schemingreader

Title: Train Songs
Author/artist: schemingreader
Recipient's name: dementordelta
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Snape/Harry
Disclaimer: These characters belong to their original author, J.K. Rowling, and appear here for your entertainment only.
Summary: After the war is over, Harry and Severus meet on the train from Paris to Istanbul. Since neither has anywhere to go, should they go together?
Warnings (if any): rimming, other sex acts, dirty talk, happy ending
Word count: ~16,000! It's long! Part Two is here
Author's/artist's notes (if any): I adore dementordelta! I worked hard at this story to please her. The original request is here. (I have also posted a soundtrack, here.

I had so much beta-reading and hand-holding! rexluscus did the most listening to me whine. Then I had bethbethbeth (who pointed out some sexism! Oy vey!) regan_v (who persuaded me to do this fest in the first place!) stasia, who offered enthusiastic encouragement, snegurochka_lee (who doesn't like Snarry, especially not romantic Snarry, and still gave me amazingly valuable feedback!) perverse_idyll, who help me not forget about visual imagery and went over the whole piece with a fine-toothed comb, and sscrewdriver, who gave it a Britpick and a polish. Any problems left with this story were absolutely not their fault: I listened to everything but I have to admit that I'm kind of romantic and so…

This story was first posted here, but I've put it on my journal, so just click

Train Songs

by

Schemingreader




Harry wasn't enjoying himself. Going to France was meant to be fun, and he was bored. Before Hogwarts, he had always wanted to travel. He remembered sitting with the atlas in the school library, fantasizing about different places he might go to get away from the Dursleys. But after that, all the maps were magical and all his studies were about the spells to enchant them.

Hermione was the one who pointed it out. "For God's sake, Harry, we live on an island! It's not even a particularly large one."

He loved them both, Hermione and Ron, and was even happy for them that they were getting married. But he was annoyed that she had insisted he make the trip on his own, without them. What was he supposed to see, in Paris, without anyone to see it with him?

It was true that he could have invited someone else, but who else was there?

He wandered around the train station at 4:30 AM, knowing that he was supposed to go find a hotel room and then arrange to see the Eiffel Tower and the Mona Lisa and all of that. The main hall was beautiful but empty; the repeating arches and arcing skylights made it feel chilly. He stood in front of the menu board at the one open café in the hall, but the only thing he knew how to order was a cup of chocolate and a croissant. Eating them did put him in a better mood, though sweet things on an empty stomach also nauseated him a bit.

He walked around the courtyard outside the station, looking at his breath as it fogged the air like smoke, and tried to decide what to do. He was cold and pulled up the hood on his sweatshirt.

He was lonely, and it was dawn in a strange place, and he had had enough of lonely, hungry dawns during the war. There was no quest, nothing to track down. The Ministry had rounded up most of the major Death Eaters. Since Snape had worked out to be on their side, there was no point in looking for him.

"Well, they said they would meet me in Paris at the end of the journey, in September," he said to himself. "I'll just wait to see it with them, and get on the first train out of here."

---

He thought he was boarding a Muggle train, but when Harry bought his ticket, there was a moving photograph of a train with a little puffing smokestack receding in the distance on it, with the caption "Simplon Orient Express Wizarding—Access to Magickal Carriages." He looked up at the ticket seller, a Muggle if ever there was one. The clerk only said, "'ave a nice day, m'sieur," in a remarkably surly tone. Harry repeated to himself, "Have a nice day? What, does she think I'm an American or something?" Bloody French people.

The first carriage he entered was an ordinary one, and most of the compartments were full. Then he stepped across to a new carriage; it was a wizarding one. One moment he was stepping between the two steel footplates; the next, he had crossed onto another colour of metal entirely. A carriage had appeared between the other two.

He walked along the corridor, noting the numbers over the compartments. Some of the numbers were proper whole ones, but some were fractions and some were irrational numbers. He could see the doors of these compartments expand as he stood before them.

As he passed along the corridor, it seemed to grow longer and longer. The end of the carriage seemed to recede away from him, as he approached it. He saw other passengers reach the end of the corridor ahead of him. They seemed to pass him without seeing him, without avoiding him or running into him.

But someone did see him. Someone at the other end of the corridor was coming toward him, wand out: a witch with a mane of yellow hair and a maddened expression.

Harry didn't know if it was someone from a Death Eater family or someone who had relatives killed by Voldemort who blamed Harry that the war hadn't ended sooner. It didn't matter; there were people after him from both camps. It could even be a frustrated reporter or celebrity hunter. He thought he'd left them all behind in England. He should have known better. Whomever it was, he didn't want to wait to see what kind of spell she planned to hex or charm him with. He hexed her with a partial body-bind, but missed. What could he use in a crowded train carriage? He was going to have to dodge her somehow.

He'd packed his Invisibility Cloak, but he couldn't exactly pull it out and put it on in front of her, and she was gaining on him as they ran the impossibly long corridor of the train. He had to go into one of the compartments. The doors were constantly scrambling anyway, as though the compartments were shuffling. A different door was in front of him now than had been there half a minute ago.

One of the doors off of the corridor moving toward him in the shuffle was marked with the square root of two. The window curtains were slightly parted. Inside he saw a wizard with his head bent over a book. A familiar, black haired wizard, who looked up at him and glared.

It was Severus Snape.

---

There was nothing for it. If Snape was really the ally he'd acted in the war, he'd cover for Harry, and if not, well, he could hex the old bastard, too. Harry slid the door open with more force than he intended, and it banged. Snape looked startled. Harry registered the door slamming as he sprang onto the seat cushion and vaulted into the curtained luggage shelf over Snape's head. Harry ripped his pack open to find the cloak, dropped it over Snape, and then pulled the curtains shut.

He could see Snape's ankles and shoes and the bottom hem of his robe sticking out from under the cloak as the man rose and quietly looked out the window in the compartment door. Oh, he was good; he didn't disturb the half-closed curtains. Harry stayed still. He heard the connecting doors between the carriages slam shut.

Bewildered by the shuffling doors, the angry witch continued into the next carriage, slamming the connecting door behind her.

Snape stood up and swished the cloak off dramatically. "She's gone; you can come down now."

He reached into the storage area and grabbed Harry under the arms to lift him out. Harry placed his hands on the other man's shoulders, and Snape set him on his feet.

"Good morning, Professor."

"Potter," Snape growled. "A safe bet that you won't hex me when you need me to save your sorry arse."

"Lovely to see you again, too."

"So you don't want to kill me any longer." Snape smirked.

"I, er, sorry that I didn't realize you were on…" Snape was shaking his head. "You don't want me to apologize?"

