Archive of Our Own

"Well, all right," Ron conceded after his first beer. "I'll admit that Gandalf was pretty powerful, although I still say a staff doesn't compare to a wand. It just can't channel magic nearly as well as a wand."

"It was good enough to beat that Balrog," Harry countered, and took another swallow of his own ale. He wondered what hobbit-brewed ale would have tasted like. Perhaps it would have been as good as their tobacco.

"Yes," Ron admitted grudgingly. "But you're wrong about Tolkien. He couldn't have gotten those ideas about wizards and magic from some Muggleborn relative. A lot of it's rubbish. I mean to say, what about those Elves? Who does their cooking and cleaning, eh? Does Galadriel keep house-elves, herself?"

Harry blinked, and considered this new objection. He'd never thought about who was baking the lembas, but he wasn't sure it was a very important question, either. Their discussions about the Muggle films they went to see always seemed to drift off topic with Ron after the second or third beer in the pub.

"I'm not sure who does her cooking, but she's much better looking than Winky, so who cares?" Muggle movie stars tended to be good-looking. Suspiciously so, Harry had always thought, considering that they didn't have potions or glamours. As a result, Harry was often able to distract Ron by bringing up the female lead's appearance.

Although in Return of the King, he privately thought that the actor who played Aragorn would have pulled a lot more than the Muggle who played Galadriel. Or Legolas. Blonds were too chilly-looking for his taste.

"That's true enough." Ron took another swig, and then apparently decided he'd had enough of talking about the movie. "So, how was your week? Ghosts keeping you busy?"

"Busy enough," Harry agreed. "I was sent to a case in Falmouth on Wednesday. Never been to that part of Cornwall before; it's lovely. Another irreconcilable differences case, and the ghost had to be relocated."

"Why'd they lodge the complaint?" Ron asked, seeming interested.

"The home owner was a half-blood who'd married a Muggleborn. The ghost had been a pureblood, and didn't much fancy that. Didn't want descendents with three Muggle grandparents, it seems." Ron snorted. "According to the complaint, he just wouldn't give them a minute's peace. Kept drifting into their bedroom at night while they were shagging."

"Bet that did a lot for their married life, then."

"Well, the complaint didn't actually say it," Harry said, "but you could read between the lines that the ghost was doing something like that. They'd been rowing for months with the ghost, and he just wouldn't see reason. Anyway, they petitioned to have the ghost relocated, and we approved the request."

"Where'd you take him to?"

"Highgate Cemetery, and cast an Immuralis on his former home so he can't get in again," Harry said with some satisfaction. "He may kick up a fuss at Highgate, too, but you know Muggles never care if someone says he saw a ghost in a cemetery. They just don't believe it."

Ron nodded his approval, and then cast a quick Tempus. "Damn, it's gone half eleven. I'd better head home, or Hermione will be wondering what's keeping me." He finished his beer quickly.

Harry finished his own ale, as well. There was no one waiting for him at home, however. He considered staying on for another drink by himself, to see whether he could pull anyone even half as good-looking as Aragorn. The Wizard's Staff attracted a mixed clientele, after all. He might not end up going home alone.

But then he remembered the paperwork that he'd need to get through tomorrow morning before the Ghost Liaison Committee meeting at eleven, and thought better of it. Evicting a ghost from his ancestral home always meant you had to write up a report justifying the decision to the hilt, or the local Ghost Council was sure to raise a stink. Sometimes, it almost wasn't worth the red tape.

On the other hand, you didn't need to cast Unforgivables on ghosts, ever. Harry supposed that the trade off was worth it.

"I'll go too, then," he said to Ron. "Want to rent the next one in that Star Wars series and watch it at my place, next Thursday? Maybe Hermione can join us, too, if she doesn't have to work late."

Severus sat at his kitchen table, drinking tea while he read through his Council Tax bill once more. Doing so didn't change the total, unfortunately. And this bill didn't even include the water rates.

Back when Severus had had a teacher's salary, the taxes hadn't been much of a worry. But he'd barely been able to keep up with the council taxes since the war ended, and the revaluation of Spinner's End last year had been the final straw. Severus had had two reminders so far, and the letter that had arrived this morning politely informed him that the Council was now applying to the magistrate's court for a liability order.

He'd have to pay the balance in full within two weeks, or face bailiffs who'd turn up with a warrant to take his furniture and other goods, since he had no Muggle earnings that could be attached. And unfortunately, there was a limit to how many times he could Obliviate a bailiff, and get away with it

Severus' lip curled as he looked through the doorway to the bookcases lining the front room of his house. Allowing the bailiffs to rummage through his personal library was out of the question. What remained, even after the Ministry's confiscation of his Dark Arts materials, could not possibly be allowed to fall into Muggle authorities' hands. Not to mention those Dark Arts books that the Ministry had not located, when they searched his home as part of the parole agreement.

He doubted that the Muggles would get much for the enormous old coal-burning range sitting in the kitchen, or his (rather battered) furniture and threadbare linens. The linens had been new back when his parents had married, decades ago. And his mother had never updated the appliances, since a wand made that unnecessary. Everything in the house was either old and of little value, by Muggle standards, or else represented a serious violation of the Code of Wizarding Secrecy if it fell into their hands.

And if the Muggles couldn't raise the money for the council taxes by selling his goods, the step after that would be a warrant for his imprisonment. Severus didn't intend to stay around long enough for that to happen. After all, he was the owner of not one, but two of the least desirable dwellings in Britain. And since his other home had never been owned by Muggles, it wasn't in their tax records. Which was perhaps its only desirable characteristic.

Severus took another sip, and thought of the alternative, which he'd been avoiding for more than five years. Cassandra wouldn't always be pleasant to live with, he was sure. There was no reason to believe that her opinions about half bloods had altered in the slightest. But if he had to choose between her and the magistrate's court, he knew what he'd do.

He rose and went into the front room to start packing his books, transfiguring lumps of coal he'd gleaned at the slag heaps into cardboard boxes. It would be a day's work to shrink, pack, and move everything to his other home. But he didn't intend to leave so much as a crumb for the bailiffs. They could whistle for their tax money.

By four that afternoon, everything had been packed and moved. He'd even taken the coal range, although what use he'd have for that in his other home, Severus didn't know. All that was left was a pile of correspondence from the local Council. Those, Severus tossed into the fireplace, and burnt. He made sure all the doors and windows were locked (let them pay for a locksmith if they wanted to get in), and Apparated to Prince Manor.

Some of the slate tiles on the roof above his mother's old bedroom, which Severus had intended to take for himself, must have fallen off or been blown away in a storm during the months since he'd been here last. He stood in the doorway to the room and looked at the water damage that had resulted. Almost half the ceiling was crumbling and water stained, and the wallpaper had a trail of large raised blisters and bubbles where the water had run down the side of the wall. He didn't doubt that come the next storm, the damage would worsen.

Severus cast a waterproofing spell on the ceiling, but he knew that wouldn't last very long. He'd have to get a roofer in to make some repairs.

At least there ought to be quite a pile of used slate tiles, piled up in a shed outside. He was sure his great-grandfather had salvaged some for reuse, when the east wing of Prince Manor had finally collapsed around the turn of the century. That ought to reduce the roofer's bill.

As the house had rotted around them, his grandparents and great-aunt had moved all the furniture into the west wing of the Manor, and simply closed off the remaining areas. He supposed he'd have to take his grandparents' old bedroom, since it seemed to be the only one in decent repair.

It turned out that he'd needed the coal range from Spinner's End, as well. The range was, it seemed, still newer and better than the open hearth that his mother's family had relied on. He'd need to renew the charms on the pump that drew from the well outside, too.

Severus floated his trunks into his grandparents' bedroom, and then moved his bed from Spinner's End in, too. The wallpaper in this room had a rather disagreeable pattern of bruised-looking thistles, but it was at least dry. And there was a dark red Persian rug on the floor, only a little threadbare, that had probably been part of his great-grandmother's dowry. Severus banished his grandparents' bed (which was crawling with woodlice) to his mother's old room.

He wanted a cup of tea before starting the job of clearing the wardrobe in his "new" bedroom, and went down to test how well the coal range would work in its new setting. The kitchen was empty and cold. When his grandmother had been alive, this room had always been warm, and often smelled inviting. She'd loved to bake, Severus recalled. He wondered whether she'd written down the recipe for her caraway seed cake.

Cassandra drifted in just as he was pouring the hot water into the pot.

"You're back again, then?" It was hard to tell if she was pleased to see him or not. "You finally got tired of that Muggle house, I suppose? Was it the neighbours?"

"No, it wasn't the neighbours," Severus said shortly. He didn't want to try to explain council taxes to someone who'd died in 1706. He opened the carton with the foods that had been in his fridge, and looked for the milk.

Cassandra smoothed the brocade on her skirt with one hand, and looked at him thoughtfully. Severus watched her and wondered, not for the first time, how it felt to live for centuries wearing stays laced that tight, along with a starched lace collar. Or whether she even felt them at all. But even if the stays pinched sometimes, he didn't imagine she'd ever been tempted to slop about wearing the sort of simple robes that many witches wore around the house. In her day, the Princes had had standards. Or so she always told him.

"Well, no matter what your reasons were, you're welcome home," Cassandra finally said. Nice of her to allow him back into a house that he owned, Severus thought, but didn't say. Cassandra was a family member, after all. No need to have an argument his first evening back.

"I expect I'll be here a while," he said evenly.

