Just Feel ~ TrekkieGrrrl
It was a dark and stormy night…
Harry Potter was moving quietly along a shabby street, between dreary rows of identical houses, all so darkened by smoke that they were almost black. Over the small town loomed the chimney of a large factory. Once, it too had contributed to the smoke, but for many years now it had been closed, and many of the houses were now abandoned while their former inhabitants had sought greener pastures in areas with more work.
Some of the houses had been taken over by squatters and quite a few of them either burned down or otherwise ruined from that use. But a few of them were still inhabited. One of those houses was at the end of a narrow cobbled street called Spinner’s End. And that was where Harry was headed; to see if Severus Snape had hidden in his old home, as Bellatrix LeStrange had claimed during her Veritaserumenhanced interrogation right after the Dark Lord’s fall.
Harry wasn’t sure if anyone else had paid much attention to that part, but he had known that it was a chance to get Snape. To avenge his parents and to make the man suffer before Harry would turn him over to the Dementors for a quick snog.
Walking through the derelict area, he had had a long time to think about exactly what he would do to Snape if he actually managed to find him. Nothing unforgivable, he thought, even the Saviour of the Wizarding World wasn’t allowed to do that. Although his only successful Avada Kedavra had been used to finish off Voldemort, it had still taken the Ministry weeks of hard work to keep him out of Azkaban. The law was normally merciless. An unforgivable was an unforgivable and as such was a one-way ticket to Azkaban, with no possibility of parole.
It wasn’t until the previous week that he had finally been given his wand back and told that he should take a holiday by the sea. A less-than-subtle hint that he ought to keep himself out of sight for a little while.
But instead of going south to the sun, he had ventured up north to this godforsaken little town. Fuelled by a raging hate he knew could only be abated by his revenge on Snape.
So, here he was. Standing outside a shabby little house, exactly identical to the one beside it, if it wasn’t for the fact that it still had all window panes in place. That, in itself, made the house stand out, and made Harry certain that there was something odd about it. When he concentrated, he could feel the tinge of magic around it. It was probably wards of some kind. He briefly wondered if his presence alone would have triggered some sort of alarm. He assumed that IF Snape was in there, he would certainly have made sure no one got close to him unseen or unheard. But the house was quiet and dark. At least at first glance. Harry thought he could see a faint light from one of the upstairs windows. Cautiously he moved closer, wand in hand, ready to whip out a Sectum Sempra or something equally painful.
For a moment he wondered if it was possible to Apparate into the house, but he wasn’t all that good at Apparating yet, and it was hard to do when you couldn’t picture the landing spot precisely. And since he had no idea of how Snape’s dwelling might look like inside, except that it would probably be green and with snake décor, it was something he didn’t dare at present.
As luck would have it, it was the last house in the row, which meant that Harry had a means of getting behind of it. A wall ran around what had probably once been a garden, though it now more resembled a dump. Not that the other gardens nearby was in any better shape.
Harry climbed the wall and stood among the shrubs for a moment, waiting to see if his trespassing had triggered any sort of alarm. But everything remained quiet. Almost too quiet, he thought. There was something eerie about the place, like it was pulled out of time somehow.
Tentatively, he moved towards the door. At as much distance as he could, he muttered an Alohomora and was surprised when the door clattered and opened a fraction. He was more and more sure now that this was a wild goose chase. If Snape had ever been there, he certainly wasn’t inside now, or he would have warded the house better.
He sneaked inside, sniffing the damp air. It had the smell of decay mixed with something Harry realised was akin to the smell in the Hogwarts library. The strange dusty stench of old books and stale parchment. A quick glance around clearly revealed the cause of the smell. Every inch of every wall was covered in books. In fact, they were covered to a point where Harry noticed there wasn’t even a door present, save the one he had entered through. The room was too small to take up more than about half of the area the house covered, so Harry started feeling his way along the books for any hidden doors that might lead him to the rest of the house.
He started at the middle, where a door was most likely to be present, and had just muttered a “Lumos” to enable him to see what he was actually doing inside the dark and quiet house, when all of a sudden a part of the wall disappeared and revealed none other than Severus Snape, his wand pointing right between Harry’s eyes.
Harry was quicker though; he instantly pointed his wand towards Snape and said the first words that came to his mind. Unfortunately, because he had been thinking of Snape, that happened to be the Upside-down spell that Snape once had invented. And that did nothing to prevent Snape from firing a hex back at him. Harry dodged it narrowly and screamed a “Petrificus Totalus” at Snape, then the counterspell to the upside-down and with no small satisfaction he watched as the paralysed Snape crashed, head first onto the floor.
Blood started welling from his former Professor’s sizeable nose and Harry had to keep himself from cheering at the sight.
Soon though, it became apparent that unless he did something to stop the bleeding, the Dementors would be deprived of their upcoming victim, as Snape was rapidly paling and seemed to have severe trouble breathing.
Harry cast a quick blood-stopping spell and went closer to get a good look at his hated enemy.
Suddenly, he felt something like a probing finger in his head and realised that Snape, even in his paralysed state was trying to pry into his mind with a wordless Legilimens. He quickly got his Occlumency shields up, as much as it was possible for him. It shocked him that it was even possible to do any kind of magic while under Petrificus Totalus, so he quickly moved Snape’s wand out of sight. Wordless magic was one thing, but few wizards mastered intentional wandless magic and Harry could only hope Snape wasn’t one of them.
Still fuelled by his hate and wish for revenge, Harry screamed a LEGILIMENS at Snape. To his great surprise, he was able to get into Snape’s mind, and even during the initial shock that he’d succeeded in doing so, he could feel that Snape was in tremendous pain. He could feel the pain himself to a point where it surprised him that Snape had been able to stand up at all, let alone try to hex him. And then he saw one of Snape’s memories.
Harry’s eyes filled with tears when he saw that it was Dumbledore who appeared. He was talking and since the memory was one of Snape’s, Harry realised that he had to be talking to Snape.
He heard Dumbledore, as clear as if he had been in the room.
“Severus, you have promised, in more than one way, that you would carry out that part of the plan, no matter how hard I know it is for you personally,” Dumbledore’s voice sounded. He heard Snape reply, “Well, perhaps you’re assuming too much this time. You’re taking too much for granted. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”
Dumbledore then continued, with a touch of steel in his voice, “You agreed to it, and that’s all there is to say, Severus.”
Dumbledore in the memory paused, then continued: “You should try harder to find out exactly what it is he has planned. Search your own house, Severus. Some of the other Slytherins must be in on this, there’s no way he …”The men were interrupted by a rustling sound and Harry realised that they were standing somewhere in the Forbidden Forrest. No one spoke for quite a while, but as all remained quiet around them, Dumbledore continued, more quietly, “I know you don’t want to kill me, dear boy, and I wouldn’t ask it of you if we had any other options. But as things are going, I may be of more use dead than alive. You know I have never been afraid of dying and we can’t afford to lose you to that blasted Vow”.
Harry backed out of Snape’s memory, panting and feeling queasy. What on earth was this?
His mind reeled. Dumbledore asking Snape to kill him? But no, that couldn’t be! Surely Dumbledore would have prepared Harry for this. Surely he would have told him?! But even as he thought those thoughts, it became patently clear to him that no, Dumbledore wouldn’t have said a word to anybody. Not to the other teachers and certainly not to Harry, however much he had promised to stop keeping things secret from him. “When had anyone ever kept their promises anyway?” Harry thought bitterly.
Startled, Harry realised that this would mean that Snape was, if not innocent, then at least not necessarily all to blame. If he had been only following orders, then what did it make him? Not a traitor at least. A murderer? Well, yes, technically. But no more than an executioner. Perhaps he should wait just a moment before summoning the Aurors and delivering Snape to their tender mercy.
