dementordelta (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} dementordelta) wrote,@ 2009-06-29 21:20:00 |
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Fic Post: The Black Asphodel, Part 2 of 5
The Black Asphodel, Part 2 of 5
There were flowers waiting when Harry got to his dressing room--a huge spray of roses and bluebells and lush greenery. Such bounty was not to be had from the flower girls endlessly plying the city streets, but could only have come from the rich sustained gardens of a chateau.
Harry did not think Snape the sort to send flowers but he broke the wafer on the note and scanned the single line.
"I can be very good to you," it read, creasing Harry's forehead with a frown until he noted the signature. "Draco d'Malfoy."
Harry burned the note over the lamp flame and gave the flowers to the chorus girls.
He half expected to see the young lordling in the box closest to the stage but tonight it was bare and dark. The empty box suited his mood far more than the lush flowers, for he knew Snape must be on his home soil, that damp island across the channel that Harry had no memory of.
There was a carriage waiting outside the stage door, the groom dressed in the silver d'Malfoy livery. Harry waited until the audience had filed out, then ducked out the front door of the theater unnoticed, he hoped, as if he'd merely forgot his gloves during the performance.
There were neither flowers nor carriage the next evening but on the following day a delivery came to the house on the Rue d'Richelieu a gaily wrapped package addressed to Harry. This time he made sure to read the note first and sent the footman away with his package unopened.
"Lover's spat?" Sirius said as the door closed behind the affronted footman. There was an unmistakable gleam in his godfather's eye.
"It wasn't from Sir Severus," Harry said, trying not to laugh when Sirius's face fell in disappointment.
The d'Malfoy scion was in the theater two nights later, his unmistakable blond visage ensconced in Snape's customary box. For a moment Harry's heart leapt, thinking Snape might have returned and been waylaid by his friend's son on the way to the theater. It took only a moment to ascertain that d'Malfoy was quite alone. He did not shrink back into the shadowy interior of the box as Snape did.
Harry nodded toward him at the bows and spotted the bouquet winging from d'Malfoy's hand in time to catch it. Harry clutched it until he was offstage then threw it down onto the floor. Only then did he realize it was not simply flowers, but concealed a cloth-wrapped bundle with a note.
The note fluttered when he picked it apart from the cloth bundle and Harry realized it had been charmed to resemble a cream-colored owl. At a touch, its parchment wings unfolded, revealing the note.
"I'm waiting," was all it said.
Incensed, Harry crumpled the note, despite a papery protest from the makeshift owl.
The bundle he did not open, entrusting it instead to his understudy, a pleasant faced boy with a bit of a case of hero worship, with instructions to deliver it to the carriage Harry had no doubt awaited outside. He added a franc to make sure Dennis would not scamper off with the no-doubt expensive bauble. Sirius paid his troupe a decent wage but in these uncertain times it was best not to present too much temptation.
There were no further rescues by the Black Asphodel, though tumbrels rolled through the streets every day, full of wizards and Muggles alike.
Of more interest to Harry, there was no word from Sir Severus as the first dreary week of the promised fortnight drew to a close. He'd relived those fevered moments in the carriage endless times since, embellishing the encounter each night. It had become a desperate race out of Paris one step ahead of the patrols, Harry astride Snape's horse, pressed closely into his chest as the stallion flew over hedges and stone fences, coming to a halt so Severus could make love to Harry beside a stream. Harry thought perhaps tonight Snape might actually be a highwayman who stopped the coach Harry was riding in and, overcome with lust, would drag him off into a convenient haystack--in these encounters haystacks were always conveniently placed--and make love to him there.
When days passed with no further attempts by d'Malfoy to seduce him, Harry hoped perhaps the young man had shifted his attentions elsewhere--perhaps even to Dennis, his understudy.
So it was a great surprise, after the next night's performance, to find a stranger in his dressing room holding a sealed note. Harry, who'd been undoing his costume coat buttons, stopped and looked at the stranger in surprise. Though not so well dressed as the marquis's footman, there was an air about him that did not belong to the bourgeois.
"May I help you?" Harry asked, glad that Sirius had always insisted his actors have their wands with them, even on stage.
The man nodded slowly and held out the note. His gloves were a bit stained but not torn or mended. "I am to wait for a reply," he said with an indefinable accent.
Harry presented his back and broke the seal on the note, unable to tell from the design whom it was from. Before he could unfold the parchment, he felt a hand cupping one of the cheeks of his arse.
Outraged, Harry spun around, knocking the footman two steps back. Drawing out his wand, Harry pointed it at the servant, gratified to see that the man flinched at the sight of it.
"You would do well to remember your place," Harry said, utterly unprepared when the man broke out into a smile.
"Oh, bravo," the man said, reaching for a loop of leather cord dangling in front of his waistcoat. "Well done, Harry."
"What are you--don't drink that!" Harry sputtered but it was too late. A tiny vial had been dangling from the cord, the golden contents sliding down the impudent servant's gullet before Harry could hex him.
Abruptly the man's features began to shift and melt. Harry tried to think of a spell that would halt the transformation but he had been a rather indifferent student. He was about to conjure ropes to bind the man before whatever hideous transformation this heralded completed when he recognized a singular feature--a nose.
"Don't I even get a kiss in greeting?" came an unmistakable voice just beneath the nose.
"S-sir Severus?" Harry said guardedly as the servant, now taller, shook out the unbound black hair.
"In the flesh," came his reply. "Well, in someone's flesh anyway." Even with his hair loose and in ill-fitting clothes, the baronet looked elegant.
Harry lowered his own wand but did not put it away. "How do I know you aren't the rogue who delivered the note now Polyjuiced to look like my lover, Sir Severus?" he asked, though his pulse told him not to question, especially when a flick of Snape's wand transfigured his clothing to his normal sumptuous attire.
The erstwhile Severus held up the vial, the golden sludge at the bottom gleaming in the candlelight. "This is the antidote to Polyjuice." He upturned the bottle and swiped up a single drop, offering it to Harry's tongue. "See, it does not taste of the vile stuff."
Tentatively Harry tasted the drop, shivering slightly as his tongue brushed just the tip of Snape's finger. He felt none of the tell-tale rippling of his skin as he would have with the noxious potion.
"It is you!" he cried and flung his arms around Snape.
Snape tilted his chin up with one bare finger that somehow seemed more erotic than if they'd both been naked. "It is," Snape said, lowering his mouth, "no one else will ever kiss you like this."
Even before their lips met Harry was inclined to believe him. Licks of flame ignited within him as his lips parted. Snape's tongue surged against his. Harry moaned as if it was his cue for the sword to pierce him on stage. The sword he felt prodding him, however, was not intent on piercing his heart.
"Have supper with me tonight," Snape murmured, dragging his mouth away from Harry's and fixing him with a stare. "We will be quite alone."
"It is not supper I wish, monsieur," Harry replied, rewarded by the arousal darkening in Snape's eyes.
"Come away with me then," Snape said, not pretending to misunderstand.
He nodded as Snape's hands slid from around his waist, "I will meet you outside." When Snape seemed about to protest even that small delay, Harry continued. "I must change out of my costume and leave a note for Sirius." He righted the ends of Snape's snowy white cravat. "We don't want him to come looking for me again."
