22

Chapter Twenty-Two

60

Ron and Hermione came up the last weekend in February. Harry blew off his private lesson Friday night, and they met at the Three Broomsticks for dinner. Neville had been invited but one of the Tentacula plants had a fungus and he was busy working to make sure it didn't spread. Besides, as much as Harry loved Neville, it was good to be just the three of them again. Despite frequent owls and several visits over the holidays, it felt like years since they had been together.

It took all of dinner just to catch up on the mundane—how Ron liked being an Auror (busy but good), what Hermione was working on in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (house elf rights, of course), how the wedding planning was going (Mrs. Weasley had taken complete control, they had no idea), how Harry's internship was going (also busy but good), how he was dealing with being outed as a Basilisk (it had mostly blown over), and how he was getting on with Severus (fine, and if he failed to mention anything beyond their working relationship that was neither here nor there).

Partway through the first round everything changed.

"So Harry, you'll be my best man, right?" Ron asked.

Harry started at the sudden change in conversation. They had been talking about Quidditch, not weddings. At least the answer was obvious and it didn't take any time or thought. "Yeah, of course."

"Brilliant," Ron said with a grin. "Write to Mum and tell her? She's been obsessing over it since Christmas but she insisted I couldn't ask via owl and had to do it in person, even after I reminded her that I wasn't bloody proposing to you or marrying you."

Harry laughed. "Sure."

Hermione hesitated for a moment. "Ginny's going to be maid of honor."

"Yeah?" Harry said. "You're giving me a look. Why?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance.

"Well, Mum thinks…" Ron trailed off.

"No," Harry said immediately. "No, not going to happen. We broke up ages ago. It's been, what, three years? I love Ginny but not that way."

"I know," Ron said quickly. "I'm just giving you a heads up that Mum's trying to set you two up."

Harry groaned. "Tell her I'm not interested."

"There are going to be other girls," Hermione said carefully. "Young women, really. One of Fleur's cousins is coming, and—"

"I'm fine," Harry interrupted. "I know you mean well, but really, I'm good."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked dubiously. "You haven't dated anyone since Ginny, and Hogwarts isn't exactly bustling with available women. You and Neville are the only ones our age, right?" His jaw dropped, and before Harry could answer he rushed on. "You and Neville aren't—you're not, are you?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "Merlin, no. Not Neville."

"Not Neville?" Hermione echoed. "That sounds like there's someone, then, if it's not Neville."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Not—no. Not really. No. No, there isn't."

"That was the least convincing no I've ever heard," Hermione said. "What's going on? Why didn't you tell us?"

Harry took a rather large sip of his drink. "There's nothing—it's not, I mean. I'm not seeing anyone. I mean, I'm seeing someone, but I'm not seeing someone."

Ron stared at him. "Have you gone daft?"

Harry glared at him. "No."

"I imagine that you're seeing a lot of people, given that you've got eyes," Ron said. "You're seeing me, aren't you? Haven't gone blind as well?"

"You know what I mean," Harry replied angrily.

"No, I really don't," Hermione said. "Are you dating someone casually?"

"N—no," Harry stammered. "No. It's, um. There's nothing—it's just. Nothing's—I mean."

"Out with it," Ron demanded. "I can't believe you haven't told us already. Does Neville know? Have you been keeping it a secret from everyone, or just us?"

Harry winced. "No, he doesn't. Well, I mean a little, but not really. And no, no one else knows. There's nothing to know." He cleared his throat. "Sort of."

"I'd imagine he has to know since you're living together," Hermione said. "I'd think it obvious if you were bringing someone around, or staying out all night."

Harry tapped his finger on the table. "That's not, er, how he—he sort of figured it out, kind of, over break. But there's really—"

"It's been happening since before break?" Ron interrupted, clearly hurt. "Harry, we're your best friends! What's going on?"

Harry glanced around, making sure nobody was within hearing distance. "I don't want it spread around, okay? Nothing's official, nothing's happened, nothing's been said, nothing's anything. There's been, um, contact? Physically? Not sexually. Mostly, I guess, there was a kiss, but just one. We're just sort of—look, even I don't know. If there was something to say I would've said it."

"You didn't think a kiss was worth mentioning?" Ron asked. "Must've been a really shitty kiss."

"No, it was brilliant," Harry said before he could stop himself. "But, um. Just the once. And it was weeks ago, nothing's happened since. Well—" That time he did cut himself off.

"Well what?" Hermione asked softly.

Harry's tapping increased. "Okay, well, sometimes we kiss, but not kiss. Like friendly kisses. That's still a thing, yeah? Friendly kisses? Like the French." That was utter nonsense and he was fully aware of the fact. "And I guess, y'know—what's a better word for cuddling?"

"That would be it," Hermione said. "There's not really a way around it."

"And what's this about friendly kisses?" Ron asked. "You don't kiss us and we're your friends. Are you seeing someone French, is that it?"

"No," Harry said. "It's just—like New Year's kisses, that's what. Celebratory. That was the first time, and so were the others, all celebratory. Then it was more of a good night kiss, and—"

"Good night kiss?" Ron interrupted. "It is Neville, then! Who else would you be kissing goodnight?"

"Not Neville!" Harry insisted. "I don't kiss Neville goodnight, Merlin! I don't even see him most nights."

"It's not a student, is it?" Hermione asked quietly. "Is that why you won't say who it is, because you'd get fired?"

"No," Harry said firmly. "No, definitely not."

"Wait," Ron said suddenly. "What do you mean, you don't see Neville at night? You live together, how could you not see him?"

Fuck. Had he said that? He certainly hadn't meant to. "We don't," Harry said very quietly. "Live together. Anymore."

Ron and Hermione stared at him.

"Did you get into a fight?" Ron asked. "Was the bit about the fungus a lie? Are you not speaking?"

"No, no, we're fine," Harry said hurriedly. "Everything's fine. I just, um. Moved out."

"Oh my god," Hermione breathed. "Oh, no, Harry, don't. No. It can't possibly end well. You're going to get hurt and you'll lose your apprenticeship and—"

"Snape?" Ron yelled.

"Shut up!" Harry hissed. "It's not—just shut up. It's not what you think."

