Deeth ond fyghtynge: thatte ys nat terribli interestyng.

Drabble - Remus & Lily

Wed, 05 Sep 2007 21:28:41 GMT

Title: Damning With Faint Praise
Characters: Remus and Lily
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Challenge: #133: Random Character Assignment. I was given Lily.

Remus sighed. One of these days, he had to learn to say no to his friends; otherwise, he'd keep ending up in situations like this one. Namely, trying to coax Lily into giving James a chance.

"Go on - name one reason why I ought to give that arrogant pillock the time of day!" Lily glared, her hair blazing in the afternoon sun.

"Er." Remus wracked his brain.

"You can't!" she exclaimed triumphantly.

"He's good with animals." Remus blurted the first thing that came to mind. It was technically true, at least.

"Well... I suppose that's something."

Remus smiled, relieved.

Drabble - Snape/Lupin

Sun, 26 Aug 2007 20:53:44 GMT

Prompt: Snape/Lupin, dark eyes and a dark soul

Remus didn't know what to expect when he found Severus after the war, holed up behind wards and walls that weren't all made of stone and mortar. Severus wasn't lauded as a hero in spite of his sacrifices; too many people saw the blood on his hands when they looked at him.

He looked into Severus' dark eyes, expecting to see a dark soul mirrored within -- or worse, nothing at all. Instead, he saw pain, isolation and deep wounds that would be long in healing.

He saw himself.

"May I come in?"

Severus hesitated, and then he stepped aside.

More info

Mon, 13 Aug 2007 16:17:33 GMT

Slashdot has written up a very good article about the latest LJ debacle, which outlines the PR and customer service problems LJ/6A have rather than focusing on fandom or porn. To me, it's gone beyond fandom and porn; although they are within their rights to do whatever they see fit, the way they've handled these situations, first in May and now in July, is just not good business.

Fandom 411 is a good directory for finding people on alternate journal services.

For Snape/Lupin fans, I've added a LJ migration resource page to the RL/SS wiki, and there's also a post where you can leave your alternate journal names and find your fellow shippers.

If you're a paid/permanent account holder who doesn't intend to support LJ anymore, check in at the Pay Nor More community, which is trying to get a head count of people who are no longer going to spend money on LJ.

As for me, I'm going to be primarily on IJ and JF from now on. Trying to keep up with four flists is too much, so GJ is going to fall by the wayside. I wouldn't stress myself with trying to keep up with 3 except I feel like I need to keep an eye on things for snupin_prophet. But it seems like more people are migrating to IJ because of GJ's tendency to delete a la LJ and less than stellar customer service, so I'll be focusing my energies there with JF as a back-up.

I've deleted my fic comm on Lj and am in the process of deleting posts with content that might get me in trouble if reported, namely cross-gen, underage (Harry/Neville, for example), bestiality, and incest. I'm getting rid of all cross-gen regardless of whether the younger character is of age or not because I don't trust LJ Abuse to judge fairly or accurately if something of mine is reported.

But everything I've deleted is posted on my website or my fic comm on IJ and JF, so nothing is gone for good, just removed from LJ's servers. The exception are my drabbles, and I'm slowly going through my whole journal and cross-posting all my drabbles to my fic comms and deleting those with questionable content.

I've migrated and/or backed up most of my comms; I still need to migrate the "Season of Mists" comm, but that's the only one left. I also need to go through the Snupin Santa posts and lock the underage smut stuff and change the links to the new SnuSa website, and I need to check the links on the lupin_snape thematic lists, transfer my icons, make a decision about what to do with pervy_werewolf and snark_n_bark, edit "A Chaos of Deep Passion" part 10, drop off my syllabi for copying, and start working on lesson plans because classes begin next week. Oy.

I know this has been stressful and annoying for a lot of people, but trust me - anyone who is involved in creating/maintaining fannish infrastructure on LJ has got it bad right now. I've been working on backing up/migrating/setting up for at least 5-8 hours every day for the better part of a week, and I'm still not settled and done. It's been crazy-making. And the funny thing is, I haven't even migrated my own LJl anywhere; it's mostly been dealing with community stuff.

I intend to use my LJ when necessary and to check my flist on LJ, but I don't know how much I'll be updating after I get everything settled at last. We'll have to wait and see what happens.

Thu, 09 Aug 2007 17:17:05 GMT

For anyone who has a JF account and is having difficulty with broken links, here's a secret tip: you can do a lot of things on JF by going to the LJ URL of what you want to do and replacing "livejournal.com" with "journalfen.net".

For example, if you want to change the layout of your journal, the direct JF link in the sidebar doesn't work, but if you go to

http://www.livejournal.com/customize/

and replace "livejournal.com" like so:

http://www.journalfen.net/customize/

et voila. You can change the look of your JF journal.

You can also create new communities in the same way. Go to

http://www.livejournal.com/community/create.bml

and swap out livejournal for journalfen like so

http://www.journalfen.net/community/create.bml

and you can create a new JF community.

Bottoms Up - multiple pairings, NC17

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 05:14:10 GMT

Title: Bottoms Up
Pairing: Remus/Severus/Bill/Harry/Neville/Draco
Rated: NC17
Warnings: orgy
Summary: Finding themselves house-bound together during a storm, the boys find a way to pass the time until they can leave.

"Well, that settles it. No one else is coming," Remus said as he let the curtain fall back into place, obscuring the view of the snow storm raging outside. "The meeting was meant to start fifteen minutes ago, and Albus isn't here. He never misses a meeting, which can only mean he's been detained by the weather."

"Minerva isn't here either, which makes more of a case for our being snow-bound than Albus' absence," Severus remarked, his tone dry. "You know how she is about punctuality."

"I imagine she's having fits right about now," Remus agreed mildly.

He glanced around at the others who had arrived before the storm had intensified. Bill was lounging on one end of the sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him; Harry was sitting cross-legged on the hearth rug next to Neville, who kept darting uncertain glances at Severus, who was standing ramrod straight by the door, as if intent on making his escape as soon as the storm let up; Draco was also standing, having struck a haughty pose as soon as he walked in, gazing around at everyone else with barely disguised disdain. He was a full-fledged member of the Order and had been for a year, but he still held himself apart from the known Gryffindors, sticking close to Severus as a familiar touchstone.

"It doesn't look like it will let up any time soon," he said, addressing all of them. Severus scowled, and Draco's aloof expression was marred by a flicker of dismay. "But the house is warm and dry, and there's food in the larder."

"And liquor," Bill added, pointing to the liquor cabinet.

"It's a damned inconvenience!" Severus finally relinquished his post by the door and claimed the other end of the sofa, glaring around as if daring anyone to encroach on his space by taking the middle cushion. "Why Albus had to choose to meet in the middle of nowhere, I'll never understand."

"He felt our previous location's safety had been compromised," Remus said. Just like the Black House had been. Although it was Unplottable, Narcissa had got enough information from Kreacher to make things difficult for them. It wasn't long after Voldemort's failed trap in the Department of Mysteries that members of the Order found they couldn't go near Grimmauld Place without risking ambush. When the Dementor attacks began, Albus had changed the location of their headquarters. Now, they had changed again to this place, a small, secluded house which was, Remus had to concede, in the middle of nowhere. The house was Unplottable, and the grounds were surrounded by wards, of both the protective and anti-Apparation variety, which meant they were safe; they only had to deal with the elements. He glanced over at Severus and Draco, both of whom looked miserable and angry. And being stuck with each other, he silently amended.

"Drink, anyone?" he asked, heading for the liquor cabinet, and five arms shot in the air. Chuckling, he opened the cabinet and began taking down glasses. "All right, then. A round for everyone. Scotch? Brandy?"

"Scotch." Five voices spoke as one, and Remus glanced over his shoulder at his companions, amused. At least there was on thing they could all agree upon.

He poured generous rounds of scotch for each of them and began handing out the glasses, and then he settled in the middle space on the sofa, ignoring Severus' dark scowl as he did. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Severus scooted away from him, protecting his personal space, and he was quite surprised that Severus hadn't pointed out there was an empty chair available.

They drank their first glasses in silence, and when they had finished, Bill got up to refresh their drinks, pouring as generously as Remus had. Outside, the storm raged, the wind rattling the windows as the snow piled up in increasingly larger drifts, but inside, they were cozy and snug, and a look around the room showed that Remus wasn't the only one starting to feel the relaxing effects of the excellent scotch. The only thing that would make it better, he thought, would be if they had a phonograph; he'd kill for a Duke Ellington record right about now.

"So..." Bill glanced around, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. "Is there anything the six of us can talk about without it turning into a huge argument, or are we all going to just sit here and stare at each other until the storm ends, or we can escape to the bedrooms, whichever comes first?"

"We could talk about how annoyed we all are with Albus," Severus grumbled, but it didn't contain the usual amount of vitriol -- a side-effect of the scotch, Remus decided.

"We could talk about Quidditch," Harry suggested.

"At least Weasley isn't here to rattle on about the stupid Cannons," Draco sneered.

'Yeah, well, at least he's loyal," Harry said half-heartedly.

"Figures he'd latch on to a team that couldn't win a game if the other team flew one-handed."

"I haven't noticed the Magpies doing so well this season either," Harry shot back.

"Better than the Wasps!"

"Who cares whether the Wasps are winning as long as their Seeker's arse is in view?" Bill spoke up suddenly, and then he went wide-eyed, and Remus could almost see the "I wish I hadn't said that aloud" word balloon over his head.

"Well," Harry said, glancing at him awkwardly. "You've got a point there."

All eyes turned to Harry, and Remus knew he must have looked as shocked as everyone else. Harry took another deep swallow of scotch and pointedly didn't look at anyone, especially Neville.

"Yes, all right, Wharton has a nice arse," Draco admitted grudgingly after the moment of stunned silence had passed. "But he can't play for shit."

"Well, McAllister wouldn't know a Plumpton Pass if it came up and bit him," Harry retorted, seeming to be so caught up in defending his favored team that he didn't notice Draco's oblique admission.

"McAllister is ten times better than Wharton! The Wasps have been a crap team ever since Chapman resigned as captain. Much as I hate to admit it, they should have hired Wood when they had the chance instead of letting the Bats get him when he left Puddlemere. Obsessed, that one, but a good strategist."

"I'll drink to that," Harry said, lifting his glass. "But the Wasps aren't crap."

Draco rolled his eyes, his expression one of long-suffering. "They lost their last four games."

"Their record is still better than the Magpies'."

"Is anyone else finding this conversation as relentlessly tedious as I am?" Severus interrupted.

"Do you want to go back to talking about the Seeker's arse, then?" The words came tumbling out of Remus' mouth before he had a chance to think about them first, but instead of taking his head off as Remus expected, Severus flushed and took a long drink.

"Would be better than listening to those two argue about whose team is less crap than the other," Severus mumbled into his glass.

"Potter's just jealous because we're not talking about his Seeker's arse," Draco said, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glittering from the effects of the alcohol, and Harry stared at him, stunned, and then opened his mouth to reply, but Severus cut him off.

"God, spare me from all talk about Potter's arse!"

"Fine, we won't talk about Harry's arse," Bill said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Any arse in here that you do fancy talking about, Snape?"

Severus finished off his second glass of scotch and drew himself up haughtily, but the effect was marred by the fact that he was wavering in place. "I don't fancy discussing arse."

"Then what do you fancy about it?" Bill asked, his innocent expression belied by the mischief in his voice.

"That," Severus said as he rose to his feet and made his way to the liquor cabinet, "is none of your business."

"Come on, Severus, truth or dare," Remus chimed in, enjoying the sight of Severus slightly tipsy and on the spot. "Tell us whose arse you do fancy. And bring that scotch over here while you're at it."

Severus splashed more scotch into his glass and tucked a second bottle under his arm before returning to the couch, glass in one hand and nearly empty bottle in the other. "I will not. Why are you asking me, anyway? Get someone else to play your little childish games if you're so damned desperate." He sat down heavily and plunked the full bottle of scotch on the cushion between himself and Remus.

Bill leaned over and took the nearly empty bottle from Severus' hand, pouring the remaining scotch into his own glass. "We've got an empty," he said, holding it up. "We could play spin the bottle."

Gulping down the rest of his alcohol, Neville made a face at the taste and then spoke up for the first time. "I'd rather play truth or dare."

It seemed everyone was surprised that Neville had opened his mouth, and they all looked at him, causing him to blush and stare at the rug, picking at a loose thread. "I - I would just rather play that than spin the bottle."

"Let me guess," Draco drawled. "It's because you've never been kissed."

"It could be because he doesn't want to kiss another man," Harry retorted, leaping to Neville's defense while Neville's blush grew even brighter, creeping down his neck.

"Oh, come on." Draco scoffed. "Anyone can tell Longbottom's a shirt lifter."

"That's rich, coming from you!"

"All right, all right." Remus leaned forward as he interrupted the quarrel. "Is there anyone in this room who's one hundred percent straight?" He glanced around, and while no one was quite willing to meet his eyes, no one raised his hand either. "Right, then that's sorted. Moot point -- find something else to argue about, or start snogging as it's clear to everyone, except possibly the two of you, that you want to do."

That left Harry and Draco gaping at him, their mouths working but no sound coming out, but at least they weren't arguing. "But Neville doesn't want to play spin the bottle," Harry said at last in a small voice, and it took Remus' alcohol-muzzy mind a moment to make the connection between that and the snogging comment.

"Right. Truth or dare it is, then." He glanced over at Severus. "You in?"

Severus took another swig and waved his hand languidly. "Long as I don't have to go first," he replied, his usually stiff posture relaxing as he leaned against the back of the sofa.

"Bloody coward." Remus reached out and pushed Severus' shoulder playfully, earning a dark glare in return. "Bill -- truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"I'm surrounded by men with no sense of adventure," Remus said mournfully. "All right, then -- tell us about your experience with other men. I always thought you were straight."

"Not exclusively," Bill said, grinning. "I had an fling with a bloke in Egypt. Black hair, black eyes, lush mouth." He took another drink of his scotch and smiled. "Gorgeous lips. I loved watching him when he was--" He cut himself off abruptly, looking at the younger men in the room sheepishly. "Er. Never mind that. He was my first, but not my last. I had a couple of male lovers for a while after Fleur and I broke up. Good enough?"

Remus nodded as he picked up the full bottle and opened it, passing it around once he had refilled his glass. "Your turn."

"Harry! Truth or dare."

"Truth," Harry said, topping off his scotch as soon as the bottle reached him.

"Hmph. Would've thought you'd be the most daring of all of us," Bill said, and Harry stuck out his tongue. "All right, since I had to spill the details of my love life, so do you -- tell us about the Boy Who Lived's romances."

Harry took a long drink as if to fortify himself and then set his glass down on the hearth. "Not much to tell, really. I kissed Cho Chang during fifth year and didn't much like it. Tried again with Hermione sixth year, and that was lots better. Didn't go anywhere, though." He stretched out on his stomach, propping his chin in his hands. "Colin Creevey kissed me a couple months after that, and I liked it enough to talk him into letting me shag him. That's about it."

"You shagged Creevey? Ewww...." Draco scrunched up his face in distaste.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, but his voice was lazy from the scotch, lacking any heat. "Neville, truth or dare?"

Neville glanced around uncertainly and drew in a deep breath. "Dare."

"Good for you, Neville!" Bill cheered, and Neville blushed to the roots of his hair.

"Hope I don't regret it," he mumbled.

Harry rolled onto his back, sprawling with boneless, lanky grace on the floor as he turned his head and grinned at Neville. "Have you really not been kissed?"

Twisting his fingers together in his lap, Neville shook his head, darting shy glances at Harry as he awaited his dare.

"Choose someone here to give you your first kiss, then."

Neville blinked as if startled, and then he glanced around, wide-eyed. He let his gaze pass swiftly over Draco and Severus, but he lingered over Bill and lingered even longer over Remus. Finally, he stood up and walked over to the sofa to stand in front of Remus. "You gave me confidence about my abilities with magic third year," he said, offering a shy smile. "I want you to give me confidence about this, too."

"Gladly," Remus said, returning Neville's smile and holding out his arms. "Come here, then, dear boy."

Although Severus and Bill both edged closer to the end of the couch to give Neville room as he crawled onto Remus' lap, they both were watching the proceedings with great interest. Remus, however, ignored the rest of the room, focusing his attention entirely on Neville.

He stroked Neville's cheek gently. "It's really quite simple. Keep your lips pliant, and remember to breathe. You can do that, yes?"

"Yes." Neville's voice was barely audible, but he met Remus' gaze steadily.

A first kiss, Remus thought as he smoothed Neville's hair back from his face. He had never given anyone their first kiss before, and he had never expected that anyone would ask him, but Neville trusted Remus enough not only to give him this gift, but also to place such faith in Remus' ability to teach him well. "We'll make it a good one, Neville," he said softly, and the shy little smile widened.

Neville sat awkwardly on Remus' lap, his hands clasped together tightly, and Remus decided against moving straight into a kiss; he wanted Neville to relax a bit first, and so he wound his arms around Neville's waist, coaxing him closer until Neville leaned against his chest. Rubbing Neville's back in slow circles, he nuzzled a kiss against Neville's temple. "Put your arms around me," he instructed.

After a moment's hesitation, Neville wrapped both arms around his neck, and Remus simply held him, continuing to rub his back until he felt Neville relax. Only then did he begin trailing gentle kisses from Neville's temple to his cheek, in no hurry to reach Neville's mouth; Neville's skin was warm beneath his lips and tasted faintly of salt when he darted his tongue out, and Neville gasped at the touch of his tongue, his fingers tightening on Remus' back.

"Shh..." Remus lifted one hand to Neville's hair, combing his fingers through it gently as he nuzzled Neville's cheek. "Relax. We're in no hurry." He kissed the corner of Neville's mouth, stealing another quick taste, and this time, Neville didn't jump. "You feel good in my arms, darling boy."

He cupped Neville's cheek in his palm and brushed his thumb back and forth across Neville's bottom lip, and Neville gazed at him, wide-eyed and panting, but no longer seeming nervous. He relaxed against Remus' chest, snuggling against him, and Remus held him for a moment longer before slowly leaning in to kiss him -- a light brush of lips against lips -- and then backed off again. Neville whimpered softly and rested one hand on the back of Remus' head, pulling him close again, and Remus accepted the invitation, returning to claim Neville's lips for a deeper kiss.

With a soft moan, Neville parted his lips, tangling his fingers in Remus' hair, and Remus skimmed his tongue along Neville's lips, tracing them before he slipped it between them. Neville's mouth was soft and sweet, tasting of alcohol and innocence, and Remus couldn't hold back a moan as he explored and tasted, wanting to memorize every inch. Neville arched against him, moaning louder, and then he slid his tongue along Remus', stroking it hesitantly, not sure what to do, but wanting to do something. Remus tightened his arms around Neville, curling his tongue around Neville's and coaxing it into his own mouth, wanting Neville to experience as much as possible in this one kiss.

With a soft noise of pleasure, Neville sealed his mouth over Remus' and began his own exploration -- shy, a little awkward, but curious and hungry, too. Remus yielded his mouth to Neville's questing tongue, silently encouraging him, and by the time they broke apart, both of them panting for air, Neville had grown confident enough to take charge of the kiss just as Remus hoped he would.

"Well done," he whispered, running his thumb across Neville's wet lips again and then putting his thumb in his mouth for one last taste of Neville.

"Thank you," Neville whispered back, smiling as he slid off Remus' lap and returned to his place on the floor beside Harry, who nudged him.

"Was that as good as it looked?" Harry asked.

Neville blushed and ducked his head shyly. "Better." Clearing his throat, he glanced around at everyone, who was looking back and forth between him and Remus with "damn" looks on their faces as they adjusted their trousers surreptitiously. "So... um... back to the game? Remus, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"And you called me a bloody coward," Severus exclaimed.

"I was just involved in Neville's dare. It wouldn't do to have all the fun straight-away."

Severus gave a derisive snort at Remus' disingenuous smile and looked away, and Remus turned his attention to Neville, who was blushing again.

"I can't think of anything to ask," Neville said.

Sitting up, Harry cupped his hand around Neville's ear and leaned close to whisper to him, and Neville's eyes grew wide and round. "I can't ask him that!"

"Why not?" Harry stretched out again, settling his head in Neville's lap this time. "If you don't, I will, so you may as well."

Glancing uncertainly at Remus, Neville took a deep breath. "All right, then... What's the k-kinkiest thing you've ever wanted to do but haven't done yet?"

"Rope bondage," Remus said promptly.

"Rope bondage?" There was a distinct note of interest in Bill's voice.

"Rope bondage." Remus let himself slide down until he could rest his head on the back of the sofa and, resting his hands on his stomach, he stretched his legs out in front of him. "It's quite beautiful -- an erotic art form, really. You use the rope to weave patterns and knots to create something that is aesthetically pleasing as well as restrictive."

"And you want to be tied up like that?" Harry asked, going nearly as wide-eyed as Neville.

"No." Remus' smile was predatory. "I want to do the tying."

Neville swallowed hard, his face turning even redder. "Your turn, then."

"Draco." Remus held out his glass in a silent hint to Bill, who was pouring himself a refill. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Draco replied, his lip curled in an arrogant sneer.

Bill sloshed more scotch into Remus' glass, and Remus thanked him and took a sip before issuing Draco's dare, as if wanting to let the younger man wait and wonder what he'd got himself into for a moment. "You must snog Harry for five minutes."

"WHAT?" Twin voices uttered this heated cry of outrage; for once, Harry and Draco were united in their shocked dismay at this pronouncement, and they both began protesting loudly.

"I'm not going to snog that ferret-faced prat!"

"Snog Potter? I'd rather kiss Hagrid's mutt!"

"Oh, for God's sake, spare us the histrionics," Severus snapped. "Lupin is right -- you've both wanted to suck each other's faces off for ages now, and you're being given a perfect opportunity to do so at no cost to your pride, so shut the hell up and get on with it."

Remus leaned over, intending to respond to Severus' remark, but the scotch had already begun to affect his equilibrium, and he ended up falling against Severus instead. To his surprise, Severus' shoulder wasn't entirely uncomfortable, and to his shock, Severus didn't shove him off, and so he remained there, feeling too heavy-limbed and content to bother pushing himself upright again. "And here I thought you might be a mellow drunk, Severus," he said.

"This is mellow, Lupin."

Draco eyed Harry with the same distaste he might look at a squished slug. "I won't do it."

"Then none of us will ever let you forget that you didn't have the guts to follow through on your dare," Bill told him, and Draco shot him a look of pure disgust.

"Fine! Come here, Potter, and let's get this over with."

"Fuck you, Malfoy," Harry replied mildly, still lounging in Neville's lap. "I'm comfortable, and it's your bloody dare anyway. You come here."

"Arrogant bastard."

"Spoilt brat."

"The tenderness of young love," Bill said with a mock sigh. "It brings a tear to my eye."

Grudgingly, Draco crossed over to the fireplace and, after a moment's hesitation, he knelt and straddled Harry's waist, bracing his hands on either side of Harry's shoulders. Neville watched Draco intently, as if guarding Harry, but Draco only smirked down at Harry, who stared back, his expression one of defiance.

"Going to lie back and think of England, Potter?"

"Something like that."

"I'll time you," Remus said, pulling out Severus' pocket watch and opening it, ignoring Severus' grumbled protest at having his possessions commandeered. "You may start... now."

With one last grimace, Draco bent over and touched his lips to Harry's, both of them holding themselves away from each other as much as possible. Over on the sofa, Bill shook his head. "Come on -- you can do better than that!"

Harry turned his head long enough to shoot the men on the sofa an annoyed glare before facing Draco again and reaching up to capture Draco's face between his hands, yanking him down into a firm kiss. Draco's squawk of surprise was muffled by Harry's mouth, but he didn't pull away, not even when Harry darted his tongue out and skimmed it along Draco's lips, tracing them. Sliding his hands up to tangle his fingers in Draco's hair, Harry coaxed Draco's lips apart with his tongue, an unexpected moan escaping him at the first taste of Draco's warm mouth.

It wasn't his dare, but Harry was determined not to give any of the others reason to tease him, or in Snape's case mock him, for not giving it his best. Besides, if he were honest, he had to admit that Remus was right: he was drawn to Draco, and kissing him wasn't as disgusting a thought as he pretended it was.

Draco's hair was soft and fine, twining around Harry's fingers as the kiss continued, and Harry took his time, exploring Draco's mouth at his leisure, feeling a surge of triumph when Draco began to relax against him, sinking down to lie on his chest. It wasn't long before Draco began trying to take control of the kiss, pushing his tongue into Harry's mouth, and Harry let him; he didn't care whose tongue was in whose mouth as long as he didn't have to give up the heat of Draco's body against his or the alcohol-laced taste of Draco.

Winding his arms around Draco's waist, he held Draco tightly against him, moaning as Draco bit at his bottom lip. Their hips were flush, and he could feel Draco's cock was as hard as his own; sliding his hands down, he cupped Draco's arse and pushed, and Draco took the hint, rocking his hips roughly against Harry's as they sealed their mouths together again, devouring each other hungrily.

He was vaguely aware of someone saying, "It's been five minutes", but it sounded very far away, and he didn't care anyway. Someone else replied, "Yes, but do you really want to stop them?" It sounded like Bill, noted the part of Harry's brain that wasn't drowning in lust, and he silently applauded Bill's pragmatism. He could feel someone's fingers in his hair, stroking it, and he knew they weren't Draco's, because Draco was clutching his shoulders. Neville, then. Poor Neville! Caught with Harry and Draco snogging frantically in his lap and no chance to escape.

That thought was enough to bring Harry back to himself, and he grabbed Draco's shoulders and pushed him away, panting. "It's been five minutes," he gasped, and Draco stared down at him, pale skin flushed, his eyes glazed over as if he wasn't comprehending Harry's words quite yet. Eventually, they sank in, and he scrambled to his feet, putting a safe distance between himself and Harry.

"I hope that satisfies the requirements of the dare," he said haughtily, smoothing his hair back into place as he tried to pull his dignity back into place around himself.

"Oh, yes. Quite." Remus nodded.

"Good." Draco turned a narrow-eyed gaze on Severus. "You're the only one left, so -- truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Bloody coward," Remus said and then giggled softly as he snuggled against Severus' shoulder, and Severus rolled his eyes.

"You should have warned us you turn into a soppy drunk, Lupin."

"I'm not soppy," Remus protested. "I'm relaxed."

"Fine. You're not soppy. But if you dare call me dear or darling anything like you did Longbottom, I'll hex you so sober, you won't be able to get drunk again for the next five years."

"Kay."

"And get your hand off my thigh -- OFF! I said off, not up!"

Remus giggled again and pushed himself upright, taking another long swig of scotch as he sprawled in the center of the sofa while Bill and Harry chuckled at their exchange. "I won't call you darling," he said with drunken gravity. "Neville is darling. You aren't darling. You're challenging."

"What the bloody hell do you mean by that?" Severus glared at him, but Remus smiled beatifically and appeared engrossed in swirling the remains of his scotch around in the glass, seemingly unaware of Severus' question.

On the other side of the room, Draco cleared his throat. "You have a question to answer, if you're quite finished flirting with Lupin," he said, not bothering to hide his smirk.

"I am not flirting!"

"I am!" Remus declared in a sing-song voice, and Severus shot him the Glare of Messy Death, making Bill and Harry laugh even more, and even Neville dared to grin at seeing Severus' discomfort.

"Your question," Draco said silkily.

"Ask and be done with it," Severus grumbled, finishing off his scotch and putting the empty glass aside so he could cross his arms across his chest as he glared at Draco.

"Well, I for one am quite intrigued by the question you wouldn't answer earlier," Draco said, sounding too innocent to be innocent. "Do tell us -- out of everyone of your acquaintance, whose arse do you fancy? Give us three names."

"You little bastard."

Draco gave an elegant shrug, an evil smile wreathing his features. "I had to snog Potter, so shut the hell up and get on with it."

If looks could have killed, Draco would have been a sticky patch on the floor, but he appeared unfazed by the glare and made a show of tapping his foot impatiently. Severus stewed silently for a moment while everyone else watched him with identical eager expressions, waiting for his answer.

"Fine. Number one: Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Oh, good call there," Bill agreed.

"Very good call." Remus nodded vehemently. "He's got the most wonderful arse -- tight and firm, just perfect for grabbing -- and he's lovely in bed. He makes these high-pitched squeaky noises when you..." He trailed off when he realized everyone was staring at him. "What? I'm a werewolf, not a eunuch."

Bill reached over and took Remus' glass from his hand. "I think you're relaxed enough, pet. If you get any more relaxed, you're going to scar Harry, Neville, and Draco for life."

"What about the trauma I'm suffering having to hear all this?" Severus demanded.

"Karma," Bill said, flashing a wicked grin.

"You're all bastards."

"We still need two more names," Draco reminded him.

"Number two: William Weasley."

A moment of silence greeted that remark, and then Bill blinked, looking as if he had no idea how to respond to that revelation. "Me?"

"Long red hair, black leather -- it's an intriguing combination," Severus replied, his tone clipped as he stared resolutely into the fire.

Once more, Remus was nodding enthusiastically, and Bill smiled wryly at the other three young men. "Don't worry, he's not going to ramble about my habits in bed. We haven't slept together."

"I would sleep with you, though," Remus announced cheerfully.

"Thank you for sharing." Severus scowled at Remus and scooted away from him, pressing against the arm of the sofa in his attempt to put more distance between them.

"You still owe us another name." Harry issued the reminder this time, unable to hide the light of unholy glee in his eyes.

Severus muttered something.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Draco purred. "We didn't quite catch it."

"I said Lupin!"

Four jaws dropped simultaneously. Bill, Harry, Neville, and Draco gaped at Severus as if he had suddenly begun sneezing flobberworms, but Remus launched himself towards Severus' end of the couch, flinging his arms around Severus' narrow shoulders. "Me! He wants to shag me!" Remus hugged Severus with puppyish enthusiasm, trying to crawl in his lap while Severus squawked and struggled to push him away.

"Get off, you idiot!"

"No." Remus settled himself on Severus' lap and looped his arms around Severus' neck, stretching his legs out towards Bill's end of the sofa. "I'm going to sit here now." Pressing his nose just beneath Severus' ear, he closed his eyes and hummed with contentment. "It's your turn," he added, and Severus gave a long-suffering sigh, looking completely unrelaxed and refusing to put his arms around Remus in return.

"Fine. Weasley -- truth or dare?"

"Dare," Bill said, grinning as he watched Remus snuggle against Severus' chest.

"Find some way to get this damned overeager werewolf off my lap!"

Over by the hearth, Harry and Neville snickered behind their hands, and Draco shook his head, watching the spectacle with amusement in his pale eyes. Bill's grin widened. "Are you sure that's what you really want?"

"Yes, I'm sure! Get him off!"

"You don't like snuggling with me?" Remus pulled back just enough to look at Severus, his eyes wide and his lip quivering slightly.

"Oh, God..." Severus covered his eyes with one hand, and Bill burst out laughing.

"He's giving you the puppy eyes, and you still want me to lure him away?" Bill asked, the undercurrent of mischief in his voice giving away exactly how much he was enjoying this.

"You might as well let him stay," Harry said. "I mean, you know we're going to make you snog him the first time you accept a dare, and we won't stop hounding you until you do accept one."

"You aren't the one who has his bony arse digging into your thigh," Severus retorted. "Weasley, the dare still stands. Take the drunk werewolf off my hands by whatever means you care to devise."

"All right, but don't say I didn't warn you." Bill set his glass of scotch aside and moved to the middle of the couch, reaching out to clasp Remus' chin in his fingers and coaxing Remus to look at him. "Feeling good, are we?"

Remus nodded happily and gave Severus a little squeeze. "I haven't had this much fun in a very long time."

"I can tell you're enjoying yourself." Bill gave him a warm smile and stroked his cheek. "But I know a way you can have even more fun."

"How?" Remus leaned into Bill's hand, his contented hum growing louder, and he watched Bill intently.

"Come over here and sit with me." Bill patted his own thigh with his free hand, still caressing Remus' cheek with the other.

"But Severus will be lonely if I leave him," Remus said plaintively, holding onto Severus even tighter. "I don't want him to be lonely. He's been lonely for too long, and I'm fixing it."

Severus blanched and looked away at that. "I can hardly be lonely in a room with other people, Lupin. There is no need for you to keep me company."

"See? Why don't you come over here with me? Snape doesn't want to snuggle you, but I do." Bill's voice was smooth and enticing, and Remus bit his lip as he looked back and forth between Severus and Bill.

"You don't want me to stay here?" Remus turned to Severus again, still clinging to him, but there was a quaver in his voice, and over by the fireplace, Neville began to sniffle, and Harry captured his hand, patting it reassuringly.

"No," Severus replied tersely. "Go to Weasley."

Without another word, Remus crawled out of Severus' lap and into Bill's, hiding his face against Bill's neck; Bill wrapped both arms around him and cradled him in a protective embrace, rubbing his back soothingly. "There now. Isn't this better?"

Sliding one arm around Bill's neck and the other around his waist, Remus nodded as he curled against Bill, drawing his legs up so that even his feet were out of Severus' space. Bill gave him a squeeze and reached up to stroke his hair tenderly, glancing over at Severus. "Well, you got what you wanted. My turn now." Although whether he was referring to Remus or the game, Severus wasn't quite certain. "Truth or dare, Neville?"

"Truth," Neville said, still sounding a little sniffly.

"Who do you most fancy practicing your new-found kissing skills with?"

Neville shot Bill a startled look, but he didn't protest; instead, he bolted down another deep swallow of scotch and ended up having a coughing fit, and Harry sat up so he could pound Neville on the back until it was over. "Harry," Neville wheezed, bending over on the pretext of recovering from the coughing so he wouldn't have to see Harry's reaction to that news. "I asked Remus to teach me how to kiss because I knew he'd teach me how to do it properly, and I wanted to know what I was doing if -- if Harry ever wanted to kiss me."

He didn't dare look up, terrified of seeing pity or horror in Harry's eyes, but then Harry cupped his chin and tilted it up, and Neville had no choice but to look into Harry's eyes, which weren't filled with either pity or horror, but were gleaming with interest.

"Why don't you show me what you learnt?" Harry suggested softly, and Neville thought his heart might stop. He wanted to speak, wanted to say something, but Harry's words seemed to have short-circuited the connection between his brain and his mouth, and so he flung his arms around Harry's neck and kissed him instead.

Harry immediately parted his lips, and Neville eagerly slipped his tongue between them, moaning at his first taste of Harry's mouth; pressing against Harry, he tried to remember to breathe and how to do that little flick thing with his tongue that Remus had done, because that had felt neat, but he was so overwhelmed by the fact that he was kissing Harry at long last that he could barely remember his own name. He was drowning in Harry, reveling in the taste of him, in the warm scent rising from his skin, in the feel of their bodies against each other, and best of all, Harry was kissing him back and moaning, and Harry's hands were roaming all over Neville's back as if he was enjoying the kiss just as much as Neville was.

All too soon, it was over, and Neville broke away from him reluctantly, pulling back just enough to murmur against his lips, "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Harry whispered, a glimmer of wicked amusement in his eyes, and Neville grinned.

Glancing over at Draco uncertainly, he wet his lips and then looked at Harry again. "You have to snog both of us -- me and Draco, I mean. At the same time."

"Oo, Neville's proving why he's a Gryffindor again," Bill teased, and Neville laughed, blushing and scarcely able to believe his own boldness. It had to be the scotch, he decided.

This time, Draco didn't have to be talked into anything; he moved swiftly to join them and knelt on the other side of Harry, watching and waiting, and Harry reached out to curve one arm around both of them, drawing them nearer. As he turned his head to capture Draco's mouth, Neville leaned over and began trailing kisses along his neck, running one hand up and down Harry's thigh, and Harry moaned and spread his knees apart as he knelt between them. Neville didn't care that the men on the couch could see everything they were doing; his happy buzzing mind was too fixated on making Harry moan some more, and he bit down on Harry's neck, sucking lightly as he slid his hand up to Harry's crotch, stroking his erection.

Harry's hips jerked, and he moaned even louder, devouring Draco's mouth with greedy hunger as Neville stroked him, and then he broke off the kiss, turning to face Neville, and it was Neville's turn to swallow Harry's eager little moans as he plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth. Need overcame discretion, and he fumbled with the fastenings of Harry's jeans, working awkwardly with one hand to free Harry's cock from the confines of his jeans and underpants, but then there were other hands helping him, and soon, Harry's cock sprang free, velvety hard and leaking. Someone laced their fingers with Neville's, and as he pulled away from Harry, he was surprised to find that it was Draco who was guiding their hands to curl around Harry's cock, stroking it firmly.

He stared at Draco silently for a moment, and then, as if by mutual consent, they leaned forward, lips brushing experimentally before returning for a deeper kiss, mouths opening and tongues dueling as their joined hands wrung cries of pleasure from Harry. It wasn't long at all before Harry's hips surged up against their hands, and he came hard and fast, warm fluid spurting on their hands and his stomach. Draco nipped at Neville's bottom lip as they parted, and both of them turned to look at Harry, who was panting and flushed, his lower lip rosy and wet as if he had been biting it. With a knowing smirk, Draco lifted his hand and began licking it clean, his eyes never leaving Harry's face, and Neville's own arousal doubled at the sight. Hesitantly, he lifted his own hand, darting his tongue out to taste; he had fantasized about going on his knees for Harry and letting Harry come in his mouth countless times, and now he had a chance to find out what that would be like. Not bad, he thought and quickly licked his own hand clean, relishing the dumbfounded look on Harry's face as he did.

Smiling, he tucked Harry back in and refastened his jeans while Draco pulled out his wand and cleaned up the spatters on Harry's shirt. "Your turn," Neville said primly, and Harry's mouth worked silently for a moment before words finally came out.

"Snape," he said, and the first time it came out with a squeak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Snape," he repeated. "Truth or dare?"

But there was no response, and the three young men glanced over at the couch to see what the problem was. Severus' cheeks were flushed, and he was resolutely Not Looking at any of them, Remus was still curled up against Bill and didn't seem to be paying attention to them, and Bill looked as if he'd been hit by a bludger.

"Are you sure you want to keep playing?" Bill asked. "Maybe you'd like to go upstairs instead?"

"Are you mad?" Draco sniffed. "Stop just when things are getting good? I think not."

"Fair enough." Bill spread his hands and shrugged until Remus made a little noise of protest, and he wrapped his arms around Remus again, holding him close.

Bottoms Up 2/2

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 05:12:52 GMT

"Snape," Harry repeated in the patient tone used to explain things to small children, "it's your turn. Truth or dare?" He paused and then gave a wicked grin. "I suggest you choose dare and get it over with."

