The Price of Peace (HP/LV/SS, NC-17), Chapter 2
The Price of Peace
by Maeglin Yedi
Pairing: Harry/Voldemort/Snape, other minor pairings (both het and slash)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: They all belong to J.K. Rowling. I just make them shag.
Warnings: AU from HBP onwards
Summary: After ten years of peace, there is now a price to pay, as Harry discovers.
A/N: Sequel to The Semblance of Peace. You should definitely read that story first, otherwise this one won't make much sense.
Big thanks to fluffyllama for the beta!
Harry and Snape sat side by side on the steps of the Temple of Jupiter (or what was left of it). Voldemort had wanted to spend one more day at the ruins of Pompeii, and Harry and Snape had joined him. But Voldemort had been busy deciphering mosaics in the magically hidden room he'd discovered in The House of the Faun, one of the most impressive private residences in Pompeii, and which, as Voldemort had learned, had been occupied by wizards at the time of Vesuvius' eruption in 79 AD.
And even though Harry found the research interesting, he hadn't wanted to remain cooped up in a dark room all day. So he and Snape decided to take a walk around Pompeii and enjoy the warm Italian sun while they still could.
"You seem awfully calm about all this." Harry glanced at Snape, who appeared preoccupied with staring at the volcano in the distance.
It took a few minutes, but then Snape replied. "He was right about one thing. You almost died."
Harry huffed. "It was just dragon pox."
"Half the wizards who are allergic to the cure die from it, Potter," Snape snarled, and Harry widened his eyes in surprise. He hadn't known that. Snape inhaled a deep breath. "So whatever the risks inherent to this new mission, they are worth it."
Harry swallowed against something in his throat. Snape really had been worried about him, apparently, and didn't want him to die.
"All right," Harry sighed. "But you do understand why I don't want to make a horcrux, right? I mean, if I did that, we could blow off this whole trip to Britain, but I really don't want to do it."
Snape gave him a look, one where he curved one eyebrow and almost sneered. Harry smiled in response. He knew Snape understood him perfectly.
"We need only stay for as long as it takes to find all the research." Snape looked down at his shoes, his black hair obscuring his face. "And he has been decent for the last decade. I don't expect any problems, but should they arise, we'll deal with them."
"Yep." Harry opened his bottle of water and took a long swig. He offered it to Snape, who accepted it. "Get the research and get out."
Snape hummed in agreement.
"It's strange," Harry said, more to himself than to Snape. "To go back with him. As a person, I mean. Before, he was stuck in my head, mostly."
Chuckling, Snape sipped the water bottle and gave it back to Harry.
"Now, I can think anything I want. Do anything I want. I couldn't do that back then." Harry bit his lip for a second. "I could even tell people about him. I can't kill him myself thanks to our vow, but others could."
Snapping his head to the side, Snape glared at him. "No, others cannot kill him, either, as you well know! So whatever Gryffindorish foolishness you're contemplating, Potter...don't." Snape curled his hand around Harry's arm and squeezed. "Don't even think about it. There is nothing you can do about the situation without --"
"I know," Harry whispered. Without his own death. He was a horcrux, after all. They'd had this conversation before on very few occasions. Snape was right; Harry's Gryffindor side sometimes urged him to take action against the man who'd killed his parents, who'd killed Ginny, and so many countless others. But they couldn't kill him without killing Harry himself first. It was a familiar circle of thoughts, that always started and ended the same; there was nothing they could do to change the situation.
And if Harry was completely honest with himself, he didn't want to see Voldemort dead. Well, perhaps he wanted to see Voldemort as he'd once been dead, but not this man Harry had spent over a decade with. He wasn't Voldemort anymore. Not really.
"I'd think you'd be pleased with this upcoming trip," Snape said, pulling Harry from his thoughts. "You'll be able to see your friends again."
"Yeah." Harry nodded. He had kept in touch with Ron and Hermione over the years and he was looking forward to seeing them again. "It's going to be strange, though. They're married with two babies. And I'm...a writer shagging his two former enemies."
Snape bumped his shoulder against Harry just a little bit too hard. "I'm flattered, Potter."
"Stop calling me that." Harry snickered and pushed back against Snape.
"Or perhaps I should take points from you and assign a detention or two." That voice again, and Harry shivered, but not in an unpleasant way. He wanted to push Snape back against the ancient stones and have his wicked way with him, but there were tourists about, so that would have to wait until later.
"I can't even leave you two alone for an hour."
Harry looked up at that familiar voice, and saw Voldemort strolling towards them through a throng of tourists, a bag slung over his shoulder, his slippers flapping against the stones. Harry smiled at him.
"I was merely trying to teach Mr Potter some manners," Snape said with a smirk, and Harry kicked him against his shin. "But as usual, the boy proves he's beyond understanding such simple concepts."
Harry wanted to strangle Snape. Now he had a raging erection and no way to take care of it.
Voldemort sank down on the steps beside Harry and glanced at Harry's crotch. "Sometimes you are so predictable, my little horcrux."
"Only sometimes?" Snape wondered, and Harry sighed. He stood no chance once his lovers teamed up against him and he knew it. As did they.
-----
It was extremely strange to stand in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. They had taken an early Portkey from Naples to London, and now Harry was back in his old bedroom. He'd never considered selling Grimmauld Place over the years, even though he'd never expected to return there either. And thanks to the wards Harry and Voldemort had placed on the house when Voldemort had still been living inside Harry's head, no one else had been able to get in there over the years.
