Bring Him Home

Harry moved restlessly around the room. Snape's dark eyes followed him, observing how the other members of the Order fluttered about, more useless than ever, offering words of intended comfort that merely increased the young man's agitation.

"Don't worry, Harry, everything will be fine, it's that old git who should be worried."

'Don't worry; you're only going to go into battle one on one against the most powerful evil wizard of the past century? Old git indeed.' With effort, Snape refrained from shooting one of his annihilating glares at the youngest Weasley male; he was Harry's best friend after all. Is red hair linked with the gene for weak minds in pure blooded wizards? Just as ash blond hair is linked with the gene for being a traitor, added his own treacherous mind, as he glanced at Draco, the brand barely snatched from the fire. Or was he? Draco's salvation remained unclear to many. Snape and Dumbledore had planned for the old wizard's execution by Snape when Draco's predicament became known to them. It served their purposes well, and seemed to shock the young man back from the edge he was dancing on so gracefully. So Snape hoped. Yet, who knew better than he how easily one could live a double life? Right now, Draco was watching the pacing Harry, gray eyes unreadable, face as impassive as that of the potions master.

"We're all rooting for you, Harry, and will be there, giving you every protection possible."

'Ah, what a good idea, Lupin. Remind him that not only does he have to worry about defeating Voldemort, but that each of his loved ones will be in danger tomorrow as well, risking their lives in order to help him, something he would hate.' Now he will be worrying, if he wasn't already, that even if he wins it will be at the cost of all he loves. Could he be any more surrounded by fools if they created a fifth house at Hogwarts specifically dedicated to the trait? More so than Gryffindor already was, that is, he amended his thought with an inward sneer.

"Have you reviewed everything you might need for tomorrow, Harry? I could go over hexes and counters with you, and Professor Lupin or Ron would be happy to go over hand to hand combat with you. Plus, I'm sure Draco would be willing to go over dark magic spells with you."

'Another brilliant plan. Work Potter right up to the minute of confrontation so that he's exhausted before this even begins. Do the Dark Lord's work for him, Miss Granger.' It was with extreme effort that Snape restrained himself from comment.

Outwardly, he was as impassive as ever as he drawled, "Mr. Potter, may I suggest that you conserve your energy and try to get some rest. I have a draught in my quarters that will permit you to sleep without any adverse side effects."

Snape pointedly ignored the expressions on the countenances of young Potter's closest friends. The younger Weasleys and Hermione Granger looked nervous, although they were not so incautious as to openly question Snape's intentions, not when Harry had made it clear that he trusted their former potions instuctor. It was a trust that had not been easily won, especially when it turned out that the boy had viewed Dumbledore's murder from his vantage point beneath that accursed invisibility cloak. One more grudge to hold against James Potter, Snape thought with a remnant of the old bitterness. It had been difficult to win Potter over, but he had done it. It helped that several times during their last adventure, Albus had told Harry that everything would be explained "later" when there was no apparent reason for not answering the boy's questions at the time. Thus, Harry was left with the feeling that there was something that he wasn't being told, something important that Dumbledore didn't want to tell him. What it was that the former Headmaster never told Harry was that he knew he would not survive to give any explanations. The liquid he consumed from the bowl that held the horcrux would kill anyone who was not Tom Riddle within a reasonably short time. Indeed, the supposed phony locket was in fact the real horcrux, and it was in discovering that Harry had held onto it and in helping him destroy it that Snape won a measure of his trust. That never would have been enough, however, had the fact and cause of Dumbledore's impending death not been recorded in his pensieve, thank Merlin, along with the fact that he had asked Snape, if the opportunity arose, to kill him in the manner most likely to preserve the younger Mr. Malfoy's life. Snape twisted his mouth ruefully, thinking how to Albus' mind, even Lucius had been merely a young Mr. Malfoy. Severus didn't think Lucius had ever been young; he'd certainly never been innocent. In any event, Harry had come to accept that on the fatal night, Snape was acting under orders from the wily old wizard himself to do everything he could to take full advantage of his impending death and save young Malfoy, even if it meant to help Draco cast the killing curse himself. Fortunately, Malfoy experienced second thoughts, and Snape was able to make the end as painless as possible for his respected mentor.

