Warnings: SLASH and fluff – more than enough to give you a tummy-ache but probably not so much you’ll get a cavity. Also, a little sex and cursing - it’s not a story without a little sex and cursing.

Disclaimer: Harry and Severus are not characters that belong to me!

In his defence, he had been sickeningly unsophisticated and it had been the day he was going to die – so at that point what did he have to lose?

At 17 and a half he had been having sex with his professor for six months. No one knew and no one would have understood.

They would have thought it quite undignified for the Saviour to be down on his knees in a cob-webbed corner of the Slytherin dungeons with potion-stained fingers fisting and pulling at his hair two or three times a week, uttering filth in such a suppliant, desperate tone of voice that it would have made the made the toes of Voldemort himself curl.

But even more shocking would have been the events that occurred in the silence that ensued. The way Severus would always brush the hair off Harry’s forehead, grazing the thunderbolt scar with his thumb, and the way Harry pressed his face to the line of Severus’ neck, breathing in his scent; letting the smell of smoke and sulphur lull him to sleep. And the way the inky, black silk tendrils of Severus’ mind would be allowed to caress and enfold the gold, almost painfully bright surfaces of Harry’s.

It was four o’clock on the morning of the last battle. According to the plans of the Ministry and the Order Harry was to stay hidden, tucked away in the tunnels under the lake until such time they deemed appropriate, for the purposes they deemed appropriate. Much like a very nice weapon they hoped to use when, and only when, they wished.

They had even set up dementor guards which they genuinely (and foolishly) thought Harry would not realize were there as much to keep him in as Death Eaters out.

The morning of the battle Harry had very much relished dispatching them, sort of like warm up for what he knew would be the battle to come.

When he finished off the dementors and broken through the multiple layers of wards around the underground chambers, Harry was unsurprised to find Severus waiting at the mouth of the labyrinth for him, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“Good-morning, Severus.”

“Good-morning, Harry.” Snape answered just as evenly.

“You were expecting me were you?”

“I was expecting that you would not stay put when you knew we were going to war today. You have a pesky habit of doing what you wish, regardless of what you are told.” Severus responded conversationally.

“It almost seems you do not trust me.” Harry said lightly.

“I would trust you with my life, Harry, but not your own. You are far too noble for your own good.”

“You may be right.”

“I don’t suppose there is anything I can say that would make you rethink going after the Dark Lord alone?”

And Harry, because he was Harry, and would always be Harry, answered, “No.”

Severus nodded curtly, “I can cast a spell to delay the alarms. It will give you a 20, maybe 30, minute head start before the Order is alerted to your disappearance. The Dark Lord will be expecting us to attack in full force at sun up, which isn’t for another two hours. He won’t be excepting you earlier and certainly not alone.”

“Well, that is the plan.” Harry’s response bordered on flippant.

“The Dark Lord will not play fair; therefore you cannot hope to win by the rules. Use the forbidden curses I taught you. And, do try to limit the stupidity.””

Harry reached out and took Severus hand, the words bubbling up with little to no forethought, “I want us to get married.”

“Harry –”

“As soon as this is all over.” Harry continued with more conviction.

“Harry –”

“Harry – is that all you can say?”

“Do you know what Longbottom said to me when I passed him in the hall on the way here?”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“He said to me ‘there were socks in my pot of custard, dancing outside the loo’.”

“I repeat, what does that have to do with this?”

“You’re 17.”

“I know how old I am.” Harry spit from between gritted teeth.

“There is a good chance you are going to die today.”

Harry said nothing to this, his lips pinched tightly.

“Youth and mortality make people say foolish things that make absolutely no sense. Things they could not possibly mean otherwise.”

“Severus, I know what I am saying. I know I’m 17, I know I could die today, or you could, and I know I love you.”

Severus caught his arm in a bruising grip. “I will be really, really… irritated if you die out there today.”

“Severus – will you marry me?”

Severus gritted his teeth, letting go of Harry’s arm and turning away. “All I hear is ‘socks in the custard dancing outside the loo’. Now, get out of here.”

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

Second time it happened was in one of the Ministry bathrooms. It was a total cock-up, as Ron had put it several months after the fact, when Harry had drunkenly confessed what had happened that night.

Voldemort had been slayed over three months ago at the end of Harry’s wand. And the last quarter of a year had been a non-stop party. Was this really what he had risked his life for? Harry often wondered, So the Ministry could throw balls for the rich and famous to drink and mingle with other rich and famous and reaffirm their own riches and fame?

