Memoria Secludo - chapter 3/5
Apr. 2nd, 2008 01:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drachenminaTitle. Memoria Secludo
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drachenmina
Word Count: ~20,600 (Complete, 5 chapters)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Summary: Severus Snape survived Nagini’s bite, but as punishment for his crimes, he has had his memories excised and has been exiled from the wizarding world. Harry can’t resist the opportunity to get to know Snape without their past getting in the way. But what will happen if Snape regains his memories?
Warnings: Object insertion
Harry is 18 in this fic.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter 3
School that week was a complete waste of time as far as Harry was concerned. He couldn’t concentrate on anything: not his schoolwork, not quidditch, and certainly not the long, involved story Ron was currently telling about some prank Ginny had pulled on Flitwick.
“- and then she… Harry? Bloody hell, Harry, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”
Harry started, and coloured. “Sorry, mate, I was just, um, a bit distracted -“
“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked, starting to look concerned.
Harry took a deep breath. It was time to tell them, he knew it. And he wanted to tell them, he really did – or rather, he wanted to have told them, and for them to have got used to the idea of him being gay, without having to go through all the unpleasant process of them actually getting used to it. Maybe he could just leave them a note and bugger off for a week or two.
No. Time to grit his teeth and just get on with it. “Look, I need to tell you both something. Not here, though.” They were in the common room, and if there was one thing Harry was certain about, it was that he didn’t want to come out in front of a bunch of nosy, hero-worshipping first-years. “Let’s go for a walk, OK?”
It was after dinner, but still before dusk, although the shadows had lengthened and the light had taken on that curious golden glow that makes colours somehow much more vivid just before they begin to fade. Few people were out; most, after all, had work to do.
“So what is it, mate?” Ron looked concerned. Harry wished he knew how his friend was going to take the news. Hermione, he thought he could count on for support – but Ron? Harry wasn’t sure.
“Look, I need to tell you something about me. Something that I’m not sure you’re going to be pleased about – but there’s nothing I can do about it. And I don’t want to lie to you.” Not about this, anyway. No more than he had to.
“Bloody hell, mate, out with it! You’re - you’re not ill or something, are you?” Ron was looking really worried now.
Harry smiled weakly. “No, I’m not ill. I’m gay.”
There was silence, for one awful moment.
Then Hermione said, “Oh, Harry!” and gave him a hug, and Ron gave a strange sort of half-laugh and said, “Bloody hell, mate!” but in a resigned sort of way, rather than in a get-away-from-me-you-pervert sort of way, and suddenly Harry knew it was going to be OK. He didn’t even mind Ron asking several times if he was “really, really sure.”
“So, are you seeing anyone?” Hermione, of course, wanted to know more. They were on their way back to the castle, twilight falling in earnest now.
“Er, yeah.” Harry had thought this one out. “I met someone last Saturday. You know how I didn’t actually come back with any clothes from that shopping trip? Well, I, er, got talking to someone in a café and we sort of hit it off.” After all, that was true as far as it went, wasn’t it?
“So… “ Hermione looked like she was about to burst. “Tell us all about him! What’s his name, how old is he, what does he do…?”
Harry laughed. “Hold on, Hermione! His name’s Steve, and he’s a bit older than us. He’s unemployed at the moment.”
“Is he a wizard?” That was Ron.
“No.”
“Does he know you’re one?”
“Course not! We’ve only just met, I wouldn’t tell him something like that so soon!”
“But you really like him?” Hermione’s tone was earnest. Harry couldn’t stop himself blushing as he answered, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
………………………………………………………
Things were easier after that. Harry even found he was sleeping better now he’d told them about “Steve”. He’d chosen the name deliberately, just in case he ever slipped up and said “Stefan”: he could use the legitimate point that both names started the same, so it wasn’t that strange he’d got mixed up. He hoped.
Hermione kept asking about Steve, though, wanting to know what he looked like (“sort of average, taller than me,” he’d half-lied) and what he was like as a person (“I don’t know, he’s just a bloke.”) She was easy enough to distract with talk of their Newts, though.
Harry found himself getting nervous again as the weekend approached. He was going on a date with Snape! God, what the hell could they talk about that wouldn’t make Harry seem like a total imbecile? He was suddenly very glad they were going to the theatre – at least he wouldn’t have to say anything while the play or show or whatever was actually going on. But maybe Snape would expect him to talk about the play afterwards? Harry really wished he knew what they were going to see – he could have asked Hermione to find him a book about it. And hopefully, read it for him and give him a quick summary. With pointers on where to laugh so as not to look like a total idiot, that sort of thing.
When they apparated into Grimmauld Place that Friday evening, Ron seemed a bit quiet. Harry didn’t have long to worry about it, however, as Ron came to see him as Harry was shoving his clothes into the drawers in his room.
“So, um, big date tonight?”
“Er, yeah. Better get ready, really.”
“Right. So, have you, um, kissed him yet?” Ron’s ears were bright red, and Harry could feel his own face turning a matching shade. “Er, yeah.”
“So, um, what’s it like?”
Harry didn’t realise he was smiling goofily as he answered, “It’s good. Really good. Much better than kissing Cho or – “ here Harry remembered in the nick of time just whose brother he was talking to “ – or any other girl.”
Ron looked uncomfortable, so Harry was touched when all he said was, “Right. Well, have a good time – and if he hurts you, I’ll hex his balls off, OK?”
Harry grinned. “Thanks mate. I, um, won’t tell him you said that!”
………………………………….
Harry’s chat with Ron had done a lot to calm his nerves, but standing outside Snape’s door brought them all flooding back, to the point where he started to seriously think that if Snape didn’t open the door soon he was liable to do a runner. But when the door eventually opened, Snape’s obvious pleasure at seeing him again called a whole new set of emotions into play. Snape was smiling. Well, as much as he ever did And he was smiling at Harry.
Harry wondered if the man had been worried he might get stood up. He’d obviously taken some care with his appearance – not that he had a lot to work with, much like Harry himself, he thought ruefully – but he’d done his best. His hair was, at least, freshly washed, although once again tied back in that unflattering ponytail.
The bloke was right, Harry thought: Hermione really did have an eye for clothes. Harry felt suddenly very scruffy, even though he was wearing his best clothes, the ones that actually fit him. Maybe he should drag Hermione out shopping sometime.
