Tempus Fugit Praeterhãc

Chapter 3 - In which Severus gets told a thing or two and feels a bit sorry.


Severus applied the antiseptic salve three more times to the boy’s anus before he felt it was healed. He really had torn him quite badly and Severus was determined that the boy would not be hurt this time, and by the next evening he had indeed healed.

Severus had made him bathe first. He wanted the boy nice and clean, especially his feet. The thought of nibbling those juicy little toes had been teasing him all day. He sat and finished his dinner whilst he watched the boy stand in a large earthenware bowl in the courtyard and wash himself. There was an olive tree in the centre of the garden and at this time of day the corner in which Potter stood bathing was dappled in shade. Severus was fascinated by the play of light against the boy’s skin, enthralled by the peculiar positions that he got himself into as he tried to wash. When Potter stood on one leg to start on his feet, Severus could stand it no-longer. He stood and, cheerfully abandoning his empty plate, he strode out of the room and over to the boy.

Potter jumped. He had seemingly been so engrossed in what he was doing that he hadn’t noticed Severus watching him or coming up to him either. “Let me see how good a job you have done,” he said.

“I’ve been washing myself all my life, Pro…er Domine.”

“I don’t care about that. But if any bits of you are going in my mouth, I want them clean. Show me your feet.”

Potter’s eyes grew wide again, he was such an expressive young man. He looked at Severus as if he had gone mad, but he complied easily enough and lifted up those slim feet, each in turn for Severus to see. Severus licked his lips; the boy was totally delicious in his innate beauty, his unselfconscious nakedness and his easy submission.

Severus had to send a silent thank you to whoever created boarding schools – places which encouraged their inhabitants to shrug off their modesty, spending all of their formative years in close company as they did and, of course, the unquestioning obedience that was drummed into them from an early age. Not that Potter was usually very good at the obedience part, but here, in this strange place, he seemed willing to comply with most of Severus’ requests.


He picked up the rather threadbare blanket that Potter was using as a towel and handed it to him.

“Dry yourself, but don’t get out of the water.”

Potter took the towel and did as he was asked, then he let out a surprised squeak as Severus swept the boy into his arms and carried him, unresisting, through to his bedroom.

He had already enlarged the bed just in case the boy wanted to stay afterwards, and Severus was sure that he would want to. He thought that half the hurt that the boy had felt was because Severus had kicked him out of bed the other night, not because of the bruises or the bites or the fact that he had fucked him so hard, and wasn’t that interesting? He wasn’t kicking the boy out tonight that was certain, if Potter chose to leave then that was fine, but Severus would not request it.

Severus had cursed the spell that had thrown them backwards through time on several occasions, but he would not have missed this evening for anything; he would never have had this opportunity in his own time. Whether this ever happened again or not, Severus was going to enjoy every moment of tonight and he was going to ensure that the boy enjoyed it too.

Potter displayed less nervousness on this occasion in many ways. He didn’t try to hide his cock, merely laying back and letting Severus look his fill, and he didn’t seem to mind the small nibbles that Severus could not resist giving that succulent flesh either. He tried to reciprocate, tasting Severus’ flesh in his turn. Severus licked and nibbled the boy’s nipples, careful this time not to leave bruises or break the skin. He placed a line of tiny kisses down his abdomen, along the furry happy trail and down towards the boy’s cock.

When Severus licked the tip, tasting the slightly bitter pre-come, Potter arched off the bed and moaned low and long. The boy was so supple. Severus had placed one neat foot in his lap loving the sensation as it curled and arched against his cock. Finally he could take it no longer he took the other little foot in his hand and brought it to his mouth, drying the still damp skin with his tongue and delicately nibbling the toes.

Potter threw his head back and moaned. Severus smirked to himself and sucked some of those pert little digits into his mouth. The foot that was trapped between Severus legs reacted too; it curled in reflex, brushing against Severus’ cock and Severus whimpered this time, too. The boy’s feet were as mobile and as supple as the rest of him. He could have a lot of fun with them and Potter did not seem to object to Severus’ foot fetish. He smiled to himself as he saw the feet bound tightly unable to move or teased and tickled for hours. Perhaps he could teach the boy to bring him off with his feet alone?

He moaned again and bit down gently on another one of Potter’s toes.

He was determined to take more care of the boy on this occasion, telling himself, very firmly, that although this was Potter that he was fucking it, would be good to treat the boy well. That way it was more than likely they could keep on having sex. Severus could freely admit that he was going to enjoy having sex with Potter again, and often if the boy would permit it. The green eyed youth was everything that he liked in a partner. He was smaller than Severus, dark and slim, so slim that his stomach was almost concave when the boy lay back against the bed, so slim that his hip bones peaked sharply from his milky flesh. He was passionate, responsive and eager to learn and his eyes were stunning beyond belief. They were multifaceted like highly polished emeralds and they showed every emotion. The boy was so open it was no wonder that he had failed miserably at Occlumency. As a lover, he was just perfect in every way. Severus had been given a second chance and he was not going to turn such a gift away again.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he kissed and teased and caressed the boy, loving each tiny sound he forced Potter to make and how the boy leaned into every touch, every caress and begged very prettily for more. This time he laid the boy on his back to breach him, his sweet little arse raised on soft cushions that he had conjured earlier when he had enlarged the bed. Gently he inserted a finger again to prepare the boy and Potter flinched. Severus felt another pang of guilt. The boy had flinched because of what Severus had done, yet he made no move to stop him; instead he opened those green eyes and looked steadily at him.

