The World As It Is

by Dementordelta

Summary:

Ten years after the war and Harry Potter is just fine, really, until someone from the past walks back into his life.

The tiny bell over the shop door rang and Harry paused, waiting to see if it was a customer or a new delivery man who didn't know where the rear door was. The door closed slowly, then there was muffled sound Harry--who knew every sound in the tiny storefront by heart--couldn't identify.

Automatically he looked around, checking to make sure no one was lurking beyond the camellias before muttering the cleaning spell. The streaks of dirt on his hands melted away just as Harry heard another sound, more familiar this time, of movement, someone negotiating the crowded front aisle.

"I'm back here if you want me," he called out cheerfully, shrugging and returning to sorting out daisies by the stem when his greeting wasn't returned. He didn't stand on ceremony much, his regular customers being used to it--the tourists and more specialized clientele not demanding it.

Another thump, recognizable this time, and a soft swear word in a deep voice. Harry winced. A pot--not broken, but maybe chipped, when the voice spoke again, louder. "I require assistance."

Harry had been in retail long enough that the preemptory tone didn't faze him. The automatic smile was in place before the first prickle of--something, not unease, but the sort of awareness that leads to it--hurried his steps toward the front of the brightly lit shop.

The windows on the front of Lily's of the Valley were cleaned every other day, and even weak beams of light seemed to fight each other for the privilege of splashing Harry's neatly arranged displays of flowers with sunshine. So it was odd to see such a dark shadow moving among the ferns, though it must be the owner of the voice, who, as far as Harry could tell, hadn't moved since he'd called out. The top of his head came into view, and of course it was no shadow at all but a tall man with long dark hair, a streak of gray slicing down one side of it.

Something about him made Harry falter, wondering how much longer Neville would be away collecting those cuttings he'd mentioned this morning, then shaking off his unease.

He was just about to round the stacked pots of mums, one of whose brethren lay chipped in a pool of splintered sunshine when the owner of the head turned, listening to Harry's no-doubt lumbering approach. That head turned just slightly, so that Harry caught just a hint of the profile, and he faltered again, as though to physically push away memories that might intrude.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, taking the last few steps around the mums, eyes glancing down at their fallen brother then back to--

Back to the same profile, one ear cocked, listening, but not turning, and hadn't there been something about an injury, something he should know, something he'd read about--

"Something's fallen," Snape said, as though a tremor had gone through the street and tumbled the mum, and not his own carelessness. Harry didn't reply, not from shock, but merely trying to decide exactly how to toss the hateful bugger out. One hand, still stained, but missing the red ink that had marked it for the six years Harry had known him, reached out, grasping the air between them. "Something's fallen," he repeated, more impatiently this time.

Something Harry should know--something incurable, something he'd never given another thought to, because hadn't it served the bastard right? That Snape had been blinded in those last desperate volleys of spells, too dangerous to--

"Are you there?" Really impatient now, and Harry's anger was swallowed by irritation as he toed the cracked pot, mending it with one hand in his pocket on his wand, covering the slight sound the healing made by grinding his heel in the scattered dirt.

"It's not broken," he said, voice still harsh from unspent anger, wanting to pull Snape by his Muggle clothes and scream at him to get out.

Snape straightened. "I'm happy to pay for it if it is." His face turned to where Harry was standing, not moving himself as though rooted to the spot. Yes, Harry thought, definitely something unfocused and milky about the eyes, but not hidden behind dark glasses as though Snape were trying to pass for sighted, the same way his clothes said he was trying to blend in with the Muggles. His hair was longer than Harry had ever seen it, still dark as rich earth, save for that one gray streak down the side.

"It's all right," Harry said gruffly, disgusted by his own civility. "What do you want?"

If Snape was surprised by the impolite question, he gave no sign of it, reaching instead inside his trouser pocket for a folded piece of paper. He thrust it forward, slightly to Harry's right, forcing Harry to take a step into a spray of earth to take the paper.

On it was a list of four herbs. Harry immediately realized the question should have been 'why do you want these from me?'

"You're looking for these?" he asked, looking down at the paper and not at Snape.

"I'm told you deal in esoteric flora," Snape said, with a trace of his old classroom demeanor. His foot moved slightly with the sound of crunching dirt, and Harry realized some of the spilled earth had landed on his shoe.

"We do, yes," Harry said, heedless of the too long pause while he fluttered the edges of the list against his fingers. Snape appeared to realize he was being judged, though by what standard, even Harry couldn't say. His chin lifted, head turning as if daring Harry to flinch from the unfocused gaze.

"I have two of these in stock," Harry said, hating that he'd made a decision that rested on not having decided. "The other two I can obtain."

"I'll take the two now," Snape said, head tilting again as if looking at Harry from the corner of his eye. Harry made a note to look into old Daily Prophet accounts of Voldemort's defeat, to see if the extent of Snape's injuries was ever reported.

Harry looked down at the four herbs, the list written more precisely than Snape's handwriting of old had been, as though he'd written them along a straight edge. "These are very specialized ingredients," he said.

"I'm a very specialized customer," Snape said, frowning at the sound the list made as it thwapped against Harry's palm again. Slowly, he guided Snape to the counter at the back of the store, gesturing toward one of the stools around it, then huffing in exasperation at himself for his thoughtlessness.

"There's a stool to your right, if you'd like," he said grudgingly, not waiting to see if Snape sat down. Once behind the curtain that led to his back room, Harry let out a long breath, rubbing his face as though he was tired all of a sudden.

What the fuck was Snape doing here? And what was Harry going to do about it?

Automatically he reached for the plastic drawers where he kept the more ordinary herbs, hand hesitating over the drawers. He wasn't really going to do this, was he? Help Snape out? The other scenarios, of shoving Snape bodily out of the door, or worse, pulling out his wand and--

And what? Cutting down the man because Snape had fooled him--fooled them all--all those years ago during the war?

~~**~~

The small graveyard looked well attended; the borders had all been edged, and even from the small path behind the church, Harry could see that no weeds grew round the tended stones. It had been easy, when he'd vowed to visit his parents' grave at the side of another grave a few weeks ago, to think this would give him some sort of peace, some kind of strength to go on with what he had to do--find Horcruxes and…and fulfill a Prophecy.

He thrust his hands in his pockets, stopping beneath the beech tree, feet still firmly on the path from the church. The summer day was nearly cloudless; the sky as blue as it had been for Bill and Fleur's wedding a week ago.

No afternoon in the country could be soundless, even in the remote churchyard of Godric's Hollow, but those noises seemed themselves remote in time--the clip clop of a horse, a swishing like a scythe through wheat.

Both Mrs. Weasley and her husband had pulled him aside to give him directions on how to get to the spot where the small church lay tucked between foothills. Harry had declined both offers of company, as well as those of his friends Ron and Hermione.

He was still trying to decide whether to go back to school, if it reopened, whether to ask his friends to join him in whatever decision he made. "I have to do this alone," he'd said and that look passed between them, the one that said they'd already argued about this, but Harry wasn't sure who'd won.

Well, he was alone now, and not letting himself wonder if he'd have been better off with company. Taking his hands out of his pockets, Harry leaned over and picked up the flowers he'd chosen this morning in the garden behind the Burrow--big bunches of cabbage roses because Mrs. Weasley had said his mother liked them. As he got closer to the single wide tombstone that marked his parents' resting place, Harry saw that his flowers were not the only offering. On top of his mother's grave was a small jar of raspberry jam.

Harry stared at it, clenching the flowers so tightly he could feel stems breaking, tiny thorns digging into his palm. It was ordinary jam, the same kind he'd had on his toast this morning at the Burrow, the same kind that had been on the tables of Hogwarts when he'd been at school.

The same kind that Dumbledore had said was his favorite nearly a year ago.

Harry whirled around, scattering the roses. There wasn't any place to hide--even the old headstones weren't huge and overbearing like the graveyard at the Riddle mansion. But the headmaster had said he knew ways to remain unseen without an Invisibility Cloak.

"Professor? Headmaster?" Harry called out, his voice almost too low to hear it himself. The rational part of Harry's brain knew Dumbledore was dead. He'd seen the killing curse strike him, had seen the broken body himself.

No reply came back to him, save the rhythmic swish of the scythe off in the distance. Harry pulled out his wand and walked around the graves, alert and listening. Then he made another circuit, larger this time, stopping at the same tree close to the church, studying the still, silent graveyard. No living person save himself was in sight.

Then, even though he felt ridiculous, he said, "Accio--" His wand wavered before he could complete the spell. He was a long way from Hogwarts, and his spell shouldn't Summon anything from that far away. "Accio Dumbledore's hat," he decided on, holding out his hand in case an invisible hat smacked into it.

Harry lowered his wand again feeling slightly ridiculous when nothing happened. He huffed into his fringe and returned to the gravesite. The jar of jam was still sitting there, a frustrated fly buzzing away as Harry approached.

He stared at the jar a long time, wondering who had put it there, and why. He wasn't even remotely stupid enough to think of picking it up--even if it was from Dumbledore somehow, he wasn't picking up anything as out of place as this, when it might turn out to be a Portkey or worse. Gathering the roses, he pulled the longest one with the sturdiest stem and poked the jar. It tilted over onto the grass but nothing else happened.

There was no help for it then--if he was brought to trial for misuse of magic, he'd have to claim he was in a battle against a rather deadly jam jar. "Wingardium Leviosa," he said, maneuvering the jar over to him so he could look at it without touching it. The top looked tight and unopened, the label unsullied by stray streams of jam. He waved his wand to turn it over.

"Dump me out," it said on the bottom.

~~**~~

"Hey!"

It was the poke in his shoulder as much as Neville's greeting that shook Harry out of his reverie, out of the clouded corridors of the past.

"You're a million miles away," Neville said, unstrapping his battered leather collecting sack.

"Just a million years," Harry said, stretching on the work stool behind the counter.

"You okay? Did anything happen?" Neville asked, turning to look at Harry.

Harry knew Neville was trying to keep the concern out of his voice. Without a word he handed over the list of herbs Snape had left with him. Harry had lined off two of them as soon as Snape had left this afternoon.

"New client," he said, looking around the quiet shop which didn't look any different, despite the fact that Severus bloody Snape had been in it just a few hours ago.

"Oh, I should be able to get these easily," Neville said, then frowned. "These almost look like--" Harry stood up, putting one hand on Neville's shoulder. "P-potion ingredients." He looked around wildly as if Snape were lurking behind the rhododendrons.

"Uh huh," Harry said, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

Neville looked up, his guileless brown eyes troubled. "Never tell me old Snape--"

"The very same." He took the note before Neville could crumple it, and put it back in his shirt pocket.

"Here?" Neville looked around Lily's as if reassuring himself it was Snape-free. Harry nodded. "Wasn't he…didn't he…" Neville made a vague gesture around his eyes.

"Blind," Harry supplied, though there was no twist of triumph at another's misery as he'd expected toward Snape.

Neville lifted the leather bag onto the counter and began unloading the samples he'd collected. "You okay then?" he asked with such studied casualness that Harry suddenly was okay.

"It was just…unexpected," Harry said, moving automatically to gather up those specimens that needed drying.

Neville snorted softly. "I'll say." He handed Harry the bundles of gumweed. "Did he say what he's brewing?"

Harry shook his head. "I--we--I didn't tell him I knew who he was."

Neville turned around, looking at him incredulously. "Did he know who you were?"

Harry's mouth dropped open, thinking of the relatively insult-free discussion. "I don't suppose he did, no. I'm not exactly seventeen anymore." They shared a look before Neville laughed softly.

"His money's as good an anyone else's, I suppose," Neville said, shaking his head, "though I hope you overcharged him."

"Neville!"

"Oh, come on," Neville said, his usually calm brown eyes lighting with unholy fervor. "Or better yet, switch one of those ingredients out for something that will make his balls explode."

"Neville!" Harry said again, suppressing an undignified laugh.

"What? It isn't likely he's using them much," Neville said, and Harry shuddered.

"Promise me you will never, ever mention Snape's balls to me--in any context." Neville was rolling his eyes but Harry ignored him. "Er, do we have anything that will make a bloke's balls explode?"

