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Harry took the street car service from his home in Netherhall Gardens in Hampstead to Charing Cross Road, as he did at precisely eight o’clock each morning. He enjoyed watching the hustle and bustle of foot and car traffic, and would always add a generous tip onto the fare once they reached his destination. Slipping from the car and thanking the driver, Harry headed straight for The Leaky, where Tom had his Full English all ready to go, and Harry had plenty of Galleons for the old pub proprietor.

Stepping into the back alley with his steaming bag, he drew out his wand and tapped the brick wall before him in the proper wand formation, smiling to himself as he envisioned his first-ever trip to Diagon, to shop for school supplies, with a kindly giant called Hagrid as his own personal tour guide. As he stepped through the entrance and walked along the cobblestone street, he gave a series of nods to fellow business owners, who were just opening up their shops as he passed them by. It was an overcast morning in early February, with just the right amount of nip in the air to still be considered wintery weather, and a snowflake or two escaped the ever-present cloud-cover of the sky.

Stepping along the alley’s main drag, Harry passed Eeylops Owl Emporium, Flourish and Blotts, Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, and Gringotts, to name a few establishments in the wizarding shopping center. It was after a three-year stint in the Auror Department, with six months to travel the world after the Battle of Hogwarts and another six months within the ministry’s training program that Harry had purchased a long-abandoned building in Diagon Alley, just next door to the junk shop and across from Ollivander’s. The white-haired wizard had recovered considerably since his several-month unjust imprisonment in Malfoy Manor, and subsequent recuperation at Shell Cottage, under the constant care of Fleur Delacour-Weasley. The old wandmaker was now training his great-granddaughter, Elswyth, a Ravenclaw like much of her family, who had just graduated from Hogwarts two years before, to take over the business on his behalf.

As Harry neared the building, which he had fully restored in just under three months, with much help from the Weasley clan, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and surprisingly Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape, it was now quite a sight to behold. Cherry wood paneling framed the old-fashioned, clear glass bay windows located at the front of the building, and a bright red wooden sign with the words Gryffin’s Wing: Exclusive Holiday Bureau for Witches and Wizards moved back and forth in a gentle loop caused by the wind. The sign was all done up in golden letters, and was just one of Harry’s prides and joy when it came to his establishment. While going on his own travel jaunt in the wake of the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had noticed that there were no travel agencies of any kind in the Wizarding World and, having to rely solely upon himself and a fair amount of outdated travel manuals, Harry’s business idea had grown to the point of flourishing, becoming immensely popular quite quickly.

Harry fished into his pocket for the brass key and used it to unlock the door, the bell dinging as he stepped inside and onto the ornate Parisian carpet, relieved that the permanent Warming Charms were settling upon him as he moved towards the cherry wood and white marble reception desk. “Hey, Gin,” Harry said, smiling at his once-girlfriend turned sister, who smiled brightly at him from her perch behind the counter. “Thanks for filling in for Luna while she chases the Crumple-Horned Snorkack with Mr. Lovegood. Business is booming all the more because of your work with the Harpies.”

Ginny tossed her impressive mane of red hair, giggling. “And nothing by being owned by the Savior of the Wizarding World, I daresay,” came the reply, a small smile curling her lips upwards.

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Next to nothing, I assure you,” he said.

“You really don’t need to thank me, Harry,” Ginny told him. “I’m glad to help any members of my family that have need of me, and when I’m in a position to do so. And besides, you know as well as I do that I’m on leave from Quidditch anyway,” she said with a grin, cupping her swollen belly, an elegant diamond ring, surrounded by emeralds, glinting upon her finger. “Draco just insists that I see the personal Malfoy healer regularly, of course.”

Harry grinned down at Ginny, remembering the many looks and smiles she and Draco had stolen when the refurbishing efforts on Gryffin’s Wing were going on. It wasn’t a surprise to him, nor Hermione, or Molly herself, when Draco finally worked up the nerve to ask Ginny out to dinner. Then, a whirlwind romance of three months had begun, with Draco almost immediately proposing marriage, and Ginny falling pregnant shortly thereafter. What had then transpired was a hasty wedding in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, with each Weasley brother, and Harry as well, glaring daggers at Draco for daring to impregnate Ginny before their vows were said. For now, however, both Ginny and Draco were still content to be newlyweds, and their son, already named Scorpius, was due to be born in three and a half months’ time.

“Well, you are carrying a Malfoy heir,” Harry joked. “Draco did inherit his excitement from various investments from the paternal side of his family...”

Ginny swatted Harry’s arm in an indulgent manner, giggling. “It’s the constant backaches and swollen ankles that I could do without,” she admitted. “And Draco...” She shook her head. “Well, he can hardly go from healer to father mode without winding me up. He actually thought a Kneazle would help matters...”

Harry arched an eyebrow. “He bought you a Kneazle?”

“Early Valentine’s present,” Ginny said, sighing. “Brought it to the manor last weekend. Of course, I adore her already—she looks like a tiger, except she’s gray, and has blue eyes. But I do wish he’d communicate to me more. If I want to talk about something else, he says I’m not excited about the baby...”

“He’s already accused you of mood swings, hasn’t he?” Harry asked, recalling Ron’s attitude when Hermione had been pregnant with their daughter, Rose, just after the Battle of Hogwarts. It had been unexpected and unplanned, like Ginny’s own pregnancy, but Harry knew that his two best friends couldn’t have been happier with their four-year-old.

Ginny pursed her lips. “Of course he has. I love him, but he’s beginning to be quite aggravating about this entire ordeal,” she muttered, shaking her head. “And the potions from Severus can only do so much, as you know. Draco is constantly hearing new theories from St. Mungo’s about which herb can cause birth defects and whatnot, and Angelina tries to stop him, of course, because all these theories come from dimbos like Lockhart, but it doesn’t do any good. He even goes as far to smell the potions before I can drink them. I appreciate the concern, really I do, but I do trust Severus’s judgement, as well as my own nose...”

“How is Severus?” Harry asked casually, taking ahold of the client alert folders, which Ginny had handed to him.

“He’s doing well, and he even came to the manor at the weekend for supper. He even met Cinder, and was absolutely wonderful with her,” she said fondly, referencing the Kneazle. “He dined with us, and went over Lucius’s potions with him in his study.” Ginny let out a small sigh, having grown close to her in-laws quite quickly.

“Is Lucius doing any better?” Harry asked, remembering how gaunt and exhausted the man had looked at the annual Malfoy Christmas ball.

“No, and we’re all so worried about him,” she said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself, sorrow in her eyes.

“Ginny, I won’t have you blaming yourself...”

“But the Greengrass family curse has infected him beyond repair, Harry!” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. “Draco’s marrying me, as well as Lucius’s consent, all but sealed his fate. Draco was betrothed to Astoria since infancy, but he threw her over for me. Now Astoria and all the rest of them get to live long, happy lives, while Lucius slowly withers away...” Her voice broke, tears suspended like diamonds upon her thick eyelashes.

Harry’s hand clenched at the edge of the reception desk; he knew that Ginny thought of Lucius like her second father now, ever since the final battle. Arthur had gone after Rookwood alongside George, the same moment his wife had engaged in a death-defying duel with Bellatrix Lestrange. Both battles had been quick, with Molly assassinating Bellatrix, but Arthur succumbing to the Cruciatus Curse via Rookwood, leaving the battle with jagged and deep scars upon his face and a significant amount of nerve damage; he had never been the same after that, of course. Just seconds later, however, George had Adava’d Rookwood himself, just before Harry himself had finally met his destiny in killing Voldemort.

“I know that Lucius means a lot to you, Ginny,” Harry told her gently as he kept ahold of the file folder in his hands. “Severus is keeping him comfortable, though, isn’t he?”

Ginny nodded, wiping her eyes. “Yes, of course.”

“Does he have a prognosis?” Harry asked, shuffling from foot to foot.

Ginny breathed steadily; Draco always encouraged her to do this, as stress clearly wasn’t good for the baby. “Severus says he’ll not likely see Christmas,” she said softly. “However, he’s going to hold on as much as possible, to see Scorpius, of course.”

Harry nodded. “Of course.”

Ginny let out a soft sigh and straightened up in the cushioned chair. “Well, that was a fair amount of excitement so early in the morning,” she said quietly. “You’d best look over those client lists, Harry,” she went on, pulling some perspective client applications towards her to file accordingly. “We’re expecting a rush.”

