Part Three

Eirik Brekke, known professionally as Northlander, leaned his shoulder against an apple tree and, from the shade under its leaves, watched the newest member of the family wander along the edges of the gathering.

The official part of the celebration of his father's one hundred thirty-fifth birthday was over. The feast had been eaten, the presents opened, the speech of thanks received with much laughter and applause. Eirik took a sip of his drink. One thing he had to give the old man was his ease in orchestrating a response from a crowd.

And it was quite a crowd. Eight wives - with Freya representing Gudrid, twenty-two children, those old enough to have them with their various partners. So far only sixteen grandchildren though there were already three great-grandchildren. Oddvar had begun his collection of wives relatively late for a wizard: he'd married the First at seventy-two. Eirik was by the Second whom he'd wed at ninety-three.

Not to mention all the cousins and former in-laws with whom Oddvar was still on friendly terms. It was a family joke that the reason their father was so good at international diplomacy was that he had had so much practice in his own house.

And that was just family. In addition, since this was a formal celebration, there were the usual diplomatic representatives, local politicians and business people. Not to mention those who used family connections to grab a chance of being seen in such company or to work the crowd.

The sound of high-pitched squeals got Eirik's attention. At the far end of the garden, away from the crowd, a boy was doing tricks on a broomstick. Eirik grinned and shook his head. Alexander. Who would have thought that a child with the ever-delicate Inga for a mother would be such a daredevil. He noticed that Freya was also watching, but the fact that she turned back to the group composed of his father's former wives, known affectionately - and sometimes not - as the Coven, meant she was not concerned for her chick.

Eirik had been fond of his half-sister Inga. He had visited her often while she'd been alive, usually when he'd needed quiet and calm, uncritical support. He had loved her mother, Gudrid. Of all the Coven, she had been the one who had genuinely cared for the other offsprings of her husband. She had also been the only one to die on him. Eirik wondered if Gudrid really would still have been married to his father as Oddvar was fond of saying. She certainly hadn't put up with any of his shenanigans. Rather like Freya.

Another Light Elf came by with a tray of drinks. Eirik shook his head but noticed that Severus Snape accepted another. What was that, his third? And he certainly was putting it back rather quickly. From the slight shudder, Eirik assumed that the man was not used to the drink. Really, someone might have warned him about the potency of vodka.

Family rumour had it that the man was brilliant, moody and in some kind of difficulty with his Ministry of Magic. That last was of no concern to Eirik: he was the only one in the family not into politics of any kind. Snape wasn't handsome, not by a long shot, but there was a certain something about him. Eirik smiled. He could see Inga being attracted to that something.

An interesting man, thought Eirik as he watched Snape try harder to slip into the shadows, one that he wanted to get to know better. And now a fourth drink. Probably needed fortifying. Obviously not used to the gregariousness of Brekke gatherings. Nor the colour. Eirik found himself smiling. A raven among the parrots. He liked that: it would make a good painting.

As he watched Snape pick up his fifth drink in less than an hour, Eirik shook his head. It was time to find out just how interesting Severus Snape could be.

Snape knew that he was drunk. That he should stop drinking. He couldn't remember how many of these drinks he had actually consumed. A sure sign that he had had far too many.

But Alexander was busy enjoying himself with his cousins, and needed that experience much more than he needed to see how maudlin his father was feeling. And Freya, for once, seemed to be occupied with matters that did not concern him.

And damn it! Why couldn't he get drunk? He tried to remember the last time he'd allowed himself to become this intoxicated. He couldn't. And it wasn't because of the drink. It was because it had probably been so long ago that, even sober, he wouldn't have been able to recall the occasion.

And the stuff was cold. And the day was hot.

And he was tired.

He raised the glass to his mouth. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn't coming. A long-fingered hand had stopped its ascent.

"I think you've had enough, Severus."

Snape followed the hand up an arm clad in teal, further up to a face that was smiling at him.

He squinted as he thought. "Eirik Brekke." He was proud that his voice was still firm and clear.

The man smiled at him. "Impressive. We were only introduced the once this morning in the breakfast crowd."

Snape continued to stare.

Hard to forget the man. He was strangely beautiful.

Of his height. His age.

With skin that glowed honey as only blonds have. Not that his hair was yellow. It was so pale that, at first glance, it had looked white. But if one glanced often enough - and yes, he had - one noticed that it was in fact tow-blond. Much, much purer in colour than Lucius Malfoy's had been. He'd worn it loose at breakfast. It had hung far below his shoulders. Now he wore it in a thick braid that was encased in a dark leather sheath.

Eyes were an eerie yellowish brown. More yellow than brown. Wolf eyes. Eyes that were watching him out of a face that his hand itched to touch. Long. High Slavic cheek-bones. Nose that was almost too long and fine for the face. Balanced out by a thin-lipped mouth and a determined chin with the hint of a dimple.

"Why don't we go find you something else to drink? Coffee, maybe?"

Snape allowed the man to remove the glass from his hand. "Are you a werewolf, too?"

"No."

There was laughter in the voice now. Probably not something he should have said aloud.

"But my great-grandfather was one."

"You look as though you should be." Why couldn't he get his tongue to stop spouting these things?

"Really?"

There was that grin again. Snape didn't think that what he'd said was funny. The voice was having an entirely different effect on him. It was husky, rough, as though the man had a sore throat. But since no one had commented on it at breakfast, Snape assumed these were the man's usual tones. He found that he wanted to hear more of them.

"I'm sorry. I seem to be drunk."

"Not used to drinking, are you?"

Snape shook his head. "I never get drunk. I can't afford to. But it's hot and I'm tired and it no longer seems to matter."

Eirik Brekke smiled at him and the warmth from the alcohol in his stomach dropped to his groin.

"Perhaps we should go in then."

Eirik took Snape to his rooms. Not an assumption on his part. He might not be a werewolf, but his nose was wolf enough to smell the rising level of pheremones. He knew when he was wanted.

But much as he was wanted by this man, it was he who did all the leading. The one who initiated the first kiss. Who slowly stripped the clothing, all black but for the pristine white shirt and the underwear, off the man. Who removed his own quickly.

He thought at first it might be because Snape was so drunk, but it finally dawned on him that the awkwardness of his movements, his hesitations were not due solely to the vodka he had consumed. Eirik was sure of it when he used his wand to cast a small, only slightly sobering spell on the man. He wanted the man functional but not resistant.

Severus Snape, it seemed, did not have much experience with love-making.

Eirik smiled at the man who lay on his back, watching him with eyes that were waiting. Waiting for what? To be told what was expected of him?

Eirik allowed his smile to grow wicked. Snape, he was pleased to note, swallowed loudly.

He took his time exploring the long body. It was slim. Wiry. With ropey rather than developed arms and legs. The musculature of a man who lived on his nerves.