“I will not hurt you this time, Harry,” he promised. Potter gave him an almost imperceptible nod, closed those glorious eyes and lay back, leaving himself totally open to Severus.

When Severus breached the tight ring of muscle Potter arched into him, calling out plaintively. Somehow he had wrapped his legs around Severus waist, and, perhaps deciding that Severus was being too tentative, he impaled himself further on Severus’ cock. At last Severus was pounding into the boy again, but not so hard this time and on this occasion, he aimed at the boy’s prostate from the start, determined to make good his promise.

Potter’s begging intensified and Severus reached down to gently pull the boy’s engorged cock. The begging turned into a scream and the tight muscles in the boy’s channel started to contract, wresting Severus’ orgasm from him.

Severus pulled out carefully and sagged down beside the boy, he used a charm to clean them both. Potter shivered and Severus pulled him close, wrapping a blanket around them both.

“Wow! Wow!” the young man said sounding awed. “That was amazing, just so amazing. Thank you. Sir.” The green eyes were somnolent with pleasure, his lips curved in a self satisfied smile. “WOW!”

He wrinkled his forehead as a thought occurred to him, Severus firmly decided that the boy did not look adorable and he did not want to kiss that sweet little wrinkle.

“What was that thing inside me? It was like flashes of lightning whenever you touched it?”

“That was your prostate,” Severus told him.

“What’s a prostrate?” Potter asked, still looking confused.

The boy was woefully ignorant. But whereas normally Severus would scoff at him for his lack of knowledge, this time he recognised it for the gift it was. His young lover was both innocent and eager, he responded beautifully to whatever Severus had shown him so far. Severus could mould him anyway he wished, make him into the perfect lover, and here in Rome that was fine. Boys were sold all the time as catamites. Potter was just doing what everyone expected him to do, serve his master in every way.

Severus smiled to himself again and began to explain what a prostate was.

He explained other things to Potter, too: things they might share together on future occassions, and describing things he could teach the boy to do. The young man listened silently, seemingly unshocked by any of Severus suggestions. He just lay there, one slim leg draped over Severus. Long, gentle fingers played with Severus’ nipple until, finally, exhaustion overtook him. He buried his head against Severus’ torso and promptly fell asleep.

Severus peered down at him. The tousled head was resting on Severus’ chest with the fringe dampened from his exertions, exposing his scar. The boy’s smooth cheeks were tinged with pink, his lips parted slightly and Severus told himself very firmly that he did not feel any tenderness towards Harry James Potter at all.


*********


They had been in Rome for six whole months and Severus felt that his research had come to a standstill. In many ways he felt strangely settled, there were no late night summonses to a crazed madman; no odious children to teach. His life was safe and surprisingly comfortable. In bed, things were going well between Potter and himself. The boy was apparently open to trying anything at least once; he did whatever Severus’ told him and was even beginning to make some suggestions of his own. He slept in Severus’ bed almost every night cuddling him, and Severus couldn’t help the fact that he quite liked it, even though he would crawl over broken glass before he would ever admit that out loud. Potter had proved to be passionate, obedient and enthusiastic; however, Severus was quick to remind himself that he could not stand the boy any better now than he could before.

The young man was lazy for a start. He never did anything useful as far as Severus could see, merely pootled about the shop for a bit every day and then toddled off to Modia’s home to get their food every evening.

But tonight, for a change, he would have to feed himself. Severus and Modia were going to the tavern to eat. Modia had her eye on the widower Thomas, who owned the tavern, as a future husband and she had asked Severus’ help in approaching him. Severus had grown quite fond of the feisty matron in the six months since their arrival. She had helped them when she hadn’t needed to and continued to help them since. Severus was under no illusions that many of the relative luxuries that they now enjoyed were thanks to the support and help of her youngest son and daughter-in-law. She sent them over often and he was sure they were responsible for the well-stocked store-room and shop and the apparently thriving garden.

Over the past few months, Severus had learned a lot about Modia. She had once been a slave herself and all her children had been born in slavery. Her eldest son had been a gladiator and had been grievously injured in the arena, mauled by a savage wolf. He had gone on to work as a trainer himself. The next son worked with the sort of beasts that had so wounded her eldest child, and her third son was a scribe, owned by a Roman Senator who was a friend of her erstwhile master. Her greatest stroke of luck, she had once told Severus, had been when she had given birth to twin boys.

Considered lucky in a city that was supposedly founded by twins, they had been the eventual reason for her family’s freedom. Her master, Gaius Iulius Nocens, had been so delighted by their birth that he had taken them into his personal service at age twelve, once they had both successfully survived the very real dangers of a Roman childhood. As a ‘thank you’ to Modia for giving him this prize, and with somewhat uncharacteristic generosity, he had freed Modia and her remaining two children.