Harry nodded; much to his amusement, many witches and wizards, like Muggles, would frequently wait until the last possible moment to book a vacation. Valentine’s Day was a big holiday for them, alongside Christmas, and so all the employees had to constantly keep on their toes. Giving Ginny a heartfelt smile and a squeeze to her shoulder, Harry made his way out of the reception area and down the hallway towards his office. The other offices had name plates, boasting the employees’ job title beneath, as Harry learned having experts on traveling subjects was always best; he just so happened to be the expert for traveling throughout Europe.

Other offices were for Fleur Delacour-Weasley, who was the top choice for couples, due to the romantic packages she was able to put together on such short notice. The next office belonged to Charlie Weasley, who took time off from the dragon preserve in Romania six months out of the year to provide adventurous holidays for couples and families, and usually had a mile-long list of hopeful clients. As for the third office, it housed Andromeda Tonks, who would leave Teddy in the care of Narcissa and Lucius at the manor when she came into work; the middle sister of the House of Black would provide vacations throughout the countries of Africa and the Middle East. His next hire, and fourth office resident, Cho Chang provided grief vacations to individuals, couples, or families who had recently, or not so recently, lost a loved one, due to her experience with Cedric, and it had been at the advice of a mind healer that she seek employment that dealt with grief and loss. Pomona Sprout, who had handed over the reins of herbology professor and Head of Hufflepuff House to Neville, who would provide vacations to North and South America; she had plenty of healing and botanical plants in her office, which had proved to be more like a glorified greenhouse, and Harry loved having the former Head of Hufflepuff House on staff. Albus Dumbledore’s portrait was another favorite, and he would come in weekly for numerous clients wishing to visit the Arctic or Antarctic, and would always be available for a chat with Harry whenever he needed it. And then there was Dean Thomas who covered Asia, and Seamus Finnigan, who had taken on the task of Oceania, as it was much simpler for the couple to work together.

Harry greeted those who were in the bureau today—Fleur, Andromeda, Pomona, Cho, Dean, and Seamus—and made his way into his office. Located at the end of a long corridor, it too boasted cherry wood furnishings, as well as Victorian-style furniture. The secretary desk he utilized was positioned just opposite the impressive and large bay window, and he had Gryffindor-style red curtains, carpets, and medieval-looking tapestries around the room. He could imagine a certain object of his affections sneering at the décor, but the man had yet to properly see his office.

Shaking his head, Harry spelled water into his tea kettle and set it to boil, before he sat down at his desk and spread out the client lists, looking them over and reading about their situations and wants, before coming up with a schedule for himself so as to best suit their needs. Lots of them could merely be handled with brief Floo Calls, which every office was set up to achieve. Making a list of those clients and setting it aside, Harry magically poured the boiled water into his cup, which smelled heavenly of English breakfast tea. Unwrapping his breakfast from The Leaky, spelled with a Preservation and Warming Charm, he tucked into his breakfast as he kept looking over the lists. He also perused his schedule for that Friday morning, and remembered that he was due to have lunch with Ron and Hermione at The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, so he would have to do plenty of work before that, as Hermione tended to go into lecture mode when she spoke about her high-priority position in the Unspeakable Office.

Harry accomplished no less than six Floo Calls after he finished his breakfast—mostly consisting of wizards pulling their hair out for not thinking to book a proper vacation for their partners for Valentine’s Day—and returned to his desk. He had his first in-person meeting scheduled for ten-thirty that morning, and looked over the list to see who it was. Smiling to himself, he saw that he would be seeing Neville, who likely wanted to book something for himself and Luna for the upcoming holiday. He could have easily gone to Fleur but, due to his shared history with Harry, he likely wanted it to be as easy as possible; plus, Fleur was frequently booked at this time of year, due to people wanting to stay at the haute wizarding hotels in France, which Fleur’s parents were on the board of.

Harry looked up as Ginny’s Patronus arrived just before ten-thirty, letting him know that Neville had arrived and was on his way to his office. Knowing that Neville only had a short window of time, due to his obligations to Hogwarts, Harry got to his feet and waited expectantly, smiling automatically as the door opened. “Morning, Nev,” he said.

“Hey, Harry,” Neville responded, crossing the room and hugging him, not even jumping as the door closed automatically behind him.

“Here to plan something for Luna?” Harry asked, gesturing for Neville to sit, which he did, and his old friend smiled.

“I want it to be special...” Neville lowered his voice. “I want to ask Luna to marry me, in a way she’d never expect, but not something out of our comfort zones.”

Harry smiled, quite pleased that Neville wanted to settle down with Luna, knowing full well that Luna would accept any proposal he gave her. As for the matter of comfort zones, he knew entirely well what his friend was talking about. “I can help you with that,” he assured him. Thinking over some of the newer spots he’d read about recently, an idea suddenly formed in his mind, and he smiled to himself. “Nev, have either of you ever been to the Ukraine?”

“No,” Neville replied, shaking his head. “Professor Sprout took me to the Orto Botanico di Padova after I received my mastery, but that’s as much travel as I’ve really done, other than around England and Scotland, of course...”

“And Luna?”

“Her travels have been throughout Scandinavia, nothing more,” he explained.

“Well, I know of a place in the Ukraine,” Harry told him. “It’s not some haute French hotel that Fleur could book you at...”

Neville smiled. “Harry, if I’d wanted that, I’d have gone to Fleur. Those hotels are beautiful, and have a fair amount of gardens that are lovely, but neither Luna nor I are into that kind of aesthetic, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Harry assured him with a smile, knowing both Luna and Neville’s tastes quite well. “Well, the place I’ve in mind for the two of you is called Ethno complex Ukrainian Village. They have a restaurant onsite called The Hut; the rooms are modest, but lovely, and then there’s the petting zoo...”

Neville snapped to attention at that. “Petting zoo?”

Harry grinned; while Neville enjoyed magical creatures, Luna was over the moon for them. “It’s a Muggle hotel, so there won’t be any Hippogriffs or Acromantulas,” he joked.

“What sort of animals, then?”

“Chickens, pigs, sheep, cows, deer, swans,” Harry said with a shrug.

“I can handle those things,” Neville said brightly.

“Can I have some dates?” Harry asked. “I’m familiar with the owners. The woman’s brother is a wizard, so that’s how I have the information.”

“Think I can get in the thirteenth with Luna, and come back the sixteenth?” Neville asked. “I just have to get an international portkey, and I can have someone cover my afternoon classes on Thursday, and all of them on Friday.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll send them an owl by end of day and let them know. They usually have a spot reserved for any of our clients during a major holiday anyway.”

“Thanks, Harry!” Neville crowed, getting to his feet and shaking his hand. “Got to get back to Hogwarts now. Mind if I use your Floo?”

“Not at all,” Harry assured him with a smile, waving him off as Neville disappeared in a fair amount of green flames a moment later.

Harry breezed through the rest of his mid-morning meetings in plenty of time to meet Ron and Hermione for lunch at precisely half-past twelve. He had a cancellation from newlyweds Michael Corner and Lisa Turpin, who had been invited to the Turpin’s chateau in France for the holiday, and wouldn’t need a booking. Finishing up, Harry made sure that Ginny was taken care of for lunch—Draco was Flooing over from St. Mungo’s to take her to a rather new and quite posh bistro in Chelsea—and left via his own Floo. He arrived in the main room of The Three Broomsticks, and Ron and Hermione called him over to their booth in the back.

Harry grinned and walked over, waving to Madam Rosmerta as he did so, and went to hug Hermione, who pulled back with a tut, cast a Cleaning Charm upon him, and threw herself into his arms. “Hermione?” he asked, noticing that she was clinging to him a lot more than she typically did, and Harry immediately looked at Ron.

Ron threw up his hands. “Let Hermione tell you, mate.”

“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione said, pulling back and patting at the wrinkles in his clothes. “I should be used to Molly watching Rose by now, but...”

“But Rosie’s getting a little brother!” Ron crowed, practically bouncing up and down, obviously growing impatient with his wife’s hesitation, and grinned at Harry.

Harry smiled at Ron before turning back to Hermione. “When did you find out?” he asked, gently easing her back into the booth.

