Chapter Text
Harry shifted on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position, pushing his flimsy blanket to the side. Voices outside the living room drifted closer and Harry squeezed his eyes shut as though that would stop him from hearing them.
"Leave him be," Snape said on the other side of the closed living room door.
"It's been almost two months," Voldemort replied, and Harry could clearly hear the repressed anger in his voice. It had little effect on him anymore, since he'd heard it so often before. "I am done with his childish behaviour," Voldemort continued, only interrupted by a tired sigh from Snape. "Harry and I made a deal, and I expect him to honour it."
"Your deal did not include this," Snape said with a hiss.
Voldemort remained quiet for a few seconds. "We may not have discussed the means, but Harry and I reached a very clear understanding -- "
"That did not include this," Snape muttered, and Harry imagined him crossing his arms to emphasize his point.
"It was implied!" Now Voldemort started sounding almost petulant, and Harry knew Snape had won the discussion yet again, and Harry could finally get some sleep on their couch, for the umpteenth night in a row.
"The boy is stubborn, you know this," Snape said, voice smoother now. Harry rolled his eyes; he was 28 years old and Snape still called him a boy more often than not.
"I will force him," Voldemort said through gritted teeth.
"And throw away everything we've accomplished over the last ten years? You know as well as I do that Harry will not forgive you if you force this upon him."
Voldemort grumbled something unintelligible, which was followed by the sound of a door banging open and shut.
Silence for a minute or two, and then Snape said through the closed door, "You'd better find a way to solve this issue, Harry, because I am about to cast a Cruciatus on both of you."
"Good night, Severus," Harry called out and then pointedly rolled on his side, his back to the door. No reply followed, and Harry released a deep breath and closed his eyes.
-----
The next morning, Harry shuffled into their shared office to find it empty, thankfully. He sat down behind his desk, placed his cup of tea beside his typewriter, and stretched his arms over his head. Writing his travel stories had not gone well over the last two months, ever since Voldemort had dropped his bomb that had turned Harry's rather peaceful existence upside down.
Harry had never thought he'd be a published writer someday, but there he was, a travel book author with five published titles to his name, all of which had been translated into several languages and were sold in wizarding bookstores all over the world. He'd started writing his travel stories to amuse himself whenever he needed a break from Voldemort's relentless research into ancient magic or Snape's obsessive search for new potions ingredients. He'd never considered publishing them until he discovered Snape reading one of them, quietly snickering in genuine amusement. Well, Harry had reasoned, if they could make Snape laugh, perhaps his stories weren't rubbish after all, and he'd sent a manuscript off to a publisher with favourable results.
Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Harry stared at the blank piece of paper in his typewriter. They were living in Naples now, had been for the last year, since Voldemort wanted to study the ruins of Pompeii, and he really shouldn't be having trouble writing amusing stories about wizarding and Muggle life in Italy but for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything to write about that was even remotely funny.
It was all Voldemort's fault, for daring to suggest that Harry --
The door banged open and in walked Snape, followed by Voldemort.
Harry rose from his chair, ready to flee their office and spend the day elsewhere, but Snape glared at him and hissed, "Sit down."
Glaring right back, Harry sank down in his chair. They wanted another argument, another fight? So be it.
Voldemort ignored Harry and pretended to read a few scraps of parchment on his own desk.
"We are going to resolve this issue once and for all," Snape said quietly, but Harry could see his lips twitching with silent fury.
Voldemort finally looked up from his desk. "I have nothing to say to Harry as long as he refuses to - "
"Quiet!" Snape bellowed, startling Harry and even Voldemort. Yes, they'd lived together for ten years now as companions and lovers and perhaps even as friends, but Harry couldn't recall Snape ever raising his voice at Voldemort before. Voldemort's hazel eyes flashed crimson, but Snape held his ground and pointed to Voldemort's chair. "Sit down," he whispered. "We are going to find a solution, or so help me I will pack my bags and leave you two to stew in your stubbornness for the rest of your miserable lives."
Voldemort stared at Snape for a few long moments and then, much to Harry's amazement, he sank down into his chair, and said quietly, "The resolution to this issue is simple, Severus, as well you know -- "
"I'm not making a horcrux!" Harry yelled, just like he'd done so many times over the past two months.
