Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Body	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 6028 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of it's characters, and I'm not making any money off of them. I'm just using them for my own sick, twisted amusement.

Chapter List
- 1-Body
- 1
A/N: Written a while ago as a birthday gift for carolinelamb over at LJ. As such, warnings are to the best of my memory. If there is anything that I did not include that I should, let me know and I'll be glad to fix it.

I do have a mailing list - check my profile for details if you're interested.

Additional Warnings: Cannon Character Deaths. Bottom Snape. Once again, it's slash - male on male graphic sex, so if you're not into that sort of thing, don't read it. You have been warned.

Body

There wasn't even a body. Maybe if there was, it would be easier to come to terms with, but there was nothing there. It was just a name on a stone: cold, and gray, and nothing at all like the man it was meant to represent. There were no garish colors, no stubborn bits of tactless decoration, and nothing to be done that could change any of it, least of all the fact that Sirius Black was dead, and his grave was just a marked stone, arbitrarily laid and ultimately meaningless.

The empty grave that stood monument to his existence enraged Severus. Before he could quite gather his wits, as had always been difficult around the elder of the Black brothers, he'd whipped his wand out and bellowed “Confringo!” at the headstone. Heat, tinder, and ash spattered about the bit of charred earth. His wand hand lowered, and he stared blankly at the wreck of cracked stone and melted metal that remained. A bitter smirk twisted his lips. 'You have always been my undoing, you insufferable git. Now that you're dead, nothing has changed in that regard.'

But even under cover of darkness, and the lateness of the hour, his time alone with what remained of Sirius was interrupted. Of course it was. Their timing, in those rare few moments when they had nearly agreed there was something more than outrage between them, had ever been abysmal, and death, it would appear, had done nothing to change that.

“How dare you!” Harry bellowed, flicking his wand at the Potions Master in a rage as he tossed his invisibility cloak aside. Many years his senior, and strange bedfellows with the Dark Lord, Severus had no trouble deflecting the clumsy curses cast at him, but the blows to his morale did nothing to cease Harry's advance

Once the Gryffindor came within an arm's reach, Severus snatched the young wizard's wand from his hand and held him firm by the biceps. “You should not be wandering about at this hour,” he answered sternly, falling back on his position as Harry's professor to try to save himself from any of the emotional outbursts that edged at the back of his own throat. “It shall cost your house several points, I think.”

Harry beat upon Snape's chest with his fists. “How dare you!” he declared again, choking back a sob as he said it. “Sirius's grave...” he gasped around breaths labored by a sorrow that was both very similar and very different to the sorrow that ate away at Severus Snape on this night. The similarities ate away at Snape's magnificent ability to control his feelings. He shoved Harry away from himself. Harry landed on the earth – moist from a recent misting rain – arse first.

“Fool boy!” Severus snapped venemously. “It is only a stone! He is not here.” Curse the weakness Sirius had always brought out of him. Severus's expression nearly faltered, and he spun away from Harry; not trusting himself to maintain his usual aloof demeanor in the face of the emotions tearing his heart asunder. Sirius was not here. Blast him! How could he leave like this?! Just...! Nothing between them was resolved at all! Severus swallowed the bitterness, ignored the voice in the back of his mind that told him death would be half a pleasure, if everything he attached himself to was only to end up on the other side, anyway. That wasn't even an accurate statement. He and Sirius hadn't been attached in any way, except in the knowledge that they would be, someday, when stubborn pride stopped getting in the way of what they had both wanted.

Harry sat dumbfounded at the abrupt change in Snape. He couldn't read the man at all. That's what was so infuriating about him. Most of the time, he was an arrogant, selfish, greasy git – just like everyone said. Most of the time Harry could convince himself of that, but, sometimes, there was a glimmer of something else in the way his deep voice strained under the pressure of emotion, the piercing gaze of those dark eyes, or, as now, the tension in his slender back that seemed to speak much more loudly than the words issuing forth from his mouth. Those words, too - he is not here – struck a chord within Harry. He got up gingerly and dusted off the damp rump of his jeans, padded closer. He watched as Snape's shoulders tensed further. The man knew the distance between them was being breached, but he did nothing to stop Harry from placing a hand on his professor's back. Harry didn't know what to say. As ever, his instincts guided him.

