Archive of Our Own

Under the moonlight, on top of the Astronomy Tower on a clear summer night, two old, wise souls were scheming.

"They belong with each other! It is obvious!"

"Yes. They must be made to see that fact. Soon, and very firmly."

The first figure nodded, large ears flopping about. The second rubbed his chin.

"But they are too stubborn. They will never accept it. They will fight against Fate and deny they are soulmates."

"They will. So we must act. We will bring them together."

The second figure shot a dubious look at the first.

"What experience does Dobby have in bringing mates together?" he said. "Does Dobby know what lies in the hearts of wizards? Does he know how to make wizards act upon their most secret desires? Kreacher does. Kreacher has brought together many wizards and witches of the Most Noble House of Black, and he is responsible for many babies being made. Kreacher's record is spotless."

"Dobby knows a lot! Dobby helped his old Master seduce his mate, and he saw what makes witches and wizards swoon. Plus, Dobby has been reading romance novels."

Kreacher emitted a disparaging noise.

"Novels are not real life. Dobby needs to focus on what is real, not what is on a page."

"Dobby has ideas on how to bring them together."

"Kreacher also has ideas."

The two house-elves stared at each other like cowboys at high noon.

"Fine," Kreacher said, breaking first. "Dobby will take care of his Master. Kreacher will advise his own Master, and we will meet here again to see how things progress."

"Agreed," Dobby said.

And so the plan was set in motion.

*

Harry woke on a sunny Sunday morning, stretched, and decided to say in bed a little longer. A ray of sunlight fell in diagonal across the bed, suffusing him with warmth. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.

Mmh. Nothing urgent to do. No crisis to solve. No threats on his life. He savored the normalcy of the moment. Voldemort had been dead for five years now, and the press had stopped printing non-stop articles about Harry since about a year. There was still the occasional puff piece about what he was up to, and whether he was currently dating anyone, but the media frenzy had died down.

Harry was almost like any other wizard.

And he was happy.

Really, he was!

The only thing that was missing, was, well… someone to share this with. Someone to wake up to in the morning, and to cuddle against, and to kiss and have stupid conversations with and argue with and make up and—everything.

Someone to have a life with.

He sighed, rolled over again, and stared at the ceiling. On second thought, maybe he should get up early today. Go down to breakfast in the Great Hall instead of skipping it as he always did during the weekend. But Snape was never at breakfast either on Saturdays and Sundays, so Harry didn't feel particularly motivated to attend.

Mmh, Snape. Harry's thoughts drifted to that most infuriating man. He'd dreamed of him, he recalled. He'd been in his office, staring at him across the desk as they argued about some minor point in the curriculum, and Snape had thrown sneers and insults at him until Harry had had enough and stormed out of the room. Not terribly dissimilar to how it went in real life.

How Harry wished it could be different.

A soft pop announced the arrival of a house-elf.

"Good morning, Harry Potter! Today is a beautiful day!"

"Grrmmf," said Harry.

"Dobby has prepared breakfast!"

The elf deposited a tray bearing enough pastries and pumpkin juice to feed two, possibly three Harrys.

"Thanks, Dobby. But you didn't have to…"

"Harry Potter needs to be well-fed," Dobby said, grinning at him. "Today is a special day!"

"Is it?" Harry said.

He wracked his brain to try and recall if he'd forgotten anything important. Nope. Nothing came to mind. Hermione's birthday was next week, and he'd already owl-ordered her gift.

"Oh, yes!" Dobby said, nodding, his ears flopping about.

"...why?"

Dobby grinned widened, his eyes gleaming strangely. He looked like he was hiding a secret that caused him such giddiness it was leaking out of his pores.

"Because today Harry Potter will kiss his soulmate! Today, their hearts will collide and beat at the same rhythm, entwined for all eternity! Today is a day for love, a day for romance, a day for sweet kisses."

"Um."

"Let your heart off its leash, and reap the bounties of love," Dobby said, nodding enthusiastically.

"Isn't that a line from Fifty Shades of Amortentia?"

"Harry Potter has read it?"

"Skimmed it, more like," Harry said with a grimace. "Hermione loved it so much she wouldn't stop gushing about it, I wanted to see what it was about."

"And Harry Potter loved it!"

Harry made a hand gesture that was meant to convey a eeeeh feeling. Dobby, still grinning and nodding, appeared not to understand it.

"It was alright," Harry said, trying to soften the blow. "The hero was a bit stupid, not recognizing his soulmate despite having known him since he was eleven. That didn't feel very realistic."

Dobby stared intently at him.

"Anyway," Harry said, and then didn't know what to say.

He grabbed a croissant from the tray and stuffed his mouth full. That opened up his appetite, and soon he was clearing more pastries from the tray. Okay, he was getting up. He showered, got dressed, and had a look at himself in the mirror.

"Is that how Harry Potter is going to dress for today?" Dobby said.

"Is something wrong with my clothes?" Harry asked.

He frowned at his reflection. He was wearing his usual black robes lined with red, along with a thigh holster for his wand. He'd added a Gryffindor scarf, though the weather was so mild today it felt like overkill.

"Harry Potter should wear the burgundy robes. The ones with the short sleeves. They flatter his body better."

"It's not like I'm going on a date, Dobby."

"Better than a date! Harry Potter will kiss his soulmate today!"

Harry threw the elf a confused look.

"Wait, you were serious about that? I thought that was some strange house-elf greeting or something."

"Dobby is always serious, sir," the elf said, standing tall, hands behind back. "And Dobby recommends the burgundy robes so Harry Potter looks his best!"

