FIC: "Occam's Razor", Chapter Ten


Chapter Ten

With only a week before the headmistress would return, Harry had a list of things to accomplish before she arrived; he spent some of his time in the kitchens, monitoring the delivery of the massive quantity of foodstuffs that were appearing daily. Potions supplies would be arriving later that day, requiring an afternoon spent in stocking shelves, as well as moving potions from storage to the infirmary. Harry thought about asking Snape to help him with the latter task, but although he trusted Kreacher, he knew it would be foolish to put the man on display to the other house-elves. They were guileless creatures with notoriously loose lips, unless otherwise directed.

Returning to his rooms, Harry was puzzled when he couldn't find Snape. He glanced into his bedchamber, then stood in the middle of the sitting room. "Severus?" When there was no reply, Harry walked to the loo, its door slightly ajar.

He was about to knock, when he spied Snape through the crack between the door and the jamb. Pushing the door open, he entered the room, then stood just to the side of the man, who was intently inspecting his reflection in the mirror.

Snape saw him, but didn't turn. "Harry."

Harry nodded in reply. "I couldn't find you," he said, feeling as if he should make an explanation for his presence.

Turning his head slightly from side to side, Snape eyed himself critically. "It's an odd thing. Looking in the mirror. I look like myself, but…."

"You do look like yourself. Same hair, same face, same height, even, but…." Harry paused. "But younger. It makes your face less…I don't know, severe. Cheeks are fuller, and no crow's-feet. You look…softer."

Snape inclined his head to the side, still studying himself. He caught Harry's eye and frowned. "Less forbidding?"

Harry snorted. "Hardly. You're still the same person on the inside, aren't you?"

"I think so," Snape mused. "I've not noticed any…missing parts of myself, but then again, I wouldn't, would I?"

Stepping back to lean against the wall, Harry said, "But I would. I'll keep an eye out."

Snape bent toward the mirror and fingered the bridge of his nose, then turned and rested back against the washbasin, crossing his arms in front of him. "You know me as well as anyone." When Harry had nothing to say, he added, "The change—looking younger has to do with Birnum, I believe."

"Birnum…the Death Eater? Oh," Harry said, as he considered the possibility.

"He was in his mid-twenties, as I recall, so add a few years, and the general effect would be for me to appear ten years younger, or thereabouts."

"So, the people Voldemort killed to make his Horcruxes had something to do with the way he looked?"

Snape made a hands-up gesture. "Who can say? I think it did, but you must remember that he split his soul into seven, and that too would be a part of it, I'd imagine."

"And you only split yours only once. So…you look like you always have…just younger," Harry summarized.

Snape did something then, something Harry couldn't remember ever seeing before. He smiled, a genuine smile that reached to his eyes and made them glitter. "My guess is that if I'd looked the least bit unnatural, you'd have left me lying in the forest to fend for myself."

"We did wonder about that. With good reason," Harry muttered, then couldn't help but smile in reply.

Stepping to the door, Snape held it open for Harry. "Well, then, I suppose I owe you…how did you put it—big-time?"

Harry didn't budge for a moment. "Nah, I'd say we're about even."

"Would you, now? Not as Slytherin as I thought."

"All paid up. Clean slates," Harry told him as he stepped through the door.

oooOOOooo

Tuesday night, Harry knew that Snape needed a change of scenery. Long after the house-elves would be asleep, he took him on a tour of the castle, reminiscent of the one he'd given Draco over a month ago. Snape took much more of an interest in the details of the renovation, which seemed logical to Harry; the man was a scientist and had been headmaster for a time. It didn't seem odd that he'd ask about dimensions and brittleness, timber age and specifications. In fact, Snape seemed surprised that Harry had all the answers. Perhaps even a bit disappointed, but then Harry reckoned he was imagining that finer nuance.

They ended up in the headmaster's office. Snape seemed to take it as a matter of course that they would, turning into the corridor when Harry did without breaking stride.

Once they entered, Harry stood to the side and gave Snape a moment. He walked around the room, running his fingers over the chair backs, nodding to the portraits who gaped at him in surprise. He frowned slightly at the piles of parchments on the large desk.

"Minerva has her hands full, I see," he murmured, then turned resolutely at the sound of his name.

"Severus, my boy, here you are at last," Dumbledore greeted him. "Harry, how are you?"

"Fine, sir," Harry said as the two of them moved to stand in front of the portrait.

The old man beamed down at Harry. "I see you sorted things out."

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. Draco and I did. You knew," he chided the headmaster with a smile.

"Of course, I did. But unlike your past adventures, this was an entirely elective pursuit. I did not want to interfere with what you chose to do."

The blue eyes shifted to Snape. "None the worse for wear, I take it?"

"None that I can discern…yet," Snape said dryly, shooting Harry an enigmatic look.

"What are your plans, then?" Dumbledore asked, glancing sharply from Snape to Harry.

"I haven't finalized anything as of yet. I suppose my only option, for the time being, will be to return to Spinner's End. As long as it's still standing," he finished wryly.

"Actually, sir," Harry addressed the headmaster, "since Minerva will be back on Sunday, I was planning on taking Severus to Grimmauld Place." He turned to Snape. "Spinner's End is a hovel, and you're not going back there," he told him firmly.

When Snape seemed about to protest, Dumbledore held up his hand. "Severus, I think you'll have to agree that Harry's done right by you thus far. I agree, Grimmauld Place would be best until you have alternate arrangements."

"I'm not certain that I can—"

"Oh, no you don't," Harry told him shortly. "I've thought about this for weeks. It's the best plan all around."

Snape still looked doubtful, on the point of protesting further when Harry turned and let out an exclamation. "Look, your portrait."

They both examined the opposite wall. There hung Snape's portrait, its oil-painted surface unmarred by the wispy white film that had been there earlier, but still lacking an inhabitant.

"Alas," Dumbledore said, causing them to turn back, "it appears that your gain, Harry, is my loss. That portrait will not be occupied again for many years to come. As it shouldn't be." He studied them both for a long moment, then said as he turned to go, smiling, "I must content myself with current company, and rest assured, they are a tight-lipped lot, so not to worry."

Out in the corridor, Snape finally spoke his mind. "Out of the question."

"Why?"

"I'm grateful for what the two of you did; however, you are not obligated to provide me with room and board. I'm perfectly capable of—"

"I'm leaving soon, Severus," Harry interrupted him.

