
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/666918.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-02 Words: 6511
****** Aggrieved ******
by lilyseyes
Summary
     Post DH, Hogwarts knows Snape is alive and demands its Headmaster
     back! Written for the phoenix_flies exodus fest at insanejournal.
Notes
     Betas: rakina and jadzia7667
===============================================================================
Harry Potter rode wearily up the spiral staircase to the Headmaster’s office,
feeling old and tired. The mixed sounds of celebration and grief that had
filtered up from the Great Hall and followed him on his solitary trek up the
marble stairs finally fell away as he stepped into the relative silence of the
round office. The door snapped shut behind him, startling Harry out of his
semi-stupor. Exhaustion made the grief he was feeling all the sharper as he
trudged toward the Pensieve, still swirling with silvery flashes. The very idea
that not only had Snape been murdered before his eyes, but that someone had
stolen his body from the Shrieking Shack while Harry had done what he was
destined to do was unconscionable.
The portraits of the former Heads appeared to be sleeping in their frames, but
Harry barely noticed. He wanted to plunge himself once again in the Pensieve,
in the memories of the man now lost to him forever. It made Harry sad that
Severus Snape had been the one person in Harry’s life who could have made a
significant difference, but had not allowed himself or Harry the opportunity.
Harry felt hollow inside, the pain of loss reduced to a constant throb inside
him over the many deaths. He would have welcomed numbness, but his body and
mind refused to accommodate him, the emptiness inside gnawing at him like
persistent hunger. Even the sight of Ginny throwing herself into Michael
Corner’s arms had only brought relief and the uncharitable thought of the red-
head as the clinging head of his fan club rose unbidden in his mind. Truly
happy that she was able to find comfort somewhere, Harry ignored a pain filled
spasm as his thoughts strayed to Fred, Lupin…
Pushing his glasses up, Harry pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
He was so tired, but he had no time to rest; there were dead to be buried, so
much to rebuild, and now he had a godson to provide for. Ginny had eloquently
expressed her feelings on the matter of Teddy Lupin, but Harry was not about to
simply dump the orphan on his grandmother. He planned to be a part of the
baby’s life. Instead, he’d dumped her.
Stopping in front of the Pensieve, Harry reached out a shaky hand, swearing to
himself that he wouldn’t get lost in the memories with so many other things
pressing. A crackle of magic startled him, as did the obstruction his fingers
encountered around the Pensieve. Jerking back, Harry frowned before pressing
his hand forward, only to yelp as a jolt of energy surged through the invisible
barrier. Frustration overwhelmed the grief, fueled by his need to immerse
himself in the truths that had changed all the perceptions in his life: Snape
being his mum’s best friend, Dumbledore grooming his as a weapon, setting him
up to die…
“No!” Harry cried, something akin to desperation rising like bile in his
throat. “Please…”
“Poor Potter, wallowing in self-pity once again.”
The sneering voice of Phineas Nigellus Black snapped his head up and Harry felt
his lip curl.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” He snarled, sinking to his knees.
He’d done everything demanded of him, lived the wretched life he’d been
mandated to, had killed and been killed, sacrificed and complied – wasn’t that
enough? They could stuff their honors and adoration, Harry just wanted someone
who cared about him, which didn’t include Ginny’s fangirl type of love. He
wanted a kind of love that accepted him as he was, that inspired the kind of
devotion that Severus Snape had for his mum, but Harry was beginning to realize
that was impossible. Instead, Harry would settle for Snape’s memories.
“The castle is rather perturbed really,” Phineas remarked snidely, dark eyes
sliding surreptitiously towards Dumbledore’s sleeping portrait. “Wants you to
finish the job you started.”
“I did!” Harry cried, on his feet as he rounded on the portrait.
“No, you did not!” Phineas snapped back, “In fact, you left the man dying in a
pool of blood without rendering any aid whatsoever!”
Harry goggled at the sneering face, which bore absolutely no resemblance to his
godfather, beyond the dark mane of hair tangled around his face. “Snape? He’s
dead – I watched him die!”
Phineas snorted. “Do you ever look passed the obvious; Potter, to see the
subtle? Do you see the Headmaster’s portrait here?”