“Don’t fuss over me,” she said, patting his arm, before elbowing Ron in his ribs, ignoring her husband’s squawk of protest as she continued looking at Harry. “This morning. I couldn’t keep anything down, and so Ron and I popped into Eileen’s Elixirs and Severus got me an Anti-Nausea Potion,” she explained. “We then walked up the road to Madam Pomfrey, who was only too glad to give us the news officially,” she went on, caressing her stomach fondly. “I’m only about nine weeks along, but she could tell it was a boy already, of course, due to the increases in magical medical technology over Muggle.”

“That’s great,” Harry told her. “I’m really happy for you, ‘Mione.” Harry turned as Madam Rosmerta came by to enquire about their orders; Hermione ordered cranberry juice, Harry pumpkin, and Ron a butterbeer. Then, Harry chose a roast beef sandwich, Ron bacon, and Hermione chicken salad before they returned to their conversation.

“Madam Hooch is due to retire at the end of term, and she’s asked me to replace her,” Ron told Harry brightly.

Harry blinked. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“His hours would certainly be more regular, plus, the four of us would automatically live at Hogwarts,” said Hermione with a smile. “I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

Harry nodded. “Sounds reasonable.” Looking up and around the pub, he saw that Severus had walked in, from his own shop down the lane, across from Honeydukes and next to the post office. Harry gritted his teeth, his heart hammering in his breast not helping matters as he laid eyes on the man. He’d last seen him at Christmas at Malfoy Manor, and the man just seemed to look more attractive each time he saw him.

“Harry?”

“Excuse me,” Harry replied, not answering Ron, and got to his feet, making his way across the pub and towards Severus. “Good afternoon, Severus,” he said.

Severus turned around. “Harry,” he said with a brief nod. “I am just waiting for lunch. I’ve left Zabini in charge of the shop while I obtain it.”

Harry nodded, remembering when Blaise had received his mastery, around the same time Neville had done, before partnering with Severus to open the apothecary. “How are you?”

“I am fine,” Severus told him. “And yourself? Any late-winter ails?”

Harry shook his head. “None that I’ve found, no,” he replied, pleased that he seemed to care. However, he hesitated for a moment, wanting to keep the conversation going, but, of course, not wishing to bother the potions master. “Do you have anything exciting going since Christmas?”

Severus looked around then, and deliberately lowered his voice. “I’ve been invited to the Potions Guild in Switzerland.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “That’s brilliant.”

The man nodded. “It is. However, it is due to take place the following weekend, and I have to get accommodation at a nearby hotel, but I don’t know anything about the area, nor the people, apart from the potioneers themselves...”

Harry held up a hand. “I received a cancellation earlier today. If you came by my office, around four, I could find you accommodation easily. Just give me the name of the city, or the general area, and I’ll set everything up.”

Severus looked slightly taken aback then. “You would do this for me?” he asked.

Harry smiled up at him. “I think that you would do the same for me, were I to ask you for a potion,” he pointed out.

“Touché,” Severus replied, turning as two packaged lunches were brought out from the back kitchen, and subsequently handed over to him. “Very well, Harry; Bern is the name of the area where I’m expected. I shall be along later this afternoon at the appointed time.”

Harry gave the potions master a final nod, murmuring, “Looking forward to it,” as the raven-haired man slipped outside and back up the snow-covered lane. Smiling to himself, Harry turned on his heel and returned to the booth he’d been sharing with Ron and Hermione, who were eying him suspiciously and knowingly respectively. “What’s with the faces?” Harry asked, gesturing in between them as he returned to his seat.

“Come off it, mate,” Ron said, shaking his head.

Harry blinked. “Sorry?” he asked.

Hermione placed a gentle hand atop Harry’s. “Harry, love, we’ve known you since we were eleven, and both of us know a spark when we see one.”

Harry’s brows furrowed together at that. “A spark?”

“Exactly,” Ron said, nodding emphatically. “You look like everyone does whenever Fleur comes into the room, mate.”

Harry felt his cheeks reddening at the implication. “I haven’t...”

Hermione smiled at him. “We know you haven’t done anything about your feelings for your Half-Blood Prince, Harry,” she told him. “We just want you to know that we support you when you finally plan to do so, is all. Don’t we Ron?” she asked, turning towards her husband, who was looking longingly at various dishes coming out of the kitchen. “Ronald!” Hermione said, her tone louder this time, and promptly kicked him beneath the table.

“Oi!” he cried out. “What was that for?”

“The kick, Ronald, was for an affirmation on your end that we will be supporting Harry in his endeavor to get closer to Severus,” said Hermione firmly.

Ron rubbed his shin. “Right, mate,” he told Harry, nodding. “Whatever you want.”

Harry continued through his lunch with Ron and Hermione, and arrived back at the office shortly before two, just in time for his next appointment. He had three in between the time he was due to see Severus, and found himself growing increasingly nervous. Once his three o’clock had left, at forty-five after, Harry quickly summoned his travel books on Bern, Switzerland, giving himself a refresher course in the snowy land. He remembered several hotels throughout the area that he had exclusive deals with, and was hoping that one would have a place for Severus, so the man would not freeze to death during the Potions Guild.

Harry straightened up as Ginny’s Patronus arrived, and got to his feet once Severus stepped into his office. After pleasantries were exchanged, including the potion master’s predicted sneer at his Gryffindor surroundings, the pair sat across from one another, tea was poured, and a plate of biscuits was provided. “I suppose the first order of business is whether or not you want a wizarding or Muggle hotel,” Harry said, stirring a bit of sugar in his tea, before reaching for a ginger newt.

Severus blinked, hesitating as he reached for his cup. “I was not aware there was much of a difference, apart from their employees and clientele,” the man said softly.

Harry smiled, pleased that he could finally teach the man something. “Well, there’s the matter of the rooms being connected to the Floo Network,” he explained, as Severus sipped his tea, listening intently. “They also have Apparition areas, and specialty wards around the place to keep any Muggles out.”

This time, Severus picked up his cup, doctored it to his liking, and sipped. “And then there’s the matter of Squibs,” he said softly.

“For many years, Squibs were only permitted to work there, but, now that Kingsley is Minister of Magic, he’s managed to persuade other ministers otherwise,” Harry told him.

Severus took another sip of his tea before he lowered his cup. “I should like, given the choice, to stay at a wizarding hotel, if they can accommodate me.”

Harry nodded, banishing the information about the Muggle hotels in Switzerland he had gathered, and pulled out his favorites of the wizarding ones. He passed the information along to Severus, who nodded every now and again, before he came to a decision, and handed the file folder over to him. “Very nice,” Harry said.

“I quite like the name—Schweizerhof,” Severus said with a small smile.

“The Presidential Suite?” Harry clarified.

Severus gave a nod. “Will that be a problem?”

“I won’t know until they owl me back,” Harry explained. “We’re working on a better communication system, but it’s still in its infancy, I’m afraid.”

“Of course,” Severus told him with a nod. “When do you believe you’ll have an answer for me, then?” he asked, watching Harry scrawl a note to his hotel of choice.

“No later than tomorrow afternoon,” Harry assured him. “We close at midday on Saturday, but I can send you an owl, if you like.”

“That will be fine,” Severus told him. “The address is Mayfield House.”

“Ireland?” Harry asked, remembering the name from somewhere.

“Quite,” Severus responded, gathering his cloak around him and giving Harry a quick smile. “I look forward to receiving your owl,” he said, before he walked out of the office, leaving Harry to slump in his chair, heart pounding, and cheeks flushed.

~*~

Harry was relieved when the owl had arrived, confirming Severus’s placement in the hotel he had selected, with his suite of choice. He hastily wrote back to Severus, letting him know that the arrangements had been made, and that the hotel would be sending him a portkey directly, all falling in line with his indicated time. The man wrote back, thanking Harry for his services, and letting him know the fee had already been placed in his Gringotts vault.

Harry kept his head down for the rest of Saturday, closing up the bureau on time and heading back to his house. He built up a fire in the fireplace, warming his hands because of the coolness of the February afternoon, knowing that he had no plans until tomorrow night, which was when he was expected at the Burrow for Sunday dinner. Harry had an early night, after a steak and chip dinner, and woke up in the early morning hours of Sunday. He slipped from his bed and went for a run as a distraction, coming home after three hours and ten miles, before taking a shower and making himself some bacon and eggs for breakfast.

For the rest of the morning and afternoon, Harry went over more research on behalf of his clients, forcing himself to focus on that and not on a certain wizard by the name of Severus Snape. He was marginally successful, somehow managing to complete all that he had set out to do before going to the Burrow. One change of clothes later, had Harry Apparating onto the frost-bitten grounds of the Burrow. He pulled his winter peacoat more closely around himself, and trudged towards the front door, knocking on it with his gloved hand.

