• 1-Don't Let The Whirlwind Pass By
• 2-Chocolate Kisses
• 3-Making Friday Better (And Complicating The Rest Of The Week)
• 4-Unwanted Rescue
• 5-Back to Black
• 6-I Am Stretched on Your Grave
• 7-Tea, And Other Analogies.
• 8-Epilogue

A/N: Hello all *waves* Fingers of fury hit me yesterday and
so you have this today. Thank you for all your reviews:

Pittwitch
–cheers ;) Glad you’re reading another one!

Sheree
–I hope your fingernails have grown back a little bit, and knowing the chapter
title didn’t drive you too mad overnight.

hairsprayX12 –Hmm… wait and see. ;)

kai –It
didn’t work for Draco to find them out then, so I held it off, enjoying his
shock more without letting any anger into play.

Abbi cee –thank
you! So many questions there… I’ll leave you to make your own assumptions about
the L word after this chapter, though.

Seraphime
–Yes, they’ve been playing a very long game of tug of war, haven’t they? I
can’t say it gets any easier in this chapter…

Davinci –ooh, hope you had a lovely holiday!
Yes, you’re right, everything has hit Severus suddenly. And
keeps hitting him in this chapter. And well, you know our Sev is a man
of action…

Lady Zombie –what
gets me is that I wrote about men playing with vegetables during sex and you’re
hung up on Ron in a bloody corset?! And I’ll tell you what we do… we take that
image, and then that one of Severus in sequins I drummed up in the review for
WIB and then there is the potential for an ‘oh crap it, a spell went wrong’ fic which would be fun for all. Also, your descriptions of
S with the toothbrush did have me considering it… but you’ll find out someone
rather agrees with your assessment of him. ;)

Talley –cuddly
and clingy Ron is my favourite type! As for seeing them as part of his
punishment, he thinks it *is* but actually, he *is* seeing Harry, at least.

On with the show –in which S has a really bad night and his
day does not get any better. Enjoy… one more chapter left xx

--------

Severus moved into the
room, his feet moving slower than he thought humanly possible. Before him on
the bed lay a slumped figure. The sheets around it were drenched in crimson. He
blinked, wondering why everything was in greyscale, apart from the blood, and
messy mop of red hair spilled over a pillow.

His breath caught in
his throat, his heart hammered in his chest, but still his feet would move no
faster.

The huddled form on
the bed whimpered a ragged sound of regret from a weak throat.

Instinctively reaching
for his wand, Severus’ hand groped around empty space inside his robes, and
with the horrifying realisation that the salvation was missing, his feet
unglued from the floor and he flew to the bed, his thighs bumping into the edge
of the mattress.

“No,” his words were a
defiant murmur as he reached forward and grabbed the man on the bed, one knee
rising to rest on the edge; blood surged up out of the padding with the
pressure.

He lifted the body in
his hands, red liquid instantly staining his fingers and the man whimpered
again. His head flopped back and Ron’s features, though coloured in grey, were
deadly pale, his eyes half open and fluttering, lips moving in a continual
soundless murmur.

“Ron,” he spoke the
man’s name for the first time and his chest was consumed with ice as his eyes
took in the slashes at pivotal points on the thin body. “Oh,
God.”

He heard his voice as
a begging whine, even though he knew there was little point. He had no wand,
there was too much blood lost, and the facial movement grew less with every
passing second.

“Don’t, I thought it was better, I thought we made it better?” Severus
committed his body to the bed and cradled Ron in his arms, stroking his hair.

A slight shudder
passed through the redhead, a tiny, almost inaudible gasp emitting from his
parted lips, and then-

“AAAAAAAAAAARGHFUCKINGMERLINNOOOOOO!”

Severus blinked in shock at the dark bedroom, his breath
juddering hard in his chest, throat stinging from his roaring scream of terror.
He gulped at the cold air, refusing to shut his eyes, knowing that when he did
the bloody nightmare would be imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. He became
aware of the sweat beading all over his body when his skin began to tingle from
the chilly temperature of the room, and something wet dripped of the end of his
chin and plopped bluntly onto his thigh.

Jumping, he flew back to his senses. Realising he had pushed
the duvet off when he’d flown upright, he looked down at his naked body with
shock as though he had never seen it before. Reaching a shaking hand upward to
brush at his face he was staggered to find it dripping with tears.

Fucking
hell. When was the last time
you cried?

Tears were something Severus had forced himself to put aside
when his Patronus had changed. After the initial bout of agonized weeping and
wailing, he had made a stern promise to himself that he would never be moved to
tears again. And sitting in his bedroom with his eyes still leaking, he
realised he had shattered his promise with barely any conscious effort from
himself at all.

He looked at the clock and saw it was just past three in the
morning. It was then that he felt eyes upon him and looked sideways to see
Artemis curled up on Ron’s pillow, staring with inquisitive eyes searching for
what was wrong with her usually stalwart owner.

And, it is not Ron’s pillow.

“Ron.” The name was a dark mutter and the room swallowed it,
but the resonance in Severus’ mind was far deeper. With a gasp of fear he flung
his arm out for his wand on the bedside table and forced himself to focus
enough to bring up his Patronus. He ignored Artemis’ welcoming meow to the
creature and programmed it with a short, shaking message to Ron, asking if he
was alright and could he answer as soon as possible. “Don’t leave until you get
him up and answering,” Severus instructed the shimmering cat, and lowered his
wand. It faded away and he sucked in another breath.

He dropped the stick of wood onto the mattress and buried
his face in his hands, drying the tears with a rough scrub of skin-on-skin. He
found, however, that he felt hardly any better with them gone. Collapsing back
on the mattress only dislodged the tense brick which resembled his stomach and
a wave of nausea battered against him. Severus clamped a hand over his mouth,
fighting back the rolling motions and breathed deeply through his nose,
squeezing his eyes tight together.

However with telltale bitterness in his throat it became
clear that it wasn’t going to work and he was forced to throw himself out of the bed and dodge around the difficult
corners of his house to choke up in the toilet.

Tears and vomit…
Christ alive, clearly a night for fucking long-time firsts.

Coughing a few more times, Severus straightened, resting one
hand on the bathroom wall for support. The air of the bathroom was damper and
colder, freshening the vile taste in his mouth. When
he felt stronger he reached for the bottle of mouthwash on the sink and knocked
a sizable amount back, swilling it around his teeth and the top of his throat
with vigour, spitting hard down the plughole.

With the taste successfully abated a shiver passed through
him and he moved back into the bedroom, where the cat gave him another worried
look. Sliding back into the bed and drawing the duvet back up over his body,
Severus’ head hit the pillow and turned to look at her on the adjacent one.

“I don’t know,” he said bluntly, causing her to blink once
and then settle her head down again, instantly making for the land of nod.

Thank you so much for
your extended consideration… The bitter thought swirled in his mind as he
exhaled. Severus lay in the darkness for a few minutes before anxiety assaulted
him, clenching his stomach once more with the realisation that Ron had not yet
answered his Patronus.

If he’s asleep, she
might not be able to wake him up. And then what? Stuck
here till morning heaving your guts up out of fear?

Groaning, his eyes slid shut but they flew open again when
his suspicions were proved correct, and all he saw was blood surrounding a
deathly pale Ron and he suffered the desperation all over again.

However, Severus found he was able to fight the nausea when
it came and kept it at bay through controlled breathing. What he could not manage,
though, was the torrent of thoughts pounding around his mind, each as confusing
as the next.

Why the fuck am I
dreaming about his suicide in such vivid colour?

Because
you’re terrified of the reality of such a situation.

Answering his own question, Severus focussed up at the
bedroom ceiling.

Why now, why tonight,
unless it was prophetic? In which case, I am too late, and he’s gone.

Even you cannot
control what your mind dreams without the aid of a potion, Severus.

Another question answered and his eyes flicked to the window,
which offered no solace with its drawn curtains.

If he is dead, then
that’s it… he’s gone… his warmth and kisses and that damnable backside… gone.

And why do you care so
much?

Hissing slightly, Severus realised his own mind was going to
offer him no comfort at all now it had started questioning his questions.

A sleeping draught
would put an end to this idiocy.

You don’t want to
sleep. You want to wait for his Patronus and make sure he’s alive.

There was no arguing with that assessment. Without knowing
where Ron lived, it was all he could do. And the redhead still hadn’t told him,
mainly because, and Severus wanted to punish himself for his own stupidity as
he realised the fact, he had never actually asked.

Which
is utterly bizarre considering the fact that your impossible draw to the boy
has been growing ridiculously quickly ever since you lost him his job.