He passed his hand over the lightly furred chest. He liked the contrast with his own body: sparse with only a light dusting of almost invisible hair. He set his fingertips to teasing the small brown nipples that appreciated the attention. Sensitive. He liked that. His own responded to touch and he liked a lover who could give him the benefit of his or her - he had never been particular as to the gender of his lovers - own experience.

He trailed over the dark line of hair that began at the sternum and thickened as it approached the apex of Snape's thighs, where a nicely sized cock was beginning to awaken. He skimmed a hand along Snape's hipbone and got another reaction: a small sound of almost hunger. He looked up and caught the hint of wariness - resignation? - in those eyes that were what had drawn his attention to the man in the first place. Dark, almost black eyes, matte, that revealed nothing about the man but that he knew how to guard his spirit-self.

The alcohol had allowed some of that defence to waver and Eirik was slightly bothered by the man's bracing. Could the man be expecting pain? If he were, he would be soundly disappointed. Pain was not part of his repertoire.

Eyes holding, he skimmed the pale skin up the rib cage, to the shoulder, over the chest, around the nipples and back down, this time his hand barely touching. Snape's body rose in complaint though he himself said nothing.

Eirik knelt between the man's legs - they quickly spread, allowing him more room - and leaned forward, resting his groin against the man's, the rest of his weight on his elbows. With slow intensity, he took possession of Snape's mouth. As his tongue invaded, tasting, exploring, he rubbed his hips against Snape's. And swallowed the man's gasped reaction to the move. And did it again, this time rotating slightly. Louder reaction. He smiled and did it again.

His reward was the feel of Snape's hands on his back, at first hesitant and then with more confidence, exploring and raising their own fire. When Snape's hands slipped to Eirik's arse and gripped his buttocks as Snape's hips rose to grind themselves against his, Eirik knew that some barrier had been overcome.

From that point on, Snape became more of an active participant. Still awkward as though never certain what was allowable, but more than pleasing in his enthusiasm.

And more than adequate in his skills after Eirik rolled them over and Snape's mouth slipped to Eirik's cock and balls.

Adequate? Fuck! A Master!

Snape certainly knew what he was doing in that area. No awkwardness or hesitation here.

Eirik didn't think he'd ever had a lover who was this good with his mouth. Who knew the right way of sucking on a cock, tonguing it, using his teeth so that the pleasure/pain line wasn't crossed. Swallowing it with a move that Eirik thought would blow his head off. And then retreating, the bastard! Still, he forgave Snape the moment a hot, wet mouth closed over one of his balls. He knew that they had never before had such diligent attention.

He dug his hands into the dark hair at his groin and held on, offering encouragement with the grunts which were all he could get out of his throat.

And then nothing. A coolness where the air hit his saliva-slicked skin. He gasped, raising himself up on his elbows, and looked down to find that Snape had pulled away to turn onto his knees and offer up his arse.

Eirik reached under the pillow where he had stored a small jar of unguent and coated his now throbbing cock. He scooped some more out and, kneeling between Snape's legs, leaned over, placing a hand on Snape's hip - why was the man bracing himself? - for support and carefully prepped him for penetration.

Snape looked over his shoulder at him, an unasked question on his face.

Eirik grinned down at him and slipped another finger into the man's tight arsehole. Seemed that the man not only didn't usually drink: he didn't seem to have much of a sex life, in spite of the skilled mouth. Eirik angled his fingers and was pleased with the closing eyes, the sharp gasp. So pleased that he did so again. With a moan, Snape's head dropped onto his folded arms and he pushed his hips back into Eirik's direction.

Another barrier coming down, thought Eirik, as he removed his fingers then placed the head of his cock at the entrance of Snape's arsehole.

Again with the bracing! What the...

He leaned over, and placed a kiss on the boney end of Snape's shoulder. He pushed his cock in enough for it to have penetrated the sphincter, and then he slipped his hands under Snape's chest. "Sit up." And when he pulled on Snape's chest, sitting back on his own heels, Snape came along. "When you're comfortable. Take whatever time you need."

And again the questioning look over a shoulder.

Eyes holding, Eirik bit his lower lip as Snape shifted his weight back so that his arse slowly descended on Eirik's cock, inch by inch. He used his hands as encouragement, fingers playing gently with what, by now for him, would be almost too sensitive nipples, moving to stroke that long neck as Snape's head tilted back, eyes closed as he focused on impaling himself.

Eirik leaned his head against Snape's, used a hand to angle the other's so that he could capture the open mouth. Snape's hands rose to clasp his. Eirik trailed his tongue along the raspy skin of a cheek to trace the whirls of the ear closest to his mouth. "Ride me," he ordered. And his hands caressed their way down to Snape's rampant cock.

It was a bit awkward, but then first times usually were. It wasn't Eirik's preferred position but it was one that gave Snape control, something that he intuitively knew the man needed almost as much as an orgasm.

Eirik played Snape's cock as he liked to play with himself. It seemed fairly successful. Snape came first, with a shout, arse muscles clenching about Eirik's cock with each spurt of cum. One spasm was so strong that Eirik had time to picture their being found, cock frozen in arse, before he let the sensations take over and he came with his own shout.

Sometime later, Eirik had been the one to untangle them, clean them up. Snape hadn't been exaggerating his exhaustion: he had slipped into sleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow.

Eirik snoozed, head resting on Snape's shoulder. He didn't like lovers disappearing on him, and he had the feeling this one would be out the door as soon as he woke.

What roused him was not Snape, but an aroma that at first tickled his nose. When it penetrated his senses, when he finally identified it, he opened his eyes and stared at the portrait he had done of himself at twenty. Cocky, assured, and certain that the world belonged to him.

Dear, dear, he silently told his younger self. So it was true after all.

He smiled and raised his head. Severus Snape was sound asleep, head tilted to one side, hair hiding the part of his face not buried in the soft pillow.

With gentle fingertips, Eirik slowly brushed the hair off Snape's face and examined it as he would if he were going to paint it. And he would. Probably several times over, he thought.

It was a strong face. A sharp one. It had character. The nose was too big for it, what with that small spreading of the bridge which indicated that it had probably been broken, more than once. The mouth was good. The lips were thinner than his, but that lower one, slightly fuller than the upper, was enticingly kissable.

But he didn't look relaxed. There was a small furrow between the eyebrows as though whatever dream he was having was not pleasant.

He would have to see to that, Eirik thought, as he leaned over and inhaled deeply.

He smiled as he shook his head, in rueful acceptance.

Oh, yes!

Snape awoke feeling sluggish. There was a weight on his chest and he wondered if he had the energy to open his eyes to see what it could be. Couldn't be anything dangerous, he thought: there was no sense of that, no pain.

A stream of air breezed across his lips.

He opened his eyes - wolf eyes were watching him - and remembered.

Eirik Brekke crossed his arms on Snape's chest and dropped his chin onto them. He smiled.

Snape felt his world drop away from him. How the bloody hell could he have been so stupid!

One pale, almost invisible eyebrow rose high. "Sex is supposed to be relaxing, Severus. A pleasant activity. It seems to have the opposite effect on you. Perhaps we should try again. Our next session may have the desired effect."