The room looked exactly as Harry remembered it. The bed even held the rumpled sheets that had been on there when Voldemort had fucked Harry for the first time, right after he'd got his new and improved body. And the wardrobe was opened, where Voldemort had admired himself in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door.
Harry stared at his own reflection. He no longer wore glasses, having had his eyes permanently corrected a few years before, after he'd lost his glasses while they were camping in the Himalayas and they'd found themselves in an unexpected snowstorm. He hadn't enjoyed being blind as a bat while Snape and Voldemort hurriedly set up their tent to seek shelter. His hair was a little longer, too, and stubble covered his chin and jaw, since he hadn't felt like shaving that morning. God, when he'd last been in this room, he'd hardly needed to shave more than once a week. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
A reflection joined Harry's in the mirror, and Harry smiled as Voldemort walked up behind him and slid his arms around Harry's waist.
"Oh, my little horcrux, I remember this mirror well," Voldemort whispered and licked at Harry's earlobe.
"Yeah," Harry said weakly. He remembered their games in front of the mirror, too. As did his prick. Voldemort chuckled quietly in his ear and Harry tilted his head up. Voldemort pressed a kiss to Harry's scar. When he'd first done that years ago, it had freaked Harry out, but he didn't really care anymore these days. One could get used to just about anything, as Harry had learned.
"I suggest we clean this dump at once, lest one of us comes down with miner's lung." Snape stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, and scowled as he looked around Harry's old room.
"I believe you have a point, Severus." Voldemort pulled back from Harry. "Work first, play later." And with a firm pat to Harry's butt he strolled out the room.
Harry sighed. Some things really had been easier when Voldemort had still been stuck in his head. He adjusted himself in his jeans, ignored Snape's bemused expression, and got ready to do some cleaning.
-----
The main parts of the house were clean. While no one had entered it for a decade, dust had gathered in thick layers on everything, and it had taken them most of the day to make the house liveable again. Snape had stepped out to get them some groceries, and later Harry had got them a few curries for supper, and now they were taking turns in the shower to wash away the grime.
Snape was shampooing his hair under the spray, while Voldemort dried off with a freshly laundered towel. Harry stood in front of the mirror and concentrated on shaving. He preferred using a Muggle razor instead of charms, and he pulled at his jaw as he moved the blade across his skin.
The doorbell rang, and Harry nicked his chin. Cursing softly, he glanced at Voldemort, who shrugged and strode into the bedroom.
"I'll see who it is," Voldemort said as he pulled on a pair of black trousers. He threw a t-shirt over his head, stepped into his slippers and stalked out of the bedroom.
Snape turned off the shower, just as Harry heard Voldemort opening the front door downstairs.
"May I help you?" Voldemort sounded polite enough, even a bit amused.
"Oh, hello. We're looking for Harry Potter."
Harry's eyes widened as he stared at himself in the mirror.
"I'm afraid Harry's still in the shower. Who may I say is calling?"
"Sorry. I'm Hermione Granger-Weasley, and this is my husband Ron."
"Ah, you're Harry's friends. He's mentioned you before. Please, do come in."
Harry found it hard to breathe and he looked desperately at Snape.
"Relax," Snape whispered in his ear. "He's not going to hurt them. They're just here to visit. He knows that."
Nodding, Harry swallowed.
"And who are you? I thought Harry was still with Snape?" Hermione asked as Harry heard them move through the downstairs hallway.
"I'm Joseph Taylor. I'm a good friend of Harry and Severus."
Hermione let out a short shriek. "Oh my god! You're Mr Taylor...oh, I've read all your books. Your work on transitory soul transfiguration is just amazing. I'm so pleased to meet you."
"And it's lovely to meet you, Ms Granger-Weasley."
"Please, call me Hermione."
Harry couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, as they'd moved into the drawing room. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to bang his head against the wall. What was he thinking? Why had he ever agreed to bring Voldemort here?
"I'll go and make sure he behaves himself." Snape pressed a kiss to Harry's throat and walked inside the bedroom. Harry rinsed off his razor, and then had to take a couple of deep breaths to stop his hands trembling as he finished shaving.
He got dressed in his usual attire of a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and then hurried down the stairs. When he entered the drawing room he was met with a most surreal display.
Snape was seated on the couch beside a small red-haired girl. On the girl's other side sat Ron, who looked up at him with a huge grin. Beside the sofa stood Hermione, her hair in a ponytail, talking animatedly with Voldemort, who was holding a baby. Voldemort smiled down at the little boy and tickled his chin.
Harry's mouth sank open, but before he could say anything he suddenly found himself with an armful of Hermione.
"Harry!" She squeezed him hard and pressed a big kiss against his cheek. "It's so good to see you again!"
Ron was next, though his hug was shorter and involved lots of backslapping. "Hey mate. Took you long enough to remember to visit."
"Hey," Harry managed to say, overwhelmed with feelings of both dread and excitement at seeing his best friends again after so long.
"And this is little Hugo," Voldemort said, holding up the baby for Harry to see. "Say hello to your uncle Harry, Hugo." And Voldemort gently grabbed one of the baby's arms and made it wave.
Hermione giggled and clapped her hand over her mouth.
