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Fisherman\'s Rock	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 6508 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters, and the pile of bills on the kitchen counter tells me I'm not making any money off of slashing them up.

Chapter List
- 1-Fisherman's Rock
- 1
A/N: Written as a birthday gift. Warnings are to the best of my memory as I was waiting to post it until aforementioned birthday. If there are any that should be included that I've missed, let me know, and I will add them.

Yes, I have a mailing list. See my profile for details.

Fisherman's Rock

Pt. 1

Severus had always thought it was terribly complicated. The way he felt about Lily, the way he felt about Harry – he'd presumed it was only natural that those two things were connected, but they weren't. The blood bond between mother and son connected Lily to Harry, and Harry to Lily, but there was not, by necessity, any natural correlation therein relating his feelings about one to his feelings about the other. He'd thought there must be, but the year that Harry didn't get on the Hogwarts Express, Severus knew: love could be eternal, but that did not make it a singularity.

He hadn't expected Harry to return for his seventh year. It was far too dangerous. Even so, he found himself standing in the tower as the students – those of them that dared return after Dumbledore's passing – were marched into the building, watching for a familiar cowlick of black hair, the flash off the glass of a pair of spectacles hiding remarkably green eyes. He hadn't expected to see these things, but knowing he wouldn't see them only made him realize how much he wanted to. He'd turned back into the tower to prepare for the most dismal year of his life, to prepare, and to plan. Dumbledore was gone. He'd planned to keep Harry alive so long only so he could die at the proper time. Severus had several months to find another way, a way that would spare as many lives as possible, and keep Harry's among them. He feared it would not be nearly long enough.

He was a brilliant man, some might say a genius (if they didn't personally dislike him so very much), and he liked to think it true, but he also knew, in his unique position, what he desperately needed to make a difference was the thing he no longer possessed: an ally. He went over his options, which didn't take long, as there weren't very many. He needed those around him to believe, truly, that he was still a death eater. That meant, as much as Minerva might come to mind, it was perhaps most important that she believe in his betrayal. But, who could that possibly leave? No one at the school, surely. Nevertheless, it would have to be someone with ready access to it, someone, also, without ties to the ministry. He had only barely managed to hide the sword of Godric Gryffindor before the ministry tried to get their grubby little hands on it. He had no idea how he was going to get it to Harry, just yet, but that was another matter he needed to expend some rather immediate attention on.

He had been so angry at Albus, using them all like chess pieces, moving them about at will, sentencing Harry to a turbulent life and inevitable death, aligning Severus himself in such a precarious position as spy between the two sides, and inevitably forcing him to hex him off the tower to his death. Severus still had nightmares about that. He realized quickly that he only had two choices, and only one made the least bit of sense: his old enemy by association, Remus Lupin. He didn't want to trust him, but he had no choice. If either had any hope of a future, then it was time to put the past behind them. He could only pray that Lupin didn't curse him on the spot for killing Dumbledore. More importantly, for the moment, was maintaining the careful balance, and the ruse that he was, in fact, of a nature as dark as his students had always suspected him.

He started every first year potions lecture with the same speech. He had it down to heart to the point he scarcely had to pay attention to the words coming out of his own mouth. He told the students that, should they be so inclined, he could teach them to put a stopper on death. It struck him that he might well have to put a stopper on his own before the year was out, and pray the ally he'd decided upon would prove reliable in reviving him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Remus would have been, had every intention of it, but war was unforgiving. In the wreckage, Minerva wandered the Great Hall, saddened by the death toll, and, exhausted from the long battle, did what she could to help prepare the deceased for burial. So it was that, as Harry and his friends stubbornly refused help in pulling Snape's battered body from the Shrieking Shack, she found herself freshening the clothes of corpses, removing blood stains. She was listless, unable to settle. If only Severus had told her what he was up to, perhaps she could have been of some use.

It was as she was tidying Remus's jacket that a tiny green vial fell out of the pocket. At first, she presumed it Wolfsbane potion, but she was familiar with its properties, and when she lifted the potion to the light, a spark of gold seemed to dart through the liquid in a rather animated fashion. 'It can't be...' She abruptly stopped in the middle of her tidying, held up her skirts, and ran up the hall to the headmaster's office. As assistant headmaster, the gargoyle ought let her pass, especially now that Severus...but the gargoyle stubbornly insisted, "No entry without the password."

She made several guesses, huffing in frustration. Why couldn't Severus just have chosen candies like Dumbledore, at least then she had half a hope of guessing. Severus just had to refuse to be predictable. But the gargoyle's stubbornness told her what she needed to know. "Gargoyle, tell me, who is the current headmaster of Hogwarts?"

"Severus Snape, of course, you senile old hag," the gargoyle answered testily.

Minerva's heart leaped into her throat enough that she didn't spare any choice words for being called a 'senile old hag' as she hiked up her skirts again and ran past Filch and his silly broom out onto the grounds.

Professors Flitwick and Sprout blinked at one another as she rushed past them, but she didn't spare them a thought. If this potion was what she thought it was, she didn't have a moment to spare.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry blinked as he and Ron held Snape by shoulders and ankles respectively. Hermione had her wand drawn and was about to cast a levitation spell to help move him more easily, but he saw Professor McGonagall running at them.

"Professor?" Harry asked.

"Put him down right there, Potter. Immediately, please."

Harry had long ago learned not to argue with Professor McGonagall. He and Ron lowered the body they were only clumsily managing to carry into the grass several feet away from the Whomping Willow.

Professor McGonagall produced the little green vial and tilted Snape's head back, pouring the liquid down and using her fingers to force it, if a bit roughly, down his throat.