He’s not a boy, he’s a
man. Experience has given him the intelligence he lacked as a boy, and even
then he had his loyalty. You need not dismiss him because of your past
perceptions.

Severus looked at the clock and realised fifteen minutes had
passed since he had sent his Patronus and his stomach tightened further.

Your worry is futile.
If he is already dead, or has already cut, then what can you do? His soul has
already slipped away like smoke in the wind and his body will be found when the
rent is unpaid.

His mind did not deflect the assessment that time and his
fists clenched tightly in what he realised was fear.

What am I afraid of?
This is nothing, it’s not a relationship, and it never can be that if he’s
still alive. So why, why am I torturing myself like this?

Again no answer came and he was forced to consider the
possibilities by himself.

Say he’s alive. Say he
comes to me the next time. And again, and again. He is
young and his heart nubile. Last time I saw the start of our connection
deepening. It will go further. Add to that he is hurt. Feelings will turn into
what he believes is love. And then…

Severus nervously swallowed as he breathed through his
contemplation.

And then I am faced
with my own decision. If I cannot return those feelings everything will break
again. We are trapping ourselves into incontrovertible hell by continuing this.
I will find myself unable to love him but unwilling to release him, and he
unable to fall out of love with me as his liberator…

Growling at his revelation, he flung a hand up and rubbed
viciously at his eyes and moved it downward to smooth over his mouth, tugging
at the dry skin of his lips as he did so. His mind batted about the desolate
thoughts before they were roughly shoved aside by images he seldom allowed
himself to consider.

Christmases,
birthdays, anniversaries… a family… possibly closer within your reach than it
has ever been, Severus…

The thought dangled, a great temptation on a puppet string
before him, simply waiting for him to reach out and grab it to peruse the desires
it contained.

The image of a happier, healthier Ron chased away the
bloodied deceased version from his closed eyelids, and it became a mawkish
description of everything his mind assumed would be on offer. The fuller body
wrapped around his own and held him tightly, the face pressed into his neck so
vividly that Severus could almost feel the lips caressing his skin. They were
in a house, his house, but clearly their joint home, and the warmth and
happiness was almost stifling. The image mutated into them breathing raggedly
against one another in bed, sweat on their skin, looks of pure sated pleasure
on their open faces. It changed again, randomly blossoming into the two of them
walking through a wooded area, the silence between them peaceful and poignant.

A snore from Artemis broke him out of the fantasy and he
started, his head falling to the side to look at the clock. More minutes had
passed and his innards felt iron-welded into their current state of tension.

And the
possibility of all that depends on one thing, Severus. You embracing your
sexuality.

Scowling, Severus thumped his fist into the mattress, hating
that his mind had managed to shatter the beautiful vision he had found solace
in.

If you want the vision
back, come out. Stop hiding. Nothing between you will work if you choose not
to.

He essentially knew that was the truth. If he continued to
act behind his masquerade of heterosexuality, he would find himself further
trapped, unwilling to leave the house with his partner for anything which resembled a date, nor would anybody be able to visit
his house.

Only Draco ever visits
and after New Year’s Eve, he already knows.

Mildly comforted by that thought, Severus chewed on the
inside of his cheek in reflection.

Seriously, who on
earth is going to care?

The words were frank.

Nobody gives a damn
about me, so why on earth should they care whether I’m gay, straight or
buggering nothing but my mattress?

Severus had always wondered if his lack of definition had
been his problem. His mind was scientific and he had often shied away from
anything he could not explain with a formula or logical fact. He had presumed
that was why his mind was so unreceptive to the paranormal, because despite all
of their great intelligence, the wizarding world had never come up with a
sturdy enough description for him to be able to swallow the existence of
ghosts. Even though they had been before his eyes for years in the form of the
Hogwarts house spirits, his mind seemed happy to blank them.

So then, what am I?
Where do I fit in the great cosmic joke of defined sexuality? I doubt there is
a category for desperate. Or desolate. Or ‘unable to express
his sexual needs’. Or-

His mental self-flagellation was abruptly cut off by a cold
brush against his face and his eyes flew open. The shimmering Jack Russell
terrier had just licked his face to gain attention, and Severus’ heart burst
into overdrive, thudding hard with relief.

The dog spoke with a sleepy tone:

“Yes, Severus, I’m
alive, you twat. I’m also awake. Thanks to you. I had just fallen asleep. Would
you like me to come over, you sounded cut up?”

Severus was so relieved he couldn’t even feel guilty for
disrupting the redhead’s much needed slumber. He picked up his wand and called
up his cat and imparted the message.

“No. I’m sorry for waking you up. I’m glad you are okay.
Goodnight.”

His cat faded and he exhaled with relief, feeling all the
muscles through his body relax to the point where he seemed almost boneless.

“Thank fucking Merlin for that,” he whispered the words
aloud and followed them up with a bitter little laugh at his own expense.

His body was too sparked by the activity, he realised, for
returning to sleep to be an option. Looking up at the ceiling again he realised
he could make good use of the time to brew if he could marshal the anxiety out
of his body and keep his thoughts under control. It never helped to have a
wandering mind sitting over a bubbling cauldron, in his younger years he had
kissed goodbye to his eyebrows far too many times to have not learned his
lesson over that particular notion of
carelessness.

Yes, and when you were
younger you also would have been fondling yourself five minutes ago as a way to
release the stress…

Severus thought about it, his hand suddenly tingling in
anticipation, and his index finger twitched as though eager to comply with his
needs.

I even feel the need
to control this need, the art of self-pleasure… Christ, what on earth happened
to me?

Defiantly he grabbed hold of his flaccid penis and took a
deep breath, forcing his mind into sexier realms in order to get the blood flow
south. Easily his mind flooded with images of the sensual redheaded male who
had graced his bed over the past week and he groaned thinking about the way Ron
looked when he came. Beginning to stroke, Severus licked his lips and spread
his legs.

As usual, though, he found that his mind could not be
content with the memories of events past and reached forth into his fantasies,
dragging out a dark room lit only by flickering candles. His imagination burst
forth into action, placing him in a high backed chair, tethered to the wood at
his wrists, ankles and neck, completely naked.

Feeling the usual blush grace his cheeks, Severus resolutely
ignored it and masterfully stroked his now fully grown erection, tightening his
grip and making himself hiss in pleasure.

Severus had never detailed the scene playing out in his
mind, one of submission and promised humiliation, to anybody. He had
purposefully held it back from Ron and cherished the fact that they remained
his own fantasies, his own indulgence. He was fairly sure he would never be
able to cope if they became reality.

“I asked you not to
disobey me,” the imagining voice was thick and low, he thought he might
recognise it. “And yet the table over
there is anointed with your seed.”

“Master, I apologise,
I-“

“Speak when spoken
to,” the voice was a growl and Severus whimpered in response to it, setting
his other hand to cup at his bollocks as he pumped away at his cock.

The submissive version of himself in his head fell dutifully
silent as the figure tormenting him sank gracefully to his knees, and then
looked up into his face. Severus wasn’t shocked to see that for the first time
in his life, the figure finally had a face –a pale, freckle-dusted face topped
with styled red hair and was adorned with glittering eyes and full sumptuous
lips.

“Ron,” his moan sank into the ceiling faster than he could
be embarrassed by it.

“This is for your
disobedience,” Ron spoke with narrowed eyes, and deftly slipped a cock ring
into place. His imagination startlingly vibrant, Severus could almost feel it squeezing
his skin in reality. “And make sure you
learn your lesson.”

Severus arched up in the bed imagining the plump lips
stretching wide around his cock and suckling at the end of it, a wet tongue
sneaking out periodically to torture his slit. He brushed his thumb over it,
hissing at the sting it created and forced himself to endure the painful bliss
again and again.

“I should leave you
here,” Ron pulled off and scowled up at him, his eyes deadly cold and to
Severus’ utter delight, completely serious. “Leave
you here trapped and hard. I’d leave you long enough to beg for release.”

Fully aware that he was full-on moaning to an empty room by
that point, his voice a continual rise and fall of desire, Severus felt his climax
approaching and tamed the fantasy to suit his impatient need.

“But I am not that
cruel. Are you sorry?”

“Yes, master,”
Severus shivered at the way his own voice was so utterly truthful, the feeling
of such complete submission making his words every bit as heartfelt as the
redhead’s threats of abandonment had been. “I
am sorry, please, please let me come…”

Gasping hard, the cold air of the bedroom raping the back of
his throat, Severus fisted firmly on his shaft, the usual fire gripping hold of
his belly and thighs as it built.