“Harry. Would you like to come in for a moment before we depart?”
“Er, yeah. Thanks.” Harry felt very self-conscious as he walked in the door. Would Snape kiss him again? Harry found himself very much hoping he would. Snape, however, strode briskly to the window where a half-full tumbler of whiskey was placed on the sill. “We do not have a great deal of time, but if you would care for a drink before we go?”
“Um, no, I’m fine, thanks.”
Snape downed his own drink smoothly, and replaced the glass. “Well, then. Shall we depart?”
“Yeah, OK. So, er, what are we going to see?”
“A play by William Shakespeare. As You Like It.”
Yep, Harry was going to be way out of his depth here. His thoughts must have shown in his face, as Snape smiled in that way of his that wouldn’t look like smiling on anyone but him, and reassured him, “Don’t worry. These things are far more accessible than you probably imagine.”
Harry wondered how Snape knew. It was so strange; the way the spell had taken so many memories, but left others. But who’d have ever thought that Snape was into muggle drama? At least, he assumed Shakespeare had been a muggle, or presumably the spell would have taken that memory?
It made him realise just how one-sided his knowledge of the man was. They’d never had a single adult conversation before the war. Harry had always naively imagined Snape, when he thought about him at all, to have spent his whole life in the dungeons brewing potions, with occasional trips out to spy on Voldemort. But there had been years when Voldemort had been considered dead or at least permanently out of the picture: all the years after Harry had been left at the Dursleys’, and before he went to Hogwarts. Snape must have had some sort of a life in those years. He had to have done something in the long summer holidays, after all.
Harry realised with a start that Stefan had closed the distance between them. “Now, if you are ready, there is just one more thing.” Taking Harry’s face gently in his hands as before, Stefan kissed him.
Harry felt like he was melting. All his nerves, all the worries that Ron and Hermione would find out - this made it all worthwhile. It probably wasn’t, objectively viewed, a great kiss – god knew Harry had bugger all experience, and he seriously doubted Snape had had all that much, long summer holidays notwithstanding – but just the fact that he was being kissed, and that it was Snape who was kissing him, made Harry want it never to end.
Even if he never did work out quite what it was he was supposed to be doing with his tongue.
………………………………..
Harry found the play strange, at first – he’d never been to a theatre before, and it was a lot different from the telly. Particularly the flowery language – but weirdly, when the actors said their lines, it all seemed to make sense. And there were funny bits!
If, six months ago, anyone had suggested to Harry he’d one day be sitting in a theatre watching a play by someone he’d always assumed to be dull as ditchwater, laughing his head off – and with Snape, of all people, laughing beside him – he’d have thought them a candidate for a bed in St Mungo’s in the ward for the terminally Confunded.
“So, what did you think of young Ganymede?” Stefan asked him after the play had ended. They’d gone to an Italian restaurant nearby for a bite to eat.
Harry grinned. “Um, a bit girly?”
“I thought the actress concerned made a fair stab at passing for male. Although of course in Shakespeare’s day, the dual role of Rosalind/Ganymede would have been played by a young man. I take it you are unaware of the classical origins of the name?” Stefan didn’t wait for a reply. “Ganymede was a beautiful young prince with whom the Roman god Jupiter fell in love – much to his wife’s displeasure.”
Harry laughed. “OK, so you didn’t tell me it was a queer play we were going to see.”
“Hardly. Although it has long been suggested, of course, that Shakespeare himself had homosexual leanings. Many of his sonnets were written in praise of the beauty of a young man.” Stefan fixed Harry in the eye, and began to quote,
“A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.”
Harry coloured. “Um, so he was in love with a bloke who looked like a girl?”
Stefan laughed. “Possibly. But then again, perhaps not.”
…………………………..
After the meal, they went back to Stefan’s flat. Harry could tell Stefan had enjoyed the evening. He’d been in his element at dinner, and as they got the tube back: slating half the actors and generally ripping the production to shreds, before finally announcing to Harry’s amusement that on the whole it had been tolerable. He’d also explained the historical background and Shakespeare’s symbolism to Harry, who’d been amused to discover that Snape (a) seemed to know quite a lot about muggle drama and history and (b) was actually pretty good at explaining that knowledge when not faced with a classroom full of volatile ingredients and dangerous incompetents.
Harry slouched comfortably on the sofa while Snape poured them each a glass of wine, and then came to sit next to him. Right next to him. So close their thighs were touching. Harry was embarrassed to discover this small contact was enough to give him a hard-on, then he thought, sod it, it’s not like Snape’s going to be disappointed if he notices, is it?
Looking up, he saw from the amused glint in his companion’s eyes that Snape had, indeed, noticed it and no, he didn’t look disappointed in the least. Placing his glass carefully on the coffee table, Snape reached over slowly and did the face-stroking thing that had spooked Harry the first night they’d met.
This time, Harry was far from spooked. It felt really nice, and he wondered how to encourage Snape to go a bit further – apart from the obvious, not-running-away thing, of course. Snape started rubbing his thumb in little circles over Harry’s cheek.
Before tonight, if Harry had been asked what were his erogenous zones, his face would have been so far down the list it’d have dropped right off the bottom, but he could feel himself growing harder with every teasing little circle. He sensed, rather than saw, Snape’s smirk as Harry shifted position to ease the tightness in his trousers.
God, he felt good. Just as Harry was starting to wonder if it was actually possible to come without anyone even touching your bits, Snape ceased stroking his face, instead cupping it in both hands and drawing Harry in for a kiss.
His lips were soft, but they weren’t quite as gentle as they had been the first time Snape had kissed him. Harry found he liked the change. He kissed back, hoping his lack of experience wasn’t too much of a turn-off. Apparently it wasn’t, as Snape’s tongue started teasing at his lips. Harry was fairly sure you were supposed to open your mouth when someone did that, so he did, and suddenly the kiss was more forceful still, and Harry found himself flat on his back on the sofa with Snape’s weight pressing him down. He could feel Snape’s hard cock pressing into his thigh, and he shifted position to try to get some friction for himself.