"Yes, you will!" Voldemort yelled right back. "I will not lose you --"
"It was just dragon pox, for fuck's sake!"
"You almost died!"
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, and with the other hand he swished his wand around and Harry, who'd been about to yell at Voldemort that yes, he'd been very ill but he had recovered, hadn't he, lost his voice. He opened and closed his mouth but no sound came out, and when he looked at Voldemort, he realized Voldemort was suddenly mute as well.
"Much better," Snape said with a satisfied sneer. Harry stared daggers at him, and Voldemort reached for his wand, his tight expression a promise of pain to come. "I have a solution," Snape said calmly, and Voldemort, who'd just raised his wand at Snape, lowered his hand again and tilted his head in open curiosity.
"A solution that will hopefully satisfy you both," Snape said, and sat down in the chair behind his own desk, leaning back as he looked between Harry and Voldemort. "Harry's recent brush with death has made it clear he needs to achieve immortality for him to continue his role as your horcrux."
Harry rolled his eyes. Yes, he'd been ill with dragon pox for a few weeks, and unfortunately he'd been one in a hundred wizards who was allergic to the potions designed to cure the pox, so he'd had to let the disease take its course. Snape had been convinced Harry would pull through, but Voldemort had acted like the world was about to end and as soon as Harry had been well enough to sit up in bed, Voldemort had demanded Harry make a horcrux of his own, which Harry had outright refused and thus their two-month-long fight had begun.
"Harry has made it clear he has no desire to create a horcrux of his own, as you well know, Tom." Snape almost never called Voldemort by his real name, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Snape. "However, there are other, less intrusive, ways to become immortal."
Waving his hand in an impatient gesture, since he and Harry were both still mute, Voldemort ordered Snape to continue.
"We could create a Philosopher's Stone," Snape whispered and gave them both a smirk.
Harry jumped up from his seat and pointed at Snape, nodding his head frantically and mouthing 'yes' over and over again.
Snorting, Snape swished his wand again and Harry had his voice back.
"Yes," he said for good measure. "That is the only way I will ever consider immortality."
Voldemort sighed. "You think I haven't already considered this?"
"Could have fooled me with your horcrux obsession," Harry muttered, but thankfully Voldemort ignored him.
"The problem is that none of us know how to make a Philosopher's Stone," Voldemort said. "Research would take years, and I will not risk Harry's life during that time. He needs to become immortal now."
Snape held his hand up before Harry could protest. "Research might take some time, but I'm convinced that with the right resources it will not be years."
Voldemort cocked his head just as Harry asked, "Resources? What resources?"
"I know for a fact that Nicolas Flamel left all his research to Dumbledore upon his death, and I'm sure the headmaster has it hidden away somewhere at Hogwarts."
Harry, who'd still been standing, sat down at once. "Hogwarts?" he whispered, his chest tightening in a way it hadn't done for years now.
Snape nodded solemnly, while Voldemort looked between them with a frown. "Return to Britain?" he said, apparently more to himself than to Harry and Snape.
"That is the only way, yes."
"But," Harry started, and then swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat. They'd spent 10 years travelling the world, they'd seen more countries than Harry could possibly remember, and it had been a good life, even a happy life, all things considered. Yet the one subject none of them had ever broached was a possible return to Britain. Not even when Voldemort's published works on all the ancient magic he'd uncovered had earned him invitations to speaking engagements in London, and not even when Snape had created a few new patented potions that got his face on the cover of Potions Monthly and earned him multiple requests for interviews with other British magazines, and not even when Harry's travel stories had topped the British bestseller lists for months on end and his British publisher all but begged him to return to make a few public appearances.
Never had any of them even uttered the thought of returning to Britain before, and here Snape was doing just that.
"But," Harry said again, looking helplessly between Snape and Voldemort. "Won't that be too risky?"
"There are risks, yes, but I believe they are worth taking," Snape said reasonably. Harry wasn't sure if he agreed with that. He vividly remembered Ginny's body lying abandoned in the Chamber of Secrets.
"I agree with Severus," Voldemort said, and leaned closer towards Harry over his desk. "It is of the utmost importance that you become immortal, my little horcrux, and since you refuse to do it the easiest way - "
"Creating a horcrux is hardly easy," Harry said, familiar anger igniting in his chest.