"For once I agree with Potter," Draco said. "If you're thinking about trying to wait us out until we pass out, fall asleep, or stop playing, we'll simply hold it over your head that you wouldn't take a dare and taunt you with this knowledge at every given opportunity."

"Fine!" Severus glared at them, silently wishing painful, messy deaths on the lot of them. How he had got himself into this mess, he didn't know. It had to be the scotch. "Dare."

"You know what you have to do," Harry said, not bothering to hide the sadistic glee he felt.

"You're all evil voyeurs." Scowling, he turned to Remus, who was still curled up in Bill's lap, his face hidden against Bill's shoulder. "Come here, Lupin -- I have to snog you."

"No." The word was muffled but distinct, but Severus stared at him, scarcely believing what he had just heard.

"No?"

"No."

"You were all over me not fifteen bloody minutes ago!"

"You told me to go away!"

"Well, now I'm telling you to come back!"

"No!"

Severus stared at him a moment longer and then shrugged. "It seems you'll have to come up with something else, Potter. He doesn't want to cooperate."

"Not my problem," Harry replied, his grin widening. "Either you find a way to talk him into snogging you, or you have to forfeit the dare and put up with us gloating."

"I loathe all of you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Start sweet-talking, Snape."

Sweet-talking? Severus stared at Remus again, his mind utterly blank. For years, he had done nothing but push people away and keep them at a distance, and now, in one night, he was expected to forget all of that and figure out a way to draw someone near. He had no earthly idea what to do, and he knew that if he did try something, he would look either foolish or insincere.

"You might start with an apology," Bill suggested. "I think you hurt his feelings."

"Apologize?" Severus sputtered indignantly. "He's the one who crawled all over me and invaded my personal space without permission. He should be apologizing to me!"

Remus' head shot up. "I'm sorry I tried to be nice to you!"

"That isn't what I meant," Severus said, the words ground out through clenched teeth.

On the floor, Harry leaned over and stage-whispered to Neville, "I don't much fancy his chances of succeeding", and they both snickered behind their hands as they watched the show on the sofa with avid interest.

"Look." Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and sighed. "Lupin, do this one thing for me, and then you can go back to wallowing all over William and sulking for the rest of the night."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'm asking you to."

Even in his drunken state, Remus had to realize the significance of that. He had to know that Severus didn't ask anyone for anything if he could avoid it. Their eyes met and held for a long moment, and then Remus nodded. "All right," he said, his tone grudging. "But I won't sit in your lap."

"I'll find a way to live with the disappointment."

Easing himself off Bill's lap, Remus settled in the middle of the sofa again, tucking one leg beneath him as he shifted to face Severus, watching him silently. Severus waited for a moment, but Remus didn't say anything or make any move to initiate the kiss, and Severus grimaced. It was completely up to him, then. Joy.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered and then leaned forward to press his mouth against Remus'. Their lips met, warm and soft, but they didn't reach for each other; Remus' hands were in his lap, and Severus was braced on his palms as he leaned toward Remus. A burning knot tightened in Severus' chest as he fought to keep his desires in check; he wanted to coax Remus' lips apart and plunge his tongue into Remus' mouth, but he couldn't. He didn't dare. If he was to be humiliated, better for it to be because he failed to fulfil the dare than because he had revealed too much.

The stiff, awkward kiss continued for a few seconds longer, neither of them giving anything, and finally, he pulled back, putting distance between them once again. It was over, he had done it, and that was the end of it. Or so he thought.

"That was so... not hot," Harry said.

"Bloody boring," Draco agreed. "Here we've been giving them plenty of interesting things to see, and the only good thing we've got from them so far is Lupin snogging Longbottom. I find myself quite disappointed."

"Maybe that's what happens when you get old: you gain experience, but you lose passion," Neville piped up -- and then immediately clapped one hand over his mouth and blushed.

"I'm not old!" Bill mock-glared at Neville, who giggled and offered an apologetic smile. "Maybe Snape simply needs a refresher course in romance."

"I think so," Neville said. "I know Remus can kiss better than that, so it must be Professor Snape who needs the help."

"I do not need help," Severus replied icily.

"He doesn't want to kiss me." Remus reached for his glass of scotch, but Bill smacked his hand, and he drew back, clasping his hands in his lap. "He would probably have done better if you had asked him to kiss someone he doesn't hate."

"Is there anyone he doesn't hate?" Harry asked. "Aside from Draco, I mean. Besides, he said he fancies you and Bill!"

"Perhaps we should have him kiss Weasley instead, then," Draco said. "It can't be worse than him and Lupin."

"Would you kindly stop speaking about me like I'm not even in the room!"

"I know what he needs," Neville said decisively. "He needs more scotch."

"Right!" Harry cried triumphantly. "More scotch to loosen him up a bit." Harry walked on his knees across the room, grabbing the bottle of scotch along the way, and went to Severus' end of the couch; picking up Severus' glass, he filled it nearly to the brim and handed it over. "Bottoms up," he said with a cheerful smile as Severus took it from his hand gingerly, and then he crawled back to Neville and Draco, flopping down between them with his head in Neville's lap and his legs draped across Draco's.

Eyeing the glass as if expecting something to pop out of it and attack him, Severus took a small sip. He didn't want to get any more intoxicated than he already was; he had dropped his guard enough to be talked into playing this foolish game, and that was enough. Any more alcohol in his system, and there was no telling what might happen.

"Not good enough," Bill said. "Come on, Snape -- you can do better than that."

Scowling, he downed half the glass in one swallow, ignoring the round of applause that greeted that feat. The heat of the alcohol flowed through his blood; he could feel his cheeks growing flushed, and a warm lassitude weighted down his limbs. He allowed himself to sink back against the sofa before finishing off the rest of the glass, and he closed his eyes, feeling more relaxed the longer he sat still. Eventually, someone took the empty glass from his hand, and he opened his eyes again only to see Harry, Draco, and Neville watching him expectantly.

"Well?" Harry asked. "Ready to have another go?"

Severus shrugged. "May as well. Lupin, get your bony arse over here, and if you say no, I'll hex you."

"Not going to get in your lap again," Remus said, folding his arms across his chest and fixing Severus with a mulish glare.

Bugger. That meant he would have to move, and he wasn't sure he could at the moment. Rolling his head to one side, he looked at Remus, wondering how he could talk Remus into moving closer, but Remus' brows were drawn together in a stubborn frown, and his bottom lip jutted out. Tempting, Severus thought, feeling the urge to clamp his teeth on that tender lip.

The problem, he admitted silently, wasn't that he didn't want to kiss Remus; it was that he wanted to kiss Remus too much. If he let himself respond the way he wanted to, he would reveal far more than was safe, and so it was best that he kept Remus at a distance and let him think that Severus still hated him. But looking past the outward signs of stubbornness, he could see the hurt lurking in the depths of Remus' eyes, and he realized that his rejection had wounded more deeply than he thought.

Maybe, he thought muzzily, that meant it was safe to kiss Remus after all. There was a small, still-sober part of his mind that was having a screaming fit, but the part of him that was being fueled by scotch and lust plugged its ears and started singing "I can't hear you!", and he found himself reaching out to cup Remus' cheek as he leaned forward to close the distance between them and brush his lips against Remus'.

Sliding his fingers into Remus' hair, he cradled Remus' skull in his palm as he dragged his tongue along Remus' bottom lip before drawing it into his mouth and suckling it, and a soft noise of surprise escaped Remus' throat. As Severus nibbled his lip, Remus inched closer and rested his hand on Severus' thigh, running it slowly from hip to knee and back again, and as soon as Severus released his lip, he swiftly captured Severus' mouth, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he sought entrance with his tongue.

Severus' intentions of remaining detached crumbled and drowned in booze-soaked desire, and he moaned as he yielded to the kiss, drawing Remus' tongue deep and sucking it eagerly. Winding his arms around Remus' neck, he clung tightly, anchoring himself to the solid strength and warmth of Remus' body; he forgot about the dare, the other people in the room -- everything except the feel of Remus devouring his mouth as if he were a starving man and Severus was a banquet.

He was scarcely aware of Remus lowering him until his back hit the cushions and he felt Remus' body covering his own; without hesitation, he wrapped his legs around Remus' hips and arched against him, fisting his hand in Remus' hair as the kiss continued, hot and greedy and desperate.

When Remus finally released him, he gasped, drawing deep breaths into his starved lungs; slowly, he realized he was sprawled wantonly on the sofa beneath Remus, and his mouth felt swollen from the ferocity of the kiss, but he was still reluctant to let Remus go while his body was screaming for more.

"Well." Draco coughed and cleared his throat.

"That was better," Harry said, sounding dazed. "Lots better."

Remus let out a gusty sigh of contentment as he settled on top of Severus, resting his head on Severus' shoulder and showing no signs of moving any time soon, and Severus surprised himself by not minding. He curved his arms around Remus' shoulders and let him rest, enjoying the warmth and closeness more than he would ever admit aloud.

Closing his eyes, he let himself relax against the cushions. "William." His voice sounded deep and languid with satiation even to his own ears. "Truth or dare."

"Dare," Bill said, getting a chorus of "ooo!"s from Harry and Neville.

"It occurs to me, William," Severus purred, "that you're the only one among us who hasn't got caught up in this hormone-drenched snog fest. So -- take your pick. Whom do you want to roll around and make a fool of yourself with?"

"Actually," Bill said, an undercurrent of amusement in his voice, "I'm a greedy bastard. I want two people -- I want to pile on with you and Remus."

"We're going to need some more room," Remus murmured drowsily.

"I'm going to need some more scotch," Neville said.

"I know what you need." Harry leered up at him, making him blush to the roots of his hair.

"The question is, are you going to give it to me?" he retorted, feeling bolder thanks to the alcohol and the intimacy Harry had already allowed.

"We'll talk about that after Bill has his turn," Harry said, reaching up to touch Neville's cheek, and Neville beamed down at him, stroking Harry's hair tenderly. He could wait however long he needed to.

Meanwhile, Bill had begun moving furniture around, pushing it out of the middle of the floor, and he pulled out his wand, aiming it at the rug; he flicked his wand, and the rug began to expand and puff up, turning into a soft, plush mattress with more than enough room for all six of them to lie on it without crowding each other. "How's that?" he asked, putting his wand away again.

"Brilliant!" Harry rolled onto his stomach and crawled onto the enhanced rug, stroking its lush weave appreciatively before flopping down on it; Neville followed, stretching out on one side of Harry, and after a moment, Draco joined them, claiming the spot on Harry's other side.

"This means you have to move," Severus informed Remus, who was still lying on top of him, and Remus cracked his eyes open to peer at their new mattress and then smiled.

"That's nice -- it looks comfortable." Pushing himself upright, he leaned over until he was on all fours on the floor and then crawled to the rug, rolling onto his back and stretching lazily, his arms flung over his head. "It's very comfortable."

Bill sat down on the couch again and yanked off his boots and socks, and then he reached up and untied his ponytail, letting his hair fall around his shoulders. With a contented sigh, he raked his hands through it, finger-combing it before he rose to his feet and sauntered over to the mattress, sprawling on his back beside Remus.

Severus was the last to join them, taking a place on Bill's other side, close to Draco. "Now then. I believe you mentioned something about wanting to 'pile on' with the two of us?"

"Or the two of you could pile on me," Bill replied, both his tone and his expression hopeful.

"I like that idea." Remus shifted to lie on his side and began sifting his fingers through Bill's hair. "So pretty," he murmured, nuzzling beneath Bill's ear, and Bill shivered, tilting his head to give Remus better access.

"What did you have in mind, William?" Severus propped himself up on one elbow and rested his other hand on Bill's stomach, rubbing it in slow, small circles.

"I wish I had some popcorn," Harry whispered, resting his chin in one hand as he lay on his stomach and watched; he hooked his leg over Neville's and rested his free hand on Draco's back, wanting to remain in contact with both of them. Draco edged closer, pressing against Harry's side, and Neville did the same, all three of them never taking their eyes off the older men, especially Bill.

"I wish Bill was naked," Neville whispered back, and both Harry and Draco gaped at him, stunned. "What? He's hot."

"Well, yes," Harry agreed. "But... how much scotch have you had, anyway?"

Neville giggled and jostled Harry's shoulder affectionately, and they turned their attention back to the other three.

"You could start by kissing me," Bill was saying, and Severus fixed him with an intense, hungry gaze before bending his head and capturing Bill's mouth, slipping his tongue between Bill's lips without hesitation, and Bill moaned and wrapped one arm around Severus' shoulders as he returned the kiss with eager enthusiasm.

"Looks like Snape's doing better with kissing," Harry remarked.

"Whose tongue is that?" Draco asked, squinting.

"Who cares?" Neville said, toeing off his shoes and kicking them aside so he could stroke Harry's calf with his foot.

Remus caught Bill's earlobe between his teeth and tugged it lightly before nibbling his way along the outer shell of Bill's ear, and Bill reached out with his other arm to embrace Remus as well. Remus snuggled against him and stroked his chest, seeking out his nipples to tease them through the fabric of his shirt, and Bill gasped into Severus' mouth, arching his back off the mattress.

"I want to kiss you, too," Remus whispered and then licked Bill's ear. "But not on your mouth."

Bill's eyes flew open at that, but Severus shifted to lie across Bill's chest, anchoring one arm around his head to keep him in place as Remus began to move down Bill's body to settle between his legs, a predatory smile curving his mouth as he nudged Bill's thighs apart.

Moaning louder, Bill wrapped both arms around Severus, clenching his fingers in the back of Severus' jacket as he bent his knees and spread his legs, and Remus caressed his inner thighs, squeezing and stroking as he watched the kiss continue. Slowly, he slid his hands to the waistband of Bill's trousers, unfastening them and freeing Bill's cock from the confines of his trousers and underpants. As Remus grasped Bill's hips and sealed his lips around the head of Bill's cock and began swirling his tongue around it slowly, Severus reached up and captured Bill's wrists, pinning them to the mattress over his head; he was pinned down, at the mercy of two men who were apparently intent on driving him mad and making a very good start of it.

Bill writhed beneath them, tugging his wrists and trying to lift his hips, but he didn't really want to get free; he liked this feeling of being overpowered, and he surrendered to them with an ease and swiftness that surprised even himself. He yielded his mouth to Severus' exploring tongue while Remus curled his fingers around the base of Bill's cock and drew it as deeply into his mouth as possible, sucking hard.

Breaking off the kiss, Severus glanced back at Remus and then down at Bill, giving him a speculative look. "Lupin, I have an idea."

"Mm?" Remus reluctantly let Bill's cock slip from his mouth and looked at Severus questioningly. "What is it?"

"William seems to be responding favorably to being restrained. Perhaps we should give him more."

"Yes!" Bill nodded frantically. "Do whatever you want to me."

"Anything?" Remus' eyes lit up with interest.

"Anything."

"Let's tie him up!" Remus exclaimed, clapping his hands with glee, and Severus drew his wand, running his fingers along the length of it as a wicked smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

"My thoughts exactly," he said, aiming his wand at Bill. A silvery line of rope shot out of the tip and wound around Bill's wrists, binding them securely, and Bill moaned as he tried and failed to free his hands from the restraints. "Right. Lupin, you take his trousers off, and I'll unbutton his shirt."

Relaxing against the mattress, Bill didn't resist their efforts to undress him; he lifted his hips to help when Remus eased his trousers and underpants down, and he arched against Severus' hands while Severus meticulously unfastened each button. He'd been undressed before -- not often, but it had happened -- but never like this, and he liked it. He liked being at their mercy, liked feeling the thrill of danger and helplessness that he knew was make-believe, yet added a new and different level of excitement to their play.

As soon as his trousers and underpants had been stripped away, Severus grasped his shoulders, urging him up. "On your knees," he instructed, and Bill hastened to comply, relying on their help to keep his balance. Severus flicked his wand at Bill again, and the end of the rope binding his wrists slithered up towards the ceiling, suspended in mid-air, drawing Bill's arms up over his head, and as hard as he yanked, he couldn't lower them again.

"One of us is going to fuck you," Severus said, trailing the tip of his wand along Bill's jaw, and Bill shuddered at the caress, his mouth falling open as he panted for breath. "And one of us is going to suck you. Do you have a preference for who does which?"

"No, just do it -- quickly -- please." Bill rocked his hips, trying to bring some relief to his aching cock by brushing against Severus, but the man was just out of reach, and he groaned and bit his lip with frustration. "Please touch me."

Suddenly, Remus was pressed against him from behind, hands caressing his sides and fitting themselves to the sharp jut of his hipbones, and Severus was kneeling in front of him, bending over, his hair brushing against Bill's bare stomach and making him shiver. A tap of Remus' wand against his hip prepared him, and then he felt the head of Remus' cock nudging his entrance, and a low moan escaped him as much from the pleasure of being filled as from the burn of being stretched. Remus' fingers dug into his hips, and he felt Remus' breath hot against his neck as Remus eased into him slowly, and he pushed his hips back in a silent demand for more.

"Yes," he murmured when Remus was sheathed completely within him at last, and he let his head fall back against Remus' shoulder. "Merlin, yes. Fuck me. Use me."

And then Severus' mouth was on him, hot and wet and sucking, just as Remus began to move, and Bill cried out, sagging against Remus as the pleasure overwhelmed him. Remus clutched his hips, holding him still as he thrust hard and deep, and Severus cupped his balls in one hand, kneading them gently as he bobbed his head back and forth along the length of Bill's cock. He was trapped -- caught between them, unable to move, unable to seek relief until they granted it -- and he loved it. He moaned and squirmed and gave himself over to them completely, surrendering his body to the pleasure they took and offered.

Tension coiled low in his belly, winding tighter, and his breath grew ragged, his whole body taut as it neared the point of snapping. He was close, so close, and then Remus bit down on his shoulder, and Severus pressed two fingers behind his balls, and Bill screamed as his orgasm hit hard and fast and powerful -- more intense than any he'd ever experienced before. Severus lapped at his softening cock, swallowing his release greedily, and Remus thrust deep and held still within him until the aftershocks faded and he slumped, panting, against Remus.

Only then did Remus ease out of him, tuck his still-swollen cock back into his trousers, and reach for his wand to clean them both up, and Severus sat back, licking his lips and looking quite pleased with himself. Picking up his wand again, Severus flicked it at the rope, which slithered to the floor and disappeared, and he and Remus caught Bill, sandwiching him between them before he could fall over, and they carefully lowered him to the mattress, stroking his chest and back soothingly as he lay limp and sated in their arms.

"Fuck..." Harry breathed, wide-eyed as he gaped at the three of them. Beside him, Neville was breathing hard, and Draco's face was flushed, his eyes glittering with arousal.

Bill mustered the energy to chuckle. "Truth or dare, Harry?"

"Dare," Harry answered without hesitation.

"Threesome with Neville and Draco. Trust me, you won't regret it."

Scarcely were the words out of Bill's mouth before Harry was yanking his shoes off and throwing them aside and then stripping away the rest of his clothes as swiftly as possible. Grabbing his wand, he smacked his own hip and muttered the lubrication spell, and then he positioned himself on his hands and knees.

"Neville, you fuck me. Malfoy, get over here so I can suck you," he demanded, and rather than take offense to being ordered around, both of them immediately hastened to comply.

"You - you don't want any foreplay?" Neville asked hesitantly as he unfastened his trousers.

"Who needs foreplay after watching that? Fuck me now!"

Draco knelt in front of Harry and pushed both his trousers and underpants down, grasping the base of his cock and steadying it as he pressed the tip of it against Harry's lips, and Harry closed his mouth around the head eagerly, wriggling his tongue along the underside and feeling a surge of smug triumph as his ministrations wrung a moan from Draco's throat. Behind him, Neville grasped his hips and eased into him, pushing slowly, and Harry rocked back with an impatient growl, wanting Neville to thrust deep and take him hard, but he didn't want to take his mouth off Draco's cock long enough to say so.

Fortunately, Neville seemed to take the hint; he pulled almost all the way out, clenched his fingers on Harry's hips, and slammed into him again, and Harry let out a muffled cry around Draco's cock. He wanted to chant a litany of "yes"s, but he couldn't, and so he ground his hips against Neville's and sucked Draco harder instead. Neville's rough thrusts propelled him forward onto Draco, and he relaxed his jaw, settling into the rhythm. Draco began to rock his hips as well, fucking Harry's mouth with shallow thrusts, and Harry moaned and lapped at Draco's cock each time it slid out of his mouth, eager to taste him.

They fucked him and filled him, giving and taking pleasure with each thrust, and for the first time that he could remember, Harry felt complete. He relished Draco's harsh gasps as he neared release, and the sound of Neville murmuring his name over and over as he pounded into Harry with an abandon that Harry had never dreamt him capable of; all too soon, Draco cried out, his emission flooding Harry's mouth, and Harry swallowed, gulping it down. Reluctantly, Harry let Draco's spent cock slip from his mouth, gasping as Neville's thrusts grew faster and harder, and then Neville gave a wordless cry as he surged deep and came.

Harry was trembling as they eased him down onto the mattress; Draco cleaned him up while Neville cradled him close and stroked his hair, and then Draco joined them, spooning up against Harry from behind and draping one arm across Harry's waist.

"All right, Harry?" Neville asked softly, and Harry nodded, smiling as he relaxed in their embrace.

"Better than all right," he murmured. "That was brilliant."

"It wasn't bad at that," Draco said, but he was nuzzling the back of Harry's neck as he said it, and Harry chuckled and nestled closer.

"I wouldn't mind getting my hands on the geezers, though," Harry added softly, speaking just loudly enough to let Neville and Draco hear him. "What about you?"

"I'm in," Neville said.

"Yes, so am I," Draco agreed.

"Right. We'll have a bit of a rest, and then we pounce."

"What are you lot over there whispering about?" Bill asked, lifting his head just enough so he could see them.

"We were discussing how we'd like to get our hands on you three," Harry replied promptly. "But some of us are over-dressed."

"Not for what I have in mind, Potter." Draco crawled on his hands and knees over to Severus, a gleam of lust in his eyes. Kneeling between Severus' legs, he reached out to unfasten Severus' trousers, his nimble fingers working quickly, and Severus stared at him, stunned.

"Draco--"

"You've no idea how long I've wanted to do this," Draco said as he freed Severus' cock and stroked it to full hardness again. "Now who wants to do me?" he added, casting a lascivious glance over his shoulder at the others.

Without a moment's hesitation, Bill shifted his position, lying on his back, and both Draco and Severus moved to accommodate him; Severus drew his knees up to get his feet out of the way while Draco stretched out as far as he could on his hands and knees, giving Bill room beneath him. He unfastened Draco's trousers swiftly and propped himself up; it was an awkward angle, but he closed his lips around the head of Draco's cock, drawing it into his mouth slowly, savoring his first taste while Draco bent over Severus and relaxed his jaw, taking Severus deep, all three of them moaning in harmony.

"Dibs on Bill!" Neville exclaimed, and he crawled over to crouch beside Bill, stroking Bill's stomach and thighs as he watched Draco's hips undulating slowly, his cock moving in and out between Bill's wet, rosy lips. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, Neville bent over and trailed warm, open-mouthed kisses down Bill's stomach, reveling in the feel of his muscles quivering beneath the skin in response, and then dragged his tongue along the underside of Bill's cock. Bill's cry was muffled, but it was audible nonetheless, and Neville grinned, pleased with himself, before he took Bill in his mouth and began swirling his tongue around the head of Bill's cock, lapping greedily at the fluid seeping from the tip.

"That leaves you for me," Harry said, gazing at Remus with hunger in his eyes, and Remus nodded.

"And Neville for me."

At that, Neville jerked his head up, letting Bill's cock slip between his lips with an audible smack, and stared at Remus. "What?"

"Just turn so you're on your side," Remus instructed, scooting closer so he could unfasten Neville's trousers, but at the look on Neville's face, he stopped, glancing at him uncertainly. "Unless you don't want me to?"

"Yes! Yes, I want you to," Neville hastened to assure him -- and hastened to shove his trousers and underpants down his hips as well, wriggling with anticipation when Remus stretched out in front of him and nuzzled his cock, growling softly.

Grasping Neville's hip, Remus leaned in and closed his mouth around the head, teasing the slit with his tongue before drawing Neville's cock deeper, wriggling his tongue along the underside; moaning happily, Neville returned his mouth to Bill's cock, sucking hard to make up for his short absence. Pushing himself between them, Harry delved into Remus' trousers and hooked his leg around Remus', positioning it between his thighs so he could rock against it, the rough fabric of Remus' corduroy trousers rubbing against his bare skin heightening his arousal.

Severus plunged his fingers into Draco's hair, sifting through the fine, pale strands, only just coherent enough to wonder where the boy had learnt to do what he was doing with such skill; Draco's mouth was hot as he sucked and lapped, his fingers trailed along Severus' thigh to cup and knead his balls, and Severus groaned, feeling his body tightening as his release neared. Draco clenched his fingers in the fabric of Severus' jacket, moaning as he tried to resist the urge to thrust into Bill's mouth; he was close -- so close -- and Bill's agile tongue was bringing him swiftly to the edge.

Suddenly, that warm mouth was gone, but he barely had time to think about issuing a protest before it was back -- along with a spit-slick finger easing into his arse. Bill pushed his finger into Draco slowly, curving it as he sought out the sensitive gland within; Draco's muffled cry told him when he found it, and he stroked it as he thrust his finger in and out, driving Draco to the edge. Draco's hips surged, driving his cock deeper into Bill's mouth, and he came, shuddering with the intense dual pleasure. Caressing Severus' thighs, Draco sucked harder and bobbed his head up and down faster, feeling Severus quivering, on the verge of orgasm, and then it hit, and Severus fisted his hands in Draco's hair, crying out as he came, and Draco swallowed with greedy hunger, not releasing Severus' softening cock until he had lapped it clean.

Only then did he move, shifting so that he could latch on to Bill's nipple, worrying it with his teeth, and Bill let out a wordless cry, his back arching off the mattress to meet Draco's mouth. Neville massaged Bill's inner thighs with a firm, sure touch as he worked Bill's cock eagerly, pleased to the point of smugness by how he and Draco were making Bill writhe and moan, pushing him beyond articulation as his arousal built to a breaking point. One last harsh gasp for breath, and Bill's body went taut, his hips bucking as he came, and Neville clenched his fingers on Bill's hips as he swallowed the bitter fluid.

As soon as Bill slumped, sated and limp, against the mattress, Remus pushed Neville onto his back, growling as he lowered his mouth on Neville's cock until his nose bumped against Neville's abdomen, and Neville moaned, the sound of the growl making him want to bare his throat and spread his legs, ready to give whatever Remus wanted to take. Flinging one arm out, Bill sought Neville's nipples, teasing and tweaking them through the fabric of his clothes, and Neville squirmed, his breathing shallow and rapid as he struggled to draw in air, his fists opening and closing helplessly. He could feel the pressure building as he thrust into Remus' mouth, the growl vibrating against his cock and sending him him tumbling into orgasm.

Gathering up the dregs of his energy, he crawled over to flop down beside Harry and slid his hand along Harry's stomach, curling his fingers around Harry's cock and stroking it with a swift, demanding rhythm; Harry moaned around Remus' cock and lifted his hips to give Neville more room. Remus stroked Harry's hair, his fingers combing through it restlessly, growling louder, and Harry answered with louder moans of his own, sucking and licking, Remus' response increasing his enthusiasm until Remus threw back his head and let out a full-throated howl as he came, spilling in Harry's mouth. Letting Remus' cock slip from his mouth, Harry cried out, thrusting wildly against Neville's hand as his own orgasm hit, and then he collapsed across Remus' legs, too exhausted and sated to move right away.

Severus still lay sprawled on his back with Draco curled up by his side, resting his head on Severus' chest while Bill snuggled against Draco's back, one arm thrown across the younger man's waist. As soon as Harry rolled off his legs, Remus crawled over and flopped down on Severus' other side, and Harry followed, plastering himself against Remus' back, nuzzling the nape of Remus' neck. Neville didn't hesitate to do the same to Harry, tangling his legs with Harry's and curving his arm around Harry in a possessive embrace.

"We should clean up," Bill murmured drowsily.

Severus groped for his wand, waved it in a sloppy swish-and-flick and mumbled something that sounded like "scourgify". Dropping his wand, he wormed one arm around Remus and the other around Draco, pulling them close, and a contented silence fell over the room, punctuated by the sound of the fire crackling on the hearth and the occasional satisfied sigh.

"So..." Harry mumbled against Remus' shoulder. "Are we all going to want to Obliviate each other when we're sober and not so naked?"

"I don't want to forget," Neville said softly.

"Neither do I." To Harry's surprise, that was Draco.

"Me either." Bill and Remus spoke at the same time, and Bill chuckled and reached over to nudge Remus playfully.

A long silence followed, and finally Severus spoke up, turning his head to look at Remus. "I don't want to forget it."

"Good. Sleep now, and in the morning, we'll look each other in the eye, because we were all in this together," Harry said, his words trailing off into a yawn.

It felt good, he thought, snuggled together like a pile of exhausted puppies, wrapped up in each other's arms. He wasn't under the illusion that any of them were in love with each other, but he wasn't blind to the attraction, either. If Remus, Severus, and Bill didn't find their way into each other's beds after this, he'd be very surprised, and he found himself wanting to be sandwiched between Neville and Draco again as soon as possible.

Walls had come down that night, and bonds had been forged or strengthened. He trusted everyone in the Order, but now, he knew there were five men he would trust more than the rest, whom he would want by his side in the heat of battle. Warmed on both sides, he settled into his safe little cocoon, relaxed, sated, and happy with his new band of brothers, and sleep was swift in coming.

Cupid's Glory - Snape/Lupin, Harry/Neville, PG13

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 05:08:06 GMT

Title: Cupid's Glory
Pairings: Remus/Severus, Harry/Neville
Rating: PG13
Summary: loosely based on Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing with snippets of dialogue from the play; it's romantic fluff about two different couples facing obstacles on the path to love.
Notes: The title comes from a line in the play: "If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer; his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love gods".

The gardens of Hogwarts were in full bloom, nursed to health by the June sun, and Remus closed his eyes and tilted his face up, smiling as the scent of flowers wafted past and the heat of the sun warmed his face. After being bed-ridden for three days, just being able to walk around outside the castle for a little while felt like a luxurious holiday.

"Are you all right? Do you need to sit down?"

He felt a light touch on his arm and opened his eyes, glancing at Neville, who was trying not to look like he was hovering even though he was, in fact, hovering. "I'm fine. If my leg starts to hurt, I'll let you know."

They were both convalescents, although Neville was farther along in the recovery process than he was. During the battle, Remus had gone after Wormtail with single-minded intensity, and he had managed to corner his quarry. Unfortunately, Wormtail managed to fire a stunning spell just as Remus fired the spell that sent him flying up and back with enough force to impale him on a thick jutting tree branch. The stunning spell hit Remus square on the chest, and he toppled to the ground, unable to roll out of the way when a wounded troll, blinded in one eye and roaring its pain, rampaged into the clearing. The troll had pulverized his left leg, the damage so extensive that he was still limping and had to walk with the help of a cane even after all the healing magic performed on it.

Neville had been the victim of multiple curses, the damage from which had left him comatose for almost two days. They were both still under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey and her band of healers from St. Mungo's, but they had recuperated enough to be given a respite from the infirmary as long as they promised to look after each other. Thus it was that they were the first to hear the news.

"It's over!" Albus was hurrying across the grounds from the main gate, Lavender Brown puffing along behind him, looking exhausted. As soon as he saw Remus and Neville, he headed directly toward them, waving a roll of parchment, his face alight with jubilation. "It's over! They've won! They're coming home!"

"Harry?" Neville stepped forward to meet Albus, his expression suffused with worry.

"Well and whole!" Albus clapped Neville on the back, beaming. "Harry survived -- indeed, our survivors greatly outnumber our losses. The healers will have quite a few to patch up, but they will live to see the world at peace."

Remus gave a sigh of relief and smiled, grateful that Harry -- and so many others -- would live to enjoy the peace they had fought for so long. "And what of Professor Snape?" he asked. "Will he return from the war or no?"

"Oh, he's alive," Lavender replied, nodding. "He was there with Harry, Moody, and the rest at the very end."

Once again we'll both be here, where he and Cupid both played me false, he thought, but outwardly, he smiled. "Was he indeed. And how many did he kill? I promised to eat all of his killing."

Neville laughed and then clapped one hand over his mouth, looking around guiltily as if he expected Severus to swoop down on him out of nowhere, and Lavender glanced at Albus, visibly confused, but Albus shook his head and waved away the question. "Pay him no mind, dear girl. He and Professor Snape cannot meet without a war of words erupting between them. Go inside and rest yourself. There is plenty of food in the Great Hall--"

"They're coming!" Neville shouted, his voice filled with excitement, and Remus put his hand on Neville's shoulder to keep the boy from darting away to meet the returned heroes at the gate.

The throng of battle-weary wizards and witches moved slowly as they approached the castle; some were levitating the more critically wounded while others were helping those who could still walk as long as they had support. He could see Hermione and Bill bearing Ron straight towards the castle, their faces etched with worry, but Ron was awake enough to look grumpy about being carried, which seemed to be a good sign. Arthur and Molly were looking after Percy, whose robes were stained with blood, and Charlie was carrying Ginny, who was loudly protesting that she could walk on her own quite well thanks, but her brother was ignoring her. Meanwhile, Fred and George levitated several of the wounded, seeming unhurt themselves. Also among their number was Draco Malfoy, leading a small band of Slytherin students who had joined him in choosing not to follow their parents' example and fighting on the side of the Order in the end.

At the front of the crowd, Remus spotted Harry leading the way home; he looked exhausted, his face pale and his shoulders stooped with the weight of the burden he'd carried all these years, but he was smiling too, relief plain to see in that smile. Beside him walked Moody and Severus, both of them appearing as tired as Harry did, but grimly pleased. Remus ignored the little flip of his heart when he saw Severus and squelched the desire to smooth away the lines of care on his face and remind him that he was finally free. Remus knew such ministrations would be unwelcome, and he didn't really want to offer them, not after what Severus had done. There was still much hurt and anger between them, and keeping their distance was the best thing for both of them.

Albus moved forward to greet Harry with a warm embrace and was speaking to him, but Remus wasn't paying attention. Severus had noticed him standing there with Neville; as their eyes met, he could see the cold disdain in Severus' expression, and it solidified his intention to nettle Severus as much as possible simply because he knew he could.

"You're back, then." He looked Severus up and down appraisingly. "And without a scratch on you, I see."

"Some of us have the good sense to duck when a spell is hurled at us," Severus retorted, his tone scathing.

"Some of us fight our battles openly instead of skulking around in the shadows."

"You, of course, are a prime example of honesty and forthrightness."

Neville divided a wide-eyed look between the two of them before edging away, making a beeline towards Harry now that Albus had moved on to speak with Moody, visibly relieved to escape being caught in the crossfire between them.

"I admit I've made mistakes by failing to disclose certain facts, but when it comes to some things, I've been fully open and honest." He fixed Severus with an unrelenting gaze, knowing Severus couldn't mistake his meaning. "Can you say the same?"

Severus met him stare for stare, a spark of anger flashing in his dark eyes. "Oh, yes, you've made your choices and loyalties quite clear, Lupin," he spat. "Believe me, I won't forget again!" With that, he whirled and stalked away, headed for the castle, leaving Remus to watch him go with regret.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked, glancing at Severus' retreating figure and then back at Remus again.

"Nothing." Remus mustered a smile. "There's quite a lot of unresolved history between us, that's all." He looked at Neville then, more to escape Harry's searching look than anything else, and he noticed that Neville was growing pale and sweating in spite of the cool breeze. He was also staring at Harry as if he never intended to let Harry out of his sight again, and Remus guessed that he was either too intent on Harry to notice his fatigue, or he was ignoring it because he didn't want to leave Harry's side.

"Neville, would you lend me a hand?" he asked, trying to look more tired than he felt, which, after the confrontation with Severus, wasn't difficult. "My leg is starting to feel weak. I should probably get off it now."

Harry, who had noticed Neville's pallor as well, winked and smiled his thanks to Remus as Neville reluctantly tore himself away from Harry and began helping Remus back inside. He watching them go, his gaze lingering on Neville. There had been a few times during the final battle when he had wondered if he would make it out alive, and he had berated himself for not telling Neville how he felt sooner.

They had flirted, and Harry had given him an all too brief kiss on the night before they had all marched off to war, but that was all. He wasn't certain now why he had waited, or what had held him back, but he was determined not to miss another chance.

"Coming, lad?" Moody clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble a little. "Or are you going to stand out here in the sun mooning over your young man?"

Harry grinned sheepishly, letting the older wizard steer him towards the castle. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to anyone with at least one good eye."

Feeling a rush of heat to his cheeks at that, Harry opened his mouth to reply, but just then, Snape emerged from the castle, glowering as he headed to them. "Madam Pomfrey sent me out to fetch you, Potter," Snape said brusquely. "What are you dawdling for?"

"Ease up on the boy, Snape," Moody replied. "He's got a right to a private reunion with his young man."

"What the devil are you blathering about?"

"He's in love with Longbottom, that's what."

"In love? With Longbottom?" Snape stared at Harry, aghast. "Good God, Potter, I thought you had better taste than that, or at least better sense. Just shag someone if you're randy, but you've better things to do than fall prey to the foolish notion of being in love."

Harry bristled, indignant on Neville's behalf; working so closely together during the war had softened their personal animosity, but that didn't mean Harry liked Snape any better. He still thought the man was an utter bastard. "What do you know about it, anyway? Or are you just bitter because everyone has shown they had better taste than to fall in love with you?"

Snape drew himself up to his full height and glared down his nose at Harry, who folded his arms and glared back at him, not intimidated in the least. "I don't give a damn if anyone has ever fallen in love with me or not. I have no use for love."

"You just wait." Harry smirked. "Sooner or later, we'll see you look pale with love, and then we'll all get to say we told you so."

"With sickness, with anger, or with hunger, but never with love," Snape retorted haughtily before pivoting on his heel and returning to the castle.

"He'll eat those words one day," Moody said, giving Harry a little push towards the entrance. "Pride always goes before a fall, and I happen to know he's not as immune to love as he likes to say he is."

"Really?" Harry perked up with interest. "How do you know?"

But Moody shook his head and refused to say anything more, and Harry grimaced as he let Moody guide him to the infirmary, disappointed. Just once he wanted to see Snape admit he was wrong -- just once. But for now, Harry pushed all thoughts of Snape aside; Neville was in the infirmary as well, and Harry planned to check on him as soon as Madam Pomfrey allowed it.