Snape stopped mid-sentence. "Leaving? Leaving Hogwarts?" he asked, seeming stunned. "Leaving to where?"

Harry shrugged. "Just leaving here. For now it'll be to Grimmauld. I don't know…beyond that. Haven't got that far," he confessed, giving Snape a guarded look.

Snape leant against the wall of the corridor, watching Harry's uncertainty. "Why now?" he asked.

Harry sighed. "It's complicated. More than one reason, I suspect. It wasn't until Draco and I decided what we were going to do with you that I felt…free to go. Don't know exactly why that was, but it's as if…I had to stay here until you could leave as well. So…" his voice became surer, "Grimmauld is the only place I have to go, at least for now, and I can't see where you can afford to be nit-picky either."

At the look on Snape's face, he said more urgently, "It's not like we're strangers. It's a huge house, and till term starts, I'll Floo down in the evening and at the weekends. You'll have it all to yourself. Time to sort things out…decide out what you want to do next. Please, Severus. The offer is sincere, from one…friend to another." He lowered his voice. "I can't stand to think of you at Spinner's End. So, humor me."

Snape seemed to scrutinize Harry's face, then pushed himself from the wall, jerking his head in the direction of Harry's rooms. "Very well. It's appreciated." He paused and squinted at Harry. "Please tell me that Mrs. Black is no longer spewing obscenities and insults."

Harry smiled, mostly in relief. "Gone. Hermione," he said, knowing he need not explain further.

Snape snorted. "Fifty points to Gryffindor."

oooOOOooo

Although Harry's days were full of activity, he visited his rooms often, checking on Snape, eating lunch with him, then supper as well, before the two of them settled in for the evening to read and, in most cases, talk into the wee hours. And even though they'd spent many such nights together before, this was somehow different. Snape was a person of substance now, flesh and blood and bone, one of which Harry was acutely aware: the same measured tones, only deeper and richer; the almost identical facial expressions, but, fleshed out as they now were, they carried nuances that had Harry staring at him, sometimes to his own embarrassment when caught at it.

It was Snape's physicality, the sheer fact that he was there that fascinated Harry most of all. Only a foot away, Snape breathed, and moved. Harry sometimes had a wild urge just to reach out and touch him, feel the texture of the tendons in the back of his hand, smooth his fingers along the line of his thigh. What had for so long been a vague and ethereal reverie had become an almost poignant and hypnotic reality.

By Friday evening, however, Harry decided that for both their sakes, they had to do something different. When Snape seemed restless, setting his book aside to pace in the room, Harry smiled to himself.

"I do believe you need to get out more," Harry said as he innocently turned a page.

"Easier said than done," Snape told him curtly.

Closing his book with a snap, Harry stood. "It's almost eleven. Care for a walk?"

Snape stopped short. "Is that wise?"

Harry shrugged. "Can't always do what's wise. Sometimes you have to take a risk. You're stellar at Disillusionment Charms, I'd wager. So just be ready in case we run into Sybill…or Hagrid," he warned.

Snape looked hopeful. "Hagrid? You mean…outdoors?" he asked.

"Sure. How about a walk along the lake? If you're up to it," he said, making a mostly futile attempt to feign disinterest.

Already at the door, Snape tapped his foot impatiently. "I'm up to it. Let's go."

oooOOOooo

The moon was full and unfettered by clouds as they left the castle and skirted around it to the side, through the gardens to the top of the hillside just above the lake.

The perfume of flowers was thick in the humid air of August as they came to the end of the stone walkway. Harry put out a hand to hold Snape back.

"Sit," he told him. Without waiting for a reply, Harry sat on the edge of the walkway to untie his shoes. Snape hesitated, then sat down beside him. Without a word, he removed his shoes and socks.

"Leave them there," Harry said as he got up and waited for him. When Snape stood and looked at him questioningly, Harry motioned with his head, then struck out, down across the field of lush green grass. He could hear Snape padding almost silently a step behind him, so he slowed until the man was just beside him.

They walked in silence at the edge of the lake, staying off the path in the grass at the side, the moon blazing a shimmering white trail across the water, the sky dabbled with scintillas of stars.

At the far end of the lake at the turnaround point, Harry finally turned to look at Snape. "So, grass under your feet, wind in your hair. How you remembered it?"

Snape stared at Harry for a moment, then looked off over the lake. "And then some," he admitted.

They started to stroll again, walking in step with each other, making Harry want to smile. They slowed and stopped, watching as something large broke the surface of the lake, then arced to splash in again.

Standing side by side, Harry said softly, "I remember how it felt, thinking I wouldn't have a chance," he waved toward the lake, "to enjoy any of this again. What a miracle it all is…we all are."

"Facing death is usually the first time any of us truly appreciate such things," Snape agreed as they began to walk again. "One never thinks of how precious life is…until it's gone—a failing of human nature. And most men never have a second chance, as I do."

They sauntered along, talking about Slytherins and what some of them Snape had taught had become. They sat and dangled their feet into the lake for a time, commiserating softly over their experiences with Dumbledore and Minerva. They set out once again, slowly, discussing books and poetry, Baudelaire and Rilke.

"I confess I chose Rilke because I believed he'd challenge you."

"Well, you were right, he does. The idea of describing physical objects the way he does…is what set me off."

Harry could sense Snape looking at him as they walked. He smiled as he canted his head to the side to look at him. "So what's left? I seem to remember…reading all the books in the world."

Snape laughed softly. "Spoken by a man who had a very inadequate collection of his own."

"That's one thing about Grimmauld," Harry pointed out. "The library is huge. A little dusty…and maybe dangerous, but I think it'll keep you busy for a while."

"I wasn't aware of the library, although I supposed there was one," Snape said, unable to hide his interest. "I'd be willing to sort through it while I'm there. Weed out any…undesirable volumes."

"Sure. Suit yourself. I don't think anyone's been in there in decades," Harry confided.

They'd reached the point where they'd begun their loop, so after one last look at the lake and the moon, they began the trudge up the hillside, Snape cursing when he stubbed a toe on a rock.

When they reached the walkway where they'd begun, they sat down beside each other to put on their socks and shoes. Gazing out at the panorama below them, they didn't speak as they drank it in. Harry thought to himself that just a week ago, at about this very same time, he and Draco were in the midst of the one of the darkest arts, on a mission to rescue the man who sat beside him.