“Harry, dear,” Molly said as she pulled open the door, and gently tugged Harry into the house and into the living room. “Good to see you—it’s very cold out there tonight, isn’t it? Dinner should be ready shortly. Why don’t you go on in make yourself comfortable?” she asked, summoning his coat and gloves and hanging him up, before she patted his cheek and bustled back into the kitchen.

“Hey, Harry,” Hermione called, cuddling Rose in her lap on the couch, Ron on one side of her, while Ginny waved from her easy chair beside the fireplace, Draco perched upon the arm, and Arthur smiling in the chair opposite.

“Come and sit down, mate,” Ron said.

Harry nodded, shaking Arthur’s hand and urging him not to get up, before giving a brief hug to Draco and kissing Ginny’s cheek. He made his way over towards the couch, grinning down at his goddaughter, and went to sit beside Hermione. “Hi, Rosie-posey,” he said, and the child giggled, moving from her mother’s lap and into Harry’s.

“Hi, Uncle Harry,” she said, her voice precisely like Hermione’s, but the mischievous gleam in her eyes all her father’s. “Did Mummy tell you my brother is coming?”

Harry chuckled, as did the rest of the company, save for Hermione, who placed her head into her hands while Ron snaked an arm around her shoulders in comfort. “Of course she did,” Harry told Rose, who nodded excitedly. “Are you quite happy about it, imp?”

Rose contemplated her answer for a moment. “I suppose so,” she said, her red brows furrowing, as she proceeded to look wise beyond her years. “However, I would not wish to be supplanted in my parents’ eyes by a mere infant.”

Draco covered his mouth, while Ginny laughed aloud at that.

“Charming,” Arthur said, and Hermione glared at him.

“Dad,” Ron said, his tone whining.

“I’d better go and see if Molly needs any help in the kitchen,” said Arthur quickly, and, aided by Draco, got to his feet, before gently telling him that he had a handle on things, and slowly headed out of the living room.

“Darling,” Hermione said, which caused Rose to look over at her, “Mummy hopes that you understand that no one could ever replace you.”

“Even a new sibling,” Ron continued.

Rose considered that, tilting her red head to the side. “What about one of Uncle George’s inventions, or a new healing technique by Uncle Draco?” she queried.

Draco laughed, getting to his feet as Ginny did, for his wife’s back was stiff, and promptly sat down in her chair, before gently pulling her back into his lap and began massaging her. “She has your number, Weasel,” he declared, although there was no malice in the nickname.

Ron turned to observe his only sister and brother-in-law, and quickly narrowing his eyes at what he saw. “Kindly cease running your hands all over my sister, Ferret...”

“That ferret,” Ginny snapped, glaring right back at Ron, “happens to be my husband and the love of my life. Kindly refrain from calling him that, thank you.”

“Oi, you just called him that,” Ron whined.

“Ronald, please don’t be a child in front of Rose,” Hermione said softly.

“Well, of course I get to call him that, Ronniekins,” Ginny countered, rolling her eyes as she leaned back, deeper into her husband’s embrace. “Just a bit lower, please, love.”

“Of course, my dear,” Draco replied, and proceeded to follow her request.

“They’re being inappropriate, Hermione,” Ron continued, his tone still a whine. “I don’t want Rosie getting any ideas.”

“The only thing I see happening, Ron,” Hermione said, her tone slowing down as she drove her point home, “is a man—who is also a trained healer, mind you—assisting his wife. It doesn’t matter if she’s your sister—she’s a grown woman now, and she can handle herself.”

Ginny beamed at her sister-in-law. “Thank you, Hermione,” she said.

“It makes me uncomfortable,” Ron muttered.

Hermione scoffed. “Please. You did worse things for me when I was carrying Rose. Who’s to say that Draco is doing anything untoward?”

“Hermione!” Ron cried out, while the rest of the company giggled, and Rose looked back and forth between everyone, trying to figure out the supposed joke.

Molly bustled back out of the kitchen, a smile on her face. “Come along, you lot,” she said, and smiled proudly when both Ron and Draco helped their respective wives to their feet. “Arthur has just gotten the roast and the fixings onto the table. Let’s eat, shall we?”

Harry carried Rose towards the table in the kitchen, while Ron held onto Hermione’s hand, and Draco gently guided Ginny in by the waist. They moved to their respective chairs, watching hungrily as Arthur carefully carved up the roast, and all rubbed their hands together. “No Bill, Fleur, Victoire, and Dominique tonight?” Harry asked.

“Minor case of Dragon Pox, poor things,” Molly said softly. “What with Ginny and Hermione’s pregnancies, it would be considered doubly unsafe for them to be here. I know that you’re anxious to see your cousins, darling,” Molly went on, giving Rose a small smile, “but you’d be in danger as well.”

“I’ve been inoculated,” Rose put in.

“It doesn’t always take,” Draco told his niece with a small smile. “Sometimes these things go wrong, but they’re remedying things medically every single day.”

“Charlie’s still in Romania, and Percy’s on his honeymoon with Audrey,” Hermione said, thinking aloud as she cut Rose’s meat for her, “but that doesn’t explain George and Angelina’s absence, as well as little Fred’s...”

“Fred is with Angelina’s mother and father this evening, while George and Angelina are trying for some ‘alone time’,” Arthur said, putting the words in air quotes.

Hermione grinned, knowing, just as Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco, and Molly did that George and Angelina had been trying to get pregnant again for nearly two years. “Well, I hope they’re successful in all that they do,” she remarked softly.

“She’s been working double shifts at St. Mungo’s for the last several weeks, just to make sure she gets the time off,” Draco put in.

“Are you ever on similar rotations?” Harry asked.

“Sometimes,” Draco told him. “Just depends on the day, the schedule, and how many healers we have on staff. Plus, if there’s a case of Dragon Pox or something like that, they’re likely to want to call in specific experts.”

“How are things at the bureau going, Harry?” Molly asked. “Fleur and Charlie tell us about their work, naturally, but we seldom hear about yours.”

“As a matter of fact, Neville came in the other day,” Harry told her, moving his boiled potatoes in the generous splash of gravy on his plate. “Wanted to go somewhere with Luna for the holiday.”

“Where is Neville taking Luna, then?” Arthur asked.

“The Ukraine,” Harry responded. “There’s a lovely little hotel there, with a small restaurant, as well as a petting zoo.”

“Oh, that’s just the kind of thing Luna would like,” Ginny said fondly.

“Any other clients of merit recently, Harry?” Arthur wanted to know.

“Snape went in to see him yesterday,” Ron said with a smirk.

“He had mentioned he was invited to the Potions Guild,” Draco said quietly, and Ginny nodded from beside him. “Did you arrange his trip, Harry?”

Harry nodded, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. “Yes. A lovely wizarding hotel in Switzerland has offered him a place. I’d say he’s looking forward to it.”

“Naturally,” Draco said, nodding. “It’s a high honor to be invited.”

“Just as you were honored at the Healer’s Christmas Gala at St. Mungo’s,” Ginny said, leaning over and kissing her husband’s cheek.

Ron made a face, looking like he would push his plate away from him, before Hermione levitated another helping of roast towards him. “Most Charming Bedside Manner indeed,” he muttered, and Ginny glared at him. “We all know it’s a popularity contest, Gin. And St. Mungo’s didn’t honor him—Witch Weekly did.”

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed, kicking her husband again.

Harry continued to eat his meal, and even indulged in two helpings of bread and butter pudding with creamy custard for his dessert. Of course, he hugged and kissed everyone in turn when his time for departure had arrived, and Apparated directly back to his home. Since permitting Kreacher to stay on at Hogwarts, Harry now lived by himself, which was normally quite fine with him, but, on nights like tonight, when he saw and heard about his friends and family settling into their next phases of life, he felt utterly lonely.

The cure-all for Harry’s loneliness was to throw himself into work at the bureau, which he did with vigor once the next week had arrived. By Wednesday, he was eons ahead in his schedule, which was a good thing, as Ginny was away at a healer’s appointment. He Floo-Called The Leaky for a late lunch, chewing his bangers and mash as he religiously looked at the new client applications, which filtered in every month or so. He knew entirely well that he wasn’t doing his best work, but what else could he do? He was head over wand for a man who had seemingly hated him for years, and now...