"Okay," Harry said.

He didn't see what harm there was in following Dobby's advice. House-elves didn't have any prophetic powers. The elf had most likely noticed Harry was lonely and was trying to cheer him up in his own way. Harry didn't have the heart to disappoint him by telling him he wouldn't meet his soulmate today, or any other day for that matter. He didn't even believe in soulmates. (And the only man he could have been interested in hated his guts.)

"Yes, yes," Dobby said, watching Harry in his burgundy robes. "Almost perfect! Now, Harry Potter can do whatever he wants this morning, but he will have lunch besides the lake. Dobby has prepared a picnic basket."

"Well, if you've already prepared everything…" Harry said.

"If will be very romantic!" the house-elf exclaimed, clapping his hands.

Harry wondered just what the hell he'd walked into.

*

There were three piles of paper on the desk.

The first, currently a mere three inches thick, was kept under control through a combination of iron willpower and endless patience. Severus steeled himself before reading each one, penned a quick answer, and sent them off by owl to their recipients—the parents of the brood of demons everyone called 'students'. Fortunately, the pile didn't grow fast. There was about one letter every two days, and Severus managed to clear the month's supply in one unpleasant morning.

The second pile consisted of missives from the Board of Governors. This one Severus left to Kreacher. The house-elf, now attached to Hogwarts, cleared through bureaucratic jargon and the pitfalls of red tape with an instinctive flair (and if sometimes an insult or two ended up in the replies, well, it wasn't Severus' fault, was it?). Crouched on the desk, Kreacher muttered under his breath as he penned yet another reply. He worked fast, and he worked well.

The third pile, and the one that was presently occupying Severus, was the one containing request from the staff. Severus read through the demand from the new Muggle Studies teacher to buy additional CD players for her section on Muggle music, approved the budget extension, and that was it, done.

The next request was—

Ah.

It was from Potter.

He paused, brushing one finger across the name penned in ink. A petty impulse came over him—to deny the request without even reading it. He shook his head. He had to be better than that. Pushing back the swell of bitterness that had risen from his stomach, he read the request. Potter wanted to use one of the disused classrooms in the east wing for a practical session with the seventh-years, and he was asking for permission.

It was a surprisingly courteous demand, and very un-Potter like. Severus would have expected the boy—man—to make use of the classroom without informing him altogether. To barge in, take what he thought was his, and leave Severus in the dirt, uninformed and unacknowledged. But this… this was different, and definitely a step-up from most of their interactions as teacher and Headmaster, which usually ended in a shouting match.

Perhaps there was hope for Potter.

Perhaps he and Severus could find a balance.

"Very well, Mr. Potter," Severus said, and he approved the request.

The clock in the corner chimed the hour. Severus leaned back in his chair, contemplating the work he had accomplished this morning. Pile number One had dwindled to almost nothing. Pile number Two was waning visibly as Kreacher scribbled answers. Pile number Three was at an acceptable level.

Time for lunch, then.

Severus glanced out the window. In the distance, the lake glistened, sunlight striking it at an angle and sending diamond-tipped sparkles across its surface. A slight breeze made the trees sway. Under the old oak near the western beach, there was a spot of garish yellow that puzzled Severus for a second before he realized it was a picnic blanket. Someone had decided to settle there for lunch.

And why not? The weather was agreeable enough, and should rain make an undue appearance, the thick canopy of the oak would protect the picnickers.

"The Master is tense," Kreacher said from his spot on the desk.

Severus consciously unclenched his jaw and relaxed his shoulders. His hands flexed at his sides. Had he become so obvious that a house-elf could read right through him?

"The Master is thinking about Harry Potter."

He was not.

"Is there a point to those remarks, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher has the solutions to both those problems. The Master knows they are linked, yes? Then the Master should act."

Severus tilted his head right, loosening a crick in his neck. Kreacher usually spoke in some kind of riddles, which Severus attributed to decades of serving House Black, but today he was being particularly obscure.

"And what should I do, in your opinion?"

"The Master should have hate sex with Harry Potter."

It was sheer luck that stopped Severus from choking on his own saliva. He coughed, clearing his throat with a great exhale, and leaned against the wall as he shot an incredulous look at the elf.

"I beg your pardon?"

He was dreaming. The boredom of having to deal with paperwork had sent him to sleep, and he was having a very strange nightmare where Kreacher gave him sex advice.

"Is the Master unfamiliar with hate sex? Kreacher can explain."

Or he wasn't dreaming, and Kreacher was in fact volunteering sexual knowledge.

"That won't be necessary. Thank you for your help today. You may go."

Kreacher narrowed his large, bulbous eyes. He scratched at his chin, glanced out of the window, then stared at Severus.

"The Master wants to have sex with Harry Potter. Kreacher has seen the way the Master looks at him, with raw hunger and bestial need. The Master cannot fool Kreacher."

Severus' heart gave a lurch in his chest. Merlin, he'd been slipping. He would have to get a better handle on his facial expressions—and he would need to stop looking at Potter altogether.

"Whatever I want is irrelevant," he said, jaw clenching again.

"Why is the Master denying himself? He and Harry Potter are soulmates. Surely the Master is aware of this? The Master is too smart to bury his head in the sand."

"Flattering me is quite useless. If you're quite done pestering me, Kreacher, I have actual business to attend to."

Kreacher made a frustrated sound.

"Kreached has had former Masters deny the obvious and their lust for their mates, but none were as stubborn as Master Snape. Even Albard the Black-Hearted eventually gave in to his thirst for beautiful Isabella, and took her to bed. If Master Snape won't approach Harry Potter, then mayhaps Kreacher can carry a message?"