With each successive ball or gala Harry became more bitter.

The withdrawn formality pleased the Minister and press (who mistook it as sign the Golden Boy was maturing and becoming more comfortable in the spotlight) and annoyed Severus (who never mistook anything).

So why did Severus even design to come to these things, you may ask yourself.

The answer to that was green-eyed and want to disappear into the bathrooms to escape from the receiving lines of fans and sycophants that awaited him in each ballroom.

Severus would attend the galas, stand in a dark corner unseen half the night, watching Harry under hooded eyes, and would reluctantly let Harry talk him into a quick shag in the bathroom later in the evening, knowing full well Harry would then make up for by letting Severus have his choice of location the next few times – arse over ankles on the desk in his Potions’ classrooms.

That more or less brings us to this:

Harry – one foot firmly lodged into a toilet, dress robes pooled around his knees, glasses askew, toilet paper dispense digging into his hip – waiting for Severus’ answer.

“Well? Will you?”

Severus, acutely aware of the absurdity of their positions, stared for a moment. “You have got to be kidding.”

“What makes you think I’m kidding?”

“Well, you are shin deep in toilet water for one. For another, I am fairly certain I can hear them calling your name out there to make a speech of some sort.”

“I’m serious, Severus, will you –”

Just then someone (strangely enough for their location, a female someone) was thrusting a quill and paper under the bathroom stall. “Harry, Harry Potter, can I get an autograph?”

There was some shuffling and a muffled curse and the sound of water dripping onto the floor before the young woman felt the quill being taken and scratched against the paper, a second later there a loud pop which echoed off the washroom walls, the sound of two bodies apparating out.

The young woman pulled the paper back and on it was only one word in thick bold writing: NO!

It was the last ball Harry Potter ever attended.

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It would be over a year before Harry would try again. But this time he did it perfectly.

190 galleon bottle of English Scotch, takeaway Indian food, black, sandalwood and sage scented candles, and a night completely free from visitors, firecalls and even well-intentioned house elves.

He even got down on one knee to propose, real ring in hand; a specially designed thick, gold band with a round, polished onyx stone.

They say the third time’s a charm.

It wasn’t.

Severus had just laughed at him. It wasn’t a mean-spirited or taunting laugh, but a genuinely amused snort.

Then he had pulled Harry up from his knees and pushed him into the nearby bed.

The kisses tasted like scotch and Harry’s disappointment was easily hidden in the dark, the tears brushed aside as effortlessly as his proposal had been.

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

The fourth try was no more successful.

It was, however, the proposal Harry held the fondest (after four, he felt he had the authority to begin to chose favourites).

They had been officially living together for four years now. Severus having left Hogwarts to move into Harry’s home, where he was quite content to experiment and write a new collection of potion texts in his own private rooms and laboratory.

Severus had spent the whole day working on a complex potion. He hardly acknowledged Harry’s presence except for the odd admonishment to stay out of the way and be quiet, or an order to hand him materials or tools. Smoke parched the air and made it difficult to breath. Severus’ hair, grown long with neglect, fell forward, hanging into the caldron fumes, oily. The older man hadn’t eaten all day, the sandwich Harry had brought down was still sitting across the room untouched.

When the brewing was completed, Severus began to set out a row of glass vials to decant the finished potion into. Final task completed, his blood-shot eyes flickered over to Harry’s figure. The boy was slumped forward onto the end of the lab bench, fast asleep.

He shook Harry’s shoulder, almost tenderly. “What are you still doing here, Potter? It must be close to four in the morning. You should be in bed.”

Harry’s eyes blinked sleepily. “You look terrible.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, Mister Potter, but you don’t exactly look up to your usual Playwitch centerfold standards.”

“It was just that one time…And eight sickles from each copy sold went towards Hermione’s home for battered house elves. Are you ever going to let that go?”

“No.”

Harry’s nose crinkled. “You stink, too.”

Severus wiped his hands on his already-stained lab robe, “Octopus feces – quite expensive. But the magically properties rival that of –”

“Marry me.”

Surprise flickered over Severus’ face. “I had no idea octopus excrement would put you in such an amorous state of mind.”

