An Annual Affair

by RubyRoseRed

Summary:

A glimpse of Severus Snape’s birthdays throughout the years, from Prisoner of Azkaban to a decade post-war.

Notes:

An early birthday gift to Severus Snape. You truly deserved better.

The first time that Harry Potter is aware of Severus Snape’s birthday, he is thirteen years old.

Snape has just turned thirty-three.

The Christmas break is drawing to a close, with classes resuming in two days time. Harry, Ron and Hermione make up three of the six students who have remained at Hogwarts for the holidays.

The Great Hall is no less grand over the festive period for the lack of students staying. Christmas trees tower around them with enchanted snow flurries whipping past at regular intervals.

Stars twinkle merrily on the magical ceiling.

House tables have been abandoned since Christmas Day, with Dumbledore cheerfully proclaiming that he enjoys the staff-student interaction.

Harry does not. He glares at Snape mutinously. Nothing in particular. Just his continued existence. The sole purpose of which seems to be victimising Harry Potter.

‘Look, Severus! The house elves have put a candle in your treacle tart,’ Pomona Sprout remarks.

Harry looks over at the man’s plate. Sure enough, there is one solitary candle burning merrily.

‘Shall we sing?’ Minerva McGonagall asks with a wry smile on her face.

‘I would far rather you didn’t,’ the man in question mutters darkly, looking like he will hex all thirteen of them if anyone dares even the opening bars of ‘Happy Birthday.’

How odd, Harry thinks.

He has never before considered someone like Snape having something as human as a birthday.

He assumed that someone like Snape must have been manufactured, not born. Straight off the production line at some foreboding factory, or manually chiselled from a black, sharp rock; sculpted by Satan himself.

Surely he didn’t have a mother or a father, nor any family or friends outside of Hogwarts.

Nor inside of Hogwarts.

There has been no owl post for Snape this morning, this Harry is aware of. The thought inexplicably makes him feel a little sad, all of a sudden.

Harry has spent the best part of ten years without anyone celebrating him on the 31st of July, not so much an acknowledgment, never mind a card or present. The Dursleys aren’t as generous on his birthday as they are at Christmas. No fifty pence pieces or tooth picks are forthcoming in the summer.

Harry dismisses his sudden empathy towards Snape. As if someone like the giant dungeon bat was going to want to blow out the candles of a huge cake in celebration anyway, even once a year.

Almost as though he has read Harry’s thoughts, Snape moodily huffs out the offending flame that has been flickering in the centre of his pudding.

Harry has too much on his mind to think on Snape’s advancing age any further.

With a mass murderer out to get him, and the new knowledge that the same man - Sirius Black - was his godfather and the villain responsible for his parents’ deaths, all thoughts of candles and cake and lonely potions masters are soon forgotten.

Harry wishes he could fly after lunch. He can, on one of the school’s old cleansweep broomsticks, but compared to his destroyed Nimbus 2000 broom it will be a pale imitation.

If only someone had given me a brand new Firebolt for Christmas, Harry thought with a disgruntled outward sigh.

Of course, they had - but Hermione’s cautious nature (and lack of appreciation for Quidditch) has made sure it was confiscated by Professor McGonagall before he even had a chance to try it out.

It is now being examined for safety by several teachers - including Snape.

He expects that this is the hold-up. Snape hates Harry just as he still hates his dead father, and he is taking a petty delight out of keeping Harry’s property out of his reach.

He's just jealous that he's too greasy to get a proper grip on a broomstick, Harry thinks uncharitably, he probably just slides right off.

Snape, who is glaring at Harry with undisguised contempt, seems to stiffen as the thought goes through Harry’s head.

Harry meets his teacher’s dark gaze defiantly. Snape often gives the impression of being a mind reader. So Harry sends him a message, just in case it's true.

You are an absolute arse.

Snape’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

He wonders if Snape receives any birthday presents at all. Perhaps from Dumbledore, who always seems to be banging on about respecting the bloke.

Never, Harry thinks hotly. Snape is a complete and utter pillock, a mean-spirited bully and nothing else whatsoever.

He doesn't deserve any bloody birthday presents.

In fact, if Harry could, he would yank that candle - the whole slice of treacle tart, in fact - and stamp it into the ground.

————————————————————————-
The following year, Harry has completely forgotten that the 9th of January has any significance to anyone.

He spends the Sunday playing wizards’ chess with Ron, both valiantly resisting Hermione’s efforts to herd them into the library.

Classes start again tomorrow, they remind her - it’s still the holidays.

Hermione protests, scowls and scolds.

She eventually leaves them to it, with a thorough telling off and a warning about how their very lives might depend on their studies one day.

Harry can appreciate that she may have a point, but he knows that Hermione will always catch him up when he needs it, as she had with the summoning charm.

Darkness falls early and students are supposed to be tucked up in their dormitories by now, with Transfiguration on their timetables first thing.

Harry however, is restless. He has felt a little cooped up, as any movement to leave Gryffindor Tower earlier would have ultimately led to Hermione frog-marching him off to study.

Grabbing his cloak of invisibility, Harry sneaks through the portrait and begins to wander the halls.

In truth, he is full of a nervous energy.

He is a reluctant champion of Hogwarts. Before Christmas alone he has faced a dragon, and there would be several such obstacles in his way before fourth year was over.

He has witnessed unforgivable curses being cast on an innocent creature, and worse still, spotted his sign in the sky above the Quidditch World cup campsite. The dark mark.

Adding to this, the fact he has no idea what to do with the Golden egg he has won in the first Triwizard challenge and it's no wonder that he can't sleep a wink.

He tries to think of pleasant things. Like Cho, who is quite beautiful. Or Cedric, who might be even more so. It’s his smile that makes Harry’s heart beat faster and he’s not quite sure what that means yet.

Through the well-traversed corridors, around dark corners, Harry creeps under the cover of his cloak.

Until rounding one particular corner brings him face-to face with the potions master.

Luckily they both come to a halt without colliding. Snape stops suddenly as though he is aware that someone or something is in front of him, unseen.

Harry surreptitiously takes one step back, then another. A narrow escape. Snape continues to stare at the seemingly empty space occupied by Harry.

It comes back to him then, for some reason.

It‘s now the day lessons resume after New Year, after midnight.

The previous annum had been a leap year.

The time has just ticked over into Snape’s birthday.

What is Snape doing, patrolling the corridors on his bloody birthday, Harry thinks. Strange idea of a good time.

Then, for the first time, it occurs to Harry that perhaps Severus Snape is out here for the same reasons he is.

Trying to outrun his demons.

Harry is fourteen years old. Snape has just turned thirty-four.

He is the same age as his parents would have been, Harry remembers.

Looking at the man standing in front of him, face full of dark suspicion, Harry thinks he looks far older than his chronological age.

Permanent wrinkles of worry etch his forehead although there are no lines of laughter.

Harry takes the rare opportunity to look into those eyes of obsidian without them looking back at him.

Snape has dropped his guard somehow, convinced himself that he is indeed alone.

Yet still he stands, in a random corridor of Gryffindor tower, not celebrating his birthday with other staff or even enjoying a solitary firewhisky in his own quarters.

Almost as though he's having as hellish a year as Harry.