Meanwhile, Colin lingered on the lawn with the others in the crowd who weren't in need of medical care and watched Harry go, wistfulness plain to read on his face. He had loved Harry for so long, but now it seemed that his chance had passed him by. Harry was in love with someone else.

But Colin had held out hope for this long, and he wasn't about to give up. He would find a way to get Harry's attention and win his love. His chance would come, and when it did, he would grab it with both hands. Colin was good at waiting. Watching and waiting for the perfect moment to capture what he wanted. It was what he did best.

The world had changed; it was scorched, some places lying in ruin, but it would heal in time, as would those who had left the battlefield victorious. Teams of Aurors were already rounding up the Death Eaters who had escaped; some might never be found, but most of those who had survived the final battle were in Azkaban, more had been found in the hours following, and the rest would be hunted. With Voldemort dead, no longer did a heavy pall hang over them all, looming like a distant thundercloud. The wizarding world was free -- truly free this time.

And so was Harry Potter.

Somehow, it didn't quite seem real. He knew Voldemort was dead -- for good this time -- but it was still too fresh to have sunk in completely yet. As he looked around the Great Hall, which was crowded with revelers, he reminded himself that it really was over, and he was free to live a normal life now. His gaze fell on Neville, who was just entering with Remus, Ron, Luna, Hermione, and Bill. Hopefully a normal life with Neville in it, he thought.

Hermione waved when she spotted him, and the little group made its way towards him; Harry watched Neville approach, not caring if he looked besotted, and Neville blushed as he drew near, but he was smiling too, a sparkle in his eyes when he looked at Harry.

"Hullo, Harry."

"Hullo, Neville." He reached out and patted Neville's shoulder awkwardly. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

"He's still under orders not to overdo," Hermione said sternly. "So is Remus," she added, poking Remus' arm.

"Yes, I'll have to break a dozen hearts this evening by keeping my dance card empty so I can rest my leg," Remus said dryly.

"Well, maybe one heart," Hermione replied, grinning, and Remus laughed.

"He would have to have a heart before I could break it. No matter -- I'm content to sit and enjoy the sight of new love blooming around me and bask in its beauty from afar. Love is a game for the young, and I'm too old and weary of games to play."

Harry felt his face grow warm at Remus' mention of new love blooming, thinking that Remus was referring to him and Neville, but then he glanced around and noticed that Ron had surreptitiously taken Luna's hand, and Bill had draped his arm across Hermione's shoulders; Luna appeared pleased in her own gauzy way, and Hermione was snuggling -- snuggling! Hermione! -- against Bill's side. Then, quite unexpectedly, Neville reached out and clasped Harry's hand, darting a half-bashful, half-bold look at Harry as he did. Harry blinked at him, startled, but then let a slow, pleased smile curve his mouth as he twined his fingers with Neville's. Neville's face lit up with unfettered joy, and he squeezed Harry's fingers gently, inching closer so that their shoulders touched as well.

"I'm not that much younger than you, and I'm certainly not tired of love yet," Bill said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Hermione, and she poked him this time, blushing.

"Blame it on my exacting nature, then," Remus said lightly. "I'm too picky for my own good, and I pray that the Fates never see fit to send me a partner. He who has a beard is more than a boy, and he who doesn't have a beard is less than a man. He who is more than a boy is not for me, and he who is less than a man -- well, I am not for him." He smiled, although Harry noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You see? I'm far too difficult to please."

"Remus--" Hermione began, but he cut her off, shaking his head.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to rest before Poppy starts glaring at me. Make merry, for tonight is a night for joy, all sorrows banished until dawn, and I'll not hear of anything that mars our celebration."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaning on his cane for support as he headed to the row of chairs lining one wall. Bill gave Hermione's shoulders a squeeze and bent to whisper in her ear before leading her towards the small throng that had commandeered a corner of the Hall for dancing. After a moment, Ron and Luna joined them, leaving Harry and Neville alone.

Harry watched Neville for a moment, feeling the solid warmth of Neville's hand in his own. It felt good. It felt right, and he knew that he wanted Neville by his side for the rest of his life. Smiling, he tugged at Neville's hand, leading him outside to the garden. The night air was cool, but not uncomfortable; they could still hear the music and voices from within, but it was muted, lending a cheerful background to peace and quiet outside, and the light from the windows and from the half-moon overhead let them see each other plainly enough.

"Neville..." Harry trailed off, not knowing what to say. He wanted to thank Neville for being there for him over the past seven years and for the loyalty and support he'd shown. Neville had always had faith in him, even when his faith in himself had flagged, and that had helped him through the roughest times of the past year especially. He wanted to say how he wished he'd realized that he loved Neville sooner, and that he didn't want to waste any more time. He wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, share a home, and maybe adopt some kids one day.

Everything he felt, everything he wanted to say came rushing up all at once, clogging his throat, and he found he couldn't speak at all. Instead, he grabbed Neville's face between his hands, dragged Neville down, and kissed him. It wasn't the smooth, romantic gesture Harry had hoped for; Neville was too surprised to react, which left Harry mashing his lips against Neville's closed mouth at first. But then Neville let out a little "meep" and opened his mouth as he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, and things got better quickly after that. Sliding one hand to the back of Neville's head, Harry slipped his tongue between Neville's lips, moaning at his first real taste of Neville; he touched and tasted every inch of Neville's mouth that his tongue could reach, and Neville clung to him, moaning into the kiss, and stroked Harry's tongue with his own, drawing it deeper.

On and on it went, neither of them wanting to end this kiss, their first moment of intimacy; Harry sifted through Neville's hair, letting the soft waves twine around his fingers, and Neville caressed Harry's back, his hands molding against the sharp angles of Harry's shoulder blades, his fingertips trailing along the length of Harry's spine. Only when Harry felt he was on the verge of growing light-headed from lack of oxygen did he pull back.

"I love you," he said, meeting and holding Neville's gaze. "Marry me."

Neville stared at him as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard, but then his entire face lit up with a joyous smile, and he nodded eagerly. "Yes!" He flung his arms around Harry, squeezing him tight, and Harry grinned as he returned the enthusiastic embrace. "I love you too, Harry, and I want to marry you more than anything in the world!"

"Brilliant!" Harry kissed Neville again quickly and then clasped his hand to lead him back inside. "Let's go and tell everyone the good news."

He went straight to Professor Dumbledore first, who beamed when they told him. "Congratulations, dear boys! We must let everyone else know straight away." Moving the to the dais where the head table usually sat, he pulled out his wand and held it aloft, and a shower of multi-colored sparks flew from the end like miniature fireworks. In a matter of moments, the crowd had gone quiet, turning its attention to Dumbledore, who gestured for Harry and Neville to join him. "Mr. Potter has an announcement he would like to make."

Squeezing Neville's hand reassuringly, Harry led him to the dais and faced the crowd of people, who were all watching him expectantly. He cleared his throat, glanced at Neville, and then smiled a little nervously. "Er. I'd just like to say that I asked Neville to marry me just now, and he said yes."

The response was immediate -- thunderous applause and deafening cheers. Harry's nervous smile bloomed into a delighted grin, and beside him, Neville blushed and smiled, seeming overwhelmed. Then Ron and Hermione were rushing to them, and somehow, they all ended up in an embrace, laughing yet near tears at the same time.

"It's about bloody time, mate," Ron said, and Harry punched his arm.

"When's the wedding?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Soon -- as soon as we can arrange it," Harry said, glancing at Neville for confirmation, and Neville nodded.

"I don't want to wait," Neville said. "No more than a week."

"A week from today," Harry agreed. "We'll be married here, if it's all right with Professor Dumbledore."

"It most certainly is," Professor Dumbledore said, and Harry gave him a grateful smile.

"It's settled, then." He slid his arm around Neville's waist, and Neville leaned against him, watching Harry with unfettered adoration in his eyes. "A week from today, you'll be mine until death do us part."

On the other side of the room, Remus sat with his cane propped up between his knees and watched the commotion on the dais; he was happy for both of them, and he was glad Harry had decided not to wait any longer before admitting how he felt. Time and love were both precious commodities, far too precious and fleeting to be wasted.

Of the other revelers, only one didn't seem pleased by the announcement; Severus was leaving, and while his path would take him right by Remus' chair, he seemed intent on ignoring Remus' presence, which Remus wasn't about to allow.

"Going somewhere, Severus?" he called out when Severus passed by. "Clearing your head after too much revelry, perhaps?"

Severus whirled to face him. "I'm going home, Lupin -- not that it's any of your business."

"Why? The party is just getting started. You'll miss all the fun."

"I have no interest in remaining." Severus drew himself up to his full height and gazed haughtily down his nose at Remus, who merely smiled and reached out to tap Severus' leg with his cane.

"You're still mobile. You could dance."

"Is that what you're doing over here? Pretending your injury keeps you off the dance floor so you can tell yourself you have an excuse for being a wallflower other than the fact that no one wants your company?"

"Is that why you're leaving? So you can tell yourself you prefer the solitude of your chambers instead of admitting that you're just as much a wallflower as I am?"

"I don't give a damn about this party," Severus snarled. "Unlike you, I don't linger on the fringes, begging for acceptance like a pathetic stray mutt. I don't need or want their acceptance -- I want to be left alone!"

Remus lifted his chin, keeping his expression impassive as he fought to keep Severus from seeing how hard a blow those words had struck, mainly because he knew they were true. Most of the mistakes of his life he had made because he had craved acceptance, but if the difficulties and losses of the past few years had taught him anything, it was that he needed no one but himself. He could rely on no one but himself. If he thought it would do any good, he might say so, but he doubted Severus would believe him. It would only lead to another argument, and he was weary of banging his head against that particular brick wall.

"It's your choice, Severus. You always have a choice, and you always choose to walk away rather than take any kind of emotional risk, especially when it involves trust."

"If I had been given a reason to trust instead of promises made of smoke, I might have chosen differently," Severus replied icily.

"You can't blame me for the fact that you refused to listen -- refused to believe. I told you the truth, and I meant what I said, every word of it," Remus said, his voice quiet and somber.

"I know what I saw, Lupin. I know what I heard. There is nothing you could have said four years ago, and there is nothing you could say now to mitigate that truth."

"Truth is rarely absolute in situations like that. Perception shades it all too easily. You of all people should understand how ill-advised it is to make a judgment based on appearances."

"Don't you dare, Lupin!" Severus rounded on him, his face turning red, the veins in his forehead and neck standing out with the force of his anger. "Don't you dare presume to tell me what I should or should not understand!" With that, he whirled and stormed out, but Remus didn't watch him go.

With a sigh, he used his cane to help him get to his feet, careful not to put too much weight on his healing leg, and forced himself to smile as he walked to the dais to congratulate Harry and Neville. He should have known better than to try to talk to Severus, and he wouldn't make the mistake again, no matter how tempting it was to needle him. It only served to stir up old feelings better left buried, and he would leave Severus alone from now on. It was the best thing for both of them.

"You have lost the heart of our Severus," Albus said as Remus approached, a teasing note in his voice.

"Yes." Remus smiled wearily. "He lent it to me once, and I paid it back with interest -- a double heart for his single one. But he won it of me with false dice, therefore you may well say I have lost it." He shrugged and widened his smile. "No matter -- we're focusing on the future, not ancient history, are we not? Congratulations to you both."

"Thanks," Harry said, and Neville murmured his thanks as well, still gazing raptly at Harry. He gave Remus a speculative look and added, "Maybe we'll be congratulating you soon, too. It's a good time for a fresh start."

"I'm too stale for a fresh start," Remus said, dismissing the thought with a wave as he turned away. "I wish you both joy. As for myself, I think it's high time I gave in to the temptation that the chocolate cake has been presenting all evening."

Harry stroked his chin as he watched Remus leave. "Huh. I wonder if that explains what Moody told me."

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"That Snape isn't immune to love as he likes to think."

"You think Snape and Lupin..." Ron trailed off, looking vaguely disturbed as if the mere thought of Snape and anyone was too much for him to process.

"I think so, yeah." Harry nodded. "Remus practically admitted it just now, and it would explain why they snipe at each other all the time. I think they're still in love with each other."

"Snape doesn't seem very in love to me. He doesn't want anything to do with Remus," Neville pointed out.

"But if he really didn't care, he wouldn't be so angry," Hermione said. "I agree with Harry. I think they're still in love." At that, Bill kissed the top of her head and whispered to her, calling her his little romantic, and she rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as well.

"They just need a little nudge," Harry said. "If you'll all agree to help, I think we can get them together again in spite of themselves."

"I can't believe it," Ron groaned. "I never thought I'd see the day I helped play matchmaker for Snape."

Harry grinned. "Neither did I, but I'm not doing it for him. I'm doing it for Remus. I think it's pretty clear after tonight that he's still in love with Snape and doesn't want anyone else. Even though I question his taste, he deserves to be as happy as the rest of us. Now then -- are you in?"

They were, and Harry nodded, pleased. "Brilliant. I've got a plan, and if all of us work together, I think we can succeed. Here's what I've got in mind..."

While Harry huddled with his friends, plotting to bring Remus and Snape together, Colin stood nearby, clutching a glass of punch and staring at Harry, looking as utterly bereft as he felt. Harry was to marry Neville? No! He couldn't let that happen. He had to do something and do it quick, or he'd lose Harry forever, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

"Potter is an idiot," Snape announced to no one in particular. With a scowl, he snatched up another ginger root and began chopping it up with more than usual vigor. "He's always had his priorities out of order. All he wanted was to play Quidditch and get into scrapes that put everyone around him in danger -- especially me. I've pulled his nuts from the fire more times than I care to count, but this is one fire I won't be scorched by."

He tossed the ginger into the potion simmering in his cauldron and dusted off his hands before turning to his shelves and looking for his bottle of leech saliva. "Potter. In love. With Longbottom. And they're going to be married. Idiot boy. Well, he can't say I didn't warn him." He gave a fierce snarl. "Love is for fools, and I'll never be played for a fool again."

There was a soft pop, and a House Elf appeared on his desk, bobbing politely. "Professor Sprout is wanting to see you in greenhouse two."

"What?" Snape whirled and fixed the elf with a stern glare. "Why?"

"She is not saying, sir." The elf gave him an apologetic look and shrugged. "Is important! You is going now!"

With that, the House Elf snapped her fingers and disappeared again, and Snape let out a put-upon sigh as he turned down the heat beneath his cauldron. "If it's so bloody important, then why didn't she say what she wanted?"

Grumbling under his breath, he left the blissful peace and silence of his dungeons and headed for the greenhouses; the direct route took him through the entrance hall, and as soon as he approached it, he heard voices floating down the corridor.

"Are you certain it's true, Harry?" That was Albus' voice; no doubt they were discussing wedding arrangements, Snape thought, curling his lip. But the next words he heard brought him a sudden halt.

"That Remus is in love with Professor Snape? Yeah, I'm sure," Potter replied.

His eyes growing wide and round, Snape flattened himself against the wall and edged closer to the archway leading into the entrance hall, trying to hear the conversation without being spotted. He could see Albus, Potter, and Ron Weasley standing together in the middle of the hall. Potter and Weasley had their backs to him, and Albus was only half-facing him, which he hoped meant they wouldn't see him before he heard the rest of the conversation.

"That doesn't make sense," Weasley said. "Remus doesn't act like he loves Snape. All they do is argue."

"Well, of course he doesn't act like he loves Snape," Potter explained, his tone patient as if explaining something to a small child.

"Professor Snape," Albus interjected, and Potter nodded absently.

"Professor Snape. Would you, if he treated you the way he treats Remus?"

The little bastard! Snape barely managed to squelch the urge to storm in and give Potter a piece of his mind. The boy had no idea what Lupin put him through!

"Well, no," Weasley conceded. "But still, how do you know he really loves Snape -- Professor Snape?"

"Yes, Harry, how do you know?" Albus asked, an amused smile curving his lips. "I am quite keen to know, since our Remus has seemed adamant in his avoidance of love."

"Er." Potter hesitated for a moment while the other two watched him expectantly. "Well... that's just it, isn't it."

"What?" Weasley demanded, and Snape thought he saw Potter shoot a withering glare at Weasley.

"Well, he's been adamant about not getting involved with anyone else because of his feelings for Snape." Potter's shoulders sagged slightly, as if with relief. "He doesn't want anyone else, only Snape, so if he can't have Snape -- Professor Snape," he amended, catching sight of Albus preparing to correct him again, "then he doesn't want to have anyone at all."

Albus and Weasley exchanged glanced and nodded. "Has he told Professor Snape how he feels?" Albus asked. "Perhaps they simply need to sit down and discuss it."

Potter and Weasley both burst out laughing at that, and Snape scowled at them, affronted. "Snape would throw it back in his face and humiliate him for the rest of their lives," Potter said. "He doesn't deserve Remus. He's a cold, vindictive, heartless bas--" He glanced at Albus. "Man. Remus is better off never letting him know."

"Yeah," Weasley chimed in. "Professor Snape couldn't possibly love him. I don't think Snape could love anybody."

"Professor Snape," Potter said, and Snape could hear the mockery in his voice, making him itch to wrap his hands around Potter's scrawny neck.

"Anyway, Remus deserves better," Weasley continued. "He's good-looking, smart--"

"Except for loving Professor Snape," Potter interrupted, and Weasley elbowed him.

"He's been through enough, and he deserves some happiness."

"I agree," Albus said, resting one gnarled hand on each of the boys' shoulders to steer them away. "However, it would seem that happiness is not destined to lie with Severus. I think it's high time we tried to tempt Remus with a new love. Perhaps your brother, Charlie?"

Potter and Weasley exchanged glances and then nodded, following Albus out of the entrance hall. "It's worth a try."

Snape watched them go, seething, but he wasn't certain what he was seething about more: the nasty things Potter and Weasley had said about him, or the fact that they were going to push Lupin into a relationship with someone else. It was irrational of him, he knew, but hearing that Lupin still had feelings for him had caught him off-guard. If it had been only Potter and Weasley talking about it, he would have suspected a prank, but even they wouldn't dare try to draw Albus into a prank. Snape knew Albus had lied to him in the past, but he had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that it had never been for what Albus considered a frivolous reason, and Albus had always insisted on his staff being treated with respect. He wouldn't have agreed to participate in a prank, and if he were roped into one unwittingly, there would be repercussions.

The message from Sprout forgotten, he pivoted sharply on his heel and marched back to the dungeons, back to his private quarters, his mind whirling the entire time. As soon as he was alone with the door closed and locked behind him, he began pacing back and forth in his sitting room, his hands clenched into fists by his sides.

"This can't be a trick," he muttered. "Albus wouldn't allow it. It must be real, and if it is real, then..."

He plunged both hands into his hair and raked his fingers through it, breathing out slowly through his nose as he thought the matter through. If it was real, then he had thrown away what could have been four years of happiness over nothing.

The Shrieking Shack. That damned building had been nothing but a source of misery for him. The first time he'd gone there, he had nearly been killed. The second time he'd gone there, his heart had died.

Under the cover of Potter's Invisibility Cloak, he'd seen Lupin embrace Black and heard Lupin dismiss what had happened as a prank, defending Black as always. Snape had been furious over the betrayal, not only because Lupin was siding with Black, but because he'd been certain that Lupin would return to Black's arms since it was clear that Black, although still an arrogant ass, was not a murderer. Not a successful one, at any rate, Snape thought with a sneer.

He went to his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer, rummaging around until he found what he was looking for at the very bottom: a photograph, creased and battered after its long stay in the drawer. But the image was still clear, and Snape gazed at it, torn between anger and regret. The Creevey boy had taken it during the year that Lupin had taught Defense; the boy carried his bloody camera everywhere and took photographs of everyone, including the teachers.

He'd happened to catch Snape and Lupin together one day later in the year, after Snape's annoyance with Lupin's studied politeness had led to a shouting match one night when Snape took him the potion. Well, Snape had shouted. Lupin had remained damnably calm, and by the end of the night, they'd hashed out their tangled past enough that Snape no longer hated him.

Over the next few months, they had become friends, and then a tentative but mutual courtship had begun. Creevey had caught them in the early days, when they were both still uncertain but interested in testing the waters; Snape could see it in the way they tilted their heads toward one another as they talked and the way they closed out the world with their bodies, Lupin's arm outstretched on the stone balustrade towards Snape while Snape stood at an angle, his fist resting on his hip to block out anyone else's access to Lupin. He remembered being startled and annoyed by the flash of the camera, but Lupin had seemed pleased and had asked for a print. Creevey had provided two, and Lupin had given the second one to Snape.

In the picture, Lupin smiled at Snape's photographic counterpart and moved closer, and Snape reached out to rest his hand on Lupin's shoulder, still a friendly gesture, but one speaking of their potential for intimacy as well. Unfortunately, that intimacy had never bloomed in reality. Black had returned and, Snape had assumed, taken Lupin away from him. Furious over what he had seen and heard, Snape had refused to listen to Lupin's attempts to explain, and then he had sought revenge by revealing Lupin's secret to the school.

That had been the one time he had seen Lupin angry. Their last confrontation took place in Snape's office just after Lupin had resigned, and Lupin had not remained calm that time. Heated words had been exchanged on both sides, and Snape had hurled a large jar of pickled salamander tails at Lupin's head before Lupin finally stormed out.

They didn't see each other for just over a year after that, and when they met again at a meeting of the Order in Black's house at Grimmauld Place, Lupin mostly ignored him. The bickering hadn't begun until after Black's death; instead of treating Snape with remote politeness, Lupin began picking at him at every given opportunity, needling and irking him, and Snape rose to the bait each time, no matter how often he swore he never would again.

He wanted to hate Lupin. No, more than that, he wanted not to care about Lupin at all. But he hadn't managed that in four years, and he didn't think he ever would. The mere fact that hearing Lupin was still in love with him had caused his heart to surge with hope before he could stop it was all the proof he needed that his own feelings were as strong as they had been in spite of his attempts to bury them.

"I hear how I am censured," he murmured, running his fingertips along the outer edge of the photograph. "They say I will bear myself proudly if I learn of his feelings. They say he is handsome, and it's true. And wise, but for loving me. I will be... am... horribly in love with him."

Cupid's Glory 2/2

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 05:07:22 GMT

"Are you sure that Snape loves Remus so entirely?"

Remus froze, his lower jaw dropping. Glancing around wildly, he couldn't see where Hermione was, but it sounded as if her voice had come from the other side of the tall hedge. Poppy had shooed him outside that afternoon, suggesting that he take a walk in the garden, and he had gone willingly, glad to be outside to enjoy the warm weather. When his leg began to ache, he sat down to rest a moment on a stone bench in a secluded area, but he sprang up quickly now, grabbing his cane and limping along as fast as he could in an attempt to hear more.

"That's what Harry told me," Neville replied.

They sounded closer, and Remus strained to see through the thick shrubbery, but they weren't in view.

"He said when things got really bad during the final battle, Snape thought he was going to die, so he asked Harry to give Remus a message for him."

"What was the message?" That was Bill, his voice laced with curiosity; they sounded farther away now, and Remus cursed when he realized he'd gone the wrong way. He doubled back, half-hopping along on his good leg as he tried to catch up.

"He asked Harry to tell Remus that he still loved him, and that he was sorry he never got the chance to fix things."

"Funny thing -- I never thought I'd find myself feeling sorry for Snape," Hermione remarked. "But if he feels that way, why hasn't he tried to make up with Remus? He's still alive, and he's got a second chance, so why hasn't he taken it?"

"Why should he?" Bill replied. "All Remus ever does is provoke him. Snape's probably convinced that Remus hates him and would laugh in his face if he said anything."

Bugger! Remus grimaced, a lead weight forming in the pit of his stomach. He should have kept him mouth shut and not given in to the temptation to needle Severus, but he refused to let Severus ignore him; he tried to tell himself it was because he simply enjoyed making Severus squirm, but the truth was, he wanted to make Severus notice him, even if it was only to argue. Better negative attention than none at all, and by picking quarrels, he'd managed to keep a foothold in Severus' life.

For a long time, he had been too angry to care whether he ever saw Severus again or not; it was bad enough that Severus had immediately assumed that Remus had betrayed and abandoned him, but when he revealed Remus' secret to the entire school, Remus had been livid. He didn't get angry often; it wasn't a good idea for werewolves to show their tempers when what was perceived as normal anger from a human could be interpreted as a dangerous threat from a werewolf by someone who was already afraid of them. But he had been angry that day, and he had let it show. By the end of their confrontation, he was shouting, and Severus was throwing things -- not a pleasant experience, he thought wryly.

A year apart had done much to blunt his anger, but he still kept his distance from Severus. Knowing Severus, he doubted there was any chance of rekindling their romance, and he wasn't certain he wanted to. Then Sirius died, and the loss made Remus take stock of his life and of his heart, and he realized that he was alone and could die that way if he continued as he had been. So could Severus, and there was absolutely no need for that if they both still felt the same way. But his overtures had been met with icy hauteur, and so he had fallen back on provoking Severus instead, convinced that it was the only kind of interaction he could ever hope for.

"You're right," Hermione said. "Snape isn't exactly known for revealing his tender side to begin with, and he'd probably be even less inclined to, given how Remus treats him."

"It's a shame, really," Neville said. "They could be as happy together as Harry and I are, but Remus is too proud and antagonistic to see it."

Their voices were growing softer and less distinct as they moved away, headed back inside the castle, but Remus had reached the end of the hedge and didn't dare follow further without any concealing cover. Instead, he returned to his bench and sat down heavily, trying to sort through everything he had just heard.

"Can this be true?" He glanced back at the castle, turning his gaze towards the lower levels where he knew the dungeons to be. "Am I so condemned for pride? No more -- I'm done with this show of contempt. Severus, love on. I will requite it. I do requite it. If you truly love me, my kindness will incite you to bind our love up in a wedding band."

Colin stood outside the window and waited. He had a clear, unobstructed view thanks to the open drapes, but the pair within weren't concerned with privacy, not here. They never dreamt that anyone would intrude on their haven. He couldn't hear them, but he could see, and he raised his camera when they began to undress, moving until he had the perfect angle.

One shirt gone and then another. More kisses and caresses, their silent moans obvious even filtered through his camera lens. Unable to wait any longer, they barely got their trousers and underpants down before one bent the other over the back of the sofa, entering him with one swift thrust.

CLICK!

The camera caught that perfect moment. The flash alerted them to his presence, but he'd got what he needed, and by the time they pulled their clothes up and got outside, he had long since Apparated away.

Harry stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing non-existent wrinkles out of his dress robes, unable to keep a besotted, happy grin off his face as he scrutinized his reflection. The robes were brand new, the same bottle-green as the robes Mrs. Weasley had chosen for him when he was fourteen, but far more elaborate with embroidery in gold thread and gold buttons in the shape of a lion's head. Madam Malkin had been all too happy to put all of her projects aside to design special wedding robes for him and Neville when she learnt how much they were willing to pay her to have them ready so quickly, and the results had been worth the expense.

He was a little nervous, but his nervousness stemmed from not wanting to flub his vows or mispronounce anything during the ceremony, not from any doubts about what he was doing. He loved and trusted Neville, and he wanted this marriage more than anything in the world.

A knock on the door interrupted his pleasant reverie, and he called out, "come in!" without bothering to turn and look to see who walked in; he assumed it was Ron, his best man, coming to check up on him. Instead, he glanced in the mirror and saw Colin Creevey standing in the doorway, mousy and hesitant, an almost fearful look in his eyes.

"Colin?" Harry turned to face his unexpected visitor, giving him a quizzical look. "What are you doing here?"

"I - I have something to show you," Colin said, inching closer. "I'm sorry, Harry. I really am. But I thought you ought to know."

"Know what?" His puzzled look turned into a frown as Colin held out a copy of the Daily Prophet, and he took it.

"The society section," Colin said quietly, and Harry flipped through the pages quickly.

As he expected, there was a full page article -- The Boy Who Lived's wedding extravaganza, he noted with an annoyed grimace. He didn't see anything upsetting about it at first; it was just a gushy write-up about the flowers, the guest list, the honeymoon plans. The writer had played up the whirlwind battlefield romance angle, trying to make it sound more exciting than it was by implying Harry had realized his undying love when Neville was lying near death in his arms. That didn't bother him, however, and he was about to ask Colin what the fuss was about when his eye fell on an article near the bottom of the page.

"Trouble in paradise?" the caption read. "This reporter has an exclusive scoop on the wedding of the year." There was a photo as well, and Harry felt his heart clench as he stared at it, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Neville.

Having sex.

With Draco Malfoy.

He didn't want to believe it, but there it was in black and white; they had cropped the photo by necessity since it had been taken during a moment of intimacy, but Draco's face was clearly visible as he bent over Neville from behind; Neville kept his face averted, but his dark hair and tall body were unmistakable

"I'm sorry, Harry," Colin repeated. "If there's anything I can do--"

"Get out," Harry snarled, crushed the paper in his fist.

Colin stared at him as if in shock. "But you need someone right now. You shouldn't be alone. I can help you."

"I don't want your bloody help!" Harry hurled the crumpled paper at him and then pointed to the door. "GET OUT NOW!"

Colin's mouth formed a perfect O of surprise before he let out a squeak and scurried out of the room, and Harry stood in the middle of the room, feeling like a fool in his wedding finery -- a gullible fool. His face was flushed with anger, and his hands were clenched by his sides as he fought to calm down and think about what he was going to do.

By the time Ron bounded into the room and cheerfully announced that it was time, Harry had decided. He followed Ron out, feeling disjointed, as if this was happening to someone else, and he was merely a spectator. The Great Hall had been swathed in white, gold, and red in honor of the occasion, and Madam Sprout had offered to provide flowers as a wedding present for one of her favorite students. There were garlands, sprays, and bouquets everywhere, filling the Hall with delicate perfume, and fragile white rose petals fell in a continual shower. But the beauty was lost on Harry, who trudged to the dais where the ceremony would be held like one approaching his own execution.

Neville approached the dais at the same time with Hermione at his side, his face alight with love and joy; Harry's throat closed up, and he felt ill. How could Neville do this? How could he betray Harry with Draco Malfoy of all people, and then act like nothing had happened on their wedding day?

Beneath a canopy of white silk, the official from the Ministry awaited them, beaming, clearly proud to be presiding over this particular wedding. Clearing his throat, he smiled at both Harry and Neville. "Do you come to marry this man, Neville Eustace Longbottom?" he asked Harry, and Harry fixed him with a stony glare.

"No."

Neville darted a startled glance at him but said nothing, and a murmur rippled through the congregation.

"He comes to be married to Neville. You come to marry them," Albus interjected smoothly from the front row of seats, and the murmur turned into laughter.

The official forced a chuckle and turned to Neville. "Do you come to be married to this man, Harry James Potter?"

A blush bloomed in Neville's cheeks as he gazed at Harry with shy affection, his voice soft but clear and unhesitating. "I do."

"If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be joined, I charge you on your souls to utter it."

Harry faced Neville, his expression hard and angry, his voice icy. "Do you know any, Neville?"

Neville frowned, visibly puzzled. "No, I don't."

"Er..." The official glanced at Harry uncertainly. "Do you know of any, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, I do!" Harry's voice rang out, echoing off the stone, and a gasp ran through the spectators. Harry didn't notice the reactions of those around him; he was focused entirely on Neville, his body shaking with the force of his pain and anger. "You're nothing but the sign and semblance of honor!" He pointed at Neville accusingly. "Behold how like a maiden he blushes -- wouldn't you swear, all you who see him, that he is virtuous and honorable, but he is not!"

Neville gasped and stepped backward as if he'd been struck, staring at Harry wide-eyed and shaking his head, but Harry bore down on him inexorably. "His blush is from guilt, not modesty," Harry snarled. "He knows the heat of a luxurious bed."

"No!" Neville cried, shaking his head wildly. "Harry, I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"I mean not to be wed to a lying, deceitful whore."

"Harry!" Hermione darted forward, pushing herself between Harry and Neville. "You don't mean it! How can you say that?"

"I have proof. In fact, everyone has seen him make a fool of me! It's in today's paper -- a photo of him with his lover!"

Neville's face went from flushed to stark white at that, and he stared at Harry, incredulous; his mouth worked, but no sound came out, and there was a shimmer of tears on his lashes just before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed on the stone dais, unconscious.

For a moment, Harry was torn, wanting to rush to Neville's side, but the fury and jealousy roiling within him reminded him of Neville's betrayal, and instead, he turned and stormed out, Ron following along, hovering with obvious worry over his friend. While Albus took charge of herding the confused guests out of the Hall, Hermione knelt beside Neville, and Remus hurried to the dais as quickly as his limping gait would allow.

"He's still breathing," she said, glancing at Remus, her eyes filled with concern.

"It was probably the shock," Remus said, easing himself to the floor on Neville's other side and reaching out to smooth Neville's hair back from his face. "He's still not fully recuperated, and this kind of emotional trauma isn't good for him."

"What was Potter blathering about anyway?" Severus strode up to the dais and thrust a small vial under Neville's nose, and Neville jerked away from it, coughing and sputtering as he came to.

"I didn't see the paper today," Hermione said, glancing around at the others. "Did any of you?"

Remus shook his head, but Albus nodded as he stepped forward. "There was a photograph of Draco Malfoy engaging in intimate relations with a young man who looked like Mr. Longbottom. I dismissed it as a sordid attempt to create gossip, but apparently, Harry believed it to be real."

"Engaged in intimate relations?" Snape snorted derisively. "For God's sake, Albus, just say the boy was caught in the middle of a shag and have done with it. This isn't the Nineteenth Century."

"How could he?" Neville's voice was quavery, and he clung to Hermione's hand. "How could he think I'd do something like that? I'd never cheat on him -- I don't want anyone but him."

"Love has strange effects on people," Remus said, his voice quiet as he stroked Neville's hair soothingly. "Sometimes, it makes them irrational, especially when they're jealous and insecure, and they see things that aren't really there."

Severus stiffened at that, knowing the words were meant for Longbottom and for him; Lupin had tried to tell him that he misunderstood what he'd seen in the Shrieking Shack that night, but he had refused to believe it, clinging to his stubborn, wounded pride instead in order to keep himself safe. But in light of what he had overheard, he intended to give Lupin a chance to explain, and he would listen with an open mind this time. With all of the wedding preparations going on, he hadn't had a chance to speak with Lupin alone, but he knew he needed to do it soon, before Poppy decided Lupin no longer needed to be kept under her watchful eye and released him to return home.

"I didn't cheat on him," Neville said, his voice still tremulous, but stronger with the conviction of his words. "It wasn't me with Draco Malfoy."

"We believe you, Neville," Hermione assured him, squeezing his hand tightly. "When Harry calms down, he'll believe you, too."

"What if he doesn't?" Neville stared up at her, his eyes wide with fear. "What if he hates me and will never forgive me? I love him! I don't want to lose him over something so stupid and -- and wrong as this!"

Snape refrained from wincing, but only just, and he studiously avoided looking at Lupin. "Perhaps it's best if you're inaccessible to him for a while," he suggested. "He needs time to calm down and begin thinking rationally again. A little guilt might not be amiss, either," he added. "If he finds out that not only was he wrong about you and Draco, but his public outburst also caused you to lapse back into a coma, you'll have the upper hand when he comes crawling back to beg your forgiveness."

"Hear that? Advice straight out of the Slytherin guide to courtship." Lupin's voice was laced with amusement, but when Snape hazarded a glance at him, it was clear the mirth hadn't reached his eyes.

"I think it's a good idea. Sneaky, but good, and I think it'll work," Hermione said as she helped Neville to his feet. He rose shakily, still clinging to her arm, and gave a watery smile.

"I hope so." He paused and glanced around, his gaze lingering briefly on Snape. "Thank you."

Snape inclined his head briefly, surprised at himself. He never thought he would see the day when he would assist in patching up the fractured romance of Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom, but then again, he never thought he would consider trying to patch things up between himself and Lupin either. Either he was mellowing, or the hearts and flowers nonsense had got to him, too.

Albus followed Neville and Hermione out, leaving Snape and Lupin alone, and Snape sat down near Lupin, watching him silently. Now that Neville was gone, Lupin let his anger show, clenching his hands into fists and beating them uselessly against the cold stone floor.

"Why?" It was almost a howl, an agonized wail that echoed off the walls and resounded in Snape's ears, making him flinch. He never imagined one word could be so steeped in old, deep pain. "Why didn't he ask Neville about it instead of jumping to conclusions? How could he so easily think that Neville would betray him? Why didn't he give Neville a chance to explain? How could he just throw away everything they could have had together over a stupid misunderstanding?"

"Because Potter is a blind fool who is letting his heart overrule his head." Snape picked up a white petal and turned it over in his fingers, stroking it gently. "He's hardly the first or the last to do so."

"I thought better of him." Lupin bowed his head, his hands resting between his knees now that his anger was spent. "I don't understand why it was so difficult of him to have just a little faith, enough to trust that there had to be a logical explanation for what happened."

"You said it yourself: jealousy and insecurity cause people to behave irrationally." He flicked the petal away and glanced over at Lupin. It wasn't often that words failed him; he had a glib tongue when he chose to use it, but unfortunately, it tended to fall still when it came to speaking of his emotions. At the times he needed to speak eloquently the most, he was least able to find the right words. "It doesn't help that there has always been rivalry between Draco and Potter. They hated each other once, and they bear no love for each other now, even after all they've been through in the war. Rather like me and Black," he said, cautiously offering an opening if Lupin wanted to take it.

"You're right. I hadn't thought about that." Lupin stared down at his hands for a moment longer and then glanced at Snape, his expression neutral. "You had no reason to be jealous of Sirius. I told you that a thousand times."

"I know what you told me, Lupin." He waved irritably. "But it was naive of you to think that I could brush away years of rivalry and antagonism simply because you said there wasn't any reason to be jealous. You may not have been lovers, but Black was possessive of you, and he didn't want me near what he considered to be his."

"And you weren't the slightest bit possessive yourself, of course."

"Damned right I was possessive. You were mine."

Snape didn't miss the little shiver that ran through Lupin at that, giving him a flash of smug satisfaction. Perhaps their relationship was salvageable after all.

"I don't belong to anybody," Lupin said sharply. "It was unfair of both of you to use me like a rope in your private tug of war, especially since nobody won in that game."

"It was indeed a lose-lose situation."

"Wait..." Lupin cocked his head, the barest hint of a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. "Did my ears deceive me, or did you just agree with me and indirectly admit you were wrong?"

Snape affected a bored expression and trailed his fingers through a drift of petals. "There may have been a small, indirect concession on my part."

