Fire Call

La Joconde

“Who packed this case?” Harry demanded, rather pointlessly since he already knew the answer.

“Why? Is there a problem?”

“Yes, there’s a bloody problem! You didn’t put any underwear in!” Harry huffed, noticing that actually, there wasn’t much of anything he could make use, of clothing wise. He pulled out an old Chudley Cannons shirt that looked like it belonged to Ron, and regretted not packing his own luggage.

“You are in Paris now, Mr Potter. One of, if not the most stylish and sophisticated cities in the world. And I wish to inform you that the Parisian populace go commando.”

“Commando?” Harry spluttered.

“Your hearing, unlike your eyesight, is mercifully unimpaired. Yes, commando. Also known as going Indian, freeballing, freebuffing, or, should you happen to be the unfortunate victim of some malfunctioning Floo system and find yourself in Chile, ‘andar a lo gringo’. Simply put, it is the practice of not wearing underwear beneath one’s outer clothing.”

“I know what ‘going commando’ is!” Harry snapped.

He did too; he’d borne witness to a rather embarrassing episode in sixth year when Ron; determined to get Malfoy back for some prank or another, had pulled the blond’s trousers down and inadvertently revealed exactly how Slytherins liked to let it all ‘hang out’. It still gave Harry the uncontrollable giggles when he thought about that alabaster bottom, quivering in outrage, as Malfoy desperately groped around his ankles.

“Anyway, just because they don’t wear pants, doesn’t mean we have to. Not wear them, I mean.”

“When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” Snape drawled.

“But we aren’t in Rome!” Harry said exasperatedly, only just managing to refrain from adding, ‘are we?’ He hadn’t actually been outside the hotel yet, so really, he supposed they could be anywhere.

Giving up on his minimal amount of unpacking as a lost cause, Harry got off the floor and plonked himself in one of the plush chairs adorning their spacious and tastefully decorated room.

Snape was sprawled out on the queen sized bed looking as, well as relaxed as he was ever likely to, not a hint of the humour on his face Harry suspected himself to be the focus of. He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again. He would not expose any more gullibility to be teased about.

“Well?” Snape said enquiringly after rather a long period of just staring at each other, “have you come all this way merely to evaluate the furniture?”

“I didn’t come here,” Harry answered sulkily, “you brought me.”

Damn, this really wasn’t the way he wanted to start their weekend together, but leaving the safety and confines of his flat had actually unnerved him a little. It was one thing to get excited about being away from home, and another entirely when you were in a different country and had no bloody pants. Before his flat, Hogwarts had been the only true home he’d even known, and reaching the unreasonably vintage age of nineteen without having ever left England..well. It was all just a bit unsettling.

Snape stiffened slightly, propping himself up on a mound of luxuriously squishy pillows.

“What is wrong?” he demanded. When Harry glanced up to answer, those normally hard black eyes were quite soft, and the pang it created in Harry’s chest made him look away again.

“Nothing, really. Just-“

“Homesick already?” No tease in the tone, just a question.

“No. Yes. Maybe, I don’t know. I mean, this is really lovely and everything...” Harry wasn’t even sure if he knew how to explain what he was feeling, it was only the tiniest of niggles, after all.

“Unfamiliar territory, understandable. May I suggest a bath, to help you relax?”

Harry didn’t want a bath. What he wanted was-

“Together,” Snape added.

Ah, yes. That.

***

“Oh my God, it’s massive!” Harry squeaked, eyes widening in disbelief.

“Yes,” Snape smirked, looking down, “It is unusually substantial.”

“Can I...”

Before Snape had a chance to draw breath, Harry was padding barefoot across the tiles towards an enormous round bathtub, peeling off clothes as he went.

Snape followed at a more sedate pace, eyes never leaving the curve of Harry’s arse, first through the trousers, and then moments later, gloriously without.

“Potter, if your buttocks get any tighter, you will snap your broomstick like a twig,” he commented appreciatively, and set about removing his own garments.

Well, that was about as close to a compliment as he was likely to receive, Harry thought to himself. It was true though, Quidditch did wonders for muscle tone. He wriggled his arse cheekily and eased into the sparkling water, but as he bent to sit on the protruding ledge, he slipped off and under, arms flailing as he submerged.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and hauled him upright.

“What the bloody hell-what is this stuff?” Harry coughed, waving Snape’s hand away. He’d already gained firsthand knowledge of how thorough Snape’s slaps on the back were. Last time, he’d nearly caused Harry to hack up a lung.

“It is L’eau Lubricus,” Snape answered, gingerly placing one toe in to test the temperature. Evidently deeming it acceptable, he slid onto the ledge next to Harry.

“Why would you want-” Harry raised a hand to repel any snappy rejoinders, “I can see why you might enjoy lube in the bath, my point was; is it safe to drink?”

“I expect so. No doubt plenty of people accidentally attempt to drown themselves in it and come up with a mouthful. However, the bath taps do discharge different water from those in the sink. If you get thirsty again, you need only ask.”

“You’re so not funny,” Harry smirked, cupping a palm full of water and launching it at the older man.

“Potter! Cease that splashing! Merlin, how unbelievably immature you are,” Snape said haughtily, wiping droplets out of his eyes, “you might have blinded me.”

“What!” Harry let out a bark of laughter, “you just said the water was safe!”

“To drink; I made no reference to its irritancy when flung in one’s eyes!”

Harry rolled his own untarnished green orbs, “Whatever. Ooh champagne!”

Treading water, he collected the two slim flutes that had appeared, and paddled back to hand one to his lover.

Snape took a crafty sip before raising his glass, “Happy Birthday, Potter. I would seriously consider making the most of it. Should you persist in being an insolent brat, it is unlikely you will live long enough to celebrate the next one.”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone says that.” Harry feigned a yawn and took a long swig of the fizzy liquid. Wow!! French champagne was brilliant! Just the right amount of bubbles and the perfect balance between dry and aromatic. Harry guzzled a bit more and set the glass down.

“So,” he purred, swivelling his bum around on the ledge and sidling up to Snape, “did you join me for any particular reason, or did you just want to make sure I washed properly?”

Snape, whose glass had already been rescinded, snaked hungry hands round Harry’s waist and lifted him up effortlessly, guiding him forward until Harry was firmly planted in his lap.

“And where, Mr Potter,” he said silkily, licking a bead of moisture from Harry’s philtrum, “do you consider you might be most in need of purification?”