“Then I will grant you
your release, this time…” Ron’s fingers vanished the ring with a single
tap, and then the fantasy flew far, far away as Severus’ orgasm became very
real, ripping up through his cock and jerking out of him, causing his mouth to
part and his moan to beat in time to the pulses of come leaving his body.

Everything tensed in the few moments it took for him to
spend himself over his hand. Then, as though someone had pulled out his
internal structure, he sagged backwards into the mattress, his breathing all
over the place and his hair stuck once more to the back of his neck with sweat.

Coherent thought remained out of his grasp as he panted,
images of Ron’s power drifting hazily through his mind. His fingers were still
clenched around his cock and Severus couldn’t make himself let go, even though
the sensation was far too much after such a powerful finish.

Gods… I…  another first, that
person has never had a face before.

He swallowed hard and managed to release his hold on his
member. Feeling the sticky come between his fingers as his hand slackened to a
normal posture had him reaching for his wand to clean up the mess,
even though once it was done he did not move from his spread position.

What does that mean? I
want him to dominate me and whip the shit out of me on a nightly basis, holding
back my orgasms and taking everything for himself?

Severus realised that he definitely did not want that when a
shudder of revulsion rocked through his body and he was grateful for it –the
thought of submitting himself to anybody in such a way in reality made him
sick. As long as it remained fantasy, however, he felt able to deal with it,
even if the redhead was suddenly his new master.

The wank was meant to
get rid of your tension, not complicate everything tenfold. Well done, Severus,
even when you try for relaxation you manage to whip up a veritable whirlwind of
inner turmoil.

“Why the fuck can’t I just be normal?!” Severus growled
aloud to the room, his eyes flying open with the anger suddenly coursing
through his bloodstream. “Why does everything
have to be such a major upheaval?”

He threw himself upright, cursing under his breath his complete
inability to adapt to a situation.

And it doesn’t fucking
help that there is absolutely nobody
that I can discuss this with, other than him, and he doesn’t deserve to have my
monotonous breakdown on his shoulders.

It was a moment before Severus realised that he had catapulted
himself into the space near the window and was pacing up and down in it,
prowling completely naked, with his not-quite-softened cock dangling at his
crotch emitting random throbs. Fists clenched tightly, he made himself stop and
take some deep breaths.

The pacing motion gave him cause to think back to the past,
of all the times he spent pacing up and down at Hogwarts, in front of two desks
in particular.

Oh, God, no.

He growled in exasperation and buried his face in his hands,
knowing that once the idea fully struck him, his nature would not allow him to
cast it off as a bad one.

Now is probably the
time to accept one of the many invitations you’ve left unopened to go and have
a chat with Albus’ portrait.

“No,” Severus told himself loudly. “The old fucking meddler
will just pry and make everything worse.”

Or, like fucking
usual, the old codger will probably have some profound advice for you, which
you will take, as you always have, and tomorrow will be better for it.

Even the cat woke up at the spouted vitriol that shouted out
of his mouth after that.

***

“I must say, Severus, this is certainly a surprise,” Minerva
McGonagall waved him into the seat in front of her desk. “It’s been at least
four years…”

Severus nodded politely at her. “I must confess to having
put off his invitation,” he said quietly. “I have, after all, tried to move on
with my life.”

“Completely understandable,” she gave him a tight smile
which didn’t reach her eyes, and Severus inwardly moaned at the extended
pleasantries that old acquaintance commanded.

“Where exactly is
Albus?” his eyes flicked up to the empty portrait frame and hoped that the old
man was at least somewhere in the castle.

He had waited as long as he could for the arrival of an hour
considered acceptable for social calling, methodically brewing, eating
breakfast, scouring the morning’s copy of the Prophet, bathing and finally dressing,
all at an infuriatingly slow speed. Then he had immediately contacted Minerva
through the fire and entered the old office it felt like he had spent much of
his life visiting.

It was slightly more feminine than when Albus and he himself
had inhabited the space, with touches of family photographs on the desk,
differently inscribed personal stationery waiting on the desk to be utilised
and the perpetual tin of biscuits that had once sat on her desk when she worked
as a mere deputy alongside him.

“We’ve had to set up a private room,” her age-withered hand
indicated a new door off to the office’s left. “As you can imagine, after the
war plenty of people wanted to speak with him in private, without interruption
from the other portraits. So we set up an empty frame for him to move between
the two. He’s taken to sleeping in there, for some reason. Feel free,” she motioned
towards it.

All Severus had wanted was for her to stop speaking and give
him Albus Dumbledore, but faced with the moment he found himself staring rather
warily at the door, wondering just what he was letting himself in for.

A feeling I’ve had hundreds
of times before…

He rose to his feet and gave Minerva polite nod and moved to
the door. His fingers were burning as he pushed it open, his mind awash with
plans trying to decide a way to explain his situation. Albus had always been
intuitive, and perhaps the only person
other than Severus’ mother that had been able to see through his tough exterior
to the mess within.

Well, I suppose Ron
should also be added to that list now. He knows because he takes the time and
care to look.

Shutting the door with a gentle click, he looked up and
found a very plain room with a comfortable chair and Albus’ portrait on the
wall. Minerva’s estimation had been correct; the wizened figure was slumped in
his frame, snoring loudly, his mouth slightly parted.

Fighting down the bizarre urge to laugh, Severus cleared his
throat hoping it would be enough to wake up the sleeping art.

But no, the old swine
never did like to make things easy for me, did he?

“Albus?” He spoke resignedly. “It’s
me, Severus.”

Bright blue eyes instantly popped open and the body jumped
slightly, and then Severus found himself under the scrutiny of a dead man he
had not seen for five years.

Muggles have this
right. The dead stay dead. They don’t linger on to interrupt your life
continually in a fucking swirl of artistic oil paints.

“Severus, dear God. I had completely given up hope!” Albus’
voice was full of very real surprise.

“Oh, come on Albus,” Severus dropped into the high-backed
armchair with a groan borne of his early morning wake-up call. “We both know
you’ve just been waiting for me to be man enough to come.

“Some things never change, eh?” Albus twinkled at him, and
Severus wasn’t shocked to find his blood already prickling with irritation.
“Still beating yourself into the ground, then, dear
boy?”

“It would seem so,” he rested his elbow on the arm of the
chair, supporting his chin with his hand. He crossed one leg over the other for
something to do.

“I sense your visit is due to a problem you need my advice
on?”

“No, I merely thought it was time to gain some closure,”
Severus lied, not really sure for whose benefit he was bothering to do so.

“Oh, well, in that case…”

Albus led him in a pleasant conversation discussing the
past, asking about his life, where he worked, where he lived, how he was, was he married or did he have a
partner, how was Draco, was he
married or did he have a partner… the inane talk rambled on for half an hour
before they came to a halt and simply looked at one another.

“Severus, you’d be a fool to assume that because I am
talking to you from behind this canvas that I cannot still tell when you are in
turmoil over something.”

Heaving a sigh, Severus let his elevated foot return to the
ground and he kept his eyes on the floor.

“Albus,” the word was full of power and determination, but
it all sapped away for the next words. “Did you ever have suspicions concerning
my sexuality?”

“Many, Severus. And every attempt
to broach the subject was skilfully extinguished by your well-constructed
shield.”

“Well, consider the shield down,” Severus muttered.

“So, you have decided to come into the open about it?” Albus
asked gently.

“I don’t know,” Severus confessed. “I have a… well.”

“I sense there is a thrilling tale here, am I right?”

“I’m not so sure about thrilling, Albus, you’ll probably be
rather disappointed in me by the end of it.”

“Which tells me that you are disappointed
in yourself.”

Severus’ hand clenched into a fist and he knocked it into
his lips to fight through the nerves. “Since the war I have visited an
institution equipped to satisfy the needs I have always denied.”

“Well, haven’t we all, once or twice?” Albus tried to put
him at ease.

“And there I found someone, who has long been missing and is
actually thought deceased, working. I was shocked, repulsed and I should have
left that evening and never returned.”

“But if you hadn’t, you would not be sitting in front of
me,” was the astute assessment.

“Yes,” Severus kept his eyes down. “I visited him more
often, until at one point I welcomed him into my own home.”

“Considering that we were friends for many years and you
never invited me into your personal inner sanctum once, Severus, I fully
comprehend the gravity of that situation,” Albus’ voice was lightly teasing.

“And since then… well. At Christmas, I arrived for my
appointment to find him horribly abused.”

“Was this a Muggle establishment?”

“No, the foolish idiot is bent on self-destruction and
refused physical protection in order to punish himself,” Severus hissed. “He
wants to die but cannot find it within himself to end it by his own hand. I think he
believes, however it happens, he should suffer…”

“Poor man,” Albus sighed. “Not a well soul at all.”