Snape swallowed hard. He could feel himself responding to the erotic tones of that voice. He tromped hard on those feelings.

His actions took Brekke by surprise. Snape shoved suddenly against the man's shoulder and rolled himself out of the bed at the same time.

Brekke looked stunned, then he laughed. "Hey! It's all right."

But it wasn't.

Snape looked around and found his clothing scattered on the floor. He pushed aside the memories of what had happened for them to be all over the floor in that way, and quickly found his robe and in its pocket, his wand. A quick spell and he was dressed.

"Severus?" Brekke propped himself up in bed.

Snape forced himself to look at the man. Yes, he had wanted him. Yes, he had now had him. Damn him, he wanted him again. Stretched out like that, eyes looking him over as though he wanted to...to eat him.

"Severus, what's wrong?"

Snape shook his head, destroying the image of erotic pleasure in his mind. He turned and stepped to the door.

He paused, hand on the door knob. "There is only one thing I would like to know. Who is this going to be reported to, the Aurors or Finnbogi?"

The one time he had allowed himself to find his way to another's bed at Hogwarts, the oh, so sympathetic visiting instructor of Arithmacy had reported every detail to Dumbledore, who had casually mentioned he had no objections to this affair continuing as long as Snape remembered his priorities. He had never again forgotten.

Until now.

Alexander was the only good thing that had ever happened to him. How would Oddvar Brekke, with all his power, respond to the news that his grandson's father had fucked one of his sons?

"Reported? Severus, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Smoothly said, with enough sincerity that he might have been moved to believe if he hadn't known better. "I need to know because the person you report to will affect Alexander." He scoffed. Who was he kidding? Either way, there was a good chance that this afternoon's...romp might cost him his son. He always ended up paying hard for his imprudent behaviour.

He heard the slither of sheets that told him Brekke had come off the bed and could sense the man now standing behind him.

"Severus, I truly have no idea what you're talking about. I am not reporting to anyone. What we did here does not affect Alexander in any way. Wolf's honour."

Snape stiffened. He looked over his shoulder at the man watching him with confusion. "But then, as you pointed out this afternoon, you are not a werewolf. That oath means nothing."

And he opened the door, stepped out avoiding the hand that was reaching out for him, and closed it behind him.

Freya Hillswick was livid.

Even though she wore her usual smile as she made her way past those still celebrating, her eyes were blazing with anger. With a commanding gesture of her head, she indicated that she wanted to talk to him. Alone. Now.

Eirik smiled at one of the Coven, who was discussing her latest acquisition with him, and excused himself, following Freya out into a quiet part of the dark garden.

"What happened with Severus?"

Eirik found himself stepping back at the ferocity of her attack. He held up his hands as if to ward her off. "Nothing."

"Eirik. I saw you go in with him."

She made him feel the way Gudrid had when she'd caught him destroying an older brother's broomstick after the cur had tried to beat him with it.

"All right. I seduced him."

She raised that Hillswick eyebrow at him. He reacted angrily to the disdain in her look. "Seduced, Freya. Not raped. My lovers come to my bed willingly. And they enjoy themselves. Why don't you ask him?"

"I would but he's gone."

"What!"

"Alexander wanted permission to spend the night with Helga's boys. He couldn't find his father. I told him to go ahead, that it would be all right. But when I tried to find Severus, all I found in his bedroom was a note addressed to me, telling me to stay as long as I wanted and reminding me that Alexander was leaving for Wales on the twenty-seventh. That he was going back to the house. Eirik, what did you do to him?"

"Nothing. I swear." He passed his hands over his hair in frustration. Then he stopped. "Bloody hell, he was serious!"

Freya crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Eirik shook his head and dropped into a nearby chair.

"Eirik?"

He looked up at her. "He wanted to know to whom I would be reporting. Something about...what we'd done was going to affect Alexander. Freya, I swore to him that I didn't know what he was talking about. Wolf's honour. But he didn't believe me."

He stood up. "Freya, what the hell is going on? Does he really think that our making love is, in some way, going to cost him Alexander? He can't be serious. In this family?"

Freya took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She looked at Eirik who was waiting for some response from her. Preferably confirmation that he had wrongly assessed the situation.

"Yes, he does." She gentled her tone. She couldn't blame him for not knowing recent events. Politics were not his world. "Eirik, he has reason to. There are things you don't know."

"Then tell me."

She shook her head. "No, they're not mine to tell. However, I will tell you this: leave him alone. He's not a player, Eirik. He doesn't know how, he doesn't know the rules to that game. Find somebody else to fill in your time until your next exhibition."

She patted him on the arm and turned, needing to find Oddvar and make her own excuses. She would be leaving as soon as she could, but Alexander needed this time with his people. She was certain that Finnbogi would find someone trustworthy to apparate Alexander home in time for their leaving for Wales.

Eirik watched her, knowing that if she refused once to fill him in, she would continue doing so.

Maybe he should just ignore the whole thing. Go on the way he had all these years. After all, the sea of life was filled with fish.

He sighed, shaking his head.

Problem was those fish weren't all that attractive any more.

Bad enough that his werewolf antecedents were proving all too true but, somehow, he had blundered badly. Not a great way to begin! Now he needed to make certain that he wouldn't repeat his mistake. He needed information.

Fortunately, he had an idea where to go.

Finnbogi found him early the next morning in his father's private office, a small stack of files on his lap, a much taller one on the desk next to his propped up feet. He held a large mug of strong coffee in one hand as he went through the reports with the other.

"Brekke?"

Eirik glared up from the document he was reading. "Family business, not politics, Finnbogi."

The President's Personal Assistant closed the door and approached the desk. He glanced at the files and nodded when he read the name that he knew appeared on all of them. "Does this have to do with the sudden departure of two of your father's guests?"

Eirik Brekke returned his accusation with a bleary-eyed scowl and a tone that would have given the President himself pause. "This is private, Finnbogi."

"And personal?"

Eirik nodded. "Bloody right it's personal," he growled.

The reaction he got was not what he had been expecting. Instead of calling security or turning all PA on him, Finnbogi merely nodded and went back to the door. "The President has a meeting scheduled in here for eleven o'clock. I would appreciate it if your father didn't find anything out of order. You know how he always notices." And closed the door behind him.

Alexander had chattered non-stop since the day he'd arrived for Christmas holidays.

All right, thought Snape, with a hint of a smile, an exaggeration, but still, he doubted that there was any aspect of Hogwarts life on which he hadn't been brought up to date. Oh, Alexander had written, but only about the things important to a thirteen year old boy: Quidditch and his assessment of how his classmates had changed since the last time he had seen them, what they'd been up to, who had been caught doing what by whom. A few - very few! - comments about his courses.

The most amazing thing was that Snape found he didn't mind. He had wondered if he would discover that he missed the place after all, but he didn't. He listened to his son's reports as he thought any parent might: with curiosity.

