• 1-Reckless Love (a narrative for Slyth)

A/N: This started out as a one-shot gift for my Beta, Slyth. However, I failed miserably at supplying a story that met the requested prompt; but I thought I'd share it anyway. The result is below. It is not my usual cuppa, as I am not a natural one-shot writer. Thus, the story is flawed, much like the author. Be gentle. Onward...

The dank bedroom was silent except for the intermittent soft trills of a dozing snowy owl perched nearby and the evenly paced inhalations of the man upon whom Harry was sprawled like a dead crab washed up onto shore. The twenty year-old wizard, body still coated in a fine sheen of sweat that was slowly drying, turned his head, which had been resting in what his lover had come to teasingly call his “nook”, and placed a soft, chaste kiss on the scarred cheekbone of his sleeping bedmate. The sickle shaped scar, the result of a lover’s spat, was a constant reminder of where they had been; and of all the scars his lover bore this was Harry’s favorite.

Harry would often kiss and lave the fibrous scar, which stood in stark relief against the pale, smooth skin of his lover’s face. This scar, a mere three inches, in some ways told their entire story up until now. A story that Harry thought was painfully beautiful and frighteningly simple once the ridiculous complexities of their lives had been stripped away.

It was only at times like this, in the still, blinding dark of night, when they were sated and sleepy that Harry had a chance to relax and truly enjoy what he had found in the least likely of places and with the least likely of people.

The green-eyed wizard, still no taller than the average man though a good deal more muscular than he had been in years prior, ran his palm along the outstretched arm of his lover from bicep to wrist and back, following the sleek contours of lean muscle and long bone. His hand ghosted up and down the arm repeatedly, pausing along its path so that his thumb could trace invisible patterns across the pale skin. So used to Harry’s touch was his lover that the man didn’t even stir when Harry angled his face away from his nook to lightly nip and lick at the tattoo printed on the slumbering man’s broad right shoulder, identical to one at the base of Harry’s own spine. Due to the dark Harry could not see the image clearly but knew it was there all the same, the artwork magically animated beneath the ministrations of his tongue. Two snakes, their heads mere centimeters apart, both poised upright, fangs bared and ready to strike, their lower bodies inextricably twined. They were identical in every way. The image held no real subtlety or secrets. It was just indicative of how the two men who wore them interacted—so fierce, so deadly, and utterly inseparable.

The young man with the old weary soul continued to lay atop his lover in the dark, dank bedroom, listening to his loyal owl hoot softly somewhere in the distance and meditating on the steady, comforting, life-affirming thudding cadence of his lover’s brave heart.

Harry nuzzled his face into his lover’s silken hair and inhaled deeply before pushing himself up and off the warm body beneath him. His actions were met with a badly aimed swat from a limp, long-fingered hand before the man, seemingly all arms and legs, flopped over onto his belly with a low snort of irritation.

Harry smiled and sat on side of the bed, pulling on his jeans sans underwear, followed by his t-shirt that looked as though Harry had been mauled while wearing it. The lovely part about that was that Harry had been mauled and he had loved every minute of it. His boxers had been literally ripped off him a few hours prior, so he left the tattered remains on the floor for his lover to find come morning. The sight would no doubt cause a smirk of prowess to appear on the pallid face that for so long had been etched with the wrinkles of worry and displeasure.

Wishing in vain that he could stay to see that smirk, Harry quietly slipped on his rugged, black boots, not bothering with the laces, before snatching up his invisibility cloak from the foot of the bed.

“Leaving?” came a deep, drowsy, muffled voice from the naked form of his prone lover.

Harry crawled up onto the bed and slid his body along that of his lover, the rough fabric of his jeans being purposefully dragged along the nude backside of the man beneath him. He buried his face into his “nook” once again and gave his lover a none-too-gentle love bite, before playfully smacking the man on the ass.

“You know I have to.”

“So I’ve been told,” was the sleepy reply tinged with annoyance.

This was a common occurrence between them. Every evening they would meet in secret, make love for several hours into the night, desperately ignoring the passing minutes that drew the moment of Harry’s inevitable departure ever closer. And every time he walked out Harry knew he carved another tiny fissure into his lover’s heart.

“See you in the morning, then?” Harry asked unnecessarily. He knew fully well that he and his lover would come face to face again in just under six hours. It would be a fleetingly happy moment when they were once again in the same room, for undoubtedly they would be forced to slide into persona and attempt to ignore the burning desire between them.

“As always.”

Harry placed one last kiss on the spine between his lover’s shoulder blades before departing. Donning his invisibility cloak, Harry made his way out of the castle via a newly added secret passage courtesy of Hogwarts herself and made his way back to his shared flat in Hogsmeade.

The following morning Harry woke in his own bed, with its chilly sheets and pillows that smelled of no one at all. He longed for the day when he could wake day after day tangled up in the impossibly long arms and legs of the man he loved. After being together so freely for so long, the world kept so distant as to be forgotten, it was now hard to return to an empty bed night after night.

Harry wanted his bed warmed by the heat of another and the security of a strong chest pressed firmly against his back at night as he fell asleep. He wanted sex on a whim at odd hours. He wanted to walk around nude in a private sanctuary for two, duty dismissed and banished to the other side of the door. He deserved it. They both did.

Their secret love was not one of shame, but of necessity and selfishness. Until such time as they let the world in on their relationship they could continue to sneak away into their own delusional world where no one else mattered; where they were the only two people in the world. And if that were true then nothing could ever come between them; no lies, no judgments, no pressures, no expectations—except their own. By keeping their love a secret they could pretend that what they had together was as unreachable as the place where their love had begun.

Shaking himself further awake, Harry rose and headed for the shower, hoping that the warm water would wash away his sullen mood. Later this morning he would once again trudge up to Hogwarts and take his lessons along with several other “seventh years” preparing for their long-delayed N.E.W.Ts but were far too old and battle-hardened to live on campus. At the end of the day’s classes he would return to the flat he shared with Ron and Neville, only to sneak out under the cover of night and his cloak to return to the castle and his lover’s bed.