“No,” Severus agreed. “In trying to keep him safe, I managed
to lose him his position. And now I have… we have… well. He comes to my house
regularly and we are both starting to feel more for each other than we should.”

“Who is to say what you should or shouldn’t feel?” Albus
questioned. “Is there a reason why this can go no further?”

“I don’t see how it can,” Severus finally looked up at him.
“He… his family are prominent, and yet he sees going home as a… well, if he
goes home he sees it as giving up on his path of punishment, and is also faced
with the reality of his most recent employment hurting them.”

“Are you prepared to give me a name?” Albus asked.

“Absolutely not,” Severus shook his head and hardened his
eyes.

“You do not trust me?”

“Albus, no, frankly not.”

“I should have expected no less,” the man laughed, shaking
his head slightly. “But what do you want from me, Severus, if you did not come
for my help?”

Severus faltered completely and hung his head, tucking his
chin into his robes. “I just felt…”

“As though you were alone?”

He gave a jerk of his head and fell silent.

“Why can’t you keep meeting at your home?” Albus pressed on.

“Because we will begin to feel far too much for one another,
it has already started… I do not want him to become too attached to me, Albus.”

“No, you mean you
do not want to become too attached to him,”
the old man corrected.

“His family really do present a problem. He doesn’t want to
go back to them, I am sure of that. But if they got wind of the fact that I was
harbouring him… after all these years…”

“Severus, have you considered that maybe you need to take
the initial steps of contact for him?”

Severus’ dark head snapped up and made eye contact with the
portrait again. He couldn’t deny that he hadn’t thought about it in the dark
night hours, of returning Ron to his family. Deep down, he knew in his heart
that was what the redhead needed, familial safety and love. But that meant his own isolation, again.

“Must I always be the man that sacrifices his wants and
needs?” his voice was morose, he knew.

“What makes you so sure, Severus, that it would be such a sacrifice?”

“He would loathe me. If I make that move, he would never
forgive me. It was hard enough when I lost him his job.”

“I think maybe you place too much pessimism on your young
lover,” Albus said shortly. “You have always been that way, quick to understand
your own interpretations as solid actions.”

“He is passionate enough, Albus, to hold that grudge
forever. And I would not blame him –it is a betrayal of trust, the very basic
concepts of given confidence!”

“Or, Severus, maybe you should consider that he is
passionate enough to forgive you for it?”

“Doubtful, he is too torn inside to be hurt further.”

“Much like yourself, Severus,”
Albus sighed heavily. “I believe you know the answer here, and so unlike you,
you are too afraid to make the leap.”

“I am no coward,” anger roiled suddenly in Severus’ belly.
“Have six years behind that canvas made everything that I sacrificed for you
fall out of your brilliant mind?”

“Alas, Severus –being afraid is not tantamount to cowardice.
You are strong and loving, and yet you will not embrace the latter attribute
with anybody inhabiting the living realm…”

“Lily is not the obstacle here. Albus, I have moved on. Even
my Patronus has changed,” Severus glared up at him. “Five years have passed;
you do not know me as you did.”

“Then why are you here?” Albus asked pointedly.

Severus paused, trying to muster defiant words. But his
shoulders slumped and he let out a groan, replying, “Because you know me.”

“Quite right,” Albus chirped, sounding pleased. “Now. I can tell that your feelings for this man run deeper
than you care to admit to me, Severus, and don’t you dare argue that fact.”

Severus closed his mouth which had fallen open to do just
that.

“I believe, though, that this man is reaching out to you for
help. If he did not want it, if he did not want your affection, I hardly think
he would have returned to you after you cost him his only means of employment.”

“He was being treated like a slab of meat,” Severus
protested. “I couldn’t leave him there, Albus!”

“I was not passing judgement, merely stating what I see as
the obvious,” Albus said, his hand raised in a
placating gesture. “But I think, in light of what you have told me… I think
this man is asking for your help, whether he knows it or not. I think that you
need to overlook your own fears of losing him and do what you know is right, in
returning him to the people who love and miss him.”

“But then…” Severus’ voice quietened to a whisper.

“But what about you?” Albus said it
for him.

Severus nodded, dropping his eyes once more, his chest thick
with the miserable prospect of Ron never knocking on his front door again.

“Severus, might I speak plainly, with the knowledge that
when this offends you your wand and fists will be unable to harm me?”

“Oh, Godric,” Severus buried his face in one hand and waved
Albus on with the other.

“My boy, it is time to stop acting a neurotic tart and do
what is best for the both of you.”

Severus choked, coughed and forced his eyes upwards to where
Albus was smiling at him. And then, quite madly, it sounded to himself in the
small room, he laughed.

“If you do not make this step for him,” Albus laid on his
best bargaining voice which Severus recognised despite their years apart. “What
will happen, hmm? You will cut yourself more deeply inside with every visit,
making yourself wonder if you are doing the best by him, until you become so
cold to the poor chap he will run away and you will both lose what you enjoy.”

“And when I make contact with his family,” Severus pointed
out, “We’ll both lose it anyway.”

“You believe that,” Albus sighed. “I do not.”

“Your great obsession with hope still hasn’t been quashed
then?” Severus gave a half-hearted sneer. “Not even after the death of your
protégée when it seemed all was well and done?”

“And I see your disregard for the boy Harry Potter was
hasn’t either,” Albus’ tone hardened. “Really, Severus, you still hold onto all your old grudges, after all this time? No
wonder you assume your young lover will do the same. You always would
superimpose your feelings into the minds and actions of others.”

“I feel less inclined to peruse them these days,” Severus
confessed. “But that they still exist I cannot deny.”

“For you, Severus, I am thrilled to say that is a pleasing
enough start,” Albus winked.

“So I should rat him out to his family, then?” Severus said,
after a few moments of silence between them.

“I know you agree with me that it is for the best.”

“He’s young, not even twenty-four yet,” Severus breathed.
“He doesn’t know if he’s gay or straight even though men have used his body for
years. He sees… well. Look, you don’t need to know any more.”

“Twenty-three, you say?” Albus asked.

“Mm,” Severus was suddenly afraid he had given away far too
much.

“I will have Minerva keep an eye on the newspaper for me,”
Albus said finally, after fixing Severus with the penetrating stare which he
absolutely hated, and always had done. “To see if there are any long lost sons
homecoming…”

“He’ll never forgive me,” Severus got to his feet, hiding
his hands so that Albus could not see them shaking.

“Well, Severus, plenty of young men have hated you. And
what’s more, you have hated yourself.”

“You’re implying that one more will make no difference?”
Severus scoffed, hurt.

“No, from the look in your eyes, Severus, I know it will
make a very great deal of difference. I count on it for your survival and
possible return to humanity.”

“Unlikely,” Severus shook his head and moved to the door.

“Just because you have relinquished your hold on one kind of
love, Severus,” Albus got to his feet in the portrait. “It does not mean you
should prevent yourself from embracing another.”

Severus flicked him a dark look and reached for the door
handle.

“Do not leave it so long, next time,” Albus called. “I have
missed you, Severus.”

I am not giving you
the satisfaction of knowing that I also missed you, seeing as you inadvertently
orchestrated my death.

“The fact that you came here at all tells me just how much
you missed me, so don’t think your dignified silence resembles the moral high
ground, either,” Dumbledore laughed, and then left his frame.

Oh, bollocks.

***

Severus hadn’t intended to be walking through the streets
that he currently did, he only knew that from the second he had left Albus’
office there had been no other possible place for him to ruminate over his
decision.

The same compunctions which had driven him to the school
that morning were now driving him forth to his second destination, and also
forcing him to consider Albus’ words over Ron.

It was no surprise, therefore, that his throat was thick
with emotion, and he could tell he wouldn’t be able to speak without
constriction. He paused as he crossed the centre of the square, his eyes
alighting on the statue in the middle. Severus had not been there in years,
never allowed himself near after the agony of his first and only visit. He
continued on his way, noticing the snow thick on the ground.

The cold did not touch him as he walked, the robes he had
chosen to wear swishing along the ground, collecting dirt and snow on their
hem, but he did not care. He extended a gloved hand and pushed open the gate,
weaving his hips around the structure and pushing it gently to behind him. And
then he was faced with the graveyard in its snowy entirety, and his breath
caught in his chest.

Despite the fact that the ground was blanketed in white, he
found his way to his destination with ease, his feet carrying him faster than
he wanted them to. He almost laughed at the comparison to his dream that
morning, where his feet had been unable to help him save Ron from dying until
it was too late. Remembering where he was, however, he kept his face solemn and
made his way to the location he recalled without trouble.

