Chapter Text
"Really, Harry, it’s fascinating."
Harry forced a smile. "It’s really nothing very exciting. I can’t tell where he is or what he’s doing, and we can go out whenever we want to. It’s like what Dumbledore did when he placed me with the Dursleys. Spinners End is protected, that’s all. It doesn’t give us a special empathy for each other or anything."
Hermione frowned. "But according to what I’ve read, it’s not nearly as strong as what Dumbledore did. Your bond took less time and effort, but isn’t as effective even though your magic and Snape’s is tied to the stone. I wonder why Scrimgeour chose a less powerful spell?"
Harry shrugged. "Probably because we were busy trying to bite each other’s heads off, and he wanted to be rid of us as quickly as possible," he surmised.
"I don’t know," Hermione replied reluctantly, her forehead wrinkled in worry. "Why did he insist on the bond in the first place?"
"He said it would promote healing in the community or something."
"Really? That...doesn’t sound right."
Harry shifted on the sofa uncomfortably. "Well, what other reason would he have to do it? I mean, I guess I kind of got the feeling that he felt Snape and I would keep each other busy and out of his hair, but..."
"That’s...more likely, but still somehow off," Hermione said. "I mean, I understand why he would want you both out of the way; you’re a hero, and a famous one at that, and with the revelation of Snape’s true loyalties and all he did for the wizarding world, it makes sense that Scrimgeour would be nervous. Either one of you could be a potentially powerful political adversary," she suggested.
Harry laughed. "Maybe he’s hoping we’ll kill each other." A shiver ran through him. They sat in silence for several contemplative moments. "Wait a moment; you said the spell wasn’t very powerful?"
"It’s odd, but the way the magic and the magical protection has sort of leaked into the bricks, both seem weakened," Hermione answered, sounding puzzled. "I just can’t see why anyone would purposely do that, unless...Harry, you don’t think—"
Staring at his feet, Harry thought furiously. Unless they wanted the protection to weaken, he thought. Unless they meant to come back later and attack the very place that was supposed to be safe... He swallowed hard. He’d even invited his friends round! If something happened to Hermione, he’d never forgive himself. Harry leapt to his feet, grabbed her arm and hauled her out of the chair. "Come on; get outside right now. You go home and wait with Ron, and I’ll contact you later."
"But Harry, what are you going to do? We don’t know anything for certain! We don’t have a shred of proof! You’re not going to confront Scrimgeour, are you?"
"No, I won’t approach Scrimgeour," he assured her as they hurried into the cold night, yanking their cloaks on. "Not alone, anyway." After they crossed the street, Harry turned. He stared at Spinners End, a decrepit building which now seemed to lurk menacingly in the darkness—a building that had started to feel like home. Even now the lights glowed invitingly, and Harry felt a moment of wrenching regret. Would he ever be safe anywhere?
Hermione silently laid a hand on his shoulder.
"I’m glad Snape isn’t home," he muttered. "At least he’s safe."
Hermione shook her head. "Harry...you each put your magic into the bond. It doesn’t matter where he is; if something happens to Spinners End, you’ll both be Muggles."
Harry looked at her, feeling the blood drain from his face. "Oh, my god. I have to find him."
OoOoOoOoO
"Therefore if you want to make a Concoction of Coveting, only a pinch of Levisticum officinale is...recommended..." Snape trailed off as Harry hurtled into the room. His eyes were as big as dinner plates, and he had that stunned codfish look he got whenever something had particularly traumatized him. Inwardly, Severus groaned. What had the brat managed to get into now? "That’s all for this evening, gentlemen," he concluded hastily. "And if any of you care to attempt any of the elixirs outlined in tonight’s speech, I’m sure that Mr. Abacuk would be happy to supply you with the ingredients. Excuse me," he added softly, pressing through the crowd and making his way to Potter.
Harry was nearly hopping from one foot to the other, obviously anxious.
"Wonderful speech," Draco smarmed, neatly injecting himself between them. "Thank you so much for agreeing to help me out. I can’t tell you what it means to me."
