Harry stared at the canopy above his bed, feet dangling over the edge to keep his shoes off the covers and every single bone in his body aching with exhaustion. Four NEWTs, even with a break while everyone else was taking their Defense exams, were four too many, in his opinion. At least today was Saturday, the final Hogsmeade weekend before he left school entirely, and though that meant no etiquette lesson Harry was still grinning when they made the long, hot trudge down to Madame Rosmerta's for a cool drink.

"You'll be leaving us for my brothers again," said Ron, as they got in sight of the pub. Despite all the hints, Ron continued to believe that Harry met with them about the shop or for some other, completely innocuous reason.

"Naah, I doubt they'll bother this time," said Harry, mindful of Dumbledore's stated intention to stop those lessons as well.

Ron snorted. "Then why're they sitting outside the pub like a pair of dogs waiting for their owner?" he asked, pointing to where Harry could just now make out two familiar figures.

He felt his cheeks grow warm, and glanced from Ron to Hermione and back. "You won't, um, mind if I go off with them?" he asked. "I mean, you guys helped win, too, and we were going to celebrate finishing our NEWTs..."

Hermione got a bit pink, and Ron's eyes grew shifty. "It's all right, Harry," said Hermione, patting his arm. "Ron and I will be fine by ourselves."

Harry laughed. "Well, you get us some butterbeers for tonight, and we'll stake out the common room after dinner? We can tease the firsties who still have exams next week."

That got laughing agreement from them both, and then they were at the pub and Ron and Hermione pulled a vanishing act while Harry was being swept up in congratulatory hugs. "We hear you were too hot for You-Know-Who," said Fred, leering.

"Even got a few Death Eaters hot under the collar," said George, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders.

Harry shook his head and smiled ruefully. "I'm not sure you ought to be congratulating me on committing mass murder," he said, feeling that twinge of guilt that told him he was, as Snape put it, not particularly good at the whole murder thing. Harry preferred to think of it as being human, in the best of ways.

"We think we ought to be celebrating," said Fred, arm around Harry's waist and tugging him toward the rooms above the pub.

George's hand drifted down to Harry's arse. "You passed your exam and you're no longer our student," he explained, leering.

Harry blushed, but allowed himself to be led.

The hand moved up from arse to waist as they led him through the pub, making excuses about exclusive product endorsements that made Harry roll his eyes. "What makes you think I'd endorse you, anyway?" said Harry teasingly, as they got the door shut and four hands started to make short work of Harry's clothing.

"As our sole financier," said Fred with a smirk, hand diving into Harry's pants to cup his cock.

George's hand made its way down the back to tease at Harry's crease, and he said, "We thought you'd have a vested interest."

"I have a vested interest in getting you two naked," said Harry, shucking his shirt properly and stepping out of his shoes and socks.

They laughed, and Harry's trousers and pants were whisked away. "You don't like it like this?" asked Fred, sandwiching Harry between himself and his brother, their clothing rough against Harry's skin, their hands groping and fondling whatever was available, roaming over Harry's body proprietarily.

Harry moaned and melted just a little, but held stubbornly onto his sense of self, hands working at Fred's clothing while he pushed his arse back into the rough fabric of George's jeans. "I like it more without clothes," said Harry distractedly, sucking a mark on Fred's neck.

"Just the way we like you," said George, big hands moving to help disrobe Fred, then turning Harry around so he could do the same for George.

Soon enough they were all tumbled into the bed together, no more roles or teaching, just three naked men who cared for each other, friends and something like lovers. "You two," said Harry, gasping as their mouths roamed downward, George tasting his nipples and Fred nibbling down his spine, "make me almost wish I wasn't, god, saving myself."

They moaned in unison. "We almost wish you weren't, too," said Fred, licking at his tailbone.

"Then we could try to keep you for our own," said George, something in his voice that told Harry this wasn't just idle teasing.

"You've got each other," said Harry with a gasp. "I c-can't compete with that." As he said it, he knew it was true -- even if things didn't work with Severus, he'd always be the third wheel among the twins, welcome but separate through no fault of anyone's. He moaned and added, "You wouldn't want me to have to."

"Truer words," said Fred, biting at the upper curve of Harry's arse.

"Were never spoken," finished George. That seemed to be their cue to both bite and keep biting, George at his nipples, chest and belly and Fred all over his arse and thighs, neither of them making any effort to speed their mouths to where Harry so very much wanted them, though he hoped they'd be a bit less bitey once they got there.

It was a measure of the control Harry had learned that he was aware enough to think or want that, and he grinned and put what mental faculties he'd managed to keep in the fog of lust and sensation to good use. "I think," said Harry, squirming out of their grasp and turning himself around until he was on his back with his head between their hips, "that I need something to keep my big mouth shut."