Harry felt the effects of that deep, melodious voice all the way down to his toes. It never failed to make his mouth go dry and his cock leap to attention.

“I uh...just a couple of places, I guess,” he answered meekly.

With his fingertip, Snape drew a slow wet line down the centre of Harry’s chest, and didn’t pause until he reached the tufted base of his cock.

“Somewhere around here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow before the finger moved again to glide over Harry’s hip bone and trailing to the cleft of his arse, “or here?”

Harry slid forward so that Snape could feel his rising erection press against his, pale flat belly. He wanted, no needed, the other man to know exactly what he did to him.

“Mmm yeah, I’m really dirty there,” he managed to choke out as the inquisitive finger dipped lower.

“Then how would you suggest I rectify the situation?” Oh God, the man could even make the word ‘rectify’ sound sexy! And-oh yes, that flirtatious finger was skirting his perpetually greedy hole. Harry stifled a moan and opted instead to push back against it.

It withdrew instantly. “I hardly think that is going to achieve the desired result,” Snape admonished, “however, if I were to ....”

Vice like hands clamped Harry’s hips and turned him roughly until he was draped over the edge of the bath, his arse suddenly exposed to the cool air.

“Severus,” Harry protested, not particularly amused at being hoisted out of the warm water, “What are you-oh fuck-you’re--“

“Quite,” Snape finished, lowering his head, slippery hands spreading Harry’s cheeks, and hot breath glancing off the insides of them not to mention insanely erotic swipes of an efficient tongue down the length of his crack.

Harry writhed and whimpered, begging in broken syllables for Snape to just give it to him, dammit. His cock pulsed and twitched in the gentle lapping motion of the water, slapping wetly against his abdomen, thrusting his hips with each teasing lick.

“Oh, Severus, please, please fuck me with your tongue,” Harry sobbed, gripping the edge of the bath so hard he was sure his fingerprints would dent the enamel.

Snape growled and hoisted Harry’s hips up, pulling them back until he could spear the sensitive flesh and smoothly ease his tongue between tight, musky walls. Harry cried out at the sudden granting of his request and bucked shamelessly, electrified by the feeling of Snape’s mouth hot against his most intimate place, that wicked wet tongue sliding in and out.

“Can’t...gonna come...too good...too...” his voice trailed off on a series of guttural moans, the sound of water sloshing around them, and the outrageously sexy slurping noises Snape was making all melted into one long sexual symphony. Harry knew for certain he was going to come without even being touched.

But Snape’s hand snaked between his legs and seized his cock, even as his name escaped Harry’s mouth, and the viscous texture of semen hit the soft pad of Snape’s thumb as it rubbed over his slit, dissolving into the slick water surrounding them.

Harry lurched forward to collapse against the rim of the bath and only Snape’s steadying arms prevented him from sliding under the silky water. He breathed on ragged gasps matching the quickened beat of his heart. Butterfly kisses decorated his neck and Harry shuddered with delight at the sheer intimacy of this, his cock reacting with a final feeble twitch before slumping in Snape’s palm.

“Oh God, that was amazing,” Harry exhaled, turning around so that he could kiss the older man on the lips, the distinctive heady taste of himself smeared across them, “you were amazing,” he amended.

“Feeling somewhat more contented now, are we?” Snape said, nuzzling Harry’s throat.

“Mmm, completely,” he agreed.

“Good. Is there anything else you require to make your stay here more palatable?” Okay, so he was back to the ridiculing. Harry could deal with that.

“Some underwear would be nice,” he shot back, “I just wish I had my pants.”

“Allow me to provide an entirely unprejudiced opinion. You look substantially better without them.”

Harry’s soft chuckle was silenced by the loud crack of Apparition coming from the living area.

Both men froze in the embrace and Harry grabbed the closest thing he could find to cover himself up with; which, unfortunately, happened to be a small flannel.

“That’s not going to hide much, is it?” Snape hissed, already wading across the bath to retrieve his wand.

“Speak for yourself,” Harry hissed back, wanting to smirk , since Snape still looked painfully hard, and the pathetic scrap of cloth he was clutching wouldn’t hide that swollen purple head, never mind anything else. Harry didn’t smirk though; he was too busy worrying about being discovered naked in a bath tub with an ex-death eater; worst case scenario, by a group of renegade ones.

Leaning over the side to search his own trousers, he found his own wand quickly and sank his chilly shoulders back under the water, keeping one nervous eye on the bathroom door and the other on Snape who was silently climbing out of the bath.

“Master Harry Potter sir!”

Snape’s head shot up and snapped back to look at Harry. Who the hell was-

“Dobby is bringing urgent pants for Harry Potter!”

The squeaky voice was fast approaching the bathroom and Snape lunged for one of the fluffy white bathrobes adorning the far wall. Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as two skinny legs hurried into the bathroom and skidded to a halt.

Quite conceivably, Dobby had managed to gather every single garment of underwear Harry had ever owned, including some that looked suspiciously like Dudley’s old cast offs. The tower of pants wobbled perilously as he tried to crane his neck around them, and Harry could only sink further into the water to hide his blush.

“What are you doing here?” Snape snapped, roughly pulling the dressing gown tighter around him and crossing his arms to keep it in place.

The stack of delicates was lowered to the floor by degrees and once unburdened, Dobby assumed a defensive stance. Was that an elf-sneer on the rubbery little face? Harry thought it was rather an uncanny impression of Severus.

“I is hearing Harry Potter’s distress, Professor Snape sir. Dobby will always help Harry Potter!”

“Thank you, Dobby,” Harry said genuinely. At least the underwear crisis was solved then, even if the house-elf’s timing was lousy.

“Oh! You is not to be thanking Dobby-“ the bulbous eyes glistened briefly, and Harry really hoped he wasn’t going to have to leave the warm water to console him, but then Dobby gave a long satisfied sigh and Harry supposed he might get away with it after all.

It was, therefore, most unfortunate when Snape drew attention to one particular item on top of the pile.

“Since when did you wear Lederhosen, Potter?” he said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, like Harry had deliberately withheld this vital information from him.

“I don’t!” he retorted hotly.

Dobby’s eyes went wide as he plucked the offending garment from the mountain and brandished them.

“These is not yours, Harry Potter sir?” he asked tremulously.

Oh shit. If Harry said no, he’d have a head-banging elf to contend with. On the other hand, a weekend being ridiculed about Lederhosen...