In addition, the time Malfoy and Snape had spent on the run marked the young man's transition from a gifted but spoiled and self-absorbed brat into the strong young leader Snape always suspected rested beneath the brat's veneer. His brains rivaled Granger's, his loyalty, now triggered, equaled that of young Weasley, and his cunning, well his cunning would one day surpass that of Snape himself. It was not without reason that the only one to trust either of them, other than each other, (and that trust was qualified) was the young hero himself, Potter. He fully forgave Malfoy all past slights, and treated him as a brother; his forgiveness and capacity for love doing more to humble Draco and bring him to the light than anything else. Watching their friendship develop over the past two years, Snape had felt so much of his own pain, mostly unacknowledged, over Albus's death and the years of spying, heal. It was all worth it, as in this quiet, unassuming young man, Lily and James' son, they had a truly worthy leader of wizards, and in the arrogant offspring of a vicious Deatheater, they had provided him with a politically savvy yet loyal right hand man who was capable of assisting him in the new age to come.

"Yes, Professor Snape, I think I would like something to help me rest. Thank you Ron, 'Mione, Professor Lupin. I appreciate all your words, but Professor Snape is right, as usual," that shy smile flashed briefly, "I'm tired. And if I don't want to yawn right in old Tom's face tomorrow, I think I'd better get some sleep."

Harry submitted patiently to the hugs, a fierce tight one from Granger, a quick "manly" hips-apart one from Weasley, a warm fatherly one from Lupin, and then assorted kisses on the cheeks, slaps on the back and handshakes from the older Order members. Quite the gauntlet. Snape waited by the door, observing the spectacle of everyone bidding farewell to their beloved martyr. Why not have a cake too, with "Goodbye Harry" written on it in red and gold frosting, Snape thought irritably.

He saw Harry stop by Draco's chair; the blond was carefully keeping his face averted from the leave-taking. The green-eyed wizard spoke in a low voice to the other young man and despite his excellent, spying honed hearing Snape could not make out the words. He saw young Malfoy's mouth quirk up in that sudden smile of his that changed his whole appearance and made him truly beautiful. Harry grinned back at him and then actually bent down and hugged Draco quickly. It was a one armed hug, yes, but a hug just the same. Snape found himself irrationally jealous. Of course Harry and Draco would be drawn to each other. Both were attractive young men, both were known homosexuals despite their forays into heterosexual activity when younger, especially Draco, and this was the eve of battle. He reconsidered whether he was wise in removing Harry from the others. Perhaps not all of them would be irritants this night?

Still, Harry was more than capable of making his own decisions, despite what the others in the Order thought, and Harry had chosen to come with him, he merely made the option available. Did he need a nudge in Draco's direction? 'Dear Merlin, don't ask that of me too', Snape thought, pained beyond what he thought he was still capable of feeling. A good night's sleep so he would survive the next day, that is what he wanted for Harry, then the younger man could pursue everything and everyone that life should hold for a beautiful young male wizard of nineteen.

They walked down to the dungeon in silence. It was a companionable silence; welcome after all the chatter upstairs in the Room of Requirement. Indeed, the first comment Harry made, finally speaking as they entered Snape's private quarters, the wards disarmed then carefully rearmed, was, "You'd think the Room of Requirement would come with a hook that would immediately remove or at the very least silence anyone who was saying something you that really didn't 'require' being said, or not said now, or....well, you get the idea."

Snape permitted himself a small smile, barely a flicker, but Harry looked triumphant at having amused him, his face as pleased as on those increasingly frequent occasions in his seventh year when he managed to brew his potions perfectly and win a nod of approval. He went to his cabinet and retrieved the sleeping draught. He was satisfied with this potion, his own recipe, which provided an entre' into REM sleep, yet didn't leave the sleeper groggy or with a drugged feeling the next day. Moreover, should the need arise; the sleeper could awaken instantly with no ill affects. It basically served to relax the taker sufficiently to permit normal sleep to occur, rather than to force sleep upon someone. Harry drank it obediently, giving his usual grimace at the taste. Snape merely raised an eyebrow, and the grimace turned to the engaging grin.

"You know you deliberately make these things you give me foul tasting. I know for a fact that you could add sweetener to this without taking away from its desired properties."

"Indeed, Mr. Potter?" He stared down at the other wizard, recalling with amused nostalgia the days when he could use his greater height and deep voice to intimidate. Neither worked any more, judging from the impish look now aimed at him by the graceless scamp.

