* * * * * * * * * * *

I slip into the auditorium, unnoticed, deliberately late. It is actually possible for me to do that now; I was fitted with contacts last year and the infamous scar has faded since Voldemort's death. I still have fame, of sorts, as Seeker for England's Quidditch team; but it's different. Out of my Quidditch robes and off my broom, people tend not to notice me as much as they used to. I'm not the Boy Who Lived any more, and I'm glad of it. The Dark Lord is gone, and everyone was happy to get on with their lives. But the rest of the world, myself included, didn't know that, while they tried to get back to what they thought of as normal, a few of Voldemort's followers had escaped. But one wizard knew. One who counted himself as a spy for the good, who knew he could be found out at any time, who disappeared when the Dark Lord died at last. One who I was about to lay eyes on for the first time in months. One who I had thought was dead, and in that realization came my discovery of my true feelings for him.

I remember the night it happened, as if it was yesterday and not nearly a year ago. Voldemort seemed to favor early summer for his attacks; final exams of my seventh year had just finished. Snape had disappeared, as he did when Voldemort called, and Dumbledore called the rest of us together. Snape left one thing behind; a note telling of a potion that he had been working on for nearly ten years. One that he said *might* help to kill the Dark Lord at last. The note said that he would get Voldemort to ingest the potion somehow, which should weaken his powers without his knowledge. So that when the rest of us faced him, our combined powers should kill him. There were too many variables, too many if's, but it was all we had. We went to battle against Voldemort with renewed hope.

And it worked. Voldemort attacked, his circle of Death Eaters by his side, and we battled. The Dark Lord held back, content to let his Death Eaters tire us, and while I deflected spell after spell, I looked at the hooded figures, wondering if Snape was among them. We defeated all the Death Eaters, until no one was left to defend Voldemort; then we let loose everything we had at the evil wizard. And he went down. No one was really sure whose curse it was that took down Voldemort finally; and perhaps it was better that way. A team effort all around: Snape had weakened the Dark Lord, and all of our spells killed him. The reign of terror was over; the Order of the Phoenix had freed the wizarding world. And we couldn't have done it without Snape.

He always had fascinated me; Snape drew me to him with an intensity I first took as hate but later could not satisfactorily explain to myself. I couldn't leave him alone, ignore him. I couldn't help but bait him with sarcastic comments and behavior. Ron thought I was suicidal by tempting fate; but I craved contact with the Potions master, negative though it always was. I never told anyone, of course, about the dreams I had; dreams of Snape, above me, touching me, kissing me.

In the Order, we were colleagues and Snape was forced to treat me as such; but he ignored me as much as possible. It seemed he could only relate to me as teacher to student; I thought it was because he loathed me so much that it was all he could stand. Of course, I reacted in kind; familiar masks are always the easiest to wear. Anything else would have forced me to confront the obsession I have with him.

Yes, obsession. I finally admitted that to myself. When he disappeared after the final battle, everyone thought him dead. Voldemort was no more; why would he not come out of hiding? No body was found, but they never found any of the dead Death Eaters; some kind of post-mortem spell immolated them as soon as they died. After Snape didn't return for weeks, Albus was forced to admit something might have gone wrong. He called a meeting of the Order, and told us he feared the worst. There had been no word, through any of the secret channels. Severus Snape was assumed dead.

In the midst of the celebrations of the Dark Lord's death, I stumbled back to my room, stunned. Snape was Snape; indestructible, undefeatable, irascible. He couldn't die. He had yet to torment me about my barely acceptable marks in Potions. I hadn't even come to terms with the fact that I was attracted to him; there would never be closure now, never be a chance to confess to that haughtily sneering face my desire. I may never have had the nerve, but now there would never be a chance. A love stillborn.

I blundered through the end of the term in a daze. Ron and Hermione couldn't understand what was wrong, and I couldn't begin to explain. I think I barely spoke to anyone. I was allowed to stay at Hogwarts as long as I needed; the next month was like a blur. Finally, the day came when the coveted seeker position was offered to me. I wanted to turn it down, but Dumbledore took me aside and convinced me to accept, but to ask for a month's delay. It was settled; I had what I thought I had always wanted, but I no longer wanted it.