Neville's grin was wicked and unrepentant.

Once Harry had all the drying racks laid out, he pulled out his wand. "Dessicato."

Neville snagged an apple from the bowl on the counter and crunched into it. "Want some help with those?"

Harry dried up the second layer, testing them with a finger before bundling them up and tying them off by hand. "No, you go ahead."

"You're not working late again?" Neville asked, frowning over his apple.

Harry shrugged. "What else have I got to do?"

Neville chewed thoughtfully for a moment. He finished his apple while Harry tied off the third batch. Harry was clipping it to the low beams overhead when a hand slipped over his shoulder. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"You sure you're okay?" Neville asked. "I could…stay here tonight. You know I don't mind."

Harry covered Neville's hand with his own, patting it reassuringly before letting go. "I know you don't," he said with a rueful smile. It hadn't been enough when they'd tried to make a serious go of it, and Harry knew it wouldn't be now. "I'm okay. It was just Snape."

After Neville left, Harry closed up the shop, trudging up to the flat over the shop. It was just a couple of rooms, more than enough when he and Neville had tried to share it, in those early days when they'd been struggling to set up the shop, struggling to see if they fit together as well.

The shop had succeeded but Neville had moved out within a few months.

Automatically Harry put his kettle on, then reached for the sugar, hand pausing over a familiar jam jar on the shelf over the stove. He used it to root cuttings--there was ivy in it now, the pale ghostly tendrils suspended in the yellowish water. On impulse he picked it up, careful not to spill the ivy over. The letters on the bottom had faded but they still spelled, "Dump Me Out."

~~**~~

Harry was no more prepared this time when Snape came into Lily's, though at least this time his appearance wasn't prefaced by smashing crockery. "May I help--" He stopped, stripping off his gloves.

"I was told to call in about a week," Snape said, turning so that his profile was more in silhouette, ear cocked, Harry supposed, listening. "By a young man," Snape continued when Harry still hadn't said anything. He'd stopped by the mums, one hand on the edge of one of the pots.

"Oh, right, that was me," Harry said finally, tucking his gloves into his belt. "I'll get them." He turned on his heel, then heard movement behind him. Snape was following slowly, fingers trailing only once uncertainly around a fixture as he made his way to the counter in the back of the store.

Harry rang up the purchase and Snape frowned as he named the price. "That is for both herbs?"

Harry nodded, then pressed his lips together in chagrin. "Yes." Then, "Yes, sir." Snape was still a customer, no matter how ill-desired.

"You should charge more," Snape countered, carefully counting out the change by the sizes of the coins.

"These aren't uncommon herbs," Harry said watching the slow process.

"I know, I used to gather them myself." A peculiar quirk of movement touched Snape's lips and Harry realized it was nearly a smile.

"I only charge more for the really tricky ones," Harry said, as if Snape had no right to smile, least of all right here in Harry's shop. "There you go," he said, ashamed of the sudden frisson of anger. As Snape's fingers closed over the packet, Harry blurted out, "You haven't always been blind then?" He knew the answer of course, had seen the malice sparking in Snape's now-dull eyes too many times in the past. His curiosity about how Snape would answer, however, was no excuse for his rudeness. "That was terribly rude. I'm sorry," he said, releasing the packet.

Snape's head had tilted toward him again, as though Harry had moved and Snape was trying to hone in on his location, the eyes sliding restlessly without focusing. "I lost my sight a few years ago," Snape answered, tucking the packet away in a jacket pocket and not addressing Harry's own rudeness.

Harry was startled to realize just how many years ago it had been.

One corner of Snape's mouth was quirking up again, the sort of smile people used when they'd got used to having a mouthful of crooked teeth. "Aren't you going to ask me how? Most people aren't quite so rude, but you seem adequately aware of your own shortcomings."

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, by way of apology, "I don't get out much."

"So I am given to understand."

Harry wondered if Snape would tell him a polite fiction, the sort of story he made up himself to avoid magical topics like how he got exotic shipments in so quickly or how he made deliveries so fast. What Snape said instead was, "I lost my sight in an altercation with another gentleman."

Harry snorted softly. He could almost smell the smoke from the church that had burned during that 'altercation'. "I'd hate to see the other bloke," he said, without quite realizing he'd spoken.

Another of those pleased little smiles flitted over Snape's mouth. "The other gentleman is dead."

Harry wondered if Snape felt the same satisfaction he did in that knowledge. He'd lived in a world without Voldemort ten years now and satisfaction still flared to life at the thought. "You killed him?" he asked, more curious about how Snape would frame his response than the actual answer.

"That honor went to someone with more right to that happy task than myself," Snape said, pulling something from his breast pocket.

Harry's mouth had dropped open, but he remained speechless until Snape extended the folded piece of paper in Harry's direction. "I have another list, if you do not object to my custom."

"Of course not," Harry said, taking the paper and unfolding it. "Ah, more challenging, this lot." Snape said nothing, but his expression was, for Snape, open and expectant.

"I've only got one of these in stock," Harry said, "the golden-seal. Unless you don't mind the felon-wort dried."

"I prefer fresh."

Harry had expected that. Even he knew fresher ingredients made better potions. "Another week then."

For the first time, Snape appeared uncertain. "The felon-wort is difficult to grow locally," he said.

"I'm expecting a shipment," Harry said smoothly. "I can post these if you like, to save you the trip."

Snape was already shaking his head. "I travel in my line of work, so it isn't any trouble to collect them myself."

"I can ring you when they're ready," Harry offered, trying to imagine Snape's voice on the other end of a telephone line.

"That won't be necessary. As I said, I travel, so I'm out quite a bit."

Harry couldn't explain his sudden curiosity, but could think of no more reasons to detain him. Snape was just turning to leave when he stopped, leaning forward tentatively toward a large flower arrangement on the counter waiting to be picked up. Snape's face seemed to hover over the flowers, swaying from one end to the other in obvious enjoyment. He inhaled, one long breath, then his eyebrows furrowed.

"Your camellias are unbalanced," he said, tilting his face in Harry's direction almost as if he were still sighted.

"Er--" Harry said, studying the arrangement.

"If I may?" Snape said, hand hovering over the flowers.

Harry nodded, then remembered and said, "Of course."

Snape's fingers reached into the arrangement, plucking the offending camellia and repositioning it. The colorful carnations that had been in the background suddenly seemed lusher, the colors popping now that they were framed by more camellias.

"Wow," Harry said, "thanks."

"Don't mention it."

That evening Harry did something he hadn't done in a long time. Pulling a locket out of his desk drawer, he sat back against the headboard of his bed. Holding the locket against his palm, he let the heavy links fall between his fingers for a moment before he opened it.

"Harry," the miniature portrait within said as soon as he sprung open the cunning little lock. Dumbledore always looked wide awake, which sometimes made Harry feel guilty when it came time to close the door. "How are you, my boy?"

"I've seen Snape," Harry said, peering down at the tiny gold frame.

"Ah, how is Severus?" Dumbledore's portrait asked.

"He's blind," Harry said, but Dumbledore was nodding.

"I heard that, yes," Dumbledore said. "But he is well, aside from that?"

Harry shrugged, then remembered that miniscule eyes might not be able to see the gesture. "I suppose. He's looking for a cure, I think."

Dumbledore looked pleased, but it was not until he spoke that Harry realized what about. "Good to see you two working together again."

"We aren't--" Harry huffed, remembering just why he hardly ever did this. "Look, you know how I feel about Snape."

"Yes, Harry, I know," the miniature said. Harry shut the locket without another word.

~~**~~

Harry had come back to the graveyard a week later after finding the raspberry jam jar, not because he hadn't wanted to come every day, but because at the bottom of the jar had been a chocolate frog card.

A chocolate frog card with Albus Dumbledore's picture on the front. And on the back had been a date, in heavy grease pencil, for a week hence. Harry had shown up early in his Invisibility Cloak, but there was nothing on the grave this time and no one in the tiny churchyard except himself.

He'd taken off the cloak, stuffing it into his pocket when a familiar cry had rent the air. "Fawkes?" There was a flutter of orange wings from the beech tree by the path. The phoenix circled once before landing on his mother's side of the headstone. Around his neck had been the locket.

For a moment Harry had been frozen. Then his arm had reached out to take the shining thing from around the bird's neck. Fawkes had trilled softly and shaken his tufted head, snapping Harry out of his trance.

With one beat of wings, Fawkes lifted and landed on Harry's outstretched arm. Harry, used to Hedwig, barely had time for a quick cushioning charm against the talons.

"How are you, Fawkes?" he asked, rewarded with another of those soft trills. It was then that he noticed that there was something familiar about the locket around the bird's neck. "Hang on, isn't that--"

It was. The rubbishy old fake Horcrux he'd found in the cave with--

A noise from inside the locket broke his attention. Harry pried open the tiny door, despite an annoyed squawk from Fawkes. Instead of the note from the mysterious R.A.B, the locket now contained a miniature portrait of Dumbledore.

"Harry! So good to see you!" it said, voice so small and soft that Harry had to lean close to hear it. Fawkes shifted accommodatingly on his arm.

"How--?"

"Actually, I haven't much time, my boy, Fawkes will be missed."

"Missed? From where?"

The phoenix looked at Harry as if aware his name had been mentioned.

"He's with Severus. But Severus is--"

"Snape!" Hot anger, as fresh as the day it had lodged in his chest, boiled through his veins.

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore's portrait said sternly.

"He's no professor of mine. I'm not going back to school," Harry replied hotly.

Concern furrowed the small brow. "You must. Despite recent events, including, er, my own demise, it's still the safest place in the world for you."

Harry opened his mouth to protest that he didn't care anymore about being safe, but Dumbledore cut him off again.

"Listen, Harry, my sources tell me--"

"You've got sources?" Harry asked with a frown.

The headmaster looked very patient despite the reduced area he had to convey emotion. "The afterlife is not as…solitary as you might think."

"Have you seen Sirius?" Harry asked quickly, trying not to sound too hopeful but needing to know.

"I'm afraid not. It isn't like a dormitory here where you can simply look up old friends. Please, Harry, you must listen. My sources tell me that my brother has the real locket." He laughed, and even for a portrait, sounded a bit bitter.

He'd gone on to give Harry hasty instructions on how to contact Aberforth and what to do with the locket once he'd recovered it.

"You want me to what?" he'd asked, blinking, certain he'd misheard.

"The magic guarding it, I suspect, will allow no one save Voldemort to open it without certain death. Therefore, you must not open it, but do as I have instructed. There are some forces on earth greater than even Voldemort's magic."

Harry had about a billion more questions but Dumbledore was looking up, into the tiny gilt edge of the locket. "Good luck!" had been his final words as Fawkes shifted for takeoff.

Harry shook himself out of the memory almost surprised to be back in his old bedroom and put the locket back into the drawer just on top of the faded clipping that he'd kept from The Times. "Thought Dormant, Volcano Erupts in Remote Pacific. Seismologists Baffled." A reluctant smile played around with the corners of his mouth. Voldemort hadn't seen that one coming.

Next morning Neville made a disapproving noise over Snape's second list. "Dunno why you're bothering," he said looking at Harry carefully.

"One less thing to feel guilty about," Harry said, laying out the flowers for several arrangements due this afternoon. He had some buttercups and daisies that would look nice and summery in his front window, bunches of them that he cast a quick preserving charm on so they didn't wilt before he got them into pots.

Neville looked rebellious but remained silent; they'd had this argument--more than once-- already. "So," he said, after a few moments of studied nonchalance, "Snape still doesn't know who you are?"

Harry shrugged, tamping in the sticky green foam that would keep his blooms in position. "I guess not."

"Probably would have said something to you if he knew," Neville guessed. "And you aren't telling him because--hmm, I'm not sure why you haven't."

"Leave it," Harry said testily. One of the daisies on the top of the pile withered, tiny rough leaves dropping onto the counter.

"Because then I guess you'd want to tell him all about that crush you had on that book of his--"

"Shut it, Neville!" Harry said, and the rest of the daisies flared into sparks and shot into the air. Neville had been one of the very few people he'd told about the identity of the owner of the Potions text Harry had been crushing on back at school.