"I *did* pass my potions N.E.W.T., Professor, much to the surprise, although very much to the credit, of a certain Potions Master who shall remain nameless. And I know, roughly, the ingredients of this concoction, from its taste, and I do believe a bit of sugar would do it no harm."

Snape found himself actually smiling, pleased to see young Potter relaxing so much. The frowning, pacing young hero from upstairs was gone; in his place was this teasing young...flirt? Snape stilled at the thought, watching as Harry gave him a look from under long lashes and then threw himself down in one of the stuffed armchairs, long legs outstretched, head tipped back against the cushions. He certainly seemed to be making himself at home.

"Would you mind very much if I hang out here for a while at least? And if I kick off my shoes... Literally and figuratively? I'm beat and need some rest. And if I go back to the dorm to sleep, I'll be nagged to death by Ron and the others." Again, the green eyes peeped out from under those ridiculous lashes. Lily's eyes and nose. With James's hair and chin. It added up to a whole that was all Harry. Willful, courageous, spirited Harry, who wanted to 'hang out' in his rooms tonight. For a while at least. To rest.

Snape paused then nodded slightly. Of paramount importance was what was best for Harry. If he needed santuary, then he could provide that. He watched as the worn shoes were kicked off, revealing slim, highly arched feet. He should wear socks, Snape mused abstractedly; he could get blisters going without them. He had lovely feet, smooth, and, to be fair, no sign of blister or blemish. Snape swallowed, hard.

Snape had to ask.

"What remark did you make to Mr. Malfoy that was so amusing as you left the festivities upstairs?"

Harry laughed without any self consciousness.

"I told him, 'I think I'm gonna miss you most of all, Scarecrow.' Draco has a secret passion for classic Muggle movies. And some not so classic. Say 'Beteljuice' to him at some point and see what happens." Harry snickered quietly to himself then looked at Snape. "You and Draco are the only ones treating me like I'm not the family's pet goose on the day before Christmas. Oh, I guess that would be another Muggle reference, wouldn't it? Pureblooded wizard families don't have to kill their own fowl for dinner, that's what the house elves are for, and even Mrs. Weasley uses magic to do the dirty work. Everyone can keep their hands clean."

He fell silent, his face filled with a terrible sadness. Snape understood why. Harry felt like a house elf, and not for the first time in his life, used by the Order and the wizarding world every bit as much as he was by the Dursley's. And even though he went willingly into battle, indeed, even eagerly, part of him couldn't help feeling that the love he thought was his all these years wasn't quite as 'without strings' as he thought. Snape felt ashamed of himself, feeling jealousy over Harry's affection for Draco when it would have been a wonderful thing if those two young men had been able to find passion together after all they'd been through. He was glad they found friendship at least. His own thirty-nine years had never weighed so heavy as they did this night. He was struck with a sudden desire to do something, anything, to cause Harry to smile again before sleep claimed him. He was a wizard, a powerful one; he should be able to grant a wish, shouldn't he?

"Mr. Potter...Harry, if you could have or do anything in the world tonight, what would it be?"

Harry looked up, his eyes gleaming in acknowledgment of the use of his first name, and then he smiled lazily at the older wizard. The potion was beginning to work, Snape noted. "Are you serious?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever known me to be in the habit of making such inquiries out of idle curiosity?"

"If I tell you, will you let me do it?" He smiled mischievously.

Raid the kitchen, Snape thought with uncharacteristic indulgence. Or perhaps make mischief in the Slytherin common room. Well, why not? He deserves the fun, although Snape would have to restore it before anyone saw it, save perhaps Draco. The others Malfoy had brought to the Order with him would be seriously annoyed, especially Zabini, The hot tempered Italian would probably have a seizure, which alone was almost worth granting the request, Voldemort aside, Snape mused. And Malfoy would be beside himself. Assuming Harry's request was something on that order, although such a boyish prank seemed the most likely boon to be asked, House rivalries still going strong despite the War. This generation had assumed the mantle of adulthood far too young, when still mere children, due to the threats of war, and yet they retained the identity and habits of students, well after graduation and years after reaching legal adulthood. Perhaps it was a psychological device, protecting them from the realities of a world where their lives were on hold until another life could end. And so many of them lived at Hogwarts, calling their fellow fighters in the battle "professor" even if they themselves had long since left the classrooms, and they followed the school's rules, or didn't follow them, much as they had as children. It was endearing in some ways, and heartbreaking in others. Snape leveled his steady gaze at Harry, which no longer had the power to unnerve the young man; oddly, it now seemed to soothe him.

