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The staff room smelled faintly of wine. Harry lounged on a worn stuffed chair with a scarlet dressing gown that he’d taken to wearing in lieu of the usually prescribed teaching robes, wand twirling idly between his fingers. His hair was (as usual) a disaster.

“You could come with me,” he offered to the room, spoken in a way as if something has only just occurred to him. (He didn’t bother with a lick of context to support the suggestion.)

Severus, the only other occupant of the room, didn’t look up from his book. “Professor Potter. To what, surely unspeakable, ordeal are you attempting to conscript me?”

“Ginny’s wedding.”

Severus snorted. “Potter, why would I willingly submit myself to the celebration of the ever expanding Weasley brood, mediocre champagne, and ‘happy tears’?” he asked with verbalized air quotes.

Harry leaned forward with faux seriousness. “Everyone’s got someone. Even Charlie’s bringing his dragon handler ‘friend’ from Romania. I’ll be the sad bachelor in the corner with a plate of sausage rolls. And you’ll have to hear about it afterwards. For months. There really is no shutting me up.”

Severus turned the page of his book with exaggerated slowness. “Hardly a compelling argument."

Harry’s face sharpened slyly. “Fine. A bribe, then. You come with me and I’ll…” He thought fast. “I’ll clean your entire storeroom cupboard. Alphabetize everything. Restock your ingredients from the apothecary of your choice on my tab.”

That got Severus’ eyes up with a flicker that was quickly extinguished.

“Tempting,” Severus said slowly. “But I’ve seen the way you maintain your own office.” 

If Harry had shame, he’d have been embarrassed.

“And my ingredients are already purchased with school gold.”

Harry sat up straighter, sensing the unspoken opportunity in the absence of ‘no.’ “All right. One month of evening dungeon patrols. I’ll cover them all. You won’t have to drag yourself out of your quarters once.”

Severus’s lips curved in the faintest smirk. “Now we approach adequacy.”

Harry threw his hands up. “Goddamn, you drive a hard bargain. Fine. Two months.”

“Three.”

“Done.” Harry thrust out his hand.

Severus eyed it with caution, holographic nail polish looking back up at him from Harry’s meticulously filed nail beds. Still, he took it, his grip cool and firm. “I expect you to keep your word, Potter.”

Harry’s grin was more dazzling than the bloody nails. “Of course. But, you’ll have to wear something I pick out.”

Severus’s eyes narrowed. “Potter,” he began a warning.

Harry cut him off, smug. “Non-negotiable.”

Severus closed his book with a thump. “You are going to regret this.”

-~-~-

A week later Harry barged into Severus’ quarters carrying a garment bag. 

“No.” Severus didn’t need to see what was in it to lodge an official protest.

“You haven’t seen it yet,” Harry said brightly, pulling out deep green robes which shimmered faintly.

“I’ve bloody well seen enough. I will not be a Slytherin mascot on parade.”

Harry clucked, stepping in close to hold the fabric against Severus’ chest. “Don’t be dramatic. It brings out your eyes. Or maybe mine?”

“I can’t speak for you, but my eyes are not up for public exhibition.”

“Shame,” Harry murmured, tugging at the collar of Severus’ old frock coat which he’d already donned. “They’re one of your best features.”

If Severus’ gaze narrowed any further, his eyes would have essentially shut. “If you continue pawning at me, Potter, I’ll transfigure that robe into a doily and make you wear it as a hat.”

Harry smirked, fingers lingering just a fraction too long at Severus’ throat as he straightened his tie. “Oh, could you please? I’m rubbish at crochet charms. Mrs. Weasley says it’s because I didn’t learn the manual way first.”

Severus had no immediate retort, but he did consider following through with the threat. “I am not attending,” Severus said, flatly. 

“You agreed,” shot Harry back at him as he manhandled Severus until the potions master swiped the garment from the younger man’s own hands and stalked away to a private corner to don it.

“And now you’re going to look splendid!”

Severus’ lip curled. “You really expect me to prance about in this… peacockery?”

Harry stepped in closer, running his finger along the velvety fabric on Severus’ chest. “Oh sir. You’ll do more than prance. You’ll smoulder. Brood. Maybe even glower. People will faint before the vows even begin.”

Severus’ hand caught Harry’s wrist. “Touch me again, Potter, and I’ll staple that robe to your hide.”