Perhaps it was a good thing after all that he had been the one to find Severus Snape.
He looked down at the man who, until a few minutes ago, he had firmly believed to be a cowardly traitor and realised that Snape was unconscious and that he was hardly breathing. Harry had no intention of killing the man himself; all the time he had just wanted to give Snape over to the Dementors, still remembering how Snape had wanted to do the same with Sirius, years ago. Now he could have tasted his own medicine. But Harry didn’t want to be personally responsible for the man’s death. So he cast a Mobilicorpus on Snape and manoeuvred him through the opening in the book shelves that l, in search for a bed or somewhere else to put down the floating man.
He went upstairs with his charge through a narrow staircase that creaked and squeaked to an extent that Harry wondered how Snape had been able to get down without a sound. He went in through the first door he saw, and stopped dead. He was in Snape’s bedroom. He directed the unconscious man to the bed, but before settling him down there, he cast a quick Scourgify at the bed. Harry didn’t even want to get close to it. Everything in the room made him itch.
He couldn’t help noticing that Snape’s greasy hair wasn’t the only unkempt thing about him. Everything spoke of a man who didn’t care much about housekeeping or hygiene.
Slowly, he advanced towards the bed. He knew he had to lift the Petrificus Totalus from Snape and get him back to consciousness. The man was breathing in shallow rasps now and the sickly sound grated on Harry’s nerves. He remembered once, as a kid, when Dudley had kicked one of Mrs. Figg’s cats. The cat hadn’t survived. And it had been breathing like that just before it had mercifully died.
So Harry cast a “Finite Incantatem” and an “Ennervate” in rapid succession, in the hope that this would ease Snape’s pained breathing. Only nothing happened. Snape remained unconscious.
Harry felt a rising panic as he realised that Snape didn’t respond to any of his attempts to revive him. Casting a quick glance at the unconscious man, he went searching for some of the potions he knew Snape had to be keeping somewhere in the house.
He went downstairs to what had once been the kitchen. Now, it more resembled a small potions lab, and that, of all places in the house, was perfectly spotless. Made sense, Snape really didn’t care of anything but his vile concoctions, thought Harry with a wry smile.
In a cabinet there he finally found what he was looking for: rows and rows of potions, all neatly lined up in small vials, all the colours of the rainbow present in their contents. And no labels.
Harry was about to scream his frustration out loud. Wasn’t this just typical? Here, he was busy, trying to save the greasy git’s life and he had to make it as hard as possible. Harry pounded his fist into the cabinet door. Oh, but it hurt. The pain cleared his mind a bit, though, and he started to consider what he had learned about Potions in the previous years. Pepper-up potion might be what he was looking for, at least until he came up with something better. But how was that supposed to look? Harry rummaged through the cabinet, trying to remember the lesson when they’d brewed it. The resulting colour was supposed to be... what?
Harry ground his teeth. He realised that he had no idea of how the potion should look. So much for a cabinet full of probably-useful potions when he hadn’t the foggiest idea of which one to use.
Grabbing a cup of cold water from the sink, he hurried upstairs again to check on Snape.
He lay in the exact same position Harry had left him. Still petrified, still unconscious.
Perhaps if he looked it up he could find the right potion? It wasn’t as if there was any lack of potion books here, quite the contrary; even in the bedroom, two of the walls were covered with books. Harry went to them, looked once and then looked again. Those weren’t all potion texts. One of the shelves seemed to have been reserved for what Harry would mostly liken to Wizarding pornography. And not just Wizarding pornography, Harry discovered, as his curiosity compelled him to pick one of the books and flip it open, but gay Wizarding pornography.
Harry cast a surprised glance at the still figure. “Well well well, professor” he mumbled. “Who would’ve thought?”
Actually, he had to admit that any kind of sexual behaviour in conjunction with Snape was rather unthinkable. It was hard to believe that anyone would like to touch that greasy bastard with anything but contempt.
Having all but forgotten that he was actually looking for a potion recipe, Harry started to browse through the tome. Oh, there were illustrations as well. Typical, moving illustrations, as was suitable for a Wizarding book. Harry was watching in morbid fascination as a woodcut of two rather well-endowed wizards started on some fairly advanced gymnastics. Then again anything was fairly advanced as far as Harry was concerned. He sighed. All he had done was a few kisses: first Cho, in his fifth year, and later Ginny, but their relationship had been short-lived, thanks to Voldemort. And more than anything, thanks to Bellatrix LeStrange who had killed her. Harry closed his eyes for a moment. Bellatrix had, rightfully, assumed that Ginny would be a way to lure Harry to Voldemort and had captured her. And in the following fight between Aurors and Death Eaters, poor Ginny had been one of the victims.
Harry wanted to cry at his loss, but it was like the part of his heart that contained Ginny had turned into stone. He felt like he should mourn her, but found himself unable to do so.
So now he found himself looking at moving pictures of wizards buggering each other. And why wasn’t that quite as disgusting as it should have been?
Blushing in confusion, he closed the book and put it back where it belonged. He turned to Snape again and realised that he had wasted valuable time looking in that book. Snape’s breathing sounded more strained than before. He had to act quickly.
He ran downstairs and into the room he had first entered, and started to look around at all the books. It was hopeless. If the books were in any kind of order – which he silently acknowledged that they had to be – it wasn’t any he could decipher. And all the books were about very advanced potions or magic of a sort that Harry was surprised books about it even existed. This was not just dark magic, it was almost black.
But it didn’t help him in his quest for a suitable way to revive Snape, so he went upstairs again to check on the man.
As he stood there and looked at the tall, thin man he got an idea. Perhaps Snape could provide him with the answer. Granted, the man was unconscious and on the edge of death, but in that case Harry supposed his Occlumency was easier to overcome, if present at all. So Harry took out his wand and cast another Legilimens at Snape.
At first it was like entering a thick fog, and Harry was afraid he was too late. If this was what was left of Snape’s memories, it might be more merciful to let the man die. Harry spared a brief thought for Neville’s parents, lost forever as empty shells of the people they once were. Nobody deserved to end like that.
Then it was like the fog lifted slightly and he moved further into Snape’s memories. Now that the man wasn’t actively putting up barriers it was a fascinating trip. It was like long, bright corridors lined with many doors. Harry entered what appeared as a bright yellow door.
A moment later he wanted to Spork out his eyes. The memory was of Snape and Lucius Malfoy. Together. Much like the wizards in the book he’d looked in. And since the scenario was seen through Snape’s point of view, with its being his memory, the effect was nauseatingly graphic.
Harry stumbled out and tried to clear his own mind of what he had just seen. He was afraid to open the next door What would be in there? More Malfoy sex? Or something worse? Tentatively, he opened the next door into Snape’s mind. This seemed vaguer than the previous memory and Harry wasn’t sure what that meant, until he got a better look at the scenario that was playing out in that room. Clearly it was a fantasy, because… Harry gasped and looked again. Yes. No doubt. He had entered one of Snape’s lurid fantasies. And this time HE was the other participant.
Harry scrambled out of the room and out of Snape’s memories. He stood again in the dank bedroom in Spinner’s End, trying to fathom what he had just witnessed. He felt a rising nausea, and, much to his chagrin he also realised that he had become at least partially aroused by the sight.
Gulping down the cup of water he had brought from the lab, he slowly calmed down both physically and mentally and was able to look at Snape again.
The man seemed worse than before. Perhaps it was too taxing for him to have his brain invaded in his present state?
Harry wished he had Hermione handy, but both she and Ron had told him what they had thought of his quest for revenge. And as they had parted after the biggest argument Harry could ever remember – Ron had even rivalled Uncle Vernon in temper – his wounded pride forbade him to contact any of them. Now that he’d proved he was actually able to catch Snape, they could come to him and apologise if they wanted.