“Ah, so this is where I find you, then,” Hermione said, tutting as she made her way into his office and sat down without being asked.

“At my place of work?” Harry asked, not looking up, trying and failing to concentrate on the quill scratches upon the parchment before him.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, how very charming,” she said, leaning back into the chair. “Now, do you want to try your greeting a second time?”

Harry sighed, trying his best not to be annoyed with her as he pushed the parchments of the new client applications away from him, and set about making them cups of tea. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

Hermione pursed her lips. “You’ve ignored my owls, and are always conveniently busy whenever I try to Floo you,” she said impatiently. “A friend always knows when something’s bothering someone they care about. Come on, Harry,” she said, giving him a small smile. “You can tell me, you know.”

Harry swallowed. “Would you believe me if I said it was nothing?”

“Not a chance,” Hermione replied without missing a beat. “Try again.”

“It’s Severus.”

Hermine nodded at him. “I figured as much.” She took the cup on offer and added a splash of milk and two sugars to it, before twisting her finger about to make the spoon stir it. “So, what are you going to do about it, then?”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione tried her best to be patient with him. “You’ve been wanting him since you were sixteen, Harry—that’s nearly a decade of wanting,” she pointed out.

“How am I to know that the want is reciprocated?”

“Well, go by what you feel and, in failing that, look for signs.”

Harry dragged a hand through his hair, utterly ignoring his own cup of tea. “I may be a wizard, Hermione, but I’m bloody inept when it comes to romance. I only kissed Ginny and Cho, not to mention that, even when I figured out I was into blokes, I knew I only wanted one, so I never even allowed myself to...”

“You’re famous, Harry,” Hermione gently reminded him. “It’s perfectly reasonable that you wouldn’t go to great lengths to get fucked.”

Harry went red to his ears. “Blimey, Hermione. How did you know that I...?”

“Because I know you,” she said simply. “As your best friend, let me ask you this. When was the last time you took off work?”

“Off work?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes again. “It’s not such a foreign concept.”

Harry pursed his lips. “Well, I had some time off for Christmas and the New Year...”

“Ministry-sanctioned days off don’t count. What about the summer?”

“A week, for my birthday. But the summer is such a busy time, I didn’t want to be away for much longer than that.”

“There you go—it’s been over six months since you’ve had substantial time.” Hermione grinned at him. “Why don’t you take some time?”

“Take some time?”

“Yes. Get away for the weekend.”

“Hermione, I have lots of clients who...”

“Who can deal with a replacement for four days.”

“A replacement?”

“I’ve some time off saved,” Hermione told him. “Let me help you. You go to Switzerland, and I’ll fill in here for you.”

“Hermione...”

“Didn’t the goblins tell you that your parents had a chalet over there?”

Harry raised his eyebrows; come to think of it, they had. “Yes,” he replied. “Last time it was used was when my grandparents, Fleamont and Euphemia, went on their honeymoon. I suppose it could do with an airing-out, at the very least...”

“There you are,” Hermione said, her tone gleeful. “And, while you’re there, you could go to the Potions Guild. You did get an invitation, didn’t you?”

Harry rubbed his forehead; he had, of course, gotten an invitation to all the great Wizarding World functions, ever since he’d defeated Voldemort. He hardly ever went, though, instead sending his apologies to the organizations in question. However, he suddenly remembered he’d neglected to do so to the Potions Guild, so there was still a chance...

“All right, Hermione,” Harry said, getting to his feet and summoning all of his necessary possessions from his office and, after shrinking them down, banished them into the pockets of his winter coat. “I suppose I’m off to Switzerland, then.”

~*~

The Potter chalet in Switzerland was beautiful; nestled within the alps and covered so prettily with a white blanket of snow, it looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. The wood was carved expertly, with the balcony done up in intricate shapes that dangled icicles, while the inside was homey and bright. There was an old-fashioned stove in the kitchen, made from white porcelain and painted delicately with pink flowers; other white furniture dotted the place, except it too was carved wood.

Since Harry seldom traveled anywhere, it was extremely easy to obtain an international portkey from the Ministry of Magic, which Kingsley had sanctioned himself on his behalf. As Harry puttered around what would be his home for the next several nights, he thought back to the day before, after Hermione had urged him out of the office. He had made a mad dash for Madam Malkin’s, and put in a rush order for a new pair of suitable dress robes for the guild itself, as well as some suitable mountain winter wear. Complete with fur-lined boots, jackets, thicker pants, and even a hat which rivaled Viktor Krum’s Durmstrang uniform, Harry believed he was outfitted quite appropriately. His dress robes, according to Madam Malkin, would arrive in due time before the Potions Guild celebrations, so he had nothing to worry about.

Once he’d completed his unpacking, Harry had Apparated down into the village, using the coordinates that Hermione had given him, and appeared in an alleyway just off the main road. He quickly stepped out onto the road itself and made his way down it, admiring the local architecture and the language that everyone was speaking around him. The town too was covered in a generous blanket of snow, and he was relieved for his boots, which kept the cold, and the snow, at bay.

It was just after lunch that Thursday afternoon, so Harry thought it best to pop into a local restaurant to eat, before finding a grocer and heading back to the chalet. Finding a gorgeous building just up the lane, Harry immediately stepped inside, entering another world entirely, complete with a grand staircase, paintings on the muted yellow walls, and circular and square tables covered with white tablecloths. The hostess greeted him promptly, and Harry requested a table for lunch, and was promptly brought to one along the wall of the dining room. He got a copy of the menu in English—which was a relief, as he couldn’t read German—and settled into his chair to decide what to have for lunch.

Harry started his meal with the pumpkin soup, which was delicious, and warmed his throat just the right amount. For his main, he selected a veal with breadcrumbs and shoestring potatoes, which just sounded delicious. And, for his dessert, he chose the pear tart, which seemed to be the perfect way to end things. The waiter recommended the Four Graces, a pinot noir, to go with his meal, and Harry took the recommendation.

Once he’d settled the bill, he asked the kind hostess for directions to a market, and was relieved to know there were several close by. He selected one at random, and found a secluded space to Apparate, using the map the young woman had drawn for him. It was a pleasant place, and Harry stocked up on plenty of vittles to last him throughout the trip. Since it was going to be cold, he bought a little extra, knowing that he would need to eat a lot to keep up. Once back outside, he found another area of seclusion and Apparated back to the chalet, familiarizing himself with the kitchen and putting things away in their proper places.

On the night of the Potions Guild, Harry’s dress robes had arrived, and he was growing more and more nervous as each minute passed by. One of the three gentlemen in charge of the evening, a Master Nicholas Marklund, had sent Harry a portkey to take him directly into the foyer outside the room in question, which Harry learned was known as the Baroque Hall of the Hotel Bären Langenthal. When the portkey activated, Harry was prepared, and landed somewhat gracefully in the foyer. He made his way towards the entrance and stepped inside, relieved that nobody would be announcing him this evening.

Looking around, Harry accepted a flute of champagne from an offered silver tray, and made his way around the room, not in the least wanting to call attention to himself. Turning at the sound of a velvet and intoxicating voice, he, at last, spotted Severus across the room. Standing beside him was Blaise Zabini, who appeared to be introducing him to a fair-skinned, blond variation of himself. Harry’s eyes widened—it was none other than Arvid Magnuson, Blaise’s Swedish cousin who had attended Beauxbatons, and was a potions prodigy. Harry’s eyes widened then as Arvid whispered something into Severus’s ear, and the slow smile the older man gave in return.

“Ah, Mr. Potter.”

Harry turned around then, smiling automatically at who must have been Nicholas Marklund, who had provided him with the portkey earlier. “Master Marklund, I presume?”

“Nicholas, please,” the man said fondly; he had chestnut-brown hair and striking blue eyes, and, although very handsome, he couldn’t hold a candle to Severus in Harry’s eyes. “Are you quite enjoying yourself this evening, Mr. Potter?”

“Please, call me Harry,” Harry requested gently, sipping at his champagne. “And yes, I suppose I am, thank you. The hall is beautiful.”

“Yes, isn’t it just?” Nicholas purred, never taking his eyes from Harry, which made the younger wizard a bit nervous. “Are you here alone?”

“Yes, Nicholas,” Harry said, forcing his nerves not to come out to play.

“But, surely, you know some of our other guests...”

“Master Snape and Mr. Zabini, I am familiar with,” Harry responded.

