Ron rubbed a soothing hand over his hair as he sat, leaning heavily on the Burrow's kitchen table. He had a very strong cup of his mother's coffee next to the latest edition of Witch Weekly, which he was weakly scratching upon with a quill.

Sip of coffee.

Tick a box.

Sip of coffee. Grimace. Rub eyes.

Tick a box.

"Hmm. Mum? D'you think Harry is more of cat person or a dog person?"

"What dear?" Molly wiped her hands on her apron and turned from the stove.

"Cat person or dog person? I'm doing one of those romance quizzy thingies in the ladies' magazine. Oh Merlin…" he groaned. He'd raised his voice just enough to make the vibrations cut through his head like a sword.

"How you can even see straight to read this morning after that stag party, I'll never know." She made her way over to her youngest son, hugged him around his shoulders and pulled him gently against her side. "I'll take it as a testament to your superior courage and mental fortitude." She dropped a kiss on the top of his head and moved back to the stove.

"That's nice, Mum." He wavered in his seat and gave her a wide grin with sleepy eyes.

Molly thought at that moment that Ron was her favorite son. So sweet. Mothers weren't supposed to have favorites, and she didn't, not always, but with so many children, she let them be her favorite for a few minutes at a time, rotating the honor as they reminded her of their best qualities. And Ron had a lot of good qualities. Hermione was a lucky girl. And Ron was a lucky man to have wed her.

Now, Ginny on the other hand. Well, it was her big day and Molly wouldn't get upset or start fretting over her choice of mate. Money wasn't the point. Nor were good looks or a great intelligence. She had resigned herself to knowing that Harry would never be a legal member of the family.

"Mum? You never answered." Yawn. "Is Harry a cat person or a dog person?"

"Cat person, obviously."

Molly and Ron whipped their heads around to the kitchen doorway where Severus Snape absorbed the brilliant sunlight pouring in around his silhouette like blotter paper. "May I?"

"Of course! Come, come! Severus, so good to see you! Did you enjoy yourself last night? How is Draco faring, I heard he imbibed a bit too much." She ushered Snape to the darkest corner of the kitchen table, the one that Ron had wisely chosen to keep his eyes from falling out of his head. "Tea, dear?" Only Molly Weasley could get away with casually calling Severus Snape a dear.

"Yes. Thank you. Black, please."

"Morning, Professor. You look… normal." Ron wished he felt as well as Snape looked.

From deep in his pockets Snape withdrew several stoppered phials of murky liquid and placed them on a napkin to keep them from rolling away.

"I thought these would be useful. Please…." He offered one to Ron between two long fingers."

"Cor! Brilliant! Thanks!" Ron grabbed it, popped the cork off with a thumb and fairly sucked the life-giving potion from its container. He smacked his lips as he straightened in his chair, like a dying plant being watered. "Awww, that's quality, that is. Ta, Professor."

"You will find it no surprise that the first potion George commissioned for his new line was a hangover remedy. Thank you." Snape took the steaming cup and saucer from Molly's hand and set it primly before him on the table. "I thought I should bring a dose for everyone who attended, unless we want the groomsmen looking more like an invasion of Inferii."

Ron laughed heartily. "Yeah! What a night. Thanks to Harry, it was a real stag party. There were stags left and right. He got so munted he could barely stand, so he sat on the groom's throne and cast hundreds of Patronuses. All night long. Draco was put out not to be the center of attention every single minute. It was something."

"Yes it was." Snape sipped slowly from his cup.

Ron mused quietly to himself, turning back to his quiz. "So, a cat person? Harry's a cat person? Why?"

The cup returned to its saucer with a fragile clink. "Well, he's physically delicate like a cat. He moves like a cat. He isn't overly demonstrative and is rather aloof. He even eats like a cat — those small bites he takes. And despite the canine influence of Black and Lupin, Potter never seemed to see the attraction of fleas or mange, he's too fastidious. So… a cat person." Snape sipped deeply again, staring straight ahead.

"And don't forget those eyes of his," Molly added. "Any cat would love to have those eyes."

"All right, then." Ron ticked the box. "Cat. Person."

Amused, Molly silently placed a platter of breakfast pastries in front of Snape, with an empty plate and utensils. "Severus, help yourself. Ron, you should have something beside coffee now that you're better, if you want to make it through the day."

Ron reached across Snape and snagged a pumpkin pasty, stuffing a chunk into his mouth before his mother could even blink. He turned back to his magazine, munching happily.

Chew loudly.

Tick a box.

Gulp of coffee.

Tick a box.

There had been the soft noises of Weasleys stirring from their beds on floors above, soft padding of feet on wooden boards, the flushing of the toilet, the running of water through the pipes, all easy to push into the background. However, the slow, heavy-footed thumping on the stairs was impossible to ignore, and got louder and louder as the offender was revealed in step-high increments as he descended the kitchen stairway.

Harry's eyes were not merely closed, they appeared swollen shut from his obvious hangover. One hand held the railing while the other rubbed and scratched indecorously over the front of his snug tee shirt and the back of his baggy striped boxers. The clumping feet were covered in holey socks that flopped over the ends of his toes.

He reached the kitchen floor with a final thump and a groan, then shuffled over toward Molly, gave her a clumsy kiss and a mumbled, "Morning, Mrs. Weasley."

"Good morning, Harry dear." Her voice wasn't shrill but apparently stabbed cruelly into the young man's head.

Mouth hanging open, Harry slumped into a chair opposite Ron and Snape, and sank his head onto crossed arms. He jumped slightly when a heavy cup of coffee landed next to his ear. His hands reached out to encircle the warmth, leaving his forehead free to bang on the table.

"Hey, Harry." Ron poked his arm with a finger. "Hey, go throw your robe on. We've got company."

"Wha?" Harry lifted his face. His eyelids split open just enough to take in Professor Snape sitting ramrod straight in his chair, eyes shifting nervously around the room.

The older man swallowed with an audible click as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down his long throat.

"Oh shit!" Harry jumped up, pulling his tee shirt down over his front, and made a dash for the staircase. When he stumbled halfway up, he scampered on all fours until he reached the landing and disappeared from view.

"You're right. Graceful like a cat." Ron chuckled. "Reminds me of when Ginny bolted up the stairs first time Harry was here."

Duly noted, thought Molly.

"And… done! Mum, whip your wand out and tabulate this for me?" Ron slid the magazine across the table.

"Do you not have your own wand with you at all times, Weasley? Did you learn nothing from your brother's wedding? Where are your brains, boy?"

"First off, Professor, I wasn't sure I had any brains left at all until I took your potion a few minutes ago. Second, after last night, I'll be relieved if I can even find my wand. Third, we've had lots of weddings here since that one, and hardly a Death Eater, so I figure I'm all right." Ron gave him a smirk.

"Ron! Don't be cheeky! Get upstairs and bring poor Harry a potion. And see if Teddy is up yet." Molly smiled fondly. "Little tyke looks more like his father every day, bless him."

Ron snagged a couple of the phials, grumbling more out of habit than any hard feelings.

Molly carried her own cup and saucer over and sat at the table, sliding the survey to her. She pulled her wand, tapped the page and a paragraph of results revealed themselves at the bottom. She dismissed them with a glance.

"Well! After today, that's all the children married off. Never thought the day would come."

Snape murmured something non-committal.

"Merlin, even Charlie found someone! And him all the way in Romania at the time. Did you ever meet his husband, Severus? Lewis Lowville. Lovely young man."

"No. I never had the pleasure." He sipped deeply from his cup.

"Well, that's all the children except Harry. It seems everyone is pairing up and getting married, starting families, doesn't it?"

"Mmm," Snape hummed nasally into his tea.

"Only natural after a war. Getting on with life. Only natural…." she sang.

Snape's lips quirked a weak, placating smile.

"Now that Draco is a part of this family, you know that you are a part of this family too, don't you? Arthur and I will expect to see you at all the holidays and birthdays and anniversaries and Sunday dinners. You are always welcome."

"I — am not one for socializing. Thank you all the same."

"Severus," she tried to catch his eyes, "Draco is all alone now. You are the closest thing to a relative the poor thing has outside of Azkaban. He admires you. And frankly, he'll need another Slytherin to balance out the crowds of Weasleys and Gryffindors." She reached over and patted his fist. "You are one of us now, my dear. Be prepared for the onslaught of invitations, is all I'm saying."

Snape pressed his lips and gave her a small nod.

Fast feet galloped down the stairs, Ron singing a wedding march while a giggling Teddy rode piggyback, bouncing the whole way.

"Dum DUM dah dum! Dah DUM dah dum! He's up, Mum!"

Teddy practically threw himself off Ron's back and ran to Molly, hugging her middle.

"Morning, my little man. Here," she turned him around to face the man in black, "Teddy, meet Professor Snape." She pushed him gently in his direction. "He was a friend of your mother and father, and a teacher of your Uncle Harry." Maybe 'friend' was stretching it a bit, but the child didn't need details. The boy shrank back a bit. "He is also like a father to your cousin Draco, so you be nice to him, yes?"

Snape looked down his nose at the boy, appraising. Truth be told, he didn't mind very small children, even if this one was a mini-Marauder. Despite the blue hair, he did look remarkably like Lupin.

Oh, what the hell. Snape held out his hand. "How do you do, Master Lupin."

The boy looked around sheepishly. "I'm just Teddy." But he allowed his little fingers to be grasped and shaken.

"And how old are you, Teddy?"

