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It is Lucius Malfoy who tells Harry-Snape has always known-and although he has forgiven Lucius far worse crimes than indiscretion, he was not sure he would forgive this. Oh, he knew it was an accident: Lucius's temper had been getting the better of his common sense for as long as Snape had known him. And if Lucius had meant to tell Harry he would have done it in the most public and unpleasant way possible, and not said it over Sunday brunch with only the three of them present. If Lucius had meant to tell Harry he would have given Snape fair warning, and not left Snape ambushed and defenseless. "At least I'm not fucking my son," Lucius said.

At least my son is alive, Snape might have said, if he'd thought of it. But he was watching disgust chase the hurt from Harry's face. Snape had always known, and so had Lucius. It took Snape years to realize that everyone else in the world did not know. At six months, at eleven, even now, Harry's parentage was printed across his face like words on parchment. But people saw what they wanted to see. Even Harry did.

Right now, Harry was seeing his father, not his lover. Snape had fucked him last night and he knew Harry would still be sore. He would have bruises where Snape had bitten his neck and his nipples, bruises around his wrists from the way Snape had held him. Snape had marked him, because he always did, because they both liked things rough. Harry would be feeling fucked twice over.

It had been a mistake to use sex to win Harry's trust, even if Snape had dared to hope the truth would not come out until one or both of them were dead. But during the war there had not been time for a lengthier approach. Snape had used the weapon he had to hand, because that was what one did in war. He had not expected to come to love Harry, not as his son, but for himself. He had not expected their relationship to continue past the armistice. And yet he had done nothing to end it, though a part of him had known this was inevitable. He had continued to meet Harry, to fuck him and occasionally humiliate him, and now he had destroyed him.

Lucius was already apologizing. Snape did not take his eyes from Harry's stricken face to meet Lucius's, unprecedented though the apology was. He had given up on escaping from Lucius Malfoy a long time ago, but he knew that he might never see his son again "In the beginning," he said, and Lucius stopped speaking abruptly. "I didn't ever want to see you. Lily was dead because of you, and I wished that I were dead, too. She'd betrayed me by marrying Potter, as much as I'd betrayed her by joining the Death Eaters, and she'd died hating me, with me hating her. By the time I changed my mind, you weren't a baby anymore. Albus said it wouldn't be fair to you--."

The words came quickly. After all, he'd been rehearsing them since his first time with Harry, when he'd shoved him into the wardrobe at Grimmauld Place and jerked him off to a rapid, uncomfortable climax without ever looking him in the face. "So I let it go. There was nothing-I had nothing to offer you. A name I'd done my best to destroy. Mixed blood, and bad blood at that. Albus told me that they had a son your age. He said they were decent people. Not that they were good people, or kind, and I should have known the difference." Out of the corner of his eye, Snape saw Lucius stand up and drop a handful of bills on the table. Snape let him go. There would be plenty of time to murder him later.

"When you came to Hogwarts, I should have told you. But you were so very young, and so very lacking in perspective. And I thought that I would have more time. Once I knew for certain that Voldemort was not dead, telling you would have put you in even more danger--."

Harry interrupted him. "So it was for my own good? All of it? I expected that from Dumbledore, but not from you. When did you ever try to shelter me from anything?"

There was nothing Snape could say to that. "It was a mistake, Harry. I was fairly sure you'd hate me, so I thought I'd spare us both a little misery. And then the war began, and you weren't exactly speaking to me. So I made you speak to me. The only way I could think of. And here we are."

"Was this because of being my father?" Harry demanded. "Everything we've-did you do it because you felt obligated?"

Snape knew what he was asking, because he'd asked it himself, of Albus: Did you never want me? And Albus had said no, so kindly and subtly that it had taken Snape a long time to realize just how badly he had been hurt. He could not have done that to Harry, even if it had been true.

"Have I ever done anything," he asked, "anything at all, that would make you believe I don't want you? What I did to you last night--." Harry looked down at the bruises on his wrists, and the corners of his mouth edged up a little bit. "Was the result of lust, Harry. There was nothing fatherly about it." He remembered how Harry had looked when they finished, his face flushed and his chest heaving. His cock stirred a little in his trousers, and he wondered how Harry could ever have doubted his sincerity.

"Prove it to me, then."

"Of course," Snape answered, wondering what exactly Harry would consider proof. "Any way you like."

"Meet me in the toilet in two minutes, then," Harry said, and got up. Snape watched him go, wondering what he had in mind. He was fairly sure they wouldn't be able to come back to this particular restaurant for some time as it was. He counted off two minutes, and added thirty seconds to be safe, and then he got up and rapped on the door of the Gents'.

Harry opened the door for him without a word. He was naked, and Snape's body responded immediately. "Good to know," Harry said, looking down at it without a smile. Snape's nervousness increased exponentially. He wasn't as aroused by publicity as Harry, and this wasn't something he'd ordinarily have agreed to do. Which, probably, was the point.

He stood with his back to the door and let Harry undress him, which crossed another line. The few times they had done something like this, Snape had been in control, and fully-clothed. He had gotten Harry off, but not come himself. He wondered if Harry had locked the door behind them, and resolved not to think about it again. He was doing this for Harry, and it was a small enough price to pay.

He let Harry push him into position against the sink, and he pressed his forehead against the cool porcelain as Harry's finger circled gently around his anus. He knew that Harry never went far without condoms, but he didn't know if Harry had found something to use as lubricant. If he hadn't, this was going to hurt. But Harry's finger slid smoothly inside. The part of Snape's brain that had been resolutely not thinking about the door began wondering what Harry had chosen-butter, some kind of cooking oil-and then Harry's finger hit his prostate and Snape returned to concentrating on the important things.

His penis pressed itself against his stomach, hard and angry and untouched, as Harry withdrew the finger and shoved in his cock. Oil or not, it hurt. They did not do this very often, because Snape did not really enjoy it. There was something about the loss of control he found disturbing, and he wondered if that was what Harry was hoping for.

Harry gave him a few seconds to get used to it before he began to thrust. His technique was excellent, a result of Snape's refinements and his natural talent. Snape's cock, which had begun to soften, regained interest. He slipped a hand down to it, but before he could more than cup himself, Harry slapped his fingers away. After that he held himself still and waited, torn between endurance and enjoyment.

Harry was too excited to last very long. Snape knew him well enough to the way his breathing changed just before he came, and how the series of shallow thrusts always preceded the final deeper ones, no matter what it was he was fucking. And then Harry was finished, and slumped on Snape's back, and Snape himself was still miserably hard.

If the door were going to open, Snape thought, this would be the time. But Harry pushed away from him, and then pulled him away from the sink. Snape closed his eyes when Harry dropped to his knees, so he didn't see the expression on Harry's face as his son's mouth closed around his penis-but he'd seen it so often he knew it by heart. He was so ready, and Harry's mouth was so warm and wet, that it required a conscious effort on Snape's part not to come on the first lick.

As much as he disliked the risk of being discovered, he was aroused by it, too. Harry sucked him for approximately thirty seconds, and Snape climaxed so hard his knees nearly gave out. Harry grinned up at him, looking inexplicably smug. "I have a secret of mine own to confess," he said, and Snape's heart jumped a little in his chest.

"What is it?" he managed to ask.

"I've known for years that you were my father," Harry answered. "Remus told me just before he died. But I got tired of waiting for you to admit it, so I enlisted Lucius to do the telling for you. Boy, you really owe him one now."

"Give me my pants," Snape said, with as much dignity as he could muster.