Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Sadness of Eros	By : LoupGarou1750 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 7628 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and her business associates own the world of Harry Potter. I make no money from this, nor anything else. The words 'The open palm of desire wants everything' are from the Paul Simon song 'Further to Fly'. He owns those.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
10

"Good luck," Harry said, giving Ginny a hug and a brief kiss. "Sure you don't want me to take you all the way? I hate leaving you here by yourself." He looked around the still-dark landscape; in the pre-dawn hour buildings were just beginning to take shape as grey lumps across the river.

Ginny smiled. "We've already had this discussion. Three times. I've got my wand and my wits about me. I've hours yet, and I want to walk, work off my nervous jitters. Plus, I'm sure the entire team would be horrified if their lovely pitch was defiled by a flying motorcycle."

"Yeah, well, thanks for humouring me. It's been a long time since we flew together by moonlight." He mounted the bike, dropping down hard to kick start it before leaning over to give Ginny another peck on the cheek.

"Helmet, Potter," she yelled over the roar of the engine.

Sneering at her, Harry picked up his helmet. "We don't wear protective gear on brooms, why should a bike be any different?"

"Because crashing a broom doesn't involve several hundred pounds of twisted metal and a tank full of petrol, idiot."

Laughing, Harry put the helmet on then pulled back on the handlebars and soared into the rising dawn. In a matter of seconds, Ginny was no more than a speck far below. Two minutes later, he landed in an empty field and stowed the helmet behind him. Ginny had a point, but Harry wasn't about to give up the feeling of the wind whipping his hair and roaring in his ears. Besides, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

The bright light of day lived up to the dawn's promise. Above him the sun shone brilliant and fierce in a cloudless blue sky, while far below on what he thought was the M1, traffic moved sluggishly. Somehow that was the crowning glory on the morning. A wave of contentment washed over him, so strong he relaxed a bit too much and nearly tumbled from his seat before catching himself. Won't be telling Gin about that one! Harry let out an exuberant whoop. He had sun, blue skies, and the vibration of a powerful motor between his legs. His days in the bars and parks were over; he hadn't been back, hadn't even had the urge since unburdening himself to Neville. True, he hadn't yet approached Ginny about dramatically changing their routine in the bedroom, but he'd been rehearsing what he might say and knew it was just a matter of time before he worked up the nerve to actually say something.

He and Ginny still had their rough spots; things had nearly gone pear-shaped when Snubb – the Weather Wizard as Harry thought of him – had invited Harry to visit on the same weekend they'd had a mini break planned, just the two of them, but then the letter from the Manchester Manticores had arrived, offering Ginny an interview on the same weekend and the marital crisis had been averted. The idea that it was OK for Ginny to postpone their weekend rankled a bit, but since it all worked out for the best, he couldn't be too upset about it.

Yeah, things are looking up! The kids are doing well, although if I hear one more whisper about James's pranking, I'll pull him out of Hogwarts so fast his head will spin; take away his wand and send him to work in the mines, the little prat!

Ginny's bound to get this coaching position – she flies better than half the players in England – and that'll give me all the time I need to really work on Snow Vodka. Maybe when the season's over we can take a real holiday together. Spanish islands maybe. She'd like that.

He'd been a fool, he knew that, but things were definitely turning around. Life really didn't get any better than this.

Lost in his pleasant daydream, Harry nearly crashed as the craggy top of a hill suddenly loomed in front of him. He yanked back on the bike's handlebars, raising the front end and cresting the hill barely in time to avoid scraping his boots on the rocks below. He was shocked to realise how heedless he'd been. He needed to be more careful; he should have taken to the ground ages ago. It wouldn't do if some Muggle on the road below looked up just in time to be crushed by a falling flying motorcycle. He anxiously scanned the landscape below and realised with another shock he'd been flying faster than he'd realised. The busy highway he'd just passed over was the A1; he'd already left the M1 far to the west. "Bugger!" he yelled, glancing at his watch. It was almost time for his appointment with Snubb and he didn't want to create a bad first impression by arriving late.