As Harry stood in the shower letting the water he had purposely charmed to be a little too hot cascade over his head and down his body, he thought back on the previous three years. This was a daily ritual since the world had turned to normal. Here in the tiny cubical that some contractor dared called a shower, with the sting of hot water pelting his body, Harry would reflect on the past and realize all over again that everything he had done, all the blood that had been shed, all the sacrifices he and countless others had made, was with each passing day becoming less and less something in which he held great conviction; a realization that never failed to leave him feeling cold and hollow.

The war proper had taken three years to come to a rather anti-climactic end. By the time of the final battle Voldemort had gone mad enough that he saw blood-traitors around every corner and every shadow was Harry Potter coming to die. In his increasingly irrational suspicions the demented Lord had killed nearly as many of his own ranks as had the Order and Aurors by the time Harry and a little over a dozen trusted members of the Light infiltrated the Death Eater base of operations one stormy summer night a few days shy of Harry’s nineteenth birthday. There, in the cellar of an old property belonging to the Nott family, Harry Potter, flanked by Ronald Weasley and Severus Snape, delivered the final blow. All the Ministry had been told was that Avada Kedavra had not been used, but that the Dark Lord’s spirit had indeed been permanently bound and banished to the underworld.

What was left out of the official report was that Harry, never able to properly cast Avada Kadavara—for reasons not even Dumbledore had been able to discern—used an ancient Egyptian spell that sucked Voldemort’s spirit from his body, leaving Severus to behead the empty shell before burning it to ash. Then without any real emotion at all Harry spoke the translated phrase to cast the spell that would permanently banish Voldemort’s spirit to the underworld, sending a small portion of Harry’s own soul there as guardian.

The subject of those three years leading up to the final fight was still the subject of much rumor and conjecture, none of which the wizarding media had yet been able to officially dismiss or report as fact since all the surviving principals seemed determine to mistake reporters for at-large Death Eaters. Thus far nearly every leading member of the Order had been summoned in front of the Wizengamot for their use of rare, and in some cases still unidentified, hexes upon eager journalists. And each time the cases had been dismissed, putting the media on high alert that even asking any one of these wizards and witches what time of day it was could very well lead to a long, painful stay in St. Mungo’s.

The only bits of fact—however vague—that the rumor mill had correct were that during the first two years of the three year period, Harry had unofficially dropped out of Hogwarts (a fact still unverified) to train in some remote part of China. What they did not know was that in the wee hours one fall morning in his sixth year Harry had bid a hasty good-bye to Hermione and Ron, left Neville a note to take care of Hedwig, and trekked off to an undisclosed location to learn…well, everything he could. His escorts had been three men, Albus Dumbledore, Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, and Severus Snape.

Albus had left Hogwarts under the pretense of taking a medical leave.

“I am getting on in years, you know. My mind it seems is lagging behind my wand. Minerva will be an excellent interim headmistress until I return from having my aura readjusted at the Fount of Wellbeing Sanatorium in Majorca,” the Headmaster had informed the board of governors. Even now no one knew just what spell the old man had used, for now everyone surmised it had been on purpose, to turn half the Forbidden Forest into marshland. Dumbledore explained in his endearingly befuddled way that he had been on a leisurely stroll in the forest when suddenly “my socks were wet.”

Snape it seems had been “killed” when Aurors raided a summer Death Eater revel, though the lack of body had him officially listed as presumed dead. How the Aurors knew just where and when the revel was to occur was still a mystery according to several surviving Death Eaters now forever entombed behind the walls of Azkaban. Once Albus discovered a way to void Voldemort’s link through Severus’ Dark Mark there was little chance of the ruse being discovered. After all, Kingsley had delivered the fatal curse that “killed” the double agent. He had the false memory to prove it—implanted by Dumbledore with the dark-skinned Auror’s permission.

Alastor—well the man answered to no one and no one dared ask questions. Dead or alive no one knew, and given the perilous state of things at the time most just assumed the worst and figured the body would turn up eventually, just like so many others.

The motley crew had split into pairs—Albus and Harry, Snape and Moody. They traveled for three days, popping up in random locales and leaving false trails before settling into their deathly cold, barren, primitive training camp, which Dumbledore carved fresh into a high peak of the Chomo-Lonzo Mountains in Tibet. Harry had never been so thankful he was wizard in his life.

Once they all got a proper look at where Dumbledore expected them to remain until Harry was ready they all knew by unspoken word that if Voldemort was able to track them to the place Moody had gruffly termed the “icy tip of Zeus’ dick”, then the evil maniac deserved to rule the world.

The locale was dire— even for wizards. Dumbledore, with Snape’s help, had charmed and shrank enough food, medicine, and blankets to hold a small village for a decade, so there was plenty for four men. They had warmth, shelter, and thanks to Moody’s penchant for the drink, quite a varied selection of whiskeys and wines.

The Headmaster had informed them all prior to leaving, “We are falling off the face of the earth, gentlemen. Let us not tarry.” There would be no post, no owls, no news, no other human contact for the foreseeable future for any of them. They would know nothing of the world around them.

Once ensconced in the mountain, Dumbledore had informed Harry ominously that, “Time, as it were, must proceed for a time without us. Our world may have very well been destroyed by the time we return and we would never know until we leave this mountain. Nevertheless, you, my boy, must prepare to either save it or reclaim it.”

So for two years Harry trained. Literally. Morning, afternoon and night were filled with hexes, charms, diving, rolling, climbing, sneaking, listening, meditating, healing. He was immersed in magic from purest white to darkest black. By this time even Dumbledore was no longer under the illusion that Voldemort and his ever-growing army of death would be overcome by Light Magic alone. When they had broached the subject of Dark Magic Harry had been shocked silent. He looked wide-eyed between the three older wizards, desparate for an explanation. All he got was an eye roll from Severus, followed by Moody telling him to, “Save your shock and your guilt for better things, lad. It’s like the Muggles say, no point bringing a knife to a gunfight.”