“Professor?” he asked, and then followed this with the words that would be Snape's undoing. “Are you alright?”

“Do I seem alright to you, Potter?” Severus snipped at the irritating boy, shrugging his shoulder away. He tried to collect himself. “You should be safely ensconced in your dormitory. Come. I will escort you. I trust you are familiar with side-along apparition?” He held out his arm stiffly.

“No sir,” Harry answered with his usual Gryffindor pluck, his pulse racing. “You don't seem the slightest bit alright to me. You seem distraught.” He didn't take Snape's arm. He wasn't ready for the conversation to end like this, not when he felt like he was on the verge of finally seeing through the bat-like cape to the real Snape, and maybe, for once, finally understanding him, and understanding what it was about him that simultaneously drew Harry in and pushed him away. “If I can say so, sir, given the way you and Sirius always fought, it seems a bit odd.”

Severus sighed. He lifted his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was obviously not going to get out of this with his dignity. He'd blown up a man's gravestone. It was madness, and he was already buckling under the weight of his remorse. It was just his luck that he'd had the misfortune of being caught in the act by the one person alive who was more like the dead man than anyone else, the one other person who could so easily send him off into a rage - idiot boy that he was.

“Professor?” Harry asked tentatively again.

“It is none of your business, Potter.”

“No sir, it's not,” Harry agreed. “But I still want to know, and I think, well, at the risk of finding myself on the wrong end of a hex, sir, I think you need someone to know, so, so that...” Harry worried his lower lip with his teeth, struggling to find the right words. “It might be a bit less heavy to carry if you talk about it, sir.”

Harry's words slammed into the pit of Snape's stomach. They bypassed his brain entirely as he turned his gaze back to the empty grave he'd decimated. “Things were complicated between Sirius and I, Potter. You can't possibly understand. We both knew exactly how things were meant to end between us, and this was not it. That idiot!” Snape raked his fingers back through his hair. The gesture made Harry notice that the man hadn't shaved that day; there was a careless shadow across his jaw that startled the teen. Severus clenched his fists, grit his teeth. His pain was so palpable that it made Harry feel sick to his stomach as he started to understand. All the bickering, the biting remarks, the fits of temper – what they'd been tap dancing around wasn't a duel, it was...

Harry quickly put the pieces together and found himself understanding another thing very clearly: he and Sirius were more similar than he could have possibly imagined. His own fits of temper, his own loathing and loaded comments, his own desire to see Severus Snape put through hell for all the hell the man put him through, his desire to blame everything that ever went wrong in his life on this man– this infuriatingly staid, powerful, tactless, antagonistic, sensual man...

Merlin, how Harry wanted him! Now that the epiphany had struck, it was impossible to ignore. He wanted Snape. He wanted to make Snape think of no one but him, to cry out for him, and that was probably the exact same thing that Sirius had wanted. It was obviously what Snape had wanted from Sirius. But, now Sirius was dead, and there wasn't even a body, nothing left behind to give any sense of closure.

And if Snape wanted Sirius, longed for him even now, 'then where in the bloody hell does that leave me?' Harry wondered. It was a mad thought. The man was old enough to be his father. Even without Sirius as a roadblock, it would be impossible. Even so, his pulse thundered, his cock – quite inappropriately – twitched. Chance or no, he understood. Oh, how he understood! Impulsively, he stepped forward again and wrapped his arms around Snape's midsection. He held him tight, pressed his cheek flush against the man's narrow back. If he could do at least this, he thought, maybe it would offer Snape some kind of comfort. Surely, only this much, in the dead of night, he could be forgiven for.

