Saturday morning turned out much less awkward than Harry had feared. When he awoke, Snape was up and stretching, the sunlight streaming in from the window illuminating every curve and plane of his body beneath the thin nightshirt, his chest and thighs, hips and sadly dormant prick. Harry's own prick jumped at the sight, already hard from the simple fact that he was sixteen and it was morning, and he doubted he'd make it to the bathroom without embarrassing one or both of them, probably himself.

Snape solved the problem by turning his attention his bag, deliberately busying himself with pulling out the day's clothing. "You may have first use of the restroom. I will clothe myself while you do so; kindly alert me when you intend to emerge."

"Right," said Harry, easing out of the bed and walking awkwardly to the loo, erection leading the way. Snape did not glance up, for which Harry was both grateful and oddly disappointed. "Thanks," he added, once he was safely shielded by the open door.

"You're welcome," said Snape. There was a half-heartbeat pause, during which Harry started closing the door. Just before it clicked shut, he heard Snape say with a quiet chuckle, "I shouldn't worry overmuch about my endowments if I were you."

Harry wasn't sure whether to be amused or irritated that he'd been caught, so instead he added to the heat in his cheeks by stroking himself through his pyjamas. His cock was still somewhat sensitive, unused to being handled by others, and he had to bite his lip to stifle a gasp when he slid his hand into his pyjama trousers. He pulled his erection out and stroked it carefully, visualising the way Snape might have looked with his nightshirt tented out, arousal pointing straight at Harry.

The fantasy was vivid enough that he found that fine edge very quickly, stopping to torment himself with it instead of simply rushing over like he usually did. He'd need to do this to himself, as well, if he was going to survive the twins' crash course in sexual torment, so he might as well get started now. He let the trousers slide off his hips and down, swirling a finger in his sleep-sticky mouth before reaching around behind to tease at his opening. It was awkward, standing, but that added a level of needed concentration that helped him hold back as he slowly eased the finger inside, a millimetre at a time.

He imagined Snape doing this to him, waking up not to the soft magical chime of the alarm clock but instead to Snape's hands roaming over his sleep-flushed form. Snape would get two fingers inside him before he even made the transition from erotic dream to delicious waking reality. Harry stroked himself gently, inside and out, leaning a hip against the counter and throwing his head back as he grew lightheaded from the pleasure. It didn't take long before his control broke and he was coming, mind full of images of Snape's slender hands, soft cries leaving his lips involuntarily as he spent himself on the tiles.

He was still panting, pants down, finger in his arse and cock in hand, when there was a knock on the door. "Harry, are you all right?" said Snape's voice, sharp and concerned.

Harry's flush went from desire to back to embarrassment in a heartbeat. He'd called out, oh Merlin, Snape's sodding name when he came. "Yes, Severus. I, er... could you grab my flannel out of my trunk for me?"

He usually just splashed a bit of water on his face with his hands in the mornings, but he needed some excuse for calling Snape's name, and that would do. "Of course, Harry," said Snape, his voice amused in a way that suggested he knew exactly what Harry had really been up to.

Harry quickly set himself to rights, washing his hands and straightening his pyjamas, cleaning off the floor and counter. He opened the door to Snape's polite knock and took his flannel, trying not to gape at the sight of Snape half-dressed. He'd got his trousers on, but his shirt hung loose and open, exposing his torso to Harry's hungry gaze. He had a scattering of crisp black hairs in the centre of a thin but muscular chest, going around his pink nipples and trailing down into the waistband of his pants. His stomach was thin but toned, the skin milk-pale from lack of sun. Long legs wrapped in black led down to the final damning detail, those lovely bare feet resting gracefully on the sun-warmed wooden floorboards.

Harry raised his eyes quickly when he realized he was staring, only to meet amusement and some small measure of lust in those dark eyes. "Th-thank you," Harry stammered, clutching at the small cloth to avoid the temptation to run his fingers and tongue down that path of hair. He'd never given a blowjob before, but a half-naked Snape was enough to inspire anyone to drop to their knees and give it their best effort.

"You are quite welcome. And I will most certainly teach you those silencing charms first thing," said Snape, turning back into the room, "as well as order myself some house-slippers, if we are to get any work done at all."

Harry blushed hotter, feeling as though his cheeks might spontaneously combust, and closed the door. He leaned against it, hitting his head none too gently against the rough wood, and sighed. Well, he knew it would be hard, dealing with that acid wit when he was busy being a fool in love. Harry stopped short at the sudden implications of that thought: was he really in love? He shrugged, pushing off from the door and grabbing his toothbrush. It wasn't like he could do much about it for quite some time, so there was no use dwelling.

Harry got another shock as he emerged from the bathroom -- he'd remembered to warn Snape before coming out, but totally forgotten that they were taking the Muggle Underground to Grimmauld Place. Instead of buttoning that lovely body away in layers of coat and robes, Snape was still in his shirtsleeves, much as he'd been on the night of their fateful chess game. He'd left the sleeves rolled lower than before, shielding the Dark Mark from curious eyes, and put elegant black dress shoes on his narrow feet.

He raised an eyebrow at Harry's expression, and Harry finally gave in to the urge to stick out his tongue at his professor. "I would not expose that unless you intend to put it to use, Mr. Potter," said Snape, his voice amused.

"Dirty old man," said Harry affectionately, unbuttoning his pyjama top in an intentional tease. He felt a lot better after washing up, refreshed and relaxed and strangely content to maybe be in love with his Potions master, even if it was to remain unrequited for many months to come.

"Quite," said Snape, his voice slightly hoarse as Harry dropped the shirt onto the rumpled bedspread.

He put his hands on his waistband, a warning and a dare, and said, "I'm changing now, whether you're in here or in there."

Snape gathered his wits and retreated, but not without a backwards glance at Harry as he slid the trousers down with agonizing slowness. The door clicked shut just as the elastic was slipping over his half-hard prick, and Harry grinned. That'd teach Snape to tease him about his weird foot thing. He dressed quickly after that, in fresh knickers and socks, yesterday's new jeans and trainers and one of Dudley's outgrown Smeltings t-shirts, which hung off him like it was a nightshirt.