"You kissed Snape?" Ron exclaimed. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

"Stop yelling," Harry said angrily. "There's nothing to end, nothing to get hurt, and I'm not losing anything. Apprenticeships are magically binding, I couldn't even if I wanted to. But really, it's nothing." Roughly speaking, that's what he'd been telling himself for the past month. Of course it was all a lie, but it wasn't as far from the truth as he would've liked. There was more than nothing, yes, but not much more. The cuddling, like he'd said, and the brief kisses that only happened some nights. There had been no repeat of the kiss by the Forest and neither of them had tried to talk about any of it. "We're close, that's all. He's been—over the years, I mean, with the Basilisk thing—we're friends."

"More than friends," Hermione corrected. "If there's kissing—and did you really say cuddling? Severus Snape cuddling?"

Harry flushed. "Uh, yeah."

"And you live together?" Hermione asked.

Harry glanced at the ceiling. "Yeah. But really, we've been since eighth year because of me being a Basilisk and all. It was for safety and convenience, and I guess we sort of got used to it."

"Stop," Ron said. "Wait. He had a spare room in his quarters? That doesn't sound like him. Not that any of this does, but I can't imagine the idea of having guests has ever so much as crossed his mind."

Harry took another large sip of his drink. "We share a room," he replied very quickly.

"A bed?" Hermione asked. "Do you share that, too?"

Harry closed his eyes. He loved his friends dearly, but he couldn't look at them, not right now. "Yes. We don't do anything, but yes."

"Merlin," Ron breathed, sounding amazed. "If you've gotten him to do that much, I think you're probably fine. Not that it's going to be easy or pleasant—nothing about him could ever be pleasant—sorry, stop giving me that face, you know what I mean—but if he's opened up to you that much, I can't imagine him pulling away."

"Ron's not wrong," Hermione said dubiously. "Generally speaking, when someone who's that buttoned up and private finally lets someone else in, they're there to stay. But Harry, really, think about it. Make sure this is what you want. We support you, of course, and we'll stand by whatever you do, but please be careful."

"Can you start at the beginning?" Ron asked. "Over break, I guess, on New Year's?"

"The beginning is probably, um, before that," Harry said. "Maybe? I don't know. Technically, our first kiss was, er, the New Year's before last, but—"

"What?" Ron yelled.

"Shut up, it wasn't anything," Harry said irritably. "If you want to understand, you have to know what it was like when he was the only one I could talk to, the only one taking care of me, working with me to help find a cure, all of that."

"Okay," Hermione replied. "Start wherever you want."

So Harry started from the beginning. They moved up to the room Ron and Hermione were staying in when the bar closed, and it was still quite some time after that before he finished. He looked at his friends expectantly.

"Well?"

"That sounds like an entirely different Snape," Ron said eventually. "Are you sure there's no Polyjuice involved?"

Harry glared at him. "Yes. Did you miss the part where he yells at me and berates me and treats me like shit most of the time?"

"I'm pretty sure holding hands negates that," Hermione said, sounding rather awed. When Harry had first said that, both of his friends had interrupted him asking if he was absolutely sure that's what had happened, as if it was possible to misunderstand holding hands.

"It doesn't," Harry said firmly. "It helps, and it's great. But he still yells. A lot."

Ron let out a huge yawn, and Hermione glanced at the clock. "Harry, I'm sorry but it's really late. We'll sleep on it and meet at Hogwarts for breakfast tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, all right," Harry said, standing and stretching. "You guys don't hate me though, right?"

"Of course not," Ron replied, surprised.

"We never will, I told you," Hermione added. "We love you. That doesn't change what time it is."

Harry smiled. "Right. See you tomorrow."

61

The walk back to Hogwarts was rather miserable. It was bitterly cold, and the sharp wind cut through his winter cloak like he was wearing nothing. It wasn't snowing, but the wind picked up the top layer of what was already on the ground and whipped small, frozen chips of iced-over snow at him. His warm blooded self was struggling valiantly to generate body heat, but the cold bloodedness was winning.

By the time he reached his rooms—and they did finally feel like his rooms, it had taken a while but he did feel at home—he was shaking uncontrollably and couldn't stop his teeth from chattering. Instead of going to bed, which sounded fantastic, he flicked his wand at the fireplace, flaring the burning embers into a roaring fire. He grabbed the throw from the couch and, still in his winter cloak and shoes, settled himself as close to the flames as he could without catching on fire. He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs, and rested his head on his knees. Maybe, if he was really lucky, he'd be able to fall asleep sitting up like this.

"Are you all right?"

Harry jerked around. Under normal circumstances he would have heard the moment Severus got out of bed, but his senses dulled when he was cold—fucking snake blood—and he had no idea Severus was in the doorway to the bedroom. In his black silk pajamas, of course.

"Yeah, fine, I'm cold," Harry said, teeth only chattering slightly. "Go back to bed, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Then perhaps you will close the door before lighting up the room like high noon," Severus replied tersely, but he didn't go back to bed.

"The door's usually closed," Harry said a little defensively.

"I left it open in the hopes you would not wake me upon your return," Severus replied, terseness slipping into irony. "Are you certain you are okay? I have never seen you so pale."

Severus noticed those things? Harry shook himself. Of course he did, they saw each other enough. It didn't take a genius to notice when his usual tan had been seared off by arctic temperatures. "I'm cold, I told you," Harry said. "It's freezing out and I'm a reptile, sort of. I don't do well in cold."

Severus walked over, sat next to him, and rested a hand on his cheek. Harry sighed, leaning into his touch, eyes slipping closed. His hand was so warm it was nearly painful, and the fire couldn't hold a candle to Severus' warmth. So to speak.

"Merlin, Harry," Severus muttered, then summoned a flask from the lab. "You should have come to me. Even more, you should not have been out so late in such weather. You have gained many strengths from your other form, but you cannot ignore the limitations. Drink this. Slowly."

Harry closed his frozen hands around the flask and sipped the liquid. It tasted like charred cinnamon and he had to fight against spitting it out or choking. It did help a little, but it clearly didn't have the effect it was supposed to. Severus took it back after a few sips, frowning as he sent it away.

"I'm fine," Harry said again. "You don't have to worry. I'll just sit here and thaw, and then I'll come to bed. Go back to sleep."