"You have my word. And Harry, given that it's been two years since you took your N.E.W.T.s, which, as you so accurately have reminded me, you passed, despite the predictions of said potions instructor on many an occasion, don't you think it's time you started calling me Severus?"

This time, he was rewarded with a delighted smile, and a look from beneath the lashes that on anyone else Snape would call flirtatious. But this being Harry, he assumed the unusual behavior was perhaps a subtle effect of the potion and waited patiently, for him, for the request.

"I want to do your hair."

"What?" He barked out the exclamation, shocked as he hadn't been in years. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Harry calmly replied, conjuring himself a glass of wine. Looking at Snape, he paused a moment, then conjured a second glass, this one a tumbler of scotch. Snape hoped it was a decent one as he quickly gulped from the glass. Yes, Potter always was good at charms. Snape made an effort to calm himself. For once, Potter remained unaffected by Snape's agitation. If anything, he seemed amused, but he was a credit to his occlumency lessons as his thoughts were impenetrable.

Using his silkiest tones, Snape asked, "Would you kindly explain your request, Mr. Potter?"

"I thought we agreed, given that I've been out of school and your classroom for years, Severus, that you can continue to force yourself to call me Harry?" The young man's voice, a pleasant baritone though much less resonant than Snape's own, was equally silky as he gracefully got to his feet and walked over to his former professor.

"Harry, what do you believe you are doing?" Snape asked quietly as Harry placed his hands on the older wizard's robes and unfastened the clasps.

"Removing your robes. After that, I shall have to remove your shirt. Ahhh, you don't wear a shirt under your robes, that is a surprise. Don't look so...perturbed, Severus. I'm not going to ravish you. I'm just going to do something I've wanted to do for almost ten years now. Well, almost nine, to be more precise, and I know how you value precision."

"And what exactly is that, Mr. Pot...Harry?" The deep voice did not tremble, a tribute to his years of training; obviously the man who told bald faced lies to the Dark Lord time after time was not going to stutter just because a beautiful young man was running strong young fingers over the naked flesh of his shoulders. Severus' voice was under perfect control; however, other, more physical manifestations of excitement were less easily controlled and he found himself regretting the loss of his robes. He pulled away and sat down, crossing his legs.

"I want to wash your hair and experiment with styling it in a more becoming way," Harry calmly explained, perching on the arm of the chair and picking up a lock of Snape's dark, lank, greasy hair with fond exasperation. "Really, Severus, I realize that fighting the forces of evil while cramming the principles of potions into the minds of feckless youth leaves little time for the niceties of style, and I'm far from the poster boy for gay grooming, but this is taking the whole hermit from the dungeons routine way too far. If I get a final request, this would be it. To see your hair look nice. I might have had a more spectacular request, but this potion is making me pretty sleepy so I think I'll be nodding off before too long. I may as well go to sleep with a pleasant vision in my mind, don't you think?"

Severus stared. "This is an attempt at levity, correct?"

Harry smiled gently. "I am phrasing my request in a joking manner, but the request is sincere. I want to wash and dry and then play with your hair. Please? It will help me go to sleep peacefully."

Snape felt exposed, sitting there with just his trousers on, the dark hair of his chest contrasting sharply with his pale skin. Desperate, he tried one more out before relenting.

"I suggest I summon Mr. Malfoy to fulfill this fetish you've developed to play with hair? His hair would far better serve the purpose, I'm sure and he would enjoy the brushing and whatever it is you want to do with thehair, much more." The last part of that speech was inaccurate; he doubted very much that Draco would enjoy it more that he would. Indeed, the thought of Harry taking such actions was strangely arousing. Much as young Malfoy would no doubt enjoy the attentions, and indeed, he no doubt would revel in Harry ministering to him in such a way, Severus was struck with a longing to have such ministrations for himself. But he forced his face to remain neutral. Harry looked at him reproachfully, tearing his gaze away from Severus' bare chest.