"Your soul is already split," Voldemort countered quickly. "All you need to do is extract that piece -- "
"Not this again." Snape shook his head and released a deep, suffering breath.
"Fine!" Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "We'll make a bloody Philosopher's Stone. I just don't want to take any unnecessary risks if we return to Britain. People might recognize you," he said with a pointed look at Voldemort, who curved an eyebrow in return. "People who knew you as Tom Riddle, I mean," Harry added. "You still look like Tom Riddle, just a bit older."
Voldemort snorted and was about to reply when Snape beat him to it. "Harry, very few people even know Tom Riddle became the Dark Lord. And of those people who do know -- the Order of the Phoenix -- none know what Tom Riddle looked like, save for you."
"McGonagall went to school with him!" Harry said, pointing at Voldemort. "She definitely knows what he looks like."
"McGonagall retired several years ago." Snape sounded far too unconcerned for Harry's liking. "Last I heard, she's living in southern France now."
But Harry was not that easily convinced. "How about Dumbledore's portrait? He knows. And all the other portraits at Hogwarts?"
Voldemort huffed. "Portraits are easily confunded should they recognize me."
"Hmm." Harry considered that for a moment. It still didn't sit well with him. "Or you could stay behind, while Severus and me get the research," he said, giving Voldemort a pleading look.
"No," Snape said, much to Harry's surprise. "We need him there."
"Huh?"
"We need his name and reputation to gain access to Flamel's research. If you and I try to collect the research, it might draw the wrong kind of attention to us, since neither one of us has any kind of background in that kind of magic." Snape gestured at Voldemort. "But if Joseph Taylor, famed wizarding scholar in ancient magic, shows an interest, I doubt people would suspect us of any wrongdoing."
"I believe you are correct," Voldemort said with a firm nod. "We shall return to Britain as soon as possible."
Harry sighed and rubbed his face. He was glad their epic fight finally seemed over, but this solution, no matter how benign it seemed, did nothing to squelch the tightening pressure in his chest.
-----
Harry popped the DVD in the player, hit the play button, and settled on the couch, a bag of crisps and a can of 7-Up within easy reach. He'd spent the rest of the morning avoiding Snape and Voldemort, even though their differences had been settled. But the idea of going back to Britain weighed so heavily on him that he needed some time alone. He had walked around Naples for an hour or so, picked up some groceries, and once at home he'd taken care of some menial household tasks. And now he wanted to lose himself in one of his favourite movies for a while.
Munching on some crisps, his attention on the TV screen, Harry didn't notice someone walked into the living room until hands gently touched his shoulders.
"The Shawshank Redemption? Again? You have issues, Harry."
Those familiar words brought a smile to Harry's face, and it was easy to forget he'd spent most of the last two months wanting to throttle Voldemort. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Voldemort, who looked rather expectant, and patted the couch beside him. Voldemort accepted the invitation and sank down on the couch, his thigh brushing Harry's.
Watching Muggle movies together had become a favourite hobby of them both over the years. Of course, Voldemort spent most of that time criticizing whatever Harry choose to see, but it was all in good fun.
"It's a good movie," Harry said with a glance at Voldemort.
"Get busy living, or get busy dying." Voldemort looked at Harry intently. "That is exactly what these past two months have been about, haven't they?"
Harry sighed. "Let's not get into that. Not again."
"Very well." Voldemort touched his fingers to Harry's cheek. "Then what shall we get into?"
Before he could help himself Harry leaned into that touch. God, it had been so long since they'd been intimate. First those stupid dragon pox and then Harry had moved to the couch during their epic fight. He'd propositioned Snape for a private moment together, but Snape had refused to touch Harry as long as his differences with Voldemort had not been resolved.
It had been three months without an intimate touch or even a kiss, and the feeling of Voldemort's fingers tracing patterns over his cheek and throat was driving him insane with desire.
Harry touched his hand to Voldemort’s chest, who took this as an invitation and leaned closer to brush his lips across Harry’s.
“It’s been too long, my little horcrux,” Voldemort whispered against Harry’s lips.
Harry kissed him, teasing his tongue against Voldemort’s. “And whose fault is that?”
“Yours.” Voldemort didn’t give Harry a chance to respond, but deepened their kiss and pushed Harry back against the couch.
“At least you had Snape,” Harry mumbled, and then gasped when Voldemort attached his mouth to the soft skin just below his ear.
