Warnings: Slash, implied bisexuality, some lemony content

Author's Notes: Written for the hpcon_envy community at LiveJournal for sc010f, who requested Bill with someone and lemons.

Disclaimer: © 2008 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by JKR or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com

The scissors I hold out to him belonged to my great-great uncle William Stoatsford, for whom I was named. Like most things from the Burrow, they are battered but still serviceable.

To my surprise he doesn't scowl. He merely looks at me blankly. "Are you feeling well, Mr. Weasley?"

"Quite well, professor. Thanks very much for asking." No additional comment seems forthcoming, so I loose my hair from its binding. The uneven ends brush against my jaw.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"As of this evening, I'm no longer your student, and the house cup's already been awarded for the year."

"Then Gryffindor will start next year with a twenty point deficit. Now, get out."

I curse my hastiness, concede temporary defeat and slide the scissors handle-first into the back pocket of my trousers.

"I'll write from London, sir."

"I don't care if you learn to juggle in London. Just leave me in peace."

I close the door quietly behind me, but I don't miss the look on his face the moment before the door clicks shut.


Two years pass before I approach him again.

He addresses the air, a wry look on his features. "I feel the most peculiar sense of déjà vu."

I smile and release my hair once more. It brushes my shoulders now.

His amusement vanishes so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it there to begin with. "Don't tell me you still haven't learnt the difference between a Potions Master and a barber."

"There's more," I say, pulling the old scissors from my back pocket.

"Obviously," he says with distaste.

"Not hair, you git," I say, which makes him scowl. Before he can berate me for my familiarity, I draw two additional pairs of scissors from my pocket and begin to juggle them, blades flashing in the dim light.

My eyes are focused on the top of the arc made by the spinning points. "Gringotts transferred me to Paris this year."

"Sensible of them. Absurd flamboyance will be less noticed there. Now stop that before you injure yourself."

The handles are reassuringly blunt when they come to rest in my palms. "Now that I've entertained you, I hope you'll reconsider my request."

"Watching a former student nearly become the victim of his own folly is hardly entertaining."

"It isn't?" I ask, meeting his eyes.

He raises his chin haughtily, but his dark eyes are gleaming. "No. The crucial word being 'nearly.' Now, I have a great deal of work to do."

I recognize the dismissal for what it is and know it is non-negotiable.

"I'll write from Paris, Severus." Saying his name doesn't feel as odd as I thought it would. It's how he signs his letters, after all.

"I don't care if you write from the middle of the bleeding desert," he snaps. "Now get out."

I can't stop myself from whistling on my way back to the Headmaster's office.


Two more years pass. He sighs heavily when he sees me.

"Let me guess. Gringott's has transferred you to Cairo and you still haven't cut your hair."

I remove my jacket and loose my hair once more. It's at shoulder blade level now.

I can't tell if the sneer is directed at my hair, my ancient t-shirt, or the knees of my dungarees, sprung from hours of mucking about in tombs. "Why don't you get an earring and a tattoo while you're at it?"

I grin and hold out the scissors to him once more. There is very nearly a smile on his face as he shakes his head. If he sees me nick a viper fang from his stores on the way out, he doesn't say anything.


Another year passes.

My mother despairs over the state of my hair, which hangs halfway down my back, and my ever-present fang earring, but she still invites me to attend third task of the Triwizard Tournament with her. The night before the task, I find him grading exams. There are dark patches beneath his eyes, and his hair is more unkempt than usual. I am not surprised when he immediately tells me to leave.

I respond by removing my shirt. He is about to raise his voice when he notices the tattoo around my left bicep. He frowns and rises from his desk, curious in spite of himself. He snorts at the design, a green ourobouros entwined through a wreath of silver scissors.

His fingers are cool against the back of my neck as he releases my hair and spreads it across my back. I feel him lean close, inhaling and exhaling in perfect time with my pounding heart. With surprising roughness he pulls the scissors from my back pocket. He Summons a stool and pushes me down on it. His fingers are gentle as he combs his fingers through my hair, futilely smoothing the stubborn wave caused by the hair elastic, and he begins to cut.

