was amazing.

As much as Severus loved Harry's mouth on him, that wet heat was inciting him to other pursuits right now. In one smooth movement, Severus pulled Harry's mouth gently off him, pulling Harry up flush to his body, then rolling over on top of him. He grinned down at Harry and purred, "Good morning."

Harry panted as he looked up at his imposing lover. The forceful way Severus took control sometimes turned him on more than he could even admit. He parted his legs, wrapping them around his lover's hips, offering himself. "It's better now," he said in a breathy moan.

Deciding that conversation was superfluous at this point, Severus dipped his head and captured Harry's mouth. He'd never seen the point of kissing, but with Harry he understood. It was a prelude, a preview of what was come when their bodies joined. He rocked his hips, and their erections rubbed together. Perfection.

Harry gasped and clung to Severus' arms, as the friction made him even harder. "Please, god, Severus, take me hard and fast, need it so bad," he begged when the kiss broke. He ached for it, and he was amazed every time at how much he needed it.

Severus had found that Harry's begging did things to him as well, making him tremble with need to take his lover. They sometimes made slow sweet love, but they both liked it this way as well, desperation tingeing their movements. As if they'd die if they didn't join their bodies, right now. He reached for the oil that he always kept at the bedside, and opened it one-handed. He got some in his palm and moved his hand down between them.

When Harry felt his lover's oil-coated fingers trace along his cleft, he whimpered with need and said, "Please, no prep this time, need it now, want it tight..." They'd been having sex every day, so Harry knew he could take it. Severus was always so careful with him, and he loved that, but sometimes he wanted it to hurt, just a bit.

Severus moaned softly at the need in Harry's voice. He still sometimes found it hard to believe that someone as young and desirable as Harry wanted him so much. But his brain was not in charge right now, so he used the oil to slick his cock and positioned himself. "Are you sure, Harry?" he managed to growl as he felt the head of his cock press against Harry's entrance.

"Yes, please just fuck me!" Harry nearly screamed, feeling the pressure and wanting Severus inside him *now*. He arched up, driving the hard length inside him, and his words turned to moans.

Severus gasped as his cock slid into Harry, and he couldn't stop from pushing the rest of the way in. "Harry, oh god," he whispered, lost once again in the torrid heat of his lover's body. He started thrusting, desperate, watching Harry's face to be sure he wasn't hurting.

Harry was ecstatic; this was what he wanted, needed. Severus inside him, both of them frantic for each other, sliding and hot and so fucking good. He was full, split open, Severus' completely. Just how he wanted to be.

Severus thrust quickly, wanting this to last but having no illusions of that. "Love you, Harry," he groaned, pounding hard now as he braced himself with both hands.

"Love you too, Severus, you're the best," gasped Harry, clinging to his lover's shoulders as he was pounded. He couldn't stand it any more; he slid his hand between them and stroked his own cock quickly. "Gonna come, feels so good...."

Severus redoubled his efforts, slamming into Harry precisely and sharply, just how they both liked it, growling with the effort to hold back until Harry climaxed. Speaking was nearly impossible now.

Giving in, Harry screamed and came hard, clamping down around the cock inside him, spurting all over his hand and belly. As always, it was so good he thought he was about to die, and he stopped breathing for the duration of the pleasure. He looked up avidly, wanting to watch Severus climax as well.

The way Harry gave himself over with abandon never failed to incite Severus to climax, and he followed Harry immediately. More quiet but no less intense, the older man filled his lover with pulse after pulse of seed, growling low in his throat as he marked Harry as his once again.

They came back to earth slowly, entwined in each other's arms, basking in their love. Life was good.

It was Severus that first noticed the highly impatient snowy owl on the window ledge. How Hedwig managed to look disapproving was beyond him, but she managed it. He nudged his dozing lover and said, "Harry. Your owl is here." He knew better than to try to take a message from her leg; the bloody bird had nearly taken off his finger last time.

Harry raised his head sleepily to squint at the window, then grinned and disentangled himself. "Hedwig!" he said, and padded over to the window. He opened it, letting in a blast of cool air that made Severus burrow under the covers, and let her in. She fluttered onto the desk, sticking out her leg for Harry with what Severus could have sworn was a sneer at the older man.

Harry took the note from the owl, and she flew happily off to her perch for breakfast. He came back to sit on the bed next to Severus, holding the envelope.

"Go on, open it," urged Severus, but Harry hesitated.

He looked at the official-looking envelope. "It's my NEWT results, I'm sure of it," Harry said softly. "What if I failed?"

"You didn't fail, Harry," Severus reassured him. "After all, I've been training you," he added confidently. Of course, he hadn't been there when Harry had sat the exams, but... "Do you want me to open it for you?" he asked quietly, no mocking in his tone at all.

Harry shook his head negatively, still staring at the envelope. "I have to do it. Myself." He glanced up at Severus, to be sure that his lover knew how grateful he was for his patience. He smiled and took a deep breath. "Here goes."

Harry ripped the envelope open and pulled out the sheet of parchment with only slightly trembling fingers. He read silently for a moment before beaming up at Severus. "I did it! I passed!" He showed the paper to Severus, who took it and scanned it.

Not brilliant at Potions, but damn if the little whelp hadn't done better in DADA than he had. "Congratulations, Harry," he said, genuinely happy for his lover.

Harry laughed and tackled Severus, pushing him back on the bed. "I did it!" he repeated, almost unable to believe it himself. "I'm a real wizard!"

Severus laughed and hugged Harry to him. He knew that Harry hadn't quite decided what he wanted to do with his life yet, but that he was quietly leaning toward teaching. He tried not to encourage Harry too much, though he really liked the idea of having Harry so close all the time. No matter what Harry did, though, he knew they'd be together. As long as Harry would put up with a grumpy old Potions master.

Harry sighed contentedly, his whole life open to him at last. No longer the Boy Who Lived, no longer a squib, no longer a whore... he was just Harry, and that suited him fine. He lifted his head and grinned at Severus. "Think Dumbledore will give me a job?"

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