As if reading his thoughts, Snape said quietly, "How much can change in one short week."

Harry nodded, his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands, angling his head to the side. "And here you are, already halfway through that list of yours. What was next?" he teased.

Snape seemed to think for a moment, then slowly turned to him. Almost reverently, he reached out his hand. "To touch," he said softly, his eyes catching Harry's, "someone's skin with my fingers."

Harry watched, transfixed, as the slender fingers traced over the top of a knuckle, sliding to linger on his wrist, then drew a line along the length of his arm. When Snape withdrew his hand, the tingle in Harry's arm continued as if the man were still touching him, up to his shoulder, spreading a warmth across his chest, then down like a fire into his belly.

When he finally felt it safe to attempt to speak, Harry said, "And then, I remember…have a life." He glanced at Snape. "Baudelaire's dilemma, wasn't it? Whether to stare through windows at infinity—which sounds sort of boring and lonely—or choose a world of form and being."

Snape stood and held out a hand. Harry hesitated for a moment, then grabbed a hold of it, allowing Snape to help him up. Standing face to face, Harry laid the choice before him. "So…that's what it comes down to. To dream of death…or to live. Be safe, or take a risk."

Nodding soberly, Snape had nothing to say in reply.

oooOOOooo

Before retiring for the night, Harry brought out the Ogden's Old and poured them both a healthy measure. Snape took the glass from Harry's hand, then when the glass was halfway to his lips, he paused.

Tipping his glass, he clinked it against Harry's. "L'chaim," he said, his dark eyes glittering.

When Harry looked puzzled, Snape clarified, "To life."

Harry smiled and tapped their glasses again for good measure. "To life."

They'd already had the discussion about who would sleep where, on the night when Draco'd left for good. Harry had absolutely refused to budge, insisting that he rather liked sleeping on the settee, and as Snape hadn't actually slept in a bed for two years, then by rights he should have it.

Snape was almost at the door when Harry stopped him. "Here," he said, crossing the distance between them. "I'd like you to read this." When Snape's eyes grew wide, Harry explained, "Really, I've thought about it, and…I'd be honored if you would."

Still seeming somewhat reluctant, Snape took Harry's journal. "Such a personal…thing." He ran his hands over the leather, then looked up. "Are you certain?"

"Yeah, I am."

With a nod, Snape tucked it under his arm. "It's in good hands, then," he said as he turned toward the bedchamber.

Making up the settee, Harry smiled when he heard Snape's soft, "Good night," just before he shut the door.

oooOOOooo

The next morning over breakfast, Harry swore he couldn't help himself. It been weeks in the making, he realized, so he took a breath and let himself go.

"So, I noticed," he paused strategically, waiting until the Prophet was lowered, just enough so that Snape could see him, "that you shut the door last night." He innocently reached for the butter. Glancing back up, he saw the wariness in the man's eyes. Good, he thought, then added, "Any particular reason why? You haven't before. And you always made such a big production when I did it."

The paper lowered to lap-level, Snape obviously trying to decide what to do with his mouth: to scowl, to sneer, perchance…to smile? Harry had to admire the man's self-control when he did none of these, only graced Harry with an assessing look, tinged with just a hint of admiration.

"Touché," he said as he flicked the paper back into place.

Harry hummed good-naturedly as he poured his second cup.

oooOOOooo

"We'll get you some clothes of your own, once we're in London," Harry said apologetically the next evening, as he sorted through his wardrobe and trunk. He turned to the bed, and seeing that Snape seemed to be composing a protest, he added, "Don't even start about it. It's not charity. It's necessary. Whenever you're able, I know you're good for it."

Stuffing it all into the carpetbag, Harry motioned with his head toward the box in the sitting room. "Can you get that one? So you don't starve," he added sarcastically.

"Ready?" Harry asked, as he headed for the Floo. When he turned, though, Snape was still standing in the middle of the sitting room. "What's wrong? What did we forget?"

Snape shook his head. "Nothing. I was just…making a memory of the place, I suppose. I can't imagine that I'll ever be back," he said, staring at the painting still suspended just feet from the floor.

"Oh," Harry said, slowly walking back to stand beside him. "I hadn't thought of that."

"For so many weeks, I had just one perspective of the room," Snape said thoughtfully. "And you…you were the focus of my world." He turned to Harry and positively sneered, sending a jolt of delight to Harry's toes. "There were times when I thought I was losing my bloody mind."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Harry grinned in reply.

"Ever the optimist, I see." Snape nodded curtly. "I'm ready. Shall we go?"

oooOOOooo

As Snape already knew Grimmauld Place well, there was only the matter of his choosing which bedchamber he preferred. Harry wasn't surprised when his only stipulation was, "Not Black's," then chose one adjacent to the library.

They spent the evening there, Snape seeming right at home amongst the tomes and volumes of the neglected collection. He muttered cleaning charms, dusted bookshelves, arranged the desk, until Harry was coughing and sputtering in protest. Snape shot him a withering look, then returned to his near scrupulous organization of the vast room. Harry watched him, glad that the man seemed content to occupy himself with such an undertaking.

Before they said goodnight, though, Harry knew there was one detail he'd best get out of the way.

"So, there's food for tomorrow. I'll pop down for lunch, then come back for the night. I'll have told Minerva by then, so she won't expect me in the Great Hall." He paused, then took a breath. "But on Monday, Kreacher will be here." He shook his head as Snape startled. "We can trust him. I've sworn him to secrecy, not that I needed to. He's devoted to me, really."

"Kreacher," Snape growled.

"Just…be civil to him, please?" Harry pushed. "He'll do anything you ask, since I've told him to treat you…as he would me."

Snape sat at the desk and rested his chin in the heel of his hand. "So much has changed," he murmured.

Harry felt a flash of sympathy. He crossed the room, and perched on the edge of the desk. "I know. I can't imagine how hard this must be. But, it'll get easier," he told him firmly. "Trust me," he urged, the intensity of his voice making Snape glance up at him. Their eyes connected, and Harry put all the goodwill he had into the look that he returned, then sighed in relief at Snape's reply.

"I already do, and as Albus so delicately put it, you've done right by me thus far. Besides," he said dryly, "I couldn't cook an egg to save my soul."