Harry looked around wildly, his eyes scanning the circular room, but there was
no magical portrait of Severus Snape. Could it be feasible that Snape wasn’t
dead? Was it possible that there was still some way to help him? The image of
the empty room in the Shrieking Shack flashed in his mind and a jolt of
adrenalin hit him.
“Where is he?” He demanded, his eyes flashing at the bit of paint and canvas
hanging on the stone wall.
“Harry,” Albus Dumbledore’s quiet voice cut through his angry voice, but did
nothing to quell his ire. “What Phineas has not told you, is that we do not
know. The castle may not know either, but I am certain that Fawkes would be
able to help you if you called upon him.”
“Fawkes?” Harry asked, “I thought Fawkes left after you died?”
“A phoenix, for all that it may attach itself to a mortal being, Harry, does
not bond with one. Fawkes was particularly close to me, Harry, and I to him,
but I am not who he answered to.”
Harry stared at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, his tired mind tumbling the
information over and over, before the true hit him. “Fawkes is Hogwarts’
familiar!”
Dumbledore nodded, the clear blue eyes watching him as Harry flushed with
excitement. Cold reality sent a chill down his spine in the next moment though,
as he knew if Snape was alive, he needed help. Where could the man be, as he
wasn’t where Harry had left him…
“Fawkes!”
Harry called out sharply, not knowing how else to summon a phoenix, his voice
frantic with concern. His mind leapt from worry to worry and he knew he would
need potions and bandages, as Snape appeared to have lost a lot of blood. He
would also need the antidote for the venom Nagini would have injected into him
that prevented the blood from clotting. Another idea popped into his head.
“Kreacher!”
The ancient house-elf appeared before him, impeccably dressed in his tea towel
and bowed low. “Master Harry…”
“Kreacher! I need your help, please! Find me the potions for blood replenishing
and the one that is an antidote for the venom of Voldemort’s snake, Nagini.
Snape should have both around here somewhere.”
“As Master wishes,” Kreacher disappeared.
The sound of great wings flapping heralded Fawkes arrival and Harry let out a
sigh of relief. The scarlet and gold phoenix landed gracefully on the
Headmaster’s desk, eyeing Harry warily. Disconcerted as the magical bird moved
away from him as he approached, Harry held his hand out.
“Fawkes, please, I need to find Professor Snape and fast! He was,” Harry
swallowed hard, “badly hurt and needs help healing.”
Kreacher popped back in and handed Harry a leather pouch he knew had to contain
the potions he had requested. He quietly thanked the house elf for his help and
turned back to the phoenix. The large bird still seemed uncertain and Harry
knew that he had to convince Fawkes of his sincerity, but how?
“Fawkes, please,” Harry implored quietly.
The beady eyes seemed to assess the rising panic Harry knew he hadn’t been able
to keep from his eyes. Finally, with a nod, Fawkes unfurled his wings and
lifted from the desk. Turning, he presented his tail feathers to Harry as he
had five years before in the Chamber of Secrets. A flash of golden light and
the Headmaster’s office was gone.
Suddenly, Harry was in a darkened bedroom, the smell of mildew and stale air
assaulted his nose as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. A large four-poster bed
sat at opposite end of the room and Harry was moving towards it as soon as his
feet touched the floor. He had no thought other than to get to this man, a man
who had suddenly become the most important thing in his life.
Snape was deathly pale against the against the dark bedding. He appeared to
have been dropped on the bed straight from the Shrieking Shack and Harry
wondered if Fawkes was responsible for Snape’s disappearance as well as the
healed gashes in his throat. Drying blood still stained the Headmaster’s robes
and skin, a blanket had been dragged over him to keep him warm. Leaning over
the prone form, Harry gingerly put a hand on the black-clad chest to make sure
Snape was breathing, but leery of the hex he was sure to receive if the man
were conscious.
“Professor?” Harry asked quietly, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in the
high-ceilinged room. “Professor Snape?”