But once again, the wise headmaster was right; after a few weeks of mourning I knew I would need something to distract me from my grief. I went through the motions of life; but I felt like I had a hole inside me. I didn't want to speak to anyone, but the only thing that made me feel better was being on my broomstick. I thought that if the rest of my life was going to be like this, at least I could play Quidditch and ease some of the pain. And it did work; forcing myself to interact with other people made the sorrow retreat, if only temporarily. Of course, every night I was still alone with my thoughts. And I did spend every night alone; despite multiple offers from both men and women, I turned them all down. I played, and won, just like always; it seemed that even though my heart wasn't in it any more, the luck was still there.

Then it happened; a few months later, Dumbledore summoned me in the middle of the night. I was still awake; sleep didn't come easily to me anymore. Instinct kicked in, and I had apparated to the gates of Hogwarts and was running the rest of the way before I had time to think. What could have happened? Voldemort was dead. Surely we hadn't been wrong, he hadn't risen again...

I ran into Dumbledore's office, breathing hard. I was the first one there, and the headmaster bade me to sit down while the others arrived. When we were all assembled he gave us the news: he'd received a coded message from Snape. He was alive, and so were another four of Voldemort's followers. Despite the Dark Lord's death, they were planning one last attack, designed to kill as many wizards as possible. Snape had managed to convince the others that he was still loyal, and he was privy to many details. The wizarding world had relaxed considerably since Voldemort's death, and the remaining Dark Wizards planned to take advantage of this fact by staging an attack on the crowd at an upcoming Quidditch match. They planned mass destruction, and they themselves didn't care if they survived. Suicide attacks; the most dangerous of all. Going out in a blaze of glory. The attack was set for next week, during my Quidditch match. Snape indicated that I was to be a major target. Somehow they knew I was playing for England. But now we knew what they were after, and we decided that canceling the match would only make the wizards choose another, unknown target, so we decided to go ahead with it, and take every precaution. I knew I was going to be bait, but we needed to keep countless thousands from dying. There was no other way.

There was lots of preparation to be done, mostly by the other wizards. I spent my time learning some advanced anti-magic charms from Professor Flitwick, to apply to my broom and myself just before the game. They were of a limited duration, so couldn't be done beforehand. At the same time, I still had to continue Quidditch practice. All the activity at least kept my mind off the astounding fact that Snape was alive. Alive! All that mourning, the what-if's, all for nothing... Now, if we both survived the final attack, I might be forced to do something about my feelings for my former teacher. I didn't know whether to be happy or apprehensive. I settled for excited.

The day of the match finally arrived. From Snape, we knew the identities of the rogue wizards, and most of the Order were occupied by spotting the men and making sure they knew where they were at all times. We knew they would wait until the match was well underway to begin the attack, so I went on as usual, trusting that our people were doing their jobs. It wasn't easy, though, trying to concentrate on the game while watching for the prearranged signal. We didn't know exactly what to expect, but as soon as everyone had their targets spotted, a quiet signal went out. I knew at least that all the dark wizards were accounted for. We had to wait, though, until they started their attack. We were already at work, though, casting subtle anti-magic protection spells over the audience. Those should deflect any spells that happened to get past the shields that were being cast around the unsuspecting plotters. I resisted the urge to look around for Snape, knowing I would never spot him.

I was the only one on the team who knew what was going on, so I had to play as if it was a normal game. I had to trust that the rest of the team would do their job, yet still be vigilant for the beginning of the attack. They had to let the attack at least begin, so that we could be sure we'd got everyone.

I was dodging beaters and nominally looking for the snitch when it happened. I felt the ripple of powerful magic at the same instant I recognized the signal, a rainbow of sparks from all sides of the stadium. I dived for the ground, spotting the source of the sparks, when I felt a spell hit me. It was mostly deflected by the charms I'd used, but it had weakened the defenses, and I could no longer control my broom. It continued to plunge to the ground, as I called out spells as fast as I could. I couldn't do a thing. I vaguely sensed the victory signal go up; all the wizards had been captured, the crowd was safe. But I continued to plunge to the ground.

I thought that was it; I had tried everything. But then, striding out onto the pitch, my black-robed savior: Snape. I was still hurtling toward the ground at an undiminished velocity, but as I streaked toward him, Snape cast a spell I'd never even heard of. Suddenly it was like I was flying through molasses. The broom slowed, though I still couldn't control it, and I was still flying right toward the Potions master. He stood before me, unmoving, holding up his wand, never breaking eye contact, muttering a spell and saving my life.

I knew he couldn't move, or the spell would break, but I was still moving fast enough to hurt him. But Snape never flinched, never wavered, just stood there with me on my broom still flying toward him, with the crowd watched intently. The broom hit him, and the spell was broken. Snape fell backwards, the broom rolled away and I hit the ground, trying to regain my feet but only managing to run into Snape, who was on his knees, dazed, from the impact of the broom.