Lupin's smile widened, and he inched closer, still watching Snape intently. "Does that mean you would be willing to listen if I told you that the reason I called what happened during sixth year a prank was only because we were in the middle of a highly charged, volatile situation, and that wasn't exactly the time or place to mention my disapproval of what Sirius had done? Sirius was half-mad, the children were confused and frightened, and I needed to placate all of them before someone else got hurt or killed."

"You stood up for him -- again! You've always stood up for him, never for me." The old hurt caused a sharp twinge in his chest, and he turned away, but Lupin closed the distance between them and reached out to stroke his arm gently.

"I'm sorry," Lupin said, his expression earnest and pleading, and Snape could feel himself wavering, wanting to believe. "I can't erase my past mistakes, but I can tell you that I didn't betray you. When he returned, I felt like I'd regained a brother, not a lover, and I swear to you that I wasn't protecting him all year. I was protecting myself. It was a selfish and cowardly thing to do, but there it is."

Snape nodded grudgingly and turned to face him again. "I was wrong to assume the worst and not listen to your explanations, and..." He took a deep breath, not quite able to look Lupin in the eye as he admitted, "I regret revealing your secret."

"I was furious with you for that," Lupin said. "Of all the petty, malicious things you've ever done, that ranks right up at the top."

"I know."

Silence hung between them, a shimmering eternity, and then Lupin curved his arms around Snape's shoulders and whispered against his temple, "I've missed you, you hateful bastard."

Suddenly it felt as if an invisible weight had been lifted from Snape's shoulders, and he allowed himself the luxury of a smirk as he leaned into the embrace. "It's mutual, you maudlin fool."

They sat together amid the ruins of the aborted wedding; likely there were more issues they would need to sort through later, but the worst obstacle had been overcome, and it was time for a respite, one moment of peace to enjoy the tentative rebuilding of their shattered relationship.

Perhaps one union had fallen apart that day, Snape mused, but another had been reborn, and if Potter showed more sense than Snape gave him credit for possessing, there might be hope that this wedding would be delayed rather than called off entirely.

"I should go," he said at last, pulling away from Lupin with reluctance. "I need to have a word with Potter."

"Just don't start off by shouting at him, and you may have a chance of getting through to him."

"Shout at Potter? Me?" Snape arched one haughty eyebrow as he rose gracefully to his feet and stared down at Lupin. "Don't be ridiculous."

Lupin gave him a look that clearly said he wasn't fooled, and then he reached for his cane, struggling to stand, and Snape bent to clasp his arm, helping him up. "Thank you." He smiled and reached for Snape's hand to squeeze it gently. "Be careful with Harry, all right?"

"Yes, yes." Snape waved dismissively as he freed his hand and turned to go.

Really. One would think that Lupin had no faith in his people skills whatsoever.

"Potter!" Snape roared as he burst into the room uninvited. "Have you lost what passes for your feeble little mind, or was that simply the worst case of cold feet in the history of the world?"

Harry whirled to face him, anger flaring in his eyes. "Piss off, Snape!"

"You had better be damned grateful the term is over, boy, or your mouth would have cost Gryffindor enough points to eliminate any chance of winning the House cup for the next three years." Snape glared down at Potter, wondering what madness he had succumbed to that made him even think about helping the ungrateful little brat. "Now answer my question."

"I don't have to answer anything," Harry shot back, tilting his chin up defiantly. "You're not my teacher anymore, and you can't tell me what to do."

"Perhaps not." Snape folded his arms, letting his robes swirl around him in what he knew to be an intimidating gesture. "But you will listen to me nonetheless if you want to avoid making one of the biggest mistakes of your life."

"This isn't like you and Remus." Harry crossed his arms as well and glared up at Snape, refusing to be cowed. "Neville really did betray me!"

"You're so certain of that."

"Yes!"

"A young man who loves you and wants to spend the rest of his life with you would throw it all away in order to shag someone he doesn't even like."

"Well..."

"Of course, pride has nothing to do with your reaction," Snape continued, sneering. "You couldn't stop long enough to ask if the photograph is legitimate, because you saw Draco Malfoy with someone you presumed to be your fiance, and you were furious. How dare Draco touch what's yours."

"Er..." Harry glanced down and scuffed his toe on the floor.

"Now you're here -- alone, I might add, on what should have been your wedding night -- wallowing in your self-pitying, self-righteous indignation because the young man who has done nothing but support you and fight by your side allegedly shagged your rival according to a newspaper that certainly has never published anything biased or distorted, as you well know from your own experiences."

"Um..."

"Well, Mr. Potter? What have you to say now?"

"I think I need to speak with Neville," Harry said in a small voice.

"You can't," Snape said, his voice and his expression stony. "He's lying unconscious in the infirmary. The shock of your accusation caused him to relapse into a coma."

"What?" Harry stared at him, aghast. "I have to go to him--" He darted forward, but Snape snaked out his arm and grabbed Harry's shoulder.

"Not until you have the facts. The last thing he needs is to have you hurl suspicions and accusations again the moment he wakes up. I suggest you speak with Draco first."

"Right." Harry squared his shoulders, his face set in determined lines. "I'll get to the bottom of this and find out the truth before I see Neville."

"You do that," Snape said dryly, releasing Harry's shoulder and stepped away from him, watching as Harry sprinted out the door. And Lupin was worried he wouldn't be able to get through to the boy.

He felt quite pleased with himself indeed as he made his way to the temporary quarters Lupin had been given while he recuperated. It took a moment before Lupin reached the door after Snape knocked, but when he opened it and saw Snape there, he immediately stepped aside to let Snape in.

"You spoke to Harry?" he asked, giving Snape an anxious look.

"I did, yes." Snape allowed a hint of a smug smile to curve his lips. "I convinced him that he reacted in haste, and that he needed to find out what really happened. He's on his way to speak with Draco right now."

Lupin sighed with relief as he limped to the couch and sat down. "Well done, you." Smiling, he patted the cushion next to him, inviting Snape to join him.

"You were worried for naught," Snape said as he crossed the room and sat down next to Lupin.

"Yes, but surely you understand my concerns." Lupin reached out and rested his hand on top of Snape's, squeezing it gently. "You and Harry have never really got on."

"Nonetheless, I got through to the boy, and that's the important thing." He glanced down at their hands and, after a moment's hesitation, twined his fingers with Lupin's. "But I didn't come here to talk about Potter."

"Oh?" Lupin arched a questioning eyebrow at him, the smile playing at the corner of his mouth indicating that he had an idea of why Snape had come. "Why did you, then?"

"I thought we might have things to discuss further."

"Such as?" Lupin scooted closer, pressing his thigh against Snape's, and Snape tightened his grip on Lupin's hand involuntarily. It had been four years since the last time he and Lupin had flirted and teased like this; it had been far longer since the last time he had indulged in the pleasures of the flesh with someone else. He could feel the heat of Lupin's body, and he wanted.

He trailed one long forefinger along Lupin's jaw, reveling in the way Lupin closed his eyes and shivered as he leaned into the caress. "Well," he said, pitching his voice to that deep, slow purr that he knew Lupin couldn't resist, "you could start by telling me for which of my bad parts you fell in love with me."

Lupin swayed closer like a snake charmed by the sound of Snape's voice, but when he opened his eyes, Snape could see the light of mischief in them, harbinger of the wicked little smile that curved Lupin's mouth. "For them all together, which maintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them." His smile widening, Lupin seemed to abandon all pretext of composure and snuggled against Snape's side, leaning his cheek against Snape's shoulder. "But for which of my good parts did you first suffer love for me?"

"Suffer love!" Snape exclaimed. "An excellent way to put it. I do suffer love indeed, for I love you against my will."

"In spite of your heart, I think," Lupin said softly. He fell silent for a moment and then squeezed Snape's hand gently. "Alas, poor heart. If you spite it for my sake, I will spite it for yours, for I will never love that which my friend hates."

It was, Snape knew, Lupin's way of letting him know that Lupin didn't intend to push him into anything. If Snape didn't want to try to rekindle their almost-romance, that would be the end of it, and Snape didn't doubt it was a self-protective measure as well. After all they had managed to put each other through, he doubted Lupin wanted to be hurt again any more than he did.

But this time would be different. The external factors that had come between them were gone now. All that remained was for them to heal the old wounds they had caused each other, and it seemed they had made considerable progress. Snape still didn't like what had happened in the Shrieking Shack four years ago, but he believed Lupin hadn't meant to hurt or betray him, and Lupin seemed prepared to forgive what Snape had done as well.

"You and I are too wise to woo peaceably," Snape said, ignoring the serious message behind Lupin's words. For all his grumbling, he was pleased that they had a second chance, all thanks to Potter, Weasley, and Albus being such gossips, but he had a feeling they both enjoyed the bickering too much to stop; it would simply be friendly banter from now on, not the charged, heated needling it had once been.

Lupin chuckled softly and slid his arms around Snape's waist, all but crawling onto Snape's lap in his attempts to get closer, and Snape draped one arm across Lupin's shoulders, content to sit quietly and enjoy having Lupin in his arms again. It had taken four years and a catastrophic wedding to get them to this point, but it felt good and right, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, Snape was happy.

"Potter, you stupid tit!"

Draco Malfoy snatched the copy of the Daily Prophet that Harry had been waving in his face and stared at it, and then he stared at Harry as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing and hearing. "You actually thought this was me and Longbottom?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Harry said, crossing his arms defensively as he glared at Draco. "It looks like Neville."

"At a glance, maybe," Draco said. "Are you saying Longbottom has a birthmark like that," he pointed to a spot on the photo just barely above the cropped edge, "right there, too?"

"Er." Harry averted his eyes from the birthmark quickly. "I don't know."

"You don't know. God help poor Longbottom with such an observant lover. You do realize he has a cock, right? And that you're meant to let him come too?"

"It isn't like that!" Harry shouted, his face turning red with anger and embarrassment. "I don't know about his birthmarks because we haven't shagged yet!"

Draco gaped at him again. "You're marrying him, and you haven't shagged him yet? I knew Gryffindors were goody-two-shoes, but I'd no idea you still went in for the whole virgin bride thing. So tell me -- which one of you was saving himself for the wedding night?"

"That isn't the point, Malfoy." Harry snatched the newspaper from him again. "I came here to find out whether that was Neville with you in the photo."

"It wasn't. I wouldn't touch Longbottom if he showed up on my doorstep wearing nothing but whipped cream." Draco sniffed disdainfully.

"Who was it, then?"

"Look closely," Draco said, and Harry peered at the photograph, searching for any clue that could identify the dark-haired young man writhing sinuously beneath Draco.

Draco flicked his wand at it, the figure in the photo turned its head towards them at last, and Harry gasped. "Blaise? You're shagging Blaise?"

Draco shrugged, an elegant roll of his shoulders. "You wouldn't think that such a drab non-entity like him would be such a fantastic shag, but his mouth is exquisite, and he's got the tightest little arse -- almost like a virgin's," he added with a nasty smirk.

But Harry was too distracted to pay attention to the snide remark. All he could think about was Neville, who was lying comatose in the infirmary again because of him. Because Harry had jumped to conclusions and accused him unfairly, humiliating him in the process. As he whirled and ran out of Draco's house, not even bothering to say thank you or good-bye, his mind was filled with fervent pleas that Neville would wake up again soon, and that he would be able to forgive Harry once he did.

When he arrived back at Hogwarts, he went straight to the infirmary, searching for Neville's bed, but Madam Pomfrey blocked his path. "Looking for someone, Mr. Potter?" she asked, giving him a scathing look that let him know exactly how badly he had messed up in the eyes of so many people.

"How is Neville?"

"He's still unconscious," she replied, not moving to let him by. "His condition is stable, and I hope he will revive soon, but there is no guarantee, considering the shock he received on top of his recent illness."

Harry felt heat rushing to his cheeks, but he was determined not to let her turn him away. "I need to see him," he said, hoping he didn't sound as desperate and worried as he felt. "I need to talk to him, even if he can't hear me. Please."

She appeared to soften at that and stepped aside, gesturing to a curtained-off bed at the end of the ward. "He's down there. Likely he can hear you, even if he can't respond. Perhaps it will assist in his recovery."

"Thank you." He shot her a grateful look before hurrying over to Neville's bed, his stomach knotted with tension as he reached out and parted the curtain.

Neville lay still on the narrow bed, appearing to be merely asleep; his hands rested on his stomach, and as he sat down on the edge of the bed, Harry picked up Neville's left hand, feeling it limp and unresponsive in his own.

"I'm sorry. I was wrong," he whispered, holding Neville's hand between both of his own, and Neville's dark lashes fluttered as if in response, giving Harry a surge of hope. "It was Snape, of all people, who made me see the truth. I wasn't thinking properly, or I would've known you would never have slept with Draco. But I was jealous, and it killed me to think of you being with anyone but me."

He lifted Neville's hand to his lips and kissed it before pressing his cheek against it. "I shouldn't have doubted you, and I never will again, I promise. I know you'd never betray me. Please wake up, Neville, and I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. Anything -- I'll grovel, I'll beg, I'll write lines, I'll serve a detention with Snape. I don't care. I love you, and I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."

"Marry me?"

Harry's head shot up, and he stared at Neville's face, astonished to see Neville's eyes open and fixed on him. A slow grin bloomed on his lips as he clutched Neville's hand tighter. "Yes -- as soon as you're well again. I'll demand a retraction from the paper, and I'll apologize to you in front of all our guests."

Neville smiled and squeezed Harry's hand. "Then I forgive you." Pulling his hand free, he held out both arms, and Harry crawled onto the bed and into his embrace eagerly, gathering Neville in his arms and burying his face against Neville's neck, awash with relief that Neville was willing to forgive him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, and Neville rubbed his back gently.

"It's okay," Neville murmured against his hair. "I don't want to lose you over this, Harry. I love you too much for that. We'll reschedule the wedding and get married as planned. Everything will be okay."

Nestling closer to Neville, Harry sighed and relaxed, feeling certain that Neville was right: everything would indeed be okay.

Three days later, the Great Hall of Hogwarts had been redecorated with its wedding finery, and once more, a crowd of guests -- most of whom couldn't have been kept away with an Imperius Curse after the theatrics that had occurred during the first attempt -- filled the Hall, awaiting the start of the ceremony with eager anticipation at what might happen this time.

Once again, Harry and Neville entered the Hall and approached the dais at the same time, but this time, Neville's loving smile was matched by Harry's delighted grin, and when they met, Harry reached out to clasp Neville's hand before turning to address their audience.

"Hopefully, you've all seen the retraction in the newspaper by now, but in case you haven't, I want to clear Neville's name publicly. The person in that photograph wasn't Neville, and I was wrong to have jumped to conclusions. I've apologized to him privately, but I embarrassed him in front of all you, so it's only right that I apologize in front of you as well." He turned to Neville bashfully. "I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I never should have doubted you, and I never will again."

"Apology accepted," Neville said right before flinging his arms around Harry's neck and pulling him into a deep, messy kiss.

A number of "awww"s could be heard from the crowd before the applause began, and when Neville and Harry finally came up for air, red-cheeked and bright-eyed, they glanced around sheepishly as if they had forgotten they were being watched.

The official cleared his throat to get their attention before asking politely, "Are we ready to begin, then?"

"Just one more thing." Harry grinned wickedly as he scanned the first few rows until his gaze fell on Snape. "Does anyone else have anything to say?" he asked pointedly, and Snape glowered at him, shifting uncomfortably in his seat for a moment before rising slowly and smoothing the front of his robes.

Tipping his chin up, he gazed imperiously down at Remus, who met his gaze with a puzzled look of his own. "Do not you love me?" Snape demanded, and Remus frowned slightly, not certain he liked this turn of events.

Neither of them had mentioned love, and he didn't like how Severus had phrased it, forcing him to make himself vulnerable first. As a romantic gesture -- if it was intended to be such -- it was lacking; it felt more like an interrogation.

"No," he said calmly, refusing to give in to Severus' high-handed tactics. "No more than reason."

"Then Albus, Potter, and Ron Weasley have been deceived," Severus replied, his dark brows snapping together in a displeased scowl. "They swore you did."

Remus' eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline at that. "Do not you love me?" he asked, starting to get suspicious.

"No." Severus crossed his arms, mimicking Remus' tone and inflection. "No more than reason."

"Why then, Neville, Hermione, and Bill are much deceived, for they did swear you did." Remus rose to his feet as well, squaring off with Severus.

"They swore you were almost sick for me!"

"They swore you were well-nigh dead for me!"

"I was no such thing!" Severus roared, glaring around at the meddlers, who were either grinning or trying -- and failing -- to look innocent. "Then... you don't love me?" In spite of his fierce scowl, there was an undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice that made Remus want to relent, but he didn't dare, not in light of this new evidence. They had been tricked into giving their relationship a second chance, and if Severus only agreed to it because of what he'd been deceived into believing, not because he truly wanted it in the first place, Remus wanted no part of it.

"No," he murmured, but scarcely had he uttered the word when Hermione stood up and wagged her finger at him.

"Come on now, both of you," she said. "We didn't go to so much trouble to help you see past your pride just to let things fall apart now!"

"It's obvious you still care about each other," Neville spoke up. "You helped Harry and me avoid making a huge mistake, and we don't want to see you make the same mistake -- again."

Remus glanced uncertainly at Severus only to find him staring back; their eyes met and held, and then Severus gave a haughty sniff, looking put-upon as he picked imaginary lint from his robes.

"Oh, all right," Severus said, sounding aggrieved. "I'll have you, but by this light, I take you for pity."

Relief flooded Remus at that, and he matched Severus' haughtiness with an insouciant demeanor of his own. "I wouldn't deny you," he said, affecting a bored tone. "For I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption."

"Peace!" Severus growled as he reached out to capture Remus' face between his hands, and Remus tilted his face up, fixing Severus with a challenging look. "I will stop your mouth."

And then Severus' mouth was on his, Severus' tongue was coaxing his lips apart, and Remus moaned softly as he parted them, welcoming the invasion. Winding his arms around Severus' waist, he leaned forward, savoring this -- their first kiss. He'd been longing for and dreaming about Severus for years, and long last, his fantasies were finally becoming reality.

Now that they had finally reached out, it seemed as if neither of them wanted to let go; Severus' lean body was solid and warm against his, and Severus' hands roamed his back in slow, gentle caresses, making him arch and purr with satisfaction. He stroked Severus' tongue with his own, drawing it deeper. He had been too hungry for too long, and he wanted nothing more than to devour Severus right then and there -- but the applause abruptly reminded him that it wasn't the time or the place to indulge their desires.

Reluctantly, they broke apart, and Severus arched a questioning eyebrow at him. "Well?"

"Well." Remus smiled archly. "We do happen to be at a wedding."

"Convenient, that."

"Very." He brushed a kiss against Severus' lips, letting the walls crumble and his affection be seen in his eyes. "Marry me?"

Severus sifted his fingers gently through Remus' hair, his expression somber with no trace of mockery or hauteur. "Yes."

A radiant smile lit up Remus' face, and he captured Severus' hand, clasping it tightly as he led Severus to join Harry and Neville at the dais.

"May we proceed now?" the official asked, glancing uncertainly between the two couples standing before him, but before any of them could respond, a wailing cry arose from the audience.

"NO! Harry, no! You can't!"

Harry whirled to see Colin sprinting up the aisle towards them, tears streaming down his flushed, contorted face. "You can't marry him! Not after all I've done to prove my love for you! You saw the photograph -- I took it to prove he'll betray you, but I never will!"

He kept running, but before he could reach the dais, Fred and George leapt up and grabbed him, holding the short, slight young man between them easily no matter how hard he struggled to get free.

"Let me take care of this, Harry," Hermione said as she stepped forward and rested her hand on his arm. "It'll be part of my wedding present -- and my pleasure as well." Pulling out her wand, she aimed at Colin, and in an instant, he was bound and gagged. Unable to hold his balance, he keeled over and lay writhing helplessly on the floor, his cries muffled by the thick gag over his mouth.

"See? What did I tell you?" Ron leaned over and whispered to Bill as Fred and George carted Colin away. "Brilliant but scary."

Bill gazed at Hermione with an almost rapturous look in his eyes. "Yes, she is. God, I love her."

"Now we may proceed," Remus said, and Harry nodded, Colin forgotten immediately as he lost himself in Neville's eyes.

"Let's get started," he said. "It's time for some happily ever after."

The Taming of Sirius Black - Remus/Sirius, NC17

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 05:00:44 GMT

Title: The Taming of Sirius Black
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rated: NC17
Summary: Sirius figures out what he wants and begins planning how to get it.
Notes: This story features a D/s relationship: alpha!Remus/submissive!Sirius.

"Sirius, sit down."

Sirius sat.

His body overruled his brain, and while all manner of replies ranging from indignant "how dare you"s to stunned "how could you"s crowded his tongue, he uttered none of them. Instead, he obeyed immediately and without question -- something he'd never done before in his life, not with anyone. Certainly not with Remus. Remus was the quiet one, the one who had never tried to rein Sirius in, even when he'd had the power to do so.

When did the quiet, calm boy become this strong voiced man who could make Sirius obey with a single command?

The next day, he retreated to the sanctuary of Buckbeak's lair and curled up against the hippogriff's side, mulling over this new development. Replaying the scene in his mind, he realized that his obedience had been instinctive, much like a trained dog's response to its master's voice. An icy knot formed in his belly at that thought. Had he spent so much time in canine form that he was losing his humanity? Had he developed a domesticated dog's instincts to belong and obey?

So many questions, but the one question he didn't have to ask was "why Remus". He'd loved Remus Lupin for years, albeit carelessly. They had almost been lovers once. After James finally managed to get Lily to speak to him and began his awkward courtship of her, he'd spent less time with his friends. Peter began to withdraw from them as well, although not because of a girl. At the time, Sirius had chalked it up to... Well, he didn't remember what he'd chalked it up to. Likely he hadn't thought much of it at all.

He did remember that he and Remus had begun spending more time together, just the two of them, and Sirius had fallen a little in love. He began flirting, and he even reached the point of coaxing Remus into a few steamy snog sessions -- Remus was such a shy kisser, all warm, soft lips and blushes and coyly lowered lashes -- but that changed after the prank he pulled on Snape. Remus was calm, and Remus was polite, and Remus still professed to be his friend, but Sirius kept running headlong into a huge, thick wall every time he tried to get close to Remus again.

He wanted Remus, but he couldn't have him. Naturally, that made him want Remus even more.

Remus wouldn't talk to him about it. Peter was clueless. James said at first that he couldn't tell Sirius anything, because he'd promised not to betray Remus' confidence, but after enough pestering and pleading, he'd finally given in and said that Remus was hurt because he felt like Sirius had used him, as if Sirius had seen him as nothing more than a convenient tool to be used to enact revenge on Snape; he was also angry because Sirius hadn't stopped to think of what might have happened to Remus if Snape had been hurt or killed.

Rather than go to Remus and try to sort it out, Sirius had grown angry and hurt in return, feeling that after six years of friendship, Remus should have known better than to think Sirius would ever use him or see him as nothing but a tool. Righteous indignation flared hot, and things had deteriorated from there.

He told himself that if Remus didn't trust him, he wouldn't trust Remus; he let his pride lead him while his heart -- pushed aside and ignored -- yearned for what might have been. By the time Harry was born, they were friends on the most superficial of levels; by the time James and Lily were murdered, they were barely speaking. Yet as he huddled in his cell in Azkaban, fighting for his sanity, he hoarded his most precious memories to keep him sane. His triumph when he was Sorted into Gryffindor. The sense of freedom he felt when he walked out of the house as his mother screamed at his retreating back and cut his ties with his so-called family. James and Lily's wedding. Holding Harry shortly after he was born, when he was all red and scrunchy-looking, but still the most beautiful thing Sirius had ever seen. A lazy Saturday afternoon in the Gryffindor dorm, lying in bed with Remus in his arms, unable to stop moaning because Remus had, for the first time, shyly slipped his tongue into Sirius' mouth.

When they met again in the Shrieking Shack and Remus embraced him so warmly, Sirius had hoped they might be able to try again, but at first, there wasn't time. Sirius was gone for months, and even when he returned, he wasn't safe. The only good things about returning to #12 Grimmauld Place in his estimation were that he could be closer to Harry, and he could invite Remus to stay with him, which was not entirely altruistic on his part. It would help Remus' dwindling finances, true, but it would also throw them together again, and he hoped that proximity might help smooth the path to renewed closeness between them.

And it had. Sort of.

Sirius felt certain that Remus had forgiven him for the sixth year incident, and Remus had welcomed Sirius back into his life as a friend, but that wasn't enough for Sirius. After his reaction the night before, he knew it would never be enough. As he leaned against Buckbeak's comforting warmth and watched dust motes dance in the fading sunlight, he finally realized and accepted the simple truth that had always hung between them, yet had never been acknowledged: he belonged to Remus.

He responded to that voice because it was the voice of his master, and he needed it. The irony of someone so stubborn, headstrong, and rebellious as he was wanting a master wasn't lost on him. But then again, considering his Animagus form, perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised. Dogs could be strong and stubborn, but they also tended to be loyal and fiercely devoted to their master, obeying without question when they were properly trained. Sirius needed a firm hand to train him, and his instincts knew whose hand it should be.

The problem was, he didn't know how to tell Remus. Their friendship had only just begun to re-knit properly, and while Sirius was often impulsive, he wasn't stupid. He knew that bounding up to Remus and announcing that not only did he want to try to revive their ill-fated romance, but he wanted for Remus to own him as well was the best way to find himself on the wrong side of that thick wall again.

Even if he thought telling Remus flat-out was a good idea, he wouldn't know what to say. All he knew was that he felt a longing for that voice. Beyond that, he didn't know what it was that he craved. He felt it roiling within him every time he looked at Remus now, but if Remus asked, "what do you want me to do?", Sirius couldn't have told him. He just needed, and what he needed was tied up with the delicious promise that lay in the undertones of that firm voice.

He decided that perhaps showing Remus was a better idea than trying to tell him, and so Sirius began trying to provoke Remus into using The Voice again. He started off with little things -- interrupting Remus while he read, picking innocuous quarrels with Molly over silly things -- but Remus let it all slide. Apparently, it took something big and important for Remus to intervene the way he had, and situations like that didn't come around often, nor could they be effectively staged.

After several frustrating attempts, Sirius gave up. Remus was even more difficult to ruffle now than he had been when they were students, and Molly was beginning to look awfully eager to go for her wand every time Sirius opened his mouth in her presence. It was time for a change of tactics. If he couldn't provoke Remus into talking to him that way again, maybe he could coerce him.

Remus spent most evenings in the library; he had pulled his favorite chair close to the hearth and moved a tea table within easy reach. It was understood that if one wanted to find him after dinner, one should check the library first, and nine times out of ten, he would be there, his nose buried in a book, a cup of cooling tea on the nearby table. Sirius joined him occasionally, when he wanted the company of someone who could respond to him with more than squawks; in the past, he'd tried to lure Remus out of the world of the book and into playing chess with him or just talking for a while, but now, it was different. He began going to the library every night, but instead of sprawling in a chair and trying to get Remus' attention, he sat quietly at Remus' feet and said nothing. Sometimes he read, sometimes he allowed himself the luxury of a pillow, but mostly, he sat and gazed into the fire and tried not to think about how badly he wanted Remus to touch him.

The first few nights, Remus gave him odd looks, but didn't say anything. By the fifth night, when it was apparent that Sirius intended to continue the behavior, Remus asked him if he was all right. He glanced up at Remus and smiled and said he was fine. And he was. There was some small satisfaction to be found in simply being near Remus, although there were a couple of nights when it wasn't enough, and he retreated to Buckbeak's room and huddled under the hippogriff's protective wing, wishing and wanting something that seemed so far out of his reach that he despaired of ever having it.

After about two weeks, Remus no longer gave him questioning looks when he plopped down on the floor and stayed there until Remus bade him good night and went to bed. Sirius took that to be a sign that Remus had accepted his behavior even if he didn't understand it, which was progress.

Turning his gaze away from the fire for once, he studied Remus' legs. Remus had been out in Muggle London that day -- some brief job for Dumbledore -- and he was still dressed in Muggle clothes. His jeans were old and faded, snug in places that Sirius didn't want to think about, and it looked like a rip was on the verge of forming in one knee. He'd crossed his legs at the knee, which gave Sirius a glimpse of his left ankle -- fine-boned and utterly lickable. Sirius had never realized that ankles were sexy before, but either Remus' were, or Sirius was in desperate need of sex, or perhaps both.

To top it all off, his feet were bare. The Blacks believed in comfort, hence all the floors had permanent warming spells cast on them, and Sirius knew from their school days that Remus disliked shoes. As soon as it was warm enough in the spring, he had always run around the school grounds barefoot after classes, sometimes between if he could get away with it. Thus it was no surprise that Remus went barefoot as much as possible around the house.

Slowly, tentatively, he reached out and brushed his fingertips along the top of Remus' foot that rested on the floor. The skin was warm and smooth, and Sirius couldn't quite keep the tremble out of his fingers as he grew bolder with his caresses and still Remus made no move to stop him. He curled his fingers around Remus' ankle, his breathing rapid, and he had to bite back a moan, because this was Remus' skin, Remus' warmth, and it had been so long since he'd been allowed to touch, and he needed it so much.

Impulsively, he bent his head and rested it against Remus' knee; the moment he did, he braced himself, certain that Remus would push him away or demand to know what he thought he was doing, but seconds ticked by, and nothing happened. The seconds turned into a minute, and the minute turned into an eternity, and still nothing happened, and Sirius began to breathe again.

And then he felt gentle fingers combing through his hair.

They started at his temple, stroking through the fine, downy hair there, and then they smoothed a few wayward tendrils back from his face before stroking the rest, palm molding to the curve of his skull, fingers threading through the thick, heavy curtain of his hair.

If he'd been in canine form, he would have kicked his hind leg to show his pleasure, but as it was, he closed his eyes and slumped against Remus' leg, his hand tightening around Remus' ankle as he savored the gentle touches. All too soon, it ended, and Remus stood up, murmured "Good night", and left the room. Sirius sat back on his haunches and grinned at Remus' retreating figure, pleased with the progress. With any luck, he would be able to court Remus into using The Voice with him sooner rather than later.

The following night, Sirius didn't hesitate; as soon as he curled up in his usual place at Remus' feet, he leaned against Remus' leg and rubbed his cheek briefly against Remus' kneecap before settling in and closing his eyes with a contented sigh. Remus was, he noticed, wearing jeans again even though he hadn't been out of the house all day, and he was barefoot too, which wasn't all that unusual, but Sirius took it as a positive sign nonetheless. At the very least, it gave him the opportunity to caress Remus' bare ankle, which he did.

It wasn't long before he felt Remus' hand on his head again, either. Remus stroked his hair at first, but then his hand stilled, and when Sirius peeked up, he saw that Remus was holding a book in his other hand and seemed engrossed. Sirius smiled, amused and not the least bit surprised, and then a little imp of mischief rose up within him, prompting him to wonder what it would take to break Remus' concentration.

He ran his hand up and down Remus' calf a few times and then squeezed it gently but firmly; the book didn't so much as waver, and Sirius took that as a challenge. Nuzzling his cheek against Remus' knee, he slid his hand beneath the cuff of Remus' jeans, stroking bare skin as far as he could reach; the book took a sudden dip, but then rose quickly again, and Sirius grinned.

Impulse seized him, and he knelt and bent over to brush his lips against the top of Remus' foot. In the middle of the act, it struck him that he was prostrating himself -- to a werewolf, no less. If anyone in his family could have seen him, they would have keeled over on the spot. He was a Black, a pureblood. He wasn't meant to lower himself like this to anyone; if anything, it should have been the other way around, according to the beliefs he was taught.

But far from feeling humiliated, he felt liberated. Remus didn't know it yet, but Sirius was offering him everything. It was the gift of himself, freely given, and Sirius reveled in the pleasure that turning himself over to someone else gave in return. Overcome with the need for more, he rubbed his cheek against Remus' foot, moaning softly, and then covered it with kisses, his tongue darting out to lap at the tempting bones of Remus' ankle. He wanted to give, to please, to make his master happy --

"Sirius, what are you doing?"

The question, softly spoken as it was, jolted him out of his pleasure-induced daze, and he sat up, licking his lips to savor the lingering taste of Remus' skin. "I want to please you," he blurted out, hoping he could somehow find the words to make Remus understand what he meant.

A tiny frown line formed between Remus' eyebrows as he watched Sirius, visibly puzzled. "I think that's inappropriate, considering our current relationship."

"It doesn't have to be." Sirius reached out and began stroking his calf again, his gaze fixed steadily on Remus' face.

"But it is now."

"Are you saying it might not be in the future?"

"Sirius..." Remus sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily, his tone the all-too familiar prelude to a "Sirius, I'm not going to discuss this with you further" pronouncement, but Sirius wasn't about to let it go.

Moving swiftly, he knelt between Remus' knees and caressed Remus' thighs as he leaned forward, refusing to break eye contact. "Can you honestly tell me that you don't want me?"

Remus' breath hitched, and he shifted in his chair, spreading his legs wider as if to give Sirius more room to approach. "No, I can't." He met and held Sirius' gaze, his own eyes wide, and Sirius thought he caught a flicker of vulnerability in the depths. "But I don't want to ruin our friendship again, either."

"That was circumstantial. It won't happen again." Sirius continued running his hands up and down Remus' thighs, breathing in deeply of his scent now that he was so close.

"It happened because you used me. You treated me like I was nothing more than a convenient tool." Remus gripped the chair arms, his knuckles turning white, as he pressed himself back against the chair.

"If I really thought of you as nothing more than a tool for me to use, I wouldn't feel the way that I do about you."

"And how is that?" Remus tilted his chin up proudly. "You fancy yourself in love with me? A Black enamored of a werewolf?"

"Oh, I'm afraid it's much worse than that." Sirius grinned and leaned closer until they were nearly nose to nose. "A Black is not only in love with a werewolf, but said Black wants to belong to said werewolf completely."

"What do you mean by that?" The adorable puzzled frown was back, and it was all Sirius could do to keep himself from licking the tip of Remus' nose.

"I mean that you own me," he said simply. "I belong to you."

The frown deepened, and Remus shook his head. "You're talking nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense. It's true." Sirius nuzzled his nose beneath Remus' chin, letting the dog speak to the wolf in hopes that animal instinct could communicate better than human words. "I'm yours."

Remus' breathing was rapid and shallow, but he tilted his chin up slightly to accommodate the nuzzling, a soft noise of surprised pleasure escaping his throat. "I don't understand," he said at last. "You've never been like this before. Where is all this coming from?"

"Do you remember the night a couple of weeks ago when you told me to sit down?"

"Yes."

"I did."

Remus blinked at him. "And?"

"Since when have you ever known me to do anything just because someone told me to?"

"...Ah."

"It was the voice." Sirius lifted one hand and trailed his fingertips along the length of Remus' throat. "The tone you used. I responded to it instinctively, and later, I realized the truth."

"That you belong to me."

"Yes." He met Remus' gaze steadily, his own somber and unguarded as he continued to stroke Remus' throat lightly. Remus stared back at him, wide-eyed, but not pushing him away, and Sirius took that as a good sign; if Remus were going to reject the idea -- reject Sirius -- he felt reasonably certain it would have happened by now. It might take him some time to convince Remus exactly how deeply he meant what he was saying, but at least Remus was listening.

"What does that mean exactly?"

Sirius could practically see the wheels turning in Remus' mind, and he grinned. Ever the thinker. Remus had to question and think until he understood things; he never just did anything, never rushed in headlong and damn the consequences. Not like Sirius.

"I don't know," Sirius admitted with a casual shrug. "I just know it's true. I want to please you."

"In what way?" Remus' tone was wary now, and Sirius rolled his eyes.

"This isn't just an elaborate attempt to get your trousers down, although Merlin knows I wouldn't object to that," Sirius replied, letting an edge of exasperation creep into his voice. "I don't mean I just want to please you sexually. I mean in other ways, too."

"So... if I told you to get me a fresh pot of tea, you'd do it?"

"Yes, but it's about more than just fetching tea." Sirius reached out and stroked Remus' cheek lightly, his somber expression reflecting the depth of the feelings that lay behind his words. "I want to make you happy," he whispered. "I want you to talk to me in that voice again, and I want you to make me do what you tell me to do. I want to be your good boy."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the silence between them heavy and charged. Everything hung in the balance of this moment, and Sirius knew it. If Remus refused him now, they might be friends, but they would never be lovers, and Sirius would never have what he so desperately craved. He could only hope that he'd managed to convince Remus that he was sincere.

Then something shifted in the depths of Remus' eyes, and he sat up straight, gazing at Sirius with relentless intensity.

"Prove it."

There it was -- The Voice.

A shudder rippled through Sirius' entire body, and he couldn't hold back a moan at the sound. "How?" He would have agreed to anything at that moment if it meant hearing Remus speak to him that way again.

"You touch yourself at night. I can smell it on you the morning after."

Far from being embarrassed by the thought of Remus knowing every time he brought himself off, Sirius was aroused by the thought of Remus catching a whiff across the breakfast table and knowing he'd been naked, perhaps imagining him fondling himself. He wondered if it ever aroused Remus, if his oh-so-calm friend had to grit his teeth and paste a smile on his face as he lingered at the breakfast table, waiting for his erection to die down.

"Tonight, you won't. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sirius replied immediately, sounding breathless even to his own ears.

"Good. Now go to bed."

With another little shiver -- would the sound of The Voice ever not make him quiver right down to his toes? -- Sirius rose to his feet with fluid grace and backed away. He was being tested; he knew that. But he was also being given a chance, and that was more than he'd expected so soon. Perhaps deep down, on whatever instinctual level that made Sirius want to roll over and show his belly, Remus felt the urge to take charge -- to be Sirius' master. Whatever the reason, Sirius didn't intend to question it, only obey.

"Good night, sir."

"Good night."

Sirius cast one last look over his shoulder as he left the room, hoping perhaps Remus was looking back at him, but he wasn't. Instead, he was gazing into the fire, seeming lost in thought, which wasn't terribly surprising. Sirius had given him a lot to think about and process. Smiling and feeling far more pleased and hopeful than he had in a very long time, Sirius closed the library door quietly and left Remus alone with his thoughts.

In the morning, Remus would find out that Sirius had done exactly as he had instructed, and maybe -- just maybe -- Sirius would be rewarded for being such a very good boy.

As soon as he dropped into his usual chair the next morning at breakfast, Sirius cast an expectant look across the table at Remus, whose attention was on the piece of toast he was spreading with strawberry jam. As if deliberately keeping Sirius waiting -- which he probably was, the annoying bugger, Sirius thought -- Remus did a thorough job with his toast and then meticulously sliced his sausage before glancing up at Sirius, who was still watching him closely. He breathed in deeply, scenting the air, and then gave Sirius a little smile and nod of approval. Sirius grinned broadly as he reached for the serving bowl and began heaping scrambled eggs on his plate.