There was no response and Harry moved closer, setting the pouch on the bedside
table. Slow shallow breaths made the chest move under his hand and relief
flared through him. Opening the pouch, Harry silently thanked the ancient house
elf who had included a wide variety of medicinal potions. Each vial was clearly
labeled in the spidery scrawl Harry recognized from years of returned essays, a
smile erupting as he realized Kreacher had taken these from Snape’s own stores.
He quickly grabbed a vial labeled as a blood replenisher and a vial labeled
Antidote – Nagini. It was Snape who had really saved Mr. Weasley's life over
Christmas of his fifth year, Harry realized.
Sliding on to the bed, Harry moved up and braced his back against the
headboard, taking Snape’s head in his lap. Tilting the bloody face back
slightly, Harry carefully tipped part of the anti-venom into the slack mouth.
Snape sputtered slightly but swallowed and Harry repeated the action several
times, cursing himself as he spilled some of the potion down the older man’s
chin. Wiping it up with his sleeve, Harry stopped to examine the fine ridges of
the healed gashes. They looked like the seams where the skin had knitted back
together and he knew, because he had an identical one on his arm where Fawkes
had healed him.
A moan turned his attention back to the unconscious man lying on the bed still
fully clothed. Carefully, Harry brushed a strand of long dark hair back from
his face and was surprised when the gentle touch seemed to settle Snape. Hoping
to make him more comfortable, Harry slid to one side and propped the older
man’s head on a pillow as he worked the bedding down. Starting at the neck of
the black outer robes, Harry struggled to unfasten the tiny buttons that held
the clothing together. Stiff with dried blood, they resisted his attempts.
Tempted to just rip them open, Harry took a deep, calming breath. “Blimey,
you’d think this was your amour, as buttoned-up as you are!”
The lower section of the buttons was easier with the clean cloth and Harry
managed to get the outer robes off. He carefully removed the high-heeled boots
and the blood soaked shirt, adding them to the pile on the dusty floor.
Hesitating for a moment, a funny feeling in his stomach, Harry tackled the
black trousers, his hands trembling inexplicably. Unfastening them, Harry drew
them down the long, pale legs, trying not to notice the muscled thighs
decorated with a light layer of dark hair. Nervously, Harry dropped them,
shifting his eyes up to Snape’s chest.
“Oh bloody hell, what is wrong with me?” He whispered, trying not to stare.
Even through the splotchy blood Harry could see the defined muscles under the
small thatch of dark hair in the center of the lean chest and the flat abdomen
below. He shook his head, hard. Why in the world was his body reacting to the
man laid out in front of him, when he hadn’t been able to get even this amount
of response out of it with Ginny? Hastily, Harry pulled the thin blanket up
over Snape and turned away.
Using an empty potions vial, Harry transfigured it into a bowl and the other
into a flannel. With his wand he filled it with water and warmed it carefully.
Shedding his own outer robes, Harry pushed the sleeves of his shirt up and
moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Carefully setting the bowl on the bedside
table, Harry gently began to wash the blood off Snape’s face.
“I’m not sure what else to do, sir,” Harry admitted to the silent man. “You are
breathing all right now, you don’t feel feverish, and I can’t give you any
water or more of the potion for two hours.”
Harry gently washed the blood from the older man’s chin and down his jaw. The
newly healed throat was particularly bad, but Harry worked diligently to remove
the caked blood with careful strokes on the newly healed skin. He allowed a
finger to trail along one of the scars.
“I have one like this, too, from where Fawkes healed the basilisk bite my
second year.”
Rinsing the flannel in the bowl, Harry wiped it over the now clean neck,
fascinated by the strong pulse he could feel under his fingers. Harry swallowed
as he glanced up at Snape’s pale face, hoping the man was truly unaware of how
he was taking liberties with his body and rambling on.
“I thought you were dead back there in the Shrieking Shack,” Harry whispered,
his throat suddenly tight. “I thought I saw you fade away and there wasn’t
anything I could do to help you!”
Harry drew a deep breath, rinsing the flannel again.
“Then, I saw in your memories all that you had done for me. How close you were
to my mum and I understood why you acted the way you did towards me.”
A vague ache started in his chest.