“Naturally, for Master Snape was your instructor for many years, and Mr. Zabini was in your year at Hogwarts. Different houses, though, am I correct?”

“Mr. Zabini was a Slytherin, yes, and I sorted Gryffindor,” Harry told him.

Nicholas looked fondly down at Harry, although his eyes were predatory, as if Harry was a delicious dessert. “And do you get on with them?”

“When I see them,” Harry said softly. “I assisted Master Snape in getting his accommodation for his trip...”

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard a great many things about Gryffin’s Wing, all of them positive,” Nicholas remarked. “And what is your accommodation, Harry?”

“My family’s chalet,” Harry said, gripping onto his flute of champagne.

“Perhaps you could give me the grand tour,” Nicholas suggested, running his fingers down the side of Harry’s face.

“Well, I...” Harry said, peeking over to where Severus was, and saw that Arvid was whispering to the man again, only this time, he was caressing the lapels of his dress robes. The champagne flute shattered in Harry’s hand, and the chandeliers shook from their places on the intricately decorated high ceilings.

“You’re bleeding.”

Harry lowered his eyes towards his hand, noticing that the champagne flute had slashed at his fingers and palm. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he said quietly, feeling Severus’s eyes upon him from across the hall. “If you would excuse me...”

Harry didn’t wait for a reply, and instead ran back towards the entrance, and Disapparated, landing in a heap in the main room of the chalet. Physically, he could have been better; emotionally, however, he was a complete wreck. Sobbing as he continued dripping blood onto the wooden floor, Harry almost didn’t hear the pounding upon the front door of the chalet. He got unsteadily to his feet, he made his way over to it and peered through the spyhole. Shaking slightly at the sight of his irate former potions master, Harry quickly unlatched the door and opened it, staring up at him with tear-filled eyes and a still-bloodied hand.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice from quivering at the dark look he was currently the receiving end of.

Severus’s eyes momentarily softened as he invited himself in without being asked and shut the door behind him. “Come along, now, Harry. You and I both know that that cannot possibly be comfortable,” he said, gently pushing him into the living room and onto one of the couches. Reaching into his robes and producing a bottle and a flannel, plus a pair of tweezers, he gently removed the shards of glass lodged in Harry’s skin. Once he’d accomplished that task, he set to work on cleaning and closing the wounds, before he returned the supplies into his robes. “Now,” he said, not looking away from Harry, “would you care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Harry swallowed. “‘Here’, as in my grandparents’ chalet, or ‘here’, as in Switzerland?”

Severus’s face bordered on amusement as he smirked. “Switzerland,” he responded, “as well as the Potions Guild just a few moments prior. It is not my business where you stay while you are here, although,” he said, looking around, “this place is rather nice.”

Harry sighed. “I followed you.”

Severus arched an eyebrow. “You followed me?”

“Yes,” Harry responded, “because you drive me crazy; have done since I was sixteen. That’s how long I’ve wanted you, Severus, and I don’t see this ever going away, considering that the very idea of anyone else touching me in such an intimate way revolts me...”

“Yes,” Severus said, lips curling into a malevolent sneer, “Marklund has always proved himself to be rather...demonstrative with younger, attractive guests at the guild.”

Harry gasped. “Attractive?”

“Surely you own a mirror, Harry?”

Harry scoffed. “Yes. And all I see is too-pale skin, wild hair, and a too thin body that, no matter how much I eat, refuses to gain weight properly...”

Severus smiled. “I find you very attractive, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. “You do?”

“I do,” Severus responded, leaning in and pressing his lips to Harry’s.

Harry immediately found himself wrapping his arms around Severus’s shoulders without missing a beat, while the older man anchored his mouth to his. Harry mewled into his mouth, knowing that he had imagined this moment from the time he was a teenager. The time that had gone by hadn’t mattered; all that did was here and now, and the way the man was unbuttoning his dress robes.

Severus, Harry reasoned, had grown impatient, and snapped his fingers, leaving the pair of them naked upon the couch of the living room of the chalet. Wandlessly and wordlessly, he summoned a bottle of something, and proceeded to stretch Harry, as Harry himself groaned beneath him, parting his legs further still. He didn’t mind that it was going so quickly; he had wanted this man for nearly a decade, and he wanted him now. Arching upwards at the sensations Severus brought forth, Harry was quite soon stretched around three fingers, before the fingers were withdrawn, and the potions master slathered up his beautiful and massive member.

“Please,” Harry whispered.

“Your wish is my command,” Severus said, and plunged himself inside.

Harry clenched his teeth so as not to cry out, and was relieved to see that Severus didn’t seem to be taken aback by the tightness around him. Harry wrapped his legs around Severus’s torso, and permitted himself to be fucked, hard, upon the couch. Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head as the tip of Severus’s cock pounded at his prostate, and as the man sucked delicately upon his neck, although hard enough to leave a mark.

“Merlin,” Harry moaned.

“Say my name,” Severus whispered.

“S... Severus,” Harry said, his voice coming out reminiscent of a squeal, as he pulled the man towards him, and their lips met once more. Harry rolled his hips, not about to be a passive participant, and Severus growled, grabbing ahold of him and gyrating against him, seemingly not wanting to let him go.

“Gods, Harry,” Severus groaned, pounding into him, faster and faster. He reached in between the two of them then, and took ahold of Harry’s own cock, and smirked when Harry mewled at his intimate touch. “Come for me, Harry.”

“Severus!” Harry shouted and, in two pulls, pulsated over the older man’s hand.

“Harry,” Severus moaned, spilling himself inside the younger man.

Harry slowly smiled up at him, on the verge of exhaustion. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Severus leaned down, caressing Harry’s now-closed eyelids with his lips. He waited until the younger man’s breathing had evened out, before casting a Cleaning Charm upon them both, and gathered his belongings. Giving Harry one final glance, he whispered, “Now perhaps your curiosities have been fully explored,” before he stepped out into the swirling snow, and Apparated back to his hotel.

~*~

After waking up sore and alone in the chalet, Harry began to wonder if he had been used and abandoned by the one person he had ever truly wanted. Resolving to put the entirety of the previous evening out of his mind, he took a shower and cleaned up the place, making himself a simple breakfast as he waited for his portkey to arrive. Harry utilized it once it did, returning home to London immediately thereafter. Ron and Hermione knew what time he was due to return, and also knew that he would be sleeping off the trip, and wouldn’t be at the Burrow that evening for Sunday dinner.

By the time the weekdays had begun, Harry began to feel as if Switzerland had been a mere blip in his lifetime, and threw himself back into his work. He took on several new clients, and referred others to his fellow employees when he thought they’d do a better job than he would. It didn’t surprise him that Severus didn’t reach out as February bled into March, and then March into April, and even though it hurt him beyond measure, he forced himself to focus on his career and would not allow self-pity to get to him.

It was the final work day at Gryffin’s Wing before the Easter holidays when Luna, now back working at the reception desk after her engagement with Neville had gone public, sent in a well-dressed man in a three-piece suit to Harry’s office. Harry promptly got to his feet and shook the unfamiliar man’s hand, wanting to appear polite to this stranger.

“Good afternoon to you, Mr. Potter. It is a pleasure,” the man said politely, taking the seat on offer and clasping his high-priced briefcase in his hand. “My name is Elbert Reynards, and I am a representative for Gilderoy Lockhart.”

Harry swallowed. “Yes, I see.”

“Thanks to many innovations availed to St. Mungo’s,” Reynards went on, “we’ve been able to get him to admit to specific people he has wronged over the years, most notably the historians and creature experts he stole from to become a bestselling author.”

“And everyone else?”

“He attempted, and failed, to use a Memory Charm on both you and Mr. Ronald Weasley during your second-year at Hogwarts, which would have, if successful, resulted in the death of the now Mrs. Ginevra Malfoy,” he continued. “As such, Gilderoy is now divvying up his estate accordingly, and you’re to receive a million Galleons.”

Harry’s eyes popped. “A million Galleons?” he whispered.

“A million Galleons,” Reynards confirmed.

Harry shook slightly in his chair then, before he promptly leaned over the side of it and vomited his breakfast out onto the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said feebly, cleaning up the vomit and extinguishing its smell, before casting a Cleaning Charm upon his mouth. “I’ve not been myself lately... Was there anything else?”