Harry looked back at Snape. Yes, he had caught his prey. But now he wasn’t sure what to think of it any more. The day he had been looking forward to for so long had come, but instead of the feeling of sweet victory, he just felt hollow and sad. And he had to admit to himself that perhaps Hermione and Ron had been right after all. Perhaps this had indeed been one of his more spectacularly stupid ideas.
He went back into the lab to see if there was anything there that might give him an idea of what to do. While rummaging around among the various potions ingredients he saw a Muggle bottle with ammonia. Remembering how Dudley had once used that vile fluid on him, after one of their “rounds” with Harry as a human punch bag, he also knew its possibilities. In any case, it was worth a try.
Upstairs again, he looked for something suitable to pour it onto, like a cotton swap or the like. He went into the bathroom and quickly retreated. Apparently, one of the reasons for Snape’s missing alertness at Harry’s entering had been that the man had been sick. Harry felt quite the same at the moment.
In the end he settled for a handkerchief that didn’t look like it had been recently used, and poured some of the ammonia onto it. He gasped as the fumes made his eyes water. If this couldn’t wake Snape, nothing could. Nothing short of Mandrake Draught, and although Snape was in a petrified state, Harry wasn’t sure it would work on him – if he had even known what colour it had and hence had an idea of what to look for in Snape’s potions collection.
So he held the ammonia-soaked handkerchief under Snape’s sizeable nose and held his breath.
For a moment, nothing happened, but then - Harry almost thought he was imagining things – Snape’s eyelids flittered faintly. And then he sneezed and opened his eyes fully.
Harry stared into the black tunnels that were Snape’s eyes. At first they held no recognition, but then Harry saw a flicker of fear in them, before they returned to their indifferent stare. Harry knew better now than to trust Snape, though. The man was an amazing actor when he had managed to fool everybody on both sides like this for so long.
“Welcome back,” Harry said, not quite sure what the next step would be. He held his wand ready, in case Snape should choose to attack him.
For a moment, Snape was silent, then he growled “Potter” and tried to get up. Immediately, his face contorted with pain and he sank back on the bed with an undignified moan. He opened his eyes again and looked around frantically, as if he was searching for something. “I think I’m going to be…” he managed, before throwing up on the floor.
Harry quickly vanished the mess and, belatedly, it occurred to him that Snape had probably got at least a concussion, if not worse, when Harry had dropped him head first on the stone floor earlier.
“Lie still, Professor,” Harry said. “You hit your head earlier, and you should take it easy.” Harry wasn’t sure why he hoped Snape couldn’t remember the reason or cause of his head injury.
“What happened?” Snape asked cautiously. “I remember the wards going off and going downstairs, then nothing more. Why are you here, Potter?”
Harry silently rejoiced at the apparent fact that Snape had neither any memory of the rough treatment Harry had given him, nor his prying around in his brain.
“Well,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Actually, I came here to catch you and hand you over to the Dementors in Azkaban.” He stopped when he saw how pale Snape had gone. Amazing that the man could get any paler really; he had the same colour as the greying sheet on the bed, so Harry quickly assured him “But not now. Not until I’ve got some answers from you.”
Snape closed his eyes and sank deeper into the bed. “You had better hurry with the questions then” he said quietly. “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be alive to answer them.”
Shocked, Harry looked at Snape and tried to ease the man “But it’s just a concussion, I’m sure. It’ll pass when you rest for a day or so.”
“I’m afraid I’m not just talking about my head, as much as it hurts,” said Snape. His normally rich voice was almost nothing but a whisper. “I got a little memento from Shacklebolt, who managed to find me a few weeks ago.”
Snape stopped and coughed, then looked towards the door leading to the toilet. Harry got the hint and went to see if there was anything he could use for a bedpan. He didn’t think Snape should get up if he could help it.
Returning with a shallow tub, he held it at Snape, not quite sure if the man needed it to throw up in again, or something else. Something Harry would rather not think of, though given the state of the loo he had an idea of what Snape needed it for.
Snape looked almost grateful and grabbed the bowl while Harry turned towards the door. “Can you manage, or do you need help?” he asked, hoping very much that Snape would be able to do whatever he needed without Harry’s assistance.
“I think I can manage,” Snape mumbled, but just as Harry had let out a sigh of relief he continued “ah… I… seem to have misjudged my own abilities for movement at the moment.”
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He really didn’t want to do this. But he wasn’t so callous that he wanted to see the man soil his bed either. So he went closer and asked what he could do to help.
Snape looked up at him and said with a hint of his usual sarcasm, “Well, since Shacklebolt probably thought he was being funny when he cast that Purgatorio hex at me, I’m left with a rather painful, and pressing problem. So could you please help me get out of my clothes?”
Harry thought for a moment of Snape’s memory and of the book he’d been snooping in, but then realised what the Purgatorio hex did and quickly set to get Snape’s pants off him before it was too late.
“I am NOT looking at Snape’s cock” was Harry’s next shocked thought, because that was indeed what he had just been doing as he’d pulled the trousers down. He tried to tell himself that it was only natural. The boys had always compared their equipment in the showers and there was surely no harm in that. That definitely didn’t make you gay.
He looked away while Snape emptied himself into the small tub, still more or less lying down. He moaned all the while, and Harry tried to remember all the effects of the Purgatorio hex. Apart from the need to go to the bathroom approximately once every fifteen minutes, it also made said task extremely painful, like you were expelling hot lava.
Harry stopped. “A few weeks ago,” Snape had said. That meant that he’d been in this state and this pain for weeks. No wonder he looked like he could drop dead any moment.
Harry turned towards Snape who seemed to be finished for the time being and asked, “Can’t you do something against that hex?”
“Of course I can” was Snape’s scathing remark. “That’s why I’m still enjoying it, don’t you think?”
Although it sounded a bit more like the Snape Harry knew, he tried to rein the anger he felt flare up at Snape’s words. The man was in tremendous pain after all. “Sorry,” he amended. “I guess that was a silly question.”
Snape sighed and while Harry quickly Evanesco’ed the contents of the tub and helped Snape back into his clothes, he continued, less acerbic, “There is a potion that can stop it immediately. But it is also a potion that needs to be stirred continually for the first two hours, and since this hex renders me helpless every fifteen minutes or so, you can understand that it’s not something I can brew on my own.” He was quiet for a while, then continued, “No doubt that was part of Shacklebolt’s concept of fun.”
Harry frowned. He had always liked the tall, black Auror, but this was a cruel hex. That thought lasted until he remembered his own plans for Snape. Compared to delivering a man to the Dementors, a diarrhoea hex was mild.
Snape gave a snort that sounded almost amused and said, “But I got back at him. The dear Shacklebolt has taken a liking to sheep for the foreseeable future.” Harry stared and couldn’t help a snigger. That was such a typical Snapeish way to get revenge. “Strange that he didn’t return to finish you off after that,” Harry said after a moment. “Not really,” Snape replied quietly. “Lockhart isn’t the only one good at the Obliviate spell. Kingsley never even knew what happened to him. He probably thinks it’s perfectly normal.”
Harry didn’t quite know what to reply to that, so, remembering Snape’s rather interesting book collection, he decided on a cheap attack. Just because the man hadn't murdered Dumbledore in cold blood, it didn’t make him Harry’s new pal either. So he glared at Snape and asked, “And are you normal then?”
Snape looked up in surprise, and Harry noticed he let his gaze flicker towards that particular bookshelf – oh drat, he should probably have made sure the ruddy book was at the same spot as he’d taken it – then Snape said, with a tired smile, “What is normal depends on who’s defining it, doesn’t it?”
As Harry didn’t know what to say to that, he decided to change the subject to something less dangerous. Why was it that every time he thought of the pictures he had seen in that book – not to mention the scenes he had seen in Snape’s mind – he got a funny feeling in his lower abdomen? After a short pause he fired: “Why did you kill Dumbledore?!”