Of course under Roman law the little family still owed their patron loyalty and payment from the thriving business that Modia had created; so, in reality, Gaius Iulius had actually gained a lot more than he might have lost by freeing them. Meanwhile the twins served as valets to Gaius and his son, the somewhat vapid and weak Devis.

But Modia still had to care for an eleven-year-old daughter, Virginia, for whom she was building a dowry and a seventeen-year-old son, Rufus, whom she seemed to adore. Rufus would be forever silent. He had lost his tongue for cheeking Devis Iulius when he had been just ten and was not in the slightest bit simple, which is what Severus had suspected initially. He had been taught to read and write by a local scribe and currently did Modia’s accounts. The boy was apparently very able with numbers, at least according to Modia, and was proving popular amongst their neighbours for his accountancy skills.

Severus, of course, did their own accounts, which were quite remarkably healthy. They had far more money coming in than Severus had spent, excepting the initial purchase of their home.

The father of Modia’s children had died several years before, just after earning his freedom, but with a loan from her master she had set up shop to sell Iulian wines and now had a thriving business. She was much admired for her financial acumen, her fine family and had more than paid her erstwhile master back, Severus was certain.

Sixteen-year-old Hermia had lost her first child, Modia’s first free-born grandchild, to disease just the year before, but the girl was apparently pregnant again, hence the official reason for tonight’s celebration. Severus promised himself that he would do everything he could to help ensure the child’s survival.

Severus left Potter in the shop as he departed for his dinner engagement. He found himself in a particularly bad mood for which, he decided, Potter was the cause, and yet he couldn’t figure why he was so annoyed with the boy. Especially after the rather spectacular oral sex session the young man had delivered earlier that day. He truly had proved to have a talented mouth and always seemed ready to oblige.

But Severus could not help himself, he resented Potter. He supposed it was because the brat had always had everything handed to him easily; he had never known suffering as Modia’s family had. Severus didn’t count the possible neglect that Albus insisted the boy had endured at his relatives as suffering. He thought that if he had been the one to raise him, he would have done a lot more than made him do chores and forbid the occasional sweet treat.

So, it was with some considerable satisfaction that Severus delivered his collected cauldrons to the boy to have them washed. He had not bothered to bring them through for several days now and the accumulated, dried on potions would take a lot of work to remove. Potter would not be sloping off tonight; Severus thought grimly that the lazy young man would spend the evening scrubbing away instead.

“Get at least some of these clean for tomorrow,” he told a sullen boy, before leaving to meet Modia at the top of the alley. “I want to see them shining.”

Severus was particularly pleased with his cauldrons, he had found a blacksmith who had made them exactly to his specifications. It had been costly, but they seemed to be bringing in a decent income as Severus’ potions appeared to be selling well. His pots did need to be taken care of though, as he did not want to have to replace them, however reasonable they had been to purchase. He really should soak them daily, but then he had Potter to keep them clean and Severus thought that a bit of hard work could only do the boy good.

Modia greeted him with a smile. She was wearing what looked like a new stola in a pale yellow colour which rather suited her complexion and dark auburn hair. She actually giggled when Severus told her that he thought she looked nice and linked her arm in his. If Severus had not known that Modia had decided to develop a partnership with the tavern keeper, he might have thought her interested in him in view of her obvious attentions, but he supposed that she spent a lot of time working very hard and perhaps she just enjoyed a little flirting now and then.

The tavern was dark and somewhat gloomy but Thomas came scuttling over as soon as they walked in. The business community in the small network of alleys in which they had settled was tight-knit and close, Severus felt rather touched that they had included him so readily (even if they did take far too much interest in his sex life from time to time).

“Evening Modia. Evening Severus.” Thomas said cheerfully. “How are the two of you tonight?”

“We’re both fine,” Severus told him. “I am escorting Modia because she has a proposal for you and she has asked me to speak on her behalf.”

Thomas smiled, and his rather dull brown eyes, lit up, making him look rather joyful. Severus suspected that he already knew exactly what Modia’s proposal might be, but it would not be seemly for the matron to approach him herself. She did not have an older, free male relative to speak for her and whilst she could have asked Gaius Iuius to initiate discussions, Severus could not imagine the patrician Nocens coming into this low tavern for any reason. If Modia wanted anything from her patron she had to make the journey across Rome to his villa to wait in line behind all the other petitioners. She should not have to put up with such nonsense as she worked hard enough as it was, Severus thought protectively.

Severus had only seen Nocens once himself, at a distance, in the forum. Modia had pointed him out, wrapped in a pure white toga, the pale hair that distinguished the Iulian family had been unfashionably long. His son, an insipid copy of his father, was often seen in the alleyways, with whichever one of Modia’s twins that belonged to him in tow.

Thomas had pulled up a chair.