————————————————————————-
Occlumency lessons will be an utter disaster and dreading them was not the way Harry had envisioned spending the last hours of his Christmas holidays.

The first day of term starts back without incident, although Harry finds it rather hard to concentrate when his mind is full of thoughts of Voldemort and the regular torture sessions he now has to endure.

Snape is just as unpleasant, just as unbearable as ever. At least some things stay consistent in these trying times.

Snape invites - well, demands - him back on Wednesday.

Of course, Tuesday is Snape’s birthday. Harry remembers though he is not sure why.

On Tuesday he notes the date on his parchment in Defence - another theory lesson, again - and his last class of the day. He barely makes it out without hexing Umbridge. He earns himself a detention with the foul, pink toad.

He greatly enjoys informing her that he is unavailable - that he has a prior appointment with Professor Snape. Although it is a lie - and he must not tell lies.

She tells him that he will just serve his detention earlier.

Harry arrives in the once-comforting defence office and scowls at the numerous nauseating kittens adorning the walls.

Picking up the blood quill, Harry mindlessly scribbles the date on the parchment.

09/01.

He winces, the pain a reminder that the ink is his own blood and that the markings are now scratched into his hand.

09/01.

09/01.

09/01.

09/01.

He continues like this and watches it sink in.

Umbridge does not check what he is writing. She
is just content to know he is suffering.

Moodily packing away his things, Harry supposed he really must make towards the dungeons. Make out he has just forgotten his next ‘remedial potions’ lesson was tomorrow.
Umbridge is likely to check up on him.

Snape is in his office, glass of firewhisky in hand.

He is clearly not expecting Harry.

‘Potter - what is it? Have you seen something via the Dark Lord?’ He asks urgently.

Harry shook his head.

He can’t possibly admit that he has tried to use Snape to get out of a detention with Umbridge, although he expects that she may be an enemy they have in common.

He scrambles for an excuse, staring at Snape’s shoes to avoid making eye contact now he knows about legilimency.

‘I just wanted…’ he begins.

‘Spit it out, Potter.’ Snape seethes, his face the very picture of a predator sizing up its pray.

‘I just wanted to say… Happy Birthday, Sir.’ Harry improvises.

The man stares at him shocked - as though Harry is standing in front of him completely starkers - but Harry just nods to emphasise his regards, avoids Snape’s gaze and flees.

Snape looks down at his whisky glass. His brow furrows, he seems more perplexed than furious.

Harry is fifteen years old. Snape is thirty five.

Harry stares at the new wounds on his hands.

09/01.

He is likely to develop new scars.

Occlumency improves somewhat, for a time. Until Harry peers into the pensieve and resets any progress previously made.
————————————————————————

Harry does sleep with his potions textbook under his pillow. He knows the level of attachment he feels towards it isn’t normal, but then he has never been entirely normal, he reasons.

There’s a tiny scribbled note in the bulk of the text, which should be very easily missed, but Harry misses nothing when it comes to the Half-blood Prince.

‘Happy 16th birthday to me - alone again. 09/01.’ It’s very out of place with the Prince’s other notes, which tend to be scathing rewrites of steps in recipes or impressive spells of his own invention.

Harry seeks out the page where these words are inked, on the date in question.

Not for the first time, Harry finds himself overcome with desire as he thumbs through the pages, feeling the magic the previous owner has imbued it with.

Flicking his wand, Harry casts the charms that allow him privacy in the Gryffindor dormitory. He includes the Prince’s own muffliatio so that he is not forced to stifle the sounds of his pleasure.

Reaching just one hand down into his pyjamas, he is more than half-hard just by thinking about his faceless prince in the context of his four-poster bed.

The Prince is a bloke, Harry is quite sure of this. His brain tries to conjure up an image of the mysterious young man with the brilliant mind.

It settles on a curtain of shoulder-length black hair, obscuring a face that is decidedly male.
The fantasy figure has pale skin’s like Cedric did.

Harry assumes that his imagination has amalgamated characteristics of both of his major crushes from his fourth year.

It isn't actually based on any one person in existence, he tells himself. Of that he is certain.

In his mind, the Prince kneels in front of him and Harry runs his fingers through that gossamer black hair.

The Prince’s face is at eye level - mouth level - with Harry’s cock through his robes. He looks at it reverently before speaking.

May I? the figment asks Harry in deep, sultry tones.

Back in reality, Harry is palming himself to full hardness.

He takes himself fully in hand, as he imagines the prince releasing his cock from his Gryffindor red robes. He strokes up and down, matching the pace of the Prince’s mouth in his head.

Then the fantasy shifts - it is the Prince’s birthday after all, and Harry thinks he would enjoy giving him pleasure; perhaps even more so than seeking his own.

He pictures himself kneeling in front of thick, black robes, and rummaging until he finds a thick, hard cock.

He imagines allowing his mouth to run along the firm flesh, can almost hear the wanton gasps the other boy makes as he teases him with his tongue.

Taking two of his digits from his left hand, Harry swirls them in his mouth, licking up and down as though they were his lover’s shaft. He then sucks them in and fellates his own fingers, imagining doing this to the prince, imagining the sensations he could make the other man feel.

His fingers now well lubricated, he continues to stimulate his cock with one hand and the other, saliva-slick one reaches down further.

He teases his own flesh first of all, running a finger around the puckered flesh of his arsehole in repeated circular motions.

Then he pushes it inside, gasping out in pressure, pain and finally pleasure.

Harry writhes in delicious agony, imagining the Prince preparing him this way - entering him this way.

He adds another finger and begins to thrust them in and out of his arsehole fervently. Beads of sweat appear on his forehead as he pleasures himself more thoroughly and with more care than ever before.

The third finger causes him to loudly moan on addition and he is grateful for the muffliatio.

Harry fucks himself with those three delicious digits, imagining the Prince burying himself deep inside his body.

He grunts and groans and twists for more, all the while working his cock with his other hand.

It is unbearable bliss. He wishes, more than anything, to find this Prince, to make this fantasy a reality. After all, he discovered literal magic exists six years ago, who is to say that he won’t experience another miracle?

He is getting closer to completion, to sweet release. All the hardship he has endured this year - his grief, the war, the horcruxes, the NEWT preparation - melt away at the Prince’s imagined touch. All the stresses and strains are worked out, the delicious tension building its way to the finish.

As Harry shudders in pleasure, spilling pearlescent white all over his dominant hand, he pictures pit-black eyes watching him climax, fire burning within them.

Harry is spent, sated. He feels too lazy for even a basic cleaning charm. Instead he luxuriates in the sticky puddle be has made, resolving to reach for his wand and rectify it first thing.

‘Happy birthday, my Prince.’ Harry whispers sleepily before dreams take him.

If any part of him recognises that the date in question is the same birthday as Snape’s, he does not consciously acknowledge it.

Harry is sixteen years old.

The Half-blood Prince is thirty six.

————————————————————————

Severus Snape stands looking out over the Hogwarts grounds as its headmaster.

How it pains him to see his home cloaked in shadow, while he must rule over it, embodying the very darkness he is secretly fighting against.

He can’t know for certain, but he believes that this birthday will likely be his last.