“No, Dobby, sorry, they aren’t.”

“OH!” the elf screeched, dropping them in horror and clawing at his cheeks, eyes frantically searching for something to smack his wrinkled head against.

Harry was on full alert but Snape promptly went into teacher mode.

“Elf,” he barked, “get out.”

Dobby went from being apoplectic with wretchedness to downright indignant. “Professor Snape sir,” he began, “Dobby must-“

“Value his life. Do not make me repeat myself.”

Harry nodded, and Dobby gave him one last rueful look as he shuffled out of the bathroom, the subsequent pop concrete evidence of his departure.

“Merlin!” Snape grumbled, removing the robe, “only Harry Potter could have inherited an elf with suicidal proclivities believing itself to be a genie.”

“He’s fine,” Harry said somewhat defensively, since he was actually rather grateful to have been saved from a weekend of-what was it Severus had called it? Freeballing? It would have been like eating fish without the chips. “Are you getting back in?”

Snape rolled his eyes, “No, I simply removed my robe in case we need shock any further members of your household into leaving us in peace.”

Harry dropped his gaze to groin level and smiled, “Well that will certainly do the trick,” he leered, pitching his eyebrows suggestively at the nicely recovering cock.

‘Brat,’ and ‘Impertinent,’ were the last words Harry managed to make out before his lips were uncompromisingly mashed in reprimand.

***

“My feet hurt,” Harry complained sometime later, as they walked along yet another street that looked very much like the last four ‘rues’.

“And this surprises you? Perhaps if you spent less time perched on a broomstick and actually used them, you would not be whinging at me.”

“You haven’t got a clue where we are, have you?” Harry accused.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. Any fool can read a map.”

Harry sighed and dutifully kept on trudging.

After another five minutes, when he was absolutely convinced they’d gone full circle, he tried again.

“Can’t we at least take a break? Look, there’s a cafe over there. Bet they do good latte.”

Snape seemed to consider this for a moment. With an air of finality he snapped the guide book shut, and made a beeline for the rattan chairs and wrought iron tables outside the quaint cafe. Flower baskets hung gaily along the front, and Harry wondered if he could muster up enough strength to non-verbally levitate one over Snape’s head. And then let his concentration slip.

Now that wasn’t a very nice thing to think about his lover, especially after the man had planned such a wonderful surprise for him. And it wasn’t really Snape’s fault that they seemed to be lost in Parisian back streets, although he stubbornly refused to ask for directions. All Harry really wanted to do was get to the Eiffel Tower, despite Snape’s quip that ‘this is culture, Potter, knowledge of which I am conscious you hideously lack in abundance...’ and something else about there being the oldest Apocethary in the world hidden amongst the labyrinth of old buildings.

Well, they still hadn’t found it, or the Eiffel bloody Tower, which Harry glimpsed intermittently through the gaps in architecture, but it never seemed to get any closer.

“Are you sure we’re not in some kind of Vortex?” Harry said as he sat down at the table Snape had already occupied. If it hadn’t of been for the slight twitch under Snape’s left eye, Harry would have sworn he hadn’t heard him.

“ I mean, we can see it, right?” he pressed, “It’s just there, behind those houses, so why haven’t we got to it yet?”

“You can see the sun too,” Snape sneered, “would you care to attempt walking to that?”

He snatched up the menu and combed it with the look of a man possessed.

“Well of course not, I mean-“

“Arry!”

Harry blinked and looked over his shoulder. For one terrifying moment, he thought Rita Skeeter had tracked him down, but the panic subsided when his brain kindly reminded him she didn’t have a French accent.

A dazzling set of golden robes momentarily blinded Harry as the wearer approached, though sadly not enough to stop him from noticing Snape’s distinctly murderous glare.

“Oh ‘arry! What an ‘appy surprise! I did not theenk you knew where ma muzzer and fazzer leeved?!”

“Er... I didn’t,” Harry shrugged, standing up to place a shy peck on the pro-offered cheek of Fleur Delacour.

“And you are wiz...Professor Snape...’ow...nice.” She didn’t sound overly enthusiastic about Harry’s choice of travel companion, but then one never knew with Fleur.

“Your parents own this place?” Harry asked, pulling out a chair for her and earning himself a darkly savage frown for his trouble.

“Mai oui! I am only visiting for ze weekend. Bill is not ‘ere zou, and I mees ‘im terribly!”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that so he hummed consolingly.

“And-oh!” Fleur clapped a delighted hand across her mouth and leant forward, “Eez it not wonderful news about ze baby of Ron and Ermioneee? You will be ze godfazzer, no?”

“I-hadn’t thought about it,” Harry answered honestly. Actually he hadn’t. He supposed he might be asked, but there were plenty of Weasley brothers to be taken into the equation. Now that the conscious thought had formed, he found himself quite keen to know.

“So, vot can we get for ze pair of you? My muzzer, she make ze best cafe au lait in Paris!” Fleur told him proudly.

Snape hadn’t said a single word since the intrusion, and Harry took the opportunity to study him. His normally sallow cheeks were affected with a faint blush and his fingers were curled tightly around the menu like it was a life raft. Harry remembered where those fingers had been a few hours ago and felt himself redden.

“Um, Severus?” he ventured, “did you want a coffee?”

Snape painstakingly laid the menu down on the table and affected his ‘I am being exceptionally tolerant’ face, “I would like a skinny latte.”

“Right. Two of those please, Fleur.” Harry actually wanted a full fat, no shit, carbohydrate kicking cappuccino with more whippy cream than his arteries could survive, but he also wanted Fleur to disappear quickly so he could entice Snape out of his snit.

“Vot ees thees skinny?” Fleur asked, her delicate eyebrows creasing in confusion.

Harry saw Snape employ every muscle in the vicinity of his eyes to stop them from rolling.

“I believe the French translation would be café latte avec le lait écrémé,” he pronounced impressively, each word dipped in vinegar.

“Ah, now I understand!” Oblivious to the ex-Potion Master’s scorn, Fleur clapped her hands together and rose.

“Miss Delacour,” Snape called after her, hesitating until she had turned around, ”je les préférais à emporter, s'il vous plaît.”

Harry watched Fleur’s expression crumple.

“Oh,” she said, looking a little dejected, “If you wish it.”

“I do.” Snape replied firmly.

***

“You know, you really are the most cantankerous old-”

“Sticks and stones-“

“Are not beneath me! Would it really have killed you to have stayed and had the drinks there?”