“Apisus!” he shouted, calling the slave who worked in the tavern over to the table. “APISUS!” The boy in question was being pinned to a wall by a drunken centurion who seemed determined to have a good grope of the slave’s genitals before he released him to do his master’s bidding. He was dishevelled and panting when he finally made it over to their table, only to receive a swift cuff for not coming quickly enough. “Sorry, Domine,” the child said, breathlessly.“Sorry.”

“Stop your whining, boy!” Thomas snarled. “Just fetch a flagon of me best wine and some stew for us all.” He aimed a swift kick at the slave’s skinny backside, sending him sprawling to the ground as desperately hurried to do as he had been told.

“You are too hard on that slave, Thomas,” Modia said firmly. Severus suspected that she might have a soft spot for the boy, with his pale skin and dark auburn hair, he could easily pass as one of her own children. He was gawky and skinny with ice blue eyes and a smattering of freckles on his nose. Severus thought he was probably about fourteen or so.

“Nah, he needs a bit of bashing about to keep him working; he’s a lazy sod. Not like your Harry, Severus, now there’s a hard worker. He’s a pretty little thing, too, not like that scrawny lump! I wouldn’t mind Harry dancing on my cock!”

Severus cringed. Personally, he couldn’t see what on earth Modia saw in the man, but rather suspected it had more to do with the tavern than any hidden charms that Thomas might have.

“If you ever want to sell him, I’ll give you a good price. He would definitely go down well with my customers and I bet he keeps your bed lovely and warm at night.”

“Yes, well, he has his uses,” Severus said stiffly. Annoying as Potter might be, he did not feel comfortable discussing him as if he were some sort of commodity.

Returning to the table, Apisus was struggling to carry three plates and a small amphora. The boy was shaking so much that he managed to slop some of the thick gravy onto the table-top, suffering yet another smack for his clumsiness.

Severus sneered, “Do you have to keep hitting him, Thomas? You’ll give him brain damage.”

“Nobody would notice if he did get damaged,” Thomas grumbled. “He’s crazy anyway, stupid slut! Now if I had your Harry, I wouldn’t have to smack him about and I’d make the customers pay a nice penny for his arse, alright.”

“Thank you, Thomas,” Severus said coolly, “but as I have already pointed out, Harry’s arse is not for sale; it belongs to me.”

Thomas grumbled a little but soon cheered up when Modia, obviously satisfied with Severus’ introduction, began discussing her suggestions for a possible marriage between them.

Later, after several glasses of wine, and a little giddy with the success of negotiations, Modia became quite giggly as Thomas headed off to deal with his customers.

Poor Apisus was being dragged off into a back room by a large man who had grabbed his arm roughly and was shaking him like a recalcitrant puppy.

“That’ll stop,” Modia said, nodding her head in the boy’s direction. “I don’t hold with that either. He is really cruel to that boy. I don’t know if I’ll keep him on when I move in, but I won’t let him be treated like that. I suppose we’ll need someone to help me wait on tables. I’d rather buy a good cook, though, ‘cause I don’t think that stew was very good.” She looked at Severus quite keenly then. “I don’t suppose you would sell your Harry to me; would you, Severus?”

Severus gave her a hard stare. “What is it this evening, Modia? Why are you after Harry? It is not as if he is of much use to anyone but me, and you are a tremendous cook!”

Modia shook her head. “Do you know something, Severus? I don’t think that you are much better with Harry than Thomas is with his boy.”

“I beg your pardon?” Severus huffed. He felt rather insulted at the comparison, especially having watched the inn keeper bash his poor slave around all evening and whore him out to customers.

“That young man works so hard for you!” Modia said sharply. “He is up well before first hour, firing up the oven, works hard all day, cooks for you, cleans for you; he has made that place you bought into a right nice little home.”

“Potter cooks?” Severus asked, astonished. “But I thought you were the one who did that?”

His companion peered quite hard at Severus, leaving him feeling like he should squirm under her disapproving gaze. “You really don’t know, do you? I don’t cook well, Severus. Don’t you remember the food from your first few days with us? It is your Harry that cooks for us all. He brings our dinner over every night.”

Severus didn’t know what to say to that; he couldn’t quite believe what Modia was saying. He had rarely eaten as well in his life as he did here, even at Hogwarts, and Potter had been the one making all those wonderful meals?

“But you have done so much for us,” he finally said.

“No, we haven’t, Severus. Rufus spares maybe an hour or so now and then, Hermia less than that. It’s Harry as does all the work. That’s why people are interested in him, that and the fact that he is so pretty. It doesn’t often go together, you know. Slaves as attractive as Harry get showered with presents and end up as some senator’s plaything. They sure as Vesta, don’t work as hard as he does, and with no complaints, either.

“If Thomas owned him, he’d at least give him some pennies now and then so he could treat himself. You’ve never bought him anything have you? It is shameful the way you dress him in rags like some street child.”

Severus had to admit that he hadn’t actually bought the boy anything – was he dressed in rags?

“And you are forever shouting at him in that heathen language of yours. ‘Fetch this Pota’, ‘get that, Pota’. It means slave doesn’t it? I think that tonight is the first time that I have ever even heard you call him Harry.