Harry laughed. "Well, that's good then, for both our sakes." He was rewarded with a genuine scowl.

oooOOOooo

"Where?" Minerva asked him, sitting stunned behind the desk.

"Grimmauld for now. Later, I don't know. I've got my solicitor checking out a few properties for me," Harry said, then added slyly, "Wales, I think."

"Wales?" she asked, her voice laced with contempt. "There are perfectly good properties, much more suitable ones, I'd think, in Scotland."

"Aye, aye, there's a Scottish lassie for yeh, pining for the moors and the heather!" Harry jested.

Minerva waved her hand at him. "Tis true. Scottish to the core," she laughed. Eyeing Harry, she said, "Not much notice, so I must admit I'm surprised. But relieved. What will you do?"

Harry slid his feet from the desk. "I'm not sure. I'll figure something out." He leant forward in his chair. "Just between you and me, I'm not going alone."

"Ah. Mister Malfoy, then?" she asked, her eyes shrewd and bright.

"No, someone I met over the summer," he corrected her. "We've hit it off, and we both…sort of decided to give it a try," he finished, his cheeks flushing, more at the dissembling he'd had to do than over the admission that he was going to live with someone.

"I see. Well, you know I wish you the best. If anyone deserves it, you do," she said thoughtfully, seeming to try and read what lay behind his embarrassment.

"I'll be here until the end of the month. Everything's nearly ready, but I know it's not much notice, so if you need me beyond then, I'll see what I can arrange."

Opening a drawer in the desk, the headmistress pulled out a slim sheaf of parchments. "There's a Hufflepuff, who was in your year. He applied two years ago, after Argus was killed. I think he'd be delighted to have the post." She licked a fingertip and picked out a page, then adjusted her spectacles. "Here he is. Yes, I think he'll do nicely." She looked up at him. "Not as well as you, but nicely."

Setting the parchment aside, she Summoned a bottle of sherry from the shelf. When they both had half-full glasses, she tipped hers toward Harry, then took a sip. She tilted her head to the side. "I'm not much given to sentiment, Harry. But I must tell you—I've seen many students pass through this halls, but you…you are the one of whom I'm most proud." Her eyes seemed to become slightly misty. "And if I'd ever had a grandson, well, I wouldn't have been put out if he turned out half as well as you have."

This time Harry flushed with outright, undeniable pleasure. "Thanks, Minerva. I'll miss you as well. If I'd ever had a grandmother, I wouldn't have been put out if she were just like you," he said sincerely.

Tossing back the rest of her drink, Minerva muttered, "Go on. Out with you." But Harry wasn't fooled. He stood and rounded the desk, then leant to kiss her on the cheek.

oooOOOooo

The days seemed to fly by, as Harry split his life between the preparations at Hogwarts and his guest at Grimmauld Place. The castle was in full-tilt now, the professors trickling back, more faces at lunch in the Great Hall. Harry stayed once in a while, knowing that Kreacher was with Snape. The news of his departure was common knowledge now, and he said his goodbyes, one by one, as the opportunity presented, promising to return now and then. Strangely, the person he'd worried over most had immediately understood and wished him well: Hagrid.

Snape seemed content enough: Harry usually found him in the library, devouring book after book, making copious notes, muttering over what he frequently termed 'inanities'.

After supper, they sat in the drafty drawing room or in the library, talking over Harry's day, what Snape had found, what Kreacher had done or failed to do. They argued over current events, haggled over sections of the Prophet, took care to read the same poetry so that there would be lively discussion. But sometimes, they just sat quietly, wordless, a companionable silence that was neither contrived nor uncomfortable.

As for anything more…Harry had to admit that at times he was impatient. But a short, impromptu conversation over breakfast one morning did much to explain what he worried over, and allowed him to set his concerns aside.

"You don't say much," Harry remarked, after a meal when getting Snape to utter more than a 'yes' or 'no' had felt like conversing with an inanimate object.

Snape looked up quizzically, then set his cup aside. "You'll recall I usually have quite a bit to say."

"I know. That's why…since you've come back, I've been…surprised."

"Remember what I said about you being the focus of my world?" When Harry nodded, he continued, "Well, you no longer are. I'm a bit distracted with…catching up, if you will. Things I've missed, things I've wanted to know…read…mull over. Things I never had the energy or time to pursue."

Harry wasn't entirely certain how he should feel, seeing that he'd just been usurped by all the things that Snape had missed. The man seemed to intuit his thoughts, though.

"You're still very much on my mind," Snape told him gently. "It's just that you're not the only thing I think about."

"I used to be the only thing you thought about?" Harry asked with a hint of a smile, still slightly incredulous.

Snape rolled his eyes. "As evidenced by my words, 'focus of my world.'"

"All right, that makes sense, and I suppose that's healthier. Just so long as you don't forget about me…." he murmured, now smiling outright.

Sitting back in his chair, Snape stared at him so intently that Harry had to fight the inclination to blush. "Oh, I've not forgotten. You've become, rather, a future event on my horizon," he said obliquely.

"God," Harry muttered, "sounds like a bloody conquest."

Snape only smiled slyly as he picked up his tea, but held Harry's eyes. "We'll see."

oooOOOooo

"I know tomorrow's Saturday, but I have some things I have to do. Some people I have to see. I'll only be gone for the afternoon, and be back for supper."

"Fine with me. I'm not going anywhere. This afternoon was melodrama enough for one week, thank you."

Harry bit back the smile, thinking of their foray into Muggle London for Snape's new clothing. They'd managed it all in the space of several hours, Harry scandalized when Snape found a pair of trousers and a shirt that he deemed acceptable, then tried to blithely order five identical sets.

Exasperated, Harry'd tried to convince the man that variety was the spice of life, but Snape had only sneered, and reminded him that what was true in one's sex life didn't necessarily translate to one's wardrobe. Stunned, embarrassed by the giggling sales clerk, Harry'd given in, but noticed that Snape had reluctantly put back two of the black ensembles, and selected one in green and one in dark blue. A rather hollow victory, Harry'd thought as he paid, his cheeks still pink.

The fiasco of a mission to clothe the man had Harry remembering how he'd felt at the beginning of the summer, when he'd first tried to figure out the puzzle of Snape's journal on his own.

"God, I was dense," he muttered.

Snape looked up from his book, his face blank. "Which time?" he asked neutrally.