The boy held up four fingers, the other hand holding down the unruly thumb. "Four." He stared, fascinated, at Snape's face as he answered. Slowly, his hair darkened, his eyes darkened and his nose grew, curving grotesquely on such a tiny head. "I'm the ring-bearer." Teddy's voice had deepened and resonated to match his new nose.

Molly and Ron tried not to gasp or laugh.

"That's very impressive, young man. Can you look like anyone else?"

Instantly Teddy morphed into Draco, then George, then his grandmother Andromeda, then himself again.

Snape's eyebrows rose. "How about Harry Potter?"

The boy's hair turned jet and messy, his eyes big, round and green. The scar formed over his right eye.

"What about Harry Potter?" The man himself came in through the hall from the front stair, fully dressed and gratefully dosed with Hangover Helper.

"Uncle Haaaaaa-reeeeee!" Teddy squealed and ran to him, was swept up, swung around and ultimately landed on Harry's left hip.

"Morning, everyone. A proper hello this time. Sorry about before." He cast a glance Snape's way but didn't actually look at him.

"I'll just be leaving, then," Snape said, standing. "I will return this afternoon with the groom."

Molly walked him to the door. "We'll see you soon." She smiled mischievously and intoned, "It'll be your wedding next, Severus. You'll see."

Snape looked scandalized. "And on that improbable note…." he was out the door and down the path.

After breakfast, Ron hung back until everyone else left the kitchen but Molly.

"Hey mum. You'll never guess what that love quiz said about Harry's perfect mate. Did you read it?"

"I don't need to. I already know what it will say. And if it doesn't say what I think it does, it's wrong."

Snape stood on the edge of the dance floor, hands clasped behind him. He watched all the young people gliding around it, under the high canopy lit with faerie lights. He had heard about the Weasleys' many functions hosted here on their grounds, heard secondhand over meals at the High Table as his fellow professors recounted how many courses, how many flowers, how many maids and groomsmen at each wedding. Every few months it seemed another Weasley was married off. How Arthur was footing the bills was a mystery. Perhaps they got a bulk discount from the caterers.

In any case, he had no doubt that he would not be here tonight or any other if it weren't for Draco marrying Ginevra. Being a part of the Malfoy contingent held a certain quality of wrongness. The chilly reserve of the Malfoys simply did not mesh well with the open warmth of the Red-Headed League. Or perhaps it was the divide between Houses. Draco's few Slytherin peers, such that had survived the war and escaped a term in Azkaban, himself included, were peppered about the place — spicy buds of clove studding a sweet orange. A Parkinson here, a Nott there, a Goyle, a Bulstrode. And, of course, Draco himself, resplendent in steel grey silks, shining like a star. All wrong. He was too clean and crisp, too refined to meld with the wild and autumnal Ginevra. But meld they would, and make stunning little pureblood heirs, no doubt.

If much of Snape's generation was destroyed, it was necessary for the next generation to get on with repopulating Wizardom. Why, even Lupin managed to contribute before his passing.

Snape's eyes scanned the vast crowd, idly searching for Teddy. Despite the hour, there were still clots of little ones chasing each other around the tables and between the dancers. How difficult could it be to find a little boy with blue hair?

His search ended with Harry Potter. Teddy, hair no longer blue but mousy brown, slept against his godfather's shoulder. Potter hefted the tiny body up so its bottom rested upon his forearm. As Potter swayed this way and that with the music, Snape admired the taught fabric of the dress robes pulled across his back, the play of muscle in his shoulders and bottom, and the way the little boy's heel dug into the back of Potter's thigh. Potter had never grown tall, but he had filled out, and a fit man in dress robes was always a welcome diversion. Especially if one allowed oneself to imagine what was likely not being worn underneath. And certainly not on a warm night.

A young beauty peeled off from her companions and made her way catty-corner over the dance floor, directly to Potter. A very short conversation followed in which he dipped his head toward the boy in his arms, shrugged apologetically, and the girl drifted away with a wistful smile on her face. It had been happening all night, Snape knew. Potter had only danced once with the bride, once with Molly Weasley, and once with the Granger girl. The rest of the night had been spent as an observer.

Potter turned and spotted Snape looking. He began to walk over.

Harry didn't know how he was going make it through the rest of Ginny's wedding if all these women kept bothering him. He'd hoped that after the first few got shot down, the rest would take a hint and go after the actually available men like Seamus or Neville, hell, even Goyle. Sure, he was evil and dumb as an ox, but he was good looking in a square-headed, Welsh kind of way. And he could sing. Girls loved that.

Instead, they just kept coming. It was the same wherever he went. Being Great Britain's most famous and eligible Wizard had cost him his privacy and at least one job. It is impossible to work discreetly while being mobbed like a pop star. Thank goodness his vaults allowed him to live off the interest, otherwise he'd be on the street. Damned frustrating and paralyzing, that is. He hadn't had a decent night out with the boys since the last Hogsmeade weekend in his sixth year. Pretty pathetic.

He'd had his eyes on Snape all night, though. It was just a matter of coming up with a great opening line and not blowing it. Yelling "oh shit" and tearing out of the room in his underwear just wouldn't hack it at a posh wedding like this one. And Snape was looking quite nice, for Snape. It looked like he was wearing the same dress robes from the Yule Ball years ago. Even at fourteen Harry had noticed — the greasy git had dressed up! — but hadn't given it much thought at the time, what with the threat of imminent death and having to waltz in public — with a girl — he'd had other things on his mind. But he had noticed.

And Snape looked very fine tonight. He had grown out his hair. It was down to his shoulder blades and gathered just at the ends, some strands falling around his face. It was perfect.

Snape was looking his way.

That was the best chance he'd had all night, so he made his way over. As it turned out, Harry didn't need an opening line at all.

"You are using that child as a human shield. You should be ashamed of yourself, Potter."

Harry smiled softly. "I've been to so many weddings, I've finally figured out all the best tricks to avoid dancing. Have you been to many weddings, Professor?"

Snape paused at the use of the honorific. "I understand I was an unwelcome guest at my parents' wedding. Otherwise, no."

"That's a shame. They're nice. Good food, good company. Well, the Weasley ones, anyway. It's been nice to see you at these functions for Draco and Gin. We never saw you hardly at all before that."

"Draco needed someone to stand in for—" Snape gestured weakly.

"His parents, I know. The Ministry wouldn't budge, huh? Couldn't give them a furlough for a single day? He's their only son!"

"Interesting to see you so upset on their behalf."

"It's for Draco, mostly. He's not so bad now we've got to know him. He wears his repentance well. And I can see how he and Ginny fit, you know?"

"I suppose."

Harry chuckled as he readjusted Teddy. "I guess you don't give these things a lot of thought."

"They don't concern me, so no."

"Are you dating anyone?" Harry tried for casual, but missed.

Snape raised a brow. "Are you?"

"Right. Sorry. Erm, no I'm not, as it happens."

Snape didn't reply.

Harry cast about for something, anything to say. "Are those the same dress robes from the Yule Ball? They look good on you."

"Dress robes. From the Yule Ball. That were made for a mid-winter holiday in Scotland. From heavy wool."

"Uh, yeah."

"…No."

"Oh, right. You'd get new ones, wouldn't you? What are those made of? Did you use Draco's tailor or something? You look really good. In them."

"It's raw silk, if you must know. And… thank you. So do you." Snape pressed his lips as if to keep anything else pleasant from slipping through them.

Harry's face lit at the compliment. "Thanks! I got mine at—"

"Oh there he is, the little monster! There's my Teddy!" Andromeda swept down on the men in a cloud of lilac chiffon. "I'll take him, Harry. You go have fun now and dance with some of those lovely young things." She collected the sleeping boy and draped him over her bosom, crushing the fabric flowers scattered along her breast.

"All right. Thanks, Andromeda." Harry gave a half-hearted wave at her back. He caught the eye of one of the serving-elves with a tray of ice-cold champagne, and took two flutes. When he turned around, Snape had retreated halfway across the party, already chatting with one of his former Slytherins.

"Just great, Harry," he murmured to himself, and downed a glass. "Scintillating conversationalist you are." He downed the other flute.

By the time the classical music was replaced with loud, pounding dance beats, Harry was well on his way to Patronus-casting levels of inebriation. He joined all the other young folk on the floor, jumping and gyrating with hands in the air, sweating buckets with his robes unbuttoned down his chest.

He happily danced with Gin, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and a few random young guests — all the same in the end, in a crowd like that. Easier that way. He didn't have to watch for the moment Snape left with many of the older guests, who granted the last hours of the reception to youth.

Snape had actually allowed himself to attend many Sunday dinners in the following months. Arthur had given the final push when he insisted on Snape joining in for the first post-wedding gathering. "Nothing fancy. No fuss. I won't let my wife monopolize you." And he was as good as his word. Snape was amazed at how normal everyone seemed. No shifting glances his way, no suspicion, no snarky comments from any quarter. Instead, there was laughter, and hands on shoulders, and embraces, and shrieking, running children. It was life. It was something he wasn't used to, and took some weeks of adjustment.

Dinners were at two. They ate outside under a shady canopy when the weather was fair. There were drinks, dinner, more drinks, a game of pick-up Quidditch or two, pudding, more drinks, small supper, more dessert, more Quidditch or sedate card games for those who didn't want their noses broken by a bludger, then take your leave. Idyllic.

The in-betweens Snape filled with sitting quietly and watching the others interact. Three generations of Weasleys and the families married into them, all getting along except when they didn't. Small rows exploded then settled in the space of a moment. Completely unprecedented in his experience.