And on they went. For two years Harry trained his mind, his body, his reflexes, his instincts under the tutelage of three of the most skilled, experienced, and when necessary, ruthless wizards alive.

That and he fell in love.

There, high up in the cloud-cloaked, snow capped mountains above Tibet, Harry Potter and Severus Snape became lovers. Over the course of the first six months what started as a mutual decision to set aside their enmity in exchange for survival became an undeniable need to fuck like the last two humans on earth, if only for the sheer reminder that they were living flesh hardwired by nature to seek out another soul with which to share their anguish. And most days it felt just like that.

At night, when the only sound was the bitterly cold wind whipping against rock, and Albus and Moody had each ventured into their carved-out private quarters for rest, Severus and Harry made pleading, clawing, desperate love on the dusty, unforgiving floor of the cave. Their cries of passion stifled with the help of a fist or forearm wedged between bared teeth, a palm clasped over lips parted ready to scream in ecstasy, a hand wrapped tightly around a throat helping to choke back filthy words of praise and encouragement.

The entire affair was high-risk in more ways that one, but neither man cared. Severus chose to crack wise about the thin air at their high altitude being responsible for his incessant desire to screw his young student up against the perennially cold cavern walls, scraping that ever-bronzed skin against uneven rock, leaving it marred with jagged, bloody scratches. Harry, despite being younger, knew better.

During training Severus was just as demanding and punishing a bastard as always, living up to every inch of his infamous exacting reputation, berating and challenging Harry at every turn, pushing the young ‘Savior’ to his very limits and beyond.

Yet, once training was over, the hard glint in Severus’ eyes would change from sinister to craving, and it was all Harry could do to remain calm until they could sate themselves in private. With their veins still thrumming with residual adrenaline and their cocks heavy and twitching with unspent aggression, the two would sneak away to one of the secluded passages off the various chambers Dumbledore had carved into their cave, or apparate to a secluded spot further down the mountain. There, unimpeded and with only the harsh mountain air as a witness, they would slake their desire, each one attacking and devouring the other, licking, kissing, biting, gulping, swallowing, panting, cursing, moaning. Each frenzied sound they made in their haste to orgasm echoed loudly in the windswept silence of their mountain retreat, before dying away in the roiling clouds that seemed spurred on by the hurried actions of the men below.

Harry understood that during the day their concentration was centered upon dodging death and perfecting precision killing. The night, however, was ruled by savage passion and wild friction, the sole purpose of which was to help balance their intense focus on death and pain with the spark and fire of life and pleasure.

They made love daily, oblivious to the harsh conditions in which their relationship grew. Heedless of the menace death that was waiting patiently for them to descend from their rustic paradise perched high up in the sky.

Their lovemaking was always urgent, but with what exactly neither man could name. They fucked as if out running time itself—and in some ways they were. Their need for one another was so basic, so primitive and undeniable that neither man even entertained a moment’s shame when Albus, needing to relieve himself in the middle of the night, had stumbled upon them as they lay in a naked, post-coital heap dangerously close to the mouth of the cave, having rolled and thrashed their way across the floor of the stone cavern.

The wizened wizard, having lived through a war-torn, passionate, tragic love of his own, understood the mechanism of human nature that operated when individuals were in dire, isolated, emotionally charged, dangerous situations. Thus, he barely slowed his stride as he passed the two sweaty males, still panting from their exertions. The Headmaster had merely tossed a gentle admonishment over his shoulder at the two for daring to court death by being nude so close to the perimeter of the warming-charm, before he went on about his business. The next day not a word was spoken about the incident. Later that evening, after supper, Albus had asked them both one question, “Are you prepared to lose what you have found?”

Harry and Severus had looked steadily at one another, each seeking confirmation for what they were feeling. Neither wizard bothered to hide the spectrum of emotions playing on their faces. After a few moments of silent communication both men nodded. The unspoken pledge to do whatever necessary to survive through the coming battle evident in their eyes. They were prepared to lose one another, but nothing short of Hell itself opening up and sucking one of them away like the flames of a Floo would succeed.

The headmaster simply nodded and added, “Very well, then. Do remember the blankets tonight, my boys.”

For two years Harry and Severus had fought and loved, talked and argued, held each other through injury, and soothed each other in the eerie dark. They had quiet discussions and lively debate. In short they survived.

It was a crazy romance, void of courtship and trinkets, and instead fortified with a common goal, raw desire, and desolation. And each night, there in the seclusion and warmth of the cave the two lovers got lost inside one another, wiping away all reality except that which existed between their naked forms.

It was not sane but little was at the time, and being on a mountain peak in an isolated region of China with Albus “Riddle-Me-This” Dumbledore and a man with the nickname “Mad-Eye” made sanity the first casualty of war.

By the end of the two years all four men had gone slightly cracked, their eyes nearly always dilated with intensity and a touch of paranoid psychosis; Nevertheless, their instincts were sharp as a razor blade and not one of them recognized fear. They came off the mountain new men, all of them. Their names remained the same but each one had been inexplicably altered by the experience.

The halls of Hogwarts felt almost sacred as Harry trudged towards the great hall for lunch. Each day he felt more and more melancholy about the prospect of leaving these walls for good. He was happy to be getting on with his life, now that he had one; yet part of him mourned for the wide-eyed, perpetually nervous eleven-year old boy who had called the school home. As he rounded a corner on the fifth floor Harry found himself suddenly yanked backwards, nearly off his feet and pulled roughly into a dim, empty classroom. No sooner than the door slammed Harry was crouched down in pouncing position, muscles taut, ready to repel an attack. With his heart thumping wildly and the rush of adrenaline sharpening his hearing, Harry slipped his wand into his palm, only to find himself slowly relaxing as the rarely heard rumble of his lover’s laughter washed over him.