"Are you all right?" Snape said urgently over the roar of the crowd, dark eyes staring at me.

I managed to nod; his arms were around me, holding me against him, and I couldn't speak. His body against mine was like fire; his heat burned through me and made my heart pound. Finally I found my voice. "You're alive," I said inanely; it hadn't seemed real until now. I cursed myself for being an inarticulate idiot; the man had saved my life, but I couldn't even make my voice say anything more intelligent.

"Obviously," he said dryly, face twisted in what might have been amusement, I couldn't be sure.

"I..." I began, trying to articulate what I had been feeling since I found out he was alive.

"Yes, Harry?" Snape urged, helping me to my feet, and the gentle tone of his voice along with his use of my first name rendered me mute once again.

"I'm glad you're alive," I managed to blurt out, just as Dumbledore and the other members of the order reached us.

Snape's eyes widened with surprise at my words, then I was being hugged by Ron, and Snape was being congratulated, and though I tried to keep eye contact with him, it was impossible in the crowd. We were pulled apart, and through the intervening weeks of meetings and briefings, I was never able to be alone with him. I only saw him twice, and that was across a room full of people. Just like now.

I inch my way down the side of the auditorium, trying to get closer, as the new Minister of Magic begins his introductory speech. This is Snape's moment, the bestowing of his Order of Merlin, first class, and most of the wizarding world was watching in one way or another. I don't want to interrupt, just see him in his moment of triumph, one he richly deserves after his years of sacrifice. I almost wish I'd had the nerve to say more to him on that day, or since. But then again, Snape hadn't made any attempt to contact me, either. Well, why would he? We were barely acquaintances. He's saved my life, I've saved his, all in the line of duty. Well, mostly he'd saved mine. Which is why we are here today, and why the crowd is now going wild in long-awaited appreciation for the man who has done more to save us from Voldemort than anyone else. Severus Snape. Against my will, my heart starts to pound as he takes the stage, looking as austere and somber and sexy as usual. Despite the gravity of the ceremony, I'm hard as a rock as soon as I see him, my body aching, remembering the all-too-brief feel of him against me.

I have no invisibility cloak, but I lurk in the shadows, nearly invisible, as Snape accepts, a short speech his acknowledgement of the honor. Yet, I know him better than most, and I can see in Snape an emotion I haven't seen before. Satisfaction? Happiness? Whatever it is, it looks good on him, and my heart swells as much as my cock. I'm pathetic. I'll never be able to tell him how I feel, because I know he could never return those feelings. But I can watch, and be happy for him. It will have to be enough.

Severus stands still, as if letting the crowd's adulation wash over him. I stare up at him, able to look to my heart's content at long last, since everyone else in the place is looking at him too. I am memorizing that face, unlovely to some, but to me the epitome of desirability. That regal nose, full lips, burning eyes; how many times have I looked at him, and not seen? Only after I thought him gone could I see him in another light; then I had to make do with memories. Now, I stare, and look, in full admission of my feelings for him. And I want. Him.

Those eyes, too often full of scorn, sweep the crowd as if acknowledging the honor. But it's also as if he's... searching? For what? I lean forward, drawn to him, and suddenly those eyes light upon me. I shouldn't have been visible to him; the stage lights should blind him. Yet his eyes bore into me for the briefest of moments and I think I see an echo of a smile play about his lips, then it is gone. Like a memory. My imagination.

Then it's over; the crowd shuffles out and I join them, moving along like so much obedient cattle. I keep my head down, and no one notices me. I don't care; I only seek the attention of one, and he is far out of reach.

There is a party in an hour, a sort of reception for Severus and some of the inner circle, dignitaries, that sort of thing. I hadn't intended to go, but a treacherous voice in my head reminds me that he will be there, and I can stare from afar yet again. I kid myself I'm not going to give in, that I don't want to be around all those people, but I know that I'm heading back to my rooms in order to clean myself up, look presentable and ineffectually desirable. As if he would ever desire me. No, I'm just Harry Potter, thorn in his side for seven years at Hogwarts, a constant reminder of my father whom he hated, a clumsy child who lucked into all he accomplished. But still, I'm going. I can't stay away.

I look at myself in the mirror, critically. I still look like a kid playing dress-up in my formal robes. My hair is eternally messy, and my eyes look too big without my glasses. But my emerald green robes, that Hermione insisted I buy, do enhance my eyes, and the simple white silk shirt and black trousers I wear underneath are comfortable. I am as ready as I'll ever be.