Draco would look at him warmly throughout these days, obviously grateful he was there. Not that he needed support, but because they were outsiders for the time being, building a history of common experiences they could smile about later over tea in his rooms, or in a pub near Draco's offices.

The only pulled thread in this otherwise flawless tapestry was Potter. They tended to be seated next to each other at table, being the only single adults. The young man was incapable of holding a coherent thought in his head half the time, and it was apparent that Molly thought them a love match destined for the crossed brooms of an altar.

The funny thing was, he was starting to come around to her way of thinking. Oh, not with Potter, awkwardly handsome as he was, but with someone. Snape wasn't one to lie to himself; he'd done the self-assessment. He was in his forties now. He was unlovely, to put it mildly. He was infamous. Intellectually, he had a lot to offer, financially, not too much. And he was lonely. He hadn't ever had a proper lover, but he wanted one now. Exposure to happy families had done its damage.

He wanted to settle down.

"You look peaceful."

Snape cracked open an eye to find Potter standing speckled by dappled autumn sun. "And so you thought you would disturb that peace?" He didn't have the energy or the desire to put any venom in the words.

"We're a player short. I thought I could convince you to join Draco's team. Interested?"

"You've seen me on a broom, boy. No thank you." He closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree he'd been napping under. "Mind you, I'm tempted to referee. But only if I can hex the worst offenders. And by that I mean George and Ginevra."

Harry laughed. "I'll take you in any position you like." He blanched. "I mean, we'd love to have you play in any, um, capacity you choose."

Snape sighed. "I'm hardly dressed in sport attire."

"Then referee this time. You just have to float there, for the most part. I'll make Ginny sit this one out, even out the sides. She shouldn't be flying in her condition, anyway. She's so stubborn."

Snape sat up straight. "Is she expecting?" he whispered.

"Draco hasn't told you yet? I'm sorry. Yes. Damn. I'm sure Draco would have told you by tonight."

"I'll act surprised when he does." Snape held up a hand. Harry grabbed it and hauled the older man to his feet eliciting a groan, and cracks from his knees. "Quidditch. At my stage in life. What an old fool."

"You're hardly old, Professor. And the more you play, the better you'll feel. You'll see." Harry dropped his hand finally and urged him toward the field with a nod.

The pints were flowing freely, the fatty pub grub kept coming to the tables to buffer the alcohol consumption. All of Ginny's friends and many of Draco's were gathered to celebrate their happy news and toast the continuation of the Malfoy line. Seamus was of the loud and drunken opinion that it was a bloody miracle that Ginny'd gotten knocked up at all, as it was common knowledge that Malfoy was a flaming poof and wouldn't know her hole from a hole in the ground. There his diatribe was mercifully cut off, as were his drinking privileges for the night.

Draco had reserved a large room, a warm, cozy parlor with a roaring fire. It was mid-October and not really cold enough to warrant one, but the effect was lovely. The old place had lots of intimate niches and nooks for chats and such, and they were filling as tipsy couples drifted away from the festivities. Harry found Snape standing in the shadow of a post, alone.

"Hiding?" Harry sidled up next to him and claimed a piece of wall to lean on.

"I learned from long experience to make a strategic retreat and find a solid object behind which to stand if there is a strong possibility that the hexes will start flying." Snape took a long pull from his pint as Harry grinned. "Mr. Finnegan is lucky his skin hasn't been melted off or his manhood inverted."

"Well, Ginny is tearing strips off him outside right now. He might have been better off just letting Goyle cut his bollocks off. Less painful."

"Indeed," Snape agreed with a chuckle.

"So, Professor—"

"No need to always use my title, Potter. You may call me Severus."

"Oh. Well, thanks. It's just…"

"I know how it is, Potter. No one knows me well, nor how to address me comfortably now that the war is over. It's easier to use 'Professor'. I understand that much. It does tend to keep people at a distance, though. Everyone in this room was my student at one time, so it's more awkward for them to break that barrier than I. It's just that I have decided I don't want that distance any longer."

Harry blinked, a little tipsy and unsure of his hearing. "You don't? Whoa."

"Yes. In fact, I am getting back into the world. I'm even going to attend the Halloween Ball. The Ministry one," he clarified significantly.

"You are? You are. Wow. I never thought you'd set foot in the Ministry again after… everything." Harry blinked up at him. "Good for you, Severus. I mean that."

"Thank you, Potter. Mmmph!"

Suddenly, Snape found himself with a warm Harry arched against his front, arms wrapped around his neck, and warm lips pressed to his. He held his pint glass at arm's length, trying not to spill on either of them, as Harry writhed against him. He hummed a protest into Harry's mouth, but it did no good. Reaching out blindly, he moved the glass about until it tapped a table and he set it on the edge. Both hands returned to Harry's back and stroked it, until they moved to his shoulders to push him away.

Harry pulled his head back, lips smacking softly as they separated.

"Potter," Snape asked softly, "what are you doing?"

Harry smiled. "You didn't want distance anymore. I'm closing the gap." He pulled himself in and latched on again.

Snape returned the kiss. He was warm, and content, and a little drunk, and a sexy young man was attached to his face. He was only human. He let his hands feel the boy's back, running up into the messy hair and back down to softly grasp and knead the firm bottom, tucking his fingers inside the back pockets of Harry's jeans. Harry rose up onto his toes and bent his knees at the sensation, pressing himself fully against the taller man with a moan.

"Potter," Severus finally managed when they broke for air, "What do you think you're doing? Stop. Stop that," he whispered, and stilled Harry's hips from grinding against him. "We are in a public place."

"Will you go to the Ball with me? Please? Please. Please," he asked with another kiss.

"I can't, I'm sorry."

"Yes you can. It's easy. Just say yes, Severus." Harry renewed his attack, pulling Snape down. He felt Severus waver and pull him close, opening his mouth to Harry, who let his tongue slip inside, teasing and swirling and sucking.

Severus could only imagine that tongue wrapped around his cock and moaned.

"Hmm, so you'll go with me?" Harry asked, nose to nose, enjoying being within the fall of Snape's hair.

"I'm sorry, no." He gently pushed Harry away by the hips. "I am already going with someone else."

Harry pulled away. "What? No."

"Yes." Severus straightened his robes and patted things back into place. "I asked Draco if he knew of any suitable gentlemen, and he suggested a colleague of his, Ash. Ashby Spencer. We are meeting at a lunch this week, but I believe we will be attending the Ball together." He looked at Harry's flushed face and red lips with regret. "I am sorry."

"Ash? Huh. I bet he's as dry and dull as his name."

"Don't pout, Potter. Petulance is not a good look on you."

Harry didn't respond, he was too upset.

"Hello, Severus. Here you are. Potter." Draco still sounded like he was spitting out Harry's name every time he spoke it. "Potter, you're looking rather pink. Perhaps it's time to lay off the drink for the evening."

"I was just telling Potter about your friend from the firm. Will you and Mrs. Malfoy be attending the Ball as well?"

"Oh, of course. Do you think I could talk Ginny out of buying new robes and dancing all night? We'll be there."

Harry snorted derisively behind his hand, prompting raised eyebrows from both men.

"Have something to contribute, Potter?"

"Only that you are so whipped. She is going to rule you in no time. You couldn't even keep her off her broom the other day. So, good luck with that." Harry offered a sarcastic salute.

"You know, Potter, I must admit you are right this time. She is a strong-willed hellion, and I love her for it. At least I'm man enough to appreciate her qualities and not feel threatened, hence letting her tear Finnegan a new arsehole instead of getting myself dragged into a holding cell by the Aurors for cursing him into next week. It makes her happy, gives her an outlet for those cranky feelings brought on by the pregnancy, and I get to stand here, with my delicious champagne, and chat with you fine gentlemen. Cheers." He raised his glass and drank deeply. Snape did the same, while Harry watched. "Oh, and I've been meaning to tell you how deeply grateful I am that you prefer to take it up the arse. Gave me my shot after you broke my Ginny's heart. So, good luck with that, Potter."

Harry stood there, bested. "Right. I need a drink." And he walked off.

The Slytherins watched him go, but only for a moment.

Snape turned to Draco. "So, you finally took my advice?"

"Yes. Ginny didn't like it one bit. But I was firm."

"You should have taken her in hand before the wedding, as I advised. It would have had more impact. I know your father would have told you the same."

"You're right." Draco sighed. "We could have avoided all that nonsense about her insisting on flying, if I had been firmer with her, laid down the law. That was the last straw. She can stomp her feet all she likes, I will not allow her to endanger my heir. I don't care how good a flyer she is. I took care of it that night, I promise you."

"Good, good. At least now she knows you are the dominant spouse. These impetuous Gryffindors clearly benefit when a Slytherin imposes control. Where would Godric have been without Salazar, hmm?" Snape smiled warmly. "So, tell me more about Ash. How long has he been at the firm?"

Harry made his way directly to his best friends and slid in beside Ron.

"You're looking rather mussed, Harry," Hermione observed with a knowing smile. "Did you have a little chat with Snape?"

"It's just warm in here, that's all." He reached over and stole Ron's brand new, chilled pint of ale. Ron's fingers closed on nothing as a small whimper escaped his throat. Harry sucked down a third of it in one go, and Ron whimpered louder. "Oh, here." Harry put it back down in front of his bench-mate who grabbed hold of it protectively.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Hermione inquired patiently.