"You testified on my behalf at the Wizengamot. That was painful enough to witness. I never thought it would be so unpleasant, hearing you admit that I was right and you were wrong."

Harry nearly laughed. "Nothing I say could ever be good enough for you, could it?"

Snape scowled. "Oh, it's all about you then, is it?"

Harry rose from the seat opposite Snape's and started for the door of the compartment. Snape grabbed his wrist.

"Sit down, you fool, you're in the safest place you could be right now."

"You impossible old prick," Harry muttered to himself. But he sat. "How have you enchanted the carriage? It can't be Fidelius, or I wouldn't be able to see you. The shuffling thing, that can't be something that the railway company makes the train do."

"It's a concealing spell of my own design. You shouldn't have been able to see me." Snape was sullen.

Harry knew that Snape wasn't being paranoid. There was no one in the Wizarding World whom he shouldn't suspect of wanting to kill him, and that included Harry.

"Once the train is underway, we won't be detectable, but as long as we're in the station, it's best to stay in here."

They glared at each other, until finally Harry asked, trying not to sound pathetic, "What smells like bread in here?"

"Baguettes—the porter buys them for me in the station. Would you like some? Once you break bread with me, you sacrifice your option to hex me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, is that how it works? Because I think I saw a lot of people eat together at Hogwarts who later used Unforgivables on each other. Including you."

"Do you want to eat or not?"

Snape folded down the train table between them and produced a flask of milky tea from his travelling cloak. He poured a cup for Harry, and handed him a hunk of the baguette, two tiny apricots, and a thick slice of cheese.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said. The hot, crusty bread was delicious. The cheese tasted faintly nutty, and the tea was English. He smiled, and then looked up.

He couldn't put a name to Snape's expression. He was just looking at Harry. He looked—sad, maybe. But when he saw that Harry was looking back, he composed his face into its usual scowl, and bit into his bread and cheese.

---

After about half an hour, the train lurched slightly and pulled out of the station.

Once they were underway, Snape asked, "Why are you travelling alone, Potter?"

"Why are you, Professor?"

"That is a ridiculous question. I have killed or betrayed all of my friends. I am not travelling; I am fleeing."

"What about the Malfoys? Why don't you stay with them? Don't they owe you? You saved Draco, more than once."

"The Malfoys are hardly my friends. Perhaps they were, at one time. Saving someone's life doesn't endear you to him, as you must know, Potter. In any case, you didn't answer my question."

"Hermione thought…"

"Aha!" Snape smirked and leaned back. "The redoubtable Ms. Granger. Expanding your horizons at the expense of your safety."

"She thought perhaps I might see something of the Continent, since I've never been."

Snape stared. "You had never been outside of Britain?"

"No. I had never even been to the seaside until last year." Snape clearly didn't believe him. "Well, we hardly had school trips from Hogwarts. When would I have gone? I had to spend all the holidays with my Muggle relatives."

"I see." Snape said.

"Did you go abroad when you were at school?" Harry asked aggressively, fully expecting to have Snape admit that he hadn't.

"I first went to Paris on school holiday in the summer of 1976 with a friend. Yes, Potter, I had a friend, remarkable."

"I wasn't going to—"

"Not one who became a Death Eater, either."

"Not my mum, was it?" Harry asked quickly. Snape looked studiously at the cover of his book.

"Potter, your mother was a girl. Your grandparents would hardly have let her travel with a male friend." He didn't deny that he and Lily were friends; Harry had come to suspect that they had been.

"Is that how you know French? Because that's a French book, right?" Harry crossed the aisle to sit next to Snape to look at it.

Snape scowled. "Yes." He released the book into Harry's hands.

"Thanks," Harry said absently. "Oh, it's not about magic!"

"No, it's a novel," Snape said.

"You can read in French for pleasure!" Harry was impressed. "Not a translation spell, or potion, or something?"

"No," Snape grunted.

"Wow," Harry said to himself.

Snape stared at him. "Harry Potter. For the last twelve years of your life, you have been flying on a broom, becoming invisible, and turning back the clock. I myself have taught you to send people flying across the room by thinking a word, and how to brew magical potions. You have watched me both kill and heal human beings with incantations. Are you finally impressed with me because I know how to read a foreign language?"

Harry began to laugh. He couldn't help it.

"Well…yes," Harry admitted. Snape shook his head, and Harry laughed some more.

"Here. You may borrow my French-English dictionary and teach yourself some phrases," Snape said, handing him a smaller book from under his cloak. He shivered, as though he was trying not to yawn by keeping his mouth closed. "Make yourself useful and watch the door."

"What?"

"There's a spell on it to awaken me if someone tries to come in," Snape said. "But it can't hurt to have you here. You owe me." He leaned his head against the windowpane, folding his arms so that his long hands were in his armpits, and shut his eyes. Soon he was asleep.

Snape trusted him? That was very odd. He seemed exhausted; his skin was the colour of old parchment and there were circles under his eyes. The constant running did not agree with him.

For once on a train, Harry was going to notice the scenery, Snape or no Snape. It was very sunny and farm workers were cutting hay in the fields outside. Harry stood for a second to lower the top window, taking care not to disturb Snape's head on the windowpane, then leaned back in his seat and inhaled the fresh smell of the hay.

---

After about an hour and a half, Snape shook himself awake. "Potter," he said hoarsely. Then he squinted and shook his head again.

"You were never in a railway carriage with my dad on the Hogwarts Express," Harry said.

Snape scowled. "I didn't—"

Harry took off his glasses and glared. "Green, see?"

"Shut up," Snape muttered.

"It's just not like you to—"

"Will you be quiet, you don't understand anything," Snape said with surprising lack of rancour. He scrubbed his face with his hands until he looked properly awake.

Harry rose to peer through the curtains into the corridor. "Can you ever leave your compartment? What do you do when you need to eat or sleep or go to the loo?"

"We can leave the compartment, Potter."

"No, I meant to ask, do you ever. Of course I can."

Snape glared at him. "Why are you so ridiculous? Do you really think you're safe?"

"Voldemort's dead, so yeah, I do think so."

"Idiot."

"Fine, I'm an idiot. Can I get you any food from the dining car?"

"It doesn't work that way; it's not a snack bar. It's a proper dining car, with seated meals."

"Oh."

"I was going to invite you to come with me, but if you would rather eat crisps in your berth, be my guest."

"My berth?"

"Of course, you don't have to stay with me, Potter. It's not as though I'm travelling so I can't be a travelling companion."

"What berth?" Harry asked, looking around.

"Over your head. You were in it! Didn't you notice that was a bed? Really, have you never been on a train?"