He’d never imagined it would feel so good just to have a man on top of him, enveloping him, dominating him. He felt like Snape could do anything he wanted and Harry would be powerless to stop him, and it was a good feeling, one he wanted more of, and right now if possible. Harry moaned as he pressed his aching cock into Snape’s hip. Snape seemed to growl in response, and his kisses grew almost savage, like he was going to eat Harry alive and then spit him out, and he pressed harder into Harry’s groin and it was way too good and Harry felt about thirteen years old and didn’t care as he came, hard, in his pants.
Breathing hard, Harry came back to himself. Snape was still on top of him, supporting his weight with his arms as he gazed down at Harry with what had to be the first proper smile Harry had ever seen on his face. “Mmm, impatient, weren’t we?”
Now he had time to think about it, Harry was definitely embarrassed about coming so soon. “Um, sorry?”
“Don’t be. It is quite invigorating to meet with such youthful enthusiasm.” As if to remind his partner that he wasn’t the only one with needs, Snape rubbed himself deliberately against Harry’s body. With a start, Harry remembered he had hands, and manoeuvred one between them, to rub against Snape’s groin. Snape hissed, and emboldened, Harry managed to get his other hand in there and undid Snape’s trousers.
Apparently Snape didn’t believe in underwear. At least, not with muggle clothes. Harry gulped as he felt his hand close around Snape’s thick cock. He’d never touched anyone else’s before, and it felt at the same time familiar and strange. Harry wondered if it worked the same way. How many different ways were there to wank, anyway? He decided to go with what worked for him, and started to stroke up and down with a firm grip. Snape would probably tell him if he was making a right pig’s ear of it.
Snape gasped, which Harry thought was probably a good sign. He increased the speed a little, which also seemed to meet with approval. Snape’s jaw had gone slack now, which really wasn’t a good look on him, so Harry was astonished when his own cock gave an interested twitch at the sight. He worked his hand faster and faster, and was rewarded by Snape giving a massive groan and coming all over Harry’s front. Snape shuddered a final time, and collapsed on top of Harry.
Harry felt warm, cared for, and not a little squashed. His mind was racing. Oh my God, I just wanked Snape off. That’s his come soaking through my shirt. He felt absurdly happy, almost enough to laugh aloud.
After a long moment, Snape raised himself up on his arms again and looked at Harry. Then he kissed him, slowly and deeply, with none of the desperate passion of before and all the better for it, at this stage in the proceedings. As Snape clambered off him with obvious reluctance, Harry knew he was grinning ear to ear like a bloody Hufflepuff but he couldn’t seem to stop.
“Ah. You may wish to borrow a shirt for your journey home,” Snape said, looking at the mess he’d made.
Harry actually quite fancied that idea, he wouldn’t mind wearing something of Snape’s, but he knew it’d be too risky. Hermione would be bound to recognise something she’d bought herself. “’S all right, I’ll just give it a wipe.” He could spell it clean properly when he got out of here.
Harry went to the bathroom where a quick look in the mirror confirmed that yes, that grin he was wearing did make him look like a total moron. He sponged himself down until it wasn’t totally obvious what had happened to his shirt.
Then he grinned some more.
********************************************
After Harry had left, Stefan poured himself a whiskey and sat down in contemplation. Although it had not, by any means, been a bad thing, the end of the evening had not gone at all according to plan.
He had meant to be gentle with Harry, to go slow. A little kissing had been all that he had planned for their first date. Instead he had practically forced himself on the boy, pinning him to the sofa, overwhelming him with sensation.
Not that Harry had seemed to mind.
Was that the kind of man he was, though? The kind who took what he wanted, heedless of the consequences? Or was it merely that it had been a very long time since such temptation had been on offer? For all he knew, it might have been years since he had had a sexual partner, and perhaps while his mind had forgotten this, his body had not?
Yet he had felt such a need to take the boy, to devour him. To punish him, even. For the sins of the father, perhaps? But since he could not recall them, why did he feel this way?
Incensed by his mind’s betrayal, Stefan drained his glass then hefted it, as if about to hurl it into the fireplace in his anger.
It was just as well that he remembered in time that he had no fireplace, and was facing the television set.
………………………………………………….
The next evening found Stefan once again getting ready for his niece’s weekly visit. He found himself doing so reluctantly – even resentfully. He was most decidedly not in the mood to suffer her banal platitudes and ridiculous attempts to cheer him up. What he was in the mood for was a good hard fuck. Rather than sating him, last night’s activities had it seemed opened the floodgates of frustration. He didn’t want to be with his niece, being alternately bored and patronised – he wanted to be with his boy, his Harry.
There was a… freshness about Harry that truly enticed him. He had been delightful in his exuberance over the play they had seen – and even more so over their activities afterwards. Stefan felt his cock harden just at the thought of Harry lying beneath him. For once in what little he remembered of his life he had felt in control – indeed, he found it hard to separate the feeling of power from that of arousal.
Giving in, feeling it would be better in any case if he managed to relieve a little tension before his insufferable niece arrived, Stefan let his robe fall open and grasped his cock firmly. He tried to imagine that the hand that held him was smaller, the fingers stubbier. He made his grip a little more tentative, the better to emulate Harry’s. Yes… that was it. He closed his eyes and stroked himself, leaning against the wall. Yes. So innocent, his boy.
What would it be like to fuck him, Stefan wondered. He’d be the first to plunder that innocence, to show him all the many pleasures of the flesh. He’d have him on his hands and knees, and the boy would be begging for it, pleading to be spitted on Stefan’s cock. Yes. Please, Stefan, he’d say. Please, please…no! Stefan came with a gasp of almost physical pain, and stood there a moment, appalled.
…………………………………..
The evening, as expected, did not go well. Stefan could not bring himself to make more than monosyllabic replies to Hermione’s oh-so-interested questions about himself, his life, and his health, and he was incensed when she attempted to dissuade him from another glass of wine.
He suspected she was as relieved as he was when the time came for her to leave. To think he could have been with Harry… but no: the boy had his own life. To attempt to monopolise him, keep him from his friends, would only drive the boy away from him sooner.
The bottle of wine from dinner stood on the table, half-finished, but Stefan had lost his taste for it. He reached for the whiskey instead.