There was a new professor of Transfiguration, a man he had taught as a student. Thornton Wilkes was less dour than McGonagall but as demanding. Instead of chastising failed assignments, he found humour in them. And unlike the two previous instructors, he didn't also serve as Head of Gryffindor. That duty had been assigned to the not-so-new Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor, one Remus Lupin. Aided by his partner, Sirius Black who taught Flying and coached Quidditch.

Snape had noticed that Alexander had been very cautious with those last bits of information. He had watched his father's face as he had broken that particular news to him. Snape had smiled at his son. "That's good. Otherwise Gryffindors would take advantage of the full moon to raise more havoc than they normally do."

And it hadn't bothered him more than that. Another surprise. When he thought about it later on, he concluded that the Remus Lupin he had fallen for had been an illusion. He'd hadn't known Lupin well as a student: he'd just been incredibly attracted to him. His first real... What was it the students used to say? Oh, yes, a crush. And over the years he had probably unconsciously built on that illusion. The reality had put paid to that. At least something good had come out of all of it: the Wolfsbane Potion. He did wonder from whom Lupin got his monthly dose as no one had approached him for any.

Not from his replacement. Professor Grog was a dud, according to Alexander. Everyone in the school knew that the Headmistress was searching for a replacement.

And though he hadn't liked her as Head of Gryffindor, Alexander admitted to him that she wasn't so bad as Head of Slytherin. She made an effort to be available to them at any time. And she didn't let the other Houses get away with taunting any of them. She'd even taken 50 points away from Gryffindor when a couple of them had made comments about `Slytherin slime'.

And she'd been really nice about finding him a safe place to transform: his dorm only had three residents. Besides himself, there was Rhodri, who saw to it that he took the Wolfsbane his father sent every month - in fact, razzed him about it in public, just to make sure that everyone knew he was taking it. And Geoffroi Kynan, who had roomed with him that first year. Geoff was `pretty cool' with the werewolf thing. But then it took a lot to get a reaction from Geoff: his parents had been mysteriously killed while travelling in some distant land, and he lived with a maiden aunt, who brought him with her every summer when she hunted vampires in the mountains of Transylvania.

"For their blood," Alexander explained. "She's a medi-witch and she's working on diseases of the blood. Well, that's what she says. Geoff isn't too sure that she's not one herself. He says that she works at night. And that if she goes out during the day, it's usually rainy and she wears dark glasses."

Freya and Snape had exchanged smiles.

They joined the Clan at the Council House in the Village for a Solstice party. At one point in the evening, Freya found Severus in serious conversation with Elder Hillswick. With a smile, she extricated him.

"Have you noticed that your son seems to be holding court? Over there, by the tree. The one with all the young witches." She shook her head. "It's starting. I had hoped that the Brekke charm wouldn't make its appearance quite this early."

"Are you telling me," Snape winced as he watched his son, "that it may be time for another of those `Talks'?"

Freya laughed and patted his arm. "I'm afraid so."

His sigh was rather resigned.

They were laughing at one of Alexander's school stories when they returned to the house and found that they had a visitor.

In the library, comfortably stretched out on the couch, book in hand, Eirik Brekke was waiting for them to notice him.

"Onkel Eirik!" Alexander was pleased; Eirik was his favourite uncle.

"Eirik." Freya was less pleased. She glanced at Severus who was stonefaced. "My, this is a surprise. What are you doing here?"

Eirik swung his legs off the couch and stood, accepting and returning Alexander's hug. "Actually, I came to see Alexander." He grinned at his nephew. "I have a favour to ask of him."

Alexander looked delighted. "Really? What?"

Eirik took a step back so he could see the boy's face and suddenly turned very serious. "Alexander. I would like permission to court your father."

The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire.

Severus made a jerky motion forward which Freya stopped with her hand on his arm.

Alexander looked from his uncle to his father and back again. He sounded as confused as he looked. "You want to court papa?"

Eirik nodded. "Do you have any objections?"

Alexander rocked on his feet, a little uncomfortable. "Maybe you should be asking papa."

"I'm asking you. I'll ask him later on after we've had a little talk. But I can't have that talk with him unless you approve."

Alexander looked up at his uncle. Now equally serious, he asked, "Why do you want to court papa?"

Eirik stooped a little so that they spoke eye to eye. "He smells right."

Freya caught her reaction quickly though she tightened her grip on Severus's arm.

Alexander's eyes looked as though they might pop out of his head. "He smells right?"

Eirik nodded, as serious as the boy watching him. "He smells right," he confirmed.

Alexander snickered. Turned beet red. Cleared his throat. Did it again. "Okay," he squeaked and quickly left the room. From the kitchen, the others could hear him giggling nervously.

"Eirik, are you certain?" Freya hadn't released Severus who now looked confused as well as angry.

"Yes. Very certain. Celibately certain."

She nodded her head. "I see. Eirik, if you would be so kind as to join Alexander in the kitchen. Ask Ketil to prepare some warm milk. I need to explain a few things to Severus."

With a nod, Eirik left the room, but not before he took a good look at the man he was claiming. Oh, dear, thought Freya. She knew that look.

As she closed the door of the library, Severus snapped, "What the hell..."

She held up her hand. "Severus. Sit. On the couch. Please."

She waited until he did. She sat next to him and took one of his hands in hers. "Severus, what do you know about the courtship practices of werewolves?"

"What the bloody hell does..."

She glared at him.

"Oh, all right. What I've read. That the Alphas, which many of them are, are the first to mate and they do so young. The others often do so later in age. That they mate for life."

She grimaced and patted his hand absentmindedly. "That sounds very...animalistic. And it really isn't like that. As for mating for life, well...," she rolled her eyes. "Which books have you been reading? Oh, well, there are a few facts that are not always mentioned in books, especially those written by Nons. Such as how a werewolf knows he - or she, because, though rare, female werewolves do exist, you know..."

"Freya. Get to the point."

"Yes, about the right mate." She corrected herself, "The right partner. There is something in the scent of a partner that tells a wolf that he or she has found their partner for life. Usually in the scent that appears during and/or after a sexual encounter."

She could feel Severus withdrawing. They had never spoken about his reasons for leaving the Brekke homestead that day in August.

"Severus." She tightened her grip on his hand. "Your sexuality has never been an issue. Whomever you select as a partner is only important in that they love you. I know that you and Eirik had such an encounter. You need to know that his request to court you is not a game, not a trick, but a serious offer on his part. You have the right, as in any other courtship, to turn him down, to send him away. If the attraction is not reciprocated.

"And if you do, you also need to know that you are not damning Eirik to lonely celibacy. Nothing that dramatic. Odin knows, the Brekkes, male or female, are not proponents of that belief. But he will probably never find another partner who affects him as you do. He will never experience the deep intimacy a werewolf experiences with a true life partner."

"You're speaking as though he is a werewolf. He told me he was not."

"No, he isn't. He doesn't Change. But he does carry the gene. And he is given to a great many of the traits of a werewolf. For example, when he swears `Wolf's honour', it binds him as much as any true werewolf."