Snape winced and Harry wasn’t sure if it was an attack of the hex or perhaps a bout of bad conscience. Then Snape sighed and said, “I expect you’ll neither believe me nor understand me if I tell you the reason. But if you must know, I only killed him at his explicit request, not because I wanted to.” After a moment he continued, “Albus Dumbledore was the closest thing to a friend I have ever had.”
Harry surprised himself by nodding at Snape’s explanation. Of course, it fitted the memory he had seen, but he also knew that memories could be altered. So a small amount of suspicion remained. His long-lasting hatred towards Severus Snape couldn’t be ended by one sappy memory.
“Prove it” Harry said, waiting to see how Snape would react.
“I would love to, but I’m not sure how I can,” Snape replied. "I am willing to take Veritaserum if that will convince you? I’m tired of being on the run, but clearly you understand that I couldn’t just march up to the Ministry of Magic and turn myself in?”
Yes, Harry could see that very well. Snape would probably be dead, or soul-less before he got a chance to explain himself.
He wouldn’t budge so easily though, so he tried, “But Veritaserum can be easily counteracted by other potions, and with you being a potions expert and all, I’m not sure I can trust even Veritaserum to make you tell the absolute truth.”
Snape let out a long sigh, and then started to squirm slightly. God, was it fifteen minutes ago already?
Silently, Harry fetched the tub again and once more helped Snape with his clothes. And once again he had to concentrate hard to not stare at Snape’s crotch. This time he was mortified to realise that the strange feeling in his belly had moved even further south. Merlin, what was wrong with him?!
When the deed was done and the necessary thing Evanesco’ed and Scourgify’ed, Harry was about to return to his interrogation when he realised just how totally exhausted Snape looked. Diarrhoea and a concussion was probably not a healthy cocktail.
“I think you should rest now” he said instead. “We can talk later.”
Snape looked at him with a fair amount of surprise. “Why are you doing this to me?” he said. “If you don’t believe me, then why don’t you turn me in? I’m sure there’s a reward for whoever catches me, dead or alive.” The last bit was said with a sneer worthy of the Snape Harry thought he knew from Hogwarts.
“I’m not sure what to believe,” Harry responded. "When I arrived here I was ready to all but kill you with my own hands. But now? You could have cast an Avada Kedavra at me when you saw me, and you didn’t.” Harry deftly avoided any mentioning of what he had seen in Snape’s mind, or the fact that he had even attempted Legilimency on the man.
Snape looked at Harry with a strange expression. “You need a lot of hate to use an Avada Kedavra,” he quietly said, but didn’t elaborate further. Then he closed his eyes with a sigh and Harry went outside to let Snape rest for a moment.
He decided to explore the last of the house, a job that was soon done. Apart from the rooms he had already been in, there was one other bedroom. That too was filled to the brim with books. Finally, he returned to the living room. Harry sat down on a rickety grey couch and swished his wand to light the fireplace.
He sat for a while, just contemplating what had happened in the short time he had been here. In a couple of hours his life had been turned upside down, his purpose with this hunt void and his feelings towards Snape in turmoil. No, he certainly didn’t like the greasy bastard, he told himself. It was just because he didn’t like to see anyone suffer. Nothing more than that, for sure.
He heard a thump from upstairs, and hurried up the stairs. On no, was it that time already?
On entering Snape’s bedroom, he found the man on the floor, seemingly unconscious again. He scurried to the bathroom for some cold water he could sprinkle on Snape; hopefully that would be enough to wake him.
It was. Snape looked up at Harry with bleary eyes. “My head,” he said and Harry could have kicked himself. He had allowed himself to forget about the concussion. He levitated Snape back onto the bed and fetched the tub once more.
Then a thought struck him.
“That potion to counteract the Purgatorio hex,” he said tentatively, “is that hard to brew?”
“You mean can you make it?” Snape replied with a scowl that didn’t leave Harry with much hope. Then Snape seemed to think it over and continued, “Well, of course you didn’t exactly get an O in your OWL exam, but I suppose even Professor Slughorn was able to teach you something.” He sent Harry a small smile “At least you had a good book to learn from.”
After a fashion he continued further, “It’s not actually hard to brew. The tricky thing is the stirring technique. You could probably do it. If you’ll get me my wand, I can find the recipe for you.”
Harry thought for a moment. In some ways, he was probably an idiot for handing over Snape’s wand to him; on the other hand, he was equally idiotic if he didn’t do it. Everything so far pointed to the fact that Snape actually was on the side of the light, and it would at least send a signal to Snape that Harry believed in him, if he gave him his wand back. Harry decided to risk it. He pulled the wand from his pocket and handed it over to Snape, who took it with a peculiar look on his face, like he couldn’t quite believe that Harry actually did it.
Snape fidgeted a moment with his wand, then looked up at Harry and said “Gryffindor to the fingertips. You’re a brave young man, Harry Potter.”
Even the praise held a slight contempt at the word “Gryffindor” but Harry found himself smiling anyway.
Snape then waved his wand at the nearest bookshelf and exclaimed “Accio ‘Draught of Indulgence’ recipe”. A scroll came soaring from one of the shelves and smacked into Snape’s outstretched hand.
“You can find all the necessary ingredients down in the lab. I’m sure you’ve found that by now, being as curious as Mrs. Norris.” Snape said with a raised eyebrow. Harry could only nod.
“Now, leave me with the tub,” said Snape. “I can take care of the rest from here while you go brew that potion.”
Harry went downstairs and soon he was immersed in the chopping and slicing of the ingredients. Snape was right; there was nothing overly difficult about the potion. Snape himself would probably be able to brew it in his sleep, had he only been able to stir it. Or sleep, Harry suddenly thought. He realised that with the fifteen minute interval Snape had to go to the loo, it was little wonder that the house looked so messed up. There was no time for anything else, really. He briefly wondered how Snape got anything to eat at all; the man had always been thin as a rail and from what Harry had seen, he was close to emaciated now.
He really needed to brew this potion correctly. Snape hadn’t been joking when he had said it was only a matter of time before he couldn’t hold on to his life any more.
And Harry didn’t want Snape to die.
He tried to tell himself that he had never wanted Snape to die, but even to himself he also had to admit that it wasn’t quite true. There had been several occasions where he would gladly have seen his former professor jump from the Astronomy Tower.
So what was it that had changed? Was it the mere fact that he realised Snape was a mortal, too? That he could be brought down by something? That he wasn’t omnipotent after all?
Or was it the fact that Snape had saved his life so many times over the years? Harry thought at the last time he had seen Severus Snape, and with a start he recognised that even then, with Hogwarts swarming with Death Eaters and Voldemort right around the corner, he had tried to save Harry. At that time, Harry had been too stunned at Snape’s apparent treason but now, in retrospect, he knew deep inside that it had been Snape that had saved his life that night when the other Death Eaters had Crucio’ed him.
Harry thought a lot during the following hours while he stirred the potion.
And he found his thoughts returning, over and over, to the scenes he had seen in Snape’s mind. At first it was only the scene with Dumbledore, but inevitably his mind started to supply him with pictures of another nature. Snape and Malfoy. And what they’d done together. Lucius had looked a lot younger in the memory, so Harry supposed it was something that had happened a long time ago. But then his sordid mind turned to the fantasy he had seen of himself and Snape. At least he hadn’t looked younger than he did now. Harry thought with a shudder of how he would have reacted if the memory had been of himself at too young an age. Thank the lord for small mercies. Seeing yourself with your most hated teacher was one thing. But…
Harry shook his head to clear it from that unpleasant thought.
He couldn’t help wondering just how recent that fantasy was. And why him in the first place? He wasn’t even gay. And even if he was, he would certainly not do something like that with a man more than twice his age.