"It's just… it's just…" Harry looked up to the heavens, then buried his face in his hands. "It's just the Yule Ball all over again. Another black-haired, black-eyed beauty shot me down for someone else." Harry picked his head up again. "At least they were both sorry about it. Gimmee that." He slipped the glass straight up out of Ron's fingers and chugged it down to the foam.

"I don't think she likes me very much."

"No, I don't expect she does. It has nothing to do with you, Ash, it's just the fact that you aren't Harry Potter."

They watched the plump witch walk away, giving the interloper sidelong glances over her shoulder, as Arthur escorted her to greet the next group of dignitaries arranged around the dance floor.

"She's got it in her head that he and I are destined for couplehood. I have no idea why."

Ash turned to him. "From what I understand," he said, in his soft South African accent, "you were his professor while he attended Hogwarts and fought the war. True?"

"Ahh, Ashby, it is a very long, ugly story. One I do not wish to cover in its entirety tonight. Would you care to dance while I sketch out the high points?" He held out a hand and the taller, silver-haired man took it.

"Only if I can lead." He smiled slyly, and Snape acquiesced.

They stepped lightly around the floor, a handsome mix of contrasts. Ash in charcoal, and Snape in deepest, coldest red, the front of his hair clasped at the base of his skull, the rest flowing straight down his back.

"There was nothing black or white in that war. Even tonight, Halloween, is a mixture of celebration and remembrance. On this night, the Potters were murdered, and Harry orphaned, yet the Dark Lord was destroyed and we had peace for ten years. Or so we hoped. Nothing was ever certain."

"I understand. Did you know the Potters? Were you personally affected?" Ash changed tempo to match a new waltz that had begun.

"I lost a dear friend and an old enemy at the same time." Snape looked up slightly into Ash's face. "I'd rather we changed the subject now, if it's all the same to you." Snape squeezed Ash's hand, and got an answering squeeze to his waist. "Tell me how the Galleon is doing around the world. Dazzle me with tales of gold acquisitions."

Harry arrived unfashionably late. His date had kept him waiting at Grimmauld Place, and once he got there didn't want to let Harry leave without a little foreplay. Harry went down on him just to get him out the door. The few young men Harry had briefly dated had all been the same. They wanted sex, and only sex, all the time, unless they also had their eyes on Harry's vaults and his fame. The Muggles were worse, as all they wanted were nameless encounters, which is all Harry could offer them anyway. He couldn't make a life with a Muggle.

Maledict Benintendi was a last-minute choice. Harry had been planning on coming alone, as he usually did to important affairs likely to be plastered all over The Prophet. He didn't want to officially come out this way, with a stranger, but if Severus Snape was bringing a date, then by God, so would Harry Potter. He trolled the clubs until he found the most perfect, blond, tall, muscular, masculine god he could find (on short notice), and asked him to the ball. Naturally, they had had sex first, and before Mal could disappear, Harry popped the question. Mal, sensing he had the upper hand for the duration, agreed.

Harry wasn't going to get to top with this one either, it appeared.

So Harry arrived at the entrance to the ballroom, a vision in deep green robes, with Maledict at his side and a frown on his face. The overblown decoration of the room was completely lost on him as Harry scanned for the only man that mattered.

There was a flurry of movement as flashbulbs began popping. The moment he had seen the onrushing paparazzi, Mal had lit up with a dazzling smile to rival Gilderoy Lockhart at his peak, grabbed Harry's arm and wrapped it under his own, and prevented Harry from removing it until all the photos were taken. Harry would have had to cause a small scene to extricate himself from the stronger man; instead he made the best of it and smiled prettily. Tomorrow's society page would prove his worst fears — Harry ended up looking like a debutante on the arm of her escort, like a big girl. Damn.

The evening wore on. It really wore on Harry, as he dealt with alternating bouts of Mal trying to kiss Harry publicly or get his hand under Harry's robes, and Mal flirting with anything pretty enough, male or female, frequently at the same time he was pawing Harry. It was impossible to casually chat with the Weasleys or his friends, or reacquaint himself with some of the Ministry higher-ups with Mal misbehaving and the journalists just waiting for a juicy photo.

Harry slipped away to a balcony for a breather. He didn't care anymore if Maledict chatted—or felt-up half the guests at the Ball, he just wanted the evening to end. Harry leaned over the balustrade and breathed in the crisp autumn air. The view was of an interior courtyard, nothing of surrounding London could be seen, but that was all right. It was peaceful and the formal gardens below gave him something to look at until it was time to leave.

"Here you are." Long arms slipped past Harry's torso from behind, and large hands covered his own, pinning him in place. "Dessert is being served soon, although I'd rather have you, my sweet." Mal spoke low in Harry's ear, as large, muscular thighs pressed against Harry's, and a bulky chest pressed his back.

"That's very flattering, but I'd rather have the treacle tart." Harry tried to pull his hands from under Mal's and turn in place, but he couldn't budge. "Mal—"

Harry felt Mal's weight shift and a knee inserted itself between Harry's thighs, pulling his robes taut as a massive thigh filled the space between his legs like a pummel horse. Mal was aroused and grinding himself into Harry's buttock.

"Come on, Harry, let's have a little fun at the Ministry's expense. Who'll know?" He nibbled at Harry's neck and nipped at his earlobe. "You're so hot. I want you right here."

Harry's mind went immediately to the wand up his sleeve, so close yet so unattainable. He cursed himself for letting his guard down.

"Mal, it's not a good idea. Come on, let me go." Harry tried to tug his hands free, to no avail. "Let's go back in. We can have fun later." Harry pulled again and tried to push back against his captor, but it only seemed to encourage him. "We could leave early, now, if you like. I — I don't want to do this here." Harry tried a silent stinging hex directed at the hands; it didn't work.

"Afraid someone will get a really racy photo, Harry? No one knows we're out here. You picked a very good spot to hide," Mal growled softly, "from me. Nice try."

Harry's hands were pulled behind him, wrists crossed and pinned in the middle of his back. He was shoved further over the railing until his view was of the gardens a story below.

"Mal! Stop it! Stop it! You're hurting my arms! Hey! Uh!" Harry's arms were shoved further up his back and the breath forced from his lungs.

Mal's free hand was roaming over Harry's bottom and hip, until it slipped down to the hem of his robes and lifted, hand sliding up Harry's calf, past his knee, up his quivering thigh. "I know you aren't pureblood, but are you following tradition? Are you wearing the proper nothing under here? Ahh, good." Mal's hand smoothed over Harry's bare cheek, then around his hip to collect Harry's limp cock. "What? Not hot for me yet? I suggest you get on that if you want to enjoy this little interlude as much as I will." He squeezed and stroked firmly for a moment before releasing a struggling Harry who had begun bucking, trying to throw Mal off. Hard to do when a bloke is holding one's penis in his hand.

"Get off! Mal! Get off, you twat!" Harry spat out quietly as he bucked harder against the stone rail.

"Petrificus Totalis."

Harry heard that familiar hissing voice, tight with anger. He spun around to see Snape's face clenched in fury, wand and arm pointing directly at Maledict. "Mobilicorpus," Snape ground out, directing the petrified body over the rail and down into the garden, where it set down in a bed of creeping roses.

"Thank you," Harry offered in a small voice as he rubbed his arms, pushed his spectacles back in place, and checked his robes. He wrapped his arms around himself as Ash sidled through the French doors behind Snape.

"Severus? Everything all right?"

Snape composed himself and turned around. "It is now. Ashby, would you please fetch Arthur Weasley?"

"Of course." Ash calmly hurried out.

Snape and Harry stood apart in silence, Harry's eyes repeatedly drawn to the garden below.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No. It's all right."

"It's hardly all right, Potter."

"It's fine. I'd had sex with him before."

"You'd said 'yes' before."

"It's all right, I said. I deal with pushy men all the time." He wrapped his arms tight around his chest.

Snape crossed the balcony until he was next to Harry.

Arthur rushed through the doorway. "Harry? What's happened? Severus?" His eyes flitted back and forth between the two.

"Potter's date got a bit forward with him. It's over with now, but I think he should spend the night at the Burrow. I'm sure Molly wouldn't mind."

Arthur approached and pulled Harry close with an arm across his shoulders. He nodded to Snape. "Of course. Is that all right with you, Harry?"

"I'm fine, really." He looked at Arthur and knew it was a losing battle. "I'd be glad to spend the night. Good night, Professor. Thank you." He dropped his arms to his sides and strode out rigidly, Arthur in his wake.

"Oh, Arthur," Snape called. Weasley stopped and turned. "A bit of trash went over the railing during all the excitement. I'm sure it can wait 'till morning, but if it's left there any longer, I'm afraid the roses may be damaged."

Arthur smiled knowingly. "I'll alert the house elves when I come to work tomorrow. Good night. Happy Halloween, Severus."

Harry sat in the kitchen with his cup of honey-sweet, milky tea and the ever-present plate of sandwiches and pasties Mrs. Weasley had laid out for him. She puttered about, spelling a large bowl of potatoes to peel themselves, directing the knitting of two sweaters at once, and encouraging the feather duster to get at the very deep corners of the high shelves of the pantry. She hadn't said much all day, but Harry had the distinct impression he was being minded like a child.

What happened the night before was unfortunate, but not terrible. He'd dealt with worse, and why couldn't anyone accept that? He was fine. He was unharmed. Harry had learned from long experience that any encounter he walked away from was acceptable. Hell, he'd walked away from death. He'd been murdered, for Merlin's sake. Getting molested was nothing to waking up dead. Such was Harry's philosophy, as skewed as it might seem.