“Nice to see your reactions have not slowed in this post-Dark Lord era,” Severus drawled as he stalked over to Harry, who was rising into a stand.

“You’re lucky. One moment later identifying yourself and I would have summoned your veins from your body and choked you with them,” Harry bit out, his voice raspy and slightly trembling from the excitement.

Severus chuckled. “I had forgotten that I taught you that diabolical little gem. But believe me when I tell you, it’s messy. One of the reasons the spell fell out of disfavor, even amongst the Death Eaters.”

Harry looked down briefly to sheath his wand up his sleeve. When he lifted his eyes back up to Severus what he saw there made his breath hitch. Those eyes, dark as a moonless night sky, were shining with lust and something Harry couldn’t quite name, but made Harry feel loved all the same.

“Severus?”

“Let’s fuck.”

“Here? Now?”

“Here. Now.”

Before Harry could waffle further Severus had him pinned against a wall with nothing separating them but their clothes. Without thought Harry had both arms wrapped firmly around the taller man’s neck as his lips were taken in an eager kiss. Severus used one hand to lift up Harry’s school robe while the other worked furiously to undo Harry’s trousers.

“Been wanting this all day,” Severus breathed into Harry’s open mouth, their tongues snaking around one another, curling and tasting as if for the first time, writhing together sensuously much like their identical tattoos.

Harry lifted his ass off the wall so that Severus could push his pants down. As the fabric pooled around his ankles Harry automatically spread his legs thinking Severus wanted to have a go. When the obligatory preparatory finger never entered him, Harry opened his eyes and looked at his lover questioningly.

Severus just smirked and backed away. Then he turned around, rucked up his long, black teaching robe, palmed the soft mounds of his own ass and bent forward, pulling his cheeks apart in the process. Harry wasn’t surprised that Severus went nude under his robes as it was traditional, and he and Severus had made use of that little habit on more than one occasion. It was the unmistakable gleam of lubricant peeking from between the older wizard’s ass cheeks that really made Harry’s eyes bulge with want. That ass was tight, hairless, and he knew from experience that the skin on those cheeks was baby smooth.

“Shit. That’s…ahhh, shit,” Harry babbled, shuffling forward towards the shining, exposed pucker as if led by an invisible string tied to his cock. “You just don’t fucking play fair, you know.”

“Slytherin, Potter. Remember it,” Severus panted, wiggling his ass a bit. “I’ve fantasized about fucking in a classroom for weeks. I don’t know why, nor do I care to analyze the possible reasons. I want you. In me. Now.”

Never able to quite shake his training to spring into action at Severus’ command, Harry grabbed the older wizard by the hips and without so much as a ‘by your leave’ plunged into the slick hole on offer in one steady motion. Much to his satisfaction, Harry found that Severus was not only thoroughly lubricated but also still slightly loose from their previous night’s activities. Based on how relaxed Severus was Harry wouldn’t be surprised at all if the man had also engaged in a brief bout of self-play before accosting him.

Almost immediately Harry felt at home. All his previous melancholy and regret evaporated, leaving behind only the pure joy he felt when joined with his lover. Every time he hit that spongy nub inside Severus, which earned him the delight of hearing the infamously stoic man’s unbelievably effeminate gasps of pleasure, Harry felt his own sense of wholeness solidify.

“Go get it, Harry,” Severus ground out, thrusting back to meet Harry blow for blow, taunting his young lover; and when Harry began drilling him deep like an excavator searching for oil Severus knew his taunt had served its purpose.

Rising up on the balls of his feet for leverage, Harry began a rapid-fire rhythm, which forced Severus to place both hands firmly on the floor in resistance. Harry still marveled at how limber the older wizard was, a fact owed to Severus’ lifelong devotion to an early morning yoga routine. It explained how the man could be so slim and strong at the same time. There was a wealth of raw power hidden inside that reedy frame, put to no greater use in Harry’s opinion than when it was being used to manhandle him in bed.

Harry loved to let his gaze rake over Severus’ elongated form, no more so than when he was on his knees, cock in mouth eyes roving up Severus’ body like a runner bean. In the trippy haze of sex, his brain addled with lust, those long, lean muscles seemed to Harry to stretch for miles; and when Severus neared orgasm Hary got to watch every inch of those lithe, fibrous muscles became taut with painful tension just prior to his lover’s release. It was beautiful.

At night, in the flickering candlelight that bathed them both in shadow and soft orange light, when Severus’ body trembled almost violently as he rode out the tail end of his climax, his skin flushed and damp with sweat, the man looked to Harry like some sort of river god washed freshly up on shore after a harrowing storm. He loved to see the older wizard beneath him panting and delirious, naked as the day he was born.

The image of his lover nude never failed to increase Harry’s heart rate; but here in this dusty, abandoned classroom, with his long legs set wide apart and ass jutting out from beneath yards of heavy, black fabric, Harry was near certain that Severus could be no god. No, the man currently fucking Harry as much as Harry was fucking him was sin incarnate.

Harry wrapped an arm around Severus’ waist and brought the man upright. Stilling their trusting for a moment but without withdrawing, Harry led Severus over to the door and slammed the taller wizard up against the aged wood. That prominent nose that Harry had come to adore was just inches from being smashed into the door. He placed both of Severus’ hands flat against the door before lowering one hand to grasp Severus’ leaking cock.

“Love your cock, babe,” Harry cooed into Severus’ ear as he stroked his lover’s rock hard erection like a favored pet. “It’s so fucking thick and warm. Merlin, I wanna suck you off, but your ass feels so goddamned good.”

“Fuck now. Suck later,” Severus replied succinctly, rocking back onto Harry’s cock in emphasis, which earned him a growl of frustration from the younger wizard.

“You’re gonna make me blow this load before I’m ready,” Harry said in warning, landing a loud smack against Severus’ bare ass.