"Won't you be needing to go back to Hogwarts come September then? You're not still teaching there?" Cassandra sounded hopeful that he wouldn't be going then. She had never approved of a descendant, even a half-blood one, working for a living.

"I'll be brewing some potions to order, but nothing more. I'm not a teacher these days."

Cassandra nodded, although her nose wrinkled at the words to order. Cassandra didn't take orders, but was very good at giving them. "You'll want to be fixing up the greenhouse then, I expect. Perhaps we can get Hengist Bones' great grandson in to do it for you."

Severus thought he could manage on his own, but didn't say so. He also wondered whether there were any panes left intact in the greenhouse, by this point. He'd find out tomorrow morning.

She drifted over to sit next to him, spreading her skirts out as she sank down on to the seat. "I'm glad you're home, Severus. It's time we had Princes living here again. You can have some of the neighbours over maybe, after you've settled in."

"I doubt many would care to pay me a visit," Severus said dryly. He'd dropped Albus' letters and Pensieve testimony like a bombshell into the middle of his trial four years ago, laying out what had really happened.

The resulting publicity had meant that he not only walked free, but was only occasionally spat upon when he showed himself in public. But he was still unemployable. Even his potions were sold by mail under a false name. None of the neighbours would be queuing up to drink tea with him, he was sure.

"Don't be foolish." Cassandra's tone was brisk and very determined. "The war's been over a while, hasn't it? I'm sure that most people are trying to forget that Death Guzzler society. And the Princes have always had friends in this area."

Severus didn't bother to correct her. It was usually easier just to let Cassandra think what she liked. He swallowed the last of his tea. "I've got to get back to unpacking," he said unapologetically, and pushed his chair back from the table.

"Of course." She nodded graciously. "We'll talk later this evening. You can't have that much to unpack, I suppose."

With any luck, he could avoid that talk for several days while he worked out what sorts of repairs the Manor would need before winter set in. Severus rinsed his tea cup in the sink, and went back upstairs. He'd need to banish the doxies in the bedroom draperies before he opened his trunks, and that was just the first job on a long list.

He did see Cassandra again later that evening, however. She drifted through the wall from the hallway late that night, just as he was changing into his nightshirt.

"I had a better idea about the greenhouse . . " she began.

"Not now, if you don't mind," he snarled, holding his nightshirt in front of him.

Cassandra didn't seem the least bit abashed, however. "You've become rather thin, haven't you?" she commented, and Severus considered hurling the water basin at her. It would have just passed right through her, so he restrained the impulse. After a moment, Cassandra shrugged, and turned to leave again.

After she was gone, Severus carefully cast an Immuralis on the door, the wall between the hallway and the bedroom, and his ceiling and floor. He still remembered the time Cassandra had drifted into his bedroom right in the middle of a good wank, when he was visiting the summer after his O.W.L.s.

Emperor: The son of Skywalker must not become a Jedi.
Darth Vader: If he could be turned, he would be a powerful ally.
Emperor: Yes. Yes. He would be a great asset. Can it be done?
Darth Vader: He will join us or die, my master.

Ron threw a piece of popcorn at the telly screen. "Join us or die? That's really stupid dialogue."

Harry made the popcorn vanish, before any butter soaked into the rug. "Well, who knows what Vader is thinking there? I mean, with that mask on, you just can't tell."

Ron shrugged. "Yeah. That voice is bad enough, though. Puts me in mind of Snape, really. Wonder if Vader is covering up a big nose under that mask?"

Harry laughed, but privately thought that Ron had a point. The Muggle actor playing Vader had a voice that had as much power and presence as Snape's had. That, combined with the swirling cloak, really did remind him of Snape. They both projected menace pretty effectively. And he could imagine Snape playing up to Voldemort, as this character did with the Emperor.

He grabbed another handful of popcorn from the bowl set between them on the sofa, and settled back to watch the rest of the DVD. DVDs were one of the best Muggle inventions, Harry thought. Along with the other fun electronics you could buy in Muggle stores, they made it worth living in a Muggle neighbourhood and flat. Not to mention that his Muggle neighbours didn't stare after him when he walked down the street.

Ron didn't throw any more popcorn after that, however. The movie got better and better, and once the light sabres came out, they both fell silent, watching. Light sabres looked like fun, really, Harry found himself thinking. A lot better than duelling with wands, even if the green light inside one of them reminded him of a Killing Curse.

Darth Vader: If you only knew the power of the Dark Side. Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father.
Luke:: He told me enough. He told me that you killed him.
Darth Vader: No. I am your father.
Luke: No. No. That's not true. That's impossible.
Darth Vader: Search your feelings. You know it to be true.
Luke: Noooooo. Nooooooooo.

They watched as Luke refused Vader's offer, and fell down into the abyss.

Ron snorted. "Now that's a nice surprise. Sort of like finding out that Snape was really your father, eh?"

Harry made a face. "You've got an awful imagination there." On the screen, Leia was rescuing Luke from the spot he'd fallen to.

Harry stood up to go into the kitchen. "You want another beer?"

Ron nodded, but didn't look away from the screen when Harry left the room. He really did love Muggle movies even more than Harry did, especially when Harry rented fantasy or something that took place in the future. Movies set in the regular Muggle world tended to confuse Ron. Harry hated it when Ron asked (loudly) for explanations right in the middle of the theatre about things that any Muggle would have known, which led to odd looks from the people around them. Star Wars was easier for him to understand.

And Harry liked having Ron over. The flat was sometimes too quiet when he was home alone, in the evenings. After years of living with hundreds of people at Hogwarts, he often missed hearing voices and footsteps in the next room. And the strangers he sometimes brought home rarely spent the night. He'd almost rather spend time with Ron than with most of the men he shagged. Most of the time.

Harry settled back on the sofa and handed Ron his beer. On screen, Luke was now sporting a new hand. It looked a bit like Pettigrew's, Harry noted.

Two weeks' hard work had rendered the Manor almost habitable and ready for colder weather. Severus had found a handyman's spell book that had probably belonged to his grandfather down in the library, and had managed to replace the missing roof tiles on his own. He'd fixed a leak in the pipes that ran down from the bathroom, as well, so that the parlour didn't flood whenever he took a bath. He'd repaired dozens of broken panes in the greenhouse, readying it for some fall plantings, and banished the doxies from the rooms he was going to inhabit during the next few months, sealing off the other rooms so they couldn't get back in.

The parlour was going to need quite a bit of work. He'd located and disposed of a boggart that had taken up residence under the sofa, but that was only the start of what had to be done in there. Severus was darkly amused (but not surprised) to note that his boggart still assumed the form of Voldemort. Some things had not changed. Well, at least he didn't have to conceal his boggart's form from his fellow Death Eaters, these days.

The chore at the top of today's list was sweeping the chimneys before the winter really set in. Even with some of the room closed off, the house still felt too quiet, empty, and cold. Good fires would help with that. But at the moment, you couldn't light a fire in any of the fireplaces because the chimneys were blocked. His grandfather's book had a fairly simple spell for that, too.

He was kneeling in front of the kitchen hearth one afternoon, trying to get a straight shot at some of the soot blocking it higher up, when Cassandra appeared suddenly behind him.

"What are you doing? You're getting soot all over the floor there," she said, sounding quite put out.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm sweeping the chimney, of course. At the moment, you can't light a single fire in this house, although perhaps you didn't notice." Severus had hoped to get the job done before Cassandra returned from the local Ghost Council meeting, in order to avoid discussion about the matter. It seemed she was home early.

He turned his back on her again, pointing his wand carefully up at the blockage and gesturing without speaking. About two buckets' worth of soot fell down on to the stones in front of him, and a small cloud of ashes billowed out towards the kitchen. Severus quickly cast a containment spell to keep the ashes inside the hearth, and then vanished them.

"You're covered with ashes." Her tone was arctic. "You look like a chimneysweep. Can't you hire someone to do that sort of job?"

Severus cleaned himself with a quick spell and considered (but did not vocalize) several responses. Cassandra was a family member, he thought, and had helped keep an eye on him when he was younger, when his mother had brought him for visits. And he had to live with her, after all. And she knew all of the Prince family's secrets. The reminders had a well-worn feel to them.

He turned around to face her again. "You're home early. Not much business for the Council to consider?"

She sniffed. "It didn't take long to decide. A Ministry official came to ask whether we'd move our meetings to a different location." The local Ghost Council, Severus recalled dimly, met in a church hall attached to an abandoned church in Wharram Percy, where the only Muggles likely to happen by were archaeologists or tourists looking for the historic and picturesque.

The large graveyard next to it meant that ghosts probably didn't draw much comment if they were seen by an occasional passer-by. Archaeologists always had their eyes fixed on the ground anyway. Severus imagined how Cassandra would appear to an earnest hiker following a route laid out in an English Heritage hiking tours book, who trespassed on her council's meeting grounds. Probably a bit more history than a Muggle would reckon with. He snickered quietly at the thought, but Cassandra was in full voice now, and didn't hear him.

"We use that not just for meetings, but for holiday gatherings and those without ancestral homes can hold their Deathday parties there," Cassandra continued, disdainful of Ministry minions who weren't aware of such details. "The young man they sent, a jumped-up little Muggleborn, told us that the Muggles are building some sort of shops nearby, and that we'd be seen too often if we kept using the church hall. The Council has been meeting there for 300 years.