Snape eyed Harry apprehensively over Draco’s head; the boy looked ready to explode with agitation. Well, he’d have to learn patience sometime. "Thank you for inviting me," Snape replied. "It made a nice change to have an audience that actually paid attention while I dispensed instruction. Mind you, they’ll blow themselves up if they attempt half of what I told them, I’ve no doubt."
"Snape—"
"Good riddance," Draco said loudly, speaking over Harry. "Now that they’ve given me their money, I have no further use for them. You promised to let me buy you a drink?"
Harry scowled for a moment, then shoved Draco out of the way. Then, to Snape’s astonishment, Potter swooned, pressing the back of one hand to his forehead dramatically. "What the devil?" Snape exclaimed, just barely managing to catch the brat.
"I feel sick," Harry moaned softly. "I think you’d better take me home...I have to have you with me...the bond...having strange...empathic pangs," he murmured.
Snape dragged him outside by the scruff of his neck. "What are you on about, you histrionic thespian?" he hissed. "I don’t believe for one second you’re suffering from ‘empathic pangs.’ I certainly wasn’t enduring any ‘empathic pangs’ over your absence!"
Harry straightened up, affronted. "You wouldn’t recognize an empathic pang if it bit you in the arse! Look, Snape, this is important! Do you know why Scrimgeour bonded us?"
Snape hesitated, glancing around the empty alley. "I...assumed he wanted someone to keep an eye on me. Who better than that indefatigable do-gooder, Harry Potter?"
Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "What if it was more than that? What if he saw us as a threat?"
"I’m no threat to him," Snape protested feebly. "He could have me killed, if he wanted."
"That would bring unwanted attention from the press, I think," Harry said, pacing. "I don’t believe he was worried about your safety at all. Or mine. I think he was lying through his teeth, right from the beginning. Hermione said we’d be...potentially powerful political adversaries," he repeated. "And we would. Think about it! We would! What if this whole bonding thing was just to get us out of the way?"
Snape frowned. "You may be right," he said with reluctance. "He gave me no time to consider. Take the deal or hang, so I took the deal. That brick and its implications have given me sleepless nights ever since. We took too much at face value. We should have asked questions. I should have asked questions; no one would expect you to think of...well, to think. But I should have known better. That double dealing bastard!"
"I can’t believe a politician lied to us," Harry quipped feebly. "Hermione says the protection is weakened by the fact that it’s spreading into all the bricks."
"It’s—what?"
"I thought you knew. I thought it was supposed to do that—to protect the whole house. It isn’t?"
Snape felt like he might be sick. "No, I didn’t know it was doing that, and no it isn’t supposed to," he barked. "Why the hell didn’t Granger mention this to me, and earlier?"
Harry shrugged, bewildered. "Maybe because you bite her head off whenever she looks at you?"
"Damn and blast! He didn’t seal it off. He just left it that way; left it to drain. No protection, no magic. We never should have trusted him. And I thought it was your fault—distracting me."
"My magic hasn’t been working right, either," Harry noted in quiet dread. "That’s why the wards weren’t up in the bedroom—I did remember to put them up, but they weakened. And that’s why I couldn’t seem to curse Draco. But there have been times, haven’t there, when our magic seemed just fine?"
"Yes," Snape replied darkly. "When we were about to have sex or a flaming row. When we were really simmering with power. Not in the everyday things."
"We should tell someone," Harry opined.
"Oh, really? Who, pray tell? In the first place, we don’t have any proof. I highly doubt anyone would believe us—especially as it’s our word against the Minister’s. Who would be brave enough to stand up to the Minister of Magic, anyway?"
"What should we do?"
After a few moments of reflection, Snape gave a grim smile. "We’ll go and get the brick and take it to Grimmauld Place. Scrimgeour was never privy to that little secret, was he? It ought to be safe, there. And then we’ll have to have it sealed off so the magic stops seeping out."