Ignoring Severus yelp of feigned affront, Harry renewed his thrusting with one hand clamped firmly around the base of his lover’s cock. He’d be sure to play by the rules for this little rendezvous. It wasn’t often they indulged in quickie fucks—Harry’s favorite— during school hours. Most often it was a teasing, rushed kiss in a dark alcove here or a rare, deserted hallway there; or when time permitted they indulged in a mutual handjob during Severus’ “office hours”. The unexpected treat of having his cock sliding in and out of the snug passage that seemed designed special for him alone made Harry feel desire so deeply it felt as if his heart would burst into a thousand pieces from sheer, unadulterated pleasure.

“Oh Gods! Oh, oh…fuck!! I’m going to cum. I’m…FUCK!! I’m cumming, Sev. Squeeze me baby. Come on!” Harry begged, his voice panicky and deep. “That’s it,” thrust “That’s it,” thrust.

And on it went, with Harry’s brain stuck on repeat as he panted his simplistic encouragement in Severus’ ear, all while pumping in and out with abandon. All Severus could do was rhythmically clench his sphincter in return and try desperately not to spend his own load all over the door, Harry’s faltering grip on the base of his cock be damned. Severus was certain that were it not for Harry’s fist curled around him, his cock would have surely punctured clean through the wood to the other side.

They fucked they way they lived, hard and fast, unrepentantly. Do or die; Cum or go. With a few last shivering thrusts Harry peaked in earnest, his mouth agape in a silent scream, his fringe plastered to his forehead with sweat. Harry jerked and thrust erratically, riding out the spurts of his orgasm, grinding his yet to deflate erection into the hot, fleshy inner walls deep within his lover.

“That was…amazing. You’re always so tight, so warm,” Harry panted, lifting Severus hair away from his nape so that he could swipe his tongue across the sweaty patch of skin visible between the high collar and hair line, before catching an earlobe and suckling, drawing an appreciative moan from the man still impaled on his dick.

“Ummmmm, you taste good too,” Harry added, before easing out of Severus, hot globs of ejaculate dribbling out behind him. Severus often wondered if the amount of ejaculate correlated to one’s age, because Harry could orgasm several times a day and only suffer a small decrease in semen.

“Let me turn around and I’ll give you a true taste,” Severus purred.

Harry backed away and pulled his trousers up, not bothering to tuck himself in, before flipping Severus around so that the man’s back was resting against the door. Without even bothering with a cleaning charm, which he knew would turn Severus on like a switch, Harry gobbled the older wizards cock up like it was pudding. Within minutes the normally sedate and dignified older wizard was thrashing against the door like a man possessed; incoherent, filthy words dripping easily from between his parted lips, washing over Harry like warm honey.

Harry pushed a cupped hand between Severus spread legs, back behind the tight, heavy sac, where he scooped a bit of his own seed from between the sopping wet crevice. He sensed more than heard Severus stop breathing as he brought that sticky hand forward, awash in his own essence, and slicked it over Severus’ cock, which by now could be used as a lethal weapon it was so hard. After thoroughly coating that impressive cock, which stood as proudly as its owner, Harry unhinged his jaw and resumed his skillful exploration of his lover’s cock now seasoned with his own seed. Luckily he liked the taste of himself, especially when mixed with Severus. But before he could truly enjoy the combination Severus yanked him off just in time to spurt all over Harry’s bespectacled face.

They slumped against each other and down onto the floor, where Severus proceeded to lick Harry’s face clean like a mother cat cleaning a kitten, before indulging in a few post-orgasmic minutes of heavy petting and French kissing. Just as Harry’s eyes were beginning to shut, heavy as they were with sleep, Severus’ wand began to vibrate.

“That would be my alarm indicating the lunch period has passed. Your fellow students will be swarming the halls in no time at all,” Severus drawled in a low voice, filled with mischief. “Go to my quarters and have a shower. You are excused from my class for the day. You’ve more than earned your marks. I will concoct some plausible excuse for your dimwitted fellow Gryffs, as well as the rest of your classes.”

Harry could only smirk in thanks as he stumbled upright to right his clothing and shift his demeanor into something less resembling “fucked silly”. As he made to open the door Severus came up behind him and wrapped a long arm around his waist, stilling further movement. Trailing several long fingers through Harry’s hair, the other hand pressed flat against Harry’s firm abdomen, Severus brushed a soft kiss against Harry’s flushed cheek. “I will send Dobby with food in twenty minutes. You’ll be needing your strength tonight.”

With what could only be described as a whimper, Harry’s head fell back against the taller man’s shoulder, which allowed Severus to take those full lips in one last deep kiss, before shooing his young lover off for a shower and much deserved rest.

Harry came awake to the sound of Neville and Ron arguing. He looked around blearily in search of his glasses. Rolling away from the back of the sofa, in which his faced had so recently been nestled, he trailed a hand along the carpeted floor next to the sofa where he often discarded his glasses in his rush to catch a few winks.

Able to see properly again, Harry padded into the kitchen to find Ron and Neville standing at opposite ends of the small space. By the color of Ron’s face, which was ghastly close to his hair, Harry knew something headache inducing was about to be revealed.

“Nev. Ron. What’s going on?” Harry asked, leaning against the threshold to the kitchen, every inch of his posture screaming loudly for them to just come out with whatever it was they were bickering about as he was in no mood pry it out of them.

Neville, despite having come a long way from the bumbling, shy schoolboy, still buckled in the face of confrontation with those he called friend. Ron on the other hand was still Ron. Ever since Hermione had blindsided both he and Ron with the news that she would skip “seventh year” prep and go straight on to complete her N.E.W.Ts so that she could accept early admission to a university in the States, Ron had been on a mission to avoid a similar scenario with Harry. The redhead had been downright clingy for the last several months.