"All right, all right," Neville said. Harry could tell his friend was looking at him but he ignored it until Neville spoke again. "I was just wondering if you were going to…"

"Going to what?" Harry slammed down the tiny scissors he'd been using to trim leaves back.

Neville shrugged as if there were so many things Harry should be doing he didn't know where to begin. "It's just that, well, when was the last time you saw anyone besides me?"

Harry rolled his eyes and rather savagely clipped the head off a buttercup. "I see people all the time."

"Aside from customers. Your friends. I see Ron and Hermione more than you do."

Another buttercup lost its hopeful yellow head. "Look, my social life stopped being your concern when you moved out."

Neville stepped closer, sliding the pile of hapless flowers aside. "I moved out because you wanted me out." He smiled sadly. "We both knew it wasn't working. But since then you hardly see anyone, even Alexandra and she asks about you all the time. And I don't think your heart was especially broken over me." He picked up one of the buttercups and twirled it in his fingers under Harry's chin. "That's all I'm saying. Even Snape--"

"Snape is buying herbs from us. That's all." He tried not to smile as the flower tickled under his chin.

"All right, all right," Neville said again. "I'll bring back the best damn felon-wort and when he's able to see again, I don't want to be around when he finds out who sold it to him."

The allotted week drew to a close and, as promised, Neville had the requested items on Snape's list on hand. Though Harry looked up at every ring of the tiny shop bell, Snape himself did not put in an appearance. It wasn't until the next day when the bell rang and a particular sort of silence followed that alerted Harry that he wasn't alone.

"There you are," he called out, once Snape, who hadn't moved beyond the arc of the door, came into view. "I was expecting you yesterday."

Snape's face had turned in Harry's direction, though the eyes still looked askance, not quite following the movement. "I was delayed by an annoying client in Kent." A sniff while the useless eyes aligned for a moment, giving the illusion they were focused before rolling apart again.

"Oh, no bother," Harry said hastily. "I kept the herbs fresh in the fridge." Actually he'd used a preservation charm, but of course didn't mention that.

"That's very accommodating," Snape said. He still hadn't moved from the doorway. "Forgive me," he said, as if noticing Harry staring. "It must be very bright outside." He shook his head. "It takes a moment to…adjust back."

"You can see light?" Harry asked, feeling cold dread shoot down his spine. But Snape was shaking his head.

"No, only shapes, and only sometimes if the light is very strong. Gray shapes," he added, blinking a few times, bringing both pupils back in line. "It just takes a moment to adjust to the black again." Harry waited, unsure what to say, hoping the swift silence didn't turn awkward. Snape shook his head sharply looking almost pained. "That's got it. Now, what have you found for me?"

Harry turned, walking slowly, constantly aware of Snape moving even more slowly behind him. Since these herbs were fresh, he brought them out of the plastic wrappings, watching as Snape ran a finger down the rough stalk of the felon-wort as if testing it. It felt almost rude to watch as he inhaled the aroma of the herbs, though the set of his mouth was approving.

Harry busied himself totaling up the lot, waiting until Snape was finished before voicing the total. When he took the oddly folded bills from his hand, fingers still damp from the moist stalks, Snape's fingers brushed Harry's wrist. Harry drew back quickly, taking the bills and unfolding them without looking up.

"Your pulse is racing." Snape's voice forced him to look up. "Do I make you nervous?"

"No, not at all," Harry said, keeping his voice level.

"You're lying," Snape said with such confidence that for one horrible moment he thought Snape might have used Legilimency on him. He remembered with a start that the Legilimens had to be looking into a person's eyes in order for the spell to work. Snape ignored his silence, pocketing his change. "The young and able are often unnerved by the weak and infirm."

Harry managed a shaky laugh. "I don't think of you as weak or infirm." He hooked the cheap plastic bag onto Snape's outstretched wrist, careful not to touch his hand again.

Snape hefted the bag with a smirk. "I manage."

That evening, after locking up the little shop front, Harry went out through the small greenhouse behind the store to the dilapidated cottage that had come with the property. "Handyman's special," the lease agent had called it, but Harry hadn't intended to live in it when there was more than enough room over the shop, even those few months when Neville had shared it. Vines and weeds had grown up over the stone walls, and he'd given Hedwig and her chicks the run of the eaves. He'd trained up, with her permission, a few of them as post owls but there were always a few that flew off to the hills and a few that nested in various parts of the eaves.

There was a small pile of letters waiting in the basket he kept just inside the window so that the owls wouldn't fly directly into the shop. Bronwyn, the oldest of Hedwig's chicks, flew down, anticipating the treats Harry usually brought with him when he picked up the post.

"One from Hermione," he told her, sitting down on the crumbling stoop. Hermione wrote every week, more often than Harry replied. "And one from Remus." He shook it and heard a slight crinkle. "Probably a note from Tonks inside too; you know she never writes real letters." Remus wrote sporadically too so Harry never felt guilty when he did the same.

There was one with large letters that was undoubtedly from Alexandra, his goddaughter. He realized, as he turned it over, examining the seal, that she would be going to Hogwarts soon--this year? Or next? No, two years, he remembered, having made the same mistake when he'd seen her last Christmas.

He broke off a piece of the seedcake he'd brought and fed it to Bronwyn, running a finger fondly over the crown of her head. "She was born about the same time you were," he told the owl.

Bronwyn looked back expectantly and Harry broke off another bit of the seedcake for her. The evening thickened around them until Hedwig swooped down from one of the broken out windows overhead. She nipped his ear in what he thought of as an affectionate gesture but was probably her sure knowledge that he always saved the largest bit of seedcake for her.

"I wonder--" he asked, squinting into the darkness. "Wonder what it's like to be blind?" He closed his eyes, listening to the night sounds that seemed to close around him. Then, with a last affectionate pat to each bird, he uncurled, getting to his feet without opening his eyes. Inside, he thought, just to see if I can make it. His hands swept out, brushing the stone wall behind him. Inside and up the stairs, he amended jauntily, taking a single step toward his own back door.

The crumbling step where he'd been sitting ground beneath his shoe and Harry's eyes shot open. "Probably break my ruddy neck," he said, eyeing the disintegrating stone. The owls, presumably more sensible than he, made no reply.

~~**~~

He hadn't quite gotten used to the preternatural stillness that accompanied Snape's visits. "Yes, Ma'am, twelve centerpieces, not too showy." He was on the telephone, a headset one that Neville had picked out, taking an order for Bar Mitzvah flowers, when the bell tinkled and only silence followed.

Harry was busy writing the order down, not quite subconsciously listening for a pot of mums to tumble off a shelf. He wrote down the date of the event when a shadow crossed over his notepad. He looked up, nodding, wincing, then covering the mouthpiece.

"Be right with you," he said softly.

Snape nodded, face waving slightly, body following, turning to the arrangement Harry had been working on when the phone had rung. Harry continued to make notes but his attention wavered as Snape's fingers traced the outline of the roses, pulling one close to sniff.

"Yes, Ma'am, thank you, Ma'am," Harry said, ringing off. "Thanks for waiting," he said to Snape. He wanted to give a little warning about the thorns lurking just below the bud, but Snape had already released the flower.

"What color are they?" Snape asked, inclining his face toward the blooms.

"Yellow. Big as grapefruits," Harry said with some pride.

Snape nodded as though he'd guessed the color from the scent and pulled out another list from his coat pocket.

"The felon-wort was most promising," he said, unfolding the paper. "I wondered if I could have a supply of it for the next several weeks." He put out the hand with the list so Harry could take it. "As well as these."

Harry read it over and calculated when he and Neville could have the lot assembled. Which seemed to Snape's satisfaction. With a nod he turned to leave, face inclining again toward the roses.

"May I?"

Nodding, Harry sighed inwardly and said out loud, "Sure."

Snape lowered his face until his nose was nearly touching the crisp yellow edges of the flower. "What's the occasion?"

"Get well vase for the local vicar from his congregation." Harry moved down the counter a step, to the opposite side of the vase. "He's in hospital, recovering nicely." Snape hadn't said anything and didn't appear to even be inhaling deeply, just breathing quite close to the flowers. "Er, prostate, I believe."

A thin smile slid across Snape's lips. He lifted his face, though his fingers slid into the stalks, brushing lightly over a thorn.

"Do you miss it?" Harry asked, not even aware that he was thinking the question, let alone being gauche enough to ask it. Snape frowned, eyes narrowing exactly as they would if he were sighted. "Being able to see, I mean?"

Snape straightened, keeping one hand on the counter. "There are faces I'd like to see again. Places…once familiar." The unfocused eyes lit on Harry, all the more unnerving because they moved restlessly, sometimes aligning as though a ghost of the old Snape lurked behind them. "But I don't think I'd see them again even if I were sighted."

~~**~~

Harry wrote a letter each evening, first to Alexandra. He couldn't think of any polite way to ask how old she was now, so he wrote back promising to visit more often than Christmas. He wrote to her mother, Hermione, the next night and even included a note for Ron. Remus got a long letter too, though once he finished filling two pages of parchment without mentioning the word 'Snape', he couldn't imagine what he'd found to write about.

He made sure to leave fresh lavender on the counter the next time Snape was due to pick up his order. He watched, a little breathlessly, as the head turned, the light from the front windows highlighting the grey streak. This time Snape fingered the bunch and brought it close to his face without permission. "English?"

"Of course," Harry replied, thinking he would fib and say the vicar had taken a turn for the worse if quizzed about the occasion again.

But no inquiries were made as, very carefully, Snape's fingers pushed into the stalks, running over the silken buds.

"I just got this in," Harry said on impulse, reaching under the counter. "Can you tell what it is?"

The dull eyes seemed to flare with interest as Harry put the tiny bundle into his hands. One sniff and Snape made a dismissive gesture. "Aniseed," he said, but he inhaled deeply again.

"Try this one. It's not as fragrant but--"

He watched, interested as Snape confirmed the mild scent. Then one finger traced down the stalk. "Soapwort," was the verdict. "Overlooked as a weed, but useful in--" He stopped and tilted his head, cutting the lecture off a-borning.

"Okay, here's something," Harry said, covering the moment. "Not a cutting. Let me get it." He ducked into the workroom and levitated his bonsai willow onto the counter, careful to make a noise as though he'd set it down himself. "You'll have to feel this one," Harry said, reaching for his hand.

Snape allowed him to take the it briefly, brow furrowing as he rubbed along the trunk. "I've heard of such things," he said, hand combing delicately through the wispy branches. "This one is young, is it not?" Harry started to nod but Snape went on. "You've grown it yourself then?"

"Yes," Harry replied, "Well, a friend helped me start it. Boyfriend." He felt his face coloring in horror. "Former boyfriend."

Snape's finger continued to stroke through the branches. "I see," he said at last.

"Does that make you, nervous?" Harry asked.

"Only if you're flirting with me," Snape said, face tilted down at Harry's. "Because I suspect the disparity in our ages will negate the similarity in our preferences."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "What? I'm not--" He couldn't--quite--deny flirting. He ran his hand through his hair. "How do you know we aren't the same age?"

Snape's face turned from side to side as if studying Harry's face. "Your voice has the unmistakable cadence of your generation, the one that grew up with a television in the house."

Harry's hand dropped to his neck, rubbing it uncertainly. "What else are you guessing about me?"

"I never guess," Snape said. One hand had dropped to the rim of the shallow bonsai platter, tracing around the ceramic edge. "You are from the south, not as far west at Bristol, more likely near London. Good family, good school. You keep shop by yourself and keep to yourself too much."

"Hey," Harry said, uncomfortable, as most people were, with the truth, "How can you possibly know how much time I spend alone?" The other things could have been, despite Snape's disavowal, educated guesses based on his accent and his occupation.

Snape's smirk was exactly the same as if Harry had said he'd forgotten his homework. "You said 'former' boyfriend."

"How do you know I haven't got a current one?"

The smirk stayed in place. "Because you're flirting with me." At some point his hands had left the bonsai, resting on the countertop. "Though I warn you I lost my sight late in life and know perfectly well what I look like." He pushed away lightly from the counter, orienting himself back toward the door before pausing to turn back toward Harry.