Harry nodded, evidently relieved. "Yes; that sounds good," he said. "I can’t say I’d be happy to live there for any length of time, but it beats being dead, I guess. Should we Apparate straight into the study?"
"We shouldn’t—"
"But it’s the fastest way," Harry argued. "It’ll take us right inside, and all we’d have to do is reach up and snatch the thing off the mantle. We can’t risk someone else getting there first," he pointed out.
"Yes, we can," Snape replied evenly. "I shouldn’t like to spend the rest of my life as a Muggle, but as you said, it beats being dead. We should approach the house cautiously."
Harry nodded. "And you know, you’re wrong about one thing. I can think of at least one person who would—who would probably believe me, at least. And he’s highly placed, so he might be able to do something if we’re right."
"Who?"
"Kingsley Shacklebolt. He’s head of the Auror division now."
Snape hesitated. "I’ll borrow an owl from the proprietor and ask him to meet us at the house."
OoOoOoOoO
The building was dark and still when they arrived back. The weak flicker of an erratic streetlamp bathed their path in a sickly yellow glow. Harry fought off the shiver that tried to inch up his spine, but didn’t let go of Severus’ arm. "Everything looks all right," he said, and realized that he was whispering.
"Mm-hmm," Snape agreed quietly. They stayed motionless for several moments, Harry straining for any sound other than his own heartbeat. "Wait here," Snape ordered. "I’ll retrieve the brick. It’s important that we have it sealed off before more damage is done, and if anything should happen to it..."
He stepped forward, but Harry clung stubbornly to his arm, digging his heels in. "No! Let me go in!"
Snape whirled, jerking his arm away and glaring at Harry. "You will wait here, and you will bloody behave, for once in your obstinate life!" he snapped.
Harry opened his mouth, but he’d seen Snape in moods like this often enough to know not to push his luck, so instead he nodded, swallowing hard.
Returning his nod curtly, Snape turned and marched toward the house. Harry watched him go, crossing his fingers and clutching his wand. Everything would be all right. It would have to be all right. The house was fine. It was still standing, dim and silent, and perfectly safe.
Dim and silent.
A sledgehammer seemed to hit Harry in the chest; he hadn’t left Spinners End dark and silent. When he and Hermione left, the lights were all blazing. He opened his mouth to call out a warning, and ran after Snape.
Harry saw the man turn again, his face puzzled and annoyed, before a sudden backlight made the man a mere slim silhouette against a fiery inferno.
Harry flung himself forward, tackling him. "Aguamenti," he grunted, but no water was forthcoming, so he put out the smouldering robes the Muggle way, rolling over Snape and slapping at them until they’d been sufficiently smothered and Snape shoved him away.
"I’m fine, Potter!" he insisted, despite his appearance and the stench of burnt hair which hung in the night air. Harry helped the man to his feet. "We’re too late," Severus said in a flat voice, staring at the roaring blaze. Flames leapt into the sky, malicious and triumphant.
A figure emerged, hurrying away from the house, and Harry leapt to accost the man. "You did this," he raged, hands fisted tight in the Minister’s robes.
"I did this," Scrimgeour affirmed grimly.
"Why?"
"I didn’t want another Dark Lord. I couldn’t leave it to chance. I had to take steps," the man explained. "You’re too powerful—much too powerful—and Snape’s too devious. He wiggled out of the noose, with Dumbledore’s help, but he knew all the Dark Lord’s best tricks. You’re a danger to Wizarding society—both of you."
"We’re a danger?" Snape gasped, outraged. "Will you look at my bloody house? Then take a good look in the mirror, you deranged politician! You’re the one out of his sodding mind!"
Scrimgeour laughed. "Prove it! No one will ever listen to you, and as soon as that house has fallen, Potter won’t have magic anymore. It will be easy to take him out. I’ll tell everyone you were to blame. No one will even know the difference."
"I’ll know," a new voice spoke up, dark and angry. Harry’s head whipped around to see Kingsley Shacklebolt—the snap of the flames had covered the ‘pop’ of his Apparition. He stepped forward to stand at Severus’ shoulder, his expression hard.