"Kreacher can take his leave."

"The Master is leaving Kreacher no choice," the elf said. "Kreacher is enacting the Idiot Protocol."

"The what?" Severus tried to say.

But he was already elsewhere.

*

It really was a beautiful day.

Harry had been a little skeptical about Dobby's suggestion, but now, sitting on a fluffy blanket, eating a delicious sandwich and enjoying the sunlight, he was forced to admit the house-elf had been right. Having a picnic was a fun break from the usual.

The strange thing was that Dobby had prepared everything twice over. Two glasses, two bottles of Bellman's fizzy apple juice, two sandwiches… as if he'd been expecting Harry to invite someone. But there was no one Harry could invite. Hermione and Ron were away on their honeymoon, and Harry would feel weird inviting one of his colleagues to this setting. It'd feel like a date.

Maybe Dobby had believed he could force the hand of Fate and make Harry's soulmate walk by, at which point he would have to invite them. Alas, reality didn't work like that.

Nevertheless, Harry was having a good time. He smiled, cast a look over the gleaming lake, and took another bite of his sandwich.

And then a naked Snape appeared on top of him.

"Oof!" said Harry, all air whooshing out of his lungs.

He ended up sprawled on his back, sandwich crumbs all over his face, pinned beneath the weight of an unexpected Snape.

"Merlin's hairy scrotum!" Snape said, which was shocking because one, Snape didn't usually swear, and two, Harry had never heard that particular one before.

He wiggled on top of Harry, then slid off him and shifted into a crouch. Harry tried not to stare.

"Uh," he said, pointedly looking everywhere but at Snape. "I wasn't expecting company."

"I won't be staying."

This was said in the usual Snape voice, with scathing anger and enough ice to fix global warming. Somehow Harry felt better. If Snape could remain Snape under such strange circumstances, then it would be okay.

"Did you mean to—"

"No, obviously, Potter, I did not mean to appear without any clothes on your picnic blanket with no warning whatsoever."

Harry didn't point out that technically Snape had appeared on top of him.

"...wait. Did Dobby do this?"

Snape's black eyes narrowed to slits. Harry's own gaze slid from his face to lower and hastily shot back up as heat spread over his cheeks. Wordlessly, he took off his scarf and held it out to Snape.

Yes, a scarf, great, said a little voice in Harry's head. That'll definitely be enough to preserve his dignity.

I didn't know what else to do!! screamed another little voice that was probably Harry's logic center, completely overwhelmed by naked Snape (and who could blame it).

Snape took the scarf and Transfigured it into a set of robes that appeared directly onto his body. Beautiful robes, long, with flowing sleeves—and Gryffindor robes, all red and gold, the colors based on the original scarf. Damn, Snape looked good in red.

"Why would you think your house-elf is to blame?"

"Oh, uh, Dobby was the one to suggest I should have a picnic. And he prepared a basked with two of everything, like he expected someone to join me, so I thought—maybe he, uh—"

"Dobby did not do this," Snape said, which came as a relief to Harry.

He didn't want Dobby to face Snape's wrath.

"But you know who did," Harry said. "Don't you?"

"It doesn't matter," Snape said stiffly, rising to his feet. "Rest assured it will not happen again."

"Okay."

Say 'too bad'. Say it! screamed a voice in his head that belonged to his sense of impulse, which pretty much governed all decision-making.

He bit his lips. Snape gave a nod, and then he was gone, Disapparating on the spot. They were inside the wards, but as Headmaster, Snape could move freely within the castle.

"Well, that was weird," Harry commented.

He retrieved his sandwich, which had been squished under him, and decided it could still be eaten. So he went on with his picnic, wondering who had thought it was a good idea to send him a naked Snape.

*

It was night again. The two scheming house-elves gathered on top of the Astronomy Tower to debrief.

"That did not go how Dobby expected at all."

"The Idiot Protocol failed. Kreacher had never seen it fail before! Master Snape is a strange wizard, refusing to mate with Harry Potter even as he was already naked. Kreacher had made it so simple for him! Even his old Master Herbert the Crusty would have made the right choice, and he had only half a brain."

"Harry Potter would refuse to have sex so quickly," Dobby remarked. "They need to go on at least three dates before any sex. It is known."

Kreacher grimaced.

"Your Master is a prude."

"And your Master is uncooperative! He was supposed to go on his walk before lunch and happen by Harry Potter by the lake, where they would have shared a romantic lunch."

"Twaddle! Romance, pfff. The Black family has survived hundreds of years without romance. And Master Snape is not a romantic."

"But Harry Potter is!" Dobby said. "If we are to succeed, we must take both our Masters' personalities into account. Harry Potter wants romance. He wants to be treated to a romantic dinner and then chastely kissed at the end, no tongue."

Kreacher let out a long-suffering sigh.

"What about the cursed artifact strategy? I can scrounge up an ancient, cursed artifact from the Black vaults. It will curse your Master with gibbering madness, and then my Master will come along and save him. There should be no lasting damage to Harry Potter's mind. Probably."

"No! Kreacher will not be doing that. Dobby forbids it."

Kreacher crossed his arms.

"Kreacher will do what he wants, and Dobby cannot stop him."

"Dobby will get Harry Potter and Severus Snape together first! With his superior methods!"

"Soon Dobby will realize Kreacher is right," Kreacher said, smiling at the other elf. "And he will beg Kreacher to teach him the arcana of House Black and the secrets to getting wizards together."

"Dobby will not."