He'd had a brush with danger. It was over. He was sitting in probably his favorite spot in the world, safe and warm and fed.

He did feel a little useless nowadays. Harry was the only one of his friends unemployed. It was odd to say goodbye to Mr. Weasley this morning as he headed off early to take care of something at the Ministry, to watch him go off and be productive. The house was empty of all the other Weasley children; it was too quiet with only him and Molly about, but he made himself useful when she'd let him, de-gnoming the garden a bit before lunch. Otherwise, he soaked in the calm warmth of the Burrow and waited for a visit from Snape.

The expected knock came on the kitchen door, and Snape let himself in upon being recognized.

"Good afternoon, Molly, Potter. I'm glad you didn't wait tea on me, I had something come up after classes today."

"Perfectly all right, Severus. Would you like a cup now?"

"Actually, I'd like to have a walk outside first. Potter?" Snape invited with a sweep of his hand.

"Sure. Why not." Harry zipped up his snug jacket as he pushed back his chair.

They made their way to the path outside and walked in silence until they reached the small pond with the wooden pier.

Harry spun around and braced himself for the admonishments, the scolding, the interference.

"You have very good friends, Potter."

He wasn't expecting that. "Why do you say that?"

"Because that Maledict fellow may never be right again." Snape pursed his mouth to keep at bay the smile that threatened every time he remembered Arthur's account of what happened at the Ministry that morning. When the Aurors took out the trash. "Arthur and I gathered that you didn't want to make an issue of Mr. Benintendi's misbehavior last night." He held up a palm to forestall Harry's explanation. "That is certainly your right, Potter. I certainly do not blame you. Just know that justice was served, in her way."

Green eyes widened behind the round frames. "Oh no. What happened to him?"

"Why do you care? You aren't going to see him again." It wasn't a question. Not even a rhetorical one. "I'll tell you, but only because it's a good story."

And it was. Harry's spirits had risen some by the time Snape described a thoroughly 'questioned' and dismissed Maledict walking down the long, long corridor in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a gauntlet populated with every available Auror that had gotten to like and respect Harry in the short time he had worked there. Each one taking a surreptitious pot-shot from under his sleeve, hexing him with Merlin-only-knows what.

"And I fear he may never get all the thorns out of his hide. Those poor roses. I do hope they recover. He did lie on them all night." He tched and shook his head, finally allowing himself a faint smile.

Harry didn't smile back. "I wondered — how did you manage to show up just in the nick of time? I found that balcony so I wouldn't be bothered, to hide."

"And yet that masher found you."

"Don't deflect the question."

"I was watching you all night. He behaved like a boor, and I expected the worst. When he finally stumbled upon you, and you didn't come out immediately, I followed."

"You saved me. Again." Harry hugged himself and turned toward the water. "Doesn't it get old?"

"I've been doing it for so long, it's become second nature."

"But I'm the Savior," Harry added wryly. "And you save the Savior. That makes you, like, the Savior squared, or something." He turned back to Snape with a genuine smile on his face.

Snape tilted his head. "You are approaching almost philosophic levels of Arithmancy. Ms. Granger-Weasley would be proud."

"Didn't Ash mind you being distracted with me all night?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. He never noticed."

Harry chuckled. "Right. Spy!" He smacked his palm to his forehead. He took a few steps toward Snape. "I'm going to hug you now. I thought I would give you the courtesy of telling you first, as opposed to drunkenly throwing myself on you."

"Is this something you feel strongly about?"

Harry closed the space between them and looked up into the glittering black eyes. "Oh, yes." He slipped his arms around the taller man's chest, under his outer robe, splaying his fingers out across the narrow back and squeezed. His "thank you" was muffled, but appreciated.

Molly stood on tip-toe as she peeked through the window. She could just see down the hill to the pond. She didn't expect it to come to wands, but she felt she should watch, just in case tempers flared. Those two! So hot-headed.

When Harry embraced Severus, and he slid his arms around Harry's shoulders, she smiled and turned back to making dinner.

The group of them chuckled around the table as they finished up plates of Molly's famous post-Christmas, leftover Hippogriff-sized-turkey curry on rice.

"And Professor Dumbledore made him pull a cracker with him. And you know what came out?" Harry looked quickly over toward Snape to make sure he wasn't about to be hexed under the table. "A paper hat with a giant vulture on it! And Dumbledore wore it all afternoon!"

Peals of laughter rang around the dining room, even from Teddy who had no idea what part his father had played in that little tale, or why he was laughing at all except that all the grown-ups were.

Harry peeked at Snape again, who was not laughing. "Oh, come on Severus! It's funny. At least Dumbledore didn't make you wear it."

"I would like to have seen him try."

"That would have been brilliant!" Ron interjected. "Would have made your 'duel' with Lockhart look like a picnic by the lake."

"Lighten up, Severus. It's funny!" Harry slapped him lightly on the arm.

"Do that again and you'll lose that hand," Snape threatened softly.

"Too right," George agreed, fingering the stump of his ear. Gasps went around the table, as Snape turned a pale yellow. "What? Too soon?"

That broke the tension into snorts of laughter, and conversation picked up again as the table cleared and the family scattered around the house.

Severus found Harry in the sitting room, staring at the fire.

"Mister Potter."

"Uh oh. I know that tone. Going to take points?" Harry smirked. "Too late, I'm afraid." He stuck out his tongue.

"I'll do worse than that if you don't behave. Put that tongue away."

Harry could swear he heard the words 'impertinent' and 'saucy' muttered under the man's breath.

"George tells me you are a silent partner in his business. As long as I've contracted for him, I never knew that. I know you're looking for a career. Why on earth wouldn't you start with Weasley Wizarding Wheezes? It seems like something perfectly suited to you."

"Why, just because I'm young? Or do you see me as a brainless idiot who daily pines to see people break out in blue spots or step in fake dragon poo?"

"Well, George is certainly not an idiot. He and his brother were brilliant together. It takes a lot of hard work to create seemingly simple pranks. Spells, charms, potions, herbology, all branches of magical science, in fact."

"My strengths lie in other areas. I was happy to start them out in business, but I'm afraid I don't have what it takes to help him much."

"I suppose promotion is out? Don't want to use your fame to George's benefit?"

"No, definitely not. My fame is a nightmare. He doesn't need me for that; he's doing quite fine on his own."

"Perhaps it will get better with time. Did it ever occur to you, that, in giving the public what they want, eventually the novelty might wear off?"

Harry sighed heavily. "I tried that the first couple of years, especially when it seemed like my fame was impacting my career as an Auror. I gave more interviews, more photo ops, more… everything. It didn't help, it just got worse. I'm tired of giving to people who don't even know me and will never have enough. And it's just celebrity, it's not even for something important like destroying a Dark Lord. That was worth the agony."

Severus sidled up closer and leaned on the mantle. "Yes. It was." He let a rueful grin twist his mouth. "I forget that you have lived a harder, fuller life than most four times your age. Forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive. I'll just have to devote myself to something dark and dangerous and exciting, like curse breaking or dragon wrangling or private investigation. Those would keep me busy."

"But not out of trouble."

"I think I'll always be in trouble of some sort. And just let the paparazzi try to follow me into a cursed tomb. One or two horrific hexes released their way and they won't be following me around anymore."

"You will owl me with your itineraries for these grand adventures, won't you? Otherwise, how will I know where to save the Savior? I have my limits, you know. I am not omniscient."

"I doubt that." Harry smiled softly and moved closer. "Look." Harry pointed up to the bounteous swag of evergreens above the fireplace. "Mistletoe."

Severus followed his gaze upward. There were many branches of mistletoe gravid with white berries woven around the pine boughs and holly. He reached up and plucked a berry, brought it down, displayed it between finger and thumb.

"One kiss per berry. Those are the rules. Can you follow the rules for once, Potter?"

"I can try. I tend to get swept away in the heat of the moment though. Then I throw the rules out the window."

"So I have noticed."

Severus tilted his head and leaned in, meeting an eager Harry halfway. Severus hovered in front of Harry's mouth, teasing. He paused to savor the heat from that mouth, the smoky scent lingering from the cumin on Harry's breath, before he touched those pink lips and felt a soft tongue seeking entrance. He ran his fingers into Harry's hair, around an ear, and felt the young man melting where he stood. Then Severus pulled away.

Harry opened his eyes and whined softly.

"Pick another berry. Get another kiss."

Harry obeyed quickly. He reached up, grabbed a single fruit, showed it, then dropped it as his mouth was taken again.

Snape pulled away, but this time he plucked a berry. Harry looked at him questioningly.

"What about Ash?"

Snape brushed Harry's soft cheek with the back of his finger. "We aren't seeing each other any more."

"Oh?"

"He… always wanted to lead. And he was a bit staid for my tastes. It simply wasn't a good fit, as nice a fellow as he was. I will keep looking."

Harry was puzzled a moment then blurted, "Oh! He always wanted to top. I get it. I like topping too, but the guys I slept with rarely let me. They all wanted to fuck Harry Potter, I guess. It always turned into a struggle, and I usually just let them."

Severus sighed with soft exasperation. "There are many lovely euphemisms men such as ourselves use to avoid such blatant language."

"Who? Gay men?"