“I know you hated my dad and it sounds like you had good reason to. I know you
have always hated me as well, because you lost your best friend when she died
for me, even though Vol…he tried to spare her for you. I just…I wish I had
known…I would have like to have heard about my mum.”
Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat, ignoring the prickling in his
eyes.
“It seems unfair to both of us that we couldn’t do that and I can’t help but
wonder whether it might have been better to let the Hat sort me into Slytherin
when it wanted to,” he concentrated on washing the caked blood off the pale
shoulders. “I wonder if you would have treated me different if I had been, if
you would have treated me like you did Draco Malfoy.”
The flannel was rinsed again and Harry banished the bloody water, refilling the
basin.
“I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it? I did what I was supposed to, what I
was groomed to do for all these years,” bitterness crept into his voice. “I
even understand why Dumbledore left me in a house were I was hated and locked
in a cupboard. If I hadn’t been so hungry to belong, to please him, I might not
have been able to do what Dumbledore planned for me to do. I know if he’d told
me I had to die before I could kill Voldemort, I probably would not have been
able to, but seeing the truth in your memories…I knew I had to honor your
sacrifice, all the sacrifices you had made for me. How could I not?”
                                 ~~~~ *~* ~~~~
Severus Snape could hear the voice and could understand both the words and the
bitterness. He had no strength to respond, seemingly suspended in a limbo of
sorts, no doubt due to some property of the blasted snake’s venom. If he had
the power of speech, he would have told the boy to quit his whinging, more
because he of all people knew the boy truly had a legitimate reason to bemoan
his fate. The disastrous Occlumency lessons of Potter’s fifth year had revealed
much more than even the boy was aware off. It was after those that Severus had
forced himself to continue hating Lily’s son. Had to force himself not to
weaken his resolve were Harry was concerned. He would not, could not, give into
the pull of familiar loneliness and insecurity he had witnessed in the child.
It wouldn’t do to show any weakness as both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord would
have discovered it immediately.
Now, his heart ached for the friend he’d lost and for her son, who had grown up
as love-starved as Severus himself. At least Severus had had his mother’s love,
before Tobias had beaten it out of her. At least he had not grown up a pawn in
a war, predestined and shaped to be self-sacrificing; no, Severus had put
himself in the position with his eyes open and deserved the life he had led.
Sensation prickled along his skin as the boy gently touched the new scars on
his throat again. It was the first external stimulus Severus had felt since he
had ‘died’ in the Shrieking Sack. The gentle hands and stroking fingers bespoke
of caring and he frowned, or tried to. Why would this young man, whom Severus
had actively persecuted for years, show him any tenderness? James Potter
certainly would never have, no matter the circumstances, but Lily would have,
she had believed there was good in him to the very end.
“Harry is capable of immense love, and I think you underestimate him, Severus.”
Albus Dumbledore’s voice came back to him, a statement made during one of their
numerous arguments of the last year of the dying wizard’s life. He had always
believed that Harry would forgive Severus all his sins as soon as he learned of
the true role his professor had played in his mother’s life and Harry’s. Even
if that had been an option, Severus would not have been able to stomach the
pity in those green eyes, Lily’s eyes. Those same eyes had been a focal point
for Severus for so long, although their meaning had changed over the past seven
years – from the pain of forcing Severus to remember the past to giving him
some hope of a future. Somewhere along the way, Severus had developed a
grudging respect for the young man and a genuine affection, as well. Dumbledore
had actually suspected Severus’ feelings, tried to goad him into admitting
them. He had been able to deflect the accusation, knowing it did no good to
care about anyone who was destined for the same fate as Severus. Neither should
have survived.
Harry being here could only mean that he had accomplished his task and the Dark
Lord was dead. Something akin to joy ran through Severus and, had he been
capable, he believed he would have smiled. That would be enough to frighten the
boy away. The warm hands continued to clean off his chest, but Harry had fallen
silent. Fingertips stroked across his flat nipples and along the line of his
pectoral muscles. Severus could feel sensations course through him, ones he
never thought this young man would be invoking and for the first time, was glad
he could not move. Could it be possible that Harry Potter was interested in
him? Those fingers continued to move across his chest in a manner Severus could
only describe as a caress and his mind could not fathom the possibility. The
Slytherin side of his brain scoffed, if young Harry Potter wanted to get to
know him better, who was Severus to refuse? A truly Slytherin plot began to
form in his mind, just as his body inconveniently gave an involuntary twitch.