****************************************
Harry had had an early night on Saturday so he hadn’t seen Hermione when she got back from Snape’s. He didn’t want to appear too interested, but she looked so worried next morning that he found himself asking after Snape in spite of himself.
Hermione made a tight-lipped little face. “Depressed, I think. And he’s drinking too much. This – this isn’t right, what they’ve done to him.”
“What, so you reckon he’d have been happier if they’d slung him in Azkaban?” Ron clearly didn’t share her concern.
“Why do you think he’s depressed?” Harry asked, before the old argument could start again.
Hermione smiled a little ruefully. “Well, I could be wrong. To be honest, it could just be that his old personality’s starting to come through a bit more. But – he shouldn’t be like that. All the time we knew him, he was under the most intolerable pressure. It’s no wonder he was a bit, well, impatient. But now, he’s got no reason to be like that – unless it’s because of his memory.”
“Or, of course it could just be the fact he’s a git,” Ron muttered.
Hermione ignored him. “Anyway, I had a few ideas last night. I’m going to look over a few more court records today. Maybe widen the search so I’m not just looking at cases where Avada Kedavra was used. I’m sure there must be something we can use as a precedent to get his sentence revoked – “
Ron snorted. “Did you actually get any sleep last night, Hermione? And what about that essay we’ve got to do?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I seem to remember having told you before, Ronald: there are things more important than schoolwork!”
…………………………………………………….
Harry wasn’t sure what to think. The only thing he was sure of was that there was no way he could concentrate on his homework while he was worried about Snape. Stefan. Whatever. He’d been missing him anyway – cursing that they hadn’t arranged to spend any more time together that weekend. He’d been a bit hurt, actually, when Snape had just suggested they meet up the following Friday night. After all, surely Stefan didn’t have all that much occupying his time? He could spare Harry half a day at the weekend, couldn’t he? If he really wanted to, that was.
Pacing restlessly around his room, Harry wasn’t aware he’d come to a decision until he found himself pulling on his shoes.
Not being able to think up an excuse, Harry just yelled, “Going out for a bit!” to Ron and Hermione before Apparating away to the alley near Stefan’s flat. He didn’t stop to think until he was about to knock on Stefan’s door. Would he be welcome? Sod it, if he wasn’t it would probably be just as well if he found out now, anyway.
Harry needn’t have worried. The look Snape threw him was that of a starving man unexpectedly confronted with a large cream doughnut just begging to have its filling sucked out. Harry swallowed at the fierce expression in Snape’s eyes, as he roughly dragged Harry into the flat and slammed the door shut, pinning Harry back against it.
Snape’s breath smelt of whiskey again, which was odd, given the earliness of the hour, but all further thought fled as Harry found himself kissed almost viciously.
“So, you missed me?” Harry asked cheekily, when Snape finally took a break to breathe.
“Perhaps.” God, how could that man make a grudging admission sound like a declaration of desire? Maybe it just depended on who was listening.
Snape was wearing the dressing gown again, and Harry boldly slid his hands underneath, reaching towards the bare flesh hidden within. Snape’s breath seemed to catch. “So, that’s what you came for, is it?”
Harry grinned. “Perhaps.”
With a snarl, Snape pushed Harry’s sweatshirt over his head and started to undo his jeans. As Snape pushed them down to his ankles, Harry felt a frisson of excitement which became tinged a bit with fear as Snape spun him round and pressed him face-first into the door. Was he going to…? They’d never… Harry’d never…
“Think I’m going to bugger you up against the door, like the little slut you really are?” Snape growled.
Harry was breathing hard now. How could he be so aroused and terrified at the same time? “I… I… “ he stuttered.
Abruptly, the pressure eased off a little and Snape’s voice was much gentler as he whispered, “Just keep your thighs together. That’s it.”
Harry trembled a little – with relief, or desire, he didn’t know which – as he felt Snape’s heavy cock slide between his thighs, and Snape’s hand came round to caress Harry’s own cock.
“Shh,” Snape soothed him, as he began to thrust, slowly, teasingly at first, then harder, the head of his cock banging into Harry’s balls at the end of each stroke. Harry had never heard of anyone doing it like this, but it felt good – almost like Snape was inside him, but without what he’d heard was a very painful bit of stretching beforehand.
Harry had never felt anything so… intimate, before. Snape was surrounding him; making him feel safe, warm. Protected. His hand was doing wonderful things to Harry’s cock and Harry had a strong feeling he was about to disgrace himself again.
But in the event, Snape came first, his breath hot and ragged on Harry’s neck, and Harry felt a surge of triumph as he finally let himself go.
When Snape drew away from him, Harry gave an involuntary shiver. He grinned his thanks as Snape handed him his sweatshirt.
“So, you were unable to wait until Friday, then?” Snape asked sardonically.
Harry grinned again, a little sheepishly this time. “Yeah, looks like it, doesn’t it?” His smile faltered. “I mean, it’s not just – this. The sex, I mean.” He gestured vaguely at the front door. Both of them looked at Harry’s come now dripping rather distastefully down it. Not to mention what was dripping down his legs.
“Um, I think we’d better get a tissue. But I mean – I missed you too.”
Harry wished he could work out what that expression on Snape’s face meant.
………………………………………
When he got back to Grimmauld Place, Harry was cornered by Hermione.
“Harry! Where on earth have you been? Have you even done the transfiguration essay?”
“I, er, I just needed to pop out. Anyway, I thought you said some things were more important than schoolwork?”
Hermione arched an eyebrow knowingly. “That may be, Harry, but going off to snog your boyfriend isn’t one of them.”
Harry was just glad she didn’t seem to have any idea what he’d actually been doing.
Or with whom.
…………………………………………………..
Chapter 4
Author:
drachenminaWord Count: ~20,600 (Complete, 5 chapters)
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Summary: Severus Snape survived Nagini’s bite, but as punishment for his crimes, he has had his memories excised and has been exiled from the wizarding world. Harry can’t resist the opportunity to get to know Snape without their past getting in the way. But what will happen if Snape regains his memories?
Warnings: Object insertion
Harry is 18 in this fic.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter 3
School that week was a complete waste of time as far as Harry was concerned. He couldn’t concentrate on anything: not his schoolwork, not quidditch, and certainly not the long, involved story Ron was currently telling about some prank Ginny had pulled on Flitwick.