Snape's eyes widened at the embrace, which was firmer than he expected it to be. He tried to calm himself by closing his eyes. The height was wrong. The build was wrong, too, but standing like this, trying to steady his breath, it felt as though the boy was channeling Sirius Black. The way Harry held him was exactly the way he imagined Sirius would have eventually held him and he found himself, quite inappropriately, excited by the embrace. It was a mad thought, but the emotions burning in his chest were so fresh and raw that he could only thank Merlin that it was Harry with him now, rather than the Dark Lord, or he may well have spilled all of his secrets, and undone years of hard work. It was so very unlike him, but he had not felt so lost in so many years that he relented. His mind protested; it screamed that this was Harry, a boy who was legal only by a matter of weeks, and there was no situation in which it was acceptable to melt like this into his touch. It was even less reasonable, considering he'd been making such a to-do about a man who was as much of a parent to Harry as the boy had ever known. His mind knew letting Harry embrace him over Sirius's empty grave was disturbed. It was his body that refused to admit it, and it was his body that admitted his need of physical contact. It was his body that controlled him now. His mind screamed in horror as his long fingers came up to lace with the boy's against his flat stomach. His body told him he needed to be touched and comforted. His body told him that for once in his life, he should just accept the kind offer and enjoy the embrace, not read anything more into it than there was. It was only an embrace. Harry was behind him, and would never know his groin was responding to the contact if he didn't give himself away. It was only an embrace, casual comfort, nothing more.

Severus found himself comfortable in that knowledge, for a moment. When Harry tightened his grip, he let the tension ease from his shoulders and forsook the perfect posture he normally maintained with constant vigilance to sink deeper into those comforting arms. He shifted his weight. That's when he noticed it; a bulge brushed against the back of his thigh. The hands that gripped him so innocently a moment ago, he realized abruptly, were not so full of innocence as he'd presumed. He could not be reading too much into it, when Harry's idle hand – the one not covered by his own – rested against his hip, his thumb grazing along the lip of his trousers. When had that hand ventured so low? Had it been there all along? It must have been – Harry was quite a good deal shorter than he was, after all. Surely. The tension rippled up his back anew. His perfect posture returned. His fight or flight reaction, as always, screamed for flight, but his body, his rebellious body, refused to move.

Severus gasped as Harry's grip on him tightened, as the bulge nudged at the crease between his thigh and buttocks. Before he could make sense of it all, a choked moan escaped his lips. A string of language so foul it would have made even Sirius roll over in his grave, were he actually in it, raced through Severus's mind. How could he let his guard down like this?!

Harry felt it – the way Severus moved, exciting him so, the way he relaxed, then shifted, and discovered the secret the teenager was trying to keep. It was instinct that made Harry pull him closer; desperate desire combined with lust which told his brain that if he'd signed his own death warrant, he at least was going to go down fighting. It was just that, in this instance, the fighting had to do with a different wand than the one he usually used to do battle.

And then Severus moaned. It was stifled, barely audible, but in the deepness of the night, with only the pair of them and the owls about at this ungodly hour, it was more than audible enough. Time froze between them, and in that instant, Harry knew he had a slim chance of taking what he so badly wanted, and he was not about to let it pass him by.

He kissed the back of Snape's shoulder. He cautiously let his hand drift lower. Severus's pale digits wrapped around Harry's other hand tightly enough to constrict circulation to those extremities, but he made no move to stop the wandering hand. Harry's palm slid over his reward, a bulge just as firm as the one he had pressed against the older man's leg. He bit his lip and moaned as he palmed it.

Severus tried to will himself to fight this insanity, but his hips rolled forward against the hand. His toes curled as Harry explored his crotch, as if examining the exact proportions of his manhood through his trousers. He imagined such a thorough exploration gave Harry some rather exacting measurements of what he had to offer in that particular department. He was getting a few measurements of his own from the bulge rubbing against his thigh with every breath, not exacting, per se, but he could already imagine waking up sore the morning after taking such a thick, blunt rod. He could also imagine how very worth a day or two of soreness would be, to feel that girth plunging deep... His mind wandered over the lustful imaginings so completely that he thought nothing of their surroundings. He neglected entirely the fact that they were outdoors in a wide open field beside Sirius's shattered headstone. He offered not the slightest protest when Harry unfastened his trousers, and no qualm when one or two of the long line of buttons popped off entirely under the boy's fumbling fingers. In fact, the opposite was true – he rewarded Harry with a moan when the young man succeeded in baring his need to the damp air, still thick and moist from the recent rain and heavy with the threat of more. He rubbed his hips backward against Harry's bulging erection when the young man wrapped his fingers around Severus's turgid need.