                                   ~~~*~*~~~
Harry sprang back as he felt Snape jerk under his questing fingers. His face
burned as he quickly covered the current Headmaster with the blanket. Banishing
the bloody water, Harry transfigured the bowl into another blanket and laid
that atop the man in the cool room, nervous hands smoothing and tucking. The
flannel he returned to its original form, leaving the empty vial on the bedside
table.
Stepping back from the bed, Harry stared at the man lying there so still. He
was so hard that he ached, something Harry had only experienced in dreams he
couldn’t remember, and it was because he had touched Severus Snape. Was that
why Ginny hadn’t been able to excite him, because Harry was really attracted to
guys? Was that the reason he had thought the sixteen year old Tom Riddle so
handsome and had dreamed of kissing a faceless dark-haired Half-Blood Prince
last year? Harry had truly never considered that he might be gay, not with the
way his uncle had always spewed such vile things about ‘nancy-boys’.
The man lying on the bed couldn’t really be considered handsome, Harry thought,
but he’d always had such a commanding presence. Harry had always respected
Snape, even as he had hated the way the teacher treated him, but he’d always
protected Harry and the other students. After the horrific visions and
Occlumency lessons had shown Harry the man’s lonely past and difficult tasks he
had done for the Order of the Phoenix, he knew this man had sacrificed much to
keep them all safe. This man was incredibly brave, as well as self-sacrificing,
but Harry knew Snape didn’t recognize it as such. In the same way, Snape would
never see Harry as anything but a burden; someone who had fulfilled his duty in
life. Snape would never want him in the way Harry had just experienced, would
never be able to see beyond the Potter name.
Taking another step back, Harry tore his eyes from the sharp features, flicking
his wand towards a torch on the far wall. It flared at his silent spell,
revealing another door in the stone wall. Harry hoped they were still somewhere
on the Hogwarts grounds in some hidden room, but he could not be sure. This
bedroom seemed clean enough, even with its air of disuse. The door opened
easily under his hand to reveal a large bathroom, with a shower and tub.
Delighted, Harry tested the faucet, pleased to find they had warm running
water. He’d not had a shower in days and cleaning charms could only do so much.
With a last glance at Snape, assuring himself that the Headmaster was breathing
steadily, Harry left the door open as he began to strip off his clothing. He
didn’t see the dark eyes that slowly opened, widening fractionally as they
watched his every move. Quickly, Harry stepped below the steaming water,
allowing it to wash away the blood and sweat of the past day. His hand groped
for the bottle he’d seen on the thin shelf and Harry used the soapy potion to
clean away all the physical traces of the final battle, scrubbing so hard it
felt like his skin was bloody.
With a sigh, Harry turned off the water and reached for a towel on a shelf. He
wished he had some broth to feed Snape, as the man needed something. Hunger
gnawed at his stomach, reminding Harry how long it had been since he had eaten.
He sighed, a sandwich and pumpkin juice would be nice, but Harry was no
stranger to hunger. What he needed even more was a bit of sleep, but he was
afraid to close his eyes until Snape showed some significant improvement.
Rubbing his hair with the towel, Harry turned with a grimace to pull on his
dirty, torn clothes. The pile of clothing was gone from where he had dropped it
and in its place was a pair of new jeans and a jumper. Harry froze, his wand
suddenly in his hand, but nothing happened. With a shiver, he turned slowly,
acutely award of his own nakedness and vulnerability, but everything seemed to
be as he had left it. Snape lay motionless on the bed, his chest rising and
falling in a comforting rhythm, his head turned towards Harry, blanket slipping
down one bare shoulder.
Glancing back at the clothing, Harry saw a second pile pf clothing now sitting
next to the first and blinked, lowering his wand. This pile consisted of what
looked like sleepwear. The aroma of rich beef broth tickled his nose and Harry
turned towards the bed again, where a small table now sat with a covered tray
on it. A slow grin spread across his face, just like the Room of Requirement
this room seemed to be giving him just what he needed and Harry was grateful.