If anything, it is the Ministry's responsibility to keep the Muggles away from us." Cassandra was warming to her topic. "That is what Obliviators are for, after all. So that we can all go about our business without being troubled by Muggles. We explained that to this young man from the Ministry, who came from a rather low sort of family, and sent him packing."

That was an interesting view of why the Obliviators' Office existed.

"In my day, it was not thought necessary for wizards to arrange their affairs to suit the convenience of Muggles, and what the Ministry has come to---"

"In your day, wizards and witches didn't live separately from the Muggle world, Cassandra," Severus interrupted. Once she started on this subject, she was capable of pontificating for hours. "But the Ministry has to enforce the Code of Secrecy now. Was there anyone I know at the Council meeting?" It was a clumsy bid to change the subject, but he knew Cassandra was always happy to discuss her neighbours, too.

She looked annoyed, but allowed herself to be distracted. "Well, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore was there. He usually attends when we're not in the middle of the hunting season. And Artemisia Lestrange. She's the head of the Historical Society, as you might remember. Although I'm sure I could manage the business much better than she does."

Cassandra paused, and narrowed her eyes. "Severus, I wondered whether you'd like to have Artemisia and her great great granddaughter Daphne to tea one day. I'm sure you could lay out a nice tea for her."

Severus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Daphne Lestrange was a cousin of Rastaban's who'd been five years ahead of him, back at school. She'd never spared him a glance back then, and he was sure that hadn't changed. Not that he wanted to renew an acquaintance with any of the women he'd known. But he'd never bothered to explain to Cassandra why that was so. Why bother, when the likelihood of his bringing anyone home was so low? Of either sex.

"I don't think so," he responded curtly. "I don't really feel like having visitors yet."

"Well, you don't want to wait forever." Cassandra eyed him cautiously. "You're not getting any younger, you know. And I'm sure we could find a family that would be willing to overlook who your father was. The Prince name has always counted for a great deal, around these parts."

"I need to get back to the chimneys, if you don't mind. They won't clean themselves, and some of us can still feel the cold." Severus left the kitchen, and went into the parlour. Perhaps he could finish cleaning all the chimneys before supper. He needed to finish these house repairs and get back to brewing, or he'd run out of grocery money soon.

Harry tested the doorknob on the entrance of the RNEP Office, to see if Miss Frobisher had unlocked it that morning yet. Sometimes, she couldn't be bothered to fetch the wizard who worked at the Ministry reception desk to unlock the door for her when she was the first one to work, and simply drifted through to her desk. This morning the door opened when he turned the knob, however. Miss Frobisher was there at her desk, going through her correspondence.

"Good morning, Mr Potter." Miss Frobisher looked up as he entered. If she were alive, all those bracelets and bead necklaces would clack gently, Harry was sure. But the bracelets jostled against each other silently, and her hair (neatly arranged in a bun) never dropped a single pin.

Harry nodded good morning and passed through to his own office. He had another Religatus report to write up before his 11 a.m. meeting.

He was only halfway through the second section when Miss Frobisher was suddenly seated in front of his desk, holding a letter from a ghost. Harry amused himself by trying, yet again, to read the handwriting that could be seen floating on the other side of the transparent parchment. But as always, it was like reading text that was reflected backwards in a mirror.

"I've got a letter from the head of the East Yorkshire Ghosts' Council," she began. "She's complaining about that request that Creevey presented to them last week, asking them to move their meeting hall. He seems to have offended them quite badly, and they're threatening some sort of protest. Mr Gudgeon asked me to pass on the case to you."

Harry sighed and put his quill down. "Read it to me, please."

Miss Frobisher read the letter aloud. Harry could tell she was amused. But really, the prospect of dozens of ghosts meeting a stone's throw from the construction site for a new tourist attraction being built by Madame Tussauds (including displays of medieval life complete with life-sized wax figures and souvenir shops) promised to produce nothing but headaches for his office on a regular basis. The Minister's office had passed on the information that there would be a great deal of night work done there, with floodlights, along with a curt request that Office for the Regulation of RNEP make sure that the ghosts were relocated before ground was broken on the construction site.

Even Muggles probably wouldn't fail to notice it when dozens of ghosts drifted in from all over Yorkshire for their weekly meetings. Not to mention the first time they held a Deathday Party there. Those were never quiet affairs. Harry grimaced when Miss Frobisher read the name on the letter's signature.

"Prince," he said, not liking the sound of that. Mrs Prince, née Black. Oh, delightful. The tone of the letter left him convinced that he'd find the name on Sirius' family tapestry. And it wouldn't be one of the names that old Mrs Black had burned a hole through.

"Yes, Prince," Miss Frobisher said, dryly. "They used to be quite a well-known pureblood family, I've heard. That was before I was born, of course. The ones I went to school with didn't amount to much." Miss Frobisher, Harry recalled, had died in 1872.

"Do you know if she's related to Severus Snape? His mother was a Prince," Harry asked, curious.

"I did hear that the last Prince girl had married a Muggle," Miss Frobisher said regretfully. "I suppose the family line's died out now, or as good as. But Cassandra Prince is apparently still resident there. And she doesn't seem very obliging, I must say."

"No." The letter, clearly written by someone who didn't care much for Muggle property rights, had included an attached resolution from the council that bluntly demanded that the Ministry cast Muggle-Repelling Charms over a ten-square mile area and send a team of Obliviators to completely erase the memories of all the Muggles associated with the construction project.

Miss Frobisher fingered one of the beads on her necklace thoughtfully. "I've noticed that it's often that way with ghosts who were born before the Secrecy Code was created. They grew up before the Separation, and they really don't grasp the consequences, if you know what I mean."

Harry did. The most difficult ghosts of all were those who had been born in medieval England or even earlier, since how they thought made no sense. You could take another ghost along to translate, but it was much more than a language difference. He remembered one ghost he'd been sent to deal with who dated from the Roman occupation, and shuddered. Ghosts that old, you almost always had to banish to a cemetery and tie down with a Religatus. There was no dealing with them, really.

"Well, she's going to have to grasp the consequences of the Separation now," he said shortly. And her entire Council. They'd just have to relocate to somewhere less popular with Muggles.

"Well, we can't send Creevey up there again," Miss Frobisher pointed out briskly. "He doesn't seem to have made much of an impression. And I don't think this can wait until Mrs MacFarlane comes back from her vacation."

Harry supposed not, although he wished he could drop this one into Alicia MacFarlane's lap.

He didn't fancy going to see anyone who was probably related to Snape. It reminded him yet again of how Dumbledore had deceived him, set up that whole scene on the Tower. No doubt for a good reason, but Harry still felt angry at how he'd been used there. After all those "confidences" shared in his sixth year, too.

In the end, Dumbledore hadn't trusted him any more than he had in Harry's fifth year. That had become clear when Snape produced those letters and Pensieve testimony from Dumbledore at his trial. If Dumbledore had still been alive, Harry would have destroyed every knick-knack and magical device in the man's office.

"I suppose I'll have to go talk to her," he said slowly. Perhaps he'd find that she wasn't related that closely to Snape, after all.

Miss Frobisher nodded. "I hope she can be persuaded not to stir up the rest of her Council," she said. "I've always heard that the East Yorkshire Council was dominated by a group of traditionalists."

Harry just hoped there weren't Angles or any other sort of early medieval ghosts on the Council. After the 11 o'clock meeting, he'd need to write to Mrs Prince. He looked at his clock again and realized he still needed to finish the last case's paperwork before then, and swore softly.

Severus was almost finished shaving when Cassandra drifted in through the bathroom door. Catching sight of her in the mirror over the sink, hovering and looking over his shoulder, Severus jerked. He swore as he nicked himself.

"Do you mind?" It was hard to achieve a completely arctic tone of voice when he didn't have a shirt on.

"Margaret Peasegood is coming over for tea this afternoon, and I wondered whether you could put out something for us to enjoy."

Cassandra was impervious to any shade of disdain, sarcasm, or irony, Severus decided for the tenth time.

"Well, then perhaps you should arrange that. I have something for an order that I need to brew after breakfast."

"Taking orders? You're a Prince, Severus. And Margaret is one of my oldest friends. She has a great-grandniece who's not yet married, too. I thought I might ask her to bring the niece to tea next time, if you're of a mind."

He wiped the last of the soap carefully off his chin, and turned to face her.

"I don't want to meet Margaret Peasegood's niece. I don't care if I ever see Daphne Lestrange again, either. I'm not interested in the granddaughters, third cousins, or the goddaughters of any of your friends. What part of that was unclear?"

Cassandra pursed her lips. "You'll want to get married sooner or later, Severus. Every man wants a son, to carry on his name and line."

"A son? I taught some of the most atrocious hellions in wizarding Britain. For fifteen long years. I don't care if I ever see a child again. And I'm not the marrying type."

Ghosts couldn't go pale, but Severus could have sworn that Cassandra's form wavered briefly, before coming into focus again. "You don't ever plan to marry? You won't do your duty and produce a son to inherit the Manor?"

"I have no such plans at present." He might as well make that clear, or she'd be dragging in every spinster in Yorkshire for tea.

Cassandra was momentarily at a loss for words, but then rallied. "Do you realize where that will leave me, if you refuse to bestir yourself, and persist in this base ingratitude towards your family? Towards me? You're the last of the Princes. Once you die, the property would pass to Aurora Turpin's great great-grandson, Marcus."

Severus vaguely recalled meeting the man once, the summer after his sixth year. He was Severus' second cousin once removed. No, perhaps his third cousin.