"They didn't have berths on the Hogwarts Express. I thought it was just a luggage rack. I just told you. I've never been anywhere that someone from Hogwarts didn't take me, until I came over to Paris just now."

"Very well, I'm from Hogwarts and I'm going to take you to the dining car."

"I didn't mean it like that, I don't need you to be my nursemaid. I can take care of myself."

"You have always thought so, since you were eleven, and it has never been true."

"You think you have been taking care of me since I was eleven!"

"I have."

"No you haven't! What about—I killed Voldemort!"

Snape looked at him wordlessly.

"Fine, so you were helping me all along! Fine!" Harry slid open the compartment door. "Fine! But I'm paying for lunch!"

They both stalked down the corridor. Snape was better at it. Harry wasn't wearing robes; that was part of it. Even though Harry had grown so that Snape was only slightly taller than he, Snape acted much taller.

They reached the dining car. It was not what Harry had expected. Each small table had a white cloth and a little lantern, with the salt and pepper bottles rattling with the train's motion in a wire cage bolted to the table. There were several tables but they were all unoccupied.

Snape handed him a menu.

"It's in French," Harry said. His companion smirked. "Would you do the honours, please?" Harry said, handing back the menu.

"Do you trust me to order your meal, Potter?" Snape's voice was amused.

"You could have dumped Veritaserum in my tea earlier," Harry said. "You threatened to do that more than once. If you didn't poison me when you had the chance, or kill me during the war, I'll have to trust you won't now. I'll eat whatever you want to eat. But, er—" he put a hand on Snape's forearm across the little table. "Not snails, please, Professor. No escargot, right?"

Startlingly, Snape chuckled low in his throat.

Snape picked up his menu and spoke French to it. He had an audible Yorkshire accent in French.

Just as at Hogwarts, the table produced the food. It was two shots of vodka and a dish of olives.

"No one else comes in here," Snape explained, "I have the carriage set to hide itself when I'm here."

"What is this stuff?" Harry asked.

"I nearly always have a shot of vodka as an aperitif before these meals."

"And these are olives, right?" Harry said. He waited to see if he was supposed to take them with his fingers. Snape used a little fork, so he did too.

"You've never eaten olives," Snape said incredulously.

"In Scotland? Do they eat olives there? Haggis, I've eaten haggis. Treacle tart. Steak and kidney pie. I liked the food at Hogwarts."

"I did, too," Snape said, looking down his nose into his glass. Harry took a cautious sip. He didn't cough, but his eyes watered.

"Were you really so deprived with those Muggle relatives, or merely sheltered?" Snape's voice had that ambiguous, neutral tone.

"Well, I don't know. They did like to keep me from having anything especially nice, and they didn't like me to eat too much. I don't think they ate olives, though. Maybe when they went to Spain, after I left."

"A mundane explanation. So it wasn't true that you slept in a cupboard."

"Of course it was; that's where my Hogwarts letter went, wasn't it?" Harry said. He laughed at Snape's expression. "You saw the cupboard during Occlumency lessons, didn't you? It was only until I was eleven, really."

"Ridiculous." Snape was glaring; was it ridiculous of Harry to have allowed it? But he didn't have a choice.

"Are you angry with me for not confiding in you about my home life, Professor?" It was ludicrous.

"Of course not." His brows beetled darkly.

"As if you would have cared! Anyway I wouldn't have thought to tell anyone; things didn't seem that bad to me. When I got to Hogwarts, everyone in the Wizarding World seemed to know everything about me, even things I didn't know myself." Harry speared an olive, bit it, and shuddered. The salty, bitter flavour was enticing, but not easy to get used to. "You even knew my parents," he muttered to himself, and took a drink of the vodka.

Snape sat silent.

"I never know what’s going through your head," Harry said. He was a bit buzzed from drinking something so strong at lunchtime. He felt surprisingly warm and friendly toward the dour and generally unpleasant man. "Are you angry with me because my childhood was unhappy? It wasn't my fault; I tried to be happy anyway. Is this glass refilling? I can't seem to get to the bottom."

"Yes," Snape said. "This is the Wizarding dining car, so be careful."

Harry put the glass down.

"Why are you angry with me?" Harry blurted. "Didn't I do everything you wanted me to do? I believed you killed Dumbledore and didn't blow your cover. I have valiantly slain the dragon. I was pure of heart and true, and stupid as a bag of rocks."

"I'm not angry with you," Snape said angrily. "Why do you keep eating the olives when you clearly don't like them?"

"What? Oh, no, I like them."

The first course came. It was some kind of paté. "What is in this?" Harry asked.

"It's chicken or goose liver," Snape explained.

"It is? But it's so good."

Snape smirked.

The table also produced glasses of white wine. There was no bottle, but Snape didn't seem bothered, so probably these were refilling, too. The wine tasted like flowers, but Harry was careful not to take more than a swallow. Wouldn't do to get drunk with Snape, now, would it?

The next course was trout. A single fish appeared on the table, whole, curled up and sizzling. Snape cut them each a portion. He ate carefully and took many swallows of the wine. There were also some delicious potatoes in some buttery sauce, with little green herbs on top.

Harry tried not to drink too much. It was hard to tell, when the wine glasses refilled. He noticed that he was smiling a lot, at Snape of all people.

"You didn't put anything in the food or anything," he slurred.

Snape rolled his eyes.

"No, Potter, and would I tell you if I had?"

"You always tell me the truth, Professor. It's one of the trickiest things about you."

"You're just tipsy from a miniscule amount of wine. You're just a baby," he said, "Babe in the woods." Snape wasn't entirely sober, either.

The waiter brought them a soft white cheese with something like marmalade on the rind and some grapes and apples and pears, all sliced in fans on the plate. It made the wine come alive in Harry's mouth. They sat and watched the countryside through the train window, and ate the lovely food, and drank the wine.

Snape looked at him. His eyes were hooded and dark. Harry laughed. He looked either scary or seductive. As though Snape would want to seduce him! It was pretty funny.

"What?" Snape said, scowling.

"Let me tell you when we get back to the compartment," Harry said. He needed to clear his head; it couldn't be a good idea to tell Snape he looked seductive, or that it was funny.

He rose and found the loo off the dining car. In the mirror over the sink, he noticed that he had a light stubble on his chin, so he used a shaving charm. It was useless to comb his hair, but he tried. He kept giggling to himself. Snape might not find it amusing that Harry thought he looked seductive. He might find it offensive. Snape! He laughed some more.

They both staggered a bit as they regained the magical corridor. The compartments shuffled and then Snape's presented itself.