“- and then she… Harry? Bloody hell, Harry, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”
Harry started, and coloured. “Sorry, mate, I was just, um, a bit distracted -“
“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked, starting to look concerned.
Harry took a deep breath. It was time to tell them, he knew it. And he wanted to tell them, he really did – or rather, he wanted to have told them, and for them to have got used to the idea of him being gay, without having to go through all the unpleasant process of them actually getting used to it. Maybe he could just leave them a note and bugger off for a week or two.
No. Time to grit his teeth and just get on with it. “Look, I need to tell you both something. Not here, though.” They were in the common room, and if there was one thing Harry was certain about, it was that he didn’t want to come out in front of a bunch of nosy, hero-worshipping first-years. “Let’s go for a walk, OK?”
It was after dinner, but still before dusk, although the shadows had lengthened and the light had taken on that curious golden glow that makes colours somehow much more vivid just before they begin to fade. Few people were out; most, after all, had work to do.
“So what is it, mate?” Ron looked concerned. Harry wished he knew how his friend was going to take the news. Hermione, he thought he could count on for support – but Ron? Harry wasn’t sure.
“Look, I need to tell you something about me. Something that I’m not sure you’re going to be pleased about – but there’s nothing I can do about it. And I don’t want to lie to you.” Not about this, anyway. No more than he had to.
“Bloody hell, mate, out with it! You’re - you’re not ill or something, are you?” Ron was looking really worried now.
Harry smiled weakly. “No, I’m not ill. I’m gay.”
There was silence, for one awful moment.
Then Hermione said, “Oh, Harry!” and gave him a hug, and Ron gave a strange sort of half-laugh and said, “Bloody hell, mate!” but in a resigned sort of way, rather than in a get-away-from-me-you-pervert sort of way, and suddenly Harry knew it was going to be OK. He didn’t even mind Ron asking several times if he was “really, really sure.”
“So, are you seeing anyone?” Hermione, of course, wanted to know more. They were on their way back to the castle, twilight falling in earnest now.
“Er, yeah.” Harry had thought this one out. “I met someone last Saturday. You know how I didn’t actually come back with any clothes from that shopping trip? Well, I, er, got talking to someone in a café and we sort of hit it off.” After all, that was true as far as it went, wasn’t it?
“So… “ Hermione looked like she was about to burst. “Tell us all about him! What’s his name, how old is he, what does he do…?”
Harry laughed. “Hold on, Hermione! His name’s Steve, and he’s a bit older than us. He’s unemployed at the moment.”
“Is he a wizard?” That was Ron.
“No.”
“Does he know you’re one?”
“Course not! We’ve only just met, I wouldn’t tell him something like that so soon!”
“But you really like him?” Hermione’s tone was earnest. Harry couldn’t stop himself blushing as he answered, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
………………………………………………………
Things were easier after that. Harry even found he was sleeping better now he’d told them about “Steve”. He’d chosen the name deliberately, just in case he ever slipped up and said “Stefan”: he could use the legitimate point that both names started the same, so it wasn’t that strange he’d got mixed up. He hoped.
Hermione kept asking about Steve, though, wanting to know what he looked like (“sort of average, taller than me,” he’d half-lied) and what he was like as a person (“I don’t know, he’s just a bloke.”) She was easy enough to distract with talk of their Newts, though.
Harry found himself getting nervous again as the weekend approached. He was going on a date with Snape! God, what the hell could they talk about that wouldn’t make Harry seem like a total imbecile? He was suddenly very glad they were going to the theatre – at least he wouldn’t have to say anything while the play or show or whatever was actually going on. But maybe Snape would expect him to talk about the play afterwards? Harry really wished he knew what they were going to see – he could have asked Hermione to find him a book about it. And hopefully, read it for him and give him a quick summary. With pointers on where to laugh so as not to look like a total idiot, that sort of thing.
When they apparated into Grimmauld Place that Friday evening, Ron seemed a bit quiet. Harry didn’t have long to worry about it, however, as Ron came to see him as Harry was shoving his clothes into the drawers in his room.
“So, um, big date tonight?”
“Er, yeah. Better get ready, really.”
“Right. So, have you, um, kissed him yet?” Ron’s ears were bright red, and Harry could feel his own face turning a matching shade. “Er, yeah.”
“So, um, what’s it like?”
Harry didn’t realise he was smiling goofily as he answered, “It’s good. Really good. Much better than kissing Cho or – “ here Harry remembered in the nick of time just whose brother he was talking to “ – or any other girl.”
Ron looked uncomfortable, so Harry was touched when all he said was, “Right. Well, have a good time – and if he hurts you, I’ll hex his balls off, OK?”
Harry grinned. “Thanks mate. I, um, won’t tell him you said that!”
………………………………….
Harry’s chat with Ron had done a lot to calm his nerves, but standing outside Snape’s door brought them all flooding back, to the point where he started to seriously think that if Snape didn’t open the door soon he was liable to do a runner. But when the door eventually opened, Snape’s obvious pleasure at seeing him again called a whole new set of emotions into play. Snape was smiling. Well, as much as he ever did And he was smiling at Harry.
Harry wondered if the man had been worried he might get stood up. He’d obviously taken some care with his appearance – not that he had a lot to work with, much like Harry himself, he thought ruefully – but he’d done his best. His hair was, at least, freshly washed, although once again tied back in that unflattering ponytail.
The bloke was right, Harry thought: Hermione really did have an eye for clothes. Harry felt suddenly very scruffy, even though he was wearing his best clothes, the ones that actually fit him. Maybe he should drag Hermione out shopping sometime.
“Harry. Would you like to come in for a moment before we depart?”
“Er, yeah. Thanks.” Harry felt very self-conscious as he walked in the door. Would Snape kiss him again? Harry found himself very much hoping he would. Snape, however, strode briskly to the window where a half-full tumbler of whiskey was placed on the sill. “We do not have a great deal of time, but if you would care for a drink before we go?”
“Um, no, I’m fine, thanks.”
Snape downed his own drink smoothly, and replaced the glass. “Well, then. Shall we depart?”
“Yeah, OK. So, er, what are we going to see?”
“A play by William Shakespeare. As You Like It.”