So why did he continue to think about that fantasy? And since when had the two wizards from that book entered it? Harry concentrated on his stirring, and it wasn’t until he took a small step to the side that he realised something else was stirring too.
Harry froze and almost forgot to keep stirring. - seven times clockwise, seven times anticlockwise over and over and over – When had THAT happened? He reached down to adjust his suddenly too-tight trousers when the timer on his wand went off.
Now all that was needed was to let the potion cool. He looked in the cauldron. The recipe hadn’t mentioned anything about the expected colour of the potion, so he hoped that this slightly mauve concoction was adequate.
Finally, it had cooled enough to be bottled. Harry found an empty vial and poured the draught into it, then went upstairs to see how Snape was faring.
From the look of things, it was a matter of hours before Snape shrivelled into nothing but a bag of bones. As Harry entered, Snape came staggering from the bathroom, as slowly as a frozen slug. He looked up expectantly when Harry came in, and Harry did his best to sport a big, reassuring smile as he walked up to Snape with the vial in his hand, all the while trying to conceal the bulge that gave away his not quite flaccid cock.
Snape grasped the vial, uncorked it and sniffed it, then looked at Harry. “It appears to be adequate,” he said. “Clearly you have benefited from my old potions book.”
Harry was just about to whip out a scathing remark, but something in Snape’s eyes kept him from doing so. Instead, he just watched as Snape gulped down the contents, then lay down and waited.
Harry didn’t really know what to do with himself as they waited for the potion to do its job, so, as he needed to use the facilities anyway, he went into the bathroom and started Scourgify’ing the room from top to bottom. He hoped that Snape wouldn’t think he was being fastidious, when all he really wanted to do was help.
After a while, he realised that he had been in there for definitely more than fifteen minutes. That had to mean that the potion had worked. He went back to the bedroom and found Snape fast asleep. Of course, the man had to be absolutely fatigued, Harry thought. Besides, he still suffered from the concussion which also made him sleepy.
Harry looked around. There were no other places there he could spend the rest of the night, so reluctantly he went downstairs and settled for a sleep-over on the couch.
The next morning he woke with a problem. He had a prime example of morning wood, and the entry to the bathroom was through Snape’s bedroom.
With a sigh, he got up. surely, Snape could understand that this had nothing to do with anything sexual. It was perfectly normal for a man at his age. The fact that his dreams had indeed been of a rather graphic sexual nature was something he chose to overlook at the moment. That took a lot more thought to deal with. Mostly because some of them had included Snape.
On the way up the stairs, Harry cursed the fact that he was dressed in Muggle clothes. Loose robes were so much more practical in matters such as these. But as it couldn’t be helped, he knocked on Snape’s bedroom door and waited for the man inside to respond.
But there was no reply. Slightly worried, Harry opened the door and looked at Snape. The man was still sleeping, apparently peacefully, so with a relieved sigh, Harry went into the bathroom to take care of his problem.
Mostly to see where that train of thought went, he started thinking about Snape as he stroked his erection. He wasn’t quite aware of the reason why Snape affected him so. Harry had never even briefly considered himself gay. He hadn’t thought much about girls, but the dreams he had had so far had been about them. So why this? Harry closed his eyes and thought of Snape’s black eyes. There was something hypnotic about those vast dark tunnels that seemed to go on forever. He thought of Snape’s voice. So dark and almost creamy, when the man had talked about something he was interested in. Harry realised that there had been several times during sixth year where he had just listened to Snape in the DADA lessons. He had listened without actually hearing the words. Just letting the rich voice wash over him.
Harry thought of Snape’s hands. So often, they were stained with one or another potion, but during the sixth year remarkably white. And with those long elegant fingers. Harry imagined those fingers touching him and that was all it took before he came with a muffled groan.
Afterwards, he found a flannel in a small cupboard there and cleaned himself as good as it was possible. He went back into Snape’s bedroom, and much to his relief, the man was still asleep. Harry went downstairs to see if there was anything edible in the house.
It turned out that the only thing in the house was a lump of stale bread, so after some consideration, he decided to go out and see if the small town had any stores nearby. He had only a little bit of Muggle money, but at least it would be enough to get him some fresh bread and some cheese.
As he walked down the cobbled street he hoped that Snape would continue his sleep. Given how exhausted he was, he should be sleeping for at least some hours.
When Harry returned shortly after with a loaf of sliced bread and some cheese, he immediately felt that something had changed. When he walked up to the front door he knew what it was. The wards had been strengthened. Considerably strengthened, to a point where he could feel a hum of magic when he placed his hand on the door. Much to his surprise, the door opened at his touch. As there were nobody inside it to open it, it could only mean that he had somehow been keyed into the wards. Harry reckoned it also meant that Snape was awake again.
He went into the kitchen and found some plates and knives, then walked upstairs with the food on a tray.
When he entered the bedroom, he saw that Snape was sitting up in the bed, looking ever so slightly less like death warmed over.
“I must thank you,” Snape immediately said. It looked like he had to swallow both bile and pride as he said it, but at least his eyes were sincere. “You have without a doubt saved my miserable life. I am indebted to you.”
Harry stared for a moment. Then he stammered, “Oh no, no, Professor. If anything you have slightly levelled the score. You have saved my life on several occasions.”
Snape looked surprised. “So you finally discovered that,” he said with only a hint of his usual sarcasm.
“I’ve discovered quite a few things about you, lately,” Harry retorted and was pleased to see a slightly stunned expression flicker on the other man’s face.
After some time, when neither of the two men knew what to say, Snape finally broke the silence. “So. Are you going to douse me with Veritaserum or have you decided to believe me?” he said, his gaze fixed on Harry. Harry was taken aback. He wasn’t really sure what to say. He knew that, logically, it would be the right thing to do, but on the other hand… hadn’t he already shown Snape that he trusted him by leaving the house? Suddenly, he realised that Snape had shown him an equally huge amount of trust by admitting him to the wards.
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Harry replied after a while. Snape cocked his brow and looked at him with a slightly amused expression. “The people at the ministry may not agree so readily to your trust in me,” Snape said dryly. “Not without any sort of proof.”
Harry had to admit to himself that Snape was probably right. But it didn’t solve the problem if Harry was the only one to question him. It would still be his word… unless... well… unless he then swore, under Veritaserum, that Snape was telling the truth. That might solve it.
“Do you have any Veritaserum at all?” Harry asked Snape. He knew how strict the rules regarding Veritaserum were, but on the other hand, Snape was probably the man who, at least earlier, had supplied the Ministry with their needed potions.
Snape looked at him as though he had just said something exceptionally stupid.
“Of course I have Veritaserum,” he all but sneered. “And if you’re not satisfied with it, feel free to brew your own batch. Contrary to what I once told that Umbridge woman, it doesn’t need more than a day to mature enough for it to work.”
Oh Harry remembered all too well the episode where Professor Umbridge had threatened to ply him with Veritaserum, and Snape had told her he was out of stock and that it would take a month to make more. He sniggered at the memory and looked over at Snape. “I think that was another time where you at least sort of saved my life.”
It occurred to Harry that he probably should have asked Snape how he felt, and other similar polite phrases. Slightly belatedly, he cleared his throat and asked, “Er... So, how are you today?”
Snape sent him an amused look. “Smalltalk, Mr. Potter? I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”
Annoyed, Harry lashed back. “You know, insulting me when I’m trying hard to be nice is hardly the way of making me like you and want to save your hide.”
“Like me?” Snape asked with a puzzled expression. “Why would you care about liking me? I’m not a likeable man.”
The question surprised Harry. Why did he care about liking Snape at all? Just yesterday he had been determined to more or less kill the man, so why was it imperative now to keep him safe?