Harry knew Ron was suffering a bit of separation anxiety. After Harry had gone off without him to train for the war, and nearly almost fought it without him too, Ron felt he was slowly losing his connection to his two best friends. Harry had tried to reassure him that their friendship was still very much in tact, but that part of growing up was figuring out how to lead their separate lives without causing a rift between them. That little speech had been met with a snort and a suspicious glare that would rival a Slytherin.

His face nearly glowing with anger, Ron stalked over to Harry. “You’ve been sneakin’ off at night. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. Tell me Harry, more secret missions for Dumbledore? Nev and I not wizard enough to be let in on this latest round of war games?”

“What the fuck are you on about, Ron?” Harry asked, eyes wide with confusion.

Neville shuffled loudly in the background, clanking glasses together as he removed them from a cupboard along with a bottle of whiskey.

“Ron thinks you’ve been holding out on us, Harry. He thinks you’re still working with the Order to look for rogue Death Eaters,” Neville explained, shifting his eyes between the two best friends before pausing on Harry for a too-long moment. In that instance Harry knew that Neville knew exactly why Ron’s theory was dead wrong. Shit.

“Ron, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m…I’m…well I am going off at night, but it’s got nothing at all to do with Dumbledore,” Harry said, brushing past Ron to move further into the kitchen towards the fridge.

“Well then what?” Ron spat, his beefy arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. All he was missing was toe tapping and he’d look an awful lot like Molly on a tear.

Harry did not respond, preferring instead to stick his entire upper body into the fridge, in search of food that he did not truly want.

Neville, ever the peacemaker, walked forward and handed Ron a glass filled with amber liquid before speaking quietly. “Ron, perhaps you should back off, yeah. Harry has told you he’s not on some secret Order mission. Just leave it, alright.”

“No. I won’t ‘just leave it, alright’”, Ron mocked. “Harry is keeping a secret from his best mates. That’s no way to preserve a friendship. For fuck’s sake,why is he always disappearing for hours and hours? How do we know something really messed up isn’t going on, huh? Have you ever thought of that, Nev?”

Realizing that Ron’s stubborn streak was a permanent trait, Harry shut the fridge. “Harry is in the room, so you may want to stop alternatively whispering and yelling about me as though I weren’t.

“Ron, nothing is wrong, okay? Nothing dangerous, and no I am not in any shit. It’s just personal. So take Nev’s advice and just leave it.”

Without waiting for the argument to continue Harry stalked out of the kitchen, donned his boots and in full view of Ron and Neville pocketed his wand and invisibility cloak before exiting the flat, their rickety front door slamming angrily in his wake.

After three days of Harry giving him the silent treatment Ron had enough. Weasley temper at full power, diminishing any semblance of tact and appropriateness, Ron straddled the bench so that he was facing Harry during the lunch in the Great Hall.

“Time’s up, Harry. I wanna know what the fuck is going on with you.”

“Ron, not now, okay,” Harry said in a quiet voice, skin prickling under the gaze of hundreds of his fellow students now looking his way due to Ron’s outburst.

“Yes. Now.”

Harry pushed his plate away, took up his satchel, and left the table. He could feel Severus’ eyes boring into the back of his skull as he stalked towards the massive doors of the hall. No doubt there’d be a discussion about this little episode later. For weeks Severus had been after him to open up about what was bothering him. Harry had remained steadfastly tight lipped about it all. The walls shielding their relationship from the public were slowly crumbling. Like a marauding horde, soon the entire public would know and nothing between them would ever be as sweet, as sacred, or private again. Harry had lived nearly his entire life in the spotlight, but when he retreated into the arms of his lover, in the quiet of the evening, he could almost feel normal. As though he were just a man. A man in love.

That night, in the hours when the earth itself seemed to be at rest, Severus held a preoccupied Harry in his arms, a hand not unlike that of a pianist stroking along the ridges of the maudlin wizard’s spine. A few hours prior Harry had entered, quiet as a subtle breeze, and without even bothering to speak a greeting proceeded to engage Severus in one of their most violently passionate sessions of lovemaking to date. The sex had been magnificent, as always, but once their orgasms had passed Harry had retreated somewhere deep inside himself. To a place not even Severus could follow. All he could do was wait. Patience of necessity being one of his few virtues, Severus did just that.

The following morning Severus woke to the sound of his shower running. A shallow smile ghosted across his lips at the thought that Harry had stayed the night. Finally. The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived once Severus recalled just under what circumstances his lover had remained. Throwing off the duvet and rising, Severus donned a robe before exiting the bedroom on his way to kitchen.

Severus returned to the bedroom to find Harry pulling on his jeans, his muscular body still speckled with beads of water highlighting the fact that Harry had merely waved the towel over his body in a half-assed attempt to dry off.

He held out a steaming mug towards Harry, who took the offered beverage in silence but looked skeptically at it. The potions master felt a little twinge of pride that Harry would not put it above him to spike the drink with truth serum. The war had cost the ‘Golden Boy’ a little of his shine but in Severus’ opinion Harry was a smarter, better wizard for it in the end.

“It’s just coffee. Your favorite blend from that Muggle chain,” Severus said, watching Harry take a tentative sip to judge the temperature.

“Thanks.”

“So, are you ready to tell me what’s going on between you and Ronald? I presume whatever has transpired is the cause of the dramatic shift in your demeanor of late.”

Harry remained silent, sipping sporadically from his mug. Severus placed his mug on the side table and climbed back into bed, sitting upright against the headboard.

Harry continued to sip staring down into the carpet as if hoping it would fly him away.

“Neville knows.”

“Longbottom? Pray tell, just what does Longbottom know?” Severus said with disbelief, for the Longbottom he knew could scarcely be called aware.

“Us. He knows,” Harry replied, lifting watery eyes to stare at Severus.

“And this has you upset?”

Harry nodded, fear like Severus had never before seen, not even when the younger man had faced the Dark Lord, evident in those emerald eyes.

“Why? Are you…” Severus’ throat locked up at the mere thought but it had to be said. “You’re ashamed?”