"No. Gentlemen." He shook his head. "Though I don't suppose you have had anyone to mentor you in the ways of sexual politics. Who did you have to teach you? When would you have learned?" He leaned in and stole a sweet kiss before continuing, "You never have to do anything sexually you do not wish to. Remember that. And you should stop picking up one-offs. Try meeting someone properly, through friends and such, or I fear you may be hurt badly one day."

"I haven't seen anyone since Halloween. Put me off sex for a while. I like older men, anyway. I just don't know where to find nice ones. Gay ones. You know. I don't see them in the clubs much."

"No, you wouldn't. We'll talk about it and I'll teach you. All right? Now, pick a berry."

When Teddy came looking for Harry he found them standing before the fire, locked in a kiss, the floor littered with white things. He hugged the wall at the entrance, uncertain. Mrs. Weasley had told him to find Harry, but Professor Snape was scary sometimes.

Finally, he scraped together his inherited Gryffindor courage and marched over to the men. He jerked on both their trouser legs at the same time, shouted, "Time for pie!" and ran away.

The Gryffindor contemporaries had been seated at separate tables, sorted according to their importance in the Final Battle, if one assumed that up front with the Trio was a favored position, and the rowdy table in the back near the restrooms was not. Dean, Seamus and Neville had been seated back there and were doing their damnedest to make their outrage at this injustice known.

"I was set on fire, for Merlin's sake," Neville grumbled. "I killed a Horcrux!" he pouted, arms crossed. "What's a fellow got to do to get respect?"

"Mahh! Don't let it get under yer skin, there, Nev," Seamus consoled. "Yeh just know there's some poncy Ministry flunky shufflin' place cards around for a livin', pissed off he didn't get invited at'tall."

They all three laughed, then fell silent with realization, then laughed again.

"Percy!" Dean choked out the name they were all thinking. "Oh, God, you know it must be Percy." He flipped a dreadlock away from his face and wiped a tear away. "If we hadn't been Harry's dorm-mates for all those years, I don't think we'd be here at all. You know it's true."

"Hello, ladies! What's so funny?" Ginny waddled up to the table. Dean jumped up and got her a chair. She fell into it gratefully.

"Jaysus, Ginny, you're fuckin' huge!"

"I know, Seamus. Thanks for announcing it, though. So what are you biddies gossiping about back here? I could see the discontent from across the room." She smirked at them and rubbed her belly absently.

"Oh, just how we needed to sleep with Harry to even get invited to this mess." Dean got a snigger from around the table.

"Right." She rolled her eyes. "Speaking of which… have you seen his date tonight? Is Harry really that blind? I know he's been dating older men, but he's really just moved on to the Snape-substitutes, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, fer sure. What's this one, then, Dean?" Seamus cast a calculating look at the tall, thin, brunette Harry was dancing with across the floor.

"Well, Seamus, I'd say this one's a mix of Adrian Brody and Rowan Atkinson, decidedly heavy on the Mr. Bean, I'm afraid."

Neville gasped. "Oh, Merlin! You're right! I was thinking Blackadder the Second, but that's too generous."

Ginny just shook her head and stared. "Why doesn't he just date Snape?"

"Well," Neville got comfortable and put on his knowledgeable face, "I heard from Luna, who heard from Angelina, who was told by George, who heard from Harry himself that it isn't for lack of trying. Snape doesn't want Harry. Some nonsense about decorum and age difference and not having enough to support a man like Harry."

Ginny scoffed. "But that's ridiculous. They obviously fancy each other. They were kissing at the Burrow!" she staged whispered. "I got that directly from Teddy. And look what Snape has been dating!" She gestured broadly at the Professor and his date: a young, fit, blue-eyed brunette, with a broad, warm smile and bubbly personality to match. "James Harper. American. A Captain in the US Auror forces, I believe. Poor Severus, he has to scour other continents for suitable men who don't know his history."

"And Harry is a stand-up bloke," Dean supplied. "You wouldn't know he was rich to look at him. He'd never balk at sharing his vaults. Snape's just being proud. But you know Harry. He's a pushover. He doesn't have a clue how to handle relationships." He got nods from his former classmates. "He'll take Snape at his word, and he won't go for it if Snape tells him not to."

Ginny leaned forward with a grunt and grabbed a goblet of ice water. She drank of it deeply and put it back down with a clunk. "Men, I think it's time for a party. A garden party. A very special one. Where's my husband?" She craned her neck until she spotted Draco at their table near the front. "There he is. This is going to be a lot of work. I'd love to wait until this baby is born, but I'm afraid there won't be time. Either one of them could get serious at any moment with the wrong man, then we'd all be saying 'I told you so' to anyone who'll listen for the rest of our lives." She hauled herself out of the chair. "We need to force the issue. I'll go tell Draco we'll need the Manor prepared. But first, the loo." Ginny hurried off to the little witches' room.

The young men watched her go, not without awe.

"She's too fuckin' scary. She's becomin' her mother. Remind me to stay on her good side, will ya?"

Neville chuckled. "You mean like you did at the pub that time?"

"Yeah, Seamus, how's that new arsehole working out for you?"

"Ohhhh, I don't know about this Ginny." Harry turned away from the full-length mirror and wobbled on the high heels. "Hermione, please tell her. I— I can't go outside like this."

Hermione giggled. "Harry, you really have to. You look amazing! Too sexy!"

"You're a juicy tart!" Ginny and Hermione tittered like twelve-year-olds, leaning into each other.

"No, Harry, really, you look good enough to eat! You must!" Hermione urged.

Harry turned doubtfully back to the mirror. The girls had taken entirely too much joy in dressing him up like a doll. A slutty doll. They had gone for the schoolgirl-cum-anime character look: white school blouse tied tight across his chest; bare abdomen; a very short, low-slung, pleated skirt hanging on his hips; plain white stretchy cotton knickers which barely contained his bits and peeked coquettishly out from under the back of the skirt if he did anything but stand up straight; high-platformed, chunky, black patent Mary Janes; and sheer white knee socks, seam up the back, that were topped with a white bow on the thigh where they ended above the knee. The make-up wasn't too bad. The pencil around his eyes made them stand out. Hermione'd made him wear the dreaded contact lenses so his glasses wouldn't hide the jewel-bright green of them. His hair — well, they did what they could before they tied a short tuft up on either side of his head, making him look a bit like a cat. Or a kitten.

"Now Harry, remember to check your stockings every now and then. They do tend to get crooked and fall down a bit. Like this." Hermione, in her own risque outfit, twisted around and down, smoothing her hands over her calves and up her thighs. The black fishnets shifted with her ministrations, and Harry couldn't help a general stirring of his libido at the sight and feel of the frankly fetishistic clothing.

"Has Ron seen you, yet?" Harry gaped at his friend.

"No. Not yet. Do I look all right?" She looked between Ginny and Harry, suddenly self-conscious.

"You look gorgeous! I wish I wasn't so big! Ugh. I'd've dressed up with you. I'd love to make Draco drool. You two will be the hit of the party, I think." Ginny checked her own costume: the black pageboy wig, the floor-length black cassock with roman collar and large silver cross hanging over her pregnancy-enhanced breasts. "Dean told me to wear this and go as the Vicar of Dibley. Frankly, I think it just makes me look like The Fat Lady. Oh, well. Maybe next time."

"Tell me again why I don't get to wear a man's costume?" Harry asked as he fretted at the mirror for the tenth time.

"Because," Hermione explained, "you are single, and too fit to hide under a cassock. Father What-A-Waste is bad enough when it happens in real life, we aren't that cruel to the women of the world." She and Ginny shared a secret smile behind Harry's back. They were determined to rock Severus Snape's world and make the man gag for it.

Draco wolf-whistled as the three walked down the large flight of stairs to the hall, Harry gripping the railing for dear life. He refused to give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing him tumble arse over teakettle in drag.

Hermione acknowledged the compliment with an incongruously demure tilt of her head and a slight curtsy. She smoothed out her costume which covered everything but her legs, tight as it was. She may be a tart for the afternoon, but she was still a married lady.

Harry was just trying to make it to the foyer without flashing his tackle accidentally.

"See? Why am I in a dress and Malfoy gets to wear trousers? He's much prettier than I am. And what are you, exactly, Draco? You dressed like you always do."

"I, Potter, am a Luther-Anne minister." Draco slipped an arm around Ginny's shoulder and gave her a peck on the temple. He looked very refined in a lightweight black turtleneck tucked into black slacks, a black belt with shiny black shoes and an enormous silver crucifix hanging around his neck.

A very loud gasp from the corridor leading to the gardens made them all turn around to find Ron, dressed like a Catholic priest, with his hand over his mouth.

"Godric's grizzled gonads, Harry! What did they do to you!"

"They tarted me up a bit."

"A bit? A bit?" Ron gawped.

Ginny elbowed him in the ribs, then indicated a crestfallen Hermione standing beside Harry. Ron pulled himself together quickly and rushed to his wife's side to begin a stream of earnest compliments and apologies.

Draco cleared his throat. "Weasley? Excuse me. Auror Weasley?"

"Uh, yeah? What?" He slid his arm low around Hermione's waist.

"Are the wards up, as agreed?"

"Oh yeah, they are." Ron straightened up to address the group. "No one but the invitees can enter the grounds, by any means, and we have special wards set for photography. If we want any pictures of this party, you'll need me to lower the wards locally around the subjects. So, Harry, no fear, mate. You won't show up on page one in that getup, unless you send them the photo yourself. Feel better?"

Harry's heart warmed and his tension lessened. "Yes. Thanks. Now maybe I can enjoy myself a bit."