She pulled Severus's now cold hands onto her lap and covered them with hers. "I have a favour to ask of you, Severus."

His eyes were wary.

"I would like you to allow Eirik to stay for a few days. To give yourself time to see how you truly feel. Please, would you do that for me?"

Severus closed his eyes. After a moment, he said, "And what do I tell Alexander?"

"About what, dear? He's known about the importance of scent from his childhood. It's one of the facts of life that are taught cubs as they grow up. Inga had that little talk with him as soon as he began asking questions about the different kinds of couples who live in the Village."

She found herself smiling at his look of astonishment. "Severus! You can't mean to tell me that you think he hasn't noticed?"

He wriggled a little uncomfortably.

"I doubt that your son will have any trouble with the gender of your partner should you decide to share your life with a man."

"Then why was he so uncomfortable with Brekke's request?"

Freya laughed. "Well, a child never really thinks of its parent as having a sexual identity apart from that of, in this case, male parent. It's a titillating and slightly embarrassing concept for a teenager, whose hormones are making themselves felt, to understand that his parent may also have the same feelings. One never really thinks that one's parents might indulge in sex. That's only for the young, don't you know."

She allowed Severus a few moments to think. Then, she patted his hands, stood and smiled at him. "Why don't you join us in the kitchen when you've come to a decision? If you decide to let Eirik stay, I'll have Ketil prepare the parlour as his bedroom. Inga used it as hers that last year."

His voice was almost scornful. "Are you sure that Brekke will accept that?"

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "He's come to court you, Severus, not screw you."

The word had the effect she wanted: he suddenly looked less shell-shocked and some colour returned to his face.

She was kind enough to shut the door behind her, allowing him privacy to confront the situation.

Severus was frankly stunned. Not only at the sudden appearance of Eirik Brekke, but also by the fact that both Freya and Alexander were taking him seriously.

He stared at his clasped hands.

It had to be a joke.

Funny, he'd thought that Freya and Alexander liked him, yet here they were, participating in this not-so-funny joke against him.

It...hurt.

Severus closed his eyes and sagged back against the couch.

Maybe... Maybe he was over-reacting. Merlin knew, he was paranoid enough.

Maybe it was...real. Freya and Alexander weren't cruel. Why would they suddenly start?

All right. He would assume that they were taking this seriously.

Should he?

Did he want to?

He scoffed as he carded his fingers through his hair.

Life had been so much easier at Hogwarts. There, he'd hidden in his dungeon, taught his classes, tried to fit in the experiments which called to him.

Once in a while, Voldemort would summon him and he went, knowing full well what would happen.

Once in a while, Dumbledore trotted him out - along with the rest of the staff - to impress various Ministry people, or parents.

He had usually stuck to the shadows, which he now had to admit had only added to his reputation of being anti-social and maybe having something to hide. Mind, Dumbledore had never insisted he behave differently.

Severus stood up and wandered around the room, not really seeing anything he was staring at.

And then Alexander - he shook his head - had come into his life. Forcing him come out of his dungeon so that he could see that all was well with his son. Giving more meaning to his life than the occasional successful new potion. Changing everything.

And now there seemed to be more change coming.

Someone wanted him.

Seriously, according to Freya.

Someone he was drawn to. Someone he had had and whom he wanted again. Someone who was not only talented, but uncanningly beautiful.

Who wanted him.

As ugly as he was.

All because of a smell?

Severus snorted: as if!

But Freya had asked him to allow Eirik to stay a few days. She'd never before asked him for anything. And she'd stood by him and had been influential in his still being here and not rotting away in Azkaban.

Here, the only place he had ever dared allow himself to think of as home.

Well, he owed her.

If she wanted Eirik Brekke to remain for a few days, he would give her that.

"Ketil. If you're not busy..."

His name no sooner mentioned than Ketil appeared in the room with him. "Master?"

"Ketil. I shall be spending the night in the laboratory. I don't want to be interrupted as the potion I shall be working on is very sensitive and requires my complete attention. Would you please inform the others."

"Certainly, Master."

At the door of the library, on his way to his lab via the front door, not the kitchen - there were limits to his foolishness - he tossed over his shoulder. "And please prepare the parlour for Master Brekke to use as his bedroom. He will be staying with us for a few days."

Eirik Brekke, also known as Northlander, had a reputation in his family of being the most impulsive of Oddvar's children.

Freya Hillswick was quickly re-evaluating Eirik's reputation. His courtship of Severus Snape was anything but.

First of all, he did nothing that in any way resembled courtship. He behaved no differently than he had whenever he had visited Inga. He sat around, chatted with whomever was close by, and sketched constantly.

And, as usual, he was messy with his drawings. They could be found all over the house. One could follow his trail and figure out what he'd been doing without much effort.

There were rough sketches of Alexander as he ate, read, snoozed, flew, laughed, talked or played chess with his father. Ones of Freya as she watched him. Once done, he tossed them about, not caring where they landed, until Ketil - whom he also sketched, much to the house elf's embarrassment - popped up to collect them all and place them in the room that they now thought of as his.

There were ones of Severus as well. But just rough outlines as though Eirik wasn't yet ready to add detail. As though he were still studying him.

That first night, Severus had indeed disappeared into his lab, to return to the house only for breakfast the next morning. He looked tired as she doubted that he'd had any sleep, and he seemed almost skittish. But he nodded in response to Eirik's "Good morning," and took his usual place; mind, as if on guard for some attack.

There had been none forthcoming. Not then, not in the following days.

Eirik, Freya decided, seemed to be waiting for Severus to get used to his presence. One of her nephews worked with magical Creatures. He had an excellent reputation for capturing most troublesome beasts without harming them. His secret, he had once confided to her, was that he took the time to let them get used to his being there. Until they accepted that he wasn't there to harm them, but in fact rescue them.

She wondered if Eirik had been taking instruction from her nephew. If so, it was working. After four days, Severus no longer gave the impression he was going to jump out of his skin if Eirik just happened to invade his personal space.

That too, she noticed, was occurring with slightly more frequency. Eirik no longer went out of his way to avoid invading Severus's personal space. He didn't intrude, but if he was going out of the room, he didn't detour around Severus, but passed by him as Alexander and Freya did.

And he didn't force conversation on the man. It was as though he knew that Severus was not the most talkative of people.

And though Eirik was well behaved, he wasn't on his best behaviour. He left things lying around, stretched out on the couch or the floor with his sketch pad or whatever book he was reading. He added to Alexander's collection of mildly disgusting jokes - she pretended not to hear or she left the room so that Alexander was not embarrassed by her presence. She accepted that as `male-bonding' and depended on Severus's presence to keep things within acceptable limits.

And he had brought his broomstick with him.

As a boy, Eirik had played Quidditch with the other children in the family. And the Brekkes played rough. She wasn't certain that she liked some of the tricks Eirik was teaching Alexander when the sun shone and the wind dropped and they went out. They weren't moves that she thought a Seeker could use, but it was obvious that Alexander appreciated them. She heard Rhodri's name mentioned several times.