Harry didn’t flinch. He leaned in with glittering green eyes (which did indeed match Severus’ couture robes.) “You say that like you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

For a tense second they stared at one another. Severus’ grip loosened just enough for Harry to slip free and finish folding his collar.

“There,” Harry said softly, though the tone was still a bit smug. “Almost dashing. I’d shag you myself if we weren’t already scandalizing half of the guest list with your simple presence. 

Severus' breath caught (barely audible if he was lucky) but his retort came sufficiently dry, “You both overestimate your charm and underestimate my standards.”

“That’s not a no.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “And what, pray tell, are you wearing? Surely not those dressing gowns that you parade about in like a concubine?”

Harry’s grin turned a bit wicked. “Oh, I’ll change. Don’t you worry.”

Severus sneered preemptively. “I shudder to imagine what ghastly, ostentatious garments you’ve procured. Sequins? Feathers? Perhaps your torso painted red and gold to match the Weasley house colors?”

Harry disappeared into Severus’ own bedroom with a maddening wink and the command to, “Don’t move. I want you to get the full effect.”

Severus folded his arms, and if he muttered, it was low enough to not pass through the closed door to where Harry was disrobing. Then he rehearsed his words: Strumpet. Circus act. Whore.

The door opened.

Harry had clearly mistaken a wedding for a stage production. He swept out from the closet clad in bottle-green fabric so garish it might have been plucked straight from the scales of a tropical fish. The trousers were acceptable enough. They were tailored to a high waist and draped in a way that would not have offended had the rest of the ensemble possessed an ounce of restraint.

But the top? Merlin preserve him. It was sleeveless. Sleeveless. A double-breasted cut with a plunging neckline so low it seemed determined to reveal not only his chest but the very depth of his Potter-ego. Broad lapels framed bare arms as though he fancied himself some Grecian statue resurrected for Severus’ personal torment. Gold rhinestones gleamed and drew his wandering eyes downwards. He, of course, eschewed an actual shirt beneath the jacket at all.

It was not an outfit (more so an invitation.) He moved with thumbs jammed casually into his pockets, making his elbows appear self-satisfied and provoking in the most Harry Fucking Potter like manner.

Admittedly the tailoring was flawless, that the bottle green material did, in fact, suit him.

Severus forgot his practiced insult, his breath escaping before he could catch it. 

Harry turned once, the rhinestones scattering light like sparks. “Well?” he asked. His grin was cocky, but his voice carried the smallest undertone of nerves. “Do I get a pass?”

Severus’ throat worked and he took a moment to force discipline back into his tone. “You look… Insufferably vain, Potter.”

Harry sauntered closer, adjusting his collar again. “And?”

“And…” Severus faltered for words. He could not admit the truth. Harry looked devastating. His suit outlined him maddeningly. Severus wanted to stare at the V of the lapels pointed southwards. Instead, he scraped together the cruelest fragment he could, given the circumstance. “Potter, this is your ex-girlfriend’s wedding.”

Harry grinned. “So what?”

“This is indecent. Have you considered how the bride might feel, watching you preen in that from the altar?”

Mischievously, Harry cocked his head. “Severus, I’m gay as hell. She’s over it.” He tugged at his lapel, letting it fall back enough to flash more collarbone. “Honestly, she likes me better in rhinestones anyway.”

For a moment, Severus could only stare at him–scandalized yet unmoored. The confidence, the shameless tilt of Harry’s mouth. The way the clothes were made for him.

“You are insufferable,” Severus said at last, though it came out hoarse.

Harry winked. “And don’t forget devastating.”

-~-~-

The floo spat them out onto the rug in the Burrow’s crowded sitting room with a woosh. Harry stumbled forward before banishing the soot from his outfit, Severus a half-step behind him. His robes were a shade darker, and his levels of vanity several orders of magnitude lower, so he only brushed the soot off manually.

Conversation in the space faltered only momentarily, then half a dozen Weasleys returned to whatever it was Weasleys did.

“Evening all,” Harry said brightly, as if he hadn’t wandered off of the cover of Witch Weekly into the hodgepodge shack.

Ron gave his friend a platonic lookover. “Well, it’s more fabric than you wore to Malfoy’s wedding.”

“Thank you,” Harry replied as he gave a theatrical spin that sent rhinestones winking. “I find Ginny to be more worth the expense of an extra half-yard of silk.”