Nothing happened immediately. She held her breath as the three Gryffindors looked on, rather confused. Well, Hermione didn't look terribly confused, but then, she never did. She was, perhaps, a bit too smart for her own good.

Then, a spark of gold seemed to dance and dart at points under Snape's skin, across his pale face, and disappeared into his collar, down to the end of his fingers, and then there was a sort of pop.

Snape's eyes opened abruptly and he rolled over coughing up several mouthfuls of blood. "Bloody wolf," he groused. "What took you so..." He blinked, realizing that Remus would not likely be wearing a dress, and looked up. "Minerva," he choked, coughing up another mouthful. "What..?"

"Your potion fell from Remus's pocket," she said.

Severus didn't need the details. He was either badly injured or dead, and either way, he couldn't worry about it now. He tried to gather his thoughts, but he could scarcely move. He needed a good tonic, and several strong doses of blood-replenishing potion. Gladly, the preventative potion he'd taken prevented him from absorbing any significant amount of Nagini's venom, but the injury was enough to seriously cripple him. "Harry, he..."

"Is right here, Severus," Minerva said. "Calm yourself. It is over."

Severus jerked his head and instantly regretted it. Hands on his shoulders stilled him. "Don't move yet, Professor."

It was Harry's voice.

Minerva shot a nervous glance over her shoulder. "Hurry then," she whispered. "Hurry and take him somewhere safe," she told the trio. "Somewhere they won't find him. I am sure the ministry will arrive any moment, and while your word is good, Potter, it is not enough to keep him out of Azkaban, and he will not survive there in his current condition."

"Professor."

"Go on then," she interrupted. "Hurry. Be quick about it. I am sure someone will have followed me, and they'll be along any moment."

Harry exchanged a look with Ron and Hermione, who each took hold of one of Snape's boots, and the lot disapparated in an instant.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Harry, where are we?" Hermione asked, looking about the dilapidated shack.

Ron got up and looked out the window only to find the island was scarcely larger than the shack sitting upon it.

"Long story," Harry said. "I only had a moment to think. I'd have liked to take him back to Grimauld Place, but too many people know where it is, now."

Severus wheezed. Apparating in his condition had certainly taken its toll, but it was nice that Harry had finally developed a bit of sense.

"Professor!" Harry was quick to worry. "Hermione, help me stop the bleeding."

Of course, Hermione was on hand with the proper spell.

Severus grabbed Harry's wrist with surprising strength. He couldn't speak very loudly. Moving his vocal chords much only worsened his injury, but he managed to whisper. "In my pocket."

Harry fumbled about until his hand reached into a pocket that was much the same as Hermione's bottomless bag. He found a rack containing several potions, carefully labeled. There were half a dozen vials of blood replenisher, two larger vials of anti-venom potion, an empty bottle of something Severus had already taken, and another bottle like the one Professor McGonagall had found on Remus, this one labeled 'Harry'.

Severus shook his head as Harry looked down upon it, and winced at the effort, pale fingers fumbling toward the blood replenisher. He had lost consciousness before he'd been able to give Harry that vial. Luckily, Harry had somehow managed to survive without it.

"Right!" Harry declared, brushing Snape's fumbling fingers away and taking the bottle in his own, more steady, hands, pouring it down the older man's throat.

Severus swallowed painfully.

"Another, or..?"

Severus had to take a moment before he could try to speak again. "Every two hours," he rasped. "Until they've gone. In...my other pocket...there are fever reducers...should I...require them." He hoped Harry wouldn't try for further conversation. Trying to force out that full sentence had felt borderline suicidal.

"Harry, maybe you should let him rest," Hermione said, putting her hand on his shoulder.

Severus decided maybe he would refrain from calling her an insufferable know-it-all for a while.

"She's right, mate. We should put up the usual spells, yeah? Doubt anyone will come looking here, but just on the chance..." Ron said. "And maybe see if we can't do something about the roof. Doesn't look like it'll hold up if there's a storm."

Severus decided, silently, that their year away had even managed to mature the Weasley a bit. He seemed nearly reasonable now. But, to be perfectly honest, he was just glad that they were distracting Harry from his condition. He didn't want to appear too weak, but he was in wretched shape, certainly not well enough to answer even a fraction of the questions he could see in Harry's eyes, so he was quite glad for the distraction.

"Yeah, you're right," Harry conceded. "Then you should both go back to Hogwarts, before anyone misses you."

"It's you they'll be missing," Ron said with a smirk that seemed to imply, 'and they think I'm the stupid one.'

Harry looked back over his shoulder at Snape.

Snape's will sunk. He was going to have to speak. Again? So soon. He licked his parched lips. "Go," he said, his voice heavy and his throat aching. "For..." he lost his voice and struggled to regain it. It was so quiet when he did, that Harry had to lean his ear over the potions master's mouth. "...I will be well, for another two hours. Return...with...fresh water. Blankets. Clean robes." He was tempted to ask for a book, too, but thought that would be pushing his luck, and the limits of his vocal chords.

Harry nodded reluctantly. "I guess that's true. We'll need things. Food and such." He sighed. "Alright. Get some sleep, then. I won't be gone long." He couldn't bear to leave Snape here by himself in this condition for a second longer than he had to.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was nearly a week before Snape was able to get up from the couch without assistance, and even then, Harry insisted on giving it, and closer to a month before his voice came back, much to his disdain. He had predicted that he would be killed. However, he'd expected to be cursed to death. Nagini's bite and the blood loss had very nearly killed him all over again. It was a rather good thing he'd planned for every possible eventuality.