It is miraculous that he has lasted as long as this in his role as spy against the Dark Lord. He is not expecting to reach thirty-nine, never mind forty.

He is at peace with this.

Lily never even reached twenty-one. He has had far longer on this mortal coil than he has ever had cause to wish for.

He has always been a solitary man by preference, despite his colleagues best efforts.

This year was by necessity rather than choice.

He watches as the few remaining pure-blood students walk lifelessly under the cruel command of the Carrows.

No ‘Many happy returns’ have been directed at him today. Not from Flitwick, Slughorn, or Sprout. Not that he expects any sympathy from the side of the light. He plays his part too well.

Minerva McGonagall has given him a hug on his birthday every year since he began teaching. Today she gifts him a look of utter contempt and disdain.

He wonders where the Boy-who-wished-him-happy-birthday two years ago may be.

Safe, he hopes. He is not with the Dark Lord, at least. Severus would know if he had been captured.

It’s a small mercy in this shitty, miserable time.

The boy is only seventeen.

Today Severus turned thirty-seven.

The boy believes him a traitor - a coward.

He doesn’t know that it is all for him. Every moment of Severus’ torment.

Well, more accurately - all for his mother. Lily Evans. Severus could never think of her as Lily Potter, even all these years later.

His dearest friend was the one he celebrated many of his birthdays with.

His own mother made some effort, but she pandered to his abusive father, Severus always coming second - even on his birthday.

So it is Lily that his mind conjures when he thinks of any happy birthday memories. Her smile. Her laughter. Her insistence on buying him a cake, which they would share at the end of every Christmas holiday.

Until he lost her friendship. Then worse still, the whole world lost her forever.

He selects a memory of the red-headed beauty laughing as she helps him to blow out several birthday candles, on a sponge cake iced in white. She’s laughing because he has just asked her to charm the icing black.

Ensuring the Carrows are no longer anywhere near his vicinity, Severus casts his patronus, clinging to the pure joy and warmth that radiated from his friend Lily.

No Death Eater would be able to create something so innocent with a soul so twisted.

Her doe.

The beautiful, ethereal creature emits a gorgeous glow. Her memory finds the light in Severus even on his darkest days.

Potter’s own patronus is a stag, he has heard.

Some part of him wishes he could see it. Probably the part of his magic that can conjure this pure creature of light.

He reflects on the worst parts of this god-forsaken year.

The murder of Charity Burbage, as close to a friend as any of his colleagues ever came. She was killed right in front of him, while he sat powerless to help or even express his regret non-verbally.

This memory hurts him almost as much as that of casting Albus off the astronomy tower. That at least had been forced up him by the meddlesome man himself. Assisted suicide, he had described it as.

Severus suppresses a shudder.

The sight of the doe frolicking in front of him protects him from breaking down where he stands.

In his thirty-seven years, he has caused more harm than good, he feels.

The cosmic scales will never balance in his favour.

Yet still he fights for Lily’s son. He continues to fight, day in and day out, through the darkest of times in the wizarding world’s recent history. He appears on the wrong side of it, but still he will persevere for all that is light and good in him and in the world.

Until his last breath finally comes.

————————————————————————

‘Happy Birthday, sir.’

Harry Potter stands on a muggle street in Cokeworth, at the end of a row of terraced houses. He holds out a medium-sized cardboard box, which the man standing in the doorway of Spinner’s end does not take.

Harry is eighteen years old.

Severus Snape has just turned thirty-eight.

Against the odds, against his own wishes almost - he has lived through a near-fatal snake bite.

The foreboding figure in the doorway seems to weigh up his options at the sight of this unwelcome visitor.

‘Enter,’ he begrudgingly decides to invite the boy in, with a weary sigh. It wouldn’t do to cause a scene in front of his muggle neighbours.

Snape leads the boy through to a modest sitting room, shelves creaking with the weight of books line the walls all around them.

‘This is exactly what I would have imagined.’ Harry says softly, taking in his surroundings.

Snape ignores the comment.

‘How is it that you remember my birthdate, Potter?’ He asks, his usual baritone now with a rasping undercurrent which makes it no less commanding.

‘The house elves put a candle in your treacle tart once.’ Harry offers weakly.

An eyebrow is raised.

‘And why is it that you would remember the date of this travesty?’

For some reason, Harry feels compelled to show him the scar on his hand, long since healed.

09/01.

Snape surveys it with his scrupulous gaze.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ He asks, his curiosity piqued despite himself. ‘That foul woman’s blood quill, in your fifth year?’

Harry nods, uncertain what he is going to offer as a potential explanation for the moment of madness that caused the numbers to be permanently etched on his skin.

‘Why on earth did she have you write my date of birth repeatedly with that accursed thing?’ Snape asks.

Harry shrugs.

‘I think I’d just been doodling in detention.’ He says, the rush at which the words come out betraying the casual tone.

‘My date of birth. Repeatedly. With a blood quill?’ Snape asks incredulously.

‘I wasn’t quite in my right mind that year, sir.’ Harry states simply.

‘You fleetingly visited me in my office that day.’ Snape remembers.

‘Yeah,’ is all the boy volunteers in response, nothing more.

Snape waits a moment before saying anything in addition.

‘You’re a very strange young man, Mr Potter.’ He says eventually.

The strange young man in question smiles at that, for reasons Snape does not understand.

Severus Snape arches an eyebrow once again.

‘That’s possibly the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Professor.’ Harry explains.

Snape wracks his brains.

‘I’m sure I’ve called you passable at least once.’ He suggests.

Harry looks at him doubtfully.

‘I waited for you to wake up, you know,’ he says in a quiet voice. ‘In the hospital.’

Snape nods, without meeting his former student’s eyes.

‘I know.’

‘I was there day and night for weeks. I couldn’t believe that you had awoken and discharged yourself in the time it had taken me to go home and take a shower.’

Harry laughs in a way that suggests he doesn’t actually find it funny in the slightest.

Snape silently observes.

‘Did you get your memories back safely?’ Harry asks.

Snape nods his head again. The boy had seen to it that they were delivered securely to Minerva and he had collected them from Hogwarts.

‘Right… good. That’s good. I wasn’t exactly expecting a thank you note or anything. Seeing as you didn’t respond to my letter.’

‘I had nothing to say to it,’ Severus replies. ‘I didn’t play my part for the platitudes.’

Harry snorts.

‘That’s not like you. You always had plenty to say to me before.’

Snape looks a little uncomfortable.

Things are different now, Harry realises. They had both technically given their lives for the war against Voldemort.

Nothing but luck is responsible for them standing together now, having the most civil conversation they have ever managed with each other.

Severus clears his throat and changes the subject.

‘What’s in the box, Potter? Seems oversized for any deadly poison.’

Harry smiles. Snape is funny, he thinks.

Has Snape always been funny? Was it simply hidden by the shadow of war?

Harry doesn’t think so.

Perhaps it’s his own appreciation of dry humour which has changed.

Or perhaps it’s that Snape can now speak to him cordially without fear of death on discovery.

Harry lifts the lid, revealing the iced sponge cake with a single candle.

‘For you,’ he explains, needlessly.

Snape surveys the cake silently.

‘I saw it in your memories.’ Harry admits. ‘My Mum’s face with a birthday cake. I thought you might…’

Snape takes a sharp inhale of breath.