Hermione covered her smile with her hand.

Just then, Ginny swept into the room, still wrapped in her “Bride” bathrobe on her way to the stairs. She eyed Harry’s suit once, arched an eyebrow, and then broke into laughter. “Fuck me, Harry. Only you.” She leaned in to kiss his cheek and whispered (loud enough for Severus to catch) “You look smashing.”

Harry beamed, clearly pleased with himself. He cast Severus’ a sidelong glance that all but purred, See?

Severus scowled. “If I hex you where you stand, will anyone object?”

“Probably not,” Harry replied cheerfully. Then he slid his arm through Severus’ as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “But feel free to do it, if you want. It would still count as a proper entrance.”

-~-~-

The garden behind the Burrow had been charmed into a marquee filled with floating lanterns and polished tables. Guests milled about with glasses of pre-ceremony drinks, the hum of laughter and gossip ever present. 

Harry inserted himself into the scene like a firework in the night sky, simultaneously overshadowing and still enhancing the stars around him. He greeted people with too-bright smiles, kissed old schoolmates on the cheek, embraced every Weasley as if he’d never broken one’s heart (word on the street was that he’d actually broken two of them, though Charlie also seemed fine), and laughed like he’d never heard of shame.

Severus followed him, statue-like in his attempt to remain unperceived amongst the spectacle. 

Someone asked Severus a question that he didn’t quite catch, lost as he was in all of this, but that he understood required a response. Before he could start to say anything, Harry stepped closer and deliberately draped an arm across Severus. “Ignore him. He thinks silence is a personality trait.”

From afar, at least two of his former students gave each other knowing looks with barely stifled smiles.

Then came the first real landmine. Molly Weasley swept over with the grace of an aged mother. “Oh, Harry, love–you’ve brought someone!” Her eyes then shifted to Severus, and for one wild moment he thought she was leaning to embrace him. Instead, she clapped her hand together with a voice that was trying to be brighter than it otherwise would have been. “Well, bless me. Who would have guessed?”

“Not me,” Severus replied to the rhetorical question. 

Harry chucked, ever shameless young man that he was. “Isn’t he perfect? I told you I’d bring a plus one to remember!”

Molly’s eyes darted between them, and Severus could tell she was uncertain whether to laugh or agree. She patted Harry’s arm instead. “Well, I’ll fetch you both a plate. You must be starving.” (They weren’t.)

As she bustled away, Harry glanced sideways to his date. “See? She’s warming to you already.”

As the cocktail hour passed, Severus accepted another flute of something blessedly alcoholic from a hovering tray, ignoring the way Harry arched his brow at the man.

“That’s your third,” Harry murmured, low enough not to carry above the sound of the nearby quartet.

“I am fulfilling my end of our bargain, Potter,” Severus replied coolly. “Which, I will note, did not include a clause where I would be obligated to tolerate your inane chattering with your extended adoptive family whilst sober.”

Harry clinked his glass against Severus’ with exaggerated cheer. “Bottoms up, partner.”

Across the marquee, Fleur glided over. Her natural Veela glamour elegant as ever. “‘Arry, you look magnifique!” she kissed both of his cheeks, then turned politely to Severus with curiosity. “And you must be…”

“Unwilling,” Severus said, bowing slightly as the drink sloshed in his hand.

Harry barked a laugh. “Don’t worry, Fleur. He’s actually thrilled to be here.”

Charlie’s gaze slid over to Severus, who stood stiff (surprisingly so with the drinks sinking into his bloodstream) and he raised an eyebrow. “Harry, how much did you have to offer to bribe our former professor and your current colleague to Gin’s wedding?”

Harry grinned. “Three months of patrols. Worth every second, though.”

Charlie nearly choked on his own drink. “Oh, Harry…”

Before Harry could toss a catty retort, Luna Lovegood materialized with a daisy chain perched lopsided over the crown of her head. She eyed Severus solemnly. “You look very stern, sir. That’s good. People take dates more seriously if one of them looks like they could turn you into a ferret.”

Severus blinked at her, momentarily disarmed. “Quite.”

Harry leaned sideways and whispered just for him. “See, you’re the perfect date. I think Luna has the gift, you know.”

Severus willed down a blush before it could daylight over his collar.