One of the many benefits of not being a student anymore is the fact I can now apparate legally. Not that I didn't break that rule, as well, many times, and I still feel a thrill of apprehension when I do it. But nothing goes wrong, and no one shouts at me as I appear in the lobby of the grand hotel that is hosting our reception. One of the last large, all-wizard hotels, this one looks very much like its Muggle counterparts with its soaring marble columns, delicately splashing fountain and acres of undoubtedly expensive rugs. The only real difference is the clientele; the wizards and witches in their long robes and tall hats give it away. I immediately see Headmaster Dumbledore; he is beaming at me, eyes twinkling as he makes his way over.

"Harry, my boy, so happy you could join us," the old wizard exclaims, not bothering to mention that I had declined his invitation several days ago. He doesn't seem surprised. Then again, I doubt anything could surprise Albus. I exchange pleasantries, and he subtly guides me toward a set of doors. "The reception is about to begin, why don't you come inside and have a drink?"

I allow Dumbledore to press a glass of something into my hands, and I sip it dutifully as the old man launches into some story or another. He seems to know I'm not really listening, though, because he goes on without the need for my input. I don't realize how skillfully I've been manipulated until I realize he's maneuvered me across the room entirely without my knowing it, and now I'm standing only feet from Severus. I hadn't planned on this.

He's standing, clutching a glass that looks untouched, nodding and looking distinctly uncomfortable with the attention he is receiving. I can believe that; Snape was never one for recognition. But it looked like this one he couldn't escape. Arthur Weasley is talking to him earnestly, and Professor McGonagall stands nearby, beaming. I stare; his cheeks are slightly flushed and I've never seen his hair so shiny. His high-necked robes, the very picture of propriety, seem to have the opposite effect as my still-teenage body reacts to Snape's magnetism. Hormones and adrenaline rage through me. I'm sure I'm gaping at him stupidly as he turns toward me.

An unreadable look crosses his face and suddenly Dumbledore is steering me, pushing the last few feet toward Snape, and I'm face to face with him.

"Professor," I stutter, eloquent as always. "Congratulations."

He inclines his head toward me slightly, and replies, that silken voice flowing over me like honey, "Thank you, Mr. Potter. But I know full well I was only part of a team."

I sip from my drink to cover the fact that I'm nervous as hell. Suddenly I realize we're standing alone, the headmaster had somehow engaged McGonagall and Weasley in conversation and left us alone together. Damn Dumbledore, he always knows what's going on. I drain my drink quickly; I need the courage.

"It's more than that, sir. I... want... no, I need to thank you. For saving my life. Again." I expect him to sneer at me. To tell me I'm a silly child. To dismiss me. It's what I deserve.

I don't expect a look of... longing? to cross his face. So briefly, I think I may have imagined it, but maybe not. For the first time in my life, I see him struggle for words. "Mr. Potter," he begins, but I want to take advantage of his vulnerability, so I interrupt.

"Please. Call me Harry." Please, please, say my first name like you did before, in that voice that haunts my wet dreams.

He hesitates, but nods, then says, "Harry." My heart leaps. "May I say something honestly?" I nod, unable to speak or take my eyes from his, and he continues. "I..." he pauses uncharacteristically, and I hold my breath. He continues finally, and I hang on every velvet word. "I was wrong about you."

My mouth hangs open; whatever I thought he was about to say, that wasn't it. "I don't understand," I manage finally, trying not to look completely idiotic.

Snape looks down into his now-empty glass. "I never thought I'd be saying this. To you of all people." He takes a deep breath, clearly steeling himself. "I misjudged you. Unfairly. Because of your father. Because of your fame. I probably made your life miserable. And I'm sorry."

I know I'm gaping now. My voice won't obey me, and I squeak. "It wasn't that bad."

He laughs then, a short, harsh sound, but it's the only time I've ever heard him laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm a bastard. I've always been. But especially to you. Not that you didn't deserve it occasionally."

My mind automatically goes to all the times I'd broken rules, snuck out, put myself and others in danger... it had all seemed perfectly justified at the time of course, but now looking back with a more adult perspective I could see some of my actions as foolhardy. But I'm still stunned by Snape's words and I can't think of an intelligent thing to say. But that never stopped me before. "I'm sorry too. For... for everything."

We just stare at each other for a long moment, and I have the feeling we are standing on the edge of a precipice, and with a bit of a shove we would both fall off, and end up in uncharted waters. My heart pounds within my chest, and Snape opens his mouth to say something, and then...