They stumbled into the compartment. Harry started to explain that he was laughing because—and then he thought, "Fuck it" and leaned forward and those eyes and what the hell and he kissed Snape full on the mouth. Snape must have had the same idea because he was moving toward Harry and had his arms around him. He'd had a lot of wine. His thin lips were soft and mobile and his tongue, liquid and intoxicating.

In a moment, and Harry didn't know how he had done it, he was lying full length on top of Snape on the train seat, grinding his erection against the other man's hard thigh.

Snape was kissing his ear. His hands, large and warm, were splayed over Harry's buttocks.

"What the bloody hell just happened? What are we doing?" Harry asked, trying to catch his breath. He was dizzy. Perhaps it was the way all the blood in his body had rushed to his groin.

"I'm enjoying a hopelessly unrealistic wet dream," Snape muttered. "I've finally gone round the twist."

Harry laughed.

"Hope you'll let me come before I wake up," Snape said. Harry kissed him again, slowly. He explored the other man's mouth with his tongue. Then he propped himself up on his elbow to look into Snape's face. Snape's eyes were half-shut, his lips parted. Harry idly played with the buttons on his robe, trying not to be obvious about opening them.

"It is unlikely, isn't it," Harry said. "Maybe it's my dream, though. I do have a lot of really strange dreams."

"That's different," Snape said distractedly. He was fondling Harry's hair now, rubbing his scalp. Did something that simple have a right to feel that good? Harry leaned back into the hand, like a cat. Snape kissed him, again. The train seat was a long upholstered leather bench, worn on the edges, and smooth to the point of being slippery. Snape had one black boot on the floor to keep from sliding out from under Harry. The clicking of the train wheels over the track was like a drumbeat behind their kissing.

"All right, Professor," Harry said finally, "if this were a wet dream, what would happen next?"

"Let's just hope it's not real." Snape said. Harry couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "If it's real I have to stop."

"And if it's a dream?"

"If it's a dream, then you'll suck me with that pretty red mouth and then we'll fuck, both. It will be your first time and you will just love everything. You'll be wanton and abandoned and you'll call my name. I can't decide if you'll fuck me or I'll fuck you. It would be good either way, good to plough your beautiful round arse, hear you groan, so you feel me inside you to your tonsils." He paused to lick Harry's neck, his breath heavy with wine. His voice was slow, silky and mesmerizing; it was like a spell, he would say it and it would become real to Harry. "It would be so good to feel your hot eager young cock inside me, too, with you thrusting above me, just about to come the whole time." He sucked Harry's earlobe. "But either way you'll writhe and say you've never felt anything so good and that you want—" He stopped himself.

Harry was gasping and hot all over and grinding his cock through his trousers into Snape's clothed erection. The deep voice buzzing in his ear was electrifying and he was ready to come all over himself.

"This is real though, isn't it," Snape said suddenly in an undreamy, sober way. He pushed Harry up into a seated position, off of him. "I can't do this. You're my former student."

"Oh my God, practically everyone in Wizarding Britain is your former student!" Harry shouted, sprawled back against the seat. "Former! I'm your former student! I'm not your student now!"

"But," Snape began. "This can't be real. Are you even gay? I just don't believe you would really do this."

Harry found his wand. He looked into Snape's eyes and said, in a flat voice, "Legilimens." He wanted to give Snape access to his thoughts, so that Snape would see that he knew things no one else did. He didn't pry past the surface of Snape's mind, which held only the image of Harry's eyes behind their glasses.

Snape pushed in, not hard because there was no resistance. Harry tried to avoid memories of the night in the Tower, so of course that was the first thing Snape found. They both watched it, frozen. Then Harry had to push him away.

Harry was on all fours on the floor, again. His head hurt and he felt like he might vomit. Snape helped Harry to his feet.

"You see why we can't—" Snape began.

"Shut up," Harry said. "Head," he clarified, and gestured. He sat down on the seat next to Snape. "Had to do that, but…"

He leaned back against the seat. Snape was sitting up very straight and tense. Harry spoke as softly as he could because it made his ears ring to talk at all.

"I don't know why you're worried that I was your student. You didn't teach me anything. I can't Occlude to save my life, you didn't teach me that. The only year I didn't do well at Defence was the year you taught. If it weren't for your Potions book, I wouldn't have learnt any Potions."

"So I taught you something."

"Snape. You taught me by allowing me to study your notes in your old textbook. You taught me to cheat effectively. You don't have to tell me you're a genius because I know it, but that doesn't help when you're a total bastard."

"Granger learnt, and I wasn't especially—"

"Granger doesn't want to have sex with you. I do." Harry winced. "Though not right now."

"Why?"

"Head hurts."

"No, why do you want to have sex with me, you imbecile."

"Dunno," Harry said. "Right now I can't remember, but it seems important to convince you. Who's gone round the twist now?" He sat quietly for a moment, holding his head. "Did anyone ever tell you that combining wine, spirits and Legilimency is a bad idea?"

"No," Snape said as Harry slid down the seat. His mouth was quirked into a half-smile, which was odd.

"Well it is. Your smile is scary," Harry said. "Why does everything give me a headache?"

The seat was long enough that Harry could stretch out at full length. Magic was like that; it distorted space. It distorted everything. Harry shut his eyes. The train made its soothing clickety sound.

After some time, Snape's long fingers stole into Harry's hair and found his scalp. Snape rubbed Harry's head from the base of the skull up to the forehead with perfect thoroughness. When he was stroking Harry's forehead at last, Harry slept.

---

Harry woke up in the evening. He was tired and his mouth was dry, but his head didn't hurt any longer.

At first he was puzzled by the sound of the train through the seat, but he remembered where he was--in a train carriage in France with Severus Snape.

Severus Snape, whom he had been kissing.

He sat up. The sun was going down outside. Through the windows he could see pink. They were pulling out of a city train station.

"We're just leaving Dijon," Snape said. "The next station is Lausanne, but we won't get there until the middle of the night, and then we'll be in Milan in the morning."

Still slightly groggy, Harry stood. "If I leave the compartment without you, will you disappear?"

Snape scowled. "No, but it's a wizarding carriage, so there's actually a private loo and a bath."

"In here?" Harry said before he could stop himself. "Oh right, of course."

Snape jerked his thumb at an inner door. Harry opened it and there was a full bath. It was outrageous, actually—a separate W.C. with luxurious fittings and then a sunken tub, large enough for three or four bathers, with several taps, and a large shower with a glass door.

Harry used the loo and washed his hands, dried them on the rather nice towel provided (imprinted with Simplon Orient Express, Wizarding) and came out into the little compartment. A mug of tea was waiting for him on the folded-down train table. Harry took it with murmured thanks, and they drank in awkward silence.