-~-~-

The crowd shuffled into rows of chairs (charmed from pumpkins) across the recently cleared back garden. Strings of white blossoms floated overhead. Harry slid into a seat in the second row. Severus joined him silently, sitting more like a block of emerald-flecked obsidian than a man.

As the first reading began (something syrupy from a book neither of them had ever read for different reasons) Harry lifted his wand up from his lap and whispered, “Muffliato.” The gentle buzz of the spell cloaked them.

Harry tipped his head close to Severus, though he was still looking forward. “If I’d known it would be this long, I’d have brought cards. Maybe a flask.”

Severus' thin lips tightened. “Your immaturity knows no bounds. We are literally in the middle of the ceremony.”

“Please,” Harry whispered and Severus could hear the eyeroll. “That man just rhymed ‘love’ with ‘glove.’ If you aren’t dying inside, you’re a stronger man than me. I mean… You are. But still.”

Severus made a noise that might have been a suppressed snort, though he had the respect to immediately drown it into a cough. He lifted the program as if to inspect it, though it was really to shield his face. “I regret agreeing to this.”

“You don’t,” Harry said, and from his peripheral vision Severus could see that his grin was infuriatingly friendly.

Another reading began (something about devotion that rhymed with lotion.) Harry stared up again. “Ten galleons on Ron falling asleep before the vows. He’s done it before.”

Severus didn’t answer, but he was trying very hard not to smile.

Then the music swelled, and everyone’s gaze shifted onto Ginny as she turned towards her groom. She was radiant in her ivory dress. The last of Harry’s laughter towards their wager faltered. The muffliato still hummed around them, but he didn’t speak again as Ginny and the groom clasped hands before the altar.

When they began their vows, Harry’s eyes went bright. His grin melted into something unguarded. He blinked rapidly, pressing his fingers over the bridge of his nose.

Severus, startled by the shift, “You’re crying, Potter?”

Harry huffed. “Shut up. It’s sweet.”

For a moment, Severus could only stare. He’d expected Potter’s endless cheek, his flamboyance, the noise that he generated everywhere he went. But he had not expected this. Harry was soft and unashamed. He was weeping quietly for the happiness of someone else. 

-~-~-

The crowd rose in applause as Ginny and her new husband sealed their vows and ended the ceremony with a kiss. Afterwards, guests began to flow back to the marquee for dinner.

Severus stood stiffly, grateful for the crowd, until a hand caught him by the (velvety) sleeve.

Harry. His fingers lingered, just enough pressure to keep Severus still. They shared a quiet moment. Harry looked up, radiant in (and because of) his outfit. His eyes were still faintly damp from the vows. 

“Thanks for coming,” he said. And there was no mockery in it this time. His voice was just earnest and a bit… raw?

Severus felt his chest tighten. He opened his mouth, unsure whether to acknowledge the weight of what they’d just exchanged. But then Harry’s grip shifted again, sliding from sleeve to wrist. With a smile, he tugged.

“Come on, before Ron eats all of the fucking eclairs.”

Severus, now stumbling, let himself be dragged in Harry’s wake, as if caught in the tail of a glittering comet.

-~-~-

The tent was now only glowing by lantern light as the sun had set. Everyone found their seats. Platters, wine, roast bird, and endless chatter. Harry was in his element. He laughed loudly, made faces at the flower girls, and continuously topped up Ron’s glass on his other side before Ron could notice. Hermione didn’t seem to mind.

Severus sat on his left, dark green dress roves cutting a severe silhouette amongst the Weasley wedding chaos. He was halfway through his second glass of wine (fifth drink of the evening) by the time the first toast began.

Bill Weasley rose, hair tied back, glass raised high. “To Ginny and Michael–may their fire burn as bright as their stubbornness.”

Glasses clinked. Harry turned to him under the cover of the applause. “If fire and stubbornness are the ingredients, you and I would make a hell of a pairing.”

Severus gave him a look. “Do shut up, Potter.” But the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Another toast followed. This one was by someone from Michael’s year in Hogwarts. It was long, rambling, and riddled with cliches. Harry muttered, “If he says anything more stupid than the vicar did, I’m hexing the cake.”

“You are the most immature man I’ve ever met,” Severus hissed in response before taking in another sip of wine. 

Harry smirked more brazenly than before. “And, yet. Here you are. You’re at my side. One might think you must find me charming.”