Reynards smiled. “Believe me, it’s not the worst reaction I’ve ever gotten,” the man told him, reaching into his briefcase and handing over a check. “I assure you, you won’t find anything untoward with the money. It’s all there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Reynards,” Harry responded. He saw Reynards out when it was clear their business was complete, before he left the office himself, hastily telling Luna he would be out of the bureau for the rest of the work day. He made his way to Gringotts in a rush and deposited the money, took a meeting with his goblin, and discussed what should be done with the value he’d been given. “Could I see that list of my properties again, please?” he asked.

“Of course, Mr. Potter,” the goblin said lowly, snapping his gnarled fingers, and the various parchments made themselves available to him.

“That’s lovely,” he said, gazing down at one—the villa in Italy.

“Iolanthe Peverell brought it with her in her marriage to Hardwin Potter,” the goblin explained in a reverent manner. “Her mother, Bellaluccia di Scenza, sole heir of her own father, Pietro, was born and raised there.”

Harry peered more closely at the available photographs of the villa. “You once mentioned that it would be prudent to expand Gryffin’s Wing...”

“I did,” the goblin responded.

“Other than the villa itself, do I own any other property in Italy?” he asked, looking up at the goblin with a smile.

“Mr. Potter should be careful as time passes,” the goblin said softly, snapping his fingers again and providing Harry with the information he wanted, “for he is not alone anymore.”

Although Ron and Hermione thought it was mad, Rose was convinced that there was a grand adventure awaiting Harry in Verona. Harry took the portkey there the very next day, and aired out both the villa and the building, deciding it would make a perfect bed and breakfast as opposed to a travel agency. He dubbed it Hedwig’s Heart, and got in touch with the Italian Minister of Magic via Kingsley, who agreed to help Harry promote the business.

“It all sounds wonderful, Harry,” Hermione told him, twelve weeks later, when he could finally accept a Floo-Call from her.

“It has been,” Harry responded. He hesitated for a moment, and whispered, “You know, don’t you, ‘Mione? You know that I’m pregnant?”

Hermione sighed. “I did suspect,” she admitted. “It’s Severus’s, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded. “Yes.”

“He came by Gryffin’s Wing several times over the last several weeks,” Hermione told him, and Harry’s attention perked up at that. “I always let him see me, but Luna said he ran off after only a couple of minutes earlier today. I don’t know why, though, but he seemed determined when he ran off like that...”

Harry shrugged. “Probably forgot about a potion was about to boil over,” he joked.

“Excuse me, Harry?”

Harry held up a finger. “One second, Hermione,” he said, and smiled up at the lovely, raven-haired Valentina de Luca, who just so happened to be his bubbly receptionist for the bed and breakfast. “Yes, Titi?” he asked.

She smiled, the look meeting her violet eyes, as she was clearly pleased that he remembered her preference to be called by her nickname; she was the niece of the Italian Minister of Magic, had already become a great friend of Harry’s, and was already in a courtship with one Charlie Weasley, who had come to Italy to visit during Harry’s first week. “You’ve a visitor in the green room,” she said, mentioning the drawing room beside the foyer. “He told me to tell you that it was urgent.”

Harry nodded at her, knowing that the hospitality business was a never-ending one. “Of course. I’ll be along shortly. Please make sure he is comfortable, and has everything he needs, Titi.”

“Of course, Harry,” the young woman replied, and slipped back out to do just that.

“Sorry about that, ‘Mione,” Harry said, giving his best friend a beseeching look. “I’m going to have to let you go.”

“No problem at all, Harry,” she said, smiling indulgently through the flames at him. “We’ll talk soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, soon,” Harry assured her, cutting the connection and getting to his feet.

It was a beautiful late-afternoon in May, so the temperatures were naturally very warm. Harry dragged a hand down his swollen belly, feeling relieved that the establishment, like Gryffin’s Wing, was entirely magical, so he never had to hide his growing bump. Making his way out of his office and through the foyer, he nodded at Valentina, who gestured towards the door of the green room with a smile. Smiling back at her, he crossed towards the door and opened it, making his way inside and looking around.

Nearly stumbling backwards at the sight before him, Harry promptly shut the door behind him, cursing himself for not employing the use of a Disillusionment Charm. “Severus!” he cried out, his tone shaking with a fair amount of emotion. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to come, Harry, especially after a rather strange conversation I had with young Miss Rose Granger-Weasley, in which she spoke at length about you feeling quite melancholy after your return from Switzerland.”

Harry stood stiffly before the man, knowing that he would have to have Ron and Hermione give Rose a stern lecture on proper decorum next time he saw them. “Oh, did she now?” he asked, not letting anything on, which was simple, due to the fact that he was speaking through clenched teeth.

“Yes,” he responded shortly, “for, apparently, her godfather and favorite uncle has been exceptionally distant towards everyone of late. Miss Granger-Weasley saw fit to tell me that there was no longer any light in your eyes, and that all you seem to have time for is your flourishing businesses, and as well as your expanding waistline.”

Harry continued to grit his teeth. “If you’ve only come all the way here to insult me, Severus, I must ask you to leave now.”

Severus sighed. “That’s not why I came, Harry. I came here to discuss my feelings...”

“And what feelings are those?” Harry whispered. “Lack thereof for me, I’ll bet. How you could sweep in one moment, only to ignore me the next...”

“Harry, I understand if you have something to say, but my feelings are—”

“And how about my feelings?!” Harry demanded, tired of standing his ground. “I may not have spelled it out for you, that night at the chalet, but I’m fucking in love with you, Severus Snape, and have been since my sixth-year!”

Severus’s eyes widened. “What?” he whispered. “You are...?”

“Of course I am, you absolute pillock!” he snapped. “It gutted me when I woke up and found that you’d gone, but I didn’t know what else to do!”

“I was not aware of this,” Severus said quietly.

“Of course you weren’t, considering I hid everything from you,” Harry said, the heat flowing through his entire body. “You’re a private man, that much I know, and you only admitted to finding me attractive, so how am I to know whether or not you feel anything remotely genuine towards me—!”

Severus crossed the room then in quick strides, slamming his mouth onto Harry’s, and wrapping his arms around him as quickly as he dared. “It killed me to leave you,” he murmured against his lips, and Harry pulled back slightly, tears muddling his vision for a moment or two.

“Wha... What?” Harry whispered, stunned, as the man crushed him against him with an exuberant amount of possession, which drove passion and fire through Harry’s veins. “It killed you? I... I don’t... I don’t understand...”

Severus lowered his eyes. “I hate to admit it, but I believed it was a mere experiment on your part, and I absolutely despise being vulnerable, but I had to tell you, Harry, I had to...”

Gently, Harry tilted the man’s chin up. “Tell me what, Severus?” he whispered.

Severus shuddered at Harry’s touch. “I... I had to tell you that I’ve wanted you since you came out of the maze during your fourth-year, Harry, broken and bleeding before the spectators, when all I wanted to do was clasp you in my arms and flee with you...”

Tears sprang onto Harry’s eyelashes. “You wanted to run away with me?” he whispered, his voice trembling, as he clutched at the man’s robes.

“Do you doubt it?” Severus asked him with a small smile, before seriousness returned. “I’ve never known love, Harry, and yet I allowed myself the illusion of it, that night that I shared with you,” he whispered.

Harry shut his eyes. “Love,” he whispered, resting his head upon Severus’s shoulder, tremors causing the entirety of his body to shiver.

Severus clutched him close. “I made it impersonal, however, on purpose, for I did not think I would ever get the opportunity to touch you again. I did so, because I could not allow myself to show you all of me, for my vulnerability had already been shot. I thought it was what you wanted, for you never told me to stop...”

“It was all I knew,” Harry confessed, shaking in Severus’s arms.

Severus’s eyes widened, and pulled the younger man backwards, searching his expression with complete regret. “You... You mean you hadn’t...?”

“No, of course I hadn’t,” Harry told him, shutting his eyes.

“Oh, Harry,” Severus said, stroking his back, “I fear I’ve wounded you beyond repair...”

“You haven’t,” Harry said softly, opening his eyes. “I promise.”

Severus hesitated. “Then why do I sense many unspoken things between us?”

“Because... Well, because,” Harry said, stumbling over his words. “I wanted to know if...”

“Ask me anything, Harry, and I shall answer,” Severus said softly.