On the couch, the little girl was trying to climb into Snape's lap, who looked far less impressed with the entire situation and scowled at the girl in an obvious attempt to stop her. But the girl had inherited her parents' courage and wasn't that easily cowed.
"No, Rose," Ron said, and picked up the girl before Snape could hex her. "Come meet Harry."
"Hello, Rose," Harry said and shook Rose's small hand, after which she buried her face in Ron's neck and giggled for a whole minute.
"Harry, some tea for our guests?" Voldemort said as he motioned Hermione to the opposite couch.
"I'll help you." Ron sat his daughter down beside Hermione. Harry cast Snape a meaningful look, which Snape returned with a sneer, and then he made his way down to the basement kitchen, Ron on his heels.
"I can't believe you're still with Snape," Ron said as Harry got the kettle boiling and levitated cups and saucers onto a tray. "I mean, we all thought it was just a thing, you know...after the war, you seemed a little traumatized or something."
Harry snickered. God, if Ron only knew. "It started out as a thing, I guess, but now...now it's the real thing."
"Ah." Ron leaned back against the kitchen counter while Harry got the teabags steeping. "And this other bloke? He might not be right for you? Seems handsome enough, and Hermione says he's brilliant. Seems nicer than Snape, too."
Shaking his head, Harry looked up at his best friend. He'd told Hermione and Ron about his friendship with Joseph Taylor over the years, but he'd never gone into any intimate details. It was none of their business. As far as they knew, Harry and Snape were in a relationship and Joseph was just their friend.
"Ron. Do you really want to know about all the things I get up to in my bedroom?" Harry asked, and winked at Ron. He laughed as Ron's cheeks paled.
"You mean, three blokes? How does that even work?"
"I'm sure they have books about that. Ask Hermione." Harry snatched a box of chocolate biscuits from the pantry shelf and carried the tray up the stairs, a befuddled Ron trailing behind.
"How did you even know I was here?" Harry asked Hermione as he served out the tea. He'd written his friends a letter via Muggle post, as he'd always done over the years, and he'd told them he was planning on visiting, but he hadn't given them a date.
"Mate, it was in the evening edition of The Prophet," Ron said as he added two lumps of sugar to his tea. "Someone recognized you at the Portkey station apparently. Was a big headline about the lost son returning home."
Harry rubbed his forehead. He'd spent a decade without any headlines, and he was back in Britain for one day and he was already in the paper. Some things never changed. Snape snorted beside him, and Voldemort, who sat on Harry's other side, patted his knee in mock-sympathy.
Hermione shifted little Hugo in her arms. "Oh, come on, Harry. You're a celebrity, whether you like it or not. You killed Voldemort, and you're a best-selling author. You can't expect people not to notice you."
Extremely happy Voldemort had already handed the baby back to Hermione, Harry glanced at him, but Voldemort seemed only mildly amused by Hermione's remarks.
Ron and Hermione spent a good hour talking about their lives and their children and what the rest of the Weasley family had been up to. Harry knew most of it already, thanks to their steady correspondence, but it was nice to actually talk to his friends again.
By the time the tea had been replaced with a few glasses of wine, they were on the subject of their Hogwarts years. Thankfully, they stuck to pleasant memories, and there was no mention of Ginny's unusual disappearance or the war.
"I always suspected you were gay, Harry," Hermione said at one point, and Harry looked at her with wide eyes. He himself hadn't known he liked blokes that way until Voldemort had shown him. "Remember the Yule Ball? Really, the way you went about looking for a date, and how you treated poor Parvati...I suspected something was up with you."
"Do tell," Voldemort said, while Harry snickered into his glass of wine. Yeah, the Yule Ball had been a fiasco. He couldn't argue with that. And as Hermione told the story of Harry's disastrous attempts to get a date, Harry laughed just as loudly as Voldemort, and even Snape came close to smiling.
"And I wasn't surprised you ended up with Snape," Hermione said with a fond smile. "I mean, the way you fawned over the Half-Blood Prince's book in your sixth year, Harry, I always suspected you had a huge crush on him."
Harry choked on his wine, while Snape turned to stare at him and Voldemort threw his head back laughing. "I didn't -- "
"He's never told you about that?" Hermione asked Snape, who looked from Harry to Hermione with a rather astonished expression on his face.
"No, I can't say he's ever mentioned that before," Snape said in a silky-smooth voice, and Harry knew he'd be hearing about that for months to come.
"I wasn't -- I mean, yeah, I liked that book, but I didn't have a crush on him. Seriously." Harry gave Hermione an urgent look.
"Oh, don't be silly, you seemed almost possessed. The way you carried that book around and were always going on about the Prince this and the Prince that." Hermione leaned closer to Snape from across the coffee table. "A huge crush. I mean it."
"I see." Snape looked Harry up and down and curved an eyebrow. "It seems that Harry has been keeping things from me."
"No, I haven't." Harry poked Snape in the ribs with his elbow. "Back then, I liked that book. Not you."
Ron cleared his throat. He'd been laughing along with everyone else, but Harry knew that the idea of him and Snape still freaked him out, so he wasn't surprised when Ron changed the subject. "So why did you come back now, Harry? Are you planning to stay?" He stroked Rose's hair, who was lying in his lap fast asleep.
"Ah, I believe that is my fault," Voldemort said. "I heard there was a position open at Hogwarts. Harry and Severus kindly offered to show me around there, as I haven't been to Hogwarts before."