To fight this, Severus realized, would be as futile as to fight the elements themselves. A coupling between himself and the teenager suddenly seemed just as inevitable to him as, just moments ago, his eventual affair with Sirius had seemed before the man's life was so dramatically cut short by a woman he still had to face as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary, when there was really never a person in the world he wanted to avada kedavra more, not even Harry's father. Right now, those things mattered both intensely and not at all in the same moment. He could no more shake his despair over the loss of Sirius, with whom he had a relationship he could not properly put into words, than he could shake his current lust for Harry. The two things were sides of the same coin – related by proximity, but also so very different they scarcely had a thing to do with one another.

And so, Severus relented. He let the complications alone and accepted both the desire and despair that warred within him. Sirius was dead. Harry, though, was quite alive, and surprisingly adept with his hands – a point which was quite impossible to ignore. The moan Severus released as the boy stroked his long, often under-attended organ was a mixture of these two things – one part pleasure, one part grief. Harry understood both quite well. In fact, Harry was, arguably, one of the very few men living in this world who had any chance of understanding both so well as Severus himself did. They had both lost so much. They were both set onto paths that would cost them yet more.

In spite of that indelible truth, there were still moments like this, when mutual sorrows could be shared, mutual needs could be fulfilled. Severus found his mind finally conceding to his body that this, right now, surely could not be so wrong. The tension along his spine eased as he gave in completely to the heat between them, to the broom-calloused thumb grazing over the head of his sensitive cock, to the hot breath he could feel even through the dark layers of fabric at his shoulder and the persistent nudging of Harry's thick rod against his thigh. He let the misery of his various misfortunes go for now, set them aside to be picked up later, and voiced his pleasure to the young man who was obviously so eager to have at him.

“I am going to orgasm prematurely if you continue to attend to me so thoroughly, Harry,” he told the boy, his voice weak with the need for a good ejaculation. He could scarcely remember the last time he'd been brought to one that he had not induced himself.

Harry shuddered against him. He laughed weakly. “Just say 'I'm going to come' like a normal person, you git,” he answered, resting his forehead against the older man's shoulder, trying to remember how to breathe. Snape was actually letting him rut against his leg an wank him like an animal in heat – it was surreal! Brilliant, but unfathomable. He needed a moment to catch his breath. “It doesn't matter. I'm not letting you go tonight,” he answered. “So come – once, twice, twenty times, however many times it takes. I don't care. I'm young enough to keep up,” he joked hoarsely.

Severus actually chuckled softly at the dare, “I would not wager a sickle that I am,” he replied.

Harry's knees buckled at that miniscule laugh. He lost all ability to hold himself upright and slipped down to his knees. He didn't realize it was his body alone that was supporting Severus, and they both tumbled into that damp patchwork of mud and grass.

Severus bit his tongue before he could release a string of insults for instigating such an ungraceful descent. If he let the words pass his lips, that would be the end of their nocturnal interlude, and he would not have that for the world.

Harry cursed though, and offered a string of apologies.

“Never mind it,” Severus sighed. “But, as standing is obviously not your strongest faculty, I do hope you are more coordinated in other endeavors.”

Harry didn't miss the hint. He watched as Severus lifted himself up onto hands and knees, picking a lump of dirt out of his long hair in distaste. He took a deep breath. Harry had a fear that he would be the one to ejaculate too soon, once he got the man bare. His cock throbbed painfully in his trousers. It was all he could do to ignore it for now as he slid closer to the other man, damp earth be damned, and pulled him back onto his knees, kissed his ear and removed his dark cloak, exerted more patience than he thought he had in his entire body unfastening what felt like dozens of buttons to remove his jacket as well, and then his faded white tunic. Harry rocked his hips up against that bony arse as he slid his hands up over the man's bare chest, pinched nipples that he found delightfully taut.