After a month, he was well enough, though Harry refused to believe so, save for frequent sore throats that would go away on their own given a bit more time. He was weak in body, but accounted that to being laid up for several weeks. He'd have gone outside to take a walk, if there was enough of an island beneath them to walk upon.

Harry scarcely left his side. He didn't have to – the island shack was only two rooms large, and one was a lavatory; Snape thought it could only be barely described as such. To his credit, Harry was doing his best with the repairs, at least on the inside. Nothing could be done about the out without putting them at substantial risk of being discovered in the abandoned fishing shack. Still bloody smelled like cod, if you asked Severus. Thankfully, a small window was opened. The sea air and a few well-placed freshening charms managed to mask the scent enough for the average nose, but he had an uncommonly keen sense of smell. It had always served him well in brewing, but it was a hindrance now. In spite of Harry's incessant mother-henning (which he presumed must have been learned from Molly Weasley), he continued to cast freshening charms, and repair patchy bits of woodwork from his seat on the couch. The shack was, after all, conveniently small. With careful aim, he needn't get up – which apparently he was only permitted to do if he needed to visit the loo – to make himself useful.

"I told you to stop that," Harry scolded. "I've got this. You should..."

"Return to my previous comatose state so you can decorate with all the Gryffindor gusto you desire? I think not," he said. He couldn't say, just at the moment, that he was terribly proud to be a Slytherin, but he was not so disenchanted with his housemates as to let Harry have at it with the gaudy red and gold of his house. Being enamored with the bespectacled young man was one thing, bad taste was another entirely.

Harry wrinkled his nose, Snape thought rather adorably, but of course, his poker face never faltered. "You nearly died," Harry sulked at him.

"And yet, I remain perfectly in tact." He wished he could say the same for his wardrobe. All Harry and his friends had been able to snatch up on short notice came out of Ronald's closet, having survived several years of being handed about the household. He was currently sitting in a pair of jeans so old the seams had begun to fray, and a Chudley Cannons t-shirt that was so faded it was closer in shade to pink than orange.

"I wouldn't say perfectly," Harry chided, stalking over to the couch and pushed Severus' hair away from his neck. The flesh was badly scarred, but healed.

Severus looked smug. He knew Harry was looking for some stray drop of blood that wasn't there. "Perfectly," he said. "I have finished the potions, healed over the flesh wound, and taken all appropriate measures within my current capabilities. If someone would stop whining when I get up off the blasted couch, we might be done amending the tragic state of this sorry excuse of a building, but I should expect about as much from a Gryffindor. I presume the ministry is still twiddling their thumbs about clearing my name?"

"Well, you're dead, so they're not exactly prioritizing it. I'm working on it," Harry answered with a sigh. "And don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject." He shook his wand at the older man.

Severus caught the wand hand. "Careful," he warned. The last thing he needed was to be accidentally stupefied by an angry Gryffindor.

For an instant, the world seemed to freeze around them. Snape felt his pulse race and abruptly released the hand. "I am quite well, in any case," he said, turning to look out the window. "What remains to be healed can only be done with time and, I am sure much to your disdain, exercise. I will not recover spending the entire day wearing a dent into the couch. And, while on that subject, I really must insist that if you are going to sleep here every night, you get yourself something to sleep on."

Harry gave Severus a look that was torn between petulant and embarrassed, but Severus still refused to look at him, and kept his dark eyes trained on the sea breaking against their tiny rock. He wondered how much longer, without protective magic in place, it would be before the whole bloody place sank into the ocean. He did not presume it would happen any time soon, but really, some anti-erosion charms would be advisable if they were going to be here long.

"Excuse me for worrying about you!" Harry huffed. "Merlin knows you refuse to worry about yourself!"

Severus felt a twitch at the corner of his eyebrow. He snapped, and his voice, rough as it was, rose testily. "Perhaps if I was not perpetually busy worrying about insufferable, reckless Gryffindors, I would have a bit of time to spare for concerns over my own well being," he spat, dark eyes full of rage that the infamous Harry Potter actually had the gaul to imply that, between them, he was the reckless one! Of all the nerve!

Harry steamed. Insufferable! Reckless! "If you hate me that much, then I'm so sorry I've been working so hard to protect you from the ministry and the death eaters and trying to keep you comfortable!" he yelled. "Fix your own bloody house. You're going to be here a while." He abruptly disapparated.

'That went swimmingly,' Severus thought flatly, looking about the shack. There were two bags of groceries by the door, enough that he would be able to feed himself for a week or two before it was a concern, and he supposed if it got too bad, he could fish (perish the thought). He certainly hoped Harry intended to return before then. As much as he might like to take a walk through the nearby village, see something other than the tiny shack and the endless ocean, he was well aware of how inadvisable it would be for him to reveal just yet that he was, in fact, very much not deceased, as half the wizarding world, at least, on both sides, much preferred him as a cold stone on a grassy knoll. If he continued to humor such childish arguments, Harry was going to be one of them.

Severus sat back on the couch with a sigh. He'd made the mistake of saying the wrong thing to Lily one too many times when he was young, and apparently Harry inherited her patience for it. He would have to be careful, make amends somehow, even if he wasn't wrong.

XXXXXXXXXX

It took six days for Harry to calm down. Severus used the time – lonely as it was – to work magic on the shack. He didn't have but his wand to work with, and the surrounding elements, but he wanted to make it nice enough that Harry would wish to return once he saw it.