"Harry!" I am being clapped on the back, hard, and I almost snarl as the moment is broken, and I turn to see Sirius, grinning like an idiot and barely looking at Snape as he says congratulations to him, clearly thinking he was rescuing me from the greasy bastard.

I look up at Snape as Sirius drags me away. Our eyes met for a second and he nods, once, to me and I try to communicate my feelings with a look. I decide I need to talk to him more, and resolve to get away from Sirius as soon as I can.

But that is easier said than done. Whether my godfather has an inkling of what was going on or not, he seems determined to keep me busy for the rest of the evening. Remus is there, looking better than he has in ages, and Dumbledore takes the opportunity to try to persuade him to join the Hogwarts faculty once again. Apparently they'd had this discussion before, though, because the werewolf declines wearily.

Conversation to conversation, drink to drink, and every time I see Snape alone and I try to get away, someone drags me back. I look again and he's engaged with someone, and I drain my glass and rail against the need to always be so fucking polite. Why can't I just walk away, walk over there and talk to him? Because it would seem odd, off, people would talk and it just isn't *done*. I begin to despair that this night will ever end. I'm getting drunker and more despondent. I should just leave, I don't have the nerve to say any of the things I want to say, not that he would want to hear them. I'm talking myself out of it, trying to convince myself I should never tell him of my feelings at all. After all, I don't even know if he shares my sexual preference, though I have heard plenty of rumours that he does.

People are starting to leave, and I'm sat across the room from him at a table littered with half-empty glasses. Sirius and Remus are deep into reminiscing, and as I look up again to check on Snape (something I had been doing every ten minutes or so, so it wouldn't seem as if I was staring) I start. He's not there. I search the room anxiously. No sign of him. Shit. I've fucked up. He left, and I didn't even get to say goodbye. My depression deepens. I mumble an excuse about visiting the toilets, and shove my chair back with more force than is necessary. I need air.

I stumble across the room, looking for an exit. There it is: glass doors that give out onto a small terrace overlooking the floodlit gardens. Perfect. The doors stand ajar, but a quick glance shows no one there. I slip out, breathing in lungfuls of crisp air, trying to get myself under control. I know that this isn't the last time I will ever see him, there will be other opportunities, but I can't help but feel that this was my last chance. A spell was broken. Something melodramatic, to suit my half-drunken mood. I blew it.

Then a voice comes from the darkness, the voice I had been dreaming of, caressing me and running down my spine. Snape. "I don't blame you. I couldn't stand it in there any more either."

I whirl around, too fast for my altered sense of balance, and I'm sure I look like a drunken fool as my eyes try to adjust to the darkness. "Professor?" I stammer, as if that voice could possibly belong to anyone else. I can just make out a black figure leaning against the wall, his pale face a lighter smudge against the darkness.

"Harry," he replies, that honeyed voice making my heart lurch as it says my name. "I'm sorry if I startled you. Minerva would say that I'm lurking again."

Involuntarily, my face twists into a smile as I can hear Professor McGonagall's voice saying those words to him. "I'm sorry to intrude. I just needed some air. I... I'll go," I finish, turning reluctantly.

"Please," he says immediately, sharply, and I pause. His voice softens and I hold my breath as he goes on, "You can stay. If you like." He almost sounds tentative.

I take a deep breath before I trust my own voice. "I'd like that, Professor," I say. "It's lovely out here." I don't mean just the garden, fragrant with spring blossoms.

My eyes are beginning to adjust, and I can see that Severus is gazing up at the stars, and I admire his profile, wondering how I could ever have found him ugly. The large nose, the sharp features, the imposing presence, combine to form a whole much more than the sum of its parts, and he has a forbidding presence and power that are intoxicating to me now. I'm taller now, but he is still inches taller than me, and something about him makes me ache to find out how he kisses. Suddenly those dark eyes are looking back at me, and I forget to breathe, and he takes a step toward me.

"Yes. Lovely indeed," he says, looking straight at me.

Time stands still, and I'm sure someone will come along and shatter the moment, but they don't, and I step closer to him, and I'm not sure who starts it, but suddenly he's bending down to me and I'm stretching up and our lips meet, warm and soft and I'm kissing Snape and he's kissing me.

The moment lengthens, and our mouths are still pressed together, and I have no clue how long we kiss. He draws back abruptly, and my eyes fly open, and he tries to pull back but I realize I've grabbed handfuls of his robes and I pull him back.