For a moment, Scrimgeour looked shocked, his shaggy brows high. But with the instincts of a fighter, he recovered quickly, drawing his wand. "No!" Harry shouted, lunging for the man’s arm, but the nonverbal curse had already been cast.
Kingsley elbowed Snape out of the way, taking the curse square in his chest. Snape struggled to keep the now-unconscious Auror from falling and cracking his head open on the street while trying to draw his wand. Harry fought with Scrimgeour, pushing the tip of his wand away, and another curse went up, lighting the night sky.
Behind them, Spinners End burned.
Harry fancied he could feel the magic seeping from his bones, bleeding out of his body. He shook his head. He supposed he could live with being a Muggle—he’d lived as one half his life—but what about Snape? To a Slytherin, living without magic was probably worse than death. Harry imagined it was something like getting the Dementors’ kiss. He couldn’t help picturing Severus hunched over, his eyes bleak and blank.
He had to do something.
Before he’d fully formed the thought, Harry had shoved the Minister hard and was sprinting toward the blazing building. "Reducto!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the door, blasting it out of the way.
"Potter!" Snape roared furiously but Harry tuned him out, concentrating on getting into the building before Scrimgeour could hex him.
He had get his hands on that brick; without magic, they couldn’t possibly fight Scrimgeour. Part of the ceiling caved in with an almighty crash, and he pressed his back against the wall, inching past the charred wreckage. The smoke was thick and acrid; he pulled his robes up to cover his mouth and nose. Eyes streaming, he managed to make it to the study.
A whip-crack sounded over the noise of the fire, and Scrimgeour stalked forward through black smoke, his mane of hair singed, his yellowish eyes wild. "Oh, no, Potter," he growled. "I’ve worked too hard for this. I finally had everything just as I wanted it; the world was safe."
Harry tried to dodge around the Minister, but Scrimgeour grabbed hold of his robes, yanking him back. Harry fought him, but a hacking cough erupted from his chest, preventing him from managing any spells. Strong hands wrapped around his throat.
"I’ll help you with that cough," Scrimgeour growled.
Everything was beginning to go black. With a quick, desperate movement, Harry stabbed at the man’s face with his wand. Scrimgeour turned his head, his hands loosening just enough for Harry to gasp. "Ac—accio—brick," he choked out.
There was a grating noise, and Harry’s eyes widened as he saw the wall beside them crash inward.
OoOoOoOoO
"Over here! I found a body!"
"Don’t look, Hermione!"
"Oh, my god! It isn’t Harry, is it? Is it?"
Snape felt suddenly weak. The remains of Spinners End were still smoking in the early morning light as Aurors combed through the wreckage, looking for survivors. Looking for fallen heroes.
Weasley was bending over, inspecting the body.
"It isn’t Potter," Snape insisted hoarsely. "I know it isn’t."
"You wouldn’t know," Weasely replied. "You can’t feel each other’s presence or anything."
Snape turned on him, grabbing him by the robes and yanking him forward so that their noses nearly touched. "I just know!" he snarled.
"Stop it," Hermione ordered. "Or I’ll call the other Aurors over to keep you two apart."
Giving her a dark look, Snape reluctantly let go of Ron. "You shouldn’t even be here," he told her. "You’re not authorized."
"Neither are you!" Ron retorted. "We have a right to be here, because we care about Harry. We’re his friends! What are you?"
"I’m his—we’re—partners," Snape spluttered. "We share a bond. And he isn’t dead," he insisted.
"All right," Hermione murmured, trying to placate the man. Weasley went back to doing his job, inspecting the body.
"Blimey! Do you know who this is? Some of the—er—hair is still intact," Ron exclaimed. "Look! Er—you don’t have to, Hermione. Trust me, you don’t want to see this."
Peering cautiously over Weasley’s shoulder, Snape saw the very unpleasant remains of Rufus Scrimgeour. "He must have been trying to intercept Potter," he muttered. "And got caught in an explosion of his own making."