“You know that’s not it,” Harry shot back like a bullet.

Severus was surprised that his heart had done a little pitter-patter of fear all his own in the millisecond it took for Harry to respond. Denial was futile; he loved the young man sitting shirtless on a trunk in the corner. That messy wet hair, those full lips, that defiant spirit, those impossibly innocent eyes still able to affect awe despite all they had seen— it all coalesced in a package that Severus had grown to love almost pathologically. So much so that even entertaining the notion that now, back in the real world where others lived and time marched forth, Harry may no longer be plagued with a desire to be involved with him left Severus feeling nauseous and near suicidal.

“What then?”

“I wanted this, us, to stay private. I wanted something just for me. Something untouched and tainted by the impressions of others; something my public couldn’t pick apart and weigh-in about,” Harry explained. “I just wanted you.”

Severus was momentarily confused. “You have me Harry, you know this. Loathe as I am to admit it aloud, I cannot foresee a time in my future where you would not be a central figure.”

Silence settled heavily around them. They sat for several long minutes just looking at one another from across the room before Harry rose from the trunk and crawled back across the bed to Severus, climbing atop the man and pulling him into a soft, slow kiss that went on for some time.

Once they came up for air, their coffee long gone cold, Harry gazed into Severus’ eyes, his own green eyes begging for…something.

“You’ve got me, Harry. Tell me what you need. What you want. What is eating at you,” Severus pleaded.

“I’m afraid,” Harry said in a whisper. “I just… want to escape with you. I just want to leave this place. Let’s go. We can do that, right? Come away with me, please.“

Understanding dawned on Severus like the morning sun. Harry was afraid the world would rip them apart. The Golden Boy and the former Death Eater was not a pairing likely to be well received by the wizarding public; never mind the age difference or the countless suitor’s closer to Harry’s own age that would be clamoring for his attentions. Harry had given them so much and now he wanted something for himself, and he chose Severus. It was mindblowing.

Holding Harry’s face firmly between his palms Severus nipped the now trembling wizard on the lips. “Anywhere. I’d follow you into hell if it meant I could be with you.”

At that moment Harry did something he had not done since Sirius fell through the veil. He folded in on himself, tucked firmly against Severus’ bare chest, and cried. Only this time it was tears of relief; tears of joy.

It had been three weeks since Harry had confessed his fears to Severus. Three weeks in which the two lovers had planned their escape. Taking a page from the most masterful manipulator either of them knew, Dumbledore, the two men decided to once again “fall off the face of the earth”—for a while at least.

Through long talks, which were surprisingly void of any real disagreements, they had agreed that Harry would forego the remainder of his N.E.W.T prep. Severus would help him prepare for them and Harry would return briefly to take them in the late Spring. Severus even informed Harry that it might be a good instance to cash in some of the pull he now had as destroyer of Voldemort, for surely if Harry Potter asked the Ministry would provide him with a private N.E.W.T examination to be sat a day of Harry’s own choosing.

They had yet to settle on a location for their getaway. Severus had proposed several locales but nothing had jumped out a Harry. He was just so happy to be leaving with Severus that his mind was hardly able to focus on much else.

Ron, of course, was still prickly and sore that Harry had still not confided in him about his long absences and late night excursions. The redhead had told Harry that he must not truly think him trustworthy, that their friendship must not mean much. Ron had even thrown Hermione into the mix, accusing Harry of hiding some bombshell that would no doubt leave him behind. Every time Ron needled him with those accusations Harry felt awful because Ron was so close to the truth.

Neville had finally confronted Harry about his relationship with Severus, explaining that he had spotted the two making out one afternoon near the greenhouses. Ever a friend though, Neville just reassured Harry that he would not tell anyone, and with a healthy measure of skepticism wished him ‘good luck with Snape’.

Everything was falling into place. Gringotts had been put on alert to continue submitting his share of the flat’s rent as long as Neville and Ron remained in residence there. Severus had all but closed his own account, wanting to ‘sponsor’ their getaway for a while. A chivalrous announcement that made Harry blush like a virgin bride. It felt really good to have someone that wanted to take care of him, even for a little while. Dobby had been solicited to remove Severus’ belongings from the dungeon by bits and pieces so as not to draw attention, storing them in the cellar at Spinner’s End. Hedwig would remain in the school owlery, with Neville and Dobby both charged with keeping her content. Two days. Just two days more and they would vanish into thin air, leaving only a few notes for a few select recipients.

Having penned notes to Dumbledore, the Weasleys care of Arthur, McGonagall, Hermione, Neville and Ron, the lovers left the dungeons through separate exits only to meet up back in the Great Hall one last time for lunch. The next time they spoke was to be at midnight, when they met up to leave the world behind.

Harry sat chatting amicably with Dean Thomas, enjoying his final Hogwarts meal and savoring the spicy tang of pumpkin juice between bites, when Ron stormed over in a fit of pique.

“Fancy meeting you here, Harry,” Ron snapped as he sat down across from his two classmates, reaching angrily towards a platter of spiral cut ham.

Dean, confused by the exchange but fully aware that something hinky was going on between the two friends, bid Ron an uneasy hello and excused himself.

Harry lowered his utensil, the recently consumed food weighing like stones in his belly. Leaning forward so that his voice would not carry Harry started, “Listen, Ron. I just wanted you to know…”

“Know what?” Ron spat, his voice a few decibels past polite. “That my best friend doesn’t have the balls to tell me he’s leaving. That he doesn’t think enough of me to ask me to join him. That now that he has become a fucking adult he’s decided to leave his childhood behind— including me.”

‘That’s not it at all, Ron. I mean yes I am leaving, but…”

Ron’s fork clattered loudly as he thrust it back down against the plate. “I fucking knew it. You bastard. Just like Hermione. You’re too chicken shit to just tell me…I always knew she left for more than uni. You’re going there aren’t you. My own mate fucking my ex-girl.”