Severus moaned. He allowed the young man hear the sounds of his pleasure. He wanted to encourage the attention as much as possible, because if he didn't feel that thick rod splitting him open before dawn, he was sure he would end up in the mental ward of St. Mungo's. The dirt that had seemed such a burden a moment ago no longer mattered; he felt it on Harry's hands from their tumble, a spare bit of grit and sand rubbing across his chest along with those perfect hands. It mattered little at first, and soon, not at all, as he tilted his head, allowing Harry the access to his ear and throat, bending to Harry's will as the teenager rutted up against his still clothed bottom. Steverus didn't know how much more sensual torment he could endure. Why were they not intimately joined already? He grew more impatient with each caress.

It was his good fortune that patience had never been one of the many supposed virtues of Harry Potter. He bit his lip so as not to seem too desperate when the boy slipped his trousers down past his buttocks and exposed his intimate need for all its glory.

Harry ran his hands over those narrow hips, that porcelain skin that never saw the light of day. He bit his lip in a vain effort to control himself.

“Professor...” Harry rasped, but didn't need to say more. Severus was well aware of what was on both of their minds and passed Harry's wand urgently back to him. He felt the tip nudge against him, the chilled curl of magical energy at the start of the spell made him hiss, and then the warmth filled him, plyed him open with all the expediency of his desire. He bit his lip; he was willing to allow Harry to see his pleasure, but not quite willing to make a complete fool of himself by crying out too loudly. He intended to spare what remaining fragment of dignity he still had, if he had any left at all.

That stubborn pride evaporated when the boy pushed into him. Harry let out the most delectable grunt of exertion, followed by a bit of language foul enough that it would have meant detention and the subtraction of at least thirty house points were they in class. Oh, that was bad. It sunk in belatedly how bad it was that he should be reduced to this before one of his students, and the most troublesome of the lot at that! Of course, there were Longbottom and Finnigan, who caused – by far – the most chaos in class, but he preferred their ineptitude to Harry's blatant disregard for the rules. Like now. Exactly like now, sneaking off in the dead of night and expecting his cloak of invisibility to save him from any punishment! Oh, how frustrating it was to be so painfully aware of Harry's many faults whilst being assaulted by his thick, pulsating virtue.

And, in Snape's opinion, it was quite a virtue. It pierced deep into the pit of his stomach. He lost his train of thought, and cast any tirades aside. He was a man, after all. It really was impossible to focus on moral quandaries with his body so aflame. He moaned and bucked back against each of Harry's forceful thrusts. The hands gripping his hips enough to bruise only served as further enticement as his hands clutched and clawed for purchase at the muddy ground.

The pace between them quickly maddened. Harry repositioned, spreading Snape's thighs wider, pulling him back harder, until Severus found himself upright, bouncing shamelessly upon the teenager's generous shaft as Harry licked the shell of his ear, pinched his nipples, stroked his organ. He could hear the loud moans passing between them, the foul language, the cries of pleasure, but he was so lost to the pleasure that he honestly couldn't be sure which of them those amazingly sensual sounds were issuing from. His body convulsed as the first scattered drops of rain dripped down his chest. Against his over-heated flesh, they felt like ice, and the shock of the contrast was his undoing. A strangled cry that was half a sob tore out of his throat, and he convulsed violently as he came – his seed splattering over the remains of the headstone he'd destroyed as he felt Harry's liquid heat fill him from behind, felt the teen's nails dig into his hip.

Snape's eyes rolled as he rode out the intense orgasm. He fell forward onto his hands, panting heavily. A loud crack of thunder rang out as Harry slipped out of him, and the sky opened up. The light rain turned quickly into a torrent. Snape was thankful for it, though he was soaked to the bone, as he watched the rain wash away all evidence of how he'd bespoiled Sirius Black's grave and his memory. The rain, also, hid the tears that fell freely, as he came to terms with the raw truth – that the story between himself and Sirius was over, that he would not see him again in this life, and that he had to give up on what should have happened between them, and find a way to move on.

While he was stewing on this, Harry draped his cloak around his shoulders. Over the rain, he couldn't hear what the boy said, but his earnest expression as he brushed Snape's hair out of his eyes, and the tender way he kissed him on the mouth, told Severus he hadn't lost everything that mattered in his life – not just yet. He swore to himself that night that he would move heaven and earth to see Harry safely through this, not because he was Lily's son, but because that task, which had been a heavy burden when it landed upon his shoulder so many years ago, and the stubborn young man attached to it, were all he had left in this world to cling to.