“No, but it might have killed you. I am not inclined to have every single acquaintance of yours accompany us on our weekend away.”

Harry huffed a sigh and sipped his coffee. It really was exceptionally good. Even Snape had begrudgingly admitted that it was ‘satisfactory’. High praise indeed.

Still, it was a gorgeous day to be out exploring a new city; fluffy white clouds drifting serenely across a baby blue sky and a handsome, happy-go-lucky man by his side. Harry sniggered to himself.

“I am thrilled to note your spirits have rallied, Potter,” Snape bit out.

“They’d be even better if we could just see the bloody landmarks and then get back to the bathtub.”

Harry risked a glance. Oh yes, point to Potter. Snape’s cheeks had stained a rather fetching shade of light crimson, and Harry knew for a fact his lover was recalling the morning’s events. Never one to heed a warning, he ignored the old adage ‘quit whilst you’re ahead’.

“It feels so good when you stick your-“

“Potter,” Snape growled, speeding up his pace.

Harry hurried to keep up, “when you stick your tongue up my arse and make me come just from that.”

Snape stopped abruptly and Harry, not expecting it, overshot him.

“Are you deliberately trying to derail this excursion?” Snape hissed after Harry had trotted back to close the gap between them.

“Just giving you an incentive to get us ‘round quickly and efficiently.”

Snape brought his mouth very close to Harry’s ear and whispered, “Believe me, brat, I need very little encouragement.”

Harry shivered as glittering black eyes raked the length of his body before he set off again at a punishing speed.

“Ah,” he heard exclaimed smugly when they eventually exited a narrow street onto a bustling thoroughfare, “There. The Arc de Triomphe.”

“We’re going horse racing?” Harry blinked. He knew all about that, thanks to uncle Vernon’s unhealthy obsession with all things four-legged and how fast they could run. In fact, Harry remembered with no small amount of satisfaction, that if there was one thing Vernon was more fond of than Dudley, it was gambling. Not even Dudley’s spectacular tantrums and Petunia’s nagging could convince the man to switch the television over from Saturday racing to cartoons.

“No-Merlin! You are thinking of the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe! That building there,” Snape extended a bony finger, “honours those who fought for France, mainly during the Napoleonic war. It was designed by a man named Jean Chalgrin in 1806, inspired by the Roman arch of Titus and its iconographic program pitted heroically nude French youths against bearded Germanic warriors in chain mail.”

“Sounds kinky,” Harry leered.

Snape tutted, “Must you debase everything?”

“Can’t help it. Hormone ridden teenager. It’s really tall. Is that, are there people up there?”

“165 feet, to be precise. 30 feet taller than the London Eye, and yes, the summit may be accessed.”

Harry groaned at the reference, and unbidden images of them fucking above the capital’s skyline popped into his head.

They crossed the hectic Champs-Élysées and descended into the underpass, Snape throwing a subtle befuddlement charm on the man stationed to collect tickets at the entrance.

“That was very naughty,” Harry said in amusement as they started the long climb up a narrow, spiral staircase.

“Unless you wish to queue until our Portkey departs tomorrow, I consider it necessary.”

Snape was right; the entire monument was alive with bustling sightseers and the stairs to the top consisted of one long line of shuffling tourists.

Finally, when Harry thought he couldn’t possibly climb another inch, the gloomy stairwell opened out into brilliant sunshine.

“Bloody hell, that must have been like a million steps, getting up here!” he exclaimed, breathing heavily.

Snape gave him a sideways smirk, “Perhaps you need more exercise. And it was a mere two hundred and eighty-four.”

“Severus, where’s the guidebook?”

Snape looked inordinately pleased, “Why, do you wish to read it?” he asked, hands already slipping inside the black wool coat in search.

Harry’s own hand shot out to stop him, “No, it’s fine, I was just making sure you hadn’t swallowed it.”

“Impertinent brat,” he hissed, so pathetically devoid of any real malice that Harry laughed out loud.They joined the throng of people tightly compacted at the railings, all exclaiming in differing languages over the panoramic view afforded them. Harry beamed delightedly when his eyes were drawn to the Eiffel Tower just off to his left, the iron structure an impressive sight in the midst of a busy landscape.

“Wow, you can see it really well from here. Go on then, tell me some interesting facts.”

Snape sniffed disdainfully before relenting, “It stands at 325 meters and until 1930 remained the world’s tallest tower. It weighs 7,300 tons and was crafted from puddled iron under the cautious watch of its designer and engineer, Gustave Eiffel. He had originally submitted the draft to Barcelona but it was rejected on grounds of being too expensive and not in keeping with the rest of the city’s architecture. It was met with much resistance in Paris too, when first built. I believe the Muggle novelist, Guy de Maupassant who claimed he hated the tower —ate lunch at its restaurant every day. When asked why, he answered that it was the one place in Paris he couldn't see the monstrosity.”

“Oh my God, was he one of your ancestors by any chance?” Harry laughed, imagining a beret-wearing Snape lookalike penning novels at the top of the monument before him.

Snape let his elbow collide generously with Harry’s ribs.

“Oww! What was that for?”

“My apologies. It is terribly crowded up here.”

Harry’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Yeah it is, isn’t it? So it’s pretty unlikely anyone will notice if I do this.”

A small hand slipped underneath Snape’s coat and wiggled into his trouser pocket. Harry felt his fingers brush something fleshy through the layers and suppressed a grin when it instantly jerked at his touch.

“Stop it,” Snape hissed, trying to shy away from the roving hand and failing miserably, as he was boxed in on all sides.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Harry purred, giving the swelling length another squeeze and wandlessly casting a silencing spell around them, “I thought you might enjoy making a habit out of sex in public places. We’ve already christened London.”

“Potter,” Snape said through gritted teeth, “Remove your hand immediately.”

“Can I suggest demonstrating your impressive Occulmency skills? That way no one will suspect when you come in your pant deficient trousers.”

Harry stared straight ahead, ignoring the inaudible grunts that were half protest and half enjoyment as his fingers stroked and manipulated Snape’s clothed and now very erect cock.

“Harry,” the lust thickened voice almost pleaded, making Harry’s own cock twitch in sympathy, “if you do not desist I shall be forced to invoke drastic measures of revenge for this reckless act of public degradation.”

“You know, I’m hearing one thing and,” Harry put a considerate amount of effort into the next squeeze, “feeling another.”