Whether they were still at Hogwarts or somewhere else, it was a safe place or
Fawkes wouldn’t have left them here.
He dressed quickly in a pair of soft sleep pants and padded back to the bed.
Lifting the cover, Harry wasn’t surprised to see a bowl of broth, a plate of
sandwiches and a flagon of what could only be pumpkin juice. Picking up the
bowl carefully, Harry carried it to the bedside table and set it down next to
the pouch of potions. He sat down on the edge of the bed, turning to prop Snape
up into a position he could feed him in, Harry jumped when he saw the dark eyes
were open.
“Professor?”
His voice came out squeaky and Harry coughed to cover his nervousness. Those
eyes appeared free of the malice and loathing Harry was used to, but seemed
very aware of what was going on. They seemed to caress his face, drinking in
the sight of him. Harry flushed hotly, instantly aroused before he realized the
older man was simply glad to be alive. Harry’s eyes had been the last thing
he’d seen when Snape thought he was dying and it was somehow fitting that they
were the first things he saw when he awoke. Harry bit down on the
disappointment that hit him; it was his own fault for letting his mind run
rampant.
“If you can, sir, I think you need to eat some of this broth before I give you
the other potions,” Harry tried to sound self-confident, but it sounded stupid
to his own ears.
Snape seemed to nod his head slightly and Harry retrieved the bowl, summoning a
spoon from the tray. He assumed the paralysis was from the snake venom and
wondered if Mr. Weasley had been this way at first after he was attacked. No
one had ever really talked about his condition and Harry wished he’d asked more
questions at the time. Carefully, he spooned the delicious smelling broth into
the older man’s mouth, his stomach growling loudly as he did. Harry kept his
eyes on the thin lips; too embarrassed to meet Snape’s eyes. Feeding him half
of the liquid, Harry set it aside to retrieve the two vials of potion.
Repositioning himself, Harry gently cradled the Headmaster’s head in his lap as
he eased the edge of the vial against his lips.
As he had done before, Harry stroked the slender throat with the fingertips of
one hand to aid the man in swallowing. Snape seemed to shiver and Harry could
have kicked himself, allowing the man to get chilled in the dark room.
Instantly, a fire flared in the fireplace and another duvet covered the
bedding. Tucking the downy covering in around them both, Harry continued to
feed Snape the rest of the broth and the second blood replenishing potion. His
own stomach rumbled ominously, prompted no doubt from the delicious smell of
the broth, but Harry ignored it until he’d finished with Snape, insisting he
drink a cup of water as well.
After settling Snape properly back into the bed and returning the empty bowl to
the tray, Harry uncovered a plate of sandwiches. He almost groaned along with
his stomach as he stood beside the small table and slowly ate. The flagon did
indeed contain ice cold pumpkin juice and Harry savored the taste. He couldn’t
remember the last time he’d eaten something that tasted quite this good and
gave thanks to the creators of the wonderful room. When he was full, Harry
tidied the tray and returned to the bathroom to retrieve the clean jumper,
straightening there as well.
Snape seemed to have gone to sleep again by the time he returned and Harry
stood at the end of the bed, watching him. It seemed late to him, tired as he
was from the day's activities and Harry glanced around for someplace to lie
down. Another set of pillows appeared at the head of the four-poster Snape
occupied and Harry sighed. The Headmaster was not going to be happy when he
found out the room believed Harry should share his bed. Maybe it was because he
still needed to monitor the older man’s condition, Harry reasoned as he slowly
eased on to the bed.
“I’m sorry, sir, I know you don’t want me here, but I’ve never had a choice
before of going where I was wanted, so why start now?” Harry said softly as he
looked at the silent figure, his fingers itching to smooth the lank hair back
from the relaxed face.
Determined not to completely embarrass himself further, Harry stacked the
pillows against the headboard and leaned back. He stretched his legs out,
slipping them under the bedding, shifting to get comfortable. A yawn surprised
him as Harry give in to the urge and brushed the hair off Snape’s face. He was
surprised when Snape leaned into the touch, pinning his hand to the pillow
beneath his cheek and Harry smiled as he closed his eyes.