XXXXXXXXXX

Over the next several months, that simple truth solidified in Snape's mind as he teetered between hating the insufferable brat (who had made a new habit of disrupting his classes so badly that Severus had no choice but to give him detention, and deduct house points), and loving the way said insufferable brat treated him (because they both knew Harry was only doing it to steal a bit of time alone, which had quickly become precious to Severus). He supposed, to a fashion, he was lucky to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, if only because Harry's disruptions were less explosive than they had been in the past.

Harry was a completely different boy in bed than he was out of it. Out of it, he was rule-breaker, a troublemaker, and enough to drive Snape mad trying to protect him from the Dark Lord, whose machinations had Severus far more busy of late than he could ever admit aloud, least of all to the young man who still trusted him only tentatively, even as he lusted for him. But, when they lay naked together, Harry softened. His rough edges blurred, and his uncertainty over the older man's motivations melted away. He spoke often of his worries, if never in enough detail to give away what he was planning (much to Severus's disappointment – it would have made his life a far simpler affair to know the boy's mind, but he was no so cruel as to delve into it without consent.).

Severus thought often on the wisdom of taking Harry into his bed. Sirius was only the first mark on a long list of reasons he felt he had made a grave error in the doing. He often worried himself sick at the thought of Voldemort discovering what he'd been up to with the Dark Lord's rival, but reasoned that he could easily make a feasible excuse about earning the boy's often misplaced trust. If that wasn't enough to keep him awake at night, there was Dumbledore, whose borrowed time was beginning to run out, and Draco, who had not the faintest idea what he was doing, or the mess he'd fallen into, and who was far too foolish and prideful for his own good, or anyone else's. Severus remembered well the trouble that could cause – his own life was still dictated wholly by the follies of his youth, and he was loathe to see the boy walk the same path he had, knowing from experience that no good could come of it.

Severus had many things to worry about, and imagined of them all, the pleasure he received in letting Harry bend him over was really the least of his worries. In fact, he reasoned, this mad affair with a boy young enough to be his own child was all the more precious to him for the insanity of it; it was the last small joy he had left to cling to – other than brewing potions, of course.

With that in mind, he let it lead where it may. The one matter Harry had any skill at concealing with Occlumency appeared to be his love life, in any case, so he would simply have to hope for the best, or wipe his memory of their encounters when it became too dangerous to continue them. In Snape's mind, it was all quite logical. Unfortunately, when it came to Gryffindors, it had ever been his heart that led him. He didn't know what it was about them, but they had an amazing skill for being insufferable and charming at the same time. He couldn't decide whether he loved or hated them more. It had been true of Sirius, and it was certainly true of Harry. The speed at which he'd become mad for the boy was almost too much to contemplate. And, it was there, at the height of his infatuation, when he had given Harry not only control of his body, but had finally bowed to Harry's endless effort, and allowed the young man to eke into his heart, that he found himself in the painful position of a betrayal from which Harry would never forgive him.

It took the whole of Severus Snape's soul, and more than all of his will, to cast the killing curse on his mentor, and cast him over the side of the tower. It had to be that way, he told himself. He had to cast him over the edge, because if he had to look upon the man's face in death, even his dedicated mask would have cracked, even he could not have remained stoic if he should have to look upon Dumbledore's face in dying. It had been a good curse, true to its aim, he told himself. Death would have been almost instantaneous. Albus, certainly, must have felt very little, if any pain. Compared to the poison slowly killing him, it must have felt a relief. He lay awake many nights thinking this way, convincing himself he'd acted in the most appropriate way possible, willing himself to believe that the only person who had to suffer needlessly over it, who lay awake nights unable to breathe, was him.