He knew he had considered it before. So he answered, as truthfully as possible: “Because I have found out that I was wrong about you before.” He paused for a while, then went on, “And because I’ve grown up.”
“Very reassuring,” came the bone dry remark from Snape, and immediately, Harry bristled again.“See, you’re doing it again. Every time I try to keep a civil conversation, you’re cutting me down.”
Snape gave a sound that could have been a short chuckle. “So I do,” he conceded. “But as you should know by now, I’m neither a nice nor a particularly polite man. Don’t try to make me into that, for whatever reason you may have, because you will surely fail.”
Harry sat in silence for some time. Why did that mean git deliberately try to push everybody away? It was like he didn’t even want anyone to just pretend they liked him. But perhaps that was the reason, Harry realised with sudden insight. By not liking other people nor encouraging them to like him, he shielded himself from them. Harry knew that feeling all too well. It was like wanting something you knew you wouldn’t get. Something like Christmas presents. If you stopped expecting them, the disappointment was bearable. He smiled inwardly while he remembered his first Christmas present ever. The sweater Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him. With a jolt, he realised how stupidly he had behaved towards Ron and Hermione. He had pushed his friends away at a time where he needed them more than ever. Was Snape doing the same? Well, Harry decided not to let him succeed.
“You know,” he started, “I don’t actually care about whether or not you’re nice or polite. I’ve figured it all out now.” He stopped when he saw the look on Snape’s face. “Don’t you dare say anything,” said Harry quickly. “Don’t screw this up now. I’m here and I can help you. If you’ll let me, that is. But you’re making it darn hard for me by being so obnoxious.”
“Tell me why I should trust you,” Snape sneered, most of his old malice in place once more. “You come here, intend to catch me and deliver me to Azkaban where you very well know I would have a quick encounter with a Dementor.” Snape couldn’t quite suppress a shudder at that thought. “And memories are a funny thing. You see, I remember a little more of what happened when you came here yesterday. And I remember looking into your mind. And I saw all the hatred. Why would you try to have me believe that this immense hate is gone? What is the purpose? Whom are you trying to fool, Harry Potter?” Snape yelled the last bit out, small flecks of spittle flying. He looked like the Snape Harry had once known, and it fuelled an anger that almost took Harry by surprise.
“Well, if you must know,” Harry yelled back at Snape, “you weren’t the only one who went mind probing yesterday. If you consider yourself a good Occlumens, then let me tell you this: You’re not. Definitely not.”
Snape paled at Harry’s words. No doubt he was wondering just what Harry had seen in his mind. When he spoke, it was a hoarse whisper. “I should have known you would intrude like that. Never could keep your busy nose to yourself, could you? So what did you see? What could you possibly have seen that kept you from killing me on the spot?” Snape blanched even more when he apparently got an idea of just what Harry might have seen.
Harry stared at Snape, uncertain as to whether or not he should tell him exactly what he’d seen. In the end he decided to at least try the diplomatic explanation.
“I saw you and Dumbledore,” Harry started. “You were out in the forbidden forest.” Harry swallowed. The next bit pained him, no matter how much it had been Dumbledore’s own idea. He continued in a low voice: “I heard Dumbledore order you to kill him. And I heard you refuse.”
Snape looked at him, clearly waiting for him to continue. So after a little while, Harry gave a small cough and went on. “And …uhm… I saw a memory… of you… and… er… M-Malfoy” For a moment he had almost said “me” but thought better of it. That wasn’t a memory, after all. And fantasies were something completely different.
Snape had a very odd expression at those words. Then he said in a very quiet voice, “I suppose you won’t believe me when I tell you that this happened a long time ago?”
“I believe you,” said Harry. He thought of the Lucius Malfoy he knew, and shuddered. How could Snape stand touching him in those ways? And let himself be touched like that? By Lucius Bloody Malfoy, of all people?
Harry realised that it wasn’t the fact that Snape was apparently gay that upset him, or for that matter that Lucius seemed to have a similar inclinations, thought how he could then marry Narcissa was something Harry couldn’t quite fathom, but the fact that it had been Lucius in the first place. He wasn’t quite sure what he felt, or why it annoyed him so. Lucius was an opportunistic bastard, always ready to follow the winning side. A true Slytherin as far as Harry was concerned. But Snape was also a Slytherin. And although he had at some point switched sides, he had stayed there, even against all odds, when everything looked as if Voldemort was about to win. Snape had stayed on the side of the light. And nobody knew except for him.
He realised that he had been lost in his thoughts for a good while and that Snape had been talking to him. “Sorry, what?” he said and Snape repeated “Why do you look as if the thought bothers you so, then?”
“Perhaps because I never knew you were even gay?” Harry snapped.“Why should that be of any concern of yours?” Snape asked with a genuinely surprised look.
“Well, it’s not, I guess,” Harry started, and then went on, “I looked in some of your books yesterday. When I was looking for an idea of how to revive you, that is. You were unconscious, see?” he tried, not quite aware of why this conversation seemed to be so mortifying.
Snape looked at him strangely. “And how did you like the … book?” he asked cautiously.
Frustrated, Harry decided to abandon all pride and answered truthfully: “Well, that’s the bloody point, isn’t it? I don’t know what to make of it. I mean... I’ve never considered myself even slightly gay. But some of those pictures…” he trailed off.
Snape closed his eyes for a moment, then swung his legs over the bed and got up. “I think I’ll go take a bath” he mumbled. “I’ve been in bed long enough by now.”
To himself, Harry had to admit that Snape taking a bath sounded like a very good idea. While the man’s hair had always been lank and greasy, it was now in a state where Harry was willing to swear it dripped oil. Funnily enough there was no smell around the man, as would be expected, given everything. He was jerked out of his thoughts when Snape’s head appeared at the bathroom door again. “Could you please hand me that dressing robe over there?” he said and pointed towards a large closet at the opposite side of the room.
Harry went to the closet, opened it and had to bite his lip not to snigger. Inside the closet were little compartments, all with neat enamel labels on them. One shelf read “socks”, another one said “shirts” and so on. Most of the closet was empty, a few y-fronts were on the “underwear” shelf and a single sock occupied the “pyjamas” part of the closet, but other than that, and a long black dressing robe, the closet was empty. He grabbed the robe and went to the bathroom with it. Snape was still standing there, partially hidden behind the door. What was visible of him made Harry stare.
He should have known, of course, that Snape would be pale, given the complexion of his face and hands. And of course he had already seen some other parts of the man as well, but since it was while Snape was sick, he hadn’t really looked at it that way.
What he wasn’t prepared for was, despite his current state of emaciation, how muscular Snape was too. Not the bulgy kind of muscles, but a flat, wiry, strong looking type.
He wasn’t prepared for the amount of scar tissue that covered the bits of Snape’s torso that were visible behind the door. It wasn’t like he was enveloped in scars completely, but there were enough of them, and not all looked like they were old. Some angry red marks looked fairly recent, and Harry couldn’t help wondering what other hexes, apart from the Purgatorio, Shacklebolt had managed to hit Snape with.
Harry realised he was standing with Snape’s dressing robe in hand, staring. He quickly pulled himself together and handed the robe over to Snape with a hoarse “here you are.”
As the door was closed, Harry was almost certain he heard a chuckle from inside. Damn. This was getting awkward.
He looked around for something to do while he waited, and inevitably, his gaze was drawn to that shelf with the interesting literature he had encountered earlier. He thought for a moment. He still didn’t consider himself gay in the slightest, so in that respect, there shouldn’t be any harm done in looking at the pictures once more. A little voice inside his head supplied helpfully that IF he should happen to decide he was gay after all, he would need some qualified education.
So Harry went to the bookcase and selected a large book titled “Queries for Queers,” then took the book downstairs to study it while Snape bathed.
When Snape finally came down, hair still damp, wearing the dressing robe, Harry was so immersed in the book that he didn’t notice at first.