It was only a short time later that Harry climbed into the by-now familiar carriage. Snape's eyes warmed in appreciation as he gave the signal to the coachman to take off. He'd taken time to restore his queue to its normal state and the heavy silver ring was back upon one finger.
"Did you miss me?" Harry asked, letting Snape tug him onto the bench beside him.
"Terribly," Snape said, turning his hand over and kissing Harry's palm. "All I could think about was returning to Paris."
"I waited for you," Harry said, and Snape looked up from his oral examination of Harry's hand.
"I knew you would."
Harry waited for the moment when Snape would pull him into his arms but it did not come. Instead Snape turned his hand over again and stroked the back of it, his glove very soft upon Harry's flesh. Then came a slow descent to his wrist, Snape's lips lingering on the thrum of Harry's quickening pulse.
With sudden clarity Harry understood that if they began kissing now, neither would be able to stop. The carriage might have to circuit all of Paris before their passion was spent. A tiny sound escaped his lips, half laughter, half moan.
"My lovemaking amuses you?" Snape said, lifting his mouth from Harry's fingertips.
"I wish you lived closer to the theater," Harry replied, grateful for the flare of answering amusement he found in the other man's face.
At last they pulled up in front of Severus's townhouse. The ground floor lights were twinkling in welcome.
"Have the cook send up a cold supper," Snape instructed the waiting butler as he doffed his hat and gloves. He took Harry's as well and offered them to the impassive servant. Perhaps Sir Severus brought boys home all the time, Harry thought, not altogether pleased by the idea. He lifted his head and peeled off his gloves. Snape was, he consoled himself, his for tonight.
"And leave it outside the door," Snape went on and at last there was a splash of color creeping up the butler's cheeks. Perhaps not so often as all that, Harry thought with satisfaction.
"This way," Snape said, no longer looking the least bit languid as he gestured up the dimly lit staircase. There was a candle burning in the sconce at the top which lit the way up. Several portraits lined the hall, mostly asleep, though Harry saw more than one painted eye shut hastily upon their passing. Whispers followed from frame to frame.
The hallway on the next floor was brighter, with several lit sconces along the length. Severus's room was at the end. Just inside the door sat a ladder-back chair tilted against the wall with a dozing house elf sprawled in it. When Snape pushed open the door the two front legs of the chair hit the floor, startling the elf awake.
"So sorry, Sir Severus, sir," the elf squeaked, hastily hopping down from the chair.
"You may seek your bed, Ffolkes," Snape said just as the valet elf's eyes caught sight of Harry just behind him.
"But--"
"I was taking care of my own clothes long before I acquired the means to have someone do it for me, for many years," Snape said, holding the door open for Harry.
Ffolkes sketched a bow, his large eyes darting curiously at Harry before he scurried away.
"Come inside before we are descended upon by chambermaids," Snape said as Harry glided past his outstretched arm.
Though the room was not dark--candles glowed by the bed and a fire snapped merrily in the hearth--it took Harry a moment to take it all in. There was an enormous four-poster swathed in heavy silk draperies across from the fireplace. Further along the wall rested a pair of ornate armoires, and along the wall with a window, a walnut escritoire and chair. Another set of farthingale chairs flanked the fireplace, accompanied by a tall bookshelf and a chaise lounge, positioned, Harry supposed, to take advantage of the light.
Arms threaded around his waist and Snape buried his face in Harry's hair with a soft sound. "You can sight see later, cherie, but I need you now," he said, tugging one earlobe into his mouth.
Harry shivered and turned accommodatingly in his arms. Snape was kissing him before Harry drew breath, coaxing a response Harry was eager to give. He did not know how to be coy with his favors, though he had heard that the gentry sometimes expected it. He wanted to play no games, not tonight, not with Sir Severus.
Heat curled in his belly as Snape's kisses flowed down his throat. Harry arched to give him access to all that he wanted, moaning when Snape gave him more than he expected, pressing a kiss against the linen of his shirt, leaving a damp circle.
What he wanted, it seemed, was for Harry to be wearing far less clothing. The top buttons of Harry's waistcoat gave way one by one. Snape's grin was full of wickedness as he walked Harry backward toward the bed. The last button surrendered as Harry's bum wedged against the mattress.
Snape's hands slid Harry's coat away, tossing it over the foot of the ornate bed frame. Surveying Harry's cravat he fluffed the ends of the snowy white neck cloth.
"What do you call this?" he asked, tugging one end loose.
"It's my own creation," Harry replied with just a touch of pride.
"Well, I can see that," Snape commented as the cravat came loose in his fingers with barely a whisper as it slid off Harry's neck.
"Ala Hedwig," Harry said, feeling oddly more undressed without his cravat than he had without his waistcoat.
"And Hedwig got this honor because--" The roving fingers had shifted to Harry's linen shirt, coaxing buttons free one by one.
"An owl I had in school," Harry replied. Snape seemed to relax fractionally. "The style has these little tufts on each side like an owl. I can teach it to you if you like--oh!"
All thoughts of sharing the complicated secrets of cravat-tying fled Harry's brain as Snape wrung a grasp from him by claiming one now brazenly bare nipple. Harry had not quite realized that his shirt and waistcoat now rested atop his coat over the foot of the bed.
Belatedly he realized he was free to touch Severus as much as he liked--and Harry liked quite a bit. His palms found purchase on the slender waist, fingers pushing beneath his waistcoat. The linen shirt came free of Severus's breeches just as Harry arched into a truly dazzling kiss in a place he had never imagined kisses could dazzle.
"That is--oh, monsieur! Your tongue is quite wicked," he said, watching the pink thing flicker over his nipple. Harry was already achingly hard, cock still threatening to bore its way out of his breeches. As he tugged Snape's shirt free, his fingers brushed the front of Snape's own breeches, their legs brushing and shifting together.
"Ah, everything about you is quite wicked," Harry amended, fingers flying over the buttons of the elegant waistcoat and shirt. Snape allowed this, spreading the dampness of his kiss over Harry's nipple with a thumb until his own chest was bare.
Harry arched and gifted Snape with a wet swipe of his own tongue against one nipple. He felt the skin wrinkle beguilingly at his touch and immediately sought to replicate the feeling on the other nipple. Traces of the scent of freshly pressed linen clung to Severus's skin, along with the subtler scent of the man himself.
Snape moaned and dug his fingers into the hair at the back of Harry's neck. One hand trailed down his spine, until just the tips of his fingers slid beneath the waistband of Harry's breeches. Harry shivered, arousal and need for release dueling with the unexpectedly heady power of further arousing Snape.
Harry had little modesty--years of sharing crowded dressing rooms and fast costume changes had rid him of that. Still, he felt unaccountably shy as the last barriers to his modesty were about to be peeled away, not wishing to be found wanting.
Snape kissed him again, bringing their hips together, tangling his legs, still in breeches, against Harry's. Lightheaded, Harry clutched at the thin but strong arms. His arousal seemed to have developed a script all its own, acting its part, seeking the spotlight.
"You are not shy," Snape commented, tugging at the buttons on Harry's breeches. "I like that."
"I believe it is my prick that makes a mockery of any modesty I might still possess," Harry replied. He gasped as Snape's knuckles grazed over the bulge of his breeches. The gasp turned to a moan as the breeches slid open, then down.
Then off.