"I-I'm sorry," he gasps, looking down at my lips as if he can't believe he was just kissing them.

"I'm not," I breathe.

"But you... I..." he murmurs, but he's stopped pulling away now, and I take advantage of his open mouth to kiss him again. I have a chance now and I'm not going to waste it. Later I can blame it on the alcohol if necessary, but right now all I want is my tongue in Snape's mouth. Well, not all, but the rest can wait.

His mouth is open against mine still, and I need to taste him. I seal my mouth to his, harder, and slide my tongue inside. He tastes of wine and mint and I want to climb inside him. My hands are still clutching at his robes, and I press myself against him, as close as I can get. I'm hard as a rock, but I keep my lower body away for now. I don't want to scare him.

For a long, dreadful moment there is no response; then, a moan comes from him, swallowed by my mouth, and he's kissing back, his tongue sliding with mine and nothing was ever so perfect. The kiss goes on forever, a perfect moment in time; bodies joined only at the mouth for now, but with the agonizing promise of much more.

And he wants more; my hands are still fixed to his robes but Snape brings his arms up, touching my back gently at first, as if he's afraid to touch. He pulls me closer to him, and I let go and slide my hands up and over his shoulders, fitting the lengths of our bodies together. I give in and press my arousal against him. I want him to know what he does to me.

He breaks the kiss with a moan as he feels me hard against his thigh. At the same time I feel an answering hardness pressed against my stomach and his arms tighten around me. And he's claiming my mouth again, hard and fast, and he slides his hands down, over my ass, and I get even harder as he caresses me. The kiss is sloppy and violent and full of need, and I find I'm rocking against his thigh, seeking relief for my trapped cock. I've never wanted anyone like I want him right now.

He pulls back, and we're both panting, and he says, softly, "Harry... you don't really want this."

I smirk up at him and thrust my erection against him. "I beg to differ."

"You hate me," he says helplessly.

I shake my head. "I may have hated the way you treated me, once. But I understand why, now."

"I'm not a nice person, Harry. Even though I fought against Voldemort, that doesn't make me a good person," he tries to explain.

"Did you hate me?" I ask, carefully.

"No," he replies emphatically. "You infuriated me. You annoyed me. You angered me. But hate... no, I never hated you. Didn't much like you at first, of course," he adds, and he's almost smiling.

I laugh, and he continues, moving one hand to trace my jaw. "The famous Harry Potter. I wanted to hate you. But... you were too damn brave, too damn Gryffindor for your own good. After the Tri-Wizard tournament, I knew we couldn't possibly win without you. I didn't try to hate you after that."

I look up at him, and I can see how much that admission has cost him. Severus Snape is not a man who says nice words lightly. I've known him for over seven years. I have no illusions. "Severus," I say. The name sounds odd to me; I've only spoken it out loud a handful of times. "I know what you're like by now. You don't have to explain."

"But..." he begins, and I interrupt.

"You're thinking too much. Just feel," I command, sliding a hand between us and running it over his hidden arousal. I watch carefully as his eyes flutter shut and his mouth falls open. God, I love to see him this way. The moan that escapes his lips makes my own erection throb. "Just feel," I whisper again.

"Harry," he moans, and he pulls me closer to him, and I move my hand from between us to tangle in his hair. It's soft and not greasy at all tonight. "I..." he trails off, and I know what he wants but can't ask.

"I want you, Severus," I sigh, kissing his neck, biting softly. "Now."

"I..." he pauses, clearly embarrassed by what he's saying. "I took a room for the night. Here at the hotel. I thought I might be too tired to deal with getting back to Hogwarts tonight."

I smile as I press myself against him. "How perfect. Take me there, now."

He just looks down at me, and I add, "Unless you don't want me..."

Snape growls at me then, and says, "I always knew you were a horrible little tease."

I laugh and reply, "I'm not a tease. You'll find that out when we get upstairs."

"Let's go, then," he says, taking my hand and pulling me toward the doors.

I look through. There are still a few people standing around; Sirius and Remus most notably. We must cross part of the room to get to the lifts. It's entirely possible we will be seen leaving together. I don't care. But will Severus?

I stop, and say, "If you don't want us to be seen together, we can go separately."

He looks at me and says, "I don't care what anyone thinks. I can understand, however, if you don't want to be seen slinking off with your greasy old ex-professor."

"Severus! I don't give a damn what they think. We can have sex in the middle of that room if you'd like," I laugh, meaning every word.