"Give me your hands," Severus said firmly. Harry didn't particularly want to, they were buried within the relative warmth of several sleeves, but he did. Severus wrapped his hands around Harry's, and again Harry sighed. It was like sticking his hands into an open flame, if that wasn't something that caused irreparable damage. There was also the slight difference that Harry was in love with these hands, and he never had nor ever would have romantic feelings towards a fire. His blood was too sluggish to make his heart race or other things take an interest, nor could he blush properly, but this might have been better than anything else they had ever done, kiss by the Forest included.

"Promise me you won't do this again," Severus demanded. "It was stupid and irresponsible. Trees and dirt insulate the Forest; the stone path back from Hogsmeade is open enough to allow the wind to pick up. If you find yourself out so late again in such weather, just spend the night at the Three Broomsticks or the Hogshead."

"Okay," Harry said. He would have agreed with anything Severus said. His hands were finally starting to warm, Severus' heat slowly sinking into him. The pain was fading too, replaced with a warmth that had nothing to do with body heat. Severus gave his hands a final squeeze before moving back to his face, cupping him with both hands and leaning their foreheads together. The sudden heat was almost like a reversed ice cream headache if ice cream headaches felt good. Harry instinctually moved forward so their cheeks were pressed together, Severus' displaced hand moving to the back of his neck.

"Why did you not at least where a scarf?" Severus asked, exasperated. "Or a hat? You lose the most heat through your head, hands, and feet, yet you leave all three exposed."

"I'm wearing shoes," Harry muttered. "I dunno, it wasn't windy when I left, and it was still light out."

"Idiot boy," Severus grumbled. "Are you any warmer?"

In fact Harry was nearly on fire. Severus was all but whispering into his ear, their faces pressed together, with Severus in his silk pajamas. There was the roaring fire, which might have something to do with it, but nowhere near as much as Severus' presence. Harry's heart was slamming around in his chest like a loose cannon, his blood was remembering how to flow properly, and he had to spend quite a bit of his mental capacities controlling his breathing.

"Has the cold frozen your brain as well?" Severus asked sarcastically.

This is what Harry had been talking about. He was still his usual caustic, derisive, difficult self. It was just that Harry didn't find him particularly difficult anymore, and it was hard to take any derision seriously when they were sitting like this.

"I can think," Harry said. He did sound kind of daft, though. Could that be chocked up to the weather? Probably not. "Wait, what did you ask?" Scratch that: completely daft.

Severus moved away, bringing both hands back to Harry's face, and looking into his eyes, presumably to make sure he hadn't actually frozen to death. "Are you warming?"

"Yeah," Harry said, tongue darting out to lick his lips. They were close. Very close. His own hands had fallen to his sides and were resting on the floor; he could probably get away with mirroring Severus' gesture, but he also might not, and he didn't want to do anything that could compromise their position.

"Is the rest of your body as cold as your extremities?" Severus asked.

Harry was busy being lost in his eyes and the feel of his hands, which had moved from flames to a warming blanket, and didn't really think through the question or answer. "Yeah, colder, my cloak's frozen and I think I got snow in my shoes."

Severus glared at him. "Why did you not say something?" he asked angrily, hands moving to the fastening on Harry's cloak and unhooking it. "Harry, Merlin, your cloak is soaking."

Harry was stuck on the fact that Severus was undressing him, even if it was just his cloak. Beneath that he had a sweater, a hooded flannel and a long sleeved shirt. He hadn't dressed that stupidly, at least not in relation to the weather. Now, as Severus pushed his cloak off his shoulders, he thought he was wearing far too many layers.

"At least your sweater is dry," Severus said, running a hand down his arm, checking the fabric. Harry shivered. "Are your fingers capable of untying your shoes, or must you subject me to such an indignity?"

Harry glared at him. "I'm fine," he snapped, toeing off his sneakers and socks, which were indeed wet. He couldn't tell if it was better without the wetness or worse without some sort of covering. He tried holding his feet, but his hands weren't much warmer, and it didn't help. "Y'know, my shoes were on for a reason, so I could keep my feet closer to the fireplace," he grumbled. "I need heat more than taking off wet clothes. Reptile, remember?"

"At this moment you are a mammal and I will treat you as such," Severus said. An aggravated, amused smile crossed his face. "Just when I thought my life could not become any stranger, you force me to say such a thing. Come on, you are going to bed."

Severus stood and held out a hand, which Harry took. He could have stood on his own—he was cold, not infirm—but he wasn't going to turn down an opportunity to hold hands. Besides, his hand was so much warmer than Harry's; it was like holding a small, controlled flame. To his intense surprise, Severus didn't let go until they reached the bed and Harry sat down, legs hanging off the edge. Severus extinguished the fire in the living room and raised the heat without the light of the fireplace in their bedroom while Harry contemplated. He could change into his pajamas, but the thought of sacrificing so many layers was miserable. He felt the bed shifting behind him, and then a hand on his shoulder.

"I believe you would be warmer underneath he blankets rather than on top of them," Severus said silkily, and Harry shivered again. "You are still shaking?"

"Uh, no," Harry managed. "No, sorry. Pajamas or not." A split second after the words were out of his mouth he realized what he had said. "My flannels or what I'm wearing now, I mean." He had to cut himself off from going on a rant about being naked because that was not appropriate.

"This question is so difficult it makes you physically shake?" Severus asked. His hand slid down Harry's shoulder and rested on his waist. Harry wondered if he had any idea, even the slightest winkling, of what he was doing.

"N—no," Harry stammered. "I guess, um, I'm still a little cold. I think—remember over break, when you magicked my clothes into my flannels?"

"Yes," Severus replied.

"Could—would you do that again? Please?" Harry asked. "I'm too cold to actually change, but I'd rather not sleep like this." Severus performed the spell and suddenly Harry really was shaking again for no reason other than being cold. He started to curl in on himself but strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him backwards, under the covers and into Severus' arms. He was flush against the other man, and that combined with the many layers of blankets and the fire was enough not to make him warm, but to give the promise of eventual warmth.

"Harry, do not do this again," Severus said again, mouth still tantalizingly close to Harry's ear. "It is not healthy, and depending on your physiology outright dangerous. Your body could slow to the point of your heart and lungs not providing enough blood and oxygen to the rest of your body."

"You're repeating yourself," Harry remarked.

"It bears repeating," Severus replied. "It would greatly displease me were you to make yourself seriously ill."

Harry laughed only a little breathlessly. "Most people would just say they care about me."