"Aurora Turpin is an insufferable woman. Always putting herself forward where she's not wanted," Cassandra continued, growing more and more agitated. "She's tried three times to oust me as head of the Council during the last eighty years. If her grandson inherited, she'd have me evicted and an Immuralis put on the property in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

"I don't intend to die any time soon. And once I am gone, the Manor won't be my concern." Certainly, Severus didn't intend to haunt the place.

"I will be tossed out of my home, you do realize?" Apparently, Cassandra thought that if she repeated herself loudly, Severus would finally come to his senses. "I've lived here for over four hundred years, counting the years I was married. And I'm to be put out on the street because you can't be bothered to do your duty?"

There was no point in continuing the discussion, and Severus had no desire to be present when Cassandra's friend arrived. He strode through Cassandra while she was still speaking and threw on a shirt and coat before Apparating.

The British Museum was usually half-empty at this time of day, and he could buy some ingredients he needed for the current order at a Diagon shop on his way home. As he vanished, Severus could still hear Cassandra lecturing, full bore. By comparison, the British Museum was remarkably quiet, which was an agreeable contrast.

His meetings ran late and it was almost evening when Harry Apparated to the address that Cassandra Prince had given in her letter and knocked on the front door. In five years of visiting locations where ghosts resided, he'd seldom seen a house in worse repair than this one, and Harry wondered whether anyone was living there apart from the ghost.

No one came to answer the door, and after a few minutes, Harry tried again, pounding harder. Finally, a ghost appeared next to him on the steps. Judging from her seventeenth-century dress, it had to be Cassandra Prince. When he'd been younger, all clothes from before the twentieth century had simply looked "old fashioned" to Harry, but he was now an expert at dating ghosts by their dress styles.

"What do you want here?" She didn't sound like she welcomed visitors.

"Good afternoon. My name is Harry Potter, and I'm from the Office for the Regulation of Resident Non-Embodied Persons." Harry smiled at her, but he could tell she wasn't much impressed. "I'm here to see a Mrs Prince."

She looked him up and down. "My letter fetched you here fast enough, it seems." She seemed pleased about that. "You might as well come in." She pulled a wand out from her bulky skirts, and waved it at the door, which swung open. Before he could move, she drifted in ahead of him, and moved down an unlit hallway. It was cold inside and quiet, but Harry noticed that the house didn't seem as dusty as you'd expect, if no one were living there.

The end of the hallway opened on to the kitchen, which contained a large, battered wooden table and chairs, open cupboards, and an enormous old range. This room definitely looked inhabited, and Harry wondered briefly where the home owner was before turning his attention to the ghost sitting at the table.

His hostess looked him over carefully. "So you're a Potter?"

Harry didn't really want to offer a genealogy table before they could discuss the Ministry's request, but it couldn't hurt to humour her a little. "Yes, I am."

"I went to school with one of your ancestors, then. And who was your mother?"

Harry sighed, and wondered whether it would help or hurt his case to mention that his godfather had been a Black. That would probably make things worse, given that Sirius had been disowned.

"I'm really not here to discuss my ancestry," he said shortly. "I'd like to explain the Ministry's request that your Council vacate its meeting hall in Wharram Percy."

You couldn't cast an Unforgivable on a ghost, of course. But within ten minutes, Harry found himself almost regretting the fact. Cassandra Prince must have been murdered by one of her relatives, he decided. Because no one could have lived with this woman.

That Peasegood harridan had to have come and gone by now, Severus decided, checking his watch. He added the packet of items he'd purchased at the second shop to his bag and Apparated back to his basement laboratory in the Manor, planning the next morning's work while he unpacked and put away his ingredients.

But the murmur of voices above him indicated that the Cassandra's crony was still up there with her. Severus swore, and considered staying where he was until she had finally left. But he was cold and wanted his tea, so he trudged up the stairs, bracing himself for another round of hints about his unmarried state.

As he approached the top of the stairs, he could hear that they must be quarrelling. Certainly, Cassandra sounded very upset about something. Intrigued, he decided to see what he could glean from eavesdropping, and pushed the door open very slightly.

"So I'm to be evicted from both my home and our meeting hall? The Ministry expects me to join the riff-raff in the cemeteries, no doubt. I won't have it."

"No one is trying to evict you from your home, Mrs Prince. But the neighbourhood around your meeting hall is about to change, and it's just not possible for you to use it any longer."

That was Potter's voice. In his house. And he was apparently threatening Cassandra.

Severus shoved the door so hard that it flew open and banged against the wall, causing Potter to jump and spin around, wand out. Severus realized that he had his own wand out, pointing at Potter, and hesitated. He knew from personal experience that Potter could cast an Unforgivable. Of course, so could he.

"Who are you?" Potter didn't seem inclined to shoot and ask questions later, at least.

"I'm the owner of this house, Potter." He gestured with his wand, and the glamour he'd put on before going out in public melted away. Potter's face went blank, and he stepped back a pace. His wand was still pointed at Severus, however, and Severus noticed that he didn't seem very surprised.

"I'm here to see Mrs Prince, not you."

"Well, you've seen her. Now get out."

Of course, it was never that easy with Potter. He didn't budge.

"Look, she's got to come to terms with us about her Council's meeting hall. I'm here to discuss that."

Severus was almost tempted to laugh. Get Cassandra and her friends to abandon their hall? Potter didn't realize what he was up against.

"In that case, go right ahead," he drawled, tucking his wand away and walking across to the range to make his tea. "I'll be fascinated to see what sort of arguments you can muster." He had no intention of offering Potter a cup.

Cassandra had watched their exchange with interest. "You know each other." It wasn't a question.

"He was my student back at Hogwarts. Although I can't say he learned very much from me."

One corner of Potter's mouth turned up slightly. "I can't say that you knew how to teach, either."

"Let us hope that you've learned your current job a bit better than you did Potions, then."

Potter glared at him, and then dragged his attention back to Cassandra with a visible effort. A pity. Severus wasn't even warmed up yet.

"Mrs Prince, I'm sure your Council can find a suitable alternative for its meeting hall. There must be many other buildings in this area that would be appropriate, and less exposed."

But Cassandra clearly wasn't interested in finding an alternative. "You seem to be deaf as well as stupid, Mr Potter. That hall is ours. We've been using it for over 300 years, and we've as good a claim to it as any. It's your job to make sure the Muggles don't notice us."

Potter didn't blink at this job description. Instead, he doggedly answered, "All of us, ghost and wizards alike, have a duty to uphold the Code of Secrecy. It's the law." It sounded like a line he got to use a lot, Severus noted.

"We don't hold ourselves bound by it, young man."

"I think you'll find that you are bound by it, whether you like it or not. And you'll need to find another place to meet." Potter's expression suddenly changed, as if he'd had an idea. Severus hoped he would be gentle with the thought that had just entered his mind. It was in a strange place, after all.

"Why don't you think about holding your meetings here, Mrs Prince? This home seems large and well-suited for wizarding gatherings. There's not a soul around for miles."

Cassandra opened her mouth to reply but Severus cut her off, horrified by the sudden vision of Margaret Peasegood, Artemisia Lestrange, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore, and every other ghost in East Riding descending on his home twice a month. He felt the blood drain from his face, and heard his voice fall into the classroom tones he'd reserved to convey mortal peril.

"Out, Mr Potter. Immediately. Before I forget myself and use a hex that violates the terms of my parole."

He gestured with his wand, and the sound of the front door creaking open could be clearly heard even in the kitchen. Potter opened his mouth to respond but then looked at Snape's face and shut it without saying a word. He turned and stalked out of the kitchen and down the hall, closing the front door behind him with a slam.

"You showed him his place. I didn't realize you had it in you." Cassandra's tone was gloating.

"I'm not going to have Prince Manor become your new meeting hall." He might as well make that clear from the start.

"Of course not," she sniffed. "I wouldn't want them all to see what the Manor has fallen to, these last hundred years. It would have to be vastly fixed up before you could use it for a Deathday party."

At least they had come to the same conclusion, although by different routes. Severus trusted that he wouldn't hear that horrifying suggestion a second time. The kettle had been whistling for some time, he realized, and he went to pour the boiling water into the pot.

Severus didn't doubt that they'd be seeing Potter again. Potter had always clung tight to his (usually wrong-headed) convictions when he'd been a schoolboy, and there was no reason to think he'd learned better. And Cassandra certainly wasn't going to back down. This was probably the most interesting argument that had crossed her path in more than a century.

Tea, and then some dinner, he decided. And he'd want some firewhiskey afterwards. Although not too much, since he had to start that batch of Veritaserum in the morning.

Miss Frobisher was sitting on the chair in front of his desk, Harry suddenly realized, as he scribbled a signature to the bottom on his report. He looked up.

"Yes?"

"Mrs Prince has written another letter," she said dryly. "Would you like me to read it all, or just mention the high points?"

Harry sighed. "Just the important parts, please."

"Her Council approved a resolution calling for East Yorkshire ghosts to organize a series of public appearances in local Muggle pubs and shops if the Ministry evicts them from their meeting hall in Wharram Percy. She wanted to let us know."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "They can't do that. Even the archaeologists would notice if a string of ghosts paraded through the local pubs."

"I think they might well mount some sort of public protest, if we don't find a good compromise," Miss Frobisher responded.

"We'd have to use Religatus on every member of the Council." He was floundering.

Miss Frobisher raised one pale eyebrow. "I doubt the Ministry would want to handle the fallout from that. Every ghost council in the country would be protesting. And that's assuming you could get all the home owners to agree."