“He deserves to hear his name, Severus, and he has earned the odd reward – a decent tunic for a start, one that actually fits him. That’s why you keep getting offers for him, ‘cause people think you don’t want him. If you do want to keep him then you shouldn’t treat him the way you do.

“I know, believe me, I know what it is to be like Harry. I have been a slave and there are lots of ways of wearing someone down and you’re doing just that to the poor lad. Mark my words, Severus, if you continue as you are, you will come to regret it. You could go to a hundred markets and buy any number of slaves and you wouldn’t get another Harry. Harry doesn’t lie or steal, he is friendly and respectful, not mention hardworking and very, very decorative; and that is why everyone wants him. He is a good boy and he deserves to be looked after.”

“I do look after him!” Severus exclaimed. “And I would never hurt him.”

“Oh, no?” Modia snorted indignantly. “I have often seen that boy covered in bruises or limping as he goes to market. You have no right to complain about Thomas, Severus, when at least he has some valid reasons for treating Apisus the way he does. The boy is not very bright to begin with and on top of that he is forever trying to hide or get out of work; however, you can’t say anything like that about your Harry.

“I am really fond of you, Severus, I think you are a very fine man and a good apothecary. But even if the wine hadn’t loosened my tongue tonight, I would have said something to you soon, anyway. It is too close to us, you see, we have been slaves ourselves and somehow managed to be freed, but there is always the chance we might have to sell ourselves or our children again some day. Decent people treat their slaves well. It’s Patricians who don’t, but we aren’t Patrician, Severus; you treat that boy badly and you should be ashamed. And don’t you worry about Apisus, I’ll take care of the way Thomas treats his boy, as well, just as soon as I marry him.” She ended her diatribe at Severus with a smug smile that promised no good for the hapless Thomas.

Severus, his mind in a whirl, had nothing to say in response. He was sure that Modia would sort Thomas out, she had certainly sorted him out. Whilst Severus was fond of Modia, he had felt superior to her. She had little education, she could barely read, had no magic whatsoever, and yet tonight she had made Severus feel very humble and unworthy.

Had he been that wrong about Potter?

They stayed for several more hours whilst Thomas and Modia discussed future plans and then slowly they made their way back home. Modia didn’t mention the boy again, she was full of her plans instead. But Severus could not forget her words, they settled deep inside him, cold and unforgiving and wouldn’t quite leave him alone.

Potter had left several candles burning so Severus could easily find his way to bed, not that he really needed the light as there was a very bright moon. In any case, Severus wasn’t ready to sleep yet, he had much to think about.

Ever since they had arrived Severus had assumed that Potter did very little. Every night he had watched the young man traipse around the corner with a capacious terracotta pot, assuming that he was fetching food from Modia’s. Was it the other way around? Were those delicious cinnamon buns that Severus loved for breakfast each day made by the boy and not by Modia as he had assumed?

In the moonlight, Severus wandered around the collection of rooms that they had been living in for the past six months. He thought of when they had first come here, how dirty it had been, how shabby. The peristyle courtyard which had been piled with rubble and rubbish was now a lush garden, full of herbs and twined with honeysuckle, shaded in the daytime by the olive tree. It had obviously been a garden before, because some of the plants were too old to have been planted by Potter, but had it been the boy who cleared away the debris and rescued the plants? Surely not?

It wasn’t only the shop that had been cleared and sorted, every room, every part of their little dwelling was the same, clean, tidy, ordered. Was Potter responsible for it all?

The young man was asleep. Severus hadn’t thought much about where he slept on the nights that he wasn’t in Severus’ bed, but now he knew. It was an alcove in the smallest back room, on an old wooden pallet had been covered with a mattress that seemed to be made of straw. All that was visible of the boy, who was snuggled under his threadbare blanket, was a wild patch of hair and one delectable foot.

Severus leaned against the door jamb and watched him sleep for a while. He whimpered and cried softly, muttering inaudible pleas, just like the time that he had been concussed and had remained unconscious for several days. He never did that when he slept with Severus. Was it possible he had frequent bad dreams and was that one of the reasons he liked to sleep in Severus’ bed?

Potter’s ‘bedroom’ seemed to be some kind of storage facility. He could see some clean sheets, piles of empty baskets and a stack of terracotta bowls. Apart from the sleeping boy, the small room was empty of anything that could belong to Potter excepting two folded tunics and a pair of rather battered sandals, which had a torn strap and were full of holes. Severus remembered he still had the boy’s rucksack hidden and it contained all his personal possessions; and, as Modia had so blatantly pointed out, he had not given Potter any money with which to purchase more.

He slowly made his way back to his own room. How different it was in there. Severus had enlarged the bed and had sheets and a quilt made. He had several pairs of sandals and belts and various other bits of paraphernalia. He had justified his purchases by pointing out to himself that he had worked hard and made enough money to earn a little comfort, not to mention that as a citizen and shop owner he had a certain status to maintain; however, the money had been Potter’s initially. The coins that the boy had stuffed away in his battered rucksack were what had bought them this relatively comfortable existence, and Severus had forgotten that.