"Oh, and though you probably have dirt under your fingernails right this minute, you are not slovenly in your habits."

Harry looked down at his fingernails and made a rueful face. "How did--"

Snape made a dismissive gesture. "Because your scent is not…unpleasant."

~~**~~

Harry stabbed the trowel into the soil, bending over the potting tray in the greenhouse with a slight groan as he heard the unmistakable thunk of a root. "I wasn't flirting with him!" he told the incision he'd cut around the lilacs.

"Weren't flirting with who?" Neville's voice made Harry look up.

"Sorry, didn't hear you come in," Harry said, scooping a little soil back over the hole in case Neville spotted the damage.

"Obviously. I Apparated straight in once I realized the shop must be closed." He slung his pack off his shoulders. "Flirting with who? Not that sweet young delivery driver--Donald? Derrick?"

Wiping one hand on a grimy towel, Harry reached into his pocket for Snape's latest list.

"Oh, no. Not Snape." Neville looked up, aghast as though the list contained a list of ingredients for a ball-exploding potion.

"I wasn't flirting with him," Harry reiterated, digging out his wand to repair the root before he killed the whole bush.

"Good," Neville said, "because you're spectacularly bad at it." He pulled out a pen and made a note on Snape's list.

"I--what"?

Neville looked up absently, still making notes. This was, Harry knew, the most complicated list so far. "Come on, you must know it." He wrinkled his nose. "What's he doing with all this stuff anyway?"

Even though he'd told Dumbledore's portrait he thought Snape might be looking for a cure, Harry shrugged.

Neville folded the list and put it in his shirt pocket. "Look, if you're going to try flirting again, start with Derrick our delivery driver. Try asking him in for tea. He's been making calf eyes at you since he started the job." He made an exasperated noise. "You didn't even know, did you?" Neville shook his head. "Hopeless. If you've got your heart set on old Snape--"

"I don't!" Harry nearly trowelled up the root again.

"You need to tell him who you are," Neville said gently.

Harry looked down into the dark soil. "I can't tell him now. It would look like I was trying to hide it."

"You are trying to hide it. Or else you'd have tossed him out on his arse the first time he walked in, blind or not."

"Neville!" He started to refute this further, but Neville was running his hands through his hair as though suddenly infested with ants. "What are you doing?" Harry asked, staring at the mess Neville had made of his usually enviably tidy hair.

"We'll practice." He combed the ends of his mussed hair down as far over his ears as it would reach. "I'll be Snape." He screwed his face up into a sneer. "Oh wait, blind, right." He closed one eye.

Harry laughed. "He's blind, you git, not a pirate."

Obligingly Neville closed the other eye, baring his teeth menacingly. "See here--"

Harry was still laughing. "That's tony, even for Snape," he said, but Neville stayed in character, such as it was.

"Don't you have something you'd like to tell me? " His round face screwed up into an expression that looked less like a sneer and more like he'd swallowed something bad. "Some wicked secret you'd like to share?"

Nodding, Harry cleared his throat, trying to appear solemn and contrite. "Sir, remember how much we hated each other when I was at school? Or all those times I said I wanted to kill you?"

Neville huffed, sending a strand of his displaced hair up into his eyes. "You aren't even trying," he said, opening one eye.

"Because I'm not going to do it." Harry's fingers clenched around the trowel. "He's just buying a few herbs from us."

Neville finger-combed his hair back into place. "If you say so."

~~**~~

Before Harry went to bed he pulled out the locket with the portrait of Dumbledore in it but didn't open it. He knew if he did, Dumbledore would tell him what he always did, that he trusted Harry to make the right choices. There were a lot of choices Harry had made for the right reasons--opening the shop, breaking up with Neville, finding his own place in the world. But Harry had never chosen to trust Snape--he'd been forced to.

Harry had watched silently, the last night he'd seen Snape, all those years ago, from beneath the Invisibility Cloak as the lights went on in the little church in Godric's Hollow. He'd known right away that these were not the lights of a cheerful church social, or particularly oddly scheduled services. He'd learnt in the months he'd been back at Hogwarts to detect wards, but as far as he could tell, this grave remained unprotected. He thought there might be wards around the church itself, but Harry had no intention of going close enough to find out.

His fingers clenched around his wand. His other hand held onto one edge of his parents' tombstone as another candle flared inside the church and a figure, tall and thin, was outlined in the light.

"About time, Potter."

Harry whirled, cloak slipping as he whipped his wand toward the voice behind him. "Snape!" Fury clenched in his belly. Harry's wand pressed into Snape's throat, forcing him backward, holding onto his own balance by hanging onto the headstone.

"I'm going to kill you," he hissed voice low in a mockery of respect for the dead.

"Of course you are," Snape said, with a put upon expression. "Just not right this minute." Dusk seemed to swirl around them as Harry's hand twitched, pushing the wand across the bulging Adam's apple. "Just how were you planning on accomplishing this? Poking me?"

"I know the Killing Curse. I hate you enough to use it."

Snape shook his head slightly, not hard enough to dislodge the wand on his windpipe. "If you think the headmaster sacrificed himself to see you turn into a dark wizard, you are even thicker than I thought." He pushed Harry's wand away with the flat of his hand. "No
Killing Curses for the Chosen One."

"You use them," Harry spat, wand tracking one hand as it reached, not for his wand, but for his own throat, pulling a familiar chain from beneath his robes.

"I am already damned." Snape thrust the locket toward Harry, eyes darting toward the eerily lit church. "Take it. Do as he says." When Harry just stared, Snape looped one end of the chain around Harry's wand, letting the weight carry it to his hand.

"Go on, open it. Even those near-sighted eyes of yours must be able to recognize it after destroying four Horcruxes on his direction."

"I don't have time for this," Harry said, shaking his head. He pulled the locket into his other hand, letting it dangle against his palm. "Tell me why I shouldn't just kill you and get on with why I came here?"

"Because tomorrow the Dark Lord is going to visit the sea cave to add another Inferius to his army in the lake and will undoubtedly discover his loss of a Horcrux. If you'd scattered bits of your soul over Britain and discovered one missing what would you do next?"

"Kill the person closest to me and make a new Horcrux?"

Snape's mouth dropped open. "Well, I was thinking he'd go looking for the rest, but I suppose you're right." He eyed Harry speculatively. "You may not be as thick as I thought." He made a move to get up but Harry's wand flashed up again. "There's a potion in my front pocket," he said, letting his hands fall open. "It will turn a freshly dead corpse into an Inferius."

Harry felt himself grow cold. "That's--"

"Take it. Use it on me after you kill me. Just not yet."

"I--I won't." As much as he hated Snape he didn't want to see him turned into a walking corpse. "That's what Voldemort's going to do to my parents." He looked toward the church again.

Snape was no longer sneering. "That was a ruse to bring you here. The corpse has to be fresh for the potion to work." He got up to his elbows, eyeing Harry warily. "Don't you see, Potter? The Dark Lord lured you here. He intends to use it on you."

~~**~~

Harry sat back on his bed, still holding the locket. He was glad he wasn't an Inferius. He thought maybe he was glad he hadn't taken Snape up on his offer to make him an Inferius. He'd known, hadn't he, even then that Snape had been sending Dumbledore's portrait to him, to help find and destroy the Horcruxes.

Without thinking he flipped open the locket. The tiny portrait of Dumbledore was snoring softly though Harry had to hold it up to his ear to hear. Unprepared for the rush of feeling that went through him, Harry stared at it a few moments, hearing Snape's voice again.

There are faces I'd like to see again. Places…once familiar.

Harry swiped at his eyes with the edge of his shirt. When he looked back, Dumbledore's eyes were open.

"Harry! So good to see you!"

A tremulous smile caught up with Harry's face. So many questions rushed through his mind, ones he'd never wanted or needed to ask. And he knew he wouldn't ask them now. "It's good to see you too," he said, settling in for a nice chat.

He saw Snape several more times, each time with a list or a request for a standing order. Harry had taken to keeping the willow bonsai at one end of the counter where every now and then the breeze from the opening door would lift the branches.

He thought he heard the door now, wrestling a plastic bag of potting soil from the back room. "Oh, hullo," he said. "I didn't hear you come in." He smiled even though Snape couldn't see.

Snape was standing in front of the bonsai, one tendril sliding off his finger. "Do you use special fertilizer on this?" he asked, by way of greeting.

"Just compost," Harry replied, stripping off his heavy work gloves and omitting mentioning the dragon dung he usually added to the compost heap out behind the greenhouse. "I could teach you how to train them if you're interested."

The unfocused eyes slid in Harry's direction. Even though the day was cloudy and Snape couldn't even discern so much as his shape, Harry fought the urge to step away from that unseeing gaze.

Harry thought Snape might tease him about flirting with him as he had several times in the past, carefully sidestepping any return interest. "I don't think so, no," he said instead.

Harry shrugged, rifling through his waiting orders until he found Snape's. "I've gotten the yucca root in early," he said, laying the bag on the counter close to Snape's hand, rifling the plastic a bit more than necessary.

"Ah," Snape acknowledged, "that will simplify things."

Harry rang him up, counting out the change against the outstretched palm so Snape could fold the bills accordingly.

"Thank you," Snape said, tucking the worn black billfold into his jacket pocket. Without another word, he turned to go.

Startled, Harry nearly said, "Wait," but he had nothing for Snape to wait for. "No list?"

Snape had only taken a few careful steps away. He turned back slowly, feeling carefully for the large display rack that led to the door. "There won't be anymore lists," he said, inclining his head.

"What?" Harry took a step forward, but came up short against the counter. "Are you unhappy with the price?" Snape was shaking his head but Harry barged forward. "I'm sure we could work something out since you've bought so much."

"It isn't the price," Snape said, then frowned. "At least, not the coin. Each failure enacts another sort of price."

"Is it--" Harry pressed his lips together, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. "It isn't the flirting, is it? I know I'm really bad at it."

One corner of Snape's mouth quirked upward. "Indeed you are," he said, then put one hand up as Harry tried to speak again. "Your attentions, as I've mentioned, are best turned toward a more suitable candidate. I've simply decided to abandon my…project and learn to accept the world as it is."

Hopeless anger rose up in Harry's chest, the same feeling he got when a carefully nurtured sprout withered, resistant to spells or even dragon dung.

In the middle of the unnatural silence came a distant popping noise behind him. Harry knew what the sound meant, knew by the way Snape froze that he'd heard it--and recognized it--too. As if magnified, suddenly he could hear every ring on the curtain rod sliding with exquisite slowness as Neville's voice rang out.

"Good news, Harry," he said, "I've got--" The voice choked off as though Neville had swallowed bubo tuber pus. "P-professor!"

Snape's face unfroze, blazing now with fury. "How did you know? How did you know I used to--" He voice lowered to a strained hiss. "Who are you?" His hand reached for the spot where his wand would have been if he'd been in robes. "Not--" The shadowed eyes narrowed as he mouthed 'Harry' as if hearing Neville say it again. "Potter?"

"Yes," Harry said miserably. "Yes, sir."

"S-sorry," Neville said.

"I suppose you two think it was funny to sell me worthless herbs," Snape said, his sneering tone so familiar even though Harry hadn't heard it for ten years.

"No, I--"

Snape's hand fumbled inside his coat pocket and pulled out his wand. "No need to pretend any longer," he said. Behind him, Harry heard Neville make a sound like a whimper. Scrambling onto the counter, fraught with the need to stop whatever Snape was about to do, Harry saw the wand come down in a quick slash. Without thinking, he threw himself in front of the spell, knocking them both over just as the sickening tug of Apparition took them both away.

"Potter!" Harry's momentum landed him directly on top of Snape, both of them flat on the ground. His arms shot out instinctively to control the thrashing movements of the man beneath him. "Get off me!"

"I never sold you anything but the best stuff I had," Harry said, pinning the flailing arms.

"I'm not that much of a fool, though I admit you've played me for one ever since I crossed your threshold." He pushed again against Harry. "Get off me!"