Snape came out of the bathroom looking refreshed and slightly damp around the edges, his hair pulled back into a sleek tail that left his face exposed. Instead of accenting the flaws as one might expect, the severe style emphasized the strength of his other features: high cheekbones and elegantly arching brows, pointed chin and thin, supple mouth, all of which combined to make his prominent nose seem patrician rather than sinister. "That's a good look for you, Severus," said Harry, grinning.

Snape, who had been busy putting away his bath things, turned and noticed Harry's new clothing for the first time. "What on earth are you doing in that horrible shirt?"

Harry shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't have any of my new clothes here yet. It's what's clean."

Snape gave him a long look, then rummaged through his own bag. He drew out a somewhat rumpled white dress shirt and then, much to Harry's surprise, began to strip out of his own. "If it is not too objectionable, you may borrow this, and I will wear my extra shirt, as I don't expect you can successfully pull off a formal collar." Harry gaped at Snape's nude torso, the shoulders thin but straight, scars he hadn't noticed before pink and shiny against the white back, nipples hard and enticing despite the summer heat.

He tossed the shirt to Harry, who caught it reflexively, staring at it for about half a second before skinning out of the awful t-shirt. Harry pulled the sleeves on, fabric still slightly warm from Snape's body, and luxuriated in the scent that surrounded him. When he looked up, Snape was already buttoned up and saying a charm to smooth out wrinkles. His new shirt had a high, stiff collar, which somehow managed to look elegantly sexy on him, especially once he tucked it in and rolled up the sleeves. Rather than suggesting a businessman out of his suit, Snape now looked like an itinerant playboy the morning after a party, still in his formal clothing from the night before.

Harry didn't bother tucking Snape's shirt into his jeans, and he left the sleeves right where they were, falling most of the way down his forearms. He buttoned it, inhaling deeply, and grinned. He was wearing Snape's shirt. Which Snape had been wearing not five minutes ago. He felt light and distracted, happy in a way he never thought he'd be, at least not during his years at Hogwarts. "Thank you, Severus," he said quietly, running idle fingers over the fine fabric.

When he looked up, Snape was very still, his face a neutral mask pierced by intent black eyes. Harry froze, wondering what he'd done wrong and feeling a bit like a mouse caught in the gaze of a particularly intent falcon. They sat like that for longer than Harry thought possible, until sweat began to itch at the back of his neck from the sunbeam hitting it, and his legs started to ache from the awkward pose. "Er, Severus?" he said gently, shifting carefully out of the direct sun and sitting slowly on the edge of his bed.

Snape shook himself, running his hands over his face, and said hoarsely, "I..." Snape blinked, cleared his throat, then abruptly turned back to his packing. "We must go."

Harry finished securing his trunk, and Snape shrunk everything and pocketed it, then they dropped the key at the front desk and ventured out into London without further ado. The trip on the Underground was surprisingly easy, all things considered. He and Snape drew a lot of interesting looks from their fellow passengers, not because they looked magical, but because Harry couldn't quite bring himself not to invade Snape's personal space as much as Snape would allow -- a casual touch here, leaning close to listen there, standing between the seated man's legs and holding onto the bar when the train grew full.

Snape seemed content to allow Harry these small comforts, although Harry wondered how long the new intimacy would last. He wondered if Snape would allow him such liberties over the summer, and how things would change again once they were back at Hogwarts. Wondered if Dumbledore would see this new dynamic that set little old ladies to scowling their disapproval for sins that they had not, as of yet, had a chance to commit.

Harry's mind was full of these thoughts and others during the brisk walk to Headquarters, and he barely noticed the way the bright noonday sun filtered through the trees along the way. He stuck to the shadows, head aching from the swirl of unfamiliar thoughts and wishing for his new magical glasses to block out the light. It was extremely strange, somehow, to just walk right up to 12 Grimmauld Place, after all the fuss in previous years. The house didn't magically appear out of thin air or look at all out of the ordinary, and Snape simply stepped up to the front door and rang the bell.

Harry was curious what it looked like to the surrounding Muggles. Did they vanish from sight once they stepped into the shadow of the Black House? Did they, as far as observers were concerned, cease to have existed in the first place? Harry pondered idly how the Fidelius Charm really worked, if it altered people's memories or just their perceptions, and if it was the latter, why Bellatrix Lestrange didn't realize her cousins' home had dropped right off the map.

He shrugged, shaking off his pensive mood as the door opened to reveal, not Lupin as Harry had expected, but Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Remus had to leave last night in order to arrive before the moon," said Kingsley by way of a hello, stepping aside to let them into the house.

"Thank you, Shacklebolt," said Snape, his voice back to its usual unfriendly politeness. Harry wondered, just then, what Snape did with the warmth that he'd shown to Harry and the twins, how he managed to shove it all down inside and show only this coldness to the rest of the world, day in and day out. And, perhaps more importantly, why he bothered, at least with the other Order members.

"Ta, Kingsley!" said Harry, with a slightly rueful grin. Shacklebolt closed and locked the door behind them with a whisper of magic. The hall was much lighter than in previous visits, all of the previous furnishings disposed of and replaced with odd bits from secondhand shops. Mrs. Black's portrait was missing from the newly repainted wall, the sunny lemon yellow a strange contrast to Harry's memories of dirt, fading wallpaper and screams. "How'd you get her down?"

Kingsley gave a small cough and said quietly, "Remus destroyed her in a fit of rage. Had to replace the whole wall."

"Is the family tree gone, too?" asked Harry, peering curiously into the oddly bright rooms as they walked past. Most of them were empty, fresh paint, polished wood floors, streaming sunlight and little else. "Wow, you guys've really redone the place!"

Snape led the way up the stairs towards what at least used to be a series of bedrooms. "Yep. That was Dumbledore, mostly. He felt it best to just remove all of the Blacks' old things after that. Got a bunch of those Weasley kids to come in and repaint, as they had the time. Molly's been scouring the Muggle Oxfam shops for furniture," Kingsley turned and gave Harry a big thump on his shoulder, "Don't worry, though, we've got you a proper bed and all."

"No more weird portraits?" said Harry hopefully, noting the conspicuous blankness of the walls. The house-elf heads were also gone, as well, even their memory obliterated with more fresh paint, this time a soothing cream.