Harry shivered despite the fire as Snape crouched down to peel away the white stockings, breath catching as each silken tie gave away. His prick, ever the lead performer, was auditioning quite blatantly, bobbing near Snape's face as he kneeled down.
Snape looked up, a lazy smile on his face. Harry pushed aside a strand of the heavy dark hair, come loose from its queue. His breath quickened when Snape's tongue flicked out to each fingertip.
Then Snape was on his feet and Harry was reaching for his breeches to finish undressing him. Snape pushed away his hands gently. "Up onto the bed with you," he said, a command for all its softness. Hastening to obey, Harry watched as Snape crossed the room to douse the candles on the mantel until the only light came from the fire.
For a moment Harry thought Snape might be shy about revealing his naked manhood. Scrambling back into the lush array of satin and silk, Harry grabbed a tasseled velvet pillow and settled it over his own erection. Snape snuffed the last candle save the hurricane by the bed and turned to face Harry. A breathless moment passed before Snape began to step out of this last barrier to his modesty.
Nature had indeed been generous, bestowing masculine beauty here where she had denied it, in the conventional sense, elsewhere. Snape sketched a bow as if being presented at court and Harry realized his regard had not gone unnoticed. He laughed and made room in the bed as Snape climbed up into it.
"Don't tell me you've lost your desire for me," Snape said, draping a hand over the concealing pillow over Harry's lap.
"Oh no, m'sieur," said Harry, shivering as the velvet pile slid over his prick. Snape did not seem displeased by the state of Harry's arousal as he pushed the pillow aside. Now that there was nothing between them but desire, Harry reached for him, wanting to feel as much bare skin against his own as he could.
Together they fell against the sheets exchanging heated kisses that left few places on either of them unkissed. Harry surged against Snape, craving touch and taste and scent, crying out with need when Snape gave him each one in measure. Still he sought more, craving it as other actors craved applause and the spotlight.
He was not alone in this quest: each time he pressed for a fuller embrace, Snape matched him, noblesse oblige of the flesh; each time he hungered for more kisses, lips met his own, hot as coals from the fire.
Long fingers clenched into his thigh, leaving trails of teasing pleasure where they touched. "Oh, cherie, I cannot wait for you," came the breathless murmur against Harry's much-kissed mouth.
"Yes, please," Harry cried out, obeying the tactile command to spread his legs. One finger, bolder than the rest, stroked down the tight sac of his bollocks. Harry moaned and opened wider unbidden.
"So eager," Snape said, his lips quirking in amusement.
Harry wiggled, lifting his fingers to brush over Severus's flushed cheek. "You know I have been waiting for you."
"I will not make you wait any longer." Snape's head turned, his mouth burrowing between Harry's fingers to kiss his palm. Wordlessly he summoned a vial from the nightstand, spreading the golden fluid over his fingertips. Harry could only moan his approval, mewling and coaxing Snape closer. Snape, it seemed, needed no coaxing. Filling the space on the soft bed with touches and kisses and bold invasions inside Harry's body, Harry's flesh surrendered as easily as Harry himself had with a long urgent whisper of demand.
"Waiting longer than I knew," Snape said, dipping his head to swipe the welling fluid, leaving his fingers to work their simple but elegant magic inside Harry.
"I told you I would," Harry replied, giving over to the fluttering sparks radiating deep inside him. His neck arched, eyes fluttering with the delight of the wondrous pleasure rising him. He cried out with need, eyes flying open to search Severus's face in questioning wonder.
"I know, cherie," said Snape, transferring some of the thick fluid to his own prick so that their bodies looked golden and glistening in the soft haze of candlelight. "I am greedy for you affections." He guided Harry's legs up, bidding them hold at waist-level. Harry's breath rasped for a moment when the blunt head began to pierce him.
In a low voice, Snape crooned a litany of words Harry did not know. He only knew that the first moments of pain were swallowed by a swift kiss, Snape still inside him as his body adjusted to the invasion. Finally Harry nodded, lifting his arms to wrap around Snape's neck and clung as their bodies blended into one.
It was as though lightning had struck near to his skin, prickling with the kind of frantic energy that had only one outlet. The fingers clinging to Snape's neck dug in for the ride that began slowly but quickened when Harry summoned a dreamy smile, lifting his legs higher around Snape's waist. Severus moaned, plunging into him again and again.
Supple fingers slid around his own flesh. Harry arched into the touch, not minding that the strokes were more erratic than his own would have been or that the frenetic lightning seemed to have struck deeply within him. Lightning always presaged a storm, though the storm that raged through his bollocks was welcome, hot and swift as he poured his climax over Snape's hand.
"S-Severus," he moaned, no longer able to stand on propriety, not after the storm that had shaken him.
Snape himself seemed incapable of reply, mouth opening wordlessly, drawing his body closer and shaking in a way Harry knew, the palpitations of his body matching Harry's own as he cried out then went still.
Harry saw no need to release Snape from the grip of either his arms or his legs. Apparently Snape felt the same, swaying over Harry's chest until he was all but crushing him into the mattress. Harry did not object to this, though he did begin to when Snape appeared to be shifting their bodies apart.
He went no further, however, than Harry's side, groaning heavily as if he had no intention of ever going further than that. Harry had got sweaty, though he had no notion of it until Snape's fingers splayed over his chest and he felt the droplets transferring to his fingers.
"Harry?" Snape's voice was rougher that it had been earlier this evening, even when he'd been disguised as a servant.
"Yes, monsieur?" He angled his face to peer past the loose curtain of hair, feeling quite free enough to push it back behind one of Severus's ears.
Snape's features were shadowed but this close Harry could discern a frown. "It would please me if you would call me 'Severus' again as you just did," he said, the growl not at all displeasing.
"Mmm, Severus," Harry repeated, committing the name to his tongue to savor it.
"That is not, however, what I wished to ask," Snape continued, his fingers lazily circling one of Harry's nipples.
Harry opened one eye, cocking it at Severus before closing it and humming a few notes from the overture of his play. "What is it, Severus?" he asked, wiggling slightly as Snape's head dipped, and a loose strand of the sleek black hair teased his shoulder.
"How many lovers--exactly--have you had before?"
Harry's song broke off as he opened the single eye again. "It is very gauche of you to ask, m'sieur," he said, not sounding quite as disapproving, he feared, as he wished.
Snape cleared his throat. "Yes, I know, love," he said as Harry's eyes closed again. "Nevertheless, I wish to know."
Eyes still closed, Harry tilted his face toward the sound of Severus's voice. "Including yourself?"
"Mmmm," Snape said, not bothering to give his reply form.
"That would be, hmmm." Harry opened his eyes and brought his hand closer to his face, waggling his fingers as if doing complicated sums before holding up a single digit. "One."
"And yet you led me to believe I was the latest in a long line of hopelessly besotted swains because--" prompted Snape.
Harry's smile widened in delight. "Are you besotted?"
Tugging Harry's hand closer, Snape kissed his fingertips. "Answer the question," he directed.
Harry shrugged expressively. "Virgins are very tiresome," he replied, in a fair approximation of Snape's voice.
"How do you know I am not besotted enough to have pursued you despite your tiresomely virginal status?" Snape countered.
Smiling shyly, Harry said, "I think you are quite taken with me, but not besotted." He stroked Snape's cheek and hummed again. "Not yet."