He could see where this was headed. "I'll have to go talk with her again, then."

Miss Frobisher looked sympathetic, but nodded agreement. "I'm afraid you'll have to try."

Naturally, Snape was home this time. Because the morning just had to get even worse.

"Harassing us again, Potter?" But Snape didn't look annoyed. Instead, he sounded amused.

"Your . . . Mrs Prince is threatening to organize a public protest of all the ghosts in East Yorkshire," he responded sourly. "Do you realize what a job that would be, to keep it out of the Muggle press?"

Snape was definitely amused now. "That's what you're paid to do, I'm told."

He took a deep breath, and told himself not to let Snape get to him. "No, it's actually not what we're paid to do. Mass Obliviation is a last resort." One corner of Snape's mouth turned up, and Harry could have shaken him. "I'd have to use Religatus on her, to keep her tied to this house. Do you really want that?"

He was pulled inside the house so quickly that it barely registered. Snape slammed the door behind him so hard he felt the front of the house shake, and a shutter fell to the ground outside.

"Even you can't be so stupid as to think I'd agree to something like that. Tie her to the Manor? I'd never have a moment's peace." Snape sounded as if he were very close to hexing Harry. Casting a quick glance up the stairs, Snape turned back to face Harry again. "Come down to my lab with me. She doesn't know you're here, and I'd like to keep it that way."

He opened a door halfway down the hall and gestured impatiently for Harry to follow him down a narrow stone staircase to the cellar. As was often the case in the older houses Harry visited, the cellar was actually in better shape than the rest of the house, since it was built with stone, not wood. This was the cleanest room in the house, too, and Snape had rigged up good lighting down here. Two walls were lined with bookcases and shelves stocked with bottles and boxes, and a small worktable stood in the center of the room.

Two cauldrons were simmering over fires next to the far wall, and Snape walked over to check one of them. He picked up a stirring rod. "I'll need to work on this while we talk, since you interrupted me at a key point in the brewing. But Cassandra seldom comes down here."

In Snape's position, Harry would have set up his lab in Cassandra's least favourite part of the house, too. The outhouse, if need be.

Snape began to stir the contents of one of the cauldrons. For early October, it was a rather warm morning, and Harry realized that this was the first time he'd ever seen Snape out of full wizarding robes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and while he watched Snape stir, Harry looked for the Dark Mark. It was gone now, of course, like the scar on his own forehead. Perhaps that's why Snape was willing to roll up his sleeves now. Because he could.

Harry idly watched the play of muscles under the skin, as Snape's arms moved in perfect circles, setting up a rhythm. The dark hair on his arms contrasted sharply with the pale skin underneath. Harry's eyes followed the line of one arm down to Snape's long fingers, curled around the rod.

"Perhaps you don't recall this activity from your schooldays, but this is what brewing looks like."

Harry met Snape's eyes, and saw that the man was amused. He flushed, although he wasn't sure why he felt thrown on the defensive.

"Look, you know the Ministry can't allow her and the rest of her council to start appearing in front of Muggles. That's just not on."

"I can't control her actions. And to be frank, I doubt that you will be able to do so, either. She'll appear when and where she chooses." There was no question that Snape was enjoying the conversation. He laid the rod next to the cauldron and walked over to the shelves to fetch something. When he reached up to take a vial off the top shelf, his shirt tightened across his shoulders, and Harry suddenly found himself aware of his own pulse as he looked at the long line of Snape's back.

This was ridiculous. He definitely had to go pick up someone in a Muggle pub tonight. It had simply been too long since he'd shagged someone. Nothing more, and nothing else.

He cleared his throat and tried again. "She has to obey the law, just like everyone else. What they're proposing is the biggest violation of the Code of Secrecy in this century. We'd have to use Religatus on all of them."

"Would the Ministry really approve of a drastic action like that?" Snape sounded curious.

"Actually, I'm not sure they would. Every ghost council in the country would protest it, and I can't imagine what the Prophet would have to say." Harry heard the words coming out of his mouth with some surprise. His mouth seemed to be suddenly leading a life of its own. Why was he telling Snape all this? He ought to be bluffing Snape into agreeing to use Religatus. Or at least trying to bluff him.

Snape counted out three drops from the vial, and stirred them into the mixture in his cauldron. He looked a bit smug.

"Then I think you have a problem. Because you could only take that meeting hall away from the ghost council over Cassandra's dead body." That was definitely a smirk. "And don't you need my permission as home owner to tie her to the Manor?"

"Yes, and I don't know how to persuade you to agree." Harry heard himself admitting. The amusement in Snape's eyes was suddenly hard to take, and Harry looked down at Snape's hands again. His movements were slow, deliberate, and precise.

"Would you agree to having someone like Cassandra tied to your own home?" The question was clearly rhetorical.

Harry didn't know how it had happened, but this conversation had gone beyond his control. It was time to get out of here, before Cassandra showed up. If he couldn't handle Snape by himself, he certainly didn't want to try arguing with both of them.

"Let me talk to my boss and think it over. You must see that we have to reach some sort of compromise."

"I see that you'll need my permission to use Religatus on this property, Potter. And I'm not inclined to grant permission."

Harry nodded jerkily, and turned to leave. He should quit before he said something to make the situation worse. Perhaps Miss Frobisher would have some suggestions.

After bolting the door behind Potter, Severus returned to his lab. The Veritaserum was still simmering gently in one cauldron, and Severus checked it once more. He turned the heat down and refreshed the subtle ventilation charm that kept the fumes away from the cauldron and the brewer, and dispersed throughout the rest of the room.

That particular potions order was going to earn him more than one sort of profit. Since Potter hadn't realized he was being influenced by the fumes, he'd laid all his cards out on the table. It appeared that Severus had more leverage in this negotiation than he'd initially assumed. He wondered what else he could get out of Potter, if he came around again during the next few days, while the Veritaserum was still brewing.

Severus spent most of the next day applying caulking charms around the frames of the kitchen and parlour windows. Every time the wind blew outside, there'd been an awful draft between the two rooms. Upstairs, a broken shutter was tugged back and forth by the wind, banging against the bedroom wall. When the knock came at the front door late that afternoon, he was ready to go back to brewing.

Potter, of course. Cheeks a little flushed by the breezy weather, and a resolute look in his eyes. He didn't meet Severus' eyes, however, and followed him down to the lab without a question.

Severus stepped over to the cauldron, inside the circle ventilated by the charm, and picked up his stirring rod.

"Back so soon? I'm still not going to give permission for you to use Religatus."

"I realize that, and I actually do understand your reasons." Potter sounded a little surprised to hear that last bit come out of his mouth, and Severus suppressed a smirk.

He lifted one eyebrow. "In that case, why did you return? Surely not for the charms of my company."

"You're not bad-looking," Potter responded earnestly, and then frowned. "Wait. I didn-- Oh hell, I did " Severus could see him struggling to stay on topic, and barely winning the struggle. He stirred the cauldron a few more times, releasing more Veritaserum fumes into the air. "My boss, Mr Gudgeon, asked me to come talk to you again, because he still thinks you might approve of using Religatus on Mrs Prince. He doesn't know you, of course," Potter finally forced out.

Severus was more intrigued by the first part of what Potter had said. Potter might not be the brightest student he'd ever had, but he was quite fit. "You think I'm not bad-looking? Where did this sudden change of heart come from?"

"I don't know." Potter was looking more and more flustered, and Severus could almost see a light bulb go on over his head. "You've done something to me, haven't you? Why am I thinking--" Potter cut himself off suddenly, and Snape could see him struggling to keep his mouth closed, so that he wouldn't complete his sentence. "Why do I find you--."

Oh, this was rich. And ripe with possibilities.

"If you are implying that I've slipped you a lust philtre or love potion, I wouldn't stoop that low. I've done nothing to you."

"There's something here, I can tell," Potter said doggedly. "My mouth is living a life of its own."

"If you come into a room where brewing is underway, you must expect to be exposed to potion fumes. That's not my fault. I didn't invite you here."

The penny dropped. "You're brewing Veritaserum. Or something else that would make me talk, aren't you?"

Severus didn't bother to respond, but Potter gestured with his wand, and Severus felt a strong breeze blow through the room. Behind him, the pages of the open book lying on his worktable rustled. Potter took a deep breath, shaking his head a bit to clear it, and then waved his wand a second time. The spell was non-verbal, but Severus would have bet that it protected Potter from exposure to more fumes.

"That's better," Potter said, satisfied.

There was no point in staying within the ventilation charm's circle now, of course, since Potter had cleared the air. Severus cast a hooding charm over the top of the cauldron, and walked over to where Potter stood.

"You're not going to give permission for Religatus," Potter said, resigned.

"Of course not." He watched the muscles in Potter's throat work as he swallowed.

"I can always tie her to a cemetery, and put Immuralis on her meeting hall," Potter offered. He didn't sound like he actually believed he'd do that, however.

Severus couldn't allow that, either. Cassandra knew all of his family's secrets. He couldn't possibly allow her to be turned loose with all that in her head, free to speak to any passer-by. She was capable of speaking very freely indeed.

"I can't allow that, either," he said softly. "And you must realize the fuss it would cause if you banished the head of a ghost council to a cemetery."

Potter shrugged. "You might be right. But I might not have any other choice. What do you think I should do, then? She can't go showing herself to an entire construction site."

"I imagine she'll show herself where she wishes, and to whomever she wishes," Severus said, amused. "As I said before, I'm not sure if you can stop her."