"We shall see."

*

The next day, Harry and Snape ate together at breakfast in the Great Hall, as usual for a week day. Neither made any mention of what had occurred yesterday. No one else seemed to be aware of the incident. Harry ate his scrambled eggs and drank his pumpkin juice, and tried not to think of Naked Snape or Snape in Gryffindor colors. He failed.

He had been failing the previous evening, too, and partway into the night.

The morning went on. Harry taught his classes, managing to put aside the Snape incident for a few hours. Thoughts of it returned with the sight of Snape during lunch. The man seemed intent on avoiding his gaze, which Harry understood. There were three more hours of teaching, and then Harry was free. Since Snape had approved his request to use the classroom in the eastern wing, he went up there and spend a moment dusting off the furniture and banishing the Boggart hiding under the desk.

He hadn't seen Dobby today. He wondered if Snape had lied, if Dobby had actually been responsible for yesterday's event. And if the elf would try something like that again. Maybe Dobby thought Snape was his soulmate and had decided to get them together. Harry was not looking forward to the disaster that would unfold. The last time Dobby had tried to help him, convinced he was acting for the good of Harry Potter, Harry had ended up covered in cake, and then later with a broken arm. The elf had the strangest methods.

And the strangest ideas!

Snape and Harry, together?

Ridiculous.

Snape saw him as a nuisance. He also wasn't gay. Probably. And even if he was, well, he didn't know Harry was bi, so he wouldn't think Harry could be interested. Was interested. Was very interested. But that wasn't the point. Snape didn't like him, didn't know he liked men, and therefore nothing could ever happen, no matter what house-elf trickery was going on.

Once the room was in order and there was nothing more to do here, Harry went back down several floors. He meandered through the castle, taking disused passages as his thoughts swirled about in his head. A couple of times, he felt like he was being followed, but whenever he turned around, he saw no one.

Somehow he ended up in the dungeons.

Might as well bite the bullet and do it.

He went to knock on Snape's door. He only had a vague idea of what he was going to say. Apologize for the picnic thing? Say Dobby was acting on its own and it was inconveniencing him as well? Thank him for validating his request about the room...

The door opened. Snape greeted him with a mild glare and an eyebrow raise. Harry still didn't know what to say.

"Um—"

A bouquet of flowers materialized in his hands. Enormous, and boasting two dozen glossy red roses.

"That's, uh," Harry said. "That's not me. I didn't do that."

Snape opened his mouth to reply—and something appeared in his hands. Harry squinted. Was that a whip? A long whip with a black handle. ...what?

"What's going on?" Harry said, so very confused.

"We are being waylaid," Snape said.

Then he dragged Harry inside his office, dropping the whip to grip him by the front of his robes. Harry usually didn't like being manhandled, but he discovered right there and then that he wasn't opposed to Snape doing it.

"Waylaid?" he said.

Repeating the last word of your interlocutor was a perfectly valid strategy when you didn't know what to say.

"Our house-elves are conspiring against us. They appear to have banded together in an absurd quest."

"Quest."

Snape emitted an irritated noise. Okay, so the strategy didn't always work.

"Focus, Potter. What have you noticed lately?"

You look really good in red and I like your hands on me.

"Okay, maybe Dobby has been acting a little strange," Harry said, pushing back other thoughts. "But that doesn't mean there's a conspiracy."

"Kreacher was responsible for yesterday's incident," Snape said, his mouth twisting to the side. "He's been spouting nonsense at me. And now this."

"The whip? What was that even about?"

Snape stared at him like he had said something stupid. Harry understood why Dobby would create a bouquet of roses (which he was still holding), because that was kinda romantic, so it made sense, but a whip seemed so out of place. Why would Snape offer him a whip? How was he supposed to use it?

"It would appear that our house-elves are seeing the situation through the prisms of their past experiences with couples. Dobby, I wager, thinks of romance and sweet attentions. Kreacher has a different, harsher view."

Harsher.

Oooh.

Oh yeah, the whip made sense now.

"I just learned way too much about the courtship customs of the Black family," Harry said with a shiver.

"We must put a stop to this."

"Well…" Harry said.

He glanced down at the bouquet, wondered how Snape would react if he were to offer it to him, then backtracked that dangerous train of thought and set the flowers on the desk.

"We'll just ask them to stop," he said with a shrug.

"In your experience, has that worked before with house-elves?"

"...no."

Snape looked smug. Harry glared at him.

"What's your idea, then?"

"We shall become friends."

"Uh," Harry said. And then, "Oh no. That whip must have been cursed. You've been struck by a spell affecting your mind. Can house-elves cast Imperio? I mean, I don't think Kreacher would go that far, but there's definitely something wrong with you and we need to—"

"I am of sane mind, and I am serious when I suggest this. I am confident that friendship between us will put a stop to those aggravating attempts at making us a couple."

Oh, he'd said it. So far they had been skirting around the elves' goal.

"But do you want to be friends?" Harry said. "Or are you just saying we should do it so you don't appear naked on top of me again?"

Snape took an audible breath. A muscle spasmed in his jaw. He was doing something with his eyes that made them look glittering and intense (and hot).

"We did not start on the best of terms, nor did we continue on better terms… but we've been colleagues for four years now, and while we've often been at odds—"

"Very often."

"—I believe we are both capable of more than frosty indifference. Besides, it would be beneficial for everyone. Other colleagues have sometimes suffered from our spats."

Harry had a flashback to poor Flitwick covered in porridge after a heated disagreement at the breakfast table during which Harry's magic had snapped out and made every liquid in close proximity explode.