The images haunted him so. He scarcely slept, and every waking moment was agony. His existence was such a dismal thing that he often wished for death over the next lonely year. It was only his determination to see the Dark Lord's end that kept him together. And, of course, there was his fierce desire to see Harry safe. Even if the young man must loathe him for all eternity, he could bear it, as long as he survived. For himself, Severus felt, survival meant very little any longer. Even should he live through this war, there was nothing left for him in the world. The truth of that struck so true in his heart that when the inevitable came to pass, and Nagini's bite sunk deep into his throat, he felt only a moment of fear before resigning himself to the pitiful end of the pitiful man he was. He only wished he might see Harry once more, etch the memory of his eyes deeply enough into his very soul that he might keep a piece of his beloved with him, even in death.

He could count it no less than a miracle that Merlin saw fit to answer his final prayer. “Look at me!” he told Harry. Look at me. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but no time, no time at all, so he gave Harry as much pertinent memory as he could muster, and prayed it would arm his ex-lover against what was to come, that he could find some detail therein that Severus himself had not seen, some vague hope that would lead to Harry's salvation. He memorized those green eyes. There was so much of Lily in them, but he looked through that now, to the young man who had spent so many nights in his bed. He would see Lily soon enough, but he prayed it would be a very long time before he had to face Harry again.

There was a brief moment of agony before Severus left his body behind and drifted. He didn't look back. He didn't dare. He closed his eyes and let his spirit float where it may. He wanted to watch over Harry a little longer, but found himself impossibly tired. He couldn't even bear to open his eyes for what felt like ages. It was quite a shame, really, because he would have liked to know what it looked like to travel from life into death, but there were some mysteries, he supposed, that were just meant to remain such, at least to him.

When he finally did come to his senses, it was at first a vague niggle of annoyance, which soon lect him outright perturbed. Someone was pestering him. He could feel it very distinctly now, disturbing his peaceful slumber – a finger, poking him repeatedly in the cheek. Who in the bloody hell was burdening a dead man with such inanities? He peeked one eye open.

Should have known.

The other eye followed. “What do you want, Black?”

“Finally!” Sirius declared. “You looked dead.”

“I am dead,” Severus answered, swatting the hand away and sitting up.

“Well, obviously,” Sirius said, “but I mean, I thought you might sleep for another century or so the way you looked. Happens sometimes, apparently. Not to me, mind. I woke up straightaway, but I've heard."

“So, your brilliant plan was to poke my face until you annoyed me enough to rouse me, then?”

Sirius smiled at him, and Severus found his annoyance melting away. He never imagined to find that expression directed at him. He generally only achieved the man's wrath. But they'd died. Everything was different now.

“And, it worked!” Sirius declared. “Now that you're up, let's focus on more important things,” he continued decisively. “Like..”

Severus suddenly snapped back to attention as his weariness faded to nothing. “Harry,” he gasped. The war. The Dark Lord. How had it all come to pass?! Was everyone...?

“Harry is well enough, Severus. You've no need to worry. He lives yet,” another voice said.

Severus spun his gaze around to find Remus behind him, his hand on the small of Tonks' back, looking probably less haggard than he could ever remember seeing the man.

“It seems that you are not,” Severus replied.

Remus shrugged. “A price I pay happily, if it was of any use in putting an end to Lord Voldemort. I admit to being a bit disappointed that I will be unable to help raise my son, but some things can't be helped.”

“You just couldn't help yourself,” Sirius groused at his friend. “I told you I wanted to wake him up myself, didn't I?”

“And so you have,” a more dulcet voice said.

Severus spun about again, eyes widening comically. “Lily!” And, as his eyes fixed on another, he frowned. “Potter!”

James rolled his eyes. “Still haven't forgiven me, then? Well, I'm not sure I'm fond of the arrangement either, if you must know, especially after what you've been doing to my son.”

Severus felt his face flash crimson, his emotions not so easy to control where Harry and his old nemesis were involved. And Lily, to actually see her again, his dearest friend! He was overjoyed in this, just to be able to converse with her again, and amazed that everyone had come to see him. If only James could have stayed behind, it would be something very akin to bliss.

“I rather don't think 'to' is quite the right proposition. From where I sat, it rather looked like 'with',” Sirius quipped.

“Black!” Severus declared.