Severus thought he didn't owe that a response, and so he gave none.

The next toast was Hermione’s. It was composed and heartfelt without being contrived. She spoke of Ginny’s courage and welcomed her new brother-in-law into the family. Harry’s grin, as during the vows before, slipped into softness. He clapped the loudest for this one, eyes gleaming.

Severus felt the weight of it. Then he finished the dregs of wine in his glass.

Finally Ron staggered to his feet for his turn. His face was flushed. He was clearly drunk. His tie was crooked and his smile was trademark Weasley. “Right. Err… My baby sister’s married now. Well done to Mom for finally retiring. And best wishes of course to Michael, hope you like brothers. Here’s to him–and here’s to Ginny for always keeping him honest. And, uh–cheers to Harry, too, I s’pose. Thanks for not marrying my sister, mate. I’m sure you’ll find someone, uh, better suited.”

The tent rippled with chuckles and another round of clinking glasses. Harry stood at once, dramatic flourish of fabric sliding against Severus’ hand as he rose. “Hear, hear! To Ginny and Michael, and to surviving family dinners!” He raised his glass high. 

Then as everyone echoed his wishes, Harry’s eyes landed on Severus. “You heard him. Cheers to my love life.”

The table erupted with laughter and a few gasps. Hermione groaned. Poor Molly Weasley blinked vigorously.

Severus, on the other hand, froze. The heat of alcohol flushed through him, but it didn’t hold a candle to the jolt that ran through his chest.

Harry, seemingly entirely unbothered, downed his drink in a single deep swallow. Then he beamed at Severus over the empty glass.

Severus' grave-rough voice traveled over to Harry. “You are playing a dangerous game.”

Harry only smiled more brightly (if it was possible at this point) as his lips glistened with the last drops of his drink. “Good thing you like danger.”

-~-~-

After their place settings were cleared, the lanterns dimmed and charmed fairy lights took over the atmosphere. The band struck up a moderately paced waltz, and couples began sweeping across the floor in whirls of robes and laughter.

Harry stretched, cat-like in his chair, devastating outfit glittering with the fairy lights.

Before Harry could utter what would certainly be a stupid dance-themed barb at Severus, Molly Weasley descended like a hawk. “Come, Severus. Dance–it is a wedding!” She tugged at his sleeve with the grip of a woman who raised seven unruly children into productive citizenship.

“I… Absolutely not-” Severus began, but Harry’s grinning face cut him off mentally.

“Oh, go on,” Harry said sweetly. “One dance won’t bloody kill you. Or me. Or Molly.”

“Potter-”

Molly beamed and patted his arm. “You’ll do splendidly. Harry, why don’t you take your date to the floor.”

And before Severus could extricate himself from the situation, Harry seized his hand and pulled him out to the checkerboard floor.

The first three beats were a disaster. Severus was more rigid than the Statue of David, glaring down at their linked hands as if they were a criminal act for which he’d soon be charged. Harry, however, flourished with every step. His hips swayed gracefully, his jacket glittered in perpetuity, and at this point his grin was broad enough to split his beautiful face.

“Come on, Snape. Loosen up. Everyone’s watching.”

“I am acutely aware,” Severus responded between closed teeth.

“Then give them a show.” Harry tightened his grip, pulling Severus closer, half bare chest brushing warm skin and bottle-green fabric against Severus. “Come here.”

Severus’s pulse thudded against Harry’s palm. The wine hummed warm through his veins, enough to loosen the steel in his spine. Reluctantly he let Harry lead him into the rhythm.

It wasn’t graceful, but it was…close. Their steps found alignment. Their shoulders brushed. Harry’s hand pressed firmly at his back, guiding.

“You’re not half bad,” Harry teased, breath hot near his ear.

“You’re insufferable,” Severus rasped back. But the words lacked any venom.

“As I said. You like me anyway.”

Severus opened his mouth–whether to deny it or confess, he wasn’t sure. The music crested before he’d developed a reply, and he let it drop.

They turned, swept in the current of couples. He felt caught in Harry’s orbit, eyes green and bright and entirely on him.

The music shifted seamlessly into a slower tune, the sort designed to sway rather than spin. Couples drew closer, laughter softening into whispered intimacy.

Harry had barely released Severus from the first dance before he tugged him right back in, hands settling into an intimate position. One on Severus’s shoulder, one sliding much lower to his waist.