"Ha ha. Very funny," Harry retorted darkly.

There was a heavy sigh from beside him. "All right. When were you dense…this time?"

Harry turned to face him, suddenly serious. "The Horcrux." When Snape closed his eyes wearily, a trifle dramatically, Harry thought, he added quickly, "You know, when I first started to read your journal, I thought of that possibility…that you'd made one."

"You did?" Snape seemed interested now, setting his book aside.

Nodding, Harry went on, "But then I decided, no. It was too obvious…too easy…too, well, horrible. I spent weeks, trying to figure it out, why you were stuck, you see. I thought there was some reason I was missing, for why you seemed…stranded, with no afterlife. Sort of like Sir Nicholas, I thought, but not a ghost." He shook his head. "Turns out I'd been right, but look how long it took us, Draco and me."

"Occam's Razor," Snape told him smugly.

"Whose…razor?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Occam's Razor," Snape told him patiently. "It's a scientific principle that says, 'all things being equal, the simplest answer, or most obvious one, is usually the correct one.'"

"Ohhh…." Harry tried to puzzle it out. "So, you're saying that…."

"I'm saying that Occam's Razor would posit that the reason I seemed like I had a soul was because I had one."

"Ah. I see, sort of." Harry shrugged. "Might've helped, had I known that at the time." He thought for a moment, then looked up. "Who's Occam?"

"He was a logician, a monk, I believe, who lived a very long time ago."

"Hmmm, and the razor?"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "You're beating a dead horse."

"No," Harry protested. "I'm trying to understand here. It's Occam's, I get that part, but the razor?"

Sighing, Snape sat back, shaking his head. "I would guess that it's because a razor has the potential to cut to the quick, to lay bare the essentials."

"That makes sense," Harry agreed.

"So comforting to know that a centuries-old philosophical maxim now has the Harry Potter seal of approval," Snape muttered as he took up his book.

"I aim to please," Harry said softly, earning himself an expertly thrown settee cushion.

oooOOOooo

The next afternoon, Harry set out with three destinations in mind. The first, the one he'd dreaded the most, turned out much better that he'd dared to hope.

Ron seemed to take his leaving in stride. Harry suspected that once he'd heard that Harry wasn't taking off for parts unknown with Draco, he'd been more than willing to heartily wish him well. Hermione, though, had been a tougher nut to crack.

She eyed Harry suspiciously. "Someone you met this summer?"

"Yeah, just this summer."

"And we don't know him."

Well, in a sense, Harry could say that was true. "No, like I said, just met him in June."

"Harry, do you think it's wise, seeing that you've only known him for…what? Two months?"

He shrugged; what more could he say but the truth? "It's a trial run, and if it doesn't work out…who knows? But I don't think that'll happen. Hermione," he said firmly, "in any case, I'd decided to leave. I'll be at Grimmauld, off and on. But for the most part, I'm happy with where I'm going."

"Wales."

"Yes, it's secluded, and near the sea. It's perfect," he assured her.

"What will you do with yourself?" she asked.

Harry was able to answer honestly. "I'm not sure. I've thought about writing a little. You remember, I have a story to tell."

Hermione's eyes softened. "That's…wonderful, Harry!"

As they said their goodbyes, with promises from Harry that he'd keep in touch, he thought to himself how predictable Hermione was: Harry doing something intellectual was all that it'd taken to win her over. He smiled as he Apparated to his next destination.

oooOOOooo

He met his solicitor on the boundaries of the property. The first thing he noticed was that he could hear the ocean; his mind already half made up, they toured through the modest cottage, checking the wood stoves and windows and roofing. It was simple, but with room enough for an adequate library, and a study for each of them. All it needed were a few magical enhancements, and Harry knew it'd be perfect.

The larger headache occurred once he'd made up his mind: signing papers for the transfer of funds from Gringotts to the Muggle bank; signing papers to register the deed; signing papers to enroll him in the county records; signing papers ad infinitum ad nauseam. But at last, all that Harry cared about was that come the first of September, he'd be a property owner with deed and key in hand.

Strangely, it was his last venture of the day that proved to be the most satisfying.

He Apparated to just outside Malfoy Manor. There was no lock on the gate, and as he let himself through, he noticed that the outside, at least, was in a sad state of disrepair, needing paint, ivy pulled from the windows, and some serious work in the garden that was threatening to overtake the house. The last time he'd been here, it had been dark and he'd been terrified, of course, and hadn't paid any particular attention to his surroundings, but he could well imagine what the Manor had looked like in its better days.

He waited for a good while in the spacious foyer, then was led by an elderly house-elf into the drawing room, a place that he grimly realized he'd seen before. The large chandelier had never been replaced, he noted, as he approached the ornate fireplace where Narcissa Malfoy sat stiffly in a chair. She seemed smaller and much older than Harry remembered her. But then he recalled what Draco had said, how she'd refused all companionship and locked herself away from the world. The once proud and beautiful woman was just a shell of her former self, her beauty faded, her vitality drained away. The arrogance, Harry remarked, was still there, as she lifted a hand and motioned him to a chair, her eyes cautious and suspicious.

"Mr. Potter," she said, her voice low.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he replied as he took his seat.

She frowned then. "Draco is not here."

"I know. I came to see you, actually," Harry told her.

"Me?" she asked, unable to hide her surprise. "I can't imagine…."

"How are you?" Harry asked, noticing when she seemed slightly disarmed by the question.

Pulling her robes in around her, she sniffed, "I’m well, thank you." But her eyes…eyes that were so very like Draco's, showed the first traces of interest.

Harry pulled the parchment from his pocket. "I won't keep you long—I know I came without notice." He stood and handed the scroll to her, then took his seat, waiting while she unrolled it and skimmed its contents. Her hand suddenly developed a tremor, but other than that, she showed no outward sign of emotion. When she finally looked up, though, Harry saw in her eyes the first crack in her aristocratic veneer.

"What is this?" she asked, glancing back at the parchment.

"It's the deed to a Black family vault. And I was hoping…well, it's actually been done already, so I wanted to give it to you." When she looked up at him in shock, Harry sat forward in his chair. "By all rights, it should be yours. I only ended up with it because Sirius was my godfather. And I don't know what to do with it." He shrugged. "I have all that I need, what with the Potter fortune."