“Severus?” Voldemort pulled back to look Harry in the eye. “He refused all contact as long as we did not come up with a solution."
"With you, too?" Harry asked, and couldn't help but grin. "That bastard."
"Hmm." Voldemort tugged on Harry's t-shirt, and Harry raised his arms so Voldemort could pull it off over his head. As Harry started fumbling with the buttons on Voldemort's shirt, Voldemort made short work of the button and zipper of Harry's jeans. Voldemort's shirt was next to go, revealing a toned and bronzed chest, which Harry was unable to resist. He licked around Voldemort's nipple and sucked it into his mouth.
Voldemort pushed Harry's jeans down. "We need lube." It sounded almost like a moan.
"No time for that," Harry muttered against Voldemort's chest while he yanked Voldemort's trousers down. "Let's just..." He bucked his hips up and his erection slid against Voldemort's, who answered him with a quiet groan.
"Like that," Harry said with a smile and lay back against the couch so Voldemort could find his bearings with one foot on the floor. They thrust together while Harry buried his fingers in Voldemort's black hair and pulled him closer for a kiss. Their tongues battled, Voldemort trying to kiss Harry into submission like he always did, and Harry welcomed it and bared his throat and spread his legs.
They bucked and thrust, their hard cocks sliding and rubbing, and it was just a bit sloppy and rough, and after three months of celibacy, the best bloody thing Harry had ever felt.
Harry groaned and bit at Voldemort's lips and whispered, "Close." Squeezing his eyes shut, he spilled himself between their heaving bodies, back arching and fingers digging into Voldemort's shoulders. Voldemort was not far behind, gritting his teeth and leaning his cheek against Harry's as he came with a few short, quick thrusts.
Panting, Harry looked up at Voldemort's face and stroked his hand down Voldemort's throat. He was still as handsome as ever, though his previously pale skin was now tanned since they spent so much time outdoors. Over the years Harry's perception of him had changed gradually, from handsome Tom Riddle and evil Voldemort, to someone new, someone Harry shared his life with, someone Harry had come to care about even, if he was honest with himself.
Yes, he still knew this was Voldemort, a man capable of evil deeds, but when you had spent so many years sharing your life with someone, many passionate nights in their bed, many mornings of playful bickering over breakfast, many glorious moments of uncovering ancient and powerful magic together, it was hard not to care about him.
Harry leaned his head up and placed a gentle kiss against Voldemort's lips. Voldemort answered it with a smile and a trail of kisses that led down to the sensitive spot right below Harry's ear.
Yes, if Harry were honest with himself, he knew he cared about his lover, his companion, his friend, and when he'd come down with the dragon pox, at first he'd thought that Voldemort's dramatic response was proof that perhaps Voldemort cared about him, too. Of course, then Voldemort ruined everything by prattling on and on about that bloody horcrux, and Harry once again was reminded about where exactly he stood in Voldemort's life. And that disappointment, that pain, had perhaps been as much a reason for their epic fight as his refusal to make a horcrux of his own, though he'd never admit that to anyone.
"I see you two have finally decided to kiss and make up. About bloody time."
Both Harry and Voldemort glanced at the doorway, where Snape stood with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the doorpost, one eyebrow curved.
And then there was Snape, or Severus, as Harry had started calling him some years ago when he'd realized that, yes, Merlin forbid, he really did care about Snape. And he knew Snape cared about him, too, though they never spoke about feelings or affection. But Harry knew because of the way their relationship had changed over the years, from Snape treating him as a dunderhead to treating him as an equal. He knew from the way Snape stood up for him whenever Voldemort made unreasonable demands. He knew from the many small gestures and words of praise Snape offered him whenever he was pleased with something Harry had done. He knew from the way Snape had never left his bedside when he'd been ill, how he'd spent night after night holding Harry's hand, wiping his fevered brow with a damp washcloth, and murmuring soft words in Harry's ear that sounded like insults but were nothing more than Snape's own fears over losing Harry given voice. And he knew from the way Snape had welcomed Harry's involvement in his potions lab, where they'd spent many an afternoon trading playful insults and jabs, and where Harry, thanks to Snape's growing patience with him, had learned a great deal about the art of potions making.