"But what about Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice wavering just a little.
A nearby pile of bricks coughed.
Snape flung himself to his knees, digging into the rubble with his hands as Ron stood behind him, level-headedly levitating them away. "I see something," Snape rasped. "It’s—it looks like a leg!"
Hermione began helping, too, the three wizards feverishly dismantling the mound of debris. It shifted a little, and a small landslide of broken bricks and stones went skittering away as Harry lifted his head.
"Healer!" Hermione screamed. "Don’t move him—we don’t want to injure him further—someone get a Healer or a mediwizard here right now!"
"Whew, she’s loud when she’s panicked," Harry said in a strangled voice. Snape brushed the fringe out of his eyes; he was bleeding from the forehead. Hermione spotted someone who seemed to be in charge and hauled Ron off to demand assistance.
"You absolute idiot," Snape spat. "Why the bloody hell did you go rushing into an exploding building? Sometimes I think your main reason for being put on this earth was to cause migraines, strokes and impotency."
"Oh, now that last one’s unfair."
"Infuriating little bastard," Snape grumbled.
"Shacklebolt?"
"Is fine," Snape told him, relenting a bit.
Harry blinked. His glasses were gone, and he looked very lost and vulnerable without them. "It’s all rubble," he mumbled in a husky voice. "It’s all gone. I’m a complete failure."
To Snape’s horror, Harry seemed to be getting teary, his eyes glistening. "What arrogance! And I suppose Rome fell because you weren’t around to stop it? Let the blame lay with Scrimgeour, where it belongs. And at least we’re still alive."
Potter looked up, face twisted with a pain Snape knew had nothing to do with his injuries. "But...we lost everything. Our magic, the house, the bond...." Severus found that his chest ached with an all too familiar mix of grief and regret. He reproached himself silently; he ought to be glad to get rid of Potter, at least. Potter would certainly be glad to get rid of him. He’d probably never have to see the boy again... Funny how that only seemed to twist the cold, sharp knife of pain in his stomach a little deeper.
Potter made a small noise, an almost inaudible mewl escaping from a throat tight with frustration and loss, and he turned his head to Snape’s chest. Taken aback, Severus tried to find somewhere to pat the boy that wouldn’t compound any injuries. "Your bird escaped," he said, fumbling for words that would seem helpful. "She’s fine. She pecked the hell out of me when I tried to capture her, though. You’ve probably got a concussion. Not that anyone would be able to tell if you’d been knocked stupid. At any rate, it will all seem better when the Healers have seen to you..."
"Yeah," Harry said dully.
Hermione hurried over, leading a Healer, and Ron and Snape stepped back as Harry was checked over, his more serious injuries taken care of on the spot.
"Help me get him on the stretcher," the Healer said. "We’ll have a closer look at St. Mungo’s and run some tests."
Snape stepped back as the Healer levitated the boy. As Harry’s body rose into the air, something fell away with a thunk. Snape looked down. On the ground was one whole, undamaged brick. "Must have been caught in his robes," the Healer said, unimpressed.
Severus knelt, pressing his hand to the stone. It was warm, and seemed to thrum slightly, sending one pure, musical note straight to his soul. He met Harry’s eyes and he smiled slightly.
"But...how do you know it’s the right brick?" Harry asked plaintively.
Hermione had grabbed Ron’s arm and was holding it tightly, looking very excited. "It doesn’t have to be the right brick," she explained. "Once the stone was set on the hearth, the magic spread to all of them. He must have meant it to weaken you, but it also served to multiply the target by thousands. One stone survived, and that’s all that was needed. The bond is still intact. And your magic."
Harry smiled a little, relieved. "You’ll take good care of it until I’m better?" he asked Snape.
Snape nodded. "Until you’re ready to come home. And unless you infuriate me to the extent that I kill you myself," he added as an afterthought.
OoOoOoOoO
"You look...very dashing," Severus said, straightening Harry’s collar.