Severus made no comment as he watched. Eirik invited him to join them but he only shook his head. "Not my domain," he said. But Freya did notice that though he kept an eye on Alexander, making certain that his son didn't try anything too foolish, his eyes also followed the man who whooped and shouted as much as the boy.

There was a soft knock on his door as if the knocker wasn't certain he was asleep and didn't want to wake him if he were.

Eirik opened the door. Alexander grimaced a little. "May I come in?"

Eirik nodded and watched his nephew as the boy inspected the way in which the parlour now reflected his presence more than his mother's.

He had a very good idea why Alexander was here but decided that the boy should be the one to choose the moment to begin this conversation.

As usual there were sketches all over the place. And clothes. Eirik knew he was messy. Usually his house elf took care of that, but he hadn't brought Orm with him. And he'd forbidden Ketil to clean up after him. He wanted Severus to see him as he was, not as others presented him.

In spite of his reputation as easy-going, he wasn't an easy man to get along with, as his past lovers were all too happy to point out. Especially when he was painting.

So far that hadn't happened, but Eirik knew that, in the next couple of days, the need to paint would become overwhelming, and then he would discover if Severus would be able to continue tolerating him.

Alexander found the sketch that Eirik had done long ago of his mother before he'd been born.

"That's for you. I was going to give it to you tomorrow while you were packing. I found it when I was sorting through some papers."

Alexander held the small framed picture of the woman whom he resembled. "I miss her. A lot."

Eirik nodded. "I miss her, too. I think she was the only Brekke who never told me that I was wasting my time with my painting."

Alexander was surprised by that. "Even Bestefar?"

Eirik shrugged. "Mind you, he's retracted that in the last few years, but I think he still worries that I'll end up sketching on the corner of some alley for knuts."

"Papa wouldn't think that if that's what I decided to do."

"No. Your papa wouldn't."

"Onkel Eirik."

"Yes, Alexander."

"Don't hurt him."

Eirik had changed his clothes for the paint-splattered Muggle track suit he wore whenever he was working. He now slipped his hands into its pockets. "He's been hurt before."

Alexander came to stand in front of him. "I think...I'm not certain...it may have to do with Professor Lupin."

"The werewolf. Who is Sirius Black's partner?"

Alexander nodded. He'd answered all sorts of his uncle's questions about Hogwarts. Including about the staff. "The time Professor Lupin came here, papa was really pleased to see him. But by the time he left the next day... Papa stayed in his lab for several days. And I think...I may be wrong, but I think it had more to do than with the message the professor brought."

Eirik stored that information away for future reference.

"Onkel Eirik, you are serious about this courtship thing?"

"Wolf's honour, Alexander."

"Don't hurt him." His voice aged. "If you do, I'll go to the Elders and lay plaint." For a moment, the wolf in Alexander looked out of his eyes at his uncle. "Wolf's honour. Does he still smell right to you?"

Eirik allowed the wolf in him, slight though it might be, to respond. His eyes gleamed feral in the light. "Yes, he does."

Alexander waited a heartbeat longer before he nodded, the wolf gone.

Damn, thought Eirik, there was a lot of Oddvar in this one.

Alexander had returned to Hogwarts and suddenly Eirik seemed to be very busy in the room he used.

Severus pushed the partially open door wider and looked in. This was the first time that he was making a move towards Eirik, and he was surprised to find himself as cautious as he'd ever been when he'd spied for Dumbledore.

He stepped into the room and realized that he could have made all the noise in the world: Eirik would probably not have heard him.

He was attacking a large canvas. There was no other word to describe what he was doing.

The bed had been pushed against the far wall, away from the windows. The canvas sat propped up on a couple of easels, catching the pale winter light, its white slowly disappearing under slashes of vital, brilliant colours.

There was a table behind Eirik, with cans of paints in various colours; paintbrushes of varying sizes, from line-fine to wide enough to whitewash a fence, were lying side by side. Without taking his eyes off the canvas, Eirik reached behind him and selected a new brush and can of paint. Continuously chanting the spells which gave the paint life, he dipped the brush into the can, and placed a strong, solid stroke in a place which made sense only to him.

The concentration on Eirik's face was familiar to Severus. He'd seen it on his own, reflected up at him from the shiny surface of the liquid in a cauldron.

Severus leaned against the door and, for several minutes, watched Eirik Northlander at work. He knew that both Freya and Ketil would be thankful that he'd covered the floor between his canvas and the table: he was rather sloppy. Then, with a rueful shake of his head, Severus quietly left the room, pulling the door behind him, and went to find his latest project in his lab.

He'd come, in the mood to challenge Brekke on this courtship thing. He was ready to admit that he didn't know anything about such rituals, but he was tired of wondering just when Brekke was going to make a move of some kind.

To think that he'd been worried about a confrontation!

Severus was reading in the library when, late the next night, Eirik rejoined the world. He closed his book and rested it on his knee. Eirik dropped bonelessly on the couch and sighed.

"Hungry?"

Eirik grinned tiredly. There were lines of exhaustion on his face, but there was also a gleam in his eyes that Severus recognized as coming with a project successfully carried out. "Ketil just fed me. He made certain I ate. He kept on glaring at me and muttering under his breath. I was worried that he and Orm might not get along, but I sense a future united front. Orm is my much put-upon house elf."

Severus nearly smiled. "I assume you mean he tries to get you to eat and sleep while you're in this mood, with little success."

"Ah, is that the voice of experience I hear?"

Severus ignored that as the answer was far too obvious. "And are you pleased with your efforts?"

Arms stretched above his head, Eirik twisted his body like a cat.

Severus felt the heat rise in his body.

"Damn, I have to find a way of painting that doesn't required stooping. My back is screaming at me." Eirik grinned tiredly at him and the heat dropped to his groin. "Problem is, I'm usually wired after I finish a piece. That's how I know it went well."

Severus tried hard to ignore the heat. "And if you're not...wired, is it?...then you know what?"

"To throw the bloody thing away: it won't be any good."

Severus found he was curious. "Do you throw away many pieces?"

Eirik slowly sat up. "About as many unsuccessful potions as you do."

That took Severus by surprise.

"An unsuccessful experiment doesn't imply failure." Eirik stood up and stretched again. "It just means you have to try again until it's right. Don't you agree?"

Severus looked up at the man whose face, hair and hands, along with his clothing, were streaked with sprays of colour. "Yes. I must admit to being surprised that carries over into Art."

"What is painting but a form of magic, Severus. No different, I would think, from potion making. One puts ingredients into a pot together - in my case, a canvas - and stirs, all the while hoping that the combination is the right one, the order is correct. That the ingredients will produce what you're aiming for. That the spells will hold true." He walked over to Severus's chair, and placing his hands to either side of Severus - who had grown very still - on the arm rests of his chair, he leaned over and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "I'm for a shower."