"I really do want to sleep with you," Harry blurted.

Snape put down his book. "Why?"

"Do I have to say?"

"Yes."

"Because of how you looked at me. Because of what you said, before. Because of how you touched me." Harry had to force the words past the tight place in his throat. His heart beat in his chest like the wings of a caged wild bird.

Snape came across the aisle to sit next to him, but didn't touch him. "Have you been with a man before?"

"Are you afraid you'll deflower me or something?"

Snape glared.

"Yes, at the beach last summer I had sex with a man I met there. We didn't know each other. He just liked how I looked, it wasn't because of—anything else."

"No one ever protected you. I was meant to protect you," Snape muttered to himself.

"I'm an adult now. Really, I'm twenty-three."

"And you trust me."

"Dumbledore did."

"What do you think of Dumbledore's judgment? Do you think it was a brilliant plan to have me use an Unforgivable on him in front of a student? Do you think it was a great idea for the fate of the entire wizarding world to rest on the shoulders of a seventeen-year-old boy?"

"Stop," Harry said. "Stop. I did it, right? I survived. We both did. No matter how awful it was, we needed you to do it so that we would win. But it’s over now, Snape. The war’s over, all right?”

With his free hand, he touched Snape's clenched jaw. Suddenly, Snape was kissing him. His tongue was in Harry's mouth, large, insistent. Then he was kissing Harry's face, and running his hands under Harry's shirt. He pulled it off over Harry's head. Then he kissed his mouth again.

Harry broke the kiss to say, "I want—I want to do what you said. I want to suck you. I want to—"

"I want to do everything," Snape whispered, his breath hot under Harry's ear.

"Yes, everything."

"I want you naked, in the bath—"

"Oh God, Snape, if you talk like that, I'm going to come!"

Snape pulled back a moment, looking at Harry intently.

"Harry," he said.

"Yes?"

"My name is Severus."

Then Snape was kissing him ferociously. Harry held on tight; there was nothing else to do, if he didn't he'd fall. Finally Snape let him up for air as he reached behind Harry for the inner door. He pushed them through and pulled it shut, and they were in the bath.

"Tell me what we're going to do to each other," Harry whispered. The sound of their voices and the train wheels' constant clacking reverberated against the tiles.

"Don't you have your own ideas?" Snape asked.

"Yes, but I like the way you talk about it. "

Snape unbuttoned his robes with uncanny speed and stood in his underpants. The head of his penis peeked above the waistband. Harry grabbed a towel and threw it on the floor, which was cold, and then sank to his knees in front of Snape.

"Talk," he said. "You talk, I'll suck." He pulled down the pants and took Snape's cock into his mouth. There was no way he could fit the whole thing in there. He wrapped one hand around the base of Snape's admirably substantial prick, and ran his tongue around the head.

Snape moaned. Harry pulled his mouth off.

"Talk," he demanded. He pulled the penis toward him slightly as he stroked it from the root, so that he could fit the head in his mouth and look Snape in the face.

"You're sucking my cock," Snape began in a throaty voice. "You do it like you were born to it, like you love it, and you're watching my face. Your eyes are so—beautiful—oh God—"

Harry groaned around the big cockhead.

"I wish you weren't wearing any clothes so I could see your hard cock. It's straining against your trousers now—oh, Harry—it's too much--stop, I'm going to come—"

Harry sucked harder, bobbing his head furiously and finally managing to get the whole penis into his mouth a few times. The head went down his throat. It did not feel good, but Snape trembled all over. Harry held on to Snape's thrusting buttocks as his orgasm filled Harry's mouth with bitter spunk.

Harry had read everywhere that the thing to do was swallow, so he did, his throat working around the head of Snape's cock as it continued to buck and spill. He was choking a little and his eyes watered. Snape quickly pulled out. He sat down, still trembling, on the floor beside Harry, and embraced him.

Snape is hugging me Harry said to himself. He's hugging me because he's grateful and I really like this. Their naked chests touched. Snape was very hairy all over, dark swirls of hair on pale sallow skin. Harry leaned his head on Snape's shoulder.

"Was that all right?" Harry asked

"Do you really have to ask?" Snape answered. He kissed Harry on the mouth.

"Let's take a bath," Harry said. But Snape reached down and fondled him through his trousers. Harry let him unbutton and unzipper them, and lifted his hips to allow Snape to slide them off.

"I want to do you," Snape said. He bent and breathed on the head of Harry's cock through his pants. Harry impatiently pulled them off, bumping Snape in the nose with his thigh as he lifted his hips again. He started to apologize but Snape shook his head. He pulled Harry to his feet and positioned him so that his feet straddled Snape's extended legs and his cock was right in Snape's face.

Snape leaned back against the bathtub, opened his mouth, and grabbed Harry's arse. He pushed and pulled so that Harry was fucking in and out of Snape’s hot, wet mouth. Snape's forehead was against his belly. Harry was trying not to thrust too deep, because he didn't want to choke the other man. But Snape parted his buttocks and began to slowly work a wet finger into his arse.

It was too exciting. He didn't even have a chance to get the finger all the way in before Harry was thrusting hard, unable to stop himself. He gripped the edge of the bathtub with one hand and Snape's hair with the other. Snape grabbed his arse in both hands. Harry grunted and came so hard that his knees buckled under him. Snape held him up, sucking as Harry's body jerked in helpless pleasure.

Snape brought him down slowly, into his lap. He held Harry there, curled against him. His body smelled of sweat and come, of sex. Harry caught his breath and sighed. He nuzzled into Snape's neck, feeling the stubble of beard against his cheek.

"It's a bit sick, isn't it?"

"What?" Harry said, still groggy with pleasure.

"The sad orphan boy having sex with a man twenty years his senior."

Snape knew how to kill a mood, how to bring Harry down from exhilaration to the dead weight in the pit of his stomach.

"It's just a bit of a cuddle, nothing to be afraid of." If there was one thing Snape hated, it was being thought afraid; Harry knew that. "Don't make so much out of it. I'm not in this for my emotional health, anyway. I don't imagine many people have been, with you."

Snape's pained expression was so fleeting that only someone sitting in his lap could have caught it.

"Severus," Harry said experimentally.

"Yes?"

"Let's take a bath together."

"I am not going to be able to have another erection immediately."

"So?"

"So why do you want to bathe together?"

Harry shrugged. "I thought it would be fun. I like the way your body feels, all hairy."

Snape glowered.

"All right," Harry said, "Let's get it out of the way. Give me all the reasons why you can't have sex with me. What else have you got? Come on, let's have the whole list: I'm a former student, there's too great an age difference, I'm an orphan, I'm not experienced enough, you're not experienced enough, you still hate me…"

"Did you just tell me that you like my body because it's hairy?"