~~**~~
Harry burrowed into the soft down pillows, inhaling deeply the scent of them. His senses rebelled at scent's favor and strove to rectify the loss. Where was the touch of Severus's heated skin against his own? Where was the soothing sound of breathing, lulling him in his sleep? And more importantly yet, why had his eyes opened on a pillow that bore only the imprint of his lover and not Severus himself?
Struggling from slumber, still wrapped around the pillow, he called out in the shadowed room. The hurricane lamp by the bed had long since been doused and the fire had died to embers. Naked Harry slid out of bed and padded across the room the peer at the mantel clock. Not quite dawn but not far off.
His belly rumbled and he remembered his missed supper. Hopping back upon the bed he slid his hose into place, tying off the tops around his knees before searching amid the tangle of seams for his drawers. Severus's coat lay still draped across the bedstead but his breeches and shirt were gone. Buttoning his own shirt he could not help but run a finger across the elegant waistcoat, remembering how it had felt under his hands as he removed it earlier.
A shiver of remembrance went through him, tiny sparks from a purely erotic fire igniting places on his person, within and without. Then, as the lingering absence of his host began to seem odd, Harry frowned. Had Severus been disappointed in him? He had not seemed so when, after their initial tumble, he had initiated Harry into the delightfully named soixante-neuf just before they had fallen asleep.
Leaving his cravat in a shameful untied froth around his neck Harry crossed to the first in a pair of large oak armoires, hoping to find a crisply pressed stock to replace his own. Oddly the first armoire didn't respond to his tug. He realized it was locked. The second one proved more yielding but the immaculately kept drawers revealed no fresh cravats.
Looking around the room once more, Harry bid it farewell, pushing open the door to the hall in search of Severus.
All was silent in the corridor. Harry guessed that soon the house elves would be stirring, building fires and pouring water for morning washing and waking up the house with the smells of breakfast. All that stirred now was the flicker of a lantern, just visible in the stairwell. Harry followed the dancing glow, creeping down the stairs like a villain in a bad melodrama. As he descended he heard the low murmur of voices coming from a study to his right.
The door to the study, just off the entrance hallway, was nearly closed, though enough light slipped through for Harry to find his way down the hall without bumping into any furniture.
Once at the door he hesitated, uncertain whether to intrude until he was positive of the identities of the speakers within. Male and at least two but speaking so softly Harry could not be positive one was Severus. He strained to hear, all but leaning on the shadowed door. He thought perhaps one of the voices sounded closer so he shifted so that his ear was nearly flat against the wood. Suddenly, in the way of all bad melodramas, the door was flung open, sending him wind-milling off balance.
"Harry!"
"Harry? Not--is that really--?" came another voice, not as familiar as the first.
Harry scarcely had time to register the second voice as Severus pulled him into the room. "What are you doing out of bed?" demanded Severus.
"I--" he began, then flushed with embarrassment as he realized there was indeed another man in the room and Severus's question made it seem as if they'd been--which of course they had been--but Harry didn't want to make it seem as if they had. He shook his head in confusion. The other man was peering at him curiously now though he had not spoken again.
Severus seemed to sense his dilemma. "It's all right, Harry. Lupin knows what I am." He sent a bemused smirk toward the man called Lupin and said, "Nothing you say will shock him."
The man, Lupin, took a step closer and smiled at Harry. He had light brown hair and the appearance of a gentleman, though perhaps not so grand a one as Severus. "It really is him?" he asked, looking back at Sir Severus.
"Can you doubt it? He is the very spirit and image of his father." Severus replied. He turned to Harry. "Harry, this is Remus Lupin, my steward. He went to school with your parents."
Harry sketched his best bow, lamenting his lack of a fine cravat. "A pleasure to meet you monsieur," he said formally. "If you knew my parents, you must know my godfather, Sirius, as well."
Laughter transformed the careworn lines on the man's face. "Indeed I do, son, though I've not laid eyes on him for many years."
"Or anything else, I'll wager," murmured Severus, almost to himself. Lupin did not seem to take offense.
"I'll wager he isn't very happy with either of you," Lupin said in his pleasantly accented English. He was dressed, compared to Severus, very plainly, in sturdy brown trousers and a dark coat. His cravat was a knot so simple it would have been followed by gasps of horror at the Paris opera house.
"Especially if I don't get Harry back before dawn," Severus said. He was in shirtsleeves alone. Harry had cause to remember the removal of that shirt not so many hours earlier and found his cheeks warming again.
He laid one hand on Severus's sleeve. "I can see myself home." Lupin and Severus were obviously old friends, or old somethings, and Harry wasn't sure how possessive he could be with his new-found passion.
Severus was already looking uncertain. "I'll have the carriage brought round," he said, clearly reluctant to dispatch his duty. Harry noted the stack of documents upon the desk and the presence of several quills and ink pots upon the desk as if the two men had been outlining something.
Harry waved him off with a cheeriness he did not feel. This was not how he'd imagined the rest of the evening. "I have been roaming the streets of Paris since I was a boy," he tossed off lightly. Lupin had stepped back to the desk, examining a map that had been weighted down at the corners by two snuffboxes and a pen stand, clearly giving them a moment of privacy.
At least Severus looked like he wanted to kiss him. Harry slid his fingers lightly down the loose sleeve, not daring more even with Lupin's attention diverted. "You owe me a supper, monsieur," he teased.
"I'd much rather have it be breakfast, cherie," replied Severus, his voice pitched for Harry's ears alone.
~~**~~
None save the hardiest--and the drunkest--revelers roamed the streets at the hour before dawn. Harry was by no means alone however. He nodded his hat to merchants trundling carts to market, their donkeys just as sleepy as their masters. There were dustmen and sewermen and probably not a few rag and bone pickers haunting the twisting mews between Severus's house and the Rue d'Richelieu In the happy daze that enveloped Harry, every person he passed seemed a little cheerier, a little cleaner, a little less sorry to be up at that hour.
He allowed only the briefest flare of jealousy that M. Lupin was probably even now in discussion with Severus over whatever urgent errand had brought him to Paris.
But truly he was too happy to be jealous. Lupin had not looked like a man distressed to see a comely younger man bidding his lover farewell. Severus had not minded being Harry's first lover, had perhaps even been a little pleased that he was not sharing favors with other gentlemen.
And Harry would have Severus--or would be had again--tonight.
His grin turned into a yawn as he turned into the familiar stones of the Rue d'Richelieu. The lamplighters had come and doused the streetlights at the first blush of dawn over the smoky rooftops. The sound of his own footsteps against the cobbles was the only sound in the empty street.
The only sound, that is, except for the quiet jingle of tackle. Harry looked up from his rather erotic reverie, just noticing a closed carriage, looking very out of place on the bourgeois avenue.
Before he had time to do more than wonder at the oddness, a streak of spell light split the morning gloom, striking Harry. A burst of pain erupted through him, pain unlike any he had ever known existed. He crumpled onto the street before he could even draw his wand.
Pain lanced through him again, sharp and hot. His fingers scrabbled against the paving stones as another curse pierced him. There was so much agony that his eyes closed against the spell light, too bright for his protesting brain to sort out. He cried out, for the heat and pain seemed to wrench inside him, carried through his body on traitorous nerve endings that just hours before had brought him the greatest pleasure he had ever known, now bringing the most profound pain.
This time he heard a voice, close, and the short bark of the curse as it struck him again. Harry's back arched, legs working helplessly before he collapsed into a heap on the curb and knew no more.