But despite what Modia had told him, Severus still could not believe that Potter worked so hard, surely he had help? Surely he couldn’t have been that wrong?

The rucksack was still in the carved wooden chest that Severus kept his private things in. Potter’s cloak was in there, if he used it he would know for certain what the boy was doing. Although deep down, he suspected he had known as soon as Modia had spoken, that he had been treating the boy shamefully. He ran his fingers over the chest. He had found it at the market one day, not long after they had arrived. Potter had carried it back for him and Severus had locked the chest with a spell, insuring the boy could not open it as he had no wand.

Severus felt chilled. Harry Potter had not had access to his wand in all the time that they had been here. He hadn’t trusted the boy, it was true, but he had denied him his magic. Taking away someone’s magic was the worst thing that anyone could do to a wizard and yet had done it to Potter without even a second thought.

Severus felt worse and worse.

He opened the trunk and rummaged around until he found the wands, then he lay them side by side on the bed and beside them he placed the boy’s invisibility cloak and the book that he had put away all those months ago and promptly forgotten. He had never even looked inside it.

Slowly he lifted the cover and then he gasped. He hadn’t known what to expect when he opened the book, but it certainly hadn’t been this. It was a photograph album and on the first page, cradling a small, giggling, black-haired baby, was Lily Potter.

Severus looked at the book for what seemed like hours, picture after picture showing Lily and James and their friends. One or two showed Harry with his parents, so few in a book so full of pictures.

Examining the pictures of a young James Potter, Severus felt more and more chilled as he realised at last, comparing Harry with his father, that it was never really the boy that he had hated. He had been hating a phantom, a ghost, not much older than Harry was now. The face that had haunted him wasn’t Harry’s. There was undoubtedly a superficial resemblance right enough, but that was all.


Harry was smaller than James for a start. Much smaller. His features were actually much more like Lily’s. It was the dark hair and the glasses that really made them look alike, but Harry hadn’t worn glasses for months and James’ hair was artfully tousled. There was definitely nothing artful about Harry. A slight smile passed over Serverus’ face at the thought, but in the next instance it vanished to be replaced with a grimace of pain. Oh, Circe! What had he done?

***************

Severus usually slept with his door shut, but tonight he had left it open. He heard a noise and cracked an eye noticing the sun had risen yet. Early as it was someone was moving about. Severus popped the wands and the album back in the chest and threw on the invisibility cloak. It shimmered around him like liquid silver. Slowly he stood, the fabric felt silky against his skin. Severus had been able to Disillusion himself for a good many years, but there was something about the illicit thrill of wearing James Potter’s invisibility cloak that sent a shiver down his spine.

He was using it to spy on James Potter’s son.

He felt another wave of guilt and had to firmly tamp it down again. He had to know whether Modia was right, whether Potter really had done all this, whether Potter really was working as hard as she said. He had to know the truth, for once and for all.

It was quite chilly this early, before the sun was up. The boy was pouring some water into the bowl that he kept for washing. He had the blanket that he slept in wrapped around him. Slowly he dropped it so that it pooled around his ankles on the paving and he knelt over the bowl.

Severus gasped. He looked so beautiful, so ethereal in the half light that Severus almost couldn’t breathe. He wanted to go over to the boy and take him in his arms and shower him with kisses. He didn’t want to pretend to himself anymore that he didn’t care; he had done far too much of that. Last night had been a night of revelations and he had a horrible suspicion that he had been wrong about Potter all along. He had also been kidding himself, hiding from his real feelings; somewhere in the last few weeks he had, unbelievably and truly, fallen in love with a seventeen-year-old boy. He had fallen in love with Harry.

The boy finished washing, wrapped himself in his blanket and padded back to the alcove to put on one of his tattered tunics. Modia was right, he should have bought Harry some nicer clothing or, better yet, ensured that Harry had the money to buy some things for himself.

Severus watched the boy move through to the shop and start to clean out the oven portion of a range-like-arrangement that Severus hadn’t even realised was there. The young man was humming softly to himself as he worked. He was so practiced, he must have done it often. Severus had forgotten that this shop had been a bakery, somehow and at some point Harry had discovered how to work the oven.

He watched the boy finish his task and then light a fire to heat the oven. He uncovered a bowl that seemed to contain some dough and after a short time placed it in the oven to heat. Just then a small girl came in, carrying a basket covered with a cloth as Harry’s bowl had been.

“Good morning, Harry,” she said, handing the boy her burden along with a small metal pail. “Mater sent these fish, for your Dominus.” She gave the pail to Harry, who thanked her and decanted the fish, all the while talking to the child about her mother, who it seemed had been ill, and her family which seemed to have an inordinate amount of children in it.

For the next hour the shop was filled by a steady stream of people carrying dough in various shapes and sizes, along with a procession of little gifts ‘for your Dominus’. Considering that Severus had never seen any of these people before, he knew that the gifts were actually for Harry, not that anyone could give someone else’s slave a gift, it just wasn’t done.