"Hairy, you know, like, with hair. On your body. I like it. Probably a good hint that I'm gay."

"I don't hate you."

Harry covered his confusion by turning on the water and getting into the bath as it filled. He took off his glasses. After a moment, Snape got in, too. His expression was guarded.

"Will you wash my back?" Harry asked.

Snape acquiesced silently. There was a pile of flannels on a bench next to the tub. He took one and rubbed the soap in it, and scrubbed Harry's back.

Harry hummed with pleasure. It was even better than he had imagined, having someone else wash your back. "I'll do yours, if you want," he said. Snape turned around. Harry imitated what he had done. Then he snuck the flannel around Snape's front to wash his chest, and Snape turned to kiss him.

"Are you getting hard again?" Snape asked in a low voice.

Harry shrugged and nodded.

"See, it will be difficult for you with an older man because it takes one longer to recover as one ages."

Harry reached down and felt Snape's raging, hot erection. He looked up at him quizzically.

"Of course, I haven't had sex in a long time."

Harry laughed.

"I don't want to do this for the first time in the water. Not enough control. Let's do it in bed."

Harry began to rut against him, his penis sliding against Snape's naked thigh in the water.

"Harry—"

"Yes?" Harry had his arms around Snape and was caressing his lower back.

"I'd like to wash my hair."

Harry moved to the other side of the bath and leaned against the rim of the big tub; he let himself float on the surface of the water. Snape shampooed his hair twice and ducked under the water to rinse. Then he got out of the tub, quickly dripping, and dried himself in a very systematic way. Harry picked up his glasses from the bench beside the tub and put them on to watch him. Water beaded on the lenses but the anti-fogging charm held.

Harry had never seen an adult man, naked, when he was growing up. He wasn't allowed to go to summer camp. Vernon Dursley would never have let Harry near him when he wasn't fully clothed. If his father had lived, he would be the same age as Snape. Would he have looked like Snape? That was a disturbing thought. No, James would have looked like Harry, only older.

Harry had no way to know if his hair would stay black into his forties, as Snape's had, or whether his would be salted with grey. He couldn't know whether he would stay skinny and wiry, as Snape was, or whether his father and grandfather had filled out, and he should expect to as well. It was hard, not having any family. It wasn't the first time he had thought so. He had no photos of his grandparents, only his dad, and his dad hadn't even lived to be as old as Harry.

Harry probably wouldn't see Snape with grey hair. But it was good, having someone to wash your back. He'd enjoy it while he could.

---

Snape pulled down the berth, which was just a shelf, but as soon as they got into it, it seemed to expand.

They both took off their bathrobes and slid under the covers. Harry thought they would fuck right away, but instead Snape fell asleep. He snored, but not as badly as poor Neville. As aroused as they had been in the bath, the sound of the train wheels and Snape's heavy breathing lulled him to sleep.

In a few hours, the train came to a stop. Harry felt Snape stiffen slightly, as though he might be waking.

"It's me," Harry whispered.

Snape was groggy with sleep. "Hmmm, Harry Potter in my bed," he said, his voice rumbling a little in his chest. "Hmmm, the good dream again." Without opening his eyes, he kissed Harry.

"No, Severus, it's really me," Harry insisted. But then he shut up, because Snape was caressing him so passionately with his long hands, kissing his eyelids, kissing down his neck.

"I want to fuck you," Snape said sleepily.

"Are you awake?" Harry whispered. But he didn't answer, just took one of Harry's nipples in his mouth and teased it. Harry made an involuntary sound.

"I'm going to have you," Snape muttered. "All to myself. I'm going to make you come like a fountain."

"Wake up, come on!" Harry said. But then he couldn't speak because Snape was kissing his mouth again, and at the same time groping his arse.

"We need lube," Snape said.

"You must be awake," Harry said.

"Of course I'm awake," Snape said testily. But he groped around the bed with his eyes shut.

"I know a lube spell," Harry said, and he found his wand under the mattress and said it.

"It's lubed up your penis, though," Snape said, stroking Harry's wet cock sandwiched between their two bodies. Harry squirmed on top of him "That's not the right part. I'm going to top."

Snape took his wet hand and stuck a finger into Harry's anus. It slid in. Harry gasped. Snape was holding his arse cheeks in both hands, and sliding his finger in and out.

"I need a lot more than this," Snape said. Harry held the wand again, and thought the spell, and thought about his arse.

"Did that work?" he asked. Snape inserted a second finger, and just rested there a moment before he moved them again.

It felt good, and then after a moment, it felt better, and Harry wanted more, and said so.

Snape scrambled out from underneath him and pulled him up on his hands and knees. He embraced Harry, rubbing his whole body against his back—his hairy chest against Harry's shoulders, his cock, very hot, against the backs of his thighs. Then his cock slid between Harry's cheeks, where everything was so slick.

He pulled his upper body back so that he could use his hands to insert the head of his cock. "Push back," he growled. Harry hoped he was doing it right. He couldn't concentrate on anything except the feeling of the hot head of Snape's prick, touching this sensitive place, pushing into him, so slowly.

Finally Snape was resting inside him, his groin flush against Harry’s arse. Harry could hear him, exhaling. Slowly Harry's muscles accustomed themselves to the intrusion.

Snape began to move, his cock sliding. Everything was sensitive. The train was moving again, and the sound of the wheels was faintly punctuating each thrust inside. The pressure of Snape's cock was intense; it felt like it was going to force an orgasm out of Harry.

Each thrust was bringing him closer, inevitably, with an even rhythm, like the train's. The train engine thrummed and Harry's cock throbbed, and the rhythm of the thrusts matched the rhythm of the train wheels. Snape leaned down all sweaty to grasp Harry's prick, and pulled it as he thrust. His heart beat and his orgasm was almost on him and Snape was with him, breathing, in time. Then he was coming, ecstatic, amazed—it seemed to go on for a long time, and he was crying out with the intensity of it, and Snape was above him, groaning his name, coming too.

He came down from it slowly. Snape's head was resting against his back. His arms were around Harry. His cock was still inside. Harry didn't move. He wanted to feel Snape's heart beating, the pulse in his chest against the small of his back. He wanted to be gathered close in just this way.

But eventually, slowly, Snape pulled out of him. He patted Harry on the back awkwardly, and climbed out of the bed.

"I'd like to have another shower, before we go back to sleep," Harry said.

"Yes," Snape said. They went into the bathroom again. They each used the loo and then Snape turned on the shower.