"We'll have to find a way. The Ministry has ordered that her Council relocate within thirty days, before the Muggle construction begins." Potter always had been irrationally persistent.

But he was also quite passable looking, better than anyone Severus had had in years. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the sound of Potter's voice. Potter actually had a very pleasing baritone. Why had he not noticed that before? And Potter thought he was good looking? A rare quality, that was certain. If Potter hadn't said it before he had cleared the room of Veritaserum fumes, Severus wouldn't have believed it.

He opened his eyes, and looked at Potter. "If we're going to discuss this, I think we should move the discussion elsewhere, so that Cassandra doesn't interrupt us."

Potter nodded. "We could go to my office."

"I'd rather not set foot in the Ministry again, thank you. Perhaps the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Fine. It's almost time for me to go off duty anyway. But I prefer the Wizard's Staff. Do you know where it is?" Severus nodded. "Then I'll see you there." Potter took a step backwards and vanished.

Harry's beer was already in front of him when a brown-haired man slipped into the booth and sat across from him, putting his own drink down on the table. He opened his mouth to say that the seat was taken, but then recognized the glamour that Snape had been wearing the first time he'd visited Prince Manor. Harry nodded, and took another sip of his beer.

It felt odd---more than odd---to be sitting in a pub, having a beer with Severus Snape. He had never imagined that Snape even did anything as normal as go for a drink in a pub with someone. Although even that was easier to imagine than the idea of Snape going to the supermarket. He seemed different here, away from Hogwarts, and away from Prince Manor. The glamour made it possible to perceive Snape as yet another stranger. Just one more attractive man Harry had met in a pub.

Harry snorted at this line of thought, and looked Snape right in his (blue) eyes. "So. You don't think there's anything we can do to stop your ancestor and her friends from showing themselves to hundreds of Muggles, but you won't agree to our using Religatus on her, and you don't want her banished to a cemetery, either."

"You do have a learning curve after all, it seems." Snape spoke softly, but his voice was unaltered. Hearing that voice, so familiar, coming from a stranger was a bit disconcerting.

"You might not have any choice about her being tied to a cemetery," Harry pointed out reasonably. "It's not like family members have custody of their ghosts, after all. You only have control over what's done on your property."

"You know you don't want to stick the head of a ghost council in a cemetery," Snape countered. "The press would have a field day, and every other council in the country would be up in arms." He took another swig out of his glass.

Harry cocked his head to one side and tried to read Snape's expression through the glamour. Snape was actually a lot more interesting looking without the glamour, Harry decided. Those blue eyes he had built into the glamour weren't nearly as appealing as dark eyes and hair. He looked down at Snape's hands, wrapped around his glass of beer. They, at least, weren't under any glamour. And that voice was . . . Harry considered Snape's long fingers, and got up to fetch another drink.

"Perhaps we could go back to the idea of her using Prince Manor as their meeting hall?"

"And perhaps we could not do that. If I won't agree to Religatus, I'm certainly not agreeing to that. Life would hardly be worth living." Snape was back to sounding amused. "Tell me, Potter: would you want to host a Deathday party at your house, at least once a month?"

"I live in a Muggle neighbourhood, so that's hardly an option," Harry retorted. Something Kingsley had said about Snape's home came back to him. "Didn't you used to live in a Muggle town, too? Why are you at Prince Manor, anyway?" He took a long swallow of his beer, and waited for an answer.

Snape looked for a moment as if he'd tell Harry to go to hell, and then simply shrugged. "Muggle taxes. I didn't see any point in paying them any longer."

"Well, it might be better to pay the taxes than host a Deathday party every month," Harry pointed out.

"But I don't plan on doing either one of those things."

"What if you donated your home to the Wizarding National Trust? Then they could be responsible for it, and the East Yorkshire council could use it as a meeting hall."

"But then where would I live? No, I don't see anything in that for me. And I've already spent a great deal of time fixing it up to live in."

That couldn't possibly be true. Harry recalled the condition of the house: it was all but falling down. He drank some more beer and considered for a moment.

"Well, I'll talk this all over with my boss, and see what he comes up with." Harry still thought the best solution was to give Prince Manor to the ghosts, but perhaps Gudgeon would have a better idea. "What can you do there in the Manor anyway? It's miles from anywhere." Harry would be bored off his rocker, living in a place that isolated.

"I like the privacy," Snape said dryly. "I only miss having company . . . on occasion." He leaned back a bit and looked Harry over, frankly appraising.

Harry managed to keep his jaw from dropping: he had not just seen Snape checking him out. That had to have been someone else. He wished he could peel away that glamour to see underneath. Suddenly, Harry wasn't entirely sure that this was really Snape. Or perhaps it was. Those hands and that voice couldn't belong to anyone else.

But maybe it didn't matter. He'd brought home strangers, often enough. Harry still didn't really like Snape, although the man was more tolerable than he'd been back in school. But at the moment, that didn't matter much. He'd never worried much about the personality of the other men he'd taken home from pubs, after all. He'd only thought about whether he wanted them.

He found he wouldn't mind seeing how those hands would feel, touching him. Snape looked him over slowly again, and Harry suspected that Snape was imagining how he'd look naked. What would Snape look like? Harry remembered the arms he'd seen in Snape's cellar and continued on, imagining how they led to a pale chest and torso, similarly sinewy and lean.

"Would you like some company this evening, then?" He heard the words come out of his mouth with some surprise, and nearly retracted them. But suddenly the idea made perfect sense: he wanted the other man, Snape or not. It might even be interesting to shag someone he knew, for a change. Assuming that he did know Snape, of course. He let the words stand, stilling the impulse to stammer some sort of juvenile excuse.

Snape paused, his own moment of surprise evidently taking about as long as Harry's had, and then reached across the table to trail one finger across the back of Harry's hand and stroke the sensitive skin between two of his fingers. "As it happens, I might very well, yes."

Harry nodded. "Then perhaps we could spend the evening together." There.

"Do you have a place in mind where we could go?" Snape's fingers were still stroking, a gentle touch that Harry found more distracting than he would have credited. He turned Harry's hand over so that the palm was face up and drew two fingers across the pulse points on the underside of his wrist, where Harry's magic flowed just underneath the skin.

Harry shivered. Right. They certainly didn't want to go back to Snape's home. "Let's go to my flat." He was half-hard already. He finished his drink in one gulp and stood, wanting to get out of there. He looked Snape in the eye, seeking approval, hesitation, rejection, something. But finding no objection--seeing, in fact, only unmistakable interest--he grasped Snape's hand, and Apparated.

His living room was a little chilly. Normally, when he brought a man home from a bar he'd stop to light a fire. Normally, it was a stranger.

But this time, it was Snape. Harry paused to watch Snape gesture with his wand, dissolving the glamour. That was better. Dark hair, dark eyes, sizing him up. But these were eyes he knew, that he had looked into time and again. How it would be with Snape?

The second Snape tucked his wand back into his robe, he was all over Harry. He thrust his fingers through Harry's hair and pressed him back against a wall. Harry suddenly realized how hard he was. When Snape shoved one leg between his, Harry ground himself against Snape's thigh. He opened his mouth to moan, but Snape was already kissing him. He started to shake and rubbed against Snape, moaning into his mouth as Snape reached down to grab his arse. He hadn't kissed many of the men he'd brought home before, but kissing Snape felt wonderful.

He wasn't going to last, but it didn't matter. He pulled his mouth back from Snape's. "Hands." A full sentence was too much work.

Snape's eyes never left his face, but he reached down and opened Harry's trousers quickly. Those fingers wrapped around Harry's cock. He cried out, thrusting his hips forward to get more, rubbing against Snape's hand which stroked firmly, but just a little too slowly. He gasped. More. He needed more. "Harder. More, dammit."

One corner of Snape's mouth turned up, but his hand sped up a little, stroking Harry's cock with smooth, fast movements. Oh, perfection. God, Snape was perfect. Just, just . . . a little more. Harry arched his back and cried out as he came. All over Snape's fingers. He would have sunk down to the floor, but Snape caught him, bracing him against the wall as Harry caught his breath.

The room wasn't chilly any longer. Harry could think again. He looked up at Snape, whose expression didn't change as he cast a cleaning spell and tucked Harry back into his trousers.

Snape was still completely dressed. That was no good. Harry was surprised by his sudden hunger to see Snape, to touch him. He never would have guessed that Snape would kiss him, or that he'd be so good at it. Suddenly, Harry wanted to find out what else he hadn't known about the man. He leaned up and kissed Snape carefully, slowly pushing the other man's robes backwards off his shoulders. They fell to the floor with a rustle.

Harry broke off the kiss, taking Snape by one hand, He pushed Snape down into the armchair by the fireplace, watching as Snape slowly spread his thighs, his expression intent.

He pulled out his own wand and started a fire. Placing his wand on the side table, Harry sank down to the rug between Snape's knees. What Snape would look like, incoherent and shaking? He wanted to find out.

Snape's thighs radiated warmth on either side of him as Harry reached to unzip Snape's trousers and pull his cock out. He bent forward and took it in as deeply as he could. The smell of Snape's arousal was musky and sharp, exciting and strange. But Snape's clothes still had the smoky, bitter aroma of chopped ingredients and brewing he remembered from Potions classes. His cock felt silky and hot, sliding past Harry's lips, heavy on his tongue.