Yep, Harry was going to be way out of his depth here. His thoughts must have shown in his face, as Snape smiled in that way of his that wouldn’t look like smiling on anyone but him, and reassured him, “Don’t worry. These things are far more accessible than you probably imagine.”
Harry wondered how Snape knew. It was so strange; the way the spell had taken so many memories, but left others. But who’d have ever thought that Snape was into muggle drama? At least, he assumed Shakespeare had been a muggle, or presumably the spell would have taken that memory?
It made him realise just how one-sided his knowledge of the man was. They’d never had a single adult conversation before the war. Harry had always naively imagined Snape, when he thought about him at all, to have spent his whole life in the dungeons brewing potions, with occasional trips out to spy on Voldemort. But there had been years when Voldemort had been considered dead or at least permanently out of the picture: all the years after Harry had been left at the Dursleys’, and before he went to Hogwarts. Snape must have had some sort of a life in those years. He had to have done something in the long summer holidays, after all.
Harry realised with a start that Stefan had closed the distance between them. “Now, if you are ready, there is just one more thing.” Taking Harry’s face gently in his hands as before, Stefan kissed him.
Harry felt like he was melting. All his nerves, all the worries that Ron and Hermione would find out - this made it all worthwhile. It probably wasn’t, objectively viewed, a great kiss – god knew Harry had bugger all experience, and he seriously doubted Snape had had all that much, long summer holidays notwithstanding – but just the fact that he was being kissed, and that it was Snape who was kissing him, made Harry want it never to end.
Even if he never did work out quite what it was he was supposed to be doing with his tongue.
………………………………..
Harry found the play strange, at first – he’d never been to a theatre before, and it was a lot different from the telly. Particularly the flowery language – but weirdly, when the actors said their lines, it all seemed to make sense. And there were funny bits!
If, six months ago, anyone had suggested to Harry he’d one day be sitting in a theatre watching a play by someone he’d always assumed to be dull as ditchwater, laughing his head off – and with Snape, of all people, laughing beside him – he’d have thought them a candidate for a bed in St Mungo’s in the ward for the terminally Confunded.
“So, what did you think of young Ganymede?” Stefan asked him after the play had ended. They’d gone to an Italian restaurant nearby for a bite to eat.
Harry grinned. “Um, a bit girly?”
“I thought the actress concerned made a fair stab at passing for male. Although of course in Shakespeare’s day, the dual role of Rosalind/Ganymede would have been played by a young man. I take it you are unaware of the classical origins of the name?” Stefan didn’t wait for a reply. “Ganymede was a beautiful young prince with whom the Roman god Jupiter fell in love – much to his wife’s displeasure.”
Harry laughed. “OK, so you didn’t tell me it was a queer play we were going to see.”
“Hardly. Although it has long been suggested, of course, that Shakespeare himself had homosexual leanings. Many of his sonnets were written in praise of the beauty of a young man.” Stefan fixed Harry in the eye, and began to quote,
“A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.”
Harry coloured. “Um, so he was in love with a bloke who looked like a girl?”
Stefan laughed. “Possibly. But then again, perhaps not.”
…………………………..
After the meal, they went back to Stefan’s flat. Harry could tell Stefan had enjoyed the evening. He’d been in his element at dinner, and as they got the tube back: slating half the actors and generally ripping the production to shreds, before finally announcing to Harry’s amusement that on the whole it had been tolerable. He’d also explained the historical background and Shakespeare’s symbolism to Harry, who’d been amused to discover that Snape (a) seemed to know quite a lot about muggle drama and history and (b) was actually pretty good at explaining that knowledge when not faced with a classroom full of volatile ingredients and dangerous incompetents.
Harry slouched comfortably on the sofa while Snape poured them each a glass of wine, and then came to sit next to him. Right next to him. So close their thighs were touching. Harry was embarrassed to discover this small contact was enough to give him a hard-on, then he thought, sod it, it’s not like Snape’s going to be disappointed if he notices, is it?
Looking up, he saw from the amused glint in his companion’s eyes that Snape had, indeed, noticed it and no, he didn’t look disappointed in the least. Placing his glass carefully on the coffee table, Snape reached over slowly and did the face-stroking thing that had spooked Harry the first night they’d met.
This time, Harry was far from spooked. It felt really nice, and he wondered how to encourage Snape to go a bit further – apart from the obvious, not-running-away thing, of course. Snape started rubbing his thumb in little circles over Harry’s cheek.
Before tonight, if Harry had been asked what were his erogenous zones, his face would have been so far down the list it’d have dropped right off the bottom, but he could feel himself growing harder with every teasing little circle. He sensed, rather than saw, Snape’s smirk as Harry shifted position to ease the tightness in his trousers.
God, he felt good. Just as Harry was starting to wonder if it was actually possible to come without anyone even touching your bits, Snape ceased stroking his face, instead cupping it in both hands and drawing Harry in for a kiss.
His lips were soft, but they weren’t quite as gentle as they had been the first time Snape had kissed him. Harry found he liked the change. He kissed back, hoping his lack of experience wasn’t too much of a turn-off. Apparently it wasn’t, as Snape’s tongue started teasing at his lips. Harry was fairly sure you were supposed to open your mouth when someone did that, so he did, and suddenly the kiss was more forceful still, and Harry found himself flat on his back on the sofa with Snape’s weight pressing him down. He could feel Snape’s hard cock pressing into his thigh, and he shifted position to try to get some friction for himself.
He’d never imagined it would feel so good just to have a man on top of him, enveloping him, dominating him. He felt like Snape could do anything he wanted and Harry would be powerless to stop him, and it was a good feeling, one he wanted more of, and right now if possible. Harry moaned as he pressed his aching cock into Snape’s hip. Snape seemed to growl in response, and his kisses grew almost savage, like he was going to eat Harry alive and then spit him out, and he pressed harder into Harry’s groin and it was way too good and Harry felt about thirteen years old and didn’t care as he came, hard, in his pants.
Breathing hard, Harry came back to himself. Snape was still on top of him, supporting his weight with his arms as he gazed down at Harry with what had to be the first proper smile Harry had ever seen on his face. “Mmm, impatient, weren’t we?”
Now he had time to think about it, Harry was definitely embarrassed about coming so soon. “Um, sorry?”