First, he finished repairing the damaged wood, and cast protective charms over it and the tiny island to prevent further corrosion (and erosion, as it were) from the sea spray and salt air. That took four days. On the fifth, he cast extension charms, making the inside of the fishing shack notably larger than the outside. He didn't overdo it. There was no need for a vast expanse of house. He only needed enough to make himself comfortable, and entertain a guest, who he hoped would not consider himself a 'guest' at all. The first order of business was to enlarge the miniature bathroom just enough to make it reasonable, and perhaps a bit more than that, to fit a decent sized bath as well as the standing shower, which was rather in desperate need of a sliding door, he thought, or at the bare minimum, a curtain. Then, he made the main room thrice its size. He considered this carefully. He'd thought twice would be enough, but, if he was going to be here for a substantial amount of time, then a bit of room for books and somewhere to brew potions would help pass the excessive amount of free time he now had on his hands.

He could do little for the state of the furniture, but, at last, the shack no longer smelled of fish. He pursed his lips and paced thoughtfully. It was not his habit to spend an excess of money, but he really did need a bit more furniture than a couch that smelled unpleasantly of pipe tobacco and formaldehyde. He considered the room and what he would like to do with it. For starters – and he marked off in silver outlines with his wand as he thought – he would like to fashion an L-shaped counter and some overhead cupboards to separate off the battered stove (which could do with a good cleaning spell, but was otherwise perfectly acceptable) from the rest of the house, with perhaps a hanging rack on the wall for pots and pans. It would be rather a small kitchenette, but perfectly acceptable for his purposes. Two stools on the outside of the counter, and behind those, to the left of the front door, a small round table.

As he considered the door, he warped the wood beside it, just a bit inward, in the shape of hooks and knobs, half a dozen in a neat row, where he could hang coats and umbrellas. To the other side of the door, he decided, would be his brewing station – a nice, solid counter beneath the window, long enough that he could maintain most of his ingredients on the far end. It would be quite a step down – he wouldn't be able to maintain the vast stores he once had, but it would have to do to keep him busy, and a large potion case beside it, starting at the L in the wall.

He spun about abruptly and pointed his wand at the next corner lining it off with rectangular shapes from the fireplace around the bend to the other window. Bookshelves. A tea table and two armchairs facing the fire, and he flipped the couch about to face the small, blocked off library, with the back to the last corner – which he intended to make his bedroom area – though there wasn't a wall in sight, and he saw no reason to add them.

That only left one corner remaining. Any bed would do, he supposed, but his preference would be a four-poster in queen size, like the one he enjoyed at Hogwarts, complete with bed curtains. He would deny if asked, of course, that he wanted one far larger than he strictly required, because he might be inclined to share it with the right person. A small nightstand in the corner between the bed and the back wall, with a lantern upon it to increase his reading light, and a wardrobe on the other side, between the bed and the bathroom door. That about did it. Exhausted by his maddened pacing and spell-casting, and satisfied with how it would look, if he could bribe Harry into collecting the things he required, he fell to the couch, facing nothing but hovering silver lines, and considered the rest. He would like to replace the light in the center of the room with a fixture that would not be quite so dim, but he decided he would consider that tomorrow, laid back, and fell asleep.

He thought he would only drift off for a short while, but when he woke, it was to a tinkling sound, and a soft curse.

Severus blinked and lifted his torso toward the sound, only to find Harry holding a chandelier immobilized in the center of the room. A chandelier, of all things! "What are you doing?"

"Would you believe trying to be quiet?" Harry replied with a hopeless smirk.

"I'd believe you were failing at the matter," Severus answered bemusedly.

"On the up side, you're awake, and I didn't break your chandelier," Harry returned with his best grin.

"And, on the down side, I believe a chandelier will somewhat outshine the rest of the..." Severus trailed off, blinking. Harry had been busy while he'd slept. He'd put up a vaguely French wallpaper that was, as most wallpaper, neither thrilling nor offensive, painted the ceiling a moderate taupe, and put up cherry wood paneling from the floor up to approximately hip height. His bookshelves from his room at Hogwarts were settled into the space he'd allocated for them. His brewing table and cauldron were also in place. A glass cupboard had been allocated to store potion ingredients, and his wardrobe was set in just the spot he'd cordoned off for it. Harry had deduced properly what all the rectangles were, without being told. Now, he was hanging a wrought iron chandelier with plenty of candle holders and a number of tinkling crystals to go along with it.

Harry grinned at the way Snape's voice trailed off. "Yeah, well, you know, we'll just have to get the rest of the place up to snuff."

"What is..."

"Well, you being dead and all, Professor McGonagall asked if I could help pack up your things, as the new potions master would be rather put out not to have a room."

Severus had mixed feelings about that sentence. On the one hand, it was kind of Minerva to see that, in the most subtle way possible, his possessions were returned to him. On the other, he didn't much like that, being dead, by default, had cost him his job – which he'd loved in spite of the various things he might say to the contrary. There was no longer a place for him at Hogwarts. He knew she couldn't well hold his room off, under the circumstances, but it was still somewhat disappointing to know that Hogwarts was no longer his home.

Harry noticed his pronounced silence before Severus realized he should say thank you. He'd been about to, but Harry spoke before he had the chance. He sat himself on the arm of the couch and said, "Bit overwhelming, I'd imagine, pretending to be dead. Only did it for a few minutes, myself. So, I've decided that, since you've been under quite a bit of stress, I'm going to forgive you for being an arse, just this once."

Severus felt his pulse racing. Oh, Harry had it coming. He really did. Severus had half a mind to rant at him about how unreasonable he'd been, and how frustrating it was to be bored stiff and scolded for trying to move about when one was in a perfectly reasonable state of health, but he decided it would be wise to let Harry win this battle, regardless of how unfairly, lest he refuse to return again. He decided to change the subject. "I have been considering how to permit you access into my Gringotts safe, in order to acquire funds for some necessities," he said. "But those goblins are quite stubborn. I do not believe they will easily bend the rules, even where the deceased are involved."