He says nothing further, not trusting himself to speak. The whirlwind of emotions inside him was like a raging roulette - he did not know what it would land on if he dared to voice anything now.

‘Shall we light it?’ Harry asks nervously.

Snape closes his eyes briefly and composes himself.

‘You’re not going to sing, are you?’ he asks.

Harry smiles.

‘No. Consider that my gift to you.’

He casts a very gentle incendio on the wick of the birthday candle.

‘Make a wish,’ he says, purely out of habit.

Snape diligently blew out the candle, but shook his head.

‘There’s nothing I would wish for,’ Snape murmured softly.

It isn’t spoken like a man who has everything.

It is spoken like a man who doesn’t believe he deserves anything.

They stand awkwardly. The sound of a clock ticking in the background is suddenly prominent. Harry shuffles from foot to foot.

He uses his wand to spell the cake into several slices.

Severus Snape dutifully takes one slice and places it on a side plate for later.

‘Take the rest away for the Weasley brood.’ He suggests.

Harry nods.

Awkwardness resumes.

Eventually, Snape seems to summon up his underused social skills.

‘You are well?’ He asks Harry stiffly.

‘Yeah,’ Harry answers. ‘As can be, for now. I’ve asked Ginny Weasley to move in with me when she finishes school in the summer.’

Snape blinks at the news.

‘Good luck.’ is all he says in response.

He assumes this is the last he will see of the boy, barring happenstance.

————————————————————————

The next year, Harry arrives at the door of Spinner’s end once again.

Severus looks surprised to see him, though not as surprised as he had on the previous occasion.

He invites Potter in wordlessly, taking the box from his hands.

Potter is nineteen.

Severus Snape has just turned thirty-nine.

‘Happy birthday, Snape.’ Harry says with a genuine smile.

Severus huffs out a breath.

The boy is becoming far too over-familiar, after just one visit to his home the previous year.

Nevertheless, he secretly delights in seeing those green eyes light up in happiness. Happiness at seeing him, no less. Severus tries to keep it secret even from himself.

‘What brings you back this year, Potter?’ Severus asks him. ‘I thought your conscience cleared after last year’s cake?’

Harry takes a moment before replying.

‘What better way to keep my Mum’s memory alive than to do something small for her friend’s birthday every year? After everything he did for me - and for her - tirelessly and thanklessly.’

Snape feels torn. His barbed instincts tell him to send the boy away, to say that there’s no need for this to become their ritual. His heart - the light in it that came from Lily - tells him to let the boy in.

They take a seat opposite each other in that same small sitting room.

‘How have you been?’ The young man asks Snape.

‘Tolerable,’ Severus replies.

Harry shoots him a small grin.

‘Better than the previous few years then, I expect.’

‘Quite.’ Snape confirms in that quietly rasping voice. ‘And you?’

‘Auror training is a bitch,’ he confesses with a grin.

Ah yes, he had been offered a position as a fully-fledged dark wizard catcher, but had declined the shortcut, Snape remembers.

He is oddly proud of that decision, a feeling he could normally only feel towards his former Slytherin students.

‘How are the owl order potions?’ Harry asks.

‘Lucrative enough,’ Snape replies. ‘Luckily I am quite content here and have no ambitions for anything grander. Slughorn would likely be appalled.’

Potter looks like he might be about to say something complimentary, which Severus can't be bothered with, so he opts for a change of subject.

‘How are things with Miss Weasley?’ He asks politely.

‘Oh. Great. Yeah - things are great.’ Harry repeats himself almost for his own benefit.

Severus is unconvinced but chooses not to pry.

‘I’d really like to start a family,’ Harry confesses to Snape.

He rolls his eyes, though not unkindly.

‘Then go forth and procreate, Potter. Don’t deprive the Wizarding World of your potential spawn for a moment longer than is necessary.’ He says dryly.

Potter laughs out loud at that.

Severus almost flinches at the purity of the sound.

Potter is everything he will never be and everything he can never have. He is also a reminder of everything he has lost.

So when Potter asks if he would like to meet again at some point over the course of the year, Severus politely declines.

He harbours no animosity towards the boy any more. Willingly sacrificing themselves for the same cause has erased any trace of resentment.

But Potter belongs out in the light, on the quidditch pitch, with his red-headed girlfriend who was bound to be ridiculously fertile given her own mother’s track record. Potter will have his family, his future and he will not be tainted by Severus’ darkness.

If Potter looks disappointed at all, it is fleeting.

Then as he is departing he calls out a breezy ‘See you next year!’, shooting Severus that enchanting smile.

The slice of cake tastes particularly sweet this time.
————————————————————————

The next year, Harry Potter is engaged to be married. Severus has seen it in the Daily Prophet, of course.

A New Year’s Eve proposal, he notes. With a date set for the coming summer. How predictably dull.

Harry Potter is twenty years old.

Severus Snape has just turned forty.

He doesn’t expect the boy to come this year, not really. After all, there are engagement parties being thrown, huge events in his honour.

He knows because he has ignored the invitations he has received.

Yet part of him does wonder.

See you next year! Potter had said with that smile of his.

The young man was true to his word these days, Severus believed. But that word had been so casually thrown a whole year ago - he certainly wasn’t going to hold the boy to it.

Then the doorbell rings and Severus’ lip automatically curls up into a small smirk.

A little creature of habit, indeed.

He opens the door and he is temporarily speechless.

Potter looks… grown up. No, that’s not quite right, he corrects himself - he’s of the same short stature as he was at sixteen years old.

He’s… filled out, more muscular. Yes, a little. He is almost twenty-one after all, and a fully qualified Auror now. But that’s not…

He is dressed up, Severus realises.

He can’t remember what the boy had worn on his previous visits. He doesn’t suppose it really matters.

But it’s clear than on this occasion he has made an effort.

His dress shirt is a green that complements his eyes, top button undone. He wears it under a grey wool jacket and over black muggle trousers and luxurious looking shoes.

His hair has been somewhat tamed. Not totally subdued, of course. Severus doubts that would be possible.

He belatedly realises he is staring and has yet to say a word in greeting.

‘Potter…’ he begins at the same time as the boy greets him.

‘Happy birthday,’ he says, stepping forward and pressing a brief kiss to the older man’s cheek.

‘I know it’s a special one,’ he adds with a shy grin.

Severus heart momentarily stops beating.

What is this? He wonders of his unexpected reaction. This is Lily’s son. James Potter’s son. This is Harry Bloody Potter. He’s a menace and a miscreant, even with all historic resentment put aside.

He shoves the thoughts deep down for later examination. Or not.

‘No cake this year? I expect you’ve been too busy celebrating,’ Severus says carefully. ‘I believe congratulations are in order.

‘Oh - uh, yeah. Thanks.’ the same young man who so brazenly kissed his cheek moments earlier seems embarrassed by the sentiment.

‘I actually planned something a bit different for today - if you’re available to come with me, that is.’

‘When have you ever arrived to find me busy on this day?’ Severus asks, clearly not requiring an answer.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ Harry tells him.

‘I don't expect I have to tell you that I loathe the idea of surprise parties. So I'm assuming I’m safe. Also, I haven't a clue who you would possibly invite.’ He snarks but it is good-natured.