                                   ~~~*~*~~~
Severus Snape awoke slowly, comfortable and surprisingly free of pain. Even
better, his head was pillowed on a warm thigh. Turning slightly, Severus could
see that Harry was propped up against the head of the bed; legs splayed
invitingly, giving an excellent view of the erection tenting his sleep pants.
It was a delicious sight.
Taking stock of his own body, Severus found that he could move his arms,
shoulders, and chest – virtually everything but his legs. The phoenix tears
that had healed his throat in such a unique fashion also seemed to have
repaired much of the spell damage inflicted on his body over the years by
various nefarious colleagues. The aches he had learned to live with had
evaporated and Severus actually felt thirty-eight instead of eighty-eight years
old. A pleased smile curved his lips.
Potter stirred slightly, a soft moan escaping in a parseltongue like hiss and
Severus had to bite his cheek to remain silent himself. Apparently, the
paralysis had moved beyond his groin. Recovering, but still in need of
assistance was a good position from which to launch his plans, Severus
reasoned. Having been here indicated Hogwarts recognized him as the Headmaster
and intended for him to continue in that post. Sending Harry Potter to him, as
he was sent to Albus almost two years ago, lent hope to Severus’ thoughts that
the young man felt as indebted to him as Severus had had been to his
predecessor. While Severus’ feelings toward the older wizard could best be
described as familial, lustful was a better description for how he felt towards
Harry.
Moving as stealthily as he could, Severus maneuvered himself over the thigh,
nestling himself facedown in the young man’s lap, nose pressed into the
juncture of thigh and hip, that lovely and nicely proportioned erection resting
against the side of his face. Severus nuzzled closer, taking in the musky smell
of healthy young male and eliciting another stifled moan from above him. He
shamelessly rubbed his face against Harry, smiling as a hand dropped to his
matted hair, pressing him against the hardness. Severus rubbed his nose against
the base of Harry’s cock and a second hand joined the first for an instant,
before both were snatched away.
“Oh, bloody hell!!”
The warm body was jerked out of the bed and Severus sighed at the loss.
“I’m so sorry, Professor…I don’t know how…”
Gentle hands rolled him over and Severus was delighted by the deliciously
flushed face and averted eyes, as Harry leaned over him. He allowed himself to
be tended to and coddled, obediently taking the potions shoved at him. The room
delivered porridge for breakfast and Severus even suffered through letting the
boy spoon it into his mouth, the concentration Harry showed was actually
endearing. Perhaps, Severus reasoned, he would be able to persuade Harry to
stay at Hogwarts; he still needed to sit his NEWTs after all.
“Enlighten me, Mr. Potter, what are your plans now that you have managed to
fulfill your destiny?”
                                   ~~~*~*~~~
Harry couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that erupted as he turned from the
Headmaster to fuss with the dishes on the breakfast tray. Fulfilled his destiny
- outlived his usefulness, either way, it was a truly sad thought, he reasoned.
“I think I’ve done everything expected of me, sir,” Harry said quietly, still
not able to face Snape. “I’m rather tired of it, frankly.”
“Too true, Mr. Potter, and if given the choice and the means, what would you
wish to do?”
The voice was surprisingly free of malice and Harry turned to meet the dark
eyes. “I’d do…nothing, Professor, just nothing.”
Snape seemed to examine his face for a moment. “Understandable.”
Harry waited for several seconds for the verbal diatribe he was sure would
follow, blinking in surprise when it didn’t. It was his turn to scrutinize the
older man’s face, but the loathing he was so used to seeing was absent and
Harry gave a hesitant smile, holding a cup of water so that Snape could drink.
“Is there anything else I can get for you, Professor?”
“I believe I would benefit from a thorough cleansing, Pot…Harry,” the
Headmaster said smoothly.