"I'd think if you really wanted to enjoy yourself you'd've brought a date to ogle you." Ron chuckled. His face fell as Harry's did.

"Right, I'll just meet you outside." Harry stalked off as quickly as he could in three-inch platforms, arms flailing here and there for balance, until he'd made it out of sight.

"What'd I say?" Ron asked, flummoxed.

"Ronald!" Hermione smacked his arm. "His boyfriend just broke up with him, remember?" When she got no indication that he did, she rolled her heavily mascaraed eyes. "It was a bit of a scandal? He ran off with Snape's date from the Ball? It was only last week! Tuh!" She turned in disgust and stormed off after Harry.

Ron stood there, looking for support. "You mean to say that the guy that looked like Snape, and the guy that looked like Harry fancied each other? That's rich."

"And I'm sure one day we will all laugh heartily about it. But not today." Draco steered Ron and Ginny toward the gardens and the party about to begin.

Snape Apparated to the gate of Malfoy Manor and collected himself. He tucked away his wand, shook out his black linen robes, shot his white cuffs and futilely pushed his hair over his shoulder — it always managed to return to hang in his face. He couldn't delay any longer and started the march up the drive, through the gates, toward the massive front doors. He had made this same walk too many times under darker circumstances, usually with another Death Eater at his elbow. He imagined he could still feel the ghostly tingle of the Dark Mark barrier as he passed the high hedge on his left. The fountain splashing gaily in the sweet air of the late spring afternoon was calming, though the sound had always played in the backdrop of Voldemort's meetings. Dancing waters and peacock calls had underscored the screams coming from various parts of the manor; it had always struck him as both humorous and horrific.

He tried to shake off the past, and focus on the future. This was a different Malfoy's Manor. This was also the first garden party he had ever attended at the great house, and he didn't know quite what to expect. Molly was in charge of the invitations, and once he confided in her that he was unclear on the dress, she assured him that his normal clothing would be fine, and he would blend in perfectly. Why that caused her to snicker to herself, he would never know. That woman was too easily amused. The only concession he made to festivity and the fine weather was to wear a much-ignored pair of tan leather sandals that lived in the back of his wardrobe. The black of his robes was warm, and the brown stain of them cool, so he didn't think they clashed too badly. And the spring air felt nice on his toes as they wiggled freely for a change. The leather soles conformed gently to the cobbles that paved the drive, and he marveled at the vulnerability he felt simply by exposing his feet and ankles. He'd spent so much energy under the Dark Lord's service protecting his extremities from injury or removal it was completely against his nature to show them off.

The squeaky female house-elf who answered his ring and led him through seemed to be wearing makeup along with her skimpy tea towel. He would definitely have to get the story on that curiosity. He was certain it must have something to do with Ms. Granger-Weasley.

He stood on the flags of the veranda that spanned the back of the Manor and took in the gardens. It seemed all the decorations and tents had a Gothic theme: lancet windows in the tent walls, vaulted ceilings, gargoyle ice sculptures spitting punch, spire-shaped follies scattered about, and an alarming number of Christian crosses adorned the vertical surfaces. Just what in hell was going on?

He spied Draco approaching wearing a large silver cross on his chest, and waving, drink in hand. Were there vampires here? Werewolves? What on earth…?

"Severus! So glad you could join us! And so glad to see you decided not to come as a tart," Draco snorted to himself as he clapped him on the shoulder.

"A tart? Draco," he intoned, "what in Merlin's name is happening here?"

"Tarts and vicars, Severus! Tarts and vicars! Love the costume. So realistic! Love the Jesus Creepers," Draco added, eying the man's sandals.

Snape seethed. "I am not in costume." His nostrils flared as Draco snorted, then wiped the mirth from his face.

"Oh! No, of course you aren't. Molly should have explained."

"Yes. If she had then I wouldn't have come."

"Well there you have it. She should have been in Slytherin, don't you think?" Draco grabbed a cold glass of punch from an elf and put it in Snape's hand. "Drink up, Severus. We all wanted you here today. This isn't a joke on you in any way. And you do blend in quite nicely. In fact, you seem rather pureblood in your unsuccessful attempt to put together a convincing copy of a Muggle clergyman. My other guests will take it that way, in any case. Come along."

He took Snape by the elbow and led him deeper into the festivities. They nodded polite hellos to pockets of Draco's business associates and Ministry acquaintances. There were pavilions full of foods cooking in the out of doors, most spectacularly whole pigs and lambs on spits, which smelled wonderful, the wood smoke mixing with the scent of rendering fats. Suddenly, Snape was very glad he had come. He took another sip of his excellent fruit punch.

"Some of the muggle-borns had lots of fun lampooning their clergy. And then there is Luna Lovegood," Draco indicated with an open hand and an indulgent smile. "She didn't quite understand the 'tart' part of the festivities."

Sure enough, Luna sat in a lawn chair, cheerfully chatting at a dumbfounded young man. She wore a dun-colored dress, but was decorated with jewelry made, not of radishes, but of fruits. Loads and loads of fresh fruits. And she carried a lovely silver bowl of pastry cream.

Snape nodded in understanding. That was Luna, all over.

Then he began to notice the women. His eyes popped open at the young, the middle-aged and even the elder women, presumably respectable pillars of society, running around in short skirts, patterned hose and whorish makeup. And they all seemed to be having lots of fun. And so did their leering men.

Snape could only shake his head. He had never understood this dynamic, the need to show off one's body. Perhaps this fed a human need for spring mating, or sexual display, or maybe it was a bonding thing. He never understood it, and he generally found it disgusting and beneath him.

He heard the soft laughter and conversation of familiar voices as he and Draco made a turn at the edge of a privet hedge. He spotted Ginevra's group, mostly Gryffindors, seated around small tables and under umbrellas. He pulled up short behind one guest who had decided to straighten her hose just then. She was bent over, showing far too much upper thigh for his taste—

Oh! Oh, Merlin!

It was Potter! He was bent in half, knees locked, reaching all the way down to his ankles, his curvaceous legs climbing up and up from the tall black shoes, until they topped out at smooth bare skin….

Snape felt a wave of fire engulf him from his feet to his head. His head swam. His glass slipped from his fingers and fell to the grass. He was struck motionless, as if a spear had pierced his chest and pinned him to a wall. His face was on fire, he could feel it. He had to turn away.

"Severus, Severus," Draco whispered, "are you quite all right? Sit down."

Snape was practically insensate, and dropped into the offered chair. He was having trouble breathing. Not that he couldn't breathe, just that he forgot to.

A cold drink was pressed into his hand, and when he turned to look, Harry Potter was kneeling at his side, clutching at his forearm with both hands.

"Severus?" Harry looked up at him with glowing, wide eyes full of concern. "Shall I call a MediWiz? What's happening?"

Snape gulped down some air, then some punch before he answered, bewildered, "Where are your glasses?"

"Never mind that. Are you faint? Is this what happens when you come out from your dungeons into the sunshine without proper time to adjust?" Harry smiled teasingly at him.

Snape's cheeks burned with new humiliation as he shifted in his seat and realized he was quite aroused, and with no pants to help rein in the monster. He looked quickly around the circle of concerned friends, all keeping a polite distance, but barely.

"Potter, help me inside. I'm fine, I'm fine," he assured his audience with a flutter of his hand, as he endeavored to maneuver Potter to block his front as he stood and turned away, making for the dim recesses of the Manor.

They shuffled clumsily inside, Harry on his shoes over the uneven grass, and Snape with as big an erection as he could remember. His scrotum felt like it was filled with lead weights, and his heavy cock slapped — loudly, Snape thought — sideways against his thigh with every step. When they reached the remote back stairs hall, Snape pinned Harry to the marble wall.

"Just what to do you think you are doing, wearing a getup like that?! Attracting all the wrong kinds of attention? Do you want to be assaulted?"

Harry looked up, in some shock. "I think I'm about to be." Harry gulped as his shoulders were pressed harder. "The girls did it to me! They made me…"

"They made you?! Do you realize that every man and woman out there is devouring you with their eyes? Undressing you? That is unacceptable!" Snape's nose was practically touching Harry's, long locks of hair spilling before his eyes.

"No one is looking at me!" Harry pleaded. "No one here wants me that way!"

"You have no idea, do you? No idea how wanton, how… sexual, how…" Snape's narrowed eyes broke contact to rake up and down Harry's body beneath his hands. "…how coveted your body is, do you?"

Harry shook his head, mute, eyes wet and shining, eyebrows knit with confusion. "No," he squeaked.

Snape paused a moment, then pulled himself in, taking Harry's mouth hard. He raised up one of Harry's thighs, wrapped it around his hip, appreciating the added height from the shoes, and let the boy feel exactly how coveted his body was, rutting his length against his groin.

Harry gasped under Snape's mouth, and seized a buttock and Snape's back, even flexing his leg to squeeze, locking their pelvises together. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough. He whimpered and begged with his moans.

"So wanton," Snape whispered roughly, "so naughty. Yes, sooo naughty." He ran his hand under Harry's skirt, feeling the knickers, and he moaned.

Harry agreed with every fibre of his being. "Yes, I'm naughty. I want it. I want you to give it to me." He squirmed and writhed as they rolled their hips, desperate for more.