It was part of the carefully constructed identity they had come up with for Voldemort once he was ready to publish some of the research he'd done. Joseph Taylor was a half-blood wizard, raised by his parents and home-schooled in magic. It had been impossible to come up with a background for him that involved any kind of formal training, as such facts could easily be disputed by anyone who cared to do a little investigation.
"That's right," Hermione said. "Neville told us they were looking for a new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Have you spoken to Headmaster Croaker yet?"
"Who?" Harry hadn't been keeping track of all the goings-on at Hogwarts over the years.
"Casimir Croaker," Hermione said with a patient smile. "He was the Defence against the Dark Arts professor for a few years, until McGonagall's retirement. Then he became headmaster."
Harry stared at her blankly, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you've even seen him before. At the Quidditch World Cup. Arthur pointed him out to us. He used to work at the Department of Mysteries." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He was an Unspeakable before he quit his job and became a teacher."
"Ah." Harry glanced Snape, but Snape's rather stoic expression told him this wasn't news to Snape.
"We will meet him tomorrow, when we'll go to Hogwarts," Voldemort said, and he seemed entirely unconcerned by this development.
"Well, I hope you'll get the position," Hermione said. "I'm sure you'll be a brilliant teacher. If I remember what utter imbeciles we've had for Defence Against the Dark Arts over the years..." Hermione flushed when Snape arched a daring eyebrow. "I meant types such as Lockhart and Umbridge. Not you. Sir."
"I'm sure you didn't, Ms Granger," Snape said in his classroom voice. Harry shifted restlessly. Bloody Snape and that voice.
"Yeah, or Quirrell," Ron said, warming up to the subject. "He had Voldemort stuck to his head."
Harry bit his lip.
"Remember that, Harry? We should have realized back then that Voldemort wasn't all that impressive. He got his arse handed to him by a couple of first-years."
Harry shot up from the couch. "More wine?" And as he reached for the wine bottle he conveniently positioned himself between Voldemort and his friends. He heard a quiet chuckle behind him, and when he realized it was Voldemort, he relaxed. Just a bit.
"No, we should get going." Hermione got up from the couch. "We have work tomorrow. Here, Harry, you hold Hugo for a bit while I visit the toilet."
And just like that, Harry had an armful of a little baby boy. He sank back down on the couch and stared at the inquisitive blue eyes which seemed to be taking in every detail of Harry's face. Carefully, he stroked a few fingers over Hugo's red hair and down his soft cheek. And he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Voldemort hadn't survived. What would have happened if he'd actually killed Voldemort all those years ago. He'd probably have married Ginny, or some other girl. He might even have had a family of his own by now. A pang, sharp and stinging, shot through his chest as he touched a finger to Hugo's tiny hand.
"Harry?"
It took Harry a few moments before he realized someone was calling his name. He looked up and smiled at Hermione, whose expression softened at once.
"We're always looking for more babysitters," Hermione said and held out her arms.
Harry gently placed Hugo in his mother's embrace. "He's beautiful," he whispered, and then had to clear his throat. He glanced around. Snape's expression was unreadable, but Voldemort was looking at him curiously, as if he couldn't quite figure out what had just happened.
"I'll walk you to the door." Harry motioned his friends towards the hallway.
"You've got to stop by the Burrow this weekend," Ron said, as he lifted a still sleeping Rose into his arms. "Mum's not going to forgive you if you're in the country and you won't stop by at least once."
Harry swallowed and glanced at Snape. Seeing his friends was one thing, but seeing Mr and Mrs Weasley was something else completely after what had happened to their only daughter.
"We'll try to make time," Snape said reasonably. "We may have other work-related commitments this weekend, but we'll let you know."
Ron nodded his understanding, and Harry wanted to kiss Snape right there and then, he was so grateful for his intervention.
Harry waved his friends goodbye and once he closed the front door he leaned his forehead against it. Even though everything had gone well, and no one had died, Harry was suddenly exhausted.
A hand touched his shoulder, and when Harry looked up he saw Snape standing beside him.
"Time for bed," Snape said, and Harry nodded at once.
As they got ready for bed, Harry expected teasing about his supposed crush on Snape in his sixth year, but nothing happened. Snape kept quiet, busying himself with his ablutions, and Voldemort seemed keen on observing Harry closely, as though there was something about Harry he needed to figure out.
They crawled into bed, Harry in the middle like he always did, and turned off the lights, and Harry was surprised when his thoughts drifted back to the feeling of little Hugo in his arms. He'd never before consciously contemplated having children, which wasn't so strange considering that Harry had never even held a baby before. But now, for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Voldemort's breathing deepened, and Snape lay still beside him, but sleep eluded Harry. He'd known that when he'd made his deal with Voldemort, he'd have to give up certain things. Britain, his friends, parts of his freedom. But he hadn't, at the time, realized what else he'd have to give up, and now it suddenly seemed crystal clear to him. He'd given up his future, and never before in all those ten years, had that realization hit him as hard or as painful as it did now.
Harry heaved a deep, shuddering breath, and much to his surprise he felt a hand touch his own under the blankets. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled onto his side and buried his face against Snape's chest.