"Okay. Yeah, alright. Let's be friends… Severus?"

"That will take some getting used to," Snape said with a wince.

They shook hands. Snape had a firm grip. His hand was cold, his fingers slightly calloused. Harry found himself reluctant to let go, but then he didn't have a choice because Snape snatched his hand back as if the contact had burned him.

They looked at each other.

"Okay," Harry said. "That's done."

"Yes."

"Great."

"Indeed."

A pause. The silence stretched and stretched, and now it was becoming awkward.

"Erm," Harry said. "Guess I'll see you around?"

"You will."

Of course he would, they lived in the same castle! Harry cursed his stupid brain that made him say stupid things.

He was turning to leave when Snape spoke again.

"Wait. This is yours."

And he was handing him his scarf. It had been Transfigured back to its original form.

"Thanks. But you could have kept it, you know. Red suits you."

Snape said nothing. Harry draped the scarf around his throat (ooh, it smelled like Snape) and opened the door.

Onto two house-elves.

"Dobby was not listening!" Dobby exclaimed, jumping back with the guiltiest of expression on his face.

"Kreacher was," Kreacher said. "And Kreacher is disappointed."

"You know your schemes won't work, then," Harry said, trying to take a severe tone. "Severus and I are friends."

"Friends with benefits?" said Dobby hopefully.

"No. Just friends."

"The Masters are behaving most deviously," Kreacher said. "Kreacher has never seen such denial before. Kreacher is surprised they can stand the level of sexual tension between them! Surely they both relieve themselves at night, thinking of the other."

"Umwhatno," Harry said.

Snape said nothing (again), but it seemed to Harry he was blushing.

"Come, Dobby," Kreacher said. "We must talk."

One second later, both house-elves had disappeared.

"Okay, goodbye!" Harry said, voice strangled, and he left without looking back.

*

"They are friends. Friends, they said! Dobby has failed in his task. Dobby is a bad elf. Dobby will never manage to make Harry Potter happy…"

"Dobby is not a bad elf. Dobby was simply using the wrong methods. And so was Kreacher."

"Dobby is not bad?" Dobby said, wiping tears from his eyes.

Kreacher lent him a handkerchief and rubbed his back.

"Dobby wants his Master's happiness, and that is the proof he is a good elf. Kreacher has spoken."

"Th-thanks, Kreacher!"

Dobby blew his nose loudly. Kreacher muttered under his breath as he flipped through a large book he had set on the floor.

"This is the Grimoire of House Black. It contains all the secret rituals and special tricks used by the elves of the House to bring Black wizards and their mates together. Kreacher had thought the Idiot Protocol he had found within the pages would suffice… or the Whip Surprise… but it didn't work, so we need to use a more dire solution..."

He stopped on a particular page, pointing out a title penned in red ink. Dobby squinted at the words.

"The Last Resort?"

"It has never been used before. But it has been put forward by Plucky, a most noble house-elf who served the Blacks two hundreds years before Kreacher, as the ultimate solution for reluctant couples, so we know it is a trustworthy solution. This will make your Harry Potter and my Severus Snape kiss, and more."

"How?" Dobby asked, leaning in to read the page. "If it is a spell that will warp their minds, Dobby doesn't think we should use it."

"It is not a spell. It relies entirely on human psychology. That is why it is so effective."

Dobby read through the page.

"It could work," he admitted. "But it's dangerous."

"A little. But your Master loves danger, and my Master is used to saving yours from danger. The danger will only enhance the experience."

Dobby nodded, Kreacher smiled, and the plan was set.

*

Harry woke with the distinct impression something was wrong. Slowly, emerging from deep slumber, he became aware he wasn't where he should have been. Definitely not in his bed. His face was buried in his scarf, and he remembered falling asleep like this, nose deep in the smell of Snape. That part was right.

Everything else was wrong.

He appeared to be lying on sand (what?), waves lapping at his feet (what??), seagulls squawking above him (where the hell was he?). With a groan, he sat up. He was, well, on a beach. The sun was rising above the horizon, sending distorted light across the blue waters. They were trees around him that looked like coconut trees or some other type of plants that definitely were not native to Britain.

He was alone.

Instinctively, he reached for his wand. Except he wasn't wearing his thigh holster but his pyjamas, so there was no wand to greet his questing fingers.

"Accio Harry Potter's wand!"

It didn't work. Not only did the spell fail to produce his wand, but it also failed as a spell itself. Harry didn't feel any magic happening as he said the words. There was no answer from the world. Instead of being an incantation, Accio was just a useless word.

As if Harry were a Muggle.

"Dobby? Dobby, this isn't funny!"

No answer came. Grumbling, Harry got to his feet and surveyed the area. A beach, somewhere tropical. Warm weather. Blue sky, blue sea. Then he surveyed himself. Loose, comfy pyjamas. A scarf that smelled of Snape. No wand. No magic.

"Dobby, come here."

Dobby did not appear. Harry had told the elf long ago that he didn't have to obey his commands, that he was a free elf. He didn't regret it, but it made the situation really inconvenient.

Something moved in his peripheral vision. He turned and noticed a slim figure in the distance, a man-shaped splotch of black upon white sand. Harry waved. The figure waved back. A few minutes later, Harry was relieved to see Snape's face as they walked toward each other. At least he wasn't alone.

"Please tell me you know where we are," Harry said.

"The Hole in the World," said Snape, the same way he would have said 'down in the depths of Hell'.

"The what?"

"It's an island located a few thousands miles south of Australia. Remote, uninhabited, and the only place in the world where magic is dead."