"I am not most people," Severus countered. He briefly kissed the sensitive skin just beneath Harry's ear, and Harry shivered again, pushing back against him. He wasn't doing a good job of keeping his body under control this evening. Severus remained silent for a few moments before asking, "Was that related to your temperature?"

Harry blushed darkly, and at least his cheeks were warm now, uncomfortably so. "In a manner of speaking."

Severus let out a quiet breath that Harry didn't understand. He was pulled closer, which he hadn't thought was possible. Harry grabbed his hand, squeezing tightly, an action that Severus returned. He was thrumming with electricity and potential.

"Your hands are freezing," Severus said quietly. "If you have not warmed within a half hour, I'm taking you to the infirmary."

Harry wanted to yell at him that there were plenty of ways he could be warmed up if only he did something about it. Instead he tightened his hold on Severus' hand, which wasn't nearly as satisfying. His lungs and heart were working perfectly well—his blood quite visibly doing what it was supposed to—but it wasn't like he could tell Severus that. He was warm enough there, too. Maybe all of his warmth was just drawn to his erection and that was why his hands were so cold.

"I think I might take a shower," Harry said suddenly. "To, um, warm up."

"No, you need rest," Severus replied firmly. "Too much heat too quickly after being cold is unhealthy. This is safer."

No, it really wasn't, not at all. He'd had trouble with wayward erections around Severus before, but this was significantly more than wayward. It was the silk and the caring and the heat, not to mention going over every detail of their relationship with Ron and Hermione. It was not good, that's what it was.

"Severus, I really think—"

"You do not think," Severus interrupted. "You have used up your allotment of stupidity for the night and are no longer allowed to make decisions."

Harry should have kissed him by the fire. Regardless of the consequences, he should have done something. There was definitive proof that their relationship could handle a kiss—could possibly even be helped along by a kiss—and no, it probably wouldn't help Harry's erection, would probably make it worse, but he needed something and he needed it now. He couldn't turn around and kiss him now because it would be irrevocably obvious that he was hard and that was almost certainly not okay. At the very least it was untested, and for once Harry didn't feel like testing anything. He was cold and tired and he just wanted a kiss and a long, slow, relaxing blowjob. What better time to receive his first blowjob than when he was freezing to death and Severus' mouth would undoubtedly be so hot?

He wanted to ask. He really couldn't ask. But he wanted to.

He knew he thought this a lot, but there was no way he was going to sleep tonight. He was bloody throbbing. And still freezing, especially his feet, and that was an unpleasant combination. In fact, he was starting to shake again for that very reason: trying to hold himself back from giving up and jerking himself or rutting into the mattress or fucking Severus or begging to be fucked (the possibilities were endless, listing them all didn't help) and how cold he was.

Severus let go of his hand and rubbed his arm, trying to warm him. It sort of helped with the cold and only made his other problem worse. Was there any way to stop that? A spell or a potion or something? A bloody Disillusionment charm if that's what it took? He didn't know how to do such a charm on only one part of his body or even if it was possible. Severus would know, but again, not something he could ask.

"I'll take a lukewarm shower," Harry said desperately. "You can set the temperature. I really need a shower. I'm cold and I need a shower."

"You are already warming up," Severus replied.

Was he getting warmer? Harry could barely tell. His feet were still ice blocks attached to the end of his legs, coldness radiating up his shins, and his hands were cooling down now that Severus wasn't holding them, but everything else was focused on his groin. "My feet, and my hands…"

"Turn around," Severus demanded. "Keep your hands between us and rest your feet on mine."

"No," Harry said. "No, no I'm fine. I'd just like some warm water, that's all. A good soak."

"No," Severus repeated irritably. "I am smarter than you and have more experience. Turn around."

"No," Harry said again. "I, um, pulled something, walking back, in my neck."

"Then you should have used your muscle relaxant!" Severus exclaimed. "What has stolen your intelligence so completely? Are your friends really such a bad influence? I can tell you haven't been drinking excessively. Are your feet really so very cold they have frozen your brain as well?"

"Apparently," Harry replied truthfully.

Severus muttered something under his breath, and suddenly the three or four layers of blankets sprouted an extra insulating layer, the blankets attached themselves together, and curved around and beneath them, forming a makeshift sleeping bag. It gave very little room for movement, and Harry let out a quiet whimper as the cloth brushed against him.

"Regardless of your species you still generate some body heat, as do I," Severus said. "You will be warm soon enough. Give it time. And turn around, I promise you will warm faster."

"No," Harry replied for what must have been the hundredth time. "I—I'm fine. You're right, the sleeping bag will help, I'll be fine."

"For Merlin's sake, turn around!" Severus exploded. "Are you truly so daft as to not realize my intentions?"

Harry tensed. What intentions were those exactly? He couldn't know about his erection, Harry had been very careful about that, so what was he talking about? "Um."

Severus kissed beneath kiss ear again, lingering just longer than their usual passing kisses, then his jawline, and finally his cheek. Harry was trying desperately to remain still. "Turn around," Severus said softly, lips barely brushing his ear.

Harry let out a sharp breath. "I can't."

"Why not?" Severus asked, tongue flicking out to trace the shell of his ear.

Harry whimpered again. "I just—can't." He was completely pressed against Severus, and he'd be able to feel if his feelings were reciprocated. Self-pity was starting to creep in along with coldness and lust. He thought Severus might feel the same about him, at least sort of. There was an overwhelming collection of evidence supporting the idea. On the other hand, in all of their time spent together, out all of the nights they had spent together, Harry had never once seen or felt anything. He had been looking, too, though maybe it was called hoping. It was possible he wouldn't have noticed during the day given all the layers Severus wore, but there was no way his black silk pajamas could hide anything. So yes, it seemed possible that Severus was suggesting a repeat of the kiss by the Forest, but clearly he didn't find the prospect appealing.

"I was under the impression you not only enjoyed but actively pushed for any advance in our relationship," Severus said, and the low silky velvet was starting to be replaced with the guarded hardness he so rarely used around Harry anymore.

"I do," Harry replied almost desperately. "Stay. Don't stop."

Severus nipped his earlobe, and Harry let out a quiet moan. "What, then, is the problem?" he asked quietly. Annoyed, guarded and sensual all at once.

"At least I have being cold on my side," Harry said, knowing he was walking on a knife's edge and deciding he didn't care because if Severus kicked him out, at least he could get some relief. "As an excuse for being daft, I mean. What's yours?"