Kingsley moved ahead of Snape, pointing him to one of the rooms on the left and showing Harry to a room two doors down on the right. "You'll be in here, Harry," he said with a grin. The room had been painted a soft blue, the ceiling enchanted so that fluffy white clouds floated past. The walls were as bare as the rest of the house, although there were curtains on the wide window, and the bed looked brand new and quite comfortable with its crisp white sheets and deep blue coverlet. A small desk, dresser and wardrobe in mismatched colours of varnished wood completed the furnishings.

Hedwig was perched on the wooden footboard, and she gave a sleepy welcoming hoot as he walked in. Kingsley gave him another friendly slap and left him to it, and Harry quickly took his trunk and cage out of his pocket, then realized a bit helplessly that he wouldn't be allowed magic for two more days. "Allow me, Potter," said Snape from the doorway, making Harry jump slightly.

"Th-thanks, Professor," said Harry, stepping back to allow Snape a bit of room. The trunk and cage grew back to their normal size, and Harry realized suddenly that there was something missing. "We've left our shopping with the twins!"

"Fortunately, I have already arranged for them to deliver it tonight. As their establishment is normally closed Sunday and Monday, they have agreed to spend their 'weekends' here for the duration of our stay." His voice had thawed slightly now that they were alone, warmth creeping into his tone as he spoke.

Snape swept out, leaving Harry to unpack. He flopped back on the bed, and Hedwig opened one eye and clacked her beak in disapproval. Harry rushed to put her cage to rights, setting it up on the dresser so she could get herself settled in. He busied himself with his trunk to keep from dwelling too much, staring down at the contents, thinking that his old things wouldn't be fit for donation once his new arrived.

He opened the wardrobe and was surprised to find his new clothing already put away, shoes in a neat row along the bottom, suits and robes hanging. The dresser proved to have all of his new socks, pants, and the shirts and trousers that didn't need hanging. Harry began sorting through his old things, putting away his Weasley jumpers, Quidditch robes, and school uniforms and finding most of the rest unfit to wear. He tossed his dirty things in the hamper, left the rejected clothes on the bed, stowed his trunk at the foot of it and went looking for Snape.

Harry found him in the kitchen, making tea and talking to Kingsley in low tones. "Harry!" said Kingsley brightly when he walked in, cutting off whatever conversation they'd been having, evidently about himself or some other classified Order business.

"Will I be doing the laundry?" Harry asked, sitting at the low table. "I don't mind, it's just that I only know the Muggle way, and I don't think there's a washing machine."

Snape looked up from where his hands were doing their precision tea-fixing, three cups as if he'd anticipated Harry's arrival. "Dobby has agreed to stay here during the summer to care for us," he said a bit snidely. "He was waiting in my room to inform me that our things have all been unpacked for us."

"So we won't be fending entirely for ourselves?" Harry asked. He was strangely disappointed; a part of him had wanted to cook and clean with Snape, do all those little things together that were chores at the Dursleys, but would simply be living, here and now.

"To an extent. Dobby has found evidence of some sort of sabotage by Kreacher, which seems to have distressed him severely. He insists that only another house-elf can deal with it, so we will be cooking for ourselves and keeping our own rooms tidy. He insists, however, on doing the laundry."

Harry blushed. Ever since he'd begun having the sorts of dreams that left him sticky in the morning, Dobby had been especially excitable about getting to wash the results. "I can cook simple things," said Harry softly, accepting the light, sweet tea from Snape with a smile. "What'll we do with my old clothes?"

"As Dobby is not bound by the usual house elf magic, but his own free will, we can simply give them to him and allow him to dispose of them as he sees fit," said Snape, and Harry found himself moving subtly towards his professor, leaning in as he'd done on the train.

He remembered Dobby and his dozens of elf-hats, feet muffled in as many pairs of socks and said quickly, "I don't think that's the best idea. He'll end up wearing my old pants on his head or something."

Kingsley laughed, and even Snape unbent enough to crack a smile at that. "Perhaps you are correct. I will ask Mrs. Weasley what she thinks is best."

Kingsley sipped his tea and glanced back and forth between Harry and Snape, as if amazed by the lack of animosity. "You two seem to be getting on a mite better," he said finally, after a long moment of silence.

"We have, I believe, finally found some ground common to both of us," said Snape stiffly.

Kingsley looked sceptical at that, but Harry added quickly, "He did save my life. Er, again. I can't go on hating him forever."

This seemed like an explanation Kingsley could accept. "Can't ignore a life debt," he said, finishing off his tea in one swig. "Well, gotta get back to the Ministry. Pulled Saturday duty, had to call in a favour just to let you two in." He handed Snape a ring of keys and gave Harry another punishing shoulder-slap on his way out. "See you tomorrow!"

"What's tomorrow?" asked Harry, after he'd gone.

Snape brought his mug over and joined Harry at the table, relaxing a bit now that they were alone in the house. "There will be a meeting of the Order tomorrow night, after a private meeting with the Headmaster to discuss your course schedule."

"We'll be here six weeks, right?" said Harry, adding up the time in his head. "Though you'll probably have to go back a bit early."

"Correct. Several more of the Weasley family will be joining you for the final weekend, as well as Hermione Granger, I believe. You will make your second trip to Diagon Alley at that time, in more socially acceptable company," Snape's voice was slowly melting, still rueful and cynical but without the icy contempt that usually frosted his words.

"Will Professor Dumbledore have to know about my lessons with the twins?" said Harry uneasily. He could accept Snape getting a report on his sexual education, if only because he'd basically handed himself over lock, stock and barrel, at least in his own mind. Dumbledore, however, was another matter entirely.

"I believe we will be able to keep the details private although, as you know, he is already aware of their role in your education," said Snape, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

Harry slumped, letting his head hit the table with a soft thump. "I have the most humiliating life sometimes," he said quietly, cheeks burning.

Snape snorted in what Harry could swear was laughter, but he was spared Harry's ire when Dobby appeared in the little kitchen with a sharp crack and began to exclaim delightedly, "Harry Potter is here! Dobby is so happy to be helping Harry Potter and Professor Snape, sir."