His eyes alighted on three stones, one much newer than the
other two. Severus had known it would be waiting for him, but there was little
he could have done to prepare himself, he realised, for seeing Harry Potter’s
grave for the first time. He forced himself to focus on what was now the centre
stone, and he stepped carefully between the graves to wipe the snow off the
inscription. Lily’s name smoothed into view and he sighed, seeing that the snow
had covered the left marker as well.

Bury the hatchet,
Severus. Bury the hatchet. Today, more than ever, you should do this.

He took a deep breath, reached over, and cleared the white
clinging powder from James Potter’s tombstone. Severus half expected his hand
to burn painfully or the flesh to melt away from the bone, but there was
nothing, only his own sense of disbelief and the wind rattling around the
graveyard.

Taking a step back to look at the three graves as a trio, he
noticed a smaller stone to the side of Harry’s, the engraving every bit as
fresh. Stepping closer, Severus crouched down to be able to read the small
script.

‘For
Hermione Jean Granger, the brightest witch of her age. Never forgotten, never loved more than at this
moment.’

Severus saw his shaky breath rise in the freezing air. It
was obvious that the girl was not buried in the graveyard.

Muggleborn, her parents probably had a cremation.

Even though he lacked sentiment, Severus couldn’t deny it
was a touching finish that Hermione had her place alongside Harry for eternity.
He sighed and was about to rise when he noticed that the lower half of the
stone protruded slightly, and he reached out his fingers. Snow smeared away to
reveal a newer gold plaque.

Severus knew what he had discovered before his eyes even found
the name.

‘For Ronald Bilius Weasley, much loved son and brother. We have a
feeling we never told you just how much, or often enough. You are in our
memories forever.’

“Oh, sweet fucking God,” Severus forced himself to a
standing position and looked down at the plaque with his hands clamped over his
mouth.

The thought that Ron’s family had finally given up on him
made his stomach turn, as it had become so used to doing since he had found
Ronald Weasley whoring his body in the seedy Knockturn
brothel.

They have actually
given up on their son and to send him back would be to… Oh, Jesus Christ.

Severus didn’t realise he had begun pacing again, making a
path in the snow at the end of the memorials for the people who had all died
far, far too young. Thoughts flew through his mind with indecent speed and his
throat was throbbing with his restraint, trying to keep from screaming or
sobbing.

“What do I do?” he asked aloud. “What the hell do I do?”

Of course there was no answer but the wind ruffling the
trees. Severus stared in anguish at Harry’s stone and let out a bitter breath.

“You couldn’t have stayed alive for him, could you? You couldn’t have kept him
safe? Why did you have to leave it for me? Was my servitude to you not e-fucking-nough, Potter?!”

His words were twisted with scorn and he had to rein his
temper in, sure that the residents of Godric’s Hollow
would not appreciate an insane madman kicking the hell out of their graveyard’s
most revered resident’s memorial.

“Five years I managed to live a relatively simple life,” he
hissed. “Five years. And you are still messing
things up for me, Potter.” He found himself unsure as to which of the three he
was talking.

The vehemence melted away and he walked up to crouch down by
Lily once more. “And you. What do you think of all this? I know I made a mess
of myself but do you think I’d be doing the right thing? Or should I keep him,
try for happiness whilst I can?”

The only answer was the big fat snowflake which landed on
his nose, and Severus brushed it away as more flakes fell around his head.

“I hate snow,” he muttered, standing up and looking around
at them. “I hate snow, and I hate how everything has to be so fucking
complicated. And no, Potter, I don’t give a damn that I’m swearing in a church
graveyard,” he added conversationally to Harry’s stone.

And that’s it, the
final step to my obviously long time coming insanity, talking to the fucking
dead, who really, truly are not listening. Get a fucking grip, Severus!

He gulped hard at the freezing air and jumped suddenly when
the church bell tolled the hour behind him. The snow began to fall harder and
settled over what he had cleared. His feet moved him unwillingly back to the
new gold plate which bore the words from Ron’s family and he knelt down
properly in front of it, wet seeping through his robes to freeze his legs.

The last time I
visited this place I was knelt sobbing in front of another tombstone. Another
redhead’s stone. But this one isn’t dead. He’s alive, his heart beats like mad
when he gets excited and he’s a furnace of heat.

He knew where his train of thought was carrying him and it
made his throat ache in further agony. He yanked off the glove on his hand and
touched his fingers to the icy plaque, running the tips over Ron’s name,
feeling how new and deep the etchings were. He wished he knew just how fresh it actually was.

It would make no
difference. You have to do this, to give those people their son back, and give
their son his chance for life back.

The words were true, even though he would once have labelled
them sanctimonious drivel. Despite their honest resonance, they didn’t dull the
pain in his throat or the way that his chest was catching up. If anything, he
realised, at least his actions could get the miserable plaque removed.

And give them the
chance to tell them they love him again.

“Enough with the sentimental bullshit,” he growled at
himself, and made to push off the ground, his head facing the snow.

His eyes caught something, a sentence etched in impossibly
tiny letters on the bottom of the gold, and he moved closer, his eyes squinted,
to read what it said.

‘With hope in our
hearts that one day you might come back to us yet.’

He shot to his feet then, stuffing his hand roughly back inside
his glove.

Fool, you really
should have known that Molly Weasley would never give up hope on one of her
brood if there was no solid proof that they were gone. The woman could have taken
down the Dark Lord in a temper; she would never give up.

Striding purposefully away from the site, Severus was struck
with longing; he stopped and turned around. He looked back, sighing, and
crossed the space once more to stand by Lily’s side. Not bothering to check
whether anybody was watching, because for once in his life Severus truly did
not care, he raised his gloved index and middle fingers to his lips, kissed
them, and bent to press them over her name.

“I’m not coming back, Lily,” he muttered beneath his breath.
“This is the last time.”

He straightened, put his shoulders back, took a deep breath,
and walked away, heading for the apparition point.

***

A mug of tea sat on his coffee table whilst the fire roared
in the grate. Severus’ wand was curled in his fingers as he waited for a reply
to the Patronus message he had sent.

It had taken him all of five minutes to formulate the plan.
As he waited he couldn’t help but wish he was anything other than industrious,
that his nature would have allowed him to brood over his plans and think on the
subject more. But his demanding mind had insisted that the wheels go
immediately into motion, in the hopes that it might be free of its torment
sooner.

Not bloody likely.
When this is all through you have to face the reality. You have always been a
man that works efficiently and fast… this is no different.

Severus couldn’t quite figure out how he had arrived at the
point he had. He knew that his discomfort had started the night that Ron had
asked him to make love to him, to have sex like lovers did. His reactions
during the mind-shattering coupling he had at first put down to the large
amount of whiskey in his system, but when completely sober the next morning
they did not abate, he had been forced to take a long hard look at himself.

As ever, he had hated what he’d seen. An old man sleeping
with a beautifully young one, keeping the truth from those who desperately
would have benefitted from it, whilst his lover needed to be saved from
himself.

Severus knew all of those elements, he had brooded over them
nursing a glass of whiskey like an old hurt lover, but they had been
intermingled with his desire to keep Ron by his side, to see what they could
make from their burgeoning romance.

And then he had woken up from a dream, and his day had
rapidly deteriorated.

This is the right
thing to do.

He repeated the words so that he might better believe them.

The cat’s meow alerted him to Ron’s Patronus’ arrival.

‘Sure, dinner sounds
great. I’ll be there at six. Thanks for choosing somewhere so private. I can’t
wait to see you.’

“Oh, wonderful, yes, choose tonight to get clingy and
sentimental,” Severus muttered at the dog. He drummed up his own Patronus.

‘Good, I’ll see you
tonight then. Make an effort, we’re going somewhere nice.’

He added that for Ron’s benefit, thinking that when his
brothers arrived in the quiet muggle pub that Severus had chosen for the cover
of a few pre-dinner drinks, he wouldn’t like to look as though he’d spent five
years scumming around the streets of London.

The cat faded and Severus bit down hard on his tongue,
focussing hard again and bringing the feline back, waiting attentively for
another message. He let her hover whilst he magically lowered his voice a
little so that it would not be overly recognisable.

In a clear, firm voice, he programmed the message that he
wished the cat to carry to Bill Weasley. He informed that Ron was alive, and
gave the name and location of the pub they would be at. Timing their arrival
for half an hour after his and Ron’s own, Severus added his sincerity to the
end of the message and begged that it be taken seriously. With that, he
directed the cat to the right person, and watched it fade.

“Done,” he whispered, in a mortified tone, to the room.