Harry ducked his head. "Better than a white dress," he mumbled.
"Then be grateful it’s a housewarming party, and not another wedding ceremony."
"Non-traditional, magical and civil ceremony uniting two people," Harry corrected automatically, turning his head from right to left as he looked in the mirror.
"Yes, yes. It’s a mercy we’ll never have to go through that again," Snape commented. "Are you about ready?"
"Almost," Harry replied, fussing with his hair. "I should have asked Hermione for some of that Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Why does it always have to look as though I just got out of bed after having slept on it wrong all night?"
"You look fine," Snape told him in exasperation. "Your hair is perfect, your eyes are bright, your waist is trim, and no, those robes don’t make your bum look big."
Harry blinked, craning his neck a little. "What? Are you sure? I hadn’t even thought about that!"
"Will you stop this nonsense?"
"Why did you even bring it up, if it wasn’t true?" Harry demanded.
"Quit stalling," Snape replied firmly. "Everyone’s waiting for us."
Harry’s shoulders slumped. "Oh, all right. It’s only that I hate crowds. I’m also not wild about ceremonies performed by Ministers of Magic."
"I imagine this one will be safe enough."
Nodding a little, Harry allowed himself a small smile. "I guess you’re right. Kingsley will make a good Minister." He held out his arm to Snape. "Shall we go?"
They arrived at the new house just in time to meet Draco. "Next time you’re going to duck out early on a commitment to me, make sure your excuse is more believable than, ‘The Minister of Magic has gone mad and wants to kill me,’" he said. "And never arrive after me again. I’ve been standing out here for at least ten minutes."
"Why?" Harry asked, baffled.
Draco looked irritated. "Because I have to arrive fashionably late and make an entrance," he explained.
Snape shook his head. "It’s a Malfoy idiosyncrasy," he said. "They’ll do anything to be the centre of attention."
Harry shrugged. "Well, he’s welcome to it. I hate people looking at me."
"Potter, there is something seriously wrong with you," Draco told him disbelievingly.
"Attention comes with people wanting to kill me," Harry argued.
"Boys. Let’s go inside," Snape said, quelling the dispute. He opened the door and ushered them through. Draco went first, of course.
"You really never...?" Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
"No. He’s attractive, but inane. It was nice to have him around, in a decorative sense, but...look at it this way; he’s like frost on a window pane. You glance at it and say, ‘Oh, isn’t that lovely?’ and then you move on. Because you can't do much with it in any case except to look; it's deadly dull after a few moments, and if you try to get close enough to touch it, you find..."
Harry smiled sweetly and tacked on, "It turns into nothing but a drip."
"Not the way I would have put it, but at least you've grasped the general idea."
The Weasleys and Hermione were all there, beaming at Harry. Remus and Tonks were also there, as well as Hagrid and some of Harry’s school friends, all looking pleased to have been invited.
Kingsley stood beside an enormous hearth, looking snappy in robes of royal blue. He smiled widely at Harry. "Hey, there! Finally, the new homeowners have arrived."
Harry grinned and shook the man’s hand, and even Snape summoned a nod of recognition. "Can we get this spectacle over with?"
"Why?" Harry asked. "I’ll just invite them all over again for brunch and dinner parties," he said.
Snape groaned.
Kingsley cleared his throat. "I think we’re ready," he said. He smiled at everyone and added, "I’ve prepared a little speech." This time, both Harry and Snape groaned, and Kingsley made an impatient motion at them. "It won’t take long."
"It had better not," Snape muttered, and Harry nudged him a little.
"We gather, like our ancestors did long ago, round the hearth—the heart of the home," Shacklebolt began, pretending he hadn’t heard. "We came to the fire to cook, to warm ourselves, to pass on our culture through stories and song. We came for protection. We came because it held us to each other.
Our hearths grew from simple, flat stones to towering constructions, monuments to warmth and light. So has civilisation grown; like any good relationship, into something often complicated, something that takes more than mortar and bricks to hold together."