They laughed and leaned in, pricks duelling right over Harry's face and Harry reached up with hands and tongue to caress the tempting lengths. It was strange, now, finding perfectly normal ways to revel in the unique experience of having twin lovers, after all the amazing kinks they'd explored together in the name of his lessons. He loved the way they looked the same at first, but he'd started to be able to recognise the curve in Fred's cock, upward and slightly to one side, compared to the arrow-straightness of George's that was sometimes harder to get down his throat. Their skin tasted almost the same, though Harry noticed for the first time that George's bollocks were naked as a boy's while Fred's still had their light sprinkling of red fuzz.

"What's this all about, then?" asked Harry, moving in to nuzzle and finding the skin exquisitely soft, the texture like crepe silk but with little nubs as well where the hairs would grow back in.

"Want to find out?" said Fred, licking at Harry's balls while George moaned at the stimulation, his face resting in the curve of Harry's hip.

Harry let out a whimper and sucked one of the round morsels into his mouth gently, giving him a moment to try to gather his thoughts before he let it go with a wet pop. "Do you think Severus would like it?"

Harry was surprised when George blushed and Fred laughed. "He does, that's why we're staying like this."

"Though we might trade off, if Fred figures out how nice it feels," added George with a sheepish grin.

"Snape enjoys the contrast in having one of each," added Fred, fingers lifting and tugging Harry's sac.

George grinned. "We can show you a charm to keep them smooth, once we've shaved you."

Harry blushed, then shook his head. "Not this time," he said, squirming at the thought of it being some other, later time, him tied and trying not to squirm while they touched him intimately with something so sharp. "I want, oh, want him to have me as is the first time," said Harry, stuttering as George began to suck a mark on his hip.

"Another time," said Fred, eyes hot and something else, almost possessive as they took in Harry's body.

Fred's mouth descended the length of Harry's cock before he could form a reply, and instead he put his limited attention to use sucking one and then the other of their cocks. His lips weren't quite able to stretch around both, especially at this angle, but he kept one hand leisurely stroking whichever prick he wasn't sucking on, all of it idle play intended to excite his lovers but not get them off.

The twins, on the other hand, were working hard to get Harry off, Fred's mouth sucking rhythmically while George's wandered as best it could. Finally Harry's leg was lifted out of the way so George could get a better angle, and his tongue returned to Harry's very favourite place to have it, his greedy entrance. It didn't take long after that for Harry to come, his world going white and pleasure-static for an endless row of heartbeats before he came back down. He pressed a kiss to the top of each cock in turn, and then grinned down to Fred and George. "What now?" he asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Now," said Fred, once he pulled away from Harry's toppled cock.

"It's our turn," said George, grinning up from between Harry's legs.

Harry couldn't wait.

---

Once the NEWTs were done, there was another week left of OWLs, and regular exams for those students lucky enough not to be in fifth or seventh year. Harry's time was spent in a series of "career workshops", which mostly seemed to consist of people telling them either why their field was desperately in need of fresh young minds, or why their job was nasty, difficult, and didn't want him anyway. Harry emerged Friday afternoon from a lecture on his complete unsuitability for the dying art of kneazle haberdashery feeling drained and no more certain of what he wanted than he had at the start of the week.

Other than Severus, of course.

Despite the temptation presented by the twins, Harry's eyes and heart were constantly drawn to Snape like a compass needle to North. He'd done everything asked of him, from Occlumency lessons to killing Voldemort to NEWTs, and he was starting to feel that a chance with Severus was the only reward truly wanted for any of it.

When a school owl winged down to his plate during dinner, Harry snagged its letter with excitement, hoping to find inside a clue to the contents of his penultimate etiquette lesson, which Snape had refused to discuss with him last time they'd had a moment alone. In fact, Harry hadn't actually been able to steal any time alone with Snape in almost three weeks now, having missed etiquette lessons for Hogsmeade and, the week before, for NEWT preparation.

He opened the letter and his heart dropped into his stomach when he saw, not Snape's familiar writing, but Dumbledore's.

There seemed a wealth of hidden meaning in the letter to Harry, now that he'd been trained to see it, and he sent a stricken glance to Snape, who seemed determined not to look his way even once. Harry swallowed and tried not to take that as an omen, feeding bites of his dinner to the owl who was far more interested in it than Harry was just at the moment.

"Hermione, do you have any parchment?" he asked, after a few minutes of brooding. Snape had taught him epistolary courtship and now, it seemed, Harry was going to have a chance to use it rather earlier than he'd expected.

"Of course," she said, handing him a small roll and a self-inking quill. "What's your owl about?"

"I get to meet with the Minister instead of Snape tomorrow, apparently," said Harry bitterly, which got him a curious look from Neville and a snort from Ron.

Ron made the effort to swallow, then patted Harry on the back. "Don't worry, mate, I'm sure nothing better's come along for that git."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Gee, thanks," he said, and Hermione kicked Ron under the table.

With a smile on his face and a few more nibbles of his steak and kidney pie, Harry set to work on his missive.

---

"You're wearing one of your new robes, I see," said Dumbledore cheerfully, beckoning Harry inside.