Severus' fingers dug into Harry's side, no doubt due to anger and surprise. Harry let out a surprised squeak of laughter and jerked in his arms.

"No, Sev," he gasped, trying to worm away. "Don't."

Severus stilled. "Potter, are you ticklish?"

"No," Harry said firmly, still trying to get away from his hand. He had loosened his grip, but his fingers were not in a safe place. "Don't call me Potter."

"Don't call me Sev," Severus replied automatically. "My intent was to use different means to warm you, but if you refuse, it seems I have found a new weakness to exploit."

"No, don't," Harry insisted. "How d'you think people would react if I told them the great and formidable Severus Snape tickled me?"

"Brat," Severus snapped. "You wouldn't dare."

"Clearly underestimate my hatred for being tickled," Harry replied. "I'll announce it at breakfast tomorrow. Get your fingers out of my ribs."

Severus flattened his hand and moved inwards, resting on Harry's stomach. His breathing picked up and little shivers started cascading through him. "Has the threat passed?"

Harry could barely understand what he was saying. "Yeah." He licked his lips again. Why were they so dry so suddenly? Maybe he was just more aware of them. "Your hand is warm."

"Mm, and you are still cold," Severus replied, voice like honey again. Harry wasn't sure if he would prefer anger or this—seduction? Could he really call it that? If things were different, if they were actually together, the answer would be obvious, but they weren't. The idea that they could be kept trying to bloom but it was pushed down by doubt: if Severus wanted to be together, if Severus wanted him, he would feel it. He physically couldn't be closer, and he would know.

"I'm warming up," Harry mumbled, and he was, just in all the wrong ways. In fact, he couldn't be much warmer without setting the blankets on fire. The sleeping bag, rather. Whatever. The fabric that rubbed against him with every tiny movement either of them made.

There was a pause. "Harry, if I was truly mistaken about what you want, tell me now."

Harry felt like dying. His organs were curling in on themselves. His heart was clamoring at him to turn around and kiss Severus senseless, to do other things to him until they were both senseless. His brain was yelling at him to shut up and stay still and not to ruin everything. His cock—well, it was obvious enough what that wanted.

"You aren't," Harry said very quietly. "Mistaken. I—I do want. That."

Severus' hand crept down, teasing the bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. Harry's eyes slipped closed and he gasped. Was this actually happening? He could practically feel Severus' fingerprints burning into his still-frozen skin. Details like the whorls and curves of fingerprints didn't exist in dreams, right?

"Then what is the problem?" Severus asked, breathing into Harry's ear.

He couldn't remember. He was only aware of the initial question in the vaguest of ways. Severus' fingers were ghosting along just above the waistband of his flannels, occasionally trailing through the line of hair that led downwards. Harry had no idea that particular spot was so sensitive, but he shuddered every time Severus passed over it. He wasn't pushing his shirt up any farther than it had gone naturally nor dipping below the elastic band, but the potential energy was dancing across him like static electricity.

"Harry?" Severus purred, and Harry whimpered.

"Yeah?" he breathed, eyes closed, focus entirely devoted to the other man.

"Turn around."

Harry did, immediately, mindless of the consequences. Severus wanted him to do something and so he would. One of Harry's arms was trapped between them, the other resting lightly on Severus' hip. Severus' hand moved from his stomach to his back, still beneath his shirt, still the bare contact. Severus nudged Harry's cheek with his own, tilting his face up, and when their lips touched it was like an explosion and Harry instinctually moved forward, pressing against Severus and—

And remembered why he wasn't supposed to turn around.

Harry jerked away, blushing furiously, turning away and bringing his legs up to put a barrier between them, to cover what Severus had obviously felt. He was warm now, oh yes, fucking on fire, hot tears threatening to spill onto burning skin, every fiber of his being igniting with embarrassment and humiliation. He had been so close, so fucking close, and he was finally going to—

"Well?" Severus asked neutrally, anger lurking beneath the surface. "I was under the impression you wanted to be kissed. Further more, I believe I just asked if that is what you wanted. In case you had not realized this by now, I do not take such things lightly, and if I had not been absolutely positive of reciprocation, I would have left you by the fireplace."

Harry could barely breathe. He chanced a glance at Severus, who looked quite angry, none of it below the surface. "I do want it. You. I do want you," he said, utterly baffled. "I thought you—" He cringed, and looked away again. "Felt. It?"

"So what is the problem?" Severus asked through gritted teeth, clearly trying to restrain himself.

Harry gaped at him. "Um. You don't see a problem?"

Severus stared at him as though he was a complete and utter idiot. "No."

Harry was having a lot of difficulty understanding the conversation. "You, um. You want me?"

Severus gave him a look of disbelief. "What—Harry, I—of all the moronic, dimwitted—" He cut himself off and cupped Harry's check. "Yes."

And still, Harry was on the verge of tears. This was happening in the wrong order. He knew Severus hated to talk, and he would have been happy to kiss as long and as often as Severus was willing, but he couldn't do more. His body was screaming at him to let go of his stupid Gryffindor romanticism or whatever it was, but there was a little voice in the back of his head telling him that he had never gone beyond kissing and he would regret it if something wasn't said.

Then again, what was he looking for? A promise of monogamy? Harry didn't think that would be an issue. He shared a bed with Severus, he would know if he was seeing someone else. Recognition that they were together? They weren't, not in the traditional sense, but in all senses that mattered he had ample proof, physical and verbal. Commitment? That was a joke; Harry never would have thought it possible for Severus to commit, but clearly he had, he didn't need to hear that.

The obvious hit, and Harry's heart twisted. He wanted what he was never going to get, what he could never hope for, ask for, or say himself. He thought it was probably true, but he needed to hear it. He also thought it was possible that, after everything Severus had been through, he couldn't give it to Harry. Never mind the traditional sense, conceivably not in any sense. How was it only now, lying in bed together like this, that Harry finally realized Severus Snape could, in all likelihood, never be in love with him? There was a chance he'd be willing to say it, and if he did he would believe he meant it, but… But he didn't talk, he didn't give himself away, he lived behind walls, he was distant.

It wasn't like all of that hadn't been true for years, though. Harry had been with Severus in one way or another for three and a half years, and none of that had affected his feelings. Yes, sometimes Harry wished he wasn't such an arse, but he still loved him. More than anything. He was being given the opportunity to have him. Any hang-ups about official words or relationship states didn't matter, because he loved Severus. He loved him for who he was, even when that meant he was an arse.