"You promised," he reminded him quietly. And a tad smugly. Snape inclined his head.

"Then I accede." Harry grinned and tugged on his arm in order to lead him into the bathroom. There was a large sink, as well as a sunken tub in the relatively spacious room.

"Hmm, how best to do this? How would you feel about getting into the tub while I sit next to it and wash your hair? I promise not to take advantage of your virtue." Again, the impish grin. There was nothing malicious in it, Snape noted with relief. Harry seemed, for the first time in months, to be experiencing genuine high spirits. As embarrassing as he found this situation, if it pleased the boy that much, it was a simple enough request which to accede. Moreover, he could not help a frisson of pleasure that Harry preferred his company to that of the striking young Malfoy. Or could it be, his sour inner voice noted, that Harry merely had a hair fetish that was called to the head that needed the most help? If there were one thing Malfoy did not need, much as he may want it and like it, was more attention paid to his silvery blond locks.

"I believe it will suffice if I sit next to the sink. We can transfigure its shape to suit your purpose," he commented dryly, as he allowed himself to be pulled along. He conjured a chair next to the sink and with another flick of his wand, enlarged the sink and replaced the faucet with a hose for rinsing. When he turned back around, he was startled to see Harry shirtless as well. His face must have uncharacteristically revealed his surprise, as Harry proffered the explanation:

"I figured my shirt would get all splashed so it would be better to take it off and keep it dry." Severus considered reminding him of the impervio spell, but told himself it would foolish to make a fuss over something Harry treated so naturally. It could make him feel self conscious. That was what he told himself, and not that it was a pleasure to look at the firmly muscled, smooth young chest, the tan skin glowing with health, the darker pink nipples standing out in the cold of the dungeon, the rippled muscles of the taut abdomen, with its line of dark hair running down from the navel and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. Despite the chill in the room, Severus felt a light sweat breaking out on his own skin.

Harry ran his hand along the other man's shoulders.

"Are you sure you don't want to take that bath instead? It might relax you." The young voice was husky. Why wasn't Harry tired, Snape wondered, in what, for a less controlled man, could be called a panic. The young wizard took the potion a good half hour ago!

"I'm fine," Severus replied shortly. "Wash my hair and get this over with so you can go to bed... get to sleep, I mean." Harry chuckled and moved to gather what he needed, towels, shampoo, brushes. He was slightly surprised to see that Severus actually owned all of the items needed for proper hair care. He had wondered if he would need to borrow some from Draco, but hadn't wanted to let his friend know about this. Draco had been urging him to act on his feelings for some time, but it took this combination of circumstance and potential imminent death to finally give Harry the courage. Serendipity had put Severus Snape right where he wanted him, and he was going to take full advantage of the chance to find out just how his former professor felt about him.

"Lean back," he whispered, leaning his own torso over Severus' body, bare skin brushing against the wiry black hair of the older man's chest. Harry bit back a moan. He wanted to seduce Severus, not vice versa! He forced himself to focus on the long black hair streaming out behind the man's head. The black eyes were closed, which helped. After dampening the hair thoroughly, Harry began working the shampoo into it, massaging the scalp firmly but slowly, just the way Draco said to do it.

Severus didn't think anything had ever felt this good, certainly nothing in recent memory. Strong fingers massaged his scalp, moving slowly through his hair to work the suds through, and then rinsing them out again in a leisurely fashion. After putting in a conditioner, Harry whispered that it needed to stay in for a few minutes. Those talented fingers then moved to his shoulders. Harry stood over him, straddling his thighs as he remained reclining back against the sink. The young man wordlessly massaged his shoulders and upper chest, kneading the muscles almost painfully. Severus felt his lips fall slightly apart as a low moan escaped. Perhaps Harry didn't hear it over the sound of the running water?

Harry heard it. The sound went straight to his cock, making him long to lower himself down just another two inches so that he was sitting in Severus' lap and could grind their erections together. He could see that the potions master was just as affected; he'd feared the man may have taken an anti-arousal potion to thwart Harry, but from the looks of his trousers, there was a very healthy response to Harry's efforts occurring. Now to get him to act on it!

Harry slid up the other man's body in order to rinse the conditioner out. Severus didn't balk at the pressure of the younger man's groin against his abdomen. Harry was afraid to do more and cause everything to stop.