Harry lifted his head. "Hello, Dobby," he said sullenly, suddenly quite tired of having his life dictated by the whims of someone else. "How have you been?"

"Dobby has been quite well, sir! Headmaster Dumbledore is very good to Dobby, allowing Dobby care for Harry Potter. Dobby wanted to tell Professor Snape that the potions lab is needing many charms. Dobby can maintain charms once they have been cast, but Professor Snape must recast them, as Kreacher was very very bad and let them fade." Dobby was practically dancing with a combination of excitement and distress, wringing his hands in his tea towel.

Snape finished his tea swiftly, leaving the cup on the table, and Harry followed suit, feeling the warm liquid settle comfortingly in his stomach. "You may as well accompany me, Potter. It will be a good experience for you to see how a potions laboratory is properly warded."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, following them both out of the kitchen and down the hallway, further into the basement of the house. There were a single pair of doors here, one on either side of the tiny hallway, the left hand door ajar, revealing a dirty, disused potions lab. "What's in the other?" Harry asked, pointing to the right.

"A store room, which I would advise you keep out of. Not everything in this house has been renovated in anticipation of your arrival," said Snape, slipping back into his Teacher Voice.

Harry tried not to let it bother him, instead concentrating on the silky tone and the soft feel of Snape's borrowed shirt beneath his fingertips. He shivered at the memory of Snape stripping out of the shirt; this didn't bode well for his ability to function in Potions class ever again, but it certainly brought interesting images to mind.

"Have any of the original wards survived?" Snape asked Dobby, bringing Harry out of his imagination and back to the dirty, stifling little room.

"Dobby does not think so, sir, but Professor Snape should check that Kreacher did not hide and warp the wards." Dobby was cowering a bit, looking fearful and ashamed in the centre of the room. "May Dobby go now, sir? Dobby does not like this place at all. Bad things were done here, very bad things."

"You may," said Snape, and Dobby disappeared with another crack of displaced air. There was a long pause, during which Snape turned silently, hands still clasped behind his back. "I believe this room will have to be cleansed, both physically and magically, before we can make use of it," he said, eyes falling on Harry with a look of distaste.

"I can help," said Harry quickly. He was grateful for the excuse, both to be with Snape and to show the professor that he wasn't completely useless. "I've got loads of practice scrubbing things," he said a bit ruefully, recalling several detentions spent cleaning cauldrons and scrubbing worktables, as well as hours slaving for Aunt Petunia.

Snape looked surprised and faintly dubious as he said, "I am sure your experience will be invaluable, Potter. I am going to change into more suitable clothing, and I suggest you do the same. Meet me in the kitchen, and we will fortify ourselves with lunch before beginning this rather Herculean task."

"Right," said Harry, turning and leaving the dark little room gratefully. He hated the atmosphere in there, hated the way the summer heat gathered and clung.

Harry headed upstairs, unbuttoning the shirt as he went, and was gratified to hear a sharp intake of breath behind him when he slid it off just before going into his room. He intentionally left the door ajar as he changed, temptation and subtle invitation, then carefully stashed the precious shirt, still smelling slightly of Snape when he gave it a last sniff before stuffing it into a corner of his trunk. Donning his old jeans and trainers and that awful Smeltings t-shirt, Harry hurried back down to get started.

The kitchen itself was just as dim and strange as ever, although a coat of paint did make it seem less dingy. Snape followed him down a few moments later, clad in loose, soft pants and a stained green tunic, looking for all the world like some ancient apothecary's apprentice. He'd left his hair tied back, and Harry had to suppress the urge to kiss his way across the high cheekbones and down that pointed jaw, to taste one more time of the forbidden fruit of his lips.

"Sandwiches?" said Harry, looking over the cupboard.

"Acceptable," said Snape, reaching over Harry to grab the mustard off the top shelf. Their bodies brushed, and Harry gasped at the electric spark it sent through him. "So responsive," said Snape softly from behind him, setting the mustard on the counter.

"Sorry, sir," said Harry, chagrined, reaching up to get the other ingredients from their charmed shelves, which kept the meat and cheese gently cold, and the bread still faintly oven-warm.

Snape put a hand on Harry's shoulder and turned him until they were facing, barely a foot of space between them. "Never think I dislike your responses, Harry. I very much envy those who are privileged enjoy them, and wish to help you control them rather than the other way around," Snape's cheeks coloured slightly, and he looked down as he added quietly, "Given freely, they are the essence of beauty to me."

Harry blushed, then gave into impulse and brushed a soft kiss across Snape's pinked cheek. "Thank you, Severus," he said softly, turning away and looking for a knife with which to cut the bread, deliberately breaking the moment.

They made their food and ate it in a quiet, comfortable silence, Snape watching Harry from beneath hooded eyes, his Teacher facade discarded. Harry watched back, trying to figure out when this strange transition had occurred, how he'd fallen so deeply and swiftly for his once-hated professor. He found everything confusing, from Snape's mood swings to his own somewhat hormone-driven reactions. He had a thousand wild urges, none of which Snape would accept or appreciate right now, but each of which made his cheeks grow a little hotter, and cock grow a touch harder.

He wanted to kneel, naked, at Snape's feet, and offer himself for use. He wanted to stop the teasing altogether, show restraint and maturity so that, when their long wait was finally over, Snape would respect him enough to want him for more than a temporary expenditure of long-pent lust. He wanted to curl into Snape's bed at night and sleep with his ear pressed to that steady heartbeat. He wanted to strip slowly out of his clothing, piece by piece, touching himself and bringing his body alive until Snape's control broke and he took Harry right on the kitchen table.

He wanted to disappear through the floor when he realized something of his thoughts must show on his face, from the look of amused hunger in Snape's.

"Dobby!" said Snape sharply moments later, startling Harry into dropping the last of his sandwich onto his plate.

Dobby reappeared with a sharp crack, grinning. "Professor Snape calls for Dobby?"

"We need cleaning implements, where are they stored?" he said imperiously, something in the bitter chocolate tone making Harry's cock twitch as he considered how it would sound when broken by lust and sex.

"Dobby will bring them down to sir! Is Professor Snape needing anything else?" said Dobby cheerfully. Harry had no idea what he'd been up to, but he seemed unbearably happy about it, whatever it was.