Snape shuddered as a wave of electric fire coursed up his frame. "So naughty, Potter, dressing like that in public. I ought to put you over my knee, right here, pull down those panties, and spank you until you cry." He felt Harry almost swoon under him, and held the boy upright. "Oh yes, you want that, I can tell. I'll take off my sandal and spank your bottom with the smooth leather until your skin is glowing red, and you beg forgiveness for wearing such slutty clothes, for demeaning yourself."

Harry whimpered and nodded his agreement.

"And you'll be so hard, so hard the whole time," he breathed out gruffly. Snape slid his hand between them, and felt Harry's fat cock straining against the cotton, head poking out over the elastic.

Harry latched his mouth underneath Snape's jaw and sucked. "Oh, please, please," Harry begged against his skin. "Something, please." He tried to press himself into Snape's hand, but the hand was gone, and he cried out softly in protest.

He released Harry's leg and let him get a firm footing. Snape drew Harry's hands up and pressed the backs of them against the wall. "These stay here."

Harry obeyed as Snape trailed his fingers down Harry's firm chest, teasing and scraping at his nipples. He twisted one, and enjoyed the undulation it produced, as Harry tried to maintain his position of surrender. Snape roughly pulled open the uniform blouse and sucked one nipple in, flicking and biting, releasing it from between pressed lips with a pop. Harry's nipples weren't perfectly round; they rose in an oval to tip each pectoral. He took a moment to memorize the feel and taste of them. Just the first of many unique features he would map, no doubt.

Snape dragged his nose down Harry's torso, pressing it into the young man's firm abdomen, licking and sucking a trail of pink patches, and delving his tongue into the tight navel, eliciting moans and more pleas.

He ran hands up and around solid thighs until he found the band on the undies and dragged it carefully downward, kissing and mouthing the tops of his thighs, drawing Harry's balls into his mouth, laving with his tongue.

Harry quickly divined his intentions and began begging non-stop. Snape wouldn't be rushed, though, and kept checking that Harry's hands were still plastered against the wall next to his shoulders.

"Good boy. Here's a reward." Snape bowed his head and took Harry down to the root, pulling back with firm suction that had Harry fairly yelling out his pleasure. Snape pinned the slim hips to the cold wall, loving the sound of Harry's firm globes and lower back smacking the marble, and went at his task with relish. In an unsurprisingly short time, Harry arched off the wall, attempting to thrust into that wicked mouth, shouting hoarsely, incoherently, as Snape wrung every drop out of him.

Snape rose, pressing his hands over Harry's palms, and leaned in for a bitter kiss, sharing the boy's taste with him. Harry sighed and curled his fingers between his captor's.

"Thank you," he managed after some moments.

"My pleasure," Snape replied softly, ominously, as he swayed his hips left and right, rolling his erect member idly over Harry's thigh.

"What about you? What do you want me to do?" Harry was gloriously flushed and glistening, and Snape had designs on those red, kissed lips. But then he remembered the sight that started this whole encounter.

"I'm going to take you from behind, Hogwarts style." That didn't get the expected recognition. "Don't you know what that is?"

"No. Should I?" Harry looked at him with dewy, curious eyes.

"Did they let all the old traditions die in Gryffindor tower?" he asked, petting Harry's jaw with the backs of his fingers. "Lower classmen pleasured the upper forms in return for protection and guidance. Naturally, they wouldn't be buggered, but this is just as nice." Snape leaned in and took a kiss. He glanced at the stairs. "Over here." He pulled a languorous Harry by the wrist, and set him facing the flight.

"Stand up straight. Ankles together. Knees together. Bend at the waist, palms on the lowest step comfortable." Snape took a step back, watching Harry comply. That wave of fire consumed him all over again when he saw Harry bend over so eagerly, hands slapping on the marble step, panties bunched just below his perfectly round bottom. "Now hold that position."

Harry's head bobbed a yes. Suddenly, he tensed. "You — you aren't really going to spank me now, are you?"

Oh, he was so tempted. "No, Harry, not now. But soon, I think, yes?" He was gratified to see the young man blush, and nod reluctantly. "Besides, you aren't hard yet. I promised you would be hard for that." Snape heard the softest groan as Potter shifted his hips and clenched his buttocks, obviously pleased by the image.

Snape knelt down behind Harry, running his hands up and down, feeling those perfectly muscled legs. He mouthed his favorite parts, covered in knee socks, as they were. He licked and nipped the bare skin on each thigh, and squeezed and pinched each cheek lovingly. Harry squirmed, and let out plaintive sighs in his obvious enjoyment.

"Have any of your other lovers ever given you this kind of attention, Harry? Hmm? Not the young ones, I would bet."

"No. Not really. I like it," Harry whispered, strained.

"Who wouldn't?" Snape scoffed gently. He stood, fished his wand out of his pocket and cast a lubrication spell into his palm. He put his wand away, looked around furtively, then lifted his robes. He slicked his pulsing cock with some, the rest he slid softly into Harry's cleft, slipping his fingers deep underneath to his balls, and between his thighs. He lined himself up behind, pushed the skirt up Harry's back and the knickers down, and leaned forward to rumble in his ear, "You're going to be a Seeker now for me, Harry. You are going to ride your broom," Snape slid his shaft into the warm, snug void with a thrust. "You are going to clench your bottom and squeeze your thighs as tight as you can, oh!" Snape had to pause to gather his wits, thrusting in and out, pushing up against Harry's perineum, to the back of his balls, as Harry squeezed, clenched for all he was worth. "Oh, good boy. Just like that, Yes."

"I'm hard again. Can I touch myself? Oh, god, that feels good!"

Snape answered him with a slick hand on his cock, stroking down firmly as he thrust in. Harry kept his hands flat on the step, but rocked his body to and fro to maximize Snape's thrusts. The synchronized pulling and thrusting let Harry imagine he had his Firebolt between his legs, a continuous shaft front and back, hard between the sinews of his thighs, pushing up against his cleft, and he reached for it, reached for his goal, for the Snitch, intent on his pleasure as he hadn't been before when he was getting sucked off against the wall. He wriggled, trying to direct that shaft, trying to move that glorious thrill around, trying to manage the electric sensation, but Snape had him covered with his body, controlled their movements as he fought for his own release.

Snape concentrated on sampling different parts of Harry's anatomy, slipping high between his cheeks, running his cockhead over Harry's tight bump; or canting his hips up to pump deep, poking the back of his partner's scrotum and stroking up against his sensitive spot under the prostate. He found a tight haven, finally, the place he would dwell for the duration, at the tops of Harry's clenched thighs. He found his spot and thrust over and over, harder and faster, as he scolded Harry to squeeze tighter. He found where the taut sinews framed his leaden shaft best and jerked his hips wildly, losing all rhythm at the last, pulling Harry's hips close with a bruising grip, other hand milking Harry's spurting prick, until he came with a grunt and a gasp and Harry's name on his lips.

Harry pulled on his jeans, bouncing on his toes until his bottom and bits were comfortably in place, then he buttoned up. He looked around the dressing room for his trainers and socks, while Snape sat slumped in an occasional chair near the window and watched the show.

"Feels good to get out of that outfit." He dropped to his knees to pull a shoe out from under the bench. "Are you sure you don't want me to wear it for the rest of the party?" Harry queried cheekily. "You seemed to like it."

"Absolutely not. Obviously, Potter, you need saving from yourself, much less the sinister elements in the world. And you look very good on all fours."

Harry smiled and crawled in said fashion to Snape's knees. "I didn't get a chance before to tell you how much I like your toes." Harry extended Snape's leg, lifting under a calf. "I've never seen so much of you. I like it." He put his mouth to Snape's bony ankle and sucked softly, causing the man attached to squirm in his seat, eyebrow rising speculatively.

"That's enough of that for now." He put his foot back down. "Let's get back to your friends before they think I expired in the middle of a garden party."

"Our friends, Severus. Ours." He dropped his head on Snape's thigh, and let his hair be petted.

"Very well. Ours." Snape sighed, heavy with foreboding. "Molly is going to be insufferable, isn't she?"

Harry grinned broadly, dug his face into Snape's leg and nodded.

The tall, skinny brunette and the shorter, brilliantly handsome younger man stood at the outdoor altar, beneath the crossed brooms, beaming at each other. As the grooms both had Scot in their blood and personal histories, the bonding took place in Scotland and the wedding attire was Scottish formal, and all men in attendance were wearing kilts in their clans' colors, white ruffled shirts, and dirks in their leggings. Severus and Harry, naturally, wore the Hogwarts tartan.

Not that anyone had noticed. They had sneaked in late and were currently copulating against a stone wall behind the seated guests, kilts hiked up to expose only the important bits, Harry's back pinned up against the wall, legs wrapped tightly around Severus's waist, with his intended's hand pressed across his mouth to keep his passionate shrieks from being heard and interrupting the sacred vows their ex-lovers were exchanging just then.

"They're almost at the end. Are you close?" Severus panted.

Harry nodded fiercely, and Severus removed his hand.

"Do you need me to touch you, love?" he whispered.

"No. No, just pound me, just hit it, I'm so close, Sev, do it, do it," Harry ground out, eyes closed.

"Then let's make a sacred seminal offering on this blessed day, hm?"

"Less chat, more fucking," Harry commanded. He wrapped his arms tight around Severus's neck, lifted himself up and dropped his weight down onto Severus's caber-like erection.

They managed to come almost simultaneously, just as the celebrant announced the newly-minted bond.

Later, over flutes of champagne, Severus and Harry decided the punch at their own reception at the Burrow would be spiked with an aphrodisiac. They would need all the blessings they could get.