Snape said nothing, and just wrapped his arm around Harry and pulled him even closer. There was no need for words. As Harry had learned over the years, usually Snape understood him perfectly.
by Maeglin Yedi
Pairing: Harry/Voldemort/Snape, other minor pairings (both het and slash)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: They all belong to J.K. Rowling. I just make them shag.
Warnings: AU from HBP onwards
Summary: After ten years of peace, there is now a price to pay, as Harry discovers.
A/N: Sequel to The Semblance of Peace. You should definitely read that story first, otherwise this one won't make much sense.
Big thanks to fluffyllama for the beta!
Harry and Snape sat side by side on the steps of the Temple of Jupiter (or what was left of it). Voldemort had wanted to spend one more day at the ruins of Pompeii, and Harry and Snape had joined him. But Voldemort had been busy deciphering mosaics in the magically hidden room he'd discovered in The House of the Faun, one of the most impressive private residences in Pompeii, and which, as Voldemort had learned, had been occupied by wizards at the time of Vesuvius' eruption in 79 AD.
And even though Harry found the research interesting, he hadn't wanted to remain cooped up in a dark room all day. So he and Snape decided to take a walk around Pompeii and enjoy the warm Italian sun while they still could.
"You seem awfully calm about all this." Harry glanced at Snape, who appeared preoccupied with staring at the volcano in the distance.
It took a few minutes, but then Snape replied. "He was right about one thing. You almost died."
Harry huffed. "It was just dragon pox."
"Half the wizards who are allergic to the cure die from it, Potter," Snape snarled, and Harry widened his eyes in surprise. He hadn't known that. Snape inhaled a deep breath. "So whatever the risks inherent to this new mission, they are worth it."
Harry swallowed against something in his throat. Snape really had been worried about him, apparently, and didn't want him to die.
"All right," Harry sighed. "But you do understand why I don't want to make a horcrux, right? I mean, if I did that, we could blow off this whole trip to Britain, but I really don't want to do it."
Snape gave him a look, one where he curved one eyebrow and almost sneered. Harry smiled in response. He knew Snape understood him perfectly.
"We need only stay for as long as it takes to find all the research." Snape looked down at his shoes, his black hair obscuring his face. "And he has been decent for the last decade. I don't expect any problems, but should they arise, we'll deal with them."
"Yep." Harry opened his bottle of water and took a long swig. He offered it to Snape, who accepted it. "Get the research and get out."
Snape hummed in agreement.
"It's strange," Harry said, more to himself than to Snape. "To go back with him. As a person, I mean. Before, he was stuck in my head, mostly."
Chuckling, Snape sipped the water bottle and gave it back to Harry.
"Now, I can think anything I want. Do anything I want. I couldn't do that back then." Harry bit his lip for a second. "I could even tell people about him. I can't kill him myself thanks to our vow, but others could."
Snapping his head to the side, Snape glared at him. "No, others cannot kill him, either, as you well know! So whatever Gryffindorish foolishness you're contemplating, Potter...don't." Snape curled his hand around Harry's arm and squeezed. "Don't even think about it. There is nothing you can do about the situation without --"
"I know," Harry whispered. Without his own death. He was a horcrux, after all. They'd had this conversation before on very few occasions. Snape was right; Harry's Gryffindor side sometimes urged him to take action against the man who'd killed his parents, who'd killed Ginny, and so many countless others. But they couldn't kill him without killing Harry himself first. It was a familiar circle of thoughts, that always started and ended the same; there was nothing they could do to change the situation.
And if Harry was completely honest with himself, he didn't want to see Voldemort dead. Well, perhaps he wanted to see Voldemort as he'd once been dead, but not this man Harry had spent over a decade with. He wasn't Voldemort anymore. Not really.
"I'd think you'd be pleased with this upcoming trip," Snape said, pulling Harry from his thoughts. "You'll be able to see your friends again."
"Yeah." Harry nodded. He had kept in touch with Ron and Hermione over the years and he was looking forward to seeing them again. "It's going to be strange, though. They're married with two babies. And I'm...a writer shagging his two former enemies."
Snape bumped his shoulder against Harry just a little bit too hard. "I'm flattered, Potter."
"Stop calling me that." Harry snickered and pushed back against Snape.
"Or perhaps I should take points from you and assign a detention or two." That voice again, and Harry shivered, but not in an unpleasant way. He wanted to push Snape back against the ancient stones and have his wicked way with him, but there were tourists about, so that would have to wait until later.
"I can't even leave you two alone for an hour."
Harry looked up at that familiar voice, and saw Voldemort strolling towards them through a throng of tourists, a bag slung over his shoulder, his slippers flapping against the stones. Harry smiled at him.
"I was merely trying to teach Mr Potter some manners," Snape said with a smirk, and Harry kicked him against his shin. "But as usual, the boy proves he's beyond understanding such simple concepts."
Harry wanted to strangle Snape. Now he had a raging erection and no way to take care of it.
Voldemort sank down on the steps beside Harry and glanced at Harry's crotch. "Sometimes you are so predictable, my little horcrux."
"Only sometimes?" Snape wondered, and Harry sighed. He stood no chance once his lovers teamed up against him and he knew it. As did they.
-----
It was extremely strange to stand in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. They had taken an early Portkey from Naples to London, and now Harry was back in his old bedroom. He'd never considered selling Grimmauld Place over the years, even though he'd never expected to return there either. And thanks to the wards Harry and Voldemort had placed on the house when Voldemort had still been living inside Harry's head, no one else had been able to get in there over the years.