Harry sat there flabbergasted and wide-eyed with disbelief. The hall had gone deathly quiet; the only sound the heavy, dragon-like breathing of Ron in his rage. As the accusations leveled by Ron finally registered Harry couldn’t stop himself from falling forward onto the table in near hysterical laughter.

“What’s so fucking funny, Harry? You think it’s funny that you and Hermione concocted this lame assed plan to fool me. Going off the Muggle world where you know I’d have a hard time finding you.”

“Gods, Ron, you are completely nutters, mate. Me and Hermione? That’s…That’s…” Harry once again fell into an abyss of laughter, unable to finish his sentence.

Just as it appeared Ron couldn’t get any redder, Dumbledore rose and brought an end to the lunch hour, vanishing the food and shooing the students back out into the corridor. Once everyone exited, leaving only Harry, Ron, and Severus in the hall, Harry stood and motioned for Ron to join him on a walk to the head table. Severus, wearing a scowl that could crack bone, leveled a look of disgust so deep at Ron that the redhead felt his balls shrivel.
As they reached the head table Harry held Severus’ gaze much the way he had the night in the cave when Dumbledore had asked them if they were prepare to lose one another. With the same intense nonverbal communication Severus and Harry came to an agreement.

“Ron, I am not leaving to join Hermione. I’m…,” Harry took a deep breath. “I’m leaving with Severus.”

Ron’s eyes widened marginally in surprise, yet the redhead’s brow furrowed ever deeper in consternation. This was huge and Harry hadn’t thought to share it. Harry, sensing where Ron’s train of thought was headed, quickly continued.

“I trust you. I do. I just didn’t want anyone to get in our way, and I really didn’t want the public to know,” Harry added, before gazing down at Severus for reassurance.

“I…we, need some time away. Just the two of us. I can’t explain right now why I kept it from you. All you need to know is that I kept it from everyone for reasons of my own. Only Dumbledore and Moody knew before today, and that was more due to proximity than our telling them. Neville also picked up on it. Maybe when I get back we can discuss it over a pint, but for now you’ll just have to accept what I tell you.”

Ron’s baby blues volleyed back and forth between the normally unsympathetic figure of Severus Snape and that of his dearest friend. His mind was working furiously to comprehend the bizarre news that the two were together, and by the sound of things had been for quite some time.

“How long? Where? Har… er, how?” Ron asked, still reeling from the revelation that his best friend was not only leaving, but was in a serious relationship with a man Ron thought Harry would dislike forever.

“Almost three years. In China, during training. And um, well, I think you can imagine how, yeah?” Harry answered with a blush.

Severus remained impassive during the exchange but at Harry’s bashful explanation of their relationship, which Severus knew was mostly crouched in vagaries to protect his best friend’s delicate sensibilities, the older wizard felt his cock leap up and twitch with arousal. Harry blushed so beautifully; and that shy, embarrassed way his eyes faltered made Severus’ blood burn. The contrast of a blushing, innocent Harry in public against that of the naughty, kinky, utterly fuckable Harry of the night was just too delicious for words. Only Harry could have two sides both so wholly truthful to whom he was; and every inch belonged to Severus.

“You’re leaving then?” Ron asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Yeah. Tonight. I wrote you a note to be delivered, but…” Harry shrugged. “Listen, I can count on you to keep this quiet, right? I mean everyone that needs to know will get a note so they won’t be sending search parties or anything. No one knows where we are going. Not even Severus and I have decided yet, but well I didn’t want the folks I loved thinking I’d been kidnapped or something awful.”

Still slightly dumbstruck by the afternoon’s revelation, Ron pulled himself together to assess the two men before him. He had never trusted Snape as far as he could see him. Yet, the man had come through in big ways during the war; and even Ron could see that the two were in love. Turning to Severus, Ron asked in his firmest tone, “You’ll take care of him?”

“I’ve done thus far Mr. Weasley. I see no reason to stop now,” Snape replied coolly.

Ron simply nodded before addressing Harry. “Well, I can’t say I get it. You two I mean. But hey, whatever makes your wand spark, if you know what I mean,” the redhead said good-naturedly, if a bit crude.

As soon as Ron got his words out Harry had the redhead in a rib-cracking bear hug. “Thanks, Ron! You’re…just know that you’re my best friend. No matter where I am, if you need me I’m here, alright.”

“Sure thing, mate.”

Severus cleared his throat before rising from his chair.

“If you’ve done making up I shall like to make a small request of Mr. Weasley,” Severus stated rather seriously.

Harry was bewildered by the tone, unsure what Severus could possibly need from Ron.

“What can I do for you Snape?” Ron asked, his tone wary.

“I need a witness,” Severus explained before reaching into his robe and retrieving a long, thin box. Ron’s eyes became the size of saucers.

“That’s…oh, man. Mum’s gonna go spare,” Ron said, voice cracking with nervousness.

Severus bowed towards Harry and presented him with the box. Harry opened the box and almost forgot to keep breathing at what he saw. There nestled atop a bed of blue velvet was the most stunning bracelet Harry had ever seen. It was about an inch thick, platinum, etched with runes and tastefully decorated with tiny, canary yellow diamonds.

“Will you, Harry Potter, consent to be my lawful partner, to bond with me, to share all of life’s joys and sorrows, from now and into eternity?”

With a grin wide enough to put even Dobby to shame, Harry threw himself at Severus, leaping into those long arms that felt like the safest place on earth. Severus reacted just in time to catch Harry beneath the ass as the younger man wrapped both legs around his waist before attempting to suck the older wizard’s face clean off in a rather ferocious series of kisses.

“Mr. Weasley, witness please,” Severus managed to ground out between the rather loud kisses Harry was peppering over every inch of his face.

Ron lifted his wand and spoke the words that would bind Severus to his promise of engagement. The bonding could now happen at anytime, giving he and Harry plenty of time to roam as yet undecided places, outrunning time and the world, loving recklessly in a world all their own.