"So we can't Apparate out."

"Were you an Animagus, Potter, you couldn't even transform. We might as well be Muggles."

"But Dobby and Kreacher got us here," Harry said, scratching his chin. "So house-elf magic works?"

"We have to assume it does. Not that it helps us, as our house-elves aren't answering our calls."

"Trapping us on an island so we fall in love," Harry mused. "I bet that's Dobby's idea."

"The part where we are cut off from magic sounds distinctively Kreacher-like to me."

"Mmh. They really are working together… Fuck, what do we do? How long will they keep us here? And our absence will be noticed!"

Snape ran a finger along his lips, and for an instant it was all Harry cared about—that long, slender finger caressing thin lips.

"We must focus on what we can control," Snape said. "For now, we need food, and shelter for the night."

"We have time, it's early morning."

Snape shot him a look that said no, you idiot. It wasn't as cutting as it used to be. Maybe that was the power of their new friendship?

"Oh, right," Harry said. "Time-zones. The sun is setting on this side of the world."

They went to work. Inland, they found a freshwater lake, and Harry set about to catch fish while Snape looked for shelter. He'd done this a fair number of times during those horrid months spent camping. Whenever they ran too low on food and they didn't dare risk any incursions in the Muggle world, Harry would fish like that, with his bare hands. Lying low in his belly, one arm submerged, his hand still under the surface, he waited. It required patience and some luck, but within an hour or two, he always walked away with a couple of fish.

Light had waned considerably by the time he'd caught his two fish and prepared them, cleaning the guts out. Now to rejoin Snape. He would have been lost in the dense forest if not for the glow of a fire guiding him. Snape had found a cave. It had a low ceiling and it wasn't very deep, but it seemed to offer enough protection from the elements.

"I'm impressed," Snape said as they roasted the fish over the flames. "I had expected you'd be entirely useless without your wand."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should."

The fire carved deep pit of shadows across Snape's face, and his eyes reflected the flames. The effect was at once disconcerting and alluring. It felt like Harry was finally witnessing Snape's hidden side, his shadow side, the part of him he had kept to himself all his life. What a privilege it was to lay eyes upon it.

"I'm impressed too," Harry said. "Didn't know you could make a fire without magic."

"I'd be a poor Potions Master if I needed magic to light a fire."

"That's how everyone lights their fire. Magic."

Harry snapped his fingers to illustrate his point.

"And thus the love of the craft is lost as more and more lazy idiots turn to spells and self-stirring cauldrons. Every year I see more abominations. A first-year turned up with a gold cauldron this year. A gold cauldron, Potter! Truly the little dunderheads are committed to plumbing the abysses of mediocrity."

"I almost bought a gold cauldron as a first-year. If Hagrid hadn't been there to tell me no, well…"

"I owe Hagrid my sanity, it seems."

"Yep. He saved my arse, too, because I shudder to imagine the face you would have made… the speech you would have unleashed in tiny, eleven-year old me… 'A gold cauldron, Potter? Was pewter too banal for our new celebrity? Did you want to impress your classmates with the depths of your vault since the contents of your brain are lacking?'

Snape smirked. The shifting shadows thrown by the fire made the action, already very high on the scale of hotness, even hotter.

"Not bad. Yes, I rather think I would have made you cry. Then I would have made the class brew any potions of my choosing using dragon saliva, and your gold cauldron would have melted before your eyes."

"I would have hated you even more."

"Would it truly have changed things between us?" Snape asked, his voice smooth and layered with an emotion Harry couldn't identify.

"Probably not."

They finished eating just as rain began to fall. A sudden, brutal downpour that doused their fire and drowned out the world as they retreated inside the cave. Night had arrived, and so had the cold. Harry rubbed his hands together, wishing he'd worn warmer pyjamas. Snape didn't look better equipped.

"I won't be able to make another fire," Snape said. "The wood is too soaked. We'll have to spend the night as we are."

"I have a scarf," Harry commented, adjusting said scarf around his neck.

"How fortuitous for you, Potter."

"We can share."

Snape gave him a look that rode the line between I feel insulted and I am tempted to say yes.

"It's a very warm scarf," Harry said, nuzzling his face into the wool. "Long enough for two."

Snape muttered something under his breath. Then he sat besides Harry, both their backs against the stone, and they wound the scarf around both their throat. Their shoulders touched, their legs inches apart. Around them, the cave grew colder. Rain was still falling.

"This island sucks," Harry said after a long stretch of silence. "Terrible vacation spot."

"We have yet to encounter what might quickly become our most pressing problem."

"Oh no. What is it? What terrible secret does this place hold? Is it cursed? Are we going to start turning into zombies? Are we going to lose our memories if we stay too long? Or… or is it a place where time moves faster than outside of it, and every day here equals a week for everyone else?"

Snape smiled—a strange smile, soft and languid and un-Snapish.

"You have a very fertile imagination. No, nothing so dire. I was referring to the wildlife. There is a reason Australian wizards who study this absence of magic only come to the islands in groups and never stay long."

"And that reason is…?"

Snape shifted, which broke the tether of warmth between them for a second before he pressed his shoulder against Harry's once more. Strands of his hair brushed Harry's cheek.

"I'll tell you in the morning."

"Or now."

Snape didn't answer. Harry inched closer, tipping his head in Snape's direction, angling his entire body so he was facing the other man. When Snape didn't protest, Harry dared to be bolder. He set his head against Snape's shoulder and half-cuddled against him. Slowly, Snape wrapped an arm around him.

Now they were properly cuddling. Sharing warmth, too.