Harry laughed. It was a warm sound that made Severus' gut wrench. He produced a thick book in which he'd dog-eared several pages, and flipped to the first. "I already went ahead and ordered the lumber to build your kitchen. I'm having it sent on to Hogwarts; no one will think anything of a bit of extra wood laying about in all that chaos, and Professor McGonagall will put it aside for me to pick up tomorrow. "And, I thought these armchairs – the brown with the burgundy trim, were rather nice, but I've no idea what sort of bed you'd prefer..." Harry grinned. "You can pay me back when you're not dead anymore," he quipped. "Seems you'll be stuck here a while yet, so, I thought, you should be as comfortable as possible."

"You've been busy while you were away," Severus said, his stomach tied in knots.

"You've no idea. That bloody Skeeter woman is a plague; every word out of her mouth spreads through the country in a matter of minutes, and at least eighty percent of it is bollocks. The ministry's a bloody mess, and everywhere I go there's pointing and hand shaking and picture taking, as if there isn't enough to do without constantly getting my eyeballs flashed out because I dared to pick up the post," he complained. "I know it's probably shit from your end, but I'm a bit envious, really. It'd be nice not to have to face the world for a while, until all the insanity dies down."

Severus felt his stomach flop. Harry had just given him an opening that he was desperate to take, but how to say so without sounding desperate? He was infatuated with Harry – he knew it, but he didn't think the feeling was even remotely mutual. His mind worked quickly and he settled on, "Well, I am not adverse to company, when you require an escape."

Harry went oddly silent, his cheeks tinged a faint pink. Severus wondered if he dared hope there might be something to that. He picked up the catalog and flipped through it, covering over the awkward moment. "I believe the Queene Anne bed is the most appealing," he said, taking his wand and marking it off. "With this brown and blue fleur de lis duvet and pillow cover set. I will need a duvet as well, of course, and whatever sheets you find that are the most reasonably priced."

"How many pillows do you sleep with?" Harry asked, leaning over Snape's shoulder to tick other things off that he would need, as they flipped back and forth through the catalog.

Severus felt his throat run dry. "I have never been particularly picky in that regard," he answered.

"Four it is," Harry joked. "Two for you, and two for me to steal from you to sleep on the couch."

"The bed is sufficiently large," Severus said before he could think better of it.

Harry fell awkwardly silent and blushed again. "Yeah...that's true..." Harry answered hesitantly before grabbing the catalog back. "So, you should pick a new couch, too, and a coffee table. This thing smells like someone died on it. Maybe something green? You like green..."

XXXXXXXXXX

Pt. 2

When Harry had told him, 'you'll be here a while', Severus knew it was true, but he didn't know just how true. He'd thought he'd be in the old fishing shack for several months, not three years!

It had been three years. He'd built a comfortable friendship with Harry, who visited as often as he could, and often stayed one or two nights a week. But, in three years, it was still only friendship and a long history of cold showers.

Harry had assisted him in creating a mail order brewing business under a false name, and thus, he was able to earn some money to pay for food and books, and pay Harry back the debt he owed for the furnishings. He knew Harry kept putting the money back into his box when he wasn't looking, but Severus just continued putting it back into Harry's jacket on his way out the door. In this way, he'd paid off the debt before his first Christmas in his new home.

Well, if he was to keep to his prison, he supposed he'd managed to procure a rather nice one, but he still spent much time longing for the freedom to do even the most mundane things – like shop for his own groceries, walk about outside, get some exercise that didn't involve swimming around Fisherman's Rock – as he and Harry had come to call his little house – inside of a mile's circumference of protective barriers.

Now, after three years of longing for freedom, Severus found himself afraid of it. He was afraid because he knew that after this, when he did have his freedom, when he was able to do all the things he longed to do, there was no further reason for Harry's frequent visits to bring him the supplies he required. He would probably scarcely see him at all.

"You know, no matter how long you stare in the mirror, your reflection won't change," Harry smirked from the bathroom doorway, startling Snape out of his reverie.

"I was merely..."

"Reflecting. Yeah, I noticed," Harry replied. "We need to get going soon."

"...perhaps it would be better for me to remain deceased," Severus said. He didn't think he'd ever have to come out as alive. It was nerve-wracking. And, Harry, well-meaning as he was, just had to make an event of it. Severus knew it was best to tear off a bandage in one swift tug, but he didn't feel ready to do any manner of tearing.

Harry just smiled and moved into the bathroom. "You know that isn't true," he said. "You've been trapped in this house too long."

"I rather like this house," Severus answered stubbornly, trying not to hyperventilate as Harry adjusted the collar of the dress robes he insisted Severus wear. They were, at least, mercifully dark and high in the collar – not too terribly different from his usual robes, but not as faded, with a velvety sort of sheen.

"It's the best possible time for it. Your name has been cleared beyond the slightest doubt, and it's the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts – that's what they're calling it, now. "It'll just be a bit of conversation before the ball, and then there will be dancing, and before long, everyone will be too drunk and distracted to pay you much mind at all," he assured.

Severus still didn't like it, but he conceded. He knew he was only fighting the inevitable.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry had lied. Severus had known it was a lie from the start, deep down, but he'd been hopeful that he really would be able to say a few words to a few choice individuals and effectively disappear with a glass of punch into the shadows for the rest of the evening. Well, he got his glass of punch, but apparently, successfully faking one's own death in the wizarding world was quite a feat. On top of that, now that Harry and his little friends, with no small amount of help from the current headmaster of Hogwarts, had made him out to be quite the hero, he kept getting accosted about his actions during the war. He answered as politely as he could manage, which was gradually less and less so, while being succinct and ending each conversation as abruptly as possible. Then, there were all the requests for dancing! Were they mad?! Just because he wasn't the evil villain they'd made him out to be, didn't mean his entire personality had been a lie. Some people just don't dance. It isn't a lack of skill. He understood the mechanics of dancing. It simply held no appeal whatsoever. Perhaps he would overcome his natural aversion to it for someone special, but that someone was not the ministry's chief secretary, nor the editor of Witch Weekly, and the one thread of sanity he had to hold onto in all of this was just as thoroughly accosted as he was.