The woman was once again reading through the parchment, her lips moving silently as she moved from page to page. Two bright spots of color had appeared on her cheeks. Finally finished, she rolled the parchments together. "I cannot accept," she said, her voice strained as she tried to hand the scroll back to Harry.

Although he'd hoped that it'd be simpler, Harry had prepared himself that she would resist. "Mrs. Malfoy, please, for my sake, and for Draco's, would you reconsider?" He pulled his chair closer, so that they were sitting directly opposite one another.

He leant forward, his forearms on his thighs. "You know what I said at your trial. But, it was woefully inadequate." He watched as a pale hand crept up toward her throat. "If it hadn't been for you, I don't know what would've happened."

"My only thought was to protect my son," she said stiffly.

"I know," he agreed softly. "But whether or not you meant to, you saved me as well." He sat back in his chair. "I'd've done this for Draco, believe me, but you and I both know how proud his is. He'd never accept."

She nodded. "So, whatever made you think that I would?"

"Because," Harry said slowly, accentuating each word, "this is not just for your own good. It's for Draco's as well." He watched as she digested this. "I don't know what he's told you, but the two of us, well, we've come to care a great deal for each other."

"I was aware of that, yes," she admitted reluctantly.

"So, if you can't do it for yourself, then please, do it for him? And for me, if you can stretch it that far. I really, really want to do this, Mrs. Malfoy. It's not charity—far from it. You'd be doing me a favor, actually. You have to understand," he lowered his eyes and his voice, "I've never wanted any part of this. When I inherited, I was only fifteen, and no one asked me what I wanted." He looked up at her. "This is what I want, and it's the right thing to do. It's blood money, in a way, and I'll be glad to be rid of it. Besides, it makes sense to me that someone in the Black family should have it."

She looked uncertain now, and Harry thought for a moment that there were tears in her eyes, but decided that it must've been a trick of the low light in the room.

"Please, Mrs. Malfoy. It's already done. At noon tomorrow, the vault is set to revert to you. All you need to do is accept the key." He shoved a hand in his pocket and pulled out the tiny golden object.

She stared at him, glancing from the key to his face, then to the key again. Slowly, her hand trembling, she reached out, her palm upward.

As Harry dropped the key into her hand, he felt a suffusion of warmth on the inside. Draco…Draco would be taken care of, his pride still intact. He refused to even think about what his mother would tell him, but he was fairly certain that she'd do anything in her power to help him preserve his dignity, even at the expense of her own.

"Thank you," Harry said as he stood. Looking down at her, he said, "Grimmauld Place I'll keep. I hope you don't mind, but as I've left Hogwarts, it's my home now."

"I never much cared for the house," she said slowly as she withdrew her hand, her fist still wrapped tightly around the key, as if it might disappear at any moment.

"Well, I'll be on my way, then. When you see Draco, would you tell him…I'm happy."

Nacissa Malfoy stood slowly, staring at him strangely. "I remember, after the Dark Lord fell, when we were sitting in the Great Hall…thinking that had you a mother, she'd have been very proud of you."

It was so very far above and beyond anything that he would've ever expected from her, Harry couldn't help himself. He grinned. "Thanks. I like to think she would've been." With a nod, Harry took one last look around the room, then took his leave.

oooOOOooo

They had just sat down to supper in the kitchen, when Harry caught Snape eyeing him from the other end of the table.

"You appear to be in high spirits. Your afternoon went well, I take it?" Snape asked him.

"Yeah, it did."

He briefly outlined his visit with the Weasleys, then told him of his trip to Malfoy Manor. Snape had sat back in his chair when Harry'd begun to describe the Manor, but by the end of it, he seemed shocked, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"You're generous to a fault," he chided, his eyes suddenly warm. "You did more good than you know."

"Well, it was the right thing to do." He was just on the verge of telling Snape about the cottage in Wales, when he hesitated, suddenly uncertain. Snape was looking at him expectantly, so Harry dropped his eyes to his soup. "A good day," he finished quietly.

oooOOOooo

That night, Harry lay awake in his bed long after he'd turned in for the night, wrestling over what he knew to be the problem. He'd realized, just as he'd been about to share the news about the property, that he'd perhaps presumed more than he had any right, so far as Snape was concerned.

Attempting to look at it objectively, it struck him how fast events had occurred. He'd had a raucous and extremely satisfying sexual relationship with Draco; he'd become enchanted and obsessed with the Snape of the painting, and much as he'd disagreed with Draco at the time, he'd lost his heart and soul to the man, weeks before the flesh and blood part of him had put in an appearance.

Harry had laid his plans, and it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do, to plan for both of them, something that now seemed terribly presumptuous. They got on well together, but was that enough?

Poignant conversations, insinuations, veiled as they were by rhyme and meter, more than a few heated looks, a casual brush of the hand. Enough to assume that Snape would want to go with him? Sadly, Harry knew the answer. There would have to be more…and soon. But he was loath to force the issue, and knew, deep down inside, that the only thing he could do was wait.

oooOOOooo

The new caretaker arrived promptly on Monday morning. There were only four days till the start of term, so Harry took the man through his paces at almost breakneck speed, knowing that time was short. But by Thursday evening, Harry'd done all that he could do.

He stood in his rooms and looked over the empty interior, now ready to receive its new occupant. He realized, suddenly, that it'd been here, within these walls, that he'd come to know two of the most important people in his life. Both of them Slytherins…he had to smile at the irony.

The last thing he did was feed Mrs. Norris, who would be staying on with her new owner. Scratching the cat behind her ears one last time, Harry cast one more look around the room. The castle had been more than home; in fact it had been, and always would be, a very dear friend, one that he hoped he'd visit from time to time.

Standing, he picked up the last box and made for the Floo, for the first time leaving Hogwarts with no regrets.

oooOOOooo

They were sitting in the library, Snape reading, Harry pretending to read as he brooded. Snape seemed to catch his mood, however, as he set his book aside after a while.

"So, what will you do now?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure. I thought I had an idea, but…" He shook his head, refusing to look at Snape. "Perhaps write a little. About my life." He did look up when he felt the settee shift as Snape stood to his feet and then strode to his desk. Harry watched as the man retrieved the journal, then returned to sit on the edge of the settee just beside him.

"You write well enough to do it, although you'd need a bit of help with the nuances of prose. I could help you, if you like." He held the journal out to Harry.

