As they sat on the train into London, Harry reflected on what he had been told. They were to travel as Muggles, much to Professor Snape's chagrin. He kept complaining about the slowness of the train, and the inefficiency of the help, and the terrible weather, and... Harry had tuned him out after the first hour.

As a student, Harry was more used to traveling without magic, so he didn't mind it as much. They had traveled to Hogsmeade and caught the Muggle train to London. They had Muggle clothes to change into, and Snape informed him he could go change now.

Without comment, he grabbed his bag and headed for the toilets. He noted Snape was doing the same. As he changed in the miniscule bathroom, he found himself speculating on what his Potions professor would look like in Muggle clothes. He himself was used to them, of course, but Snape... he found he couldn't imagine the man out of his long black robes. Unbidden, the thought of Snape out of his robes, naked, came to him so clearly that he was shocked by it. Where did that come from? He shook his head. He was quite comfortable with the fact that he liked guys, he hadn't particularly tried to hide it since Hogwarts was quite accepting of that sort of thing. In fact, he suspected that the wizarding world had a much higher percentage of alternative lifestyles than the Muggle world, if his friends were any indication. But Snape? He sighed. This was going to be a long trip.

He went back to their compartment to find that Snape wasn't back yet. He sat down and looked out the window, going over the details that Dumbledore had given them.

A few wizards, dark wizards but not part of Voldemort's group, had teamed up with some Muggle criminals and were causing some problems. Apparently they had come up with a designer drug that combined Muggle pharmaceuticals and magic ingredients that was rumored to give the user temporary magic powers. Naturally, the Ministry of Magic needed this stopped immediately. There was no telling what could happen if a bunch of ignorant Muggles suddenly developed magical powers. According to the rumors, the effects wore off within minutes, but the wizards had a team of Muggle scientists working to improve it. The Ministry wanted the wizards apprehended before this happened, and before more damage was done. Or before he Muggle press got hold of it. The group operated out of LA, and that was where they were headed.

Harry still wasn't quite sure why he and Snape were the only ones who could stop them. Apparently, before Snape had begun teaching at Hogwarts he had done some undercover work for the Ministry, and they insisted he was the only man for the job. Something about special talents had been cryptically referred to, and Harry had been afraid to ask. He figured they had plenty of travel time for Snape to fill him in on the details. However, so far the professor seemed reluctant to discuss it. Speak of the devil...

Harry glanced up as Snape slid the compartment door open, and tried to close his mouth. Snape swept in, somehow still giving the impression of wearing his long black robes, even though he was wearing... Harry's mind tried to process the fact that Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, Head of Slytherin house, bane of his existence for the past six and a half years, was wearing... jeans. Designer jeans, no less. Tommy Hilfiger jeans, perfectly faded and worn and snug around his... no, he was NOT looking at Snape's ass in those jeans, no matter how good it looked. No, it was physically impossible for Severus Snape to have a nice ass. It just wasn't possible. His mind reeled. Snape finished stowing his pack, and turned back around to face Harry, glowering even more if that was possible. "What are you staring at?" he demanded, looking flushed. Snape, blushing? Another impossibility. The world was coming to an end. Harry's mind also registered the fact that Snape was wearing a white t-shirt, and it was rather snug. It was short sleeved, and showed that Snape had been working out. His biceps stretched the sleeves nicely, and as Harry's eyes automatically tracked downward, he could see that there was some kind of abdominal exerciser hiding in the dungeons somewhere, because the man definitely had the washboard stomach thing going on. Harry's seventeen-year-old hormones cheered while his mind refused to process the fact that his professor was a very sexy man. Oh shit.

Harry belatedly realized that he was staring and that Snape had spoken, and averted his eyes quickly, mumbling "Nothing," as he got another nasty shock: looking at Snape this way had given him one hell of a hard-on. The world had officially ended. He was doomed.