Tugging his wand from the pocket of his leather jacket, Harry asked, "Quo Grimsthwaite? and was pleased when his wand pointed to a winding country road just to the right of his position. Checking his watch again, he smiled. He was closer than he'd thought, so no need to worry about being late, and the road's gentle undulations and sharp turns seemed to be made for a motorcycle enthusiast.

As he rounded a turn and crested a hill, he could see the dale spread in front of him, empty except for a squat white house with smoke rolling from its chimney. A rutted dirt road that twisted and turned for no apparent reason ended at a wide swath of grass in front of the house. Pulling a fragment of parchment from his pocket, he flattened it with one hand against the bike's gauges. A rough sketch showed a reasonable likeness of the dirt road and the house with a big fat X drawn over it; he laughed as smoke puffed from the tiny chimney and twined about the X's bars. He was definitely in the right place.

The dirt road was even more chewed up than it had looked from a distance. Had it been straight, it would have been little more than a quarter mile in length, but with all its eccentric windings, it was at least two miles of kidney-jarring torture. Snubb, it would seem, didn't generally encourage visitors. Harry parked the bike and used its mirror to check the glamour he'd decided to assume – enough like his own features to be easily maintained, but just different enough that no one who didn't know him well would recognise him. Satisfied, he dismounted and walked across the expanse of green; what he'd taken for a grass lawn proved, on closer inspection, to be some kind of thick moss that seemed to bunch and shift under his feet as if it were trying to cushion his steps.

Seen up close, the house was considerably less charming than it had appeared from the hill. Wind, weather and neglect had turned its white paint a dingy grey and it looked like there was mould growing in the shade of the eaves. Dark curtains obscured every window. It was overwhelmingly forbidding and Harry had the sudden urge to get back on his motorcycle and ride away, but he hadn't come this far to turn tail simply because Snubb wasn't house proud. Squaring his shoulders, he knocked firmly on the wide plank door.

There was no answer, no sound at all from within, and after a few moments he pounded again. It took a few minutes more before the door finally swung open. A thin, spotty youth wearing ratty jeans and a baggy jumper stood in the opening.

"What does tha want then?" the youth asked rudely.

"Mr Snubb? Silex Snubb?" It hardly seemed likely, but you never knew.

"What about him?"

"I'd like to speak to him, if he's at home. I have an appointment." There was something about the lad that irritated Harry, and he let his annoyance seep into his tone.

The boy shrugged and said, "Happen he'll be down t'shed," before closing the door in Harry's face.

Harry stared at the wide planks for a moment, debating whether knocking again would serve any purpose. He decided it wouldn't and stepped back onto the moss, which immediately scrunched up beneath his boots, sending exploratory tendrils over his toes. Harry smiled and thought he'd ask Snubb if he could buy some; the kids would love it. Of course he had to find Snubb first. He hadn't seen any sign of a shed from the road, but if there was one he reckoned it would be behind the house.

Rounding the corner of the house, he came upon an extremely orderly but otherwise ordinary kitchen garden, bordered on the left by several long rows of grape vines. Maybe the garden wasn't so ordinary after all; surely grapes had no business being so large and purple this early in the year.

On the right, ugly as a scab on the lush landscape, was a dilapidated shed. Its roof sagged and like the house it was several decades past needing a new coat of paint. Behind it in the distance was a long wall, lushly covered in living green. That hadn't been visible from the crest of the hill either. Definitely not an ordinary garden, then.

Intrigued, Harry followed the path of paving stones that led through the rows to the shed. There was no moss here, herbs grew between the stones and a clean smell sweetened the air as he trod on them. "Hello?" When there was no answer he raised his voice. "Oi! Anyone about?"

As had happened at the house, there was no sound at all from within, and Harry couldn't see anything but darkness through the filthy windows. Trying the door he found it locked, but a simple "Alohomora!" took care of that. Cautiously, he stepped inside, using his wand for light; it barely seemed to penetrate the gloom. Taking another two steps forward, Harry whirled as the door slammed shut. Seeing no one behind him, he wrote it off as the wind and turning back to examine the room, felt his eyes widen and jaw drop.