“This is ridiculous,” Severus muttered, though his feet followed the rhythm without protest.

Harry leaned in, lips near his ear. “Relax. It’s just a dance. No one’s watching anymore.”

“That,” Severus said, voice tight, “is a lie.” (It was. More were watching them now.)

The space between them shrank until Severus could feel Harry’s pulse across the contact.

“Is this the part,” Harry whispered coyly, “where I ask if you are just happy to see me?”

Severus went very still despite appearing to follow the steps. His grip on Harry tightened fractionally.

“Potter,” he said at last, tone carved from the depths of his chest, but his cheeks betrayed him as they flushed high with wine and worse.

Harry snorted, unrepentant, and pressed closer still, until they moved as one. “Tacky, I know. Couldn’t resist.” His voice softened as he added, almost buried under the earlier joke, “I like it when you don’t pull away.” He shifted his hips marginally closer.

Heat pooled in his core, his cheeks even pinker beyond the tone of tinged pink from before. The proximity was overwhelming.

“Are you ok?” His grin turned positively wicked.

Severus’s jaw tightened. He swallowed, glaring over the top of Harry’s head at nothing. “Potter…” His voice cracked just enough to be the answer.

Harry tilted his head back, eyes a bit wild. “Yes?”

For a long moment, Severus said nothing. Then, in a voice of deliberate restraint, he muttered, “One month off our bargain. If you escort me outside. Now.”

Harry’s laugh burst out, scandalously loud, earning them a few more curious glances. “Merlin, Severus Snape, are you bribing me to stop dancing with you?”

“Consider it hazard pay,” Severus bit out, flushed to the tips of his ears.

Harry grinned like he’d won something far greater than a reprieve from patrols. “Deal.

-~-~-

The night air was cool against their flushed faces as Harry tugged Severus out beneath the apple trees at the perimeter of the yard. Crickets hummed beyond the garden wards.

Harry spun once on the grass, arms wide. “See? Fresh air. But dancing wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Severus folded his arms, though the faint bloom of color lingered across his cheekbones. “You are insufferable.”

“Still,” Harry said brightly, stepping closer, “you just bought yourself a month of patrols back. I ought to thank you.”

Severus arched a brow. “Thank me?”

Harry’s grin turned sly. “For bribing me to take you outside, instead of just admitting you couldn’t handle dancing that close to me because you liked it too much.”

His eyes explored Harry’s face and the impossible brightness of him in marginal fabrics and rhinestones. 

And then, quietly but with absolute intent, he stepped forward.

Harry blinked. “Wait-”

Severus’s hand came up, fingers curling just under Harry’s jaw. He bent, breath warm, and pressed his mouth against Harry’s with startling firmness.

Now it was Harry’s turn to freeze.

When Severus drew back, the space between them felt electric. “Does that shock you, Potter?”

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, dazed. “Yes.”

A smirk ghosted across Severus’s mouth, quickly masked. “Good.”

Harry grabbed him by the dress robes, pulling him to the floo before either of them lost their nerve.

Time felt funny (probably all the drinks) as the fire spat them out into the cool stone of Severus’ quarters.

Harry shook soot from his shoulders, smirking. “So. Now what? Candlelight? Wine? Or do we skip the pretense and call the wedding foreplay?”

Severus brushed past him, green robes snapping, and picked something up from his desk. A roll of parchment. He unrolled it with crisp precision, then held it out.

Harry blinked. “What… is this?”

“A dungeon rounds checklist,” Severus said smoothly, pressing it into his hand. “As promised.”

Harry stared. “You…You’ve got to be joking.”

“I assure you I am not.” Severus turned away to pour himself a final glass from the little bar cart along the wall. “I upheld my end of our bargain. You will now uphold yours. Three months of patrols.” His eyes flicked back. “Actually two, I believe, after this evening’s… reprieve.”

“You absolute…” Harry sputtered, rhinestones glittering as he shook the checklist at him. 

Severus settled into his chair with a tumbler of amber drink. “Well? The corridors await, Mr. Potter. Best not dawdle. Two months to go.”

Harry clutched the parchment, still flushed from the kiss, from the night, from everything, and finally let out a huff of incredulous laughter. “You’re the insufferable one, you know.”

Severus inclined his head. “And yet you’ll be back tomorrow.”

Fin. (?)