There was a loud yowl from beside him and Artemis got to her
paws and stalked across the sofa cushion, where she placed the front two on his
thigh, looking up at his face. She gave him a mournful meow and waited.

“It’s what’s right for him,” Severus looked at her. “I can’t
heal him, I should never have tried. It has to be them.”

I’m too old, too
broken and too filled with resentment to manage it. He deserves more.

She meowed again and pressed her paws into his leg harder,
before nuzzling his wand hand with her head. Then she gave it a gentle lick,
one that might never have passed for a lick to anybody with a more affectionate
cat, and curled back up on the sofa.

At least the cat
understands. Shame he won’t.

Severus sighed then, and looked at the parchment he had set
out on the coffee table, ready to write the letter he would give to Ron that evening,
begging that he read it when he got home and was alone. Of course, Ron wouldn’t
know that Severus actually meant at the Weasley family home, but it was a lie
he was willing to chance.

As he reached for his quill, Severus wasn’t entirely sure of
the letter’s purpose. He truly didn’t believe that after Ron realised that he
had been sold out to his family the redhead would want to see him again, and
Severus couldn’t blame him for the possibility. Trying to imagine himself in
the same position, Severus would never have denied that he would have thrown up
the walls of ignorance too, and blocked all contact with the man who had gone
against his wishes.

He needs this. He
needs them. Not you. Screaming
orgasms only get you so far in life, and he has been on the path of sexual
punishment for far too long.

Picking up the luxuriously feathered quill, Severus
positioned it between his fingers, leaving the ink bottle nearby capped as the
magic would instantly refill the nib when required. The paper looked
threatening sitting there so blank, and Severus was immediately tingling with
the need to fill it up with words, any words, so that his fear would dissipate.

He had to acknowledge that he had no idea what to say.
Scrawling ‘I’m sorry’ was something he was sure would not adequately soothe
Ron’s hurt. But then, he thought,
looking down at his hands, nothing on
earth probably will. He will never forgive, he will probably never accept your
apology or understand your actions, as he was graceful enough to do the first
time that you went against his wishes.

Remorse surged in his belly and he nearly snapped the quill
in two with the pressure as his hand clenched. He knew there was little he
could do now the messages had been sent, bar cancelling his meeting with Ron
and sending Bill Weasley on a callous wild-chimaera
chase for his dead brother through muggle London.
He licked his lips and picked up the quill again, making sure that that time
his hand made it to the paper. Severus knew he could not be so cold-hearted as
to ruin a family’s hopes like that.

And yet you are
cold-hearted enough to betray the boy who has come to trust you.

The nib lifted off the paper again and Severus closed his
eyes, willing the indecision to leave him be, to let him do the right thing
once more in his life.

He needs them. If
Albus was right, and he needs you to make this leap for him, then as the one
with age, with experience, you should be the one to make it and neglect your
own needs. No matter how many times you have done it before, it should not
instantly make you a man who chooses the wrong option to make his own life
easier when he feels he deserves it.

Severus coughed and thought back on the words. That time,
when he lowered his quill to the page it stayed, but did not move across the
paper.

And now, I only have
to think of a way to say goodbye to the man who has helped me embrace what I
am.

The quill was thrown down with a
huff and Severus fell sideways, burying his face into the cat’s fur, moaning
his misery where only she could hear it.

Traitor once again, Severus…  His guilt continued to assault him.

***

Ron stepped out of the shower,
shivering in the cool air of his bathroom. Despite being shocked at the
invitation, he was greatly looking forward to seeing Severus that evening, and
spending some time with him somewhere that wasn’t a room in a brothel or the
man in question’s house. He didn’t know why, but he felt like it would be the
first time that they were meeting on an equal footing, and it made him happy to
think of it.

He snatched a towel off the rack
and wrapped it snugly about his thin waist, making his way over to the mirror
to inspect himself. His hair was a deep wet auburn
mess plastered to his head and his face was pale but clean shaven. Reaching for
his wand he drummed up a steady flow of hot air, layering it through the
wetness.

Currently longer than it had ever
been before, his hair had gentle waves in it the more it crept towards his
shoulders. Not for the first time he looked at the ends of it with a small
smile, thinking of how his mother would have gone through the roof and given
him at least three brutally short haircuts by that point.

Ron didn’t deny that he liked his
hair that length, it was different, and it was his –and it was completely
separate from his old life. His body, too, thin as it was, represented his life
for the past five years, a life so far away from his past that he knew he would
never be able to deny how much it was a part of him.

His hair dry and respectable, he
dropped his wand into the sink and rested his hands on either side of it,
looking in the mirror at his reflection.

Not a complete face for the wireless, but still… I’ll never get what
they all found so fucking attractive. What Severus still finds attractive…

Ron looked at the flame in his
hair and wondered if that was it; if it was his auburn locks which held the
attraction for Severus Snape, considering his past love for Lily Evans, another
redhead.

Or maybe it was just chance. His first whore was a brunette and I doubt
he had the same reactions for him…

The alarm he’d set on his clock in
the other room sounded and he jumped, dashing out into his bedroom to search
for clean and presentable clothes. He didn’t have many, but what he did have
was of good quality and of course, they all perfectly accentuated his physical
assets, having been bought in his days as a whore. He pulled on the smart black
jeans, thinking of how his mother would have pitched a fit if she knew he
didn’t possess a single pair of proper trousers. He shrugged into the navy
shirt and ran his fingers up the buttons.

God, why can’t I get my mother out of my head tonight?

He blinked a few times, but still,
her smiling face wouldn’t move from his mind.

“There’s a reason,” Harry spoke to
him cryptically.

“Oh, fuck’s sake Harry, not now,”
Ron groaned, running his hands over his face. “I’m going out.”

“I know,” Harry replied, with an
impish sort of smile. “On a date.”

Ron looked at him then, taking in
his pearly form and hair, ever messy. “It’s not a date.”

“I think it is,” Harry shrugged. “You’re going out for dinner with Severus
Snape.”

“If it is a date, what’s it to
you?” Ron shrugged, reaching for his wallet and keys.

“A very great deal, actually,”
Harry said softly.

“Why are you even here?” Ron
frowned suddenly. “I’m not hurt and I’m not upset…”

“Sometimes, I get bored,” Harry
shrugged. “But I’m going. I just wanted to wish you luck for your date, is
all.”

“Well, thanks very much, but it’s
not a date, because this isn’t a relationship,” Ron informed him.

“If you say so,” Harry snorted,
and then paused before speaking again, his tone somewhat tentative. “Treat him
well, eh?”

“Okay, now I know this is fucked up,” Ron groaned, and squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them, Harry was gone and he was alone again. “Fucking hell I’m
mental,” he breathed.

He shoved his arms into his coat,
checked the contents of his pockets and that he had his wand, and left the
flat.

“No, Ron, you’re not mental,”
Harry said sadly to the empty flat. “But I wish I could have told you that this
was goodbye.”

He cast a last longing look around
the flat he had grown to know so well, and sighed.

***

Time had sped up to an indecent
pace as Severus looked at the approaching redhead, his face graced by a
beautiful smile. Considering their muggle surroundings, Ron did not bend to
kiss him, but as the tall man dropped into his seat and purposefully knocked
his knee against Severus’, it was clear he had wanted to.

“Godric’s
balls it’s cold out there,” Ron muttered, rubbing his hands together.

“Don’t you possess gloves?”
Severus forced himself to smile, hoping it looked natural. “They are somewhat
useful in preventing frostbite, you know.”

“Ah, shut your face,” Ron rolled
his eyes and finished in a wink. “Thanks for this,” he indicated the free glass
of wine waiting on his side of the table.

“Not at all,” Severus picked up his own and took a healthy mouthful.

The letter in his pocket was
weighing as heavy as the rose and vanilla card had the first time he and Ron
had ever slept together. It was sealed and ready to give, though he dreaded the
moment that he planned to reach inside his coat pocket and pull it out. Whether
Ron would suspect something, he didn’t know. Severus supposed that the proof of
the trust he was about to shatter would be blatant in how the redhead accepted
the envelope.

“So, how was your day?” Ron asked
in his usual sexy tone. “You’re back to work soon, aren’t you?”

“Oh, Merlin, don’t remind me,”
Severus poured all of his anger and remorse into the subject of returning to
the Ministry. “I really don’t know how I’m going to bear another year there.”

“How long do you have to stay working for them?” Ron asked, picking up his
glass and taking an altogether too delicate a sip for a man.

Severus watched the stem of the glass twiddle between Ron’s fingers as he
tilted the glass, sloshing the red liquid around.