Harry ventured in and sat, fidgeting with his watch-chain since tea wouldn't be served for a while yet. "Yes, Headmaster," he said politely, smoothing down the fine fabric. He was wearing the fancy suit set, the ones that reminded him of Snape's, though in a deep burgundy with a subtle gold pinstripe rather than unrelenting black. "Professor Snape was very good to me this summer, along with the twins, and they helped me choose some suitable wizarding clothes."

Something sharp went through Dumbledore's normally placid gaze, and Harry steeled himself for a conversation he probably didn't want to have. "Have you discussed your career options with Professor Snape as well?"

"No, sir, he won't let me," said Harry. "I have an appointment with Professor McGonagall on Monday, and the twins have offered to let me help in the shop until I decide, if I want to."

Dumbledore's eyebrows went up, and Harry felt a flash of bitter gratification that there were, in fact, some things the old meddler didn't know. "I must admit I didn't expect you to be so prepared," he said.

Harry smirked, knowing he'd picked the expression up from his time with Snape and not caring one whit. "Now that I know I'm likely to survive past eighteen, it seemed like a good idea to think past tomorrow."

"Did you ever reason out the purpose of your watch?" said Dumbledore, apparently out of the blue.

Harry lifted it out of its pocket and smoothed his fingers over the delicately etched case. "Some of the things, not all of them yet." He laughed. "That's how I found Voldemort, you know, I was following the arrows on the sixth setting."

Dumbledore laughed, but Harry didn't have a chance to find out why that was so funny, because just then the Floo sounded and Fudge stepped into the room. "Mr. Potter, Headmaster Dumbledore," he said formally, dusting himself off. "It is a pleasure to see you doing so well, my boy," he added, stepping forward to catch Harry's hand and shake it vigorously.

"Thank you," said Harry dubiously. Fudge's dignity seemed intact, and he was impeccably dressed from his lime-green bowler to his impeccably shined shoes. Harry swallowed another dose of bitterness that the man who had tried to ruin Harry's life in his fifth year would be congratulating him on holding onto it now.

"Shall I ring for tea?" said Dumbledore, smiling.

"Yes, of course, of course," said Fudge, pulling up another chair and sitting disturbingly close to Harry. "Now, my boy, I was thinking we might do the Order of Merlin ceremony here at Hogwarts, the afternoon of your Leaving Feast."

"Will you be giving medals to anyone else?" asked Harry, trying to make it sound more curious than pointed.

Fudge's smile faltered a bit, but he puffed right back up. "Of course! I'm sure there are several people who we ought to be honouring, I hear it was quite a battle."

"I couldn't have done it without Professor Snape," said Harry. "Or Neville Longbottom, and even Moaning Myrtle helped out."

If Snape's name had displeased Fudge, Myrtle's only confused him. "I'm afraid I don't know of that last?"

"She's the ghost of the girl who was killed in the school 50 years ago," said Dumbledore. Somehow, a full tea had sprouted on his desk when Harry wasn't looking, and his hands were busy preparing plates and cups for everyone. "By Tom Riddle, when he opened the Chamber of Secrets the first time around."

"Ah," said Fudge. "Well, I'll have to look into provisions for honouring ghosts, but of course the other two will definitely get," he paused to clear his throat, "something."

Harry managed not to smirk at him too much. "I would appreciate that," he said innocently. "I'm sure the Headmaster can give you a list of those who fought downstairs, too, I wasn't there to see but I've been told several students and faculty acquitted themselves quite well."

"I believe I sent a detailed account of the incident to the Minister at the time it happened," said Dumbledore. "I am certain he can determine the appropriate accolades from the information in that account."

"And that's a good reason to do it at school, too," said Harry. "The ceremony, I mean. Since he'd be honouring more than just me, and I'm not sure if Myrtle can leave."

"An excellent point," said Fudge, looking a bit smug now that he was assured of getting at least part of what he wanted.

Dumbledore levitated a small tray over to each of them, containing a plate of scones and pasties, a cup of tea prepared as they each preferred, and a small split dish of jam and clotted cream. "This looks delicious, thank you, Headmaster," said Harry, mindful of the manners that Severus had spent a year drilling into him.

"You're very welcome, my boy," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling as though he, too, had gotten something he wanted.

"Now," said Fudge, sitting back with his teacup in hand and a look of calculation on his features, "have you decided what you want to do when you leave school, Harry?"

Harry had to suppress the strong urge to call the Minister by his first name, and he took a sip of his tea to cover it, finding it mostly to his liking though inferior to Severus'. "Not at all," he replied cheerfully, taking a moment to put jam and cream on one of the still-warm scones. "I'm planning to get advice from those I trust. And wait for my NEWT results, of course."

"Of course," said Fudge, his tone approaching oily. "You are welcome to come to me if you have any questions, my door is always open."

"Well," said Harry, nibbling on his scone to give him time to think, "I think I've ended up with neither the NEWTs nor the inclination to become an Auror, and I know I'm not suited for politics, so I doubt I will find a place in the Ministry."