Where there had been darkness, possibly bounded by rough walls, there was now an impressive greenhouse filled with tropical plants both magic and not. Long windows and an arched ceiling of tinted glass let in filtered bright light. Awed, Harry moved through the rows of plant-covered tables, noticing a change in temperature every few paces. He gave a silent cheer. Snubb was definitely going to have the answer to all his problems; Harry was sure of it.

It took longer than it should have to cross from one end of the greenhouse to the other. Hanging baskets framed a second doorway at the back. Harry opened it and peered out into the blinding sunlight. There were more tables, more plants and in the middle of them stood a man in an ancient Barbour jacket and thick woollen trousers tucked into green wellies. Harry's first thought was that the man must be mad, or ill, to wear such clothing on a day like that. His second was more along the lines of, "Fuck me!"

The man, still unaware of Harry's presence, had turned slightly. The bright sun was behind him, casting his face in shadows and obscuring the details of his features, but there was no mistaking the sharp outline of that nose. For six years at Hogwarts and for the more than twenty that had passed since, Harry had seen that nose in person, in Pensieve memories, in dreams, and once, just recently, in a dark alley behind a Muggle bar.

Although frozen in shock Harry must have made some noise because the man turned to look at him. "You're early, I wasn't expecting you for another hour. I presume you are Victor Volatilis and not some random trespasser?" The words were spoken in the same hoarse whisper Harry remembered.

Harry couldn't do anything but stare. He only half-recognised the pseudonym he'd picked in a rare moment of whimsy, but mostly he could barely comprehend that he was standing face-to-face with a very much alive Severus Snape.

"Well?" the man asked, still whispering.

"You're alive," Harry said without thinking.

Snape went very still then seemed to slump slightly, something like a grimace passing over his face. "Explain yourself."

How to even begin? Snape didn't even know who he was. Well, that was easily rectified. Not sure if it was smart or not, Harry braced himself for an onslaught of rage and dropped his glamour. "I was sure it was you but I didn't really believe it!"

The outrage didn't come. Snape's shoulders seemed to sink even more and he rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "Harry Potter," he said tonelessly.

Having steeled himself for an outpouring of vitriol, Harry didn't know how to react to its absence. Smiling inanely, he said, "The one and only."

There was no visible emotional response, neither disdain nor amusement. In the same toneless voice, Snape asked, "What did you mean by 'I was sure it was you'?"

Still nonplussed at Snape's resignation, Harry didn't answer. That, at least, seemed to provoke something. A slow flush crept up Snape's cheeks.

"If you suspected I was Snubb, why didn't you identify yourself properly when you wrote so that I might have had the pleasure of refusing to see you?"

In spite of the splintered whisper, that sounded exactly like the Snape of old, the Snape who had always been able to get under Harry's skin, wound him, infuriate him. Unsure of whether he wanted to hug the man or bloody his nose, Harry had not moved at all since he'd first recognised the great beak, but now punching it seemed like the best option. He took a step forwards and stopped as the import of Snape's words filtered through the maelstrom of his own emotions. He doesn't know it was me in the loo. The thought brought both relief and disappointment.

And then Harry couldn't contain his excitement any longer. "Snape. Fuck! How? Why didn't you tell anyone? Why are you hiding out here? You were a hero, damn it! You deserve recognition. How the fuck did you survive?" And now Harry did move, his hand reaching out to touch the gnarled, ugly red scars just visible above the Barbour's collar.

"Stop. What the devil do you think you're doing?"

Blushing, Harry dropped his hand. "How?" he asked again, unable to think of anything else.

"That is none of your business. Your subterfuge, however, is very much my business. How dare you use a false name when you wrote? Never mind. It really doesn't matter. You will leave instantly and not return."

"I didn't know Snubb was you!" Harry rubbed his forehead as if the motion might clear his mind. It didn't help. Should he mention the bar? Would that soften Snape, or irritate him further? He decided to circle around it and see how things played out. "Look, when I said I was sure it was you, I meant that I saw you once. In London. A few months ago."