“Well, you were at my grave, you know,” Sirius complained. “And being dead, with no lover to speak of, I have to enjoy myself somehow.”

“So you spied on...” Severus choked. He needed a moment to get his mind around that. “Voyeur,” he complained.

“Now, that's not fair. I'd have happily participated, if I could have. Speaking of that, now that you're here...”

Severus found his face flare dramatically at the suggestion. Where was his carefully practiced ability to conceal his emotions now? Apparently, it was still sleeping.

James made a disgusted face when Sirius kissed a rosy cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Remus laughed silently behind his hand. Everything, it seemed, was finally just how it should have been all along – it only took a bit of dying to get it right.

Severus stumbled and stuttered at the very suggestion. “Can the dead even...?” he spluttered, finding it not the raging denial he'd intended.

“Well, what in the bloody hell do you think? How would we pass all the excess time if we couldn't?” Sirius balked. “Although, I've yet to try it, myself. We'll ride that learning curve together, yeah? Can't be all that different."

“Now, hey, don't get so angry about it. I was living vicariously through my godson,” Sirius huffed.

“I've heard enough,” James groused, obviously not at all pleased with the mental images. He vanished with a soft pop.

Lily giggled. “We'll talk later, Severus. I'll let the two of you get reacquainted first. Don't fight!” She said the last sternly, but with a playful grin, before disappearing as well.

“I believe that is our cue to leave, my love,” Remus told his wife.

“You mean you don't want to watch?” Tonks joked.

“I can think of several, more engaging, ways to pass the time. Shall we?” Pop. Pop.

Sirius heaved a dramatic sigh. “I thought they'd never leave,” he said. “Now, back to that learning curve...”

“But,” Severus sputtered, finding himself quite nervous in the face of what he'd been waiting for so long. “Harry...” Surely, he couldn't just let Sirius do whatever he pleased, now? Not after giving himself over to another. He couldn't betray Harry like that, could he?

“...has another two centuries of lovers to work his way through before he'll be joining us,” Sirius scoffed. “It will feel like hardly any time at all for us, and then, if he so chooses, he is more than welcome to join us.” Sirius quirked his lips into a naughty grin, pressing Severus back against a bed the latter didn't remember being there a moment ago. “But, I think we owe it to him to practice as much as possible, so we can show him how it's done when he gets here, no?”

“Sirius!” Severus meant to protest, but it came out as a gasp as Sirius licked at his throat, kissed his jaw, devoured his mouth. When the kiss broke, Severus found they were both quite naked and had no awareness at all of when or how that had come to pass. They had clothing on a moment ago, didn't they? He could remember clearly the fabric of Sirius's vest brushing against his fingers, but now, it was only that bare, tattooed skin hovering over him and that stupid, Gryffindor grin.

“Relax,” Sirius laughed. “There's a bit of a lag when you first pass, but, you know, being dead has its advantages – without a mortal husk to hold us back, we're very sensitive, in all of the best ways, but we never grow weary, never run out of energy...” Sirius smirked that mischievous smirk as he lifted Severus's legs over his shoulders, a smirk that told the Slytherin he had best grow accustomed to the current state of affairs, because Sirius intended to be between his thighs for a very, very long time.

And, Sirius was exactly right about everything else, too – a point Severus would not be admitting aloud for at least several thousand more years. Harry was still very young, and his heart would heal, he would find love again, probably many times, and would hopefully live a very long, fulfilling life. When his time came to an end, Severus would still be here, waiting to greet him, and, he decided, he would find a much more pleasant way to rouse his love from slumber than Sirius had thought up for him. Once that was accomplished, should Harry be willing, they would spend a very long time getting reacquainted.

But, for the time being, his life was finally taking the path it was meant to. As Sirius slipped into him, a look of ecstasy contorted his features. Severus was overcome by his beauty, by the way Sirius looked at him, as if he'd been waiting for this moment just as long as he had, and intended to savor it for as long as possible. In the face of that, death was not so grave a thing. It was, perhaps, the best thing that had ever happened to him, and with a bit of patience, it would only get better. He was happy to wait. After all, eternity didn't seem so terribly long, when you had someone to share it with.

~The End~
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