Even if it meant sacrificing everything Harry thought he needed?

Maybe. But first he needed to at least try.

"What if I needed to talk?" Harry asked quietly.

And then Severus did something Harry would have never, ever have guessed, not in a thousand lifetimes. He could have had the Philosopher's Stone and lived a thousand immortal lifetimes and it still wouldn't have crossed his mind.

"Do you think so little of me?" Severus asked, and he was actually smiling, which might have been the strangest of all. "I know you, Harry. I know you need to talk. I will, however, leave the first sentence to you."

Harry didn't have the slightest idea how to respond. Was he just supposed to come out and say it? That he loved him? Was he honestly expecting the sentiment to be returned? Severus almost certainly knew he was a virgin. Thanks to being the Boy Who Lived nothing about his life had ever been private, and since they had been living together for so long, surely he knew. Still, though, telling him would probably be a good plan. What else, though? He had gotten so used to keeping his words to himself that he had no idea how to go about a conversation that wasn't born of fighting or catastrophe.

"What is this?" Harry blurted out. "What are we? We're a something, but is it the sort of something that means cuddling and goodnight kisses and—uh, warming up, I guess? Late night Forest kisses? I mean, I know it's those things, but other than that? I don't really know how to do this, I've never been in this sort of…" He was running out of steam, and a ridiculous smile started to spread across his face. "Yeah, I haven't been in a situation like this before. You being my Basilisk savior and all. Anyway, so no, I don't know what we are, that was my point."

"That I cannot answer," Severus replied. "In your ineloquent, bumbling manner you have already said why—such a situation is, as far as I can tell, new to this world."

Harry continued to smile. He never thought this conversation would result in smiling. He liked that, though. Out of everything that was unique about his life, which was pretty much everything, this was a good sort of unique. Even if it made talking difficult. "Okay, yeah. But, I guess—romantic? Er, we're obviously close in just about every way, but that?"

"What would that imply?" Severus asked. "A continuation of our physical relationship? Would I take you out to dinner?"

Harry laughed nervously. "Um, maybe. I think it's more of a state of mind."

Severus gave him an amused look. "Your intelligibility is astounding. But I suppose, yes, with the understanding that you have been entirely unclear and I will not be bound to rules or expectations you have failed to mention."

Harry's heart soared. He couldn't have asked for more. "Right, okay. So, um." He flushed. "I haven't—er. You know?"

Severus frowned slightly, and then his expression smoothed out, and his smile was more of a smirk that might have been a leer, but a kind, sweet leer, if that existed. "If it is, then it is."

"Oh—okay," Harry stammered. That gaze was slowly turning his insides to butter. Of course, just when he needed his wits about him the most. "One more thing?"

"Yes?" Severus asked, hand sliding from his cheek to his neck, thumb stroking along his pulse, fingers, teasing the short hairs at the back of his neck.

It made thinking very difficult. "I, um." Harry lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. "I—never mind." He leaned up for a kiss, but Severus turned away. Harry looked into his eyes, hurt.

"If we must talk, the least you can do is be honest," Severus said. "What more do you have to say?"

Harry couldn't. He needed to make up something, he couldn't say what he wanted to. It was Severus and he couldn't tell him he loved him, what on earth had he been thinking? "I was wondering if, uh—" There had to be something, some believable lie. "Well, y'know. Dinner, you said?"

Severus smiled slightly. "You would like me to take you on a date?"

Of course he would, but that wasn't the point. It was also something he would never ask of Severus; he wanted Severus, not someone who changed to be what he wanted. "No, just, I dunno. Maybe a meal outside of school? Us?"

"I fail to see how that is not a date," Severus replied. "I would not be adverse."

Goddammit no, this was going all wrong. A few minutes ago he was willing to sacrifice everything for Severus, but that was different. Severus was immovable. The idea of him changing was an affront to nature. Severus would probably like to hear that, actually. It might distract him, if Harry was lucky. "No, I want you. You don't do dates, I don't want that."

"How would you know whether I 'do' dates or not?" Severus asked. "A foolish presumption on your part. However, for now I am putting the matter aside in favor of what you actually wanted to say." Harry winced slightly, and the corner of Severus' lips turned up. "You think I cannot tell when you lie to me?"

Harry blushed again. He'd never said it to anyone before, not like this. He told Ron and Hermione he loved them, yes, and he thought he'd even said the words to Severus when they created the first working version of Vita Salvus. But not like this, not when he was in love. "You said you wanted me," Harry said quietly. "I've told you I want you, too, and that I need you. But, er, not that I—" His tongue knotted itself and his throat closed. His body was refusing to cooperate. Harry was okay with that.

A look of understanding flashed across Severus' face. "Harry, I—"

"Don't," Harry interrupted. "No, don't. Just. I thought you should know."

Severus pulled him into a kiss. A real kiss, their second real kiss. Severus took complete control, tongue dueling with and then dominating Harry's. Harry lost how to breathe, how to think, how to do anything other than be kissed. Severus felt so wonderful, his mouth moving over his. Severus traced his lips, then drew his lower lip into his mouth, nibbling gently before releasing him. Harry drew in a deep, gasping breath, the lack of air making him dizzy. Or maybe that was Severus.

"Does that answer your question?" Severus asked, voice low, eyes dark with lust and something else.

Harry had no idea. "Sure."

Severus kissed him again, briefly and sweetly. "We will talk of that later."

"Do you?" Harry asked. "Not the talk, but how you…?"

Another short kiss. "You know." Then a not-so-short kiss, hand trailing down his back, finding the bare strip of skin above his flannels and teasing. "What do you wish to happen tonight?"

Harry's heart was in his throat and it took all of his infamous Gryffindor courage to continue. He uncurled himself and pressed his body against Severus', hips included. His erection had waned slightly while they talked, but it was obvious enough. "You know," he echoed. "Just not—not all the way, okay? Later. When we talk."