‘How about just the two of us then?’ Harry suggests with a smile.

‘Much more acceptable.’ Severus says, deadly serious in tone.

‘Will you side-along with me?’ The younger man asks with a smile.

‘Would you trust me if I asked you the same question?’ Severus asks dryly.

‘I would trust you with my life,’ Harry responds, meaning absolutely every syllable.

Severus ignores the compliment.

‘Am I underdressed?’ Severus asks dubiously, looking at his plain black robes. ‘You’ve clearly… gone to some effort.’

That endearing blush again. Severus wonders if that effort is indeed with him in mind. He does appreciate it, regardless.

‘Not at all,’ Harry answers. ‘Although it is a muggle place - we can transfigure something for you?’

Severus shakes his head and removes his outer robes.

Underneath is a simple black poloneck and black woolen trousers.

‘Acceptable?’ he asks, as he transfigures his robes into a muggle winter coat.

‘Yeah - more than.’ the boy answers, a slightly strange note in his voice. ‘Can we apparate from here?’

Severus nods.

‘If we side-along, the wards will let you through with me.’ he confirms.

Surprisingly smoothly, they apparate to a street that Severus doesn't recognise.

‘Where are we? He asks Potter, remaining on his guard despite the boy’s assurances.

Old habits.

‘Its muggle London,’ Harry tells him. ‘And this - is the best patisserie I could find in Britain.’

‘I thought rather than bring the cake to you this year, I would bring you to the cake.’ he explains. ‘Is this okay?’

‘Yes… more than.’ Severus replies, echoing the boy’s earlier expresion.

A Muggle waitress, who has no idea she is talking to the hero and the anti-hero of the wizarding world, leads them to a cosy table for two.

Elegant mille feuille, colourful macarons and massive slices of gateau are brought to them.

The most decadent-looking treacle tart Severus has ever seen has a single birthday candle in it.

‘I put a notice-me-not on the candle,’ Potter tells him conspiratorially. ‘If the wait staff knew we were here for a fortieth birthday then they would sing and you would probably never forgive me.’

‘Very wise.’ Severus says, his tone serious but a glint of good humour shines in his dark eyes.

Wordlessly and wandlessly, Potter lights the candle. Severus can't help be a little impressed. Wordless is one thing, wandless is one thing - but together at the same time suggests both power and control over it.

‘Make a wish,’ Harry says again.

This time, Severus does. He wishes to finally feel ready to move on from his past.

‘I think it’ll come true.’ Potter remarks. ‘You deserve it.’

Foolish blabbering, Severus knows.

But he hopes nonetheless.

————————————————————————

The next year, Harry Potter arrives at Severus Snape’s house once again. He holds the usual boxed birthday cake in hand.

He rings the doorbell and waits.

And waits.

And waits some more.

He knocks firmly on the door.

And again.

Then he hammers on it.

Snape’s out, Harry thinks.

But he knows to expect Harry. Doesn’t he? He has come to his house,every birthday, for the past four years.

Yeah, he’s allowed to have other plans, Harry thinks to himself, but couldn’t he have dropped Harry a note scribbled on a spare scrap of parchment?

No, of course not because that would mean talking to Harry more than once a year - the only owl post he had received from Severus Snape in the past twelve months was an RSVP to his wedding invitation.

With regrets.

Anger builds up inside him now.

He hammers on the door one last time, although he knows it's fruitless.

He is vaguely aware of a couple wandering hand-in-hand, down the lane towards him.

Muggles, he assumes. Until he feels the prickle of familiar magic approaching. He has always been attuned to how people’s power makes him feel.

This is like treacle, dark yet sweet - thicker than most others. Powerful and fiercely protective all at once.

There's another magical signature too, this one unfamiliar and quite frankly mundane.

He whirls around quickly.

It's Snape, of course. With another wizard. With him.

When the older man sees Harry, he drops the bloke’s hand like it is red hot.

‘Where have you been?’ Harry tries to play it cool but Snape could always see into his mind without even really trying; he must know that Harry is seething.

Which is really just masking another emotion; Harry feels hurt.

Even if he can't currently pinpoint why.

The bloke is good-looking, Harry supposes. In an average sort of a way. What the hell does someone like Snape want with average? Harry thinks scathingly. He seems around the same age as Snape, perhaps just a little younger.

Not as young as Harry is.

Harry is twenty-one.

Severus Snape has just turned forty one.

‘Why don't you wait inside,’ Snape suggests to the other man.

‘No, no - I’ll be off and let you catch up with your - is that Harry Potter?’

‘Yeah, hi.’ Harry says irritably.

‘Hi,’ the man says brightly. ‘Sev did mention that you two have been friendly since then war, sorry, I just wasn't expecting -’

Sev.

The look on Harry’s face must have said it all because suddenly the man was leaning in to give Sev a goodbye kiss - on the lips. Snape moves at the last second and he gets his cheek instead.

‘I’ll call you later,’ Snape murmurs.

Harry waits for the man to disapparate.

‘Well, at least you’re keeping some people up to date with your plans.’ Harry aims for a light, teasing tone but it's too late - Snape could feel his annoyance from the moment he set eyes on him.

Snape sighs.

‘I am sorry, Potter.’ The words do not come naturally to Severus Snape but he truly means them. ‘Of course, you’re right. It was a foolish oversight not to inform you that I was seeing someone.’

‘You didn’t have to inform me you were seeing someone,’ Harry says, not sure why it was bothering him so much anyway. ‘Just would have been nice to get the heads up that you wouldn't be home. But I get it, you're busy with - ‘

‘And aren't you?’ Snape asks him. ‘Busy with the new Mrs Potter? Trying to make a start on that little family of yours?’

Harry blushes. Of course, that's what he should be focusing on. What is wrong with him? He wonders.

‘We have been trying,’ Harry says lightly. ‘No luck yet.’

‘Well, it's early days,’ Snape replies a little awkwardly. ‘If you do find yourself needing to make use of fertility potions, you know that I - ‘

‘Thanks,’ Harry says, gratefully.

‘Are you coming in?’ Snape invites him to resume their tradition, if a little later in the day than usual.

‘No, I best be off,’ Harry says, trying to maintain some sense of composure - not sure why it feels like his whole world is spinning off its axis and that he is going to be sick.

‘Here,’ - he thrusts the cake box towards Snape- ‘you can save my slice for what’s-his-name.’

‘Liam.’ Snape says quietly.

‘Liam. Right.’ Harry repeats the name.

Harry pauses for a moment.

‘You don't have to hide it, you know. With me.’ Harry says, more charitably as he turns to leave. ‘It doesn't bother me if you’re into wizards.’

Severus Snape looks at him rather strangely but just nods in reply.

————————————————————————

Another year goes by. Harry has put his attentions and efforts into where they ought to be and Ginny is pregnant.

It’s early days, but the mid-witch at St Mungo’s predicts a clean bill of health.

Harry should be - is - elated.

But it's the ninth of January, so Harry finds himself a little distracted at the appointment and he can tell that Ginny isn't happy with him.

Nothing much new there, these days.

Harry rushes to collect the cake from the usual bakery and apparates to Spinner’s end.