He was gratified when no more protests escaped his lover’s lips, only the occasional harsh breath pushed through pursed lips as he nimbly worked as much of the length as he could, alternating between firm twists and gentle caresses until Snape’s rigid mask of indifference fractured and his eyes fluttered closed. Warm fluid seeped through the fabric to dampen Harry’s hand, and his heart back-flipped in delight.

“I suppose you consider yourself amusing?” Snape said, once he regained the ability to speak.
“Well you were amused. A certain part of your anatomy was, anyway.”

Snape muttered a perfunctory Scourgify and shouldered his way through the crowd. Harry took one last look at the most visited landmark in the world, then hastened after him.

***

If Harry’s feet had been making small, polite coughs before, they were positively screaming abuse at him now.

After Snape had announced they were leaving the Arc de Triomphe to ‘the common people,’ they set off determinedly towards Champs-Élysées. The plan had been to wander down Paris’ most affluent street , cut through to the river, and enjoy a stroll along the banks of the Seine with the specific intent of ending up at Notre Dame.

But whilst they were passing the parade of luxury shops, Harry had spotted a baby outfit complete with striped top and beret, and, remembering Fleur’s remark about Godfathering, dashed inside to buy one. Snape’s horrified expression at being trapped in Toddler Hell kept Harry highly entertained as he waited in the line of an exceptionally long queue.

Having finally made his purchase (and by Merlin, if Louis Vuitton baby clothes didn’t secure him the job, nothing would) he made his way back to the innocuous column Snape had snarled at enough people to claim as rightfully his.

“Aren’t these clothes cute?”

“Cute?” Snape echoed, spitting the word as though fearful it might dissolve his tongue.

“Yeah, it’s amazing to think a human being could be tiny enough to fit into them.”

“Merlin help us,” Snape muttered, firmly steering him through the minefield of bawling infants, “The Chosen One wishes to procreate.”

“No I don’t,” Harry protested, because he really didn’t, he was just getting excited at the prospect of being involved with the newest addition to the Weasley family, “besides, wouldn’t want any child of mine born clutching a Potions textbook.

“I find that highly unlikely. Even with my formidable genes bolstering the child’s intellect, yours would undoubtedly neutralize them enough to render our offspring borderline witless.”
“You say the sweetest things,” Harry smirked.

And that had been the end of the baby conversation, but not the end of the shopping, much to Snape’s dismay. Harry had promptly made up for his dire clothing situation by repopulating his wardrobe until numerous Unforgivables were threatened. It didn’t escape Harry’s notice however, that Snape offered to carry a good percentage of his acquisitions without so much as a sneer on their journey to the riverbank.

Once there, Snape had claimed his own revenge, stopping to browse the row of second-hand bookstalls perched against the parapet of the Seine. Harry rested against the bulwark and watched in rapt fascination as Snape spoke fluent French and haggled over a good price for some dusty old tome that Harry wouldn’t have parted with a knut for.

Still, his lover was in an astonishingly lighter mood when he finally returned to scrape a patiently waiting Harry off the pavement.

“Shall we continue?” Snape offered him a hand and pulled him up, Harry wincing as a couple more blisters on his big toe erupted.

“Is it far? Because seriously, my feet are killing me now.”

“Would you prefer to take the bus?” Snape said dryly.

“Oh yeah, because you’re so very fond of them.”

“No, it is not much further. Just across the bridge and a little beyond,” he said almost soothingly, pointing out a prominent landmark on the Île de la Cité, “there, look, you can see it.”

“I can see the sun, too,” Harry snorted, but Snape had already slipped away down the stone riverbank steps , leaving Harry to shake his head in amusement. The man was like a first year in Honeydukes, devouring knowledge from the guide book and regurgitating it for their mutual touristy pleasure as he stalked from one historic attraction to the next with something dangerously close to a smile on his face. If his consultancy business ever became unviable, he would have no problems getting a job as a tour guide.

Chuckling at the mental imagery, Harry gave chase once more.

***

“Well? What were your impressions?” Snape demanded, watching Harry kick off his trainers and moan in appreciation as he collapsed onto the soft mattress.

“Oh god, it feels so good to get my shoes off. Er, right, Notre Dame. Yeah, I thought it was really beautiful. It reminded me of Hogwarts a bit, all gothic stone carvings, the gargoyles were cool. It was interesting, all that stuff about naturalism heavily influencing the, ah..” Harry rubbed his abused soles vigorously.

“What utter rubbish! You, have always been dreadful at lying. Admit it, you were far more interested in feeding sparrows than appreciating the finest example there is of French Gothic architecture.”

Snape had occupied the chair and was meticulously scouring the tour guide, each sharp turn of the page preceded by a cursory lick of his index finger.

“Yeah, about the sparrows. They would have come to me eventually, once they realised I had cake. That other guy was feeding them and they flocked to him.”

“No doubt that old vagrant has spent a lifetime nurturing a relationship with them. You expressed a desire to feed the birds, did you not? So the birds came to you.”

“I know, but I think I would have preferred it if you hadn’t used Imperius on them. They all looked a bit nauseous.”

Snape glanced up and rolled his eyes, “That was purely a product of their overindulging. I assure you my spell caused them no harm, unless you consider gorging crumbs as likely to have induced a permanently negative effect. Now, are you going to heal your feet or shall I?”

Harry propped himself up on an elbow, “Do it later. And put that guide book down.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to join me on the bed and talk to me in French, you sexy bastard. I didn’t know you were bilingual.” Harry let his legs fall open and smiled coyly.

Snape closed the paperback and rose, placing it carefully on the chair. “Bilingual, Potter? Have you been absorbing the dictionary by osmosis again? An impressive, multisyllabic word to hear fall from that pretty mouth of yours, indeed. However, in my esteemed opinion, its natural talent lies somewhere else entirely.”

Snape settled next to Harry, rolling the boy onto his side and pulling him to within kissing distance.

“What would you like me to say?”

“Er, anything. The first thing that comes into your head.” Harry snuggled closer and began to pick at the buttons of Snape’s shirt.

”Tu es assurément l'homme le plus bel du monde. Je ne peux pas imaginer vivre sans toi, Il n'y personne d'autre que j'aimerais mieux que toi, personne avec qui je ne préférais partager ma vie.”

Harry faltered on the third button down, half-slipped from its binding and forgotten as he lifted his head to gaze into Snape’s eyes. Dark and soulful, they stared back with unnerving intensity. Harry managed a dry swallow before he spoke, so very quietly that he feared Snape might not actually hear him.