At the door, he looked back. "If you need to use the facilities, just come in. I'm not self-conscious. But I do take very long showers after a painting session. If you don't, well, don't worry; I won't drown. I'm sure that Ketil will keep an eye on me."

He was slightly disappointed when Severus didn't join him.

Severus was slightly disappointed in himself that he didn't.

Eirik was as careful as Severus had been when, late the next morning, he opened the door to Severus's laboratory. He was inviting himself in for a tour and he wasn't certain how that was going to go over with the man who was stirring a smallish cauldron on a fire to one side of the room.

"Close the door. You're letting in the cold and this potion needs a constant heat."

Not, thought Eirik, the most inviting of tones. Well, at least he hadn't been told to get the hell out.

He tossed aside the cloak he'd pulled on before leaving the house. Though the lab was barely forty feet away from it, and the passage way was enclosed, it was bloody cold, what with the January wind blowing the way it was. Eirik came over to the fire and held his hands by it to warm them up.

"Gloves?"

Again that dry, slightly sarcastic tone. Eirik smiled to himself. Severus spoke to Alexander in just that way and the boy never seemed to notice. Probably Severus's usual speaking voice. Did this mean that he was finally at ease with his presence?

"Forgot them. I don't usually hang about the North at this time of the year. I like to visit warmer climes. Like Italy or Crete."

Severus kept on stirring his potion, in a figure eight pattern.

"Is that important?" Eirik asked, pointing to the spoon.

"It makes for a more consistently blended potion. And besides, this one requires a certain delicate handling. It doesn't respond well to bruising."

As Eirik walked about the room he noticed Severus kept glancing up from his stirring to see what Eirik was looking at.

"That wall is ingredients," he explained.

Eirik smiled at him and went off to explore the shelves for the liquids, the stacks of variously sized drawers for the dry. He looked over his shoulder and saw teeth holding back that eminently kissable lower lip as if Severus was trying to stop words from spilling forth from his mouth.

Eirik had a pretty good idea what the words were: probably something about not touching. The same words that he never bothered holding back when uninvited guests walked around his studio.

He was pleased to see the lip had been released the next time he glanced over: Severus had realized that Eirik understood the rules respecting another's work space.

Eirik turned and grinned at him. "All in alphabetical order. Why am I not surprised? But why are the bottles different colours?"

Severus finished stirring and removed the cauldron from the fire, onto a trivet that stood next to a dozen bottles, waiting to be filled.

"To protect them from the light. Otherwise some of them react differently than they should. In some cases, it lowers their volatility and makes them safer to handle."

Eirik nodded. "And those?" He pointed to another wall, whose shelves were enclosed behind windowed doors.

Severus leaned back against the heavy work table that was near the fire and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Most are completed potions; some are preparations only needing liquid of some kind to be useful."

"More of the coloured bottles. But this time, even the labels have coloured borders. I take it this is more than for protection against the light."

Severus waited as Eirik read the labels on some of the bottles. "Yes. This time the colours indicate how a potion should be used. For example, red indicates that the potion needs to be used with caution. Yellow, that is should be added to something with alcohol. White, that it is to be used as is."

"And I suppose black is for the poisons?"

"For the poisonous." Severus hesitated then continued. "Death is stoppered in the clear containers on the top left shelf."

Eirik looked at him, thinking that maybe Severus was joking then realized that he was not. "I would think," he offered carefully, as he wasn't certain if he was treading on thin ice, "that one wouldn't want the light to affect these."

Severus shook his head. "Nothing affects those."

Eirik slowly made his way back to the man watching his reactions. "Are they the ones that got you into all that trouble?"

Some of the files he'd read in his father's office concerned the potions that Severus had created, the use they'd been put to and how they'd worked. He wasn't a particularly squeamish man, but he had found them hard going. There'd been another file about Severus's response when he'd understood how his creations were being used.

He'd done a painting once, when he was just beginning to be recognized, of a young, beautiful, sensuous witch. A nude. The man who had paid him for it had presented it to his wife. Who was not the woman Eirik had painted. He'd later learned that the wife, who was much older than the woman he'd painted, had refused to give the man control of her inheritance. Their divorce had been incredibly ugly and had titillated the gossips columns for years.

Severus shrugged. "That's an understated way of putting it."

"Why are they here?"

"Because there are times when they are needed. And most of them take a very long time to make properly."

Eirik stopped right in front of Severus, definitely in his personal space. "And throwing them away would mean that you'd have given in to Them. That you'd denied the skills that you have. And you won't do that, will you, Severus?"

When he'd had the chance, Eirik had bought back the nude. Just to remind him that beauty could be used as a weapon.

Severus scowled at him: a sure sign that Eirik had hit a bull's eye. He gave a negligent little shrug to hide his unease. "My little rebellion."

Eirik nodded. "I did some nudes of my mother once. Sketches, not paintings. Horrified and even disgusted some of the family. One of the Coven wanted me confined to a hospital, preferable St. Mungo's, for evaluation. For my `unnatural behaviour'."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You still have them."

Eirik smiled.

"Hanging somewhere that will offend those who are easily offended."

Eirik's smile grew wider. "I see you already know me."

Severus shook his head. "I know nothing about you, Eirik Brekke. Or about Northlander, other than he paints."

"Do you want to?"

Severus stood very still. "Is this when we have that talk you told Alexander you would have with me, when you asked him for permission to court me?"

Eirik shook his head. "We've been having that talk since I got here. We may not have been speaking, but we have been discussing things. Important things."

"Really? Such as?"

"Such as the fact that you're no more a morning person than I am."

"And that's important?"

"Well, it means I won't be tempted to kill you over breakfast."

Severus thought a moment. "What other important discussions have we been having?"

"You're kind to Ketil. Father need never take a switch to you because you've been rude or inconsiderate to a house elf."

"And did he to you?"

Eirik shook his head. "I have an older brother, by the First of the Coven, who delighted in tormenting anyone smaller than he. When Oddvar caught him with a House Elf, his screams nearly brought the roof down. He never was mean or discourteous to an elf again. At least, in Father's house. Mind you," he turned contemplative, "he picked on me and the others until he left for school, but Father said that we could fight back and a house elf wouldn't."

"And did you?"

Eirik nodded. "He's a member of the Ministry for Scandinavia. I still hate his guts."

"Anything else?"

"You care deeply for Freya but you love your son. Greatly."

"Yes. I do. And this tells you what?"

"That, in spite of that cold uncaring demeanour you present to the world, you are a man capable of great passions." Eirik raised his hands and framed Severus's face with them. He pushed back the long, black hair that was damp from the steam that had flowed up from the cooking potion, and held it back. "Now," he said, eyes glowing, "the courtship begins."

And he took possession of Severus's mouth.

He did so in a gentle yet determined fashion.

He began with a light kiss and then suddenly sucked that beguiling lower lip into his mouth. A light wet stroke of his tongue and he released it, letting his tongue follow it back to the mouth that was now slightly open.