Snape moaned and started to thrust into Harry's mouth, but quickly stopped himself. Harry hummed encouragement, and pushed Snape's hips back down into the chair to hold him in place, sucking him hard while he lifted his head a little before taking Snape in even more deeply. Up and down his head bobbed, Snape's cock filling his mouth. Snape shuddered, stiffened, and flooded Harry's mouth.

The fire crackled behind him as Harry cleaned Snape off and tucked him into his trousers before sitting back on his heels. He looked up into dark eyes, and wondered why he had thought Snape's eyes were cold, back at school.

"Thank you," Snape said softly.

"You're welcome, I guess. My pleasure."

He'd sucked off Snape. He became aware of how odd that sounded, and became self-conscious. Would Snape expect to spend the night, now?

Usually the men he brought home excused themselves soon after sex, and Harry wasn't sure what Snape expected him to do. It was more awkward with people you knew, he decided. Harry felt completely sober again and wondered what he ought to say next.

Snape solved the problem by rising and zipping his trousers closed. "I'll be on my way, then."

"All right." Harry stood up, relieved. He wanted to sit and look into the fire, and think over what had just happened.

"You'll let me know how your superior proposes to resolve Cassandra's complaint, I suppose?"

Oh. Cassandra Prince. Harry shook his head slightly, and tried to pull his thoughts together. "Uh. Yes, I'll be in touch, then."

"Quite." Snape seemed about to smile, but then turned to pick his robes up off the floor. "Good night, then."

"Good night." He heard the "pop" of Snape's departure, and sank down into the armchair that Snape had just vacated. That had been good. But then again, Snape was good at many things. It wasn't really surprising he'd be good at sex. He closed his eyes, remembering how Snape had smelled: both familiar and strange. He wanted to taste Snape again, and see what the man looked like naked. Maybe do that again sometime. Only more slowly.

Harry's stomach growled. Damn, he'd forgot about supper. With a sigh, he stood and headed for the kitchen. There was some leftover curry from last night waiting in the fridge.

The next few days were busy ones, at the office. Harry made his report to Gudgeon and added that in his opinion, the Ministry had to offer Cassandra Prince an alternative meeting place or face some very bad publicity. Gudgeon kicked the problem upstairs for his superiors to consider, and assigned a relocation case to Harry.

Prof. Binns had been replaced (and none too soon, in Harry's opinion) by a living History of Magic instructor who was apparently having much better success at keeping her pupils awake in class. Binns could have stayed on at Hogwarts as a resident ghost, if he'd promised to stop drifting in to interrupt his successor's lectures with disputes about the dates of particular treaties. But after being told by Headmistress McGonagall that he had to stay out of his former classroom, he took offence and said he refused to remain where he wasn't wanted.

How to find a place for Binns where he'd be happy and would stay put was a bit of a puzzler. Hermione (who'd floo'ed him to remind him that she and Ron were going on holiday, and did Harry want anything from Paris?) suggested that he contact the wizarding annex of the Public Records Office in Kew.

Some of the staff there clearly remembered having Binns as a teacher, and they reluctantly agreed to allow him to join the group working on a new catalogue of wizard-owned properties listed in the Domesday Book. The idea (as far as he could judge from Binns' lengthy explanation) was to study how well integrated wizards had been into Muggle society before the Norman invasion. Binns was pleased about joining the research project, and Harry was able to file his relocation report the next day.

Beyond the fact that he wouldn't mind seeing the man again, he still wasn't quite sure what to make of the encounter with Snape. He found himself remembering at odd moments during the day how Snape had smelled and sounded. It was different with someone you knew, he decided, watching a DVD of Master and Commander on that evening at home. More awkward afterwards, that was certain. But more exciting, too. Either way, you couldn't just erase it and pretend it hadn't happened, the way you could with a stranger.

On the screen, Aubrey and Maturin sparred, joked, and played music together. Harry devoted a moment to thinking about which he'd rather take home, if he met them in a pub. Aubrey, probably, he decided. He was quite fit, even if he was blond. But Maturin was interesting, too; Harry wondered if there was more going on there than he'd realized. He watched Maturin make careful notes and was reminded somehow of Snape. Although Snape would never protest any sort of disciplinary proceedings, he suspected.

He wondered whether Snape would like the film. One good thing about watching a movie with Snape, though, would be that he wouldn't have to explain all the Muggle rules and technology. Growing up where he had, Snape was sure to understand things that Harry generally had to spell out for Ron.

Was he actually considering having Snape over as a guest, as opposed to a shag? Harry snorted.

Miss Frobisher appeared in front of his desk the next morning, just as Harry was steeling himself to start totalling up all the receipts from the month's out-of-office travel. They were approaching the end of the financial year, and he had to get his expense reports to Gudgeon by the end of the week.

"Mr Gudgeon would like to see you, if you can spare a moment. We've had another letter from Cassandra Prince."

Harry sighed, and trudged into Gudgeon's office.

"Your Mrs Prince has sent plans for the protests she's planning against the Wharram Percy construction project," Gudgeon informed him.

Cassandra Prince wasn't his, Harry thought. But somehow, he'd been saddled with her. "What's she threatening us with now?" he asked warily.

"Her council has informed us that starting next week, they plan to assign a ghost to follow each Muggle construction worker home every night. Each ghost, she added, will give his or her Muggle an earful every evening about showing proper respect for one's ancestors."

Gudgeon was clearly amused by the prospect. Harry had always suspected him of sympathizing with the ghosts. The man was as fascinated by them as Ron's father was by Muggle technology. Perhaps he planned to become one, someday.

But the idea of Cassandra giving a different Muggle a piece of her mind every evening didn't bear thinking about. Gudgeon had to take this more seriously. "You don't know her," Harry said warningly. "She's dead serious." Gudgeon suppressed a snicker at Harry's choice of words, and Harry was forced to smile, himself. "She's absolutely convinced that her council owns that church hall, you know," Harry continued. "She just won't accept that ghosts can't own property."

"I'm sure that's true," Gudgeon replied, and cocked his head to one side. "You know, Potter, it must be difficult to own a home your whole life, and then to be told that you've lost all your property rights, simply because you died. Have you ever considered that?"

Harry wasn't much interested in analyzing Cassandra's psychology. But it was clear that Gudgeon sympathized with her, for some reason. Well, he hadn't met her yet.

"Does the Ministry have any suggestions about an alternate meeting site?" he responded, sidestepping yet another discussion of ghosts' second-class legal status.

"Yes, as it happens." Gudgeon looked pleased with himself. "They accepted my suggestion that we buy Snape's home from him, and donate the house to the Wizarding National Trust. The East Yorkshire council can use that for their meetings."

"And what if Snape doesn't agree?" Harry wasn't sure how Snape would react to the proposal. Although you'd think anyone would jump at the chance to get out of that decrepit old house before it collapsed entirely.

"You'll have to persuade him," Gudgeon said shortly. "I don't suppose it will be hard when he hears how much the Ministry is prepared to offer."

After Harry finished his expense reports and closed the relocation file on Binns, he Apparated to Prince Manor late that afternoon. After ringing the doorbell five times (Harry put his ear to the door to listen, to see if the bell was even working), Snape finally appeared to let him in. Clearly, Cassandra would have been willing to let him freeze to death on the front steps.

Harry felt a little odd, looking up at the man. He wasn't sure how to treat Snape now: how did you interact with someone you knew very well, after he'd come in your mouth? Snape looked down at him, and Harry could read the amusement in his eyes. The corner of Snape's mouth went up in what was apparently a half-smile, and Harry found himself smiling back. Snape stepped back, motioning Harry inside.

"I said I'd be in touch about the Wharram Percy request," Harry opened tentatively.

"Indeed. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"

Harry blinked, and then agreed. Before the tea was even done steeping, Cassandra drifted in.

"You? Back again?" She turned to Snape with a sniff. "I'm surprised you let him in the door."

"I think he might have something new to offer." Snape's tone was very dry.

Harry cleared his throat. "Yes, Mrs Prince. I told the Ministry that I thought we had to offer you an alternative meeting place, and they've authorized me to make a new proposal."

Her eyes narrowed. "An alternative? I told you that the meeting hall is ours, Mr Potter. We neither want nor need an 'alternative.' I'm beginning to think you must be an idiot not to grasp that."

Harry fought to stay calm and professional. "We thought you might like to become the hostess for the council yourself, and hold meetings here." Snape took a breath, and seemed ready to object and Harry hastened to add, "the Ministry is prepared to offer a very generous payment to . . . . Mr Snape" (Did sleeping with Snape put them on first name terms? Harry wasn't sure what to call him) "if he will donate the house to the Wizarding National Trust, to be held in perpetuity for the East Yorkshire Council."

"How much are they offering?" Snape asked, his expression thoughtful.

He turned to face Snape. "Fifteen thousand Galleons." You could buy a house that was in good repair for that much in many small Muggle towns. "I thought you could pay the taxes on your other home for years with that much."

Snape snorted and looked at Cassandra. "Did you hear that? Fifteen thousand? They must have a high opinion of the trouble you could cause."

Cassandra didn't look impressed. "I couldn't possibly host the meetings here."

Harry was startled. "Why not? This place is perfect for your council."

Cassandra sniffed. "It would have to be fixed up a great deal. Severus has allowed my home to fall into a disgraceful state of disrepair, and I could not possibly entertain guests at the moment."

"It didn't start with me," Snape murmured.

"For Deathday parties, we'd need to rebuild the old east wing of the Manor, where the ballroom used to be. And ground floor of the west wing would have to be completely restored." Cassandra sounded like she was just getting warmed up. Harry was sure it would be a long list of renovations, by the time she was finished with it.