It was an act of desperation when he relented to Molly Weasley's 'I really must insist' and allowed her to pull him out to the dance floor for a waltz. "A bit of a reprieve from the piranhas, eh?" she joked as they fell into step.

Severus didn't know how he ought to answer, with all those piranhas hovering nearby, but he did appreciate the bit of pity. He was glad she continued speaking, because it mean he didn't have to formulate an appropriate response.

"I can't believe my Ron managed to keep this a secret from me for three years," she complained. "Well, I suppose I'll forgive him, but we would have been happy to help. Never thought you were that sort, really, not until you blew my Georgie's ear off. I'll admit, that hurt my opinion of you a bit."

"That was..."

"Oh yes, yes, I know dear. You did what you could, and an ear is a small price to pay if it saved his life," she waved it off. "Though, you'll understand if I had a teensy lapse of faith at the time. In any case, now that you're back amongst the living, you really must join us for dinner some time. How does Friday evening sound? Wonderful. I'll set an extra place for you."

She didn't give him a moment to decline, and the dance was over before he had the chance to argue. "Now then, do try to enjoy the rest of your evening, won't you Severus? It's only once a year, after all."

Once a year? Oh no. Absolutely not. He would not be reliving this hellish experience a second time if he had any say at all in the matter, especially since his only source of sanity was just as accosted by flittering witches as he was. Peculiar, really, that a boy who once ritually drove him to the brink of insanity year after year, had become his sole source of comfort in life. Or, perhaps, that was the only sensible way for their convoluted relationship to progress. Perfect enemies and perfect allies to, eventually, perfect friends. He was certain that further perfection was not in the stars for them, but as long as Harry didn't drift away from him, he was willing to accept the end result as satisfactory.

It was just that he didn't expect Harry to continue visiting him, now that he had no immediate need, and, there was the difficulty that he rather wanted more than a wayward friendship. He didn't dare say so. It was like watching Lily from across the room all over again, worse, thanks to all the attention he was getting otherwise. Severus had never cared much for the spotlight. It didn't suit his ghostly complexion, and it certainly didn't suit his penchant for solitude. He took the first opportunity to excuse himself to the facilities, where he intended to hide for the rest of the evening. He nearly leaped out of his skin when, out in the hall, he found Harry beside him, that irritatingly adorable Gryffindor smirk pointed up at him.

"What?" Severus snipped.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Harry replied innocently.

"It seems we were at two very different social events," Severus answered. He had had a wretched time.

"You looked as if you were enjoying yourself with Mrs. Weasley."

"Only grateful for a momentary reprieve, and forced into a Friday evening dinner in exchange," Severus complained.

Harry laughed. "Well, can I take you home, then?" he offered, holding out his elbow. They've really got on in the drinking now, probably won't miss us."

"I couldn't care less even if they do," Severus replied. His stomach flopped as he rested his hand atop Harry's, and they promptly disapparated.

It was silly. He didn't really need an escort to return to a place he knew only too intimately well, but if Harry was willing to let the night drag on a few moments longer, Severus had no intention of arguing the point.

Back at Fisherman's Rock, Severus blinked as the lights went on. He moved to release the young man he was so utterly infatuated with, but Harry didn't allow it.

Severus arched a brow down at the green-eyed young man who held fast to his forearm.

"I'd intended to steal you for a dance, but Mrs. Weasley got to it before I could," Harry said. He pulled Severus close and put the older man's hand on his hip, rested his own on Snape's shoulder. "I don't think I'll let you off the hook until I get that dance," he finished.

"How much did you drink tonight?" Severus accused.

"Well, I had a good deal less punch than you, at least," Harry replied, pulling Severus in close and swaying his hips.

Severus had a hard time keeping calm under such an intimate assault. "This is ludicrous," he said. "There isn't even any music."

Harry rested his head against the older man's shoulder. "There's always music," Harry answered. "If you're listening closely enough."

Severus was about to tell him it was nonsense, but it felt so nice, having Harry pressed against him, even if they were barely dancing to the sound of silence. The waves rocked rhythmically around them. It sounded like a storm was on the horizon. Severus didn't want to concede that that steady pulse of the sea was, perhaps, very akin to music, because it would only encourage Harry to spit out any silly nonsense that came to mind, but he noted a vague sort of similarity.

It was several minutes of this before Harry said, rather suddenly, "Hey, you know, your heart is pounding."

Shit. He'd noticed. "You have a talent for stating the obvious," Severus answered, attempting a good snark to save face.

Harry stopped swaying. He put the older man's hand against his own chest, let him feel how it raced. "Can we stop dancing now?" he asked, tilting up toward Severus.

Severus couldn't believe what was happening! He must be dreaming. "You started it," he replied, throat dry.

"You did," Harry countered, moving his hands to cup the older man's face. "You just didn't notice, because I hadn't hit puberty yet."