Fudge sipped his tea and looked thoughtful again, and Harry imagined he could almost hear the click and whirr of wheels moving in his head. "You will always be an important public figure," said Fudge.

"Not if I can help it," replied Harry, before Fudge could finish his thought. He wondered if this was what it felt like, to be pursued by an unwelcome suitor who didn't know when to take a hint.

Fudge blinked owlishly, as though that were the very last thing he'd expected to hear Harry say. "No one would argue that you hadn't earned the adulation," he said after a moment.

Harry shrugged and ate the last bite of his scone, then sipped his tea. It was Dumbledore who came to his rescue, and who, by Fudge's expression, had been momentarily forgotten. "Harry has never particularly enjoyed the trappings of fame," he said. "I believe he even gave away his Triwizard winnings."

Harry looked up in surprise; he hadn't thought anyone but the three of them knew about the money. "It's been a good investment," said Harry with a shrug. "I have enough money in my vaults that I don't need to work right away, anyway."

That seemed to pique a different sort of interest in Fudge, and Harry groaned inwardly. "Vaults?" he asked, "I wasn't aware you had more than one."

"My godfather left me something when he passed away," said Harry. "I haven't had time to sort it all out, really, but I've been assured by several people I trust that it's enough to sustain me for a while."

Dumbledore smiled at them both. "That will be a welcome luxury for you, I am sure," he said, changing the subject somewhat pointedly. "Cornelius, do you know how many additional people we will be expected to accommodate for the medal ceremony?"

They began to discuss details, which gave Harry the opportunity to eat most everything on his plate, accompanied by the tea that never seemed to get empty no matter how much he drank. In the end, Harry got through the rest of the visit with a few polite comments and, while he did have to promise to wear his best formal robes and give a short speech at the ceremony, he managed to avoid any sort of commitment regarding his future past that date.

He drank yet more of the overly sweet tea, and decided it was a compromise he could live with.

---

When Harry got back up to his room, he found Hedwig perched at the foot of his bed with a letter in her mouth. Harry exchanged it for a handful of treats scrounged out of his trunk, and he spent a few moments petting and feeding her before allowing himself to open it.

Crushing disappointment hit Harry first, but he forced himself to think past it, to set aside his feelings of doubt and rejection and read the letter again the way he'd been taught. First the references to visiting Hedwig and bolstering their relationship with attention, which could also be referring to the length of time that had passed since Harry had last been to see Snape. Then, Snape gave him specific details about a time and place he would not only be alone, but in need of something which Harry could provide -- dinner. The bit about the Minister contained both curiosity and a cynicism that Harry was long familiar with. The final two lines swept away the last of Harry's dismay, first reminding him of the card and love token it contained, and then making a subtle declaration -- Yours.

Harry felt a small swelling of hope, and he spent several more minutes petting and spoiling Hedwig before he put the feeling into action. It was, after all, the least he could do.

---

Knowing the house elves would be busy until dinner was over, Harry lingered over his meal, picking it to bits long after his appetite had fled. He kept fingering the note, which he'd stuffed into his pocket when Lavender got too curious, and answering questions with noncommittal grunts. Finally Hermione stood up, exasperated, and said, "We'll never get anything out of him, Ron, you know how he is when he's got lessons with Snape."

"I'd sulk if I had to take extra lessons with that greasy git, too," said Ron, as much out of habit as anything else. They both knew Harry didn't really mind the lessons, or the reason for them, especially now that he was completely forbidden from practising Occlumency.

Noticing finally that most of the other students had left while Harry was massacring his treacle tart, Harry got up and made his way, not down to the kitchens just yet, but instead to his dorm room and then the showers. He wanted to look his best tonight, so he wore the grey trousers that flattered his arse so very well, and the green silk shirt. In a fit of optimism, he even coaxed the bracelet of snakes out of their dusty box and onto his left wrist, though they stayed mostly hidden under his sleeve.

His hair still damp from the shower, Harry skipped down the steps, neatly avoiding the gathering in the common room with a wave and then making his way down to the kitchens. He tickled the pear and found himself practically humming with excitement as the painting swung open to reveal the kitchen, still full of the hustle and bustle of cleaning house elves.

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter!" came the squeaky chorus. One house elf in particular detached himself from the group and came over to inquire, "What can Woodle be doing for Harry Potter?"

Harry grinned down at the elf in his immaculate Hogwarts-crested tea towel and said, "I'd like a substantial tea for two, in crockery that's safe for Professor Snape's private potions laboratory. Everything's got to have a cover on."

"Woodle is knowing just what to bring for Harry Potter! Woodle quick will be fixing and bringing up a treat for Professor Snape and Harry Potter." The house elf practically quivered with excitement, and Harry thanked him and left, feeling as though that, at least, was in good hands.

Harry had grown familiar with the dungeons over the last year, having come down twice a week for supplementary lessons as well as his usual Potions classes. Snape's private laboratory was separate from his quarters, closer to the classroom, and Harry quickly navigated the corridors to it, hoping to beat Woodle and their tea.