"Nonsense," Snape snapped and then his lips thinned and his face drained of blood. "You saw me." He sounded defeated. Harry couldn't tell if Snape had realised where and when Harry would have seen him.

"Yep," Harry said, trying to smile.

"I had hoped," Snape said, so quietly he might have been speaking to himself, "that my near death and twenty years of keeping myself to myself might have been enough to atone for my sins, to placate whatever capricious gods there are, but it seems my luck is as bad as it ever was. Please leave, Potter."

"No," Harry said simply, stubbornly. His eyes searched Snape's face; his fingers fairly itched to touch the horrible scars left by Nagini's fangs. "Do you have any idea how often I dreamt you were alive, how often I wished I could thank you for everything you did? And then I saw you. It was only a glimpse, but you were alive, and there was no way I could find you, so I tried to tell myself I had dreamt it, or hallucinated, or that it was only someone who looked a little bit like you. And now I have found you! Maybe it's supposed to be. Maybe it is just those capricious gods, but you're alive and I've found you, so no, I'm not leaving. Not yet. I owe you."

"Are you quite done? You owe me nothing. Whatever I did was not done for you. Never for you."

"That's not true. I know why you did what you did."

"Fine. Believe what you want to believe. You always did. You avenged my murder by killing the Dark Lord. All debts are paid in full. And if you must believe you still owe me for something, consider paying me back by leaving." Snape turned away, wending his way with long strides in between the tables of plants.

For a moment, Harry simply stared after him, then hurried to follow, taking two steps for every one of Snape's. About twenty yards beyond the shed, when Harry had only barely managed to catch up, Snape whirled on him. "What will it take to get you to leave?"

There was something so perfect about the snarling mouth and black glare, Harry nearly bounced with pleasure. The first two responses that entered his mind – 'nothing', and 'a blow job' – were probably best kept to himself. "Look, I came up here for a reason. I really am looking for help."

"I thought you'd implied I'd already given you help, years ago."

"Well, yeah, of course you did. But I didn't know it was you when I wrote the letter, and I think you might have the answer to my problems."

"As if there were an answer to your problems. Very well." Snape shoved a hand in his jacket pocket. Probably has his wand in there and is now about to hex me, Harry thought. But Snape merely stared disdainfully down his nose and said, "How may I assist you further?"

"Show me around?" Harry asked hopefully, happy at the thought of following Snape around and not really wanting to talk about Snow Vodka if it meant he would have to leave sooner rather than later.

"Fine. That," Snape said, pointing to a long low building with a sloping roof, "is the byre." He took off towards it, using the same long-legged stride that had Harry trotting to keep up.

"Those are goats." He pointed to a small herd munching grass around the byre. "I keep them so I needn't worry about mowing – there are more important things on which to expend my energy. They also, of course, provide milk as well as manure. Cows for the same." Snape pointed across the field to two dark shapes grazing near the tree-line. "Thestrals. A breeding pair; they're in demand. Useless for manure, of course, being meat-eaters." Turning, he pointed to the small paddock where a roan horse kicked up its heels. "The mare to get around on – the property is extensive, far more acreage than you can see from here – and it also provides manure, although it's more time-consuming to deal with. Obviously, chicken manure would be better–"

"Obviously," Harry supplied with a grin. He couldn't believe Snape was actually showing him around rather than verbally skinning him alive and hexing him into oblivion. He was also having difficulty holding back his laughter; Snape seemed more than a bit obsessed with shit.

Snape looked down his nose and continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "–but I couldn't abide the clucking."

"You kept chickens, then?"

"Briefly. I had to carry a stick whenever I entered the enclosure, to beat off the rooster. Most aggressive. It was tedious. I killed the rooster and stewed it. Tough old thing, but quite tasty. Sold the chickens off. I miss having the eggs, but it's easy enough to buy them."

"So all that...manure. For fertilizer, I reckon?" He hoped it was for fertilizer. "That would be for the famous garden. I'd like to see it. It is why I'm here, after all."

"If I give you a guided tour, will you leave me in peace? Emphasis on leave."