I can hear my shorn locks falling to the floor, and tears spring to my eyes. Severus's snips are quick and precise, and before I know it, he lays the scissors on the desk.

"It is done."

I raise my hands to my head, uncertain of what I will find. I'm surprised to find that the blunt ends now curve gently just below the tops of my shoulders. My hands are shaking as I reach up to tie it back again, when his hand stills mine.

"Leave it," he says. He releases my hand and comes to stand before me, impressive as ever, his hand clutching his forearm. "Mr. Weasley, are you familiar with the story of Samson?"

His query startles a laugh out of me. "The warrior whose strength left him when his lover betrayed him with a buzz cut?"

"The same." He's rubbing his forearm now. Belatedly, I realize why. "What on earth makes you certain that putting yourself in my power is a good idea?"

I stand and place my hand over his, stilling his nervous movements. "You had the opportunity to take it all from me, but you didn't."

I think he's surprised how tall I am. I raise my hand to his jaw and stroke his cheek with my thumb. His eyes close, and he lets out a shaky breath.

"Nothing can come of this," he whispers. His dark eyes open, and my heart nearly stops at what I see in their depths. "What's coming, if- when- it happens it is… my days will not be long. I will not allow…," he trails off. He takes a deep breath and fixes his eyes on mine. "You mustn't wait for me, Bill."

The tears are threatening to spill over, but I can't contain a smile. "Oh, Severus. I have no intention of waiting."

And then I'm kissing him with all those years of frustrated desire and schoolboy infatuation. His cheeks are smooth beneath my hands, his thin lips are open and hungry beneath mine. His hands feel like fire against my flanks, rubbing my neck and scalp, and the light wool of his robe burns against my bare stomach. Our arousals brush through our trousers, and he lets out a keening moan like wind. The blood is rushing in my ears like a storm at sea, and I am drowning, drawn inexorably into my need to feel him, to hold him and convince myself that I am really with the man I've wanted since the first stirrings of my adolescence.

He is fumbling with his trousers, nearly as flushed and needy as I am, and I cast the most powerful locking charm I know on the classroom door. He pauses for long enough to smirk at me and our mouths are on one another's again. We're both pulling off our clothes clumsily, kicking off our shoes, until I'm finally able to lean him backwards on the Potions bench clad only in his underpants and socks, the latter of which he's trying to pull off with his toes.

When we recover from the initial rush of gasping ecstasy as our naked bodies touch, I come to my senses enough to make sure I understand what he wants. He sighs with mock impatience and shifts so that I am nestled snugly in the cleft of his cheeks. I twitch enthusiastically, and am rewarded with a dark chuckle.

After the initial round in the classroom, we tiptoe down the hall to his quarters, the prospect of being discovered nearly as thrilling as what's to come. Our lovemaking stretches into the wee hours of the morning.

The horizon is lightening to blue when we return to the classroom. He busies himself with putting away the exams, pens and ink while I clean up the bench. I gather my shorn hair and tie it with the hair elastic.

We don't need to say anything aloud to know that this is the end. There is still heat in his gaze, but there is also helplessness. I suspect my expression is similar.

"You should marry," he says at last. "Find someone bright and handsome. Raise an intolerably clever brood and make your mother happy. If you must think of me, remember when I gave you detention for doing so well in Potions that I was forced to give you Outstanding marks. That should help put things in perspective. Now, clear off. My shift to guard the site of the third task begins in fifteen minutes, and I require tea."

I place my ponytail in his hand. "My strength is yours, Severus."

His teeth click against mine as he kisses me suddenly, and then he is gone in a swirl of black robes.

I leave the scissors on his desk.




A/N: Huge thanks to Mr. 42, my super-fast, super-super beta reader, and sc010f, whose request sent my mind a-racing!