Summary: It starts with an epiphany.
Warnings: Non-graphic slash; paraphrasing HBP; AU.

Peripeteia

In November, there was a DADA conference in Las Vegas.

As an educator, Headmaster Snape thought it was his duty to attend. That he couldn't care less about the dunderheads enrolled in his school was neither here nor there: it was Sin City.

It was also Auror Harry Potter as the guest speaker.

"We're here to discuss whether to educate children in practical Defence," Potter began, looking at the audience from behind his elegant spectacles, "but what we must consider is that the Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal."

Severus sat up straight.

"Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster," Potter continued solemnly, "that sprouts a head fiercer and cleverer when you cut one of the others . . . ."

Severus stared, transfixed, as Potter delivered his blatantly plagiarised speech. He even had the gall to wink at Snape while speaking. That shrewd boy! What a wonderful Professor he'd make. If his speech featured the word 'dunderhead' just once—

"So, you see, we should at least try to input some respect in the bunch of teenaged dunderheads that you usually have to teach."

—Potter would have Severus's heart forever . . . oh, wait.

Anagnorisis

Cherry Harlot (erstwhile Blaise Zabini) put them in his best table and left, while Draco chatted happily.

"What?" Severus snapped. The waiter was gaping at him.

"I said you've been in an awfully foul mood since you came back from Vegas," Draco repeated, as he poured them Martinis. "Did something happen?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Mind your business."

Draco flushed and pouted. "Fine."

After a moment or three hours, Cherry returned with an entourage of prettily dressed little things. "Happy Birthday, Severus," they drawled in chorus.

Severus hated surprises. But then, it wasn't every day that half a dozen Harry Potters were standing in front of him, wearing stiletto heels and little else, and smirking.

One of them stood out, in his square-framed reading eyeglasses and a ruler in his hand. Potter-lookalike snapped the ruler in his hand and Severus sat up straight in Pavlovian response.

"You like?" asked Blaise (Cherry, or whatever), and he and Draco beamed.

It occurred to Severus to wonder when he had become obvious; and if his libido could honestly have been commandeered by a scholar-y Potter.

"They're my greatest creation. There's Seeker Potter," the kid in leather tights leered, "Professor Potter, Healer Potter—," Since when did Healers wear mini-skirts under their robes? "—Auror Potter, of course, and my personal favourite, Wandmaker Potter."

Wandmaker Potter felt it was appropriate to stroke his wand while licking his lips. Severus felt personally offended by it. "Please, Mr Zabini, tell me that this doesn't involve Polyjuice."

Blaise bristled. "Of course not! It's just a glamour."

Severus peered closer. That was true.

They might look like Potter, but they didn't have that particular arse, so pert one always felt inclined to slap it, or a bunch of twisted Muggle relatives to make him short and slender in a way that fit against Severus like a glove.

"So, Headmaster, which ones do you want?" asked Blaise.

Severus felt his cheeks heat up, swallowed thickly, then cleared his throat. "Hmm, that is—maybe, er, Professor Potter," he muttered.

Draco chortled. "Sev, you kinky bastard!"

Professor Potter was too shameless to be the real thing, but he walked over swinging his hips, pitching his voice low, "You've been very naughty, Mister. Count 'em." He snapped the ruler on Severus's chest.

Severus's breath hitched, and he croaked, "One. Sir."

"What the—you called him 'sir'! You only ever gave me detention!"

"Potter?"

It was their waiter, who had strawberry blond hair and hazel eyes, but whose affronted expression screamed Potter! more than any of the harlots'.

Suddenly, he went rigid and lifted his head towards the entryway. Then came the shout, "What're you doing, Potter? Get him!" And the waiter (Potter) broke into a run.

Severus, in a haze of alcohol and confusion, didn't see the second thug behind him.

A noisy spell went up and the patrons went down, leaving the endearingly scowling Potter, sans glamour, and a dark male stripper in a cowboy costume, both standing with their wands pointed at a bulky man with an egg in his arms: a bootleg dragon's egg.

"Get out of our way," shouted the man behind Severus. "Or I'll kill the Headmaster."

"Mr Nott?" Severus demanded. Then, to Blaise, "You let Nott use your facilities to conduct illegal business? Have I taught you nothing?"

"I did not!" pronounced Blaise, before turning to Potter and Shacklebolt. "You've been watching my pub without my consent?"

"Shut up!" shouted Nott.

"Let him go!" cried Potter, eyes wild.

"I'll hurt him," warned Nott.

"He'll hurt you, if you don't let him go," pointed out the delectable hunk that was Shacklebolt. Genetics were a bitch.

In that train of thought, Nott's parents must have been incredibly stupid or Potter's cousins, because, when Nott waved his wand to hex Severus, Potter shouted, "Let go of my husband, you fuckwit!"

After that, Severus just had to grab hold of Nott's balls and squeeze, and the good lads won. Which left Severus free to wring Potter's neck for shouting something they promised never to talk about again!

Or maybe kiss him, if Potter were so inclined.

Catharsis

Potter smooched Severus on the lips one more time. "I was so scared."

Severus snorted. "I can't see why: it was Theo Nott. If you want to worry, worry about the fact that our Vegas wedding will be plastered all over the Prophet in the morning; sort of like we were when we decided to tie the knot. Heh, tie the Nott."

Potter rolled his eyes. "I don't care." Then he smiled wickedly, squirming into Severus's lap. "What's seven times eight, Mr Snape?"

"What?" Severus asked, getting a hold of Potter's arse.

"What, sir," Potter corrected.

Severus took great pleasure in saying, "You don't have to call me 'sir', Professor."

~The End~