Severus didn't have a smart retort for that, so it was a good thing Harry gave him no opportunity to speak. He pulled the potions master down to him for a kiss that felt a lifetime in progress. And, then! Oh, and then, the wonderful young man parted his lips and dragged his tongue along the crease in Severus'. Severus did not require additional prompting. He gave Harry exactly what he was asking for, scarcely believing his luck. He clung to the young man a bit more tightly than was sensible. There was nothing sensible at all about his feelings for Harry, and there certainly wasn't anything sensible about the deep, passionate kiss they were sharing, where embraces fell away, and hands idly explored faces, and shoulders, and spines and Severus somehow found his fingers buried deep in the young man's perpetually tangled locks.

And, while on the subject of insensible, impossible things, Severus gasped softly into the kiss – forgetting all of his carefully placed masks – as he felt Harry's hand slide south along the curve of his back and grope his boney bottom. Severus found he currently lacked common sense enough to stop him.

When they finally stopped kissing, Severus found the diabolical young man had manipulated them startlingly close to the large, Victorian-style bed. No leaps of genius were required to figure out what Harry was up to.

"It's been a long day for you," Harry said, interrupting himself by kissing Severus softly on the corner of the mouth. "Let's get you out of these robes and into bed, hm?" Even as he said it, he was unbuttoning Snape's outer robe with a sort of clumsiness that only comes with years of wanting.

Severus felt a fool. He should have propositioned Harry far sooner, but he'd seen no sign that he had any more chance with Harry than Nearly Headless Nick had of joining the Headless Hunt. Perhaps he was only seeing what he'd expected to see – Harry had always worn his heart rather prominently displayed on his sleeve. Severus dared to concede, and worry about tomorrow when it came. "It sounds like there is a storm coming. Perhaps it would be in your best interest to stay the night."

Severus hadn't even finished that sentence before Harry was fighting his outer robe off of his long arms, and casting it aside. He pulled Snape down into another greedy kiss. "I knew you were brilliant," Harry answered, and with a playful grin added, "But, I should warn you, I've forgotten my pajamas."

Severus felt Cornish pixies running riot in his stomach as Harry made remarkably quick work of his tunic. "Then it is only fair to admit that it is my personal preference to sleep without mine."

Harry moaned against Snape's throat. "Only wear them to be polite, do you?"

"Obviously," Severus exhaled the word as he felt the last of his upper clothing falling away, and moved his torso to help Harry get him out of it.

"Never was much for manners," Harry replied, voice quivering under the weight of his desire.

It was a seemingly small thing as far as they'd come, but it gave Severus the confidence boost he needed to begin to truly reciprocate Harry's attentions. He started on small matters – like the bow tie about Harry's throat. "I have always known that about you," Severus replied as he slowed their maddened passions to something more deliberate. Harry still looked rather rambunctious. Severus knew they were only in the eye of the storm as he worked open the buttons across the bespectacled young man's chest.

"Yeah, I know. You know everything there is to know about me," Harry joked. "But, I know rather a bit about you, too."

"It sounds as though you are trying to bribe me," Severus said as Harry pulled his robes up over his head and tossed them aside.

"Well, I'd like to think I can get you into bed without bribing you there," Harry answered, tugging Severus forward by the button of his trousers, and snapping it open as he kissed the older man's jaw. "But, if you insist...uhm..."

Severus couldn't help but laugh at the way Harry pursed his lips, trying to think of a proper bribe.

"Never mind," he told the young man. "Save it for when you need it."

Harry didn't need further concessions. He pulled open Severus' fly almost violently before pushing him back onto the bed and disrobing him the rest of the way.

Severus propped himself up onto his elbows, making every effort not to feel a bit self-conscious as Harry scrambled out of his own trousers and pants at record speed in spite of his clumsiness, and climbed over him, pressing the potions master's wand into his hand, knowing he would need it, before cupping his face and pulling him into another open mouthed kiss that was a bit breathless with desire.

Harry pressed his hips down against Snape's and rubbed their erections together, desperate for the contact they'd both wanted these past three years. If he'd behaved like a proper Gryffindor when he realized how much he fancied Snape, he'd have had the past two years in his bed. Now that Snape had his freedom, this was Harry's only chance to make a lasting impression. Well, if the state of his former professor's cock was any indication, he was plenty impressed.

The kiss broke, and Harry bit his own lip, grinding their erections together in a devastatingly slow rhythm.

Severus' lashes fluttered over his dark eyes. Oh, the devious little trollop! Where in the world had Harry learned such unabashed skill? There was a pretty flush to his cheeks, his emerald eyes were half-lidded in the most intoxicating way, and there was the matter of that horrifyingly perfect pace of those rolling hips. It was his steel will alone that kept him from moaning. It was too soon. He knew Harry wanted to hear him moan, and thus, he wanted to delay giving the young man the pleasure.

There was, however, another kind of pleasure that he was eager to get on with. He moved quickly, flipping their positions. He had to, if he didn't wish to make a fool of himself before the main event. It left him with a rather nice view of his beloved with his arms tossed wildly above his head, his dark hair tumbled away from his face – not so much like his father's now that he'd grown – and his thighs spread wide and ready to either side of Seveurs's hips.

Before either of them could take a moment to think the wiser of what was happening between them, Severus pressed his wand tip against Harry's pucker and cast the nonverbal spell. From his vantage point, he got to watch Harry's eyes first fly wide open, and then flutter, his lithe young body wriggle and arch, as the preparation spell worked through his anus.

Wild with desire, Harry blindly reached down to squeeze his own cock, relieve just a bit of the pressure, but Severus stopped his hand, wagging his finger at the other and leaning down over him for a kiss. Harry was glad of any contact, and opened his lips hungrily to permit the entry of the older man's tongue.

"There will be none of that," Severus told him, "Or I may have to punish you for spoiling my fun."

Harry moaned, a shudder rippling down his spine. "Then stop teasing me and get on with it," he complained.