How will he ever cope at home? If he never tells them, how will he hide
what he has been? It screams out of his every pore, from the way he flirts up
from beneath his fringe to the way he’s molesting that wine glass –if it were a
cock, it’d be hard and leaking by now.

Thinking of cocks and arousal did
nothing for Severus’ mood, remembering that after that evening he was unlikely
to feel the touch of another man on his crotch again unless he paid for the
privilege.

And I already know I will never set foot in another brothel again.

“There was no determined period,”
Severus sighed. “So we took it to mean indefinitely. One day one of us will
summon the courage to ask, I suppose.”

“I can’t believe they did that to
you,” Ron said bitterly. “You just know that if Harry had been around that it
wouldn’t have happened.”

“Maybe not for me,” Severus said pointedly. “But Draco?”

“Harry was fair,” Ron took a
mouthful of wine. “I think on many levels by the end he felt sorry for Draco. I
know he felt pity in our sixth year, eventually.”

“Still, for my godson, I am glad
of the chance we had, almost. I am happy that he can earn money and save for
his future.”

“His wedding,” Ron’s eyes took on a slightly glazed look as he focussed on the
table. “I’ll never have that. Malfoy might as well.”

The unspoken addition to that
sentence hung in the air; that Ron would never have it due to the war that
Malfoy had helped to fuel from the wrong side. Severus awkwardly shifted his
legs beneath the table and looked at the other patrons simply so that he would
not have to look at Ron.

He doesn’t even know there’s a memorial to her, resting next to Harry.
And he certainly doesn’t know he’s been commemorated in the same way.

“What did you do today?” Severus
got them back on track with a small smile.

“Not much, I just stayed in bed
for most of it and read. Looked through some papers to see if
I could find any jobs going.”

“Any luck?” Severus asked.

“No,” Ron sighed. “I’ve never
worked behind a bar, what the hell use am I going to be, Severus? Or even
washing plates in a restaurant –I’m clumsy, I’ll just break everything.”

“And you’re a wizard,” Severus
replied in a low voice. “Instantly any muggle task becomes far easier…”

“You’re funny,” Ron made a face
and sighed.

The door to the pub swung open and
Severus’ heart leapt into his mouth, but it returned to his chest when a great
cheer went up from a group who welcomed their new arrival loudly. He had
positioned himself opposite a door for fair warning, and had been glad when Ron
had unwittingly seated himself with his back to it. He glanced at the clock
behind the bar and saw that it was a quarter past six. He had fifteen minutes
of the glorious whore’s –no, he’s not a
whore anymore; he’s just Ron- company before he had to say goodbye.

With that in mind, he leant
forward and with a hasty eye around them, grabbed Ron’s free hand.

“Severus,” he said quietly,
looking around them. “What are you doing?”

His pale face was an inquisitive
frown and Severus knew exactly what he was wondering: how a man who could
barely admit he was gay looking in the mirror could move to grabbing another man’s
hand in the middle of a public place.

“I’ve realised that I cannot hide
my sexuality any longer,” Severus said in a low voice, lowering his dark eyes
to Ron’s hand, which he held in a tight grip. “It is time for me to grow up and
accept myself as I am.”

Ron’s sapphire eyes widened
slightly and he set down his wine glass. Swiftly he covered their joined hands
with his other free one, and stroked a soft pattern with his thumb over
Severus’ knuckles. “That’s great, Severus, really. I’m so… so proud of you, if
you’ll believe that.”

“Proud, why?”
Severus smiled.

“When you first came to me,” Ron’s
voice lowered, “You were such a wreck. To make it this far in
just a month? It’s amazing. I am so
happy for you.”

“Well, really, I don’t think I
should be praised for something I have been foolishly denying for most of my
life, but if it makes you happy…” he trailed off, and Ron gave him a warm
smile.

“So… what will you do now?” the
redhead asked pointedly, his eyes betraying his nervousness. “Will you try for
a relationship? If you want, I can look up the list of gay clubs I’ve got
somewhere, places that it’s easy to meet people because they have all sorts of
systems to display what you’re looking for… it’s in the flat.”

Severus didn’t know how to answer
the man, whether to hurt him then and there and ask for the list, or to lie,
and say ‘I’d like to give it a go with you’ only for both of their dreams to be
dashed in the following ten minutes.

“I’m not quite sure,” he bottled
out, and the blush which tainted his cheeks was made of very real
embarrassment.

“Baby steps,” Ron teased, and gave
his hand a squeeze. “I really am pleased for you, Severus. Somewhere there’s a
bloke that’s going to match you perfectly, snarl for snark,
and you’re going to have a lovely, if slightly snappy, life together.”

Ron stopped talking but did not
release Severus’ hand.

“I have something for you,”
Severus tried to pull away, but Ron did not let his hand go.

He watched with wide eyes as the
redhead lifted his long slim hand up to the sumptuous lips which Severus had
dreamt of being wrapped around his cock just that very morning, and pressed a
soft kiss to each knuckle. Only then did he release the hand, which felt like
jelly to Severus, and lean back in his chair.

“What is it?” he asked, almost
excitedly, and Severus wanted to sob.

“Nothing much,” he reached for the
letter, his fingertips gracing the parchment with a fine sheen of their sweat.
“I… look. This is for you, but I need you to promise me something?”

Ron frowned. “Of course, Severus,
what is it?”

“I want you to promise that you
won’t open this until you are home tonight, and alone?” Severus handed it over
to him.

Ron accepted the parchment and
looked at the green wax seal closing the envelope. “It’s not money, is it?” he
asked with a slightly sick expression.

“No, I assure you, Ron, it’s not
money. Those days are long past for us.”

“Good,” Ron’s frown turned into a
confident smile, and he slipped the letter into an inside pocket of his coat
without further comment. “Writing me love letters, eh? Who’d have thought it,
you soppy git.”

“Do shut up,” Severus drawled at
him indifferently, whilst inside his chest shattered with grief.

“So where are we going for
dinner?” Ron asked cheerfully. “The kind of place that won’t mind two blokes
dining together, I hope?”

Severus didn’t answer him, because
the pub door had just swung open again, and Bill Weasley walked over the
threshold, followed by a shorter, stockier redhead.

George? Shit, he’s every bit as thin as Ron is.

“Severus?” Ron asked, waving his
hand in front of his face. “Is the dinner as much of a surprise as the letter
is or what?”

Severus raised his glass and
knocked back the rest of his drink, unable to disguise the way his hand shook.
The glass rattled slightly against his teeth.

“You’re really worrying me,
Severus, are you alright?” Ron breathed, sitting up straighter in his chair and
reaching across the table.

“Ron,” Severus said softly.

“What?!” the redhead asked frustratedly.

Severus didn’t have to answer,
because at that moment Bill reached out his hand and placed it on Ron’s
shoulder, and the glittering sapphires pointed upward. He wanted to run then,
to get as far away from Ron as he possibly could so that he might not see the
anger and damage in his eyes.

Severus dropped his gaze to the
table and heard the scraping of a chair and the table bumped slightly as Ron
knocked against it. There were no sounds other than the background chatter in
the pub, and he swore that at any moment his heartbeat would become audible to
the entire room.

It is done now. There is no point in reviling your decisions.

He heard a ruffling of clothes and
forced himself to look up. The two taller brothers were entwined almost
indecently in their closeness. Ron had one hand gripping his brother’s long
loose hair, his other around Bill’s waist. However, it was not his posture
which held Severus’ attention –it was the expression his pale face. Tilted
slightly upward due to the way Bill was clutching Ron so tightly, his features looked
somewhat slack. Severus had seen them so before; it was the same appearance the
redhead often sported after sex –one enhanced by a complete bodily release of
tension. He swallowed nervously and heard the low rumblings of Bill talking
directly into Ron’s ear.

Severus had seen enough. His
stomach was barely holding onto the sparse amount of food he had forced himself
to eat throughout the day and he couldn’t take the show of brotherly love beyond
that he had already witnessed.

He quietly shifted his coat onto
his shoulders from the back of his chair, and rose to his feet. His chair
traitorously screeched on the wooden floorboards and Severus’ face flew up
again.

Ron had obviously heard his
botched attempt at a stealthy getaway, and slowly his eyes opened. Severus
forced himself to meet them and was astounded by what he saw there.

He didn’t think he had ever seen a
human being look so relieved, so
comforted. Almost
grateful.

His throat burning, Severus
stepped out from the table and pulled level with the still-hugging pair, and
felt the eyes of George Weasley on his person.

“Ron I… your letter,” Severus
finished quietly, gave him a last burning look, and exited the pub, his body
flaming with regret as he stepped out into the cold.