The room looked exactly as Harry remembered it. The bed even held the rumpled sheets that had been on there when Voldemort had fucked Harry for the first time, right after he'd got his new and improved body. And the wardrobe was opened, where Voldemort had admired himself in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door.
Harry stared at his own reflection. He no longer wore glasses, having had his eyes permanently corrected a few years before, after he'd lost his glasses while they were camping in the Himalayas and they'd found themselves in an unexpected snowstorm. He hadn't enjoyed being blind as a bat while Snape and Voldemort hurriedly set up their tent to seek shelter. His hair was a little longer, too, and stubble covered his chin and jaw, since he hadn't felt like shaving that morning. God, when he'd last been in this room, he'd hardly needed to shave more than once a week. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
A reflection joined Harry's in the mirror, and Harry smiled as Voldemort walked up behind him and slid his arms around Harry's waist.
"Oh, my little horcrux, I remember this mirror well," Voldemort whispered and licked at Harry's earlobe.
"Yeah," Harry said weakly. He remembered their games in front of the mirror, too. As did his prick. Voldemort chuckled quietly in his ear and Harry tilted his head up. Voldemort pressed a kiss to Harry's scar. When he'd first done that years ago, it had freaked Harry out, but he didn't really care anymore these days. One could get used to just about anything, as Harry had learned.
"I suggest we clean this dump at once, lest one of us comes down with miner's lung." Snape stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, and scowled as he looked around Harry's old room.
"I believe you have a point, Severus." Voldemort pulled back from Harry. "Work first, play later." And with a firm pat to Harry's butt he strolled out the room.
Harry sighed. Some things really had been easier when Voldemort had still been stuck in his head. He adjusted himself in his jeans, ignored Snape's bemused expression, and got ready to do some cleaning.
-----
The main parts of the house were clean. While no one had entered it for a decade, dust had gathered in thick layers on everything, and it had taken them most of the day to make the house liveable again. Snape had stepped out to get them some groceries, and later Harry had got them a few curries for supper, and now they were taking turns in the shower to wash away the grime.
Snape was shampooing his hair under the spray, while Voldemort dried off with a freshly laundered towel. Harry stood in front of the mirror and concentrated on shaving. He preferred using a Muggle razor instead of charms, and he pulled at his jaw as he moved the blade across his skin.
The doorbell rang, and Harry nicked his chin. Cursing softly, he glanced at Voldemort, who shrugged and strode into the bedroom.
"I'll see who it is," Voldemort said as he pulled on a pair of black trousers. He threw a t-shirt over his head, stepped into his slippers and stalked out of the bedroom.
Snape turned off the shower, just as Harry heard Voldemort opening the front door downstairs.
"May I help you?" Voldemort sounded polite enough, even a bit amused.
"Oh, hello. We're looking for Harry Potter."
Harry's eyes widened as he stared at himself in the mirror.
"I'm afraid Harry's still in the shower. Who may I say is calling?"
"Sorry. I'm Hermione Granger-Weasley, and this is my husband Ron."
"Ah, you're Harry's friends. He's mentioned you before. Please, do come in."
Harry found it hard to breathe and he looked desperately at Snape.
"Relax," Snape whispered in his ear. "He's not going to hurt them. They're just here to visit. He knows that."
Nodding, Harry swallowed.
"And who are you? I thought Harry was still with Snape?" Hermione asked as Harry heard them move through the downstairs hallway.
"I'm Joseph Taylor. I'm a good friend of Harry and Severus."
Hermione let out a short shriek. "Oh my god! You're Mr Taylor...oh, I've read all your books. Your work on transitory soul transfiguration is just amazing. I'm so pleased to meet you."
"And it's lovely to meet you, Ms Granger-Weasley."
"Please, call me Hermione."
Harry couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, as they'd moved into the drawing room. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to bang his head against the wall. What was he thinking? Why had he ever agreed to bring Voldemort here?
"I'll go and make sure he behaves himself." Snape pressed a kiss to Harry's throat and walked inside the bedroom. Harry rinsed off his razor, and then had to take a couple of deep breaths to stop his hands trembling as he finished shaving.
He got dressed in his usual attire of a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and then hurried down the stairs. When he entered the drawing room he was met with a most surreal display.
Snape was seated on the couch beside a small red-haired girl. On the girl's other side sat Ron, who looked up at him with a huge grin. Beside the sofa stood Hermione, her hair in a ponytail, talking animatedly with Voldemort, who was holding a baby. Voldemort smiled down at the little boy and tickled his chin.
Harry's mouth sank open, but before he could say anything he suddenly found himself with an armful of Hermione.
"Harry!" She squeezed him hard and pressed a big kiss against his cheek. "It's so good to see you again!"
Ron was next, though his hug was shorter and involved lots of backslapping. "Hey mate. Took you long enough to remember to visit."
"Hey," Harry managed to say, overwhelmed with feelings of both dread and excitement at seeing his best friends again after so long.
"And this is little Hugo," Voldemort said, holding up the baby for Harry to see. "Say hello to your uncle Harry, Hugo." And Voldemort gently grabbed one of the baby's arms and made it wave.
Hermione giggled and clapped her hand over her mouth.