He laughs quickly, startled by my words, and says, "Though I appreciate the sentiment, I would rather prefer the privacy of a room. And since I am not as young as you, a bed rather than a floor definitely appeals to me. Ready?" he asks, pausing in front of the door, ready to expose us to the world, or at least my godfather.

"I'm always ready," I shoot back, grinning, and grab his hand as we walk through the door.

We walk across the side of the room, and I can't resist, I look over and the look on Sirius' face is everything I'd expected. Harry Potter, holding hands with Severus Snape; surely the world was ending. I look past Sirius, who seems to be paralyzed with shock, and see Remus, who is grinning at the both of us. Sirius recovers from his paralysis and starts to get up, clearly intending to confront us. Remus grabs his arm, pulling him back into his seat, and I wave cheerfully at the two of them as we go out the side door, heading for the lifts.

I'm still laughing as Severus unlocks the door to the room, and he holds it open for me. I walk in and turn to face him as he locks the door with a spell. I hold my breath as he turns back to me. Will he change his mind?

I won't let him. I reach up and unfasten my robes, letting them fall to the floor. I see him look at me, and he takes a shaky breath. "Harry, we don't have to... I mean, we can just talk..."

I look at him. "Is that what you want?"

He flushes. "I just don't want you to feel like... I'm taking advantage of you," he says. "You're so young..."

I step closer to him. "I'm eighteen," I remind him. "Legal in *every* sense of the word." I look up at him, licking my lips because I want to taste him. "I know what I'm doing. I want this. Very much." To emphasize my point, I begin unbuttoning my shirt. He watches as every inch is revealed. I know I have him. I know he wants me. I intend to give him what he wants.

"Harry," he murmurs, as I drop my shirt to the floor and start on my pants. "You are perfect."

"And you're the sexiest man I've ever seen," I reply, stepping out of my pants. All I have on now are very small bikini underwear, and my arousal is stretching them to their limits. I can see him looking at me, and it turns me on even more. I decide that Severus is overdressed.

I walk over to him and look up, straight into his eyes, and the desire I see there makes my knees weak. Oh god, Severus Snape, Potions master extraordinaire, former Death Eater, double agent, looking at me like that... he is a dangerous, powerful man, and oh fuck I want him so much. I reach up and touch the buttons of his robe, and ask, "May I?"

He nods, seemingly unwilling to speak, but definitely willing. I unbutton the robe as quickly as possible and push it off his broad shoulders. White, high-necked shirt underneath, black trousers, and I get to work on the shirt. Too many buttons.

"Harry." I look up at him, into his dark eyes. He looks troubled. "I'm... much older than you. I'm afraid... you'll be disappointed."

I understand. He is ashamed of his body. I have to reassure him that even if he doesn't meet the classical standards of male beauty, I find him irresistible nevertheless. I continue to unbutton the shirt, ridding him of it; he is too thin, pale, and absolutely perfect. I tell him so.

"I don't understand," he says, his breath hitching as I start on his trousers. More buttons.

"Stop thinking. Feel," I command, getting the trousers undone and unable to wait. I slide my hand in, under his undergarments, and at last wrap my fingers around his arousal. He smells musky and sweet and oh so male; the moans he makes when I touch him make my own erection weep with need.

"Harry," he moans, and that voice moaning is even better than I could have imagined. Molten sex, dripping over me; the way he says my name is indescribable. "Oh god..."

I stroke slowly, savoring, the soft slide of skin over steel intoxicating. Severus is hard, hard for me, he wants me and I'm going to give myself to him. Completely.

He starts to growl then, and it's even sexier than his voice. He grabs my arm, pulling my hand out of his pants, and crushes his mouth to mine once again. But now he's the aggressor, and I like it that way. He runs his hands down my back, nails lightly scratching, and slides his hands into my briefs, cupping my ass and pulling me as tight as possible against him. I whimper into his mouth, and he squeezes, and I rock against him helplessly. I pull back and look at him; he has the most incredibly sexy smirk on his face. "No, Mr. Potter, not yet," he whispers, pushing me away from him, denying me my friction. "You must suffer as I have suffered," he promises, stepping out of the rest of his clothes and pushing me inexorably toward the bed.

I go willingly, letting him push me down onto it, looking up at him as he stands above me, naked and aroused and never have I seen anything hotter. I slide my hand into my briefs, stroking myself. "I want you," I moan, quickly losing any composure I had. I am rewarded by seeing his expression darken with lust and his arousal twitch at my display.