Snape didn’t say anything. He simply sat down at the other end of the sofa, keeping a comfortable distance while still being fairly close.
Harry finally broke the silence. “There’s some er… interesting things in this book, I guess,” he said with a crooked smile. “And I guess I’m not exactly as appalled as I should be…” he trailed off.
Snape looked at him for a long time, and just before the scrutinising glare became too much to bear, he looked down and asked quietly, “So does it resemble anything you’ve already tried?”
Harry looked up in surprise. Of course, Snape couldn’t know his lack of experience in that area. Trying hard not to blush he said, “It’s not like I’ve tried all that much yet.” After a moment he went on, “With the war and all. There wasn’t really much time for it…”
He wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to explain himself. Or why he felt it necessary to mention the matter at all, actually. But he had to admit that this reading had intrigued him. And although he wasn’t sure at all what it was or what it meant either, there was something about Snape that intrigued him as well. And at least he had the advantage of knowing that Snape was interested, if that fantasy he had encountered was anything to judge from.
As he had been explaining himself, he had subconsciously moved closer to Snape, and Harry wasn’t sure if Snape hadn’t moved as well. In any case, they were now so close on the sofa that they were almost touching each other. Harry could feel the heat from the other man’s leg next to him. Slightly flustered, he asked Snape if he by any chance had something to drink in the house.
Snape just held out his hand and spoke an “Accio Brandy.”
As the bottle of brandy soared through the air, Harry silently acknowledged the display of wandless magic he had just been witnessing. As if Snape could read his mind, he said, “Does wandless magic surprise you? I can assure you that I prefer to use my wand. It’s so much more satisfactory.”
Somehow Snape managed to put a good deal of innuendo into that sentence, and Harry couldn’t help a snigger.
He took the offered glass of brandy. He had never cared much for brandy but he reckoned now was a bad time to say so. And Snape definitely seemed to be enjoying it. So he swirled it in the glass as he had seen Uncle Vernon do and silently hoped he wouldn’t start to cough from it, then took a sip.
Moments later, Snape was patting his back while Harry tried to free his lungs from the brandy. His eyes were watering and he plucked off his glasses to better wipe them. And for once there were no sarcastic remarks from Snape. He just held Harry while he coughed and coughed and coughed.
After that, when Harry tried to catch his breath back, Snape still held him. And it felt nice. Secure. Safe.
And Snape kept stroking his back in a fashion that felt far too good.
Harry’s upbringing at the Dursleys had all but deprived him of hugs and other comforting sorts of touches. So he had never really known how much he had missed it. He had never realised that it could feel so exquisitely wonderful to have someone stroke your back.
Snape was trailing small circles now, and Harry couldn’t help himself. He almost purred, and arched into the touch without thinking.
He thought he heard a small noise from Snape, but wasn’t sure, and at the moment he didn’t really care either. The touch was almost hypnotic and he abandoned all thoughts about the appropriateness of this whole situation. For once, he simply enjoyed the luxury of feeling without thinking.
He felt Snape’s other hand joining the first, starting to massage his shoulders. Oh it felt nice. The long, slender fingers applied just enough pressure. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to feel firm and secure. Harry heard a long keening sound and was embarrassed to realise that he had been the one to make it. Behind him, he felt Snape tense slightly.
“Harry…” said Snape in a hoarse voice, so very different from his usual one.
To hear his name in that voice did strange things to Harry. It was like his ears had been connected directly to his cock, and that word, and all its implications, rushed right there.
He wasn’t sure what to answer. What should he call Snape in return? Professor? No, that sounded wrong. Besides, it was more than a year since the man had been his professor. Snape? But Snape had used his given name. Severus? Harry knew of course that this was Snape’s given name, but it sounded so absolutely foreign on his tongue. Still, in his current mood, he felt the need to reciprocate and tried with “S-Sev…”
He didn’t get any further before a finger was placed on his lips and Snape said “Shhh… Don’t talk now- Just feel, Harry. Just feel.”
Again, Harry couldn’t help thinking that Snape had to be hypnotising him. A small, detached part of him was looking at the whole scene from above, trying to tell him that this was wrong. This was Snape. But it didn’t feel wrong, so Harry mentally asked that little annoying voice to go stuff itself.
Snape had turned in the couch so one of his long slender legs was now on it, and when Harry instinctively leaned back into the touch, he suddenly felt something firm behind him.
That almost cleared his mind. Merlin, Snape was clearly aroused. The little annoying voice in his head told him to get up and get out, but the rest of him supplied with a ‘yes, yes, sure… in a moment’. And Harry realised that he was also very much aroused himself. When that had happened, he didn’t really know, and at this moment he didn’t care at all either. He pressed slightly back against the other man and was rewarded with a deep moaning sound from Snape.
“Harry…” said Snape again, and this time he continued, “Are you sure about this?”
Harry wasn’t sure, but how could he possibly say that when Snape’s long fingers distracted him by stroking his sides? When one of the slender hands sneaked around him and lay on his thigh, applying a most delightful pressure there? So he just mumbled something non-committal and squirmed even closer to this captivating sensation he knew to be Snape’s erection, digging into his lower back.
He reached down to adjust himself, his pants were becoming highly uncomfortable and seconds later he almost jerked away when Snape’s hand cupped the throbbing bulge.
This was the first time anyone had ever touched him there, except of course himself, and the sensation sent sparks through his brain. He felt like he was seconds away from embarrassing himself and whimpered something that could have been a ‘stop’ but also sounded suspiciously like ‘oh god.’ And Snape didn’t stop. Deftly, he lowered the zipper on Harry’s trousers and then, Harry did scream out in pleasure, as the long, slightly cool fingers closed around his heated flesh.
“Are you okay with this?” Snape carefully asked.“Guh!” was all Harry was able to respond at that point. This felt good beyond belief. Not at all like when he wanked himself. Much more erotic. Much more right.
Snape started a slow pace. Stroking, squeezing, swirling his finger over the head of Harry’s cock, gathering the liquid that seeped from it. The other hand stopped stroking his back and came to join the other, carefully fondling his balls, and once more, Harry let out a rather undignified groan, before, all too soon, he felt the familiar tightening in his balls. He managed a “I’m…” before the white fire engulfed him, and he was coming in hot spurts, over Snape’s hands, over his own legs, over the sofa. And Snape never let go. He kept pumping Harry’s cock at the same leisurely pace, milking him to the last drop.
As from a great distance, Harry heard Snape’s voice. “Still okay?” it said, and Harry could only nod, not trusting his voice yet. After a quick cleaning charm, Snape then asked, “Should we continue this?” and Harry became aware of Snape’s still hard erection that was burning a path on his backside. He wasn’t sure what to do next, although the book he had studied had given him some interesting ideas. So he nodded once more and turned to grasp Snape’s cock in what he hoped wasn’t a timid way.
When he looked down he almost gasped. Snape had been totally naked under the dressing robe, and as he sat there with his legs parted to accommodate room for Harry, the robe had opened and revealed what was quite a sizeable cock. Harry immediately scratched the ‘butt fucking’ from his mental to-do list. That thing was bloody huge. And couldn’t possibly go anywhere inside him, that’s for sure.
So he bent down, gathered all his courage, and gave the purpling erection a quick lick on the head.
Much to his surprise, it wasn’t disgusting at all. Actually, it tasted quite good. And the sound his action elicited from Snape was well worth any possible discomfort.