Snape glared some more, to cover the fact that he was acutely embarrassed. He never wanted any of the students, especially this one, to see him like this... He only wore Muggle clothes when he absolutely had to, on missions for the ministry. He felt exposed in them. He couldn't hide behind the robes, and he knew his intimidating stare's effect was reduced drastically by the fact that he was dressed like this. Potter, on the other hand, looked completely at ease in his clothes, and he envied him that. He must dress like this all the time when he was on holiday, mused Snape, and was used to it. He looked like a perfectly normal, attractive teenage boy this way... Snape stopped himself right there. He mustn't let his thoughts wander. This mission was going to be hard enough without him thinking about how Harry's green t-shirt brought out his eyes, and how those jeans hugged that slim waist... Snape mentally growled at himself, training his face in a scowl, telling himself not to notice how handsome Harry had grown to be, how he wasn't that much shorter than Snape himself, and muscles nicely filled out, and when the hell had he started referring to him as Harry in his own mind? He suddenly realized that the boy's eyes were sweeping over him in an entirely inappropriate manner, and he thought perhaps the rumors he had heard about the Boy Who Lived might be true after all and wouldn't that be nice... no, it wouldn't, he couldn't think that way, it would give him a problem that would be all to obvious in these jeans, no robes to hide behind... He sank down on the bench across from Harry resignedly. He was in so much trouble.

They were saved from further conversation by the train arriving at the station. They collected their bags and waited to exit.

"Where to next, Professor?" Harry asked casually, trying to act like he wasn't gazing at Snape's bulging biceps.

"A truly horrifying place, Mr. Potter, a place so evil and malevolent that the most savvy of Muggles avoid it at all costs," Snape answered ominously.

Harry stared back at the man. "Wh-what is it called?"

Snape drew a large sigh, as if girding himself for the task ahead of them. "Heathrow."

"The airport?" Harry said incredulously. "Is it that bad really?" Harry had never flown. On a plane, anyway. Snape nodded. "Then why must we go there?"

"The Ministry of Magic is on a tight budget. Cheapest non-stop from London to LA," Snape answered as he led the way to the train.

"Why can't we just apparate?" complained Harry.

"Well, I could, of course," Snape looked down at Harry. "But you haven't got your license yet. And I am not going to be responsible for you spreading yourself all over the Atlantic Ocean, or materializing with your head on backwards."

Harry rolled his eyes at this. "Professor! That wouldn't happen!"

"There is another reason, Mr. Potter, if you could restrain yourself long enough to listen," Snape sneered, and Harry immediately felt as if he were back in the Potions classroom. He looked sullenly up at the older wizard, trying to ignore how his black hair framed his face, which didn't look so sallow out here in the light that passed for sunshine in England.

"We must appear to be Muggles to anyone who might be watching us," Snape continued.

Harry barely resisted the urge to glance around them furtively. He felt like he was in a movie. "You mean someone may be following us?"

"It is possible," admitted Snape. "Many people have Muggle fortunes riding on this situation. To that end," he paused, as if what he was going to say was painful, "From now on, just for this mission of course, I must ask that we act, and address each other, more casually than normal." He stopped, unable to look at Harry. He didn't know how much Dumbledore had told the boy about what they had to do.

Harry couldn't stop a blush from coloring his fair skin. "Um... how casual?" he squeaked out.

Snape frowned at the boy's discomfiture. "Seeing as we are in public, first names will do for now, Harry." He tried not to stumble over the name, and wondered what else was going through the boy's mind. Certainly not anything as interesting as what was in his mind...

For some reason, this surprised Harry. "Severus?" he said, trying out the name. He knew Snape's given name, of course, but... "You don't look like a Severus."

"I was named after my grandfather apparently," explained Snape. "I didn't know him, but they tell me I am very similar to him."

Harry didn't know what to say to that; he was struck by the surrealness of the situation: discussing Snape's family history, walking through a train station in London. He had a feeling it was going to get even more odd. Luckily, they were saved from further conversation by their arrival at the Heathrow Express platform. They boarded, and due to the crowd on board, more discussion was difficult. They finally managed to secure seats.