"Well, that would be fun for you," Severus postured. He had every intention of getting on with it; he couldn't bear to have Harry here at his mercy for the night and not enjoy every moment of it, but part of that enjoyment came from watching the dashing young man writhe and beg for it.

"Severus," Harry whined his name. "I've been waiting for this bloody long enough," he groused as he writhed.

It really was the most beautiful sight. Harry was overcome with want, and that want was directed solely at him.

"No need to make a fuss," Severus chided, pressing his lips to Harry's cheekbone rather gently, then the corner of his mouth, and soon they were sharing soft kisses again that quickly grew passionate as his long fingers slid over Harry's ribcage. "I was just getting around to it," he smirked down at Harry.

Harry wrinkled his nose over kiss-swollen lips. "You just like watching me suffer," he complained.

"Mn," Severus conceded as he adjusted Harry further up the bed to rest against the pillows. "But only ever in the best possible ways, Harry. Do try to remember that."

This time, it was Harry who had no chance to reply, or, to be more precise, found himself unable to reply, curling his fists into the duvet cover as he felt the tip of his beloved's hot cock press against his tender core.

Severus pulled Harry's knees up over his shoulders and eased himself in, willing his perpetual resolve not to crack as he felt the young man's tight heat wrap around him. He could scarcely breathe for the pleasure, but refused to admit that he found himself somewhat wanting in experience. At his age, it was mortifying! So, he bit his tongue, tried to remember to breathe. Sheathed deep within the second love of his life (and he still couldn't wrap his overly-intellectual brain around how he could be so lucky as to feel this strongly about not one person in a lifetime, but two!), he drooped his head over his new – and pleasantly flexible – lover's shoulder, trying to regain his wits.

Harry wrapped his hands tight around Severus' pale shoulders, curled his fingers into his overgrown, inky hair, and dragged his tongue along the shell of his lover's ear. Oh, it was wonderful to call Severus his 'lover'! He could scarcely contain his excitement, but the more pressing matter than his irrevocable jubilation was the shagging. For the love of Godric, when was Severus going to start thrusting?! "Seeevveruuus..." he whined. "C'mon, stop teasing...please!" he pleaded.

Severus replied without guile for once. "I am not teasing you, Harry," he said. "I am pacing myself."

Harry laughed at the choice of wording. "I'm not meal, Sev." He kissed the corner of the older man's mouth, and again their conversation was forgotten in favor of those kisses, and the delicate rocking of Severus' hips.

Harry was not as reticent as his older lover about letting his pleasure be heard; he moaned into Snape's mouth.

"You are still delicious," Severus replied, embarrassed by his own words, but they begged to be spoken, and there was no hope of resistance.

The first soft thrusts were tentative, but that delicate manner didn't last long between them, as Harry encouraged Snape with eager nips and kisses along his jaw and throat, moaning headily with each as testament to how good Severus made him feel. Gaining confidence, and unable to withstand the intensity of their shared pleasure, Severus' thrusts quickly grew longer and more forceful, and as they did, Harry's moans became insensible babble and long strings of words that oughtn't be used in polite company.

It would, perhaps, be nice to say that the new lovers went at it all night, but the weight of their excitement and longing made their first time together an abbreviated, if passionate affair, as Severus, incidentally, found that sweet spot within his lover early, and after such a long time in waiting, a few sharp thrusts were all it took to send Harry spinning out over the edge, and the hard arch of his lover's spine paired with the hot splash of his release, proved Severus' undoing. That long-repressed moan erupted from his chest in a guttural cry of bliss before he collapsed onto the mattress beside the man he loved.

The sound of waves crashing against Fisherman's Rock soothed them back, once again, to reality, and Severus was loathe to face it. "How much liquor did you say you'd had to drink tonight?" he asked after an extended delay, dreading the thought this had been only an alcohol-induced one off.

Breathless, Harry rolled onto his side, green eyes sparkling with mirth, and leaned over to kiss Severus on the cheek. "None," Harry answered. "I got the punch before George spiked it. If I'm drunk at all, it's on how good you look in dress robes."

Severus made a scoffing sound. "Indeed," he answered sarcastically, still unable to believe he would ever look 'good' in anything, or that another person might actually think so.

"Hey, look at me," Harry groused lightly.

Severus reluctantly rolled his gaze from the ceiling to that handsome face. He was worried about what he might see there, but his worries were for naught. Harry had always worn his heart on his sleeve, even when the sleeves were off, it seemed, his heart was still there, and if Severus still had some bit of his brain left un-boggled by the incredible sex he'd spent the past several years fantasizing about, it was telling him, 'I'm mad about you.' "I thought you looked stunning, at the very least," Harry said firmly. "Maybe not as good as you look naked, mind," Harry grinned playfully, "but stunning nevertheless."

He leaned down for another kiss, which Severus only hesitated for a moment before permitting. Harry pulled the duvet over their spent bodies and they shared several tender, heady kisses before either had another thought for speaking. Severus wrapped his arms around Harry's back lightly. Harry caressed Severus' face.

It was alright, Snape conceded. This was alright. It was good, and it wasn't just a drunken shag because Harry had needed one and he just happened to be available. It was more than that.

As they lay back against the mattress in one another's arms, very close to sleep, Severus asked, just to be sure, "You will visit me again soon, won't you?"

Harry smiled into his shoulder, pressed his bare body more tightly against his lover's side, and answered, "What makes you think I'm leaving?"

Severus smiled softly and let his eyes fall closed, worries assuaged. Well, that was fine too. Better than fine, in fact. It might be a rather small rock that he'd made a home of, but what little there was of it, he was more than willing to share.

~The End~
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Fisherman\'s Rock