"I believe that is all for now, thank you," said Snape, surprising Harry with his polite words, if not the haughty tone of them.

Dobby disappeared again, and Snape gathered his empty dishes and strode over to the sink. "If you are unable to control your thoughts, Mr. Potter, you will have to learn to at least control your features while you are in my class. I do not think that your classmates would be very understanding of the fascination you currently show in my presence."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, stuffing the rest of his sandwich in his mouth to quiet any protests he might otherwise have made. He knew his face showed everything, and he'd never been able to do anything about it. Maybe Snape would add these lessons to his others, which frankly would be a little creepy at that point, Snape moulding every aspect of his personality until he was a perfect little Hero. Shaping him from what he was into what Snape and Dumbledore wanted him to be, as desirable on the inside as he apparently was on the outside.

Snape cleaned his dishes in the sink, the quiet clink of china and splash of water making Harry acutely aware of his otherwise silent presence. He gulped the rest of his pumpkin juice and set the cup down a bit harder than he'd intended. "Do you even like me at all?" he snapped.

"What? How could you..." Snape paused, obviously taking a mental stock of their recent conversations. He walked over and sat down next to Harry, who tried very hard not to let the admittedly petulant hurt in his chest show on his face. From the look on Snape's, he was failing, but at least he was trying.

"Harry," Snape continued, laying a gentle hand on Harry's arm, "I am not a nice man, and in this house you are my student as much as when we are at Hogwarts. I must constantly remind myself not to take liberties, and yet I find myself doing so at every opportunity."

Harry laughed, a harsh bark composed mainly of confusion and misplaced anger. "I'm sorry it's just... bloody hell, I don't know, I've never... this is really weird for me, y'know? I only realised I was interested in you at all a month ago, quickly followed up by the completely startling news that it was mutual." He paused, trying to read the emotions glittering through Snape's black eyes. "Then suddenly, I find there's secret code words to getting laid, and the fucking Weasley twins are seeing to my sexual education, and I desperately want you of all people, and you keep going from cold to warm and back again before I can blink... it's just a lot, all at once."

Harry threaded his hands through his hair, elbows on the table and head hanging down so he wouldn't have to see the result of his little tirade. It was all just so hard sometimes, completely aside from the constant gnawing worry that he wouldn't be able to stomach murder on top of everything else. He wanted so badly, everything seemed so intense, and most of the time no one, not even Snape, treated him like his feelings were anything more than adolescent sulking.

"Harry," said Snape hoarsely. He cleared his throat, then reached out and pulled Harry across the bench, wrapping long arms around Harry's tense form. "You are an astonishing young man, and, yes, I have come to like you. You are brave and honest with your feelings, a quality I will never possess. You have been open and trusting with me, even though our history should preclude such faith."

Harry let himself be held, tired of the constant batter of changing emotions. The conflicting urges, to just bugger it all for a lark and offer himself up as Snape's fuck toy, to run away to Bulgaria and become a dishwasher, to run out and save the world just to show Snape he wasn't worthless... it was confusing and exhilarating, frightening and arousing all at once. "I don't understand myself today," said Harry softly into Snape's chest.

"What can I do to help you?" Snape asked, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry's head that sent a thrill of warmth curling in his belly.

"Let me get to know you," said Harry, finally relaxing into Snape's loose embrace. "Like you really want to be my friend, instead of just teaching me stuff all the time."

Snape let him go, carefully sitting him up until he balanced himself, running a comforting hand down his back. "How about we go clean, and I will attempt to appreciate your mind while our hands are otherwise occupied?"

Harry nodded. "That sounds perfect. But you'll have to pick the topic because I'm hopeless today. I keep having these ideas." He said the last with heartfelt exasperation; it got old after awhile, being sixteen and constantly, transparently horny.

"I can only imagine, and probably should not," said Snape, his voice rich with dark humour, sweet affection and bitter self-censure.

Harry laughed. "You can't be fired for thinking it," he said impishly, getting up to take his dishes to the sink. He gave them a quick wash and set them on the rack to dry, then turned back to find Snape looking cool and collected once again, standing by the door.

"Shall we?" he said, gesturing gracefully for Harry to precede him.

"You just want to watch my arse," said Harry, deliberately hitching up his shirt to show it off to best advantage.

"As you said, I cannot be fired for thinking, only doing," said Snape sardonically.

"I'll keep that in mind for later," said Harry. "Maybe I'll just sleep naked, as I've forgotten to buy new pyjamas anyway, and develop a sudden sleepwalking problem."

Snape let out a long breath, and Harry remembered belatedly that the professor had yet to see him fully nude. "I believe that would test the limits of my patience, Mr. Potter."

"Would I require spanking?" said Harry, joking through the strange wash of dread he felt going back into the abandoned lab. "Fuck, it's creepy in here."

"Language," said Snape sharply. He moved swiftly to where the cleaning supplies were waiting, and handed Harry some cleaning solution, a scrub brush and a rag. "You start on the tables, and I will begin with the cabinets. I suspect anything particularly macabre will be there."

"Macabre? You think there's something foul in here, don't you?" said Harry, feeling paranoid. The room seemed smaller all of a sudden, the strange smells hanging more ominously in the close, heavy air.

"It would account for the atmosphere," said Snape seriously. "But I do not believe there is anything harmful left, or Moody would have spotted it when he did his walk-through last week."

"Right, then," said Harry, girding himself to get started. He began with the table closest to the front, as near as possible to Snape. "So, what'll we talk about?"

Snape chuckled and said, "I would bring up the latest advancements in the Wolfsbane potion, but as it is obviously not your best subject...."

"Bite me," said Harry, feeling a bit pissy at being reminded of his status as Snape's least favourite student.

"Not today, Mr. Potter," was Snape's irritatingly calm reply.

Harry snorted, and put his back into the scrubbing while Snape gathered his cleaning supplies and his thoughts, and opened one of the cupboards. There were old stains in the wood surface that didn't want to come up, the largest of which gave Harry a shivery feeling every time he tried. "I think this stain's cursed," said Harry into the thick silence, tossing his brush down in frustration.