Trying again, he let his tongue swirl around the head this time, along the rim. Snape uttered more of the unintelligible sounds and Harry was encouraged to continue his exploration. When he took the head into his mouth, he was greeted by a primal growl from Snape, and a hand found purchase in his hair. “Ha…rry…” Snape said in a broken voice. “Merlin, you’re…” That was all he managed before letting out a long moan, as Harry leaned forward to see how much of Snape’s cock he could fit in his mouth. It wasn’t easy, he consciously kept his mind partially detached to what exactly it was in his mouth, and still he was gagging as the engorged organ hit the back of his throat. He found that he could fit a little less than half of it, and used his hand to cover the rest, squeezing it much in the way Snape had done to him earlier. Snape’s hips started jerking and soon Harry could only hang on and try not to gag as his mouth was fucked. Suddenly, the hand in his hair tightened, and tried to pull him off. But curiosity and something more made Harry hang on, and moments later his mouth was filled with hot come. He tried to swallow, almost gagged at the unfamiliar taste, but managed to get most of it down. Then he was pulled up and into a deep kiss.
At first, his mind reeled. He was kissing Snape. Kissing Snape, whose cock he had just had in his mouth, Snape, whose come was still on his tongue. And it ought to be disgusting, but it somehow wasn’t. Somehow it was just very, very right.
When Harry had to break out of the snog for air, Snape smiled down at him. “So… What did you think of it?” he then asked, with a twinkle in his eyes that could have rivalled Dumbledore on a good day.
“It wasn’t what I’d expected," he said truthfully. Snape’s questioning gaze urged him to elaborate. “Okay, it was better than I’d thought it would be,” Harry admitted. “Actually... it felt pretty good...”
“I don’t want to push you into anything,” Snape then said, “but if you’ll let me, I can show you some other things that might surprise you as well. Not right now,” he assured Harry when he no doubt interpreted the slightly shocked look on Harry’s face correctly, and went on, “and nothing that will hurt you, I can assure you of that.”
Harry reckoned he was still looking rather sceptical, given that he had just had a rather intimate knowledge of Snape’s girth, and no doubt, Snape could guess what went through his mind, because he quietly said, “That too won’t necessarily hurt. But you decide completely how far this goes.”
Snape looked like he couldn’t quite understand how it had gone this far at all. And Harry could only agree to that. It felt like it wasn’t quite him. As if he was someone else, someone he didn’t really know.
He pushed the thought away for now. This was like an enchanted bubble in time. Whatever happened when he left that, he would deal with later.
So for now, he just snuggled up to Snape and tried to not think too much about the future. Snape was warm and it felt safe, in a way Harry couldn’t quite remember ever having experienced before.
After a while, Harry felt Snape slowly starting to stroke his back again. Tentatively at first, but soon with more confidence, as Harry clearly relaxed into the touch. He had come to the inevitable conclusion that he probably wasn’t quite at straight as he’d always thought, and amazingly the thought didn’t alarm him. Soon, he felt the warm rush of arousal take over, and when Snape started mapping his neck and throat with his mouth, he was lost in the sensation. He closed his eyes and did as Snape had told him to earlier: just felt.
He felt how Snape’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once, and when those hands started tugging in his shirt he had no objections to it. He eagerly pulled his jumper over his head, and moaned loudly, as Snape’s hot mouth found a nipple and sucked it hard.
Soon – he wasn’t quite sure how it had happened – he was totally naked and was lying on Snape’s grey couch while his whole body was being explored expertly by his former professor. He reached for Snape to touch him in return, but his hands were batted away, and after a few futile attempts, he settled for gripping the edge of the sofa, arch into the touches, and simply enjoy the flood of sensations that washed over him.
Then he suddenly felt a hand cupping his arse, and he stiffened slightly, as the hand moved between his legs, parting then, gaining access to a part of him that he was not yet sure he wanted Snape to explore. He vaguely heard Snape Accio something, and soon it was apparent that it was some kind of lubricant, as a now slickened finger circled his opening.
Harry froze for a moment, not sure that he like the sensation at all. First of all, it tickled. And when the finger slid inside, he stiffened while his arse spasmed around the slick intruder. Then Snape crooked his finger and touched something that made Harry gasp with surprise. This felt good beyond belief. Weird, but wonderful. He pried his eyes open, not even aware when he had closed them, and looked at Snape, who at that moment had an unbelievably smug expression plastered on his normally so severe features.
“Liked that, did you?” murmured Snape, and Harry could only nod, while a small, appreciative sound escaped him.
Harry’s eyes widened, as he felt Snape add another finger to the first. He felt stretched and it burned a bit, until his muscles relaxed. Then Snape touched that spot inside him again, and Harry forgot everything else.
Snape bent down and started sucking his cock, and Harry almost came on the spot from that exquisite feeling. Just as Harry felt he would explode, Snape withdrew completely and Harry let out a most undignified wail of protest. Soon enough the fingers in his arse were replaced by something substantially larger that nudged his sphincter insistently. He felt a momentarily sharp twinge of fear. He wasn’t sure how this could possibly NOT hurt like hell, given Snape’s size. Then the lubricated head nudged inside and stopped, while Harry tried to will his muscles to relax.
“Okay?” he heard Snape’s voice as from a large distance, and he nodded, as Snape slowly pressed in deeper.
And it hurt. Not as much as he had been afraid, but it did hurt, and he couldn’t hold back a whimper. Then, just as he was considering asking Snape to stop, Snape’s cock brushed that magic spot and as Snape curled his hand around Harry’s neglected erection, he cried out in pleasure, all pain forgotten.That was when Snape started pounding into him in earnest, while tugging his cock at the same time. And soon, all too soon, Harry arched off the couch while strings of hot come shot from the tip of his pulsing cock, and as his arse clenched tight around Snape’s erection, he heard the other man make the most incredible sounds, and then he, too, was coming, coating the insides of Harry with his essence before crashing down on top of him.
That night, Harry had trouble sleeping. Not just because he was lying on the sofa which still reeked from their lovemaking, constantly reminding him of just what they had been doing, but most of all, he was trying to figure out how to ensure that Snape could be redeemed. He knew now that Snape, like almost everybody else, himself included, had just been pawns in Dumbledore’s big chess game leading to the demise of Voldemort. But how on earth could he even make the Aurors listen to him? Snape was wanted, dead or alive, preferably dead, Harry had a nasty feeling. And Harry had seen how the Death Eaters had been treated. Until now he had thought it was only fair, a suitable revenge for all their bad deeds. But this was something else. And he started silently to question the lynch mob mentality that was still prevailing. He knew he’d been a victim of it. Ron and Hermione had been so much against his plans to capture Snape that he’d almost lost them over the matter. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t sure if he was able to get them back at all, though he imagined that his changed views of Snape would help.
But, no matter how little he liked the idea, he realized that Snape would have to be subjected to Veritaserum-enhanced interrogations. So the tricky part was to get Snape to the Ministry alive. Once they were there, he could possibly convince Mr. Weasley of Snape’s innocence. And since he, as one of the Order members and Hero of the War, had a fairly high position in the Ministry now, he should be able to help Snape.
Harry realised that it had become imperative to him to keep Snape safe. He wasn’t really sure what it all meant yet, and he wasn’t quite ready to deal with all the implications of his newfound sexuality and what that meant in regard to, of all people, Severus Snape, but he knew that he wanted more of this. He had to keep Snape safe and he wanted to keep Snape close. Very close.
And how could he possibly do that when he was sleeping on that sofa, while Snape was alone upstairs in his bedroom. So his bed wasn’t really big enough for both of them, but did it really matter? They’d just have to snuggle. And Harry knew he didn’t mind that idea at all.
So with a weary sigh he got up and padded upstairs to Snape’s bedroom. Went in, and crept under the duvet, next to the sleeping man. Snape mumbled something in his sleep and wrapped an arm around Harry.
Finally, everything was right. Finally, he could sleep. Harry’s last thought, before he dozed off, was that tomorrow morning, he would make a firecall to Mr. Weasley. But right now, all he wanted to do was to feel. Just feel.
© TrekkieGrrrl January 2006
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