On to Part 3
The Black Asphodel, Part 2 of 5
There were flowers waiting when Harry got to his dressing room--a huge spray of roses and bluebells and lush greenery. Such bounty was not to be had from the flower girls endlessly plying the city streets, but could only have come from the rich sustained gardens of a chateau.
Harry did not think Snape the sort to send flowers but he broke the wafer on the note and scanned the single line.
"I can be very good to you," it read, creasing Harry's forehead with a frown until he noted the signature. "Draco d'Malfoy."
Harry burned the note over the lamp flame and gave the flowers to the chorus girls.
He half expected to see the young lordling in the box closest to the stage but tonight it was bare and dark. The empty box suited his mood far more than the lush flowers, for he knew Snape must be on his home soil, that damp island across the channel that Harry had no memory of.
There was a carriage waiting outside the stage door, the groom dressed in the silver d'Malfoy livery. Harry waited until the audience had filed out, then ducked out the front door of the theater unnoticed, he hoped, as if he'd merely forgot his gloves during the performance.
There were neither flowers nor carriage the next evening but on the following day a delivery came to the house on the Rue d'Richelieu a gaily wrapped package addressed to Harry. This time he made sure to read the note first and sent the footman away with his package unopened.
"Lover's spat?" Sirius said as the door closed behind the affronted footman. There was an unmistakable gleam in his godfather's eye.
"It wasn't from Sir Severus," Harry said, trying not to laugh when Sirius's face fell in disappointment.
The d'Malfoy scion was in the theater two nights later, his unmistakable blond visage ensconced in Snape's customary box. For a moment Harry's heart leapt, thinking Snape might have returned and been waylaid by his friend's son on the way to the theater. It took only a moment to ascertain that d'Malfoy was quite alone. He did not shrink back into the shadowy interior of the box as Snape did.
Harry nodded toward him at the bows and spotted the bouquet winging from d'Malfoy's hand in time to catch it. Harry clutched it until he was offstage then threw it down onto the floor. Only then did he realize it was not simply flowers, but concealed a cloth-wrapped bundle with a note.
The note fluttered when he picked it apart from the cloth bundle and Harry realized it had been charmed to resemble a cream-colored owl. At a touch, its parchment wings unfolded, revealing the note.
"I'm waiting," was all it said.
Incensed, Harry crumpled the note, despite a papery protest from the makeshift owl.
The bundle he did not open, entrusting it instead to his understudy, a pleasant faced boy with a bit of a case of hero worship, with instructions to deliver it to the carriage Harry had no doubt awaited outside. He added a franc to make sure Dennis would not scamper off with the no-doubt expensive bauble. Sirius paid his troupe a decent wage but in these uncertain times it was best not to present too much temptation.
There were no further rescues by the Black Asphodel, though tumbrels rolled through the streets every day, full of wizards and Muggles alike.
Of more interest to Harry, there was no word from Sir Severus as the first dreary week of the promised fortnight drew to a close. He'd relived those fevered moments in the carriage endless times since, embellishing the encounter each night. It had become a desperate race out of Paris one step ahead of the patrols, Harry astride Snape's horse, pressed closely into his chest as the stallion flew over hedges and stone fences, coming to a halt so Severus could make love to Harry beside a stream. Harry thought perhaps tonight Snape might actually be a highwayman who stopped the coach Harry was riding in and, overcome with lust, would drag him off into a convenient haystack--in these encounters haystacks were always conveniently placed--and make love to him there.
When days passed with no further attempts by d'Malfoy to seduce him, Harry hoped perhaps the young man had shifted his attentions elsewhere--perhaps even to Dennis, his understudy.
So it was a great surprise, after the next night's performance, to find a stranger in his dressing room holding a sealed note. Harry, who'd been undoing his costume coat buttons, stopped and looked at the stranger in surprise. Though not so well dressed as the marquis's footman, there was an air about him that did not belong to the bourgeois.
"May I help you?" Harry asked, glad that Sirius had always insisted his actors have their wands with them, even on stage.
The man nodded slowly and held out the note. His gloves were a bit stained but not torn or mended. "I am to wait for a reply," he said with an indefinable accent.
Harry presented his back and broke the seal on the note, unable to tell from the design whom it was from. Before he could unfold the parchment, he felt a hand cupping one of the cheeks of his arse.
Outraged, Harry spun around, knocking the footman two steps back. Drawing out his wand, Harry pointed it at the servant, gratified to see that the man flinched at the sight of it.
"You would do well to remember your place," Harry said, utterly unprepared when the man broke out into a smile.
"Oh, bravo," the man said, reaching for a loop of leather cord dangling in front of his waistcoat. "Well done, Harry."
"What are you--don't drink that!" Harry sputtered but it was too late. A tiny vial had been dangling from the cord, the golden contents sliding down the impudent servant's gullet before Harry could hex him.
Abruptly the man's features began to shift and melt. Harry tried to think of a spell that would halt the transformation but he had been a rather indifferent student. He was about to conjure ropes to bind the man before whatever hideous transformation this heralded completed when he recognized a singular feature--a nose.
"Don't I even get a kiss in greeting?" came an unmistakable voice just beneath the nose.
"S-sir Severus?" Harry said guardedly as the servant, now taller, shook out the unbound black hair.
"In the flesh," came his reply. "Well, in someone's flesh anyway." Even with his hair loose and in ill-fitting clothes, the baronet looked elegant.
Harry lowered his own wand but did not put it away. "How do I know you aren't the rogue who delivered the note now Polyjuiced to look like my lover, Sir Severus?" he asked, though his pulse told him not to question, especially when a flick of Snape's wand transfigured his clothing to his normal sumptuous attire.
The erstwhile Severus held up the vial, the golden sludge at the bottom gleaming in the candlelight. "This is the antidote to Polyjuice." He upturned the bottle and swiped up a single drop, offering it to Harry's tongue. "See, it does not taste of the vile stuff."
Tentatively Harry tasted the drop, shivering slightly as his tongue brushed just the tip of Snape's finger. He felt none of the tell-tale rippling of his skin as he would have with the noxious potion.
"It is you!" he cried and flung his arms around Snape.
Snape tilted his chin up with one bare finger that somehow seemed more erotic than if they'd both been naked. "It is," Snape said, lowering his mouth, "no one else will ever kiss you like this."
Even before their lips met Harry was inclined to believe him. Licks of flame ignited within him as his lips parted. Snape's tongue surged against his. Harry moaned as if it was his cue for the sword to pierce him on stage. The sword he felt prodding him, however, was not intent on piercing his heart.
"Have supper with me tonight," Snape murmured, dragging his mouth away from Harry's and fixing him with a stare. "We will be quite alone."
"It is not supper I wish, monsieur," Harry replied, rewarded by the arousal darkening in Snape's eyes.
"Come away with me then," Snape said, not pretending to misunderstand.
He nodded as Snape's hands slid from around his waist, "I will meet you outside." When Snape seemed about to protest even that small delay, Harry continued. "I must change out of my costume and leave a note for Sirius." He righted the ends of Snape's snowy white cravat. "We don't want him to come looking for me again."
It was only a short time later that Harry climbed into the by-now familiar carriage. Snape's eyes warmed in appreciation as he gave the signal to the coachman to take off. He'd taken time to restore his queue to its normal state and the heavy silver ring was back upon one finger.