“Don’t be. It is quite invigorating to meet with such youthful enthusiasm.” As if to remind his partner that he wasn’t the only one with needs, Snape rubbed himself deliberately against Harry’s body. With a start, Harry remembered he had hands, and manoeuvred one between them, to rub against Snape’s groin. Snape hissed, and emboldened, Harry managed to get his other hand in there and undid Snape’s trousers.
Apparently Snape didn’t believe in underwear. At least, not with muggle clothes. Harry gulped as he felt his hand close around Snape’s thick cock. He’d never touched anyone else’s before, and it felt at the same time familiar and strange. Harry wondered if it worked the same way. How many different ways were there to wank, anyway? He decided to go with what worked for him, and started to stroke up and down with a firm grip. Snape would probably tell him if he was making a right pig’s ear of it.
Snape gasped, which Harry thought was probably a good sign. He increased the speed a little, which also seemed to meet with approval. Snape’s jaw had gone slack now, which really wasn’t a good look on him, so Harry was astonished when his own cock gave an interested twitch at the sight. He worked his hand faster and faster, and was rewarded by Snape giving a massive groan and coming all over Harry’s front. Snape shuddered a final time, and collapsed on top of Harry.
Harry felt warm, cared for, and not a little squashed. His mind was racing. Oh my God, I just wanked Snape off. That’s his come soaking through my shirt. He felt absurdly happy, almost enough to laugh aloud.
After a long moment, Snape raised himself up on his arms again and looked at Harry. Then he kissed him, slowly and deeply, with none of the desperate passion of before and all the better for it, at this stage in the proceedings. As Snape clambered off him with obvious reluctance, Harry knew he was grinning ear to ear like a bloody Hufflepuff but he couldn’t seem to stop.
“Ah. You may wish to borrow a shirt for your journey home,” Snape said, looking at the mess he’d made.
Harry actually quite fancied that idea, he wouldn’t mind wearing something of Snape’s, but he knew it’d be too risky. Hermione would be bound to recognise something she’d bought herself. “’S all right, I’ll just give it a wipe.” He could spell it clean properly when he got out of here.
Harry went to the bathroom where a quick look in the mirror confirmed that yes, that grin he was wearing did make him look like a total moron. He sponged himself down until it wasn’t totally obvious what had happened to his shirt.
Then he grinned some more.
********************************************
After Harry had left, Stefan poured himself a whiskey and sat down in contemplation. Although it had not, by any means, been a bad thing, the end of the evening had not gone at all according to plan.
He had meant to be gentle with Harry, to go slow. A little kissing had been all that he had planned for their first date. Instead he had practically forced himself on the boy, pinning him to the sofa, overwhelming him with sensation.
Not that Harry had seemed to mind.
Was that the kind of man he was, though? The kind who took what he wanted, heedless of the consequences? Or was it merely that it had been a very long time since such temptation had been on offer? For all he knew, it might have been years since he had had a sexual partner, and perhaps while his mind had forgotten this, his body had not?
Yet he had felt such a need to take the boy, to devour him. To punish him, even. For the sins of the father, perhaps? But since he could not recall them, why did he feel this way?
Incensed by his mind’s betrayal, Stefan drained his glass then hefted it, as if about to hurl it into the fireplace in his anger.
It was just as well that he remembered in time that he had no fireplace, and was facing the television set.
………………………………………………….
The next evening found Stefan once again getting ready for his niece’s weekly visit. He found himself doing so reluctantly – even resentfully. He was most decidedly not in the mood to suffer her banal platitudes and ridiculous attempts to cheer him up. What he was in the mood for was a good hard fuck. Rather than sating him, last night’s activities had it seemed opened the floodgates of frustration. He didn’t want to be with his niece, being alternately bored and patronised – he wanted to be with his boy, his Harry.
There was a… freshness about Harry that truly enticed him. He had been delightful in his exuberance over the play they had seen – and even more so over their activities afterwards. Stefan felt his cock harden just at the thought of Harry lying beneath him. For once in what little he remembered of his life he had felt in control – indeed, he found it hard to separate the feeling of power from that of arousal.
Giving in, feeling it would be better in any case if he managed to relieve a little tension before his insufferable niece arrived, Stefan let his robe fall open and grasped his cock firmly. He tried to imagine that the hand that held him was smaller, the fingers stubbier. He made his grip a little more tentative, the better to emulate Harry’s. Yes… that was it. He closed his eyes and stroked himself, leaning against the wall. Yes. So innocent, his boy.
What would it be like to fuck him, Stefan wondered. He’d be the first to plunder that innocence, to show him all the many pleasures of the flesh. He’d have him on his hands and knees, and the boy would be begging for it, pleading to be spitted on Stefan’s cock. Yes. Please, Stefan, he’d say. Please, please…no! Stefan came with a gasp of almost physical pain, and stood there a moment, appalled.
…………………………………..
The evening, as expected, did not go well. Stefan could not bring himself to make more than monosyllabic replies to Hermione’s oh-so-interested questions about himself, his life, and his health, and he was incensed when she attempted to dissuade him from another glass of wine.
He suspected she was as relieved as he was when the time came for her to leave. To think he could have been with Harry… but no: the boy had his own life. To attempt to monopolise him, keep him from his friends, would only drive the boy away from him sooner.
The bottle of wine from dinner stood on the table, half-finished, but Stefan had lost his taste for it. He reached for the whiskey instead.
****************************************
Harry had had an early night on Saturday so he hadn’t seen Hermione when she got back from Snape’s. He didn’t want to appear too interested, but she looked so worried next morning that he found himself asking after Snape in spite of himself.
Hermione made a tight-lipped little face. “Depressed, I think. And he’s drinking too much. This – this isn’t right, what they’ve done to him.”
“What, so you reckon he’d have been happier if they’d slung him in Azkaban?” Ron clearly didn’t share her concern.
“Why do you think he’s depressed?” Harry asked, before the old argument could start again.
Hermione smiled a little ruefully. “Well, I could be wrong. To be honest, it could just be that his old personality’s starting to come through a bit more. But – he shouldn’t be like that. All the time we knew him, he was under the most intolerable pressure. It’s no wonder he was a bit, well, impatient. But now, he’s got no reason to be like that – unless it’s because of his memory.”