On the couch, the little girl was trying to climb into Snape's lap, who looked far less impressed with the entire situation and scowled at the girl in an obvious attempt to stop her. But the girl had inherited her parents' courage and wasn't that easily cowed.
"No, Rose," Ron said, and picked up the girl before Snape could hex her. "Come meet Harry."
"Hello, Rose," Harry said and shook Rose's small hand, after which she buried her face in Ron's neck and giggled for a whole minute.
"Harry, some tea for our guests?" Voldemort said as he motioned Hermione to the opposite couch.
"I'll help you." Ron sat his daughter down beside Hermione. Harry cast Snape a meaningful look, which Snape returned with a sneer, and then he made his way down to the basement kitchen, Ron on his heels.
"I can't believe you're still with Snape," Ron said as Harry got the kettle boiling and levitated cups and saucers onto a tray. "I mean, we all thought it was just a thing, you know...after the war, you seemed a little traumatized or something."
Harry snickered. God, if Ron only knew. "It started out as a thing, I guess, but now...now it's the real thing."
"Ah." Ron leaned back against the kitchen counter while Harry got the teabags steeping. "And this other bloke? He might not be right for you? Seems handsome enough, and Hermione says he's brilliant. Seems nicer than Snape, too."
Shaking his head, Harry looked up at his best friend. He'd told Hermione and Ron about his friendship with Joseph Taylor over the years, but he'd never gone into any intimate details. It was none of their business. As far as they knew, Harry and Snape were in a relationship and Joseph was just their friend.
"Ron. Do you really want to know about all the things I get up to in my bedroom?" Harry asked, and winked at Ron. He laughed as Ron's cheeks paled.
"You mean, three blokes? How does that even work?"
"I'm sure they have books about that. Ask Hermione." Harry snatched a box of chocolate biscuits from the pantry shelf and carried the tray up the stairs, a befuddled Ron trailing behind.
"How did you even know I was here?" Harry asked Hermione as he served out the tea. He'd written his friends a letter via Muggle post, as he'd always done over the years, and he'd told them he was planning on visiting, but he hadn't given them a date.
"Mate, it was in the evening edition of The Prophet," Ron said as he added two lumps of sugar to his tea. "Someone recognized you at the Portkey station apparently. Was a big headline about the lost son returning home."
Harry rubbed his forehead. He'd spent a decade without any headlines, and he was back in Britain for one day and he was already in the paper. Some things never changed. Snape snorted beside him, and Voldemort, who sat on Harry's other side, patted his knee in mock-sympathy.
Hermione shifted little Hugo in her arms. "Oh, come on, Harry. You're a celebrity, whether you like it or not. You killed Voldemort, and you're a best-selling author. You can't expect people not to notice you."
Extremely happy Voldemort had already handed the baby back to Hermione, Harry glanced at him, but Voldemort seemed only mildly amused by Hermione's remarks.
Ron and Hermione spent a good hour talking about their lives and their children and what the rest of the Weasley family had been up to. Harry knew most of it already, thanks to their steady correspondence, but it was nice to actually talk to his friends again.
By the time the tea had been replaced with a few glasses of wine, they were on the subject of their Hogwarts years. Thankfully, they stuck to pleasant memories, and there was no mention of Ginny's unusual disappearance or the war.
"I always suspected you were gay, Harry," Hermione said at one point, and Harry looked at her with wide eyes. He himself hadn't known he liked blokes that way until Voldemort had shown him. "Remember the Yule Ball? Really, the way you went about looking for a date, and how you treated poor Parvati...I suspected something was up with you."
"Do tell," Voldemort said, while Harry snickered into his glass of wine. Yeah, the Yule Ball had been a fiasco. He couldn't argue with that. And as Hermione told the story of Harry's disastrous attempts to get a date, Harry laughed just as loudly as Voldemort, and even Snape came close to smiling.
"And I wasn't surprised you ended up with Snape," Hermione said with a fond smile. "I mean, the way you fawned over the Half-Blood Prince's book in your sixth year, Harry, I always suspected you had a huge crush on him."
Harry choked on his wine, while Snape turned to stare at him and Voldemort threw his head back laughing. "I didn't -- "
"He's never told you about that?" Hermione asked Snape, who looked from Harry to Hermione with a rather astonished expression on his face.
"No, I can't say he's ever mentioned that before," Snape said in a silky-smooth voice, and Harry knew he'd be hearing about that for months to come.
"I wasn't -- I mean, yeah, I liked that book, but I didn't have a crush on him. Seriously." Harry gave Hermione an urgent look.
"Oh, don't be silly, you seemed almost possessed. The way you carried that book around and were always going on about the Prince this and the Prince that." Hermione leaned closer to Snape from across the coffee table. "A huge crush. I mean it."
"I see." Snape looked Harry up and down and curved an eyebrow. "It seems that Harry has been keeping things from me."
"No, I haven't." Harry poked Snape in the ribs with his elbow. "Back then, I liked that book. Not you."
Ron cleared his throat. He'd been laughing along with everyone else, but Harry knew that the idea of him and Snape still freaked him out, so he wasn't surprised when Ron changed the subject. "So why did you come back now, Harry? Are you planning to stay?" He stroked Rose's hair, who was lying in his lap fast asleep.
"Ah, I believe that is my fault," Voldemort said. "I heard there was a position open at Hogwarts. Harry and Severus kindly offered to show me around there, as I haven't been to Hogwarts before."