"I haven't--I really--" Exasperated with his own inadequate tongue, Harry bent down and covered Snape's mouth with his own. Snape's lips were stiff, damp already from the spittle of his outrage. Once he felt lips moving against his own, he lifted his head, close enough to feel the whisper of protest, should it come.

It did not come.

"I never meant to hurt you," he said, lowering his mouth again.

Snape's mouth was no longer still, no longer closed. But when Harry lifted up again, Snape said, "Of all the words in the English language, those invariably cause the most harm."

"Neville told me I should tell you," Harry said. He still had Snape's hands trapped up over his head. "But I couldn't, not after the first time. Not after I flirted with you."

"Do you routinely fling your intended objects of affection onto their own doorsteps, or am I simply less fortunate than the rest?" Even sightless, his eyes looked skeptical. "It's a miracle you weren't splinched," he went on in the same disgruntled tone.

"I thought you were going to curse us both!" Harry said, cautiously lifting up on Snape's hands. Snape struck like a viper as soon as the pressure was removed, rolling Harry over onto his back, forcing his arms over his head. A triumphant smirk slid onto his mouth as he lowered it, tilting his face slightly as if listening for Harry's breathing before taking Harry's mouth against his own. Harry groaned, then realized only his arms were pinned. One foot slid down Snape's closest leg so the other one could slide between, holding him down against the walk.

Snape's surprise reverberated in his kiss, which changed, but never broke. Instead he seemed to be coaxing Harry's compliance with soft swipes of his tongue and tiny sucks that reminded Harry pointedly of other places he'd like to feel that mouth.

Snape rubbed against him suggestively and Harry felt something hard press into his hip. He tried to wriggle around to let Snape know he was having the same effect on Harry, when Snape lifted his head.

"You know what they say about age and treachery," came the honeyed voice.

Harry blinked muzzily, gazing up into the smirking face before the words penetrated. "Wha--" Suddenly the hardness vanished and Snape's wand was in his hand. Without another word he vanished.

Groaning, Harry rolled over, suddenly feeling the concrete walk along his back where his shirt had ridden up. Panting, he got to his feet and pounded on the cottage door. "Open up!"

Silence. Harry pounded again, harder this time. "I know you're in there!" He didn't, but it sounded better than, "I hope you're in there." He huffed again, then put his face in the crevice of the doorframe. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you." He didn't hear anything moving on the other side of the door, increasing his sense that he was, yet again, making an idiot of himself over Snape.

He laid his forehead against the door. Snape could have Apparated anywhere, but Harry had to try. "But I'm not sorry you came into my shop." He sighed and went on in a softer voice, "And I'm not sorry I flirted with you."

The door flew open. Caught off balance, Harry pitched forward. "You soon shall be," Snape said, pulling him into the gloomy interior. Strong arms caught him before he fell. The front door slammed shut and the room plunged into darkness. Instead of feeling safe, Harry felt more off balance than ever as Snape pushed him up against the wall.

There was no flirting, no teasing, just hard, relentless need as Snape's mouth moved over his own. Harry's hands came up, clenching at the fabric of Snape's shirt, pulling him closer. His own pulse pounded in his ears, half terror, half arousal. He let his lips slide apart, relaxing enough against the body pressing him into the wall to let arousal take over.

Harry's buttons seemed to pop open with the strain of his cock pressing against them, then realized Snape's fingers had crept down the front of his trousers.

"Yes," he moaned, pressing into the cupped hand. He wanted more, wanted to see what they were doing but Snape's body had him pinned to the wall and his wand was somewhere down around his knees with his trousers by now.

"Do it," Snape commanded, softening the order with a swipe of his tongue against the outside of Harry's ear.

His body surged forward, caught short again by Snape's until all he could move was his hips. Snape never moved his hand inside Harry's pants, cupping his cock through the cotton. Harry moaned again as Snape squeezed him.

"You owe me this," came the soft sneer, still close enough to his ear to feel the breath behind it.

"More," Harry panted, his own fingers creeping over the suited shoulders. Snape's hair brushed his knuckles as he rocked against him.

"Yes, and more."

Harry shivered again as they shifted until Snape's groin pressed into Harry's hip. Soft breath caressed his ear again. Snape seemed to be letting Harry move them both, Harry against his hand, and his hips against Snape's cock. Harry was too wound up on adrenalin and emotion to hold out long.

"Harder," he pushed out between teeth clenched to stop his moans. Snape grunted, grinding his mouth onto Harry's again, hand and hip moving feverishly and hard, until Harry couldn't hold back anymore. Moaning helplessly he felt himself spurting all over his underpants.

Before he quite realized what had happened, before he could even catch his breath and stop shaking, strong hands gripped him, yanking his trousers up. The door flew open, nearly blinding Harry after being in the dark. Before he could figure out what was happening, he was on the other side of the door.

"Bastard," he said bitterly, buttoning up his jeans. He knew it would do no good to pound on the door again.

He Apparated straight into his own workroom. Neville slid the curtain back before he could even put his wand away.

"Sorry! I didn't think. It just slipped out…Really, I know what you must think." Neville said so earnestly that Harry knew he hadn't done it on purpose despite all his admonitions for Harry to confess. He stopped, though, mid-apology and stared hard at Harry. "What happened?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair, sensing that it was more rumpled than usual. "He tossed me out."

"He shagged you first," Neville said, still looking at Harry.

"Not exactly." He looked down at the front of his trousers. There wasn't a wet spot but he still felt sticky and uncomfortable so he did a quick Scourgify on himself. "He didn't even get off."

Neville made a face. "Harry, I hope we will always, always be friends and that you will never ever talk about Snape's orgasms or lack of them with me."

"Git," Harry said, his smile returning.

"What are you going to do?"

"Dunno." He knew perfectly well Snape was capable of ignoring him as long as necessary.

Neville leaned against the counter. Harry saw that he'd been making a bad job of an arrangement that was supposed to go out that afternoon--lilac petals lay all over the counter and floor. "Do you reckon he's been looking for a cure, buying all that stuff from us?"

"Felon-wart? Golden-seal? Yeah sounds like it to me."

Neville had rolled his eyes up, staring up into the ceiling thoughtfully. "Do you know if he went blind because of a curse? Or damage from the fighting?" he asked while Harry swept up lilac petals.

"Probably a curse." Harry thought about the last time he'd seen Snape before he'd walked into the shop. "Yeah, a curse."

Snape had Apparated them both out of the burning church that night. Earlier he'd pressed another raspberry jam jar into Harry's hand with the hissed instructions, "It's a Portkey." It had sent Voldemort, who'd probably been expecting an attack, behind the Veil. Harry sincerely hoped Sirius and Dumbledore had been waiting for him on the other side. A volley of curses had followed but Snape had wrapped his own body around Harry's with an urgent, "Hang on." Then he felt Snape lurch against him and heard a grunt of pain. They'd made it out into the graveyard. Harry had looked back, but Snape was already on his feet, staring back toward the church. Smoke was billowing from a cracked stained glass window.

"You'll have to get out on your own."

"You're--" Harry had said, eyes widening as Snape lurched against Lily Evans Potter's tombstone. Death Eaters, those that Snape hadn't taken out inside, were flooding out of the doors of the church. Something red streaked past them in the dark, chipping a corner off a nearby tombstone.

"Get out!" Snape hissed.

"But--"

Something dark was pooling by Snape's feet, soaking into the grass. "Get out!" he said again. The locket, still open, at Harry's throat, was echoing the instruction, barely heard now against the whiz of spells all around them.

It was the last time he'd seen Snape.

Neville was nodding and had that look on his face that he'd had in school when he'd known the answer, usually in Herbology, but hadn't wanted to call attention to himself to answer it.

"The thing is--there's a plant that can cure a lot of blindness curses."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Harry said, running a hand through his hair impatiently, ignoring the way his heart lurched in his chest.

"Well, old Snape probably knows about it," Neville said.

"You mean he might have tried it and it didn't work?" Harry felt his shoulders slumping. Of course Snape would know about it.

Only Neville was shaking his head. "Maybe not. It's fairly difficult to collect--"

Harry was bouncing impatiently. "You could get it, Nev. You can collect anything." Already though he could tell by Neville's expression that it wouldn't be that easy.

"It has to be collected by the victim of the curse," Neville said. Harry braced himself. "It's a water plant. Usually found at the deepest part of fresh water lakes. A lake like Hogwarts's would have the best, since it's the most magical."

"But--" Exasperation flooded through him. "But if it's a plant that cures blindness, how can a blind person even find it at the bottom of a lake?"

"It's a magical plant," Neville said, "It doesn't have to make any sense."

Harry thought for a moment, his heart doing a slow thud in his chest. "Can you get me some?" He saw Neville's objection already forming. "I know it won't work on Snape unless he collects it himself. Just enough to show him that we know how to get it?"

"Sure, Harry. What then?"

The vivid ghost of words, recently spoken, whispered across his ear. "I owe him. We'll figure something out."

The first sample vial, carefully packaged with Bronwyn, came directly back, unopened. It was nothing less than he'd expected and he petted her ruffled feathers since not completing a job seemed to be a point of pride with owls.

Harry had already decided what to do next. Freshening up the sample, which looked like dark brownish red muck shot through with bulbous red veins, he set a hover charm on it at what he guessed would be forehead level on Snape and left it on the front porch. The stuff had such a slimy smell to it, he'd been hoping Snape would recognize it. The only way he could think of to explain in a letter would be to send a Howler, which he wasn't--quite--ready to do yet.

It came back in a thick parchment envelope, the glass of the vial ground to shards and powder, the plant--spicata ruba--dried and limp, the veins in it broken.

They were going to have to do things the hard way then, Harry thought, not really having expected anything less from Snape.

He Apparated to the front door of the cottage one evening after work. He knocked politely, if over-loudly on the door. "I won't give up."

The door flew open as though Snape had been expecting him. "Give up on what--tormenting me?" he barked. The door started to close. Harry jumped to wedge himself in before Snape could close it, only the doorknob rammed him in the crotch. Pain exploded through him as stars circled behind Harry's eyes.

"Not…tormenting…" Harry tried, whimpering. His hands dropped to his crotch as he lurched forward in pain.

"For goodness--"

Harry heard Snape moving away as he crumpled into the doorframe. He tried to open his eyes, wondering if he could bear to let go of his balls to find his wand in case Snape was going to hex him. Silvery streaks of light clouded his vision, darting around him like a cloud of snitches. Harry moaned and closed his eyes again.

"Drink this."

Harry managed to get one eye open. A brown blur swam into his vision. "What--"

Snape was crouching in front of him now, rubbing a finger over Harry's bottom lip. Harry opened his mouth to protest and Snape tipped the vial into it.

Harry coughed, hand reaching up to swat him away, fingers brushing Snape's. Harry's balls started to tingle. Not in that terrible "we need to make you sick up" sort of way, but in that "Okay, we feel better, let's have sex" sort of way.

"Better?" Snape asked as though he'd used Legilimency on Harry's balls.

"Almost embarrassingly," Harry said, sliding back up to his feet when Snape did the same. He eyed the vial, noticing that there was a thin piece of paper glued to the side with raised dots on it. "What was that?"

"The antidote for a ball exploding potion," Snape said, capping the vial and tucking it into a trouser pocket. "Also usually effective in…injuries such as yours. Now get out."

"Wait," Harry said, putting a hand on Snape's arm. Snape didn't move. Probably, Harry realized belatedly, because he wasn't exactly certain where Harry was now that he'd gotten to his feet.

"I didn't send the spicata ruba to torment you, really. Neville's just told me about it and--"

"Then he's told you why it's useless to me," Snape said with a sneer that didn't quite reach the shadowed eyes.

"What if I helped you collect it?" Harry asked. Snape's arm under his hand jerked slightly as if startled.

"Go into the lake with me?"

"Why not? We could use gillyweed. I could guide you down and you could collect the spicata ruba."

The weight of Snape's regard was substantial even with eyes that couldn't see. "Why would you do that?"

Harry's breath hitched. "I owe you," he said simply.

"You do. How do I know you won't guide me down there and leave me to drown?"

Harry gasped in outrage. "For God's sakes, if I still wanted to kill you after all this time, I could find a better way than that!"