His appetite hadn't been very strong since he escaped prison, and it usually didn't take much to fill him, but that morning, he felt like he had the appetite of a growing teenager again. Even Molly remarked with grudging approval about how much he ate, and he teased her playfully before bounding out of the kitchen to tend to Buckbeak. That morning, he felt as if even a dementor would have a hard time bringing his spirits down. Not only had Remus tacitly agreed to give their relationship and its new dynamic a try, but he had also acknowledged that Sirius had obeyed his instructions. And that could only mean one thing.

A reward!

Sirius didn't know what form it would take, although he certainly had his hopes, but he knew it would be forthcoming, because that's how Remus worked: positive reinforcement for positive behavior. Even back when they were in school, Remus was always the one to offer praise while they helped each other study, and Sirius had heard from Harry that Remus regularly awarded points for good work in his classroom. It only stood to reason that if Remus was so generous with his students, he would be with Sirius as well.

But the day wore on, and nothing was forthcoming. On the surface, everything seemed the same. Remus treated him with the same casual, comfortable friendship, and they each went about their little routines around the house, and at no point did Remus give a sign that things had changed between them. At first, Sirius was impatient, and then he was puzzled, and by the time evening rolled around, he was annoyed.

How could Remus act as if nothing had changed? Sirius had offered himself, for Merlin's sake. That meant something! And where the bloody hell was his reward for obeying? He'd been randier than he'd been in longer than he could remember last night, yet he hadn't given in to the need to bring himself off. He deserved something for that!

Flinging the library door open, he stormed in to find Remus sitting in his chair as usual, as calm as you please. He didn't even look up from his book when Sirius barged in, and that sent Sirius from annoyed straight to angry. He was about to open his mouth and demand to know what kind of game Remus was playing with him when Remus closed his book and looked up.

"Go to your room."

Sirius gaped at him, not quite sure he'd heard what he thought he heard. "But I--"

"You heard what I said. Go to your room."

In spite of The Voice, Sirius shook his head, anger fading into confusion. What was going on? Why was he being sent away? Why was Remus punishing him when he'd done as he'd been told? "No, I--"

Remus' expression darkened then, and his voice turned low and dangerous. "Don't make me tell you again."

Oh, shit.

Sirius whirled, but before he could make his escape, Remus' voice reached him once more.

"Once you're there, undress completely and lie down on the bed."

He stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder, but Remus appeared engrossed in his book again. Grinning, Sirius strolled out of the library and headed to his bedroom, smugly satisfied now that he knew he was going to have his reward after all. He was foolish to have doubted; Remus was just making him wait to heighten the anticipation, that was all.

Once he was in the privacy of his own chambers, he stripped quickly and leapt onto the bed; stretching out, he reclined against the pillows and tried to decide which pose would be most striking and enticing once Remus walked in. In the end, he decided that lying on his back with one hand behind his head and one knee bent was the sexiest, showing off the long lines of his body and his rather generous endowments all at the same time.

But the minutes passed, and Remus didn't come. Sirius' arm went to sleep, and he shook it out and then rolled onto his side, tucking a pillow under his head as he stared at the door, as if doing so would make Remus materialize somehow. Curling in on himself slightly, he closed his eyes after a while and released a quiet sigh, the warmth of the room and the lateness of the hour making him drowsy.

He felt as if he'd just dozed off when he heard the door creak on its hinges; his eyes flew open, and he lifted his head to see Remus enter and close the door behind himself, gesturing for Sirius to lie down again. He did, sleepily watching Remus approach; Remus sat down at the foot of the bed and watched Sirius silently in return for a moment, and when he did speak, his voice was soft and husky.

"I'm very proud of you," he said, and Sirius felt a little glow in his stomach at the praise. "Such obedience deserves a reward."

Sirius perked up with interest at that. What was it to be? Would Remus touch him? Would Remus let him touch?

Pulling out his wand, Remus tapped Sirius' palm lightly and murmured a spell, and Sirius immediately felt something cool and slick in his hand. "You may bring yourself off now."

For the second time that evening, Sirius gaped at him. He was meant to wank in front of Remus?

He thought about it for a moment, and an evil smile curved his lips.

He was meant to wank in front of Remus.

"Thank you," he said, trying to sound meek, but the snort Remus gave in response told him how well that worked.

He rolled onto his back and curled his fingers around his cock, which had begun showing signs of interest the moment Remus stepped into the room; it didn't take long to bring himself to full hardness, not while Remus was sitting there at the foot of his bed, watching as if mesmerized. As Sirius stroked himself slowly, Remus stared, his lips parted slightly, and every so often, his tongue darted out to lick them, making them glisten in the warm glow of the firelight. Sirius imagined what those wet lips would feel like moving on his cock, and he groaned, his hips bucking convulsively at the mere thought.

Spreading his legs wider, he cupped his balls in his other hand, massaging them the way he liked as much for his own pleasure as to show Remus for future reference. He'd never done this before, never wanked to an audience, but he didn't feel embarrassed; it was Remus, after all, and he didn't want to hide anything from Remus anymore. On the contrary, he wanted to make sure that if Remus didn't have any intention of fucking him through the mattress that night, Remus would at least have to go back to his solitary room and have a quick wank himself before sleep was even a remote possibility for him.

Moaning, he arched his back off the bed as he sped up the pace of his stroking hand, giving in to the need to rock his hips and thrusting into his fist harder and faster. He rolled his head back and forth on the pillow and cried out as he moved his other hand lower and massaged just beneath his balls, pressing firmly.

"Drama queen," Remus muttered, but his voice was thick with desire, and Sirius forced himself not to smirk.

Instead, he focused on his own swiftly peaking pleasure and on Remus' face, on the adorable flush in Remus' cheeks and the heated glitter in his eyes as he gazed hungrily at Sirius, seeming to drink in every slight movement. He imagined that at any moment, Remus' control would snap, and he would pounce on Sirius, overcome with desperate need. He imagined Remus pounding into him, taking him, claiming him...

Only a few more swift strokes of his fist, and with a wordless cry, he came, his hips snapping up as he spilled on his hand and stomach. Panting, he collapsed and released his cock, letting his legs remained splayed wantonly as he gazed at Remus through half-lidded eyes. He could practically feel the heat of Remus' gaze searing him, and he gave Remus his best "come hither" smile, hoping he could tempt Remus into lowering the walls, even if only a little bit.

With a predatory gleam in his eyes, Remus rolled gracefully off the bed and moved closer to the head; Sirius' breath caught in his throat with anticipation -- and then Remus bent and dragged his tongue along Sirius' stomach, lapping up the cooling fluid spattered on his skin. With a soft cry, Sirius arched his back, pushing his body up to meet Remus' mouth in a silent plea for more; desire coiled in his belly, spreading tendrils of fiery need outward until even his spent cock made the effort to twitch with renewed interest.

Only when he had licked Sirius clean did Remus straighten again, licking his lips as he reached out to smooth Sirius' sweat-soaked hair back from his face. "Perfect," he murmured.

Sirius didn't know if Remus was referring to the wanking or the little taste of him, but it didn't matter; he leaned into the caresses, feeling sated in both body and heart as Remus kissed his forehead and bade him a quiet good night. After Remus slipped from the room, Sirius dragged himself out of bed to freshen up and turn back the covers; once he was snuggled under the blankets, sleep wasn't long in coming, and for once, it was deep and dreamless.

The next few days passed peacefully as Sirius and Remus fell into an easy pattern. During the day, life went on as it always did before; other than an occasional exchange of looks or touches, they didn't let anyone know that they were gradually making the shift from friends to lovers, and Remus didn't use The Voice. Sirius wasn't in any hurry; their romance was new, and they were still trying to sort things out. Becoming a publicly acknowledged couple would only add outside pressure, and they didn't need that right now. Sirius didn't particularly want it, either. As long as they were outwardly just friends, their relationship would be theirs and theirs alone, and he wasn't ready to share yet.

During the day, they treated each other as they always had: old friends who had their own short-hand language, and who were comfortable together. Two old friends who were caught up in another war, who had scores to settle and business to attend to that could tear them apart. Sirius was still wanted, and Remus often went out at Dumbledore's bidding, but they did what they had to do, because there was a greater purpose to serve.

But night time was their time. When darkness fell, when dinner was over and the dishes cleared away, and everyone gone or settled for the evening, they put everything else aside. The library was their sanctuary, where all other considerations disappeared, and Remus spoke to Sirius with The Voice while Sirius knelt at his feet and thought only of obedience to his master. Sirius loved the night, loved the library. It was theirs and theirs alone, and only there did he feel safe, fully connected to Remus, and truly like himself.

The night following his reward, Sirius leaned against Remus' leg as usual, but this time, Remus patted his thigh, silently inviting Sirius to rest his head in Remus' lap, and Sirius didn't need to be asked twice. Curling one arm around Remus' legs, he pillowed his cheek on Remus' thigh, sighing with contentment when Remus began stroking his hair. He considered trying to find a subtle way of getting his hand or mouth on Remus' cock, but really, there was no subtle way to go about it. Remus would figure out what he was leading up to, and he didn't want to get in trouble for attempting something that Remus hadn't given him permission to do yet.

Other than kissing his forehead or cheek while saying good night, Remus didn't show any signs of increasing their intimacy for the next few nights. He let Sirius practically crawl in his lap, but that was the extent of it, and by the fourth night, Sirius had grown increasingly dissatisfied by the lack of progress. When Remus kissed his cheek, he wanted to turn his head and capture Remus' mouth, but he didn't; he had started the game, but they were playing by Remus' rules, and he knew it. He also knew Remus well enough to know that pushing would gain him nothing except a quick escort to the other side of that damned wall.

Frustrated and randy, he returned to his room alone -- again -- and undressed impatiently. If he couldn't seek relief with Remus, at least he could give it to himself, and he did; he came quickly, remembering the way Remus had watched him so intently and the feel of Remus' tongue lapping at his skin. Relaxed in the aftermath, he drifted off, ignoring the empty little ache in the pit of his stomach that quietly longed for Remus' touch.

He felt better in the morning; wanking away his pent-up energy had done him good, and he reminded himself that their progress may be slow, but it was happening. Eventually, Remus would invite Sirius to his bed; it was, he felt, no longer a question of if, but when, and that was a comforting thought.

When he sat down at the table, however, his good mood dissipated at the sight of the displeased frown Remus gave him. He wanted to ask what was wrong then and there, but he had a feeling he knew already. He also had a feeling that Remus wouldn't address it until that night, and he was right. He went through the entire day fighting the urge to hover over Remus and offer a string of apologies, but he forced himself to put all that aside and carry on as usual. By the time he went to the library that night, he was ready to fling himself at Remus' feet and beg for forgiveness; not only had Remus' displeasure torn him up inside, but the knowledge that he'd been disobedient ate at him as well.

As soon as he arrived, he knelt and pressed his forehead to the floor, not daring to touch Remus yet. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, wanting to break the chilly silence.

"Why are you sorry?" Remus' voice was calm, yet it made the bottom of Sirius' stomach fall out.

"I -- You didn't give me permission to touch myself."

"No. I didn't." Remus reached down and cupped Sirius' chin in his fingers, lifting it, and Sirius reluctantly looked up. "I'm disappointed in you," Remus continued, his voice still calm and pleasant, and that made it so very much worse than if he'd yelled and been angry. "I wonder if you truly understand what it means to belong to someone."

"I do!" He sat up and clutched Remus' knees. "I do understand, and I want to belong to you. It was a mistake, and I'm sorry. I just -- I was craving your touch so badly, and I needed release. It won't happen again, I promise."

Nodding, Remus released his chin and stroked his cheek, and Sirius leaned into the touch, needing the contact more than he could express in mere words. "You're still learning, and so am I. I should have been more explicit in my instructions. Thus I'm not going to punish you harshly."

Sirius sagged with relief. "Thank you, sir."

"You may not spend tonight or tomorrow night with me in the library. From now on, you will refrain from masturbating unless I give you permission. Your pleasure will come from me, dictated by my will alone. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Remus smiled, his eyes full of affection as he looked at Sirius. "My good boy," he murmured, sifting his fingers gently through Sirius' hair, and Sirius returned the smile with one of his own, those words of praise meaning far more to him than any compliments or praise he'd ever heard before. Leaning over, Remus pressed a lingering kiss to Sirius' forehead, and Sirius closed his eyes, savoring it, knowing it would be the last he received for two full days. "Now go to your room. I'll see you in the morning."

The next two days seemed like an eternity. It wasn't so bad during the day; Remus didn't avoid him, after all, and they still spent time together and talked. Remus was as friendly with Sirius as he always was, but it wasn't nearly enough.

On the third night, when his punishment ended, he couldn't get to the library quickly enough; in fact, he arrived before Remus did, and he paced impatiently in front of the fireplace, silently urging Remus to hurry. When the door opened and Remus walked in, Sirius loped over to meet him, not bothering to hide his exuberance. Smiling, Remus held out his arms, and Sirius flung himself into the embrace.

"I missed you," he said, and he felt rather than heard Remus chuckle.

"You saw quite a bit of me both days."

"It wasn't the same. It wasn't this."

"What do you mean?" Remus pulled back enough so he could look at Sirius, his expression questioning. "Are you ready for our relationship to be public so we can touch like this?"

"No, it isn't that. I want you to myself right now." He lifted his hand and rested it against Remus' cheek, his gaze open and unguarded. "I missed my master."

Remus looked startled for a moment, but then he reached up and covered Sirius' hand with his own. "Your master missed you as well," he said softly. "I trust this means you'll behave yourself so that I don't have to punish you like this again?"

"I plan to be good," Sirius replied, grinning mischievously. "Very, very good."

Laughing quietly, Remus twined their fingers and led Sirius to the fireplace, and then released his hand. "I want you to undress now."

Barely had the words left Remus' mouth before Sirius was unfastening his robes, casting curious glances at Remus as he pulled out his wand. A swish, and the library door locked. Another, and a soft, wooly rug appeared in front of the hearth along with a plush pillow. Sirius felt his heart begin to pound against the walls of his chest, and he couldn't get out of his clothes fast enough. Was Remus going to fuck him at last? Or did Remus want to watch him again?

Putting his wand aside, Remus gestured to the rug. "Lie down."

Sirius complied immediately and without question, determined to be on his best behavior. He stretched out on his back and settled the pillow under his head, watching Remus with growing curiosity -- and growing arousal. Kneeling beside him, Remus rested his hands on Sirius' shoulders and smoothed his flattened palms down the length of Sirius' chest, and Sirius gasped, his body arching up to meet the slow caress.

"You said you craved my touch." Remus ran his hands back up to Sirius' shoulders just as slowly, covering more skin this time, as if trying to memorize every nuance through touch alone. "It's remiss of me as your master to neglect you in such a way."

"You take very good care of me." Sirius tried to remember how to breathe as Remus' hands roamed his body, exploring so slowly and tenderly, those long and graceful fingers pressing here and brushing there, mapping out his pleasure spots thoroughly.

"I want to."

Remus bent and pressed a kiss between his nipples before resuming his exploration, and Sirius stared up at him, amazed by what he saw in Remus' face. He forgot that prison had ravaged his face and body; looking at Remus looking at him, he felt attractive again, and it made him want to surrender even more.

And then Remus wrapped his hand around the base of Sirius' cock and bent to draw the head into his mouth, and Sirius cried out, his body instantly going taut, his muscles quivering as his hands clawed at the rug. Remus' other hand crept down to his balls, massaging just the way Sirius had done, showing him that Remus had indeed been watching and learning, and he shifted his leg to give Remus better access.

Remus swirled his tongue around the head, gathering fluid and moaning softly at the taste, and explored the slit before drawing Sirius' cock deeper into his mouth; Sirius lifted his hips, seeking out that warm, wet haven, and he reached out to bury his fingers in Remus' hair, needing the contact. His arousal was building swiftly, accelerated by the giddy thought that this was real -- Remus really did have his mouth on Sirius' cock. It wasn't a dream, he wasn't going to wake up alone and painfully hard -- he was going to come in Remus' mouth -- after yearning for so long, it was happening -- his Remus' mouth -- and then his orgasm hit, and he cried out as he came, his hips surging up as Remus swallowed eagerly, lapping up every last drop until Sirius collapsed on the rug, spent and exhausted.

Stretching out on his side next to Sirius, Remus propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down into Sirius' face, smiling as he gently finger-combed through Sirius' hair, smoothing it back. "Does that sate your craving?"

"A little," he replied, trying to look and sound disingenuous. "But you know, I've had that craving for a very long time."

Remus laughed and shook his head. "Incorrigible."

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

"Most definitely not."

The Taming of Sirius Black 2/2

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 04:59:31 GMT

That night, Sirius lay awake, remembering his master's touch. Closing his eyes, he imagined he could feel Remus' hands on his body again, and he savored the memories, already eager for the next time. But as much as he'd enjoyed it, there was still something missing. Two things, actually: Remus had yet to kiss him, and Remus had yet to let Sirius touch him.

Remus had seen him laid utterly bare, yet Sirius hadn't been given a peek at anything more intimate than Remus' ankle. Casting his mind back to their days at school, he realized that he had never seen Remus fully undressed -- something he'd never consciously been aware of before now. But thinking back, it struck him that he'd seen James and Peter wander around the dorm room in various states of undress just as he had done himself, and the three of them had showered together; he'd somehow managed to paint Remus in that picture as well, but he hadn't been. For the first four years, Remus had gone to shower only after his dorm mates had returned, and during fifth and sixth year, he'd used the Prefects' bathroom. Seventh year, he'd returned to using the regular bathroom, but still, he staggered it so that he wasn't in there at the same time as anyone else.

Sirius also remembered how slowly he'd had to proceed with his shy wolf, but he hadn't minded; seeing the wide-eyed wonderment in Remus' face as Sirius taught him how to kiss had made the effort worthwhile. That gradual pace was the reason they'd never made it as far as being lovers before The Prank, and Remus was apparently still a slow mover. Considering Remus' lack of shyness about sucking him, he didn't think inexperience was the reason behind it at this point; indeed, when it came to pleasing Sirius, Remus seemed to have few inhibitions. When it came to his own pleasure, however, things ground to a screeching halt.

Sirius clenched his hands on the back of Remus' sweater as he rocked his hips, his erection rubbing against Remus' thigh that was nestled so snugly between Sirius' legs; he felt Remus' mouth close on his neck, sucking hard, and he cried out as the sweet friction carried him over the edge, and he came, clutching Remus tightly.

Tucking Remus securely under his chin, he sighed with sated contentment and rubbed Remus' back as he relaxed in the aftermath. But he could feel Remus' erection pressed against his leg, and he slipped his hands beneath Remus' sweater, caressing the warm bare skin beneath; Remus' entire body went tense, and he squirmed in Sirius' embrace as Sirius began easing the sweater up.

"Sirius, no." Remus' voice was soft but firm. "Practice will be over soon. James--"

"James will shower and change clothes first, and then he'll probably meet up with Lily. He won't be back until after dinner."

"What about Peter? You know it won't take him until dinner to finish his research." As he spoke, Remus pulled away and rolled off the bed, straightening his clothes, and Sirius watched with fond amusement, ascribing Remus' refusal to not wanting to face the inevitable teasing from their friends if they were caught. He would simply have to make it up to Remus next time.

But the next time had never come, and now Remus was exhibiting the same reluctance as he had so many years ago. A stubborn little frown formed between Sirius' eyebrows as he burrowed under his covers. He was determined to find out what was behind Remus' behavior and put an end to it, whatever it was. He wasn't about to spend the rest of their lives without ever being allowed to see or touch Remus or to give him pleasure; that would be unfair to both of them.

When he entered the library the following night, he found Remus settled in his usual chair, reading. Remus glanced up and smiled as he approached, and he smiled back, trying to look innocuous, as if nothing was going to be any different from any other night. He knelt and rested his head in Remus' lap, relaxing as Remus stroked his hair soothingly, but not so much that he forgot his plans for the evening.

He began slowly, draping his arm across Remus' legs and leaving it there for a few minutes; when he was certain Remus was fully engrossed in his book, he shifted his arm and rested his hand on Remus' thigh, gradually sliding it up to his hip. There he stopped, waiting to see if the move would be accepted or rejected, but nothing happened. Smiling, he relaxed for a few more minutes, rubbing his thumb back and forth against Remus' hipbone through his jeans.

Since the subtle attempts had worked, Sirius decided it was time for a bolder move, and he began nuzzling his cheek against Remus' thigh, slowly moving it up until it rested against Remus' crotch -- and that got Remus' attention.

"What do you think you're doing?" Remus sounded stern, but not annoyed, and Sirius looked up at him with his best winning smile.

"I want to please you," he said. "And this time, I do mean sexually."

"Sirius--"

"Please." Sirius pressed his cheek against Remus' stomach, his fingers tightening on Remus' hip. "You've taken such good care of me. Let me take care of you now."

Remus didn't answer right away, and when he did, Sirius thought he heard an undercurrent of nervousness in his voice. "What do you want to do?"

Dear Merlin, but that was a loaded question! What didn't he want to do might be more accurate. But he knew he couldn't rush into anything, not when he felt Remus already growing tense, and they hadn't even done anything yet. "May I touch you? Please?"

Another long silence, and then softly, "Yes."

He wanted to dive right in -- to unfasten Remus' fly and free his cock then and there -- but instead, he sat up and moved to kneel between Remus' knees, caressing Remus' thighs as he leaned in to nuzzle kisses along Remus' jawline. He considered trying to initiate a kiss, but he'd been given one large privilege, and he didn't want to risk ruining it by pushing for another. Instead, he focused on Remus' neck, kissing and nipping lightly as he mapped out all the little places that made Remus' breath catch, still kneading Remus' firm thighs.

It wasn't long before he felt the tension drain away enough for Remus to start responding, wrapping his arms around Sirius' shoulders as he tilted his head to one side, giving Sirius better access to his neck and ear. Soft noises of pleasure rose in his throat, and he sank back in the chair, drawing Sirius down with him. Smiling against his skin, Sirius breathed in deeply, inhaling the warm, musky scent that was uniquely Remus'; he'd missed it, and now he wanted to wallow in it until it covered him. As he continued trailing kisses along Remus' neck, he slid his hand up to the buttons of Remus' jeans and unfastened the first one, pausing when he felt Remus tighten again.

"Sirius..."

"Please." Sirius brushed a kiss against Remus' ear, making him shiver. "Put yourself in my hands tonight."

Remus didn't answer aloud, but he lifted one hand and rested it on the back of Sirius' head, combing through his hair gently, and Sirius took that as permission to continue, unfastening the rest of the buttons quickly before Remus could change his mind. Pushing the fabric aside, he carefully worked Remus' cock free of his jeans and underpants, unable to keep from moaning at the feel of the warm, firm flesh in his hand at long last. It was thick rather than long, and Sirius shivered at the delicious thought of feeling it buried inside him, stretching and filling him.

He spat in his palm and then curled his hand around Remus' cock again, stroking it slowly; Remus' fingers tightened in his hair, his other hand clutching at Sirius' back as Sirius closed his mouth over a particularly sensitive spot beneath his ear, licking and sucking it with eager hunger. With a choked little cry, Remus let his legs fall open as Sirius fisted his cock, deliberately brushing his thumb across the head to tease him, and his body began to tighten again, but for an entirely different reason.

"That's it," Sirius murmured against his ear. "You can let go. You're safe with me."

As he began pumping his fist faster, Sirius lifted his head, wanting to see Remus' pleasure; as many times as he'd fantasized about sex with Remus, he'd never seen Remus in the throes of an orgasm before, and he wasn't about to miss it. Remus' eyes were closed, his head thrown back slightly, and his lips were parted as he panted for breath, his bottom lip bitten until it was rosy and swollen; his fair skin was flushed, the glowing blush making him look younger -- an innocent debauched -- and Sirius didn't think he'd ever seen anything more beautiful.

Hooking one leg around Sirius' hips, Remus arched his back, his body quivering as he hovered on the edge, and then, with a sudden, sharp cry, he came, his hips surging up against Sirius' fist. Moaning with pleasure, Sirius released Remus' cock and lifted his hand to his mouth, greedily licking it clean while Remus sagged in his chair and watched through half-lidded eyes, his breath still shallow and ragged in the aftermath of his release.

Only when he was certain he had got every drop did he reach for his wand to clean Remus up before tucking him back in and refastening his jeans, tending to him with diligent care. Smiling with pleased satisfaction, he knelt at Remus' feet again and wrapped his arms around Remus' leg.

"Thank you," he said, rubbing his cheek against Remus' knee. "It gave me so much pleasure to do that. I want to make you happy."

"You do make me happy."

"You certainly looked happy when you were coming," Sirius replied, grinning, unable to resist the urge to tease a little.

Remus' cheeks grew flushed again, and he glanced away. "I enjoyed it," he said tersely, and Sirius sat up straight, peering into Remus' face.

"Why wouldn't you ever let me do it before?"

"It's always been easier for me to give pleasure than to receive it."

"Why?" Sirius slid his arms around Remus' waist, troubled by the answers he was getting and instinctively wanting to offer whatever comfort he could, and Remus reached out to rub his back, falling silent for a minute or two before answering the question.

"Because I'm scarred, and those scars are a visible reminder of what I am. No one can look at them and pretend that I'm a normal human like anyone else -- not even me."

The pieces fell into place then, and Sirius nodded, finally understanding the reason behind his reticence then and now. "It doesn't matter," he said, his voice firm and sure. "I don't care that you aren't human. I've never cared. You're my master, and I belong to you. I want to see you -- all of you -- and I want to give you pleasure in any way I can."

"You've given me so much already," Remus murmured, gazing down at Sirius with the same wonderment Sirius had seen twenty years ago after their first kiss. "My good boy."

Sirius basked in the warmth of those words, and he tightened his arms around Remus, burying his face against Remus' stomach and releasing a happy sigh. "It's only going to get better from here."

And it did get better. The number of nights when they did nothing but talk, or Remus simply read dwindled to no more than two or three in a row, and then one or two, and after a while, even just keeping their hands off each other long enough to get through the day seemed like too much to ask. As soon as they were alone in the library, Remus locked the door, and the fun began.

Sirius learnt quite a bit about his old friend in the process. If he'd known how well Remus could use his tongue, he would have tried to seduce him much sooner. He still shivered at the memory of the night when Remus ordered him to strip and bend over the arm of the sofa, and then proceeded to give him the most thorough rimming of his life. By the time Remus began tongue-fucking him, he was begging for release. By the time Remus began finger-fucking him, brushing against his prostate with each thrust, he was incoherent and utterly convinced that he would go mad unless Remus let him come soon. Remus, however, had only laughed wickedly and continued the exquisite torture until he was ready to show mercy.

At first, if Sirius wanted to touch Remus, he had to ask. As much as Sirius would have loved it if Remus had grabbed his hair and forced him to his knees, Remus never instructed Sirius to give him pleasure. He didn't refuse when Sirius asked for the privilege, but he didn't initiate it either, and Sirius began asking more often, wanting Remus to realize that Sirius enjoyed pleasing him, and that it would be more than all right if Remus did ask, as far as Sirius was concerned.

Gradually, Remus began to show less tension when Sirius asked, his reluctance fading into a shy willingness that Sirius found endearing. The sight of his master, a blush staining his cheeks even as he spoke in The Voice, was cute. There was no other word for it, although he decided it was wiser not to say so to Remus.

The turning point came unexpectedly. It was broad daylight, and they were going back upstairs after lunch. Remus had shown no signs of being exceptionally randy that day, but when they reached the turn in the staircase between the first and second floors, he grabbed Sirius and pushed him against the wall, leaning close to growl, "suck me right now" in his ear.

Sirius allowed himself to boggle for a millisecond before dropping to his knees and scrambling to free Remus' cock before Remus could have second thoughts. But Remus fisted his hands in Sirius' hair and bit his lip to keep from making any noise as he thrust slowly into Sirius' mouth, and Sirius clutched Remus' hips and worked Remus' cock with his tongue eagerly.

His rational mind knew that Remus had probably chosen this spot because they could hear anyone approaching from above or below in plenty of time to stop, but at the same time, the possibility that they might be caught excited him almost as much as the fact that Remus had finally initiated something for his own pleasure instead of Sirius'. His wicked werewolf was full of surprises, and he loved every one of them.

There were days when Remus had to leave, mostly because Dumbledore had something for him to do, and Sirius always felt out of sorts on those days, retreating to spend the long hours with Buckbeak. Molly called it sulking, and maybe it was a little. He envied Remus the freedom to leave the house whenever he pleased, and being separated from Remus brought into sharp focus how trapped he was. Under different circumstances, he might have been able to go with Remus, but instead, he was stuck at home, waiting and hoping nothing happened.

On those nights, Remus sought him out, cuddling him until he shook off his mood, and they talked about how it would be in the future when the war was over, and Sirius' name was cleared. Sirius told Remus about all the places he wanted them to visit together, and how they would sell this moldy, crumbling ruin and buy a house in the country with enough land that they could run free together on the night of the full moon. He would hire someone to brew the wolfsbane for Remus -- someone who was not Snivellus -- and Harry could live with them for as long as he wanted, and they would be happy together as a little family.

Remus always listened quietly, holding Sirius close and letting him talk himself out, and when he fell silent at last, Remus kissed his temple and said, "We'll be very happy when that happens, but I'm happy now, too."

On those nights, Remus always accompanied Sirius back to his room and undressed Sirius with gentle, loving hands, giving Sirius pleasure with either his hand or his mouth before tucking him into bed and crawling beneath the covers with him. Sirius woke up alone, but he had the memory of falling asleep in Remus' arms.

Every day seemed to bring more progress, and every day, he felt closer to Remus, feeling Remus' ownership more keenly. It was no longer an abstract desire; it was his reality, and he relished it. Sometimes, he misbehaved in little ways on purpose, such as interrupting Remus' reading in order to earn a spanking, a punishment which they both knew was no punishment. In truth, Remus placed few restrictions on him, and those were the ones that Sirius obeyed; he knew if he broke any of those rules, he would receive a real punishment, and Remus knew him all too well, knew exactly what buttons to push to make the punishment unpleasant.

Inevitably, however, the time came when Remus was assigned a mission that would take him away for several days, possibly as long as a week, but no longer than that, because the full moon was nearing. He was taking a week's worth of the Wolfsbane that Snape had brewed for him ahead of time just in case, the little portable cauldron spelled to keep the potion warm. Remus went about preparing for the journey with his usual calmness, but Sirius moped, not only because he couldn't go, but also because he dreaded being separated from Remus for so long.

"I'll be home as soon as I can," Remus said, rubbing Sirius' back soothingly as they lay entwined in front of the fire in the library, enjoying their last night together before Remus' departure.

Remus had instructed Sirius to strip as soon as Sirius arrived and then conjured a soft rug for them again where he covered Sirius' body with kisses, licks, and nibbles before finally taking Sirius' cock into his mouth. Afterward, Sirius nestled as close as possible, one arm flung across Remus' stomach as he relaxed, warm and sated.

"I know." Sirius buried his nose against Remus' neck. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too." Remus fell silent for a moment, trailing his fingertips along Sirius' spine. When he spoke again, his tone was one of studied casualness. "This will be the longest we've been away from each other since we've been together, and I've been trying to think of ways to make tonight memorable."

Sirius lifted his head, instantly interested and curious. "Have you?"

Nodding, Remus nudged him, a silent hint for him to move, and Sirius rolled away from him and sat cross-legged on the rug, watching with alert anticipation for what was to come next. He could practically see Remus bracing himself as he sat up and moved to sit facing Sirius, and that only intrigued Sirius even more. But his curiosity changed to surprise and then overwhelmed delight when Remus reached for the hem of his threadbare sweater and began pulling it up and off.

Tucking his hands beneath his legs to keep himself from reaching out to touch before he was given permission, Sirius stared avidly at each new expanse of skin that was uncovered as Remus removed the garment and then tossed it aside. Raking his fingers through his hair to settle it, Remus smiled uncertainly at Sirius, a deep vulnerability in his eyes. Sirius didn't have to ask why; with anyone else, taking off a shirt or sweater in front of another person was, for the most part, a simple matter, but for Remus, it was different.

There were two sets of claw marks, one on his chest and the other on his stomach, and a bite mark on his left shoulder; the scars were raised, and nothing short of a glamour would make them unnoticeable. Remus was right: looking at them, it was impossible to ignore that he had survived a vicious attack and was a werewolf himself. But far from being repulsed, Sirius wanted to show that he'd meant what he said. He understood that Remus was revealing more than just a bit of skin; Sirius was being gifted with a level of closeness to Remus that no one else had ever had, and he wanted to show proper appreciation.

"May I touch?" he asked, and when Remus nodded, he reached out to guide Remus down onto the rug again; Remus let him, stretching out on his back and looking up at Sirius with a more open, unguarded expression than Sirius had ever seen before.

Stretching out on his side next to Remus, he swept his gaze along Remus' torso, taking in the details beyond the scars. Although he didn't look underfed anymore thanks to Molly, he was still thin, the bump of his ribs just visible; Sirius thought they could both stand to gain a bit more weight, and he fully intended to see to it that they did once they were free to enjoy a comfortable life of leisure. In contrast to Sirius' own smooth chest, Remus' had a generous dusting of dark brown hair, and Sirius bent his head to nuzzle his cheek against it, enjoying the feel of it rasping against his skin and of the little lift of Remus' chest as he gasped softly at the affection.

Lifting his head again, Sirius traced the thick scars on Remus' stomach with his fingertips, his touch light, almost reverent; he felt Remus' muscles tighten and quiver in response, but he continued his slow exploration, tracing each one until he had touched all of them. Remus' breathing had quickened, and then it grew ragged as Sirius bent to follow up the path of his fingers with his lips and tongue, bestowing tender licks and kisses along the length of each scar.

He felt Remus' arms around him, felt Remus' fingers digging into his back, felt Remus' chest hitching, but he kept his focus on paying homage to the evidence of Remus' old wounds. The scars were, after all, the price Remus had paid for survival, and Sirius was grateful for them.

Only when he had finished did he look at Remus' face again, shocked to see a tell-tale streak running from the corner of his eye to his hairline gleaming in the firelight; crooning softly, he licked it away with gentle laps, the tang of salt strong on his tongue, and barely had he finished when Remus tightened his arms around him and abruptly rolled them both over until Sirius was beneath him.

"My Sirius," he whispered, caressing Sirius' cheek. "My good boy."

And then Remus kissed him. Sirius gasped, momentarily stunned, but then he flung his arms around Remus, pulling him down close, and Remus let him, stretching out half on top of Sirius, his leg nestling between Sirius' thighs as he claimed Sirius' mouth. Plunging his fingers into Remus' hair, Sirius parted his lips eagerly and met Remus' tongue with his own, coaxing it deeper as Remus began to taste and explore. Moaning, he stroked and sucked Remus' tongue, surrendering his mouth completely and answering Remus' fierce hunger with his own. He wanted Remus to take him, to claim him, to devour him whole -- whatever his master wanted.

Draping his leg over Remus', he arched his back and rubbed his bare chest against Remus', reveling in the sensual delight of skin on skin; the pleasure was overwhelming, intoxicating enough for him to feel light-headed as the kiss continued. Remus drew Sirius' bottom lip into his mouth and sucked it before slowly releasing it and breaking the kiss, gazing down at him with eyes wide and dark with arousal.

Sirius reached up and framed Remus' face in both hands. "Yours," he whispered.

"Yes. Mine." Remus kissed him again, lightly this time, and then rolled away from him, reaching for his sweater. "And I'll be back to claim you as soon as possible."

Sirius knelt on the cold hardwood floor of his bedroom, silently damning himself, then Molly Weasley and her big mouth, then Snape, and then himself again. He could have been waiting for Remus to come and fuck him through the mattress, but instead, he was waiting for Remus to come and punish him -- and not in the fun "naughty boys deserve a spanking" way, either.

His mind drifted back to the morning of Remus' departure nearly a week before. Remus left before dawn, but Sirius got up to see him off properly, for which Remus showed his appreciation with a deep, breath-stealing, possessive kiss right there in the entrance hall.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Remus whispered, trying to avoid waking Mrs. Black's portrait. "If you're good while I'm gone, I'll give you a very special reward when I return."

Sirius lit up with anticipation at that. "You'll fuck me?" he breathed, scarcely daring to hope it was true.

Remus pushed himself up on his toes and growled in Sirius' ear. "All the way through the mattress to the floor beneath."

"Oh, Merlin..." Sirius felt his knees in danger of giving way, and he slumped against the wall, already growing hard just thinking about it.

Chuckling, Remus nuzzled Sirius' cheek and then smiled affectionately at him. "Wank all you like while I'm away. But I'm going to add one more rule."

"What's that?"

Remus' expression turned somber as he gazed up at Sirius. "There may be an Order meeting while I'm gone. If there is, behave yourself with Severus. Don't start anything with him, and if he starts something, don't finish it. We can't afford to antagonize him right now. Harry needs those Occlumency lessons, and you know Severus is capable of withholding them out of sheer spite if you make him angry enough."

"I'll behave," he said blithely. "I promise."

But he hadn't behaved. The Order meeting had been convened, and afterwards, Snape provoked him with snide remarks about house-trained mutts and lazy sods who sat around and did nothing while others risked their lives. At first, Sirius tried to ignore him, but after being separated from Remus for nearly a week, he was edgy and cranky. Wanking helped, but it wasn't the same as feeling Remus' hands or mouth on him, and he missed his master. He felt lonely and adrift without Remus, and his tolerance level was low.

Snape pushed, Sirius snapped, and Molly bore witness to the entire scene.

Sirius hoped she would exercise some tact and discretion for once and not mention it to Remus, especially when Remus arrived, full of smiles and kisses and clearly happy to see Sirius again. The first moment they had alone together, Remus hauled Sirius into his arms and kissed him like a starving man at a banquet; Sirius moaned into his mouth and clung to him, his pleasure at the embrace marred by the little niggle in the back of his mind reminding him that he'd disobeyed a rule.

It wasn't as if Remus gave him an endless list of rules and expected him to remember and obey all of them. There were exactly three rules that Remus set down for him, and breaking one of them was the only thing that would earn him a real punishment: he wasn't allowed to wank without permission, he wasn't allowed to address Remus by name while they were alone and in their master/good boy roles, and he wasn't allowed to even think about leaving the house without telling Remus first. Of the three, only the last offered any temptation to break it, but he'd managed to resist so far. Then Remus had given him the rule about behaving himself around Severus, and he'd broken it.