Yes, even though they never said it, or even hinted at it, Harry knew he cared about Snape and Snape cared about him.
Harry detangled himself from Voldemort until they were both sitting up, and then he patted the couch beside him. Snape's steps were confident, but at once Harry spotted the bulge in Snape's black trousers. Had Snape been watching them? That thought sent a new surge of arousal through Harry. He'd realized over the years that voyeurism was a definite kink of his, and thankfully, also of his lovers.
As Snape lowered himself to the couch, Harry glanced at Voldemort, who was staring at them both with a heated gleam in his hazel eyes. It made Harry smile.
"I never thanked you for coming up with such a brilliant plan," Harry said as he trailed one finger down Snape's leg.
Snape outwardly appeared unconcerned, but the dilation of his pupils plus the bulge in his trousers gave him away. "Did you expect anything less of me, Mr Potter?" Snape used his best classroom voice, and over the years that voice had started having a most peculiar effect on Harry. It always made him want to beg and plead and offer up his arse to Snape, no matter where they were.
Voldemort chuckled; he knew the effect his lovers had on each other as well.
"I just thought you've deserved a reward, Professor," Harry whispered as he lowered himself to the floor. Snape inhaled a sharp breath and spread his thighs as Harry crawled between them. It had been three months for him, too, Harry realized with a grin as he pulled down Snape's zipper. He quickly freed Snape's pulsing erection and sucked it into his mouth.
Moaning, Snape leaned his head back against the couch, one hand tangled in Harry's hair, gently urging him down further. Harry glanced from Snape to Voldemort, who was staring at them with a satisfied smile. Hollowing his cheeks and sucking deeper and deeper, Harry squeezed his fingers around the base of Snape's cock and pumped him hard.
It wouldn't take long, not after three months without intimacy, just like Harry hadn't been able to last only moments before.
Snape pushed Harry's head down, his thighs tensing, and climaxed with a groan, spurting hot strings of come inside Harry's mouth. Harry swallowed everything, and licked around the head of Snape's prick while Snape looked down at him with a rather blissful expression; his black eyes were hooded, his hooked nose slightly wrinkled, and his moist lips were parted.
Harry grinned up at him, tucked Snape's spent prick away, and crawled into his lap. Snape pulled Harry closer for a kiss, and Harry deepened it at once. He'd missed this. He'd missed the intimacy between him and Snape, and him and Voldemort, and between the three of them. And he knew without a doubt that even though their odd relationship had been born out of necessity, perhaps even desperation, Harry wouldn't change it for the world.
After a few minutes of deep kisses, Harry pulled back from Snape and flopped down onto the couch between his lovers. Harry released a satisfied sigh, Voldemort wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and pulled him close, and Snape rested his hand on Harry's thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.
There was no need for words. Their problems had been resolved, and they could go back to how things had been before. Except for that pesky little problem of returning to Britain, but Harry chose not to think of that right then. He didn't want to ruin their fragile truce yet again.
They watched the remainder of The Shawshank Redemption. Voldemort summoned three bottles of Heineken from the kitchen, and they passed the bag of crisps around.
It wasn't until the movie was over and Harry reached for the remote control to shut off the TV that Snape spoke. "I assume you'll be joining us in our bed again tonight?"
Harry pretended to think about that for a while, frowning as he tapped a finger against his lips. Voldemort snickered and Snape shook his head, though his lips curled up just a bit.
"Yeah," Harry said with a huge grin. "This couch is bloody uncomfortable. My back's been killing me for days. Perhaps you should both give me a massage later."
Voldemort ran his hand down Harry's back. "I don't think our Harry deserves a massage. Do you, Severus?"
Snape sneered down at Harry. "I agree. Stubbornness shouldn't be rewarded."
And despite his lovers' refusal, Harry couldn't help but laugh. This was familiar, this teasing and playful attempts at dominance. And he knew that no matter what they'd end up doing later that day, he'd enjoy it. His lovers always made sure of that.
Voldemort got up from the couch, stretching as he did so. "Time for supper. Angelo's tonight?"
"Yes!" Harry jumped up at once. He'd missed their dinner dates, not only for the companionship, but also for all the great food he'd been missing out on for the last couple of months. "Pizza!"
Voldemort gave Harry a tired look, while Snape sighed and collected the empty beer bottles.