"You're having fun, admit it. You're proud of what you've built up and you like showing it off." Harry cocked his head. "And I think you like showing it off to me, in particular."

"Good Lord! Spare me your tedious insights into my deepest psyche. If, after twenty years, I had to have an encounter with my past, you, of all people, would not be my first choice. You aren't even in the top one hundred."

Although a little hurt, Harry laughed. He held up his hands in surrender. "OK. I get it. But you did invite me here, even if you didn't realise who you were inviting. Let me just explain what I'm working on. If you can help me, and are willing to, great. If not, I'll leave and not come back. Fair enough?"

"If that's the only way I can induce your departure, I suppose I have no choice but to acquiesce. You may as well come up to the house. I have something I need to check on."

"Don't suppose you have anything to eat? I dropped my lunch about fifty miles back and I'm starving," Harry said deceitfully.

Snape's only response was to roll his eyes before turning to walk away, leaving Harry to hurry along after him.

'Something to check on' evidently needed an hour or nothing. Snape pointed...no, pushed Harry through the back door and into a rather dark, dingy kitchen, poured him a lukewarm cup of coffee without asking if Harry wanted it, nor whether he took it with milk or sugar, and left.

Beyond a bubbling exhilaration, Harry wasn't really sure how he felt, how he should have felt. He had spent so much of the last twenty years imagining what it would be like to find out Snape was alive, but the reality was nothing like the fantasies. In his daydreams, Snape had been frozen in time: forever the ugly, long-haired, pasty-faced, hook-nosed, not-quite middle-aged man in billowing black robes. Their brief encounter in the toilets and the even briefer glimpse of him in the alley had done nothing to change Harry's mental picture. The actuality was so far removed as to be disorienting. Harry grinned. The nose was more or less unchanged, although somewhat more pronounced now that the curtain of greasy black hair no longer obscured it; Snape's hair had gone grey and was cropped close to his head – although truthfully it still looked greasy. The sallow skin looked healthier, the result of living above ground and spending time outdoors, Harry supposed. And he had definitely aged, although less than he might have done, now that Harry considered it. That too was probably a result of getting out of the dungeons and into the sun and air, or maybe it had more to do with being shut of the stress of spying. It was something of a shock to realise he wasn't ugly the way Harry remembered. No one would ever call him handsome, but there was a strength and dignity to his face that was appealing.

But the biggest shock of all was the apparent change in attitude. True, he'd been rude, but the underlying anger and loathing seemed to be missing. He'd been, if not exactly friendly, then at least not completely unfriendly as he'd shown Harry around the byre and pasture. He'd actually almost seemed to enjoy Harry's presence, no matter what he'd said to the contrary. And hadn't he invited Harry into his house? The old Snape would have never done that.

Of course, inviting him in and then completely abandoning him to his own devices wasn't exactly hospitable. Where had the man got to? Harry looked at his watch; almost twenty minutes had passed since Snape went to check on whatever it was.

Bored and curious to find out what he could about the new Snape, Harry got up and padded around the kitchen, checking out the Muggle refrigerator and inspecting the contents of each cupboard. Twenty-five minutes later, after nearly completing his third round of inspection, Harry was squatting in front of the ancient Aga for no reason he could think of, when Snape finally reappeared.

"You're still here," Snape said flatly. His, "Why?" was unspoken, but Harry heard it all the same.

Harry wasn't entirely sure why he was still there. Snape had made it clear his presence was not appreciated. Any reasonable person would have left long before an hour had passed. He'd discovered nothing in his triple-inspection beyond Snape's disinterest in wiping down the cooktop. He felt like a fool. But he couldn't leave. This was Snape. He was alive. And Harry had once given him head. And liked it. Clearly it was time to blurt the first thing that came into his head.

"I was the guy. You know, that time in the loo?"

Snape stared at him with a perfectly bland expression.

"The Muggle bar? In London? You don't remember? I'm...Hell. You probably do that all the time." Nice one, Potter, you stupid fuck. If I was him, I'd throw me out.