It was very nice. Harry found himself thinking that actually, being stranded here was worth it if that meant he got to cuddle with Snape. Then he scowled at himself, because this all wouldn't lead anywhere, and he was torturing himself and his little marshmallow heart by entertaining the idea that Snape might want him. No matter what Dobby and Kreacher thought, no matter what his own stupid brain was telling him, there was no future where Severus Snape and Harry Potter were a couple.

None at all.

"You do realize we're playing right into their hands," Snape said.

"Friends can cuddle," Harry said.

This seemed like a reasonable response, and one that didn't betray any feelings on his part.

"It's just logical," he added. "Would have happened between any two random people dropped here."

"Perhaps not."

"Okay, barring a few people," Harry acknowledged. "But it's not—it doesn't mean anything."

"Of course it doesn't," Snape agreed in that smooth voice he'd been using so much.

There was still that unknown emotion underneath, like a current beneath the still surface. Harry wanted to plunge his hands in and see what it was—see what kind of fish he would catch.

"Unless we want it to," he said.

The hand was in. Would the fish bite?

Snape gave a hum.

"And do you want it to, Potter?"

Wait a second. Had Snape been waiting for him all this time? Was Harry the fish in that scenario?

"Yes," he said, taking the bait. "Yes, I do."

"Then what would it mean?" Snape said, and it was too dark to see anything but the mere suggestion of the man's face, and yet Harry would have bet anything he was smirking.

Harry went for it. Stopped thinking, stopped building hypotheses in his head, and sprung into action. The kiss was technically a fumble, his lips landing somewhere on Snape's chin, but hey, it was hard to aim in the dark. Also not his fault Snape has such a thin, sharp face. But then Snape helped, sliding his mouth against Harry's, and everything worked out.

They kissed, hungrily, breathing into each other's mouth, biting at each other's lips. Their hands joined in, seemingly on their own. Harry didn't remember grabbing Snape's shoulders, nor could he recall how Snape's own hands had slipped down his back to cup his arse.

It was a great way to warm up. Harry didn't feel the cold anymore. Snape had chased it all away with his maddening tongue and his wandering hands, and lit a fire in his belly that would probably last all night.

Panting, Harry rocked his hips. Snape groaned. His mouth slid along Harry's throat as he gave Harry's arse a squeeze.

"What do you want?" he asked, voice rumbling against Harry's skin.

It wasn't smooth anymore. It was a rushing torrent of lust finally unleashed, and Harry welcomed it with open arms.

"Everything."

Snape emitted a rough noise against his throat.

"You're far too eager, Potter, and you are tumbling into this without a plan."

"Planning's your thing. I'm more into spontaneous decisions that, ah, ultimately turn out great."

"And if this is a disaster?" Snape said, but then he squeezed Harry's arse again, which was an unfair tactic if you asked him.

"Don't care," Harry managed to answer.

He felt his way down Snape's chest and slipped a hand into his trousers. Snape shuddered, biting back a curse.

"Sorry," Harry said. "My hand's cold, I know."

He wrapped his fingers around Snape's erection, the feel of another cock in his hand unfamiliar. Uh. Shifting his grip, he gave a slow upstroke to confirm his first impression. Yep.

"Fuck, you're big... Wish I could see it."

"All in due time, Mister Potter."

Harry's answer withered on his tongue as Snape returned the favor, taking him in hand. Oh God. Some distant part of his brain informed him Snape's hand was cold, but all the rest of him thrilled at the contact. The idea of Snape's hand around his cock alone would have electrified him. The reality of it scalded his spine and pooled lava in his insides. He whined, thrusting up, awkwardly stroking Snape's prick at the same time.

Snape shuffled closer.

"Let me," he said.

With his free hand, he angled Harry's hips so that their cocks were touching. Harry had barely processed this new development that Snape had already wrapped his hand around them both and started stroking, and that was when Harry ascended straight to Heaven.

Anyone standing outside the cave would have thought a strange monster dwelled inside, for the noises that came out of Harry's mouth didn't belong to this mortal plan. Possibly they originated from the dimension of Very Peculiar Sex Noises.

"Aahh—uuunhf—mm, mmm, gnaaah—"

Snape was talking. Somehow he retained enough brain power to form sentences, and they all made sense, and they were wrecking havoc on Harry's self-control, which had already been shot to hell by that hand on his cock.

"I'm afraid this is setting a terrible precedent, Potter. You see, the noises you're making right now and the feel of your cock against mine are terribly addictive. Now that I've experienced them, I won't be able to resist wanting them again. And I—I will seduce you if I have to. I will woo you until I have you in my bed, laid out under me, begging me to touch you."

Harry replied with more incoherent noises. Snape chuckled and increased the speed of his strokes.

"But perhaps I won't have to woo you at all. Perhaps you'll come to me on your own, isn't that right? And our meddling house-elves will rejoice, for they were right all along."

The slick sounds between them grew to a fever pitch. Harry moaned as Snape pulled pleasure from him ruthlessly, his hand working them both with devastating precision. The friction sent his toes curling and he cried out, tension cresting. Then he was coming, fucking into Snape's hand with small jerks of his hips, hissing through his orgasm and spurting in long pulses.

Snape followed seconds later, more warm slickness coating them both. Winded, Harry fell forward into him, his nose meeting the soft wool of Snape's pyjamas. He floated in post-orgasmic happiness, warm and safe and content.

It took him a while to become aware of how sticky he was, and yet more seconds to realize that no magic meant no magical clean-up.

"Ugh," he said. "Now we're all dirty."