Snape's voice was controlled and serious as he replied, "I am concerned that we may need to -- no, don't turn around -- to dispose of all the furnishings and begin anew."

Harry stayed half-turned, curious now what Snape could have found in the cupboard that he wouldn't want Harry to see. "What've you found, then?" he asked, a bit of his earlier petulance creeping into his tone, making him annoyed at his own whininess.

"There are a number of jars containing human ingredients," said Snape matter-of-factly, his voice cold and distant, "and it is obvious from the assortment that the donors did not survive their donation. I suspect your suspicious stain is connected, although it might be something altogether different. The sort of people who keep such things are generally guilty of more than one sin, after all."

"That's... gross," said Harry, horrified. He stared at the reddish-brown stain, now glistening with cleaning solution, and shivered.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter. If you would be so kind as to allow me the use of your owl, I believe we should consult the Headmaster as to the disposal of the... remains. We can do your Potions lessons in the kitchen for now, if need be." Snape's hand in the small of his back made Harry jump, and he found himself gently guided out of the horrid little room, door closed firmly behind them, and then into the kitchen.

Harry sat down, a bit stunned at the thought that his godfather's parents had kept bits of a person down in their basement for potions. Sirius had said his mother was awful and everything, and they'd had all those terrible Dark artefacts, but Harry had never had it brought home quite so vividly that such pureblood families literally viewed Muggles as less than human. Harry felt vaguely ill, but looking around the repainted kitchen helped. Thinking about the way the Order was sweeping the Dark past out of this house and turning it slowly into something good and light, that helped more.

Wondering how Sirius would feel about him falling for Snape, however, did not help at all. A strange feeling of guilt and worry gnawed at him as he realised that not all his friends would take to his relationship with Snape as well as the twins had, most notably their brother, Ron. Sirius would not have stood for it, would have tried to get Snape sacked or Harry laid by some girl, probably, or even tried to find him some other, older man like Snape said was the usual way, just to get him a proper introduction.

"Talk to me about something so I don't think about the fact that my godfather grew up in a house full of people bits," said Harry shakily, when Snape handed him a fresh cup of strong tea, fixed once again just the way he liked it. He spared a moment of regret that he hadn't thought to watch, but it was squashed by the realisation that he'd have many more opportunities.

"Demanding boy," said Snape affectionately, his tone making Harry look up to see the haunted look in his eyes somewhat alleviated by something that might be caring or concern, if Harry was optimistic. "Let me send the owl, and then we can play chess in the parlour while I await a reply."

"Yes, sir," said Harry, grinning. "I'll just go change and get Hedwig, then?"

Harry ran upstairs without further prompting. He tossed the barely-dirty clothing into the hamper and dug out the grey slacks that had flattered his arse, and one of his new deep red shirts, leaving it untucked and somewhat dishevelled, with more buttons undone than was strictly necessary. He suppressed the urge to check himself out in the mirror and see if he had the just-debauched air that he hoped it gave him, and instead gently woke Hedwig and urged her onto his shoulder.

He made his way back down the stairs, peering in the mostly-empty rooms on the ground floor until he found Snape waiting in something that seemed a combination of study and sitting room. A battered desk occupied one corner, and worn, plump chairs formed a crooked semicircle around the fireplace, spindly little mismatched end tables giving each a place for a cup of tea or a book. Quite a few less-comfortable looking wooden chairs littered the room, and Harry got the impression that this was where the Order conducted most of their business.

Snape was, of course, already ensconced behind the desk, somehow miraculously changed back into an elegant black shirt, sleeves rolled all the way up this time, the dark colour and recent shock making him seem deathly pale. "Got her, sir," said Harry, depositing Hedwig gently on the messy surface.

"Thank you, Potter," said Snape, without looking up. Harry, accustomed to hearing his last name from Snape's lips either clipped out in anger or drawn out in sarcasm, found it strangely appealing to hear it simply spoken in an almost genial tone.

"You're welcome, Professor," Harry replied, moving to take one of the comfortable chairs by the now-dormant fireplace.

The quill scratched on, a small, soothing noise in the sometimes oppressive silence of the empty house. Harry let his mind drift, away from all his many weighty problems and onto a nice, quiet fantasy of being allowed to kiss Snape whenever he pleased. "Is there anything you wish to add?" Snape asked, making Harry start.

"Er, no, sir," said Harry quickly, unable to think of anything appropriate to say to the Headmaster. 'Why won't you let me snog my Potions master,' seemed a bit much, even for Dumbledore's normal relaxed manner.

Snape rolled the parchment up quickly and tied it neatly to Hedwig's leg, giving her a quick scratch before taking her over to the window. "Kindly take this to Professor Dumbledore, and wait for a reply if possible," said Snape, then launched her into the sunny afternoon.

"So, chess?" said Harry lightly.

Snape turned, finally taking in Harry's state of dress. His eyes went briefly wide, then narrowed dangerously. "You play for high stakes today, Harry," he purred, a sound that went straight to Harry's groin, making him glad he'd left the shirt untucked.

"Don't I always?" said Harry, half in flirtation, half in disgust. He was forcibly reminded of the Death Eater meeting that they'd both just barely escaped with their lives, and pushed away all but the memory of his first shocking contact with Snape's lean body.

"I suppose you do," said Snape thoughtfully, rummaging about in the shelves around the room until he found a small chess set. Harry stood up and rearranged two of the comfortable chairs until they were facing one another, the largest of the end tables set between them, fortunately just big enough for the board.

"I will give you white, and also take a handicap of one bishop and two pawns," said Snape, setting up with those three pieces missing from the black side. Harry had a feeling he'd still get soundly trounced, but at least this way he'd have a shot.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry, setting up his own pieces and making his opening move. "You were telling me something about yourself," he reminded, gently running idle fingers along the skin just inside his open collar.

"You really should button that further," said Snape crossly, making his move.

"It's warm in here," said Harry with a small smile. "You can consider it an extra handicap and be glad I'm not in my knickers."

Snape gave one of his rare, low laughs, the sound tripping down Harry's spine in a delicious shiver. "Indeed, Harry. Although I do believe I shall have to introduce you to strip chess once you've left school."