"Did you miss me?" Harry asked, letting Snape tug him onto the bench beside him.
"Terribly," Snape said, turning his hand over and kissing Harry's palm. "All I could think about was returning to Paris."
"I waited for you," Harry said, and Snape looked up from his oral examination of Harry's hand.
"I knew you would."
Harry waited for the moment when Snape would pull him into his arms but it did not come. Instead Snape turned his hand over again and stroked the back of it, his glove very soft upon Harry's flesh. Then came a slow descent to his wrist, Snape's lips lingering on the thrum of Harry's quickening pulse.
With sudden clarity Harry understood that if they began kissing now, neither would be able to stop. The carriage might have to circuit all of Paris before their passion was spent. A tiny sound escaped his lips, half laughter, half moan.
"My lovemaking amuses you?" Snape said, lifting his mouth from Harry's fingertips.
"I wish you lived closer to the theater," Harry replied, grateful for the flare of answering amusement he found in the other man's face.
At last they pulled up in front of Severus's townhouse. The ground floor lights were twinkling in welcome.
"Have the cook send up a cold supper," Snape instructed the waiting butler as he doffed his hat and gloves. He took Harry's as well and offered them to the impassive servant. Perhaps Sir Severus brought boys home all the time, Harry thought, not altogether pleased by the idea. He lifted his head and peeled off his gloves. Snape was, he consoled himself, his for tonight.
"And leave it outside the door," Snape went on and at last there was a splash of color creeping up the butler's cheeks. Perhaps not so often as all that, Harry thought with satisfaction.
"This way," Snape said, no longer looking the least bit languid as he gestured up the dimly lit staircase. There was a candle burning in the sconce at the top which lit the way up. Several portraits lined the hall, mostly asleep, though Harry saw more than one painted eye shut hastily upon their passing. Whispers followed from frame to frame.
The hallway on the next floor was brighter, with several lit sconces along the length. Severus's room was at the end. Just inside the door sat a ladder-back chair tilted against the wall with a dozing house elf sprawled in it. When Snape pushed open the door the two front legs of the chair hit the floor, startling the elf awake.
"So sorry, Sir Severus, sir," the elf squeaked, hastily hopping down from the chair.
"You may seek your bed, Ffolkes," Snape said just as the valet elf's eyes caught sight of Harry just behind him.
"But--"
"I was taking care of my own clothes long before I acquired the means to have someone do it for me, for many years," Snape said, holding the door open for Harry.
Ffolkes sketched a bow, his large eyes darting curiously at Harry before he scurried away.
"Come inside before we are descended upon by chambermaids," Snape said as Harry glided past his outstretched arm.
Though the room was not dark--candles glowed by the bed and a fire snapped merrily in the hearth--it took Harry a moment to take it all in. There was an enormous four-poster swathed in heavy silk draperies across from the fireplace. Further along the wall rested a pair of ornate armoires, and along the wall with a window, a walnut escritoire and chair. Another set of farthingale chairs flanked the fireplace, accompanied by a tall bookshelf and a chaise lounge, positioned, Harry supposed, to take advantage of the light.
Arms threaded around his waist and Snape buried his face in Harry's hair with a soft sound. "You can sight see later, cherie, but I need you now," he said, tugging one earlobe into his mouth.
Harry shivered and turned accommodatingly in his arms. Snape was kissing him before Harry drew breath, coaxing a response Harry was eager to give. He did not know how to be coy with his favors, though he had heard that the gentry sometimes expected it. He wanted to play no games, not tonight, not with Sir Severus.
Heat curled in his belly as Snape's kisses flowed down his throat. Harry arched to give him access to all that he wanted, moaning when Snape gave him more than he expected, pressing a kiss against the linen of his shirt, leaving a damp circle.
What he wanted, it seemed, was for Harry to be wearing far less clothing. The top buttons of Harry's waistcoat gave way one by one. Snape's grin was full of wickedness as he walked Harry backward toward the bed. The last button surrendered as Harry's bum wedged against the mattress.
Snape's hands slid Harry's coat away, tossing it over the foot of the ornate bed frame. Surveying Harry's cravat he fluffed the ends of the snowy white neck cloth.
"What do you call this?" he asked, tugging one end loose.
"It's my own creation," Harry replied with just a touch of pride.
"Well, I can see that," Snape commented as the cravat came loose in his fingers with barely a whisper as it slid off Harry's neck.
"Ala Hedwig," Harry said, feeling oddly more undressed without his cravat than he had without his waistcoat.
"And Hedwig got this honor because--" The roving fingers had shifted to Harry's linen shirt, coaxing buttons free one by one.
"An owl I had in school," Harry replied. Snape seemed to relax fractionally. "The style has these little tufts on each side like an owl. I can teach it to you if you like--oh!"
All thoughts of sharing the complicated secrets of cravat-tying fled Harry's brain as Snape wrung a grasp from him by claiming one now brazenly bare nipple. Harry had not quite realized that his shirt and waistcoat now rested atop his coat over the foot of the bed.
Belatedly he realized he was free to touch Severus as much as he liked--and Harry liked quite a bit. His palms found purchase on the slender waist, fingers pushing beneath his waistcoat. The linen shirt came free of Severus's breeches just as Harry arched into a truly dazzling kiss in a place he had never imagined kisses could dazzle.
"That is--oh, monsieur! Your tongue is quite wicked," he said, watching the pink thing flicker over his nipple. Harry was already achingly hard, cock still threatening to bore its way out of his breeches. As he tugged Snape's shirt free, his fingers brushed the front of Snape's own breeches, their legs brushing and shifting together.
"Ah, everything about you is quite wicked," Harry amended, fingers flying over the buttons of the elegant waistcoat and shirt. Snape allowed this, spreading the dampness of his kiss over Harry's nipple with a thumb until his own chest was bare.
Harry arched and gifted Snape with a wet swipe of his own tongue against one nipple. He felt the skin wrinkle beguilingly at his touch and immediately sought to replicate the feeling on the other nipple. Traces of the scent of freshly pressed linen clung to Severus's skin, along with the subtler scent of the man himself.
Snape moaned and dug his fingers into the hair at the back of Harry's neck. One hand trailed down his spine, until just the tips of his fingers slid beneath the waistband of Harry's breeches. Harry shivered, arousal and need for release dueling with the unexpectedly heady power of further arousing Snape.
Harry had little modesty--years of sharing crowded dressing rooms and fast costume changes had rid him of that. Still, he felt unaccountably shy as the last barriers to his modesty were about to be peeled away, not wishing to be found wanting.
Snape kissed him again, bringing their hips together, tangling his legs, still in breeches, against Harry's. Lightheaded, Harry clutched at the thin but strong arms. His arousal seemed to have developed a script all its own, acting its part, seeking the spotlight.
"You are not shy," Snape commented, tugging at the buttons on Harry's breeches. "I like that."
"I believe it is my prick that makes a mockery of any modesty I might still possess," Harry replied. He gasped as Snape's knuckles grazed over the bulge of his breeches. The gasp turned to a moan as the breeches slid open, then down.
Then off.
Harry shivered despite the fire as Snape crouched down to peel away the white stockings, breath catching as each silken tie gave away. His prick, ever the lead performer, was auditioning quite blatantly, bobbing near Snape's face as he kneeled down.