"Regrets already?"

"Never."

He adjusted his trousers back into place and decided he didn't care about drying semen. Snape had made it happen, so it was all good.

"All good," he muttered out loud so the man would know.

Nuzzling his face into Snape's warm chest, he drifted off, and straight into sleep.

*

He woke with a dry mouth and the persistent feeling something was missing. Ah, yes. Still no magic. But now he had a Snape, and that seemed more than a fair trade.

A Snape who was lightly snoring, his warm wrapped around Harry, his heart beating slowly in his chest. Harry angled his face up and watched his maybe-boyfriend for a while. Sunlight landed on one half of his face, highlighting the sharp planes of it and revealing hints of copper in his dark hair. He looked peaceful like this. His mouth, usually down-turned, was set in a faint smile, and his brow was relaxed.

His eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes.

"Hi," Harry said.

"Good morning."

"Slept well?"

"I kept watch throughout most of the night. Falling asleep wasn't planned, and my neck is already aching, as is my back."

Harry winced in sympathy. His arse felt a little sore from sitting on hard rock for hours, but he knew it would be gone by tonight. Snape wouldn't be so lucky.

"We need to get off this island. Where are our elves, anyway? They should be there, they got what they wanted."

Snape cast a sharp look around.

"They might have decided on a length of time before coming back to fetch us."

"Twenty-four hours?" Harry guessed.

"We've already been lucky. I pray this will continue."

"Right. The wildlife, you said. We haven't seen any so far except for some fish, so go ahead, tell me. What's going to eat us if our luck abandons us?"

Snape opened his mouth to answer—and from the forest came a resounding roar.

"Ah," Harry said. "Okay. Is that a tiger? Lion? Polar bear? No, it's not cold enough. Normal bear? Please don't say 'dragon'."

"Tyrannosaurus Rex."

"I'm sorry. What?"

Snape looked like he was regretting waking up.

"On this island live the last surviving dinosaurs. A family of Tyrannosaurus Rex, one couple and two juveniles. I had hoped our house-elves would have been smart enough to make them sleep while we are here, but it seems I was mistaken."

Another roar proved his point. Something very heavy moved through the forest, snapping branches and trampling bushes. The earth shook. They both scrambled to their feet, but it was too late to flee—and they wouldn't have been fast enough anyway.

The monster was here.

Harry spotted his legs first, each one as tall as him and thick as a tree trunk. Then came his chest as the T-rex bent down, sniffing them out, and finally his head, blocking out the cave entrance. It had feathers, very pretty and colorful in shades of white and brown. Under any other circumstances, Harry would have been delighted to be face-to-face with a dinosaur, but he couldn't appreciate the moment when there was a very high possibility of being eaten in the next five minutes.

The T-rex snorted, his gigantic nostrils flaring. As Harry and Snape inched back into the shadows of the cave, the beast forced his head in further, scraping against the ceiling. He opened his maw, revealing a terrifying set of teeth that looked far to sharp for Harry's comfort. His rotting breath filled the space.

"Dobby! Now would be a great time to intervene!"

"Kreacher! I order you to show up this instant!"

The T-rex snarled, and lunged. His snout came within inches of them before it hit a shimmering barrier.

"The big lizard shall not eat Dobby's Master!"

Dobby had appeared in front of Harry. He stood tall, staring down the prehistoric beast, and snapped his fingers. The T-rex vanished.

"Dobby sent him to the other side of the island," the elf said, turning to Harry. "Master Harry is safe now."

Kreacher arrived next with a pop. He gave Dobby a nod, then smiled at Snape.

"Is Master Snape liking the Last Resort? Kreacher didn't want to use such dire methods, but the Master forced his hand. However… Kreacher can see it was worked. Yesss, the unresolved sexual tension that sparked and snapped between Harry Potter and Master Snape has been consummated. Excellent."

"Great news!" Dobby said, clapping. "Ooh, Dobby is so happy for Harry Potter! He has found his soulmate!"

"Errr," Harry said, fighting the blush that was creeping onto his face. "Yeah, okay. You were right, Dobby. But did you really have to send us to an island without magic and with dinosaurs?"

"Dobby will not accept any criticism when clearly it worked."

"Return us to Hogwarts at once," Snape said.

He only had to ask, and it was done. In the blink of an eye, they were now all standing in Snape's office.

"Does the Master desire anything else?" Kreacher said, a smug glint in his eyes.

"When will Harry Potter and Severus Snape marry?" Dobby asked. "Dobby has ideas for the wedding! Dobby can advise Harry Potter on color schemes and guests placement and menus suggestions!"

"Kreacher also has ideas! Kreacher has more experience with weddings. He supervised all of the House Black weddings, of which they were many, and with hundreds of guests, all very—"

"Later," Harry said. "Look, we're not even officially dating yet. I don't know if we'll ever marry."

He glanced toward Snape, who was wearing his I am made of steel and you shall not guess my emotions face.

"But if you do," Dobby said, "you will let Dobby help?"

"Of course."

Kreacher stared at Snape, who sighed and caved in.

"If it ever happens, you may help as well, Kreacher."

"Kreacher will start planning right away."

"Dobby will plan better!"

The elves shared a glance and then disappeared at the same time. Harry ran a hand through his hair and made his shoulders crack.

"I guess we should steel ourselves for more house-elves shenanigans," he said.

"It seems inevitable," Snape said. "Give it a week or two and we will find ourselves Apparated in front of an altar with a priest asking for our vows."

"I wouldn't terribly mind."

Snape's smile lit up his eyes.

"Nor would I."