They sat down, and Harry found himself squeezed between a rail on one side and Snape on the other. If he leaned away from the other man, the movement of the train made the metal dig into his hip uncomfortably. So he was forced to press more tightly against Snape. Not that he minded all that much... but he fancied he could feel the heat of the other wizard through his clothes. This kept distracting him, as did the feeling of Snape's rock hard thigh, only separated from his by two thin layers of denim... his hormones were threatening to take over again. Was Snape wearing cologne? This was the closest he had ever been to the man, and Harry thought he could smell faint traces of one of his favorite men's colognes, Dolce & Gabbana. Whatever it was, Snape smelled delicious. Good enough to eat... which brought on visions all over again. He had to stop this.

Snape forced himself to think of Hogwarts, the mission, the weather; anything except how close he was to Harry, and how if he moved his arm, it would fit around the boy so perfectly, Harry was just the right size... He cursed Dumbledore for doing this to him. The old man must be having a good laugh right about now. He wondered at the depths of the headmaster's deviousness. Did the old wizard suspect that the disdain he seemed to hold for Harry was disguising something else, and wanted to torment him? Or was this simply a matter of putting him with someone he despised to make them get along? Either way, it was having the desired effect; Snape was getting increasingly distressed. But he would not fail.

They arrived at Heathrow without event; they joined queue after queue until they eventually boarded their plane. Snape offered Harry the window seat, and he accepted; he was actually looking forward to flying. The plane took off, and Harry tried to settle in. As novel as being 30,000 feet off the ground was at first, the newness wore off quickly. The flight attendants came around, and Harry found himself irritated by the way the woman simpered over Snape. She was quite obviously trying to flirt with the man, and Harry felt an unfamiliar stab of jealousy. Then she turned to Harry, and her patronizing manner irritated him further. She treated him like a 10 year old. Harry was afraid to look at Snape, to see if he was responding or not. He didn't want to know.

"Stupid cow," muttered Snape under his breath as the woman pranced off.

Harry's head shot up; had he heard that correctly? He tried to repress a grin at the distasteful look on the man's face as he looked after her. He felt unaccountably better.

Once again, detailed conversation was impossible, in case they were being followed, so the flight passed uneventfully. Harry drifted off to sleep in the middle of the in-flight movie, and awoke an hour or so later to see that Snape had done the same. Harry found himself fascinated by the man's face in repose; when not actively sneering, Snape was quite handsome, full lips and silky hair begging to be touched... Harry unfolded a blanket and laid it gently over the sleeping man, resisting the urge to brush back a stray lock of hair. He drifted back off to sleep, smiling faintly.

Snape awoke slowly; he felt warm, and there was a head resting on his shoulder; suddenly he was completely awake, but he held perfectly still. Moving just his eyes, he ascertained that Harry had indeed fallen asleep on his shoulder. The boy looked beautiful, and at least now he could gaze at him uninterrupted. He had taken his glasses off and his skin was smooth and perfect, his lips red and moist and... he closed his eyes. He was just torturing himself. He opened them again, and realized he was gazing directly into emerald depths. He held his breath for a long moment as neither of them moved.

Harry woke to realize immediately where he was, but reluctant to move. He was snuggled against Snape, of all people, and it felt wonderful. Then he looked up, and found those coal black eyes burning into his. He was so close, he could just raise his head and press his lips to the older man's. He wondered what Snape's lips felt like... He realized he was staring, but so was Snape, and time seemed to stand still.

The flight attendant bustling down the aisle with drinks broke the moment. Harry jerked himself back into his own seat quickly, rubbing his arm to get some circulation back, and muttered, "Sorry."

"No need to be sorry," murmured Snape, still mesmerized by those eyes, so close. "Harry."

The way Snape said his name made Harry shiver. The man's voice got to him. Silky smooth, perfect enunciation, insinuating itself deep into Harry, intimately.

"Are you cold?" inquired Snape in concern, offering him the blanket.

Harry shook his head negatively, but decided to accept the blanket. He realized the man's proximity and sensuality was affecting him again, and he had something to hide. The sooner they arrived in LA, the better.