Snape looked up, a lazy smile on his face. Harry pushed aside a strand of the heavy dark hair, come loose from its queue. His breath quickened when Snape's tongue flicked out to each fingertip.
Then Snape was on his feet and Harry was reaching for his breeches to finish undressing him. Snape pushed away his hands gently. "Up onto the bed with you," he said, a command for all its softness. Hastening to obey, Harry watched as Snape crossed the room to douse the candles on the mantel until the only light came from the fire.
For a moment Harry thought Snape might be shy about revealing his naked manhood. Scrambling back into the lush array of satin and silk, Harry grabbed a tasseled velvet pillow and settled it over his own erection. Snape snuffed the last candle save the hurricane by the bed and turned to face Harry. A breathless moment passed before Snape began to step out of this last barrier to his modesty.
Nature had indeed been generous, bestowing masculine beauty here where she had denied it, in the conventional sense, elsewhere. Snape sketched a bow as if being presented at court and Harry realized his regard had not gone unnoticed. He laughed and made room in the bed as Snape climbed up into it.
"Don't tell me you've lost your desire for me," Snape said, draping a hand over the concealing pillow over Harry's lap.
"Oh no, m'sieur," said Harry, shivering as the velvet pile slid over his prick. Snape did not seem displeased by the state of Harry's arousal as he pushed the pillow aside. Now that there was nothing between them but desire, Harry reached for him, wanting to feel as much bare skin against his own as he could.
Together they fell against the sheets exchanging heated kisses that left few places on either of them unkissed. Harry surged against Snape, craving touch and taste and scent, crying out with need when Snape gave him each one in measure. Still he sought more, craving it as other actors craved applause and the spotlight.
He was not alone in this quest: each time he pressed for a fuller embrace, Snape matched him, noblesse oblige of the flesh; each time he hungered for more kisses, lips met his own, hot as coals from the fire.
Long fingers clenched into his thigh, leaving trails of teasing pleasure where they touched. "Oh, cherie, I cannot wait for you," came the breathless murmur against Harry's much-kissed mouth.
"Yes, please," Harry cried out, obeying the tactile command to spread his legs. One finger, bolder than the rest, stroked down the tight sac of his bollocks. Harry moaned and opened wider unbidden.
"So eager," Snape said, his lips quirking in amusement.
Harry wiggled, lifting his fingers to brush over Severus's flushed cheek. "You know I have been waiting for you."
"I will not make you wait any longer." Snape's head turned, his mouth burrowing between Harry's fingers to kiss his palm. Wordlessly he summoned a vial from the nightstand, spreading the golden fluid over his fingertips. Harry could only moan his approval, mewling and coaxing Snape closer. Snape, it seemed, needed no coaxing. Filling the space on the soft bed with touches and kisses and bold invasions inside Harry's body, Harry's flesh surrendered as easily as Harry himself had with a long urgent whisper of demand.
"Waiting longer than I knew," Snape said, dipping his head to swipe the welling fluid, leaving his fingers to work their simple but elegant magic inside Harry.
"I told you I would," Harry replied, giving over to the fluttering sparks radiating deep inside him. His neck arched, eyes fluttering with the delight of the wondrous pleasure rising him. He cried out with need, eyes flying open to search Severus's face in questioning wonder.
"I know, cherie," said Snape, transferring some of the thick fluid to his own prick so that their bodies looked golden and glistening in the soft haze of candlelight. "I am greedy for you affections." He guided Harry's legs up, bidding them hold at waist-level. Harry's breath rasped for a moment when the blunt head began to pierce him.
In a low voice, Snape crooned a litany of words Harry did not know. He only knew that the first moments of pain were swallowed by a swift kiss, Snape still inside him as his body adjusted to the invasion. Finally Harry nodded, lifting his arms to wrap around Snape's neck and clung as their bodies blended into one.
It was as though lightning had struck near to his skin, prickling with the kind of frantic energy that had only one outlet. The fingers clinging to Snape's neck dug in for the ride that began slowly but quickened when Harry summoned a dreamy smile, lifting his legs higher around Snape's waist. Severus moaned, plunging into him again and again.
Supple fingers slid around his own flesh. Harry arched into the touch, not minding that the strokes were more erratic than his own would have been or that the frenetic lightning seemed to have struck deeply within him. Lightning always presaged a storm, though the storm that raged through his bollocks was welcome, hot and swift as he poured his climax over Snape's hand.
"S-Severus," he moaned, no longer able to stand on propriety, not after the storm that had shaken him.
Snape himself seemed incapable of reply, mouth opening wordlessly, drawing his body closer and shaking in a way Harry knew, the palpitations of his body matching Harry's own as he cried out then went still.
Harry saw no need to release Snape from the grip of either his arms or his legs. Apparently Snape felt the same, swaying over Harry's chest until he was all but crushing him into the mattress. Harry did not object to this, though he did begin to when Snape appeared to be shifting their bodies apart.
He went no further, however, than Harry's side, groaning heavily as if he had no intention of ever going further than that. Harry had got sweaty, though he had no notion of it until Snape's fingers splayed over his chest and he felt the droplets transferring to his fingers.
"Harry?" Snape's voice was rougher that it had been earlier this evening, even when he'd been disguised as a servant.
"Yes, monsieur?" He angled his face to peer past the loose curtain of hair, feeling quite free enough to push it back behind one of Severus's ears.
Snape's features were shadowed but this close Harry could discern a frown. "It would please me if you would call me 'Severus' again as you just did," he said, the growl not at all displeasing.
"Mmm, Severus," Harry repeated, committing the name to his tongue to savor it.
"That is not, however, what I wished to ask," Snape continued, his fingers lazily circling one of Harry's nipples.
Harry opened one eye, cocking it at Severus before closing it and humming a few notes from the overture of his play. "What is it, Severus?" he asked, wiggling slightly as Snape's head dipped, and a loose strand of the sleek black hair teased his shoulder.
"How many lovers--exactly--have you had before?"
Harry's song broke off as he opened the single eye again. "It is very gauche of you to ask, m'sieur," he said, not sounding quite as disapproving, he feared, as he wished.
Snape cleared his throat. "Yes, I know, love," he said as Harry's eyes closed again. "Nevertheless, I wish to know."
Eyes still closed, Harry tilted his face toward the sound of Severus's voice. "Including yourself?"
"Mmmm," Snape said, not bothering to give his reply form.
"That would be, hmmm." Harry opened his eyes and brought his hand closer to his face, waggling his fingers as if doing complicated sums before holding up a single digit. "One."
"And yet you led me to believe I was the latest in a long line of hopelessly besotted swains because--" prompted Snape.
Harry's smile widened in delight. "Are you besotted?"
Tugging Harry's hand closer, Snape kissed his fingertips. "Answer the question," he directed.
Harry shrugged expressively. "Virgins are very tiresome," he replied, in a fair approximation of Snape's voice.
"How do you know I am not besotted enough to have pursued you despite your tiresomely virginal status?" Snape countered.
Smiling shyly, Harry said, "I think you are quite taken with me, but not besotted." He stroked Snape's cheek and hummed again. "Not yet."