Under the spray, Harry reached out for Snape, who looked a bit taken aback. Harry slid his arms around the other man's body from behind, and just held him, his face against the bony shoulder blades.

"I'm really tired, Potter," Snape said abruptly.

"I know. I'm not asking for more sex. I'm just hugging you."

Snape was silent for a minute.

"Thank you," Harry said to Snape's back. The shoulder blades moved against his face as Snape shrugged.

They got out of the shower and dried off again.

There was some pink light on the horizon. Harry wanted to ask if it was okay for him to get back into Snape's berth, but he was afraid the answer would be no.

"Come on, then," Snape said shortly. Harry slid in next to him, but wasn't sure if it was okay to cuddle up. Cuddle up to Snape! But he wanted to do it. He lay on his side facing away from Snape, wondering what hurtful thing Snape might say if he turned toward him.

It was probably a little chilly outside—they were in the mountains, Harry could see.

Snape touched Harry's hair. "Go to sleep," he said gruffly. He stroked the side of Harry's face with his knuckles, as though he could encourage his eyelids to shut that way.

Harry took his long hand gently, and looked at the elegant, tapered fingers. He pulled Snape's arm around him. Snape sighed and pulled him close. Harry relaxed and began to drift back into his dream, which was that he was on a train with Professor Snape, high in the mountains.

---

It was probably ten in the morning when they woke. Harry quickly put on clothing from his rucksack. He ran a comb through his hair.

"Why do you do that? It will never lie flat," Snape muttered. "There should be a basket with bread and cheese outside the door, even though we are very late rising."

Harry opened the door carefully and grabbed the basket. The bread was still hot.

"What are the marks on the loaf?" Harry asked.

"It's a Jura loaf. It's their regional flag," Snape explained. "The cheese is from here, too."

There were also apples and grapes in the basket. Snape pulled the tea flask out from under the seat.

"It's never empty," he said. "It was a Christmas present, one year."

He didn't need to say from whom. He pulled out a bread knife and sliced the bread. They shared a meal in silence.

"Where are you getting off the train?" Harry asked.

Snape said, "I haven't been off the train in thirteen months."

"Thirteen months! Aren't you going mad?"

Snape laughed bitterly. "Going mad? I'm hallucinating!" Harry laughed too; he thought it was a joke. "You're a symptom, I don't know why I'm even talking to you about it."

"Professor," he said. "I mean, Severus. Damn. Listen, you didn't believe it was me after you were in my mind? Or you know, when we, um…"

"Potter. I can't believe I'm going to tell you this. The Dark Lord used you against me."

"What do you mean?"

"He sent me dreams about inappropriate sexual encounters. I don't know whether he did it with all of us, or just me. Maybe other Death Eaters had other weaknesses for him to exploit. It's not like we shared that information with each other." Snape wasn't looking at Harry. His expression was closed, emotionless.

Harry sat, his stomach sinking within him.

"He knew I would never want to have sex with one of the children I was teaching, never. He sent me fantasies about molesting the littlest ones and I would wake up and vomit. Later he laughed at me about that. Even dreaming about the teenagers disturbed me, but by then I knew those weren't my dreams, but his. Or he would make me dream about sex with people I cared for and wanted to protect, or with people I hated…"

"Which was I?"

"All three."

"But could you tell that they weren't real, those—the things he did to you?"

"I knew they were dreams, but I thought they were coming from my subconscious, and it appalled me. I experienced violent revulsion toward all sexual feelings. I didn't understand that he had planted those dreams in my mind, but then as I grew more adept at Occlumency I started to see his signature on them."

"But Voldemort is dead." As he said the words, Harry realized that this might not make a difference. "Can you see that signature on me?" Snape reached across and traced the lightning bolt on Harry's forehead with his thumb. Harry grimaced. "Apart from the scar, I mean."

"No," Snape admitted. "But it seems so unlikely that I am afraid I've simply lost my ability to tell the difference. "

Harry shivered. "We have to get off the train, Profess—Severus."

"I'm not sure that I want to do that."

"Why not?"

"It's beautiful here, with the scenery through the window. The food is good. I'm clean—I was so dirty in the war, I can take as many baths as I want. You're here, drinking wine with me, having sex with me, and bizarrely enjoying my knowledge of French. I'm having sex without nausea and vomiting; that's a novel thing, hasn't happened since the late 1970s. I haven't had sex with another person in years."

"I'll do that when we get off the train, too."

"Not if you aren't real." Snape muttered.

"You aren't acting like the Snape I know. You aren't afraid?"

"Of course not!"

Harry grinned. "If you are staying on the train and never seeing anyone—"

"I see the porter from time to time."

"I testified to keep you out of Azkaban. Why are you choosing solitary confinement?"

"This is the most luxurious train in the world. It's not a prison. Don't try to play me, Potter, I know what you're doing."

"You know what I'm doing but you think I might be a figment of your imagination."

"Hallucination or real, you are equally irritating."

"I'm real, all right? Just try to teach me some French and you'll see that I'm the same annoying mediocre Harry Potter. The first harsh words you say, and we'll be fighting again."

Snape smirked. "That shouldn't be necessary."

"I'll go with you. I owe you, from the war. Can't let you go mad, or anyway, not any madder than normal."

"I suspect an ulterior motive."

"If you mean that I'm hoping to have sex with you again, you suspect right."

Snape didn't say anything for a moment. Then he said, "There could not possibly be anything less psychologically wholesome than a sexual relationship of any duration between the two of us." He cut another slice of bread and bit into it. "Unless of course I am imagining you here, and it's really a relationship between me and me. That would be worse."

"Much worse," Harry agreed cheerfully, "as I wouldn't be getting laid in that case."

Snape said, "Italian."

"What?"

"For Venice, you'll need some basic Italian." He pulled out a phrase book from under the train seat. "Buon giorno—ripetete!" Snape said, in his Northern accent. Harry sighed. He repeated, "Buon giorno. Buon giorno."

Just like going on holiday with Hermione, only with a bad temper and a big cock.

---

"It will be about four more hours," Harry said. "Where should we stay? Do you need a magical hotel to do this hiding spell, or is it better to stay in a Muggle place to be incognito?"

"Everything will be booked, I suppose," Snape said grimly, "except a few rooms at the most expensive places."

"Well, I have some money," Harry said, his face heating. "I inherited quite a lot of money from my father. I suppose you knew about that."

"Yes, I knew about that," Snape said crisply.

"I'll bet it didn't help you to like me," Harry muttered.

"It does help make it even more absurd that the ogres who raised you deprived you of food and wouldn't buy you clothing that fit."