"Yes. Sometimes in our case, it requires handcuffs on the headboard, but that’s neither here nor there," Snape injected dryly.
Kingsley pinned the man with a warning look. "Belt up, you," he said affably. "I spent half the night writing this; it’s my first public speech and I don’t need your input. Where was I? Right, right; if someone had told me at the beginning that Harry and Snape would not only survive Voldemort, but each other, and build a life together..." Kingsley shook his head a bit with a half-smile. "I have to confess that I wouldn’t have believed it. And yet, even while their magic seemed to die, somehow their tie strengthened; as the magic trickled from one brick to many, their relationship grew—in fits and starts, slowly."
"Like a bacterial culture," Snape muttered. Harry trod heavily on his foot, and he subsided.
"Anyway, they did an amazing job. They saved their magic and each other, and exposed a madman. For that we owe them a debt of gratitude."
"Again," Harry sighed.
Severus snorted loudly over the polite applause of the audience. "I never intended to save Potter," he insisted. "I wanted my magic, and Potter merely happened to live through the experience."
Kingsley smiled, his face bland. "This hearth is nearly finished. It lacks only one stone, and the spell, which I’m about to perform, to set it." He reached for the mantle where a blackened brick sat stolidly, and bent to slide it into place. "There," he said with satisfaction.
He took a breath, raising his wand high to manipulate the protective energy he was generating. White light streamed from his wand, pouring to the floor, rushing and rolling over the hearthstones, off onto the carpet, slipping under the audience’s feet and leaving them tingling. The light encompassed the room, crawled up the walls and spread across the ceiling until they seemed to be standing in a room of pure, scintillating whiteness. Then the magic began to seep into the foundations of the house, leaving the various surfaces glimmering for just a second or two longer.
For a moment, the new Minister looked tired, but then he managed a smile. "I’ve sealed it off for good, now. Nothing will ever hurt that stone—or this house."
Harry grinned, leaning on Snape’s arm. "Thank you. It’s a good home," he added quietly.
"Yes," Snape agreed. "I suppose. It has the right sort of foundation."
The room applauded again, loudly.
Afterward, when Draco had everyone sufficiently distracted by regaling them with daring (and mostly exaggerated, when not downright false) tales of how he repeatedly undermined Voldemort, Snape looked around and found Harry missing from the group. He spotted the boy at the window, leaning against the frame and gazing outside.
Severus joined him, looking over his shoulder. "It’s snowing," he commented, watching the fat, feathery flakes light upon the glass and melt.
"Yeah," Harry said. "It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?"
Snape grunted noncommittally. He stared at the window, seeing the firelight reflected there, orange and red, cheerful and soothing, unlike the uncontrollable blaze that had brought down Spinners End. And there, too, was a reflection of Harry’s face, eyes softened by contentment.
Harry leaned back against Snape’s taller body, resting comfortably against his chest. Snape allowed this, not shifting away, though he made no move to return the gesture. Harry grabbed one of Snape’s arms and wrapped it around him, ignoring the man’s indignant splutter. "Come on, admit it," he persisted. "It’s pretty out."
"I beg to differ. It looks cold," Severus retorted. "And nothing but."
Harry grinned. "Glad we’re nice and warm in here, then," he said, refusing to rise to the bait.
"I’d rather be nice and warm and in bed, without all these people around," Snape replied.
Harry’s grin widened. "I’d rather be nice and warm and in bed with you, without all these people around," he anted.
A slightly wicked smile played on the edges of Snape’s mouth as he leaned down to breathe in Harry’s ear, "I’d rather be nice and warm and in bed with you, without all these people around, slipping into the tight heat of your body, listening to the throaty whimpers you make when I stroke your cock." Harry looked away, laughing a little, but in the reflective surface of the window, Snape could see that his cheeks were bright with embarrassment. Severus ran a finger down Harry’s cheek. "Vermillion," he said smugly.
Harry sighed, a sound infused with satisfaction. "Vermillion," he parroted agreeably.
(The End.)