“I-I speak French too. I know exactly what you just said.”

Snape’s face visibly paled, and for once, it appeared he had no acidic retort, though Harry could see he was urgently trying to think of one.

Eventually he managed a fairly respectable, “Don’t be daft, Potter. As if someone as mentally deficient as you could be capable of learning an entirely different language. Merlin knows you have barely mastered your native one.”

Harry decided not to bother arguing, he’d just have to prove it.

“You said—you said I am the most beautiful man in the world, that you couldn’t imagine being without me and that you wanted to share your life with me.” Harry felt like all his internal organs were trying to abseil up his throat, and just hoped he’d got the translation right. Because if he hadn’t, he was going to feel sorely disappointed.

Snape glanced away for a moment, apparently considering something before turning an accusatory sneer on him.

“And where precisely did you learn French? We have spent the best part of a day in France and you have not spoken one word of it.”

Overwhelmingly relieved that he had indeed been correct, Harry smiled and stole a much needed kiss before answering.

“I liked hearing you speak it.”

“Well, well. Who would have thought staunch Gryffindor Harry Potter could possess a trait so widely acknowledged as Slytherin. Deception is quite your forte, isn’t it Potter? First the lederhosen and now this.” Snape pushed Harry onto his back and attacked his neck with sharp, angry little nips.

“Oh god,” Harry gasped, head spinning with the speed of his descent, “I swear, the bloody lederhosen aren’t mine! They must be Ron’s or something!”

Snape snorted against his collarbone and punctuated each word with either a bite or hard suck, “Care to explain why Mr Weasley’s undergarments are in your flat?”

“I don’t know!” Harry babbled, thrusting his groin blindly to get some friction, “There were some of Dudley’s in there too, and he definitely hasn’t been in my bedroom.” Harry shuddered at the thought, though it quickly morphed into a shiver of delight when Snape ran a possessive hand up and down his side.

“This is probably inadvisable,” he murmured against the downy hairs on Harry’s ear, “until after you have unwrapped your birthday presents.”

Ooooh birthday presents! Harry’s inner eleven year old squealed. Uh-uh! His newly nineteen year old groin argued back.

“What now? Why? Why now? Can’t it...oh God I love it when you do that...”

Snape administered one more punishing kiss before disentangling their limbs and leaving the bed.

Harry let out a long, dissatisfied groan, “If this is about coffee...”

“It concerns no such thing. Now,” Snape retrieved three parcels from his suitcase and threw the largest one straight at Harry’s head. Only a well timed Seeker’s catch stopped him being pole-axed by it, “Hurry up and open them.”

For once, Harry didn’t consider disobeying and ripped off the wrapping paper.

“Why, Severus, how very talented of you,” he smirked, holding up the brightly coloured jumper with a large H on the front.

“Don’t be ridiculous. That is evidently a Weasley creation, as you well know. Arthur delivered it via my secretary the day before we left. Apparently they harboured the suspicion you might not be around to receive it in person today.” Snape sniffed disdainfully, evidently pained at having to consort with a Weasley.

“And I bet I know who told them,” Harry grinned in delight.

The next gift came hurtling at him in response.

“Who’s this from?” Harry asked, peeling back the concealing layer.

“Weasley junior.”

Harry’s grin widened as Ron’s present fell into his lap. It was a small silver frame, the static black and white picture inside it memorable, and his heart leapt when he read the engraving, “My Godson.”

“Oh wow, look at this! It’s a scan of Ron and Hermione’s baby, and they want me to be Godfather! Isn’t that brilliant?”

Snape returned to Harry’s side, still holding the final present with care.

“Surely there are others better equipped for the job? Perhaps someone who might bestow the child with knowledge besides Quidditch moves?” he smirked, dissolving the outraged ‘O’ of Harry’s mouth with a firm kiss.

“Here. Last present.”

It was extremely small, and Harry had some difficulty catching a nail underneath the plain green paper.

“A potion,” he stated blankly, turning the unmarked vial over in his hands, “You made me a potion for my birthday?”

“No, brat, I brought you to Paris for your birthday. The potion is to enhance your enjoyment of certain elements of it. Drink.”

Snape withdrew the stopper and brought it to Harry’s lips, amused to detect a certain amount of trepidation in his young lover.

“Today, Potter,” he growled.

Harry obediently opened his mouth, pleasantly surprised when the watery liquid tasted kind of, well, watery. Before he’d even swallowed, he heard the clink of the vial as it hit the floor and Snape wasted no time in straddling his hips and pulling at his clothes.

“What was it?” Harry gasped, melting into the fevered touches, “What’s going to happen?”

“Do try to exercise a little patience,” Snape scolded, pulling him into a sitting position and dragging his t-shirt off.

Harry was trying, he really was, but the reckless thrill he got from knowing he’d ingested a nameless potion, purely because Severus had asked him to, made his appetite for intimacy even more voracious than usual. He trusted his lover implicitly, with his life even, and that dawning realisation ignited his lust faster than a backdraft.

“Don’t want to, want you in me, right now,” Harry begged, fingers returning to the row of half undone buttons.

Snape cupped Harry’s face in his hands, stroking the corners of his mouth with wondrous thumbs as he took his time mapping each rediscovered facial feature with splintered kisses. Thin lips brushed Harry’s eyelids, his eyelashes growing moist with each damp puff of air that rushed against them.

Undoing the last button with his eyes closed proved tricky, but determined fingers eventually prevailed, and Harry slid his hands up Snape’s chest to grasp his shoulders, easing the shirt off to reveal the pale skin. Never stalling in his worship of Harry’ face, Snape helped by shrugging the fabric until they were skin to skin, arms woven tightly around each other’s waists.

Snape found Harry’s mouth, his tongue outlining, possessive and then possessing, as Harry surrendered in earnest, loving how naturally they melded together, each claiming the wet warmth granted them. Despite his demand to be fucked immediately, Snape refused to be hurried and Harry found he didn’t really want to rush anyway, because every second in those strong arms was life affirming.

Still kissing him, Snape eased Harry down gently until his back met the bedcovers. He sought out the waistband of Harry’s jeans, deftly popping the buttons open before teasing them down over his erection and dragging them to his knees. Cool air assailed Harry’s cock, making him groan his approval into Snape’s mouth, his own hands setting to work on Snape’s trousers until they too were around his calves. The kiss broke regretfully, both men urgently kicked off their lower garments before pressing together again.