Snape's expression was resigned. "Point. I suppose you'd better come in then."

Harry shut the door behind him then realized he'd cut off the only available illumination in the room. "Wait, I can't see," Harry said, reaching for his wand. A quick Lumos spell revealed a sparsely furnished sitting room. Fortunately there was a dusty oil lamp on a table, the wick still white. "Can I light this lamp?" he asked, taking out his wand.

"As long as you don't forget to put it out when you leave." Harry nodded and lit the wick. The smell of burnt dust filled his nostrils but at least he could see to move around.

Snape stood with one hand on the back of the sofa, wrinkling his nose at the smell. "I won't," Harry said, taking a seat on the sofa as Snape walked around it and took the armchair beside it.

"I suppose you're still too much of a Gryffindor to leave me to drown," he said, sitting down but not far back enough to look relaxed. "Though not telling me who you are wasn't very noble."

"I didn't think you'd be back, after that first batch," Harry said. "And I didn't think I'd--" He felt his face warming, very glad that Snape couldn't see that at least. "Didn't think I'd like you."

Snape ignored him. "Lily's of the Valley," he said musingly. "I assumed your surname was Lily. Very fitting, very fitting. You're taller now, aren't you?"

Harry nodded, then spoke up. "A bit, not much."

But Snape was nodding as if that explained something. "Your voice is deeper than it was then, pitched differently. You've picked up some of the local accent. Otherwise I might have recognized you."

"I've never had another witch or wizard come in," Harry said, "though we do owl orders under Neville's name."

"Longbottom, I assume, told you about the spicata ruba and the difficulty associated with collecting it?"

"He collected those samples I showed you, so he can tell me where to find it with you," Harry said, warming to his topic. "I can get us past the kelpies or the grindylows or whatever we find down there."

Harry saw him nod. "And afterward, our debts to one another, such as they are, are even?"

"If--if that's how you want it, yes," Harry said, wishing the scant light from the lamp was enough to see more of Snape's face.

"I told you," Snape said, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "your attentions are best focused elsewhere."

Harry got to his feet. Snape must have heard him; his head inclined sharply. "All right," Harry said, closing the space between them and dropping to his knees at Snape's feet. "But only if you tell me why." There were probably about a hundred reasons but Snape didn't look like he could remember any of them. Sliding his hands down Snape's thighs, Harry urged them apart. "Because if you were still coming into my shop, I'd still be flirting with you."

He rubbed his lips over the seam in Snape's trousers. "Sometimes I thought about locking the shop door and seeing if you'd let me do this." Pressing harder with his mouth, he inhaled the musky scent. It was like finding a half-remembered flower blooming along a forgotten lane. "Would you have let me, I wonder?" he said, pressing his cheek against the swelling bulge beneath it. "I'd have been terrified of course." His chin rubbed circles just at the top of Snape's legs. "Afraid you'd find out who I was--afraid you'd ask. It's the only reason I never did. Because we couldn't not know each other's names then. You'd want to know."

The sound of Snape's breathing was louder than it had been, but he hadn't moved since widening his knees. Harry undid the top button and slid down his zipper. There was a damp spot on his boxers.

"You should--" Snape's hand fluttered in the air before finding the top of Harry's head, as if to push him back.

"Yes, I should," Harry said, mouth closing over the damp, salty spot. All around him Snape stiffened, either in surprise or a determination not to enjoy it. Harry lifted his head, needing to know, before he went on. "Would you have let me?"

"Yes." The word was guttural, pushed out almost as a growl.

Sliding down the elastic before Snape could change his mind, Harry closed his mouth over the hot, damp head of his cock. Snape was no longer still, no longer silent. His hands threaded through Harry's hair, no longer trying to push him away. Harry's tongue flicked around the head, glad that some skills came back easily enough with practice, tasting, licking before sliding off the head, mouthing wet kisses along the side, letting the heat coming off his cock absorb into his lips.

He could feel Snape's thighs trembling beneath his fingers. Whether he was holding it in or holding back, Harry wanted none of it. He plunged his mouth onto the softly furred balls, inhaling the musk before rubbing his entire face over them, nudging the soft, soft skin with his nose, laving long wet strokes around and under.

He didn't want to tease--too much--so he lifted his mouth, licking again before closing his mouth over the head.

"Potter--"

There was no instruction for him to stop so Harry began to suck, curling his fingers around the bottom, slippery where he'd licked it himself. The next noise was no more than a warning growl. Snape's fingers plucked at his hair, too hard, but Harry didn't care, didn't stop sucking until the hips below him surged up. Harry held on, squeezing, rubbing while Snape's climax rocked through him, spurting down the back of Harry's throat. Harry drank it all, tongue sliding lightly across the tip as he lifted his mouth, bestowing the softest of kisses on the head before looking up.

Snape lay back against the chair, eyes closed, the lines of his face slack, mouth parted just slightly. Fingers loosened in his hair while Harry rubbed his cheek against the slowly shifting balls and waited.

Snape cleared his throat. "Potter--"

"Yes, Snape?" Harry said.

Snape opened his eyes at that, the unfocused gaze more languid against the backdrop of his relaxed features. "Whatever you are lacking in the art of flirting, I'm happy to note that in this, at least, you are quite proficient."

"If a little out of practice," Harry said, grinning as he tucked Snape's cock back into his pants.

"I admit I am less certain about your desire to leave me to drown in the lake," Snape said.

Harry's grin turned into a laugh. He'd gotten to his knees, while doing up the flies and without thinking, leaned over and kissed Snape. A surprised noise passed between their mouths, but it was Snape who slid his lips apart first, sucking greedily on Harry's tongue.

"I regret to say," Snape said, when their faces were still very close, "that it isn't wise to test the willingness of your bollocks to prove they have recovered from your, er, injury."

Harry laughed again. "Do you really?" He made a face, glad Snape couldn't see it and adjusted his cock.

"Really what?" Snape asked, with a touch of impatience.

"Regret it?"

The irritation vanished. "Yes, very much. Though you should wait at least six hours then have a wank to clear the potion out of your system."

Harry leaned in again, brushing his mouth over Snape's. "Don't worry, I will."

~~**~~

Harry had a list for Neville the next time he returned with a shipment of herbs.

"Gillyweed?" Neville asked and Harry nodded. They didn't keep it in stock since it tended to lose potency the longer it was away from a magical environment. "Diving belts?" He looked up at Harry. "He's going to let you do it, then?"

Harry smiled benignly and wound some vine through the bunches of amaryllis he'd arranged in a ceramic tea pot.

Neville's smile widened. "That's not all he let you do, I take it?"

Harry squinted at the teapot and added a few more ferns in the background. "You didn't want to know, remember?"

"Still don't," he replied with a not altogether-mock shudder. He looked down again at Harry's list. "How soon do you want this stuff?"

"I'll talk to, er, Severus," Harry said, though the name was still strange on his own tongue, but thinking it would be weirder to call Snape by his surname after he'd had the man's cock in his mouth.

"Best time to harvest gillyweed is the new moon, if you aren't in a rush."

Harry looked over at the calendar from the bulb distribution company that he'd tacked up on the wall. "That should work, I'm sure," he said, tamping down the arranging foam into the teapot and marking the tag with the selling price.

"What's the waterproof lantern for?"

Harry shrugged, setting the arrangement in the refrigerated case, then adjusting it to get the best light. "It'll be dark down there--I don't want to make any mistakes." And have Snape think he was botching it on purpose.

"It's not that dark, not if you go at mid-day. The spicata ruba will be fuller then anyway--seeking the light." Harry opened his mouth to reply but Neville suddenly rubbed his forehead. "You weren't planning on going after the shop closes?"

"Actually--"

Neville sighed. "Just tell me when you want off. Take a few days. It isn't like you couldn't use a holiday anyway."

"I take holidays all the time," Harry said, feeling slightly defensive.

"Christmas doesn't count," Neville said. Harry thought a moment then brightened. "That time you had the flu last year doesn't count either," Neville said, cutting him off. "I can manage here a few days on my own."

Harry tried not to think of the zillion or so things that could go wrong. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure." He pocketed Harry's list. "Let's get started."

~~**~~

Harry had another thing he wanted to get started on and wasted no time trying to achieve it. He usually kept shorter shop hours on Sunday, so Apparated, uninvited, to Snape's doorstep after closing up. He knocked politely this time but got no response. Curbing his disappointment, he tried again and was just turning to leave when he heard the door open impatiently.

"Who is it?" Snape asked, sticking just his nose through the door.

"It's me, Harry," he said, turning back around.

The door remained open only a crack. "Potter? What do you want?"

"I thought--" he said, clearing his throat and trying again. "I just thought we might get a start on…learning to trust each other."

The door fluttered but for a moment Harry couldn't tell in which direction and he wasn't about to go jumping between it and the doorframe again. Suddenly though there was an open space and Snape, if not exactly welcoming, making room to admit him. Harry scurried in quickly.

"How do you propose to do that?" Snape said, closing the door behind them. He stayed close to the wall, head turned in Harry's direction.

"The usual way," Harry said.

"What? Am I supposed to let myself fall over backwards, hoping you'll catch me?"

Harry laughed. "No, I think we should fuck."

Snape's expression turned amused but at least it wasn't dismissive. "You really have no conception of the social niceties, do you?"

"Not so much, no," Harry said. He took a small step closer.

"Bollocks quite recovered then?" Snape said with one of those thin little smiles, pushing off slightly from the wall.

"Nicely, thanks." He was close enough now to wrap his arms around Snape's neck, close enough to initiate the kiss he'd been thinking of all day. It was heated and damp, then it went deeper and Harry felt himself growing a bit heated and damp, thinking of that perfect little wet spot on Snape's pants from before.

"I think it only fair to warn you that I have no serious trust issues about going into the lake with you," Snape said, finger stroking across Harry's cheek.

"Does that mean you want me to leave?" Harry said, with a little lick that expressed his reluctance better than words.

"No," Snape said, sliding his hand down Harry's arm to clasp his hand. "Not here though. Come."

Harry let himself be led down the short hall off of the sitting room. They moved a little slower than Harry could walk but he remembered his own aborted experiment on his back stoop and kept a firm grasp of Snape's hand.

The bedroom was small and plain. Snape led them directly to the bed on the right, releasing Harry's hand as he felt along the edge of the bed before sitting down. One hand stretched out again and Harry took it, letting himself be pulled between Snape's knees.

"I orient myself, when I wake up," Snape said, running the palm of his hand over their clasped ones, "from here. So--nothing too energetic. If that's too boring for--"

Harry rolled his eyes and cut him off with a kiss. "I'm sure we can find something to do that will leave you the right way up." He kissed him again just to show he had a few ideas.

"I wondered," Snape said, his hand moving to the front of Harry's shirt, hands disappearing beneath. "What you looked like." Fingers splayed along Harry's ribs, the end of the longest one just brushing one nipple. "Wondered why you kept yourself locked away." Harry lifted his shirt over his head because he could no longer bear not to see those hands on his skin. Snape was leaning forward, using the outstretched fingers as a compass as his mouth closed around Harry's nipple. A low noise hissed out of Harry's mouth. Snape looked up and Harry leaned down to kiss him again.

"Wondered why you never locked the door."

Kiss followed kiss as Snape made room for Harry on the bed. When Harry slid his hand down to the front of Snape's trousers. Snape stopped him. "You first."

Harry nodded, knowing Snape could feel it, toeing off his shoes and socks before wiggling out of his trousers and pants, hissing slightly as his cock sprang free.

"Are you in distress?" Snape asked, head propped up on one elbow.

"You might say that," Harry replied, sliding back over, guiding Snape's hand down to his prick.

"You did recently suffer a debilitating injury to this region," Snape reminded him, but his fingers felt silken against Harry's skin as they curled around his cock. "Hmm," Snape said, his voice dropping to a low purr. "Perhaps follow up care is called for." He leaned forward, kissing down Harry's neck.

"Not so fast," Harry said, running his hand down the front of Snape's shirt. "I want to see you."

The mouth on his chest went still. Without looking up, Snape cleared his throat. "Are the lights on?"