Something very Slytherin gleamed in the depths of those black eyes and Harry
took a wary step backwards. What only could be described as an attempt at an
innocent smile curved Snape’s thin lips and Harry was hard pressed not to
snort. It wasn’t an attractive look. Somehow, Harry was sure a bathtub had
already appeared in the bathroom and he hoped it was like the one in the
Prefect’s bathroom. Harry narrowed his eyes; it would be filled with red and
gold bubbles, he was sure.
Considering that he had come here to retrieve the Headmaster for an aggrieved
Hogwarts and, he had to admit, for himself, Harry agreed mentally to the idea
of a bath. Particularly after the way his body had reacted to being close to
Snape, something Harry decided he really wanted to explore if the older man
would allow it. Perhaps Snape would allow him to return to school and take his
NEWTs, Harry considered as he levitated the older man into the loo. Not
bothering to conceal his smirk or his scrutiny of the lean body, Harry eased
the Headmaster into the red and gold bath. Other than an elegantly arched brow,
Snape didn’t react, sitting silently on the bench Harry knew would be just
under the water.
Quickly stripping down, Harry stepped down into the bath, trying not to blush
as he felt the dark eyes trail down his skin. The water came up to his waist
and Harry was glad for the moment, wanting to hide his body’s reaction until he
was sure Snape wouldn’t reject him. Starting at the top, Harry washed the lank,
greasy hair before resettling Snape on the bench. With lingering strokes, Harry
continued to wash Snape, feeling the intense gaze of those eyes as he
diligently washed neck and shoulders. Bracing Snape against him, Harry leaned
him forward to wash his back, careful to keep his lower body from giving away
his arousal.
A hand brushed across the tip of his cock and Harry barely contained a groan as
he moved Snape back against the tile. The older man watched him from beneath
hooded eyes as Harry continued to wash him. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one who
was enjoying this, Harry thought as he watched color stain the sallow cheeks.
His strokes became firmer, more assured as he moved down the lightly muscled
chest. Allowing his hand to drift down Snape’s abdomen, Harry ran his
fingertips over a satisfyingly hard prick before skipping the groin to wash
first one leg and then the other.
“I believe you’ve been remiss in your ministrations, Harry,” Snape’s voice
seemed deeper to him and Harry smiled.
Straddling the older man’s thighs, Harry tentatively grasped Snape’s cock with
a soapy hand. Unable to resist, he scooted forward so that he could stroke it
firmly.
“Press them together, Harry,” Snape instructed him and Harry felt fingers curl
around his hip urging him forward.
Harry slid into Snape’s lap, wrapping both hands around their cocks as he moved
his hand slowly up and down. The sensations were overpowering and someone
whimpered – Harry was afraid it was him – when he cautiously squeezed. That was
good, so good Harry thought, stroking and twisting both cocks, lost in the
feelings flowing through him. Something told him that he was safe, that Snape
would hold him and be protective as he always had in the past as Harry felt
himself approaching his climax, urged on by the deep voice that breathed into
his ear. He could feel their balls rubbing together, the length of Snape’s cock
against his, and the callus on the pad of his thumb as he swiped it across the
tips. A deep groan reverberated through both men and Harry came hard, the world
graying around him.
“Oh God,” Harry whispered, his glasses digging into his nose as he pressed
against Snape’s shoulder.
“Severus will suffice,” Snape snorted and tugged him closer with surprising
strength. “That was rather…rejuvenating, Mr. Potter.”
Harry shyly tasted Sna...Severus’ skin, feeling relaxed and safe for the first
time since the search for the Horcruxes had started. He felt the older man
shiver and grinned, snuggling closer. Maybe there was still a way for Severus
Snape to make that significant difference in his life, Harry thought, in a way
he would have never believed possible. Maybe there was a way for Harry to find
a purpose in his life that had nothing to do with destinies or prophesies. To
discover what it was to be simply Harry.
“Perhaps you could be persuaded to remain at Hogwarts while you ponder what you
would like to do next, Harry,” Severus suggested
“I think I’d like that, Sev…Severus,” Harry stuttered, “if you’d be willing to,
um, tutor me…”
“I believe I could avail myself to give you lessons on certain topics.”
Fingers tilted his chin and Harry found their first lesson was to be on the
proper technique of kissing.
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