***

“I just need the toilet,” Ron
breathed, dropping his face down into his hands.

It felt like a surreal dream. He
was sitting in the kitchen of his childhood home, surrounded by the members of
his family who all wore the same shocked expression, had the same pallor of
skin tone and none of whom could tear their eyes off him.

“It’s been five years,” Molly
Weasley uttered for the hundredth time, “Five years, you think I am ever
letting you out of my sight again?!”

She dissolved into tears and Ginny
followed her. Ron sat looking down at the battered wooden table, the shame
causing a flush to creep up around his neck and on the tips of his ears.

He didn’t even have his coat off.
All he could think of, still, was the moment he had looked up into the face of
his brother, and the way they had hugged, and more than that, the way he had felt. Safe, warm, loved; the feelings
rolled back instantly and Ron couldn’t believe that he had ever felt hard done
by, that he had ever felt the least loved by the group of people currently
sitting around him.

“Where were you?” Arthur beseeched
him again. “We looked, Ron, we looked all over… for years… and you were…”

Ron hadn’t said much since Bill
and George had brought him home. He had hugged, and he had cried –when it came
to his mother he had very nearly sobbed- but his words had been very few.

“Dad, I…” his voice croaked as the
kitchen fell silent, waiting for his explanation. “I know this’ll make you all
angry, and you have every right to be… but… I would like to keep the past five
years my own business,” he recalled Severus’ suggestion and clung to it.

“Fuck off!” Ginny yelled abruptly.
“You leave us all here, wondering where your body was rotting and when you waltz back in you don’t want to tell us any of
it?! No!”

Ron closed his eyes and fought to
breathe. He didn’t know if his struggle was obvious, but if it was he was glad
when the next voice piped up.

“Gin, for Merlin’s sake pipe
down,” George muttered. “Take a bloody look at him before you go off on one.”

“Will you stay?” Arthur asked loudly.
“If we promise to let the past alone, Ron, and promise that we will never ask
you where you’ve been or what you’ve done to survive alone, will you stay?” The
desperation in the man’s offer was very clear, and Ron was shocked that his
father would forgo answers simply to keep him, even though Severus had
suggested it might happen.

He forced his eyes open, but did
not raise them from the table. He didn’t have to consider his answer. He found
now that he was home, in the comforting warmth, he never wanted to leave it
again. He never wanted to go back to his dingy flat with the harrowing memories
it held. “I’ll stay.”

He felt a strong pair of arms grab
him from behind then, and a warm head pressed against his. A curl near his eye
told him it was Charlie, and the familiar scent of dragonhide
polishing crème and spice slammed into his senses.

“I knew you weren’t dead,” the low mutter in his ear was just for him
and Ron broke then, his chin lowering into his chest and tears spilling down
his face.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbled. “I missed
you all so much. I’m so sorry.”

At some point someone heaved him
out of his chair and he was passed from one set of arms to another, and he had
no idea who he was hugging, and his sense of smell deadened. He was finally
released and he wobbled dizzily, feeling like a massive rush of blood had converged
on his brain.

“I need…”

“What?” his mother’s concerned
voice rang out.

“The loo,” Ron finished lamely.

George laughed then, and he
snorted out his next words. “You’ve not changed, Ron, you’ve got the shittiest
timing the world!”

Ron laughed softly, the back of
his throat raw. Of course, he didn’t need the toilet; he only wanted to be
alone so that he could examine the letter burning a hole through his inside
pocket.

“Well,” his mother sniffed hard. “You know where it is, or have you forgotten?”

“Never, Mum,” he gave her a tiny
smile. “But… well… Isn’t someone going to escort me or something?”

“Are you going to run again?”
Ginny asked pointedly.

“No,” Ron said quietly. “I don’t
think so.”

“Then you can find your own way to
the bloody bog,” George said brightly. “Mum, what’s for dinner?”

And Ron watched as one by one, his
family looked at him, smiled madly, and melted back into what they had been
doing before Bill had shouted for their attention on arriving back within The
Burrow. He swayed slightly and had to grip onto the back of one of the kitchen
chairs.

“It’s not healthy to hold it in,
Ron,” George poked him in the back. “And you’re kind of in the way of the
bread. Prodigal son returning doesn’t mean dinner gets put on hold, not in this
house.”

“I’m sorry I’m late!” The voice
announced from the fireplace, “I was stuck in a meeting and I…”

Ron stiffened, Percy’s voice
ringing out in the silence which fell. His brother’s brown eyes fell on him and
Ron nervously shifted his weight between his feet.

“What?” Percy asked weakly. “What
the…”

“It’s alright Perce,
he’s real,” Bill smirked happily.

Ron nearly fell over as he heard
the long stream of expletive which poured from his usually fastidious brother’s
lips, and he found himself swept up in his strongest embrace yet.

“Don’t squeeze him too hard, he
needs the loo,” George laughed.

“Someone, explain. Now!” Percy broke off and fell backwards into a pulled out
chair, his eyes never leaving Ron.

“I received a mysterious tip off
about lunchtime,” Bill said. “Saying he was alive and that he would be
somewhere tonight… and he was.”

“Who was the tip off from?” Percy
asked immediately.

“Severus Snape,” Bill fixed his
eyes on Ron.

Ron felt the room swell with
burgeoning questions and he used the moment to duck out of the kitchen and into
the hallway, setting his foot on the bottom stair.

The smell of the house overpowered
him then, the many scents of different people all living under one roof; their
individual essences mingled to create the aroma of the place he hadn’t called
home in five very long years.

He forced himself up the stairs,
his mind blurred with everything that had happened that evening, from arriving
at the pub, to drinking with Severus, to his brothers turning up…

I can’t believe he…

Ron pushed into the bathroom and
lit it. It looked exactly as he had remembered; nothing had changed in the
years of his absence. Without bothering to lift the lid he sank down on the
toilet, his hand rummaging for the correspondence in his pocket. He looked at
the green wax seal and his eyes inexplicably filled with more tears, and his
stomach lurched with trepidation at what the letter might contain.

With trembling fingers, he prised
it open and unfolded the stiff parchment. The spidery handwriting was the same
as he remembered it scrawled over his Potions homework. There, though, the
words had insulted him, but as he forced his watering eyes to focus on the
page, he discerned what looked like verses of a poem.

"I am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever,

If your hands were in mine, I'd be sure they'd not sever,

My apple tree, my brightness 'tis time we were together,

For I smell of the earth and am worn by the weather.

When my family thinks that I'm safe in my bed,

From night until morning I am stretched at your head.

Calling out to the air with tears hot and wild,

My grief for the girl that I loved as a child.

The priests and the friars approach me in dread,

Because I still love you, my love, and you’re dead.

And still would be your shelter through rain and through storm

For with you in the cold ground I cannot sleep warm.

~I Am Stretched on Your Grave, anon, c.17^th century.

I could not let the above be your life, Ron. It is bad enough that up
until I stumbled across you, it was my own. Don’t live the poem any longer.
Please. Cry your tears now with the aid of the wretchedness that is this miserable
lament and then rip up my letter, and move on.

I do not expect forgiveness. Just don’t die.

Yours unfailingly,

Severus.”

On finishing Ron immediately read
the whole thing again, his jaw shivering with the pain of the poem copied out
meticulously on the paper in his hand. He read it over and over, until the
words became a dizzying blur and the room disappeared as he dropped his chin
and let the hot tears roll off his face, thinking of the last line of the
letter, and the first time Severus had spoken those words to him a mere few
days before.

Every bit of lightness which had
crept into his slight frame at coming home -at feeling his mother’s arms loop
around him and kiss him on the cheek, evaporated into cold fear of the fact
that he was alone amongst them, a sheep amongst wolves who would surely
flounder after so long on his own.

Ron had known from the second that
Bill had pulled him into his arms that it was right, that he was meant to make
the journey home with them. The sheer warmth radiating off his brother’s form
had been enough to convince him above all other inclination. They had waited,
they had loved him, they still loved
him, and they wanted him.

But he couldn’t deny that Severus’
obvious expectance of a rebuttal was like a kick in the gut. His family were
not the only people that cared for him. The dark-haired man, so broken with his
cold constructed barriers… that man also cared, and sitting in the freezing
bathroom, Ron realised just how deeply he cared for Severus in return.

Quite how long he sat there, Ron
wasn’t sure. The lid of the toilet was cold beneath his legs and his neck hurt
from his slumped position, but he hardly cared. He simply sat and sobbed in his
family’s bathroom, unable to do anything but cry, his chest aching with longing
for the past, but more for the author of the letter which he held, the parchment
creasing in his tight grip.