Severus kissed him again, barely more than a brush of the lips. "Yes." He deepened the kiss and it occurred to Harry that he would never get used to this, the novelty would never wear off, and he would forever be utterly useless at kissing. He could, at least, show his appreciation, and he buried his hand in Severus' hair, holding them together, the silkiness against his fingers so much better than his stupid pajamas. Severus continued to dance his fingers along the bare skin of Harry's back, slowly climbing higher as he explored his mouth. Harry's breath was coming in sharp gasps and he hadn't realized he was actively pushing his hips against Severus' until he suddenly became aware of the pressure and added friction. His hips jumped forward, just enough to embarrass himself, and he broke away, tucking his head beneath Severus' chin. Harry was still breathing funnily and Severus still wasn't responding, at least not in any physical way Harry could tell.

"Harry?" Severus asked quietly. His voice was honeyed chocolate and very expensive red wine. He ran his fingers down Harry's spine, and Harry shivered.

"Mm, yeah?" Harry asked, working on keeping his hips still.

"I need you to either continue or stop now," Severus replied. "I cannot give you what you want if you are not clear with me and, in matters such as these, it is very important you are clear."

Once again, Harry had to gather all available courage in order to speak. He wondered what Godric Gryffindor would think of his namesake house using their famous courage in such a way. "You aren't—and I am, and I want to continue, but I don't think you do?" Was that clear? Maybe?

Severus laughed lowly, the sound sending shivers through Harry. "I have had many more years of controlling myself than you do. Do not take that to mean a lack of interest."

Harry forced himself to look up. There was no mistaking the lust swirling through Severus' eyes. "Okay," he said, voice small. "I want this. You, I want you. And, um." He cleared his throat. "You can stop controlling yourself, if you'd like."

Severus smiled dangerously. "As if I have a choice." He captured Harry's lips again, and Harry gave up trying not to embarrass himself. He wrapped a leg around Severus, pulling them closer, and finally Severus hummed quietly in the back of his throat; a small noise, but there, and definitely appreciative. His hand slipped below Harry's waistband, gently running his fingers along his arse, occasionally stopping to squeeze, and Harry moaned into his mouth. It felt too fucking good, he'd been waiting way too long, Severus said repeatedly he wanted this: holding back was no longer an option.

Without quite knowing how it happened, Harry found himself rolled onto his back, Severus still ravishing him. He couldn't exactly tell what was going on, whose limbs were where and how they were lying, but Severus hand had moved from his arse to his hip, still beneath his flannels. It was maddening; his hand was so close but so close didn't count, and he was starting to thrust up into nothing but he could stop, and then Severus shifted, and oh.

Harry could feel him. Long, hard and hot against his hip, the silk taking on his heat, and Harry moaned at the contact. He made an effort to move in a way that would rub against Severus as well as the air he kept trying to feel, and he didn't think it was particularly graceful, but Severus made a sort of purring noise in the back of his throat, so it didn't matter. Harry anchored his newly freed hand in Severus' hair, needing the silkiness, and, without thinking about it, trailed his other hand down his body and rested on the prominent bulge.

There was a split second of silence, and then they both moaned, Severus pushing into his hand, and Harry whimpering helplessly against his lips. Thank Merlin he hadn't thought first, there was no way he'd be able to work up the courage, but here he was, his hand on Severus' cock, albeit through a layer of silk. Severus was thrusting lightly against him, breaking the kiss so they could breathe. Harry could feel the spot of wetness on the thin fabric, and he moaned again. He probably shouldn't be getting off so much on touching Severus, especially when he wasn't technically touching him, but Merlin he'd wanted this. His cock could wait; his hands couldn't.

Quite suddenly, Harry remembered he had no idea what he was doing. For one thing he was right handed, not left. For another, he'd never touched anyone other than himself. Severus was older, he would have so much more experience, he would know exactly what Harry was lacking. Since he was Severus, he would probably berate him for it, too. He wasn't now, true. He had never looked less likely to complain than he did now, in fact. Eyes closed, lower lip drawn between his teeth, slightly flushed, thrusting, fingers digging into Harry's hip. Harry licked his lips. It shouldn't be possible for anyone to look so good. Severus certainly shouldn't be; Harry was groping him above his pajamas with his wrong hand, how could that possibly cause Severus so much pleasure?

"Severus?" Harry asked quietly.

Severus' eyes flew open, and now Harry's cock required immediate attention. His eyes were so dark, so intense, and Harry could barely breathe.

"What?" Severus breathed, voice strained.

"Am I?" Harry swallowed. "I haven't, I mean."

Severus growled lowly, and Harry moaned again. "Fucking perfect."

Harry crashed their lips together, forcing his tongue into Severus' mouth, thoroughly claiming him. In the back of his head he knew he was in control because Severus was letting him, but that only made it better. High off adrenaline, lust, and an overwhelming feel of being wanted, Harry slid his hand beneath the silk that had been taunting him for so long and wrapped his hand around Severus. It was impossible to tell who was making what noise, only that they had both needed this for far too long. Instinct took over as Harry stroked, rubbing against his slit and spreading the precome around, squeezing his head, tracing the seam just below, tightening his grip on his shaft, and back up. He had never been more connected to someone before, never felt this level of need or love or oneness. There were no nerves because there was nothing to feel nervous about; this was them, just them.

It turned out that Harry's favorite move was also Severus'. The first time it elicited a deep groan, the second time his hips snapped forward and Harry inadvertently tightened his grip, causing another groan, and the third time he came. Severus stilled, then surged forward, moaning Harry's name. Harry could barely remember to continue what he was doing; he had never been so aroused in his life, and he wasn't the one spilling onto his hand, moving in tiny, jerky thrusts, fingers digging into his hip so hard it was going to bruise.

Gradually Severus slowed, and muttered a quiet cleaning spell. The last thing Harry wanted to do was stop touching him; he was hard, silken velvet, only now he was really more soft, silken velvet. Harry gave him one last, slow stroke, and took his hand back. It was only then that he realized he was shaking, and his nerves were trembling, and his heart was pounding, and he was petrified. What was he supposed to do now? What came next?

The answer was another one of those surprisingly sweet moments Harry never expected, and probably never would. Severus cupped his cheek and kissed him gently, first just pressing their lips together and then slowly, gently sliding his tongue along Harry's. It didn't exactly calm his anxiety but he could relax, a little, and kiss Severus back. He didn't register any escalation but suddenly he was moaning and thrusting up, once again trying to find friction in air. Why wasn't Severus touching him? Had he done something wrong?

"Severus," he gasped, pulling back just slightly. "Sev, what—?"

"Shh," Severus said quietly, kissing his way down Harry's neck. He nipped gently on his pulse point, and Harry gasped.