When he got to the door, it was closed, locked and heavily warded. Harry laid a careful hand on the door, gently inserting himself into the wards rather than jarring them -- and possibly Snape at a crucial moment -- by knocking.

Harry was surprised to find them keyed to him; the door swung open silently at his touch, admitting him into the darkened room. "Close the door, I don't want anything disturbing the fires," said Snape absently as Harry came in, his hands occupied with chopping while he watched intently over the bubbling cauldron. The fire beneath it was, oddly, the only light in the room, and it glowed eerily blue.

"Woodle will be up in a few with tea, is there a spot I can clear for it?" Harry said, quite used to Snape's manner at this point. For all his talk of etiquette, he rarely offered much courtesy unless he stood something to gain from the effort.

"The farthest bench," said Snape, waving the glinting silver knife in its direction.

"Is there some reason you're working in the dark?" Harry asked, picking his way past stools and clutter to the far end of the room. This bench was disused and slightly dusty, with nothing more than a few scattered scrolls and scraps of parchment littering the surface.

Snape glanced up, face an unreadable mask in the strange lighting. "The sun went down at a crucial time and I haven't had a moment to light the torches," he said, his voice echoing oddly in the irregularly shaped room.

"So I can light them, and it'll be all right?" said Harry, carefully stacking the scrolls and parchment to one side and looking around the gloom for a rag to dust with. "And can I cast a cleaning spell, or will that interfere?"

"Yes to the torches, but no cleaning spells. You'll only kick up dust and ruin my day's work," said Snape, too distracted to chastise Harry properly.

"Yes, sir," said Harry cheekily, going around the room and lighting the torches crammed in the tiny bits of free wall between laden shelves. The familiar flickering yellow glow warmed the room up considerably, and Harry looked around curiously. He'd not had a chance to spend time in here before, only having seen it once when he'd been sent to fetch Snape for the Headmaster.

"If you think you can manage not to mangle things, I could use a hand," said Snape tersely, carefully dropping the chopped roots into the cauldron, which briefly gave off gold sparks before settling into a deep, glowing orange.

"Yes, sir," said Harry, slightly more serious this time, "But I'd like to at least wipe down this table before the food arrives."

Snape grunted and waved his hand, face buried in the mouldering book he had propped on the other side of the cauldron. Harry took a moment to admire the strong features without being observed, then caught himself and looked about for a cloth instead. He spotted a stack of clean towels over by a sink, practically hemmed in by jars, boxes and bottles of strange and mysterious ingredients, all labelled with Snape's distinctive handwriting.

The entire room was like that, bookshelves crammed first with books, then strange objects perched along the small ledge that remained, and everywhere he looked there were samples of spidery script. Harry rolled up his sleeves, sparing a wince for the obviousness of the bracelet, then shrugged and wet the towel, wiping the table down carefully, with a minimum of dust getting into the air. He rinsed rag and hands in the sink, then dried off on a clean one and came over to stand next to Snape.

"What've you got for me?" he said, looking curiously at the book, which appeared to be in another language.

Snape tutted softly, quite possibly at Harry's phrasing, and said, "Grind seven scarab beetles to a fine powder, and then and only then add seven dung beetles, which should be crushed coarsely so the parts are coated in scarab powder."

Harry was suddenly very glad he'd revised so enthusiastically for his Potions NEWT -- this was obviously a very advanced potion, having ingredients mixed so precisely even before they went into the cauldron. Very few things at student level required such care. "Right," said Harry, looking amongst the ingredients on the table.

Snape sighed, looking up from his work for the first time. Harry was mildly shocked at how haggard he looked, hair even greasier than usual and dark circles under red eyes. "Both kinds of beetles will be in the third corner, second cabinet. You can find a clean mortar and pestle beneath the second bench."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, this time completely devoid of sarcasm. He hurried to find the ingredients and tools he'd need, right where Snape had described.

Snape glanced up while Harry was looking for a place to work, rolled his eyes and pulled a second stool over next to his own. "Here, Potter."

Harry was getting rather tired of sounding like a solider as he said, "Yes, sir," quietly and settled onto the stool, acutely aware that he was mere inches from Snape. The man who Harry planned to seduce in approximately a week, presuming Snape would have him. For whom Harry's admiration had only grown as he saw past the bitterness and sarcasm to the dry wit and intelligence they hid. A man whose body always seemed to radiate warmth and solidity nowadays, whose hands had never ceased to fascinate him. Not to mention his feet, which were hidden as usual though still vivid in Harry's imagination.

Harry caught himself staring again, and busied himself carefully counting out seven scarabs, making sure the dry, brittle things still had all their legs before carefully crushing them with the marble pestle. Snape's personal tools were heavy and fine, cool to the touch but comfortable in his hands. He let his mind drift on the rhythm of his grinding, perfectly aware that turning large beetles into fine powder was a long and tedious job.