"Tease," Harry replied, contemplating the board. Snape had set up his pieces to minimize the holes left in his defences by the handicap, but Harry thought he could see a strategy that just might get him through, so he moved his knight, getting a scowl from Snape.

"Clever," said Snape, settling back in his chair. "I find myself at a loss when it comes to such idle, personal conversations, however. What did you wish to know?"

"Well, don't you have any hobbies outside of taking points from Gryffindor?" said Harry, looking down.

"Several," said Snape, reaching out to make a move that thwarted most of Harry's half-formed plans. "I collect decorative phials, as I'm sure you've noticed, as well as certain rare books."

Harry nodded. "What books?" he asked, curious.

"I have a private collection of homoerotic literature that you may not see, touch or ask about again until you leave school," said Snape sternly.

Harry nodded, shifting a bit in his seat as he grew uncomfortably hard. He remembered the book in Snape's bathroom with the two snogging young men, and the image inevitably expanded Snape reading it in the bath, one hand holding the book out of the water and the other working frantically below. "That's... interesting. How long have you been collecting the bottles?"

"I was given the first one as a gift for getting an O in my Potions OWL," said Snape, and Harry noted the still, blank cast of his features. Something about this line of conversation bothered Snape, but he didn't want to let on. Harry got a flash of his father from one of their Occlumency lessons, and suppressed a shudder.

Harry grinned instead, focusing on the academics rather than Snape's regrettable family life. "Seems appropriate, but I suppose you got plenty of Outstanding OWLs."

Snape smiled a quiet little half-smile, strange and slightly bitter. "Actually, I got mostly Excellent marks, although I did take quite a few OWLs all told. My only other O was in Charms, and I was given my signet ring for that."

"So, you got a reward for your top marks? That's brilliant," said Harry, thinking back to his own OWLs. He'd been at the Dursleys again, miserable and alone, and his marks had been a small high point in an otherwise horrible few weeks. His only regret, aside from his truly abysmal History results, had been not having anyone to share his excitement with.

"Heirloom jewelry is often passed on at either OWL or NEWT level, as a form of acceptance of the heir as worthy of their place in wizarding socity. Snape paused. "Accio ring box," he said, and a little velvet box came flying through the doorway a few moments later. "I now use my father's gift to pick up young men," Snape added, voice dripping with irony. He handed the box to Harry, who opened it curiously.

Inside was a small, heavy ring, intricately patterned silver with piece of deep, flawless jade in the centre, the stone etched with a tiny, detailed copy of a crest, presumably Snape's. "I wear it on my smallest right finger when I am interested in company. From all indications, I would guess that you would wear yours on the left, whether it be ring, earring or bracelet. If you ever had need to declare your alliance with me publicly, I would have you wear that, on the left."

Harry lifted it gingerly out of the box, examining the fine workmanship. "May I?" he asked, holding up his hand. Snape nodded, face filled with a strange hunger as Harry slipped the ring onto his left pinkie. It fit surprisingly well, the weight of it comfortable and the cold metal quickly warming to his skin. "So, now everyone would know that I belong to you."

Snape made a soft sound, and closed his eyes briefly. When he reopened them, they were guarded, his voice flat, dry and factual. "This sign would indicate that you were with me in a romantic capacity, and that you preferred to take the receptive role."

"Oh," said Harry softly. The chess game lay forgotten between them, both lost in thought for long minutes. Harry contemplated the ring on his hand, the strange comfort of it. "I'd like that, I think, everyone knowing I was yours."

Snape breathed deeply, knuckles going slightly white on the armrest as he said quietly, "I find I am surprised, given your usual cavalier attitude towards authority, to find you possess such desires."

"Neither of us is entirely what we seem," said Harry, blushing slightly as he ran a list of his newfound desires through his head. He had a sudden image of himself, nude, on hands and knees on the hearthrug, offering his arse to a fully-clothed Snape. Of the ring, magically expanded to fit not his finger but his prick, nudging up against the crown, Snape's crest resting just below the head. "And I'm finding I've got all sorts of desires I never knew I had," he added, squirming in his seat.

"Such as... no. You are making me forget my place," said Snape, deliberately straightening in the chair. "You have always had that effect, although in your youth it was to an entirely different purpose."

Harry squirmed again, body tightening at Snape's newest near-admission that he wanted Harry. "Tell me what you like," he said softly. "Tell me what you want."

"I... I cannot," Snape stammered, cheeks colouring attractively. He still hadn't taken his hair down, and his face was strong and handsome in the afternoon sunlight.

"Sorry," said Harry, realizing he'd overstepped his bounds. Conversation was one thing, but asking for Snape's personal sexual fantasies was quite another. He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled ruefully. "I just keep pushing, don't I?"

"As you always have, Mr. Potter," said Snape, his Teacher Voice ruined by the warm desire threading through it. "I believe it is your move?"

Harry looked down at the forgotten chess game. He made another move, this one a bit reckless, but just now he was feeling like taking a few risks. "Are you ever going to ask me about Fred and George?"

Snape's whole face softened, the emotions on it too mixed and complex for Harry to read. Still, Harry found it oddly comforting that he'd been allowed to watch them at all as Snape said, "No, Harry, I am not." He stared blindly at the chessboard for a minute before moving, "If you have specific questions you are welcome to come to me, otherwise I will do us both the kindness of keeping such discussions between myself and the twins."

"I still don't quite get why they're so willing," said Harry, making another nearly-random chess move. Fred and George had always tried to take care of him, sure, but this was entirely outside the bounds of what you do for a friend of your little brother's -- although not, evidently, outside their version of brotherly love.

Snape shook his head wonderingly. "I am constantly surprised at how you can be such a prize, and not understand your own worth."

Harry shrugged painfully, remembering years of being shoved into a cupboard, thrashed by his cousin and uncle, verbally abused by his aunt and alternately worshipped and vilified by his fellow students. "It's part of my charm?" he said with a wry half-smile, suddenly feeling a decade older. In the last 48 hours, he'd left the Dursleys forever; had sex with not one but two men; entertained dozens of fantasies of offering his body to Severus Snape for his exclusive and unrestricted use; and, lest we forget, tried to clean human bloodstains off of a potions worktable, because the previous owners were complete freaks.