"But what—?"

"Harry, shut up," Severus interrupted sharply.

Harry thought that was a good idea, especially because Severus had sat up and hooked his fingers into Harry's flannels and was slowly lowering them. Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't—this couldn't be happening. His erection sprang free, he stopped breathing, and Severus let out a quiet hiss. Harry squeezed his eyes closed. They were already closed, but he closed them more. Severus was the most judgmental person he knew, and he was being appraised in the most intimate way possible. His bottoms were around his knees and nothing was happening and that couldn't mean anything good.

Harry was about to say something, or at least open his eyes, when all thought was driven out of his mind. Warm breath on him and then he was engulfed in hot wetness, and the suction was incredible, and he screamed, arching up. Severus' tongue was everywhere, swirling and tracing patterns, and he was gently squeezing Harry's sac, rubbing and teasing, his other hand sliding backwards and Harry thought, way in the back of his mind, he might know what was going to happen. Nothing mattered because Severus was taking more and more of him into his mouth and there was a strange but not unwelcome pressure on his hole, and then he was sliding into Severus' throat and he was screaming again, and the pressure was now a slight stretching and it still didn't matter because Severus hummed.

Then everything mattered. Severus brushed against something and Harry didn't scream but shriek, and Severus swallowed around him. He pulled off so just his head was in his mouth, sucked and rubbed again, and Harry lost everything. He had never come so hard before; everything he was turned to light before exploding, pleasure shooting out to his fingertips and toes, his heart screaming as loud as his voice. And it was Severus, always Severus, only Severus.

Harry collapsed back onto the bed, breathing in great, tearing gasps, forcing his fingers to uncurl from the blankets. He was vaguely aware of Severus redressing him, much more aware of when he came back up, pulled Harry into his arms, and gave him a long, loving kiss. Harry curled around him before completely losing the ability to move.

"Are you warm?" Severus asked, and for some reason it sounded like he was teasing, and Harry hadn't the slightest idea why.

"Course," he muttered, closing his eyes on the way to sleep. "Why?"

Severus laughed quietly. "You were cold, do you not remember? A foolish, ill-fated return from Hogsmeade?"

Oh, that was right. "Yeah," Harry said. "Mhm, warm. I love you."

There was a pause. "Is it later already?" Severus asked, and it was only then that Harry remembered he wasn't supposed to say that.

He wasn't falling asleep anymore. "Um. Yes?"

Severus brushed his fringe off his forehead and gave him a chaste kiss. "If you say so."

Harry's heart was hammering again. "So you don't, then?"

"You are incredibly stupid, Harry," Severus replied. "I refuse to dignify such a statement. Go to sleep; clearly you are fit for nothing more."

Harry's heart stopped this time, and the extremes were starting to hurt. Unless, of course, it was Severus who was tearing his heart to pieces. "You—do?"

"Sleep," Severus insisted firmly. "I told you, we will talk later."

"It is later," Harry replied, his afterglow mixing unpleasantly with fury and frustration at Severus' incapability of answering a simple yes or no question. "It's later and I told you. I start everything, I always take the first step, so just tell me. One way or another, tell me."

"In the middle of a fight?" Severus asked. "After your first time?"

"We wouldn't be fighting if you'd just answer," Harry replied angrily. "And yes, after. Before, really, but I already knew, so waiting to hear the words was okay then. It's not now. Tell me."

"You would not rather until I feel the time is right?" Severus asked irritably. "Are you so impatient?"

"Yes!" Harry yelled, trying to hide the hurt and fear behind anger. "Look, if you don't love me then tell me that, but I need you to answer me."

"Impertinent brat," Severus muttered. "You know I do. What is the point in dragging the words out of me by force? How does that satisfy your need better than a heartfelt declaration?"

"Because you don't do heartfelt declarations!" Harry exclaimed. "Either I'm going to yell at you until you give in or it's never going to happen. Here, I'll give you the perfect opening: Severus, I'm in love with you." His heart was slamming in his ears and he was worried he wouldn't be able to hear the reply one way or another. Then he was roughly turned and pulled into an almost violent kiss. He matched Severus' anger and passion for a moment before jerking away, breath uneven once again. "Well?" he demanded.

"I love you," Severus spat, looking and sounding furious. "You are impossibly difficult and I would put up with you for nothing less."

"Fine," Harry said, thrumming with anger and love and excitement and residual lust and, less romantically, muscles shaking with exhaustion. If the cold wasn't bad enough, he had to have an earth-shattering orgasm as well. "Thank you. Good night." He settled back into Severus' arms, who didn't give him time to worry whether or not he would be welcome; Harry was immediately held almost painfully tightly, and Severus twined their fingers together with a crushing force.

"You make so many assumptions," Severus said, anger starting to seep away. "I do not go out on dates, I do not make heartfelt declarations. I certainly would not if I weren't in, how did you phrase it? A romantic state of mind?" He sniffed scornfully. "I have said it so many times, and somehow it will never be enough: you are an idiot."

"You're a stubborn arse who only thinks about himself," Harry replied, though his heart wasn't in it. It just hit him that Severus actually said that he loved him. Said it. With words. "I only assume what you give me reason to think."

"Then you are more of an idiot than I thought," Severus countered. "Did you truly not believe I love you?"

Harry's heart jumped. "N—no, I thought you did," he stammered, then firmed himself. "But it's exactly that. I need to hear things. That's not an unreasonable request, Severus, for you to tell me that."

"Just shut up," Severus said. He kissed his forehead again. "Sleep."

"Fine, but only because I'm tired," Harry replied stubbornly. He yawned, then settled further into his arms. "That was—before the fighting, I mean—the most—"

"Shh," Severus interrupted, squeezing his hand. "That is not something you can clarify with words."

Harry nodded sleepily. "You're right. But," he added quickly, "I'm right about the other thing."

"Most relevant, I am right about how late it is, the work you missed tonight, and the friends you are entertaining tomorrow," Severus said. "Go to sleep."

"You always need to have the last word," Harry muttered, though he couldn't argue with any of Severus' points.

"Good night, Harry."

Harry wisely decided to let it go. He had what he wanted—more than he could ever possibly want, in fact—and he needed to fall asleep before the reality of what just happened sunk in, otherwise he'd be up all night.

Then again, he was in Severus' arms, so he was asleep a few moments later.