Harry slid his fingers over Snape's head, leaving furrows in the thick hair. "No." Then he brushed one cheek, unwilling--quite--to lie. "But there's moonlight."

Snape's face tilted up, mouth moving along Harry's jaw, breath close to his ear. "Moonlight is more…forgiving."

Harry, who'd already had his mouth around the man's prick, didn't think Snape needed much in the way of forgiveness. He got Snape's shirt and trousers undone, then accepted help getting them off. He learned quickly that Snape liked kissing and liked being kissed and using his mouth on Harry's body. Every time he made a noise--a gasp or a whimper--he was rewarded by another kiss or lick.

"You do seem nicely recovered," Snape said, nudging Harry's balls with his nose before licking his way back up his cock.

"Told you." He ran one hair again through the thick black hair as Snape's face tilted up again. In the dark his eyes looked merely shadowed, not unfocused.

"And I, of course, believe everything that you say."

The smirk, moonlight or no, was still the same. He gave Harry's cock another lick, circling around the head before surging toward him, pressing them both down into the pillows, bodies shifting restlessly against each other.

Snape nibbled on his bottom lip, swiping his tongue along it lingeringly. Harry moved in to reciprocate, but Snape was moving away. "What--" he began, reaching out to hold him, to bring him back, wondering wildly what he'd done. Snape only rolled over, though, presenting his back, pushing his arse against Harry's groin.

"Please."

"You want--" Harry's hand slid up the thin curve of Snape's bum, resting on one hip.

"You said you wanted me to trust you," Snape said, voice dropping to a growl.

Snape's body was lean and spare; even this curve was utterly masculine. "Yes," Harry moaned, pressing a kiss into the back of his neck, pushing hair aside with his nose. The muscles beneath his lips fluttered and something clicked in Harry's brain. All the hints, the assertions that Harry should find someone else.

"You thought I wouldn't want to," Harry said, leaving another kiss below the thick hair. "I do." The kisses moved downward until there was no tension left beneath the skin. Sliding the flat of his hand into the cleft, Harry felt Snape bend one leg, an invitation Harry very much wanted to accept.

Heat rose up over his fingers. "I'll need something. I'm not doing this on spit."

"Drawer, by the bed," Snape said, pulling a pillow under his arms.

Harry grabbed the other pillow, guiding it under Snape's hips, then leaned over and found the vial in the drawer. It was featureless glass, except for a single strip with raised dots along one side. Harry ran one finger down it and smiled. "You label your lube?" he asked, wiggling back into a better position to use it.

Snape rocked back as Harry came close his longer legs rubbing against Harry's. "Wouldn't you, considering where you're going to use it?"

Harry chuckled softly, coating his fingers and stroking back into the heat of him. He wrung a throaty groan out of Snape the first time his fingers teased the slight indentation of his hole. The groans grew deeper and needier the more Harry teased, so that by the time he slid one finger in, Snape's hips bucked off the pillow to meet his hand.

"You do like that."

"I'd like more," Snape growled. Harry obliged until neither of them could wait any longer, Harry surging inside the place his cock had wanted to be since Snape had said 'please'--or perhaps even before that. Snape pushed back against him, gasps mingling between them. Snape wasn't passive--Harry doubted he'd ever been passive about anything--moving back against him, moaning when Harry's cock got the perfect angle for them both.

He kept one hand braced on one hip to keep moving, pulling up on the other one. Almost he thought Snape would have gone soft when Harry had entered him, but his fingers wrapped around a very hard cock.

"Won't last--" Snape gasped out.

"Don't want you to," Harry said, bending nearly parallel with Snape's back, urging Snape to move with him. Here too Snape was anything but passive, thrusting with him until his whole body shuddered, wordless moans muffled by the pillow.

Harry stopped stroking but held on, thrusting a few more times, pulled into that perfect heat, before pleasure swept through him, letting go only to pitch forward onto the damp, sweaty back.

Snape turned his head to the side. "We may have found something besides growing flowers that you are really good at," he murmured and Harry, relieved not to be ordered off, laughed.

"Don't move," he said, easing his cramped fingers from beneath the angular hips.

"As if I could," Snape grumbled but his words had no edge when slurred with sleep.

Harry slid off and found the loo and warm water to wash his hand, then a flannel which he took back into the bedroom.

"Shove over," he said. Snape grunted but did as requested. Harry wiped some parts clean that would appreciate it later, then balled up the flannel and Banished it to the loo.

"You could have used a spell for that," Snape said and Harry got the feeling he wasn't quite as sleepy as he'd seemed.

Harry tugged the sheets up around them, dropping one arm over his waist in case Snape needed an excuse to curl around him. Apparently he did, but once he had it, curled quite satisfactorily. "Some things I still like to do myself," Harry said, closing his eyes.

~~**~~

Harry tried not to wake Snape as he got dressed. It was still dark outside but Harry had plants to water that probably wouldn't care much that their attendant human preferred other methods of reproduction besides photosynthesis.

He'd made sure, after he'd slid down Snape's body a few hours ago, finding again that Snape hadn't been quite as asleep as he'd seemed then either. It had been Harry who'd turned round in the bed, offering himself, glad that he'd taken time to wash off before bed when he sought Snape's cock with his mouth, offering his own in return.

"You're leaving." Snape didn't sound at all sleepy now.

"I've got to go to work." The moonlight had long since faded but Harry could see well enough with the encroaching dawn. Snape gathered the sheets to himself and sat up, head tilted toward the rustling noises Harry was making.

"You'll let me know when the gillyweed arrives then?" Snape asked after a moment.

Harry frowned. "What?" He zipped his trousers, now that there was no need to be quiet. He should have known that mornings after with Snape would be quite as prickly and fraught with peril as the man himself. He leaned onto the bed with one knee, finding the mouth that tasted quite funky, but considering how much of it was Harry's own funk, he didn't mind.

"I thought I'd come round tonight," he said with studied casualness. "Bring dinner."

The smile was worth the kiss.

Harry came back that and every night after, Apparating to work every morning. Snape no longer feigned sleep when they were done, once he realized that 'done' usually only meant 'until next time'. Harry got used to not having lights in the living room and bedroom but replaced the old bulbs in the bathroom and kitchen, much to Snape's amusement.

"Can't you piss in the dark?" he asked one evening as Harry climbed back into bed.

"There's only one thing I do really well in the dark and we just did that." He stretched out flat on his back, arms behind his head. Once the modesty barrier had been broken, Snape had not objected to the casual nudity of their evenings, since they'd been spent primarily eating, in bed, and eating in bed. He'd expected, on the second night, to switch places in bed, but once again Snape had urged him between his legs, which was where Harry wanted to be anyway.

"I made sure to turn the light off," Harry said, toes brushing against one hairy shin.

"Good," Snape said, sliding easily beneath Harry's upraised arm. "Better to light a single candle than--" His voice trailed off and Harry looked over. They hadn't really talked about it, or the upcoming dip in the lake at Hogwarts. Harry had written to the headmistress, asking permission, even though term wouldn't be starting for another six weeks. He'd seen the cauldrons in the kitchen and the carefully labeled ingredients and the log with its straight-edged litany of failures. Harry hoped, for Snape's sake, that the spicata ruba would work.

"If it isn't a curse--"

Snape exhaled sharply. "I don't see what else it can be."

"What did the healers at St. Mungo's say?"

"St. Mungo's?" Snape said, bitterness thick in his voice. "I was left for dead. No one came for me. No one mourned another dead Death Eater." He moved restlessly, starting to pull away. "No matter that I'd killed most of the others around me."

Rolling onto his side, Harry pulled him closer. "Tell me."

There wasn't much moonlight left to the evenings now, this close to the new moon. Harry could see the milky sheen of Snape's eyes shifting restlessly as his body had been before. "I didn't wake up in hospital; I woke up on your mother's grave. It was dark." He gave another of those bitter laughs. "Or so I thought. The smell was--" He swallowed. "I knew the church was burning; there should be flames a mile high. I could hear them. I should have been able to see--" He started to breathe hard, and Harry ran his hand down his back over and over again.

"I knew at once what had happened," he said, voice nearly devoid of inflection. One hand traced a pattern in Harry's chest, as though tracing letters incised in a granite tombstone. "I heard the Aurors coming. You don't need to see to Apparate so I came home. Not this place, a place that had been my father's." His finger had stopped forming letters, smudging aimlessly on Harry's chest.

"I tried all the potions that would repair any…physical damage, while I waited for the Aurors to come arrest me. I didn't want to face Azkaban blind."

"They found you but you weren't arrested. I read about it." Harry said. He'd been so angry then that Snape had fooled him, fooled them all. "I thought I'd be brought in to testify, though I wasn't sure on whose behalf." He'd wondered, at the time, how it would feel to face him, whether his own humiliation would come out if he'd been called to the stand.

Snape hadn't been brought to trial though. Dumbledore had, in the words of the sensationalist press, declined to press charges. His portrait at Hogwarts was found to be compos mentis, or as Dumbledore himself had claimed, as compos mentis as he ever got.

"I sold the house and…and my mother's books. Moved on."

"Until you came into my shop," Harry said with a wry smile, still strumming down his back. "Have you been trying to lift the curse all along?"

Snape shook his head. "No, not until very recently. I was outside on a bright day nearly a year ago when I saw the shape of a house--this house. It was gray and it blurred back to black when the sun passed overhead. But it was the first thing I'd seen in nearly a decade and it gave me--"

Harry thought he was going to say hope.

"Something to attain." He brushed his cheek over Harry's shoulder. "A single candle, perhaps."

~~**~~

Harry Apparated straight into his workroom, surprised when a voice drifted down from the stairs.

"There you are," Neville said, coming down the last few steps. "I've been looking for you." He looked Harry over. "I suppose I've been looking in the wrong bed, haven't I?"

Harry grinned. "Last night was the new moon, wasn't it?"

"Right, I've got fresh gillyweed--you might get two hours with this stuff," he said crossing to the worktable where his collecting bag sat, along with a book Harry recognized.

"Magical Water Plants of the Highland Lochs?"

Neville nodded and flipped it open to a page he'd marked. "I put a buoy out in the lake. You can use your wand to find it." He had his own wand out and tapped a page in the book. "Here's what you're looking for." The picture of the spicata ruba swirled up off the page, the long green leaves swaying slightly as if still buffeted by the currents. Harry could still see Neville through the ghostly fronds. "It's got these red veins in it, see?"

Harry bent in and could see the veins pulsing as though the plant had a heart, deep in its fronds.

"Pick the ones with the most veins, one you can wrap all the way round Snape's head, if you can, two big ones if you can't."

Harry nodded, memorizing the way the plant looked as though he himself had not already studied the books.

"It's the veins that can draw the curse out."

"You really think this will work, don't you?" Harry said as the ghostly image re-swirled back into the book.

"Depends on the curse, but yeah, Professor Sprout told me one of the reasons Hogwarts was built where it is was because of the powerful magic in the loch."

Harry picked up the cord with a buckle on each end and the glass jar with the fresh gillyweed. "Thank you, Nev. I know you don't like Severus very much, but thanks for doing all this for him."

Neville let out a short laugh. "Harry, I'm not doing this for old Snape. I'm doing it for you." Harry looked up sheepishly. "If it's him that's made you remember you've still got a cock, then maybe, between us, we can get him to see exactly what he's getting."

"Or what's getting into him," Harry said with a smirk.

Neville clapped his hands over his ears. "I might need some spicata ruba myself--I think I've just been struck deaf."

Bidding good-bye to Neville, Harry left him with about a hundred instructions about the shop ranging from Old Mrs. Henley who always asked for a discount because she bought flowers for her late husband's grave and didn't think she ought to pay full price to how much to tip the lorry driver who brought the heavy urns.

He Apparated to Snape's then Apparated them both to the edge of the lake. He'd arranged to borrow one of the boats Hagrid used to ferry the First Years across the lake and was busy loading their gear into it when he heard Snape inhale sharply beside him.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He put both hands on Snape's upper arms, trying to be reassuring.