“God, I love how you feel against me,” Harry said quietly, arching his neck to give Snape better access to it, “I love how you get so hard for me.”

Snape grunted his agreement into the hollow of Harry’s neck and moved his mouth lower, trapping a stiff nipple between his teeth. Harry caressed his back, hands trailing down the bumpy spine until he discovered soft, curved buttocks to dig his nails into.

Hisses of approval glanced off his chest as he continued to massage apart Snape’s arse, coaxing him to press firmly into his groin and shifting his legs to feel more of that solid cock against his own. Harry vaguely wondered if the potion was to make him less inhibited, because the next thing he knew, he was demanding Snape let him suck his cock.

Unsurprisingly, his lover had no protest to make, and Harry rolled them both until he was sat astride, smiling at the picture Snape made with his hair splayed out in all directions across the expensive silk sheets, the black locks a striking contrast against the cream covers. Harry leant forward and pinned his wrists either side of his head, leaning down to administer a powerfully crushing kiss to smirking lips.

“What was in the potion?” Harry whispered, gently biting his neck.

“You will find out soon enough.”

Harry shivered at the tone, teasing and thickly sexual and so bloody deep. If only Snape had talked like this in Potions, Harry would have eagerly attended every single class with gusto. Biting a little harder, he repeated his question.

“As I said, brat, you will find out in due course.”

Realising he wasn’t going to get an answer, Harry turned around, still straddling Snape’s stomach and slipped his fingers around the very excited cock. He bent forward and without any gentle, teasing preparation, suddenly engulfed it.

He smiled around his mouthful as the top half of Snape’s body jerked off the bed, hands clamping onto Harry’s hips from behind, verbal encouragement and dirty words bursting torrentially from his mouth.

It took a few attempts for Harry to take the entire length without choking, but once he realised he should breath through his nose and relax the muscles in his throat, he marvelled at how far down it could go, and judging by the sharp pants coming from behind him and the fingertips spearing his waist, Snape was marvelling too. Harry kept his pace relatively slow, still getting used to the new experience of deep-throating and tried to ignore his own cock throbbing and demanding similar attention.

The broken rasp of, “Harry,” only made it worse though, and he gasped when wicked fingers began to explore his cleft, sinking into his arse and probing his passage with exquisite precision. Harry threw himself against them, babbling incoherently for more and washed away with the need to have the cock in his mouth firmly entrenched in his arse. With impeccable timing, Snape groaned for him to stop just as Harry was about to let the silky shaft slide out of his mouth.

“Come here,” Snape commanded and Harry scrambled up the bed to lay alongside him, pulling him in for a long kiss. Snape hooked his hand under Harry’s knee and raised it up, the other hand firmly on his arse, guiding him forward until his cock nudged Harry’s hole, the position awkward but not impossible and by God, so arousing to be face to face and chest to chest with his lover as he slid reverentially into Harry’s welcoming tightness.

Harry kept panting with each thrust that took Snape deeper, each exhalation swallowed by the kiss they shared and when he felt the familiar point inside him where the head of Snape’s cock usually came to rest, he let out a long breath.

“Severus, I love this, I love you inside me, love it, love you, love feeling you there, fucking love it.” Internally he cursed himself for being so bloody emotional, but then decided he couldn’t care less.

“I suppose you may also consider yourself...loved,” Snape said with a lip quirk, and Harry would have smacked him one, if not for the fire raging in those black eyes, promising he spoke the truth.

“If you really love me, bloody move,” he retorted playfully, gratified when his demand was met. Snape did move, slowly at first, gradually faster but never too fast, and though he would never verbalise it, he was making love to Harry, reaffirming the words he had spoken earlier.

Harry’s orgasm crept up on him, gasping against Snape’s neck in warning, two sets of fingers working his length with practised knowledge until the coiled tension snapped and he christened it with a long, guttural moan, his cock pulsing between their bellies, stroked carefully by his lover, on top of his own hand.

At the crest of completion, when Harry dazedly expected it to start receding, it didn’t; wave after wave of heightened pleasure made his cock jerk repeatedly, endless ribbons of come streaming from him until his balls were empty, and yet still the height of his orgasm stayed peaked. Snape held his trembling body tight whilst he yelled and groaned and convulsed and clawed dementedly at Snape’s chest. His brain detachedly noted the deeply amused chuckles emanating above him and he realised then what the potion did.

After what felt like returning from oblivion, cock well and truly spent, Harry slumped in exhaustion, soothed by stroking hands on his back as he tried to catch his breath.

“It seems your patience was rewarded,” Snape murmured against his ear. Harry used the last of his strength to clench his arse muscles, smiling tiredly when Snape reacted with a sharp hiss. Every muscle in his body was on fire, as though the prolonged orgasm had drawn strength from each strand of sinew that made him whole.

“Fucking hell,” he managed to croak, “I knew there had to be a good reason people studied Potions.”

Snape answered with a short thrust of his hips, reminding Harry that he still had a rather large, unsatisfied cock in his arse.

“Wait, hang on, I want to –“ Harry held the older man’s hips tightly and drew his knees up, rolling Snape onto his back so that he ended up on top.

“I want to ride you,” Harry explained, palms flat on Snape’s chest as he steadied himself before attempting to rise. Each time he slammed his hips down and felt the entire length fill his arse, he keenly watched Snape’s reaction; eyes fluttery, breath uneven and a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, small beads of moisture forming at his temple. Harry gave himself over completely, rising and falling, over and over, shocked and elated at how quickly Snape approached climax this way, sweating, grunting and flooding Harry’s walls with hot semen, and shaking (shaking!) as he grabbed Harry’s face and pulled him down to kiss his way through the aftershocks. Harry ran his fingers through the damp black hair, listening happily to his ragged breaths until Snape pulled out; slowly enough that Harry could feel each softening ridge as it slipped out of his passage.

Exhausted and sated, they fell asleep, wrapped up in each other, sticky with the evidence of their lovemaking.

***

The next morning, Harry batted irritably at the bony finger that kept poking his chest in an attempt to rouse him.

“Stop it, go’way.”

“Get up, lazy brat.”

“No. Get your own coffee.”

“I am not waking you to fetch coffee, I am waking you because we have sightseeing to do.”

Since Harry was expertly managing to swipe away every one of his attempts at chest poking, Snape switched to his forehead instead.