But it explained some of the luxuries that Severus had enjoyed over the last few weeks, the nice ripe figs a week ago, the freshly pressed olive oil, the flagon of Falerian wine. These customers were bartering what they could afford so that Harry would bake their bread. As people came and went, Harry sold them pots of salve and a variety of potions, hardly a person left without clutching a small jar or bottle. It was no wonder that their little business was thriving.

After a time, Harry started taking the baked goods out of the oven and placing them on the table to cool, after which he wrapped them in the various cloths in which they had arrived. Severus’ mouth started watering when his favourite cinnamon rolls appeared. Harry wrapped them in a clean cloth which he took from a basket beneath the table, then laid them out on a wooden tray and headed towards Severus’ room. The shop was full of people so Severus had to be really careful as he nipped past so that he could get to his bedroom before Harry did.

But the boy was busy so he simply left the tray at the doorway and went straight back to his customers.

Severus was stunned. He had a lot to think about as he sat and ate his breakfast. He had been wrong about the boy, so very wrong. Was this the Gryffindor prince that he had thought the boy to be? Severus had watched him work hard for nearly two hours. It had been just past the tenth hour of the night, according to the water-clock in the courtyard, when the boy had woken. From the familiarity of the stream of customers he must do it every day and had been for some time. Potter had never complained about hard work, never even mentioned how he had organised everything in their domicile, or even that he’d set up a bakery all on his own. These things just didn’t fit with the mental picture Severus had always had of the Gryffindor Golden Boy; nothing seemed to make sense anymore, at least as far as Harry Potter was concerned.

After he had eaten, Severus took his dishes through to the shop for Harry to wash, thinking about how he never normally did this, leaving things instead for the boy to retrieve himself.

“I am going out, Harry,” Severus said. “I’ll probably be out all day.”

The boy looked at him, green eyes widening, expressive as always. Severus wondered if the young man’s apparent surprise had anything to do with the fact that this was the first time he had used the boy’s first name, unbidden and not while they were in bed. He silently vowed never to call Harry by his last name ever again.

“Um…all right, Domine.” Then with a frown, “Is anything wrong?”

“No, no. I’m fine. I’ll be back later.” He turned around to walk out of the shop.

“Do you want me to make you some lunch?” Harry called after his retreating figure.

Feeling too ashamed to speak, Severus just shook his head and walked away. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the boy.

As he left his rooms Severus scowled at Marcus, who was watching him as usual, and went to brood in private in a tiny back alley he had recently discovered hidden amongst the many intertwining streets behind his shop. It boasted a large wooden bench under a spreading olive three. He desperately tried to will away the guilty ache inside him, but was making little headway.

No one had ever loved Severus, not since he was a young boy, before his mother became truly ill, before she had been worn down by the demands of Severus’ drunken boorish father.

All his life, not that he’d ever admit it to any creature on earth, living or dead, he had wanted someone to care for him, look after him, but it had never happened, not until now. Severus had no idea how Harry felt about him, but in the last few months he had obviously tried really hard to look after him, providing all the little touches that had made their premises a home. Severus had once promised himself that if he ever found someone he could truly care for, he would never treat them as his father had treated his mother, yet that is exactly what he had done to Harry.

The boy was not really his slave, that was just a charade and yet he had treated him as if that was what he was, a drudge and a sex toy. When he had watched Harry wash earlier, when he had watched him interact with their customers, not even letting the fact that his Latin was still far from fluid stop him, Severus had wanted to kiss him and that made him think of all the times that he had not kissed him when he could have done so. Harry had sucked his cock, he had pounded the boy into the mattress on numerous occasions, he had even let Harry curl around him after sex. But he had never reciprocated or held him close and he had never once kissed him.

For the last few months he had been desperately denying how he felt and the only one that had suffered was a boy whom he owed far too much to already.


Finally, Severus stood up again and, making sure that he was unobserved, he draped the cloak around him and headed back to the shop. He really felt he should speak to the boy, explaining his epiphany and begging Harry’s understanding and forgiveness. But he wasn’t ready yet, there would be too many people around during the day and Severus was not even sure that he could articulate his feelings just yet. Harry was just leaving as Severus arrived, so he followed him.

He had to be really careful not to be jostled, manoeuvring through a crowd of people in an invisibility cloak in his pursuit of Harry was very tricky indeed. Luckily Harry did not seem to be moving very fast. The boy managed to side step Marcus quite easily when the odious man tried to grope him. Severus determined that when they got back from wherever they were going he would break the man’s fingers as he had once promised. Harry didn’t seem bothered, however, he treated it like it was a normal occurrence – and perhaps it was. Scowling, Severus wondered whether he should start on Marcus’ thumbs and work his way back, or start with the pinkies; he supposed that which ever was most painful would be the best option.

Harry had stopped to talk to the slave from the tavern whose name Severus could not remember right then, but the redhead seemed to have been crying and Harry reached up and wiped away a tear from the freckled face with the back of his hand. He talked to the slave for a moment or two and then gave him a pot of salve. The redheaded slave shook his head, but Harry nodded firmly, dipped his fingers into the pot and spread a little on the dark bruise that marred the other boy’s cheek.