"Nothing. It--" He inhaled again, face tilted. "It smells familiar," he said almost defensively, as if expecting Harry to contradict him. Before Harry could say anything Snape was pulling away, only a careful step back, but enough to let Harry know something was wrong.

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this," he said, lips thinning to a scant line.

"Of course you're ready," Harry said, looking at Snape, reaching out, but Snape pulled away again. He looked over the flat surface of the lake. It was a picture perfect day, not even a tentacle breaking the surface to mar its beauty. "We've gone over the plan; I've got everything arranged, everything ready--" But he realized as he looked back at Snape that wasn't what he meant at all.

"I'm used to being like this," Snape said with a small shake of his head.

"Don't you want to see--" Harry thought a moment of all the things he's miss if his sight faded. "My bonsai?" He closed the distance between them careful of the footing around the shore. "I'll tell you a secret. It's really a Whomping Willow bonsai but I keep it charmed not to move."

The thin lips twitched. "Why should I want to see a daft tree like that?" he asked but he didn't move away again. One arm slid up Harry's sleeve. They were both wearing loose clothes--stuff they could slide out of easily before they went into the water. His hand rested a moment on Harry's bicep beneath the loose sleeve.

"Don't you want to see--?" Harry began.

"You?"

"Me."

"I admit it might be pleasurable to see you as are instead of thinking of you as you were when I last saw you."

Harry made a face and laughed. "Ugh. I was dirty and smelly--and seventeen."

Snape was smiling now too, though he'd turned his face away toward the lake. The breeze was coming from that direction and blew his hair back, mixing in the gray streak back into the black. "Exactly."

Harry cast a propelling charm on the boat once they were underway, then took off his own shirt. "Okay, the belt's a little snug," he said, buckling the fastening and wriggling to make sure they were all done. "Better too tight than too loose," he went on, even though Snape hadn't said anything since they'd gotten into the boat. At least he'd gotten into the boat.

Harry used his wand and a directional spell to locate Neville's marker which turned out to be a large white X, the sort found on pirate maps and labeled "Here Be Ye Treasure". "Okay, this is it." Snape nodded tightly, but didn't move. Harry shucked out of his trousers, leaving his trunks beneath, then tested the water with his hand. "It's a little cold, but it should be all right when we've made the change."

Still not speaking, Snape stripped off. He had on the serviceable black trunks Harry had brought over once he'd realized, while discussing the plan, that Snape didn't own any.

Harry went into the water first then helped Snape over the side. "It's freezing," Snape said, sliding in toes first as Harry kept a secure hand in his.

"It'll get better." He buckled on the cord, grabbed the pack out of the boat and offered up a handful of gillyweed. "Wish this stuff did." It still tasted like cold octopus, only slimier. His whole body shivered, then convulsed as the air seemed to rush out of his body. Even though he'd been expecting it, the change did not come easily. He grabbed onto Snape, practically prying him off the boat, holding on tightly as they sank down, down into the shadowy depths.

"I can't--"

The words were mouthed and bubbles flew out of Snape's mouth until Harry cast the Aqua Sonorous charm on them both. Snape was struggling but Harry held on, even though his fingers tingled as they widened into webbed hands. He could feel his feet too, fin-like and sleek, as he kicked against the water.

"Just breathe. You've got gills. I can see them." He rubbed the gently fluttering gills with his hand, just as Snape, apparently unable to hold his breath any longer, sucked in a giant lungful of water. And stopped struggling as the water brought oxygen to his brain.

They drifted, just under the surface, the dark shadow of the boat just overhead.

"I can breathe."

"I know. In case you were wondering, so can I." He guided one pale webbed hand up to his own neck, letting him feel the slits that had burst through his skin. Slowly Snape moved, adapting, as Harry had done, to the changes the gillyweed had made on his body. Harry cast a sticking charm on his glasses before putting his wand away. Wriggling in the slight current he traced along the cord that bound them, then reached for Snape's hand.

Looking overhead one last time, Harry led them down, the flippers and fins making swimming as easy as flying. The water felt warmer too, sliding over his skin as they swam downward. Once the blood stopped pounding in Harry's ears, the lake around them was unearthly quiet. He squeezed Snape's hand as they veered around a school of flat, slow-moving fish, then slowed them until they were drifting as a large clump of kelp wavered up toward them. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the ugly little faces of the grindylows hiding beneath the seductive green.

He explained what he was doing to Snape, who nodded. Harry took out his wand and did a quick notice-me-not spell on them both as they passed through the edges of the fronds. "Should be around here someplace--we're near the bottom." The bottom of the lake was dark, full of mysterious shapes that could be boulders and submerged logs or the remains of dead sea creatures, ghostly white bones covered by slime and silt. Even his gillyweed-enhanced eyes couldn't penetrate far into the gloom or distinguish the spicata ruba among the lush blues and greens of the seaweed and kelp and grass.

"Try Lumos," Snape said, squeezing his hand again. "The plant we're looking for seeks the light."

"Right," Harry said, holding his wand between them and casting the spell. The water rippled around them and Snape pulled closer. "It's just the grindylows diving away from the light," he explained close to Snape's ear. He thought he saw something un-grindylow-like moving and turned back toward the endless plane of vegetation. Slowly, something green was uncurling its long flat leaves, leaves that pulsed with red veins.

Harry would have danced with joy if there'd been anything to put his feet on. Instead he grabbed Snape and hugged him. "I see it," he said gleefully. "Enough to cure every curse you ever cast."

He started to turn away to guide them both over to the blossoming clump when he felt webbed fingers on his face, then his face being drawn down into a kiss. There was no need to break for air, nothing but warm heat on his lips and a tongue gliding over his own.

"Even if this doesn't work," Harry said, giving them a kick upwards since they'd drifted a bit during the lazy kiss, "I don't want to let you go."

"It'll work," Snape said, stroking Harry's face. "Good Herbology is like a good potion--dependable."

Harry laughed and bubbles rose up out of his mouth and nose. "Don't let Neville hear you say that. You two might start getting along."

Snape gave his cheek a solicitous pat before Harry swam them over to the long fronds. "I need to let go," he said, feeling Snape tense. "We'll still be connected." He tugged on the cord buckled to each of their belts. "But you have to do this alone." Snape nodded, his long hair waving like a halo around his very un-angelic face.

Tentatively the webbed fingers reached out, drawing back when first encountering one of the thick leaves, fingers running over the veins before returning, sliding down to the stalk. He snapped it free.

"All right then," Snape said, wrapping the large flat leaf around his head, covering his eyes and nose completely.

The red veins began to throb at once, ruby red to blood red, then deeper, almost to black. Snape's hands stayed on either side of his face, his mouth working soundlessly. Not even bubbles escaped. Harry was about to ask if everything was all right when the veins burst open, spewing black viscous sludge in all directions.

Interested little faces peeked up from the kelp as the horrid stuff drifted toward them, long fingers reaching greedily for globs of it. Harry spared no thought to the grindylows as the remaining spicata ruba, the leaf now pale, whitish-green, fell away from Snape's eyes.

Snape stared straight ahead at Harry, his gaze still unfocused and Harry's heart nearly plummeted into the forest of kelp below. Then he realized the eyes themselves were no longer cloudy as they pulled back into focus.

"As many times as I imagined this moment over the years," he said, "I never once thought Harry Potter would be the first thing that I saw."

"It worked," Harry said, swirling round once like a top since he still couldn't dance for joy. Then he flung himself at Snape, the momentum propelling them through the water, twisting and rolling through the tips of the spicata ruba.

"It worked," Snape confirmed just before he closed his mouth over Harry's, full of lake water and bubbles but Harry didn't care, kissing back fiercely as they spiraled through the warm water. He sighed happily against Snape's mouth as the kisses became more languid, as though they'd picked up the rhythm of the lake currents. His eyes fluttered open and he realized Snape's were still open, watching him.

"Am I okay?" he asked, though it was nearly impossible to feel self-conscious, drifting along like two dolphins frolicking against each other.

"That's the sort of question people ask when they know perfectly well they've been attractive all their lives." His hand glided over Harry's hip, then over his trunks.

Harry laughed, even though it made bubbles come out of his nose again. "Am I okay to you," he clarified, trying to sound as seductive as he could with a few bubbles still dribbling out of his nose.

Snape looked at him as if he could not look away, long hair rippling behind them as they rolled lazily, keeping afloat with occasional kicks from their fin-like feet. "Yes." They rolled so they were level with the lake-bed, Snape just below Harry. "But I didn't need my eyes to know that."

Harry shivered. His trunks were flimsy enough not to be able to hide his arousal as they clung to each other. Answering hardness rubbed back.

"I haven't seen this yet," Snape said, his hand already sliding inside Harry's trunks.

"It's not--" Harry gasped as his fingers curled around his cock. "Not extraordinary."

Snape snorted, though Harry wasn't certain how he could make such a noise without actual oxygen passing through his nose. "Feels extraordinary." Smoothly he slid the trunks down around Harry's knees. Harry kicked them off as Snape dropped down his body, effortlessly in the buoyant water. "Tastes extraordinary."

Harry no longer needed gills to make him feel that breathing was merely a suggestion. Snape had certainly not broken contact with his cock for anything as trivial as air, rubbing his balls as they bobbed between his legs.

Sweeping his hand through the halo of black hair, Harry tugged some of it into his fingers, unbuckling the belt between them, letting it fall away. Obligingly Snape drifted up at Harry's gentle tug, reversing their positions so that his crotch, only momentarily covered by black trunks, was level with Harry's mouth. Checking one last time to make sure the Disillusionment spell was working and gauging how much time they had before the gillyweed wore off, Harry closed his eyes and sucked Snape's equally extraordinary--to him, anyway--prick into his mouth.

They tumbled, spinning, unbound by gravity, licking, tasting, sucking more, carried adrift between air and light and the seductive sway of fronds and the skittish play of brightly colored fish.

As he'd done so many times in the last few weeks, his finger strayed to that tight place behind Snape's balls, easing it in slowly since water was all they had between them.

Snape cried out, fingers clamping onto Harry's thigh as he moaned and shuddered, his orgasm drunk down greedily. Harry kept his finger inside his arse, not moving it again until the mouth on his own cock began to move again, coaxing.

"Touch me like this," Harry said, crooking his finger and Snape complied eagerly, as though he'd been waiting for Harry to ask, sliding one finger inside him. It had been so long since anyone had touched Harry like this that he cried out, scaring away several schools of fish and probably a few curious mer-folk and spent himself down Snape's throat in prolonged spurts until the howl became a whimper. Gills, he thought, as they angled back in the same direction, kissing like two students caught out after curfew, were truly marvelous things, keeping pace with each bout of human breathlessness.

"And I never thought the first sex I would have after I could see would involve gills," Snape said, the shadows in the water softening the lines of his face, his eyes glinting with humor and warmth.

"We should do this more often," Harry said, still rubbing against him like a playful seal.

"Perhaps in warmer waters," Snape said with a slight shiver.

"Gillyweed must be wearing off," Harry said, peering up, spotting the dark shape of the boat far above. Hands clasped again, Harry grabbed the belts, that had hung up against a submerged boulder but wrote the trunks off as a lost cause and swam, Snape by his side.

They had time for a lingering breathless kiss that left both of them gasping--literally--as their heads broke the surface. Harry pulled himself into the boat, then got out of the way while Snape climbed in after him. Sodden, his hair streaming onto their wet clothes and delightfully naked, Harry thought he was the best thing he'd ever seen.

Collapsing in the pile of their clothing, they panted, getting used to oxygen instead of water coursing through their systems. "I want to see the bonsai," Snape said, still looking at Harry. "Without the freezing charm."

Harry grinned and set the boat back in motion, looking up then back down at Snape, who sat up, following his gaze. Hogwarts, vast and implacable, loomed over the lake as it had for a millennium. They both watched it until the boat turned, coming closer to the shore, the castle lost behind the trees.

Snape reached over and took Harry's hand, lifting it to his mouth. "And I want to see that again. I want to see everything. With you."

Notes:

Written for Merry Smutmas fest on LiveJournal, 2006, for Chazpure. Gratefully beta-read by Cruisedirector. Cheerfully Non Canon Compliant.