He is not expecting Snape to be home this year.
He could even be away on a romantic trip with Liam. Which is fine, of course. None of his business, he tells himself.

Harry will just leave the cake on the doorstep and he certainly won’t cause any sort of scene.

Before Harry can even try the bell, the front door swings open. Snape has been waiting for him this year.

Harry is twenty-two years old.

Severus Snape has just turned forty-two.

‘Happy birthday!’ Harry greets him with a smile.

Snape does not return it.

Harry scrambles for something to say.

‘How’s Liam? Is he around?’

‘You will most likely find him inside Bruce, the big Australian brute he’s been fucking.’ Snape says matter of factly, but his eyes show Harry that this betrayal is recent and that he is furious about it.

‘Oh, Severus. I'm so sorry.’ he tentatively reaches a hand out to touch the older man’s arm.

The safe, comforting feel of his magic flows through his very veins.

Harry wonders if Severus Snape feels the same about his touch.

He can't explain it, but it feels right somehow.

‘It’s not of any importance,’ Snape lies. ‘I suppose I'm just not meant for these things.’

Harry shakes his head emphatically.

‘That’s not true,’ he shakes his head vehemently. ‘I would be hard pressed to name anyone as brave, loyal, or passionate as you. Any bloke would be lucky to have you.’

‘Indeed?’ Snape arches an eyebrow and suddenly seems back on form.

‘Anyway, enough about that. Have you any news?’ he asks, his eyes searching Harry’s.

Harry wonders if Snape can see how unhappy he is with Ginny, how unhappy she is with him, despite the baby’s good health.

‘Ginny’s pregnant.’ he says, finally.

‘Ah. Congratulations.’ Snape says softly.

‘Its very, very early.’ Harry adds. ‘Just a couple of weeks in - but we did find out today that it's going to be a boy.’

Harry thinks he will always be amazed at what magic can achieve.

‘Arthur, perhaps?’ Snape suggests. ‘William? George?’

Harry shakes his head.

‘James Sirius.’ he tells Snape.

‘I was afraid of that.’ Snape says dryly.

‘Next one can be Severus,’ Harry teases.

‘Merlin, Potter, don’t do that to your second born.’

Harry chuckles and Severus gifts him a rare, small smile.

‘Could there be… a Lily, in the future?’ Severus asks.

Harry nods.

‘Yeah, absolutely. That's what Gin and I had discussed for a girl.’

Severus suddenly grips Harry’s hand tightly.

Those sparks again.

They are overshadowed a little by Severus trying and failing to hold in a sob.

Harry throws himself into his arms in an effort to comfort him, tears streaming down his own face.

They cling to each other for a few minutes.

‘I think she'd be pleased.’ Harry ventures.

‘To have a granddaughter named after her one day? She'd feel honoured.’

‘No - well, that too. I think she'd be pleased about us. Our… friendship.’

‘Friendship.’ Severus repeats carefully.

————————————————————————

‘You’re exhausted, Harry.’ Severus says, dark eyes full of concern.

‘Four month old at home, remember?’ Harry yawns the words out. ‘Happy Birthday, Sev’rus.’

‘Sit down before you fall down.’ Severus warns Harry, taking the birthday cake from him.

‘Mmm, good idea.’ Harry murmurs, clutching the older man for balance as he manoeuvres on to the comfortable sofa.

‘Might jus’ close my eyes for a minute.’ he says sleepily, doing just that.

‘You most certainly will, I'm not letting you apparate anywhere in this state.’ Severus tells him firmly as they settle into position.

Harry snuggles against him and the only reply he makes is a small snore.

Severus fondly strokes the boy’s hair as he succumbs to sleep with remarkable ease.

It is not remotely parental, this affection he now feels for Harry Potter.

He is so young, Severus thinks.

Harry is twenty-three years old.

Severus has just turned forty-three.

Resting his own head against Harry’s, he closes his eyes too, just for a minute he tells himself.

Scenes of red-headed girls playing in the park dance before his eyes.

Then the images shift. A dark-haired young man teases him with his hands, running them through his hair, down his chest, and between his thighs. It's the most delicious, if sleepy, seduction he has ever dreamed of.

Three hours later, Severus awakes with a sleeping Harry Potter wrapped around him, a telling hardness pressing into him.

‘Potter.’ he murmurs. Then ‘Harry.’ He doesn't truly want to move from this unprecedentedly comfortable position.

Then he becomes aware of what disturbed him. A strange patronus in his sitting room. A horse. He does not panic, a patronus does not signify danger. But he is now fully alert.

‘Harry,’ he shakes the young man awake now.

The horse speaks in his wife’s voice and she does not sound pleased.

‘Harry, get back here NOW. You’re not at work, this late, Ron’s already told me, so don't give me excuses.’

Message delivered, the horse canters away.

‘Shit!’ Harry calls out, rubbing his eyes. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck! Shit, Severus - I'm sorry.’

‘Shhhh,’ Severus soothes him, somehow resisting the overwhelming urge to press a kiss to that famous scar. ‘It’s alright.’

‘I need to get home.’ Harry says it urgently, but makes no physical move to leave.

‘Yes,’ Severus says, deep voice full of regret.

————————————————————————

‘Happy birthday, Severus,’ Harry falls into the older man’s arms and breathes in deeply.

The scent of him. Dark musk, hints of spice.
That comforting hum of his magic coursing through his veins.

Harry is twenty-four.

Severus has just turned forty-four.

Severus brews them tea while Harry browses the many books on the shelf.

‘I kissed a bloke after the Ministry Christmas party.’ Harry says conversationally.

‘Did you?’ Severus asks, managing to sound nothing more than mildly interested despite the pounding of his heart.

‘And do you think that you might… be open to wizards, if it doesn't work out with Ginevra?’ he once again feigns casual interest as he stirs his tea intently.

‘It wasn't serious,’ Harry admits.

Severus looks up sharply

’I mean, he's not serious. It's not like -‘

This. Us.

The words are left unspoken but Severus hears them anyway. They hang like thick tension in the air and they permeate his skin, rushing through his bloodstream.

‘And how was this kiss?’ Severus asks softly.

‘It was alright.’ Harry says.

Severus scoffs.

‘It was alright? You risk your marriage, your reputation, your family for just… alright.’

‘What should it be like then?’ Harry asks guardedly.

‘It should be everything,’ Severus advances towards him from the doorway, a strange glint in his dark eyes. ‘It should take over your mind and stir your senses into madness.’

He has reached Harry now, and he is like a man possessed. Harry shivers with delicious anticipation; hoping he knows what is coming next but not daring to dream it.

‘It should consume you like fire,’ Severus says, cupping the young man’s face in his hand.

It is impossible to say who kisses who first - indeed, they kiss each other - feeling stubble against stubble, rough skin against soft.

Harry gasps, eagerly opening his mouth for Severus, it's so much and yet it still feels far too little. He surrenders himself fully to the sensations and yes it consumes - it consumes them both and Harry grips on to Severus’ robes and he never wants to let go although he knows that eventually he must.

————————————————————————

This year there are no formalities at the door. The birthday cake is quite forgotten.

Harry launches himself at Severus on first sight, desperately meeting his mouth.

Harry is twenty-five.