And Molly told Remus all about it over dinner.

Sirius fought the urge to slide out of his chair and under the table when Remus looked at him; outwardly, he appeared calm, but Sirius could see the displeasure in his eyes, and he knew there would be no fucking through the mattress that night.

After dinner, Remus walked past his chair and whispered, "Go to your room and wait for me there." His voice was cold with an undercurrent of anger, and Sirius nodded and gazed down at his mostly untouched plate of food, dreading the punishment.

Pushing back his chair, he went upstairs, dragging his feet as if dawdling would help put off the inevitable, and he knelt on the floor and began to wait. The longer he waited, the more he began to worry that the punishment would be something worse than Remus refusing to let Sirius spend time in the library with him for a few days. What if Remus decided that it wasn't worth the effort anymore, because Sirius disobeyed him the moment his back was turned? What if Remus left him?

After half an hour, Remus finally arrived, and after having all that time to fret and wonder, Sirius had to force himself not to throw himself at Remus' feet and beg for a second chance. Instead, he watched as Remus closed and locked the door behind himself and then approached. It wasn't helping that the stern expression and predatory stalk were sexy as hell, and Sirius was suddenly finding arousal mingled with dread as he gazed up at Remus.

It also wasn't helping that Remus was wearing all black: black trousers, a black long-sleeved shirt that he had left unbuttoned, and his feet were bare. Sirius had never seen him wear all black before, but by Merlin, he would try to find a way to see it again if their relationship survived the night.

Frowning down at Sirius, Remus circled him slowly and then stopped in front of him. "What was the one additional rule I gave you before I left?"

"To behave myself with Snape," Sirius replied, and then he opened his mouth to offer an explanation, an apology -- whatever Remus wanted to hear -- but Remus held up one hand to silence him.

"Why did I ask you to do so?"

"Because Snape is giving Harry Occlumency lessons."

"And why are those lessons important?"

Sirius hung his head, his voice dropping to a whisper, the full implications of what he'd done sinking in. "If he doesn't learn how to shield his mind, he's in danger because of his connection to Voldemort."

"Precisely. If Severus refuses to give Harry those lessons, Harry will be in danger. Did you think of that? You didn't, did you. You got angry, and you lashed out, because you couldn't control yourself."

"I tried--"

"Not hard enough." Remus' voice was clipped and icy. "I don't require much of you, but when I do give you an order, I expect it to be obeyed."

"I know. I'm sorry--"

"I do not wish to hear your apologies or your excuses." Remus began prowling around Sirius again. "You are going to be punished in such a way that you will not forget the lesson again."

Sirius lifted his gaze, a little surge of hope welling up in him; it didn't sound as if Remus intended to leave him, and that was all he cared about. He could bear anything else, no matter how difficult it was.

Pulling out his wand, Remus gave it a flick, and the straight-back, armless chair at Sirius' desk slid across the room and stopped at the foot of Sirius' bed. "Sit down in that chair," he instructed, and Sirius scrambled to obey.

As soon as Sirius was seated, Remus aimed his wand at him, and thin silvery ropes shot out of the tip and wound around Sirius' chest, tying him to the chair. Another flick of Remus' wrist, and ropes snaked around Sirius' legs, leaving him immobile. He could squirm, and he didn't feel as if his circulation was being cut off anywhere, but there wasn't any chance of him leaving the chair until Remus released him.

Nodding as if satisfied, Remus placed his wand on the bedside table and then shrugged out of his shirt, letting it slide down his arms and fall to the floor. Sirius' mouth went dry, and he yanked at his bindings experimentally as he stared; it had been so long since they had been together, and he'd only enjoyed the sight of Remus' naked torso once.

And then Remus reached for the fastenings of his trousers, and a low moan escaped Sirius' throat as he realized what his punishment was going to be: to watch, unable to touch.

Even if he'd seen Remus completely naked, even if he'd been able to kiss and caress every inch of Remus' body a hundred times before, it still would have been an excruciating punishment. But he hadn't, and that made it even worse. He leaned forward as far as he could, wide-eyed as his gaze followed every move of Remus' hands, his own hands opening and closing helplessly.

Remus pushed his trousers down and let them fall to his feet, revealing that he hadn't been wearing underpants beneath. Sirius' breath froze in his lungs, and he felt as if he might never draw breath again as he stared hungrily, desire and despair at war within him. Then Remus stepped out of his trousers and climbed onto the bed, stretching out in the middle where Sirius had an unobstructed view.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he met and held Sirius' gaze, his expression still stern. "I had planned to take you to my bed and fuck you tonight," he said, and Sirius felt the words like a punch in the gut. "But you disobeyed, and worse, you didn't tell me you disobeyed. You said nothing, and I had to learn the truth from Molly."

"I'm sorry," Sirius whispered, his eyes never leaving Remus', hoping Remus could see the depths of his contrition.

"I'm sure you are, but nonetheless, you must be taught a lesson. You know what I'm going to do, don't you?"

"Yes, sir." Sirius' tone was one of abject misery.

"What is it?"

"You're going to make me watch you touch yourself."

"I am. Why do you think I chose that punishment?" Remus sat up and piled two pillows behind his back, and then leaned against them, running one hand idly up and down his chest; Sirius followed the movement, his tongue darting out to moisten his dry lips.

"Because you know how badly I want to touch you. You know how insane it will drive me to watch and not be able to have what I want."

"Was I correct?" Remus brushed his fingertips back and forth across one nipple and then pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, gasping softly, and Sirius moaned, his own fingers twitching.

"Yes, sir." He squirmed within his bonds again, watching avidly as Remus slid his other hand down his body and curled it around his cock, tugging and pinching his nipple harder. "I should be doing that, not you," he blurted out.

Remus' answering smile was mirthless. "I did this while I was away," he said, his voice taking on a growling undercurrent as his arousal grew. "I brought myself off imagining that my hands were your hands and wishing for your mouth."

Letting out a low keen, Sirius could do nothing but watch, his breath shallow and rapid, Remus' words intensifying his desire more than he thought possible. Knowing that Remus fantasized about him and wanted him as much as he wanted Remus made his regret that his own impulsiveness had ruined what could have been a passionate reunion double.

"I could--"

"No." Remus began stroking himself, swirling his thumb around the head; Sirius could see fluid glistening on Remus' fingers and cock, and he whimpered as he remembered the taste and how perfect it felt to be on his knees with that thick cock in his mouth. "Not tonight. I don't care how badly either of us want it. I will not reward disobedience."

Bending his knees, Remus spread his legs wide, letting Sirius see his hand slowly trail from his nipple down to cup his balls; he wasn't the exhibitionist that Sirius had been, but as far as Sirius was concerned, he didn't need to be. He didn't know where to look first -- at the flush rising in Remus' cheeks, at his teeth worrying his bottom lip, at the quickening rise and fall of his chest, at the sheen of sweat forming on his pale skin, at the slow rocking of his hips to meet each stroke of his fist.

He began stroking himself faster, pumping harder, and Sirius began to pant with him, straining towards him as much as the ropes would allow; he was overwhelmed with need, not for his own release, but to be allowed to do what he was meant to do. It should have been his hands bringing Remus to the edge of release and making him arch his back off the bed. It should have been his fingers teasing Remus' nipples, should have been him in bed with Remus, their bodies entwined. He clenched his fists when he heard Remus moan his name; he could see Remus' body growing tight, and he began to struggle against his bonds, desperation overruling his obedience.

"Please!" he cried, unable to look away even as the sight of Remus hovering on the verge of orgasm ripped at him. "Please -- I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, master -- please let me touch you -- please, master, please let me -- I need to--"

But with a hoarse cry, Remus came, stroking himself throughout his release until he was spent. As he collapsed against the pillows, Sirius slumped in his chair, aching with a sense of loss and emptiness. He was still aroused, almost painfully so, but he didn't care; all he could think about was his chance to please his master that had been lost.

After a minute or two, Remus reached for his wand and cleaned himself up quickly and efficiently, and then he rolled off the bed and dressed, once again not bothering to button his shirt. Only then did he approach Sirius again, wand in hand. With a low growl, he fisted his hand in Sirius' hair and yanked his head up, forcing Sirius to meet his eyes. Sirius cried out, both the sudden stinging of his scalp and Remus' ferocity startling him, and when he looked up, he saw the wolf rising in Remus' eyes.

"When I give you a rule, you will obey it. Is that understood?"

Wide-eyed and more aroused than he believed possible, Sirius nodded. "Yes, my master."

"When I release you, you will not touch me. Tomorrow, you will remain in your room and come downstairs only for meals."

Sirius swallowed hard before daring to voice the question burning in his mind. "What about tomorrow night?"

"You will not come to my room."

"But you'll be alone..."

"I've spent more full moons alone than with company."

Remus released his hair and stepped back, and Sirius whimpered, more from the idea of not being able to spend the night of the full moon with Remus. Every full moon since they began living together, Sirius had waited until the transformation was complete, and then he went to Remus' room, changed into his canine form, and they spent the night together. Snape was still making the Wolfsbane for Remus, and sometimes, Sirius took a few minutes to give him a good scratching or play fetch with him before transforming himself. After, they wrestled and played chase until they were both tired, and then they curled up together on the rug. Sirius had been hoping this month, they might indulge in some other kinds of play, but there was no hope of that now.

Even after Remus released him and left the room, Sirius remained where he was, overwhelmed and lost. His erection slowly subsided, but when he finally got up and went to his bed, he could smell Remus all over it, and that aroused him anew. Stripping off his clothes, he lay down in the center of the bed where Remus had been and wrapped up in the covers, surrounding himself with Remus' scent and wishing he was wrapped up in Remus' embrace instead.

The next morning at breakfast, Remus talked to him as he always did, but there were no surreptitious caresses under the table or flirty looks exchanged while Molly's back was turned. It was strictly platonic, no hint of his loving master in sight, and Sirius hurried back upstairs, eager to escape. It felt wrong, and he hated it, hated the distance he felt between them; he needed his master, needed to feel their closeness and connection, needed to touch and be touched more than he could express.

He skipped lunch and went down for dinner reluctantly, doing little more than pushing the food around on his plate. Molly fussed over him, asking if he was feeling all right and encouraging him to eat. Remus wasn't there at all. He had, Molly said, taken dinner in his own room as he usually did when a transformation was near.

Much later, Sirius huddled by his door and pressed his ear against it, listening to the scuffling sounds coming from Remus' room and the cries of pain that turned into howls. Without his usual playmate, Remus settled down quickly, and soon all was silent. Sirius went to bed shortly after, but sleep was a long time in coming.

Although Remus hadn't told him to remain in his room the following day as well, Sirius did anyway, at least through the morning. He'd eaten a little breakfast and then gone back upstairs, pausing outside Remus' door and listening. He didn't hear anything within, but he didn't expect to, really. Remus would, he knew, spend most of the day sleeping, and once more Sirius felt adrift.

He knew what he wanted to do, but he didn't know if it was a wise idea. Technically, it wouldn't be disobeying, but at the same time, he didn't want to run the risk of being punished -- really punished -- again so soon. In the end, his need outweighed his concerns, and late that afternoon, he let himself into Remus' room.

As he'd expected, Remus was asleep, his face drawn and etched with lines of fatigue even in sleep; the sheets were bunched around his hips as he lay stretched out on his side, his hands clasped beneath his chin, and he was naked from the waist up. Sirius guessed that he was naked beneath the sheets as well, and while that thought intrigued him, for once sex wasn't uppermost on his mind.

Kneeling beside the bed, Sirius reached out and smoothed back a few tousled locks of brown and silver hair that had fallen into Remus' face, his heart aching with the need to take care of this man whom he held so dear. He caressed Remus' cheek with the backs of his fingers, and Remus stirred, stretching and wincing before finally opening his eyes. Perhaps because he was still half-asleep, or perhaps because he knew Sirius so well, he didn't look surprised to see Sirius there. Instead, he lay still and watched Sirius silently, as if waiting to see what he would do next.

"I'm sorry, master," Sirius whispered, and Remus stretched one arm out to stroke his hair gently.

"I know. It's all right. It's over now." Resting his hand on the back of Sirius' head, Remus drew him into a light and tender kiss, and Sirius clutched the sheet in his fists, moaning with relief. "Would you like to stay with me?"

"Yes, please." He couldn't seem to get his voice to work above a whisper, but it didn't matter; all that mattered was that he was forgiven.

Slipping out of his shoes, he climbed into bed where Remus lay holding out his arms, and he moved quickly into that embrace, nestling as close as he could get without crawling beneath Remus' skin. Remus wrapped him up in both arms, warm and tight, and Sirius felt as if he could finally breathe again when Remus tucked him beneath his chin and stroked his back soothingly.

"It's all right," Remus murmured, rubbing his back in slow circles. "My good boy."

At that, the last bit of tension drained out of Sirius' body, and with a deep sigh, he relaxed and let himself drift off, feeling safe and anchored at last.

"Come to my room tonight after dinner. It's time for me to claim you properly."

Remus' words, murmured in Sirius' ear before they went down to breakfast, echoed in Sirius' mind on an endless loop. He heard them as he went through the motions of table conversation, as he tended to Buckbeak, as he went to help clean up the doxy infestation in one of the guest bedrooms.

He'd woken up in Remus' arms that morning -- a first. He'd never spent the entire night with Remus before, but he thought it was probably a sign that Remus wanted the contact as much as he did after being apart for a week and dealing with a strict punishment immediately after. Whatever the reason, he didn't question it, and he certainly didn't complain; he'd enjoyed waking up to the feel of Remus spooned up against him, one arm draped possessively around his waist, Remus' breath warming the back of his neck. He wanted a lifetime of mornings like that.

Although Sirius tried to keep himself busy, the hours crawled by; he even found himself volunteering to help Molly polish the silver just to pass the time. It didn't help that Remus disappeared that afternoon without mentioning where he was going; Sirius had hoped he might be able to persuade Remus to move whatever nocturnal activities he had planned to the afternoon, but that hope was dashed.

Remus returned shortly before dinner, looking pleased with himself, but he merely smiled and said nothing when Sirius raised a questioning eyebrow at him as they made their way to the kitchen. Molly had made roast chicken, one of Sirius' favorites, but it was all he could do to keep from fidgeting in his chair throughout the meal. He managed to swallow a few bites and spent the rest of the time mentally hurrying Remus, wanting him to eat faster. He hadn't felt this excited and anticipatory over anything since Christmas as a child, and this was one present he was quite eager to unwrap. He'd been waiting for it a very long time, and now that it was almost in his reach, he felt like he might combust if Remus didn't stop slicing up his carrots so slowly and just eat, damn it!

But Remus didn't rush, and Sirius sighed and tried not to squirm and ignored Molly when she asked if he had ants in his pants.

Finally, Remus finished his plate, and he smiled and thanked Molly for the meal before pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. He glanced across the table at Sirius, and Sirius' breath caught in his throat when he saw the desire kindling in Remus' eyes and the "come hither" slant of his smile. At that, Sirius almost knocked his chair over in his haste to leap to his feet and follow Remus out.

By the time they got upstairs and the door of Remus' bedroom was closed and locked behind them, Sirius was ready to tear his clothes off then and there and leap onto the bed, but instead of beginning to undress or reaching to undress Sirius, Remus went straight to his dresser and picked up a small box tied with a red ribbon.

"I have something for you," he said, offering the box to Sirius.

"You shouldn't have--"

"I wanted to." Remus moved closer, still holding out the box, and Sirius reached out to take it, surprised and pleased.

He untied the ribbon and then pried open the lid. Inside, nestled in a bed of tissue paper, was a black leather collar. Stunned, he picked it up and let the box fall to the floor, smoothing the collar between his fingers as he stared down at it. A collar. Remus had bought him a collar.

He looked up at last, looked at Remus and wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say. He knew what this meant: Remus had accepted their dynamic completely and wanted to claim Sirius as his own. He belonged to Remus, and Remus knew it. Felt it. Wanted it enough to give Sirius an outward sign of his acceptance.

"Will you put it on for me?" he asked at last, and Remus smiled and nodded.

"You like it, then?" Remus asked as he took the collar from Sirius' hand.

Sirius knelt at Remus' feet and lifted his hair out of the way, tilting his chin up to give Remus access to his throat. "I'll never take it off." He rested his hands on Remus' hips, wanting contact as Remus fastened the collar around his neck, feeling as though his heart was full enough to burst.

"Is that too tight?"

"It's perfect." He reached up and stroked it, turning his head to feel the rub of the leather against his skin, and then he gazed up at Remus, meeting his eyes. "I'm yours."

"Yes." Remus stroked his cheek and then let his fingers trail along Sirius' jaw and down to his throat. "You're mine. Always."

With that, he grasped Sirius' shoulders and helped him up, immediately pulling him into a deep, demanding kiss; Sirius whimpered with need as he flung his arms around Remus and pressed against him, parting his lips and eagerly drawing Remus' questing tongue deeper. His whimpers turned to moans when Remus began mouthing kisses along his neck and nipping at his earlobe, and he slid his hands down Remus' back to clutch his arse, feeling a surge of smug pleasure when Remus gasped and then bit his ear harder in response.

Reaching between them, Remus yanked roughly at the fastening of Sirius' robes, not caring if he ripped the fabric or popped a few buttons in the process, and Sirius felt as if his knees might give way at any moment at that. He'd deliberately chosen not to wear underpants beneath his robes, thus when the abused garment fell to the floor, he was left naked, and he could see Remus' eyes darken with arousal at the sight.

"On the bed. Now." Remus' husky voice was low, but it carried in the silent room, and Sirius hastened to obey, leaping onto the bed and sprawling on his back, panting as he watched Remus begin to undress just as quickly and impatiently, pausing only long enough to put his wand on the bedside table.

Mere moments later, Remus was naked as well, but Sirius scarcely had time to enjoy the sight before Remus was in bed with him, pouncing on top of him, covering him. He gasped, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head with the pleasure of skin against skin, and he wrapped his arms around Remus' shoulders, drawing him down, and rubbed himself against Remus, wanting more of the delicious sensation.

Remus settled his hips between Sirius' legs and rocked against him, letting their erection rub together, and Sirius moaned and rocked with him, feeling as though he would never get enough of this exquisite bliss no matter how many times they made love. He arched up as Remus trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down his chest, his fingers digging into Remus' shoulders, his moans growing louder as Remus' tongue swirled in his navel. But instead of continuing down, Remus moved back up and closed his mouth over Sirius' nipple, laving it with broad swipes of his tongue, and Sirius began to writhe beneath him, his breathing growing ragged. He didn't know if he could stand much more foreplay, or rather, he didn't want to stand it -- he'd been fantasizing about having sex with Remus for years, waiting for it for weeks, and it was finally happening, and he wanted it now.

"Please!" he gasped, and Remus lifted his head and gave him a predatory grin.

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me. I need it -- need you -- so much." Sirius gazed up at him with pleading eyes, his body taut and quivering beneath Remus'.

"Tell me."

Sirius didn't have to ask what he meant. "I'm yours," he said immediately, tipping his chin up and baring his throat to Remus. "I belong to you. Only you, always."

"Mine." Remus drew his nose along the length of Sirius' neck as if scenting him and then nudged the collar aside before fastening his teeth on Sirius' throat, biting hard, and Sirius cried out with pleasure and pain, clinging to Remus with desperate need as he offered himself up unreservedly.

"Yours, I'm yours. Always yours alone, my master." Bending his knees, he spread his legs and angled his hips up. "Fuck me. Take me. Claim me and make me yours forever."

Remus flung out one arm and groped on the bedside table for his wand until his fingers closed around it, and then he tapped Sirius' hip, murmuring a stretching spell followed by a lubrication spell, and Sirius gasped at the odd sensations, shivering when he realized his fantasy was about to turn into reality. He felt the head of Remus' cock pushing inside him, and he cried out, not from pain but from the sheer pleasure and relief of feeling Remus inside him, of being claimed by his master. He snapped his hips up and clamped both hands on Remus' arse, trying to push him even deeper, not caring if it hurt; he just wanted to feel Remus buried inside him, to know that they were joined at last as they were meant to be.

"Take me fuck me do it please..."

And then Remus thrust deep and hard, and Sirius thrust against him, feeling so stretched and filled but wanting him even deeper. It was good, so good, so much better than any fantasy, and it was real. Remus was really inside him, filling him, fucking him, moving with him, and he surrendered himself completely, offering his body as a willing vessel for Remus' pleasure.

He felt Remus shift his angle with each thrust until suddenly his cock was stroking that sensitive gland with each thrust, and Sirius threw his head back as a strangled cry escaped his throat, intoxicated by the intense sensation. He rocked with Remus, matching his rhythm and meeting each thrust with eager hunger, and then Remus slid his hand between their bodies and grasped Sirius' cock, stroking it roughly. Tossing his head on the pillow, Sirius fought to hold off his orgasm, not wanting it to end so soon, but his body needed release, and he'd been too wound up for too long, and it only took a few pumps of Remus' fists before it became too much, and he came hard and fast, his lungs too desperate for air to let him scream out his pleasure as he longed to do.

Lifting his hand to his mouth, Remus licked it clean, watching Sirius intently all the while, and Sirius moaned at the sight as he sprawled, limp and sated, beneath Remus. But then Remus braced himself over Sirius and began to move again, and Sirius mustered the energy to move with him, groaning with pleasure as Remus let his control slip, pounding into Sirius with relentless abandon.

"Yes yes fuck me use me..." he chanted encouragement, clutching Remus' shoulders, watching him raptly as he neared release.

With a hoarse cry, Remus surged deep with one last, slamming thrust and came, shuddering in the aftermath of his release, and Sirius curved his arms around him, drawing him down and holding him close. Panting, Remus rested atop Sirius and nuzzled his nose against Sirius' throat, tangling his legs with Sirius' as they lay entwined.

"Mine," he murmured

"Yours," Sirius agreed, stroking Remus' back in slow caresses from shoulder to hip and he rubbed his cheek against the top of Remus' head. "My master," he whispered, giving Remus a little squeeze, and he could feel Remus' smile against his skin as he relaxed in the circle of Sirius' arms.

"My good boy." Remus reached up to stroke Sirius' collar tenderly. "Always my good boy."

Smiling, Sirius closed his eyes and relaxed, sated and, for the first time since his escape, experiencing a moment of pure, unconditional happiness. It had been a slow process, but the end result was worth it. He knew they had more obstacles to face before the war was over, but they were together now, and that was all that mattered. Within Remus' embrace, Sirius knew that he was accepted completely, and that he had a place where he fit perfectly. It was his place, belonging to him alone.

For the first time, Sirius had a home.

Too Wise to Woo Peaceably - Snape/Harry, NC17

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 04:57:38 GMT

Title: Too Wise to Woo Peaceably
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rated: NC17
Summary: Hogwarts meets Shakespeare.
Notes: This is AU even beyond being 2 books behind canon. It's set in Harry's 7th year, and it assumes Voldemort has been defeated before the end of the year.

WHAT: AUDITIONS FOR THE HOGWARTS PRODUCTION OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE'S MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING

(A Muggle play)

WHEN: 18-19 FEBRUARY, 6:00-9:00 PM

WHERE: THE LITTLE THEATRE

(second storey, west wing, just past the Greek statues)

Auditions for this production are open to all students and faculty alike. Tech crew volunteers are also needed. The performance will be on April 23.

As soon as Hermione finished tacking the announcement on the Gryffindor message board, she was swamped by a hoard of curious students, all peering at the parchment and full of questions.

"What's this, then?" Ron asked, tapping the announcement, and she batted his hand away.

"Don't, Ron, I've only just finished writing them up, and the ink's still wet." Hermione held up a handful of fliers as evidence. "And it's a call sheet," she said. "We're putting on a show!"

"'We'? Who's 'we'?" Harry wanted to know, and a few heads in the crowd nodded agreement.

"It was actually Professor Dumbledore's idea," she explained. "He thought it would be a good idea to help lift everyone's spirits after... Well, you know."

A collective shiver ran through the crowd as memories of the awful events of the fall and early winter rose up in everyone's minds. But those dark times were behind them now -- for good this time, thanks to Harry, Dumbledore, and their compatriots.

"And he's just seen a Muggle film version of Hamlet, so he's rather keen on Shakespeare right now," Hermione continued.

"Oh, God, not that four hour monster, with the Victorian costuming," someone in the back groaned.

"Well, what about that awful Mel Gibson version, then?" Dean Thomas exclaimed. "The scenes were chopped up and all out of order, and Glenn Close just isn't old enough to be Mel's mother!"

"Yes, but Mel's so dreamy..." Mary-Sue Brown, a fourth year, sighed, making Dean and a few others pretend to gag.

"All right, all right!" Hermione raised both hands and gestured for quiet. "You can have your film criticism session later. Suffice to say, our Headmaster wants to celebrate April 23rd this year, and he wants us to put on a nice romantic comedy."

"What's so special about April 23rd?" Ron asked, earning a sniff from Hermione.

"Really. Some people have no sense of culture or history," she said, but she was smiling to show she was teasing, and he just rolled his eyes. It was, after all, an old routine between them at this point, and neither took it seriously anymore. "April 23rd is the day Shakespeare died. It also may be his birthday as well, as best as anyone can figure from what few records we have."

Harry stepped back, letting others get closer so they could read the announcement for themselves, and he pondered the idea. His first reaction had been to dismiss the idea of auditioning out of hand, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought he might give it a go after all. He'd never tried acting before, nor had he read any of Shakespeare's plays since they weren't required reading at Hogwarts. It would be a new experience, perhaps a bit of a lark, and it certainly would help him forget the events of the recent past.

Besides, he was winding up his last year at Hogwarts, a thought that made his heart constrict, and this sounded like it might be a good way to end the year on a happy, fun note.

"Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall are the consulting faculty," Hermione was saying, and Harry let his attention drift back to her, in case she was saying something important. "They've appointed me the director, and I've already done some research--"

An assortment of groans and laughter rose from the Gryffindors gathered around her, but she ignored all of it.

"--and I learned that in Shakespeare's day, women weren't allowed to perform on stage."

"What?" Parvati exclaimed, bracing her hands on her hips. "That's not fair!"

"I know," Hermione agreed darkly, and those who remembered her fervent S.P.E.W. campaign a few years prior took a cautious step back from her. "But they weren't. Young men performed all the female roles, and I've decided we're going to make this production as historically accurate as possible. That means the cast will be entirely male, but," she added, raising her voice above the protests of the girls in the room, "to make things fair, the entire tech crew will be female. We'll be running the show, ladies," she concluded with a fierce grin, and there were cheers from the girls in response.

"What do you think, Harry?" Ron sidled up close to his friend and whispered the question. "Are you going to audition?"

"I'm not sure... Maybe I'll have a look at the play first. It seems like it might be fun, though," Harry said.

"I don't know if I dare," Ron admitted. "With Hermione running the show, I'll probably get cast as a girl."

"You will?" Harry exclaimed, looking up at his friend, who had shot up in the last couple of years and now had several inches in height advantage over Harry, who hadn't grown nearly as much. He was still short and slight for his age, and at this point, he doubted he would ever be tall and broad, like Charlie was, and like Ron looked as if he would be one day. "What about me?"

"I think you could stand to get tarted up a bit," Ron replied, grinning wickedly at his friend, who punched his shoulder in response.

"But it's supposed to be a romantic comedy, What if I have to perform some sappy love scene with another guy?"

"Oh, as if you'd really mind!"

Harry stuck his tongue out at Ron, feeling a rush of heat in his face at the teasing, but he wasn't insulted. It had been two years since he'd come to terms with the fact that while he liked girls just fine, he liked boys even better. He had eventually confessed to both Hermione and Ron, who accepted his flexible preferences with the same ease as they'd accepted his notoriety when they first met. There had been only one moment of concern from Ron.

"Ehm... You're not going to hit on me now, are you? Because I like you and all, Harry, but not in that way," Ron had said, looking as if he felt awkward about even asking.

Harry had assured him that he wasn't interested in Ron in That Way either, and life had gone on as normal. Ron had even helped cover for him a number of times when he had a brief fling with Fred before the twins graduated and went on to open their joke shop in London.

Harry had also dated Cho Chang for a while, but not Ginny; something in his heart warned him that she would want more than he could give her. He chose partners who weren't any more interested in committing to him than he was in committing to them, thus avoiding romantic entanglements that might end badly for anyone involved. Which was ironic, because he wanted a steady relationship, had wanted it for quite some time now, but there was no one with whom he could picture himself in a long term relationship. Sometimes, he felt as if he was waiting for something... or someone... and he had only to be patient and wait for the answers to be revealed.

If that were the case, he thought crossly, he wished they would hurry along. He would be graduating soon, and his chances for meeting single witches or wizards would drop once he was out in the world, away from Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, which had the largest concentration of magic-using folk around.

But no sooner had the impatient thought arisen when another followed on its heels, this time from the still, small voice that lived in the back of his head: patience, you'll find what you seek in due time.

Harry sighed, and glanced once more at Hermione's call sheet. Perhaps he would audition, even if he did get cast as a girl. At least it would give him something to do in the lack of a decent love life.

"You cast me opposite who?!"

"Now, Harry..."

"Don't you 'now, Harry' me, Hermione Granger! What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Harry pinwheeled his arms, his voice rising to a shout.

He could scarcely believe what he had just heard about the results of the play auditions. He had decided to try out, and he had showed up at the appointed time, to find out the auditions were being kept as private as possible, without any of the hopeful would-be thespians knowing who else was auditioning. Hermione and Professor McGonagall had conducted the auditions, and Harry had been a little surprised Professor Dumbledore hadn't participated in the selection process as well.

Afterward, Hermione had promised to let him know right away if he'd gotten a part, even before she posted the results in the common rooms of all the Houses, as she had the audition announcement. He wasn't quite surprised to learn he had indeed been cast in a female part; actually, he was pleased and flattered that he had been chosen for one of the female leads, Beatrice.

What had shocked him was learning who would be playing the part of Benedick, and thus would essentially be Harry's leading man.

Snape.

"I'm thinking of the play!" Hermione shot back. "Considering the dynamic between Benedick and Beatrice, you two will be perfect for the parts. Besides." She gave a dismissive sniff. "It's time you both learned to work together in peace as well as in war. You fought side by side to defeat You-Know-Who -- sorry, Voldemort -- so surely you can manage this."

"I can't believe he auditioned in the first place..." Harry raked his hands through his hair, rumpling it even more than it was naturally. "Did Dumbledore blackmail him into it or something?"

"Not as far as I know," she replied. "Far from it, as a matter of fact. From what I gather, he's rather fond of Shakespeare, and was quite keen on the idea of getting a part in the play."

"Oh, lovely." Harry grimaced. "So I'm to spend the next few weeks pretending to be all swoony and romantic over Snape."

"Have you even read the play yet?" She fixed him with a steely gaze that he couldn't quite meet.

"Ehm... Not as such, no..."

"If you had, then you'd know that having you and Professor Snape in the roles is practically type-casting, since Beatrice and Benedick spend most of the play squabbling."

"Really?" He perked up at that -- then the implications of her words sank in, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do you mean 'most' of the play?"

"Oh, nothing," she replied breezily, waving one hand in a dismissive gesture. "Hero and Claudio are the two swoony, love-sick teens in this play. Benedick and Beatrice are older, and decidedly not swoony. I promise, you won't have any problems."

"All right, fine." He folded his arms and grumbled. "What about the rest of the cast, then?"

"As to that," Hermione said with a lofty smile, "you'll just have to wait and see. First read-through is Thursday night. See you there, sweet Beatrice!"

Harry's reply was neither polite nor appropriate to be heard by younger students, but Hermione only laughed as she strolled away.

Two masks adorned the double doors leading into the little theater on the second floor of the castle, one black and one white. Harry liked them both, and they seemed to like him as well. The comedy mask giggled at him as he pulled on the door handle, and the tragedy mask stopped sobbing long enough to mutter a despairing, "h'lo."

Stepping inside the theater itself, Harry had decided on his first visit, was like stepping into a 1930s cinema. The seats were all upholstered in crushed velvet the color of a rich red wine, and there was a balcony that Harry could imagine first years hanging over and spilling popcorn into the rows beneath. The proscenium stage was framed by a deep blood red curtain edged with gold tassels, and the floor of the stage itself was wood, and looked old and worn, as if many feet had tramped its boards.

When he walked in for the first read-through, he noticed the house lights were dimmed, but the stage was brightly lit, and a large table surrounded by plenty of chairs had been set up in the middle of it. There were also people whom he presumed to be his fellow cast members milling around, and to his relief, Sirius was among the group, as was Ron.

Hurrying up the narrow steps leading on-stage, Harry greeted them with a wide smile. "Good to see I won't be making a fool of myself alone," he teased.

"Yeah, well..." Ron ducked his head shyly. "It sounded like fun."

"So did you get cast as a girl?"

"No!" Ron's sigh of relief drew laughter from both Sirius and Harry. "I'm Claudio, whoever that is."

Harry smirked at him, remembering what Hermione had said. "He's the swoony teen lover of the play."

"No!" His friend looked aghast. "You're joking, right?" Ron's voice contained a hopeful note, but Harry shook his head solemnly.

"What about you?" Harry turned to Sirius. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"Don Pedro," the older man replied. "I'm the prince who tells everyone what to do," he added, smiling.

Harry nodded, glad they would be doing a read-through that night. With all his classwork and preparations for graduation, he hadn't had a chance to read the play yet, and the character names still meant little to him. He had the fleeting wish that Sirius had gotten cast as Benedick. It would have been a little odd, playing a romantic lead opposite the man he had come to think of as a surrogate father, but it would have been far more comfortable than playing opposite Snape.

Speaking of whom... Harry glanced around the stage, trying to appear casual as he checked to see if Snape had arrived yet, but the Potions Master was nowhere in sight. 'Probably handling last minute detentions,' he thought snidely.

Just then, Professor McGonagall bustled in, followed closely by Hermione; stopping on the edge of the stage near the orchestra pit, she scanned the crowd, then consulted her notes.

"I see we're missing a few of our cast," she said disapprovingly. "Leonato, Benedick and Don John haven't yet arrived." She tutted under her breath. "Well, they'll have to catch up." Clapping her hands briskly, she addressed everyone in a ringing voice. "Those of you who are serving on the technical crew, including props, wardrobe, make-up, lighting, and all the rest, come with me! We shall begin designing our sets and costumes, etcetera, tonight. I leave the cast of our troupe in Miss Granger's capable hands."

With that, she trooped off-stage again, all the females in the group following along behind, except Hermione, who stood near the wings, holding her clipboard and looking important.

"If everyone would be seated round the table?" She gestured to the round wood table in the middle of the stage, and the group, now consisting entirely of males except for Hermione, claimed chairs; there were exactly enough for everyone, Harry noted, since four were left over, and he assumed one of those was for Hermione.

Sure enough, she took one of the empty seats and ran her finger down the top scroll she had unfurled and pinned on her clipboard, then glanced around the table as if taking inventory. "Perhaps we could introduce ourselves in character, while we wait for the others. Colin, we'll start with you," she said, indicating the small, thin young man sitting on her right.

Harry watched him, regret welling up from his heart and surging into his throat; once he had found Colin Creevey to be little more than a nuisance, an enthusiastic, excitable boy who dogged his heels and seemed to have an exceptionally strong case of hero worship for Harry, which had always been embarrassing and annoying. Now, however, he'd relive every irritating moment just to see Colin behave like his old self, but after all Colin had witnessed, even though he had been kept from participating in the battles with Voldemort himself, his inner light had been dimmed by the pain of experience and loss.

Colin summoned up a smile that wasn't nearly as bright as those Harry remembered, but it was a valient effort, and he waved to everyone around the table.

"I'm Colin," he said, wiggling a little in his seat, as if he was nervous but excited. "I'm to play Hero."

"Ah, then you'll be working most with Ron," Hermione said, not quite smirking in Ron's direction. Indeed, her voice was remarkably cool and professional as she continued, "Ron is playing Claudio, you see, and Hero and Claudio are the young lovers."

Ron's face turned as red as his hair, but Colin appeared unabashed.

"We'll be brilliant, Ron!" he exclaimed, his smile widening.

Beside him, Harry elbowed Ron sharply.

"Ow! I mean... Yeah, Colin, I'm sure we'll do fine."

In the back of the auditorium, the double doors creaked open, and everyone at the table turned to look at the shadowy figures gliding up the center aisle. They were nearly to the stage before the light was bright enough to identify them as Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, and Draco Malfoy.

Harry regarded Malfoy dispassionately, surprised at his interest and obvious inclusion in the play as he was by Snape's. Still, he supposed it was Malfoy's way of showing that he was, indeed, on the team, and after all he'd been through, Harry wasn't inclined to harbor unkind thoughts. Malfoy had lost both his parents, and he had learned the bitter truth of what it meant to be a Dark Wizard. That he learned it at the hands of Voldemort himself made Harry even more charitable towards his old rival.

Malfoy was still arrogant and condescending, but he no longer blathered about his father, or the Dark Arts. The haunted look in his eyes, so old for such a young face, told more than any words could about the lessons he had learned in the hardest possible way.

"Oh, good, you're here." Hermione's smile was warm and welcoming to all three of the new arrivals; as fussy and judgmental as she could be at times, Harry thought, she had a forgiving heart, even for the boy who had tormented her, and the professor who had tried to quash her. "Everyone, I should like to introduce our Leonato, the governor of Messina, father to Hero, and uncle to Beatrice."

Professor Dumbledore, his blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses, bowed low, then took one of the vacant seats.

"Our villain, Don John."

Draco stepped forward and, his lips twisting in a mocking smile, also bowed before taking a seat.

"Don John is the bastard brother of Don Pedro," she explained, indicating Sirius, who nodded. "And finally, Benedick, a lord of Padua, friend to both Claudio and Don Pedro--"

Snape and Sirius exchanged sneers, but there wasn't nearly as much venom in them as once there had been. Too much had happened for either of them to cling to old grudges, and while Harry knew Sirius would never consider Snape anything like a friend -- and he suspected it was entirely mutual -- they were at least able to remain in the same room for long periods of time without lunging for each other's throats, which was a vast improvement, to be sure.

"--and eventual suitor to Beatrice," she concluded, looking directly at Harry, who managed a weak smile as all heads, including Snape's, turned to him.

The look of stunned surprise in Snape's dark eyes gave Harry some small satisfaction; he had known about the casting, but Snape hadn't.

But Snape recovered his composure quickly, and his mouth curved in one of those nasty, patronizing smiles Harry knew all too well. "So Potter is to be Beatrice to my Benedick. Perhaps Taming of the Shrew would have been a more apt choice of play."

"Get stuffed, Snape," Sirius growled. "If you don't want to do it, you can leave now. We'll find someone else."