It was part of the carefully constructed identity they had come up with for Voldemort once he was ready to publish some of the research he'd done. Joseph Taylor was a half-blood wizard, raised by his parents and home-schooled in magic. It had been impossible to come up with a background for him that involved any kind of formal training, as such facts could easily be disputed by anyone who cared to do a little investigation.
"That's right," Hermione said. "Neville told us they were looking for a new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Have you spoken to Headmaster Croaker yet?"
"Who?" Harry hadn't been keeping track of all the goings-on at Hogwarts over the years.
"Casimir Croaker," Hermione said with a patient smile. "He was the Defence against the Dark Arts professor for a few years, until McGonagall's retirement. Then he became headmaster."
Harry stared at her blankly, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you've even seen him before. At the Quidditch World Cup. Arthur pointed him out to us. He used to work at the Department of Mysteries." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He was an Unspeakable before he quit his job and became a teacher."
"Ah." Harry glanced Snape, but Snape's rather stoic expression told him this wasn't news to Snape.
"We will meet him tomorrow, when we'll go to Hogwarts," Voldemort said, and he seemed entirely unconcerned by this development.
"Well, I hope you'll get the position," Hermione said. "I'm sure you'll be a brilliant teacher. If I remember what utter imbeciles we've had for Defence Against the Dark Arts over the years..." Hermione flushed when Snape arched a daring eyebrow. "I meant types such as Lockhart and Umbridge. Not you. Sir."
"I'm sure you didn't, Ms Granger," Snape said in his classroom voice. Harry shifted restlessly. Bloody Snape and that voice.
"Yeah, or Quirrell," Ron said, warming up to the subject. "He had Voldemort stuck to his head."
Harry bit his lip.
"Remember that, Harry? We should have realized back then that Voldemort wasn't all that impressive. He got his arse handed to him by a couple of first-years."
Harry shot up from the couch. "More wine?" And as he reached for the wine bottle he conveniently positioned himself between Voldemort and his friends. He heard a quiet chuckle behind him, and when he realized it was Voldemort, he relaxed. Just a bit.
"No, we should get going." Hermione got up from the couch. "We have work tomorrow. Here, Harry, you hold Hugo for a bit while I visit the toilet."
And just like that, Harry had an armful of a little baby boy. He sank back down on the couch and stared at the inquisitive blue eyes which seemed to be taking in every detail of Harry's face. Carefully, he stroked a few fingers over Hugo's red hair and down his soft cheek. And he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Voldemort hadn't survived. What would have happened if he'd actually killed Voldemort all those years ago. He'd probably have married Ginny, or some other girl. He might even have had a family of his own by now. A pang, sharp and stinging, shot through his chest as he touched a finger to Hugo's tiny hand.
"Harry?"
It took Harry a few moments before he realized someone was calling his name. He looked up and smiled at Hermione, whose expression softened at once.
"We're always looking for more babysitters," Hermione said and held out her arms.
Harry gently placed Hugo in his mother's embrace. "He's beautiful," he whispered, and then had to clear his throat. He glanced around. Snape's expression was unreadable, but Voldemort was looking at him curiously, as if he couldn't quite figure out what had just happened.
"I'll walk you to the door." Harry motioned his friends towards the hallway.
"You've got to stop by the Burrow this weekend," Ron said, as he lifted a still sleeping Rose into his arms. "Mum's not going to forgive you if you're in the country and you won't stop by at least once."
Harry swallowed and glanced at Snape. Seeing his friends was one thing, but seeing Mr and Mrs Weasley was something else completely after what had happened to their only daughter.
"We'll try to make time," Snape said reasonably. "We may have other work-related commitments this weekend, but we'll let you know."
Ron nodded his understanding, and Harry wanted to kiss Snape right there and then, he was so grateful for his intervention.
Harry waved his friends goodbye and once he closed the front door he leaned his forehead against it. Even though everything had gone well, and no one had died, Harry was suddenly exhausted.
A hand touched his shoulder, and when Harry looked up he saw Snape standing beside him.
"Time for bed," Snape said, and Harry nodded at once.
As they got ready for bed, Harry expected teasing about his supposed crush on Snape in his sixth year, but nothing happened. Snape kept quiet, busying himself with his ablutions, and Voldemort seemed keen on observing Harry closely, as though there was something about Harry he needed to figure out.
They crawled into bed, Harry in the middle like he always did, and turned off the lights, and Harry was surprised when his thoughts drifted back to the feeling of little Hugo in his arms. He'd never before consciously contemplated having children, which wasn't so strange considering that Harry had never even held a baby before. But now, for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about it.
Voldemort's breathing deepened, and Snape lay still beside him, but sleep eluded Harry. He'd known that when he'd made his deal with Voldemort, he'd have to give up certain things. Britain, his friends, parts of his freedom. But he hadn't, at the time, realized what else he'd have to give up, and now it suddenly seemed crystal clear to him. He'd given up his future, and never before in all those ten years, had that realization hit him as hard or as painful as it did now.
Harry heaved a deep, shuddering breath, and much to his surprise he felt a hand touch his own under the blankets. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled onto his side and buried his face against Snape's chest.
Snape said nothing, and just wrapped his arm around Harry and pulled him even closer. There was no need for words. As Harry had learned over the years, usually Snape understood him perfectly.