Snape's expression didn't change, the flat line of his mouth didn't shift at all, but it was evident he was literally biting his tongue. That was just wrong. The real Snape would have torn Harry a new arsehole by now.

Harry gave a mental shrug. "Sorry. That's not what I meant. Or it is what I meant but not in a bad way. In an envious way, actually. 'Cause you know, you seem so sure of yourself and you're pretty hot, actually, although it might surprise you to hear me say it, and that was one of the best days of my life and I'm just going to stop talking now and sit down over here in the corner if that's OK with you WOULD YOU FUCKING SAY SOMETHING?"

"Potter, shut up."

"Yeah, OK, I'm talking too much. Only I'm nervous. My palms are sweaty and everything." He held them up for Snape to see. "And I'm acting like the world's biggest moron and I don't seem to be able to stop."

"You never could."

There! That was a twitch! The right corner of Snape's mouth...or is that the left corner? Harry tilted his head and squinted. Yeah, right corner. Twitched. That was definitely a twitch. That's good, right?

You always talk too much. Even when you have nothing to say. Especially when you have nothing to say.

God! Could everybody just shut up now? Harry wiped his palms against his jeans and silently begged Snape to speak.

Snape tilted his head, rubbed his eyelid with his middle finger, and sighed. "For fuck's sake. This is ridiculous. Get on your knees, boy!"

The last word snapped out like a lash and Harry jerked, falling to his knees like a marionette.

Snape stepped forward, undoing his flies and unbuttoning the old-fashioned combination underwear he wore underneath. Almost drunkenly, Harry's head fell back and his mouth opened. It was so simple. Snape hadn't even touched him yet but every nerve was singing. At that moment, he didn't have a wife. He didn't have children. Or notoriety. Or a past. Or a future. Or any friend but Snape, and Snape was surely no friend.

"So you managed to find your way back, whore?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "Yeah."

"Do you want this?" Snape asked, pulling his cock from his trousers.

Soft, Snape's penis was really nothing special, but Harry found himself salivating nonetheless. "Yeah."

A vein in Snape's temple pulsed. The Y-shaped vein on his forehead bulged and reminded Harry of his own lightning-bolt scar.

"Do not keep saying, 'Yeah'. Tell me what you want."

"You. I want you."

"Not good enough."

Harry knew what Snape expected, but there weren't words for everything he wanted – no amount of dirty talk would serve – there was only doing. Harry awkwardly moved forwards on his knees, close enough to press his cheek against the crease of Snape's trousers where thigh met groin. This close he could see the thick nest of wiry black hairs threaded with grey that framed Snape's cock. He could feel Snape's heat; inhale the musty, slightly sour odour of sweat. This close he could close his eyes and take Snape's cock in his mouth without using his hands.

Snape remained silent – neither assisting nor resisting, simply letting Harry do as he wished – until his cock was fully hard. Then he took Harry's head in his hands, holding him immobile as he began to fuck his mouth, each thrust slow and smooth, penetrating a little deeper every time until, almost without realising it, Harry was taking in the full length of him without choking.

"The mouth of a whore," Snape whispered. "You're better at this than you were. Have you been practising? Have you been indulging your sluttish greed, taking in every cock on offer?"

Harry wanted to protest, wanted to explain there had been no one since he'd done Snape in the loo, but he couldn't speak with Snape's cock in his mouth, couldn't shake his head with Snape's fingers tangled in his hair. He knew it wouldn't matter anyway, knew Snape didn't care if he had or hadn't, knew that – although he would never say anything of the sort – Snape appreciated him for all the shameful things he was.

After, when Snape had come with a muffled groan– in Harry's mouth this time, instead of on his face – Harry realised he had spent himself in his pants without even knowing it. Humiliated, he eased his body to the ground, turning away from Snape, and closed his eyes, wishing he could disappear. He was grateful when Snape was silent.

The clock's sixteen soft chimes seemed to gradually increase in volume and speed until Harry could no longer shut them out. He groaned as he struggled to sit upright and was surprised to discover Snape sitting on the floor beside him, a bare six inches separating their thighs, his back propped up against the wall.