For his part, Severus was very conscious of the fact that he need only reach out with his tongue and he could lick that tempting dark nipple poised just over his mouth. Damn, what was the boy trying to do to him? Could the potion have unforeseen aphrodisiac qualities? What a horrible thought. What a betrayal of trust if he had inadvertently drugged the boy!. Yet, he'd used the potion before and no one had exhibited such unusual behavior. Perhaps this was an idiosyncratic reaction peculiar to Potter? The analytical part of Snape's brain tried to work this out while the rest of him simply enjoyed the intense pleasure his body was feeling. He felt the whisper of a breath in his ear.

"Time to move to the other room for me to brush it out, why don't you put on your dressing gown or something more comfortable while I get us each another drink?" Harry swung his leg back over Severus, and from a standing position began toweling the taller man's head.

Once again, Severus found himself simply nodding. Harry beamed back at him. Within minutes, the young wizard was back, wearing a soft pair of pajama bottoms and carrying a tray with his wine and Severus' scotch. Oh dear Merlin, Severus thought to himself, perhaps he'd better say something. Clearly young Harry had more than brushing hair in mind. The pajama bottoms must have been Draco's; no Gryffindor ever wore dark green silk bedclothes that clung to every curve like that. Perhaps Snape would like the members of that house much better if they did. He took a deep swallow from the glass of scotch as Harry sipped his wine and smiled at him. One could see the outline of his firm, full cock pressing against the front of the pajamas.

"Harry." He spoke in his most compelling, potions master voice.

"Yes, Severus?

"What are you planning on doing?"

"I'm going to brush your hair, I told you that."

"And after you do that, you will go to sleep?" The question was posed hopefully.

"Well, not just then."

"No?" Severus felt tension in his entire body. He didn't want to upset Harry; he could imagine the nerve it took for the boy to undertake this...whatever it was...dare he call it a seduction? Why he chose him rather than Draco or even Lupin, or the older Weasley boy, there was no shortage of gay wizards if he didn't want to die a virgin, was completely beyond his comprehension. He immediately blocked out the pain that shot through him at the thought of Harry dying. It was alien to his nature not to fce unpleasant possibilities, yet.... He refused to accept that Harry could die on the morrow.

Part of Severus wanted, more than anything, to play this scene out in its entirety. The other... older, wiser... part of him knew that such action would make him one more person taking advantage of the Boy Who Lived. And he hadn't gone to hell and back for this boy to permit that to happen now.

"What additional activity did you have in mind, Harry?" Severus forced his voice to be harsh.

Harry looked at him uncertainly. Suddenly, he felt as though he were fourteen again and faced with the feared, hated potions teacher of his past. Maybe all the scotch, massages, and sexy pajamas in the world couldn't make Snape want him. He swallowed hard and looked up at the taller man.

"And then I want to braid it."

Wha....?

"You wish to braid my hair?"

"Uh, yeah, I think that would look much better than hanging down, getting in your way. Is that okay? I'll go to bed then. I promise." His shoulders were slumped, much as he was trying to keep up appearances. Severus felt terrible for being responsible for making that joy go out of the young man's face. He tried to determine what had happened, what had gone wrong. He held the green gaze for a long moment as he replayed the conversation in his head, what was said as well as what was unsaid, the tones as well as the words. He had spent nine years watching Harry; he knew how to read him by now.

He'd carelessly, thoughtlessly, in his own insecurity, made the boy feel unloved, unwanted. He made him feel stupid, the very way that Harry had so carefully ensured that Severus did not feel as he conducted his little 'experiment' tonight. He had to remedy this. He walked over to the quiet young man, taking the wine glass from his hand.

"I believe that is would be acceptable, even pleasing, for you to brush my hair. And yes, I will permit you to braid it. I confess that it falls into my face far too often. It has even been known to get into the potions on occasion, which is a nuisance. Thank you, Harry. I intended to give you a relaxing evening, and instead you are providing me with the most relaxing, pleasant evening I can remember having...ever."

His voice was deep and mesmerizing. Harry looked up at him doubtfully, searching the dark eyes, and whatever he saw there must have reassured him, causing him to smile shyly. The two men leaned together for a moment, and then Severus spoke.

"I believe we should proceed before we both fall asleep on our feet."