“Severus…”

“Let us just chalk that up to tiredness and all the potion fumes you inhaled today. Come along then, let’s get you into a proper bed before you fall asleep and begin drooling all over the lab bench again. You could contaminant one of my potions…”

OooOooOooOooOooOooOooO

The fifth time found Harry and Severus in bed, sticky and slick with a combination of sweat and saliva and come.

Harry was slumped half on top of the older man, still trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm. Severus’ hand was idly stroking the back of Harry’s hair. Both of them panting softly in the otherwise silent room.

Severus’ fingers twisted in Harry’s hair, tugging with ungentle force. “You are going to be the death of me someday, Potter.”

Harry wondered when that someday would be. They had been together for seven years now. And every year Severus appeared to fair better, not worse.

Harry could hear Severus’ heart beat under his ear; the sound and feel of the other man’s breathing as familiar to him as his own. He couldn’t help himself. “I want you forever. I want you as my husband.”

There was a moments’ pause and then a long heaving sigh. Harry was summarily shoved off Severus’ chest to sprawl ungracefully into the wet spot on the cooling sheets.

Harry chuckled mirthlessly, rolling to lean over the side of the bed to grasp his wand which had been discarded much earlier. “Shall I take that as a no?”

“Technically you didn’t even ask me a question. In fact, you only phrased it as a question the first three times.”

Harry flopped over on to his back, muttering a cleaning charm. There was silence for a moment and then he asked quietly, “Will you marry me?”

“Nox.”

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It wasn’t until Severus Snape refused his sixth proposal, another year later, that Harry lost his temper.

“Why?” Harry yelled in frustration, making the teacups on the table clatter against the saucers. “At least tell me why. I can accept the fact that you don’t want to marry me. I can live with things as they are now, without a formal bonding ceremony. But at least tell me why, Severus. Don’t I deserve to know why you won’t marry me?”

Severus pushed his chair away from the breakfast table where the onyx lay discarded amidst a platter of pumpkin biscuits. “I won’t marry you because demanding, inflexible old men like me, do not marry starry-eyed, reckless, do-gooding young men like you.”

Harry’s heart lodged in his throat, lubbing irregularly. Severus rose from the table and walked to the door before turning back, ignoring the wounded glimmer in Harry’s eyes.

“Demanding, inflexible old men like me, do not marry starry-eyed, reckless, do-gooding young men like you because starry-eyed, reckless, do-gooding young men like you do not marry demanding, inflexible old men like me.”

Severus slammed the door behind himself and didn’t come back that night. Or the next.

Harry didn’t go after him.

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On that third night as he was getting ready for bed, Harry looked up from the washroom sink to see, in the mirror, Severus standing behind him. Harry shifted the bright red toothbrush in his mouth. He was naked aside from the black towel wrapped over his hips.

Severus touched Harry’s bare shoulder and the younger man turned, looking up in the same motion. “I suppose I owe you an apology. It seems I may have had a few issues to work through.”

Harry turned back to the sink, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing his brush before answering. “I’m glad you’re back – As it turns out I am rather unable to sleep without your snoring in bed with me.” And then, “Issues, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Even after all these years?”

“Rather deep-seeded issues, I suspect.”

Harry released a rather weary sigh of air. “I love you, Severus.”

“I don’t imagine I’ll ever understand that.”

“I meant what I said before. I’m always going to be yours, ceremony or no ceremony. So… I won’t ask again, Severus.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

Harry jutted his chin in the direction of their chamber. “Bed?”

“You go ahead and I’ll join you shortly.”

Harry nodded once, curtly, and skirted around Severus to exit the room.

He came up short in the doorway. On the floor right outside the room was a small white, porcelain pot of yellow custard, a mis-matched pair of wool socks tapping a merry jig on the surface of the dessert.

Harry turned back to Severus, his eyes as wide as saucers. “So help you Snape if that doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

Severus arched a black eyebrow. “That depends on what your answer would be.”

“A fair bit better than any answer you’ve given me in the past.”

Severus draw Harry close, and kissed him with a fierce tenderness, his hands sliding down over Harry’s back and hips to pull him flush with his body. Twinning his arms over Severus’ neck, Harry pressed closer, letting his tongue slip past Severus’ lips. Severus groaned, holding the willing body tighter, continuing the kiss with an almost desperate urgency, taking everything Harry was offering and more.

Finally he drew back slightly and Severus looked down into the emerald pools of Harry’s eyes, asking, his voice husky, “Well? Are you willing to marry me?”

“Yes…”

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