"I counted sixteen. What kind of ridiculous clock does that? What time is it?"

"It chimes the quarter hours. Sixteen chimes on the hour. It should then strike the hour, but I don't care for that sound, so I silenced it." It was too much information given in a curiously listless voice that didn't sound at all like Snape. He didn't look at Harry when he answered, but instead looked down at his own hands as he twisted and stroked each knuckle in turn.

"So what time is it?" Already knowing he wouldn't like the answer, Harry had got to his feet and was pulling up his trousers.

"Five o'clock." Snape raised his head but his gaze still fell short of meeting Harry's eyes, focussing about chin level.

"Shit! I'm supposed to meet Ginny at five thirty! I'll never make it!" Harry looked around for his boots, not sure when or why he'd taken them off, then suddenly stilled his frantic movements. "I've got to go," he said quietly, willing Snape to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't want to."

Waving a hand dismissively, still not making eye contact, Snape said, "It doesn't matter. We're done here in any event."

"Yeah, but, God!" Harry squatted down in front of Snape and gingerly grasped one of his hands. Snape didn't pull his hand away, but neither was there any answering pressure. "I feel like an absolute berk running off so soon after..." He made a vague gesture, not sure of the right way to refer to what they'd done.

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape snapped, pulling his hand away from Harry and getting stiffly to his feet. "It's no different than grabbing an anonymous mouthful anywhere. You get what you came for and you leave. The simple fact that we once knew each other changes nothing. Don't make it more than it is."

Harry wanted to argue, but there just wasn't time. Ginny would be frantic. Or angry. Or both. An extraordinary feeling of euphoria seemed to bubble just under his skin and he dreaded the idea of it being lost in the throes of marital discord.

"I'm not making it more than it is, but I'd like to. I'd like to make it a lot more." He'd spoken without really thinking, but now, with the words still hanging in the air between them, he knew they were true. He'd found something today, something far bigger than the 'anonymous mouthful' Snape described, something bigger even than finding Snape alive. The idea of losing it before he even knew what it was frightened him.

Snape stooped, fished Harry's boots from under a chair and tossed them, hitting Harry in the stomach. "Go. Your wife is waiting."

"Can I come back?" He couldn't look at Snape and instead busied himself with pulling on his boots.

"I don't think that would be wise. Whatever it is you think you want, you won't find it here." Once again Snape's voice was flat, disinterested.

"We didn't discuss the spells for my project." It was a stupid thing to say, Harry knew. Learning the spells wasn't half so important as understanding what was going on between him and Snape.

"Ah, the spells. Your reason for being here. I'd nearly forgotten. I think the problem is quite easily resolved by–"

"I can't. Not now. I have to go. Let me come back. Please?" Harry's voice had taken on an embarrassing wheedling note. He shouldn't beg, Snape wouldn't respect begging, but Harry couldn't seem to stop himself. "Please? I can't lose you again."

"You don't have me to lose, Potter. You never did. Now, as you yourself pointed out, you have to go."

Feeling hopeless, Harry nodded. He walked to the door, opened it and stood hesitantly, staring out into the yellow glare of the sun. "I'll come back," he said aggressively, and then slammed the door behind him, cutting off whatever Snape might have said.

For a few seconds he stood on the doorstep, hoping the door would open, hoping the earth would swallow him, then took off running towards his motorcycle. The unfamiliar, giddy-making euphoria was back. Snape had said not to come back, but he didn't mean it, he couldn't have; no matter how ill-humoured he'd been, eventually he would have to recognise they stood on the threshold of something amazing.

Harry was almost buzzing with nervous, excited energy; he hadn't felt this alive since the war ended. It felt as if his feet weren't even touching the ground as he ran across the moss. He wanted to jump, whoop, punch something, kiss someone. If he'd been wearing a hat, he would have hurled it up into the air. In short, he felt terrific.

And he damned well needed to get a grip and calm down before he got to Manchester, or Ginny would surely know something was up.

~*~*~*~*~
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Sadness of Eros