"As delicious as you look when you do that, I'm afraid you must desist," Severus murmurs, and he reaches for me, leaning over the bed and ridding me of my last garment.

"Why?" I ask, trying to look innocent, as he climbs onto the bed, over me, straddling me.

"Because all the ecstasy you feel tonight will be from me and no one else," he smirks, looking down at me, not touching me.

"Confident, are we?" I try to smirk back, not quite succeeding as he runs his fingers down my chest and my disobedient body arches up to meet his fingers.

He smirks further and replies, "Yes," as he leans down, silencing me with a kiss.

I arch up again, hungry to feel his body against mine, and this time he allows it; our erections meet and I would gasp but my mouth is occupied. His free hand continues to caress me, moving down until it meets our hard cocks. I shudder and moan as he takes both into his hand and strokes them together.

It's been over a year since I had a lover, and I can't help my body's responses. Add to that the fact that nearly every time I've masturbated in the last year it's been Severus Snape I've pictured; the very man who is playing my body like an instrument right now. So in very short order I'm barely coherent, clinging to his shoulders and gasping for air as I moan. I stare at him, still unable to believe I'm with him, that that face, always so impassive when not angered, is now filled with passion for me.

For a brief moment, I almost wish I could be out of myself, watching the scene; we must look incredible together. His pale skin, black hair and angular body pressed against my tanned, athletic body. Then the thought is gone, replaced only by ever-growing need to be one with Severus. "Please," I manage to croak. "Want you."

His eyes flutter shut, his mouth drops open for a moment until he composes himself. "What do you want?" he asks carefully. Not wanting to assume.

I make a sound of impatience. Does he want me to spell it out? Apparently. "You. Inside me. Hard. Fast. Now. Please." I hope that's specific enough for him.

Apparently it is, because he shifts position on the bed, sitting back. "How~" he begins to ask, but I anticipate this, and I'm already turned over, on my hands and knees, ass raised to him as I lower my head. I look over my shoulder to see him gazing at me almost reverently. "Please," I repeat.

A low growl comes from him now, and the sound is so primal, so animal that it makes me moan, and I close my eyes. I can hear him muttering a spell I recognize as lubrication, and he begins to prepare me. "No," I gasp. "Just... please..." I can't articulate the fact that I want to feel every inch as he enters me, feel the pain as it turns to pleasure, that I need that to make it more real. Somehow, though, he seems to understand, because I feel him position himself, the blunt pressure on my entrance almost enough to make me climax on its own.

"Harry," I hear him whisper, and then he's entering me. Carefully and slowly and I make myself relax and he slides another inch and the pain is familiar and almost comforting. Deeper; it starts to burn but then he's brushing against the perfect spot and the pain dissolves and now I can't wait for him to hurry and fill me, fill me completely, I've never needed anything more than him inside me right now. I can't believe it when he finally pauses, fully inside me, completely sheathed in my body and I'm clutching handfuls of the sheet and I force myself to relax once more. "Are you all right?" he asks in a strained voice, full of worry for me, and I realize I was holding my breath.

I let it out and my muscles relax and I say, "Yes," the only thing I can think of to say, and I hope he understands it means, Yes, fuck me hard, do it now, please.

He must understand, because he pulls back slightly, then pushes back in, and the sounds he makes, a growl crossed with a moan, is the sexiest sound I've ever heard and that it's because of me makes it even better. He does it again, pulls back farther and drives in deeper, and I'm begging now, begging for more and he gives it to me.

I reach out for the headboard and brace myself; he's starting to pound into me now and every thrust feels better than the last. He's gripping my hips, going faster and faster and he's saying my name over and over. I suddenly realize I'm screaming, my voice is working without me and is crying out his name and asking for more, deeper, faster. He's opening me, taking me, pounding me, and I'm almost sobbing with the sheer perfect pleasure. I don't even realize that one part of me is being neglected until I feel his hand on my cock, stroking it quickly and firmly, and I have a split second of regret that this ecstasy will soon be over then I'm climaxing, my seed is spilling over his fingers, and I'm sure I'm going to die from pleasure as every fibre of my body screams from passion. While I'm still screaming, I feel Severus fill me with his own desire. He calls my name and leans forward onto my back, carefully, as if afraid I'll break as he catches his breath.

I won't break, the only way I'll break is if I can never feel this again, with him. I can't say that, though, not right now as he's carefully pulling out, helping me to lie down, covering me with the discarded blanket as he curls up behind me. I resolve to show him, though, and tell him that I don't ever want this to end. As soon as we wake up.