Just the day before, Severus thought uncomfortably, he would have been furious that the young man was giving away potions, but having witnessed the amount of sales Harry had made that very morning, Severus thought the boy had earned a few free potions. He had earned a lot of things that he didn’t have. In the daylight, seeing Harry in amongst all these other people he realised how shabby the boy looked, even next to Thomas’s slave. His tunic was barely more than a rag, and his feet were bare. Severus suddenly realised that he hadn’t seen the boy wearing shoes for a while, maybe he didn’t have any others? Maybe the only shoes he had were those battered sandals. Why on earth had he never asked? Then Severus realised that the boy had never actually asked him for anything in all the time they’d been here.

He thought back to Hogwarts. The young man had always looked shabby then too, hadn’t he, compared to his classmates? Did he just not care how he looked?

By now Harry had moved on. The boy from the tavern was staring after him, a look of total hero worship on his face; he obviously thought that Harry was wonderful.

Several other people seemed to think he was quite wonderful too. He was stopped time after time and more potions came out of the large wicker basket he was carrying, only now they were exchanged for coins. Severus wanted to laugh, the boy had created some sort of mobile potions business. Harry had sold at least fifteen different pots of salve and bottles of potions before he even reached the market-place.

Severus watched the boy move around the stalls, talking to stall holders, haggling for a bottle of Severus’ favourite wine, a variety that Modia did not sell. He bought some small pots to replace the ones he had sold that day containing potions, after which he began buying fruit and vegetables and spices. After about an hour he turned for home, his basket weighed down with his purchases. He had yet to rest, or even sit down, and it was still only the third hour of the morning.

By the time Harry returned to the shop he had walked at least a mile and a half in the blazing sunshine carrying a heavy basket. Rufus was in the shop just completing a sale when Harry got back. Harry thanked him, gave him some cinnamon buns and spent the next several hours serving customers. He also kept busy tidying up. He made Severus’ bed and Severus was guiltily grateful that he had thought to put the wands and the photograph album back in the chest. Harry swept up with a rather tatty broom and then started chopping vegetables and cooking the fish the little girl had given him earlier. He added some spices and browned it in a shallow pan. It smelt wonderful.

Well, Severus thought wryly, that certainly answered the question about whether it was Harry or Modia who cooked all those delicious meals. The boy seemed to have considerable skill. He chopped the vegetables with speed and accuracy and added various different ingredients to the meal until Severus’ mouth watered with hunger. All at once Severus felt a frisson of concern run up his spine. Where had the boy learned to cook? When had he learned to cook? There was no doubting that Harry had skill, considerable skill, in fact. Another perplexing thought struck the Potions Master. If he could cook as well as he obviously did, then he should have been a natural at Potions. But had he, Severus Snape, youngest and most brilliant potions master Hogwarts had ever had, ever once, given Harry James Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, son of the odious James Potter, a fucking chance?

Severus groaned, once again thinking of how completely mistaken he had been about this young man. Far from sitting about doing nothing at all the boy had not stopped working since before dawn. Several times Severus almost managed to take off the cloak and speak to him, but each time someone came in and they stayed for ages. Finally, it was the middle of the day, the time when the late August sunshine was at its hottest and many people closed their shops for a midday rest. Severus actually had his hand on the hem of the cloak and was ready to remove it when Hermia came in, closely followed by Rufus.

Severus almost cursed.

“Hello, Harry,” Hermia said. “We’ve come to make you take a rest.”

Harry smiled, “I can’t Hermia, I have too much to do, my Dominus…”

But Severus didn’t get to hear what Harry might be planning to do for him because Hermia interrupted him.

“Mater said that you were to have a rest this afternoon, and your Dominus isn’t even here.”

Harry looked torn, he bit his lip. Severus wanted to send Hermia and Rufus away but he held back, wanting to see what Harry would do.

“Please Harry? Mater has given us some time off. We don’t have to be back until eighth hour; let’s go and have something to eat?”

Still Harry hesitated.

“Harry!” Hermia pouted. Severus felt like slapping her, but Harry crumbled.

“All right,” he said, “but just for half an hour.”

Harry took down some bread, some hard biscuits and some olive oil and led his friends through to the garden. He picked some olives from the tree and some cherries from another tree that was trained in a fan shape against the south facing wall. Hermia produced some plums and some crumbly cheese and the three of them sat on a pile of cushions that Harry fetched from the shelves in the store-room.

Severus sat in the shade on an old stone bench, twined about with honeysuckle and ivy, and watched the young people talking and laughing softly together in the stillness of the afternoon. They had obviously become good friends sometime in the last few months and Harry seemed to relax in their company. Hermia talked and giggled almost non-stop and even Rufus joined in with strange little hand signals that Harry and Hermia had no problems understanding. He felt like a voyeur intruding on the intimacy of such closeness and yet, while he still didn’t quite dare to reveal himself, he found that he couldn’t quite seem to look away. He was drawn, compelled almost, to watch the boy. He couldn’t get enough of him and all the while he planned for later on, when he would reveal himself to Harry and tell his young lover what he had discovered and how he truly felt now.