~~**~~
Harry burrowed into the soft down pillows, inhaling deeply the scent of them. His senses rebelled at scent's favor and strove to rectify the loss. Where was the touch of Severus's heated skin against his own? Where was the soothing sound of breathing, lulling him in his sleep? And more importantly yet, why had his eyes opened on a pillow that bore only the imprint of his lover and not Severus himself?
Struggling from slumber, still wrapped around the pillow, he called out in the shadowed room. The hurricane lamp by the bed had long since been doused and the fire had died to embers. Naked Harry slid out of bed and padded across the room the peer at the mantel clock. Not quite dawn but not far off.
His belly rumbled and he remembered his missed supper. Hopping back upon the bed he slid his hose into place, tying off the tops around his knees before searching amid the tangle of seams for his drawers. Severus's coat lay still draped across the bedstead but his breeches and shirt were gone. Buttoning his own shirt he could not help but run a finger across the elegant waistcoat, remembering how it had felt under his hands as he removed it earlier.
A shiver of remembrance went through him, tiny sparks from a purely erotic fire igniting places on his person, within and without. Then, as the lingering absence of his host began to seem odd, Harry frowned. Had Severus been disappointed in him? He had not seemed so when, after their initial tumble, he had initiated Harry into the delightfully named soixante-neuf just before they had fallen asleep.
Leaving his cravat in a shameful untied froth around his neck Harry crossed to the first in a pair of large oak armoires, hoping to find a crisply pressed stock to replace his own. Oddly the first armoire didn't respond to his tug. He realized it was locked. The second one proved more yielding but the immaculately kept drawers revealed no fresh cravats.
Looking around the room once more, Harry bid it farewell, pushing open the door to the hall in search of Severus.
All was silent in the corridor. Harry guessed that soon the house elves would be stirring, building fires and pouring water for morning washing and waking up the house with the smells of breakfast. All that stirred now was the flicker of a lantern, just visible in the stairwell. Harry followed the dancing glow, creeping down the stairs like a villain in a bad melodrama. As he descended he heard the low murmur of voices coming from a study to his right.
The door to the study, just off the entrance hallway, was nearly closed, though enough light slipped through for Harry to find his way down the hall without bumping into any furniture.
Once at the door he hesitated, uncertain whether to intrude until he was positive of the identities of the speakers within. Male and at least two but speaking so softly Harry could not be positive one was Severus. He strained to hear, all but leaning on the shadowed door. He thought perhaps one of the voices sounded closer so he shifted so that his ear was nearly flat against the wood. Suddenly, in the way of all bad melodramas, the door was flung open, sending him wind-milling off balance.
"Harry!"
"Harry? Not--is that really--?" came another voice, not as familiar as the first.
Harry scarcely had time to register the second voice as Severus pulled him into the room. "What are you doing out of bed?" demanded Severus.
"I--" he began, then flushed with embarrassment as he realized there was indeed another man in the room and Severus's question made it seem as if they'd been--which of course they had been--but Harry didn't want to make it seem as if they had. He shook his head in confusion. The other man was peering at him curiously now though he had not spoken again.
Severus seemed to sense his dilemma. "It's all right, Harry. Lupin knows what I am." He sent a bemused smirk toward the man called Lupin and said, "Nothing you say will shock him."
The man, Lupin, took a step closer and smiled at Harry. He had light brown hair and the appearance of a gentleman, though perhaps not so grand a one as Severus. "It really is him?" he asked, looking back at Sir Severus.
"Can you doubt it? He is the very spirit and image of his father." Severus replied. He turned to Harry. "Harry, this is Remus Lupin, my steward. He went to school with your parents."
Harry sketched his best bow, lamenting his lack of a fine cravat. "A pleasure to meet you monsieur," he said formally. "If you knew my parents, you must know my godfather, Sirius, as well."
Laughter transformed the careworn lines on the man's face. "Indeed I do, son, though I've not laid eyes on him for many years."
"Or anything else, I'll wager," murmured Severus, almost to himself. Lupin did not seem to take offense.
"I'll wager he isn't very happy with either of you," Lupin said in his pleasantly accented English. He was dressed, compared to Severus, very plainly, in sturdy brown trousers and a dark coat. His cravat was a knot so simple it would have been followed by gasps of horror at the Paris opera house.
"Especially if I don't get Harry back before dawn," Severus said. He was in shirtsleeves alone. Harry had cause to remember the removal of that shirt not so many hours earlier and found his cheeks warming again.
He laid one hand on Severus's sleeve. "I can see myself home." Lupin and Severus were obviously old friends, or old somethings, and Harry wasn't sure how possessive he could be with his new-found passion.
Severus was already looking uncertain. "I'll have the carriage brought round," he said, clearly reluctant to dispatch his duty. Harry noted the stack of documents upon the desk and the presence of several quills and ink pots upon the desk as if the two men had been outlining something.
Harry waved him off with a cheeriness he did not feel. This was not how he'd imagined the rest of the evening. "I have been roaming the streets of Paris since I was a boy," he tossed off lightly. Lupin had stepped back to the desk, examining a map that had been weighted down at the corners by two snuffboxes and a pen stand, clearly giving them a moment of privacy.
At least Severus looked like he wanted to kiss him. Harry slid his fingers lightly down the loose sleeve, not daring more even with Lupin's attention diverted. "You owe me a supper, monsieur," he teased.
"I'd much rather have it be breakfast, cherie," replied Severus, his voice pitched for Harry's ears alone.
~~**~~
None save the hardiest--and the drunkest--revelers roamed the streets at the hour before dawn. Harry was by no means alone however. He nodded his hat to merchants trundling carts to market, their donkeys just as sleepy as their masters. There were dustmen and sewermen and probably not a few rag and bone pickers haunting the twisting mews between Severus's house and the Rue d'Richelieu In the happy daze that enveloped Harry, every person he passed seemed a little cheerier, a little cleaner, a little less sorry to be up at that hour.
He allowed only the briefest flare of jealousy that M. Lupin was probably even now in discussion with Severus over whatever urgent errand had brought him to Paris.
But truly he was too happy to be jealous. Lupin had not looked like a man distressed to see a comely younger man bidding his lover farewell. Severus had not minded being Harry's first lover, had perhaps even been a little pleased that he was not sharing favors with other gentlemen.
And Harry would have Severus--or would be had again--tonight.
His grin turned into a yawn as he turned into the familiar stones of the Rue d'Richelieu. The lamplighters had come and doused the streetlights at the first blush of dawn over the smoky rooftops. The sound of his own footsteps against the cobbles was the only sound in the empty street.
The only sound, that is, except for the quiet jingle of tackle. Harry looked up from his rather erotic reverie, just noticing a closed carriage, looking very out of place on the bourgeois avenue.
Before he had time to do more than wonder at the oddness, a streak of spell light split the morning gloom, striking Harry. A burst of pain erupted through him, pain unlike any he had ever known existed. He crumpled onto the street before he could even draw his wand.
Pain lanced through him again, sharp and hot. His fingers scrabbled against the paving stones as another curse pierced him. There was so much agony that his eyes closed against the spell light, too bright for his protesting brain to sort out. He cried out, for the heat and pain seemed to wrench inside him, carried through his body on traitorous nerve endings that just hours before had brought him the greatest pleasure he had ever known, now bringing the most profound pain.
This time he heard a voice, close, and the short bark of the curse as it struck him again. Harry's back arched, legs working helplessly before he collapsed into a heap on the curb and knew no more.
On to Part 3