“Or, of course it could just be the fact he’s a git,” Ron muttered.
Hermione ignored him. “Anyway, I had a few ideas last night. I’m going to look over a few more court records today. Maybe widen the search so I’m not just looking at cases where Avada Kedavra was used. I’m sure there must be something we can use as a precedent to get his sentence revoked – “
Ron snorted. “Did you actually get any sleep last night, Hermione? And what about that essay we’ve got to do?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “I seem to remember having told you before, Ronald: there are things more important than schoolwork!”
…………………………………………………….
Harry wasn’t sure what to think. The only thing he was sure of was that there was no way he could concentrate on his homework while he was worried about Snape. Stefan. Whatever. He’d been missing him anyway – cursing that they hadn’t arranged to spend any more time together that weekend. He’d been a bit hurt, actually, when Snape had just suggested they meet up the following Friday night. After all, surely Stefan didn’t have all that much occupying his time? He could spare Harry half a day at the weekend, couldn’t he? If he really wanted to, that was.
Pacing restlessly around his room, Harry wasn’t aware he’d come to a decision until he found himself pulling on his shoes.
Not being able to think up an excuse, Harry just yelled, “Going out for a bit!” to Ron and Hermione before Apparating away to the alley near Stefan’s flat. He didn’t stop to think until he was about to knock on Stefan’s door. Would he be welcome? Sod it, if he wasn’t it would probably be just as well if he found out now, anyway.
Harry needn’t have worried. The look Snape threw him was that of a starving man unexpectedly confronted with a large cream doughnut just begging to have its filling sucked out. Harry swallowed at the fierce expression in Snape’s eyes, as he roughly dragged Harry into the flat and slammed the door shut, pinning Harry back against it.
Snape’s breath smelt of whiskey again, which was odd, given the earliness of the hour, but all further thought fled as Harry found himself kissed almost viciously.
“So, you missed me?” Harry asked cheekily, when Snape finally took a break to breathe.
“Perhaps.” God, how could that man make a grudging admission sound like a declaration of desire? Maybe it just depended on who was listening.
Snape was wearing the dressing gown again, and Harry boldly slid his hands underneath, reaching towards the bare flesh hidden within. Snape’s breath seemed to catch. “So, that’s what you came for, is it?”
Harry grinned. “Perhaps.”
With a snarl, Snape pushed Harry’s sweatshirt over his head and started to undo his jeans. As Snape pushed them down to his ankles, Harry felt a frisson of excitement which became tinged a bit with fear as Snape spun him round and pressed him face-first into the door. Was he going to…? They’d never… Harry’d never…
“Think I’m going to bugger you up against the door, like the little slut you really are?” Snape growled.
Harry was breathing hard now. How could he be so aroused and terrified at the same time? “I… I… “ he stuttered.
Abruptly, the pressure eased off a little and Snape’s voice was much gentler as he whispered, “Just keep your thighs together. That’s it.”
Harry trembled a little – with relief, or desire, he didn’t know which – as he felt Snape’s heavy cock slide between his thighs, and Snape’s hand came round to caress Harry’s own cock.
“Shh,” Snape soothed him, as he began to thrust, slowly, teasingly at first, then harder, the head of his cock banging into Harry’s balls at the end of each stroke. Harry had never heard of anyone doing it like this, but it felt good – almost like Snape was inside him, but without what he’d heard was a very painful bit of stretching beforehand.
Harry had never felt anything so… intimate, before. Snape was surrounding him; making him feel safe, warm. Protected. His hand was doing wonderful things to Harry’s cock and Harry had a strong feeling he was about to disgrace himself again.
But in the event, Snape came first, his breath hot and ragged on Harry’s neck, and Harry felt a surge of triumph as he finally let himself go.
When Snape drew away from him, Harry gave an involuntary shiver. He grinned his thanks as Snape handed him his sweatshirt.
“So, you were unable to wait until Friday, then?” Snape asked sardonically.
Harry grinned again, a little sheepishly this time. “Yeah, looks like it, doesn’t it?” His smile faltered. “I mean, it’s not just – this. The sex, I mean.” He gestured vaguely at the front door. Both of them looked at Harry’s come now dripping rather distastefully down it. Not to mention what was dripping down his legs.
“Um, I think we’d better get a tissue. But I mean – I missed you too.”
Harry wished he could work out what that expression on Snape’s face meant.
………………………………………
When he got back to Grimmauld Place, Harry was cornered by Hermione.
“Harry! Where on earth have you been? Have you even done the transfiguration essay?”
“I, er, I just needed to pop out. Anyway, I thought you said some things were more important than schoolwork?”
Hermione arched an eyebrow knowingly. “That may be, Harry, but going off to snog your boyfriend isn’t one of them.”
Harry was just glad she didn’t seem to have any idea what he’d actually been doing.
Or with whom.
…………………………………………………..
Chapter 4
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-04-02 06:17 pm (UTC)Is Snape's blunder, or rather half-knowledge, here intentional? *wonders* It doesn't seem so from the later discussions and his imparting Shakespeare and historical knowledge, but I'm not sure.
Because it's either "the Roman god JUPITER" as they called this particular deity - or "the GREEK god Zeus".
It just struck me as a bit weird and oddly uneducated for the expert!Snape you've been portraying here to mix the names and cultures up ...
no subject
Date: 2008-04-02 06:27 pm (UTC)As well as the ambivalent feelings the activities and his behaviour Severus had afterwards. Well, "hot" might be the wrong word for the latter, but definitely well-written and it seemed very realistic given his character and situation.
And Harry's youthful enthusiasm and elation, followed by a rather diffuse worry - while still carefully not thinking about the situation and the impossibility of it ending well. Very Harry ^_^
no subject
Date: 2008-04-02 07:17 pm (UTC)...nope, it was a blunder! *blushes, and sneaks off to fix*
Thanks for pointing that out! :D
no subject
Date: 2008-04-02 07:26 pm (UTC)And I'm pleased you found them in character. Thanks for the comments!
no subject
Date: 2008-04-02 08:40 pm (UTC)You're welcome! It was a very enjoyable read (in case I somehow failed to get that across earlier), so thank you for that.