"Indeed, Harry," said Snape, quiet affection in his voice. "Now, let us, perhaps, change the subject to matters other than those things which we cannot have."

"Yet," said Harry, a little defiantly.

"Yet," Snape conceded with a small nod. "Your move, Harry."

"Thank you, Severus," said Harry, fingers toying with the ring. "I suppose you'll be wanting this back?"

Snape sighed, a strange sound from such a normally reserved man. Harry was slowly getting used to these small displays of emotion and, by extension, trust, but it still sometimes startled him to see Snape acting human. "I do not want to take it back, but I must. You may... you may wear it until our game is concluded, if you like."

"You think you're weak for saying so," said Harry, struck by a sudden insight. "Well, I don't. We've had a long, strange couple of days, and I think I for one am allowed any small comfort I can get. It's not like you're going to shag me to make yourself feel better, or anything." He ended his little tirade by making another risky move, hoping Snape wouldn't see his bizarre strategy.

Snape gave an ironic little smile, eyebrows going up in surprise at the last. "You have a very interesting point, which I will consider in between bouts of self-flagellation," he said sardonically. Snape looked at the board, then made an answering move, annoyingly none of the ones Harry had considered he might make. He further disrupted Harry's train of thought by adding, "As for that last, I will reiterate your previous assertion: yet."

Harry forced himself to breathe, hoping he didn't leak all the way through his knickers and stain his nice new trousers. He was definitely going to toss off as soon as this chess game was over, hopefully making it last long enough to pull some of these new fantasies and see how they played out. "Maybe as a reward for my NEWTs?" said Harry, trying to think of chess instead of what it might feel like to have Snape's prick in his arse.

Snape laughed again. "I should warn you, although you are quickly developing a facility for the type of verbal sparring generally practiced amongst wizards of our preference, you lapse into simplicity far too often. Vulgarity is simply unacceptable in these situations, under normal circumstances."

"It's a good thing I've got you to practice on, then, isn't it?" said Harry, giving up and moving a chess piece at random. His brain was no longer interested in the game, and refused to cooperate.

"Indeed. Although I shall have to find some method for marking you down when you do fall back on crude propositions in order to discourage them, as I am sure my reactions do not," said Snape, his voice full of amusement.

Harry shrugged. "What can I say, I've always loved to get a rise out of you."

Snape dissolved into laughter at that, and it took Harry a minute to realise what he'd said and follow. They laughed out their tension and strain, the stress of dealing with the house and the restrictions on their relationship. When they finally quieted down, they both had a much more relaxed air; Harry finally felt like he might survive the summer after all, and Snape had regained his air of casual elegance.

"Although amusing, that particular metaphor is also a bit crude," said Snape, eyes sparkling. "Perhaps we should work on the vocabulary?"

"Sure, why not. Now's as good a time as any for my first proper lesson," said Harry, looking strangely forward to starting this set of classes. Snape was, if nothing else, a man of wit and clever words, and Harry wanted very badly to be able to hold his own against that razor tongue. They'd have other nights to talk about themselves, to develop a friendship rather than this strange camaraderie based on mutual enemies and unrequited lust.

Snape started by explaining the chess metaphor, which Harry had mostly figured out on his own, moving on to other, less obvious double entendres. They continued to play chess at random intervals, short flurries of activity quickly sidetracked by conversation. Harry enjoyed himself thoroughly, and got the feeling that Snape did too, so much so that they were both surprised when dusk began to creep in through the windows, casting shadows in the previously sunlit room.

Snape lit the lamps with his wand, and Harry fingered the ring and contemplated the increasingly dire state of his forces; even the chess pieces had begun mocking him at this point, irritated at having been so thoroughly bashed even with Snape's handicap. Just as Harry was about to concede, Hedwig arrived, and they abandoned the hopeless game to deal instead with serious matters.

Hedwig had a scroll for Snape, and a package for Harry, which she set down quite gently in one of the chairs. Inside were two smaller parcels, cradled in a nest of cotton wool, one wrapped gaily in green paper with red and gold ribbons, the other in plain brown paper tied with string. Harry extracted the plainly wrapped one, which proved to contain his little phoenix bottle, carefully nestled in more cotton wool. The other one he contemplated while Snape read Dumbledore's reply, wondering when would be the best time to present it, whether he should wait for Christmas or just hand it over now.

He was spared the decision when Snape said crossly, "Take Hedwig upstairs, and your things with them. We will discuss the Headmaster's reply while we prepare dinner."

"Did you want to see what I got at the glassmaker's?" Harry asked shyly, holding out the little phoenix in its box.

Snape looked up from the parchment to the figure cradled in its protective nest. "May I?" he asked, reaching out towards it. At Harry's nod, he carefully lifted the fragile ornament out from the box, holding it reverently as he examined it in the torchlight. "You have excellent taste, Harry," said Snape with a smile. "I find I envy your choice, as it would not be out of place in my own collection."

Harry grinned, preening at the praise. "Well, then you've got something else to look forward to, as it's mine, and I'll be yours soon enough."

Snape blinked in gentle surprise, then nodded, returning the phoenix to its box. "I believe, however, that I will have to ask for the return of my token. Although it will remain in its box until it can once again grace your hand, Order members will be reporting in at unpredictable intervals, and it would not do for you to be seen with it."

Harry nodded, pulling the ring off reluctantly and dropping it in Snape's outstretched palm, then gathered his packages. He was struck with a sudden inspiration, "When's your birthday?"

"How is that at all relevant?" asked Snape, clearly bemused at abrupt the change of subject.

Harry grinned. "Humour me."

"August the twenty-seventh," said Snape. "I will be thirty-nine."

"Wicked," said Harry. "Well, then you'll have to wait patiently for your present." He brandished the wrapped package with a grin.

"I am more than twice your age," said Snape, ignoring the gift.

"And Dumbledore's ten times my age. So what?" said Harry irritably. "Aren't you the least bit curious what I've found for you?"

Snape smiled. "I am extremely curious, but if I can wait a year for you, I can wait a month and a half for my gift."

Harry stuck his tongue out at Snape, and headed upstairs with his packages.

A Question of Etiquette IX: Two for Joy