He was beginning to feel a little desperate. "Well, perhaps the Ministry could pay for repairs, then, before it was turned over to the National Trust," Harry said. Probably Gudgeon could get the extra money for renovations. He hoped.

"I haven't agreed yet," Snape pointed out. "This is my property, not Cassandra's."

Harry heard Cassandra snort, and hurried to cut her off. "But it really is a very generous offer, you have to admit." Snape wasn't going to admit as much, Harry could tell. But he could see that Snape was considering the proposal.

"Perhaps you'd like to discuss this with me elsewhere?" He'd stand a much better chance without Cassandra around. And suddenly, Harry realized that he wanted to see Snape again. Back at his flat, by preference. "Would you like to come have dinner at my flat?"

"What? Have dinner where?" Cassandra was obviously flummoxed.

"I'd be delighted," Snape cut in smoothly.

Cassandra started to say something, but Harry decided that he didn't want to wait to hear what it was. He took Snape's hand, and Apparated.

Dinner at Potter's turned out to be Chinese takeaway. Severus wasn't surprised to find that Potter apparently couldn't cook at all. But it hardly mattered, if his Muggle neighbourhood restaurant could supply food that smelled as appetizing as this. Given how bare-bones his finances had been in recent years, it had been a while since he'd had Pork Chow Mein. Severus planned to enjoy this.

Potter brought some beer in from his kitchen and set it down on the table next to the takeaway containers. "Do you want a knife and fork for this, or chopsticks?"

It had been years since he'd used chopsticks. "A fork and knife, thank you." Severus had looked over the living room while Potter was laying out dinner. He was intrigued by the electronic devices the room was stuffed with. Potter only had a minimum of furniture, but he seemed to have cleaned out a Muggle electronics warehouse. "You've got a lot of things hooked to your telly, I noticed."

Apparently this was a good topic to introduce. Potter's face brightened as he launched into an enthusiastic explanation of what all the Muggle appliances did. Severus didn't follow it all, but he wanted to see how some of these devices worked. Surely Potter was exaggerating when he said he had fit over 2,000 songs into a gadget that was smaller than a box of matches. Where had the music come from to begin with? And he'd like to see how the "DVD" stacked up against a film you saw in a theatre. Severus used to go to see films regularly with his mother during the summers. He'd always thought they were one of the Muggles' best inventions.

Talking about DVDs led to a discussion of movies. After dinner Potter pulled out a slender box from a stack next to the telly, and tossed it over to Severus.

It contained one of the movies on discs that Potter had been describing, and Severus turned the box over to read its title. The Full Monty. It appeared to be set in Sheffield. Severus wasn't sure why anyone would want to set a movie there. Hardly an interesting or exotic locale.

But he could always look at Potter and not the screen, if the movie was boring. Severus recalled how Potter had looked kneeling between his legs, sucking him off, and wondered whether Potter would like to do that again. Potter was attractive. Severus was surprised by how much he'd enjoyed having dinner with Potter and hearing him talk about his Muggle movies and electronics. He was much more amusing than Cassandra. Severus liked having the company, and he was tired of eating dinner alone.

As it turned out, The Full Monty was enjoyable, too. Severus imagined how his father would have reacted if a friend had proposed becoming a stripper after Tobias had been made redundant, and snickered. Potter sat next to him on the sofa, and snickered right along with him. They watched the climactic scene with close attention, however. Severus was a little disappointed that they weren't shown whether the one character really was that well-hung, but had to admit that the view was still very fine.

Potter turned off the machines with his remote, and tentatively stretched one arm out along the back of the sofa behind Severus. Severus didn't need any more invitation than that: he moved closer and bent down to kiss Potter, whose lips opened readily. His mouth still tasted smoky sweet from the Chinese food, and felt luscious. Severus sighed, and pulled him closer. His trousers were becoming uncomfortably snug when Potter pulled back a few minutes later and stood, tugging Severus up to follow him into the bedroom.

This time, he wanted to take things more slowly, and it seemed that Potter had caught his mood. Severus unbuttoned his clothes with a muttered spell but then stood still and allowed Potter to undress him, before returning the favour. Potter's eyes swept his body appreciatively (surprisingly so, Severus thought) and he murmured "oh, yes," as he cupped Severus' cock and balls tentatively. Severus hardened further as Potter caressed him, reaching the other arm around him to trail his fingers down Severus' spine before cupping his arse.

Severus groaned softly, and pressed his cock forward into Potter's hand, which began to stroke him with more assurance. He bent down to nibble the edge of Potter's ear and felt him shiver. Potter gave a final squeeze to Severus' cock and then reached up to tweak one nipple.

He made a protesting noise at the loss of Potter's hand, but allowed himself to be walked backwards a few steps to the bed. Potter pushed him gently down on to the duvet and then climbed on top of him. Severus' legs parted easily, and Potter settled himself between them before resuming his kiss. His skin felt warm and silky where it rubbed against the inside of Severus' thighs.

Potter's tongue thrust into his mouth. Severus groaned, lifting his hips to meet Potter's teasing thrusts. Feeling Potter's hardness against his own cock, he arched upwards with more urgency. But Potter again broke off and pulled back.

Desperate, Severus looked up at him. "You're not---"

"Shhhh," Potter murmured, clearly distracted by the protest. Severus let his head fall back on the pillow, and allowed Potter to lick his nipples roughly. God, that felt--- Next to the bed, a table drawer flew open and Potter fumbled with something. Severus' legs were lifted and folded backwards, and one slick finger circled the rim of his hole before pushing gently inside.

Severus groaned appreciatively. Oh, yes. It had been too long. He pushed against Potter's fingers with enthusiasm. Potter spread Severus' thighs even further and lined his cock up. Severus felt stretched and filled as Potter mounted him with one smooth thrust, and then paused for a moment.

He lifted his hips to meet Potter. "Go on, dammit." Potter began to fuck him steadily, with sure, hard thrusts. Oh, there was nothing like being fucked. Nothing. He felt Potter shift his angle slightly and oh, yes, even better. He moaned and pushed against Potter. "Harder. Yes."

Potter dipped and rolled his hips, and Severus groaned again. Every stroke into him was delicious and raw. Severus never wanted him to stop. Potter shifted, putting one hand on each of his knees to hold him open wider before resuming, thrusting into him even faster.

Potter was putting his back into it now, and Severus showed his approval by running his hands over Potter's sweat-slick shoulders, scratching lightly. Potter leaned his weight solidly onto Severus and began to ride him hard, buried deep inside him.

Slick fingers wrapped themselves around Severus' cock and it was too good, too good. He never wanted it to end, and if he didn't come right now .

"Oh, fuck yes," he heard Potter say and the sound of his voice pushed Severus over the edge. He came hard, spurting over Potter's fingers. Potter gave a sharp cry and thrust once more, coming deep inside him.

Potter was breathing hard. Severus cradled him carefully for a moment before stretching his legs, rolling them both slightly so that they lay on their sides facing each other. Their breathing slowly evened out, and Potter cast a wordless cleaning spell on them both before reaching down to pull the duvet up.

It had been years since he'd felt this relaxed. It was good with Potter. Really good. With Potter. Wonders would never cease. Severus felt a smile start creep across his face and quickly suppressed it, before looking up into Potter's eyes.

"So this is why you invited me over?" He made his tone a teasing one. "I thought we were going to discuss the Ministry's offer, Mr Potter."

Potter propped himself up on one elbow and smiled. He smoothed a strand of Severus' hair before curling it around one of his fingers thoughtfully. "I sort of had both things in mind," he responded mildly. "I mean, you don't really want to live with Cassandra, do you?"

No, he didn't. He thought of how cold and silent Prince Manor was. Potter's flat was much smaller, but it was warmer and filled with the sounds and scents of life. The Manor would never be this comfortable: for one thing, he'd never get rid of all the drafts. Severus might as well take the Ministry's offer, and leave the Manor for the ghosts.

He thought of Spinner's End for the first time in weeks, with more fondness than he would have thought possible. If he had the money for the council taxes, he would rather live there, he admitted to himself.

Potter bent forward and slowly licked one of Severus' nipples. It tightened. Potter nibbled at it gently before looking up again. "If you move back to Spinner's End, perhaps I could help you pick out your own DVD player and movies. You'd be able to afford it then."

Severus found the idea more appealing than he would have guessed. Spinner's End did have electricity, after all, and Potter could help him outfit the place with some of the Muggle toys that stocked his own flat. "Or you could come to visit my flat sometimes and watch movies here," Potter added hastily.

"And can I bring Cassandra with me?" Severus asked dryly. He laughed out loud at the look on Potter's face, and rolled him over before beginning to work his way down Potter's chest. "Perhaps I will come to see you sometimes," he said, looking up from one nipple before moving on to gently bite the other. Potter gasped his approval and wriggled a little under Severus' attentions.

He kissed Potter's stomach and looked up again. "I might even teach you to cook something, so you could have food that wasn't takeaway."

Potter laughed. "Perhaps you could. And I have other films I could show you."

He recalled one box he'd looked at, while Potter had been setting the table for dinner. "Perhaps you could show me The Lord of the Rings? Were there wizards in that one?" He wondered how Muggles would show magic.

Potter snickered. "Yes there are. Of a sort. You can watch it with me. Later."

Severus grunted his agreement and then bent his head to his task. Potter's response proved quite gratifying.