Harry sifted through his memories of Snape, starting from his very first impression of him sitting at the high table, glaring down at them. His thoughts wandered through the years, misapprehensions and finally the slow dawning of realization, ending inevitably in his trousers as he thought ahead to next week, and all the things he hoped Snape would do to him.

"That should be sufficient," said Snape sharply, drawing Harry out of his reverie, accompanied by a blush and an inappropriate erection.

Harry looked down at the fine powder in the mortar and nodded. "Seven dung beetles, then?" he asked, opening their jar and pulling one out carefully.

"Yes, coarsely crushed, not ground, and well-coated with the powder," said Snape. He turned his attention from Harry to the pipette he was using to add a steady flow of droplets into the cauldron, of something that looked like blood, though he couldn't guess at what species.

Harry examined each beetle carefully for completeness, setting one aside that had lost a pair of legs at some point, and then used the pestle to just crush the brittle things, then gently stirring the resultant shards into the powder until everything was coated, glittering blue-black covering the shiny brown carapaces. "How's this?" asked Harry, tilting the bowl in Snape's direction.

"Adequate," said Snape, glancing over briefly. "Put it here and bring me a cup of tea, if you would," he added, pointing to a gap in the neat line of ingredients he had going beside the cauldron.

Harry glanced over to see that the food had arrived while he was woolgathering, and he grinned. "Yes, sir, a snack as well? Woodle sent everything in covered crockery for us."

Snape grunted, and Harry took that as an affirmative, going over to make up two teacups -- even they had covers, in the Chinese fashion -- according to each of their preferences. The first pot he uncovered contained a small cottage pie, with a slot in the lid to accommodate a spoon. Harry juggled all three things and got them over to the bench Snape was working at, which had mysteriously developed another empty spot at the end furthest from the cauldron. "Your tea, and food," said Harry, setting them a touch closer to Snape and cradling his own cup, warming hands that were reminding him of how very little they appreciated the work of grinding.

Snape made another noncommital noise, but Harry couldn't blame him. He had to drip a single drop of fluid into the centre of each leaf of what Harry thought was chocolate mint, and then float the whole thing on top of the cauldron one at a time, according to a rhythm Harry couldn't quite discern but was certain had some vital purpose. Harry sipped his tea and watched, reflecting on the passion that Snape and the twins all showed for potions, and his own slowly growing fondness for the art of them. "I'll never be as good at this as you," he said, once the last leaf was sinking slowly into the depths of the potion.

"It takes years of practice," said Snape, already moving on to the next ingredient, which proved to be Harry's beetles. Snape removed the pestle and held the heavy mortar poised, waiting for some subtle cue before dumping in the lot in one go, then snagging a glass stirring rod and counting out thirteen smooth widdershins circles. He set the rod aside, flipped a small hourglass, and turned his full attention to Harry for the first time that night. "Tea?" he asked hopefully.

"Right here," said Harry, pointing to the cup. "And food, because you can't skip dinner, you're already thin as a rail."

Snape chuckled, and Harry saw a glimpse of his Severus like a flash of minnow under the surface of a pond. He uncapped the tea and took first a deep whiff, and then a sip, sighing in pleasure. "If I have accomplished nothing else in our time together," he said, "at least I have taught you to make a decent cup of tea."

Harry refrained from pointing out that the house elves had done most of the work. "Or at least to make it as you like it, which isn't quite the same thing," he teased, sipping his own tea, light and sweet as always.

Snape smirked. "In this instance," he said, looking amused, "I will take what I can get, and sod the rest of them."

That got a laugh out of Harry, and he nearly snorted his tea, barely managing to swallow in time. "I hope that attitude extends until next Saturday," said Harry, eyes twinkling.

Snape's gaze grew shuttered, though he didn't entirely close Harry out. "I will remind you that next Saturday, you will no longer be a student at this school, nor under my authority."

It was Harry's turn to smirk. "That's what I'm counting on."

Snape declined to rise to the bait, instead choosing that moment to explore the contents of the little crock, making a pleased sound and digging in when he discovered the cottage pie hiding inside. "You always did have a way with house elves," he said between bites.

"I think they secretly like you," said Harry with a chuckle. "They always send up better stuff when I mention your name."

"Who can fathom the mind of a house elf?" said Snape philosophically. A few more neat bites and the small pie was demolished, and the tea along with it. "I will have another break in approximately seventeen minutes, if you'd care to bring me another snack then," said Snape, moving back over to the potion.

The sand was nearly run out of the hourglass, and the potion itself had turned from its former electric blue to a more placid shade that reminded Harry of a clear sky at dusk. As soon as the last grain had dropped to the bottom of the glass, Snape had the glass rod back in and was stirring clockwise this time, another thirteen precise circles. Harry could admit that, while he found the it tedious to make potions himself, he found it fascinating to watch Snape balance the delicate dance of ingredients and timing.

"What're you making, anyway?" asked Harry, lingering over the rest of his own cup of tea.