Severus has just turned forty-five.

The kiss is the culmination of a whole year of yearning for each other. It is wanton and it is wild. It is like they are being carried away on the wings of some wondrous creature - a hippogriff, perhaps. They swoop and soar together.

Harry’s hands have begun to move over his body, caressing him through his clothes. He groans despite himself. Harry’s hand ghosts over his obvious erection and just that is too much - too good -

Severus knows that he has to stop this now or he won't be able to stop himself at all.

Severus doesn't want to break them apart, but he needs to. He can't continue this year after year, a dazzling kiss every birthday - maybe a good fuck judging by the way this is progressing - and nothing in between. It will destroy him.

He forces himself to withdraw with a growl of frustration.

Harry mourns and protests the loss.

Severus uses all of his self-restraint to avoid ravishing him in the small hallway.

Instead, he asks a necessary question.

‘What are we doing here, Potter?’ Severus demands sharply.

Harry’s eyes flush with lust and annoyance.

‘Oh, it’s back to Potter now, is it? It seems we were quite familiar moments ago when our tongues in each other’s mouths. Correct me if I’m wrong, professor, but you did just kiss me back? You are currently hard for me?’

‘A biological reaction, nothing more.’ Snape lies.

‘Fine.’ Harry snaps shortly. ‘See you next year.’

He storms out and it kills Severus to let him.

————————————————————————

‘Ginny’s expecting again. Another boy. Albus Severus Potter. Happy birthday.’

Harry is twenty-six.

Severus has just turned forty-six.

He goes for the kiss on the cheek, but Severus is frozen still as a statue.

He wears his willpower like armour.

‘Go home to your wife, Potter.’ he says flatly.

‘But I - ‘

Snape does not let him finish his protestations.

‘Go. Home.’

Severus injects every inch of venom he can manage into his inflection.

The boy complies.

Severus sits alone later with his solitary firewhisky, much as his birthdays used to be spent - after Lily left his life and before Harry entered it.

That mixed up, muddled, infuriating, intoxicating young man.

Severus has a good mind to leave the country and never be bothered by him again, he pretends to himself.

Suddenly, a majestic stag patronus appears in front of him and Severus can hardly breathe for the beauty of it.

‘I’m sorry,’ it says, in Harry’s voice.

He remembers himself curled up with the young man in question, their two earth-shattering kisses, the way it feels when he sees his cheeks blush - and that smile - like it was made for Severus alone.

He pictures all of this and then conjures his Doe - his now, not Lily’s.

It looks delighted to see its partner, darting around the pronged figure three times in excitement, before nuzzling up to the antlered beast’s strong form.

Severus sighs. He knows what this means. Whether or not Harry can allow it to be is another matter.

He speaks, the words meant for Harry.

‘It’s not entirely your fault. I wish you well, wherever life leads you.’

He can't help but hope it leads back to him. If not, he at least hopes it leads the young man to the kind of happiness it seems he will again miss out on.

He sends the doe off with her partner, back to Harry Potter. He should see them together, Severus thinks. Just in case.

————————————————————————

‘We’re not meant to be, Harry.’ Ginny had said on New Year’s day. ‘We were supposed to have our family together - I will never regret that - but let’s be honest - we are not meant for each other.’

He can’t disagree with her. Nor can he consider the years truly wasted, not with their wonderful two boys as a result.

But his heart is pulling him towards someone - and it has been for some time now.

It has taken all of his self-control not to apparate to Spinner’s end immediately on packing his things.

He forces himself to take time. He has waited ten years for Severus Snape, so it seems. What is another week in comparison?

He checks into a muggle hotel and takes space to wrap his head around things.

On Severus’ birthday, he brings cake and an elaborate bouquet of rare potions ingredients, under a stasis charm.

Severus opens the door.

‘Ginny and I have separated,’ he announces before he says anything else.

Severus stares silently.

‘Happy Birthday, by the way.’

Harry is twenty-seven.

Severus has just turned forty-seven.

The older man stands there, arms folded, looking as reserved as he ever has.

‘May I come in?’ Harry tries.

Severus slowly nods.

Once inside, Harry has to try.

‘Severus…’ Harry takes a deep breath, steeling himself. ‘I’m sorry. I've behaved terribly.’

His words are so sincere, so clearly pained, that Severus is somewhat pacified.

‘Nothing much new in that, is there?’ he says wryly.

Harry is not in the mood.

‘I mean it,’ he implores Severus to scold him. ‘I should have sorted things out long before now.’

‘You are young, Harry. You've been unhappy, questioning things -’ Severus begins.

‘Its no excuse.’ Harry interrupts firmly. ‘Please don't start making excuses for me. You never have before.’

Severus waits to see where this is going.

‘I saw your patronus, curled up with mine.’ Harry tells him. ‘I knew then that I needed to sort myself out. To come and see you again. I just needed time to work it all out.’

‘And?’ Severus asks cautiously, his black eyes wary.

‘I would love…’ Harry continues. ‘Love the chance to make it up to you. The chance to love you.’

Severus stares at the boy further.

He will always seem a boy compared to Severus but then he thinks of the horrors they have both faced - the decade they have spent forming this connection, nurturing it just once a year.

‘Harry…’ Severus seems unconvinced. ‘You’ve only seen me about ten times since the war. On each occasion I've been on my very best behaviour, out of respect for Lily. But I am still the same absolute arse I was fifteen years ago

Harry flushes - Severus got the message back in his third year then.

‘I am ill-tempered, I hold grudges. I can be petty, I am even more of a bastard first thing in the morning. Oh - and apparently I snore something awful.’

Harry laughs despite himself.

‘Clutching at straws here in a world of silencing charms, aren't you?’ he smiles a little. ‘Severus. I am perfectly aware of who you are. I was so wrong about you when I was growing up. I see you now, flaws and all. I know you now. Which is why I want you.’

Harry pauses.

‘If you would have me, that is.’ he finishes.

‘Harry - ‘ Severus chokes out. There is so much he would like to say, but expressing his innermost feelings has never been his strong point, despite his extensive vocabulary.

So instead he kisses him.

It is somehow even better than when the fruit was forbidden.

Surely that which is off-limits should taste the sweetest, he thinks with the limited brain capacity available to him as he kisses the young man and is kissed back.

But nothing in existence could compare to this beautiful, willing mouth surrendering to his own right in this moment.

Years - decades, in fact - of bitter, acrid poison is neutralised by the boy in his arms.

He has found his balancing force, his exquisite equilibrium, the light to combat the dark shadows lurking inside him.

Kissing him is everything, but it is also not enough, nothing will ever be enough for him when it comes to Harry. His hands are exploring Severus again and the older man is helpless, utterly lost to him. Someone moans as they grab and grasp at every inch of the other, and Severus is quite surprised to realise that it is him vocalising such noises of need. Not that Harry is quiet, far from it, he groans and he cries out, he rambles nonsense -

‘Fuck, Severus. Fucking hell. Merlin, I want you -’

He’s not the first to take Harry to bed, obviously, he is father to two children - but he is the first man to take Harry to bed, so he is torn between fucking him right there against the wall in his narrow hallway or leading him upstairs to the bedroom.