Harry chuckled and walked over to the bedside table where he'd placed the brush and ties. He looked up at Severus, cautious again.

"I had intended to sit on the bed behind you while I did this but if you'd prefer the chair...?"

The young voice trailed off. Severus thought about his self control. He could do this. Moreover, Harry's eyes were looking heavy lidded. Hopefully, it was with fatigue and not desire.

"The bed is fine." He took off his dressing gown, under which he had on a pair of serviceable cotton pajamas. Harry looked disappointed to see the top. Severus held back a small smile. Relenting, he took off the pajama top and stretched out on the bed, presenting his back and hair to his young companion.

Harry sighed happily. He sat cross legged on the bed next to Severus' prone body, and went to work, slowly brushing out the tangles, and then continuing to brush it until it shone, not with an oily appearance, but with rich health. He ran his fingers through the silky black length of it, marveling that something that had looked so unappealing was in reality so beautiful. Harry leaned down and breathed in deeply the fragrance of Severus' hair.

The older wizard caught his breath. He didn't want to break the mood, not again, but not even the strongest anti-arousal spell could withstand this, he thought helplessly as he felt his erection harden. The man he loved... for that was what Harry was, and it was time to admit it to himself at least... was leaning over him and he felt so incredibly vulnerable. He felt the warmth of that young body next to his back, and fantasized of being the first one Harry ever entered, to feel him pressing against his back as he moved inside him, face pressed into the hair he so lovingly brushed. Or he could roll over and make love to Harry, entering that firm, tight ass himself, thrusting into him, as he looked into those green eyes until he made him cry out in ecstasy.

Instead, Severus remained as still as he could until Harry moved away, and then nimble fingers were moving through his hair again, separating it, weaving it in and out. He felt a soft kiss pressed against his shoulder finally.

"All done. Let me see how it looks."

Severus rolled over and looked up into the beloved face, which was flushed from his exertions. Or his emotions. Harry had set aside his glasses earlier and he reached for them now to see his finished product. He also held up a mirror, but the pleased look on his face was all the reassurance Severus needed. He looked in the mirror, however, to please the young man.

He was surprised; the braid did look attractive, taming the long hair as it did. Harry had pulled his hair back without a part, and the look somehow softened his somewhat ascetic face, emphasizing his eyes instead. The look was masculine, yet flattering.

"This is how you should wear it. I spelled this brush to do it this way for you automatically any time you want to wear it braided and I'm not around to do it for you."

Severus' expression did not reflect his inner pain at the deceptively innocent comment. There was more than mere thoughtfulness to the gesture; despite all this distraction, Harry had not forgotten that after tomorrow, he might not be around to braid hair, to hug Hermione, to watch Muggle movies with Draco and tease him about them afterward. But he tried to make sure that these things would be done in his absence. If he were absent. Severus could no longer hold it back.

"No, Harry, no, you can't go out there tomorrow. Let me. Let me face him instead." He held him tight against his chest, shoulders shaking as he held in the tears he would not permit himself to shed, even now.

"I have to do it, Severus, you know that. But, please, give me tonight. I'm... I'm afraid I won't have anything else."

"No," he whispered. Harry looked at him, shock and hurt warring in his eyes. "I will hold you tonight, and keep watch over you. But I will make love with you tomorrow night, when you come home to me and for every night after that, for as long as you want me."

Harry was very still, looking up at him. Then he reached up and brushed the cheek that saw far too little sun.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Then I guess I'll have to come back. Tomorrow. And for every tomorrow after that." A brilliant smile broke across the handsome face. The two of them laid down on the pillow which was slightly damp from Severus' hair and Harry closed his eyes with a sigh, snuggling into the strong arms that held him, cheek turned into the hairy chest. Severus stroked the unruly dark hair lightly with one hand, the other tucked firmly around the strong young body. He stayed awake, watched over the man that he loved, waiting for the morning. And the end of the war.

God on high

Hear my prayer, In my need

You have always been there

He is young, He's afraid

Let him rest, Heaven blessed.

Bring him home

Bring him home

Bring him home.

Bring him peace, Bring him joy

He is young, He is only a boy

You can take, You can give

Let him be, Let him live

If I die, let me die, Let him live

Bring him home

Bring him home

Bring him home.

Song Credit, "Bring Him Home" Les Misérables by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg

Return to Arwensong's