"Starsight Solution, for Professor Sinistra," said Snape distractedly. His voice continued to lecture while his hands worked, which Harry found disturbingly sexy. "It enhances the sight to better enable viewing of stars in a nighttime setting. It has a threefold effect to enhance sensitivity to light, broaden the spectrum that the viewer can perceive, and allow the viewer to see much greater distances. It is quite complex as well as the cause of many foolish Astronomy-related accidents, and is therefore highly regulated."

Snape was carefully hand-shredding some sort of small leaves into the cauldron now, careful not to get any of the stems in the mixture, and it filled the room with a bright, fresh scent. Next were a variety of eyes which were dropped in along a bewilderingly precise pattern, in an order only Snape understood. Harry forced down the rest of his tea, now reminded why he didn't usually eat or drink while brewing, and took the opportunity to remove the dishes from Snape's workbench and explore the rest of the house elves' generosity.

They'd brought a second cottage pie -- in fact there was two of everything -- bowls of bite-sized raw vegetables, covered plates of biscuits, and small platters of chicken and fried potatoes. Harry contented himself with another cup of tea and a biscuit, and, after a glance to be sure that Snape was done with the eyeballs, came back to join him. "Need me for anything else?" he asked, nibbling carefully, mindful of the crumbs.

Snape chuckled, and for a moment Harry thought he heard an echo of that possessive sensuality Snape had allowed himself to show a time or two. "That's a very leading question, but no, not for the potion. Most of the ingredients are already prepared."

Harry laughed and fell silent again, watching Snape work, his fingers deft and movements sure, no room for hesitation or doubt in a potion such as this one. Harry nursed his tea through a few more ingredients, taking in the shadows under Snape's eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and the lank swing of hair gone greasy once again with neglect. Harry's eyes followed the lines of Snape's body in the flickering torchlight, the way his chest and shoulders filled out his robes, the bare hint of lean muscle that Harry knew was hiding under the many layers.

"Do you still wear it?" blurted Harry, mind wandering too far ahead to keep his mouth in check.

Snape paused in dicing the lotus root for a fraction of a second before resuming, and he nodded. "It is a good gift for a man with enemies," he said, and his fingers brushed over the front of his robes before he scattered the white cubes into the cauldron. Harry cocked his head, realising the gesture seemed familiar, one he'd seen Snape make many times this year and always assumed had something to do with the row of buttons his fingers brushed along, rather than anything beneath.

Harry grinned. "I'm glad," he said, fingers going to stroke the snake bracelet, which moved under his touch.

"I will pause again after this ingredient," said Snape, changing the subject abruptly.

"Oh. Oh, right!" said Harry. He hopped down from the stool and went over to the far table, making up two more cups of tea, which he carried carefully after sending the platter of chicken gently levitating over toward Snape.

"I see you've finally mastered your first year charms," said Snape, stirring this time in the figure-eights he often preferred.

Harry snorted. "At least I didn't get chicken in your... is that powdered bone?"

"Powdered bones of an eagle," said Snape, setting his stirring rod aside once more and resetting the hourglass, which seemed to Harry to be going much more slowly this time.

"Well, anyway, they're still chicken-free," said Harry with a laugh.

Snape rolled his eyes and cast a barrier spell, erecting a small glowing wall between their food and the last few ingredients still sitting out. "And now they'll stay that way," he said, lifting up the cover and setting it to float nearby. He picked up a drumstick and paused, catching Harry's eye. "Thank you for bringing this to me, and for staying," he said.

Harry felt warm down to his toes all of a sudden, despite the slight chill of the room. "You're very welcome, Severus," he replied. "I'm always happy to help out a friend."

Snape raised his eyebrow at that, but didn't argue the choice of words; whatever happened with them, Harry thought, perhaps this was a sign that they had more going on than tutoring and lust.

Harry just wasn't sure what, and he wasn't any more sure when he left a while later, banished back to Gryffindor Tower with a rare smile and even rarer pass to keep Filch from deducting any points for the late hour.

---

"Oi, how'd it go, mate?" asked Ron, when Harry made his way through the portrait hole. Ron and Hermione had claimed the good seats closest to the fire, along with most of the rest of the seventh years. In fact most of the Common Room was still quite full of students, all celebrating the fact that OWLs and exams alike were finally over, and they had just one week left until they'd all be going home, some of them for good.

"Well, I think," said Harry, flopping down next to Ron in the space they'd made for him.

Neville grinned. "I can't imagine an evening with S-Snape ever going well," he said with a chuckle, "but you survived your summer with him, so maybe it's just part of the whole Harry Potter mystique."

Harry blushed a bit, though he covered it with a laugh; he hadn't known the others knew where he'd been spending so much of his time. "He's not so bad once you get to know him."

"Oi, are you wearing a token?" asked Seamus, and Harry's blush grew ten times brighter. He'd completely forgotten to even roll his sleeves back down, let alone remove the incriminating bracelet.

Harry glanced around the room and then nodded shyly. "Some people know, but we're trying to keep it quiet for now," he said, rolling his sleeves down belatedly.

"Oh, how romantic!" said Lavender, predictably.