Harry sat forward to take it, but then stayed where he was, both of their hands on the journal. "How…did you like it?" he asked, suddenly acutely aware of their close proximity.

Snape slid a hand forward on the journal so that their fingers touched. Harry felt a jolt of sensation, and all of a sudden, he was fascinated by the fullness of the man's lips, as the moment was drawn out, neither of them speaking.

Snape moved a fraction closer, his hand now covering Harry's completely. Harry stared at him, then leant closer too, so that their faces were just inches apart. He closed his eyes, and angled his head, his heart hammering in his chest. When Snape finally answered, Harry felt the breath of the words against his lips.

"I found it intriguing," Snape whispered. "So full of longing and want…raw and visceral."

Harry tilted his head slightly…oh how he wanted…then he felt the warmth of the lips against his, sending a shudder of desire through him. He had just opened his mouth, ready to greedily take what he'd wanted for so long, when the man spoke again, the words vibrating against Harry's lips.

"Question number nine," he murmured, Harry feeling the movement of Snape's lips with each and every syllable.

Harry sighed, his mouth still pressed to Snape's, when the words finally connected with his brain. Pulling back sharply, the journal fell to the floor between them as Harry stared, slack-jawed, at Snape, who returned the look unflinchingly, his eyes like black pools.

Bringing a hand up, Harry touched his lips where Snape had touched them. "Not fair. Not fair at all," he said as he dropped his hand, the frustration of the last two weeks suddenly on the tip of his tongue. "You get to ask all the bloody questions! Week after week, I've had to tell you things I'd've never told you!"

Snape nodded gravely, his eyes flicking to Harry's lips, then back to his eyes. "Yes, and I'm glad that you did."

"You are?" Harry asked, feeling a small part of his outrage seep away.

"Oh, yes. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. Knowing what I know, however, has given me a sense of direction…." he finished softly, but it was the color in his normally pale cheeks that doused what remained of Harry's indignation.

Harry pursed his lips, studying Snape for a moment before he spoke, immensely enjoying the almost imperceptible flicker of uncertainty in the man's eyes. "All right, I'll answer. But only on one condition."

Snape frowned, all uncertainty gone. "I don't recall there was any provision for conditional answers in our original agreement," he told Harry cautiously.

Scowling, Harry replied, "I'm assuming this question is more important than the other ones, seeing how you almost kissed me to trick it out of me, so…if you want the answer—and I think you do…."

"What condition?" Snape asked impatiently.

"Once I answer," Harry stipulated, "you'll answer the exact same question…for me."

"Deal." Snape's reply came so quickly that Harry had to wonder if, once again, he'd been had, but before he had time to think any further, Snape had moved on to the question.

They were still sitting close together on one end of the settee, Harry trapped in a corner of it with Snape just beside him, angled so that their knees almost touched. Literally pushed into the corner, Harry found himself figuratively skewered by Snape's question.

"At the end of it, if you and Draco succeeded, what were you hoping would happen, concerning the two of us?" His voice was neutral, as if he were dictating a question for a Potions class, but his eyes…his eyes were relentless, pulling Harry into them, so that Harry knew he was helpless to look away. Whatever he answered, he knew that Snape would read volumes more through this window into his soul.

"I wanted…you," Harry said softly, then added almost urgently, "Not just for you to be alive. I wanted you…away from Hogwarts. I wanted a life with you. One that you wanted with me. I can't explain how it happened…or what would make it possible, but I understand why." He paused and swallowed visibly against the dryness of his throat. "You read my journal…I said it there, in bits and pieces. Put them together, and there's your answer."

Snape moved then, and although Harry was already trapped in the corner, Snape fixed him there with no possible chance of escape, not that Harry would've wanted one. His forearm on the arm of the settee, the other behind Harry's neck, Snape leant in, still staring at him as he replied.

"Passion," he quoted from Harry's journal, "begins first and foremost in the soul, spills out in words, and then, and only then, can it be expressed by the body." Snape finished softly, his voice low and sensuous. He moved his hand from the armrest to touch Harry's face, his eyes searching Harry's, a question in them.

"That's it," Harry murmured, barely able to breathe, wanting to close his eyes and lose himself in the sensation of Snape's fingers on his cheek, but knowing he couldn't look away. Not now.

"That's more than an adequate answer," Snape answered, curving a finger to trace the line of Harry's jaw.

Which reminded Harry. "Your turn now. Answer the question."

Snape removed his hand, but still kept Harry where he was. There was a flash in the black eyes, making Harry want to squirm in place, as he felt how achingly hard he'd become.

"As you know," Snape began, pulling slightly back to better see Harry, "I'm by nature outspoken…a man of action. I've been adjusting, these past weeks. But now…now I'm feeling more like myself again."

Harry felt the flush in his cheeks grow deeper, but at this point he didn't care. "Severus," he growled, "the question?"

Snape smiled, and made a tsking sound at Harry's lack of patience.

"What could a man, such as myself, an average-looking, tall, dark-haired wizard hope for? Could a man like me, who is intelligent and converses well," he moved marginally closer on the settee, "who thrills in the discussion of ideas," his hand slipped from the back of the settee to find the hair at the nape of Harry's neck, "who loves books and poetry, who is good in bed," his other hand moved from the armrest to Harry's chest, worrying the top button of his shirt, "and I am a bit kinky, so be fair-warned," his eyes were directly in Harry's line of sight, smoldering, "who'd like, as you do, to never speak of war again," he popped open the button and slid his hand inside to tangle in the hair of Harry's chest, smiling almost wickedly when Harry gasped aloud, "who'd settle willingly for a simple life, a modest home, a cat—definitely a concession on my part—the pleasure of meals by the fire," he moved his body closer, so that their thighs were pressed together, "as well as reading and…sex…."

The man paused to take a breath, and Harry sat completely still, his heart about to beat out of his chest, the blood pounding in his ears and his cock, his muscles almost screaming with the effort of holding himself back.

Snape's head hung forward, his hair in Harry's face until he drew slightly back to finish. "Could such a man ever hope to capture the heart of a brave, attractive, sensitive and sexual being such as yourself?" Snape angled his face and moved closer once again. "Could I dare to presume…'to gaze at will, to touch, to drink, to taste you to the full, complete my longing to be known by you, and say of you, 'Him I have and know'?'" The excerpt from Harry's poem brought them back to where they'd started, words once again spoken against Harry's mouth.