“Oww! That hurt!” Harry sat up and swung his pillow, but it missed by a mile.

“That is why you will never make Beater. No respectable beater could have missed my head at such short range and with such a large attack object.”

Harry grunted and propped himself up a bit more, “I happen to enjoy being Seeker, thanks. I’d like to see you on a broomstick doing either.”

Snape snorted and retrieved his clothes, dressing as he continued their conversation. “I have absolutely no desire to waste my precious time playing ridiculous games. However, were I to, I can assure you I would be perfectly adept at both.”

Harry, whose eyes had only just cleared enough to grope for and check his watch, yelled in alarm.

“It’s five bloody am! In the morning!”

“Yes, generally the A.M .section of the day falls in the morning. Your point?”


“My point,” Harry huffed, pummelling the pillow and throwing himself back into it, “is that it’s five bloody am! I am not going sightseeing at five am!”

“I wish to watch the sun rise from Tour Montparnasse.”

“Well have fun, and don’t forget to bring me coffee when you come back.”

Harry snuggled back down into the warmth and closed his eyes. He thought he had got away with it but moments later he was being levitated and the covers slipped away.

“If I have to take you as you are then I shall, but I imagine you would prefer to acquiesce and get dressed first.”

Snape broke the spell and he tumbled back onto the bed.

“Bloody hell! Alright!”

Harry grumbled and went to find a clean t-shirt and pants, ignoring the bemused smirk directed his way.

“It would also be wise for us to procure some breakfast, since we apparently forgot to eat dinner last night.”

Harry’s stomach gurgled loudly at the reminder, and he begrudgingly admitted that actually, he was hungry, and that watching the day break over the city might not be such an imposition after all.
Shivering just at the thought of going outside so early, Harry pulled his jacket tightly around him and grunted that he was ready to go.

***

It had been well worth it, Harry reflected, as he once again toed off his trainers, this time taking Severus up on his offer of healing his wretched feet. Since Tour Montparnasse (a 210 meter skyscraper, the tallest in France according to Severus) was not open to the public before 9AM, they had Apparated to the 59th floor, the observational deck, huddled together in the face of the brisk dawn breeze and observed the tip of the sun as it peeked out from the edge of the earth, rays splitting in all directions to bathe the city in hues of gold. If Harry had never found out he was a wizard, then that alone would have been enough to convince him of magic.

The rest of the day had been taken up with their visit to the Louvre. The sheer size of the museum had astounded him as they passed through endless rooms and exhibitions, and he had been especially delighted when they finally found their way to the gallery containing the Mona Lisa. Harry had looked more intently at Severus than the picture itself, mapping every crease on the man’s face as he smiled serenely and gazed at it for the longest time, displaying such rare contentment and peace that Harry couldn’t help but cherish it on the rare occasions he got to witness it.

And they hadn’t argued all day either, with Harry going as far as to ask Snape if he was feeling okay, such was the lack of needling barbs. Well, apart from when Harry had cheekily told him there was a resemblance between his lover and the most famous painting in the world, (it was all in the smirk) and that perhaps Snape should check his family tree, because that was now two French people he appeared related to.

Of course, then he had incurred endless scorn and ridicule when informed most haughtily that the woman depicted in the Mona Lisa was most assuredly Italian, not French, and that his impudent brattiness was really becoming quite tiresome. As was, apparently, his juvenile sense of humour when he had snickered at the Roman busts. Snape’s quietly hissed, “Tell me you are not laughing because they are naked,” had only caused Harry to laugh louder.

But all in all, the day had been perfect, and he was rather downhearted about having to return home again.

“Now what?”

Shaken out of his reverie by the suspicious baritone he mumbled, “Huh?”

“You are frowning.” Snape was carefully packing away his clothes whilst Harry tried to decide what to do with the mountain of pants.

“No, I was just thinking how lovely it’s been. I’ve really had a great time, just a bit sad to be going home already.”

Putting down the trousers he held, Snape crossed the room and captured Harry in his arms.
“Yesterday, you were pining for your creature comforts.”

“Yeah, well I think I realised home is wherever we are, as long as we’re together.” He looked into Severus’ eyes. “I was wondering if you might, well, only if you wanted to, but, would you consider moving in with me? I mean, I know we haven’t been together all that long but, well, as I said, only if you-”

“Shut up,” Snape silenced Harry with a kiss, eventually letting him up for air when his lips started to turn blue, “I shall, if only to keep a closer eye on your waywardness.”

It took Harry a few moments to realize he’d asked a question he hadn’t had any previous intention of asking, and yet in spite of that, the answer he had received was absolutely perfect. He beamed.

“Now, if you are quite finished with melodramatic displays of affection, our Portkey is ready.”

Harry grabbed his bag, leaving almost all the pants in a heap on the bed and deciding to treat himself to some new ones. In fact, there were a lot of things that were going to have to be improved if Severus was moving in... perhaps Ron would return favours and help him decorate.

***

Stumbling into the flat, Harry dropped his bag in the hallway and picked up the post.

“Tea?”

“Mm, yes please. You know, I could get used to being waited on hand and foot.”

A derisive snort told him it would be a cold day in hell before that happened.

“How did you learn French?”

Was it his imagination, or did Severus sound vaguely impressed?

“Television. During holidays at the Dursleys. Vernon snored like a wild boar, so I used to get up and sneak downstairs to watch the TV. Only thing on at that time of night was Open University programmes. Learnt quite a lot that way.”

“In that case, perhaps I should have introduced midnight Potions lessons expressly for you, if your mental capacity increases exponentially after sundown.”

“You did, remember? They were called detention. I had plenty of them.”

Harry flicked through the letters and sat down on the sofa, enjoying the domestic sounds of Snape rattling around the kitchen as he checked his mail. One letter in particular caught his eye, the handwriting as familiar to him as his own.

Harry tore it open and began to read.

With two steaming mugs of tea in hand, Snape carried them to the coffee table and joined Harry on the sofa.

“Anything interesting?” he said.

“Uh, depends on what you mean by interesting,” Harry knew he was stalling for time, but this wasn’t going to go down well at any point. Still, better to get it out of the way so that he could start cleaning blood and guts off of the ceiling when Snape exploded.

“If you do not wish to share the confidences of your fan mail, by all means-“

“It’s Sirius,” Harry blurted, hardly daring to open his eyes, “Sirius is coming to stay.”

***