Harry bit down hard on his lower lip, and pressed close to Severus again, for his scent was downright intoxicating, and he was afraid to let him go. “Please... Just, please, tell me that there’s nothing going on between you and Arvid?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Arvid?” he demanded. “Absolutely not. Arvid Magnuson, while brilliant in an unparalleled manner when it comes to potions, gets drunk notoriously easily, and is quite affectionate at the best, and worst, of times, and never seems to consider whether or not physical contact is appropriate. Blaise, in his infinite wisdom, has tried to get the two of us together, on more than one occasion, but I could not, as my heart, as you now know, belongs solely to you.”

“It does?” Harry whispered, gently touching where Severus’s heart was beating.

“It does,” Severus confirmed, covering his hands with Harry’s.

Harry lowered his eyes, trembling once more, as his final secret threatened to pass forth from his lips before he was ready to declare it to the man he loved. “And now... Now, I’m afraid of being rejected once more, because I don’t know if you want your child that I’m carrying...”

Severus silenced Harry by kissing him once again. “Of course I want this child, Harry. I love you, and I’ll stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Harry bit his lip. “Where, then?” he asked. “Where in the world would you want to have our forever, Severus? London, Ireland, Switzerland, or here, in Verona?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders.

Severus gently cupped Harry’s face in his hands, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the tears which trailed down his cheeks. “I cannot fathom why you would even consider forever with me, Harry, for I have been unspeakable...”

Harry carefully reached up and placed his fingers onto Severus’s lips. “I can fathom it, Severus, because I’m bloody in love with you,” he responded.

Severus smiled slowly then, leaning down and pressing his lips to Harry’s. “So, my love, where shall we have our forever?”

“Ireland,” Harry responded, and Severus looked shocked. “You can continue to work in your apothecary, and I can raise the children at home.”

“And Gryffin’s Wing?”

Harry grinned. “Hermione’s been running it on my behalf, rather successfully, mind you. I think she’s had enough of the ministry for this lifetime. Plus, she can set her own hours, and Floo to Hogwarts to be with Ron, or to the Burrow to see Rose during the day, whenever she wants.”

“I had heard that Ronald was taking over for Rolanda,” Severus said softly.

“It’s quite true,” Harry assured him.

Severus gently placed his hands upon Harry’s waist, almost as if he was afraid to let him go as well, now that he had him. “And how about this place? Hedwig’s Heart, you called it?”

“I think I’ll give it to Charlie and Valentina for a wedding gift,” he said, nestling himself deeply into Severus’s arms. “I’ve had enough of running businesses myself. Now, I want to run a household, marry the man I love, and raise our children.”

“Marry?”

Harry looked up at Severus. “Yes, I want to marry you,” he told him.

Severus smiled at him, pressing his lips to his. “Splendid. We’ll need to go shopping for bonding rings before we return to England.”

Harry smiled up at the man. “Sounds wonderful,” he responded.

“My Harry,” Severus whispered, leaning down to kiss him.

“My Severus,” Harry responded, getting up onto his toes to accept the kiss.

~*~

Epilogue: Seven Years Later

Harry stood upon the terrace of Mayfield House in Ireland, watching as his husband frolicked with their daughter, Lily, as well as Hugo (Ron and Hermione’s son), Scorpius, Rosemary and Poppy (Ginny and Draco’s children), Louis (Bill and Fleur’s son), Basil and Cecily (Neville and Luna’s twins), Luca, Marcello, Evelina, and Violetta (Charlie and Valentina’s children), plus Fred and Roxanne (George and Angelina’s children), Lucy and Molly (Percy and his wife, Audrey’s, two daughters), and Hunter and Silas (Blaise and Daphne’s two sons). Severus was currently blindfolded, and was dashing about the expansive garden, which was beautifully overgrown with wildflowers, while the children made chase, trying to get caught and evaded all at once. Severus was grinning, his beautiful hands extended outwards, doing his best to catch at least one child.

“He’s a changed man, isn’t he?” asked Hermione from beside Harry.

Harry nodded, looking away from his husband for a moment to gaze upon the company around him; Ron and Hermione were on one side, with Rose and Dominique sitting at their feet, their noses in a book as per usual; Neville and Luna were on his other side, cheering their children on; Dean and Seamus stood with George and Angelina, the latter of whom was giving them advice about Seamus’s triplet pregnancy; plus there was Audrey, attempting to get Percy away from work for at least a few hours; and Ginny and Draco, as much in love as ever, whispering about potentially having another baby. Molly and Andromeda were busy in the kitchen, while Arthur walked back and forth, checking on everyone. Bill, Blaise, and Charlie were comparing notes about Gringotts versus apothecaries versus travel businesses, while Fleur, Daphne, and Valentina were speaking about London versus Parisian versus Italian fashion.

“He is very much changed,” Harry said at last, turning back to smile at Hermione, his gaze momentarily taken up by Teddy and Victoire, who were holding hands at the edge of the garden, blushes on both their faces. “For the better, I’d say.”

“I remember I said, ‘better you than me, mate’ on your bonding day, Harry,” Ron said, smiling as Hugo managed to evade Severus with the keen insight of a Seeker, “but even I see that you’re meant for one another now.”

Hermione smiled, taking her husband’s hand. “It’s such a pity that Narcissa couldn’t make it today,” she said, a little sadly.

Harry nodded; Lucius had hung on as long as he could, living long enough to celebrate Scorpius’s second birthday, much to their surprise. However, his weakened state had never managed to improve, and he had peacefully passed away in his sleep five winters previously. Surprisingly, despite their own close friendship, Harry was pleased to see that Draco bore no ill will towards Blaise when he had married Daphne Greengrass, and was instead nothing but pleased for his Slytherin brother-in-arms. Daphne herself was very remorseful about Lucius Malfoy’s fate, and would frequently go to Malfoy Manor just to sit with Narcissa. They didn’t often speak, but Narcissa was pleased for the company, for she no longer left the manor unless she absolutely had to, due to her grieving for the love of her life.

“I saw her last week, when Severus was dropping off her potions,” he said softly. He was immensely proud of his husband, who had developed potions, with the assistance of mind healers, for mental health. Saffron Spirit, to aid in depression, had worked wonders, and now, the man was working on something for anxiety, tentatively called Lavender Libation.

“How was she, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“The same,” Harry admitted. “The life has returned to her eyes, to be sure, but I’m afraid that she won’t be the same again.”

Hermione sighed. “Poor Narcissa,” she said softly.

Harry looked back at the garden then as there was a squeal, and grinned as he spotted Severus holding Lily aloft in a triumphant manner. He smirked as Lily took off Severus’s blindfold, and the man clasped his daughter tightly in his arms. No matter what his husband said, Harry was quite positive that Lily was a Gryffindor.

“When are you going to tell him, mate?” Ron whispered as everyone cheered.

“Soon,” Harry said, quite pleased that he was expecting another child, a son this time.

“Time to eat!” Molly called, as she and Andromeda began piling dish after dish upon the massive table they’d set up on the other side of the garden, complete with a smaller table for the younger children just beside it.

Harry watched as everyone ran forward, eager to sample everything that Molly and Andromeda had made together. Turning as he felt his husband’s eyes upon him, Harry smiled slowly then, and gently caressed his stomach. Severus’s eyes darkened then, and Harry looked forward to the delicious ache in his arse he would have later.

They’d been trying to have a second child for years, and now it seemed that Merlin and Circe had blessed them with one at just the right time. Severus crossed the garden and kissed his husband, never ceasing to make his toes curl.

“Please, excuse us for a moment. Enjoy,” Severus said, and dragged Harry through the high grass, the smatterings of wildflowers, and around the bend, towards the massive weeping willow around the side of the house, which Severus and Harry couldn’t bear to part with. Taking his husbands’ hand and leading him beneath the eaves, Harry grinned up at him as he was placed gently upon the edge of the bark of the trunk, and Severus cupped his stomach. “Is it true, my love?” came Severus’s breathless whisper.

Harry nodded up at him, his green eyes glowing with love, lust, and happiness. “It’s true, Severus,” he confirmed. “While you and Lily had tea with Minerva earlier this week, I may have taken myself to the hospital wing. Poppy was overjoyed,” he said softly.

Severus smiled, tears threatening to escape his coal-black eyes as they drifted from the slight swell of Harry’s belly and upwards, to gaze upon his husband’s face. “Thank you, my Harry,” he whispered, “for making this life mine.”

Harry grinned up at him. “And thank you, Severus,” came the younger man’s reply, “for making this life mine.”

Severus tilted his husband’s chin upwards, and leaned down towards him. “Always,” he replied, as their lips met beneath the eaves of the weeping willow.

All was well.

THE END