Harry tried not to roll his eyes. "I suppose it could be considered that way," he said, aware that it sounded like something Snape would say. "I just don't want to see what Rita Skeeter has to say about it."

Dean flinched. "Wow, yeah, that would be spectacularly bad, huh?"

Everyone nodded sympathetically, and then Hermione spoke up, "So if you'd all keep it to yourselves a while longer?"

They all agreed, and Harry relaxed a fraction, though he'd have to tell Snape and Dumbledore about this new breach of secrecy. "Snape's been giving me these lessons, you know, all the proper etiquette so I don't make an arse of myself in the real world."

That got a laugh, and Harry couldn't help but join in. It did seem kind of absurd, to be learning manners from Snape, but the man that Harry saw during his lessons was a world away from the one he'd known during his first six years at Hogwarts. "He knows his stuff, he just doesn't waste it on us lot," said Harry with a shrug and a little laugh. "I mean really, would you?"

That got more laughing, and started Neville talking about the last disaster he'd had in Potions before thankfully dropping the class after OWLs, which got them all reminiscing about the past seven years, and promising to write and visit though, Harry thought, some more sincerely than others.

"We won't lose touch, right?" said Ron almost wistfully.

"Naah," said Harry, giving him a playful shove with his shoulder. "Where would I get jumpers at Christmas?"

"None of us are destined to move to Romania any time soon, anyway," said Ron with a laugh, obviously thinking of his older brothers.

Harry nudged him again, more gently this time. "At least Bill's back in London, and Percy's talking again," Harry said. "And Charlie visits when he can."

"It's weird, you know, I never thought I liked Percy that much, but it's really good to have him back," said Ron, and that made Harry feel warm, and a bit guilty for not writing Percy recently. Percy's last letter had been full of career advice that was, while sound, not particularly applicable to Harry's situation, so Harry had been avoiding his reply.

"He's a good bloke," said Harry with a shrug.

"Oh, are you two thinking of dating?" asked Parvati with a sigh.

Harry laughed and shook his head. "No, we're not, um," he floundered, trying to think of a good way to phrase it.

Surprisingly, it was Ron who came to his rescue. "Percy's a left-hander, just like Harry. It'd never work."

They all laughed, and Harry squirmed some more as he got a few more speculative glances at the now-hidden bracelet. He liked the principle of the left/right system, but he wasn't sure he really needed Dean and Seamus to know that he was going to be the girl in his gay relationship, which he was sure was how they were picturing it.

They moved back off the subject again and onto other news, staying up long into the night until there was only Ron, Hermione, Neville and Harry left in the deserted Common Room.

"So," said Neville, giving Harry's wrist a nudge, "is it Snape, then?"

Harry had a moment of blind panic, but Hermione came to his rescue. "It's not anyone while Harry's at school, that's why he doesn't wear the token," she explained.

Harry nodded. "I just have it for lessons," he explained. He pushed up his sleeve and whispered Parseltongue to the snakes until they moved aside enough for him to pull the offending jewelry off, then asked shyly, "What would you guys think if I said I might want it to be Snape, after I leave school?"

Neville, surprisingly, was the first to speak up. "I'd think that you're pretty brave, and probably know something about him that I don't and," he said, holding up his hand, "really don't want to know, please."

That surprised a laugh out of Ron, who agreed wholeheartedly. "Yeah, I can handle you seeing Snape as long as you don't tell me about it in any kind of detail."

"You two just have no intellectual curiosity," said Hermione with a sniff.

"I won't be telling you, either," said Harry.

She looked disappointed enough that Harry was suddenly glad the object of his affections would object to her curiosity about their love life even more vehemently than Harry.

"But you'll still be my friends, and owl and visit and stuff?" asked Harry, a touch anxiously.

"Yeah, of course," said Ron immediately, giving him enough of a shoulder-nudge to send him colliding with Neville.

Neville shoved back, but he was grinning as he did it. "After I helped you kill V-voledmort, you're never getting rid of me."

"And of course I respect your taste in partners, Harry, no matter how eccentric," said Hermione.

They all laughed at that, and Harry reflected that it was good to have friends of all sorts. Even the nosy ones.

---

Harry paused in his writing, nibbling on the end of his quill and making a face. Percy would appreciate that it was practice if Harry scattered some innuendo in there, but he also had to be careful -- Percy would take it almost as badly as Ron to learn that Harry had been having a third set of extra lessons from his twin brothers. Harry set aside the idea of subtlety and instead decided to just write to Percy without worrying about the rest of it for once.

Harry put the letter in an envelope and sealed it up, then snagged the napkin full of bacon and toast he'd saved for Hedwig and headed up to the owlery. Hedwig always enjoyed visiting Percy, or more specifically Hermes; though they were different species of owl, they'd made friends here at Hogwarts and she had stayed fond of him over the years.

Harry chuckled and wondered if that was a lesson he'd be able to put into practise for himself.

A Question of Etiquette XXV: A New Beginning