Harry ran his tongue across his dry lips, then boldly did the same to Snape, who gasped at the touch of it. Harry smiled, then answered, returning the favor, as he mumbled the words against Snape's lips.

"That was a question, not an answer, you Slytherin," he breathed out.

Harry could feel the lips quirk into a smile. "Yes, it was. Sometimes the best answer to a question is another question."

Harry's answer was immediate. "Then I'd have to say yes. Yes, to every part of it."

For a moment, neither of them moved. As they remained, suspended in this torture of passion…passion that'd begun in their souls, and spilled out into words, Harry knew what would come next. He felt as if he'd waited forever…but he sensed that it was crucial that he wait a moment longer, for Snape to complete the tactile part of the triad.

Snape pulled back and searched Harry's face again, his dark eyes dilated and shimmering. He smiled as he tipped up Harry's chin. When their lips met, finally, their mouths opening hungrily to each other, Harry's last rational thought was that it'd been well worth the wait.

oooOOOooo

"Wales?" Snape asked as he casually undressed in his bedchamber.

"Pembrokeshire," Harry told him, already nude and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I like the seaside," Snape said as he stood in front of Harry, relaxed, without a trace of self-consciousness.

"I was hoping you would. So, you'll go with me?"

Snape nodded slowly. "Nothing could keep me from it."

"Nice to finally have that settled," Harry muttered as he reached out for him, then was surprised when Snape slapped his hand away, looking stern.

"I am not Draco," he told Harry as he pushed him backward on the bed and straddled him at the hips.

Harry tried to push upward with his cock, feeling the weight of Snape atop him. "Yeah, I noticed that," he managed to croak out.

Snape bent down to frame Harry's head with his arms. "What I meant is…this will not be some wild and precipitous romp in the sack. Although there's a certain charm in such an impetuous—"

"Severus! Enough talk!" Harry pleaded, grabbing Snape by the shoulders and bringing their mouths together. Snape resisted, of course, as he'd not finished what he had to say.

"This. Will. Be." Snape managed to get the words out in between kisses, then pulled his face out of reach. "A slow, measured…" He groaned as Harry found his cock with his hands. "Harry…wait…." He threw his head back, then looked down at the smiling Harry. "Journey of discovery. I don't want to waste or squander it," he said soberly.

Harry reached up and pulled Snape down so that they were face to face again. "Then stop wasting time," he growled. Snape gave him a look so full of lust that it made Harry's insides quiver and his knees wobble, then the mouth that had taunted and teased him, almost to distraction, made good on its promise as it silenced him most effectively.

oooOOOooo

As Snape had warned him, it was a journey of discovery that took them the entire night. Of course there were brief rest stops, where they talked, or slept, or just lay quietly wrapped up in each other.

Harry realized that what Snape had said at the beginning was true: he wasn't Draco. Not only because the pace of what they did was so different, but because Snape himself, physically, was another animal altogether. Animal would be a good choice of words, Harry thought lazily…a predator, more likely. A predator who liked to stalk his prey, play with it a bit, make it think there was a hope of escape, then pin it down again for a new bout of torture, teasing it exquisitely, until the helpless and trembling victim gave in and lay still, knowing that the end was near…only to begin it all over again.

As they moved in the bed, Snape was all angles, elbows and knees, fingers and hipbones, with little flesh on them. His skin was rough, scarred, like leather in some places, but in others unbelievably soft, mostly hairless. He was agile but graceless, as he poked and prodded to get what he wanted, when he wanted it, how he wanted it. His mouth was a marvel of articulation, able to swallow Harry whole in one fluid movement, his tongue an instrument of dexterity that had Harry begging, on more than one occasion, for mercy and for more. Harry felt blissfully used, surrendering himself to the man's mapmaking, shivering slightly at the thought of how Snape might use all this information in the future.

Harry himself drank in all the sensations and sounds and movements deep into his memory. He knew they'd be making this trip again…and again. But for now, there was only this one night to savor, and he gave himself up wholeheartedly, crying out at the sheer pleasure of all that he'd imagined, all that he'd expected, all that he'd been given, and when he came…at the almost overwhelming ferocity of it. Harry smiled and bit his lip, holding on tightly, when he knew that Snape had hit his own personal nirvana.

They flew high…holding on to each other, surrounded by the sweat of the sheets, the smell of their bodies, the heat from their skin, all the tangibles of passion intertwined with a mutual wonderment and tenderness.

There was no one like Snape, Harry realized, as they lay pleasantly tangled together, their hands clasped in between them. And there never would be.

For so many years, 'home' had been an elusive concept, a dream of something he'd always wanted, the desire to belong somewhere. He'd caught glimpses and felt undercurrents of it at the Burrow when he'd been younger; he supposed the closest he'd ever come to 'being home' had been his attachment to Hogwarts.

A cliché, to be sure… the sentiment that home is where the heart is. Although it could be a physical place, one that Harry had taken steps to arrange for his future, he knew that for him, 'home' would forevermore be a person.

oooOOOooo

The first journey of many was over, by mutual agreement and exhaustion. Clean and warm beneath the coverlet, Harry lay with his back pulled snug against Snape's chest. The man's breath tickled at Harry's ear, making him smile.

"Severus?"

"Hmm, aren't you asleep yet?" Snape stifled a yawn.

"I was thinking…since there's only one question left, maybe we could just…forget about it. Y'know, given that we've…."

"Been shamelessly passionate?"

"No," Harry nudged him with an elbow, "not just that, but I don't see where you'd need it." He moaned as Snape twisted his nipple hard, then was surprised when the man let him go, moving away so that Harry lay flat on his back.

Snape leant in over him, his hair framing his face. "I think I'd like to keep that in reserve. One never knows when such a thing will be useful," he said softly, then kissed Harry thoroughly, working their tongues together in an insistent game of hide and seek.

When Snape pulled away, Harry was breathless, but the look in Snape's eyes made him gather enough of it to ask, "What's wrong?"

Snape shook his head, then rolled Harry back to his side, tucking his face in behind Harry's ear to murmur, "You're not what I expected." He draped an arm over Harry's hip, pulling him possessively close again.

Finding the hand at his waist, Harry squeezed it as he said softly, a smile on his face, "Me neither."

EPILOGUE