He didn't invade. Instead, he used the tip to trace the lower then the upper lip, repeated the motion but, this time, teasing the warm interior of Severus's mouth with little forays.

He felt the hard swallow and allowed himself to appreciate the small victory.

He deepened the kiss, using his mouth to convince the other to open more widely.

He felt hands light on his hips as Severus's mouth accepted his tongue. More passively than he would have liked. But the fact that the grip on his hips suddenly tightened almost painfully when he indicated that he might be pulling away definitely encouraged him. He rewarded that by stroking the palate and heard a soft sound. He challenged the tongue to get into play and it did.

Severus tasted of the coffee he had had for breakfast, with a slight bitterness that must have come from his chanting during the preparation of the potion. All overladen with the taste of the man's heat, of his own particular flavour.

Eirik dropped his hands further into the mass of hair, angling the head to allow it easier access to his mouth and was delighted when Severus jutted his hips so that they rubbed against his own.

The nice thing, he thought, about having a lover the same height was that everything was located in just the right place. He pressed back and was rewarded with a moan.

He pulled his tongue back into his own mouth and the other's followed, exploring as his had. This time the sound came from him.

The odour which bound him to this man was making itself known. Slight, but tickling. He felt himself growing hard.

He was disappointed when Severus's hands released him but they were only moving to his head; one gripped his nape while the other captured the back of his head to hold him still.

He could hear the pants and gasps that came from both of them now. He inserted his leg between Severus's, and encountered ...

"Severus, is that potion... Oh, dear! Oh, my! Excuse me."

And the sound of a door closing. A gust of cooler air.

Bloody hell, he thought, Freya! Talk about timing.

Severus pulled back and though he was flushed, panting, lips wet, looking eminently fuckable, he also looked uncomfortable.

Eirik pulled his head back, leaving his hands tangled in Severus's hair. He shook his head and smiled at the man he had wanted to take right here right now on the work table. Well, not for today. "I feel," he rasped ruefully, "like I did when I was fourteen and the Fourth caught me snogging her younger sister."

Severus managed to raise that disdainful eyebrow of his, though Eirik found its impact much diminished. "Like an idiot?"

Eirik leaned forward and rested his forehead against Severus's. "Nope. Bloody frustrated." He stroked his lips against Severus's cheek and pulled back, letting go this time. "I'll leave you to get on with your work. Otherwise, I fear that Freya will truly have grounds to scold me."

He went to pick up his cloak, swirled then settled it on his shoulders. At the door he looked back. Severus was still where he'd been, leaning against the work table. Looking, Eirik was very pleased to see, slightly hungry.

"I'll see you at lunch," he said and closed the door behind him.

He would have been far more pleased had he seen Severus's hand go up to his mouth and stroke the swollen lips.

Freya tried hard to control the grin that wanted out.

The two men were sitting each in a different part of the library, pretending - not all that successfully to her eagle eyes - that this was just another evening in the household.

Severus was at the desk, writing a letter in response to Alexander's which had arrived this afternoon with the cheerful news that some Hufflepuff had managed to blow up the potions classroom. Eirik, back to Severus, was on the couch, spread out as always, reading a tome on what seemed to be a new interest, potions.

She settled her heavy winter cloak about her shoulders. Eirik had spent the day in his room, crating his new work and sending it off to that exhibition of his which was to occur some time soon in New York City. Severus had come out of his lab only in time for supper. Conversation had been rather stilted as the two men had studiously avoided looking directly at each other.

It amused her that her unintentional intrusion had two mature men, one stoic to the point of irritation, the other more than a bit of a profligate, behaving like embarrassed teenagers.

She cleared her throat and got both their attentions.

"I'm leaving for a few weeks."

"What!" Severus looked shocked; Eirik, merely uncomfortable.

She stepped into the room and both men came to their feet. "The two of you are old enough not to need or want a chaperon. Now then, I shall be visiting several old friends. I've left an itinerary with Ketil. Should anyone need me before I return, he'll know where to contact me."

Eirik grinned at her. "We didn't mean to embarrass you, Freya. I thought you were made of stronger stuff than that."

She stopped pulling on her gloves long enough to glare at him. "I was not embarrassed. In fact, what I saw did make me wish, for just a moment, that I had your talent for sketching. It would have made an e..." she smiled, "a pretty picture."

Though Eirik laughed, she did note that his face was slightly flushed. However Severus was not finding any of this funny, and she moved to block his protest.

"No, dear, I am not being chased away. I believe that I have enough sensitivity to know when two people need time alone. But I must caution you: I have to be back for Anna's laying-in. She's carrying twins and I want to be around for her last month as well as the delivery. So you have five weeks at the most."

She looked sternly at Eirik. "Severus needs to prepare two potions of Wolfsbane for Alexander, so don't distract him while he's doing that. Ketil will remind both of you should he feel it necessary."

"It won't be necessary." Severus's voice was almost too blunt. Eirik only nodded at her.

She looked at the two of them. Odin knew if this was a good idea.

"Eirik, behave yourself. And understand that when Severus is working in his lab, he's like you in your studio. He doesn't mind being disturbed when he's formulating some ordinary potion, but he does not tolerate interruptions of any kind when he's involved in complex ones. Rather like you," she added as though it were an afterthought, "when you're painting non-stop." She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Understood." He kissed her back and hugged her tightly. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear.

"Severus." Poor man. He looked as though he were being abandoned. "Try very hard not to kill Eirik." Not what he was expecting: it relaxed him a little. She patted his shoulder. "I know the desire might become rather strong, but he is liked and likeable. I think you would end up missing him if you succumbed to the temptation."

She hugged him very tightly and kissed his cheek.

"Are you inferring that someone has tried to kill him?" He returned her hug and, for the first time ever, her kiss.

"I believe there have been a few of the Coven who were tempted. I know for a fact that several agents have seriously contemplated it." And a few lovers, but she thought mentioning that wouldn't help the situation.

Stepping out to the small stack of luggage - cherry red - she smiled at both of them.

"Have fun, the two of you."

And waited just long enough to apparate to see Eirik grin and Severus look sheepish.

"Now what?" Severus looked at Eirik who merely grinned at him.

"Now you finish your letter to your son, informing him, in that way you have, that tempting though it may be, he is not to duplicate that poor Hufflepuff's attempt to blow them all sky-high."

Severus cocked his head. "How did you know?"

Eirik laughed. "It's what I would have done at his age. Not you?"

Severus went back to the table. "At his age I was already experimenting with inventing my own potions. And while I assume my role as a concerned parent, what will you do?"

"I? Well, I shall continue reading up on the history of modern potionmaking."

"And that's all?"

Eirik picked up the book he'd been reading and took over the couch; only this time he settled himself so that he could see Severus whenever he looked up from the page. "What did you think I was going to do?" He propped the book up on his stomach. "Jump your bones?" He looked over the top of the book. "I will," he promised, "but not right now. Finish your correspondence first, Severus."

Part Four

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