Snape arched one elegant eyebrow. "On the contrary, Black, I believe I shall find pretending to be enamoured of Potter in any way quite a challenge for my acting skills."

Harry watched from beneath his lashes as the Potions Master sank gracefully into the last remaining chair and folded his thin, pale hands in his lap, turning his entire attention on Hermione. He was wishing more and more that he'd read the play, so he could have known what he was getting into. Snape's words sounded ominous, and despite Hermione's assurances that the two characters bickered constantly, he had the uneasy feeling that bickering wasn't quite all they did.

And if that were the case, he really didn't know what he was going to do. The idea of being romantic, even if it was only acting, with Snape felt far beyond his abilities to pretend in a believable fashion. Perhaps he had best withdraw now, before it was too late...

But no. He had made a committment, and besides, Ron would kill him if he abandoned him now.

And so he was stuck.

Playing romantic leading lady to Snape.

Well, he had wanted something to liven things up. Now he just needed to make a mental note to be careful what he wished for in future, on the chance that he actually got it.

"Just what the bloody hell do you intend to do about this?" Harry demanded, brandishing his copy of the script under Hermione's nose.

The first read-through of the play had gone smoothly enough; it was a relatively short play, and although some of the students stumbled over the language in places, everyone had seemed to follow the action well enough to understand their parts. Harry had been surprised and impressed by the readings by the faculty members, including Snape, he admitted grudgingly. The Elizabethan English had come more easily to Dumbledore and Snape -- even Sirius had read a few lines with a bit of awkwardness -- and Snape especially seemed to do well with it.

The unusual words and sentence structure rolled off Snape's tongue like poetry, and, when he glanced around the table, Harry had noticed others in the cast seemed to be almost mesmerized by the pitch and cadence of Snape's mellifluous voice. Even Hermione had seemed enthralled during his delivery of one of Benedick's lengthier monologues.

Well, Harry had to admit, if there was anything one could call remotely nice about Snape, it was his voice, and the man did know how to use it effectively.

But that hadn't stopped Harry from interrupting the read-through when they reached the last scene, and he discovered his suspicions had indeed been correct. Harry had stood up so quickly, he almost knocked his chair over, and both Sirius and Ron had looked up at him in alarm.

Harry's hands had closed into fists, and he had felt his entire body going cold.

"Madam Director, I want a word."

"All right."

Hermione had responded with cool detachment, following him to one of the small dressing rooms backstage, where they could speak privately. He had whirled to face her, waving the script and demanding to know what she intended to do about it, as if she could somehow change what Shakespeare had written.

"What do I intend to do about what, exactly?" she asked, matching Harry scowl for scowl.

"This!"

He pushed the script under her nose, pointing at the unaccceptable line: "Benedick: 'Peace! I will stop your mouth. [He kisses her]'."

"Snape is going to kiss me!" Harry fumed. "You said there wasn't going to be anything like that!"

"I said you weren't going to have to be swoony," she pointed out. "I didn't say anything about being able to avoid romance entirely."

"It'll just have to be cut out, that's all," he replied curtly, but before Hermione could utter a single word of protest, a new voice entered the conversation.

"What's the matter, Potter? Afraid?"

Harry looked toward to door, where Snape loomed, bat-like, on the threshold. His tone dripped with contempt, and his expression was more derisive than usual, if that was possible.

"You faced down Voldemort, yet one little snog for the sake of art makes you turn tail and run in fear? So much for your overly-vaunted courage," he sneered.

"It's not fear," Harry shot back, anger welling within him. "It's disgust."

But instead of being insulted, Snape only grew impatient. "Oh, for God's sake, stop being so missish, Potter. Theater is all about illusion. We can practice making it appear to the audience that we kiss, when in truth, your lips will never even come close to being sullied by mine."

Harry set his jaw, silently damning the man for being so... so... so reasonable about it! Since when was Snape ever reasonable about anything?

"What about you, then?" he demanded. "Surely you're not going to stand there and tell me the idea of having to kiss me makes you any more happy than it does me. You hate me -- you've always hated me -- everyone knows it, so why are you pretending being cast together doesn't bother you?"

He expected a sarcastic response, something Snapishly scathing, but instead, Snape fixed him with a level look as he answered the question.

"I've done a great deal of acting in my life, Potter, both onstage and off, and I happen to enjoy it. I also take it quite seriously, even in an amateur production, such as this. If I find myself in a distasteful position, such as being saddled with an acting partner who is a teenage prima donna prone to snit fits, I'll make the best of it for the sake of the play." He paused, smirking. "As they say, the show must go on."

"Damn you."

Snape scoffed. "Voldemort himself didn't manage to damn me, and neither will your empty bluster. Make up your mind, Potter. Are you in or out?"

It was a challenge. Snape was goading him, deliberately questioning his courage, and if he backed out of the play now, doubtless the man would take great delight in spreading the news of his cowardice. He could almost hear the gleeful gloating, and he knew he would spend the rest of the year being constantly reminded by Snape and many of the Slytherins that he'd fled in terror of nothing more than one stage kiss.

It was just a kiss, and Snape said it wouldn't even have to be real. They would just make it look real, that's all. So what did he really have to be afraid of? Why did the thought of this stage romance bother him so much? It didn't make any sense, and he was disgusted with himself for over-reacting in a way that made him appear the fool in Snape's eyes and gave Snape more ammunition to use against him.

"In." The word was ground out through gritted teeth, and he glared balefully at Snape even as he spoke.

Snape gave a little nod of acknowledgment, and Harry felt his stomach lurch. He had the inexplicable feeling that an invisible gauntlet had just been thrown down, but he was at a loss to know which of them had tossed it, or why. He only knew, on an instinctive level, that the reasons ran much deeper than Harry merely wanting to save face in front of the school, no matter his dislike of the play's end.

"Fine," Snape replied shortly. "Then I suggest you gather what little composure you possess and return to the stage. You've held up the read-through long enough."

With that, he swept away, his black robes billowing behind him -- and considering what he'd just said, Harry wondered if he was aware of the effect that move had. Probably, Harry growled silently. He probably liked making intimidating dramatic exits, the arrogant bastard.

"Harry?" Hermione's soft question brought him out of his reverie, and he blinked at her.

"What?"

"Ready to go back?"

"No," he sighed. "But I don't have much of a choice at this point."

Two weeks later, when they had read through the play three times -- once to get a feel for it, once to discuss it practically line by line in terms of character interpretation and motivation, and once to apply those interpretations and motivations to the words -- and had blocked the first act, Harry was finally starting to relax and enjoy himself. Watching Ron stutter through declarations of love to Colin, who managed to blush every time, was worth the experience. Not to mention, he was quite fond of the first scene, since he got to insult Benedick mercilessly.

"I pray you," Harry smiled sweetly at Martin, a fourth year Ravenclaw who had been cast as the generic Messenger of the play, "how many hath Benedick killed in these wars? For I promised to eat all of his killing',"

Even as he spoke the lines, he thought once more that it had to be more than mere ironic chance that Dumbledore had suggested performing a play which began with its heros returning triumphantly from a war, and he wondered if the Headmaster intended it as some sort of morale-building celebration for all of the survivors at Hogwarts.

It was also ironic that he was speaking these words about Snape's character, when there was a time he would have said something similar about Snape himself. He had remained sceptical of Snape's loyalty for a long time, and it had taken hard, visual evidence to convince him that the former Death Eater really was on their side and didn't plan on defecting back to Voldemort. He shivered, remembering the moment when, with a desperate cry, Peter Pettigrew had launched himself at Harry; his wand had been taken away by the group of wizards -- Remus Lupin, Snape, Sirius and Harry -- who had captured him, but he had a dagger concealed in his robes, which he pulled out as he made his final attempt to murder his master's enemy.

A voice behind Harry had roared, "CRUCIO!" and Pettigrew had dropped, writhing and screaming in agony. Harry had whirled around, certain that either Remus or Sirius had saved him, but his words of thanks died on his lips when he saw Snape pointing his wand at Pettigrew, saw the grim intensity on Snape's face as he made Voldemort's servant suffer.

He could have been reported for that, and certainly, of all of them, Sirius had enough motivation to send him to Azkaban for using an Unforgivable Curse. But once Pettigrew was in custody and the incident was over, no mention of Snape's use of the Curse during the capture was ever made to anyone, not even each other. After that, Harry didn't like Snape any more than he had before, but he no longer doubted whose side the man was on.

Dumbledore laughed and pinched Harry's chin, his expression one of paternal indulgence. "'Faith, niece, you tax Benedick too much, but he'll be meet with you, I doubt it not'." His eyes were twinkling with genuine mirth, and Harry could easily guess he was thinking of all the quarrels between Harry and Snape he had had to referee or break off over the years.

"'He hath done good service, lady, in these wars'," Martin replied, dividing a bewildered look between Harry and Dumbledore. "'And a good soldier, too, lady'."

"'Oh, a good soldier to a lady, but what is he to a lord'?" Harry asked teasingly, grinning at the confused messenger.

Martin made himself look even more bewildered. "'A lord to a lord','" he explained, as if to a small child. "'A man to a man, stuffed with all honorable virtues'."

Harry laughed outright. "'It is so indeed'!" he exclaimed with gleeful mischief in his voice. "'He is no less than a stuffed man'!"

Dumbledore shook his head and rested his hand on Martin's shoulder, giving the poor messenger a sympathetic look. "'You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war betwixt Benedick and her. They never meet but there's a skirmish of wit between them'."

"Alas'!" Harry pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and struck a mock-dramatic pose. "'He gets nothing by that. In our last conflict, four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one'."

A smattering of laughter greeted this delivery, and Harry noticed a few students cutting surreptitious looks at Snape, who was sitting in the first row, appearing to be engrossed in studying the script and ignoring everyone else.

"'Who is his companion now? He hath every month a new sworn brother'," Harry continued, and Martin grinned at him.

"'I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books'."

More laughter, louder this time, and Snape spared them all an irritated scowl before returning to his study of the script.

"'No'," Harry agreed firmly. "'If he were, I would burn my study. But I pray you, who is his companion'?"

"'He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio'," came the reply, and Harry darted over to Colin, flinging one arm around the boy's thin shoulders and giving him a look of exaggerated horror.

"'O Lord! He will hang upon him like a disease! God help the noble Claudio'!" he exclaimed, and Colin affected an air of bashful modesty at the mere mention of Claudio's name. "'If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pounds ere he be cured'."

Martin laughed and held up his hands. "'I will hold friends with you, lady'."

Harry smiled and winked. "'Do, good friend'."

Tutting and shaking his head, Dumbledore began to steer Martin away. "'You will never run mad, niece'."

"'No, not til a hot January'."

Suddenly, Martin pointed off-stage, growing excited. "Don Pedro approaches!"

Sauntering from the wings, Sirius approached Dumbledore with his arms held open, and he was smiling broadly. "'Good Leonato, are you come to meet your trouble? The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it'."

As Dumbledore moved to embrace Sirius, Harry suppressed a smile at the thought of how many times Dumbledore himself had gone to meet trouble in the form of all the strays he collected: Hagrid, Remus, Snape, and now Sirius, and even Harry himself. The old wizard seemed to have a habit of taking in those who had nowhere else to go or to whom no one else would give a second chance.

He cupped Sirius' cheek in his palm, smiling fondly at the younger man. "'Never came trouble to my house in the likeness of Your Grace'," he replied, with the same benevolence with which he greeted all his wayward charges when they returned to his fold, as they usually did.

"You embrace your charge too willingly'," Sirius replied, but he leaned into Dumbledore's touch as he said it. "'I think this is your daughter'?" He stepped back from Dumbledore, and gestured to Colin, who ducked his head and clasped his hands behind his back, as if in maidenly modesty.

"'Her mother hath many times told me so'," Dumbledore said, beckoning for Colin to stand beside him.

"'Were you in doubt, sir, that you asked her'?" Snape's question was an insinuating, snide drawl as he pushed himself out of his front row seat and strolled at his leisure onto the stage, and Dumbledore turned to him with a merry, teasing look.

"'No, Benedick, for then you were a child,'" he said, and there were a couple of quiet snorts from the on-lookers.

"'Be happy, lady," Sirius addressed Colin, who peeked up at him through his lashes. "'For you are like your honorable father'."

"If Leonato be her father, she would not have his head on her shoulders for all Messina, as like him as she is'," Snape added, but Sirius had already linked Colin's arm through his and was, along with Dumbledore, heading to the side of the stage as if in private conversation.

That was Harry's cue, and he strolled forward, giving Snape a scornful look. "'I wonder that you will be talking, Benedick. Nobody marks you'."

Snape turned to him with a look of mock-surprise. "What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?"

Harry drew himself up and braced his hands on his hips as he squared off with Snape. "'Is it possible disdain should die while she had such meet food to feed it as Benedick'?" It wasn't at all difficult to inject a believable amount of scorn into his voice, considering he felt exactly that way about Snape himself. "'Courtesy itself must convert to disdain, if you come in her presence'."

"'Then is courtesy a turncoat'." Snape shrugged and gave an elegant dismissive gesture. "'But it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted'." He moved closer to Harry, and his mouth was smiling, but his eyes were narrowed as he ran one long finger down Harry's cheek, leaving it to rest on his chin. "'And I would I could find in my heart that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love none'." He pushed Harry's chin with his forefinger, knocking his face away.

"'A dear happiness to women'!" Harry shot back, his green eyes shooting sparks as they locked and held with Snape's own dark eyes. "'They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humor for that. I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me'."

Snape gave a mocking bow. "'God keep your ladyship still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall escape a scratched face'."

"'Scratching could not make it worse, if 'twere such a face as yours'," he replied coldly.

As he drew back, Snape's mouth thinned into a dangerous line. "'Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher'."

"'A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours'."

"I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue'," Snape spat, then turned away, giving Harry his back. "'But keep your way. I have done'."

With that, he walked away to join Dumbledore and Sirius, leaving Harry to glare at his retreat.

"'You always end with a jade's trick'," he muttered. "'I know you of old'."

Suddenly, he broke character, incensed by the implications of the scene they had just played out. "Oh, now that's unfair!" he cried. "Trust Shakespeare to write it so a bloody stupid man gets the last word and just walks off. That's sexist, that's what!"

He glanced around to see if anyone else agreed with his critical commentary, only to find everyone staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. He stared back blankly.

"What?"

Hermione shook her head and called an end to rehearsal for the night.

Propping his feet on the seat in front him, Harry slouched comfortably in one of the plush seats in the middle of the fourth row. For once, he wasn't in the scene being rehearsed, and he was alone. Hermione was hovering onstage, since the scene involved both Snape and Sirius, which was a potentially explosive combination. Ron was also in the scene, which left Harry able to sit back and watch for a change, which he did, wishing he had a bag of popcorn.

"'Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the face of beauty'," Sirius was saying, referring to Benedick's refusal to admit that Hero was a lovely young girl and an excellent match for Claudio.

"'That a woman conceived me, I thank her,'" Snape drawled. "'That she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks. But that I will hang my... bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me'."

Sirius gave a derisive snort. "'I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love'."

Snape's response was a scornful sneer. "'With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord, but not with love'."

Harry could easily believe that of Snape himself, unlike Sirius, who had had a string of girlfriends prior to his imprisonment. Now that his name had been cleared and he no longer looked like an emaciated vagabond, Sirius drew admiring looks, not only from among the giggling female student populace, but whenever he walked the streets of Hogsmeade as well. Madam Rosmerta never failed to flirt with him, and she wasn't the only one, only the one most obvious about it.

But Harry had never heard so much as a stray rumor about Snape's personal life, and he assumed the Potions Master didn't have one. He certainly couldn't imagine anyone finding Snape attractive, much less flirting with him, and even if they did, he couldn't imagine Snape flirting back. He was too stuffy, too serious, too... Snapish for anything as mundane as that.

Idly, he wondered what Snape would be like if he ever were to fall in love. Somehow, he just couldn't see the man sending flowers or candy, or writing love poetry. Snape's idea of a romantic evening probably involved brewing potions together, and as for intimacy...

Harry shook his head, not wanting to pursue that line of thought any further; he was amazed at himself for coming so close to putting Snape and sex in the same thought.

Turning his attention back to the play, he watched as Sirius and Ron teamed up to pick on Snape, laughing at his assertions that he would never, ever fall in love. Benedick was, of course, dead wrong about that, as the end of the play attested, but Snape himself... Well, one had to possess emotions other than anger and contempt in order to fall in love, and Harry rather thought all those had been burnt out of Snape long ago.

Movement along the aisle caught his eye, and he glanced over to see Colin approaching. The younger boy paused on the end of the row and darted a hesitant, questioning look at Harry, who waved for him to have a seat.

"Hullo." Colin smiled as he settled in next to Harry. "Enjoying it?" he asked, gesturing toward the stage.

"Yeah." Harry nodded. "This is the closest I'll get to actually seeing it myself, so I thought I'd take the chance while I had it."

"Yeah..." Colin said, watching as Hermione gave Ron some instructions about his line delivery, then had them start the scene over. "They're good."

"I'm surprised," Harry admitted. "I didn't think they had it in them... especially Snape."

"I expect he's had a lot of practice."

Harry glanced at him, startled at the unexpected insight; he'd never thought about Colin as being observant or perceptive, only as an overly-enthusiastic hanger-on, but that casual remark showed he had been paying more attention than Harry had given him credit for.

"Yeah, all things considered, I guess he has," he agreed, albeit grudgingly.

"You're good, too, Harry." Colin turned to him. "But that doesn't really surprise me. I've always thought you could do anything."

"Colin..." He fought the urge to squirm, but he could do nothing to stop the heat from rising in his face.

"I know, I shouldn't embarrass you by saying things like that, but it's true. You seem to be enjoying yourself, and that's coming through."

"It's fun," he replied, grinning. "I didn't think it would be at first, especially after I found out about Snape's involvement. I've never done anything like this before, but it's fun pretending to be someone else and live their life for a while, especially when you know everything's going to work out all right in the end."

"Especially for us, eh?" Colin nudged him and winked, and Harry laughed.

"Yeah, we get our men."

"And maybe your life will imitate art, eh?"

"What?" He stared at Colin, unable to work out the meaning of that cryptic remark.

Colin stared back for a moment, then shook his head. "In for a penny, in for a pound. Look, Harry, it's no secret I've had you up on a pedastal for years, but the truth is... it was a little more than just hero worship, but I didn't think you were... Well, that way." His expression turned regretful. "And now when I see I could have had a chance after all, it's too late. You care for someone else."

"What?" Harry sat up straight. "Look, Colin, I'm not going to deny that I tend to swing both ways, but there's no one... I mean, if you think Ron and I are... Well, we're not!"

Colin tilted his head to one side, regarding him with a smile that managed to be both knowing and a little sad. "No, I didn't mean you and Ron."

"Then who...?"

He patted Harry's arm, then rose to his feet. "Nevermind. You'll figure it out. I hope you do, anyway. I like you, Harry. I've always liked and admired you, and I'd like very much to know you're happy."

His mind whirling in confusion, Harry was able to do nothing at first except watch Colin walk away, and then his brain switched back on, and he regained his voice.

"Colin!"

Colin turned and looked another question at him.

"I..." Harry faltered, not sure what he really wanted to say. In the end, he followed the same pattern he usually did, and spoke straight from his heart. "Thanks. I want the same thing for you, Colin. You deserve it."

The only answer he got was a huge, bright, beaming smile, but that was more than enough.

Too Wise to Woo Peaceably 2/4

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 04:56:26 GMT

The next night, Harry found himself in the position of spectator again, and, after so many nights of intense practice since rehearsals had begun, he was grateful for the break. Still, he felt like he had a good, solid handle on his first big scene. Playing off of Snape in an antagonistic way was easy, and Hermione was turning out to be adept at directing her cast members, creating an easy flow to the blocking, and helping the less experienced actors understand their lines so they could deliver them more believably.

But Harry didn't have to be onstage again until they were finished with Act One, and now he lounged on a prop bench with Ron, watching Draco Malfoy chew the scenery in his first major scene.

"'I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a rose in his grace'," Draco snarled to Kurt, a Slytherin playing Malfoy's sidekick Conrade, referring to his character's brother, Don Pedro.

It was fitting, Harry thought, that Don John had two thugs following him around, much like Crabbe and Goyle had once followed Malfoy. But they were dead now. When they realized Malfoy had refuted Voldemort, they had turned on him, and he had killed them. It had been self-defense, and no one could question that, not even Harry.

He'd been there, after all.

Crabbe and Goyle had taken it upon themselves to try to kill Harry in order to prove their loyalty and worth to Voldemort, thinking that his dead body would be their ticket into the inner circle. They had assumed Malfoy would help them. They had learned differently.

Afterward, Malfoy had gazed down at the corpses of the only two people who could have been called his friends, his expression utterly blank, and then he had drawn himself up.

"I'll inform the Headmaster there's refuse to be cleaned up," he said, his voice like brittle ice.

Harry had tried to thank him, but Malfoy had cut him off.

"I didn't do this for you, Potter. I did it for myself."

And with that, he had swept away. Harry had been summoned to Dumbledore's office to confirm Malfoy's version of what had happened, of course, but Malfoy was already gone when he got there, and they had never spoken of it since.

Adam, the Hufflepuff who was playing Malfoy's other sidekick Borachio, entered from the wings and gleefully informed Malfoy that Claudio intended to marry Hero as soon as possible, and the group of conspirators began plotting to cause problems for the happy couple. All three of them seemed to be enjoying playing scheming villains, and Harry almost wished he'd been cast as one of them. It might have been fun to play against type, for once.

A bustle of movement from backstage got his attention, and he glanced over just in time to see Professor McGonagall beckoning to him. He nudged Ron and pointed to show where he was going, and Ron nodded and waved, probably not wanting to break Hermione's rule about not talking while others were acting again. Harry imagined having had little green tentacles sprout out of his face once had been quite enough.

Once he was backstage, Professor McGonagall led Harry aside, far enough away from the stage that they wouldn't interrupt.

"It's time to take your measurements for your costume," she told him. "Come along."

The costume department, which consisted of Parvati, a Hufflepuff girl named Anne, and a Ravenclaw named Patricia, had taken over the dressing rooms. As he walked by, Harry caught a glimpse of a dressmaker's dummy and bolts of fabric in one, but it was otherwise empty.

Anne stood outside the door of the next one, as if waiting. As he walked by, Harry spotted someone inside, pulling a white shirt over his head, and he caught a glimpse of a firm, flat stomach that sported an intriguing line of dark hair.

Harry froze in mid-step, a curl of desire forming low in his belly at the sight, and he felt his mouth go dry as images of himself tracing that teasing, tempting line filled his mind.

And then the shirt fell into place, not only hiding the delicious sight, but also revealing to whom it belonged.

Oh, God.

Oh, no.

Nonononononononono.

Harry turned away quickly, almost running to catch up with Professor McGonagall, his mind going fuzzy with static as he fought to process the shattering concept that he'd just had lustful thoughts about Snape.

Damn the man! Why couldn't he have been flabby and paunchy?

It's no big deal, Harry insisted to himself. He hadn't known it was Snape, after all. It could have been anyone. That it turned out to be Snape was unfortunate, but there was no way he could have known, so really, he didn't find Snape -- or his stomach -- attractive. It was a mistake, that's all, and now that he did know who it was, well, he would just forget about it.

Yes. That's what he would do. He would forget all about the hint of smooth, pale skin at Snape's waist that looked like it was just waiting to be marked with a possessive love bite. He'd forget about the way that thin line of hair seemed to lead into the waistband of his trousers. He'd forget about wanting to follow it down, and...

No!

He ground the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to force the images out of his mind. Drawing in several deep breaths, he steadied himself, then walked into the last dressing room in the row, where Parvati was waiting for him, Professor McGonagall having excused herself to meet with the lighting crew.

He stood obediently in the middle of the room while Parvati circled him, hhmming and tutting under her breath.

"These will have to go," she said at last, lightly tapping the side of his glasses. "They're anachronistic, and they'll reflect the spotlights something awful. Can you see without them?"

"Ehm... not very well," he replied.

"Have you thought about contacts?"

Harry turned to follow the sound of Hermione's voice and saw her standing in the doorway.

"We're on a break, so I came to watch," she said with a mischievous smile.

"You just wanted to see if I'll squirm over being put in a dress," he countered mildly.

"Will you?"

"Of course not. It's just a costume, and as long as I don't look like a hag, I'll be all right with it."

"I think you'll make a very pretty girl," Hermione said, and Parvati nodded, much to his discomfiture. "You've got the bone structure for it. But she's right, the glasses will have to go, at least for the performance."

"Uncle Vernon would never spare the money for contacts," he said, able to speak of his Muggle relatives without bitterness for once. He was, after all, within months of being free from them forever, and after all he'd been through, their petty attitudes and casual cruelties didn't seem quite so important, in the grand scheme of things.

"Well, you've got money, haven't you?"

"Wizard money, yes. It won't do me any good in the Muggle world."

"Let me handle that," Hermione replied with a decisive nod. "I'll get an appointment for you, shall I?"

"You don't have to--"

"I want to," she interrupted gently. "Please, Harry, let me do this for you. Just put yourself in my hands for a time, and I'll arrange everything, all right?"

They gazed at one another for a long moment, and at last, Harry nodded mutely. She was his true friend and steadfast companion, and they had relied on each other more times than he could count during the last seven years. There was no concept of debt between them, only caring, and in the end, he knew he had no qualms about letting her manage his life in this small way.

"Yeah, all right," he said aloud.

"Brilliant," was her quiet response, and Harry relaxed, feeling as if they were about to undertake one last adventure together... and this time, there wouldn't be Possible Agonizing and Nasty Death waiting for them at the end of it all.

Meanwhile, he would not think about Snape's stomach.

Not at all.

"'I, with your two helps, will so practice on Benedick that, in despite of his quick wit and his queasy stomach'--"

Harry jerked his head up at hearing the word, a dull flush suffusing his cheeks as he quickly glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his startled reaction. Nobody, it seemed, had. Ron was in the scene being rehearsed, and everyone else was either busy or not paying attention to him, for which he was grateful.

Sirius finished his lines, declaring with smug certainty that he, along with Leonato, Claudio, and Hero, would successfully make Benedick and Beatrice fall madly in love with each other. With that, they departed; Harry glanced backstage and saw Parvati whisk Sirius, Ron, Colin and Dumbldore to the dressing rooms that were serving duty as fitting rooms at present. Everyone was getting their measurements taken, but no one knew what the costumes would actually look like.

"We were going to make them historically accurate according to Elizabethan fashion," Parvati had said, giving Snape a censorious look. "But Professor Snape wouldn't have it, so we're moving the designs up a couple of hundred years or so."

"As strange as it feels to say it, I agree with Snape," Ron had leaned over to Harry and whispered. "I didn't want to wear those puffy trousers and tights either."

Other than that, the cast knew nothing of what to expect, either in design, color, or choice of fabric. Harry wasn't particularly concerned; if the new designs were meant to keep Snape from objecting, then chances are, they weren't going to compromise anyone's dignity. For once, he thought with a silent chuckle, Snape's over-blown sense of decorum and penchant for being uncompromisingly opinionated were coming in handy.

Onstage, Malfoy, Kurt and Adam took their places, preparing to plot even more mischief. This time, they were formulating a plan to set up Claudio, using Borachio's relationship with a servant to make it seem as if Borachio were actually involved with Hero. Not only would Claudio be wildly jealous, but he would likely call off the wedding as well, and Don John would have his revenge on the young man who had gained favor in Don Pedro's eyes, despite Don John's own schemes of usurpation had been what led to his fall from his brother's grace.

They ran through the brief scene two or three times, Hermione stopping them at intervals to change the blocking or make a suggestion for line delivery, but it wasn't long before things were settled to everyone's satisfaction, and they exited the stage.

There was a moment's break while Hermione consulted with some of the stagehands, and Harry took the opportunity to stand up, stretch a bit, and wander down to the seats, where he could get an unobstructed view. He couldn't remember what scene was next -- and his blood drained from the upper part of his body, treacherously pooling in the lower regions when Hermione beckoned to someone offstage, and Snape appeared in response to the summons.

Harry slid down in his seat as if to hide, fixing his gaze resolutely on Snape's face, forcing himself not to let it drift lower. He would not remember what he'd seen. He would not remember what he'd seen. He would not--

Snape took possession of center stage, striking a far more casual stance than his students ever saw him use, and when he spoke, his tone was conversational, tinged with a mixture of disdain and amazement.

"'I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by failing in love'." He paused and shook his head disapprovingly. "'And such a man is Claudio. May I be so converted and see with these eyes? I cannot tell; I think not: I will not be sworn, but love may transform me to an oyster; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool'."

He began to pace back and forth, ticking off points on his long, thin fingers as he spoke, and Harry tried very hard not to stare at them. He'd never before noticed what attractive hands Snape had, elegant and graceful.

"'One woman is fair, yet I am well; another is wise, yet I am well; another virtuous, yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman'," he continued, hid tone growing more decisive. "'One woman shall not come in my grace. Rich she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll none; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her'."

Harry felt another blush creep into his cheeks. His Beatrice might well be a virtuous maid, but Harry certainly wasn't, and his thoughts were far from innocent at the moment, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the scene rather than his sudden, inexplicable desire to see what else Snape was hiding under those black robes.

"'Fair, or I'll never look on her; mild, or come not near me'."

Harry chuckled. That supposedly left Beatrice out of the running, but poor Benedick was going to end up eating those words before it was all said and done.

"'Of good discourse, an excellent musician, and her hair shall be of what colour it please God'." Suddenly, snape glanced offstage. "'Ha! the prince and Monsieur Love! I will hide me in the arbour'." With that, he hurried to take cover behind a chair that was currently serving as shrubbery until the set designers provided something a little more realistic.

Sirius walked onstage again, accompanied by Ron and Dumbledore, and all three of them had affected the air of conspirators.

"'Come hither, Leonato'," Sirius said, pitching his voice loudly so that even in his hiding place, Snape would be certain to hear the conversation and be deceived by it. "'What was it you told me of today, that your niece Beatrice was in love with Signior Benedick'?"

Behind the makeshift "bush," Snape gasped, appearing astonished, and he tried to edge as close to the other men as his hiding place would allow.

"'I did never think that lady would have loved any man'," Ron declared, and Dumbledore nodded agreement.

"'No, nor I neither; but most wonderful that she should so dote on Signior Benedick, whom she hath in all outward behaviors seemed ever to abhor'," the Headmaster said, and Harry shifted uncomfortably.

He had spent the better part of seven years despising Severus Snape, considering the Potions Master one of the chief banes of his existence, but now, just because he'd caught a peek at the man's bare skin, he was as flustered as the two lovesick teenagers in the play. It didn't make any sense! How could he possibly go from hatred to desire so quickly?

Unless...

Unless the adage about hate being the flip side of--

No!

It was just too much even to consider. It was just... just a softening of his former antagonism because of all he'd seen Snape do in the war with Voldemort. Too many beloved friends had perished, and while Snape was hardly in that category, he was a survivor, and he had shown true heroism. Harry's opinion of him had, naturally, adjusted accordingly, and that's what accounted for the difference now.

There could be no other reason.

"'Maybe she doth but counterfeit'," Sirius suggested, but Dumbledore scoffed, dismissing that idea vehemently.

"'O God, counterfeit! There was never counterfeit of passion came so near the life of passion as she discovers it'."

They continued in that manner, piling exaggeration upon exaggeration to create the illusion of Beatrice suffering unrequited love for an unworthy Benedick, who would, they supposed, scorn her if he knew of her affections. At last, they wound down, and, assuming the bait had been taken just as they had wanted it to be, they left together to get ready for dinner.

Snape moved from behind the chair slowly, his expression a mixture of wonder and sadness as he moved to the front of the stage until he stood alone in center stage once more, a solitary, remote, forbidding figure, the darkness of his clothes only heightening the sense of isolation surrounding him. He stared straight ahead, his hands slowly curling into fists at his sides.

"'I hear how I am censured'."

The words were slow and measured, each one laden, not with accusation, but simple acknowledgment of a known fact. Snape bowed his head slightly and said nothing. Moments drew out, and in the wings, there came the sound of shuffling feet from those for whom the words paralleled reality all too closely. Snape was censured, on a daily basis, by most of his students. How foolish to believe he wouldn't know, Harry thought absently. Snape brought it on himself with his snide remarks and relentless badgering, but still...

Snape's head snapped up, and he drew himself up to his full height and lifted his chin. "They say I will bear myself proudly'." It was a challenge, flung in the teeth of unseen opponents. "'They say too that she will rather die than give any sign of affection'." He lifted both fists and held them pressed just over his heart. "'I did never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy are they that hear their detractions and can put them to mending. They say the lady is fair; 'tis a truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous; 'tis so, I cannot reprove it. "And wise..." He gave a wry, self-deprecating little smile. "But for loving me."

He dropped his hands, unclenched, to his sides. "'By my troth, it is no addition to her wit, nor no great argument of her folly, for I will be horribly in love with her'."

An air of melancholy seemed to surround him, despite the words of love he spoke. It should have been joyous, Harry thought. It should be a happy occasion to realize you're in love. But no matter that the feelings awakened by the conspirators' words were obviously real, they were also not a source of joy or celebration. This love was painful.

It was just a play, Harry reminded himself sharply. It was just words, just acting.

So why did Harry feel the sudden, nearly overwhelming urge to run onstage and comfort Snape?

The flow of Diagon Alley shoppers swirled around them as Harry and Hermione strolled down the street at their leisure. Despite it was a Wednesday, they had the entire day off, thanks to Hermione. True to her word, she had arranged everything, having first sent an owl to her parents, asking them to make an appointment with an optometrist in London on Harry's behalf. Once that had been settled, she had spoken to the Headmaster, explaining what they needed to do and why, and Dumbledore had excused them from classes for the day. They had both arranged to get the assignments they would miss from their instructors, and they would simply make up the work over the weekend. After that, it was just a matter of walking to Hogsmeade and traveling by Floo Powder to Diagon Alley, where Hermione immediately steered him towards Gringott's.

"How much money do you have with you?" Hermione asked, and Harry riffled through his pockets quickly and gave her the total. "Hhm... I think you'll need to make a withdrawal to be on the safe side."

One hair-raising ride to his vault and back later, Harry had considerably more galleons and knuts, which he handed over to Hermione at her request, and she marched up to the nearest free teller.

"I'd like to exchange this, please."

The goblin teller nodded politely, took the money, opened a drawer, consulted a chart, and proceeded to count out stacks of pound notes in different denominations. Harry laughed and shook his head, amazed at his own obliviousness.

"It never once occurred to me to do that!" he exclaimed, and Hermione gave him a fondly exasperated look.

"Really, Harry, how did you think wizards manage in the Muggle world?"

The goblin slid the paper money across the counter to her, and she handed it to Harry, who stuffed it in his pockets.

"That should be enough. Come on, your appointment's in an hour, and we've still got to get there."

That part proved simple enough as well; once they stepped out of Diagon Alley and into the Muggle-bustle of London, they found a taxi, and within five minutes, they were off, headed to the optometrist's office.

Dr. Chapman was a convivial man who seemed fond of Hermione, and he welcomed Harry warmly when she introduced them. The examination itself was relatively quick, and at the end of it, Dr. Chapman assured Harry he could wear contacts, and, in fact, the office had some in stock in Harry's prescription strength. After a short demonstration of how to put them in, the doctor had provided the new contacts, and, after a bit of fumbling and poking, Harry managed to get them in.

"Here now," Hermione said, holding up a large hand mirror in front of him. "Have a look."

Harry looked -- and stared at the reflection he saw staring back at him. For the first time, he saw a face whose fine-boned features weren't overpowered by thick, heavy glasses.

"We can also fit you up with some new glasses, if you like," he suggested. "You'd be amazed at how thin and lightweight lenses can be these days, and you can choose new frames as well."

Harry had jumped at the chance, picking out a pair of frames that worked with his face instead of against it, and which allowed the wide beauty of his eyes to show through, although he felt himself blushing when Hermione described the effect his new look had on his eyes in those terms. He was able to take the contacts with him, and they arranged for the new glasses to be sent to Hermione's parents, who would then forward them via owl to Hogwarts; the bill was astronomical, but Harry paid it with a smile, feeling the money well spent indeed.

Afterward, he treated Hermione to lunch, insisting on paying since she had made all the arrangements for the day, and after a little protest, she agreed, and they decided to splurge a little, foregoing the lure of the fast food chains in favor of a small Italian restaurant that lured them in with the scent of fresh lasagne with hot, gooey melting cheese slathered all over the top.

"By the way," Hermione said casually after their meals had been served. "You're not still upset about that kissing scene at the end of the play, are you?"

"What?" Harry shook his head. "No, of course not," he said reassuringly. "Snape said we could fake it, and that's what I intend to do."

"Have you practiced?" She gave him a piercing look, and Harry focused on his lasagne as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

"No..." he admitted.

"Mm."

A moment of silence hung between them, and then she smoothly introduced another topic, but Harry's mind had already taken her casual words and run with them, reminding him that he had quite recently had naughty thoughts about his leading man. Given such developments, perhaps a little kiss for the sake of art wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Y'know..." Hermione mused, swirling her spoon in the hot fudge sauce of her dessert, and Harry stopped scarfing the cinnamon raisin muffin he was having for his own dessert long enough to pay attention to her. "We don't have to rush back to Hogwarts, and so I was thinking perhaps while we're here, you might want to go shopping as well."

"Shopping?" He stared at her blankly. "For what?"

"Muggle clothes," she stated bluntly. "Isn't it about time you had something to wear other than your hideous cousin's hideous hand-me-downs?"

Harry let his muffin drop back onto the plate as he considered this. Before today, buying his own clothes hadn't seemed like an option. But he still had some money left over from the optometrist's, more than enough to buy himself a few clothes, and he had to admit it would be nice to wear something that fit for a change.

"All right," he agreed. "Where do you suggest?"

Three hours later, Harry was staggering back to Diagon Alley under the weight of countless bags, some of them Hermione's, but most of them his. She had taken him to a store that was popular among young Muggles, and once there, she had outfitted him from top to bottom, sending a continual stream of garments into his fitting room for him to try on until he had completely lost track of everything he'd seen and worn.

Finally, he'd called a halt.

"Look," he had said, exasperated enough to ignore the amused look the salesclerk gave him as he marched out of the fitting room dressed only in a tee shirt and his cotton boxers. "Just tell me what looks best, and I'll buy that, all right? I don't need a whole closet full of clothes right away. I can always come back, you know."

"Oh, all right," Hermione had sighed, and proceeded to weed through the pile of clothes, stacking the accepted garments in his waiting arms and leaving the rejects behind.