Harry smiled. Yep, everything was back to normal at last.
------
"Meester Joe, Meester Harry, Meester Sef'ruus! Buonasera!"
"Hey Angelo," Harry said happily as the portly owner of their favourite restaurant waved them inside.
"Angelo," Voldemort said with a curt nod, and allowed Angelo to grab his elbow and steer them towards a table by the window.
"Where you have been?" Angelo asked as he pulled out chairs for them. "I think you no like my food no more." Angelo managed a crestfallen expression that made Harry snicker and Snape roll his eyes.
Voldemort looked up at Angelo with a polite smile. "You needn't worry about your culinary skills, Angelo. We were just busy for a while."
"Good, good." Angelo patted Voldemort on his shoulder. "I make you something special, yes? I make you the chicken with the pesto and the mushrooms with the pasta."
"Sounds delightful," Voldemort said, which earned him a wide grin from Angelo.
"I'd like a pizza napoletana," Harry said, and endured Angelo's frown.
"Meester Harry, you always wanting the pizza." He shook his head in obvious disproval. "But I will make you the pizza. I will make you the best pizza in these city!"
Snape cleared his throat; after all these years he still had no patience for such frivolous behaviour from anyone. "I'd like the lasagne with eggplant and parmesan."
"Good, good!" Angelo turned around. "Anita!" he yelled at his wife behind the bar. "The wine for our guests. Pronto!"
And as they waited for their food, they sipped their red wine and Harry just enjoyed being out with his lovers again. That was, until Snape cast a discreet silencing spell and said, "We need to discuss our plans for our return to Britain."
Harry sighed while Voldemort looked at Snape with a thoughtful frown.
"Since this is your plan, Severus, I take it you've already given it some thought?"
Snape sipped his wine and nodded. "I've made a few inquiries. As it turns out, Hogwarts is in need of a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Harry gasped and stared at Snape with wide eyes. He couldn't be thinking --
"That would be a perfect cover, if I were to accept that position," Voldemort said with a most satisfied smile. And much to Harry's amazement, Snape nodded his agreement.
"No," Harry said, putting his glass of wine down promptly. "You can't be serious. You can't go to Hogwarts."
"Why ever not?" Voldemort curved his eyebrow in a silent dare.
Harry sputtered. "Remember what happened the last time you were there?" He didn't dare say Ginny's name, not after so long, but the image of Ginny's dead body flashed through his mind all the same.
"Things are different now, Harry." Voldemort patted Harry's arm in a rather condescending way. "Lord Voldemort has been dead for ten years. No one would expect his return. Joseph Taylor is an established name and a respected scholar. I doubt anyone would make the connection, even if I seemed somewhat familiar to them."
"Harry, it's either this, or a return to your domestic dispute with your boyfriend," Snape said, ignoring Voldemort's snort.
Harry frowned. Snape was right, dammit, and Harry hated it. Voldemort insisted on Harry's immortality, and after his recent brush with death, Harry had to admit it would be nice to not have to worry about things like catching a near fatal disease anymore in the future. But he refused to make a horcrux -- he would not even consider pulling a part of his soul from his body, no matter his soul was already split thanks to one killing curse which didn't even have the desired results. Creating a Philosopher's Stone was the only way, he knew that, but the idea of Voldemort becoming a Hogwarts professor sent chills down his spine.
He glared at Voldemort. "You have to promise -- "
"Harry," Voldemort interrupted him, his voice as smooth as soft butter. "Have I not behaved myself this past decade?"
"Yes," Harry grumbled, and downed half his wine. "But no killing! If we run into trouble, you let me and Snape handle it, or I will..." He trailed off, unable to come up with a good threat. Voldemort knew Harry would never kill himself and since that was the only thing Harry had to dangle over Voldemort's head, uttering threats was useless.
Voldemort seemed entirely too amused with the situation. "I promise to behave myself. Cross my heart." And he trailed a finger down his chest in a mockery of a promise.
Harry sighed again and looked at Snape. "If something happens -- "
"We will keep our dragon under control," Snape said with a pointed look. "As the situation stands at this time, any unwanted discoveries by anyone can easily be fixed by a few memory charms."
"All right," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. Angelo appeared with their food, and while it was as excellent as ever, Harry's previous cheer at their little reunion was now replaced with a cold feeling of dread.