Harry shrugged. "Well, I didn't know about that money until I was eleven, and then I didn't want to just, you know, spend it all. I didn't really understand how much anything cost. When I was at home with them I couldn't buy my own food, and they sometimes locked me in my room." Snape's eyes bulged slightly. Harry continued before he could cut him off with a remark. "I remember the first time I rode the train, how happy I was to buy nice things to eat and share them with Ron. It's good to have something to share and someone to share it with. You know, like you've been doing here, with me."

Snape's expression was a perfect blank. Then he exploded. "Stop playing with me! This cannot possibly be what you're really like!"

"What, so incredibly thick and naïve? But you've always thought I was."

"So blasted nice! I don't believe it!" He calmed down a bit then. "You must be real because I would never hallucinate something so banal."

Harry laughed.

"You really aren't sure whether I'm real, eh?" Harry asked.

Snape pursed his lips.

"And if I'm not real," Harry continued, "I'm going to disappear when we get off the train, is that right?"

Snape nodded slowly.

"So if you want to have sex with me again, you'd better do it now."

He sidled up to Snape, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. Harry was smiling so broadly he thought his mouth might burst.

Snape kissed him while they were both still smiling, so it wasn't sexy, exactly. But then, after a minute, it was. Harry didn't think it was possible to get any harder than Snape's kisses made him, just the kisses.

"It's your turn to top," Snape said. Harry was wrong. It was possible. Then Snape stuck his tongue into Harry's ear and he groaned.

"I have done this before," Harry explained through the constriction in his throat, "but only the once, with that bloke at the seaside."

"I thought you'd bottomed," Snape said. "You were so eager."

"No, last night was the first time I did that."

"And you're not sore?"

"Hmmm, no, not really," Harry said, kissing him. "So I'm going to try to do it just like you did." He pushed Snape down onto the train seat.

He began to run his hands up and down Snape's body, pulling off Snape's Muggle shirt. He was thin but his belly was soft, not muscular, and almost furry. His pectoral muscles were wiry and developed, like his shoulders, as though he had lifted many heavy things—which Harry supposed he had. In the daylight through the train window, his nipples were dark pink against the black hair and sallow skin. Harry moved his head down to just breathe on them.

Snape thrust his hard cock against Harry's stomach through their clothing.

"We should just be naked all the time," Harry said. "Especially you." He started to take off his clothes, and Snape followed suit.

Snape snorted. "It's like you've just discovered sex."

"That's about right," Harry said, and then cut off conversation by breathing on Snape's scrotum.

It was never obvious how Snape was going to react. Sometimes he contained his emotions and sometimes he was explosively reactive. Harry was curious about what he would do if something felt very pleasurable, so he licked his balls. The muffled moan was good; it made Harry feel wicked, adventurous. He raised Snape's knees around him as he knelt between them, and decided to make his way further down. "If a man's going to be gay, he can't be a girl about it," he told himself, and began to lick Snape's arsehole.

Snape lifted his hips further, groaning.

"Turn over," Harry said. Snape knelt on the train seat before him, head down on his folded arms, arse in the air. Harry then returned to his task in earnest. Snape was groaning, gasping, biting his arm to muffle the sounds of pleasure he seemed unable to control. He shoved his buttocks upward, getting his knees under him. Harry licked some more, just enjoying the noises. It really wasn't unpleasant at all, probably because Snape had become so obsessive about bathing.

Finally Harry decided to try a finger. He used the lube spell from the previous night.

"You don't have to go so slowly," Snape ground out.

"But you said you hadn't had sex with anyone in years," Harry said quietly.

Snape looked pointedly over his shoulder at him, but Harry didn't understand. Finally Snape said, "That doesn't mean I haven't had anything in my arse in years. Hurry up and fuck me! You're driving me mad!"

The thought of Snape putting things in his arse, wishing for someone to fuck him, was astonishing. Harry couldn't move quickly enough, and he was shoving into Snape much faster than he had intended. He rested inside a moment, his balls throbbing, until Snape said, "Move!"

Snape's body was hot and the lubricant made everything slick. Harry rolled his hips, his buttock muscles clenching as he thrust in and in again. "Oh, God, oh," Harry gasped, "You said I was going to think it was the best thing I've ever felt, and it is."

"Don't talk," Snape urged him. "Fuck me harder." Harry was standing behind him and Snape was kneeling on the seat, shoving his arse back and impaling himself on Harry's cock. Harry pushed in harder, each thrust earning him a satisfying groan from his partner.

"Severus," Harry said, "I'm going to come."

"Yes," Snape panted, "Yes, come, come!" and his arse began to spasm around Harry as he groaned. Harry could hear Snape's ejaculate hitting the leather train seat. Harry made a sound in the same key as the train's brakes squealing and shot, his orgasm rushing out of him into Snape.

They were both left panting. Harry's cock softened to the point of falling out of Snape's body, which was sprawled against the train seat.

Harry flopped down next to him. He stroked Snape's hair. It was oily again already, even after all those baths. Harry hadn't realized it when he was a teenager himself, but Snape was just like a teenager: oily skin, oily hair, moody, sarcastic—he was still like that, even though he was forty-three.

Now he smiled at Harry, and the smile was still odd and crooked, and Harry's heart turned over.

---

They took one more shower. Snape put on a suit. Even Harry, who didn't care about clothes, could tell it was a very fine one. Harry wondered whether there was an equivalent to Snape's robe-swooshing that he could do with a suit.

Harry put on black jeans with a belt, a t-shirt and a jacket. They each packed using a spell. Snape had a leather suitcase.

Snape didn't speak. His face was so pale it was nearly grey.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Shut up, Potter," Snape said. Then he kissed him, very hard. "All right. Molto bene. Andiamo. If I've gone mad, at least I'm fantasizing something interesting. At least teaching you Italian doesn't make anything explode or bleed."

They walked through the train carriage, their compartment shuffling out of sight, and got out onto the platform. Severus did not turn to look at Harry. They walked through the train lobby to the Grand Canal. If Harry hadn't known that this was a Muggle city, he would have thought it was a magical place. A white angelic building with a green copper dome stood on dramatic columns across the canal; the first thing you saw outside the train station. Tourists jostled them; no one was speaking Italian, except to say "Scusi!" to each other in various foreign accents.

Snape was a step behind him. His colour had not returned. He had a hand inside his jacket, presumably on his wand.

"Severus," Harry said.

Snape was looking straight ahead onto the dock.

"We can take a water taxi or a vaporetto. Severus?"

Snape turned and looked him full in the face. He seized Harry's hand and squeezed it, once. Then he turned to face the Grand Canal.

"The vaporetto. It's slower and cheaper, and we'll see more of the city that way."

They stepped off into the boat with the other tourists.

Part Two is here