He had still ended up with far more than he felt he needed: new jeans, a pair of khaki trousers, undergarments, pullover shirts, button-up shirts, socks, and shoes. But before they left the store, Hermione had made him stop and look in a full-length mirror, and the sight that greeted his eyes had stunned him.

For the first time, he wore jeans that he didn't have to roll up or cinch with a belt so that he didn't feel as if they were going to fall off; the new jeans fit his waist and hips snugly, and the length was perfect. Nor did his shirt sleeves need rolling up, and the shirt itself wasn't so large that it seemed to swallow his slender frame. For the first time, he felt he looked tidy and well put-together instead of sloppy; he didn't look as nearly as scrawny in these clothes, and the hunter green pullover shirt enhanced the color of his eyes.

"What do you think?" Hermione had stood behind him, peering at his reflection over his shoulder.

"Much better," he had said, catching her eyes in the mirror and smiling. "Thank you."

She had smiled back, and blushed a little. "What are friends for?" she asked quietly -- and then piled all the bags in his arms so they could return to Hogwarts at last.

Rehearsal went smoothly that night; everyone seemed to notice Harry's lack of glasses, and almost everyone commented on the change and how much they liked it, Snape being the noticeable exception, which didn't surprise Harry in the least. With Hermione's question still echoing in his mind, Harry had resolved to settle the matter of their stage kiss, and when the rehearsal was over, he strode purposefully up to Snape and confronted him.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape looked down his nose at him, in much the same way he would look at a fascinating new species of bug.

Harry took a deep, steadying breath and looked up to meet Snape's eyes. "I think it's time we started working on that fake kiss."

Snape arched one dark eyebrow at him. "So soon?"

"I don't want to leave it for the last minute," he replied. "It's got to be realistic, so I thought we should have plenty of time to practice."

"I see."

There was an interminable moment of silence, and then Snape lifted his hand and beckoned for Harry to follow him back to his quarters. Harry's stomach clenched, but whether in apprehention or anticipation, he wasn't quite sure as they wound their ways through the halls, down to the dungeon. Snape swept into his quarters without looking to see if Harry followed; Harry followed, then pushed the door shut behind himself and turned to see Snape standing near the fireplace, watching him with an unreadable expression.

"Come here." Snape held out his arms, but Harry couldn't move; he was frozen by the sight of Snape waiting for him, arms open and welcoming., and Snape gave an impatient snort, obviously misunderstanding the reason for his hesitation. "Come here, Potter. We can't very well fake a believable kiss from across the room."

Slowly, Harry crossed the floor and stood in front of Snape, feeling at a distinct disadvantage thanks to the differences in their respective heights.

"Now what?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper; he didn't trust it not to betray him with a crack at higher volumes.

"I regret to inform you that, as distasteful as it may be, we will have to endure some amount of physical contact."

"Yeah, well... Whatever makes it look good," he muttered, trying to control his breathing, which had accelerated once he had drawn near to Snape; he felt as if he was burning up, and it wasn't only because of the flames burning on the hearth.

"Of course."

Snape's eyes were completely shuttered as he slid his arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him close, so close that their bodies were almost -- but not quite -- touching. Harry longed to see something, anything, in that inscrutable face revealing how Snape felt about this, but there was nothing. The man was adept at keeping his feelings well hidden, or perhaps in this case, he didn't feel anything at all, and that thought was as sobering as a bucket of ice water. He felt Snape's other arm wrap around his waist, but still Snape kept a few inches between them, and Harry didn't move to close the distance.

"What should I do?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Put your arms around me... Yes, like that." Snape nodded approvingly when Harry wrapped both arms around Snape's chest, feeling the silken smoothness of Snape's robes sliding beneath his palms as he did. "Now then, turn your face towards me."

Harry followed instructions, his breath catching in his throat when Snape lowered his head so that their mouths were scant centimeters apart. He found himself staring into Snape's eyes as if he was mesmerized, his lips parting as he tried to take in more air. The heat shimmering between them was almost unbearable. Snape was so near... so near... all it would take would be one swift movement, and they would be kissing in earnest, and Harry wanted that. Oh, God, how he wanted to know how Snape kissed, if his lips were warm and soft, how he tasted...

"When we're like this, with your back to the audience, it appears that we are, in fact, kissing," Snape said. Was it Harry's imagination, or was his voice a little huskier than usual? "The illusion will only be obvious to those sitting on the far sides of the theater, since they will view the stage at an angle."

"Oh..." Harry continued to stare at Snape, at the dance of shadows across the older man's face. The merry crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room, except, perhaps, the pounding of Harry's own heart, although he hoped that was audible only to him.

Part of him was still stunned that he wanted this -- wanted Snape -- at all, but for the most part, he didn't care. He was filled with longing, yet there was nothing resembling permission in the face so close to his own.

"So is that it, then?" he asked softly, and Snape nodded.

"It's that simple."

"Oh..."

It probably should have been a cue for him to pull away, but Harry remained right where he was, vaguely aware that he was running his hands up and down Snape's back in a slow, languid caress. He was quite aware, however, that Snape wasn't leaping to the other side of the room to get away from him either.

"You smell like mint," he murmured, breathing deeply of the cool scent wafting from Snape's clothes, or his hair, or perhaps just him.

"I often use mint in the potions I make for the infirmary to help cut the taste. The scent tends to cling."

"Oh..." How many times had he said that in the last five minutes? Too many, but how was he supposed to remain coherent with Snape in his arms? And still neither of them made any move to retreat. Snape's expression was as neutral as ever, but Harry knew if he'd been disgusted by the contact, he would have pushed Harry away by now. That he hadn't... Well, it said quite a bit that Harry wanted to hear.

"Maybe we should actually kiss." He hardly recognized the soft, purring voice as his own.

Snape blinked at him, looking stunned. "You... want to kiss?"

"Yes. For the good of the play, of course."

Harry discovered that his hand had slid of its own accord into Snape's hair, which felt soft and very thick, and not at all greasy.

"Of course."

Snape's arm tightened around his waist, and Harry found himself pressed deliciously close against that long, lithe body; it was all he could do not to wind himself around the man in a desperate attempt to relieve the ache within him.

"I mean, Dumbledore wants a good show, right?"

"It would be a shame to disappoint him."

"Yes, and if part of the audience can tell we're not really kissing, that'll blow the illusion, so maybe we'd better do it for real."

He was babbling, and he didn't care; Snape was holding him, Snape was looking at him with eyes that were no longer remote but smoldering, burning with dark embers that were catching fire within Harry.

"Is that what you really want to do?"

There were times when the usefulness of words ran out, and actions were needed. This, Harry decided, was one of those times.

Using the hand anchored on the back of Snape's head, he pulled Snape down, into a kiss. The entire world hung, suspended, and Harry felt a knot of apprehension in his stomach at the lack of response from Snape...

... And then Snape's lips parted, and the world was swept away in a rush of wet heat and desire as Harry found himself crushed in Snape's embrace. He gave himself over to need, arching against Snape, straining for contact as their tongues met for the first time. He felt light-headed, aroused to aching hardness by Snape's thorough exploration of his mouth, and he eagerly let Snape draw in his own tongue, more than ready to do some exploring of his own.

The initial wave of desire crested and ebbed, settling into a slow, steady throb; Harry slowed his pace, wanting to take the time to enjoy these heady new sensations. He'd felt passion with his other lovers, but nothing like this, and he wondered if it was because Snape was older and more experienced, or because this kiss was forbidden fruit in more ways than one.

Whatever the reason, Harry had never wanted anyone more in his life, never wanted to taste and to touch anyone as much. He wanted to feast on Snape, to memorize every inch of skin with his fingers, lips and tongue.

Still the kiss continued, warm and slow. Their tongues slid against each other, diving in and out of each other's mouths until Harry felt as if he had Snape's taste permanently imprinted on his tongue, and he didn't mind that idea one bit.

He didn't know how long they stood there, bodies all but melded together as their hands mirrored the slow, thorough exploration of their tongues. Finally, Snape pulled away, his sallow cheeks flushed, his lips bitten and sucked to a rosy hue, and Harry felt certain his own lips looked exactly the same.

"Well." The Potions Master drew in a deep breath and, carefully untangling himself from Harry's arms, took a step back. "That would indeed be a show-stopper."

"Wouldn't it just," Harry agreed, dazed.

Silence fell, and Harry took the opportunity to straighten his robes. To his surprise, he was feeling remarkably unembarrassed. He should have been mortified; he'd practically thrown himself at a teacher, after all, and said teacher was Snape no less. This should have been the single most humiliating moment of his entire life, but he couldn't seem to work up any embarrassment when his entire body was still tingling, and he thought he could still taste Snape on his lips.

"I believe we will need to resort to the illusion of kissing, after all," Snape said at last, in a low voice, and Harry darted a startled glance at him.

"Why? Don't try to tell me you didn't like it."

Snape waved dismissively. "Whether either of us liked it or not is beside the point. We cannot do that again."

"Whyever not?" Harry stared at him, puzzled.

"Teacher." Snape tapped his forefinger against his own chest. "Student." He tapped his forefinger against Harry's chest.

Harry made a scoffing noise. "In less than three months, I won't be your student any longer. We can do whatever we like then."

"There's also the age difference. I'm not a young man, Harry."

He smiled, knowing Snape had given away more than he'd intended with that accidental slip, and he found he quite liked the way Snape said his name.

"You're young. Your entire life is ahead of you. You've much to do and see in the world, and no doubt you will fall in and out of lust twenty times within the next month, as most normal boys your age do. You don't need any ties right now, and I..." Snape's dignity swirled around him like a well-worn cloak. "I have no patience for brief dalliances."

So that's how it is, is it? Harry mused.

"You're forgetting one thing."

"Oh, really. And what's that?"

"I'm not normal." He fixed Snape with a steady, somber gaze. "I've never been normal. I was attacked by Voldemort as an infant and survived. I spent the next ten years of my life being neglected and emotionally abused by my own aunt and uncle. Then I came here and spent six years being hunted by the most powerful Dark Wizard our world has ever known. I've seen and done more in seventeen years than most normal people see or do in a lifetime. If nothing else, I'd say that's probably had a maturing effect on me."

"All very true," Snape agreed softly. "But you're no longer living under a dark pall, and you should be free to enjoy it."

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Snape's. He understood what Snape was saying, and he thought he had a pretty good handle on what Snape wasn't saying as well. If he was honest, he had to admit he wasn't ready to rush into anything except bed. These reactions to Snape were still too new for him to understand completely, and if they stemmed from nothing more than teen hormones, it would hardly be fair to wheedle Snape into bed, then waltz away when the passion had burned itself out. He need time to think and to sort through his feelings before he could know of a certainty what they were and whether they were ephemeral... or something potentially more lasting.

"All right," he said, still favoring Snape with an unflinching gaze. "We'll do it your way. No more kissing."

"Good." Snape folded his arms and mustered a glare. "Now I suggest you hurry along. It's late, and you have classes tomorrow."

"Right." Harry turned and headed for the door, but he stopped and looked back once. "See you at rehearsal."

"Yes. Of course."

With that, Harry let himself out and wandered to the Gryffindor dormitory, remaining deep in thought every step of the way. He had many questions, but only time would provide the answers, and he knew patience wasn't his strong point. In this case, however, it was necessary for Snape, and for himself, and for whatever they might end up being to each other.

Too Wise to Woo Peaceably 3/4

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 04:53:50 GMT

When Harry entered the Gryffindor common room, he found it empty, except for Ron and Hermione, who appeared to be studying, but as soon as he walked in, they both glanced up, appearing relieved.

"Are you okay?" Ron stood up and went to meet him. "We saw you go off with Snape, and we wanted to make sure you were all right."

Forcing a laugh, Harry moved to sit down in the chair across from Hermione. "I'm fine. Snape's proved he's one of the good guys, remember?"

"We know he wouldn't hurt you, Harry, but the two of you are a bit like oil and water," Hermione said, obviously trying to be tactful.

Funny, I thought we were more like instant combustion, he thought, slumping in the chair a little. "I'm fine, really."

He glanced at his two friends; Hermione was perched on the edge of her seat, watching him with concern in her eyes, and Ron had sat down again, claiming the chair beside hers. Seven years of trust and camaraderie... They knew him better than anyone, even Sirius, and he knew better than to think he could hide anything from them for very long.

"We didn't quarrel, but something did happen between us," he admitted heavily. Lowering his gaze, he studied his clasped hands as he struggled to find the words to explain the situation to them. They weren't going to like what he was about to say, but perhaps he could phrase it so the blow was lessened. "There's something... strange going on between Snape and me, and it has been for a while now. I don't know when it started. Maybe with the play rehearsals, maybe even before. All I know is that Colin saw it before I did."

"Saw what?" Hermione asked gently.

He drew in a shaky breath and lifted his head to look at them both. "Tonight, I went to his quarters to practice the stage kiss, and we kissed for real, and it was my idea. I wanted to, and it was brilliant. Probably the best kiss I've ever had, and that's saying something, especially compared to Fred."

Silence fell in the Gryffindor common room. Ron stared at him, his eyes wide as any House Elf's. Little clicking noises emerged from his throat, but no actual words. Hermione pressed one hand to her mouth, smothering a gasp.

"But, Harry," she said. "He's a teacher!"

Harry laughed again, genuine laughter this time. Trust dear Hermione to focus on that aspect rather than all the myriad personality conflicts a relationship with Snape would entail.

"He's -- he's Snape!" Ron exclaimed, finding his voice at last.

"Are you in love with him?" Hermione asked, cutting to the chase as she usually did.

"I don't know," he replied candidly. "Tonight, I wanted to shag him in the worst possible way--"

Ron started making clicking noises in his throat again.

"--but love? I dunno." He shook his head. "I don't know what I feel for him yet, or if it's just hormones, and we agreed we shouldn't... ehm... go any further until I figure it out."

"That's for the best," Hermione told him, reaching out to pat his shoulder reassuringly. "It could be just an infatuation, after all."

"Yeah," Ron chimed in, a hopeful note in his voice. "I mean, you're my best friend, and I'll still like you no matter what, but it was weird enough when you were dating my brother."

"We weren't so much dating as shagging each other senseless as often as possible," Harry informed him, the somber expression on his face belied by the mischievous twinkle in his green eyes, and Ron clapped his hands over his ears.

"Too much information!"

Laughing, Hermione rose to her feet and gathered her books, parchments and quills, then turned to Harry, serious once more. "I know it's a difficult situation," she said, her voice laden with sympathy. "And if you ever want to discuss it, we're here for you. We may not agree with you choosing Snape as your significant other, but Ron and I want you to be happy. Right, Ron?"

"Oh, er... right," he agreed as he scrambled to collect his own study material. "It's just..." He straightened, looking Harry in the eyes. "I'm not sure Snape'll be the one to make you happy, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Harry stood up as well. "That's why I'm not rushing into anything, all right?"

Ron breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "All right." He paused, then added, "And if it's just you're a bit randy, you could always send Fred an owl. I'm sure he'd be delighted to... ehm... pay you a visit."

"Thank you." Harry regarded him with mock-gravity. "It's good to know I have your blessing anytime I want to spend a night of unrestrained passion with your brother."

Even by the time they got to their shared bedroom, the bright scarlet hue in Ron's face still hadn't faded.

"O, mischief strangely thwarting'!"

Ron's heart-rending cry was audible even over the bustle of activity backstage, and Harry stood close enough to the edge of the stage that he could hear the dialogue plainly. Don John had just informed Don Pedro and Claudio that he had "proof" of Hero's infidelity, which was false proof he and his men had fabricated, but the naive young Claudio believed it nonetheless, and now the suffered agonies of a broken heart.

Ron was doing a remarkably good job of portraying anger and anguish, without seeming too melodramatic, and Harry would have enjoyed the scene immensely had he not been so preoccupied. But he was preoccupied, and had been for nearly two weeks, ever since the kiss. Outwardly, the dynamic between himself and Snape hadn't appeared to change. They bickered onstage as Beatrice and Benedick, and appeared to ignore each other offstage. They were careful not to touch more than they absolutely had to, and if anything, it would probably seem to the casual observer that the temperature of their relationship had plummeted.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Harry found it difficult to keep his eyes from straying to Snape, seeking him out wherever he was, and when he let his gaze wander up and down Snape's black-clad form, he remembered the all-too-brief glimpse of what was concealed beneath those loose robes, and how it had felt to be pressed against that lean body. Sometimes, Snape caught him watching, and when their eyes met, Harry was surprised the very air didn't catch fire between them. Snape's expression may have shown nothing but his usual disdain, but those dark eyes told a different story of what lay simmering beneath the surface of his cool, remote exterior. One such look, and Harry was instantly aroused, not only by its intensity, but also by the memories it evoked, memories of one kiss that hadn't been nearly enough to satisfy him.

And so, they had watched and circled one another, the slightest brush of skin on skin enflaming Harry, and he doubted he was alone in that reaction. He wasn't certain which of them was the predator and which the prey; perhaps they traded off at times. All he did know was that the tension was growing between them, stretching out into a thin, taut line that could snap at any moment, and he had no idea what might happen if it did.

One good thing that had happened in the last couple of weeks, however, was that his new glasses had arrived, and he had been alternating between wearing them and wearing his contacts, since the contacts tended to get a little uncomfortable after a long day, particularly if he spent a great deal of time studying.

Somewhere nearby, a door creaked open, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Anne rush toward the dressing rooms; out of curiosity, he turned to see what she was in such a hurry for -- and the reason became perfectly clear.

Snape stood in the doorway of one of the dressing rooms, adjusting the wrist of one of his sleeves, and Anne approached him with a pincushion in one hand and a clipboard in another.

"How's that, then?" she asked. "Does everything fit all right, or does Madam Fischu need to make any adjustments?"

"It seems fine to me," Snape replied, and Harry agreed mutely.

Oh, it was a fine sight. More than fine.

Snape was apparently trying on his costume for size, the first glimpse Harry had gotten of any of the costume designs, and he gave his full approval to whomever had come up with the idea of putting Snape in deep indigo blue trousers tucked into black boots, a white drop-sleeved shirt, and a long, indigo blue waistcoat embroidered with silver. The cut of the clothing seemed to be 18th century rather than 16th, definitely old-fashioned, but somehow appropriate nonetheless. Much Ado About Nothing was a play that could easily be transferred to almost any time period, and Harry liked the costume designers' choice.

The shirt Snape wore had a lace-up V neck which he hadn't yet bothered to lace all the way; while Anne circled him with a critical eye, he picked up the laces and began threading them through the holes, pulling the neckline closed more tightly, and before he could stop himself, Harry closed the distance between them and batted Snape's hands out of the way. It was all he could do not to reach out and skim his fingertips across the light dusting of chest hair the shirt revealed.

"A proper scoundrel never laces his shirt all the way up," Harry informed him solemnly, trying to ignore just how tempting Snape looked in trousers instead of robes; they fit him just snugly enough to tantalize, without being too tight.

"And you would know this how?" Snape folded his arms, and Harry found himself mesmerized by the graceful fall of the cuffs across Snape's hands.

"I've seen more Muggle movies and television shows than you," Harry reminded him. "I know all about scoundrels."

"I thought perhaps you were going to reference personal experience."

He stared up at Snape, his eyes narrowing with speculation, but Snape's expression was bland, almost bored. Had Snape heard of his brief affairs? Hogwarts was a small place, and it was entirely possible that rumors had circulated, despite his attempts to be discreet. Still, it wasn't as if he'd left a string of broken hearts in his wake, or that he'd gone through partners like tissue paper. Far from it, he could still count the number of partners on one hand, and they had all known going in that Harry wasn't looking for a long-term relationship with them.

Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps Snape thought he wasn't interested in making a commitment, but that wasn't true. He did want to settle down; he simply hadn't found the person he wanted to settle down with. Was he to remain celibate while he looked? he wondered indignantly.

"My personal experience isn't all that vast," he replied with quiet dignity. "And I'm neither interested in scoundrels nor in being one. I haven't yet given my heart to anyone, because when I do, it'll be theirs for life, and that's the sort of decision I want to be sure about before making it."

"The heart seems to have a mind of its own sometimes, Potter. Don't be surprised if it makes the decision for you." Abruptly, he turned to look at Anne, who had retreated to a discreet distance. "Are we finished here?"

"Yes, Professor. Everything seems to be in order with the costume."

"Good." With that, Snape pivoted sharply and marched back into the dressing room, slamming the door shut behind himself, leaving Harry to wonder about the possible implications of his words.

The problem, as Harry saw it, was that his relationship with Snape seemed to be one of extremes. First, he couldn't stand the man, and now, he was lusting after him. There wasn't much middle ground to be had there. When he sat down and thought about it, he realized he didn't know much about Snape at all; he had no idea if there was any basis, however slight, on which they could form a satisfactory relationship that encompassed more than just sex. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to cut through both the antagonism and the haze of passion, and see if they could simply talk to one another. If they could, perhaps that would begin to answer the questions regarding his feelings. If they couldn't... Well, that would be an answer of sorts as well.

Of course, that had seemed like a much better idea back in the Gryffindor dormitory than it did once he was down in the dungeons with his fist poised to knock on Snape's classroom door.

It was the Saturday of a Hogsmeade weekend, and Hermione wasn't so foolish as to schedule a rehearsal all weekend. If she had, most of her cast would have been quite put out, but things were progressing smoothly enough that they could afford to take a break, and Hermione herself had made plans to visit the town with Ron. They had invited Harry to go with them, but having recently been to London, he wasn't in a shopping or browsing frame of mind. Instead, he'd opted to do a bit of studying... and then he'd decided to pay a call on Snape. Snape's office had been locked up tight, but the door to his classroom was slightly ajar, and Harry could see torchlight flickering within.

Well, he thought, steeling himself for whatever reaction might result, here's hoping for the best.

And he knocked.

"What?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Typical irascible tone. As if it would hurt the man to be polite once in a while.

"It's me." He poked his head around the door and saw Snape glance up from his cauldron -- one which appeared larger and more well-worn than those the students used -- with an expression that was a mixture of annoyance and distraction.

"What is it, Potter?" Snape turned his attention back to whatever he was brewing, a bilious green potion that smelled pleasantly of chamomile.

Despite not having been asked in, Harry entered the room anyway and leaned against the edge of Snape's desk, watching. Snape ignored him, moving to his cutting board, where he proceeded to chop up some dried herbs that Harry didn't recognize; his motions were quick and sure, and his precision with the cutting was little short of amazing. Harry became absorbed; in all his seven years at Hogwarts, he'd never actually seen Snape brew a potion, and he began to understand a little bit why even those who didn't like him respected his ability.

Snape's entire attention was focused on what he was doing, and he cut and measured ingredients with a deftness that spoke volumes of his mastery, and he never once consulted a book. He dusted a few of the herbs into the mixture with graceful motions of his long, thin fingers, nodding as if pleased when the brew began turning a darker green. His face was more relaxed than Harry had ever seen it; a little furrow of concentration had formed between his eyebrows, but his mouth wasn't pressed into a hard line, and his expression was one of studiousness, not contempt or anger.

So this must be where he's most happy, Harry mused.

"D'you mind if I stay and watch?" he asked quietly.

"Would you actually heed me if I said yes?" Snape turned back to his cutting board and began ladling snails out of a jar, not bothering to look at Harry.

"Probably not."

"Then why did you bother to ask?"

"Purely to be an annoyance to you."

"Congratulations on a job well done."

There was irritation in Snape's voice but no venom, and Harry smiled, wondering if the key to interacting with Snape was just that simple: if he snarks, snark back, only don't get angry about it. Without the heat of anger fueling him, Harry found he liked the banter. It was fun, and it kept him on his toes, trying to get the last word.

"I can help, if you like," he offered.

"Cut these." Snape indicated the snails. "And do try not to make your usual hash of it."

Pushing himself away from the desk, Harry moved to the cutting board and picked up a spare knife and a snail; it was still alive, and its little radulae undulated against his skin as he held it down and began slicing into it. They worked in silence for a while, which didn't bother Harry as much as he thought it might. It wasn't a tense silence, and he didn't get the feeling Snape was anxious to get rid of him.

"So what is it?" he asked, after he'd finished all the slicing and sorting Snape instructed him to do.

"A sleeping draught for Minerva," Snape replied absently, intent on measuring a precise amount of valerian. "She managed to anger Peeves to the point he's taken up banging pots and pans outside her door all night. He'll get tired of it soon enough, but until then, she needs this to get any rest at all."

He straightened, stirred the contents of the cauldron a few times, then stepped back.

"It just needs to simmer a while." For the first time since Harry entered the room, Snape turned his full attention on him. "Now then. I can't imagine you're really interested in this, so what was it you wanted?"

"Nothing, I..." Suddenly, Harry found words coming out of his mouth that he hadn't expected to say. "I suppose I should thank you, is all."

"Thank me." Snape's eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline. "Whatever for?"

"You've looked out for me far more than I ever realized," he admitted, meeting Snape's gaze steadily. "Starting with Quirrel and going right up until the end. I never thought of it before, or showed much gratitude, but you've helped keep me alive, and I am grateful."

Snape shrugged and looked away. "I would have done as much for any student. I have done, in fact."

"I know." Harry nodded, his expression turning puzzled. "But you act like you hate most of us, so why have you tried so hard to keep us all safe?"

"Hate is a very strong word, Potter, and despite all appearances to the contrary, there are very few people in the world for whom I have harbored or do harbor outright hatred." Snape gazed into the depths of his cauldron, as if the bubbling liquid within held answers he sought. "Dislike, however... Well, that's something to which I must confess. Can you possibly conceive how frustrating it is, Potter?" He fixed Harry with a piercing stare. "Teaching class after class of apathetic children, whose minds expand no further than the next outing to Hogsmeade? This--" He made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire classroom, "--is the foundation for their future. They're preparing for the rest of their lives now, and yet they have no more conception of that than those snails you just chopped up."

Snape shook his head, scowling. "I harbor no illusions that Potions is of much interest. It's all wand-waving and charms to them. The subtle intricacies of brewing potions is too much like real work! It takes time, patience, and skill to master the art of potions, but that's too difficult, and so they come in and doze off, or pass notes, or daydream -- anything but pay attention. They're content to do the bare minimum amount of work needed to pass, and anything above and beyond that is inconceivable because it would mean having to think about something for a change, and God forbid they should do that."

"And you, Potter..." Snape whirled on him, and Harry took an involuntary step back; this was far more than he'd bargained for when he began the conversation, but he got the impression it was something Snape had been carrying around for a long time.

"Your grades could have been almost as high as Miss Granger's, but you paid far more attention to the Quidditch field than to the classroom. You didn't apply yourself, you just breezed through. You're almost as bad as that godfather of yours. He was stupid, and careless, and thoughtless -- and I almost died because of it. At least the only person you've almost gotten killed is yourself, more times than I care to count, because you never stop to think. You just hare off, acting on your gut instincts and letting them rule you. And look where it's gotten you! Have you learned anything from all the times you've landed in the thick of trouble that way? Noooo."

Snape broke off, closing his mouth with a snap, his hands clenched at his sides.

"Quite finished?" Harry asked, and Snape nodded curtly. "Maybe I do act too impulsively at times, but if you ask me, you don't act impulsively enough. I can't even begin to imagine what you've got all bottled up inside you, but it's enough to turn you into an uptight, surly old bastard who could stand to ease up on all the control for a change, loosen up, and learn to have fun." He paused, then added as inspiration struck, "Maybe that's why you like acting so much. It gives you a freedom you're not willing to give yourself."

"That's your opinion, is it?"

"It is," Harry replied, meeting Snape's gaze and refusing to back down.

They stared at each other for what felt like a very long time, and it was only when the potion gave a noisy burp that Snape blinked and looked away.

"It needs stirring," he said, waving at the cauldron. "Make yourself useful while I clean up the mess."

"Right." Harry grasped the large wooden spoon sticking out of the brew like an unlikely Excalibur and began stirring slowly and evenly, as Snape had always taught. No more words passed between them, but he had the feeling enough had been said, and now they both needed time to think about and digest the conversation. He did, anyway. It had revealed a different side of Snape that he hadn't expected to see, and he needed to find out how it fit into his overall perspective on the man, and how it affected his feelings.

But deep down, he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that.

"'You come hither, my lord, to marry this lady'." Diminutive Professor Flitwick was playing the Friar performing the marriage ceremony between Hero and Claudio, and he stood on a footstool in front of Colin and Ron.

Colin darted shy, adoring looks at Ron, who refused to look at his "bride," his face set in resolute lines of anger.

"'No'," he replied stiffly, earning confused looks from everyone around him, except Sirius, who, having witnessed Draco's set-up, appeared equally grim.

Dumbledore laughed and tried to pass it off as a joke. "'To be married to her: friar, you come to marry her'."

Flitwick nodded, smiling with relief, and continued with the ceremony. "'If either of you know any inward impediment why you should not be conjoined, charge you, on your souls, to utter it'." He looked as if he was going to keep on speaking, but Ron held up his hand and finally turned to Colin.

"'Know you any, Hero'?" he asked, his voice hard and cold, and Colin stared at him, bewildered and a little frightened.

"'None, my lord'," Colin whispered, eyes wide and full of alarm at this strange turn of events in what should have been a joyous occasion.

Ron gazed at Colin, then turned abruptly away as if the sight disgusted him. "'Stand thee by, friar. Father, by your leave: Will you with free and unconstrained soul give me this maid, your daughter'?" he asked Dumbledore, who was also growing concerned.

"'As freely, son, as God did give her me," Dumbledore replied, his voice revealing his uncertainty.

With a harsh cry, Ron grabbed Colin's arms and shoved him towards Dumbledore, making Colin stumble, and Dumbledore reached out and caught him, holding him close as if protecting him.

"'There, Leonato, take her back again'!" Ron exclaimed, his face ravaged with pain. "'Give not this rotten orange to your friend; she's but the sign and semblance of her honour. Behold how like a maid she blushes here! O, what authority and show of truth can cunning sin cover itself withal! Comes not that blood as modest evidence to witness simple virtue? Would you not swear, all you that see her, that she were a maid, by these exterior shows? But she is none: she knows the heat of a luxurious bed. Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty'."

Colin gasped and hid his face against Dumbledore's shoulder, but Dumbledore divided his attention between Ron and Colin, obviously not understanding what was going on.

"'What do you mean, my lord'?" he asked Ron at last.

"'Not to be married'," Ron snarled. "'Not to knit my soul to an approved wanton'."

Colin whirled to face Ron, visibly shocked, and Dumbledore looked horrified. "'Dear my lord, if you, in your own proof, have vanquished the resistance of her youth, and made defeat of her virginity'--" he stammered, trying to come up with some kind of reasonable explanation, but Ron cut him off.

"'I know what you would say: if I have known her, you will say she did embrace me as a husband, and so extenuate the 'forehand sin. No, Leonato, I never tempted her with word too large, but, as a brother to his sister, showed bashful sincerity and comely love'."

"'And seemed I ever otherwise to you'?" Colin cried, weeping and clinging to Dumbledore; Harry, who was one of the bridal attendants, watched the scene play out with growing trepidation. Everyone else was doing just fine with the drama, but he wasn't so sure about his own ability to react realistically in the serious scene he had coming up. Comic banter was one thing, but being emotional... well, that was a bit harder to manage.

It also didn't help that Snape was standing nearby, and Harry felt as if he'd become preternaturally aware of the man, some bizarre form of Snape-radar kicking in whenever Snape so much as shifted stances.

The scene continued with Ron accusing Colin of being seen with another man, when actually it had been Hero's maidservant, Margaret, who had been spotted in the tryst. Overcome with emotion, Colin fainted as Ron and Sirius stormed off in a self-righteous huff with Draco following them and smirking over the trouble he had caused, and Harry rushed to Colin's side to begin his part in the scene.

"'Cousin'!" he cried, falling to his knees beside Colin. "'Wherefore sink you down? Dead, I think. Help, uncle! Hero! why, Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar'!"

Lifting one hand to his forehead, Colin stirred, and Harry helped him sit up, cradling him in his arms and rocking him soothingly as he began to weep again. Dumbledore stormed over, his blue eyes snapping with wrath, and he grabbed Colin's arm in a vise-like grip, hauled him to his feet and threw him half-way across the stage. Snape tried to stop Dumbledore, but the older man shrugged him off and raced over to Colin, slapping him when he tried to rise again, and Harry scrambled to come between them, trying to shield Colin from Dumbledore with his own body.

It was almost frightening, seeing Dumbledore like this again, even though it was only pretend this time. The first time Harry had ever seen him angry -- truly angry -- had been a terrifying sight, and he'd vowed never to underestimate the venerable wizard again. That day had driven it home that there was a reason why Dumbledore was considered one of the most powerful Wizards in the world, and why Voldemort had feared him. His cheerful, mild exterior hid the heart of a warrior who could be ruthless in his own way, if necessary, and one whose anger it wasn't wise to provoke.

"'Do not live, Hero; do not open thine eyes'!" Dumbeldore roared, trying to shove Harry out of the way so he could get to Colin, but Harry refused to budge, and Snape finally got a firm grip on Dumbledore's arms and pulled him backwards. "'Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? Why had I not with charitable hand took up a beggar's issue at my gates, who smirch'd thus and mired with infamy, I might have said 'No part of it is mine. This shame derives itself from unknown loins'? But mine and mine I loved and mine I praised and mine that I was proud on, mine so much that I myself was to myself not mine, valuing of her,--why, she, O, she is fallen into a pit of ink, that the wide sea hath drops too few to wash her clean again and salt too little which may season give to her foul-tainted flesh'!"

"Sir, sir, be patient. For my part, I am so attired in wonder, I know not what to say," Snape told him, trying to calm him a little, but Dumbledore wouldn't be calmed, and both Colin and Harry cast him grateful looks, glad that there was someone who wasn't going to jump to conclusions about Hero's guilt.

"Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie, who loved her so, that, speaking of her foulness, wash'd it with tears? Hence from her! let her die'!" Dumbledore snarled.

As Harry continued to comfort Colin, Snape and Flitwick managed to calm Dumbledore down enough to realize there was something suspicious about the whole thing, and some investigation was in order. Flitwick suggested that Dumbledore let it be known that Colin had not just swooned, but had died, and while he was "dead," the rest of them would try to figure out what had happened. Broken and weary, Dumbledore agreed and retreated from the stage, and Flitwick led Colin away, helping support him as he went into hiding within his quarters, to remain there until his name was cleared.

That left Harry and Snape alone onstage to enact the most serious scene between their characters thus far, and before they could even get started, Harry called a time-out.

"I'm not sure I can do this," he told Hermione. "I feel a little silly, getting so dramatic. I mean, I'm not really supposed to cry, am I?"

"No, but you do need to take this seriously, Harry," she told him. "It's the turning point of the play. Everything's been fun and games up until now, but here we get into the conflict and the drama which will take us to the resolution."

"I'm not sure..." He shook his head, trailing off.

"Try relating Beatrice's situation to your own life somehow," Hermione suggested. "Think about how she must feel: her cousin has been wrongly accused, and there's nothing she can do about it. She wants to do something -- anything -- to clear Hero's name, but there's nothing she can do. She's helpless."

"All right, I'll try it," Harry said resolutely.

With an encouraging smile, Hermione retreated to one side again, and Harry squared his shoulders, thinking about Beatrice and Hero, and trying to find some basis of relating. It turned out not to be difficult at all. All he had to do was think about the last seven years... or even the last seven months, when everything had come to a boiling point.

So many dead... Remus Lupin dying in Dumbledore's arms... Neville gone in the blast of a Death Eater's wand, valiently shielding Harry and Sirius with his own body in an effort to gain them desperately needed time... Percy, poor shocked and innocent Percy... So many gone... So many who should have been in the theater, in the school with them, but weren't, and he had been helpless to save them.

Oh, yes, he understood all too well how Beatrice must have felt.

"'Is that not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonored my kinswoman'?"

Murdered my family, my friends?

"'O, that I were a man'!" Tears stung Harry's eyes as he roared out his pain. "'What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands, and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancor--'"

Cut them down, burned them, with no pity or mercy or regard for age, just endless, senseless slaughter...

"'O, God, that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the marketplace'!"

Harry fell to his knees, sobbing; his breath scalded his lungs, and his eyes burned with the tears he fought not to shed. But then he felt someone's presence close by, felt someone kneeling beside him, felt an arm around his shoulders, and the tears could be resisted no longer. Harry wept, for the lost friends, for the family he never knew, and for the innocence he had left behind him on a scorched and barren battlefield.

His vision was too blurred to see who had offered comfort, and who now clasped his hand; he thought probably Hermione, or perhaps Ron, but then the familiar scent of mint wafted to him, and he knew it wasn't either of them at all.

"'By this hand, I love thee'." Snape's voice was soft, deeper than usual, and far more gentle than Harry had ever heard it before.

Harry turned his head and gazed up at him, eyes glowing like wet emeralds through his tears. "'Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it'."

He clutched tightly at Snape's hand, remembering other scenes now.

Snape, bloodied and battered, his left arm nearly useless from the pain of the Dark Mark burning it, but still fighting; Snape's face twisted in a furious snarl as he leapt between Lucius Malfoy and Harry, striking down his former companion; Snape working with Sirius to protect Dumbledore from a hoard of Death Eaters.

"'Enough, I am engaged'." Snape's voice was now rough around the edges. "'I will challenge him. I will kiss your hand'." He lifted their clasped hands, brushing his lips against the back of Harry's hand, and a frisson rippled along Harry's nerve endings at the contact.

It wasn't enough. Harry stared at him, lips parted as he fought to draw breath into lungs constricted by emotion -- grief, anger, and something more. Snape raised his eyes to meet Harry's, and their gazes held for an interminable moment, heat shimmering between them. More, Harry urged silently; as if he heard that unspoken message, Snape closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Harry's hand, his expression almost pained, before releasing it quickly and rising to his feet.

"'And so I leave you'." Snape gazed down at him steadily, then raised his clenched fist. "'By this hand, Claudio shall render me a dear account'."

Snape, standing victorious over Lucius Malfoy's lifeless body. Snape, howling in triumph as Voldemort died a true death, lifting his bare left arm to the skies as the Dark Mark faded away forever.

"'As you hear me, so think of me. Go, comfort your cousin. I must say she is dead; and so, farewell'."

Harry blinked, and whatever strange connection that had formed between them dissipated; a flush of heat rushed to his face as he realized everyone in the theater was staring at him, some with shock, some with pity for his emotional outburst. Only Snape's eyes held understanding.

"Well, Harry..." Hermione gulped, and clutched her clipboard tightly to her chest. "That was... much better. I think you've got it now."