‘Anywhere,’ Harry says, as though has somehow mastered legilimency, ‘Take me anywhere, Severus. Teach me what we can do together.’

If Severus weren't long lost to lust, he would point out what an ineffective teacher Harry thought he was, but he is instead desperate to prove him wrong in this.

‘Bed.’ Severus says a little hoarsely - he is getting older, after all, and he can achieve more on a mattress.

Harry certainly does not complain as Severus takes him by the hand and leads him firmly upstairs to the master bedroom.

‘What do you want me to do to you?’ Severus asks the boy, dark eyes shimmering with desire.

‘Everything,’ Harry says greedily, meaning it.

Severus gives a low chuckle and nips at his exposed neck.

‘There will be time for everything eventually,’ he promises.

‘I think I’ll start this evening by showing you how I like to have my cock sucked,’ Severus says, almost conversationally.

‘Okay,’ Harry nods and slides himself down the bed until he is nose-to-crotch with Severus.

The older man smirks and switches their positions.

‘I'm glad you're so keen, Mr Potter,’ he teases silkily. ‘But I will show you - and you can let me know if you like it too.’

‘Oh,’ Harry’s eyes widen in realisation and excitement.

Severus spells Harry’s jeans off and his cock out.

He looks at him admiringly for a moment, then swallows him to the hilt.

‘Fuck!’ Harry cries out, grabbing hold of Severus’s hair without consciously deciding to.

Severus clearly doesn't mind, in fact he encourages Harry to pull his head down and to move his own hips up, essentially fucking his mouth.

It is exquisite. The feeling is so intense that Harry hardly feels he can contain himself and he is right - in almost no time at all he spills into Severus’ mouth, who seems perfectly eager to swallow it all down.

‘Sorry - didn't last long.’ the younger man chokes out.

Severus says nothing at all, instead he moves his mouth’s attention further down, between Harry’s cheeks.

‘What are you - Oh Holy Fuck!’ Harry exclaims as it becomes clear exactly what Severus is planning to do with his tongue.

‘Alright?’ he withdraws for long enough to check that Harry is comfortable with his actions.

‘Fuck,’ Harry whispers, ‘I mean, yeah.’

Severus chuckles again, a sound Harry thinks he could get used to.

‘We will get to that, Harry, if that's what you want,’ he promises in deep seductive tones.

Putting his mouth to work back at Harry’s entrance, he soon has the younger wizard hard again, panting and writhing and pleading for more.

Severus is more than happy to oblige. Summoning the finest lubricant he can brew, he coats his fingers first, entering Harry one at a time.

He quickly finds his new partner’s prostate and fucks him with his fingers, essentially turning him into a puddle of ecstasy on the bed. With his other hand he takes hold of Harry’s weeping erection, and a few strokes is all it takes to send him over the edge again.

Severus coats his own hard prick with the viscous liquid.

‘Are you sure?’ he whispers to the boy, knowing that once he is inside him it will be difficult to withdraw.

‘I’m certain.’ Harry confirms, spreading open his legs for him.

Severus swallows, looking at the most sinful and singularly beautiful sight he is ever likely to see.

‘Tell me if the pain is too much,’ he makes Harry promise and then he gradually pushes in, taking care to still his motions though every urge tells him to thrust and touch and take.

He checks with Harry again, who nods and says it feels full but good, then he all but pleads in a whisper

‘Fuck me, Severus.’

And Severus cannot possibly deny him or himself and so he begins to rock his hips, gently at first to give Harry a chance to adjust, but soon he is wild, grunting and shouting as he pounds into him, and Harry is alright - better than alright - and it is again too much, not enough and just right all at once.

Severus stills and shudders his release with a feral roar. Harry needs just one more stroke and he is following him, spurting all over them both with a choked sob.

Cleaning charms are cast, soft nothings are murmured and the young man is quivering in his lover’s arms.

‘Can I stay the night?’ Harry whispers, as they hold each other close.

Severus just pulls him in tighter in response.

They lay curled up together as a new day dawns. Severus smiles softly in the shifting darkness. It is no longer his birthday. And Harry is still here.

————————————————————————

‘Thanks for doing this with us, Gin.’

Harry squeezes her hand supportively as they wait for the mid-witch in St Mungo’s.

‘I’m delighted to bring another sibling into the world for our boys, Harry.’ she says smiling at him. ‘You know that.’

‘Yes, but being so supportive of Severus’ involvement - ‘

Ginny shushes him.

‘She will be partly his, in a way. Seeing as Severus specially developed the potion to ensure she's a girl.’

Harry smiles warmly. His family might not be as conventional as he had once dreamed - divorced, joint custody, partnered with Severus Snape.

But it was perfect.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Severus’ deep voice heralds his arrival.

He is unsure of how to greet Harry, with his ex-wife and mother of his soon-to-be three children perched right there on a hospital bed.

Harry solves the problem by firmly kissing Severus instead.

‘Hi there, birthday boy,’ he says teasingly.

Ginny couldn't care less and in fact looks mildly amused.

‘I’ll go see what's taking them so long,’ Harry tells them both.

In the silence following his departure, Severus breaks it first.

‘Thank you, Miss - ah, I mean, Ginevra. For agreeing to this.

‘Ginny,’ she corrects him. ‘We’re family soon, of a sort. This is for Harry, the boys and I - as well as you.’

‘I can see why you might harbour me some ill will,’ Severus begins. ‘It wasn't my intention to distract your - ‘

Ginny interrupts him as she never would have dared at Hogwarts.

‘That’s the thing though,’ she says. ‘He was never mine. Not really. Not like he is clearly yours now.’

She continues.

‘You should have seen his face when I suggested he and I just conceived the old-fashioned way one more time.’ Ginny says with a laugh. ‘I wasn't even serious, but it was clear from his expression that he would never even consider it.’

Severus keeps his face impassive.

‘He married me because he thought he was somehow supposed to. I married him because I thought I wanted the boy hero I grew up with. But it wasn't built to last.’ Ginny‘s voice is perfectly matter of fact, without a trace of sadness.

Severus still doesn't know what to say.

‘We have the boys. We have this little girl on the way. I even have a hot date lined up. I have no regrets.’

Severus surveys her and sees that she means it.

‘It's just as well you didn't invent this potion before my mother had the twins, or I probably wouldn't have been born.’ she quips.

She is probably right, Severus agrees privately.

‘Here we are then, sorry about the hold-up.’ The mid-witch bustles in with Harry and withdraws her wand.

‘Right Mum - and Dads - are we ready?’ She asks them all.

They all nod in mute anticipation.

Casting the specialised charm over Ginny’s abdomen, an image similar to a muggle ultrasound is suddenly projected from the tip of her wand.

They all stare reverently. You can even make out tiny fingers and toes.

‘Little Lily.’ Severus breathes in wonder at the miracle Harry and Ginny, and to some extent, he - had a hand in creating.

‘Lily Luna?’ Ginny asks.

‘Or… Lily Eileen?’ Harry broaches. ‘If it suits both of you, of course.’

‘I like it.’ Ginny confirms. Her parents had enough namesake grandchildren at this point anyway.

Severus cannot give a verbal answer but his eyes fill with tears. He nods in agreement with the choice.

Harry takes his hand and grips it, never meaning to let go.